Page 6 of Sachie's Hero

A door hinge creaked somewhere near the rear of the structure, followed by the loud bang of a door slamming with enough force to shake the entire house.

The attacker was getting away.

Teller lunged to his feet and gave chase, running through the living room to a hallway that led into akitchen. Starlight shone through the window set into the back door. He approached the door at an angle to avoid giving the perpetrator a clear target.

Gripping the door handle, he twisted it and swung it open and away from him.

Two sharp popping sounds pierced the night, followed by the dull thwack of something impacting the sheetrock on the wall across from the open door. It let Teller know the man was armed and had fired two rounds from what sounded like a small-caliber pistol. If it was equipped with a full magazine, he could have any number of bullets remaining.

He waited a moment longer. When no more shots were fired, Teller ducked low and peered around the doorframe. A tall, lanky shadow of a man was just disappearing through a hedge of bushes at the rear of the property.

Teller took a split second to debate whether to follow the man or to stay in the house and find the woman he’d been sent to protect. If the attacker had found her before Teller did, he could already have hurt or killed her. With the sirens growing ever louder, Teller turned back into the house, determined to find the woman and make sure she wasn’t bleeding out. His time in the military had taught him the skills necessary to treat battlefield wounds. He knew how to stop or slow the flow of blood at least long enoughfor the emergency medical technicians to arrive and take over.

Not knowing whether there was only one attacker, Teller eased through the house, tiptoeing quietly and clearing each room he passed, one at a time. Hesitant to call out her name, he performed his search in silence. If she was being held at gunpoint by a second attacker, he might be willing to use her as a human shield to buy his freedom.

The kitchen was empty, the small pantry barely large enough for the narrow row of shelves, a broom and a mop. Teller checked behind a bifold door to find a washer and dryer and no additional room to hide a child, much less a full-grown woman.

He worked his way back to the hall and pushed open the first doorway on his right, finding a small bedroom barely big enough for a twin-sized bed. Dropping to the floor, he used the flashlight on his cell phone to scan beneath the bed. Nothing but dust bunnies and an old suitcase. The closet was completely empty but for a few wire hangers pushed to one side on the rod. Moving quickly, he left the bedroom and hurried to the next door along the hallway.

The second room was as small as the first, with a double bed, just the mattress and bedframe beneath.No sheets, blankets or curtains on the window. The closet was as empty as the bedroom.

After only a cursory glance, he moved to the bathroom across the hall. With his back against the wall, he nudged the shower curtain to one side. No psycho killer lurked behind it, nor was a scared woman hiding there.

He stepped out into the hallway, his muscles tensing as he studied the entrance to the only unchecked room in the corridor. The door stood slightly ajar, the doorframe splintered much like the front door.

Senses on alert, he nudged the door wider and stepped through, avoiding the pale square of starlight cast through the window. Dropping to his haunches, he peered beneath the bed. Relying on the little bit of light from the window, he discovered two suitcases, no dust and a pair of house slippers. The only door in the room had to open to either a closet or a bathroom.

He rose and padded softly across the room, setting his feet down one at a time as quietly as he could. If the woman was being held captive by a man in the closet, Teller couldn’t risk making a rash move that might cause the man to react brutally, killing Ms. Moore.

If Ms. Moore lay on the other side of the door,mortally wounded, he was wasting time he could use to save her. Standing to the side of the door, he reached for the handle.

As his fingers touched the cool metal knob, the door exploded outward. A blond-haired woman burst from inside, screaming like a banshee straight from hell, wielding a wickedly large butcher knife.

Teller ducked his head and shoulders to the side, narrowly missing the blade that glinted in the starlight.

With a lightning-quick sweep of his arm, he knocked the hand holding the knife hard enough to send it flying across the room.

No sooner had the knife left the banshee’s hand than the woman hunkered over and rammed her shoulder into his midsection, moving him backward like a linebacker bulldozing a quarterback.

“Whoa, hold on a minute.” He staggered out into the hallway before he regained his balance. “I’m here?—"

He didn’t get the rest of his sentence out before she balled her fist and jabbed toward his gut.

Teller captured her small fist in his big hand but didn’t twist his body around in time to avoid the knee she slammed into his groin.

“Oomph,” he grunted as pain shot through him,the force of her assault taking his breath away. He doubled over, losing his grip on her fist.

The woman spun and raced away from him, heading for the back of the house.

“Wait,” he wheezed, still bent over, pain radiating from his crotch through the rest of his body, making it nearly impossible for him to straighten. He gritted his teeth, fought past the pain and limped after her, struggling to get air from his lungs past his vocal cords. Finally, he yelped, “Ms. Moore!”

It was too late. She’d bolted out the back door and down from the porch.

Teller increased his speed until he sprinted after her, calling out her name. “Ms. Moore! Wait.”

She kept running, crying out, “Help me! Please, help me!”

He had to stop her. Though the police cars neared, her attacker might still be lurking in the shadows of the bushes, armed and willing to shoot.

---