Inconsolable » Squid [Holes]

25: When the Bonds Break

The shadows on Mickey's face stretched and retracted from the strobing red and blue from the police car sitting in her driveway. The muffled voices of her mother speaking with an officer came from somewhere to her left inside the house. They said it was safe to go back in, they didn't find the culprits, but Mickey didn't care. She didn't want to go back in. Couldn't go back in.

So, she sat outside on the stairs, a cop's jacket draped around her shoulders. It wasn't cold, Austin barely dropped below 70 at night, but she couldn't stop trembling.

She flipped her phone in her fingers, waiting for a text back from her dad. She tried calling and, when that didn't work, she sent a text. She knew he wouldn't read it any time soon, but she tried anyway. Her father didn't answer the phone when he was away on a trip let alone respond to a text message. Driving eighteen-wheelers like that, he had to keep his eyes on the road. She understood but thought that maybe, in this instance, he would make an exception.

Mickey sighed. She wished her father didn't have to leave. Maybe if he was around this wouldn't have happened. She and her mom wouldn't have walked into their home thinking everything was fine when it wasn't. She wouldn't have walked into her room only to find it destroyed.

Her bed, sheets, pillows, all upended. The shades lay on the floor with rips and tears and holes pierced into them. Her shelves that were once full of dancing trophies hung by one crooked shelf bracket, the trophies and plaques lay strewn on the floor, bent, stomped on, damaged. Her bookshelf had toppled over, spilling her snowglobes and framed pictures and books scattering on the once plush carpet, damp due to escaping liquid. The posters on the wall—Joan Jett and Pat Benatar and Stevie Nicks and Bon Jovi and Britney Spears—had all been slashed and ripped and appeared to have been burnt in the corners. The eyes had been stabbed out and black spray paint splashed overtop of it.

Her desk drawers were left hanging at the edge, papers and other miscellaneous objects having been taken out and tossed around the room. But, despite all the mess, she noticed that her laptop, her tv, her phone, her ipod, all the expensive stuff in her room had been left alone. Untouched. They sat in the same places. If that wasn't what the intruders were after, then what was? And why was her room the target?

"Don't worry, Mickayla, we can replace everything." Her mother's words were followed by a light touch to the top of her head. Her mother's ring briefly caught in her hair before sliding out. From the corner of her eye Mickey spotted her mother's red pumps.

"I don't care about that stuff," Mickey replied. Her mouth twisted to the side and she spoke her words to the dark driveway. "Did the police say how they got in?"

"They say maybe a door was unlocked or we left something open. There was no sign of forced entry."

A strange, sparking sensation trickled down her spine. She brushed her hand against her nose and looked up only for her eyebrows to crinkle at the way her mother looked down at her. Her red covered mouth puckered in that way she'd seen plenty of times; when something displeased her. Almost as if she were sucking on a lemon. "What?" Mickey asked, dread pushing her shoulders up to her ears.

"Did you tell anyone we were leaving for the afternoon?"

"No. I mean, just Alexis. I invited her to come to the mall, remember? But she already had plans with her other friends."

"No one else? There's no one else you could have told?"

Mickey's nose wrinkled. What was her mother trying to say? She only spoke to two people. One that didn't even seem to like her half the time and the other was Alan. And Alan wouldn't do this to her. ...Right?