Silent Fall

take on her son.
    Had Richard broken Olivia’s spirit? Was that why she’d run away? Catherine starting flipping pages, realizing that if Ruth had written about everything else, she’d surely written about the breakup of her son’s marriage. But the journal ended with the celebration of Jake’s birth, years before Richard and Olivia had split up.
    Setting the book aside, she dug deeper into the drawer and pulled out two books tied together with a frayed light blue ribbon. As she held the journals, a wave of warmth started in her hand, spreading through her body. Her spine began to tingle. There was something in here, something important. She tried to untie the ribbon, but it was knotted. Anxiety pooled in her stomach. She looked up, wondering why the shadows on the walls were growing bigger. She felt as if something bad were coming. Perhaps she wasn’t meant to know. The knot stubbornly eluded her attempts to undo it. She was about to go in search of a pair of scissors when the window shattered.
    The blast drove her back against the wall as shards of glass flew across the room.
    Shocked by the unexpected attack, she froze, trying to figure out what had happened. Had someone thrown a rock through a window? A baseball? But it was dark outside, and there was no sound of anyone yelling an apology.
    "Dylan!" she called in a panic, terrified to take a step.
    "Catherine," he yelled back, his footsteps quick as he bounded up the stairs. He ran into the room. "What the hell happened?"
    "Something came through the glass."
    He started forward. "Wait." She put up her hand. "Don’t get too close to the window. It could be a trick, a way to get you in sight."
    Dylan squatted down next to the jagged, shattered pieces of glass on the floor. He searched for whatever had broken the window.
    "I don’t see a rock or a brick or anything," she said.
    Dylan glanced at the windowpane and then at her, his gaze worried. "I think someone shot the glass out."
    "No," she breathed, putting a hand to her heart. Had whoever shot Erica in the park come after them?
    Dylan grabbed her hand and pulled her from the room.
    "Where are we going?" she asked as they ran downstairs.
    Before he could reply one of the windows burst in the living room; a second later the one next to it suffered the same fate. Yet there was no preceding sound of a shot.
    "Why can’t I hear a gun?" she asked.
    "He must have a silencer," Dylan said grimly as they took cover in the hallway.
    "Oh, God," Catherine murmured, more scared than she’d ever been in her life.
    "Stay here. I’m going to run to the den, grab my computer, and then we’re getting the hell out of here."
    "We need to call the police."
    "If we do, I’ll be arrested."
    "It’s better than being dead."
    "Just wait here. Okay? One problem at a time."
    She put her hand against the wall, steeling herself for the sound of another window breaking, but all was quiet, almost too quiet. Her heart pounded against her chest. She had trouble taking a breath. And she felt almost light-headed. But she couldn’t pass out. She had to fight for her life.
    Think, she told herself. If they were going to make a run for it, she needed her purse, her money. She could live without the rest. Her bag was on a table at the end of the hall. Staying close to the wall, she moved down the corridor on silent feet. She stuffed the journals she still had in her hand into her purse and had just put the strap over her shoulder when the window in the dining room shattered. The scream came out of her mouth without conscious thought.
    Dylan rushed out of the den, his computer case in his hands. He looked relieved to see her in one piece. "I told you to stay put."
    "I had to get my purse. How are we going to get away? As soon as we try to leave, he’ll shoot us. That’s probably what he’s trying to do right now, flush us out of the house."
    "I know, but if we don’t go, we’re sitting ducks."
    A second window burst in the dining room. The shooter was playing with them. She blinked back tears of terror.
    "The garage," Dylan said. "We’ll take your car. We can get into the garage through the kitchen door."
    With her heart in her throat, she followed him out to her car. He’d backed it in, so at least they’d be driving forward when he opened the garage door.
    Dylan threw his stuff into the backseat while she buckled her seat belt. Then he pushed a button on the