Page 4 of Soul So Dark
It’s Colson, but it doesn’t sound like him. Is there someone else in my room? Are they fighting? I let out a scream, flailing in my sheets as I try to roll over. But before I can, someone grabs my calf and drags me down the bed. I’m clawing at the sheets, trying to grab whatever I can, but it happens too fast. And then I feel someone grab me around the waist and hoist me into the air. My legs spin out and my screams echo through the room as he carries me backward, coming to a halt against the wall with a thud. A hand clamps over my mouth and I feel his breath in my ear.
“Shhh…” I recognize Colson’s raspy whisper, “I’ll get you out of here, I swear…”
What the hell is he talking about? And why would I need to get out of my own room? But I’m so freaked out that all I can do is sob into his hand.
“The road…Mase…” he mumbles in my ear, his words cutting in and out, “the game…should’ve told you…I fucking told you!” he finally screams into the side of my head, making me shake in terror.
Someone bangs on the door, shaking it on its hinges. Shouts come from the other side. They sound like my mom and Scott. I think they’re screaming my name. The doorknob jiggles and then the door shakes as Scott pounds on it again.
Colson’s arm flies out in front of us and, at first, I don’t know what he’s doing. He’s reaching out, but his fingers are bent at odd angles.
“I’ll kill him,” he growls, “I won’t let him hurt you.”
His fingers tremble, curling around something I can’t see. Then I realize…
He thinks he has a gun.
I flinch as there’s another bang and the door flies open, sending splinters flying across the room. But there’s no gunshot, because Colson’s not holding a weapon. Instead, he wraps both arms around me and turns into the corner, covering me with his body. He’s squeezing me so tight I can barely breathe.
“Colson, stop!” I gasp.
There’s a guttural cry and both of us are pulled backward. I’m looking at my ceiling, legs flailing while I’m lying face up on Colson’s chest with his arms locked around me. Dark silhouettes fly in and out of view and suddenly I hear my mom’s voice, yelling Colson’s name. His arm lifts every few seconds, and then clamps back down around my chest.
I hear Scott’s voice behind me, speaking in deep murmurs, and then Colson erupts in panic-stricken cries. His arms loosen enough to slip out from beneath it, but before my mom can pull me clear, Colson grabs my wrist, jerking me backward.
“Let go!” I cry, frantically shaking my arm, but to no avail.
When I look up, Scott is on the floor behind Colson, arms wrapped around his shoulders. Scott’s big, but Colson is fighting him so hard that they’re slamming into my wall and knocking everything on my desk over. But still, Scott’s trying to speak into his ear, trying to calm him down. Colson jerks me toward him, making me pitch forward onto the carpet. I pull back, punching his hand with my fist, but he can’t feel anything.
His legs flail and he throws his head back repeatedly, but Scott keeps dodging him, not letting go.
“Evie!” Colson screams, holding my wrist in a death grip, “Evie!” he cries and fights Scott with such ferocity that Scott nearly has him in a chokehold.
He’s crushing my wrist. It feels like it’s about to snap.
Amid shouts and sobs, my mom crouches in front of me in her pink jersey pajama pants and tank top. “Colson, baby, let go!” she pleads, holding my arm with one hand and trying to pry Colson’s fingers off my wrist with the other.
I let out a shrill scream as his nails dig into my wrist, tearing at my flesh like a bear trap. Finally, my hand slips from his fingers and I fall back onto the carpet, blubbering and scrambling away. My mom follows, ushering me out of the room. When I glance back, Colson is wailing, his eyes squeezed shut as he thrashes back and forth against Scott, still holding him tight. Then the door shuts, turning his cries to a dull roar.
Eventually, the house goes silent again and it’s safe to return to my bedroom. But when I step into the hallway, I spy Scott’s silhouette in the hallway. He’s standing at Colson’s closed door, having finally gotten him back to his own room. I don’t know that Colson ever woke up, but Scott’s arms are braced on either side of the door frame and his head is bowed between them. I can barely see it through the shadows, but his shoulders shake ever so slightly with each breath.
I look away, not wanting to see any more of the abject suffering that’s descended over my house. But as soon as I step through my bedroom door, I’m immediately reminded of everything. My desk is crooked, my monitors are askew, my covers lay in a pile on the floor, and my TV screen is nothing but a giant cracked spiderweb with my lamp laying on the floor beneath it.
My mom helps me pick up a few things and straightens my desk, but all I want to do is go back to bed. My nerves are shot and I’m exhausted. I haven’t fought with Colson like that since we were little, but fighting with a pre-teen is nothing like being thrown around by him now. He’s more than a foot taller than me and he’s strong, strong enough to have easily killed me if his brain put the wrong image in his head.
“He looked just like he used to when he had night terrors as a toddler,” my mom sighs, pulling my covers back up the mattress, “God…” she trails off, not bothering to continue.
And what is there to say? We all know why he did it—what he was seeing.
“He thought he had his gun,” I mutter as I climb into bed, “he wanted to shoot you all when you came through the door.”
She jerks her head up, but doesn’t say anything, just nods and leans down to kiss the top of my head.
“I know he didn’t mean to hurt you, but maybe keep your door locked at night, just for now.”
Don’t worry, as if I need any convincing to shut out the rest of the world.
Maybe it’s better that Colson was in my room instead of his, where he could’ve grabbed his Glock or one of his rifles in his closet and gone stalking through the house looking for whoever. Regardless, this is my life now; shattered TVs, splintered doors, and nervous breakdowns in the dead of night.
