A/N: This was supposed to be a story about my take on how Ann's husband and daughter passed away. And then this new and enigmatic muse decided that she was in charge and took this story in a totally different direction. I'm kind of digging the way it turned out, especially as stream of consciousness pieces tend to be a really good way for me to get to know a new character. I'd initially created names for both Ann's husband and daughter, but ended up taking them out to see if we learn that info in canon. I played a little fast and loose with the timeline and came up with my own. So if this story gets Jossed, just consider it canon divergent, okay? And yes, I made sure this story had EXACTLY 666 words. It seemed apropos for my first fic in this fandom.
Dedication: Glen Mazzara, for creating Ann Rutledge; Barbara Hershey, for bringing her to life; and my muses, for always making my writing a rewarding challenge…
Please see profile for Disclaimers.
Some days, this life of mine poses more questions than answers. I try not to get too caught up in finding the answers. If I'm meant to know, the answers will be given to me. That doesn't mean that I am a passive participant in my own life. Quite the contrary. Sometimes it's just easier to allow a higher power to pull the strings.
No, that's a lie. That was the life my parents wanted for me. Seeking the truth, finding the light, that is all that matters. Knowing how to find and resist the deceptions that distract from the path is worth more than life itself. Clarity and truth take time. He who wishes all the answers without earning them is on a fool's errand. I suffer no fools gladly. Even before she came into my life with her message of the Light and the Deliverer, I never understood laziness and willful ignorance.
I was twelve years old when I first realized there was more to - the world, life, everything - than what my parents and teachers were telling me. A woman came to my school, the ruse no longer remembered or important, but she opened my eyes that day… and terrified me to the marrow.
Mrs. Baylock. She never had any other name to me, except perhaps Teacher. And she never once made me feel entirely safe in her presence. Her devotion to the prophecy of the Deliverer was all-encompassing and bordered on the fanatical. I trust in my path, in my infinitesimal part of the greater plan, but I still fear the look in her eyes to this day.
There is an old saying that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. Having seen that very situation happen several times since first meeting her, I readily believe that one truthfully must be willing to learn, or there is no point in the teacher appearing. Even I have been teacher to others. As I am now, only he doesn't yet wish to learn.
Throughout my teenage years, I waged my own rebellion, and no one was the wiser. On the surface, I offered the dutiful daughter and student to those who demanded compliance and respect. But when they left me to my own devices - and they often did because of that very subterfuge - I became another person entirely. A person obsessed with learning the truth of the world around me, and how to find my place within it.
Under her vigilant tutelage, I began to navigate my way out of the darkness of muddled complacency and into the clarity of enlightenment. It wasn't always an easy path to follow, particularly in having to confront the dark corners of my own soul, but it was worth every stumble and every revelation that I came across. I do not regret a single moment of my journey thus far.
Not even the loss of my family. No, I do regret my daughter's loss at times, but he truly was a means to an end. He was safe and my parents approved of him, probably even hoped he'd keep me in that good daughter, wife, and mother role that society still demands of women. I think even Mrs. Baylock approved of him in her own way. His death was a moment of freedom, a breath of fresh air, a burden unyoked.
My daughter's death, on the other hand? Even with all that I have achieved and obtained in the last thirty-six years, in my entire life, her loss still lingers. Oh, I understand the purpose behind it; or rather, the purpose as Mrs. Baylock explained it. But she was my daughter, my only child, my beautiful manifestation of purity and truth in a world of corruption and misdirection. She remains a cornerstone of my belief that the Deliverer must be groomed toward the fulfillment of God's plan. If the Deliverer fails, all of this - including her death - was all in vain.
I refuse to accept that possibility.