We sat side by side in hard kitchen chairs. Our captor, who went by Jake, stood by the door, eyes hooded and bored.
He lifted an arm and reached as though to scratch an itchy neck and jumped to alert at the sound of footsteps crunching up the drive. Company obviously was not in the equation. His sack of goods and jewelry stolen from the bedrooms sat on the floor by his feet. He cursed under his breath and grabbed the bag, looking toward the back door and aiming his gun towards Peter who sat shirtless, very still, tied next me in his chair.
A fist began pounding the door. "Mother? Father? Open up!"
The pounding stopped as quickly as it started.
Jake stared, indecisiveness etched on his features. He was a thief, not a murderer by trade.
An explosion of glass burst through a kitchen window shattering shards across the room that pinged on the table and floor.
Jake ducked and ran to the back door, sack in hand, and as he reached it with his left hand it exploded open with the force of a young man tipped off to danger by muddy footsteps on the landing.
Sean was on the man in a second and gripped his neck with large, strong hands.
"Who the hell are you?" He spat into Jake's face.
End of the five minute...