Chapter Text
It was simply labelled J.
PING.
Layla pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress a bedraggled yawn. She lifted her cheek off her desk. Had she fallen asleep there, or had she just been in a daze? Blindly her hand waved about towards the slats over her window, just managing to snag one to peek out off. Out of the murky glass a dreadfully grey horizon was blocked by a skyscraper. Her heart sunk at the loss of a decent night’s rest.
PING.
‘Shush!’ she hissed, half-crazed from sleep deprivation.
A small mewl emitted from a cot in corner of the room. The dreaded sound between a cough and a cry. Her heart rate shot up, not even remembering what for at first. Her limbs seemingly shook as they flailed in the general direction of the noise, scurrying over in confusion towards the time bomb in the baby cot.
Surprisingly, tripping over the rug and body-slamming the cot did not comfort the child. It opened its maw and shrieked with its tiny little limbs flailing against the blanket.
‘No, no, no honey,’ she crawled up and dipped her hand in, allowing its pudgy fist to grab her finger tight, ‘don’t cry. I’m here.’ When he continued to wail she slowly scooped up the tiny thing, ‘I’m here Johnny-boy. I’m with you.’
Johnny grabbed a fist full of her hair and wrenched it to his face, yanking her head to the side. She rested her cheek onto the boy’s head to ease the ache. Pyjama shirt soaked, check. Probable neck injury, check. Her shirt still smelt like sick even after being washed and everything around her was old, miserable or breaking apart. Two steps from having a sleepless induced meltdown…
‘Tried to give you consolation,’ she hushed the song, ‘when your old man had let you down.’ Her gaze slid over to the mirror, seeing him matte her curly hair with dribble and snot. He hiccupped quietly as he nuzzled over her heart. ‘Like a fool, I fell in love with you. You turn my whole world upside down…’
It took a moment, several slow blinks to close off the reflection of the baby and her. Closing off the shameful image she had sacrificed so much over. Swallowing thickly as her hands itched with the memory of clotting blood. Throwing away the blade. Her hands pressed to the wound. The… victim. Fought her. Screaming. Pulling. Clawing.
… Gone.
So was she. Gone and hidden where not even she could figure out anymore.
I did the right thing. Her thoughts chanted as she cradled the tiny life. Smelling the talcum powder and mushed up banana. Maybe her life had fallen down the back of the sofa same way as one would lose their keys.
For one blessed second, all in her world was quiet.
PING.
The computer would have burst into flames with the intensity of her scowl if looks could kill. Her attention flicked nervously down. Jonny didn’t stir, his eyes half closed and just quietly listening with a little pout and a bogey threatening to dribble out.
Ever so carefully, she padded back to the desk. Making sure her strides were determined and confident as she maneuvered around the living room of peril to keep the baby safe. Only when she eased herself back down into her desk chair did she allow herself to relax.
‘What do your parents what at this hour Gremlin?’ she hummed, leaning back in the chair and staring blankly at the screen, petting the little tufts of hair he had.
To finally retrieve their son? The thought soured. Maybe even growing a conscience and worrying that their baby may need his parents rather than palming him off to a babysitter every time he cries in the night.
That wasn’t fair though, and she knew it. Layla didn’t know a thing about Johnny’s parents. They could have stressful jobs. They were certainly classy business types who paid well. One of them was a doctor, she remem-
Her gaze locked onto the file, right in the middle of her screen. Slap-bang over the desktop picture of her sister.
J.
She frowned. Blinking several times to confirm it wasn’t just her sleep-addled vision.
It had not been there yesterday.
Abstergo.
Her heart launched into her throat as she quickly reached for the touchpad, dragging and dropping the file into the recycle bin before permanently deleting everything from it.
After a quick search through her computer, she confirmed it had been deleted.
Her heart thudded like a jack-hammer. ‘No,’ she breathed, ‘no it couldn’t possibly...’ Nothing had been given away. All of her payments were made in cash, the laptop’s IP was hidden… and they have no reason to suspect her of anything.
She was just… a babysitter.
Even so, when she glanced back to the woman on her desktop… the link was enough. Family was enough.
And they would kill her if she were ever found.
She slammed the lid shut, biting her lip as her leg started to bob with nerves.
Johnny was sleeping.
Layla laughed breathlessly, ‘well at least that makes one of us.’ No way was she going to be able to rest now. So she swivelled her chair and opened the blinds, content to watch the street as it slowly came to life in the early morning hours.
...
‘Y’all sweet Miss Oswald!’
‘Oswin,’ Layla corrected as she handed Jonny back to his mother.
She just waved her immaculately manicured hand at her. ‘They both begin with O and Z dear- how did you get him to sleep so soundly!?’
Both are spelt with an S, dear. Layla grimaced a little as she bent down to pick up the bags with baby supplies. ‘Chamomile and honey in the milk Mrs Broadbank. Just a little so not to upset his stomach.’
‘You English and your tea.’ She joked as they walked down the apartment block stairs. Layla heaving all the bags.
She wasn’t English.
‘Yes Mrs Broadbank. We Brits do like out tea,’ she huffed, ‘prefer it in our cups rather than the Atlantic.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
They made it down to the ground floor and her arms felt like stretched noodles. Mrs Broadbank groaned, ‘take the baby would you, my back is aching from all those stairs.’
Layla would have snorted if her income didn’t rely on this woman. She placed the bags on the pavement and took a sleepy Johnny back into her arms. His big brown eyes blinking owlishly at her.
Letting go was always the hard part. The children she took care of were loud and messy… but they also made her flat feel... alive. She was alive. It was surprisingly easy to forget when drifting without a purpose.
‘Now be good for your mummy.’ She cooed, rocking him a little.
‘How much for this round?’ Mrs Broadbank asked as she fished for her purse.
‘Three weeks.’
She laughed. ‘It doesn’t feel like that long!’
For you maybe. ‘Well it was.’ Layla smiled back.
‘You should move in with us if this gets any longer. Mind you, the last Au Pair was fired for inappropriate behaviour with my husband.’ She counted out the money, ‘But he’s fixed now! Trained proper. He wouldn’t go for you anyway, doesn’t fancy gingers- He’s a doctor you know.’
'Since when did she sign on for impromptu mother therapy? Layla didn’t even know how to respond except for dumbfounded staring.
‘Everything is so tight right now after the company he works for got bought out. Just trying to keep his job.’
After an awkward moment of silence passed, she realised that Mrs Broadbank was fishing for sympathy. ‘I’m sure everything’ll be… fine?’
‘Fine! Yes. Of course!’ the woman burst into strained laughter. ‘I’ll let you know when we next need your services.’ She gestured for Johnny to be passed over.
Her brow furrowed, remembering the file. ‘You didn’t by any chance send me some documents this morning?’
Mrs Broadbank shook her head, pouting as she recalled, ‘No dear.’
‘Oh.’ She hummed. Layla gave the baby one final squeeze, channelling all feelings she couldn’t voice out loud, before taking the cash and letting go.
...
First thing she did was buy cheap beer. The first night was always a bit stir-crazy. She would wake up at the slightest noise, expecting to hear a cry. But none came. Like they had died.
The howling wind made her windows shudder in their frames. Sometimes the building felt alive, as if it were about to sprout legs from it's groaning supports and walk away with her trapped inside.
She growled, snatching her pillow and shoving it over her head. Why couldn't everything just be quiet? Why couldn't she switch off for one god-damn minute?... Why did her gut tell her that it wasn't the wind that rattled her windows?
A quiet voice murmured that footprints were creaking her floorboards. She curled up slowly, swallowing and squeezing her eyes shut. The shift of material was just the curtains. The wind just got in.
Or it was someone else?
Everything went quiet.
Layla focused on the sound of her own hot breath against the smothering pillow. Don't. Panic. Slowly she sucked in her breath, feeling her chest rise and fall. Convincing herself there was no-one in her flat. No one had gotten in. It would have caused too much noise. And even if there was someone... it would probably just be a common thief. She was just a babysitter, as if an assassin would be hired for her! They wouldn't make their way into her room, approaching her as she covered her face with a pillow. A black figure with head eyes and a blade prime to stab her chest that rose and fell!-
'NO!'
Layla ripped the pillow off her head and threw it as she screamed.
Her eyes twitched around her room. Shadows were cast by the dull street-lamp light seeping through her curtains. But no shadowy human.
She was alone.
Kicking away the sheets, she propelled herself off the bed and padded through her entire flat, grabbing a knife at the kitchen as she went. Every lock was checked, every room was examined, every cupboard or cranny- nothing.
Layla ended up sat at her desk, twirling an empty can on the plastic. It was stupid. She hadn't been this paranoid in months. The children helped. they were a good distraction whenever she'd get like this or at least they's wake up in time if someone broke in.
Stupid! Idiotic to put so much emotion behind children that weren’t even hers. She was crazy! Demented!
It wasn’t love. It felt like it, but no. It was just an intense need to... what? Validate herself? Her life choices that had her driven to this?! She had chosen this over the love of her mother, her father… her sister.
How long had it been since she last seen her sister?
When she checked the calendar, it ripped a hole in her heart. Seven years… she thought it was six.
Stupid.
She opened her laptop and mashed in the password. Just e-mail them. Remembering the moments lying in the back of their tinted van, her dad punching the taped up radio back to life. Tell them you’re sorry. Lily would always mistime the manic air-drum moments and Layla would laugh at her boundless enthusiasm to carry on the solo. Her mum would shoot a withering glare from the driver’s seat… and it all stopped.
You can’t be alone like this anymore. Find a way to… to…
The desktop flickered as it loaded. Her gaze locked onto a file, right in the middle of her screen.
It was simply labelled J.