I sneak quietly towards the kitchen and living room in search of her. I know I heard something. I swear if I find another raccoon in our kitchen trash I’ll force Jake to seal up that dog door. The house came with the dog door and we had planned on doing away with it. It’s been on Jake’s honey-do list, but my poor honey doesn’t have much time to get to the “do” part. I haven’t nagged him about it lately, but I can’t handle more rodent run-ins and Starla shouldn’t be getting out anyway, since she’s an indoor cat with no claws.
I brace myself for the creature I’m sure I’ll find. My shoulders tense a little. I clench my jaw, preparing to bite back my screams when I catch the rodent. The last time I caught a raccoon in the house, I screamed like a wild banshee and ran for Jake like my life depended on it. I scared the shit out of him. Poor husband. He came hook sliding into the kitchen in his socks with his gun drawn. I squealed and jumped up and down, pointing to the ass end of the raccoon sticking out of the trash can. He had made a mess and was stuck in the garbage can. The more scared he got, the more he fought to escape. Jake just looked from the raccoon to me, wide-eyed, and slumped forward in relief. He leaned over, resting his hands on his knees, and began laughing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. I, of course, got mad. He put the safety on the gun and put it on the counter. Carefully skirting the animal, Jake opened the back door wide and in one swift movement, tilted the trashcan upright. The raccoon fell to the bottom of the can, head first, and Jake hurried outside with the whole thing.
I’ll die if I’m about to relive that disaster.
“Don’t move,” a low, raspy voice demands.
I freeze in my tracks and gasp, unable to scream. I instinctively put my hands up in surrender, like I’m being arrested. I don’t know why. I guess it’s the universal sign of submission. In the low light coming from the hallway, I can see the form of a thin man standing in front of our television with his arm extended, holding what I presume to be a gun. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. I’m the one who disarmed the security panel that Jake had armed before bed. I was afraid that if Starla came back, she’d set off the motion sensors, the alarm would sound, and Jake wouldn’t get the good night’s sleep that he needs.
“I’ll fuckin’ blow your brains out if you make a noise. Anyone else home?”
Lie. Lie. Lie. “No. My husband’s away on business,” I manage to whisper in what I think is a calm voice.
“Good. Where are your keys and wallet?” He takes a step closer, forcing me to flinch.
I stand, staring at him for a moment, my head spinning. I honestly can’t remember where I left them last. My heart is pounding and adrenaline is coursing through my veins, leaving a path of fine sweat and tremors in its wake. Think, Sadie. Don’t panic now. Be smart. Be strong. I play Jake’s words through my head and it helps me to focus enough to remember where my purse is.
“Bitch,” the man warns.
“The dining table,” I blurt far too loudly.
“Go get it and set it on the coffee table,” he instructs. “Slowly.”
I take a deep breath and begin the short walk to our small dining room. I take only three steps before I hear the floor creak beneath the man’s feet. The noise startles me and I freeze again. He must be following me into the dining room. I don’t look back to verify it. I know what I heard.
“Drop your weapon.” Jakes voice is clear and firm. I spin around and see him standing in his boxers in the low light, his department-issued pistol in his hand, pointed at the figure that’s still by our TV. My eyes immediately go to where the intruder is standing. “Sadie, walk towards me,” Jake instructs without looking at me.
I look from the man to Jake, then back to the man. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to make a mistake.
“You’re not goin’ anywhere, bitch,” the intruder growls.
Jake’s gun is pointed at the man, whose gun is alternating from pointing at me to pointing at Jake.
“Sadie.” Jake’s tone tells me what I need to know and I know I have to do as he says.
I inch towards Jake.
“Stay there!” the intruder barks.
I stop where I am, only three or four inches closer to Jake than I was. I can’t do this. My feet feel glued in place. A bead of sweat rolls from my hairline down my forehead and into my eye. The sweat stings, causing me to blink rapidly. I look to Jake, but he’s focused on the man in front of him.
Jake takes a tentative step towards me. He’s testing the man.
“Don’t move! I’ll shoot her!”
The tension in the room is palpable yet Jake seems calm and confident. The man is becoming more and more nervous.