I raised both arms and grabbed at the fence. Jumped.
I had a crazy idea that I could climb over it.
But the fence was at least eight feet tall, the top out of my reach.
I could hear the two gray-suited police officers shouting behind me. I could hear their shoes thudding the ground.
With a loud groan I made another frantic jump, my hands stretched up as far as I could reach.
No. No way.
“Stop! Don’t move!” the voice behind me commanded.
But you don’t understand! I thought. I’m not Lucy. I only look like Lucy.
The fence glowed dully in the pale light of the half-moon. I took a deep breath, preparing to turn around, to face them and tell them who I really was.
But then I remembered the trick boards. The little doorway Lucy’s dad had built for us. We thought it was so cool. The boards tilted back when we pushed them, and we scampered through the narrow opening like puppy dogs.
Was the doorway still there?
Lucy and I hadn’t played with it since we were six or seven.
“Stop! We won’t hurt you!”
“We want to help you!”
Liars. The voices snapped me out of my paralysis.
I dived at the fence.
Which boards? Which ones?
It had been so many years. I didn’t remember.
I lowered my shoulder and pushed. No. Not there.
I let out a frightened cry. The cry of a trapped animal.
I tried again. Shoved my whole body against the boards to my right.
I heard a cracking sound. Then they gave way slowly. Two boards tilted up.
And I stumbled through the slender opening. Caught my balance. And kept running.
Through a dark alleyway. Past a row of metal trash cans.
Into someone’s backyard.
I could hear the surprised shouts of the two officers. Then I could hear their shoes pounding the alleyway. They had squeezed through the same opening in the fence.
They were still close behind.
I can’t outrun them, I realized. I can’t run much farther.
Breathing hard, I let my eyes sweep over the backyard. A hiding place, I thought. There’s got to be a hiding place.
My eyes stopped at a small shed near the house.
No. Not a shed. A little house with a slanting roof. A doghouse? A playhouse for kids?
My sneakers slipped on the dew-wet grass as I hurtled myself to the little house. I heard the two men at the back of the yard.
I plunged into the little house. Dropped to my knees and crawled inside. Then I tucked myself into a tight ball. Shut my eyes tight. Buried my head in my arms.
Like a little kid pretending she’s invisible.
If I can’t see you, then you can’t see me.
I buried my head, held my breath. And prayed they hadn’t seen me dive into this hiding place.
Over the pounding of my heart, I listened. Listened for their footsteps, their cries. Listened for them to run past, to keep running, to the next yard and the next.
Listened for them to admit they had lost me. To give up the search.
My heart nearly stopped when I heard one of them shout: “Over there!”