InSight

picked up the harness she’d left nearby and fitted it on her. She reached for her shoulder bag and crossed it over her head so it would stay put.
    Because Stewart left the bedroom door ajar, Abby avoided the usual clicking sound of opening it. She stopped and listened. In her mind, she reconstructed the main room and placement of the outside door. Rustic cabins had all kinds of creaks and squeaks, so she calculated every step, every move. No sound except Stewart’s rhythmic snore. She hoped he had drugged himself into oblivion.
    Abby clung to the wall where the floor beneath would less likely creak. Daisy’s claws clattered on the wood floor, but Abby couldn’t carry a sixty-pound animal. Although it sounded like kettle drums to her, she hoped Stewart slept deeply enough not to hear the noise. A déjà vu flashback to the terrifying night in her yard churned a moment of panic.
    Don’t think about that, Abby. Keep moving. Freedom is on the other side of the door.
    Her purse brushed against a table and bumped a lamp. She hit the shade in her attempt to stabilize it, but not before the lamp base rolled around a few times.
    Damn.
    She listened. Nothing. Her heart felt like it would jump right out of her chest, and the drumbeat noise pounding in her ears seemed loud enough to wake the dead. Her hand, slick with sweat, lost its grip on Daisy’s halter. She wiped her palm down her slacks, then took hold again. Inching along the expanse of wall, she followed it around the corner, skirting the furniture. She found the edge of the doorframe and felt the hinges, then patted her way across the recessed panel to the knob, exactly where she pictured it. A few inches up she found the latch and slowly turned it counterclockwise. Click . She held her breath.
    Stewart’s bed squeaked and he groaned. Abby still hadn’t breathed. He shifted position. She heard his footsteps and froze in place. Had he heard the click of the lock and woken from a sound sleep? She thought of crouching in case she stood in his line of sight. A sofa sat between her and his bedroom, but a move to hide behind it might attract his attention. She faced the door, statue still, and listened. The footsteps weren’t coming toward her. They moved to her right, inside his room. After a few steps, they stopped. There must be a connecting bathroom because she heard him pee and flush the toilet, then tap water. Footsteps shuffled back to the bed.
    Springs creaked.
    Blankets rustled.
    Quiet.
    She stood riveted to the spot, taking slow, deep breaths, afraid even that would alert him now that he’d awakened. After what seemed an eternity, Abby heard the steady rhythm of his breathing and a soft whistling snore.
    She waited until her hands stopped shaking, then pulled on the door.
    Clang.
    Stewart had fastened the damn safety chain. The jangle sounded like a metallic explosion. Between the pounding of her heart and the racket she made, she didn’t understand why Stewart hadn’t leapt at her throat. She listened. His breathing pattern remained slow and steady.
    Though she felt safe for the moment, sweat tickled the sides of her face, and she wiped the droplets away with her free hand. She slid the chain from its track and guided it to a stop. Moving to the right, Daisy alongside, she tugged the door open. It creaked. Is there anything in this place that doesn’t creak? She slid through the opening.
    After closing the door silently behind her, she groped for the railing and descended the six steps. Stewart had driven up the gravel driveway and pulled to the left of the stairs, Abby’s right. She wondered if he left her phone on the front seat of the car.
    “Taxi, Daisy,” she said, hoping her dog would follow her daily direction and go to the car. She did. Abby leaned down. “Good girl,” she whispered, and rubbed her dog’s neck. “Good girl.” She reached for the door but didn’t know if it was the front or back door until she moved her foot forward and found the tire. Front door, lift-style handle. She pulled it up and opened it, felt the front passenger seat. The phone lay where Stewart left it, nestled in the tattered cloth.
    Not now, she decided, thinking about the chimes that signaled the phone’s power. She slipped it into her jacket pocket. First, get out of the yard. She didn’t want to chance the noise of closing the car door and wondered whether the roof light worked. She reached inside and felt the heat on the ceiling of the car, found the