Kin

Chapter 1

Thursday 5th November 1992

8 AM

My mother is dead. Murdered. Extinguished. A quick, clean slit across her throat allowing her frail, tepid life to snake away. Down her white cotton bed sheets, it drips unenthusiastically on the floor. I watch from the door frame as my father kneels beside her. He is uncharacteristically distraught, he unleashed a hellish pained noise, waking me. I found him gripping my mother's limp body to his chest, mumbling an almost incomprehensible chain and painting himself in blood.

My poor father, his heart is broken, mine too. Shattered into a million sticky pieces and scattered across that bedroom floor staining the carpet and mingling with her blood falling from me, from where I stood in that door way. I'm going to leave the shards there on the floor, they don't belong to me anyway. This comfortable façade I'm living will end abruptly.

Pain is a familiar feeling it's been woven into the tapestry of my life as far back as I can remember. It ebbs and peaks like waves threatening to engulf me at any moment. This is different in this moment the waves aren't sharp they're smooth and nauseating bringing a strange numbness with them, this isn't the raw unadulterated pain I've felt before, perhaps I'm building an immunity, what a disgusting thought. There's just something new about this pain. There's something deep within my stomach, something burning and growing. It's bringing change.

Father hasn't noticed me, he's mounted mother on the bed and is trying fruitlessly to get a reaction. There's too much blood for that. Its tragically comical, the desperation is painful.

Thus far we'd been safe, hidden outside of the city in an ostentatious eye sore of a manor. Parading, unconvincingly, as old money. My father was very clever in his protection of us, he built a wall not just from bricks and mortar but of people. People willing to inform, fight and die on his say so. A human wall around his empire. One that would need to be picked through before reaching us.

I'm sure he's now wracking his brains, how could this have happened? Which human brick fell and most importantly who breached it?

The same familiar, safe faces surround us daily. 'Family' father calls them. Safe faces. In terms of blood I'm his only family left now. Who can you trust if not family? I'm certain father hasn't done this. For all her flaws he loved her deeply and intensely in a way difficult for me to understand. He must know now, that from this moment forward neither of us can consider ourselves safe. Everything has changed daddy.

From his spot there beside mother I watch his struggle to comprehend what has happened. The profile of his face twists in anguish, transforming as the minutes pass, grief to anger to grief to anger. Who would have the nerve to walk in to Tommy Morton's home and kill his wife. The cogs in his head are having difficulty turning, I can see that the teeth aren't fitting together, control's been taken from him and he cannot figure out how. It's such an unusual feeling for him, this vulnerability. I'm a little more accustom. Build those bricks back up, you can do this.

It all just seems so unlikely. We've had 7 years of calm, an unspoken truce with the Chaplin's. 7 years where killings were kept to minor, petty disputes between 2 or 3 people. Kept off the main stage, and all participants very willing, but even at the worst of times women and children have always been off limits.

A noble and chauvinistic sentiment I'd always thought. Though completely unnecessary, I've known women to be ruthless when they need to be. The strong ones.

It took him a while to notice me there in the doorway. When he did he rushed to my side and gripped me tight 'Don't look Kimmy' He said pulling me down as he crouched next to me, yet he himself couldn't take his eyes away. I only watched him. His eyes bore into her, willing her to move. I've never seen him like this. When his son died he kept an utterly dignified composure about himself, yet there he clung to me a frightened child as though I would save him.

What will he tell the safe faces? A leader who lost his son during the bad times has lost a wife during this truce.

I kiss the top of his head and break from his grip, he offers no resistance and returns quickly to his knees. I walk away without a word, arrangements need to be made and he will not do it.

I shake unashamedly as I descend the stairs and breathe deeply willing myself to stay in one piece. I call Dads closest confidant, Uncle Denny from the Landline at the bottom of the stairs. Uncle in name only, not blood. I don't give him too much information, I can't say the words. I'll leave that to Dad. I make it clear he is needed here as a matter of urgency.

I made myself hit tea automatically. I could hear Dad in the room above the kitchen Whimpering noises drifting down. Its unnerving, unnatural, stop it. Very soon Uncle Denny will be here, Dad must fix himself up then. None can see his instability. Only I am privilege to that.

I swirl the liquid in circular motions around its mug creating a little whirlpool and immerse myself fully in that small motion willing my mind to just let go, empty itself of the horror upstairs and all feeling. Reassess, I need to concentrate. With change, comes a domino effect one that is sure to ripple down the ranks of our family. Powerful men who have been through thick and thin with Dad will claw their way into his seat if they smell weakness. I watch my reflection in the large glass doors that lead to the back of the manor. I don't think I'm the same person I was yesterday. I look different somehow, yet more recognisable than usual. I look like someone I maybe met in a dream a long time ago. The animal hatching within me is giving me an aura of my own. A wild coyote. Witnessing horror can do that to a person, I've seen it happen, people change some for the better some worse, I've seen void eyes, empty shells turn up here to seek help. My change is controlled and will certainly be for the better.

I unlock the front doors and wait on the stairs opposite positioning myself just so. It doesn't take long before Uncle Denny bursts through his face flush from the cold early morning air. Bald headed and stubbly faced, I've always likened him to a hairless Santa Claus.

"What's going on Kimmy?" Kimberley, I correct internally

"It's my mother" I say, I try my best to keep my face like concrete, but my eyelids betray me. I wipe hastily before a tear dare fall. "upstairs, go, dad's there" I gesture behind me. He stumbles past me almost on all fours up the stairs. I wipe my eyes and crane my neck round to watch this giant guffawing man tumble upwards. It's hard to imagine him having done the things that I know he has. I stay a little while to try overhearing what's going on up there, I don't want to intrude. Muffles and mumbles. Back in the kitchen I clutch my mug, I can hear a phone ring, muffled voices. Another. Another. It won't be long until we have a full house. They'll want to know what happened, what's the plan, are their loved ones safe? I suppose it's time to change into something more formal for the occasion.

Somebody sent a powerful message this morning. The bad days aren't over, they were hibernating.