Pretty When She Kills (Pretty When She Dies 2)

“Hello? What’s wrong? I can call 911. ” Using the plea as a reason to drop to a walk, Samantha nervously fished her phone out of her fanny pack. 911 was on speed dial. She activated the screen and walked forward, her finger poised over it.

A soft, desperate sob drifted out of the mist. “He hurt me. ”

“Oh, shit!” Samantha yanked out her pepper spray from her short’s pocket as she tried to call 911. To her dismay, her phone registered a dead battery and turned off. “Crap, the phone is dead. Where are you? I can’t see you!”

“Please, he hurt me,” the woman whispered.

The thick mist and dark shadows clouded her vision, making it hard to see anything. Samantha held the pepper spray out in front her, ready to deal with any attackers. Shoving her phone into her pocket, she warily advanced toward the voice.

“Please, help me!”

“I’m coming!” Samantha swept her arm back and forth in front of her. Her breath was puffing out in cold wisps as the air turned from warm and humid to cold and prickly. The world suddenly felt far away. Even the overhead traffic was a distant drone.

“Please…”

The air had turned frigid and Samantha shivered as she pressed forward. The shadows appeared thicker and darker as the mist shrouded the path.

“Where are you?” Samantha whispered, suddenly very afraid.

She almost tripped over the jogger lying face down across the path. Gasping, she caught her balance and knelt next to the woman.

“My phone is dead. I can’t call 911, but maybe I can help you up and we can try to find someone to assist us. ” Samantha timidly stretched out her hand to turn the jogger over.

“He hurt me,” the woman cried out in agony, rolling onto her back, and thrusting a bloody, straining hand toward Samantha.

“Oh, my God!” Samantha gasped and drew back in shock.

“He hurt me!?

??

Samantha felt her breakfast trying to crawl up her throat and leap out of her mouth. The woman’s chest was a ruin of flesh and long ropey, fleshy strands of intestine lay on the ground. Blood splattered the woman’s face and arms and her eyes were wide with terror.

“Help me, please!” the woman sobbed. “Please, Samantha. ”

Overcoming her repulsion and fear, Samantha held out her hand to touch the woman’s shoulder. Just as her fingers could touch the jogger’s arm, the woman vanished in a swirl of mist.

“What the hell?”

Samantha stared at the empty spot on the jogging path as several runners sprinted past her. There was no sign of the woman who had cried out for help. No blood, nothing.

Samantha scurried out from under the bridge and ran toward the nearest rest station. Trembling from terror, she hugged herself as she leaned against a streetlamp, trying to compose herself. What she had seen had been horrifying, but what was even more frightening was that the woman--the apparition--had called her by name.

Chapter 7

Samuel Vezorak was in a good mood all things considered. The family was drinking all his beer and had devoured most of the barbecue he had cooked up earlier in the day, but he had a good buzz going and he could ignore the barbecue sauce smeared all over his leather sofa.

Outside, the radio was pumping out old country classics into the warm summer air. The porch was crowded with family, kids were in the yard chasing after each other, dogs begged for scraps and attention, and the menfolk swilled down beer while they told tall tales.

Samuel was hitting the buffet table one last time. Though he was leaner than a blade of grass, he could eat any man under the table. His wife, Kelly Ann, had made some of her killer potato salad and he heaped a mountain of it on his plate next to some barbecue chicken and brisket.

“Looks like trouble,” Kelly Ann muttered, entering the kitchen of their double-wide trailer. Her long blond hair was plaited into a braid down her back and her cheeks were rosy from the heat. She guided their youngest, John, to the sink to wash off a mixture of grease, dirt, and sauce from the six-year-old’s face.

Samuel had two sets of children. The first set was Samuel Raymond Vezorak, Jr. , who went by Ray, Damon, Amaliya, and Rachel from his deceased wife Marlena. Ray and Damon worked with him and lived in the trailers on either side of his with their wives and kids. Rachel had died of cancer when she was very young. Amaliya was. . . gone. The second set was with his second wife, Kelly Ann. John and Betsey were his pride and joy.

“John, what were you doing out there?” Samuel asked, cocking his head to gaze down at the little tow-head.

John giggled in response.