She’d been home a week when her car suddenly started acting up. She kept a good eye on it. While it wasn’t a new car, it wasn’t old; the computer usually warned her if she needed maintenance or if anything was wrong.
It had given no warning. But the red light was suddenly blinking, screaming for maintenance.
She was about to drive by the cemetery. And the radio had already gone silent. The car was bucking strangely, and she quickly drove onto the grass at the side of the road only feet from the little coral wall.
No problem—other than she wouldn’t have her car. She always had her phone and her AAA card.
She turned off the engine and reached to the passenger’s seat for her bag. But digging inside, she couldn’t find her phone. It had to be there. She had undressed and donned her swimsuit, left her bag in the women’s locker room, worked her hours, gone back, and changed again. She hadn’t taken her phone out. She had plans for the evening with friends and with her parents, and they were set. She hadn’t needed her phone for anything, and she had just wanted to get home when her day had ended.
It had to be there.
But it wasn’t.
She got out of the car. She was going to have to flag down someone driving along the street. She’d be careful. She wouldn’t get in anyone’s car. She’d just get someone to call for help for her.
Leaving the car’s lights on, she walked over to the road. It wasn’t rush hour anymore, but it wasn’t that late, either. There were only a few cars. Most of them tended to be in the left lane, and one woman stared at her as if she were a crazy person.
She was about to give up when a car drove onto the grass near hers. It was oddly forming an L-shape that blocked part of the road, but she needed help, so she certainly wasn’t going to comment on anyone’s driving or parking.
But a shiver slid down her spine and a warning bell seemed to go off in her head as she approached the driver.
He got out of the car.
He was wearing a hoodie. Not black, dark blue, but a hoodie, and it was a warm night.
The L-shape he had created when he parked had cut Della off from the road. She never said a word. She knew.
It might have been a woman. But they’d been studying serial killers at school and, statistically, women serial killers preferred poison; they didn’t seem to like the mess of knives or guns.
Small man...woman. Did it matter? Beneath the hoodie, they were wearing a bandanna-type mask, allowing Della to see nothing of them but the eyes.
Dusk was quickly heading to darkness, but the streetlights fell on them and their cars. Looking at the person’s eyes, Della knew they were smiling and loved watching the fear that filled her as she saw a streak of light catch on the blade of an enormous carving knife.
The cars would cut her off. There was no one on the road. If she ran across it, the only thing she could reach quickly would be an office complex without a single car in the parking lot.
She turned and headed for the little coral wall just a few steps from her. She leaped over it. This killer couldn’t know the cemetery.
She did. She knew it so well.
If she ran hard toward the avenue that bordered the western side of the cemetery she’d get to the caretaker’s house. Her friend’s family had moved to the Keys a year ago. But she’d once met the new caretaker, his wife, and his child when she’d been at the cemetery. If she could just reach the house...
The killer was after her in a flash, but she weaved through headstones and around oaks, banyans, and cypress trees.
The killer remained behind.
Close behind.
She was near the backyard of the home by one of the oldest sections of the cemetery. Both Union and Confederate soldiers who had survived the Civil War to move down to South Florida were there, perhaps friends now that the fighting was over, and the cemetery had claimed them. There was a beautiful huge statue of an eagle there because one of the Union soldiers had been with the regiment that had had a mascot, Old Abe, the battle eagle. It would be a good place to slide around to get into the yard, hopping the little fence and screaming all the while for help...
But she was suddenly struck in the head. Dazed and stunned, and with her impetus, she went down on the ground.
Instinct caused her to roll. To look up into the eyes of a killer.
“That was spectacular!” the killer said. It was a “him,” a small man, maybe five feet eight inches and possibly a hundred and sixty pounds. “And you! I’ve been watching you the last days and the piece of skin on your midriff... Wow, kid, you’re beautiful, you know.”
She stared at him. She was on the ground. He was about to level his weight down on hers. She had to kick. She had to fight.
The knife... There was nothing now but moonlight, but the knife gleamed in that bit of misty light!
“Della, the rock!”
She was startled to hear the urgent whisper.
There was no one anywhere near them!
But the person who was not there kept talking. And she knew she’d been hit in the head. She was terrified. She might be going completely crazy with fear, but the person was using...
Jose’s voice.
She stared at the killer and her eyes widened.
Because Jose was there. Something of him. She could see him, handsome in the casual suit in which he had been buried, coral shirt, gray jacket, and trousers. His dark hair was neatly combed, he looked wonderful, except...
He couldn’t really be there.
“Listen to me, Della!” Jose said firmly. “He’s coming down. Let him get close—despite the knife! Let him get close. Then kick him in the nuts as hard as you can and grab that rock and smash in his face. I’d do it for you, but... I can’t pick anything up, I’m afraid. I’ll try kicking...get it closer to you. But wait...wait...let him get down and then...”
She had to be imagining he was there, her dear friend, trying to help her, even from the grave.
She had never been so terrified in her life, watching the killer come down closer and closer to her, watching the knife gleam so strangely in the moonlight...
“Now!” Jose shouted.
She reached; she could feel the rock. Her fingers curled around it.
And she kicked. She had the leg strength of a strong swimmer, and she drew her knee up and kicked him with everything in her while slamming the rock against his head as hard as she could.
And the knife fell, dangerously close to her face, as the killer screamed in agony and clasped his bloody face and fell to her side in a fetal position.
She was up in a flash, screaming desperately for help and racing toward the caretaker’s house where a door was opened for her, where the police were immediately called and then...