The Ghostwriter's Words

Claire: Answers to Prayers but the Stuff of Nightmares

Maybe there was a God, and her prayers had been answered, Claire thought, looking out the window, and seeing that Sara had returned. Then her heart pounded, realizing Sara wasn't alone. The man driving the car Sara climbed from wasn't a concern. The mask-wearing men, waving guns in the back of the truck, screeching to a stop behind them, were. Without thinking about what she could possibly do to help, Claire sprinted out the door toward the woman she loved rather than have the good sense to remain hidden in the house and survive. She didn't care. She'd die in Sara's arms since she'd felt dead for the day she'd already been without her, even if she hated her for lying and had never wanted to see her again.

Then, reality as she'd known it ceased. Full stop.

Claire watched Sara casually climb the slight grade of the yard alongside the house as the men piled from the truck with their guns. Sara's recent driver sprinted past her, with his head low, yelling for her to follow while she turned and waited patiently.

For what? Run! Please! Sara! Run! But Sara stood where she was, with no apparent concern. She looked so brave. And stupid. Run. Please!

Another man, who appeared to be the leader of the masked men with guns, climbed from the front passenger seat of the truck, walking toward Sara with his assault rifle pointed directly at her chest. He pulled off his mask, revealing his face, no longer concerned about who knew his identity, and began barking orders, which Sara ignored, even though she must have understood what the man was yelling at her and the threats that followed. She should be afraid and done as he told her. Or run since if she did drop to her knees, he would shoot her. Please run!

But Sara didn't run or react. Instead, she stood her ground until the man was a few feet away, the barrel of his rifle pressed against her chest. Sara was going to die! In a panic, not knowing what to do or what she could do, Claire took several steps forward, then stopped and watched in horror.

The man continued to bark orders and threats until he was the one who suddenly landed on his knees, looking behind him in confusion to see who'd pushed him to the ground, but there was no one. The man returned his attention to Sara, barking additional orders and threats while unsuccessfully trying to regain his feet.

Sara snapped, "Enough of your noise!" The man's mouth continued to move but produced no sound at all. At the same time, Sara spouted a string of obscenities and demeaning insults, shocking Claire because, even well aware that Sara spoke their language well enough, she had no idea Sara had learned to curse so fluently. Sara assaulted the man's character. His ancestry. His manhood and his sexual orientation. She asked whether he was a woman in disguise and, given his cowardice, assumed he couldn't be very well endowed.

Claire was sure the man would have shot Sara then, but his weapon had flown from his hands, beyond his reach, when he'd landed on his knees. His efforts to regain his feet were futile and exhausting, as if some great weight held him down. His sudden realization that he was the one who should be afraid was made evident by the spreading wetness across the front of his pants.

"Let's see," Sara demanded and smiled as the man's trousers were suddenly ripped down and bunched on the ground around his knees. He looked down, following her eyes, then back up at her in horror. A woman saw his genitals and mocked them. "As I suspected," Sara laughed, "I should take those for my collection. I doubt I have any that small since I never harm or take trophies from children."

The man's ordinarily average penis appeared to have shrunk as small as possible. Claire couldn't be sure from where she stood but suspected he had also soiled himself down the back of his legs.

"So, now you know the terror those women you murdered at the airport must have felt," Sara spat at him, concluding, "Since you preach an eye for an eye, I believe you deserve a taste of your own medicine."