House by Frank Peretti Page A

silence lasted only a moment.
    â€œAre you in on this?” Randy got in Stewart’s face. “Did you rig the locks to break off?”
    Stewart’s eyes locked on him like a tiger on its prey. Jack touched Randy’s arm but spoke to Betty, “How do you know?”
    â€œIs he connected to the spikes in the road?” Randy demanded.
    â€œYou think you’re better off stumbling around in the dark?” Betty asked.
    Stumbling around . . . ? “Better off than what?” Jack asked.
    â€œHelp me find that lamp,” Randy ordered no one in particular. “Get me some matches.”
    Jack, Randy, and Leslie groped about the counter in the dim light until Randy found the lamp he had brought in before dinner. Betty produced a box of matches from a drawer. Soon they all stood in the orange glow, the flame casting eerie, dancing shadows across their faces.
    Jack looked toward the windows. He saw faint orange reflections from the room, but outside there was only blackness. “We’d better make sure the house is secure. Just make sure we’re safe for the time being, and then we can—”
    â€œSecure the house!” Randy said. “Check the doors, check the windows, and let’s get some lights back on.”
    â€œDo you have a gun in the house?” Jack asked the strange family.
    â€œGot my shotgun,” Stewart replied. “And buckshot.”
    â€œThen let’s get it—”
    Something bumped and creaked above their heads.
    They froze in the glow of the lamp, eyes turned upward, listening.
    A thump. Another creak. A succession of thumps—like footsteps.
    â€œHe’s on the roof,” Betty whispered.
    Randy kicked a cupboard door and started pacing in a show of some bravado, but Jack noticed the sheen of sweat on his forehead. “He’s trying for an upstairs window.”
    Betty looked toward the kitchen windows. “What’s wrong with these?”
    Randy grabbed the lamp. Jack and Stewart followed him as he took off down the hall toward the stairway, leaving the women in the dark.

    â€œJack!” Stephanie shouted. “Jack! Don’t you leave us here!” Gone again. If you make me cope alone one more time, I’ll . . . I’ll . . . She covered her face.
    â€œStephanie, come on now, it’s time to be brave,” Leslie said. “There’s a time for feelings, and there’s a time for strength. This is a time for strength. You have to find it.”
    Stephanie had no more country-girl smiles left in her tonight. “Don’t you talk down to me, Dr. Shrink. I am not your patient.”
    â€œStephanie—”
    â€œAnd I’m no helpless little bimbo either, if that’s what you’re thinking, and just for the record, Jack and I are still married.” Leslie touched her shoulder, but Stephanie jerked away. “Don’t touch me!”
    They could hear the running, frantic footfalls of the men upstairs going from room to room, apparently checking all the windows.
    â€œThe men are still between us and . . . whoever he is,” Leslie offered.
    â€œ Humph ,” grunted Betty, only a shadow in the dark kitchen. “If he wanted in, he’d be in.”
    Stephanie clung to her anger. She called up her mental catalog of Jack’s offenses toward her and started thumbing through them. You are so insensitive to me, always leaving me alone . . .
    â€œCan’t we get the lights back on?” she heard Leslie say.
    . . . and you have never understood what I really need.
    â€œNope,” Betty replied.
    Stephanie recalled the anniversary of Melissa’s birthday . . .
    â€œThere was another oil lamp on the mantel,” Leslie said.
    . . . when Jack completely broke down. Abandoned her again. I want to move on, but you just can’t, Jack.
    â€œCome on,” Betty said.
    You loved Melissa more than you ever loved me. It wasn’t my