The Intruder

The Intruder

Liz pulled the key out of the ignition and got out of the car.

“What are we doing for Frankie’s next birthday party?” Amy asked as she left the passenger side.

"Honestly, I have no idea," answered Liz. "We'll think of something."

The two women hurried their way to the metal garden gate facing their ranch-style home. “He didn’t like Olive Garden, so the next birthday plan is up to you,” said Liz. Her son had always been picky about his food and she was hoping he would outgrow it eventually.

"How about Chuck E Cheese?" asked Amy. "Frankie loved the dancing rat. He wouldn't stop talking about him for a week."

"That's not a bad idea," said Liz as she unlocked the gate and lifted the latch. "We could invite Frankie's friend from school."

Amy giggled. "I know! It would be adorable to see them in their little suits. The photos would be a hoot."

In front of them, the grey slate pathway leading into the yard was dimly lit. Liz had always found the exterior of the normally cozy-looking home to be somewhat creepy when it got dark. Just the thought of it gave her goosebumps, and she picked up the pace a bit. Amy followed, the two girls seemingly on the same wavelength.

Liz pulled a red key from her purse and shoved it into the door lock. As she prepared to twist the lock, there was a muffled sound that caught her attention, like furniture being moved. Thump. Thump. A pause. Thump.

She stopped to listen. At first, the thought came to her that she was probably hearing her neighbors moving stuff around in the house next to hers. They usually made a racket when they had visitors for parties, especially at night. But the sound was louder and closer than usual.

The more she focused in on it, the more it became clear that whatever was making the noise, it was happening right behind her door.

When Amy came up the steps behind her, she came bantering carelessly, loud as ever. “Hey, so Kevin wanted to know if you were free this w—”

It took Liz raising her hand and waving it around like she was trying to swat a fly for Amy to stop talking.

“What?” muttered Amy. “What are you doing?”

“I think there’s someone in the house,” Liz said in a low quivering voice.

“Wait, really?"

“Shh,” Liz hissed, trying to listen for the noise. She tried to make out what was happening beyond the door just from the sounds alone. “Should we call the police?” asked Amy, breaking the silence. Another few minutes came and went, but nothing. Not another sound.

Liz hesitated at the front door, the red key gripped tightly in her hand. When the noise came again—closer this time—she made a split-second decision. Dropping her purse on the ground, she turned and rushed to the garage, where the same key unlocked the cabinet containing her late father’s old pistol.

Amy watched her run to the garage and then come back again. "What are you doing?"

“Maybe I'm just hearing things, but just in case,” Liz answered, picking up her purse and putting the pistol inside it. "Come on."

Amy hesitated for a bit, but eventually followed her inside as she entered the house with more gumption.

The darkness inside made every silhouette and shadow look immediately threatening. Each room swallowed whatever light managed to make it just a few feet past the door. As the two scared women made their way into the interior, every shape and object took the form of a menacing figure. Huddled together and hugging the wall, Liz and Amy tiptoed across the kitchen, feeling around for the nearest light switch. “I can’t see a goddamn thing,” whispered Amy as she bumped into several things.

After a few minutes of wandering around, Liz touched something small and rectangular that was protruding from the wall. She flipped the switch and instantly the room became bathed in light.

“Finally!” exclaimed Amy. “Jesus. That took way longer than it should’ve.”

Their gaze searched the house for anything out of place. Almost everything in the living room had been toppled over. Their vases and other home décor laid scattered across the floor. Their chairs were sideways, their window curtains trampled on, and their table was missing a few legs. It was a horrifying sight for the both of them, and for a moment they stood in silence, just absorbing it all. Except, as they panned to the corner of the room, a man with a black balaclava covering his face stood perfectly still, staring at them. He was holding a pistol.

Liz raised her hands, her heart suddenly feeling like it was about to burst through her chest. The masked man stood quiet, looking at them with his expressionless disguise.

How had he managed to get inside? They had locked the door before leaving and the windows were shut. Had he broken a window? Lockpicked the door lock? A thousand questions flooded Liz's mind as she stared at the barrel of the gun.

The stranger began walking toward them slowly. Liz tried to back up but felt a wall behind her. She was stuck.

"Please. Don't hurt us," whimpered Amy.

"Don't. Move," the man commanded.

"Who are you?" asked Liz.

“Give me your phones,” he said. “Now.”

Amy did as she was told, slowly reaching into her jeans pocket and pulling out her iPhone. She tossed it a few feet in front of the man. The phone smacked flat on the wooden floor.

“Good,” the man said, and then aimed the weapon at Liz, who still had her hands up. “Now you."

“Alright,” Liz agreed. “Take whatever you want, but please, just let us go. We're not—”

“Shut up!” he shouted, more hostility in his voice now. “Give me the damn phone.”

“It’s in my purse,” Liz said, managing to retain her composure. She slowly moved her hand into the bag. “I’m taking it out, okay?”

"Who else is coming? Anyone outside waiting?"

While the man waited for an answer and waved the gun at their faces, Liz’s mind raced. She wasn’t just fighting for herself—Frankie needed her. His laugh, his morning hugs, his excitement over that dancing rat at Chuck E. Cheese—they flashed through her mind like photographs. She couldn’t let him lose his mother. Not at his age.

Her fingers found the gun in her purse. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and pulled it out.

It took only a moment, but by the time the man noticed the gun, it was all over. Two gunshots rang out. One from her. One from him.

Amy screamed.

Liz fell on the ground, something wet and red dripping from her right shoulder. When the pain finally came, it was too much for her to handle. With a blurry vision, she looked as Amy ran to her iPhone and picked it up, dialing what Liz hoped was 911. Liz looked around for the man. He had also fallen on to the floor, but he was in the process of getting up — which terrified her in a way she couldn't explain. "Amy..."

The words came out of her mouth in a soft whisper, lost in the ensuing chaos. Her vision was getting worse now. The man hefted himself up and ran across to the front door, immediately leaving the house. Amy held her iPhone to her ear, explaining what had happened to someone on the other end. Liz tried to fight off the feeling of wanting to sleep, but it was futile. She closed her eyes, finally succumbing to the embrace of the darkness that followed.

* * *

Muffled voices woke her. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself in a hospital bed. Amy was there, sitting in a chair next to her and reading some old magazine. Brian, Amy's boyfriend, was there too.

“Where am I?” Liz said with a hoarse voice.

“Liz!” Amy exclaimed with a nervous smile on her face. “You're awake!"

Brian got up from his chair and walked nearer to the bed. "You've been here all night after surgery. That bastard who broke into your house shot you.”

Liz frowned and searched for the wound in her left shoulder, which she found was now taped with layers of gauze. She winced as a sharp pain shot from her arm where the bullet had pierced her skin. “Did they catch him?”

“No,” Amy said, her voice taking a more serious tone. “He got away. They're saying he probably won't make it far. They're checking all the CCTV cameras in that part of town, to pinpoint where he went exactly. Some cop told me that if he was really shot in the abdomen, he might not make it through the night.”

“Good," Liz replied. "I hope he rots in hell.”

Amy crossed her arms and sighed. “Hey. Next time we hear strange noises, we call the police, okay?"

“Okay.”

A victorious smile grew on Amy's face, which then turned into a snicker. "You're such a badass," she said. "Where'd you even get that gun?"

"My father," replied Liz. "He taught me all about firearms when I was a teen. Just in case I ever needed to use one, he used to say."

Her shoulder ached every time she shifted in the hospital bed, and the strong smell of antiseptic made her stomach churn. Despite the discomfort, she was glad to be awake—and alive. Minutes turned into hours and several doctors came to check on her. "It's going to take some time, but we're confident that your shoulder will heal after your surgery," one of them said. "You'll be fine in a couple of weeks."

Still hurts like hell, she thought. Sure beats being dead though.

When the doctors left, Liz sighed, realizing that it was only the beginning of her journey to recover from the incident. She still had a long way to go. She had hoped to be going home soon and seeing Frankie. She hated hospitals and the feeling of being hooked to monitoring machines. Amy hadn’t left her side since last night; she was protective to the point of being overbearing, fussing about pillows and water cups as though Liz were a child. Brian hovered too, looking anxiously at the monitors beeping beside her.

A few hours later, a police officer named Detective Howard arrived, all somber eyes and professional courtesy. He gently explained the details of the case: the intruder had a record of petty theft and break-ins, but no one knew why he’d chosen their house. Maybe he assumed it was empty. Maybe he didn’t care if it was or not. Liz shuddered at the thought that pure chance had nearly cost her her life.

“You did what you had to do to protect yourself,” Detective Howard assured her quietly. “No charges against you. We're still looking for the perpetrator.”

Liz nodded. She had never wanted to shoot anyone. But in that moment, it had been their lives—or his.

And though the night had turned into something else than what she expected and threatened to end in tragedy, there was still tomorrow. There was Frankie’s next birthday, a bit of healing, and a spark of hope that life, fragile as it was, would go on—thanks to her split-second decision to fight back.

She could live with that.

"Alright," said Brian as he grabbed his jacket from his chair. Amy did the same. "Well, we're going to grab something to eat. They have our number in case they need to reach us, right?"

"Yeah," answered Amy as she zipped up. "I put us as your emergency contacts. So if anything happens, we'll drive right back here."

Liz couldn't help but feel grateful to have such good friends. "I'll be fine, you two go. I'm going to get some sleep."

"Okay. Just don't try to shoot anyone else, okay?" smirked Brian. Amy struck him with a playful jab on the shoulder as they walked out of the ward. Liz waved goodbye.

She was amazed as to how quiet it could get without those two in the room. She pulled her sheets up and got herself warm enough where she could fall asleep comfortably. It was in that moment as Liz got ready to doze off that she saw him. In the hallway outside her room, the man who had broken into her home was sitting on one of the parked gurneys. He was wearing a cloth mask around his nose and mouth, but Liz recognized those eyes. His eyes were a deep, intense blue, and focused right on her, as if he had planned to pay her this brief visit all along. And he hadn't changed his clothes. He still had the same hoodie and shirt that he had worn when he shot her.

Liz sat upright. Her heartbeat picked up the pace, thumping in her ears like a drum.

She was paralyzed, unable to think clearly. What should she do? Was the gun still in her purse? Was her purse even here?

The man slowly pushed himself off the gurney, his body language suggesting he was preparing to enter the room. To her surprise, he simply raised his finger up to his mouth, shushing her, and then walked out of sight.

As much as her rational side told her to call the police, Liz found herself unable to move or speak. She just stayed there, her body completely frozen and her eyes glued to the entrance, until the footsteps eventually faded away into nothingness.

Liz wasn't sure how long she sat there, motionless. She didn't remember falling asleep either, but the sound of Amy's voice woke her. "Hey," said her friend, poking her head in. "Ready to go home?"