Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 9: The Dark Before

Part 1: Sam

“We need more information on Oliver Isolah,” Sam muttered.

“Working on that,” Vic waved his phone. “Let’s head to the station.”

“What about the truck?” Sam asked. He wanted to feel like they were moving forward, not backward. Or sideways. Or just north, to the station, unless that was where Sophie went.

“The tech guys can do a far better job of tracking the truck than a random foot search. It’s the 21st century,” Vic chuckled.

Okay, Sam deserved that. He was leading with his heart, not his head. When he had climbed into his car to follow Vic towards the station, he spent the drive in prayer. He needed a wisdom he did not possess, a patience he had never known, and God was the only one who could provide those things.

Much as he wanted to feel like a changed – or at least refreshed – man, walking into the station felt like a death knell. Jesus, guide me and give me your strength.

Thankfully, Vic took the lead with what needed to happen next. Sam trailed him, taking in everything as Vic spoke to various people. The tech department got to work digging for information on the car. A random officer who hadn’t left for patrol yet started collecting details on Oliver James Isolah. Vic updated Lt. Lehrer, who mercifully allowed Sam to stay involved, even though it was his girlfriend who was missing.

Kidnapped, actually.

Somehow, admitting the truth in his own mind brought Sam equal measures of terror and peace. He was frightened for Sophie, in a way he had never been before. He’d never had a personal stake in a case like this, nor had he seen the background of a kidnapping case. But he also felt at peace, knowing Sophie was in God’s hands. He would do anything within his power, and encourage those around him in the same, to bring her home safe and sound. At the end of the day, though, God was in control.

Unfortunately, everything moved far too slowly for his taste. He tried to tell himself to hold onto that feeling so he could later empathize with other victim’s families.

Families…

“Vic?” he asked as the man stepped away from yet another conversation. It seemed like so many spinning plates.

“Yup,” Vic replied, not looking up from whatever he was frantically typing with his thumbs.

“Should we notify her family?” Sam asked. He felt like he should know protocol on this, but either he hadn’t learned or it had totally slipped his mind.

“Not yet. Even though Lehrer is calling it a kidnapping, we only have one eyewitness with insufficient testimony to confirm it was Sophie being put in that truck. We’ll issue an alert, but a slender woman in jeans and a baggy blue sweatshirt covers a whole lot of people, even in this county,” Vic explained.

Sam nodded. “What can I do?”

“Get Miller a good picture of Sophie,” Vic pointed absently in the direction of the officer he named. “He’ll put out an alert and have the techs start scanning any public access camera footage he can find.”

“Do we have any of those in town?” Sam would be surprised if they did.

“No, but Madison does.”

45 minutes away. Sam shuddered to think of her in the huge city with only a kidnapper for a companion. She was a small town girl, and her trusting heart showed. She’d struggle so much there.

Sam shook off his worry and headed over to Miller, easily sharing a snapshot of Sophie and answering the man’s questions about her appearance, full name, and date of birth. He watched the man craft and electronically distribute an alert for Sophie and the tiny amount of information they had on the man who had taken her.

“Vic?” The officer who had been researching Oliver – a young man in his third year on the force, Chase Lowden – called out.

“Comin’!” Vic replied, still typing furiously. Sam got to Chase’s desk first.

“Whatcha got?” Vic prompted.

“Oliver Isolah, age 38. Born and raised in Madison, worked there until his company downsized two years ago. He’s been here ever since, working at the hospital in maintenance. No spouse, not much on social media except chatter about what appears to be a group organizing flash mobs,” Chase recited.

“Flash mobs?” Vic raised a brow.

“Yeah, you know. Random dances and stuff,” Chase shrugged. He pulled up a few pictures of people in masks mid-stride. “He refers to someone called the ‘Dragoness’ several times. It appears a woman leads the group.”

“I saw them,” Sam blurted. “In the town square, when I was on a date with Sophie. But no one was wearing that mask.” He pointed to a person wearing a fitted multicolored mask with a dragon’s tail.

“Hmm,” Vic murmured, staring at the photo Chase had pulled up with narrowed eyes. “Any connection to Sophie?”

“None that I’ve found yet,” Chase replied almost apologetically.

“What about church? Any sign he’s Christian? Sophie was going to Resurrection here for a while,” Sam supplied.

“Nothing to indicate either way,” Chase frowned, “but I’ll keep digging.”

Suddenly radios all around him erupted – shots fired at the Maple building. A few of the officers present, including Miller, sprang into action and were out the door in seconds. Sam looked around for Vic and saw him running for the door.

“Want me to tag along?” he asked.

“Stay here!” Vic yelled, running backwards. “Go over to dispatch and start screening any info that comes in. I’ll keep you posted!”

Sam waved him off, then headed down a hall and through a connecting door to the dispatch center. Williamson was just big enough to have their own. The city had been smart enough to construct a building in three sections: police services on the right, dispatch in the middle, and the fire station to the left. City hall was right across the street. Sam liked the community feel and the ease of working together.

Now, he just hoped that ease would translate into quick answers. He greeted the first dispatcher he saw, then headed towards Suze McCane. Suze had been a dispatcher since before Sam was born. Now a shift supervisor, she excelled at keeping a cool head and connecting the right people.

“Officer Harrison!” she greeted him cheerfully. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sam shook her hand, but couldn’t bring himself to smile back. “I’m here to keep tabs on any information that comes in regarding Sophie Lane.”

A flicker of sorrow crossed Suze’s face before she got to action.

“Headset,” she announced, handing him a corded headset with a microphone attached to her computer. “You can listen in on any calls. Button on your right ear turns on your mic.” She demonstrated with her own headset.

“Has anyone called yet?” he asked.

“Nothing so far,” Suze shook her head.

Sam’s phone pinged a text from Vic.

Two shooters already in custody – Pritchard & Wic.

Any sign of Sophie?

Wic swears he didn’t touch her, no sign of her, Pritchard isn’t talking at all.

Dread curled in Sam’s gut. Either the drug dealers were lying – a good possibility – or Sophie’s stalker had taken her. God, grant us all wisdom, he prayed.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 8: 212 Degrees

Part 4: Sam

“What’s next?” Sam prompted Vic. There had to be something besides standing around and waiting.

Vic leveled him a long stare. “Not done yet, we are, young greenhorn,” he said in his best Yoda voice – which wasn’t very good.

Sam just glared at him, feeling his blood pressure rise by the second.

“Okay, okay, cool your jets, Harrison,” Vic chided. “Let’s go see if anyone in this neighborhood saw her leave the building, or, better yet, has a doorbell camera.”

Sam followed him out, leaving an offer to put crime scene tape across Sophie’s apartment door and keep watch over the place. He and Vic walked through the parking lot, not seeing anyone out and about close to the building. Across the street, a resident of another apartment complex stood in a skinny strip of grass with a quivering Chihuahua on the end of her pink leash.

“Evening, ma’am,” Vic greeted with far more charm than Sam thought the man possessed. “We’re looking for a missing person. Did you see anyone leaving that building in the last, oh, half hour or so?”

The woman tapped a long fake fingernail on her chin. “I seen a few, maybe.” She shrugged. Sam resisted the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, but just barely.

“Yeah?” That was all Vic was going to ask? Sam expected pointed questions, pressuring her, something more than a single off-hand syllable.

“Mmhmm,” the woman replied with a prim nod. “Old guy, white hair came in not long after they left.”

“I see,” Vic drawled. Sam could feel anxiety crawling up his spine at this ridiculous conversation. Didn’t they know Sophie needed help?

“Yeah. Looked right cozy, too, excepting her face was covered. I wasn’t sure it was a girl at first, with that baggy sweatshirt, but then I saw her feet. No guy ever got feet that slender.” The woman snorted and shook her head.

Her face was covered? What in the world was going on? Sam mentally begged the woman to give every detail she could.

“Huh,” Vic shrugged. “Go figure. Was it two women?”

“Nah,” the woman laughed. “No way to hide his donut belly.”

Vic laughed along with her, and Sam suddenly understood. Vic was establishing rapport and building the woman’s comfort level. He was, at the moment, just grateful he had kept his mouth shut throughout the exchange.

“I hope he at least had some height to spread out that donut belly,” Vic commented.

“Not enough!” The woman laughed some more. “He was barely taller than the girl.”

“Poor dude,” Vic shook his head in mock commiseration. “Nothin’ worse than being a short guy.”

The woman looked him up and down, momentarily trying to gauge his seriousness. When she saw the twinkle in his eyes, she laughed again, loud and long. Sam’s patience dwindled a little further.

“I s’pose you’d know,” she murmured.

“Ain’t that the truth?” Vic grinned. “What color was her hair?”

“Dunno. Her whole head was covered. Not by her hood, though,” the woman tapped her chin again in thought. “Different color. Sweatshirt was blue, thing over her head was black. Anyway, I just figured they were playing some kinky role-play game.”

Sam ground his teeth.

“Hey, folks gotta do what they do,” Vic agreed. “How long has it been since they left? Or since the white-haired man came home?”

The woman looked at her phone. “I brought Mags out for a walk about 20 minutes ago. It was right then. She can go a long ways for having short legs.”

“Impressive little lady,” Vic complimented. “Did you see what car they got in?”

“One of them jacked up pickups. Black. Screamed macho,” she replied with a shake of her head, as if sorry for the man who drove such a vehicle.

“Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

“Y’all have a nice night,” she nodded as they left.

Vic whipped his phone out of his pocket while they walked down the street. Sam glanced over and saw him jotting down notes. When they passed in front of the next residence, Sam squinted up and saw a doorbell camera.

“Vic,” he stopped the man with a hand on his forearm and pointed to the front porch.

“Gold!” Vic cheered, jogging up the path to the front steps.

Once again, Vic displayed an incredible amount of persuasive charm, and before Sam knew what was happening, Vic had a video clip of the truck driving down the street. It was clear enough to get part of the license plate along with the make and model. As Vic was about to call down to the station with the information, his phone rang – one of the other detectives.

“Marcus, what’s up?” Vic greeted while pointing at Sam. Sam widened his eyes.

“You don’t say? What’d you learn?” Now Vic pointed to Sam’s hip, then made the symbol of a phone by his ear with thumb and pinkie. Sam finally picked up on his clues and placed a call to the dispatcher requesting information on the pickup.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Vic finished his call at the same time as Sam.

“What’s up?” Sam asked immediately.

“Well, they finally got the building supervisor to look at some mugs, considering one of his residents was kidnapped,” Vic scoffed in disgust, “and wouldn’t you know, he recognizes Denise’s boyfriend.”

“Archibald?” Sam guessed.

“Nope,” Vic shook his head. “The guy from the first night Sophie met Angel – man by the name of Charlie Wic. And he has a lengthy record to go with the short last name.”

“Let me guess – drug charges?”

“Ding, ding,” Vic confirmed. “For the past 12 years.”

“Anything that ties him to Sophie’s disappearance?” Sam wanted to keep his eyes on the problem at hand.

Vic frowned. “Nothing concrete yet, but I find it interesting that he’s been flying under the radar but very busy in New Albany, his current residence, while keeping a girlfriend in Williamson. She moved here after they started dating.”

“She’s a plant?” Sam guessed. “A way to get a foothold in the community?”

“That’d be my assumption, yes. Why he would attack Angel, or have his muscle do so if Archibald is connected, that I can’t say. But I’m not ready to scratch those three off my mental list.”

Sam’s phone pinged with a message from dispatch – the car was the property of Oliver James Isolah.

“That name mean anything to you?” He showed the message to Vic.

“Nope.”

Sam sighed. “Me neither.”

“Were you hoping it would?”

“Well, yeah. I want to know who took her, where, why, and how fast I can get her back!” Sam voice climbed to a yell the longer he talked. Then he shook his head and physically took a step away from Vic, willing his fear and anger away. “Emotions in your back pocket” wasn’t really working for him today…

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost it,” he quickly apologized.

“All good,” Vic waved away Sam’s outburst. “And for the record, I want all those things, too.” He reached up to clap a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “We’ll find her, Sam.”

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 8: 212 Degrees

Part 3: Sophie

Sophie’s heart refused to beat a normal rhythm. Her mouth felt awful, all the moisture sucked out of it by the rag silencing her. It was hard to breath through the hood. Her shoulders ached from the strange angle with her bound hands. Her hands were tingling as though their binding was too tight for normal circulation.

The man driving still said nothing. He had buckled her in, then started the truck and driven them away without a word. She tried to think back to when he had announced himself at her apartment, but nothing about his voice had sounded familiar. With the mask covering his face, she couldn’t recognize him.

Her brain spun, not completing thoughts but pinging from one thing to the next like a broken pinball machine. She was frightened, sick to her stomach, and desperate for escape.

In an effort to calm herself, she started singing her favorite hymns in her mind. She quickly grew frustrated when she couldn’t remember the words to songs she had sung for years, but she kept at it, skipping lines or verses when her brain wouldn’t focus.
Sophie realized after a good long while that remembering how many hymns she had sung might help her know how long she was in the car. She was determined to hold onto any possible clue in the hopes of passing them along to Sam.

When she got to the Easter hymns floating around her mind, memories of Jonathan and their Easter egg hunts at their grandparents’ house surfaced. Jonathan was so competitive, where Sophie was definitely not. Grandma had resorted to buying only two colors of eggs to make sure they got an equal share, because then she could forbid Jonathan from collecting any that were Sophie’s color.

No one knew that sometimes Sophie had just snuck candy out of Jonathan’s basket later, especially if he had a lot of the tiny Snickers bars. Those were her favorite.

Will I ever taste a Snickers again? she wondered idly, then had to stifle a sob at the thought. She chastised herself; that kind of thinking would not help her. She had to keep her wits about her. More Easter hymns helped soothe her fears again.

After 10 hymns of driving, the truck bounced over what sounded like a gravel road before jerking to a stop. Sophie breathed slowly and silently while she waited for the man to exit, round the vehicle, and open her door. It took him much longer than it should have, she thought. But finally, the door opened, her seatbelt was released, and he gripped her arm much too tightly to pull her from the vehicle.

They marched across gravel, then some grass – she could feel it soft and wet against her socks – before he pulled up on her arm to guide her up three steps. Across a wooden surface, he pushed her ahead of him until she felt cool air on her hands. The little bit of light that had been filtering through the hood was gone, leaving her to understand she had entered a dwelling of some sort.

The man shoved her into a soft seat.

“Stay,” he growled. She simply nodded, listening to his footsteps move across wooden floors. He made some other noises, but she couldn’t pinpoint them to any normal household activity she had heard before. Of course, she didn’t make a regular habit of closing her eyes and listening to life.

“I’ll be back. I expect you to be right where I left you.” With that command, she heard a door slam, and then utter silence.

Fear jacked her heart rate up again as she sat in the stillness, listening, waiting for she knew not what. At some point she started counting, wondering how long the man would be gone. What if she needed the bathroom? Come to think of it, she did need the bathroom.

Sophie had counted to 600 by the time she decided it was safe to move. First things first: vision. Grateful for the flexibility gained by years of dance, she bent her head between her knees, squeezed, and slowly managed to pry the hood off. With disgust, she realized it was a not-very-clean black reusable grocery bag.
Next step: hands. She tried to slide her hands under her hips, but after much wiggling, she came to the conclusion that her arms were too short compared to her torso to accomplish such a maneuver. A glance around proved she was in a one-room cabin. A tiny kitchenette was to her right. She headed there in search of a knife.

Opening kitchen drawers behind her back was a new experience for Sophie. It took a lot of trial and error to bend and lean just right. Eventually, the third drawer revealed a somewhat old-looking knife, hopefully sharp enough to do the job without injuring her too much. Now how to prop the knife securely so she could saw at the ropes around her wrists?

The knife was too short to jam upright in a drawer. The couch was too squishy. There was no dining room chair. Across the way, she spotted a door cracked open enough to reveal a toilet.

Jackpot! Sophie set the knife on the bathroom counter, lifted the toilet seat, then gingerly laid the knife across the edge of the toilet before closing the lid. The knife clattered to the floor, causing a moment of panic. Was the man still here? Had he heard?

When she had counted to 60 with no noise, she picked up the knife and tried again. This time she was able to complete all the backwards maneuvers necessary to wedge the knife under one side of the toilet seat. Then she sat down and oh-so-carefully slid her hands over the knife. She knew enough to ensure that the blade was facing away from her skin and that she was working away from the blade.

She worked her hands back and forth for what felt like an hour, although a tiny digital clock on the counter told her only 10 minutes passed before she felt something slip. She wiggled her wrists, and more space opened between them. With a little more finagling, she was finally able to slip one hand free.

Thank you, Jesus!!! Free of the ropes, she was also able to yank the rag out of her mouth and take a full, non-smelly breath for the first time in… 2 hours and 47 minutes, if the clock was accurate. It had felt so much longer.

She moved to reach for her phone to call Sam just as the horrifying sound of tires on gravel reached her ears. Another huge dose of adrenaline burst through her system.

I have to run, she thought. Immediately, she looked for an exit. There was the front door right next to the couch, but that was out of the question. The window above the sink was too small. The only other window opened onto the front porch, as well. There was no escape.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a small, low door that reminded her of an oversized dog door. She crouched in front of it and pulled it open. Her pounding heart was almost louder than the little door’s squeaking hinges, but she panicked and stilled nonetheless.

The truck engine stopped. Soon she’d hear footsteps…

Sophie forced herself to look through the little door. A small ‘room’, barely big enough for a large dog or a child, had bits of tree bark on the floor. What was this space?

To her great delight, the opposite wall of the box/room featured a glowing rectangle – sunlight shining around the crevices of a second door. Sophie forced her body into the small space, pushing the other door open as footsteps sounded on the front porch.

Panic made her movements jerky and fumbling. Stay on course, Sophie Lane. You can do this. She finally used her foot to kick open the door, a wave of fresh air enticing her. Keys sounded in the front door lock as she pulled the interior door shut behind her.

Springing to the ground, Sophie heard a man’s howl of rage and the slamming of the cabin’s door as she sprinted across the grass and into the thick forest all around.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 8: 212 Degrees

Part 2: Sam

Clutching a bag of delicious-smelling Chinese food from the small and very authentic restaurant just a few blocks from Sophie’s apartment, Sam was eager to see her for even the few hours he would get tonight. Every moment he spent with her sent the carpet of the future unfurling even farther in front of him. His mind and heart agreed that Sophie Lane was one special woman, and he couldn’t wait to see what God had in store for the two of them.

Keeping a watchful eye, he whistled as he made his way from the parking lot toward the stairs. A resident waved to him on his way in, apparently one of the few in the area who were still happy to see law enforcement around. Sam nodded and smiled at the white-haired man before making his way upstairs.

He was drawing his hand up to knock on Sophie’s door when he saw that it already stood ajar. Confusion rose – hadn’t he taught her better? She had never left the door open for him before. He set the sack of food against the wall and instinctively placed the palm of his hand over the butt of his service weapon while reaching for his cell phone.

Taking cautious steps forward and surveying every inch of her apartment as it was revealed, nothing seemed amiss besides the open door at first. He nudged the door back a little ways with his elbow, avoiding touching anywhere there might be prints. At least the door and frame were intact, removing any question of forced entry.

He stepped through the doorway and called her name, heart beating an unsteady rhythm in his ears. The lack of answer unnerved him. Her apartment was silent as an empty church. Stepping around the door, he took in the slightly messy kitchen. Sophie had been baking? Oats were scattered and spilling out of a measuring cup next to a large bowl of cereal, the open oatmeal canister standing to the side. He smelled something akin to burned chocolate, as well.

“Sophie? You here, honey?” he tried again. He hated how the silence seemed to grow in breadth and weight the longer he went without hearing her voice. He looked at his phone screen and checked his messages. Nothing.

“Harrison, it’s been a whole week. Please tell me this is a social call.” Vic’s teasing drawl grated his nerves.

“She’s gone, Vic,” Sam’s voice cracked. “She was baking, and her door’s open. She’s… She’s gone.”

“Hey,” Vic snapped harshly. “Get your head in the game. Think like a cop and give me better info.” Sam heard scuffling and knew Vic was on his way.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, shaking his head hard enough to rattle his brain into action. “I came to bring Sophie dinner. Her door was ajar – no, I didn’t touch it. There’s ingredients out on the counter like she was baking and got interrupted. No sign of a struggle. She hasn’t called or texted, so I doubt she ran to the store and just forgot to shut the door.”

“Okay, that’s better. I’m on my way. Do you see her phone anywhere? Her purse, keys, shoes?” Sam heard a car engine start.

Sam prowled the tiny galley kitchen and living area. “No phone, but I’ve encouraged her to keep it in her pocket. I see all of her shoes that I know here. I don’t see her purse but she keeps that in her room. Hang on.” Sam pulled on a pair of gloves and opened her bedroom door. “Purse is on her dresser, keys inside. Still no phone.”

“Did you set up location tracking on her phone?” Vic asked.

“No,” Sam growled. “I taught her how to send me her location. I thought that would be enough.”

“I hear you. If this is her stalker, this is a really dramatic escalation from vandalism to kidnapping. I would have expected him to make some other personal contact first,” Vic explained.

“Could it be anything else?” Sam mostly asked himself.

“Have you asked the neighbors? What if she just stepped out to help someone?” Vic suggested.

“I didn’t do any canvasing. No other doors are open.”

“Okay, we can do that when I get there. Find a good picture of her on your phone for me. Or what about our druggie friends? Any sign of Dennison or Pritchard?”

“Pritchard?” Sam asked in confusion.

“Big blond dude. Sorry, I didn’t update you since it didn’t seem relevant at the time. Archibald Pritchard. Old name for a young guy, huh? Anyway, his lawyer got him out, but I think the assistant district attorney is interested in everything we found about him. We’re 90% there to proving he’s been dealing, and I think Dennison lives in the Maple building.”

Sam shook his head again at the circles Vic’s brain ran in. “I haven’t seen anyone but an old man since I arrived,” he finally answered.

“Hmmm,” was all Vic replied. Silence reigned for nearly a full minute. “All right. I’ll be there in about 5 minutes. Just secure her apartment; we’ll canvas together.”

“Got it,” Sam replied tersely, then hung up. He paced outside her door, listening to muted conversations and television noises coming from the apartments around Sophie’s. No sound came from hers. Where had she gone? Was she safe? Was she scared?

They had worked so hard on her self defense that Sam hated to imagine she was in danger, but with both a drug dealer in her building and a stalker threatening her, the odds of some harm having come to her seemed quite high. Why else would she have left her kitchen in the middle of a project?

He snooped the kitchen once more and saw exploded chocolate and what might be peanut butter dripping down the insides of her microwave. She might have gone to the store for more ingredients, but then her purse would be gone and her door locked. Come to think of it, her car was also still downstairs, so she hadn’t left the area that way.

She could have gone for a walk, but then why were her sneakers still here? Granted, he probably hadn’t memorized every pair of shoes she owned, but the same four pairs always sat next to her door. Her flats, sneakers, shoe boots, and snow boots were all accounted for. He didn’t see her church shoes, but why would she slip into her church shoes to go for a walk?

None of those options explained the open door, though. There was no getting around that.

Before Sam could follow any further trains of thought, Vic arrived. Sam walked him through his observations and deductions about her shoes, the state of the kitchen, and her purse and keys.

“I hate to say it, but I agree with your assessment that the only viable options seem to be the bad ones,” Vic said grimly 5 minutes later. “Still no word from her?”

“Not a peep,” Sam confirmed.

“Let’s talk to the neighbors.”

Up and down the halls they went, knocking on every door. Only a few residents answered, less than half of them even recognized Sophie, and none had seen her that day – not even the nice white-haired man who had greeted Sam. How could no one know or see anything? How did a woman get taken from her apartment in broad daylight when two dozen other people lived literally down the hall?

Had she interfered to help ‘Denise’ again? It was possible. Angel Dennison knew which apartment was Sophie’s and could have come running for help. But then why hadn’t Sophie secured the apartment and called him right away?

With every passing minute, Sam’s heart grew heavier with a fear that threatened to strangle him.

Please, God, bring my Sophie back, he begged. Please keep her safe.

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.