17AN:
This story is supposed to be like 24 (the tv programme) - you know, one episode for every hour. But this is like one chapter for every hour. I dunno if I'm going to do 12 or 24 though. Or I might just leave this as a one shot... dunno.
Anyway, plz r'n'r. if people like it, I'll update it.
One a.m.
It's one a.m. and I don't have much time. I only have a limited escape window, as my brother works night shifts. He leaves at two. There's not much I need, but I have written a list to tick off before I go. As soon as I have everything, I rip up the list and burn it with my lighter - I try and waft the smell of smoke away from the door and the fire alarm. I slip all the items into my dads navy sports holdall. He plays tennis down at the club every once in a while, but not for the last couple of months. Mom says he's getting unfit and lazy. They don't like each other much. They're probably going to get divorced.
Outside, it's freezing cold. Negative numbers on the thermometer. I pull on an oversized black jumper to keep me warm: I might be out all night.
Ten past one. I sit drumming my fingers against the side of my bed. I don't know what to do now. Or what to expect.
It's so damn cold! I rub my fingers together but they begin to go numb. I begin to search through my drawers. I swear someone gave me some gloves one christmas - yeah, here they are. Woollen ones, thick and black. Warm.
Maybe I should go now. It doesn't matter if I get there early - as long as I don't meet my brother on the way. He works as a nurse at the hospital. Very rewarding. Not much pay, though. I could never work for the medical profession. For one thing, I flunked Biology.
I stand up. My feet have pins and needles, and I have to tread them out. I reach for the holdall. I pull on the handles and stagger backwards. It's suprisingly heavy. Nervously, I look at myself in the mirror. Scruffy brown hair, small brown eyes, chunky jumper and low-ride jeans. I look scared to death. My skin is pale and afraid.
I twist the door handle, pressing the door into the frame and pulling back suddenly. It doesn't squeak that way. The hall is clear, as I knew it would be. Mom's obsessed with that oriental thing. Fung Shui, is it? Something like that. She hates things cluttering up the corridor. It's kinda annoying, but it works out better for me. At least I don't have an obstacle course to fight my way around. I turn left, and immediately I'm at the top of the stairs. From here on its a mission: every floorboard creaks on the staircase.
I grab hold of the banister with my left hand, clutching the bag with my right. I wrap both arms over the top and dangle the bag over the hall below. I slowly move down, placing a foot between all the uprights. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. It's methodical, but painfully time-consuming. Half past one.
There's a sound from upstairs. A movement.
My brother.
I gulp, willing myself to move faster. My hands are shaking. Only three more steps. Two. One. Ground floor. I cross the hall, and reach the door. It's quiet upstairs. My brother must have gone back to sleep or something. Nothing is moving except my heart pounding. The keys are on the hook by the door, and its like playinga game trying to get them off. You know, the one where there is a wire connected to a buzzer, and you have a hook and you have to make it follow the line of the wire without touching it. Eventually I master it. I hear a floorboard creak. I follow the sound of his footsteps - he's going to the bathroom. I'm safe for about another ten minutes, before he comes downstairs.
I move the key towards the door. I need to focus so it doesn't make any sound as it hits the lock. I twist it. I put the keys back, exactly as they were before. And now I'm ready to leave. But, damn my family for safety, there are about five billion bolts to undo. And a chain. Jesus Christ. I glance at my watch - twenty to two. I begin at the bottom and work up. Slide, scrape, rattle. Slide, scrape, rattle - another slow process. Finally, the last one done. I pray that no one notices that the door is unlocked and unbolted.
My brother is nearing the top of the stairs. Not long now - I can count the seconds in my head. I touch the handle, pull down. Quickly, quickly. My heart is so loud that everyone must be able to hear it. Quickly, quickly. He's on the top step. I open the door, holding it steady with my hands. He takes the next step. I squeeze through the tiny gap, careful not to open the door too wide. The icy draft would be noticeable. The light coming in from the lamppost outside would be noticeable too. I'm on the outside now, and dragging the door with me. Fitting it into the frame. Closing. Shut.
I still have to be careful. On the other side of the road, a house has the curtains wide open and lights on. I can't risk being seen; I stick to the shadows. I slide past the garage and press up against the wall. Four houses down, there is an alleyway I can run down. But running now would be too obvious; the footsteps would be too loud. I glance at my watch. Ten to. My brother likes to leave a little early. I guess today will be no exception. I won't have time to dash into the alleyway. No, for now I'll have to hide and wait.