20 Steps by Franco Machado-Pesce
Footsteps.
I hear the crunch of their steps. A wooden cane’s taps echo after in a rhythm.
Closer. Closer.
I have to get out of here. If only my left foot would stop throbbing, then I would be able to run, but that’s not an option anymore. The footsteps are too close. I lift my head and peek out from under the staircase. I see nothing out of the corner of my eye, but I hear two voices coming from above the stairs. It’s my father.
“He’s not here, Sam,” he sounds discouraged, “we need to head out now.”
“We are not leaving without that failure you call a son,” that raspy and rough voice belonged to my grandfather. I hear my father release a sigh in agreement. Their steps continue to creep. They’re going to find me.
I glance across the hall and see a ladder. It stretches up and over the building. That’s it… that’s my way out. My breathing gets quicker, sloppier. Calm down mouth breather. I cover my lips and relax. My heart pounds frantically. The steps reached the bottom of the stairs.
My hand grasps a metal pole as I cower into the shadows. It’s stone cold and like myself, petrified. I peer at the ladder again. It’s too late. I see a pair of black boots appear beside me. They stop walking.
I clench the metal harder than before, exerting all the adrenaline into my hand.
“I can promise you he’s not here, Sam,” my father said. A pair of brown dress shoes suddenly appear. They’re so close. I know that if I lift my gaze I will meet the rigid, worn face of the man I used to call my family. His cane stabs into the dirt in front of my foot, pressuring me to release a yelp. I can’t afford to breathe. I can’t even move my toes. The only thing keeping me from getting taken back is this pole and the darkness.
The world decides to set itself on pause just for this moment. My grandfather begins to pace forward, but after a couple steps he starts to look around. Or at least I think that’s what he’s doing, it’s hard to tell when all I can see are the tracks from his soles. I hear frustration with the shuffling of his feet, but my father’s feet remain still.
My grandfather’s unsatisfied grunt turns into a short yell.
“This is your fault, Richard,” his thirst for blood roared, a craving that only my blood would satisfy. “You put your trust in that kid. For what? So he could tell the police about us?”
“We should’ve known that he wasn’t ready."
Everything is still.
“We?! He’s your kid. YOU should have told me he didn’t recognize the purpose of what we were doing. Of the honor!”
“No one understands what we are doing, Sam. Why do you think it’s only you and I?”
“Guess the family business ends here,” Sam starts to walk back to my father. My hold lightens up. “Just know that when we are behind bars, it’s your doing that put us there. This isn’t just my damn problem.”
Silence.
“I-” Richard started.
“You nothing. In fact, you’re just like your kid. An idiot with nothing going on in his big ass head.” I shift my head a little bit to see the footsteps suddenly slide into one another. The two are facing each other. The tension solidifies. My heart throbs. I hear the whisper of the wind brush my ear as I look at the ladder again. It’s only 20 steps away.
“Don’t talk to me like that.”
“Or what Richard?” a shove. “Are you going to kill me?” The shuffling of feet suddenly breaks out into chaos. I hear the snap of a punch hit a jacket. Another hit. When the next one hits, I jolt from my haven. The rush warms my body, momentarily making the pain from my foot negligible.
I hear yelling from the two men behind me as they realize who interrupted their skirmish. A series of “comeback here’s” and “stop’s” pierce my ears and cloud my head.
15 steps.
I feel a sharp rod hit my spine, tripping me a little in the process. I see the hook of the cane settle on the ground as I regain my balance and continue to sprint.
10 steps.
“STOP!!!” My grandfather growls.
Three steps. Two. One.
I jump on the ladder and start to climb, gaining speed with each step. The sweat drips from my shirt onto the polished metal that wraps around me. A low light radiates from the edge of the building. Sunlight. One last step… but a hand tears at my foot. I feel it clench and pain strikes me again. His fingers tighten.
My hand slowly slips out of the light, back into the void.
Orange, California 2017.