An older couple sat cross-legged on the ground, nervously facing one another inside the sacrilegious symbol. For a stretch of ten full seconds the farmhouse fell blissfully silent, an admittedly brief yet somehow everlasting moment in time that had both Jarrett and Ingrid Hawkins holding their collective breath, clutching at each other’s cold clammy hands, and praying to whatever gods might be listening that the nightmare was over.But then their daughter began to scream again.And again.Her mother shrieked too, unable to contain her emotions any longer—a high-pitched wail of despair and fear—and released her claw-like hold on her husband to ball her fists over her ears, futilely attempting to drown out the child’s agonizing cries. She’s only a little girl! Ingrid thought, her tear-filled eyes desperately searching her husband’s for any sign of hope.Jarrett had none to give her. Tall and lean, his circular eyeglasses precariously close to falling from his thin, crooked nose, he sat stone-faced and motionless, emotionally drained and silently accepting that he could do nothing to help either of the people he loved most in this world.
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