Secrets of Harmony Grove by Mindy Starns Clark Page A

looking both for Nina and for whatever creature it was that Floyd kept talking about. Were we in danger? Should I retrieve his gun from under the table and stand guard? There didn’t seem to be anyone or anything else inside the fencing with us, so at the very least should I close the gate so that nothing could get in? Except for the metal gate, the fencing itself was stucco with tile embellishments, solid and thick, though only about four and a half feet high. Closing the door wouldn’t keep everything out, but it might help, depending on what might be trying to get in.
    Before the dispatch guy could tell me what he thought I should do, I finally heard sirens in the distance. The noise quickly grew louder until it could have been a hundred different sirens, all speeding toward us. I simply stood there waiting next to Floyd, and as soon as I could tell that personnel were out of their vehicles and within earshot, I began yelling.
    “Here! Here! We’re over here!”
    Soon I was surrounded by what felt like a dozen people, most of them in uniform, all of them looking as if they knew exactly what to do. As yet more responders arrived, the crowd grew: paramedics to work over Floyd, uniformed officers to guard the scene, armed gunmen fanning out across the lawn and probably into the grove beyond. With all of the activity, I could only hope they would find Nina before it was too late for her, as it was for Troy.
    Much of what happened next felt like a blur of uniforms and bodies and movement, punctuated by the crackle of radios and walkie-talkies. Aman in uniform led me to the nearest chair, the very same one I had hidden behind just a short while before, so that I could sit down. For some reason, he seemed to think that if I didn’t sit soon, I might fall down. He may have been right. As more and more activity went on all around me, I realized my entire body was trembling and that I was gripping the armrest so tightly that my knuckles practically glowed white in the near darkness.
    I sat there and tried to gather my wits about me, fully aware that this situation would have been traumatic enough on its own, but I had a personal history that made it about a million times worse. Closing my eyes, all I could do was try to block memories of the one other time in my life when I had been surrounded by these same types of sounds and sights, the milling about of busy, uniformed law enforcement officers who had responded to a cry for help and tried to make right what should never have gone wrong in the first place.
    Finally, a different officer came over to me, an attractive African American woman who introduced herself as Georgia Olsen. She asked me if I was okay, if she could get me anything, if I had been hurt in any way. How could I tell her that even just the concerned but professional tone of her voice brought back memories from that one night so long ago, brought them crashing over me like waves beating furiously against a pier?
    Had it really been ten years? Right now it felt more like ten days, or maybe even ten minutes.
    Georgia could probably see that I was losing my grip on my emotions because she helped me up, took me by the elbow, and led me out of the pool area, along the walkway, and up the steps into the main room of the bed-and-breakfast. Somehow, I ended up on the couch with a glass of water in my hand, a blanket on my lap, and an EMT at my elbow preparing to take my pulse. I couldn’t find it within myself to stop him and tell him he should go for the other wrist. Instead I just sat there like an observer of my own body and watched as he pulled up my left sleeve to reveal the scarred and mangled skin that it had been hiding. A true medical professional, he didn’t wince or even react to the sight but instead simply switched to the other arm and continued with what he was doing. Georgia, on the other hand, allowed her gaze to linger a little too long before politely looking away.
    The EMT finished checking my vitals