#tpn fic

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…