We scrambled through the wet bushes, the thorns scratching at my bare arms.

My phone was still inside on the hallway floor, but I knew the security company would have called the police.

We reached the Millers’ back door.

I pounded my fist against the glass pane.

“Help!” I screamed. “Jim! Sarah! Please open the door!”

A light flickered on inside their kitchen.

Jim Miller appeared at the window, his hair rumpled, wearing a flannel robe.

He unlocked the door and pulled it open, his eyes wide.

“Claire? What’s going on? What happened to you?”

“Call the police,” I sobbed, pushing Lily inside the warm kitchen. “Nathan… he’s dangerous. Please lock the door.”

Jim didn’t ask questions; he grabbed his landline phone from the counter.

Sarah Miller came running down the hall, wrapping a warm blanket around Lily’s shivering shoulders.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Sarah murmured, holding Lily tight. “You’re safe here.”

I stood by the window, peering through the blinds into the dark street.

Within three minutes, the blue and red lights of police cruisers began to paint the trees in our front yard.