Chapter 49
Catastrophic Avalanche
David
‘David, help.’ The sound of the boy I now call son begs me through the earpiece of my phone.
His breath is ragged, his words are faint, and his plea stops my heart.
Instantly, I jump from my recliner, moving towards the door, while Levi tries to speak, something about a phone, listening, and saving Scarlett.
No, no, no, that son of a bitch will not take my son.
Yanking open the door, I haul ass across the cold grass as the street lights illuminate the ground beneath me.
Grant's car is gone, the front door left ajar.
Without hesitation, my legs carry me through the threshold, red bloody fingerprints mark the wooden doorframe, smeared in haste and carelessness.
My body stills at the sight before me—wreckage, everywhere.
The couch is pushed into the opposite wall, and the chair is tipped on its side.
Blood droplets form a pathway across the living room floor.
My palms begin to sweat, my heart slams into my chest, quickening my steps.
My tear-filled eyes scan the dismantled room, moving into the dining room where the table lies on its side, and the chairs are scattered in broken pieces. Where are you, Levi?
Rounding the flipped kitchen table, I spot Levi motionless, lying sprawled out on the floor, soaked in blood. Oh God, son. I can feel my chin quivering at a hundred miles an hour, as my body vibrates with unease.
Kneeling next to him, my hand rests on his chest, begging to feel his generous heart thrumming against my fingers. “Stay with me, son, breathe for me, Levi.” Flipping out my phone, my bloody, trembling hands dial 911. After relaying the details, I begin CPR, while begging him to breathe.
My hands pump into his chest, wondering if I’m doing more harm than good.
His face is swollen, layered with dried blood, inflamed, cracked, and gashed.
Taking in his mutilated face, I can physically feel my heart breaking.
With each glance, a sliver breaks for my son.
As I place my forehead to his, a tear falls, streaming down his battered face, creating a pathway through the blood and chaos that marks his youthful skin.
“Breath for me, son.” Anguish washes over me as I feel the tightness in my chest, where he once brought laughter.
My trembling hands that once tossed his hair now press down, begging for his heart to beat back into rhythm.
I can feel my brows nearly touching in a deep V as my eyes focus on any movements of his. Skimming his mangled body for any sign of life and pressing my lips together firmly, I do my best to hold back a sob that is on the brink of escaping. Time seems infinite.
The longer I sit here with his body in my arms, the harder I beg for his heart to beat for me, for Scarlett, for Anna, for Spencer.
Oh god, my son, my dear boy, is about to lose his best friend.
I am about to lose my son. No. No. I won’t.
I can’t. This is not the end, I won’t let it be, it can’t be, it won’t.
Will it? I try to be strong as my mind spirals with uncertainty, emotions breach the gates of strength, outpouring a catastrophic avalanche of tears and agonizing cries that fill the silence of the hollow house.
In my state of desperate pleas, the door flies open, filling the space with paramedics as they usher me to the side, taking over.
As they lift him, I watch his body fall limp in their arms, and that’s when it hits me: I couldn’t save him.