Page 82 of Danger

“Bullshit. I won’t believe that.”

He shrugs. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

“I’m gonna fucking find her.”

He squeezes my shoulder as he turns to leave. “I sure hope you do, but maybe you need a little nudge in the right direction.” He walks away and I’m left standing there, in the dark, wondering what on earth he can possibly mean.

Knowing full well I won’t get any answers out here, I head toward the race track, wanting to feel a little alive before I head back to the room. If I even head back there at all.

Maybe Monterey was right. Maybe I do hide away my feelings behind sex. But in my own defense, it’s all I’ve ever known.

Fuck. I’ve got all this energy and no way to release it. I full on sprint toward the track, knowing very well it’s a good mile or two up the road. I don’t care, though. As I run I let the wind rush through my hair. It feels good, using up this energy. I run faster, letting my muscles scream at me from moving too fast too quickly. I don’t care though, I welcome it.

I think back on my life. My mother, trying the best she could in a shit situation. A father so selfish he didn’t care about his own family. My thoughts wander through everyone I’ve ever known, landing on Isabella.

* * *

PAST

“Isabella, wait. Come back.”

“Daddy says we’re not allowed down here.”

“Then why are you still going down the stairs?” I whisper back to my little sister, breathlessly. She’s two years younger than me, and that means that I’m in charge.

Yet, she keeps moving. She keeps taking each step to the basement one at a time. Slowly. Her tiny feet hesitating, her little hand gripped to the banister for dear life.

I was fast asleep in my room, dreaming about what every twelve-year-old boy my age dreams about, Christmas presents. This year I’d been begging my parents for a quarter-midget race car like the one Jared has. My father said maybe this year.

I just hope Christmas falls on one of my father’s ‘good days’ and not a bad one.

At the bottom of the basement stairs, there’s a wooden door. It’s always closed. It’s forbidden to go inside.

We’ve been told countless times to stay out. It’s my father’s workroom. No one’s allowed. Not even my mother.

“Isabella, don’t.” She reaches the bottom of the stairs and waits, staring at the cracked open door.

A creeping fear now grips onto my shoulders, holding me back.

“We should see if the noise was Daddy. He could be hurt.”

I almost want to saygood. My father deserves it. After the many times he’d hurt our mother, maybe it would be a blessing in disguise to have my father lying on the basement floor in pain. I can’t bring myself to walk away either. I want to see it.

Curiosity will win out.

“Ok, stay behind me.” I push my little sister behind my back with a swing of my arm. Even if my father’s writhing in agony on the floor, I don’t need Isabella near the man. Who knows what might anger him this time?

Somewhere off in the distance, I hear footsteps echoing from upstairs, like my mother might be padding around the kitchen. I hold my breath and open the door farther, not really sure what I’ll find inside.

It wasn’t what I expected.

“Dylan,” my sister says, slowly, unsure of her own voice, it quavering with every word.

It takes me a full second before I jolt into action. “Go upstairs. Call 9-1-1.”

My sister shakes her head, her breathing ragged as her dark curls bounce around her face. “No, I’m too scared.”

I grab my sister’s shoulders and lean down to look into her eyes. “You have to call someone.”

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