She forced herself to look back into the kitchen. She pulled away. Had he seen her? She waited for the back door to open, for the man in the surgical mask and cap and gloves to come out and grab her by the neck. But the door stayed shut. He hadn’t seen her. But she’d seen him, seen that he was . . . cleaning up? Almost like one might clean up after feeding a large group of dinner guests. Clean up? What kind of killer was this? It was like the kind she’d read about in magazines, trashy rags, the ones she always made fun of but read when she couldn’t help herself. Yes, serial killers did this type of thing. So what was he doing inside her house?

April dashed around to the front of the house. One of the windows’ curtains was pulled back a crack, just enough to peek through. She caught her breath. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she brushed them away. Stay in control. Stay in control! Her little Charlie and her poor mother were tied up on the floor, squirming. Probably trying to get away, knowing the butcher was only a heartbeat away.

She could run to a neighbor, explain, get their help. Maybe someone had a gun. This was DC, for goodness’ sake. People here had guns, needed guns, just to stay safe. Not that she’d ever had one. Not with Charlie in the house. Who was she fooling? Keeping a gun scared her to death. But her creepy neighbor next door might have one, right? What was his name? She couldn’t remember. She’d never asked him. She’d seen him staring at her through his window one time, the creep. No. Even if he had a gun, he could be more trouble instead of help.

April tried the front door. Locked. Of course. Keys. Keys. Where were her keys? On her desk back at the library. She was wasting too much time. How could this be so hard? She would have to bust out the front window. She looked around for something to do the job, getting on her hands and knees, digging behind the shrubs. She found a plastic action figure. A penny. An old newspaper. Dirt. Nothing like she needed. Where were the baseball bats? Where were the tire irons?

She heard a voice cry out from inside, a deep moan growing into an unspeakable siren scream. Time had run out. She was too late. The tears began to swell in her vision. No! No! NO!