Chapter 2 - The Only Person Faster
“What did you say?” I whispered, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears.
“Travis hit me,” Noah sobbed, the sound muffled as if he had a hand pressed over his own mouth to stay quiet. “He threw me against the wall, Daddy. It hurts so bad. He’s breaking Mommy’s things in the living room. I hid in the closet under the stairs, but he’s yelling my name.”
My blood turned to absolute ice, followed immediately by a surge of adrenaline so violent it made my vision blur. I sprinted out of the office building, ignoring the shouts of the security guard as I vaulted over the turnstiles and burst into the blinding afternoon sun.
“Noah, listen to me very carefully,” I said, sprinting across the parking lot toward my car. “Do not make a sound. Do not come out of that closet. I am coming for you, but I am far away. I’m going to make another call on my other phone, but I am not hanging up on you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he whimpered.
I threw myself into the driver’s seat, slamming the push-to-start button. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely grip the steering wheel. I lived twenty minutes away in good traffic. Today was Thursday. Rush hour was just beginning. It would take me at least twenty-five minutes to reach the suburban house my ex-wife, Jessica, had insisted on keeping in the divorce.
Twenty-five minutes was a death sentence. Travis could tear that house apart in five.
I grabbed my work cell phone from my briefcase, connected my personal phone to the car’s Bluetooth so I could keep hearing Noah’s ragged breathing, and dialed the only person who could get there faster.
Marcus lived three houses down from Jessica. We had been best friends since college. He was a former Marine, currently running his own private contracting business. He was also Noah’s godfather, a man who loved my son like his own flesh and blood.
He answered on the first ring. “Hey, man, aren't you supposed to be in a budget—”
“Marcus, I need you to drop whatever you are doing and run to Jessica’s house right now,” I interrupted, my voice cracking with a terrifying mixture of panic and rage. I swerved into the fast lane, slamming my foot on the accelerator. “Travis is in the house. He beat Noah. Noah is hiding in the closet under the stairs and Travis is tearing the place apart looking for him.”
The casual warmth in Marcus’s voice vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, deadly military precision.
“I’m out the door,” Marcus said. The sound of a chair crashing to the floor echoed through the speaker, followed by heavy boots pounding against hardwood. “I’m on foot. Thirty seconds out. Is Noah on the line?”
“Yes, he’s on Bluetooth.”
“Tell him I’m coming.”
“Noah, buddy, are you there?” I called out to the empty car, my tires screeching as I blew through a red light, narrowly avoiding a delivery truck.
“I’m here, Daddy,” Noah whispered. In the background of his audio, I heard the horrifying sound of shattering glass. Travis was destroying the kitchen.
“Uncle Marcus is coming, Noah. He’s almost there.”
Over Marcus’s line, I heard the wind rushing past the microphone as he sprinted down the suburban sidewalk. “I see the house,” Marcus barked. “Front door is locked. I’m going through the side window.”
“Do whatever you have to do,” I said.
A moment later, a deafening crash echoed over Marcus’s line. Glass shattered as he kicked the side door in. Over Noah’s connection, I heard the exact same crash from inside the house.
“Who the hell are you?!” a man’s voice roared. Travis.
“Where is the kid?!” Marcus bellowed, his voice echoing like thunder.
“Get out of my house!”
The sound of a brutal physical struggle erupted over the speakers. Fists hitting bone, furniture splintering, grunts of pure violence. I gripped the steering wheel, tears streaming down my face as I navigated the highway shoulder, praying I wouldn't crash before I could get to my son.
“Daddy?!” Noah cried out, the sounds of the fight terrifying him further.
“Stay in the closet, Noah! Do not move!” I yelled.
Then, silence fell over Marcus’s line, save for heavy breathing.
A few seconds later, Marcus’s voice came through, calm and breathless. “He’s out cold, brother. The police are already on their way. I’m going to get Noah.”
Over the Bluetooth connection, I heard the closet door creak open. Noah let out a terrified gasp.
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“It’s okay, buddy. It’s Uncle Marcus. I’ve got you,” Marcus said softly.
Then, the sound of my four-year-old son bursting into tears as he was finally pulled into safe arms broke me completely. I was ten minutes away, but the longest wait of my life had just ended.
