“No, I’ll just stop somewhere. Coffee’d be good, though.”
Daisy didn’t hesitate to move toward the brewer. It was a relief to have something to do so she didn’t have to stand there and watch him scramble to leave as fast as possible. She focused on the drip, drip of the brewing coffee until it gurgled to a stop. After she transferred it to a travel mug, she saw he was by the door, ready to go.
Her smile was forced, but it didn’t matter, since he was careful not to make eye contact with her.
“Travel safe,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “Thanks again for the books and the dolls.” Daisy was proud at how the word “dolls” came out with barely a pause. Maybe Chris would take them with him next time he stopped by to visit. They could ride shotgun in the squad and terrify criminals into surrendering.
“Bye, Daisy.”
She carefully fastened the locks, one by one, until she was secure again. Alone, but secure.
*
She could hear her mom sobbing, pleading, but Daisy couldn’t see her face. Everything was blurry except for the gun in his black-gloved hand. Daisy shook so hard that her tremors rattled the snack-cake display she was hiding behind. Although she desperately tried to be quiet, the scream built up inside of her, pressing against her lungs until she had to let it out or she would suffocate. The shrill sound escaped, filling her ears and drowning out everything—her mother’s cries, the stranger’s threats, the sirens outside. Where was Chris? Chris always came at this point. He wasn’t there, though. No one was there. The gun flashed, and Daisy knew her mom was gone. Grief blended with fear, and her scream grew louder and louder until the gun pointed straight at Daisy’s face.
She jerked awake with a gasp. As soon as she realized it had been a dream, she scooted to the edge of the bed. The sheets were damp from sweat, and they clung to her skin, slowing her progress.
With a small noise of disgust, Daisy yanked at the material. In her half-awake panic, she just managed to tangle herself further. Her feet caught the edge of her blankets, tripping her as she lurched out of bed. She landed on her hands and knees, the hardwood floor connecting painfully, the throb telling her she’d have bruises later. Twisting so she was sitting on the floor, she kicked her way free of the covers that still managed to cling to her feet.
Finally free, she scrambled to her feet and hurried toward the stairs, whacking her shoulder on her bedroom doorframe as she passed through it. She grimaced, rubbing the spot where yet another bruise would appear. It was like the house itself was punishing her for what she’d done that day eight years ago.
Although she hadn’t had a destination in mind when she’d fled her bedroom, her legs carried her automatically to the training room. Ignoring the creeping feeling of menace emanating from the immobile equipment, she jumped onto the treadmill. Daisy arrowed up the speed past her usual warm-up, needing to run fast enough to get away from the nightmares and the memories and her stupid, panicky, shut-away life.
Running was too monotonous, though, giving her too much time to think. She kept thinking she heard things over the steady burr of the treadmill—a creak of a floorboard or the click of a latch. Every imaginary sound made her jump and flinch so strongly that, several times, she stepped on the edge of the belt and almost fell. Running wasn’t enough to kill her past and present ghosts, so she started a circuit, moving from pull-ups to leg-lifts to jump-ups to burpees to sit-ups to punching the heavy bag to push-ups and back to the treadmill for more sprints. She lost track of how many rotations she’d done, her muscles burning until they finally just went numb.
Numb was good, she decided, as the feeling disappeared from her body and then her brain. She stopped hearing the phantom intruder, her mother’s sobs, a gun firing. All she knew was her feet pounding on the treadmill or her fists smacking against the bag, until either she tripped or her legs decided they were done, and she sprawled on the floor.
That didn’t hurt as much as it should have, either, so there was another benefit to the numbness. With the current noodle-like state of her muscles, she barely managed to roll over onto her back. The high ceiling was white and bumpy, and Daisy stared at it until her eyes grew fuzzy and she had to close them.