TW / CONTENT WARNING: This chapter contains violent actions. These actions may be triggering and should be read with care. This chapter does not delve into anything else besides violence but I felt I should warn you.

☆

"DANNY'S NOT DEAD...IS HE?"

Her words echoed despite the lack of walls. The fading sun cast a golden glow down onto the three bodies standing in the field surrounded by graves. Clara Shelby stood, her arm around Finn's shoulders as they towered over an empty grave, marked with stone. Its lettering labelling it as the grave of Daniel Owens.

There had been rumours that the new coppers had raided the graveyard, and lingering over the empty hole proved the rumours to be true. At the time, she'd been with Finn, who'd dragged her to find Tommy and tell him the rumours.

"This is where you kept the guns," she continued, piecing together his plan, not daring to look at her older brother. "And now they're gone..."

Tommy sighed, taking his hat off of his head, his gaze focused on where the guns had laid. "There's going to be trouble now, Finn, Clara." He spoke up, "You look after yourselves, do you hear me? I'm going to be going away for a while. Right... Go on."

Finn ran off, yet the girl faltered. "Where will you go?" Clara asked, her hands fidgeting with her own hat.

"I'll figure it out." He huffed, "Now go, stay inside tonight...stay out of trouble." The girl solemnly nodded her head, turning her back to her brother before walking off. Her feet carried her out of the graveyard before she took off in a sprint towards Watery Lane.

The streets were beginning to clear as mother's ushered their kids home before dark, and drunks found themselves in pubs throughout Small Heath. The girl entered the home, reaching behind the coat stand to locate the key before locking the door behind her.

"Pol? You in?" She called out, going from room to room downstairs in case her aunt was lingering. Her voice rang through the house, and there was no reply. The girl climbed the stairs, peering into all of the rooms, half-expecting somebody to be inside of them. Clara figured Finn had run off to Isaiah's, quite like he did on a regular basis, leaving the house to herself.

She stopped in front of Tommy's room, tentatively pushing the door open. She carefully stepped across the wooden flooring, reaching under the man's bed for his trunk of books. Clara opened up the trunk, picking up a tattered, beige book. It looked well-read and little, and faded notes seemed to be scattered along the margins. She placed the book off to the side before shutting the trunk and slotting it back under the bed.

The girl stood to her feet, dusting off the novel, flipping through it once more. She examined the tattered cover of 'Frankenstein', before leaving Tommy's room. Clara crept down the hall into her bedroom. Taking off her shoes and coat, she slung them onto her chair, crawling onto her bed with the book. The girl shifted, making herself comfortable, as she opened the novel.

'You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings.' Her eyes scanned the pages, as she tumbled into the depth of the story.

Night had fallen and the girl barely paused to light a candle. She was home alone and there was nary a creak nor a noise throughout the house. Clara placed her book down onto her chest, staring at the ceiling, the clock had struck midnight, snapping the girl out of her immense world.

A yawn rippled through her body as she rubbed her eyes tiredly. She placed her book on her nightstand, sitting up to ready herself for bed. Then, there was a sudden bang from downstairs.

Then it came again, and then harder again.

Clara peeked out the window, her eyes widening in fear as coppers gathered by the entrance to the betting den. She jumped to her feet, blowing out her candle, engulfing herself in the darkness as she rushed to her chair and grabbed her boots.

How could she be so stupid?

The coppers had found the guns, of course, they were going to come to the house and betting den in search of her older brother. Clara ran into the bathroom, prying open the window as another, louder crash signalled that they'd breached the home. The girl threw her boots out the window, watching them land on the hard ground below her. She took a deep breath in, pushing herself out the bathroom window, clutching the sill tightly.

Clara looked side to side, her eyes scanning the alley for safety before she allowed one of her hands to release her grip, moving it to the metal pipe on her left. She looked up before letting go of the outside of the window, clutching onto the pipe for dear life. Creaks began to erupt under her weight as she lowered herself down the side of the house.

Her hands were slick with sweat as more crashes came from inside. She lowered herself down the pipe, all care gone. Once she was within a respectable range, the girl jumped down from the pipe, landing unsteadily on the concrete. She immediately pushed her back against the wall to avoid being seen, squeezing her eyes shut in panic.

Taking a quick breath, she leaned forward, snatching her boots and shoving them onto her feet, tucking her laces into the side of the shoe. Clara looked left and right before scurrying off to the right. She ran out, trying to keep in the shadows as she leapt over puddles. She found herself travelling down the dark streets of Small Heath, weaving in and out of the shadows. Her mind was muddled as she tried to piece together a plan of action.

She could go to Will's?

Or attempt to go to the sweetshop?

Clara lifted her head as she thought of her Uncle's Yard. She had spent many nights with Cannon in his stall, what damage would one more night do? She'd be safe there, or at least she wouldn't be alone. She navigated her way towards the canal, towards the cobbled stones she knew all too well. The water was black, its stream glittering under the bare moonlight.

Clara hugged her arms around her torso, trying to preserve the warmth. She hadn't managed to grab her coat in the rush to leave six Watery Lane, leaving her in only her shirt, undershirt and an old pair of brown pants along with her usual black boots. She hadn't noticed the goosebumps creeping on her arms until now

The canal path was pitch dark, the only light coming from lampposts on the streets above, their orange glow sending small beams of light cascading across the stones. She walked alongside the canal, the faint noise of factories rumbling in the distance and the laughs of drunkards filled the air.

Clara let out a steady breath, wondering if her family were okay, if Tommy had escaped the police, if Pol had stayed home and if Finn was alright, if Ada was still well hidden, if Arthur was still with their father, if John was with Esme safe and sound.

The clatter of staggering footsteps ahead caused the girl's ears to prick up. She looked up to see a dark figure ahead, his body drunkenly leaning against the wall for support. Clara tucked her chin to her chest, speeding up, wanting to pass the man without him noticing. She kept her arms around her torso, trying to make herself as invisible as possible.

As she grew closer, the man's visible crazed state grew more and more obvious. He was mumbling to himself, his voice echoing around the walkway. Clara quickened her pace, her head hanging. She didn't have a weapon on her, she didn't even have the 'protection' of the peaky hat. She was just a girl walking the canal in the depths of the night.

"OI!"

The girl flinched as the loud voice rang through the canal, her head tilted slightly, the man was pointing at her, in his hand, there was a bottle of beer clutched tightly. He staggered closer, causing the girl to step further back in fear. 

"What did you just say to me?" He slurred, causing the girl to take a shaky breath in and shake her head in confusion.

"I-I didn't say anything," she answered, gulping as he drew closer. Every cell in her body urged her to run yet it seemed like her muscles refused to oblige. Clara froze. The man lunged for her, dropping his bottle, his hands clamping down onto her shoulders, as he shoved her against the wall.

The girl coughed and spluttered, her eyesight blurring as her head rocked from the impact. There was a distinct ringing in her ear as she shook her head to regain normality. Clara kicked and yelled, struggling to break free. Her fists slammed against the man's chest, yet he didn't budge.

"LET ME GO," she yelled, her legs flailing as she tried to kick at him.

"NO, YOU SAID SOMETHING," The man yelled back, slamming her against the wall once more. The smell of alcohol was overbearing, its strong, pungent odour coming towards the girl and drowning her in tidal waves. "I HEARD YOU, THEY TOLD ME YOU SAID SOMETHING!"

Clara squeezed her eyes shut, her head pounding as her heart palpitated. The man was insane. He had to be.

Who were 'they'? What could 'they' have possibly said?

All of the air escaped her lungs as his fist met the side of her face. She allowed hot tears to fall as one hand gripped her neck, holding her to stones behind. Her hands clawed at his, trying to get him to loosen, trying to pry away the tightening grip.

Clara Shelby felt utterly powerless. Small ragged gasps for air escaped her throat as her head hit the wall. She choked back another sob as a glint of a pocketknife shone under the moon. Her leaden lungs suppressed any efforts she made to inhale and fear became a tangible, living force that seemed to creep over her like some hungry beast, immobilizing the girl and her brain, holding her captive.

"You said something, YOU SAID IT!" He screamed, tracing the knife down her cheek, blood spilling onto the cushion of her skin, falling down her cheek. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"

"Please, PLEASE," Clara cried out, she could hear her brothers' mantra in her head, 'only babies cry, Clara, you're a Shelby. We don't cry'. She tried to stop her cascading tears but the dam was long broken. "I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING! LET ME GO!"

In an unsurprising motion, she was slammed against the wall once more, whimpering another small 'please'.

Her brothers would be disappointed.

She was a Shelby begging.

Shelby's didn't beg.

Clara choked on a breath as his grasp grew tighter, his yelling only growing louder. She wondered if this was how she was going to die. She wondered if her body would even be found if she did...I mean the canal was there and could be put to use.

Clara wished she'd heeded Tommy's warnings from months ago, she should never have left the house this late. She should've stayed and faced the consequences, because as weak as it was to admit, being caught by the coppers seemed a lot nicer than her current situation.

"REPEAT IT!... OR I'LL SLICE YOUR NECK OPEN!" He threatened, droplets of spit spraying her face as he slammed her against the wall once more. His eyes darted around her face, a wild and crazed glare glazed over them.

"I-I..."

"SAY IT!"

The girl jolted as a punch was sent to her stomach. A blast of pain rocketed up her body, causing more rapid tears to fall, their saltiness wetting her lips as she snivelled.

"I d-didn't say anything, please!" She pleaded.

How disappointed her family would be.

She blindly kicked her legs some more, hoping to land one but all she got was his leg. Her fingers desperately tried to pull his hand away from her neck as his face grew closer. He was yelling, yet his voice was faded and jumbled. She blinked in fear, her face screwing up as she struggled to breathe. She dug her fingernails into his hands, trying to dislodge him.

"ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!" He roared, placing the knife against the bump of her larynx, pressing it against her skin. Clara let out a whimper, her head being forced up by the blade.

She should've stayed in the house. She should've gone to Pol's. She should've gone to Will's, she should've gone to Penny's, she shouldn't have gone anywhere near the canal. She was an idiot. How many times had she been warned or chastised?

She was an idiot.

...an idiot about to die.

A sharp stinging erupted from her neck, her blurred, jaded mind praying. Praying for it to stop, praying for the pain to go away. She hadn't prayed in a while, she doubted she would ever pray again, but it offered her a sliver of hope that if she died at least it wouldn't be toasty and warm like the Hell her family was 'destined' to go to.

Clara could feel the knife tracing up her neck, the skin tearing as it went. She could feel the metal on her chin then her face, and then it was pulled away. The hand on her throat grew tighter, so much that she was sure her neck would snap.

She was tired, her body ached under his grasp. She was limp now, her head tilting to one side as her air supply thinned.

In one last feeble attempt, she raised her leg and with all her might, she kicked forward. The man faltered, dropping her and as he hunched over in pain, Clara knew she'd hit the jackpot.

She collapsed onto the ground, her hands lingering around her neck as she tried to breathe in the smog-filled air of Small Heath. The impact shocked its way through her body. The girl glanced back at the man who was still hunched over before attempting to pull herself away, her muscles too tired and worked up to function.

She could feel glass and pebbles cutting into her skin as she attempted to crawl away. She began to scream and cry out for help, her desperate voice ringing through the canal walkway, in hopes that anyone would hear. She was not frightened, nor was she afraid.

What she felt was beyond such mere adjectives.

She let out a shriek as a hand clamped down onto her mouth. Her head turned to see that the man had regained his footing. He kicked his foot out, stomping down hard on her arm, causing her to fall to the floor once more. Clara squealed in pain, her lips trembling.

He kneeled over her, as she wept, trying to sit back up before she unwillingly gave into the pain. Clara looked up in terror, her eyes wide and pleading as he leaned down. His eyes burned with emptiness and drunken anger as much as her body burned with pain.

She couldn't do it.

She wasn't her brothers.

"THOUGHT YOU COULD GET AWAY, EY?" He boomed, pushing her further into the floor as she wept. "WELL, DARLING, SEEMS LIKE THAT DIDN'T WORK OUT, DID IT?"

"Please, please, please, please," she implored, her hoarse voice barely lingering an octave above a whisper. The metal of the knife re-situated itself at the side of her neck, pressing into her skin. Her head turned, her tears falling onto the stones as the man yelled.

She tuned out his voice, in fact, in her mind, he wasn't there. Her pulse could be heard beating in her ears, blocking out all other sounds.

In her mind, she was at home, under the covers and reading Frankenstein. In her mind, she didn't live in Small Heath, she lived out in the country with horses and books. Her brothers never went to war in her mind, no, no, no, her brothers lived an honest life. Arthur was an artist, Tommy worked with racing horses and John...well, he was John.

And it hit her.

She'd never see them again.

This was it.

And she could see a light.

It glinted and waved at her, beckoning for her to come closer.

She blinked slowly, her foggy brain straining to comprehend the light. She took a tremulous breath in as the man continued to scream his drunken nonsense. The light danced in the night, and as her eyes focused, so did her mind.

Less than five inches away from her face, the broken bottle the man once carried, gleamed and glimmered under the street lamps. The man above her was still yelling, his crazed mind gripping him. Clara moved her arm ever so slightly, a sharp twinge of pain shooting straight to her skull as she did so.

She moved it an inch.

Then another.

The man was screaming even louder now, and although the girl had blocked it out, she could feel the vibrations from his voice. His eyes were trained on her useless body, his knife dangerously close to slashing an artery in her neck.

She moved her arm, hoping and praying that the man would not spot what she was attempting to do.

She could do this.

She had to do this.

Her blurry eyes flickered to the man.

It was now or never...

In one swift move, her arm reached up and grabbed the smashed bottle top and thrust it forward. Her eyes squeezed shut as she did so. She knew she'd hit him, she could feel the pressure from her grip on the bottle. She jabbed it forward again, this time harder.

Then again,

and again

and again.

She pried her eyes open before letting out a bloodcurdling scream. Above her, blood spewed from the man's neck, covering the girl in the thick substance. Clara scurried back, her hands digging into the floor as the man fell off to the side, gurgling and choking. She watched in horror as his blood trailed onto the stones, running through the cracks like an intricate river system.

The blood soaked into the toe of her boots. With a frantic shriek, she ripped the boots off, chucking them into the water in a panic. Her chest rose and fell at a rapid pace, her heart racing and head hammering as she struggled to breathe. She watched as the man's body twitched and in an instant, she was on her hands and knees throwing up onto the stones, gagging and coughing as she caught sight of the blood on her hands. She let out a dry sob, her body shaking as she heaved and struggled to take in a breath.

She was alive.

The man wasn't.

She was alive.

She killed a man.

...she killed a man.

Clara gagged once more, her panicked sobs reverberating around her. She failed at trying to steady her breathing as she pushed herself to her feet. Her eyes lingered on the blood spilt as she pushed down the urge to vomit once more, her lips trembling with each outlet of air.

She was a Shelby... she could handle this.

(She couldn't handle this).

Clara limped towards the body, her trembling figure falling as she clutched the wall for support. She looked over the man, her stomach churning as his slashed throat came into view. She looked away, gagging and spewing at the sight, shakily wiping her mouth with her blood-covered hand.

Oh, god...

She'd killed him.

She'd be hung for this.

Taking a shaky breath in, she tentatively stood beside the body, her weight against the wall. Tears continued to stream down her face, mixing with all the dirt and blood splattered and splayed. Clara lowered herself to her knees, her mind and the world spinning.

She couldn't let the body sit here.

They'd find it and she'd be arrested and there was no way her brothers would get her out of this.

She was on her own.

She pressed her blood-soaked hands against her temples, racking her brain for a solution. Her eyes drifted the canal ahead, recalling her earlier thoughts. She bit her lip and took a few deep breaths in. Pushing herself up straighter, ignoring the aches and overbearing pain. She stood for a couple of seconds, her stomach churning, her eyes closed. She suddenly wanted to be small and to crawl into someone's lap and beg them for comfort. Clara shook her head, placing her hands on the side of the man's body.

She didn't want to hang.

She didn't want to go to jail.

And so she pushed.

With a muffled sob the girl began to dig her feet into the floor, attempting to move the body, she used all of the strength she could gather, her body shaking as cries of agony wracked her chest. Inch by inch the man grew closer and closer to the canal edge. Her tired body heaved, trying to move the dead weight. She could no longer control her hands; they were shaking in an odd trembling rhythm.

By the time the man's left side was in the canal, Clara was breathless, half of her body slumped against the still figure below her. With one last cry, she shoved the man into the canal. She pushed forward, just managing to catch herself before she joined him in the river. The girl watched with streaks of tears running down her face as the man's corpse slowly sank beneath the waters. Her heart was throbbing in her ears, loud and irregular, but she barely heard it, her mind clouded with fear.

She watched with wide, terrified eyes, as he disappeared out of sight. Her legs gave out, sending her sprawling to the floor, her face hanging off the side of the canal. She watched the waters beneath her, its darkness morphing and twisting.

Clara stifled a loud scream, her tears falling faster as she scrambled away from the water's edge. The water was no longer its pitch black instead it now resembled the crimson, thickness of blood. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her chest tightening as her mind swirled and her heart pounded.

She couldn't breathe.

She'd been attacked.

She'd killed a man.

She'd thrown him in the canal.

And she couldn't breathe.

Her back pressed against the canal wall, blood surrounding her as her mind caved in. Her soul had been swept away; emotion strangling it whole. She tucked her knees to her chest, unable to focus, unable to see straight, unable to move anymore. Like a caged animal, she curled up there, paralysed by the tragic feeling of isolation.

She faded in and out of consciousness, her mind throbbing as she silently begged for all of it to stop. The blood around her shone under the moonlight, as she made herself as small as possible. She clutched her knees, the foul, metal smell of both a dead body and the blood splattered throughout her clothes wafted around her. Tears dropped steadily, streaming down her cheeks.

Clara Martha Shelby was completely and utterly alone and for once, she bloody hated it.

☆

Hehehe I was just in a silly, goofy mood 😩

HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL READERS!

How are you on this very fine Friday?

I am back at school once more which has left me mentally and emotionally drained, so if you find any spelling/grammar mistakes in this chapter, no you didn't <3

This chapter was probably one of the hardest chapters I've written to date, bc my girl doesn't deserve what happened to her. Anyways, let me know what you thought <333

Feel free to leave a vote and a few comments and I LOVE YOU ALL!

enjoy some memes: