In Laymon's Terms

But how could he get in? The doors were locked for him, too. And all the downstairs windows were locked.

I’m trapped in here, Lynda thought, and Neal can’t help me. Not this time.

But if she could call out to him...

She was halfway across the living room, rushing past the dark shape of a low table, when something caught her hair. She cried out as her head snapped back. She fell, crashing against the floor.

A face came down close to her own.

“You didn’t listen to me, Lynda. So now you will die.”

Lynda tried to lift her head, but her hair was pinned down—probably by Elizabeth’s knee.

“Please,” Lynda gasped. “Don’t. They’ll make the movie anyway. They’ll just...find someone else to play the part.”

“The picture will not be made.”

Lynda could just make out the woman’s hand beginning to rise. It held a large knife.

“No!” Lynda screamed. She hit Elizabeth in the side as hard as she could. As Elizabeth fell over, Lynda rolled out from under her. Then she pushed herself to her feet and ran to the stairway. She dashed up them, taking three at a time.

“You can’t get away from me!” Elizabeth cried out. From the sound of her voice, she wasn’t far behind.

Lynda got to the top of the stairs. She raced to her bedroom. As she got to it, she looked back. Elizabeth was rushing toward her. Quickly Lynda ran inside and locked the door. Spinning around, she picked up her desk chair. She rushed to the window and threw the chair against it. The glass exploded. The chair flew out and fell through the night.

In the silence that followed, she heard the lock click and give way. Lynda looked back. Her door suddenly swung open. Elizabeth stood there, the knife still in her hand.

Lynda climbed onto the window sill and stared at the dark lawn below. It looked like a long way down.

But it was better to jump and risk a broken leg—or worse—than to face Elizabeth.

Just then she heard footsteps rushing up behind her.

She jumped.

A hand grabbed her right ankle. It stopped her fall. She swung down and slammed against the outside wall of the house.

“You can’t get away from me!” Elizabeth cried.

Lynda hung upside down below the window, yelling. She tried to grab the wall as Elizabeth started to pull her up. “No!” she shouted. Then, with her free foot, she kicked the hand that held her.

Elizabeth yelled and let her go.

Lynda dropped head-first toward the ground. As she fell, she caught sight of someone running toward her across the grass.

Neal slammed into her shoulder. The block knocked her sideways, and smashed Neal to the ground.

Neal gasped for air. Lynda had landed on top of him, knocking the wind out of him. He felt her pull herself off him.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

“I...think so.” The grass was wet. He pushed himself to his hands and knees. “How about you?”

“Nothing broken, I think.”

She helped him stand up. On the ground nearby, the moonlight played on pieces of broken chair and glass.

“Are you cut?” Neal asked.

“I don’t think so.

“Me neither. We were lucky.”

“I’ll say. Elizabeth...she...”

Lynda and Neal quickly looked up at the high bedroom window. No one was there.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” said Neal. “We’ll go to my house and call the police from there.”

They ran to Neal’s car. Just before they reached it, Lynda looked back over her shoulder at the house. She gasped.

Neal turned around. The house lights were on again. The front door stood open.

Then, as they stared, a black cat came slowly out. It stopped on the porch and began to rub its head against the railing. Finally, it sat down, its long tail curled behind it.

“Let’s go,” Neal whispered.

They climbed into his car. The cat bared its teeth and hissed as Neal and Lynda sped away.

CHAPTER 7

FUNERAL HOME

The next morning, Neal knocked on Lynda’s dressing room door. “It’s me,” he called.

“Come on in.”

He walked into the small room. Lynda was wearing cut-off jeans and an orange shirt. She smiled up at him in the mirror. Her bandages were gone. She was putting on her makeup. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“I feel like I was hit by a car.”

“I feel a little run down, myself.”

She laughed, but there was a worried look in her eyes.

“I wish you would quit,” Neal said.

“If I did, they’d just get another actress. Then Elizabeth would go after her. Besides, I’m mad now. If she thinks she can scare me off from making this film, she can forget it.”

“But—” Neal started in.

Lynda made a point of closing the subject by turning her back on Neal. She crossed the room and took a black dress down from where it hung on the wall. “How do you like this?” she asked brightly.

“I’m not crazy about black,” Neal answered.

“I’m not, either. But today Melissa is visiting a funeral home. She’s paying her respects to that kid she supposedly killed.”

“The one who crashed his motorcycle?”

“That’s the one.” She put a black veil over her face. “Cute, huh?”

“Real cute.”

Lynda let out a long sigh. “Well, you’d better get out of here, now. I have to change.”

Neal nodded. “See you on the set,” he told her and left.