I sat up and reached for the lamp by my bedside. Clicked it on.
Nothing happened.
I reached higher and felt that the lightbulb was missing.
Carefully, slowly, I eased open my nightstand drawer, seeking out the .38 I put in there every night.
The gun was gone.
Something in the darkness moved.
'Mom? Alan?'
No answer.
I breathed in deep, held it, straining to hear any sound.
A faint chuckle came from nearby.
My digital clock went out.
The hair rose on the back of my neck. The darkness was complete, a thick inky cloth. Sweat trickled down my spine.
The closet.
'I've got a gun!' I yelled to the darkness.
Another chuckle. Low and soft.
Fuller.
Another movement. Closer this time.
My heart pumped ice through my veins. Where were Mom and Alan? What had he done to them?
How do I make it out of here alive?
My only chance was to get to the door, to get out of the apartment. Run hard and fast and don't look back.
I slowly drew back the covers, and eased one foot over the edge of the bed, resting it on the warm chest of the man with the knife who was lying on the floor beside me.
I screamed, and woke myself up.
Reflexively, I had the bedroom light on and the .38 in my hand in a nanosecond. My breath came in ragged gasps, and my heart felt like I'd just completed the last leg of a triathlon.
'Jack?'
Alan opened his eyes. They widened when he saw the gun.
'What's happening?'
'Just a bad dream.'
'You're going to shoot a bad dream?'
I looked at my gun, quivering in my hand, and tried to put it back in the drawer. My fingers wouldn't let go. I had to pry them off with my free hand.
I sat awake, thinking about fear, until my alarm went off and I had to go to court.
I dressed in my best suit, a blue Armani blazer and light gray slacks, spent ten minutes dabbing concealer under my eyes, and met my mom in the kitchen, where she already had a pot of coffee going.
'Morning, Mom.'
Mom wore a pink flannel nightgown with a cat stitched on the front. She sat at the breakfast bar, sipping out of a mug, you guessed it, with a cat on it.
'Good morning, Jacqueline. You look very pretty.'
'Court.' I poured coffee into one of the last drinking vessels without a feline picture gracing it. 'You okay?'
'This cold weather is affecting my hip.'
'It's got to be eighty degrees in here, Mom. You set the thermostat on 'broil.''
'My hip is synced to the outside temperature, and it's freezing out there. I forgot how cold this city gets.'
I wondered how cold Mom really was, and how much of this was her pining for Florida.
'Do you keep in touch with any of your friends back in Dade City?'
'Just Mr. Griffin. He keeps pestering me to visit. But I'd hate to travel in this weather. The cold, you know.'
'Why not invite him here?'
'He's retired, dear. On a fixed income. I couldn't ask him to fly out here, and then pay those ridiculous hotel rates.'
'He can stay with us.'
Mom smiled so brightly she lost twenty years.
