Slice Of Life: A Daily Story

Day Four
Monday, June 25th
based on a huge storm that rolled through.

Blown Away 

     The leaves are literally being ripped from the willow tree! How is it going to survive this? The gush of wind is whipping around the house, howling through windows that are barely able to keep the wind out on mild days. The tumultuous rains slash through the air at an angle almost parallel to the nearly flooding yard. The houses across the street have become nearly invisible; the evening is now dark as night. I am worried. I have not yet experienced such a storm as this; lightning piercing the sky, thunder rumbling in a low growl, and hail mixed with the rain pelting the roof and angrily slamming against the windows. I hear a crack and watch the splinter in the glass crawl its way up. A broken window. This is more than worry, this has quickly become fear. I have never felt so alone. 
     The phone rings and I startle, turning quickly in the direction of the sound. Brr-ring.

"Hello?"
"Hey hon."
"Hi, are you on your way home" I ask too quickly.
"No ..." he pauses slightly. "I can't get out in this just yet. Looks like another half and hour."
I turn and look out the window. Through the splintered crack I can see the flooding of the road. Flash flood, I think.
"Swell. Get home safe."
"I will."
"Bye" I say. Nothing...no reply comes through from the other end.
"Hon? Honey?" Nothing. Are the phones down? I hang up the line and click it on again - no dial tone. Fear has progressed to terror.

     The outside door in the laundry room flings open, the wind driven rain rapidly soaking the floor. I run quickly in and slam the door shut, sliding the bolt in place and turning the lock on the handle. I breathe out slowly and place my head against the door. I can hear the rain bearing down heavily on the other side. And another sound, louder and harsher. The hail, I think, and slowly turn away from the door. Water, leaves, and melting ice pellets lay before me. I walk to the mop and take it from the wall. Before turning to tackle the wind blown mess I glance into the kitchen and freeze. Muddy shoe prints track across the floor toward the dining room. My jaw drops open. My eyes grow big in horror. I drop the mop and back away slowly towards the now bolted and locked door. Escape is just a twist and a slide away, but can I do it before the owner of those large muddy shoe prints walk back this direction? I turn to the door, to the lock. The handle lock won't turn. I'm fumbling and my fingers feel fat and slow and sluggish. Finally the lock turns. Now to lift the bolt and slide it left. I draw a deep breath and hold it, forcing myself to concentrate. Through the pelting rain I hear another sound. Footsteps. Horror rises to panic.

     I begin to breathe heavily as I glance over my shoulder, a shadow slowly growing on the kitchen floor cast by the light from the dining room that I know I didn't turn on. I turn back to the lock, tears begin to well in my eyes, my breathing becomes erratic - the lock won't move. Come on, come on, come on, I try cheering myself on. The sounds behind me become louder, I don't turn to look. Finally I lock frees and I pull the door open, which practically flies from my grip as the fierce wind rips the door inward. I step out, preparing to run, when I feel a hand upon my shoulder. A scream escapes my throat and then two firm hands turn me abruptly and I look up into the eyes of ...

"Hey Hon." Recognition begins to flood into my brain. Anger replaces the terror. I pommel his chest before collapsing into it, allowing his strong arms to envelop me.
"Oh my God" I say wearily into his shoulder. "You scared me to death!"
His hand comes up to my head and he strokes my hair, entwining the length of it trough his fingers.
"Not yet" he whispers throatily. "Not yet."