John stepped out of his red pick up truck and hesitantly walked to the house. He was uneasy, though for no apparent reason. Maybe it was just the police car that followed him on the freeway he tried to convince himself.
As he walked to the door he noticed that he had left his porch light on. “That’s strange,” he thought, “I never leave the porch light on.” He fumbled with his keys to open the door and noticed it wasn’t locked.
He jiggled the handle again, it was so unlike him to leave the door open, he was nothing if not careful. He slowly pushed the door open and dropped his keys on the table.
“Hello?” he called out.
No answer, but he thought he heard something.
“Hello?” he repeated a little louder. He was now even more uneasy, the door being open the porch light being on made him think maybe someone was in his house. He reached out for something, anything big and found his umbrella. Sliding his hands around it, he slowly pulled it into the air like a baseball bat and then laughed.
“If someone could see me now,” he laughed to himself, “carrying an umbrella like this, it wouldn’t even hurt anyone.”
He dropped the umbrella and walked into his living room, assuring himself he was just being paranoid. He was getting ready to sit down when he heard more noises behind him. He gasped and looked all around.
“Hello?” he called out again.
This time he heard something, he was sure of it. It was upstairs. He rushed out to find his umbrella again and slowly crept up the stairs. The lights were out and he reached for them but decided against turning them on. Quietly he crept through his hallway to his bedroom.
The door was slightly open; he tried to peek in but couldn’t see anything in the dark room. He pressed his toe against the door to slide it open a little more.
“Hello? Is someone in there?” as he called out a hand reached out from behind the door and grabbed his wrist.
John screamed, as the umbrella fell to the floor, a large hand now cupping his mouth. The figure pulled him around, twisting his arm, the pain surging through his shoulders.
“Stay still and be quiet,” he heard a man’s voice in his ear, “and you won’t be hurt.”
As the man finished John heard another man across the room laughing.
“You won’t be hurt too much,” the man laughed as he reached over to John’s nightstand and turned on the light.
As John’s eyes adjusted the first thing he saw was a man, maybe in his early thirties pointing a gun towards a woman duct taped to a chair. Slowly the man pointed the gun towards him.
“Are you going to be quiet?” he asked John.
John’s stomach felt like it was in his throat as he slowly began to nod yes.
The man behind him let the pressure off his arm and John dropped to the floor afraid. He looked towards the woman, her face was swollen, probably from her struggle, John thought. As he looked closer he felt sick inside, it was mother.
The man with the gun walked over to John’s mother and ran his fingers through her hair.
“Is this mommy?” he asked John as his fingers trailing across her duct-taped mouth down to her bare breast. “Did you suck on these when you were a baby?”
John looked away unable to answer or to watch.
“Oh poor baby can’t protect his mommy now can he?” the man continued, his hand caressing her breasts a moment before squeezing it.
“You can call me daddy,” the man looked at John.
John felt a sharp slap to the back of his head, “You heard him, call him daddy,” the man behind him barked out before slapping him again.
John struggled to speak but slowly strained out “Yes daddy.”
“Good” the man behind him reach down to John’s waist and started pulling his shirt up over his head.
“We don’t want you running off through the neighborhood, so we’re going to have to take these clothes off,” he yanked the shirt over John’s head.
He shivered as he clasped his arms over his chest to keep warm and to protect himself.
Suddenly the man behind him grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him to his feet. His hands reached around John’s waist and turned him facing his mother and his newfound daddy.
