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The shroud of darkness was acco inevitability Each excruciating exhalation left her with even less air in her lungs And while she fought to breathe, he was right there, applying ever more pressure

His sinister voice proht you die, Charity”

No!

The panic and helplessness were faht

Charity aith a gasp and i, restrictive bedcovers Her nightgoas soaked through with sweat, her hair drenched, and she shivered uncontrollably She sed down the s froulate her breathing

“Get yourself together” She hated the wohtmare “It’s over You’re okay You’re safe”

She counted to ten, first in English, then in French and then—just for the hell of it—in Japanese, until she was sure she had a handle on her emotions It was an odd quirk of hers; that ability to count to a hundred in several different languages, none of which she could actually speak or truly understand

“He can’t hurt you,” she told herself “He can’t hurt you He’s gone He can’t hurt you” Soer than others to convince herself of that fact But it was easier tonight Perhaps because she hadn’t been asleep very long

She got out of bed, dragged her nightgown over her head and dumped it on

the hardwood floor, before padding, naked, to the en suite The sweat dried rapidly as the cold air hit her overheated flesh She was still shivering uncontrollably as she stepped beneath the punishingly hot spray of her shower

The nightht or tomorrow, but eventually