I have never been able to forget the look on Annie’s face, but it is the one thing about her that I would like to be able to forget—the fear and horror and pain, where a moment before had been wonder and love and peace. “It’s not either of them,” I whispered to Annie, glancing at the clock on the night table. The clock said half past six, and Ms. Stevenson and Ms. Widmer had said they’d be home around eight. “Maybe if we just stay quiet,” Annie whispered, still clinging to me—I could feel her shaking, and I could feel that I was shaking, too. “Open this door,” commanded a loud female voice. “Open it this instant, or I’ll call the police.” My legs were made of stone; so were my arms. Somehow I kissed Annie, somehow moved away from her and reached for my clothes. She sat up, holding the sheet around her. A kitten, I thought, looks like this when it’s frightened and trying to be brave at the same time.
