Chapter Text
Snow fell along the driveway of the eerily quiet Lahey house, gradually covering the concrete and the run-down car. Even Jackson, who's lived across from the Lahey's for years, could notice the silence.
That was, until the front door flung open, almost ripping off its' hinges. Isaac comes running out, almost tripping over his own shoes as he runs.
Blood stains the front of his shirt, still wet and sticky. The metallic scent burns his nose, but Isaac doesn’t notice has he lifts his bicycle and mounts it. Where’s he going? He isn’t entire sure just yet, following wherever his feet take him.
The doorbell rings about 30 times before someone answers it.
The front door swings open to reveal Melissa McCall, “Isaac…?” she murmurs in shock, eyes trailing to the blood staining his clothes.
”Sweetheart, what happened?” She asks. Her arm reaches out, catching his own and tugging him inside. Isaac can tell that she’s fighting an internal battle; she doesn’t know if she should act like a mother, or a nurse.
”I need Scott. Scott, where is he?” Isaac replies, his voice only a strained whisper, like the type that would occur after hours of screaming. When Melissa just gives him a sympathetic look, his shoulders visibly drop and he seems to deflate.
”He put me in the freezer again, mom…” He doesn’t even realise what he called her, his eyes glazed over from fear and the adrenaline rush, “so I…I screamed. When he came to let me out — or yell at me some more — he scared me, and I—“
His words seem to get stuck in his throat, but they’re forced out as Melissa touches his arm, “I kicked him…he fell back and hit his head on a pipe or something. I didn’t mean to hurt him, I swear.”
”Oh, Izzy,” Scott whispers from his bedroom doorframe, watching his boyfriend and mom talk. Isaac flinches at the nickname, before turning to face his boyfriend.
“Scott,” he whispers, before his knees buckle and give out. The cold wooden floor feels safer and more comfortable than the places he’s slept lately; the freezer, his shitty mattress at home, the couch with that one spring that digs into his back all night.
The other boy is by his side in an instant, gently cradling Isaac’s head in his lap, “I got you…you’re safe now.”
“I killed him…my dad’s dead, and it’s all my fault.”