The familiarity was somewhat of an uncomfortable feeling.
Up until now, nearly everything I'd seen had been new and I'd had the chance to take it all in afresh. I'd been able to form my own opinions, without basing everything I felt off of the past.
With Maria Carter it was very, very different.
Her face was something I remembered from a long time ago.
From a childhood memory, I knew that she'd been outside the school gates a couple of times. She'd worked at a small corner store. She'd gone on to being seen in lots of different places because Mr Carter - the nice man she'd ended up marrying - was quite a respected and well known guy.
These thoughts came in an almost fact file form. The only difference was that I was transforming them into adult interpretations rather than the original child like descriptions.
It was hard to focus on those thoughts and sift through them though without noticing her presence.
Maria Carter was a very striking person and I mean that in the way that she stood out very easily. Her hair was smooth and straight, sleek almost in its redness. Her eyes had a hint of the same vibrant colour around the edges, no doubt from weeks without sleep. Even her skin was pale and sunken around the cheeks.
She looked like death.
"What are you doing here?" she spat out, venom seeping into her words. "Get out! Get away from her!"
There was a certain edge to her voice, though it didn't reflect pain but raw anger. And sometimes people sense the strength of that anger and the reason behind it, and Maria Carter didn't sound like someone who was livid about the death of her daughter or the alleged murderer that was standing before her.
She sounded like she was angry because she was hiding something.
And I only knew that because Lucas had sounded the exact same way when I'd offered to get the book.
"Can you not hear me?" she shrieked. "Get out!"
"I didn't-"
"Shut up," she whispered more to herself than me. Her hands were shaking the same way Claire's did when she was scared. "If you come any closer, I'll kill you."
The part of my brain that was meant to control my mouth seemed to have taken a sick day, because I didn't say anything. I just processed what she said.
"It'll all work out then," she continued, speaking her thoughts out loud. "You killed my daughter, so I'll kill you. That'll... It'll be right. It's going to work out, all of it. You can't live."
"Maria-" I managed, just as she lunged at me.
I was expecting a sharp swipe.
But not a single skin cell came in contact with my body.
Claws in mid air, her actions came to a stop when someone's hands closed around her own.
I tilted my head slowly, watching as a thin, bony arm came into view. Then some grey stubble around a squared jaw, a pointy nose and familiar eyes followed what I had initially seen. With the revelation of who it was that had stopped Maria Carter, a feeling of nausea rose within me.
Fear prickled along my nerves and the urge to bolt became stronger by the moment.
Tim stared back at me, a disapproving look lining his already depressing face.
"You're meant to be at home, Ollie," he spoke, as though painfully clenching his sister-in-law's fist in his own was a normal occurrence.
"Don't call me that," was my instant response.
Well, at least my mouth was working again.
"She killed my daughter!" Maria screamed into Tim's ear. "I'll kill her! She won't get away today."
"Calm down," he said, annoyed. "You'll wake the dead with that racket."
I stared at him shock.
"You should probably head on home, Olivia," he muttered, constraining Maria. "Claire's probably going to get back soon."
"Why are you here so early?" I found myself breathing out, taking cautious steps away from both Carters. "Why isn't Claire with you?"
"The client called to say he wouldn't be there for the appointment today," he answered too quickly. Then, as if to justify himself, he added, "His wife's in labour. She's having a baby."
I didn't speak a single word.
"Claire was further ahead, because I stopped to get petrol on the way," he continued. "I'd say she was about half an hour ahead of me, but she drives quite fast so she'll probably be home soon."
He was using Claire as a threat.
My mind seemed to be registering things as short, quick statements, leaving warnings as soon as they faded.
"You should go home," he said, wincing when Maria clawed at his cheek. "You're only making this worse and I doubt Claire would be happy to know you were out here. Does she even know that you've left?"
"If Claire knows anything, she's hiding it," Maria accused. "Or maybe she doesn't know anything, because Olivia has been hiding it all this time. But I know the truth. I know everything!"
"See?" Tim said, gesturing to the shrieking woman. "She's getting more worked up. I think it's best that you leave right now."
I nodded, walking backwards quicker than I already had been.
"Olivia!" Tim called out behind me, but I ignored him.
I turned around and began to sprint back the way I'd come.
All the way home, the wind pushed me on, digging into my back and eventually dragging me along for the rest of the journey. The entire time, I thought of Maria Carter's face- an insistent reminder of the connection I had with this mess. In my mind, she was cold and calculating, with her red hair blowing breezily in the air behind her.
Of course, Tim seemed to star in the mini screen inside my head as well. Taking centre stage after her, he brought tumultuous waves of fear that stayed with me the entire way through. I still couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly that he did to scare the crap out of me, but a sinister sense of dread was practically glued to his name.
I continued thinking as I ran up the driveway into Claire's house, panicking when I realised that I didn't have a key. Fear was clawing at my mind now, like Maria Carters' own hands would have done, and I felt as though something was going to creep up behind me.
There wasn't a single person around and what Claire called the 'neighbours' were about five minutes away.
Just as the realisation of my own (constant) stupidity dawned on me, I saw a familiar van, with the initials 'DA' painted across one side. The fear of being alone with danger hot on my heels rapidly disappeared.
I blew out a breath.
David was here.
He whistled to himself as he got out, dragging a bust of Claire's head along with him. You could see the tip of her nose being scraped across the gravel, as he clumsily held it upside down.
I stood up, just as he drew up to the door.
"Liv," he said, as a form of greeting. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"I live here," I told him.
"I know that, silly," he said, sounding as though he was forcing out the usually goofy tone. "I just thought you'd be out exploring or something. No one really follows Claire's orders to stay inside, so I wasn't expecting you to actually be right here."
"There's a murder case attached to my name," I told him bluntly. "I haven't really got any other option but to follow through with what Claire says."
"So what I'm hearing is you left the house and got into a spot of trouble," he said, some of the usual overly happy, overly knowing humour returning to his voice.
"How did you know?" I asked him.
"Like I told you," he said, putting Claire's head on to the doorstep. "No one listens to Claire's orders, at least not the first time round. Usually, something bad has to happen before anyone will admit that she was actually right. Otherwise, her head inflates itself."
He stopped to wipe the sweat off his forehead and I took a minute to correct my breathing pattern.
There was a moment of awkward silence as we both wondered what to say, especially after the last time I'd seen David.
"Why have you got a bust of Claire's head?" I asked finally, trying to steer the conversation into a completely different direction. "It's weird."
"It's a gift," he said, sniffing. "I figured, you know, I should probably apologise to everyone for what happened that day.
"But why did you...?"
"It sounds stupid," he said, as a means of explanation. "But I was thinking about what Claire loved more than herself and nothing came to mind, so I thought I'd give her a three dimensional version of herself."
"But she is a three dimensional version of herself," I told him.
"Well, another version of herself then," he muttered. "This is the silent Claire. See? It can't talk."
He chuckled to himself quietly, before realising that it actually wasn't very funny.
"What are you doing out here anyway?" he asked. "Don't you have a key to get back inside?"
"I do," I muttered. "But it's inside."
"Real smart," he said, smiling. "Don't worry though. I have one."
"Why do you have keys to Claire's house?"
"Before you moved into my house, she gave me a copy," he explained, opening the door and walking inside. "She has a copy of mine as well. It's just so that - if one of us isn't there at the time- the other one can get in without any trouble."
"Oh," was my response.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Hey, Liv?"
"Huh?" I answered.
"I'm sorry about what happened," he said, setting Claire's head on to the living room table. "I don't know what got into me. It wasn't even really about the letters or Lucas, as bad as that sounds."
"What was it about?" I found myself asking.
He sighed. "It was about Tim and the way he's always trying to worm his way into our family."
"But-"
"I know it sounds really stupid and immature," he continued. "But it's the honest truth and that's got to count for something, right?"
There was a moment of silence.
"It's just... I sometimes feel like we've lost a lot after Laney's death," he said, quietly. "Don't get me wrong. I know that her family's probably lost a lot too, but I just think we've got to fix ourselves as separate families right now and get back up on our feet."
I nodded. It was a sign that I was listening to what he was saying, even if I didn't agree with what he'd done and how he'd reacted.
"With him coming in and out all the time, using work as an excuse, I don't think any of us can do that, which is one of the reasons I freaked out," he muttered. "I mean, every time he's here or there or wherever he is, the whole thing with Laney just comes back to me."
I played with the hem of my top and avoided eye contact.
"And I don't know how to deal with that," he finished. "Knowing that there's so much going on and nothing makes sense... I don't know how to make progress and get somewhere without everything crashing all over again."
As his words filled the empty space, Claire's car drew up into the driveway.
"I guess that, and the fact that he's a jerk and too much like Claire, just makes me hate him," he muttered. "And then I thought that he'd got Lucas to send all those stupid letters, which was just the last straw. I messed up."
I heard the familiar sound of Claire's high heels going click clack, click clack, like they'd done at the hospital. I'd memorized that sound by this point, having heard it so many times, so I knew she was coming through the door and into the living room at that moment.
"Liv?" she called out. "Olivia, are you there?"
"Why does she do that?" I asked David.
"Do what?" he asked, preparing to hide the 'gift' with a throw he'd picked up from the sofa.
"Call me Liv and then Olivia. It's like she has to catch herself out and then correct what isn't really a mistake in the first place."
"That's just Claire for you," he muttered, focusing on keeping the throw in its position. "She's a completely different species."
"I'm pretty sure I'm human, David," she said, coming into the room and throwing her keys on to the table. "What are you doing with my throw? Give it back!"
She attempted to pull it off her gift, whilst David tried to keep it on the bust, until they were practically playing a game of tug of war.
"You can't put it over your weird art project," she muttered, continuing to pull. "I paid fifteen pounds for that."
"Well," David managed. "That was obviously a rip off."
"It. Was. Custom. Made," she said, taking an exaggerated pause between each word. "Give it here!"
"What sad person has a throw custom made?" he asked. "That's so stupid."
"You're stupid," was her reply. "Give it back!"
"No!"
"David, give me my throw!"
"No!"
"I'm not going to ask you again."
"Thank you."
"David!" she shrieked.
He finally let it go and she stumbled backwards slightly. Red faced and angry, she got up only to see her head staring back at her.
"What is that?" she managed.
"It's you," David said, grumpily. "I mean, it would have been a surprise but somebody just had to get all up in my face about their stupid throw."
"Don't worry about the surprise thing," she muttered, still shocked. Then, she added, "What sad person - David - makes a bust - David of their ex-wife's head, David?
"You can stop saying my name, you know," he sniffed. "I think my apology gift is actually pretty good. It's a shame that your face ruined it."
"Shut up, David," she said. It seemed to be her catchphrase. "I think it's probably the best thing you've made. Something good has finally come out of your brain."
"Honestly, I'd say that-"
"No," she interrupted. "I just complimented you. You should take that and be happy with it."
"Some sort of compliment that was," he muttered. "It was practically an insult. It was a complisult."
"Or an insultment," I offered.
"Yeah," he said. "That works too."
A thought occurred to me, as Claire rearranged her sofa.
"Where's Harvey?" I asked. "I haven't seen him anywhere."
"Oh, don't worry about Harvey," she said, flapping her hand in the air. "I asked a friend to look after him. I actually need to go and collect him soon."
"Why are you back so soon?" David questioned. "I thought you were going to see someone today. That was actually why I came back so early. I didn't want to leave Liv alone with all of this going on."
"The client cancelled," she explained. "Something about his wife going into labour. Well, that's what Tim told me anyway. I was nearly there as well."
"Right."
"I hate it when someone cancels like this. It's so annoying."
"Yeah," David said sarcastically. "He should've thought of his wife going into labour and then booked you in, because he obviously knew when his wife was going to have a baby. He probably planned this just to get on your nerves."
"Shut up, David," she muttered. Then, she added, "You realise you can go now, right? I'm here to stay with Liv."
"Actually, I need to get Liv's present too," he said. "It's in the van."
"You mean the rust bucket?" she commented, wryly.
"No, I mean the van," was his answer.
David proceeded to walk outside and Claire came to stand beside me.
She smelt of vanilla and roses, the same way she'd smelt when she'd sat next to me at the hospital all those days ago. But now, I was linking it to waking up and moving on with life, because that was what Claire represented.
"Tim was acting weird when he called me," she told me.
"That's not unusual," I remarked.
"Well, I know that- You left the house," she stated.
"Did he tell you that as well?" I asked.
"No," she said. "You've got leaves in the back of your hair. And what do you mean 'as well'? Did you bump into him again?"
"Kind of."
"Where did you go?" she asked.
I took a moment to answer. "I went to Laney's grave."
I felt her visibly stiffen beside me, before asking, "Why did you go there?"
"Tim called but he didn't realise I was on the other end of the line," I answered quietly and quickly, trying to get the words out as fast as possible without making it too obvious. "He said something about someone going to visit a grave and how he was going to go over there himself. I went to find out before he got there and I met Laney's mum."
I heard a sharp intake of breath.
"Did she see you?" Claire asked, turning me around so I faced her. "Did you speak to her?"
I nodded. "She got mad."
"I want you to write this down," Claire said, the lawyer in her coming out. "We don't want you forgetting anything."
"I lost my memory," I muttered. "I'm pretty sure I forget most things, at least the most important ones."
"I'll write it down then," she said.
"That wasn't the point."
"It doesn't matter," she continued. "You speak. I'll write, like a scribe."
"David hasn't come back yet," I told her. "Shouldn't we wait for him?"
"We haven't got time to wait for someone who's probably carving you a goose figurine right at this very minute. Nobody takes this long to get to a van and come back again."
"Goose figurine?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said, distracted. "He's been making you those things ever since we got you."
"Oh."
"Don't worry everyone!" David shouted from the front door. "I'm only breathing out a lung here carrying this thing, but it's alright. You just carry on talking without wheezing! I don't mind!"
"Some people are so incredibly dramatic," Claire muttered. "He's such an idiot."
"I'm just going to leave this... right here," David managed.
We walked out to find exactly what Claire had described.
A giant wooden goose was sitting on the doorstep, its wings open in midflight.
"What do you think?" David asked, proudly. "It's an obese goose."
"Why is there an obese goose in my house?" Claire asked, examining the wooden creature with distaste. "I haven't met a lot of artists, David, but I'm pretty sure you're in the top ten for the weirdest ones of the lot."
"Shut up, Claire," he said in a high voice, mimicking Claire's catchphrase. "You're such an idiot."
I tried and failed not to laugh.
"I'm not dealing with you, right now," she muttered. "Come on, Olivia. We have to get everything written down."
"Get what written down?" David asked, following us inside and shutting the door. "Way to ruin the awesome mood my obese goose created, Claire. Gosh."
"You sound like a diva," she commented. "I'm actually doing something productive, not carving animals in the back of a rust bucket, like a creep."
He sniffed. "I carved animals like a creep at an art convention actually, with other creeps who may or may not have been of a completely different age group to me."
"Anyway," she said, completely ignoring his comment. "I found out something interesting on the way to meeting that client today."
"Your interesting or our interesting?"
"Shut up, David," she muttered. "Do you remember Macy at the firm, my PA?"
"Yeah," David answered.
"Well, I asked a private investigator to check some stuff out," Claire said vaguely. "And he contacted Macy today, while I was out."
"Okay," David said raising his eyebrows at the words 'private investigator'.
"Anyway," she continued. "I found out that Laney died on the same day that her father did."
"Liv, are you okay talking about this?" David asked.
I nodded, hands shaking by my sides. "I'm okay."
"And," Claire said. "There was a property transfer on that day too."
"What?" David said, shocked.
"Laney's dad owned everything they had. We all know that Maria just tagged along with him for the money," she muttered, disapprovingly. "Now, a year later, all the property is in her name."
"Well, what about the rest of it?" I asked.
"The rest?" Claire said. An eerie silence rose as she spoke. "Everything that belonged to the children - both Laney and Lucas - has gone to Tim."
A/N: Dedicated to HerDemons, who is just generally an awesome person. She's been really supportive with NaNo, so thank you Avriale. Also, she's writing a book called Ferocity soon, so check it out if you have the chance.
I'll put it in the external link when it's posted.