Rachel Alexander 05 - The Wrong Dog

in the bathroom or out to purchase a new supply of Vacor.
    I stayed low, watching the house as I closed in on the cottage, deciding not to even try the door because, open, it a would be visible from their living room. Instead, I slid the window up just enough so that I could climb in headfirst, wiggling the rest of me through the narrow opening and closing the window partway once I was inside. Waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark didn’t take long because whatever light was coming in through the windows was Shining on the stainless steel cabinets, playing on the microscopes and the tall shiny doors of the oversize refrigerator. I heard a floorboard creaking upstairs and ducked behind a lab table in the middle of the room, not much protection if someone came downstairs and turned on the lights, but the best I could find on short notice.
    It was an old building, like the back cottage I lived in. The main floor had been gutted and made into a laboratory. Since the little back window had been dark, I guessed whoever I could hear now crossing the wooden floor lived there, and had been asleep. Had I awakened him? I thought I’d been silent. That seemed a joke now. I heard the floor creak again. Then someone sneezed. I held my breath.
    Would he come down or go back to bed? I decided not to find out. Backing up to the window, I nearly tripped over a pile of magazines and newspapers tied with a cord and waiting to be set curbside for recycling. I couldn’t help looking, to see if whoever lived here read the Wall Street Journal or Playboy. But neither was on top of the pile. It was Clone Magazine. Clever me, I’d found Side by Side.
    I tore off the cover and stuffed it into my back pocket, looking up at the ceiling and willing whoever was up there to go back to bed. But instead of hearing a door close, or the springs creak, I heard someone coming down the stairs.
    I slid the window all the way open, not bothering to close it behind me this time, getting out of the cottage as fast as I could. I never stopped moving, using the bench to give a boost up the brick wall, tossing myself over the top and landing with a thud in the ivy on the other side.
    Catching my breath, I saw him again. He’d been eating something in the center of the garden. The noise had made him stop and turn. For a moment, we stayed the way we were, two animals sizing each other up. Then he dropped to all fours and disappeared into the pachysandra.
    I ran across the garden, into Sophie’s apartment and straight out her front door, stopping only when I saw another rat. This one was looking down at what he was doing, unlocking the glass door from the street.

Chapter 31
    It Was Probably His Eye Glasses Case

    I had only two choices—back to Sophie’s apartment, or up the stairs. I chose the stairs, taking them two at a time, moving as quietly as I could on the chance he hadn’t seen me. But as I headed up to three, I heard him behind me, not moving quietly, his big feet slapping hard against the stairs, making them moan and creak despite the carpeting.
    I thought about banging on someone’s door, but if I waited and no one was home, he’d have me. So I kept going, straight up to the roof. I pushed the door open and stepped out into the dark, feeling wind coming from the west, seeing the top of the house on West Fourth Street, the windows dark, everyone downstairs, everyone waiting for Joe to come back, say he’d gotten the job done properly this time.
    I had no soda can. I decided not to leave my shoe in the door either. I went to the edge and looked over, checking for a fire escape or a terrace I could jump down to. I thought I could hear him breathing behind me, but the door hadn’t opened yet. I wondered if he had the gun this time, hoping he had only the wrench. I was full of hope, and so scared I sounded as if I was having an asthma attack.
    The door opened and for a moment he stood there, the dim stair light behind him making him look even bigger and bulkier than he was. I looked at his hands, then for a bulge in his belt. Then I checked out his size again, comparing it to my own. I would have swallowed but my mouth was too dry.
    He took a step forward. I stood where I was, the uncomfortably low parapet right behind me.
    “Bitch,” he said, still not moving out of the doorway. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
    “Whatja bring this time, Joey? Let’s see, we’ve done the Vacor, the wrench, the gun. How about a rope and