From A Dead Sleep Read online

  Sean got to his feet and flattened his back against the closed metal garage door at the front of the house. It rattled from his weight, which he dreaded might give away his position to whoever was inside. He raised his gun up by his chest. Seeing no windows above the garage, he was confident that he was concealed from all lines of fire from the house. Still, he feared the shooter could run out that front door at any second, and Sean couldn’t afford to wait and hope for the best.

  He held his father’s Colt tightly in his hand, pointing it in front of him as he cautiously circled around to the opposite end of the house. He felt it too risky to go up to the front door again. Too exposed. His boots slid on damp soil as he crept along the frame of the cottage, careful to keep his head low when passing under the windows.

  He found a small set of wooden steps leading up to a backdoor. It was locked, too. Holding the gun at his chest, he counted to three and lunged forward, slamming the bottom of his boot solidly beside the doorknob.

  Lisa held her breath while crouched down on all fours beside the king-sized bed in the master bedroom. Concealed on the opposite side of the bedroom’s entranceway, she feverishly searched under the bed and behind the end table for anything she could use as a weapon. A pair of slippers and dust bunnies was all she found. When she heard the rattle of the staircase, she knew her attacker was close. Her teeth chattered and she bit down hard to suppress the noise. Tears flowed from her red eyes and down the sides of her cheeks. Her body trembled as she lowered herself as flat as she could to her stomach. She lifted the dust ruffle and searched farther underneath her bed. While the ruffle draped down along the opposite side as well, there was a raised area of about an inch that provided a fabric-encased peephole to the entrance to the bedroom. An internal debate ensued as to whether or not to slide her body completely under the bed; it was a tight fit and she didn’t want to immobilize herself.

  The creak of a nearby floorboard sent chills up her spine. She stayed on her stomach, digging her fingernails and toes into the carpet—positioning herself to be able to spring to her feet at a moment’s notice. Her eyes remained focused on the little section of open cloth. Her heart stopped when the point of a brown loafer came to rest mere inches from the edge of the bed.

  She gazed in terror. He was right there . . . no more than six feet away. She knew she was trapped, and she closed her eyes.

  A loud thud echoed up from main level, and she realized the man from Colorado was still alive. Silencing her breathing, she could hear her assailant’s feet shuffle back into the hallway in reaction to the noise.

  Sean’s force cracked the door from its frame, but the opening was no wider than an inch. He slammed his fist down across some of the splintered wood along the frame and drove his shoulder hard into the door. Something blocked it from opening any further. He threw his shoulder into it again, this time using more of his body.

  He heard a row of thick books fall from the bookcase on the other side of the door, landing like a ton of bricks. He was left with a little more of an opening, but it was still too narrow to squeeze through.

  A portion of the frame suddenly exploded into splinters from a gun blast close to Sean’s face. He raced away from the door, certain the assailant had about as good of a view as he did. Desperately looking for another way in, he spotted another door—a white one at the side of the house along the back deck.

  Another creak of floorboards told Lisa that her attacker hadn’t gone far. It sounded like he was standing just outside the doorway of the bedroom, waiting for Sean to enter the house.

  From the floor, she peered forward at the open terrace at the edge of the loft. There was a four-foot-tall safety barrier and then nothing but open air and light fixtures. The living room was somewhere between twelve and fifteen feet below. In her mind, she struggled to remember how the furniture below was positioned. The sofa had to be right below the edge of the loft. Lying flat on the floor, she was like a sitting duck. Holding her breath, she counted to three and launched forward, driving her knees at a sharp angle and sending herself toward the opening.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her attacker swinging his body in front of the doorway, but she didn’t turn to face him. She jetted off her feet and dove over the barrier. As she did, her right hand clasped onto the horizontal edge of the wall in an instinctive attempt to prevent her body from overshooting the couch. Hooking herself along the edge, she quickly let go and dropped straight down. As she did, she could hear the sound of drywall being punctured by bullets and crumbling above her. She fell horizontally for what seemed like an eternity before her shoulder slammed into the armrest of the sofa. Her body buckled and she bounced to the floor with a thud.

  Pain surged through her back, but she hadn’t a second to spare. She scrambled to her knees and dove out of the line of fire underneath the loft just as she heard fabric slice beside her and saw foam spread out into the air from a cushion on the sofa. She howled in panic, recalling her attacker had secured every lock on the front door. With thundering footsteps pounding from above, she knew she couldn’t make it through the door in time. The backdoor was blocked by the bookcase; her only chance was the side kitchen door. She darted to it.

  The steel spiral staircase rattled with ferocity, and Lisa knew her pursuer would be right behind her in a matter of seconds. Her burning shoulder slammed into the hallway wall as she got to the kitchen. There would be only one lock to contend with and she prayed she’d be able to quickly get it open. Linoleum screeched below her feet as she made it there. The door was just ahead, visible only a few feet away. Her legs felt like they were in quicksand in some horrible nightmare as she desperately held her hand out, preparing to work the lock. But with just a few feet left, her eyes widened in shock. At the flap of the dog-door in the backdoor, a large fist thrust through, grasping a larger gun than the intruder’s. Sliding through behind it was a large arm.

  She braked herself, feet slipping out from under her, making her drop straight to her butt. Her arms instinctively raised in a defensive position in front of her body. “No!”

  Sean’s arm and the right side of his face were as much as he could force of his body through the narrow doggy-door. With a loud snarl and instinctive focus, he trained his sight just above the panicked woman sitting directly in front of him.

  “Move!” he commanded in a voice loud enough to make a drill-sergeant jump.

  Lisa quickly spun flat to her stomach and wrapped her arms over the back of her head. She shut her eyes, lips moving in prayer.

  Sean took a breath, steadied, and squeezed the trigger.

  Ear-piercing shots thundered wickedly into the air above Lisa’s body.

  A hideous, agonizing shriek from the attacker echoed off the walls of the kitchen, followed by the sound of a metal object crashing to the floor.

  Sean found himself virtually paralyzed in awe as he watched the tall, lanky figure stumble backwards into the hallway, the man’s hand glued to the side of his throat. As he spun off balance, his wide eyes helplessly glimpsed his own blood splattered across the wall beside him. More blood ran through his fingers like water streaming through the cracks of a fractured dam.

  Lisa, shaking uncontrollably from the thunder of bullets and bloodcurdling cry, managed to lift her head in time to see the assailant drop to a knee and then flat to his chest with an imposing thud. Above the ringing in her ears, she heard a gurgling noise coming from his mouth. His legs twitched for a few seconds and were then still.

  Her face was white as snow as she turned to meet Sean’s own blank stare.

  Grimly compliant in each other’s silence, their equally frail eyes asked a hundred questions of each other.

  Chapter 31

  Lisa’s body twitched sporadically, like she was experiencing the aftereffects of being tased.

  “Please!” she snapped. “Please . . . I just need a second.” She was intensely frightened, confused, and didn’t want anyone’s hand on her shoulder—even if that person
had just saved her life. Sean hadn’t placed his hand there to comfort her. He was just trying to get her to stop shaking. She had barely found enough composure to lift herself up off the floor and let him inside.

  His state of mind wasn’t much better. He was practically hyperventilating, chest heaving in and out with a hand pressed to his stomach to contain the nausea. He had never shot a man before, and never dreamed he’d have to. It wasn’t like on television—cut and dry, even glorified. The reality was one of absolute sickness. The imposing stench of lingering gunfire still hung in the air, the blasts rang in his ears, and the feeling that his heart was going to pound a hole through his chest heightened the nausea. But the worst part was the instantaneous guilt and remorse of taking a man’s life. Sean knew he had done the right thing, but his transient conscience was far from content.

  The assailant’s gun lay on the center of the tile floor, not far from the corner where Lisa sat, still trembling, with her knees pulled into her chest. She had remained there since letting Sean in.

  He slowly walked toward the lifeless body, craning his neck to peer over the fallen man’s shoulder. The sight of those large, wide-open eyes came into view along with the blood that surrounded the man’s head like an abstract halo. Sean’s knees went wobbly and he placed his hand on the wall to keep upright. There it found a warm splotch of fresh blood, which caused his labored stomach to turn.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  He heard Lisa’s shaky voice from behind him. He spun his head to meet her eyes. The way she looked, with her distressed scowl, pale face, and quivering lower lip, looked strangely familiar. After a moment, he realized that the sight reminded him of his sister Diana—the way she had looked years ago, when their parents would scream and fight in the next room.

  He swallowed some bile, then cleared his throat. Coughing the shakiness from his voice, he answered, “Listen, you’re in danger.”

  A spasm of spontaneous, awkward laughter erupted from deep within her. It was the second time Sean had prompted such a reaction from her that day. She couldn’t help it. Again, it disappeared as quickly as it came. She placed a hand to her face, her fingertips pressing against her forehead while she stared at her knees.

  He could see the obviousness of the situation pass over her face. She had just been brutalized by a man now lying in a pool of blood in her hallway and the man who now stood before her was announcing that she was in danger, like that wasn’t apparent.

  “Well, Mr. Coleman,” she began without looking up. “It would appear you’re right.” She dwindled into tears and shook her head.

  He was at a loss. He wasn’t built with compassion or the capacity to comfort others. He let her cry and turned his head back to the man on the floor. He carefully stepped over the body’s outstretched leg, avoiding a puddle of blood that aggregated there. Sean had gotten him in the leg as well. Squatting down beside him, he shook his head and guided his index finger and thumb into one of the man’s back pockets.

  “Jesus! What are you doing?” Lisa inquired through narrow, puffy eyes. “Just call the police!”

  He glared at her blankly, as if he was carefully deciphering her words, then he dug his hand into the other pocket. A confounded expression resided on his face when he then stood back up.

  “No wallet,” he muttered.

  The loud, unexpected pulse of the doorbell commanded quick silence from both of them. Sean jolted before snapping a look toward Lisa who quickly scrambled to her feet and gazed numbly back. He yanked his gun from behind his waistband and held it at attention.

  “Were you expecting anyone?” he whispered sharply.

  She shook her head.

  He squared his jaw and motioned for her to stay put. He carefully stepped over the dead body and blood, staying close to the wall as he made his way down the hallway toward the front door.

  Unsure whether to abide Sean’s wishes, Lisa crept her way up to the dead man but went no farther. She watched Sean from there.

  He reached the end of the corridor and poked his head around the corner. She saw him steal a glance through the small shattered window along the front door. He turned to her just as the bell rang a second time. This time, it was followed quickly with hard banging.

  “Hello?” a male voice shouted. “I’m with security! Is everything okay?”

  “It’s some guy with a uniform!” Sean hissed.

  She scurried down the hallway to his side. She peered around the corner, along his shoulder. Even amongst the chaos, he found himself taking note of how pleasant her hair smelled. The man at the door’s face was only partially visible from their vantage point, but his uniform was unmistakably that of the gated community’s security team.

  “It’s okay,” she declared as she whisked by Sean and toward the front door.

  “Wait!” he said, still assessing the situation.

  Before he knew it, she was working feverishly to unlock the door. Her rapid breathing muffled the sound of broken glass crackling beneath her shoes.

  He grunted and quickly slid his pistol down the back of his pants.

  “Mrs. Kimble?” came the man’s voice.

  She nodded. “Yes!”

  “I thought I heard what sounded like a gunshot from the road. Was there . . . an accident?”

  “Someone attacked me!” she exclaimed as she swung open the door, causing a sheet of shattered glass to crumble to the floor.

  She lunged forward to embrace the man, but quickly realized that it wasn’t Marty. In fact the guard who stood before her looked more like a teenager—wide-eyed with an oily complexion and short, brown hair that was spiked along his bangs. He was a bit on the short side, thin and unable to fill out his uniform that looked a size too large. He looked to be in his early twenties and smelled of cigarette smoke.

  “You were at–attacked, ma’am?” He spoke in a shaky, nervous voice. He swallowed hard with his eyes fixated on Lisa’s beat-up mouth. He quickly fumbled for the handgun in a black, leather holster at his side and drew it out in front of him. “Is the p–p–perpetrator still here?” he quickly asked as he used his free hand to hook Lisa’s shoulder, pulling her to shelter behind him. His trigger hand shook noticeably.

  “No. No, no,” she quickly clarified. “He’s dead!”

  “What?” the guard yelped in confusion.

  “He’s dead!” Sean stated loudly from the hallway.

  “Jesus!” the guard cried as he dropped to a knee and briskly swung his gun in the direction of the new voice.

  Sean’s eyes widened, and he quickly raised his open hands out in front of him to expose that he wasn’t a threat.

  “No!” Lisa yelled to the guard.

  “Calm down, kid!” shouted Sean. “The bad guy’s dead! He’s in the hallway!”

  “Just . . . Everybody shut up for a second! Please!” pleaded the newly out-of-breath guard who struggled to cling to some semblance of professionalism.

  He rose back up to his rubbery legs and asked Sean if he was Mr. Kimble. Before the big man could answer, Lisa explained Sean to be a friend and that her husband wasn’t there. She continued on, excitedly relaying a vague version of the series of events that had just taken place from the moment the gunman appeared at her door. She said nothing of the death of her husband, which Sean found interesting. The three walked down the hallway to the body with the guard reluctantly in the lead and Sean hovering closely behind him.

  Sean studied the young guard as he leaned over the body in curiosity with his gun aimed down cautiously at the corpse.

  He glanced back at Sean and Lisa with a sick look on his face. “You sure he’s dead?”

  “Oh yeah,” Sean answered confidently with a raised eyebrow, observing the kid’s reaction. “What’s your name?”

  “Josh. Josh Jones,” he answered with his eyes now directed back on the body.

  Sean leered at the kid like a hawk, evaluating his movements and mannerisms.

  “Have either of you already called t
he police?” asked Josh.

  “No,” replied Lisa. “We were about to.”

  “I’ll do it,” he said with a nod back toward the entrance of the house.

  The three made their way back toward the front room. Lisa led the way and Sean motioned the guard in front of him.

  As they left the hallway, Sean’s forearm slammed into the side of Josh’s neck like it was discharged from a mortar. He hammered the smaller man up against the wall behind him, yanking on his wrist and sending the guard’s firearm to the floor where Sean quickly kicked it down the hallway. Framed pictures crashed to the floor, knocked loose from their mounted positions as he smashed the overwhelmed kid’s head into the drywall.

  Sean could hear Lisa’s pleading screams at the violent beating that she turned around to witness. Shocked and confused, she demanded for Sean to stop. The guard looked like a rag-doll in the hands of the much larger Sean who repeatedly slammed his thigh into his gut. Josh crumbled to the floor with bulging eyes, mouth gaping for air.

  “What are you doing?” Lisa screamed. “Stop it!”

  She could hear desperate, gasping sounds wheezing out from the kid’s mouth. She lunged toward Sean and fiercely grabbed onto his short hair with one hand while she sunk her fingernails into his flesh just above his eye. He winced and unloaded an open hand to her sternum that sent her stumbling backwards onto her butt.

  “He’s full of shit!” he snarled defensively before planting the sole of his boot into Josh’s neck and pinning him to the floor along the baseboard of the wall.

  He retrieved his pistol from his pants and swung the weapon up before his body, pointing it directly toward Josh’s horrified, pain-stricken face. The kid’s eyes were crossed as they homed in on the silver barrel just inches away.

  “Stop it!” Lisa screamed again, this time from her knees. Tears streamed down her bruised face

  Sean turned to her. “He’s no goddamned security guard!” he shouted. “This asshole stumbles in here, sees breaking and entering, assault and battery, and a dead guy on the floor, for God’s sake! And he hasn’t touched his radio once!” He aimed his pistol toward the black, compact walkie-talkie opposite the guard’s gun holster to direct her attention to it. “It ain’t even turned on!”