Ineffable - S.REID

19

・゜゜・．FOUR MONTH LATER .・゜゜・

Four more months passed and the same thing occurred with each passing day. She would wake up late and lay in bed reading for about half an hour before she got up (remaining in her pyjamas throughout the entire day.). Rarely, she would change into an actual outfit but that only happened when she was searching for that small amount of familiarity that her days so lacked. She no longer felt human really, just a shell of a person doing all that they needed to do in a day to survive and keep fit. Sam had, as a joke, brought her an inflatable punching bag that his children had no longer wanted to play with. The punching bag was the created form of catharsis she could have asked for. It worked the muscles that longed to be used in combat or to swim. She imagined the bag to be one person from the gang each time, it nearly popped a few times but managed to bounce back with ease. She felt undeniably grateful for that gift.

Clara became instantly bewildered when she was left alone for a singular day. Based on her new (ish) rota, Sam was supposed to appear for his three week shift on the twenty fourth but never did. It got to the twenty sixth and she began to panic. His disappearance could not have happened at a worse time, he was supposed to bring the delivery of food they would survive off of. She had barely any food left and when he was a no show on the twenty seventh also, she was forced to ration what was left. She had enough food to barely survive for a week, let alone three until Toblerone would appear for his shift.

To make matters worse, her weakened mind was hardly able to catch a wink of sleep because of the panic that overtook her every thought. She worried for Sam, the man who had quickly become her best friend and only source of comfort though this all. She worried about her food situation and wondered how long she could go before actually venturing outside and risking being shot would be the only viable option. She would not let herself starve to death just because of the fear of what could have happened. For now she had enough to sustain herself and wait it out, hoping that someone would notice Sam hadn't reported back soon enough. Most of all, she worried for her own safety. She could protect herself against one, many two of the members of the gang but not any more than that alone. Plus going from constantly having someone guarding you then being without it for so long created a certain vulnerability that she so hated the existence of.

Clara spent the majority of her day sitting in a chair against a wall, loaded gun in her hand and directed towards the front door. She had picked the spot with the best vantage point for all entrances and exits, trying to do the most to give herself a fighting chance. The hunger, exhaustion and pure panic of the entire situation had her mind working overtime and imagining things that simply weren't there. She imagined footsteps in the bedrooms, heard the sharpening of knives in the darkness where logically she knew there wasn't anyone there and drove herself slightly insane with it all. The smallest movement, the creaking of a floorboard, had her anxiousness shooting up to the point that she swivelled in her chair and directed the gun towards things that just didn't exist. The tap screaming on random intervals was enough to give her a heart attack every time, it always seemed to wake her from sleep. To wrap up the mental torment, when she did happen to fall asleep because her body just gave up, her dreams were full of images of her Father and the final few days she had with him before he went off to the enlistment that killed him.

Day broke on the 5th day and Clara had promised herself that at the end of this day, she would venture next door for food. She had run out completely the day before and figured the family next door were safe and wouldn't deny her request. Still the idea of even setting foot in the gravel outside the front door sent her mind into overdrive.

The clock in the kitchen that chimed every passing second struck two o'clock and Clara could begin to feel herself slipping into impromptu sleep as her body just ran out of energy. Her seemingly never ending adrenaline shot up to the level that it shook her awake when three rapid knocks sounded on the door. Given that she had no deliveries and didn't know any of the neighbours, the knocks could only be something sinister. Her hands shook terribly as she fixed her gun on the passageway that came off the front door, praying within her mind that the person behind it did not want to kill her.

She heard every movement of their feet under gravel, every click of a key going into the lock. The beeping of the alarm began and she started to squeeze the trigger of the gun, trying her best to focus her weary mind. She listened to each heavy footstep as the person approached, counting inside her head how many steps they had taken so she knew how close they were even as the alarm's beeps began to get increasingly rapid.

Rossi appeared and before she could even register who it was, he put both of his hands in the air and softly began, "Clara..."

"Zio Rossi?" she whispered in disbelief, relief slashing through her body so intently that the gun clattered to the ground. Her voice was hoarse with the days of fear and wordlessness. He tried his best not to focus on her appearance, the dishevelled almost shell pf a person she had become. Guilt wretched him at the look in her eyes, he had never seen such fear. Rossi loved Clara like a daughter so seeing this, what had happened to her due to something that wasn't his fault but felt as if it was, created an indescribable feeling.

She burst into tears as she ran across the room, falling into his arms as he wrapped them around her protectively. The two did not say a word, not needing to express anything other than the emotions that radiated off them both as they hugged. Clara, for a moment, forgot it all and just let herself feel safe in the arms of the person she considered to be the closest she would ever get to a fatherly figure. The beeping of the alarm intensified and Clara quickly pulled out of the hug, running to type in the code before anyone was contacted. She didn't know who exactly the alarm went to but didn't want to find out.

"I am so sorry you were left this long alone," Rossi paused as she turned and he finally looked at her eyes, pure fear reflected back at him. "We have to move you, Sam's been compromised. We didn't know until thirty minutes ago. I got straight into my car."

Clara nodded, having figured that the only reason Sam would not appear would be something sinister. Her voice, still not adjusted to being used again, came scratchy as she asked, "Is he okay?"

Rossi paused for a llong enough time that she knew what the hesitation meant. "We don't know."

She frowned, further tears slipping down her pale and hollowed cheeks. Her response came at a whisper he would not have heard if they hadn't been so close, "He's dead, isn't he?" Rossi only needed to nod to confirm her fears, adding to the misery which her mind was made up of. "Can someone go to his funeral for me and tell Marla I'm sorry?"

"Of course," he replied without hesitation, wishing that he could have done more for her. He yelled at his past self internally for not thinking to stop on the road to grab at least something she could eat. "But first, we'll get you moved and send out a doctor to check you over. This one won't leave your side so this doesn't happen again."

She frowned, confusion tugging her brow down her face, "Isn't that against so many rules?"

"I don't care about those stupid rules," Rossi responded in a tone that brought a subtle smile to her face, after all the feeling of being cared about was unmatched in every way shape and form. She nodded and headed to the bedroom where her bag was already packed and ready to go. She would pack it and repack it for fun when her body didn't have the energy to hold the gun in the air anymore, or required some other form of stimulation other than staring at the walls or counting the tiles on the ceiling.

Rossi carried her bag and the discarded gun to the car and helped her inside, making sure to stand on the side of her which was not hidden behind the door of the vehicle .The action of buckling herself into the car felt so odd after so long that she actually had to prop her sunglasses disguise onto her head to see what she was doing. Toblerone sat in the driver's seat, staring directly ahead to not meet her gaze as protocol demanded. She could feel his energies though, ones similar to her own with the loss of a great friend. "Wait one thing," she called just as Rossi shut the door to the car. She rolled the window down just enough to be able to talk but not enough that she would be shot in the head through the gap. "Is everyone okay?"

"Everyone's fine Clara. We're close."

She nodded, knowing he was telling the truth based on his microexpressions. "How long left, you think?" she asked softly, not knowing if she really wanted to know the answer.

He paused for thought and Toblerone grew inpatient, clearing his throat to keep their discussion under pressure. "A few weeks, a month at most."

Though he could not see it, she grinned at the idea of being out of hiding so soon. After such a terrible past seven months she wanted nothing more than to be out of it. Hope flooded her body as she rolled the window back up and Toblerone sped out of the neighbourhood, heading to their next location.