by NANCY KILPATRICK
Robinson Publishing/Raven Books -- October 1996 - ISBN#
1-85487-446-2
Pumpkin Books - October 1998 - ISBN# 1-901914-14-3
Mosaic
Press - October 2003 - ISBN# 0-88962-820-3
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Excerpt Outside, a cold wind blew around Carol's legs. She pulled her beige spring coat closer--it was chillier in Bordeaux than she had thought it would be. This street had few cars and none of them were taxis. She thought about going back inside and phoning one, but then the lights of the restaurant went out and when she peered through the lace curtains she couldn't see anyone inside. A main street's only a block away and, no doubt, my police protection is still lurking, she assured herself. She turned into the wind, heading down the low hill towards the brighter lights. Even before reaching the corner, she heard a car behind. It was a taxi. She waved and the driver slowed. "The Royal Medoc," she told him, closing the door. He pulled away immediately. A little drunk from two glasses of wine and the liqueur, Carol rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. Instantly a vision of the attacker appeared on her eyelids so she opened her eyes briefly but then closed them again. The police had not taken her seriously, at least that part where she'd seen him bite the older man. She didn't even believe it herself. It WAS like something out of a horror movie. It didn't make sense and if somebody had told her they'd seen a man murdered like that, she would think they were either joking or crazy. The strong odor of cigar smoke interrupted her thoughts. She stared at the back of the driver's head wondering if he was the police guard. The streets she saw out the taxi window looked unfamiliar. He was taking a different route, less direct, to the hotel. She checked the meter. Already it read sixteen Francs and the whole ride should only cost eighteen. Obviously he was going the long way around to get more money out of her. "Excuse me," she said. The driver ignored her. "Look. I want you to go right to the hotel. By the Pont de Pierre, please." Still there was no response and she wondered if he spoke English. He didn't change direction. In fact, he sped up. Carol turned around. Out the rear window she watched the bright lights of the downtown on the other side of the river recede. She decided to jump out at the next stop sign. But the car raced along the right bank, the road dim with intermittent lighting. It had rained here and the streets and sidewalks were slick, the smell of ozone saturating the air. Carol saw no other vehicles on the desolate streets, and no pedestrians. "Stop the car, now! Let me out," she yelled, but the driver paid no attention. Suddenly she opened the door. They were driving so fast if she leaped out she knew she would would be hurt. But then he started to slow and she glanced up. Ahead a long silver limousine was parked by the water. A tall man stood beside it. Although she couldn't see him clearly, instinctively she knew he was the murderer. Carol hurled herself from the cab. She fell onto the street with a sickening thud, scraping both knees and bruising her left hip. But she wasn't worrying about the injuries. Instantly she clambered to her feet. The driver was out from behind the wheel and running towards her, as was the murderer. She turned, kicked off her high heels, and then raced into the night. The street was slick, making her slide, so she went along the rougher pavement. "Help! Someone help me!" she yelled. Behind she heard one pair of feet. She could either go along the waterfront or back behind the loading docks to the narrow buildings that looked like warehouses. She made a quick decision. Better to go between the buildings where she could hide or maybe find some help. She ran up a small street, turned down another, rounded a corner, trying to throw him off her trail. She paused to catch her breath and listen. The footsteps had either stopped too or she had lost him. She didn't want to risk making a mistake. Silently she edged her way along the wall of a stone building. A cat hissed nearby and her heart skipped a beat. There's an alley just ahead. Maybe I can hide there and he might not find me, she thought. She inched along, quickly glancing ahead and behind. Just before she turned the corner she checked both directions and exhaled slowly and silently, her breath clouding the air. She peered around the corner. The murderer was right in front of her, no more than a hundred feet. A little cry came from Carol as she retreated. She ran back the way she had come but at the last block before the waterfront turned left instead of right so she wouldn't end up at the car. Every street looked the same now, a maze of grey slickness, minimally illuminated, boxed in by buildings centuries old. She was out of breath, panting loudly, and in an effort to cover all directions tripped over rotting two-by-fours, gashing her foot on a nail, and then almost collided with a metal trash bin. She couldn't hear him but realized he was like a shadow, a mist, blending with the darkness. Yet at the same time he was solid, as stealthy as a jungle cat hunting prey, and could probably pick up her scent. He's playing with me, she thought, and the idea scared her. Carol tried to think clearly. She knew her only hope was to work her way out of this confusing area and back to a part of the city where there was life. She turned down a street that led into a wide courtyard. Off to the side she noticed an exit and headed there. But when she reached the turn off she was shocked--it was only a short indentation between buildings, bricked in, not a street at all. She had trapped herself in a cul de sac. Carol started to make her way back out but he was already coming towards her. Desperately she looked around. There were no walls low enough to scale, no street-level windows that weren't boarded up or grated over, no way out. She noticed a fire escape hanging against a building but felt it was too high to reach. She tried anyway, jumping up and falling short of the bottom rung by a foot. No rescurer was going to show up this time so she scanned the ground for weapons, prepared to fight. A few stones lay within reach and she scooped them up, pitching them at him overhand, like a baseball. He twisted out of the way. But now he was too near and she inched back, up against the sooty wall. She was gasping for air, shaking, but he wasn't even breathing hard. She side-stepped to a corner. He moved at an angle, his shadow blocking what light there was, so that her every direction of escape was cut off. And then he came towards her, his face thin, haggard, hungry-looking. Carol felt she wouldn't make it but tried to pass him anyway. He slammed her back against the bricks, still advancing. Instinct took over and she attacked, using moves she had practiced in a university akido class until they were automatic. Her knee jerked between his legs but his reaction was faster. Meanwhile her right hand made a fist, knuckles under and then corkscrewing up as she aimed for his solar plexes. He didn't even flinch. But before she knew what had happened, he caught her wrists, pinning them behind her back and pressing her into the corner so that she couldn't move. His hands were icy. "We meet again." His voice was smooth, confident, as though her maximum efforts had a minimum effect on him. "You wouldn't tell me your name. But it's Carol, isn't it? Carol Robins. Like the bird." "How do you know that?" She heard her voice quiver. "The police. I assume it's true, unless you're a liar." "Why would they tell?" she asked, as much to delay what seemed inevitable as out of curiosity. "I asked. Let's just say I have connections." He pulled her close. "Your blood should have been mine already, Carol." With one hand he held her wrists and with the other reached out to stroke her hair but she tilted her head away and glared at him. "Don't play games with me," she said angrily, and he looked surprised. "I know what you're capable of. If you're going to kill me, get it over with." He must have preceived a courage she didn't feel because he hesitated. "I'm used to my victims begging for their lives. If you're going to plead, now's the time." "I'm not going to plead. I doubt it would do any good." "Perceptive." He grabbed the back of her neck. Even through her thick hair his hand still felt unbelievably cold, sending a chill through her. As he looked in her eyes, she thought she saw traces of a grudging admiration. "There's something about you...," he said slowly. "You're brave, for a woman." He scanned her face and she could almost hear him weighing the possibilities in his mind. "It's been a long time since I've taken a woman. I've been bored. But you..." Even though she was afraid, the fear was taking a back seat to other emotions. She also felt angry and bitter. She'd had it with misfortune dragging itself out, pounding her down, crushing her spirit. If this is the end of my life, let's make it quick. I'm not interested in more suffering. She felt ferocious. She snapped her head around and clamped her teeth onto his wrist. He jerked his arm away before she drew blood. A look of total surprise crossed his face that instantly dissipated to black fury. But Carol didn't waste time studying it. She broke free and started running. But before she could get very far he tackled her. She hit the pavement face-first, wondering if her jaw was broken. Her head was spinning, ears ringing, when she heard him say, "If anybody does any biting here, it going to be me!" Then she was aware of being dragged out of the cul de sac and along the streets. Her feet scraping the rough concrete were cut and torn by pieces of glass and other debris. Finally they reached the limousine. He opened the door and shoved her inside then slammed the door closed. Through the tinted rear window she watched him walk away quickly. Immediately she tried one handle and then the other. Both doors were locked. Next she pounded on the opaque partition, trying to get the driver's attention. But if he was in there, he didn't respond. She picked up the phone and listened; it was dead. Eventually she calmed down enough that she began to feel the scrapes and wounds on her legs and feet, her bruised hip and the swelling at the corner of her mouth. She sucked in her lower lip and tasted blood. Her shoes, and purse which contained most of what would idenfity her except for her passport stored in the hotel safe, had been lost. In her coat pocket she found a couple of kleenex. Hands shaking she rolled her pantyhose off; her feet were a mess. Using saliva she cleaned up as much as was possible. And when the surface wounds had been looked after, Carol sat back waiting, trying to deal with the emotional damage. But while she waited she, too, weighed her options. To be continued... |
