Page 84 of Shadowed Witness

Editing photos was out of the question. If her vision couldn’t handle a moment of staring at a page, she certainly wouldn’t be able to spend any time staring at a screen.

Knitting, however, might be doable. After finishing the gloves earlier, she’d selected another pattern that she’d used several times before. The cabled scarf was just complicated enough to require her to keep mental tabs on which row she was on, but not so complicated she would need to keep her eyes focused. Might not even have to look at it much at all. And while her hands were tired from the cumulative hours with her needles today, they were better off than her eyes.

Worth a try. And maybe the familiar motions would help her brain settle.

Much as she would prefer to stay in her seat, the overheadlight needed to go. The lamp would be much easier on her eyes. She stood, waited until her equilibrium caught up, then made those adjustments. Might as well retrieve a drink while she was up. Did she want tea?

Yes. But she didn’t want to be on her feet long enough to prepare it properly, and microwaved tea wasn’t an option. She grabbed a bottled water instead and returned to the living room.

Her knitting bag already sat next to the recliner where she’d dropped everything when she arrived, so she settled in, then lifted the bag to her lap. She pulled her needles out, leaving the skein inside, and surveyed her progress. Scarves felt like they took absolutely forever, but she’d made decent headway in between customers.

Once she figured out which row of the cable pattern she should be on, she scooched down in her seat and closed her eyes as she worked. Her needles clicked in a quiet rhythm. Her brain, however, continued to spin.

Using her backup camera today had reminded her that she needed to order a new camera to replace the one that was destroyed Wednesday. Should she order the same model, or should she upgrade? She hadn’t had hers that long—only about six months. Though she didn’t need to add to everything already on her plate, she would have to take time to do that research sometime next week.

A stitch felt off, and she cracked one eyelid open to assess the issue. Easy fix. She repositioned the needle and shut her eyes again.

Her mind strayed to Dion. Was he still okay? She prayed again for his safety. Then she prayed protection over her family. Heaven knew they needed it until this situation was resolved. She was less sure what to pray about the situation with Eric. Might as well just be honest with God.

I’m so confused about yesterday. Is Eric that angry beneath the surface? Or was yesterday just a fluke? I know everyone makes mistakes.Isure do, and you know that better than anyone.

Her prayer trailed off, her mind finally beginning to quiet. Apparently, God wasn’t going to give her a direct answer tonight. But she was okay with that. She just needed to know he had it in hand and remind herself not to make snap decisions based on her emotions.

Her fingers slowed, and her head began to droop. She caught herself with a jerk that sent a lightning bolt of pain shooting down her neck and into her shoulder.

This wasn’t working.

She set her knitting aside. As tired as she was, she’d start dropping stitches if she tried to keep going. She should go to bed.

Or she could just stay here.

Drowsiness won. She placed her glasses beside the knitting, then flipped the lamp off and snuggled back down in her chair.

A little while later, she awoke with a start. Had she heard something? She lay still. There it was. A scratching sound as if a key was being inserted in a lock. She reached for her phone. Felt yarn. A knitting needle.

The front door opened a crack. She froze, heart in her throat.

After a slight pause, the door swung inward. The hinges let out a low squeak.

The sound kick-started her brain. She launched from the chair, fingers closing around the knitting needle, and ran for the kitchen.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind her. She screamed. Her shoulder caught the doorframe. Before she could right herself, a hard hand landed on her other shoulder and spun her around.

Allowing the momentum to carry her, she grasped the knitting needle like a dagger and swung.

It sank in. The man yelled and released her. She lost her grip on the makeshift weapon. No time to worry about that. As his curses filled her ears, she turned and sprinted toward her bedroom, vaguely registering the clang of thin steel striking a solid object and bouncing to the floor.

She made it to her bedroom ahead of him, but not by much.She threw the door shut and turned the lock. It wouldn’t hold long. She tried to shove her dresser in front of the door even as the knob rattled. Too heavy. What would work as a weapon?

Moonlight illuminated the room just enough for her to make out shadows. Derryck’s bat. She grabbed it. Lifted it to her shoulder as the door splintered inward.

She put all her strength into the swing. The blow glanced off the man’s forehead. Something heavy clattered to the floor. He staggered back, hand held to his head. He growled.

“Get out!” She almost didn’t recognize her own voice.

The man hesitated, and she shouldered the bat again.

“What’s going on in here?” A voice sounded from the hallway. Cornell from next door. “My wife’s on the phone with the cops.”

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