Take Me Tomorrow

Chapter 16: It Was A Lie

"I was coming downstairs to tell you Lyn made breakfast," I tried to excuse myself, but then I saw the coffee and empty plates sitting on my father's messy desk. They had already eaten. "Or to pick up your dishes," I corrected shamelessly.

My dad grunted, the closest sound he got to a laugh, then he waved me inside.

I entered with Argos circling around my feet. My father returned to molding a knife on the sharpening saw, and heat sparked toward the thick goggles he wore. The sight was familiar, one I had seen a million times, but Noah's presence changed the air. Electrified it somehow. Made the knives seem less like decoration and more like...weapons.

My father eyed him. "Do you want to try it?"

Noah's face lit up and he quickly began. He didn't even ask what he should do. He had learned by watching. I couldn't deny I was impressed. In a matter of minutes, Noah had the metal bent like my father's, almost perfect. My dad laughed as he leaned over to turn off the machine. He pointed out the few flaws of the piece, but admitted how good it was for a beginner. Noah was a natural.

"Thanks, Dwayne," he said, borderline happy, but a sudden banging ruined the moment.

All three of us froze in place as the definitive knocking continued upstairs, harder. Argos' ears sprang up, then his fur rose. A growl grew in his throat.

Noah tensed, trusting the animal's instincts. "What was that?"

From upstairs, Lyn raised her voice. "Now who could that be?" She wanted us to hear, and she only spoke louder when she opened the door. "Hello, Mr. Phelps. What a pleasant surprise."

Noah paled, like he was already dead.

The sounds of footsteps above us filled the forgery. More than just one set. They sounded like boots, military boots, and ones that were on a mission.

As Argos ran upstairs toward the commotion, Noah placed his hand on the wall to keep himself standing. His fingers curled on the concrete. His toes swiveled toward the door. He leapt out to run, but my father grabbed the back of his shirt. "Stay here," my dad hissed.

Noah couldn't run from Phelps or his army. For all we knew, we were surrounded.

My father turned to me. "Close the door, lock it, don't come out until I say so." It was the same instructions he gave me during the massacre.

When he stepped out, I yanked the concrete door with my entire body weight. It shut loudly, and I winced, hoping my father had a decent excuse for the noise when he got upstairs.

Noah collapsed on the ground. "He's here."

I shushed him as I pulled the sideways ledge to lock it from the inside. It made a loud crack, and I prayed no one heard it over Argos' barking. When my dog stopped, I whispered, "We're safe in here."

I knew it was a lie. Our safety wasn't guaranteed, but I wanted it to be when I looked at Noah. The boy who hadn't been afraid of my knives was now shaking. He hugged his legs to his chest. His knees bounced up and down, his eyes wide.

"What do you know, Sophie?" he asked quickly. Talking was his way of calming himself down, and if he talked quietly, we would be okay behind three feet of concrete.

I swallowed my nerves. "I know enough."

His head swung back and forth. "You think I call you Sophie. I'm not. I'm calling you Soph E." He gestured with his hands to separate the two. "E. As in, your middle name, Elizabeth."

My heart skipped at the intimate detail I'd never told him. "And Soph, as in?" I asked, even though I didn't have to.

"What your mother calls you," he clarified. He already knew. He knew the only nickname I had and where it came from. "When I met her, she told me about you. I didn't think anything of it back then. It was just small talk. She told me your father would help me when I got here." She was the one who sent him, just as she had sent Lyn.