When Yesterday Dawns

Chapter One: Klutzy

2005

Gloved fingers meticulously clipped words from the stack of outdated magazines, carefully organizing them in a straight line desk. Two sharp knocks were followed by the words, "House Keeping." He barked, "No, nothing." The squeaky wheel of the cleaning cart continued down the hallway, and he returned to his paper words.

***

She flipped open the cell phone and punched a button. Hi sweetie, showed in the display. She typed out Hi, didn't expect to hear from you so soon. The hourglass turned end over end until Message Sent flashed on the screen. I need to wash dishes. Rinsing in the stainless steel double sink, she jumped when the buzz-ding sounded next to her. Wiping her right hand on her apron, she pressed the menu button.

I had such a great time. Are you busy this weekend?

Tennis shoes tapped on the floor while both arms pumped in of an ecstatic victory dance. Feeling like a teenager, she toyed with the idea of making him wait. Until this evening... then, until later... or until the dishwasher is loaded. Tucking her black hair behind her ear, she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Oh, fine! Drying the delicate hands on her apron once more, she swiped the phone off the counter. She hit the number 7 four times, only stopping when the letter S showed followed by a blinking cursor. She continued, finally hitting send after Sounds great! had been tapped out.

Giddy with weekend plans in place, she switched on the radio and hummed along with the songs, checking to be sure the shades were drawn before dancing across the hardwood floor. Scooping up a rag and the polish, a smile settled on her face. Between the coral lips, two rows of braces-straight teeth shined. The old Backstreet Boys t-shirt made quick work of the bannister. Admiring the shine, she heard the squeak of the metal mail letter slot in her door. Several envelopes, two circulars, and a magazine dropped to the floor. Stepping to the front door of the upscale townhouse, French manicured fingers shuffled through the day's mail.

Frowning, but still singing quietly, she held a plain white envelope up to the light. No return address. A prickle of unease brought a hint of nausea and silenced the song on her lips. Typed, not printed. She shivered. Slowly, she flipped the envelope over. Pressing one finger under the flap, she ignored the sting of a paper cut, leaving a teardrop shape of quickly browned blood. The sight unsettled her, brought images from another life to mind. Reaching into the paper pocket, she pulled out one slip of paper. Words trimmed from magazines, in a mismatch of fonts glared at her. Her eyes tripped across the words, then once more, until black spots swam through her vision. She crumbled the paper, and then straightened it, reading the words a third time.

The wrinkled piece of paper trembled in her fingers. She gagged. Lifting her hand over her mouth, she squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, "Oh, no!" Her tormented cry echoed through the sparsely furnished house. Not again! She took three steps forward and threw open the front door. The manicured lawn of the residential city block greeted her. She eased onto the porch. Drawing her eyes across the porch swing, the potted plants, Nothing has been touched, she thought. Pulling herself back into the pristine home, she closed the door and shuddered. For the first time in years, she turned each of the four deadbolts. Turning to face the foyer, she leaned her back against the red metal door. Oh, God in heaven, please help me. I cannot do this again.

***

Ten years later

As Nikki Williams closed the file cabinet drawer, the bells on the leather strap jingled. She spun in the desk chair, tucked a strand of long curly hair behind her ear. Her green eyes focused on the figure striding into the waiting room.