she began to climb. The steps felt rock-hard under her bare right foot, soft and springy through the shoe on her left. Neither footfall made any sound that might be heard through the raging wind.
The surrounding walls sheltered her from the wind until she reached the balcony. There, she felt it swoop down and muss her hair and huff against her face. It fluttered the front of her blouse. It spread her ripped skirt and flew in, hot and dry against her wet skin.
She didn’t bother trying to hold her clothes together. There was nobody to see, and the wind felt good.
Every window she walked past was dark.
And shut.
The doors were all shut, too.
She heard no sound from inside any of the apartments.
Everybody must be asleep, she thought.
And then she walked past a picture window and saw deep into a moonlit living room.
The curtains are open!
She glimpsed the dim shapes of furniture and a few tiny bright red numbers at the far side of the room. A clock or VCR, she supposed.
She looked away quickly.
Was anyone in there? she wondered.
Ronnie, maybe? Or Chris?
They were both flight attendants and worked unusual hours. One or the other of them might very well be awake.
Sitting in the dark, looking out, seeing us walk by?
What a sight we’d be, she thought. We must look like something from a nightmare.
If you saw us, just stay out of it. Please.
Maybe they’re not even home, Sherry told herself. They might be away on flights, or on overnight dates, or on vacation somewhere.
If they’re home, Sherry thought, they probably would’ve closed the curtains after dark.
The picture window was now behind her. So far, Toby hadn’t mentioned it. He must’ve noticed it, though.
Just a few paces past Chris and Ronnie’s door, Sherry came to her own bedroom window. Set higher in the wall than the picture windows, its bottom sill was level with her chest.
Looking around, she saw only Toby.
“Go on and open it,” he whispered.
She turned toward the window, pressed both hands against the glass and tried to slide it sideways. Her hands slipped. The window stayed put. Reaching out with her left hand, she pulled at the edge of the frame while trying again to thrust the glass sideways with her right.
It still refused to move.
“You sure it’s not locked?” Toby whispered.
“It’s just a little stuck. Maybe you can get it started with your knife.”
He stepped in, shouldering her out of the way. With the tip of his knife, he delved into the crack at the window’s edge. He worked the blade sideways. The crack suddenly spread open wide enough for fingertips.
“That ought to do it,” he said. He stepped back.
Sherry dug her fingertips into the narrow gap. As she skidded the window toward the center, a gust flung the curtain inward and bells jingled. She cringed.
“What’s that?”
“Christmas bells.”
“Huh?”
“I hung some sleigh bells on the window. You know, so I’ll know if somebody tries to get in.”
“How come you didn’t just get the lock fixed?”
“I’ve had to get in this way a couple of times. And the landlord’s a creep. I don’t ask him for anything.”
“I could take care of him for you.”
She forced herself to smile. “Thanks, Toby. I might just take you up on that.”
“My pleasure,” he said. He switched the knife to his left hand, then gave Sherry a pat on the rump. After the pat, his hand cupped her buttock through the fabric of her skirt. “Go on and climb in. But don’t forget what happens if you try to pull something.”
“What do you want me to do after I’m inside?”
“Nothing. Just wait. I’ll come in right behind you.”
Sherry thought about her pistol. Before taking her Jeep in for repairs, she always removed it and left it on the bookshelf just inside her front door.
“If you’d like,” she whispered, “I could just walk through and open the front door for you.”
“Thanks anyway.”
“Just trying to make things easier.”
“Don’t bother.” He gave her rump a couple of gentle pats, then said, “Climb on in.”
“Okay.”
Sherry planted both hands on the windowsill, jumped, thrust herself up and caught the edge of the sill with her right knee. She brought up her other knee. Perched precariously, she raised her arms and found handholds—her left hand clutching the frame, her right hand gripping the side of the open window itself.
As she knelt there, the curtain deflated. It drifted in, brushed against her face, then sailed off.
Though she had climbed in this way a few times, she wasn’t exactly sure