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S he was in the middle of a dream.
Fragments of it lingered with her as a sharp sound cut through, jostling Sabrina into that phase between sleep and wakefulness where everything and nothing seems real. The sound came again as the feeling of floating was replaced by the sensation of soft, white cotton sheets and her pillow beneath her head. She wasn’t sure if it was actually happening or just part of the dream that hadn’t dissipated yet when she heard her husband’s voice.
“Hey, Mom… Wait, what? What happened…? I’m on my way.”
By the time she realized Ander had answered his phone, she’d forgotten the dream. He tossed the blankets off his legs, the movement familiar even with her eyes still closed, and leaned across the bed to kiss her forehead.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, opening her eyes in time to see her husband pulling a pair of pants from the large cherry dresser on the far wall.
The dresser had been a wedding gift from her parents, and every time she looked at it, she thought of the happy days leading up to the wedding when they moved the bedroom furniture into the house. They had been living together for years already but in an apartment too small even to be cozy. This was their first house, with the swing on the front porch, the extra bedrooms with all the possibilities, and the huge bedroom with new cherry furniture.
“Something’s going on at Mom’s house. She says she needs me to come,” he said, shaking off his shirt and tossing it to the hamper.
She still liked looking at him without his shirt. His job kept him fit, and a little smile crossed her lips as he dropped a fresh shirt over his head.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Sabrina asked.
She stretched out against the sheets and rolled to her side to follow his progress across the room. Ander shook his head while he put on his shoes.
“No, it’s still early. You stay here. I’ll come home before going to work,” he said.
Sabrina was relieved. She would have gone with him if he asked her to, but she hadn’t been able to sleep for a few nights. She’d finally gotten a decent sleep last night and was hoping to sink back into it for a while longer.
“Are you sure?” she asked, her head already back on the pillow and her eyes fluttering closed.
“I’m sure,” he said. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
He started out of the room, but Sabrina lifted her head from the pillow.
“Hey,” she said.
Ander smiled at her and came back for another kiss, patting her hip through the sheet.
“Get some sleep,” he said.
Sabrina smiled and settled back into the bed, willing the sleep and the dream to come back as she listened to the sound of her husband leaving the house. She lay there for a while, drifting somewhere near sleep but not really ever getting all the way back into it. She rolled over and tried to shield her eyes from the sunlight now coming through the big windows. It wasn’t happening. She’d woken up, and there was no getting back to sleep this morning. She decided there was no point in continuing to toss around in the bed. There were things to do, and she needed to get a head start to her day.
Reluctantly leaving the comfortable cocoon of the sheets and blanket, Sabrina sighed and stretched, trying to completely wake herself up. She made the bed, smoothing out the sheets and fluffing the pillows until they looked perfect. It was her turn to go to the cherry dresser and take out clothes. She brought them with her into the bathroom and showered.
The hot water helped to get her blood pumping and clear away the fog. She stood beneath it, washing her wavy blond hair and going over the list in her head of everything she wanted to accomplish that day. She and Ander had plans to go out later that evening after he came home from work, so she wanted to get everything done early enough to relax a little before getting ready. She was shaving her legs when a sound downstairs startled her. She hissed as the razor nicked her ankle and she rinsed it, watching the diluted blood streak across her foot and head for the drain.
Another sound came from downstairs, and Sabrina felt her pulse in her temples. No one else should have been in the house. Only the two of them lived there. Nothing should have been making any noise anywhere in the house. Fear crept up the back of her neck, but then she realized it might have been Ander. Maybe whatever was going on with his mother got fixed before he got there and he was able to come back home. The sounds seemed to be coming from the kitchen area, which would make sense if he decided to make one of the big breakfasts he adored but rarely got to have on mornings when he was expected at work.
Sabrina slid the glass door of the shower open and leaned her head out.
“Ander?” she called. “Babe?”
There was no response, and the frightened feeling came back, but for another reason. Her husband was in great shape now, but he had experienced some health problems in the past, and she was constantly worried about him. She was terrified he was going to experience a sudden emergency like his father and not make it through. Maybe he wasn’t responding because something serious had happened and he needed help.
She finished rinsing off and got out of the shower, reaching for one of the towels hanging on the bar on the wall.
“Babe?” she called again. “Are you all right?”
Still no response. She quickly dried off and threw on her bathrobe. Rushing out of the bathroom, she continued to call for her husband, concern growing the longer she went without hearing his voice calling back to her. She went down the stairs and turned toward the kitchen. They were the last steps she would take before everything changed.
Just as one foot hit the tile floor, something hard hit her in the back of the head, and she felt herself stumble forward. Crying out with the pain that rushed through her skull and down the back of her neck, she tried to turn around to see what was happening, but she felt someone wrap their arms firmly around her from behind.
Sabrina fought hard against the grip, struggling to free herself from the person dragging her backward down the hallway. Remembering something she’d heard on a late-night show she watched one night she couldn’t sleep, she stopped fighting and instead went completely limp, dropping all her weight down toward the floor. The strategy worked to throw her assailant off guard, and the hold on her released just enough for her to get away.
She thought about running for the door, but her attacker stood between it and her, making it unlikely she’d be able to get to it. The back door in the kitchen was closer, but it had to be unlocked with a key. There was no way she could get to the drawer where the key was kept and take it out. She screamed for help, hoping one of her neighbors might be outside and would hear her. A hard object hit her across the side of the head, and she dropped heavily to the ground. Crawling, she tried to get back to the kitchen, still forcing her voice through the taste of blood in desperation for someone to come and save her.
Somewhere above her, she heard ringing. Her phone was in the bathroom where she’d left it while she was showering. The ache in her heart told her that it was Ander calling her. She needed to get to the phone. If she could get to the steps, she could get to the bedroom and lock herself in. She’d be able to get to her phone and call the police.
Filled with determination to survive, not just for herself, she flipped over onto her back and planted a hard kick into the gut of the person coming down on her. They were wearing a ski mask, and for a brief second, the image struck her as absurd. It didn’t seem real. This happened on TV and in movies. Not in real life. Not when she was still wet from the shower and only wearing her bathrobe.
The kick was enough to push the person away from her, and Sabrina scrambled to her feet. Dizzy from the blows to her head, she stumbled toward the back steps that led up to the second floor from the kitchen. She couldn’t get to the main stairwell, but if she could reach the ones in the kitchen, she would be able to get up to the far end of the upstairs hallway and then run for her bedroom. She could make it. She had to. This was for them.
She only made it as far as the bottom of the steps. The third blow was enough to drop her to the floor, and she didn’t move again through the others that rained down on her.
Her assailant left her there and took out a black permanent marker. There was no need to rush the messages written on the walls. No one else was around to see them being written. Upstairs, the phone kept ringing. The backdoor opened and closed almost silently. The privacy fence Ander put in place just last summer did its job. The house went still.
Two weeks earlier…
Tracy Ellis was in rare form tonight.
Every time she spoke to an audience, she got riled up and the presentation turned from speaking to shouting, but tonight there was extra fire in her voice. She stalked back and forth across the stage, gesturing wildly as she raged about the horrific death of Terrence Brooks. The beloved church leader had been found dead in brutal, gruesome circumstances, and though many thought it was just a bizarre suicide of a man obviously grappling with his own hidden demons no one knew about, Tracy refused to believe it. Not someone like him. Not a man who dedicated himself to the church and to leading vulnerable youth to try to protect them from the darkness of the world.
Something evil had befallen Terrence Brooks. Someone overcome with the vileness of sin and a searing hatred for those trying to bring good back into the world had taken the bright, compassionate, driven man away from all those who loved him.
And she couldn’t tolerate it for a second.
Right offstage, Ander Ward listened to the famed televangelist rant about the death and the downfall of society, whipping up the rapt audience into a fervor. It was exactly what she wanted. It was what she always wanted. Quiet and subdued didn’t get attention. It didn’t make waves. When she spoke, Tracy craved the reaction. To her, it meant that people were being moved by her words and galvanized to act. There was nothing demure about Tracy Ellis or the way that she latched on to the topics that fueled her presentations.
But unlike Terrence Brooks, who had become the centerpiece of her raving because of his own dedication to faith and her perception of his death as an assault on everyone who claimed to live that way, Tracy would not frequently bring to mind the world beloved . There were many who followed her ravenously, attending her gatherings and watching the videos she regularly released online, but they were drawn to her incendiary words and palpable passion that cemented their own views, giving them justification for the thoughts that bubbled up in their own minds. They might say they did, but Ander knew they didn’t love her. They loved what she said and the self-perceived justified fury it made them feel. If they felt that, they were righteous. They were higher.
But he also knew that was not the way everyone saw her. Tracy didn’t just draw the attention of those who lapped up what she said and carried it out into the world. She also attracted the intense ire of many others. That was why he was standing there, watching the crowd intently, making sure no one seemed to be making any moves toward the stage. It had happened before. He wasn’t just a showpiece meant to display her importance. He and the others assigned to protect her had been called to stave off infuriated attackers before. Some had come after her while walking to and from her car; others had tried to storm the stage during her presentations. They’d been subdued, handed over to the police, and disappeared into memory. They often showed up in her next presentation.
Tonight Ander felt particularly vigilant. The special presentation about Terrence Brooks had drawn a huge crowd, but he’d seen the comments online. He knew some people were angry that she was dragging the youth leader’s death into her world and using it for her own devices. He stood ready to defend her if he needed to, his eyes flickering over the captive audience and his ears tingling waiting to hear anything from the other guards standing at the ready at other points throughout the venue.
The presentation ended the way most of them did, with loud singing and a defiant call to action from Tracy, who then gave a deep bow and walked off the stage waving and smiling. The expression was always jarring, standing in stark contrast to the intensity she had just shown in her speech. She said these presentations filled her with the spirit, refreshed and emboldened her. In the shielded recesses of his own mind, Ander wondered if the smile came from that or from the applause that lingered long after she was off the stage.
As soon as Tracy was backstage, Ander followed her. Her assistant was already taking her microphone pack off her and chattering about how successful the talk had been. It was hard to hear her over the cheering of the crowd, and Ander knew it was going to be one of those nights. She wouldn’t leave the building while the audience was flowing out. They would wait until the people had thinned and then get her out through the back entrance. Because this was a last-minute gathering, it wasn’t one of the larger venues with the private parking decks that kept her fully shielded from the moment she got out of her car until she was back in it again. She would have to go to the small employee parking lot and contend with whatever intrepid fans had had her car staked out.
They moved from the backstage area to a small room to greet those attendees who had paid extra for the privilege of shaking her hand and taking a picture of her. Ander stood at one door watching and waiting for everyone to move through the greeting line and get their thirty seconds of glowing exposure. When it was finally over, Tracy went to her dressing room and emerged more than an hour later, changed and ready to leave. Ander stood at the door the entire time. Silent. Waiting. Watching. Her assistant would deal with everything she’d left behind in the dressing room and with any finalities with the venue. Now it was time for Tracy to go home.
Ander brought her out through the back and to her waiting car. The driver took off almost the instant the door was closed. Ander radioed to the other guards to let them know that she was safely on her way. Relieved that his duties were finally done, Ander walked through the now-quiet night toward his own car. He noticed the piece of paper under the windshield wiper when he was still several yards away.
His stomach tightened. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen something like this. He knew it wasn’t a ticket or an advertisement. He looked around as he snatched the paper from the windshield. No one was around. He unfolded the note and stared down at it. His fingers twitched with the thought of calling one of the other guards or any of the employees of Tracy’s company who would still be at the venue. But he stopped himself. He’d hear later if he was the only one who got one.
He looked at the note again:
How could you protect her? It’s like protecting the devil himself.
Ander balled the note up and got in his car. Tossing the paper onto the passenger seat, he started the engine and drove home where he knew his wife would still be up waiting for him.