Chapter 7: Flight in the Night
Toby burst through the kitchen door, slamming it shut behind him and throwing the deadbolt into place. He knew the lock wouldn't hold her for long, but it bought him precious seconds. The house was still wrapped in the heavy silence of the pre-dawn hours, the digital clock on the microwave glowing a harsh neon red: 3:14 AM.
He raced down the hallway toward the bedroom, flinging the door open. Leo was sitting straight up in bed, instantly awake, pulling his dark blue hoodie tight around his shoulders with wide, terrified eyes. The sudden disruption had broken the boy’s brief rest, plunging him right back into the nightmare of the previous afternoon.
"Toby? What's happening?" Leo whispered, his voice trembling as he scrambled out from under the covers. "I heard a crash downstairs. Is Mom—?"
"We have to go, Leo. Right now," Toby interrupted, grabbing his brother by the forearm and pulling him toward the open window. "Get your shoes on. Don't worry about jackets—just move!"
"My hoodie," Leo protested, clutching the dark blue fabric defensively. "I need my hoodie."
"Fine, keep it on, just move!" Toby urged, unlocking the double-hung window and pushing it up as far as it would go. The cool night air rushed into the bedroom, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine.
Their bedroom was on the second floor, but a large, sturdy oak tree grew directly outside the window, its thick branches extending like natural ladders just inches from the sill. Toby had climbed those branches a hundred times as a child, but doing it in the dark, with an adrenaline-fueled panic driving his movements, was an entirely different challenge.
Footsteps heavy and fast echoed down the hallway. The kitchen deadbolt groaned under sudden, tremendous pressure. Margaret was trying to force the door open from the other side.
"Go, Leo! Climb out onto the branch!" Toby commanded, hoisting his younger brother up and pushing him through the window frame.
Leo whimpered, the cold wind biting at his pale face, but the sheer terror of their mother's approaching wrath compelled him to act. He grabbed the thick, rough bark of the oak branch, wrapping his arms around it as Toby guided his legs out of the room.
A loud splintering sound echoed from the hallway as the wooden frame around the kitchen door gave way. Margaret was through.
Toby scrambled onto the windowsill just as the bedroom door flew open. Margaret stood in the threshold, her white button-down shirt slightly rumpled, her hair escaping its neat bun in loose, wild strands. Her face was a mask of cold fury, devoid of any maternal affection.
"Toby, you come back inside this instant!" she commanded, stepping toward the window with dangerous speed.
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Toby didn't look back. He grabbed a lower branch of the oak tree and swung himself out of the room, letting gravity and desperation pull him down into the darkness below.
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