She cracked open the window to invite in the storm. The air smelled of electricity and muck.
The rain was beating down to a hiss. It's mesmerizing droplets spitting rudely through the screen, making the pale flesh of her waifish arms prickle with goosebumps right up to her delicate neck. Sonja reflexively flipped up the hood of her zip-front sweatshirt and slipped her phone into her back pocket, never breaking gaze with the thousands of strand-like streams on her bedroom window.
The slam of the front door and angry stomping from her stepdad's return broke the storm's spell.
"JENNY! COME HERE!" Dean barked each word staccato from the foyer. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?" he demanded of her mother, his roar reverberating from the marble echo chamber throughout the house. Sonja heard her mom's swift footfalls racing to quell her step-father’s wrath, or at least cajole him into his office and have the discussion out of earshot.
"Don't want to upset the child." Sonja sniggered.
Then the frantic arguing muffled behind the thick privacy doors raised an alarm in her that she thought had been buried with her father.
In those days, the paper-thin walls of their little blue house couldn't protect her from the daily eruptions, from the scathing jabs and sobbing. It was always the same fight, or maybe Mom and Dad would fight about all kinds of things. It didn't matter. It all rolled together.
Sonja tensed listening to the harsh tones and frenzied pitch, the fist slamming and protestations. The pit of her stomach told her this was a marital meltdown. She knew the cues. She just hadn't heard them in three years. Not since she'd found Dad, crumpled and hollow.
This type of arguing was new for Dean and her mom, and it sounded savage, definitive. Usually, they were all smiles and schmooze. At events, at the dealership, Dean Mann would be sure to introduce his new wife-slash-business manager with a grin and a wink, always with his arm around her. Jenny could hold her own, but they seemed to make it work easily. She knew what she got in Dean 'The Car' Mann. Trade up, trade off.
Sonja was an adjunct, a tag-along and an apt spectator. Maybe that's when the thought first came to her. No, probably not. And certainly not why.
Abrupt silence. She waited. Nothing. Sonja heaved a sigh of relief and slammed her window against the rumbling thunder, the sound of which seemed to echo the disquiet in her subconscious. And, to shut out the rain, the never-ending rain. Torrents had been pelting her bedroom window for days. The worst storm Hadleigh had endured in years had rolled in during the weekend of March break. A frigid mass of low, threatening clouds had shrouded the town from the time she walked home from school on Friday. The dark skies had opened up late Sunday, drowning most local plans and ensuring Sonja was trapped indoors. Not that she would have done much else. No happy family getaway to a sunny destination had been planned. There was no ski trip with friends for the week.
Something was brewing at the dealership that needed Dean and Jenny on-site. Sonja got the sense it was pretty serious. Dean had been distracted, almost moody lately, and her mom had been fussing and brutally attentive. They may have told her, in vivid detail, the specific nature of the problem facing the dealership—their livelihood. At 17, Sonja only wanted to pop out an AirPod just long enough to get the gist. They'd be busy with dealership woes all March Break. Details not required. Sonja would be home alone. She actually preferred it that way and had the perfect sanctum for today's high-functioning introvert.
Her room was airy, simple, and easily accommodated her most treasured possessions. Covering most of one wall was her granddad's mahogany armoire with the worn, spotted mirror. She knew all its nicks and dents, and the noise from the door's creaking hinge was permanently etched on her memory. She'd never fix it. The outer doors and one of the inside drawers could be locked with an old skeleton key, which she'd turned into a pendant. Sonja would often stare absently into that worn mirror from her wrought-iron bed, the second of her most treasured possessions. Her mother had insisted that a good night's sleep was invaluable, and she had not resisted. The result: queen-sized pillow top with crisp luxury bamboo sheets and a matching duvet set to envelop her nightly. Good call, Mom. It did nothing for her sleep. That was beyond linen quality. But at least she could struggle in style.
The last treasure was all Sonja -her enviable gaming setup. Triple high-end monitors, and she was always updating components and accessories. This had been her passion and her salvation for forever, seeing her through every kind of childhood chaos from boredom to social isolation to family destruction.
It was her neighbour Gavin, a year older and two inches shorter, who first tried to teach her all about computers and gaming. She was scrawling something in chalk on the driveway when Gavin's red hair, seemingly ablaze, backlit by the sun, appeared above her. He introduced himself as most eleven-year-old boys will, "Wanna check out my new setup, it's so awesome."
"K," she remembered answering coolly, though unsure what she was about to see. Not wanting to interrupt the day's spat, Sonja just left her parents a note in chalk and took off. Gavin led her down to a small room in his wood-panelled basement smelling of chips and cleaner. His pride and joy was installed at the far end of the room, on an old black Ikea desk just big enough for the components.
"Check it out!" He'd said excitedly as he ran over to hog the only chair. Sonja was instantly hooked. She stayed 2 hours that first night and spent most afternoons over at Gavin's after that. Two months later, her knowledge had surpassed that of her friend. After 6 months, with the help of Gavin's dad, a collector of old PC parts, she started to build her own. It worked. It was magnificent-ish.
Sonja's latest build was close to perfection, on a budget of redirected funds. Cash from returned sweaters, accessories or other unwanted gifts was channelled into components. She placed her setup just next to her room's large bay window. It offered abundant natural light and a view through the garden to the street.
Soon, the crocuses would sprout, offering early sprigs of colour. Then little blue flowerets would blanket the lawn. Her stepdad’s squadron of gardeners would swoop in to prune and primp, weed and trim, so the perennials could thrive and bloom in a well-orchestrated sequence. Something was always fading, flowering or on the verge. The foxglove was nipping at the tiger lilies. The lilies are fading? No worries, here come the black-eyed Susan.
But Sonja's favourite was the giant lavender lilacs. The delicate scent of their heaping clusters of blossoms would waft in and coat her room. Fall was no less spectacular, electrifying the leaves into their array of yellows, oranges, or cherry and scarlet reds. In any season, she'd often take breaks from her onscreen world to lose herself in this view.
Today, though, even this idyllic nest couldn't completely offset her anxiety. This storm had been incessant, unnerving. More severe weather was in the forecast, too, including a flood warning, and then freezing temperatures were to follow. Peering down through the slats of her blinds, Sonja could see a bourgeoning stream filling the road as the sewers struggled to choke down the excess rainwater.
As she pulled off her headset, Sonja shivered at the high-pitched howl of the wind tearing through Hadleigh's streets. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. She paused, settled. But the roaring wind wouldn't leave her in peace. The tree branches lashed the house, and the ragged, erratic slapping jarred her, amplifying her unease. Sonja felt a deep growl of thunder. Then, a near-simultaneous flash of lightning and giant crack of thunder exploded.
Blackout.
A scream pierced the air.
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