A/N: In 2014, I began this Charmed fanfic based on a dream. I didn't fully develop the story before jumping right in and writing. I had a lot of negative feedback on the last chapter I wrote, and that put me off of the story. But there was validity to the comments. Even I didn't like where the story was going from there. So, I have decided to rewrite. A large portion of the material will remain the same, but I have made changes to the plots that I didn't like to give the story more solid footing. Thank you, to the readers, for sticking with the story and providing brilliant feedback.
"Mommy!" I blink as my eyes focus on the room around me. A little girl with dark hair runs toward me with tear filled eyes. I feel strange. What was I doing before this? I narrow my eyes at the odd sensation then turn my attention to the girl, seeing her bottom lip tremble.
"Hey sweet girl, what happened?" I question, following her line of sight to the scraped knee.
"He pushed me," she responds, her eyes glancing accusatory toward the door she'd just run through. A boy with dark blond hair stands there, clutching on to the doorframe, a guilty expression on his face. My brow furrows slightly.
"Is that true?"
The boy nods. "But she called me-"
"Parker," I scold. "It doesn't matter what she called you. You don't hurt other people." I frown. "Go to your room. I'll be in in a minute." I turn back to the girl and pick her up, depositing her gently on the countertop. "Let's take a look at this." Rolling up the leg of her shorts, I find that the scrape isn't too bad. It doesn't need anything more than a bandaid. My eyes caught sight of the empty doorway where Parker had been standing. We were going to have to have a long talk about how to treat other people I press a damp rag to the scrape, causing a sharp inhalation from the dark haired girl. Offering a smile, I remark, "Nothing I can't fix up." I pull a tube of a homemade ointment from one of the cabinets.
"What is it, Mommy?"
A smile crosses my face and I lift my eyes to look at hers, mirroring back at me. "It's medicine, Peyton." It's in that moment that I realize just how much she looks like me. She has the same almond olive tones skin, dark hair, same lips. Nearly everything about her is the same as my own. Except for the color of her eyes. They're a bright blue. I recognize the color in them and it takes my breath away. I haven't seen those eyes in what feel like forever.
Something doesn't feel right, but I ignore the feeling, forcing it down to focus on tending to my daughter's leg. My daughter. That beautiful little girl who is all mine. After a bandaid is in place, I set her down and she runs off toward the hallway that leads to her bedroom. I let out a long breath and glance around the main area of the house. I know this is my home, but it feels...off somehow. I straighten up in the living room and move to the kitchen, cleaning up the day's mess. Maybe that's all it is. My need to pick up after my family.
Once the rest of the house is settled and I make sure Peyton's done her homework, I turn my attention to Parker's closed bedroom door. It's never fun when I have to scold my children, but as their mother, it's my job. I push it open, finding him sitting on his bed with a book in his hands. If he wasn't in trouble, I would have smiled. He liked reading. I knew at least that much about my son. "Hi." I close the door behind me and cross to his bed. He closes the book and sits up, offering the spot next to him on the bed. "Why'd you push your sister?" The two of them are close in age. I'd hoped maybe that would make them get along better. Apparently it didn't matter. But what would I know about that? I was an only child.
"She called me a nerd," Parker said, looking up at me with worry in his eyes. "She said all I do is sit and read and never play with her." I listen, not offering any hint at what I'm feeling. "She just kept saying it in that sing-song voice and it annoyed me, so I pushed her." A frown forms on my face.
"Well, that wasn't very nice of her," I remark, choosing my words carefully. "But you know better." I level him with my gaze and he nods. "You have to remember that she's younger, she has different interests. It's not right for her to call you names, but she just wants to be included in things with you." I finally offer a smile. "She wants to be close with her big brother. That's not too much to ask, is it?" His worried brow relaxes and the edges of his mouth turn upward.
Whereas with Peyton, I see every similarity possible, I can find none in the boy before me. The thought shocks me to awareness.
"I'll tell her I'm sorry," Parker relents.
"In the morning," I remark. "I'd like for you to take a bath and get to bed. School tomorrow." For a moment, I expect a grumble to come from him, but I receive none. I wrap an arm around him and pull him to my side, pressing my lips into his hair. "You gotta watch that temper. People are going to say bad things about you your entire life. If you show them it doesn't bother you, then you don't give them power over you. Remember that." He nods against me. I kiss the top of his head once more and then push him toward getting ready for bed.
–
Both of the kids are tucked into bed as I pushed open the back door of the house and step out into the warm evening. I don't know how I got so lucky. I have two great kids, a wonderful husband, and a house overlooking the San Francisco bay. I lean forward, resting my elbows against the railing as lights across the bay glitter across the water. I take a deep breath. It feels like it's the first breath I've truly been able to take all day. The scent of pine and salt are heavy on the air. Home. I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. This city has the best of both worlds. If you want busy, city life, you can go into town and fade into anonymity in the crowds. If you want quiet, it's a short trek to the woods, to the bay, to any number of natural landmarks that would make you question your own existence in comparison to it.
The sliding glass door behind me opens and I turn my head, expecting to see one of the kids out of bed. Instead, a smile crosses my face as I see him. My heart skips a beat. Who knew it was possible after over ten years of marriage and two kids to feel like a teenager in love? He's standing tall, in his San Francisco Police Department uniform, exhaustion evident by the deep creases in his face, but happiness in his eyes. My husband. I'm overwhelmed by the amount of love I feel welling up in my chest. How long has it been since I've seen him? Wasn't it just this morning when he left for work? If that's true, then why does it feel like it's been a decade?
The light catches the blue of his eyes, eyes that he passed on to our daughter. Eyes that are shining at me as I cross to him. It feels like forever by the time I wrap my arms around his neck and his are around me, crushing me to his chest. I bury my face in his neck, my heart threatening to beat right out of my chest. I know that he risks his life every day as a police officer, so I worry. But the fact that I feel so desperate to be close to him right now is the only thing I can think about. "Hey," he whispers as he buries his nose into my hair. "Are you okay?" I nod against him, my arms wrapped tightly around him, not wanting to let him go. Never wanting to let him go. "Hey," he says again. One of his hands tightens in my hair as he pulls me to look at him. There are tears in my eyes. I have no idea why. "What's going on?"
His voice is gentle. The exhaustion I saw on his face has been replaced with concern. "It's been a...weird day," I whisper as I look at him, committing his features to memory as though when I blink he'll be gone. "I just... well, I missed you," I exhale, silent tears sliding down my cheeks. "I don't know why, but I just feel like I haven't seen you in forever." He smiles, his eyes glittering like they do when he's incandescently happy.
"It's been twelve hours," he pokes fun. He likes to do that.
I playfully shove his shoulder, but don't let him out of my arms. "It just feels longer than that. Like it's been years." I tip my chin toward him. "I love you, Andy." My words are barely more than a whisper as I press my lips against his. At first, it feels sloppy, like I haven't done it in a while, but soon, our bodies mesh together in perfect harmony.
–
Later, when the night has quieted the house around us, I rest my head on Andy's chest. His hand draws circles absentmindedly on my back. I feel completely exhausted but so fulfilled. We lay that way for a while, silently enjoying one another's company. I feel his lips press against the top of my head and I turn to look up at him from my spot against him. I smile. "What's come over you?" he asks, taking my hand into his and then kissing my palm. "Not that I'm complaining, but this morning, you weren't exactly pleased with me." I furrow my eyebrows. What's he talking about? He can see the confusion on my face. "Oh, come on, Prue, don't act like you weren't completely pissed when I left."
I lower my gaze, trying to remember this morning. I draw a blank. The first thing I remember that day is when Peyton came running in. I blink several times. "I...I don't remember," I say sheepishly, averting my eyes from his. I really don't remember.
He tips my head to look back up at him. He studies my eyes for a long moment. "You really don't remember?" I shake my head slowly.
"It was a weird day. I mean, the first thing I remember was Peyton coming in after Parker pushed her. She scraped her knee. Before that...it's sort of a blur," I say gently. "What was I angry about?"
Andy frowns. I can tell that he doesn't want to tell me. He opens his mouth and hesitates. Apparently it was something bad. I sit up, tugging the sheet around me as the chill of the room causes goosebumps to creep up on my skin. "You wanted to go back to working an office job, give up on your photography." I blink several times, trying to remember the conversation.
"But you can't be the only one supporting this family," I whisper.
"That's what you said this morning," he said. I can see the hesitation in his eyes. He doesn't want to fight. I just can't find the words to express in that moment that fighting is the last thing I want to do with him. "We aren't struggling for money," he says gently. "I'd hate for you to give up your dream."
"I just want to feel useful. Is that too much to ask?" I question, quietly.
"Babe, you are. You take care of the house, the kids," he said, his hand trailing up and down my back. "Me." I pick up my head to look up at him, a smile forming unwillingly across my lips. "If you're working an office job, who's gonna make sure I have my tie on right in the mornings?"
"You're right," I smile at him. Obviously the conversation I don't remember from this morning was bad. "And you have no idea how to make lunches for the kids." I knew there was one time I'd asked him and he'd fixed it all wrong. Peyton didn't eat lunch that day because he didn't cut her sandwich correctly. Picky eater, that one.
"So, it's settled? You'll keep working on your photography, and I'll keep doing what I'm doing?" He asks. As I look at him, I remember something. An image. A flash. Andy being cast backward into a grandfather clock. I feel my heart beating faster, my breath coming in shorter gasps. I can hear him as he sits up and takes my head in his hands. I can feel him right there next to me, but that image of him being thrown backward. It's tied to something in my brain that evokes a response of panic. I feel bile in my throat. I see him in front of me in the bed, but I can't respond to him.
Instead, I push myself naked from the bed and to our bathroom. I know these things. But none of it feels familiar. Once the contents of my stomach are empty, I take a cold shower. Andy checks on me, and I tell him that I'm fine. But deep down, I know something is off. Something isn't right.
–
After brushing my teeth and a quick shower, I tuck myself into bed next to Andy that night, not acknowledging my quick escape to the bathroom. He doesn't ask, and I don't offer. Something just felt off. Maybe it was just my imagination, which has a tendency to run wild, I think. When I finally fall asleep, it's late, and Andy's already snoring beside me. The next day starts like any other. Coffee, breakfast, seeing kids off to the school bus, Andy off to work, and I settle in with my laptop to figure out my next adventure.
I'm not sure why there was an argument between us about me going back to work. I don't feel like I need to do that. I enjoy my photography. Andy is right; we're not having money problems. I think what bothers me more than anything is that I don't remember this conversation. When I glance up at the clock, it's half past nine. Rather than stay in the house all day, I grab my camera bag and get out. I can't remember the last time I've spent a day in the city. I park downtown and find myself getting lost in the buildings, the piers, all of it. Depending on the day, my style of photography varies. Most of the time, it's scenic pieces, but there are other times when I photograph people. I smile, thinking of the photos of my children around the house. I've taken all of them. At least, I think I have.
I'm in the middle of photographing a wharf when my stomach grumbles. I haven't had anything to eat that morning, aside from my coffee. I pause for a moment, memorizing everything about this place. From the boats, to the empty docks, to the mountains in the distance. This is what feels like home, what feels right. How long have I been feeling so disconnected from my life? I would need to talk to Andy about it. I don't like feeling off. Finally, I remind myself that I need to eat and push inside of a restaurant not far from the docks.
The sign outside is a cute play on the fact that California has a lot of earthquakes. Subtly named Quake, I notice with a smile. Not that there's anything funny about earthquakes. I remember one time...Well, actually I don't. I shake the thought away as I take my seat at the bar and am greeted by the server. I place my order and click through the photos taken. I work freelance for a couple of magazines in the city, but neither of those require an office and a desk that I'm attached to for any amount of time. It's a freedom I've enjoyed since our children were school age. Before we had kids, I worked in a boring office. I became a stay at home mom with Parker, and then Peyton. The last three years I've been doing this. I love it.
By the time my food arrives, I've already picked out a photo I'm going to submit for an article on fishing in San Francisco. The one with the mountains in the background is absolutely breathtaking. My mind turns to the restaurant around me. I've never been here before. It must be new. I stop the waiter before he can wander off after delivering my food.
"How long has this restaurant been here?"
He shrugs. "Probably twenty years. Why do you ask?" I shake my head.
"No reason." I turn back to my plate and pick at the food there. Twenty years is a long time for a restaurant to be in the same city as I am and for me to have never heard of it. I blink as I push the food around on my plate. Then an image pops into my head. A diamond shaped neon sign. P3. I blink once more and the image is gone. It takes me a moment to gather my wits. Obviously my brain is playing tricks on me. "Excuse me." The server walks back over, looking at me expectantly. "I'm looking into local dives around the city. There wouldn't happen to be a place called P3?"
The bartender pokes out his bottom lip slightly and shakes his head. "No." I nod, then turn my attention back to my food. "But-" I look up at him, feeling hopeful. "There used to be. It's just north of here. It was run by the Halliwells. One of them worked here before that. It was bought by someone else. It's called- Hang on." He reaches for a phone book—who still owns one of those in the day and age of cell phones? "Ah, Knockout. Do you want the address?"
I hesitate. The random image in my mind must have just been that—random. "No, thank you, though," I take a few bills from my wallet and place them on the counter. I get home a full ten minutes before the bus arrives with the kids. The door slams open and in they walk. "Hi, how was your day?" I ask Peyton. Parker heads straight for the kitchen. Boys and their appetites, I suppose.
"There was a mean kid on the school bus," she said. "He pulled my hair." I frown. Peyton is small for her age, true. But that doesn't give anyone the right to pick on her.
"Did you tell the bus driver?" My daughter frowns and shakes her head. "Well, just ignore them. If it happens again, tell the driver. And if they don't do anything about it, then I will." And I mean it. My daughter won't be bullied. Short of calling another parent, I'm not sure what else I can do. I spend the next fifteen minutes getting them snacks and set up to do their homework. It's just a normal day in the life of Prue Trudeau.
I brush the hair from my eyes as I step out on the back porch overlooking the bay. How Andy and I managed to get this place is beyond me. I wrap my sweater around my shoulders a little more tightly as the breeze brushes against my face. It's a tell tale sign that cooler weather is coming. My hands rest on the railing of the porch. I love my life. I know that I love being a wife and mother. I know that my family is important to me. But something's completely not right.
I'm missing something. Or someone.