on the mantra the psychologist had helped her create at her last appointment. “I am safe.” She paused, focusing on what she’d just said before moving on to the next affirmation. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.” She concentrated on drawing air into her lungs, too, this time. “Because I won’t allow it to happen. Because I am in control.”
Logically, Katie recognized that she had nothing to fear. That there was no one out to get her. But panic attacks weren’t based in logic.
“I am safe. Nothing’s going to happen to me,” she repeated until slowly, her breathing returned to normal, and she managed to release her hold on the sack. It took nearly another minute before she could make herself move from in front of the door.
As she did, she glanced into the living room and immediately froze. The front drapes were drawn. Had she left this morning without opening them? Had the fact that they were closed registered subconsciously? Was that all it had taken to set off the attack?
Then she spotted the envelope propped on the mantel. Her landlord. She should have known he’d show up when she wasn’t around. He’d done the same with the bad plug in the bathroom. He’d come while she was at work. When she’d come home that night, she’d found his pliers on her unmade bed.
The next day she’d purchased and installed chains on all the doors. She couldn’t keep him out when she wasn’t here, but she damn well wasn’t going to have to worry about him walking in on her.
She ripped the envelope down and removed the note inside.
YOUR LEASE REQUIRES YOU TO GET WRITTEN APPROVAL BEFORE MAKING ANY CHANGES TO THE PROPERTY!!
KITCHEN LEAK WILL REQUIRE A FEW PARTS. BE BACK NEXT WEEK. PLEASE KEEP DRAPES DRAWN DURING DAY AND THERMOSTAT OFF UNLESS YOU’RE HOME.
ELECTRICITY IS EXPENSIVE!
Irritated, she tossed it down. Did he really consider the door chains a change to the property? That was one thing she wouldn’t miss when she moved. Her landlord. He really creeped her out at times.
When she turned on the lamp at the end of the sofa, she noticed just how dusty the table was. After using her hand to clear the worst of it, she examined the other pieces of furniture. Two equally hideous reproduction side chairs from different Louis eras flanked the drab olive sofa, one end of which had become the depository for her collection of art catalogues.
She hadn’t had anyone over since she’d moved in, so hadn’t given much thought to how ugly the room was.
Either she could straighten up the room, or she could take a quick shower. Suspecting her date would be more impressed with a female who didn’t smell like a diner—grease and raw eggs—she headed for the kitchen.
Katie jumped when the kitchen wall phone rang as she walked past. Considering how few people had her number, it would have to be her parents. If she answered it, there would be no shower. With each unanswered ring, her guilt-index crept higher, until finally she hung the dry cleaning on a hook just inside the door and reached for the phone. Just as the ringing stopped.
Relief rolled over her. She’d tried, right? And she could just call her folks later. With the time difference, they’d still be up when she got home.
Enough light followed her from the living room into the kitchen that she didn’t bother to turn on the overhead light in the small room. The curtains for the window over the sink were in the washing machine, and she didn’t like the idea that anyone could stand outside and watch her movements.
After quickly unloading groceries onto the green-tiled counter, she grabbed a plate for the cheese and crackers. The soft tap of water against the sink bottom forced her to cross to the kitchen sink. Darn drip. If anything, it was worse.
She set the wine bottle on the counter and gave the faucet handle a hard turn. Leave it to her landlord to be so darned eager to conserve electricity while wasting water.
Behind her, the floorboard creaked. The old flooring under her feet gave slightly. Her lungs tightened as with sudden clarity, she realized she wasn’t alone. Worse, that she hadn’t been alone from the moment she’d walked in tonight.
Don’t panic. Think. The last thing she needed was to be frozen with terror. She’d taken a self-defense course. She knew what to do. Flee if possible. If that wasn’t an option…
“Lousy faucet,” she said softly, pretending to try it again. What did the intruder want? Not money. If he’d wanted cash, he’d have already taken it from her jewelry box. He wouldn’t be standing behind her now.
The hairs at the back of her neck stood out, and her back muscles, even her abdominals, clenched in fear.
From the corner of her eye, she glanced at the back door. Too far. She’d never make it. She looked out the window over the sink. Toward her closest neighbor’s house. The light in their side yard was barely visible through the trees. They wouldn’t hear or see anything.
And then she saw the silhouette in the glass. A large man. Moving toward her.
Still twisting the faucet handle with her right hand, Katie reached for the drawer to the left of the sink, the one where she kept knives. She slid it open and stuck her hand inside. She could feel the cool, solid hardness of the bone handle. She could do this. She had to do this. She had to protect herself.
An arm suddenly smashed across her ribs as a second locked around her throat. She was hauled backward. The drawer came with her, but the edge of the cabinet caught the knife and ripped it from her fingers.
Knives and ladles and spatulas clattered across the oak floor like pickup sticks in a deadly game. At the last moment, she grabbed for the wine bottle but only managed to knock it over. As it hit the floor, it exploded. A chunk of flying glass clipped her shin and warm wine splattered her legs.
Katie brought her heel down hard, but she was wearing soft soles. Her attacker shifted just enough to deflect the blow. Utensils clanked. Kicking them aside, the man lifted her off the ground, his muscular arm driving the air from her lungs. He swung her toward the hall doorway. Pain exploded as her kneecap slammed into the oak jamb. The blow dislodged the wall phone’s handset and it crashed toward the floor, and then leaped upward like a bungee jumper.
Glass ground beneath his boots, chewing the wood floor.
“No!” Katie latched on to the door trim.
Her fingernails bent backward, separating from their beds. She lost her hold. She jammed her elbow into his ribs. He barely flinched. She grabbed his ear, the only vulnerable area she could reach, and dug in her nails.
Grunting, the man slammed her headfirst against the hall wall and pinned her there. With her head turned to the side and canted upward at an angle, movement was impossible. His heavy body continued to press in on her from behind. And still she hung on to his ear, knowing that if she let go, he’d kill her.
It was then she smelled the candle wax. Shifting her gaze toward her barely opened bedroom door, she saw the candlelight playing across the scuffed hall floor.
How long had this man been here—in her house—preparing for what he was going to do to her? The horror of what was about to happen forced the last of the air from her lungs.
He leaned in harder. She felt the vertebrae of her neck strain.
She
