by A. M. Brooks
“I’m at least four hours out before I can get there. Check her pulse,” he instructs. I move closer to my mom and keep my fingers pressed against her neck.
“It’s there. Not as strong, but there,” I tell this faceless man.
“Okay, here’s what I need you to do. Is there a closet, bathroom or bedroom on where you’re at with a lock?”
“Yes, there’s a bathroom,” I answer automatically.
“I need you and your sister to lay your mom down. Find a sheet or table cloth or towel to lay her on then pull her into that room. Do not move her head or neck or sit her up. Get her on the floor in there then lock the door. Can you do that?” he asks, firing off the directions at me. My eyes scan the kitchen and fall on the table cloth.
“I can,” I tell him, sounding more confident than I feel.
“Do not open the door for anyone except me,” he instructs. A car door slams, and I hear keys in an ignition fire up. My eyes slam shut against more tears, tears of relief.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Okay,” he replies. “I’m going to hang up now. I will be there as soon as I can. Send me a pin of your location and which floor and room you’re in and turn this cell phone off the minute you send that text.”
“Okay,” I reply, my fingers flying over the screen. The call ends, and I watch as the texts I sent go through, before turning the power off.
“Here.” Mila stands next to me, holding the table cloth in her hands. We work quickly to lay it out flat and slide my mom onto it to move her. I take the top corners while Mila takes her feet, and we move her over the floor, then across the hallway, until we reach the smaller bathroom. I ignore the squish and slide of the blood between my toes while we work, sidestepping the broken glass, and focus on keeping my eyes only on my mom and not the gore and splatter on the walls around me.
“Get in the tub,” I instruct Mila and watch while she hunkers down. I move my mom’s body, so she’s laying horizontally from the door, before grabbing a wet towel and heading back into the hallway. Quickly, I wipe up the bloody trail we made, giving off our location. Ditching the towel by the back door, I run back to the bathroom and close the door, sliding the lock in place before my legs give out. I barely make it into the tub with Mila, before the shaking starts. My skin vibrates with energy, and it takes all I have not to dry heave.
“Breathe.” Mila’s small hand runs in circles over my back. Lifting my head, our eyes connect, and we share a sigh of relief. Help is coming. I have no idea who this person is or what he can do, but for the first time all night, I don’t feel like the world is ending. Gripping my sister’s hand, I pull her against me and stroke her tangled blonde locks. Soon, her breathing evens out, and I can’t tell if she’s just calm or asleep. My other arm slides over the lip on the tub and finds my mom’s pulse again. It’s still there, and I send a silent prayer of thanks.
The house remains quiet, only the tick of the clock in the living room echoes in the silence. I count the chimes for each hour that passes. My eyes never leave the door knob, fearing it will turn, and another murderous, hateful face will charge at us. My legs cramp, and I have to pee, but I don’t move. I can’t move. I let the anger replace the denial inside my mind. Those men were here because of my dad. My mom is hanging between life and death because of them, and my dad’s off cruising around with millions of dollars. He left us. Mila and I could be like our mother right now. We all could have been murdered, and no one would know until a news crew picked up the story, once we failed to show up for work and school continuously. My skin prickles with the rage crawling underneath it. I want to hurt him. The man, who I trusted most, who was supposed to love his children unconditionally, left us to rot because of his messed-up choices.
“What time is it?” Mila’s small voice whispers. I glance down and meet her crystal green eyes with my brown ones.
“I think sometime after four. He should be here soon.” I run my hand over her golden crown again, hoping it soothes her.
“Have you ever heard of Matt?” she asks, and my hand stills.
“No,” I answer honestly. “I’m just hoping Mom knew what she was talking about. He sounded legit, though,” I attempt to reassure her. Even though we’re four years apart in age, I love my baby sister and would do anything for her. The minute my parents told me I was getting a sister, I’d never once felt resentful or jealous. I happily would share any of my clothes or make up with her because Mila is the sweetest child with the kindest heart. It kills me knowing she saw everything here tonight. I couldn’t shield her from the darkness. I couldn’t protect her and that failure weighs on me. “It’s going to be okay,” I tell her again, and I feel her body relax a little more against me.
“I know,” she whispers. “I have you.” Those three words pierce my heart, and I vow, from now on, nothing will ever happen to her again.
I want to tell her how great she is and that I love her, but the words choke in my throat, the minute I hear a key scrape in the front door lock. Time stops moving for me, and my adrenaline spikes. I pull Mila closer to me and slide farther down into the tub, ignoring the pain that licks up my calves.
“Saylor,” she calls my name, and I can hear her fear. I place my hand over her mouth to hold her together and shake my head. Please be Matt. Please be Matt. My brain serenades over and over.
The footfalls crunch over the broken glass from the coffee table. The steps are not as loud, as the booted feet from before, as they move into the kitchen. A voice mumbles as the person walks past the door to the bathroom. The stairs creek before padded footsteps are heard over our heads. My eyes close, and I picture what they’re seeing as they move from Mila’s room to my parents’ room then finally to mine. There’s a soft thud from outside the door, and I jump slightly, barely able to contain the small scream that’s lodged inside my throat.
A tap to the door is soon followed by, “Saylor, it’s Matt. Open up.” I hesitate. My mind swirls over tonight’s events. Matt never said how I’d know it was him. It could be the third guy from earlier, finally coming back to find his friends. Mila pushes against me. I read the questioning and panic in her eyes.
“Saylor, my name is Matt Jakobe. Your mom calls me Rogue because in high school, out of our group of friends, I was always the one going off on my own and pulling pranks. She had to bail me out many times,” he fires off, and I can hear the small trace of a smile in his voice.
Pulling myself from the tub, I flick the lock and open the door part way. The man I assume is Matt stands in dark jeans and a faded black winter jacket. It’s name brand, and it actually looks warm. His gaze is intense as his eyes trace over me then move over my shoulder to where Mila sits in the tub holding her knees, before sliding to my mom’s form on the floor. “Kell,” he mutters her name, and the devastation that flickers in his eyes is genuine. Opening the door farther for him, I slide past and lean against the jam. He kneels down and starts looking for her pulse.
“Hand me that bag.” He nods to the dark gym bag that is propped against the wall. I slide it to him. “I need you to go get a bag and throw some clothes in there for you and your sister. Grab anything that’s important but not that can be used to find you. No phone and no computers or smart watches.” He fires off more directions, while pulling a liquid bag and needle out of his gym bag. I watch in fascination as he inserts the needle into my mom’s arm and tapes it off, before taping the bag to her arm.
“Go Saylor,” Matt’s voice is sharp and brings my gaze to his, “I got this. You need to get the bag, so we can get out of here. Upstairs is clear, I already checked.” I don’t know why I trust him. Something about his muscled frame and kind eyes eat through the distrust I felt earlier.
Not having to be told a third time, I turn and flee for the stairs. My heart hammers in my chest, while I quickly throw on a pair of jeans from my drawer and an oversized hoodie that I had taken from Nash this past summer. Using the hair band next to my bed, I throw my hair in a messy ponytail
and empty my school bag. At this point, my calculus homework seems pointless anyways. I stuff the bag with anything in my reach and make sure to grab the essentials like my toothbrush and underwear. After one last sweep of my room, I dash into Mila’s and do the same, then head into my mom’s. I have no idea what she would deem as important right now, so I just grab her yoga pants and exercise shirts from her closet and her toiletries, before running back downstairs. I just want to get out of this house. Our time is limited; I can feel it.
“Done,” I breathlessly tell Matt. He’s got my mom’s neck supported with a brace, and he’s leaning her up against the door, checking her heart and lungs.
“Mila,” he nods to my sister, “throw on some pants and a jacket.” Mila follows his instructions, while I search for some shoes for us. Everything in me screams for comfort and practicality as I rifle through to the back of our entryway closet for something decent.
“Ready?” Matt asks, suddenly standing next to me. Mila is dressed, and I hand her the bubblegum pink Converse I know she loves to wear. Matt is cradling my mom in his arms, his jacket fitted around her.
“Yeah,” I nod and shrug at him. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, and I still have no idea what we’re doing. All I know is that he’s taking us out of this death trap.
“I’m going to go first and put your mom in. I will wave you over when I’m done. Do not move from this spot until I tell you,” he instructs, before sliding past us and down the front steps with my mom against his chest. My heart jolts painfully, thinking he’s going to leave us. My arm drapes across Mila protectively, while my eyes eat up Matt’s every movement, as he opens the door of a deep red SUV. Once my mom’s secured, he closes the door. He keeps his back to us and glances at his watch. My heart beats painfully against my rib cage; I step forward, only to be yanked back by Mila.
“Wait,” she says and points to the camera across the street.
“Go,” Matt calls to us suddenly, waving us over. He has the back door open and ready. I push Mila ahead of me and hand her off to Matt, who lifts her in. He grabs my arm and lifts me in as well, before closing the door and rounding to the other side. He has his truck fired up and is pulling away from the curb, before I even have my seatbelt completely fastened.
His eyes dart to the rearview and side mirrors constantly, as he drives us south and out of the city.
“Where are we going?” I ask timidly, my lips cracking from being so dry.
“Motel first,” Matt replies, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the rearview mirror. “Your mom needs some medical attention, but I don’t trust bringing her to a hospital right now. I need to get her awake, so she can make some decisions.”
“What kind of decisions?” I question, hearing secrecy in his voice.
“Don’t worry about it, kid,” he answers, his eyes boring into mine, “you’ve both dealt with enough tonight. Let’s get your mom in a good place, then she can fill you in.” He must see the guard that shutters my eyes because he sighs. “You can’t go back, Saylor. It’s not safe there. I can get you guys to safety, then, from there, your mom needs to be the one who decides what happens. We’re about two hours away from our first pit stop. Try and sleep if you can.”
I don’t know why, but his words cause tears to sting my eyes. My nose prickles, and a bubble of pain is determined to get out. Nodding my head, I push down the emotions and rest my forehead against the cold window. I force my body to relax and breathe evenly. “What did you get yourself into, Kell,” I think I hear Matt say, his voice low. I balance between consciousness and darkness. I should check on Mila again. I should check my mom’s pulse again, but no, Matt is there. Matt is here, and my dad is not. I’ve left behind my best friend, my ex, my entire life. Before submitting to the dark recess of sleep, my last thought is that I’m pretty sure this is the worst birthday ever.
“Saylor,” a deep voice, one I don’t recognize, calls to me. I know it, but I don’t. “We have to get inside, kiddo,” the man says again. He sounds friendly while also a little like a drill sergeant.
“Say,” Mila calls out to me. The sound is an echo in my nightmares. My eyes fly open, then shut again from the blinding sunrays, as my body jumps up in the seat.
“Are you okay?” I ask, reaching across the console toward her.
“I’m fine, but we’re here,” she answers. I look her over and notice her hair is now braided, and she looks somewhat rested as well.
“Where are we?” I ask, facing front, my eyes landing on Matt. The events from last night come crashing down on me.
“At a motel,” Matt answers, watching me warily in the mirror again. “We have to get inside.”
“Okay,” I answer, reaching for the door handle. I notice then that the interior is different; the vehicle itself if completely different. “What happened to the SUV?”
“We ditched it already,” Mila reports. “This is actually our third vehicle.”
My eyebrows lift at her news. “I don’t remember any of this.” I remember hitting my head on the floor. Do I have a brain injury or a concussion?
“That will happen sometimes with trauma. Your body was so overworked, it shut down. I carried you at each transfer,” Matt answers my lingering questions. Heat rises in my cheeks, and I feel terrible he had to carry my mom and me.
“I’m sorry,” I start to tell him, but he waves me off.
“It’s not a big deal. Let’s get inside, though, so we can sleep before we have to move again.” Matt pops his door open and moves to the passenger side to help my mom. In the daylight, it’s easy to see the blood caked on her legs and hands.
My eyes dart around to make sure no one is watching. Panic threatens to coil up my spine again, before Matt reassures me. “This is a safe place. The owner works for me. No one will say anything.” I follow him to the door at the corner room and notice the doors are not numbered. “Find the green card,” he says, handing Mila a worn brown wallet. Her fingers move deftly through the various colored cards, before pulling out an all green card with a red stripe across the top.
“Here,” she says, before moving around him to swipe the card. The door buzzes and opens automatically for us. Mila shuffles in, followed by Matt and my mom, before I step over the threshold and close the door behind me. It locks automatically, and lights flicker in the room.
Matt moves to the closest bed and lays my mom on top of the covers, before removing her jacket. I focus my gaze on everything else in the room, knowing what he’s about to see, close up and in the light of day. My eyes connect again with Mila, and I notice the shine of tears in hers. “It’s okay” I mouth to her. A small, reassuring smile forms on my mouth, even though it feels foreign to me. She nods and tries a smile of her own. My eyes track over her little face and down her neck to the stained red collar.
“Mila, let’s take turns showering while Matt’s helping Mom,” I tell her, moving quickly. My skin crawls, and I’m suddenly very aware of the dried blood between my toes and caked under my nails. She doesn’t answer but follows me into the bathroom. Matt doesn’t comment, his eyes flickering to us then back to my mom. He’s now pulling out bandages and another roll of tape. Once the door closes, I start the water for her and place the shampoo and soap bottles on the ground. We take turns showering and redressing quickly. By the time I step back out into the room, Matt has changed my mom’s side of the bed into a makeshift hospital. I notice she’s wearing a different t-shirt, a man’s I’d guess by the size of it, and the television is on.
“It’s not on the news yet.” Matt nods toward the screen, where a woman is reading the events from the day. I catch the name Levittown and realize that must be the name of the town we’re in. I wish I had my phone to google the city to see how far away we made it. Even if we drove thousands of miles, I think I would still be terrified of the boogeyman.
“I’m hungry,” Mila’s voice says from the bed across from where our mom lies. Thinking of food makes my stomach toss, but, I realize, it’s been almost
a day since she last ate.
“There’s a sandwich in that fridge.” Matt nods toward the mini fridge tucked under the desk. Mila gets up and opens the door. Waters, yogurt and four sandwiches line the shelves. She picks one out and tosses one to Matt, who catches it, before sitting back in the chair by the window.
“Want one?” she asks me, and I shake my head no. Nausea hits me full force just thinking about it. Instead, I join her on the bed and keep my eyes on the TV. Sure enough, the world news scrolling on the bottom touches on everything, but there is no mention of the violence in our Manhattan home.
A faint vibration pulls my attention to Matt, who picks up a cell phone. “How far are you?” The other line can’t be heard: only Matt’s side of the conversation.
“Green card,” he replies to whatever the other person asks, before they hang up. The entire conversation happens in less than a minute.
“Who’s that?” I ask, hating that, once again, distrust rises in my chest.
“My sister, Molly,” Matt answers, tilting his head, eyes watching me like he knows I don’t fully trust him yet. “She’s a doctor. I need her to help your mom with some of her injuries that I can’t take care of.” Pain burns through my veins because I know what he’s referring to. I know she was raped. Even though I tried to block it out, I knew what they were doing to her. I saw the evidence when I found her and when we moved her. There was so much blood. My breath hitches, and panic claws at my throat.
“Saylor,” Matt says, he’s moved onto the floor in front of me. His hands rest on his knees, so I can see them. “Breathe, kid. You’re okay. She’s going to be okay.”
“I should have stopped it.” The words fall from my mouth. The fear, from my inability to protect her, that I’ve pushed down until now comes out like word vomit. “I should have stopped them. I couldn’t.”
“No,” Matt says. “She wouldn’t have wanted that. She would not have wanted you to see or for those men to have found you. It might not feel like it right now, but she protected you both. None of this is your fault. You did exactly what you should have done.” I believe him, even though it’s painful. I fall for the words he speaks, and I clutch onto them, so I don’t feel like a failure of a daughter.