Chapter 7 - The Night ShiftZ
I sprinted out of the closet, holding the journal tightly against my chest, my face pale as chalk.
"Officer! Call Detective Miller right now!" I yelled to the police officer standing in the hallway. "We need to get out of this house immediately!"
The officer looked confused, reaching for his radio. "Ma'am, what's wrong?"
Before he could push the call button, the front door of the house burst open with a deafening crash.
A tall man in a dark jacket stepped into the foyer. But it wasn't Rick. It was a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and cold, dead eyes—a man I had never seen before. Before the police officer could draw his sidearm, the intruder stepped forward with terrifying speed, slamming a heavy brass bar into the side of the officer's head.
The officer collapsed onto the hardwood floor with a dull thud, unconscious, his gun sliding across the smooth wood.
I screamed, grabbing Owen and pulling him behind my back into the closet hallway. "Who are you?! What do you want?!"
The man picked up the officer's dropped firearm, tucked it into his waistband, and adjusted his coat. His voice was raspy, completely devoid of emotion. "Richard’s lawyer sent me. Richard made a call from central booking before he was fully processed. He said if you came back to this house, you’d find the ledger."
My blood turned to ice. Rick had an accomplice. A partner in his embezzlement scheme.
"Hand over the book and the box, lady," the man said, taking a slow, heavy step down the hallway toward us. "And maybe you both walk out of here alive."
"Mom!" Owen whimpered behind me, holding tightly to the fabric of my shirt.
"Stay behind me, Owen," I whispered desperately, my mind racing at lightspeed. We were trapped in a narrow hallway with no back exit. The front door was blocked by a paid killer.
I looked at the black leather journal in my hand. Then I looked at the dark kitchen doorway just two feet to my left.
"You want the ledger?" I shouted, my voice shaking with adrenaline. "Take it!"
I hurled the heavy leather journal directly at his face. The man instinctively threw his arms up to block it. In that split second of distraction, I grabbed Owen’s arm and shoved him into the kitchen.
"RUN TO THE BASEMENT!" I screamed.
We slammed the heavy wooden basement door shut behind us, throwing the brass bolt lock into place just as a heavy shoulder slammed against the outside panel. The wood groaned under the impact.
BOOM!
"Open the damn door, Clara!" the man shouted from the other side, kicking the frame.
The lock was flimsy; it wouldn't hold for more than a few seconds. The basement had no windows big enough for an adult to climb through, but at the very top of the far wall sat a small, rusted aluminum coal chute window leading out to the backyard garden—a window Owen had noticed weeks ago during his tactile exploration of the house.
"Owen! The coal chute!" I pointed up toward the ceiling. "Can you open it?"
Owen didn't hesitate. With his restored vision, he leaped onto a wooden storage crate, reached up, and unlatched the rusty metal hook. The small square window swung open, letting in the cool, crisp night air.
"Go! Get out and run to the neighbors!" I yelled, pulling him toward the opening.
"Not without you!" Owen cried, tears streaming down his face.
CRACK!
The basement door frame splintered above us. A heavy boot kicked through the middle wood panel.
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"You're small enough to fit through right now, Owen! GO!" I boosted him up with all the strength left in my body. Owen wriggled through the narrow metal chute, his legs disappearing into the dark night. "CALL 911!" I screamed after him.
The basement door exploded inward. The intruder tumbled down the wooden stairs, his eyes fixing on me with murderous fury.
