Page 78 of Sangre
Carrie:I’ll just take the contract and review it at home then we can meet up in the morning.
Manager:Perfect. I’m coming now.
She turned on the windshield wipers and watched as the person got out of the car and ran over to her, an umbrella covering all features. She unlocked the door and the person slid in, the face still obscured.
“Here,” the voice whispered. A hand gave her a yellow folder.
She turned on the overhead light and opened it. Confusion rushed through her as she frowned. Inside, there wasn’t a contract; rather, there were clippings from Jefferson High when she went to school there. The articles were reviews of her performances in choir, and there were also photographs of her over the years, the most recent one from the day before. Icy fear wove through her, strangling her nerves.
“What is this?” she said in a barely audible voice.
“It’s all about you.” The voice sounded hoarse like the person had a cold or something, but it also sounded familiar.
Where have I heard that voice?
“I’ve been following you for a long time, Carrie Nolan. You always thought you were better than me. Remember how you laughed at me in high school? I wonder who’s going to laugh tonight. I have a feeling it’s going to be me.” Again a low voice, but this time anger and cruelty laced it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know who you are. Get out of my car.”
The wind howled around them as hail beat down on the roof of the car sounding like gun fire. Carrie’s mind whirled as she tried to figure out what to do.If I run outside, the hail will get me, but it’s my only chance.
As if anticipating her move, the person grabbed her hands. The hood slid off, and under the overhead lights, she could now see the face more clearly.
“You!” she gasped.
Then the person broke the light and the car was plunged into darkness. Before she could react, the “manager” went into a frenzy: punching, scratching, stabbing. She screamed as she saw her own blood splattering across the windshield, the dashboard, and the steering wheel.
“No! Please no!” she cried, reaching forward to stop the knife.
But the sharp blade came down again, slicing through her, puncturing her dress and her flesh. The blade kept coming again and again, even after she stopped fighting.
I’m dying.
Then blackness descended over her.
