A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

to see Bea’s expression, I see her back go straight like a scared cat.
She stands momentarily taller, taking in what I’m saying.
“Oh God,” she says. “What are you thinking?”
“That someone shut off the main breaker to our house.”
“Why?” she asks. “Why would anyone do that?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her, whispering, because if my worst fears are
true, then someone has already stolen the key from the lockbox and
is in the house with us. The same key fits two doors in our house:
the front door, by which Bea and I stand, and a side door, the one we
use when we come in from the alley in back, where we park our
cars. The workers know this because the side door is wider and a
better angle at which to get large panels of drywall in. Anyone
keeping close tabs on our house might know this, too.
The side door enters into the laundry room. From there, a person
would have access to the kitchen, which would bring them to the
servant stairs. From there, they could go anywhere.
Neither Bea nor me wants to go alone to check on the circuit
breaker. But also, neither of us wants to be the one left behind.
In the end, we decide to go together. I turn on my flashlight. Bea
tells me to turn it off, that we can’t be drawing attention to ourselves
with the light. We have to go out quiet and blind. We leave our
flashlights behind.
I set my hand on the door handle and turn. I peel the door slowly
back. Bea stands behind me with a hand on my lower back. Together
we take one hesitant step out. I’m hyperaware of my surroundings,
though the wind is a distraction. It blows my hair about my face,
threatens to tear the door right from out of my hand and throw it
open wide. The world is dark and disorienting, making me lose my
bearings even in my own front yard. I don’t know where things are
and I find myself tripping down the porch step, though Bea latches
on and steadies me. Lightning flares, not in the distance, but close,
right above us. The storm is here.
Bea and I have just made our way onto the lawn, feet sinking into
mud, when the heavens open and rain comes flooding down,
drenching us both. The rain is cold, debilitating, but we keep going,
eyes scanning the yard, searching wildly through the rain for signs of
life.