The Road Home

This post was written in response to a Red Writing Hood writing prompt from Write On Edge (the new and super-improved site from the ladies of The Red Dress Club).

This week's prompt is as follows:

Your assignment: You must begin your story with the words “We had to leave immediately” and end it with “And then we realized we were already home.”

The middle part is up to you.
 
 Here's my beginning, middle and end.


The Road Home

We had to leave immediately. There was no time to contact you. I am sorry you had to find out this way, but it was really the only way we could guarantee our safety and keep the secret. The phone numbers, e-mail addresses and Twitter handles we have all been using are all gone. To state it bluntly, this piece of paper is the last communication we shall ever share.

With that said, let me tell you what you need to know:
Your house is the blue house on the road we have already discussed. There is no number on the front and I suggest you keep it that way. There are three bedrooms and each contains a suitable wardrobe for at least the next month or so. I won’t write about the cash here and hope that you remember all that we discussed before. The car in the garage is registered and insured under your husband’s new name.

The attic is  the KEY, remember? Girl, I hope you do, because there is no way I am leaving that kind of information in a printed letter. Here’s what I can tell you: your day is Tuesday. Be there at 16:34. If you miss your time it’s over, for all of you. This is non-negotiable.

Your assignment will begin this Tuesday.

For Now, For Then and Forever,
K

“Was that it?”

“Oh yeah. That was definitely IT. No one is coming for us. This letter is the end. We have to go.”

“A letter. On a god-damn tree? How did you even know to stop here?”

“The GPS. This marker popped up about two hours ago. I knew it was them. I hate this. Don’t make me think about it; just grab the kids.”

I hated it too. What I don’t think she realized is that I hated it more than she ever could have fathomed. We were in the woods, hiking for three days since we got off at the designated station and now the sun was setting again. Tomorrow was Tuesday. If we didn’t get to that blue house soon we would all be killed and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that these people would kill my children first.

As I approached my wife, now with the kids in tow, one little hand tugged my arm, “Daddy, can we live there?” We followed her pointed finger to a point about 100 yards in front of the tree where we found the letter. There was a house.

In a broken voice, my wife asked, “Sweetie, would you like that?”

This time, as we struggled to see in the dusk that the house was indeed blue, two delighted children’s voices, “Yesss!!”

And then we realized we were already home.