Whispers in the Rain

By Hannah Cahoon

My feet pounded against the pavement as the mid-September rain cut through the late summer humidity. My dark hair was soaked, but I didn’t care. I kept running, pushing myself to keep up with the droplets falling from the sky. My legs hurt, but still I ran. The pain didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop.

As I ran, the rain drumming on my head told me to keep going. Sometimes it whispered. Sometimes it screamed, and the tension made me want to scream with it. But no matter how the rain spoke, it only ever said one word: “Run!” So I did, hoping that eventually the voice would stop, but it never did. Twelve months later, I still ran every time it rained. The harder the rain, the harder I ran.

My phone rang.

Mom’s voice shook as it echoed from the speakers. “Serene. Where are you?”

“I told you I was going running,” I panted, my voice raspy from the rain.

“You’ve been running for two hours?”

I sighed and swiped a hand down my face. I couldn’t tell my mom that the rain was talking to me. Mom didn’t believe in the supernatural. Neither did I, but this was… different.

“Serene, you need to come home.” My mom interrupted my thoughts.

“I will, Mom.”

“Now, Serene.”

“Okay. I’m turning around.”

I hung up the phone before she could say anything else. The pain in my head had intensified since I slowed down to take the call. My only hope was that the rain would stop before I got home.

By the time our two-story brick Victorian home came into view, the late summer rain and thunder had only gotten worse. The headache that had started when I took my mom’s call had increased significantly the slower I ran. Why did she have to call me in now? As I rounded the last corner, I recognized the second vehicle in the driveway. My heart pounded faster.

Why was Dad here? Despite the pain in my head, I jerked to a stop, flooded with memories of the last time he was here. Mom’s cry of pain, his breath reeking of alcohol as he swung a fist at her again, sirens flashing every time I blinked—the judge promising that we were safe from him, that the restraining order would protect us.

Call 911! I fumbled for my phone, but a movement from inside the house distracted me.

Through the living room window, I saw Mom say something. Her arms were crossed and her face twisted in a frown. Without warning, my dad struck her. Not a slap, but a full-on fist. Anger drowned out the voice telling me to flee, and my headache withered compared to the fury burning in my chest.

I ran inside and jumped onto Dad’s back, wrapping my arms around his throat. He slammed me into the wall, but my grip did not loosen. I felt the gun in his waistband and tried to grab it. He spun wildly and my sweaty hands slipped. Then he flipped me over his shoulder and onto the floor.

“Lance!” Mom screamed. “Stop!”

“She attacked me!” Dad shouted, pinning me down by the arms.

“She’s protecting me! I’m her mother!”

“And I’m her father!”

I wiggled my arms out from under Dad. Plunging my thumbs into his eyes, I released my anger with a throat-rending scream and scrambled out from underneath him. His hand shot out, clamping onto my ankle. In another attempt to free myself, I kicked my other leg. He yanked me up, pinned my arms behind my back, and pressed the gun to my head before I could clear my blurry vision.

“Lance, no! She’s your daughter!”

“Exactly! She should know how to respect her father.”

My head pounded as the voices from the rain returned, “You should have run when you had the chance!”

It all came together. The rain started whispering to me not long after the restraining order. It had been trying to warn me all along of Dad’s return. But despite the searing pain in my head from the voices, I knew I couldn’t leave my mother behind.

“I’m taking Serene,” he spat out. “If you come after us, I’ll kill her.”

“Lance, please,” Mom pleaded.

Something inside me snapped. Ignoring the pain in my head, I slammed my foot down on his foot. He yelped and released my arms, giving me the chance to whirl around and grab the gun now waving in the air. I sent another kick right between the legs. His grip loosened, and I yanked the gun away. By the time he stumbled to a standing position, I was between him and Mom with the gun aimed at him.

“Put your hands over your head and get on your knees, Lance.” My words were somehow steady and calm, a sharp contrast to the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

He hesitated, and I cocked the gun. Lance dropped to his knees faster than I’d ever seen him move, hands raised over his head.

“Call the police, Mom.” My gaze didn’t waver from the man who was supposed to be my protector. I was done running.

Within minutes, flashing blue lights appeared outside our home. The police took Lance away in handcuffs. I’ll never forget the shocked look on his face as he glanced back at me one last time. My head lifted in one last act of defiance.

Was that remorse in his eyes? It didn’t matter. He was gone and out of our lives for good.

“Serene.” My mom’s soft voice came from behind me.

I turned into the embrace I knew awaited me without saying a word. Tears streamed down both our faces. And for the first time in a year, the voices in the rain stopped. I smiled and hugged Mom tighter.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hannah Cahoon. Author. Havok Wreaker. Flash Fictionado.