"Bill's Texaco."

"I ..." Jenny swallowed. Her throat felt thick.

"Yeah?" The man sounded impatient, hurried.

Jenny's words came out in a quavering whisper. "I need help! I'm stuck!"

"Lady, speak up."

"I... can't!" Sobbing again, Jenny held onto the phone like a lifeline.

"I can't help you if I can't hear you, lady."

Jenny tried to stop, but her stomach muscles seemed to have taken over. In and out, again and again, dry, rasping sobs that hurt her chest and wouldn't stop. She didn't know how she could keep breathing, it was so hot. So hot!

She let the phone slide from her hands and reached for the door handle. She had to get out! Her hands slipped off the handle, and she wiped them on her shorts, then grabbed the handle again and pulled. Her head felt like it might burst from the pounding, and she heard a hoarse, rhythmic, guttural sound, like an animal grunting, and real-

ized it was coming from her. She wiped her hands again, gripped the handle, and pulled, her voice rising in pitch with the effort until she was screaming. And then, with a hideous grating of metal, the door opened.

Jenny fell backward, banging her head on the glass, and slid to the gritty floor of the booth. Too tired to move yet, she closed her eyes and felt the cooler outside air wash over her legs.

Move. She had to move. Get up and get out. She opened her eyes and was pushing herself up when she heard a tinny, distant voice. "Lady? Hey, what's going on? You all right? Lady!"

Jenny took a deep, shaky breath, got to her knees, and reached for the dangling receiver.

It was late afternoon when Jenny finally turned the car into the driveway of her house. She shut the engine off and reached for the door handle. Peaches had been in all day, she thought, she'd need a walk. Then she remembered that Peaches wasn't home, and she sank back against the car seat, closing her eyes in exhaustion. Her head was pounding and her clothes were still damp with sweat. She needed a shower, some aspirin, something cold to drink. But for the moment, all she could do was sit.

She'd told the man from the gas station to come to the phone booth. To walk down the road to her car, risking another encounter with the madman on the motorcycle, was impossible for her, like stepping into the unknown. So she'd stayed with the

known -- the hot, stinking telephone booth -- and waited. When the Jeep arrived, Jenny knew she'd be grateful to Bill's Texaco for the rest of her life.

The man had definite opinions about everything, all of which he shared, and none of which Jenny heard. If she told him what had happened, she was sure he'd give her his opinion about that too, but she just sat dully in his Jeep, nodding from time to time as he drove her back to her car. He'd probably tell her to call the police, and she knew she should. But later. After she got home and locked the doors. After she was safe.