Page 68 of Shelter
I threw jeans and t-shirts in every direction, my breath coming in short spasms. “Fuck…fuck!”
Ava stepped closer. “What? What’s wrong?” I couldn’t spare her a glance. In one motion, I upended the suitcase onto my bed, the rest of my belongings spilling out.
No gun. No fucking gun.
“Someone was upstairs.”Elise’s words from moments before hit me square in the chest.
I grabbed my hair at the roots, sucking in empty air. “No… no…” He couldn’t have.
I forced myself to take a slow breath. I never kept the gun loaded. That was idiocy. But I always had the bullets with me. I flipped the suitcase on its back again and went for the outside panel. From inside it, I yanked out my phone charger, my shaving kit, my deodorant. But the box of Winchester White 9mm wasn’t there.
A surge of nausea nearly took me to my knees, but then I heard my father’s voice.
“I’ve told you. I’ve told you a million times, Abigail.” He wasn’t shouting, and perhaps that’s what broke a cold sweat over the back of my neck. “You’renevergoing to leave me.”
And I knew.
I knew what my father was going to do. Time slowed to an almost comical crawl. It felt just like running in the pool. My quads pumped with aching slowness. I noticed everything. The nap of the fibers in my carpet as I launched over it. The way Ava’s mouth fell open in confusion and the moment a nanosecond later when she recognized the look of doom in my face. The detail of the grain and mahogany staining on my parents’ door as I threw all my weight into one shoulder and that shoulder connected with the solid wood.
“Mom!” Someone screamed. They sounded terrified. My throat burned, and I realized the screamer was me. I pounded on the door, pain shooting down the heels of my hands.
“What’s happening?” Ava shrieked.
I needed help. We needed help. I looked back at her. “Call 911,” I hissed. Ava gaped at me for a second and bolted for her room. This was different. We both sensed it. I reared back and kicked at the door, the force of my heel landing just beside the knob.
“Mom!” I yelled again, needing her to hear me, needing her to know I was coming.
“Take your sister, Cole,” she pleaded.
I kicked the door again, and this time I heard a splintering. I threw my shoulder into it a third time and pain shot through me, but the door held.
“G-Garrett, please,” she begged. Her voice was low and shaking.
“You know it’s the only way, Abigail.”My father’s voice was so calm it was almost gentle.
I lost it.
I kicked the door with fury. “Dad!” I hadn’t called him “Dad” in more than a decade. My fear had reduced me to a little boy. “Dad, please don’t hurt h—”
A blast swallowed my words.
I froze, listening for my mother’s screams. But I heard only silence.
Ava ran from her room, her cell pressed to her ear. “What was that?” Shock and disbelief creased her brow.
I opened my mouth, but unbearable fear held me mute. What if I called her name, and she didn’t answer?
“Mom?” The word was choked. Hot tears blurred my vision.
And I wasn’t alone. Behind that closed door, I heard a low sobbing. But it wasn’t my mother.
It was him.
“Oh, Abigail.”
Rage filled my lungs, and I kicked the door again. “God dammit! What the hell did you do?” The wood gave a final protest and then cracked as the door knob wobbled. I kicked again, and the wood split.
And another blast shook the house.
