Hey, everyone! Thanks so much for all the views, favourites, etc.-I really appreciate it! Only three chapters left after this one-we're near the end! Sorry this is a bit late-I've been really busy with revision, etc. but I hope you like it!
Please review if you like the story-and I took a reviewer's tip for this chapter, to include one of the deleted scenes from the film, which I was planning on doing anyway. It's just a scene with the last story Graham tells to them all before they enter the basement.
Hope you enjoy!
"I think I'll have two kids."
Lounging beside Colleen on the couch, I narrow my eyes, surprised by the sudden turn in the conversation. "Two? How come?"
Colleen shrugs. "I'm not sure exactly." She shifts on the couch, turning to face me, apparently wanting my full attention. "It's like-"
I wait, frowning, leaning back on the arm of the couch, staring at my sister. Her expression is strange, dreamy yet present too, as though what she has just said makes perfect sense to anyone.
Slowly, she speaks. "It's not like a decision." She moves her hand as she talks, as though trying to illustrate her point. "It's like-a feeling. Like something I've known all along, but haven't really looked at properly. You know? Like something you know without being told. I just know-I'll have two kids."
I nod. This makes sense to me on some basic level. Basic, knowing, no logic or reason to it. Some primitive, intuitive kind of sense. Call it the sixth sense, which would make a good movie title sometime.
Colleen's voice is low, wondering, as though finding its' way along a path. "Two kids." She stares into the distance, as though seeing the mythical children, their faces dancing before her eyes, invisible to me. "Two."
She pulls at the thread of a cushion, yanking the material between her fingers. "I dream about them." The confession drops into the air, almost on impulse, and her eyes find mine, as though worried I might laugh.
I pull my knees up, wrapping my arms around my legs, like an upright ball. Self-protective. "What do you dream about?" My voice is softer than I would have expected, and I wait for my sister's answer, wondering what that would be like to dream about your future children, perhaps know their names before their existence.
Colleen shakes her head. "It's not-clear-cut." She gesticulates, as she talks. "I don't see their names or anything." A shiver passes through me, and I stare at her, the peculiar sensation that she's seeing through my thoughts coursing through me.
"I just-" Colleen sighs. "It's hard to explain."
I stare at her. That's exactly how I feel, about my thoughts, every day of my life. And I'm only ten, so how long's it going to last for?
I sense that is not the way to persuade her to open up to me. "I'm-" I, too, drop my eyes to the couch. Odd-I don't usually feel awkward around Colleen. She's usually the one I could go to with anything, trust with any secret. I wonder why the very act of discussing children would feel so bizarre.
I swallow, force myself to look my sister in the eye. "I'm listening."
Colleen keeps her gaze lowered. "It's not like I see them-exactly. I just feel them-nearby. And I know they're going to be mine. I know it. And I can sort of see them, but not usually, you know? Not the way I'm seeing you now."
I nod. "But you-see them-like a dream?" I smile. " A dream within a dream?"
Colleen nods. "Kind of." She smiles softly, her eyes distant. "Yeah, that's what it's like-a dream within a dream." She shifts her position. "Or a dream of a dream." She gazes into the distance, apparently lost in thought.
"Are they boys or girls?" I watch her, desperate to get her attention again. I love it when Colleen talks with me. It makes me feel important, alive-like I really matter.
Colleen smiles. "Both. A boy and a girl."
I grin. "Which is older?"
"The boy." Colleen rubs her stomach, apparently unconsciously. "I can see them, kind of. But at the same time-not usually."
I stare at her stomach. "Are you pregnant now?"
Colleen laughs, shaking her head. "Definitely not. If I were, you'd be an aunty." I smile. "I'd like that."
Colleen leans over, brushing the hair off my face. Her lips land on my cheek. "I promise you." She leans back, the kiss settling on my skin. "One day, you will definitely be an aunty."
I smile again, leaning into her. My head falls into her lap, and her hand strokes my hair. My eyes find the television screen, my thoughts wandering into the future, a future with Colleen and Graham, and a niece and a nephew, two children giggling, their laughter carrying through the air as they play in the corn.
Standing at the top of the stairs, Morgan, Bo and I watched Graham and Merrill prepare the last of the barricades. Wooden boards. How secure.
Bo slid her hand into mine and Morgan followed suit. I didn't pull away. Instead, I merely squeezed their fingers gently, hoping to provide some comfort, in a situation where there was virtually none to offer.
Merrill stood at the other end of the landing. He hammered frantically, fixing a final board to a door. The hammer flew back and forth, making me wince with each bang, occasionally missing the nail altogether. Graham stood just out of view, inside his own bedroom. I could barely see him, but from what I made out, he was standing still, staring straight ahead. The hammer dangled uselessly at his side.
Look, I knew Graham was probably just taking the time to say goodbye to his memories, and to have one last glance around his bedroom, and I could appreciate that, I really could.
I just would have preferred it if he could pick up the pace a little? I mean, it wasn't a priority or anything, but we did have aliens due for an invasion in, ooh, a little over ten minutes. And it would be awfully rude not to be ready for them.
I sighed, tapping my foot. My eyes flickered down the stairs, to the front door, almost expecting to see an alien standing there, selecting which of us looked the tastiest.
A movement caught my eye and I turned back to the landing. Graham had stepped back, still gazing at his bedroom window, now standing in full view of the doorway. Morgan and Bo tensed slightly, both of their eyes fixed on their father. Merrill didn't seem to notice, his attention fully focused on hammering the final nail into the wood.
When Graham spoke, his voice was soft, but clear, and even if you tried, you couldn't have done anything except listen to every word.
"Did Isabelle ever tell you what happened the first time I met her?" Graham did not look at anyone as he spoke, yet I sensed he was addressing all four of us.
Morgan and Bo stared up at me. I stared back, at a loss as to where Graham was going with this, and unable to work out why he'd suddenly decided now was the time to relate family anecdotes.
Slowly, both Morgan and Bo shook their heads. Graham seemed to sense the movement without looking. Slowly, his features split in a smile.
"She was eight when I first met her." Graham's voice was louder now, and I felt my stomach twist slightly, remembering that first meeting as well as he did.
"What's his name?" I ask. I am sitting on the stairs, watching my mother walk briskly up and down, a sure sign of nerves.
"Graham." My mother's voice is terse, brief. I frown, clutching my book tighter to my chest.
"How old is he?"
"I don't know." My mother runs her hands through her hair. "A little older than she is, I suppose."
I frown. A little older than she is. Not specific. It worries me and my stomach knots slightly. I like to know things. It makes me feel better.
"You're in the way, Isabelle." My father's voice crinkles my stomach even more, and I slowly shift to the side. He rolls his eyes as he heads past me, and I huddle, curling further in on myself.
The doorbell rings and I curl up more. I don't like meeting people. I mess it up. I'm OK with knowing about them. Not good with seeing them.
But my mother is already answering the door. I press the book tighter to my cheek, as though I can hide inside its' pages.
I hear the exchange of hellos, and I scamper a few steps back up, high enough so I can see without being seen, watch without being watched. I stop still, turn back, eyes wide.
My parents and Colleen are visible, but ironically, Graham Hess-the only one I haven't seen before-is not. I can hear his voice, though. Something about it is warm, comforting-I can imagine him addressing large crowds of people, calming them down.
I squint through the banisters.
Then Colleen calls my name.
"Isabelle?"
I stand up slowly. I swallow and wipe my suddenly sweaty palms on my jeans.
"Isabelle?"
I take a deep breath and head down the stairs to meet my sister's new boyfriend.
"You came down the stairs." Graham's voice was soft now and I barely breathed as I listened. "And you looked up at me and I smiled at you. And you held up a book and you said "I'm reading this.""
I swallowed hard, my eyes burning.
"And I said "Are you?" and you said "Yep. It's my favourite book." Graham did not look at me as he spoke. Instead, he simply gazed off into the distance.
"That was the first time I ever spoke to you." His voice curled up at the edges, warmth creeping in like a sun ray through clouds, a beam of light shining in what could easily have turned into pitch blackness.
"And I remember what you said afterwards, too."
I stared at him, waiting, remembering the words that had poured from my mouth that evening.
Graham is getting into his car, Colleen standing beside him. My mother leans against the porch, her lips curved into a smile. She stares at my sister, and there is a sweet sort of sadness in her eyes. I watch her, not understanding. All I know is that I like Graham. I like him a lot, and more importantly, so do my parents. I'm only eight, but I already know that adults act like kids' opinions don't count.
But my parents like him. They couldn't stop grinning at him all through dinner. And I like him, too. He's one of those people who always knows when to speak and when to stay quiet, when to chip in and when to shut up. The sort of person my parents take to. Even my father is smiling.
But Colleen smiles the most. She can't stop. Every time she looks at him, her face cracks into a grin, and her eyes dance, kind of like the Catherine wheels on the Fourth of July. And I watch her.
When I was really small, tiny even, I heard something that always stuck with me. I don't know where or why or how I heard it, but hear it I did, because it's been dancing around my head ever since.
"The person you love will be not the first person you see, but the last person you watch."
I didn't understand it before. How could the person you loved always be the last one you watched? Did it mean that right up until you died? What if you died away from them? I puzzled it over for hours in my head, and over and over again, failed to understand.
But now, watching Colleen and Graham, I think I do. Colleen's eyes have followed him all the evening and I don't think he's looked away from her once. I don't mean looked properly-of course he hasn't just sat and stared at her, all evening-but somehow even when he was watching me or Mom or Dad, somehow, he still seemed aware of Colleen and I had the impression his heart followed her when his eyes couldn't.
Maybe that's what love is.
Colleen leans forward, silhouetted in the sunset, and kisses Graham's cheek. I watch, thinking about all the things he told us this evening. How he became a priest because he wanted to help people, wanted to help them find the same happiness he had. How he has a younger brother named Merrill, who's thirteen-five years older than me-and is baseball-mad, playing every night, always swinging the bat as though it is a sword. How he believes everything-even the things that seem inconsequential, which I might have to look up in the dictionary later-happen for a reason, even if we can't see it.
Apparently, the moment Colleen and Graham have been looking forward to all evening, despite the success of the meal, has arrived. With a quick touch of their mouths together, Graham bends down and slides into the car. Colleen is dropping him off home-their first time alone together all evening. He turns, waving to the three of us, my father, my mother and I, standing on the porch, watching unabashedly, as though trying to decipher the secret of their happiness for ourselves.
"Bye, Isabelle!"
Graham's voice sounds through the evening air, a farewell just for me, and my face lights up in a smile.
And for some reason, I can't let him go yet.
I scamper down from the steps before my parents can stop me, my feet carrying me forward, crunching across the gravel to Graham's car. I hear my father's voice call out, irritated, behind me, but my mother shushes him as I skid to a stop.
Colleen tousles my hair. Graham doesn't seem the least surprised by my sudden entrance. Instead, he just smiles at me. "Want to say goodbye?"
I stare up at him and Colleen. For some reason, the image blurs slightly, the sunlight shining in my eyes, and I realise that, in her long blouse and skirt, if I tilt my head to the side slightly, Colleen could almost be wearing a wedding dress, standing in the evening sun.
My mouth opens. "I'm going to give you that book I was reading one day." I blurt the words out, my eyes fixed on Graham's face. His smile widens. "Thanks, Isabelle." His hand too, reaches out, chucking me under the chin. My smile brightens. "Which day did you have in mind?"
The words tumble out. "The day you and Colleen get married."
I hear Colleen's gasp, feel her hand tighten on my shoulder as she turns to Graham, her eyes already widening in apology. I feel the sudden tension from the front porch as my parents watch, unsure of my exact words, but fairly certain I've said something disastrous.
But Graham doesn't look worried or bothered. On the contrary, his smile widens even more. "Good book?"
I nod.
"Well, then-" and with one arm around Colleen's waist, he pulls her closer for a hug. "I guess I'll just have to marry your sister one day, won't I?"
Slowly, Graham turned his head to look at me.
"That night, when your sister dropped me off home, she looked at me and said "What Isabelle wants, Isabelle gets." And I said, "Well, I guess I'll just have to do what she says."" His face broke into a smile and for a moment, he looked exactly like the man I met that night, the man I once believed could do anything in the world, other than make things fly.
I didn''t realise there were tears in my eyes until one escaped, a trace of liquid over my skin.
The hammering in the background continued but it was quieter now, almost as though Merrill had purposely slowed his speed.
Graham's footsteps echoed softly across the floor as he walked towards me. His arms wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me in for a hug.
I buried my head in my brother-in-law's shoulder and closed my eyes.
When we broke apart, Graham's lips smiled at me, his face only a few inches from my own. "You gave me that book that day." His voice was soft, as he finished the story. "I've still got it." His words were quiet, but I heard every one. "I haven't looked at it in six months, but I've still got it." He touched my forehead to his for a moment. "And on our wedding day, I remember, you were terrified, poor kid, you were only nine and you were scared you were going to trip up, going to ruin everything-but you got through it."
I nodded, my eyes swimming now.
"And at the afterparty, you came up to us. Your teeth were gritted and your face was white because you hated talking in front of people, but you walked right up and tapped my arm. And when I turned to look at you, you handed me that book. You looked up at me and said "I told you I'd give you that book the day you married my sister and I always keep my promises." And I looked back and said "It was a promise?" And you looked at me for a moment and then you said "No, but in here-"Graham pointed to his chest. ""I made it one.""
I nodded, slowly, my arms still wrapped around Graham's shoulders. He laughed and lifted a hand to my cheek, wiping away a stray tear.
"I always remembered that about you" he whispered softly. "You could make something out of nothing. And you never gave up on an idea. Never. Even when it seemed impossible." Once again, he touched his forehead to mine. "I always knew that about you" he whispered.
I sniffed, and this time it was me who instigated the hug. Graham's laugh was low and soft in my ears. I closed my eyes, blocking out the world temporarily as we embraced.
After a long moment, Merrill's voice broke the silence. "Graham, hurry."
Graham drew back, cupping my cheek for a moment. He nodded once before turning back to the bedroom.
Slowly, I stepped back, lost in thought.
Morgan and Bo, stood on either side of me, looked up nervously but said nothing.
Graham backed out of his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. I flinched at the noise as Merrill moved across to help. Together, the two began hammering a plank of wood over the door frame.
I stared at them, wondering how the hell these planks of wood were going to protect us against beings with the ability to travel thousands of light-years across space and apparently take a passing glance at our thoughts whilst they were at it.
Merrill was hammering harder now, his eyes fixed and teeth gritted, in apparent determination. Of course, he was also holding a nail in his mouth, which may have accounted for the gritted teeth.
Bo was clutching my hand now, squeezing so hard that I was pretty sure I'd be left with permanent indentations in my skin. Morgan, at my right, was leaning into me, his cheek against my arm, and I could feel him trembling as he watched his father.
I swallowed, turning back to watch the final preparations.
Graham stood back, letting Merrill take over the hammering.
"Did I ever tell you what happened when you were born, Bo?"
Next to me, Bo slowly shook her head. Her eyes were wide, and looking at her, I was struck once again by how strongly she resembled her mother. Even though Merrill was still hammering, a quietness seemed to descend over the room, a hushed stillness as we waited for Graham's next words.
He laughed softly. "You came out of your momma" he said, his voice still low, almost a whisper, as though he were still amazed, still stunned all these years later, at what had happened, at the child he had received. "And you didn't even cry. You just opened your eyes and looked around the room at everybody."
Next to me, Bo gripped my hand hard. I watched her, watched the silent attention on her face as she listened, engrossed, to her father's story, perhaps the first time she'd ever heard him tell it.
Graham's voice continued, as he pushed at the board with one hand. "And your eyes were so big and gorgeous that all the ladies in the room just gasped." Even with his back to us, I could tell he was smiling. "I mean, literally gasped." He paused for a second before continuing. "And they all said "Aww. She's like an angel."
Bo's hand slid out of mine. She glanced up at me, her eyes wide in a silent question, and I nodded. Slowly, she turned towards her father.
"And they all said they'd never seen a baby so beautiful."
Bo padded across the landing towards him. Graham stood still, aware of her approach without even turning around. Morgan's hand slipped into mine as we watched the two. Merrill was still hammering, but he seemed to be trying to do so as quietly as possible, as if worried about disturbing the nostalgic farewell atmosphere, with this annoyingly noisy yet necessary task.
"And then-" Graham crouched down beside his daughter, gazing at her, eyes staring into hers. "You know what happened?"
Slowly, Bo shook her head, her eyes wide, the hints of a smile breaking at her mouth.
"They put you on the table to clean you up." Graham's eyes remained on his little girl's face as he spoke, never once looking away from her. "And you looked up at me and you smiled."
Bo's face was wondrous, a small, sweet smile dimpling her cheeks. Her eyes were wide, full, and she stared at her father, absorbed, wondering.
"They say babies that young can't smile." Graham's hand raised to her hair, finger stroking her cheek. The look on his face was familiar and yet entirely new, the same one I'd seen when I'd walked into the hospital ward, on Bo's first day on earth, and seen him holding her, as he'd confessed he'd been holding her ever since Colleen had passed her to him, unable to put her down. It was the same face I imagined anyone to wear, seeing their baby for the first time, and there are no words to describe it. It's one of those things where you don't even try to find the words, because to describe it would take something away from it, cheapen it somehow. You simply hold it and appreciate it for what it is and marvel that it has been given to you.
Graham stared at his daughter. "You smiled." The words were low and soft and spoke a million phrases in that one sentence.
A moment passed before Graham rose to his feet. "Let's go down now." The words held no hint of fear-almost instead, a quiet peaceful acceptance of whatever was going to come next. And rather than setting my mind off wondering and panicking, as that attitude usually would, I simply nodded, and placed my hand on Morgan's shoulder, guiding him towards the stairs. We would meet what would come when it arrived.
The baby lies in my arms, staring up at me. Morgan, six years old, stands at my side, his lips pursed as he stares up at his new sister.
I hold her gently, watching the way her eyes blink slightly, roaming to my face, as they focus as best a one-hour-old baby's can. I stare at her, making sure my face wears a smile-she'll already be taking stuff in.
She watches me. I didn't think newborn babies could focus properly, but this one seems to. Her eyes stay on my face the entire time, not looking away once. I watch her.
"Hey" I whisper, my finger stroking her cheek cautiously. "You OK?"
As if the baby will answer.
"What's her name?"
My sister watches from the bed, and I wonder if she remembers that prediction she made years ago, her prediction of two children, a boy and a girl. A prediction that has been fulfilled.
Exhaustion drips from her eyes, but her smile is incandescent. She watches her daughter, a small sense of pride in the lines at the edge of her lips.
"Bo." She shifts slightly on the bed, Graham bending to kiss her. "Her name's Bo."
I turn to my niece, my new niece, and Morgan pulls gently at her blanket. "Careful, Morgan." I pat his shoulder, hold Bo closer. The last thing this baby needs is to go flying onto the floor.
"Hey, Bo." My finger strokes her cheek once more. "I'm Isabelle."
Graham swears Bo has already smiled and I keep my eyes on her just in case. And watching her closely, there's something here. Some glint, some hint at a smile, at a secret message between the two of us.
I smile back. Maybe Graham's right, after all.
I waited, watching Merrill swing the last board into place, gesturing Morgan to go on ahead. Graham, lifting Bo into his arms, glanced over at Merrill, looked from his brother to I, and nodded once, a quick gesture of understanding. He, Bo and Morgan stood still, at the top of the stairs, waiting, while I walked, my heart quickening slightly, to stand beside Merrill.
Yeah, we weren't alone. But this might be the last time we spoke to each other. And I had to make it count.
Merrill slapped the board, and when it didn't shake, turned away, apparently satisfied. Noticing me standing behind him, he stopped, his eyes locking with mine. "Ready?" He motioned with his head to the stairs. Dimly, I was aware of Morgan, Bo and Graham's eyes all burning into our backs.
"Yeah." My voice was low and I stepped closer to him. I was ready to go down, to face whatever was coming next, but I stood there, looking at Merrill, not entirely sure what I was waiting for.
Merrill looked at me, his eyes strangely calm and quiet, for a long moment. Then, very slowly, he stepped forward, bent his head to the side and taking my chin in his hands, very gently kissed my mouth.
It only lasted for a second but it was gentle and soft and sweet, and even though we both pulled back quickly, conscious of our audience, I knew that out of all the times we'd kissed so far, this one was one I'd always remember.
If I lived to always remember it.
Merrill's hand slid into mine as we turned away from the door. I glanced around the landing one last time, before heading for the top of the stairs, where Graham, Morgan and Bo stood waiting.
My eyes flickered to my nephew and niece's faces, as Merrill and I dropped each other's hands, Merrill bending to lift Morgan into his arms. Both of them stared back at me, their eyes wide. Outside, the wind seemed to pick up, as though sensing the imminent danger.
I don't know how we all knew in that moment, but we did, on some level. None of us questioned it. All of us, in our own thoughts, our own way, knew that we were nearing the time. Nearing the time that whatever we would have to face would arrive.
The final seconds were passing.
We walked down the stairs without saying a word.
Morgan and Bo were each draped over a shoulder. Bo's arms were wrapped around her father's neck and Morgan's face was hidden in Merrill's shirt, as though protecting himself from what was coming. I walked in between them, my hand reaching out to stroke Bo's hair, pushing the strands back off her face in a futile gesture of comfort.
As we reached the hall, the sound of barking became audible. Not just any barking. Loud barking. Frantic barking. An animal in pain.
A horrible realization flickered in my head. Glancing at Merrill, I noticed his jaw tense, his eyes flashing with panic. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing as me.
If he wasn't, Morgan was. His voice broke through the air as Merrill placed him gently on the floor. "We forgot about Isabel."
I would have made yet another joke about hoping he meant the dog, but the whole thing was getting old, and with a painful death imminent, this wasn't the time.
Plus, I was too distracted to be sarcastic.
Isabel's barking was not subsiding. Instead, she was getting louder and louder, sounding more and more panicked. Bo's hand reached out and slipped into mine. Her fingers clung tight, digging into my palm, as did Morgan's on my other side. His fingers were damp with sweat.
The barking was not stopping.
All five of us stared ahead, at the boarded-up windows, as though hoping to see through walls. Then again, I wasn't sure how much of the events outside I wanted to see.
A high-pitched squeal cut through the barking. A squeal that quickly overcame all sound. A squeal which quickly turned to whimpering. Frantic, desperate whimpering, as though a creature's air supply was being cut off.
My stomach lurched reflexively.
Morgan and Bo were still, apparently frozen with horror, eyes fixed straight ahead. Graham and Merrill each held a child's shoulders, their fingers digging into the fabric, though just whose tension they wanted to relieve was unclear. We waited, barely breathing.
The whimpering stopped.
Somehow, the silence that followed was far, far worse than the previous sounds of pain.
Slowly, Merrill and I turned to stare at each other before both of our glances swung to Graham. In that moment, the three of us each saw our own expression on the other two's faces. And there was nothing we could do at all.
The wind-chimes swung outside. My hands moved to Morgan and Bo's shoulders.
Footsteps on the porch. I felt a drop of sweat collect at my neck, and didn't dare lift a hand to wipe it away. My own grip tightened on the children's shoulders. Neither of them pulled away.
There was absolutely nothing we could do, and for the first time, I understood what it meant to have your insides turn to water.
All our eyes were focused on the wooden boards nailed across the windows. On the cracks in between the boards. The cracks that gave us a tiny, brief glimpse to the outside world.
A shadow moved.
Morgan and Bo were trembling now. I moved back a step, pulling them with me, as did Merrill, as though moving one pace away from the windows would really make the slightest bit of difference.
My eyes skittered around the room, jumping to the other two windows. I stared at the cracks between the boards, my heart bruising my ribs, my shoulders tense as we watched, waiting.
Another shadow. Morgan was gripping my hand so hard I'd have been worried about my bones had there been any point in worrying about injuries at this stage. It would have been hypocritical to worry. I was squeezing his hand back the same way. The fear rolled off us in waves.
Another one, across another window this time. A window in the wall nearest us.
Two of them. Making their way around the house. Towards the front door.
Another shadow.
My eyes flashed to the door-with one plank of wood serving as a barricade. I swallowed. My arms prickled, and my stomach contracted. My eyes burnt, and for a moment liquid nausea seared my throat.
There was a loud bang.
All of us jumped, my heart nearly flying out of my chest. My stomach lurched as we spun towards the back of the house, expecting to see the door hanging off its' hinges. Morgan and Bo's hands tightened painfully in mine. I stared down the hall past Merrill's shoulders, my eyes wide, burning, waiting for it-
Another bang, this time at the front door. This time, the room spun slightly and for a moment, I clutched Bo's hand even tighter, the walls blurring before my eyes, the edges wavering and turning black. I closed my eyes, willing myself to remain upright.
A slight whimper from Bo's throat dragged me back from the edge of unconsciousness. I had a confused glimpse of the family room, and for a brief second, my eyes alighted on the water glasses. From both my arranging and my refusing to arrange over the last few days, my mind vaguely registered, they had formed a kind of pattern. I noticed three forming a kind of triangle shape on the sideboard across from the door. It was strange, the things I noticed in that moment. At the same time, some part of my brain realised the boards of wood weren't completely straight and that actually bothered some ludicrously pedantic part of me.
Then another bang yanked my gaze and attention back to the front door.
Bo whimpered again, louder this time. I clutched her hand, my arm moving around her shoulders, as though offering her some vague hint of protection. Merrill's hand landed on my arm for a moment, before he, too, gripped his niece's shoulder, holding her close.
I stared at the plank of wood serving as a barricade, which suddenly looked very fragile indeed.
Another bang rattled the door and the wood seemed to bend slightly. My knees almost buckled, and once again, I had to close my eyes to stay upright. Only the feeling of Morgan and Bo's hands, gripping mine so tightly, the feeling of them relying on me, forced my eyes back open.
There were footsteps now-faint, running footsteps. I froze, rigid. They were moving around the house. One more blow and the front door would fall in.
Hot liquid pushed at my eyes as I glanced at Morgan and Bo.
Bo was trembling now, her nails digging into my hand. Morgan stood still, his eyes wider than I'd ever seen them. "Dad.." His voice was barely a whisper.
Slowly, Graham turned to look at his son. His eyes were soft, absent of the fear I had expected and he stared at him for a long moment, as though coming to a decision about something. Taking a step towards his son, he lowered himself into a crouching position.
"Did I ever tell you how you were born, Morgan?"
Merrill touched my arm as he stepped forward, leaving Graham and Morgan a few paces behind us, giving them what little privacy we could while facing imminent death. He placed a hand on Bo's shoulder, steering her forward, too. My hand, reaching behind Bo's shoulders, found his, our fingers interlacing. He didn't pull away.
Graham's voice was soft but we could hear every word. "You came out and your momma kept bleeding. So they rushed you out of the room before I even had time to see you."
I swallowed hard, my hand tightening on Bo's shoulders.
Sudden footsteps from overhead...scurrying feet..
"They're on the roof." Merrill's voice was strained with the effort of not giving in to panic. He stepped forward, his back to the door, staring up as though he could see the aliens through the ceiling. Bo stiffened, her face turning upwards, her eyes staring into mine.
Morgan glanced up, but his gaze dropped straight back to his father's face. Graham's voice continued, slightly quicker now. "And while they were fixing her up-" He swallowed, his eyes never moving from his son's face. "All she kept asking about was you."
Something smashed upstairs. Bo grabbed my hand, and I slid my arm around her shoulders, pulling her to me. I squeezed my own eyes shut, Bo burying her head in my stomach, my hands stroking her hair.
Merrill's voice was more urgent now, fighting back a wave of hysteria. "They're in the house." My stomach lurched.
Morgan tilted his head, his eyes widening, but Graham's hand cupped his chin, pulling him back to face him.
"I wanted your momma to see you first." Graham's voice was suffused with an urgency bordering on franticness, as he stared at his son. "Because she had dreamed about you her whole life." Morgan's eyes were wet as he stared at his father.
The footsteps were quickening upstairs, and I pressed Bo's head further into my shirt, hoping she wouldn't see, wouldn't hear, despite knowing it would do no good. Merrill was tense, his hand reaching for my arm, his body angled slightly in front of Bo and I, as though determined to protect us for as long as possible.
Graham's eyes stared into Morgan's as he finished his story. "And when she got feeling better, they brought you in, and they placed you in her arms." His voice grew softer, as though back in the hospital room with them both, seeing his newborn son for the first time. I stood, listening, my eyes focused on the stairs, but my mind simultaneously straining to hear the rest of the story.
Graham almost whispered the final lines of his memory. "And she looked at you, and you looked at her, and the two of you just stared at each other, for the longest time. And then she said, real soft-" Graham swallowed. "Hello, Morgan. I'm your momma. And you look just how I dreamed."
Morgan sniffed. There were tears in both his and his father's eyes, neither of them making any attempts to hide them. Graham smiled, a sweet, sad smile, letting out a soft laugh, as he wiped a drop from his son's cheek.
Colleen lies back in the hospital bed, and I watch her, shocked by the pallor of her skin. She smiles weakly up at me. "Hi." Her tone is soft, simple.
"Hi." My own reply is monosyllabic, borne of confusion, of lacking a clue what to say next. I watch her, my eyes wide, stunned at how pale she is.
"Is he OK?"
I know without asking that she is referring to her baby. Morgan- that's his name. The name of my nephew. I'm only eleven and I'm an aunty.
"He's fine." Graham is standing outside, rocking his son back and forth. I stare at Colleen for a moment, and she pulls herself upright in bed. She is struggling but manages to give me a weak smile.
"Do you want to go and see him?"
I nod, turning to the door, but Graham is already walking back inside with the baby.
I stare at him-I haven't had a proper look at him before. Graham is beaming, his eyes shining, as he lowers Morgan gently into his mother's arms. Colleen gestures to me, and I walk slowly to the side of the bed.
"Sit down." Colleen pats the space beside her and slowly I sink into a sitting position, my eyes still flickering anxiously to her face, noting the drained look in her eyes. Our parents are right outside in the corridor, having already seen her, already held their grandson.
"Here." Slowly, Colleen reaches out, Graham taking hold of my hands as she does so, positioning them cautiously. Gently, Colleen places my nephew into my arms.
I barely breathe as I hold him, feeling the heaviness of his little body shifting gently against my chest, his lips pursing and relaxing in a small breath of air. I stare at him, my own lips parting, as his head turns to the side, drifting back into sleep.
"Hey, Morgan." My voice is soft. "Hey. I'm Isabelle." My hand slides to his cheek, stroking the skin gently. The baby sighs, shifting in his sleep, his mind dreaming.
I stare down at my nephew, Colleen's voice faint in the background. "He's perfect." Her voice is a whisper laced with tears, happiness weighing down the words.
My eyes stay on Morgan's face and I remember her words from a year ago, about having two children. I smile to myself. Maybe there was some truth to her prediction after all.
A sudden scrambling from above pulled all of our gazes to the stairs. I searched the landing with my eyes, Morgan and Graham both turning towards the banisters, my heart pounding in my chest. Something was off...something wasn't right...
Merrill's voice was a hiss. "The attic door.."
My gaze flickered to the ceiling. The attic door sat, a square gash in the white ceiling, the cord hanging down as per usual, completely and utterly unboarded.
My heart lurched in my chest.
Merrill was already moving before I could blink. His footsteps clattered on the stairs, halfway up before I'd had time to register what he was doing.
"Merrill!" Graham called out before I could, Morgan and Bo's pale, upturned faces watching their uncle disappear up the stairs.
"Merrill, just come down..." My own voice trailed off as a sudden wave of fear washed over me. Merrill was at the top of the stairs, now, and the clattering from the attic was growing. I swallowed, nausea clenching my stomach, as I watched him. "Merrill..." I struggled to breathe.
He's going to be fine...he's going to be fine... Bo's hand slid into mine and gripped tight.
"Merrill, leave it..." Graham's voice carried little conviction, as though he already knew the outcome of his words. Merrill was on the landing, taking no notice whatsoever. I stared up at him, willing him with my eyes to come down.
"Oh, God..." My voice crawled, unbidden, from my chest, and my skin felt stretched, clammy with fear.
Graham cast a sharp glance at me, and that seemed to make up his mind. With a quick squeeze of my shoulder, he started up the stairs towards his brother.
I made to follow, and, turning, Graham held out a hand. "Isabelle, no."
"I've got to-" I gestured up at Merrill. The idea of waiting, of not being able to see if he was OK, sent my heart racing in a vortex of panic.
"Isabelle." Graham's voice was quiet. "Stay with them. They need you."
I glanced down at Morgan and Bo. Two pairs of eyes stared up at me, huge in their pale faces. I glanced at Merrill again.
"He'll be OK." Graham's voice was low, firm. "I promised your mother I'd look after you."
Slowly, I stepped back from the stairs. The clattering was growing louder, and before I could say anything else, Graham was gone, moving up the steps towards his brother.
I swallowed, closing my eyes. My other hand moved to Morgan's and his fingers gripped mine. Graham and Merrill's footsteps moved overhead.
My eyes were shut, keeping me willingly blind for a few moments, but my ears were on high alert. I listened, wincing at every clatter, every thud from the attic. I guessed the aliens weren't clearing the space out for us.
Graham's voice was soft, but somehow I could still hear. "It's too late."
Bo's and Morgan's hands tightened in mine.
Graham's tone grew lower, more gentle, as though reasoning with a frightened animal. "Let's go down."
My eyes opened. "Come down." I wet my lips nervously, struggling to get the words out. "Please, Merrill. Just come down." My voice trembled on his name and seemed to break slightly on the last word. I closed my eyes, willing myself to regain control.
A small hand crept onto my arm, and a low whisper brushed against my shoulder. "He'll be all right." I opened my eyes again to see Morgan leaning anxiously against me. "He'll be fine."
I stared at him, his eyes wide in conviction. Beside him, Bo nodded once, her little face white.
I took a deep breath and nodded. "OK." I swallowed hard. "Of course he'll be fine. Of course he will." My voice broke once again on the last word and Morgan's face crumpled for a moment. He patted my arm nervously, as though not knowing what else to do.
I pushed an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. My other arm slid around Bo, as I turned my attention back to the landing.
Merrill was standing still, his eyes darting around frantically, as though looking for something, anything. My teeth dug into my bottom lip, blood tasting in my mouth.
"Just leave it!" My voice was louder than I'd intended, and for a moment I flinched, ears straining for further noise from outside. But maybe it didn't make any difference. After all, Graham was right-they already knew we were here.
My eyes stayed fixed on Merrill, and I squeezed Morgan and Bo's hands tighter. Why couldn't he just leave it? Why couldn't he just come down?
Something-some voice in my mind, some buried instinct-murmured the answer. Because he can't bear to just let them in.
Merrill moved out of my line of vision for a moment, and I stiffened. However, he was back a second later, dragging a chair with him. I narrowed my eyes, struggling to see. He dragged it into position, directly beneath the door in the ceiling.
Merrill stepped onto the seat, and stood up straight, his shirt lifting slightly as he did so. His hands pressed against the attic door, palms up, holding it shut. A human barricade.
I sucked in a gasp of air and realised I hadn't been able to breathe for the last few seconds. "Merrill-" My voice was high-pitched and some part of my brain dimly registered that I sounded kind of like a mouse, but any sarcastic remarks were quickly cut off by the clattering from overhead.
Merrill's voice was low, and, although I couldn't be sure, it sounded as though his teeth were gritted. "This is a very temporary solution."
I watched, frozen. Graham stood back, his eyes flashing back and forth, in much the same way as Merrill's had a few moments earlier. I knew he was casting around desperately for something, anything, to block the door.
My eyes were now fixed on Merrill. He was pushing against the door with all his might, and I focused on his arms, biting at my lip as I noticed the strain in his muscles, the way his hands pressed against the door. I couldn't see his face, but I guessed that his teeth were gritted.
Something was pushing against the door. Something was trying to get through and I was willing to bet my life it wasn't a squirrel. The room seemed to sway slightly.
There was a sound I couldn't quite make out, a sound from the attic, that made me close my eyes for a moment and pray to whoever was listening that Merrill could keep holding that door shut. My eyes opened, fixing on Merrill once again, my hand now clenched into a fist in Morgan's palm.
Merrill's voice was almost inaudible. "Graham-"
Graham slowly moved to his brother's side. His voice, once again, was low. "How temporary?"
Merrill seemed to be having difficulty speaking. "Twenty two seconds."
Oh great.
Graham stood back, glancing around frantically. Bo and Morgan watched, both squeezing my hand so hard I was fairly certain that they were cutting off my blood supply.
I closed my eyes. Please, God, don't let anything happen to him...please, don't let something happen to him...please...
Dimly, I realized I was praying to a God that up until a few minutes ago, I hadn't known I still believed in.
Morgan's hand squeezed mine harder. I opened my eyes, my gaze meeting his. "He'll be OK" he mouthed.
I couldn't speak. I just nodded once and turned back to the landing. But Morgan seemed to understand.
Graham's footsteps were quick as he moved out of my line of sight. I stared up, my eyes widening, as though somehow that would enable me to see what Graham was doing.
I found out a few moments later. A strange rattling filled the air. Morgan frowned, his head tipped back, clearly trying to work out what his father was doing. My own eyes narrowed, flicking sharply back to Merrill.
Graham grunted and then I saw the cabinet he was pushing. Huge, filled with ornaments-hence the rattling- it was being shoved across the floor by Graham, who was almost invisible behind it. For a moment, it looked as if the cabinet was moving itself. My lips twitched as I fought back the bizarre urge to laugh.
Then I looked back to Merrill and any thought of laughter disappeared. My teeth dug into my skin. Just hang on..
Perhaps Graham was thinking along the same lines as me, as the movement seemed to quicken a little, and the cabinet was pushed harder, rapidly progressing along the landing . I hesitated, barely breathing, as Graham moved it into position right under the attic door. He stepped back, panting, and looked up at Merrill.
Merrill, hesitating for a second, looked down at his brother uncertainly. Graham gave him a barely perceptible nod.
Slowly, Merrill lowered his hands to his sides. It was clear even from the bottom of the stairs that the cabinet did not reach the door. Merrill stepped down, gasping for breath, his feet hitting the floor a second before the attic door hit the top of the cabinet.
Morgan, Bo and I all jumped. I stepped back slightly, pulling them with me. I couldn't get a clear view from this distance, but my eyes focused on the square of black in the ceiling.
Slowly, the door lifted back up, the gap vanishing. My heart seemed to twist in my chest. Merrill had been less than two feet away from them...
Graham placed a hand on his brother's arm and both turned away. I stayed still, my heart in my mouth-I never grasped how literal that felt until then-as they descended the stairs.
The attic door slammed into the cabinet again, and I felt myself tremble, my fingers gripping Morgan and Bo's more tightly than ever. But Graham and Merrill were down now, and I stared at them, not knowing a thing to say, only knowing that I'd barely been able to breathe for the last two minutes. The attic door slammed into the cabinet again, and this time there came the sound of glass smashing. I swallowed, but my throat was painfully dry.
Merrill's eyes flickered straight to my face, and his hand landed on my arm.
"You OK?" His voice was hushed, his eyes on mine.
I gave him a quick nod, but Graham's hand on my shoulder ended that conversation. Glancing away, I noticed that he, Morgan and Bo were all standing still, very still, all of their eyes fixed on the front door. The bottom of the front door.
Slowly, I dropped my gaze, and then wished I hadn't.
Well, not literally, because then I would probably have died, but you know what I mean.
I was already stepping away, my hands on the kids' shoulders, even as my eyes dropped to the bottom of the door, and so I was moving by the time the choked-off scream built up in my throat, moving backwards down the hall, my hands on the kids' shoulders, Merrill's whisper of "Come on!" still hissing in my ears. But I still saw it, still saw the fingers curling under the door, digging into the wood, fingers no human hand would ever wear, and I still felt my insides contract with fear, the shock running through my body in a physical jolt.
But then we were moving faster, my hand finding Bo's arm, pulling her with me, Graham's fingers digging into Morgan's shoulder as he dragged him down the hallway. I moved on autopilot, my feet skidding along the floor, my eyes still pinned on the front door, on the fingers now reaching up, digging into the wood.
A vague glimpse of the kitchen doorway and then we were in the room, staggering slightly as I tried to catch my balance, Morgan placing a hand on my arm to steady me. I had a last confused glimpse of the hallway before Merrill slammed the door shut, the wood narrowly missing his fingers. I winced, Bo's hand now holding mine in a death grip.
I still can't stop watching him. Even when the judge has finished sentencing him. Even when he is walking out of the court room. Even when his head is lowered, not daring to look at us.
Graham's face is pale, his expression set. He nods once, his face firm, his suit almost painfully clean, fastened against his body. His teeth nibble at his lip and he ducks his head, hiding his face as we hear that Ray Reddy is to walk free.
I stare at him. Really stare. Wait for him to look up at me. Need for him to look up at me.
He doesn't.
Merrill hadn't stopped moving. He was already seizing a kitchen chair, wedging it under the door handle, his eyes fierce with terror. I watched, swallowing hard, glancing around the kitchen, which we now appeared to be barricading ourselves in. If we had to take refuge in here, at least we wouldn't starve.
Merrill kept going, reaching for another chair. I watched as he stacked this one upside down on top of the first, before returning for another. I moved forward, handing him a third chair, which he took with a muted nod of thanks.
Graham, to my surprise, was not moving. Instead, he was leaning against the wall, eyes seemingly calm, though if you looked for more than a second, there was a hint of suppressed terror. However, he remained still, quiet, his eyes watching Merrill's quick work, the thuds of the chairs being stacked against the wall echoing dully through the air. His demeanour could not have been more contrasting to that of his younger brother's-that of quick, frantic action, with no time to let himself think or feel.
Merrill stacked another chair against the door, pausing for a moment to lean forward, apparently catching his breath. "That's going to do nothing." He stepped back, eyes fixed on the door, before turning away, grabbing another seat.
Graham's voice was calm, low. Morgan and Bo shrank into the corner, their eyes on their father, wary, cautious. "We have to go into the basement."
My eyes flickered to the basement entrance-a flight of steps leading down into utter darkness. I blinked, giving an involuntary shudder.
Merrill placed the final chair on top of the pile, his eyes frantic, searching back and forth for some escape. "There's no way out of there, Graham." He let go of the chair leg, letting it fall slightly. I watched it as it sagged against the wood, as though aware of its' own futility.
Merrill turned away, now looking towards the back door, his eyes panicked, trapped. Watching him, I was reminded of the caged animals you see at a zoo, who stare at you through the bars, clearly willing to do anything to escape. I bit my lip, my teeth having now left indentations in my skin.
Graham didn't move or speak. He just stared at his brother, his eyes deliberately calm, as though trying to tame a furious dog. "Do you remember the day I dislocated your arm?" His voice was low, conversational. We might have been reminiscing over a cup of tea on a Sunday morning.
Merrill stood in the middle of the kitchen, his eyes flickering between the two doors, clearly calculating his chances. "Shall we make a run for it out the back?" He stared at the back door, and I raised an eyebrow. Given the cornfields were at the back, it didn't seem like an ideal port of call.
Graham apparently shared my opinion. "They're right behind the door." His voice was not condescending or patronizing. Instead, it was gentle, sad, coaxing Merrill to a realization he wished would not exist.
Merrill's fist punched the air in frustration as something moved at the back door, proving Graham's point correct. I moved towards him, but catching my eye, Graham gave me an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
The sounds outside the door were not receding. They were louder now, moving back and forth, and I felt a bubble of terror rise through my throat. Morgan and Bo took a step back as one, moving towards me, away from the back door, their eyes firmly on the barricades, as though picturing them loosening.
Graham's voice continued in the background, calm, quiet. He might have been telling a bedtime story. "You would have been.." He even frowned slightly, as though his biggest concern was the historical accuracy of family anecdotes, as though this was a perfectly ordinary day, or as ordinary as life ever got. Somehow, the surreality of the situation seemed to increase.
Graham's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Two and a half years old?"
Merrill was breathing hard now, and watching him, I was reminded of his sudden panic earlier, in the cupboard. He was pacing back and forth and I resisted the urge to move towards him. Instead, I focused my attention on Graham's story. I stared at Merrill, willing him to listen.
Merrill turned, facing his brother, his eyes wide, still fighting back fear. "What are you doing?" His voice was crumbled, struggling not to collapse in on its' own terror, and I realised this was what he was fighting so hard against-the fear of letting the others down, of not getting them out. Like he'd said earlier-not being able to look after them. Not being the protector.
And I knew this was the worst thing for him, the worst nightmare. There were intruders coming in, intruders inside, and he couldn't protect us from them. He couldn't do anything to stop them. He just had to wait.
And I knew-knew as sure as I knew that kindness was good- he'd do anything to avoid accepting that.
Graham's voice continued, low, almost melodic. "You tried to eat a second chocolate bar. Grandma said no." He watched his brother for a moment, his eyes softer now. "You tried to take a bite and I grabbed it."
Somehow, it wasn't surprising that Merrill didn't know when to admit defeat.
"I must have pulled your arm at an awkward angle." Graham's face was almost expressionless now. "Your elbow came right out of its' socket."
Morgan and Bo watched, wide-eyed, both staring at their uncle.
Merrill was moving slowly now, the frenzy in his eyes dying to be replaced by something far more frightening. Despair. A torturous, frantic despair. He moved to the chairs against the door, leaning against them, staring down, as though acknowledging just how fruitless they were.
Graham's voice continued, his eyes wider now, as though he was back there, living that moment with his brother. "And you didn't scream or anything." His eyes stayed on Merrill, keeping watch. "Your arm just kind of flopped to your side and you got real still."
There was a clatter from the hall. I froze, my eyes firmly on Merrill who stood as close to the door as it was possible to get, a few inches from the chairs. He stepped back, his eyes wide. "They're coming." His voice was torn, crumpled, and when he turned to face us, I saw the tears in his eyes, and knew he was coming to the same conclusion as the rest of us.
Graham stood very still, his eyes now fixed completely on Merrill, as though willing him with his voice. The sounds from the hall were growing. Clatters, bangs; it sounded like they were either ripping the house apart, searching or both. I froze, halfway between Graham and the kids. Morgan was staring at the back door, eyes wide, clearly expecting an alien to kick it down any second. Bo stood still, her eyes fixed on her father.
Graham's voice was low, his tone a continuous murmur. It was like white noise, comforting by osmosis. "Mom drove us to the hospital. I held you in my lap." He was watching all of us now, and for the first time his eyes held a flicker of pain. "You watched me crying." His voice was lower now, more insistent. "We need to go into the basement now."
His eyes landed on his two children. Morgan and Bo didn't argue or ask or question. Instead, they simply moved quietly forward, not needing to be told what to do, Morgan's hand on his sister's shoulder. There was a strange finality to it, a sense of farewell, and I felt an urge to call them back, as they descended the basement steps, their heads bobbing out of sight.
I turned to find Graham looking at me, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. Go or stay.
My eyes flickered to Merrill, and Graham followed my gaze. Our eyes met, and he gave me a barely perceptible nod.
I was staying.
I kneel at Colleen's graveside, the dirt pushing into my knees. But there's nowhere else to come.
The sky hangs over us, overcast, dull. I skipped college today-the first of perhaps numerous skipped days-to come here. I didn't bring anything. I didn't bring anything when I visited Colleen in life, after all-why should things be different now that she's dead?
The word trembles in the air, though I haven't spoken it aloud.
I stare at the gravestone. It stands still, mockingly disappointing, generic, meaning nothing.
How can a stone mark my sister? How can a stone mark where she's meant to be?
I close my eyes, my lips opening. I'm meant to speak to her, according to my therapist. Meant to tell her how I feel.
"I miss you." My voice sounds bizarre in the open air, and I glance around, only to see that the graveyard is deserted. I close my eyes and open them again, my lips parting to continue.
"I miss you." My voice is slightly louder this time, and I stare at the gravestone as though waiting for something to happen.
Of course, nothing does.
I stare at the stone. "And you can't hear me, can you?" My voice is getting louder. "You can't hear me. So there's no point in speaking to you. You can't hear. You're not listening."
Nothing.
"There's no point." I'm almost shouting now. "There's no point speaking to you. There's no point in talking. You don't care. You can't hear." I'm barely aware of how loudly I'm shouting, only aware of the tearing pain in my throat, of the sudden sharp blow through my foot as I lash out at the gravestone, kicking it as hard as possible. I wince, sinking to my knees as the pain in my foot centres on the bone, making me wince.
"You don't care." The words are gasped out now, as I screw my eyes shut, clutching my foot, which feels like it might fall off. "You don't know any of it."
I curl up into a ball, closing my eyes. Rain falls into my hair, as the clouds seem to open.
I'm barely aware of the car door opening behind me, of the footsteps crossing towards where I sit on the ground. It is only when Graham kneels down beside me that I register that I'm not alone.
"Come on." His voice is soft as he pulls me upright.
We both stand still for a second, and Graham stares at his wife's grave. Just watches her, for a few moments. And for the life of me, I can't understand the look on his face. The only thing I can think of is that he looks exactly how I feel.
I, too, stare at the grave. "Sorry" I whisper. "I'm sorry."
The words slide into the air, unheard.
Slowly, Graham and I turn, and walk back to the car. The rain falls harder now, drops bouncing at our feet. There is nothing more to say.
Merrill stood with his back to us, his face invisible. But his shoulders were shaking slightly and I could hear his breathing, ragged and desperate, and I knew he could see the only solution. Slowly, I took a step towards him.
There were sounds against the door now, and a small part of my brain thanked God that Morgan and Bo were down in the basement. At least, if ait happened now, they'd have a chance, albeit a slim one.
Graham's voice continued behind me as I moved towards his younger brother. "You screamed when the doctors forced your arm back into place." I felt myself wince, not at the image, but at the thought of that scream, that sound, perhaps as intolerable to Merrill as his own pain now. And it clicked, somewhere in my mind, that Merrill found it far easier to give comfort to others, to let them lean on him, than he found taking it himself. Letting someone else be the protector.
I was standing behind Merrill now, waiting, my own heart pounding. I was painfully aware of the final seconds passing.
The sounds behind the door were moving faster now, and I fought the temptation to close my eyes, to shut them out. Instead, I stayed still, my eyes on Merrill, within arm's length of him.
Graham's voice was low now, and a hint of emotion ran through the words, a thread of jagged love, punctuating his story. "And you know what you did? You got off the table and you came over and you gave me a hug."
Merrill's cheek twitched slightly. His shoulders were trembling now, and I knew he was fighting back sobs. To him, this was bad enough, this nameless terror, this almost complete storm of horror. I could hear the gasps tearing at his chest.
"And you said, "Don't cry anymore, OK?"" Graham's voice was soft in the conclusion to his story. He paused for a moment, letting the silence become part of the anecdote. "You never got mad at me, Merrill." The words fell quietly, almost inaudible.
Merrill stood still, rigid, trembling, and I knew he was crying, and I knew this went against every image he had of himself as a protector, and that this was pure hell for him. I knew he didn't want Graham to see, and I knew he didn't want the kids to see and I knew he didn't want me to see.
I knew, and slowly, I slid my arms around him, my head falling onto his shoulder.
Merrill flinched, pulling away for a second, and my heart twisted in my chest, and then he moved back. He moved into me, letting my arms wrap around him from behind, my cheek brushing his. I saw his face then, and it was crumpled, wrenched, and most of all, tear-stained. I looked back at him, and one of my hands slid into his hair, holding him close to me, me keeping him safe, or as safe as I could.
Merrill's breathing shuddered, and he dropped his gaze from my face. But he didn't pull away and the sounds from the door increased, as we stood, with my head buried in his shirt, my arms around him, holding him together.
Slowly, Merrill turned around. His eyes focused on my face, and he lifted his hand to my cheek, tucking that same strand of hair behind my ears. I smiled, noticing that my own cheeks were wet with silent tears.
Merrill gave me a small nod and, his arm now sliding around me, we moved very slowly towards the basement stairs.
The sounds at the door continued as we reached the top, the top of the stairs, and I knew this was it. After this, there was no turning back. Like Merrill said, there was no way out.
No way back.
Merrill stood still, my arm still around him, our bodies touching. "We won't be able to get out of there." His eyes flickered to mine, and slowly, softly, I nodded. "We won't." My own voice was the same volume as his; a whisper of resignation, a sound of acceptance.
Graham, standing beside us, leaned in towards his brother. "I'm sorry I hurt your arm." His voice was barely audible.
Merrill's reply, when it came, was quiet, quick, so that if you turned away, you could pretend he hadn't said the words at all. "I know."
A second hung in the air, during which Graham watched us, his eyes inscrutable, and then we moved. Our footsteps echoed as we moved down the steps, the cloth of Merrill's shirt still stroking the skin of my cheek, as we walked down into the basement.
Our footsteps thudded down the stairs, until we reached the bottom. My arms were still around Merrill's shoulders. The basement was dully illuminated, light shining from one bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. Morgan and Bo stood still, barely a few feet from the doorway, their eyes wide.
Merrill pulled back from me slightly, so that we were standing a few inches apart. The clatters from overhead were louder now, and I cast an anxious glance towards the stairs.
Merrill's hand caught my chin, gently persuading me to look at him. "Isabelle..."
I stared up at him, my hand rising to his cheek. "What?"
Merrill bent his head to my ear and whispered three words, and my heart jumped in my chest.
I slid my arms around his neck, pulling him in for a final hug, and my mouth found his ear. My lips moved, whispering the same words back to him.
Merrill pulled back quickly, and his eyes found mine. The sounds from overhead were louder, closer and I fought the urge to scream Graham's name, to race back up the stairs, grab him, pull him down to us, protect him the way he'd always protected me.
"Isabelle.." Merrill's voice was desperate and a million things were said in that one word. Slowly, he leaned in and brushed his lips across my cheek. I closed my eyes, painfully aware that this was it. This would be our last time.
There was a good chance we weren't going to make it through the next hour.
Merrill leaned back, brushed my hair off my face and then, turning quickly, headed for the back of the basement. "Going to wedge something against the door.." Reaching the shelves, he stood back, eyes scanning the area frantically.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I turned quickly, my heart thudding in my chest, not knowing what I expected to see. Please let it be Graham.
I waited, my heart pounding, acutely aware of Morgan and Bo standing rigid beside me. Both of their eyes were fixed on the door.
We waited.
My shoulders slumped in relief as Graham's silhouette appeared on the stairs. Unless the aliens had suddenly developed the ability to morph, of course, in which case we were in real trouble.
Graham's eyes were focused, determined as he marched into the basement. We were all now under the house. From overhead, there came a crashing sound, and I froze. It sounded as if the aliens' attempts at breaking down the door were starting to pay off.
Graham turned, gripped the doorknob with one hand, and flung it back.
The basement door slammed shut with a resounding finality.
Hope you enjoyed that! I'll post the next chapter soon-not sure when, though, as I have a ton of revision to do, too! But I promise you I will get it up within a few weeks-I seem to be updating this fic at a rate of one chapter per month at the moment! But it is going to be finished, don't worry!