FRAGMENTS OF FEAR CHAPTER ONE
PROLOGUE
Celia Long sat on the edge of her bed, rubbing lotion on her legs. “Are you sure you’re not angry with me?”
Her phone lay beside her on the mattress, on speaker. Her fiancé, Peter, always called to check on her before she went to bed, and while it was endearing, things had been tense between them.
“Of course I’m not angry,” he said, though his strained tone suggested otherwise.
Celia let out a sigh. “I know you wanted to go on the cruise, but it couldn’t be helped. I have to consider the spa, and you know how much it means to me.”
“I’m learning,” he said, sounding regretful. “But I still say, what’s the point of working for yourself if you can’t take a vacation once in a while? Besides, you don’t have to pretend you want to go. I know you didn’t. I just wanted us to loosen up and have some fun.”
“Well, when you get back in town, maybe we can go out and have some fun. How about that cute little bed and breakfast I was telling you about? We can spend the night. Besides, there will be other cruises.” She didn’t see the big deal.
“I guess,” he said. “It’s just we already planned everything, and you know how much I hate for my plans to change. I thought you were excited about it.”
“I know, and I was excited—at first. But the thought of being out in the middle of the ocean freaks me out. All of that water? What if something happened? And all of that talk about life insurance didn’t help.” He had gone on and on about it.
“I thought that would make you feel better,” he said. “I told you it was just a precaution. Regardless, now we have that out of the way before the wedding, and when we go on our honeymoon, we’ll be all set.”
“I know but it just put all those thoughts in my head about death. What if something happens? What would happen to the spa? What would I do with my house? I don’t even have a will.”
“Well, we don’t have to worry about that anymore, do we? Not until the honeymoon, at least. Unless you change your mind about marrying me? Maybe you’ll cancel that too.”
She was starting to see the problem. “Is that why you’re so upset with me? You think I’d actually want to call off the wedding?”
“You haven’t exactly nailed down the date.”
She felt bad for making him worry. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll tell you what, I’ll have my mind made up about the date before you get back from your work conference. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said.
“And, just to show you how much I love you, I’ll think of other ways to make it up to you,” she said in her best sultry tone. She knew just how to make him feel better, and as soon as he got back into town, she would show him.
“I’m looking forward to it,” he said, giving her a soft chuckle. “Now, have you gone down and checked the doors?”
She let out a heavy sigh as she sank down into the covers. Was that really where his mind went when she tried to start a sexy chat? “They’re locked,” she explained. “Not to mention, if anyone comes in downstairs, Chichi will let me know. He’ll go crazy making a racket and scare them away.” Her beloved cockatoo was better than any watchdog.
“Your bird can’t save you if someone breaks in. Besides, while the camera is down, you know I worry.”
He underestimated how loud the bird could be. “Peter, it’s fine,” she stressed. “I locked the front when I came in earlier.” She hated it when he made her go and check every single time he didn’t stay over. “I made it a point to do it because I knew you’d tell me to check. I promise, I listen.”
“Well, check again,” he said with a clipped tone. “It will make me feel better, and you didn’t say you checked the back door. Or the garage door, for that matter.”
“I’m already upstairs in bed, and I just got Chichi settled.” She hated going downstairs at night and getting the bird stirred up unless it was absolutely necessary.
“Go,” he said. “Come on, you know I’ll worry if you don’t.”
“You always think the worst things can happen. I’ll be fine.” She really didn’t want to start another fight with him, but she didn’t see why he couldn’t relax for one night. For all his talk about loosening up, he was wound more tightly than she was.
“Go. You tell me you don’t want me to be upset, and you can’t even humor me for five minutes. It won’t take you long.”
“Fine.” She got up from the bed and put the lotion on the bedside table. “I’m going!”
She headed out in the hallway, fussing the whole time. “I can’t believe you are making me do this. I was comfortable in bed and warm. I should have worn my slippers. My feet are so cold on this hard tile floor. I should have gone with hardwoods instead of this old stone.”
Peter didn’t say anything. In fact, the entire house was eerily quiet.
“Are you even there?” she asked. “Peter?”
A noise behind her caught her attention. Movement caught her eye in the upstairs bathroom. She froze and gazed into the darkness, not seeing anything but the half-open door.
She usually left it closed. In fact, she was sure that it was closed when she came up. But not anymore.
Her heart raced and she quickly put some distance between herself and the bathroom. “Oh my God, Peter, I think I saw someone in the bathroom. Peter? Peter!”
She checked the phone and it said her fiancé was still on the line. “Say something, dammit!” She screamed so loudly her voice seemed to echo through the house. But it wasn’t an echo. Only a split second of off-timing, she was sure she had heard her own voice coming from the bathroom.
Freezing, she narrowed her eyes at the half-open door and went silent to listen. Her pounding heart boomed in her ears, drowning everything else out. Panic clawed at her insides, and deciding not to wait a second longer, she dashed toward the stairs.
The bathroom door opened like a gaping mouth and a dark figure sprang out like a shadow coming to life.
Without thinking, Celia flung her phone at it and ducked toward the stairs. A strong hand clamped on her hair and yanked her off her feet. The hard stone floor knocked the air from her lungs and rattled her skull. Dazed, white spots bloomed in her vision like camera flashes.
“Peter!” she screamed at her phone, just feet away on the floor. Downstairs in the den, Chichi was going nuts, wings flapping, squawking, screeching. So much for being a good watchdog. Chichi somehow hadn’t heard the intruder come in. “Peter, help me!”
“Why would I do that?” The dark figure jerked Celia to her feet, bringing her to eye level. She knew the face looking out of the black hoodie.
“Peter?” For a split second, she was confused.
The man who was supposed to be out of town looked at her coldly and shoved her into the railing. A hot line of pain ran up her spine and she hissed. Everything was happening so quickly, and she was too panicked to think straight.
Before she could ask what the hell was going on, Peter grabbed her shoulders and pushed her with all his body weight, trying to leverage her over the railing. He meant to kill her.
The realization brought clarity, and one primal instinct eclipsed all others. Survive.
Celia slid sideways out of the grip of the man she thought she loved. As always, he had underestimated her, and she caught him off balance. He stumbled over his heavy boots and almost went over the railing himself.
Survive.
Celia hopped away from his grasping hands and rabbited toward the stairs. If she was fast enough, she could make it down and out the front door before her fiancé could catch her. Then she could get her neighbors’ attention and call the police.
As she ran, her singular focus faltered and she wanted to ask him why. Why was he hurting her when he was supposed to love her? What had she done to make him want to punish her like this?
Nearing the top of the stairs, she grabbed the top of the newel post so she could whip around it without slowing down. But her fingers, still slick with lotion, slipped right off. Unable to get a grip, her momentum sent her in the wrong direction, and she flew further down the hall.
Before she could get turned around, rough hands took hold of her shirt and dragged her back toward the stairs, which no longer led to freedom.
