It's long, a little sad and different than anything I've tried before. I actually quite like it.
Inspired by 'Til Kingdom Come' by Coldplay.
I own nothing.
Til Kingdom Come
When it rains in Miami it rains for days, and like Ireland it paints the sky a mural of grey while the green grass below turns to mud. There's no laughter heard, just a simple and loud crack of thunder that shakes the earth and makes her jump. It's accompanied by a sadness that brings with it the power to remember every bad memory Fiona has associated with her past and in return refuses to let her be happy. Instead of blue skies and lush green trees she sees nothing but a grey haze and instead of hearing a soft whistling wind she hears nothing. It's absolutely silent.
And over time silence gives way to tears and they're hot and salty as they flow down her cheeks as she remembers everything she's fought so hard to forget.
…
Fiona was five years old when her mother first brought Claire home. Her normally warm smile was strained but her eyes still had a softness that made her smile and gently inch forward to see the pink bundle that was held closely in her arms.
She was scooped up into her father's arms for a better view as her mother gently brought the cooing infant closer. There was a patch of downy soft brown hair atop a little head and a nose that scrunched as her tiny fingers gently stroked it. Her skin smelled sickly sweet, like baby powder and lavender and was silky smooth under her touch.
It's later that night, after the rest of the house is asleep that Fiona creeps into her mother's bedroom and watches her rock little Claire back and forth in a rocking chair that's painted a deep chocolate brown and creaks with each movement. Her mother's soft voice fills the room as she sings a lullaby Fiona remembers from what seems like a lifetime ago.
She walks to her mother's side and gently strokes Claire's foot that pokes out of the blanket and the baby lets out a gurgle and stirs.
"Mama?" she asked, looking up with bright green eyes.
"Yes?"
"When I was a baby, did ya sing ta me? And rock me in a chair when I couldn't sleep?" Her mother smiled and stroked her cheek.
"Sometimes dear."
"And did Sean and the other boys pet my head and say how pretty I was?"
Her mother nodded and chuckled. "Yes."
Fiona drops her mother's gaze and watches Claire for a moment, wondering how someone so small could bring such big change to their lives in such a short amount of time. She remembers earlier that day when her father told she was a big girl now and it was her job to teach and protect Claire alongside her brothers.
When she asked if he made her brothers promise the same thing when she was a baby, her father had merely ruffled her hair and said, "of course," with a look that betrayed the words he had just spoken and Fiona feels anger much too big for a five year old well in her stomach.
…
Her hair is long and brown, just like the hair she would stroke and brush as a child. The picture is glossy and she runs her thumb over it as she looks back at the man who handed it to her.
"And she's your sister?" She asks in a hoarse voice. The man nods and Michael, who senses her distress asks her if she's alright.
"I'm fine Michael."
"I just need to get her back.. I promised I would protect her." The man is in tears and Fiona reaches out and gently squeezes his hand.
"We'll find her."
Another promise she refuses to break.
…
Claire is four now and Fiona, a grown girl of nine watches her from her spot at the kitchen table where she's busy practicing math.
"Fi!" Claire's tiny, high pitched voice assaults her eardrums and she grimaces.
"What is it Claire. Can't ya see I'm busy?" Claire's tiny face scrunches up in disappointment at the venom in her sister's voice and her bottom lip quivers.
"I want ya ta play with me Fi." She holds up a rag doll that has a torn, stained dress and stringy yellow hair. Fi snorts, rolls her eyes and picks the doll up between her index finger and thumb.
"I don't have time ta play with yer baby toys Claire." The doll falls to the ground and Claire picks it up, holding it close to her body as she pouts.
"Yer mean!" She stomps away and Fiona smiles in satisfaction at having foiled her sisters desire to act like a child, before turning her attention back to the work in front of her.
Moments later Claire returns with Patrick in tow, her small hand engulfed in his large, calloused one. Fiona stands up quickly and almost fearfully as Patrick fixes her with a look of disappointment.
"Alright Fiona, what did ya do now?" he asks, gesturing to Claire's tearstained face. Fiona purses her lips, not uttering a word. Her brother sighs and scoops their younger sister up in his arms before turning around.
"For once Fi, just try ta do something right."
…
It takes him a while to figure it out, but eventually he realizes what today is. And Michael, never good with feelings or tears, simply gathers Fiona in his arms and presses a kiss to her head. She leans deeper into his embrace, and the warmth brings some comfort.
"I'm sorry Fi."
…
Fiona is thirteen years old and right now she wishes she were anywhere but here. Her mother is crying and her father is yelling and suddenly the sound of glass breaking is enough to make her retreat underneath the blankets.
A lone tear escapes and is followed by a sniffle, and for once Fiona wishes she weren't alone. Then the soft patter of feet is heard and the bedroom door opens with a creak, letting a tiny sliver of light in. Claire is standing next to her bed, rag doll in hand and a pitiful pout on her round face.
"Fi, I'm scared. Can I sleep with you tonight?" Fiona, who normally would never allow such a thing begrudgingly scoots over and Claire quickly climbs up and situates herself right next to her. She smells sweet and innocent and Fiona can't help but run her hair through the soft brown curls.
"Fi?"
"Yes Claire?"
"Do ya ever get scared?" The question surprises Fiona and she blinks a few times as her eyes adjust to the dark. She can barely make out Claire's face but the warmth of her body lets her know she's there.
"No," she says, ignoring the burning in her conscience as the lie slips from her lips. "Why would you ask such a thing?" She feels Claire shrug and continues to run her hands through her hair, twisting it around her fingers.
"I get scared. Of lots of things." There's and honesty in her voice, one that Fiona feels is much too young for a girl of nine years old.
"Like what?"
"Like thunder and snakes. And sometimes papa when he's angry." Fiona cringes at the last reveal and gently strokes her baby sisters head like she did as a child.
"Don't worry about papa; he's just tired is all." Claire nods, but Fiona knows she doesn't believe her, and for once she's not sure if she believes herself either.
"Sometimes I am scared he will hurt us." As if to emphasize her thought, the sound of glass breaking once again echoed through her house.
"Yer a silly girl Claire." Fiona's voice wasn't as sharp as it usually is, and for once possessed a softness she would normally only hear when her mother spoke.
"I guess I am Fi." And with that she fell asleep with her face pressed into Fiona's side, hair falling in waves over her face. Fiona kissed her small forehead and let her eyelids flutter shut
…
When they finally get a lead, they discover the girl has been taken by a man who needed leverage against her brother, scheduled to appear in court and testify against his brother. It's easy to track him down, with Sam's resources and Michael's knowledge of the underworld of Miami and within two hours they have a location.
It's a rusty, run down warehouse, and it smells of mold and stale alcohol. Michael lays out the plan; he's to go inside with Sam while she and Jesse cover the back. She nods and walks off with a blank expression and when Jesse looks at Michael with questioning eyes Michael simply shakes his head, a warning for him not to ask.
For a while everything's quiet and she and Jesse begin to grow tired sitting up on their perch. Then it happens. And it sends chills through her along with the painful flashbacks she wishes would just go away.
The gunshots echo around her and Jesse shoots upright, pulling the .45 from the waistband of his jeans and loading it. But Fiona calmly shakes her head and charges off in the direction of the building, leaving a dumbfounded Jesse standing with there her sniper rifle.
Feet are pounding against the pavement. Her feet, and they're moving faster than they ever have before. Bile rises in her throat and sweat drips down her face, falling into the back of her shirt and soaking it.
The door swings open and she runs inside, and the sight nearly makes her heart stop.
…
Claire is fourteen and every bit as beautiful. Her hair reaches her waist and she has pixie like features that fit perfectly on her long slender face. She's graceful and moves in ways Fiona wishes she could. She loves to dance and sometimes Fiona watches her, with a growing sense of jealousy as she wonders why she can't move like that. Claire is sweet, and only speaks of the good in people, and she's everything Fiona isn't.
And no matter how sweet and good she is Fiona can only think of reasons to hate her. Because she's the daughter her parents wanted, pure and holy with a sweet laugh that can light up any room.
…
"Michael?" Fiona's voice is shaking and her eyes frantically search for him.
"Over here Fi." He's leaning against the wall and blood is dripping down his arm. Sam is next to him but as far as she can tell he's unconscious.
"Where is she Michael?" he points with his good arm and her head whips around before she runs down one of the corridors. She finds the man at the end, his arm wrapped around the girl's neck and a gun at her temple.
…
She's still in training but Fiona is strong and proves to be a good soldier, much to Claire's dismay.
"Fiona, it's too dangerous. You could get yerslef killed!" Fiona's mouth was set in a straight line as agitation boiled inside of her.
"Yes, and if it means protecting ma home and ma family I'm gonna do it!"
"You're being selfish. What is mama gonna do when ya don't come home?" She's sixteen years old but right now to Fiona, Claire is nothing more than the four year old who constantly annoyed her and asked to play.
"It's really none of yer business. Yer such a spoiled brat ya know. You've gotten everything handed to ya since you were a baby and you don't know nothing about the real world." The hurt was evident on her face but Claire didn't offer a rebuttal to Fiona's insult and instead ran out of the house, leaving the front door swinging in the cool breeze.
…
The girl is looking at her with wide eyes. Green. And Fiona can't breathe, can't move. The man's hands are shaking and his eyes dart around the room, looking for someone else to join them.
"It's just us," Fiona says calmly, walking towards them slowly with her hands raised.
"Why don't you let her go huh? She's not hurting anybody, she's just a child." His grip on her tightens and the girl lets out a cry. Fiona stops and slowly draws her gun, having had enough of the small talk.
"You won't hit me," he says suddenly, moving the girl completely in front of him. Fiona's hands are shaking and her breaths come in uneven gasps as she lines the man's head up with her gun.
…
When the phone rings she thinks nothing of it, simply turning her attention back to the gun she's disassembled and then reassembled three times already. Then her mother lets out a scream that shakes her to the core and sinks to the floor. She drops the piece she's holding back on the table and rushes to her mother's side.
"What's tha matter?" Her mother is pale and she just keeps shaking her head as she cries.
"Mama, talk ta me!" she begs, shaking her mother shoulders and pulling her hands away from her face. She looks as if she's aged ten years and eventually she's able to speak through sniffles.
"There's been a accident. Gunfire in the street, she wasn't even supposed to be out that late." Fiona freezes, her mother's words slowly beginning to make sense. Her stomach clenches and tears well in her eyes.
"No, not Claire. Mama it can't be Claire!" Her mother has a blank stare, refusing to move.
"Mama, mama look at me! Please." Her pleas give way to sobs and together they sit on the floor and cry and Fiona forgets why she even yelled at Claire in the first palce.
…
"Let her go," Fiona tries once more to reason with him, but the girl is still in his grasp and her green eyes are wide with fear and they're begging for Fiona to help her.
"I can't.. It's too late." The gun presses firmly into her skull and Fiona raises her gun once more.
…
The funeral is short, and her mother glares at her with a hatred that haunts her to this day. The headstone is plain and grey and Fiona hates it. Because Claire is sweet and bright and grey doesn't suit her.
When everyone leaves she's the last one there and she clutches a rose in her hand as she stares at the stone through tear filled eyes.
"I'm so sorry." She lays the rose down and traces her fingers over the engraving, cherishing the feeling.
…
"I don't have a choice now.. It's over."
"No it's not, you can still make this right. Just let her go."
"No, I can't." He cocks the gun and Fiona sees white, unable to breath. Her finger is hovering above the trigger and she's not sure what to do.
…
"I'm afraid of lots of things."
"Like thunder and snakes, and sometimes papa when he's mad."
…
Deep breaths.
In and out.
…
"It's really none of yer business. Yer such a spoiled brat ya know. You've gotten everything handed to ya since you were a baby and you don't know nothing about tha real world!"
…
Her finger squeezes the trigger and it sounds like thunder. The same thunder she heard this morning. A body slumps onto the floor and a sigh escapes her.
…
"I want ya ta play with me Fi."
…
She reaches out and takes the girl into her arms, burying her face in the perfect brown curls as she rocks them back and forth.
"It's alright, you're safe now. I promise."
…
"Yer a silly girl Claire."
"I guess I am Fi."