After She's Gone (West Coast 3)

Her attacker shifted suddenly. Using her body weight she slammed Holly’s head against the pavement.

Crack!

Agony ripped through Holly’s head.

Pain exploded behind her eyes, nearly blinding her.

Her skin ripped and she began to bleed. Chipped pieces of asphalt clung to her, matted in her hair.

No, no, no! Frantically she tried to peel her assailant from her. Kicking and bucking, scrabbling in the air, she felt woozy, her coordination failing her, the wicked, horrid mass of humanity atop her not budging. Who the hell was this maniac? Why was this happening?

Help me!

Her thoughts were ragged. Cut painfully through her gray matter.

This woman, whoever the hell she was, planned to murder her. Right here in this horrid little parking lot.

Tears ran down her face with the dark realization.

Take my purse, my phone, my cash, the damned car but please . . . please . . . stop. Let me live . . . oh, Jesus . . .

She couldn’t see straight. Her head throbbed. Panic screamed through her body. Why was this happening? Why? Wedged between two cars, where no one could see her, she focused on the sky above, invisible over the weak light from a streetlamp on the sidewalk.

“Stop! Help! Someone help me!” she tried to scream, but her voice was muted, little sound escaping as her head was lifted, hairs sticking to the pavement, glued due to her own blood.

Oh, God, no. Don’t! Her eyes were wide. Fear curdled deep inside.

Bam!

Once more her head was smashed against the asphalt.

Pain erupted, sending shock waves through her body.

She felt a new gash on the back of her head, the blood flowing warm and wet.

Blackness threatened.

Feverishly, knowing it was a matter of life and death, her life and death, Holly fought to stay conscious. Blood rushed in her ears and fear clutched her heart. Her movements were now sluggish, ungainly, her arms not obeying her brain.

Her attacker leaned closer and in the dim light from a faraway security lamp and the screen of her phone, she caught a glimpse of the fiend atop her.

It couldn’t be!

Allie?

Allie Kramer?

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. Could this deranged woman astride her actually be Allie Kramer? Or . . . God, why did she look so weird and distorted?

Even as the crazy thoughts slid through her brain she denied them. No way. Allie was many things, some of them not so nice, but she wasn’t a killer . . . or was she?

Desperately Holly blinked, tried to stay aware, felt herself slipping away, the image looking more warped, Allie’s features blurring into a monstrous caricature of herself.

“Allie?” Holly vainly tried to speak but only managed to mouth the woman’s name.

The woman’s face, distorted, filled her vision. This maniac wasn’t Allie Kramer, couldn’t be. Just someone who looked a lot like Allie, who was dressed like Allie, but is really . . . shit, was it Cassie? No. Yes? There was something wrong . . . for the love of Jesus, what the hell was wrong with her face?

A new fear curdled through her.