The Death of Perry Many Paws (35 page)

I couldn’t imagine where the ugly file cabinet had originally come from. It didn’t seem like anything anyone would want in the main part of the house and if it had once been in an office somewhere, why would someone have brought it to the attic? Why not discard it at the office? I gave the drawer a tug but it didn’t open. The bottom one was tightly closed, too. Either it was locked or severely stuck. I looked around for something to use to pry it open and remembered that in the room across the hall there had been some tools. I was shifting the rusty old tools around, pulling out a few that might work on beating the cabinet into submission, when I heard the sound of a door closing. It must be true that time flies when you’re having fun, or traumatizing yourself, because I could have sworn it was only mid-afternoon. Way too early for Cam to be home. I went over to the window that faced the front of the house and looked out. The driveway was empty. Odd. I checked my watch and saw that it was indeed mid-afternoon: 3:20. Way too early for Cam. So who was in the house?

I walked back to the attic door and opened it quietly. I didn’t dare yell down because I didn’t want to alert anyone to my whereabouts. If someone wanted to play hide and seek with me in this monstrosity of a house, they had their work cut out for them. I moved slowly down the attic stairs and opened the door that led to the third floor. Everything was silent. I started to relax, assuming I had imagined the sound of a door, when it happened. Something crashed to the floor, probably in the kitchen. This was followed by another crash, then another. My
body went into flee response and I headed back to the attic stairs as fast as I could move and still try not to make any noise. The violence of the shattering glass scared me and I was in no mood to confront whoever was down there throwing or dropping things on the floor. There are no locks on the attic doors but I had plenty of chairs to shove under doorknobs. Still trying to be as quiet as possible, I pushed a chair under the knob of the attic door and gave it a good shove. God, I wish I had my cell phone.

There are a lot of rooms in the attic and a lot of doors. I tiptoed through the attic, closing every single door so if someone did make it up here, they would have a lot of places to look to try to find me. I remember hearing that most burglars try to avoid confrontation and aren’t really anxious to encounter anyone during the course of their work. If that were true I was making it easy for them to avoid confrontation because I was going to be difficult to find. What frightened me was the breaking glass. It sounded like someone was angry, vengeful. Unless this was the world’s clumsiest burglar, this intrusion felt personal. And I was the only other person here.

I began to collect some weapons as I moved further back into the attic. I remember Diane saying once that she didn’t think she could hurt another person even if her life were threatened. I would prefer to avoid the intimacy of having to strangle someone but I knew I could swing a hammer at their head if they threatened me. I’m thinking this may not be a very flattering confession, but it’s honest. If someone threatened Abbey or Cam I’m sure I could tear them apart with my bare hands. Bare hands conflict was less efficient, so I carried the old hammer and a baseball bat back to where the sock pile and money had been. Somehow it felt comforting, like home. I had been brave in this room.

Whatever the intruder was after, I’m sure they would be happily distracted by the money spread out all over the solarium floor. Maybe
they would be satisfied with that and hurry away. I dreaded the idea of them coming through the house, room by room, and hearing them getting closer and closer like I was in a slasher movie.

I laid down on the floor of the attic to see if I could see through the cracks in the floor to the third floor. Nothing. I pivoted around and tried a few more places. Nothing. This was a well-built house. I knew I should sit still to avoid making any creaks or thumps that would alert someone that I was up here. Better that they think they were in the house all alone. I shouldn’t ruin their illusion of privacy by moving around and risking a noise. But it was impossible to just sit here and wait. I looked at my watch. 3:43. Time moves slowly when your life is in danger.

I wish I hadn’t retreated so soon. I should have stood on the third floor and listened longer. I needed to know what was happening. But I was too afraid to go back out of the attic and check. I started worrying about Mycroft. He wasn’t a threat but what if the burglar didn’t know that? Would he harm him, thinking he was a watch dog? If so, then it was already done. I prayed that Mycroft continued to slumber in the library and the burglar never saw him.

The attic was gloomy and I didn’t dare turn on the flashlight. I didn’t want a telltale sliver of light slipping out under the attic door. I sat counting my breaths and listening to my heart beat. It was so quiet. Even if he were in the basement, I felt sure the burglar could still hear my heart beating. It was in my chest, in my ears, in my throat. I was almost wishing for a confrontation, something to end this silent waiting, when I heard a scream and a crash and more screaming. There was pounding. Some animal howled. I was sure it wasn’t Mycroft. There was more than one person in the house and some kind of creature. My God, what was going on?

I ran to the window, disregarding my plan to tiptoe everywhere. I needed to see something, to know what all this noise was. I pressed myself to the dirty window and stared out at the backyard, trying to
find some evidence of what had come into my house. I didn’t see anything. I ran across the hall to the opposite window and looked out at the front of the house. Nothing. If only there were a neighbor nearby or someone walking down the street. I wanted to throw all caution to the wind and hang out the window and call for help. I tugged at the window but it was stuck shut. I could break it but it would make too much noise.

And what about Cam? I had to warn him. I couldn’t let him come home and into the house when whatever was rampaging down there was still there. I decided to stay in this room where I could see the front of the house and, when Cam drove up, I would break the window and warn him not to come in. Knowing us, a five-minute conversation would ensue discussing the issue. Only in movies did the people actually run when you warned them to run. In my world, you talked about it for a while.

Now it was quiet again. I felt like I was buried alive. I wanted to scratch at the window until my fingers bled. I had to get out of here. I felt the tears running down my cheeks, although I hadn’t realized I was crying. I lowered myself to the floor and sat with my arms wrapped around me, making myself as small as possible in this big, cluttered room.

Then I heard it again—smashing, howling and screaming. It was horrible and terrifying and I burst into tears, burying my face in my knees and wrapping my arms over my head as if warding off blows.
Please make it stop
. And it did. I was enveloped in total silence and my sobs sounded loud and primitive, as scary as the howling and screaming downstairs. I put my hand over my mouth to muffle them.

Then the banging started. On the walls, on the ceiling. I could hear them coming up the stairs. It was a muffled pounding, not the sharp crack of wood on wood but more like the sound a human body would make if they were being thrown against the wall. I moved to the door
of the room and shoved a chair under the doorknob. I gathered my bat and my hammer and moved away from the window to behind the door. If someone broke in I would hit them as they came through the door. If there were more than one person I wasn’t sure what I would do but I planned to do some damage. They would not find me cowering on the floor in tears. Then it stopped. The total silence was back. But this time I knew they were closer. They were on the third floor.

I looked around the room to see what else I could use to protect myself. There was a battered desk next to the door and, not caring about the noise, I dragged it to the door to reinforce the chair. The desk was high and just fit over the door knob. If I leaned against the desk when they tried to get into the room I might be able to keep them out. Of course if they came at me like Jack Nicholson in
The Shining
, I would be in trouble. This door was no match for an ax. But the chair and the desk might give me enough extra weight if it came to a pushing contest. I started to giggle frantically as I imagined that the door opened outward and I had barricaded myself like this only to have the burglar walk up and open the door and stare at me. There was a box of books on the floor so I huffed and puffed and picked them up to put on the desk to add weight. I felt something painful pull on my left side. More. I needed more books. I wasn’t going to feel safe until everything in this room was piled up against that door. I tried to lift another box of books and the pain shot through my left side, sharper than before.

Rubbing at my side I walked back to the window, hoping to see a band of burglars and several wild creatures retreating from the house. Nothing. Luckily no Cam, either. Not knowing what was going on, who was here, what the noises were or what the intent was, was making me insane. I would rather be standing on the landing seeing someone I recognized coming up the stairs with a gun pointed at me, explaining all the way why they were here and what they planned to do to me. Then I would run and hide in the attic. 3:57.

I was so barricaded in that it was impossible for me to work my way out of the room and try to see what was going on, even if I dared to do so. I could never hurry back and reconstruct my fort in time if the intruder saw me. Maybe I could get out on the roof. I made sure my barricade was sturdy and walked over to the window to check out the lay of the roof. What I saw out the window stopped me in my tracks.

Cam’s car was turning into the driveway. 4:02. Then I remembered that he had a dentist appointment this afternoon at 2:30 and planned to come home afterward. Of all the days. I didn’t have much time. I had to warn him. I frantically looked around the room for something to break the window. Why hadn’t I done this earlier? I thought I had plenty of time. Now I had seconds. I grabbed the hammer, pulled my t-shirt off and wrapped it around my face to protect my eyes and started slamming the hammer against the glass, one pane after another. I could feel shards of glass sting my chest and tear at my hands but I didn’t care. I just kept slamming the hammer against the glass until there was nothing left to break. I pulled the t-shirt away from my face and leaned toward the window screaming Cam’s name.

Cam stood in the driveway staring up at the window with a glazed expression on his face.

“Cam! Run away! There’s someone in the house. Don’t come in. Don’t come in,” I screamed, waving my arms.

Cam remained frozen in place and continued to stare.

“Run away! Stranger danger! Stranger danger!”

Cam moved back toward the car, looking around and then back at the attic window. “Are you hurt?” he yelled. “Is there someone in the attic with you? Are you OK?”

“I’m fine. I’m locked in. I don’t know who it is. Don’t come in!” I screamed back. Cam nodded a dozen times and got back in the car. I couldn’t see what he was doing but he didn’t leave. I wanted him to
drive away and be safe but he didn’t leave. He just sat in the car. He didn’t even have the motor running so he could make a fast escape if the lunatics and wild creatures came running out the front door. Why didn’t he leave? I couldn’t communicate with him now because he wouldn’t have been able to hear me. I would just stand here at the window and make sure he was safe. That’s all I could do.

I shook my t-shirt trying to get rid of all the glass and gingerly put it back on, realizing, like slow torture, that there was still glass in the shirt and it was making contact with my skin each time I moved my shirt. I had the shirt halfway on and was about to pull it back off again when I heard the sound of sirens. I yanked my arms into the shirt, scratching my skin from wrist to shoulder and looked out the window as two police cars came into the driveway. Cam leaped out of the car and said something to the first policeman, who motioned him to get back in his car and headed toward the house. A second followed. The other car spilled out two more policemen, who separated and went around the house. I waited.

After a few minutes Cam got out of the car and came across the yard to stand under the window.

“Get back in the car!” I yelled. “It might be dangerous out there.”

“Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

“No. I never even saw them. Just heard them smashing things in the kitchen and coming up the stairs. They didn’t hurt me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Please get back in the car. Please.”

Cam hesitated and then returned to the car. I continued to wait. Then I heard a pounding on the attic door.

“Mrs. Mack. It’s Officer Donaldson. Let me in.” I started to undo my barricade. I had a hard time pushing the desk out of the way because my left side still hurt so I backed into it and shoved it with my butt until I could reach the chair. I yanked it out from under the doorknob,
all the while yelling, “I’m coming” so the policeman wouldn’t leave. I could hear him knocking at the attic door and calling my name and I continued yelling that I was coming as I emerged from my fort and began to make my way through the attic to the door.

“Mrs. Mack. It’s Officer Donaldson. Are you all right? Let me in.”

“I’m coming! I’m coming …”

“Mrs. Mack …”

“Officer Donaldson …”

Our voices got louder and louder as I got to the attic door. I frantically tugged and kicked and pushed at the chair under the knob until it came free. The door burst open and I ran into the arms of Officer Donaldson and held on to him for dear life.