That’s when the open shade catches my eye. There’s a low window off the kitchen that I always keep the shade drawn down on because it looks into the neighbor’s house, and I’ve seen my seventy-eight-year-old neighbor walk around in his underwear too many times to keep it up.
But it’s up now.
“Gray?” Ash’s voice comes through the phone louder now.
I walk over to the window and push it up. It’s unlocked. I can’t remember if I keep this window locked or not, but I know I keep this shade down. I haven’t opened it in months.
“Oh God,” I whisper.
“Gray?” Ash’s voice has a touch of urgency. “Gray, are you alright?”
“Oh my fucking God,” I say again as adrenaline-fueled panic races through me, and I start to shake.
“Gray!” Ash’s voice is sharp now. “What’s going on?”
“I think someone was in my house,” I say.
Then an even more terrifying thought hits me, and I drop my voiceto a whisper. “Or they’re still here.”
“What? Did you just say someone broke into your house?” Ash asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, fear making my voice quiver. I hurry to the counter and pull the largest knife I can find out of the knife rack. “My alarm was disarmed when I came in, someone closed the book on my table, there’s a bottle of wine in the refrigerator I didn’t buy, and the shade I always, always keep closed is open,” I say in a terrified whisper.
“Gray, get out of the house now,” Ash says. “I’m only a few minutes away. Stay on with me and text 911 as soon as you get outside.”
I look at the front door. It looks a million miles away. I have a back door that’s closer, but what if the intruder is waiting out there? At least I know there’s no one out front, and my neighbors will be able to see me if I’m attacked.
But I have to make it all the way to the front door first.
“Gray? Are you out yet?” Ash asks.
“I…I can’t,” I say. “The door is too far away. I’m still in my kitchen.”
“Baby,” Ash’s voice is softer, still urgent, but coaxing. “Listen to me. You need to get out of that house now. Do you have a weapon?”
I nod, then say yes when I realize he can’t see me.
“Then go now. Just run for the door,” he says.
My legs feel like jelly as I try to work up the courage to go for the door, but I can’t move. Finally, Ash’s voice spurs me to action.
“Gray, go now!” he shouts through the phone.
I bolt for the door, somehow having the wherewithal to grab my purse as I streak by the kitchen table. The entire way to the door I swear I see the shadows in my periphery move, ready to grab for me, but nothing touches me. I wrench open the door and fly through it, still expecting someone to grab me from behind as I dash down the stairs of the porch into the front yard and all the way to the sidewalk. When I stop, I’m breathing like I sprinted the 100-meter dash against Usain Bolt.
“Gray?”
“I’m out,” I say at the phone. It’s clutched in my left hand with mypurse strap while I hold the ten-inch carving knife in my right.
“Good girl,” Ash says. There’s no sexual overtone to it this time, and I’m too scared to be aroused by it anyhow. “Text 911. I’m almost there.”
I toggle screens to my text messages and type 911 into the “To” field. I type out a quick message to say I think someone broke into my house, and I give my name and address.
I get a message back almost immediately asking if I’m in a safe place and if I’m hurt. I type back that I’m outside my house and unharmed.
“Did you text 911?” Ash asks over the speaker.
“Yes, I’m texting with the dispatcher now. They’re sending police.”
