Laura Newman sat on the tile floor with her long chocolate legs bent sharply at the knees and her spine propped against a cabinet. She wore only a plain white T-shirt.
Laura cradled her abdomen with both hands; her stomach broiled. “Oh Lord,” she moaned. “What’s wrong with me?”
It was 6:18 A.M. Jolted awake, she’d just made it to the bathroom before the first purge.
Ten minutes elapsed. Feeling better, Laura stood and walked back into the bedroom. She slipped on a bathrobe. Knowing further sleep would be impossible, she decided to brew a cup of tea. If her stomach settled down, she’d jog along the beach after sunup.
This was the third morning her unsettled tummy had roused her. She suspected stress. The demands from work never ceased, but she’d learned to live with it.
Laura opened the bedroom door and walked down the second-floor hallway of the rented beach house. She flipped on a light switch, illuminating the stairway. When she reached the base of the stairs, her bare feet stepped into a pool of water that covered oak flooring. What’s this? Laura wondered.
She took a few more steps on her way to the kitchen.
Laura stood opposite a doorway that opened onto a concrete walkway; it led to the beach. Although the side door remained closed, the door frame’s splintered molding by the lock had not been that way when she went to bed.
Laura’s muscles locked; her heart galloped.
Oh God, no! He’s found me already.
Laura recovered enough to sidestep her dread. I’ve got to get out of here.
Laura was reaching for the side door’s handle, when she heard movement from behind. She started to turn when a damp, gloved hand clutched her mouth. An arm ensnared her waist.
Laura shrieked but her muffled cries went nowhere.