Three quick faint steps darted on the outside stairs. A sound of smashing window followed, disturbing the stillness of the night. She stirred in her sleep. A dog barked, once. Then howled with great anguish. Her mind bolted to consciousness, her eyes bulged with terror and a bitter taste of premonition filled her mouth. Someone must have hit, probably killed her dog. And, amidst the confusions of her mind and the painful anxiety fast gripping her throbbing heart, she was certain that she would be next.

Her first instinct was to dash to her children’s bedroom. Sneakily, intending not to alarm them, she pushed the door open and switched on the lights. Her eleven years old son, Marcel, was wide awake, his ever feature soaked in fear and uncertainty. Donnie, his younger brother, was sound asleep besides him, his legs and arms sprawled over Marcel. She hesitated at the doorway for a few seconds, surveying the room and giving the window three nervous glances. Then she went over to Marcel and soothed her back to sleep. The night was still. Everything seemed in place.

Switching off the lights, she picked a padlock from Marcel’s study table and locked the door from outside. An involuntary action she couldn’t explain. She then checked into the guest room, sitting room and dining, and then kitchen. Everything seemed in place. Her fear waned. Perhaps it was an illusion; somehow an extension of her dream into reality, she mused. On her way to her bedroom, she stopped at her children’s bedroom door. Although she could not quit quieten her doomsaying inner voices, she opened their door in case Marcel desired to use the bathroom, and then she headed to her bedroom.

It had been three months of having to brave the cold nights alone. Three months of wishing he were near him at night. Perhaps, it was his absence that scared her. It had been three months since the accidentally filmed video of her husband criticizing the government went viral and stirred angry demands for revolution. Three months, out of fear for his life, her husband have been a fugitive in their own country. Perhaps, it was the possibility that the long dirty tentacles of the government would soon close in on him that scared her. And on this night, something was nagging her gut, something sinister.

She opened her bedroom door and caught sight of a menacing silhouette on her husband’s side of the bed. Horror crippled her limbs and a scream dried in her throat.

Some half a kilometer from her dead body, a lonely wasted figure trudged through the darkness towards home. A place circumstances had forced him to keep off for the last three months. He imagined their faces beaming with unrestrained joy on seeing him. He imagined his two boys running into his arms calling him, and their mother following closely behind. He heard himself promise to never leave them again. He felt his dog waggling its tail against his feet. It was the feeling of home, and after enduring unspeakable suffering during his hideout, his tired body was now a half a kilometer from reaching home.

One question persistently lingered his mind as he neared. How would he explain to Marcel why he had to leave them? Would he be brave and tell him the truth? That the world is an awful place; where those in power still desired more power, and were even capable of murder to get it. Would he be able to look into the innocent eyes of Donnie? He felt greatly unsure of himself, greatly uncertain of the words he could use to explain to him that bad people were after him and that he was no longer safe anywhere. Especially at his own house.

But his loving wife already understood everything; one of his patients, a disguised upstart journalist, had secretly filmed a casual conversation they had had while he was treating him. In the conversation he had said his mind about the government without reservation. His opinions were the same as every other citizen’s. These we conversations on everyone’s lips, but the few who had dared speak up had ended up dead. The rest obeyed fear. Till the days every channel aired a clip of the chairman of national doctor’s association lambasting the government. It was the beginning of revolution.

Protesters marched the streets. Some boards carried his name. But it was a revolution he wanted no part in, lest his young family lose a father. And so, he went into hiding from the demonstrators that claimed his leadership and from the government that wanted his life. Only to resurface on this night.

He reached his doorstep and met his dog in a pool of blood. A bitter taste of fear came to his mouth, his heart raced. The light which a few moments ago shone brightest in his soul dimmed. The image of what was waiting for him inside pierced, wrenched, shuttered his heart. His feeble body gave in to the burden of worries and premonitions he had been carrying for months and he collapsed besides his lifeless dog.