“What the fuck? You said no one was home,” one of the men shouted as he analyzed the terrified teenager on the ground.
“They were supposed to be out tonight, I swear,” his partner replied in anger. They had somehow forgotten that the Adamses had kids. “We can’t have him in our way. Tie him up.”
Haze put up the fight of his life, his every attempt at hurting the intruders useless and unsuccessful. They were too strong. He was fourteen. They had years on him, and every punch he threw resulted in him getting kicked down, beaten up, and thrown to the ground.
His body surrendered when a very sharp and heavy object hit the back of his head, and he collapsed onto the cold ceramic floor.
“Fucking stupid kid,” one of them spit.
Barely conscious, he could feel the blood dripping down his forehead as his senses escaped him. The masked man who’d knocked him out held a gun to his temple. Haze didn’t doubt for one second that they’d have what it took to shoot.
“Listen, boy, we don’t want to kill you, but keep this up and we will.”
Realizing that he’d come at them again if they gave him the chance to recover, the masked monsters took Haze’s choice away by tying him to a kitchen chair and circling his hands with tight ropes. Then it was the tape on his mouth. They’d thought of everything.
One of the thieves started filling large black bags with random items lying around the house. His father’s autographed baseball, his mother’s expensive necklace. Everything they could get their hands on seemed to be a good match. Meanwhile, the other monster kept the teenage boy at gunpoint.
“I’ve got upstairs,” the masked man who had tied him up said and climbed up the stairs.
Haze screamed as loud as he could, trying to warn Desiree, who was fast asleep in her bedroom. The duct tape blocking his mouth made it impossible. He was praying that she had heard the commotion downstairs and hidden. Her bedroom was on the opposite end of the house, and it was so big he wouldn’t have been surprised if she hadn’t. Why was the damn house so big? Why did his parents need eleven bathrooms?
Somehow, this statement alone made this attack easy to believe for Haze. The Adamses were beyond wealthy and shamelessly flaunted their money to anyone who had eyes. This robbery had probably been planned for a while.
“Man, you have to see this,” the thief called from the second floor.
“If you try to escape, we’ll come back and kill your entire family. Do you understand me?” the man holding the gun warned through gritted teeth before joining his partner.
A lot of noises. Their footsteps running up and down the halls. This was all Haze could hear as he fought to free his wrists to the point of bleeding. He didn’t care about his life. He didn’t care about the pain.
He only cared about her.
Then, he heard the worst sound he could’ve ever imagined. It was barely audible. It was a creak. A door opened. He would’ve never heard it if it wasn’t for the complete absence of sound due to the power loss.
“Haze?”
Desiree.
That’s when he heard the gunshot.
“What the fuck did you do?” one of the masked men belted.
“I-I don’t know. I panicked. It came out of nowhere.”
Hesitant footsteps followed.
“What the fuck, Marc? You said we wouldn’t hurt anyone. You said… I didn’t sign up for this.” Panic could be heard in the man’s tone.
Haze held on to every word, praying, hoping, dying to hear them say that they missed. He just needed something. Anything.
He kept on trying to free himself from the chair he now called his prison and eventually ended up knocking it over. Still tied to the chair, he landed on his side and groaned in pain as the pieces of marble from the shattered vase on the floor cut his skin.
“We have to go to the police,” the man barked.
No. No. This can’t be happening.
This isn’t real.
This can’t be real, Haze thought.