“You’re sure?” the old woman spoke with a taste of fear in her words.

The man let out a long frustrated sigh. “She had a badge! She’s an FBI agent.”

The old woman cursed under her breath and Tara could hear her pacing throughout the kitchen. They knew about her now. They knew who she was, and for the first time Tara noticed that her badge was gone. She had it in her pocket, but now she knew that he had taken it, along with everything else.

“I’ll take care of it,” he finally said.

It was clear what he meant. He was going to kill her, and her mind suddenly swirled to the barn, to the girls left alone, and she knew she didn’t have much time because he was going to head there next.

The woman started whimpering. “Why do you make it so hard to protect you? You don’t need to be doing this.”

Her crying grew louder until a slap sounded the air and the woman cried out in pain.

“Go in the other room!” he screamed at her.

She sniffled back her tears as her feet shuffled across the floor.

Tara lifted her eyes again, peering in just over the windowsill. The woman was moving into another room, but then she stopped in the doorframe and Tara darted her head down.

“What were we fighting about again?” the woman asked.

The man sighed. “Just get in the other room and put the TV on,” he replied through gritted teeth.

She hesitated, afraid to ask more. But then her footsteps were heard leaving the room.

It was strange, Tara thought. Through just a few short moments, the woman had shown a wide range of emotions. Her memory was clearly starting to go, but she had a warped perception of judgment. She did know what her son was up to. And while she didn’t like it, she wasn’t going to let him get caught either, and her son was taking full advantage of it.

Tara looked up again. The man was the only person in the room, his back facing Tara’s vision. He was transfixed on the island counter as if in deep thought. But then he reached for Tara’s gun, holding it in his hand until he brought it to eye level and took aim in front of him.

It was as if he were in target practice, but he never pulled the trigger. Instead, he just took aim at different objects throughout the room, until he let out a sinister laugh and placed the gun back down where it was.

Seconds later he walked out of the room, leaving Tara’s gun behind. She waited until she could hear him speaking with his mother in the front end of the house, before ascending the stairs.

Tara knew she didn’t have much time. It was risky, but she had no other choice, so she slid the window open as quietly as possible. The window was old, and had clearly not been opened that wide in quite some time—the edges glued shut by layers of paint that flaked and peeled. She forced it open. It creaked in return and Tara jolted down again beneath the window. She waited, and after no one came, she slowly slid her body into the house, careful not to make a sound.