CHAPTER TWO #3
He reached inside, grabbed my backpack from my lap, and threw it onto the walkway to the porch. “I said,” he grumbled through gritted teeth, “get out.”
I frowned. “Did you—”
He grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the truck's cab. I gasped, tried to catch my footing, but failed. I tripped and fell to my knees on the concrete. Tears bit at the back of my eyes as a stinging pain ripped through my legs.
“Get up,” Dad growled from between clenched teeth.
I did as I had been told and scrambled to my feet.
I grabbed my backpack and ignored the pain in my knees as I ran up the walkway …
away from him, out of his reach. I stumbled up the stairs, threw the screen door open, and walked into the house, where I immediately stopped in my tracks at the sight of the living room.
The pillows and cushions from the couch were strewn about. Picture frames were shattered and broken. The small table Mom kept beside the couch for her books and coffee mugs was now in jagged pieces.
“Mom?” I called out, my voice squeaky and small.
Dad's truck roared back to life, and I glanced over my shoulder to watch him speed away from the curb.
“Mom?!” Louder this time, as if his absence had granted me the power to use my voice once again.
I dropped my backpack and hurried through the small living room, into the kitchen, littered with shattered cups and plates. I ran down the hall toward the bathroom and the two bedrooms, my heart frantic and my mind focused on only finding Mom.
The bathroom door was open; everything was untouched.
My bedroom looked the same as I’d left it that morning before school.
“Mom?”
I stood outside her bedroom, peering into the crack left between the door and frame. I hesitated to push it open the rest of the way, afraid to see whatever was inside. But I had to. I had to find her, had to make sure she was okay, had to—
What if she's dead?
My hand trembled, frozen as it hovered over the door. My eyes filled with tears; my breath stilled in my lungs.
Oh God, oh God, oh God, what if she’s dead? What if Dad killed her?
He had hurt her before—he had hurt her really bad—but he never killed her. I hadn’t thought he was able to kill someone, but then there was Tommy's house, and …
Oh God, Mom is dead. She's dead. She's dead.
“Mommy,” I whispered, the tears spilling from my eyes.
A strangled, whimpered sound came from beyond the door, and a bright, little spark struck against my heart.
Hope.
“Mom!”
I shoved the door open to find her curled up on her bed. She was naked, and I froze once again at the sight of her body, knowing those parts of her—the ones she always kept covered—were private.
“N-N-Noah … don't …”
She rolled to her back with a strangled cry, and one arm was held over her chest as the other trembled, frantically searching the bed for something until she found a sheet and tugged it over her body. Then, slowly, she sat up in bed, clutching the sheet to her chest.
“Can … can you …”
She swallowed a sob and brushed the tangled mess of hair away from her face. The room was dark, too dark to see much, but I thought there might be blood on her face … beneath her nose, on her lips …
“You're hurt,” I said quietly, taking a step into the room and toward the bed. “I-I could call Connie. Or, um … Officer Kinney. We should call the cops, Mom. We should call—”
“No!”
She startled me with her shout, and I clutched my hands to my chest.
She used the sheet to wipe her face, sniffling all the while. “I'm sorry. N-no, honey, no … we can't call the cops. We—”
“But why?” I begged. “Dad hurt you. H-he …” My voice trailed off as I thought about Tommy's house and what he had done there. He killed someone, I wanted to say, but the words wouldn't form on my tongue. “He's bad,” I finally said, voicing the feelings I always had but wouldn't say.
Mom nodded and looked into my eyes. “Yes,” she replied. “Yes, he is. He's very bad. But we can't call the cops.”
I didn't understand. The cops were good, especially the ones here in River Canyon. Officer Kinney was nice. His partner—who I’d found out was Jason's dad—was nice too.
Their job was to get the bad guys, and if Dad was a bad guy, then they could put him in jail.
They could take him away, and then we'd never have to see him again.
But I trusted Mom, and if she had a reason to not call the cops, then I believed her.
I had to.
“We aren't safe though,” I thought out loud, dropping my gaze to the floor, where I saw the shredded remains of the clothes Mom had worn that day.
What did he do to her? I wondered as a rage so big and hot built underneath my skin.
“You are,” she replied. “As long as I'm here, I promise, you are always safe.”
Once again, the tears pricked the back of my eyes, threatening to spill over as I stared at her disheveled form on the bed.
She looked so broken, so hurt and scared.
Mom wasn't supposed to look like that. She was brave.
She was strong. She was a superhero in my eyes, capable of doing big, amazing things, but right now, she looked small.
Even smaller than me.
“One day, I'm gonna save you,” I promised.
“Oh, Noah,” Mom said, her voice small and so, so, so sad. “Sweetheart, it's not your job to save me. No child should ever feel responsible for the safety of their parents. I'm supposed to save you. Not the other way around.”
She was upset. She had been hurt, in ways I didn't understand, and I decided not to argue with her. But I was going to keep that promise. I didn't know how I'd do it, but somehow, I'd figure out a way.
Even if it meant finding someone who could.