April heard the officer yell behind her. He wasn’t happy. “I’ll see you soon,” she said.

Norman grinned. “Better believe it.”

April secured the makeshift bag holding the Gutenberg over her shoulder and raced away from the escalating commotion.

Twelve

twelve

Charlie fell backward as the front door smashed into his chest. The chain held, a remarkable feat, considering the force of the blow. An arm shot through the opening and grabbed Charlie by the collar. The repairman whose name badge said Stanley pulled Charlie hard against the crack in the door, nearly ripping him through it. Stanley leaned down to meet him eye-to-eye, moving his grip to Charlie’s throat.

“I’m going to close the door just enough to let you unlock the chain. You got it?”

Charlie nodded, crying.

The door closed until it pressed against Stanley’s wrist, caught neatly between the door and the jamb. Charlie reached up and began sliding the end of the chain to unlock it.

“Stop right there, kid,” whispered Joe, who was still crouching by the windowsill at the hinged side of the door. He rose from his position, making sure he couldn’t be seen through the window. “And don’t look over here.”

Charlie whimpered, the chain shaking in his hand.

“Open the door, now,” Stanley said, pulling Charlie’s collar tight around his throat.

Joe slammed his body into the door. The first impact cracked one of the bones in Stanley’s wrist. The second one snapped it in two like a dry twig. Stanley screamed, yanking his crushed limb out the door.

Joe threw the door shut and ran over to Charlie, who had retreated to Grandma Rose’s side. He pulled out his gun. “Is he a cop? Did you see a badge or anything?”

“He said he was a repairman,” Charlie said, his voice strained. “His badge said Stanley.” He put the inhaler in his mouth and took a shot.

“Calm down,” Joe said. He cocked his gun.

“What does he want?” Charlie said.

“Maybe the same thing as me. I dunno.” Joe kept his eyes fixed on the front door. Why wasn’t the guy trying to break it down? “Where’s the back door?” he asked.

“In the kitchen,” Charlie said, pointing.

“Stay right where you are,” he said. Charlie nodded.

Joe crept into the kitchen, staying low. He crawled forward slowly, keeping a wary eye on the glass panels in the back door. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the guy had taken off. He had broken his wrist, after all. It was a pretty severe injury. Maybe the guy had given up.

The window next to the back door smashed inward, sending shards of glass flying everywhere. Joe spotted the culprit of the crash: a tiny silver canister. It bounced against the front of the refrigerator and spun to a stop in the middle of the floor.