A Question of Will by Alex Albrinck

gun from hands now kept her hands up and away from the device. The phone rang, startling her, and she recognized the ring tone for Will. The killer smirked, and the phone dissolved into dust, destroyed by an invisible, crushing force. The force controlling her arms now pulled on her, forcing her into a chair at the kitchen table, where her arms were pinned to her side as she was restrained in the seat.
    The man smiled, which had the effect of exaggerating the scars on his face. “That’s better. I have a bit of preparatory work to do, Mrs. Stark. I’ll then explain why I’m here, and then...why, then, you’ll die.” He said it without a hint of emotion, as if the concept of taking a human life had no emotional impact on him. Rather, if her dream had been accurate — and he was the living embodiment of the terror she had seen in her sleep — the man truly relished killing. And she was now unarmed, snared by some invisible force.
    After sheathing his sword, the man pulled what looked like a large aerosol can from his pocket. He began to walk along the perimeter of the house, spraying a thin coating of the substance in the can on the exterior walls. Hope watched, confused, as the thin liquid expanded like foam, spreading to cover large portions of the wall surfaces. He exited the kitchen area and moved into the dining room, which sat on one side of the front of the house. As he left the kitchen, Hope felt the invisible force restraining her release, allowing her to move again. She glanced at the gun on the floor with the useless bullets next to it. She still had an extra clip in her pocket, but clearly the man had expected the gun attack. He was likely prepared for the possibility that she’d reload and try to shoot him... and her previous attempt suggested such an effort would be futile.
    Her eyes fell on the rack of baseball bats Will kept next to the door, which were used in the batting cage he’d installed in the back yard. If the gun wasn’t an option, perhaps another form of attack was in order.
    After slipping off her shoes to help muffle her steps, Hope stood, silent on her feet, using her knowledge of the spots in the house which would creak and those which would stay solid and quiet underfoot. She selected one of the wood bats, and crept out of the kitchen in the opposite direction of the killer, still silent as a shadow. She stayed close to the inner wall of the room, out of sight, bat held at the ready. She could hear the killer moving out of the dining room, past the front door. He should be entering the room right about...
    Now.
    The man stepped into the room, his back to her, still spraying the foaming liquid on to the walls of her home. Subtlety no longer an option, Hope charged the man, swinging the bat with every bit of strength she could muster. The wooden bat shattered into splinters as it hit him full across the shoulders.
    He paused briefly, grunted, and then continued his work, as if he’d merely been aware of a bead of sweat trickling down his back.
    Hope’s eyes widened, and she dropped the bat handle to the floor. She backed away from him, back into the kitchen, where she seized a large knife from the butcher block and returned to the chair she’d been in moments before. Perhaps it was a futile effort at self-defense. She could run now, but the other men from her nightmare were likely out there, waiting for her. If they were here to execute her, she meant to make them work for it. She would do whatever was necessary to prevent them from discovering her child. Running would never do, but delaying the killer from completing his mission might. If she held off dying long enough, Will might arrive at the house with the police in tow. This plan had the added advantage of her staying alive.
    She wondered if this killer would be able to seize their guns in the same manner he had seized hers.
    The killer came into the kitchen, having finished painting the walls of her home in the foaming substance.