Asaethiel: Mark II

One

Beginnings are sudden, but also insidious. They creep up on you sideways, they keep to the shadows, they lurk unrecognized. Then, later, they spring.

— Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

The window rattled jarringly against Ellie’s head as the bus drove down the rainy street. It was a cold, drizzly day in early November, not cold enough to snow, but cold enough to bleed through the windowpane and press against Ellie’s forehead, covering her bones in a layer of frost. The bus was loud - between the rambunctious kids in the back, the sputtering of the heaters, and the crunch of the tires, the sound swarmed Ellie’s ears and made her clench her jaw. Outwardly, she was curled against the window quietly, face neutral. The only sign of the agitation brewing under her skin was the shade of white her knuckles turned as she gripped her schoolbag. Ellie gritted her teeth and breathed in slowly, willing her nerves to calm themselves. There was a burst of laughter in the back, and Ellie groaned under her breath.

With deft movements, she opened her bag and pulled out a book. It was a short novel, only about 200 pages, but it would last her through the rest of the ride. Ellie opened the book to where she’d left off and started reading, and right away she felt herself relax. She could focus on the words on the page, get lost in the story and block out the noise.

A minute later, the bus slowed to a squeaking stop to let a kid off, and Ellie breathed out as the cold air rushed in over her.

It took the bus another couple minutes to reach her stop. Ellie yanked up the hood of her ratty sweatshirt, shouldered her bag, and headed down the steps to the roughly paved road.

Outside, the air smelled like petrichor and dead leaves. Ellie hurried across the street and up her driveway to her small, one-story house. The bus rolled away as she skirted her mom’s dying flowerbed, and by the time she dug her keyring out of the depths of her bag, the yellow monstrosity was out of sight. Ellie shoved the right key in the lock on the door handle, then paused. Breathed in and out. Listened to the rain pounding on the driveway behind her. No cars were driving down her street, it was too remote for that, so the only sound besides the rain was the quiet roar of the wind through her hood. It was peaceful, silent, perfect.

Then there was a yell from inside the house.

Ellie froze, her heart stuttering and her breath stopping in her throat. Her mom wasn’t supposed to be home for another two hours yet. No one else had the key to their house. Was there a robber inside? The lock didn’t look picked, but what did a picked lock look like?

Shut up, Ellie told herself. There’s no robber. Don’t be ridiculous. Mom must’ve gotten off early for some reason. Biting her lip, Ellie turned the key and opened the front door.

Inside, all the lights were off, as per usual when Ellie got home. She dumped her bag on the floor and pulled off her hood. She kept her keys in her hand though, the sharp ends sticking out, fist clenched in a hammer grip. Her mom had taught her how to hold her keys like a weapon the same year she had bought Ellie her first box of tampons.

No lights were on in her mom’s room, or in the kitchen, or the bathroom. The TV and the radio were turned off. Ellie’s heart, having only just calmed down, started to speed up again. Why would her mom come home early just to sit in the dark? Stay calm.

The yell - had it been a yell? Maybe it was a scream. Maybe it was the exclaimed curse of a robber that had stubbed their toe while stealing Ellie’s things - no, shh. The yell had come from the back hall, where Ellie’s room was. She crept back slowly, sneakered feet clumsy and too loud on the thin rug. Ellie’s breath shook louder than the blood pounding in her ears.