Darkness had fallen hours earlier. The moon was high over the lush summer treetops. Emily, who had been drowsing on the sofa since suppertime, awoke with a start.
“What? Oh, I must have fallen asleep,” she said to the empty room. She arose from the sofa and stretched, then looked around the dimly lit room. After a moment, she looked down to see her tabby Buster rubbing against her ankles. “Buster, where’s Daddy?” she asked.
Emily picked up her phone and clicked open the new text message from Marty. Running late. Crazy client. CU soon. xoxoxo.
She took a deep breath to quell the little tendrils of fear in her belly. Damn him for being late. Quickly she redirected her anger, like her therapist had shown her. Marty was on the way, he wasn’t that late at all, she was fine, just a little foggy from her impromptu nap.
Still, he knew how hard the last year had been on her. He could at least be home before dark. Emily strode to the front door, checked the locks. Checked the windows. She ran upstairs, then downstairs. Checking, checking. Turning on lights. Drawing the heavy curtains. Reminding herself that she had recovered, that she had worked hard for many months after the attack. She knew her triggers and could defuse them. The fractured memory of the horrific attack no longer had the power to incapacitate her. She was healing, she was better. The hospital stay, the therapy, the support groups — they had all made her stronger. Strong enough.
Emily forced herself to sit on the sofa, focus on her breathing.
She couldn’t remember what the monster sounded like. She couldn’t remember any of the sounds that night , the glass breaking, the bedroom door shattering, the thunk of her head on the hardwood floor, the dull snap of her finger bones. Her own screams were lost. The only sound she remembered was the bingbong of the doorbell. That melodic introduction to a visit from the devil himself.
The soft ping of her phone interrupted the terrible reverie. Marty. Where RU? Can’t find my key.
Emily felt an icy anvil in the pit of her stomach. She ran to the front door, a shriek building in her throat.
Bingbong.
