Primal - By D.A. Serra Page 0,81

She has wanted to have that fixed, wanted to get it nailed back down. She knows the sound of a foot on that board. She has heard that sound a thousand times. She knows it well, too well to pretend she did not hear it. With slow intensity, she rises up to sitting in her bed. Her ears are trained because she knows precisely where the next floorboard will sound. She waits for it. Nothing. Perhaps it is the house settling, one of the various innocent noises made by homes every day, like when the windows make a snapping sound as the bright sunlight hits them. Houses make noises: wood and glass expand and contract. This is fundamentally true. She knows this is fundamentally...creak - there it is. Her eyes narrow in on the bedroom doorway. Yes, she is sure. She is completely awake. She waited for a particular sound and that was it. Someone is slithering up the stairs taking care to be very quiet. Her heartbeat pulses in her throat. The dread hits her chest like a baseball bat knocking the wind out of her. He waited. Of course, he watched and he waited until she was alone. She slides her legs silently out from underneath the bed covers and she slips her body down onto the carpet. He is here. Where can she hide? Should she hide? He will find her. He will smell her like a beast. She reaches under the bed for the rifle. Where is it? She throws both her arms under the bed and sweeps them around frantically. Where? Panic clutches her and she begins to tremble! She remembers. The rifle is leaning up against the wall near the door to the hallway where Hank stashed it as Jimmy came up the stairs. She looks. Yes, she can just make out the shape of its outline in the dark. On her hands and knees, she scurries over to it while he takes the stairs one-by-one to the second floor cautious not to wake her. Fear strips away her pretense of sanity. She is an animal again. Her skin becomes damp as her heart races. Her breathing puffs staccato. Her eyes dart back and forth calculating her options. The comforter on the bed looks bunched up. That’s good because it looks like someone is sleeping there. That will give her an added second or two. In a quick blast of motion, she crawls over to the opened door to the Jack-n-Jill bathroom, which links her bedroom with Jimmy’s. She positions herself crouching to the side of the door. She lifts the rifle aiming exactly chest-high at the open doorway to her bedroom. She rests her elbows on her thighs and takes a secure and steady position. Ready. She’s going to blow him away. Time slows and the waiting feels endless even though she knows it takes only seconds to climb the stairs to the second floor. There! The dark silhouette of a man appears in the doorway. The figure takes a step toward the bed. The body is exposed. It is a clear shot. She’s got him. She begins to pull back on the trigger. Stop. She freezes. Disoriented. Wait. Is this real? Is it her husband? Inside, she screams at herself, don’t shoot! It’s Hank! Oh my god, and a split second before firing, in horror she puts the rifle down on the carpet.

“Oh, god!” She shoves the rifle out of reach with her feet. “Oh god! Hank? You came back.”

He turns toward her. He sees her crouching in the bathroom doorway. “Of course I came back,” Ben says with a smile. “You knew I would. We have unfinished business.”

What’s real? Wait. Is she still in a dream? He’s dead. Ben’s dead. It’s Hank. I need to see that it is Hank! Ben raises his handgun aiming at her head and she reacts reflexively. Using power from both her legs, she launches herself backward into the bathroom as he fires! The sound of the gunshot thunders out piercing the serenity of the neighborhood and then she knows. I am not dreaming! I am not imagining! I am not crazy! I have been right all along. She scuttles across the bathroom tile, which feels hard on her knees. The bathroom still smells of the lavender soap and citrus shampoo she lathered on in sweet luxury earlier. I’m glad I’m clean, she thinks in a passing second. I’d hate to be found dead and dirty,