Page 4 of Faded Rhythm

Sable

The garage door groans shut behind me. I don’t usually close it until I’m at the door leading into the house, but I’m off my game today. Distracted.

I grip the steering wheel as the weight of what lies ahead settles onto me for the first time. My heart thuds. My knuckles are white. I’m overwhelmed.

The USB drive is screaming at me from inside my purse. I’m starting to feel like it was a mistake to take it. Like Brett will know it’s missing.

The car engine ticks as it cools. I reach for my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and open the door. My heels echo against the garage floor, loud and disconcerting. My skin prickles, and I don’t know why. I feel uneasy, and it doesn’t help that the overhead light shuts off before I reach the door.

I feel for the doorknob in the darkness, finding it easily. I exhale as I push the door open and I’m bathed in the light of the house, welcoming me inside.

For some reason, I feel relieved.

I exhale again as I press the numbers on the keypad to disarm the alarm. Beep beep . A familiar sound.

Then there’s another sound. A sound that doesn’t belong.

“Don’t move.”

The voice is low and deep. Male and unfamiliar.

My blood goes cold.

Every muscle in my body tenses as my breath lodges in my throat.

I’m too shocked to be scared. My brain flares with competing thoughts; this is a mistake. This is a prank. He’s gonna kill me. Brett is just messing with me.

Then the cold mouth of a gun presses between my shoulder blades, and full panic hits me like a freight train.

My stomach lurches. My knees almost buckle. When I open my mouth to scream, no sound comes out. My vision narrows, then blurs, like the edges of the room are folding in on me. My skin prickles again with the sensation of being completely, violently at his mercy.

“Don’t scream,” he says quietly. “Don’t run.”

He’s not angry, it seems. He sounds calm. Almost…patient.

But my body isn’t. It’s screaming at me to save myself.

“I’m gonna let you turn around slowly. I mean real slow. And keep your hands where I can see them.”

I manage to nod, but it’s a struggle.

When I turn, I’m expecting to see a greasy stranger, some meth’d out, cracked out drifter with beady little eyes and tattered clothes. I’m not prepared for… him .

He’s at least six feet tall. Probably more.

Broad shoulders. He’s dressed in all black, but there are no tatters to be found.

His eyes are sharp, deep, and unreadable, a rich golden brown that slices right through me.

His jaw is squared like it was chiseled with granite and dusted with stubble. His full mouth is set in a firm line.

I shouldn’t notice how handsome he is, but I do. My brain stumbles and stutters at the cognitive dissonance before I remind myself I’m in danger.

“I’m not here to rob you,” he says. “I’m here because your husband hired me to kill you.”

I blink as time slows to a crawl.

The words don’t even make sense at first. They bounce around in my skull like rogue basketballs.

I blink again and manage to croak out, “What?”

“I was supposed to kill you tonight, but I changed the plan.”

The plan. The plan to kill me.

My brain finally reconnects to my body and I bolt.

Up the stairs, two at a time. To where Brett keeps his guns.

I hear him curse and follow, his heavy black boots pounding on my stairs as he chases me. The thudding matches the beating of my heart and follows me down the hall and into the master bathroom where I slam to door and twist the lock with shaking fingers.

The lock won’t stop him, I know, but it buys me some time.

I almost fall into the master closet, but I manage to locate the small safe. The first boom against the door startles me so badly, I scream. I’m expecting the second one. My fingers try and fail to key in the code to unlock the safe, but there’s still hope. There’s a biometric mechanism.

I stab at it with my thumb as the booms get louder and closer together. Tears fall when there’s no beep, no recognition of my fingerprints. The safe hates me and wants me dead, too.

BOOM!

The door crashes open with a violent crack.

I scream as he storms in, but he’s not rushing me like I expected. He’s standing there…staring…studying me. Like he doesn’t want to hurt me. It’s odd.

“Sable—“

“Please,” I sob. “I have two children. Girls.” I inch backwards until my back hits a rack of dresses. My entire body is trembling.

He lowers the gun. It’s still in his grip, but it’s no longer aimed at me. I don’t feel any better, though.

His dark eyes roam me curiously, and something about it feels strangely not scary.

Finally, his deep baritone reaches my ears again.

“I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to warn you.”

My vision blurs as my knees buckle. I slide to the floor, landing in a heap of anger, confusion, and terror. My hands tremble uncontrollably in my lap as I manage to plead once again.

“Please don’t kill me.”

He stares at me. “I just said I’m not here to kill you.”

I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is that I’d sooner trust Michael Myers than I would him. At least Mike is clear in his agenda.

He exhales, watching me as he leans against the doorframe.

“If I wanted you dead, you’d already be gone.”

I don’t know what to believe. My mind is splintered in a million pieces. But one thing is certain: I saw murder in his eyes when I turned around downstairs.

Part of me wishes he’d already done it. This terror I feel, it’s becoming unbearable. My stomach lurches again, my eyes water, my nose runs…I know I look a mess. Not that it matters how I look…

I turn away, not wanting him to see me like this.

“What do you want?” I say softly. “You can have anything in here. You can have my bank cards. My husband has cash in his safe—“

“I know exactly what your husband has, Sable. He’s the one who sent me here. He’s already given me plenty of cash.”

He crouches to my level, draping his gun arm over his knee. “Why does he want you dead?”

I shake my head to clear it, still confused. Bewildered. None of this is making sense. I don’t understand why this man is still here, still talking to me. Why hasn’t he done anything?

I sniff, wiping my nose with the hem of the pants that are dangling from a hanger next to me. His cologne penetrates for the first time, something fresh and masculine. I close my eyes as a wave of nausea washes over me.

“I’m gonna throw up,” I moan. “Please, just…do whatever you’re gonna do.”

“Come on in the bathroom,” he says as he stands. “Wouldn’t wanna ruin this nice closet.”

I look up to see his free arm outstretched, his hand extended, his finger curving once to beckon me. It feels insanely dangerous, but I have no choice. I’m too weak to stand on my own, so I put my hand in his and let him pull me to my feet.

He’s strong.

As I make my way to the toilet, he backs up to the bathroom door, standing guard while I drop to my knees, close my eyes, and gag.

Something deep down inside of me doesn’t want this man to see me vomit.

I take several deep breaths, willing myself to calm down. Willing myself to believe him when he says he would have killed me already. There’s no reason for him to be standing there watching me suffer when he could just do the job and be on his way.

No.

He’s not lying about that part.

But Brett?

My husband is many things, but a murderer?

I can’t see it.

Not unless…

“You need some water or something? Ginger ale? Crackers?”

I shake my head.

The nausea subsides a few moments later. I open my eyes and he’s still there, still staring. I sit up straighter, smoothing my hair back away from my face, self-conscious all of a sudden.

“What now?” I ask.

He inhales deeply and blows it out slow. I watch the rise and fall of his chest, noticing how broad it is. He’s bigger than Brett. More solid.

“That depends on you,” he says.

My heart thuds again as my mind goes to the only thing that may be worse than death.

“Are you…are you gonna…?” I trail off, praying to God he spares me of that, too.

“That ain’t my style,” the man says.

“Then—“

“I’m the only hope you have of staying alive. Trust me or don’t, it’s your decision, but make no mistake, Sable. Brett is gonna do whatever he has to do to make sure you don’t see your next birthday.”