Rise: How a House Built a Family(86)

The door sealed down tight before he got to it. I knew perfectly well it wasn’t enough to keep us safe, but it was another minute bought and paid for. I ran inside and passed the bottom of the stairs just as the kids reached the top.

“Jada, did you say you saw a demon outside this morning? A devil? What were you playing?”

Jada chewed her lip. “I thought I had imagined it. There was just a peek. I didn’t think it could be real.” She had been little the last time she’d seen Adam. She wouldn’t even recognize him if he were in everyday clothes let alone a costume from hell.

“Go in Hope’s room,” I said, running to my closet. “Push the dresser in front of the door and don’t come out.”

Drew hesitated, took two steps back down the stairs.

“Get your knife, Drew. Go in that room and keep them safe. I’m getting my gun.”

He didn’t seem surprised that I had one. I wished he had.

I loaded Karma and filled my pockets with shells. This time there was no doubt in my mind that I could shoot him. If he came in the house, I could shoot him to keep my kids safe. Not only shoot him, I knew, but kill him if I had to. It surprised me. When I bought the gun I had imagined scaring him with it. But I hadn’t been imagining him in a devil costume that day.

I walked slowly out of my room and across the den, watching out the windows for the demon. In the dining room, I grabbed my phone and Hope’s from the table. On hers I called 911 and dialed Ivana on mine immediately after.

“My ex-husband is outside trying to get in my house,” I told the dispatcher. “I have a restraining order, and he’s told me he’s going to kill me.”

“Is anyone else in the house?” she asked, sounding bored.

There was no way to explain his insanity to her without sounding insane myself. “My three kids are here. He has schizophrenia.” It was the first time I had said that to anyone but my mom. It sounded scarier out loud.

“Stay on the line while I dispatch a car. Officers will be there as soon as they can.” She confirmed my name and his, then repeated my address twice.

“He’s at the dining-room window, looking in at me,” I whispered, walking sideways with my back tight to the wall until I could turn the corner to the den.

“Where are your children?” she asked.

“Hiding.” I took a deep breath. “I have a gun. Tell the officers I have a gun. It’s loaded.”

I heard her calling it in, sending help my way. She wasn’t bored anymore, and I could tell from how fast she was talking that she believed like I did that no one could get to me in time.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I looked around the doorway into the dining room. He was jabbing the tip of a foot-long, curved knife against the window. That knife could break the window with no real effort, but he wasn’t breaking anything, just tapping, just teasing, just wrapping his fingers around my throat and holding me under the water. Deep in the river. Anytime he wanted to, he could. He could kill me … but not only me.

He moved to the front door, tried the knob, and then moved on to the office window.

Tap. Tap-a-tap. Tap.

Around and around the house he went, tapping and teasing. I had seen the horns, curved beast horns that looked more demon than devil. They looked like real antler-type material, and I couldn’t imagine where he’d bought them. He was wearing a black shirt, a button-down that had once made him look suave instead of satanic, and red leggings that might have been Ivana’s.

I remembered I’d dialed her and lifted that phone to my ear. The 911 phone was on the sofa. “Ivana? Are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here. I wish you wouldn’t have called the police. I asked you not to. And good God, Cara. You have a gun? Do you really? I’m in Little Rock. I’m on my way, but I’m in Little Rock.” Her voice rose and cracked. She was crying.

“He’s tapping on my windows with a knife, Ivana. And he’s dressed like a demon, wearing tights and horns. If I have to shoot him, I will.”

She let out a little cry, like a puppy whimper. “Shoot him in the leg. Please, Cara. If you have to, just shoot him in the leg.”

I hung up the phone. Not because of what she said, but because of the images in my head. I knew beyond any doubt that I wouldn’t shoot him in the leg. I would shoot him over and over in every vital organ. I would put more bullets in the gun and shoot him again. I wouldn’t stop shooting him until someone made me.

Something bumped my elbow, made me jump, and I swung around to see Hope staring up at me. Her eyes were haunted and dark, stretched wide with shock. I had no idea how long she had been there, what she had heard. Maybe she had been there all along, ignoring my directive to hide with Drew and Jada.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Please don’t shoot him.” Her words fell flat, deflated before I even tried to punch them down. “Just don’t,” she said. No passion, no power. She was empty of all those things, and I wondered if the overload of trauma and insanity would leave her cup forever perforated, leaking trust and security. Or if someday she would be able to hold good things again without the terror that everything could fall apart at any second, without wondering if Mommy would have to hold a man at gunpoint and weigh the consequences of not shooting.

The tapping moved to my bedroom window. I didn’t go in there to watch him through the glass. The shades were pulled. It was dark in there. If he made it into the house, I wanted to face him in the light. I stayed in the den, back against the side of the staircase, Hope at my elbow whispering things I didn’t have the ears to process.