Entering the foreboding black of her hotel room, Wilma hesitated for a second to allow her eyes to adjust from the light in the hall to the darkness of the room. In the flick of an insect's wings a line descended in front of her and caught her by the throat.
Her shoes dropped to the floor and she dug with her fingers scraping at her neck. The ligature tightened. She coughed and grasped for air. Wilma fought, pulling, twisting, throwing her elbows back, and kicking. The vise tightened. Her defense failed to connect.
Desperately she sucked in air with a wheezing sound. The cord loosened. Wilma gulped and coughed trying to breath. A hard blow struck in the middle of her back. Stumbling she was propelled forward. Plummeting with a thud, she hit the floor. First her knees struck then she flopped forward on the flat of her stomach. Her chin struck the floor hard sending a confusion of exploding stars.
