The rain pelted the window, making an angry watercolor of the sky. Trees bent backwards; their wooden spines threatening to snap, and entire clusters of branches wrenched horizontally. Clumps of the flower garden below tore from their beds and tumbled across the lawn, before drowning in the pond out front. He reached out toward the scene of silent destruction. His fingers streaked down the clear surface of the glass until they could stretch no further, and slipped off.
It's so quiet.
Something large and dark smacked into the window, and he flinched back. But it was only a wad of leaves. They stuck for a moment, then were sucked off and away the next. He watched enviously as they spiraled skyward.
The room was dark, but so bare that he had memorized its layout and could navigate it without the need of light. There was a desk behind him. It was an unwieldy slab of dark wood, and more of a decoration than anything else. Various papers and textbooks were splayed over the surface. His bed was situated in a loft that overlooked the empty expanse of the room. There were bookshelves above and below the loft; but the only one that actually held books was the one above his bed, and it was barely half full. And then there was the control panel. It glowed a pale white in the darkness.
It's quiet... He glanced at the bedroom door, but there wasn't a sound. He took a step toward it. But it shouldn't be.
The control panel offered him the measurements of the air temperature and humidity; told him that all the windows and doors were closed and locked; the security system was on, both inside and outside the house. He swallowed, the luminous display burning its image into his retinas. He reached toward it, and then changed his mind and went to the row of cabinets to the right of the panel. He dug through the folded towels within it and eventually found what he was looking for: a small wooden wedge. He moved to the door.
His heart was racing, but he did it with reasonable composure. He crammed the stopper into the space between the sliding doors, giving it a few careful taps with his heel. The door didn't budge when he gave it a trial tug. Satisfied, he returned to the display and let his fingers dart across the screen. The monitor blinked: Room Security Disabled. He let out a soft sigh of relief.
He crossed the room again. When he reached out towards the window, the ID bracelet on his wrist caught his attention. All his data was in this little hunk of metal. Everything he was; everything he was intended to be. Citizens were instructed to wear it at all times for identification purposes.
But the security system was off. He slipped the ID bracelet from his wrist and tossed it onto the desk. He stood in front of the glass, tracing the streaks his fingers had left on it with his eyes.
The next moment, he tore the window open. The separate partitions crashed into the walls, but he couldn't hear the impact over the shriek of the hurricane. A powerful gust of wind ripped through the open window, scattering the papers behind him and spattering him with rain.
He gasped. The winds rippled the fabric of his thin clothing, and icy droplets slashed at his body and nipped at the exposed skin. His hair was whipped into a frenzy around his face. The air was screaming. Something was wailing in the distance like a frightened freight train. The cacophony mounted until it got so loud he felt like his eardrums would burst, but then it cut out and only the rush of the rain and wind remained.
He could barely open his eyes, so he squinted down at the ground. There were twigs, leaves, and other debris, and more were falling from the sky every second. He weaved through them nimbly, making a game out of it. It felt so ridiculous being out there, being assailed by the wind and rain, dancing through sticks and leaves to get to the railing, that he began to laugh. Raindrops flew into his mouth and they tasted so sweet he opened it wider to drink them in.
His bare feet had smarted against the frigid surface of the balcony when he first stepped out, but now they were beginning to numb. He fell against the railing and threw his arms out wide. The air cut across his face so violently it was hard to breathe, and yet it felt as though he hadn't breathed until then. He closed his eyes and tilted his head skyward.
Something latched onto his wrist. He yelped, but the sound was torn away by the wind. He turned and came face-to-face with the old woman. Her lips were set into a thin painted line, and behind her rain-splotched glasses her dark eyes shone with a rare flash of displeasure. He was astonished at seeing her there in front of him, out in the midst of a hurricane. He wondered fleetingly if there was a possibility that she would be blown away. But she held firm. She tugged his wrist and led him back inside.
She released him next to the desk and continued across the room to the control panel. He looked past her.
How?
The bedroom door was wide open. He scanned the floor for the wedge, but it was nowhere to be seen. The window slid closed behind him with a soft click.
"What were you doing outside, dear?"
Her back was still to him.
"Showering," he answered flatly.
"Is that so?" The old woman turned and wiped her glasses on the front of her dress. Once she returned them to her face, she folded her hands primly in front of her. "I'm glad to hear you take an active interest in your hygiene, dear, but must I remind you of your weak constitution? What would I have done if you collapsed again?"
"I feel fine."
She smiled serenely. "Yes, darling, I'm sure you do."
He wrinkled his nose and turned his face aside. The rain fell in mute torrents behind the glass.
"Is something bothering you, my dear? You know you can talk to me about anything." Her voice was syrup.
He was silent.
After a moment of this treatment, the old woman sighed. "Why must you always make that face? I only want to get closer to you, dear. I don't understand why you pull away. It's not like you have anyone else to talk to."
His grey eyes flashed at her.
"Oh! All that excitement almost made me forget." Her voice had turned chipper.
From one mood to another. At least they hired a proper actress.
"I came in to tell you that dinner is ready. You must be starving, you poor thing. You've hardly come out of this room all day." She turned to the panel again. "Oh, you turned the room security off? No wonder the alarm didn't alert me when you opened the window! Why would you go and do such a silly thing, sweetie? And with your condition. That's not very wise, dear." She pressed a few buttons.
Beep-beep-beep.
"Now what…?"
Beep-beep-beep.
She scrutinized him. "Did you take your ID bracelet off?"
His stomach roiled and he looked at the discarded ID on the desk.
"Put it back on." Her tone had changed once again. "Takashi."
He flinched. That's not my name.
"Takashi," she repeated with more severity.
He grimaced. His hand inched along the desk, hooked the bracelet, and dragged it back across. The metal was colder and heavier than anything he'd ever felt.
The old woman nodded once he had clasped it shut over his wrist again. "Honestly, you're twelve years old—too old to be acting so immature. Now clean yourself up. You look like something the cat dragged in."
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, ma'am."
"Yes, Grandmother."
He stared impassively.
"Say it."
"…Yes, Grandmother," he forced through his teeth.
"There's a good boy." Her mouth settled into a tight-lipped smile. "Come down to dinner when you're done, dear. You don't want to let it get cold now, do you?"
She made like she was leaving, but at the last moment, she glanced out the window. "Isn't it lovely that No. 6 takes such care to make us feel safe at times like these? These security systems are so well monitored, why, not even a mouse could slip by without the alarm activating." She gave him an eye-crinkling smile. "You're so lucky to live in a top class neighborhood like Chronos."
She closed the door and the room plunged back into darkness. He stood there in front of the window, soaking wet, a puddle already beginning to form at his feet.
