Page 35 of In Her Bed

“Hello?”she called, immediately regretting drawing attention to herself.Her voice sounded small against the vastness of the night.

She quickened her pace, fumbling in her bag for her keys.The electronic fob felt reassuringly solid in her palm.Just thirty more steps to the car.Twenty.

A scuffing sound behind her made Sandra whirl around.A figure detached itself from the dark near the building, moving toward her with purposeful strides.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” she called, trying to keep her voice steady.“If you need to book studio time, you can call during business hours tomorrow.”

The figure didn’t respond but continued advancing.As he stepped into a patch of ambient light, Sandra’s mouth went dry.She thought she recognized him, but couldn’t remember from where or when.

Before she could process this recognition, he lunged forward with startling speed, reaching out, bearing held some kind of cord toward her throat.In the brief moment their gazes locked, she saw something cold and determined in his eyes that sent ice through her veins.

Sandra’s body reacted before her mind could catch up.She twisted sideways, swinging her heavy shoulder bag in a wild arc.It connected with the side of his face, throwing him off balance.

She didn’t waste her advantage.Sandra turned and ran, her heart hammering against her ribs.Her car was still too far.The studio was locked and alarmed.The open area of the parking lot offered no protection.

Sandra darted between two buildings into a narrow alley barely wider than her shoulders.Rough brick scraped her arms as she squeezed through.The passage opened into a small, dimly lit courtyard that appeared forgotten by all except the occasional graffiti artist whose work faintly glowed on several walls.On the far end of the courtyard stood a warehouse that had been abandoned for years.

She risked a glance backward.The man had paused at the alley entrance, seemingly evaluating whether to follow her through the tight space or go around.The brief reprieve wouldn’t last long.

Then Sandra spotted a partially open loading dock door ahead, its bottom edge tilted up about three feet from the ground.Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees and rolled beneath it, scraping her back on the rough metal edge.

Inside, darkness enveloped her.She pushed on the loading dock door, hoping to close it behind her, but it was frozen in place.

As her eyes adjusted to the faint light coming through high windows, Sandra made out looming shapes of old machinery and stacked crates among dense clusters of cobwebs.

She crouched behind a large wooden crate, trying to control her ragged breathing.The exertion and fear made her heart pound so loudly she worried he might hear it.Who was this man?What did he want from her?

Got to get help,she thought, pulling out her phone to dial 911.But her heart sank when she saw that there was no signal.The metallic walls of the warehouse blocked out any communication with the outside.

Where was the man who had followed her now?

A scraping sound from the loading dock door answered her unspoken question.He had found her entry point.Then silence.Sandra knew he was inside, listening just as intently as she was.

Sandra scanned the dimness for an exit.Emergency door, another loading dock, anything.Near the far wall, she glimpsed a long-unlit exit sign.If she could reach it...

A stack of boxes crashed nearby, making her jump.He was systematically searching the area, getting closer.She couldn’t stay hidden forever.

Taking a deep breath, Sandra removed her shoes, holding them in one hand to silence her movements.She began creeping along the perimeter of crates, using them as shields between herself and where she thought the man was searching.

When she reached a clear stretch of floor between her position and the exit, Sandra hesitated.The open space offered no cover.She’d be completely exposed for at least ten seconds—more than enough time for him to spot her.

She had no choice.Gathering her courage, Sandra sprinted toward the exit.

Heavy footsteps pounded behind her.The exit door was just ahead, its push bar promising safety on the other side.She reached for it–

Something hard struck her back, sending her sprawling.

Sandra’s chin hit the concrete floor, pain exploding through her jaw as her shoes flew out of her hand.Before she could recover, a weight pressed down on her, knees digging into her spine.

In one fluid motion, her attacker wrapped something thin and tight around her neck.That cord.Sandra clawed at it, but he pulled it tighter, cutting off her air.

Her vision began to swim, dark patches appearing at the edges.Her lungs burned, desperate for oxygen.She thrashed wildly, but her strength was fading quickly.

As consciousness began to slip away, strange thoughts floated through Sandra’s mind.Who was this man?What was worth killing her for?

Her hands fell limply to her sides.The warehouse ceiling above her blurred, darkness closing in from all directions.Her last conscious thought was of the century-old voices on the cylinder recording—how they had continued to exist long after their bodies had returned to dust.

Then everything went black.

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