by Meg Allison
When had it all started? Then she knew with sudden clarity when everything had begun to change. It had been five years ago, after the man who swore he loved her snapped. High on heroin and booze, Johnny had flipped out when she had tried to hand back the engagement ring he’d put on her months earlier. It was then that he had beaten her to within an inch of her life and tried to rape her. If it hadn’t been for Adam acting on his brotherly intuition… But she rarely let her thoughts go down that road.
Was she really turning into a world class wimp or one of the stupid horror-movie bimbos she abhorred? She frowned and pushed the panic under long enough to let her senses open. No. There wasn’t anyone there, lurking in the shadows. Her panic was merely the legacy that millions of battered and abused women carried. Samantha refused to give in to it now. Johnny was dead and buried and there was no way in hell she’d let him win.
Any darkness she felt now was likely residual emotions from the past. The old building had undergone many renovations over the past few years. That kind of thing always kicked up the ghosts and all their emotional baggage. It wasn’t a stalker in the hallway, but the whispers of the turmoil of the long-dead.
“Decision time: Fly back upstairs and live with the nausea and blinding pain or run to the car like a bat outta hell and get the meds.”
Crap. She really, truly hated making this kind of choice. Then her vision narrowed to a dime-sized space in the right eye, a little wider in the left. Great. It was going to be a bad one. This time she was getting it with both barrels. A sharp pain lanced through her temple. She cringed and counted slowly until the pain eased. Then she straightened her shoulders, took one step into the dimly lit hallway, and aimed herself toward the front doors.
Step after agonizing step, she moved forward. She longed to run despite all logical conclusions and the sure knowledge that she was alone. Her heart beat frantically in her chest. But if she tried it, the movement itself could cause a blackout. One foot after another, and still the door loomed further and further away. The hallway seemed to grow darker, the air heavy and stale. She steadied herself with a hand to one wall. The surface was pebbled and rough beneath her fingertips. Some old wallpaper that was supposed to absorb sound, instead it just seemed to hold dust.
Finally, she made it to the glass doors and pushed through into the warm autumn night. The mix of gasoline and musk filled her nostrils. Her queasy stomach seemed to drop and clench. She continued down the stone steps, searching for Nathan’s dark sedan with her limited vision. The streetlights cast bright spots of light downward, then seemed to be swallowed by the night.
Samantha frowned in concentration. Where had he parked? How far were they from the door? A noise brought her to a stop. Besides the thrum of her own pulse, she thought she heard a rush of wind, a breath of sound. She pushed away the notion—it had to be the breeze, nothing more.
Then something touched her neck. A tickle, like the tendril of a spider’s web brushed her bare nape. She ran a hand over the spot. Nothing but bare skin met her touch, but the sensation remained. She shook off the feeling and kept her pace down the deserted street. She recognized the shape of Nathan’s sleek little car only two spaces down. It was so close, and yet it wavered just out of reach.
She moved closer, one hand lifted toward the gleaming chrome, but she met empty space as distance jumped away with each new throb of pain. The nausea stopped her in her tracks for a moment. She swallowed it back and blinked away the tears. Focus. She had to focus.
Then the cool fiberglass surface chilled her fingers. She sighed with relief as she all but collapsed against the car. A moment of fumbling brought the keys from her pocket and soon she was in the passenger seat, head in her hands as she waited to catch her breath. When she finally found the small medicine bottle, she dropped it into her pocket and began to climb back out of the vehicle.
The sensation came again—a touch, a slight brush of skin against skin on her throat. Samantha placed both hands on her neck. Nothing there, yet she felt it. The pressure began to build, at first, soft and light, irritating like the loose thread from a frayed shirt. Without warning, the touch tightened like the rough hemp of a hangman’s noose. Panic spun through her as she clawed at her neck. Her airway seemed to close, one fraction at a time. She gasped, the sound a muffled wheeze in the dark night.
“Oh, God, I’m going to die.”
She should scream. Run like hell. But sound needed air and her feet were wooden, useless weights. She scratched and wrung her own neck, only barely aware of the pain she inflicted. It was nothing beyond the strangle-hold of her unseen attacker.
Tighter…tighter…until she was sure the bone would break. She felt her knees buckle and then she fell to them on hard cement. Fruitless gasp after gasp, she silently begged for mercy, for air. There was no one there. No one to plead with—but how? She was going to die alone on a dark, dirty street. Completely alone because her tormentor was a ghost? Realization hit. No, they had been looking for a mortal—a mere psychopath. This killer was chosen.
Nathan wouldn’t know. He would blame himself.
Samantha took her hands from her neck and focused on her surroundings. The stranglehold loosened, just a touch, and she almost heard the menace of an evil laugh in her mind. Her tormentor played with her like a cat with a mouse.
The tunnel vision had begun to ebb, but she still couldn’t see clearly. Noise. She had to make noise—to get attention, to scare the bastard away. Anything…
She squinted at the sidewalk and saw the key chain lying there. Panic…push the button. Her head throbbed and vision grew even dimmer, she reached for the keys and blindly pressed button after button, finally hitting the right one. The car horn screamed beside her—ear-splitting shrieks that echoed off the buildings and back again.
The pressure left her neck as she slumped to the ground and gasped for air. Oblivion beckoned, but she refused to follow. Then lights of blue and red flashed across her vision. The click of a car door sounded nearby.
* * ‡ * *
Nathan opened his eyes and took a deep breath as if emerging from the water. He glanced around the room, confused. He was still in his apartment, at his drawing table. Night. It was still night.
He stretched a shaking hand toward the desk lamp and flicked the switch. Bright white light stung his retinas. Nathan blinked away the tears that immediately blurred his vision. Then he saw it. The drawing lay before him—stark black lines against a pristine backdrop. He blinked again as his brain began to focus on the image.
“No.”
He leapt from the table. Objects flew and crashed around him as he ran a pattern around the furniture to his bedroom. The sight of the empty room made his stomach drop.
“Sam!”
His hoarse cry echoed off the walls and high ceiling. He stumbled through the open door to find his bed empty. It felt as if someone closed a hand around his throat. He screamed her name again.
“Samantha!”
Silence answered.
Nathan turned and ran blindly toward the front door, out into the hall and down the stairs. He all but flew down the steep treads, the fall of his bare feet dull thuds in the narrow stairwell. Faster, faster he moved, almost falling down them two and three at a time. His heart raced. He couldn’t let her die. He wouldn’t let her die. Not now. Not ever.
* * ‡ * *
“Ma’am?” a deep voice called. “Are you all right, ma’am? Are you hurt?”
She looked up into the shadowed face of a policeman in uniform and nodded.
“I fell,” she told him, her voice a rasp.
Then strong hands lifted her to her feet. The sensation of cold cement lingered against her skin. When he asked what had happened, she tried to speak but the words seemed to stick in her dry, swollen throat. She shook her head and pointed.
“Inside,” she croaked with a gesture toward Nathan’s building. “Nathan…”
The officer seemed to understand, and he walked her toward the steps.
“Hey, Frank, help me get the lady inside.”
“I called dispatch,” the new officer announced as he joined them. “They’ve sent another unit over.”
As if the words could conjure, Samantha became aware of another patrol car pulling up beside the curb. Soon a symphony of flashing blue and red burned her eyes. She squinted against the light as she wished she could call back her friend oblivion.
As they reached the glass doors, Nathan’s haggard features appeared before her. With a strangled cry of relief, she fell into his arms.
* * ‡ * *
Nathan held her in his lap, rocking slightly as if she were a small child. He was afraid to let her go for even a moment. They sat on his sofa for an hour after the policemen had questioned him and Samantha. Fear still vibrated deep in his bones as he remembered the look on her face—those pretty featured so stark and scared with blue and red lights flashing over her pale skin. She had stood there, shaking, as they tried to find out just why she was lying on the street alone, wearing only oversized pajamas and scratches covering her throat.
When they were finally convinced he wasn’t the one trying to kill her, they had allowed them to go back upstairs after turning off his car alarm. He’d helped her change into clean sweats. Then he gently washed her face, neck, and hands with a damp washcloth, all the while speaking in calm, smooth tones that one might use with a frightened animal. He tried to get her to talk, to tell him what happened, but tears hung in her eyes and she could only shake or nod her head. The misery in her gaze filled him with impotent anger at whoever had dared hurt her. It had been way too close this time. The brush with the car had been merely a warning. This time had been all too real.
Nathan sighed and tugged her closer. Apparently big brother Adam had pulled some strings and had the local beat cops canvassing his neighborhood every hour on the hour. If they hadn’t come along at that moment… He shuddered. No, he couldn’t think of the possibilities. Not now. But later, when she could speak and the shaking stopped—later they were going to discuss it. Come hell or high water, Samantha had to agree to leave town, at least for a few days.
The teakettle whistled and he reluctantly left her to pour water into a cup. Steam rose from the mug and he tried to take a breath and calm the shaking in his body. After dumping a few teaspoons of sugar into the brewing water, he carried it to her and sat back down.
“Here, sip this,” he ordered.
She tried, but her shaking was worse and she couldn’t keep the tea from sloshing over the rim. He wrapped his hands around hers and smiled softly. She returned the gesture, then took a tiny sip.
“Hot,” she complained, her voice crackling on the syllable.
“I know, but it will help your throat. Just take it slow.”
She sank against his side as he helped her hold the steaming cup. The contact seemed to be what she needed most at that moment. Truth be told, it was what he needed, as well.
The downstairs buzzer sounded, making them both jump.
“That will be Adam,” he told her. “I need to let him in.”
She didn’t budge. If anything, she moved closer.
Nathan pressed his lips to her temple. “Sweetheart, your brother is probably freaking out downstairs. I need to let him in the door before he breaks it down.”
She sighed and slid away to curl up into the corner of the sofa, a pillow smashed in her arms. Nathan set her cup on the low table before walking to the door. He touched the call button, bracing himself for the anger to come.
“Yes?”
“It’s Adam,” the other man’s voice rumbled over the speaker. “Let me in now, damn-it.”
Nathan cringed. He knew this wasn’t his fault and that Adam was just a frightened, overprotective brother, but that didn’t keep the fight or flight impulse from kicking into high gear. A minute later there was someone pounding the hell out of his door. When he answered, he was met by a glare that could ignite dynamite at fifty paces. Adam swept past him and into the room, his gaze fixed on the small ball curled up on the blue and green cushions.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded even as he sat and pulled Samantha into his arms. He glanced back at Nathan. “Why was she alone? Outside? Where the hell were you, Nathan?”
Planting his feet shoulder-width apart, Nathan stared at the other man, refusing to be intimidated. This was not his fault. He would not be blamed for her recklessness.
“It’s not his fault,” Samantha whispered, her voice raw and broken like a scratched record. “I got a migraine. I left my meds in his car and went to get them.”
“And where the hell were you?” he asked Nathan.
“It doesn’t matter—” Samantha insisted, but Nathan wouldn’t let her take the blame after all.
“I was drawing,” he answered. They both looked at him. “Yes, one of those drawings,” he walked to his drawing table and picked up a sheet of paper. “You both need to see this.”
Adam met him halfway and grabbed the sheet from his hands. His face darkened and jaw clenched. He looked up into Nathan’s eyes.
“You drew this tonight?”
Nathan nodded.
“Are there others?”
“Just the one Davu gave you.”
“Wait,” Samantha’s voice cracked as she spoke. “What are you talking about?”
She stood and moved toward Adam, grasping at the paper in his hands before he could move. When she looked down at it, all color drained from her face except the freckles that stood out in stark relief across her pale skin. No could mistake the image or the face of the twisted form, lying dead only feet from a sleek, black car. It was Samantha’s lifeless gaze staring back at them from the depths of black, hashed lines. It was meant to be her death scene.
“Oh.” She looked up at Nathan. Tears glimmered in her large green eyes. “What does it mean? Why me?”
“I don’t know,” Nathan said and then swallowed. “But I drew another of you before. Only the location seemed to change. The first one was in your own apartment.”
She looked back at the paper, her hand beginning to shake anew. “That’s why you came to me that night,” she said. “You thought…”
“What happened, Sam?” Adam asked. “Who attacked you outside? Did you get a good look at his face? His height? Weight? Anything?”
She shook her head and the tears spilled down her cheeks.
“No, I didn’t see a thing because there was nothing to see.”
Adam frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I felt pressure around my neck—like a cord or thin rope. But there wasn’t anything there. I could feel someone watching—hear them laughing in my mind—but I was alone. The pressure got worse and worse and I couldn’t breathe…” She sucked in a rush of air and dropped onto the sofa. “Then it felt like my head was being twisted. Oh, god, why’s this happening? Who’s doing this?”
She looked from one man to the other, but Nathan didn’t have any answers. Adam only shook his head.
“I don’t know, baby girl,” her brother finally replied. “But you can’t stay here. You have to leave, tonight.”
“She can’t go home—” Nathan began.
“No, no she can’t,” Adam agreed quickly. “Which is why you two are going to Liam’s immediately.”
“Adam, I can’t,” she protested, but in vain. Adam Bays had made up his mind.
“Yes, you can and you will.” He turned to Nathan, the mixture of emotions in his eyes so raw that it made his own stomach twist. “Liam’s house is practically a fortress. You’ll be safe there until I can find the bastard responsible. Obviously, we aren’t dealing with your average psycho—I’ll need special help with this case. But I need to know she’s safely tucked away. You will go with her and stay by her side twenty-four, seven. Got it?”
“Adam,” Samantha protested as loudly as her sore throat would allow. “You can’t just pack me off like a helpless child.”
“I can and I will, Samantha. Save y
our breath….” he cringed and ran a hand through his hair, “Dammit, Sam. You could have died tonight. I have a lead now with that drawing and the knowledge that this killer is probably chosen. Let me follow through. Let us follow it through. In the meantime, if I know you’re safe, that will be one less thing to worry about.”
“But if he’s after me I could bait him.”
“No way in hell!” her brother bellowed. “He’s almost had you twice—tonight and that day in the street. I know that now, I think we all do. We can’t see him. We don’t even know how close he must be or how he does this. You are going, Samantha.” He turned back to Nathan. “Pack some things and go. Don’t tell anyone else where you’re going. Don’t even call Liam ahead of time. Take the most indirect route you can find. You can fill him in when you get there. He’ll understand since I was with him when I got the call. You two need to just disappear for a few days.”
“I refuse to hide at Liam’s like a coward,” Samantha insisted.
Adam stared her down until Nathan wondered who would give up first. Then Samantha’s shoulders drooped and he realized big brother had won this round, for now. It meant she was petrified.
“You with me on this, Nathan?” Adam demanded, his attention focused on him like a laser.
Nathan nodded, fighting back the surge of panic that welled up inside him. He couldn’t let them down, but was terrified of doing just that.
* * ‡ * *
City lights played tag through the car windows as they drove through the thin, early morning traffic, twisting and turning their way south, then east and west until finally north. Or so she thought. Thanks to their wandering trajectory, Samantha was having one hell of a time figuring out where they were from one moment to the next. Her throat had stopped aching after her third cup of hot tea, but she wasn’t sure the shaking in her belly would ever end. Try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to talk to Nathan. There were no words to express the confusion of emotions churning through her gut. But she couldn’t sleep either, no matter how exhausted she might feel. She closed her eyes and began to drift again, but something touched her skin and she jerked awake, her heart pounding.
