Shattered Sanctuary
The restraining order was very specific: two hundred yards. He’d already overstepped that limit fifty yards ago when he drove by my house.
I squeezed my paralyzed body closer to the mango tree in the backyard. Chills crept down my back. I wasn’t surprised he would violate a judge’s decision so blatantly, but in broad daylight?
Audacious bastard.
In my nightmares, he always found me at sundown. He’d kill me in the humid dark, with no one around, just me and him. Butterflies and sunlight make the scene no less frightening in my mind.
If he had looked more closely outside, catty-corner to the garage, he’d have seen me. An unattended ladder and an overturned fruit basket I’d dropped could had given away my position. I was hyperventilating yet couldn’t breathe.
He hadn’t seen me, but now, glued to the tree trunk, I couldn’t see him, either. I’d have to listen my way around, hearing out his movements. The loud clank of his boots headed for the front door.
Oh God, my kids… Don’t you dare go inside the house, you asshole!
He must have read my mind.
My heart pounded in my ears, making it hard to decipher his exact position and movements. I could race into the house, grab my kids and run. It was a clear shot to the back door, but a long one, nonetheless. No, he’d see me. He’d hear my kids shuffling around inside. I couldn’t keep them quiet and pack, too. If he wasn’t so close to me, I could get out of here alive.
One of the three security cameras that faced the perimeter had to be recording.
Please have batteries.
Take off your helmet and show your face, you coward! Then I can put you in a Brazilian prison for life.
I peered from behind my hiding spot. He circled the open garage and knelt down, picking up a corner of the cheap, blue tarp covering my car. Flipping up the visor on his helmet, he stared at the license plate.
Dammit! I hit the bark of a tree with my fist, and parakeets flittered from the leaves above. The movement startled us both. I veered, hunched down, and hugged my knees. A dab of white mango sap clotted in my hair. Inhale, exhale, keep quiet. Inhale, exhale — what was that sound?
The drought-stricken grass beneath his feet crunched louder with each nearing step.
I was so close to getting away. God, please…
My children — my hand formed a fist. Think it through. You can do this. Did he have something in his hands? Knife or gun… Concentrate, dammit!
My mind hazed, fogging up with panic. I had exit plans, millions of them, but none started in my backyard with him so close to me.
A fiery-red ant crawled onto my shoulder.
Shit! Don’t breathe so loud. He’ll hear you.
My delusions of getting away from him alive crumbled. So this is how it ends? A tear escaped. The more I tried to hush my whimpering, the harder it got. With my face buried between my knees, I couldn’t look. Please don’t let it be my children who find my body. Let it be somebody else, please, God.
“Bom dia, Senhor. Posso te ajudar?” hollered a voice from across the street. I peeped out of my hiding spot. A local gardener in an oversized straw hat walked toward the open garage. Torn shirt, stained blue jeans, and flip-flops: angels came in all shapes and sizes. Holding his giant metal rake to his side, he repeated the question. There was no answer.
The grass-crunching near me halted.
I didn’t dare look. The steps quieted then transferred to concrete pavement, and his motorcycle’s engine fired up.
Maybe he didn’t want a witness. Or two murders. I didn’t know or care at that point. Years ago, he would have liked the audience. He was a quick learner and changed his methods after I told him to go to hell.
I hadn’t been in the rental house long enough to learn the gardener’s name, yet I owed him my life. No longer crippled by fear, I dusted the ant off my arm.
As soon as the motorcycle drove off, I dashed into the house. “Kids, Daddy found us!” The screen door closed with a sharp bang. “Get your stuff! We’ve gotta leave, now!”
If you liked this excerpt, you may purchase the complete work here.
