Sins of the Father

11 | Finally

He comes down and asks us to change back into non-formal clothes. My arms ache as I slip out of the dress shirt, but I tell myself that it's fine. Adrenaline will take away whatever pain I have left when we try to run, if any of the keys work. Nothing is more important than getting out of here, and I'll take however long a hospital stay I need afterward.

He takes the fancy clothes and leaves, but not before smiling at Charlie, and then at me. He's clearly forgiven me for ruining our special dinner.

Charlie hums the same song three times to make sure around ten minutes have passed since he's left, and then we go up the stairs. The wood, true to tradition, does not creak underneath our feet.

I try the first key, and it fails. I try the second, and it doesn't go in at all. The third and fourth are clearly too big for the lock, so we don't even bother. The fifth doesn't turn. Neither does the sixth.

"Oh, God," Charlie whispers, gripping my arm.

I slip the seventh and final key into the lock. Then, with a deep breath, I try to turn it.

And it works.

But there's still the matter of actually opening the door. Before dinner, I'd taken note that there was only one lock, and no chain. If he's added a chain, we're screwed. If he hasn't...

I turn the knob all the way, recite a prayer, and push the door. It opens an inch, and then another...and it keeps going, untethered.

Charlie clamps both hands over her mouth to keep from squealing. I gently push her behind me and take the first step forward, quiet as a mouse. There's no way of knowing if he's awake or where in the house he is. All we've got to go on is pure luck that he won't notice us leaving.

Quietly, we stalk down the hallway. The kitchen is empty. The dining room is empty. But in the living room, sitting in a recliner with his back to us so we can only see the top of his head, is the man. He's watching TV, and he's between us and the front door.

Charlie squeezes my hand. We can't sneak past him.

We retreat into the hallway and duck into the kitchen. There's a back door here, but it's blocked by a cabinet, about waist-high. Moving it would catch his attention for certain. Instead, I quietly slip open the drawers and take the biggest knife I can find. Charlie sticks a metal fork up her sleeve, just in case.

We've got this, she mouths, slowly, to make sure that I understand her.

I nod and pray that she's correct.

We sneak back into the living room. I keep Charlie behind me as I inch forward, raising my knife, ready to stab him right in the head or slit his throat. But then the TV suddenly turns off, and he stands with an exhale, patting his knee, and he turns around.

I'm too far away to take advantage of his surprise, and he's already backing away, hands clenched.

"I didn't give you permission to come out of your room," he snaps.

He still stands between us and the door. I keep the knife pointed in his direction.

"We're leaving," I snap back. "Get out of our way."

He looks so disappointed. "You know I can't do that."

My fingers tighten around the knife as I weigh my options. Charlie can't open the door without me—that's why our tactic at the dinner party failed, and so we can't try that again. I can't open the door to let her out and fend him off at the same time. But if I open the door and run out myself...no. I can't do that.

He sees me studying the chain and shakes his head. "If you leave," he says, "I'll kill her."

My eyes narrow. "Well, then," I say coldly. "I guess I'm just going to have to kill you."

Behind my back, I hand Charlie the keys. She takes them, hides them in her sleeve, and only then does she come out from behind me.

"Go wait in the basement, Charlie," I say.

Her eyes widen. "No, I—"

"Go to the basement," I say again, softening my tone. "I'll come for you. I promise."

She glares at the man but listens to me and leaves. Once the door is closed, I turn my attention to the man.

"Please don't do this," he says. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You already hurt me!" I scream.

He seems taken aback, offended that I would ever think such a negative thing of him. I relish the hurt on his face and smile. He's going to die now.

He lunges for the knife, and I respond by swinging it across his face. The skin of his cheek tears open, and he hisses in pain and reels back. I follow him and try to stab him in the shoulder, but he jerks aside, and I take a page out of his book and slam my knee up into his stomach.

He doubles over, gasping, and I bring the knife down into his shoulder. He screams but I scream louder, yanking it out and slicing across his face again. He keeps trying to hit me, and every time he does, I fend him off with a new cut. Droplets of blood paint the floor.

I raise the knife to stab him in the neck, and then a familiar voice behind me says, "Mike, what's going on?"

Startled, I glance over my shoulder for a second, only a second. Annie from the parking lot is standing there in pajamas, completely bewildered by what she's seeing.

And then I'm tackled from both sides. The man rushes forward and holds my arm to keep me from swinging, and Annie grabs me from behind and wrenches the knife out of my hand. The blade clatters to the floor, and we all tumble to the ground.

"No!" I scream, thrashing around to get them off me. "Get off, let me go—"

Annie holds my arms down, and the man gets on top of me, places both hands on my throat, and violently squeezes. My screams are cut off with the sound of a dying animal, and my lungs' pleas for air go unmet. Annie lets go of my arms, and I reach up to the man's face to claw out his eyes. He leans up away from me, out of my reach, and I start digging my nails into his hands instead, trying to pry them off my neck.

"The brat's in the basement," he spits. "Check her for the spare keys, I think that's how they got out, and then lock her in."

Annie brushes dust off her clothes and trots off to the basement. The man keeps throttling me. My vision is blurry with tears and I keep kicking, trying to throw him off balance, but he stays where he is.

"I told you," he says, "you did this to yourself."

He somehow squeezes even harder, and my legs start to go limp. My hands stop attacking his, and the pounding of my heart grows quieter and quieter.

Next thing I know, my world is dark.