“NOW, SASHA!” Dad shoves me toward the back door, his eyes wild. “Run and don’t look back!”
The door frame splinters. Men’s voices, harsh and angry, filter through the breaking wood.
“Dad—”
“GO!”
I don’t question him. Some primal instinct kicks in, and I’m running, bursting through the back door into the storm, slippers pounding across wet grass, straight for the shadowy line of trees that marks the edge of the woods.
I run blindly through the dark woods, rain lashing my face and soaking through my clothes. The path to our hideoutis familiar—Dad made sure of that—but in the dark amidst a storm, everything seems different. Shadows stretch into monsters between the trees, and fallen branches grab at my ankles.
My lungs burn, but I keep pushing forward, trying to remember Dad’s instructions. Follow the creek upstream. Look for the lightning-struck oak. Turn left at the boulder shaped like a turtle.
That’s when I hear it. The sharp crack of gunfire cuts through the storm’s rumble—once, twice, three times in rapid succession.
I freeze mid-step, one foot sinking into mud. The sound echoes through the trees, followed by a terrible silence that’s somehow worse than the gunshots themselves.
Dad.
My body refuses to move, caught between two impossible choices. Go back—maybe Dad needs help, maybe it’s not too late—or keep running to safety like he ordered me to.
The memory of his eyes, wild with fear, makes my decision. With trembling fingers, I dig my phone from my jeans pocket and dial 911.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” The operator’s voice is steady, distant, like she’s speaking from another world where fathers don’t send their daughters running into thunderstorms.
“Someone broke into our house,” I say, forcing myself to keep moving toward the cave. “I’m hiding in the woods behind our property. 415 Pinecrest Road.”
“Are you safe right now?” she asks.
“I think so.” I duck under a low-hanging branch. “But my dad—he stayed behind. I heard gunshots.”
“Gunshots? You’re sure?”
“Yes.” The word comes out like a sob. “Three of them. Please hurry. They came on motorcycles. Multiple people. My dad told me to run.”
“I’m dispatching officers right now,” she says. “Stay on the line with me. Find a safe place to hide and don’t move until the police arrive.”
I splash through the creek, the icy water soaking into my slippers as I follow it upstream. The rain pelts my face, plastering my hair to my forehead, but I keep moving.
The waterfall finally comes into view, a silver curtain in the darkness. I slip behind it, the roar drowning out everything else as I drop to my knees and crawl through the narrow opening into our hideout. The cave floor is cold and damp against my palms.
I huddle against the far wall, knees pulled tight to my chest, shivering in my soaked clothes. The operator’s voice crackles through my phone, asking if I’m still there.
“I’m in a cave,” I whisper, teeth chattering. “Please tell them to hurry.”
Those gunshots. Three of them. My stomach twists into a tight knot.
Why did those men come for us? Dad’s face flashes in my mind—the way he transformed when he heard those motorcycles, becoming someone I barely recognized. Someone dangerous. Someone ready.
The leather jacket. It’s always been there, hanging in the back of his closet. Black leather with patches. I never got a close look at it because he always kept it hidden. Sometimes he’d put it on late at night when he thought I was asleep, rumbling away on his Harley. He’d come back hours later, sometimes with the smell of whiskey clinging to him, sometimes with a hardness in his eyes that would soften the moment he saw me.
The photographs I found yesterday—men with similar jackets standing around bikes, arms thrown over each other’sshoulders, my dad among them, looking younger but somehow more intimidating. The way Dad tensed when I mentioned them.
“Dad,” I whimper into the darkness, pressing myself deeper into the cave wall. “What did you do? Who are you really?”
I clutch the phone to my ear, shivering in my wet clothes as the operator’s voice crackles through.
“The officers have arrived at your location,” she says, her professional tone laced with urgency. “They’ve secured the scene. Please return to your house and make yourself known to them. Can you do that safely?”
