Page 32 of Ruthless Beast

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Saying goodbye to the gallery is harder than I thought it would be. I arranged to take leave—I don’t tell them I’m not coming back, of course. It’s better no one knows about my sudden change of address.

It’s my last shift. Dannie and I are packed and ready to hit the road in the morning. My last night in LA. It feels odd. It’s been my home for so many years now. There’s so much history here.

I grew up here. This is where I graduated from high school and university. My parents and David are buried here. But I have no choice. I have to leave it all behind and start fresh.

I’m not angry at David anymore. He did what he thought was best for us. How can I hold that against him? He had no way of knowing what would happen. All I have for him now is gratitude and deep love.

“I guess this is goodbye for now,” Sandra, one of my colleagues, says, coming over to me to hug me. “We’re going to miss your beautiful art around here.”

“Thanks, Sands. I’ll be back.”

“I hope so.”

I look around one more time at the walls that hold the art I’ve grown to love.

This is it, Emily. It's time to say goodbye and leave the past behind.

I hear the sound of the gallery doors opening.

“Did you forget something, Sands?” I call out into the darkened gallery.

She doesn’t answer.

“Sandy. Is that you?” I call out again.

Silence.

“Who’s there? Hello?”

I don’t see anyone. Perhaps the wind blew the door open. It happens sometimes. I’ve been telling them for months now to replace that flimsy lock. It will be a disaster if the paintings get damaged by a gust of wind.

I make my way toward the front. The door is open, just as I suspected. It’s pretty windy outside. My cell phone beeps. It’s a message from Dannie. She wants to know if I’d be okay with Chinese takeout for dinner. As if she even has to ask. I’m a sucker for a good dumpling. I type my response and then head for my desk to fetch my purse and keys.

My heart stops when, out of the corner of my eye, I see a shadow moving near the front desk.

“Who is that? I have a weapon,” I lie.

Am I seeing things? I have been on edge lately. It’s entirely possible that my mind is playing tricks on me.

I don’t hear anything except for the wind howling outside. I hate that sound. It’s creepy.

“Come on, Emily. Stop being a drama queen and lock up,” I say out loud to myself, the way I usually do when I’m being silly.

I get as far as the front desk when I see the figure of a man standing in the shadows. I can’t see his face, but he’s tall and muscular. An electric shock shoots through my hands and feet at the sight of him. I know I have to run, but my legs won’t move for a few seconds.

By the time my body recovers from the initial shock, it’s too late to run. He’s right behind me. I scream, but it’s no use. Before I can react, the man grabs me, and I feel a sharp pain in my upper arm.

I flail about for a few seconds, my arms and legs doing their best to free me from his iron grip. It’s no use. I do manage to get a few swipes in with my nails, and I hear my attacker yelp when I dig out some of his flesh with my nails. Yeah, take that, you bastard! I hope that hurts.

So, this is how it ends. I was so close to getting away. One more night, and I would have been in Minnesota, skiing on a lake, soaking up the mountain air. Instead, I’m the prey, and the hunter has just snared me in his trap.

The night becomes darker than it should be. Before long I’m floating in a sea of nothingness. This can’t be the end. Can it?

8

EMILY

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