Megan woke with a start.
She reached over to the
bedside table and ran her thumb over the smooth green stone next to the digital
clock and half-filled plastic cup of water. “I am here,” she whispered. “I am
safe.” She then slowly inhaled, held the breath for a few seconds, and exhaled.
A dog’s sharp bark echoed
somewhere outside—probably Max, the Kowalski’s Irish setter. Uncle Bill liked
to joke that Max alerted his owners if a leaf fell two blocks away. When Max
was a puppy and terrorizing the neighborhood with his hypervigilance, everyone
said, “He’ll calm down soon enough.” That was four years ago, but no one
noticed Max’s histrionics anymore. It had just become background noise, like the
sound of passing cars or the crickets’ nighttime chorus.
Megan took a sip of water
from the plastic cup. Thirty-two years old and still afraid to sleep in a house
by herself. She yearned for her studio
apartment, where she could see the door from every corner of the spacious room.
But it was her own fault for not finishing her edits; otherwise she would be
with her aunt and uncle right now at their fancy Gull Lake resort, rather than alone
in their empty house. It was funny, in a way: so many years of therapy and yet
here she was, awake in the middle of the night. Like Max she had never quite
outgrown her hypervigilance.
You never forget, Janet’s voice reminded
her. You just learn how to live with it.
Which meant forcing
herself to go back to sleep. Megan lay down and closed her eyes again.
She tried to block out
intrusive thoughts and instead focus on the gentle hum of the air conditioning.
When this failed to work, she began cycling through the other tricks Janet had
taught her: alphabet games, tensing and relaxing her muscles, and yet more
breathing exercises. Just as she felt her body begin to settle back into the
mattress, the soft click of a door rocketed her back into wakefulness.
This is ridiculous, she scolded herself. Her
aunt and uncle lived in a quiet Minneapolis suburb where nothing ever happened,
except the occasional bike theft. Okay, once Jim Clendenny broke into his
grandma’s house to steal $10 for weed, but he’d said he was sorry and that was
the end of it. During the six years Megan had lived here as a kid, she’d
experienced nothing but perfect safety. There was even a cop next door, for
god’s sake.
Megan touched the stone
again and thought of Andy. Earlier
they’d agreed to have lunch together tomorrow. Just before bed she’d made her
aunt’s special ice tea recipe, remembering how much Andy loved it.
Ice tea…Megan she slapped
her forehead, irritated with herself. She’d
forgotten to check if there were any lemons in the produce drawer. Well, that
was all right. She’d have plenty of time for a quick run to the shop in the
morning—
A floorboard creaked. Footsteps
moved down the hallway.
Megan hadn’t imagined it,
dreamt it, or simply feared it. Someone was in the house.
The window.
She launched herself out
of bed, but she’d left it too late.
A silhouette stood in the
doorway of her bedroom.
