Page 34 of Bred By the Minotaur
But my decision not to involve myself with Hank only becomes surer when Sandra takes a turn. These happen sometimes, periods of time where everything is worse, and then she can’t get up at all. I work in the living room, listening for her call in case she needs help. We’ve scheduled doctor’s appointments, but they’re going to say what they always say: they don’t know what’s causing it, and they have no answers.
It’s about nine o’clock one night, and I’m trying to finish an illustration that’s due tomorrow when I get a call from an unrecognized number.
“Hello?” a frantic voice on the other end says, before I can even utter a greeting.
“Hello, this is Phoebe.”
“You’re Milo’s emergency contact?” The woman on the other end sounds like she’s losing it. “Because he’s really sick and he’s freaking out. I tried to call his dad, but Hank’s phone is off?—”
“Emergency contact?” I’m trying to think of when Hank ever asked me about that.
“Yes,” the woman says. “Your name was on the fridge. Milo won’t listen to me. He’s babbling nonsense, and I don’t know what to do.”
I run to the front door and look outside, and sure enough, down the block, someone is standing outside Hank and Milo’s house, a hand in her hair as she talks to me on the phone.
If Hank is at work, and Milo’s having a crisis...
Fuck.
“I’ll be right there,” I tell her, and hang up.
Hank
It’s been a long, long day.
I’m already exhausted when the alarm goes off a second time, and we all jump into the truck to respond to the call. When we arrive, a woman is on the front lawn on her knees, sobbing. Two of her neighbors, an elderly couple, are holding her back from running into the building.
After hearing there are still two children inside, Ron and I move as one. I bludgeon down the door, and he rushes past me. He sprints up the stairs straight into the flames, while I charge down the downstairs hallway.
I hear screaming through an open doorway. Inside, a human boy is curled up in his bed.
I sweep him off it in one motion, taking the blanket with me so I can throw it over him.
“Cover your eyes,” I tell him, then wrap my arms all the way around his little body and charge back out the door.
Ron is successful in bringing down the older girl who lived there, too, but she has minor burns and injuries from smoke inhalation. We stand with them and their mother as the ambulance pulls up.
By the time we’re back at the station and I can check my phone again, it’s been nearly four hours.
“Hi, Hank, it’s Phoebe,” my voicemail says, and I stop in my tracks. Her voice is eerily calm. “I’m with Milo right now. He’s fine. Please call me back when you can.”
I play the next voicemail. “Hank! It’s Janelle, and Milo is... he’s really upset. He’s sweating and throwing up, and I don’t know what to do?—”
I hear Milo in the background crying, and all the hair on my body stands on end.
Wait. Think. It takes a moment before I understand this turn of events. Phoebe’s message is last—which means that for whatever reason, the sitter called Phoebe to come help.
After throwing my gear in my locker, I’m still tugging on my shirt when I rush out of the station and get in the car.
Milo.
Thirteen
Phoebe
Janelle is surprised and relieved at my sudden appearance. She leads me inside to find Milo on the couch, the fur on his forehead slick with sweat. When Janelle kneels in front of him to tell him that I’ve arrived, he starts crying and pushes her away.
“Dad!” he whimpers, reaching out toward nothing.
