Chapter 9

The last bell of the year rang throughout the school. Students rushed from classrooms to finish the academic year and take another step in the rite of passage. Friends huddled in small groups sharing hugs, summer plans and even some tears. Despite the buzz of youthful freedom energizing the hallways, Dylan and Norm knew bigger challenges were yet to come. What should have been the beginning of summer break, usually the best time in a kid’s life, was instead the looming presence of an ominous, unknown fate. They met at Dylan’s locker as they did almost every day.

“How’d you do, man?” Norm asked.

“Ok, I guess,” Dylan said with a shrug. “I was in a fog, but it seemed like I knew everything.”

“Wish I could say the same.” Norm said, avoiding the bigger issues. “Spanish totally kicked my butt.”

Dylan nodded, his eyes distant, chewing his lip, trying to figure out what had happened to his normal life.

Norm scanned the hallway. “So, now what?”

Dylan slammed his locker for what he felt might have been the last time. “I don’t know.” He started down the hall with Norm jogging to keep up. “I finished every test and just sat there thinking, but couldn’t even figure out to start. I’m just gonna sit in my room and wait for that thing to come and kill me. At this point, I really don’t have anything, and I really don’t care!”

Norm sensed the intense frustration building in Dylan throughout the day. “Listen, it’s not like this is something we’ve done. I got some ideas.”

Dylan slowed down a bit, hopeful. “What kind of ideas?”

“We’ve been wondering where we can find a clue. Well, you’re the only clue we got.” Norm shifted gears into a comedic tone. “We’re going to have to look at you a little closer, sir. I know, I know, you’re not much to look at, but it’s unavoidable. We may need rubber gloves.” Norm pointed his index finger up, causing Dylan to crack a smile as they boarded the bus.

The ride home was normal, albeit more raucous as one might expect on the last day of school. They stepped off the bus, said their goodbyes to classmates, and headed home.

“I gotta run by my house and get some stuff.” Norm said, turning toward his house.

“Cool. See you in a few.”

Norm hopped up his front stairs and reached under a dead plant for the key to the always locked front door. He entered quietly, tip-toed up the stairs.

“Norm? Norman, is that you?” Fred Wilder’s voice lacked any hint of happiness. No joy to mark his son completing another school year. Only the bitter tone that echoed the lingering pain of his wife’s death. Soon after her passing, Fred lost his job on the with the police when an arrest went awry. He denied excessive force, but the case was closed in under an hour and was left to live off a partial pension, unable to find work.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Norm shut his door, once again trapped in a room he had no real attachment to, and opened his closet.

“Where the hell were you last night?” Fred Wilder stomped angrily up the stairs, his steps heavy enough to shake the floor. “I said, ‘where were you?” Fred knocked the door in, his messy gray hair hanging into his bloodshot eyes.

“Sorry,” Norm replied, annoyed. “I was looking for this.” He fell awkwardly out of his closet and held up a medium-sized gray backpack.

“I don’t care. Where were-”

“I was at Dylan’s, studying for finals.” Norm shoved a pair of sweats in the pack. “Remember, he just got out of the hospital and-”

“I don’t care about your boyfriend’s problems. You be in this house before dark.”

Norm smelled the ripe, acrid alcohol breath that would eventually consume all the breathable air in his room. “Dad, I told you-”

“What did you tell me?” Fred snapped. “What did you tell me, Norm? Let’s play that game. You go first.”

“Dad, I’m not playing games,” Norm calmed his voice to avoid any further escalation of his father’s anger. “I don’t have time-”

“Ohhhh, you don’t have time?” Fred rolled his eyes. “Don’t have time for the old man? The old man who pays for everything? The one who paid for everything since you got here. The one who pays each and every day.”

If Norm had a respectful fear of anyone, it was Fred Wilder, who, in his day, was known as a hard- nosed, honest city cop. Now, as a drunken father, Norm dealt with both mental and physical abuse that went beyond the limits of the law. “No dad, Dylan and I just have some things to do.” Norm said, trying to quell his father’s displeasure.

“What’s with the backpack? Going somewhere?” Fred yanked the strap to remind Norm of his strength.

“School just ended, so we’re going camping.” Norm tightened his grip on the pack.

“Camping?” Fred Wilder mocked, giving another tug. “What do you know about camping?”

“Nothing! That’s why I’m going. Now, let go!” Norm gave a last pull, falling back as he secured possession of the backpack.

“Get over here you-” His father lunged at him.

Norm ducked and dodged for the hallway. If he could make it to the front door, Norm knew his father would go no further, and he would have escaped his private hell with what he came for. Fred Wilder hit the wall, spinning. Norm bounded down the stairs, skipping three steps at a time, and was halfway out the front door.

“You better - whoa-oh!” Fred Wilder hit the top of the stairs at a run and missed the first step. He landed awkwardly on one leg halfway down and flipped over before landing hard on the wood flooring.

“Seriously?” Norm stopped, his hand still on the doorknob. “You okay, dad?”

Fred writhed on the floor in the entryway, his voice cracking. “I think my leg is broke.”

Norm sighed. “Why now? Why do you have to do this now?”

Fred Wilder sneered at his son with guilt to give. “Why now?” he mimicked. “Am I a problem for you? An inconvenience?”

“Yes, dad! You are!” Norm barked back, picking up the phone. “You remind me every day how in some way I ruined your life! I lost my mom, too. My best friend has some real problems that I need to help him with! So yes, you are a problem!” Norm spoke into the phone. “Hello, yes. We need an ambulance sent to 36, Second Avenue.” Norm walked onto the front steps and waited, leaving Fred to his own misery.

Dylan and Nan arrived as the ambulance pulled away.

“What was that about?” Nan asked, her face flush with concern.

“My dad,” he said, shaking his head. “He got a little out of control and fell down the stairs.”

“I thought something happened to you.” Dylan shot a worried look at Norm.

“Norman, you’re welcome to stay with us as long as you need to.” Nan was well aware of the situation at Norm’s house and always discreet about dealing with it so as not to embarrass him. “I’m going to go finish dinner. Chicken Parm sound good to you?”

“Yeah, it does! Thanks Nan,” Norm said, tightening the backpack over his shoulders.

“What’s in the bag?” Dylan patted the pack.

“It’s my junior survival kit. My grandpa gave it to me for Christmas a few years ago.” Norm chuckled. “He said it would save my life.”

Dylan tried to hide his smile. “You got a laser cannon in there? Because I don’t think a junior survival kit is going to save us.”