text: (Side note: if you’d like a little mood music- I suggest you put this on before reading.: song- Don’t fear the reaper Artist: Gus Black) The walk home was always nerve wracking. I constantly told myself that it didn’t bother me, but in reality, the last street lamp on my route plucks my nerves. It flickers on and off, and occasionally burns out, leaving those behind it to cast shadows of demons frolicking on the pavement in the dark. Or maybe they’re trees. I never really stopped to stare hard enough to look. But I pass it, and make it the half block more. My keys laced between my knuckles, tumbling through my front door until I am once again in the sanctuary of my own home, always panting from the near sprint the last few minutes of the trip. I’ve never been a brave one. I hear my brother call out “hello” from the kitchen, and I manage a “hey” back between gasps for air, and drop my keys onto our hall table. I go back to the door and lock the 4 locks and set the alarm, turning around to admire the hallway table. It’s one of my favorite pieces of furniture in our shared house. Tall and slender, the black oak table sits flush against our matte gray walls, adorned with pictures above it. On it. Next to it. Our house is definitely a pottery barn cutout; “settlement money” may as well be plastered on the front door next to the house number. But it’s ours. Bought by us after our parents’ untimely deaths. I don’t know if we have ever been the same. Tragedy has a funny way of affecting people sometimes. Holden started taking every course he could find on self defense. Weapons. Martial arts. Me? I hid. From my self, from the world, from everything I didn’t consider safe or comforting. Fight or flight. It’s either in you or it’s not. It is most certainly not in me. I walk into the kitchen and he’s sitting at the massive, dark marble island, typing away furiously at his lap top with a headset on. I smile at him and mouth “whats for dinner?” And he looks at me and shakes his head. I sigh. The fridge is threadbare, partially because he didn’t food shop, and partially because he eats nearly everything in the house. Dude is a human vacuum. I order a pizza, mouthing “pay for pizza” while making the hand gestures to him and I ruffle his hair as I pass. He throws some paper at my face and gives me the finger followed immediately by his award winning grin and a thumbs up. I laugh, and walk out of the kitchen to the sound of his discussion. A shower sounds so good right now. The second floor of our house has 4 bedrooms and one “extra” room, two of which are master suites on each end of the floor. That extra room is a panic room. Accessible from both master suites, its in the middle of the floor and set to the back. Essentially a metal box, fortified steal makes up the walls on all sides. It's armed with weapons we are both trained and certified to use; cameras, beds, bathroom with a small shower, outside line, it’s own power source- literally any and everything you would and could possibly want out of a panic room. It also has enough provisions to sustain us for a month should we need. By the grace of god, We have not needed. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* I turn off my light and go to bed. My sheets whispering against my skin softly as they wrap me in their cool, white embrace. I always need it cold when I sleep. The night was pretty cool so instead of turning on the air conditioning, I opened my windows. The breeze rolled over me and lulled me to a sweet sleep. \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* I could have sworn I was sleeping for 20 minutes, but my clock on my phone read 1:57, so I had been sleeping for almost 5 hours when I heard the first sudden crash. I could feel my heart creep into my throat and felt frozen. I reached to turn on my light, and was puzzled for a second. “What the fuck?” I said out loud, to no one in particular. The switch slid back and forth with soft clicks, but it didn’t turn on. Something was wrong. This wasn’t just Holden banging ‘round, drunk on a Friday night. I reached into my nightstand and tapped the secret compartment that slid down from the top to offer me the hand gun she kept hidden. I racked a round into the chamber, and pulled the sheets back. I just have to make it to the safe room. Thats our plan. We don’t fight, we go for safety and assess the situation from there. My eyes trained on my window, still open to the 6 inches I had left it, and I scanned my bedroom, my eyes darting to the darkest corners, my mind betraying me with flickers in the blackness. I moved one foot out of my bed at a time, careful to not make sudden movements, and once my feet hit the floor I began my slow crawl to the hidden door in my closet. My body felt like molasses, almost as if I was restrained, my legs and arms nearly immobile as I moved. The sweat was beading off of me now, my skin electric. I could feel it dripping off the tip of my nose and down my chest on to my breasts, slowly beginning to soak through my shirt. I heard the first cry. I froze. Unlike anything I have ever heard before, and I was a flood rushing to the door in my closet. Throaty and growling, animalistic. And then another bang. I was at the door now, and I put my finger on the entry pad and felt the gush of air as it opened. The second. And a bang. *What the actual fuck is going on*. My hands were shaking. *Get in, get in, get in.* I poured myself into it, and typed in the code behind me to seal it for 48 hours, which wouldn’t activate until Holden put his own in. I heard another inhuman cry, and a bang. And I cursed at myself for not being braver. *Fuck, Holden.* I looked around the room quickly, and immediately knew he wasn’t in there. None of the surveillance equipment had been turned on, and all lights were still dimmed. Behind the door, I relaxed a bit knowing I was safe, and began to turn everything on while I pulled on more practical clothing. It takes 2 minutes and 38 seconds for the system to fully boot, which is a lifetime if you’re fighting for your life, or worried about someone who maybe fighting for theirs. We spared no expense, however, and by the time I got my pants over my hips and was lacing up my tactical steel toed boots, I had a full view of the entire house, including his bedroom. My heart bled in my throat as I scanned the wall of monitors for signs of life. Holdens, and whoever else might be in there. I turned on the sound and listened. The hum of Holdens ceiling fan softly floated through the speakers, and there he was, in bed. Sound asleep. I felt sick. I frantically searched the rest of the house in the screens, but not one movement, not one thing out of place. No activation of the alarm. No dark figure lurking between rooms. The infrared cameras doing exactly what they were supposed to. I ran my fingers through my hair and over my face and take a deep breath. *What the fuck is going on?* This room has its' own power source. My light didn’t work. Those screams. My mind races as I try to figure out what it is that I should do, and I decide that going to get him, that it is the only option. It’s the only way. I go over to his door and punch in the exit code, and feel a familiar rush of air as it opens; I am so quiet, church mice are envious. The floor feels like quick sand under my knees and palms, pulling me into its abyss with each advance. I can hear my heart beat. I get to the side of his bed and rise up. I can feel my throat close up, and the pressure build behind my eyes as I gently pull the covers back from him, the sting of tears burning behind them. “Holden,” I breathe, “Please, Wake up.” I feel his body shift below my hand. “What, Ryann, what are you fucking doing right now?” His voice is full of sleep. “Please, please, just come with me. please. I heard something. The lights are out. You need to come, just come please. Reaper protocol.” I’m pretty sure my eyes were more pleading than my voice. He looks at me and I can feel the tears burning their paths down my cheeks, lava down a grass path. “Oh, Ry, honey, nothings here. I promise” his voice is calm, assured. He slides his hands through my hair, and for a second I close my eyes and its ok. I feel his fingers come to the back of my head, and then pulls the back of it hard. My neck snaps back like an 80’s bracelet, and my vision blurs. “HOLDEN!” I thrash. I for a second I think I’m in my childhood home, and then I realize I am strapped to a bed. The walls gray. The frame metal. The bars on the insanely high window close, and thick. The bottom opened about six inches. The sheets white. The room cool. Theres a man standing over me telling me to calm down, but everything is underwater. He was never there, the man says. This is a dream, he says. Take a deep breath, he says. Please, we don’t want to medicate you, he says. I begin to calm down. My arms and legs are both restrained and I cant move the hair out of my face, and it’s in my mouth and sticking to me and I need it to stop. “Ryann, do you know where you are?” The man says. And I just look at him, *Is he insane?* “No, I don’t fucking know where I am. Where is my brother?” Calm but then “HOLDEN?! HOLDEN?! LET ME GO, LET ME FUCKING GO!” I could feel myself struggle. Futile. But I tried. “Ryann, you’re in Letchworth Psychiatric Institute.” He says, gently. “Your brother Holden, and your parents, were murdered 15 years ago. “ he paused. I could feel the sting of salt sliding down my face. *There is no way.* “No. Just mom and dad. Just mom and dad...” I trailed, “Not Holden. We live together. He does private security. I work for an attorney. I take the bus because I don’t like to drive. We order pizza because he never remembers to go food shopping.” I shook my head “ Not Holden. Tell me where he is. TELL ME!” I couldn’t tell if I was begging or if I was demanding, or if I was guessing. The man looked at me with such sympathy, I could taste it. “Ryann” he said " They were killed the summer of 2005. You killed them by accident. Someone had broken into the house. You were camping in the living room. Ryann, you shot them all, including the intruder, with the rifle your father kept in the closet. You have been here since this happened. Your family came running down the stairs. You didn’t know. You thought they were all intruders...” his voice trailed off. “ I tell you this once a month.” I just looked at him, the tears stopped. “I want to see my brother. Please. Just... let me see my brother.” I was calm now. I swallowed hard, and the pity mixed with sympathy in his eyes didn’t change. That’s ok. I was brave now. I’d find him. *You can be brave. Be the bravest you’ve ever been.