#tpn fanfic

Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down (or the day 6-year-old Ray devised the escape plan)

“Ouch!”

“Mama!”

“Norman!”

“Emma!”

A yelp, a wail, a protest and an exclamation, all in that order. Ray covers his ears, glaring at the three of them in all his 6-year-old glory.

Isabella’s face is a perfect mask of concern and Ray is tempted by the sudden urge to push Emma and Norman away.

“Mama!” sobs Norman again, his right hand wrapping itself in a fist around her dress and his left gripping Emma’s hand.

Emma’s lips begin to twitch and Ray knows that if she starts bawling now, it will be more because of Norman’s tears and less because of her own injury.

“What happened here?” asks their mother, and again, Ray must fight off the urge to scream, to run or both.

When Emma stares forward tight-lipped and Norman simply wails, Isabella turns to him, and Ray finds that meeting her gaze does not come easy to him, not anymore.

Behind her, Emma shakes her head quickly, round, green eyes beseeching him to keep her secret, her right hand hidden behind her back, even though he was certain their mother had seen already.

But Isabella’s gaze is suspicious, and Ray remembers their deal all too well. A small accident could not have meant much, they both know, but Ray’s reluctance to tell the truth will mean the world. This is a test of his loyalties, of his vow to her just a week before.

He complies only too readily, every bit her son.

“Emma and Norman wanted to show you a candle trick they found in my book, but Emma got burnt trying to light it.”

Isabella does not say anything, but he notes the approval in her eyes. He has passed, for now.

“It doesn’t hurt!” protests Emma shrilly, her face now as red as her hair.

Norman sobs harder, “I told her to not hold it like that! How will we play tag now?”

“I want to play with Norman!” yelps Emma fearfully and her eyes begin streaming now as well.

Ray rolls his eyes as Mama pulls Emma’s hand from behind her back to examine the swollen finger.

“It’s alright,” she assures them and Ray wonders, not for the first time, if she has meant anything she has ever said to them.

“It’s only a small burn. But next time, let’s not play with fire, okay?”

“Okay,” Norman and Emma chorus in unison, sniffling.

“Now, come along - yes, you can too, Norman - to the infirmary,” she instructs them.

“Ray?” they both turn to him.

Ray has no desire to be closer to her at the moment, and perhaps it shows in his eyes because Isabella says, “Ray, will you help Susan set up for dinner?”

He nods stiffly, refusing to hold her gaze.

He waits until their footsteps have faded away before gathering the discarded matchsticks.

He cannot help but wonder, as he picks up the charred matchstick, its end still smoking, how quickly Mama had abandoned the game of chess she had started with Michelle and Olivia, the instant one of their safeties was in question.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could abandon Norman and Emma just as quickly? If she could leave them, for even a moment, so they could run far, far away?

Experimentally, Ray prods the smoking matchstick with his finger, and he is prepared for the sharp sting of its pain, for the way his fingertip balloons pink. He knows if he screams now, she will rush to him, just as quickly as she had to Emma.

He had mulled over it several times, and he had reached the conclusion that if the three of them were to grow up here, then her eye would only grow more watchful, more hawk-like.

No, it would take several burned fingers, several accidents, before Mama could take her eyes permanently off of her prized shipment.

And suddenly, the answer is in front of him, so starkly clear that he wonders if he had been blind before, as he had been for so many years.

He tucks the blackened matchstick into his breast-pocket, knowing it will crumble to ashes, blemishing the shirt’s pristine whiteness.

He does not particularly care. He is to get used to this ashiness, for it to fill up his pockets, his lungs, his very being, until Mama rushes over and Norman and Emma run far, far away - an eternal game of tag against their Neverland.

No, he would not play with fire. He would win a war with it.

I Hate Mars

Ayshe considered herself a patient person.

She knew just how long to wait in hiding before hunting, she didn’t mind watching 25 kids for hours at a time, even when they insisted on braiding her hair (“Anna taught me! Isn’t it pretty Ayshe?” sure.), she lived in the same house as the man who killed her father for years now and still hadn’t lifted a finger to hurt him (setting her dogs to take his dinner didn’t count, and besides, it made Gilda laugh), but really this was too much.

“What.”

“Isn’t Mars sweet, Ayshe?” cooed Sherry, gesturing to the hairy beast in Gilda’s arms.

“Younamed that thing?”

“You name your dogs,” pointed out Don.

She shook her head. Her dogs were useful:they could hunt, scare Norman, keep guard, scare Norman, drag heavyweight, kill (not Norman, not yet). But a cat?

“He won’t get in your way, I promise,” said Gilda, smiling sweetly, and Ayshe couldn’t say much else to that.

***

Gilda stayed true to her word. Every morning, without fail, she brushed that thing’s matted hair, gave it a bow for some reason, fed it something out of a can instead of letting it hunt, cut its nails, and of course, kept it out of Ayshe’s way.

At the end of every week, when the children went on one of their long trips and returned, predictably, empty-handed, Ayshe watched with bemusement as Gilda held that thing close to her for hours at a time.

“Mars doesn’t have to be useful, you know,” said Ray, who had been watching her eyebrows raise higher and higher after one of those trips.

“It doesn’t do anything.”

“It doesn’t have to. Gilda likes it because it shuts up and follows her around when she’s upset.”

“She has 43 siblings.”

“Yeah, but those don’t ever shut up,” said Ray fondly.

“I have 3 dogs. She didn’t needto get a cat to keep her company.”

“Sounds like you’re jealous.”

Sounds like you need to keep your mouth shut.

Lifting herself off the dogs curled around her, Ayshe manoeuvred herself around the crowded household into Gilda’s room.

As always, she was hunched at a corner of her bed, her arms wrapped around the thing - Mars.

“Oh-hello Ayshe!” she said, startled but not unwelcome.

“Hello.”

Gilda likes it because it shuts up when she’s upset.

Tucking her knees underneath her, Ayshe stared silently at Gilda. 

“Did you…want something from me?”

She shook her head. It works for the beast but not her?

And suddenly, Gilda burst into tears. What the hell, Mars?

“I’m sorry - it’s just Anna wants to go to medical school and money’s still thin and I knowNorman and Ray are working but I want to help out but the only thing I can do is help with searching but we haven’t found a single lead and Alicia, Phil and Yvette are upset and Don’supsetso I can’t be upset in front of them, and it’s Violet’s birthday next week and I haven’t planned anything and Eugene’s allergic to mangoes now,” she sobbed.

“…Staying away from mango peel helps with allergies,” was about the most useful thing Ayshe could come up with.

Gilda stared at her. And without warning, laughed. Had she said something funny?

“You’re right, Ayshe. There’s so much less to worry about in this world and I’m worried about…allergies?” she chuckled, wiping at her eyes.

Ayshe didn’t think she had said anything even remotely related to worrying.

“Would you like to hold Mars?”

No.

“Okay,” said Ayshe, holding out her arms.

It - Mars - began to purr, nuzzling it’s fat, orange head against her shoulder.

“I can…fish for Mars. You’d save money on his food that way,” she offered.

Gilda blinked at her, surprise evident on her face.

“And my dogs don’t forget a single scent. They might help with your search. I don’t know anything about birthdays but - “

Gilda cut her off, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she said, lacing her fingers through Ayshe’s hand.

Ayshe wondered if her chest had stopped working, whether it was normal for her heart to squeeze in on itself this way. She didn’t trust herself to speak, her ears flushing red for some strange reason.

A loud hiss from Mars, from being pressed in on from both sides, broke them apart (what the hell, Mars?) the cat darting out of Ayshe’s arms, out into the hallway.

“Mars!” yelled Gilda, chasing after him, Ayshe on her heels.

They had lost track of him, amidst the clutter of the children-filled household.

A loud meow, a series of loud sneezes, and an even louder laugh from Ray pulled them both into the kitchen.

“Oh hello, Gilda! Ayshe - ” began Norman warily. And then, sneezed.

“Sorry - ach-choo! - I think I’m - ACH-CHOO!” Curled around Norman’s legs, quite unbothered by the sneezing was a very relaxed Mars.

“You’re - ” gasped Ray, clutching at his sides, “you’re allergic to cats?!”his words punctuated with laughter.

Norman didn’t seem to find the situation quite as entertaining. Sniffling, he beckoned for Gilda to take the cat away.

Chuckling herself, Gilda scooped Mars up into her arms again.

“Sorry, Norman! It won’t happen again!” It absolutely will.

Together, Gilda and Ayshe walked out of the kitchen, Ray still laughing, Norman still sneezing.

Ayshe smirked, running her hand along Mars’ back.

Maybe having a cat around wasn’t such a bad idea after all…

The Amnesic Ghost: Part 2 (But the roles are flipped)

If it weren’t for his years of being on the run, Ray wouldn’t have realized he was being watched.

Normally, he wouldn’t be at the woods this late. But Nigel was firm that a forest-side town might be their answer, so here he was, on the eve of her 14th birthday. Instinctively, his hands reached for a rock on the ground. There was not much damage a pebble could do, but it would catch his pursuer off guard. Hearing the tell-tale signs of someone shifting their weight, Ray whirled around and threw the stone - right at a 7-year-old girl’s forehead.

The rock passed neatly through her. Standing in front of him, looking more jubilant than fazed, was the very girl they had been looking for - only, she was 7 years younger than she was supposed to be. Also, she wasn’t corporeal.

“Ray!” she exclaimed gleefully, as if young men who looked like older versions of her brother frequently appeared in her backyard. She launched herself at him, and borne of the instinct of having 40-something siblings, he crouched down, arms outstretched just enough to receive her small frame. But the duo clearly hadn’t learned a thing from the slingshot because Emma merely stepped through him, stumbling slightly.

“Why are you glowing? Why can’t I hug you? Why are you so old? You’re even taller than Mama! Are you here for my birthday? Where’s your uniform? Do you want to play tag with us? Everyone’s it except for me but I guess you already found me - do you want to play again?” she said this all in one breath, arms flapping animatedly. For his part, Ray merely gaped, his eyes creating that same prickling sensation he had felt when he first realized she was missing.

I found you, I found you, I found…you!

But his overwhelming relief was momentary. A skeptical voice, which sounded strangely like Isabella, began to whisper in his mind. “Is she really here? Or do you just want her to be?”

His smile slid off his face. His mother always did have a knack for crushing his dreams. How pathetic, he thought wryly, crying in front of a hallucination of your 7-year-old sister. Slowly, he turned away, willing her to disappear. He tried to walk away but found, quickly, that he couldn’t. He was bound here, to a vision of the world he had cursed, bound to her memory.

He felt the ghost of a small hand reach for his own. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice much quieter, her eyes round. Damn it. Pushing his bangs to the front of his face, he bent slightly. If he was stuck in this world, to her, then it wouldn’t hurt to talk - an artificial consolation for his years of searching.

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly. “How are you?”

She beamed, “I’m seven! Just as old as you! But not right now - why are you so old?” she asked again, quite unwilling to give up. Typical.

“I don’t know, how did you get so young?”

“I’mseven,”she repeated. “Did you get adopted? Is that why you’re a geezer?” Ouch.

“I didn’t get adopted. But I’m with our family.”

“Is everyone happy? Is Mamahappy?”

“Everyone’s happy. We’re all missing…someone though.”

“Are they from our family?”

“Yes.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Every day.”

“Are they okay?”

“I really hope so.”

“Is that why you’re here? Were you looking for them?”

You always were perceptive. If I had been more like you, would I have known you were lying to us then?

“Yes.”

“Well…” began Emma, “I think they’ll be okay!”

“You think so?”, he asked, feeling the corners of his mouth begin to twitch.

“I know so. Everyone in our family’s smart, right? They’re probably…playing a game of tag! And we’re all great at tag - you’ll find them, for sure.”

Against himself, a laugh bubbled from his throat. Maybe it was her childish, almost obstinate confidence. Or maybe, he was just hysterical. Somehow, I always feel like there’s hope when Emma says it, Norman had once said to him. Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, he grinned broadly, “Yeah, you’re right, we’ll find them, for sure,” echoing her words.

“You know, you’re a lot more cheerful than myRay.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said, smiling. “Am I giving you a hard time there?”

“You never give me a hard time,” she said sincerely.

Idon’t believe that.

Frowning, he crouched, until her eyes were slightly higher than her own. “Yeah, well, if I do, give him - me - a kick from me, won’t you?”

Laughing, she nodded, allowing his hand to gently brush (or ghost, really) over her head, as he had done in their youth.

Suddenly, her already-spirit-looking figure became almost blindingly illuminated, and he knew he would leave her world soon.

Perhaps she realized it too, because she immediately reached for him, “Do you think you can visit me again next year? I’ll bring Norman, and you and Mama and - you look sad,” she remarked, her face falling.

Fighting to swallow the lump in his throat, he placed his hand on her translucent shoulder, “Can you forgive me” he whispered, “for being away so long?” I’m sorry. We were supposed to go there together. I miss you.

How silly, she thought, we play with each other every day, don’t we? She nodded.

“Promise me,” he said gravely, “you won’t try to do everything on your own.”

“Inever do that. You’re always by yourself, though,” she said, a tone of accusation creeping into her voice, as if to call him a hypocrite.

Liar. I miss you.

“I do, don’t I?” he said fondly, “it’s a good thing I have you then.” Thank you for showing me this world. I miss you. Come home.

“I’m sorry I keep forcing you to play tag,” she said, “I don’t like you ignoring us.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” I never have. I miss you.

She was growing less and less corporeal by the second.

“Hey - Ray! Did I ride a giraffe there yet?”

“Not yet, but you will.”

“Really?”

“Really.”I promise.

She was completely transparent now.

“Bye, Ray! Say hi to me, for me!”

“I will, happy birthday, by the way.” I hope you have a wonderful 14th, Emma. I’m sorry I’m not there to celebrate.

“I’ll meet you there, someday!”

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, ignoring the sinking disappointment of returning to an Emma-less world. I miss you. I’ll find you.

“Take care!” I’ll try, thank you for seeing me. It’s been so long. Take care.

And with that, she was gone, returning him to his world.

***

“Yo.”

“Ray!” exclaimed Emma, tearing her eyes away from the spot the older Ray had been.

“You’re it.” That’s right, we were playing tag.

“I avoided everyone for really long, though,” she said, mildly annoyed he had caught her. And I was nice to you too, even though you were old.

“Sure.”What do you mean, sure?

“I did! Even Norman didn’t catch me!” she protested, following him back to their home.

He gave a short, mocking laugh.

“Ray!” she yelled indignantly. “That was a new record - and I didn’t even try to hide! What took you so-”

“Surprise!” all around her, her family sprouted from among the bushes leading into the forest.

“Happy Birthday, dummy,” said Ray, helping Norman heave their present into her arms.

“It was all Ray’s idea!” said Nat, “he knew you’d be distracted for a while if we played tag.”

See, Ray? You always knew everyone in our family so well - you’re going to find that person, I know it.

***

I’m going to find you, swore Ray, walking back through the woods, back to his family.

The Amnesiac Ghost

As far as he could remember, Ray could see ghosts. Susan, Michelle, and now Marcus - they were always here, in the woods his family loved, dressed in their neatly-pressed navy uniforms with matching hats. How long had it been since he saw them alive?

He had just turned 9 - his collar smeared with the cake his siblings (mainly his youngest brothers) had aimed at him - when he saw the first ghost he had never met before in his life. Tuning out his sister yelling at him to make a wish (“If you don’t shut up, I’m wishing for you to go away, Emma” “Ray!”), he screwed his eyes shut, asking for the same thing he had wished for every year since he had turned 6 (“I wish for my family to grow up”). And when he opened his eyes, he saw her, wild red hair darting between her shoulders, facing away from him, solid-looking and yet a silhouette, one he was sure only he could see - another ghost.

For the rest of the night, Ray kept his eyes trained towards the forest, looking for the achingly familiar young woman. Rejecting Gilda’s offers for more cake, narrowly avoiding the platter Thoma and Lanni had tried to throw at him, and pulling himself away from a Norman and Emma concealing a poorly-wrapped present behind their backs, he stepped out into the crisp winter air, sweater hastily wrapped around him. He treaded carefully towards the woods and when he blinked, he saw her again, a shimmering shadow rooted amongst the trees.

He had never talked to a ghost before. Mostly, he let them be, figments of his cursed imagination. This one, however, seemed to haunt him, for some reason he could not explain. As he drew closer and closer, he realized three things: 1) Her clothes weren’t from here 2) The string of numbers was missing from her neck 3) He knew her, somehow. Now right behind her, he cleared his throat, quite unsure of what to do. Startled, she faced him.

“Emma?” He choked, his voice barely a whisper. And yet somehow, this wasn’t his Emma. No starch-white uniform, numbers or infuriatingly bright smile. Instead, she wore a parka, a golden chain hanging from her neck, and strangely dull green eyes, and best (or worst) of all, she was older - more than any of the children he had grown up with, but younger than his mother. “I’m sorry, where are we?” she asked, as if she hadn’t realized her otherworldly presence. “The house, Emma,” replied Ray, half-torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. She had grown up - had the others grown up too? Were they away from this wretched place?

The girl (Emma?), however, stared at him blankly. “The house” he repeated, “What’s gotten into you?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her apology somehow irritating him more, “I don’t think I’ve ever been here.”

“What are you - of course you’ve - why are you here?” he spluttered.

She frowned, “Why are youhere?”

“I asked first.” Her frown deepened.

“I don’t know. I went out to hunt and now I’ve lost track of Alex’s cabin.”

Alex? Hunt? Cabin? What was she - “Your ear’s gone!” he realized suddenly, as she moved aside the single side-braid from her face.

She chucked, “Was it ever there?” but when Ray continued to look perplexed she shook her head quickly.

“I’m sorry -“

“Stop apologizing, you sound stupid.”

“I’m sorry - sorry - areyou lost too? Did you say you were looking for someone? Emma?”

She sounded the name out as if she’d never heard it. “No,” he said, his voice hoarse, “I live here. You’reEmma.”

Shaking her head, she looked at him, as if not really seeing him, “I don’t know any Emmas. And I don’t think I know you either.”

Seizing her upper arm, the highest part of her he could reach, he gave a frustrated shout, “It’s me, Ray! Are you that old that you can’t remember me anymore?”

He couldn’t shake the feeling that they had met, that once, she too had grown up here, ignorant and loud and wanting nothing more but to celebrate his 9th birthday.

“I…don’t remember much of anything, really,” she replied, her voice breaking, and hearing the quiet panic in her tone, Ray felt bad.

“How old are you?” He asked, more hushed now, wanting to make up for his outburst.

“15, I think. You?”

“9, I turned 9 today,” he said, adding quickly, “My name’s Ray, by the way.”

If this really wasn’t Emma, then getting to know his only link beyond this house couldn’t hurt. She smiled softly, “Happy birthday Ray.”

“So…you really haven’t been here before?”

“No, I’ve never really been anywhere past Alex’s cabin.”

“Who’s Alex?”

“My…foster dad. He took me in 2 years ago.”

His jaw dropped. “You’ve been adopted?!” Is that why she had grown? Did she not get shipped? Had she escaped? Had Norman escaped too? What about-

“Yes? No? Not really, no. He found me near his house and I’ve been living with him ever since.”

Found her? “Where did you live before?,” he asked, still strangely sure of her identity.

“I don’t remember. I can’t remember anything before Alex took me in.”

And suddenly, pieces of a wayward puzzle begin to fit into his mind. Somehow, Emma, if this girl was even her, had gotten away from the house, alive, as a ghost, or something else entirely. Somewhere along the way, she lost her memories - and now, she was here, whether by coincidence, fate or destiny at Ray’s house.

What was she? He wondered. A memory? Were they in the same time? How were they talking otherwise? Was she really a ghost? Had she died? Was Ray a ghost? What if-

“What about you? You said you live here?” she asked.

He nodded, “I grew up here. We all did”

“This is an orphanage?” She asked, catching on quickly.

He hesitated, and then settled on the truth - lying to a ghost felt pointless. “No.”

“I see,” she said, choosing not to probe further, much to his relief.

“And who is this Emma you mentioned?”

“My sister. She looks just like you, but she’s 8. She doesn’t know this isn’t an orphanage. None of them do.”

“Why do you?”

“I remember everything.”

“That must be wonderful.”

“It’s not”, he said earnestly. “Sometimes I want to forget.”

“Even your sister?”

“No. But I don’t want to remember everything about this place either.”

She said wistfully, “I’d give anything to remember my family, if I had one.”

“How did you lose your memories?”

“I don’t know.”

“What year is it?”

“2048. Is it not the same here?”

He shook his head, “We don’t know what year it is here, we never have. My best guess was 2030, but Mama probably gave us outdated books on purpose.”

“Mama?”

“Never mind,” he said quickly. And suddenly, an epiphany struck him.

“Show me your left arm!”

“What?”

“Show me your left arm,” he insisted.

Confused, but obliging, she pulled back her parka sleeve, and sure enough, at the edge of her forearm was the birthmark - same as the one marked on Mama’s file for Emma.

The ghost must have realized what he was trying to do too because she asked, “is it my mark?”

He nodded, feeling elated and confused and miserable all at once. “Emma has the same one.”

They seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

“I see. So I used to live here?”

“I think so.”

“And you were - are - my brother?”

“Yes, I’m a little older than you, normally.”

A smile curved at her lips. “I wish I could still remember you, Ray.”

“I’m sorry you lost your memories. I hope it’s not because of this place.”

“Don’t apologize, you sound stupid.”

“Sorr - right,” he conceded, grinning.

“I hope I’ll see you somewhere in my world, Ray,” said Emma who was not Emma.

He felt the lump in his throat grow higher - he would never see what she could. The boy who could remember everything would burn in this house, while the girl who could remember nothing, borne of his ashes, would escape. That’s the way he had always meant for it to be. But Norman…

“I don’t think you’ll see me. But there’s someone else in our family who’s out there too. If he remembers this place, then I knowhe’s looking for you. You’re not alone.”

“Thank you,” she said, giving him her first bright smile, making her seem, for just an instant, like Emma.

And suddenly, her smile grew brighter, and every inch of her was blinding, and he knew their time was almost up.

There was more he wanted to ask - what happened to her number? What was her new name? Did she still like giraffes? Had she ever come across a white-haired, blue-eyed boy whose smile was as soft as the stars? But he settled for the easiest one, the one which would keep him far away from the world he wouldn’t see.

“Are you happy?” He asked.

“Very. I have Alex and now…I have you,” and as she spoke, he noticed something glistening in her eye.

Brushing furiously at his own eyes, he spoke, “Good - that’s - that’s great.” I’m sorry I made you leave this place. I’m sorry you aren’t with our family. Thank you for everything.

“And you, Ray?” she asked, her voice breaking too.

He was never going to grow up, see Norman and Emma grow up, never have more than 12 birthdays. But…

“I am. You made my life here better - I’m glad you’re alive,” he said, smiling thickly.

Perhaps she understood some part of what he said because she asked, her silhouette now so transparent he could see through her, “What would you like for your birthday? Consider it an overdue present from your sister.”

He didn’t have to think this time. The answer rose almost automatically to his mind.

“See the Sagrada Familia for me!”

She smiled, which he took to be an affirmation. “Thank you for being with me in this world!” she spoke as infuriatingly cheerful as Emma, much to Ray’s mingled relief and sorrow.

And with that, she disappeared, no hint of her presence left behind.

Slowly, he trudged back towards the House.

“Ray!Ray!”

At the top of the hill, he saw his two best friends, his family, run towards him, no longer bothering to hide their present.

“Where were you?” Asked Norman breathlessly.

“In the woods, dummy.”

Looking less winded, Emma launched a blow at his shoulder.

“If you don’t stop being mean, I’m not giving you your gift. “

She didn’t understand. Neither of them understood what he had seen, what was going to happen to her and maybe Norman too. Would they ever remember any of this or Ray again?

“Ray!”

“What, I-“ and it occurred to him that they had ripped off the wrapping paper. In Norman’s hands sat a wooden model of the Sagrada Familia.

“Isn’t it awesome? Mama let us break apart an old clock for the parts - Norman almost broke his finger but it’s okay because I could hold the hammer better-”

“-we added lights on the inside, and there’s a switch at the back, so you can look at it at night too. And I programmed the bells inside to ring right when the real thing does - we saw it in your book.”

“we don’t know if we got all the details right though, that book looked pretty old but-“

They were both cut off, because suddenly, Ray had launched himself at both of them, an arm wrapped around each one.

“Shut up,” he said, not even bothering to wipe at his eyes, “I love it. Thank you.”

He tried to put a lot of unsaid things into his embrace. Thank you for being here, for remembering. Thank you for escaping, thank you for meeting me at the forest, Emma. Thank you both for being around this long. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I’m sorry.

Laughing, Norman patted him on the back. “No problem, dummy.”

“If you don’t stop crying, we’re going to cry too!” exclaimed Emma, laughing as well.

“I’m not crying,” he sniffled as they pulled away.

Smirking as they walked back to the house, Norman muttered under his breath, “sure you weren’t - hey!”

Ray had launched a kick at him.

Whacking him again, Emma asked brightly, “So…did you have a good birthday?”

He thought of the ghost, of the grown-up Emma who couldn’t remember her family. He thought of how she had never met Norman, how he, Ray, would never see them both. He thought of La Sagrada Familia, the one they had made, and the one his sister had promised him.

“The best.”

Later that night, neither Norman or Emma would understand why Ray insisted they ought to improve their memory (they had the best scores in the House, after all.) They wouldn’t understand why he asked them to show him their numbers, why he demanded they write down their wishes onto small scraps of paper (an activity Emma would rope the rest of their family into). They wouldn’t understand, at least not Ray’s reasons, for pulling them both into one last hug, or why he apologized after (“you sound dumb when you apologize, Ray”).

But they did it anyway. For the same reason Ray played tag with them, drew bright red string through their two paper cups, picked sunflowers and carnations respectively on their birthdays, cut his finger carving their Christmas present, and stuffed a can of lighter fuel underneath his floorboards.

Ray and the Ghost would both go to bed that night, each one promising to remember the other. And when they woke up that morning, both would blissfully have forgotten, by the works of the one neither would know.

Severed strings cannot be sown together, after all.