She heard the car beep in the distance before rumbling to a start. From the window, she could see him, as his feet stopped short. His head spun to the car in the distance and then shot back to the barn, where he stared longingly for a moment until it all registered in his mind.
He moved closer to the barn, peering into it. But then he suddenly spun around, as he picked up into a run toward the car. He had noticed Tara was gone from where he left her, and once he reached the vehicle, he thrust open the driver’s door with full force, took a quick glance inside, and then abruptly turned his gaze back to the bed and breakfast, to the door he had exited moments ago.
Tara darted from the window. She successfully avoided his gaze, but she knew he was now heading to where she stood, and she needed to conceal herself. She suddenly pressed her body up against the wall in the kitchen—standing inches away from the door frame, the knife held tightly in her grip, close to her chest.
She listened for his movement as her eyes cautiously watched the other doorframe on the opposite end of the kitchen. The woman was still nearby. She hadn’t heard Tara moving around, nor the car stutter to a start, but Tara was certain she would hear her anger-fueled son entering the house, and the struggle that was about to ensue.
She waited, his footsteps growing louder as they trekked across the lawn, and then as they hit the hard surface of the stone steps, ascending one by one, until his hand turned the doorknob. The door flung open.
Tara tightened her grip on the knife as her heart pounded against her chest, and just as he took his first step into the kitchen, she spun around, without a second to aim, sending her knife straight into him.
He cried out in pain and surprise as he dropped the gun. She had stabbed him in the arm and he stumbled backward, looking down at his wound in confusion. Tara had saw an opportunity and she threw herself toward the gun, but just as her fingertips grazed the metal, he kicked out his foot, sending it straight under Tara’s chin.
Her head shot backward as blood gushed from her mouth. She had bitten her tongue and her ears rang as she watched him quickly reach for the gun. But she was faster—she kicked it, sending it skidding across the floor.
He grabbed the knife in his arm, pulling it out in one swift movement as he grunted with pain. Tara tried to jump to her feet. She was going to make a run for it—for the gun. But just as Tara tried to stand, he kicked her again in the face, and she plummeted to the floor once more. The pain shot through her head as it swirled in a moment of disorientation. He kicked her again before sitting on top of her, the knife now in his hand.
“Not so quick now,” he spat, satisfied, as Tara thrashed underneath him.
He was too strong, his weight was too heavy, and Tara panicked as she realized she could not get free. He raised the knife over his head and Tara knew she had no escape.
But just before he could bring the knife down, a figure flew through the door. He didn’t even have a second to react before an object swung straight into his skull.
He spiraled over off of Tara as he fell to the floor beside her.
“You okay?” she heard.
She quickly got to her feet and then she saw who it was—the girl, who she had left in the barn untied.
Tara nodded, relieved and out of breath.
She was thankful to see her—she had saved her life—but this was also not the way her plan was supposed to go.
But Tara didn’t have a second to hesitate. She jumped toward the knife, which had slipped from the man’s grip. But just before she could grab it, he flung his hand toward it.
He sat up, swinging the knife in every direction at Tara. She staggered backward, avoiding each one of his movements, as the girl snuck up behind him again. This time, Tara could see what she held in her hand—it was a rock. She swung it at his head, but he had anticipated her this time, and he spun around, sending the knife straight into her leg.
The girl, whose name Tara remembered was Anna, staggered back, crying out in agonizing pain as the man pulled the knife from her wound. He was about to stab her again, but Tara jumped on his back, and he stumbled backward. He swayed in every which way, trying to throw Tara off of him, but she held on with all her might until he began swinging the knife aimlessly over his head. Tara dodged each slice of the air near her face, barely missing.
She couldn’t hold on any longer; he was going to stab her. She jumped off of him and snatched the rock that had fallen beside Anna. She held its cold weight in her hand, ready to whack him in the head once more. But just as she lifted it higher, he spun around, his knife cutting the air around her wildly. Each time, he missed her barely, but then Tara felt a sudden burn, and her eyes instinctively shot to the pain. Blood gushed from her forearm as the rock fell from her grip.
She reached for the rock with her uninjured hand, but he grabbed hold of her neck, pushing her to the ground. She thrashed about wildly, but she couldn’t free herself; he was too heavy. She struggled to breathe as he raised the knife once more, ready to plunge it into her chest. In a split second she thought of John, of the call he would receive.
But then…
A gunshot rang through the air, the sound of
