Tribune,” said James, the night editor.“It’s Lacey. I’ve got a story for you. There were two killings at Hoffman’s to night.”“Ahhh.” He sounded disgusted. “Okay, you want to give it Tome?”“Tribune reporter Lacey Allen last night discovered the mutilated body of Elsie Hoffman and fatally injured Red Peterson when she entered Hoffman’s Market shortly before closing time.”“You found them?”“Afraid so.”“Christ!”“Before she could summon authorities, Miss Allen was herself assaulted and rendered unconscious by an unseen assailant. Paragraph. Police, arriving on the scene, found that Red Peterson had succumbed to his injuries. A thorough search of the premises revealed that the killer had fled.”For the next five minutes, she continued to tell her story to James and the Tribune’s tape recorder, filling in details, never mentioning her rape or the specifics about the killings or her suspicion that the assailant had escaped in her car, finally recapping the earlier incidents at the market. “That about does it,” she finished. “Except for one thing. I’d like some time to recuperate. Tell Carl I won’t be in tomorrow, okay?”“Sure thing. You all right?”“Just beat up a little. I’ll be in Friday.”“Fine. Great work, Lacey.”“Just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”“I detect a note of irony.”“Only a note?”“Take care of yourself, kid.”“I will. Night, James.”“See ya.”She hung up. With the revolver and empty wineglass, she returned to the kitchen for a refill. Then she went into the bathroom. She shut the door and thumbed down its lock button. A feeble mea sure. Any pointed instrument turned in the keyhole, she knew, would pop open the lock. But the little precaution was better than none at all.She set her pistol and glass on the floor beside the tub, and started the water running. When it felt hot enough, she stoppered the drain.She turned to the medicine cabinet mirror. The face looking back at her was a bad copy of the one she was used to: slack and pallid, dark under the eyes, the eyes themselves wide and vacant. Turning her head, she fingered back the hair draping her right temple and studied the patch of swollen, red-blue skin. The ear, too, was slightly puffed and discolored.“A shadow of her former self,” she muttered. It brought a slight smile. Part of the strangeness left her eyes.She took off her blouse. Then she unfastened her jeans, tugged them down, and kicked them off. She tossed the blouse and jeans into the hamper.She looked down at herself. Fingers had left redblue impressions on both her breasts.Must’ve grabbed them and squeezed.The teeth indentations had disappeared, but her nipples were purple. She touched one and winced.Her body was seamed with fingernail scratches: her shoulders and upper arms, her sides, her belly, her thighs. At least he hadn’t raked her breasts, and none of the scratches would show when she was clothed—the silver lining.She tested the water with a foot. Hot, but not burning. She climbed in and slowly lowered herself, clenching rigid with pain as the water seared the raw lips of her vagina. The pain faded, and she let herself down the rest of the way. She gritted her teeth as the water scorched her torn thighs. But that pain soon faded, like the other. She took a deep breath. Leaning forward, she turned off the faucet.The house was silent except for the slow plop of water drops near her feet.Bracing herself against the shock, she splashed water onto her scratches. At first, it felt like lava running down her open flesh. Then it wasn’t so bad. After a sip of wine, she lathered herself with soap and rinsed.She picked up her wineglass again, and lay back. Head propped against the rear of the tub, she sipped the wine. It felt warm and good going down. Holding the glass in one hand, she reached down with the other, down through the hot water between her open legs. Tenderly, she fingered herself.He must’ve chewed her there, too.Filthy bastard!At least he didn’t kill me—another silver lining?Fuck the silver linings.Lacey blinked tears away, and reached for the bar of soap. She rubbed herself gently.And the bathroom lights went out.She threw herself against the side of the tub. She clawed the rug, trying to find the revolver.Where was it?Then she touched its cool steel. She picked it up by the barrel, found its handle, and gripped it tight.She stood up. She lifted one foot out of the water and stepped over the tub’s wall. With that foot firm on the rug, she leaned out. In the vague light from the window, she searched the bathroom. She saw no one. The door appeared to be shut.Must be shut. Still locked. I’d have heard the button pop…Okay, maybe the bulbs in the fixture blew. Three bulbs? Fat chance. How about a general power failure? Sure thing. No, it had to be the fuse box.He’s in the house!Slowly, she raised her other foot out of the water. She stepped clear of the tub and stood aiming at the door.Naked and wet, she felt more vulnerable than ever before in her life. She backed up, and knelt beside the hamper. Switching the pistol to her left hand, she reached in. She pulled out her jeans, her blouse.The blouse was easy. She got it on without letting go of the gun. But she needed two hands for the jeans. She set the pistol on the counter by the sink, within easy reach.Stupid, she thought as she fumbled with her pants. This is just the moment he’ll choose to bust the door in. But she heard nothing. Only a car speeding along, somewhere far away. If he’d just hold off for a few seconds, she would be dressed and ready for him. She had to be dressed.She was bent over, balanced on one leg, her other foot high and pushing into the jeans, when she felt fingers clutch her ankle and jerk it out from under her.She hit the floor.Rough hands jerked her pants off. She tried to scramble up, but the weight of a man drove her against the floor, forced her legs apart. Her blouse was ripped off her back. Then he was lying on her, pinning her arms to the floor. She felt his hardness against her rump.“Scream, cunt, and I’ll rip off your head.”She pressed her face to the rug. She cried, she whimpered with pain, she bit her lips until she tasted their blood, but she didn’t scream. At some point, with the man grunting and thrusting in the darkness above her, Lacey passed out.