I have no pairings planned for this story, but often the story changes as it goes. Therefore, it's possible that some chemistry may develop, and if it works, there might be a pairing. In short, I'm not aiming for one, but it does depend.

I've no practice in writing OC's either, so please give me feedback on them! I'd love it. Anything; even harsh criticism. I want to learn. I'd like some examples if I stuff her up someplace or if she's particularly interesting in a scene something. Please don't just slap a 'Mary Sue' label on them instantly without telling me how to improve.

There are some things I'm hazy about, such as the normal reactions of losing someone dear. I've never gone through the experience, so I might have done her reactions wrong or something.

Warnings from here on out? Swearing and occasional sexual reference.

Please review and give concrit!

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

THE OPEN DOOR
—CHAPTER ONE—
The Nightmare

Smash!

I groaned and rolled over in my bed, squeezing my eyes even tighter together. I could hear the sounds of treading footsteps pass my door and the familiar creak of the floorboards as it was stepped on it. That was Dad, probably, going to check whatever was down there, and also most likely getting a drink of water for Mum while he was at it.

Exhaling, I buried my nose into my white, lacy pillow, digging my fingers into its smushiness. My brown hair dangled over my cheeks, tickling me, so I shook my head a little to dislodge it. Slowly I began to feel myself fade back into that nice cosy sleep that I had before, but a sudden yell from downstairs made me pull out of it, green eyes blinking rapidly.

I heard some more noise and felt my heart lurch to my throat when I heard Dad yelling again. He never yelled. I grabbed at my doona and tossed it off my body, keeping my eyes trained on my door that was littered with stickers that I had collected since I was five. My body tingled with growing fear when I heard a loud clatter of something metal hitting the tiles in the kitchen.

I screamed when my door was slammed open. Mum was there, her sweaty face glistening, her hand on the golden doorknob and her other resting on her bulging stomach—she had been pregnant for six months. The pounding of my heart started to ring in my ears when I saw her horror stricken face, her green eyes wide with fear as she parted her pale lips to speak to me.

"Under the bed, Faye," she ordered. Her straw-blonde hair fell across her face as she drew quick breaths. I stayed in my bed, unable to move, unable to understand. "Now! And be silent!"

A soft whimper escaped my throat as I dropped to the blue carpeted floor (I ignored the sting of my new carpet burn) and tried to scramble under my bed. It was a tight fit, and I had to shove out some old shoe boxes to squeeze in—I wasn't ten anymore.

I watched in trepidation as I saw Mum's feet disappear from the door way (she closed the door behind her) and listened to her footsteps as they disappeared downstairs. It was beginning to get difficult to breathe and there was hardly any room for my chest to expand to circulate the air. Every exhalation a dust bunny would scatter away from my nostrils, and my fingernails would curl deeper and harder into the carpet til I could feel the wooden boards beneath.

My chest ached as I yearned to breathe and cry and talk like I usually did when I was scared but she told me to stay silent, and after seeing her expression, there was no way I could deny her. My entire body shook like a falling leaf, or like I was lying in the snow during winter. It seemed so loud, so I tried to force myself to stop shaking. It only made it worse.

The sound of my Mum screaming made me lurch forward and hit my head hard against the bottom of my bed. I whimpered again, grasping my forehead as I tried to suppress the chills in my body.

"Mum?" I whispered to myself.

Gasping for a proper breath, I clawed at the carpet and tried to pull myself out from underneath. I didn't like it under there, especially if my parents were in trouble. I wanted so desperately to just start laughing or talking to release my fear but I was petrified, and didn't want to do either—even move. The remembrance of Mum's expression also just dulled that want.

My limbs were shaking as I used what little strength I had until at last my head was exposed. A shuddering inhalation filled my lungs with fresh air and I pulled myself out more, ignoring the ache in my chest and the burn on my knees. There I sat, leaning against my bed, tears streaming down my face as I shot frantic looks at the door.

Should I?

I shook my head, shuffling closer to my bedside table as I let more tears fall. No. Mum said to stay but—

I reached out a hand on the carpet towards the door, feeling the overwhelming urge to just... check. She may need my help. They both might. And I loved them. W-What if they were hurt? They—they—

Springing to my feet, I shot towards the door, slamming a hand on the golden knob and turning it slightly. The fear burned in my heart all of a sudden and I paused, staring at my hand. Salty tears dripped onto my arm, catching in the hair and tickling me. Through the tears, I looked up and took in a huge breath before opening the door quietly.

I walked on my tippy-toes as I stole my way down the hall, an arm out to balance myself against the lavender-painted walls. It was chilly, and I cursed my stupidity of wearing shorts and an old, white short-sleeved shirt during late winter.

I stopped when I heard voices, none of which I recognised. There was a jumble of syllables and noises that I couldn't recognise (there were multiple people all whispering at the same time), but amidst the senseless babble I heard my Mum's voice.

"Please! Don't! Oh God, please don't..." her voice dropped into muddled pleads, sobs and whimpers mixed in. My throat felt as though there was a lump in it, and I stared wide eyed—without seeing—at the framed picture of my family (sans older sister) on the living room wall opposite me. I could feel my heart pounding so hard that it hurt!

"What the hell? This woman has screamed her fucking lungs out and nobody has come?" I heard one of them say. It surprised me, and my breath hitched. Normally I talk when I'm scared. But I was beyond scared by this point.

I took another step, praying to hear Dad's voice. Unfortunately, I was praying so hard that I was too late to stop myself from stepping on the creaky step.

The voices in the kitchen went silent, someone 'shh'ing' at the others. I swallowed largely, shivering. Attempting to press myself against the wall was almost impossible without creating another noise, and they had already heard me.

Mum begged again and a loud slap resonated through the kitchen and living room. I jumped, creating another creak to which they fell silent once more. Tears continued to leak from my eyes so that my vision was blurred. I heard some footsteps, the heels thudding against the kitchen tile until a black figure came from around the kitchen corner.

I was frozen.

Whoever it was, they were looking straight at me.

I exhaled shakily, trying to swallow but unable to feel anything slide down my throat. The figure, man-shaped, stepped out and took two steps toward me, his tread echoing in my ears. I couldn't see him; he was bathed in shadows.

"There's another," he said. I could feel amusement in his voice and it made my skin crawl.

"Faye," I heard Mum whisper, but I couldn't say a word. I made a noise instead; a squeaky whimper that made the man in front of me chuckle.

"Bring them," another voice ordered from the kitchen. It was deep, startling, easily heard, and it made my breath hitch in my throat.

I shook my head, taking a step back but ending up only bumping my heel against the upper step. At the same time he stepped forward, a hand out to grip my arm. "No!" I shouted, whacking at him but it was scarily futile.

He caught me with such a tight grip that I let a small 'ow' leave my lips. He pulled me from the second-to-top step to the bottom and at once I felt something startling warm against the ball of my foot as I stepped down on the living room carpet. It was like I stepped in melted ice cream; sticky, thickish. The substance absorbed into my socks and I gasped, yanking away from the intruder but he was firm.

He tugged on me again, so hard it felt as though my shoulder would be pulled from its socket. I fell to my knees, my hand splayed on the floor and burying in the same liquid that my foot was covered in. A silent breath was stolen from me as I saw the light from the moon mirrored against the substance, reflecting the red pigment to my eyes.

I lost motion then and only vaguely realised I was being dragged across the floor.

It was blood.

Whose was it?

I felt the kitchen tiles against my knees, which were so startlingly cold that I sucked in a sharp breath and started thrashing, pulling my arms once more. "No! Stop!" He hit me and stars clouded my vision as I tilted to the side. Mum screamed; this I heard, as well as my Dad's beautiful voice that was yelling at the intruders to not hurt me.

By the time I could focus on the white tiles in front of me, I was kneeling before several pairs of feet—they were all wearing the same shoes and were all adorning nail polish. I didn't ponder it as I was too frightened—shaking like a leaf—to even lift my head.

And then he spoke; the same person who called me in before, the one that made my skin crawl with his deep, gravelly voice.

"You lied."

I shuddered, sniffling as I titled my head towards Mum beside me, whose green eyes were gazing at me worriedly before switching to her husband. I peered passed her and felt myself go cold when I saw the blood staining his light blue dressing gown. His large, tanned hand was gripping his shoulder, his lips set into a grim line as he tried to ignore the pain.

His confidence in the situation was staggering. He was able to look up and stare the intruder's in the face while I could hardly even talk. I mean, nothing like this had ever happened before. I'd always see it on television, how a family's house was broken to and the resistance put up caused death. Mum and I would always shake our heads, never believing that the same thing would be happening to us!

What's more, I grew up protected. I liked rainbows and dresses and socks. I watched Disney and drama movies, or sometimes the action or fantasy ones that piqued my interest. Yet now that life seemed to be sucked into a black hole. I felt an ominous sensation scatter throughout my body that told me that this would not end well. And how could it? Dad was bleeding, Mum freaking out, myself completely mute when I should be senselessly babbling.

"I'm sorry," Dad said.

I jolted, not expecting it. Swallowing, I decided it was time to meet their eyes and so slowly I lifted my head. I quickly counted four figures in front of me, and by peeking over my shoulder I could see another five—one was leaning against the arch of the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. They were all confident, acting like they owned our house.

Still, even as I peered into the darkness, I could not capture any distinguishing colours or features. I saw outlines of shaggy or smoothed back hair but other than that, nothing. They were a mystery, and that only made it worse.

"Please," Mum whispered. She gasped as she was lightly kneed from behind, warning her to keep her mouth shut. She sobbed as quietly as she could.

"You know your punishment," the voice said again.

"God, no!" Mum cried but it went ignored.

I had no idea what was happening until I felt warm blood splatter across my face and my Dad's body topple to the side. I think Mum had screamed, but I was unable to comprehend what had happened. I felt the liquid slightly slide to the corner of my mouth, where I could just get a taste of it. That woke me up.

"Dad?" I croaked weakly, eyes wide. My heart was so loud, and I felt so many emotions surging through my veins that it was almost impossible for me to control.

It couldn't be. They—they hadn't just killed him right? Tears fell from my eyes and I gritted my teeth as I called his name again, hoping, waiting for him to move—but he didn't.

Something came over me. I felt a sudden burst of confidence. I matched the leader's eyes despite not being able to see him. I snarled and rose to my feet, hardly taking a step to swipe out him before I was suddenly held back by two strong arms around my waist.

"You fucking prick!" I screamed, kicking and flailing. I tried to breathe. "Why the hell did you do that? He was my Dad!" My voice cracked and I feebly whacked at one of the arms encircling me. "He was my Dad." I broke down, hardly even hearing Mum cry with me.

"He broke the rules," the leader said. "He was given a simple question and simple rules, and he broke one of them."

I gripped the bicep of the murderer holding me—if he was the one who dealt the blow or not, I did not care—so tightly that I felt satisfaction at the feeling of my nails sinking into his skin. He had hardly flinched.

A question. I was trying to ask the question but the words would not form in the right order. All I could think of was how his body seemed to fall in slow motion, and how his blood slid down my face and stained my clothes.

"I asked him," he said, "if there was anybody else in the house. He said 'no'. There was you."

My body shuddered and I turned my head into the chest of the one holding me but I was sickened. Growling I pushed him away as roughly as I could but was unfortunately disappointed when he hardly moved back two steps.

It was unbearable. I wanted to scream at them; lash at them; curse at them; kill them but all I could do was stand and cry. I wanted to do so many things at once that I felt my limbs jerking to do them, but at the same time I was too scared of the consequences. Dad learned the hard way—I learned the hard way.

I should have stayed in my room; though I knew they would have found me anyway.

"W-What do you want?" Mum finally choked out. Good. I could hardly breathe as it was.

"Where are we?"

My brain automatically thought of several things I could say back to them but they couldn't formulate properly. Besides, they'd probably kill me too.

Mum had opened her mouth but then closed it, a slight frown marring her sweaty face. "A-Australia?"

"You say it like it was a question," he responded promptly. "Where is this 'Australia'?"

I looked to Mum at the same time she glanced at me; her lips and hair was quivering in fright, which was about all I could see in the darkness. She didn't know how to answer that question. How couldn't he know about one of the continents on Earth? It just... didn't make sense.

"Earth," she said quietly nonetheless.

The intruders muttered to each other and I could practically feel their glares like a heavy weight as they looked at us. They didn't trust us, they didn't believe us. They thought we were lying.

"Enough." They went silent at the sound of his voice. I shivered again, this time because I could hear the irritation in his voice. "And 'Earth'?"

"A planet?" Mum stated questioningly again.

"Hm."

I saw the leader move, raising what looked like a hand as he prepared to back-hand my Mum. "No!" I shouted; he paused, tilting his head towards me this time. Through tears, I bit out, "she's telling the truth."

"Explain."

This was stupid. This was tiresome. This was horrible. I couldn't even look in Dad's direction anymore without feeling a giant hole open up in my chest. Again, as this thought crossed my mind, I tried to hold back the tears as I attempted to do what they wanted. Maybe they'd leave then. This was my only thread of hope to hold onto. I just had to answer honestly, clearly, confidently...

"What? Don't look up at the stars?"

...and not sarcastically.

A whack over my head taught my lesson and I bit my lip, trying not to scream with the frustration.

"Earth is a planet! Australia is a continent on Earth!" I felt ridiculous having to explain basic geography to ten adults but if it would get them to leave..." We live in a small town called Alice Springs, in the centre of Australia. It's a smallish town, surrounded by outback. Our weather is hot and humid, with the rare rainfall. We live at least eighteen hour's drive from the nearest capital city and—"

"That's enough."

"Well, what else did you want to know?" I sobbed out, bending over and pressing my forehead against the cold tiles. My hands slid against the floor and I could feel the sticky texture of Dad's blood rub against my skin.

I just spoke. I just tried to answer their question, tried to give them anything they could possibly want to know about our location to hopefully ring a bell in their morbid brains so they could leave.

"How big is this house?"

"It's—It's..." I don't know maths very well. My expertise was in science and botany, not mathematical measurements. The only math I knew was the equations used in chemistry and physics. Clearly I couldn't say 'it's a normal size for a modern house' because they were obviously too stupid to even know what I was talking about. "I don't know."

Someone behind my scoffed. "It's your home isn't it?"

I whirled around, anger flashing and burning in my eyes and chest as I bared my teeth and clenched my fist. "You want to know how big it is? It's as big as your fucking brain!"

I was suddenly sliding across the kitchen floor until I hit the kitchen table, my spine curling around it as far as it could go at the momentum given. It hurt, but what hurt more was my stomach, where the blow was dealt. I coughed loudly into a hand, propping myself onto an arm as I tried to remember how to breathe—I could hear Mum crying my name.

"Shut your face, bitch!" my offender yelled.

The taste of blood in my mouth was a reminder. I should keep my mouth shut. I should let my Mum do the talking if she could. I couldn't help it though. When I was angry, or offended, or scared, I had to talk (in whatever form) to release the emotion even the slightest bit. That's why I hated rollercoaster's; why I hated the ocean; why I hated talking to Auntie and Uncle; why I hated seeing the bitchiest girl in school.

"Hidan," the leader called.

My blood froze, I swear. That name. Oh God, that name.

My friends thought I was an utter geek to enjoy watching certain anime, and while I didn't absolutely love the series called Naruto, I still knew what happened, who everyone was and had a basic idea of what each could do, as well as how (the chakra systems and stuff). I didn't care nor bother to understand the hand signs they used and what each attack was. All I saw was a string of signs and poof!—this thing happened. And because of that, I didn't exactly have a favourite character.

But that didn't mean I didn't like some of them.

The Akatsuki.

Firstly, I knew it was scientifically improbable of fictional characters joining reality. There was no background or base equation for it, so there had to be some other meaning. Cosplayers, sure, that could have been a solution, but I doubted any avid fan of the show would actually murder my Dad!

I was blank. I refused to believe. I refused to even acknowledge my dislike for a few members of the Akatsuki for whatever reason because I knew it couldn't be them. It was just a man named Hidan.

I tried to ignore the small voice in the back of my mind that asked me how many people would be called Hidan in the centre of Australia.

"So what are we doing, Leader?" one of them asked. My mind was too fuzzy to get from where.

"Tie them up. Explore the house. Mark it as our base of operations."

Someone chuckled but it was mixed with the sounds of multiple footsteps. I moved, but only a little, as one of them had gripped my wrists tightly and bent them behind my back. I winced, trying to peer into the darkness of the kitchen. Mum was being tied up as well by one of them. My shoulders twinged when I felt what had to be rope wrap around my wrists several times and then severely tighten, pinching my skin.

I gasped, slamming my forehead on the tile then after. Normally I wasn't so stubborn. Normally I caved easily but the past few minutes seemed to be changing me bit by bit.

All of a sudden I felt the back of my collar pull, and the front of my shirt tightened around my chest as I was tugged and then dragged across the floor. My knuckles grazed across the tiles, burning, but when I hit the carpet, it hurt even more.

"Put them in here," someone had suggested, and my capturer walked past the stairs to one of the other downstairs rooms. It had to be the first one, as he turned quickly to the right. I knew where we were. Dads study. His desk and bookshelves were there. On his desk would be his computer, and there'd be a window by it, with the bookshelf on the other side and a filing cabinet next to that.

He dropped me like a bag of bones into a corner, and I heard my Mum squeak as she was placed next to me.

"Don't even try to escape," one said. The door closed. The lock was on the inside, but I wasn't even going to try to disobey what he said. I could just tell that he was deadly serious.

Groaning, my face tight with dried tears, I pushed myself up against a wall with difficulty and leaned against it, propping my head on it as I sniffled and closed my eyes. It hurt. My whole body ached; my heart most of all. I couldn't imagine what Mum was thinking. And as I peeled open my wet lashes to take a peek, I heard quiet sniffles. Her head was buried in one of her arms, her back quivering as she tried to cry as softly as possible.

Swallowing thickly, I tried to crawl over to her without the aid of my hands. I found myself lying down next to her, facing her, and timidly I pressed my sweat-soaked head against hers. I heard her breath catch but she didn't seem to care as she pressed closer against me, her sobs getting louder as every second passed. If her arms were free, I didn't doubt that she would have wrapped them around my waist and reeled herself in.

It was weird. Normally I was the one being shielded. Normally I was the one crying against her chest about something trivial or frustrating. Normally I was the one who wanted the hug just because I loved her so damn much. And now everything was flipped. She was broken, and I was left trying to comfort her in a situation where I wanted someone to curl into as well.

"Faye, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she mumbled to me, and she slipped her head under my chin. I stared into the darkness of Dads study room until I felt fresh tears pricking at my eyes again. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Mum. It's not your fault." I didn't know if that was the truth or not. Everybody always said it during a time like this. "It's mine," I added. "You told me to stay under my bed but I didn't listen. I was scared for you and Dad. I thought—I thought I could help..."

She broke again at the mention of Dad, but soon enough her whimpers had reduced significantly and her breathing evened out. She had fallen asleep. What would this do to the baby?

I looked out the window not far from us and felt despair drown me when I noted that the sun wasn't even coming up yet. It was still dark; very dark. And all I could hear was the quiet shuffling of the murderer's outside the door, speaking in hushed voices. I listened in as best as I could, hearing one or two of our doors creak as they were opened and closed.

"Turn that off, idiot!" I heard someone hiss upstairs.

I looked up. Above the study was a guest room—it was my older sister's before she moved out one and a half years ago. It was kept constantly clean for any friends or relatives when they came.

"—YOU TAKE THE BREATH RIGHT OUT OF ME! YOU LEFT A HOLE WHERE MY HEART SHOULD BE!—"

I jumped, yelping at the sound of the CD player being turned on the living room (my friend Callum had turned it up that loud when he and some others had come over while Dad and Mum was out. We hadn't turned it on since). The song was so loud that it burst into all six corners of the house. I could barely hear the sound of the intruders moving to the source, or the yells of them as they ordered it to be turned off.

"—YOU GOTTA FIGHT JUST TO MA—!" (1)

There was a ringing silence after it was turned off. I prayed fervently that our neighbours had heard it and would get up to see what was going on. At the same time, however, I wished that they wouldn't because then they, too, would be pushed into all this madness.

"—fault! Tobi pres—"

"—making—ses—"

"—boy!"

"—the fuck was—"

"Shut up!"

Then it went silent completely, the notes of the song still ringing in my ears despite it. And during that, the name 'Tobi' echoed in my mind. It sounded familiar as well. My thoughts were brought back to the Akatsuki but I quickly dismissed the idea, refusing to believe it. And now that I thought about it, all the voices I heard were masculine. Not once had I heard a female voice sound.

Like it mattered.

I was tired. My eyes were stinging even more than before, so I closed them and tried to bring on sleep. It was difficult. My brain kept replaying the sensation and vague sight of when Dad was killed, and each time I would snap my eyes open and start crying again. It was horrible; it was torture. I couldn't relax. I'd keep wondering why they hadn't left yet when they had got their answers—all they asked for at least.

"I miss you, Dad," I whispered to myself, scrunching up my face to hold back the tears.

It had to have been at least forty minutes later when darkness finally consumed me.

I woke up when I felt someone nudge me. Groggy, I forced my eyes to open a sliver to see what was going on, but I instantly wanted to close them again when I saw it was still dark. Dark equalled sleeping for me—at least most of the time. I was avid about health, and sleep was a vital part of it—it was a side effect of learning about the perils that can happen to the human body.

"Faye," someone whispered into my ear. I could feel their shaky breath hit the shell of it. I moaned, moving about, moving my hands—but then feeling them catch in something really tight.

I snapped my eyes open then as all the memories of last night rushed back at once: being attacked—hearing the yells—being captured—Dad being killed—blood—blood—blood!

I whimpered, turning my head into the carpet and trying to bury into it. I wanted to cry, I really did, but no more water was building up. It was like I was a desert. Nothing came. And then I felt someone nudge me and I looked over my shoulder and saw Mum there.

The first thing I noticed was that her hands were unbound, but then I noticed the strange renewed expression in her eyes, as though she was prepared to take a stand. Her face, though, from what I could see, was pasty, and in her hand was a tiny blade. My mind whirred. Where did she get that from?

"Faye, honey, are you okay?" she asked me softly. I could see a little light from the sun shine in behind her, but I knew it would still be several hours before it was day. Great, that meant I had only been asleep for three hours, tops.

I weakly nodded, furrowing my brow at her hands. She started working on cutting the ropes that bound me, and twenty minutes later I felt fresh, cold air attack my wrists. It was strangely wonderful.

"Mum, where'd you get that?" I asked. I faulted for a second at my hoarse voice. I then ignored it, focusing my eyes on the tiny piece of metal she held in the tip of her fingers. I recognised it to be one side of a sharp pair of scissors that was in Dads desk. But how'd she get them out?

"Scissors," she said. She nodded at the window. It was locked.

It was the only window that hadn't had the mosquito netting installed on it yet, and so it was the only way my friends could get in or for me to get out if we had something really important to tell each other. We only used it if none of us wanted to wake up Dad or Mum by using the front door. I don't know why it was locked, though.

"We can get out through there," Mum explained.

I gaped, panic rising to my throat. "What?" I whispered hoarsely. "But-but they said not to escape or they'd do something. Anyway, how would you get out? You don't have the key. Dad had the key. Oh, no, Dad..." I swallowed. "Didn't he have it in his room? That's where he keeps all his keys. Oh, please, Mum, don't do this. Please—"

She pressed a finger to my dry lips and gave me a very firm look. "Sometimes I wonder which you side of the family you got that trait from." She sighed, shaking her head.

"Mum—"

"No. We will escape through that window. I refuse to sit here and wait for our number to come up. We are going to leave. Now. And you are coming with me." She spoke so seriously. The last time I had seen her like this was when Madeline (my sister) wanted to get her own apartment and Mum just couldn't bring herself to let her go. She stuck to her children like leeches, and I knew that she would go above and beyond to ensure safety, even by doing something dangerous.

It was her daring side that Dad had told me about before. The window was locked, but clearly she had a way to open it if she didn't even view it as an obstacle. This must have been a skill she had learnt before she married Dad. A skill she hadn't used in years when she started a family.

"But Mum—" I started.

She grabbed my hand roughly and pulled me over to below the window. I was frantically worrying about what the baby would be going through. She turned back to the desk and started surfing through one of the drawers until she found what she wanted and returned to me.

It was a paper clip.

She uncurled it and then got to work on lock picking the key hole.

I had never asked about her old life. I never asked how, after she had me, she was able to get into the house when it was locked and she didn't have the key. I never asked why she was so damn good at darts whenever I played with her and I ended up being thrashed. I never asked how she was able to sneak up on my sister and I when we were in the kitchen, stealing food, without us even knowing she was there until she had purposely made a noise.

I never asked, but I did wonder.

There was a satisfying click and she leaned back, a weak smile on her face as she slipped the pre-paper clip into her pocket and nudged the window out a little more. The fresh air of the night seeped in. It was hot and stuffy in the room, even though it was late winter.

"Okay, honey. Are you ready?" she asked me.

I shook my head, my lips pursed. "No. I'm not going." That guy's warning echoed in my mind. They were serious. I knew they were.

Mum glared at me and she grabbed my hand. "You are coming whether you like it or not, young lady." She was so different from before. I guess now she was running on pure instinct of survival.

"Mum." I shook my head again. "It's not safe. He-he said that we shouldn't try."

"Faye, he's a murderer!" she exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. "Don't believe him."

"If he's a murderer then he can kill again. Statistically, death comes quicker if the hostages oppose them."

"So you want to prolong your sentence, then, hmm?"

I dropped my jaw. I could imagine my sister saying that but not Mum.

"You're not thinking, properly," I got out.

"And you're not thinking at all," she snapped. "I'm trying to save my children—my baby." Her hand ran over her stomach. "These people would only give us the worst and my baby will die. He has a greater chance in surviving if I escape."

I didn't want her to go, but clearly our opinions were different. I understood that she wanted to save the baby, and while I wish I could have seen him born, I didn't want to leave. I had that ominous feeling in my stomach, and if Mum had the same thing, she was obviously ignoring it.

I swallowed. It was going to be so difficult to say it... "You go."

"What?" she hissed at me.

Now the tears started to fall. "You go," I repeated and then shook my head. "I don't think it will be any better out there than in here."

"Girl, they killed your Father and you want to stay here?" she stressed.

I cupped my cheek as I let out a sob (I flinched at the dry blood). I hated seeing her angry with me that it was causing a lot of conflict in my mind. I was torn.

"I'm not going. I'm not," I choked out.

I didn't want to meet her face as I knew she was furious with me. Adapting to sudden changes was not my forte. I always got annoyed with my friends if they changed the date of some party when it was meant to be two days away. I always got pissed with my sister when she promised to meet me someplace but at the last minute she'd ring up to suggest some other destination. Mum could switch her mind and plan things according to the change with ease.

I couldn't.

I was still torn up about Dad's death, whereas Mum, who I knew was still grieving, was acting as though it never happened so that she could escape without any emotional baggage. It took me ages to get over things.

"You have one minute to rethink that," she said sternly.

I shook my head, my sobs silent as I tried to inhale. My face, I knew, was screwed up so badly as I bent over and pressed my forehead into the floor. I hated people seeing me cry, even if they were family. I try to inhale, but it was shoddy. "No-o."

Mum didn't say anything as she peered out the window, her green eyes sweeping right below while I watched. She pushed the window open a little more, doing it more slowly when it creaked. Eventually it was wide open, and she released a shaky breath. Then she turned to me.

"Stay here, then," she ordered.

My heart pounded. Had my Mum really just said that?

I waited a few seconds to see if she was going to continue it with something like 'I'll go find someone else and we'll come back for you' but she didn't. She looked away, an expression of forlorn on her face as she stared out the window.

I could hardly breathe. I was now staring at her more in shock and betrayal than in fear. She loved me. I knew she did but then... why?

"I'm a survivor, Faye," she told me. "I do miss your Dad, but right now that memory is just weight on my body. I miss your sister, but I adapted. It's this habit of mine, from my past life." I tensed, wondering if I'd hear some of it. She then met my eyes. "I got over things quickly. I lose those ties to move on and live. Your sister, I no longer view as my daughter. She has grown up, moved on, living on her own. She no longer needs a Mother. So now I see her as a close friend.

"You, Faye, are reaching that point where I see you as an equal. This was my last chance to keep you as a daughter, for at least a little more, but clearly you can make up your own mind now, no matter the consequences—and even if I disagree."

The walls of my mouth were slick with saliva as I breathed through it. "And Dad?"

She sighed. "Your Dad was my equal." My heart clenched at the past term. "He's the one that is giving me the heaviest baggage because he is gone. I did love him. He protected me from what I could have been, but I guess it wasn't enough. A piece of that life still came through." Mum shook her head. "Now. Friend."

My head pounded, unbelieving to soak in her harsh words. The memories I had with her were real though. I had memories of when she was acting like she was a Mum, where she didn't act as though she was reliving her past life. It was true. All of it. She had been my Mum, and still would be, no matter how much she denied it.

"It's time for me to go."

"No, Mum." I reached out for her, tears streaming down my face.

"Don't call me that!" She whacked away my arm and stood, bending over the bottom of the window ledge and looking around. It looked awkward with her bulging stomach.

I don't know what happened. Something did though, as suddenly she jerked wildly and her arms were flailing like mad, slamming against the inside wall. I saw blood splatter against the open window above her head, and I heard muffled screams as she kicked. Absolutely terrified, I scrambled backwards, mouth agape as she shook like a rag doll.

Her body suddenly fell limp and in front of her I saw a figure rise, two long pincer like shapes casting shadows against the inside of the study. But now I could see distinguishing features.

I could see two halves, one black and the other white, but what drew my eye was the smeared blood around his face as his yellow eyes gleamed back at me through the open window. I saw him chew on something as he almost comically tilted his head at me.

There was no air in my body to even scream but I had no choice. A hand suddenly covered my mouth and I went wild, thrashing in the grip, clawing, twisting, biting. The hold was tight and I was held in a way that I couldn't even move.

The tears came as I realised what this meant and as I let myself stare at my Mum's motionless body. I whimpered against the hand that was smothering me, and I jerked around in the arms of my holder. I could feel their breath against the shell of my ear, and all I could do was cry.

I was so. Fucking. Scared.

Then I heard a voice whisper into my ear. It was young, but boyish—male. What he said sent shivers down my spine.

"How does it feel, hmm, when parents don't listen to their child?"

1 – the song is Breath by Breaking Benjamin.

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