Back Up, on the other hand, was already at the door, muzzle up, mouth open, tongue primed to lick whoever was knocking.
“Pavel?” she called out, wondering if she’d not noticed that the bathroom door was closed when she walked past.
More loud knocking and someone on the other side shouted, “Pizza delivery!”
A temporary relief replaced the dread she’d carried into the living room. Oh good, it was just the pizza she’d ordered. She could take it and Pavel into the back room and turn on the TV for him while she dealt with his uncle—
“Don’t answer the door, Mama,” a voice said.
Sam frowned. It was Pavel’s voice, coming from under the table.
She bent down to find him crouched beneath it, much like he’d been crouched inside the cabinet when she’d come to get him a few days ago.
The knocking must have triggered him somehow, she realized. Made him think he was back in the house where his father’s horrific death had gone down.
She held her hand out to him. “Pavel, it’s okay, it’s just the pizza I ordered. From the same place as two days ago. You said you liked it, remember?”
But Pavel shook his head. “No, it’s not. It’s one of the bad guys.”
More knocking. “Tony’s delivery! I got the pizza you ordered right here, ma’am.”
“Hold on,” Sam called back. She wished the pizza guy had been considerate enough to ring the doorbell instead of knocking. The sound had probably been enough to send Pavel into a post-traumatic episode.
“You think the pizza guy hurt your dad?”
Pavel shook his head, his voice frantic as he answered. “He’s not a pizza guy. He’s a Russian. He’s one of them.”
Sam hesitated, not sure how to handle this situation. There was a lot of stuff to parse out with Pavel and she wanted to help him through this, show him how to manage his emotions when he’d been triggered. But she also needed to answer the door and hide him away in the guest bedroom before his uncle showed up.
Now the guy on the other side of the door was pounding. “Are you coming out to pay for this pizza or what?”
“I’ve got to pay for the pizza,” Sam explained to Pavel in a low, calming voice. “I know this situation makes you feel scared and anxious, but it will be all right.”
Pavel leaned forward and grabbed her forearm with both of his hands, tears springing to his eyes. “No, it won’t. Mama, please don’t answer that door. Please!”
She knew Pavel was having a post-traumatic episode. And she knew she’d really regret this when it came time to figure out how to get a hungry little boy to stay in his room while she talked to his uncle. But in the end, she gave in.
“It’s okay. Don’t cry,” she told Pavel. Then she called out to the guy on the other side of the door, “I’m sorry. We won’t be needing that pizza any longer. Just charge the credit card I gave you and, I guess, donate it to the next homeless person you see.”
“Are you serious, lady?” the voice on the other side of the door asked.
“Yes, completely serious,” Sam answered, feeling both guilty and silly as Pavel clung to her forearm, his thin fingers digging in like a tiny bear trap.
“How about my tip?” the delivery guy asked.
“I’m really sorry, but I won’t be able to tip you right now. I can’t come to the door,” Sam said. “But if you leave me your name, I’ll stop by Tony’s later and make sure you get a generous tip for your trouble.”
Silence. A long silence, while Sam waited for the guy on the other side of the door to give up and go away.
But there were no receding footsteps. Instead, there came more loud pounding on the door, so heavy it shook the whole frame.
“Open the door. Open the door and pay for this pizza. NOW!” The easygoing pizza guy was gone, his voice deeper and carrying the trace of a faint accent. “Open this door now, bitch!”
Sam went still as her instincts came online. Thanks to her training at the shelter, she knew when to confront an angry man at the door and when that man was high-risk enough for her to immediately involve the police. She knew exactly where she and Pavel stood with this guy.
“Pavel,” she whispered, tugging at the little boy’s arm now instead of vice versa. “Let’s go. We need to—”
A gloved hand smashed through the thin side window to the right of the door, and went straight for the deadbolt. It was one of three locks on the door, but in this case, it was the only one that she’d locked.
Sam’s heart went cold with fear. Yeah, there was no way the man on the other side of the door was the local delivery guy.
“Back Up, here girl!” she called while pulling Pavel from underneath the table.
Back Up trotted over and Sam managed to get the little boy out, just as the door came crashing open.
“C’mon!” she yelled, picking up Pavel and running into her bedroom with Back Up on their heels. She slammed the door behind all of them, looking around for a phone. She needed help, but her phone…
She cursed, the memory of it bouncing off the bed to places unknown when she’d thrown it in frustration coming back to her.
Did she have time to look for it? No, she decided. Better to put as many doors between them and the bad guy as she could. With frantic breaths, she ran into the bathroom with Pavel in her arms. Slammed that door behind her and placed him in the tub.
Pavel was crying now. “He’s going to kill us!”
“No, I won’t let him hurt you!” Sam said, her eyes scanning the bathroom for something she could use to defend them against the maniac at the door.
There was a metal towel rack was bolted solidly to the wall but no amount of her frantic tugging pulled it off. Sam soon gave up, her eyes once again scanning until they landed on the small window right above the tub. It was too small for her to fit through.
But maybe Pavel could.
She bent down to talk to the little boy crouched in her empty bathtub.
“Pavel, I’m going to push you through the window. Go around the cottage, and run as fast as you can to Ruth’s House.” She gave him six numbers, the date of her mother’s death, then said, “That’s the code to get in. Climb out the window and don’t look back, no matter what. Just get to the shelter’s back door, okay? Then call 9-1-1.” Sam put her hands on both sides of the boy’s frightened face. “Okay?”
Pavel nodded, solemn as a tomb. “Okay, I’ll go, but I don’t want you to get hurt like Papa.”