Silence | Book 1

4-2: Foster

"Please, mum is drunk and I'm scared." He whispered softly into the flip-phone he had stolen from his mother's purse in her bedroom. The sound of pans clattering against the kitchen floor and plates shattering resounded from downstairs. He felt Anya grab him tighter as their mother's shouting echoed through the stairwell.

"Fucking bastard! He stole it... fucking stole it..." The swearing devolved into a long, angry cry and the noise of several plates breaking in rapid succession caused Anya to burst out in tears.

"Is there anyone with you?" The emergency operator asked, her voice soft to keep him calm.

"My little sister..." he whispered back, as he quickly tried to wipe the tears off of Anya's face with the sleeve of his pyjamas.

"The police are on their way. Stay on the line, okay?"

He nodded out of habit, not realising that the operator couldn't see him.

"Will you stay on the line?" She asked again, and this time he did answer.

"Yes." He whispered softly.

"Try to hide somewhere safe, somewhere where she can't find you. Can you do that?"

"Yes, I think so." He whispered again, as a plan formed in his mind. Slowly he got up and picked Anya up from the floor. She had gotten quite heavy, but when he picked her up she wrapped her arms and legs around his chest, so he could carry her with.

He knew somewhere safe where Anya would fit, as long as she stayed quiet. Carefully he carried her up the stairs, towards their small attic. He listened as his mother continued to rage on downstairs, but her swearing got more and more muffled as he tiptoed higher up.

He put Anya down in a small gap between boxes and an old bookcase that had been left by someone who lived here before. She looked up at him with large, tearful eyes but he smiled at her to make her feel better.

"Be quiet, okay, like when playing hide and seek?" She nodded, but still reached for him. He gave her a tight hug.

"I love you Annie, I will come get you when mum has calmed down."

A small kiss on her forehead and a quick ruffle of her chin-length hair made her smile a little.

"Shhh." He put a finger to his lips, then shoved one of the larger boxes in front of her, hiding her from sight.

"I've hidden my sister." He whispered to the operator, while he slowly snuck back to the stairs. "I am going to hide in my room."

He tiptoed down the stairs again, quietly. Quiet. It was quiet. His mother wasn't throwing plates anymore. Oh no. Heavy footsteps suddenly stormed up the stairs, and he froze up realising what was happening. For just a second his gaze met his mother's, as he was caught in the middle of the stairs.

Her eyes were wild and unfocused. Dry blonde hair crowned her face, poking every which way. In the darkness of the stairwell she was like a witch.

"Tristan, what are you,-" She started, her voice loud and angry, but then she noticed the phone in his hand. Her phone. Her teeth bared in rage, her eyebrows lowering as her inebriated gaze darkened into pure hatred.

"TRISTAN!"

He screamed and tried to scramble back up the stairs. A hand grabbed the neck of his pyjamas, and forcefully pulled him back. She slammed him into the wall and he dropped the cellphone in a daze.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." he started, knowing that he was in trouble, and there was nothing that could save him now but her ever-changing mercy. His mother picked up the phone, and even in her drunken stupor recognised the number. Immediately she shut it and held it in front of his face. He could smell the alcohol on her breath, burning in his nose. Desperate he averted his gaze and tried to crawl back against the wall.