Broken Silence

Something in me holds me back from rushing down and I listen intently and hear more banging and yelling coming from downstairs.

What the heck is going on? My parents don’t fight! Is someone breaking in? Do I call 911?!

“I checked upstairs, one of the kids isn’t home. The room was empty, but this one was in bed.” The man’s voice is harsh and rugged, and one I don’t recognize. Holding a hand over my mouth so I can’t scream like my panic is telling me to, I back up and clutch my phone so hard that my fingers are starting to tingle with numbness.

“I guess that kid gets off lucky. The rest of you, not so much,” another voice threatens, an eerie amusement in his tone that chills me to my core. His words are immediately followed by my mom sobbing and begging for my brother’s life, my heart shattering. Muffled talking continues, which probably means their mouths are gagged. Knowing I’m their only hope, I quickly dial the police and barely whisper my address and that someone is hurting my family. I’m too scared to talk louder and draw their attention back up here so I turn the volume down in case she talks back.

“Shut up and stop crying! It won’t help you!” the first man yells, followed by a loud smack that sends tears coursing down my cheeks. The sounds I’ve heard would be imprinted in my brain for the rest of my life.

A sense of helplessness fills me so completely it's like I could drown in it. Knowing they could check again, I blink away tears and silently slide into my open closet before I tuck myself behind my dresses and pray. The only way I manage to keep my rising panic at bay is chanting that help is coming, over and over again in my head.

The gunshots that break the silence are so loud that I almost scream. And honestly if it wasn't for my hand covering my mouth, I would have. Two more gunshots fire, and my heart stops.

No.

This can’t be real.

Things like this only happened in movies.

My family is fine.

They aren’t hurt or worse.

The tears are flowing down my cheeks and my entire body is shaking like a leaf, but I hold back the sobs that threaten to break through, knowing they’d be my death sentence.

“Go upstairs and look for the other kid one more time, the countdown is on. We need this job done right or the boss will have both of our heads,” the first man barks at someone else. I panic and hold my breath as I bury myself as far back in the closet as I can. Needing something to protect myself, I reach over and pick up my old softball bat, clutching it as hard as I can. For the first time in my privileged life, I curse the plush carpet that lines our home since it makes his footsteps impossible to be traced from my position.

A few seconds later my door flies open forcefully and smacks against the wall, the door making a splintering sound at the harsh contact. My heart pounds against my rib cage as the intruders destroy my room, each crash making my heart beat faster. From the crack in the door, I watch as he flips my bed over and searches around for me.

The closet is next, it’s the only thing left.

My only hope is that the police will get here before they find me. I know that if they catch me, my life is over. My blood runs cold as the closet door slowly slides open. I don’t dare to breathe or move, trying not to bring attention to myself.

“There you are, sneaky girl,” the surly man rasps as he reaches in and grabs me by my hair, pulling me out with one hard yank. I yelp and grab at his hand to free myself, until he slams the fist holding the gun into my throat to stop me from screaming. The pain is excruciating as it radiates through my throat, and all I can do is whimper as I try to drag in a full breath. He smells like sweat and whiskey and I lose all sense of hope as the bat I’m clinging is easily swatted away.

“I hear sirens! Go! Our job is done!” I hear the man yell from downstairs and I dare to hope that it could save me. The man holding me curses and lets go, head whipping around wildly as he visibly panics. The sirens get louder as they approach and he starts to run. As if he finally remembered me the moment he reaches the hall, he stops suddenly and turns around, aiming his gun my way and firing off a few shots before running down the stairs. A searing pain bursts through my side, so harsh that I lose what little breath I have left. Though I barely register what’s happening with all of the adrenaline coursing through my body.

His feet pound down the stairs and he bangs stuff around as he moves through the house, then finally the squeak of our front door before it slams closed. It’s now completely silent in the house, and I can’t even hear the muffled screams of my family anymore. The only sound is my rapid pulse and ragged breaths. Needing to check on them, I try to pull myself up off the floor

where I collapsed after being shot, the pain rendering me breathless all over again. Pushing it away, thanks to a steady stream of adrenaline, I start to move.

Before I reach the stairs, fear that they’ll come back to finish the job strikes me and I go to the hall window first. I can see two figures hop in a car and drive away just as the red and blue lights turn down the street. Knowing it’s safe now, I fly down the stairs to make sure my family is all right.

A blood curdling scream tears through my house as I take in the aftermath, and I don’t even register that it’s coming from me. My entire mind is numb as I continue screaming, barely pausing to take breaths and unable to snap out of the trance I’m in. The image of my parents and older brother slumped over at the table, bodies lifeless and blood pooling on the surface and dripping to the floor, is burned into my very soul.

The front door bangs open as officers come running inside. I’m still screaming as they drag me outside and over to the waiting ambulance, a trail of blood left in our wake.

Present Day

Three Years Later

Friday Afternoon

Charlie

“What’s wrong, Charlotte? Nothing to say?” I hear someone ask as I make my way down the hallway at school. It barely registers, the same tired phrases so old at this point they’re redundant. Shifting to the side, I dodge a shoulder bump from another student and stare at the floor. I refuse to give them the satisfaction of seeing the emotion on my face, swallowing it down quickly. I’m slowly becoming a statue and it’s a comfortable state.

Emotionless.