Page 72 of Remember When We
“No, Lyssa, don’t thank me. None of it should have ever happened.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but the words trailed off when I noticed something weird in the wall. It was like it moved or the space around it shimmered.
I got up and moved closer.
No it wasn’t the wall of the space. It was smoke…
Smoke coming from the little vent by the plug socket.
I bent down to get a closer look hoping we didn’t have a gas leak like last time. When that happened we had to stay in a motel while the gas company fixed the pipes with the leak and declared it safe for us to come back in the house.
It didn’t smell like gas.
The smoke started coming out quicker and smelled like roses. Roses and jasmine like at the spa in one of those steam rooms.
When the smoke turned green I jumped back, but the room spun around and I nearly fell over.
“What is that Mom?” Matthew came up and asked.
“Lyssa,” Dad jumped to his feet.
Bullets sounded from outside and the door burst open. Donny came in, but he was walking like he was drunk and the side of his face had sagged like someone who’d had a stroke.
“Get to the basement now.” He ordered barely able to talk.
Outside the door the whole hallway was filled with this green smoke. It kept coming in and more gun shots sounded outside.
Donny grabbed me and Dad took Matthew.
We got out to the kitchen and I could see shadowy figures of men against the frosted glass trying to get in.
Oh my God, we were under attack.
“Go,” Donny said, his face had fallen completely and he dropped to his knees before collapsing unconscious. That green smoke was some kind of shit that would knock us out and cause some kind of neurological reaction like a stroke.
“Lyssa come on.” Dad called out.
I ran but my legs couldn’t carry me. There were people coming in the house.
Dad opened the door to go into the pantry which led to the basement, but
I couldn’t make it.
I just couldn’t. My face started to sag too and my whole left side went limp. Dad turned back and tried to help me.
“Come on Lyssa, come on.” He gasped while trying to lift me, but failed. Dad was barely able to walk, much less run on a normal day. He could barely carry himself around, much less pick me up and carry me.
“Dad take Matthew and go to the basement.”
“No,” he winced.
“Mom, please come on.” Matthew was crying.
I fell to the floor when my legs gave out.
“Go, please. Dad … take him before you … Inhale … please … Please take my baby.” I couldn’t talk anymore.
As more bullets sounds outside, I thanked God that Dad took hold of Matthew and continued on to the basement.
