Window

25.

Dark clouds covered the already setting sun, cloaking the town in a deep purple light. The warm air was cooling, the wind and breeze silent. Around her it was quiet, an occasional car whooshing by before dissapearing down the street.

Emma's boots clicked softly against the concrete sidewalk, her navy sweater blending into the darkness that was descending upon them. Hands clenched into anxious fists, her arms swung by her sides as her paced increased.

Her heart thumped steadily against her ribs, soft, shaky breaths slipping through her lips. She couldn't ignore the worries and doubts that swirled in her mind, or the anxiety that pulsed through her veins. All her emotions were pulsing through her, the numb feeling that had blanketed her for the past month slowly lifting.

Before she knew it, Emma was standing in front of her destination. It was a faded yellow cape house with a wooden porch wrapping around the front. Four rocking chairs rested there, one swaying softly with a breeze that Emma failed to sense.

The lawn was a brilliant green, small yellow daffodils sprouting from the dark brown mulch that lined the porch. A pristine concrete walkway cut through the yard, arriving at the bottom of the wooden steps.

Looking at the house with white shutters and flowering window boxes, Emma would've never guessed. She would've never guessed that whoever owned this house was a monster, a sick, abusive man.

Emma's eyes darted back and forth, picking up on the small details of the house. The nerves were paralyzing, her mind coming up blank when imagining what she would say. Instead her eyes fell upon the window that was lit up with a faint, yellow glow. Either way, someone was home. And Emma was going to speak to them if it was the last thing she did.

Through the silent night came a sound. Emma almost missed it, but the faint noise danced by her ears, grabbing her attention. For it was a cry of pain, followed by a muffled bang.

Then came the shouting. It was loud, violent shouting, the two voices punching back and forth. The dominant voice boomed through the night, the sound resonating in her chest. The softer voice was full of anger, full of fear. And Emma knew it was Dean's. As soon as she heard it, she knew.

Then came that sound of collision, the cry muted by the thick barriers of walls. But Emma knew. She understood perfectly well what was happening. Fear flooded her limbs, tears stinging her eyes. But in that moment, her paralysis was removed.

Her hands dug in her pockets, grasping her phone. Fingers dancing over the screen, Emma dialed 911. Raising the trembling phone to her ear, Emma's eyes were locked upon the window where the murky shadows danced dangerously close. Dean was in trouble, Emma could feel it deep within her core. 

"911 what's your emergency?" 

"I'm at 167 Spring Street. I'm calling about a domestic disturbance" Emma said, the fear that pulsed within lost in the confidence that rose in her voice. "A father has been abusing his son for years. He's attacking him now."

"M'am, I'm gonna send a unit over right now. I need you to stay outside and wait-" the older man began to advice, but Emma had already hung up. She jammed the phone back in her pocket, the sound of something shattering grabbing her attention. 

Emma left all her doubts, and all her fears, on the sidewalk before entering the yard. The grass licked the sides of her boots, the concrete solid under the soles of her feet. Hands pumping by her sides, Emma sprinted through the yard, jumping up the front steps before she arrived at the door. 

Pausing, all the mannerisms that had been engraved in Emma's mind resurfaced. Eyebrows furrowing together, Emma considered knocking. She thought about ringing the doorbell, and making a polite entrance.