Ear-Witness by Mary Ann Scott

slammed shut and I knew the man was in the apartment, I almost followed Flavia down the front stairs, but I couldn’t do it, even though I wanted to more than I’ve ever wanted to do anything. Instead, I moved quietly back down the hall, counting doors again. Coat closet. Linen closet. Bathroom, the room I needed the most. Baby’s room.
    I heard him now. Footsteps. There was a light too, a flashlight. So much for hiding. The beam flickered around the back bedroom, then down the hall. Shadows, like birds, fluttered towards me. I tiptoed into the baby’s room, and pushed my hands through the slats of the crib, in and out, moving further and further up the mattress. At last, I felt a foot, a tiny foot. She was lying crosswise, at the very top of the bed. I ran my hand up her leg to her warm, gently breathing body and pulled her across the sheet towards me. As I bent over the top of the railing, it dug painfully into my middle. Brianna murmured when I picked her up.
    The footsteps came closer and closer, then stopped. He was in the doorway, just a few feet away from me. The beam of the flashlight played around the room, passing me, then moving back, searching me out. I cringed into a corner, there was no other place to go. The light found my face, and blinded me. It glared steadily for what seemed like hours but could only have been seconds. My teeth rattled.
    â€œDon’t kill me,” I cried. “I’m only the babysitter!”
    My knees collapsed under me and I sank to the floor, unsteady with the baby’s extra weight. The light followed. This was the end, for both of us. I knew it. He was the murderer, back to bump off the witness to his crime. The innocent person he thought was the witness. The innocent person who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
    Brianna twisted her head away from the light, and whimpered. I held her tighter. My heart pounded wildly in my chest, almost deafening me. Then the man whispered something, or he laughed, I couldn’t tell which; a familiar noise, like a gush of air escaping from a half-blown balloon or the hiss of a cornered cat. It was followed by darkness. Steps, running steps, retreated down the hall. The screen door banged shut and heavy thudding noises moved down the stairs, becoming fainter and fainter, until there was silence. Brianna was awake now, and scared. She howled. I covered her with tears of relief.
    Then Flavia was back, and behind her, Carlos. They were holding candles stuck in kitchen glasses. Carlos was fierce, with a huge carving knife in one hand and a smaller one in his teeth.
    â€œHe’s gone,” I said. The candlelight was gentle, and hid my face. “We’re fine.”

CHAPTER 7
    After the killer left we paraded carefully down the front stairs to the Orellanas’ apartment. As soon as we got there I handed Brianna over to Flavia, and collapsed into the depths of a huge armchair. Mrs. Orellana was lighting more candles, setting them on little saucers and placing them around the room.
    Carlos folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall. “Somebody should do something about the lights,” he said. “We can’t stay in the dark all night.”
    Was it my imagination or was everybody looking at me? I didn’t want to think about the lights. I didn’t want to think about anything, but I forced myself to respond. “You can turn the power for the whole building off and on with a big switch,” I said. “It’s in the basement.”
    â€œWhere?” Carlos asked.
    â€œIf you go down the stairs and keep going,” I said, “you’ll come to the back wall. The fuse box is right there. It’s not hard to find,” I added.
    Nobody said anything. Nobody volunteered.
    What I should have said was I’m
not going
. What I actually said was “I’m not going alone.” Sometimes I’m my own worst enemy. A few minutes later Carlos and I