White Space Season 1

aluminum in a curtain of splinters and shards, cries of terror and fleeing shoppers.
    Milo’s world went black.

TO BE CONTINUED…

::EPISODE 4::
    CHAPTER 1 — Milo Anderson (age 12)

    Hamilton Island, Washington

5 years ago

    Milo woke to the sound of his father screaming at someone downstairs.
    He glanced at the clock on his nightstand: midnight.
    Who’s here?
    He felt a chill ice through his insides, wondering if someone had broken into their house and was hurting his father. His mother had left in the middle of the night four months ago, and Milo often wondered, especially at night, if something would happen to his father next.
    He opened his door quietly, then slipped through the crack and sneaked to the end of the hall at the edge of the staircase, where he realized they were alone in the house.
    His father was on the phone. “No, and that’s my final answer. Don’t call here again,” his father said, sighing as he flipped his cell on the coffee table and plopped on the couch.
    Milo sat crouched at the top of the landing, peering down. Even staring at his back, Milo could tell that his father was furious. His dad rarely showed emotion, fury least of all. To see him in an unguarded moment made him feel uncomfortable, and like he should just go back to bed. He inched back, the stair beneath his foot creaked.
    His father turned, startled by Milo’s presence.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Nothing,” Milo squeaked, “I thought I heard something.”
    “It’s nothing, Milo. Go back to sleep.” His dad sounded exhausted.
    Milo was already at the foot of the stairs, slowly approaching the couch. He circled his father, thinking how odd he looked, how … distraught . His hair was a mess and his eyes were red, as if he’d been crying.
    “I said go back to bed,” his father snapped, staring at the floor instead of Milo.
    Milo sat beside his dad on the couch, cautiously. Nervously.
    “Was that call about Mom?” Milo asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
    His father looked up, eyes wide. His dad didn’t just look worried, he seemed almost scared.
    “How much of that did you hear?”
    Milo’s voice split with creeping fear. “What do you mean?”
    “Answer the question!” His father grabbed Milo’s arms tight. Milo tried to pull back, shocked by his father’s sudden violence. But his father’s grip was too strong to shatter. “How much did you hear?!”
    “Nothing! Let go!”
    “It’s not polite to spy on people, Milo,” his father said, his eyes slightly closing, as his grip loosened.
    “I didn’t hear anything!” Milo cried out, standing. “I’m not spying!”
    His father shook his head and then ran his hands through his hair.
    “I’m sorry. I’m just having a tough time at work right now. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Sorry”
    He patted the cushion next to Milo.
    Milo sat, then fell into his father’s hug.
    “I’m sorry, buddy.”
    “It’s okay,” Milo said, as tears started to fall from his eyes. He wiped his pajama sleeve quickly across his face, hoping his dad wouldn’t say anything. Of course, he did.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing,” Milo said. It didn’t make sense to bring it up again. Whenever he tried talking about his mom, or the possibility that she might come home, his father always changed the conversation.
    “Not now.”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Maybe some other time, Milo. Okay?”
    His father never wanted to talk about it, always pushing it off for “later.” But maybe later never came. Milo decided to spill his guts, “I miss her.”
    For a long while, his father said nothing. Silence stretched, then after what seemed like forever, he wrapped his long arm around Milo’s skinny back and said, “I miss her, too.”
    “Then why don’t you ever talk about her? Why do you pretend like she never even existed?” Milo said, tears choking half his words.
    His dad handed him a box of tissues from the end table and Milo blew his nose.
    “It’s hard to think about her,” his dad said. “Without wondering what I could’ve done differently. That maybe she’d be here today if I’d just done something differently.”
    “It’s not your fault she left,” Milo said, even though he secretly thought it might be.
    His father worked long hours as an analyst for Conway Industries. Milo wasn’t sure what his dad did, exactly. The few times Milo wondered out loud, his father said it was complicated, and that it was mostly paperwork