Lena Diaz - Mountain Witness

Chris risked a quick glance at Julie. “Go. Get out of here!”

She stepped back, ready to do what he’d said. But then she stopped. The room seemed to shimmer in front of her, and she was back in her bedroom five months ago. All she could see was blood, its coppery scent filling the air. It was everywhere. The floors were slippery with it. Her hands, sticky.

No. Don’t think about the past. Stay in the present.

She blinked and brought the room back into focus.

“Please.” She stepped forward. “Please.” Another step. She stared at Alan, willing him to look at her. “Don’t do this.”

Something in her voice must have captured Alan’s attention. His head swiveled toward her. Bloodlust shone in his eyes. Julie knew the exact moment when he took the bait.

He gave Chris a mighty shove backward, catching him off guard. Chris stumbled, his hold on Alan broken. Julie tried to scramble back, but Alan was already lunging at her with the knife. She brought her arms up and turned her head, bracing herself.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Alan dropped to the floor, inches away from her, unmoving. She stared at him in shock, not quite sure what had happened. Then blood began running in rivulets across the worn, uneven floor, reaching out from beneath his body like accusing fingers, pointing at her. She stumbled backward, a sob catching in her throat.

A piercing scream echoed through the room. And suddenly she was clasped tightly against Chris’s chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her. He turned, blocking her view of the body lying on the floor. The screaming stopped, and she was mortified to realize that she was the one who’d been screaming.

“It’s okay.” One of his hands gently rubbed her back as the other cradled her against him. “He can’t hurt you now.”

He can’t hurt me now. He can’t hurt me now. She drew in a shaky breath.

Sirens wailed in the distance. How could there be sirens? She hadn’t called anyone, never had a chance to call when Alan had burst into the house. But her neighbor had come inside. Chris? And he’d...shot... Alan? Yes. Those had been gunshots she’d heard. She shivered again.

“The police are on their way,” he continued, speaking in a low, soothing tone. “I called them when I saw him through the window holding the knife.”

The police. He’d seen Alan threatening her. Wait, wasn’t he the police?

“I don’t... I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What happened? Who are you?”

He gently pushed her back, his hands holding her upper arms. “I’m Christopher Downing, a detective and SWAT officer from the Destiny Police Department. I called for backup before I came in here.” He scanned her from head to toe, as if searching for injuries. “Are you okay? Did he cut you?”

She blinked, her jumbled thoughts starting to come together again. “N-no. I mean, yes, he did. My back. But it’s not—”

He carefully turned her around.

His fingers touched her cuts through her shirt, making them sting. She sucked in a breath.

“Sorry.” He turned her to face him again. “There isn’t much blood. You probably won’t need stitches. Did he hurt you, in any other way?”

She frowned, trying to understand what he meant. Then she got it. He was asking whether she’d been sexually assaulted. Heat crept up her neck.

“No, he didn’t...ah...do...anything else.” She pulled away, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

The sirens had stopped. Red-and-blue lights flashed through the front windows. She was vaguely aware of a door opening, footsteps echoing on the hardwood. Chris guided her to the couch and she sat down, her gaze automatically going to the body on the floor. Deep voices spoke in quiet tones. Another voice, a woman’s, said something in reply.

Blood. There was so much blood. How could one person bleed that much?

She wrapped her arms around her middle.

The couch dipped beside her. A policewoman. She was dressed in black body armor. Bright white letters across the front of her vest read SWAT.

“Hello, Ms. Webb.” The woman’s voice was kind, gentle. “I’m Officer Donna Waters.” She waved her hands at her uniform, the gun strapped at her waist. “Don’t let this gear bother you. We came prepared for a possible hostage situation.” She patted Julie’s hand. “An ambulance is on the way to take you to the hospital to get checked out. But you’re safe now. You’re going to be okay.”

The woman’s words seeped slowly into her brain as if through a thick fog. “Hospital? No. No, no, no. I’m not hurt. I don’t want to go to a hospital.”

“Ms. Webb?”

The now-familiar masculine voice had her turning her head. Chris Downing, the man who’d risked his own life for her, knelt on the floor, his expression full of compassion and concern.

“We’ll take your statement after you’ve seen a doctor. Is there anyone I can call—”

“Is he dead?”

Her question seemed to startle him, but he quickly smoothed out his expression. “I’m afraid so, yes. Do you want me to—”

She grabbed his hands in hers and stared into his eyes. Could she trust him? Would he tell her the truth?

He frowned. “Ms. Webb—”

“Are you sure? Are you absolutely positive that he’s dead?”

He had to think she was crazy. But she’d been here before. She’d been the woman sitting on the couch while the policeman told her that he was dead. And then he...wasn’t. And then...and then. She shuddered.

“Is he dead?” She held her breath, waiting for his reply.

He exchanged a look with the female officer before answering. “Yes. I’m sorry. Yes, he’s dead.”

She covered her mouth with her hands, desperately trying to keep from falling apart.

He’s dead. Oh, my God. He’s dead.

“Someone will take your official statement after you’ve been checked out at the hospital. But can you tell us anything right now about the man who attacked you? Did you know him?”

“Know him?” A bubble of hysterical laughter burst between her lips. “I married him.”

Chapter Five

Chris exchanged a startled look with Donna as he knelt in front of the couch. His neighbor, Julie Webb, had just announced that the intruder Chris had killed was her husband. And, instead of being angry or crying or...something that made sense, she was rocking back and forth with her arms around her middle, eyes squeezed tightly shut. The rocking wasn’t the part that was odd. What had the hairs standing up on his neck were the words that she kept whispering over and over in response to him telling her that her husband was dead.

“Thank you, Lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Her callous words didn’t seem to match the fragile, lost look in her deep blue eyes, as if she were caught in a nightmare and couldn’t find her way out. He instinctively wanted to reach for her, pull her into his arms, tell her that everything would be okay. But the words she kept chanting sent a chill up his spine and started alarm bells going off in his suspicious detective’s brain.

If she’d been abused by her husband, which seemed likely given that he’d held a knife on her, Chris could understand her relief that her husband couldn’t hurt her anymore. And he’d seen the fear in her eyes earlier today, which lent more evidence to the abuse theory. But he’d also seen many domestic violence cases, and almost without fail, the abused party would defend her abuser. If a cop tried to arrest the husband, or hurt him while trying to protect the wife, nine times out of ten that wife would immediately leap to the husband’s defense. Julie’s actions were nothing like what he was used to seeing in those cases. The whole situation just seemed...off.

“The chief’s motioning for you.” Donna kept her voice low. “Go on. I’ll sit with her until the ambulance arrives.”