Thunder rolled again, made her jump this time, made her laugh at herself.
The flashlight flew out of her hand when he grabbed her from behind. For an instant, just an instant, full, mindless panic struck. She struggled helplessly, clawing at the arm hooked tight around her neck.
She thought of a knife held to her throat, of the blade skipping down her ribs, slicing flesh on the way. Terror shoved the scream from her guts to her throat where the arm chained it down to a choked wheeze.
It cut off her air, had her fighting to draw a breath until the room started to spin.
Then survival kicked in.
Solar plexus—hard elbow jab. Instep. Full-force stomp. Nose—a hard turn as the grip loosened, then a slam with the heel of her hand where instinct told her the face would be. Groin, fast, furious upward jerk of the knee.
Then she ran. Instinct again driving her blindly toward the door. Her hands struck it with enough force to shoot pain up her arms, but she didn’t stop. She dragged the door open, ran to her car, dragging her keys out of her pocket with a shaking hand.
“Just go, just go, just go.”
She hurled herself into the car, jabbed the key in the ignition. Her tires squealed as she threw the car in reverse. Then she whipped the wheel, shot it into drive, floored it.
Without conscious thought she drove past her own house, slammed the brakes in front of Maureen’s.
Light. People. Safety.
She ran to the door, shoved it open, stopping only when she saw her friends snuggled up in front of the TV.
Both of them lunged to their feet.
“Abra!”
“Police.” The room spun again. “Call the police.”
“You’re hurt! You’re bleeding!” Even as Maureen rushed to her, Mike grabbed his phone.
“I am? No.” Swaying, she looked down at herself as Maureen grabbed her. She saw the blood on her hoodie, on the pajama top beneath.
Not from the knife, no. Not this time. Not her blood.
“No, it’s not mine. It’s his.”
“God. Was there an accident? Come sit down.”
“No. No!” Not her blood, she thought again. She’d gotten away. She was safe. And the room stopped spinning. “Someone was in Bluff House. Tell the police someone was in Bluff House. He grabbed me.” Her hand went to her throat. “He was choking me.”
“He hurt you. I can see it. You sit. You sit down. Mike.”
“Cops are coming. Here.” He tucked a throw around Abra when Maureen led her to a chair. “You’re okay now. You’re safe now.”
“I’m going to get you some water. Mike’s right here,” Maureen told her.
He knelt down in front of her. Such a good face, Abra thought as her breathing labored. A caring face with dark puppy-dog eyes.
“The power’s out,” she said, almost absently.
“No, it’s not.”
“At Bluff House. The power’s out. It was dark. He was in the dark. I didn’t see him.”
“It’s all right. The police are coming, and you’re all right.”
She nodded, staring into those puppy-dog eyes. “I’m all right.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“He . . . He had his arm tight, tight around my throat, and my waist, I think. I couldn’t breathe, and I got dizzy.”
“Honey, there’s blood on you. Will you let me take a look?”
“It’s his. I hit him in the face. I did SING.”
“You what?”
“SING,” Maureen said as she came in with a glass of water in one hand, a glass of whiskey in the other. “Self-defense. Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin. Abra, you’re a miracle.”
“I didn’t think. I just did it. I must’ve given him a nosebleed. I don’t know. I got loose, and I ran. I ran out and came here. I feel . . . a little sick.”
“Sip some water. Slowly.”
“Okay. All right. I need to call Eli. He needs to know.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Mike told her. “Just give me the number, and I’ll take care of it.”
Abra sipped, breathed, sipped again. “It’s on my phone. I didn’t take my phone. It’s at home.”
“I’ll get it. I’ll take care of it.”
“I didn’t let him hurt me. Not this time.” Abra clamped a hand on her mouth as the tears came. “Not this time.”
Maureen sat beside her, drew Abra into her arms and rocked.
“Sorry. Sorry.”
“Shh. You’re okay.”
“I am okay.” But Abra held tight. “I should be dancing. I didn’t fall apart—until now. I did everything right. He didn’t hurt me. I didn’t let him hurt me. It just . . . it brings it back.”