The Cutting Room
They came at dusk, three of them knocking at the front door. She first saw them through the glass panel in the wooden door. The mosaic of coloured glass was cracked, missing a thin finger of green glass. The wind had banged the door shut too many times and one flat hand pressing against the pane would cause the glass to fall inwards. The lead holding the glass together was weak and Lucinda had been meaning these last months to get it repaired. And now she stood, only fragile glass between her and three unknown men.