If We Survive The Night

Police

Casey

The soggy cereal tastes like oatmeal, but at least it's sweet. Mom used to warm the milk for me, but now it's straight from the fridge, as chill as the kitchen tiles under my bare feet. We've ditched the bandages, since my cut wasn't bleeding anymore, and put a plaster on it, and now the dull, throbbing pain is gradually subsiding. I can still feel my knee, though. Gosh, I miss not feeling any pain!

Well, Dad doesn't feel any pain now. And Clarissa. And Hazel. Maybe I shouldn't be complaining.

I try to focus on eating, to take my mind off things, but it doesn't quite work. Food brings back memories of Hazel, of the time when I met her a few months ago, having moved into the house that was huge and unfamiliar and didn't feel at all like home. It was my second week there when she found me in the living room, killing time on my phone, and invited me into the kitchen, saying she needed my opinion on something she was cooking. I'm sure she could have done perfectly well without my opinion. She must have just sensed how lonely I felt and was too kind to ignore it.

Anyway, it led to many more afternoons of me hanging out in the sunlit kitchen, listening to her stories about her kids and grandchildren, tasting her food and occasionally helping her, although she usually preferred that I didn't touch anything. It always felt so cozy there. She was such a warm person, and I guess I really needed someone like that in my life after losing Mom.

Now I've lost Hazel, too.

"You okay?" Jaden says, walking into the kitchen. "Like... are you better?" He sits down across the table from me. "You looked like shit back in the bathroom."

I shrug. "Better than shit, yeah. Still far from okay."

I don't really want to think about what happened in the bathroom. I really needed that hug, but it's kind of weird to sit and talk to him after that, as if something intimate has happened between us. It was just a friendly hug, yet confusing given that it came from a guy who is angry with me half the time and saves my life the other half. In short, it was messed up, just like everything else tonight.

"You'll be okay," he says. "Just get through the night. When you're at your lowest point, you just grind your teeth and plow through, and eventually, good stuff starts happening again."

"Or it doesn't."

"No harm in hoping."

I look up at him. "What was your lowest point?"

He sighs. "We're not talking about me."

"We might as well."

"There's nothing interesting about me."

"Where's your Mom? She doesn't live here, obviously."

He frowns at me. "Obviously?"

"This place is a mess. No sign of a female presence."

He snorts. "A female presence doesn't necessarily mean a clean apartment. You should see my cousin Alison's flat, holy crap. You literally can't find a clear space on the floor to take a step. Although she's a bit of a hoarder, so I guess it's more of a mental condition than a choice."

I say nothing, eyeing him expectantly.

He rolls his eyes. "All right, fine. Mom moved to Mexico."

That takes me by surprise. "What? When?"

"About four months ago. Her boyfriend worked here for a while, and then he went back home, and she went with him."

"What? Like, she abandoned you?"

His frown deepens. "I'm not a child anymore. She doesn't have to look after me."

"Still..."

"It was her choice," he says dryly. "She had a right to make it."

"I would have felt betrayed if I were you."

"Well, you're not me, right?" He gets up, picks up my bowl, takes it to the sink. There's still some cereal in it, but I don't protest.

I watch his wide back as he turns on the tap and starts washing the dishes. He can act all grown up and tough, but, judging by his reaction, he's been hurt by his mother's leaving. I can relate to that. Mothers are important, even when you're no longer a child. Just knowing that they're out there and can be turned to when you need them gives you some peace of mind. You feel so alone when they're gone. You can be surrounded by people, but when your mother is gone, it's a void that can't be filled.

"Sorry about that," I say.

"About what?"

"About bringing up your Mom. It's none of my business."

"Yep." He puts the bowl on the drying rack, closes the tap and turns back to me, and then the doorbell rings. We both freeze.

"Pizza again?" I say.

He frowns. "Shouldn't be."

I get up and head into the living room, Jaden following close. It's darker here, even with a bit of illumination coming from the street and some more spilling out of the kitchen. I look through the peephole and see a distorted figure on the other side of the door, but it's too dark to make out any details.

"Who is it?" Jaden calls out.

"Police," says the man. "Open up."

I turn and stare at Jaden. He shrugs.

"The lawyer must have called them," he says. "Let me."

I move aside, giving him access to the door. He grabs the lock and begins to turn it, looking through the peephole. Then, he pauses.

"Officer?" he calls out. "How many of you are there?"

"Sir, open the door," comes the reply.

"Can I see your ID?"

"Open the door and I'll show you."

"I'd rather see it first, if you don't mind."

I tap him on the shoulder, and he turns, frowning.

"Just open up, man," I whisper. "We've no choice."

"He's alone. Why is he alone?" he whispers back.

"Did you expect a SWAT team?"

"To apprehend a murder suspect? Yeah, a few guys at least. Move aside."

I step to the side, chilled. Does he think that this is some bad cop intending to take me out? That this is no cop at all? Could this be that man I saw walking toward my bedroom? There's no way to tell, not through the peephole, not in the dark.

"Sir?" Jaden calls, bending down to pick up a book from the floor.

"Here's the badge," says the man behind the door, and I hear something scratch against the peephole. "Take a look and open up, son. No need to complicate things."

Instead of looking, Jaden steps aside and puts the book in front of the peephole. The next moment, there comes a sharp popping sound, accompanied by a short burst of breaking glass. A round hole appears in the book. Jaden loses his grip on it, and it drops to the floor. We freeze, staring at each other. Apparently, even though Jaden suspected something, this turn of events still takes him by surprise.

He grabs me and pulls me towards the kitchen.

"He shot at you!" I try to say, but my voice is not quite available, coming out as quacks. "He tried to shoot you through the peephole!"

"Go," he hisses, pulling me forward. "The fire escape! Come on!"

"Wait, what if..." I begin, but then, behind us, more popping sounds come, accompanied by the ringing of metal and the cracking of wood.