Escape // Jacob Sartorius

"We Need to Talk"

"Meredith! Braeden! I need to tell you something!" my mom yells from downstairs. She sounds...different. I don't know how to describe it. It's like a mix between worried and devastated, and I'm not sure I want to find out why.

I drop the straightener I've been using to straighten my light brown hair onto the bathroom counter top and make my way downstairs. When I walk into the kitchen, Mom is clutching the home phone to her chest and looks pale.

"Mom? What's wrong?" I ask cautiously, aware that she may burst into tears or pass out any minute now.

"Where's your brother?" she replies quietly. I shrug and look around. I jump as Braeden rounds the corner and almost runs into me.

"Dude. Watch where you're standing," he orders, shoving me out of the way. Normally, I would be about to punch the eight-year-old brat square in the face, but with Mom obviously distressed, I decide that's probably not the best idea.

"Dad's out of prison."

Braeden and I both stare at each other, gaping, then turn to face Mom.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?" I stutter out, not believing her.

"It's been five years. He's out," she almost whispers.

"Nuh uh. No way. Not happening," Braeden declares.

"You were too young to know what was happening. Shut up and let the adults handle it," I reply. It's true though. Braeden was only three. Nothing bad even happened to him.

"I can't take it anymore! Can you two not just be nice to each other? This is obviously not the time!" Mom suddenly bursts out, grabbing her forehead. I look at the floor. This is so out of character for her.

"Where is he?" I ask quietly.

"He apparently bought a condo. Listen, you two are not allowed out by yourselves until I figure out what to do about this." she says, dead serious.

*flashback*

Dad comes home late one Tuesday. He reeks of alcohol and marijuana. The usual. He slams his empty beer bottle onto the kitchen counter.

"AMY, BRING ME SOME ASPIRIN...RIGHT NOW! HURRY YOUR SLOW ASS UP!" he bellows. I cover my ears and peak around the corner. At age eight, I'm not entirely sure what's happening. Dad looks over at me and I crouch back.

"MARY, I SEE YOU. COME HERE."

Ugh, Mary. Even to this day, I hate this nickname. Everyone calls me Mary, but I don't like it. I prefer Mere or just Meredith.

Slowly, I stand up and walk to the kitchen where Dad stands. I hold my hands together behind my back, and pretend like I'm not at all bothered by what's happening.

"Mary, go get your mother and tell her I want aspirin. Now, or I'll beat you both up," Dad orders. I try to ignore the tears welling up in my eyes.

"Okay. I'll go get her," I reply, trying to keep my voice even and avoid tears. I turn slowly and walk to my parents' room. Mom sits in the chair, looking afraid.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispers when she sees me. I want to cry even more now. My mother's upset, my dad's going crazy, and through all of this, three year old Braeden sleeps in his toddler bed.

Suddenly, Dad bursts into the room.

"AMY! DON'T IGNORE ME!" he screams. I scoot back, trying not to break into a run.

And then the beer bottle is thrown.

Mom yelps. I'm surprised she's able to contain her scream, because I yell so loudly I think the neighborhood is woken up.

"Meredith, out!" Dad orders. I nod, shaking, and run out the room and up the stairs.

I run into our office, where I know there's a phone. The sound of Mom's screams downstairs haunt me. How is Braeden not awake?

I take a deep breath, then pick up the phone. With shaking fingers, I dial 911.

"911, what's your emergency?" the dispatcher asks almost immediately. I burst into tears.

"My-my dad. He's dr-drunk and I think he-he's hurting my mom," I stutter through the tears.

"Okay. How old are you, and what's your house address?" the lady asks calmly. I take a deep breath again.

"Eight, and I live a-at 184 Cherry Lane."

"Okay, sweetie. I'm sending officers out right now. Tell me, what did you see?" she replies. I start to shake again.

"He th-threw a beer bottle at my mom, and I hear her screaming," I choke out.

"Stay calm, honey. Is there anyone else in the house besides you and your parents?" the dispatcher asks again.

"My baby br-brother. He's asleep," I reply. The tear stream has slowed down, but starts back up again when I can faintly hear Mom crying and yelling.

It feels like forever before the officers reach our house. One officer finally comes upstairs to find me in the office clutching the phone like it's my lifeline.

The last thing I remember hearing is Dad screaming, "If I find you, I'll kill all of you!"

I'm not sure what happens next. All I know is that the officer lady holds my hand and contiuously tells me that everything will be okay.

I'm not sure she was right.

*flashback ends*

"Mom, what if he actually does decide to kill us?" I ask quietly. Mom shoots me a glare, as if to say, "Not in front of your brother!"

"Oops," I mouth at her. Braeden is about to open his mouth, but I punch him in the shoulder lightly.

"What was that for? I was just trying to ask what you meant. Chill, dude," he says, narrowing his eyes at me.

"Whatever. Maybe I didn't want to hear your voice," I shoot back. Mom rolls her eyes and puts her hand on her forehead.

"You two, again! What's wrong with you? Why can't you just get along for five minutes? This is obviously not the time for your arguments, and I can't deal with you both right now! Meredith, I expect better from you! You're old enough now to realize just how dangerous your father is, and you choose to throw away that wisdom and argue with your brother! I'm fed up!" Mom scolds. I sigh. She's not wrong. I do know how dangerous it is that Dad is out of prison. He could literally kill us if he wanted.

"Braeden, I know you don't always like my rules. I get that, but this time, you need to take me seriously. You're a really intelligent kid, and I'm worried about you. Your father is a dangerous man. I'm afraid that since he never really got to know you, he'll try and kidnap you, or worse. Please, promise me you'll take my words to heart and not leave by yourself?" Mom pleads. Braeden rolls his eyes. I want to punch him again. He didn't see Mom suffer, or me terrified. Being a baby at the time, he never had to deal with the wrath of the evil man we call our father.

"Why don't we just put a restraining order against him?" I suggest. Mom looks at me for a moment, then her face softens.

"I'm afraid that wouldn't do anything. If he tried to kidnap one of you, or actually kill us, there most likely wouldn't be anything we could do about it. Fortunately, say something actually did happen, knock on wood, we would be able to immediately report your father. Then it would just be a matter of finding you. But I'm sure nothing will happen. You're both great kids, and I love you. Come give me a hug," she continues, smiling softly and reaching her arms out. Braeden rolls his eyes but hugs her anyway, and while I try to look happy, I'm actually terrified. What could possibly be worse than the threat of being killed always on your mind?

But for now, we could only pray for the best.