1 Breakfast at Madeline's by Matt Witten Read Free Book Online Page B

be something soft, a bag maybe. The intruder started dashing around me, but without even thinking I kicked out with my foot and tripped him, sending him sprawling into the wall. Or maybe her; bulky s weaters and darkness hid the in truder's shape. I moved forward to attack. But then Babe Ruth screamed.
    I glanced back at my k id, and in that instant the per son dove away, still holding the bag or whatever it was. I took a wild swipe at it, caught a strap, and held on. My day pack, I realized. The intruder yanked at the pack, pulling me forward. I landed on the floor, my forehead smashing into a dining room chair.
    I could hear Andrea running down the stairs shou t ing. Somehow I was still gripping the strap, even though the person kept trying to yank my pack out of my hands. Babe Ruth screamed again. I suddenly let go of the strap, surprising the intruder, who tumbled backward onto the kitchen floor. "Babe, go to Mommy!" I yelled, and charged.
    But the intruder was up again, jumping to the other side of the kitchen table. "You motherfucker!" I screamed, and shoved the table in his gut. It hit him hard. He doubled over in pain. I dashed around the table to rip that mask off his face and finish him off.
    But there was a big metal pressure cooker on top of the stove. Andrea is always telling me to put the pots away in the cabinet, and I guess this time I really should have listened. Because the intruder grabbed that pressure cooker by the handle and swung it at my head full force. Ka-bo om. I went down, my skull burst ing with fiery agony, and screamed. Behind me Babe Ruth screamed too, and also Andrea.
    Ahead of me the intruder was dashing out the door. I fought the furious red jolts pulsing through me and ran outside.
    The bastard was racing up the street. I jumped down the steps and chased him.
    For about ten feet. Then I stopped and threw up. My cranium was poundin g and my ears rang like a four- alarm fire. Andrea ran up to me.
    "Jacob," she said.
    "Goddamn pressure cooker," I groaned.
    Then I threw up again.

8
     
    Gretzky was still asleep. Thank God for small favors.
    The Sultan of Swat was in the living room cuddling with Andrea and whimpering softly.
    I was sitting on the floor in my study, praying for the aspirin and Jack Daniels to kick in.
    "You should go to the hospital," Dave repeated yet again. Dave is the cop from across the street, nice guy, snowblows our driveway in the winter just to be neighborly. Andrea had run over to get him as soon as she dragged me ba ck home. Now he sat there watch ing me, drumming his fingers on my desktop. "You might have a concussion."
    "Don't touch anything." It was painful moving my face enough to get the words out. "Fingerprints."
    "I thought you said he was wearing gloves."
    "I'm not sure. I told you, I'm not even sure it was a he."
    "Listen, Jacob, the department doesn't take finger prints on a simple burglary."
    "Simple burglary?! That assassin practically ripped my head open! He assaulted my five-year-old son!"
    Dave thought about it, then took his hands off the desktop. "Okay, we'll get someone in here to dust the place. Special favor."
    "Thanks. Remi nd me to mow your lawn this sum mer." I tried to smile, but it didn't work.
    "You really should go to the hospital—"
    "I hate hospitals. What did Andrea say?"
    "About what?"
    "The guy."
    "So your gut feeling is it was a guy."
    "My gut feeling is it wasn't Dolly Parton. But it could've been a woman who was less endowed, if you know what I mean."
    Dave nodded. "Andrea said pretty much the same thing you did, though she left out the Dolly Parton part. Between five and a half and six feet, not too fat, not too skinny."
    I waited for more, but there wasn't any. "That's all she saw?"
    "Yeah."
    "Great." I closed my eyes. Even that small gesture was painful.
    Dave stood up. "Com e on, I'll drive you to the hos pital."
    I shook my head, instantly regretting the sudden motion. Then I gingerly leaned back against the wall and tried to