night."
She eased through the doorway, shut the door. Flipped the dead bolt, then hooked the safety chain. Moving to the far side of the bed, she sat where she could look out the window, at all that open space, until she no longer had to work to keep her breath even.
Steadier, she went back to check the peep to make sure the hallway was clear before she pushed a chair against the door. Once she'd checked the locks again, and the sturdiness of the dresser blocking the door to the adjoining room, she got ready for bed. She set the alarm on the clock radio for five, then used her own travel alarm as a backup.
She updated her journal, then bargained with herself over how many lights she could leave burning through the night. It was her first night in a new place; she was entitled to leave the light on the desk burning, and the one in the bathroom. The bathroom didn't really count anyway. That was just for safety and convenience. She might have to get up in the middle of the night to pee.
She took her flashlight out of her knapsack, set it by the bed. There could be a power failure, caused by a fire. She wasn't the only one in the hotel, after all. Someone could fall asleep smoking in bed, or some kid could be playing with matches.
God knew.
The whole building could go up in flames at three a.m. for all she knew. Then she'd have to get out quickly. Having the flashlight close was just being prepared.
The little tickle in her chest made her think longingly of the sleeping pills in her bathroom kit. Those and the antidepressants, the antianx-iety medications were just a security blanket, she reminded herself. It had been months since she'd taken a sleeping pill, and she was tired enough tonight to sleep without help. Besides, if there was a fire and power failure, she'd be groggy and slow. End up burning to death or dying of smoke inhalation.
And the idea of that had her sitting on the side of the bed with her head in her hands cursing herself for having an overactive and foolish imagination.
"Just stop it, Recce. Stop it now and go to bed. You've got to get up early and perform basic functions like a normal human being."
She made one more round with the locks before getting into bed. She lay very still, listening to her heart thud, listening for sounds from the next room, from the hallway, from outside the window.
Safe, she told herself. She was perfectly safe. There wasn't going to be a fire. A bomb wasn't going to explode. No one was going to break into her room to murder her in her sleep.
The sky was not going to tall.
But she kept the TV on low and used the old black-and-white melodrama to lull her to sleep.
THE PAIN WAS so shocking, so vicious, she couldn't scream over it. The black, the anvil of black plummeted onto her chest to trap her. It crushed her lungs so she couldn't breathe, couldn't move. The hammer beat on that anvil, pounding her head, her chest, slamming, slamming down on her. She tried to gasp for air, but the pain was too much, and the tear was beyond even the pain.
They were out there, outside in the dark. She could hear them, hear the glass shattering, the explosions. And worse, the screaming.
Worse than the screaming, the laughing.
Ginny? Ginny?
No, no. don't cry out. don't make a sound. Better to die here in the dark than for them to find her. But they were coming, they were coming for her, and she couldn't hold back the whimpers, couldn't stop her teeth from chattering.
The sudden light was blinding, and the wild screams that burst in her head came out as feral growls.
"We've got a live one."
And she slapped and kicked weakly at hands that reached for her.
Woke in a sweat, with those growls in her throat as she grabbed for the flashlight and gripped it like a weapon.
Was someone there? Someone at the door? At the window?
She sat shivering, shaking, ears straining for any sound.
An hour later, when her alarms beeped, she was sitting up in bed, the flashlight still in her hand,
She eased through the doorway, shut the door. Flipped the dead bolt, then hooked the safety chain. Moving to the far side of the bed, she sat where she could look out the window, at all that open space, until she no longer had to work to keep her breath even.
Steadier, she went back to check the peep to make sure the hallway was clear before she pushed a chair against the door. Once she'd checked the locks again, and the sturdiness of the dresser blocking the door to the adjoining room, she got ready for bed. She set the alarm on the clock radio for five, then used her own travel alarm as a backup.
She updated her journal, then bargained with herself over how many lights she could leave burning through the night. It was her first night in a new place; she was entitled to leave the light on the desk burning, and the one in the bathroom. The bathroom didn't really count anyway. That was just for safety and convenience. She might have to get up in the middle of the night to pee.
She took her flashlight out of her knapsack, set it by the bed. There could be a power failure, caused by a fire. She wasn't the only one in the hotel, after all. Someone could fall asleep smoking in bed, or some kid could be playing with matches.
God knew.
The whole building could go up in flames at three a.m. for all she knew. Then she'd have to get out quickly. Having the flashlight close was just being prepared.
The little tickle in her chest made her think longingly of the sleeping pills in her bathroom kit. Those and the antidepressants, the antianx-iety medications were just a security blanket, she reminded herself. It had been months since she'd taken a sleeping pill, and she was tired enough tonight to sleep without help. Besides, if there was a fire and power failure, she'd be groggy and slow. End up burning to death or dying of smoke inhalation.
And the idea of that had her sitting on the side of the bed with her head in her hands cursing herself for having an overactive and foolish imagination.
"Just stop it, Recce. Stop it now and go to bed. You've got to get up early and perform basic functions like a normal human being."
She made one more round with the locks before getting into bed. She lay very still, listening to her heart thud, listening for sounds from the next room, from the hallway, from outside the window.
Safe, she told herself. She was perfectly safe. There wasn't going to be a fire. A bomb wasn't going to explode. No one was going to break into her room to murder her in her sleep.
The sky was not going to tall.
But she kept the TV on low and used the old black-and-white melodrama to lull her to sleep.
THE PAIN WAS so shocking, so vicious, she couldn't scream over it. The black, the anvil of black plummeted onto her chest to trap her. It crushed her lungs so she couldn't breathe, couldn't move. The hammer beat on that anvil, pounding her head, her chest, slamming, slamming down on her. She tried to gasp for air, but the pain was too much, and the tear was beyond even the pain.
They were out there, outside in the dark. She could hear them, hear the glass shattering, the explosions. And worse, the screaming.
Worse than the screaming, the laughing.
Ginny? Ginny?
No, no. don't cry out. don't make a sound. Better to die here in the dark than for them to find her. But they were coming, they were coming for her, and she couldn't hold back the whimpers, couldn't stop her teeth from chattering.
The sudden light was blinding, and the wild screams that burst in her head came out as feral growls.
"We've got a live one."
And she slapped and kicked weakly at hands that reached for her.
Woke in a sweat, with those growls in her throat as she grabbed for the flashlight and gripped it like a weapon.
Was someone there? Someone at the door? At the window?
She sat shivering, shaking, ears straining for any sound.
An hour later, when her alarms beeped, she was sitting up in bed, the flashlight still in her hand,
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