I slammed the front door behind me and turned the deadlock, hearing its click accompanied by muffled yells and curses outside. What had I done to piss these guys off? I turned toward the kitchen, thinking I could run out the back door and climb over the rock wall to the alley. Then hide in a neighbor’s yard. A crash of glass told me they were already at the back door. I glanced at the stairs but decided it would be the next place they’d look. Turning, I saw the basement door.
My stomach churned as dizziness made the room spin. For a moment, I was six years old, hearing my parents arguing and slamming doors. My father’s Camaro screeched its tires before thundering away. I searched for my mother, eyes wide open, fearing she had left me, too. Mama. Mama.
She was nowhere. Finally, I climbed down the basement steps, calling for her. I approached a crumpled heap of laundry at the bottom of the stairs. Then, I noticed a bare foot and the tangled mop of her dishwater-blond hair. Her body was still warm. But there was no light in her open, staring eyes.
+++
A cry rang from the kitchen, followed by a string of curse words. The would-be intruder must have cut himself on broken glass. He and his buddy would be inside soon enough. I took my best option and slipped through the basement door, closing it softly behind me. I swore at myself for never adding a lock to the door.
BLAM!
The front door must have bounced off the entry wall. My assailant’s voice called from the living room, “John. Are you Okay?” Hurried steps sounded overhead as the front door guy hurried to the kitchen.
Another voice, John’s, I guessed, explained that he had cut his arm when breaking the damn window. “Supposed to be safety glass.”
“Take this towel.”
Standing tiptoe on the landing, I unscrewed the bare bulb over the door. It was beginning to get hot, but I screwed it out without charring my fingers, then cooled them in my mouth. I slipped my loafers off and stepped slowly down the wooden slats. No creaking, thank God. Jesus, don’t let them find me. I lay my shoes down at the bottom of the stairs, and slowly made a wide arc around where I had found my mother’s body years before. With raised hands, I walked like a blind man in nearly perfect darkness. I racked my brain for a map that would show me any obstacles I might trip over, alerting those above to my whereabouts.
Keep walking straight a voice told me. Maybe my own, but my mother’s face appeared briefly in my mind. I obeyed, and I stubbed my fingers on the concrete wall. I realized there was a window somewhere to the left, praying I wouldn’t trip on the furnace or sump pump. Keeping one hand on the wall and reaching out with the other, I managed to navigate around them. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed the window’s faint glow.
An explosion of footsteps landed on the hardwood floor at the stairway in the living room. “Where is that little shit?” the intruder named John asked. The footsteps moved slowly as I pushed open the window. The cool night air enveloped me as I crawled into the light-well. I heard the basement door open, and two voices swore as one clicked the disabled light switch. The open door half-lit the room. Don’t let them see me. I wriggled up, my hands grasping the top of the concrete curb. Lifting my head, I saw the glare of the streetlight on my neighbor’s garage. Steps clicked across the basement floor. I was nearly standing now. I put my hands on either side and took a deep breath before pushing myself to safety.
As I began my ascent, a pair of strong hands wrapped around my ankle. “We got you now, sucker.”
