girl alone in her dark bedroom, shivering with fear on a warm summer night, unsure of her next move…
Amy was sitting on the window ledge, a tight little ball with her knees drawn up to her chin. She had waited for another gunshot, but there had been only one. Not another sound. Just silence in the darkness.
She didn’t know what to do, whether to run or stay put. Someone could be out there, a burglar. Or Mom could need her help. She had to do something . It took all her courage, but slowly she lowered her feet to the floor. The wooden planks creaked beneath her feet, startling her. She took a deep breath and started toward the door. She stepped lightly, so as not to make a sound. If there was someone out there, she couldn’t let them hear her.
The knob turned slowly in her hand. She pulled the door toward her. It opened a crack, then caught on something. She tugged harder. It would open no more than a two-finger width. With her cheek pressed against the door frame, she peered out the narrow opening. She blinked, confused. A rope was tied to her bedroom doorknob. The other end was looped around the banister across the hall. With the door open just an inch, it was taut as a tightrope.
Someone on the outside had tied her inside her bedroom.
She closed the door, trembling. On impulse, she ran into the closet and shut the door. It was pitch dark inside. She was accustomed to the dark, all the nights she’d spent with her telescope. For the first time, however, she was truly afraid of it.
The flashlight , she thought.
It was in there, she knew, with her astronomy books. The third shelf. She groped in the darkness, sorting through her possessions by touch. Finally, she found it and switched it on. The brightness hurt her eyes, so she aimed it at the floor. The closet glowed. Her eyes adjusted. Shoes lay scattered on the floor. Her clothes hung on a rod directly above her head. To the side were the built-in shelves, reaching like a ladder from floor to ceiling. At the top was a panel—an entrance to the attic.
She had used it once before to make an escape, when she was playing hide-and-seek with her friends. It led to the guest room across the hall. When her mother had found out, she’d told her never to go up there again. Tonight, however, was clearly an exception.
Amy was frightened to go up alone but even more afraid to stay put. She swallowed hard for courage, then tucked the flashlight under her chin and climbed up the shelves.
…The phone rang on her desk, rousing her from her twenty-year-old memories. Just a friend calling for lunch. “Sure,” said Amy. “Meet you in the lobby at noon.”
She hung up, still distracted, connected to her past. It had taken a lot of courage for that little girl to climb out of that closet and see what lay outside her room. It was time to dig inside and find the same fortitude.
She picked up the phone and dialed Ryan Duffy at his clinic. This time, she stayed on the line when the receptionist answered, unlike yesterday when she’d lost her nerve and hung up. “May I speak to Dr. Duffy, please?”
“I’m sorry, he’s with a patient.”
“Can you interrupt him, please? This will take just a minute.”
“Is this an emergency?”
“No, but—”
“If it’s not an emergency, I’ll have him call you.”
“It’s personal. Tell him it’s about his father.”
The receptionist paused, then said, “Hold one moment.”
Amy waited, reminding herself of the dos and don’ts. Tell the truth—to a point. First name only, not her last. No mention of where she lived.
“This is Dr. Duffy.”
“Hi,” she said, somewhat startled. “Thanks—thanks for coming. I mean, for answering. The phone, that is.” Jeez , she thought, cringing. Taylor could have put together a better sentence.
“Who is this?”
“You don’t know me. But I think your father must have. Or maybe it was your mother.”
“What? Is this some kind of crank?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not making
Amy was sitting on the window ledge, a tight little ball with her knees drawn up to her chin. She had waited for another gunshot, but there had been only one. Not another sound. Just silence in the darkness.
She didn’t know what to do, whether to run or stay put. Someone could be out there, a burglar. Or Mom could need her help. She had to do something . It took all her courage, but slowly she lowered her feet to the floor. The wooden planks creaked beneath her feet, startling her. She took a deep breath and started toward the door. She stepped lightly, so as not to make a sound. If there was someone out there, she couldn’t let them hear her.
The knob turned slowly in her hand. She pulled the door toward her. It opened a crack, then caught on something. She tugged harder. It would open no more than a two-finger width. With her cheek pressed against the door frame, she peered out the narrow opening. She blinked, confused. A rope was tied to her bedroom doorknob. The other end was looped around the banister across the hall. With the door open just an inch, it was taut as a tightrope.
Someone on the outside had tied her inside her bedroom.
She closed the door, trembling. On impulse, she ran into the closet and shut the door. It was pitch dark inside. She was accustomed to the dark, all the nights she’d spent with her telescope. For the first time, however, she was truly afraid of it.
The flashlight , she thought.
It was in there, she knew, with her astronomy books. The third shelf. She groped in the darkness, sorting through her possessions by touch. Finally, she found it and switched it on. The brightness hurt her eyes, so she aimed it at the floor. The closet glowed. Her eyes adjusted. Shoes lay scattered on the floor. Her clothes hung on a rod directly above her head. To the side were the built-in shelves, reaching like a ladder from floor to ceiling. At the top was a panel—an entrance to the attic.
She had used it once before to make an escape, when she was playing hide-and-seek with her friends. It led to the guest room across the hall. When her mother had found out, she’d told her never to go up there again. Tonight, however, was clearly an exception.
Amy was frightened to go up alone but even more afraid to stay put. She swallowed hard for courage, then tucked the flashlight under her chin and climbed up the shelves.
…The phone rang on her desk, rousing her from her twenty-year-old memories. Just a friend calling for lunch. “Sure,” said Amy. “Meet you in the lobby at noon.”
She hung up, still distracted, connected to her past. It had taken a lot of courage for that little girl to climb out of that closet and see what lay outside her room. It was time to dig inside and find the same fortitude.
She picked up the phone and dialed Ryan Duffy at his clinic. This time, she stayed on the line when the receptionist answered, unlike yesterday when she’d lost her nerve and hung up. “May I speak to Dr. Duffy, please?”
“I’m sorry, he’s with a patient.”
“Can you interrupt him, please? This will take just a minute.”
“Is this an emergency?”
“No, but—”
“If it’s not an emergency, I’ll have him call you.”
“It’s personal. Tell him it’s about his father.”
The receptionist paused, then said, “Hold one moment.”
Amy waited, reminding herself of the dos and don’ts. Tell the truth—to a point. First name only, not her last. No mention of where she lived.
“This is Dr. Duffy.”
“Hi,” she said, somewhat startled. “Thanks—thanks for coming. I mean, for answering. The phone, that is.” Jeez , she thought, cringing. Taylor could have put together a better sentence.
“Who is this?”
“You don’t know me. But I think your father must have. Or maybe it was your mother.”
“What? Is this some kind of crank?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not making
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