Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel

and pulling me to my feet. I try to curse him, but my words are unintelligible. “Sonva bitch.”
    The room dips and I lean against the exam table. Somewhere in the periphery of my thoughts I’m aware that my face and hands have gone numb. I can barely hold my head upright. My mouth is so dry I can’t lick my lips. Unconsciousness beckons, a dark, safe cave I could crawl into, curl up, and sleep until this nightmare is over …
    My knees wobble and I almost go down again. Holding me upright, Armitage drags me into the hall. I hear my boots against the floor, but I can’t seem to keep my feet under me. He takes me to his office and through the French doors and then we’re outside, heading toward the gravel area behind the clinic.
    “I took the liberty of moving your vehicle while you were out. I hope you don’t mind.” He chuckles, and all I can think is that this man has descended into the deepest depths of lunacy.
    We reach the Explorer. He props me against the quarter panel, yanks open the passenger door. The instant his hands are off me, I lunge away and totter toward the road. There’s not much traffic this time of night, but if a car happens by, I’ll flag it down. I only manage to run a few feet when Armitage catches me. I try to twist away from his grasp and end up going to my knees.
    “Get off me!” I try to get my feet under me, dig in with my heels, but he drags me back to the Explorer.
    “Get in,” he snarls.
    When I don’t move, he shoves me onto the seat. I lash out with my feet, send him backward with my foot. Twisting, I grapple for the door latch with my bound hands, manage to slam it closed. I hit the lock with my elbow. Hampered by my bound hands and the alcohol in my bloodstream, I scramble over the console, twist, hit the door locks with the heel of my hand. I look for the keys in the ignition, but they’re not there.
    Then I hear the locks disengage. Through the window I see the keys dangling from Armitage’s hand. He opens the driver’s side door. Grinding his teeth, he pushes me back over the console and into the passenger seat. Even through the haze of alcohol, I feel the pain of having my arms pinned behind me as he leans close and buckles me in.
    A sense of doom envelops me as he starts the engine and pulls onto the road. The gravity of my situation hits home with paralyzing clarity. There’s no doubt in my mind he’s going to kill me. For the first time I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop him.
    I can just make out his profile in the dim light from the dash. He’s muttering to himself. Nonsensical words only he can understand. It’s as if he’s in his own world and I’m not there. My eyes fall on my police radio mounted below the dash.
    I test the seat belt, but the straps are tight against me. I yank against the fabric binding my wrists, hoping to leave bruises or chafing so that, if I die tonight, the police will know it wasn’t by my own hand. It’s a desperate, terrifying thought.
    Armitage turns onto a gravel road. Tree branches scrape both sides of the vehicle. Dust whirls in the glow of the headlights. He drives too fast, as if he’s in a hurry to get this over with and an overwhelming sense of despair grips me. I think of Tomasetti, how we left things, and I realize how desperately I want to live. I’m not going to let this son of a bitch end my life. Hunkering down in the seat, I lift my leg and ram my boot against the shifter.
    Gears grind. The Explorer lurches to a stop. Armitage screams, “You bitch!”
    I ram the heel of my boot against the ignition key. The engine dies. Armitage tries to backhand me, but I shrink away and he misses. I twist around and try to get my hands on the seat belt buckle. Simultaneously, I ram my knee against the door handle, hoping to open it. Once. Twice. If I can get out and run, I might be able to lose him in the woods.…
    Armitage punches the back of my head. My forehead strikes the passenger window hard enough to crack the glass, but I barely feel the pain.
    His nails scrape my scalp as he slaps his hand down on the top of my head and grabs a handful of hair. Fire streaks across my scalp when he yanks me toward him. All I can think is that he’s leaving evidence. Even if he takes my life, he won’t get away with it.
    I lean against the seat, breathing hard, my head spinning.
    “Don’t do that again.” Glaring at me, he starts the engine and puts the Explorer in gear. There’s sweat on his temple. A tuft of