“I’d like to know the same thing, Detective. I promise you, my brother and his wife did not know this man,” she hisses.
I find myself standing in the open doorway, straining to listen to their conversation from downstairs. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. My feet pay no attention to the mantra I repeat in my head, and my legs shake as I follow their voices. I quietly walk down the stairs and peer into the living room, hoping I’m still invisible. Let this be a dream. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know.
“Detective Michaels,” a new voice echoes from the kitchen. “We have the nine-one-one call ready.” Oh no.
No. No. No.
As much as I want to turn and run back up to the bedroom, I can’t.
Papers rustle and several people move quickly through the living room into the kitchen, filling the space around the large center island where a laptop computer sits. My aunt stands behind them, frozen in place, grasping one of the stools at the counter, knuckles white.
No. No. NO.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“Help us! Help us, please! He’s in the house!” A crushing pain tears through my chest as I listen to my mother’s desperate screams.
“Hang up that phone. I just need some help.” An unknown voice is heard in the background. It sounds shaky. Desperate. That’s not my father. It must be him. Bile once again rises in my throat.
“Stay away from me!” my mother frantically yells.
“Ma’am, we’re tracing your location now. We’ll be sending help as soon as possible. Please stay on the line and try to get away from the intruder. Get into a room and lock the door.” The operator sounds calm as I hear her talking on another line with a dispatcher, giving him directions.
“No! Please don’t do anything else to him! He’s already hurt. Please don’t hurt him anymore!” She’s pleading, begging with the stranger. The monster. Who is she talking about? Who’s hurt?
“I didn’t mean to hurt him.” The man’s voice is distressed. “I didn’t think I hit him that hard. Please, I just need some medication. Do you have anything here? Oxy? Vicodin? Benzos? Anything?”
“I don’t know what any of that is! No! I have none of that!”
“Ma’am, tell him that you’ll check your medicine cabinet upstairs. Go quickly and lock yourself in. Help is on the way. Is there anyone else in the house with you?” The operator gives her clear instructions and I hear my mother’s breathing hitch.
“Just my husband. My daughter is at school.” She pauses and says calmly, “I’m four months pregnant.” I close my eyes as tears stream down my cheeks.
“Hang up the phone!” the lunatic screams at my mother and I hold my breath.
“Wait!” she says desperately and I hear the lie form in her voice before the words come out of her mouth. “I-I think I have some of those pills upstairs…in my medicine cabinet.”
“Don’t lie to me!” he yells.
“What are you doing?” My mother’s voice becomes frantic and it sounds like the phone fumbles in her hand. “Why are you doing that?” Her voice is strained. “Stop that!”
“Insurance,” he says calmly, sounding crazy and sadistic at the same time. “If you do anything stupid, we all go up in flames. You don’t want that—do you?”
“You’re crazy!” She’s yelling at him, and it sounds like she’s trying to get away. “Ben, wake up! Wake up!” She screams my father’s name in a desperate attempt to get him to respond to her.
“Make it stop,” the man yells and pleads. “Make it stop.” He’s moaning and my mother holds her breath.
“Turn off the gas, please. You don’t want to hurt anyone,” my mother begs him as the man moans louder.
“Ma’am, get out of the room now. Do you hear me? Run,” the operator calmly but firmly says to my mother.
“Ben! Wake up, please!” Her voice sounds farther away, like she dropped the phone on the floor. Her cries become incoherent. She’s screaming and sobbing. “Ben!”
“Stop. I told you to stop. Make it stop!” the man yells again, and I suddenly hear my mother gasp.