Page 76 of The Wives of Hawthorne Lane

And then someone grabs her.

—

A pair of strong armswrap around Christina’s chest so forcefully that it knocks the wind from her lungs.

“Help!” she yelps, her voice a breathless rasp.

“Don’t,” a man’s voice growls in her ear. “Make another sound and I’ll kill you.”

A frightened whimper escapes Christina’s lips.

“I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Maggie, and you’re not going to get away from me again.”

Who is Maggie?Christina wonders. She wants to tell the man that he’s wrong, that she’s not who he thinks she is, but she’s too scared to say a single word.

“Now you’re going to do exactly what I tell you, do you hear me?” the man says.

Christina’s body goes rigid with fear.

“I’m going to let go of you now, and you’re going to be a good girl. Understood?”

Christina doesn’t respond; she can’t. All she can focus on is the feeling of his hands on her body, the sour smell of her own panicked sweat.

“I asked you a question,” he barks, his grip tightening around her ribs. “Is that understood?”

She manages a tight nod, her teeth chattering.

“Good,” he says, his hold on her slowly loosening.

Christina wonders if this is how her mother feels, if sometimes she can’t force her body to move even when she knows what’s coming.

But she’s not her mother.

The man’s hand clasps onto Christina’s shoulder as he spins her around to face him. And when he does, she’s ready. She’s holding the Maglite in both hands, gripping it like a baseball bat, and she swings it directly at his head.

The heavy metal flashlight collides forcefully with his temple, the impact echoing through Christina’s forearms.

She watches as he stumbles back, his hand rising to his head, his mouth agape, his eyes wide in surprise. He looks dizzy, like a boxer staggering toward the ropes, and then he begins to fall.

Christina squeezes her eyes shut in horror as the man collapses to the ground.

“Oh my God,” she cries.

“Christina?”

Her head snaps up; she looks wildly around the darkened woods.

“Christina, honey, it’s me. Hannah.”

Hannah emerges from between the trees, and she takes in the scene before her: Christina’s chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths, the bloody flashlight dangling limply from the end of her arm, the man sprawled at her feet.

“It’s okay, Christina,” she says, her voice steady and calm. “Everything is going to be okay.”

Hannah goes to the man, bends over him, and reaches out her hand so that it hovers just above his lips.

“Is he…dead?” Christina whimpers, her fingertips trembling at her own lips.

“No. He’s not.” Hannah shakes her head as she stands. “But we need to get you out of here. Now.”