The Suicide Club by Gayle Wilson Page B

stepped out into the hall, pulling the door with her so that it slammed shut before the snake could make another attempt to reach its warm-blooded target.
    The episode had occupied only seconds. One of those “life flashing before your eyes” moments, when you knew with absolute certainty you were going to die.
    Despite the seeming safety of the wooden barrier between her and the snake, Lindsey’s breath sawed in and out through her open mouth. Somehow she had managed to escape. And, as incredible as it seemed, without being bitten.
    Before she had time to fully relish what a miracle that was, her eyes focused on the crack of light beneath the door. A gap big enough for the rattler to slither under?
    She had no idea how wide that would need to be. But she couldn’t take a chance.
    The only thing worse than knowing there was a venomous snake inside her house was knowing that and not knowing where it was. If she followed her instincts to put more distance and more doors between them, and the rattler got out of the bathroom, they might never find it.
    And she would never again spend another night here.
    Realizing she still held the wadded underwear in her hand, she bent and began gingerly to stuff them into the crack under the door. It quickly became apparent that was not enough fabric to fill its length. Even if it had been, those wisps of nylon didn’t seem substantial enough to create a strong enough obstruction if the snake tried to push through.
    There was nothing else close enough that she could reach it without taking her eyes off the ribbon of light at the bottom of the door. She fought a renewed sense of panic as she tried to figure out what she could use to keep the rattler trapped in the bathroom.
    The comforter on her bed would be both large enough and heavy enough to block the opening. To get it, she’d have to leave the hallway. Could the snake get out in the few seconds it would take to retrieve the spread and bring it back here?
    That was a risk she would have to take. Otherwise, she might still be out here in the dark hall when she discovered that there was room enough for him to work his way through that crack. That possibility was enough to end her paralysis.
    She bolted for the bedroom, throwing the light switch at the end of the hall as well as the one in her room. She grabbed the comforter and sprinted back, her eyes searching the gleaming hardwood floor in front of her as she ran, looking for a darker streak than those revealed by the grain of the wood. One that moved.
    When she reached the bathroom door, she threw the spread down in front of it. Then, on her hands and knees, she crammed the thick, quilted material into the crack.
    Even when she’d blocked the last bit of light escaping from the bathroom, she wasn’t convinced she’d created a sturdy enough barrier to keep the snake confined. Once more she made the trip to her bedroom.
    As her bare feet made contact with the carpet, she had a flashback to the first time she’d entered this room tonight. Her feet had been bare then, too, except for her hose. And she hadn’t turned on the overhead light.
    What if the snake had been in here, rather than in the hamper? What if she’d stepped on it in the darkness? Even as she looked for something to reinforce her makeshift barricade, she shivered at the thought.
    And then she froze at the next one. Her rational mind had, in the last few minutes, given way to the far more primitive part of her brain, the one that viewed the creature in her bathroom with the same primordial fear her ancestors had.
    Admittedly, this was snake country. One Alabama city held a rattlesnake roundup each year, capturing hundreds from among the scrub. It was certainly not unheard of for snakes to get inside a house. But inside a closed hamper?
    There could be only one explanation for that. One she didn’t want to think about.
    Someone had put the rattlesnake inside that basket, where, angered by the confinement, it had