"What's going on, Troy?" Shelby asked, peering at the policeman through the windshield.

"I don't know, a roadblock for some reason." Troy put the brakes on and rolled his window down when the car stopped. Rain blew in the window and he quickly rolled it up halfway.

"Good evening sir...ma'am," the policeman said as he shined his flashlight into the front seat of the car.

"What's the problem, officer?" Troy asked.

"We had a prisoner escape from the county jail. He's a suspected murderer and is extremely dangerous. Have you seen anyone hitchhiking or walking along the highway?" The light went from the front seat to the back, holding for a moment on the folded up wheelchair.

"No, I haven't noticed anyone," Troy said. "Have you, Shelby?" he asked his wife.

"Thank God, I haven't."

"Well, you folks keep an eye out and if you see anyone suspicious, call 911," the cop said.

Shelby leaned across her husband's lap. "Do you think he's in this area?" she asked the officer.

"Probably not, the jail's several miles to the west. You folks drive careful now, goodnight." He stepped back and motioned for them to proceed. Several cars waited on the road behind them.

The rain came down in the normal, winter, Pacific Northwest manner: the kind of rain which produces a cold that creeps into a body and starts to numb the limbs and drag the soul down.

Two miles from the roadblock, the car turned onto a tree-lined gravel road and climbed to the crest of a small hill. The house was a sprawling ranch style, surrounded by shrubs and evergreens and looked down at the city.

Troy parked in the front near a wooden ramp that crossed a small, flowing creek. The ramp zig-zagged up to a deck and the oversized front door.

"It's wet and slippery, let me carry you up," Troy said, opening his door.

"Nope. I can make it."

"Goddammit, you're stubborn. Can I at least get the chair out for you, or is that asking too much?"

"Okay, but only because when I'm not driving it's too hard to haul it out of the back seat," she said.

Troy took the wheelchair out and slammed it on the ground next to her open door. "Ever since the accident you've become obsessed with doing things on your own. You know it pisses me off when you're so damn obstinate."

Without a word she held a chair arm and had a hand on the car seat then swung herself into the chair. The rain matted her hair.

Troy closed the door and took the handles.

"No! I need to do it." She pushed the wheels and moved up the ramp. The muscles in her arms could be seen contracting under the jacket. After nine months of struggling and pushing, her arms were well developed.

"All right, fine." He threw his hands up in a defensive movement. "Be that way."

When she reached the second landing, she rested a moment. Shelby lifted her face to the cold rain being blown at an angle from the winter wind. A feeling of crossing a hurdle made her shake. It's getting easier everyday, she thought. One more section and I'm home free.

"I remember how hard it was for you to get to the first landing," Troy said.

"I was thinking that too. Another couple of weeks and I'll be able to make it without stopping. That's why I insist on doing it myself." She took a deep breath and shoved off up the last incline. At the landing which was the deck, she unlocked and pulled the door open, and held it for Troy.

"Yeah, I know."

"Please, after you," she said, bowing from the waist. Troy walked into the house, then Shelby followed. The electric wheelchair was by the desk. She coasted over next to it. With the ease of someone who had done the technique for eight months, she gripped the handles and swung herself into the electric with a smooth motion.

Lightning cracked and the lights flickered, then a boom of thunder resonated throughout the house.

"This is turning into quite a storm; a fire would be nice, don't you think?" Shelby asked. "Com'on, lets not fight again."

The wood bin was next to the fireplace and she stuck some kindling in, then lit a match. A moment later flames from the fire sprouted and when some split logs were placed on them, the fire grew and the room warmed.

"I don't want to fight either." Troy said as he went into the kitchen. "How about some wine?"

"Ummm, sounds good. Maybe some cheese and crackers also...and the lights off," Shelby said in a sexy voice. Maybe tonight, He hasn't touched me since the accident.

"Ahhhh. No wine, no cheese," his voice carried from the kitchen. "Only some stale crackers. I'll run to the store."

"We don't need it. Let's just sit in front of the fire," Shelby said.

Troy put his arms around her. "This could be a romantic evening, Shelby. The wine would relax us. Why can't you go along with me?"

She took his face in both hands. "I'm sorry. I love you, Troy. I wonder how you've put up with my selfishness for so long."

"I love you, too. We're getting it back together. It just takes time - we both know that." Troy took her hands off his face.

"Why don't I go with you?" Shelby asked.

"No, it's too much trouble getting you down and into the car." He put on his coat and opened the door. "I'll be back in about thirty minutes."

Shelby drove over and took his hand. "Okay, drive careful. And remember, don't pick up any strangers."

"Don't worry, my car doors will be locked."

She watched from the deck as he drove down the road and the last glimmer of his taillights faded in the curtain of darkness and rain. Her face showed resignation and sorrow.

He's drawn away from me these past months, I know it.The whirr of the electric motor on the wheelchair was subdued. Damn, the batteries are getting low. I thought I charged it last night. They must be getting bad.

Instead of plugging the chair in then, she steered it over and stopped in front of the fireplace. "Yeah, warm the old body up." Heat wrapped itself around her like a mother's arms, and after a few minutes, her head drooped to her chest.

The thunder didn't rumble—it exploded. Shelby jerked her head up as the lights went off. Soft, flicking light danced off the room from the fire.

Somewhere toward the back of the house, glass shattered.

"Troy, is that you?"

No response. The chair moved back when she pulled the joy stick, but it moved slowly. Goddamn batteries! Then a crunching sound. OH GOD! Someone's in the house!

"Who's there? I have a gun!"

Was that a shadow in the kitchen or her imagination? Sweat beaded on her forehead and the hair on the back of her neck stood straight up. To get to their bedroom she'd have to go by the entrance to the kitchen. Half speed was as fast as the chair would go toward the telephone on the desk. It was opposite the bedroom so she was going farther from whoever was in the house.

The electric chair surged and quit by the fold-up wheelchair. Shelby had to lean over the arm rest and stretch to get it. She pulled it close and swung into the seat. Her hands pushed the wheels and she bounced against the desk.

A trembling hand picked the phone up and held it to her ear. No dial-tone. The storm must have knocked the phone out too. The light in the room was dimmer as the fire burned down. Shadows were elongated and dark patches formed in the corners of the living room.

Lightning bolted across the sky and she saw him. Standing between the bedroom and the kitchen, unable to see his face. "What do you want?" she screamed. "Money?" He looked big and thick. With his back to the wall he moved toward her.

The top desk drawer opened silently and she felt her fingers grasp the pepper spray can. She laid it in her lap and pushed the wheels forward, toward the front door.

"Troy! Thank God you're home. Help me!" she yelled and waved, hoping the intruder would think her husband had come home. The man didn't move as she hunched over the chair and shoved down on the wheels as hard as she could. The chair approached the front door when the black form ran over and grabbed the right side arm rest. His other hand went around her arm and squeezed her flesh, stopping the chair's motion.

"NO!" Pepper spray flooded the man's face. Shelby saw two eyes shut under a black ski-mask. Her finger kept the button down and her eyes watered from the spray clouding around the intruder's face. He lowered his head and put both hands up to ward off the stinging repellant.

With a heave the door flew open and she headed toward the ramp. A warning in the recess of her mind said, Careful, the chair can get away from you!"Help, someone help me!"

Her hair was almost torn out of her scalp when he grabbed a fistful and yanked back. She screamed from the surprise and pain. Shelby heard her skin tear and felt blood flow down her face. It was like someone had dragged a dull, serrated knife back and forth across her scalp. She sprayed behind her, fanning the can. The grip on her released and a muffled curse blew by on the wind and rain. Her hands shoved on the wheels and the chair shot down the ramp.

The footsteps behind her were close. Oh God, so close. Without her gloves on, the rubber burned her palms when she clamped down on the wheels to slow for the corner. The chair ricocheted off the railing and headed down the next ramp. His breath mixed with the rain on her bare neck and when the next and last turn came, she banged off both sides and pushed the wheels with all her strength.

His arms went around her chest and together they broke through the railing and fell the short drop to the water below them.

She landed on top of him and heard his breath blow out. The chair laid on its side, crumpled. Shelby grabbed the exposed root of a bush and dragged her body off him. Desperation helped to pull herself downstream. She rolled as she pulled, going at a snail's pace but needing the speed of a sprinter. Her chest ached and when she looked back to see where the man was, one of her legs had an awkward bend to it. A fleeting thought of the positive aspects of paralysis made her laugh out loud. A laugh from fear, anger and maybe the edge of madness. Water splashed and his weight smothered her. Rough, brutal hands rolled her over, gripped her throat and began to squeeze.

Not this way! I'm not going to die this way! The rain hit her face, she couldn't breathe!

Shelby tried hitting his face and bucking him off. His grip tightened. A ragged rock cut her hand under the water. She clenched it in her fingers and with a grunt of a last desperate effort, she slammed it up against the side of his head. It made a mush-melon sound. He fell forward onto her chest, his head next to hers. She grabbed his jacket and threw him to the side, then raised the rock high over her head. Blood seeped from the side of the mask.

"Shelby, no!"

She yanked the mask off with her free hand. "Troy! Oh my God! Why? Why?" One hand still held the rock and the other closed over his throat.

"Don't, please. I'm sorry, I couldn't face living with a cripple." His voice was raspy. The rain still fell in sheets and the cracks of lightning diminished.

"Why not just leave?" Tears mixed with the rain and her sobbing ran together with the words. "Why kill me?"

"All the money from the settlement. I'd have nothing if I left you; all of it if you died."

"Oh, Troy, now you have nothing at all." The rock came down hard and the splat resonated in the cold night. Legs splashed in the water, then stopped.