She slammed the door and latched it just in time.

He gave a roar of rage and began pounding on the closed door.

She scurried over to the window and forced it open. Staring down at the ground far below, she knew she could not survive a fall. But there was no other way out of the room.

She yanked on a curtain, puffing it off the rod. A rope. Have to make a rope!

She tied one end to a radiator pipe, wrenched a second curtain down, and tied the two lengths of fabric together.

A loud thud sent a splinter of wood flying at her. She glanced back and to her horror saw the tip of the ax poking through the door. Saw it pried loose again for the next swing.

He was breaking through!

She yanked down a third curtain, and with shaking hands, knotted it to the first two.

The ax came down again. The wood splintered wider, more chunks flying.

She yanked down a fourth curtain, but even as she frantically tied the last knot, she knew the rope was not long enough. She knew it was too late.

She spun around to face the door just as the ax broke through.

1

THE PRESENT

“Someone’s going to get hurt out there,” said Dr. Claire Elliot, looking out her kitchen window. Morning mist, thick as smoke, hung over the lake, and the trees beyond her window drifted in and out of focus. Another gunshot rang out, closer this time. Since first light, she’d heard the gunfire, and would probably hear it all day until dusk, because it was the first day of November. The start of hunting season. Somewhere in those woods, a man with a rifle was tramping around half-blind through the mist as imagined shadows of white-tailed deer danced around him.