I’d been terrified before, the kind of fear that paralyzes your thought processes so completely that your body moves with pure muscle memory to keep you safe. So, I guess I was more prepared than most for the moment that gunshots erupted downstairs.
It still took me a moment to comprehend what was happening, drawn out seconds where I sat there in disbelief, a million memories running through my head and my heartbeat pounding in my ears. It was only seconds, though, and then I was silently standing from the rocker, putting my hand on the arm to stop any movement, and racing toward the closet.
The sound of my best friend Liv screaming made me pause in my mad dash, but only for a split second, when the scream was cut off with another gunshot. I couldn’t help her anymore, not that I could’ve in the first place. I had no idea how many people were shooting. Growing up in the company of outlaw bikers had taught me a lot of lessons, but one of the most important ones was, if you weren’t sure of your odds, lay low until you were. I looked down at the baby sleeping against my chest. I’d also been taught that protecting children always came first.
Grabbing my purse and bag off the dresser, I glanced around the room, making sure that I hadn’t left any sign of my presence. I wasn’t even supposed to be there. I’d planned on staying home with a TV dinner and uninterrupted episodes of my favorite shows for Thanksgiving. I grit my teeth as the sound of more gunshots filtered up the stairs. I needed to get moving.
I’d given Liv so much shit for using this closet as overflow for her main closet, but I was thankful as hell as I stepped inside and saw the rows and rows of clothing. Finding a particularly full rack, I pressed in between a large wool cape-looking thing and a floor length fur coat. Who wore fur anymore? Jesus. As soon as I’d put everything down along the wall, I turned off the light and climbed into the space, pulling the coats in front of me.
It didn’t take long for someone to come into the bedroom. I’d known it wouldn’t. I’d assume that if you shot someone, you’d want to make sure you hadn’t left any witnesses. The person was trying to be quiet, but houses had a way of spilling their secrets, if you knew what to listen for. The soft squeak of the door hinges and the swish of steps on carpet made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Then, the closet door was open.
I took a slow, steady breath and rested my hand on the pistol I kept in my purse. One second passed. Then another. The light came on and I stopped breathing.
Then, with a click of the switch, the light was off again and the door shut.
I closed my eyes and kissed the tiny head tucked beneath my chin. Thank God, she’d stayed asleep.
We stayed curled in that closet for a while, but I knew at some point, I’d need to get us out of there. I couldn’t hear anyone in the house, but there was a good chance they were still around. We were secluded up here, and whoever had done the shooting probably thought they had plenty of time to do whatever it was they’d come to do.
Pulling out my phone, I scrolled through the contacts. Most of the time, I loved that there was some distance between me and my family. This was not one of those times. I turned the volume on my phone down as low as it could go and listened to it ring and ring, finally going to voicemail.
“Shit,” I breathed. Of course my mom didn’t have her phone with her. It was Thanksgiving. She was probably already half drunk and had set it down somewhere. She wouldn’t even notice I’d called until tomorrow when the cleanup started, and she found it sitting on the edge of the stove or something.
Scrolling past my dad’s number—I was pretty sure he wasn’t using that throw-away anymore – I pressed send again.
After one ring, my brother answered. Dependable Cam.
“Who’s this?” he barked.
“It’s me,” I replied, relief making the words come out a little shaky. Just hearing his voice bolstered me, even though I knew he was a thousand miles away, and no help whatsoever.