Day #6, Midnight – by Amber Averay
She crept out the window, moving as slowly and quietly as she possibly could. Lira had been on her best behaviour for the last few months, avoiding notice and sidestepping the trouble her siblings found themselves in; a sly ploy to put her parents at ease. Prove to them they had nothing to worry about where she was concerned. Eden got caught smoking at lunch? Pfft, Lira wouldn’t touch cigarettes! Nova came home from a party the other night stumbling drunk? Lira was always the designated driver and wouldn’t touch a drop. Sage skipped school to be with his friends at a rave? Lira had the perfect attendance record.
She’d deliberately built the façade that she was a goody-goody, flying under the radar, going about her days behaving herself and escaping their parents’ and teachers’ scrutiny.
It had been so easy, but so, so boring!
At least, she thought as she dropped soundlessly to the grass beneath her window, she’d had other things to keep herself entertained. It was all in preparation for tonight, anyway. Every fight she’d backed out of, every invitation she’d declined, every hellish chore she’d smilingly done, had all been so that this night could happen.
She picked up the bag she’d prepared and dropped out the window earlier and, crouching low, darted across the front yard, hoping tonight wasn’t the night one of her siblings decided to make a break for it, too. They’d love nothing more than to alert their parents that smug little Good Behaviour Girl was sneaking out!
For a split-second she thought about turning around and going back inside, but thoughts of Tate filled her head and they spurred her on. She hurried down the driveway and didn’t breathe again until she was on the other side of the hedge and safely out of sight.
The street was quiet, dark – standard for this suburban family locale. Far as she’d seen nobody stayed up past ten-thirty here – unless they were teenagers hellbent on creeping into the night.
Right now, it appeared she was the only one scampering from shadow to shadow.
It was kind of eerie.
Slipping her hand into her jeans pocket, she fingered the small flick knife she carried for protection and immediately felt better for it. She was adventurous, but not stupid. She knew it was dangerous roaming around – especially at night – without any sort of defence.
Her small weapon might not be much, but it was something.
She checked the time on her phone screen and hissed an oath. She was going to be late if she didn’t move!
She walked quickly but without running, not wanting to catch anyone’s eye should they happen to be up, happen to look out the window.
Another glance at the time showed her she was cutting it close. No messages from Tate, though. She quickly fired one off to him, saying she was nearly there and would see him soon.
Normally so quick to reply, now there was nothing.
She frowned, pocketed her phone, and kept moving.
She reached the quiet intersection of Dent and Marrow, disappointed that he wasn’t there yet, and shrank into the shadows of a lillypilly tree, arms folded across her chest, and scanned the streets.
Where are you?
No reply.
Tate, you’re ten minutes late. What’s going on?
Nothing.
Further texts and DMs went unanswered. Lira’s anger mounted, anticipation becoming worry, worry becoming impatience, impatience becoming rage.
He’d stood her up! After months of online chatting and flirting and planning, he couldn’t even bother to show up, to tell her he wasn’t coming.
She peered at the time again. Two hours late. She got the hint. And if she were honest, she was ready to go home. Though not a cold night, standing stationary for a few hours, creepy crawlies racing over her bare arms, had left her chilled and her ardour long deflated.
‘Screw. You,’ she muttered, slipping the small knife from her pocket and flipping it open. She’d expected to be driven home, almost right to the driveway, but now it appeared she’d be trudging back: pathetic, alone, and simmering with affront.
Tate had had his chance. He’d not get another. Lying, pathetic, useless bastard. What a waste of a night, she thought, crossing the road and ducking around the corner into the shadows wreathing the mouth of Bucket Lane.
She’d barely taken a few steps when a hand thumped onto her shoulder, stopping her abruptly.
She didn’t think. She didn’t pause. Lira spun around, knife ready, and slammed it upward, sinking it to the hilt into her assailant’s chin. It pierced flesh, tongue, chipped bone, impaled itself through the mandible and into the roof of Tate’s mouth.
Lira gasped, stumbled back.
Tate?
‘Oh shit, oh shit, Tate! I’m so sorry.’ Fuck, fuck, fuck. ‘Where were you? You snuck up on me. I thought you’d changed your mind.’ She was babbling, panicked, and revolted by the blood pouring from the wound, from his mouth.
He grunted, groaned, whined, gesturing weirdly with his hands as she stood frozen. I have to help him!
What do I do?
Call an ambulance!
Stop the bleeding.
Remove the knife.
Cut his throat…
Jam it into his temple…
Make the noise stop…
Shut him up!
‘Oh, God, hang on, Tate, please. Let me get that out for you.’ She gripped the handle, and tugged on the knife. It slid free surprisingly easily, and he half-growled, half-moaned at the new, painful sensation.
‘I’m sorry, Tate, I’m so sorry.’ I’ll fix this. ‘Everything will be ok.’ She smiled, reassuringly she hoped, and scooted behind him. ‘I’ll help you sit down, call the ambulance.’ Before she’d finished speaking her knife had sliced across his throat, and his gurgling bubbled into the night. Across the road someone’s upstairs light flicked on, and Lira swore. She was running out of time.
She hopped backward as Tate toppled to the ground, his eyes finding hers. Accusation and despair filled them.
She glanced around, before quickly leaning over his juddering form. ‘I am sorry, Tate. But if you weren’t late this wouldn’t have happened. It’s your own fault.’ Then she fled, rushing around the corner and back onto Meadows Road where she made her purposeful way to Duck Road. From there she would take the backstreets home, moving from shadow to shadow.
She was good at avoiding notice. She’d be home soon.
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