Robbed.

Robbed.
Jon heard the door rattle from upstairs. He slid out of bed, grabbing his pistol. Each step he took was a mouse’s. His breathing was silent.

The door rattled again.

A robber, he thought.

Jon cocked the pistol. His heart pounded. A hard slam against the door. Jon fired, startled. The pistol gave a hollow crack. Jon fired again. From behind the door he heard a moan.

On target.

The voice behind the door cried out again, this time more gurgled.

Jon’s heart pounded. He grabbed the phone and called the police. He returned to the door. He heard the voice outside again. His heartbeat and breathing had slowed. Now he heard it clearly.

Without a second thought he swung open the door. His son was lying on the ground. Jon fell to the ground as the police lights flashed in the distance. He truly had now been robbed…by himself.