“She knows the rules,” Ms. X told them.

This didn’t mean she didn’t call someone, but if she was in a situation to bring her to the safe house run by Ms. X, it seemed unlikely.

Ms. X didn’t have a strict no fraternizing rule, but she discouraged it. If everybody wanted to hang out and watch the big television in her living room, she wouldn’t tell them no, but she would never suggest it. In this case, everyone was glad the other two decided to go hang out in their room since nothing Tanya or Lila wanted to watch—or for that matter, Ms. X—would be appropriate for a five-year-old.

People who came here usually weren’t in the mood for making friends. This was a place people came to when they were in trouble. Not just any trouble but the kind of trouble that ends with someone being dead. Her clients were mostly women running from men. Some might call it a battered women’s shelter, and they wouldn’t be wrong. The difference being Ms. X didn’t advertise. Only her past clients and a few select individuals in law enforcement knew she existed. She took people by referral from these individuals, and they only sent her people who truly needed to be hidden. If someone came to the door, like a past client, she wouldn’t send them away, but for the most part, everyone there was sent by a cop or a former cop. Normally, however, people called first; she liked to know when they were coming.

Ms. X stood up as the doorbell rang again.

“Were you expecting someone?” Tanya asked.

“No, go to your rooms and lock the doors.”

The two girls did as they were told.

Ms. X moved to the hall and saw the other woman and her child were in their room with the door already locked. She wished she had her phone with her in the TV room, but she’d left it in the kitchen. She had an app on her doorbell that would let her see who was ringing the bell. She could also access cameras at various points around the house. The doorbell rang again as she picked up her phone.

Whoever was ringing the doorbell had his back to the camera. All she could see was a decent-sized guy wearing a bomber jacket and dark pants. The fact he was going out of his way not to be seen on camera was not a good sign. She checked the other cameras as she grabbed the shotgun out of the hall closet. She set it against the wall so she could check her phone.

There was movement on the side of the house; all she picked up was a shadow going away from it. She was trying to figure out what that meant when the lights went off.  Her outside cameras had a backup battery, so they stayed on. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything to see. The man ringing the doorbell was gone.

The breaker box was in the garage. It could just be a coincidence—a breaker flipped while a strange man was ringing the doorbell—but more likely it meant someone had got into the garage. Ms. X picked up the gun and held it so one hand could get a finger on the trigger and the barrel could rest across her forearm. This way, she could hold her phone and use the flashlight feature to move through the dark.

She considered calling out for everyone to stay put but decided it would be better to stay quiet and not give away her position. She moved into the kitchen where the garage was connected to the house. There was a sturdy door with more than one sturdy lock covering the entrance to the garage. She lowered the gun and checked the locks. Just as it was the last time that she checked it, all the locks were engaged. It wouldn’t be impossible to breach the door, but it would make a lot of noise. Not the kind of noise anyone could cover up leaning on the doorbell, which is what she’d suspected the man ringing the doorbell was doing. If they knew about her place, they would know she wouldn’t answer the door for someone she didn’t know, especially at night. It might cover up the sound of someone breaking into the garage, though. Especially if someone cloned the garage door opener. A cop friend had told her how it could be done, and she’d thought about getting a new brand of garage door opener or just ditching the opener all together, but she hadn’t gotten around to it.

Whatever was happening, Ms. X thought it was time to call the police. She set the shotgun on the counter and was dialing 9-1-1 when she heard a footstep behind her. She dropped the phone and scooped up the gun, chambering a round as she spun to face the person in the kitchen with her.

She couldn’t see anything but a vague shape in the dark. The last thing Ms. X wanted to do was accidentally pull the trigger on one of the people she was supposed to be protecting, so she hesitated. The shape did not. Something solid struck the barrel of her gun and she fired into the cabinets containing her glasses and bowls instead of her attacker. That same solid object hit her across the shoulders. The arm holding the gun went numb and the shotgun fell to the floor. She got up her one working arm to defend herself, but the solid object hit her arm with enough force it was driven back into her face.

Ms. X found herself on the floor. She curled up and tried to cover her head as another blow came down on her. She had trouble staying awake after that. She was aware the attacker struck her again, but her whole body had gone numb. She was aware she was being beaten to death with some kind of club but couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“Leave her alone!” someone cried, one of the girls. Ms. X was thinking she should have stayed in her room even though her interference was the only thing keeping Ms. X alive. She could hear a struggle and then she heard a familiar sound. It was the dull thump the blunt instrument the intruder was wielding made when it connected with a human body.

Ms. X willed herself to move. She wasn’t sure how long it took for her limbs to start obeying her brain’s commands, but she knew she heard too many dull thumps to feel good about the fate of her would-be rescuer. 

She could see the shotgun illuminated in the moonlight coming through the kitchen window. She crawled to it and managed to get it in her hands. Her dead arm was working again enough for her to put her finger on the trigger. The distinct sound of a shotgun shell being pumped into the chamber got the attention of the man with the club. The dull thumping of a blunt object striking a human being stopped.

Ms. X aimed for the shadow and pulled the trigger. She saw the shadow move a split second before she unleashed her shot. She knew she missed putting a 12-gauge round through the intruder’s upper body as she intended to but felt at this range, in the limited space of the kitchen, she had to have winged him at least. She pumped in another round and looked for the shadow, but it was gone.

“Are you okay?” she called toward the shape on the other side of her kitchen floor. The shape didn’t answer, and she got the feeling it never would. She kept the shotgun aimed at the entrance to the kitchen and tried to look for her phone to call the police, but she was having trouble focusing. As she lost consciousness, Ms. X hoped someone else had called the police.