Pursuit
I made it to the door. My hands shook as I fumbled for my keys. Finding the correct one, I slipped it into the keyhole and slowly turned it so as not to make any sound inside. Pushing the door open slowly, I crept inside. Though I wanted to slam the door shut, I knew that if I made too much noise, it would be heard by my pursuers, in addition to the occupants of the house. I locked the door and stood silent, with my ear against it.
Minutes passed, and I could hear their approach. They stopped just beside the front door. I held my breath. Whoever they were, I could hear heavy breathing. An attempt was made to open the door. The door handle jiggled. I continued to hold still.
Suddenly, there was an angry muttering from the outside. “Not here!” was all I heard. Then I heard the footsteps move away from the door as they faded away back down the street.
I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. What should I do now?
I knew the house occupants were asleep—at least, I hoped they were. Being caught by them inside would probably be as bad for me as being caught outside by my pursuers.
I unlocked the door silently, slowly opened it a crack, and peered out. There was no one to be seen. I left the house.
Following the street only a short way, I turned into an alley. I climbed the fence at the end of the alley and made my way back to a local 24-hour grocery store. At this time of night, I was sure no one would recognize me. I purchased a quart of milk, paid in cash, and left quickly.
I was sure my house was being watched, so the next part would be tricky. Approaching my house from the rear, I climbed over the garden wall and inched my way to the Bilco doors at the side of the house.
No lights were showing in any of the windows, and with all of the outside lights, except the ones in the front of the house, off, too, I was able to open the Bilco doors and get into my house.
I went to the kitchen, grabbed a glass, filled it with milk, and drank it down before placing the open milk container in the fridge and the unwashed glass in the sink.
Going upstairs, I changed into my pajamas, nudged my wife, who was sound asleep, and when she opened her eyes and asked, “What are you doing?” I just told her I was sorry for waking her up. I was thirsty and was going downstairs for a glass of milk. She was used to me getting up in the middle of the night to pee or read when I had trouble sleeping.
I went downstairs, waited a few moments—long enough for me to have taken the drink—then went back to bed, snuggled up to my wife, and slept until the alarm went off in the morning.
My alibi was set.
