The rain clattered against the windowpanes, as the weak evening light suffused through the curtains of the small room. Inside, the color white was prevalent, the wallpapers a pearly white, partly covered with pictures of different idols. A fluffy white carpet covered about a third of the oaken floorboards.
Stuffed animals were everywhere. On the dresser, the desk, and on the queen size bed. They came in every possible color and make, making the otherwise utilitarian room feel lived in.
If you disregarded the bed, the room was otherwise very tidy. The neat desk equipped with a mirror and a stuffed teddy. School textbooks lay in a neat pile next to an opened girl's magazine.
The sound of cheerful humming could be heard, as a girl in her teens, sporting a dog onesie PJ and fluffy slippers, put her phone down on the bedside table. Turning to the bed, she busied herself, picking clothes among the myriad of different styles and cuts lying there. Practically dancing, with a brilliant smile, she was holding them up and comparing them, checking them against herself in the mirror.
The girl was around 155cm tall, with pale skin. Although she had a lithe figure and her chest was on the smaller size, she didn't mind it. Definitely not. Her shoulder-length red hair, hanging loosely, framed her freckled, oval face perfectly. With her big sky-blue eyes, sculptured eyebrows, petite nose, and full lips, she was considerably popular among her peers.
Although she knew the effect she had on males her age, she didn't flaunt it, preferring to dress conservatively.
It was different now, though. She was having that Osmium blockhead over in two days, and she wanted to look her best. Planning her outfit was the most basic of the basics, at least according to the magazine she bought.
A sudden ache came over her chest, startling her. It was like her heart was being squeezed painfully.
Tears threatened to pour down her cheeks as the phantom hand squeezed her heart.
The feeling went away as soon as it came, so she dismissed the strange sensation, summing it up as just another weird feeling she got when thinking of that blockhead.
With a nod and a brilliant smile, she settled on the outfit she would wear.
Breaking away from the mirror, a determined expression on her face, she skipped over to the desk, grabbing the magazine. Throwing herself on the bed, she continued reading the article where she had left off. Titled "How to catch your man in 4 easy steps, the dense Edition!", it was just what she needed.
When she got to step 3, her face flushed a crimson red. It read: "Step 3: Be direct! You need to be assertive. Be aggressive and ask him out first. Seduce him!" the scandalous words were too much for her young, inexperienced mind.
With the magazine over her face, she kept rolling around on the bed, squealing. Warm feelings were suffusing her entire body and she had a foolish grin on her face.
'Brrrr, brrrr, brrrr'
After about half an hour, her rolling was interrupted as her phone started vibrating.
Crawling over to the bedside table with the magazine in one hand, she picked up her phone, unlocking it.
Checking the caller-id, she noted with a frown that it was a secret number.
It was odd. She had opted out of getting calls from advertisers, so she didn't think it was one of those. She took a moment to study the screen, her face in a thoughtful frown. Seemingly deciding it on a whim, she pressed the green button.
It was clear the caller was currently outside. You could hear the heavy rain in the background, dulling the sounds of people shouting, accompanied by the occasional siren. Sounds not unusual to urban London.
"Yes, hello?"
"Ahh, it finally connected." A gruff, masculine voice sounded out of the receiver, startling the girl.
"Is this Ms. Claire Beckett that I'm speaking wi... Hey, watch where you're going, you daft shithead!"
The voice turned distant as it shouted out expletives and what sounded like orders.
The girl, Claire, was surprised. The caller was looking for her specifically.
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"Sorry about that, ma'am. So where was I... Ahh, right! This is Ms. Claire Beckett, correct?"
Slightly confused at this silly person calling her, she answered hesitantly.
"Umm, yes?"
"Ahh good! I was afraid the number was incorrect, Sarge would have my arse. Anyway, Ms. Beckett, I'm deputy Charles Wilson with the LMP. You should probably sit down for what I'm about to tell you."
A very ominous feeling came over Claire, as she sprung to her feet.
Neither her older brother nor her parents were home yet, and it was past the time they usually did.
Her brother usually came home around 7 pm, often practicing with his band. Her parents were normally home by 5 pm, having normal 9 to 5 jobs. It was currently 19:45 and she was alone in the house.
Glistening tears were starting to gather in the corners of her eyes, threatening to come pouring down at the slightest provocation.
"Did something happen to my parents or my brother?! Were they in an accident?"
She practically screamed at the phone, startling the deputy.
"Umm n-no, Miss. I'm calling about someone else."
Visibly relaxing, Claire let out a breath of relief, giving the deputy the go-ahead for his news. Her relief, however, was a preciously shortlived one.
"Actually, Miss, I'm calling in regards to a Mr. Kaley Spencer. I'm very sorry to inform you, Miss, that Mr. Spencer passed away in an MVA earlier this evening. A truck driver hit him head-on as he was crossing the road. As you were the only ICE contact in his phonebook, it was put on me to inform you." Deputy Wilson paused, waiting for a response. When all he got was silence, he continued with his terrible duty. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Ms. Beckett. I don't presume to know what your relationship with Mr. Spencer was, but you were obviously a very important person to him, I hope you'll bear this in mind moving forward. I hope you have a good evening, ma'am. As good as you can, at least, and stay safe." Still not getting a response, Deputy Wilson hung up the phone with a sigh, letting the poor girl process the news in peace.
Claire stood there completely still, frozen in time. With the sound of the phone hanging up, the time, which seemingly stopped, started moving again.
Having dropped both the magazine and the phone, her mind was slowly processing the phone call.
Tears began running unabated down her cheeks, her pupils rapidly dilating and shrinking.
Wrapping her arms around herself, her body subtly shaking, she looked as if trying to contain herself within them. Lips quivering, a lump began growing in her throat.
It wasn't long until the first heartrending sob ripped itself out of her throat. Sinking down to the floor, with her legs having lost their strength, she cried. Screaming out her pain, she produced ragged hiccups between the throes of her sobs.
Somewhere in the middle, she found a pair of arms embracing her. Attempting to console the inconsolable.
After some time, she ran out of tears. Feeling empty and ragged, she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Early morning light diffused through the curtains, illuminating the room within.
Its white colors looked bleak. Like the colors had washed out after too many times in the washing machine. The room looked like a battlefield. A very messy battlefield.
Clothes lay strewn all over the dust-covered floor, a few plates and cups cluttered together on the desk.
'Beep beep beep beep'
The sheets stirred slightly, as the invading sound interrupted the sweet dreams of the person inhabiting them. A groan escaped the nondescript lump on the bed, curling up, as the hateful sound continued.
"Claire! You need to wake up!" A female voice sounded from downstairs, prompting the sleeping person to awaken.
Another groan escaped the lump, as an arm stretched out of the lump monster, turning the alarm off.
"Five more minutes..." With these words, the blanket dweller promptly turned over.
Half an hour later, footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs, approaching the door of the dungeon.
Slamming the door open, the boss monster entered. Dressed in her trademark battle attire: Jeans and shirt battle apron, she stomped over to the lump of blankets, ripping them off.
"Nooo, my blankets! You demon."
Aggrieved at the heinous crime just committed against her, the girl complained.
The woman looked the girl over, noting the matted, greasy red hair and red, puffy eyes.
"Really, Claire, look at yourself and this room. Filthy and disgusting, both of them. You need to get yourself together, dear. Now get up, you need to be ready to go in one hour. I thought this was important to you."
Those words made the unwilling girl immediately wake up. Practically jumping out of bed, she shot out of the room, heading for the bathroom.
"That girl." With a gentle smile and a shake of her head, Mrs. Beckett headed back downstairs.
45 minutes later, Claire came down the stairs. Dressed in hip-hugging, blue jeans, a white off-the-shoulder top with flowing sleeves and a pair of heeled strappy sandals, she looked the image of a cute teenager going on a date.
Her mother, dressed in her own black dress, looked her over.
"You gonna wear that, honey? It's not exactly traditional."
Unperturbed by her mother's words she continued to the hallway, donning her coat.
"I am."
With a sigh, Mrs. Beckett put her own coat on and picked up her umbrella.
"Let's get going, better not keep your father and brother waiting"
Offering an arm to the younger woman, the two women walked together out the door, locking it behind themselves.