“I had to.” Sarah tried explaining to the woman.
Except maybe there was no explaining such a thing. She’d just known she had to do something. Stop him. Interrupt. Make all those red and white screams go away. So she’d walked into the room, and she’d offered up the only thing she had: Kelly’s bloody arm.)
He came for her then. Turned fully, blade dripping at his side, lips peeled back from his teeth.
She watched him advance. She didn’t move. She didn’t scream. She felt like a little girl, standing in the kitchen as her father picked up the boiling teakettle. “What the fuck, you stupid-ass woman? When I ask you for my money, you give me my money! I’m the one in charge here. Now do as I say, or I’ll throw this whole damn pot into your bitch-ugly face. Then we’ll see who’s willing to take care of you after that!”
Don’t look away, don’t make a sound. This is what she’d learned from her mother over the years. If they’re going to hurt you, make them do it while staring you in the eye.
Madman halted directly in front of her, blade at his side. She could smell the blood on his cheeks, the whiskey on his breath.
He said to her: “Scream.”
As slowly, so slowly, he lifted the knife. Up, up, up.
Behind him, Christy fumbled with her lacrosse stick. Tried to move. Tried to take advantage. But the stick fell from her trembling fingers. It clattered as she slid down the wall, sank to the floor. A sigh in the distance: no more rage from the star athlete, just acceptance. So this is what it felt like to die.
“Scream,” he whispered again.
Sarah stared at him, and in his gaze, she knew exactly what he was going to do. He was not her loser father. Not subject to a quick temper or drunken rages. No, the hunting knife in his hand, the blood on his face. He liked it. Felt no shame, no remorse. Heidi’s screams, Christy’s fight, her own silent stand—this was the most fun he’d had in years.
“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” she heard herself whisper, “I will fear no evil.”
Then she closed her eyes and clutched this last piece of Kelly close, as with a laugh, a chortle of glee, he slashed the knife straight down toward her chest.
An explosion. Two, three, four, five. More pain, her shoulder, her chest, her throat. He’d stabbed her, she thought, as she collapsed to the ground. No, he’d shot her. But that didn’t make sense . . .
A ragged sob behind her, followed by the stench of death growing ever closer. Heidi dragged herself across the hardwood floor.
Holding a small pistol, Sarah noticed now. Heidi had a gun.
“I’m sorry,” Heidi whispered. She was crying, tears mixing, smearing with the blood on her cheeks. “Never . . . shoulda . . .”
“Shhh,” Sarah said.
Heidi put her head on Sarah’s shoulder. Sarah winced; Heidi had shot her while shooting him. But it hardly seemed to matter now. Blood pooling on her throat, blood dripping from her back, so much pain, and yet it seemed far away, abstract.
The madman was still. The molten screams had ended. Now, there was just this. A final moment.
Sarah and Heidi both placed their hands on Kelly’s arm.
“I’m sorry,” Heidi mumbled again.
Sarah listened to her last gurgling breath.
“I will fear no evil,” she whispered in the ensuing silence. “I will fear no evil, fear no evil, fear no evil.”
The police finally burst through the front door. The EMTs rushed to their rescue.
“Jesus Christ,” the first cop said, coming to a halt in the middle of the apartment.
“I will fear no evil,” Sarah told the woman.
And, once more, offered up Kelly’s severed arm.
? ? ?
A YEAR LATER, WHAT SARAH REMEMBERED most was waking up to the sound of giggling.
? ? ?
DO SCREAMS HAVE A TASTE? Fire? Ash? Red-hot cinnamon candies, which as a little girl Sarah liked to let melt on the tip of her tongue?
? ? ?
“EXCUSE ME. YOU FORGOT THIS.”
? ? ?
SOUND OF GIGGLING. MOLTEN-WHITE SCREAMS.
? ? ?
I WILL FEAR NO EVIL . . .
? ? ?
ONE YEAR LATER, ONE YEAR LATER, one year later . . .
? ? ?
A KNOCK AT THE DOOR. Hard. And then again.
Sarah bolted awake in her tiny studio apartment. Drenched in sweat, breath ragged. She lay perfectly still, ears straining. Then it came again. Knocking. Pounding. Someone demanding entrance.
Slowly, she reached for the top drawer of her nightstand. No stashed knife. She couldn’t even look at a blade. No gun. She’d tried, but her hands shook too much. So a canister of pepper spray. Meant to chase off bears when hiking in the woods and available at any outdoor gear or camping store. She had the canisters stashed all over her single-room apartment, in every bag she carried.
She drew out the canister, sliding off the mattress as the knocking started again.
She stank. Could smell the reek of her own sweat and terror. Night after night after night.
Screams did have a color. It was the only thing she truly understood anymore. Screams had a color, and she was now intimately familiar with all the shades of despair.
“I will fear no evil,” Sarah told herself as she put her eye to the peephole and gazed into the dimly lit hall.
A lone woman. Late twenties, early thirties maybe. Dressed casually in jeans and a sweatshirt, she looked like someone Sarah should know. Had maybe met once upon a time. Then again, two A.M. was a strange time for a social call.
“It’s okay.” The woman spoke up, no doubt sensing Sarah’s gaze on her. She held up both hands, as if to prove she was unarmed. “I won’t hurt you.”
“Who are you?”
“Honestly? You’re gonna have to open up to find out. That’s part of the deal. I’m here to help you, but you gotta take the first step.”
“I will fear no evil,” Sarah said, clutching her bear spray tightly.
“That’s stupid,” said the woman. “World is full of evil. Fear is what keeps us safe.”
“Who are you?”
“Someone who’s not going to stand here forever. Make your choice, Sarah. Hide behind platitudes or make the world a better place.”
Sarah hesitated. But then her fingers landed on the first bolt lock. Then the second. The third. There was something about this woman. Not what she said so much as the way she stood.
Christy, she found herself thinking. The woman stood like Christy had, once upon a time. A challenger, ready to take on the world.
Slowly, very slowly, Sarah eased open the door until she stood face-to-face with her unexpected guest.
“Nice pepper spray,” the woman commented. She strode into Sarah’s tiny apartment. Rotated a full circle, looking all around. Nodded once to herself, as if all was what she had expected.
She turned, faced Sarah directly, and stuck out a hand.
“My name is Flora Dane,” she announced. “A year ago, you survived. Now I’m gonna teach you how to live again.”
Chapter 1
PERFECT FALL DAY. That was the problem. Boston Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren knew from past experience that perfect days were never to be trusted. And yet, with her five-year-old son, Jack, giggling excitedly as he pulled on his sweatshirt, and her crime scene expert husband, Alex, all smiles as he dug out an L.L.Bean canvas bag, it was hard not to get into the spirit of things. Apple picking. One of those crazy domestic things other families did, and now she and her family would do. Apple picking first thing this bright, crisp morning, to be followed by a long-awaited visit to the humane society.
Dog.
With a capital D.
Jack had been begging for one since he could talk. In the past six months, Alex had suddenly taken his side.
“Pets are good for kids,” he’d explained patiently to D.D. “They teach responsibility.”
“We’re never home. How responsible can we be if we’re never home?”
“Correction. You are never home. Jack and I, on the other hand . . .”