Breaking Through

Murder

Claire's eyes snapped open, jolted awake by what seemed to be nothing but a random chance. However, against the hauntingly silent background of nighttime London, there was something audible. It was far away but insistent, a piercing falsetto that had no clear origin or purpose. Claire clasped her hands against her ears, falling back into an uneasy sleep.

A thunderously heavy impact, and the very walls of the flat shuddered. Both girls jolted awake, no doubt at the same time as the adults in the other room. The bedroom door creaked open, and Claire's mother peeked out, motioning her daughter and Sydney towards her. They rolled off the mattress, padding quickly across the living room and shutting the door as quietly as possible. Claire, still bleary and disoriented, felt someone take her wrist and guide her down under the bed. She grunted, and Sydney cupped a hand over her mouth, trying to quiet her. Another catastrophically loud impact, and the floor vibrated beneath them. Claire desperately wanted to talk to Sydney, even to look at her, but she dared not even move her head.

"Mr. Davies? Open the door, this is the police. We have reason to believe you are housing multiple fugitives, and we will be conducting a search of your property". It was Claire's mother that opened the door, all bedhead and feigned innocence. A creak on the floorboards, a few heavy footsteps, an excruciating moment of silence. Through the crack between bed and floor, Claire could see her mother draw closer to her father, separating herself from the officers.

"We don't have anyone here, I don't know what's going on..." her mother mumbled, trying to come off as indignant but barely able to keep her voice from shaking. Big, black boots were stomping around the kitchenette and living room, their owners opening cupboards and peering behind furniture. Then, three words: "Check the bedroom". Claire's heart seemed to stop beating, and she stiffened inside her cramped hiding spot. Sydney's voice seemed to echo in her head. If they find us, they'll kill us, and then them. The policeman trudged heavily into the room, the sound of boot against wood seemingly louder than the incessant pounding on the door a few minutes earlier.

He crouched down, fingertips against the hardwood, and Claire closed her eyes, hopelessly wishing that he somehow wouldn't see her. As the man got down on his stomach, she opened her eyes to look over at Sydney. Her eyes were wider than they had ever been, and tears were flowing freely down her cheeks. She mouthed three words, exaggeratedly enough so Claire could make them out: please help me.

His eye met hers, the policeman looking as surprised and shocked as she was. Time seemed to stop, but only for an instant, just before her mother let out a high, keening scream. It was the most horrible sound Claire had ever heard, a primal wail like that of a dying animal, completely free of all human quality or intonation. The bed was lifted up, and the girls were roughly dragged out and carried into the living room. Claire's mother was slumped on the ground, vocal cords worn out, sobbing silently into her bathrobe.

"They're underage" the policeman spat in her father's face. "They're children! You knew they were here, how did they get here? How did they escape? Tell me!" Her father stared at the floor, refusing to meet the other man's gaze.

"I don't know" he stated, softly but clearly. "I don't know how they got here, but they needed help. I didn't know they were underage. They didn't tell me. They were homeless."

The policeman twisted Sydney's arm, causing her to squirm. "Everyone's got a home, there are no bloody homeless. The only person that's homeless would be an escapee. How stupid do you think I am?" Suddenly, in a flurry of pale blue cloth, her mother rose from the ground and cracked the policeman's nose with her fist. He staggered back against the table, bringing a hand up his wounded face in shock. She was on top of him, relentlessly beating him as her husband desperately tried to pull her off. However, her maternal instincts had taken over, and nothing would stop her from protecting her child. Claire ran to her father, burying her face in his chest, wanting to block out the policeman's wounded yelps.

And suddenly, three times, the air itself seemed to explode. Claire dove to the ground, ears ringing madly, looking around in desperate fear. Sydney was cowering under the table, eyes shut tight and fingers jammed into her ears. Her father was kneeling by something, something pale blue, torn apart and run through with streaks of red. And her mother- that thing, that lump that her father sat by, gaping in shock, was her mother. Blood poured from three small holes, one in her head and two in her torso. Claire didn't know, she didn't know what to do, or what to think. All she could do was stare, just like her father was doing, at the body, so immobile and helpless on the floor.

For the first time, Claire noticed that she was crying too, and she let the tears come, drizzling down her cheeks and falling onto the rug or into her open mouth. She crawled under the table next to her friend, making no sound, shaking with emotion. Barely able to muster up the strength to keep moving, she draped a limp arm around Sydney, unable to communicate what she was feeling. Through the ringing, he heard a dull voice. "She was attacking him, she- could've killed him. He'll be in the hospital, I had to, I really had to."

"Please". This voice was softer, a shaky whisper, full of defeat and hopelessness. "Please don't take them. Please, please, they're all I have left, I..." Her father paused to think. "I hardly know them, but she... My daughter... You killed her mother..." There was nothing left to be said, and only one thing left to be done. The officer gently lifted the two children from under the table, propping them on their feet as best he could and leading them out of the building. The door slowly closed on the man in the flat, shaking silently on the bloodied floor.