Page 4 of Her Remarkable Protector

I hold my breath. Maybe if I don’t breathe, it won’t hurt as much. I don’t want it to hurt. I’m not brave like Mom or Dad.

But I can’t stop staring. And then something shifts.

His face changes.

He is going to help me.

He grabs my mother’s gun. So fast I can’t even see what he’s doing. For a moment, I think… maybe I was wrong.

I flinch, waiting for the pain.

It doesn’t come.

When I open my eyes, Bomber is on the ground. Still. Very still.

The first man is on his feet now. He returns the gun to my mother’s grip, then turns to me. He snatches my hand, yanking me further away from the hallway, but I’m as stiff as a wooden doll.

“Yo! What’s going on up there?” A third voice echoes from downstairs.

Before I know it, he lifts me onto his hip. I’m not that small, but he carries me like it’s second nature. From up here, I notice how tall he really is.

“I’m sorry,” he keeps saying, over and over. “I’m so sorry.”

I can’t tell if I’m the one shaking, or if he is too.

But he’s holding me tight, like I matter. Like he knows how scared I am of the pain.

“What the hell’s going on up there?” The voice persists, louder.

The man freezes, his arms tightening around me. “It’s all under control!” he shouts to his comrade.

He spins around, his eyes darting all over the room, like he’s searching for something. He looks younger than Bomber, maybe he’s still in high school—a junior, tops. I can tell he’s scared. But his grip on me doesn’t shake. It’s like he’s trying to protect me.

“Is there a way out? A balcony? Another staircase?” His voice is rough but quiet. For a second, I see it in his face—desperation. “C’mon, kid, think. Any exits?”

But then I hear the heavy boots on the stairs, louder now. Whoever’s coming is almost here.

“Shit!” he snaps, panic slipping into his voice. His head jerks around, frantic. Then, suddenly, he drops to his knees and lays me down right next to my mom.

“Stay still!” he whisper-hisses, turning me face-down on the floor. His hand presses against my back, smearing something on my T-shirt. Thick. Sticky. He snaps my hair tie and lets the strands fall, scattering them across my face. “Don’t move, do you hear me?”

He then lays Mom’s body over me. My chest bobs up and down so hard it makes her body move with me. I retch, gasping for air. I can’t do this!

“Stay fucking still!” Junior growls under his breath.

The third man is closing in. What will he do to me if he finds me? Kidnap me? Beat me up? Perhaps I’ll feel that pain after all.

The man from the stairs arrives, his voice pissed. “You call this under control? I was out five minutes and this?”

I have to believe I’m already dead. Because if that man sees me, he’ll make it true. I close my eyes and imagine I’m just… nothing. It’s like pulling a curtain across a stage, shutting out the lights and the crowd. I used to do that sometimes in my head during school plays. Pretend I wasn’t there, pretend I was anywhere else.

But this isn’t a play. This is real.

Still, something inside me whispers I have to block it all out—shut everything off, like I’m not part of it. Like I’m a box of old books someone forgot about. Yes, a box is much better than hiding behind a curtain.

So I do.

I stay as still as I can, like I’m invisible.

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