"Tell me, Atlas. What is heavier: The world or its people's hearts?"
-Darshana Suresh
Kate doesn't like staying inside anymore. The monotony of the chipped walls and lethargic fan slicing through the air like lazy limbs make her stir-crazy. She sits outside in the warm desert air and feels a kinship with the tumbleweeds. Kate Fuller, the innocent preacher's daughter, is no more. That girl bled to death on the unforgiving pavement. She's something new now- worn and ripped and not entirely whole, but breathing.
Kate develops an unusual appreciation for calendars. She likes checking off the dates with red exes. It's satisfying and grounding when so many of the boxes are days that don't belong to her. It's the first thing she asked for since returning.
"I want a calendar," she had declared, voice distinctly different from the mumbling tone she had adapted.
"A what?" Seth turned to her with eyebrows raised, half in confusion and half in amusement.
"A calendar. You know, boxes and dates and all that."
"Richard, you heard the girl. A calendar it is."
That night, Richie and Scott had walked into her room with a bag full of calendars: some big, some palm-sized, pictures of puppies and nature and horoscopes. "We didn't know which one you had wanted," Richie had admitted, looking more boyish than he had any right to.
So, when Kisa comes to Jacknife Jed's, Kate knows it's a Wednesday. Flashes of a dark-haired woman pass through Kate's memory, each one physical like the slash of a blade. She remembers Kisa's pleas and heartbreak, and Kate is so sure she's here to exact revenge.
"I'm so sorry," the words tumble out, "I couldn't stop her. I tried, but I couldn't and I'm sorry." Kate looks up at Kisa with eyes swimming with tears and expects- wants- her anger. She's standing in the shadows, but Kate is still squinting against the setting sun's retreating grasp of sunlight.
"Kate," the woman says in a voice akin to understanding, "It's not your fault. That wasn't you." Kisa sits down on the dusty curb next to Kate. She looks out of place with her carefully styled locks and lips painted the perfect color of wine. In comparison, Kate feels like a little girl; her face is scrubbed clean of makeup and hours in the sun have freckled the skin on her shoulders and the bridge of her nose. She's starting pilfering a collection of Scott's faded band tees and Richie's white dress shirts; she likes the way the loose material floats around her rather than constricting.
Kate is staring at the lines in her palms when she responds, "I remember everything. Every soul, every life. She made me watch and I couldn't do anything and it was like someone had stuffed me in a prison of my own skin." She's surprised by the raw honesty in which she speaks Kisa- a virtual stranger. The only time she's seen this woman is when she was dancing with a snake wrapped around her neck like something straight from the book of Genesis. Kate had hated her back then, but Richie's words ring clear in her head. He was right. It is easier talking to a stranger.
"Kate, I know what it feels like to be a prisoner. You did nothing wrong. You were a victim, but that doesn't make you weak. You can't let her continue to rule your life." Kisa's voice is frank, and Kate appreciates how she doesn't treat her like something that's about to break. To everyone else, Kate isn't flesh and blood and bone. She's fractured glass.
"I saw what you did to him. Richie, I mean. The things he did to that teller, that you made him do, how do you live with that? How do I?" Her inquiry isn't accusatory. She's knows how far desperation will push a person. The memory of shaky hands plunging a knife into an innocent drifter is vivid among her nightmares, and Kate has no moral pulpit to support judgment.
Kisa breathes in through her nose and sets her shoulders resolutely, guilt written between the lines of her regality. "The world is cruel, Kate. It wants to break you, so you become steel." Sends her a sad smile, "And you'll survive, but not all of you."
They sit in the humid hair for hours, watching the amber sun sink into the horizon and be swallowed by the night. When Kisa arrives the next day and throws a bottle of hair dye on Kate's bed, she can't say she's surprised. They lock themselves in the bathroom, air heavy with the smell of ammonia, and both women learn that maybe they should have read the directions when Kate's head is tingling all over and the porcelain basin is stained brown.
"Wait," Kisa holds up the box with gloved hands, "Is it time to wash off? Oh fuck, have either one us been watching the clock?"
With her hair glued to her head and a shower cap slipping off the slathered hair, Kate looks at Kisa's reflection in the mirror in front of her and a bark of laughter escapes her. She brings a hand to her mouth as borderline hysterics rack her body, and the other woman's laughter echoes Kate's own. When they rinse off her hair in the shower, water splays on the walls and both girls feel lighter than they have in a long time. Kate's once sanguine hair is a dishwater blonde that she never would have ever chosen for herself a year back. Delicately, she wraps a strand around her finger and watches it fall in a loose wave down her shoulders. It feels like removing a bloodstain. When she arrives for dinner that night, it's the first time she's come down without being called.
Scott greets her with a grin. She knows he's trying to hard to make up for before. Guilt propels him as strongly as love, but when he smiles like that it almost doesn't matter. He leans on over in his chair and ruffles her hair affectionately, "Imagine Dad's reaction?"
Kate laughs softly, "Look at us, Scott. I doubt this would have been Daddy's biggest concern."
"Maybe, but Mom would have said you looked beautiful."
Kate's breathes in sharply, feeling a pang at their first loving mention of their lost family. She squeezes his hand under the table.
"Who would have thought Santanico would be the one to get you to smile again, Princess." Seth's remark is paired with a look at the culebra, who rolls her eyes in response. Most of the animosity between them has fizzled, and they've come to the point of reluctant allies.
"It's Kisa, Seth," Kate reminds pointedly.
The women share a smile, and Kate thinks the world's tipped upside down.
It can't be put off any longer. Their bubble of denial and safety had to be burst eventually. Burt and Tanner are sitting across from her, and Kate is suddenly aware how uncomfortable the wooden chairs are as she fidgets. Scott is on her right, Seth to her left, and Richie is leaning against the wall. Kate doesn't look at him.
"I told you already," she addresses the stockier, dark haired man, "It was just gone."
"The amulet vanished on its own."
"Looks like."
"Necklaces don't just walk away on their own, Katie-Cakes."
She glares at Tanner, "You don't get to call me that."
He's surprised by the venom in her voice, and whistles lowly, which just adds fuel to her anger. Ever since he walked into the warehouse, Kate has felt her skin crawl. If he made her squeamish before, her discomfort is practically palpable now when she can feel his gaze on her neck and his desires are buzzing all around her. She buttoned Richie's dress shirt up all the way when they had sat down originally, and she wishes she could rip his wandering eyes from his head.
"You heard the little lady, Professor Shithead. You so much as look at her the wrong way and you're about to find out just how temporary tenure really is." Seth punctuates his warning with his gun, aiming it at the culebra's heart.
"Calm down, alright. You can't really blame me. With the Santa Sangre running though her veins, the girl's blood is cream-of-the-crop."
"You perverted freak," Scott begins when Burt cuts him off.
"He's right, Scott. That blood changed your sister. We just want to see if they're any," he searches for his next words, "lingering effects."
"And how do you expect to do that?"
"Blood is the conduit of the soul," Tanner interjects, "We share blood, make sure Katie here is free of Amaru's control."
"What do you mean?" Kate speaks up in a panicked voice, looking around at the guilty faces of her supposed friends and brother. "You mean, all this time, there's been a chance that I could still be possessed? That that horrible woman could still be inside me and no one bothered to even tell me?" Her voice pitches, climbing higher until it's practically a shriek.
"Kate, please calm down," Scott intones, "We didn't want to worry you until we knew for sure. That's what we're doing now, okay?"
She ignores him, turning to the two men in front of her. "What do we do?"
"We share blood," Tanner says. He's grinning with his too-large teeth and she hates him even more.
"No way is that creep sharing blood with my sister. I'll do it."
"You can't do it, kid," Burt explains. "It has to be someone who knows what they're looking for, or you might miss something important."
"So you do it," Seth demands, "Scott's right. Tanner isn't getting anywhere near Kate's blood."
The room descends into cacophony as the men talk over Kate like she's not even present. She sits in her chair, quiet, and sends a silent apology to her parents. Never raise your voice at the table, Katie-Cakes. Gentleness is always more effective than harsh words.
"Everyone just shut up!" She yells. "And stop making choices for me," she adds with a glare at Scott and Seth. "I'm sick of being treated like a child. From now on, I'll decide what I do and what I know, and the rest of you are just going to have to deal with that. Understand?" She waits for their mumbles agreements, and then her eyes fall on Richie. He's already looking at her, awe and apprehension written on his face like he knows what she's going to ask. The lines around his mouth are tight, and it dawns on Kate that he almost looks nervous.
"Richie?"
The room falls silent, and he pushes himself off the wall gracefully. Kate stands up, fingers playing a rhythm of nerves on her thigh.
"Just like old times," he says low enough so the words are just meant for her.
She watches as he cuts into his palm, deep and crimson.
"Kate," Seth's warns.
"Don't worry big brother," Richie answers without once breaking eye contact with Kate, "I was her first, after all. I'll be gentle."
"You don't have to be so crude," she snaps, grabbing the knife from him and holding it to her palm. With the blade pressed to her sensitive flesh, she freezes and suddenly she really doesn't want to do this anymore. Richie's already seen too much of her soul, and she wants to keep what's left of it all to herself.
"Kate?" He gently takes the knife from her shaking grasp and looks at her for confirmation. When she nods slightly, his next words are softer. "I promise it won't hurt."
Kate isn't looking when he slices into her palm quickly, just the bare minimum of blood beginning to flow. She's staring at him, partly shocked he remembers her words from all those months ago.
When their hands connect, it's not like before. This time, Kate is able to see into Richie's soul as he looks into hers.
He's six years old watching their father beat Seth. Grins when he steals for the first time, a German shepherd he names Peaches. His dad refuses to buy dog food so Richie leaves some of his own dinner for the scraggly dog and laughs when Peach's slobbery tongue licks him straight on the face. A few years later, there's the smell of smoke and lighter fluid and alcohol- their dad always reeked of beer and whiskey. He wears a suit for this first time that's too short in the sleeves and hates it when the priest talks about his father like he was a good man. Bloodied crescents imprint themselves on his palms from where he's digging his nails into curled fists. When he's eighteen, he graduates from high school. Seth and Uncle Eddie are in the crowd and he's proud. Proud to have done something Seth gave up on and proud to be standing on that stage in coke-bottle glasses with a diploma in hand. He doesn't go to college even though his chemistry teacher told him he was the brightest student she had ever taught. Instead, he plans jobs and they go perfectly. Thirty-five hits, and Richie's bored. Wants more. He pretends to be happy when Seth marries Vanessa in Vegas. She's in a short white dress and has a bottle of champagne in hand instead of a bouquet. Pretends not to worry about losing his best friend. When Seth is arrested, Richie doesn't sleep that night. He just sits in the dark with a broken picture frame of him and Seth and the glass cuts his hand but he doesn't feel it. And then there's Kisa, but she's not Kisa. She's Santanico and Richie's spiraling into something unhinged and lost. She sees herself, bright and good in Richie's mind and wonders if she really looks like that. Like her bones are filled with sunlight instead of marrow. Feels the pain and anguish as he's dying. And then he's not. Watches him idolize his sire and confuse it for love and do terrible things in the name of this misplaced devotion. When she sees herself fall to the floor in a pool of her own blood, the taste of copper and grief rest heavy on her tongue. Sees him up all night with a pile of annotated texts. Hope and guilt and something else fuel him. That something else is lemons and crosses and strawberry lip palm and pools and something Richie associates entirely with her.
Kate gasps, pulling away from Richie as she tries to catch her breath. He's wearing a similar overwhelmed look when they separate, eyes dark and a little wild. She stares at him with her chest heaving and eyes wide. The silence is broken by Tanner, and Kate stumbles when she remembers there are other people in the room.
"So?" He stretches out the syllable obnoxiously.
Richie manages to tear his gaze away from Kate. As he walks to the table, she stands there with unfocused eyes staring blankly at the wall. She's half listening.
"It's definitely Kate." He clears his throat when it's too rough. "But I felt something different, too."
She whirls around, horrified. "What?"
Richie sends her a pained look, "It's like the exorcism worked, but not entirely. Amaru isn't in control. We weakened her enough for Kate to resurface, and then she was able to overcome our very own queen of the crazies."
"But she's still in there?"
Kate can only hear the blood rushing to her ears, like she's standing right next to the raging ocean. She barely knows how she's still standing.
"Not exactly, but the potential is. She still needs to use Kate to regain her original body, but she's too weak to do anything. She's planning something, though. A day she would be able to summon more power, just enough to finish her ritual."
"The eclipse," Tanner explains. For once, he seems to understand the gravity of the situation.
Kate stumbles out of the room and makes it to the bathroom in time to throw up.
The gun in her hand feels heavy. Kate knows what she has to do, but it's harder now than when he had begged Seth to end her life. Now, she's halfway back to herself. Now, when the memories of their broken family rush back to her: monopoly nights with Richie, Scott, Seth, and Kisa. She and Scott trying to teach Kisa the basic rules of the game, Seth's irritation over getting to sent to jail, and Richie's coy attempts to steal money. It's harder than she would have thought to pull the trigger with the gun raised to her head. She should do it. Do it now, when she's sitting in the night alone and when she can still save everyone she loves.
But she can't.
"You shouldn't steal stuff. I heard it's not nice, you know?"
She stuffs the gun into the waistband of her pants, a weak attempt to conceal the weapon. In a small voice, "How did you know?"
"I've always looked after two things: my brother and my guns. So unless you've got Richard hiding in you pants, my money's on option B."
She dejectedly hands him back his gun. "I used to hate you for not shooting me when you had the chance."
"I know."
"I don't anymore."
He wraps an arm around her shoulders. "I hate her, Seth. I hate her more than I ever thought I was possible of hating anything."
"Crazy bitch wanted hell, so that's what we're going to give her, Princess. And then you're going to be free of this whole mess and live the life you've always deserved."
She doesn't tell him she doesn't believe him. Doesn't believe she'll ever be free of the Geckos.
Kate is lying on a hospital bed. She looks at her arm and expects to find wires and needles attached, but instead she's handcuffed to the rail of the bed and a heavy sedative is being pumped into her bloodstream. There's a man in front of her, an attendant.
He smiles at her and his teeth are rotting in his mouth and his tongue is lying in a bed of dirt. "An eye for an eye. A soul for a soul." He raises a bloodied hand to her chest, eyes jaundice yellow and skin a dull bluish. Like a corpse. "Tell me, do you even have a soul?"
Kate wants to scream, but she's useless. Her body is limp and unresponsive and then she's choking and gagging. Leaning over the edge of the bed, she throws up violently. A snake slithers from her belly and crawls out of her mouth. Gags and coughs and tears overcome her as the snake wraps around her legs. It opens its mouth, and a pink tongue darts out. The color of flesh. Before it can strike, Kate feels something on her toe. It's a tag. She's confused and all at once the snake is gone. Two geckos have replaced it, and they're biting at her cold toes.
Kate wakes with a muffled yell. Sweat races over the bump of each vertebrae, and her shirt sticks to her spine like glue. All the voices and nightmares are too overpowering in her head. She lies in bed for hours and feels claustrophobic and tiny all at once, so Kate starts wandering the house at night. The others go out when the sun sets and return in the very early hours of the morning, so Kate doesn't expect to see anyone. She's surprised to see a dim light, and even more shocked when she sees Richie. He's wearing a pair of gray joggers that contrast every image she has of him in pressed suits, doing laundry. It's so ridiculous, she smiles.
"The legendary Richard Gecko separates whites and darks," she says dryly, a teasing tilt to her words.
"Kate." Richie says her name more than anyone else, and she thinks he likes saying it as much as she likes hearing it. "Someone's gotta keep up everyday life in the midst of this clusterfuck."
She smiles grimly and feels guilty. "Yeah."
He closes his eyes briefly, taking his glasses off to rub the bridge of her nose. She's seen him without them when she saw his time with Kisa, but he looks wrong without his trademark lenses.
"I didn't mean it like that."
An awkward silence hangs between them, and Kate is unnerved by how easily he can read her. She should turn back and try to sleep, but the nonstop dead noise has finally stopped buzzing. She hears her own heartbeat in tandem with the deep rumble of the washing machine. Placing her hands on the machine, Kate tries hoists herself up, but it's taller than she imagined. Huffing, her feet collide back on the ground with a dull thud.
She sucks in a breath through her teeth, shocked at the cold contact on her bare skin where her shirt had ridden up. Richie's hands instinctively settle on waist as he lifts her onto the washer. His long fingers remain splayed on her skin and his body is positioned between her legs, and when it registers how intimate their position is Kate clears her throat. The shells of his ears tinge pink as he steps back and away from her.
"I used to do the laundry back home when Seth and I were young," Richie offers. He's leaning against the wall of the small laundry room and she's swinging her legs, listening to him. "Seth tried to be the big brother and take care of us, but he's useless when it comes to basic stuff."
His lips curl into a sardonic, sad smile. "One time, he accidentally added one of my red shirts to dad's clothes and dyed everything pink. I did the laundry from then."
Kate's mouth is dry as she listens to him, feels like someone's stuffed her windpipe full of cotton balls. The images of Seth with a bruised eye comforting his crying little brother tattoo themselves in her memory and she feels sick. "Richie."
"You saw that night, didn't you?"
She knows he's talking about the fire, and nods.
Richie's cold laugh fills the small room. Bitterness and detergent. "For fuck's sake, you must really think I'm a monster now."
A pregnant pause follows, punctuated with a heavy silence. She doesn't think he's a monster. He's a culebra, but so is Scott, and she loves him more than anyone. He's killed people, and so has she. She remembers the way he sacrificed himself to save that mother and child in Shady Glen. He's flawed, but not broken. "I think you're a tortured soul," she tells him without looking into his blue blue eyes, "And I think you've endured more torture than most. Somewhere along the way you just started inflicting instead of enduring."
"You, Kate Fuller, are something entirely foreign to this planet."
Her nose scrunches up, "Like an alien."
"An angel." But then he smiles, and it's a real smile that makes him look years younger. "But an alien would be pretty cool, too. Like Princess Leia, not ET."
"Don't be cute. I'm still mad at you."
"You have every right."
"You were so blinded by your own greed you sold us all out."
He closes his eyes, and has the decency to look ashamed. "I would do anything to go back and save you, Kate."
"But you can't." Her voice is faraway. "I'm not an angel, Richie. I'm just terrified."
"Fire and brimstone, Kate. You are the best one out of all of us, always have been."
"Maybe I don't want to be strong," she tells him. Kate blinks back the burning in her eyes and focuses on the stain on the wall next to his head. Her voice sounds so small even to her own ears. "Maybe I want to forget my flip flops in college and have to shower in the really gross community showers. I want to move to a big city and use the saying "Little fish in a big pond" ironically and rent a crappy apartment and buy overpriced coffee and have awkward, clumsy sex for the first time and try sushi!" Kate lets out a deep breath, slightly embarrassed from her ramblings.
"Well," Richie states in response, a crooked smile tugging up the corner of his lips. "I can help you with one of those. Can't say it would be anything but mind-blowing, though."
"The sushi?" She asks innocently, eyelashes batting up at him to in a way that almost hides the wicked gleam in her green eyes.
Richie throws his head back and lets out a deep, genuine laugh so his glasses slip backwards and he has to readjust them. It's oddly endearing, and Kate can't help but join in in his laughter.
"Yes, smartass. The sushi."
The next night, they try different sushi and fold laundry at four in the morning together when the rest of the household is sleeping. They don't talk about the upcoming eclipse racing closer and closer- the date already printed on her calendar- or Xibalba or a sun god looking to revive his lost queen or Kate's magical blood.
Hell on Earth is coming, but then Kate spills soy sauce on the neatly folded pile of whites and hell can wait because she really, really doesn't want to have to explain to Kisa who stained her favorite bra.
