Stairs

He could see the hallway, the stairs as he climbed quickly, his breath coming in huge gusts when he reached the top. He lunged forwards through the door and came up against the young firie lying across the floor, sweeping the hose before him. Ben clambered over the man and threw his hands up against the mirror of the wardrobe, sliding the door roughly open.

He plunged both hands in, hanging clothes swept across his facemask as he moved forwards and he felt them before he could see anything, two shapes close together. He felt an arm, and then another, wound together. He ran his left hand up the arm and over the body, pulling it to him so that the child draped herself heavily over his squatting knee. He did the same with his right and the girls sat facing each other across his lap as if he was negotiating a sisterly truce. He heaved himself up holding them facing to his chest, roaring with the effort, and ran to the door, down the stairs.

Ben rolled to his side now, facing away from Michelle, and he felt the warmth of his tears.

He knew as he came back up the stairs, the man, and the woman. They were facing the wrong way, they weren’t trying to get out of the room, they were trying to get in. Both had thrown their arms towards the wardrobe in a last plea that the girls be safe.

He should have known. That was what made it all alright, everything, always. That he always knew, no matter what, he always knew those things.

Maybe he was done. Too. He closed his eyes tight, feeling the sticky warmth of his tears pour over his cheeks, pool against the pillow. He could feel the softness of the girl’s hair pushed in beneath his chin, bouncing slowly as he pounded down the stairs.