But in this narrow hallway, although I was a moving target, it would have been hard for Mr. Simmons to miss me if he took another shot. My left shoe fell off, and I didn’t give it a second thought as I continued on, hobbling for a few steps until I kicked off my right shoe. Looking ahead, I could see that the hallway turned a corner at its end, and presumably wrapped around the perimeter of the house. With all my might, I tried to run faster, but still screamed in surprise when I heard the gun fire again behind me. This time, the bullet whizzed past my left shoulder and struck the window toward which I was running. I heard the glass pop but not shatter as the bullet broke through it.

Just as I thought for sure that I didn’t stand a chance of rounding the corner without Mr. Simmons hitting me with his next shot, I heard a scuffle behind me. When I reached the corner, I threw myself around it, took a deep breath, and realized I didn’t hear footsteps from the hallway, but thuds and grunting instead. I dared to peek around the edge. Trey had thrown himself at Mr. Simmons and pulled him to the floor. One of his knees pinned Mr. Simmons’s shoulder down, but even as Trey attempted to grab at Mr. Simmons’s neck, it was clear that he wouldn’t be able to subdue him for long.

Mr. Simmons’s gun had been thrown in my direction. It was probably about eight feet from where I stood watching, angled on the long vintage runner rug.

“Get the gun!” Trey shouted, snapping me out of my reverie.

I dashed forward and bent my knees to raise the gun, which was heavier and colder in my hand than I had expected. I aimed it at Mr. Simmons, but he was entangled in such a way with Trey that there was no way I could get a clear shot at him—even if I’d known what I was doing with the gun, even if I’d had practice aiming and firing it.

So instead I spun on my heel and ran.

CHAPTER 19

I TORE AROUND THE CORNER again, this time running down the next stretch of hallway lined with windows, and paused in front of a closed door at the very end of it. My scalp tingled, although so lightly that I wondered if I was imagining it out of desperation. As I reached for the ornate brass doorknob, from behind me I heard a ragged voice shout threateningly, “Don’t go up there!”

It was Mr. Simmons, standing at the far end of the hallway with a bleeding lip and his hair on end. Up there. Whatever was behind this door would take me to the higher floors of the house. I twisted the knob, and behind the door, I found another staircase, this one far more narrow and plain than the one in the front foyer. I ran up the first flight and didn’t bother opening the door on the landing. There was no time to think clearly, but I guessed that this floor only had bedrooms and bathrooms on it. At the time that this estate was built, there were probably servants hired to run the household, so this floor was probably where they were boarded. Small bedrooms, possibly locked small bedrooms, would only have been helpful to me if I could have ducked into one of them to call 911. But I’d left my phone in the living room.