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she was watching a macabre play or television show.
    “Get the fuck out of here you bitch,” Faith screamed at her. “Why are you doing this to us?”
    Even as she screamed it she knew it didn’t matter. Maybe this crazy father and daughter duo waited for a reason to attack, no matter how small, or maybe it was random, they’d target anyone who made eye contact with them on a bad day. Maybe their minor accident had set them off in some deep disturbed way.
    She had no way of knowing what had really started this psychotic time bomb ticking, but that didn’t mean she wanted this crazy teenager staring at her while she fought for her life. She might not be able to keep the father out, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to roll over and play dead for the daughter, a girl barely older than her own son.
    With a grunt she pushed the dresser in front of the door. God bless this old house she thought. The door was cracking, but it was withstanding a lot of abuse. It was holding on. It would take that monster a little effort to really knock it down. And the dresser should help. It should buy us some time.
    The door blocked for now she lunged, screaming, at the window. She flew at Emily who stood there staring at her a moment in shock. It was clear the girl hadn’t expected her to fight back so viciously. Had she really expected Faith to just sit back and let her and her psychotic father to ruin her life by hurting the only people she loved?
    Her hands and arms were outstretched almost without her realizing it. They were like two arrows bound for Emily’s neck, her heart, her eyes. Anything they could hurt or strike at they would. Her hands were weapons, fueled by adrenaline and rage.
    She reached through the broken window, just as Emily turned and started to run. With a primal scream Faith leaped out the window the way that Liam had done bare minutes before and with a cry fell into the snow and ice below. She twisted her ankle standing up, but she barely felt the sharp stab of pain as she lurched to her feet and started to run around the house after Emily.
    She couldn’t think what had happened to Mac inside. Couldn’t pause to wonder what would happen when Emily’s father managed to come through the bedroom door. At this moment all of her fear and hatred and disbelief at the horrific turn of events was concentrated on one person. Emily. She raced across the yard screaming her name, “Emily!”
    Out of the corner of her eye she could see the front door opening across the street and next door. Her neighbors were coming out onto their porches, eyes wide with shock at the site of her running screaming in her yard. Finally they had responded to the commotion. What had they thought was going on behind closed doors of her home when they had been doing battle with the crazy man? Domestic violence? Were they just trying to stay out of it? Well, w elcome to the party she thought.
    “Help!” She cried loudly, “We’re being attacked. Call 911! Call 911!”
    She shouted and screamed, standing still finally now, appealing to her shocked innocent neighbors where they stood in their doorways and windows. Was the whole street at alert now?
    Farther down the block she heard Liam cry, “Mom! I called the police. Are you okay? Where’s dad?”
    Relieved she turned in his direction and drank in the sight of him standing in the brightly lit doorway of their favorite neighbor, Mr. Jackson. Bill Jackson was a big man; a logger, and as such he was even rougher and tougher than her own husband. She could see him now coming out from behind Liam clutching his rifle and coming down the street at a run. Finally some help!
    It seemed like finding it had taken hours, but she supposed it had only been minutes since Liam had knocked on Bill’s door and told him what was happening. She wouldn’t be bitter that she and Mac had had to wait for this help. She only knew that she needed to find Mac now. His absence was confusing and frightening. She