Page 45 of Dating After the End of the World
A mix of grunts and groans and banging followed. I was confused. I wanted to see what was happening, but Mom told me to run, and I was supposed to listen to Mom.
“Casey, run!” she yelled again, but this time it came out strained.
“Dude, let’s go,” another voice said, less deep than the first one.
I didn’t listen to Mom. Instead, I pushed open the door, and as I did, I watched a man dressed in black plunge a kitchen knife into my mother over and over and over again. My eyes swam with tears and my hands flew to my mouth, muffling a scream. The man in black shoved her to the floor. She coughed and red liquid sprayed from her mouth.
The other man yelled in horror, “What the fuck!” before taking off out the splintered back door. The man with the knife followed, his boots crunching over broken glass.
“Mom,” I said, my voice cracking with sadness.
“Casey,” Mom gasped.
I rushed to her side and cried, asking her what I should do. Her light-blue top was now painted red. She reached up, stretching out her hand and grabbing a dish towel hanging from the oven door above her.
“Call ... the ... police,” she said just above a whisper as she pressed the cloth against her stained red shirt.
I ran to the cordless phone on the countertop and dialed 9-1-1, but it made no sound. Putting it back on the receiver, I picked it up again and redialed. It was silent.
“The phone doesn’t work!” I said in a panic.
Mom shut her eyes tight and pressed her lips together, forming a strained, tight smile or maybe a vacuum seal to hold in the despair.
“Where’s yours and Dad’s cell phone?” I asked, desperately thinking of other options.
She slowly shook her head. “Your dad ... took it with him.”
I cried and asked what I should do. When she didn’t answer, I begged her to tell me, yelling, “Please, please, please,” over and over.
Finally, she spoke, but it felt like it was for my sake rather than her own. “Casey ... go to the neighbor’s house. It’s a little over a mile down the road, the way we take to school. Run as fast as you can and tell them to call the police.” Mom’s words came out slow, like she was pushing them out, using all her energy to utter them.
“Can’t you come with me?”
She coughed up more blood. It splattered in small flecks across her face. “No, but I’ll be right here ... waiting for you.”
The tears came so fast, it felt like I was underwater. “You promise?”
“Yes, Case . . . Now go.”
I nodded and wiped the tears away. I had to be brave for her. She called, “I love you,” as I raced out the front door.
“I love you too, Mom,” I said, and then I took off down the long driveway, heading toward the neighbor’s house. I ran as fast as I could. My throat burned as I sucked in cold air. My lungs screamed but I screamed right back. I knew I couldn’t stop, no matter how much I couldn’t breathe, no matter how tired I was, no matter how badly my muscles ached. I had to keep moving. There were no cars on the road that night. It was just ten-year-old me and a dark country back road.
Finally, the neighbor’s house came into view. No lights were on, and I worried no one would be home or maybe they were fast asleep and wouldn’t bother answering. I pounded on the front door until my hands hurt. A porch light flicked on.
“Who is it?” an older woman yelled from inside the house, fear in her voice.
“Casey Pearson,” I cried.
A lock clicked and the door pulled open. On the other side stood Elaine. I didn’t know her name then, but I learned it that night. “Oh my God, sweetheart, come in. What’s wrong?” she asked, ushering me inside.
By the time an ambulance arrived, it was too late. Mom was gone, and everything changed after that, including my father.
“Casey,” my dad says, snapping me back to the present. I blink once, twice, and the past fades away, replaced by the flickering flames in the burn pit.
“I’m fine, Dad, really,” I say, but the tears in my eyes tell him the opposite.
“It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart.”
