The scene before her swirled. If Harry didn't break free soon, she'd be done for.

She reached up with her free hand and grabbed at her assailant's forearm, digging her fingernails into their skin. Based on their strength and that somewhat familiar smell she was still struggling to place, she assumed her attacker was male. She attempted to lever his arm away from her windpipe, trying to gain some relief. She failed miserably. The swirling became stronger.

The blood pumped in her head. She felt like a water balloon that had been overfilled. Tears ran down her face as she struggled not to pop. All she could hear was a soft ringing.

She wriggled and writhed, pushing off with her feet, as she endeavoured to gain momentum. It was getting harder and harder to put any drive into the launch. She was wasting energy too fast and getting too little return. She struggled to think. She slumped.

Her attacker loosened his grip slightly. The need to hold her dead weight had thrown him off balance.

Harry took advantage of his moment of confusion and breathed deeply. She wrenched her right hand to the side, hoping to shake his grasp. The man swore. She knew that voice, but was still too weary to connect the sound with a face. His grip was too tight. Her wrist turned but the skin remained stuck to the rough, clammy palms of the man assaulting her. The friction of the action produced a burning sensation on the skin of Harry's wrist.

She grunted.

A deep guttural sound reverberated within Harry however it was probably barely audible to anyone more than two steps away.

She slumped again. This time he was ready for it. It made no impact other than forcing her throat further into the attacker's forearm. This was it. Hanging between the fabric of her crew neck jumper and chest, the magical necklace was of no assistance now. She was going to end up another casualty stored in the back shed. This was probably how Rachel had been killed too.

Harry could no longer feel the tears running down her cheeks. Her eyelids were sagging. She was done fighting. She imagined Charlie laughing as David threw her in the air. Her curly hair bounced as she went up and down. Her arms reached towards her dad, and he smiled his sweet, honest smile. If she was going to go then let it be done, but she would focus her last moments on the things that mattered to her. If only she had been more present.

She thudded into the wheelie bin, her face colliding with the lid. Harry gasped for air, trying to figure out what was happening. Giving her eyes a moment to focus, she turned to face her attacker.

She stood astonished. There on the ground before her was John Brewer. Apparently he wasn't quite so useless after all. Standing behind him was Sam Dupret holding one of the large stones from Harry's front garden.

She stared at him, eyes wide as she attempted to comprehend what was happening.

"Quickly!" Sam said, as Harry noticed John getting back up off the ground.

Harry started to edge away from him, back around the house. The sensor light flicked on, bathing the three of them in light.

"What are you doing?" Sam's whisper was a command. "You need to finish him off now, or he'll kill you!"

"What? How am I meant to do that?" she retorted. Why would Sam be standing there telling her to kill a man? She still considered herself a feminist, but wasn't this the point in the story where the 'big strong man' was meant to swoop in and solve all her problems?

"Your nails, Harry... You need to scratch him. Just like with Jake."

She looked up at Sam. So he knew what had happened to Jake. Why hadn't she been arrested for it then?

She was so shocked that she was only half paying attention to John. He dove for her. She stood rooted to the spot. Sam grabbed the back of his shirt. With ease, he held the man's arms. John writhed just as Harry had a few moments earlier.

"Come on, Harry, you need to do this. Scratch him!" The imperative affected her like a yell though it was no more than a murmur.

"I can't... I... already dug my nails into him. It did nothing. You've got it all wrong..."

"For Lucifer's sake, Harry! You're wearing the Hand of God not the Hands of God, use your right hand."

With that he let John go. The man stood for a split second, looking at Sam. Harry couldn't understand what was happening between the two of them.

John spun on his heels and lunged. She didn't know whether he was aiming for her or trying to flee. She shifted slightly, unable to gauge his trajectory. The brunt of his force hit Harry square in the chest.

Her back whacked against the ground and the world spun once more. His fist came towards her face, and without thinking she raised her hands and clawed across his lower back.

He arched, his face contorting.

His death sentence had been signed.