Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 8: 212 Degrees

Part 1: Sophie

A whole week had passed since the last ‘gift’, and Sophie was getting anxious. Vic had grilled her twice about every relationship in her life, from Mrs. Striker to her first date with a college campus ministry friend (which had ended rather awkwardly with her dad rescuing them from a flat tire disaster, and the romance had fallen as flat as the tire). Vic wouldn’t reveal if he had any suspicions. He also wouldn’t tell her if he’d gotten any more news from the fingerprints collected at her car except to say the fingerprints on the rock matched one set from her apartment.

She just wanted the whole mess to be over and done with. Why couldn’t real life be like a cop show? 40 minutes from crime to a neat and tidy arrest. If that were reality, they’d have caught her stalker four times over by now. TV in no way resembled the lack of answers and movement she witnessed in real life.

Sophie had just enough awareness to realize it was quite possible Vic knew more than he was telling her. Keeping info to himself made sense. If Sophie didn’t know who might be a suspect, there was no way to insert herself into the situation and get into trouble – like the silly girls on those crime dramas.

The upside to the angst? Sam took her out to dinner or cooked for her at his parents’ house every night he wasn’t working, which had been 4 of the last 7. As tempted as she was to dwell on the anxiety of her situation, she spent far more time thinking about Sam. She caught herself daydreaming at work instead of working on the New Albany project (they had been awarded the proposal the week before). She struggled to remember all he was teaching her about self-defense, even as she religiously carried her pepper spray everywhere.

Daydreaming was at the top of her Friday evening to-do list as she sat at home, wishing Sam hadn’t had to work the night shift. He promised to stop by with takeout at 8 to have a late dinner with her before reporting in at 10, so at least there was something to look forward to. In the mean time and between time, Sophie challenged herself to make a refrigerator ‘cookie’ recipe she had found. She figured as long as she didn’t turn on the oven, she’d be safe.

Chocolate chips and peanut butter were melting in the microwave while she measured oats and crisp rice cereal into a bowl. She was not at all ready for the knock on the door that surprised her into scattering oats on the counter. As she scurried to the door, a distinctive popping noise told her the chocolate, peanut butter, or both were exploding across the roof of the microwave. With a sigh of resignation to the mess, she dusted off her hands and checked the peephole.

She could tell it was a man, but nothing about him was familiar. He looked down, so she could see brown hair with streaks of silver at the temples. The peephole was too small to make out anything else.

“Delivery for Sophie Lane?” the man called, his voice gruff like a smoker. She heard the sound of a plastic bag shuffling.

“From whom?” Sophie asked, then second-guessed herself. Should she have pretended not to be home? But the door was so thin the man had probably heard not only her approach but also the microwave beeping.

“Chen’s,” the man replied, naming the Chinese restaurant down the street. Come to think of it, Sam had mentioned Chen’s as one of their options for dinner tonight. Perhaps he had ordered ahead?

Satisfied with the logic of that idea, she released the chain and flipped the deadbolt. She opened the door just far enough to accept the food, keeping one foot behind it.

The second the delivery man raised his head, she realized her mistake. Hindsight being 20/20, she should have told him to leave the food. Unfortunately, that was no longer an option.

The man was wearing a mask. His ‘hair’, a wig on top of a balaclava, slid off and hit the ground the moment he reached for her. She barely had time to squeak in surprise before one of his gloved hands covered her mouth and another pushed her back inside her apartment. He slammed the door with his foot and pinned her to the wall. God, help me!

She tried to fight back; really, she tried. But in all the time talking about self-defense and the one time they had practiced, she’d never been so terrified. Her whole body shook as she looked into crushing emotion-less eyes. Whoever this man was, he had no soul and no compassion.

Sophie managed to yank one arm free in her mindless flailing. She heard a gratifying grunt as her fist came close to a tender area. Victory was short-lived, though. Before she knew it, he had her face pressed against the wall as he bound her wrists behind her back.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she tried to yell, but her voice came out breathy and high. Fear crushed her lungs.

The man said nothing, just tied a strip of cloth as a gag around her mouth, then dropped a hood over her head.

If she had been frightened before, this was the definition of sheer terror. She couldn’t move, speak, fight, or see. Every sense was dulled and hampered in some way, and all she wanted was someone to save her.

Wait a minute! She still had her legs free. She picked up one foot and started indiscriminately stomping, hoping to hit one of his. Unfortunately, he either had good reflexes or he saw it coming, because all her foot met was her own carpeting.

When he grabbed one of her arms and yanked open the door, she let her body turn to a noodle and tried to drop all her weight on the floor. All that earned her was a sore rear as she hit the floor, followed by a harsh blow to the side of her head. Seeing stars, the man yanked her to her feet.

She had nothing left. Adrenaline had shocked her body, and she shook from head to toe. She couldn’t do any of the maneuvers she and Sam had discussed. She didn’t have her pepper spray. Her hands were bound so she couldn’t reach her phone.

Oh, thank you, Jesus! God bless Sam for teaching her to always have her phone on her person, even at home. The little device was in her back pocket, hidden beneath the oversized hoodie from her brother’s college football days. All she would need was some time to herself and mind-bending flexibility, and maybe she could do that fancy location-sharing thing Sam had taught her. Long stretch, but she had hope.

The man marched her down the stairs, holding tight so she didn’t fall. She listened carefully for the sounds of any other humans, but nothing met her ears. Come to think of it, though, she hadn’t heard her door shut. A little glowing light of hope lit in her belly. Sam will see the open door and know.

There was little oxygen to feed the flame of hope, though, when she was hoisted into a tall vehicle and driven away from her home.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 7: Yes, Sir, We Got Trouble

Part 4: Sam

Sam couldn’t decide whether to be angry or just roll his eyes. Two weeks of quiet, and now this?

Sophie’s little sedan had been keyed. A trip around the perimeter of her vehicle revealed deep scratches gouging both sides and the hood. Someone had tried to break one of the rear windows but only succeeded in making a splintering crack. A rock on the pavement next to the car seemed like too good of a tip to be true.

“Don’t touch,” he quickly warned as he saw Sophie stretch a finger toward one of the scratches. She immediately drew her hand back and wrapped both arms around her waist. Sam went to her and put an arm around her shoulders while drawing out his cell phone.

“I don’t understand,” she spoke so quietly, her voice breaking.

“It’s going to be okay,” Sam tried to reassure her, but he had no idea how to actually do that. Currently his mind was leaning towards hiding her away somewhere no one would think to look while she took a leave of absence from work until Vic found her stalker. Why did the man – and Sam was convinced it was a male – torment Sophie without leaving any messages? They had gone through so many of her memories and interactions over and over, and she never remembered anything that someone might have taken as a slight. She was sweet and kind, on the quiet side, too trusting and naive to cause anyone offense.

“Vic? Yeah, I’m at Sophie’s,” he said as soon as the man answered.

“Seriously? I’m still waiting for Thing One’s lawyer,” Vic grumbled in his ear. “What now?”

“Her car got keyed.”

After a beat of silence, Vic jumped to action. “I’ll be there in 10 with a fingerprint kit. Don’t -“

“Touch anything,” Sam finished. “I know the drill. But hey, you’ll be happy. One window is cracked, and there’s a perfectly suspicious rock on the ground right by it.”

“What in the world? This guy is weird,” Vic muttered. Sam heard the slamming of doors in the background. “I’m on my way.”

“Thanks.” Sam ended the call, noticing Sophie shivering next to him. He reached back into his car for the extra jacket he kept in the backseat. Something warm sprang up his chest at Sophie’s grateful smile when she slid her arms into the coat.

“Vic’s coming. As soon as he gets here, we’ll go inside so you can warm up,” he told her. She just nodded absently and kept silent as she stared at her car. It wasn’t a particularly nice or new car, but if he had to guess, she had paid for it herself. Her family, like his, didn’t seem the type to gift cars.

“Hey,” he nudged her. “You in there?”

“Hmm?” she looked up at him, a little dazed, he thought.

“It’s just a few scratches, Sophie. Your car will be fine.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But?” Sam prompted.

“Will I be?” she whispered.

He knew he had no right to make such a promise, but he did anyway. “Yes.” He felt her melt against him, so he squeezed her shoulders a little tighter. Now wasn’t the time, but the question of their relationship status threatened to roll off his tongue just then.

Vic saved him the bad timing by pulling into the parking lot and doing his bob and weave to inspect the car. He asked Sophie dozens of questions – did she always park here, when was the last time she drove the vehicle, where did she park at work, etc. Sophie answered them all with unflagging somberness. Sam kept a protective arm around her.

When Vic was gone, he ushered Sophie upstairs and into her living room.

“Why don’t you make yourself a cup of tea?” he suggested as he locked her deadbolt.

“Okay,” she mumbled, clearly distracted. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.” He didn’t do that weird flavored hot water stuff, not even coffee. He settled on the couch and waited for her to return, where she curled up next to him and dragged a blanket over her lap, still huddling in his coat.

How to start this conversation? Sam thought through another minute of silence.

“I’d like to talk to you about stepping up your personal safety. Are you calm enough for that conversation now?” he asked.

Sophie didn’t answer right away, taking a few sips of tea and a few deep breaths. Then, finally… “I think so.” So hesitant.

“All right. First one’s easy. Do you know how to share your location through the messaging app on your phone?”

Her wrinkled brow told him all he needed to know, so he walked her through changing her settings, then showed her how to share her location with a specific contact. He had her practice with him.

“How long does it last?” she asked.

“It’s just a one-time thing. See the little map? It won’t update if you move.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Worried someone will creep on you?” Sam asked without thinking. Thankfully, she laughed.

“No, I’m worried I’ll share my location with a dozen people and leave them all knowing everything I do!”

He grinned. “Don’t worry on that front. Next thing: have you been keeping your pepper spray handy?” he asked.

“I mean, pretty much,” she hedged.

Sam shook his head. “I’d like it in your hand whenever you are moving between your car and a building, between buildings, out for a walk – basically any time you have a free hand and aren’t at home or work.”

Sophie’s brow furrowed as she processed that thought, then just nodded.

“Good. Last thing for tonight: do you know the body’s major weak points if you need to fight someone off?” he asked, hoping the question didn’t scare the daylights out of her.

The sudden lack of color in her face told him that hope was thoroughly dashed.

“Do you think-“

“No. I’m not expecting anything bad to happen-” Okay, that wasn’t 100% true, but she was scared enough now – “but my grandpa always told me to be prepared. I’d like the same for you.”

She took a few shuddering breaths before refocusing on him. A blush snuck across her face. “With guys, I know, um, between the legs…”

He resisted the temptation to smile. “Yup, that’s your first port of call. What else?”

“I saw in a movie once to stomp on top of their feet if you get grabbed from behind.”

“Not bad, but sturdy shoes can stop that one. Think of a fight scene in a movie. Where do they aim their punches?” Sam prompted.

“The face,” Sophie replied immediately.

“Exactly. Shoving the heel of your hand,” he held up his palm and tapped the hard surface above his wrist, “into the nose is a really effective strategy. Everyone’s nose is a weak point. You can also throw an elbow into the eye socket or throat without having to worry about aim too much. You want to think about connecting the hardest points of your body with the weakest points on theirs.”

Sophie nodded, chewing on her lip in thought.

“Would you be willing to practice with me sometime?” Sam offered.

Looking a little hesitant and more than a little afraid, Sophie opened her mouth and shut it twice before answering. “If you think I should, I will.”

“I think it would be very wise, considering both where you live and that someone’s stalking you.” That fact never got gentler, no matter how much Sam wished it did.

“Then my answer is yes.”

“Excellent. I have one final question that I hope will also be a yes,” he hedged, feeling a sudden flurry of nerves.

“Oh?” Sophie asked, tilting her head. She obviously expected another self-defense question.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Why did that feel as serious as a proposal? He had to work to swallow, his mouth was so dry.

Sophie seemed to have no such problems. She hurriedly plunked her mug on the coffee table, not worrying when it sloshed over the sides. Then Sam let out a muffled ‘oomph’ as she threw herself into his chest, wrapping him in a big hug.

“YES!” she squeaked, and he couldn’t help but laugh in delight with her.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 7: Yes, Sir, We Got Trouble

Part 3: Sophie

Sophie took a deep breath and squeezed Sam’s hand. “Thank you for that.” She paused, trying to pick her words. “Do you need to do anything for work tonight?”

Sam wrinkled his forehead. “Work?”

“With what happened downstairs,” she clarified.

“Ah. Nope. I’ll write my report later. Do you still want to go to dinner?”

“If the offer still stands…?” She bit her bottom lip.

“It sure does,” he reassured.

“Yay!” she couldn’t help squealing a little. “Sorry.”

Sam laughed out loud. “Do you need to do anything before we go?”

“No, I’m ready.” Sophie looked down to be sure. Makeup and hair, check. Favorite purple sweater, check. Bootcut jeans that looked perfect with her little brown ankle booties, check.

“Then if you don’t mind, can I borrow your bathroom to change quickly?” Sam asked as he rose. She noticed for the first time the backpack he had brought in with him.

“Of course. You know the way,” Sophie pointed down the hall, gathering her water glass to clean up the kitchen while he did so. She figured he wouldn’t want to go out to dinner in uniform, and idly wondered what he did with his weapon in that case.

When he emerged from the bathroom in jeans and a polo, she grabbed her purse, unlocked the doors, then locked the deadbolt behind them.

“Was the man with Denise the same guy as before?” she suddenly asked on their way down the stairs.

“He didn’t match the description you gave, no,” Sam replied. “He’s blond and huge.”

Sophie chewed on that while they walked out to Sam’s car. Two different men? Then again, she was still having a hard time wrapping her mind around the idea that Denise was wanted for something drug-related. The woman had seemed so fragile and innocent that day Sophie had brought her into her apartment.

A sick sense of horror slid into her belly at that connection.

“Oh, gosh,” she muttered, covering her mouth.

“What?” Sam turned, all alert and watchful.

“I brought her in my apartment. Is she dangerous?” Sophie whispered, almost afraid of the answer.

Sam’s hesitation before responding didn’t help.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I’m not exactly thrilled that she keeps finding herself at the hands of ruthless men. I certainly wouldn’t encourage you to be her best friend or anything. However, sometimes you can’t read too much into drug charges. It’s possible she fell in with the wrong crowd, or was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t know the details of her charges, so I can’t really say whether she’s dangerous or not.”

They finally reached the car, where Sophie got some answers as she watched Sam secure his firearm in a lockbox built into to the trunk.

Sophie mulled over his words about Denise as he drive, wondering what exactly would happen for someone to get charged with a crime, not be in prison, and just have it be a matter of circumstances. She knew so little about the criminal world, and honestly, she intended to keep it that way.

Five minutes later, he parked in a public lot and used an app to pay for his space. Then he grabbed her hand and led her down the street before turning into one of the many old main street buildings. This one held multiple business on the main and second floors with a restaurant occupying the entire top floor.

“Duo’s?” she gaped open-mouthed at the sign as they made their way up the first flight of stairs. Sam glanced back at her.

“You been here yet?”

“No,” she breathed. “But I’ve heard so much about the night views from my coworkers. I’m so excited!”

He grinned. “I’m glad you like your surprise then.”

She did, oh so very much. Sam had gotten them a reserved table at the very edge of the restaurant. The kitchen was in one corner so that 2 1/2 walls of the place were tall glass windows. Their view overlooked the river, lit by old-fashioned street lights on the riverwalk and occasional boats. It was most definitely the most romantic date she’d ever been on, and she savored every moment of time and snippet of conversation with Sam.

A suspicion had been growing in Sophie’s heart over the past few dates. She really liked Sam, and at first she had assumed it was because he had come to her rescue. But then she noticed that Sam was very careful to separate business from pleasure, as it were. Once he was in ‘date’ mode, he didn’t ask her questions about her gifts or apartment situation. Sometimes he gave her random safety tips as she moved through her day, but those came from a place of concern for her lack of awareness, not necessarily because she was a ‘victim’ or something.

Which, she realized sadly, she was – and not the ‘or something’.

Looking up and down the riverwalk as they ate, a sudden realization had Sophie’s stomach turning over. Duo’s had a partial view of the town square along the river, right where her friends would be performing in – she glanced at her phone surreptitiously – 10 minutes! Oh, goodness. What should she do? There was no way Sam wouldn’t notice. The whole restaurant would see and start murmuring. The location had been chosen in part for that reason.

Nerves twisted her insides as she picked at her food for the next ten minutes, trying to engage in a conversation she couldn’t really follow. Before she was ready, she saw shadowy figures emerge from the crowd in the square and begin moving in sync.

Sure enough, Sam noticed the buzz in the restaurant and turned around to look.

“What in the world?” he muttered as he watched. He was silent for a minute, then, “Wait. Is that a flash mob? I’ve never seen one in person.”

Was he angry? Fascinated? She couldn’t tell. She needed him to look at her so she could read his face, but his attention was wholly focused on the dancers.

Interminable minutes passed before he looked her way.

“That was impressive! I wish I could have heard the music,” Sam commented, smiling with a twinkle of wonder in his eyes. Sophie found herself quietly letting out the breath she had been holding. She also had to work hard not to tell him what song it was.

“Your first?” she chose to comment in what felt like a safe direction.

“Yup. I wonder how it works,” he mused. “Hey, you dance. Did you recognize them?”

Sophie swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Somehow, her brain had to come up with an answer. “It’s, um, hard to see them from this far away.” Not a lie, strictly speaking – it just didn’t answer his question.

To her great relief, he accepted the answer and proceeded to ask about her history and experience dancing. She regaled him with stories of her past, of tiny tutus when she was 5 and begging for sequins when she was 8.

Sam held her hand all the way back to the car, then on the drive, she prompted him to tell about some of Ryan’s pranks. She laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks listening to him talk about the time Ryan had stuffed cotton balls in the toes of Sam’s shoes so he thought his feet had grown an inch overnight. He also had a penchant for short-sheeting Sam’s bed.

Before long, they pulled into the parking lot of the dreary Maple building. Sophie heaved a sigh, feeling a bit like Cinderella at the end of the ball.

When they got out of the car, though, even her twinge of melancholy was short-lived.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 7: Yes, Sir, We Got Trouble

Part 2: Sam

“Harrison!” Lt. Lehrer’s voice boomed down the hallway as Sam made his way out of the building after his shift ended at 7 Saturday night. He made a quick about-face and searched out his boss.

“Yes, sir?”

“My office.” The command had several other officers looking Sam’s way, and he fought the urge to duck his head. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Why was the LT calling him out?

“Yes, sir?” he asked again as he shut Lt. Lehrer’s door. To his surprise, Sgt. Breitung already sat in one of the chairs.

“Have a seat,” Lt. Lehrer gestured. Sam sat, casting a sideways glance at Vic, whose face was set grimly. Sudden anxiety churned in Sam’s gut.

“Sgt. Breitung,” the LT said with an open-handed gesture, inviting Vic to begin the conversation.

“I got some prints back from Sophie Lane’s apartment,” Vic jumped right in. Sam sat up straight.

“Who?”

“Well, ‘Denise’ is really Angel Dennison. She’s got outstanding drug-related warrants in Madison.”

“Holing up in a small town to evade detection?” Sam guessed.

“I think so.”

“Anyone else?”

“Three sets of unknowns. We don’t have any prints on file for the building super or anyone who might have done work in her apartment. But I can almost guarantee, based on where I found some of these, that whoever trashed her apartment didn’t bother with gloves,” Vic explained.

“He’s banking on a clean record?”

Vic nodded. “Most likely.”

Lt. Lehrer broke in. “I’m classifying her break-in as a stalker and adding all the other incident reports to her file. Sgt. Breitung will be keeping tabs on her case. I want anything new, no matter how suspicious, reported straight to Breitung. If she so much as feels twitchy and tells you, everything goes through him.” Lehrer pointed a fierce finger at Vic. “And I expect you to be on it. We don’t need this kind of ragamuffin in Williamson.”

“I’ve never investigated a stalker before,” Vic shrugged. “I’m down for new and fun.”

“Vic,” Sam growled. “She’s a real person.”

“Hey, cool your jets, Harrison,” Vic put his hands up defensively, then his face softened just a little. “I know she matters to you. We’ll take care of your girl, I promise.”

Sam nodded crisply. “Thanks.”

“Has Sophie caught sight of the guy who accosted Angel Dennison?” Vic asked.

“Not that she’s mentioned, and I asked her to tell me,” Sam replied. “Does she live in Sophie’s building?”

“Not according to the super. He also didn’t recognize the description of the male, but he didn’t seem like the most attentive manager on the planet,” Vic replied.

“He’s not. Have you seen the state of that place?” Sam scoffed.

“I have. More than once,” Vic nodded.

“Anything else for us, Breitung?” Lehrer asked.

“Not at the moment. I have Sophie’s number from Sam, so I can reach out if I come up with more questions for her.”

“All right. Breitung, hang tight a minute. Off you go, Harrison,” Lt. Lehrer dismissed him. With a final nod to both men, Sam resumed his trek toward his car. His mind was torn between replaying the news about ‘Denise’ and wondering what Sophie was doing right that moment.

Since the break-in two weeks ago, she hadn’t reported anything out of the ordinary. At first he assumed it was because she went out of town for a few days, but now the silence unnerved him. What did this creep want? When she’d turned him down for a date yesterday, citing dance practice with her friends, Sam had been tempted to scope out the warehouse to see if she was there. But he knew it was more important for both of them that he trust her.

Tonight, he was going to have dinner with her, and the dessert menu now included a conversation about ‘Denise’ and how Sophie would keep herself safe.

Before he could got on the road, though, his phone rang with Sophie’s ringtone. He had to laugh – she had swiped his phone at their last date and set a catchy snippet of an Imagine Dragons song as her ringtone. He didn’t mind – he found himself looking forward to hearing it.

“Good evening, Sophie,” he greeted over bluetooth. “I’m on my -“

“Sam?” she whispered, interrupting him. “Please hurry. I hear yelling.”

He immediately snapped into work mode. “Where are you?”

“My apartment,” she continued to whisper. “It sounds like Denise and a guy. I want to help her, but-“

“No. You have to stay put.” He didn’t have time to explain all he had learned. He needed to call for backup. “Get your pepper spray and hide on the other side of your bed. Do not open your door until I call and tell you to. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sam. I’m scared,” she confessed, her whisper now mixing with a hint of tears.

“You’re going to be fine,” he promised falsely. “Just do as I asked, please. I need to call for help, and I’ll be there in less than 10 minutes.”

“Okay,” she whimpered.

Sam quickly hung up and dialed Vic.

“Didja miss me already?” the stocky man teased.

“There’s a fight in Sophie’s building. She called to say it sounds like Denise and a man. I’m 6 minutes out,” Sam quickly relayed.

“I’m right behind you.”

“Grab a few more uniforms?” Sam suggested.

“Already on it.”

Without another word, Vic hung up. Sam knew he’d be there quickly with backup. Vic had the benefit of always driving his unmarked car. He’d throw on lights and sirens and practically beat Sam to Sophie’s building.

The Maple apartments looked just like they did any other day as Sam squealed into the parking lot. Old cars filled the lot and a few people loitered with cigarettes burning on the side of the building The difference today was the sound of the screeching people in the lobby that could be heard before he’d opened the door. He stood to the side of the glass front door and watched a tall blond man in a suit wrench Denise’s arm behind her back. She yelled even louder.

Sam waited the interminable two minutes until Vic was at his side and two more police cars were pulling into the lot. Then he, Vic, and three additional officers entered the lobby.

The man and Denise hadn’t moved from where Sam first saw them. Sam cataloged Denise’s tear-stained face, evidenced by her running makeup. She looked both fearful and angry. The blond man had muscles growing on his muscles, making Sam extra grateful for the backup.

Vic took the lead in entering the building and speaking to the fighting couple, but it was only a matter of minutes before both of them were in cuffs and sitting in the back of the squad cars. ‘Denise’ sobbed her innocence and victimhood with an Oscar-worthy performance. Muscle-man made no eye contact and refused to speak a word other than ‘lawyer’. Vic would probably identify him before the lawyer even showed up.
Sam sprinted up the stairs, dialing Sophie as he ran. Once he had identified himself, she opened her door and let him in. He noticed her hands were shaking as she slid the chain in place and locked the deadbolt once more.

“Sit, Sophie,” he encouraged. She didn’t need to hear it twice, sinking into the loveseat with a sigh. Sam took a chance and sat next to her. When he offered a hand, she gripped it tightly.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, knowing it wouldn’t be helpful to ask if she was ‘okay’. She obviously wasn’t.

“No, just scared,” she admitted.

“That’s understandable,” Sam acknowledged.

“It was Denise?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, then hesitated. How to broach the subject of what had been decided this afternoon?

“There’s something more?” Sophie asked, making the jump for him.

“Her name isn’t Denise. The fingerprints Sgt. Breitung – Vic – gathered in your apartment confirmed her identity as Angel Dennison. Does that name ring a bell?”

Sophie wrinkled her nose and cocked her head. “I don’t think so.”

“She’s wanted on a couple of drug charges out of Madison,” Sam explained.

“Oh, my,” Sophie breathed, looking almost sorrowful.

“Indeed,” Sam concurred. “Vic didn’t get anything from the other fingerprints he collected. He’s going to talk to your landlord to try to eliminate his and any workmen who might have been in here. But it’s almost certain he got fingerprints from your stalker; they just aren’t in the system.”

“Stalker? Oh, no. That isn’t…” Sophie’s face was a mask of shock. Maybe he should have addressed that one a little more gently.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized. “That’s how my boss is classifying the case, and he assigned Vic to investigate.”

Sophie blinked back tears. “Investigate? What does that mean?”

“He’ll look into the incidents you’ve told me about some more.” Sam sighed. “He’ll also probably want to talk to you at some point, dig into your relationships here and at home.”

A look of distaste crossed her face.

“I know, it sounds unpleasant, and it might be. But I’m here to support you in any way I can, and in the mean time, we’ll talk about the best ways to keep you safe.”

“Promise?”

“I’ll give you my best, Sophie.”

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 7: Yes, Sir, We Got Trouble

Part 1: Sophie

Her eyes had gone gritty from staring at blurry cell phone videos for the past two hours. While her wrist was already 2 weeks into its 6-8 week stint in a cast, her brain was firmly stuck in the past. Sophie could not let go of the question haunting her – how did that fall happen?

People almost always filmed flash mobs, and loved to post the videos online. It had taken all of her spare time across three evenings this week to find the two snippets of video she had been staring at on loop. Neither was good quality – apparently people in Williamson weren’t interested in the latest camera technology in their cell phones. She couldn’t complain, though; she didn’t care, either.

What she could see in the videos was too unclear to give an answer. Sometimes it looked like Ryan just lost his balance. Other times it almost looked like whoever was behind Ryan had bumped him. She scoured her notes and her memory, but no one should have been that close to a lift except the spotter. She was no closer to the truth but much closer to a headache.

With a heavy sigh, Sophie wrenched her eyes away from the computer and started plotting their next dance. The first practice would be tomorrow night, back at the warehouse she still had permission and access to use. She was hesitant, after that noise complaint, but the subsequent two practices had gone off without a hitch. With no good reason not to, she decided it made the most sense to keep using that space.

One decision she hadn’t made? What song they would dance to next. She felt a tug to do another Imagine Dragons piece. She did love them, after all, and they wrote some amazingly powerful songs that were also fun and high-energy to dance to.

Sophie pulled out her playlist she used to collect ideas and started scrolling through. So many fun ideas! ‘Warriors’ by Imagine Dragons was definitely on her radar. She liked ‘Thunder’ but was struggling to visualize the dance. ‘I Bet My Life’ definitely had the speed, rhythm, and energy she liked. She also loved the message of redemption and totally throwing yourself into a love you didn’t expect.

Maybe that was her answer. She slipped in her earbuds and shoved the coffee table against the loveseat to give herself as much room as possible. Then she listened to the song on repeat at least half a dozen times, moving however her mind encouraged. At the end of a half hour of dancing, she was sweating and breathing hard, but she’d migrated from rave-like, unchoreographed movements to something more refined.

She enjoyed finding body motions that communicated the heart of the music. Curved shoulders and a bowed head demonstrated the pain the singer put his loved one through. Then in the chorus, flinging that bowed head back and throwing her arms open showed the complete 180 his heart had gone through, that he was now ready to give everything for her. She was stumped as to how to present the line where the singer whispers a begging for forgiveness that tugged at her heartstrings, but she knew it would come eventually. They wouldn’t get to that part tomorrow, anyway.

By 10:00, she was exhausted and starving, because of course dancing was more urgent than dinner. She snarfed a protein bar, showered, and flung herself under the covers.

And then she stared at the ceiling. Or the backs of her eyelids. Or the ceiling some more. Then her pillow. Out the window. Her closet door.

When the time on her phone flipped to midnight, annoyance set in. She was generally patient with sleep. It came when her body was ready. But now her body was dead tired while her mind spun out of control.

So it was that she found herself once again staring at those blurry cell phone videos from their ‘Big Dreams’ dance while mentally replaying every horrible moment of her fall. That had never happened before, not in their handful of dances here in Williamson or the several dozen she’d participated in during her college years. She supposed it could be a fluke, but she was a very careful person and credited that with preventing many an injury throughout her active years.

Her mind returned to the question of the spotter. Who had she designated for that lift? As she replayed the video, her gaze honed in on Oliver. Yes, the only person behind her should have been Oliver, and he was the spotter.

Wait a minute… She watched both videos several more times, and she finally saw it. Oliver wasn’t in place. It was hard to tell who was behind Ryan because of the grainy image quality, matching outfits, and masks, but she’d wear her cast two extra weeks if she was wrong about that being Oliver. What in the world was Oliver doing so close behind Ryan when he should have been between Ryan and Gray, ready to catch her if she fell?

If Oliver had bumped Ryan, why would he do so? Was it an innocent mistake? Oliver was a good dancer – maybe less experienced than some, but still unlikely to make such a mistake. More to the point, what should Sophie do about it? She could confront Oliver, show him the video and ask him what happened. But she was terrible at ferreting out the truth. She’d likely have no idea if Oliver was pulling the wool over her eyes.

Ultimately, there was nothing she could do to fix it, and now she huffed a sigh of frustration that she had introduced doubt into her relationship with Oliver. She vowed to keep a close eye on all of the dancers tomorrow night to see if anyone aroused suspicion, while deeply desiring to put the best construction on everything. Ugh.
Well, Sam was always telling her to be more wary, so here went nothing.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 6: Two Broken Things

Part 4: Sam

Sophie’s flight should be landing now, Sam realized as he looked at the clock for the umpteenth time Tuesday night. He hoped four days at home had given her some peace and quiet. He’d convinced her to take tomorrow off, since her flight got in at 7 tonight. He wished he could have picked her up and driven her, but sometimes he just couldn’t sway the schedule. One of her dance friends would do the job instead.

He found himself wondering more about her dancing every day. Did they just get together at that warehouse? Was that where she had been two Fridays ago when she’d fallen? He hadn’t asked enough questions, but he hadn’t wanted to make her uncomfortable.

Instead, he turned his thoughts to a different question he wanted to ask, but didn’t know how. Did one just blurt out, “Hey, will you be my girlfriend?” What was the transition between going on a few dates to going steady? Is that what people called it? How should he approach that conversation? Was it better to not say anything and just let events unfold? He didn’t like that thought. He wanted to tie her to himself, even in the loose way denoted by ‘dating’.

An hour later, just as he was finishing entering a speeding ticket into the computer mounted in his patrol car, his phone chimed the sound he had assigned just to Sophie.

Question for you, if you have a minute.

I’m all ears. Shoot.

Hypothetically speaking, if a friend thought their home had been rifled through, but nothing was taken, should they call the police?

Dread shot through him.

Absolutely. This isn’t hypothetical, is it?

She didn’t answer, and no trio of dots appeared. He counted to sixty before typing again.

Are you safe?

Yes! I’m fine. Do I call 911? Or some non-emergency number?

He used voice-to-text to message her back as he began driving her way.

I’m on my way. Stay put. Keep your pepper spray handy. Don’t touch anything.

Then he dialed Sgt. Breitung.

“Breitung. What can I do for you, Harrison?”

“The girl with the suspicious gifts? She just texted me that she thinks her apartment got rifled through.”

“Give me the address. I’ll meet you there.”

Sam rattled off Sophie’s address just as he was pulling in the lot. He reported the ‘call’ and his departure from his vehicle to dispatch, then took the stairs two at a time to Sophie’s apartment.

Her door stood wide open, and she stood ramrod straight just inside the doorway. She held her cell phone in her casted hand and her pepper spray firmly in her right hand. Her face was a study in both fear and determination. He was so proud of his girl. His girl. That felt right.

“Sophie?” he called as he approached. Her body jerked a little as if surprised by the sound of his voice.

“Sam!” she said in a big exhale, then threw her arms around him. He instinctively hugged her back, stroking her hair when he felt her start crying.

Over her shoulder, he surveyed the damage. Her little loveseat’s cushions were thrown to the ground and torn open. The pictures on the wall were smashed. Her kitchen was in complete disarray, with food and broken dishes strewn all over. Her bedroom door stood open, revealing a disheveled bed and torn clothing piled on the floor. He saw pages torn out of books, and what looked like possibly ketchup squirted on the carpeting.

The whole place was a demolished pigsty, and Sophie’s text had said – what, rifled through? This was more than opening a few drawers and pawing through her possessions. This was wanton destruction, intended to terrify her. Judging by the trembling running through her, the perpetrator had done a good job.

“Sophie? Honey, take a breath, please. I need to talk to you,” Sam said after a few minutes. He hoped to calm her down before Vic arrived. She wouldn’t want to meet someone new when she was so emotional.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, pulling back and trying to rub her sleeves across her face. The cast got in the way.

“Let me,” Sam offered, gently tugging her phone and pepper spray out of her hands. He tucked them into a vacant pocket – God bless the million pockets on his standard-issue police uniform – then swiped gentle thumbs across her cheeks to dry her tears.

“Can I get a tissue?” Sophie pointed to the box on the counter. It, at least, appeared untouched.

“Sure, but don’t touch anything but the tissue,” Sam instructed. She nodded, carefully stepped over cushion stuffing and ketchup, and plucked a tissue from the box. After blowing her nose and wiping her face again, she squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

“Sgt. Breitung is coming.” Sam decided to keep things on business. There would be plenty of time later to reassure her.

“Oh,” was all she said, in a near-monotone that concerned him.

“This is a big step up from even that picture,” he commented. Her flinch made him regret his words.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“Did you touch anything?” he asked.

“Just the door,” she pointed. “It didn’t click like normal.”

“Click?”

“You know, when the deadbolt slides back, it kind of clicks.”

The door hadn’t been locked. Sam’s heart pounded at the thought that her tormentor could have been lying in wait. He had to keep that to himself.

“That makes sense. Whoever did this probably broke in and had no way to lock the door afterwards.”

A little shudder ran through her, but she said nothing, casting a dejected look over her destroyed home.

“Harrison?” a voice called from the stairwell. Pounding steps followed.

“Here,” Sam called back.

He watched Sophie’s eyes widen slightly as she saw Vic, then her face returned to a nearly professional expression. He was kind of a sight – 5’5″, built like a linebacker, with a buzz-cut and scraggly beard. He looked more at home in a dark alley than even Sophie’s run-down apartment building.

“Vic, thanks for coming,” he shook the man’s hand, then performed introductions. “Sophie, Sgt. Breitung. This is Sophie Lane.”

Sophie extended trembling fingers to Vic, who shook her hand briskly and cracked a crooked smile.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Lane. Just call me Vic.” Then Vic turned to her door and whistled. “How’s a nice lady like you make such a fun enemy?”

“Fun?” Sophie choked.

“Eh, so maybe our definitions of ‘fun’ differ a little,” Vic winked, then turned serious as he stepped through the door. Sophie cast a look of surprise Sam’s way. He just shrugged and watched Vic turn a slow circle just inside the door.

“Did you touch anything?” Vic asked.

“Just the doorknob.”

“Sam, get her fingerprints.”

Sam obligingly pulled out his phone and used an app to collect her fingerprints, sending them to Vic as well as saving them in the system.

“Anyone been here recently besides you?” Vic asked next.

“Sam,” Sophie replied instantly, then her cheeks turned bright pink. “And depending on how recent, Denise and that other officer.”

Vic raised an eyebrow at Sam.

“Fleming,” he supplied. Vic nodded and carried on. Sam narrated what Vic was doing whenever he could. The man moved with surprising grace for his stocky stature, collecting fingerprints and photographing every nook and cranny. It was 45 minutes before he returned to the door.

“I’ve at least got some fingerprints to look into, but I’ll warn you – that takes a few weeks to analyze. In the mean time, you’re welcome to clean up as much as you can. You’ll have to report this to your building super. And if I may, I’d recommend getting a new lock,” Vic finished with a wry smile.

“I intend to,” Sophie agreed.

“Good. Then I’ll leave you to it.” He turned to Sam. “Keep me posted?”

Sam heard the unspoken end – if anything else comes up. Sam might not be a trained detective, but he knew enough to understand that someone who had progressed from gifts to destruction wasn’t going to back down now. He fully intended to do his utmost to keep Sophie safe.

“Will do.” He shook Vic’s hand, then the man was gone.

“Oh, my. I don’t even know where to start,” Sophie muttered, running a hand through her unkempt hair.

“I do,” Sam said simply. “We’ll find you another place to stay tonight – my parents, if you can’t think of anyone else – and tomorrow morning when I’m off, I’ll come with you to meet with your building supervisor and start cleaning up this mess. Before you sleep here again, there will be a new deadbolt and a chain on this door. Okay?”

Sophie looked momentarily taken aback, then utterly melted into a tired but grateful smile.

“Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Well, didn’t that just melt a guy’s heart? He smiled and pulled her in for a big hug.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 6: Two Things Broken

Part 3: Sophie

Sophie stepped out of the plane with more eagerness than usual. Sitting for over three hours was surprisingly uncomfortable on her freshly-casted arm. She also hadn’t enjoyed the extra security screening earned by a bulky green cast. At least every time she looked at it, she had the encouragement of Sam’s smiley face doodle looking back at her.

She smiled wistfully, remembering his hug and their shared moment when he dropped her at the airport. After the day with his parents, he’d taken her out to a seafood restaurant in Madison. She had felt so special and fancy, clinging to his elbow. And then at the airport, he’d almost looked like he wanted to kiss her, but the moment had passed in a jostle of elbows and luggage. Maybe when she got home…

“Sophie!” she heard her dad’s voice booming above the airport noise and bustle. She looked around for him and quickly scurried his way.

“Hi, Dad,” she greeted him with a one-armed hug.

“Hi, sweetie-pie,” he replied, kissing the top of her head. She was tall for a girl, but her dad – let’s just say some of his plumbing jobs were downright awful for a man of his height.

“Do you have a suitcase?” he asked her.

“Yeah, my purple one,” she replied. They scanned the rotating carriage for barely a minute when her well-loved little bag rounded the bend. Her dad scooped it up, and she didn’t bother even thinking of protesting. Dad was a gentleman; he would always carry a lady’s bag, even if she had two working hands. With a broken wrist, you’d have to wrestle the suitcase away from him.

“You look tired, sweetie-pie,” he commented as he settled her in the passenger seat of his well-loved pickup truck, ‘Lane Plumbing’ emblazoned on the side in slightly faded orange letters. Nice that some things never changed.

“I am,” she admitted, then waited for him to climb in before continuing. “I got the cast after work on Wednesday. It’s heavier than I thought, which makes my shoulder hurt. The doctor told me I could wear the sling for 8 hours a day in four-hour chunks, then I had to keep the arm moving the rest of the time.”

Dad glowered like he’d prefer to disagree with some doctor’s medical expertise. “That so? And he paid no mind to how tiny you are, didn’t he?”

Oh, the fierce dad came climbing out. “I’m sure he knows what he’s talking about, Dad. If I keep using my arm, I’ll build muscle and keep blood flowing. It’s good in the end, just uncomfortable right now.”

“You seem skinny, sweetie-pie,” Dad frowned even further.

“I might have lost a little weight, yeah. But I’m still a healthy BMI. Doc checked that, too,” she assured him.

“Hmm,” was all Dad would say. Then, a minute later… “I’ll make you hamburgers.” Yup. Beef would cure what ailed her.

“That would be great,” she agreed. No sense arguing when, truly, her dad made some pretty delicious burgers.

“How are things with Sam?” Dad asked.

Sophie took a deep breath and released it slowly. Somehow, talking to her salt-of-the-earth dad made everything seem better. Simpler.

“He’s really nice, Dad. I like him,” she admitted.

“Like, hmm?”

“A lot,” she whispered.

Dad chuckled. “And he’s a good man, yes? Treating you with respect?”

“Yup. Holds the door, pulls out my chair at dinner, picks me up for dates, sits by me at church when he’s there – all the good things.”

“Did you pay attention to how he treats his mother? That says a lot about a man, you know.”

“So you’ve told me,” Sophie grinned. “He is very kind and respectful to her, even when she’s meddling in his affairs. He’s patient.”

Now Dad laughed again. “Meddling?”

“Oh, Dad. She’s like Mrs. Striker,” Sophie confessed. “I mean, she doesn’t do the whole purple hat thing, and has way better fashion sense, but the very first time she met me, she was pairing Sam and I off. He hadn’t even asked me out yet. It was so embarrassing.”

“Glad to hear Sam can be a kind and patient man even with her interfering. Keep an eye on that. Make sure he’s not hiding his true feelings now just to convince you to like him.”

“I highly doubt he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but I’ll keep an open mind,” she promised.

“Good girl,” Dad patted her leg. “Now catch me up on your work. Still doing that city project?”

She updated him on the nearly complete city commission, then told about a bid they were finishing to help New Albany’s city services, as well. She hoped her work on the Williamson city proposal would be helpful in this new project, too.

As she talked, she seriously debated telling Dad about the most recent concern, but ultimately decided against it. She hadn’t mentioned the gift card or flowers. Why should she bother him with the photo of herself, clearly taken by someone spying on her as she ran errands, that had been slid under her apartment door when she arrived home one night? He couldn’t do anything. She’d immediately told Sam, who had looped in his boss. She was proud of herself for not even touching it. Besides, this weekend was about rest and relaxation, leaving her problems behind.

So instead, she listened as Dad told her hilarious stories of his recent plumbing projects, then some news from church, and before she knew it, the 90-minute drive to Peshicot was done. She gingerly unfolded her aching body from the pickup to stand on the driveway of her childhood home.

Warmth suffused her at the sight of every window in the little one-story adobe house lit up brightly. The wooden front door bore a springy wreath of flowers in pastel colors that must be fake, since nothing like that grew in Mom’s cactus garden. The front yard’s sandy dirt had been freshly raked, and Sophie knew it was in anticipation of her visit. That would have been her job once upon a time, but now she was a guest in her own home.

Something new? A little potted Christmas cactus sat on one of the front steps. Mom came flying down the steps, and after greeting her, Sophie asked about the plant.

“Louise Becker gave me that last week to celebrate 20 years with the Sunday school kids,” Mom smiled sweetly.

“Aww, I didn’t know that. Congrats!” Sophie gave her another hug.

“Thanks, hon. Are you hungry?”

Ever the mother hen…

“Only a little. I packed a sandwich for the flight.”

“Then come have dessert. I made a lemon pound cake just for you.”

Now that, right there, was home.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 6: Two Things Broken

Part 2: Sophie

Her head hurt. Her wrist hurt even more. Her neck ached from sleeping on her back. She was a die-hard stomach sleeper, but she couldn’t very well do that with her arm bandaged and in a sling.

With unfortunate clarity, the entire previous evening played across the back of Sophie’s eyelids. She cringed at the memories of her conversations with Sam. Had he really called her Sleeping Beauty? How was she supposed to recover from that?

Eventually, she climbed out of bed and did a passable one-armed job of brushing her teeth and hair. At least her dominant hand wasn’t injured.

Oh, goodness. How was she supposed to navigate a computer for work? She’d be doing everything one-armed on her iPad for weeks. How long would she be in a cast? A quick Google search suggested 6-8 weeks. A rock settled in her gut at the realization that she wouldn’t be dancing much for months, certainly no coordinated lifts or complicated partner maneuvers.

Still in her joggers and t-shirt from the performance the night before, she decided to forego a shower in lieu of a heaping bowl of oatmeal, piled high with a sliced banana and some blueberries, followed by a drizzle of maple syrup and a sprinkle of sweetened dried coconut. Doing all of it one-armed meant it certainly wasn’t Instagram-worthy, but it was easy enough to make and would fill her belly for hours.

Between bites, she worked on an email to her family updating them on her injury and asking to come home for a visit. Once she got her cast later this week, taking a few days to warm up and get hugs from her parents would go a long way toward feeding her soul. She finished her breakfast and was just trying to figure out one-handed dishwashing when a knock sounded on her door.

“Coming!” she hollered, then wondered if she was supposed to do that. She’d have to ask Sam.

Speaking of…

“Good morning,” he greeted in his warm, low voice. A little swarm of butterflies took up residence in her stomach at the sound.

“Good morning,” she replied, stepping back to open the door.

“I come bearing keys.” He held out her keychain and dropped the little bundle into her open hand. She furrowed her brow.

“How did you…” She couldn’t finish her sentence, her memory a blank.

“You handed them to me to let me in last night, then fell asleep before you could come lock the door. Since I was bringing your car back, I kept the whole bundle and locked the door behind me,” Sam explained. She just nodded.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked.

“Sore and hurting. I took a painkiller with breakfast. I’ve actually been thinking that once I get my cast, I want to spend a few days with my parents.” She watched him, uncertain for a reason she couldn’t explain.

He frowned a little before smoothing his face into an understanding smile. “I think that’s a great idea. Home and family sound good. I know it’s not your family, but my mom asked Ryan and I to help her with her kitchen today. Do you want to come along and offer one-armed support?” He winked.

“Um… I don’t know that I’d be very useful,” she hedged.

“Maybe being part of the fun is more important,” Sam suggested.

“Hmm… If you say so.” She hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. “Okay. Give me ten – actually, twenty minutes to get myself dressed. Everything takes forever.” She shook her head.

“No problem. Can I wash your dishes for you while you do that? I can’t even begin to imagine how to do that with one arm wrapped.”

“You and me both!” she exclaimed, blushing a little at the embarrassment of having her – what, friend? – do her dishes. “If you come up with any grand ideas, let me know. And thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He actually looked happy, too, which floored her. Shaking her head, she disappeared into the bedroom.

It took her 18 minutes to put on clean clothes, and by the time she was done, she was exhausted. Thankfully, she had more clean joggers so she didn’t have to wrestle with buttons and zippers. She also found an oversized sweatshirt that fit over the thick wrapping on her wrist. Monday first thing she had to call for an appointment with a local GP to get the cast. Maybe today she could ask Sam’s mom for a doctor recommendation. That hadn’t come to the top of her list yet…

“Okay,” she sighed as she left her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. She gawked at her now-spotless kitchen. “Whoa. Thank you!”

Sam grinned. “Happy to help. Ready?”

“I am,” she replied, picking up her small purse. She managed to lock the door one-handed, then followed Sam down to his car.

“Do you have an appointment to get your cast?” he asked once they were on the road.

“Not yet. I was, um, going to ask your mom for a recommendation,” she half-mumbled.

Sam chuckled. “She’ll give you half a dozen if you’re not careful.”

“I take it she likes to help?”

“Help, talk, meddle – all of the above,” Sam nodded. Just then, Sophie’s phone rang.

“Do you mind?” she held up the chiming device. “It’s my mom.”

“Go for it,” Sam assured.

“Hey, Mom,” Sophie caught the call right before voicemail.

“You broke your wrist? Honey! What in the world? Are you okay?” her mom practically screeched over the phone. Sophie wondered if Sam could hear. Mary Lane was nothing if not dedicated to her children, even though they were grown.

“Yes, Mom, I’m doing fine now. It’s wrapped up tight, in a sling, and I’m taking ibuprofen and acetaminophen.” If she didn’t give every detail, her mom would only ask more questions.

“When will you get a cast?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m going to ask a woman from church for a recommendation for a doctor today. Then I’ll call them on Monday and see when I can get in.”

“Okay. And then you’ll come visit?” Now her mom just sounded wistful, a little sad.

“Yeah, I will, Mom,” Sophie softened her voice.

“I miss you, baby,” Mom crooned. Sophie heard a little sniffle.

Do not cry, do not cry, she chastised herself. I will not cry in front of Sam. I won’t.

“Miss you, too, Mom. And hey, I’ll try to come home for the Fourth, too, okay?”

“Oh, that would be so lovely! I’m already convincing Jonathan to come, too,” Mom cheered up quickly. “Keep me posted on your plans, please.”

“I will, Mom.”

“Love you, Soph.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

A comfortable silence pervaded the sedan for a few minutes after Sophie hung up. She was grateful for the little emotional reprieve. It was just the calm she needed before the storm of a day full of well-intentioned but overwhelming Harrisons.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 6: Two Things Broken

Part 1: Sam

Sam had news for Sophie. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that good of news. He had chatted with the florist, who recognized the arrangement but had no cameras in the vicinity. The buyer, a young-ish male of average height, average weight, wearing average clothes, with no identifying features (or hair color, apparently) had paid cash for the flowers. Totally useless.

He also had a few things he wanted to talk about with her. Now that he suspected someone was messing with her at the least, he wanted her to be more on her guard than before. More observant, more suspicious, more aware.

He was just putting his car in gear to leave the station parking lot at the end of shift when his phone buzzed in his pocket. For half a second he thought about ignoring it. He was tired, but it was the unfortunate tired of a boring shift. With a sigh, he put his car back in park and nabbed his phone on the last ring.

“Hey, Sophie,” he greeted with a smile. Definitely worth postponing the drive home.
For a few seconds, he heard nothing, then something faint, like a sniffle. Was she crying?

“Sophie? Are you okay?”

“I… I fell,” she said softly. Yes, she was crying.

“Are you hurt?” Sam asked the most important question first.

“I think so… My wrist is swelling,” she replied, almost sheepish.

How does a grown woman fall so hard? He shook his head; it didn’t matter.

“Where are you? Do you need a ride to urgent care?” he asked.

“I’m on the way there,” she said. “You’re on speaker.”

Now he noticed the background noise. At least there was only one urgent care option in town.

“I can meet you there in two minutes if you’d like,” he offered.

“Please,” she whispered, then sniffed some more.

“I’m going to hang up so you can drive safely. I’ll be waiting at the entrance, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Sam.”

He was parked and waiting when he saw her car pull up, so he jogged across the parking lot to her. When he opened the door, he saw her cradling her left arm across her lap while trying to gather her phone and purse with just her right. Under the sleeve of her sweatshirt, her wrist was bruised.

“Hey. Need a hand?” he offered.

“Thanks,” she smiled weakly, and he saw the tear tracks still wet on her cheeks. He took the purse and phone she held out, then waited while she somewhat awkwardly exited the vehicle.

“Hurts?” he asked, feeling stupid the second he did. But she sent him such a grateful smile.

“Yeah,” she admitted with a sigh. “I feel so silly.”

“What happened?”

She hesitated just long enough to make him suspicious…

“A lift went wrong while we were dancing,” she muttered. “I can take my purse now.”

“I don’t mind carrying it,” he replied easily, mulling over her words. “What does that mean, a lift went wrong?”

“It means someone was supposed to hold me in the air and somehow, I fell.” Now she sounded annoyed. At him? At the fall? He wished he understood more. He also wished he knew what to say, but thankfully, they had reached the triage desk.

“What brings you in tonight?” asked a pleasant, gray-haired nurse behind the counter.

“I fell and hurt my wrist,” Sophie answered, gingerly holding out her purpling appendage.

“Poor dear,” the nurse tsk’ed. “You’re too young for that! All right, paperwork first. Paper or digital?”

“Digital is fine,” Sophie answered. Sam held out her phone to her silently.

“QR code there takes you to the right place. Once you get pre-registered, you’ll be added to the queue. Someone will call you from that door,” the nurse explained, gesturing to a set of green double-doors across the lobby. “Just keep working on the forms until they come.”

“Thank you,” Sophie nodded, then turned to Sam. He took her right elbow and guided her to a pair of free seats in a quiet corner of the room. Thankfully, this evening the waiting room was only occupied by a mom and drippy-nosed toddler besides the two of them.

“I’m sorry for disturbing your Friday evening, Sam,” she apologized softly as they took their seats. He gripped her right hand around her phone, squeezed her fingers, then let go.

“I’m glad you called, Sophie,” he assured. “Promise.”

She looked at him skeptically, then turned her attention to the forms on her phone. He let her work silently until about 15 minutes later when her name was called.

“Do you want me to stay here or come with you?” Sam asked.

She chewed on her lip, visibly considering his words. Her head tilted from side to side occasionally as she thought, and he imagined the move correlated to considering the various positions of the argument.

“Would you mind coming? But I’d feel bad if I asked you to leave later… So maybe I should -“

He laid a hand gently over hers. “It’s fine. I’ll come and stay for as long as you need me.”

A tear snuck out and her smile trembled as she thanked him, then rose to follow another nurse in green scrubs through the green doors. Apparently they liked color-coordinating here.

They were settled in a curtained-off room, Sam on a chair and Sophie on the bed, swinging her long legs side to side. She finished the forms on her phone while they waited for yet another person to come and start her exam.

“I really am sorry,” she whispered, chewing on her lip. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

Sam scooted the wheeled chair forward until he could grasp her uninjured hand.
“I told you I was glad you called, and I meant it. I know you don’t have family here, and I don’t hear you talk about friends except for dancing, which you hold close to your vest.” She blushed and ducked her head. “That doesn’t bother me. At all. I’m actually honored to be the one you called. I’m guess you’d have preferred family. If I’m second to them, I’ll take it.” He winked to keep the statement light, but realized his words had more weight than he perhaps intended.

It took over two hours to get through the interview, exam, and X-ray before they finally decided Sophie had broken her wrist – well, actually, one of her forearm bones, but very close to the wrist. The doctor called it a “distal radius fracture”, apparently the most common wrist fracture when you land on your hand. Of course Sophie tried to catch herself.

Her wrist was too swollen to cast, so they wrapped it and gave her a sling, then hopped her up on some pain meds that gave her the mannerisms of a slightly intoxicated person.

“I can’t drive…” she murmured dreamily as Sam guided her by the elbow back out into the waiting room.

“No, ma’am, you cannot,” he agreed with a grin. “I’ll drive you home and get your car to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” she lilted. Man, was she loopy. He got her out to his car, safely home, and up the stairs to her apartment before she nearly fell asleep on her feet.

“Hang on there, Sleeping Beauty,” he teased, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to keep her upright.

“Hmm?” she mumbled.

“Keys, please,” he directed. She simply handed over her small purse. He felt a little awkward digging through her bag, but at least she wasn’t the sort to stuff a million things into a tiny space. He had her door open in a few seconds, then guided her as far as her bedroom door.

“Need help with your shoes?” he offered, noting she wore thoroughly knotted lace-up tennies. Might be hard to undo.

“Huh?” she asked, then blinked sleepily at him and her feet. “Oh…”

“Yeah, oh,” he agreed. “Have a seat on your bed.”

Instead of sitting, she flopped on her back, never opening her eyes. Sam tried hard not to look around too curiously, but to just focus on unlacing her shoes and setting them beside the bed. There was a throw blanket folded neatly over the foot of her bed, so he grabbed that and draped it gently over her. She was out cold.

He let himself out, locking her door and pocketing her keys. He’d see her in the morning.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 5: Firsts

Part 4: Sophie

The next morning dawned with a rather gray and dingy-looking sky, which did not bode well for Sophie’s Friday night plans. She checked the weather, then opened her Dragoness message group and let them know a final decision would be made by 3pm. She didn’t mind gray skies; it actually made a rather lovely foil for her upbeat dances. But she, and pretty much every dancer in her group, drew the line at rain.

Performance day. Sure, she had jitters. Who wouldn’t be nervous at the thought of spontaneously bursting into a very public dance? But these were the good kind of jitters borne of excitement and wonder. The two things that drove Sophie to enjoy this hobby so much were the thrill of the audience and the sheer joy of moving her body in time to great music. She’d love dancing at home on her own (and yes, she did it on a regular basis). She loved sharing that joy even more.

The day passed slower than molasses in January – one of Sophie’s new Wisconsin phrases. She’d had to ask what that meant, and one of her coworkers found a video of someone pouring warm molasses, then putting the bottle in the snow and trying to pour it an hour later. The molasses barely moved, and Sophie felt an instant connection to the anxious desire for something to happen far faster than it actually was.

Fridays were usually full of lighthearted fun and half-hearted progress. Today they were grinding towards deadlines on the city project, and Sophie spent most of the day holed up in a conference room debating between three options for the police department logo. This was a big deal, since it would appear on police cars and clothing for at least the next decade. Sophie wouldn’t admit it to her team in a million years, but she couldn’t stop wondering what Sam would think of each option. Nor could she stop getting lost in thoughts of their date.

Thankfully, the weather held at a nice cloudy but dry state, and would do so through their 6:20 performance time. She made sure to message the group with confirmation that they were still on and a reminder of what to wear.

At 4:30, the offices started clearing out. Sophie slipped home at 4:45, ate a small bowl of tuna salad, and changed into her outfit for the night. She had decided to not match this time. Usually, she liked everyone in the same clothes. It gave definition and cohesion to the group. But tonight they would wear a mix of colors and styles, whatever made them comfortable, because the song called for more individuality in Sophie’s mind.

By 6pm, she was finding a parking spot a block away from the movie theater. Williamson had one small theater with only one screen, so it was easy to choose a time between shows. Then she pulled on her masked and put up the hood of her sweatshirt to conceal the mask.

There was a no-parking zone in the front of the theater, and then a very wide patio-like space before the doors of the building. Sophie set her speaker on the ground near a pole in the corner of the patio. They would use about half of the space, leaving plenty of room for anyone who didn’t want to stop and enjoy the show.

Within five minutes, she saw her dancers arrive and find surreptitious ways to linger in the parking lot or on the patio. Gray and Amy sat on a bench as though enjoying the weather. Lee and Everett held hands and strolled slowly. Finally, the others appeared, and the digital clock on Sophie’s phone clicked to 6:19. Sophie was happy to see several dozen people coming out of and going into the movie theater.

With a steadying breath, Sophie set her phone next to the speaker, ready to press play. She pulled down her hood to show off the mask, then hit the button.

The music instantly filled the small space, drawing the attention of passersby. The rest of the dancers pulled on their masks and scurried into position, and then the fun began.

Sophie kept her mind on the movements while also keeping watch over her dancers. Out of the corner of her eye, she was gratified to see a few bystanders had pulled out cell phones to record the flash mob. A group of teens sang along and moved to the music. Even some of the theater employees came out to see what was going on.

Then she stopped looking and focused on feeling. The music flowed in her ears, through her heart, and out her limbs. She let herself absorb the lyrics, thoughts of larger-than-life dreams and the people who achieve them flitting through her mind.

As they neared the chorus, Sophie got into position for a lift. Sometimes they did pyramids, lifts, or throws, since Lee had also been a cheerleader and knew how to safely execute them. Sophie planted a foot in Gray’s intertwined fingers and a hand on his shoulder. Then she turned and put her other foot in Ryan’s hands and braced herself on his shoulder. Half a second later, she felt herself thrust into the air, and she straightened her legs as she rose.

Without warning, the world tilted, and Sophie felt herself falling backwards. What had happened? Somehow, Ryan had lost his grip, and down she went. Instinct had her putting her hands back, and she barely kept herself from crying out as most of her weight landed on her left hand. Pain arced up her arm, stabbing and throbbing.

When she looked up, everyone but her and Ryan had continued dancing. Ryan helped her up, looking concerned, confused, and maybe a little embarrassed. They finished the dance, Sophie signaling at the last minute to forgo the second lift they had planned. She couldn’t do it now, not with her hand hurting as much as it did.

Sophie completely missed the applause and cheers of the crowd at the end of the dance. It seemed like there was a direct line between the nerves near her wrist and her brain. The only thing she could focus on was pain.

“Hey, are you okay?” Oliver asked quietly as they started dispersing.

Sophie swallowed back her tears. “I’m fine. Just hurt my hand.” She tried to go for her speaker, but Oliver was in the way.

“Let me see,” he demanded.

“No, please. I just want to go home,” Sophie objected. Oliver had a determined look on his face, but Sophie wasn’t interested in help or company.

“Sophie, you’re being stubborn,” Oliver chastised.

“Oliver, please leave me alone.” Sophie spoke with as much firmness as she could muster. It must have been enough, because Oliver gave her a disapproving look but stepped away. She felt him watching her pick up her phone and speaker in her right hand, leaving her left tucked against her side.

Jesus, help me, she prayed. Every movement hurt. She could feel it swelling. She knew she needed to get to urgent care. Why she didn’t take Oliver up on his offer of help, she couldn’t say.

She silently made her way back to her car and awkwardly climbed in. Then she sat and stared at the steering wheel.

What had gone wrong? What did I do wrong? How had she fallen? She tried to replay the maneuver in her mind. She was pretty sure she hadn’t done anything wrong. Had Ryan faltered? He had been so solid in every practice.

Now she let the tears fall. I feel like such a baby. Jesus, I just want my mother. I need a hug.

Sam… She glanced at the clock. He should have just finished his shift.