Final Warning. Sandra Robbins

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СКАЧАТЬ at the end of the street, the slap of her tennis shoes on the pavement beating out a steady rhythm. She had laid out the square that composed her two-mile route when she first moved in the neighborhood, and it never varied. Left from her driveway, right on Crump Avenue, right on Knight’s Way, right on Bellevue and finally back onto Lansdowne. She always breathed a sigh of relief when she made that last turn onto her street and jogged into her driveway.

      There were never many vehicles on the roads this time of morning. She liked it that way—alone with her thoughts, no sounds except the panting of her breath and her shoes hitting the asphalt. A car approached from the rear, causing her to glance backward. A black SUV moved toward her, its engine purring. She jogged to the edge of the street to let it pass, but it stayed behind her. Her chest tightened. In the early morning light it was impossible to tell for sure, but it looked like the car she’d spotted across from her house the day before.

      Her heart pounded, and she picked up her pace. The vehicle maintained its slow speed. Taking a deep breath, she surged forward. The car sped up, but didn’t pass. Now she ran faster, the SUV’s engine humming in her ears. Certain that she was being pursued, she lengthened her strides until the muscles in her thighs screamed in pain and her lungs burned. The car crept behind her like a giant shadow, waiting to pounce.

      Ahead she could see the turn onto her street, and she willed her legs to move even faster. As she turned onto Lansdowne, the newspaper delivery van rumbled toward her. With a roar, the SUV shot past her and disappeared down the street.

      Panting for breath, C.J. stopped and leaned over, her hands propped on her knees. She gulped mouthfuls of air. The deliveryman paused to wave before flinging a newspaper onto a driveway. C.J. sank down on the curb and smiled in relief.

      Had she really been followed or had her imagination run away with her? After a few minutes, she rose and trotted toward home. As she passed Mary’s house, she slowed and let her gaze travel over the brick structure. Something was out of place.

      She stopped in her driveway and stared at the dark house. With a shrug she headed to her front door. Her sleep-deprived brain must be conjuring up problems where there were none.

      Thirty minutes later, fresh from the shower and wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, she stepped into the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of coffee and remembered that she hadn’t yet brought in the newspaper. Hurrying out the front door into the driveway, she scooped up the paper, then stopped and stared at Mary Warren’s house. What was different this morning?

      Her eyes widened. The closed living-room drapes. She’d never seen that before. Mary, who retired early every evening, was always up by this time, and she never drew the curtains in her living room. The newspaper dropped from her hand. She ran across the yard and stopped at Mary’s front door.

      The unlocked storm door opened with her touch, and she pounded on the wooden front door. “Mary! Mary!”

      From somewhere inside, Otto howled. C.J. cupped her hands around her eyes and leaned close to the small glass pane in the door. She looked into the dark, but could detect no movement. Otto wailed again.

      She backed away, her legs shaking. Maybe Mary was sick or hurt. She raced across the yard and rushed into her house. Running to the bedroom, she grabbed the key ring she’d tossed on the dresser before showering. Months ago Mary had insisted that C.J. take a key to her house. It made her feel better to know that a trusted neighbor could get in if there were ever an emergency.

      She ran out the back door and toward the gate in the fence that separated their yards, leaped onto the back porch, and pounded her fist against the door. “Mary! Let me in.”

      Inside, Otto’s howl pierced the air, and he pawed at the door.

      The keys jingled against each other as C.J. tried to jam the key in the lock. After several attempts, her shaking fingers finally inserted the key and turned it. Otto jumped up on her leg the moment she stepped inside.

      She patted his head and stepped into the dark kitchen. An ominous silence hovered in the air. She stopped just inside the door and switched the kitchen light on. Otto ran to the door to the den and hesitated. He looked back as if inviting her to follow, then dashed from the room.

      A strange smell assaulted her nose. She inched toward the den.

      “M-Mary!”

      Her voice echoed through the house.

      Another step. “Mary, are you all right?”

      The tapping of Otto’s paws on the hardwood of the den caused her to halt. He ran through the door and whined. “Where’s your mama, Otto? In her bedroom?”

      C.J. switched on the den light and walked toward the dark hallway on the other side that led to the bedrooms. Otto ran ahead of her and stopped at Mary’s closed bedroom door.

      She tapped on the door. “Mary, are you in there?”

      As she pushed the door open, Otto wiggled past and disappeared into the bedroom. The rusty scent poured from the room and overwhelmed her. She staggered backward into the hall.

      Otto rushed back to her, raised his head and howled before he leaned forward and nuzzled her leg, the red stain on his nose smearing her jeans. What was it? She reached down, touched his nose, and studied her fingertips. With a strangled cry she fell against the wall and stood there, her eyes transfixed on the bedroom door.

      Slowly, she pushed the door open wide. Cold sweat popped out on her forehead. She swallowed and groped the wall for the light switch. The chandelier illuminated the room the moment she turned it on.

      C.J. pressed her hand to her mouth to suppress the scream that welled up from the depths of her soul. The bedroom that Mary had so lovingly decorated looked like a chamber of horrors. Red stains soaked the carpet around the bed where Mary’s lifeless body lay. Blood covered the once-white sheets and comforter.

      But that wasn’t the worst. On the walls red handprints, arranged much like a kindergarten fingerpaint project, covered the white sheetrock.

      “No-o-o.”

      Early mornings had always been Mitch’s favorite part of the day—a time when he could reflect on God’s promises. This morning, though, he couldn’t turn past the page in his Bible with the passage he’d underlined a month ago when C.J. broke their engagement.

      Do not be yoked together with unbelievers.

      How many times had he read that in the past few weeks? He’d known what the Bible said. Even Pastor Donald had cautioned him when he started dating C.J., but he thought he could change her. He should have listened and backed away before he fell in love. Now he was suffering the consequences.

      His gaze drifted downward. What does a believer have in common with an unbeliever?

      The words tore at Mitch’s soul, and he bowed his head. “Oh, Lord,” he prayed, “Forgive me for thinking I was smart enough to escape being hurt by disobeying your teachings. I thought I could bring her to You, but I failed. Please give me the strength to let her go now, Father, but I beg You not to give up on her.”

      He sat with his head bowed for several minutes before he glanced out the window at the first light of day beginning to break, then at his wristwatch—6:30 a.m. He still had a few hours before he needed to check in at the station.

      He drained the rest СКАЧАТЬ