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By Root 298 0

that washing his hands was terribly important. On the sound of the flush, a streak of fear, electric and tangible, shot through Martin’s body, and he began to involuntarily back up in the direction of the staircase that he had descended just seconds before. As he stepped back into the recess of the living room, he caught a momentary glimpse of the bald-headed homeowner as he emerged from the bathroom, turning right toward the kitchen. The button-down shirt that he was wearing was untucked and open, exposing a once-white undershirt underneath. Though shorter than Martin, the man was huge in bulk, his biceps and shoulders stretching the fabric of the undershirt. His hands also looked large, no doubt muscled from hours at a construction site.

Had he not been fumbling to refasten the button on his jeans (completely dressing oneself before exiting the bathroom was apparently not a priority for Alan Clayton either), he might have seen Martin moving backward, just beyond his field of vision. A second later, the man appeared in full view, turning into the kitchen, his back to Martin.

Martin stood less than fifteen feet from the man, a bulky thirtysomething, exactly one room away, the only demarcation between the two rooms being a changeover from beige carpet to kitchen tile. The two men were standing close enough for Martin to hear Alan Clayton’s breathing, and for this reason, he was holding his own breath.

Martin knew that he had little time to make a decision. There were only three exits from the living room. The first was through the kitchen and out the patio door that still held his key. This exit was inaccessible as long as Alan Clayton occupied the kitchen.

The second was through the front door of the house, located at the foot of the stairs, but Martin did not dare open that door and create the sounds surely associated with its opening.

The third was back up the stairs to the second floor, where Cindy Clayton could still be heard thumping away on her treadmill. Though this was clearly the safest option, Martin wasn’t sure if he could make it back up the stairs quickly and quietly enough to remain undetected, and moving further into the house and away from his only method of egress was not at all appealing.

In most homes, Martin would have been able to walk past the stairs into another room, customarily a dining room or den, but since the Claytons had designed the home themselves, a coat closet stood where an entrance to another room was usually positioned. Though this might also make a decent hiding place, the door to the closet was also closed, and Martin couldn’t risk the sound of it swinging open and shut.

Still frozen in the southeast corner of the living room, Martin watched as Alan Clayton strode across the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and stuck his reflective head inside. He sensed that there were only seconds in which to act. If Alan Clayton turned even slightly, Martin’s frame would fill his line of sight.

With beer in hand, Alan Clayton closed the refrigerator door, popped the tab on the can, and turned directly toward the living room. “Hey!” he shouted loud enough to send a second streak of fear through Martin’s body as he lay crouched behind the sofa along the south wall of the room. There was just enough space for a person to navigate between the sofa and the south wall, and Martin had ducked into the space with just seconds to spare, stomach pressed to the ground, shoulder jammed against a gold-plated lamp, willing himself to be small and compact as possible.

This was actually a very good hiding spot. If Alan Clayton’s intention was to visit his wife upstairs, he would likely walk right past Martin without noticing him. Only by taking a severe turn to the right or looking over his shoulder while passing the sofa would he discover Martin’s location.

“How’s it going?” Cindy Clayton responded breathlessly to her husband’s call, the first time Martin had ever heard the woman’s surprisingly soprano voice.

“Good!” Alan replied from somewhere in the living room, probably less than ten feet from