We entered by the front door. “Grab what you can.” He looked at his watch. “Ten minutes.
Checkbook. Laptop. Credit cards.
Any cash.” His hands were
shaking. “Jewelry,” he added, looking at
me. “Do you have any jewelry?”
“Get it. Now.”
When I emerged from the bedroom, he was carrying the
computer out the front door. “That’s not
He shrugged me off and made his way to the car. “I know what I’m doing.” He set the computer in the trunk and entered
the garage. He emerged with a sledge hammer
and ran towards the back of the house. He
brought the hammer hard against the sliding glass door, shattering it.
I jumped back. “Jesus. Is that necessary?”
He covered his arm with his sweatshirt and reached inside to
unlock the door. He pulled his keys from
his pocket; tossed them to me. “Get the
baby in the car. Drive down two
blocks. Wait there. Make sure he doesn’t see you.”
“Do it, Lilly.”
I grabbed the baby from her crib and ran to the car.
“It’s OK,” I said, not believing it. “Sit here.”
I set the baby in the passenger seat and put the keys in the
ignition. “It’s OK. It’s OK,” I told myself, driving down the block
slowly, watching for him in the rearview mirror. A red BMW drove slowly down the street,
pausing in front of the house momentarily.
A school bus dropped off five elementary school children at the
corner. I took out my cell phone,
punched in a number.
He didn’t answer.
The back door of the car opened. “Drive.
Drive.” He pounded on the back of the seat.
I glanced at him in the mirror. He was covered in blood.
“I should have listened to you the first time, Lilly.”
“Oh, Dad. What did
“Bastard’s never going to hurt you again. Drive, Lilly.”
My father wanted to even the score. I'd only wanted to get away.
Labels: fiction Trifecta Writing Challenge