Intruder

INTRUDER

I

When the man stepped in and saw her there, he froze. Their eyes locked.

He was bald, with a flat nose and narrow eyes. The beginnings of a gray-speckled black beard lined his jaw. His frame filled out a navy-blue tee-shirt and black jacket.

Anne broke away and ran. The intruder dashed after her. She reached the bedroom door and his hand twisted into the back of her shirt to jerk her backward. The clothing ripped. Thick gloved fingers seized her arm.

Anne spun and struck. Her knuckles struck his tender windpipe and he released her, shocked and gasping. He clutched his throat. Anne bolted into the bedroom.

She ran to the bag on the bed and grabbed for its strap but fumbled. The bald man charged through the bedroom doorway, running across the room toward her.

She turned and popped a vicious kick at him. Her heel glanced from his shin, and his weight slammed her to the edge of the bed. In her struggling, she slipped down to the carpet below. Her head struck the edge of the bed frame.

Dizziness spun her senses. Blood pounded in her ears. The man was on top of her, fighting to hold her down. She raised an arm to thrust for his eyes, but he pinned the arm. She screamed. He shoved a black-gloved hand over her mouth and slammed her head to the floor. She forced her jaws apart and bit deep, but scored only the leather of the thick glove.

He struck her in the side of the head. The smell of fear and violence filled Anne’s senses. Darkness swirled around her. She fought the vortex that threatened to devour her consciousness.

Her right arm was pinned and so was the left, but she was able to work the latter free. She swung. The man pulled his head back and she missed. He swung in turn and drove a fist into her jaw.

She grabbed for something, anything, but there was only the night table on this side of the bed. She flung an arm upward and latched onto the handle of the night table’s drawer. She yanked, and the weight of the drawer came free. It fell from her hand and toppled to the side. Paper and pens spilled out.

The man’s arm shot out—to what, she couldn’t tell—but her hand had already closed over one of the pens. She stabbed at his midsection, and hit her mark this time. He shouted. Anne stabbed again. He raised an arm and the pen’s point stuck into his jacket sleeve. Whether it did any damage, Anne doubted, but the man rolled off her. She maneuvered her body into position to attempt another pen-jab, but the man had moved out of range.  

She pulled herself up with no concern of grace. The man, the front of his shirt darkening with blood, also came to his feet. Anne snatched up the duffel bag before the intruder rose completely, kicked him back off-balance, and sped out the bedroom door.

The man righted himself. He pulled out a switchblade, snapped out its blade, and moved after her.

Anne ran across the house to the open front door. She shot outside and flung the door shut behind her.

She went for the car with her keys in her hand. Her frantic motions missed the keyhole twice. Finally, she slid the key in and opened the door. She threw herself in, tossed the bag into the passenger’s seat, and thrust the key into the ignition.

Through the heavy rain, she saw the front door of her house swing open. She started the car and revved the engine.

The man ran down the steps and toward the car, knife in his hand.

Anne shoved the car into reverse and sped backward. The man slowed when she curved back into the street. She shifted into first and shoved her foot against the gas pedal. Startled, the intruder almost stumbled backward when the car careened toward him. He ran back through the house’s front door. Anne stopped the car on her wet front lawn.

The man showed his face from her front door, his eyes wild with menace. He still clutched the switchblade in one hand. He held his other hand to his bleeding abdomen.

Anne pushed the gas pedal again, driving the car in a circle around the front lawn until she reached the street. She sped away.

Breathing heavily, the man walked back into the house. He closed the door behind him and lifted his shirt to inspect his wound. It was only flesh deep, but it bled.

He retracted the switchblade and picked up the phone, dialing a number on the pearly rotary. There was an answer on the second ring, but no voice spoke.

“I’m here at the house,” the man said into the receiver.

“And?” a voice prompted.

“She was here,” the man said. A drop of blood fell to the carpet. He pressed a gloved hand against his shirt. The puncture wound burned with the pressure. “She got away. She stabbed me with a pen, can you believe that? I couldn’t stop her.”

“Is there anything else?”

“That’s it.”

“Have you found anything?”

“I haven’t had the chance to look.”

“Make it quick. She’ll probably call the police.”

“Roger that.”

The man hung up the phone and began ransacking the house.

II

The tires slid in the constant rush of water across the street. Anne gave the brakes a quick few punches and guided the car into the gas station’s parking lot.

She checked her rearview mirror and peered out the car’s windows to scrutinize the surrounding area before climbing out. She locked the car door and ran to one of the two pay phones arranged against a corner of the building.

She lifted the phone, saw a pink wad of chewed gum stuck to the receiver, and hung it up. She moved to the other phone. This one wasn’t flawless, but without the gum, it was a winner. She dialed zero.

“Operator,” came the answer.

“I need the St. Charles Police Department,” Anne said. “It’s an emergency.”

“Hold on, please.”

After a ring, a man’s voice answered.

“This is the St. Charles Police Department,” he said.

The unexpected violent encounter rushed back through Anne’s mind, but she had no fear. She shook away the thoughts that attempted to bury her focus and replied, “This is Anne Sharpe. I was attacked earlier in my home.”

“Miss, we’ll need you to—”

“The man broke in through my front door,” Anne continued. “He attacked me. I was able to get away. He might still be there. If you hurry, you might be able to catch him.”

“Miss—”

Anne fired her home address into the receiver and hung up the phone. After a pause, Anne again picked up the phone, slid some change in, and tried to call Ruben.

It rang several times. Anne counted seven rings before hanging up.

With a glance at the yellow-lighted windows and glass door of the gas station, Anne walked away. She climbed back into her car, looked behind, and backed out. She drove through the persisting rain until she reached the lot’s outlet and pulled onto the street.

She imagined the attacker from earlier, drawing in as much detail as she could muster; she envisioned his face, his clothing, that black jacket he wore, the gloves, and the brown hiking boots. His face had been covered with stubble. There might have been initial surprise in the man’s eyes when he had seen her there, but she wasn’t entirely certain. Still, if that was so, did it mean the man had not expected anyone to be present inside the home?

He had attacked her. What would he have done if he had succeeded in subduing her?

She shook her head. It didn’t matter now, but she remained interested in the man. He had moved at a specific time: right after Damon’s funeral. If Anne had gone with the rest of the procession to Damon’s final burial at Marion Cemetery, she wouldn’t have been home when the man came.

The more she thought of it, the greater her suspicions were that the man was no mere random thief. She needed somewhere to think. With the way her mind raced from one theory to another, she would be lucky not to run into a ditch, especially in this rain.

She looked at the duffel bag in the passenger’s seat next to her. Her thoughts from earlier resurfaced. What she had been thinking then, could she carry through with it? Could she plunge deeper into Damon’s fascinations than he himself had done?

Once she settled on her answer, the next question to come to mind was, is this the exit or is it the next one? Through the rain, she couldn’t make out the sign until she was closer.

St. Charles Regional Airport, it read.She pulled off at this exit.

The rain lightened. When she reached the airport, Anne decided, she would try to call Ruben again.