Instead of stopping, tires squealed, and the car took off down the street.
They hadn’t stopped.
It took a moment for that to sink in.
They had probably thought she was just some drunk.
Tears burned her eyes.
She had nowhere to go. She didn't want to stop moving, but no doubt that was about to happen any second now. She’d probably be found dead by the side of the road come morning.
At least it would be a quick death. She wouldn’t have to suffer anymore.
Maybe that was for the best.
Death would relieve her from her torment.
Death would be peace and quiet.
Death would be the ultimate freedom.
It seemed unfair that she had escaped hell only to die anyway, surrounded by help she was too afraid to seek. Taylor was in a residential area; she could go up to one of the houses, but that seemed like playing roulette with her life. If she picked the wrong house, she could wind up in an even worse position than the one she had just fled.
“What should I do?” she cried aloud.
Surely, she wasn't going to let fear beat her now. Not after how hard she fought to keep hold of her sanity and her soul, not after everything she had done to get herself here. To give up now would be weak—pathetic, even.
She could do this.
Picking a house at random, she staggered toward it.
It looked safe enough. It was a brick ranch, an inflatable carousel in the front yard with a snowman, a Santa, an elf, and a gingerbread man riding reindeer in place of horses. If someone had chosen something that cute to decorate their yard, how bad could they be?
Battling her fears, Taylor stepped toward the house and then screamed when a pair of arms wrapped around her.
*****
9:08 P.M.
Fin Patrick held the screaming woman tighter when she tried to fight her way out of his arms.
He was surprised she had the strength to fight as vehemently as she was. He’d seen her earlier, stumbling down the street, almost getting hit by a car when she’d staggered out onto the road. He had assumed she was drunk and had been about to run into the road to pull her out of harm’s way, but thankfully the driver of the car had seen her and swerved to miss her.
After that, Fin had turned away, assuming the woman was going to find her way to her house and get herself indoors. She really should; she wasn't dressed to be outside on a winter night.
But then the woman had headed for his house. He had no idea why, but for the first time, he began to get an inkling that something was wrong. The woman looked like she was barely able to remain on her feet. He was worried about her. What if she had mixed drugs with alcohol?
“Stop squirming,” he said firmly. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
She didn't seem to hear him. Her struggling intensified, her chest heaved against his arm, and Fin could feel small drops of cold liquid falling on his hands.
The woman was crying.
Maybe she wasn't wandering home drunk from a Christmas party as he’d thought; maybe she was a victim of an assault. That could explain why she wasn't properly dressed, her seemingly drugged state and the fact that she was freaking out at his touch.
He released his hold on the woman but kept his arms out in case her legs gave way. “It’s all right,” Fin said, trying to keep his voice soothing. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
Wild eyes frantically scanned her surroundings.