by James Sperl
“I’ve got sensors installed at the entrance to the driveway. Anything trips them, I get notified. Something tripped them.”
Rachel leaned forward. “Could it be a deer?”
Andrew shook his head. “They're not motion sensors. I learned the hard way that they weren’t the best option years ago when the alarm kept going off every other day thanks to all the wildlife out here, chief among them, deer. Since then, I’ve upgraded to remote weight sensors. Anything more than three hundred pounds sounds the alarm.”
“Like a car,” Valentina said.
“Precisely.”
Clarissa stood. “And if someone were to park at the end of the drive and walk up?”
Andrew looked at her. “Anything less than two people walking together and we’d never know a thing.”
Valentina huffed disapprovingly. “Sounds like you’ve got a hole in your defenses.”
Andrew twisted to look at her but turned back around before he replied.
“We’re in the middle of a forest, Valentina. The whole property’s rife with holes. My house is secure, but it isn’t a fortress. We just have to put faith in the habitual nature of man. That given a choice of routes, the average person will choose the direct route over the indirect route most if not all of the time, particularly when the objective has no idea it—or in this case, we—is the objective. So we know someone’s coming. The only question now is lights or no lights.”
Clarissa scowled. “Lights or no lights?”
“At this hour, if we were to see headlights, it likely means that whoever’s coming isn’t trying to hide. Could be either the police or fire department conducting door-to-doors checking on folks in outlying areas. It’s not a guarantee, just a possibility. But no lights? I can’t imagine a scenario where that would be good.”
Rachel stiffened. “Have you seen any lights since the alarm went off?”
“No.”
“Wait,” Clarissa said excitedly. “Look!”
Everyone crammed the window. As if conjured, a dull glow began at the bottom of the drive and grew in intensity until a pair of headlights crested the hill leading up to the house.
“Maybe it’s the police,” Rachel said.
Valentina sighed. “Thank God.”
Clarissa attempted to skirt Andrew and open the door, but Andrew stepped in her way.
“What’re you doing?”
“I was going to go out and meet them.”
Andrew shook his head and chuckled.
“What?” Clarissa said. “You just said that if their lights were on they were probably the cops or someone.” She jerked her thumb at the approaching vehicle. “Their lights are on.”
“I said it was likely the police. We don’t know. Yes, their headlights are on. Now we need to find out if they intended for them to be.”
Andrew placed his hand on the knob then looked at the three women.
“Stay here. And stay hidden until I tell you it’s okay.”
“Yes, sir,” Valentina said under her breath, as she mock-saluted him. “Maybe us women folk can keep ourselves busy in the kitchen while we wait.”
Clarissa nudged her friend and accompanied it with a stern glare. Andrew ignored her. Then he pulled the door open and stepped outside.
* * *
Valentina had an attitude problem. Andrew began to wonder if it was worth it to have here her. The answer was, of course, yes (if she left, her friends would likely follow), but he wasn't sure how much more of her combative nature he could tolerate. The two clearly had some issues to iron out. But that wrinkle would have to wait. He needed to focus.
The car had stopped.
It parked a little more than twenty feet away from the bottom of the porch steps. The headlights aimed directly at the house and were bright enough to make Andrew squint. Whoever was in the car continued to stay there. No doors opened. The motor idled menacingly.
Andrew pulled the rifle to his chest in as non-threatening a manner as possible, though when he thought about it, how could someone brandish a weapon and not have it be threatening.
The engine cut.
Four doors opened simultaneously, followed by the collective exiting of five individuals. Andrew made out their blurred silhouettes, but that was it. The headlights shining in his eyes obscured their faces.
“You mind turning off your lights?”
It was a bold first sentence, but from where he stood, he didn't have anything to lose. Either the uninvited individuals would comply, or bad things would start to happen.
Without acknowledgment, the lights snapped off. It took a moment for Andrew's vision to adjust, but when it did, he evaluated the people who had just rolled onto his property.
The group comprised three men and two women. At least two of the guys had prominent bulges along the waistbands beneath their jackets. Andrew didn't need to ask what they concealed.
“Can I help you all?”
The man closest to the driver's side door stepped forward, his face still an ashy shadow in the predawn light.
“We're just looking for a place to hole up. It's getting crazy out there,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder. “Figured some of these mountain houses might be empty. You know, with all that's been going on.”
Andrew didn't know thing one about the man speaking to him, but he knew enough to recognize when a person was full up to his ears in shit. From the man's casual saunter to his deliberate cadence and fearless tone, nothing about what he said matched his mannerisms. Andrew swallowed and adjusted his grip on the rifle. He hoped no one noticed him slip his index finger over the trigger.
“It is getting crazy out there,” he said. “Lots of bad things happening to a lot of innocent people. But as you can see, this house is still occupied. Best of luck finding a place.”
The man stood stock still. Andrew caught the others stealing glances at him as if they sought guidance for how to respond. In this moment of silence, Andrew learned who was in charge. If he was forced to open fire, he knew who would get the first bullet.
The man leaned ever so casually to a side, trying to peer behind Andrew.
“I don't know,” he began, “this house looks plenty big enough. Could probably accommodate all of us just fine.”
Andrew said nothing and let the man eat silence until he couldn't help himself to speak again.
“Unless of course, you've got family.”
“I do,” Andrew answered before he had fully considered the implications. Responding with a “no” would have been an open invitation for a home invasion, but now that he had indicated he had people inside, Andrew needed to sell the idea. Claiming he had a house full of daughters—for what else could Clarissa and her friends be to him at his age—seemed only slightly less a risk than claiming he lived alone, particularly when he considered the two bruisers, who hadn't moved or said a word since getting out of the car. Andrew hadn't reached a conclusion about the women with them, but since neither one had spoken or even let loose a mischievous giggle, he figured they must be up to no good too. He scrambled for a viable story.
“Got a wife, two teenage boys, and a brother-in-law,” he said without missing a beat. “They're sleeping now, so I should probably get back so I can watch over them. You know, with all that's been going on and everything.” Even in darkness, Andrew could see the man smile.
“That right?” The man said through a faux-contemplative nod. “You've got all those people in there?”
“He's fucking lying,” grumbled one of the men, but Andrew couldn't tell which.
“Easy now,” the man said. He palmed the air with a flat hand but kept his attention laser focused on Andrew. “There's no need for that. If he says he's got family, who're we to say otherwise?”
The man's tone was anything but sincere. Andrew passed his eyes over the group and felt his heart gallop.
“We're not asking to move in,” the man went on. “Just need a place for a couple of days to get ourselves together. After that, we'l
l be on our way. Surely you've got enough space to help out a group of strangers in need.”
“Is anyone hurt?” Andrew said.
The man appeared to frown. “What's that?”
“I asked if any of you were hurt.”
The man cocked his head. “No.”
“Then it seems to me you're fully capable of seeking shelter elsewhere. Doubling our capacity here isn't going to work. I wish you all luck.”
The inference was clear: it was time to leave. But either the man was deaf to subtle hints or he completely ignored them. Andrew leaned toward the latter.
Something else bothered him. A troubling thought that had lingered at the forefront of his mind since the moment the alarm had alerted him to the group standing in his yard. As the man took a menacing step forward, Andrew's gnawing hypothesis transformed to absolute conviction—he knew who these people were. He was sure his late friends, the Railleys, did too.
“So let me see if I have this straight,” said the man, who moved even closer. “You're telling me that in this big house, on this huge plot of land, you can't put the five of us up for a couple of days?” He stopped and crossed his arms. “Well, that doesn't seem very hospitable.”
Both of the other men and one of the women edged forward. The guys were hulking figures that commanded attention, while the girl, with her spiderweb tangle of tied-back dreads and skulking presence, elicited her own brand of threat.
The man stopped at the bottom of the porch steps. It was the first time Andrew got a decent look at him. Even in shadows, he could tell the ringleader was a handsome young devil. With bronze skin and penetrating hazel eyes, Andrew thought he could likely have been a fashion model were the world not in the process of unraveling. But his studly good looks couldn't conceal the malice in his eyes. Something sinister lurked behind those tranquil pools of smoky blue. The man grinned at Andrew, but it was absent a speck of humanity.
“I'm not sure I'm comfortable with such a unilateral decision,” he said. “I think I'd like to get some input from the rest of your family.”
Andrew's heart hammered. Was this the group's modus operandi? To engage future victims with disingenuous conversation and false niceties before they unleashed holy hell? He was sure the man thought he was clever, that his and his cronies' murderous attack on the Railleys had as yet gone unnoticed. But Andrew had noticed. He knew what they had done, just as he knew his elderly friends were likely not this group's first set of victims—or the last. With blood pumping in his ears, he steeled his courage and vowed that he would fight these hooligans with everything he had before he let them step one foot inside his house.
Andrew said nothing in response to the man's taunt.
Then he curled his finger around the trigger.
* * *
This was bad. Real bad. Clarissa couldn't hear much of the conversation, but the threatening way in which everyone fanned out around the car didn't bode well.
She focused on the guy doing all of the talking. Just watching him interact with Andrew raised the fine hairs on her arms. He was so confident, so completely undaunted by the fact that Andrew looked down at him from the porch with a loaded weapon, Clarissa couldn't make sense of it. What type of person wouldn't fear that?
A disturbing thought struck her: Were these the same people responsible for what happened to the Railleys? It would be one hell of a coincidence if they weren't. The Railleys were murdered just down the road, and now this gang shows up in the early morning hours possessed of anything but good intentions. Andrew must have recognized this.
While she couldn't hear what the man or his crew were saying, she could quite clearly hear Andrew's end of the conversation. At least twice he had told the people in his driveway that they weren't welcome—yet they remained. She suspected the leader was unused to not getting what he wanted, which only made the situation that much more incendiary. Andrew didn't appear to be the type of person to back down, and the man who had just stepped to the bottom of the stairs had no plans to vacate the premises anytime soon. The paradox of unstoppable forces and immovable objects suddenly came to mind.
Still, someone had to give, and Andrew's lack of a response—and the fact that he was woefully outnumbered—pointed to who that might be. He had been firm in his insistence that the group leaves, but Clarissa was beginning to suspect that a concession might happen, that Andrew might allow them a night, maybe two, to avoid confrontation.
That would be dangerous. She knew he understood this, but he may be debating the lesser of two evils—fight now, or appease them and hope to avoid one.
Neither scenario was optimal. The man at the bottom of the stairs exuded raw menace, every movement loaded with intimidation. Clearly, he was comfortable with conflict. Clarissa knew people like that, people who smiled in the face of danger, who thrived off another person's fear and discomfort and—
Wait a minute.
She stood from her crouched position.
“Clarissa!” Valentina whispered harshly. “What the hell're you doing?”
Clarissa swatted the air at her friend. She moved away from the window and scooted beside the open front door.
“Clarissa!” Rachel murmured, her voice barely audible.
Turning toward her friends, Clarissa jammed her index finger to her lips. She was trying to be stealthy, but if her friends kept calling out her name, her efforts would be for naught. Facing forward, but remaining hidden, she concentrated on the voice of the man at the bottom of the stairs.
Something about it was familiar. It had a cadence to it, a playful rise and fall at the beginning and ending of a sentence that she knew. But from where?
She leaned forward, just enough to sneak an eye around the edge of the door. She saw Andrew, his back to her. Beyond him, shadowy figures stood in the gravel drive, anxiously shifting from foot to foot. Andrew blocked the man at the bottom of the stairs from view, but Clarissa could hear him clearly now.
“I'm going to assume your silence means you don't agree with me,” the man said. “Sorry you don't feel our situation merits a pow-wow with your family, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist. You see, it's just too dangerous out there. One never knows who they'll encounter.”
Clarissa strained to see the man, but any movement beyond her current position to get a look at him would give her away. She knew that voice, though. Her mind raced to remember from where.
Andrew held his stance. His fingers rolled and adjusted around the rifle stock repeatedly. The man was making a clear threat, but Andrew wouldn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it.
It was a Mexican standoff.
Gravel crunched, and before Clarissa could react, the man at the bottom of the stairs had stepped into view. She recoiled instinctively then sneaked an eye back around the edge of the door casing. The man paced. It was a slow, deliberate gait, like a bored puma in a city zoo. Whether a legitimate response to the situation or a ploy to further antagonize Andrew, its effect was no less potent.
The man stopped after a pair of turns then dug a hand into his pocket. Still within eyeshot, Clarissa studied his every move.
“I've got to tell you,” the man began, as he produced what looked to be a cigarette and a lighter. “You're one brave son of a bitch. Not sure I'd be able to keep from pissing myself if I were in your shoes. It's impressive. Props to you, sir.”
Andrew said nothing.
That voice...that voice...that voice...
The man tossed the cigarette into his lips and spoke from the corner of his mouth.
“That being said, bravery isn't always the best course of action.” He flicked the lighter and brought the flame to his face, illuminating it completely. “Know what I mean?”
Clarissa's eyes exploded with recognition. No! It couldn't be!
Before her brain communicated with her body, she had charged onto the porch.
“He's a liar!” she barked. “Don't listen to him!”
The action turned out to be a sp
ark in a powder keg.
Both men beside the car reached for the guns tucked into their belts. Their female counterparts advanced, one of them producing a machete.
Startled by Clarissa's sudden appearance, Andrew tensed and raised his rifle. But rather than open fire, he displayed remarkable poise and swiftly stepped to the edge of the porch where he leveled the barrel directly at the man's head.
People yelled and threatened, the tension ratcheted to an unbearable degree. Everyone shifted restlessly, each person waiting to see who made the first move. Everyone, that was, except the man at the bottom of the stairs.
“What the hell're you doing?” Andrew growled.
“I know him!” Clarissa said, as she scrambled to a halt beside him. She thrust a finger at the man. “He's lying. You can't let them stay. Any of them!”
Andrew delivered a rapid but incredulous sideways glance. “I wasn't going to.”
Clarissa passed her eyes over the scene she had just single-handedly escalated. Shadowy scowls peered back at her from the darkness.
“I...I know him. I know what he's capable of.” She looked directly at the man. “Don't I, Travis?”
Travis took a casual drag from his cigarette then flicked it somewhere into the darkness. Unaffected by the rifle pointed at him, he placed a foot on the bottom step and leaned onto a knee.
“Hello, Clarissa.” He angled his head to look past her. “Hello, ladies.”
Clarissa turned to discover Valentina and Rachel peeking around the edge of the door.
“Well, the gang's all here,” Travis said, amused. “Don't be shy, come on out.”
Valentina took Rachel's hand and stepped timidly onto the porch. The pair shuffled over to Clarissa.
“The three musketeers. Where there's one, there're the others, eh, Clar?”
Clarissa tensed. “Don't call me that.”
Travis grinned devilishly.
“I think you should go,” Andrew said.
Travis held his gaze on Clarissa before he finally looked at Andrew.
“You do, do you?” He nodded then regarded his crew, which crept forward. “And what if I disagree?”