braked hard. The truck raced through the intersection, swerved around a westward-headed sedan, forcing it off the road, and swung into a convenience store with a gas pump outside. Hudson noticed the off-the-road vehicle was already moving back onto the highway, its driver peering back at the rogue pickup framing familiar words, and decided he needed gas. The driver of the truck went into the store as Hudson pulled up at the pump. He got out and followed him in. He was young, no more than seventeen, but looked as though he should be playing high school tackle.
“A little dangerous, wouldn’t you say?”
“What?” The kid put on a baffled expression.
“You nearly hit me and forced another car off the road.”
“I don’t care.”
What kind of response was that? “Other people might.”
“That’s
“What’s your name?”
“I don’t have to tell you that.”
A man appeared from a door with “Toilet” over it, the word, “Mike” on the left breast of his cover-alls. “What’s going on, Kevin?”
“Kevin nearly caused an accident.”
“But he didn’t, huh?” Mike was unimpressed.
“Does he have a license?”
“Look, take off old man,” said the young driver. “You don’t know how much trouble…” He pushed his hand toward Hudson’s chest. Hudson took it in both his.
“Ow!” The boy fell hard on his knees. Mike made as if to grab Hudson’s arm.
“Don’t,” said Hudson. Something in the way the word came out froze Mike. Hudson looked down at Kevin. “Watch your driving from now on. I’ll remember you.”
The rest of his drive home was unsatisfactory. He didn’t feel he’d handled the situation well. What did he prove, that he could physically impose his will on a scrawny clerk and a seventeen-year-old boy? He’d done nothing useful. Kevin wouldn’t have learned from what had happened. Right now Mike was surely not lecturing the kid on driving. He, Hudson, had only widened the gulf a teenager feels between himself and adults. Maybe if he hadn’t been up all night… But even if he hadn’t, what should he have done?
The luminous dial on her bedside clock said one-fifteen. She lay back on the pillow. What had awakened her? She could feel the bed beside her empty; was Hudson home? That must be it. She turned on her side and pulled the blanket up. Pretty soon she’d hear the third stair squeak, as it always did no matter how quiet he tried to be. As he always did.
It startled her to realize how much her life had changed in just a few months. The last two years in the ashram outside Syracuse were nearly perfect as she lived them: peace, security, the absence of threat. Who could ask for more out of life? She still thought of them with fondness; the devotees were...That clinking sound wasn’t Hudson... She pulled a sweater over her pajamas and stood for a moment, listening. She was tempted to call out Hudson’s name but didn’t want to wake Andre. There had been two squeaks, and as she listened she heard a rustling she couldn’t identify. She turned to go to the door, as it opened and two burly men burst in. One had a knife in his hand, the other a handgun. An automatic Cilla noted, having learned all she wanted to know about guns at an early age.
The one with the pistol pointed it at Cilla. “You.” He gestured toward the door.
“What are you doing here?” Cilla glared at him. “What are you doing in my house!”
“You,” the man repeated. “Come. Or we cut you.” His accent was thick.
“If you put it that way. Where are we going?”
“Move.” He gestured again at the door.
Cilla meekly bowed her head and walked through the door ahead of the men. They indicated the stairs; she went down them. They were old-farmhouse stairs with a sturdy railing on one side and narrow enough to force single file. As she reached the bottom, Cilla turned. “I need soduatem mosiker.”
“What?” The man with the gun leaned closer to her to understand. Cilla knocked the gun hand aside with her left arm. With her right hand she jabbed stiffened fingers to his throat. The gun fell as he brought both hands to his neck. She pushed him into the man following and ran through the darkened living room to the kitchen, opening a drawer that held knives. She took the sturdiest and sharpest and flattened herself against the wall next to the swinging door she’d come through. She could hear the man she’d hit choking and the sound of running feet coming toward the kitchen door. Suddenly they stopped. For a second there was silence, then the crash of a body hitting the floor. She opened the door a crack. Hudson! In the dim glow from the second floor lights, her husband was reaching down to man number two who was on his back on the living room floor. She ran around him toward the stairs. The choking man had found the door to the glass-enclosed porch; it was wide open. Cilla looked out, and an arm encircled her neck. Only the size of the intruder - shorter than Cilla’s 5’ 9” - preventing him from pulling her off her feet. A strong jab of her elbow was ineffective against his heavy coat. His knife was at her throat as he dragged her toward the porch door. She kicked him in the ankle. The man erupted unfamiliar words. They were half out the door when he gave a loud, “Oof!” and his hands released. She fell to the porch floor as Hudson came over her for a second blow. This was enough for the man, who scurried out the door and over the hardened snow to the road. Hudson turned back for man two, but he’d recovered enough to get out through the kitchen, and could be heard crunching across the yard.
“You okay?” Hudson asked his wife.
A car started up down the road.
“Does furious count?” Cilla turned on lights.
“Who were they?”
“Foreigners. The one who had me on the porch screamed something about a sin when I kicked him. Sounded like a Swede.”
“Did they use any other words?”
“Suke? Is that a name?”
“Suke…”
“Yes… I suppose it could have been ‘Luke’.”
“I heard a crash.” Andre’s head appeared around the corner of the stairs. “Are you all right, Cilla?”
“We had visitors,” said Hudson.
“Oh?” Andre looked at Cilla’s pajamas.
“Unexpected,” Hudson answered. “And unfriendly. Made any new enemies, Andre?”
“Every day. They haven’t taken to housebreaking yet, though. Is that what happened? Someone broke in?”
“They didn’t need to break. We never lock anything,” said Cilla.
“Shouldn’t we call the police?” He took a step toward Cilla. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”
“Yes. They’ll be long gone now.”
“And no damage done that I can see,” added Hudson.
“Probably just some damn fools who got the wrong house.” Andre yawned. “Then I guess the excitement’s over. Good night all.” He went back up the stairs.
When he’d gone, Cilla turned sharply to her husband. “Hudson, they were
“Like out of the house?”
Cilla shook her head. “My chance was on the stairs where I only had one to deal with; I wasn’t going to wait
