He storms down the stairs, taking two at a time. Limber like a panther in his black jeans and black T-shirt signature outfit, he’s hard to make out in the dark. Two of the lowlifes stand like pillars of salt next to the bookcase and drop the books they have in their hands.
Amadeus grabs the poker from the cooking range and swings it at the men. They stumble a few steps back and one falls over the weaving basket in the corner. He grabs that one by his collar and pulls him up.
“What are you doing here? Who are you?” The rage in his voice is reaching the point of a ticking bomb about to explode at any moment. All he gets from the man is defiant silence.
He drops the poker and lands a right hook in the guy’s face. It came so unexpected and with such force, that the man’s head jerks back and he slams to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
“Pete, it’s just a woman.” The other man shouts as he sneaks up behind Amadeus, and slings his arms around his upper body.
He shouldn’t have said that. Oh no! The last person who called Amadeus a woman spend half a day being bandaged up in the emergency room and limped for a month. He’s normally just a grumpy teddy bear and we all love him. But when he comes out, all guns blazing, when there’s a reason for him to protect the body, then … well, let me put it this way, you don’t want to be around when that happens.
Amadeus slams his left elbow into the man’s body right where I think his liver would be. The intruder squeals in pain and folds to the ground. Before my boy can catch his breath, the third man approaches, wielding one of our chairs like a sword. I shout a warning to Amadeus but I’m too late. The chair crashes over his head and, caught by surprise, he sinks to his knees.
All three scumbags rush to the door and into the darkness, more limping and hobbling than running.
Amadeus gets up, pulls the chair to the table, and sits down. Blood is dripping down his cheek.
“I should have seen the third man coming. I’m out of practice. Should have been much more vigilant, much fitter too.”
He walks to the front door and mumbles his frustration into the night, massaging his right hand. The dirtbags are gone and the night is soundless again. Not even a cracking of twigs or crunching of the forest floor troubles the silence. Only a few disturbed birds skitter up into the air.
He closes the front door, checks the windows, locks up, and sets the alarm. I understand why he’s extra careful. Having three people marching into our house without any effort is worrying.
If they had started a fire, we would be dead now. Amadeus comes up to the bedroom and nods in agreement.
“We would not have survived a fire. I’m surprised you discovered them.”
“I’m a light sleeper at the best of times.” The bleeding from the head wound has stopped but I’d still rather clean it and put some antiseptic on it. You can’t be careful enough with these things.
“I wouldn’t have known what to do. You taking over was a blessing.” I feel Amadeus fading back into the tree house. He never was a fan of big praise. Something niggles in the back of my mind. Then I realize what it is.
“Why didn’t Prince warn us?”
“What? Prince?” Amadeus shoots down the stairs and into the laundry where Prince has his bed. “He’s okay, but he’s fast asleep. That’s … they drugged the dog. We are like sitting ducks. We need to plan and have to be more proactive.”
I shake my head and frown. A lot of planning must have gone into the break-in and people must have known a lot about our situation and us.
“We have to ring the police in the morning. I’m convinced we were dealing with experts. Without you, I don’t know… I don’t want to think about it.”
“Just doing my job.” Amadeus climbs up the steps to our tree house.
I send another thank you after him, but he’s already gone. In one way he’s right, we need a plan and we need it sooner than later. I touch my head and wince. With the candle in my right hand, I go down to the laundry to fetch my first aid kit. I have to hurry; the Tribe is stirring.
Chapter Twelve
Sky: 9 March 2017, Early Morning, Wright’s Homestead
I like the quiet mornings in the tree house when the Tribe is still asleep. Those moments are precious and short-lived because the tranquil common room turns into a humming beehive. When we wake up, it’s not like the grasp of sleep lessens, the world comes bit by bit into focus, and we open our eyes. It’s different for us. We plunge into a scene like apples falling from a tree because they’re ripe, or the wind blew them off.
That’s what happened on the morning of the burglary. First Amadeus woke up and sprinted to help Ama. Then, like a chain reaction, everyone else shows up. Soon the common room was filling with fearful kids. With Ama and Amadeus dealing with the intruders, Elise and Lilly had to distract the little ones. In emergencies like this, we run like well-oiled clockwork.
Do other multiples experience the same? I don’t know. My hunch is, it’s different for everyone because there is no such thing as the multiple. Like every other cross-section of people, we come in all shapes and forms. Some are boring and some are exciting; some are intelligent and some are stupid; some are caring and some are selfish; some are good-hearted
