Title: Every
Breath
Author: triggersaurus
Summary: follow-up
to 'Every Street' (read it at http://www.geocities.com/er_trig/triggersfics.html)
Note: This is not
a conclusive end to 'Every Street'. If you read this and dislike
it, then you are free to disregard it and consider it no part of
'Every Street'. I've contemplated many different continuations of
that fanfiction, and this is only one of them - I may well come
up with several other alternative endings.
Every Breath
The church was dark, not with
the colour of night but the solid deep brown of the oaken pews,
the strength of the heavy beams way above his head, the plush
burgundy of the prayer books and the cushion by his feet. Light
in tiny fragments shone through the intricate pattern of the
enormous stained glass window behind the alter, depicting Mary
holding a young baby Jesus on her knee as he points in wonder at
birds flying around them both. Few other people lurked in the
church at this time of day - outside it was grey and dusky with a
hint of rain in the air. A solitary old woman, curled over with
age, sat further forward in a pew, tracing words in a covered
bible with a hooked finger. A volunteer church worker swept
invisible dirt in front of the alter, and an eager teen pushed
pins through a new poster to hold it to the noticeboard by the
doors. In his lap, Kate watched the rays of light on the windows,
and the man sweeping, and reached for the prayerbook.
"Boo. Boo." The rudimentary language was enough for
anyone to understand, but Doug knew she would just rip the pages
out and instead lifted her in the air, turning her around to face
him. He winced a little as the waving hands clipped his left eye.
Settling down again, the toddler rediscovered the wonders of the
light beams from a new angle, and fell into a gummy silence, two
fingers in her mouth.
"You know, I brought you here to experience religion, but if
you prefer the sunshine then I guess that's okay." Doug
stroked the thin layer of downey brown hair on his daughter's
head, pausing for a moment. He knew she was too young to really
care what he said and to understand what he was going to try and
tell her. He didn't have any clear plan about what he wanted to
say, but he had to start somewhere and let the words flow.
"Both me and your mom spent quite a bit of time in these
places when we were kids, depressing huh? You know, the problem
with being a lapsed Catholic is all the guilt. I got enough guilt
already, without the religious factor. Your mom was more
religious than me, Russian Orthodox Catholic or something, all
sorts of weird festivals they had. You would have loved it, I can
just see you all dressed up in one of those God-forsaken
costumes. No pun intended there. Something to do with painting
eggs too, and strange dances, and I don't know what else. Your
grandma would have you doing all that. You'd probably love it to
begin with, then grow to hate it like Carol did, and then run
away from home when you're 15 with some boyfriend with an
attitude problem...not that I'm worried about losing you or
anything. You and your sister would have looked perfect in those
costumes though. You'd look perfect in anything, take after your
mother. She would be so proud to see you now, if you look up
there hard enough maybe she can get a glimpse." Doug looked
upwards, to where Kate pointed at a Christmas decoration hanging
from the rafters. He remained silent, looking to the heavens for
some sort of reassurance as Kate slid back down further into his
arms and chewed her fingers. Snapped out of his reverie, he
glanced down at her and continued.
"It's hard to say this, Kate. It hurts to say it now,
knowing what I've lost. But...I want to tell you so you'll always
know. Your mom was the first and only person I have only really
loved. Proper love. I wanted to be with her all the time, and
when I wasn't I was always thinking about her. I'm still in love
with her. Her face is always there in my mind. You're the only
real part of her I have left... Just your luck to get my genes,
huh? Better get used to it quick, kiddo, you got years of bad
hair to get through." He smiled towards her, but at himself.
Joking to get away from the sharp edges of his soul that he was
revealing. He had whispered the words to his daughter as if he
was sharing the secret of life with her. But it was the secrets
of death he shared, the secrets of pain and hurt and guilt.
Oblivious, his child lay in his arms, quiet, as if she was
waiting for him to continue. He knew that really it wasn't the
words she was listening to but instead the feel of his deep voice
and the movement of his chest up and down that she was
concentrating on. But he could convince himself that she really
cared about the confession that spilt forth from his mouth, and
he let his hand rub the top of her head absent-mindedly as he
spoke again.
"You know how difficult you were to find, huh? Took me 6
months to find you. 6 months - that's half a year - for you, a
bit less for your sister. You think I did the right thing for
her? Yeah, yeah. I worry about her too much, right? That's your
mom who said that, did you hear her? No? That's who I saw in
Tess, she had the same hair and eyes... 6 long months you were
hiding from me, way out in Michigan. You know, I never even knew
you existed for a whole year. I had no idea. And then it took so
long to find you, the counties left a difficult trail with no
breadcrumbs or anything, you've seen more of the US than I have,
kiddo. Not even 2 yet and you're a traveller. Bet it was cold in
Michigan. They seemed like nice people though, so I guess you had
heating...damn, listen to me. Why am I doing this to you? You
don't care, you don't want to know all this crap..." He
sighed, realising that his daughter was fast asleep. His breath
shook with a sudden wave of grief that he had never let loose,
and he swallowed it back down again, trying to push Carol's image
out of his mind as it floated into view. He knew he shouldn't
have come here. It always made him ache for her so bad that he
wanted to find his path to heaven right then, with no thought as
to the child in his arms, the tiny apartment with its rent to
pay, the night shift at the little drugstore. He hated living
without her. Her death was like a brand on his heart, a mark
burnt into the muscle forever. And he was so, so scared of losing
the only part of her he had left in Kate. He only left the house
to work after she was asleep, leaving her on her own for 4 hours
while he scraped money together to keep them both afloat. The
only time they left the house together was to shop once a week,
and to visit this church. No-one had followed him in over two
months but that didn't make him less wary, or less careful.
No-one could know how he felt, constantly looking over his
shoulder for anything slightly abnormal, any shadow that remained
a second too long.
Why keep running? The question that had pervaded his
consciousness so frequently during the long months after he saw
the photos, the evidence, flew across the surface of his mind
again now. His answer took a breath in and exhaled, tiny fingers
flitting lightly on the skin of his arm that kept her close. He
didn't need to ask himself why anymore, but the struggle to get
to this place had felt so long and so difficult...worse than
anything he'd ever experienced before. From the moment he learnt
he was father to two baby girls, and the moment of his descent to
insurmountable grief - again, the photos burned into his very
soul flashed before his eyes - he knew he would never stop in the
search for his children. And yet how he had wanted to. Yearned
to. Every time he hit a no entry sign on his search, he
questioned his mission. Would it not just be easier to give up?
To let them, the shadows, find him and do their worst? His life
was miserable, a fruitless search for infants he'd never known,
devoid of friends, family, and the one person who could turn it
all around was dead. And he was to blame for all this shameless
destruction. But something was there at the back of his mind
making him stand up and run, to test his stamina to the absolute
limits and then drive right over. He knew he couldn't leave the
only part of Carol left in the two children, he couldn't let them
go. He had to see them, if only to reassure himself that somehow
she lived on.
But the day when he first pushed open the door of the strangers'
lounge, the swinging motion for a second blurring his vision, the
day when he saw the tiniest, softest, most innocent and untouched
apparition of childhood...that day had been a drink from a
fountain in the middle of a desert. The eyes that skimmed over
his feet, legs, and face slowly and questioningly, and then
stopped for a deeper look, were not new eyes. Second hand eyes,
eyes borrowed from one before her, eyes that should now rest with
angels. But was this an angel who sat on the floor, a teething
ring wedging her mouth open? The light in his eyes seemed to
simultaneously sparkle and die. For one part of him couldn't
believe he'd finally found her, and that part had need no longer
to stumble through life aimlessly. But the other half of him
crumbled and dissolved as he looked at the last good thing he had
created, and the last piece of a woman he thought he'd never see
again. A smile cracked his own face, and his eyes watered, but
they were merely emotive ripples on the surface of a much deeper
pond. It had taken six months and three days to find her, four
months and ten days to find Tess. Tess, easier to find because
she had been adopted in full, registered with the state of
Indiana, had a big house in a town called Sullivan, an older
brother and sister, a mother who stayed home all day to look
after her and a father who owned a small accounting firm. And she
was happy there. She hadn't said that, and neither had her new
parents, or her new siblings. But he had seen it as he watched
them all play in their local park. Satisifed she was well, but
helplessly accepting the fact that he could never provide
everything she was enjoying now, he had walked away. He consoled
himself that he knew that she was alive, that she had Carol's
hair and light, soft skin, that she would grow up loved and safe.
But it only renewed his fervour to find his other daughter. He
had sworn to himself that if she too was living a happy,
comfortable life with a new family, then he would leave her to be
her own person too. Because he knew he would be so hesitant about
letting her out of his sight, so worried about them getting
her...doing what they had done to Carol...she would never be a
normal child. And he wanted her to live a normal life.
So was he happy or sad when he discovered Kate was in care,
unadopted due to medical reasons? The piece of paper had told him
that, under custody of the District, his daughter had contracted
a viral infection and lay comatose for nearly two weeks before
progressing to the healthy state she maintained now. During the
time of her treatment she had been moved across state to a
specialist children's hospital, and then a foster parent who had
medical experience, and then back into care in Michigan when the
foster parent, a resident of the state, had abdicated
responsibility due to a 'family crisis'. Such a busy life she had
had already. And she sat there, on the floor of the care centre,
and looked completely untouched by everything. As Doug held her
now, sitting on the cold bench in the church, he knew that his
daughter would never have to know of her history. She'd never
remember it, so why tell her? Why spoil a happy life? Would he
ever tell her? Could he bring himself to do it? But one day she
would ask, he knew. One day she'd want to know why he looked over
his shoulder every ten seconds, why she was the only person he
smiled for anymore. And then he would tell her. She deserved to
know the truth, he supposed, to deny her his honesty would be
against every ideal he had, and yet he was the protective wall
around her. To tell her that her mother had been murdered because
of him would be like the wall collapsing on top of her.
He sighed, and looked at the sleeping child on his lap. He
couldn't decide something like this now. It wasn't something he'd
have to worry about for a good few years yet. Would Carol want
her to know the truth? Afterall, she herself had been kept in
blissful ignorance regarding her family's past, and look what had
happened when she'd found out. Doug bit his lip, thinking of it.
Carol would want Kate to know. But she wouldn't want her to know
everything until she was old enough to deal with it - and old
enough to promise not to do anything about it. He felt his breath
catch in his chest once more and banished his thoughts, locking
them up tightly at the back of his mind once more. With the
decision, almost as if she knew, Kate stirred and raised one arm
into the air although still asleep. Gathering himself to leave,
Doug stood and lifted her, turning to collect the backpack he
carried everywhere from the seat beside him. And he saw the
shadow sitting on the end of the bench. Their bench.
All the muscles in his body seized and froze, his legs frozen,
his arms clamping Kate to him, his neck contorting. How had they
found him? So careful, and yet he'd allowed himself to sit there,
roaming his mind and paying no attention to his surroundings.
After so long, he thought he'd taught himself to be aware all the
time. How had he missed this? What could he do to get away - did
the shadow have a gun? He needed to conceal Kate, and make sure
that she would be able to escape. He had to do something to get
away from whoever watched him. But to run would be stupid,
running wouldn't stop a speeding bullet from splitting his chest
in two. He had thought of this moment for hours, had come up with
actions plans in the face of shooting, fighting, one opponent or
many, being attacked on the street, in his house, in a store,
Kate being snatched away...but he had never thought of the
situation he was in now - knowing there was someone there, them
knowing he knew, and yet the lack of movement or speech pressing
him into the ground. His mind raced, and he watched the figure
stand very slowly. Why had never bought a gun? At the time he had
known he didn't want his daughter to grow up with a father who
carried a gun, or even had one in the house. But now he felt
stupid. What good were morals if he had no daughter? If she had
no father? The shadow moved forward and his brain told him to
drop down to the floor, push Kate under the pew where she would
be safe. But the message didn't reach his muscles as the figure
moved nearer and nearer, and just as his feet kicked into action,
stepping him backwards, a shaft of light from the enormous
stained glass windows dropped across the face of the person
before him, refracting and reflecting every little light beam
from the contours of the nose, cheekbones, chin, eyelids, lips,
to his eyes, onto the retina and down the optic nerve straight
into his brain - and suddenly he was paralysed. He couldn't
function any more. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't feel the
child he held and the numbness spread to his legs so he couldn't
sense them anymore.
The person stepped further forward still, letting more and more
light flood across the skin. The eyes were sunken, and the
cheekbones prominent. The clothes clung to the thin frame they
hung off. Long fingers stretched forwards, reaching for the flesh
of Doug's arm, and then retracted with surprise as Doug
desperately sucked in air and whispered out more air than
language. But the letters and sounds hovered in the air above
them both and slowly fell into place and became a sigh on the
wind of time as they reached forwards.
"Carol."