Free Death's Door by Betsy Byars Page B

like an animal.
    But if he came in this room, she thought, and she felt unaccustomed tears sting her eyes, she would not have any chance at all.
    There was a silence. The gunman didn’t move, just stood there, feeling the air, listening. Herculeah held her breath. She closed her eyes. She now had to breath through her mouth.
    Please go in the other room, she pleaded. Turn right. Turn right. Don‘t—
    She didn’t get to finish. She heard the gunman step into the room where she stood against the wall. Her eyelids flew open.
    Her knees had begun to tremble.
    He took one step, another. He was coming closer. It was as if he were a hunter stalking a helpless creature, and even though he didn’t know exactly where his prey hid, he had plenty of time to find out.
    Herculeah could smell him now—cigarette smoke and sweat. In the light from the street, his right hand came into view—a hand as big as a ham. And in it was a gun, a silencer on the end.
    If he comes on this side of the stacks, he’ll see me, she thought. She resumed her mental pleading. Go between the stacks. Between the stacks. Between—
    This time it worked.
    The man stepped between the bookcases, and she could see his silhouette through the gaps in the books. He was huge—massive shoulders, arms bulging against the sleeves of his jacket. She held her breath as he made his way through the room.
    He paused as if looking for a book, though Herculeah knew he was not. Perhaps he had heard her. Perhaps he was one of those people who can sense another’s presence. Perhaps he had the animal ability to smell a victim’s fear. There was plenty of that.
    All at once she remembered something Uncle Neiman had said—something about a stack of books falling on him. He had thought it was one of the attempts on his life.
    So these stacks could be pushed over, if someone had the strength.
    Herculeah drew in a deep silent breath. I have the strength, she told herself. I have to have it.
    With that thought, she could feel it building in her like a force of nature, something that could not be held back.
    The gunman was directly across from her now. She dared not move. She’d have to take two steps to get to the bookcase and that might be all the warning the man would need.
    He drew air in between his teeth. There was that hissing sound, deadly as a snake’s.
    At that moment, the man leaned down, peered through the books, and his terrible hooded eyes looked directly at Herculeah. The eyes were red and seemed to be lit from within like something at Hal loween.
    â€œYou,” he said.
    He exhaled and Herculeah smelled the fetid breath of death.

22
    THE UNHARDY BOYS
    â€œAlbert, come away from the window.”
    â€œI can’t.”
    â€œAlbert, that’s not doing any good. You aren’t helping Herculeah by standing at the window. Come and watch TV.”
    â€œAnd will that help her? My watching TV?”
    His mother sighed. “I can’t do anything with you when you’re like this.”
    â€œThen don’t try. Leave me alone.”
    His mother came and stood beside him. Meat stiffened, warning her not to pat him. She didn’t. She put her hand back in her apron pocket.
    â€œWhere could he have taken her?” Meat said. “You ought to know. He’s your brother.”
    â€œI have no idea. My own brother is a complete stranger to me. It’s probably as well we don’t watch TV. Neiman could be on the news.”
    â€œCould they have gone back to the bookstore, do you think?”
    She shook her head. “That’s where the trouble started. The gunman knows about the bookstore.”
    â€œDo you think I should go across the street and at least tell Mrs. Jones about it?”
    â€œThey’re smart people. By now they know more about Neiman than we do.”
    â€œWell, I’m going to go over there anyway.”
    â€œAlbert—”
    â€œI’m