Page 4 of Right in Front of You

CARTER, AGE 12

She hadtears in her eyes, but they weren’t made of water; they were made of fear. Fear and helplessness.

“Come on, Molly,” I whispered, reaching down from the window to grab her hand so I could pull her up.

“He’s going to kill me.” Her eyes were wide open, ready to pop out.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Hurry, we’re almost there.” With one strong haul, I helped her up to her room. She climbed through the window and I closed it shut.

“Did he hear us?” She focused on the door to her bedroom. Molly was holding her breath, as if somehow a monster from her darkest nightmares would break through.

“I don’t think so.”

“Thanks, Carter. I wouldn’t have made it back without you. I knew I should have left the lake earlier.”

Molly had been sobbing the whole way we jogged to her house. Since I was a faster runner than Nick, who was too smitten with Joelle at the moment, I’d joined Molly. Boy, could that girl ever run when she needed to! Even though I was a few months older than she was, I could barely keep up. But I guess that’s what happens when despair and dread are chasing you – you run like you’re being chased by a pride of lions. Not that I’d ever seen a lion run in real life, but I had on television, and they were fast.

“No problem. That’s what friends are for. Well, I should get going. I don’t want to get you in any more trouble, and if your father sees me here, I may never walk again.” While I was trying to make light of the situation, we both knew that there was more truth to my words than I was willing to admit. The sooner she was safe in her room, on her own, the better. Maybe if her parents weren’t so strict, her summertime eight o’clock curfew could have been extended. It was only a quarter after, but knowing we wouldn’t make it back to her house on time, the girl had been anxious for the past half hour since we’d left the lake. We’d been having so much fun that we’d lost track of time. The only option was to walk her home through the forest behind the back yard and help her up through the window.

“I’m never missing curfew again.”

“Maybe you should talk to your parents.”

“Have you met my parents?”

Yeah, she was right. Talking was pointless. Molly’s mom was okay. She always carried candy in her purse. I remember her giving some to me after church one time. And she always smiled, the way Molly did. But not when Mr. Fowler was around. Mrs. Fowler was always sad when he was nearby, and I could never understand why. My parents loved each other’s company and their love for each other always shone through their smiles.

“Sorry, Molly.” I turned around to go back out the window and instead bumped into a small wooden box perched on the corner of Molly’s dresser. It crashed to the floor without breaking, but a few jewelry items spilled from underneath the lid. The noise alerted Molly’s father.

His footsteps upstairs sounded like a dinosaur’s.

“He’s coming.” She covered her mouth. I dashed for the window, but Molly grabbed my arm and pushed me inside her closet.

“You won’t make it. Stay here and don’t breathe,” she whispered.

The door closed in front of me, sealing off the remaining daylight. I gently touched the front panel, shifting its hinge like a shutter’s, to illuminate the claustrophobic space. No sooner had I crouched to the floor and held my breath the way Molly had asked than her bedroom door opened. My parents always knocked before they came into my room; Molly’s father didn’t.

“Where were you?” His stern voice shook the dread right out of my chest.

“I came home twenty minutes ago. You were in the kitchen.”

A distinct locking sound clicked in my ears and I searched through my memory: did Molly have a lock on her door?

“You’re a liar, baby. And you know what happens when you lie, don’t you?”

“I’m telling you the truth, father.” The tremble in her voice made the hairs on my arms stand up and I had the urge to leave the closet. Overwhelmed with my own fear, I stayed hidden, praying that he’d believe her little fib.

“If you’ve been here, then why aren’t your pajamas on? You know the rules, Molly. Eight o’clock, pajamas on. It doesn’t look like you’re respecting the rules.”

“I am, I promise.”

“Change into your pajamas, now.”

“But…”

“Baby, I’m not going to ask again.”

I shuddered, and through the thin slit in the shutter I saw him place his hands on his hips and wait. Molly slowly unbuttoned her shirt, and I closed my eyes. She wouldn’t want me looking at her when she changed. Why was her father still there?

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