The Next to Die

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The phone rang and Dayle grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

“Dayle? It’s Susan. I got your page. I’m on my way over. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes if traffic allows. Is Estelle there with you now?”

“Yes. She’s in the bathroom,” Dayle said, watching Sean wander toward the closed door.

“Fine. I’ll see you soon.” Susan hung up.

Sean turned to Dayle. “That dryer’s been on for at least ten minutes….”

Dayle put down the phone. She rapped on the bathroom door. “Estelle?”

No answer. Dayle pounded on the door again. “Estelle? Can you hear me? Estelle!” She jiggled the doorknob. Locked. At the crack under the bathroom door, blood seeped past the threshold onto the beige shag carpet. “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

Dayle threw her weight against the door. “Estelle!” Dayle kicked at the spot just below the doorknob until it finally gave. But the door didn’t move more than a couple of inches. Something was blocking it—something heavy and lifeless.

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