a series of sbi oneshots

scrapbook

Holding his brother in a white knuckled grip, Wilbur realized that under the bed was probably the worst place for them to hide. But the only alternative was the closet, which was somehow even a worse hiding spot. 

He isn’t sure what exactly was going on. About ten minutes ago there was a knock on their door. Their father looked out the peephole, grinned, and told them. “Go to your room boys. My boss is here.”

Both Tommy and Wilbur knew that their father had a job with the mafia. They weren’t sure exactly what he did, but it was definitely illegal, and provided their father enough money to barely pay the bills, and enough drugs and alcohol to usually leave his sons alone. They also knew they wanted absolutely no part in it.

So when they were told to scram, the two of them didn’t protest and headed back to the too small bedroom. Wilbur merely laid on the bed to scroll on his phone, while Tommy was doing his homework on one of the few clean areas of the floor. 

Then there was yelling. Both Tommy and Wilbur looked up from their work fast enough to hear two gunshots ringing in the air.

Tommy looked like he was about to scream, but Wilbur acted fast. He grabbed his brother and glanced out the window, wondering if a mad dash was worth it. But no, there were two black cars outside, with someone in a suit leaning on each. They would be seen in seconds.

So Wilbur did the next best thing and shoved them both under Tommy’s tiny bed, his younger brother shaking out of fear.

He wasn’t sure what happened exactly, but his dad was probably the one shot. Wilbur can’t say that exactly upset him, but now that meant the people who killed their father were in the house. They could find Wilbur. Worse, they could find Tommy.

Wilbur hoped they would just leave. There wasn’t anything valuable in the house, no reason for the mafia to stick around. Maybe they would hide the body, but that was it. They should have left after getting rid of evidence.

So why weren’t they leaving?

It had been ten minutes at least, Tommy was still shaking, and the men were still pounding around the house. They were talking, too quiet for Wilbur to hear, but loud enough so he could hear voices. He strained his ears, but couldn’t catch a word.

At least, not until their door was flung open with a laugh. “Finally! They must be in here, if Soot wasn’t lying.” Someone with a British accent said, sounding excited. “Techno, check the closet.” Wilbur started to shake as well.

The creaky door squealed before the second man grunted. “Nothin. You sure they’re here?”

“Well they must be in the house. Soot was expecting a deal, he would have them on hand.” The British one chimed in. “Wilbur? Tommy? Are you in here little ones? Come out. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Wilbur didn’t believe his words for a second, but they knew him and Tommy were in the room. It wouldn’t take long to check under the bed. They were going to find them.

Or perhaps they would only find one of them.

“Tommy, I need you to listen very, very carefully.” Wilbur whispered, directly into Tommy’s ear. “I’m going to cover you with my coat. Don’t move an inch.” His words barely made a sound. “I’m going to take care of this, but whatever you do, stay down here and don’t move, no matter what.”