The 99

Chapter Thirteen: Clarke

"They're on fifteen minutes rotations again," Bellamy informed her. "It's protocol. That gives you about five minutes to get in and out with what you need. That is, unless your mom decides to..." he trailed off and something painful blossomed across Clarke's chest, hot like a fresh wound. Unless your mom decides to turn you in.

They stood just outside the corridor, backs pressed firmly to the wall as they watched two guards disappear around the bend and through the entrance to Alpha Station. Two days had passed since the break in. Though Clarke had been ready to go straight back to Alpha, it had been insisted by Bellamy to give it some time, to ensure it was relatively safe before returning to Alpha.

Now that she was so close to it, her heart pounded against her ribcage and Clarke was struggling to breathe. She still felt numb from the report of her father, but she had begun to thaw. Those whispers had ceased their chattering and though the abyss had risen inside her, hungry and threatening to devour her entirety, Clarke had managed to push it down. She still felt the truth of it, though, the echo of those thoughts chiming from somewhere deep inside.

My mother killed my father.

She'd waited for the impact of it to hit her. Had waited to accept what every kiss, every embrace between her parents contradicted. But it hadn't struck her until they'd left the chamber that perhaps she already had.

Bellamy pushed her forward, knocking her out of her musing. "Go," he ordered.

Clarke complied, turning down onto the corridor after the guards. She held back to make sure they were out of earshot before continuing on, through the Alpha's entrance. It was the same way they'd gone to get to Jaha's but it felt different this time and Clarke couldn't help but wish she was just breaking in to another dead man's chambers again. At least it would've been easier.

She came to a stop at the next turn. Just beyond it was the door to her apartment and she felt the presence of it, like a physical weight settling on her shoulders.

"I'll be your look out," Bellamy told her, and ushered her around the bend.

Clarke took a shaky breath but walked towards it. She punched in the same entry code just as she'd done a million times before, but this time, she didn't feel like a girl coming home. She felt like an intruder.

Clarke eased the door open, quietly, and stepped inside. Turning around, she felt the breath in her chest still as she stared at the apartment, no inch devoid of some memory, of her father, of her mother. Together. Happy. Now every one of those was tainted, stained red with his blood.

Clarke suddenly found it hard to stand, as she looked towards her father's office. She could almost convince herself that any second now, he would appear in the hall. That he'd flick on the projector and the sound of old Dallas Cowboys reruns would fill the room. She could clearly see him standing in the kitchen, staring out of the small window to a sea of stars.

The ghost of him was everywhere, in the impression of his favorite chair, the ugly scratch on the table from a razor he'd used to help her with a class project. The chip in the flooring, where he'd dropped a plate.

It hurt more that his absence wasn't as obvious as it should be, their home still lying in wait of his return. But Clarke still glimpsed hints of his neglect. The cup he'd used every morning was coated in a thin layer of dust.

Clarke thrust the images away. Five minutes, she reminded herself and she started for the kitchen first, pulling out a few protein packets. Then she moved down the hall to her father's study. It was unlocked and Clarke entered silently, careful as if there were someone inside to be disturbed.