Chapter 18
After freaking out and then visiting Dr. Harrow again, Marc appears back with Steven. His heart is pounding loudly in his ears as he recognizes where they are. Toys strewn about, bright green walls and colorful drawings boldly declaring their presence on the walls, a small messy bed with race car sheets and a singular movie poster hanging on the wall. Ice runs through his veins as his ears catch up with his eyes and he hears the pounding against the wooden door, the single point of protection from the angry storm beyond.
Stevens' eyes are trained on a young Marc. The child is rocking back and forth while covering his ears and screwing his eyes shut, blocking out the world.
“This is my room.” Steven observes warily, looking around at the familiar objects. Yet they're all different, the same and yet they feel different.
Marc says nothing, flinching with his child self as the door shakes under a forceful knock. Marc's chest feels too small and his lungs too big, expanding impossibly large and threatening to burst through his ribs. His whole being tells him to join himself in rocking on the floor and imagining a different place, a different mother.
“It's not mom, it's not my mom.” Young Marc repeats to himself as he fights back tears, repeating over and over and hoping that it will miraculously become true, “It's not my mom. It's not my mom.”
And then the yelling starts. From beyond the door the dragon roars.
“Marc, open this door! Open this door right now.” His mothers voice demands, loud and harsh with unspoken threats.
Marc's body shakes as he closes his eyes and focuses on his feet on the ground and the feeling of his skin under his fingertips where his hand is clutched in a shaking fist. Steven stares at the door, confused and hurt. He recognizes his mothers voice, but it was never like this, never so frightening.
“It's not my mom.” Young Marc repeats, voice becoming more desperate as his rocking speeds up and becomes forceful, “It's not my mom.”
Then there's a shift, young Marc suddenly stops rocking and stands up. No trace of fear left to be found and when he speaks, it's with a British accent, “Bloody hell, look at the state of this place. Better sort it out before mum sees.”
Steven watches as young Marc becomes him, a young version of him when he was just a boy. Steven vaguely remembers this, remembers cleaning up his room. But this memory is different. Instead of the silence of Stevens' own memory, this one has the pounding against the door rattling through the room, the angry yelling of his mum on the other side.
The poster on the wall that shows a man in khaki adventure clothes and his assistant swinging on a vine draws Stevens attention.
“When danger is near, Steven Grant has no fear.” Steven reads the tagline, stomach sinking to his feet as the realization washes over him, turning to Marc and uttering weakly, “You made me up.”
Before Marc can respond, their mother gets through the door, raging at young Steven as he completely ignores her and is unaware of her presence, simply continuing to innocently pick up the scattered markers.
“You're gonna learn to listen!” Their mother says, pulling out a leather belt and pulling it taught in her hands, “Why do you have to make me do this?”
Knowing what's coming next, Marc grabs Steven and bodily shoves him out of the room as the crack of the belt rings in his ears. Steven struggles the whole way out, fighting to get back to the memory.
“I wanna see what she did!” Steven shouts as Marc shoves him back out into the hall of the mental hospital, cutting off the memory and the harsh slap of leather against skin.
Marc's pulse pounds gainst his skin, feeling like it's going to burst through. He holds Steven against the wall, preventing him from going back in, from seeing the things their mother did and trying to protect him from the harsh truth.
“You do not need to see that.” Marc tells Stevens, his throat feels tight and hurts as he hears his pulse rushing in his ears, “That's the whole point of you.”
Steven stops struggling, brows furrowing as he looks at Marc with betrayal.
“The point of me?” Steven repeats in a pained whisper, angry tears welling in his eyes as he glares at Marc, “What, to be your stress ball?”
Shoving Marc off, Steven paces the hall, hands clenched tightly in his hair as he feels his reality crashing down around him. All this time, all his life, it's all just a lie built on a fantasy made by Marc. Was anything real? Is Steven himself even real? As he paces the linoleum tiled floor, panic and anger rises in Steven and he's left questioning everything, unsure of what to trust.
“All this time I thought I was the original,” Steven says, more to himself than to Marc who just watches helplessly as Steven spirals, “But I'm just something you made up.”
Marc's patience snaps. How can Steven not understand? How can he not see that Marc is protecting him?
“You've got to live a normal, happy, simple life. You understand?” Marc demands, jealousy that he has harbored for so long finally breaking the dam.
Steven got a normal life. Steven got to be happy and content. While Marc dealt with all the messy stuff and took it on without complaint. And now Steven is mad he didn't get that? That he didn't have to live through and remember what Marc does?
“But it was all a lie, wasn’t it?” Stevens' voice wobbles, eyes growing red as tears drip down his cheeks.
“So what?” Marc asks, throwing his hands in the air and walking away before turning around sharply and walking back to Steven with big Marching steps, “What, you wanna remember the truth? That you had a mother that beat you?” Marc’s voice cracks as his own tears begin no matter how much he tries to hold them back, “That hated you? That made your life a living hell?”
Steven takes a large step back, shaking his head against Marc's words, “You're lying. You're just trying to upset me.”
“But you've gotten to live thinking that she loved you.” Marc continues despite Stevens protests, fists shaking at his sides as everything he's kept inside for so long pours out, “That she was kind. That she's alive!”
Marc's words ring through the air, echoing in the silence that falls over the hall. It's quiet, not even the sound of breath interrupts the steady flow of quietness.
“What?” Steven croaks, face twisted with disbelieving pain as he starts breathing faster, gasping, “What are you talking about?” Steven doesn't want to believe it, can't believe it, “She's alive, I speak to her every day.”
Marc sighs and tries to step forward to comfort Steven but stalls as Steven shifts away, distrust and fear in his tearful eyes.
“Dad called me after all these years,” Marc explains, “about her Shiva, and I couldn’t do it.”
“No.” Steven denies, grasping at his head and folding in on himself as he shouts, “This is all wrong. No, this is all wrong. No, no, no, no.”
***
Kat wishes she were dead. More dead than she already is. She wishes she had jumped overboard and been swallowed by the sands while she still could. She wishes she had said her goodbyes and left the realm. Kat wishes a lot of things, and what she wishes most of all is to not be here right now.
Smashed plates are littering the floor of the dining room, all sharp edges and broken promises. Cool golden cuffs are wrapped around Kats forearms and pressing against her heated skin steadily.
Nausea rises in Kats throat as she gazes at herself. Memory Kats face is twisted in rage with a low growl emitting from her throat as she glares down at the man writhing in pain as he bleeds and stains the carpet.
Oh god, Kat is going to be sick. Dry heaves and the sound of her own retching echos in Kats skull as she drops to her knees and hunches over as her stomach contracts. Her hands land in the pool of blood, cold and sticky, seeping onto her skin. Quickly, Kat draws her hands away and fruitlessly tries to wipe it off onto the carpet but the blood's red tint stains her hands and under her nails.
Her father is shouting, yelling at memory Kat as he presses his hands against the steadily bleeding gash in his stomach, belligerent rage released as memory Kat stares coldly down at him.
Kat looks at her past self, almost not recognizing herself. Her face is twisted in a snarl, pointed fangs revealed threateningly, eyes blank of any emotion but rage.
“Katalya?” A sweet young voice calls meekly, walking down the hall towards the horror in the living room, “Where are you?”
Kat watches as her past self suddenly deflates, all anger leaving and being replaced with panic as she takes in what she's done. Her father has gone quiet, still as he lays on the floor, unconscious but alive.
“Don't come in here, Claire.” Kats past self calls, voice rough and wrecked, unfamiliar even to herself, “Stay where you are.”
Kat is helpless to interfere as she sees a shadow emerge from the hallway, a young teen who just wants to find her sister. A shrill scream rings out as Kat closes her eyes and wishes to be whisked away from this hell.
“I told you not to come in here!” Kats past self yells, trying to block Claire's view fruitlessly, the blood is clear as day, “Go to your room, I'll be there soon and explain everything.”
Kat watches through tears as Claire shakily backs away from her past self, eyes wide and fixed on the fangs that remain on display and the golden glowing eyes. Her sister's gaze flicks between Kat and their badly injured father, face paleing.
“What are you?” Claire asks in a small voice, fear lacing every word.
“Claire,” Kats past self steps forward to comfort her sister, arms falling to her side as Claire quickly steps away, “Claire, I'm sorry, I had to do it. Please, you need to understand..”
Kat is barely able to see anything anymore through the blurriness of her thick tears, drawing in her grief as the memory plays on relentlessly.
“You're a monster.” Claire whispers, backing further away as Kats face crumples, “You're a monster!”
Kats choked sobs are silent as they stick in her throat, unable to be released and suffocating. Her stomach heaves again as it feels like her chest is going to cave in on itself, the emptiness clawing at her heart and pulling her into it.
“Get away from me!” Claire screams as past Kat tries again to embrace her sister, “Get away!”
Kat watches as her past selfs heart breaks and feels the echo of the pain in herself.
“I’m sorry.” Her past self apologizes through sobs, “I'll take care of this. I'm so sorry Claire.”
Her past self wrenches open the door and flees into the night, disappearing from her sister's life.
Kat remembers running until her chest heaved and burned. She remembers finding out her father had survived and that guilt she felt when she realized she had wanted him to die. She remembers watching from afar as Claire grew up without her.
Her whole body shakes as the memory changes, unsure if she can survive another memory so soon. Everything in her being hurts so badly, and she just wants it all to go away. Take the memories away, take her body away, take her emotions away. Let her just cease existing and float in nothingness so she doesn't have to feel this torturous pain.
And as if agreeing to her wish, Kat feels hot, sun warmed sand underneath her knees as the memory changes and brings with it the scent of the salty sea.
***
The pavement is gritty under Marc's palms as he collapses to the rough ground, tears streaming down his face. His childhood home, blanketed in grief and sadness, stands along the street beside him as he watches his past self turn into a past version of Steven and walk away. Walking away freely from the home and the people that have haunted Marc. The memory burns as Marc remembers the broken expression on his fathers face when he had turned away, refusing to go in, the black keriah pinned to his chest.
Looking up from the dark asphalt, Marc stares at Steven who's watching the scene around him with confusion, remembering it so differently.
“This is it.” Marc says, choking on the words as he speaks, “Moms death and Shiva two months ago. This was the moment our lives started bleeding together.”
Marc looks around at the neighborhood he had grown up in, the same one he had left when he was eighteen. He thinks that maybe his father should have been wearing two keriahs since Marc had torn himself away from him as well. He had left his father and never contacted him, he must be practically dead to him anyways.
“I couldn't…I just couldn't.” Marc struggles as Steven crouches down to his level, large empathetic eyes soft and understanding, “I couldn't face that again, all the things I've done.”
Tears flow from Marc’s eyes against his will, dropping to the pavement and staining it dark with sadness and internal agony. It feels as if all the grief within him, all the regret and pain, could rip this world from its roots in a tornado and cast everything away.
“Marc,” Steven begins softly, a hand reaching out and resting on his shaking hunched shoulders, “all those horrible things that she said to you,” Steven swallows, remembering the violent tone of their mothers voice, something he had never heard from her before, “she was wrong. It wasn’t your fault.”
Marc shakes his head, his arms tensing and untensing rapidly as the bricks around himself are torn down by simple words.
“I shouldn't have brought him to the cave.” Marc's voice is soft, a weak whisper as he looks up at Steven with red rimmed eyes.
“Hey, you were just a child. It wasn’t your fault.”
A strangled sob escapes Marc's lips as he feels more tears wetting his face, a release for all he's held inside. His whole view flipped on its head. Everything that drove him to do whatever he can to push people away and not even give himself the chance to hurt them, it all changes. A new perspective is what Steven gives, a new view. Marc has been blaming himself all this time and he never even thought to consider that he was a kid. Somehow, that perspective makes it easier to bear the pain, bear the guilt he feels. A balm on the hurt flaming open wounds of his heart.
Sniffing, Marc lets Steven help him to his feet and leans against him as Steven leads them away from the house and towards the awaiting door painted purple with a golden glow around it.
***
Waves crash against the soft sandy shores, foamy white and cerulean blue. A cool breeze blows Kats hair back and dries her tearstained face. The sun is warm and welcoming on her copper skin and Kat can feel it on her back as she turns to the house, her childhood home, that sits silently up the beach.
The beach is empty save for her and a small family, her family. Her mother sits reading a book under an umbrella, her father leans back in a chair as he raises a bottle of whisky to his greedy lips. Claire, only eleven at this time, sits on the edge of the water, letting it rush up under her legs and pull her into the tide, laughing as it tickles her skin and running back to begin again with each incoming wave of foam.
Kat can feel that she is back in the place of her past self, back to being a puppet in the strings of the past. She is back to experiencing it as if it were the first time, though she now has the curse of knowing what's to come. The curse of being unable to prevent it.
The warm sand shifts under her feet as Kat walks slowly over to her sister, feeling the shock of the cool water as she steps into the shallow water and smiles down at Claire as she splashes happily.
Her heart hurts from the whiplash, Claire's disgusted face flashing over her current smiling one. Kats arms throb where she can feel day old bruises fading under her t-shirt. The scent of salt lingers on the air, mixing with the mist of the Iroise sea that mingles in the air and dusts Kats face with a million tiny kisses.
Kat stares out across the sea, not truly seeing what's in front of her. The birds caw overhead and mock her, swooping through the clear blue sky, free as they fly. Her blank eyes pass over the horizon in the distance as a content smile that is not her own, settles on her lips.
Kats body flops down into the wet sand beside Claire and begins to help her make a sand castle, racing against the tide to finish it before it can be swept away. The sand granules dig into her knees as she kneels down and scoops up handfuls of the muddy brown sand and slaps it onto each other. Claire laughs giddily as the tide comes closer and closer, teasing them with its presence. Kat's hair sticks to her forehead as sweat drips down her brow from the shine of the sun as she places the final touches, a little crooked stick, on top of their sand castle and leans back with Claire to admire their work.
The two sisters shriek together as the tide comes in and crashes against them, soaking the two with cold spray, and drags their crumbled castle out to sea. Claire is bent over laughing and shrieking in delight while Kat watches her happily, wide smile and sparkling eyes.
“Shut it!” A deep voice booms across the beach, followed by a lazy burp.
Claire flinches and shifts closer to Kat who has gone rigid, the chill in her veins no longer from just the cold sea water.
“Sorry, papa.” Kat calls back, keeping her tone even and steady despite the racing of her heart, “We were only playing.”
Claire peeks out from where she is half hidden behind Kat and nods, brown curls bouncing with the movement.
“Stop it. Go clean your rooms.” Her father commands, lifting the brown bottle back to his lips with finality.
Kat watches as Claire's head dips, chin to her chest as she sighs sadly and slowly stands up. Kat looks between her fathers lazily reclining figure and the smoothed out remnants of her and Claire's castle, anger slowly building in her chest.
“Why can we not play longer?” She asks with a breath of boldness that wilts as her father raises his icy eyes to stare at her.
“What was that?” He questions slowly, weight in each word.
It's a trap. Kat knows it's a trap. But she has no option but to repeat herself.
“Why can we not play longer?” Kat repeats, swallowing and quickly pushing herself to her feet as her father stands and walks towards her and Claire with a deceiving smile.
“Because I said so, and just for that, you're cleaning the basement as well.” Her father declares, steps stumbling as his whisky ladened breath invades Kats nostrils and mixes with the salty air.
The anger comes back with a rage, a clear feeling of injustice flaming in her gut as Kat raises her chin definitely and glares at her father. He knows Kat hates the basement, the cold dark and the suffocating stench of damp earth. She knows he's purposely torturing her. Claire's head hangs sadly, disappointed to have their fun interrupted,
“Why can we not play longer? Why do we have to do all the work while you spend all day drinking?” Kat feels the words pass through her lip, the words that she's regretted for years.
Her fathers face contorts into a sick sneer, icy blue eyes flashing dangerously. Kat barely has time to gasp in a breath before her fathers body collides with hers, heavy and solid as he shoves her back into the cold water. The water floods Kats senses and all she can see is blue waves and the burn of salt in her nose and throat.
Her fathers arms hold Kat down, unrelenting as she struggles to raise her head and take a breath. The cold waves sway above her as Kat thrashes and tries to scream, only pathetic bubbles releasing. Hands wrap around her throat, squeezing tightly and cutting off her muted screams. Kats chest spasms and begs for oxygen to fill her thirsty lungs. Her throat is burning like a raging fire that spreads through her whole body as the water shifts above her, the surface so close yet so far away.
Kat can hear Claire's warbled screaming through the water, and she regrets making Claire watch this. She regrets not holding her tongue. She wonders where her mother is, if she's even doing anything to help. Her fathers twisted face floats above her, smeared and blurred by the layers of water and the tears in Kats eyes. His fingers tighten around her throat as Kat slowly begins to feel her strength ebbing away, darkness creeping into the edges of her vision.
***
Marc and Steven enter onto a beach, one neither of them recognizes. Gulls screech above as the cool sea breeze ruffles their curls and kisses their skin. Marc wipes the remnants of tears from his face and looks around, trying to figure out what memory this is, it's not one he remembers having.
“Is this your memory?” Marc asks, smelling salt in the air.
Steven shakes his head, toeing at the soft sand, “No, I've never been here. Where are we?”
Marc shrugs, unsure, and begins walking down the beach. The waves lap against the shore, lazy and slow. A peaceful sunny day by all appearances.
Marc is about to ask Steven if he's sure this isn't his memory, when a child's scream cuts through the air. It's shrill and sharp, full of terror and blood curdling. Glancing at each other, Steven and Marc take off in a run towards where the sound had come from. Feet pounding and kicking up sand as they go. Steven and Marc can hear sobs and more screaming as they race down the beach.
Two figures come into view, a crying small child and a man kneeling in the water. A woman lays nonchalantly on a beach towel further up the beach under an umbrella, sunglasses covering her eyes as she ignores the child's screams for help.
As they get closer, Steven and Marc feel their hearts stop. Fear freezing their veins and clawing their throats apart. The waves splash violently as an arm appears from beneath the depths, clawing at the man's arms that are tense with force.
“Stop! Papa, stop!” The little girl screams, ruddy face a bright red with shining tears, her brown hair and blue eyes reminding the two men of Kat, “Please, stop!”
Beneath the waves, a body thrashes and struggles, face blurred as it moves in quickly. But Steven can recognize those brown copper curls, even when logged by water.
“Marc,” Steven whispers, heart stuttering in his chest, “Marc, that's Kat.”
***
Nothing makes sense anymore. Up is down, down is up. Everything is dark and too bright at the same time. The scent of salt and whisky is all around her, cold water rushing into her lungs as Kat tries futilely to cough it up. But her body is too heavy, so heavy that she can barely move her arms any more.
All her fear has seized up and evaporated into nothing. The welcoming hands of unconsciousness grasp at her, ready to lead her into their depths. Her fathers snarling face is all she can see through her murky consciousness, the heavy weight of him all she can feel.
And then it disappears, the weight lifts from her burning chest, hands disappearing from her neck and leaving only their bruising marks. Her father's face is no longer above her, only the pale sky and beams of sunlight that cast their reflection through the water and dance on her skin.
Arms appear around her out of nowhere, hauling her to the surface as Kat thrashes and screams, hands clawing at the arms that struggle to hold her still long enough to drag her from the sea's grasp.
“Kat! Kat, calm down, it's okay.” A voice says close to her ear, strained as Kat keeps fighting to get out of the hold, “You're okay, it's okay.”
A second voice appears, gently calling her name and asking for her to breathe. But she can't breathe, she can't get a single breath into her lungs. Her back is pressed against a warm chest that houses a quickly beating heart.
“No, no! Get off me!” Kat screams, finally back in control of her own body instead of the memory of herself.
“I'll let you go once you calm down.” The voice behind her says, warm and caring.
A face appears in her vision, brows drawn together and an empathetic frown of his face. Kats brain is slow to make the connection, but when she does, her struggling stops and she slumps back into the strong chest behind her.
“Steven?” Kat croaks, her voice sounds just as rough and torn as she feels. Kat twists her head to see the face connected to the arms around her, “Marc?”
“Yeah, it's us.” Marc affirms softly, letting go of Kat and stepping back to give her space.
Kat looks around in a daze, searching for her father, for Claire, for any remnant of the memory. But they're all gone, leaving only an empty beach and three broken people. Taking in a deep lungful of air, Kat releases it all in a long puff and collapses to the warm sand, unable to stay standing.
“Kat, I need you to breathe with me okay? Remember, like what we did in the storage unit.” Steven says, sitting in front of her and demonstrating a deep breath in and out, smiling softly as Kat copies him, praising, “Yeah, that's it. Just like that.”
Marc stares out at the sea, stomach sinking as he remembers Kats earlier reactions to water. He understands now, understands why Kat was so afraid of it. In fact, he probably understands it better than anyone else, the echoes of the water sloshing in the cave sounding in his mind.
Kat leans into Steven, foreheads touching as she continues to copy his breaths. The simple connection calms her heart as the burning in her chest and throat ebbs into a numbing sting.
“Who was the little girl?” Marc asks, trying to distract Kat as he sits by her side.
“Claire.” Kat responds after a moment, “My sister.”
Marc nods and falls silent, letting Kat decide whether to say more.
“She lives in Paris now.” Kat continues, the shaking in her hands reducing as she speaks, “We’re about four years apart.” She swallows and sits back up fully, “I haven't spoken to her in almost ten years. we saw each other once after I ran away, at my moms funeral.”
“Why don't you speak to her?” Steven asks, full of curiosity.
Kat shifts and lets the sand filter through her fingers as she answers, “She doesn't understand avatars. She's afraid of me.”
Stevens face crumples with sympathy while Marc simply sighs, understanding how it feels to be labeled a monster and knowing the long suffering pain it carries.
“And that man was your…” Steven trails off, letting the question complet itself as Kat slowly nods.
“Yeah.” Kats voice is quiet as she avoids eye contact and stares off into the distance, eyes burning with tears.
The three sit there, silent but for the lapping of the waves and the chirp of gulls flying through the air lazily. The clouds shift with the gentle breeze that blows Kats hair back from her face and cools the droplets clinging to her face. Steven sits on her right, Marc on her left. Both are quiet as they hold her hands and let the moment linger on.