Another crash came, with the sound of wood breaking and glass shattering. Then I heard the worst sound in the world: Mum screaming. She never screamed. Her voice was always calm and controlled, so hearing her terrified cry made my blood turn to ice. The scream stopped suddenly, cut off by something awful, and then men's voices shouted orders at each other.
My fear turned into action as I remembered Dad's security drills. In emergencies: stay quiet, find Dad,follow his orders exactly, get to the emergency phone in their bedroom if possible.
I slipped out of bed, my bare feet silent on the carpet. I pressed my ear against my door before turning the handle. The hallway looked longer and scarier than ever before, the distance to my parents' room suddenly huge even though it was only twenty feet away. The family photos on the walls seemed to stare at me like I was doing something wrong by being so scared.
The hall stretched dark and scary in front of me. The emergency lights that were supposed to come on weren't working, even though Dad had checked them a million times. The alarms that should've gone off, the calls that should've gone to the police, nothing was happening. Something was really, really wrong.
I crept forward super slowly, avoiding the creaky floorboards Dad had pointed out during our practice drills. My parents' bedroom door was partly open, and I could hear voices. Dad's voice sounded wrong, not strong like usual:
“You don't have to do this. We can work something out. You can have the codes and numbers the right way.”
A stranger answered, his voice calm in a scary way, like he was discussing the weather instead of whatever bad thing was happening: “This ain't a negotiation, Calloway. Your family business is getting new management. Your position's been terminated.”
The weird business words for what was clearly a takeover made my stomach hurt. Another voice added: “Your wife's fancy society friends have become a problem that needs solving.”
They were talking about killing my parents like it was just a job, and that frightened me more than if they'd been yelling or making threats.
I peeked through the crack in the door, curiosity beating my fear for a second. What I saw burned into my brain forever, a picture no therapy would ever erase:
Mum was on her knees in the middle of the bedroom, her white nightgown spread around her on our special carpet, her dark hair falling around her shoulders. A thin wire was pulled tight around her throat by a man in a black mask standing behind her. A line of blood showed where the wire cut into her skin.
Her eyes were wide with fear but also anger, my beautiful mum facing death with the same dignity she faced everything. Dad was across the room, held by two bigger men in similar black clothes, forced to watch what they were doing to Mum. His struggles were useless against their practiced holds.
Dad's face was bruised, his lip bleeding, showing he'd tried to fight before they overpowered him. Five men in total were in the room, all in black with masks, moving like soldiers or special police, not regular criminals.
Their leader stood a bit apart, giving quiet orders with small hand gestures. His voice sounded educated, like he went to the same schools as Dad. “The combination to your safe, Calloway. Then the offshore accounts. How much you cooperate decides whether this is quick or we drag it out to teach you a lesson.”
“We can work this out,” Dad begged, sounding desperate in a way that scared me even more than the men with guns. Dad never begged for anything. Hearing him plead confirmed how hopeless things were.
“My son is in the house. He's innocent. Whatever problem you have with me, whatever takeover you're planning, the boy isn't involved. He's just a child.”
The leader answered with a coldness I'd remember forever as what true evil sounds like: “Collateral damage is unfortunatebut necessary, Calloway. Your family name ends tonight. Wiping out the whole bloodline prevents future complications.”
I gasped without meaning to, the tiny sound barely audible but somehow catching their attention. One of the masked men turned sharply toward the door, immediately spotting me. Cold blue eyes looked through the mask's holes, first surprised to see me, then calculating something worse. Those eyes belonged to someone who solved problems, not someone who felt bad about hurting a kid.
The man tilted his head slightly, somehow telling the others I was there without saying a word.
“The kid wasn't supposed to be here,” the blue-eyed man said, annoyed like he'd found a stain on his shirt, not a child witnessing a murder. “Intel said boarding school Sunday through Friday.”
Something clicked in my head. This man knew my school schedule. He knew when I should be away from home. His voice sounded familiar, even with the mask. This was someone who had been in our house before, someone who had talked to me, someone Dad had trusted with our family information.
The leader shrugged. “Plans change. Deal with it.”
The blue-eyed man started toward me, and I stood frozen until Dad's desperate shout broke my trance:
“RUN, ADRIAN!”
Dad's voice triggered something deep inside me. I'd always obeyed him instantly, and even terror couldn't stop that response. I ran as fast as I could toward the back stairs that led to the kitchen and the service door.
My bare feet slapped against the wood floors as I gave up being quiet for being fast. Behind me, I heard Dad fighting again, trying to distract them to give me time. I heardhim grunt in pain as they hurt him more, which made me run faster despite my burning lungs and clumsy, scared legs.
I reached the service stairs and took them two at a time in the dark, one hand on the wall to guide me, the other stretched in front to avoid hitting anything. The kitchen appeared at the bottom, moonlight making everything look silver-blue through the windows.
The service door was just ahead, the heavy door with special locks that I'd watched Mrs. Patterson use hundreds of times when accepting deliveries. My brain somehow worked through the panic, remembering what I needed to do. The key was in a drawer by the fridge, then I had to punch in a code, then disable the alarm with another code that changed each week. It seemed impossible, but I had to try. I ran toward the drawer, repeating this week's code in my head.
I never made it. I reached the middle of the kitchen, my fingers just touching the drawer handle, when strong hands grabbed me from behind, lifting me off the ground like I weighed nothing.
The blue-eyed man had come down the main stairs, guessing exactly where I'd run. I fought like crazy even though I knew it wouldn't help. I kicked backward with my bare heels, twisted my body, and bit his wrist where it showed between his glove and sleeve.
