"YOU'RE GOING to have to die."

Lisanne Heller's body trembled at the softly spoken words. How many times before had she heard that voice? And now... no, she couldn't let it happen. She didn't want to die.

Icy dread knifed through her veins, filling her heart. Her lungs scrabbled for breath, but she desperately tried to hide it.

"This is ridiculous," she said imperiously, unable to tear her gaze off the gun pointed straight at her heart. "You're drunk, or insane. Don't forget. I know all about you."

"Oh, I know you do," the voice said, menace poisoning every syllable. "But I'm not going to let you ruin another life, Lisanne."

Her vision wavered as she clutched the bench at her side, her eyes still on the gun.

"Put that thing away," she snapped, her voice quivering as her knees locked. Keep talking, don't fall apart. "You'll injure yourself."

Lips crept tightly across even, white teeth. She narrowed her eyes, as the blood surging desperately through her veins screamed in her ears. What was wrong with her? She couldn't see the whole person, only bits... Face. Arm. Gun. The mouth, standing out, grinning like some decayed fish, and... oh, God... the hand. Lean white fingers held tight around the gun. Flesh and metal, woven together to form a deadly tool.

Her heart clenched as her bladder pressed painfully against her pelvis. Realization hit her hard.

She was about to die.

Lisanne shook her head. Slowly then wildly as if that could stop it from happening, as if shaking her head could summon God or someone... anyone... She turned and looked at the door, hope rushing through her.

"There's no help coming. I made sure of that. Besides, no one likes you much, Lisanne, I'll probably get a medal for this."

"Don't... please...." She forced herself to move, taking one agonizing step forward.

A cruel laugh, frozen like the Antarctic and just as barren, stopped her. "This is your fault... I tried to warn you, but you wouldn't listen. You have to pay for all your crimes."

"Oh, God!" The words were wrenched straight from her soul. No life flashed before her eyes, only empty, wasted prayers. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her bladder burned.

The gun. Her eyes feasted on it. Beautiful and terrifying. She couldn't look away, couldn't move.

"Aria."

"Forget it," the voice said. "Good-bye, Lisanne."

Her eyes rocketed to the finger tightening around the trigger.

The sound boomed through her... so loud, so sharp... then pain ripped into her like the fires of hell. Hot urine streamed down her legs as she fell, hitting the floor. No pain after that, just a terrible waiting.

Darkness wove around her as she looked up into the eyes of her killer. So cold, so empty... The darkness ate everything around her. Sight, sound, feeling... fading... then finally, blessedly, nothing at all.

"DO YOU KNOW where you are?" a man asked.

She looked up, eyes glazed. "Grady...." she murmured, her mouth feeling numb. "Where is he?"

"Waiting outside. Aria, where's the gun?" the man asked soothingly.

She stared up at him, scrunching her eyes against the harshly glaring white light above. She didn't know him, didn't know anything much at all. Inside she felt so cold, and haziness cloaked her mind. Where was she... ? What was happening? She looked down, surprised to see dark stains on her dress. Blood? Yet she could see no injuries, feel no pain. Experimentally she moved her arms and legs. Everything felt fine. If it wasn't her blood, then whose? She looked back up at the dark haired man. "I... I'm confused...."

"You're at the hospital. Now, please, answer the question. What did you do with the gun?"

She couldn't answer. Fragmented images slid in and out of her mind. Emergency number. Grady's. And the body. Dear God... the body....

What had she done?

Copyright © 1999 by Diana Waldhuber