The Glass Harmonica by Russell Wangersky

Author:Russell Wangersky
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC030000, FIC000000
ISBN: 9780887625244
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2010-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

58

McKay Street

JILLIAN GEORGE

JULY 21, 2003

JILLIAN GEORGE ran, leaving Sam Newhook behind.

She ran fast and quietly, ran like someone who really knew how to run, no amateur here, her head down, hands coming up with every stride, looking straight ahead and never glancing behind. Her legs lashing forwards in the darkness, her feet coming down light on the pavement, wasting not one scrap of energy as they thrust her forwards.

She only had a few blocks to cover, but she thought she had left it too late. From a doorway by the butcher shop, she’d stopped to see how badly they were going to hurt him, whether the beating was going to go on until they’d killed him or whether they’d break it off if he was smart enough to just stop fighting back.

It was over fast enough for him to have a chance, she thought, so she took the opportunity to come out from cover and run, the street numbers unfolding as she went. She had a head start of well over a block when one of them saw her streaking away, but she had one clear disadvantage: as soon as they recognized her, they knew exactly where Jillian George was going.

And she knew them. Jillian knew all of the guys chasing her simply by their shapes and voices, knew their parents and their houses. She was even passing many of their houses as she ran. She knew all of them from school, but it was like she didn’t know any of them at all. Later, she’d know that it was all wrong place, wrong time, that they had stumbled onto a situation where the voltage had already been cranked up, just waiting for a place to spark.

Jillian could hear them coming down the street fast and she felt completely alone, as if every house was empty, no one looking out at the noise as they passed. No time to bang on doors and wait for someone to come to the front of their house: no way to take the risk of stopping and waiting and having no one come. It was better to run and keep running. She counted down the street numbers as she went, knew they were getting closer behind her, and decided, close to her parents’ house but not really close enough, that she wouldn’t be able to get there before they caught up with her.

Instead, she cut down beside Albert Carter’s, heading for the back laneway so that she would come up behind her own house and in through the back door. The back door was always unlocked, so there would be no fumbling with keys, just the quick rush through the door, turning and slamming it home. She knew the rules and so did they: once inside she’d be safe, and they’d all melt away like water. Chances were they’d never even mention it again, like it was something as simple as a game gone wrong once the sharp anger of the chase faded.

It was, she thought, her best chance.

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