Stay

Stay - Prologue

Prologue

One foot in front of the other. Quietly.  She tensed at the staircase landing, slowly opening the door, praying to St. Jude or St. Anthony or whatever blessed fellow was the patron saint of hopeless causes.  Please do not squeak.  Please, please, please let someone have sprayed a can of WD -40 on the hinges of the heavy door.

She eased the door back, stepping onto the empty third floor.  Heavy plastic sheeting separated the space being renovated from the front of the third level.  The only light came from the office building across the street were the worker bees had forgotten to flick the switch before they trundled home.  If only one of them was working late she could have drawn their attention, but the windows showed empty offices. Goddamn, what had happened to the work ethic of  people?  No wonder the economy was in the toilet.

She scanned the floor, searching desperately for a place to hide from the madman who had hounded her into the building and up the stairs.  She moved across the floor, slipping between the sheeting, furtively seeking a spot to rest, take a breath, plan her next move.  Over there - one of those big, wheeled tool cases.  She looked over her shoulder as she moved through the drawers, looking for a weapon.  Something to smash the bastard's head in.

Thirty minutes ago her friend Christian had air kissed her cheeks, waving jauntily as he sashayed away  after their dinner at the new trendy restaurant in town. SImon knew all the hot spots.  At that time she would have called herself a pacifist. Now, as she felt the heft of the wrench in her hand, her mind fevered with a murderous rage.

Step one - weapon. Check. Step two - hiding place.  She ruled out the oversized rubbish bin.  If she was chasing soneone that would be the first place she would look.  Pile of lumber? Too open.  Against the wall rested several heating ducts, waiting to be inserted into the ceiling amidst the hanging wires and fuzzy pink insulation.

If she could manage to wiggle her ass backward into the opening - the very small opening - she saw as she peered into the tube, she may be able to escape detection. Down on her belly she wiggled backward into the duct.  If she crawled back farther he would not be able to see her.  That was the plan anyway.

It was so dark inside the duct.  She could barely make out her hand, clutching the wrench in front of her.       Tilting her head she strained her ears. Was that the door opening? A footstep?  Both.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are."

His voice caused the hair to stand up on the back of her neck and her arms.  She slowly forced herself to take a breath, worried that even an exhalation would draw her attention.  The rustle of the plastic sheeting moved her instintively farther into the tube.

The thump of his feet on the concrete indicated that his search had started on the far end of the floor.  Should she run? Make a break for the stairs?

A sharp nip on her toe through the opening of her knock-off Jimmy Choo sandals forced a yelp; too late, she covered her mouth as the rat ran over her shoulder and out through the front of the tube.  Terrific. If she lived to see tomorrow she would probably have rabies.  The speed of his footfalls told her he was running in her direction.

Tears fell, slaloming silently down her cheeks as she shook from a level of fear she had not felt since she was a child, convinced that the boogeyman hid in her closet.  Her mother had insisted the boogeyman was not real.  Unfortunately, her mother was wrong.

The ray of a flashlight flit across the floor. "Hey, sweetheart, you might as well come out. I always find you, no matter how smart you girls think you are."

Oh my God. He had done this before. Terroized. Taunted.  She knew what would happen if he caught her.   She could tell by the cocky lilt to his voice that he would not be setting her free.  She may not have been the first, but she swore she would be the last.

He was in front of the tube, his back to her, the flashlight sweeping back and forth.  She was surprised to see that he had on tapered dress pants and expensive Todd's loafers, identifiable by the distinctive knobs on the back of the heel.  Not some lumberiing construction worker, but a pantywaist as her Gramma would say. She could take him down. She WOULD take him down.

Exploding out of the tube, before second thoughts would freeze her action, she threw her arms around his ankles and her weight against his legs. He fell to his knees with a grunt, the flashlight rolling away, creating loops of light on the walls as it rolled.  He was on his hands and knees.

She wished she had on her soccer cleats, but her high heeled sandals would have to do. She drew her leg back and kicked him between the legs as if she was hoofing a ball to the back of the net. The air in his lungs whooshed out of him accompanied by a little squeak which gave her a visceral pleasure.

Time to run. HIs prone body was between her and the exit light she saw glowly eerily behind the plastic sheeting.  She cleared his body easily, but wobbled on her landing, her heels getting the best of her as she went down on one knee.  If she got out of this she swore she would never wear heels again - just Doc Martins like her punky roommate.  Fuck fashion,

His groans turned into a pant as he hissed, "you little bitch.  You'll pay for this."

She scrambled to her feet and pushed off toward freedom, just as his hand closed around her ankle like a talon, but even as she kicked  his strength drew her to him.

So close, she had been so close...