She walked up to the car, punched the trunk key as she walked up and saw the lid pop open and the light come on.
There was no presentiment, no intuition, no sixth sense. She never saw the man or even suspected his presence. She was looking in the trunk of the car when he said 'Anna,' and the hair rose on the back of her neck.
He was ten feet away, moving toward her quickly, soundlessly, dressed all in black: she couldn't see his face, and again, for an instant, thought he was black.
Until she realized: nylon mask.
But even then, the softness and reasonableness of the voice lulled her, ever so slightly. She knew, but she didn't believe.
'Get away,' she said, stepping sideways.
'Anna, we need.'
'Get the fuck away,' she said, the fear rising in her voice. She lifted one hand, fingers spread in front of her face, to fend him off. With the other hand, she felt behind her, along the side of the car, as she moved backward.
'Anna, it's all right.'
She turned to run, got two steps, but he grabbed her arm and she twisted violently, and tried to scream. But he pulled her close, pulled hard, and the breath seemed to leave her: the scream died in her throat.
'Anna, we need some time.' His voice was harsher than it had been before, a huskiness that seemed plainly sexual. 'I've got my car.'
She could hear the words, but couldn't process them. She slashed at him with the fingernails of her right hand, caught him across his face, tried to kick at him.
And he hit her.
Hit her with an open hand, on the side of the head. The blow knocked her off her feet, in the narrow space between the two cars. Again she tried to scream, but nothing happened. The man was standing over her. 'Anna,' he said, 'Anna, Anna, come on, Anna.'
She scrambled to get away, but he was pushing her down into the gravel. She kicked straight out, caught an ankle, and he fell on top of her, swearing, catching his weight on one hand. She tried to get up, get free, but he was clinging to her shirt.
She was overwhelmed by her impressions of the man: He was strong, but his stomach was soft. He'd eaten onions, and not too long before. He'd perfumed himself with something, he was sweating.
And he had an erection: as she tried to crawl forward between the cars, he was pressing his hips into her butt, and she felt him, distinctly. She twisted, and hit him in the face with one fist. She could see the wet spot on the nylon stocking where his mouth was, and just the barest flash of eyes, but nothing else. He was like a dark psychotic snowman.
She was still struggling for air as she got her hands on the front tires of the two cars and pushed back and up, got her feet beneath her. He chanted, 'Anna, Anna,' trying to pin her over the car. He could have beaten her unconsciousshe was afraid he'd do thatbut for some reason, he'd only hit her once. He seemed to be making an effort not to hurt her badly, and that allowed her to resist, though never quite escape.
As they continued the violent scram in the space between the carsit seemed to have gone on forever, but actually couldn't have been more than a few secondsand her breath began to come and she tried again to scream, but the sound came out as a groan, or a cry; not loud enough to be heard below.
'Oh, no, Anna, you don't do that, oh, no.'
He was right on top of her, his face riding up over her right shoulder. She turned quickly, almost as though to kiss him, but instead, she bit: and caught a fifty-cent-sized circle of flesh below his cheekbones and bit down hard.
He shrieked, and pulled back, but she was hooked in like a leech, and her head came up with his, and she bit harder, felt her teeth cutting through tissue.
And suddenly she was gone. She felt odd, floating, and realized that she was lying on the ground. She could smell the gravel and the dry earth beneath it, feel the gravel chips pressing into her cheeks. but she didn't know how she'd gotten there.
His voice seemed far away, and she pumped her legs once, trying to get under a car, but he was riding her again, one hand pulling at the zipper on her pants, and she could again feel his erection grinding into her.
'You goddamn bitch.' He hit her on the head. 'You bitch, you bit me.'
'Don't,' she groaned. 'Don't do that.' He was thrusting at her now, a hard, heavy pumping, and she could feel his breath coming harshly into her neck as he continued to grope for the zipper. She bore down on his hand, trying to grind it into the gravel, and he tried to turn her. As he did, she snapped at him with her teeth again. He pulled back, and when he lifted away his face, lifted his chest high enough to get a full breath, she finally.
Screamed.
High, piercing, loud.
Her attacker froze, then clouted her again, and again, then half stood.
Dizzy, hurt, she tried to crawl, thought she heard somebody shout from below, 'Hey.' and they were coming, running.
She crawled away from him, trying to stand, and screamed again, and he said, 'See you later.' He kicked her in the back and she pitched forward onto her face, catching herself with her hands, gravel biting into her.
When he did that, kicked her, he turned, but she rolled and the anger had her by the throat now, and she went after him, as he ran across the parking lot toward the hillside. He saw her coming and said, 'Get away,' and slowed to hit her. She dove under his arm and grabbed his leg in a football tackle. But he didn't go down, like football players on TV. Instead, he took the impact, then hit her again, kicked her free and ran.
There were more people coming now, men running up the hill. Her attacker was headed toward the hillside brush, and she was on her hands and knees and then on her feet, running, blind with the anger, no fear at all. She caught him again as he tried to climb and he said, 'Jesus Christ,' and hit her again, clumsily. She was faster than he was, but couldn't fight the longer reach and heavier weight. But if she could just hold on until Harper got there.
She tried for his eyes and he hit her one last time, this time catching the side of her nose, and she fell back down the hill, too stunned to get up. But she tried, hearing him above her, tried to get her feet going.
She was still trying when Harper arrived, three or four men with him, two of them carrying golf irons. 'Oh, my God, Anna.' She felt no fear at all, barely heard him: but there was fear in his voice. He picked her up and said, 'Oh, my God, she's bleeding bad. Larry, we gotta get her to a hospital.'
But she was waving him off. She wasn't hurt, though she had an odd stinging or burning sensation just above her hairline, and her face was numb, and part of her back. 'No, no, no. let me go.'
She tried to tell them: they had to get him, get up the hill.
'We're going to the hospital. Where'd he go? It was the guy? Did you get his number?'
He confused her for a minute, then she understood: they thought there'd been a car. She shook her head and pointed at the hill. 'He ran. that way.'
'Larry, call the cops, we got him on foot.'
Larry started back toward the stairway, but said, 'Not for long. Basket Drive's over there, and there's an overlook. Bet that's where he's parked.'
Harper shouted at him, 'Larry! Call the fuckin' cops! Tell them.' And as he put her in the passenger seat and pulled the buckle over her, he asked, 'Where's the hospital, somebody?'
One of the other golfers, an older man with a short steel colored crewcut and aviator glasses, said, 'I'll ride along, I can point you.'
'Get in.'
'I'm all right,' Anna protested feebly.
'Bullshit.' Harper had piled in the driver's side, the steel-haired man in the back, and she realized that Harper was frantic: 'Hang on.'