It was raining that day too.
It hadn't been forecasted, a mischievous downpour that mercilessly drenched everyone in its path. Businessmen in ridiculously expensive suits who would never be caught without an umbrella held their briefcases about their heads in an effort to protect their meticulously styled hair, walking as rapidly as their pinched-toe shoes would allow. There was a collective race to get to the nearest indoor shelter, a sudden commotion of people running in all directions as the sky seemed to pour endless buckets over the unsuspecting people of Mid-Titan.
Amidst it all, I walked casually, dodging people left and right like some impossible obstacle course. My bag was placed backwards so that the bulk of it could be protected from the rain by my blazer. As much as I hated school, I suspected that the cruel, eagle-like headmistress would make me pay if I damaged the electronic tablet we did all our work on. I walked slowly, however, a kind of defiance. Besides, I didn't mind the rain, the way it cooled my heated skin was refreshing and the sound of it hitting my shoes and blazer, made from oddly rigid material, was calming after a exasperating day of equations and information I couldn't care less about.
Walking down the Main Street of Titan and taking my time crossing the abnormally long zebra crossing, I tried to recall what exactly I'd learnt at school that day. Something about the Global Warming Crisis of… whatever date that was, and impossible science equations that I bitterly concluded to be utterly useless in daily life. At least on Wednesdays school started at the crack of dawn and ended around midday, it meant that I would have the entirety of the remaining day to try and beat level 15 of the game I'd been stuck on for months.
Instead, I found myself recalling the layout of the level, reflecting on the part where I always went wrong and my character ended up dead. I began drawing my interpretation of a battle strategy in the air with my finger, furrowing my brows in concentration.
Eventually, I made it to my apartment block, newly moved in. There had been many times in those past few weeks where I'd found myself walking the five miles to outer Titan where our old apartment used to be, in a daze. Then, somewhat angrily, I'd walked the remaining seven miles to get back to our new apartment. Mum would scold me then, wondering why I was back almost three hours later than usual. I bet she thought I was out doing drugs or something or being a typical teenager who she seemed to think spent their spare time vandalising and causing chaos. No, my criminal activity came later, after she disappeared.
I burst in through the automatic doors of the lobby, still sketching in the air with my finger. My index finger sliced through Banks' e-cigarette smoke and I could feel his narrowed-eyed gaze inspecting me, sizing me up.
"You've got to sign in, kid," he shouted after me as I began to ascend the stairs.
"You know who I am, sign me in yourself," I retorted, without bothering to give him attention.
His footsteps pounded from behind me and I felt a hand grip the back of my blazer. "You're not going anywhere until you sign in and mop up the mess you made," he spat the words, as if he were the most insulted person in the world.
I glanced behind me, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. He pointed dramatically to a puddle of rainwater I'd dragged in, his eyes widening like a goldfish as if he thought that would look intimidating.
I shrugged him off. "Don't you have cleaners for that?"
"Don't test me, kid. I'll make your family's life living hell."
I chuckled then, turning round to face him. "Really? I'd like to see you try."
I'd walked away then, foolishly. How would I know that he would try to kick us out of the building for the next years of us living there and increase our rent unfairly? Honestly, I thought only cartoon super-villains vowed revenge over small inconveniences like that.
Walking up the dimly lit stairs, I cursed. While trying to regain the money I'd spent on the newest gaming console, I'd bought cheaper temporary black hair dye which, of course, had apparently now decided to dye my shirt as well as my blazer. Noticeable black blobs now decorated the expensive uniform. Mum really was going to kill me this time.
Now inside, it was safe to get out my phone. I inspected the damage with my front-facing camera, seeing that my usual black hair was completely blonde, the dye running down my face and dying most of the top of my shirt and blazer. I spit on my hand and rubbed my face vigorously, sub-consciously pushing into our apartment. I habitually ditched both the bag and my drenched blazer in a heap by the front door. Mary wound around my legs, purring happily. I bent down and tickled her behind the ears.
"Mum," I called, "I've managed to dye my blazer and shirt black. I will do the laundry if you pay me."
Sighing, I pushed the door open to my room and went straight to the mirror, throwing off my wet school shirt and putting on a black t-shirt. I inspected the damage properly, running my hands through my hair hopelessly. I needed to dye it again before tomorrow. Going anywhere without dyed black hair was like a short-sighted person leaving the house without glasses: it was a necessity.
"Mum?" I called again after no answer. "I'm back, did you hear me?"
Usually she'd wait for me to get home and have a snack prepared, greeting me from her favourite chair near the window with a slight wave. The lack of this wasn't unusual at that point: things had been hard since she'd been fired from her job. She'd spent the last few weeks since we'd moved into the new apartment trying to smile through tears and struggling to get out of bed. She would stare at the wall, at nothing in particular, trying to compose herself.
I sighed at the lack of response and walked into her room after knocking impatiently.
The sight that greeted me knocked the breath out of my lungs like a punch.
Mum was usually a neat-freak, even during days when she was struggling. Fixing her bed and organising her makeup table was a form of therapy for her.
This wasn't the room of a neat-freak, at least not then.
The bed was broken in one corner, the mattress overturned and the pillow ripped, its stuffing lying like fake snow about the room. The makeup table was overturned, the mirror smashed into a million pieces and her precious makeup lying in a mess of powder and liquid, staining the white fluffy rug.
My heart began to beat impossibly fast, thundering in every part of my body. I sprinted down the hallway, calling her name frantically now. In my distracted entrance, I'd completely missed that the main part of the apartment was destroyed too, from head to toe. Things were overturned, books were strewn and ripped about the marble floors and Mum's favourite china was smashed and shattered.
Blinded by panic, I barely knew what to do, how to act. When there was no response, I dialled her number from memory, my hands shaking and messing up the number multiple times. I pressed 'call'. No answer.
"Pick up, pick up, pick up."
I dialled the number again, pressed 'call'. No answer.
I let out a cry of desperation, pressing 'call' one more time.
The click at the other end of the line told me someone had picked up.
I began to sob in relief. "Mum? You scared the hell out of me, where are you?" I had already picked up my drenched blazer and slung it over my shoulder, heading towards the door. "I'll come and get you."
Then I stopped dead. The only thing that greeted me at the other end of the line was a harsh static. I pulled my phone away from my ear in a mix of surprise and confusion. I checked the phone, someone had definitely picked up. I put the phone back to my ear. The static continued, a harsh assault against my eardrums. I listened to it carefully regardless, trying to separate any differing sound from the turmoil.
That's the only reason I heard it, a faint voice, distinctively my mother's.
There was crying, quick frightened breathing that sent chills down my spine. Then, one word. One word that sent my world spinning off its axis.
"Help."
The line went dead.
My phone dropped from my hands, landing fatally on the floor.
My eyes were fixed on the back of the door, my jaw dropped in horror.
Near the doorknob, at the edge of the door, was a bloody handprint.
Her last desperate attempt to stop herself from being forcefully taken.
Since that day almost four years ago, I had never seen my mum again.