Page 88 of Half the Summer's Night
“Is that you?” I call out, taking slow, cautious steps forward. I readjust the gun, cradling it awkwardly in my arms. “I wish you wouldn’t play this game right now. I, um, I need to tell you some?—”
The floor creaks. Not where I am, in the bright-lit foyer. But from deep in the darkness up ahead.
“Please don’t do this,” I call out. “Just say something. Let me know it’s you.”
Another creak, long and low. Someone is in the hallway leading to the examination room. I just pray that it’s Nameless.
“Please,” I whimper, and one of my hot tears falls in a straight line over my cheek.
I’m at the edge of the hallway, and I can feel someone in the darkness, watching me. I reach over and flip the switch.
The light reveals a figure dressed all in black. But any relief I feel is momentary, because this figure isn’t tall enough. He’s too thin.
And he’s wearing a stocking over his face, not a twisted rubber mask.
“Not who you were expecting?” he asks in a cruel, taunting voice, and I have the quick, fleeting thought that it’s a voice I’ve heard before. But then it disappears when I press the gun’s trigger on instinct, and all I hear is a useless click.
“Stupid bitch,” the man says. “Women never know how to use guns.”
Then he launches himself at me, barreling down the hallway at a full run. For a second, I’m a prey animal trapped in headlights. But then, just as he’s about to grab me, I swing the gun like a baseball bat and slam into the side of his head. It makes a terrible thumping sound, like tapping a watermelon. The man stumbles sideways and howls, his hand going up to his temple.
Spots of red drop across the floor.
“Youwhore!” he shrieks, looking at his bloody fingers. “You think you can hurt me?”
I whirl around and run. The gun gets in my way, and I throw it into the viewing room as I pass, then pump my arms and legs toward the door. The killer is behind me, his steps heavy and loud.
“You can’t escape me,” he calls out. “I got the other two cunts. What makes you think you’re so special?”
I slam into the front door and undo the lock and throw it open, letting in a sweep of damp, howling sea wind. Then I spill out onto the porch and race across the yard. “Help!” I scream. “Nameless! Please!”
I don’t know why I called out to him. I know he’s not here. Not when I need him most.
“Shut the fuck up!” An elbow hooks around my neck and drags me backward. Panic surges through me, and I kick out and try to scratch at his arm. But he heaves me around and throws me into the damp grass, then slams his heavy booted foot hard on my chest.
All the air slams out of me. I gasp and choke and try to wriggle my way free. But his weight is too much. I’m pinned down like a butterfly.
“Finally,” he says, looking down at me. It’s too dark for me to see anything but shadows. All I can make out is the silhouette of my attacker. My would-be murderer. “I’ve been waiting ten fucking years for this.”
I scream again and try to grab his ankle. He responds by bearing more of his weight down on me, angling his boot so it goes into the soft part of my belly and not my ribs.
“Don’t want you puncturing a lung,” he says. “I got plans for you that require you to be alive for a little while longer.”
I squirm and sob, writhing around in the grass. I keep imagining Nameless coming out of the shadows. Snapping this man’s neck. Saving me like he did last time.
But nothing happens. He’s not here.
“Time to go,” my attacker says.
He grabs my hair and yanks me sideways, dragging me across the grass. Burning pain tears through my scalp. I try to fight, but it just seems to make the pain worse.
“Enough of that,” he snarls, yanking me up to my knees. Tears stream over my cheeks, blurring the familiar expanse of my yard. We’re in front of the big oak tree that grows next to my living room window, and I lift my gaze to the branches stretching thick and sturdy toward the glass.
“Say nighty-night,” the killer says, and then he slams my head against the trunk.
For a moment, there’s nothing but pain.
Then there’s nothing.
