told my muscles to move.
If they were the police, wouldn’t they have identified themselves? If they had come on Lamont’s behalf, wouldn’t they have
called my name? I had left the ladder to the attic down, and the floor was littered with evidence that someone was or had
been in the house.
The vent in the attic was broken.
Terrified I would be discovered, I acted without any plan whatsoever. I ran back into the trophy room, pulled the door closed
behind me, and slid both dead bolts home. The key was in my pocket.
Feet continued to walk overhead, more than one pair, I thought.
I turned off the lights, groped my way into the corner behind the desk, slid to my seat, drew my legs close to my chest, and
waited for them to force the door open and kill me.
9
My wait did not last long. I could hear the soft mumble of voices as the people above moved around on the main floor, and with each step
they took, I imagined new scenarios, all of which ended badly for me.
When the sounds finally stopped, I was sure it was because they had left the main floor and were descending the stairs to
Lamont’s room.
I was right.
“It’s empty,” someone said.
“Check the closet.” Another muffled voice.
The knob on the door rattled. “It’s locked. Framed in steel with a dead bolt.”
“Look for a key.”
I could hear them opening and closing drawers, and I held my breath, praying they wouldn’t find a second key that I didn’t
know about. If I knew Lamont, they wouldn’t be able to bang the door down. I clung to that hope. A rotting desk inside a locked
room was one thing. Getting into that locked room without a key was another.
“Nothing. Try the door again. Use force.”
They spoke in the mechanical voices of men who used force for a living. But after a few hard crashes into the door, the man
applying that force backed off.
“Not gonna happen.”
“Make it happen! Bourque says everything, he means everything.”
“It’s gonna take a torch. Two bolts deadheaded into a quarter-inch steel plate.”
The other man swore. “I’ll get it. Check the rest of the attic.”
They left, padding up the stairs.
Crouched in the dark corner, I no longer had to guess at my predicament. Lamont’s instincts hadn’t betrayed him. Bourque either
had him or had killed him, and he somehow learned that Lamont wasn’t living alone. They’d come here to eliminate me.
I had two choices that I could see, and both were terrifying. One: I could try to sneak out now, leave the house with nothing
but my pajamas to my name, and wait for Cyrus to hunt me down.
Two: I could take the time to grab the money and then sneak out, hoping my delay didn’t give them enough time to get the torch
from their vehicle and return.
I didn’t want to see Cyrus’s face ever again, not unless it was at the end of a long shotgun firmly in my grasp. So I stood
and hurried toward the light switch, banging into the desk as I went.
Ignoring the pain in my thigh, I dropped down by the bottom drawer and pulled it open. Now I had another choice to make. How
much?
I thought about taking the whole drawer but rejected the idea immediately. I could make a sling of my flannel shirt front
and carry as much as it would hold. Anything I stuffed into my waistband would only fall through my pant legs when I ran.
I glanced around the room for a bag or anything I could use but saw nothing. I had wasted valuable time; if I waited much
longer it wouldn’t matter how much money I took.
Standing, I slid my long flannel pajama pants off and then quickly tied a knot at the bottom of each leg. My top was long
enough to cover most of me. I would have rather run outside in an oversize shirt than go topless.
I feverishly stuffed all the money packets into my makeshift bag, slung it over my shoulder, and, hearing no creaking or walking
above me, unlocked the door to Lamont’s bedroom.
Not until I was on the bottom step did I consider
If they were the police, wouldn’t they have identified themselves? If they had come on Lamont’s behalf, wouldn’t they have
called my name? I had left the ladder to the attic down, and the floor was littered with evidence that someone was or had
been in the house.
The vent in the attic was broken.
Terrified I would be discovered, I acted without any plan whatsoever. I ran back into the trophy room, pulled the door closed
behind me, and slid both dead bolts home. The key was in my pocket.
Feet continued to walk overhead, more than one pair, I thought.
I turned off the lights, groped my way into the corner behind the desk, slid to my seat, drew my legs close to my chest, and
waited for them to force the door open and kill me.
9
My wait did not last long. I could hear the soft mumble of voices as the people above moved around on the main floor, and with each step
they took, I imagined new scenarios, all of which ended badly for me.
When the sounds finally stopped, I was sure it was because they had left the main floor and were descending the stairs to
Lamont’s room.
I was right.
“It’s empty,” someone said.
“Check the closet.” Another muffled voice.
The knob on the door rattled. “It’s locked. Framed in steel with a dead bolt.”
“Look for a key.”
I could hear them opening and closing drawers, and I held my breath, praying they wouldn’t find a second key that I didn’t
know about. If I knew Lamont, they wouldn’t be able to bang the door down. I clung to that hope. A rotting desk inside a locked
room was one thing. Getting into that locked room without a key was another.
“Nothing. Try the door again. Use force.”
They spoke in the mechanical voices of men who used force for a living. But after a few hard crashes into the door, the man
applying that force backed off.
“Not gonna happen.”
“Make it happen! Bourque says everything, he means everything.”
“It’s gonna take a torch. Two bolts deadheaded into a quarter-inch steel plate.”
The other man swore. “I’ll get it. Check the rest of the attic.”
They left, padding up the stairs.
Crouched in the dark corner, I no longer had to guess at my predicament. Lamont’s instincts hadn’t betrayed him. Bourque either
had him or had killed him, and he somehow learned that Lamont wasn’t living alone. They’d come here to eliminate me.
I had two choices that I could see, and both were terrifying. One: I could try to sneak out now, leave the house with nothing
but my pajamas to my name, and wait for Cyrus to hunt me down.
Two: I could take the time to grab the money and then sneak out, hoping my delay didn’t give them enough time to get the torch
from their vehicle and return.
I didn’t want to see Cyrus’s face ever again, not unless it was at the end of a long shotgun firmly in my grasp. So I stood
and hurried toward the light switch, banging into the desk as I went.
Ignoring the pain in my thigh, I dropped down by the bottom drawer and pulled it open. Now I had another choice to make. How
much?
I thought about taking the whole drawer but rejected the idea immediately. I could make a sling of my flannel shirt front
and carry as much as it would hold. Anything I stuffed into my waistband would only fall through my pant legs when I ran.
I glanced around the room for a bag or anything I could use but saw nothing. I had wasted valuable time; if I waited much
longer it wouldn’t matter how much money I took.
Standing, I slid my long flannel pajama pants off and then quickly tied a knot at the bottom of each leg. My top was long
enough to cover most of me. I would have rather run outside in an oversize shirt than go topless.
I feverishly stuffed all the money packets into my makeshift bag, slung it over my shoulder, and, hearing no creaking or walking
above me, unlocked the door to Lamont’s bedroom.
Not until I was on the bottom step did I consider
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