Three Minutes

Chapter One

EZRA

I bolt upright in bed, the sound of shattering glass ringing through the hallway and plunging me into the depths of night.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I swing my legs over the edge and stand up.

Distant thuds echo outside my room, quickening the tremors in my hands.

I tiptoe to the door with my heart racing, carefully grasping the doorknob and turning it slowly.

Peeking out, I keep my body hidden behind the door frame, holding my breath as I strain to catch any sounds.

Almost instantly, muffled cries come from my left.

The weight of dread sinks into my chest, and I press a hand over my heart to steady it.

I step back into my room, my gaze landing on my bed.

There’s no time to waste—I know what I need to do.

Approaching the mattress, I lift the top-left corner, my fingers searching until they find the object hidden beneath.

I pull it into view, gripping it tightly.

I slowly turn the bushcraft over, admiring the hand-carved wood that makes up the base.

My thumb brushes over the engraved letter in the center of the wooden handle, bearing the last name I carry.

Stone. My father’s brother Jesse gave me the blade on my twelfth birthday.

It was my great-grandfather’s, then passed down to my grandfather, who then passed it down to him.

I assumed it was because he was the oldest of the two, but he told me to keep quiet about it, offering little explanation.

I guess my father would never have approved of me having it, so it was our secret, shared only between uncle and nephew.

At first, I didn’t fully grasp its purpose.

I thought I’d never use it, or so I believed.

I was a calm kid who enjoyed nature and spending time with my two best friends.

Violence wasn’t my thing, even though it always seemed to lurk around me like shadows in the night.

I can’t deny that a quiet voice in my head occasionally whispered thoughts I dared not speak.

Over time, that same voice grew louder, multiplying and filling my thoughts with anger and sin, urging me to do things no kid should have to face.

Some nights, I couldn’t silence their screams. It felt like flipping a switch in my mind.

I had to block them out, which led to countless stab wounds in my mattress.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but it was the only way to appease them temporarily.

Tonight feels…off. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I feel compelled to engage with the voices in my head.

I want to give them what they’ve been pleading for, because deep down, we all know this can’t go on forever.

As though whatever has been growing inside me is finally ready to be unleashed after being nurtured over time, and is now waiting to be born.

I’ve imagined this moment countless times, never quite sure if I would actually follow through.

I didn’t want it to come to this, or maybe I did.

Right now, there’s no time to dwell on that. I need to act fast.

My right hand grips the blade tightly as I move quickly yet quietly.

I need to be clever about this, there’s only one chance to get it right.

My palms are slick with sweat and my heart races in my chest, drowning out the faint voices behind each thump.

As I approach the cracked door, I slowly open it, careful not to make a sound.

I scan the dim room and notice the lamp is on beside the nightstand.

The strong smell of alcohol immediately burns my nostrils.

I step forward, feeling a crunch beneath my foot followed by a slight sting.

I bite down on my tongue, trying to ignore the throbbing pain.

I lift my foot and see the remnants of broken glass, surrounded by a puddle of liquid.

I stare at the mess as my blood drips from the bottom of my foot, mixing with the liquid on the floor: bourbon, my father’s favorite.

I turn my head toward the bathroom as the sound of running water catches my attention.

I move slowly toward the door, battling through the pain and ignoring the bloody footprints I leave in my wake.

With each step, breathing becomes increasingly difficult.

Something is seriously wrong behind those walls, and a part of me knows that what I’m about to face will leave a lasting impact on me.

I steady my movements, breathing in through my nose and quietly out of my mouth.

Once I reach the bathroom, I slowly peek in, making sure to remain hidden.

I crane my neck to the right, where the tiny hall leads to the bathtub.

Loud splashing noises come from inside, followed by muffled sounds.

The voices in my mind preach louder, urging me to move forward quickly.

I pace each step as I get closer. Within seconds, my eyes are fixed on my father, who is crouched in front of the tub, struggling as he reaches into the water.

As I approach, my eyes widen in fear. My mother lies naked in the running water, fighting beneath my father’s tight grip around her neck.

I notice that the water has a pinkish tint, showing that blood has spilled somewhere.

Anger flows through my veins as I creep closer to my father’s back.

If it weren’t for the running faucet and his urgency to harm my mom, he would have already sensed that I was mere inches behind him.

I’m also certain his alcohol level has impaired his motor skills, because he doesn’t realize that danger is right behind him—I am the danger.

Once I am close enough, I angle the blade in my hand, preparing myself for what I have to do.

I glance at my mom, who is now being held underwater.

Her eyes shoot open and meet mine. A moment of shock flashes through her stare before she continues thrashing against his grip.

He’s going to kill my mom. I have to do this; I want to do this.

Adrenaline surges through my veins, shaking my entire body.

Before I have a chance to think any longer, I grab the back of my father’s shirt and quickly twist it around my fist. My right hand, with the sharp blade poised, moves through the air, striking exactly where I aimed.

A loud grunt escapes his throat as I twist the four-inch blade into his right side before pulling it back out.

He collapses onto the bathroom tile, clutching his bleeding wound.

I stare down at my trembling hand, at the bloodied blade.

This family heirloom now carries fresh human blood, its metal glistening in the dim light.

The air is thick with the scent of bourbon and iron.

My father looks up at me in disbelief, his face twisted in rage as he hurls insults.

“You worthless fucking bastard!” His hateful words are nothing new to me.

They used to cut deep when I was younger, but after years of hearing them, I’ve learned to numb myself to the pain.

With the blade still dripping with his blood, I kneel before him, locking our eyes.

“If you ever lay a hand on her again, I’ll kill you.

Now get up and disappear for good,” I growl.

Our gazes hold for a moment, a silent challenge hanging in the air.

I press the knife closer to his throat, a clear warning for him to think twice before pushing me again.

His breathing becomes labored as his eyes move down to the sharp object threatening to harm him again.

I watch as rage fills his stare when he notices the familiar blade used against him.

He finally drops his head and surrenders to my command.

I stand up, keeping the weapon pointed at him.

I was so focused on my target that I didn’t realize Mom had already gotten out of the tub and wrapped herself in a towel.

I quickly bring my attention to her, scanning her up and down.

Tears trickle down her bruised cheeks. My eyes catch on her split-open lip as blood slowly travels down from the crease of her mouth, blending with her tears.

Heat shoots through my insides from the sight of my broken mother, and before I can even process the damage, I look back down at the piece of shit who has caused so much pain.

I stare through him as he struggles to get up.

He’s now sitting in a small puddle of his own blood, the blood loss and lack of friction on the bathroom floor making it harder for him to steady himself.

After a few more failed attempts, he looks up at me, almost like he expects a helping hand.

But I stand my ground, not blinking once.

He catches on quickly, shaking his head.

He inhales deeply with a trembling breath and finally gets to his feet.

However, just as he is about to fully stand, my foot strikes his face, forcing him back down.

My mom lets out a squeal, followed by a long, gasping breath.

I keep my focus; I cannot afford to lose it.

My father wipes his mouth, now painted with fresh blood.

I remain silent as he glares at me with that same intimidating look that once frightened me.

He doesn’t waste another moment. After several loud, agonizing groans, he finally stands in front of me, clutching his blood-soaked side.

He steps closer, and I instinctively raise the blade just inches from him.

I’m prepared to stab him again if necessary, and I can tell he senses that.

I’ve changed; he’s turned me into the monster before him.

His eyes flick from the knife and back to me quickly. A slight, devilish grin stretches across his blood-crusted mouth. “You’ll regret all of this, boy,” he growls.

My father is a tall man; his height and build have always intimidated most people, especially me.

And he always used that to his advantage.

But now that I’m older, it doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.

I think he knew someday he’d meet his match.

And unfortunately, I am a piece of him. I swallow the kernel of fear he stirred inside me, and step forward.

I tilt my head up at him, maintaining eye contact.

The sharp tip of the blade touches his stomach as a warning.

“The only thing I regret is not doing this sooner…now leave.”

His left eye twitches, but he doesn’t break eye contact.

He then turns and looks at my mom up and down before walking off.

I glance at her, telling her to stay where she is.

As I follow him out of the bathroom, I keep my distance.

I watch as he grabs his wallet and keys, slipping them into his jeans pocket.

He turns and looks at me as he struggles to pull his dark, red-stained shirt off.

He catches himself and turns his expression to stone as he throws the ruined shirt to the floor.

I bring my eyes to the stab wound, staring at the torn, exposed, bloody flesh.

I stabbed him good. And the sight of it flares up something inside of me. It almost feels like excitement.

He snatches a black shirt from the dresser top before walking out of the bedroom.

I follow closely behind him, the only sound is our feet padding against the hardwood floor.

I carefully watch my steps, dodging the blood he leaves in his path.

Once we reach the front door, he leans down, biting back the pain from his side, and grabs a pair of his shoes.

He then pays me no attention as he heads out the front door.

I step onto the porch, refusing to go inside until I see him drive away.

Honestly, I probably won’t even get any sleep tonight.

How could I? This man is dangerous. He’s done unforgivable things, and a part of me worries that he won’t disappear like I want him to.

My breath catches as he stops at the end of the driveway. He pauses with his back facing me. Slowly, he turns his head to the side. The streetlight shines just enough on his silhouette for me to see the smirk on his face. I grip the knife tightly, ready to lunge if necessary.

He laughs through his nose before opening his mouth to speak.

“Enjoy tonight, boy. But know that we’ll come face-to-face again.

And you won’t know when that day comes.” He lets his words echo through the night air before getting in his truck, not giving the house or me a backwards glance.

I watch his taillights fade into the darkness as I replay his words in my mind—words that weren’t a threat, but a promise. A promise that will haunt me forever.

A hand rests on my shoulder, jolting me out of my racing thoughts.

I turn and look down at my mom. Relief washes over me at the warmth of her touch.

I bring my left hand up, placing it on top of hers and rubbing small circles with my thumb.

We stare out at the empty street for a while, saying nothing.

This is a moment we’ve never talked about, but always wished for.

The man who brought darkness into our home is finally gone.

But will it last? I can’t help but doubt it.

He’s a man driven by revenge, and I fear one day he will seek it.

I take a long, deep breath, letting my shoulders ease a bit.

Mom senses the shift in my demeanor and gestures for me to turn around.

I comply, still gripping the blade tightly.

Wrapping my arms around her small frame, I pull her close, resting my chin on the crown of her head.

This woman means everything to me, she’s the light in my darkest moments.

I’d do anything to protect her, just as she has always done her best to protect me.

I only wish I had stepped up sooner. She gently pats my back, and we savor the silence of the moment together.

I know we’ll need to talk about what happened tonight.

There will be questions from people, and we will have to be prepared to answer them.

I find myself wondering what Uncle Jesse will think about all of this.

A flood of concerns rushes through me as my adrenaline begins to fade.

Mom gently pushes against my shoulders to look up at me.

She tenderly brushes damp hair from my sweaty forehead, her eyes glistening with tears as she gazes up at me.

I can feel the worry hidden behind her look, but she quickly gathers herself, offering me a small, sincere smile.

“Happy thirteenth birthday, Ezra.”