Death Notes

tucked them inside my shirt.
    Now all I needed to do was get out of there. I listened, trying to hear something that might tell me if the path down the stairs was clear. Absolute silence. Then came a quiet rustle, cloth against skin.
    If I could hear that, then surely he must have heard me struggling with the tape. The soft squeak of a leather shoe came next and finally the creak of a step under a footfall. In the disorienting muddle of darkness, I couldn’t tell where he was. The noise could have come from the stairwell or from across the room by the kitchen.
    I listened hard, holding my breath, willing my heart to silence, and the rustle came again, this time more distinctly. I knew he was near.
    Whoever had come in off the street needed to adjust his eyes to the dark also. But if it was Dickie out there, he had a distinct advantage over me. I’d only taken one quick circle around the place and couldn’t really remember where everything was.
    I tried to picture the layout in my head but my mind wasn’t holding anything beyond the cold, black fear that kept me anchored, frozen, waiting to hit back at whatever came at me from the dark.
     

59
     
    ‘ R onneee.’
    The voice was soft and melodious, almost enticing. Anything but threatening. But I got goosebumps all the same.
    I blinked and stared into nothing. He knew that sooner or later I’d make a break for the stairs. Would I fool him if I went in the opposite direction?
    I reached out for the table I knew was beside me and crouched down so my head was level with its top. If he was expecting me to be tall, I’d surprise him. But I didn’t know if he had a weapon. Or even if he’d come alone.
    Then he spoke and I knew where he was.
    ‘You should have stayed out of it, Ronnie.’
    I stared into the black and thought I could make out his figure at the top of the stairs. It seemed to be inching toward me. I cursed the fact that my clothes weren’t black, that my shoes weren’t my running shoes, that I probably wouldn’t get out of here in one piece, that I very probably could die tonight.
    I crept along, using the edge of the table as a guide, and scrambled behind the piano, then peeked out the other end, holding my breath and listening for any movement from him. The dark lump I’d seen earlier wasn’t where it had been before. I scanned the darkness but couldn’t find him.
    ‘Ronneeeee.’
    I nearly jumped out of my skin. He was close now, almost on top of me. I panicked and darted into the kitchen. The instant I did, I realized my mistake. I shuffled quickly under the cheap little dinette table in the comer and waited.
    I was trapped now and he was laughing softly as he strode in after me. It was lighter in the kitchen; the yellow glow from a street lamp outside streamed through the small curtainless window above the sink. He paused at the doorway and I saw the ghoulish, smiling Nixon mask over his face.
    ‘I have a knife, Ronneeee.’
    The limp form of the dead rat in my shower popped into my head. I winced, then forced myself to think while I scrunched under the table. Adrenaline coursed through my veins. The next move had to be his. I crouched and waited.
    His hand was raised now. I could see the outline of the knife clutched in his fist. He edged into the small room and from the way he moved I could tell he thought I was behind the door.
    The room was too cramped for me to sneak out while he had his back to me. And once he saw I wasn’t behind the door, it would only take him half a second to figure out the only other place I could hide was under the table.
    I set my hands, palms up, under the table, and cocked my legs. His shadow shifted and when he turned my way I froze. I could hear him breathing, panting quietly in the dark like some jungle beast of prey. Then it stopped and I held my breath, too. With a sudden intake of breath, he came at me.
    I tilted the table, shoving it up and forward with all my might, yelling and growling for momentum. When I hit something solid, I heard an ummph ! I gave the table another shove, then, clutching the tapes inside my shirt to my chest, I charged for the stairs.
    Somehow I made it without stumbling. I grabbed the bannister and flew down, three steps at a time. I fumbled with the doorknob at the bottom while footsteps clattered overhead. He was coming for me.
    I glanced back over my shoulder just as the front door finally gave and sprang open. He was up there, a determined black shadow at the top of