The room was plunged into
darkness. She bolted for the doorway, only to run directly into the doorjamb.
Grabbing her injured arm, she struggled into the bedroom, screaming
hysterically as if the woman in the mirror had wrapped her cold arms around
her. As she stumbled through the darkened room, she scattered items from the
dresser. They clattered to the hardwood floor and became obstacles in her path,
causing her to stagger through the room.
Tara’s Theme began to
play as the walnut jewelry box toppled to the floor, its contents strewn. The
china vase shattered, each jagged piece finding her bare feet, slicing into
them. As she stumbled in the darkness trying to find the door, the thorns from
the silk roses stabbed her with the same ferocity as real thorns.
She fell to her knees,
cutting one on a piece of glass, before coming back to her feet and faltering
toward the door.
In the lengthening shadows
the doorway had become a cavernous opening, and she squinted in a futile effort
to see it more clearly.
She had come within a few
feet of the door when the lights flickered back on and she was left standing
face to face with Dylan.
His hair was tousled and his
face was pale, his eyes wide and unblinking. His mouth was slightly open as if
he was trying to form words but they wouldn’t come. He was shirtless and
barefoot. And he was holding a gun.
When the lights came back on
and the house came alive with the buzz of electricity, she continued to scream
as if she had no control over her own voice.
Dylan stood near the door,
staring at her. Finally, during a lull in her screaming, he said, “What the
bloody hell is goin’ on in here?”
She pointed to his side.
“You—you have a gun!”
“What did you expect me to
have? A plate o' cookies?” Then without waiting for an answer, he continued,
“Christ, Woman! You woke me up from a sound sleep screamin’ like a banshee. And
I still don’t know what you’re havin’ on about!”
Vicki placed her hands on her
knees and tried to catch her breath. In the lit room, it seemed hard to believe
that a gory scene existed just behind her in the bathroom. With Dylan’s eyes
still upon her, she managed to point behind her. “Go look in the bathroom.”
“Why?”
“Just—go look. I can’t
describe it.”
He remained still for a
moment before motioning toward the bed. “Get over there and sit down.” His
voice was authoritative and no-nonsense. She started toward the bed when he
added, “Watch your step. You’re bleedin’.”
“I know,” she managed to say as
she reached the bed and sat down. It felt like every muscle in her body was
quivering. Dylan slowly made his way across the room, stepping around the
shards of glass that littered the floor. When he reached the bathroom, he
pushed the door all the way open so it thudded against the back of the wall
before he peered inside. A moment later, he stepped into the room, his gun
ready.
