Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I can’t let go of him yet. Not yet. Not when I am so horribly fragile. Sometimes when I am in the middle of making love with Rocco, I think I will break. And I will cry out and he will immediately stop and hold me tight.
But by the third day, I know I have to steel myself and go back to my caravan. There is food becoming moldy in my fridge, and I am bothered by something else. It is crazy, but I have never dreamed of Sam. I think of her all day so I should dream of her at night. At least once, but I never do. I feel as if she can’t come to me when I am at Rocco’s place.
After Larry leaves for the night, I go to the back and pull out my painting of the castle. I should finish it, but I have feelings for it. It seems dull and amateurish to me now. I put it back into the narrow space it was resting in and decide to clean the gallery first. That way I won’t have to do it in the morning. After I have cleaned downstairs, I carry the vacuum cleaner upstairs to Larry’s office.
His office is small and it only takes me a few minutes before I’m done. I switch off the vacuum and in its dying growl, I hear a sound downstairs. It is unmistakable. Glass breaking. I still and listen carefully. Someone is working the lock. The rusty bell tinkles.
The shuffling of feet… hushed men’s voices… there are men in the gallery! More than one.
I can lock myself in here, but what if they have heard the vacuum and know I am up here.
I creep silently to the door, crack it open, and crawl along the short corridor. Then I hang my head over the top of the stairs and… see three men. All dressed in black. Two of them have knives. My heart starts hammering in my chest.
Suddenly, one of them swivels his head, looks up and sees me. For a second we stare at each other. He has the hard face of a thug. Then he breaks the stare. “Upstairs,” he tells his friends.
A scream escapes my throat, and I’m on my feet in a flash. I run for the sanctuary of the office. It has a lock. I reach it, slam the door shut and turn the lock with trembling hands. Placing my body against it I debate what to do. Call the police or open the window and try to climb down the pipes.
But I can already hear the thud of their footsteps running up the stairs. I need to barricade myself first. This door is too flimsy. I make a mad dash to Larry’s desk and push it forward until it rams against the door. The men start trying the door handle, then banging on it. One of the men slams his body against the door.
I take a frightened step back. Clearly, the desk won’t be enough to hold them back. I look around desperately: the metal filing cabinet. I hurry to it and push it with all my might towards the door. When I am close enough I shove it onto the desk. It falls with a crash. I jam it against the door.
My body is shaking as I find Larry’s phone under some papers on the floor and call 911.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Oh no, girlie you don’t want to do that,” one of the men outside says.
“Spokane gallery has been broken into. There are three men inside. They have knives and they are trying to break down the office door. I am alone. Please send some help quickly,” I plead.
“What’s your Zip code ma’am?”
“Uh… I’m not. Wait.” I place a hand to my chest to calm myself down enough to think and speak. “75169. Please hurry. I’m in terrible trouble.”
The thin wood at the upper half of the door splinters. They push through a rectangular hole. I see a man’s face in it. He has dark hair, hazel eyes, and a wide mouth.
“Is she alone?” I hear someone ask.
“Yeah,” he says. His voice is frighteningly emotionless.
I rush to Larry’s golf bag and take out the golf club with the thickest head. Then I rush to the door and swing it wildly at them. “Don’t come in here. There’s no money or safe in here,” I shout.
I heard someone swear.
“Keep breaking the door,” another voice instructs calmly.
I’m sweating adrenaline, but there is absolutely nothing I can do. My fantasy of climbing out of the window is just that, a fantasy. There are no pipes to climb down. I’ll just break my neck, but I will attempt it if I see the men look like they will make it through the door before the police get here.