Getting Into Character: Seven Secrets a Novelist Can Learn From Actors by Brandilyn Collins Page B

Main Street—the home of quaint shops and cafes. For a small town, Redbud had built quite a local reputation on its fancy-painted store fronts. Many from around the area came to browse through the town’s shops and dine in its homey restaurants.
Brewer approached. I turned onto it—and saw a shadow on the street. Faint, fleeting. Until it materialized again and went still, as if trying not to be seen. Washed pale by the umbra of a streetlamp, it looked like a man’s form, wearing a baseball cap, hands raised to his chest. Legs apart, as though ready to run.
A chill needled my bones.
I slowed the car. Slid my gaze left toward the source of the shadow. He stood by a front yard bush as tall as he, backlit by the house’s front porch light. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I felt them lock onto me.
A forever second ticked by.
He swiveled and ran toward the back of the house. Disappeared into the night. 
I braked to a stop. Peered into the darkness, looking for him.
He was gone.
Was this a robber? We had so little crime in our town. But this man was too out of place, too … raw. I was well acquainted with sudden trauma. Knew the feel, the smell of it. And this wasn’t right.
Lights were on in the house, a form moving behind closed blinds. I didn’t know who lived there. But maybe I should knock on their door, warn them—
My eye caught some … thing lying on the sidewalk three houses up.
The chill inside me crackled to ice. For the longest moment I could only stare at the object. How frighteningly familiar it looked. A silent scream wracked my head. No, no, no!
But deep within I knew. Death had followed me.
Heart rattling, I surged my car up close to the form. The wash of my headlights confirmed the knowledge borne of my past. A body. Crumpled on its side, facing away from the street.
I veered to the curb and shoved my car into Park. Jumped out and threw myself on my knees beside the body—and recognized the bright blue shirt. My legs went weak.
Some say memory blurs when you’re shocked beyond belief. Not mine. I still remember every detail of that moment. The roughness of the sidewalk against my palms, the spill of Clara’s blonde hair, the way the fingers on her one hand curled inward. A cry formed in the back of my throat but couldn’t pass my clenched teeth.
The world started to go black. I fought the dizziness. Wrenched myself into a strength I didn’t feel.
With reluctant hands I pushed Clara onto her back, knowing I was too late. Her eyes were open, stunned. Unmoving. I grunted out her name, laid the backs of my fingers on both sides of her neck, seeking a pulse.
Nothing.
From the light of a street lamp I could see bruises on the front of her throat.
I threw back my head, sick to the core, the world again spinning. Grief and rage surged through my veins, nearly tipping me over. I struggled to steady myself. To think.
Help her! Give CPR!
But it was too late for that. And I shouldn’t stay here. A terrible and selfish thought, but there it was.
My wild eyes looked around and saw no one. But then I’d already seen the culprit, hadn’t I? The man standing in that yard, fading into darkness.
I drew an arm across my forehead—and my gaze snagged on a car some distance up the street. Clara’s. Sitting at the curb, driver’s door hanging open, no headlights on. Why had she gotten out of it here, and in such a hurry? Her house was across town. Had she turned off the lights? Or had her attacker done that?
Vaguely, then, I heard the sound. The engine was still running.
On some other plane, my legs pushed me up. I stumbled to my car. Thrashed about in my purse, seeking my cell phone. Yanked it out. Twice my finger hit 922, and I had to erase.
Then my hand froze.
What was I doing ? I couldn’t call this in. No matter that I was innocent, had simply found Clara here. That everyone in town knew me as caring and loving.
I needed to drive away while there was still time. Let someone else find her.
My limbs shivered at