Savage Son Read Free

met, since Bart lived up north in Willis, Texas, was about to graduate on Saturday. Stanley could tell that Tricia was very excited and happy about the impending ceremony. “She was very hopeful, very upbeat and optimistic for [Bart’s] future.”
    Cliff and Darlene sat downstairs in the back of their comfortable home, on this particular night. The couple relaxed and watched television. They were also excited to have their eldest son, Brandon, home from college for the holidays. Their son had been upstairs in his room when he peeked in on his parents in the living room.
    “Was that on the TV?” Brandon asked his parents.
    “What?” Cliff asked his son.
    “I heard yelling and shooting,” Brandon stated.
    The Stanleys were watching a family show. “No, it wasn’t on this TV,” Cliff replied.
    Brandon walked down the steps and insisted, “Then it’s outside. Something’s going on outside. I swear I heard a shooting outside.”
    Cliff and Darlene looked at one another quizzically. Cliff rose up to take a look. He and Brandon headed for the front door to see if something was going on.
    When he walked out of his home, Cliff first looked over in the direction of the Whitakers’ house. It was natural instinct. Look toward those you are closest with in hopes that everything is fine with them. Unfortunately, everything was far from fine at the Whitaker household.
    Cliff spotted Kent Whitaker sprawled out on the concrete front porch next door. He couldn’t tell whether he was dead or alive. Kent’s head was pointing back toward the Stanley house in an awkward position. Suddenly Cliff saw his friend lurch sideways and mutter something.
    “I’m bleeding…,” Kent Whitaker pitifully mewled. His voice was barely audible.
    “Kent,” Cliff called out to his friend. “Are you okay?”
    “I’m bleeding, Cliff,” Kent cried out much louder. “Help!”
    Cliff immediately headed in the direction of Kent Whitaker, his own safety not crossing his mind. The thought that a man with a gun might still be on the premises did not enter into his consciousness. He simply understood that his friend was in trouble and needed his help.
    Cliff made his way toward Kent. As he came upon him, Cliff looked up and saw Tricia directly in front of the entryway to the house, about six feet away from Kent. She was in a kneeling position with her head on the front porch, near the slight step leading into the house. Her legs and lower body were pointed outward toward the street.
    Brandon Stanley followed directly behind his father. When Cliff witnessed the carnage before him, he yelled back at his son, “Go back inside and call 911! Now!” Brandon took off back to the house to make the call.
    Cliff turned his attention back to the bleeding Whitaker parents. He looked at Kent and asked, “What happened?”
    Kent looked at his friend with pleading eyes and reiterated, “I’m bleeding, Cliff.”
    “Okay, buddy. Just hang in there. Let me see what I can do,” Cliff attempted to calm his neighbor.
    Cliff hustled back to his house, stormed inside, and began yelling to Brandon, “I need something to stop the bleeding! Bring me something so we can bandage Kent up!” He waited as long as he could, but his son never came out with anything to staunch the flow of blood.
    Cliff tore out of his house and returned to the Whitakers. He ripped off his T-shirt and placed it on Kent’s left shoulder. “Kent, hold on to this. It will keep the blood from rushing out too fast,” he ordered. He could tell by the looks of Tricia that she needed his help much more than Kent. “Just hold on tight.”
    Cliff edged forward, closer to Tricia. She was moaning in pain, but still conscious. “What happened?” he asked her.
    Tricia Whitaker looked up at him, pale and bedraggled, and said, “Someone shot us. You need to go. He could still be here.” She began to moan again—only this time, it seemed more drawn out and painful than before. Cliff could sense that