I tried to wait patiently and put my hand against my stomach while I did. I was sure he’d hug me when he got done. Maybe he’d even say something about me talking. I felt confident about the hug because Dad was helping me. He hardly ever helped me and usually hurt me. But because he was helping me, a hug was supposed to follow. I’d seen it tons on TV. My hands itched to hold on to something.
Though we were on the patio, I could hear our doorbell ringing, followed by someone firmly knocking on the door.
“Son of a bitch,” Dad said under his breath as he tried to unravel the knot. I curled my wrist toward his arm and touched it with a couple fingertips.
“Shit!” I turned my head toward the house when I heard Raquel. She hurried to the screen door at the patio. “William, the police are here!”
“Fuck. Well, answer the door, and I’ll be right there.” Dad looked at me. “Patrick, I need you to be quiet while I talk to the police.”
I reached for his hand with my free one as he stood, but he moved out of my reach.
“I’ll get you out of the knot after I talk to the police. Just sit there and be quiet.”
I nodded and rolled off the chair and pushed myself into an upright position. My hand was still attached to the chair, but at least I was sitting up. I never ever wanted to experience that again. Even though I was sitting, I still couldn’t seem to get enough air into my lungs.
I heard the police talking, and I turned around to face the inside of the house. There were four officers, and they all stood in the area between the living room and kitchen.
“We had a call from a concerned neighbor that you were beating a child in the backyard,” one of the officers said while a different officer walked toward the patio. When he saw me, he opened the sliding screen door and stepped outside and walked toward me.
“I was disciplining my stepson,” Dad said.
“How were you disciplining him?”
“Spanking him.”
“With your hand or something else?”
“With my belt. The same way my father disciplined me and the same way his father disciplined him.”
The police officer crouched in front of me and looked me over and then focused on my hand that was tied to the chair. My heart pounded hard again, and I felt pain in my chest when I tried to breathe.
“Hey, buddy, are you okay?” he asked me.
I looked inside at Raquel and Dad, but they were paying attention to the officers.
“Can I cut that rope off of you?” he asked.
I nodded quickly. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a pocket knife and began working on the thin, knotted rope.
“What’s your name?”
Patrick.
“Hmm?”
Patrick.
“Oh, officer, he doesn’t talk. He’s mentally disturbed… er, mentally challenged,” Raquel lied.I was not.
“Patrick,” I whispered. My voice still sounded so weird to me.
“Your name is Patrick?” he asked and then looked toward the house.
“He seems to speak just fine,” the officer said.
“What in the hell,” Raquel swore and looked at my dad.
“He spoke outside for the first time when I was out there with them,” Dad said.
