Unspoken - 1. Awaken

My eyes popped open as something pulled me awake. I lay there unmoving for a few seconds, listening to see if it might have been an odd sound. Nothing. Nothing unusual, anyway. The constant noise of nature was ever present, but those never woke me, not even the annoying cicadas or the seemingly unevictable bullfrogs. The soft almost-imperceptible snoring coming from the bed never woke me, though sometimes it would keep me up.

Deciding shortly to check anyway, I carefully sat up in the bed, doing my best to avoid waking up the body laying to my right. My bedpartner remained asleep as I stood, and I leant over to pull my P320 and the spare mag off the magnets holding them hidden behind my nightstand. It never hurt to be careful. The spare mag went into my pocket, and my now free hand grabbed my phone to provide just enough light to confirm that the pistol was still in battery. Phone into other pocket, and my way was made to the door of our bedroom. Passing our master bath on the way, I confirmed it was empty before exiting the room. Door clicking behind me, the first stop for my impulsive late-night tour was the other occupied bedroom. The door swung open smoothly to reveal an empty bed. Maybe that’s what woke me? Little Bryce was a fucking ninja sometimes. A quick glance showed an open bathroom door; so he wasn’t in there. The last two rooms on the second floor were empty as well, the laundry room and Nicolo’s office. The trek down the stairs provided the first noise of my reccy. The middle step always squeaks, and I always forget when I’m trying to be quiet. Foyer? Clear. Dining room? Clear. Downstairs restroom, music/dance room, garage, all clear. Last place to check was the living room going into the backyard. It was there I found my quarry.

Creeping across the living room, I slid open the deck door, closing it behind me as I beheld the boy sitting on one of the chairs. He was gazing up at the clear starry night, feet flat on the cushion, arms clutching his legs tight. It was a warm enough night, mid 70’s, so I wasn’t worried about him being out there in just his briefs; I wasn’t wearing a shirt or socks myself. His hearing was pretty sensitive, and though we kept the house in good condition, sliding doors always made some sort of noise. He couldn’t have not heard me. His skyward gaze never wavered, even as I sat on the chair to his right, gently placing the pistol to my own right. I sat back myself, and joined our son in simply gazing up at the night sky. We almost never had to force Bryce to talk. When he had something to say I’d be ready.