Breaking the Chain by C D Ledbetter

killing blow? One hour--two? Would he wait until he thought she was asleep, then sneak into her room? Terrified, she forced one foot in front of the other, her gaze glued to the doorknob, expecting it to turn at any moment.
              Had it moved? Dear God, what if she didn't make it to the door before he tried to get in? Her knees wobbled and beads of sweat rolled down her face, making her eyes water. Oh God, please don't let me die! She tried to walk faster, but her body refused to obey. It was as if she was caught in slow motion, out of sync with time and reality.
              Would he murder her in the room and drag her into the hallway? Or worse, knock her out and slit her throat somewhere else to hide his guilt?
              Steady now, feet. Keep moving. Her nightgown clung to the patches of sweat on her back; she could feel beads of perspiration trickling down her chest. It was like some damp, clammy hand was slowly closing in on the uppermost portion of her body, bringing with it a numbing terror that defied logic.
              She was almost there--just two or three more steps. Her body inched forward, slowly, painfully covering the distance to the door. Why couldn't she go faster?
              Shaking hands grabbed a wooden chair and turned it so that the back of the chair was braced under the glass doorknob, legs facing out. Would that hold her attacker off? She eyed the legs. They seemed thick enough to keep the door from opening--she hoped. Her breath came in painful gasps as she leaned against the door for support. She was safe for now.
              A scratching sound at the window caught her attention. Oh God, was he trying to come in through there?
              Please, God, no. Please, don't let him kill me, she prayed. Hands shaking, legs numb, she dragged her body along the wall, inch by painful inch, toward the window, wondering if each breath would be her last.
              What could she use to protect herself? By now, her lungs screamed for oxygen and her vision narrowed to a tiny pinpoint of light. She forced herself to take a deep breath and the pinprick of light widened until she could see. Thank God. If he was coming to kill her, she needed to see which direction he sprang from. She had to find a way to protect herself. Her glance darted around the room, looking for something she could use as a weapon. The lamp? No, too far away.
              The dresser was only a few inches to her right. Did it have anything she could use? Her purse, yes--grab the purse. Think, damn it, think. What did she have in her purse?
              The muscles in her arm screamed in agony as she stretched taunt fingers closer and closer to the strap. She had it! Ever so slowly her fingers tugged on the smooth leather until she grasped the leather pouch in her hand. Inching her fingers across the top, she felt along the cold metal teeth of the zipper until she found the catch. Positioning one fingernail behind the clasp, she forced the metal tab backward, praying that her attacker wouldn't see what she was doing. Finally the opening was big enough to slip her hand inside.
              Oh God, the curtain was moving!
              Seconds stretched into years as the fingers of her right hand rummaged through her bag, feeling, then discarding the contents.
              The left side of the curtain fluttered and she froze.
              Oh God, was he climbing into the room? A scream formed in the back of her throat, begging to be let out, but she held it in, knowing that the noise would give away her location. Numb fingers wrapped themselves around cold metal. Sewing scissors--she had sewing scissors in her purse!
              She swallowed the huge lump in her throat, wrapped the palm of her hand around