The Footsteps On The Tile

The Footsteps On The Tile

His name left her lips in a whisper of disbelief because he was standing in front of her very much alive. The acceptance that she had lost him forever was recent, yet the man she had grieved for day and night was standing in front of her in the nearly deserted police station. Her mind was aching as she struggled to reconcile what she was seeing with the events that had taken place in the last few hours.

She had found herself wide awake and staring into the darkness, her mind searching for the reason she was suddenly awake. Just a moment ago she was pleasantly dreaming of being on a white sand beach, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin and staring out at the horizon over the cool topaz blue water. He was there with her and she was happy, giddy even, giggling as she held his hand and slowly and methodically rubbed her long manicured fingers against the rough and worn skin of his thumb. His was skin that proved he was a man’s man, a man who used his hands to change the world, causing them to look a decade older than his actual age. 

It was clearly a dream and not a memory, as they had never traveled anywhere together. Now the beach and the sun were gone, along with him, and she was alone in the dark. Happy and peaceful feelings from the dream replaced by confusion, terror and panic. She realized why she was awake; the noise. There it was again, faint and almost undetectable, a screechy metal on metal sound that lasted for just a second. She knew exactly what that sound was because she had taught herself to identify it, commit it to memory. When she had first purchased the house she was not concerned much about safety, she was so excited to finally have a place of her own. The nights he stayed over were few and far between; there were only so many excuses he could invent to justify being away overnight. He had wanted her to feel safe in her home so he taught her how to be self-reliant and protect herself. Right now, she knew the window facing the side yard, next to the kitchen eating nook, was being opened. Whomever was outside was carefully opening the window a millimeter at a time, so as not to wake anyone in the house.

If Maggie had still been alive her vicious sounding bark, reserved for when she felt Alexis needed protection, would have carried through the house as a warning to the intruder. But sweet Maggie’s body had finally given up a month ago, and Alexis could no longer bear to watch her struggle. Saying goodbye to her dear friend, just months after losing him, had led to weeks of sorrow and struggle. Most days just getting out of bed had taken every single ounce of energy she could muster. Alexis had already been a barely functioning zombie and Maggie’s death had amplified the downward spiral. The simplest of tasks, like making herself a cup of coffee, were often intolerable. One morning last week, she had been pouring the water from the tea kettle into the two scoops of coffee grounds in the french press, when she felt her legs begin to tremble and shake. She had the good sense to set the kettle down on the stove to avoid a disaster. The sobs poured out of her before she landed on the cold, hard tile floor of the kitchen. Allowing herself to give in to the grief she spent twenty-five minutes curled up into the fetal position on the floor. After, the water was too cold for coffee and she threw everything in the sink, managing to shatter the french press in the process. Watching the glass shatter felt validating to her as the press had been a daily symbol of loss; making coffee for one person instead of a pot for two to share. Regularly he stopped by at some point in the morning and joined her for a cup of coffee, often followed by love making, before she returned to work at her computer. Those regular visits were the core of their relationship for two years. During the weekdays he belonged to her, the weekends to his family.

As she came back to the present she knew the window was now probably about six inches from being all the way open, and with the screen removed the person on the outside would soon be in her house.

 “You can do this” she heard her voice in her head. 

Very slowly and quietly she pulled the sheet and blanket off of her body to allow herself the ability to move without restriction. As she rolled over to her left and onto her stomach she held her breath. Her heart was pounding, the sound so loud in her ears that she worried she may not be able to hear the footsteps that would begin once the nameless and faceless person downstairs had lifted themselves up and swung their legs over the windowsill and into her kitchen. Her hand found the pull knob on the drawer of the bedside table to her left and she soundlessly pulled the drawer open by placing her index and middle fingers on the sides of the round knob. Once the drawer was open enough for her to reach her right hand inside she felt around the shallow drawer for the small rectangle steel box that held her thirty-eight special revolver with the pink handle. She loved that gun, despite his slightly demeaning comment that the pink handle was “ridiculous” when she first pointed it out in the glass case at the shooting range. 

“That is the one I want”. She knew it was the ease of use that she found appealing. Just ten minutes earlier they had been on their firing lane and she was tentatively shooting his semi-automatic Glock 19 and silently willing herself to feel in control of the weapon. After emptying the 15 shot magazine, the slide lock lever was back and he showed her how to make sure the chamber was cleared and reload it by dropping the magazine and quickly replacing it. He was able to do it in one fluid motion that reminded her of a ballet dancer moving flawlessly through the five positions, with purpose, control and complete mastery.

“See, just like that, easy as can be” he had said placing the gun in Alexis’s hand. “Your turn”  Alexis’s hands shook as she managed to drop her safety goggles and leaned over to retrieve them at the right of her foot and simultaneously pointed the barrel of the gun directly at him. “Whoa, babe, put the gun down on the shooting bench first” he had said with a pinch of fear in his voice. 

“Oh, I am sorry” she had stammered as she looked back up and tried to stop her hands from shaking. “I can’t do this, this is too complicated. I am going to end up shooting myself in the face by accident. Aren’t there other easier options?” which led them off the firing line and out to the counter to the revolver that she was now holding in her hand. 

“We have another similar one in our rental inventory if you want to try it”  the young man whose name tag read Brad had said to him. With the rental revolver in hand they returned to the firing line and confirmed that the five shot revolver was the best choice. Easy to load, easy to clean, easy to point and shoot and with enough power to stop her from being harmed. After twenty minutes she purchased the pink handled weapon. Ten days later she had returned alone to pick up the weapon and had purchased her own “ears and eyes”; protective ear covering and goggles along with a pink and black bag for their storage. “Where are you going to store it? Do you have a safe? When you were in here with your husband I remember that you didn’t talk about storage”. Brad had asked before ringing up her additional purchases. 

“He’s my, um, boyfriend” she had said, stumbling over the words. 

They did not go out in public much and she rarely talked about him to anyone so the word did not easily roll off her tongue. In fact, this particular store and shooting range was in a town thirty minutes from the city she lived in because of his fear of being spotted with Alexis. Her response to Brad redirected her mind briefly to that familiar place she had visited over the past two years where she asked herself what she was to him exactly. His girlfriend? His paramour? His mistress? She had smiled slightly, preferring paramour because it sounded exotic and not cheap and tawdry. Bringing this up with him required a different kind of courage she had never found. Alexis often wanted more definition and understanding but had convinced herself that she needed to just be happy with what time and attention he could give her depending on the week. On the weekend he was silent and non-existent in her life, unless his wife and their kids were away. His insistence that he must keep his two lives very separate in order to avoid being “caught” was understandable; he was a successful and well-known man in the community who had a lot to lose if their relationship became public. Because of this the weekends for Alexis were lonely and grueling.

“I was just going to put it in a drawer. I don’t have children in the house so I thought it would be okay” she had replied, immediately feeling incredibly dense and unintelligent.

“Well, you can do that but can I show you an easy to use small gun safe that would probably be a better idea?” Brad had asked with a friendly grin on his face that told her he thought she was amusing and he was low-key flirting. Her cheeks immediately blushed and she followed him to the other side of the store, through racks of camouflage clothing and hunting supplies, to a wall with shelves on it that held a variety of gun safes. 

“This is the one I would recommend for you. You can fit it in a drawer or you can mount it somewhere. You just place your finger or thumb on the white square and it pops open. No fiddling with keys, or codes, and it is completely silent.” Brad was demonstrating the actions to match his words and she agreed that it did appear to be quite simple. “The latch opens, the top comes up and voila you can grab your gun and go. Alexis had purchased the safe and set it up as soon as she returned home. His small plane had crashed the next morning, she estimated it happened within an hour of leaving her house.

Her hand found the box in the dark and she gently pressed the thumb of her right hand on what she saw in her mind was the small button with the white square. The box performed as designed, opening silently and granting her access to the weapon. It was always loaded so all she had to do was silently remove it from the box and remove it from the holster. The remainder of her hand closed around the metal, carefully avoiding the trigger for now by placing her index finger along the frame and she gingerly removed the weapon from the safe. Alexis then quietly moved her feet to the floor, one at a time, and stood up. She knew the intruder was in the house as she heard the sound of footsteps on the tile. Her pulse quickened and her chest tightened with anxiety as she gently lowered her body to the carpeting, to her hands and knees so as to move towards the bedroom door. As she slid her knees along, right then left with her hands moving in complimentary motion, she began to feel a change in her body as it took over almost by instinct. The anxiety started to decrease and her breathing became easier and in a regular pattern. She had practiced this several times in the months following her weapon purchase, mapping out how she would get to the door and how to traverse the room silently. She was almost there, just a few more feet to the open door and then she would be able to look through the railing to the first floor below.

The house was pitch black except for a small night light strategically placed at the bottom of the stairs. Most nights it helped her to not trip when she came down in the middle of the night to try to distract herself from her grief driven insomnia. Once her eyes adjusted to the dark she could make out a figure slowly moving across the dining room to the base of the stairs. It appeared to be a man, tall and skinny but crouched over as if that posture would allow him the ability to be stealthy and silent, giving him the element of surprise. 

“Stop now” she felt the voice coming from her body but it did not sound familiar, was that really her?

“I have a gun and I will shoot you if you do not get the fuck out of my house right now” the authoritative tone reverberating through her body as the words left her mouth. 

“Sure you do bitch” was the flippant, yet angry tone, response from the man in her house as he raised his right foot and placed it on the first step. 

Alexis gripped the gun with two hands; her right hand balanced for support on the upturned palm of the left, her index finger found the trigger guard. She raised the gun, used her thumb on her right hand to pull back the hammer, expertly moved her finger from the trigger guard to the trigger and found the outline of the man in the front sight. She then moved the weapon just a hair to the right, held her breath, and pulled the trigger. Because the hours at the range had familiarized her with the sound and the feel of the weapon when fired, she did not jump or recoil. The bullet raced through the air and, as planned, missed him by a matter of inches. She visualized it now lodged into the wall between the tiny dining room and the kitchen. A few private lessons, as recommended by Brad, had refined her skill in hitting her intended mark. 

“That was a warning, next time I won’t miss” she yelled as she saw the man drop to his knees in a delayed response to the bullet whizzing by him. In the next moment, he was on his feet and running toward the front door. When he reached it his trembling hands struggled with the locks. Alexis, still on her hands and knees, started down the top step, carefully keeping the gun in shooting position as she inched her way down the stairs. She imagined she looked like a cop clearing a room on one of the many dramas she had watched. The man turned the deadbolt to the left and started to move through the door as he was pulling it open which resulted in him banging the left side of his body into the not yet fully open door. The front door light caught the movement showing to Alexis that the man appeared to be a transient as he stumbled down the front steps and sprinted towards the street. Alexis then stood up and maneuvered quickly down the rest of the stairs in pursuit. As she did this, she pulled her cell phone from the pocket in her pajama shorts and used her thumbprint to open the phone to dial 911. She exited the house in pursuit and waited on the sidewalk until the police arrived. After an hour of pacing the floor, one of the officers told her a man matching her description of the intruder had been picked up about a mile away. The officer then asked her to come with him to the police station to make a positive identification. Alexis had agreed and now she was standing in the small waiting area of the station waiting for the officer to return to take her back home.

“Alexis,” the recognizable, yet unfamiliar voice said. “What are you doing here?”

Alexis thought her eyes must be tricking her, how was this possible? Then at that exact same moment she remembered that Douglas had a twin brother who was a police officer. They had met only once and by accident, when she and Douglas had attempted to have dinner out in a neighboring town. It had been their attempt at a normal couple activity that had been amazing but ultimately failed miserably when they had encountered Roger entering the restaurant with a date as they were leaving. Douglas had briefly introduced them, with no explanation about his relationship to Alexis, and they had quickly hurried to the car. 

“Let me give you a ride home” Roger said, gently taking her arm and leading her towards the exit.