Aidan 10

By Asa Montreaux 

My sleep that night came after a while, as I had lay there, frozen, though oddly even a little fidgety within the comfort of my bed, feeling a little warm with fever, from the stress of his impending attack.

Though, eventually you would say, after eleven, twelve, one, I drifted off to sleep. Though it wasn’t a dreamless sleep. It was forty times my father smacked with some sort of axe, though I could tell it was only a dream. And one time I was running from him, but we kept running over a mountain top, a white covered cloud-grazing peak. He had the axe the whole time. Though he never caught me. 

In the morning I started awake. I had survived the night. I looked at my hands, held them in front of me, surveyed them to see if they were real. I held them in front of me for my eyes to behold. They seemed to be. Then I felt my heart rate, felt the still pinkish warmth of my cheeks, and I could feel I had actually been sweating. But alive I was.

I rose myself, easy enough given how awake I felt, given my anxiety. I could walk. Shaken I was not, at least physically. I made my way to the bathroom and splashed water from the sink faucet onto my face and found I did actually have to pee myself. Remember, my father himself, had to pee just last night. When I was all drained I washed my hands, thoroughly, might I add, because I am a little ocd, remember. And I walked into the hallway toward the kitchen.

As I entered the kitchen I heard a someone speak to me. ‘Aidan,’ the voice said. 

‘Turn around.’

There before me, from the other end of the hallway, toward the living room, was my father. He was holding a gun. And he was pointing it right at my face. ‘It’s time we talk,’ he said. 

‘Whatever you want,’ I said. ‘I suppose we should talk.’

‘Yes.’

‘Should we sit down?’

‘No, just stay right there.’

‘Well, alright. So I guess I know what this is about, already.’

‘It’s not what you think.’

‘That’s not what I’d thought you’d say.’

‘No, because it’s exactly what you were thinking.’

‘What?’

‘I’m going to murder you.’

‘Like you murdered Jayden right?’

‘I hadn’t done that.’

‘And then what’s different this time?’

‘I’ve just had so long to think about it, and I am so, so angry.’

‘What?’

‘I have boiled over. Really it was all logical. I decided, rather easily, though after long hours of thought, that I can’t have you as a son. You must go.’

‘After hours of thought? Jeez.’

‘No, after days of thought. Weeks of thought. Well, months of thought.’

‘That is a lot of thought. You quite got to what can be the only solution.’

‘What is it you’re referring to?’

‘The final solution.’

‘Hah. You do not understand anything, about anything! That’s not what this is about! You have shamed me! This goes against all of our beliefs!’

‘Then you haven’t been who I thought. You are not anyone we wanted to come back.’

‘And yet here I am. I am already here. Alas, I am already back.’

‘But this isn’t who you are.’

‘It’s too late.’ And he began advancing towards me. ‘And if that is what I believe in, what I have to do for all the people I care about, that see thing as I see them, then goodbye Aidan.’

Someone had been listening from around the corner.

‘Bill!’ My mom started. ‘Stop this nonsense. She went up to him to grab the gun.

‘Give me that,’ she said gently, and assuaging his anger. ‘And she grabbed the barrel and tried to take the gun away before she realized he wasn’t ready to give it up.

‘Bill!’ she shrieked.  Not only would he not give up the gun but he was twirling his hands and the gun away from her. And then he powered the gun around towards her, pointing at her, she directing off towards the wall, as the fought.

‘If this is what I have to do! To save my honor, our family. It’s honor!’

‘No!’ She screamed. 

Suddenly I knew what I needed to do. And it put me at risk to. I ran in their direction. He was getting control of the gun again, and with it pointed squarely at her head, he began to try to find the trigger.

He readied his finger, and he found the time to say, ‘Bye.’

Then as he pressed down on it, releasing the might and fury of the gun, I reached him. I tackled him like some heterosexual football star. And as I did the bullet fired.

It looked like it was headed straight for my Mom, for her… head.

He fell to the ground as the bullet flew through the air. My mom standing, helpless.

It was just about to hit her. And then I heard a scream. We were on the ground now, as I tried to hold him down.

Then I heard the bullet crash in the wall behind her. It went right through her.

There was no time to check until… until I got the gun from him. We wrestled and struggled, and he wouldn’t give it up, tugging his hands away as I tried to grasp it from him, and maintain the direction it faced as away from me.

Somewhat amazingly, given my weakness, but not so much given his age. I managed to win the battle, and I achieved control of the gun over him. And then I got up. And I pointed it at him.’ Don’t move!’ I said.

He sat there then, one leg bent from when he was trying to get up. He smirked, as if he were only caught by some vast miracle. He hadn’t even looked like he’d given up yet.

‘Don’t move,’ I said again. And then I back away from him, and finally had a chance to check on my mom. She was laying on the ground, presumably dead.

I got down on one knee, still watching my father. I came up on the left side of her, and I watched him on her right. I looked for the bullet had gone through her. Through her head I suppose. 

I couldn’t see the whole. Maybe it was he neck.

No whole. Where was it. Then I checked through her hair. I couldn’t see it.

Then it occurred to me. I checked on her right side, and there was a large gash on the side of her head, her long blonde hair lightly grey har matted where it wasn’t missing. The skin was missing and all I could see was red tissue and blood. It seemed the bullet had grazed her head. Then I checked her pulse. She wasn’t dead.

It was a most fortuitous happening. Was she breathing? I listened for breath and there was a faint escape of air, and then a recoil of air, and then another escapage of air. She was breathing as well.

I had to get her help immediately. Get her looked at it, get any shrapnel out of the wound, get her head all sewn up, stop the bleeding. I took my phone out of my pocket, my eyes trained on my father and the gun as well. I entered my passcode from heart, barely looking at my phone. Then I dialed 911 whilst looking at the scream as little as possible.

After a few rings someone answered, saying: ‘911. What’s your emergency?’

‘Hi. Someone’s been shot. I need an ambulance.’

‘Who’s been shot?’

‘My Mom.’

‘Okay an ambulance is on its way. Who shot her?’

‘My Dad.”

‘Who? Your Dad?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘Alright. Just stay with her. Can you confirm your location?’

I told him the location of the house.

‘Okay. I had your location from the cell phone towers, but I just wanted to confirm.’

‘And thanks for that.’

‘I’m going to stay with you on the line until they get there, okay?’

‘Thank you. But I hear them pulling up now.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

The doorbell rang. ‘That’s them now.’

‘Was that the doorbell?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, I’ll hang up now. Good luck.’

Now I had to open the door with my Dad there, capable of attacking again at any moment.

I had to acknowledge them and let them know we were there, and still be able to completely watch my Dad. ‘Hang on,’ I said, almost yelling. ‘I’ll be right there.’

‘What’s going on?’ One of the EMT’s asked.

‘He’s still here, and he dangerous.’

‘Okay, open the door when you can.’ He picked up his radio, and called for the police. ‘The police our on their way now,’ he said, after he had turned off the radio.

‘Up,’ I said, looking at my Dad. ‘Get up now, and follow me over to the door, so I can let them in.’

‘Go do that. You’re more than welcome to,’ he said. He remained there on the floor, even ventured to look at his hand, as if inspecting his nails for dirt. Not very macho of him. Though quite dismissive.’

‘No. Up. Let’s go.’ I pointed the gun right at him, then I walked right up next to him, holding it almost right in his face. ‘Up. Now,’ I said.

Reluctantly, though respectfully enough (of the gun anyways), he rose from his feet, his hands and the air. I motioned towards the door with a slight movement of the gun, and we made our way over to let the EMT’s in.

I led him to near the door, on the side of the knob. ‘Don’t move,’ I said.

‘Oh, alright son.’ He said.

I opened the door, while having the gun still point at him. Finally, it was open. The police were not here yet. It’d only even been a minute. They saw him standing there, and one of the EMT’s immediately tried to restrain him. He was a bigger fellow, strapping rather. 

My Dad didn’t resist. Well at first, he did. He battled maybe as hard as he could, though, the EMT had fairly quickly gotten control of him, and he held him. Then the other two EMT’s move into the house and went over my Mother with the stretcher. They leaned down and began checking her vitals.

Her heart was beating, the stethoscope said, her mouth was moving, and she was breathing, as I had realized myself. Move it along boys, move it along boys. 

They then checked her spine, checked around for cuts or bone breaks. Yes load her on, get moving I thought. It was taking forever. 

Finally they began loading her on the stretcher. She moaned as she was lifted into the air, landing gently on top of the white surface of the device that will carry her to the ambulance, which would then taker towards the hospital, where she actually stood a very good chance of recovering, even fully. 

*

Later at the hospital, I’d been waiting for hours, unable to sleep, unable to do much of anything, except worry. I could hardly watch tv. I suppose I had a few cups of coffee, though. I hadn’t had anything to eat. I couldn’t manage it. Even so I felt my stomach tightening a little with hunger cramps, but I rather ignored them while I thought about my mom.

I hoped she would be okay. And of course she was, right? Yes, it had just grazed her. But I hadn’t had any updates. If that put her through into surgery, I suppose they would have told me, so that’s good. I was even an adult or whatever maybe I’d be the one to consent to whatever procedure she couldn’t give consent to right then. They hadn’t asked me about insurance, though they had obviously been through her medical file.

At one point they wheeled her through the lobby, she was mostly covered in a hospital blanket, and there were several nurses or technicians around here, shrouding her mostly. But I could see her face of course, she looked alright. Not particularly like she was about to die. One can never tell. Well of course you can. No one suddenly drops dead. Not usually. Though when one is in the hospital, and it’s your mom, you worry.

But after, and presently, there was nothing to do. The sitting, the waiting, it was so anxiety overloaded. I was going to write filled but just write overloaded. Overfilled. My though were slowing down though.

More and more time went by, and. I was just tapping my leg silently, or playing my hands, at a certain point trying not to think about it. After four hours, and five hours counting wanting for the ambulance, driving to the hospital, five hours since the played-out version of my Dad’s sick fantasies, they were ready to speak to me.

‘Hello… Aidan?’ the doctor said. 

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s me.’ The only guy waiting around for hours and hours for the patient that was shot.

‘Ah well… concerning um, erghmm, your mother. She… is okay.’

‘Ah. I see. Yes, well, um, thank god.’

‘Good. Yes, she had quite a lot of bleeding though her skull was not punctured or cracked by the bullet. There was significant tissue damage, though just to the vessels and the skin. She will obviously have a patch of baldness there for the rest of her life. But other than that…’

This was all good. He flipped through his notebook, as if a Doctor could not remember what had happened even just a few minutes ago.

‘Other than that, no damage to the rest of her… ah, body. Though… she seems to be shocked. She is quite withdrawn, and sad. She, ah, for the most part, refuses to talk.’

‘Really? Why is that?’

‘Well, I’m no psychiatrist, but she seems to be upset about the accident. And sad about it. I’d say this could go on for quite a while. Your mother may be having a depressive episode.’

Ughh, okay, I thought. Well, sure I’d be upset too, like, you were shot… and it was your husband? 

‘And how long until she’ll get better you think’ I ask.

‘I’m not sure son,’ the doctor said. He looks at me. Smiles a little. ‘Everyone gets better in their own time.

‘Ah, alright. I understand. It takes time.’

‘Yes. It does. And there is something else you should know. She refused to speak to the nurse. She is refusing to speak to people, at least except the occasional few words. So I do mean to worry you if you mother is, ah, not very responsive, alright?’

‘Okay. Roger that.’

‘Good. If you’ll excuse me, then. And you can go see her now.’

‘Thank you, doctor.’

‘Anytime.’