limbo sleep–state of being awake, but not being able to move yet. My mind sent signals to my legs to move while my fingers twitched. At last my eyes shot open wide and I sat up, found I was sweating profusely. “What the…”
I cocked my head to the side to peek at the alarm clock. Two thirty. I’d been deeply asleep for almost two hours. In disbelief, I looked out the window to find the rain still coming down in soft sheets.
Standing up—I had to change out of my damp clothes—I wondered why I had awakened in a sweat. I didn’t remember any dreams, and I knew I wasn’t sick. I walked over to the dresser to grab a nightgown, when the sound of breaking glass echoed through the house once more, followed by a soft creak on the wood floor. Door hinges groaned and I froze in place, goose bumps forming on the back of my neck and arms. After grabbing the phone from the bedside table and the Glock from the bottom drawer, I steadied myself and moved into the hallway toward the kitchen, listening for any other sounds of intrusion. Gun in one hand, phone in the other, I scanned the kitchen, peered at the back door and out the kitchen sink window.
Turning to investigate the living room, I felt a sharp sting on the bottom of my foot. “Damn it.” It made me wince and I crouched down to examine it in the dim light, afraid to flick the lights on just yet. My foot tensed and began to bleed as I plucked a shard of glass from it. Still crouched down, I pivoted around to look at the floor, stopped when I saw the scattered trail of broken glass.
Body frozen, my eyes followed the trail and zoned in on a fist-sized chunk of glass surrounded by small puddles of water, the base of a drinking glass that had toppled from the counter. Ignoring the distraction, I grasped the gun tighter and quivered when I sensed his presence moving in on me.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You won’t be needing that.” He appeared from the shadows near me—too near—and I shot up to stand, aimed the gun. Wondering if the dark was playing tricks on me, I blinked when I saw him. He looked astoundingly different: Flawlessly luminous, his pale, glassy skin cast a contrasting glow in the darkened room, lighting it up. His wicked smile intensified when he saw my expression.
Taking hold of the gun, he ripped it from my grasp and tossed out the ammunition with a few swift motions, then chucked the unloaded weapon across the room while he tore the phone from my other hand. Terror crept across my chest when I felt his overwhelming strength, and worsened when he squeezed the phone to pieces, crushing it in its entirety with ease. Aware now that my life was in danger, I sprang to the counter to grab a cutting knife, but Andrew beat me to it, clasped his hands viciously around my neck.
“You could have made this a lot easier, Camille. It truly is a pity to have to watch you die,” he let out a sigh. “You give me so much life. It’s such a waste.” I reached my hands up to try to fight him off, but the effort failed and only made him angrier. His eyes turned a cold, dead black, and his body shook as he flung me across the room and into the kitchen table. I heard the impact of my body hitting the table, then falling to the ground, but couldn’t feel it.
I stumbled and tried to stand, but couldn’t make it onto both feet and held onto the table for support. Andrew stood still, scowled as I fell, his eyes frigid coals. Lunging toward me, he flew through the air, pounced like an animal moving in for the hunt. A sinister hiss escaped his mouth as razor sharp fangs came into clear view and my eyes zoned in on them, fought to reject the reality in front of me. He slammed into me and grabbed my shoulders, pinned me to the wall. With one swift slam to my face, he knocked the wind out of me. My jaw was on fire, though I didn’t have time to feel the pain that followed; he took hold of my torso and slammed me backward again. Drawing on one last breath, I let out a scream as I felt a