Peril

SARA

“Della, it’s me.”

“Sara?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Just a sec, honey. Mike’s sleeping. I’ll go to the other room.” A pause, then, “Tony’s looking for you, Sara. He sent a guy over here and the guy saw me, and he made me go in the house and look for you. He said Tony had been calling you, and didn’t get an answer, you know, and so he sent this guy. So, what happened, Sara? You have a fight, you and Tony?”

“I better go now,” Sara said. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay.”

“No, wait, Sara, where are you?”

“I have to go, Della.”

“But-”

“I have to go.”

“But… wait… listen… you’re not coming back?”

“No.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Yes.”

“He hit you, Sara? Tony hit you?”

“No, but… I have to go, Della.”

“Yeah, okay,” Della said quietly. “Sure, honey.”

“So… take it easy, Della.”

“Yeah. You too.”

Sara hung up. A quick metallic click. That was what it sounded like, then, when someone dropped out of your story.

She put down the phone, turned on the television, then turned it off, and walked down the stairs and out into the night, along the Promenade, her eyes drawn to the glittering light show of Manhattan. Time passed. She was not sure how much time.

“Lady?”

She whirled, her gaze now fixed on the badge, staring at it with the same fear she’d first experienced on that summer afternoon when Sheriff Caulfield had pulled her over. Got a broke taillight there, girl.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” the policeman said. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

She drew in a shallow breath. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

The cop studied her for a moment, then touched the rim of his cap with a single finger. “Okay, good night, then.”

“Good night.”

She watched as the policeman moved on down the Promenade, waiting for him to turn around, head back toward her, the way Sheriff Caulfield had on that distant afternoon, down a dusty country road, moving slowly and without fear, superior to his prey. She felt his hand on her shoulder, drawing her from the car, confused, frightened, a teenage girl in a car with a broken taillight, eased out into the crystalline air. Just do what I tell you and you’ll be on your way.

But this time the policeman didn’t turn back toward her, and once he was out of view, she returned her gaze to the Manhattan skyline, avoiding the empty space where the Towers had once stood. They’d been like her, she thought, just standing there in the open, weaponless and vulnerable.

The memory of a sweet, liquored breath swept into her face, and suddenly she heard the wind in the corn, saw herself glancing back to where both taillights remained intact. But… Sheriff… my light isn’t broken, then saw him step over to the back of her car, take out his pistol, and shatter the left taillight, sending little shards of blood-red plastic onto the dusty road. Now it is.

The memory of that moment filled her with a burning ire, the way she’d promised herself that she would never let it happen again. Next time, Kill him, the voice had whispered, and she had vowed, I will.