Field of Danger. Ramona Richards

the floor. Cans of vegetables and soup rolled free, and flour, cereal and sugar dusted all surfaces while a faint scent of cornmeal and yeast hung in the air. Biting her lower lip, she scanned the room.

      Destruction…yet nothing seemed to be missing. The television still stood in place, although its smashed screen looked like a dark star in a black hole. Not even everything had suffered. The CD player on one end table remained untouched, as did her collection of books and some of the CDs stacked neatly on one shelf of a bookcase. Other CDs were tossed about the room like confetti, their cases splintered. The randomness was nearly as disturbing as the violence. Her attacker had stood in her home and deliberately chosen which parts of her life to wreck, and which to keep intact.

      “He didn’t steal anything.” April’s voice sounded flat and hollow, even to her.

      “Are you sure?” Ray asked behind them.

      Before she could answer, Daniel whispered in her ear. “Is there anything really odd? Not the trashing. Something odd in the middle of it.”

      April felt a laugh borne of hysteria bubbling in the back of her throat, and she almost choked. Anything odd? Had he lost his mind? Her house had been destroyed! Her food, her fine china! Her life! Her gaze darted about the room as her mind clicked through what would have to be replaced. The television, the carpet, the curtains that hung half off their rods…

      The curtains.

      She froze, her eyes narrowing. The curtains on the back window were closed.

      April blinked, her anxiety calming as she stared at the bright yellow and green fabric that added light and color to her open living room. Every morning, she opened both sets, on the front and back windows, to allow in as much light as possible. Now the ones on the rear window were closed.

      April turned slightly toward the front window. Those curtains were still open.

      She looked at Officer Gage. “Did you close the drapes?” She pointed at the torn fabric.

      Confused, the young man looked from her to Ray.

      The sheriff nodded. “Did you?”

      Gage shook his head, and Ray gestured toward the window. “Open them.”

      Picking his way through the shards of April’s life, Gage fumbled through the ripped cloth for the cord, then slowly drew back the drapes.

      At the sight of the windows, Daniel gasped out a low, choked prayer. “Dear God, save us.”

      April’s eyes widened as her breath left her. She stumbled back against Daniel, who braced her, his hands closing on her shoulders.

      The block letters trailed across the glass in smeared reddish-bronze lipstick, and the splintered tubes clustered beneath the window, crushed into the carpet.

      The message was simple.

      YOU TALK

      YOU DIE