Lying side-by-side beneath the double bed, the two girls became living, breathing statues. Callie’s hand in one of hers. The phone still clenched tightly in Cera’s other fist.
“We’re under the bed,” she shared with an almost indiscernible whisper.
“I hear you, Cera,” Alice responded instantly. “I’ve let the officers know so when they get there they’ll know where to come find you.”
She didn’t want the police to worry about finding them. What they needed to focus on was finding James and stopping him once and for all.
The slow, heavy footfalls reached the top of the staircase. From her floor-level vantage point, Cera could barely make out the changes in the shadows as their intruder paused just outside her bedroom door.
Her pulse raced with fear, her breaths nearly reaching hyperventilation levels. The tight, dark space became claustrophobic as the terror rushing through her bloodstream threatened to take control of her entire system.
Every sound was amplified. Every shuddered breath that escaped Callie’s tiny lungs filling Cera’s ears as if she were huffing and puffing after a mile-long sprint.
Please, God. Please make him leave us alone!
The shadows moved again, and the booted footsteps traveled away from the door and down the hall…to where her mom lay sleeping.
“Cera, I know you can’t talk, but I’m still here, okay? Help is almost there. Only a couple more minutes, and—”
A deafeningboomdrowned out whatever else the emergency operator had said. And then—
“What was that?” Alice asked instantly. “Was that a gunshot?”
At the same time, Callie curled herself against Cera and began to cry. “Cera?” Her tiny body shook with fear. “What’s happening? I’m scared.”
Me, too, Bug. Me, too.
Cera held her sister close. Her lips parted, the reassuring words meant for Callie gone unspoken as another loud bang disrupted the otherwise silent night.
Definitely a gunshot.
Callie whimpered in her arms, but inside Cera’s chest, hope began to bloom. Hope because she remembered Richard owned a gun.
The man had only been in their lives for about nine months, but he knew all about James and the problems the psycho had caused them these past two years. Despite the unseemly baggage connected to her mom, Richard loved and supported her unconditionally. Cera and Callie, too.
More importantly, the sweet man kept a pistol in his nightstand drawer.
Just in case.
Maybe those were the shots she’d just heard. Was it possible? Had Richard finally taken care of James once and for all?
The gut-wrenching answer came when those same footsteps from before returned. They were a little faster now. Almost purposeful in nature.
But Cera didn’t have time to truly comprehend what those footfalls—or the dual gunshots—meant because her bedroom door had just burst open. And those boots were making their way into the room.
Familiar boots she wished like hell she’d never seen.
No!
Callie’s small form jumped from the unexpected intrusion, but to her credit, the third grader didn’t make so much as a peep. Cera held her sister close. As close as she possibly could. And she started to pray.
She prayed God would somehow make them invisible. Prayed the cops would show up right that very second, and this whole nightmare would be over.
As she and her sister lay as still as church mice, she prayed her mom and Richard had somehow managed to escape James’ murderous wrath. Somewhere far in the back of her mind, though, Cera knew that wasn’t the case.
Her mother would never leave them behind. Not ever. Which most likely meant—
“Ah!”Callie screamed as she was pulled toward the foot of the bed by her ankles.