He woke up at three in the morning and went down to the kitchen. The fridge light was the only light. He had just poured a glass of water when he heard it — not a house sound. A metallic scrape, from the back room. He froze with the glass halfway to his mouth. He listened. A second sound, smaller, and then nothing. His heart was in his ears. The back door was down that hall. His phone was upstairs. He was not armed. He was three seconds of good thinking away from the worst moment of his life, and he could not get his legs to pick a direction.
