The Illegimate

Chapter 1: The bookshelf

Knock.

Knock and then there's a sudden bark. I wince as the sound rattles through the black space of my sleep and then I'm suddenly shaken.

'Cut it out,' I mumble.

'Bee,' a familiar voice hisses. It's my brother Damon I recognise as a bright blinding light filters into the darkness. My eyes flutter open to find myself lying against a rather hard bed, wondering why he's using my kid nickname. He only does that when he really means it.

'What?' I mumble after stifling a yawn as I gaze up at the cracked white ceiling. I hear rushed movement from across the room and then there's a thud. I twist my head around to witness a young man wearing faded pyjamas who's just sat down on the end of my bed. He has a mop of brown ruffled hair that trickles down to his neck and is looking rather alert with his gaze continuously flicking from the door and then back to me.

'Go back to bed,' I croak wearily, wondering why he's waking me up this early. I squint, glancing around the dark room, forcing my eyes to adjust, even though they sting, blinking fiercely at the light.

'Blaire,' he hisses as there's another knock at the door. I turn away so that I'm sprawled over my left side and then without warning I'm thrusted up into the air.

'Damon,' I snap. 'What the...' I begin but he covers his hand over my mouth. I splutter as he carries me out of the door and into a narrow hallway.

'Willowby,' a rough male voice shouts as he bangs on the front door. 'Open the door!'

'Coming,' my father calls nervously.

He's tall with a thin layer of wavy brown hair sprawled across his forehead. He wears his work uniform that consists of black dungarees with a crisp snow white polo shirt and trainers. He fidgets with an old looking watch on his left arm as we pass.

'Thank Nest', he whispers anxiously with one eye fixed on me and the other on the door. My brother continues to carry me through and into a small grey room which has a tiny blurred window it in. To the left of the room are a couple of cabinets that are dressed in the same bleary colour as the walls. Behind one, my mother is scrubbing a dish in a grey bowl. Like my father she is prepared for leaving too, but instead of his casual clothes, she wears a white blouse that is tucked into black trousers, traditional uniform for the Business Strata.

She still looks quite youthful with her dark hair tied back into a tight bun, though I can see the faint smudge of wrinkles, daring their very best to break through sometime soon. She gives a sigh of relief as Damon releases me and then he heads straight towards an old bookshelf that sits opposite the cabinets.

I watch as he presses down on grey book and then the bookshelf clicks out, revealing a small room while I pick up a piece of bacon from a cabinet.

'Bee,' he murmurs in a very soft voice as he gestures towards the gap.

'How long?' I ask desperately.

Previous times I've been kept in there for hours. Apparently it's a tradition as I often hid there for supposed fun when I was younger. And to keep that tradition living, I'm supposed to keep doing it now, when anyone strange turns up at our front door.

My mother gazes blankly around the room for a second before whispering, 'I don't know.' And with that I enter the room and sit down with my back placed firmly against the wall. I watch as Damon carefully closest the bookshelf on the room, before turning to chew on the one rash of bacon I managed to save.

The front door suddenly rattles open and then there's a sudden bark of a dog and heavy footsteps which distracts me from eating. I feel the rash drop to my lap and then the floor. I scowl as I run my hands across the ground, desperately trying to find it, but it's useless in the dark.