Cold sweat and steady rain dripped from every part of her being. Terror gnawed at her gut, her nausea was overpowering. On shapely lithe legs she ran, and ran, and ran. With fear to guide her, it was less the ‘to’, but rather the ‘from’, that had her sprinting bare footed in a pair of old jeans, and an older tee shirt. Undies and bra hadn’t factored in with her rapid departure. The stormy miserable black night held terrors for her not previously imagined.
Rounding a corner, the steady hard rain and a slick Solomon Street footpath caused her to lose her footing, slip sideways and tumble. Falling, Tilly rolled, deftly springing back up, not losing a beat nor momentum, and continued to run.
Half an hour earlier, Tilly, five feet seven inches and lithe, had stepped out of the shower to answer a knock at the door. Wrapping her shoulder length red hair in a towel, she threw her old and comfortable greenish knee length bathrobe around herself. On opening the door, what she found was the expected pizza she had ordered forty minutes prior. Smiling at the man holding the pizza box, he greeted her by punching her powerfully in the mouth. Knocking her down, he dragging her into her lounge room by her shower damp hair, kicking the door closed behind him as he passed. Hurriedly, hungrily, he tore the robe from her semi concussed form, taking to revel in the image of beauty laid out before him. Tilly let out a slow low moan, realising she was not as concussed as he had first though, he leant down over her semi prostate form, punching her again in the mouth. After a spell, depraved draught of perverse power over another flooded him. Smiling, he stood, strode back to the closed door, and locked it.
As the man moved to the door, Tilly, who was far from unconscious, acted. Grabbing her hard backed Oxford Concise Dictionary (New Edition). She had been referring to it in conjunction with an essay she halfway through writing, ‘Globalisation in the Asia Pacific Region: 2000 to 2010’ . Sweeping up the thick hardback from the corner of a low coffee table, Tilly silently launched herself at her assailant from behind. Bringing the heavy book down with all force against his temple, again and, again, and again, the intruder crumpled bleeding to the floor.
Tearing the cord from her dressing gown on the floor, Tilly tied his hands and feet as tightly as possible, and picked up her mobile phone. Wanting to dial ‘000’, the ‘911’ of Australia, Tilly swore at the discovery of a flat battery. She had no house phone. The man did not move.
Puffing from both exertion and fear, Tilly moved unsteadily to her bathroom, and dragged on an old tee shirt and jeans from the laundry basket. Her only thought revolving around escape, from her flat to her neighbours place as quickly as possible. Trotting back into the the carnage of her lounge room, horror struck her.
The man had gone.
A quick glance at the door told her that it was still very much locked from the inside. Like ice poured through her soul, dread realisation told that he must still be within her Fremantle flat.
Unlocking her door as quickly as her shaking hands would allow, Tilly sprinted through it, and continued running down the stairs in front of her apartment. As Tilly hit the sixth step, the man who came with the pizza stepped through her door. Bloody and screaming, his chase began, and Tilly’s nightmare exploded around her once more.
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