When my son called me in a panic saying his mom was screaming and unknown voices were laughing in our house, I raced home fearing the worst.
But nothing could’ve prepared me for what was going on in my bedroom.
My day started perfectly normal.
I was clicking away at my desk, trying to look for a missing file, when my phone started buzzing with a text.
I glanced briefly and realized it was Luke, my eight-year-old kid. Turns out, he had already tried to call me around 10 times.
Kids these days hate talking on the phone, so I was already freaked out when I called him back.
“Daddy, please come home!! Mom is screaming!”
“Slow down, buddy.
What’s happening?”
“Daddy, I don’t know what to do. I just came home and now I hear mom screaming in her room!”
“Why didn’t you go into her room?” I asked.
“I’m too scared to go inside. I hear other voices in there!”
“Okay, okay!
Stay in your room. Lock the door! I’ll call your mom,” I said, trying not to panic, and hung up.
I searched for my wife Nikkie’s number quickly, but the call went straight to voicemail.
Great. That wasn’t like her. We had a child.
We were never supposed to turn off our phones!
So I just made a split-second decision to call the cops as I picked up my wallet and jacket, rushing out of the office.
I told 911 that intruders were at my house and to please get there quickly.
Getting my car, I raced home, still calling Nikkie and getting more worried by the second. When I arrived, I saw that the cops still hadn’t made it.
But I couldn’t wait. In the back of my head, I thought the worst.
Images of Nikkie’s tear-stained face rushed through me, and the other voices Luke had mentioned… well, something terrible must be happening to my wife in there.
For the first time in my life, I wished we had a weapon at home. We didn’t even have a baseball bat because Luke was into football and basketball.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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