The Alignment by Kay Camden

my door. He leads me to the house but at the last minute, he turns. His face is close to mine. My adrenaline must be working to calm the sickness—it’s hardly noticeable now.
    “Are you sure you want to see this?”
    “Yes.”
    He pulls me inside behind him and I gasp, covering my mouth with both hands. My belongings litter the floor as if a cyclone had raged through the house. Every drawer, closet and unpacked box ransacked and their contents scattered. Shock numbs me and empties my mind, every thought flushing down a massive storm drain.
    He looks at me. “Get what you need quickly. We need to go.”
    I nod. I step into the middle of the room and glass crunches under my shoes. Trey and I both look up to see an empty hole where the skylight used to be.
    “They came in through the skylight.” He points out the obvious.
    “Why not the door?” I hear myself ask.
    “They were trying to ambush us.”
    With this knowledge, I get to work sorting through my things, throwing what I need into a plastic trash bag. On my way out I grab a pillow and blanket. With tears clouding my vision I look at Trey, catching his arm to stop him.
    “What if it rains?”
    He puts me in the truck and slams the door closed. I hear him rummaging around in the back of the truck as I stare at the house, unable to process the scene stamped in my memory. I see him dart toward the house with a piece of heavy plastic and a hammer. He disappears around the side of the house and re-emerges on the roof, where he nails the plastic over the hole and disappears again. Then he’s at my door. “Will you be okay driving if I lead you on the Ninja?”
    I swallow my tears. “Yes.” I scoot over to the driver’s seat and start the engine. The motorcycle fires up behind me and advances ahead, skidding in the gravel. I put the truck in gear and follow.
    My mind is void of thought and emotion during the drive toward town, over the bridge, down a winding road to a gravel driveway. I go through the motions without thinking. I park the truck behind him and turn off the engine. When I look up, he’s already at my window.
    His voice reaches me through the glass. “Stay in the truck until I come back.”
    I sit and stare until he returns, a dog on his heels. He pushes the motorcycle into the garage and walks back toward me. Halfway, he stops and looks straight up into the sky for a drawn-out moment. He seems to mold into the scene. I find myself holding my breath until he moves again. He opens my door. “Everything is okay here, but you have to stay right behind me. There’s only one path into the house, and you have to stay on it. Got it?”
    I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I follow him anyway. He zigzags his way to the front door and closes it behind us. I stand in the entry clutching my pillow to my chest as he carries my things into the house. He returns with some wadded up sheets and takes them to the other side of the house where I hear the washing machine start up.
    When I see him coming back I blurt out, “My car is back there. Is it okay to leave my car there?”
    His shoulders slump. “Yes. Your car needs to be there.”
    He grips the back of the couch with both hands and leans over it, head bowed. “Do you know, if I hadn’t let you come with me today…” He sounds like he’s talking more to himself than me. His eyes meet mine. “You only have to stay here until I have a plan. I’ll come up with a plan. The long-term plan is I leave, but I can’t leave until we have steered them away from you. Do you want a drink?”
    I follow him into the kitchen and take a seat at the table. He removes two glasses from the cabinet and pours a few inches of amber liquor into one.
    “Just water for me.” It comes out in a whisper.
    He fills the other glass with water and drops it on the table in front of me. I take a sip and look up. His glass is already empty.
    “I’m going to be sick every day I’m here.” My voice has no