Break of Dawn:

VOICES DOOM:

When the doorbell rings at three in the morning, it's never good news. Liam Potter was woken by the first chime. His eyes flickered open but for a moment he stayed completely still in his bed, lying on his back with his head resting on the pillow. He heard a bed- room door open and a creak of wood as somebody went downstairs. The bell rang a second time and he look eat the alarm clock glowing beside him 3:02a.m. There was a rattle as someone slid the security chain off the front door . He rolled out of bed and walked over to the open window, his bare feet pressing down the carpet pile. The moonlight spilled on to his chest and shoulders. Liam was fourteen, already well built, with the body of an athlete. His hair, cut short apart from two thick strands hanging over his forehead, was fair. His eyes were brown and serious. For a moment he stood silently, half hidden in the shadow, looking out. There was a police parked outside. From his second-floor window Liam could see the black ID number on the roof and the cap of the two men who were standing in front I the door. The porch light went on and, at the same time, the door opened.
"Mrs Potter?"
"No. I'm the housekeeper. What is it? What's happened?"
" This is the home of Ian Potter?"
"Yes"
"I wonder if we could come in...."
And Liam already knew. He knew from the way the police stood there, awkward and unhappy. But he also knew from the tone of their voices. Funeral voices.....that was how he would describe them later. The sort of voices people uses when they come to tell you that someone close to you has died. He went to his door and opened it. He could hear the two policemen talking down the hall, but only some of the words reached him.
".........a car accident ...... called the ambulance ...... intensive care...... non thing any one can do .... so sorry."
It was only hours later, sitting in the kitchen, watching as the grey light of morning bled slowly through the west London streets, that Liam could try to make sense of what had happened. His uncle- Ian Potter- was dead. Driving home, his car was hit by a lorry at Old
Street round about and he had been killed almost instantly. He hadn't been wearing a seat belt, the police said. Otherwise, he might have had a chance. Liam thought of man who had been his only relation for as long as he could remember. He had never known his own parents. They had died in an accident, that one a plane crash, a few weeks after he had been born. He had been brought up by his father brother ( never " uncle " - Ian Potter had hated that word ) and had spent most of his fourteen years in the same terraced house in Chelsea, London, between the Kings Road and the river. But it was only now Liam realized just how little he knew about the man. A banker. People said Liam looked quite like him. Ian Potter we always traveling. A quiet, private man who liked good wine, classical music and books. Who didn't seem to have any girlfriends.....in fact he didn't have any friends at all. He had kept himself fit, had never smoked and had dressed expensively. But that wasn't enough. That wasn't a picture of a life. It was only a thumb nail sketch.
" Are you alright, Liam?" A young woman had come into the room. She was in her late twenties, with a sprawl of red head and a round, boyish face. Larry Star bright was American. She had come to London as a student seven years ago, rented a room in the house-in return for light house work and baby- sitting duties-and had stayed on to become house keeper and one I Liam's closet friends. Sometimes he wondered what Larry was short for. Lack? Latrice? Neither of them suited her and although once asked, she had never said.
Liam nodded. " What do u think will happen?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"To the house.To me.To you."
"I don't know." Sh" shrugged
I guess I am gonna go to the office.
His uncle office was a length like a football pitch and had 7 or 8 times bigger than his old one!!!!!