“No! Please don’t do anything else to him! He’s already hurt. Please don’t hurt him anymore!” She’s pleading, begging with the stranger. The monster. Who is she talking about? Who’s hurt?

“I didn’t mean to hurt him.” The man’s voice is distressed. “I didn’t think I hit him that hard. Please, I just need some medication. Do you have anything here? Oxy? Vicodin? Benzos? Anything?”

“I don’t know what any of that is! No! I have none of that!”

“Ma’am, tell him that you’ll check your medicine cabinet upstairs. Go quickly and lock yourself in. Help is on the way. Is there anyone else in the house with you?” The operator gives her clear instructions and I hear my mother’s breathing hitch.

“Just my husband. My daughter is at school.” She pauses and says calmly, “I’m four months pregnant.” I close my eyes as tears stream down my cheeks.

“Hang up the phone!” the lunatic screams at my mother and I hold my breath.

“Wait!” she says desperately and I hear the lie form in her voice before the words come out of her mouth. “I-I think I have some of those pills upstairs…in my medicine cabinet.”

“Don’t lie to me!” he yells.

“What are you doing?” My mother’s voice becomes frantic and it sounds like the phone fumbles in her hand. “Why are you doing that?” Her voice is strained. “Stop that!”

“Insurance,” he says calmly, sounding crazy and sadistic at the same time. “If you do anything stupid, we all go up in flames. You don’t want that—do you?”

“You’re crazy!” She’s yelling at him, and it sounds like she’s trying to get away. “Ben, wake up! Wake up!” She screams my father’s name in a desperate attempt to get him to respond to her.

“Make it stop,” the man yells and pleads. “Make it stop.” He’s moaning and my mother holds her breath.

“Turn off the gas, please. You don’t want to hurt anyone,” my mother begs him as the man moans louder.

“Ma’am, get out of the room now. Do you hear me? Run,” the operator calmly but firmly says to my mother.

“Ben! Wake up, please!” Her voice sounds farther away, like she dropped the phone on the floor. Her cries become incoherent. She’s screaming and sobbing. “Ben!”

“Stop. I told you to stop. Make it stop!” the man yells again, and I suddenly hear my mother gasp.

Then nothing.

Nothing.

“Ma’am?” the operator asks. I then hear her say to someone off in the distance, “The line has been cut off.”

A few moments later.

“Explosion reported in a subdivision off of Route Three-Thirty-Two. All units in the area, respond immediately.”

I sink to the floor, holding my breath, hoping to hear my mother’s voice one more time.

Nothing.

When my legs give out, I hit the floor with a thud and all six heads in the kitchen turn to look at me, eyes wide and worried. Sad and full of pity.

“Sam!” My aunt gasps as she rushes toward me.

“Somebody get some water.” Detective Michaels’ voice is distorted, and his face blurs as I try to focus.

“Sam, stay with us, okay?” Aunt Peggy’s voice is soothing, and I feel her cradling my head in her lap. I throw up all over her as I close my eyes.

I don’t want to know.

I didn’t want to know.

Please let this be a dream.

It has to be a dream.

I try to picture the day as any other day. If I try hard enough, maybe I’ll wake up from this awful nightmare. I close my eyes and see my mom in the kitchen, planning a quiet dinner at home after a hectic day. She’s smiling and doing what she loves. My father is at her side, helping prepare my birthday meal. They’re in love. Happy. Perfect.

And then they are gone.

Boom.

Garrett

Past

Newtown, Pennsylvania

Age 7

“GARRETT, DINNER’S READY,” my mother calls from downstairs. I kick over the Lego tower that I was almost done building, watching the pieces fly all around my room. Hundreds of colorful Lego bricks spread across my floor and get stuck in places I know I won’t be able to reach.

“Stupid Legos,” I say and stomp down the stairs.

I climb up onto a stool and rest my elbows on the center island while my mother fills the dinner plate in front of me. Roasted chicken, mashed potatoes and cauliflower. The only thing I like on this plate is the chicken, and I pick at the skin before she’s finished putting the rest of the food on my plate.

“Garrett, can you be patient?” my mother scolds me, but gently.

“Yes, Mom.”

When she’s finished, she fills her own plate with food and covers everything else with tin foil. I don’t know why she’s doing this; Dad never comes home for dinner. In fact, I haven’t seen him in over a week.

She smiles at me and takes a clean plate and utensils out of the cabinet and drawer, setting them neatly next to the warming leftovers.

She pulls her stool around the other side of the island and sits across from me.

“How was school today?” she asks. The same question she asks every single night.

“It was fine.”

I pull the remaining skin off the chicken and drag it through the pile of ketchup on my plate, tossing it into my mouth. “Chicken’s good, Mom.”

“Thank you, sweetie, I know it’s your favorite.”

I finish the chicken and swirl the cauliflower into the mashed potatoes. She’s watching me mess with my food, so she knows I’m not eating it. “Can I be done?” I ask.

“You didn’t eat any of your vegetables. Have at least two pieces of cauliflower and four spoonfuls of potatoes.”

Every night she tries to get me to eat more, especially things that I don’t like. She’s trying to make a deal with me. “How about one and three?” I say.

“No, Garrett, eat what you’re told.”

“Okay, Mom,” I whine.

We both jump when the laundry room door flies open. My father comes in, throwing his briefcase on the floor in the corner of the kitchen.

“Dad!” I say excitedly. I can’t believe he’s home.

He says something I can’t hear and my mother pushes her plate away. She quickly grabs his clean plate and covered meal. “John, thank goodness you’re home.”

He shoots her a look that makes me move around in my seat. He doesn’t look like my dad. He’s a mess and his shirt is untucked.

“I’ll eat later, Claire,” he responds and walks past us through the kitchen and into the den. He smells like smoke.

My mother moves his food back to the top of the stove so it can stay warm. Her lips are tight and her eyes look sad.

I finish everything on my plate, hoping to bring a smile to my mother’s face. She doesn’t notice and takes my empty plate, putting it directly into the dishwasher.

Behind us, in the den, drawers are opening and closing loudly. I hear my father saying bad words beneath his breath.

“Claire, where’s the box I had under the entertainment center?” he calls out angrily.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” my mother responds. She looks worried.

“Goddammit, Claire!” he screams and tears through magazines and books, throwing everything to the floor. “Where are my things?” He’s making a giant mess.

“John, I don’t know!” my mother yells back.

She reaches for my hand and leads me to the stairs. “Garrett, go to your room. Close your door and watch some television.” She kisses my cheek and turns toward the den.

Worried, I walk up the stairs. Loud banging comes from downstairs and my father sounds really angry. I close my door like my mom told me.

I suddenly hear loud noises coming from outside my door. It sounds like my father is running up the stairs. “John, where are you going?” My mother’s voice trails behind him and now they’re in the hallway.