Scott saw only brief glimpses of people downstairs. He didn't dare go downstairs. He also didn't dare call the police--what if they found him and thought he was an intruder too? And if he just waited upstairs, there was a chance that the burglars would find him, which was even worse. There really weren't any good choices.
He sighed and called his parents on his cell phone.
"Hello?" said his father's voice.
"Dad?" he said. His own voice was too high, and even considering that, didn't really sound like his own.
"Hello?" said his father. "Who is this? You sound almost like...."
"It's me, Dad! I'm Scott! Never mind my voice, some guys broke into the house and they're downstairs. You have to do something!"
"Call the police! And we'll be right over!"
He imagined his parents rushing out of whatever show they were seeing, coming back home early. It would take maybe a half hour. Until then he'd have to hide... No, that could still be bad. They could see him as the wrong person! What could he do?
Scott called the police. "911"--it was easy to remember.
"Metropolitan Police, may I help you?"
"Yes, there are guys robbing the house! I'm hiding, come on and get over here and stop them, please...."
"Hold on. What's your address?"
Scott gave his address and said "I'm Scott Dewhurst. I already called Mom and Dad and they're coming back home. They probably didn't think anyone was still here."
"We'll send someone right over!"
Scott, cowering in a closet upstairs, eventually heard the sound of cars and police sirens. There was a commotion below, and he heard more footsteps, but nothing else breaking.
He left the closet and took a few hesitant steps downstairs--enough to see both the police and his parents there, as well as a broken window and an overturned bookcase. He quickly retreated upstairs--only to hear people approaching.
From back inside the closet, Scott heard the sound of his mother's voice saying "I think I heard something... In there!"
"Come out," said his father. "I'm warning you. If you d-- don't, we have the police here..."
Realizing he had no choice, he slowly slid the closet doors back and emerged into his parents' view.
"It's just a child!" said his mother. "He doesn't look like a thief...."
"It's..." said his father. "No, there's no way."
"Alan?" said his mother. "Do you know this child?"
"Yes, but it's impossible! That kid looks exactly like my brother Jake. He died in a car crash a long time ago, when he was 11!"
