Protector - Laurel Dewey [186]
“Who’s there?” Emily asked timidly.
“It’s me. It’s okay,” Jane whispered.
“Why have you got the flashlight?”
“I didn’t want to wake you. Go back to sleep.”
There was a moment of silence before Emily spoke up again. “I’m scared.”
Jane erratically stashed the file back into her satchel and slid it under the chair. She turned off the flashlight and crossed to the bed. “There’s nothing to be scared of.” Jane touched her Glock pistol on the bedside table. “I’ve got a gun right here that’ll blow a hole the size of Detroit in someone’s stomach.”
“He’s gonna come get me. I know it,” Emily said, her voice quaking in fear.
“No one is coming to get you, Emily.”
Emily realized it was time to say the one thing that she’d been holding back—the thing that didn’t make any sense but had haunted her since she sat in her closet after her parents’ murder. “You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but—”
“I don’t think you’re crazy, Emily.”
“No, I mean,” the child tried to put her thoughts into words, “I saw—”
Jane interrupted. “I know what you saw. And I promise you that whoever did that will never hurt you.” Jane’s voice shook. “I won’t allow it.”
Emily turned to Jane. The soft rays of the moon illuminated her face. Jane could see Emily’s furrowed brow and a disarming look come over her. “Your voice sounded like a lie when you said that.”
Jane knew the child could feel the truth. “When I say that I won’t allow it, that’s not a lie. I will protect you with my own life.”
Emily turned toward the wall. Jane didn’t know what to make of her action and moved off the bed, when Emily’s timorous voice splintered through the silence. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
Jane wanted to return to the living room and continue hashing out possible scenarios. But Emily’s pleading voice won out. Jane removed her shoes and slid under the covers.
Emily wedged her back closer to Jane’s body and let out an exhausted sigh. “I love you,” Emily whispered.
Jane was all at once paralyzed in the pitchblack of that room. In one sweeping movement, the staggering enormity of her situation punched her hard in the face. Emily was-n’t just saying those words as an aside; she meant them from her heart. Jane started to respond, but she couldn’t. She closed her eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep.
The first thing she felt was heat—blazing heat that smoldered against her body. She opened her eyes and found herself standing in the center of a pool filled with blinding light. Jane brought her left hand to her face to shield her eyes from the glaring reflection. Seeing her left palm, she noted the backward date of 10-24-99 burned into her flesh. There was the distinct smell of metal . . . hot metal. She felt movement behind her and spun around. Out of nowhere, she suddenly had a Glock clutched in her right hand. The intense light played tricks with Jane as she extended the Glock outward. She waited, her heart racing. All of a sudden, the head of a wolf leapt from the brilliant glare and consumed her. Jane knew she was dying; she could taste death’s acrid bite on her tongue. This is what it truly felt like. The heat devoured her as she slid into the void.
Emily awakened to silence—dulcet silence. She turned and saw a magpie perched against the bedroom window. He pecked his beak at the dusty glass. Emily watched as the bird turned to face her. She couldn’t help noticing how his penetrating stare seemed so cold and vicious. He let out a loud caw, cocked