When the female charged again, I swung the shovel too hard and the thing almost flew out of my hands. The near loss frightened me so badly, I felt an electric sensation between the ears. With it bloomed a horrible certainty that these animals, if they got me on the ground, would not just maul me, they would feed on me. I could not lose the shovel. I could not lose my footing. Turn my back on either pit bull, even for an instant, and that would be the beginning of an assault so horrible I couldn’t allow myself to contemplate it-nor would I tolerate the indignity these animals were forcing on me!
I was terrified, but I was also getting mad.
“Get the hell away!” I hollered, jabbing. The alpha dog grabbed at the shovel when I thrust it, teeth striking the blade with the metallic sound of flint striking sparks. At the same instant, the larger dog snaked his head at me, teeth clacking near my calf, then retreated to a safe distance. Twice that happened, which gave me an idea. I feinted at the female again to lure the male closer, then swung the shovel blindly to my left, hoping the larger dog would attack. He did. The shovel blade glanced off the animal’s head and spun him sideways, yelping. The alpha dog was in such a frenzy that a yelp of weakness invited attack and she did attack him, slashing her teeth at the larger dog’s flank before returning her attention to me.
Too late. I had jumped into the hallway and was already backing away, holding the shovel in both hands like a spear. The female stalked me but kept her distance. Behind me, the garish green door I had dreaded was now my rescuer-if I could get the thing open and closed before I was bitten. That was key. Once a pit bull locks its jaws into flesh, there is no breaking free. It could still happen. No matter how I used the shovel for protection, there would be a moment when I had to turn and leave my legs unprotected. If the dog buried her teeth in me, no matter how hard I fought, I would be dragged to the floor, and they would both have me.
The alpha dog seemed to sense her chance would soon come and was biding her time as the male rejoined her. She paused to award him with a quick sniff, then continued to follow, her throat rumbling, as I backed past the stairway where the floor lamp cast its milky light. I was within reach of the doorknob now. But I had to invent something to distract the dogs to allow me the free second needed to slip into the next room and slam the door.
What?
I risked a glance over my shoulder at the porcelain knob. It was threaded through a metal plate that had a keyhole. A terrifying thought flashed into my mind: What if the door was locked? If it was locked, the diversion I was considering would hinder me more than help. It fact, the decision would leave me disfigured for life, or worse.
Can’t be locked, I told myself. No one in their right mind would lock a door in a stairwell.
Well, I would soon find out.
I had been edging toward the staircase, an angle that gave me more protection but also put me in a corner next to the lamp. These pit bulls were hunters and instinctively saw their advantage, which they secured by separating a few feet to trap me. They were barking again, trying to back me against the wall with mock charges, working themselves into the frenzy that I knew prefaced a full-on attack. I had to do something-and did. The floor lamp was made of pot metal and heavier than expected when I grabbed it and slammed it toward the dogs. The twin glass globes shattered, but the pop of incandescent bulbs wasn’t as loud as I’d hoped.
Even so, both dogs yelped and jumped away. It gave me time to yank the door open and back into the next room, but I did it in such a rush I dropped the shovel after banging my wrist on something.
BOOM!… BOOM! The pit bulls had recovered quickly and were already throwing themselves at the door, their barking a slathered garble that made it impossible to think. I put my shoulder against the wood, breathing hard, my heart pounding. To add to the chaos, the room I’d entered was a mystery of shadows and dark shapes, only two westward windows allowing light. I felt around until I found the dead bolt and latched the door tight but still kept my weight against it.
BOOM!… BOOM!… BOOM! With each assault, the wood vibrated like a drum. The dogs weren’t giving up.
I was in the kitchen, I realized. I could tell from the odor of linoleum and Lysol and garbage that had begun to rot. Also, I could see the glint of pans hanging, the shape of a refrigerator. A sink, too, with twin faucets set beneath a window too small for the room. A lancet of light came through the glass, though not much. It was hot in here; a space built to fend off tropical summers but, instead, only denied sunlight.
Get to the truck, I told myself. Do it now before the dogs circle around back! Mrs. Helms, if she’s here, if she’s alive, will have to wait for the police.
I hadn’t given the woman a thought, of course, since the pit bulls had attacked. She came into my mind now, however, because my eyes were adjusting to the shadows and I recognized the shape and gleam of something near the sink, although it took me a second.
A wig?
Yes, a woman’s wig; silver hair cropped short and combed to a sheen, a style for business luncheons. Loretta had mentioned that a wig would be delivered today, which proved Mrs. Helms had been here, and probably still was.
No… I might be mistaken about that. Since her chemotherapy, the woman had bought several wigs, usually inexpensive brands made of nylon. This one, even from a distance, looked expensive, like natural human hair, and why would a woman as fussy as Pinky Helms leave a new wig by the sink? Someone else could have put it there. So it proved nothing, and I wasn’t sticking around even if it did.
Scratching and panting, the pit bulls were digging beneath the door now. Determined to get their teeth in me, but I felt secure enough to step away, then sag against the wall for a moment. After several deep breaths, I pushed off and hurried across the room in search of a light switch and an exit. On the way, I allowed myself to detour near the sink because the window provided a lighted footpath. Passed close enough to realize the wig wasn’t near the sink, it was in the sink.
I stopped; felt a chill that made me reluctant to step closer. Yes… the wig was sitting or floating in water on what might have been a Styrofoam base. Rust-stained water, copper red, beneath a window that boiled with late-afternoon sunlight. Bad pipes would explain the reddish color; a country well that blackened water with minerals, sulfur and iron, explained it, too. The village of Sulfur Wells had been named for that very reason and supported what I desperately wanted to believe. My nerves couldn’t handle another explanation. I had to get out of this place!
Dazed, I hurried toward the darkest corner of the kitchen, where reason told me there would be a door. There was. No doubt about it because the door cracked a few inches as I approached, filtering an expanding band of light. I felt the heat of the sun thatch my body, but what appeared within that band of daylight paralyzed me. A man was there-a wedge of face wrapped in a scarf, one dark eye staring. One black glove, too. His big hand braced something against his shoulder, a tool of some type on a hickory-thick handle.
An axe.
I AM NOT a woman who screams when surprised. Even as a girl, Loretta, her friends, too, had commented on my stoic, tomboy ways. The accusations that were always hidden in their comments had been troubling to me until I was older. By then, I knew I was attracted to men, so I have accepted those early criticisms-along with many others voiced by Loretta-as proof I’ve inherited solid qualities that, despite my secret weaknesses, make a stronger woman and give me confidence.