Page 72 of Deception

She had to get a grip before this became her final day.

She needed to get up. Needed to move. To escape.

Instead, nausea swirled inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut, the spinning messing with her equilibrium.

Maybe she couldn’t move yet, but she could listen.

That was when she heard a shout. More yells sounded, though she couldn’t understand any words.

What was happening?

More sounds—stomping, cracking, grunting.

Suddenly, it grew silent.

Moments passed.

Then footsteps pounded up the stairs.

The man . . . was he coming back to finish what he’d started?

A tremble raked through her.

She had to move!

Olive tried to sit up but moaned instead. Her whole body hurt.

She touched her throat and felt something wet.

She was bleeding, she realized.

The man had cut her more deeply than she’d thought.

How much blood had she lost?

She didn’t know, but the footsteps drew closer.

She opened her eyes. Tried to sit up again, determined to defend herself.

But as the room continued to spin, she squeezed her eyes shut again and sank back to the floor.

God, if You’re out there and if You’re listening, please help.

Olive didn’t usually call out for help.

But she was now.

Especially as the footsteps approached.

“Ollie?” a deep voice asked.

She froze.

That voice . . . it was familiar.

Was she hallucinating? That had to be it.

Because it almost sounded like . . . Jason.

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