Crime Time

I was fumbling with the window when I heard heavy footsteps move close to my door. Unlatching the window, I tried desperately to raise it! Before I could, the door was kicked open I was grabbed about the neck in a strangle hold that gagged me and a knife jabbed upward under my chin! I felt a sharp sting as the blade cut.

I was terrified beyond human comprehension! Never in my twenty-nine years of white bread life had I encountered anything remotely similar to the fear I felt as that knife pressed in me. Others were exposed to bar room fights, muggings, schooled in army combat or at least been the recipient of a bloody nose from a third grade bully. Not Ben Morganthaw, no sir. I'd lived so clement an existence that the sum total of my exposure to mayhem came from the soft cushioned sofa fronting a wide screen television. If I'd taken an instant to do so, I know I'd have pissed my pants where I stood. Or fell.

"Where are the others?" a voice growled in my ear as my assailant dragged me backwards out of the room toward the front of the house. He reached back and tried to turn on the lights. I wanted to say the entire French Foreign hiding in the other room but before I could speak, we both could barely hear a voice. He stopped cold to listen. It was the sound of the operator on my 911 call.

"Bastard!" He yelled, and I felt the knife cut deeper. He let go and swung the butt of the knife at my head as I fell to the floor. I dropped to the ground as he yanked the phone from its base and flung it across the room. Darkness engulfed me as I felt his foot kick my side repeatedly. I don't know how long I remained unconscious; probably only a minute or so. I heard my assailant searching from room to room. I crawled to my knees and vomited, and thinking I'd die my throat hurt so badly to do so. I passed out again but gradually, the pain in my left side and my throat brought me to a state of half-wakefulness. I lay there, listening, but heard nothing. In a panic I began to crawl toward the front door. I recall thinking ludicrously that I was staining Howie's beloved hardwood floors with my blood and puke.

In the distance and getting closer I heard the sound of police sirens and in minutes two cruisers pulled into the driveway. In the slight glow of a now-rising moon painted the room in enough light to pick out figures racing to the front door.