Page 8 of Reclaiming Adelaide

The sprinklers stopped, allowing my thudding heartbeat to bleed into my ears with enough force to transitorily deafen me.

A fresh stream of water hit the side of the house with the telltalechink, chink, chinkas the impact sprinkler started again.

I pinched my eyes closed and held my breath, praying they couldn’t see me in the dark.

A steel grip grabbed my arms and pulled me into the air as I screamed, “Let me go!” I dug my nails into the man’s meaty arms around my chest, causing him to squeeze like a boa constrictor until my screams were nothing more than a wheezy breath.

The hulking Goliath waddled as I kicked his shins, the spray of water hitting my face, causing my lungs to seize. Water shot up my nose and down my throat, burning my sinuses and eyes.

I hacked and coughed as he stepped into my driveway and suddenly stopped.

“There’s a shotgun pointed at the back of your skull. I suggest you let go of my daughter.”

Certain sounds in this world strike fear without hesitation, and one of those is a shell being racked into the chamber of a pump-action shotgun.

“Daddy,” I wheezed.

The man’s thick arms dropped me to the ground, my hands and knees smarting as I crawled toward my father, standing on the porch wearing nothing but his boxers and a double-barreled shotgun.

I sucked in air through my waterlogged lungs as the Hulk put his hands in the air and slowly backed away.

“Adelaide, get inside.”

“You’re fucked now, you asshole.”

I grabbed the railing as the man turned tail and ran off down the driveway, the end of my father’s gun trailing after him.

“Come on.” My father shifted his gun to one hand and helped me stand on my shaky feet as he kept his eyes on the man. “Get up. Now. Inside.”

I stood and wrapped my arms around him, a sob breaking through in a whoosh. “Daddy, I was so scared.”

“Linda, call the—“

“I did. They’re on their way.”

He shut the door, bolted it, and then wrapped his arm around my shivering shoulders. “What happened?”

Where do I begin?

“Jesus, Chris. She’s shaking,” Mom said as she wrapped a thin shawl around my shoulders.

“Jake and I got into a fight, and I left.” My teeth chattered, breaking up words as I stuttered. “These guys started chasing me when I got halfway home.” I pulled the shawl tighter around me. “I thought they were drunk and looking for trouble, but they…” I trailed off, not wanting to speak the obvious out loud, but they needed to know. “These guys knew where I lived and were waiting for me.”

“He let you walk home alone?”

“He left too, Dad.”

A sliver of pain shot through my temple, turning my head hot and itchy as I defended him. He didn’t deserve my defense, but I couldn’t have my father thinking it was his fault this had happened.

“The police are here, Chris,” my mother said, taking me in her arms as my father raced to his bedroom.

“Sheriff’s department,” they announced as a knock sounded at the door.

Their lights turned the living room into a disco of blue and red flashing lights, dancing across the walls, ceiling, and furniture.

My mother opened the door with me wrapped around her waist. “Thank you for coming.”

The rest of the night was a blur as they interviewed both my father and me—my mother hadn’t come out fast enough to see the man holding me. She’d only heard my frantic pleas at the door and woke my father.

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