His tactic is working.
I know enough to know I’m hyperventilating, but can’t stop it. My body is out of control.
The right ammo must be here, but I can’t find it.
A door opens.
He’s on the ground floor with me.
Now’s the time to shoot him dead. Figure out the bullets already and shoot him dead. Get the bullets, load the gun, lie in wait, then shoot him dead.
But there are no bullets for the Colt Python. Every box of ammo is for the hunting rifles. What’s the point of having a gun if you don’t have any ammo for it? I want to scream at the idiot who owns this house and has all this money but apparently not enough to buy a simple box of bullets for his revolver. It seems to me I must be missing them, but for the life of me I can’t find the right box. For the life of me.
My hands are shaking. It’s okay to run, I tell myself. It’s okay to escape and regroup. Okay, then. Run and regroup.
Decision made, I calm down enough to listen.
Nothing but silence for a few seconds, then something wonderful. He’s heading upstairs. He thinks I hid upstairs? Upstairs is a trap, and I’m not an idiot. All the same, I’m glad he’s misjudged me. Edging out to the ground-floor hallway, I wait until he’s at the far end of the house.
Sliding out into the open, I’m convinced he can hear my heartbeat. It’s pounding against my ribs so hard.
A door right next to the kitchen is open that wasn’t open before. There’s nothing to see beyond it but blackness. That’s the basement. I’d thought it was a pantry closet. It must open out to a back door, which will put me straight into the woods, headed straight toward that little town below.
Walking as quietly as I’ve ever walked in my life, I ease over to the basement door. Trying to be fast, trying to be silent. Into the black hole of the basement, I discover the stairs are carpeted.
Glancing behind me, I hear Wolfman open a door upstairs and continue walking. He’s taking his time, surveying the rooms up there.
He won’t find me there, because I’m on my way out.
I’m ninja quiet on the basement stairs. It’s dark down here, but not so dark I can’t see the back door is right in front of me.
Home free.
I turn the handle, but the door goes nowhere. He’s locked the dead bolt. Smoothly it turns in my hand. I try the door again, but it’s frozen. The handle is moving—why isn’t the door opening? Each time I turn it, there’s a click. I can’t have these clicks. These clicks are giving me away. But I can’t get out without them. Why won’t this damned door open already?
Then two things happen in the same split second. In the rela-tive darkness of the basement I see the Wolfman has wedged a doorstop into the tiny crack at the bottom of the exit. At the same time I hear the door at the top of the stairs creak. Wolfman is here. The clicks have called him, and he has answered their call.
I dart away, thankful for the carpet, and search the basement for another door. I see an expensive pool table, a second kitchen, but I see no other door out in this daylight basement. The windows are at ground level.
Could I get out a window? I want to check, but then there he is. He’s right there. I do the only thing I can think to do, hide in the kitchen. But this is no hiding spot. If I was a kid playing hide-and-seek, I’d be the first one found.
He’s going to find me.
It isn’t a question; it’s a fact.
He’s in the room with me.
I can see him.
He walks past, his back to me. He doesn’t know where I am in this darkness. All he has to do is flip a light switch. He must know this. I dread the light, but instinct tells me this won’t happen—Wolfman is having too much fun for the game to end so soon. Better to feel for me in the dark, find me with his hands.
The evilness of him fills me with a new rage.
He’s close now. So close. All he has to do is turn around, and he’s going to. He’s going to turn around.
I’m not going to be raped. I’m not going to be murdered. I’m going to bring him to justice so this never happens to anyone else. I’m not going to think like a victim. I’m going to think like a winner. Because that’s what I am. I’m Ruthless, by God, and I need to act like it.
I reach into my pocket, grab the empty revolver, and in one breathlessly fast motion I ram the muzzle up against the back of his skull and yell, “You move one fraction of an inch and I blow your brains to kingdom come.”
Sixteen Months Ago