Snippets of Memory - The Umbrella Academy

Voices in the void

This story is a one-shot, part of the recollections of Rin and Klaus' younger years, both of whom appear in the story "A Bend in Space Time" (taking place over the seasons of The Umbrella Academy - links in my profile).
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Backstory: Rin is a 19-year-old punk girl born with a strange power that she uses for illegal work: she can teleport, make herself invisible or intangible. One evening, while in police custody, she met a strange cellmate named Klaus. After bribing the officer for getting her address, he came to visit her. They realized that they shared more than just nights in police custody: a date of birth, and having a power.

TW: reference to drug use.

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Argyle Park is still a place I love, even in January. Maybe it's because - there - you can imagine that the horizon exists, with its wide walkways, historic greenhouses, huge lawns and a wood. A wood, yes: almost a forest, bordering the orchards planted there, in the middle of the city. An almost 400-hectare lung of greenery in the midst of the stifling urbanization of The City, smelling of humus and waffles, and echoing with the cawing of crows. It's the place to be for morning runners, lunchtime lovers, evening strollers and night-time tramps. It's a place for children on Saturdays and salarymen on Mondays. There's life in Argyle Park, beyond which the tall skyscrapers of the business district rise. Even more than I suspected.

After my grandmother had violently kicked him out, Klaus didn't dare come back to the apartment. It's understandable, really: I don't know if I'd have taken the risk if I were him. I hadn't opted to be taken into custody again to try and see him, this time. No doubt I'd appreciated the fact that our last meeting was free of bars. And perhaps it had even left me with a feeling of unfinished business.

Walking down the central walkway towards the wood, I replayed in my mind the information he'd given me, namely that he regularly slept - these days - in the disused gardeners' shed in the northern grove: the one bordering the 'forest'. I could easily picture it in my mind, as I'd often come here to hang out. Past the hexagonal square and the terraced wisterias, beyond the waffle kiosk. An area that had been less maintained for several years. I'd deliberately chosen a day when it wasn't cold: I imagined that, that way, he'd be less likely to have tried to get locked up.

With my hands in the pockets of my perfecto, I passed the hexagonal square where the smell was that - delicious - of the puffy pastry rectangles. The wood had spread over what had once been a lawn, almost encompassing the gardeners' shed. Bushes surrounded it quite densely amidst young trees: it must indeed have been easy to enter without attracting attention. But how did Klaus manage to live in that divine smell all the time, probably without ever being able to afford those waffles, shamelessly sold for five dollars? My step hesitated for a moment, I looked over my shoulder in the direction of the kiosk and the few passers-by. Then I shrugged my shoulders and stepped off the path into the grove.

The shed was old, made of tin, but still relatively well insulated, as it had been used to store potting soil and products requiring protection from the weather. Climbing vegetation had grown in over time, insinuating itself into the interstices of the grilled window wells. These had been condemned, as had the door I found as I walked around. The latter had clearly been forced open, and equipped with a rope on the inside, which at the time was untied. I approached and leaned over. The gap was lined with a blanket, surely to try and keep the heat in. I pulled it aside slightly to try and get a peek inside.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, as the light was poor and contrasted with the brightness of midday. The first thing I saw was a jumble of gardening equipment of all kinds. Then a water collector that looked as if it had been connected to the gutter through one of the window wells, a cardboard box full of eclectic clothes stored in a heap, and a worn mattress in a corner, where an indistinct shape was breathing. Klaus had told me that it was easier for him to sleep during the day than at night, and he seemed to be succeeding, at that moment, when he had mentioned 'nightmares'. I chose not to wake him, I didn't even knock. I backed away without cracking a twig, and went back to the waffle kiosk in the hexagonal square.