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Tyler darted quickly along the landing to the top of the stairs and stopped briefly to look down at the patch of floor visible at the bottom. Once there, he’d have to walk about eight paces to the end of the passage and slip into the den.
He listened for signs of movement below. Had his argument with Mom been overheard through the window? Was the guy now on his way back around the side of the lodge?
He put his right toes on the top stair and stopped, his creaking weight teetering on the front of his green sneaker. He had to go now. Had to do this and get it right. Tyler put all his weight on the foot, moved the other one past it and quickly pounded down the stairs.
The whole staircase creaked with his descent. He attempted to tread lightly, but every step seemed deafening.
*
Marcia O’Doole reached the door and opened it as far as it would against the chest. She put her face to the gap and peered along the landing just in time to see the top of his head disappear below floor level. “Tyler.” Her voice was dehydrated, but she knew it was useless trying to call him back. She prayed he was quick.
“Wait, wait, wait.” It was Beth, and when Marcia turned back to the bedroom, Beth was holding her hand up for silence. She hadn’t opened the window. Kevin was standing on his knees, and Marcia gestured for him to get back on his stomach. He complied, and she stopped halfway back to the shutters as the scratching recommenced.
Beth looked upwards to the ceiling. “It’s coming from above.”
Marcia joined her and looked hard at the spot in the plaster above the window, as if it would enable her to see through it to the source of the sound.
“Could he be in the attic?”
Marcia nodded. “Although it sounds more like...” Her words butted into realisation.
“What?”
“Raccoon.”
The word immediately demystified the sound. Paws scratching at wood beams above.
The revelation drained the blood out of Marcia’s frozen expression. “It’s a raccoon.” She was running back to the door. Tyler was downstairs and so was the man who wanted to kill them. She peered back through the gap, her mouth open.
Marcia wanted to scream his name but stopped herself. If she shouted a warning, would that alert the killer to her son’s presence?
*
Tyler shut the door to the musty den as quietly as he could and tiptoed to his father’s desk. He quietly rolled the leather chair back, his stomach muscles clenching against every sound, gently sat down and leaned to the bottom drawer. He lifted the metal ring out of its mounting and half closed his eyes as he slid it slowly outwards so he wouldn’t disturb the clutter inside.
He silently blew out short blasts of breath as his shaking fingers carefully dragged back the fishing reels and spools of line and he sought the bullets he’d positioned in a hiding place at the back.
Tyler’s hand settled on the box, and the bullets rattled slightly as he drew it clear. He delicately stood and then crossed the rug to the gun cupboard on the opposite wall above his father’s old music system.
*
Marcia O’Doole was almost through the door when she felt Beth’s hand firmly clasp her shoulder.
“Stay here,” Beth whispered at her ear.
Marcia tried to struggle free.
“Stay here,” Beth said again firmly. “Someone needs to look after Kevin.”
Marcia felt drawn to the stairs and the situation at the bottom but knew she had to protect her youngest as well. How could she warn Tyler? If she screamed his name, it would telegraph his having left the room. If she didn’t, he wouldn’t know the killer could be in the house.
*
Tyler’s fingers slid over the cool metal of the keys as he slipped the correct one into the lock and opened the wooden door. The hinge groaned a little as he swung it wide and grabbed his father’s Merkel RX Helix hunting rifle. He’d introduced Tyler to it when he was thirteen, extolling its close-range virtues. It was a straight-pull, bolt-action weapon designed for rapid follow-up shots. Tyler fumbled the shells out of the box and quickly loaded up the detachable box magazine.
He remembered to slide the safety button back on the tang, then stopped at the door and listened. Tyler expected to hear a commotion from the bedroom, but all was quiet. He gulped and it felt like a rock bouncing in his throat. He put his fingers on the handle and opened the den door a crack to peer into the passage; nobody in evidence. He hadn’t looked back as he came down the stairs, but could see through the screen that the back door was hanging open. Tyler cycled the bolt so he had a round in the chamber, and opened the door.
The weapon felt unwieldy in his clammy hands. He and Kevin had taken shots at rabbits but had never hit anything but his father’s Miller cans. Tyler had no doubt he could pull the trigger on the fucker who had put a gun to his brother’s head, though. He gripped it tighter and grazed the trigger with the pad of his sweaty forefinger. The wall clock ticked in the kitchen.
He pointed the rifle down the passage as he crept back to the bottom of the stairs. Still no sound from above. Perhaps he’d given up on trying to get in through the window, which meant he definitely was on his way back into the lodge. He decided to sprint up the stairs and not worry about how much noise he made.
He’d just braced himself to make the dash when the screen creaked and the man he’d stabbed with the antlers entered the kitchen, holding a sledgehammer.
