He grabbed for Davey's shoulder and caught it for an instant,
squeezed and twisted, but then the skin he had hold of sloughed away and
Davey was free, dancing back.
Then he heard, from downstairs, the sound of rhythmic pounding at the
door. He'd been hearing it for some time, but hadn't registered it until
now. A muffled yell from below. Police? Mimi? He screamed out, "Help!"
hoping his voice would carry through the door.
Apparently, it did. He heard the sound of the small glass pane over the
doorknob shatter, and Davey turned his head to look in the direction of
the sound. Alan snatched up the pillow that he'd been smothering under
and swung it as hard as he could at Davey's head, knocking him around,
and the door was open now, the summer night air sweeping up the stairs
to the second-floor bedroom.
"Alan?" It was Kurt.
"Kurt, up here, he's got a knife!"
Boots on the stairs, and Davey standing again, cornered, with the knife,
slashing at the air toward him and toward the bedroom door, toward the
light coming up the stairs, bobbing, Kurt's maglight, clenched in his
teeth, and Davey bolted for the door with the knife held high. The light
stopped moving and there was an instant's tableau, Davey caught in the
light, cracked black lips peeled back from sharp teeth, chest heaving,
knife bobbing, and then Alan was free, diving for his knees, bringing
him down.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149