Protector - Laurel Dewey [90]
“This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be,” she said confused and scared.
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“Where’s Jane?”
“There’s no need to be frightened—”
“Where is she?” A mixture of fear and anger consumed the girl.
Martha let out a long sigh. “Jane had to go home. She’s sick.”
Emily stared into the void. “Something’s wrong—”
“Wrong?”
Emily turned to Martha. “I have to call her!”
“Sweetie, you can’t call her! Now, get into bed and—”
“I need to call her now!”
“Detective Jane has obviously upset you. Would you like to talk about it?”
“Are you gonna let me call Jane?”
Martha sized up Emily. “No. I am not. Come on, I’ll tuck you in—”
“No! I just want to sit here.”
“Well, okay. But the sandman will be here soon.”
Emily regarded Martha with suspicion. “The sandman? Who’s he?”
“Don’t you know the sandman?”
An ominous dark cloud overwhelmed Emily as she looked at Martha. “No,” she said softly, feeling a distinct terror bite into her stomach. “I don’t think I want to.”
“Good night, Emily.” Martha turned to go. “You’re safe, sweetheart. Perfectly safe.” With that, Martha walked into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
Emily waited until she heard Martha’s footsteps descend the stairs. She quietly crept to her window and pushed open the stubborn pane that had caused so many problems that night. Emily stuck her head out the window and peered into the night sky. The clouds were quickly clearing as a palate of twinkling stars blanketed the blue-black sky. In an instant, a shooting star dove across the horizon. Emily closed her eyes. “Jane,” Emily whispered. “You’re supposed to be here.”
Thud!
Emily turned quickly toward her bedroom door. The sound came from downstairs. She stood perfectly still. Maybe Martha dropped something. Emily considered cracking her bedroom door to investigate but something held her back. She turned around to the window, feeling an uncommon draw to climb out on the roof. She pulled herself up onto the window ledge, knocking over the screen she’d removed earlier that evening. Once on the roof, she made a point of not pushing the window shut. She scooted her butt just a few feet away from the window and out of the sycamore tree’s shadow. It was all so silent. So serene. So peaceful. And then . . .
Bang!
Emily jumped and quickly turned toward her bedroom window. The penetrating sound came from downstairs and echoed in the night air for several heart-racing seconds. Panic quickly set in. Without watching her step, Emily hurriedly got up. In a split second, her foot slipped on the wet roof. She reached out to grab the window ledge but it was too late. Emily slid down toward the edge of the roof on her stomach, desperately grasping for anything to stop her fall. The only thing she caught hold of was a vent pipe that protruded from the roof. Emily circled her arms around it and held on for dear life as her legs dangled helplessly forty feet off the ground. She looked down. If she let go, she had a fifty-fifty chance of landing either on grass or cement. Since she would be falling backward, gravity would determine which of the two she’d hit.
Slam!
Emily seized up when she heard the sound of her bedroom door being kicked in. Moments later, she heard the splintering crash of her bedside lamp as it was thrown against the wall. Her breathing became labored as she struggled to hold on to the air pipe. The individual in her bedroom moved toward the open window. Emily heard the person breathing and then slightly grunting as they hoisted themselves up onto the window ledge and out onto the roof. Emily closed her eyes, trying to hold her breath.
Footsteps moved cautiously across the roof. One, two, three steps then stopping. A careful turn and one, two, three, four steps and stopping. The intruder’s breath came closer to where Emily’s body hung. Keeping her head tucked inward toward the roof, she listened to every breath of the individual. The steps moved closer to Emily. One step, and then another.
A cruel gust of wind blew across the backyard. Emily heard the familiar tap, tap,