“Uncle Marcus is coming, Noah. He’s almost there.”
Over Marcus’s line, I heard the wind rushing past the microphone as he sprinted down the suburban sidewalk. “I see the house,” Marcus barked. “Front door is locked. I’m going through the side window.”
“Do whatever you have to do,” I said.
A moment later, a deafening crash echoed over Marcus’s line. Glass shattered as he kicked the side door in. Over Noah’s connection, I heard the exact same crash from inside the house.
“Who the hell are you?!” a man’s voice roared. Travis.
“Where is the kid?!” Marcus bellowed, his voice echoing like thunder.
“Get out of my house!”
The sound of a brutal physical struggle erupted over the speakers. Fists hitting bone, furniture splintering, grunts of pure violence. I gripped the steering wheel, tears streaming down my face as I navigated the highway shoulder, praying I wouldn't crash before I could get to my son.