No one said anything.
They got back to the house forty-five minutes later. It was late,
and everyone was hyped. Adam said, as he shrugged into his jacket,
rechecked his pistol, “I’m going to take one of the first watches.”
“Get me up at three o’clock,” Savich said.
“I’m outta here,” Adam said. He looked over at Becca, saw that
she was white-faced and couldn’t help himself. He walked to her
and pulled her tight against him. He said against her hair, “Sleep
well and don’t worry. We’re going to get him.”
Becca didn’t think she’d be able to slow her heart down enough
even to consider sleeping, but she did, deeply and dreamlessly, until
she felt a strange jab in her left arm, just above her elbow, like a
mosquito bite. She jerked awake, her heart pounding wildly, and
she couldn’t breathe, just pant and jerk. She was blind, no, it was
just dark, very dark, the blinds drawn because nobody wanted him
to be able to see into the house. She saw a shadowy figure standing
over her, gray, indistinct, and she whispered,”What is this? Is it you,
Adam? What did you do–?” But he said nothing, merely leaned
closer and finally, when her heart was slowing just a bit, he whispered
right against her face, “I came for you, Rebecca, just like I
said I would,” and he licked her cheek.
“No,” she said. “No.” Then she fell back, wondering what the
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silver light was shining just over her face. It seemed to arc toward
her, a skinny silver flash, but then it just wasn’t important. A small
flashlight, she thought as she breathed in very deeply, more deeply
than usual for her, and eased into a soft warm blackness that relaxed
her mind and body, and she didn’t know anything more.
Chapter 1 9
Her heart beat slow, regular strokes, one after the other, easy,
steady, no fright registering in her body. She felt calm, relaxed. She
opened her eyes. It was black, no shadows, no hint of movement,
just relentless, motionless black. She was swamped with the black,
but she forced herself to draw in a deep breath. Her heart wasn’t
pumping out of her chest now. She still felt relaxed, too relaxed,
with no fear grinding through her, at least not yet, but she knew
she should be afraid. She was in darkness and he was close by. She
knew it, but still she breathed steadily, evenly, waiting, but not
afraid. Well, perhaps there was just a tincture of fear, indistinct, nibbling
at the edges of her mind. She frowned, and it slipped away.
Odd how she remembered perfectly everything that had happened:
the jab in her left arm, the instant terror, she remembered all
of it–him licking her cheek–with no mental fuzz cloaking the
memories.
The nibblings of fear became more focused now, she could
nearly grasp it. Her heart speeded up. She blinked, willing herself
to know fear, then to control it.
He had gotten her. Somehow he’d gotten into the house, past
the guards, and he’d gotten her.
There was suddenly a wispy light, the smell of smoke. He’d lit a
candle. He wasn’t close by now, he was here, just inches from her.
She calmed the building fear, it was hard, probably the hardest thing
she’d ever had to do, but she knew she had to. She remembered,
very suddenly, her mother telling her once that fear was what hurt
you because it froze you. “Don’t ever give up,” her mother had told
her. “Never give up.” Then her mother had gripped her shoulders
and said it one more time: “Never give up.”
It was so clear in her mind in that moment, her mother standing
over her telling her this. She could even feel her mother’s fingers
hard on her shoulders. Odd that she couldn’t remember what
had happened to make her mother tell her this.
“Where are we?”
Was that her voice, all calm and indifferent?Yes, she’d managed it.
“Hello, Rebecca. I came for you, just like I said I would.”
“Please,” she said, and then she laughed, choked, “please don’t
lick my cheek again. That was really creepy.”