Goodnight (Broken Heart Series)
Goodnight: Prologue

The two girls sat on the floor of the wardrobe waiting for the grunting to stop. For the clients, the girls could be in the living area of the flat whilst Mama went to the bedroom, but they’d learnt early on that when Mama’s boss came it was better if they were truly hidden. During the day it wasn’t a problem; during the day they made sure they were either at school or in the library, but when the library closed they had to come home. The smaller, blonde-haired girl closed her eyes and tried to remember one of the English stories she had read recently: visions of wardrobes leading to foreign lands, lions with magical powers and children who ruled kingdoms floated through her mind and she relaxed.

‘You stupid bitch!’ The gruff Russian voice shook the girl out of her mental escape and she peered through the gap in the slats, gripping her older sister’s hand more tightly. ‘You think you can cheat me? I know this is not full amount.’

Her mama’s voice begging him to re-count it was cut off by the crack of his fist connecting with her jaw. There was silence for a moment until another crack rang out through the small room, and another. Sickening sounds of bones breaking filled the air, and the blonde girl held back a sob.

‘Useless whore,’ she finally heard the man mutter as he picked up the wad of notes from her mother’s side table and headed to the bedroom door. After they’d heard it shut the two girls emerged from the cupboard, and on silent feet went to their mama’s side; she was lying completely still on the bed, her eyes open, staring sightlessly out at nothing. The taller, dark-haired girl threw herself onto her mother’s body, sobbing as she had been taught: silently. The blonde girl reached out and lifted her mother’s lifeless hand, curling her small fingers around her wrist to feel a pulse. When she felt nothing she reached under her sister with her other hand to lay it on the centre of her mother’s chest, and held her breath.

Minutes passed as the sisters remained like that: the brunette lying pressed into her mother’s side and the blonde standing over her, feeling for a heartbeat or a pulse. As the blonde girl looked down at her mother’s face she saw the Christmas lights that Mama had scrimped to buy for them reflected in her glassy eyes, and she felt the fear slowly leave her body to be replaced by white-hot anger. She withdrew her small hands from her mother’s body and coiled them into fists at her sides; her fury was so overpowering it was like a physical presence in the room, and it moved her towards the bedroom door.

‘Myshka!’* the dark-haired girl hissed from the bed, her eyes wide with fear. The blonde gestured for her sister to stay put, then pointed to the phone on the bedside table before slipping from the room.

The arrogant bastard was still there. He was sitting down on their frayed sofa, on the phone to one of his lackeys, telling them to come and ‘clean up this shit’. She presumed the shit he was referring to was her mama. The blonde girl took a deep but silent breath and tamped down the seething fury threatening to explode so she could process the scene and decide her next move.

This particular little girl had never been normal. She could read books faster than any adult she knew, she could assess people and situations rapidly, make decisions instantly. She even paid all the bills and did all the accounts for her mother, kept a roof over their heads, bought the food, bartered for everything at the market. That’s how she knew that the money her mother had given her boss was right; he was either stupid or greedy: the little girl suspected both.

After a few seconds she started inching towards the kitchen. Years of practice in having to keep quiet when her mother was with a client meant that she could move with almost eerie silence. She went to the chopping board and lifted the knife resting on top, clasped it firmly to her side, and then padded over to behind the sofa where the man was still on the phone.

Her mind flashed to the book on anatomy she had read recently; the medical section of the library was the farthest from the reception desk and the sisters found hiding there to be the most effective plan when they wanted to avoid being chucked out. She’d found the textbooks boring, but devoured them all the same, and now she was glad. Her almost perfect retention ability for anything she had seen written down meant that she could picture the anatomy of a man’s neck in her mind: see where the arteries and veins ran, knew the best place to strike. She lifted the knife behind him and waited until he’d hung up the phone before lunging forward and plunging the knife into his carotid artery.

‘Argh!’ he shouted, dropping his phone and clutching at his neck with one hand whilst he made a grab for her with the other. He managed to drag her over the back of the sofa, and pain exploded down the side of her face when he backhanded her, one of his rings splitting the skin next to her eye. He went to hit her again but his wild eyes took in the blood that was spurting from his neck all over her face and body, and he clutched his throat desperately with both hands before losing his strength and falling forward on top of her. The little girl struggled out from underneath the huge man and rubbed the blood from her eyes. She stood next to the sofa, her face and hair soaked with red, and stared at the him before coughing up some saliva and spitting on his cheek.

‘Spokoynoy nochi zhopa,’* she muttered under her breath as her face was lit up by the flashing lights from outside, and the sound of sirens filled the night air.

* myshka – little mouse

* Spokoynoy nochi zhopa – Goodnight, asshole