Chase Me

Chapter Forty-Three: Alliance

Amo, 14 Years Old

"Please, please, please, God, please. Please keep Mama safe. Please keep her safe, help her come home safe. Please, God. Please."

Hands clasped in front of me with my eyes closed at the dinner table, three bowls of soup now cold. Everyone was gone doing their own things in different parts of the mansion. No one paid any attention to the fourteen-year-old boy praying at the kitchen table.

That's when the front door slammed and I jolted in my seat, fear gripping me. I kept my head down. "Please, please, please, please-"

"Walk," my father's voice boomed.

I squeezed my eyes shut. "-please, please, please-"

"I said walk!"

"-please, God, please. Please, please."

A strangled sound came from the lobby and my fingers tightened on each other. "Please. God, please."

Two pairs of steps thundered up the stairs, one harsher than the other. My feet barely brushed the floor from where I was seated and now they were itching to go to Mama. A door slammed upstairs and I acted before I could think.

I heard a maid call my name in a hushed tone to bring me back, but I didn't want to listen. Mama was hurt. I needed to get to her. But what could I do?

I rounded the corner into the lobby and waited at the base of the stairs-waiting for noise.

Something slammed and broke on impact behind a closed door and I was off. I took the stairs as fast as I could, tripping and hitting my face on the fifth step before holding my bloody chin in my hand and continuing. "Please, please, please." I reached the top and wiped my bloody hand on my shirt, knowing father would be angry. Right now, I didn't care.

I glanced down to see a small cluster, maybe three or four maids, watching from below. They were shaking their heads, some urging me to come down. I blinked away the tilted vision I had and shook my head once before turning and heading in the direction of Mama and father's room. It was closed. I stopped and spun in the direction of another door when I heard a noise.

Mama screamed once before something made her quiet. My heart was hammering in my chest and I was feeling more and more scared as I reached the slightly open door of father's office. There was a rhythmic banging coming from the room, as if something was hitting father's wooden desk forcefully, again and again.

A sob came from there and then father's voice. "Quiet."

I came closer to the door, legs shaking. "Please, God, please. Please, please, please," I whispered to myself. I looked up at the ceiling. "Please. God, please."

I knew what was happening. I knew it, in the depths of my greatest fear I knew, but didn't want to accept it. My hands were shaking when I went to open the door and when I heard father grunt, my hands flinched back. Something wet slid down my face.

I was crying.

But I still pushed it back. I held my breath and opened the door enough for my head to peek through and slow enough that there was no creaking sound.

There was Mama. Eyes shut, hair a mess, and sobbing. Mama. Bent over the desk.

Father. Head back, eyes closed, teeth bared, and the cause of the banging. The insistent banging of what I so stupidly thought was wood on wood.