Home For A Hero. Mary Wilson Anne

from another part of the house, then silence.

      She rolled on her side, thinking about Luke’s isolation, and she realized she was just as isolated, only not on an island but in a crowded world.

      Closing her eyes more tightly, Shay told herself she was safe and warm here. She wasn’t in the water—or worse. Finally she let herself fall into the coming sleep, past dreams that flitted in and out of her consciousness but made little sense.

      “No! Don’t!”

      Shay was jarred from a deep sleep by muffled screams. At least she thought that was what had awakened her. “No, stop! Dammit, stop!”

      Chapter Four

      Shay sat up in the darkness and listened. It sounded as if Luke was yelling at someone. His voice was muffled by the door, but loud enough for her to understand most of the words. “I can’t do it again!”

      Was he talking to the owner? Had Maurice Evans come to the house somehow? Or was it friend of Luke’s? Were they having an argument?

      The words were lower, unintelligible now, but the tone was the same—stressed, almost panicked. She hesitated, then got out of bed into the cold air of the room. She grabbed her clothes and got them on as she crossed to the door. Opening it a crack, she almost jumped back when Luke screamed, “Not again! Not again! I won’t!” The words vibrated through the house.

      “No!”

      She heard raw, pained fear in the single word and she opened the door farther to look out into the hallway. Right then, a door slammed—hard. She stepped out onto the cold marble floor and slowly walked in the direction of the voices that were quieter now.

      She entered the great room, the voice low, almost a sob now. “Please, no, please.” She glanced around quickly, but couldn’t see anyone. A low light was on by the couch, but Luke was nowhere in sight. As far as she could tell, no other person was there. She heard a muffled cry, then another.

      She almost retreated back to the bedroom to lock the door, but another sob pulled her forward. It was guttural and filled with agony. She felt the deep chill in the room at the same moment she saw one of the back doors was open. She walked silently toward it, listening, but the voices had stopped. The bedroll was tangled on the floor in front of the doors, and just as she was about to step over it to look outside, she stopped. Something moved to her right, and she looked into shadows alongside the doors and saw Luke. He was hunched over, his head on his knees, his image blurred in the faint light. He was shaking. Shay hesitated, then moved closer, crouching down next to him. “Luke? Luke?” she said softly.

      He exhaled, then lifted his face to her. His hand flew out, capturing her wrist. It startled her, but she stayed where she was. “You,” he breathed hoarsely, as if shocked that it was her talking to him and not someone else.