On The Run

The relentless rain had been a drumming soundtrack for three hours, but it was the thunder, now, that truly shook the old house. A sharp rap on the door, unexpected and jarring, sent a jolt through me. Who could possibly be out in this? Without a second thought, I pulled the door open, a stranger standing on my porch, drenched.

“Come in,” I blurted, a wave of misplaced empathy washing over me. He looked familiar, his frame broad beneath the hood, but his face was obscured. “I’m sure you’re here for Nick, but it’s really bad out there and you need to dry up before going upstairs. Can I get you anything to drink while you warm up?” I asked, my voice a little too high.

He just shook his head, never meeting my eyes. Then, as thunder rattled the chandeliers, a deep voice finally broke the silence. "It's ok. Thank you for letting me in. My car is a convertible and the top won't close. For some reason it isn't running right now."

I was about to offer him tea again when he held up a gun.