The rumbling whisper of the motor deafens Patricia to any other sound around her. Her child is asleep on the backseat, his small shape visible in the rearview mirror and comfortably snug under a thick blanket. That wide red piece of fabric is the only "big" thing she dared to carry with them, and in the two suitcases she's put in the truck there are only essentials. Some clothing and documents, maybe a couple of toys.

Her knuckles are white around the steering wheel, and her eyes can't help needing to glance over to the empty space besides her. The seat at her right lacks a copilot but carries a bag with IDs, money, and a couple of packaged sandwiches. There used to be a bottle of water, but it rolled beneath the seat. Her throat is dry, drier than it has ever been.

She keeps driving, the road barely illuminated by the car lights. Patricia is familiar enough with the address she's driving to that she could probably get there with her eyes closed. If the situation were any different, it'd be a fun thing to try. Right now, with sweat running down her back and her heartbeat racing, fun is the last thing on her mind.

The scenery is filled with thick, tall pine trees, and their foliage obscure the sky and stars. It's ominous to say the least, and the picture of it all only enhances the sensation of being trapped that has accompanied Patricia for months. Her foot presses further onto the gas pedal and the view starts to blur behind the windows. She would never drive this fast with Joshua in the car if…

A light between the tree trunks catches her attention. She's close to her goal. Inwardly, she curses having moved so deep into the forest, so far away from civilization. The promise of an idyllic future, tainted by a present in Hell. Shaking her head, Patricia forces herself to focus. Soon, a house starts forming into her field of view, and she turns the wheel to direct the car away from the asphalt and onto a dirt road.

The vehicle bounces. Joshua thankfully remains asleep. Patricia sighs. Blinking away the exhaustion, she feels grateful as she approaches her in-laws' home. It's a two-story house, white colored planks on the outside and a roof darkened by the elements. A new coat of paint wouldn't hurt, she thinks out of habit. The car is parked right in front of the wooden walkway that leads to the main door, and from the corner of her eye, Patricia sees a figure standing behind it as she gets out.

Fear crawls all over her, and the terror settles at the base of her stomach. Good manners are a must here, but the situation requires more of her. Patricia makes her way to the garage and grabs a gas can from a pile of junk. It still has some fuel, enough that Patricia doesn't consider asking for more before she starts loading it into her own tank. Joshua stirs from the noise she makes, and his face lights up not when he finds his mother on the other side, but when he looks over her shoulder.

"Grandpa!" Joshua cries.

Patricia turns around, her mouth quivering and can almost falling from her grasp. A tall man smiles back at her. "It's a strange hour to make a visit, isn't it?" The forcibly warm Southern accent reveals that the man isn't quite as happy as he appears to be. Patricia knows her father-in-law well enough to be sure of that fact.

Greetings push aside, Patricia gulps and lets her shoulders fall. "We need help." She hasn't finished speaking by the time Joshua leaps out of the car and into his grandfather's arms. The man ushers them all inside and doesn't wait for Patricia to reply before carrying Joshua away with him.

The interior of the house is considerably more welcoming than the dull outside. It's filled with all sorts of furniture and knickknacks from all over the country, like cups and clocks from states neither Patricia nor Joshua has ever visited. The child is, as usual, admiring everything with wonder as he's set down in the middle of the living room. The fireplace is lit and Patricia finally starts feeling the tips of her fingers.

Her mother-in-law appears soon after, carrying a tray with some cold ham and animal shaped cookies. She leaves it on the coffee table and beckons Joshua to give her a kiss. The kid does as he's told and then lunges himself over the cookies. When the old lady turns to grace Patricia with her attention, she's taken aback.

"What happened?"

Patricia brings a hand up her face self-consciously, tapping her black eye. Tears threaten to escape. "Your son happened," she spits out, hugging herself. Her mother-in-law remains in place. "Sorry." Patricia bends forward slightly, trying to shield herself. "I… We need help. Your son, he's… He's been hurting me for a while. I… He tried to hurt Joshua. I don't… I can take it, but I can't take him hurting our kid. Please, I know it might be hard to accept, but you have to help us."

The old woman's face is impassive, nothing shows beneath the sea of wrinkles until she blinks, puts her hands together and cocks her head to the side. "Of course, what else is family for if not to help each other? Our children come first. Sit down, I'll get my husband to make a couple of calls while I bring you some tea."

She leaves Patricia alone with a Joshua that has begun a war between the horse shaped cookies and the lion shaped ones. The laughs and cries that come out of him as he plays lower Patricia's guard, and she lets her body burrow further into the softness of the cushions beneath her. The warmth cascades over her, accompanied by a sensation of safety that lower her adrenaline levels. Her heartbeat slows and her vision blurs with the tears she's finally allowed to shed. Still, the woman brings a hand to her mouth and swallows her despair down, not wanting to worry her child.

The shadow of her father-in-law grabs her attention as the man quickly walks by. He's holding something in his hand and when Patricia calls for him, he hides it behind his back. "Oh, is the phone available? Could I make a couple of calls? Didn't have the chance to do so before, and I never get enough signal here to use my cellphone."

The man grumbles. "Later." He leaves. Patricia manages to catch sight of the object. It's a cord, cut on both ends.

There's something to realize there, but she misses the opportunity as her mother-in-law comes back with a cup of tea between her hands. She offers it to Patricia, who tries to accept it with her trembling hands. Her fingers are shaking so hard that the ceramic cup slips from her fingers and breaks into dozens of pieces.

"Uh, oh!" Joshua says, "mommy's in trouble!" Patricia quickly apologizes and tries to pick up the pieces.

"Don't worry, dear," says the old woman, slapping Patricia's hands away, "go wash yourself while I take care of this." Her commanding tone obliges Patricia to stand up and leave the room, admonishing herself for being so clumsy. Then, she pauses.

With both of her in laws busy, the phone will be available now, she thinks. Patricia makes her way into the kitchen, where she knows the landline is, and reaches for the phone hanging on the wall, right besides the refrigerator and in front of the broom closet's door. Picking it up, she discovers that it has no tone. Pressing the numbers out of habit only to get no response at all makes Patricia feel suddenly cold.

When she takes a step back, she realizes that the cord has been cut. The door behind her opens with a loud creak, but she refuses to turn.

Her mother-in-law takes a step inside the kitchen, pieces of broken ceramic in her palms and a frozen look in her eyes. Patricia tightens the hold she's got on the phone. "How could you do this?" It's a question that she enunciates as a statement.

"I told you, dear. Our children come first."

With a swift motion, Patricia throws the object right into her mother-in-law's face, gaining just enough time to run past her and grab Joshua. A set of familiar footsteps follows her, keeping up with her speed. That familiar and nightmarish voice screams her name, and only Joshua's confused questions help muffle the horrible things that voice says. There's enough fuel in the car to drive somewhere actually safe, that's the only thought in her mind. She just needs to reach it.

The vision of wooden walls and colorful decoration turn into the night sky as Patricia leaps out of the house. The gravel under her shoes creaks and almost makes her slip. She's close, closer, the closest she could ever be. Her fingers slip under the door handle, and she opens it, only to have a burly hand push it closed right before her eyes.

It's her father-in-law, furious and severe. He's always terrified Patricia, but instinct takes over, and before she knows it, a punch crashes against the old man's face. The distraction is enough for Patricia to throw her son inside the car and get behind the wheel. The door is still open when she steps on the gas pedal.

The car doesn't move.

Outside, her husband stands, a horrendous grin on his face. He holds a hose.

It's dripping fuel.