My eyes met his as he dug the blade in. I saw sorrow; he saw fear. His buddy yelled, “Let’s go.” I prayed these burglars left my child alone.
The lifeless face differed from the blurry pics I’d seen. I figured whether the first payment was high enough to leave the country.
They said Larry was a “funny uncle.” I didn’t understand. One night he slipped into my room. What he did wasn’t funny. Not funny at all.
Ship-wrecked, starving, desperate. He steals the last water-bottle and runs. Six miles later, he chokes on salt-water. Beaten to the punch.
Turned out the drunk who hollered “$20 to blow this” was referring to his dashboard breathalyzer. Didn’t immediately lower my mace, though.
The guys left him, naked, shivering, blindfolded in the woods. A prank. An initiation. See you later, they said. But no one ever did.