In a Heartbeat. Rita Herron

go back to Atlanta?”

      “Yes.”

      A breathy quiver followed his reply, then she whispered, “I…I’m sorry, Brad.”

      He scraped a hand through his hair, the sweat-coated strands sticking to his fingers. God, why was she apologizing? She had every right to hate him. “Don’t, Lisa, it’s all right. I shouldn’t have come—”

      “No,” she said, her voice stronger, “you obviously care about this woman, she’s missing… I…I’ll help you if I can.”

      He heard her insinuations. She thought he and Mindy were involved. He should correct her. But why bother? He did care about saving Mindy. And he couldn’t get involved with Lisa.

      “Do you want me to come by?” he asked quietly. “We can talk.”

      A heartbeat passed, pulsing into a tension-filled minute.

      “No.”

      He chewed the inside of his cheek and fiddled with the radio. “All right. Call me if you need anything.”

      “Wait.” She hesitated again, then said, “I mean yes. Come over….”

      He scrubbed a hand over his face at the sound of the waver in her voice. She’d been crying. “Are you at the cabin?”

      “Yes.”

      He cranked the engine and shifted into gear. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

      He disconnected the phone and sped away from town, battling his own emotions. The reason he’d almost screwed up so badly before. He couldn’t repeat that mistake a second time. Mindy’s life was at stake.

      But Lisa’s soft anguished voice taunted him as he climbed the mountain.

      SHE WAS IN THE BOX AGAIN. She couldn’t breathe. The darkness was closing around her, choking her….

      Lisa caught her head between her hands, rocking herself back and forth, tears falling as the trembling continued.

      The wooden edges brushed her sides. Held her captive.

      It was dark. Hot. So hot the air felt like a furnace. And she was suffocating, her throat muscles clawing at the air for a breath.

      Then she was cold. Chilled and aching. Shaking uncontrollably.

      He had left her there all day. Hidden away as if she didn’t exist. Her cries had done nothing but elicit rage that he unleashed on her.

      Her battered body was too numb to move now. Or maybe it was the cramped position in the box. She’d long ago lost track of the time. Had she been here hours? Days?

      The panic that streaked through her wouldn’t dissipate. It ate at her, chewed at her nerve endings relentlessly. The air felt stifling. How much more of it was there?

      She closed her eyes, willed herself to drift away. To another place. To another time when life existed. When sounds meant something other than his sinister laugh or her own terrified cries.

      The front door creaked open. The floor squeaked like cheap linoleum. A muttered curse reverberated through the room, and she knew he’d entered. Could smell the sweat and stench of his body. His boots scraped against the side of the bed as he sat down and kicked them off.

      She froze, praying he would have mercy and release her. Or at least end the torture and kill her tonight.

      The box springs protested as he stretched out on top of the bed. The mattress sagged, pressing into the box with his weight. Then he began to move. Slowly at first. The screech, screech of the bed was redundant, grew faster, the mattress sagged deeper and harder against her box. His breathing became erratic.

      A sob caught in her throat as she realized what he was doing.

      The mattress dipped and squeaked again, the noise intensifying, the movements more rapid as his breathing grew more and more excited. Finally a bellow. Pain? Pleasure? Rage?

      Then he jumped off the bed, cursing loudly. She felt the box moving, being jerked, dragged from beneath the bed.

      But instead of opening it, he was hammering it shut, tighter…pounding, pounding, pounding….

      “LISA!”

      It took her several seconds to realize that she had lapsed back into her nightmares. Even when she was awake they haunted her.

      It took her another minute to realize the pounding was real. Someone was knocking at the door.

      She hugged her arms around herself, panicking. Had the killer found her?

      “Lisa! It’s Brad. Let me in, or I’m going to bust down this door.”

      Jerking back to reality, she fidgeted with her hands, then finally willed her legs to be strong enough to stand. Brad’s voice broke through the haze again, and she rushed to the door, nearly stumbling over the braided rug on the floor and knocking a magazine off the end table in her haste. She’d phoned him only a few minutes ago, told him to come over. But then she’d sat down, started remembering….

      “Lisa!”

      “Just a minute.” She fumbled with the door lock, her hands shaking. Finally, she unfastened the lock and chain, then opened the door.

      He stalked in, his dark eyes stormy. “For God’s sake, are you all right? You scared the hell out of me when you didn’t answer!”

      Then his gaze met hers, and he must have read the truth in her eyes, because he reached out for her. She fell into his arms, clutched at his shirt and let him hold her.

      TIME PASSED IN A BLUR of nonreality. He had lost time before. Had awakened with only a hazy memory of where he’d been or what he’d done. And it was happening again….

      It had to be the medication.

      He opened his eyes, his stomach convulsing as pain rifled through his temple. The dull throb became more incessant as it filtered through the rest of his body. He felt so damn weak. Just like before. But he’d been given a second chance at life.

      It wasn’t supposed to be this way, though. Dark. Painful. Dreary.

      He was supposed to be happy. Full of life. A strong, virile man. Able to do things he hadn’t done in a long time.

      Fading sunlight fluttered through the blinds, slicing diagonal rays across the room. He rolled to his side to block it out, then stared in shock at his hands.

      They were bruised. Dirty. Covered in blood.

      Dried blood. Dark. Crimson. Crusty.

      Blood also stained his shirt and pants. Red clay caked his fingernails and his boots. Scratches marred his hands and arms, as if he’d been pawed by an animal. His shirt was torn, the rip revealing more deep gashes on his chest. And he was sweating profusely.

      What the hell was happening to him?

      His head reeling, he turned sideways, swung his legs over the side of the bed and swayed, dizzy. Grabbing the edge of the mattress to keep from falling, he held himself steady while the room settled. More sweat coated his body and ran down his neck and back. The stench of some foul odor assaulted him. Swamp water. A sewer maybe.

      He scanned the room, questions ticking in his head as he read the hands of the clock: 6:00 p.m.

      The last thing he remembered was walking out the door twenty-four hours ago.

      With unsteady hands, he reached for his pills and choked one down. Were the dark images that had slipped into his dreams real, or had he’d imagined them?

      The blood on his hands indicated that he hadn’t simply dreamt of vile acts, but that he’d performed them. That he had enjoyed them. That she had deserved it.

      That tonight he would lose time again, that he would fade into the abyss of darkness where a monster’s soul stole his