and growling continued unabated as he zigzagged through the woods, avoiding limbs and briar thickets, honing in on his destination. As Frank glanced back over his shoulder, the dog again lunged toward him, then halted almost in midair. It was then that he got a clear view of the chain stretched taut, glimmering in the few brief seconds of moonlight and preventing the dog’s exit from the porch. Frank lunged for the steps, cleared all three of them, and collapsed on the deck, gasping for air, silently cursing all the while. Decades of abuse had rendered his body largely incapable of this sort of activity, or almost any activity, for that matter. Wheezing and dragging himself to a sitting position, he heard a clicking sound and was almost immediately illuminated by two blinding white orbs strategically placed above the back door. “Oh god, I’m done this time,” he moaned as he dropped quickly to a prone position, face-first into the deck boards, amid escalating barks, growls, and now what seemed like the light of a thousand suns shining directly on his back. Not really willing or able to move at this point, he just lay there, hoping he had been right about no one being home.
The next sixty seconds seemed like several years to Frank as his mind raced, trying to come up with some plausible explanation for his presence there on the deck. Let’s see, how about, ‘Hey, I’m Fred, the painting contractor hired by your homeowner’s association. Working late tonight, but just got off and stopped by to see what I needed to do to prep the decks here for staining. I am so damn clumsy…tripped on your top step and fell flat on my face! Sorry to alarm you!’ Hmmm…that probably won’t fly, he thought to himself. How about, ‘Hey, I’m your neighbor Tom from across the ravine here. I was just cutting through the woods on my way home when I saw a flash of light coming from your bedroom here. Thought it might be an electrical short or something, so I came over to check it out. Clumsy me, though…tripped on your top step, and well, here I lie, flat on my face!’ Much better, Frank thought, at least until he realized that the nurse had seen him several times before and would no doubt recognize him this time as well. Plus, he didn’t exactly look as if he belonged in the neighborhood at all!
A sharp click interrupted his parade of excuses, and just as quickly as the midnight suns had risen, they set. Frank tilted his head ever so slightly to catch a better view of the floodlights above the back door. “Motion sensor,” he muttered. “Damn thing scared the shit out of me! No voices and no more dog barking either. Must not be able to see me without the light,” he figured. “And I was right in the first place…nobody’s home.”
With that realization, a great flood of relief washed over Frank’s prone and motionless body. He had grown tired of his seemingly endless trips either to the Portland jail or OHSU Hospital. Maybe I’ll pull it off this time, he told himself in his most convincing monologue. Maybe just this once I won’t get caught—I mean…I did plan ahead this time…gun, mask, rope…sure would be nice not to go back to jail! That idea, however, was somewhat short-lived, as Frank now realized that he couldn’t move without setting the lights off and getting the Doberman going again. Or could he? Checking the angle of the sensor once again, he noticed that it was pointed just beyond the steps and slightly beyond his present position. Hmmm, if I slide just a little closer to the wall, I bet I can beat it, he figured. Ooching his hips and then his shoulders inches at a time to his left, Frank was soon dead against the outside wall. He sensed the Doberman’s attention, but so far, so good—no lights and no bark! Frank slowly rose to his knees, then his feet, and gingerly rotated his body counterclockwise until his faced pressed up against the screen of the window next to the door. His right hand stretched down and intuitively tested the door handle. No luck, locked tight and a deadbolt too. Shit. How about the windows? There were three of them, one directly in front and two to the left. Frank’s hand slipped softly into his pocket and slowly removed a small knife. Deftly slipping the extended blade under the screen in front of him, with a gentle pressure upward, he was able to dislodge the screen from its track and slide it down to the floor. He couldn’t see the lock on the double hung window, but a gentle pressure on the bottom pane revealed it to be securely in place. “Fuck,” Frank cursed quietly as he replaced the screen. Edging a couple of feet to his left, he tried the same procedure with the second window, again with no luck.
As he reached the third window, Frank recoiled slightly as a distressing thought entered his mind. What if they have a burglar alarm? He hadn’t even considered that before, but if either of the first two windows perchance had been unlocked, pushing one of them open would have unleashed a hellish cacophony exceeding even the one he had previously experienced. Lights, sirens, dog going insane—all the ingredients of an unmitigated disaster. Well, what now? he wondered, glancing nervously around the rear of the town house.
Frank’s eye soon fixed on a small gray box, barely visible in the darkness and just slightly above the deck, to the left of the last window where he now stood. It couldn’t be more than a couple of feet away, and to him it looked a lot like a telephone interface box. If I cut the line, at least any alarm won’t go to the monitoring station, Frank reasoned to himself. Might as well prevent that, he thought as he deftly severed the incoming phone line with the switchblade. Edging back to the last window, with the knife still out, Frank again pried off the screen and looked carefully at the window. It looked to him like the latch had not quite caught, and if he jarred the window a little, he might be able to raise it. Worst thing that can happen, Frank thought, will be sirens and lights, and then I’m outa here, running like hell for the car and right past that fuckin’ black guard dog, prayin’ to Jesus all the while that the chain is strong enough to hold him! “Piece o’ cake,” he mumbled softly while squinting his eyes shut, bracing himself for the worst, and gently shaking the window.
No lights, no sound, no action—at least not yet. A low-pitched growl emanated from the direction of the Doberman, however, who sounded like he had about reached his limit. One more lunge in my direction and that chain will probably snap for sure, Frank estimated. Then again, if I shake the top pane and jiggle the bottom one at the same time, that lock will probably separate and I’m in, dog or no dog. With no further hesitation, Frank shook the top pane hard while pushing up on the bottom one. He felt the lock slip and the bottom pane rise slightly.
As if on cue, the big black dog began an insane barrage of barking and leaped for the rail. The chain tethered him, his neck snapped back, and he fell to the deck, but not for long. Now in a frenzy, the dog got to his feet, backed a couple of steps, and with every ounce of energy he had, lunged for the rail. This time the chain snapped like a piece of hard peanut brittle, sending the dog over the rail and headfirst into the grass. Barely breaking his stride, he was back on his feet and now racing toward Frank, teeth bared and frothy saliva dripping from his open mouth.
This time, Frank knew he was out of options. With danger this imminent, his reflexes took over, causing him to shove the window up and dive through onto the hardwood floor. The dog was to the steps now and only seconds from the open window. Wincing, Frank rolled over, reached up, and slammed the window shut. Almost instantaneously the dog collided with the closed glass, apparently somewhat stunned as shards of glass flew in every direction. His head was extended through the jagged glass into the interior of the room, but his momentum had definitely abated. A cut on his neck was now visibly bleeding, and a glass fragment in his back paw had replaced the growls with a whimper of pain. He slowly stepped back, extricating his bleeding head and neck from the window, limped a few steps from the window, and apparently decided that he had had enough. With one large shard of glass visibly embedded in his paw, he gingerly backed away from the broken glass, hobbled down the steps, and slowly made his way back home, almost as if he had forgotten why he was there in the first place.
Breathing an immense sigh of relief, Frank collapsed on the floor, too stunned and exhausted to move. For a brief moment before he literally passed out, he gratefully realized for the first time that there was no alarm.
chapter 2
South of Broad, Heading West
Charleston, South Carolina
July 4, 2002
