THE MOMENT SHE HEARD THE click of the lock, Kristin was ready. She raced to the door, positioning herself behind it, so that when he opened it, there would be an element of surprise. Her heart was pounding, but she knew that if she didn’t seize the opportunity all would be lost.
She was filled with anger as she crouched in position. Anger would make her strong. Anger would help her gain her freedom.
Mister X pushed open the door.
She braced herself, holding the bed leg poised above her head—ready to smash him with it— ready to run.
Light flooded the dusty little room. He stepped inside.
For a moment she was paralyzed, unable to move or think. And then, as if in slow motion, she sprang forward, sideswiping the figure in black with all her might—hitting him as hard as she could with the wooden bed leg.
To her amazement he didn’t fall. In movies when you saw someone get hit they always fell. Instead he staggered, letting out a furious cry of surprise.
Before he had a chance to react further, she bashed him again.
This time he almost went down. His baseball cap fell to the ground, and his sunglasses hit the floor and cracked. Seizing her opportunity, she ran past him, through the door, out into the unknown, frantically trying to figure out the best way to freedom.
She found herself on a narrow, overgrown path. To her left, hundreds of feet below, was the ocean. Ahead of her there were steps hewn into the rock leading up to a big house perched high above.
The steps were her only way out. She raced toward them, concentrating on survival, not looking back.
As she reached the first step she could hear him behind her. He grabbed her leg. She kicked out blindly.
“Bitch!” he snarled.
“Leave me alone, you sick bastard!” she screamed, scrambling desperately up the hazardous steps.
He grabbed her again, this time getting hold of her makeshift dress. The sheet tore. Half naked, she continued to claw her way up, determined that he was not going to stop her. Nobody was. She was heading for freedom in every way—not just from this man, but this life.
“Don’t you get it?” he yelled. “I own you. I always have. You’re my whore. My very own personal whore.”
There was something about his voice . . . something she almost recognized. It wasn’t the Mister X voice, the disguised growl. This was the real man talking, and it was . . . Oh God, SHE KNEW WHO HE WAS!
For a moment she could barely breathe. Then, as if in a trance, she stopped climbing and turned around.
The monster was two steps behind her, baseball cap gone along with the dark glasses. A trickle of blood rolled slowly down the side of his face.
She stared into his eyes.
He knew she recognized him.
They were both still, like two big cats in the wild, watching each other, waiting to see who would pounce first.
“Okay,” he said at last. “So now you know. And there’s nothing you can do.” And he laughed, that self-loving cackle she remembered so well. “You and your dumb sister—you’re exactly alike,” he continued. “She was a whore, too. She didn’t deserve to live. Neither do you.”
In perfect slow motion she rose from her defensive position, brought her leg back and kicked out with such force that when her leg connected with his chest he had no chance to correct his balance.
He fell back, his hands clutching the air as he tumbled over himself twice, and then disappeared over the edge of the cliff with a long, bloodcurdling scream.
Kristin watched him fall, heard the sound of his body as it struck a tree on its way to the rocks and ocean below.
She wasn’t sorry. She had finally avenged her sister. And it felt completely satisfying, as if it was meant to be.
Howie Powers would never laugh at anyone again.