2 prologue 2

School ended the same as usual.

But instead of Kristen's father waiting outside the school gate, it was the family driver in their family friendly Terrier Hound, an older yet somewhat comfortable version of the cars made by the British Car Association. It was usually Kristen's daily ride to and from school and it was a welcome relief compared to the day before. Once Kristen got in, the driver wordlessly handed over a list to the girl.

'The madam asked the miss to pick up these items,' the driver said.

The driver was a Scottish, his accent never leaving his English. How he ended up as the personal driver for the Willows, no one knew, but the family trusted him enough to drive everyone around alone. Kristen took the list with a slight hmm and studied it's contents.

Buttons, lace, finger guards...

Most embroidery materials.

Mother must have used up most when making her new blouse, Kristen thought. She somewhat felt guilty that her mother would always spend so much time to personally stitch her clothing when they would always buy them anywhere. But her mother loved to stitch, and Kristen didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise.

'Where to miss?' asked the driver.

'The usual,' Kristen said.

The driver nodded and drove off. It was usual for Kristen to pick up things that her mother personally needed. It had something to do with her psychometry. Any object with a history, once touched, gives flashes of memories to her mother. Some may be normal memories of the past owner and some may be nightmarish. It happened when she touched an old book from the library that Jonathan brought home from school.

Things didn't end well. Her mother spend days crying and locking herself in her room, reliving memories and feelings that weren't hers. No one bothered to ask what she saw, for feeling that asking her to repeat the experience seemed rather cruel. Even Kristen's usually cold father panicked after the incident and ordered everyone in the house that whatever object, be it clothing or cutlary, even cups that were purchased should all be brand new. Even the books that she read had to be newly printed. And the job was eventually handed over to Kristen.

All the men in the family were never home, and the servants did not quite understand things relating to the odd family of five where things would sometimes fly off their places, fires bursting here and there and the occasional talk that made the whole household feel like a haunted mansion.

The car parked at the side of the road, facing the Celyon-Britain World Trade Center. It was a large building, the biggest building in Colombo with rising white walls and towers. The main reason the British captured Ceylon as a colony was due to it's geographic location being at the center of the Indian Ocean. The Trade Center was gradually constructed for that purpose, even if the island eventually became a military base.

Kristen, for some reason stared at the building for a while before making her way towards one of the alleys where the fabric shop she usually frequented to was located. It was hidden amidst the buildings around, cramped between a hotel and a jewelry pawning shop. The shop didn't have a name. Even if it's entrance was small. But once you enter, you will realize how long the shop is.

The driver entered the shop, following after Kristen as she ran her hand though the dozens of draping fabric.

'Ah! Miss! How are you today? What can I do for you?'

Kristen looked back at the list.

'Buttons,' Kristen said in the native tongue. The owner of the shop smiled. He was an old fellow, who had to struggle years before he could get the shop running. Surprisingly, he had a lot of customers, the Willow's family ladies being one of them. He took pride that such a distinguished family would take interest in the measly fabric shop of his, so he lead Kristen to the end of the shop to where there was a shelf filled with buttons stacked in old biscuit tins draped in paper.

The owner left, leaving the girl to examine each button one by one. He didn't understand with the girl's obsession in examining every single item before she bought them. If there was even a sign of it been held or used, she would discard the item immediately.

Guess rich folk thought differently, the shop owned said to himself.

Kristen took her time picking out the polished buttons, examining them. Usually new buttons had small holes and even holes where the overcoat of lacquer might have even sealed the hole. It was a matter of simply piercing it with a needle and the button would work just fine. But while she shopped, she heard the noise from outside. It seemed like people yelling. There was even a scream.

'Miss!' the driver said. He looked troubled, but they did not know what was going on.

The shop owner went out. But never came back it again. From the streets, Kristen could see people running, as if fleeing for their lives.

'Miss, I think we should leave,' said the driver.

It was clear that something was not right. Kristen followed the driver as the two of them ran out. They reached the end of the alley and was about to head into their car when Kristen stopped and looked up.

There was something, hovering above them. Kristen squinted her eyes and tried to get a closer look since the sun was blocking her view. There were about a dozen of them, one in the middle and the rest spread out in a circle. They looked pointed, like rockets.

'Miss!' the driver yelled.

Kristen turned back towards the car, her hands shaking.

Missiles. They where missiles. They were probably held above ground by the help of a psychic. Kristen ran to the car and got in. The driver tried to start to car but the car just won't budge.

'Shit! EM interference!' the driver yelled.

People all around them were running away from the Trace Center building.

'We'll have to run,' the driver said, getting out of the car. Kristen followed, not even feeling her legs.

At that moment, all twelve missiles fell, starting from the center. Kristen ran, she ran as fast as her feet could take her, following the silhouette of the driver who fled in front of her. But she was too late.

What she heard was a blast, a black so deafening she didn't feel her ears. But what she felt first wasn't the heat, but a tremendous force that pushed her forwards, lifting her off from her feet.

No one ever knows when death might invite one to its grasp.

When Seetha heard the explosion, she was stitching the sleeve of her daughter's new blouse. The needle stopped halfway. The explosion was not loud, but one would feel the tremble that passed through the ground.

The cook came out of the kitchen to Seetha's room, 'Madam?'

Seetha stood up with a start.

'W-where did the sound some from, Maari?'

'From the town, I think.'

Seetha didn't know what overcame her. The first thing she did was to run to the telephone as her fingers moved on her own, pressing the number to her husband's office. It rang one, twice, trice but she didn't keep the phone down.

Finally, someone lifted up the phone.

'Who is it!' an angry voice cried out.

'W-William?'

'Seetha? What...(sigh)I'm fine.'

'The children?'

'The target was the trade center. They're fine as well.'

But the moment Seetha heard the trade center, she felt her heart squeeze.

'Seetha? Seetha? Are you all right?'

'D-Did you say the Trade Center?'

'Yes, Seetha, why?'

Seetha couldn't stop her voice and hands from shaking as she held the phone.

'Kristen. I sent Kristen there!'

Seetha didn't know how many hours she wanted. One hour, two hours, three?

When William and the boys got home, she was almost sprinted to them. Her husband got out, followed by Jonathan and Charles.

'Wh-where's Kristen?'

The look on Major General Willow's face said it all. He didn't look at her face.

'Where is Kristen?'

'Mother!' Jonathan said, holding up his mother before she fell on her knees.

'Where is Kristen?'

'I'm sorry Seetha.'

'Where is my daughter!'

'I'm sorry,' William said, not knowing what to do or say. Was he supposed to hold her, say something to make her feel better? They lost their daughter. He doubted anything could make her feel better. Seetha looked after cared for Kristen the most. It was understandable for a mother to be close to her daughter.

The remaining rubble didn't help much. Everything around the trade center were either ashes or in pieces. The only clue onto which proved that Kristen was in the vicinity during the time of the blast was the number plate of the family car that was found far away from the blast sight, burnt and half melted among the hundreds of bodies and wreckage.

He had to go back to work immediately. He didn't have time to comfort a grieving wife or to even investigate the death of his daughter. Form what they know, she might be dead. It would be a few days before they actually found a body. He could only watch as Seetha cried, gripping their eldest son as she wept, screaming in the native tongue that he never bothered to learn much.

'I'm sorry.'

Hearing this, Seetha looked straight at him as screamed, 'You.. never cared... You aren't sorry, you really never cared.'