I’ve been trying to write while sitting here in the oncology infusion room. It’s hard to concentrate and I’ve dozed off twice. But I am writing, and that’s the main thing.
The suddenness of the light littered Hannah’s eyes with spots. She dropped the file but still held a lockpick, and she held it like a knife. She sensed a rushing figure moer than she saw it.
She lashed out like her father had taught her to do. The pointed edge struck a cheek, and and reeled back. Hannah shoved him and ran. Hands reached for her but she twisted away, crashing into a book case. She didn’t slow down.
Almost to the door, someone snatched the hood of her sweater and jerked. Hannah fell, and the man—if indeed it was a man; her vision remained spotted and blurred—seemed confident he had her. Her thin frame was nothing to the muscle of her would-be captor. But Hannah possessed plenty of her grandmother’s blood in her veins, and she was hard to hold against her will.
Something felt odd about the arms wrapping around her. She didn’t, however, have time to think. She took a deep breath and slipped free. She ran to the door. Something grabbed her foot. She sprawled on the floor, but went down kicking. The heel of her boot made contact with something. She imagined it had to be someone’s nose.
A second later Hannah was up and out the door, pounding down the hall for her life. All the lights were on. Heavy, thudding noises raced behind her. She took the first turn and then another. A dark space appeared in the floor and she jumped.