Twelve-year-old Ignatius Ellison was home sick from school when the commotion started. He heard his mother scream, a gunshot, and another scream from his mom followed by yelling and cursing. He grabbed the phone off his nightstand and hid in the closet, burying himself in clothes and hoping not to be found. “Call 9-1-1, call 9-1-1,” he told himself.
His mother screamed again and Ignatius heard his father’s voice join the chaos. More gunshots.
Ignatius took small, shallow breaths and tried not to move. He dialed with shaky hands.
“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”
”Intruders” and his address as quiet as possible. He added, “in closet.”
“You stay with me, okay?” the operator said. “You tell me when you hear the police.”
Someone stepped onto the creaky wood of his bedroom floor. His dog barked and growled; Its toe nails scratched the floor as it lunged. Ignatius heard the wail of sirens and the commotion changed as the intruders began to make a retreat.
He took a chance and opened the closet door.He approached his window that faced the backyard it just in time to see a man in a yellow shirt and dark jeans jump the fence. Ignatius stared at the man, hoping to remember enough. He panicked again at the sound of footsteps and hurried back to the closet to hide as he had before, but he heard a police officer’s radio and took a deep breath. The officer said something Ignatius didn’t quite understand, and he heard the response “he’s in a closet” over the radio.
The handle wiggled and the officer opened the door, shined his flashlight in, and stepped into the closet. “Hello? Who’s in here?”
Young Ignatius climbed out from under the pile he’d made.
“I’m Officer Young. I won’t hurt you.” The officer extended his hand to help Ignatius out and into the chair at his desk. “I’m here to help. Can you tell me your name?”
Young Ignatius shook his head. Tears stung his eyes and ran down his cheeks.
“I’m here to help. Please tell me your name.”
“Ig-Ignatius.”
“Ignatius. That’s a solid name. I’m here to help you, and my coworkers are downstairs helping your parents.”
Young Ignatius reached out and hugged Officer Young. He felt the officer’s hands on his shoulders and tightened his grip.
“I’m here to help you,” the officer repeated.
Another officer entered the room.
“Ignatius, this is Office Reed. He’s here to help, too. We need to take you and go away for a while so our coworkers can help your parents.”
The officers led him out of his room, down the stairs, and past where other police officers and emergency workers “helped” his dead parents in the living room. They led the boy to a police cruiser and secured him in the back seat.
“We’re going to the police station for now. Your aunt and uncle are meeting us there.”
Young Ignatius buried his face in Officer Young’s side and cried the rest of the way to the station.
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