The room is thick with darkness, its contents shapeless and concealed. Then -- for the span of a heartbeat -- everything is illuminated, bursts of colour and form momentarily replacing the void before being plunged into a blackness somehow deeper than before. Four more heartbeats before the crack and rumble of thunder and the violent torrent of rain against the window pane.
Claire stares blindly into the darkness, silently counting between flashes and rumbles -- a habit from childhood. She recalls other nights, her sister pressed close against her side as they counted together and then fell asleep in each other's arms.
Tonight sleep doesn't come so easily, and Claire feels alone in her tiny bed. Reaching a hand down over her sheets, she finds the small warmth of Beans curled against her thigh. She scratches his ear and he licks sleepily at her fingers before falling back asleep. The dog hardly notices as she sighs and slips out of the bed; Claire envies his easy slumber.
In the kitchen Claire flicks a switch and light floods the small apartment, not quite reaching the shadowy corners of her bedroom. The intermittent thunder, combined with the sound of the downpour and the way the darkness seems to hem in the electric light, gives Claire an odd sense of isolation. She pours herself a drink of water and leans against the counter to drink it, still counting the seconds between lightning and thunder.
As she counts she notices other sounds concealed beneath the tumult of the storm: footsteps from above and a high-pitched wail from below.
A glance at the clock tells her it is not quite two in the morning. Making a split second decision, she fills the kettle and rifles through the fridge as it boils. She stuffs a container of fresh local strawberries and a paper bag with two chocolate croissants into a canvas bag.
The kettle clicks off and she hurriedly fills two mugs: Chai for one, and her favourite chamomile blend for the other. Throwing the bag over her shoulder, she carefully lifts the mugs and peers into her bedroom one last time to see that Beans is still content on her bed.
The hall, when she steps into it, is dangerously dark and Claire has to step carefully down the stairs, each mug teetering in a delicate balancing act. With every step the wailing grows louder, occasionally stopping for a moment before continuing with a sputter and a cough.
Claire stands at the source of the noise and hesitates for a moment before gently knocking. She hopes she isn't being intrusive.
Violet opens the door, cautiously peeking out at first, and then throwing the door wide. Avery -- the newest Gallagher addition -- rests against her right shoulder, his face flushed and wet with tears, drool, and snot.
"Need a break?" Claire offers, thrusting the mugs into the dim light that spills from the apartment.
"Oh my God, yes," she says, holding the door with her foot as Claire enters.
Claire visits the Gallaghers often in the daytime, playing on the toy-strewn carpet with the children while daylight floods the apartment through the towering living room windows. Now, the only light comes from a single bulb in the galley-style kitchen, leaving the remaining rooms drowning in darkness. The floor, usually concealed beneath toys, homework, and crayons, is barren; the only signs of Wesley and Rory are the bright paintings and drawings on the fridge and their smiling faces hanging in an oversized frame on the dining room wall.
They'll have to update that picture, Claire thinks idly as she sets the mugs and bag onto the dining room table.
She reaches out to take Avery, trying to catch his attention while he continues to bawl. She bounces him gently and gestures toward the food and drink with her head.
YOU ARE READING
53 Ganymede
FantasyWhen a young woman shows up at the doorstep of an old Victorian house, she finds much more than she was looking for. A place to stay. A host of eccentric companions. A new city to explore. Inexplicable coincidences. Impossible possibilities. And ma...
