"Do you want to go for a swim?" a male voice asked.
Her eyes snapped open. "Who are you?"
"Richard."
Shielding the sun from her eyes, she looked up. "No, thanks. I can't swim."
He started at the soles of her feet before scanning her body.
"I think you better leave." Zora reached down, grabbed her beach towel off the deck, and draped it over her shoulders. She stood. "I have to go."
"Hey, don't be in such a hurry. I'm not going to hurt you." He moved closer, ran his finger across her cheek—"Pretty. Very pretty," he said, in a girlish tone.
"Get away from me." Trembling, she turned.
He caught her arm and spun her around.
"Let go, or I'll scream."
He dragged her to the edge of the pool. "I can't swim," he mocked.
"Please, don't."
He threw her into the water. Laughed while watching her struggle.
Panic set in. She sank, rose, sank, and rose again.
Thrashing wildly, she yelled for help. No one came. Frantic thoughts speeding into her mind, Zora tried to catch her breath.
Silence