Excerpt

With her tongue, Angel worked frantically to loosen the gag on her mouth. The cloth was thin, with a silky texture, probably a scarf. If she could inhale deeply enough, maybe she could get it between her teeth and rip a hole in it. Her nose was beginning to feel stuffy, making breathing more difficult. Don't panic, she told herself. That just makes the situation worse. Sure, easy for you to say, that other voice answered. He left us here to die, and you expect me to be calm?

The stench was sickening. Mildew permeated the storage bin where she had been dumped, hands and feet tied to a caned wooden chair. Thankfully, the bin had no ceiling. Claustrophobia would have been immediate and emotionally fatal. Her bladder had exploded an hour before and her underarms reeked with nervous perspiration. She wished her tears could fall into her mouth. Her lips felt parched, her tongue thick and bitter tasting.

The only consolation was that he hadn't blindfolded her. She hadn't yet figured out how to put that to her advantage. Above the door of the bin, part of a small window was visible from her private prison. The street lamps outside allowed a stream of light to penetrate the pitch-black basement. Even if she could get to the window, it offered no escape. The basement windows, as in several others in this suburban neighborhood, had security bars on the outside and sophisticated alarm systems. A rush of burglaries one winter had necessitated that action. Angel knew the development well. She had lived in it for twenty-six years before getting her own place the year before. Apparently she hadn't known her neighbors well enough. But how could she have known that Noah Hollander, with the friendly smile and pockets full of butterscotch candies for the children, was a maniacal monster in disguise?

The smell of her own urine was making her nauseous now. Her pantyhose and skirt were saturated and sticking to her thighs. If only I could free my hands, she thought, maybe I could find my way out of here. She struggled to untie the rope that bound her hands together behind her back. Her fingers just couldn't reach the knot. Breathless, she gave up and concentrated on her feet. All she could do was kick. And all the kicking did was tighten the knots. Until she fell onto the concrete floor. Splintered pieces of the chair jabbed her back. The mountain of old blankets and clothes started to avalanche from the jolt of her fall. Although still strapped to the broken chair, she felt the softness of cloth. For the moment, all she could think of was the welcome relief from the confines of the hard chair. Even the odor of mildew no longer mattered because now she could breathe again. Somehow, the fall dislodged the scarf from its smothering position. It remained fixed on her bottom teeth and lower lip. Although she couldn't free it completely without the use of her hands, it no longer posed a threat to her breathing.

Then she saw it. Like an oasis in the desert it gleamed in the ray of light from the window. When one of the blankets fell, it had exposed an old meat slicer, with a jagged blade. This could be my ticket out of here, she thought. If only she could pull this off without slashing her wrists and bleeding to death. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself. This had to be planned carefully. She had no idea when the crazy bastard would be back. Judging by the strong smell of alcohol on his breath when he pulled her into his car, Angel hoped and prayed that he had passed out somewhere.

She wiped the sweat off her face by rubbing it in the blankets. A mouse scurried out of a nearby carton. Angel screamed and turned her head away, her mouth twisted in disgust. Although a mouse was a miniscule problem compared to being terrorized and locked in a dark basement, the sight of it still repulsed her.

When her gaze returned once again to that carton, she noticed something else. Something far more frightening than any rodent. A giraffe. A uniquely designed wooden toy giraffe. She had seen it before, several times. It had belonged to her grandmother. But one day Nannie had given it to Selena Barnes, the cleaning woman who serviced several of the homes in the neighborhood. Selena had admired it several times and Nannie had gladly offered it to her. It's just another dust collector, she had told the young woman. Several weeks later, Selena Barnes never showed up for work. She had mysteriously disappeared. No one had ever heard again from the young, voluptuous widow. Jealous, gossiping tongues were quick to conclude that she probably took off with a lover.

With her eyes fixed on the giraffe, its black painted eye staring back at her, Angel drew a different conclusion and vomited what little was left in her stomach.