With the collar of my coat pulled up around my throat, I put my head down and walk briskly with a sense of purpose. My coat does little to keep me warm. I can’t help but wonder if I’m trembling because of the cold or if fear is intensifying the night air’s chilly bite against my skin. This one-block jaunt feels more like a mile. I’m seconds away from climbing the front steps of my apartment building when my worst fears are realized.
“Where ya goin’ in such a hurry? If you want to live, you better scurry, scurry, scurry!”
The thready, sing-song voice slithers through the night air, winding its way around my ankles, coiling around my neck, cutting off my breath. I freeze in place as a figure emerges from the shadows. His gray hoodie is pulled low, obscuring his features as he circles me slowly. But I’d know that creepy voice anywhere.
Shock dulls my reflexes and the split second of hesitation costs me dearly. I make a move to run, hoping to catch the doorman’s attention, but he’s away from his post and I’m too late. My attacker grabs me by the collar of my coat and slams me into the wall of my apartment building. The impact drops me to the sidewalk and I black out briefly. A pinching sensation in my neck elicits a moan from my dry throat. I try to shake my head to get my bearings, but my muscles won’t obey the frantic distress signals from my brain.
He grabs my ankles and drags me across the sidewalk toward the alley. My head bounces across the cracked and crumbling surface, my hair snagging on jagged chunks of concrete. I have to stop him. If he gets me to the alley, I’m as good as dead. But it’s no use. The onset of an excruciating headache is the last thing I remember before my world fades to black.
An excerpt from Cellar Door. Available on Amazon–Free on KU.
https://www.amazon.com/Suzanne-Steele/e/B00C9L6YRQ
©2018 Suzanne Steele
