Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [81]
Luck continued to be on his side.
Climbing onto the windowsill, Martin prepared for his escape. Kneeling on the sill, his chin tucked into his chest, he managed to fit his entire body into the bottom half of the window. Martin turned his body so that he was still looking into the room, his eyes affixed on the door, his shins and feet extended outside the house, pressing into the bush. His knees were already beginning to ache, but if things went as planned, he would be on the ground in moments.
Reaching up, Martin grasped the bottom edge of the window, preparing to pull it closed in front of him, leaving just enough room on the outside of the sill for his knees to remain perched as the window came down. With everything in position, he at last stopped his ABCs on the letter G and waited.
A moment later the first bark came, followed by another, and a second later the dog scratched on the door once again. This time the door swung halfway open and Martin could see the dog’s eyes brighten, its nose lifting from the floor just inches from where the door had been. Reenergized, the Labrador bolted upright and, upon seeing Martin in the window, surged forward, shoving the door entirely open on his way into the room.
Martin pulled down on the window, trying to put glass between himself and the dog, and he suddenly wished that he had practiced this final maneuver before he had stopped his singing.
The window didn’t budge.
Whether it was stuck or the angle at which he was attempting to close it was creating the problem, the window would not move as the dog reached the wall and launched its front paws onto the sill. Angry teeth snapped at Martin’s exposed knees, forcing him to drop them off the sill and outside the house. As he hung by only his fingertips, Martin’s sneakers scrambled against the siding until he managed to catch hold of the electricity meter with his left foot, halting his fall. His head and shoulders were now just outside the open window, gloved hands still gripping the inside of the top of the frame, his lower torso now below the window, feet perched precariously on the meter. He looked like a man preparing to do chin ups, using the window frame in place of the customary bar.
With the dog now staring him in the eye, Martin strengthened his hold on the inside of the window and pulled down even harder, with no more success than he had the first time. Sweat beginning to bead up on his forehead, Martin watched the dog’s front paws disappear from the sill just before it leapt into the air, targeting his hands this time. The dog’s jaws snapped shut inches away from his left wrist before disappearing below the sill once again.
Though Martin could have jumped to safety at any moment, closing this window was critical. Leaving it completely open would surely signal the presence of an intruder.
The window had to be shut.
Martin continued to pull frantically at the window frame as the dog’s paws returned to the sill, its muzzle rising up until he and Cujo were nearly face to face. The dog snapped again, this time almost catching hold of Martin’s chin. Martin leaned back as far as he dared, still pulling with all his might.
Cujo barked and snapped again at Martin, this time managing to grab hold of the collar of his shirt. With his hands clinging to the window frame, Martin was defenseless as the dog tugged at the fabric, pulling him back into the house, refusing to let go. If he released his hands, Martin knew that he would fall backward into the bush, but it was unlikely that he would be able to climb back up the side of the house to the window again.
If he let go now, the window would be left open.
And if the fabric of his shirt was strong enough and the dog didn’t let go (as Valerie had refused to do, so many years ago), Cujo would likely come spilling out of