Running Scared. Shirlee McCoy
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o’clock is what Margaret said. She called me right afterward to tell me, but I wasn’t sure I could believe her. Her eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.”
“When did you see it?”
“Ten o’clock. I was going to call you right away, but I got so many phone calls, I couldn’t.”
“Was it the local news?”
“Nope. You’re famous countrywide. Probably farther. This story is a big one.”
“That’s for sure,” she muttered, grabbing the few things she’d taken from her duffel and shoving them back inside it. Her first instinct had been right. She needed to leave town, get as far away from Deer Park and its sensational news as she could.
“Are you okay, dear? You sound…agitated.”
For a moment, Maggie considered telling Edith that she was terrified, not agitated, but she didn’t dare drag someone she cared about into her troubles. “I’m fine. I’m just surprised so many people noticed me in the photo.”
“Noticed? You were a showstopper. Let me tell you. All that honey-blond hair hanging around your shoulders and the sweet smile you were giving that poor little boy. You looked breathtaking. There isn’t a man on this planet who wouldn’t want to get to know you, and there isn’t a woman who isn’t going to wish she was you.”
“You’re exaggerating, Edith.”
“I’m not. Though I admit to a certain amount of bias when it comes to you. You’re like one of my children, my dear, and I couldn’t be prouder to know you.”
Maggie’s throat tightened at the words, her eyes filling with tears. If she could have chosen a mother, she would have chosen one like Edith. A woman who had devoted her life to her husband and children rather than to drugs and booze and the next creep with a wallet. “Thank you, Edith. That means a lot to me.”
“Good. Now, let’s stop being sappy and start planning what you’re going to wear Sunday.”
“Sunday?”
“To church, dear. You’ve got to look your best just in case—”
“Mr. Right has somehow magically appeared in town? How about we discuss this another time, Edith? It’s late, and I’m tired.” And she needed to leave, walk away from everything she’d worked so hard for.
“You’re right. It is late, and we both need our beauty sleep. Call me tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.” But she wouldn’t because she’d be hundreds of miles away, trying to find a new identity so that she could sink into obscurity again. She hung up the phone, her muscles leaden and tight as she grabbed her duffel and walked out of the room. She’d leave the satchel with the grade book and ungraded papers. Eventually, someone would come looking for her and find it.
The stairs creaked as she hurried down, the old floorboards groaning beneath her feet as she rushed into the kitchen and scrounged through the cupboards. She didn’t have much. Just a package of crackers, a couple of cans of soup and the cookies she’d shared with Eli a few hours ago. She grabbed one and took a bite as she shoved everything else into her duffel. It tasted like dust, and she nearly choked as she tried to swallow it down.
Sugar could cure a lot of ills, but it did nothing to tame the fear that beat a hard, harsh rhythm in Maggie’s chest. Her picture was on national news programs, and Derrick had always been a news fanatic. Wall Street news. Cable news. Network news. He’d watched it incessantly, and Maggie had often been jealous that he hadn’t spent that time with her.
She’d been such a fool, so confused about what real love was, what true caring felt like.
And now she was going to pay the price.
Again.
She frowned, hurrying back down the hall, silently saying goodbye to the house she’d scrimped and saved to purchase, the dream she’d built in her head.
She pulled open the front door, stepping out onto the porch, the cold wind bathing her hot cheeks and drying the tears that burned behind her eyes. Ice had accumulated on the front porch, and the yard and driveway sparkled with it. Tall pine trees bent beneath the howling wind, and ice fell from their heavy boughs, hitting the ground with a hushed shattering that was so beautiful, so achingly perfect that Maggie paused, wanting to take it all in, preserve the memory so that she would never forget what was possible if she put her mind and heart into it.
A sharp crack split the air as something exploded near Maggie’s feet. Wood flew up and out, digging into her shins, flying into her face. She screamed, falling backward.
Another crack. Another explosion.
Pain.
Blood. Dripping down her arm. Dripping onto the rotted wooden floorboards of the porch.
She screamed again, scrambling back as a figure appeared in the darkness beyond the porch. A hundred yards away. Coming fast.
Get up! Get. Up.
The world in slow motion as she turned, fell into the hallway, kicked the door shut. Hands slipping as she turned the lock. Pulled the bolt. Blood smeared on the door.
Go. Go, go, go.
She ran up the stairs, expecting the door to explode behind her. Expecting a bullet to slam into her back, bring her to her knees.
Her cell phone slipped out of her hands as she pulled it from her pocket, and she scooped it up again. She tried desperately to dial 911, her hand trembling too much. Fingers hitting the wrong buttons.
Please, God. Please!
A loud bang had her screaming again, lunging for the bedroom door, slamming it shut, turning the old-fashioned skeleton key as the 9-1-1 operator answered.
Another bang as Maggie shouted her address, shouted that an intruder was in her house.
And then silence, deep and ominous and filled with warning.
“Ma’am? Are you still there? Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” Maggie responded, backing away from the bedroom door, her heart thudding a hard, painful beat.
Was he in the house? Creeping up the stairs? Standing outside the door?
“Police are in route. Are you in a safe place?”
“No.”
“Can you get to one?”
“No.”
Was that the loose floorboard on the landing creaking? Was that a whisper of fabric, a sigh of breath?
“Do you have a weapon?”
“No,” she barely managed to whisper, as she glanced around the room, trying to find something she could use to defend herself.
“The police are almost there. Stay on the phone with me, okay? Okay?”
But Maggie couldn’t respond, didn’t dare speak or move or breathe. Someone was outside the door. Someone who tapped softly on the thick wood, wiggled the handle as the sound of sirens drifted into the room.
Maggie backed up, moving toward the window, dizzy with fear, sick with it. Waiting for help to come, for the door to explode. For Derrick to appear. Black eyes and hair and snarling lips. Coming to do exactly what he promised he would when Maggie had walked out of his life.
But she wasn’t the woman she’d been all those years ago. She’d changed. Grown stronger, more determined, and she wasn’t going to wait around for whoever was on the other side of the door to break in and finish what he’d started.
She yanked open the window, eyeing the ground as sirens screamed up her driveway. Voices shouted. A gunshot split the air.
And then there was silence filled with nothing but wind and ice and the terrible beat of Maggie’s