Delia and Dani weren’t there.
“Mreoww.”
“Mr. T! Shush!” I hissed the words and the cat paused in the act of winding around my ankles. Then, unconcerned, he continued. My nightgown fluttered around him as he finished his figure eight and darted off, escaping through the hallway door.
I followed slowly, the sounds from downstairs growing clearer with each step. Holding my breath, I peeked around the corner of the door jamb. It was so dark, only the tiniest bit of light from downstairs making its way to the landing where our bedrooms opened off. Mine was the very last one; Mom and Dad’s the first. I walked to it now, looking inside quickly to see if they were there.
The room was empty.
Trembling and unsure why, I took the final few steps to the top of the staircase, where I sank to my knees and peered through the painted wood spindles. There was a spot on the landing where Delia and I had discovered we could sit back around a foot and the adults downstairs couldn’t see us spying on them past our bedtime, as long as we stayed super quiet. I usually ruined it by giggling, though, or talking too loud.
I didn’t think I’d be giggling tonight.
On the white carpeted floor beneath me, Mom and Dad knelt beside one another. Dad’s hands were behind his head, and his eyes glared out of a face purpling with bruises and blood. A piece of silver duct tape covered his mouth.
With tears streaking her face, Mom clutched at Delia, pressing her face into her nightshirt. Beside Delia, Dani sat with her arms crossed over her chest, looking fierce and resentful. A strip of tape covered her mouth, as well, and I realized that she must have made too much noise.
Dani always was a big mouth.
What to do…what to do…THINK!
There were no phones upstairs, and the only way down was by the steps, passing by whoever was doing this to my family. Unless…maybe one of my parents had left a cellphone in their bedroom?
I started to stand.
“You can’t do this—” Mom began to speak, halting me.
“Shut the bitch up.” An arm waved, catching my attention.
I barely noticed when someone moved into my frame of vision and slapped a piece of tape on Mom’s mouth.
My eyes were full of the tattoo on the speaker’s arm: a ruby-red rosary winding around a muscular forearm like drops of blood. It was much fancier than the simple wooden rosary the priest used that one time Delia and I went to church with Dani. Then the man was talking again, his voice making me think of sandpaper.
Biting my lips, I turned and ran on icy feet to my parents’ bedroom, not waiting to hear what he had to say. I had to call the police, had to get help. These were bad men. Even if all they did was put tape on my family’s mouths and scare them—they were bad.
Good men didn’t do things like this.
My parents kept the chargers on their nightstands. Dad’s was empty; he must have his phone with him. Deflated, I turned to the other side of the bed and a shock of hope ran through me. Mom’s was there!
My hands shook as I detached the phone from the charger and dialed the emergency number. As a lady answered, I began to speak, then realized the men downstairs would be able to hear me.
“Wait…” I whispered.
I went to the walk-closet and shut myself inside, feeling my way carefully through the piles of shoe boxes and sweaters that had fallen on the floor until I’d reached the very back before sinking down and making myself as small as possible.
“Someone’s in my house,” I whispered once I settled. “They’re bad men and they have my mom and dad and sister downstairs, and I think they’re going to hurt them.”
A sound reached my ears as I spoke, a muffled popping sound, a little like popcorn.
“Are you safe?”
“I’m hiding in a closet but my mom?—”
“Okay. Can they hear you, sweetheart?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Perfect. The police are on their way, so I want you to stay right where you are, and to be really quiet, like a mouse. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
