Friday, September 18, 2009

Something was wrong. . .

This one took me a while to write, but I finally did write a response to the writing prompt: Something was wrong. . .

What do ya think? What do you think should happen next? Let me know by leaving a comment

Something was wrong. . .

Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong when she slid her key in the knob and the door opened inward with a metallic squeak. Jane released the keys and jerked her hand back. The door was unlocked. Had she left the door unsecured? Jane’s heart beat a fast rap against her ribs.

Biting down on her lower lip, Jane removed the key from the lock and pressing two fingers on the wood, inched the door open wider. When the door was open far enough for her to see no one and for her to enter, she dropped her hand to her side.

Should she go inside? Fear and logic told Jane she should go back to her car, locate her cell phone, and call the police. What if she had left the door ajar? She cringed, thinking how embarrassed she would be if the police showed up and found nothing. They would find no robber, no vandalism, nothing, but her blonde flakiness. Jane shook her head. No way would she take that risk.

Jane steeled herself against the unknown, and grasping her keys in a tight fist, she crossed the threshold into the inky abyss of her storage room. Standing in the open doorway, Jane blinked several times and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She wished whoever built the building had put the light switch near the door instead of at the other end of the unlit hall, as far away from the door as possible. The muffled sound of her own blood rushing through her veins rang in her ears, making her a little woozy. Holding steady, she took a deep breath in then exhaled. Two more times and the foghorn in her ears cleared.

She listened, and hearing nothing, stepped further into the room. Was her imagination on overdrive or could there have been an intruder? Oh my gosh! Jane froze, her feet skidding to a halt on the marble tiled floor. What if a burglar were still here? The thought had a lump of fear knotting in her throat, threatening to cut off her flow of oxygen. Her heart hammered as she plastered herself tight against one wall, the stucco scratching her palm and digging into her backside as she attempted to make herself as small as possible.

Move or don’t move? Could she play statue as she had when she was a kid? Maybe she could close her eyes and will herself invisible. No. Her breathing was so rapid, her chest heaved in and out as a bellow would when fanning a fire. Jane swallowed the lump in her throat and commanded her heart rate to slow. Breathe, she mentally chanted.

Deciding she had let her mind play tricks on her and that she was acting ridiculous, Jane pushed away from the wall. On less shaky knees, and with more bravado than she felt, she jerked her heavy pocket book up on her shoulder ad stalked toward the tiny, red glow of the light switch.

“Only ten feet,” she muttered.

When she reached the end of the hall, Jane blew out a heavy sigh of relief. A small bubble of hysteria escaped her lips as she reached for the radiant lever on the switch.

A hand snaked out and grasped her by the throat. His fingers clutched as he shoved Jane against the wall. Her head hit the stucco with enough force a picture crashed to the floor. She tried to scream but only dry air with no sound came out.

Her vision blurred and fuzzy stars danced in her eyes. The fingers gripping her windpipe squeezed and strangled. Jane scratched at the vice-like talons. Air. She needed air. Please, please. She did not want to die like this, not knowing why or who.

Her nails dug in and she raked them across the hand. The man swore and she felt the foul odor of his breath hit her full in the face, but the hand that choked her loosened and Jane gasped for air. “Wh –” She struggled for breath. “Who – ” Who are you? she wanted to scream, but the hand tightened on her trachea.

No! Jane screeched inside her head. No! She kicked, twisted.

“No you don’t, you little whore,” the intruder whispered in her ear pressing his body hard against hers then running his tongue along her ear. His other hand grabbed her breast, pinched her nipple, and gave it a sharp tug.

Oh, no! He was going to rape her!

Did I leave you hanging?


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