Good Morning (Day 2 Part 1)

Ryder woke up the next morning to the sound of his siblings fighting.

He groaned and rolled over to the other side of his tiny twin bed, which he had since he was thirteen and kept saying he was going to buy a new one, but he never did.

“You never pay your rent on time!” Simone, his older sister, screamed. Vic was quieter in his response, but somehow, it only made Simone get louder.

Ryder figured now was the time to get up, since he had work and was expected to be in Clove Prescott’s office for ten o’ clock. It was some boring meeting about . . . Ryder couldn’t recall, at least not right now.

He barely slept last night, solely because all he could think about was Lucille Warner in that dark warehouse, and the Lucille Warner Hearst and Yuna knew and missed. He’s never felt more like an outsider in his entire life, the whole affair that Ryder could not possibly be more detached from.

“I’m doing the best I can—”

“The best you can? Oh, please, the best you—”

Ryder slammed the side of his fist into his wall, a common tactic that occasionally made them shut up, but that morning, they continued.

Ryder was aware that his living situation was unconventional. He thought over possible options to get out of the house—move across the block, rent an apartment like a real almost-thirty-year-old. But as he buttoned up his shirt, he knew he wouldn’t be doing that, Simone needed his more-than share of the rent, plus, why do that when he could just stay here? It was easier.

Ryder straightened his tie as something shattered in the kitchen. He didn’t flinch; his eyes were still focused on his fat fingers weaving through the delicate fabric.

“That was Mom’s, you—” Simone screamed.

Vic interrupted her with even louder profanities. Ryder assumed it was because he also realized whatever it was was their late mother’s. Give it a day, Ryder thought to himself, grabbing his suitcase by the door.

When he emerged from his room, Vic and Simone were standing over the broken China. Simone slowly raised her eyes to meet Ryder’s.

“We really do become our parents,” Ryder said as he stared at the China.

“God, Ryder, that’s not funny,” Simone barked. Vic sheepishly took a few steps back, his bottom lip quivering as he looked up to Ryder.

Ryder stalked past Simone and Vic, lifting his feet above the fragmented glass decorating their floor. He could feel them glare at him as he walked past—a new enemy for them to turn their sights to.

Also, like their mother and father.

But Ryder was out the door before they could strike, and when he came back, the squabble didn’t matter much.

Lucille Warner’s morning was not filled with siblings yelling, or anyone yelling for that matter.

Lucille had been posted in her living room reading since three. She tried to close her eyes, but then the urge to get up again and have a glass of water, or something to eat merely because she could quickly overtake her. Although, out of all the possibilities for how her night could go, that was certainly one of the best.

This apartment was still new to her—she still didn't trust it. Every shadow was an assassin waiting to strike, every creak in the floorboard was someone waiting to jump out at her, and she feared the closet doors that didn’t shut all the way.

They were double doors, and one of them had been thrown off its track. It was impossible to fully close, and they were right next to her bed. Every time she glanced over, Lucille couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone waiting in there.

Dr. Travers said it would go away. One day, her new home would be a safe place. One day. He made a lot of promises. One day, you’ll be okay to sit in the dark, all by yourself. One day, you’ll forget that it had ever happened.

Every morning Lucille woke up, and she hoped it was that one day.

She sighed, placing her book down on the little side table the apartment came with. It was some botany book. She couldn’t read fiction anymore—the stakes were too high.

Instead, Lucille flipped through dull pages describing science or maybe rereading a novel she read when she was younger. Younger was in her early twenties. Younger was before.

Thirty isn’t old, but every minute in that warehouse counts for a decade.

Lucille threw some clothes on, a dark maroon cardigan to conceal her gun and badge. She could still remember the pang in her heart when she handed over her badge for the work, “But it’ll feel so nice to get it back,” Yuna reminded her.

Lucille felt nothing when she got it back. The only thing she thought about was how its existence was the reason she was trapped for so long.

She stared out the window for a moment before leaving the house, watching two kids ride their bikes freely, hair blowing behind them from underneath their helmets. Their hearts were so big, they couldn’t be contained in Lucille’s apartment.

And just as quickly as Ryder left his house, Lucille turned away from the window, thinking of nothing other than putting one foot in front of the other.

Whether or not she could do that.