With great care, the man grasped the brass doorknob and turned. He carefully opened the door, gently, just a crack, and peaked inside. The room was dark, quiet but for the sound of gentle breathing. He eased the door open, his heart pounding, sweat glistening on his brow. Please, he prayed silently. Please.
It was late, going on three in the morning. Soon it would be over. He was so close. He stepped forward, but hit the wall and bumped a switch. Clumsy. The light behind him flashed on, he slammed his hand down on the switch, shutting off the light then yanked the door shut. He braced himself. He held his breath, his heart lodged in his throat. He waited. One. Two. Three. No noise came.
He nearly breathed a sigh of relief, but remembered it was far from over. He was nowhere near his goal, still outside the room, holding his breath in the dark. Frustration welled within him, but he squelched it, and sighed slightly before grabbing the knob again.
He turned and pulled, then quickly slipped inside and slowly pulled the door closed behind him. There was a noise in the dark. It was a mere whisper, then a creak or a squeak, like the bending of floorboards. He was tight, clenching his fists, holding his breath. Not a sound. Not a whisper. He looked to his right, in the direction of the noise, but the room stilled. The thick air weighed heavy in his lungs. He took a breath then stepped forward. Carefully, silently, he crept along to his right. So close, within reach. He scooted his foot one step closer to his goal. Too quickly, he moved, slamming the toe of his shoe into a hard structure, unidentifiable in the dark. He cursed beneath his breath, bit his tongue.
A whimper, a creak–then it moved. He hit the ground, knowing that to be seen was to fail. He slid toward the wall beneath the noise. Out of sight, he braced himself. The noise didn’t stop. A full blown wail shattered the silence and he breathed a sigh of defeat. He’d failed. He tasted blood on his lip, salty and warm.
Slowly he grabbed the bars above him and slid out away from the wall. He stared up into the eyes of his captor and reached up to grab his only defense. He stuck the pacifier in the infant’s mouth and smiled sadly in surrender. “Go back to sleep. Daddy’s tired.”
Gina Ryan 