Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 4: Witness

Part 3: Sam

The second the door shut behind Katie and Denise, Sam stared at the door until Sophie flipped the deadbolt with an eye-roll.

“You’re here. What’s going to happen?” she asked. On anyone else, the question would have sounded snobbish and bratty. On Sophie? Naive and sheltered. Her poor big brother must have gone through the ringer when she was in high school.

“Locking doors is a simple safety precaution that even I take in my own home. We lock the precinct. Leaving your front door unlocked when you’re a witness to a crime is a very bad idea,” he replied, masking his exasperation beneath a somewhat false facade of calm.

“Oh,” was all Sophie replied, furrowing her brow in thought.

“Mind if we sit?” Sam gestured to her loveseat and chair.

“Oh, goodness, of course. Do you want some tea or water?” she offered.

“No, thank you, but help yourself if you do,” Sam replied as he took a seat in the single chair.

“I was making Denise tea…” Sophie trailed off, chewed on her bottom lip, then scurried into the kitchen. Sam barely kept his smile contained as he waited for her to return. She was so… quirky. Quiet, but in a peaceful sort of way.

He was beyond grateful that she was unharmed, and took the minute she was gone to say a quick prayer.

“Thanks,” Sophie mumbled as she settled into the far corner of the loveseat. She tucked her feet carefully under her, smoothing down her skirt. Between her palms she held a huge yellow mug with a smiley face. She inhaled deeply of the steam, then blew gently on the hot liquid.

“What do I need to do now?” she asked after she had taken a tentative sip. Sam balanced his pocket notepad on his knee.

“Walk me through what happened tonight,” he prompted.

Sophie nodded, staring across the room toward the kitchen. Sam knew it was normal for people to not make eye contact when recalling an event.

“When I came home tonight, I was going through the lobby like normal when I heard a woman – Denise – cry out like she was in pain. I hadn’t seen them because they were tucked under the stairs. The man had his hand in her hair. He was very angry. He yelled at her. I, uh, I yelled too. He let her go enough that she could pull away, and I told her to go upstairs. Then we came here.” Sophie paused with a frown on her face. Sam just waited.

“I know I said more, but I can’t remember. I don’t understand,” Sophie muttered.

“It’s normal for the adrenaline rush to cloud your memory. It may come back, and it may not. Don’t pressure yourself to remember more than you can right now. Just tell me what comes to mind,” Sam tried to reassure and encourage.

Sophie nodded and sipped her tea. The silence grew between them, but Sam forced himself to remain patient.

“I told him to stay away, and he said something like, ‘Why would I want to stay away from a…’” her voice trailed off as she swallowed. She took two deep breaths. “‘A pretty thing like you,’” she finished on a whisper.

Emotions in your back pocket, Sam reminded himself as he felt anger at the unknown suspect rise.

“Do you remember anything else he said?” he prompted.

Sophie chewed on her lip again. “I don’t think so… Wait! He told the woman something about staying out of things that weren’t her business. Or stay out of his business. Something like that.”

“Any hints or details on what business that might be?”

“No.”

“Did he touch you at all?” Sam hated that question, but it needed to be asked.

“No,” Sophie denied with a head shake. “He came at me, but I had grabbed my pepper spray earlier because my-” She stopped abruptly, looking at him with pink cheeks and a guilty expression.

“It’s all right,” Sam said the first thing he could think of to reassure her.

“I’m sorry. I know it was stupid, but I didn’t want to take two trips, so I was carrying my work bag and three shopping bags, but I still tried to be a little bit smart and put the bags over my wrists so I could hold my pepper spray in one hand and I did get my keys out before I walked away from my car.” Sophie’s words tumbled out in such a rush that Sam had to work hard to process everything she said. When she finished speaking, she cradled her mug in her left hand and held up her right, palm towards him. He noticed half a dozen little cuts on her palm.

“What’s that?” he gestured, frowning.

“I guess I got scared and squeezed my keys too hard,” she replied quietly, gaze averted.

“I’m glad you had them out, Sophie,” he said with a smile. That earned him at least a flicker of a glance.

“Did you wash your hand when you got back?” he asked.

“Uh, no.” Sophie frowned.

“Why don’t you take care of that right now, please,” Sam suggested. She nodded and set her mug on the coffee table, and returned a minute later with clean hands. Sam pondered her words while she was gone, eternally grateful that the threat from a tiny canister of pepper spray kept this suspect at bay.

“Okay. You referred to him earlier as a druggy. What gave you that impression?” Sam headed in a new direction.

“His skin was kind of yellow. His eyes were bloodshot. He smelled bad. He was super skinny. His clothes were filthy. And he was jumpy, underneath his anger,” Sophie rattled off.

Wow. That was… observant.

“What did he look like? Height, size, hair color, etc?” Sam prompted.

“Dark hair, almost black. It was long-ish but shaggy like his cut grew out too long, not intentionally.” She held her hand up to her ear. “It was this long.”

Sam jotted notes, nodding to encourage her to keep talking.

“His eyes were also dark. He was white, paler than me I think. Um… height, you said? I didn’t get that close to him, but I think he was taller than me. I’m 5’8″,” she supplied.

“What was he wearing?”

“Dirty jeans and a t-shirt from some rock band.”

“Shoes?”

“Oh. Uh… I don’t remember. I didn’t look. I was too worried about his head and hands.”

“All good. Is there anything else you want to tell me?” Sam asked his standard end-of-interview question. Sophie squinted, brow furrowed, as she thought.

“Is there something missing?” she finally asked.

Sam barely resisted smiling. Sophie was a pleaser.

“Not that I can see, but if you think of anything else, even something that seems insignificant to you, just tell me. Okay?”

“Okay,” she nodded, and finally, her face relaxed into a little smile.

“Did you get your groceries put away?” Sam asked.

The sudden switch to something personal apparently threw Sophie for a second, but a glance in the corner showed her plastic bags sitting next to her book bag.

“Oops! No,” she squeaked, jumping up from the couch.

“I’ll let you get to that,” Sam said as he rose. “I need to get back to work. But I meant what I said – if you think of anything, call. Also, if you need anything, call. If you see that man again, call.”

He laid a business card on the kitchen counter next to where Sophie was clutching one of her grocery bags.

“My work cell is on the front, but here…” He grabbed a pen from his pocket and scribbled on the back of the card. “My personal cell, too. For any non-emergencies.” He smiled, and she did too.

“Thank you, Sam. I’m glad it was you who came,” Sophie commented softly, fingers nervously picking at the handle of the grocery bag.

“Me too, Sophie. I’ll see you around.”

“See you,” she replied. She followed him to the door, and he listened to the deadbolt slide home before walking away. He couldn’t stop the little curious voice in his mind that wondered – would she call?

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 4: Witness

Part 2: Sam

Sam was getting a little bored on patrol when his radio crackled.

“Assault at 1900 5th street, possibly still in progress,” came the clear dispatcher’s voice.

Panic slammed Sam’s gut a split second before he picked up his radio.

“Show 793 responding,” he barked out. He flipped on his lights as he executed the fastest (but still safe) U-turn of his life. He screeched to a stop outside Sophie’s building not 30 seconds later, requesting an update from the dispatcher. He should have more information by now.

“Assault occurred in the building lobby. Vic and caller are in apartment 204, second floor on the left.”

Sam knew. Before the dispatcher described the location, he knew it was Sophie.

But wait. Victim and caller?

“Suspect?”

“Left him in the lobby.”

“Show me 10-96,” Sam updated, giving the code to indicate both that he was now on foot and that he wanted backup.

“10-4, 793.”

He leapt from his cruiser, leaving the lights flashing, and sprinted toward the front doors. At the last minute, he remembered to shove his emotions in his back pocket and use his training and logic. He stood to the side of the front door and peered through the glass.

The poorly lit lobby was empty, but he couldn’t see behind the staircase toward the hallways. He opened the door cautiously with his left hand and kept his right hand hovering over his weapon.

It took less than a minute to ensure no one was in the lobby or the first-floor hallways. By that point, another cruiser had appeared outside. He waited for his backup – Officer Katie Fleming – before ascending the stairs. They quietly tag-teamed up to ensure the second floor hallway was also devoid of humans.

“You want me to come with you to check on the vic?” Katie offered.

“Please,” Sam nodded, swiftly approaching apartment 204. He reached for the radio at his shoulder before knocking.

“Show 793 and 814 entering apartment to take vic statement,” he reported.

“10-4, 793. 11-40 please.” Sure – let him know if an ambulance was needed.

“Will do.”

Sam took a steadying breath before knocking. He had no clue what he would find behind this door. Who was the vic? Who had called? Most terrifying – was Sophie hurt? He hadn’t spoken to her outside of church the last two Sundays, but he had spent pretty much all his free time, and a not insignificant amount of patrol time, thinking about her.

He forced himself to knock before he got any deeper in thought. It only took a few seconds before the deadbolt moved and the door was flung open.

Sophie.

Sam exhaled fully for the first time in 10 minutes.

“Sam!” she exclaimed, some of the worry line fading from her forehead.

“Please tell me you checked the peephole first,” he couldn’t help poking at her.

“Of course,” she replied earnestly, eyes wide. “I needed to make sure it wasn’t the…” She glanced behind her, then leaned in closer to whisper – “druggy from downstairs.”

Deep breaths, Sam reminded himself. Deep breaths. And protocol. That would save him from the insanity of this reckless woman.

“May we come in?” he asked, choosing to not respond to her commentary just yet.

“Of course,” Sophie practically jumped back from the opening. She held the door wide and eyed Katie warily as the cop duo made their way into her tiny living room.
Nothing had changed in her apartment since the night he had given her safety tips, except that she had turned on every single lightbulb in a 2-mile radius. Oh, and the bottle-job redhead on the couch was new.

“Sophie, this is Officer Katie Fleming,” Sam introduced his coworker, who shook hands with Sophie. “Officer Fleming, my friend Sophie Lane from church.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Lane,” Katie replied with a smile. “Who’s your friend?” she asked, nodding her head toward the redhead.

“Oh, um…” Sophie hesitated, chewing on her lip. “The man downstairs called her Denise, but she hasn’t said anything to me since I convinced her to wait in here. I’ve never met her before tonight.”

The redhead kept her eyes down, hands twisting nervously in her lap. She sat on the loveseat cross-legged.

“Did you place the 911 call?” Sam asked.

“Mmhmm,” Sophie nodded and bit her lip again. Her gaze bounced between Sam, Katie, and Denise.

“Divide and conquer?” Katie asked, casting her glance toward Denise. Sam got it – he could get more out of Sophie since he knew her, so even if Denise clammed up with Katie, they’d get one good accounting. He nodded.

“Is there another place we could talk separately from Denise and Officer Fleming?” Sam asked Sophie.

She stared at him like he’d asked her to solve a quadratic equation.

“It’s a one-bedroom,” she finally spoke on a very delayed exhale.

Duh. No other place to go besides her bedroom, which wasn’t great for making a police statement.

“Denise? I’m Katie,” Katie spoke softly as she crossed the room. Sam watched before asking Sophie anything further.

“Hi,” Denise squeaked, then cleared her throat. Sam noticed Sophie watched with rapt attention, too.

“Are you hurt?” Katie asked, her tone reminiscent of one he’d use for scared stray dogs – so soft, so gentle, that you couldn’t possibly feel threatened. Katie was 100% the right officer for this task.

“N-no,” Denise stuttered. “He only pulled my hair.” She ran a hand over her vibrant hair before flicking a glance at Sophie. Sam was itching for details.

“How would you feel about riding with me down to the station to get your statement, Denise?” Katie asked, still maintaining that soothing voice.

“I, uh… I guess I can do that,” Denise finally answered after a few hard swallows. Sam imagined she had probably had less-than-pleasant interactions with a police station already. It showed a certain amount of fortitude that she was willing to go now.

“Thank you.” Katie held out a hand, and Denise rose from the couch, following Katie from the room. Denise paused at the doorway to look at Sophie.

“Thank you-” she paused, her voice choking. It took her a minute and working her jaw back and forth a few times to compose herself enough to speak again. “Thank you for helping me.”

Sophie took the woman’s offered hand in both of hers and squeezed gently.

“I’m thankful I was in the right place at the right time for you. I hope everything works out for you,” Sophie spoke earnestly, but with a smile.

“You, too,” Denise gave a tiny smile, and then she and Katie were gone.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 4: Witness

Part 1: Sophie

It was already dark when Sophie arrived home late one Tuesday evening. The weather had been so nice – actually above 65! – that she had taken a long walk around Lake Williamson before getting her groceries and coming home. Now at 7:30, she was tired and hungry, which she found to be an unhelpful state of being.

She filled her arms with her work book bag and three plastic grocery sacks. A little voice in her head reminded her of Sam’s advice to have a free hand, but she just didn’t have enough energy to care. She’d come home to this apartment a million times. She’d be fine this once.

As a concession to his wisdom, she did slide the bag handles onto her wrists and grip her pepper spray in her left hand, keys in her right. There. Now she was armed for… hauling her groceries in? A little bubble of slightly hysterical laughter rose in her gut, but she didn’t want to add to the image of this neighborhood housing the village crazies.

She pushed open the unlocked door and entered the dim lobby as usual, mind already spinning on what she could easily make for dinner. Honestly, it was probably going to be a ramen noodle night. Maybe she’d even use the silly cat bowl Jonathan’s daughter had picked out for her for Christmas. Never trust a toddler to do Christmas shopping.

“Ow!” The woman’s high-pitched cry reached Sophie’s ears before her brain could process where it was coming from.

“That’s what you get for stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong!” snarled an angry man.

Sophie whipped her head around to find a horrifying scene. A man in dirty jeans and a ragged rock band t-shirt had his fist in a woman’s curly, artificially red hair. While it was too dim in the lobby, especially tucked behind the stairs as the people were, to see many details, Sophie discerned the man’s near-black hair. His face was blotchy red in his rage, but beneath that his skin had a sickly, almost yellow pallor.

“I’m sorry!” the red-headed woman wailed. She wore a much cleaner pair of jeans with a too-short top and sparkly stiletto heels. Sophie’s mom probably would have called her a ‘hussy’. All Sophie knew in that moment was that the man was hurting the woman. Instinct kicked in before common sense had even a chance of prevailing.

“Hey!” she yelled as loudly as she could. The man’s head snapped up, eyes sparking fury. His momentary distraction was apparently enough for the woman to yank her hair out of the man’s grip and back away.

“What are you doing?” Sophie challenged with false bravado.

“Denise, get back here!” He lunged for the woman with a snarl as she stepped away, tripping over her heels.

“No!” the redhead screamed, turning around to run. Sophie saw tears tracking down her face. Her mascara had run, and that paired with red lipstick made her face quite a surprise. Sophie stepped sideways into the space the woman had just occupied, placing herself between the angry man and the fleeing redhead.

“Go upstairs,” Sophie commanded her quietly, shocked she could speak with how hard her entire body shook in fear. The redhead scrambled behind her and was on the stairs in seconds.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the man growled at her. Sophie’s mouth went dry as a desert when he prowled closer to her. Now she could see his dark, bloodshot eyes. Fear snaked up her spine and curled up, tight and sick, in her belly.

“I- I…” she stammered. “Stay back!”

The man laughed evilly.

“Now why would I stay away from a pretty little thing like you?” he drawled. Sophie imagined he thought he was trying to sound more pleasant and less threatening. His voice slithered over her with all the comfort of nails on a chalkboard. He was a snake.

“I’m calling the cops,” she argued, although she immediately knew her hands were too full to even try digging her phone out of her crossbody purse.

When he suddenly lunged for her, she instinctively put up her hands to shield her face. The man jumped back as if he’d been electrocuted, but maintained his evil stare.

Confused, Sophie didn’t question the reprieve, but began backing up the stairs. The man’s dead, emotionless stare followed her until she rounded the corner. Then she turned and ran as fast as she could to her corner unit.

Her breath came so quickly and her hands shook like a chihuahua. She tried to curl her fingers into fists and squeeze to get them to calm down. That’s when she noticed she had gripped her keys so tightly they had made tiny cuts in her right palm – and she saw the hot pink pepper spray canister in her left hand.

That’s why he had stopped! Thank you, Lord, for Sam’s advice, Sophie took a moment to pray.

Sam. He would know what to do. But she should probably call 911. She put the pepper spray in her skirt pocket and pulled out her cell phone, initiating the call. Before it connected, she noticed that the redhead was huddled in the corner across from her apartment door.

“Come in,” Sophie whispered, not knowing if the angry man would follow.

“I don’t wanna get ya in trouble,” the woman argued, also whispering.

“911, what is your location?” a male dispatcher asked in a calm, unhurried voice.

“1900 5th Street, apartment 204,” Sophie replied into her phone, then tilted it away from her mouth.

“It’s fine,” Sophie tried to assure the woman and encourage her inside.

“And what’s the emergency?” the dispatcher’s voice came in her ear.

Thankfully, the redhead accepted Sophie’s invitation and stepped into the apartment.

“I need to report an assault,” Sophie’s voice shook, but she was determined to do the right thing.

With a final scan up and down the hall, Sophie stepped in behind the stranger. She twisted the deadbolt home and heaved a huge sigh of relief.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 3: Saints and Sinners

Part 4: Sam

“Hey, Ryan!” Sam greeted his brother heartily as soon as he exited the car. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“Didn’t know they let you out of the station anymore,” Ryan teased back.

“Ha, ha,” Sam deadpanned. “Don’t quit your day job.”

Ryan laughed and enveloped Sam in a bear hug. Neither man was small, but man – Ryan was definitely gaining muscle.

“You eat anything besides protein these days?” Sam quipped with a light jab to Ryan’s arm.

“Hey, now. Just because you’re jealous…”

“Pshaw,” Sam scoffed. “I’m doin’ just fine, thanks.” He flexed his bicep.

“Boys!” their mom hollered from the porch, giving a pointed look toward the street once she had their attention. Sam winced when he turned to see Sophie standing awkwardly next to her car while he and his brother picked on each other in the driveway.

“Sorry, Mom,” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear, then quickly made his way to Sophie.

“Sorry,” he repeated when he reached her. “This is my brother Ryan. Ryan, this is Sophie Lane.”

“Nice to meet you, Sophie Lane,” Ryan gave a hearty but gentle handshake. Why did Sam suddenly want to shove his elbow into Ryan’s ribs?

“Nice to meet you, too, Ryan,” Sophie returned the greeting with a nervous smile.

“Come on inside,” Sam suggested, gesturing towards the front porch where his mom still stood watch.

“S-sure,” Sophie stuttered, then tottered slightly when her heels caught on the lumpy grass.

“Careful,” Sam caught her elbow. She blushed but said nothing. When they reached the sidewalk, she pulled her arm back. Bummer for Sam…

“So how’d you two meet?” Ryan asked from Sophie’s other side.

“Work,” Sam replied shortly. After a 3-second pause, Ryan held out an open hand and raised his eyebrows in a gesture requesting more information. Sam sighed.

“Sophie works for a marketing company that’s been hired to redo Williamson’s image or something,” he explained.

“Oh! We had some of the Jordan Designs people at the firehouse,” Ryan chimed in with excitement. “Hey, wait. Were you Sam’s ride-along?”

Sophie cast a look at Sam right before they reached the porch steps, and he wished he was a mind-reader.

“I was,” Sophie replied demurely.

“Welcome, Sophie,” Sam’s mom greeted as soon as their feet hit the porch. “Come on inside. Shoes on or off, doesn’t matter! Follow me through to the kitchen. Boys, you can set the table while I get to know Sophie.”

Not for the first time, Sam had the impression that Laurie Harrison was a whirling dervish – a force to be reckoned with. Did the woman never stop talking? Moving? Managing? He suspected not. He wondered if his dad even got to fold his own socks, but Mom probably did that her way, too.

Also, he and Ryan were grown men. At 25 and 27, surely they were eligible to be called something other than ‘boys’. It sounded so juvenile.

But if he didn’t get moving, he’d surely be stuck with something worse than setting the table.

“Not those dishes, Ryan,” he heard his mom admonishing as he came down the hallway. “Yes, dear, the nice ones. Salad plates too.”

“Salad with quiche?” Ryan questioned.

“Fruit salad, dear,” Mom replied in a rather patronizing tone, as if this should have been patently obvious.

Fruit salad went on salad plates? News to Sam, but he wisely kept his mouth shut and grabbed a handful of silverware from the drawer.

“Sophie, tell me where you’re from. Wisconsin native?” Mom hurtled from directing her sons back into conversation. Sam noticed Mom had set Sophie with a paring knife and a pile of grapes to halve. He wondered if she had volunteered or not.

“No, I’m from Arizona,” Sophie replied. Sam was mildly surprised. First, he hadn’t ever thought to ask her that. Second, why had she chosen Wisconsin? Third, the coat she had pulled on during the ride-along made way more sense.

“Oooh, how exotic!” Mom exclaimed. Sam barely restrained his snort of disagreement.

“Not really to me, but it’s definitely different from here. There’s a lot of hard-packed sand. Very different vegetation. Less green. But I can’t get used to the cold.”

Mom laughed lightly. “I can imagine. Dan took me on a trip there once. I loved how toasty it was!”

“Did you grow up here?” Sophie politely returned his mother’s original question while also deftly steering the conversation away from herself.

“A few towns over, but still in Wisconsin, yes. Besides a handful of trips with Dan and the boys, I never left. I love the green grass and changing seasons. And the cheese.”

Mom laughed again, then directed a sharp glance at Sam. “Forks on the left,” she corrected. Sam sighed and did as she asked.

“I am surprised by how many types of cheese there are,” Sophie commented.

“Ryan, go find your dad,” Mom directed traffic. “Oh, my, yes. Although I would imagine any decent-sized city grocery store would offer many of the same options? Sam, grab those trivets.”

Sam hesitated in the kitchen doorway. What was a trivet again? Sophie discretely pointed to two thick but small wooden cutting boards – or at least that’s what he thought they were. One was shaped like the state of Wisconsin, and one like a cow. His mother’s kitchen was currently decorated with a cow theme. When he was younger, she had gone through an apple phase, then a corncob phase. He’d seen pictures of a floral pattern before he was born.

With a grateful smile to Sophie, he grabbed the thick wood slabs and laid them in the middle of the big round table.

“Wow,” Sophie couldn’t hold back her surprise as she stepped into the dining room with a bowl of the fruit she’d helped cut up. Sam grinned.

“Cool, isn’t it?” he agreed.

“Dad built it,” Ryan supplied as he set the warm loaf of bread in its ceramic cow basket on the table, as well.

“What is it?” Sophie asked.

“A built-in Lazy Susan,” Sam replied, giving the middle tier of the table a spin. The table sat 6 generously, 8 comfortably, and about 16″ from the outside edge was a second “table” that rested on top of well-greased bearings. All the food went on the Lazy Susan, which could then be slowly spun around so everyone could reach what they wanted.

“It’s amazing,” Sophie whispered.

“Just don’t pinch your fingers,” Sam cautioned, pointing to the half-inch gap between the tabletop and the Lazy Susan. Sophie nodded, then gently rested the crystal bowl she held in one of the remaining open spots.

“Everybody, have a seat!” his mom suddenly declared. She and Dad each carried a quiche to the already-laden table, and the five of them sat. Dad led the prayer, and then there was quiet for a while as everyone filled their plates. Sophie watched Sam and his family chat with quiet fascination, seeming markedly uncomfortable when asked questions about herself.

“What about your family, Sophie?” Mom asked during a lull in the chewing.

“I have an older brother Jonathan. He lives in California with his wife and daughter. My parents still live in Peshicot, AZ. It’s a small town like Williamson or New Albany. My dad runs a plumbing business. My mom helps him out with paperwork and stuff.”

“How nice that at least the small-town element feels familiar,” Mom chattered easily.

“Marketing and plumbing are so different. How’d you get into that? Oh, and what does your brother do?”

“Jonathan is a computer programmer,” Sophie replied, graciously ignoring the question pile. “I chose marketing because it comes easily to me. I helped my dad and our church with a few projects before committing to the profession. I like to help people present themselves in the best light possible.”

She had said much the same thing on the day they met. Sam could admit he had made assumptions about her based on preconceived notions of marketers in general. Sophie did not fit any of those negative stereotypes, and he found he rather enjoyed sharing her time and company.

What to do, what to do…

Then his mom cast a slightly devious look towards him and Ryan. “I have to ask, Sophie. Any boyfriend in the picture?”

Nothing. He would do absolutely nothing.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 3: Saints and Sinners

Part 3: Sophie

Sitting between Sam and his mom was just… awkward. Oh, Sam was great. Gave her space, made sure she was following along – she saw his glances – even that shoulder bump of solidarity and encouragement. He was kind in ways that still surprised her after their initial meeting. He had been openly unenthusiastic about her job. And yet, here they were – and he had held her hand. Her palm still tingled almost an hour later.

Sam’s mom on the other hand… Sophie could guess many things about the woman. Chatty. Nosy. Pushy. Probably also loving and generous and endlessly cheerful. The kind of woman who loved her son to death. Also the kind of woman who likely wanted to see said son paired off.

Sophie stifled a sigh at the thought. Her experiences at her home church had taught her that when a church busybody set her sights on you, nothing – not even having to organize the congregation’s 50th anniversary bash – would sway her from her rightful throne of matchmaking. Sophie had hated every minute of being Mrs. Striker’s “project”. She feared she had only been spared by moving to the opposite end of the country. She had a sneaking suspicion she and Sam were about to become Mrs. Harrison’s “project”. Heaven, help us all. There were only so many places she could move to next.

Amy’s peskiness hadn’t helped her unsettled mood. Sure, they talked at church and rehearsals, but to suddenly call three times in a row? There’s a reason God invented voicemail, Amy.

Focus on Sam, Sophie reminded herself of the one peaceful person around her right now. As the service drew to a close, Sam’s attention remained unfatigued on the pastor. He greeted the people in front of and behind their pew with handshakes and his subdued friendliness. Laurie Harrison bubbled, talked, laughed, and generally exuded a wild zest for life. On her other side, Dan Harrison smiled indulgently at his wife and exchanged a few words with other men.

“Now, Sophie, normally I’d ask you to join us for Bible class, but Pastor’s taking a break during Lent to make time for the extra services in his schedule. So instead, can I persuade you to join us for brunch?” Laurie launched into conversation.

“Oh, um, I…” Sophie had no clue how to respond, and glanced behind her at Sam. Rats, he was still talking to the man in the pew behind them.

“Come on. Just an hour or two. I made quiche,” Laurie said as if this should be the world’s greatest temptation.

Maybe it was, because… “Okay. Thanks, Mrs. Harrison,” Sophie found herself replying without really thinking.

“Oh, dear, please call me Laurie. We’re going to be friends, right?” Laurie bubbled on. Sophie just smiled, at a loss for words.

“Mom,” came Sam’s warning growl over her shoulder.

“What?” Laurie feigned innocence to Sam, who just shook his head.

“Let’s go, sweetie,” Dan took his wife’s elbow as the usher gestured for them to leave church. Sophie followed the elder Harrison’s out of the pew and into the crowded little narthex. There she turned her phone back on to see 6 additional missed called and 9 text messages, all from Amy Shachar. She looked up to find Sam hovering close by.

“Would you excuse me for a moment? I’m going to return these calls,” she explained, waving her phone.

“Sure. I’ll find you in the parking lot before we go. I hear Mom persuaded you with quiche?” His tone held a hint of laughter.

“She did,” Sophie replied sheepishly. “I’ll be honest, I’m not the best cook.”

Now Sam’s laughter escaped for real. “Me neither. Steak and potatoes in the air fryer is about all I manage.”

“Tuna salad,” Sophie offered with a shrug.

Sam winced. “My mom’s quiche definitely wins over both of our options.”

Sophie smiled. “I’ll be back.”

She ducked out the front doors, skirted people lingering on the steps, and found a quiet spot in a sunny corner of the parking lot. Amy answered before the first ring had finished sounding in her ear.

“Are you okay?” She sounded a little out of breath.

“I’m fine, Amy. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? You’ve never missed church, and you just went AWOL. Are you okay?” she repeated.

Sophie barely stifled a sigh. “Of course. I just went to a different church this Sunday, that’s all.” She knew she didn’t owe her an explanation, but if it helped her calm down, she’d happily offer one.

“What church?” Amy continued suspiciously. “There are no other Lutheran churches in Williamson.” Amy was a die-hard Resurrection devotee and automatically hesitant about all other churches.

This time she let the sigh escape. “No, but there’s one in New Albany.”

“Those old stodges?” Amy’s voice dripped with disdain, which raised Sophie’s hackles.

“That wasn’t nice, Amy,” she chided gently.

“Fine,” she snapped, then sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been worried sick about you.”

A nice thought, but it made her a little uneasy.

“There’s no need to worry. I am just fine,” she assured.

“Okay. Thank you for calling me back, and I apologize if I overreacted.”

If?

“I forgive you,” was all she could say.

“Thanks. I guess I’ll see you on Friday, right?” Amy said.

“Yes.”

“Same time & place?” she asked.

“You’ll see the message. You know I don’t talk about this,” she reminded her.

“Sorry, yeah. Okay. Have a good day, Sophie.”

She softened. “You too, Amy.” She almost added ‘thanks for caring’, but figured she’d be better off just letting it ride. She ended the call and tucked her phone back in her purse just as Sam approached.

“All good?” he asked.

“Yup. Just an abundantly cautious girl, I guess,” Sophie tried to mentally shrug off the conversation and her discomfort with it.

“Nice to have friends who care,” Sam tossed out. Now Sophie physically shrugged.

“Ready for quiche?” Sam blessedly changed the subject.

As if on cue, Sophie’s stomach signaled the fact her oatmeal had been consumed more than four hours ago, and she couldn’t help laughing even as she blushed.

“Yes, I think I am!”

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 3: Saints and Sinners

Part 2: Sam

Sam looked at her downturned face and pondered her tears. The woman was really torn up about missing a couple of church services? Something suspiciously near the middle of his chest tightened and released, leaving him feeling warm – and puzzled. On a whim, pure impulse really, he reached out and offered his hand. To his great surprise, Sophie slid her slender, cold fingers into his. That warm feeling spread from his chest and his fingers to fill his whole body. What was this?

“I’m sorry you missed it,” he said quietly. She nodded, leaving her chin tucked so her eyes were on her lap. Or their hands?

“I take it they didn’t change anything at Resurrection when Lent started?” Sam asked.

“Not a thing. Didn’t even mention it. I can’t believe I had no clue!” Sophie sounded distraught and almost like she was castigating herself.

“Sophie, it’s not your fault if they didn’t announce it,” he tried to absolve her.

“No, but I should have paid better attention,” she nearly wailed, yet still maintained her respectful whisper. “I’ve just never had to, and I got so caught up in work and-.” She cut herself off abruptly, leaving Sam to wonder just what kept her busy. Dance? Maybe.

“Well, we can’t change the past, but you can come to the rest of the services,” Sam suggested, pointing a finger of his free hand toward the bulletin she still clutched.

A few deep breaths passed before she spoke again.

“You’re absolutely right. I can.” She sat up straight and finally looked at him. “Thank you.” Her tiny smile sent that warm feeling wandering up his arm again.

The second he recognized his mother’s voice talking to Pauline Johnson in the back of church, Sam gave Sophie’s hand a squeeze and let go. He was not interested in her matchmaking endeavors, today or any day. He had only meant to console Sophie.

Sure, and there’s oceanfront property in Williamson, he grumbled to himself.

“Sam! You’re not in your usual place. Who’s this lovely lady?”

Sam rose and turned in the pew to greet his mom with a hug.

“Hi, Mom. This is Sophie Lane. Sophie, this is my mom Laurie.” Sam performed the introductions. Sophie stood and reached awkwardly around Sam to shake Laurie’s hand.

“Welcome, Sophie. What brings you here?” Laurie asked with a very obvious side-eye at Sam. He rolled his eyes, but his mom had already looked away.

“I’ve been attending Resurrection in Williamson, but it’s not my speed. I met Sam through work, and he suggested I visit Bethel,” Sophie explained far more succinctly than Sam could have drummed up at the last second.

Maybe marketers had silver tongues…

“Oh, well, how lovely!” his mom exclaimed. “Can we join your pew?”

“Um…” Sophie hesitated and looked to Sam, who barely held his grimace in check. That one look would give his mom food for drama for the next month of Sundays…

“Up to you,” he shrugged.

“Sure, please do,” Sophie hesitantly offered.

“Excellent! Dan!” his mom turned and hollered – well, called out, but still, it was right before church and she was kind of loud – for his dad.

It took a few minutes for his dad to break off his conversation, by which point his mom had managed to settle herself on the other side of Sophie. The church pews were fairly small, holding six adults on average. Sam was against the side aisle, then Sophie to his right, then his mom. His dad slid in next to his mom just as the bells began ringing.

“This is my husband Dan,” his mom stage-whispered to Sophie. Sophie, God bless her, just smiled and nodded a greeting.

Sam kept a close eye on Sophie throughout the service, but she never faltered in maneuvering between the liturgy and the hymns. She recited parts of it from memory, even. When they reached the recitation of the Creed, he noticed she closed her eyes to say it and a tear snaked down her cheek. She didn’t bother wiping it away.

Sam momentarily wished he was willing to defy his mother’s meddling and hold Sophie’s hand again, even for a moment, but he just wasn’t that brave. So he settled for gently bumping her shoulder. She kept speaking, but a soft smile curled up the corner of her lips.

Why would she cry but smile? Why would the Creed make someone cry?

Then it hit him – Resurrection. He sincerely doubted they recited the Creed on any kind of regular basis, given their propensity to attempt appeals to the unchurched masses. Sophie probably hadn’t stood shoulder-to-shoulder with like-minded believers, reciting their shared foundational beliefs, in months. Her tears were not of sorrow, exactly, except maybe sorrow over what she had missed. This was filling her cup.

That confounding warmth bubbled up in the middle of his ribcage again. Though he had so very little to do with it, he was still pleased as punch with his part in getting Sophie here today. It felt good to have made a good suggestion, then see her follow through and be happy about it.

In short, he felt good. With her.

Huh. Wasn’t expecting that with the quiet little marketer.

When they got to the communion portion of the service, Sophie remained in the pew while the Harrisons went up, quietly whispering that she would wait until she had met the pastor. As he resumed his seat, Sam noticed an incessant buzzing from the little purse tucked by Sophie’s feet.

“Are you on call?” he whispered.

“Marketers are never on call,” she whispered back, wrinkling her nose.

“Your phone is ringing off the hook.” Sam dipped his chin towards her bag.

“Oh!” She quickly leaned down and pulled a purple-cased smartphone out of the back pocket of her purse. She hung up on someone – he saw the name “Amy” on the screen – before completely shutting the device down.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered to him when she had sat up again.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

She shrugged. “She goes to Resurrection. Probably just checking on me, since we are some of the few who never miss a Sunday there.”

And then communion was over and the service continued, ending their stilted conversation.

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 3: Saints and Sinners

Part 1: Sophie

Sophie’s alarm went off at its usual, punctual 6:01 a.m. She would have been happy to hear the chirping bird tone if she hadn’t already been staring at her dark popcorn ceiling for the last half hour while listening to the sounds of the building through the paper-thin apartment walls. Her neighbors to the east? Having a raucous ‘debate’ as to whether their toddler could have sugar cereal on a Sunday morning. Her neighbors upstairs? Never turned their pounding subwoofer off even though they probably passed out hours ago.

With a long-suffering sigh, Sophie gently tapped the button on her phone to silence the alarm, then climbed out of bed. Exhaustion pulled at her eyelids, but she forced herself to go through the motions of a shower and a cup of good, strong English breakfast tea. She was debating whether she wanted to make scrambled eggs or a bowl of oatmeal when sudden, blessed silence descended.

Aaaaahhh. Thank you, Lord, for a building super who was willing to cut the power to the party apartment.

Oatmeal, she decided. And pain killers. Starting the day with a headache when she already was anxiously dreading what came next was a recipe for disaster.

Thus fortified, she ran her brush through her hair one last time, secured half of it up with a leather-covered clip, and slipped into her one pair of church shoes. Basic black went with all of her dresses. Today she had chosen her favorite plum-colored shift. It was both unfailingly modest and gently flattering, always making her feel pretty. Even her brother had once begrudgingly complimented the dress. That memory brought a smile to her now-glossy lips.

The drive to New Albany was nothing short of pleasant. Once out of Williamson, she passed mostly farm fields. Some would soon sport crops of corn or soybeans. Others were full of cows grazing contentedly. The whole scene was beautifully pastoral. It soothed her ruffled soul.

It was easy to find Bethel Lutheran. The white clapboard church of pleasing proportions and a tall bell tower stood one block off main street, its steeple like a beacon with the newly risen sun behind it. People worked their way slowly from a small parking lot to one side of the building into the church, either via a winding ramp on the side or the wide staircase along the front. The double doors were thrown open in invitation. Sophie readily accepted.

The second she stepped through the doorway, before her eyes could adjust to the dimmer lighting, a pair of male hands thrust a bulletin at her and offered a handshake.

“Good morning, and welcome to Bethel,” greeted a raspy, thin voice. The hands shook slightly, the skin paper-thin with age.

“Good morning,” Sophie returned quietly, accepting the bulletin and the handshake. Her eyes finally adjusted enough to see a man shorter than her, rail-thin, with only a few patches of white hair left on his speckled scalp. His smile stretched wrinkled cheeks wide from ear-to-ear. What a joyful man!

“I don’t recognize you, miss, and I know near-abouts ev’rybody here. First time?”

Warmth bubbled up inside Sophie as she listened to his slight drawl. She got the impression he didn’t use his voice very often – thus the rasp – but when he did, he used it to coax life from both plants and people.

“Yes, sir,” she nodded. “Officer Harrison recommended it.”

“Ah! Fine young lad,” the old man commented with a grunt and a grin.

“He seems nice,” was all she trusted herself to comment.

“He usually sits on the pulpit side, about halfway back, if you want to join him.” Then the audacious old man winked slowly, his smile never faltering. Oh, boy. Sophie was in trouble with this one!

“Um, thanks,” she mumbled, then scooted into the sanctuary and away from perceiving old eyes.

Wishing to put no pressure on Sam or anyone he might know here, she purposely sat near the back on the lectern side. Flipping through the thin bulletin, she quickly realized this church actually used the hymnal for both liturgy and hymns. The very first page of the bulletin noted which liturgy would be followed today, then listed the hymns. She noted the hymns matched the ones on the old-fashioned wooden hymn board on the front wall beside the pulpit. She found the right liturgy page, then used the attached ribbon to mark her place.

The remaining two pages of the bulletin – which, she noted, was just an 8.5×11 sheet of office paper folded in half to make a four-page ‘booklet’ – included announcements of various events and activities, a list of people to pray for, the Lenten service schedule, and contact information for the church council members.

Oh, man. Lent. How had she missed that? Well, not hard when Resurrection didn’t schedule the special midweek services she was used to. Had she missed Ash Wednesday? A quick consult with the bulletin proved that she had, indeed, along with the first midweek service. A melancholy sadness deflated her shoulders as her eyes no longer focused on the paper in front of her.

She hadn’t missed an Ash Wednesday service since her appendectomy when she was 13. She knew it wasn’t a sin, but it felt all wrong. Tears stung at the back of her eyes.

“Sophie?” came a curious voice from just over her left shoulder. She quickly sniffed before turning her head. Sam!

“Officer Harrison,” she choked, hating how her voice always went funny when she cried.

“Sam is fine, if you like,” he said with a smile and an outstretched hand. She shook his hand while attempting to return his smile. The concern drawing his eyebrows together told her she probably didn’t succeed at the latter.

“Would you like company or prefer to sit alone?” he offered.

Sophie took a deep breath. If she sat alone, she could process her feelings and maybe talk to him after the service, when she was more collected. But then she knew she would feel lonely and out-of-place, sticking out like a thumbtack on an office chair. If she accepted company, he’d ask why she was upset. She might be embarrassed, but her time with Sam reassured her he wouldn’t judge her, at least not too harshly. She slid down the glossy wooden pew.

“Company, please.” This time, her little smile was real.

“I’m glad you made it,” Sam said with genuine earnestness as he sat in the pew next to her. He wore gray dress pants and a white button-down shirt, no tie. Sophie had to swallow hard and mentally shake herself as his body radiated heat she could feel across the inches that separated them.

“It was a lovely drive,” she answered honestly.

Sam’s smile grew. “Isn’t it? I don’t know why, but something about passing pastures full of cows on the way to church is…”

“Soothing?” she suggested.

“Yeah, that’s a good word for it,” Sam agreed with a nod. Then his smile dipped. “No pressure, but if you need an ear, I’m a good one. Something was bothering you. Are you okay?”

Drat. He would have to remember. Sophie sucked in the biggest breath she could and tried to let it out discreetly.

“I realized when I looked at the bulletin -” she waved it lamely – “that I missed Ash Wednesday.”

“And that bothers you.” Statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“Why?” No judgement, just warm curiosity.

“I never miss Ash Wednesday. I… it’s probably weird, but I actually like Lent. I find the solemnity helpful to study and self-reflection. I like the extra services, too. I can’t believe I didn’t even know it was Lent.”

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 2: Let’s Dance

Part 4: Sam

Sophie visibly bristled at Sam’s domineering tone. Okay, so maybe he didn’t need to talk down to her as if she was a child, but his patience had worn so thin at this point that he didn’t school his words like he probably should have. He sighed and dropped his head, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I apologize, Miss Lane. That was rude of me. But I would like to have a conversation with you about your seeming lack of basic safety precautions,” he tried again.
Crud. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she blinked furiously.

“All right,” she whispered. Without another word, she gathered her things and headed toward a little side closet, flipping on her phone’s flashlight. The warehouse plunged into darkness, and Sam reflexively pulled out his own little powerful pen light.

“Miss Lane?”

She paused, one hand on the doorknob, and turned to look at him.

“I just want you to notice that your hands are full, you only have a dim light, and you’re about to walk outside into a dark area. Do you see how vulnerable to attack you are?”

Confusion furrowed her brow, but she dutifully looked down at her hands, then out the window into the darkness.

“I… Oh. Um…” she stuttered, then ducked her head. “I never thought of that. Everyone here seems nice.” There was a pleading undertone in her voice – she didn’t want to believe anyone would hurt her.

“I’d love to promise everyone in Williamson is a saint, but all the people in the church pews and the existence of my job would argue otherwise,” he pointed out gently.

Sophie chewed on her lip as she pondered his words. She shifted nervously before looking back at him.

“So what should I do instead?” she asked.

Sam’s heart warmed at the question. He felt an inexplicable sense of pride at her humility and resilience. She didn’t scoff, or argue, or crumble. She recognized she had room to learn, and accepted his knowledge. It made him feel 10 feet tall.

“Assuming the warehouse setting remains the same, don’t leave alone. And neither should any of your friends, for that matter. Leave in a group. That way one or more people can hold lights while you have to turn your back on the parking lot to lock up the space.”

She nodded along. “Stay in a group. Get a better flashlight. What else?”

“Lock the door while you’re inside. I didn’t hear you unlock it when I arrived.”

“No, it was unlocked for everyone to arrive.”

“Did you all arrive in daylight?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. What else… Park closer to the building. No need to leave all that open dark space between you and your car. Have your car keys in your hand before you unlock the interior door to leave.”

Sophie cocked her head. “How am I supposed to carry everything and have my car keys out?”

“That’s what your friends are for. Everyone should have a hand free,” Sam encouraged.

“Oh,” she mumbled softly. Sam just shook his head.

“Come on. I’ll walk out with you.” He gestured to the door, then followed her out. Sophie turned her back on the parking lot with her full arms and awkwardly punched in the code to lock the door. Sam resisted rolling his eyes at her fumbling movements, but kept watch over her in the dark parking lot. Then he drove behind her as she made her way the few miles to her frightfully dark neighborhood.

Why had a single woman with no sense chosen to live here? Maybe he just answered his own question…

Outside the front door of the building, she paused, suddenly looking shy.

“Did you want to, uh, come up?” she asked, biting her lip.

“If you don’t mind, yes, please.” He thought about launching into some thoughts about her building, but kept those to himself – for now.

“Sure…” She opened the front door, which was totally unsecured, and entered a dingy 70’s lobby, complete with worn orange carpeting. Gross. They walked past mailboxes, then up a narrow staircase to the second floor. After a quick left turn at the top, she approached an end unit.

“Is there another way down? A second staircase?” Sam couldn’t help but ask. His brother Ryan, a firefighter, had drummed the importance of multiple egress points into his head.

“No, just the one,” Sophie replied offhand, juggling her multiple bags again and searching out her apartment key. The hallway lighting was dim, and Sam imagined she worked more by feel than sight.

His first impression of her apartment was that she was making the best she could of the worst situation possible. They stepped immediately into the living room. Thin, worn carpeting that could have been gray or brown rested under his feet. A cheerful but weathered plaid two-seater couch sat on the wall to the right. A coffee table, dented and scratched but clean, rested in front of it.

To the left of the living room was a tiny galley kitchen with ugly once-yellow cabinets, some missing their handles. The stove and fridge were tan 90’s plastic. Straight ahead was a wall with two doors, which he assumed led to the bedroom and bathroom. No natural light made it to the living room and kitchen, and Sam had to wonder how much time she actually spent here.

“Uh… I don’t have coffee, but do you want some tea?” Sophia asked, setting down her bags on the kitchen counter. She looked nervous, and Sam felt a little bad about that. He realized he had been awfully judgmental in his frustration about her safety.

“No, but thank you. I shouldn’t stay long. I…” Now he hesitated. How to say these things without hurting her feelings too much? Because it surely would hurt at least a little.

“Miss Lane…” he began, then sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s okay with me if you call me Sophie,” she suggested quietly, shifting from one foot to the other in her kitchen doorway.

“Sophie,” Sam tested the name, enjoying how it felt rolling off his tongue. Nope, focus on the task at hand.

“Look, I don’t want to freak you out, but I get the impression you didn’t have to think much about your safety growing up,” he hedged.

“You would be correct,” Sophie acknowledged. “I’ve never seen anything bad happen in my hometown, even, let alone my neighborhood.”

“What about college? Surely you had to learn some basics at college.”

“I, uh, lived at home and commuted,” Sophie admitted, biting her lip as if that was something to be ashamed of.

“Good way to save money, I imagine,” Sam commented with a smile. Sophie just nodded, but said no more.

“Okay. Here’s the deal, Sophie. You don’t live in a safe neighborhood. In fact, you live in the worst neighborhood in Williamson.” He paused a minute while she winced and chewed her lip again. “Surely you’ve heard the sirens and noticed the frequency of the police driving through your neighborhood or even having to come into this building.”

“I have,” she whispered.

“I’d hate for you to go blithely through your days thinking it will never happen to you and then find yourself the victim of a crime that could have been avoided.” Another wince, but she glanced up and nodded. “I’ll go through a few things right now, but could we get together again and talk about personal safety some more, please?”

Sophie’s brow furrowed, and she hesitated before speaking.

“You’d do that? Why?”

Sam couldn’t help smiling. “I don’t like the idea of you being hurt,” he finally settled on saying. Confusion was written all over Sophie’s face before she blanked her expression and nodded.

“All right. What do I need to know?”

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 2: Let’s Dance

Part 3: Sam

Sam had actually been a little glad to get a call on Friday night, especially this one. He could live without the drunk and disorderly calls at 2am. A noise complaint at 8:45 was probably not a big deal. Maybe some teenagers being obnoxious.

His curiosity and concern grew when he realized the address was a random building along the riverfront. This stretch had mostly warehouses and closed-for-the-weekend offices. Who was actually bothered by any noise here, now?

The specific warehouse in question was surrounded by dark buildings. No vehicles were parked in the neighboring lots, no pedestrians wandered. The closest restaurant was a quarter mile away. The whole block would have looked deserted if it weren’t for lights on in a warehouse, and a handful of cars parked behind it, along the river.

Sam brought his vehicle to a stop in front of the warehouse. He wondered briefly if he should call for backup with that many vehicles. He decided to just scope out the situation before making that decision. He called in that he was exiting his vehicle, ensuring the handheld radio clipped to his shoulder was on and functioning.

He walked along the side of the building, counting five cars and a motorcycle. He reported that to the dispatcher. He could barely make out the sound of voices coming from the warehouse, and definitely not the loud music the caller had complained about.

When he reached the rear of the building, he stopped short at the sound of the door opening. He paused in the shadows and watched.

A slender figure dressed in black, with a long light-brown ponytail hanging over her shoulder, stuck her head out the door.

“Officer Harrison? Is that you?” she called just above a whisper.

Sam ground his teeth. Not that he wasn’t happy to see the shy little brunette that had been randomly popping into his thoughts this week – but didn’t she have the good sense not to be in a sketchy place in the dark, and then go poking her head out the door when she wasn’t sure who was out there? Between this and her choice of residence, Sam was beginning to think God had brought them together just so he could give her a stern talking-to.

“Miss Lane,” he greeted as he stepped into the watery light by the back door. “What brings you here?”

Upon closer inspection, he noticed she looked a little flushed and had a sheen of sweat on her face. She opened the door wider for him and stepped back into the building. He entered and stood to the side of the door, taking in a quiet group of adults dressed in comfortable exercise clothing, all staring at him.

“We’re, uh, dancing,” she replied with a shrug.

Dancing? In a warehouse on a Friday night?

“Why not go to a club?” he asked. He watched Sophie swallow hard, her eyes darting to her – were they friends? – acquaintances and back to him.

“We, um… we do our own choreography,” she finally stammered.

“You’re a dancer? Like, ballet?” Sam couldn’t stop the surprise in his voice.

“Not ballet, but yes. Contemporary dance. Or hip-hop. Stuff like that.”

Sam noticed Sophie was avoiding eye contact with him. Was she guilty of a crime? Embarrassed about her dancing? Flat-out lying about what she’s doing here?

“Someone called the police reporting loud music coming from this building. I assume you play music when you dance.” He paused and waited for her to nod. “How loud?”

“May I?” she gestured to a phone sitting on top of a portable speaker.

“Please.”

Sophie approached the phone, tapped a few times, and music filled the space. He didn’t recognize the song, but he did note that the volume wasn’t unreasonable. Someone walking down the sidewalk probably wouldn’t have been able to hear enough to know who the singer was, let alone be annoyed by the volume.

“Thank you. You can turn it off now,” he said after about 30 seconds. She did so and turned to face him.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked. He found it interesting that she singled herself out. He’d bet this week’s paycheck she wanted to protect her friends from any fallout of the noise complaint.

“No. I’ll take down your names and contact information just in case, and ask you to disperse for tonight.” Then a thought occurred to him. “Do you have permission to be here?”

He knew the small warehouse was owned by a man name Edbridge. What connection could Sophie Lane have to him?

“I do,” she insisted, her eyes flaring a little. “I can show you the emails.”

“Let me take down your friends’ names first, then we can go over that.” Sam’s tone brooked no argument, even though he knew from experience none of these people wanted their names in any kind of police report. He had no idea what was going on here, but the fact that someone called in a noise complaint on people who weren’t being all that loud had his suspicions running. He was looking forward to picking the lieutenant’s brain on this one.

With a surprisingly low amount of grumbling, he recorded the names, addresses, and phone numbers of Sophie’s ten friends. She stood by quietly as they packed up and left, offering not even a farewell. She had put on a thick cardigan and wrapped her arms around her waist. To be fair, she was probably cold, having worked up a sweat dancing before standing around for half an hour in an unheated warehouse. As was common for the spring, once the sun set, all the warmth in the air disappeared.

“I’ll message you later,” the one named Amy promised with a squeeze to Sophie’s hand as she left. Sophie just nodded and watched her leave. She finally turned back to Sam with sorrow in her eyes and apprehension on her face.

“Can you show me those emails, please?” Sam prompted. Business first, then he would at least make sure Sophie got home safely. Maybe even start that talking-to about her ridiculous safety choices…

“Right.” Sophie reached for the phone again, and, after tapping a few times, handed it over. He accepted the small iPhone in a floral case – how very Sophie – and skimmed the messages. Seems she had gone to the trouble of identifying the warehouse owner via property records, then found his email through social media. Resourceful girl, he noted, even if she wasn’t street-smart.

“Would you be willing to forward those emails to me for my records?” he asked, handing the phone back. Edbridge had given her explicit permission to use the warehouse for dance rehearsal, on this specific day and time. He’d even included instructions for the lights and the code for the door.

“Um…” Sophie hesitated, her brow furrowing. “I guess so.”

“Thanks.” Sam rattled off his department email, and she fired off the message. He confirmed receiving it before pocketing his phone.

“Now.” He waited for her to look at him. “I’m going to follow you home to make sure you get there in one piece, and we’re going to have a little chat about your choices.”

Find all the parts of this story here.

Chapter 2: Let’s Dance

Part 2: Sophie

Right on time, a knock sounded on the warehouse’s back door.

“Come on in!” Sophie called out. She turned to see Gray and Amy Shachar arriving. Sophie had connected with the unexpected husband and wife duo at Resurrection, of all places, and they had all quickly bonded over their love of dance.

Gray was build like a linebacker, all big muscles and tough-guy persona. Amy stood a full foot shorter than Gray, and had a very huggable curvy figure. Her bubbly personality matched. Amy was everyone’s friend. Gray didn’t talk much. How they ever managed to find each other and fall in love was anybody’s guess, but it was plain as the nose on Sophie’s face that they were devoted to each other, heart and soul. She was aware enough to admit that someday, she’d like a relationship like that, too.

Amy greeted her with her usual bouncy hug and proliferation of words.

“Hi, D! So good to see you. How was your week? Did you get to do the ride-along your boss mentioned?” She paused half a second for Sophie to nod before plowing onward. “Ooh, I bet that was so fun! Who’d they pair you with? Was he cute?”

Could the floor open up and swallow Sophie right now, please? No?

“Hi, Amy. It’s good to see you, too. And hi, Gray.” Gray spared her a smile and nod, but said nothing. He was changing out of his motorcycle boots and into shoes better suited to dance.

“I’m so excited for this round! We took too long of a break. What song are we doing this time?” Amy’s words bounded out of her mouth like an over-eager jackrabbit.

Before Sophie could get in a word edgewise, more people spilled through the open door.

“D! It’s been a minute. Glad we’re going again,” Lee Hood greeted her enthusiastically. The Asian man was at least 15 years older and only came up to Sophie’s chin, same as Amy, but he was slender and shockingly flexible. She wondered if he had been a gymnast at one point, but she purposefully didn’t ask a lot of questions. They came to dance, not be interrogated, even if a big corner of her heart yearned to be actual friends with some of them.

“Hi, Lee. Thanks for coming,” Sophie accepted his handshake, then turned a slightly wary gaze to the stranger behind Lee.

Newcomers are always welcome, she had to remind herself.

“Hello,” she extended a hand to the shy-looking woman behind Lee. Sophie took in a halo of golden ringlets surrounding big brown eyes, legs a mile long like a ballerina. “My name is Sophie. You’ll also hear people call me D,” she introduced herself.

“The Dragoness, right?” the slender blond asked in a quiet, high voice. Sophie just nodded. She hadn’t chosen the moniker, but rather one of the other dancers (no one remembered exactly who anymore) had given it to her when they did the third Imagine Dragons song in a row. So she had a favorite band?

The name had grown into a thing of its own, however. Now the Facebook group she used to organize rehearsals was called The Dancing Dragoness, as if it were some fantasy pub in Neverland. For Christmas, Gray and Amy had gotten her a custom mask in black, burnt orange, and copper, with a dragon’s tail curling around her temple. She loved it, and loved them for their support. The name, she could give or take. She did enjoy how mysterious it made her feel, but hated too much attention.

“I’m Everett Barstow,” the sweet little voice spoke.

“I’m glad you came, Everett.” She tried to commit the woman’s name to memory. Everyone put in so much time and effort that she wanted to at least give them the respect of remembering who they were.

In short order, half a dozen other people filed in – Ryan, Paige, Jennifer, Oliver, Cori, and Brenda. She had opted for a shorter timeframe, which unfortunately left some of the less experienced dancers concerned about learning the routine in time. As much as she tried to reassure them, there was never any pressure to join. They would have three Friday night practices and then perform in a month.

11 dancers total. Her mind began spinning with options for adjusting the numbers. 13 had committed besides her, so she’d choreographed for 14, but it wasn’t unusual for some to back out. She’d message the missing three people later to see if they still wanted in.

“So, D, what’ve you got for us this time?” Lee rubbed his hands together gleefully. Ha! Lee, glee. Sophie mentally shook herself and resisted a smile.

“We’re going to do an abridged version of Big Dreams by The Score,” Sophie announced. Clapping and whooping sounded from some of the people, the ones who clearly knew and liked the song.

“I’ll let the song run through twice, then we’ll get into particulars. I’ve cut out one verse to keep the performance closer to two minutes.”

“Aww, man, but it’s such a goooood song!” Lee enthused. This time, Sophie didn’t cover her smile.

“I heartily agree, which is why I want to do part of it justice in the month we have instead of a halfway job with the whole song,” she explained.

“I suppose,” Lee said, scuffing the ground with his toe like a little kid.

“Ready?” Sophie moved on. A few nods and murmurs of agreement later, she pressed play.

At first, almost everyone gazed around the room, eyes not focused on the surroundings as they took in the song. By the second chorus, though, heads were nodding, feet were moving, hands were tapping out rhythm on thighs. Sophie felt at home with these people, because they all had something in common: music moved them. They didn’t just hear sound in their heads. They heard music with their arms and legs, felt it in their hearts and let it flow out their limbs. The music itself told a story that begged to be shared.

This song in particular demanded something dramatic – Big Dreams needed big movements, strong formations. In Sophie’s mind, when she closed her eyes and felt the music, it made her want to lift her arms and her face to the sky, which told her a lot about what direction to take her choreography.

She had planned the whole dance before tonight and rehearsed it at home from each dancer’s perspective. Even with that knowledge, nothing would beat finally seeing the group come together as a whole.

After the second time through, Sophie began giving directions to groups of dancers, walking them through their steps.

“Okay, I’ve marked starting positions in green.” She pointed out small pieces of green masking tape on the floor. “We’ll begin with two rows in a rough semicircle. Most of this routine will be in a sort of call-and-response fashion between the left and right sides. Basically, envision one side as the singer,” she paused and gestured to the people on her right,”and the other side as the dreams he chases.” Now she looked to those on her left and waited for them to nod.

“If at any point you feel so inclined, singing is definitely encouraged,” she added with a smile. Several of the dancers grinned back.

“Okay. The opening sentence is an 8-count. Singers,” she pointed right,”you’ll have to dash out first. By the end of the first 5 beats, I want you in this position.” She demonstrated a pose facing the other half of the semicircle, feet spread wide, one hand down at her side and the other stretched out as if reaching for the dancers opposite.

“Then dreams, you’ll have that five count to get in place and then use the 3-count of your words to call out, like this.” She turned around to match their position, facing the ‘singer’ side, cupping her hands around her mouth as if shouting, and leaned forward.
“Good?” She waited for confirmation in the form of everyone in position. Then, she worked through more of the song, 8-count by 8-count. Amy, the most experienced dancer besides Sophie, offered some suggestions for adjustments as they went along, as well.

It took half an hour before everyone had the first verse and chorus down. She was so happy with their progress and how well the small group worked together and with the music. They all took a water break, talking about the piece and the details of the performance time & location.

“Hey, D?” came Amy’s voice from the front of the warehouse, but it sounded strangely tight. Sophie walked up.

“Were you expecting company?”

Amy lifted a stubby little finger and pointed to a vehicle sitting out front. Sophie squinted in the dim lighting and was just able to make out the city’s police force logo on the side of the black car.

Her stomach dropped when a familiar blond man’s head appeared.