—John 8:12
This story is dedicated to children at risk. Please join me in praying for their protection and well-being so the forces of darkness will not prevail against them.
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Sarah Miller’s heart pounded in sync with the footsteps that echoed up the stairway leading to the third story of the old antebellum home. Rats scurried in the attic as she crouched in the closet, pulled her knees to her chest and fought back tears that burned her eyes. The rats didn’t frighten her, but Victor Thomin did.
The shuffle of his feet on the landing signaled his approach. Keys rattled as he unlocked the door, sending another wave of panic to ricochet along her spine. The locks—all three of them—were to protect her from those who hoped to do her harm...or so Victor claimed.
“Sarah?”
Her lungs constricted at the sound of his voice. She gasped, struggled for air and wished she could be anywhere except in his mother’s house, where he said she was safe.
The door creaked open.
In her mind’s eye, she could see his pallid skin, deep-set eyes and shock of red hair as he glanced around the room.
“Where are you, Sarah?” Anger rose in his voice. “Are you hiding from me?”
He knew too much about her, about being left alone as a child, about the fire and the fear that continued to eat at her even though she should know better. Why had she told him so much in her drugged stupor? At least he no longer forced her to take the pills.
“You can’t hide from me, Sarah.” His voice made her tremble all the more.
The closet door flew open. She startled, gasped for air and wanted to run but was too frightened to move.
He grabbed her arm.
“Don’t hurt me.” She struggled to pull free. “It was the dream that made me hide.”
“Did you dream of being dragged from the car along with Miriam?” he asked,