Blowout

here?”
    There was nothing, not even the scurrying of a mouse to disturb the thick layer of dust that was part of the air itself.
    Suddenly, there was a loud whooshing sound, like something was sucking up all the air in its path. It seemed to come from all around him. It was something large, something black, moving like a dozen flapping wings, and it slammed hard into him, hurtling him backward. He lost his balance and fell back down through the opening, his feet not finding purchase on the ladder. He landed on his back on the carpet. He lay there just a moment, his brain stunned into inaction, wondering what damage he’d done to his body.
    He had to get it together. Whoever had struck him could strike him again in the next instant. He aimed his SIG upward and listened, but he heard nothing at all from the black hole above his head. Slowly, still listening, he rolled to a sitting position and queried his body. He was aware of the lights around him, steady and bright. He seemed to be all right. He slowly rose, stretched, and stared up again into that black hole, wondering what had hit him. If not a person, and he was pretty sure it hadn’t been a man, then there were few logical choices. Bats, he thought, he’d probably disturbed a whole lot of bats. What would bats be doing in a beautiful house like this one? For the life of him he couldn’t think of anything else it could have been. And maybe the bats had made the noise. Perhaps bats were common up in the Poconos, particularly in the winter, when the cold drove them inside, to places where it was dark and warm.
    Enough was enough. He strode to the top of the stairs, paused one final time, listening, fingers tightly wrapped around his SIG.
    He had to get her to talk to him, had to calm her, it was the only thing left to do. He took the stairs two at a time and rushed into the living room, his mouth opening to tell her he hadn’t found anything.
    The living room was empty.
    He pulled out his cell phone, dialed Sherlock before he realized it hadn’t worked the last time he’d used it. But she answered immediately.
    “Dillon? What’s up? You having problems with the car?”
    “Sherlock, I’m glad I reached you. The last time I tried to use the cell, it was dead. Something’s happened.”
    A brief pause, a touch of panic in her voice, then, “Are you all right?”
    “Yes, I promise, but something’s happened.”
    “Tell me.” As quickly as he could, he took her through it. When he told her about something knocking him out of the attic, he kept his voice as calm as he could.
    “She’s gone. I imagine she’s run away again. She was so terrified, so hysterical, that I couldn’t get anything out of her. We’ve got to find her. I don’t know if she’s still in danger, but she believes she is. It’s cold outside and she didn’t have on a coat, she wasn’t even wearing a sweater. She could freeze to death.”
    “Dillon, I think you should go to the sheriff’s office in Blessed Creek. I remember passing it, right there in the middle of Main Street. I’ll be there with Sean as soon as I can. I’m going to call the sheriff, ask him to meet us at his office. You be careful, Dillon, drive slow and careful, keep your eyes open for that woman. Don’t worry. We’ll get this all figured out. I love you.” He could hear Sean singing away in the background. Now, that sounded normal. He smiled.
    Ten minutes later, Sherlock climbed out of Jimmy Maitland’s old jeep, which he left at the cabin for his boys’ use. She was worried about Dillon, feeling more scared than usual, perhaps because they were on vacation and this was so unexpected. With Sean asleep in the backseat, snoring little puffs of cold air, she could let the worry show on her face. She stood a moment, looking into the sheriff’s small office, with its single light shining in the wide front windows. She saw an older man with a thick shock of white hair, fiddling with a coffeemaker. Good, he had to be the sheriff. He’d taken her seriously.
    Sheriff Doozer Harms stood in the middle of his office, his back to his coffeepot, his arms crossed over his beefy chest as he watched a man pull up behind the woman’s jeep. The man opened the jeep’s passenger side, unfastened the child’s car seat strap, and lifted out a sleeping boy. They all huddled close, then turned, as one, toward his office.
    The man pulled his I.D. out even as he stepped into the office. “Sheriff Harms? I’m Agent Dillon