Page 3 of Organized Chaos

Sarah plunged her hand into her bag and grabbed her phone. She swiped the screen and hit “9-1-1” then held the phone to her ear. Nothing. She growled and paced to the window. One bar. That’s all she needed to end this nightmare.

Her phone shut off, the screen going black. “What?” She banged it against her palm and hit the button. The black screen mocked her, a reminder that she’d forgotten to charge it last night since she’d fallen asleep while scrolling through videos of a new project she wanted to try. “Why do you do this to me?” She fought the urge to hurl her phone at the window.

Oh, wait. She could break the window and climb out that way. She scrambled from the window and dashed around the room. Everything she found was either too heavy to lift, or not heavy enough to break the glass. What if she wrapped her hand in the quilt and punched the glass? It always worked in the movies. She eyed the window, then the bed.

“Okay. I’ve had enough of this. I’m coming in.” The key scraped into the lock.

Sarah wrenched the quilt from the bed and made a ball that covered her fist. She ran to the window, reared back and punched with all her might. Her fist rebounded and the knot offabric hit her square in the chin. It didn’t hurt, not really, thanks to the thick quilt. But her pride took a beating.

The door creaked open with the kind of shuddering sound that everyone who’d ever watched a horror film knew meant terrible things were coming.

CHAPTER TWO

Phillip hadn’t known what to think when he spotted the woman entering his grandparents’ old house. He’d been preparing for a podcast when he heard tires on gravel and moved to investigate. He’d watched the woman hop from her truck and skip toward the house. She’d walked in like she belonged there, and that, more than anything, had sent him bolting from his office.

He kept a firm grip on the doorknob as he entered the bedroom where the woman had been hiding out for the last several minutes. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but based on their conversations so far, the woman was straight-up strange. He caught sight of her immediately.

She lifted a hand wrapped in the quilt that had once been on the bed. “Don’t come any closer.”

Phillip stopped at the demand though there was absolutely nothing threatening about the woman in general. She wore her long hair in twin braids that hung on either side of her face. The look reminded him of Pippy Longstocking in a way, except this woman’s hair was a rich chestnut. He leaned his shoulder against the door and tilted his head to the side. “You’re trespassing in my grandparents’ house. My family’s property.”

She swallowed hard enough that he saw her throat dip from across the room. Pink stole into her cheeks but she lifted her head and met him look for look. “I have permission from Roger Williams.”

Phillip jolted at his dad’s name but easily brushed it aside. Anyone who spent five seconds online would know that his dad owned the property. He narrowed his eyes and focused. She didn’t look like a vagrant intent on causing harm. Or a homeless woman looking for a quiet place to sleep. Her overalls were clean, except for dust that he attributed to racing through an abandoned house while chucking lamps at his head.

He crossed one ankle over the other and forced his body to relax into the nonchalant pose. “I’m Phillip Williams, Roger’s son. Try again. Dad would never let a squatter onto the property.”

She flushed bright red and spluttered. Her hand lowered and the quilt fell into a puddle at her feet. “I’m not a squatter.” The outrage sent her voice soaring upward high enough that he was surprised the dogs didn’t start barking. She rooted through the bag slung crossways over her chest. “I’m Sarah Pierce. I’m a refurbisher of old furniture.”

What did that even mean?

She let out a growl and slapped her hand to the bag. “I swear, I just had a card in here. I gave it to your dad, and he handed it back. I must’ve dropped it on the way here.”

“Well, I would call and ask him about it.” He pointed to the cell phone she held clutched in one hand. “But as you probably noticed when I mentioned it before, there’s no service out here.”

Sarah—if that was even her real name—inched to the side. She licked her lips and made the worst show ever of attempting to be subtle as she tried to peer around him. “You could, you know, take my word for it and leave.”

“Ha. Not likely.” He stepped out of the doorway and further into the room. “I’ll walk you out.”

Sarah bolted faster than a greyhound.

He felt the flutter of her hair when she ran past and lifted a hand to stop her but was too slow.

She hit the top of the stairs and slowed to look back.

Phillip winced as he saw what was about to happen. She moved as though in slow motion. Her foot slid over the edge of the top step, and the momentum of her body pushed her forward. He leaped toward her. Panic flared in her eyes and her arms began to windmill, her body moving into the pull of gravity. Her scream drove his heart into a rhythm he’d never felt before.

One arm went around her waist and the other grabbed the nearest spindle railing. He prayed it would hold. The house was ancient. Lord only knew what damage it hid under the years of dust.

Sarah buffeted his face and neck with weak blows.

He pulled her tight to his chest and grunted as her knuckles grazed his cheek. “I’m trying to keep you from breaking your neck.” He swung her back onto the landing and jerked his hand away from her. Before he could fully recover from the fright, Sarah took off running again.

“I’m not going to let you lock me up and hack me into little pieces.” This time, she made it down the steps without falling.

He expected her to run for the front door. That’s what he’d do in her situation. Instead, she spun right, straight toward the kitchen.

“If you’re really this Sarah person, and you’re a…what did you call it?”

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