Alexandra Stoughton sat on the velour couch in her living room. Smiling, she played the tape of the broadcast featuring her and her latest book. The segment on Good Morning America had gone extremely well. Joan Lunden, charming and gracious as always, had conducted the interview.

On the tape, Joan asked her, “So, Ms. Stoughton, since your last appearance here three years ago, you’ve written four chilling horror tales, all of which have enjoyed a lengthy stay on the best seller lists. What’s your secret?”

Alexandra twirled a strand of red hair absently as she watched herself smile back at Joan.

“I really don’t have a secret,” she said. “I suppose if I were to give credit anywhere, it would be that my own hometown is rich in gothic lore, which I draw on for my novels.”

“You’re from a small town in Massachusetts, correct?”

“Yes, Coltonville. And, like any other New England town, we have our share of ghosts and goblins. Many of them make appearances in my novels from time to time, I’m afraid.”

Joan smiled again, looking natural.

“It certainly seems as if you’ve hit upon a recipe for success. And your latest book…” She picked up a copy of the book, turned it over in her hand, opened it and glanced at the jacket flap. “A Step Out of Time is, I understand, a tale of possession. It sounds scary.”

Alexandra watched herself shrug casually. Too casual. I look too cocky, too self-assured. She made a mental note to work on these perceived deficiencies.

“Possession and reincarnation are subjects I find thought-provoking. After all, who among us really can say as to whether or not we’ve lived before? Reincarnation in particular has always been a favorite topic of mine.”

That frozen smile again! I have to stop doing that. How does Joan make it look so easy?

“Well, it sounds fascinating—”

As they chatted on, the camera played across the audience. Alexandra leaned forward, eagerly scanning the crowd for their reaction, a feat she’d been unable to do during the actual taping. People are so fascinating. Her gaze fell on a man seated midsection and she sat forward, startled. Tall and lean, in his mid-forties, with a shock of thick, unruly dark brown hair, his cold blue eyes peered from behind the thin, wire-rimmed glasses he wore. She fumbled for the remote and froze the frame. There was something familiar about him, something she couldn’t quite grasp. Staring, she tried to place him. At length she rose, crossed to the TV screen, and traced the outline of the man’s face with the edge of her fingernail.

“Well, well,” she said. “It’s you! I almost didn’t recognize you with those glasses. And you’ve done something to your nose, too.”

Marc certainly had some explaining to do! When she’d asked him to accompany her to New York, he’d told her he had to work. Yet, there he was in the audience—she was certain of it—but why the disguise?

“Oh, yes, Marc, my friend,” she said with determination, “You’ve definitely got some explaining to do.”

She abruptly shut off the machine, reached for her coat, and glanced at her watch. He was working nights this week, but with any luck, she might still be able to catch him at home. She hesitated—this probably could wait until tomorrow. But there were other questions about him that bothered her, too, so she wouldn’t delay another minute. Men! She could never count on them.

A sense of unease about him returned, gnawed at her. So far, her fears had been unfounded, but…

* * * *

Alexandra cut across the wooded lot that ran in back of her condo development. Another time, she’d have relished the warm night air softly caressing her skin as the stars shone brilliantly down, but right now, she had neither the time nor the inclination to enjoy any of it. All her energy was focused on one purpose.

The shadow loomed in front of her before she knew what was happening. The silken noose was around her throat before she could do more than whimper. The shadow moved swiftly. Alexandra barely had time to let out a gasp before her air was cut off. Stark, raw terror coursed through her as she clawed at the noose and her tormentor with both hands.

Her vain attempt at a struggle didn’t appear to bother him. Rather, he regarded it as a challenge. His fingers tightened, his eyes darkened as hers practically bulged from their sockets.
Finally, she slumped and fell to the ground, unconscious.

He stood and looked at her for a long moment. He’d been so certain Alexandra was the one, but he’d been wrong. Now, it appeared he must begin the search anew. And time was running out.

He pulled the silver knife from his pocket and began to slash at the inert form. When he was finished, he pulled a card from his pocket, let it flutter into the rapidly congealing pool of blood beneath her lifeless body. With a last mournful look, he turned and disappeared into the night.