"Please, leave a message after the tone."
Beeeeep!!!!
"Hey, babe," Tilda's voice reaches my tired ears and I perk up somewhat.
"Mike asked if I could take him to the airport. He's meeting a couple of his friends to grab a beer and gossip. Then, he's headed out to Florida for the conference. I'll be gone for a few hours. I may even pop over at mom's so I don't have to drive home alone at night. Well, anyway...I'll either see ya later tonight or in the morning. See ya soon. Bye. Love you. Gotta go."
My moment of happiness descends into despair, as I realize I will be spending the rest of the wretched day alone. After a quick shower, I flop face first onto the couch. I'm asleep as soon as my eyes close.
° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °
Two hours later
My dreams are interrupted by a loud screeching noise. The closest thing I can compare it to is the sound of a piece of metal being slid across a pane of glass.
I bolt upright and spring toward the front window. I draw back the heavy curtains, but nothing is there. A quick scan of the neighborhood reveals nothing out of the ordinary. Had I been dreaming?
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Almost like an answer to my thoughts, the sound comes again. Louder this time. I try to pinpoint the exact location, and fail. I make up my mind to check every door, window, nook and cranny. Only way to be sure.
I start searching downstairs, and move along room by room. The noise does not come again, and there is nothing out of place. I chastise myself for my utter stupidity.
"Probably just a tree snagging against the satellite dish. So dumb! I keep forgetting that thing's still up there."
Settling back down, with a beer and a Men's Health magazine, I turn on the television.
No sooner have I settled in, another strange sound assaults my senses. Voices. Coming from the back room. The utility room. I hadn't bothered to check in there--seeing as how there were no windows and the door had been locked.
In less than twenty seconds, I am up and across the room. With three swift movements, I open my gun cabinet and remove my rifle and my 9 mil. The sight which greets me, when I enter the dining room, is shocking-- to say the least.
Every window, every door, every cabinet door--is wide open. I shoulder my rifle and tighten my grip on the pistol. Once again, I go from room to room. In every single room, it is the same. Every door, every window, every cabinet or dresser drawer is open. My mouth hangs slack as I process what has happened.
"What the hell is this?!?"
A loud crash downstairs causes me to swivel back in the direction of the doorway. I wait to hear footsteps, movement below, anything. Nothing.
For two hours, I stand like a sentry. My guns aimed at the door. The sun is setting before I gather the courage to venture back downstairs.