sense other living creatures near you, without sight, sound, or touch. The same way you could sense when someone was looking at you from across a room, or sense that the door was about to open.
Everyone had this ability, to one degree or another. Florence felt that she honed hers through a lifetime of travelling to different environments, coupled with her interest in meditation and the martial arts.
Different places felt different, in a way beyond what the five senses could report.
And in this room, Florence felt like she was being watched.
But they weren’t friendly eyes watching her.
They feel more like hunter’s eyes.
The last time she’d had this feeling was during the war. She’d been with the third field hospital, 85th Evac, in Qui Nhon. The conditions had been primitive. Surgery in tents. Not enough equipment. Always low on medicine. After a full morning of plucking slugs out of a boy’s legs without antiseptic or rubber gloves, she’d gone to the latrine to wash the blood out from under her fingernails, and some instinct made her duck. A second later, a sniper’s bullet passed over her head, killing the nurse in line ahead of her.
Florence had felt him.
Just like she felt someone now.
She took in the room, her eyes sweeping over it slowly. It was small, tidy, smelled strange like the rest of the house. There was a bed. Dresser. Bathroom. Window. Door.
A c loset door.
Is that what I’m feeling? Someone in the closet?
Florence moved to the door, slow and cautious. Her left hand reached for the knob. Her right hand drew back in a fist.
She hesitated.
What if there is someone in there?
For all of her adult life, Florence took pride from her ability to take care of herself. No matter the situation, she could handle it.
But now? At my age? In my condition?
Running earlier with Kelly had been difficult, and hiding her pain had been impossible. The only reason Kelly didn’t notice was because she’d been so scared.
Florence let her fist open. If there was someone in the closet, she wanted something with a little more heft than her fist. The lamp next to the bed would pack a bigger wallop.
Florence picked it up. It was a standard ceramic table lamp, maybe five pounds, the cylindrical shade boasting a glued-on picture of Grant’s face.
Then she raised the lamp up with one hand, and grabbed the knob with the other.
Ready or not...
She yanked the door open and stared.
Staring back was nothing but empty clothes hangers.
Florence blew out a deep breath and set the lamp back down.
But she still felt like she was in someone’s crosshairs.
Under the bed?
Florence eyed it. Queen size. A large frame, up off the floor on casters.
She watched it for a moment, looking for movement.
It remained absolutely still.
Maybe it’s paranoia. Maybe my proximity sense is just one more thing that’s failing on me.
Or maybe there is someone under there.
Florence swallowed, then took a deep breath.
Only one way to find out.
She slowly crouch ed down, reaching for the dust ruffle on the bed.
“ Florence?”
Florence jerked her head around, saw her daughter standing in the doorway.
“ Letti?”
Letti folded her arms and leaned against the jamb. “Okay. Let’s talk.”
# # #
Deb lashed out, striking Mal in the chin as his hands locked around her throat.
“ Down!” he yelled.
He pulled her head toward him, toward his lap, his arms incredibly strong. The seatbelt gave some slack then locked up, keeping her in her seat. She made another fist, chopping at his balls, missing and whacking his thigh.
“ Someone is shooting at us!” Mal said, catching her wrists.
She paused for a moment. Mal released her, pressing the catch on his seatbelt, kneeling down on the floor mat and then reaching for her again. Deb processed what he said.
The tire blowout. Did someone shoot the tire?
Deb killed the engine and the headlights. Then she hit the seatbelt button, draping herself over the armrest, the
Everyone had this ability, to one degree or another. Florence felt that she honed hers through a lifetime of travelling to different environments, coupled with her interest in meditation and the martial arts.
Different places felt different, in a way beyond what the five senses could report.
And in this room, Florence felt like she was being watched.
But they weren’t friendly eyes watching her.
They feel more like hunter’s eyes.
The last time she’d had this feeling was during the war. She’d been with the third field hospital, 85th Evac, in Qui Nhon. The conditions had been primitive. Surgery in tents. Not enough equipment. Always low on medicine. After a full morning of plucking slugs out of a boy’s legs without antiseptic or rubber gloves, she’d gone to the latrine to wash the blood out from under her fingernails, and some instinct made her duck. A second later, a sniper’s bullet passed over her head, killing the nurse in line ahead of her.
Florence had felt him.
Just like she felt someone now.
She took in the room, her eyes sweeping over it slowly. It was small, tidy, smelled strange like the rest of the house. There was a bed. Dresser. Bathroom. Window. Door.
A c loset door.
Is that what I’m feeling? Someone in the closet?
Florence moved to the door, slow and cautious. Her left hand reached for the knob. Her right hand drew back in a fist.
She hesitated.
What if there is someone in there?
For all of her adult life, Florence took pride from her ability to take care of herself. No matter the situation, she could handle it.
But now? At my age? In my condition?
Running earlier with Kelly had been difficult, and hiding her pain had been impossible. The only reason Kelly didn’t notice was because she’d been so scared.
Florence let her fist open. If there was someone in the closet, she wanted something with a little more heft than her fist. The lamp next to the bed would pack a bigger wallop.
Florence picked it up. It was a standard ceramic table lamp, maybe five pounds, the cylindrical shade boasting a glued-on picture of Grant’s face.
Then she raised the lamp up with one hand, and grabbed the knob with the other.
Ready or not...
She yanked the door open and stared.
Staring back was nothing but empty clothes hangers.
Florence blew out a deep breath and set the lamp back down.
But she still felt like she was in someone’s crosshairs.
Under the bed?
Florence eyed it. Queen size. A large frame, up off the floor on casters.
She watched it for a moment, looking for movement.
It remained absolutely still.
Maybe it’s paranoia. Maybe my proximity sense is just one more thing that’s failing on me.
Or maybe there is someone under there.
Florence swallowed, then took a deep breath.
Only one way to find out.
She slowly crouch ed down, reaching for the dust ruffle on the bed.
“ Florence?”
Florence jerked her head around, saw her daughter standing in the doorway.
“ Letti?”
Letti folded her arms and leaned against the jamb. “Okay. Let’s talk.”
# # #
Deb lashed out, striking Mal in the chin as his hands locked around her throat.
“ Down!” he yelled.
He pulled her head toward him, toward his lap, his arms incredibly strong. The seatbelt gave some slack then locked up, keeping her in her seat. She made another fist, chopping at his balls, missing and whacking his thigh.
“ Someone is shooting at us!” Mal said, catching her wrists.
She paused for a moment. Mal released her, pressing the catch on his seatbelt, kneeling down on the floor mat and then reaching for her again. Deb processed what he said.
The tire blowout. Did someone shoot the tire?
Deb killed the engine and the headlights. Then she hit the seatbelt button, draping herself over the armrest, the
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