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Chapter 1

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Torn

Above the fireplace mantle, next to an intimidating portrait of a finely-appointed man with thin white hair, hung a small wooden clock. The clock was a mix of browns with gears and other mechanisms made from a variety of woods. The whirling of the gears and belts were not only heard but also visible, as there was no casing around the clock's innards. A singular dark band stood out, covered with glass and demarking the face of the clock. An unexpectedly white background highlighted the sharp velvet-red numbers painted on by a calligrapher.

Red coals crackled from freshly added wood as a young girl intensely watched the small clock from her perch atop the ottoman in front of her grandmother's rocking chair. Her impatience grew more palpable with each tick of the second hand but she refused to break her gaze. Having been locked in a self-imposed staring contest with the face of the clock for the better part of forty-five minutes, she was determined to witness the change of the hour.

Isabella Boyce was a young girl of six and three-quarters, with a darker latino tan and rich brown hair. Although normally a rambunctious hell raiser, like her brothers, Isabella had been indirectly issued a challenge by her grandmother Mabel to watch the clock until the top of the hour. A few minutes beforehand Mabel caught Isabella constantly checking the time in anticipation for her parents' return to the house, to which Mable echoed one of her oft heard mantras to the child, "A gawked pot ne'er boils."

Mabel, a woman of 65 with tightly curled faded red hair, had an unapologetically thick Scottish accent. She would make attempts to soften it from time to time when the grandchildren couldn't follow directions, but otherwise felt the children should learn their roots properly. She rocked slowly in an old wooden rocker while beginning to knit what appeared to be another wool hat.

"Isabella, ye'v git bit 5 meenits left o' the oor. Oan ane haun, a'm impressed. Oan th' ither, ye shuid be plooter th' wee jimmies."

The pair sat in the stillness of the house while the moments clicked on, only to be interrupted by the occasional bursting of sound as two rutty-red haired boys stomped through the room. Oliver and Finlay were the twin younger brothers of Isabella though you wouldn't suspect so at first. Their skin was much more fair than Isabella's, though not quite as ghostly as their grandmother's, and their red hair stood out against the deep brown of their sister.

Isabella came from her mother Daniella's previous marriage, when she was working as a military nurse in America. Daniella was always a high-functioning busybody who seemed to need something to do. When school wasn't providing enough stimulation, she joined the JROTC and subsequent ROTC at university while she majored in Nursing. Daniella met Álvaro, Isabella's father, during a deployment to the middle-east. Upon returning, the two found they were stationed together and the rest is history. Unfortunately, Álvaro was eventually diagnosed with leukemia, like his mother before him, and passed away when Isabella was two.

Daniella decided to stay in the military to provide some stability for Isabella while she navigated being a single parent and jumped at the chance to be stationed overseas when the opportunity came up. She felt a drastic change of pace was necessary to get past mourning Álvaro, plus, since Isabella wasn’t in school yet she felt this was her only chance to live outside the states.

One weekend night out with her coworkers at the sketchy bar just outside of base, along with a truly embarrassing number of poor decisions, ended with Daniella waking up the following morning in the hotel room of husband-to-be Jack.

"Damn it!" Mabel exclaimed after a couple minutes while unraveling her work, "t'was supposed tae be gloves! Ah cannae focus wi' thae wee jimmies tottling aboot."

Mabel started to sit forward to get up, pausing a moment and to look at her granddaughter. She ran a few fingers through Isabella's hair and patted her gingerly on the head, careful to avoid a still-tender scar that ran along the backside of her head.

Her attention broke from Isabella when she heard something crash in the kitchen, "Ye twa wee shites ur in fur a paddling if ye tried tae sneak cookies wi'oot permission!"

After the creaking of floorboards subsided, Isabella let out a sigh of relief as the minute hand was only one tick away. One more minute and she would have proven… something, she imagined. She wasn't quite sure what she was gaining by staring at the old clock on the wall, but she found she was gaining a better appreciation for it. The whirling of gears that fell in line just right to move the hands of the clock somehow was holding her attention more and more as she continued to stare. The contrast of the browns slowly grew over time, to the point that she could now distinguish where edges ended and where joints held multiple pieces of wood together. She counted 60 individual pieces to the clock, an appreciable 50 more than she thought was there to begin with.

Her grandfather's clock was beautiful and started to make her wonder if she could build something as intricate as it. She knew her grandfather would be willing to teach her, but also knew he had a bit of a temper and was prone to storm off mid conversation if he didn't like the way it was going. Even at eight and three-quarters, she felt that was childish behavior. If she wanted to learn fine woodworking though, she would have to figure out a way to navigate in between her own stubbornness and her grandfather's temper.

Blue. White. Cold. Flash. Stillness. Cold.

Isabella blinked, her attention drawn to her grandmother's silhouette in the doorway to the kitchen but her unwavering gaze still upon the clock.

"Dae ye ken whit yer brothers did? Thay tried tae hulp themselves tae th' yule cookies afore thay cooled aff 'n' knocked ower mah sister's teapot, th' wee shites." She shuffled back to her rocker and sat down with a heavy sigh, "Wee jimmies wull be wee jimmies ah suppose. Noo whit wis ah daein'? Ohh richt, making a bunnet."

After a moment, the clock finally chimed. A small music box had been worked into the clock to go off at the top of the hour, playing Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

Isabella looked back at her grandmother, beaming. "A pot might not boil, but a clock still ticks granny Mabel."

"Aye it does. A'm impressed." She glanced around for the boys, "'N' here's yer prize."

From her apron pocket Mabel produced a small sugar cookie in the shape of a christmas tree and handed it to Isabella. Isabella took the cookie and mimicked the 'hush' sign her grandmother was giving her, a sacred vow of secrecy was established between the two, as she devoured the cookie in seconds. While she was sitting in the afterglow of a well-earned treat, and collecting the crumbles that remained on her fingertips, the front door swung open revealing her slightly snowed-covered grandfather and parents.

  "Thare yer!" Mabel said turning to the trio, "Git in 'ere oot o' th' cauld, let us hae a keek at ye. Yer faces hae gaen rid juist fae th' motor tae th' doorway. "

  "Tis snell oot." Thomas Boyce, Isabella's grandfather, let out with a shake that sent a dusting of snow onto the entryway carpet.

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  Mabel shuffled to the entry to help Thomas take off his long winter coat, as he had lost the flexibility to do so himself after falling from a stepladder last summer.

  "Ah kin dae it, ah kin dae it." he mumbled but accepted the assistance none the less.

  "Ye wouldn't believe whit trauchle they wee jimmies git themselves intae while ye three wur oot. Ah tell ye they're ilka bit jack whin he wis a bairn that's fur sure." Mable spoke loudly while helping the others out of their winter wear to help fill the silence. "Well? How wis it? What'd thay say?"

  "It went... Fine." Jack spoke slowly while returning a kiss on the cheek from his mother. He gestured his gaze past Mabel causing her to turn with him to face Isabella, who was peeking at the adults over the back of the rocking chair. "I heard your brothers were a handful while we were gone, how about you?"

  Jack brushed past his mother into the room towards Isabella and ruffled her hair before slumping into one of the other wooden chairs in the room.

  Daniella entered the room a few steps behind Jack, taking Isabella's cheeks in her hands and kissing both. "Baby you're cheeks are cold, sit closer to the fire. Jack doesn't she feel cold?"

  Jack places a hand on Isabella's forehead before sliding back in his chair sighing, "She feels fine."

  "Ella se siente bien, dice, como si no supiera cómo se siente una cara fría..." Daniella mumbles in a hushed, fierce tone. She often spoke in Spanish under her breath when she felt irritated.

  "I heard that." Jack responded with his eyes shut, head resting against the back of the chair. Somehow despite all these years of marriage Daniella still managed to forget that Jack held a minor in Spanish from university. "I think your hands are just warmer than her cheeks from being gloved for the past hour. Plus you held them against the heat on the way back."

  "It was cold!" She snapped back.

  "Wha's hungert? Th' casserole shuid be dane ony minute." Mabel interrupted, placing a hand down on Daniella's shoulder. "Kin ye hulp me set th' buird? Err... Tabel?"

  Daniella turned to Isabella and gave her a few more kisses on the cheeks and forehead before shooting a stink-eye towards Jack on her way to the kitchen.

  "You're awefully quiet, peaches." Jack said aloud without moving, still melting into the chair as he warmed up in the house.

  Isabella didn't respond but instead flung herself from the rocker into Jack's lap. Jack, justifiably surprised, sat up with a jolt as one of Isabella's knees colided with his stomach and he let out a muffled groan. His wide eyes came in turn first to Isabella and then to his father who was stifling a laugh from across the room. No doubt he had orchestrated the assault before he turned down the hallway towards the bathroom calling back, "Ah will check oan th' wee jimmies, getting intae yer auld toys if ah hud tae jalouse "

  "Peaches, you need to make sure an adult is looking. Like, at you. Before you jump into their lap." He could tell his words were not really being heard as she nuzzled into place, leaning her head against his chest. He sighed and leaned his head back once more against the chair but couldn't get quite as comfortable as he was before. He patted Isabella's back as the two sat in the quiet, listening to the soft crackling of a dying fire.

  Daniella watched from the doorway for a moment before returning to setting up the table.

  "Hee haw? Thay didnae fin' anythin'?" Mabel questioned softly as she moved a few of the dirty dishes to the sink.

  "No. After the surgery apparently they went over the footage a few times and sent it to London to get confirmation. Everything looks normal." Daniella matched the soft tone so her voice wouldn't carry to the living room. "Dr. Williams thinks that it might be a form of epilepsy, Dr. Bryer thinks it might be a brain infection like meningitis but it's presenting differently since we don't see swelling and she doesn't really get headaches. Then Dr. Jenkins from London thinks-"

  "Tae mony cooks ah say. You'd think wi' th' wey th' telly goes oan aboot medicine we'd be able tae figure oot how come that brassic lassie haes fits." Mabel huffed before opening the oven to retrieve a slightly overcooked casserole. Despite this, she deemed the inside undercooked and put it back in. "Whit aboot her referral? Hae ye heard aboot that?"

  "Not yet. She application went through though, we're just waiting on Hopkins to take the case." At this Daniella sat down at the table, setting down the rag she was using to clean with. She placed her head in her hands and lets out a mournful sigh.

  "Tis okay noo dear, tis okay." Mabel sat down next to Daniella and tried to sooth her by rubbing her back, "Everything wull caw oot a'richt."

  "I just don't know what to do!" Daniella let out in a hushed sob, "Everything we try, everywhere we go, no one knows anything about what the hell is going on. Don't they go to school for this? What the hell do they even teach them there? How to say, 'There's nothing more we can do' or 'More testing will be needed'?"

  "Listen, a'm sure whin th' referral goes thro'- " Mabel started before being cut off.

  "If!" Daniella cut off. She was cut off-guard at the volume of her voice before lowering it again, "If it goes through."

  "Whin, Daniella. Whin it goes thro' she'll hae a' th' newest newfanglt contraptions 'n' smartest doctors tae figure it oot." Mabel continued to rub Daniella's back before pulling her in for a light squeeze of a hug.

  The two sat in the stillness of the kitchen before their attention turned towards the smell of smoke and a loud beeping. Mabel stood up abruptly, "Mah casserole!"

  As Mabel opened the door to the stove it let out a light plume of wispy smoke before she retrieved the dish. Daniella wiped her eyes before grabbing the wash rag once again.

  "I'm glad you at least listened to Jack and finally got a smoke alarm. Might have saved dinner tonight." Daniella said lightly before realizing how frightfully familiar the beeping sound was to her.

  "Daniella!" Jack called from the living room, his tone tense and urgent.

  "Ah dinnae hae a fire alarm." Mabel said stiffly as the two women locked eyes and said in unison "Isabella."

  Mabel nearly dropped the platter as she threw it onto the countertop, while Daniella shot towards the doorway toppling over her chair in the process.

  Entering the room, Daniella saw Jack and Isabella in the same chair that she left them in only Jack was sitting up cradling an unconcious Isabella in his arms with a panicked expression across his face. When the pair locked eyes they acted with wordless syncronization as Jack nearly hurled himself next to the fire while Daniella retrieved a large heat pack and a blanket from a bag by the front door. When she returned to her husband and daughter Mabel had helped Jack remove his shirt to try and warm Isabella up with his body heat. Daniella cracked the metal disk inside the pack and tossed it to jack before flicking out the blanket and wrapping the two in it.

  "Whit happened?" Mabel asked franticly as Thomas and the boys entered from the hallway, called by the commotion.

  The twins, though familiar with Isabella's fits, didn't quite know how to act during them. It was probably the only time when they were still and quiet, in this case watching while holding onto their grandfather's hands.

  Jack and Daniella were experienced in her fits by now and mostly worked in silence in tandem. Thankfully, Isabella did not move during her episodes so they could easily retrieve her arm and fingers to check her vitals. Daniella pushed a button on a small device that was stuck to Isabella's arm to silence the alarm. The display read 35°C which Daniella read aloud and Jack recorded in a book Daniella had handed to him. She opened her medical kit to check heart rate, blood pressure and oxygen saturation first before checking her body over. Jack dutifully recorded whatever Daniella said in their log almost mechanically while keeping an eye on Isabella's breathing.

  The rest of the family just stood where they were and watched in a conflicted mix of tragic obligation to be present with a pressing desire to be literally anywhere else on God's green earth. Thomas moved the boys slightly behind him without knowing he was doing it, subconciously trying to shield them from the scene.

  The silence lingered. It was a supernatural silence, the kind of silence that took shape and had a malevolent mind of its own. A silence that felt so loud it could shatter glass and buckle a person to their knees it was so profoundly oppressive. A silence so hauntingly powerful it muted the crackling of the fireplace, the stiff breathing of everyone in the room and even the beating of ones own heart inside their cheast.

  It was interruptable by one sound alone, a thin beep followed by a ratcheting click as the monitor on Isabella's arm turned over to 36°C and then 37°C a few moments later.

  The sounds returned to the room as the monarch of silence left the room.

  "She's stable." Daniella managed in a reedy tight voice. She looked up at Jack's hollow face and leaned in for a kiss and a hug. She whispered in his ear, "Thank you."

  "For what?" Jack managed in a winded voice, he didn't realize it but he had been holding his breath during most of the event.

  Daniella didn't respond, she just cried into his shoulder as her work-mode faded to an adrenaline depleted, worried mother.