A couple of other residents at the Broadmore Apartments had scribbled comments on the typed notice:
Cindy took
She picked up her coffee and rang for the elevator. Cindy rode up to the fifth floor. Tucking the newspaper under her arm, she pulled out her keys and unlocked her door.
Cindy stepped into her apartment, then stopped. It was too cold. She automatically glanced over at the sliding door that led to a small balcony off her living room. But the door was closed. Along the other wall, she noticed the sliding window—wide open. The screen was open too.
Suddenly, something flew down at her from above, fluttering past her shoulder. Cindy dropped her coffee— and her neighbor’s newspaper. Her heart seemed to stop for a moment. She realized it was a pigeon. The damn thing must have been perched up on her bookcase. Now it settled on the back of one of her dining room chairs.
“Goddamn it!” Cindy hissed, once she got her breath back. Coffee had spilled on her pale blue carpet.
She hadn’t opened that window earlier. What was going on?
“Filthy thing,” she muttered. “Shoo, get out!” she said, waving at the bird.
But the pigeon only flapped its wings as if it were about to take off at her. Cindy got scared and backed away. “Shit!” she muttered. She decided to let the caretaker get rid of the damn thing.
Then it suddenly dawned on her that she might not be safe in the apartment. Someone else had opened that window, and he could still be there—hiding, waiting for her.
Cindy turned toward the door and gasped.
A man stood in her path. He wore an army jacket and black jeans. A nylon stocking was pulled over his face, distorting his features. Cindy couldn’t tell what he looked like. But she could see he was smiling.
She started to scream.
All at once he was on her. He slapped his hand over her mouth. Cindy couldn’t breathe. She struggled and kicked. She tried to bite his hand, but his grip was so tight, she couldn’t even move her jaw. Cindy thought he might break her neck.
He maneuvered his way behind her. He was twisting her arm.
The pigeon took off, flying out the open window.
“Shhh,” he whispered, the nylon material over his face brushing against her ear. “This won’t work if you scream. I don’t want to hurt you.”
He lowered his hand a little from her mouth, and Cindy was able to breathe through her nose. She stopped struggling. She knew she was trapped.
“It was pretty funny with the bird flying in like that, wasn’t it?” he said, chuckling. “But you know what’s not so funny? The way you treated my Hannah at the video store the other night. You might think she’s some nobody clerk, but she’s
Cindy tried to speak, but again, his hand was clasped firmly over her mouth. She merely whimpered in protest. She couldn’t break free of him.
“We need to make sure you don’t scream,” he said.
Cindy noticed a second man, coming from her kitchen. His face was deformed with the same nylon disguise. They both looked like monsters, something out of a nightmare. But they were real. The pain in her arm was real. That warm, moist nylon mask scraping against her face was real.
“If I take my hand away, will you promise not to scream?” he asked.
His partner was coming toward her. Eyeing him, Cindy nodded anxiously. But as soon as she gasped some air through her mouth, Cindy started to yell.
Certainly, one of the neighbors would hear and come help.
“Shut her up,” grunted the man holding her.
All at once, his partner punched Cindy in the stomach. All at once, she couldn’t breathe, much less scream. She automatically dropped toward the floor, and curled up—fetal-like—from the overwhelming pain in her gut.
But the man still had ahold of her. “Get her feet,” she heard him tell his friend.
Suddenly, they were dragging her toward the open window. She was still breathless, paralyzed by the pain in her stomach. They had her by the arms and feet. She tried to struggle, but it was useless.
She felt the chilly wind sweep across her as they hoisted her up on the windowsill. She still couldn’t breath— or scream. Her head was swimming.
Cindy Finkelston knew she was going to die. And there wasn’t a single, solitary thing she could do about it.
“Well, what exactly did you tell him about me?” Hannah asked, keeping her voice low. There were customers in the store that Monday afternoon. She had to stifle the inclination to scream at Cheryl. The two of them stood behind the counter.
“I hardly told the guy anything. God!” Cheryl rolled her eyes. “He came in on Friday and asked if you were working. I said you were out sick, and might be back today. That’s all. Scott’s blowing it all out of proportion.”
Hannah glared at her. No one liked Cheryl very much. At twenty-one, she was younger than everybody else on the Emerald City Video payroll, yet she treated her coworkers in a fake-pleasant, condescending manner. She was a theater major, and always seemed “on.” Hannah found her obnoxiously perky and phony.
“Well, what did this guy look like, anyway?” Hannah asked, one hand on the countertop. “Can you describe him? Age? Hair color?”
Cheryl rolled her eyes and sighed.
“Okay, tell me this much. Have you seen him in the store before?”
“God, Hannah,” she said, with a stunned little laugh. “Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” She flicked back her long blond hair. “I really don’t remember much about him. He was here for, like, two seconds. You know, Hannah, I have guys in here every day asking for my phone number. It might not happen to you so much, because you’re older. But if I were you, I’d be flattered.”
Hannah slowly shook her head. “Cheryl—”
She shot Cheryl one last, venomous look. “Give me a yell if it gets busy,” she said evenly.
Retreating to the cramped back room, Hannah found Scott at the desk with a newspaper in front of him. He was on his break. Hannah closed the door. “I want to kill her,” she whispered.
“Yeah, well, get in line,” Scott replied. He folded back the newspaper page. “I thought you’d want to see this. Did you know about it?”
“About what?” Hannah asked, taking the newspaper from him. She glanced at the headline near the bottom of the local news page, and read it aloud:
“Keep reading,” Scott said.
