8.
I’m right behind her.
I drop down into the next room onto
my black booted feet just as I make out the sound of Manion’s office door being
kicked in. We’re standing in the dark inside someone’s office. An office that
appears to be empty, if not for an odor. Not a foul odor but a pleasant one.
Aftershave maybe. Like Old Spice. Stuff my old man used to splash on his face
before church on Sunday. I’m picturing the face of my old man when the body
hits me like I’ve somehow stepped in front of a speeding truck. I go tumbling
back against the wall.
“Chase,” Anya screams.
“Find a light switch,” I shout.
The man who tackled me led with his
shoulder. The classic football tackle. He might have even bruised a rib. But
he’s not quick in retreating. I grab him in a headlock with my left
