Threads of Fate
AN: And so it begins…the multi-chapter thing (I came scarily close to calling it that too, LOL). I suppose this would qualify as an AU, since I've screwed around with absolutely everything… Quick shout-out to Cohen's Chicas for pointing out my Nightmare Before Christmas reference!
Disclaimer: I don't own Coraline: talk to Neil Gaiman/Laika Studios.
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The soft, tremulous glow of a new dawn crept across the Earth's face, warming its soil-skin and breathing life into its body, like the kiss of a fairy-tale prince bestowed upon his sleeping princess. The valley swelled with birdsong and the plants gleamed with morning dew, prepared to drink in as much sweet sunlight as they could before the clouds inevitably rolled in, heavy with rain.
Yet even as the sun rose in the Oregon sky, it was setting on the life of Dorothea Lovat.
Coughing weakly, she held up a gnarled hand to block the glare spearing through the dusty curtains--yet she could still feel her skin burning, as though her palm were little more than tissue paper.
Working her parched throat, she called out hoarsely: "W-Wybourne…!"
A loud 'thump!' sounded overhead; she listened as he dashed down the stairs to answer her. 'Such a good boy…'
He rapped his knuckles on the door gently. "Grandma?"
Propping herself up with a few pillows, Dorothea sighed wearily. "Come in, Wybourne."
A quiet creak, and then his nervous face appeared, peeking in shyly before entering. "Is everything okay, Grandma? Do you need anything?"
"Just my water and pills, boy, and then you had better be getting to your chores."
As he went to retrieve the medications keeping her alive, the elderly woman looked out the window and squinted into the distance, in the direction of the Pink Palace. The apartment complex had once been her childhood home, and the home of many others before her; her past, present, and what remained of her future was inescapably linked to the seemingly innocuous structure. While it no longer could claim to be pink, and had never deserved the title of 'palace,' the building had a history far beyond what most people suspected, a magic all its own…
How she hated it.
'That house is a monstrosity' Dorothea shivered, flesh crawling. 'But I don't know what might happen if it were ever torn down, what might escape…' She wore her eighty-two years as though they were a hundred and two, a lifetime of unwanted responsibility and fear wearing her down far faster than nature had ever intended. A lifetime of bad memories…
A low, rumbling purr drew her attention to the bookcase, where a spindly black cat rested among the musty literature and bric-a-brac. "Ah, old friend. I've seen better days, but you look just the same…how unfair."
Cat said nothing, but his blue eyes seemed sad.
Wybie appeared in the doorway, unaware of the exchange. "Here you go, Grandma. Be sure to take them slowly, like the doctor said."
As she accepted the glass and tablets offered, Dorothea stared into the boy's face, so familiar yet somehow foreign, and knew that she was dying. Her heart seized with apprehension, but it wasn't mortality she dreaded.
'What will happen to him…?'
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The clock face read 3:08; only two minutes remained until the end of another nine-hour day at Ashland Regional Middle School.
To Coraline Jones, it felt more like an eternity.
Tapping her foot, she fiddled with the cuff of her dull gray blouse and shot a glance at her wristwatch, hoping for better news--3:08pm, it reported mercilessly.
Picking at her chipped teal nail polish, Coraline glared at the minute hand and willed it to go faster. She felt anxious, as though any moment she might jump clean out of her skin; a strange feeling of foreboding had been plaguing her for the past few weeks, and was only growing more intense with each second that ground by with agonizing slowness. Her mind raced ahead even as her body remained stationary, speeding back to the Pink Palace, and even further, into the past--
A painfully long drive, her father singing every song that came on the radio off-key while her mother grouched about this and that.
Boredom so profound she nearly cried, nowhere to go and nothing to do.
A parlor that contained nothing but a fireplace…and a strange door, covered over with wallpaper.
Meeting the neighbor-boy and his cat, exchanging their first pleasantries--but not the last warnings. "Don't go near that little door…"
Coraline, nine years old at the time, had scoffed at first; such melodrama over a hole in the wall, and one that led to nothing at that. But Wybie had insisted, and since his grandmother owned the place, she had diverted her ravenous curiosity to other mysteries. Now approaching her thirteenth birthday, the little door had re-entered her thoughts--
Mainly because she suspected there was something behind it after all.
Finally, the bell rang, unleashing a wave of pre-teenagers eager to get out of the dungeon-like institution. Standing up quickly, Coraline made a beeline for the parking lot, where Wybie and his motorbike would be waiting. 'Lucky jerk gets to be home schooled…although maybe not, with that grandmother of his.' The Lovat matriarch made no secret of the fact that she did not approve of their friendship, but there was no keeping them apart: 'Besides, he's too much fun to tease, the big dork…'
Outside, the weather was of the typical, overcast variety. Scanning the area, Coraline sighted Wybie parked near a telephone pole, slouched over and fussing with the rusty crank on his skeleton-mask. She took stock of the boy who had been her best friend for nearly four years: wild, unruly curls that defied gravity (and cleanliness), neck and spine bent in every direction but straight, intelligent green eyes and warm brown skin…
'Err, whoa.'
Thoughts going in a strange direction, Coraline went the opposite way and turned critical: nobody could annoy her quite like Wybie could, he always knew something about everything, 'and he's…short,' she huffed, bad mood making her petty. It interested her that Wybie had yet to hit his growth spurt when all the other boys their age were sprouting like weeds, but being a late-bloomer was certainly not his fault. Neither was this funk she had fallen into…
As she made her way over to him, the uneasy butterflies in her stomach solidified into a lump of nervous energy and settled, nausea dogging her the whole way home.
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Wybie, sensing Coraline's tension, had proposed a trip into the woods after school the next day; exploring had never failed to cheer her before.
She agreed to go, but with less enthusiasm than he'd been expecting.
The distinct lack of arm-punching lately had him concerned; when he tried to dig out the cause, toeing the line between indirect questioning and a joke about female puberty, he got nothing but a flat glare. 'Something is definitely wrong.'
Dropping her off, Wybie found himself lingering by the front steps long after Coraline had gone inside.
He knew his Grandma despised the Pink Palace, and he had never seen the interior himself; after all, he was strictly forbidden from entering. Something about a family tragedy…
Still, for whatever reason, just the sight of the house triggered odd moments of déjà vu, 'as though I've seen it all before, but different somehow…'
Reclining on the bike's front seat, Wybie craned his head back and gazed up at windows that guarded Coraline's bedroom. The blue-haired girl would often lean out over the sill, shouting down to him; had done so since she'd moved in, years before. Even then he had thought she was the prettiest, funniest, smartest girl he'd ever known, or would ever know--'but there's no telling her that, not with me being such a coward and her with that nasty right hook,' he grumbled inwardly. She reminded him of a time when--
A sharp twinge interrupted his reverie. "Ouch! These weird headaches…must be my allergies kicking in." Rubbing his forehead and mumbling something about 'sinus pressure,' he stole one last glance at where he knew the girl he loved was hidden, before riding home to tend to his grandmother.
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Dorothea was in a state of near-panic when she finally heard the front door open, a shouted greeting drifting back to her through the house. Sitting up straight in her bed, the scolding began as soon as Wybie walked into her room.
"Wybourne, I know for a fact that it only takes you fifteen minutes to get from the school to here. Where have you been? I was worried out of my mind!"
Flushing, he avoided her eyes. "Nowhere, Grandma, just dropping Jonesy at the apartments."
"What have I told you about that place? You didn't dare go in, did you?"
His jaw clenched. "No, Grandma, I didn't. I'm not a baby…"
Dorothea's voice grew louder in volume, even as her lungs strained threateningly. "Don't you sass me, boy--!"
A sudden fit of wheezing wracked her frail body. Wybie ran to her bedside, startled. "Grandma?! What should I do?" The awful throbbing started up in his head again, pounding in time with the old woman's rattling coughs.
Waving him away, Dorothea slowly calmed, exhausted. Wybie's look of pain, fingers pressed hard to his temples, had her anxiety spiking again. "What's the matter with you, Wybourne?"
"Just a headache, I'm fine…I'm going to call the doctor, okay? Be right back."
Unseen, Dorothea clenched her blankets so tightly her bony knuckles turned white, eyes wide with terror.
'It's already begun.'
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AN: What's begun? You'll just have to wait and see…
…although my friends call me the 'Spoiler Queen,' and I'm just dying to get to the punch line, so let's see how long I can hold out XD
--The decision to name Grandma Lovat was one made out of necessity for this fic…I don't like non-canon names but as far as I'm aware she has no other title than 'Grandma.' I thought Dorothea was a nice fit…it's pronounced 'Dorothy-ah,' by the by. (If there IS an official name for her, somebody please let me know & I'll gladly use it :P ).
When writing, I always feel the beginning is the hardest part--I wanted to get this intro down & out into the world so I can start fleshing out the rest of the story. Most chapters will probably be about this length, if not a little longer.
Thanks for reading and see you again soon!
---258.