bleed to death?
"Keep going," he whispered at her. Could he tell how serious an injury his would-be rescuer had just inflicted on him? Not that it made any difference at this point.
She gritted her teeth and set the razor blade once more on the rope, though the blood made it hard to see what she was doing.
She felt the second strand give as Sidowski opened the laundry's back door, and she had already started on the third when he finished saying, "About time."
But then Sidowski turned and saw her. "Hey!" he yelled. "What are you doing?"
Kerry sliced the rest of the way through the rope. Ethan took in a sharp breath as she laid open his wrist a second time.
All for nothing,
she realized, with another strand left and no way to cut through it with Sidowski about ten quick steps away. She dropped the razor blade to the floor and wiped her left hand, the less bloody of the two, on her pants leg. "Nothing," she said. "Just getting my brother's bear." She reached her left hand for Footy, who'd been kicked in that general direction when she'd first dropped him; he was now sort of near where she was sitting.
Not near enough for anybody to be fooled, of course.
She picked up the bear and held him up for them to see: Roth behind her, and in front Sidowski, the laundry owner, and a woman with blond hair piled up on her head the way only hairdressers ever wear it. Kerry could see Ethan's blood under her fingernails. The others probably couldn't, but it didn't make any difference.
Sidowski took a step toward her. And another. Kerry could make out the individual motions, as though everything had slowed. And yet, by Sidowski's third step Kerry saw that she had vastly miscalculated and that it would take more like five steps rather than ten for him to reach them, but at that point Ethan jerked his hands apart, the final strand of rope coming loose.
On Sidowski's fourth step, Ethan swept up the razor blade. Considering the amount of blood already on his hands, there was no way to tell if he cut himself further, but Kerry figured he pretty much had to.
From the other side, Roth yelled, "He's loose!" which the others probably couldn't see yet—
—as Sidowski's fifth step brought him alongside Ethan. But he hadn't realized Ethan was loose, and he hadn't seen the razor yet. He'd been heading for her, one hand just starting to move, to reach down and over Ethan to grab her hair. Kerry could see it in his face as he took in Roth's words, as he took in the changed situation.
Kerry was sure Ethan was going to use the razor blade on Sidowski: slash open arm or leg or belly or face—the kind of thing that during movies she'd always hide her eyes for. Not that she saw he had much choice.
But Ethan had gotten his good leg under him, and he jabbed his left elbow into Sidowski's groin with all the force the momentum of getting up gave him. Sidowski doubled over, and Ethan hit him again, this time on the chin.
Ethan was on his feet faster than Kerry would have thought possible, and the one he went after was not Sidowski, in a helpless heap on the floor, but Marcia.
Marcia yelped but didn't have time to struggle before he was behind her, left arm around her waist, right hand holding the blade to her throat, while from his slashed wrist blood spread alarmingly quickly over the front of her powder blue ski jacket.
"Back off," he warned, his voice still barely more than a whisper.
Roth, who'd almost made it to where Kerry still knelt on the floor, said, "Just take it easy. She's been home all evening. She hasn't done anything to hurt you."
The laundry owner dropped the video camera.
Shock,
Kerry thought, seeing his face. But the sudden noise made Ethan jerk his arm tighter around Marcia's neck. Marcia squealed in anticipation of pain. From where she was, Kerry could see that Ethan hadn't cut her; the blood was still all his. Off to the side, the laundry owner—Marcia
must be
Mrs. Laundry Owner—cried out, "No!" Roth took a step closer, but
"Keep going," he whispered at her. Could he tell how serious an injury his would-be rescuer had just inflicted on him? Not that it made any difference at this point.
She gritted her teeth and set the razor blade once more on the rope, though the blood made it hard to see what she was doing.
She felt the second strand give as Sidowski opened the laundry's back door, and she had already started on the third when he finished saying, "About time."
But then Sidowski turned and saw her. "Hey!" he yelled. "What are you doing?"
Kerry sliced the rest of the way through the rope. Ethan took in a sharp breath as she laid open his wrist a second time.
All for nothing,
she realized, with another strand left and no way to cut through it with Sidowski about ten quick steps away. She dropped the razor blade to the floor and wiped her left hand, the less bloody of the two, on her pants leg. "Nothing," she said. "Just getting my brother's bear." She reached her left hand for Footy, who'd been kicked in that general direction when she'd first dropped him; he was now sort of near where she was sitting.
Not near enough for anybody to be fooled, of course.
She picked up the bear and held him up for them to see: Roth behind her, and in front Sidowski, the laundry owner, and a woman with blond hair piled up on her head the way only hairdressers ever wear it. Kerry could see Ethan's blood under her fingernails. The others probably couldn't, but it didn't make any difference.
Sidowski took a step toward her. And another. Kerry could make out the individual motions, as though everything had slowed. And yet, by Sidowski's third step Kerry saw that she had vastly miscalculated and that it would take more like five steps rather than ten for him to reach them, but at that point Ethan jerked his hands apart, the final strand of rope coming loose.
On Sidowski's fourth step, Ethan swept up the razor blade. Considering the amount of blood already on his hands, there was no way to tell if he cut himself further, but Kerry figured he pretty much had to.
From the other side, Roth yelled, "He's loose!" which the others probably couldn't see yet—
—as Sidowski's fifth step brought him alongside Ethan. But he hadn't realized Ethan was loose, and he hadn't seen the razor yet. He'd been heading for her, one hand just starting to move, to reach down and over Ethan to grab her hair. Kerry could see it in his face as he took in Roth's words, as he took in the changed situation.
Kerry was sure Ethan was going to use the razor blade on Sidowski: slash open arm or leg or belly or face—the kind of thing that during movies she'd always hide her eyes for. Not that she saw he had much choice.
But Ethan had gotten his good leg under him, and he jabbed his left elbow into Sidowski's groin with all the force the momentum of getting up gave him. Sidowski doubled over, and Ethan hit him again, this time on the chin.
Ethan was on his feet faster than Kerry would have thought possible, and the one he went after was not Sidowski, in a helpless heap on the floor, but Marcia.
Marcia yelped but didn't have time to struggle before he was behind her, left arm around her waist, right hand holding the blade to her throat, while from his slashed wrist blood spread alarmingly quickly over the front of her powder blue ski jacket.
"Back off," he warned, his voice still barely more than a whisper.
Roth, who'd almost made it to where Kerry still knelt on the floor, said, "Just take it easy. She's been home all evening. She hasn't done anything to hurt you."
The laundry owner dropped the video camera.
Shock,
Kerry thought, seeing his face. But the sudden noise made Ethan jerk his arm tighter around Marcia's neck. Marcia squealed in anticipation of pain. From where she was, Kerry could see that Ethan hadn't cut her; the blood was still all his. Off to the side, the laundry owner—Marcia
must be
Mrs. Laundry Owner—cried out, "No!" Roth took a step closer, but
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