Fiction Friday – The Pistol

Better late than never, right?

Here’s this week’s iteration of Fiction Friday.  I used a prompt from Writer’s Digest Guide to Creativity (Nov. 29, ’09).  I procrastinated a bit this week (as I have been known to do), so I didn’t use the WD website prompt.

The prompt:

A woman buys a gun for home defense, but two days later she can’t find it.

I hope you’re enjoying these weekly forays into a different kind of writing for me.  I’ve appreciated the feedback!  Feel free to keep it coming.  Without further ado, I give you…The Pistol.

 Nothing will wake you faster than the sound of breaking glass in the middle of the night. Julie Harmon found that out the hard way at two o’clock in the morning on January 27^th.

CRASH!

Julie sat bolt upright from a sound sleep. Every sense she had became instantly hyper-alert. Adrenaline flooded her system.  Her heart hammered in her chest. It felt like a jackhammer trying to break its way out. The pulsing in her head from the pressure of her blood gave her a brief pinpoint headache right behind her eyes.

She took four deep breaths quickly to try to negate the pain and calm down. Julie strained to hear anything else from the stillness of her home. Had she dreamed the noise? She didn’t think so. She’d had some vivid dreams before, but nothing like this.

In the moment that she spent trying to hear another noise to confirm her growing fear, she cursed Stewart. If he hadn’t left her, she wouldn’t be alone. She wouldn’t have felt it necessary to buy a gun to protect herself.

The gun.

Julie turned and looked at the side table drawer. The blue display from the clock radio cast enough light to see where she had stashed her new protection. Slowly, listening for what she hoped wasn’t there, Julie leaned over and pulled on the drawer’s knob. The drawer slid forward on well-oiled tracks to reveal the contents within.

Confusion and apprehension knocked lightly at Julie’s psyche. The drawer held nothing.

Impossible! She had just bought the damn gun two days ago. She’d gone to the range to practice with it. She’d come home to clean it. She put it in the side table drawer. Julie knew all of these things to be fact.

Maybe it had slid to the back of the drawer. She slid her hand further back, her entire forearm now in the drawer. She swiped her hand back and forth frantically and hit nothing but pine on each side. Where could it be?

Creak.

Julie held her breath and stopped moving. Had she heard a creak in the hallway?  She thought to herself, “This is ridiculous. I’m being silly. I didn’t hear…”

Creak. Closer.

Julie grabbed for her phone and dialed 911. She waited. Her line never rang. How was that possible? Julie hit END and tried again. This time she listened before she dialed. No dial tone. Her heart beat picked up the pace and she started to breathe faster.

Julie realized her cell phone was on the pillow next to her. She’d gone to bed while talking with Brent on her cell. Julie grabbed the phone and dialed 911.

“You’ve reached the State Police. If this is an emergency, please stay on the line…”

Dammit! Julie closed her eyes and could feel tears begin to slide down her cheek. She didn’t know how long she’d be on hold.

A voice in her head: Call Brent.

Of course! Brent lived three floors above her. They’d only been dating for six weeks, but she had given him a key and he could be there faster than the police anyway.

Julie hung up and dialed Brent’s number.

Bbbbrrrrrrrrrrr. Bbbbrrrrrrrrrrr.

Julie knew she wasn’t imagining things. She heard the sound coming from her hallway.

Bbbbrrrrrrrrrrr. Bbbbrrrrrrrrrrr.

What the hell was happening? And why wasn’t Brent answering his pho…

Julie made the connection too slowly. The last two things she heard were the door to her room opening and the “click” of her pistol’s hammer being pulled back. Julie had one last chance to curse Stewart’s name.

Photo courtesy of Flickr and M1ARifles.com