Bolting upright in bed, a cold sweat forming on her brow, Katherine breathed deeply, willing the air back into her lungs. She had been in the middle of one of those gut-wrenching dreams, where she was falling—free falling—desperately grasping for something to get a handhold on, as her heart soared and her stomach flip-flopped.  Though terrifying, she’d had a sense of freedom in those brief terrifying seconds right before realizing that she wouldn’t survive the fall and she couldn’t get a scream to build to leave her throat.

The green illumination from her bedside clock read 1:31 A.M.

Heaving a sigh, she leaned back against the headboard only to spring away from it seconds later when the pounding started downstairs.

What in the world? Who could it possibly be in the middle of the night? I wonder why Dad hasn’t started yelling yet. He is going to lose it if those kids from town are knocking on doors and running away again. Why isn’t he at the door yet? Or at the very least moving around downstairs? It is as quiet as a tomb.

Throwing the covers aside, she rushed to the door as her thoughts raced. When she was almost down the stairs, the deep bellowing voice repeated her name from the other side of the door, and as her feet touched the bottom stair, her heart dropped and her pulse ratcheted up because throwing an eerie strobe light pattern through the windows was something everyone dreads to see at one in the morning.

Flashing lights.

Red, Blue, Red, and Blue.

She sprinted the last couple of feet, struggling to keep her balance as her socks were slipping and sliding against the recently oiled hardwood floor, the lemon scent still clinging to the air as she slammed to a stop at the front door. Fingers desperately fumbled with the doorknob before she finally unlocked and yanked it open. Her speeding heart faltered and slammed to her toes as she saw Sheriff Wilbur Pike on the stoop, fist poised to resume its battery of the thick wooden door.

No. Oh God, no. Whatever this is, it can’t be good. Sheriff hasn’t turned up this late at night since Sean’s daddy. Oh God.

Before she had a chance to start drilling him, he stepped through the door and herded her into the living room.

"Katherine, let's have a seat for just a minute, please?"

Jerking back a step, she gave life to the questions racing through her mind.

"What's wrong? What happened? What’s going on?" Please, please don’t tell me someone is hurt, or worse. Please, please, please.

He gave her no immediate answer, drawing out the torture, and reached out and wrapped her in his arms for a tight hug, briefly, before leading her in the direction of the sofa.

Reaching out, he flipped the switch to illuminate the room, then pulled off his hat and tossed it onto the coffee table, the way he had a million times before.

Sheriff Pike, her godfather, had come in and done exactly that her whole life, yet there was not a single thing comforting in the action now.

Sinking into the sofa, he nestled her under his arm, in a tight embrace, and laid his cheek against the top of her head. He held her snug in his grip for a moment before pressing a kiss to her forehead and drawing in a ragged breath.

Katherine gulped in air, seeing spots in her panic.

"Katy, honey, I have some bad news. I was called to the scene of an accident tonight. A drunk driver crossed several lanes of traffic and hit a couple head on; they didn’t survive. Darlin’ girl, I’m sorry to say this, but your parents are gone. There was nothing we could do; they were gone by the time my first cruiser pulled up on the scene."

Reaching up, he rubbed at his eye and ran his hand over a weathered cheek, which was covered in at least a days’ worth of scruff. "I can’t believe I am saying this, but they're gone. Katy, we've lost them."

The words battered her brain as she struggled to deny his claim. She jumped up and, ripping from his embrace, ran to their room without another word.

It is not possible. It isn’t! They were going out for their anniversary dinner. This isn’t possible.

After a brief moment, he got up to follow her. He leaned against the doorjamb, his hand wrapped around the back of his neck as he waited for her to say something.

"Sheriff." He had been the sheriff so long everyone simply called him that, including his dedicated wife of forty-five years, Thelma. "Are you telling me that my parents are dead? That they went out on a date, their first in ages, to celebrate their anniversary, and now they are just... dead?"

Her tone came across as indignant, but underneath it hid shades of shock and desperate fear and the beginnings of grief.

She didn’t dare move as she waited in terror for his answer.

He hung his head in utter defeat, allowing the sadness to wash over him, and when he looked up at her, he simply nodded.

Sheriff Pike, the man who had sneaked her candy as a child and given her piggy back rides at picnics, the very same man who had, in her later years, let her slide on a speeding ticket or two with merely a stern warning and a laughing shake of his head, looked up at her with such heart-wrenching pain blatant on his face that she had no choice but to believe him, and she forgot to take a breath as the pain suffocated her. The beeping and static talking coming over the mic attached to the shoulder of his uniform was drifting into an unpleasant buzzing noise as she felt dizziness wash over her.

Swaying, she reached out to steady herself against the dresser before everything went black. She had fainted before her head cracked against the dresser with a sharp thud, causing Sheriff to call out in panic and request an ambulance to transport her to the hospital while he cradled her gently in his arms and a tear slipped down his cheek.