Awoken

Chapter 1

Something woke me.

I sat up lazily, my brain still foggy from sleep. I could hear the rain battering my window and thought I heard the distant rumble of thunder; it was hard to tell through the noise of the ever-constant traffic. London is a city that never sleeps.

However, these were sounds I was used to. Not even the sirens of passing emergency vehicles were enough to disturb my sleep anymore.

The flat itself was quiet. When I concentrated I found I could pick out the soft whir of the central heating and the occasional snore from my flatmate’s room.

I wriggled down under the covers, determined to get back to sleep. Closing my eyes, my mind began to relax again.

A sudden rattle from my left startled me awake once more.

Sighing heavily, I swung my arm out of the warmth of my duvet, clumsily feeling around for the phone that buzzed on my bedside table.

The bright light stung my eyes as I squinted at the screen. I’d expected it to be one of my friends, calling in a drunken stupor. I was surprised and a little curious to see ‘DAD’ flashing up on the screen.

I’m not what you would call a daddy’s girl, not that I had ever had a mother to be close to. She died when I was just a baby. My dad shipped me off to boarding school as soon as he could and had only ever turned up on the most important of occasions.

“Dad?”

“Ana,” he breathed in reply, his voice wrought with emotion. He sounded relieved, “I thought…”

I couldn’t help but wonder how many whiskeys he had downed.

“Is everything ok?” I asked tentatively.

“Oh Ana,” he said, his voice quivering. I heard a sob, “There is so much I should have told you, should have shown you…but I wanted you to be safe.”

He broke down further, confirming my suspicions. The last two times we’d seen each other he had hit the booze quite hard. I’d carried him to bed at my Great Aunt Helena’s funeral. He’d been distraught that we were the only two left in our miniscule family and rambled about family secrets and responsibilities until he passed out.

“Dad, I’m perfectly safe,” I said through a barely stifled yawn, “I’m in my flat, John my flatmate is just down the hall and all the doors are locked.”

“They’re here,” he whispered, the terror in his voice made me shiver; “I love you.”

I sat up, his last sentence making me fully alert. I felt my heart pick up pace. I started to ask who he was talking about when the line went dead.

My fingers felt clumsy as I navigated my way through the call menus until I found my dad’s number. It went straight to answer machine.

I punched in 999, sure that there was something terribly wrong. But my finger hovered above the call button.

What did I have to report? I didn’t know his location, he had sounded scared but I had also been convinced that he was quite inebriated.

God knows how long I sat holding my phone, frozen in my indecision.

My digital alarm clock blinked at me, telling me that it was only 5:30 am. In early November it would still be dark for another few hours.

Not able to shake the feeling of dread, I decided there was no point trying to get back to sleep. I threw back my thick duvet and swung my legs out, wincing at the drastic temperature difference.

I flicked my small lamp on, which threw eerie shadows out around my small, cluttered room as the energy saving bulb warmed up to its full brightness.