He raised his arm high, the filleting knife gripped tight, tendons bulging grotesquely beneath the skin.
A violent crash.
That was where I'd been lying. The blade slammed down with such force that the floor seemed to shudder.
14
The strike missed.
He tilted his head, puzzled, and listened.
I pressed myself against the wall, motionless in the dark, daring not even to breathe.
My mind held a crystal-clear memory: that child had barely made it two steps before this thing had launched itself at the sound, swift as a hunting tiger.
If I made a single noise, I was dead.
15
How long had passed? Time dripped away second by second. The bedroom lay in deathly silence.
His hand swept across the bed, finding nothing. He straightened.
Then he pressed the tip of his knife gently against the wall.
He began to move along it.
He was searching for me.
16
My legs trembled uncontrollably. I knew I had to stay calm.
But fear overpowered everything. My mind went blank.
Outside, a flash of white light split the sky.
Thunder exploded, violent and crashing.
The blast jolted me back to awareness. My mind seized on something—a lifeline.
Sound!
As long as he couldn't hear, he was just a blind man!
The thunder was still rumbling.
I didn't hesitate. I rose on tiptoe and slipped out of the bedroom.
Behind me, his knife tip grazed the wall—right where I'd been leaning.
The thunder had faded to nothing. I stood in the hallway, drenched in cold sweat, frozen in place.
Thank God it was a thunderstorm tonight.
17
The rumbling died away, swallowed by silence.
One more hallway to cross before I'd reach the living room.
I knew that if I waited for another bolt of thunder, I could use the cover of sound to make my escape.
I had to escape!
But... he had stopped moving too.
His hand touched the wall.
His fingers found the dampness—the sweat I'd left behind.
My legs shook violently.
A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead and fell.
In the silence of that room, the tiny drop hit the floor with a sharp crack.
One thought blazed through my mind.
"Run!"
18
I bolted across the floor, barefoot, sprinting toward the living room.
The pain in my stomach seemed to vanish.
I knew it was my survival instinct kicking in—every organ, every muscle, fighting to keep me alive.
A sound rushed toward me from behind.
I threw myself sideways on pure instinct.
The blade sliced past my back, tearing my clothes.
I lost my balance and hit the floor, tumbling.
My hand flew to my stomach—no wound, just torn fabric.
He lunged at me again.
No time to breathe. I scrambled to my feet.
The front door—it was right there!
I threw myself toward it, screaming for help.
A gale-force wind caught me.
My fingers had just closed around the doorknob when an iron grip locked around my throat.
The scream died in my windpipe.
Strangling. Suffocating. Consciousness dimming.
He dragged me backward. The doorknob slipped from my grasp, receding into the distance.
19
I came to in darkness. His silhouette stood somewhere ahead.
This room...
It was my bathroom.
My arms and legs were bound. A strip of cloth was cinched between my teeth, cutting deep into my mouth. Blood coated my tongue.
Soft rustling.
As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw him.
The blind man was spreading plastic sheeting across the floor.
I'd seen this in movies—it made cleaning up blood easier.
I thrashed in terror, but the gag reduced my cries to muffled whimpers.
He heard me stir. He came closer, lowering his head, inhaling near my skin as if scenting something.
"The first day I saw you, I smelled this," he said.
What?
"It's your fault," he murmured.
"You have the scent of someone who abandons their young."
I shook my head frantically, trying to twist away, but the ropes held fast.
He pressed the blade against my stomach. Even through my clothes, I felt the sharp tip dimpling the fabric.
"You're just a cat. Not a person."
"Just a bigger cat..."
Help me...
Someone, please...
I wept helplessly.
Then—knocking. From the living room.
20
"Anyone home?"
A casual voice. It was Lucas.
The blind man went perfectly still, like a sculpture.
My pupils contracted.
I knew this was my only chance to survive.
I fought against the ropes with everything I had, thrashing to make any noise that might reach Lucas.
But the blind man pinned me down instantly.
My weak struggles and muffled cries were swallowed by the door between us.
Then I felt it—my lower back pressed against the toilet.
A point of leverage.
I threw my entire body upward, slamming into his shin.
He stumbled, arms windmilling toward the sink.
But a deafening crack of thunder split the world outside.
He crashed into the sink. Bottles and containers crashed down around him.
Every sound was swallowed by the rolling thunder.
21
The thunder faded.
From the living room, silence. Lucas was gone.
The blind man steadied himself.
I saw a horrible smile spread across his face.
No one was coming to save me.
22
Bang!
The front door exploded inward—kicked open with fury.
Lucas. Charging in with righteous rage.
His bipolar disorder.
I'd never been so grateful for an illness.
The kicks kept coming.
The blind man said nothing. He rose, one hand trailing along the wall, and walked toward the living room.
He was heading out there—with his knife.
23
Lucas.
I barely knew him. Our only real interaction was at the end of each semester, when he'd help me study for exams.
I'd heard stories. He'd once beaten a roommate so badly he broke the guy's nose—because that roommate had been spreading lewd rumors about some girl.
Whether that girl was me, I no longer remembered. The rumor had faded long ago.
But I didn't want anything to happen to him.
I wormed my way across the floor, dragging my bound body, until my head cleared the doorway.
A pair of rain-drenched shoes stood before me.
I looked up.
Lucas.
24
Lucas showed no signs of a fight.
His face held only shock and confusion.
But if the blind man had opened the door for him... where had the blind man gone?
I looked past him—and my blood ran cold.
The front door was slowly swinging shut.
Behind it stood the blind man, who'd been hiding there all along.
He'd let Lucas in on purpose.
I thrashed wildly, trying to signal the danger.
Lucas spun around.
The blind man charged, driving the knife toward Lucas's midsection.
25
The blade stopped inches from Lucas's stomach.
His hand had locked around the blind man's wrist.
I could hear both their muscles trembling from the strain.
Then Lucas reared back and slammed his forehead into the blind man's nose.
The impact broke the grip. The knife clattered to the floor.
Lucas didn't pause. He grabbed the blind man by the collar and yanked him forward, driving his knee into his stomach.
Again and again—each knee strike landed with a sickening thud.
But then the blind man's hand shot out and clamped around Lucas's throat.
Lucas staggered. The blind man shoved with terrifying strength, and Lucas's skull cracked against the wall.
He wavered but stayed on his feet—only for the blind man to seize his head and slam it into the wall twice more.
26
Blood sprayed across the floor.
I twisted frantically, working my fingers toward the fallen knife.
The blade touched the rope binding my wrists. I sawed back and forth.
The knife slipped—cutting my skin—but I kept going.
Faster. Faster!
Suddenly, my right hand came free.
I sat up and slashed the ropes on my ankles, then lurched to my feet to help.
But when I looked up, Lucas's body had gone limp, collapsing to the floor.
The blind man stood there, drenched in blood.
He tilted his head, listening.
He'd heard me stand.
He knew where I was.
I gripped the knife tighter.
27
He lunged.
My heart nearly burst from my chest. I drove the blade forward.
He didn't dodge.
He raised his arm—the knife plunged into it, buried to the hilt.
The impact threw me backward. I hit the floor, ears ringing.
I lifted my head. He'd ripped the knife from his arm. Blood ran in rivulets down his sleeve as he advanced toward me.
Behind him, Lucas lay motionless, a dark pool spreading beneath his head.
The blind man came closer and closer.
It was over.
28
"Mommy, do you regret it?" he said suddenly.
What?
A bolt of lightning split the heavens.
The thunder seemed to tear open the roiling clouds, and rain came hammering down—a torrential deluge.
The rain on the awnings outside roared like a drumroll.
The blind man flinched.
My heart lurched at the same instant.
The rain.
It was here!
29
He lunged at me with the knife.
I threw myself aside, rolling across the floor.
The blade smashed into the ground, chipping the tile.
He didn't hesitate—swinging the knife in wide arcs.
But the blade cut through nothing but air.
He couldn't hear me. The rain was too loud. I'd already moved away.
Rain pouring down—nothing but endless, deafening noise.
I tiptoed, barefoot, out of the hallway and into the living room.
30
The blind man stood still, head tilted, listening.
The rain hammered down. Infinite noise.
He slapped his ears, trying to clear them.
It was useless.
He couldn't hear a thing.
Without sound, he was just a blind man.
31
I glanced at the front door. Less than two steps away.
If I ran out now, knocked on every door, screamed down the hallway—
He'd be finished.
32
My hand closed around the doorknob.
"Mommy."
He spoke.
"I'll count to three," he said.
He knelt beside Lucas's unconscious body, seized his head, and pressed the knife blade against Lucas's throat.
He tilted his head, listening.
"Let me hear your voice."
The knife tip pressed into Lucas's neck. Blood welled from the shallow cut. Lucas's finger twitched once.
"One."
"Two."
...
33
"I'm here," I said.
He smiled.
"Louder."
"I'm here!"
He turned his head, triangulating my position.
"Step away from the door."
"Okay."
I stomped my feet, making it sound like I was walking away.
"You're just walking in place."
He was getting cautious.
At this distance, I could easily have thrown open the door and run.
But Lucas...
The knife pressed deeper.
I clenched my teeth and stepped back several paces.
The rain still roared.
"Put on shoes."
"What?"
"Shoes. By the entrance. The heels."
I understood—he needed to hear my footsteps.
I bent down, picked up the heels, and slipped them on. I took a few steps so he could hear the sound.
"I'm far from the door now. Let him go."
"Not far enough," he said. "The table."
"What?"
"Push the living room table to the front door."
"Okay..."
I did as he ordered, shoving the table across the floor with a screech. It blocked the door.
Now the only exit was sealed.
All I could pray for was that the noise might wake the neighbors below.
34
He straightened up, swaying slightly. He frowned and pressed a hand to his abdomen.
I saw blood seep from the corner of his mouth. He swallowed it back.
Probably internal damage from Lucas's knee strikes.
"If you scream, he dies," he said.
He grabbed Lucas by the arm and dragged him across the floor toward me.
He was being so careful.