In for the Kill

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Did she suspect?

Have even an inkling?

He wondered about that as he watched the woman stride along the sidewalk, then shift her purse slightly on her hip as she turned and took the three concrete steps leading to the vestibule of her apartment building. She seemed tired this evening, as if something weighed on her, some of the bounce gone from her step.

No surprise there, he thought. Surely there's something in us that lets us know within minutes, at least seconds, when the world is about to end.

Up? Down? Stop? Go?

The elevator couldn't seem to make up its mind.

Janice Queen stood alone in its claustrophobic confines and felt her heart hammer. Not that this vertical indecision was anything new to her. There was only one elevator in her apartment building, and only one way to get to her unit if she didn't want to trudge up six flights of stairs, so it wasn't as if she had much choice. But she'd always had a fear of being confined in close places, elevators in particular. She could never escape the grim knowledge that if there were a serious malfunction-nothing that hadn't happened before to someone-beneath the thin floor under her feet was a black shaft that would lead to sudden and almost certain death.

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