Lisa Jackson - Final Scream

Angies lungs were on fire as she made her way toward the back rooms, where the trapped smoke had collected.

There had to be another way out of here. Had to!

Think, Angie, thinkyou dont have time for this .

Coughing, gasping, stumbling, she moved deeper into the building, through smaller rooms that had once been offices. Where were the windows?

She saw none and she was panting now, terrified beyond belief.

Where was the door?

Then she saw it. Through the smokea change in the wall. Thank God! She threw herself at the old panels, found the knob. Her fingers burned as she turned the brass fixture and she yanked with all her might.

Nothing happened.

She tried again, threw all her weight into pulling the damned thing open.

It didnt budge.

Help! she cried, coughing, banging on the door, hearing the first sounds of sirens in the air. Help me!

The heat was so intense, she had to fight from blacking outshe lifted a fist. Pounded again and noticed the flames, licking across the floor, creeping around her, circling that little spot where she stood.

No! she screamed as she struggled for a last, searing breath and realized with horrifying certainty that she was going to die

Special thanks to Nancy Bush, Marilyn Katcher, Jack and Betty Pedersen, Sally Peters, and Debbie Todd for their help and encouragement with this book.

I imagined her death.

Not a quick, easy giving up of the ghost, but a slow, torturous passing from this world to the next where, I was certain, shed meet Lucifer at hells gate. Which was perfect and, I figured, long overdue.

I felt a little thrill. A tingle of anticipation as I double-checked the locks of the old mill, then saw again the thin, nearly invisible filament that I had stretched between the detonation device and the pile of oily rags near the only route of escape, the doorway from the parking lot, the one shed use to enter.

Yes, yes, yes!

I envisioned her walking through the cobwebs that draped over the doorway and into this gargantuan room, the heart of the hundred-year-old behemoth of a building that was in a sorry state of decay. Slated for a renovation that would never come.

So intent on her purpose, to meet a lover who would never show, she wouldnt notice that overhead, the metal roof gaped, creaking in the hot summer wind. Nor would she see the owl in the rafters as he flapped his wings before taking flight. Shed ignore the scent of dust and the old, unmistakable odor of sweat from a century of men who had toiled here.

Blind as she was to everything except herself, shed miss the fact that the entire building had been wired to go up in the worst conflagration this sorry little town had ever seen.

Perfect.

I licked my lips in anticipation; tasted the salt from sweat pouring off my skin. Fingered the padlock in my jacket pocket; the one Id removed from the back exit. Burn, you sorry little bitch, I thought and smiled to myself at how clever I was and how no one would ever suspect me. Id already been pegged, typecast by this pathetic, small-minded community as one who didnt have the brains or wherewithal for something as complicated as murder.

Little did they know.

Just wait, I thought and trembled in eager anticipation.

In my minds eye, I witnessed her walking through the doorway in expensive shoesprobably those high-heeled slip-ons she liked, as they showed off the perfect curve of her calves and gave her a few extra inches from which she could look down her straight nose. Then she would make her way toward the back of the building to a private room that had once been a windowless office.

I nearly fumbled with the detonator as I considered how shed first understand what was about to happen.

She might catch a whiff of smoke in the stale air, but shed think it was only the strike of a match as a cigarette was lit; that her lover had gotten to their tryst a few minutes before she had.

That would please her.

She loved to make an entrance.

The goddamned whore!

She was so damned predictable.

Shed call out and wait, hoping to hear him respond, and when he didnt she wouldnt worry, just think he was playing a seductive game of hide-and-seek as he lurked in the shadows. Waiting for her. Lusting after her. His cock rock-hard with need.

Shed smile seductively. Lift a dark, inquisitive eyebrow. Unbutton her blouse to show off her cleavage on this hot, breathless night and wind her long hair into a knot that shed hold over her head, pushing those beautiful breasts forward. Oh, she understood how to play the game. How well I knew.

My hands were slippery in my gloves as I fantasized about how she, in that low, throaty voice, would call out to him again, saying something naughty. Dirty. Maybe shed take off a high heel and playfully let it dangle from her fingers.

But the smell of smoke would be stronger by then and shed start to wonder, perhaps feel that first little niggle of fear slide down her spine.

I smiled at that thought, tamped down the rage that burned through me at the thought of her seductive games. Jesus, I hoped shed experience real, gut-wrenching, piss-your-pants terror tonight.

Thats what it was all about.

That, and getting rid of her.

Forever.

In my vision, I saw her, dark hair intentionally mussed. Disturbed, even a little frightened, shed yell his name more loudly. Anxiously. She would be getting angry. Worried. Shed warn him that she was in no mood for jokes and this wasnt funny anyway. Shed even turn petulantly, offering him a view of her rounded little ass.

Because she knew it was flawless and, oh, so inviting.

But by that time it would be too late.

Shed take one step toward the door and

Bam!

The gunpowder would explode.

Shed be thrown off her feet.

Shed land with a bone-rattling smack onto the hard wood floor.

Her head would crack on the oily planks.

The building would shudder.

A ball of fire would spew sparks and flames to the ceiling.

Tinder-dry walls would ignite, fire climbing up to the rafters, sparks raining down, catching in her hair, burning her clothes, sizzling against her skin.

And shed screamoh, how shed scream.

I quivered with the thrill of my fantasy, so close at hand.

Raw panic would surge through her. Shed be frantic. Realize that she was about to die in a horrible oven from which there would be no escape.

I felt another shiver of exhilaration zing through my blood, and the sound of Jim Morrisons voice echoed through my head as the vision became more distinct. More real.

Try to set the night on fire, I whispered, as I, through the projector of my mind, watched what was to come.

The old timbers of this mill would quake, burn hot, groan eerily and tumble down, breaking into hundreds of flaming chunks as the fiery walls began to collapse and the roof gave way.

Dazed, blinded by smoke, shed feel horrifying fear. Shed cough and gasp. Crying, begging for someone to save her, shed crawl on bloodied knees to the back doorher only hope of escape. But it would be shut forever. The padlock that Id opened earlier for my escape, firmly back in place.