Glimpse by Steve Whibley Page A

and pushed the door.
    Locked, thank God .
    He gestured to the other two men, signaling them to go around opposite ends of the house. One man moved toward us in a half crouch, shifting back and forth like some caveman cat burglar. His head was the shape of a partially deflated football, and his skin was pasty white. When he got to Mr. Utlet’s bedroom window, he paused and poked his head above the sill. It was then that I realized the yard had become silent. No noises at all. Mr. Utlet had stopped snoring.
    The man hovered on the stoop for a moment, taking stock of the homes across the street, seemingly searching for any sign that he’d been spotted, before making his way around the corner and down the side of the house. When he got halfway down, he stopped next to another window, peered inside, and then shoved something under the pane. The wood groaned and a second later the window was open and the man had hoisted himself inside. I turned back to the front of the house. The man with the tattoo was kneeling before the door and using something that looked like a very narrow screwdriver to mess with the lock.
    So this was how it was going to go down: a bunch of burglars would rob an old man, kill him, and for what? Some old war medals? A giant coffee tin filled with pennies?
    But we still had time. We could stop it.
    â€œCall 911,” I whispered over my shoulder. Lisa didn’t budge.
    I turned. Lisa was eyeing the man on the porch as though her gaze could turn him to dust. “Hey,” I nudged her with my elbow, “call the police.”
    â€œDon’t you have the phone?” she whispered.
    â€œNo,” I whispered. “Where’s Colin?”
    I heard a creak and glanced back at the porch just in time to see the man disappear through the front door.
    â€œWhere’s Colin?” I repeated, more desperately this time.
    Lisa turned to the house, then back to me. “I don’t know. He was at the back. We saw those… those goons creeping across the lawn.” She looked down the side of the house. “The backdoor wasn’t locked, and Colin opened it to see if he could hear anything.” She jumped to her feet. “Oh, no. He must be inside. I’ll bet you anything he’s inside.”
    I grabbed her before she could run to the house. “Go back to my place and call 911.” She hesitated and opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. “I’ll help Colin, but I can’t do it alone. And you’re the fastest.” If there was ever something we needed in a hurry, Lisa was the one to get it. There was a section on her bedroom wall covered in so many track and field ribbons you’d think someone had splashed a can of blue paint on the wall.
    â€œBe careful,” she whispered and then sprinted off toward my house.
    I clenched my fists at my side and tried to get my breathing under control. I couldn’t help the first two people I had seen in my visions. And I wasn’t able to help Mrs. Farnsworthy. But Mr. Utlet… I was going to help him. He wasn’t going to die. I checked my watch. 1:03. I had time. He wasn’t going to die.
    I crouched low and made my way toward the door. That’s when I heard the first gunshot. The second shot rang out when I opened the door.

Chapter 16
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    I burst through the door and rushed down an empty hallway. I heard scuffles from a room just up ahead and then a crash. I rounded the corner and rushed into the living room, not entirely sure what I was going to find, but afraid it would be Mr. Utlet bleeding to death.
    My mouth dropped when I finally saw what was going on. Mr. Utlet wasn’t shot. Instead, he stood over two of the men, one of whom was lying prone beneath chunks of porcelain and an overturned end table. The other, the man with the football-shaped head, was shuffling away from the old man, trying to prop himself against the wall. A bullet-sized hole in his right pant leg oozed