pistol fired, he couldn’t move, no matter how hard he tried. All he could do was watch the other runners get smaller down the track. The part of him that observed the dream play out as if he were God knew that it was an anxiety dream. This part of him was most frustrated, because he couldn’t will any movement.
A school bell rang loud as he tried to move, until everyone on the track surged en masse towards the school. He wanted to scream, to beg for another chance to race, but the moment passed. He stood alone on the track and prayed for the bell to stop ringing until a part of him recognized that the noise came from the waking world. His mind rushed from sleeping, to groggy, to terrified. The doorbell should never ring at two in the morning. He thought of his mother, who was full of enough sleeping pills she would sleep through a car crash, let alone a doorbell. Two weeks earlier, he’d broken a picture while wrestling with his friend Marlon, and she hadn’t woken up-not when it smashed to the floor, not when they swept up the glass, and not when they giggled while doing a pathetic job of staying quiet.
The doorbell cut through the silence again. Ding-dong. The sound was far too friendly a noise for someone at the door at six minutes after two. The bell sent shivers down every limb. He considered staying put and hoped to avoid going to the door, but there was no way it was a salesperson at two a.m., so he decided he had to answer. Someone might be lost or hurt.
But then it occurred to him that maybe the person was checking to see if anyone was home. At that moment, he decided it was better to answer the ring than to wait and see if the next step was for someone to break into the house.
A quick glance through the door’s half-moon of small windows revealed that the porch light was out. His mother never turned the porch light off until daylight, so he flicked the switch up and down a few times, but still no light. Ding-dong. The sound made his fingers tingle. Fear made his hands stiff, but he didn’t want his mother to deal with whoever stood on the other side of the door, so he turned the deadbolt fast, and the loud click of metal on metal broke through the silence.
He could hear the sound of shoes or boots moving on the porch, so he grabbed the doorknob and pulled in one motion the way people remove band-aids to get the pain over with. A rush of cold air came through the gap between the door opening and the safety chain, and his heart pounded harder than he ever imagined possible as he peered into the darkness, until a face appeared in the gap. He drew his head back. Reaction told him to scream, but no sound came out.
“Relax,” the face said. “I’m a friend of your father’s. Is he home?”
Dave looked at the stubbly face. The man’s eyes were a striking hazel that looked too soft for the shaved scalp and stubble they centred. Dave shook his head.
“He’s not home?”
Dave shook his head again. His dad hadn’t been home for two days. His mom said he was at his friend Craig’s, but he knew better than to offer that information.
“I need you to open the door for me, kid.”
Dave saw another man beside the first. This guy was shorter, and parts of his blond hair showed beneath the toque fitting tightly on his head. Dave smelled something like smoke wafting from the men, only sweeter. The smell made Dave think of incense.
“Are you listening to me, kid? I need you to open the door.”
“I can’t do that.”
Dave’s words sparked the man with the toque. He positioned himself in front of the gap so that Dave could see him from the waist up and lifted his jacket to reveal a gun tucked into his pants.
“Do you see this? This will he in your mouth if you don’t open that door.”
The other man pushed the man with the toque to the side, saying, “Are you retarded? Put your fucking jacket down and lower your voice.” He turned back to Dave. “I understand why you don’t want to let us in,
A school bell rang loud as he tried to move, until everyone on the track surged en masse towards the school. He wanted to scream, to beg for another chance to race, but the moment passed. He stood alone on the track and prayed for the bell to stop ringing until a part of him recognized that the noise came from the waking world. His mind rushed from sleeping, to groggy, to terrified. The doorbell should never ring at two in the morning. He thought of his mother, who was full of enough sleeping pills she would sleep through a car crash, let alone a doorbell. Two weeks earlier, he’d broken a picture while wrestling with his friend Marlon, and she hadn’t woken up-not when it smashed to the floor, not when they swept up the glass, and not when they giggled while doing a pathetic job of staying quiet.
The doorbell cut through the silence again. Ding-dong. The sound was far too friendly a noise for someone at the door at six minutes after two. The bell sent shivers down every limb. He considered staying put and hoped to avoid going to the door, but there was no way it was a salesperson at two a.m., so he decided he had to answer. Someone might be lost or hurt.
But then it occurred to him that maybe the person was checking to see if anyone was home. At that moment, he decided it was better to answer the ring than to wait and see if the next step was for someone to break into the house.
A quick glance through the door’s half-moon of small windows revealed that the porch light was out. His mother never turned the porch light off until daylight, so he flicked the switch up and down a few times, but still no light. Ding-dong. The sound made his fingers tingle. Fear made his hands stiff, but he didn’t want his mother to deal with whoever stood on the other side of the door, so he turned the deadbolt fast, and the loud click of metal on metal broke through the silence.
He could hear the sound of shoes or boots moving on the porch, so he grabbed the doorknob and pulled in one motion the way people remove band-aids to get the pain over with. A rush of cold air came through the gap between the door opening and the safety chain, and his heart pounded harder than he ever imagined possible as he peered into the darkness, until a face appeared in the gap. He drew his head back. Reaction told him to scream, but no sound came out.
“Relax,” the face said. “I’m a friend of your father’s. Is he home?”
Dave looked at the stubbly face. The man’s eyes were a striking hazel that looked too soft for the shaved scalp and stubble they centred. Dave shook his head.
“He’s not home?”
Dave shook his head again. His dad hadn’t been home for two days. His mom said he was at his friend Craig’s, but he knew better than to offer that information.
“I need you to open the door for me, kid.”
Dave saw another man beside the first. This guy was shorter, and parts of his blond hair showed beneath the toque fitting tightly on his head. Dave smelled something like smoke wafting from the men, only sweeter. The smell made Dave think of incense.
“Are you listening to me, kid? I need you to open the door.”
“I can’t do that.”
Dave’s words sparked the man with the toque. He positioned himself in front of the gap so that Dave could see him from the waist up and lifted his jacket to reveal a gun tucked into his pants.
“Do you see this? This will he in your mouth if you don’t open that door.”
The other man pushed the man with the toque to the side, saying, “Are you retarded? Put your fucking jacket down and lower your voice.” He turned back to Dave. “I understand why you don’t want to let us in,
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