Conversations In the Storm

Chapter One - Preparations

Caroline Hunter pressed the lock on the kitchen window firmly down until it clicked, then yanked the curtains closed.

That was the last one, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Although she couldn't completely soundproof the house, this was the closest she would be able to get. The rain was becoming progressively heavy, though the thunder and lightning hadn't begun yet. It would come soon enough, and she knew she had to complete her preparations before it did. Once it started, her mind would clear of rational thought. She would only want to huddle into a ball, and she wouldn't reasonably remember whether or not she had completed her entire pre-storm routine.

She had already propped open all the interior doors so there would be no unexpected slamming, and so she wouldn't have to fumble around for doorknobs in a panic. Now all the windows were fastened, including those in the laundry, kitchen and bathroom.

Following the next step of her routine, she grabbed all the spare candles she could find and set them carefully on the dining table, along with a lighter, two torches and spare batteries. Her phone was almost completely charged, as was her laptop.

Nearly done. 

The lightning flashed once and she froze. No. It couldn't be starting already. She had expected she would have a little more time. The opening thunder roll sounded, but it seemed far off in the distance, stopping after only a couple of seconds. Breathing a sigh of relief, she straightened.

That was simply the starter pistol. She had to hurry, before her mind faied her and she completely internalised.

Caroline couldn't cope with storms. Every time one rolled around, she would remember that night as a young child cowering in a cupboard, trembling violently as vicious winds and rumbles surrounded while the house creaked in response. She had huddled inside that cupboard for hours, unsure whether she was hiding from the storm or the fact that she had just attended the funeral for her older sister, her best friend in the world. Her parents had been numb, holding each other in bed, oblivious to the pain of the seven year old girl crying in her bedroom cupboard. To this day, storms signified horror, death, loneliness and fear, and she would often experience a panic attack whenever a night time storm hit. Without the stash of prescribed sedatives she kept for these moments, she would remain helplessly wakeful, robbed of the possibility of relief in any form. She had better not forget them now.

The lightning flashed again but this time it flickered several times and she cowered, bracing for the vicious roll of thunder. It was much louder this time, it seemed to rumble through the floor.

Nearly done, she chanted to herself.

Her fingers in her ears, head still bent over, she hurried to her bedroom and pulled the top drawer of her wooden cabinet. By accident, she pulled too hard and the entire drawer tipped out, whacking her on the leg.

Caroline cursed loudly, jumping on the spot, tears of pain stinging her eyes.

Right, no time for tears. The radio report had been quite certain that power would be lost to this area within the next few hours, and she didn't want to be scrambling around with a flashlight in her teeth.

Ah, there it was, her small prescription bottle, thank God. She tried not to be reliant on her medication to get herself through the night, but if it became too much tonight, she could simply drug herself unconscious until morning.

As she hurried back to her living area, a loud pounding rattled her front door and she jumped.

A drifter? A burglar? Perhaps if she remained quiet enough, they would leave. Or perhaps they would assume the house was empty and they would break in.

Or perhaps she had simply been in the city too long. For all she knew, it was a poor person who had been trapped outside for too long and desperately needed the shelter. Perhaps they had been turned away and ignored by everyone else in the street, and so they were desperately hoping that she would take pity on them.

Another flash and she trembled, whimpering loudly. She wanted only to curl into a ball and pretend that she was completely safe. Damn, she wanted to swallow this whole bottle of pills if only it meant she didn't have to feel this paralysing fear ever again. She was so tired of this. She had tried counselling once, but had not gotten much out of it. She knew why she was the way she was, it was no big mystery. In every other area of her life she was doing okay. Romance life notwithstanding. But no, she couldn't think about that now. She had enough to worry about.

The knocking became more and more insistent.

"Damn! Care, open up this door before I get split in half by a lightning strike!"

The gruff voice was all too familiar, and her knees promptly wobbled before collapsing completely beneath her. She fell onto her hands and remained still there for a moment, panting.

No, this couldn't be happening. Not now, when she was already vulnerable enough. Not when she was already on the verge of losing control.

"Care, this storm is not a joke. Let me in now."

"I know it's not a frigging joke!" She scowled as she pulled herself back up to her feet, unlocking the deadbolt on the door, then swinging it open. The few seconds that it remained open gave her a clear view of the bright blue flashes, the sleeting rain, the gusty winds, the trees straining to remain upright, and she shuddered as the dark outline shoved his way past her, then pushed the door closed again, rebolting the door.

"About time," the dripping wet man cursed as he swiped his hair back and narrowed his eyes at her.

"Wilkins." She sighed and picked up the pill bottle from where she had dropped it on the floor.

"This is just my luck," she muttered as she tucked it into her pocket.

Stomping past him, she flung open her linen cupboard door and snatched a sky blue towel from the pile.

On second thought, she shoved it back inside and reached to the bottom of the pile, pulling out the pale pink towel that her mother had given her for her birthday when she was nineteen. Pink had been the theme that year, pink scarf, pink towel, pink wallet, all of which were now gathering dust. She hated pink. She always had. And she had always thought that her mother had known that, at least until she had opened up that box. But it had been Summer's favourite.

Caroline shook her head and slammed the door closed. She angrily slapped the towel against his chest, smirking as he raised his eyebrows. Clearly he recognised the offending towel that he knew she never used, but couldn't bring herself to throw away.

"Don't look at me like that, Nick. The towel's about as manly as you are, you jerk. What on earth are you doing here?"