Chapter 17

“Police!” Dez shouted again, trying to find the voice he hadn’t used in months. Trying to find that authority again. The man turned. A silhouette, a deeper shadow in the darkness, and raised his arm—

GUN!

Dez froze, muscles jamming. His mind narrowed to a single point, to what he could see in the man’s hand.

He has a gun, he has a gun, he has—

The man moved slightly, enough to allow light from the narrow window halfway up the stairs to fall over his shoulder, showing something long and thin, a jemmy or tire iron.

Dez gripped the handrail so hard he feared he’d come away with a palm full of splintered wood. For a long breathless moment, he and the stranger stuck that way, like a buffering video, then the man turned and fled down the stairs. The front door opened, street light spilling in, and slammed closed. His footsteps were audible for a couple of seconds, then faded.