Her heart was starting to settle from its sudden flutter brought on by the nothing noise. At least something good had come of it. The rush was leaving her feeling momentarily energized, and that wasn’t a bad thing. She drew in a deep breath, and thought about the sound, but more than that, her reaction to it.
“You’re imagining things… ” She mutely chastised herself. “ You’re sleep deprived… You’re hopped up on caffeine pills… You’re …”
The rest of the thought was unceremoniously truncated by an obviously male-sounding voice. However, it spoke no words. Its muted cry entered her ears as nothing more, and nothing less, than a surprised and pained yelp, coming up through the floor from the basement.
The adrenalin dump was instantaneous. Constance felt a hot flush come over her as every muscle in her body tensed. She immediately launched herself from the counter, her feet thudding hard against the floor. Stealth had now ceased to be important.
Her right hand went immediately to her Sig, thumb fluidly catching the quick release on the FLETCH holster as her fingers slipped firmly into position and she filled her hand with the weapon. She brought it up and reached back with her free hand, fumbling for a second before snatching the two-way from the counter.
Keying the radio, she yelled, “Backup! Backup NOW! There’s someone in the house!”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She dropped the radio, and it bounced from the edge of the countertop, then clattered across the floor. She was already in motion while pulling a small flashlight from her coat pocket. With a flick of her thumb it was on. Although her eyes had been adjusted to the dark, the powerful blue-white LED beam was now welcome as it bloomed to life.
Holding it upside down with the business end at the heel of her fist, she brought her left forearm up in front of her chest, projecting the swath of light outward. She rested her right wrist atop the other in a stable firing position, cocking her elbows in close as she aimed her eyes down the sights of her weapon. Advancing out of the kitchen she paused at the archway, glancing right to check the front door, fully expecting Sheriff Carmichael or one of his deputies to come bursting through.
No one did. Not from the front, nor from the back.
“Dammit!” she muttered. Maybe in her haste she hadn’t fully keyed up the radio. She shot a rapid glance over her shoulder at the device lying on the floor, but there was no time to turn around for it and call them again. A weaker, but still audible, gurgling half-scream came up from the floorboards beneath her feet, and it was followed by a sickening, wet sounding thump.
There was another soggy thump and then the ping of metal against concrete.
She needed to get to the basement right now.
Since she was wearing her vest, she prayed that if a deputy or the sheriff came through the door unexpectedly and fired without warning at whatever they saw moving, they’d stick to their training and go for center mass… Or preferably miss her entirely.
Taking the chance, she advanced quickly. In a half-dozen long steps, she moved down the hallway toward the basement door, crossed in front of it, then turned and reached for the doorknob with her left hand while keeping her Sig Sauer poised in firing position with her right. Grasping the round, brass handle with her fingers and thumb while palming the flashlight, she twisted.
It didn’t budge.
She rapidly stuffed the still-illuminated flashlight into her pocket, wrapped her hand fully back around the doorknob, gripping as tightly as she could, and tried again to twist it in either direction. It remained frozen and unyielding.
She suddenly recalled the last time she had been at the butcher shop while they were cutting meat on a block behind the counter and the sound of the cleaver hacking against flesh and bone. Then she remembered the metallic ping she’d created earlier, each time she had hammered the tire iron against concrete. Now, beyond the door, continuing at random intervals, she could hear the dull echoes of a hauntingly similar sickly thump and ping, and she found herself wanting to vomit.
In between it all was a high-pitched whimpering. The screams, however, were now gone.
She shouldered the door in an attempt to break it loose, managing to do little more than send a sharp pain running down her arm and across her back. Rocking backward with everything she could muster, she tried pulling at the door again, but it remained steadfastly in place and the knob still wouldn’t budge.
Stepping back, she braced herself and cocked her knee, driving her foot against the wooden barrier. There was a hard, hollow thump, but no movement at all, save for the jarring vibrations radiating into her joints. She threw another violent kick but met with the same result.
Panting hard, in a last ditch effort she backed up against the opposite wall and brought her sidearm to bear on the jamb where the handset met the frame. Just as she was about to squeeze the trigger, she heard a small shuffle then a quiet thump.
It was a different noise than before-measured and deliberate.
She relaxed her finger and listened.
The noises repeated in tandem. This time the shuffle was followed first by a light but still sharp thunk, then by a quieter and softer thump.
A pause; then they came again…
Another pause, and then shuffle, thunk, thump yet again… Moving audibly closer with each repetition.
Someone was coming up the stairs.
Constance glanced quickly to the right and then slid her back along the wall until she hit the casing around a doorframe. Taking a quick step to the right and then back, she moved into the empty doorway that was diagonally opposite of the basement entryway itself. The basement door should swing out and to her left. Whenever it finally opened, whoever was coming up the stairs would be standing directly in her line of fire.
The slow shuffle continued, followed by the sharp thunk and soft thump. Occasionally the odd rhythm was joined by the barest of a creak from the wooden stairs. Each time, the noises sounded closer, until finally they came to a halt immediately on the opposite side of the basement door. Constance watched on in the darkness, waiting.
Eventually, a slow click and scrape sounded as the old doorknob began to turn.
“FEDERAL AGENT!” She called out, her voice loud but still hoarse and rough. “STEP OUT SLOWLY WITH YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD! NOW!”
Constance kept her focus straight ahead, looking into the shadows with both eyes targeting down the sights of the Sig Sauer as she held it stiff-armed before her. The latch completely released with a languid pop, and she detected movement as the door itself slowly parted from the jamb.
A wisp of air, colder than the already frigid house, brushed against her cheek, startling in its intensity. Steeling herself, she sucked in a deep breath and repeated her previous instruction.
“STEP OUT SLOWLY WITH YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!”
With a long, low creak, the door pivoted open on its hinges. She sucked in another breath and held it, visualizing in her mind the top of the stairwell as it had been when she had ascended it earlier. Leveling her arms in a straight-on isosceles stance, she targeted at a point where she estimated an average-sized man’s chest would be as he came up and through the opening.
Her aim was far too high.
As the door swung wide, she found herself staring at the dark silhouette of a much smaller figure. In fact, it seemed to be the size of a small child. Moving her weapon down and training it on the shadow she barked, “FEDERAL OFFICER! DON’T MOVE!”
The silhouette seemed to obey, remaining frozen in place. Leaving the Sig aimed squarely at the figure, Constance dug her left hand quickly into her pocket, withdrew the still burning flashlight and pointed it at the lower portion of the doorway.