Roger and I were running hard. Not away from my problems, but toward them. Our arms pumped, our legs churned, our breath was even and strong. I don’t know how much adrenaline I had in my system, but it seemed as if I could run and keep running forever. Even though I knew deep inside me that it wasn’t solving anything, I felt as if I was in control of things while I was running.

A horn sounded from the street next to us.

“Maddy,” Roger said, “Maddy, come on.” Roger was turning toward the sound of that horn, slowing down, heading for the taxi that was pulling up next to us.

My feet didn’t want to stop, but I forced them to. Part of my mind was telling me to keep going too. We’d only been running about five minutes and hadn’t reached our rendezvous point. It was as if I had to get to that point while running, or things would not turn out all right. Even though the logical part of me knew that the sooner we got into a car the better, I went through a mental wrestling match, convincing myself to do what I knew was best.

“Madeline, come, come, come,” said the taxi driver, holding the door open for me.

Of course, the driver was Mr. Patel. As soon as Mrs. Jenkins got him on the radio, he had figured out what our route would be to the pick-up point and reached us well before we got there.

I should have felt relieved. But now that I’d stopped running, every feeling of calm or relief left me. My legs were shaking as I got into the cab, and all I could think was that no matter how soon we got home, it would be too late.

20

THE OPEN DOOR

MR. PATEL DID what any responsible adult would have done from the start. As soon as we explained to him why we were so upset and in such a hurry to get home, he called the police on his radio.

“This is R. G. Patel. I am the owner of the Providence Taxi Company. I am calling to report a probable home invasion. I believe it is connected with the recent animal mutilations. You must send assistance immediately. Yes, yes. Here is the information.”

Then he read off the number of his license and gave the police the address of Aunt Lyssa’s house.

Mr. Patel hung the microphone back on its hook.

“It is good,” he said. “With any luck, the police will be there soon after we reach the house. It may be that just seeing our cab pull up to the door will frighten away this intruder. Such men are usually cowards.”