I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, louder than the footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor. The door handle jiggled again, but this time there was a hesitation, a pause that stretched on longer than I was comfortable with. It was as if Ethan was waiting for something, or maybe… someone. My grip tightened on Ryan’s hand, my only tether to reality in this nightmare. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the sounds, trying to keep my mind from spiraling into panic.
Ryan’s breathing was shallow, but steady. He was still alive. I focused on that, praying for it to be true, that his little heart hadn’t given out, that his body wasn’t succumbing to the poison that had flooded our systems only moments ago.
I could hear Ethan’s footsteps move further into the house. The woman’s voice—low and anxious—broke the silence, but I couldn’t make out the words. I knew that if I stayed quiet enough, maybe, just maybe, I could hear more. So I stayed there, breathing shallow, feeling the sticky warmth of sweat on my skin, praying for time to slow down.
“Is it done?” the woman asked again, her voice cutting through the stillness, a tinge of fear in her words.
“Not yet,” Ethan replied, but there was a certain finality in his voice, like he was readying himself for the end of it all. “We wait. We stay here until it’s finished.”
The door rattled again. My body froze. I glanced down at Ryan, whose wide eyes were filled with confusion, his face pale under the dim light of the bathroom. He was scared—no, terrified—but I had to keep him calm. I had to. For both of us.
“Mom… what’s happening? Why can’t we leave?” Ryan’s voice was barely a whisper, but in the quiet, it cut through the room like a knife.
I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t let him see my fear, not now. I had to be the strong one. I had to be the one who stayed composed while we waited for help. But deep down, I knew I was on borrowed time. My mind was racing, and the more I tried to control my thoughts, the more they slipped away from me, like water through my fingers.
