The pain was nothing compared to the fear. It buzzed behind her eyes, the thing waiting to kill her, and everyone else. She hid in the closet, as though when he came back, he wouldn’t look for her.
She felt the whispers of it ruffle the bedspread, ripple the glass of water.
Then shatter it.
She was gone when he came back to see the bed crushed and folded, clothes gone but everything else left.
He didn’t know if it because she’d come back, or to make sure she had nothing to remind her that someone might want her to.
