The Final Victim by Wendy Corsi Staub Page A

looking at the illuminated digital clock.
        Four thirteen AM, and a lifeguard's worst nightmare is instantly traded for a wife's worst nightmare.
        Something's happened to Jed. Or her mother.
        For no other reason would the phone ring at this hour.
        Heart pounding with dread, she untangles herself from the sheets and hurries to answer it.
     
     
         Lianna is uneasily aware of the rhythmic night sounds; the dank, humid smell of brackish water; the overcast night sky void of moon or stars.
        She reaches into her pocket for her small flashlight, but comes up empty-handed.
        Is it any wonder?
        Kevin had her shorts halfway down her legs out there at the beach. The flashlight probably fell out into the sand as they rolled around.
         Terrific.
        Now she'll have to sneak back into the house in the dark.
        It's not that she's a big baby about the dark…
        Not like Mom.
        No, but who wants to venture into a creepy old basement without even a flashlight?
        The thought of that is bad enough; she can't imagine bringing herself to enter the tunnel and walk up two flights of the pitch-black hidden stairway. There are definitely spiders and mice. And probably even bats in there-what if one flies into her hair?
        What if she loses her balance and falls? Several of the runglike steps have rotted away in the dampness; others, are about to. With a flashlight, she can pick her way past them. In the dark, she'd be playing Russian roulette1' with every step.
        Nobody would ever find her in there. Not with those fourteen-inch-thick tabby foundation walls that are probably soundproof.
        Okay, so she obviously isn't going back into the house the same way she came out.
        But maybe that's not necessary anyway. Glancing at her watch, she sees that it's well past four in the morning. Nobody will be stirring at this hour. She can slip inside through the back door, using the key Great- Grandaddy always kept hidden among the perennials that ring the base of an old stone sundial in the garden.
        Her heart pounding, Lianna decides it's a brilliant idea.
        It takes her quite a few minutes of rooting around for the key in the dewy, overgrown bed that contains more weeds than flowers. Something pierces her fingertip, probably a spider's bite, and she thrusts her stinging finger into her mouth.
        This is a stupid idea. Really stupid. What if the spider was poisonous? There are lizards in here, too, and God knows what else. A dark, rodent-infested tunnel is now almost more appealing than reaching back into the weeds again.
        But when she does, she finds the key almost immediately.
        All right, so this was a good plan after all.
        The big door opens silently and the rooms are deserted, just as she knew they would be. She pockets the key, hoping she'll remember to replace it later, in broad daylight.
        It isn't until she reaches the door to her bedroom that she realizes she's made a huge mistake.
        It's latched… from the inside.
        How could she have forgotten?
        Now what?
        Before she can plot her next move, she hears a movement behind her.
        A voice drawls, "Well, look who's prowling around at this hour."
        Charlotte sits straight up in bed, heart racing wildly.
        Then she realizes it was just a dream.
         No, not a dream. A nightmare.
        Not even that.
        It really happened.
        But it isn't happening now , she reminds herself, pressing her hand against her pounding chest. It's over. Long over.
        She lies back slowly against the pillows, closing her eyes as if to block out the images that have haunted her for eight years. But they're still there, more vivid than ever.
        She can see the foaming ocean; can feel it, sun-warmed and saltily stinging her newly shaved legs; can feel her hands swirling