Number 14, AU

Seven Minutes

Nora's father always told her that the best part of life was the journey, but she was starting to think a little differently.

Picture this: Nora Gray, fifteen years old, comes home to the news that daddy was dead after Uncle Barney pulled a knife out during an argument with his son, three caravans down. Nora had accepted that her father had a hero complex after he got involved in the fight. He never knew how to stay out of them, anyway.

Of course, the death of her father meant that the caravan had one less person to use the hot water, but it also meant that there was one less person to man the game stand that her family owned. Which was pretty okay, had it not meant that daddy's replacement was Patch Cipriano who - amongst being devillishly handsome and mysterious - was unpunctual and irritating. Sure; his pretty face had girls flocking, and his arsehole attitude did little to deter them, but the number of times Nora had to cover for him because of his insolence was terribly frustrating.

It was difficult to get angry at anyone in the caravan complex. It was like getting angry at your family – these were people who you had lived with for your whole life. And the anger was tiring (grudges lived a long life in these parts).

Naturally, there was a time when everyone cracked. This happened to Nora the night before her Chemistry exam, when her mother stumbled into the caravan (tired after a long time manning the stand), apologising and explaining she simply couldn't find Patch and she was sure she would have collapsed if she had to stay out there any longer. Darcy was holding down the fort for an hour – just enough time to find Patch, Nora's mother reasoned to her before nodding off.

Nora was fuming. Her heart rate spiked and her pen snapped, leaking ink all over her hand, which she didn't bother to wipe off. She would kill Patch. Kill him. And then he would sit down and help her study for her acids and bases test while manning the stand and finally, he would buy her cake after all her troubles. She would scare him so much that he wouldn't dare to miss another day of work. He. Wouldn't. Dare.

What did he take himself as for, anyway? Did he think that he could just float by without investing his efforts into work? He was an arsehole. Nora was going to teach him a lesson that would benefit the whole of mankind.

Pulling on a pair of boots and a random jacket that wasn't even hers, Nora stormed out into the mud outside her home. She was still forcing her arm through the sleeve hole as she trudged through the mud, her feet slipping in the unlaced boots. He was so dead.

Upon reaching his caravan, Nora knocked on his door hard enough to bruise her knuckles. "Patch, I swear to God I'll pin your balls to my mantlepiece if you don't open up!" She followed this up with another round of knocks.

Nora wasn't sure if he was in there. She didn't care. She needed to get her anger out, or she would explode in a bitch fit. Or maybe she already had?

"I know you can hear me, you smarmy bastard! If you don't open the bloody door in the next two seconds, I'll bleed you dry and sell you off to a glue factory!"

Nora kicked the door in her fury, and tugged at the handle.

The door slid open.

This was very uncommon. Even though they were a tight-knit community, practically anything had access to the homes. If nobody was in them, they would stay locked to prevent animals or theives entering.

Angst pumped through Nora's blood. Her heart rate dropped in dread.

Something had gone wrong.

She pushed the door open and met no resistance. This was Patch's caravan, she was sure. Nobody else lived there. He had joined the group a handful of years ago on his own and his past life had remained a mystery.

Nora stepped into the home. The lights were on. Her boots were loud on the plastic flooring.

Slow steps lead Nora into the home. She reached the only separate room – the bedroom – and pushed it open.

On it lay a sleeping Patch.

Nora allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. She walked up to Patch, swallowing the foreboding feeling and shaking his shoulder.

"Patch, wake up. We need you at work."

Nora shook his shoulder harder, but he was unresponsive. Her fingers slid under the covers to feel his unnaturally cool skin against her own.

"Damn."

Nora pushed the covers off Patch's shoulders in a hurry, exposing his torso and the warm blood he was laying in.

Patch Cipriano was announced dead at approximately ten thirty that night.

If only Nora had been seven minutes earlier.

A/N: A little different to what I usually do! Hope you enjoyed x