The Fury Trilogy

The woman could do nothing but watch.

The intruder snapped his fingers and rocked his hips side to side. His eyes were closed as he mouthed the words to the Russian pop song that blared from a cell phone he had placed on the table.

His movements carried him across the floor away from the woman. He twirled and danced back toward her, shimmying his shoulders as he playfully pointed, beckoning her to join him. But, of course, she could not. Plastic cuffs secured her hands behind her back as she sat on the hardwood floor with her back against the wall. Her right breast had slipped free from her silk teddy. 

The woman’s eyes shot sideways to her husband, Gary, who was unconscious from a blow to his head. She didn’t know what the man had hit him with, but it had split his head open. Blood spider-webbed the side of his face as he slumped forward. Weird though it seemed, she envied her husband, as he wasn’t subjected to the dancing lunatic before her.

The man had broken into their home in the middle of the night and, although they had never seen him before, he seemed to be there for a specific reason. After knocking her husband unconscious, zip-tying her hands behind her back, and gagging her, the thief spent nearly a half-hour drilling into the safe that had been built into their walk-in closet. He seemed to know what he was after, but never asked either her or her husband for the combination to the safe, which she would have given him without hesitation, had he asked.

There was jewelry in the safe that was worth nearly a million dollars. The thief, however, took only one item: a necklace previously owned by the late Natalie Wood. It contained twenty-four carats in white diamonds and fourteen deep blue sapphires in a white gold setting. Once he had what he wanted, he made them walk downstairs to the dining room. That’s when he clobbered Gary.

She waited patiently for the nightmare to end, for him to disappear into the dark night. Instead, he hung around like an unwanted guest making himself at home. He had even opened a bottle of vodka and taken a few shots. Now he danced, oblivious to them.

He’d made no attempt to mask his appearance. What did that mean? Was there more to come? Was her worst fear—death—inevitable? Was that the reason he hadn’t rushed out of the house sooner? She looked at her husband once more. If it weren’t for the blood, he looked as he would when sleeping. Nothing much stirred him. He’d sleep through his own death. 

Perspiration had bubbled across her face, causing the duct tape on the left side of her cheek to lose some of its grip. She could move her mouth. As a last-ditch effort, a plea really, she decided to engage. He might have a conscience. 

“Please,” she said. “Leave us, please.”

He stopped dancing, his eyebrows rising in surprise. In an overly dramatic move, he cupped a hand around his ear and leaned in.

“We’ve done nothing to you. Take what you want. Take it all and leave us.”

He repeated the move once again as if he hadn’t heard her. 

She cried uncontrollable, shaking sobs.

He tapped at the screen of his cell phone, and the music stopped playing. He then snapped a picture of her and her husband before pocketing the phone. He slipped the small knapsack he wore off his shoulders. From the bag, he removed a large knife. 

Her crying grew louder when she saw the blade. She shook her head violently. “No! No!”

A wicked smile grew across the man’s face as his eyes bore through her. She could see clearly now. He had no intention of letting them live. A shiver rippled across her body.

The man walked closer and knelt in front of her husband, raising his limp head with two fingers so he could get a better look. He stared at him for a moment or so before shifting his gaze to her.

He spoke for the first time. “He didn’t try hard to protect you.” He had a Russian accent. “Yet, you love this man. I don’t understand.”

“We’re no threat.” Her voice trembled. “Let us live. I beg you.”

He removed the tape completely from her mouth so he could hear her more clearly. She gasped and sucked in the fresh air. He watched her chest rise and fall with each breath. Her eyes were glassy and red.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

He crinkled his brow. “That’s an odd question for someone in your situation.” He pondered her question for a few seconds before answering. “Yuri.”

“That’s a nice name,” she said with a tremble in her voice. “Mine is Maria.”

He stared at her, no change in his expression upon hearing her name. Then, without warning, he struck. He drove the knife into the side of her husband’s neck. Blood spewed across her face. She watched in horror as Yuri sawed, grunting with each movement.