The letters coming out of me randomly floated through the dank air and then the footsteps stopped and everything was quiet. My sister was breathing heavily, like a child who was on the brink of sleep after a long tantrum. Then, suddenly, the door at the top of the stairs burst open.

The man cupped his hand over his eyes so that he could see in the darkness. As he came down, I took one big breath and the last few letters in my chest heaved out like stray coins at the bottom of a pocketbook. This time they floated up and suddenly I could hear Leah speaking to me. Telling me that I had everything I needed. That I had always had everything I needed because my fate was in my hands. There was a carton on the ground that I rummaged through until I found it.

A hammer.

My knee scraped against one of the boxes as I climbed, but I ignored the sting. I reached the windows and ripped down the material covering them. Each pull let more light into the dingy basement and created a shredding sound that sounded like a shriek and the letters danced with delight.

I looked at the man and I looked at my sister and then I lifted up my arm and slammed the hammer into those red painted windows. I closed my eyes and I hit, listening to the painful sound of shatter, feeling the sensation of breaking running through every part of me, breathing slowly until finally it was quiet and there was nothing left to break. When I stopped, the letters were gone and all that was left were shards of glass showering the basement floor.

I could escape, but I didn’t want to anymore. Instead, I took in a breath of the clean fresh air that was slowly filling the room. Sprinkles of rain hit my face and reminded me of glitter. It got very quiet until all I could hear was crying. But this time it wasn’t Matilda who was crying.

It was the man.

First it was soft and gentle, like a baby. Then deep and guttural, echoing a pain so intense that the only way to contain it was through a scream. And that is what he did. His legs gave way from under him and he collapsed at the bottom of the stairs. He didn’t cover his face, didn’t hide behind anything. He cried until there was no voice left except for the quiet echo of air passing between his lips.

Matilda and I watched him in silence and I gripped the hammer tighter, but then I dropped it and it made a scraping noise as it landed on the floor. I climbed down off the box and Matilda looked up and so did the man. Then it got quieter than I have ever heard then or since.