Page 79 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

Too many questions.

No ways to find answers without my phone.

With nausea creeping up my throat, I turned in a circle, looking for something to grab to use as a weapon.

But it was a bathroom.

It wasn’t like my safety razor or shampoo bar could do any damage.

I reached for the top of the toilet tank, cringing at the clanking sound it made as I freed it.

It wasn’t much.

But with a good enough swing, it could do some damage.

Just to get me to the kitchen, where I could get a knife and a frying pan.

From there, I could creep around, trying to peek outside, see if my attacker was still around.

I had no landline.

So without my cell, I was just a sitting duck.

I could try to sneak next door to use my neighbor’s phone.

Anxiety prickled across every nerve ending as I moved into my bedroom, side stepping the floorboards I knew would creak.

The house was silent, save for my clock in the living room that ticked loudly enough to drive me half-crazy sometimes.

My pulse seemed to beat in tune with it as I stepped out of my bedroom.

Tick-tock.

There was no one in the kitchen.

The wooden back door was open, but the screen was still closed.

I moved toward the drawer holding my knives, and pulled out the biggest chef’s knife I owned.

Tick-tock.

I put down the tank lid, grabbing a cast iron skillet instead. Easier swinging, I figured.

Now the question was… front or back door?

My neighbor locked both.

It was late.

He was likely in bed.

He had the upside part of the duplex, where the main bedroom was located. But with his mobility issues, he started sleeping in a small room toward the back by his kitchen.

It took him a bit to get moving, but he would be closer to the back door.

I felt an automatic knot in my stomach at the idea of going out my back door, my mind flashing back to the beating, the fall, the dragging by my hair.

A shiver coursed through me even looking at the door.

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