I opened the door. Another cry. I took the steps two at a time.Behind me, chairs scraped, feet pounded, voices rose. My kids were following. Scott was shouting my name. None of it registered in the right order. In my hand, I was still holding the phone and the dispatcher was still talking.
“Ma’am—stay on the line—ma’am? Units are en route. I need you to stay where you are.”
I didn’t answer because I wasn’t going to comply, not until my boys were safely in my arms again. I sprinted down the driveway and into the street.
“Kyle! Jake! I’m here!” I couldn’t see them yet, but I knew Kyle’s scream. I heard it every day when he tried to kick down the bedroom door to throttle Jake. My lungs burned, and my throat was raw from screaming. Porch lights snapped on one by one like the street was just waking up to my nightmare.
Another scream ripped through the dimming light. It was high, hysterical, and getting closer. Then I saw him, rounding into the cul-de-sac: Kyle, running crooked and stumbling toward us, one arm swinging limply by his side.
I dropped to my knees on the pavement and held my arms out. He crashed into me, his whole body convulsed like he couldn’t get air. My hands traveled over his face and hair and shoulders like I could fix everything just by touching him. Dirt streaked his face. Blood—oh god, it had run down from his hairline and carved tracks through the grime on his cheeks. His whole body was shaking in violent, panicked tremors. It was then that I thought to look behind him. For Jake. I waited for him to round the corner like Kyle had. But he wasn’t there.
I tried to speak. To ask. But all I could manage was one word. “Jake?”
His eyes went wide, fixed on something only he could see—some awful replay flashing behind them. A small, choked noise broke from his throat. Then he straightened just enough to get the word out.
“Gone.”
The weight of it dropped all at once, everything collapsing inward as my fingers dug into his bloody cheeks. Somewhere behind me, I heard Quinn crying.
Scott knelt, wrapping his jacket over Kyle and tucking his broken arm in to protect it. Kyle winced, then screamed out in pain.
“I’m sorry, bud,” he said. “I know it hurts. We’re gonna get you help.”
“What do you mean, gone?” I forced out, my thoughts finally snapping into place.
Kyle opened his mouth to speak, but the sounds came out tangled and frantic. They were tripping over each other, too fast to decipher. His mouth moved; nothing made sense. He was terrified. In shock. No help at all.
I took his face in both hands, forcing his eyes up to mine. “Kyle. Look at me.” My demand was too stern for his mental state. “Where is Jake?”
“He told me to run. He told me. I didn’t want to—” Kyle’s body jolted with every breath, hiccupping sobs breaking up his words.
“Kyle, from the start. Tell me from the start.”
“We were jumping the stairs—then—then he—” Kyle clawed at his face with his one good hand like he wanted to rip the memory off.
Scott gripped his hand. “Slow down. Just breathe.”
No, he couldn’t slow down. There was no time for coddling. Kyle needed to speed up. He needed to tell us where Jake was before it was too… late.
“Who’she?” I asked, trying to keep it together.
“We didn’t see him. He just… he just…”
I felt like shaking him, forcing the words from his throat. “Kyle, please, just tell me where Jake is.”
“I don’t know!” he wailed, voice cracking wide open. “He took him, Mom. He took him.”
I felt my ribs cinch inward like a vise. “Who? Who took him?”
“The man with the gun.”
The screaming down the street started again, only this time, I realized it was coming from me. I didn’t even know I was unraveling until Scott’s hands framed my face and forced me to look at him.
“Stay with me, babe.” His voice was low and tight, trembling around the edges. “I need you. We have to get Kyle home. We need to understand what happened—where it happened—so I can go and get Jake back.”
Yes. Right. Information. Action. Anything but standing here drowning in terror. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance. Scott got an arm around Kyle. Keith came in from the other side, and together they lifted us—me and Kyle both—and guided us forward. Emma gathered the younger kids, their faces pale and confused, and they clung to her like she was the last solid thing in their world.
Then I heard her, the dispatcher. She was still on the line… still in my hand. And she’d heard everything.
