The price of silence

“2:00 A.M.”

The first crash jerked Christiana awake like a gunshot.

She lay frozen in bed, heart pounding, straining to hear through the darkness. Maybe she'd imagined it. She thought. Then another crash.

Glass this time, shattering like someone had thrown a bottle against a wall. She grabbed her phone with shaking hands, it was 2 am. No notifications. No intruder alerts from the security system.

Which meant the threat was already inside.

"Dad?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

She ran, her bare feet against the hardwood, her old band t-shirt twisted around her waist. The hallway stretched forever. Every crash from below made her flinch, made her want to turn back, lock her door, pretend this wasn't happening.

The study door stood open. Christiana stopped in the doorway and felt her world tilt sideways.

Her father was destroying everything.

He grabbed books off shelves and hurled them across the room. Ripped pages out in fistfuls, paper flying everywhere. His massive desk was flipped over, drawers yanked out and dumped. Files everywhere. His laptop smashed on the floor, screen spiderwebbed with cracks. Picture frames shattered. The leather couch slashed open, stuffing pulled out in chunks.

This was the same man who ironed his jeans, who hadn't missed a board meeting in all her life, who got physically uncomfortable when books weren't aligned on shelves,now was destroying his own office.

"Dad, what are you..."

He didn't hear her. Didn't even pause. He was tearing through the filing cabinet now, throwing folders into the air. His shirt was soaked with sweat, hair sticking up in every direction, face red and twisted.

"They took it." His voice cracked high and desperate. "All of it. Every single file. Gone."

"Dad, you're scaring me..."

"That bastard knew!" He laughed, wild and crazy. "He knew the whole time! He was waiting...just waiting..."

He grabbed a lamp and smashed it against the wall. The bulb exploded into pieces.

Christiana's hands were shaking. "Dad, please, just stop and talk to me..."

He spun toward her.

The look in his eyes made her take a step back.

He stared at her like she was a stranger. No, like she was dangerous. His chest rose, eyes too wide, seeing something that wasn't there.

"Who are you?" His voice dropped to a growl. "Did He send you here? Did he?"

Fear flooded her veins. "It's me. It's Chris. Your daughter."

Still nothing. Just that awful, empty stare.

Then something flickered and he lunged forward. His hands grabbed onto her shoulders, fingers digging in so hard she gasped.

"Chris." His breath hit her face, hot and sour. "The files from 2009. Where are they? We need them. They're coming for us, baby. They're going to take everything..."

Tears poured down his face but he didn't seem to notice. His whole body shook.

"Dad, you're hurting me..."

"Fifteen years!" His grip tightened, nails biting into her skin. "I thought we were safe. I thought it was over. But he never stopped building his case. Never stopped planning. And now...." His voice shattered. "Now we're dead."

"Who? Dad, I don't understand...."

"HIM!" He shoved her backward. Hard.

Christiana stumbled, barely catching herself against the doorframe. Her shoulder slammed into the wood.

"He stole everything from me!" Her father was screaming now, veins bulging in his neck. "My work! My code! My entire life! And now he's finishing what he started! He's going to destroy us!"

Then his face went white.

His hand flew to his chest, clutching at his shirt. His breathing turned sharp and fast, too fast, like he couldn't get enough air no matter how hard he tried.

"I can't..." He staggered, grabbing for the desk that wasn't there anymore. "I can't breathe...Chris, I can't..."

His knees buckled. He went down hard, hitting the floor and curling into himself. His whole body convulsed, fingers clawing at his collar.

The hospital's psych floor looked exactly like every depressing movie version painted it. It was stuff, fluorescent lights hummed too loud, walls that were grey with sadness.