April 5th, 2006

Warning: Language towards the end.


Chapter 8: Old Walls

The panic, the rush of adrenaline; it all felt so familiar. Owen's mind reeled back to the night he had encountered Dr. Taggert at the back of the office and a hopeful part of him lobbied for unreasonable calm. Maybe it was just Dr. Taggert, again? He'd come back to visit with Owen, to tell Owen what a great job he was doing. Nevermind the man was bedridden at a hospital, miles away, fighting for every beat of his heart. The young doctor suddenly released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

The crashing abruptly stopped. If there was ever a moment to duck beneath the desk and pray, it would have been right there, right then. The last thing he needed to do was investigate. If anything, countless thriller novels had at least made that course of action apparent. Stay. Wait out whatever it was. Leave alive. But for all his reason, Owen was not always the most reasonable fellow. A strange part of him bristled at the notion of cowering in his office. Nevermind that none would fault him for it. No. This was all pride. He filled his chest with a breath and set his jaw. This was reckless, stubborn pride. The same that had brought him to this cursed town with its cursed luck. It was the same pride that kept him in town, past all logic. It was the same pride that had him rising to meet the unknown, head-on.

Stupid, stubborn pride.

Owen felt about his desk and came up with a hammer he'd used to tap a few nails into the old joints for extra reinforcement. It wasn't much but it was something. He gripped the wood of the faux-weapon and silently crept forward 'til his ear was pressed to the office wall, nearest the open doorway. By this time, the blind doctor had navigated his small establishment enough to know the distances by heart. No tap-tapping of his retractable cane needed.

He listened.

Nothing...

Owen felt his hands begin to shake.

Terror was an interesting thing because it betrayed a person's deepest self. There were no hiding behind facades when it hit. For some, there was an immediate need for flight. For most, it locked them up in the moment, a sort of stone-cold denial of what was happening...of what was about to happen. For Owen, the terror brought on something wholly different.

He felt...angry...

His upper lip curled back with the fierce onset of rage. And while there was no interpreting the reaction in the heat of the moment, Owen felt the barest hints of old defiance hard at work. So many, so much in life treated him with almost palpable pity. Perhaps that's what fired his core. No matter his circumstances, he was not a man to be pitied. And whatever was out in the dark would know it. He was not a man to be intimidated.

Owen steeled himself and then was out the door, silently moving up the makeshift hall, past the makeshift work spaces, towards the front. Still so silent. He half-wondered if he'd dozed during his little foray into the past and dreamed up the immediate fright. The young doctor stopped at the archway separating front from back and tucked himself into the corner, there, away from sight, enough to hear.

And he did hear something...

"DAMN IT!"

He knew that voice. There came the distinct sounds of swept glass. Owen slowly rounded the corner.

"Great. Just great!...it's all over the carpet..."

He could smell alcohol from clear across the room.

"How the hell am I supposed to clean this up!?"

"Leah?..."

His voice stopped her voice and stole her breath. He heard a scampering of feet, the sort of haste one might expect from a child caught at the cookie jar. Or a woman caught in the shower...? The slap of bare feet on wood registered somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Owen!?" She hissed and there was the strangest hint of accusation in her words. "What are you doing here!?"

The young doctor was still reeling and Leah did a fare job of filling his silence.

"It's almost midnight! You're supposed to be at home!"

"I-" Why did he feel the overwhelming need to apologize? "How-?"

"Nevermind. Listen, I'll fix this, ok? Call Charlie if you want or-...whatever...I don't care..."

Context came a moment later as his step came down upon a broken shard of glass. He began to bend on instinct to pick the piece up, but was stopped short with a rush of steps, his way.

"Wait!" Leah knelt in front of him and went through the motions of scooping the fragments up as she muttered, almost to herself. "It's just...I needed to get away. Just for a night. I had to get away from everything...from everyone." A bite at that last word brought remembrances of Leah's mother sitting across from him, warning him to keep away. He still had no clue what was going on but elected to hold his tongue and wait out the moment.

"So I came here, ok!?" She continued with the faintest traces of challenge in the tone but then the immediate deflation... "I didn't mean to break your door."

Break the door?

The sounds of her cleaning grew more and more frantic.

"I was sitting on the porch and...I don't know...I must have tossed one of the empties back a bit too hard-"

"Leah," he cut her off, "are you drunk?"

And that was it. That was the breaking point. Because in an instant the aggression was back.

"NO, OWEN. I'M NOT DRUNK. THAT'S THE PROBLEM!"

She took it out on her work. Her heard the glass slamming together in her hands, fragmenting further with the sudden hurricane of activity.

"I'M NEVER DRUNK! NOT SINCE DADDY-"

Everything halted...words, the manic rush of hands on the floor, her breath. For all the tragedies Owen had endured during his time in Forks, none registered quite the way Leah's played out. There was no familiar dip into sorrow. Her's was a near-palpable anger, a sort of mirror of his own that he could feel in the air. It struck like a slap.

She did not want to be weak, to show weakness.

Owen understood, perhaps, better than anyone.

"Well..." He said, moving past her to the broken door. He passed his hand over the place where the decorative glass had been. "If this is you, sober - I'd hate to see you drunk."

A pause.

And then a snort of a chuckle, so reminiscient of her late father.

"Screw you."

"Screw me?"

"Captain Invalid," she playfully sniped.

They were both laughing and it worked for them. It worked for who they were. Total and complete irreverence.

"At least I can't see the mess you made of my foyer. You seriously broke my door and shattered glass everywhere?" Now that may have rung with a note of sincere concern. But Leah easily deflected with the cold, hard, unabashed truth.

"Yup."

"Bitch."

And that seemed to ignite her rolling laughter. "If you only knew...how truly, accurately, offensive that is..."

Both were seated on the floor, holding their sides with the shared mockery. Sure, there may have been tiny razor traps all about them, but it didn't matter. The moment was strange and impossible and perfect. When they finally did calm, there was a long stretch of comfortable nothingness. It was refreshing after so much pain stretched out between so many others in need of traditional empathy.

"I'll fix your door," Leah absently promised. There was no move to rise. She sat a foot or so away. And he imagined her lounged back, staring up at the ceiling, lost in her own thoughts and making the most idle of chatter.

"Why did you come?" He ventured.

"Hm?"

"Tonight. I haven't seen or heard from you since-...that first appointment. Why did you come?" And then a thought struck. He bit back another chuckle. "And how do you know my schedule?" She had admitted as much, earlier, when she had asked why he was not at home. It was these types of moments Owen wished he could read the wealth of cues a person often betrays in the face. As it was, Leah gave nothing away. Not even a hesitation.

"You're a fairly predictable guy, Owen."

"Oh?" He did laugh, then.

"That night..." She drew in an unreadable breath. "My daddy told me that if I was ever hurting...to come back here...so..."

The easy smile slowly left the young doctor's lips as he processed everything through the lens of those words. She must have been at or near the office many times to learn his schedule. But he had never known. It must have been in the evenings. He could almost picture the last few weeks. A hurting young women with a case beer on his front steps. It would have been easy to avoid the eyes of others. He imagined her back against the porch lattice-work, bottle in-hand. Of course, her father had meant for her to continue treatment but his death had breathed an entirely new context into his original meaning.

If I was ever hurting...come back here...

"My mom hates it," she sneered. "Seth and Sam and the pack think I'm being an idiot."

"Pack?"

"Nevermind."

Owen's brows furrowed but he didn't press.

"I just feel like...I just..." An echo from before, "I need to be away from them. Even if it's for a couple hours to drink crap booze and think."

"Fair enough," he reasoned. But that wasn't the end of it. All the building questions and mounting craze. If there was ever a time to peel back some of the layers, it was right then, right there. He shifted forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I want to know," Owen said, wasting no words, "what is going on in Forks? There's too many coincidences to miss. Attacks in the woods...the deaths...I'm sorry if it's difficult to talk about but...I want to know..."

Silence. They'd established at least a semblance of mutual respect. He took the hush to mean Leah was giving his question some honest consideration, or that was what he hoped. And after some time, that is what he received: an honest answer.

"You'd know if you really wanted to know."

"And that's not at all cryptic and evasive," he pressed with a smirk.

"That's the truth. No matter what Sam or mom or those asshole Cullens want to believe, there's no hiding it. Truth runs in the veins of these lands, Owen. If a person truly wanted to know what was going on...they'd know. And..."

Owen couldn't quite follow whatever subtle warning played in the things left unsaid, but she wasn't getting off so easy.

"And what?"

"And then that would be it." Finality. Perhaps that was the caution she was mildly attempting to convey. Whatever he sought, it meant the end. Of the riddle of Forks? Was this all some small town ritual of mystery? She continued with a muttered, "Unless you happen to be an angst-ridden teen who miraculously wins slobbering devotion from all who cross her path."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Anyway, the point is...you don't really want to know, Owen. Nobody does. Because it's easier and probably for the best."

The conversation was clearly over. He heard the tell-tale signs of disengagement as she bent to pick at the broken pieces of glass scattered across the floor.

"I need to finish cleaning and get home before my mom," and she gave her best Mr. Burns impression, "'releases the hounds' to fetch me."

"Or you could leave it and I'll have a crew out to finish up, tomorrow."

Leah paused, more playful than serious, "What's the catch?"

He met it with the same, "You quit trespassing and set an actual appointment."

"Now, where's the fun in that?" She pouted.

Owen found a bit of fresh, mocking laughter.

"What fun? You're sitting alone on a porch, dodging notice and apparently NOT getting drunk. That's not even delinquent behavior, Leah. At that point, you're just weird."

"Got it," she said. He heard her slide a foot or so closer and wondered absently what her lips looked like when they lifted in the snarky smile she no doubt wore. "So, to recap...I'm a weird bitch."

"And I'm a willfully ignorant invalid."

"And together we are every crime fighting super hero duo ever written."

The air had cleared of the tension. Though no real answer given, somehow the young doctor was ok letting the muck of uncertainty and question go for that space of time. It was enough to hear her voice in something other than anger. And to know he'd had a part in bringing about the change.

"Fine by me," he gave a thumbs up, "as long as I get the cape."

More laughter. More of the strangest pleasure of her strange company. He felt her hand grip his. She rose, drawing him up with her and force the briefest of moment's, there they stood together.

"Hell no," Leah Clearwater quipped, "You're wearing the flashy green tights. And they'll call us Team Leah, because OBVIOUSLY."

And then she was gone. A step away, the creak of a broken door opening - how had she accidentally put a bottle through the door's glass? - he heard her footsteps trailing away.

"This Friday," he called after her.

"Aye Cap'n," she called back.

Damn it.

Owen hurried to the doorway.

"No way! THAT IS NOT STICKING! YOU ARE NOT CALLING ME THAT!"

"Captain my Captain!" Came her fading voice in reply. And Owen stood, taking in the fullness of the evening with all its sweet rain in the air and promise of unpredictibility. Yes. More than ever...he wanted to know.

A full block away, Leah Clearwater walked with a pace that had her nearly at a jog. She wiped frantically at her cheeks where the droplets of rain met a flood of tears. Her hands were shaking. Her chest rose and fell in deep gasps. It hurt. Daddy it hurts. But I can't be there. I can't be near him. God, the wash of his scent...her nostrils flared involuntarily with the deepest pull of air, yet. Leah's steps grew quicker and quicker, the need for distance like an addict from the drug.

The closer I am, the closer he gets to the monsters...

Storefronts whipped past. Her shoes a blur on the pavement until the pavement gave way to gravel and then the grass of the woods. The stamp of feet became the thud of paws racing to meet the starless horizon.

What am I doing, Daddy? What do I do!?


Author's Note: My apologies for the late posting of this chapter. I rewrote this about five times before landing on something that I felt works for the characters and scene. I hope you enjoy. And I hope you will forgive the bit of language and playful irreverence. I contemplated a sixth re-write but felt it works as a glimpse into their sometimes rough personalities. Thank you for your encouragement in reviews, faves and follows. I sincerely appreciate hearing from you guys, so please do feel free to drop a PM or comment in the review section.