Author’s Note:  Trixie Belden® is the registered trademark of Golden Books (Western Publishing).  This story is not for profit. 

Heart racing, blood pounding. 

Running.  Running desperately – no plan just escape. 

Lungs burning, legs moving automatically. 

Can’t stop.  Can’t let him catch me. 

This time I have to get away, anywhere, just away from him.  This time he won’t catch me.

Silence. 

A mouse scurries across the floor. 

Piles of newspaper, bottle tops, junk. 

This was my uncle? 

This is where he lives? 

Maybe Jonesy was wrong.  Maybe he’s dead, maybe he lost all his money.

So tired.  It hurts just to breathe, to think even. 

Maybe I can just spend the night here until I figure out what to do. 

There’s a mattress, lumpy but softer than the ground I’ve slept on. 

He won’t find me yet.  I’ve got my gun.  I’ll sleep with it.  If I sleep…

Sinking on to the mattress. 

Don’t sleep, someone might come. 

Don’t sleep, don’t want to dream… 

Don’t sss…..

CRASH!!!!! 

What was that? 

Grab my gun.  Who is it?  Is it him? 

Focus, focus! 

Blonde hair, blue eyes…  why she’s…

“Oh, please don’t shoot us.”  The other girl pleaded.

Relief.  Thank God!  It’s just two girls. 

What if they told someone?

“What are you doing here?  You have no business in this house.”

Would that scare them off? 

Do I sound scared? 

How am I going to get rid of them?  What if they told their parents or the police? 

I’d better leave.  But what about Uncle James?  I gotta find out what happened to him.

“This place belongs to Mr James Winthrop Frayne, our neighbor.  My father took him to the hospital this morning.”

She spoke.  No girl ever spoke to me like that. 

What?  What did she say?  Hospital.  Oh no…

“To the hospital?  Where?  Why?”

Pneumonia, half starved.  I barely heard what she said. 

What now?  He’s not dead, but it sounds like he might be soon. 

Oh, Uncle James!  You were my last chance.

“I thought he was dead.  When I got here this morning and found the place deserted and filled with junk, I figured Uncle James must have died a long time ago.”

“Your uncle?”

Their eyes, I could see it.

Hazel eyes: sympathy, pity, sadness.  Damn it! 

But wait... 

Her blue eyes: curiosity, interest, excitement…  maybe she didn’t feel sorry for me.   

And then she smiled.