Ear-Witness by Mary Ann Scott Page B

a murderer in the laundry!
What I wanted to do was run. So that’s what I did.

    â€œTea, with honey,” Mrs. Orellana said. “Perhaps toast too.”
    I nodded gratefully. Although the Orellanas’ apartment was warm, I was having temperature problems. I was hot, then cold, then hot again, or hot with the shivers. Even worse, there were constant replays going on in my head: glass breaking and a hand coming through a window; a light shining in my face; a killer laughing at me.
    â€œWe should call the police,” I said. “I think that man is still in the building.” Then I explained about the laundry door.
    Mrs. Orellana set the kettle on the stove, and looked at Carlos, who slouched down in his chair and stared at me through thick eyelashes.
    â€œIf that guy was down there, he’ll be gone by now,” he said. “We should wait and let Mrs. Tammi call. It is her apartment.”
    Flavia held two pieces of bread suspended over the toaster. She glanced first at her mother, then at me, and nodded in agreement.
    I’d left a note on Tammi’s door, but we heard her come in. When I went into the hall to meet her, I explained everything that had happened; how the man had broken in, and how I thought he was still inthe basement. “We haven’t called the cops yet,” I added. “We were waiting for you. Do you want to do it now? I could talk to them.”
    Her face glazed over, as if I was really bugging her. “I’ll do it, Jess. I mean, it’s my apartment, right?”
    â€œYou can’t go back there, Tammi,” I said. “It’s you he’s after! Do you want to stay with me?”
    She was quiet for a moment. Then she rolled her eyes like I was the dumbest kid alive. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I have a gun.” She patted her purse. “My friend Terri lent it to me.”
    Carlos crowded into the doorway. “Show me?” he asked.
    Tammi glared at him and shook her head. “No,” she said.

    That night I slept in Mom’s room. There’s a door there too, with a window in it, just like at Tammi’s. The hall light was on, I’d put a hammer on the night-table beside me, and the phone was beside it, programmed to dial 911 at the push of a button. I was prepared for anything, even a murderer.
    I drifted in and out of sleep, fighting it, afraid to let go. Nightmares and flashbacks all twisted together like the strands of a French braid. I heard footsteps on the back stairs, someone tapping at a door, which opened, then closed again. I jumped awake, my heart thumping in my chest, but there was no one there, only the tail-end of a dream. I slept. Then something, or someone, was banging or maybe hammering; it was a familiar sound, one I’d heard before.
    I woke to sunlight, and the rich smells of coffee and bacon. Someone was knocking on the bedroom door.
    â€œJess?” Raffi said. “Want breakfast?”
    â€œSure. Give me a minute.”
    â€œTen.”
    I snuggled back into Mom’s duvet and thought about the one nice thing that happened; Carlos, and my first kiss ever. I rubbed my mouth with my fingers, wondering how it felt to him, to his lips. Then I kissed the back of my hand, and pretended it was him. I wished he’d tongue-kissed me, because I couldn’t figure out how people did it, and whether it was disgusting or not, and there was no one I wanted to ask. Then I pulled the duvet over my head, and thought about him some more, and tried to figure out what we’d do to each other next. It was hard to believe that I finally had a boyfriend, but it felt wonderful. I could hardly wait to tell Kelly.
    â€œJess,” Mom said. “I thought you wanted breakfast. Aren’t you hot under there?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “Absolutely. Cooking.”

    My mother had a cow, of course. A-pacing-up-and-down-the-liv-ing-room,