Wyatt stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, waiting to blink until his eyes stung from dehydration. He looked harder and harder, waiting for the edges of his vision to go dark, creating a fisheye effect. Under his blanket he was sweating, not enough to be significant, but enough to be noticeable. He knew that if he took off the cover, he would be too cold, so he tried not to notice the slight discomfort. Sighing, he brought his hands up from under the blanket and stretched them towards the ceiling, his fingers twitching as the muscles were relieved from their previous position. Taking in a deep breath, Wyatt slowly lowered his hands to his sides, then moved them up to rest beside his ribs, waiting for a moment before making further movements, he pushed, eventually making his way into an upright sitting position.
The only thing he could hear was cicadas in the tree beside his window. He’d come back from his friend’s house not even an hour ago, his parents having found out about his F in Algebra. Normally they wouldn’t have reacted like this, restricting his social interactions that is, but they were now. He could only assume it was because he was only able to go to Cody’s in the first place because he’d lied and said he had a B, which would have been true a few weeks ago. No here he was, nothing to do but be grounded all weekend, which was one of the rare weekends where Halloween fell on a Saturday. Putting his hands to his cheeks Wyatt buried his face in his palm, feeling something begin to choke him he swallowed and pulled his knees to his chest.
He looked over to his alarm clock, squinting hiss eyes to read the analog in the dark. It read 11:42, which wasn’t a surprise to him in the slightest. He just wished he was somewhere else, doing something fun with his Friday night.
Listening to the house, he waited for a sign that his parents were still awake, possibly waiting for him to try what he was about to. He heard no sounds that would indicate his parents’ consciousness, so he carefully took the blanket off of his legs, subsequentially leaving it in a lump between the wall and his bed. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and put one foot down at a time, still listening. Reaching to the lamp on his bedside table, he turned it on the lowest setting he could. He looked around the room for his sneakers only to remember he’d taken them off at the door. Groaning under his breath he prepared himself mentally for the courage it would take to walk all the way down to the front door to get his shoes, he almost decided to just go shoeless.
The walls around him felt like they were getting tighter and tighter around him as he got closer to the door of his parents’ room. He quickened his pace as he neared his sister’s bedroom, hoping he wouldn’t be seen on the off chance his sister’s door was open or cracked, it was too dark in the hallway to distinguish whether or not it was. The closer he got the faster his heart was beating, when suddenly a light behind him turned on, looking back over his shoulder he saw it was his sister’s. His eyes widened and he nearly tripped over his feet trying to rush to the corner where the top of the stairs was. He raced past his parents’ room as quietly as he could, not looking back and feverishly tiptoed down the stairs. He was glad they weren’t as creaky as the ones at other homes on this street, seeing as most of them were old.
Trying to catch his breath Wyatt looked up the stairs, trying to see if the hall light had been turned on yet, which it hadn’t. He let out a breath of relief and continued walking towards the foyer and the front door. When he finally reached his destination, he looked back again to make for sure his sister hadn’t snuck down behind him. Turning back, he knelt down, feeling around for his sneakers. It was probably safe to use his phone’s flashlight now, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Finding the toe of one of them he pulled it towards himself and began to put it one, loosening the laces one by one when he hears the click of a light switch being flicked. Light flooded the hall and Wyatt’s heart stopped. He didn’t bother turning around when he propelled himself to the door, swung it open and sprinted off of the porch, running down the sidewalk as fast as he could.
Oddly enough, he couldn’t hear his parents yelling at him. Even more odd, every house on the street had it’s lights on. The wind picked up, flattening his clothes to his body and forcing his eyes almost shut. Looking over his shoulder as the wind whipped his hair around, he saw nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
He halted. His chest huffing as he fought for his breath, he was sure he hadn’t run that fast or far since the sixth-grade pacer test.
Standing there, under the light of a streetlight he waited for something, anything, to give him any idea of what was going on. Just as he was about to start walking again, he felt pressure on his head.
It felt like his head was being crushed, and his throat was being burned, he couldn’t close his mouth, it was as if something was trying to crawl into his stomach. He screamed. He didn’t care if he got into more trouble for trying to sneak out, he wanted help. He wanted to live. He wanted to live. His knees felt weak as he gripped his throat, scratching at it as hard as he could, he could feel skin building under his nails as he shook, tears streaming down his face as he began to feel lightheaded. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe!
His knees buckled under him as he let out one last sob of desperation. He fell to the ground, a loud crack sounding when his skull hit the pavement of the road.
*****
Wyatt blinked; his eyes were not ready for the shock of fluorescent hospital lights. He looked around the room, not understanding how he wound up there. His head felt like it were splitting from how bad of a headache he was getting, so he brought a hand up to massage his temples slowly. Not long after his eyes finally adjusted to the harsh lighting a balding man in a brown suit came into the room.
“Wyatt Russel?” Wyatt blinked, not responding verbally. He couldn’t speak, even if he wanted to. It felt like his throat had been completely closed.
“We found you unconscious at the scene of a mass murder, the victims included your family. You were the only survivor as far as we are aware. Do you have anything to say about what happened last night?” The man was being awfully forward, no kind of softness in his voice, as if he were disgusted by Wyatt’s existence. Wyatt was shocked at the news of his family, feeling as though the energy was being drained from his body.
Wyatt tried to speak, but his throat made no noises.
“You’re the prime suspect of this case as of now.” The man stood there, silently staring at Wyatt with a cold, hard, questioning glare of a stare. Wyatt felt like he was going to cry. This wasn’t what was happening, was it? No, it couldn’t be, it couldn’t be.
Taking in a shaky breath Wyatt looked to the window on the wall beside his bed. He didn’t know how he could communicate that he hadn’t done anything wrong, well, besides sneaking out.
The man left the room after Wyatt stopped reacting to his words, and Wyatt sat there in the bed until he was discharged and ultimately sent to an institution for the remainder of the time before his trial.
