Fawn knew he was just outside the kitchen; she could feel his closeness. She remembered that the door was double-locked, and she wondered if he would break the window to enter. She hoped almost that he would, as the shattering of the glass would surely arouse her stepmother, who slept fitfully. With a soft whimper, Fawn squeezed herself into a tight ball and wished for the hundredth time in her life that, if she squeezed hard enough, she could make herself disappear.
The man wrapped his long fingers around the doorknob and turned it easily. He opened the door and entered the house with a familiarity that would suggest he knew the place well. Without so much as a pause to survey his surroundings, he crossed the kitchen with its shiny new appliances and cabinet faces and went directly to the laundry room door. Silently, he swung the door slowly inward and stepped inside. Fawn tightened her arms around her small trembling body, her eyes shut, her heart beating ferociously in her chest. She sensed or perhaps imagined that the man had extended his arm toward the wicker hamper, toward her, and that his hand hovered just above her blonde head. Her heart had now pounded its way into her throat, choking her scream. He had her now; she was trapped. There were no paramedics, no Jaws of Life to save her. This outcome was an eventuality that she could no longer avoid or escape.
Excerpt from the Prologue to Time of Death
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There is a moment of eerie stillness that occurs in the aftermath of chaos and destruction; time appears stopped, as if a hand has touched the pendulum of a great universal clock to cease its rhythmic back and forth movement. It is the interval after the earth stops quaking, the tornado zigzags, the tsunami collapses. There is neither assessment nor intellectual processing of any kind, only a nebulous sense of gratitude similar to the vague relief one feels when a jackhammer suddenly concludes its relentless assault. The moment is a celestial gift of oblivion and respite, absent of fear or knowledge or regret. For some, the tranquility is too compelling, too irresistible, and they slip away into the warm comfort of its depth. Others, however, are roused from peaceful stupor by the awareness of their own breathing, and they emerge slowly to the horrific reality of their circumstances.
Excerpt from Part One of Time of Death
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Fawn looked back at her image in the glass; her face was calm, her eyes knowing. The Tagamet swimming in her stomach was doing its job. Trudy was right; she looked perfect. Like a porcelain doll, they had said. Fawn thought of Olympia, the literary automaton Hoffmann’s shallow protagonist had fallen in love with in “The Sandman.” Yes, Fawn thought, she was just like that to Kevin.
Bea signaled to Fawn from the doorway. “Okay, sweetie, they’re all waiting for you. It’s show time,” she said. Nodding, Fawn turned toward her and took the last bouquet of white calla lilies from Bea.
“Remember,” Bea whispered, “find the edge of each stair with your toe before stepping down. Hold on to the railing so you can catch yourself if you miss a step.”
Fawn nodded again and walked carefully through the doorway to the top of the stairs. She had practiced navigating this staircase in her petticoat and heels earlier, but now two hundred smiling faces looked up at her from the rows of velvet chairs below. She heard the familiar strands of her music cue and watched the audience rise to its feet. Fawn closed her eyes and saw the restart button in her mind. Hold on to the railing so you can catch yourself if you miss a step. If you misstep.
Clutching her bouquet in front of her, Fawn placed a gloved hand on the banister, took a deep breath, and began her descent.
Excerpt from Part Two of Time of Death
By Michelle Arch
[...] Time of Death [...]