Page 84 of Danger

My mother told me to stay there.

But I keep moving, curious as to what the crash was. They’re no longer shouting as I continue my trek across the cold wood floor. I reach the end of the hallway, my heart beating frantically inside my chest. I have to keep moving, but fear has planted my feet into the ground.

I peek around the corner, tears filling my eyes because I just know something isn’t quite right. It’s never been this silent before after a fight. It’s never felt this wrong before.

My hands shake as I continue around the corner, wondering how I can get to the phone. I need to call the police. They need to know about the woman lying dead on the basement floor.

I end in the kitchen, and spy my mother lying on the floor, red blood leaking from her hairline.

Without even thinking about it, I rush to her side.

“Mom, Mom, are you ok?” I cry, trying to shake her awake.

“Leave her alone,” my father’s voice booms from behind me.

“Is she okay?” I stare up at the man and notice he’s aged by fifty years since I last saw him. Is it the alcohol?

Either way, the lines on my father’s face are deep and etched with disdain as I sit with my mother. She’s not waking up, and I glance over at the phone.

“Don’t even think about calling the police, boy.” My father’s words mean business. He normally has this tone on his bad days. On days when he’s so upset with the world and looking to take it out on anyone standing in his path.

I press my palm to the blood on my mother’s temple, trying my best to stop the flow.

“Did you go downstairs?”

Tears stream down my face, and I don’t realize Isabella is sitting beside me until it’s too late.

“Both of you get the fuck outta here,” my father yells, and I grab Isabella’s hand and rush back down the hallway, grabbing the phone on the way.

We make it to my bedroom, and I slam the door shut and lock it. “Call 9-1-1,” I tell her, tossing her the phone.

My sister is full-on crying and I don’t have the time right now to calm her down. I listen, shushing my sister’s sobs as she dials the phone.

I’m listening for footsteps. Listening for him.

And just as Isabella speaks into the phone, there’s a loud bang at the door. Isabella speaks faster as my father pounds and pounds.

“Please hurry,” she says to the 9-1-1 operator.

I hold the door, hoping my father won’t tear it down.

“Let me in, you two little shits,” he screams, and I know there’s no way we can open the door for him when he’s this angry.

I’m not sure if my mother is dead or alive, but I know I have to worry about Isabella and me now.

Isabella hangs up the phone, and goes and grabs Mr. Whiskers off the bed. “I’m scared,” she says to me.

I move closer to her, hugging her in my arms. “I know, me too.”

And before we can say anything else, my father busts through the cheap wooden door, and reaches for us.

“Isabella,” I scream.

She cries, and the look in my father’s eyes is one I’ll never forget. He reaches for us, his stare menacing and frightening. I put up a fight at first until his hand comes crashing down on my temple.

I blackout, and don’t really know what happened after that.

And when I wake up, Isabella is nowhere to be found.

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