At the mention of her husband’s name, Lillian winced and began sobbing again. I handed her the dish towel, and she dabbed the corners of her eyes. “Come on, girls, let’s do this.”
We sat down on the couch and began leafing through the pages, seeing people we all knew. Occasionally, we would stop and linger on a photo, recalling scenes with that person from our past, all of which seemed like distant memories. We remembered loved ones the way we once knew them, not as suspects in the aftermath of the crimes committed. Still, we followed the officer’s instructions and indicated a few possibilities before closing the book.
Between the whir of the hovering helicopter and the continuous squawking of the walkie-talkie, sleep was next to impossible that night. The few times I did drift off, I dreamed of men with guns storming the appliance store. I woke up sweating and trembling. Thankfully, as I looked around, most everyone else was sleeping soundly.
The next morning, I got up and put milk and boxes of cereal on the dining table so everyone could help themselves if they were hungry. Celia and I helped dress and feed the younger children. The older ones walked around the house like zombies, their eyes swollen and red. When Lillian eventually emerged from her bedroom, Celia held her arm to steady her, leading her to the table.
No one said much. Other than the drone of the helicopter that intermittently circled the house and the surrounding area, it was eerily quiet.
THE NEXT DAYS WERE A BLUR. Lillian could barely function, her emotions constantly on edge. I overheard one of the officers talking to her after she had received a menacing, possibly life-threatening phone call. Tension gripped the entire household despite the continued police presence. We were all jumpy, our nerves frayed from fear for our very lives.
A SWAT team continued to surround the house, and occasionally we heard helicopters overhead. Every hour on the hour, a uniformed officer or an FBI agent knocked on the door and asked permission to search the house and check on us. They often met with the adults about any plans for the day. Officers escorted us everywhere we went, even to the grocery store. They had tiny receivers in their ears with wires that ran down the back of their shirt collars, and they occasionally lifted their hands and spoke into equally tiny microphones on their wrists. I decided not to leave the house until the chaos passed.
The night before Mark’s funeral, more family members than I could count filled the house. They came into town from all over the United States and Mexico. Mom, Lillian, Kathleen, and I stood in Lillian’s closet helping her pick out clothes. I set up an ironing board in the living room and began ironing clothes for Lillian and the children to wear the next day.
In the middle of the task, the house suddenly went completely dark. Even though we were still under police protection, my mind leapt from scene to scene of the few horror movies I’d watched in my life where the unsuspecting victim is ambushed and killed in some gruesome manner. I just knew I’d be next. My knees buckled, and adrenaline coursed through my veins, causing my breath to come in shallow pants. I broke out in a cold sweat, and chills ran up and down my spine.
Feeling my way in the dark, I made it safely to Lillian’s bedroom. A large group of us huddled there, whispering to one another about what we should do. Panicked voices questioned where the children were and how everyone was doing. I just wanted to find a safe place to hide.
Lillian hissed, “Everyone, be quiet. Please.”
A hush immediately settled over us all. I heard a faint whisper. “What do you want us to do?” I could hear the fear in Celia’s voice.
“Let me think for a moment.”
I heard whispering again. All of a sudden, I felt someone at my arm. “Who’s this?” Lillian asked.
“It’s Anna.”
“Go hide in the bathroom. Lie down in the tub.” I cautiously made my way down the hall, trying not to bump into anyone else.
I tried to regulate my breathing by slowly inhaling and exhaling. I finally felt the thin strip of molding around the bathroom door and went inside and closed the door behind me. Faint moonlight filtered by cloud cover came through the window and dimly lit the tiny bathroom enough for me to see the tub. I climbed in, pulled the shower curtain closed, and hunkered down.
The tub’s coldness quickly seeped through my clothes, chilling me to the core. I wish I had brought something to wrap myself in. I feel so exposed. My body began to shake, and once again my breaths came fast, each one reverberating off the tile surrounding me, making them seem louder than they were. I have to get control of myself or they’ll find me. Curled up in the fetal position, I waited.
I fully expected gunmen to enter the house and start shooting us, just like they had Mark, Ed, Duane, and Jenny. Would they kill us all or would some of my family members manage to get away? Where’s the SWAT team? I thought they were supposed to be protecting us.
Moments later, I heard the hinge on the bathroom door squeak, as someone opened it slowly. I held my breath, panicked. My heart raced as I tried to flatten myself even more in the tub. Would dying from a gunshot wound hurt? Would I die quickly? Instinctively, I covered my head with my hands. Footsteps padded across the floor in my direction. I heard the sound of the shower curtain rings sliding on the rod as the curtain was pushed aside, and I braced myself for the worst.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Suddenly, I felt a foot brush up against mine, as someone stepped into the tub. Even though it startled me, I knew better than to scream out, but every nerve in my body was ignited. Whoever had joined me was hunkered down at the other end of the tub. It’s someone I know. Neither of us spoke. Quietly, we both pulled the shower curtain closed again to conceal ourselves, leaving us in the dark.
After what seemed like a long time, I heard the SWAT team members calling out for us. “All clear. Everything’s secure.”
I released a heavy sigh and climbed out of the tub. “I’m glad that’s over. I was so scared. Who’s there?”
“It’s me. Celia.”
I let out a long breath.
We stepped out of the bathtub, and I led the way back into the living room. Just as we entered, the lights came back on. The large room, now overflowing with SWAT team members and my family, seemed small. I heard murmurings asking what had happened.
“Quiet, please.” An officer got our attention. When everyone stopped talking, he continued. “Sorry about that, folks. A circuit breaker flipped and cut all the electricity to the house. Earlier today, an electrician installed motion-detecting floodlights around the house. On a routine pass around the perimeter, two of our SWAT guys on patrol set off the floodlights. That surge was enough to flip the circuits to the whole house.”
I didn’t care how the outage had happened; I just felt relieved that the crisis had ended without anyone dying.