Saving F.

Prologue

The house was a shocking mess. The curtains were tattered, the window glass was broken, and from the ceiling dangled a rusty chandelier at a peculiar angle that foretold a possible disaster. Furniture lay everywhere, unkempt and covered with layers of dust. The darkness of that night could have swallowed this atrocity, but the light of the full-moon decided to expose it for some noble reason or another.

There was no human presence in the room, and it was as if nobody had ever stepped foot there for a long time. Nothing seemed right, yet the atmosphere of disorder was so dominant and continuous that it appeared natural, and, in a way, organized. Or else why did the brown suitcase on the floor look so out of place?

Other than that, there was silence, which was occasionally interrupted by a gurgling sound emitting from an unknown source inside the house. The street, on the other hand, was even more quiet than this. Everything remained in this state for several minutes until the door creaked, announcing that someone had finally decided to acknowledge the existence of the place.

A long, tired sigh escaped the mouth of the woman who'd just entered as she made her way towards one of the couches. She seemed completely unbothered by how cluttered the room was, for it was impossible not to be at least aware of it. But as she walked, she tripped on something that made her lose her balance for a second. It wasn't the broken chair, nor the misplaced drawer. It even wasn't the hardly noticeable metal bucket. It was the brown suitcase.

The woman didn't look surprised by the presence of the suitcase, but rather she seemed concerned. A frown creased her forehead as she looked down at it, then after a moment of consideration, she knocked on it thrice. The suitcase opened with a click, and from it a man came up, his face visible in the light of the moon.

"Newt?" the woman said, taken aback. "I thought you were in Sudan... what —"

"I'm sorry for breaking into your house," Newt said in a barely audible whisper, his eyes staring fixedly at the floor.

"You didn't. I gave you a key, remember? And you used the key that I gave you," she told him. "But you don't look well, Newt... what happened?"

Newt didn't respond. The woman opened her mouth and closed it again, unable to say anything herself. Then hesitatingly, she made to hold Newt's hand.

"No," Newt said, interrupting her, "please don't."

"You're hurting, aren't you?" she said in a hushed voice.

Newt nodded, and tearing away his gaze from the floor, he looked at the woman and sobbed.

"A child died. And I am so sad, Farida."