Chapter 7 - Across the Roof
The freezing night wind whipped my hair across my face as I dropped down from the windowsill onto the sloping wooden roof of the porch. The shingles were slick with evening dew, making my footing precarious, but adrenaline kept me upright.
“Clara, stay low! Hold my hand!” I commanded, grabbing her small, cold hand in mine.
Behind us, Michael vaulted out of the bedroom window with reckless abandon, landing heavily onto the roof with a loud thud. He caught his balance immediately, dropping into a crouch like a hunter closing in on wounded prey.
“You can’t run from me, Sarah! Where do you think you’re going to go in the middle of the night without a car?” he shouted, his voice cutting through the dark wind as he began to close the distance between us.
“Don't let him get us!” Clara cried out, stumbling slightly on a loose shingle. I scooped her up into my arms once more, ignoring the burning strain in my muscles, and sprinted toward the edge of the porch where a sturdy wooden trellis adorned with thick climbing wisteria vines provided a natural ladder to the front lawn.
I didn't hesitate. I swung my legs over the edge, gripping the thick wooden lattice of the trellis with one arm while holding Clara securely against my chest with the other.
Michael lunged forward, his fingers grazing the back of my sweater just as I slid down the trellis, the rough wood scraping against my palms.
Crack!
Part of the lattice gave way under our combined weight, sending us tumbling the final three feet onto the soft grass of the front lawn. The impact knocked the breath from my ribs, sending a sharp jolt of pain shooting up my spine, but I scrambled to my feet instantly, pulling Clara up with me.
“Run! Toward the neighbor’s house!” I yelled.
We raced across the dew-soaked grass toward the brightly lit porch light of the Millers next door. Behind us, Michael vaulted over the porch railing, hitting the ground with a heavy thud, cursing furiously as he gave chase.
He was gaining on us. His long strides ate up the distance between our property line and the neighbor’s driveway. I could hear his heavy breathing just feet behind my shoulder.
Just as I reached the edge of the driveway, the front door of the Miller house swung open, flooding the dark street with warm, welcoming light. Mr. Miller stood in the doorway, staring in shock at the frantic scene unfolding on his lawn.
“Hey! What is going on out here?” Mr. Miller shouted, stepping forward.
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Michael stopped dead in his tracks just feet away, his expression shifting in a split second from murderous rage to manufactured panic. He raised his hands in a gesture of helpless confusion.
“Tom! Thank God!” Michael called out, his voice trembling with rehearsed distress. “Sarah’s having a severe psychotic episode again—she grabbed Clara and bolted out into the night. She needs medical help!”
