Sister in Black | A Home Before Dark Entry

Sister in Black

An electric current runs through my veins, heightened by the incessant thumping of my heart. It makes my fingers slip while connecting key with ignition, my foot tapping the dead pedal. I check the backseat and lock the doors.

I haven't been alone for days. The city is in chaos lately, and people are afraid to leave their homes, but my shadow is perseverant; I am weak. Maybe it's my fault.

My boot leans heavily on the gas. My ears are straining to listen over my heartbeat, begging to predict a threat before it's too late. The radio plays a subtle track in the background: a woman who escaped a kidnapping. My eyes lock on the road ahead, fingers itching to spin the knob until her voice blends with the sound of tires on pavement. The moon gleems mockingly through the clouds, like it's laughing at me for finding security in daylight.

The city fades to suburbs through the light fog. When I pull into the driveway, my skin crawls with goosebumps and the wind seems to creep up my exposed flesh. I survey the cul-de-sac before I walk in, locking the door behind me.

The vinyl floor creaks under my feet. I pause, but the noise does not. My knuckles tense around the keys I've forgotten to hang by the door.

It doesn't take long for my leaping heart and rattling breath to grow overwhelming. A light flicks on. I swing around to see Jem standing by the light switch. I shake off the uneasiness his appearance left on my mind and step into the light.

He crosses the room in long strides and embraces me. I let my shoulders relax and wrap my arms around him. "What is it?" I ask lightly, and the words come out muffled against his shoulder.

He dips his head and sighs, his hold on me no lighter than before. "Jeremiah," I say sternly, pulling back. I want to see his face when he answers. "What's happened?"

"Why don't we sit down?"

He leads me to the lounge sofa and we sit across from one another. His face is backlit, emphasizing the shadows and creases on his skin.

"Ivy . . ." He trails off, shifting uncomfortably. "You were right."

I flip my hair to the side, confused and awkward. "About what?"

"While you were gone, I came by and there was . . . a man outside the back door, just--standing there. Watching. Waiting, I guess."

My face falls. I tuck my knees up and rest my chin on them. Waiting for me.

"He's been arrested, but--Ivy, he's a convicted felon in 12 provinces. I--I'm so sorry I didn't take you seriously before." He rakes a breath in.

I don't reply. My mind spins in slow-motion.

My shadow has been found and imprisoned.

Somehow, I don't feel better; there is no satisfaction unparalleled, no relief. To be a woman is to be vulnerable, but I am not prey.