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Her son was gone.

Victoria Hill raced past the four-bedroom gray- and black-trimmed house, located in Naperville, Illinois, as fast as her well-worn, three-inch heels would allow.

She wished she had worn trainers today. She’d already split her pencil skirt rushing to get out of the car. Navigating the brick path leading to the two-bedroom guest house she rented, the familiar face of her best friend—whose light brown skin appeared even paler than usual–– stared back at her. The pain resonated in Antoine’s cinnamon eyes and punched her in the gut.

His stiff six-foot-tall stance was the opposite of his normal loose-limbed slouch. Maybe she’d misread his expression. Maybe any second he’d break out into laughter, and Luke would run from behind the maple tree. Maybe this was some cruel practical joke. Maybe. When ten-year-old Christian arrived home without his brother, who was a year older, Antoine sent her a text, “Luke made Chris drag home his backpack. Guess he decided to walk again.”

But after the time he should have arrived came and went, Antoine called. “Luke didn’t come home.”

“I’m on my way,” Tori responded. She sprang from her desk and shouted, “Family emergency,” as she ran out of the door.

The fifteen-minute drive home condensed into ten. Stop signs, to a worried parent, became merely places to pump the brakes and pray that no one dashed in front of a moving car. She arrived home, and her eyes zeroed in on the black picture frame Antoine clutched. As she came closer, the words “Daddy” appeared down the side, and the connection became clear. Her father, Richard, had given her a similar frame when she laid eyes on him for the first and last time. She froze. Her mind raced back nineteen years, when her father slithered into her life and shattered all sense of peace, like a bowling ball through a plate-glass window.

At the end of the next block, a tall shadow emerged, pausing her in her tracks. “You know who I am?”

The March sun obscured her view a bit, but squinting she could make out light brown eyes, light brown complexion, and sandy brown hair that matched her own. She saw that face in a frame on her bedside table every night before she closed her eyes to sleep.

“You’re my dad Richard. Mom said you died.”

He leaned back into a hearty laugh. “Wishful thinking on her part.”

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Award-winning author Sierra Kay has an M.A. in Writing from DePaul University, won a Nuyorican Poets Cafe Short Story Slam, and participated in comedy fests as a member of the writing teams for Spankx, N20 Comedy and Suspicious Package. She loves writing poetry and suspense novels.

Obviously, she’ll try anything at least once. It’s a reaction to growing up with brothers that liberally challenged her at every turn. She’s seeking help, but would appreciate all friends and fans to abstain from using the words, “Double dog dare you.”

Her most recent novels, From Behind the Curtain, In the Midst of Fire, which was a 2017 Book Excellence Award Finalist for suspense, and At the Touch of Love are available online. Learn more at sierrakay.com

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