Tenderness. You miss it, don't you?
Silence.
Don't you mourn it?
How does your sorrow breathe? Shallow? Ragged? Rhythmic? Does it slither into your dreams, its sweet, venomous fangs sinking into you? Unsolicited and brutal? Have you adapted to its viciousness? Grown immune to its poison? Is it embedded into your lower back like a tramp stamp? Does it weigh you down? Have you learned to carry it with you everywhere you go? Has it become a safety blanket? A comfort object? Do you need it like an essential organ?
Have you forgotten how to live without grief?
Mother reached out, fingers ghosting over one of the apples of her cheeks. You're my daughter, Maisie Belle.
And for some reason unbeknownst to Maisie, that was what made her burst into tears.
Snap.
She jerked her head up, doe-eyed, the daydream becoming distant, a figment of her imagination. Noah lowered his hand while her environment and purpose crashed down onto her like a sudden tsunami. They'd just come from breakfast, packed their bags and had planned to check out in approximately five minutes.
With assessing eyes, Noah moved around her in a cautious, half-circle. And in a lazy tone, he said, 'were you listening, Miss Graham?'
Maisie's cheeks darkened but she lifted her chin high, looking him straight in the eye. 'Course not.' She couldn't help the Southern drawl that peeked into her voice, her mother was originally from Texas and they'd vacationed there frequently. Her blush deepened, she'd been good at hiding it, and adapted to a more Alaskan tone. But sometimes it still came through. Well, it's where her Ma had grown up. And since she'd been spending time... well...
In elementary, she cried when people poked fun at her accent, it had been an unusual mix between Texan, Spanish and French because of the trilingual preschool she'd attended. Everyone always told her to say squirrel, they found it hilarious when she wrestled with the word. And the teasing hadn't stopped at school, Nico made sure of that. It always ended up in waterworks. She didn't weep to evoke pathos, she just felt isolated. A sore thumb. Especially when she had to attend speech therapy and her friends didn't. Not to mention, the linguistic differences like grammatical structure made it a difficult and overall maddening experience. It made her resent talking. Language.
Noah knew this well.
He stared her down for a few agonizing seconds, unreadable, before shaking his head, and averting his gaze in haste. 'Of course not,' he tsked, pivoting, and tugging at the handle. Triggering the latch mechanism's jammed click. The door wouldn't budge.
Could he tell? Could he tell she was spoiled?
At the nape of his neck, a cluster of star-like freckles marred his pallid skin. It was close to the Lyra constellation. She stepped forward, peering down at the persistent lock, the sleeve of his black sweater slipped on and off his slender wrist, his veins that lightly contoured his hand becoming more prominent at each struggling attempt. He pushed his shoulder against the door—to no avail. Maisie angled her head slightly nearer, his rosemary odor practically sinking into her pores as she watched a cord of muscle strain in his throat. His heavy-lidded eyes met hers, then.
Maisie blinked away but her soul had already felt touched. She felt awkward to be caught staring, so swiftly, she moved backwards. 'What's with calling me Graham, anyway?' she threw out, panicked, she didn't want to be silent as it may've made the situation even more shameful— if he had an idea in his head that she was being thoughtfully quiet and over-contemplating their very brief eye contact, she'd die of embarrassment.
He didn't look at her, voice steady, almost professional. 'I thought you might prefer it.'
'It's my mother's surname,' she said. Undecided on how to feel.
He tried the lock again. 'Do you have a Bobby pin?'
That wasn't the response she was expecting but what could he really say to that? 'Uh, yeah. Give me a second.' Maisie left his side, lowering her suitcase to the carpet, and unzipping it.
He stood with his back facing her. 'You still care for her, don't you? I saw the way... never-mind,' he spoke in a way that made her feel like she had an open wound with poorly sewn sutures that wouldn't stop gushing with blood. And even though his only intentions were to clean it up, instead, it further widened the stitches.
Maisie rummaged through her things, forlorn. 'It's hard not to.' She inhaled deeply before slipping her weight onto her legs, up. And strode toward him in one quick step, the object he asked for passed from her hand to his. Their fingers skimming softly. None of them commented on it.
Noah lowered to his knees, bending the metal before squinting and prodding at the keyhole. 'Yeah, it is.'
She parted her lips. In this instance, a liquid sable-void flooded her innards, it was that sharp, empty feeling. Akin to when someone spoke to you in a foreign tongue. You might feel at a loss for words.
It'd happened to Maisie once. When she was thirteen and visiting Hungary to see her newly widowed grandmother—with her black attire, silver hair, bloodshot eyes and strained smile—Nana held her tightly as soon as she'd crossed the threshold of the old house. A twine of Hungarian words climbed down the strands of her golden hair. She'd never forget the exact pressure of Grandma Móna's trembling grip, the shaky breath hovering over her head, the rotting scent of a corpse in the next room, her mothers blank stare over grandmas shoulder.
For the first time, Maisie had felt devastated that she hadn't learned another tongue. She thought she'd had enough of languages since she was trilingual and had been struggling with the fact all her life. But when she wasn't able to comfort her grandmother, devoid of her mother tongue. It'd made her feel utterly useless. It made her feel like nothing at all.
Yet it also made her want to speak every language and dialect. To read every novel, to watch every film, to live every life, to do it all. But that was the problem, she couldn't choose. If Maisie was one thing, it was indecisive.
Click!
Before she can conjure up a decent reply, the door was open. He pushed onto his feet, handing her the crooked Bobby pin and holding the portal open with the back of his heel. He inclined his head, outstretching an arm.
She suppressed an eye roll. 'My hero.'
They bumped into Marvella immediately after retrieving their things.
She was carrying a stack of red towels, dressed in a long, dark skirt and corset, similar to what she wore before, false smile. 'Leaving already? You still have a few hours till you have to check out.'
Noah's eyes darkened in suspicion. 'Why do you care?'
Marvella's upper lip curled.
Noah clearly didn't like her for some unknown reason so Maisie Belle quickly stepped in between them. 'We have class tomorrow. So, we must be on our way,' she made up some pathetic excuse.
But the ominous girl didn't seem convinced. 'So,' she mocked. 'The day before class you decided to stay at a motel to...' Her eyes shifted over their bodies. Hinting at something.
'No!' shouted Maisie, embarrassed at the innuendo.
Marvella laughed. 'Stay for tea. It's in a few minutes.'
'I didn't think tea was apart—'
Noah took Maisie's wrist in his hand, moving past Marvella with a subtle glare while hauling their suitcases. Her breath hitched.
Why had he done that?
And as if he'd always had manners, at the end of the aisle, he turned slightly to stare at Marvella, and said, 'goodbye.'
***
OUTSIDE OF THE MOTEL
What was that?
I don't trust her.
She's a stranger, why would you?
No, there was just something off about her.
Uh, okay. Whatever you say, Noah.
You don't believe me?
I think you're being judgmental, she was being nice.
You're so naive.
So, I've been told.
Sorry.
***
A SERIES OF CONVERSATIONS ON THE TRAIN
So, Mallory's okay?
You're asking if she's okay like we'd hurt her.
We? Who else is involved in this?
Well, it was my idea. I won't shift blame.
Noah, who else?
Okay. Daichi only followed orders and Nico tried to talk me out of it so...
Daichi? You've got to be kidding me. Nico, too?
You have expectations for him, don't you?
Yes.
Wow, she isn't even denying it. Fascinating.
Shut up.
Has he kissed you yet?
Who?
Nico.
I'm not answering that.
So, he has?
Noah.
He hasn't?
Stop talking.
I'm just surprised.
Nico isn't like that.
Like what?
He doesn't just kiss anyone.
How would you know that?
I don't.
You're not just anyone to him.
Oh, but to you?
Would you be disappointed if I said yes?
I would call you a liar.
So, who will it be? Me or Nico?
What? For what?
For forever.
You're not funny. And I thought you loved Saffron.
I already told you. We're broken up.
Why?
Why what?
Why did you two break up?
Just didn't work out, I guess.
Hm. So, you've kissed her?
You were my first.
You're avoiding the question.
Yes, she pressed her lips against mine.
She kissed you? Why do you word it like that?
It didn't feel like a kiss. It didn't feel like what we did.
***
Haven't you ever wondered who your real father is?
I don't know.
What do you mean?
I only just found out that Elias wasn't my father. And I haven't really had time to wonder, you know?
Yeah. What about Mallory?
I don't know.
You're going to have to take care of her. Claire will help as much as she can, of course. But do you want us to hire a full time nanny for her?
I don't know if I'm ready to become a mother.
Hm?
What if I'm not good enough? What if I'm exactly like my mother?
That's not what's going to happen.
How do you know for sure?
Because I know you. Because you're you.
NICCOLO
Niccolo's mental katabasis flooded into a battlefield, he fought to stay afloat but it was hard for him to think of lovelier things as the sharp whip found his nude back again, he was losing the internal war. His muscles tensed. It singed like fire and tore flesh, he screamed even after it left his skin. The warmth of blood dribbling down his back mixed with the heat of agony. His throat became raw, his shouts—unruly.
For solace, he reached out to the thought of her dark hazel eyes that were sometimes brown at certain angles and lighting, they were so bright sometimes that he pretended her eyes were two fallen stars and he were an astronomer, and other times they'd be so dull like the edge of a veteran, medieval blade. And he wanted nothing more than to be her sharpener, to strip away the grime and reveal the golden lambency beneath.
He pictured his fingers gliding through her honey-blonde hair that curled softly at the ends, the supple way she sunk her teeth into her bottom lip whenever lost in deep thought, and the sound of her sweet, almost shy voice that always struck him straight in the heart.
Later that night, when he was tending to his wounds, tracing the welts, he winced, it felt like leather. And he'd realized—with a little more thumbing—it'd overlapped with his heathen carving.
CHERIE
Cherie's father backhanded her across the face, the crack echoed throughout his disorderly office, it stung. He'd found out about Maisie, how she had spoken to her privately. It was the one thing her father had advised her against, and her cousin, Lisette had told him. The good news was that they didn't know what she'd said to Maisie, only that a conversation had taken place.
'I didn't tell her anything. She's the one who pulled me aside, she's—'
'Silence,' he spat. 'I am your father and you will cease with the lies. Lisette saw you haul her in, and she, unlike you, doesn't fib. Why aren't you more like your cousin, huh, Cherie? Why are you like this?'
Cherie wiped her eyes, sniffling. 'Why do you always pit us against each-other? Why do I have to prove myself to be your daughter?' she cried out. Scrambling with what to say next, she was only trying to distract him.
His face fell.
'If you hate me so much, why don't I just disappear?' she threw out as a final blow.
Her father wasn't kind, but he also wasn't heartless. Yet a small part of her knew that he wasn't like this because he felt bad for her, that the concern drawn on his face wasn't for her, she knew that his mother had done the same thing to him, compared him to his older brother constantly. And he was most likely in shock, the realization dawning on him that he was just like the person he swore he wouldn't grow up to be. It was a cycle of abuse, recycled tactics to get under the child's skin, a family secret, the Duvalls knew it best.
And with that, she departed the room.
He wouldn't follow. He wouldn't speak. He never did.
Out of the seven deadly sins, the one Cherie resonated with the most was envy. Although her kin was considered wealthy, and she fit the beauty standard to an extent, it was all superficial, there were plenty of things that she lacked like authentic friendships; a mother figure; loyalty; affection of any kind; confidence and well, purpose.
Every single day was a drag.
It wasn't like she wanted to kill herself, she'd just lost the desire to live—if that made sense.
And so, you couldn't blame her when she gravitated toward a sociopathic boy, he was just as messed up as she was—just in a different way.
Sixteen year old Cherie knew it was a mistake before she even made it.
To correspond with him via letters, to become an asylum patients penpal, it was trouble from the start. But Cherie had been so desperate for any kind of connection—at the time, she'd recently been broken up with and lost all her friends—that she'd started writing.
Presently, she was heading to her car to meet him for the second time. They'd met up at some shady diner a couple days ago, she still couldn't believe he escaped. That the first person he'd sought out was her.
She didn't know how to feel about that.
Cherie touched her red cheek, wincing a bit.
As she approached the parking lot, in the corner of her eye, she caught her ex girlfriend glaring at her from across the courtyard.
She remembered a brief interaction they'd had weeks ago. Raegan Atwood had found her dazing off in an empty classroom (she did that sometimes) and started speaking without even announcing herself. Cherie had been startled. And Raegan had burst with words, complaining.
Knox keeps defending you. It's quite vexing.
I didn't tell him to do that.
Hm, yeah. Maybe not directly.
You're calling me manipulative, then?
Yes, and very observant, too.
Wow. You're so... romantic.
Romantic? Don't be vulgar.
Your hypocrisy is outstanding.
Like many other things concerning me, yes.
Raegan.
Yes, love?
Cherie raised a brow.
Did you miss me or something? What's with the sudden spark of conversation? The pet name?
I'm only reminding you of what you've lost.
You broke up with me.
Because you cheated!
I did not cheat!
Those texts were not platonic.
Cherie had ended up scoffing, she had nothing else to say, they'd had this argument numerous times. It was over. There was nothing else to say. When Raegan had accused her of cheating, both Raegan and her friends had left. She had nobody. For months, she'd eaten lunch alone. All over some text! It was all false. But even when she explained that Lisette had faked the messages, no one had believed her because why would she? Lisette had no reason to lie. Did she?
It was futile to think about it. Cherie shook the cobwebs in her head, poising her hands on each side of the steering wheel.
He was waiting for her arrival.
SAFFRON
Along the north wall of her bedroom, there was a phrase written in burgundy. Repeatedly.
Hang the flower!
Hang the flower!
Hang the flower!
NEREUS
'Don't worry. Your sister will be here soon,' he consoled Mallory, she'd been so quiet since Daichi had left. Nothing like the day before when she was exploding with energy and curiosity. And clearly, he was awful with children, she'd cowered in a corner, flipping through the picture book Miyamoto had brought for her. And then, suddenly, she'd asked for her mother.
If Mallory was craving that senseless woman's presence, there had to be something wrong with him. Could she sense the evil within him? Weren't children more perceptible to the paranormal? Did Mallory know something others did not? Did she see it materialize as a dark cloud surrounding him? Was it a gut feeling? Or was he simply being dramatic?
He checked the time. Five more minutes, the text popped up on his phone.
It could've just been that Maryjane had shown her a photo of the boy who'd killed her father. Would she recognize him so easily? Maybe.
But with Nico, she was okay. She'd even played a game of patty cake with him. Why did it bother Nereus so much that she wasn't his biggest fan? Is it because he was in love with her sister?
Whatever.
He scrolled through an article about himself. Laughing.
They'd described him as 'untamable' like he were some mutt.
From the opposite side of the warehouse, a door was abruptly pushed open.
A cinnamon haired girl entered, then. Slipping through the slit of the door. Cherie sighed. 'Why did you make me drive all the way out here? This better be worth it.' Then, her eyes landed on Little Mallory who lifted her head, observing her momentarily with Bambilike eyes. And it stole her breath.
'I thought you'd like to meet your half-sister.' He leaned back in his chair, head tilted. Smirking.
'Hi,' she forced herself to say, softly. But the space had been so empty that her greeting had been clear as day.
After a long pause, Mallory muttered out an even quieter, 'hi.' Confused.
ANONYMOUS
A newspaper was swept by the wind, fluttering by them. They kneeled down, swiping the parchment up. And began to read.
CALLISTO MOTEL
Bethel, Alaska - On an unassuming Friday, an anonymous jogger called the authorities to report what looked to him like a person dragging a body outside. When further investigated, it was revealed that what the unnamed man had seen was close to the truth. After questioning, it was concluded that there had been foul play at a 'tea party' that'd made several guests fall ill. And even two individuals ended up missing, the Fukuhara couple who were well-liked and owned the local florist shop in the town over had simply vanished. The owner of the Callisto Motel, Marvella Kane expressed concern for her patrons and has been working with the authorities to get to the bottom of this tragic incident. Authorities have seized samples of the unknown substance for laboratory testing, shut down the motel for the time being and arrested the cooks of the establishment. Yet the previously mentioned body is no where to be found. The investigation is still going on, if you have any leads, please don't be afraid to call, ###-###-####.