Page 6 of Traces of Kara

The elevator stopped. The doors didn’t open.

“Darn it. These elevators stink.” She pushed the buttons repeatedly. The elevator whirred to life, descending toward the basement instead of rising toward the second floor. “Great,” she said, sighing.

The man lifted his face.

Kara gasped and cast her eyes toward the floor. The right side of his face looked like his skin had been warped or melted into uneven patches of disfigured skin, rippled and dotted with pink and red pits. Her heart raced in her chest. She punched the buttons again, feeling the heat of his stare on her back. The elevator landed with a jolt, as if it had reached the end of the cable before it had been ready. The doors slid open, revealing a dark corridor, a single dim light mounted in the corner of the concrete wall. Kara stepped hurriedly out of the elevator.

The man followed at a slow pace.

Kara’s nerves were afire. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. She walked quickly toward the back staircase. “The stairs are over here.” Her voice shook. She moved hurriedly past a heavy metal cart on wheels.

A heavy hand grabbed her shoulder. Kara spun around. His grip tightened, too tight. She twisted free, backing away.

He reached for her arms. “Finally alone,” he said.

“Wha—” Kara’s heart slammed against her chest. His eyes held a dead stare. His low, determined voice sent fear riddling through her. She spun around and moved quickly toward the stairwell.

He grabbed her shirt. “Marissa.”

Kara darted forward, breaking free of his grasp, and sprinted toward the stairwell. “Help!” she yelled. “Joe! Paige!” She ran as fast as she could.

She was no match for his long strides. He grasped her arm and spun her around.

Her bicep throbbed beneath his grasp.

“What do you want?” She tried to pull her arm free, flailing helplessly from side to side.

“Marissa, it’s me.”

“I’m not Marissa,” she spat, prying at his fingers. “Let me go!” Her screams echoed in the darkness. She punched his forearm, kicked his legs. His thick body was a mountain, his grip too tight.

He covered her mouth, pulling her back against his chest. “Shh,” he said in a slow whisper.

Kara bit his hand and he screamed.

“Bitch!” He covered her mouth again, pushing his fingers deep into her cheeks.

The taste of blood seeped onto her tongue. Her petrified squeals were muffled beneath his hand. She stomped her heel onto his foot.

He jumped back, tightening his hand around her arm and wrapped his other hand around her neck. “Marissa,” he said.

Seconds later Kara’s world went black.

Chapter Six

Mimi Stone sat at her small kitchen table with a warm cup of tea between her palms and a faraway look in her hazel eyes. Moonlight peeked through her café-style curtains. The house was silent, save for the light snore emanating from the small family room where Ted had fallen asleep on the couch. She wondered how her life had found such an uncomfortable path. It seemed like just yesterday she and Kara were looking for prom dresses and talking about the great life that awaited her only daughter after high school. She’d been so sure Kara would have a carefree life, eventually marry a wonderful, loving man. She’d thought that man was Daryl when they’d married. She had hoped Kara would have an easier, more stable life than she’d had. She sighed. Those days were so long gone; they felt as if they had happened to someone else, that she was simply an onlooker to a stranger’s life. The feeling had become commonplace for her, especially when she was alone with her thoughts in the dark of night.

The sound of the community siren broke her thoughts, drawing her attention outside. The siren sounded each time the fire station was alerted to a call. Cellular service in the small town had proven unreliable, and several years earlier the siren system had been engaged. Many residents complained—Mimi never did. She accepted it as she’d accepted all other facets of her life. It was what it was.

“Hi hon, you okay?” Ted sauntered into the kitchen, startling Mimi. His dark hair was askew and sleep clouded his eyes. “Did she get her stuff?”

Her fingertips pressed against the porcelain cup. “Tomorrow. Her car’s in the shop.” Mimi watched him slump into the chair across from her and run his hand down his tired face. “She’ll get it, don’t worry. She’s working really ha—”

“Yeah, we all work really hard. I’ll get Daryl to pick it up for her.”

“Ted,” she began, then softened her voice. “I don’t think she wants him to pick it up.” She repositioned herself in the chair. A flush heated her neck.

Ted stood and the chair scraped against the floor. “Yeah, well I don’t wannit in my rec room.” He stretched, his paunch of a stomach strained against his white cotton undershirt. “We pick up all her slack, Mim. We’re always there to pick up the pieces. First she had to stay here, then she left her stuff here.”