Page 30 of Finding Noah

I nodded, unable to control the movement of my head. “I understand.”

“What are you going to do? Tell me.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember everything he said. “Uh-uh … stay hidden until I get to the end o-of the street, c-c-call 911, then run.”

He grabbed my shoulders once again and brought me to the broken window, the rain now coming inside and wetting the window frame and floor.

“And where are you running to?”

“The police.”

“Good,” Soldier said. “O—”

His voice was cut off by something breaking next door.

Dad.

Soldier looked out the window, his throat shifting with a deep, hard swallow.

“You have to go,” he said, draping my blanket over the bottom of the window frame. “I'm going to help you out, and you're going to drop down. Ready?”

That was when I began to cry, and I didn't care. I didn't care that I looked like a little kid. I didn't care that I couldn't stop. All I could do was throw my arms around his waist, holding on tightly, holding on with every bit of strength I had, which wasn't much. God, it was never enough. I was never strong enough.

“I love you,” I said through my tears. “I-I didn't say it before, but I do. I-I love you.”

“I love you too, buddy.”

Panic tore through me as he took my small, skinny wrists in his big hands and began to pry my arms away from him.

“N-no, y-you come too,” I begged, sobbing. “G-get Mom. We … w-we can—”

“We don't have time,” he said, keeping his voice gentle, but there was fear in his eyes. So much fear. He put his phone in my hand. “Come on, buddy. Take a deep breath. You gotta do this for me, okay? Go get help.”

Then, before I could say anything, he was picking me up and easing my body through the window, out into the relentless downpour in nothing but my pajamas and sneakers.

I looked into his eyes as I asked, “You're gonna save Mom, right? You're not going to let him—”

“Nothing is going to happen to your mom,” he whispered, and I knew he meant it.

I knew nothing was going to happen to her. He would never allow it.

“Now, remember what I said, and go.”

I dropped to the wet grass and leaned against the side of the house. I looked for the shadows, kept to the darkness, and moved quickly, quietly to the back of the little house I’d shared with Mom, holding Soldier's phone tight in my hand.

“Where the fuck are you?!” Dad shouted from inside, his voice muffled by the storm.

I cowered beneath the windows. He couldn't see me, but I shook as if he could. As if he knew where I was, where I was hiding, and he'd appear at any moment with that gun gleaming in his hand. He was going to shoot me. He was going to kill me, like he'd killed seven years ago, when I was six. He wasn't going to think twice about it, just like he hadn't then.

The rain soaked through my pajamas, the T-shirt and shorts clinging to my body. It was the middle of the summer, but I shivered despite the heat, terror rattling deep in my bones.

His heavy footsteps clomped through the house and out onto the porch. I remained hidden, squeezing my eyes shut and praying he didn't come around the back. Hoping, hoping, hoping he didn't jump out—SURPRISE!—and fire at me—BANG! I waited for it, certain that was what was going to happen, but then I heard a clatter coming from the front of Soldier's house.

The broken steps.

Dad cursed, and I was tempted to look, to see what had happened, but I couldn't. I had to run, run, run. Call 911, get to the cops. Dad was going to get into that house, and Soldier had said Mom was going to be okay, but Soldier didn't have a gun. Dad had one though and—

They need me.