4 Chapter 4:"Intruder"

The last kids finally left, and the usual silence was restored. The house itself wasn't even that big, but it still felt almost like a mansion to Patrick, compared to his neat little flat in the city centre.

He went to the kitchen to have a glass of wine, but was disappointed on seeing that there was none. Even though he quickly suspected why, he decided not to mention it. Water was going to have to be the alternative.

Elaine appeared by the doorway just as he finished.

"That's Maya in bed." she affirmed.

"Right. Umm yeah, I might head to bed myself soon."

He looked at the clock on the wall above the refrigerator, and was surprised to see it was past eleven. He set the glass down and proceeded to leave, but as he walked past his sister, she stopped him, and said:

"You did well."

"Hm?"

"Today, with the kids. Good job. Thanks, Pat."

He shrugged. "Umm, sure, no problem. Besides, I had a little fun myself."

"Oh? Good for you, then. What did you think of Jake...?"

She then gave him a concerned look, and Patrick nodded gently.

"Not bad." he said. "I think he genuinely loved it. There were a couple of moments when I would see him... how to say it? Not looking good. But apart from that, from what I saw, he's holding up. He's a strong boy El, I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Great, that's really great."

"What about you?"

Maybe a bit too fast. The question caught his sister a little off guard, but she answered:

"Fine. Yes, fine..."

She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself, instead of Patrick. He gently squeezed her arm, and then saw that her lower lip was beginning to tremble. She looked away, but couldn't quite conceal the tears. The squeeze then turned into a hug, and so they silently stayed like that for almost a minute.

Elaine then finally let go, and their bodies separated.

"Anyway, we must get to bed." she sighed, sniffing at intervals.

"Right you are. 'Night."

"Goodnight."

Patrick made his way to the stairs, but just as he started to climb the first steps, he saw that he wasn't alone.

The seven-year-old boy was looking down on him from the top. He was in a sitting position, hugging his knees against his chest, motionless. He wore blue pyjamas decorated and covered in tiny footballs. His little face looked sad but distant, his eyes almost dead-like as he stared at Patrick.

Elaine's brother was caught slightly off guard, but he reacted quickly.

"Hey, birthday boy." he managed.

Jake didn't answer, his beautiful blue eyes still gazing.

Patrick tried again, realizing this was going to be hard. He sat down on the step beside his nephew. "So, seven years old, huh? That's a great age, you know. It means you're a big boy now."

Still no answer.

"I did many things when I was seven. I uhh, learned to swim, I played basketball with my friends, I went camping for the first time with my-"

He stopped himself just in time, as he was about to say something that would have ruined the one-way conversation completely.

"Yeah, anyway." Patrick closed the topic briefly, immediately cursing himself for being so pathetic. "Well-"

"What really happened to dad?"

And there it was. The dreaded question. The journalist's mind exploded inside as he searched for an answer, while keeping his face as steady as possible. What was he going to say? He briefly hated himself for talking to the boy in the first place. No, that was absurd. His mind raced, a gazillion thoughts flying in and out through his head in a matter of seconds. Fear invaded him, for he did not want to simply ruin the child's life with only a few words. Why did this have to be up to him? He prayed for Elaine to appear and intervene, but no help came... he was going to have to do this on his own.

Patrick then inhaled sharply, giving him a few more seconds for thought.

"Your father... as you have noticed... isn't here."

"You idiot" a voice inside him said, but he ignored it.

Jake looked away, down the stairs.

"He is going to be gone, for a long time. A very long time." The words came out long and slow.

A brief silence. "Why?"

"Jake, there's a... time in life when things get... complicated and hard." he exhaled. "And for some people, they get harder than others."

"Not too bad..."

He continued, still slowly. "So hard to the point that they can't cope anymore."

"Cope with what?"

Patrick swallowed hard. "With everything. Life, society."

"And... that's what happened to Dad?"

"Exactly. So, you need to be strong now, Jake, now that your dad is gone."

A conclusion? Of sorts.

The boy sighed. "Really?"

"Yeah! You're the only man in the family now. I'll be here for a while too, but you need to help me look after Mom and your sister. Can you do that?"

The boy nodded slightly.

"Good. Do it for Dad, I'm sure he would be very proud of you if he was here."

At this, the boy's eyes moistened and tears began to roll down his pale cheeks. His uncle hugged him tight.

"Thanks." he said to his nephew. "We'll be able to do this, Jake, wait and see. But it's bedtime, time to get some rest."

The pair then got up and headed towards the boy's room, Patrick immensely relieved at his failed success.

***

Time passed. The days went by as Patrick stayed with the Chamberlains. He got up every morning, and helped where he was needed.

One of his most frequent tasks was getting the kids to school every week morning. Jake was in second grade, and Maya was still in kindergarten. The two places were fairly close, but not quite at a walking distance, so the car journey was short. After that, Patrick would do regular chores around the house, sometimes while his sister was at work. Elaine was a nurse at the Gracie Square Hospital, and her brother had motivated and convinced her not to quit. Finally, whenever he had the time, he would get on with his own job. Progress was slow, but thankfully his boss was understanding of the situation and she wasn't pressuring him too much.

The day of the funeral arrived. It actually turned out to be quite a sunny day, but the atmosphere of sadness was obviously still present. Patrick saw unfamiliar faces everywhere, guessing they were either friends, distant family, or colleagues of the deceased politician. But to his hidden delight, Elaine wasn't keen on staying too long after the ceremony finished, and that was fine by him.

However, on the day after the burial, he was greeted by surprise.

Patrick had just delivered the kids to school one morning and had returned to the house. He parked the Peugeot (he had refused driving Alan's BMW) and walked up the steps to the front door, but when he went to open it, he realised it had already been unlocked.

Caution invaded him. Not fear, or worry. Just caution. Someone was in the house. It wasn't the kids, because they were at school, and it wasn't his sister, because she had left at six to go to work. Conclusion made: an intruder.

He silently opened the door, which made a small creaking sound, and slipped inside. The house was quiet, except for a shuffling sound... coming from upstairs. That was good, he or she would have no escape if they tried to run, unless they were absolutely crazy and would be prepared to jump out of a window. Even so, that was unlikely, so they would probably go for the alternative: one on one combat.

Patrick studied the sounds quickly, and worked out his options in a matter of seconds:

Advantatges: He was certain the intruder was alone. If there were more, he would have distinguished their footsteps by now.

Disadvantages: The chances of the intruder carrying a knife or any other sort of weapon were high. If the thief had any common sense, he or she wouldn't break into a home unnarmed. They would need a defense backup, in case the mission went sideways.

He then looked around. Improvisation was key. He could always go to the kitchen and grab a knife, but that would take too long and the sound of the drawers would certainly be heard by the intruder, giving them time to prepare. So he couldn't do that, he needed the element of surprise.

His eyes then landed on the wooden cabinet at the side of the hall. On top of it, there was a ceramic vase with daffodils inside, a framed picture of the Chamberlain family (that was strange, considering they had just lost a key member) and a red notepad, but with no pen in sight.

The vase was going to have to do.

Patrick picked it up and emptied the flowers out. A trickle of water flowed out also, landing on his shoes. Perfect. He then proceeded to creep up the stairs, as silent as Alan in his grave. Of course, it only ocurred to him when he was halfway up that he could have looked inside the cabinet, where there were probably all sorts of useful "weapons". "Great thinking Batman" he said to himself, not even stopping.

At the top, he distinguished the sounds coming from Elaine's bedroom. Smart thief. Jewellery, perfumes, maybe even a little cash. A burglar's paradise.

This was it. He arrived at the door, which was half ajar, and rushed in. A woman on the other side of the room looked round in terror, gasping, but it was too late. Patrick with one huge swing knocked her right on the head, propelling her backwards and landing on the bed.

But it wasn't enough. She was still conscious, even though a river of blood came flowing from her right temple, staining the white bedsheets. If she wasn't unconscious now, she was about to be, with all that lost blood. Patrick was about to knock her out for good when she cried out, shielding her hand from her face.

"Please, stop!"

And he did. Something was off. Still with the vase ready to strike, the journalist glanced around the room. Everything was in place. Not a single drawer was removed, not an object out of place. Strange.

His eyes then landed on the lady. In the shock of the moment, he hadn't taken her in. She had dark skin, and Patrick immediately realised that she had other Latino features. No cliché mask, no gloves, and certainly no sign of any sort of weapon.

This was all too much for Patrick. He gave her a confused look, out of breath, and asked:

"Who are you?"

She looked up at him, blood everywhere. "I'm just a cleaner" she staggered, before passing out.