by Trudy Stiles
“Sam?” Her voice is clearer, closer. The bed sinks beneath her weight and I feel her warm hand through the comforter. She rubs my leg and I whimper as I hear her voice shake. “I’m here for you. We’re going to get through this.”
I suck in all available air around me as my tears begin to soak through the sheets. “I can’t—I just can’t,” I manage to say while turning onto my side, still covered completely.
“I know how hard this is for you. How senseless and difficult it is to understand.” She pauses and allows her sobs to come freely. “It’s wrong and I’m mad. Angry, goddammit.” I tense as the curse word flies from her mouth. Aunt Peggy has never raised her voice around me, and I certainly have never heard her use profanity. “How that monster ever deserved to breathe the same air as us, as them, I will never comprehend.” She inhales deeply and her voice becomes more controlled, calm. “We’re going to get through this. They would want you to live. To be happy.”
My heart races; sweat from my temples rolls down my cheeks and mixes with my tears. I’m teeming with anger. Hate. I bolt up, tossing the covers off of me. “Be happy? How the hell are we supposed to ever be happy again? They’re gone! Gone! He took them from us.” Aunt Peggy’s eyes widen and her already pale face turns ashen. She looks confused, then scared. “He took away my parents. My home. Everything.” I’m practically screaming as I clench the comforter in my fists.
Voices from the hallway come closer, and soon Detective Michaels’ shadow fills the room. “Ms. Weston,” he addresses my aunt. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. Do you have a minute? We have a few more questions for you.” Despite his ominous presence, his eyes seem kind. “Is that alright?” I swallow the bile that has risen and feel it burn as I force it back down my throat. What else could he possibly want to know?
Aunt Peggy’s eyes find mine and her face softens. “I’ll be right outside, okay? I won’t be far.” I nod and look away, finding a smudge on the wall to hold my focus. The smudge begins to blur as tears once again fill my eyes, threatening to spill onto my cheeks. I want these people away from us. I can’t bear to hear them repeat the events that happened this morning. The events that destroyed my family.
She reluctantly stands up and follows the detective into the hallway and down the stairs. Detective Michaels’s voice is anything but quiet and discreet. “We’re trying to understand how he was able to leave the treatment facility. There are no witnesses, and we’re scouring through hours of surveillance footage.”
“I don’t understand. Wasn’t there security? What kind of place was this?” Aunt Peggy asks, anger rising once again in her tone. “And what makes you think I could possibly have any information about this?”
“He admitted himself into the rehab center. He was there of his own accord. While there was security, it was light. What we’re trying to figure out is what caused him to snap and why he chose to go to your brother’s house. Are you sure you’ve never heard your brother or sister-in-law mention his name?”
“I’d like to know the same thing, Detective. I promise you, my brother and his wife did not know this man,” she hisses.
I find myself standing in the open doorway, straining to listen to their conversation from downstairs. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. My feet pay no attention to the mantra I repeat in my head, and my legs shake as I follow their voices. I quietly walk down the stairs and peer into the living room, hoping I’m still invisible. Let this be a dream. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know.
“Detective Michaels,” a new voice echoes from the kitchen. “We have the nine-one-one call ready.” Oh no.
No. No. No.
As much as I want to turn and run back up to the bedroom, I can’t.
Papers rustle and several people move quickly through the living room into the kitchen, filling the space around the large center island where a laptop computer sits. My aunt stands behind them, frozen in place, grasping one of the stools at the counter, knuckles white.
No. No. NO.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“Help us! Help us, please! He’s in the house!” A crushing pain tears through my chest as I listen to my mother’s desperate screams.
“Hang up that phone. I just need some help.” An unknown voice is heard in the background. It sounds shaky. Desperate. That’s not my father. It must be him. Bile once again rises in my throat.
“Stay away from me!” my mother frantically yells.
“Ma’am, we’re tracing your location now. We’ll be sending help as soon as possible. Please stay on the line and try to get away from the intruder. Get into a room and lock the door.” The operator sounds calm as I hear her talking on another line with a dispatcher, giving him directions.
“No! Please don’t do anything else to him! He’s already hurt. Please don’t hurt him anymore!” She’s pleading, begging with the stranger. The monster. Who is she talking about? Who’s hurt?
“I didn’t mean to hurt him.” The man’s voice is distressed. “I didn’t think I hit him that hard. Please, I just need some medication. Do you have anything here? Oxy? Vicodin? Benzos? Anything?”
“I don’t know what any of that is! No! I have none of that!”
“Ma’am, tell him that you’ll check your medicine cabinet upstairs. Go quickly and lock yourself in. Help is on the way. Is there anyone else in the house with you?” The operator gives her clear instructions and I hear my mother’s breathing hitch.
“Just my husband. My daughter is at school.” She pauses and says calmly, “I’m four months pregnant.” I close my eyes as tears stream down my cheeks.
“Hang up the phone!” the lunatic screams at my mother and I hold my breath.
“Wait!” she says desperately and I hear the lie form in her voice before the words come out of her mouth. “I-I think I have some of those pills upstairs…in my medicine cabinet.”
“Don’t lie to me!” he yells.
“What are you doing?” My mother’s voice becomes frantic and it sounds like the phone fumbles in her hand. “Why are you doing that?” Her voice is strained. “Stop that!”
“Insurance,” he says calmly, sounding crazy and sadistic at the same time. “If you do anything stupid, we all go up in flames. You don’t want that—do you?”
“You’re crazy!” She’s yelling at him, and it sounds like she’s trying to get away. “Ben, wake up! Wake up!” She screams my father’s name in a desperate attempt to get him to respond to her.
“Make it stop,” the man yells and pleads. “Make it stop.” He’s moaning and my mother holds her breath.
“Turn off the gas, please. You don’t want to hurt anyone,” my mother begs him as the man moans louder.
“Ma’am, get out of the room now. Do you hear me? Run,” the operator calmly but firmly says to my mother.
“Ben! Wake up, please!” Her voice sounds farther away, like she dropped the phone on the floor. Her cries become incoherent. She’s screaming and sobbing. “Ben!”
“Stop. I told you to stop. Make it stop!” the man yells again, and I suddenly hear my mother gasp.
Then nothing.
Nothing.
“Ma’am?” the operator asks. I then hear her say to someone off in the distance, “The line has been cut off.”
A few moments later.
“Explosion reported in a subdivision off of Route Three-Thirty-Two. All units in the area, respond immediately.”
I sink to the floor, holding my breath, hoping to hear my mother’s voice one more time.
Nothing.
When my legs give out, I hit the floor with a thud and all six heads in the kitchen turn to look at me, eyes wide and worried. Sad and full of pity.
“Sam!” My aunt gasps as she rushes toward me.
“Somebody get some water.” Detective Michaels’ voice is distorted, and his face blurs as I try to focus.
“Sam, stay with us, okay?” Aunt Peggy’s voice is soothing, and I feel her cradlin
g my head in her lap. I throw up all over her as I close my eyes.
I don’t want to know.
I didn’t want to know.
Please let this be a dream.
It has to be a dream.
I try to picture the day as any other day. If I try hard enough, maybe I’ll wake up from this awful nightmare. I close my eyes and see my mom in the kitchen, planning a quiet dinner at home after a hectic day. She’s smiling and doing what she loves. My father is at her side, helping prepare my birthday meal. They’re in love. Happy. Perfect.
And then they are gone.
Boom.
Garrett
Past
Newtown, Pennsylvania
Age 7
“GARRETT, DINNER’S READY,” my mother calls from downstairs. I kick over the Lego tower that I was almost done building, watching the pieces fly all around my room. Hundreds of colorful Lego bricks spread across my floor and get stuck in places I know I won’t be able to reach.
“Stupid Legos,” I say and stomp down the stairs.
I climb up onto a stool and rest my elbows on the center island while my mother fills the dinner plate in front of me. Roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and cauliflower. The only thing I like on this plate is the chicken, and I pick at the skin before she’s finished putting the rest of the food on my plate.
“Garrett, can you be patient?” my mother scolds me, but gently.
“Yes, Mom.”
When she’s finished, she fills her own plate with food and covers everything else with tin foil. I don’t know why she’s doing this; Dad never comes home for dinner. In fact, I haven’t seen him in over a week.
She smiles at me and takes a clean plate and utensils out of the cabinet and drawer, setting them neatly next to the warming leftovers.
She pulls her stool around the other side of the island and sits across from me.
“How was school today?” she asks. The same question she asks every single night.
“It was fine.”
I pull the remaining skin off the chicken and drag it through the pile of ketchup on my plate, tossing it into my mouth. “Chicken’s good, Mom.”
“Thank you, sweetie, I know it’s your favorite.”
I finish the chicken and swirl the cauliflower into the mashed potatoes. She’s watching me mess with my food, so she knows I’m not eating it. “Can I be done?” I ask.
“You didn’t eat any of your vegetables. Have at least two pieces of cauliflower and four spoonfuls of potatoes.”
Every night she tries to get me to eat more, especially things that I don’t like. She’s trying to make a deal with me. “How about one and three?” I say.
“No, Garrett, eat what you’re told.”
“Okay, Mom,” I whine.
We both jump when the laundry room door flies open. My father comes in, throwing his briefcase on the floor in the corner of the kitchen.
“Dad!” I say excitedly. I can’t believe he’s home.
He says something I can’t hear and my mother pushes her plate away. She quickly grabs his clean plate and covered meal. “John, thank goodness you’re home.”
He shoots her a look that makes me move around in my seat. He doesn’t look like my dad. He’s a mess and his shirt is untucked.
“I’ll eat later, Claire,” he responds and walks past us through the kitchen and into the den. He smells like smoke.
My mother moves his food back to the top of the stove so it can stay warm. Her lips are tight and her eyes look sad.
I finish everything on my plate, hoping to bring a smile to my mother’s face. She doesn’t notice and takes my empty plate, putting it directly into the dishwasher.
Behind us, in the den, drawers are opening and closing loudly. I hear my father saying bad words beneath his breath.
“Claire, where’s the box I had under the entertainment center?” he calls out angrily.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” my mother responds. She looks worried.
“Goddammit, Claire!” he screams and tears through magazines and books, throwing everything to the floor. “Where are my things?” He’s making a giant mess.
“John, I don’t know!” my mother yells back.
She reaches for my hand and leads me to the stairs. “Garrett, go to your room. Close your door and watch some television.” She kisses my cheek and turns toward the den.
Worried, I walk up the stairs. Loud banging comes from downstairs and my father sounds really angry. I close my door like my mom told me.
I suddenly hear loud noises coming from outside my door. It sounds like my father is running up the stairs. “John, where are you going?” My mother’s voice trails behind him and now they’re in the hallway.
His voice becomes calmer and almost sweeter. “Where’s my money? Please tell me you have that box.”
“How much do you owe this time?” she asks nervously.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, and I wonder what they’re talking about.
“John, we can’t keep living like this. The last time you owed them money, they took our car.” Who took our car? I don’t remember that.
“I owe them thirty-five thousand,” he says, and my mother lets out a loud gasp.
“How?” she asks.
“The Rutgers game. I thought they would cover the spread. I had so much riding on that game. It would have paid off our debts. We would have had money in the bank for the first time in years.” He sounds upset and my mother starts to cry.
“Thirty-five thousand dollars. John, what the hell were you thinking? We could get help. My parents can help us out. Why are you throwing away our future?”
“If I don’t find that box, we may not have a future, Claire. They threatened to do some major damage this time if I can’t come up with the money.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, and she sounds really upset. I think she’s scared. My heart jumps into my throat and is beating wildly.
“They said that you and Garrett would pay if I couldn’t.”
“Oh my God.” I hear her rush down the hall, into their bedroom, and my father follows. What could happen to us? What would we pay with?
“Daddy? It’s Claire.” She must be on the phone. What’s going on?
I can barely hear her voice now, like she’s far away. About ten minutes later, the door flies open and my father’s voice is strained. “Don’t do this, Claire. Please. It’s all getting taken care of. Your parents are helping. Our lives can go back to normal now.” He’s pleading with her.
“My father will meet you at the diner in thirty minutes with a check to pay off these thugs. After that, I never want to see you in our home again. You will not put our lives in danger, and I refuse to allow our son to be used as a pawn. It’s over, John. Get out of my house.”
“Claire.” His voice begins to shake. “I’m sorry,” he says, and I hear my mom start to cry.
“No you’re not. This is the third time we’ve been in this same situation except now you’ve brought our family into it. Never again. Leave now. Daddy’s expecting you soon. Take what you want because the rest of your things will be in the trash tomorrow.”
She opens my door and I see my father standing in the hallway. I raise my hand slowly and wave goodbye.
She shuts the door and pulls me against her chest. “I’m sorry you heard that, honey. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”
I hear the front door close and his car start. My father’s gone and I don’t think he’s ever coming home.
“What were you building?” she asks. She’s happy now and she’s smiling. Her eyes look puffy, though.
“A big tower, but it was crooked. I didn’t like it.”
“I can see that.” She laughs and sits down on the floor next to me. “You know, I played with Legos when I was your age and I built some of the greatest towers ever.” She takes a large base piece and begins building a solid foundation. “Pass those red ones over to me.”
She quickly starts to add layer after colorful layer. The tower is almost as tall as I am before I know it. It’s wider at the bottom and smaller at the top. “That’s pretty cool, Mom.”
“It’s perfectly balanced, see?” She leans back. I think she likes her tower.
I take one of the Lego guys and stand him on the top. “Look! A super hero,” I say, and I can hear her taking deep, calming breaths.
“Mom, am I going to see Daddy again?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
“I don’t know, Garrett. I hope so. Now, where’s that Lego Millennium Falcon you got for your birthday?” She looks around the room, trying to find it.
“In my closet,” I say and jump up, excited. I find it on the shelf and bring it back to her. I almost knock over the tower, but she grabs it before it can fall over. She moves it against my bookcase and it looks like it will be okay.
“I’ve always wanted to do this one. They didn’t have it when I was your age. Legos back then were a bit simpler.”
“I guess I’m lucky then, huh?” I say and shrug my shoulders. I wonder what it was like back when my mom was a little girl. I can’t imagine her playing Legos. I only picture dolls and flowers. “Didn’t you have tea parties and stuff back then?”
She says softly, “I was a bit of a tomboy. I played sports with my brothers and didn’t have too much time for dolls.” She has four brothers who are my uncles. They’re all cool, but I barely see them because they live in North Carolina. I have like ten cousins too that I hardly ever see.
“Can I be Darth Vader?” I ask her when we dump the contents of the box onto my rug.
“You can be anything you want, Garrett.” She rubs the back of my head and pulls me against her for a hug. “And I mean that for the rest of your life. You know I’ll support you in anything you want to do,” she says.
“I want to be a garbage man. It’s so cool that they get to drive a big truck!” I exclaim, and Mom laughs.
“That sounds like it would be a lot of fun.” She smiles and begins to separate the bags of Legos. She lines them up in number order.