Those Lovely Children Of Lys

Chapter One ~The Day It Happened~

The day it happened, I was busy listening to music in my room. 

Chris Cornel's Hunger Strike. I was blissed out, hand on my heart, eyes closed, music gushing in and out of my soul. Mom called from below, "Leta! I know you're up and listening to music. Get down here!" Her voice echoed through the wooden floor. Our house was pretty much one of the worst ones in our neighborhood, and that wasn't saying a lot, considering our neighbors were all druggies, prostitutes, single moms, and mid-life crisis hit husbands. Still, their houses had a bit of aesthetic appeal, dandelions scattered in the front yard, hanging potted plants, or a fancy car. A painted patio, at the least. 

Our house didn't have a frontyard. Our landlord is this middle-aged, pot-bellied alcoholic who inherited this house from his girlfriend. (She died--a rather pitiful will).  Our plumbing was leaky, our carpentry rickety, and the furniture musty and used. The house design was simple to the extreme, with a kitchen and mum's bedroom on the ground floor, the washing machine and laundry stuff at the basement, my room and the store room on the upper floor. The floors were boarded with wood, and all the windows and depressing foggy glass panes. 

"Ugh, mom." I groaned and slid down the headphones from my ears. I switched off the ipod, and ran down the creaky steps. "What is it?" I asked her. She looked different. Happy, somehow. Usually her moods swinged from worrying about me to fretting about food. Today, she looked mellow. Her light blond hair was slicked back in a small ponytail, she had put on bright blue earrings, and had applied sky blue eyeliner. She was--what?-- thirty-one? 

Usually, her frowns made her look older, but now she looked twenty five. So pretty. Sadly, a lot prettier than me. My dark, unruly hair was never properly brushed or slicked back or properly combed. 

"I wanna go for a walk. Care to join?" Usually, I would have said yes. I would have sighed and agreed. But today she looked like her depression couldn't get her, and anyway, I had homework. I shook my head and said, "Nah, I got homework. I'm a teenager, mum! You can't expect me spend every blooming minute with you." She shrugged. Smiled. "Well, you grew up, I guess. All right, never mind your old mumsie. Have a grand time with homework, girlie."

I waved at her and said, "Bye, mum. Love ya." Before stepping out,she  looked over her shoulder and said, "I love you more, Leta. Bye."

How I wish it wasn't the last time I'd seen her. 

Two hours later, somebody knocked at the door. It was a brown man in glasses, looking sorry for me and investigative at the same time. "Leta Conran?" He asked, in a cold yet constricted voice. "Yes?" I asked, my stomach plummeting down. I had a terrible, horror-movie like feeling. Something bad is gonna happen, Leta. 

He sighed. "What is it?" I asked. Dread was crawling into my heart. "I think I should come in." I opened the door wider, and he, followed by two cops, stepped into the passage leading to the kitchen. We had no sitting room. I walked into the kitchen, and they followed. "Make yourself at home," I muttered absent mindedly as I put an Earl Grey to boil. When it was done, I strained and poured it into a chipped teacup for the brown, bespectacled man. I shot a questioning glance at the cops, but they declined.  He took a sip of tea, and then cleared his throat. 

"I don't know how else to say this, child," he said, a hint of an apology in his tone. My eyes must have looked wide as they felt, for he placed his thin, reassuring hand on my shaking palm. "It's gonna be okay."

What's gonna be okay?

He fixated his gaze on me and said, "Your mother is dead."

I felt slow, hazy, confused. What did he mean my mother is dead? It couldn't be. "What...?" I asked, my mouth open, my ears ringing, my blood roaring. "Your mother has been found dead a little east of Angel Street. No witnesses. An elderly man emerged from his house nearby for a walk to the chemist, when he saw her body. We found a wound...but I'm not authorized to tell you about it, but we could--" "SHUT UP!"I screamed, and pushed back my chair. Tears were dribbling down my chin. "JUST SHUT UP YOU LIAR!" He quietened down. He was probably used to such reactions. 

I could think of nothing. Mother. Dead. Wound. 

I felt like kicking something. Anything. I kicked the shelves below the has stove. I screamed again. "You lie!" I accused. He looked down, and said, "As unfortunate as it is, the news is true. By her driving license, she's been identified as Ava Alice Conran, and her phone contacts have you listed as an emergency number. We wanted to try her registered residence before calling your cell. Your contact was saved as Leta." 

My turn to quieten. It felt like someone had hacked away my ribs. I took short, wheezy breaths. I sat down. Got up. Sat down again. I closed my eyes and put my head down on the table. I went to a place that was dark all the time. 

His voice went in and out of focus. "Will take you with us...a good hotel nearby...your own good...more information...best if you co-operate." I felt numb. 

Just numb. 

He patiently waited as I got up on my feet, swaying. He took my arm to steady me, and gestured at the cops to keep a watch on me as he led me to the front door. I felt disjointed. This was unreal. 

As soon as I'd sat inside the acrid-smelling car, I blanked out.