Darkness fell.
It was a stormy night as a gust of wind blew through the streets and through the alcove. The trees whistled and the branches thrashed about like claws scratching at the air and the rain pounded the windows and door like a stranger seeking shelter.
Bill climbed out his car, popped his coat collar, shielded his head with a newspaper and galloped across the lawn as rain danced staccato around his feet. He stuck his key in the door while balancing the newspaper over his head, twisted the doorknob, rushed inside, and stood in the anteroom, shaking the rain off like a drenched animal.
He got out of his wet coat, tossed it on a coat rack, and reached for the light switch.
“Leave the light off,” a strange voice demanded.
Bill was startled. His eyes squinted as he attempted to identify the silhouette that stood in the dark. But the stranger was dressed in all black—from his black shoes to his black knit hat.
Bill contemplated his next move as anger and fear consumed him, but then he noticed an object in the stranger’s hand. His eyes traveled up the staircase.
“She’s not home,” the stranger said.
“Who are you?” Bill finally asked. “And what do you want?” There was an air of anger in his voice, behind which nervous energy brewed.
“You’ve been snooping around, asking a lot of questions.”
The man held a gun at his side. He paced back and forth, piercing the dark with his intense eyes. He appeared unstable. Bill became even more unnerved.
“We warned you not to come around but you wouldn’t listen." The stranger griped the gun tightly in his hand.
Bill worried about Patricia’s walking through the door. He had no idea how this portentous night would end.
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