Josie stumbled backward until she hit the wall.
Luke stopped short.
His eyes widened in surprise, as if he was startled by what he was about to do.
Josie raised both arms, trying to shield herself from the attack. “Luke, please!”
“Noooooooo!” he screamed.
With a loud cry, Luke swung his arm down, digging the blade of the letter opener deep into the top of the mahogany desk.
Breathing hard, he let go of the handle and stepped back. He stared for a long moment at the letter opener standing upright in the middle of the desk.
“Josie,” he uttered in a hoarse, frightening voice. “Josie. Almost.”
He took another step back, still gasping for breath, his features twisted in horror at what he had just done.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” he said, more to himself than to Josie, his voice barely a trembling whisper.
He ran from the room, bumping the door frame hard with his shoulder but not stopping. Josie stood pressed up against the wall, staring at the letter opener, until she heard the front door slam behind Luke.
Then she exhaled loudly and moved to the desk.
“Wow,” she said and cleared her throat, which felt tight and dry. “Wow.”
The intercom on the den wall crackled to life. “Josie, are you there? Are you home?” It was Erica from upstairs.
Josie reached for the handle of the letter opener and tugged. “Yeah. I’m home,” she called to the small box.
“You’re late,” Erica said.
More lectures, Josie thought, rolling her eyes. She managed to pull the blade out of the desk top on the second try. She slid some books over to cover the hole.
“Can you come upstairs?” Erica asked. “Rachel is asking for you.”
“Maybe later,” Josie replied. She had to sit down. She was trembling all over. She had to think. She was terribly shaken by Luke’s wild attack.
So out of control, she thought. I’ve never seen anyone that out of control.
“Rachel wants to see you,” Erica insisted, her voice sounding shrill and tinny through the speaker.
“Tell her I’ll be up as soon as I can,” Josie said irritably.
Everyone’s mad, Josie thought. Everyone’s mad at me.
And what have I done?
Nothing.
I just want to be left alone.
Still feeling shaky, she moved toward the leather couch. But something caught her eye on the table against the far wall. The day’s mail.
She turned and made her way to the table. Sifting impatiently through the magazines and mail-order catalogs, she pulled out a square envelope addressed to her.
Another valentine.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Her hands trembled as she tore the envelope open.
This card was heart shaped. Bright pink. It said, “Hi, Valentine, remember me?” on the front in fancy script.
“Oh, brother,” Josie muttered aloud.
Reluctantly she opened the card to find the printed message crossed out and a new message printed beneath it, this time in red ballpoint ink.
This Valentine’s Day
No memories to save.
The only flowers for you
Will be on your grave.
Slamming the card onto the table, Josie glanced up at the calendar on the wall above the desk.
Valentine’s Day was Saturday.
This has got to be a joke, she thought, forcing herself to start breathing again.
No one is really planning to kill me. That’s impossible.
Isn’t it?