Divine Evil

turned to run, but they moved quickly.
    She screamed in pain and in terror as her hair was grabbed and ruthlessly wrenched. An arm came around her waist, lifting her up. Every woman's nightmare swam blackly in her brain. She kicked out, a vicious snap of her long legs, but met only air. Flailing with legs and arms, she slapped the flashlight against skull. There was a grunt, an oath, as the hold loosened. As she scrambled for freedom, she heard her shirt tear.
    Something struck her face, making her reel, blurring her vision. Then she was running, blindly. She knew she was sobbing. She could feel each breath burn her throat. She tried to stop, her panicked mind focusing on the fact that they could hear and follow.
    She realized she had run into the woods and lost all direction. Fallen logs turned into traps, leafy trees into barriers. She was the rabbit, fast but dazzled by fear, chased ruthlessly by the pack. Wild with terror, she plunged on. The roar of her heartbeat was so loud, she never heard the racing footsteps behind her.
    He caught her in a vicious tackle, rapping her knee hard against a rock. Even through fear she heard the bone pop. Her leg twisted as her body hit the ground with a force that had pain singing through her. She tasted her own blood as her teeth sawed into her lip.
    He was chanting. Dear God, was all she could think. He was chanting. And she could smell blood.
    She heard more now, as he dragged her over. Bodies crashing through the trees. Shouts. Coming closer. Yet her captor didn't call to them. She could see his eyes, only his eyes. And she knew she would be fighting for her life.
    He thought he had her cowed. She could see it. Indeed, she could smell her own fear. When he shifted to tear at her clothes, she raked her nails hard over his hand. She was fighting, with teeth and nails and every ounce of strength in her body.
    But his hands were around her throat. He was growling, like an animal, she thought dizzily. She was choking, graying out, and her struggles weakened. The heels of her sneakers beat against the dirt.
    She couldn't breathe-couldn't breathe. Her eyes were wide and bulging as he smiled down at her. Limp, boneless, her hands slid down the rough material of his cloak and shook on the carpet of leaves.
    Dying. She was dying. And her hands clenched in the crackling leaves.
    Her groping fingers closed over a rock. Her heart and lungs were ready to burst as she brought it up and smashed it against the back of his head. He grunted, and his fingers went lax. Even as she gulped in the first painful breath of air, she hit him again.
    Gagging, she struggled out from under him. She'd never known such pain and wanted only to lie down and weep until it passed. But she heard voices, shouts, running. Fear barreled into her, pushing her up. She bit her lip when her leg buckled, when the agony of it shot up into her belly. In a limping run, she raced through the trees, knowing there were others close behind.
    * * *
    Clare felt better. Incredibly better, she thought. She was almost humming as she drove home from Cam's. She hadn't known that sitting out and looking at the stars, talking about nothing of particular importance could calm jangled nerves. She was sorry she couldn't have stayed, couldn't have snuggled up in bed beside him, to make love, or just to talk and drift into sleep.
    Angie and Jean-Paul would have understood, she thought with a smile. But her mother had drummed manners into her a bit too successfully. In any case, she wanted to get back, to close herself off in her room and study the book from her father's office.
    Hiding it away wouldn't solve anything. That was another conclusion her time with Cam had brought her to. She would read it, try to think it through. She would even go through the rest of the books that had been packed away.
    “How about that, Dr. Janowski?” she muttered. “I didn't have to shell out a hundred and fifty dollars to figure out the best answer is to face the problem, then deal with it.”
    Besides, there wasn't going to be any problem. She tossed her head, and the wind sent her hair dancing around her face. Everything was going to be fine. Emmitsboro would have its parade, a few speeches, then would settle back to its quiet monotony. Just the way she liked it.
    She saw the figure dash out of the woods. A deer, Clare thought as she pressed her foot down hard on the brake. The car skidded and swerved as she yanked at the wheel. Her headlights veered