13. THE INVADER

THE INVADER

A crash somewhere in the house ripped me from sleep. The bedroom was dark except for a small sliver of moonlight peaking through the curtains. My eyes strained to focus as they searched the space, my brain still foggy with dreams. A sharp crash thundered from somewhere in the front of my house that had me up and balancing on shaky legs in an instant, wobbling like a newborn fawn. My head spun as my feet instinctively moved toward the baby monitor on my nightstand to check on my little ones. My shoulders relaxed a little when I saw them there fast asleep, snug in their beds, the low thrumming of the sound machine off in the distance. What was that sound? My mind raced. Steven just left on a trip. I'm here alone. Did a picture fall off of the wall? Then something clinked and clattered. Chimes? No. Glass. The sound of glass shattering to the floor. Then heavy boots hitting the hardwood, stalking slowly, and carefully somewhere not too far away. I went wholly still. Then the frozen terror melted into fury, my shaking hands balled into fists, as those heavy steps started up the staircase, towards me, towards my girls . My body lurched into action, and I pulled my joggers on and reached for my phone on the nightstand.

"This is 911. What is your emergency?" A woman asked, even-toned, almost robotically.

I whispered, "Someone is in my house. I have two children here. Please send help. They're coming." My voice cracked.

"Stay on the line with me. I'm dispatching a car right now. They'll be there in just a few minutes. Stay with me." She commanded as if she had the power to protect me through the satellite signal.

I disobeyed, setting the phone on the bed to scan the darkness for an object that could be used as a weapon.

The footsteps grew louder and heavier until they made it to the hallway, and the floor groaned outside my bedroom door beneath the weight of whatever massive thing loomed there, listening, searching. I crept cautiously toward the dresser, careful to avoid the loud boards, the ones I'd memorized while up all night rocking Olivia to sleep when she'd been an infant. Inhaling sharply, I reached for a glass mug with shaking fingers. And waited.

The bedroom door cracked open, hinges moaning a warning. I sucked in tiny gulps of air, my heart pounding against my ribcage. In a flash, I leapt forward, swinging the mug with desperate precision. It connected with a sickening thud against the side of his bald head. The dark figure growled, a guttural sound of pain and fury, as he staggered back into the hallway. Get to the kitchen. Get a knife. Get to my kids . The frantic thoughts raced through my mind as I bolted from the room, but his large, strong hands shot out, snatching a handful of my hair and yanking me back.

My feet flew out from under me, and in an instant, he was dragging me down the stairs away from my daughters. Good. My heels thumped and scraped against the steps as I struggled for leverage, his grip on my hair unyielding. My hands clawed at his fist, flailed, and punched in wild desperation.

He threw me across the living room floor, where I collided with the sofa, breath knocked out of me. Scrambling to my feet, adrenaline surging, I charged at him with every ounce of strength in my body. My scream, raw and primal, pierced the air as I hurled myself at the dark mass, determined to protect my family at all costs.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOOOOOUSE!" I roared as I collided with his muscled body.

Despite his size, he grunted and fell back. I kicked and punched and scratched at the large head and those wide eyes as arms the size of logs closed around me and tightened, forcing the air from my lungs. Rage. Blind, murderous rage took root inside of me, and I went wild with madness. I'd kill him, I'd kill him! My skin seemed to burn with wrath. It must have been the adrenaline, but my hands that were pinned to my sides started to tingle, as if electricity danced across my palms. "Let me go, you piece of shit!" I shouted curse words as if I could somehow weaponize them. Then something happened, and my body just took over like it knew what to do, how to fight, and I head-butted any reachable surface, snarling, spitting like a rabid dog until I landed one solid blow to his nose with my forehead and felt a cool smear of blood on my face as the grip around me loosened.

I pulled my knees up into my chest between us and shoved my feet into his ribs, pushing off until his arms were forced open. He snarled as I flew backward out of his grasp, my back and head slamming into the floor. I inhaled raggedly. White lights clouded my vision as I gasped for air. A door opened and shut. Had the girls come downstairs? I whirled, searching the shadows through blurred vision. Did this man have friends, more horrible bastards coming to end me? Or worse? I would kill them all. The Ogre-sized man stalked towards me, teeth bared.

A warm breeze blew my hair across my face. My vision cleared just as he reached for me. I cried out as I scrambled backward and scuttled across the rug, trying to get away, get away, get away, and get to my feet. Then, as if propelled by the shadows themselves, he was airborne, thrown by some invisible force. His body slammed into the far living room wall, head snapping back with a crack as he sagged to the floor, lifeless. I frantically searched the living room, eyes darting from one wall to the next, combing the darkness for someone else. Someone had to be here with me, someone or something capable of throwing a man the size of a refrigerator across the room.

"Hello?" I whispered, barely audible, as I rose on shaky legs.

The chandelier light came alive, temporarily blinding me. When my eyes adjusted, they found a pale, three-hundred-pound man with a goatee and bald head lying unconscious on the floor, his body at an unnatural angle. Blood pooled under his nose and slid down deep, weather-worn frown lines. The blue and white peacock wallpaper above him was dented and shredded, like it had been hit with a wrecking ball. My fingers went to my mouth to stifle a small cry working its way up my throat.

"Are you okay?" asked a low, gravely voice, an otherworldly tone enveloped in rage and wrath.

The voice was familiar but strange. I froze. Then, slowly, so slowly, I turned towards it.

Andras leaned against the wall nearest to my dining table, his hands in his black trouser pockets, head angled in question, his expression unreadable. Am I hallucinating?

"Andras?"

I blinked hard, but he was still there.

"Yes. It's me." He tilted his head. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" he asked gently, in a way that sounded more like the man I knew.

I wrapped my arms around myself, "Why are you…how did you get…" I took a slow, deep breath and tried again, "Where did you come from? And him?" I stammered, unable to slow the cascade of thoughts and questions crashing into me, unable to form a full sentence.

Andras glanced sidelong at the brute. "I don't know who he is. I was walking by and I heard you yelling, heard a struggle. Are you hurt?" His eyes raked over my body and face.

My hands went to my hair and touched my face gingerly, then ran them down my body. Everything was numb.

"I–I don't know. I don't think so." A pause. And then terror flooded through me. "Oh no! Olivia! Victoria!" I spun, then sprinted towards the stairs that led to the second floor, to their room, taking two at a time I clamored up them. My bare feet smacked the polished hardwood as I flew down the hall and braced myself for something horrible as I swung open their bedroom door. The room was dark except for a small night light in the far corner. The quiet lull of a fan and the crashing waves of the sea poured from their sound machines and both girls were fast asleep. I breathed a sigh of relief, then double-checked the windows and the closet before closing the door and checking the rest of the upstairs, then padding back downstairs cautiously to where Andras still stood in the same spot, unmoved. I slowly entered the living room, eyeing the unconscious man, hating him with a depth and severity that unnerved me. He'd entered our safe space, he'd put his hands on me, he— Was he breathing? A dark and cruel part of me hoped he wasn't.

"Are your daughters alright?" Andras asked, dipping his chin to levy his eyes at me.

I nodded once. "Is he alive?" I asked. I gestured to the unconscious behemoth.

"Barely," Andras responded flatly, a hint of disdain in his voice. "We should probably call the police to get rid of him."

"I already did. I called 911 for help, but...I'm sure they'll be here any second."

I went to the couch and collapsed onto the cushions. I ran my hands through the wild, tangled mess of my hair.

"I can't believe this. Thank Gods the kids weren't hurt and didn't see anything."

Jess and I hadn't been so lucky when we were younger, when we'd come across our father twisted and flecked with blood. The image would torment me forever, and I never wanted my girls to experience anything like it.

Andras's focus shifted to the floor.

"I remembered that you had children so I checked on them first when I got here, that's why it took a second for me to get to you."

Sliding my hands down my face, I narrowed my aching eyes on him,

"What do you mean you checked on them first? How would you have done that? I heard the door open, and then this man was airborne. There wasn't enough time…and how…how did you throw him like that?"

I panted between words, struggling to get enough air into my lungs.

He nodded as if to admit that it did seem strange. His hands slid out of his pockets, and he rolled his shoulders before prowling towards the man and crouching down to examine his face.

"Maybe it seemed faster than it was because you were in the middle of trying to gouge out his eyeballs. I heard struggling from the sidewalk, came in and saw you both, and worried that more men might be in the house. Since you seemed to have the situation here under control, at least for a moment, I ran up and checked on the girls, sniffed around for more of him, and then rushed back to you. Just in time, it seems." He smiled tightly at me. "I'm not exactly small, Danny. We are about the same height, me and this bastard."

He smiled again, with his teeth this time, but the smile didn't reach his eyes, which seemed darker than usual, darker than midnight blue, almost black. Maybe because the room was dimly lit? But no, that couldn't be it, poor lighting wouldn't turn sapphire to obsidian. I was so tired.

Andras was tall, and even beneath the dark gray sweater, you could see that his body was strong and muscled. Still, he'd have to be a fucking giant to toss someone that size like a sack of potatoes. I opened my mouth to tell him that but stopped when I noticed a change in him. He was still crouched to examine the man, but his head was now cocked to the side, eyes wide with shock or confusion.

"What is it?" I asked, getting to my feet.

"Have you ever seen this man before?" Andras asked, without taking his eyes off of the giant.

"No. Why? Do you recognize him?"

My heart thundered against my rib cage, boom, boom, boom, and I wrung my hands so hard the knuckles ached. Andras slowly stood, eyes still trained on the man. His hands were balled into fists so tight that his knuckles were white.

"Andras?" I asked.

His eyes, full of worry, slowly slid to meet mine.

Red and blue flashing lights bounced across the living room window. Andras's gaze darted about the room as if he were on the verge of panic. I went to the curtains to peer out. Three police cars had stopped in front of my house, parking in the middle of the street. Officers slowly exited the cars, hands on their guns as they crept towards my house. I turned to tell Andras that the officers were about to reach the front door, but he was gone. There were no footsteps leading away from the room, no sound of a door opening or closing, no trace that he'd ever been there at all, like he'd evaporated or like I'd imagined it.

I pulled open my front door to twirling blue car lights and three male police officers with their weapons drawn on my porch. They eyed me carefully, armed and on edge. Carefully, so carefully, I put my hands up and said, "This is my house. I called 911 because a man," my voice cracked, "broke in. He's in here. I have two children asleep upstairs. They're safe." I angled my body away from the door so they could see inside the house. The police officers crept slowly past me, and once inside the living room, they paused, their shoulders relaxing as they exchanged confused glances with each other and then turned back to me. One of them, a man of average height with a mustache, snuck towards the lump on the floor, then squatted down to check his pulse.

"He's alive," he said, "But he's out cold. Call an ambulance. We can cuff him to the bed." Another police officer, a woman with strawberry blonde hair and kind eyes set into a freckled face, came up to me.

"Ma'am, do you want to start from the beginning and tell me everything that happened?"

She took a notepad out of her pocket.

Tears rolled down my cheeks while I answered the police officer's questions. No, I'd never seen him before, and no, I had nothing particularly valuable to steal. How did he end up on the floor? I didn't know. The details were fuzzy. I'd charged him and fought him off like a rabid honey badger, a partial truth, and that's how he ended up there. He must have tripped, I lied. I left out the part where Andras had appeared out of nowhere, like a godsdamned archangel, to save me. I wasn't really sure why I decided to leave it out, other than I had no idea how to explain it without sounding insane. He came in like a breeze, knocked out the man on the floor, and then disappeared into thin air. At that point, it felt entirely possible that I'd imagined him, a kind of stress-induced hallucination, if such a thing existed.

The officer explained, "There have been a string of break-ins in this area. Usually, the houses are vacant, though. Something tells me that this is the guy responsible for them. He probably cased your place, saw your husband leave with luggage when he was staking out the street, and assumed your house was empty."

She tapped her notebook with her pen.

"My guess is you surprised him by being here."

"I had this weird feeling like I was being watched all week," I said, hugging myself.

"Because you were." The officer said.

They were kind enough to quietly check the girls' room without waking them.

"The house is clear," an officer yelled from the kitchen.

I stood aside as two EMTs wheeled the burglar out of my house on a stretcher, still unconscious. He groaned as they went down the stairs, and I shut and latched the door behind them, watching from the window as they carted him toward the ambulance. They fanned open the ambulance doors and without warning, the burglar rolled off of the stretcher and landed on his feet like a cat. I brought my hand to my mouth and tried to stifle a scream as panic struck. A police officer near him lunged for the man, but he took off in an unnaturally fast sprint with two police officers in pursuit on foot. One of the cars lurched forward, lights on, siren wailing, before it disappeared out of sight.

A knock sounded at my front door, and I startled. When I cracked it, an officer stood there with a sorrowful expression on her face.

"Ma'am, I'm so sorry." And she looked sorry, face pinched, and mouth turned downward, "The suspect regained consciousness and fled the scene. Our officers are in pursuit and shouldn't have too difficult of a time catching him. But just to make sure he doesn't try to come back here, I'm going to stay through the night. If you need anything at all or see anything strange, I'm parked right in front of your house. I'll keep you updated."

I nodded, unable to form words or articulate the ten thousand questions and fears plaguing me. How did he get away from them so quickly and easily? Did they think he'd come back here? I thanked the officer for staying to watch the house then closed and locked the door. I shuddered as my house fell dark and silent again.

I swept the broken glass from the floor and taped the window shut with some plastic bags I found. I phoned my sister, then made tea with hands that wouldn't stop trembling, the whole horrible thing playing over and over in my mind. I thought of Andras. Something about the burglar had spooked him, and then he'd vanished.

Sitting at the top of the stairs, I slowly sipped the chamomile tea I'd made and listened to the sounds of my house resettling. Every creak and bump nearly brought me out of my skin and to my feet.