Page 75 of At Your Mercy
I frowned. “But it’s almost bedtime! You promised to hang out with me tonight,” I whined.
Mom looked over her shoulder at me. “Liebling, let your dad focus, please. Henri needs to get a good grade on this. Maybe you two can hang out tomorrow after dinner?”
“But—”
“I’m sorry, Andreas,” Dad said, a guilty look on his face. “I don’t think we’ll have time tonight. But I promise I’ll be all yours tomorrow, alright? We can do whatever you want.”
I crossed my arms, heat rising to my face. “But it’s not fair!”
Dad sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect this to take up so much of the evening. As soon as I get home from work tomorrow, it’ll be all about you, okay? We can even order pizza, just the two of us.”
I didn’t want tomorrow. I wanted now.
I puffed out an angry breath of air, slid off the couch, and stomped over to the stairs. I made sure to continue my stomps all the way up and down the hall to my room. Maybe Dad would be sad that I was upset and decide to hang out with me after all.
I trudged into my bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed, overlooking the window.
My room was the coolest because I got to see the front yard and the street. Lia and Henri’s room was on the opposite side of the hall with no windows.
I peeked out into the darkness, a soft yellow glow lining the street from the streetlamps. Sometimes I could even see into our neighbor’s living room across the street if Ms. Nelson forgot to shut the blinds. Not much really happened over there, but I could catch glimpses of the TV dramas she enjoyed watching or see her toy poodle curl up on her dog bed.
Headlights pulling into our driveway shook me out of my thoughts.
I looked down at the mysterious car, unable to place it. None of Mom and Dad’s friends had cars like it. It seemed too fancy for our neighborhood.
I watched curiously as all four doors opened and a small group of men got out, moving with purpose up the pavement.
They were all dressed in dark clothing. Maybe they were from Dad’s work?
One of the four stood a half-step back from the rest, letting them move first. It reminded me of a celebrity with bodyguards.
Within a few seconds, they disappeared under the awning, out of sight from my window.
I was at my bedroom door as the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” my mom said loudly. I padded down the upstairs hallway towards the stairs.
I listened as Mom opened the door and greeted the group of strangers, her voice turning from warm and polite to uncertain in a split second.
“Good… evening.” Her words carried faintly up the stairs. There was the shuffle of feet, the low murmur of male voices.
Tension filled the air.
Her tone shifted again, the brightness now completely gone. “ I-I’m sorry, who did you say you were with?”
The reply came too quietly to make out, the voice deep and clipped. I took one hesitant step down the stairs, my hand gliding along the wooden banister.
There was more hushed talking. Then, Mom’s voice took a tone I’d never heard from her before. “No, please. My children are here, please, my children—”
Something in me froze. The panic in her voice, the sound of Mom scared—it didn’t belong in our house.
I leaned forward, just enough to peek between the spindles of the railing.
The front door was still half-open. Mom stood in the entryway, her hand up in a useless barrier against the men on the porch. Her eyes darted toward the kitchen.
And then one of them shoved her. Hard.
She stumbled backward into the hallway, catching herself against the wall. The tallest of the four stepped inside first, then the others. The click of the lock echoed up the staircase like a gunshot.
