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THE DAY AFTER
13. Not what I had in mind.
[TAILS, David Macintyre]
I think this is what is generally known as the cruel twist of fate.
I had to take that motherfucking detour, didn't I?
I figured maybe mom and dad would've gone to bed. Even if dad found my laptop, which is likely, he'd have left it in his study when he went to bed. Maybe.
But of course, fate or bad luck just HAD to intervene, particularly when I rounded the corner to my house.
NOT a pleasant sight…
God…
This is…
Awful…
I refuse to let the pang of fear make me stop my bike, making it sway lazily due to my lack of control. My eyes are fixed on the house. MY house.
This…
Who…
Did this…
"Oh, my god."
My house is surrounded by squad cars and armed officers. A fire brigade is on standby, as is an ambulance and several paramedics.
And…
Holy…
Is that a fucking G.U.N.?!
This is…
Somebody attacked my family!
Somebody SERIOUS!
"What the hell happened here?!"
Still having the sense to know I'm too young to drive, I hide the motorcycle behind a tree. I never DID get the guts to make a fake ID. I sprint to the nearest cop and grab at his shoulder.
"Hey! What the fuck happened here?!"
His rotund face looks down in surprise, nose reddish and running. He runs a forearm across it and sniffs.
"Stay back from the line, kid," he says. "Go home. What are you doing out so late?"
"What happened?!"
"Stand away, brat!" His round, clean shaven face goes red, his nose probably redder. His brow furrows.
"I fucking *live* here!"
Instantly his attitude changes.
"You better not be lying."
"Do I act like the kind of person who would give a crap if I was?"
He thinks it over.
"Well…"
Thank god for incompetent cops. Or something like that.
"We're not sure," he begins. "But we think someone or something broke in and tore the place apart. That much is obvious. We've got a guy talking to the father upstairs, so we'll know some more pretty soon…"
"When did this happen?"
"I dunno, maybe a couple hours ago…"
Oh god…
Right after I left.
RIGHT AFTER I LEFT…
"Ooh, that doesn't look too good…"
I look up from the ground at hearing this and watch the door, as does the cop.
"What?"
"That," he points.
Two paramedics carry mom out on a stretcher. Her face is cut, her hands blood soaked. She's unconscious.
Next comes…
What the… good god…
My five year old sister, Alia.
…dead?
Is she DEAD?!
…
…
…Can't worry now… no…
Now Tyler walks out of the house, limping with one arm hanging at his side. The other is supporting Miranda, who is clamped around his neck and crying into his shoulder. He isn't even clutching the big red hole in his muscle shirt. That looks like a mortal wound to me.
His head is bleeding, his lip cut, and his eye black.
He hands Miranda to one of the medics he just pushed from his body, and collapses.
"SHIT!"
Your reaction right now would likely be the same as mine. Ignoring the police line tape and protests of the officer and rushing to his side. But then, I don't know you, and I don't think you know me.
He rolls over weakly. Something in my mind tells me not to help him over. I don't.
This is pathetic.
He looks up at me while the medics come to his side and start to lift him. I expect him to smile softly or something, but he just frowns.
Then he talks.
"Why… weren't you… here?" he chokes out.
"Tyler, what the hell happened?!"
He doesn't answer. The medics hoist him toward the ambulance, despite his stubborn, but feeble, resistance.
What the…
The way he asked me that makes it sound as if I knew this was going to happen. Like I left so they would die and not me.
Well…
Fuck him. He can burn for all I care.
But…
What…
Happened…?
…
…….
You know what, since I'm here, I may as well get what I came for. Laptop.
I head around back. There's no way I'm going in the front door. I'll get caught. Maybe I should go in through my room window, or something.
Let's see…
The back of the house is no better. Jesus, look at all the cops. And the damage…
The back door is no more than a pile of splinters, and there are enough cops to bring down Hannibal Lecter back here. One of them seems to be trying to get a G.U.N. pilot to haul his giant metal ass away. I'm not sure, but I think the G.U.N. are pretty freelance when it comes to stuff like this. Maybe he's interfering.
Fuck sakes, how I am supposed to get in?
I duck back past the police line before anyone sees me long enough to care. I look for a different way in.
…
I see one. But I'm not gonna like it.
I head for a nearby tree. I gingerly climb up, looking for a high branch.
Damn.
The highest one is too loose. I'll have to go for the lower one. This is gonna hurt…
I check the height. About the same as the second story window.
I breathe heavily.
"Tally ho…"
Leap.
I wince and yelp, spinning my tails as quickly and frantically as I can. My body sinks several feet as I cross the air at an above average speed. The side of the house rushes to meet me—specifically, a closed window.
"Aaagh!"
I give it everything I have and force by tails to lift me up a few more feet. My arms swing upwards and my fingers barely lock onto the gutter of the roof. I quickly pull myself up, forcing another agonizing propulsion upwards. Finally I flop onto the roof, panting hard.
…
That was the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life.
While I have a moment, I may as well explain something. No doubt you'd think that I could've intentionally crashed through the window and finished inside completely unscathed, correct?
Well, you know what? The thing you see in the movies is breakaway glass. It can't cut you. I have a friend named David who accidentally shattered the glass pane in a door when he hit the wooden part of it, and the glass flew over a foot and clipped him in the arm. He was in a bandage for eight weeks, and left with a pink, eye shaped scar on his left forearm for the rest of his life.
So let's see. Put up with ass pain for… probably an hour, or end up looking like the guy in that Tom Cruise movie for the rest of my life. Feh. It isn't a difficult decision, even at… however fast I was going.
Right, what was I doing again?
I stand up semi-easily, used to heights, balancing myself. I look down and check for anybody who saw me.
No cops are crowding nearby or anything, moreso than usual, so I think I'm safe. I make my way to the hallway skylight. I slide it open, noticing my surprise that it isn't shattered into countless pieces. I climb down and let my knees bend on landing, standing up again.
I look around.
Dear God.
The house is a fucking war zone. Mom's favorite vase is lying in hell-shaped pieces all over the floor, along with the skylight glass, torn clothing, and blood. The walls are scorched and dented and bloody.
This is…
Is…
…
"…"
Laptop… where.
I check my room, dodging loose ceiling and stepping over other broken objects. There's nobody in this part of the house.
…Ouch…
I won't bore you with details. Use your imagination.
However, there doesn't seem to be a battered, useless pile of computer parts anywhere.
Where is it…
I creep my way around the house, at first careful not to be seen, but then realizing that there's nobody inside at this moment. I check each possible location with little patience or time for a total strip search; I KNOW there will be cops around any moment.
Parents' bedroom… no.
Parents' closet… no.
Family office… no.
Living room… no.
Rec room… no.
Guest room… no.
Tyler's room… no.
Miranda's room… no.
Alia's room… no.
…no.
I begin checking more out of the ordinary places.
Bathroom… no.
Attic… no.
Basement… no.
Laundry room…no!
KITCHEN…NO!
FRIDGE…NO!
MEDICINE CABINET…NO!
…
DAMN IT!
…
Shit…
Look, obviously there's only one possible place it can be. I knew it was going to be there from the start, but…
I wish I didn't have to look there.
Dad's study. And I haven't seen him leave or be carried out on a stretcher yet.
Eesh…
Oh well… only one way to find out.
…This room is different from the last time I was here.
See, dad's a perfectionist.
He kept a PERFECT study, all the freaking time. All his books were lined up to ruler-straight degree on the shelves, his stationary and supplies always flawlessly arranged on his desk, which was always spotless without fail. The computer desk and TV were always in perfect positioning so he could see the TV while he worked. He always let hell out on us if we, God forbid, went inside, let alone screwed up his seamless workspace.
Now, multiply, or rather divide that by a couple of rampaging attackers so serious that the G.U.N. gets involved.
See what I mean?
It's almost funny…
Heh, heh, heh…
…
Ha, ha…
…
…
What am I saying?!
It IS funny!
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
I resist the need to laugh out loud, but I can't restrain a small chuckle at least.
Good thing, too…
Because when I creak the door open a little more and look in further, I see dad—talking to who is obviously a Fed. FBI, dumbass.
Fuck, NOW I remember! The cop told me they were up here!
I decide against slapping my forehead, instead writing a proverbial rain check and settling for a frustrated grimace. I put it in my proverbial pocket with the laugh I owe myself.
Okay, my dad is talking to the FBI. I have to listen to this…
"And they just… they just started tearing the place apart…
Dad is broken.
He's sitting at his desk, which is surprisingly still intact, as usual, clutching the sides of his head with elbows on the table top.
"What happened then, sir?"
"Well… I remember one of them came upstairs and knocked down the door to the hallway at the landing, that was the first real sign for me that something was going on… I got up to have a look and heard some loud noises, mostly stuff being thrown around."
"I see…"
"Then one of them sort of… came back out the hallway door and rushed up here, my door was already open, and I saw it come up. I was still at my desk, and I tried to get out of the way, but I was too scared…"
There's a pause, and he starts again.
"It started knocking things over, like it was looking for something, and I tried yelling at it to leave, but it wouldn't listen… then Tyler came in running, and he was carrying a weight in both hands. He ran up and hit it."
"Resourceful boy."
"It fought back, I think, but I couldn't really tell, and he ended up hitting it into a few things. I watched. He eventually got it to leave and knocked it down the first flight of stairs. Then he chased it and pinned it to the wall, and started hitting it again… He just kept going…"
"Could you tell if it was fighting back yet?"
Dad pauses for a moment, massaging his temples.
"No."
"Okay, continue."
I keep listening, and piece together a rough recollection of what happened.
Tyler kept working on the first one, but shortly another one came out from the hallway, more or less the same size but a little more solid. He shifted his attention to it and hit it once, but nothing of any significance happened. It knocked him against the wall and he fell to the ground. He didn't move after that.
Next the attackers split up again, one went downstairs, the other back into the hallway. Dad still wouldn't leave the study for fear of dying. There were screams, and Tyler tried to get up again.
He managed to, and staggered through the hallway. More children's screams. He came out a minute or so later hitting the bigger one, which knocked him back again. He had Miranda clinging to his back like a piggyback ride, but she was screaming as loud as she could. Eventually the intruder slammed its right arm into his stomach, and he stopped moving, choking. It pulled back and he had a massive wound there, bleeding. He fell forward to the ground and the thing stopped. Then it picked up Miranda…
It looked her over, then put her back down, shaking what appeared to be its head. It went back out.
Shortly afterwards mom came running out, carrying Alia, screaming. Both of them followed. The black one knocked her across the head and she fell down onto the stairs leading to the study, with a bleeding cut or bruise. The bigger one forced Alia out of her arms, looked it over…
It took her by the throat… she screamed…
The thinner one said something that sounded like "Remember, special instructions" in a very raspy voice. The big one nodded.
Then it snapped her neck.
…
…
…
They dropped her and left.
…
No…
Fuck, no…
Not my sister. Not her. She was only five.
I try to resist crying. To my surprise it doesn't take much effort. At most I crack a single tear.
Fuck, no…
That's when dad called an ambulance, and the police. They arrived soon enough, and the fire department and G.U.N. mechs appeared a little while later.
He was too distraught and frightened to go near them.
He sat at his desk crying until the police arrived. A fed came upstairs, and you know the rest.
…
If I have to write about this someday, I would label this as a very heavy emotional turning point in my life. Not so much because of what happened, but because I now know that even during the violent assault of his family and death of his youngest child, my father never left his office.
That's just so damned pathetic I can't even put it into words.
"Where was your son Miles during all of this?" the fed asks. I knew I'd come into this at some point.
Long moment of thought.
"He left about fifteen minutes before it happened," dad says. I feel a pang of guilt.
"Oh?"
"We had a fight about something earlier, and he left… he went to play with some friend of his in the city, this girl that we've forbidden him to see. I think he said her name was Amy. Amy Rose."
Oh, shit.
"Amy Rose… can you describe her?"
"I've only seen her once, and I knew she was trouble the moment I laid eyes on her. Pink hedgehog, wears dark clothes, lives with some stripper adopted mother."
"Named Rouge?"
"Could have been. The name was mentioned at some point, so it's likely."
Oh, SHIT.
"Actually, we've been after the mother for some time now…" says Feddy.
"Is that so?"
"Yes. I'm not allowed to release information… suffice to say she's been suspected of some very heavy offenses… are you sure her name was Amy Rose?"
"Yes, positive."
"Do you know where they live?"
"I'm not certain, all I know is that they're in some dilapidated apartment block in the city."
OH, SHIT.
"Well then… I'm not sure how to tell you this, but from the information you've given me, your son is the suspected accomplice of a serial murderer."
"… my… son?"
"Yes, sir. I know it's difficult."
"… I don't care. Just get the little bastard out of my life."
…
…
God… dammit.
Dad, you asshole.
YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE.
I don't care about the laptop anymore, even though now I can clearly see it sitting on dad's desk.
I run downstairs and out the front door, teeth clenched together in rage.
I ignore the cops yelling at me and leap over the police line, sprinting to my bike.
I hop on and kick it into gear, before revving it hard and ripping out onto the road as fast as I can.
I don't even slow down to give the study window the finger as I drive away from it, down the empty road, and let it fade out of my sight.
If I never go back to that house, that home, that life, that goddamn cesspit of an excuse for a fucking family…… it'll be too soon.
I fucking hate you, dad.
I fucking hate you.
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To be continued. Reviews are appreciated. Oh, and visit our site: http://tdaproject.tripod.com.
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