Page 124 of Last Girls Alive
“The constant beat-down… constant neglect… all of it wasmyfault… My fault!”
Katie could tell from his fragmenting speech that his mind was rolling back to the beginning of it all.
He lifted a hand to regain his composure and quickly wipe the sweat from his eyes.
At that exact moment, Katie launched herself at him. He dropped his gun on impact and it skittered across the room and through a doorway opening.
Fifty
When Katie hit the floor, Jerry took most of the impact beneath her. He didn’t move, so she thought he was knocked out and lessened her grip on him. A mistake. That’s when he struck, flipping her over on her back and punching her stomach. The oxygen left her body and she heard herself gurgle, trying to catch her breath after it was knocked out of her.
Jerry pinned her down and wrapped his fingers around her throat. She watched his pupils dilate, turning his eyes to almost black like a demon. His glee was evident in his effort to strangle her to death. Katie fought to stay conscious, lights flashed in her peripheral vision, and the sheer pain from him trying to crush her windpipe—feeling her throat compress against her spine—was overwhelming. Her hands couldn’t overpower his around her throat.
Fighting to bring up her left leg, she finally managed to do so, kneeing him in the groin and stomach areas. He lessened his grip. She clasped her hands in a tight clenched prayer position and broke his arms away from her before managing to wiggle her body free. Jerry fell to the side, moaning and swearing. Without her gun or even her cell phone, she had no other choice but to run.
Staggering to get to a standing position, her head spinning, Katie fought the urge to fall down and sleep. Her exhaustion and lack of proper oxygen made her feel disconnected and weak. Her vision blurred.
Making it to the stairwell, she grabbed the railing for dear life. It was the only thing that held her upright so she squeezed her fingers tight, melding them onto the wrought iron.
A loud wild-animal snarl came from behind her and a moment later Jerry grabbed her and began pulling her back to the room.
“No!” she yelled, flailing her feet in the air. Remembering a tactic that one of her army trainers taught her, she pushed back hard as her boot caught the handrail. She continued pushing and managed to bring her feet over her head and come back down in a backward somersault.
Katie freed herself from him but had nowhere else to go except down the stairs. She hit them at full speed but missed the third step, causing her to tumble forward and stagger. She stopped herself about halfway down, trying to protect her head and neck. Fumbling for her footing, she was caught by Jerry again.
His continuing rage had turned him unpredictable, making him an impossible adversary to fight as his hand, fists, and feet caught her body endlessly. One more bash to Katie’s head, and Jerry managed to claw a fistful of her hair and slam her forehead into the handrail. She took a deep breath and was about to retaliate—
Everything went black.
Fifty-One
Drums pounded in Katie’s head. The intense throbbing was almost unbearable as she touched her forehead and felt something sticky. She didn’t need to see it or touch it; she knew it was blood, hot, viscous, slipping down her forehead.
She opened her eyes but saw nothing but blackness.
Leaning forward, at first she couldn’t see anything or feel anything. Then she felt a flat wall in front of her and a stair underneath her body. Why couldn’t she see it?
“Hello?” she said. Listening to the sound of her tinny echoing voice made her think of a long cavern, an endless abyss. She gulped down her fear.
Stairs, she thought. Her mind raced to figure out where she was as her memory cleared. Remembering what had happened came in bits and pieces. Jerry Weaver was not only psychologically damaged, but forever demented. He believed the girls of Elm Hill Mansion had used him. The result—they were going to pay with their lives.
She stood up slowly, not able to differentiate up or down due to dizziness. Stairs. No railing, just walls. She was in the secret staircase. Katie’s fuzzy feeling began to clear and she was able to think more clearly. At that moment, she knew that Shane was tied up in the closet and Jerry Weaver was the killer. With all the evidence they had discovered, she had missed this link. Someone who had been in foster care, someone who had been abandoned, and someone who picked his work to get closer to those who would understand him.
Katie needed to get to Shane. Hands flat against the wall, she made her way up as best she could. Slow, steady, and using her hands until she reached the top.
Thunder shook the house as if an earthquake rumbled through it.
Katie stood still, listening intently in the darkness.
It boomed again—this time the violent shake felt like a train had hit the house.
The house—in its fragile condition and ready for demolition—was going to come down one way or another. There was no other alternative.
Katie’s blood turned cold, her hands sweated, and a lump appeared in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. Her heart raced and her pulse thundered in her ears. No, she kept telling herself. She was not going to die alone beneath a pile of rubble. She hadn’t lived through what she had in the army and her police work to die trapped in a rotten old house. Katie began pounding on the walls and the door at the top of the stairs. “Hey! Can anyone hear me?!”
She continued pounding with her fists and when she grew tired, she kicked at the door with her boots.
Then… there was a soft sound. She heard a knock, once, twice, and then a third time.
