If We Survive The Night

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Casey

As I watch the guy—I'm not sure what his name is—walk towards the gray Subaru parked down the road, cold spreads throughout my body, rising from my bare feet. The sensations arrive with it that I must have suppressed before, all the prickles from the dry twigs I stepped on while running through the garden, the pain in my knee from the jump, the panicked thumping of my heart. It's like I've been disconnected from my body, but now the sensations are coming back with a vengeance. The fear is back, too—of being hurt, of being left alone. I can't deal with this alone.

What is this, anyway? People bursting in at night, shooting guns—is it really happening? Could it have been some idiotic prank? I allow myself a moment of hope, but no—Jen's scream, my father's cry of surprise... they sounded dead serious. There were shots, and then they were silent. It was no prank. It was... murder? Are they dead?

No. I can't think about that now. I must decide what to do, yet my brain is irresponsive. It's filled to the brim with shock, overflowing, unable to make any sense, to conjure any kind of plan.

What happened must have had something to do with Dad, that much is clear. I don't know much about his work, but everything about it suddenly seems suspicious. His tough demeanor, his impeccable suits, him never talking to me about what he does—not that I asked, truth be told. Could he have pissed off the wrong kind of people? The kind that settles disagreements by sending hitmen to take out a whole family?

Jen and her mother couldn't have been the primary targets. A high school student, and a housewife with a drinking problem? No way. Those people came for Dad, and the rest of us were just the collateral damage, witnesses to be disposed of, or maybe killed to send a message to whoever else this might concern.

The three people closest to me might be dead. It's so unfair for someone's life to get cut short like this. And my father... he hadn't been all that present in my life until recently, but I guess at the back of my mind I always thought we'd get to know each other one day. I guess that won't happen.

I hug myself, watching the boy reach his car. I still can't remember his name. He mentioned it earlier, but I didn't catch it. He helped me, though, and that feels like a big thing, having someone on my side. I mean, the police will be on my side, too, won't they? They'll be able to protect me.

The image of the intruder pops up in my mind again. The fact that he was dressed as a cop doesn't mean that he was a cop, of course, but the thought of facing people wearing the same uniform fills me with sudden dread. I think of him walking towards my room, a gun in his hand. He seemed so confident, like he was going to get me in his time, like he didn't even need to hurry.

I shudder, looking around. The night is quiet, the only background noise coming from the distant highway. I think I can distinguish sirens far away, but that might be wishful thinking.

Then, a twig snaps somewhere in the garden—a sharp, clear sound—and I'm running before I know it.

The guy pauses getting into his car and looks up. I head straight for the passenger's door and grab the handle.

"There's someone there! In the garden!"

He frowns but starts moving. We slip inside the car and shut the doors simultaneously. He fumbles with the keys for what feels like eternity, then the motor roars to life. The road ahead of us is still empty, but the attackers might appear any moment, their guns aimed at us. They don't even need to get to our side of the fence. They can just shoot us as we drive by.

"Don't go there!" I jump in my seat, pointing. "Turn around, turn around!" I grab the wheel, but he slaps my hand away. Then, he puts the car into drive, makes a U-turn and starts picking up speed. I twist in my seat to look back. The road behind us is empty. I take a deep breath, and then, suddenly, I know exactly what I need to do.

"Take me to your place," I say.

"No." He doesn't even hesitate.

"Please. Just for tonight. Until they catch them."

He's looking ahead, his jaw set. "I told you. I want nothing to do with this."

"Do you think I do?" I yell, and then bite my tongue, surprised by how hysterical I sound. I force myself to take another deep breath before I continue. "Sorry. I know. I appreciate your help. Just let me stay at your place tonight, okay? No one will notice."

He snorts. "Dude, you don't know my neighborhood. Everyone will notice."

"It's late. No one will see me. No one will look for me there." That's true, I realize as I'm saying it. The killers might check my phone and look for me at my friend's places, but not at this boy's home. He's not in my contacts.

The idea that the man in the skiing mask might check my messages and see my chat with Andy fills me with sudden embarrassment, but then I feel ashamed of my own reaction. Some serious shit is going on, and I worry about the killer finding out I'm gay? Could I be any shallower?

I must hide. The instinct is overwhelming—to escape, to lie low until the cops have taken care of this. I look at the guy again, rattling my brain as to how to make him agree. What on earth was his name? Jason? Jackson?

"Jaden!" I say, the memory finally popping up. "Please?"

"No," he says.

"Pretty please?" I say, and then, surprising myself, I begin to cry. I didn't even realize I was on the verge of doing that. I was just lost, and scared, and my feet hurt, and then it all just crashed down on me. Someone actually tried to kill me tonight. They almost sure will try again, to finish their job. Someone actually wants me dead. I haven't done anything bad to anyone in my whole life, so why on earth would anyone want me dead? It's so insanely unfair.

"Stop this," says Jaden.

"Do you think I can control it?" I manage in between my sobs, wiping my face with my sleeve. "Do you think I'm like, hey, why don't I have a nervous breakdown, that would be fun?"

"Gosh." He pushes something in my hand—a tissue, it feels like. "Pull yourself together, man. I'll get you to the police station and leave you there."

"They might be waiting for me there."

"Who?"

"The killers!"

He shakes his head. "You're being paranoid."

"Don't I have a good reason?" I sniffle. "I need a place to hide, just for tonight. Please?"

He sighs. I can't quite make out his expression through the blur of tears, and I suspect that it might be for the best.

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