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☾ 𝑇𝑊𝐸𝑁𝑇𝑌 𝑆𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑁
The phone clattered to the floor in one swift movement. In the next, Polly was sobbing. No- not sobbing- she was screeching, tearing her lungs from the inside out, the sound of her shout scraping through her throat and against the walls of her bedroom. She dropped to the floor, knees scraping against the rough carpet. But Polly couldn't feel a thing. She was numb.
There was a ringing in her ears that had been there for a long while. It was the constant sound that she heard day and night on end, the retched sound that had been present since the noose had slipped round her neck. And now it was louder, crying out to her like never before. The tablets had once drowned it out, forcing it from her head, but now they were gone. Polly didn't think they would work anyway. Not now.
She could faintly register cold hands gripping her wrists, trying to pry them from her damp eyes. Her fingers wouldn't budge, darkness remained in Polly's vision. She didn't want to see the glistening of the garland that wrapped around the ornate heading of the bed, nor the twinkle of the Christmas ornaments that stood by her dressing table. It wasn't fair that she could still see them.
The whole family was cursed. Each step they took could easily be the last, and now Anna had been dragged into it. She was safer in Australia, Polly could finally admit, even if she wished for nothing but her home in Small Heath.
This was no home, Polly thought through sobs that racked through her body. A home brought comfort and safety. This was no home. Just as John's house was not a home for him. It was not the quaint sanctuary in the countryside as he and Esme had imagined. It was tainted red, scarred as the last place he would take breath. At least he died fighting for family.
Thomas Shelby couldn't say the same.
But Michael could. He'd been shot down too and was hanging in by a thread. Polly could almost see that thread in the darkness with the pads of her fingers pushed against her eyes: it was a brilliant silver, thick and beautiful and full of desperate life. She could almost reach out a pluck it between two fingers, drawing it back down to her chest and to her heart which was still beating, rapid, but existing.
Anna was tugging softly at her wrists again, urging her to look and to explain. Polly could faintly hear her voice, young and sweet. Still innocent. Then the mumbling of 'mum' came again, and she cracked. How would she tell her...
Anna was almost in tears as she dropped down beside her mother, hands wrapping themselves around her wrists. She was rocking back and forth, body rigid and like a statue. Michael had promised to be home early. He hadn't returned, and now with her mother in hysterics, Anna could only imagine the worst.
"Mum, please," she said, prying at her hands that seemed to be glued to her face. "Mum, you're scaring me! Please!"
Polly let out one last shattering sob before her hands gingerly edged from her face. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, until she blinked, squinting against the sudden dull light that filled her vision. Anna pulled her in for a hug, arms wrapping around her shoulders in a tight and warm embrace. Polly still shook.
"Mum, please tell me. What is it?" She asked.
Polly bit her lip, red-rimmed eyes finally looking up to her daughter. "Your brother..."
Anna held her breath. Her mother's face had crumpled, deep wrinkles suddenly sagging her weary skin. It was as if whatever she'd heard on the phone had finally a aged her a few hard years.
"We need to go to him now. They hurt him. They hurt him and John," she said, another devastating sob bursting from her lips. "John..."
Anna staggered backward in shock. The black hand, stamped in her memory, flashed through her eyes. It was red now, a searing colour that forced you to look at it. A likeness to blood. Anna felt sick.
They'd somehow managed to meet with Michael on his stretcher on the outside of the hospital as he was rushed in on wheels. Despite the bitterness of the winter air and the darkness of the sky, it felt nothing like Christmas Day. Polly surged forward, throwing one of the nurses back as she reached for her son's hand. She gasped, falling backward as a cold liquid brushed against her skin- blood.
Anna met his other side gently, hand holding to the side of the stretcher in hopes of keeping up with the doctors' swift pace. The dim lights of the hospital blinked down on him, making his face look pale and deathlike. He could really be pale and deathlike, Anna thought, it might not be a trick of the light. His eyes were shadowed and unopened, and thick layers of blood coated his neck and his smart suit and new tie. Polly's wails still managed to fill the echoing hallways. Anna still didn't know what'd happened.
"Please! Can we get some help here! Please!" Polly screeched as he was rolled into a room and placed by a blurred out window. She bent down to his side, sweeping his matted hair from his face. "It's going to be alright Michael. Keep breathing."
From behind him, the doors burst open. Tommy stood staring at Michael, his eyes wide and chest heaving with desperate breaths. Polly's head turned slowly to him, eyes suddenly blazing with a white-hot anger. Her attention was drawn to the two boys that stood behind him, who looked no older than Anna.
"No, no. I don't want fucking kids in here, I want soldier," she screamed, pointing to him forcefully. "I don't want fucking kids who joined just for the sport."
Tommy pushed the boys suddenly from the room. "Get out, go. Go on."
"I want men who've served in here," Polly spat.
Anna gripped her mother's wrist, pulling her to her side, tears streaming down her already stained face. "Mum, please. This won't make things any better."
Polly shrugged her off, running to her son's side again, pushing the nurses from her way. She was muttering something as her hands trailed over his arm.
"Alright Pol," Tommy said.
Anna shook her head harshly. Tommy could do nothing more here, not with her mother filled with enough hatred to start a civil war. But Polly looked tired, tired enough mentally that she would let anything go. So Anna changed her mind, and started forward, pulling Tommy by the elbow. Guilt riddled his face as he stared at his aunt and then down to his cousin who frowned in his hospital bed.
"Mrs Gray, please," the doctors said.
"Don't go, don't go..." she still muttered.
"Go fuck those bastards responsible!" Polly shrieked.
"Alright, let them do their job. Alright," Tommy soothed. Tears still streamed furiously down her face. "Let them do their job, I'll get soldiers. I'll be back. I'll be back."
Anna looked back down to her brother. His eyes were beginning to open, filled with the bloodshot lines. He looked her way, eyes searching wildly across the room until his hand lurched to grip her fingers in his. This was only the beginning, Anna thought. This was only the beginning.
