no one cared and neither did she. She ran out the back exit, toward the open field that led to the bay she’d seen from the window. The rain soaked her before she’d gone twenty feet.
She laughed and spun around. She didn’t know how long she danced alone, drenched but giddy. All she knew was that
She tripped, caught herself, then stopped and looked around. She didn’t hear the music anymore; the lights were way far away. And she was freezing.
How long had she been standing in the rain? Her short hair was plastered to her head and she was shaking so violently her teeth chattered.
Her vision blurred, but she stared at the lights until the building came more into focus. Wow, she’d run a long way! Hugging herself, she headed back and hoped Becca hadn’t left. She wouldn’t do that to her, would she? Make her walk to the subway alone?
Now she heard it. The party was still going full blast. She had sobered up some, and had a headache and a nasty taste in her mouth. She was starving. She hoped she could find Becca and they could head back to their apartment in Brooklyn, hitting an all-night diner on the way.
She passed a bulldozer that had been stripped of everything but the metal body. The music got louder; she was close. How foolish she’d been to run outside, alone, in the rain! What drugs had she taken? Her mouth was so parched, all she wanted was to drain an entire water bottle. She stopped walking and tilted her head up, opening her mouth to quench her thirst.
Sierra felt something on her forehead and put her hand up thinking it was a bird, but that was silly in this weather. Then the rain stopped, because no more water was falling into her mouth. Something was on her face, and she realized with panic that a plastic bag had been pulled over her head.
She stumbled back, trying to grab the bag that was wrapped around her neck. She bumped up against someone and opened her mouth to scream. She stayed silent; she had no air. Hands flailing, she tried again to grab the plastic around her neck, but it was slick and wet and smooth and she couldn’t get a grip. She scratched herself, then thought,
She clawed at it, but it would not break. Her eyes were open, but she couldn’t see. Was she already dead? So dark, no air, she reached behind her and touched a raincoat, tried to pull it, but her fingers couldn’t hold on to anything so slick. She was cold and hot at the same time, and she couldn’t breathe.
Someone was standing right behind her! Touching her. Holding her. Holding the plastic over her head.
Her chest burned as her heart raced, faster, faster, using the last of the oxygen in her body. The carbon dioxide her body created couldn’t be expelled, and it poisoned her. Her blood burned. She’d been so cold before; now she was combustible.
In her panic, she had one clear thought.
Against all instincts, she fell to her knees and relaxed her body.
“Good try, but I know that game,” a harsh voice whispered in her ear, distorted through the plastic.
The bag pulled tighter. Sierra fought, adrenaline surging even as her consciousness began to fade. She tried to turn around, to face her attacker, to push back, anything to loosen the hold on her. Her neck rubbed painfully against the edge of the plastic, but that was minor compared to the pain in her chest as carbon dioxide filled her lungs and flowed through her bloodstream. She half turned, fighting for her life, knowing this was her last chance. She pushed, and kicked and hit something while she tumbled down, arms reaching out for someone to save her. She grabbed on to something and pulled; her attacker grunted.
“Fucking bitch!”
A sharp pain stabbed her head as she hit the ground; then she was numb; then she felt nothing.
A full two minutes later, the killer yanked off the plastic bag, removed one of Sierra’s shoes, and slowly walked away.
TWENTY-FIVE
Sean heard Lucy cry out at the same time something hit his chest. Waking instantly, he reached for his gun on the nightstand, but quickly realized there was no intruder.
Lucy was writhing next to him, her hands swatting the air in front of her, eyes squeezed closed. She hit him again, and he switched on the hotel room’s light. His heart raced, but he spoke calmly. “Lucy. Lucy, wake up.”
Was he not supposed to wake someone in a nightmare? He didn’t know, but he couldn’t let her remain in this terrified state. Sweat coated her face, but her skin was ice cold. Every muscle was coiled; she was in full panic.
“Lucy! It’s Sean! I’m right here.” He spoke right in her face, hoping she would hear him through whatever torment she was suffering. He desperately needed to break her out of her dream.
Suddenly, she jumped out of the bed and backed against the wall, eyes wild, clearly not remembering where she was.
He leapt over the bed and stood in front of her, palms up, wanting to hold her but fearing that if he touched her she’d scream. “Lucy, it’s me. It’s Sean. You’re safe.”
At first, she didn’t see him. The fear in her eyes was as real as if she were at that moment facing an attacker. Then her eyes widened in recognition and her lips trembled. She threw her arms around his neck, tears running down her cheeks as her body shook in silent sobs.
He picked her up and carried her to the couch on the other side of the suite. He sat with her in his lap and she gripped him tightly. “Don’t let go. Don’t let go,” she repeated.
“Never.” He rocked her until at last her body began to relax. Her heart was beating so hard he thought he could hear it. Or was that his? He kissed the top of her head. “I’m right here, Lucy. You’re safe. You’re safe,” he repeated, as much for himself as for her.
Her breathing evened out as he held her. He didn’t know how long he sat with Lucy cradled in his lap, holding her, stroking her hair, still damp from her panic, rubbing her back, not thinking. He couldn’t think about anything. He just needed to touch Lucy. Every nerve in his body was raw with grief-coated anger from seeing the raw terror on Lucy’s face in the moment between sleep and waking.
He thought she might have fallen back to sleep, but when he shifted position, she sighed and nuzzled his chest, her knees drawing up. He kissed her forehead and realized she was cold.
He started to get up but she said, “Don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere. You’re freezing; I want to get you warm.”
Sean carried her to bed, then lay down next to her and pulled the blankets around her. He reached over and turned off the light, hoping he could hold her until her heart rate returned to normal, until she fell into a dreamless sleep in his arms. He would cling to her the rest of the night, protecting her from her fears. His heart still pounded.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He continued to touch her, as if to assure himself that she was safe. Her face burrowed into his neck, and he kissed her forehead. “How long?”
She didn’t say anything and he thought she wasn’t going to answer.
“Lucy?”
“They went away for a long time. But the last couple weeks …” Her voice trailed off.
Sean bit back a profanity that Lucy didn’t need to hear right now. Five weeks ago, her past had confronted her again when her rapist had been found shot to death only miles from her house. Why didn’t he see that she was in pain, even now?
“It’s not every night,” she added.
“Even once is too often.” He kissed her forehead again, and adjusted her into the nook of his arm. Her body curved against his. Her feet were cold. He pulled one of them between his calves to warm it.
Sean wanted to sleep in Lucy’s bed every night. He wanted to protect her from dangers real and imagined and remembered. He wanted to hold her close, to make love to her, or just listen to her breathe in peaceful sleep.
