I didn't like his tone, but had little time to contemplate what it meant because a phone started ringing somewhere in his house. He pulled me up by my hair and forced me out of the room, down a hall, and into his kitchen.
He picked up the phone and his facial expressions showed he somehow managed to flip an internal mental switch. His voice sounded calm and reasonable, but I could see the artery in his neck pulsing and knew I was still in trouble.
"Everything's fine. Yes, lights out."
What the hell was lights out?
I could tell when he slammed his mental switch in the other direction because the phone hit the cradle with a crash as he jerked me farther into the room. Stupidly, I reached toward a large butcher-block knife set picturing the largest one in my hand and sliding effortlessly
