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“I’ll make a call,” he says, and the tension unravels, allowing breath back into my lungs.
I sag with relief, but it’s short-lived. “Thank you,” I whisper, too weak to say more.
“Go back to sleep. I’ll let you know if I find anything.” His words come quickly like a steamroller, and the line goes dead before I can even reply, leaving me alone with my thoughts as fear whispers of what might be happening. Each tick of the clock amplifies the silence, stretching seconds into an eternity, and the weight of the unknown presses heavily on my chest.
I let the phone drop back onto the mattress, my eyelids growing heavy. Thunder rumbles outside, and lightning flashes through the sky, then heavy rain pelts my window. It’s the best lullaby, and I drift off to sleep.
I’m asleep for maybe two seconds before I hear the pitter-patter of little feet. Milo launches himself into bed with me, accompanied by the kitten.
“Why is it storming in October?” Milo hunkers down under my blankets.
“Global warming.” I tug him close to me, the kitten purring loudly, despite all the commotion. “Shh, I’ve got you.”
Milo snuggles in, his little face inches from mine, and I watch as his breathing slows down and evens out. In a matter of minutes, he’s fast asleep, despite the raging storm and thunder that rocks the house, but my eyes remain fixed on the ceiling. My worry for Matty gnaws at my thoughts, preventing slumber. The storm outside mimics the storm inside me, each clash of thunder echoing my growing apprehension.
Again and again, the house rumbles with a knock.
That isn’t thunder.
Ever so slowly, I roll out of bed and put my slippers on, stepping into the hall. With only the night-lights to guide me, I creep downstairs. The wall clock at the bottom of the steps blinks one in the morning, and somehow, two hours have passed. I’m not even sure I slept a moment of those two hours.
A shadow moves in front of me, near the front door, but they are outside. Whoever it is, they are knocking. My stomach plummets through me to land at my feet, where I leave it at the bottom of the steps. I know this moment,I’ve lived it, only it was a snowstorm, and it was the cops who came to tell me…
I swing the door open, and there stands Matty, holding onto the doorframe with one hand and the other clutching his side. He practically falls into me.
“I messed up. I messed up,” he says repeatedly.
My panic takes a backseat as my fingers pull away, covered in blood. Shaking, I lead him into the kitchen, where he continues to mutter those three words repetitively.
“Stay here, okay? I’m going to call for help.” I leave him in the kitchen, his head rolling back and forth on the wood. His bloodshot eyes follow me as I nearly trip rushing up the steps to grab my phone. Seeing only shadows from the night-light, I run back to the kitchen and flip on the light. “Oh my god.”
Matty rolls his head to the side, facing me. His eyes are bloodshot, and one is completely bruised. Panic rushes through me, and for a moment, I freeze. My fingers shake as I lift the phone.
“No, no, no!” he rasps out, his hand pressed to his bleeding side. “No ambulance, no cops,” Matty chokes out through gritted teeth.
“You’re bleeding,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm.
“Help me,” he pleads, the desperation in his eyes making my heart race.
My panic rises, but I swallow it down. “How? How can I help you?”
“Lyric!” he cries out suddenly. “You have to tell him…tell him that I’m sorry.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut.
“Matty, you aren’t making any sense.” My hands tremble as the call connects, and I lift the phone to my ear, anxiously waiting for Desmond to answer. Each passing second feels like an eternity, my worry for Matty escalating with each beat of my heart.
There’s a pause before he answers, “Kitten,” and I can hear the hint of worry in his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Matty. I’m not sure what happened,” I say, my words stumbling over each other in my panic, “but he’s covered in blood and keeps mumbling Lyric’s name.”
“Where are you?” His movements sound rushed in the background, as though he is hurriedly getting out of bed or gathering his things.
“I’m home. I called Lyric when I realized Matty was missing, to make sure he was okay…” My words die off as fear grips me. “Matty, where is Lyric now?”
“I left him. I left him,” Matty repeats from the table.
“Desmond, get here now. Now, please, now.” He’s fine. He has to be fine. “I can’t leave Milo, and I need to find Lyric.”
