by Utt, Kelly
“Hey, Kid!” he says enthusiastically. He called me Kid.
The sound of his voice takes me right back as if no time has passed since he left us. So often I’ve wished I could hear that voice again, and here it is. It’s deep and husky and warm. He unfolds his arms and extends them towards me, an invitation to go in for an embrace. After all these years, I still remember what it felt like to hug my dad. I was smaller and shorter then, so his arms always wrapped around the outside of me. He used to wrap me tight and hug me hard. When I was little enough to be held and carried, he held me just as tight. I remember being carried in his arms and leaning my head down softly on his big, strong shoulders. He might as well have been Superman as far as I was concerned. In those days, I thought my Daddy was invincible. I always figured he held me tight because he loved me so much that he couldn’t help but squeeze me and keep me close. He would have done anything to keep me safe and happy. I know that for sure. He was a good man. A good dad.
I hesitate for a moment as I work to process what I’m experiencing. I wonder if we’re really in our Brooklyn kitchen. Surely not. Maybe my mind needed to create a familiar backdrop. Deciding I have nothing to lose, I move forward towards my Dad. He places his arms around me, and he feels real. He feels warm and very much alive. He hugs me tight and his embrace feels just like it always did. I’m overwhelmed. I love my dad so much. I miss him more than I let myself acknowledge. And here he is. It sure seems like I’m really hugging him right now. I don’t know how or why this is happening, but I’m incredibly grateful that it is. We hold each other for awhile. There are no words exchanged between us, but there is communication. Come to think of it, Dad didn’t actually open his mouth to say hello to me. It was as if he sent me the message somehow. I received it, telepathically, I guess. This is all new. I’m so flooded with emotion that I begin to weep. Wet tears stream down my cheeks. It feels like Dad understands every thought, without me having to speak. Images and feelings come in waves. Happy and sad are intertwined in a strange and beautiful mix. One minute, I remember being a little child with my dad holding my hand as I step onto a subway car. The next, I remember standing alone at the entrance to the emergency room when the ambulance transporting him pulls up and my legs fail me. I hold Dad close and give in to the flood of emotions. My thoughts advance to everything he’s missed. I remember walking into the wedding garden and looking at my bride, my heart simultaneously bursting with happiness and aching because my dad isn’t there with me. I remember the same when Ethan was born, then Leo. I remember ceremonies and holidays where other dads were in attendance. I remember times I’ve cried for him. Times I’ve yelled up at the cosmos in anger because it isn’t fair.
As I continue to remember, an extraordinary thing happens. I begin to receive images that seem to be coming from my dad in response. In the first scene I receive, I see myself with Mom, John Wendell, Grandma, Liam, and Estella. We’re at my high school graduation in Ithaca. Someone is taking pictures of us together after the ceremony. I see us from a different vantage point as if I’m an onlooker. Is this…? Oh, wow. I think Dad is showing me that he was there and saw us. A feeling of rightness washes over me, as if in answer to my question. Another scene appears. This time I’m shown our old apartment in D.C. where we lived before Ethan was born. Ali is pregnant and has just had her bloody show indicating that labor will begin soon. She comes out of the bathroom to tell me, and I jump up and down in celebration then cradle her head and kiss her forehead. Again, I’m seeing this from a vantage point outside myself. Dad is telling me he was there. He did see. He was with us. He does know Ali and my boys. And Roddy and Marjorie and everyone else he’s never met in the flesh. What an amazing realization. It means everything to me. The images continue to come, faster now. Dad’s showing me that he’s been there for it all. I’m moved beyond words. To steady myself, I pull back from the embrace and look at Dad’s face straight on. Suddenly the kitchen backdrop disappears and there’s nothing but his face in front of mine.
He tells me, emphatically, “it’s time to wake up, George. Be ready.”
I do wake up, abruptly, and am instantly alert. My pillow is wet with tears. I wipe my eyes and shake my head as if to shake off the haze which surrounded me in my dream. That experience is going to take some reflection to fully absorb.
It’s the middle of the night. All is quiet in the house other than the gentle hum of the dishwasher I started before going to sleep. I can see soft, falling snow out our large bedroom windows and around the silky blue and white draperies our designer hung when she was here yesterday afternoon. It makes for a serene scene. But something’s happening. I can feel it. I instinctively reach across the bed to my wife. She's there, curled around her pregnancy pillow and sleeping soundly. A few seconds later, I find out why I was woken up.
Ethan screams. It’s an agonized scream like I’ve never heard from him before. It reminds me of screams I heard during tense special ops missions in worn-torn countries. The kind of screams I’m not supposed to talk about. The kind of screams I’d hoped to never hear in a sleepy little town like Ithaca. I certainly never dreamed I’d hear one from my child in my family’s own home.
He’s upstairs and I’m down. Leo is up there too, in their shared room. My rational brain tries to make sense of things and I wonder if Ethan’s having a bad dream. My body knows better. I leap out of bed, throwing the covers off in the process. I bolt through the bedroom door nearly ripping it off the hinges. I run down the hallway, gaining momentum. I clumsily slam the sides of the walls with my outstretched hands as I go, knocking down framed photographs and artwork that were just hung no more than twelve hours ago. My socked feet slide as I round the corner at the bottom of the stairs, and the banister groans as I grab it and heave myself upwards. I don’t have anything on me. No gun. No knife. Not even a blunt object. There isn’t time.
Ali’s waking up slowly and she calls out to me from what seems like a far distance, “My God, Georgie, what are you after?”
Lady stirs from her spot on the rug beside the front door and cocks her head to one side to listen. Cautious woofs give way to full volume barks as she realizes the urgency of the situation. She scrambles up the stairs behind me.
It feels like we’ve all been thrust into slow motion. I’m conscious of everything around me. I hear the grandfather clock ticking downstairs. I see the light above the garage flickering at the next house down the road, and I notice the way it makes an angular shadow in the snow.
Ethan’s voice is muffled now. I can tell he’s sobbing. Every hair on my body stands up on end as I reach the top of the stairs and see that my little boy’s bedroom door is closed. It was open when we put him to bed. As I rush to the door, I hear shuffling and banging around, and then, a grown man. A stranger. A deep, sinister voice in my child’s bedroom.
Anger. It suddenly burns like an inferno inside my soul. It wasn’t there, and then, as if a lightswitch has been flipped, it’s raging at full intensity. It didn’t get in me. It was in me. It was there in the background, or down deep, or pushed aside. I can’t tell exactly where it was stored, but that doesn’t seem to matter now that it’s front and center. I feel my adrenaline rush and I know it won’t fail me. I am ready and willing to be an instrument of destruction. I will destroy the animal who is threatening my little boys at any cost. I will shred him limb from limb with my bare hands when I get ahold of him. In this moment, I don’t care about police or jail or laws or public opinion or even Ali’s opinion. I have one singular focus.
The door is locked and locked tight. We chose top-of-the-line components for the new house, and the doors are big and heavy. I never in a million years would have dreamed that I’d need to breach one in order to save my child from an intruder. I shove it hard. It doesn’t budge. I step back, then kick with all my might aiming just below the door knob. Nothing. All at once, Lady barks in anticipation, and Ethan screams in sheer terror. The noise I’m making at the door is probably scaring him even more.
“Ethan, son, I’m coming in to get you. Don’t worry.” I yell as I step back to steady myself and then kick again. No entry.
“Daddy, Daddy!” he screams, first at full volume and then muffled again. I suddenly realize that the muffled sound means the intruder has his hand over my child’s mouth. A wave of nausea washes over me. I brace, then kick. Then again: brace, and kick. The door isn’t moving. It feels like a heavy piece of furniture has been used to reinforce the door. I’ve got to step it up a notch, and quick.
Hearing the commotion, Roddy emerges from the guest room next door wide eyed and ready for a fight. Marjorie stands behind him in the doorway, hand over her mouth attempting to hide the look of sheer horror on her face.
“Marjorie, call 9-1-1. Right now,” Roddy yells. “Go!”
She fumbles with her iPhone and makes the call. An operator answers immediately, and Marjorie begins to tell her what’s happening.
I try to breach from another angle. Turning my back towards the door, I look over my shoulder, raise my dominant leg, and kick forcefully straight backwards. The door claps under the pressure but doesn’t open. Seeing this, Roddy jumps into action and positions himself in front of me, poised to enter the room the second I get the door open.
“On three,” I say. “One, two, three.” I kick again with all my might. Another clap under the pressure. Lady barks ferociously as she readies herself for attack.
“One, two, three,” and a kick.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ali. She has come upstairs and is terrified. She’s collapsed into a ball on the floor, gripping her pregnant belly as she watches us work on the door. Marjorie sees her too and goes over to offer what little comfort she can.
“They’re going to stop this,” Marjorie says to her daughter, putting the phone down and kneeling beside her. “Your babies are going to be okay.”
I don’t have time to shift my focus right now, so as hard as it is, I deliberately tune out that scene.
“One, two, three…” Roddy and I call out, together, as I kick backwards with every ounce of strength I can summon. Finally, the door creaks loudly and opens wide enough that we can use our hands to maneuver the dresser that’s up against it and enter the bedroom. Roddy enters first and assesses the situation in a split second as Lady and I follow closely behind. Leo is sitting up on his bed, stunned and eerily silent. He appears to be unharmed. Swiftly, Roddy lifts Leo up into his arms and runs with him back out to the hallway.
I hear Roddy from a distance as he shouts instructions to Marjorie and Ali. “Take Leo to the basement. Wake the others up and get everyone into the rec room. Barricade the door and do not open it until we come for you. Go now! Hurry.”
The bedroom window is open wide. Ethan... is gone. The intruder has apparently taken him out through the window. Lady and I quickly scan the room for clues as we make our way to the other side. Every move I make is measured, purposeful. I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to rescue my boy. When I reach the point of entry, the cold, snowy air stings my nose. The way the yard slopes down from front to back means we’re effectively on the third story. It’s a long drop to the ground. I look down and see my son. My little boy is being carried by a tall, burly man who is holding him to one side like a football while fiddling with the metal ladder he used to access the bedroom. I don’t recognize the guy. Why in the world is this happening to us? Ethan is in his pajamas with no coat or blanket to shield him from the elements. He continues to sob loudly. I throw myself against the sill and reach down to grab the ladder, but it’s too late. The top rung is just beyond my reach. In a flash, I think about jumping out of the window in pursuit, but I quickly dismiss the idea. I’d likely break a leg and then wouldn’t be mobile. I have to protect myself at least long enough to get my child to safety.
“Ethan, I’m coming for you,” I shout. “Hold on.”
Lady makes the turn before I do, and she’s on her way downstairs in a flurry of barking and gnashing teeth. Roddy meets my gaze as I head for the stairs, and he falls in behind me. We rush past Ali, Marjorie, and Leo on their way to the basement, and, directed by where Lady has placed her attention, we charge full speed ahead out the front door.
The intruder is running with Ethan now and has made his way a good distance up our long driveway. He left the ladder behind and is moving rapidly. There’s an industrial van idling by the curb. A getaway car. If we don’t reach Ethan by the time they get him into the van and drive away, he may be gone forever. I’m familiar with the grim statistics on abducted children. The weight of this reality is crushing, but my determination to rescue him grows even stronger. Fueled by adrenaline, I bound forward in the darkness as fast as my legs will carry me. Lady rushes ahead, and Roddy follows closely behind. The three of us pant and heave as we propel ourselves forward in the most important athletic endeavor of our lives. We have everything to lose if we don’t make it.
Lady gets there first, approaching the intruder as he’s just steps away from the end of the driveway. It’s hard to see exactly what’s happening because the beams from the floodlight at the corner of the house are too far away to illuminate the shadows made by the wooded area next door. Roddy and I hear vicious biting and growling as we near the spot where Lady intercepted, followed by screams of pain from the intruder. Then, the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. My stomach falls to the very bottom of me as I swallow hard. My heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of my chest. If Ethan has been shot, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. This is surreal. I can’t believe this is happening right now. I pump my arms harder to increase my running speed in the final stretch.
As I get closer and my eyes adjust, I see that Lady has knocked the intruder to the ground and clamped down on his left forearm like a real attack dog would. The arm is bloody. It’s mangled and looks like it’s broken. Lady has never been trained to attack as far as I know, but she’s done a perfect job. Her onslaught apparently forced the intruder to let go of Ethan, who stands up and runs towards me, his face a heartbreaking mixture of horror and relief. He appears to be uninjured. I exhale heavily and say thanks to everything holy that my boy is alright. I grab my son up and give him a quick pat on the back as I pass him on to his grandpa.
“Go to Papa Roddy, Ethan. It’s okay,” I say.
Thank God for our family dog right now. She successfully slowed that monster down, giving me a chance to get our boy back and keep him from being driven away in the van to face all sorts of unimaginable horrors. I don’t think I would have caught him in time without Lady.
As Roddy takes Ethan, I turn to assess the situation once more. A handgun lays discarded on the snowy driveway. I kick it as far away as I can to be sure it’s not fired again. The intruder is on the ground writhing in pain. He’s a big guy, but he doesn’t look like much of a threat right now. Lady still has her mouth clamped hard around his forearm. She isn’t moving much. I rush to her, kneeling beside her and stroking the fur on the sides of her body. It’s wet. Bloody.
“Oh, Lady girl,” I say, as I lean my cheek down near her head. “You’re a true hero. You’ve done a great honor for your family.” I don’t know if she’s going to survive this or not. She’s losing a lot of blood. She whimpers, then slowly looks up at me and over at the disarmed intruder as if to tell me she got him. “I know, girl. You did it. Good girl, Lady. You’re a good, good girl. Ethan is okay. He’s safe.” I say as I pat the top of her head. I sure hope she can pull through. I’ll return to tend to her wound just as soon as I can.
I stand, considering my next move. Emergency personnel haven’t arrived yet. I look towards the road where the getaway van was parked, but it’s no longer there. The driver must have left when he saw things going south for his partner in crime. I’m fairly certain the immediate threats to my family’s safety are known and effectively neutralized. We didn’t find anyone else. All indications point to this being a two-man operation. The intruder was apparently supposed to grab Ethan and return to the
van where the getaway driver was waiting. If there had been more than two guys, I’m pretty sure we would have seen them by now. Especially since any extra guys would have picked Ethan back up when Lady attacked and the intruder released the grip on him. That means it’s almost certainly just this one guy in front of me right here and now. I don’t think I’m done with him. Anger continues to burn inside my core like a raging fire. It fueled me during the rescue. I moved and ran faster than I ever have before. And it literally saved my son. I’m still wearing nothing but pajama bottoms, and I can see that my bare feet are bruised and scratched. They’re leaving bloody prints in the snow. I don’t feel them though. I don’t feel the cold. What I do feel is a blinding rage pulsing through my body. I have no idea why this monster targeted us. Or why he took Ethan and left Leo. The house is set up with a surveillance and alarm system. Surveillance cameras are in place and recording, but since we just moved in, the alarm system isn’t active yet. The alarm company is scheduled to come out to do that on Tuesday. Did the intruder know? Wait. Is this because we’re rich? Were they after ransom money? The thought of my innocent sons being in danger because of their parents’ socioeconomic status pushes me over the edge. How dare this man enter my home and put his hands on my child. My dad always told me not to start a fight, but that if I ever found myself in one I shouldn’t let up until the aggressor was on the ground and not coming back for another go at me. Lady got him to the ground. Now it’s time to pick up where she left off and make sure he won’t come back.
