Race Against Time. Christy Barritt

pretty face and imagined the horrors that might be going on inside. Adrenaline surged in him. He backed up and, on the count of three, charged forward. His shoulder impacted with the door. Wood split, cracked, then crashed.

       The foyer stood before him. Dust and wood particles settled to the tile floor. Then an eerie quiet filled the space.

       “Hello? Anyone home?” Brody stepped over the door, his ears attuned for any telltale signs. Bat in hand, he peered around the corner into the hallway.

       A shadow passed by a door in the distance.

       Sucking in a deep breath, he braced himself for whatever was to come.

      * * *

       Blurry. Fuzzy. Jumbled.

       The drugs—whatever the masked man had injected into her—caused Madison’s thoughts to swirl. Fight it, Madison. Fight it. She couldn’t let herself fall into unconsciousness. The rope around her neck would choke her if she did. She had to resist the urge to close her eyes. Fight death. Fight for life.

       Her head bobbed forward and the rope dug into her neck. She jerked back. Gulped in a breath.

      Lord, give me strength.

       But her limbs felt like gelatin. The stool she stood on wobbled. The man who wanted her dead would return and finish his cruel game.

       A moan escaped her, the sound guttural, desperate.

       Her head fell forward again. She gagged. Pulled her head back. Gasped for air.

      Lincoln. She blinked, trying to find focus. She had to fight this for him. The boy couldn’t lose two parents before he reached the age of five. Tears pricked her eyes as her son’s sweet face flashed in her mind. She needed to be there for him, to comfort him when he got hurt, to tuck him into bed at night.

       Her tears made breathing hard. She couldn’t let herself fall into despair. She had to stay strong.

       But how long could she stand here? How long before the drugs kicked in and knocked her out completely? Was there any hope of surviving?

       Her eyes darted around the room. Where had the man gone? And had she heard a crash or imagined it? What was the madman planning next?

       Her head dipped. Her airway constricted.

       Not much longer.

       She jerked her head back, fighting to stay lucid. But tiredness closed in on her.

       A figure appeared in the doorway. Not again. What would her attacker do this time? She cried out, tried to back up. The rope tightened around her neck.

       “It’s just me.” The man rushed toward her.

       Madison blinked. Her neighbor? Or was this a hallucination? Maybe she’d already drifted into an unconscious state and the drugs were playing tricks on her mind.

       “Madison.” He muttered the word. His arms encircled her waist and raised her up. She gulped in breaths, thankful for relief.

       But her relief was short-lived. Her head whirled. Blackness closed in on her.

       “Don’t fade now. I’m going to get you down. Do you hear me?”

       She nodded, but it was already too late. Everything went dark.

      TWO

      The nightmare from Brody’s past flooded his mind, making nausea roil in his stomach. Horrifying images and intense emotions flashed through him, each one feeling like a sock in the gut. He blanched before pushing the thoughts away. No time to dwell on that now. If he didn’t act quickly a woman could die in his arms.

       His gaze searched the room. He had to find something to cut his neighbor down from the ceiling. But if he released her to search for a knife, she’d choke.

       His heart racing, he continued searching with his eyes, looking for something…anything.

       Nothing. Just some clothes on the dresser. A hair brush. Shoes. Pillows. Typical bedroom items.

      Think, Brody. Think.

       His muscles strained. The woman was a deadweight in his arms. She’d lost consciousness and it was only a matter of time before she lost her life.

       Adrenaline surged through him. Not again.

       He looked at the ceiling fan that held the rope and made a split-second decision. Still holding Madison with one arm, he grabbed the fan’s motor. Using all of his strength, he jerked down on the device.

       The ceiling cracked.

       He gripped the motor tighter and, yanking up his legs, let his weight do the rest of the job. The entire fan tumbled to the floor, himself and Madison with it. He didn’t bother to brush off the plaster that covered them. Instead he grabbed the rope around his neighbor’s neck. He pulled the noose until it widened enough to jerk it off. Then he went to work on the ties around her wrists.

       She lay limp in his arms. He did a quick examination. Red, raw skin surrounded her neck. Torn shirt. Bleeding forehead. But she was breathing. Thank goodness she was breathing.

       Any minute now an ambulance and the sheriff should be here. He’d grabbed a phone from a table in the foyer and hit 911 before proceeding down the hallway.

       He gently shook the woman. “Madison? Madison? Can you hear me?”

       She moaned.

       What exactly had happened in here? Had the woman—who had seemed mild mannered enough—flown into a rage before deciding to end her own life? Could that be what the sounds were that he’d heard? It was the only explanation that made sense.

       Sirens sounded in the distance.

       “Help’s coming,” he whispered, pushing the woman’s hair back from her face. “Help is coming.”

       He only hoped they’d get here fast enough.

      * * *

       Brody paced the hospital hallway, waiting for the doctor to give him the go-ahead to speak with his neighbor about what had happened. The rubber soles of his athletic shoes squeaked against the shiny linoleum floor, the noise offset by the sound of machines beeping and nurses murmuring and a lunch cart rattling.

       He couldn’t get the image of Madison hanging by a rope attached to the ceiling fan out of his mind.

       It reminded him so much of Lindsey…

       He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t go there. He had to ignore the memories that slammed into his mind with enough force that an ache began to throb at the back of his head.

       Instead, he replayed the events from today. What would drive a woman with a small son to try and commit suicide? He knew her husband had died in an auto accident a few years ago. His cousin had told him that much. Had Madison, who always seemed so pleasant and warm, decided she couldn’t take it anymore? He would never have guessed her to be the type, but he’d also learned in his years as a detective that you never knew what went on behind closed doors. The most put-together person could in reality be a total mess, just be a master at disguising it.

       Something nagged at Brody. Though it appeared his neighbor had tried to commit suicide, something felt wrong. He remembered the noise he’d heard as he jogged outside her home. It almost sounded as if she was being attacked. The noise must have been coming from Madison, though, because there was no evidence to suggest foul play.

       “Detective Philips?” The nurse behind the counter called him. He could tell by her gaze that she found him attractive. He knew enough to be able to read that from her wide smile and doelike eyes.

       He stepped forward. “Yes?”

       She dangled the phone toward him. “The sheriff wants to speak to you.”

       He crossed the hall and took the phone, giving the nurse a brief smile. “Detective Philips here.”