The Haunting of Anna McAlister by Jerome Harrison Page B

arrived.  
    After assuring them that she didn’t need to go the hospital, the police officers, who had arrived minutes after the crash, started asking her questions about the accident. Anna said she needed to sit down and suggested they talk in her house. In truth, Anna wanted the police with her when she went back inside. As many police as possible. But, when Anna and two officers walked in, the house and everything inside appeared normal.
    “You might want to clean off those cuts before we continue,” one of the officers said.
    Anna hadn’t even noticed that she had a fairly deep cut just above her hairline from the crash and a lot of little gouges from the glass when she climbed and fell from the window. She went into her first floor bathroom where she kept the hydrogen peroxide and bandages. She quickly removed her top and shook the glass from her hair.  
    Now she felt the full physical impact of the crash. Her arms ached, it hurt to move her neck and her ankles were scraped and sore. But worst of all, when she looked in the mirror she saw the line of small bruises from her neck on down was back, and more definite than ever. Also, a very thin cut had appeared near her left carotid artery, in the exact spot where she had felt the blade of the man’s knife.  
    “Miss, why do you have this door barricaded?” an officer called to Anna from outside the bathroom. “We’re you afraid of something?”  
    Anna quickly put on her shirt and walked from the bathroom to the dining room, where the officer stood looking at the chairs in front of the door. “Oh that,” she smiled. “I did think I heard someone at the window in there last night.”
    The officer nodded.  
    “I know this is really stupid right now,” Anna said, trying to sound like a helpless, scared little girl. “But would you please check to make sure everything’s okay in there.”  
    “Sure, no problem.”
    The officer moved the chairs aside, opened the door and walked in.
    “No everything looks fine in here,” he said, emerging from the room a minute later.
    “Thanks,” Anna said. “I know I’m just being silly. Maybe I’m just upset from the accident.”
    “It’s all right, Miss. We’re here to help.” The officer smiled. “Oh, by the way. Those music boxes are beautiful. You might want to keep them locked up. There’s been a lot of break-ins lately.”  
    * * *
    “Anna are you all right?” Tom came running into the house.  
    All color had drained from Anna’s face and her cuts and scratches looked much worse than they were.
    “Sam called me and told me what happened.” Tom hugged Anna hard, as if to confirm that she was real, unbroken and alive. “He said you turned right into a tree. What the hell were you thinking?”
    Anna didn’t answer Tom’s question. Instead she moved away and took his hand.  
    “What are you doing?” Tom asked.
    Anna’s action spoke louder than any answer she might have given. She pulled Tom along with her toward the dining room. Once inside, they both saw the music boxes lined up exactly where they had left them.
    “So, what’s wrong?” Tom asked.
    “They were on my bed when I came home. I didn’t move them back here.”
    “Oh please, Anna,” Tom scoffed. “You must have hit your head in the accident and forgot that you brought them down.”
    “Tom, when I saw them there on the bed, I just ran.”  
    Anna didn’t tell him about the man, she just stared at the music boxes. For a moment she had an almost overwhelming desire to touch them, to open them and let them sing. Instead, she squeezed Tom’s hand and pulled him in the other direction, out of the dining room and back to the officers who were finishing their accident report.
    As they walked, Anna whispered, “I think we should stay at your place for a few nights.”
    Anna’s grip tightened to the point where Tom felt the bones in his hand compacting. He broke free, surprised at Anna’s strength and the pain racing through