played feebly with the immovable trigger to no avail. She had no mastery over her fingers. There would be a safety somewhere, but even if she found it she wouldnât recognize what it was, wouldnât be able to move it.
The darkness deepened.
Andria was aware that her assailant was still smiling at her, as if they were friends and this was pleasant discourse. He leaned in even closer to her and she smelled his fetid breath as he whispered, âGood-bye for a while . . .â He almost sang the words. She inanely thought the tune was the theme song of an old TV show.
His grip on her neck tightened painfully, and she became incredibly light-headed, as if she might rise like a balloon into a dark sky.
So this is how it is . . .
She became aware of movement, and as she lost consciousness saw that Grace had come in from the suiteâs bedroom where the girls, her students, were watching TV before preparing to sleep on two double beds and a rollaway. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that left her midriff bare.
Grace . . . Grace . . . Grace . . .
Grace was standing frozen, her slender figure caught in an awkward pose, her wide blue gaze fixed in horror. Her right fist was raised to her mouth so that she was gnawing on a knuckle.
Andria had never seen anyone look so terrified.
As the darkness engulfed her, she felt that somehow she would remember Grace that way forever.
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The killer unfastened his AK-47 from its belt clasp and kept it aimed at the thin blond girl from the museum. With careful conversational prodding, sheâd told him all he needed to knowâwho the group was, why they were in the city, where they were staying.
The teacher leading the group was interesting, but not as much as the blond girl, Grace, who stood now in the doorway staring at him as if he were the tarantula at the party.
âStay calm, Grace,â he said. âRemember me? We talked at the museum.â
âI remember,â she said in a barely audible tight voice. The throat tended to clench at times like this.
Grace had seen his face, so he had no choice other than to make her cease to exist. The killer really didnât mind that there was no choice.
âLetâs go back into the bedroom,â he said. He tickled her navel with the tip of the gun barrel and made her gasp and bend at the waist.
âWeâll make it a kind of party.â
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With the scary AK-47, the girls were easy to manage. Two of them lost control and dampness appeared in the crotches of their jeans. Those two should be the least likely to present problems. Fortunately, they all wore jogging shoesârecommended for walking around the concrete cityâwith long sturdy laces.
At his direction, Grace tied the wrists and ankles of her four friends tightly with their shoelaces, left lace for wrists, right for ankles. Then he tied Grace, and used the girlsâ panties, which he stretched and sliced away from them, as gags that he stuffed tightly into their mouths. They could work such gags loose with their tongues after a few hours, but they didnât have a few hours.
Well, maybe. He should make the most of this rare gift from fate.
After making sure the girls were all firmly bound, he began to remove his clothes.
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Andria could see the clock by the bed, but it was blurry.
Not just the green numerals were blurry, but the entire clock.
How in Godâs name . . .
Then the realization of where she was, how sheâd gotten there, what had happened, fell on her like an avalanche. It was like waking up the morning after someone you knew and loved had unexpectedly died. At first the recollection wasnât realâthen it was way too real.
My girls! My God, whatâs happened to my girls?
Andria was on her back and still couldnât move. Her throat was burning as if sheâd swallowed acid, and her breath was ragged and loud.
She fixed her gaze again on the clock, and the phone next