The first thing Stephanie was aware of, were the piercing squeals of young children. Immediately after bolting upright, being yanked out of her shapeless dreams unceremoniously by the noise, she forced herself to relax. This was a different world. It wasn't, she recognized with a sense of déjà vu, the time in which people were snatched out of their homes, forced to their knees and shot in the back of the head. Not now, and hopefully never again.
No, instead, it was Christmas morning. Stephanie ran a hand through her hair, knees tucked up against her chest as she slumped forward with the remnants of sleep pressing on her back. Her muscles felt like they had been torn up and stuck back together with industrial strength glue: uncoordinated and stiff. After rubbing the grit out of her eyes, she resolved to get up and venture downstairs.
It was still an effort, to remember that she could do what she wanted, that she wasn't confined to this room. But she did it with a gradually waning sense of anxiety and dread each morning. It was better than what it had been.
Still, creeping down the staircase, it was hard not to try to be unobtrusive, purposefully invisible, unheard. It still felt like, if she didn't tread carefully enough, this whole tear in reality would stitch itself back up, that this carefully contained peace would fall away from underneath her and she'd wake to darkness and white walls and the stink of despair.
In being yet undiscovered, the fog of wakefulness still hanging over her, she could see into the living room, see the small gathering of beautifully wrapped gifts in the center of the room despite the lack of a Christmas tree. Stephanie could see the delighted face of little Marie, Amy's daughter, as she opened one, carefully peeling away each layer of paper as if she were afraid of tearing it open.
She saw how everyone was so at ease with each other. So at home. So friendly and inclusive and so achingly happy that she knew at once that she could not be a part of it.
Here she was hanging in the doorway like an image of the past stuck in someone else's future, and wondering how she could feel so out of place, so alone. Hadn't that always been the problem? And yet it continued to punch the breath out of her each and every time she was snapped back to the stark reality that she had willed out of her mind.
It was the pack that she had craved for so long now that it felt completely surreal and alien to finally have it surrounding her. But the bonds that these people felt, that tethered them together, did not extend to her, not in any way that mattered.
Or maybe it was just another flaw embedded deep in her genes. Perhaps no matter where she was, she wouldn't find peace. Too much had been taken from her, too much had been damaged beyond repair. Maybe she expected miracles.
Whatever it was, it didn't matter.
Brennan caught her eye from where he was leaning against the wall in the living room, his eyes underlined by dark smudges and lines bracketing his mouth. Misery threatened to choke her as she stood there; a hand pressed to her throat against the steadily expanding stone there, and struggled not to show it. It didn't work.
The ease melted off his face and she turned away, frustrated with her warring emotions, and stood in the kitchen, bracing herself against one of the wooden chairs. It wasn't two seconds later that Brennan entered, his face creased in concern.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
Stephanie bit the inside of her lip hard enough to draw blood and make her flinch. "I can't stay here anymore," she said, surprising them both.
Beyond the energetic noise emanating from the living room, quiet hung between them. She could feel him appraising her, taking in her still too-thin body, her tired eyes from days of wrestling with nightmares, but she kept her chin up and her eyes on him.
"Okay," he said. "So where do you plan on going?"
Stephanie suspected that the only reason he could look at her so coolly, unperturbed by her sudden declaration besides the slight widening of his eyes, and speak to her as if it were a perfectly logical solution, was because he knew as well as she did that she didn't have a plan. She had to tighten her grip on the back of the chair to stop herself from curling her lip at him. Her discontentment, her frustration and confusion- they were her burdens to deal with, and Brennan didn't need to fend off her unjust anger. Instead, she shrugged, knowing that she must've looked like a pouting, stubborn child.
"I can't stay here," she repeated.
As if that changed anything. Brennan scrubbed a hand over his face, and Stephanie wanted to sigh for him. He had to deal with so much, and she only added to it with her selfish whims and inability to decide what she wanted.
"But you don't have anywhere else to go."
"No," she said, keeping her voice measured. "I just-"
"Well, then what exactly is your plan?"
The first hint of impatience slipped through the cracks and Stephanie had to stop herself from physically recoiling away from it. She summoned courage and defense from many, many lifetimes ago to stand where she was and not back down, but she looked down, unable to hold his gaze. Brennan didn't understand, she could see that much in his eyes, pleading for her to explain what was going through her head.
"What happens to you if you go back out there?" He asked. "No money, no ID, nothing."
Stephanie knew what she didn't have, but she couldn't very well do anything about it. What use was she? Holed up here and just surviving, just making do, not striving to be happy but just to be safe and warm. What existence was that? She was done with that. Everyone else deserved their happiness, why couldn't she have it too?
She'd survived for years that felt like eternities. Even Stephanie knew when enough was enough. And if she went out there, with nothing and didn't make it, then she figured she'd tried.
"Do you think you'll just be able to go back to how it was before?" He asked. "You don't even know what's gone on in the past few years."
She couldn't drag her eyes back up, and she crossed her arms over her chest, trying and nearly failing to keep herself here and now. The anger, Stephanie understood. Fear and a lack of understanding were the very roots of the emotion. Brennan just wanted to understand her, to help her so much that it was enough for him to be afraid for her. It should have counted for something, and it did, more than he knew.
"Out there?" He pointed out the window, to an empty street riddled with shattered glass and cracked pavement. "You're so out of practice with life that you wouldn't last long. You'd have been better off in that facility-"
A growl pried itself from her chest, permeating the room with anger so quickly that Brennan immediately quieted.
"Don't you dare say I'd be better off there. Don't you dare," she snarled, slamming her palms against the table so hard that it shook. "You have no idea what that was like, and nothing will measure up to that. Do you understand me?"
She read the shock in his eyes. He had never seen her reach remotely angry. Her blood pressure had skyrocketed in no time at all and pulsed behind her eyes as she breathed through the fury, the indignation.
"What do you plan on doing, then? Because I fail to see how you could be better off anywhere but here."
Brennan had taken pains to lower his voice, to take the sting of anger out of it, for her benefit. Before Stephanie's mind had caught up with her mouth, she revealed her only scrap of a plan.
"I can get my ID back, money, my car. I just need to get to a town a couple hours outside Eastwood."
Brennan raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh, really?"
"Yes, really," she said firmly, though the apprehension tightening her shoulders threatened to fumble the words in her mouth. "It's the last thing I'm asking from you, Brennan. One last thing."
His mouth was pressed into a firm line, and he seemed to be asking her with only his eyes if she was sure. The truth was that Stephanie wasn't sure. She didn't know what she was doing, or even why. There was still every chance that it wouldn't work and the best thing would actually be to stay at the home with these wonderful people and resign herself to minimum wage jobs and sleeping on a mattress on the floor. What these people did was admirable, they made the best of a bad situation and supported each other, but it just wasn't Stephanie's life.
Part of her just wanted to make a decision of her own for once, even if it was destined for failure.
Finally, he sat back against the chair and shook his head. "Alright, if that's what you really want," he relented. "But I won't be able to take you until the day after tomorrow. Tomas has Christmas and Boxing Day opening hours and specials, and he needs both of us and William working to fill spaces."
Stephanie couldn't help the grin that crossed her face. "Thank you, Brennan," she said. "For everything."
His eyes were still dark with what she could only determine as worry, but he smiled and got up from the table. "Don't thank me yet," he said as he passed on his way to the living room.
The smile faded from her face, leaving her with gut-twisting anxiety and breathlessness in the wake of her decision, because it would mean facing the town that had become a distant nightmare in her life.
***
"I don't understand."
Stephanie sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I just... I don't know," she said. "I've been through a lot recently, and I don't know why I feel like I can't settle here but I just... can't."
Lydia narrowed her eyes, and Stephanie could tell that she was trying to understand, she really was, but there was no explanation, no rational line of thought to this decision. But it was her decision, and maybe that was all that mattered.
"No one's made you feel uncomfortable, or unwelcome, have they?" Lydia asked.
"No!" Stephanie denied, shaking her head vigorously. "No, not at all. I love it here, but it's not my home."
"But you don't really know what you're going to do after this."
Stephanie sighed. "No, I don't."
Brennan glanced between the two girls, apparently weighing his words. "Maybe you should wait," he decided on. "Until Rebecca gets those documents sent over for you."
"And when will that be?" Stephanie asked, and crossed her arms in front of her. She bit the inside of her lip. "Look," she said. "There'll always be reasons for me to stay, to wait. And if I give in now, I won't ever leave."
Silence ensued, and inside, Stephanie knew that she was right. Passively agreeing, taking the easy way out, would only land her where she'd been before: under someone else's control. It was time for her to man up and take charge of her own life. She wasn't a delicate flower to be protected, and somewhere along the way she had forgotten that.
She'd survived so much. Maybe a call back to the past, on the road, even without purpose, would make this whole transition seem a little less scary.
Shouldering between the siblings was Amy, and she encompassed Stephanie in a sudden hug. Stephanie melted into it, grateful for the support that soothed her nerves, frayed just beneath her skin.
"Follow your instincts," she said. "Don't let anyone tell you any different. You'll regret it forever if you don't do what you need to do." Stepping back, she rubbed Stephanie's shoulders and smiled. "Let the girl make her own choices," she said, glancing over at Brennan and Lydia. "Let her make her own mistakes."
Lydia still didn't look very convinced, but the indecision and tension seemed to drain out of her younger brother. He cast his dark eyes on his half-sister, and Stephanie stifled a smile as she saw the walls of reservation in Lydia break down in the face of the veiled persuasion on Brennan's part.
"Alright," she allowed. "But if it doesn't work out, please know that there's always space for you here."
Stephanie nodded. "Thank you."
It wasn't long before Stephanie had packed up her belongings into a small spare duffel bag and she was ready to go. The thought wasn't strange: being able to pack up her life into something that she could carry on her back. She'd done it so many times before. But choosing to leave, not being dragged or forced or chased out- that hadn't ever happened.
Her heart felt lighter than it ever had, simply because of the difference between having to do something, and choosing to do it.
She shouldered the bag and cast a cursory glance around the room. So many people had passed through these walls, had slept on these mattresses packed into the room. Many more people would for years to come.
But, as Stephanie knew more than anyone else, all good things came to an end. And this time? She wasn't running away. She was walking straight back into her past to face it like she'd never had the courage to before. So before she could hesitate a moment more, she strode out of the room.
***
As the city melted into suburbs and then into a stretch of field and forest, Stephanie could feel her heart picking up speed. She had driven on this very road two years ago, on the run from hunters at Adrenaline. The strange sense of déjà vu that was dogging her was prying far more memories from the depths of her mind than she was comfortable with.
She could feel Brennan glancing at her ever so often, trying and failing to be subtle about it. It wasn't her fault she couldn't stop tapping her index finger against her knee, or that sweat was threatening to break out on her forehead.
She hadn't had to confront her twisted memories yet. In some ways, she'd hoped that she would never have to.
Yet, now, with the horizon growing closer, and the outlines of a little town on the fringe of the world starting to become clearer, she was presented with them in flashes.
Anger.
Grey eyes.
Pain.
Blood.
Friendship.
Betrayal.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she drew in a shuddering breath. Brennan's face had set into a serious deadpan a couple of miles back, but his body language suggests that they could turn back if she wanted. Stephanie would almost like to, but she knew that if she didn't face this, if she didn't confront what had happened, nothing would ever move on. She'd always be stuck in time.
It was a long shot she had to admit. What were the chances that the Seymours would have stayed in that house after what had happened? And after what she had done, what they had blamed her for, why would they have kept anything of hers? It was the only chance she had left to get back to being herself.
"Brennan?"
He looked sidelong at her and then redirected his attention to the road.
"Why did I need to cut my hair and wear contacts?"
He contemplated that for a moment, his head tilted to the side before he shrugged. "Rebecca's idea. She didn't really explain, but I guess it was a measure to stop people from recognizing you- not that it worked with Dave. She risked a lot getting you out."
Stephanie rested her head against the window and sighed. It didn't really match up. Who really cared where she had been all this time? Who would notice enough to care?
Another tense few miles of silence, and Brennan finally sucked in a deep breath. Stephanie could hear the terse regret in his voice before he even spoke.
"Do you love this guy?"
Stephanie snaps her head toward him, eyes widened in shock. "What?" She sputtered.
"I assume we're going to see a guy. I've never seen a girl so shook up unless it was over some kid that was going to break her heart."
She blushed deeply and so scarlet that she could feel it burning the tips of her ears. "No," she said. "I mean, I might have. But not now."
Brennan's jaw sets as he looked out over the rolling tar in front of them. "Just make sure you're not setting yourself up to get hurt," he warned. "It's been two years, Stephanie. People change."
Stephanie resolutely refused look at him, staring instead very intently out of the window. Deep within herself, she felt a crack, a flicker of emotion. It was that sinking trepidation as she realized that she had been putting too much emotional investment in what would happen when she reached the Seymour household. With a start she became conscious of the fact that she'd been secretly hoping that everything would just go back to the way it was, with this trip to the past.
Brennan looked over just in time to see the grim horror on her face, but she quickly packed up those traitorous emotions and swallowed back the rock in her throat. She'd been stupid to think that any of this was a good idea.
More quickly than she had imagined, the little town unfolded around them. She'd forgotten just how small it was. With snow sloping over gardens and adorning rooftops, it looked even quieter, quainter, even prettier. She could barely recognize it as the place of her nightmares.
She pointed for Brennan to pull over when they reached the house she'd been peering out the window for. In the late morning light, grey clouds cast over the sky and heavy with the promise of snow, the house glittered with ice and Christmas lights.
In her mind's eye, she saw the spring version of the house, with the white picket fences edging a green lawn, instead of blending into the snowy powder. The Camaro wasn't sitting where she had left it. Of course it wasn't. It didn't stop her stomach from plummeting, however.
"Is this the right place?"
Stephanie looked over at Brennan, sitting in the cab of his truck, having come all this way for her and she suddenly wanted to cry. "Yes," she said, instead.
They both stared up the shoveled little driveway, the carefully painted walls, and the outline of a Christmas tree in the window lit up with lights. The image was stark against the thought of the home, all rough-edges and collaboration, when the Seymour house sat in the suburbs, with not a shard of glass left in the pothole-less street.
"Are you going to get out?" He gently reminded her.
She didn't even have the sense to blush. Instead, she nodded and stared for a moment more. "Yes."
Pushing the door open let in a blast of cold air and particles of ice with the wind. She was shaking before she even reached the ground, and it wasn't from the cold. Over her shoulder, she glanced at Brennan as he reached for the door handle on the driver's side.
"No," she said. "It's alright, just stay in here."
Before he could protest, she clenched her teeth against the chattering and jammed her hands into her coat pockets. Shutting the car door behind her, she moved up the driveway as confidently as she could. It was impossible for the cold around her to have already stolen into her heart, but it had.
She knocked on the door and remembered the sound of her head hitting the banister. She looked down at the steps beneath her feet and remembered Jonathon's broken body lying limply over the edge of the sidewalk. She heard voices from inside the house and remembered police officers talking to her through the fog of pain, grief and shock.
The door cracked open to reveal the boy with the grey eyes that Stephanie had scarcely forgotten in the past two years. Yet, she couldn't tell whether it was her perspective that had changed, or if he had in that time.