Page 91 of Unbelonging
"What?" I asked.
"The dog," she said. "It's like you're in love or something."
"Oh please." I wasn't. Not that I'd admit it, anyway.
"Hah! What'll you do when the owners come back?"
"I dunno. Visit?" Hey, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. I could swing by at least once in a while, maybe take him for a quick walk or something. Turning away, I smiled to myself. Maybe I'd be visiting more than Chucky.
We finished gathering up her things, and my smile faded as I watched Erika shrug into her coat. "I wish I didn't work tonight."
"So play hooky," she said.
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, right."
Sometime in the evening, the front light had gone out, probably a burned-out bulb. I made a note to replace it the next day.
When Erika's car backed down the long driveway, I stood at the curb, watching until her headlights disappeared onto the street, before I turned to go back inside.
I'd made it about halfway to the front door when I heard a sudden scuffling sound behind me. I whipped my head around, only to be tackled to the sidewalk by a big, shadowed figure in dark clothing.
My head slammed against the concrete, and an explosion of stars peppered my brain as I lay sprawled on my side, with whoever it was on top of me. Screaming, I tried to push away, using my arms, knees, and legs to try to get momentum, or do some damage to my attacker in the process.
Too soon, a gloved hand slammed over my mouth, reducing my screams to a muffled string of profanity.
"Shut up," a male voice said, flipping me onto my back, "or I'll give you something to scream about."
Chapter 51
But I didn't shut up, and I didn't stop struggling, either. My eyes were wide, and my heart racing a mile a minute when I noticed another larger shadow off to the side. They both wore ski masks with only slim openings for the eyes and mouth.
The second shadow moved closer, crouching low as if hoping for a better look. "Damn," he said, "sheisfine, isn't she?"
I was gasping against the hand, getting too little air and no chance to call for help. Raw panic consumed me, and I bucked up against him, jostling him just enough to give him a knee to the groin and a fist to his face.
"Fuck," he said. "That was close." His gloved hand ground harder against my face, mashing the back of my head into the concrete.
He leaned his head next to mine, and I felt the brush of the rough knit texture against my ear. "Try that again," he hissed, "and I won't be so nice." Something cool and flat pressed against my throat. A knife?
At that, I went completely still, gasping for air and trying to control my racing heart.
He lifted his hand toward the other shadow and said, "Get the car." Returning his attention to me, he said, "Time for a ride."
My mind was going a million miles a minute as my body froze in place. Was the thing at my throat really a knife, and if so, would he really use it? No matter what, I couldn't go anywhere with these two guys.
It would be suicide, or something almost as bad. Maybe now wasn't the time to make my move, but there was no way I'd be getting into any car of theirs.
For what seemed like an awful long time, we remained frozen in that position. I felt hot and cold all at the same time, with the frigid hard sidewalk pressing into my back, and the stifling mass pressing down on top of me.
I was afraid to move. And I was afraid to not move. His hand was still mashed down over my mouth, and I felt the vague coppery taste of blood in my mouth. In the quiet night, my desperate attempts to draw in air through my nose was a loud staccato, eclipsed only by the hammering of my heart.
Maybe when the other guy showed up with the car, I'd have the chance to escape. But it seemed to be taking a long time, even longer than the guy must've anticipated, because he started to fidget, a little at first, and then more as the minutes dragged on.
The only things that didn't move, though, were the knife at my throat and the hand on my mouth. Over and over, I debated biting that hand. And over and over, I rejected that idea as incredibly stupid. The gloves felt thick, and the knife wasn't wavering.
Had it cut my skin? I didn't think so. I felt pressure, but no real pain. And there was no blood. At least, I didn't think there was any blood. My exposed neck felt cold. And blood is warm, right?
The time ticked on as a car drove by, and then another. Neither one stopped.
