shoulder.
A man who somehow reminded her of last night’s attacker….
She stopped the thought short. That was crazy. The man from the past looked nothing like the one who stalked her now.
But in her mind she could hear both men’s voices, one an eerie echo of the other….
And the man from the past had promised he’d be back for her.
Four months had passed since he’d made that chilling vow. Four months and a lifetime in which she’d pretended she had nothing to fear.
And she was still pretending.
The taxi pulled to the curb unnoticed and honked, jerking her back to the present. Back to reality.
Settled in the backseat, she closed the door on the past, concentrating on the paper until they stopped in her driveway. Paying the driver, she got out and stared up at her house.
A house, not a home. Even before the attacks had ripped all sense of security away, she’d never called it home. The only homey things that had ever existed in it were the dogs, and now one of them was gone forever. She went inside, feeling the empty rooms mock her.
She shivered, imagining again his icy glare traveling up her body. He wouldn’t return to this house today. Somehow she knew it. But she hadn’t seen the last of him either.
Her tennis shoes squeaked against the tile as she walked to the kitchen. Someone had been out to repair the sliding door that morning, but broken glass still littered the floor. The sight of it brought a fresh wave of fear.
Don’t get too comfy, Christie. No place is safe for you now that I’m back.
The intrusive thought, its edges as sharp as the jagged pieces of glass clinging to the kitchen floor, bombarded her mind.
Stop it, Christie!
The man who’d broken into her house twice now couldn’t be the same man who…. The similarities were a coincidence, one of those twisted quirks of fate. She refused to allow herself to think any differently. She had enough to worry about today without torturing herself with fears from yesterday.
The silent kitchen still smelled of bleach and violence. She went outside to the backyard and gulped at the fresh, fragrant afternoon air. In the distance, a lawn mower whined. Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she circled around to the side yard. Even though she didn’t want to see them, something compelled her to look for the footprints the police had told her were left when he’d jumped the fence.
Like a scar, the ground still bore the mark of his passage. She followed the prints to the garage door and stared at the plastic flap.
No one had thought of the doggie door after the first attack. All the locks in the world didn’t matter if he could pass through the door.
Curious, she got on her hands and knees and shimmied through the opening with incredible ease. Sitting on the cold concrete garage floor, she drew her knees under her chin and rocked. The dimness felt cool against her burning eyes.
In the corner beside her, Christie saw Barney’s old tennis ball. She picked it up and bounced it against the wall. The whock-whock sound it made soothed her. Her last shot ricocheted off a wooden beam and the ball shot into the opposite corner.
She stood, shaking the stiffness from her legs. Crossing to the kitchen door, she checked the second dog’s entrance to make sure it was still sealed off from the inside.
She turned to leave when a glimmer beside the door caught her eye. It sparkled in the thin, dust-filled sunlight, gleaming from the dirty pile of lint that clung to the floor. Looking closer, she saw a small key and picked it up.
All at once, the garage seemed dark and ominous and the atmosphere inside, tainted and thin. She opened the door and hurried outside. A hot, teasing breeze billowed her blouse.
In the glaring sunshine, she examined the tiny key, noticing an inscription on the top. Musclemen #5. Musclemen Gym? A locker key? Going back into the house, she gripped it in her hand. It could have been lost by any number of people. The people who’d
A man who somehow reminded her of last night’s attacker….
She stopped the thought short. That was crazy. The man from the past looked nothing like the one who stalked her now.
But in her mind she could hear both men’s voices, one an eerie echo of the other….
And the man from the past had promised he’d be back for her.
Four months had passed since he’d made that chilling vow. Four months and a lifetime in which she’d pretended she had nothing to fear.
And she was still pretending.
The taxi pulled to the curb unnoticed and honked, jerking her back to the present. Back to reality.
Settled in the backseat, she closed the door on the past, concentrating on the paper until they stopped in her driveway. Paying the driver, she got out and stared up at her house.
A house, not a home. Even before the attacks had ripped all sense of security away, she’d never called it home. The only homey things that had ever existed in it were the dogs, and now one of them was gone forever. She went inside, feeling the empty rooms mock her.
She shivered, imagining again his icy glare traveling up her body. He wouldn’t return to this house today. Somehow she knew it. But she hadn’t seen the last of him either.
Her tennis shoes squeaked against the tile as she walked to the kitchen. Someone had been out to repair the sliding door that morning, but broken glass still littered the floor. The sight of it brought a fresh wave of fear.
Don’t get too comfy, Christie. No place is safe for you now that I’m back.
The intrusive thought, its edges as sharp as the jagged pieces of glass clinging to the kitchen floor, bombarded her mind.
Stop it, Christie!
The man who’d broken into her house twice now couldn’t be the same man who…. The similarities were a coincidence, one of those twisted quirks of fate. She refused to allow herself to think any differently. She had enough to worry about today without torturing herself with fears from yesterday.
The silent kitchen still smelled of bleach and violence. She went outside to the backyard and gulped at the fresh, fragrant afternoon air. In the distance, a lawn mower whined. Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she circled around to the side yard. Even though she didn’t want to see them, something compelled her to look for the footprints the police had told her were left when he’d jumped the fence.
Like a scar, the ground still bore the mark of his passage. She followed the prints to the garage door and stared at the plastic flap.
No one had thought of the doggie door after the first attack. All the locks in the world didn’t matter if he could pass through the door.
Curious, she got on her hands and knees and shimmied through the opening with incredible ease. Sitting on the cold concrete garage floor, she drew her knees under her chin and rocked. The dimness felt cool against her burning eyes.
In the corner beside her, Christie saw Barney’s old tennis ball. She picked it up and bounced it against the wall. The whock-whock sound it made soothed her. Her last shot ricocheted off a wooden beam and the ball shot into the opposite corner.
She stood, shaking the stiffness from her legs. Crossing to the kitchen door, she checked the second dog’s entrance to make sure it was still sealed off from the inside.
She turned to leave when a glimmer beside the door caught her eye. It sparkled in the thin, dust-filled sunlight, gleaming from the dirty pile of lint that clung to the floor. Looking closer, she saw a small key and picked it up.
All at once, the garage seemed dark and ominous and the atmosphere inside, tainted and thin. She opened the door and hurried outside. A hot, teasing breeze billowed her blouse.
In the glaring sunshine, she examined the tiny key, noticing an inscription on the top. Musclemen #5. Musclemen Gym? A locker key? Going back into the house, she gripped it in her hand. It could have been lost by any number of people. The people who’d
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