Law Offices of Trent, Wendell and Pollack
10:15 p.m.
Thursday
The keys were there, she felt them, each key a sharp prong pressing against the sides of her purse. She kept rummaging as she walked to her car, and mentally kicked herself for parking so far away. It was just that it was a new car and she heard these stories lately of teenagers running loose looking for cars to vandalize. She shook her head when she remembered Amy saying "Mom, you're overreacting."
If only she could find her keys. Her fingers touched metal and she raised them in triumph. Turning the corner she found her car, untouched. Sighing in relief, she pressed the remote and got in.
Fifteen sleepy minutes later, she pulled into her garage and shut off the engine. Grabbing her briefcase, keys firm in hand, she walked into the house and frowned.
"Amy?"
Walking into the kitchen, she turned on the light. Dinner, leftover pizza, was sitting on the counter untouched.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to leave food out?" she shouted. "The dog gets into it, makes a mess, gets sick and we have to take him to the vet."
Speaking of, why hadn't the dog ravaged the pizza?
Her frown not decreasing, she kicked her heels off and slowly padded to the upstairs floor.
As she neared the top, she felt something wet.
"Amy, I told you not to let your brother take anything upstairs!" she muttered as she groped along the wall for the light switch.
The lights turned on, and she looked down.
She groaned and saw a puddle of brown liquid on the carpet, which she hoped could be scrubbed out with some water and soap. She saw the glass lying nearby, its former contents trailing to the puddle.
She went back into the kitchen and ripped a few paper towels off the spindle. The cold rush of water hitting her hands, she partially soaked them and went back upstairs.
As she neared the top, Margaret threw the paper towels onto the sticky mess and began to scrub.
Suddenly, a shadow was cast over her and she jerked up. A hand reached out and pushed her by the forehead and she lost balance.
Screaming, her hands flailing and grabbing for the hand rails, the paper towels flew out of her hand and plopped back onto the carpeted stairs with a warm smack. Her hand found solidity in a wood rail but the figure quickly ran down and yanked her hands away. Falling backwards, she screamed until she reached the bottom, hitting against the wall at the bottom of the staircase.
Disoriented, Margaret felt her bones ache and knew her ankle was twisted at the least, broken at the most. She felt a hand run through her hair and she began to cry. The hand kept touching it gently until another large gloved hand joined the first and both wrenched her hair into a knot. The hands pulled. The shadow's feet began to move as she felt herself being dragged.
Wails erupted from her throat as she scraped her hands against the wall, against furniture, past the couch where toys lay scattered.