[15: My favorite things] Meera’s hazy mind started filling in too many possibilities, both impossible and not. Images of kidnappers and marauders filled her mind, but none of that made sense with Uncle Ram in the house. He’d terrify the average kidnapper, and wouldn’t have any problem putting holes in one with any number of sharp instruments if anything close to neccesary. She followed the footprints, back down the hall, now becoming more visible as the twilight eased. Down the stairs, a least two pairs, and little bits of mud flecked off the whole way. She felt like they hurried, but wasn’t sure why. The footprints led straight from the stairs to the front door, and the shoes by the front door, usually neatly laid out, she found in a disheveled heap, her school shoes thrown aside, and Sama’s, too. The only pair missing were Uncle Ram’s. She wished Uncle Ram believed in mobile phones, or that she had one. She raced down the stairs to the study where Uncle Ram kept the one telephone in the house, and the answering machine. She had no idea who she would call, she didn’t exactly know if it were an emergency, so 999 wasn’t the right thing. She could call the town constable, but at this time of night, they wouldn’t have a man on duty. The clock in the hallway chimed five. She leapt, whirling about as if the imagined marauders were at her back. There was silence again. She peeked out the front door. Two pairs of boot prints, and a lighter pair of shoes trailed away from the house, and two curved tire tracks trailed in and out of the drive, forming a precise arc in front of the door. Nothing unusual about the tracks but that they were there at all. She felt a pit in her stomach, and bit her lip. Not much to do, she supposed, but wait for Uncle Ram to get back or day to break. Too far to walk, and that would suppose she knew where she was going. She tried to shake the haze out of her head, but two days without solid sleep wouldn’t let go that easily. She trod back inside the house and up to her room. Sleep wouldn’t come. Half-dreamt kidnappers and angry men haunted at her, and her mind kept racing, trying to figure out if she’d missed an important detail. She heard the clock strike seven, and she felt sleep overtake her just as the sun hit her window.