Rising by Holly Kelly Page A

surface faded to black as the sea enveloped her. It couldn’t be. She’d escaped this nightmare years ago. But here she was, and here she would die, at the bottom of the ocean.
    She sucked in a lungful of air and bolted upright in bed. A cool sweat slicked her hair against her head and dripped down her face as she continued to inhale quick gasps.
    No matter how many times she’d had the same old nightmare, it always scared the life out of her. She ran her fingers through her damp hair. Her body continued to shake. Looking down, she realized she wore yesterday’s clothes.
    What had happened last night? She remembered her horrid first date, but she couldn’t recall how she had gotten home. Maybe she’d passed out from an overdose of idiocy dealt out by Ron.
    It was possible.
    Something twisted in her gut and she felt some lingering remnants of fear. She pushed them away. She couldn’t deal with forgotten memories right now—especially unpleasant ones. She just couldn’t. Besides, she had other things to worry about, like the $27.00 that wouldn’t last the week. She had work to do.
    Three hours later, she’d completed several new web pages. Ron briefly passed through her mind. Something told her there would be no second date with him. Thank heavens.
    Wheeling over to the refrigerator, Sara grabbed a bottle of water and an apple. As she lifted the apple to her mouth, a knock at the door startled her. The apple slipped from her fingers, bounced once, and then rolled under the kitchen table.
    Oh great. That was her last apple. She had to go the grocery store today.
    Sara wheeled over to the door and leaned toward the peephole Mr. Brown had lowered for her. Good thing he did, she would never answer her door otherwise. Not that she had many visitors—well, except for Gretchen. But her best friend was at school today and Sara wasn’t expecting anyone. A girl could never be too careful.
    Peeping through the hole, Sara scowled, confused at the inky black on the other side. Was someone covering the lens?
    She should just pretend not to be home.
    “Miss. Taylor, this is Mr. Dimitriou,” a deep, muffled voice said. “I’m the new owner of the apartment building. I just wanted to introduce myself to each of my tenants.”
    New owner? Mr. Brown sold the building? Maybe she should open the door. She didn’t want to offend her new landlord. He might raise her rent or evict her. Of course, if he came in here and murdered her, who cared how much her rent was?
    She carefully analyzed the situation. His voice sounded normal—no slurring, stuttering, laughing. His accent though. She couldn’t place it. Of course, she was no linguist, but she could make out the usual—Tongan, Samoan, Australian, Japanese…
    She tried the peephole again. The stranger moved and she finally got a look at him.
    Oh good heavens, he looked like “The Assassin”. She remembered he went by Shane Adams now. What would a movie star/pro-wrestler be doing buying a dilapidated apartment building?
    Yeah, right. He wouldn’t. This man stood massive—very tall, broad in the shoulders, and narrow at the waist. His shirt pulled snug over his chiseled muscles. He wore wide, gold bands around his biceps, like something you’d see on a Roman soldier, except the Romans wore them on their wrists. How odd.
    “Miss. Taylor, I heard you in there. If you aren’t comfortable opening to me, I could bring a police officer —just to let you know I am who I say. I don’t want you to think I’m threatening you in anyway. I know it must be frightening to have a big stranger knock on the door when you live alone.”
    His voice shook with nervousness.
    He didn’t sound like a murderer. Besides, given the sheer size of the man, if he wanted to kill her, he could kick her flimsy door in.
    Sara sighed and looked heavenward. “Okay, if I die, I die,” she said quietly as she lowered her gaze back on the door. She cracked it open and looked out.
    She had to wheel back