I stopped short as the thud of heavy footsteps filled my ears. It sounded as if they were directly above me, as the ceiling creaked just above my head. My heart pounding in my ears, I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I felt light-headed. I exhaled, only to inhale once more as I stayed stock-still and listened for more footsteps. I couldn’t help wondering if I’d simply imagined the first set. But I knew better. I hadn’t imagined them. I’d heard them as clearly as if someone walked up right beside me.
If someone was in the room directly above me, that meant he or she was in the master bedroom, the bedroom I’d been sleeping in up until I moved to the Omni hotel. I exhaled again, still able to see my breath on the air in a frosty display dissipating into the ether. The heavy footfalls started up again. This time, it sounded as if someone was walking to the far side of the room, as if to look out the window.
Now convinced it wasn’t my imagination and that someone was in my house, I seemed to go into autopilot, reaching into my jeans pocket and producing my cell phone. I immediately turned to Ryan’s contact info and clicked the “Text” icon.
At my house. I think someone broke in. I hear footsteps above me, I typed. I hit “Send” and then gulped while straining to hear more footsteps that might give some sort of indication as to where the intruder was. Nothing but the still Southern air responded.
How could there be someone upstairs, Peyton? I asked myself. You never heard anyone go upstairs in the first place! What’s more, wouldn’t you have heard them breaking in?
I couldn’t answer my questions because I hadn’t heard the front door open, nor any windows breaking; and it was true, I never heard any footsteps going up the stairs in the first place. The guest bedroom I was currently standing in was located down the short hallway from the foyer, which meant I would definitely have heard something if someone came through the front door. So how was it possible for someone to be upstairs? Maybe they broke in earlier and just waited around for everyone to leave? That seemed to be the most plausible explanation.
It doesn’t matter how he got in, Peyton! I chided myself. All that matters is there’s someone in your house now!
When my phone vibrated in my hand, I nearly dropped it. My next thought was that my heart was pounding so hard, I could be experiencing cardiac arrest. But realizing the buzz was a simple text notification, I unlocked the screen and read: Try to get out. Either front door or window. If you can’t get out, hide and be quiet. I’m on my way.
I glanced down the hallway to the front door, glimpsing the staircase off to the left side. Could I make it to the front door without the intruder seeing me? And if the front door was locked, how long would it take me to unlock it before the guy was on me? More importantly, did he have a gun? Would he just shoot me if he saw me? And, really, who could say he was even still upstairs? I hadn’t heard anything in a while so maybe he’d sneaked downstairs and in my attempt to flee, maybe I would run right into him?
I turned around and spied the only two windows in the room, which were maybe three feet wide by three feet tall. Figuring they were a better option than the front door, I started tiptoeing forward. Even though I was already halfway across the room when I started back toward the wall, it seemed like it took an eternity to reach the other side. And in the mere seconds it truly took to reach the wall, I didn’t hear so much as a peep from upstairs. Nervous that the intruder was either listening for me or on his way downstairs, I attempted to push the windowpane up and open. But it wouldn’t budge. I tried again, this time throwing my entire body into it, but the thing just sat there, defying me. Cursing beneath my breath, I didn’t waste any time and moved to the other window. But just like its neighbor, this one was also painted shut.
Okay, so getting out is not an option, I said to myself. Plan B…Hide.
I released a pent-up breath and turned to the task of finding somewhere to hide. The closet would have been a good choice, but Ryan’s guys already pulled off the doors and stripped off the drywall. My only alternative was to hide behind the bedroom door. My heart in my throat, I began to tiptoe toward the door. As soon as my toes touched the hardwood floors, however, I heard heavy footsteps again. This time, it sounded as if the person was running toward the door upstairs, in pursuit of or running from someone. I froze. Then, remembering Ryan’s instructions, I hurried the remaining ten feet and edged the door wider so I could fit behind it.
That was when I realized the footsteps didn’t continue beyond the periphery of the doorway upstairs. It was as if the person stopped short before entering the hallway—as if he were listening for something or waiting for it. I grabbed my phone and texted Ryan again: I’m in the guest bedroom where we found the newspaper articles. I’m behind the door. Please hurry.
Then I clutched the phone in my hand while I tried to figure out what the person was doing upstairs. But he didn’t make a peep. I bit my lower lip to keep it from trembling as I realized whoever had broken in had to know I was in this bedroom because it was the only room with a light on! That meant whoever was inside my house knew I was down here. So why wasn’t he coming for me? I shook my head against the thought, a new wave of fear spiraling through me. Maybe he didn’t want a run-in. Maybe he just wanted to scope out the house and grab whatever he could and run. But there wasn’t anything in the house to take. It was empty…
The footsteps sounded again. This time, they were softer, and from what I could hear, the intruder was now walking back toward the window again. He seemed to pause once he reached the wall; and then I heard the very obvious sounds of him walking back toward the hallway again. Then he turned around and started for the window again. I shook my head, trying to understand why he was pacing back and forth. It just didn’t make any sense. Usually, break-and-enterers were quick—get in and get out.
Then there was complete silence. I held my breath, trying to peek through the tiny gap in the hinge side of the door. I couldn’t make out much—just the corner of the hallway leading into the foyer. Pulling my attention back from the gap in the door, I heard footsteps again, only this time, they were much closer. They sounded as if they were coming down the hallway, toward me. I held stock-still, my heart pounding in my chest as I tried to figure out how I was going to protect myself if the intruder walked into my room. Figuring one of the discarded wooden boards was my only option, I carefully reached down and grabbed the one closest to me. Then I stood up and held the board above my head, baseball bat–style, waiting for the trespasser to make his move.
Another few heavy footfalls and I could tell he was right beside the doorway. He paused as if hesitating before entering the room. I looked through the gap in the door, but could only make out a white T-shirt. He was so close to me now, just on the other side of the door! I gripped the board as tightly as I could and promised myself that as soon as he walked into the room, I would bash him over the head with it.
“Peyton!” Ryan whispered. “Are you in here?”
Relief suffused my entire being and I dropped my arms, allowing the board to rest against the floor.
“Yes, I’m behind here,” I said, pushing the door away and stepping into the room. Ryan spun on his toes so quickly that, moments later, I was up close and personal with the end of his gun.
“Jesus, Peyton!” he breathed out at the same time that he dropped the gun. “You should have warned me it was you! I could have blown your head off!”