Page 27 of Fear of Flames
This wasn’t a nightmare.
It was real.
Someone was in her house—in her bedroom.
The gruff, unfamiliar voice came as putrid breath skirted her cheeks and neck. “Shut up, bitch.”
Michelle held her breath as her mind scrambled.
“Be a good girl. Don’t scream. Don’t say a word.”
The man’s words rattled through her thoughts.
“Who are you?” she tried to ask, but the movement of her lips intensified the sourness from his hand.
“I told you to shut the fuck up.”
She wouldn’t go down without a fight, kicking her feet and turning her head until she stopped due to a sensation. There was something sharp against her neck. Fear overtook panic and Michelle became stoically still.
He’s going to kill me?
“Don’t worry. You’re only going to sleep.”
Will I wake up?
What is he going to do to me?
These thoughts and more flooded her mind. She recalled something she’d learned about never allowing anyone to take you away. Being taken to a secondary location drastically decreased your chance of survival.
Michelle wanted to survive.
The needle prick didn’t come.
The gun. The one from her dad.
She shoved with the full force of her hands at the unmoving attacker. He cursed and released pressure on her lips as he simultaneously reached for her hands. He had an iron grip on her wrists. The other hand returned to her mouth.
The pillow shifted but not enough to see her attacker. In the darkness of her bedroom, Michelle silently prayed for strength. She recalled the sharp sensation. If he was holding her wrists and mouth, the sharp object wasn’t in his hands.
Although she tasted blood, she continued to fight—thrashing about.
The commotion continued as she struggled to get away from his hold. Grunts and curses competed with the racing circulation in her ears.
A second, then more. Five, six, seven, Michelle gasped for air.
The pressure on her wrists and against her mouth eased. Shadows moved as she scrambled for the gun. Knocking over her glass of water, she found the pistol.
Everything happened so fast.
The mattress of her bed sagged and moved. Blinking once and then twice, she hurried off the side of her bed, her body temperature plummeting. Straightening her arms, she held the gun with both hands.
“Stop,” she yelled toward the giant dark shadow. It was at that moment that she saw a man lying on her bed.
There were two.
Chapter
Thirteen
