Page 47 of Toxic

All the air in the room disappeared as the softness of the pillow engulfed his face like some alien creature, stealing breath. Without thought, Steve struggled, heels kicking against the mattress, arms flailing.

The harder he resisted, the more the intruder pressed down.

A vision appeared behind Steve’s eyelids, and he saw himself sitting at the long, distressed oak table at the condo with Connor and Miranda. They were laughing and there were empty, tomato-sauce stained plates in front of them. A smiling Connor raised a glass.

The vision departed as abruptly as it had arrived, and Steve found himself in a battle for his very life. He twisted. He turned. He tried to quell the panic rising, causing his heart to hammer, so he could think.

And maybe what saved him wasn’t thought, but instinct.

He wasn’t going to free himself by struggling. No, the answer was simple. In fact, it was so simple he would wonder—later, after the panic had ebbed—why he hadn’t thought of it immediately.

The answer was not to fight back, nor to resist mightily, but to golimp.

He let his body sort of melt into the bed beneath him. By doing this, he was able to slide out from under the pillow, despite its being held down over his face with brutal force.

Once out, he knew by instinct he would have to move fast. He rolled over, toppling painfully to the hardwood floor. He groaned in pain and managed to get to a sitting position. He began swinging wildly and kicking.

But his hands and feet connected with nothing, making him fear he was dealing with something beyond the natural.

But then that idea was dispelled as rapid footfalls sounded in the darkness, mercifully moving away. He could trace them all the way to the front door.

There was a pause. And the house was deathly silent.

A voice emerged, sending paradoxical sparks and chills through him, so hard it made him spasm, jerking convulsively for a second or two.

“Connor. Leave him alone. Or I come back and finish what I started.”

The voice was deep, a voice from hell. Even Steve realized he was already embellishing his terrifying encounter with melodramatic details. There was no need for melodrama when one does battle with an anonymous stranger who’s invaded, especially when one is at the most vulnerable.

A creak sounded as the door swung open. A snake of cold air rushed in. It chilled Steve, who groped his way back to the bed, leaning against it as he tried to catch his breath.

When he could finally get up, it seemed as though hours had passed, but again Steve realized he was being fanciful, perhaps from spending too many years by the side of a man who made his living from imagination. It was really only a few seconds.

He managed to hold his fear at abeyance and to walk the few steps it took to get to the front door, which stood open. Wind blew in and a few scattered leaves and twigs danced across the floor.

Steve looked out into the night, but all was quiet. Had he imagined it all?

He knew he most definitely hadnot.

The intruder came as a warning—a lethal threat that Steve had little doubt could be carried out. He even knew who it had to be, but that knowledge gave him no comfort. He could tell no one about this encounter because he believed no one would believe him.

And if he did, how could he be certain that the owner of the voice wouldn’t make good on his threat?

He closed the door, threw the deadbolt, and then leaned against its solid oak surface. The feeling of a gap with reality persisted. He moved to the pad for the alarm and keyed in the code to arm it. Yet, even when he also turned on just about every light in the house, the aura of nightmare hung over him, like smoke or a dense fog.

He couldn’t go back in the bedroom. Not tonight. Maybe never again. So he stretched out on the couch and pulled the cashmere throw off its back and arranged it over his legs. He had a feeling, no, more a certainty, that he would still be sitting here in this same position as the room flooded with gray light.

And the same question would taunt and torment him.

What do I do now?

Chapter Twenty-Two

MIRANDA USED HERkey to let herself into the condo.

There was a time when she wouldn’t have thought twice about doing this, but now, with Trey here, she was always cautious. She dreaded running into him.

But she’d spoken to her dad this morning, and he’d let her know that he’d be at the condo alone for most of the day. “Trey has several job interviews lined up downtown, and he says it’s just easier to spend the day down there, rather than go back and forth.”

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