Unwritten

Note: This story was inspired by "Heritage" by Emmie D. Thank you for letting me borrow a bit of your plot! :D

"That's the last of it, Mr. Calhoun."

Caleb nodded at the mover, opening the last box to look at what had been packed up in the wake of his mother's death. There was more here than he could ever remembering seeing in his childhood, and he was surprised that his father hadn't taken a torch to all of his and Norma's things after they had both taken off.

Most of the boxes, so far, had been curtains, old and cracked pottery, and a bunch of old books that he and Norma had owned as kids.

This one seemed different. There weren't any kitchen odds and ends or old clothes of his mother's in here – this box must have been filled solely with things left over from him and Norma, and the room they had shared.

There was a handful of old baseball cards – all bent and worn – as well as some magazines Caleb had held on to. Under those, he found a small make-up case that must have belonged to Norma… and under that, a tiny book with a light red cover and "Norma Louise" written out across the front in what looked like blue or purple pen.

There was a tiny piece of the cover folding over to create a metal "lock", but one that could be easily opened just by pulling the metal apart.

He lifted it out of the box and sighed.

"The rest of this stuff… Uh… We'll take it to storage. But I guess I'll hold on to this. I guess my sister might want it."

The mover gave him a slight nod and continued on, taping up the rest of the boxes.

What he didn't leave in storage back in Ohio, he donated. It wasn't as if he was going to need to hang curtains in his van, after all. If he came back later, he would probably donate it – if he could come back to Ohio, that was. With his warrant, it had been a risk.

But his mother had been so out of it at the end, he wasn't even sure that she had known who he was, let alone anyone else. The Calhouns had always kept to themselves, and the few people who may have remembered the family were long gone.

He kept one small of mementoes, of memories of a person he was a long time ago, and he placed Norma's diary at the top.

If she ever talked to him, then he could give it back to her. Maybe he would ride back and see Dylan.

Realizations had come to him as he'd sat at his mother's bedside and heard her alternately make nonsensical comments and act like Caleb and Norma were still tiny children playing in the hallway.

He didn't know why he had never put it together until now.

It's not as if he'd exactly thought it wasn't possible. He understood the mechanics of such things, but at the time he had been in such a whirlwind that it had made sense – Norma had decided that she couldn't do this and so she had fallen in love with someone else. John Massett had been his name, and Caleb had pictured him, had hated him, had planned to come find him and her and… what had he planned to do if he found them? He'd been traded out for a husband and a new child.

But he hadn't been, not quite.

It was making his mind hurt, and his heart hurt.

Caleb pulled over by the side of the road. He pushed his palms over his eyes and brushed away some of the tears that had begun to burn there.

He wasn't going to think about this, any of it – nothing good came from remembering the past, not even the recent past.

So he was not going to remember the last few weeks, the way that he had sat in a chair by his mother's bedside and listened to her forget who he was, or even worse, call him "Ray" and plead for him to leave her alone.

He would try not to remember it, but even as he promised himself that, he knew it would keep coming to him.

The nights in his childhood hiding under the porch with Norma. Hearing his parents scream at each other and knowing that, if and when they were found, his father would start on them next.

Usually him, first. He'd try to shield Norma as best he could, but usually it wasn't enough.

And sometimes… sometimes she would shield him, too, arms full of bruises trying to get in between Caleb and a pair of fists.

Caleb rubbed at his eyes again and repeated the mantra – no good would come from thinking about the past.

Caleb had been debating whether to read some of Norma's diary the entire way back to Oregon. He was drawn to the idea of being able to see inside her head, to be able to understand her – or, maybe, just to be back with her, hiding under the porch again, being safe with each other again. But this was also where she would have written her most private thoughts, her secrets… hadn't he already invaded enough of her private life?

And so he let the diary sit in the back of the van, as he went off on a run in Nebraska and came back with bloody knuckles and a warrant for grievous bodily harm.

It took some maneuvering to get Dylan to let him back in his life, but then again, Caleb had always considered himself a manipulator; he had had to be.

He'd needed to manipulate every time a well-meaning teacher had asked about the bruises on his arm or tried to call to speak to his parents.

He'd needed to be a manipulator when Norma had told him they couldn't do this anymore, that it was wrong.

When he was around Dylan, Caleb felt safe. He felt needed in a way; this kid who looked just like him and acted like him sometimes but could be so much better, had the potential for so much more.

And to help encourage that potential he could buy some lumber, build a barn, go into town and get some part and tell himself that he was doing some good, for Dylan.

He could tell himself that Dylan would see who he really was, even when he didn't know the answer to that himself.

There were moments when he could have given the book back to her – when he was invited to dinner, or when he dropped off the guitar for Dylan, intending to never see either one of them again.

Intending to fade into the background.

As he camped in the woods, he held it in his hands, let his fingertips brush over the cover and let him remember the girl she had been, the boy he had been, before it all had fallen apart. What had she written about him in here? Or had the secrets they'd kept been too painful to even trust to a friend who she knew would never tell a living soul?

He still couldn't bring himself to open it, though whether because he was afraid she'd feel betrayed if he did or because he was afraid what she had written about him, he still wasn't sure.

When Caleb returned to town to confront Chick Hogan for the last time, he stopped by Norma's front door.

Before she could say anything, or ask anything, he handed her the book.

She took it from him and examined the lock.

Then she shook her head.

"Do what you want with it, Caleb. That's not who I am anymore."

Caleb let his feet swing over the edge of the pier.

He let the water rise up and wash the last of the blood off his hands.

And then he opened the book and began to read.

"Dear Diary… My name is Norma Louise Calhoun, and I just turned thirteen. I live in Akron, OH, with my mom and dad and my brother, Caleb…"

The End