The Phone Beneath the Fallen Chair While Evan Turned the Handle From Inside

The front door stood at the end of the hallway, less than twenty feet from where I had fallen, but it might as well have been across a locked yard. The flickering kitchen light reached only partway down the wall. Beyond it, the entry remained dim, its narrow window showing a gray strip of Tacoma afternoon and nothing else.

Noah stayed close to me, clutching the stuffed dinosaur against his chest. The phone lay between us on the tile, its call still open. I could hear the faint connection breathing through the speaker, though no one on the other end spoke. That silence had weight. It meant Grandpa was listening. It also meant Evan knew he was being heard.

The handle moved again.

I pushed one palm against the floor and tried to rise. Pain tightened around my ribs before my shoulder even cleared the tile. My breath stopped in my throat. Noah grabbed the sleeve of my sweater, and I lowered myself back down before the sound could become anything more than a broken gasp.

The keys were on the counter near the kitchen entrance. I saw them beneath the blinking light from the phone charger: Evan's ring, the house key, the car key with its black plastic fob. They were close enough to see and too far to reach without crossing the open space between the kitchen and hallway.

I pointed toward them.

Noah followed my hand. He understood without asking. His face changed, the seriousness in it sharpening into concentration. He crawled along the cabinets, keeping low, while I watched the front door.

The lock clicked.

I dragged the phone closer with two fingers and pressed it against my side, protecting it beneath my sweater. The screen's glow warmed my skin. If Evan took it, the listening would stop. If I called out, he would know exactly where I was. I held my breath as Noah reached the counter.

The door opened inward by an inch.

A man's work boot appeared in the gap.

Noah stretched for the keys. His fingers brushed the ring, and the metal made a small, bright sound against the counter. Evan stopped on the other side of the door.

I looked at the narrow opening, then at Noah. The house key could open the deadbolt from inside, but the door was already being held by the person outside it. The car key might get us away. Neither could help while Evan occupied the threshold.

Noah closed his hand around the ring.

I pressed one finger to my lips, though he already knew to be quiet. He crouched behind the counter with the keys hidden in his pajama pocket. The stuffed dinosaur lay on the floor beside him, one green cloth arm pointing toward the doorway.

The door opened wider.

Evan's hand appeared around the edge, fingers gripping the inside panel. He did not step through. He seemed to be waiting for us to make the first move, listening for the location of our breathing.

I felt the phone vibrate once against my ribs.

The sound was small, but Evan heard it. His hand tightened on the door.

Outside, somewhere beyond the entry, a vehicle slowed on the street. Tires whispered over damp pavement and then stopped. Noah looked toward the window. I looked at the gap beneath the door, where a second shadow fell across the threshold.