Plot Line by Alton Gansky Page A

the knob and exit into the hallway. A small
night-light shone in the corridor casting a dim, pale yellow light
on the opposite wall. It wasn’t much light, but it was enough to
see what lay ahead.
    In the kitchen, Ray poured a tall glass of
milk and then sat at the dining room table. His heart was pounding
against his chest like a bull trying to break down its pen. Raising
the glass he watched as the white fluid sloshed in rhythm with his
tremulous hand. Nora was right; Ray couldn’t go on like this. It
wasn’t fair to her or to Skeeter, but what could he do? How did one
wash away a memory, especially one so deeply scored into his
brain?
    Ray sipped the milk, barely tasting it, and
stared into the dark house. By the time he had consumed half the
glass he was certain he would soon lose his mind. Despair, darker
than the room in which he sat, enveloped him. When he drained the
last of the milk from the tumbler Ray was contemplating suicide.
The most frightening part of the thought was that it made so much
sense.
    There would be pain for the family, of
course, but they would adjust. Others had. Why couldn’t Nora and
Skeeter? A tear flowed down his cheek. Setting the glass aside, Ray
lowered his head to the table. How had he reached the point where
life, his life, was so cheap that he would be willing to toss it
away?
    There was a sound. A familiar click. Ray
lifted his head and listened. He heard the noise of the
refrigerator quietly humming, the ticking of the grandfather clock
in the living room, and the sound of a slow drip in the kitchen
sink—but he had heard something different, distant, and yet
familiar. Where had it come from? The living room. He rose from his
seat to investigate. Reaching for the dining room light switch he
paused. The sound repeated. This time he recognized it. The
deadbolt on the front door had been turned—from the outside. There
was another noise, this time from the kitchen window. Snapping his
head around, Ray caught a glimpse of a face, lit only by moonlight,
peeking in the kitchen.
    A burglar? No. Not coming from the front and back of the house. Ray took his
hand away from the light switch. Darkness was the only shield he
had.
    A phone hung from the kitchen wall. Ray
lifted the handset and placed it to his ear. There was no dial
tone. This was no robbery, it was an abduction and Ray knew why. He
had spoken to Shackleton. How they knew that, he could only guess.
At the moment, it didn’t matter. They had come for him. Ray’s mouth
went dry.
    By nature, Ray avoided confrontation, but
there would be no avoiding what happened next. Still, he was not
going to surrender. For the first time in his life, Ray wished he
kept a gun in the house. There was no gun. Not even a baseball
bat.
    Quietly, Ray slipped down the carpeted hall
until he reached Skeeter’s room. He turned the doorknob and slipped
in. A dim blue light came from the dresser that stood opposite her
bed. A lava lamp, with its churning globules, gave off the light.
He stepped to her bedside and saw his daughter in blissful sleep.
He touched her arm and she awoke with a start. “What—”
    “It’s Dad,” he whispered. “Hush.” He put a
finger to her mouth. “Get out of bed and follow me.”
    “Why—”
    “Don’t talk. There’s danger. Follow me.”
    Her eyes widened, but she didn’t hesitate.
Slipping from the bed, she took Ray’s hand. With agonizing
slowness, Ray pulled the bedroom door open, listening first, and
then venturing a glance down the hall. He gulped a lungful of air
and stepped into the corridor, pulling Skeeter behind him. It was
only five quick steps to the master bedroom, and he slipped in
quietly, closing and locking the door behind him. The lock was
useless. One hearty kick and the whole, hollow-core door would cave
in. It might, however, make the intruders pause for a few
moments.
    The bedroom was pitch black. Ray was
familiar enough with the furnishings to walk the room blindfolded.
Skeeter