One more week passed for the family. Sally had another vision of the young man, the number 18 and a bloody knife. This time she shared it with her husband.
Carl advised his wife to stay home and secure for a number of days. Sally agreed, keeping busy with chores that had been neglected. Passing her living room window Sally looked outside, as she did every time passing the large window.
On the street a small blue car passed – with a young man at the wheel. The man appeared to look like the one from her vision but she couldn’t be sure. That night she kept Carl up to date with what she had seen that day.
Sally’s husband took time to go over with Sally where the gun they owned would be kept while Carl was at work. He had taught her long ago how to fire a handgun, break it down, clean it and put it back together. Basically, Sally was schooled in home defense.
But the next morning Sally was noticeably skittish. The children had been kept in the dark on everything but had been shipped off to school like they were every weekday. Carl could tell how upset his wife was when he made his goodbyes.
Carl went to his car to leave for work, pausing only long enough at the front door to hear the sound of the lock clicking behind him.
He moved to his car, taking time to look up and down the street for any unusual vehicle. Strangely, he looked down the street and roughly a block away, he spotted a small blue vehicle parked at the curb.
Carl fired up the engine, backed out of the double drive, waving goodbye to Sally as she stood in the living room window.
She now turned away, knowing best that diving into her chores would be the way to keep herself from driving herself crazy.
Husband Carl had driven down the street, turned left for work as he usually did – but instead of going straight on that road, he immediately made a left turn onto the street that ran behind theirs.
Carl drove to his rear neighbor’s house, parking in their driveway, knowing they would both be away at work for the day.
He parked and locked the car, tapping his right hand pants pocket for the semi-automatic weapon he carried under a Concealed Carry permit.
He walked through the gate of the fence that separated the properties. Silently, he crept up the rear deck to the back door. Carl slid his key into the door as quietly as possible. He opened the door to the kitchen, then he heard the sound of breaking glass coming from the front of the house.
Now Carl did not wish to hide his presence by stealth but ran to the living room just as Sally let out a blood-curdling scream.
There in the living room stood a young man, just two paces away from Sally. In his right hand a large knife was held in suspension, waiting to come down on her.
The young man stood petrified for just a moment. Carl’s appearance at the living room doorway from the kitchen must have taken him by utter surprise.
In just one second the young man bolted for the open front door, the knife still in his hand. But Carl was an ex-Marine. When he pulled the trigger on his gun he purposely aimed at the man’s legs, instinctively wanting to wound him and not kill him.
Carl’s aim was as deadly as it was during his military days, placing one shot into the back leg of the fleeing attacker, another shot embedding itself in the young man’s right buttock.
The young fell face down in the doorway, crying out in pain. But Carl kept his weapon pointed at him while patiently dialing 911.