Tuesday, 13 January 2015

Silent Scream: Part Nine

[If you need to get caught up, parts 1-8 can be found here.

I highly recommend clicking on the music link.]

He paces in his kitchen, waiting for Jenna to pick up the phone. It rings out. He sighs in frustration and hangs up, checking that he has dialled the correct number. He has.

“Come on, Jenna,” he mumbles, dialling again. “Pick up. Pick up pick up pick up.”

By the fourth unanswered call, his hands are covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He wipes them on his jeans – which are several sizes too big now – and sends her an email.

Hey, Jenna. Where are you? Did you forget that I was back in LA today? That I was supposed to come over after work? I’ve been trying to call you to arrange a time. Call me asap. Please.


He puts his phone in his pocket and looks down at his untouched muesli and almond milk. There’s no way he can eat it now. He tosses it in the trash, washes the bowl, and heads out for a walk. He can’t sit still. He checks his phone anxiously the entire time, switching between calling Jenna and simply staring at his phone, willing it to ring. By lunch time he is desperate to get into his car and drive over there himself, but after a month of being away, he is needed at the agency. He barely listens to the crew as they run through all the things he would normally care about. He can’t care today.

He can’t do much of anything.

Where the hell are they?

By four pm he sends everyone home, unable to stand it any longer. He runs out to his car as soon as the last person leaves and jumps inside, kicking it into gear and speeding out of his driveway. He gets to Jenna’s house a full fifteen minutes quicker than he normally would.

Her car is in the driveway.

He flings himself out of his car and runs up to the front door, banging on it much harder than he intended to.

No answer.

He bangs again, even harder this time, but he can’t hear it. He can’t hear anything over the sound of his heart throwing itself against his ribcage.

Thin tendrils of cold panic wind their way around his heart. He starts shouting.

“Jenna! Alexander! Alexander!”

He tries to look inside through the window on the left of the door, but the curtains are drawn.


Through the gap between the two curtains, he sees it.

A hand.

A body.

A body.

A body.

Everything slows down and speeds up simultaneously. Fear gives his frail body enough strength to kick down the front door and he charges inside, screaming Alexander’s name.

The body.

The body.

He rushes over to where the body lies, barely able to see through the terror clouding his vision. He falls to his knees beside it.

Beside her.


“Oh my God,” he chokes out. “Oh my God.”

His fingers fly to her pulse. It is thready, but there. For a moment he is torn between staying to help her and finding Alexander, but his body makes the decision for him and he is on his feet, tearing through the house and screaming Alexander’s name until his throat is raw.

He is nowhere to be found.