James and let him know to pick me up a little later straight from there.”
“Are you sure, honey? That would be amazing.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll take you down because I need to pick up your dad’s gift.”
Mom had a special watch made and engraved for him that was delivered to the shop the night before.
James doesn’t pick up his cell when I call him so I leave a voicemail letting him know the change in plans.
I don’t feel a sixth sense about going inside like some people claim to feel before something bad happens. Mom and I chat happily, keying in the code and going in through the back door. Nothing is out of place, the atmosphere doesn’t reek of evil.
“I’m just going to get Daddy’s gift from the safe. You put the kettle on; I have time for a coffee with my favorite daughter.”
“Your only daughter.” I roll my eyes, making her laugh.
I do as she asks until I hear a clatter coming from the office she’s gone into. I rush in there without thought.
“Everything o . . .”
It’s a surreal moment, seeing someone you love being held at knifepoint. Shocked cries spill from Mom as she tries to control the shuddering of her body against his. My whole life filters through my mind up until the thirty seconds before I walked into this room. This can’t be happening. Not to us. Not to me.
“Well, well, Antonia.” The man holding her whistles.
Mom’s breath hitches at this man knowing my name. Confusion, fear, and disbelief sits heavy in my chest.
“Do I know you?” I croak out past the lump in my throat. He flicks his eyes to where a photo of me with my name printed across it decorates Mom’s desk.
“No, but we’re going to change that.”
All that plagues my mind is the fact that I can see his face. He isn’t hiding it from us. Blond, scruffy hair hangs limply from his head. Blue, lifeless eyes hold misery and death, and he’s letting us see him, which meant he isn’t afraid of us describing him. We are going to die today.
“Who else are we expecting?” he asks, still pressing the knife down on my mom’s throat, causing a blood blister to mar her skin.
“No one, just us,” I tell him, holding my hands up in surrender.
His eyes narrow on me and he points the knife in my direction. It’s carved with a serrated edge; it looks like something Rambo would carry. Heart-stopping terror ricochets through every inch of my soul.
“If you’re lying, you’ll be responsible for whatever measures I take.”
He points to a bag on the floor. It’s not ours so he must have brought it in with him. How he got in here puzzles me. We have passcodes, which only Mom, Richard and I have. I’ve known Richard my whole life; his family works with Daddy and they have been close friends since forever, so he won’t be involved, would he? The call about him being late replays in my head . . . he wouldn’t . . . he doesn’t have reason. I rationalize with myself.
“Take out the rope and tie her hands.” I look through the bag but find no rope. “Hurry the fuck up or I’ll slit her throat and save you the hassle.”
Bile burns my throat as I desperately search the bag again. “There’s no rope,” I tell him in a pleading manner.
His free hand grasps Mom’s hair, making her cry out in pain. He turns their bodies, forcing her head down against the table. My legs give out on me and I land in a heap when I hear the impact, and her body falls limply to the floor.
Boots stomp towards me, snatching the bag from my lap.
“Motherfucker.”
He throws the bag across the room and points the knife down at me, but before he can speak, Richard’s voice calls, “I’m here! Hello? I made it.”
I want to scream, run, warn him not to come in here but the handle turns and it’s too late. He enters, noticing me on the floor. His eyes drop and as I look up at him with tear-soaked cheeks and bloodshot eyes, the devil who has invaded our lives grabs him from behind, bringing the knife across his
“Are you sure, honey? That would be amazing.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll take you down because I need to pick up your dad’s gift.”
Mom had a special watch made and engraved for him that was delivered to the shop the night before.
James doesn’t pick up his cell when I call him so I leave a voicemail letting him know the change in plans.
I don’t feel a sixth sense about going inside like some people claim to feel before something bad happens. Mom and I chat happily, keying in the code and going in through the back door. Nothing is out of place, the atmosphere doesn’t reek of evil.
“I’m just going to get Daddy’s gift from the safe. You put the kettle on; I have time for a coffee with my favorite daughter.”
“Your only daughter.” I roll my eyes, making her laugh.
I do as she asks until I hear a clatter coming from the office she’s gone into. I rush in there without thought.
“Everything o . . .”
It’s a surreal moment, seeing someone you love being held at knifepoint. Shocked cries spill from Mom as she tries to control the shuddering of her body against his. My whole life filters through my mind up until the thirty seconds before I walked into this room. This can’t be happening. Not to us. Not to me.
“Well, well, Antonia.” The man holding her whistles.
Mom’s breath hitches at this man knowing my name. Confusion, fear, and disbelief sits heavy in my chest.
“Do I know you?” I croak out past the lump in my throat. He flicks his eyes to where a photo of me with my name printed across it decorates Mom’s desk.
“No, but we’re going to change that.”
All that plagues my mind is the fact that I can see his face. He isn’t hiding it from us. Blond, scruffy hair hangs limply from his head. Blue, lifeless eyes hold misery and death, and he’s letting us see him, which meant he isn’t afraid of us describing him. We are going to die today.
“Who else are we expecting?” he asks, still pressing the knife down on my mom’s throat, causing a blood blister to mar her skin.
“No one, just us,” I tell him, holding my hands up in surrender.
His eyes narrow on me and he points the knife in my direction. It’s carved with a serrated edge; it looks like something Rambo would carry. Heart-stopping terror ricochets through every inch of my soul.
“If you’re lying, you’ll be responsible for whatever measures I take.”
He points to a bag on the floor. It’s not ours so he must have brought it in with him. How he got in here puzzles me. We have passcodes, which only Mom, Richard and I have. I’ve known Richard my whole life; his family works with Daddy and they have been close friends since forever, so he won’t be involved, would he? The call about him being late replays in my head . . . he wouldn’t . . . he doesn’t have reason. I rationalize with myself.
“Take out the rope and tie her hands.” I look through the bag but find no rope. “Hurry the fuck up or I’ll slit her throat and save you the hassle.”
Bile burns my throat as I desperately search the bag again. “There’s no rope,” I tell him in a pleading manner.
His free hand grasps Mom’s hair, making her cry out in pain. He turns their bodies, forcing her head down against the table. My legs give out on me and I land in a heap when I hear the impact, and her body falls limply to the floor.
Boots stomp towards me, snatching the bag from my lap.
“Motherfucker.”
He throws the bag across the room and points the knife down at me, but before he can speak, Richard’s voice calls, “I’m here! Hello? I made it.”
I want to scream, run, warn him not to come in here but the handle turns and it’s too late. He enters, noticing me on the floor. His eyes drop and as I look up at him with tear-soaked cheeks and bloodshot eyes, the devil who has invaded our lives grabs him from behind, bringing the knife across his
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