Damn, what the hell's gotten into you?
It was just nerves, she told herself. She switched the radio on and found some music. Traffic thinned over the next few miles. She was speeding without realizing it, pushing past seventy. Her exit came quickly. As she steered down the ramp, she considered a stop for gas at the station on the corner, then decided to keep going. She had enough to get home. She'd fill the tank in the morning, during daylight. Blessed daylight.
She was eager to get home, but she didn't speed. The traffic lights were synchronized. If she went too fast, she'd hit red lights. She held exactly at the limit and sailed right through each intersection.
Her house was on Carter Street, third from the end. Every house on the block was built in the 1950s and looked just about the same. Gabled roofs, clapboard siding. Some neighbors had distinguished their yards with impressive gardens of shrubs, rocks and flowers. Colleen barely found time to mow the lawn. As she pulled into the driveway, she wished she had taken the time to install that low-voltage landscape lighting that was so popular in her neighborhood. Her house was too dark. She hadn't even left a porch light on. Not a smart way to live with a serial killer on the prowl.
She opened her car door and headed up the rain-slick walk. Her house key was firmly in her grasp as she cut briskly through the chilly night air. Instinctively, she checked over her shoulder a couple of times, then climbed the stairs. It was crazy to think that with all the women in the Puget Sound area, she might be the killer's next victim. Why would a serial killer target an attractive, thirty-fiveyear-old woman who lived alone, came home every night at exactly the same time without an escort, and had no dog or alarm in her dark house?
Why wouldn't he?
Her hand shook as she inserted the key. The tumblers clicked. The lock disengaged. She pushed the door open and hurried inside. Her heart was racing. She didn't even take time to flip on the light before she threw the lock and hooked the chain back on the door. It was all in her mind, surely, but she'd felt she was being chased. She leaned against the door, relieved to be safely inside.
A floorboard creaked in the middle of the room. She turned, startled. She saw nothing in the darkness. She waited, listening. She heard nothing, but she was afraid to switch on the light. Slowly, her hand reached for the wall switch. She flipped it. The foyer lit up. Her eyes filled with fear. Standing right before her was a man in a black body suit, his face covered . By a ski mask. His arms extended outward, like an eagle about to pounce on its prey.
She was about to scream, but the man moved too quickly. A swift blow silenced her. His arms came together in a lightning-quick motion, palms open, slamming against her ears in a simultaneous blast to either side of the head. It took only an instant, but he seemed to move in slow motion. The stunning blow, the pop in her ears. It was louder and more violent in the left ear, the blow from his right hand. The deafening explosion knocked her nearly unconscious. She fell to the floor. Her vision was blurred. Her sense of balance was gone. She looked up, helpless. The man's mouth was moving, as if he were speaking, maybe even shouting. But she heard not a word. She heard absolutely nothing. Her hearing had been destroyed.
Her eardrums were ruptured.
In another quick motion she was pinned flat on her stomach, her attacker's knee squarely in her back. The pain in her ears worsened, leaving her too disoriented to resist. Her arms lay helpless at her side until he grabbed her by the wrists and cuffed her hands behind her back. Her body stiffened. She tried to scream but couldn't. She was unable to fight, yet she was strangely aware of everything that was happening to her. A nylon rope slipped over her head. A tightness gripped her throat. Her larynx was crushed, robbing her of speech. Her eardrums were shattered, so she couldn't hear.
Yet somewhere deep in her mind was the piercing sound of her futile screams.
Part Two
Chapter Fifteen.
Gus had been up most of the night trying to decide the best way to tell Morgan the truth. He didn't want to corner her in her room and ambush her into conversation. He'd wait patiently at the breakfast table until she came out. But she didn't come.
The doorbell rang around eight-thirty. It was Carla. She was Morgan's ride to school.
"I can take her," said Gus.
She gave her brother a knowing look. "She wants me. She called twenty minutes ago and said she didn't want to ride with you."
Gus shrank inside. No need to explain to Carla. She'd undoubtedly watched the news last night and probably believed every word of it.
Morgan walked straight from her bedroom to the front door, dressed and ready for school. She didn't even look at her father as she passed him.
"Morgan?" he called.
She stopped halfway down the steps, but she didn't turn around.