Chapter 3 #3
I’m not sure how much time passes before I stumble away from the door on wobbly legs. But halfway back to the couch, I rethink it, and I scurry into the dining room to grab a chair, instead.
With Tyler’s advice still with me, I wedge the chair beneath the doorknob while vowing to buy a deadbolt and a doorbell camera as soon as I get my next paycheck.
Only once I’ve triple-checked the lock and adjusted the chair several times do I finally go back to the couch, with an anxious Oscar close on my heels.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. Snagging my phone, I scrunch myself into a corner of the couch. Oscar smooshes close to me, his unease a visible thing. “It’s okay,” I repeat, though I feel the furthest thing from it. “It’s okay. He’s gone. It’s okay.”
By the time I’m halfway through the episode, my nerves are mostly settled, and I’ve convinced myself the guy was just drunk and reading the house numbers wrong.
Maybe he meant to visit my neighbor, Ashton, who just graduated from college and still likes to party like he never left.
My unexpected visitor could have been drunk and thought he was at Ashton’s front door, instead.
“Yes,” I say to myself. “I’m sure that was it. You remember how drunk college guys can get. And how stupid they can act.”
I do remember, in fact. That’s why meeting Vince was such a relief.
He was ROTC at Clarkson, and I was an English major at SUNY Potsdam.
We met through friends, and I was immediately taken by how serious he was about his career.
Unlike so many of the guys I met who only cared about partying, Vince had goals, and he wasn’t going to let anything get in their way.
I bet Tyler was like that.
It’s not the first time Tyler’s spontaneously popped into my head in the month since I met him.
I’ll think of him at random times, like when I was at the animal shelter and I saw a dog that seemed like he’d be perfect for Tyler.
Or when my hard drive got all messed up, and I thought about how Tyler said he could fix anything with computers.
My hand twitches towards my phone as I contemplate texting him. Just to say hi, of course. Not to tell him about the incidents and my unwelcome visitor. Maybe I could send him a picture of Oscar, and—
From the kitchen comes a loud crash, followed by the shattering of glass.
My heart stops.
Oscar springs up, about to leap off the couch, but I grab hold of him.
If something fell, and there’s glass on the floor, I don’t want him to cut his paws.
“Stay,” I order in my most authoritative tone.
I don’t usually use that tone with Oscar except when I mean business, so he obediently sits back down.
Keeping my phone clutched in my hand, I venture towards the kitchen. I’m shaking all over, my pulse is leaping, and that small, scared voice inside me pleads, Just turn around. Leave. Get in the car and leave.
But it’s probably nothing. Just one of the floating shelves falling off the wall, taking the plates it’s holding along with it. Or the light fixture coming loose. Surely, it’s not anything dangerous.
When I reach the kitchen, my breath catches.
It’s not the shelf. Not the light fixture.
It was the window beside the back door.
The back door that’s now partly ajar.
Fear shoots through me so quickly, I’m frozen for a second.
Someone’s in the house.
Oh, God. Someone’s in the house.
This time, it’s not Vince’s voice speaking silently to me. It’s Tyler’s.
Run, he orders. Dial 911. Grab Oscar and get out of there. Now.
Spinning on my heel, I sprint for the living room. I wish I could call 911, but I can’t spare the time to look at my phone. Instead, I put all my effort into getting out of the house.
Oscar sees me running towards him and leaps off the couch. He thinks it’s a game. I snag his collar and drag him along with me, hissing, “Come. Now.”
I’m halfway across the living room when a hand clamps around my upper arm and hauls me backward. I’m yanked with such force, my shoulder pops.
As I crash against a heavy wall of a chest, the same man who came to my door growls, “Don’t fucking scream. Or I’ll kill you. And the dog, too.”
Terror explodes inside me.
No. No. No.
Not Oscar. No.
Fear turns me into a dervish, kicking and bucking. My fingers scrabble at my phone as I desperately try to remember how to make an emergency call without seeing the screen.
Then I’m slammed into the wall, driving the air out of me.
He wrenches the phone from my hand, yanking at my wrist until something snaps. Then he flings the phone across the room and snarls, “Where’s the fucking package? I know you have it. Give it to me. Now.”
“I… I don’t have it…” I stammer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please. Just leave.”
“Bitch!” He shoves me into the wall again. My forehead raps against it, and my eyes fill with tears. “I paid two Gs for it. And I’m not leaving until I get it.”
Pain is firing through my head. My wrist. My shoulder.
I haven’t been this frightened since the day I opened the door to find a casualty assistance officer waiting outside, and I just knew he was there about Vince.
“Please,” I beg. “I don’t have anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about. If you want money, I have some. Just let me go—”
“No!” he roars. “I want the fucking coke you promised!”
Then he laughs, low and menacing, right by my ear. “Maybe you’ll show me where it is if I use your precious dog for leverage.”
No!
Hurting me is one thing. But not Oscar.
With a strength I didn’t know I had, I jerk myself out of his grip. I grab Oscar’s collar again and drag him away from the man. Oscar is growling. Barking. He’s frantic to protect me.
I only have a split second to decide what to do next.
A closet isn’t safe enough.
Neither are the bedrooms.
I need to get him outside. In the dark. Where he can’t be found.
The man’s hand glances off my shoulder as I sprint for the front door.
As I pass one of the end tables, I snatch up a lamp and fling it at him.
He yelps, and the distraction gives me just enough of an opening to reach the door.
Once I reach it, I yank the chair out from under the doorknob and throw it to the side.
I’m sobbing while I try to get the door open. My hand is slick with sweat, and the knob keeps slipping. The man is right behind me, Oscar is growling, my wrist is throbbing—
And there.
The door opens.
Shoving Oscar ahead of me and onto the porch, I say the one word guaranteed to make him run. “Squirrel,” I gasp. “Squirrel! Go! Get the squirrel!”
For a moment, I’m not sure if it worked.
For a moment, I fear I let down my best friend in the world.
A moment later, he runs. He lopes across the yard and veers into the trees to the side, where we spot the most squirrels. Seconds later, he disappears into the dark.
I’m just about to follow him when a hand comes around my throat.
My scream cuts off.
I’m dragged back inside.
“Fucking bitch!” the man hisses. “You fucking cut my face. Now you’re really going to pay.”
The front door closes with a resounding thud, trapping me.
Then he throws me to the floor.
“Fucking bitch,” he repeats. “Think you can scam me? We’ll see about that.”
As I lay on the worn hardwood, gasping for air, several thoughts fly by, one after another.
Please, let Oscar be okay. Let one of the neighbors find him and keep him safe.
My parents will be so upset. They don’t deserve this.
I shouldn’t have been such a chicken. I should have called Tyler.
Then pain explodes at the side of my head.
Blinding lights erupt across my vision.
“Fucking bitch,” the man mutters.
And everything goes dark.