CHAPTER FIVE
RUN
AGE THIRTEEN
The fear lived with me. The images I'd seen after walking into the house played on repeat in my head whether I asked them to or not.
Mom knew something was wrong. She could tell, and I think Soldier could too.
But I didn't say anything. Not to them, not to anyone.
Talking meant to relive it, and reliving it would make me cry and feel things I didn't want to feel.
So, I stayed quiet.
I went to school and played my video games. I spoke when spoken to and very little otherwise.
I caught Mom glancing at Soldier from time to time and him glancing at her. Mom even asked once if I thought I wanted to see someone, a doctor or something—like Mark from years ago. I didn't want to, but I’d told her I'd think about it, just to make her go away and shut up.
Because, like I said, talking meant to relive it.
I didn't want to relive it. I just wanted it to go away, even though I knew it wouldn't. Not as long as there was a chance it could happen again.
Trying to sleep was the worst thing of all.
After Dad had broken into our house, busting the door and shattering everything—including the happy bubble the three of us had found ourselves in—Mom and I moved into Soldier's house.
I had gotten my wish, and yet I couldn't find a way to be happy about it.
They—Mom and Soldier—kept saying it was temporary, until our house was fixed and cleaned up, but I didn't want it to be.
I had a room here, and although I couldn't seem to sleep easily, no matter where I was, I was able to at least drop my guard and close my eyes when Soldier was in the room next door to mine.
He was going to save us.
I thought I'd known it all along, from the moment I’d laid eyes on him through the living room window, but I knew it even more now.
I’d never been more certain of anything in my life.
***
A crash of thunder startled me from dozing off. My eyes snapped open to the darkness of my bedroom in Soldier's house, and I held my breath, listening to the nighttime noises.
The pattering of rain on the roof.
The dripping against the window beside my bed.
The whirring, grinding sound of the refrigerator's ice maker.
The thumping of my heart, hammering against the inner walls of my chest.
Nothing else, nothing more.
Mom and Soldier must've been asleep. Eleven must've been too.
Sometimes, he zipped around the house late at night, racing up and down the hallway and chasing the little jingling balls Soldier's friend Harry had brought over for him.
Not tonight though. Everything was still and calm, except for the jittery sound of my heartbeat.
With a sigh, I knew I wasn't going back to sleep anytime soon, and quietly, I rolled out of my bed and tiptoed from my room.
I didn't like to sleep with my door closed, so I peered through the crack to look down the dark hallway.
Mom and Soldier's door was closed, confirming my suspicions that they were asleep—or doing things.
Like what Dad did to her.
I squeezed my eyes shut and gave my head a quick shake, chasing the thought away, only for the image of her bloodied face to flash across my mind, and I snapped my eyes back open.
With a shaky exhale, I left my room and tiptoed down the hall quickly toward the living room, where Eleven was sleeping peacefully on the couch. When I sat beside him, he jerked his head up, letting out a startled purr before rolling over and leaning his weight against my thigh.
“Hey,” I whispered, surprised by the shakiness in my voice.
I laid my hand against his soft, furry belly and tried to mimicked the timing of his deep breaths with my own. In and out, in and out, until I was sure I was okay—at least for the moment.
Then I leaned forward and grabbed the TV remote and Nintendo Switch from the coffee table.
***
My eyes were glued to the screen, my mind focused on steering Mario through winding roads, when a tall, looming form emerged from the hallway. I jumped with a gasp, nearly dropping the Switch controllers, until I quickly realized it was Soldier, and a nervous laugh burst from my lips.
“You couldn't sleep either, huh?” he asked as he walked toward the couch and dropped beside me.
“I don't like the thunder,” I muttered stupidly. It was true; I didn't. But I felt like a baby, admitting it to him.
“I didn't know you were scared of thunderstorms.”
“I'm not scared,” I said, quickly defending myself. “I just don't like them.”
Because they're loud. Because they remind me of things.
“Yeah, I get that. I used to hate the snow ‘cause it reminded me of the night my friend died. It didn't scare me or anything. It just … you know, brought back bad memories.”
This was why I liked—loved—Soldier so much. He knew how to talk to me without making me feel like a silly little kid.
“Thunder makes me think of yelling,” I muttered. And other things.
“Yeah, I can understand that.”
Another boom of thunder cracked through the night, and instinctively, I leaned into Soldier's enormous body, only to quickly move away. I was so dumb and babyish. So weak.
That's why I couldn't stop Dad.
Because I'm too small.
Soldier cleared his throat and asked, “What are you playing?”
“Mario Kart,” I mumbled.
“And you didn't ask if I wanted to play? What the hell, man?!”
I smiled then—I couldn’t help it. And with a deep, cleansing breath, I got up to grab the other controller.
***
I coasted down Rainbow Road when a low rumbling sounded from somewhere in the near distance. Slowly, I lowered the controller to my lap, focusing my attention on the sound.
“Gonna beat your ass,” Soldier muttered triumphantly, a smirk on his face.
Is it thunder?
No. It's not thunder. It's …
“Do you hear that?” I asked, searching for Soldier's eyes.
He paused the game, even though I'd already unintentionally driven my kart right off the road. I didn't care about the game. I cared about that sound and the deep, gross, sick feeling brewing in my belly as the sound came closer and closer.
“Do I hear wha—”
Soldier's expression morphed instantly from disinterest to concern.
No. It was fear.
He's scared.
Soldier isn’t supposed to be scared.
“Noah.” He dropped the controller onto the coffee table and grabbed the remote, turning the TV off. “Get to your room.”
I jumped to my feet, listening, even as I shook my head. “Wait. I—”
“Now,” he said, his voice stern. “Go. Get your shoes on.”
I ran down the hall as my brow furrowed with confusion. “What? Why?”
Soldier was behind me as I dropped to the floor, stuffing my feet into my sneakers.
I watched as he moved quietly through the darkness, peering through the window overlooking the front of the house.
I stood, sidling beside him and following his gaze to Dad's truck, parked in front of the house next door, where Mom and I used to live before he broke down the door.
Together, we watched as he climbed out and rounded the front, something black and shiny in his hand.
Tommy’s house.
The boy.
The breath shuddered in Soldier's lungs, and so did mine.
“I-is that a gun?” I stammered, already knowing the answer to that question as I stared, unblinking, watching as Dad moved between the falling raindrops.
“Look at me,” Soldier said, taking my shoulders in his hands.
I couldn't stop trembling, couldn't stop shaking my head. “Soldier, w-why does he have a gun?”
Dad climbed the porch steps.
He was looking for us.
He’s going to kill us.
“Noah. Listen to me right now.” Soldier's voice was hard, stern, but the love was there.
He loves us, I reminded myself. He did. Dad didn't love us. No, he never did. He wanted to kill us.
I turned to face Soldier, tearing my eyes from Dad on the rainy porch. My bottom lip trembled violently. I didn't want to die. I didn't want Mom or Soldier to die either.
Soldier won't let us die.
We'll be okay.
“You're going to climb through the window,” he instructed me quietly, speaking carefully and slowly. “You're going to stay hidden and get away from the house, and when you turn the corner, you're going to run. Do you know the way to the police station from here?”
I nodded frantically.
“Good. You're going to take my phone, and when you get to the next street, you're going to call 911. Okay? Keep running. Run as fast as you possibly can and get to the cops. Do you understand?”
He walked away from me then, quickly moving to the other window on the side of the house.
He pushed on it, trying to open it, and pushed some more, then cursed loudly.
I flinched, terrified Dad had heard, and I glanced through the window, relieved he hadn't.
Soldier grabbed my baseball bat from beside the bed and swung when a crack of thunder shattered overhead, and the glass broke into a thousand pieces.
“Thank you,” he said beneath his breath, and I had no idea who he might be talking to.
God maybe.
He ripped the blanket from my bed and used it to protect his hands as he pushed the jagged shards of glass from the window frame.
“Noah, tell me you understand.”
I nodded, unable to control the movement of my head. “I understand.”
“What are you going to do? Tell me.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember everything he said. “Uh-uh … stay hidden until I get to the end o-of the street, c-c-call 911, then run.”
He grabbed my shoulders once again and brought me to the broken window, the rain now coming inside and wetting the window frame and floor.
“And where are you running to?”
“The police.”
“Good,” Soldier said. “O—”
His voice was cut off by something breaking next door.
Dad.
Soldier looked out the window, his throat shifting with a deep, hard swallow.
“You have to go,” he said, draping my blanket over the bottom of the window frame. “I'm going to help you out, and you're going to drop down. Ready?”