Liddy Barron’s hair and clothes, damp as ifthey’d been wet. Again, the damned water connection…key to her every nightmare,hallucination – and that painting! She’d swooshed her brushes through morewater than pigment; had been in too much of a frenzy to notice the colorsdripping, dripping.
“What does it mean?” Kerri whispered to herself, watching uniformed cops waving madly,shouting and pointing, getting things moving again. The car in front of herstarted to inch forward. She did too, her left hand on the steering wheel, herright hand reaching to push back her laptop that had slid forward.
Ping!
She felt it again, straight to her heart asshe touched the laptop. She frowned; it was the strangest feeling, likesomething pulling at her.
Then her phone buzzed; she grabbed it.
“You killed her, you killed her!” she heard and froze; checked the readout.
Liddy Barron’s phone. Sounds of a struggle,another scream and a loud thump, like a body flung down.
Kerri’s blood ran cold. She called it in.
“Dispatch, send available units to 290Prince Street, assault in progress.” Her heart was exploding. “Yes, assault inprogress!” she said again. “Tell ‘em to break the door down - if they hearnothing tell ‘em I heard a cry for help.”
She popped the top hat onto her roof and hitthe siren. Whoop whoop! it went. Every uniform looked her way andnodded, pulled cars over, made room. She executed a quick U-turn and raced backdown Broadway, hunched not breathing at the wheel, careening and zig-zagging aroundcabs and cars, barely missing a pulled-over van.
Her radio crackled with urgency. She hearddispatch get blue-and-whites to clear the way ahead, lead her faster.
It took her till 48th Street toget her breath half back; call Alex; tell him to head for Liddy’s too.
50
Paul leaped to his feetas Sasha’s face focused, came to life and rose out at him, dead and witheredbut raging. His eyes widened as he screamed, stumbled back, crushed a lampfalling and hit his head.
The room fell into shadows.
Liddy’s body was encased in cement, but hermind still worked. And her eyes – she could gape right, left, see Paul’sdarkened form lying feet away, dark blood near his head. She’d be paralyzed…forhow long? Under five minutes, they said.
She saw Paul stir.
Sasha was back in her painting.
Liddy fixed her frantic eyes on the deadgirl. Help me, she implored, but Sasha was back to gazing mournfully downat her. I died too, her eyes seemed to say. Liddy felt stinging tears ofdespair. Her mind strained at every muscle, fighting. How many minutes sincehe’d pressed that cloth to her face? More than one; two, probably. She didn’tknow, she was reeling. For long seconds, she gave up. Lay there, crying andscreaming inside. This couldn’t be happening - no, she’d been through too much;had struggled bravely through too much. She could breathe, at least, thoughshallowly. A great drug, really; it left you breathing and thinking, you justcouldn’t move.
Now she knew she was really gone, dead anddefeated because her sanity had let go, gone giddy-crazy with a sudden feelingof gratefulness because breathing really was something, wasn’t it? What anunderrated function! We ought to bow down every day and give thanks just forbreathing! Go around with smiley faces telling others to have a nice breathe! Shestruggled to pull in a deeper breath. Managed half way. Then did another, that timefeeling her shoulders raise ever so slightly to enable the best breath yet.
Her shoulders raised…? She tried thatagain, got resistance…then again with less resistance. Inhaled deep and hardwith something close to a gasp.
Just as Paul’s foot near her moved.
But she could move her foot, too! Whichstarted her heart racing in terrifying hope: she could move her foot and oh myGod twitch her fingers! It was wearing off…hurry. The phone. He’d thrownit, she hadn’t been able to hit that one pathetic, little life-saving buttonfor speed dial. The room was in near darkness. Where had he thrown it?
More cement gave way and she was able toroll over. Crawl. Inch her way toward the dim outline of door, having troublekeeping her head up, neck muscles still not cooperating. Her heart whammed. Shegot her hand out, out further; found the door. That clunk! when he threwit came from here, sounded like it hit the jamb, maybe ricocheted out. Her fingerswere working now, groping over wood floor, feeling through shadows. She crawledout to the darker hall.
A sound.
She heard him move in the studio, hit witha clink the lamp he’d knocked over.
He was up. The phone, the phone! Her fingersscrabbled. She could move better now; she just couldn’t see…too dark in thehall and he was coming after her, stumbling, toppling more things from thesound of it. Something crashed, then something else. She crawled faster to getaway – and her hand hit her phone. Oh dear God, saved maybe? She grasped it,her hands shaking in convulsive terror – and the phone slipped away again. Justinches away it skidded, she could see it glint-
Too late, he was on her, throwing himselfand half falling on her, growling, “Bitch…tried to destroy me…” but he wasdisoriented, one hand trying to get his acrid cloth back on her face, his otherhand crushing her throat, putting all his weight on her throat as she kicked, wrenchedaway, seized the phone back up into her fingers which groped in the dark and…
Paul screamed.
Liddy got her head around; gaped.
Above him, Sasha, a bright silver mist of withered-facedfury, an all-bones arm up and then down as she plunged the long scissors into hisback. Another, higher scream and he fell, face down, his back a spreading stainof dark centered by the glinting scissor rings.
Sasha looked at Liddy, her misted features changingfrom fury to peace, even something approaching a tragic smile. Then her silveryshape receded, disappeared.
Liddy lay gasping, blinking incredulously towardthe door. “Sasha,” she whispered feebly;
