chapter ninety-eight

To my surprise, my first instinct was to run down the hallway toward the noise, which had come from behind us, in the direction of the kitchen. A few quick steps and I was back where I had started, staring at the bloody tile floor. There was a door to the right of the oak cabinets that I guessed led to the basement, so I yanked it open. A bulky man in navy work clothes, wielding a bloody knife, was bounding up the stairs straight towards me. Viola screamed in my ear and I slammed the door shut as fast as I could. We stumbled backwards, tripping over each other as we tried to put some distance between ourselves and the blue intruder only a thin sheet of wood away. The sight of the basement doorknob turning was like a starting pistol, and we both dove under the kitchen table simultaneously.

From my hiding place, I saw thick navy legs and dirty boots appear at the top of the stairs. Then I heard a second set of footsteps tramping up staircase. So did thick legs. He stepped towards the table, grabbed a kitchen chair with one hand, and threw it down the stairs. A thud, a crash, and a groan followed, but the footsteps continued their upward trek. I silently cheered them on. The intruder grunted with displeasure and tossed another chair into the hole. Another thud, a splintering, and then silence. The footsteps had paused. The attacker placed his hand on the back of a third chair, just in case, and waited, leaning his weight against the table, breathing heavily. His thick legs and a dangling knife were right in front of my face. It was an opportunity I could not pass up, so I leaned forward and sunk my teeth into the grimy hand.

He dropped the knife and let out a beastly roar while I flung the sharp instrument away from him into the far corner of the kitchen. Unfortunately, this tactical move left me somewhat exposed. With a reflex quicker than I would have thought possible from a man of his size and inebriation level, thick legs kicked in the direction of his biter and caught me square on the nose with one of his filthy boots. An explosion of pain shot through the center of my face, and I crumpled onto the floor, struggling for breath. Viola panicked and started to scream in tiny, short bursts. The noise hurt my ears, and I didn’t need anything else to hurt right then! Thick legs dropped down on one knee and a sticky, hairy hand began grabbing at me. I kicked my legs furiously and pushed myself backwards, further under the table, but I was too slow and the man's arm was too long. He caught my ankle and started to pull. Oh God, help me! With my free leg, I kicked in futility at the solid rock forearm that had me in its grasp. Then I heard the blessed sound of footsteps on the stairs again, hallelujah, and soon the most beautiful pair of legs appeared behind the monstrous navy mass.

Cameron threw himself on top of the crouching man who was attached to me and they both crashed to the floor. As I tried to wriggle free of the mess, I heard another set of footsteps, slow and faltering, ascending from the basement. Jim’s legs limped into view, and he joined the writhing pile-up on the floor. Thick legs was not easily subdued and with a giant heave, threw Jim and Cameron off with his powerful, drunken thrashing. At least this made him let go of my leg. The two policemen were soon on the madman again, and the scrum shifted from one side of the kitchen to the next, and then to the corner, where the two good guys finally pinned the bad guy to the floor. To my horror, the violent man landed with his outstretched arm not six inches away from the discarded knife. In a flash, it was back in his hands and the tables turned in his favour once again. This time, he was way out of biting range.

Cameron was up quickly and backed away, giving the angry man and his blade some space. Jim also pushed himself off of the perpetrator's back, but he didn't land squarely on his feet; one of his legs began to wobble strangely, like a gymnastic routine gone horribly wrong. He collapsed on the floor and slumped against the cabinets, a wince frozen on his face. Blair called out to him, but Jim's eyes were half closed, and there was no response. As thick legs stood up and regained his balance, he saw the opportunity laid out on the floor before him. He held the knife straight in front of him and took a few wide and purposeful steps towards the injured policeman. God, no! Stop him somehow! I heard the inhalation of a deep breath as Cameron launched himself from beside the refrigerator and flew across the room towards the moving knife. Thick legs, the bloody knife, Jim, and Cameron - they were all going to collide right in front of me. The knife came up into the air and began its descending arc towards Jim’s unmoving head. Cameron's body began a descending arc towards the sharp weapon. I stared at the horrific scene unfolding in front of me and whispered ‘Jesus’ over and over and over again.

The blade was inches away from Jim’s pale face when Cameron’s hand intercepted its trajectory. I saw the knife tip pierce the flesh, and the force of his forward motion push the weapon backwards. Blair's head thumped soundly into the middle of a navy work shirt, and the force of the blow toppled the assailant backwards. As the burly man fell, I heard his head crack against the edge of the kitchen counter top, and he landed heavily on the tiled floor. Cameron lay sprawled on top of him, a knife blade protruding from the back of the detective's hand.

I crawled out from under the table and moved towards the three prostrate men. Cameron carefully raised himself up and knelt on the attacker's chest.

“Dial 911, Billy,” he panted.

I scrambled onto my feet and grabbed the kitchen phone. When the calm, reassuring voice answered, I shakily informed the woman that we had one attacker subdued and two people injured.

“Make that three,” Cameron interjected. “Shirley’s in the bathroom.”

I confirmed the address and hung up, then grabbed a kitchen towel for Cameron and helped him wrap it tightly around his hand. Then I moved over to Jim, who was now awake, but not totally coherent. He kept muttering about some tools.

“We had this guy cornered in the basement,” Cameron explained. “He pushed over a locker full of tools and it landed on Jim.” Blair and Jim grimaced in unison.

“Handcuffs, bedroom,” Jim said weakly. My legs carried me to the master bedroom and after pulling open a few drawers, I found what I was looking for. Together, Cameron and I managed to turn thick legs over and secure his hands behind his back. That done, we all felt a little safer, at least I know I did.

“You'd better check on Shirley,” Cameron suggested. I felt a sudden flush of guilt for forgetting about her until now. The bathroom door was locked, so I called her name and reassured her that the danger was past. The door opened cautiously, and a frightened pair of eyes appeared. I gently pushed the door open all the way and saw that she had a towel wrapped around each arm; there were blots of blood seeping through in a few places. A scream outside the window sent a shiver through my body. The sound was all too familiar. I stepped over to the window and pulled the curtain aside. Two men were forcing Viola into a green car – they were the chatty coffee-drinking men from the street corner outside the shelter!

"Noooooooo!" I yelled in protest as I raced down the hallway and out the front door, just in time to see the thieving car speed away down the street. I made out the letters J1H on the license plate before it blurred in the distance.