And he screamed.
Xander shot up, his hands moving to reach for Wright. He was sitting up, staring at the window. Sure he’d seen that. It was his dad’s face in the window. Dark and shadows obscuring it, but he’d seen him.
“What is it?” Xander asked. “Wright, what’s going on? Was it another nightmare?”
There was a loud thud toward the kitchen. Then shouting. Someone was in the house. And moving fast. “Get in the closet. Now. Grab your phone and call Patrick or Tracy.”
More noises were coming, getting closer. Wright moved, but not fast enough for Xander. He threw one of their phones into the closet after him and slammed the door. Wright’s heart was racing. He didn’t want to leave Xander out there, to fight off his dad. He needed to help. But he followed what Xander said. His hands were shaking. He could hear screaming. There was a slammed door.
It took him nearly ten seconds to unlock the phone and press the button to tell the voice control to call Patrick. The phone rang three times. Then a fourth. It went to voicemail. He ended the call. There was more shouting, but Wright couldn’t understand it through all the doors. He took a deep breath and looked at the time. It was just past midnight. Paxton would still be up. He called her.
“Wright? What’s up?”
“My dad is here. Get Patrick, please. Xander went out and- I don’t know what’s going on, but they’re fighting. Please. Hurry. In the guest house.”
Wright stayed on the phone but tried to listen. There was something that sounded like glass breaking. A yell. It didn’t sound painful, but in his fear he couldn’t tell who it came from. Another thud. Cursing.
Tears streamed down his face. He needed to know what was going on.
“No, Wright. Stay where you are. Do not. Dad! Mom! Wake up!”
There was pounding and more yelling but coming through the phone. He closed his eyes and focused on the voices of the family that saved him. The bedroom door slammed open. Wright screamed, unable to control his body. He tried to make himself as small as he could, curled up behind the tote of books and between some clothes hanging up. The closet was small. It wasn’t like he was really hiding.
More voices came through. There was fighting just on the other side of the door. Wright continued to cry, trying to remember to breathe. He was barely getting any air in his lungs as the noises played around him. Xander’s voice was yelling, but he could tell his dad’s clearly too. All the years hearing him yell and cuss was ingrained in his mind. His phone lit up with Tracy’s face this time. He didn’t even realize Paxton had hung up.
He answered but didn’t say anything as he put the phone to his ear. Tracy was talking immediately anyway. “Wright, sweety. Just stay where you are, okay? Are you safe?”
“Cl- Closet.” Wright barely got the word out. He screamed when the knob of the closet twisted, but then there was the sound of something being thrown against the door.
“Stay away from him!” That was Xander’s voice. Loud and clear. Wright clutched the phone tighter in his hand.
“He’s my boy!” his dad spat out. His voice was angry. Flashbacks came flooding back, all the times his dad was mad at him. The times he made him stay in his room while he ranted about how terrible of a son he was. Never once had his dad called him ‘my boy’. It felt wrong now. “I have a right to take him back. He’s cost me enough.”
“Wright, honey, listen to me. We’ve called the police. They’re on their way. Patrick and Xander won’t let him get to you. Just focus on my voice.”
Wright tried. But his dad was no more than five feet away from him. There was more shouting and another crash. It sounded like glass again. Maybe their lamp? A loud bang rang out and suddenly there was silence.
Other than Wright’s scream. His voice was raw already from the crying and screaming. He could hear Tracy saying something, but his brain wouldn’t register. Another loud bang.
Gun shots.
As soon as his brain put together that it was a gun shot, fear rushed through his body. He stood, needing to know what had just happened. His hand was on the doorknob when it twisted. He shrunk back, wanting to defend himself if it was his dad. But it wasn’t. It was Patrick.
“Wright, are you okay?”
His hair was all over the place and he was breathing heavily. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. There was a cut across his shoulder, toward his chest. He was bleeding.
“Wright. Are you okay?” His eyes finally focused and he nodded. He wasn’t hurt physically, but he couldn’t say that for his mind. He could feel himself shutting down, the same unsettling numbness that he was used to for years living in the house with his dad.
“Where’s Xander?” Wright asked when he found his voice. He couldn’t see anything behind Patrick. He needed to know what happened.
“He’s okay,” Patrick said. “But I need you to get some clothes and let’s go outside. The cops will be here soon.”
“Is- Is my dad-?”
“He’s… I don’t know.” Patrick stepped back. It was then that Wright noticed the gun still held in his hand. He looked from it back to Patrick’s face. “I’m sorry, Wright, but you need to get out of the house now. Grab clothes.”
Wright turned around and looked at the closet. He grabbed one of Xander’s shirts and slipped into it. It fell to mid-thigh. He didn’t bother with shorts. When Patrick led him out of the closet, he tried to take in as much as he could. Xander’s cologne bottles were in disarray on the dresser top. The mirror was cracked. As he thought, the lamp by the bedside was on the floor and broken. The bed was shifted in a different position. He stumbled over his own feet when he spotted the blood on the floor. It was like it’d been smeared, like someone was shot and then dragged out of the room.
