Eleven
Drainage Pipe
It sounded like the cry of a kitten stuck in a drainage pipe, shrill and petite, yet somehow so heartbreaking that it tore Lana from a restless, nearly coma-induced slumber. The light stung her eyes, beetles boring into her corneas as the grayish light of the shadowy bedroom penetrated them, so she shied away into darkness again, eyes under the protection of the coverlet.
The cry became worse, warped with coughing and tears, the steady plea of a desperate being. Lana groaned and opened her eyes underneath the covers, stretching her hand across the sheet. It was damp from her perspiration, cold and dewy until her fingers closed around something warm, solid, yet quietly fierce.
"Wendy?" The whisper was hoarse, and she cleared her throat. It was scratchy and sounded like she'd been gargling with broken bits of plexiglass. She couldn't seem to find her voice, anyway. It was warbled and warped, like the creaking of a haunted house step.
The other woman's hand slowly moved so the soft creases of her palm rested over top of Lana's, fingers clenching delicately around her own limp appendage. Watery gales splashed against the windowpane behind the headboard, creating undulating patterns of liquid stain glass against the steady, thick surface. The sorrow continued, nearly a ring in her ears, but it was somehow not as irritating to her. It made her regretful more than anything. Guilty, unequipt.
Lana's eyes, stinging from sudden exposure to the arid atmosphere outside of the damp blanket haven, rolled towards Wendy. She was sitting up in bed with the back of her head resting against the wall, eyes closed with the fingers of her free hand not buried under the covers twitching in her lap.
A tiny smirk spread across her lips. Mascara was smeared underneath her eyes, and the lavender lids fluttering casted deep shadows underneath the sepia pools. "I'll get it."
Confused, Lana lifted her head. It was still pounding, and the memory of gray pavement swam through her, the cold wetness of a street, the syrupy flash of a hazy street lamp. "What?"
Wendy's face broke into a more exhausted expression, even softer than the first; in fact, Wendy never looked younger. Of course, she held a captive youthful beauty, one that Lana always assumed would never leave her. The soft curvature of her lips and proportionate eyes hinted the mushy nature of a naive child, though she was anything but naive.
"Stay in bed." Wendy leaned over and kissed Lana's temple, nose pressed to her hair. She inhaled slightly and exhaled longer, stretching her arms behind her head. God, she was beautiful. Each imperfection was simply supremacy. Carefully, working around her wounds, Wendy gently tucked the Persian blankets around her, sliding a hand underneath her neck and cupping her head like an infant, pushing another pillow underneath her throbbing skull.
"Where are you going?" And Jesus Christ, where was that crying coming from? The ringing couldn't possibly be the phone.
Bare feet padding on the cold floor in a dance of frost, Wendy giggled once and disappeared, shutting the door most of the way. The mirror hanging on the back of it swung like a pendulum, and Lana struggled to hear Wendy's footsteps over the sound of the scraping against the wood. The distinctive squeak of the farthest room down the hall forced her to squint her eyes - now, her head, her corneas, they were so sensitive to light and sound.
"Lana?" Wendy whispered, and Lana realized her eyes had fluttered shut. Hot breath came below her nose now, ragged and tortured as she struggled to a sitting position. Towards the corner of the room harboring the bereau full of unorganized blouses and underclothes, Wendy stanced herself, rocking back and forth. The beautiful woman's body swayed back and forth to the painful drumming of rain against the windows.
The yellow blankets coiled in her embrace frayed down her forearm, a pauper's tattered rags hung loosely over her skin. Oh, Wendy had such grace. Lana was yet to find that majesty, but she'd always assumed it was a quiet notion her Wendy had been born with. It was nearly impossible for her to seem foolish, though perhaps only in the eyes of her lover, bloodshot and aching as they were.
"Shhh." Wendy quietly shushed, continuing to rock back and forth as she approached the ruffled covers. Her brunette curls had fallen over her slender neck, but her softest smile was still clearly evident as she sat on top of one of her legs, folding it underneath the rest of her body as she carefully rested the cooing bundle on her knees.
"Wendy?" Again Lana questioned, squirming away painfully from the situation. She propelled herself backwards with her legs until the back of her head hit the wall and part of the headboard with a sickening thump, creating a small rattle throughout the bedroom.
Wendy reached for her hand and crooned softly, holding it against her cheek. It was trembling, as was the rest of Lana's crippled body, and her breath became even more harsh.
"Shh, baby. It's alright." Her voice, somehow, was not entirely reassuring or soothing. It was like grating bloody hands in vats of sharp clipped fingernails, and she swallowed harshly. There was no moisture in her mouth.
"Let go. Wendy. Let go!" Lana cried, claiming her hand back as her howl reverberated throughout the sounds of rainfall. Wendy was silent, and a tiny, desperate cry emerged from the blankets in her lap. The same cry, identical to the kitten mew minutes earlier, and Lana gasped. Wendy stared at her expectantly, placing a palm on her knee, soothing her by rolling the thumb over her kneecap.
"It's okay." The woman's voice was merely a whisper, a disappointed hush. She reached to finger through her messy hair, combing through the mismatched positions, attempting to salvage what had been lost from the pillow. "It's alright, Lana." A single tear dripped into her lap.
"No, no." Frantically, Lana searched for the fluffy blankets in her girlfriend's lap, thumbing at the fuzzy fabric until she could grasp it in both hands and pull gently until the bundle slid into her waiting hands. Yellow fabric covered the squirming bundle like folds of water, carefully swaddling the upset creature concealed inside. The rain continued. The crying continued.
"It's not worth it, you know." A familiar voice spoke softly behind her, and Lana wheeled quickly to face the opposite direction. Jen stood with her hands behind her back, shaking her head at the strange scene before her. She seemed in much better condition since the last time Lana has laid eyes on her. The small woman's hair was caked in mud no longer, barely combed out and dripping in water. In fact, her entire body dripped onto the chilly hardwood floor as she swayed, putting her weight on her right leg, then her left.
Her clothes were sopping, stuck to her skin and suctioned tight to her small frame as she shook her head, biting her lower lip, viewing the scene playing before her. Lana's quivering fingers twitched at the yellow blanket, unwilling to sacrifice its truth.
"Jen."
"You don't know." A chuckle escaped the woman's lips, and Wendy's grip tightened on her knee. "Lana Winters doesn't know."
"Stay away from us." Erupted from Wendy's lips, a snarl as she moved her body in front of Lana and the squirming, upset bundle. A baby, someone's baby in Lana's arms, but she cradled it nonetheless.
Jen bit her lip and shook her head. "Wendy does."
The crying became unbearable, a sudden scream from the covered bundle. Tiny hands punched from the fuzzy yellowness, equally bitty feet kicking from beneath the swaddled, forced warmness. Lana's weak arms quivered, thunder outside become louder. A strange, constant thunder, a tympony roll as Lana's shaking hands pulled back the blanket to reveal the face.
The screaming ceased. Instead, persistent whimpering emerged from the unfamiliar child's parted lips, crocodile tears rolling from damp, round cheeks. Suddenly, Lana realized she was alone. Completely alone in the dim gray room, infant sprawled in her lap, whining heartbreakingly. She stared down at her hands, scratched from forest brambles and rubbed raw from caked mud, ill fit to touch the skin of a baby. And it wouldn't stop cooing unhappily, thrusting it's hands above the fuzzy blankets.
The bedroom became dark, like an all powerful being in the sky had dimmed a switch. A scream burst from somewhere in the home -
Lana was awake but her eyes weren't open. She curled her fingertips on the pillow case, clenching them in bear fists as she attempted to recall her surroundings. The pillow was damp, evidently by her wet hair which hung like a field mouse nest around her ears, tangled on the linen. She coughed and yawned softly, turning over to stretch board-like limbs onto the opposite side of the bed, smiling just slightly at the rememberance that she was in her bed. Her and Wendy's bed, nestled underneath the covers like an infantile bird with downy feather coverings.
Yawning, she winced and realized that there was a cut on her lip that must have dried overnight. She hadn't it noticed before. With great effort, she lifted her heavy arm to touch the crusted syrup at the edge of her lips, pushing herself to a sitting position and reaching for the glass of water that was left on the nightstand for her.
Wendy was not in bed; she couldn't be far, Lana presumed, because she found two small aspirin pills placed beside the water glass. Condensation trickled down the sides, remnants from minuscule ice cubes that binned near the top. Vaguely, she remembered Wendy bringing the glass in earlier this morning, the gentle weight of her hand pressed against her forehead. That might have been a vivid dream, she couldn't seperates the events from the previous few nights very well.
She took the aspirin in one sip of water. Lana was so used to taking pills - tranquilizer - three at a time in the wards, but now the tiny pills felt like a fork forcing its way down her throat sideways. Gagging, Lana doubled over the bed and caught her breath, pressing a hand onto the side of her stomach. It had never felt so empty in her entire life, yet she was so unappetized at the same time.
Clearing her throat, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stretched carefully, recalling the wounds and lesions left all over her body.
Somehow, early in the morning, much too early to really be called morning, Lana could remember getting dressed, with Wendy's aid, in a thin gown of gossamer lace and silk with ties that trailed down the front of the garment, shreds of butterfly wings. It exposed much of her skin. It was supposed to be in a sexual way (and was undoubtedly the first thing Wendy pulled from her lonely drawer), but whomever looked at her body now could see how broken it looked.
Lana looked like a fixer-upper, that was certain. She was a mangled Halloween skeleton costume, but the bones had been inverted inside a rotting body. The once lavish and exciting skin was shrouded in marks underneath the surface, leaving the nerves tender. Anything close to contact with her body tingled in pain at the contact. Just looking at herself made her wince while looking into the mirror, tacked to the back of the door. Pushing her mussy, dewy hair back from her forehead, she sucked in her breath. A knot on her forehead had turned purple overnight.
She regretted seeing herself in the mirror. She was much more worse for wear, and the feeling started to sink in.
It was a struggle to pull the arms of her own robe, which was enough of a homey comfort, over her sore arms, getting it to rest as comfortably as possible on her shredded back tissue. It brushed against the silk of her nightgown and rubbed it raw at the lightest touch. Music floated down the hall, just faint enough to hear when she limped to the door and propped it open while leaning against the doorframe.
Silver threads and golden needles cannot mend this heart of mine. And I dare not drown my sorrow in the warm glow of your wine...
A smile, though painful with the persistent tugging of the slice through her lip, edged Lana's lips, and she reached up to touch them to assure the smile was real. It was, all too real, and it made her smile and cover her mouth when she realized that it wasn't pretend, forced, truly melancholy. With limped strides, she maneuvered down the small corridor to the all-too-familiar house. Home.
The window's starched blue curtains at the end of the hall were blowing in the breeze, as it had been left open sometime last night, or this morning. Over the record player spinning soft and earthy tones of the folk trio, the pitapat of rain chorused as well. Huh. Guess it still hadn't stopped raining. Convenient in the sense that it would cover Lana and Jen's tracks. And as much as she hated to pay heed to the creatures lurking only miles away, their scents.
There were voices coming from the kitchen, as faint as the music, but as she approached the melodious tones, the voices also grew louder and clearer. The clank and clatter of plates was distinctive, causing Lana's head to pound and irritate with each thump against faux granite or stainless steel. She grabbed her head and nearly went reeling, though after gaining her balance, she accessed entry to the kitchen.
"I thought you were sleeping," Wendy was immediately scolding, rushing with urgency to Lana's side and wrapping one arm around her waist. The way a friend might do, but then again, Jen was positioned in the neighboring kitchen chair beside the couple. A fiery witness. "You need to rest."
Lana cleared her throat, realizing how long it had been since she'd actually spoken out loud. In that secret, seductive manner of hers,Wendy stroked the pad of her thumb over her girlfriend's hip, tracing the prominent bone. Lana couldn't help but flinch and shudder at the secretive, intimate touch, aside from the pain of the skin left tender from the pummeling that seemed so daydream-esque this morning.
"Wendy." She whispered hoarsely under her breath, leaning into her unintentionally so her forehead pressed against her temple with exhaustion, inhaling the soft and gentle scent of the soap used in the shower; something with a mix of flower petals that made her flesh soft, inviting, irresistible.
"Uh-huh?" She took her in a hug, burying her hand in the back of her stringy auburn hair, shielding from the ever-so-dim kitchen light fixture that hung over the linoleum table. It was usually used for quiet mornings and small breakfasts, drinking coffee as the sun peeked through the blinds that were always shut. Just in case. But for some reason, they were open this morning, revealing the steady downpour that hadn't receded much since early this morning. There was a faint glow against the glass pane of rainbow sheets of water cascading from the crying sky, and for a moment, Lana was lost in watching the waves undulate and race to the bottom of the glass. Just as she had in a dream.
Her eyes rolled to Jen, who waited almost expectantly in one of the four small chairs huddled around the small breakfast table. Her smirk was slight enough when she opened her mouth that it was easy to hear the sarcasm melted into her voice. "Your roommate sure does make a great cup of coffee, Lana."
Wendy giggled and covered her mouth, but Lana rubbed the back of her neck nervously. Secretly, she was laughing too. After all, she had told Jen about what Wendy was to her. She was much more than a roommate through her eyes, and now, with great caution, through the other woman's. But she trusted her. Strangely, she did, for whatever that might be worth. She half-carried her for miles, and Lana had supported her when she said she couldn't go on much further.
"Do whatever "roommates" do," Jen waved from her comfortable position in the chair, bringing her knees to her chest and resting her nose over the rim of her coffee mug. It was part of the matching set of red, blue, and yellow ceramics. "As long as you don't pop each other on the counter, I'm not a prick."
Wendy smiled and held Lana's head in her hands, smoothing over the damp waves of half-wet auburn. "Do you want some breakfast?"
Lana's stomach was empty, but she didn't seem to have an appetite at all. The thought of eating brought up the memory of regurgitation last night, or early in the morning, whatever time it was. In any case, though, she wasn't in any condition to eat anything yet. Wendy got the message and guided her to the chair opposite Jen, pulling it out for her.
"I'll make you some tea, alright?" Her hands pressed to Lana's shoulders encouragingly, moving in soft circles of comfort. Lana reached onto her own shoulder to take her hand, nodding softly. Her throat hurt like eternal flames, most likely from the burn from all the stomach acid and bile she'd thrown back up, and talking now seemed like a chore.
"Your girlfriend is perfect." Jen smiled lightly over her steamy coffee cup still, her eyes genuinely truthful as she reached to pat Lana's hand. Aside, she added, "We both are a mess."
"I know." She whispered, returning the smile. Realizing that she really knew nothing about Jennifer Autumn. She did know she was an accused criminal, that she didn't believe that such a person could slay humans the way Bloody Face did. She could be just as much of a sick and demented twist as any other mastermind, but in other ways. That was it, Lana didn't know. Either way, she didn't know about her childhood, her life, her family. And it made her wonder what Jen was going to do. Where she was going to go.
Wendy sat down in the neighboring chair to Lana, stretching her arms behind her back and crossing her legs. She was the only one out of the three women that was dressed in real clothes: an autumn-toned dress that swayed down her knees and buttoned up down the front past her belly button. The collar was twisted - Lana remembered that every time Wendy wore that dress, she always ended up fixing it for her before she went out the door.
Jen's hair was damp and curly, so Lana guessed she must have washed off at some point and been dressed in a pair of Wendy's pajama pants and shirt. They didn't match; a striped t shirt and a pair of silky pants that went much past the length of her legs but fit her waist. She looked a little better, but Lana recalled looking at her own self in the door mirror when she awoke. She was washed off, but a complete wreck.
Wendy hopped up at almost the exact time the silver toaster dinged! and the tea kettle started to chorus throughout the kitchen loudly as she leaned on her toes to reach the top shelf of the farthest left cupboard, the only shelf that was not naked of plates. It was somehow comforting to hear the muffled uttering of cuss-words underneath the other woman's breath as she burned herself with the toasted bread, which she'd never burned in the six years they lived together. Wendy sucked on her finger and took the kettle off the stove, pouring steaming water into two mugs before dunking tea bags into the bubbling pools.
"Here." She said gently, pressing her palm to the top of Lana's head, setting a plate of small toast squares in front of her, along with the warm cup of semi-weak tea. "I know you don't feel hungry, but I figured you might nibble."
"Thanks." She managed a smile, forgetting the cut on the edge if her lip. She immediately reached up to touch it before managing a small sip of tea. "Isn't today a Tuesday? You should be at school..."
Wendy's eyes rolled to Lana's over her own cup of tea, shaking her head. "Jesus, I wasn't about to leave you. I called in sick."
"Hope your kids don't mind study hall." Jen muttered, pulling her hair to one shoulder. Lana didn't think she'd ever seen it properly washed. Of course, at Briarcliff they were allotted shower time. Scratchy. Bars of soap were given to wash to the best of your ability in the short ten minute period, but flaky soap and corroded water called for tangly hair with little help from a plastic comb dumped from an unorganized bucket. Now that Jen's hair had been washed with shampoo, it was shiny and her blonde highlights shone through the cracks of her gruesome injuries.
Wendy smiled at Jen lightly, and dare Lana think, shyly, as she reached over the table to take Lana's hand, clasping it softly in her smooth palm, running circles over her wrist. "They won't mind."
After nibbling away the corner of a slice of toast, Lana drank half of her tea and felt a small amount better. Perhaps being in Wendy's presence alone comforted her, and it even seemed to comfort Jennifer to an extent. She was still acting nervous, antsy, constantly looking over her shoulder as if to see if there were orderlies standing behind her, prepared to pounce if she were to try and make an escape, or one of Dr. Arden's creatures lurking behind doors, ready for attack.
"You can close your eyes." Whispered Wendy, and Lana realized she was drifting off, nodding her head to the side as she dozed uncomfortable. Each time his happened, Wendy bumped her knee underneath the table and gripped the back of her neck to keep her upright. "How about the living room?"
Wendy helped Lana to her feet, draping a limp arm around her torso. Lana wasn't quite as maleable as she'd been last night, though her limbs felt like hardened chocolate instead of gelatin. The equivalency of a marionette puppet, limp but clinging to life as she shuffled against Wendy's solid, safe body. Jen wasn't completely mobile on her own yet, but Lana knew of her strong will, and she could at the least walk a straight line. Wendy checked behind her shoulder at the other woman often. Lana noticed this the moment she entered the kitchen, that Wendy's eyes barely left Jen for more than a moment.
She also noticed how fidgety Wendy seemed. She'd never been accustomed to secret keeping, so Lana could easily tell when she was keeping something. It was an easy enough task to asses the abnormality to her body language. She seemed just as jerky as Jen.
"Here." Why Wendy felt the need to whisper in their own home was beyond Lana, but Wendy wrapped the throw blanket from the back of the sofa around her quivery body, taking her in her arms. Lana draped her legs across Wendy's lap and closed her eyes. She was not afraid to close her eyes, and she let the soft tick-rock of the cat clock lull her into a gray haze.
XXX
Elliot was nowhere near as guilty-looking as Wendy. She'd never seen a woman seem so - well, culpable. Jen had seen unhappy, Jen had seen criminal, but now as she watched Wendy move her thin fingers against Lana's forehead, she saw responsibility. She studied her from a chaise rocker, moving it back and forth with her foot planted on the carpet. The room was hazy, as if created by a cigarette left to smolder in an ashtray somewhere unimportant. rain plonked against the pebbles outdoors.
"Are you cold?" The brunette woman broke the silence, cranking her neck around a few times, rubbing her palm against the back of it. The light of the lamp, which had been switched on moments ago, highlighted the dust motes clinging to the stagnant air hanging like smog in the dank room. Jen was cold, but it was an internal type of frozen. No amount of heat or clothing could warm it - her body had become the rain, and hadn't warmed since.
"No." Croaked the woman. Damn, she sounded like a crook, all hobbled and twisted and old. Clearing her throat, she tried to sit taller in the chair. It didn't work. She slumped in defeat. The other woman was looking away now, tiny pupils following the pendulum tail of the clock mounted on the wall. "Wendy?"
She snapped back to attention like a soldier guarding an unknown soldier's tomb, sucking on her bottom lip. She was quite attractive, even on a rainy day. Jen was almost certaim that the woman could roll out of bed and look half decent. She had big ears that stuck out from her chocolate curls, and her chin was just about disproportionate to her face, but her expression was warm and solid.
"Tell me what happened." It was more of a questioning tone rather than demanding, but Jen scowled, resting the back of her head against the back of the chair. Her foot stopped rocking it, swinging it to a hault.
"You trust me?" Jen's voice was stronger now. Good. But there was that ache in her lower abdomen now. Blackness morphed through her body, like a spiked drink and night of shadowed memories. Dr. Arden's - experiments, she could barely remember them. But did she still feel the effects? She'd been cold ever since.
"I do."
"You know who I am, don't you?" Now came the entertaining part. The freaks crawling all over her in the playroom at Briarcliff irritated her more than anything. The questions, the accusations. But the worst of all was fuddy-duddy Dr. Thredson with his magic mind potions and self help exercises. Why he hadn't stamped her mad and thrown her into the loony pile was beyond her.
"I know of your name." Wendy fidgeted, as others around her often did these days. But, perhaps in a blue moon, Wendy wasn't considering ogre and blades. Only the fact that there was a stranger in her home. "I follow the news."
But we've just put two and two together, haven't we? Jen thought.
"You care about her." Jen motioned with a numb hand towards the sleeping woman, slumped against Wendy's shoulder. Ever now and then, Wendy would trace the pad of her fingers across the bridge of her nose, or the sleepy crease in her forehead. "Whatever she is to you, don't you?"
"Of course." Her words were true, yet shy. Much like her shell.
"See, I don't give a damn about much anymore." Jen shook her head, leaning up to look at the ceiling. The texture looked like cottage cheese curds, and her eyes rolled over the mounds of distributed plaster. God, she needed a cigarette, but she felt funny asking. Wendy didn't seem like much of a smoker. "Not since that place." Not since the vile things I saw... "Ya know, if there's one thing I credit Lana for the most, she never lost faith in you, Wendy. Bat shit as it got, she was always waiting for a chance to come along."
Wendy stroked a piece of Lana's damp auburn hair, and the woman stirred in her slumber. All Jen could see as she looked at her were one of the humanoid creatures, bent over her steaming pile of flesh with gnarled, browned fingernails.
"You don't understand, I was-" Wendy paused, biting her upper lip with her lower teeth. She looked like a sick dog howling for words. "I've spent the past three weeks believing Lana was - dead, incinerated in a prison for the insane, and there wasn't one thing I could do about it. Court date after court date, documents, hell, I even-" she paused, emotional. Jen's eyes traveled to her hand, which had clasped around the stroud armrest of the sofa. She seemed disturbed. "There were no records, nothing they would release to me."
"Cause you aren't family?" Jen rocked once in the rocker, listening to the creak.
"What happened?" Wendy asked urgently again, fingers curling around the lamp chord that twisted around the couch towards the socket. "The sanitarium's miles from here. How did you... What did you- when you showed up on the doorstep, you looked-"
"Dead." Jen agreed, and she'd felt it. It was shocking she felt semi-alive today. Even more of a miracle that Lana didn't bleed out in her own driveway. "All part of Sister Jude's scheme. The orchestrater of the place - a loon if you were to ask me. Off her bolt, if you know what I'm saying. Sadistic bitch." She paused, realizing how blunt she was being. Lana might scold her. Then again, finally seeing Lana and Wendy in the same room together made quite the difference. "And she wasn't the worst. Her head physician-" Jen paused. Blankety, blankety blank. Not much about those procedures were visible anymore, more like a foggy haze that May have or may not have happened. Either way - "He did... Horrible things to people. Beyond imagination. Bloody. Gory. Human monsters. That's what found us, even in the rain."
Her fingers wrapped around the bareness of her pale arm, covering the gouged claw marks left by beasts unknown. "Lana got the worst of it, I think. Stabbed the fuckers with a bent up hanger. Wiley fighter." She paused, noticing Wendy's gaze.
Wendy looked at Lana as if she were a book on a rainy afternoon. Not a new one, but one you loved, one you read over and over again but never got sick and tired of. Just looking at the cover and touching the thin, frail, pages would be anough to ignite a happy, queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Jen thought about clearing her throat, but it seemed so private in a way. She let it go on.
"I can't believe I did this to her." Wendy's index finger, which had begun to trail down the dampened ends of Lana's mane of auburn wisps, dropped to her lap.
"Not you." Jen whispered, shaking her head. She began to rock the chair again, licking the dry, cracked skin of her white lips. "Them. They did this to her, and they did this to you. Both of you." She paused again. Wendy seemed to appreciate her words. The way people used to before she was labeled a psycho criminal. After a few more seconds of awkward, rainy silence, Jen sat straighter in her chair. It felt like a bamboo splinter had been shoved in place of her spinal chord, but it seemed more proper to sit in a decent position that didn't make her look like some slum-bag in someone else's home. "What are you going to do?"
Sighing, the other woman moved her arm carefully, trying not to wake the lightly napping Lana. She seemed restless, but then again, Jen doubted she got about half as much sleep as she'd ended up getting. "I'm not sure. It was enough of a task to call in and get a substitute teacher."
"You know what the cops will do just as soon as they show up on your doorstep? First place they'll look for the missing mental patient is her roommate's house. You can't hide her. Or me. Not from the police. You got enough shit on your plate as it is."
"What about you?"
Jennifer bit the insides of her cheeks. "What about me?" Yes, what about her? She hadn't a clue what would become of her. She believed she and Lana would make it this far, and Wendy's hospitality and bedside manner was impressive, but again rose the question of where she'd end up.
Elliot... Elliot, she hadn't a clue where he was now. She hadn't seen him since - since her incident in solitary. He could be locked up somewhere now for all Jen knew, and the thought of injustice made her sick to her stomach.
"Nevermind about me. You see her?" she eyed Lana cautiously with the eyes of a comrade, an ally. "She the only thing you got? Lady, you and her, you run. Far away from this place, and far away from Briarcliff. Whatever's already bore into our minds is our business, and our shit to wade through. But you see the chance, and you move your asses across the country."
Wendy, seeming vexed, shook her head. "I couldn't - I couldn't just leave you out on a branch, there needs to be - consequence, justice -"
"There isn't. At least not for me." Jen leaned back, shaking her head. "I'll find my way eventually, and get the hell out too."
XXX
Turning the bottle upside down on the pinkish rag, Wendy shook the spout of the brownish container and shook her head, chewing on her lower lip as small amounts of the clear liquid spurted out from the nozzle. She always meant to replace household remedies when they started to run low, but hell, she hadn't used the peroxide in such a long time, anyhow.
"It's probably going to sting." Wendy slid one finger down Lana's ribcage gently. It was enough to get a reaction out of her - a small giggle, but she soon covered her sides with her palms, frowning. Lana faced the window, arms wrapped around her own body as if to keep her insides intact. Her body was a crate that had been flattened on the highway but still retained somewhat of a cubical shape. Whatever was inside had been smushed on the harsh asphalt. "You ready?"
Lana nodded and wove her quivering fingers through her wavy chestnut hair, clinging to the back of the wobbly kitchen chair. This was unsurprisingly not the first time Wendy's wife had stood wearing only her underwear in the kitchen - Lana was notorious for running late, rushing around with one leg shoved into pantyhose, curlers still clinging to one side of her head. Wendy hadn't a clue how she ever got out the door in the morning looking the way she did.
"It will only sting for a second." Promised Wendy, tracing shapes on Lana's protruding shoulder blade with a fingernail, soothing her before cleansing her wounds with peroxide. She couldn't help but notice the other woman flinch at her touch, shying away like a dog that had been whipped one too many times. Her beat, whethered canine had been kept on such a short leash, she barely moved within a few feet of her companion - Jennifer. A stray mutt.
Wendy's eyes rolled momentarily towards the living room where the stranger sat on the sofa, legs folded under torso like a cobra coiled in a pile on top of the sand. She was shriveled and weak-looking with strong, strident eyes of nearly mismatching pigments ranging from a shocking robin egg blue to a droopy, depressed gray. They focused diligently on the flickering television, though she had the feeling that her body was stagnant, but her mind was not. Whatever thoughts the small woman had racing around, Wendy was certain they were dark. Not particularly dark - a dusk compared to the advanced blackness that followed.
"Wendy?" Lana cleared her throat. God, she sounded hoarse, it was embarrassing. The. Again, once it had been embarrassing to realize that she needed Wendy in her life, and now it was just a preconceived notion.
"What is it?" Wendy peeked over Lana's shoulder, meeting the other woman's doe gaze. Slowly, she took both of her hands and lowered her into one of the kitchen chairs, guiding her to rest. Lana whined softly, moving carefully against the wooden back of the chair - it suddenly seemed as though she couldn't look at Wendy enough, like she'd disappear like sand dribbling from her hand in the wind.
Lana extended one hand, letting go of Wendy's to touch the woman's face. It was soft, just as she remembered, just as she's imagined for days, hours, minutes, touching the soft, pale expanse of Wendy's blemish free complexion. Biting her split lower lip, Lana felt her eyes water.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong? Baby, what's wrong?" Wendy immediately kneeled by Lana's side, smoothing over her knuckles in tender, measured strokes. "Lana?"
An overwhelming surge of emotion overcame Lana, like a pink wave that caused an intense ring in her ears. She felt as if she'd swallowed a few chugs of pepto-bismal and was on the verge of melting onto the floor, so the only thing she could manage was to throw her arms around her lover's small frame, pressing her bruised cheek to Wendy's shoulder; the soft rise and fall of her collarbone against her face was what calmed her.
"I'm here. Right here, and I'm not going anywhere, you hear me?" Wendy smoothed Lana's dark hair back, tucking it behind her ears. Lana's eyes trailed down to Wendy's hands which rested in her own lap, surveying her exposed white knuckles. Her ring, she'd forgotten - her fingers were all bare. Lana slowly brushed shaking fingers over Wendy's familiar hands.
"Oh." The corners of Wendy's mouth suddenly turned down, eyes following Lana's trained pupils. "I-"
Lana covered Wendy's hand with both of her own, shaking her head.
XXX
"I don't make the rules, Joey, but rules are rules! If you don't zip up your coat, you'll catch a cold!" Wendy grasped the zipper of the eight-year-old's jacket, pulling it all the way up to his chin. Joey struggled against her, pouting.
"Magilla Gorilla doesn't wear a coat." He crossed his arms over his chest.
"But he wears a hat." Wendy handed Joey his cap and he reluctantly pulled it over his ears. They stuck out a little from beneath his dark, slightly unkempt hair, but not too much. "Come on, you're late for recess, Magilla!"
"Thanks Miss Peyser!" The big jumped up, leaping from the classroom with the imaginary agility of a cartoon gorilla wearing suspenders and a top hat. Wendy smiled softly, pacing behind her desk. Lately, the things she did hadn't much meaning - usually, eepverythi g had a purpose, each step, each letter on the chalk board, every single word to leave her mouth, but she seemed to be stuck in some stupor of repetition. A wishy-washy world, staring at her laundry from the other side of the laundry mat.
Wendy hated living alone. She never had in her life, not since college after her roommate graduated. And even then, she'd just started seeing Lana and her room was barely ever lonely. Lana... Wendy repressed a cry and let her knuckles come down against the desk, reaching to open the drawer highest to the right. Her gloves lay neatly on top of a stack of blank paperwork. She rifled to the bottom of the drawer, retrieving the picture frame that had been hidden from the prying eyes of so many.
It was the two of them, dressed in matching graduation cap and gowns. The day they graduated college. Wendy remembered her sister taking the picture - she'd come all the way from Springfield to see her receive her diploma. Wendy sighed, brushing underneath her eyes. Lana looked so happy that day - so proud of herself, so righteous. She wore an opal necklace overtop her gown, sparkling in black and white preservarion - it had been a gift from Wendy, a birthday gift.
Wendy clenched her jaw and rolled her eyes down to her shaking hands. The sapphire ring gleamed at her in mockery. A cosmic joke it was, for her to be so entitled to wear it. Angrily, she twisted it off her ring finger, peering through it like a looking glass before tucking it away with the photo. She didn't deserve to wear it, not after her selfishness.
Pulling on her gloves and wiping her eyes disdainfully, Wendy carefully closed the classroom door. When she returned from recess, her ring had gone missing. Wendy assumed she quite deserved it.
XXX
"Dr. Thredson..." Wendy whispered, helping Lana back into her robe. Her hands shook as she did so, fingers lingering on the portions of Lana's untorn shoulder blades. "The therapist at Briarcliff. On Halloween, I - I came to the institution, I begged recantance from the administrator. Dr. Thredson followed me to the car, he told me he'd look after you."
Lana peered at Jen from the kitchen, shaking her head. "No harm came to me under his watch, and he said your ring arrived to his private office. I kept it hidden away in the asylum - I'll go back for it if I have to. But Dr. Thredson kept his promise, Wendy. He's the doctor assigned to evaluate Jen's case, she-"
"I heard all about her on the news. Jen and Kit Walker, I was following it in the papers, on the radio, everything. When I heard she was going to be locked up with you, I - I got so scared, I didn't know what to do, Lana. And Lois and Barb, they tried help me, but you know how nosy Lois can get. And then the blonde nun who came to our house, she, she said you'd died and I didn't believe it, I didn't - I kept fighting, but..." Wendy pressed her forehead to Lana's. "I knew you'd never take your own life."
"They wanted you out of the way." Concluded Lana, letting her breath out in one sigh. She knew what Wendy was wondering, because she was thinking along the same lines. What would they do about Jennifer? Lana's eyes wandered to the living room again - Jen seemed to be asleep, head resting in a slump against the back of the sofa. "Jen... Wendy, I don't know what she's done and why exactly she's being framed, but Jennifer doesn't belong in that asylum."
Wendy peered at the sleeping woman through the eyes of a stranger. "Once this is sorted out, I'll find her a place to belong. We will, baby. Okay? I promise." Wendy gripped her hand. "Promise. Whoever she is, she wouldn't let you die. I owe her that."
Lana closed her eyes for a few moments. "I'm sorry."
"Lana, baby, for what?" Wendy traced a finger down Lana's jaw. She relished in the feeling, dwelling on it forever. She'd die with that tingling sensation in her heart.
Night came and went again. Shades down, blinds drawn. Always. And Lana didn't mind, not now. She'd so anything to love her clandestine life with Wendynagain, full of Twilight Zone episodes, Dusty Springfield's sultry voice Wendy loved so loved, the soft sizzle of a frying pan as Lana burned dinner. Again.
Jen was mostly silent. Strange, Lana thought. She usually had so much to say in that Boston accent of hers - in fact, she had been running her mouth since she'd arrived at Briarcliff. But she seemed to be contemplating. Jen hinted a smile here and there, a soft memory of the woman Lana believed she knew.
"You're going to lose your job." Lana pressed her chin into her palm over lunch the next afternoon. Wendy had called in sick again, much to Lana's disapproval. Scouts from Briarcliff were undoubtedly sniffing she and Jen out now that they'd been gone more than twenty-four hours, and though they'd covered their tracks decently, the cops were certain to snoop around until some clue bright them to Wendy's house.
"Yeah, and so what? What are you gonna do about it, Winters?" Wendy sat down with a cup of tea, stirring a tea spoon in her mug. "I'll be fine. I'm here to take care of you." Reaching to grasp Lana's hand, Wendy covered it with her own and patted it gently. "Besides, you two need to heal. Who else is going to look after you?"
Jen took a nibble of her grilled cheese sandwich. Her glass of milk was still half full and she'd barely touched her breakfast earlier, either. "Surprised the cops haven't been by. I'd think this'd be the first damn place those pigs would look."
"We're - good at hiding things." Wendy shrugged, eyeing the closed blinds. "For years -"
Wendy immediately became quiet as a gentle rap came against the front door. Two knocks, tap tap. Gentle knocks, not the harsh slamming of a police officer. Lana's throat went dry immediately and she struggled to her feet. Jen ungracefully pulled herself up as well, clinking the silverware on the table noisily. She swore under her breath.
"Go, to the bathroom. Now. Lock the door." Wendy immediately grabbed Lana and Jen's unfinished lunch, dumping the still-cooling food in the garbage as another genteel knock came from the feont door. More persistent now. Wendy tossed the plates in the sink. "Now, Lana!" Her voice was above a whisper, still hushed, and Jen grabbed Lana's hand.
"I'll come get you when the coast is clear." Wendy promised, though there was fear in her eyes.
Lana's eyes locked with Wendy's for a split second before Jen yanked her harshly by the arm to the small bathroom, pushing her against the opaque shower door. Lana whimpered, noting her lip. If they were found... God knew what would become of Wendy. She would be admitted to Briarcliff, or worse, for harbor into fugitives. They never should have come, they never should have escaped.
XXX
"Dr. Thredson." Surprised, Wendy opened the door more than a crack, allowing the man to step over the threshold. He wore a brown tweed suit and a long, thin tie that was tied with precision. "How did you - uh, come in out of the rain, Doctor. How are you?"
"I'm sorry to show up unannounced, Miss Peyser. May I come in?" He removed his hat, cradlin it against his chest with a gentle hand.
Wendy sucked in her breath, chewing on the insides of her cheeks. "Sure. I've been - redecorating, and it's rather cluttered. I'd rather you not see the house in such disarray, but standing out in the cold won't do either of us any good. Come in, Dr. Thredson." It was easy to force a smile - she'd been doing it for weeks now.
"Thank you." The man stepped into the house, wiping his feet carefully on the welcome mat while shaking he rain from his hat. "Sorry to intrude. I know our conversation could have taken place on the doorstep, but - this really is quite e storm, isn't it?"
"It is." Wendy nodded, sucking her cheeks in as she swung the door closed. It creaked on its hinges as she breathed a sigh of relief. She felt suddenly safe around Dr. Thredson, as if the man formed a bubble of protection around her entire home. His features were warm, soft, inviting - an older brother who greeted her when she came home from college. "Can I get you anything? Uh, something to eat? I could make you something, I just finished up lunch."
"A drink would be nice." Oliver smiled softly, following Wendy to the kitchen. It stilled smelled of grilled cheese, butter. and burned toast, the inviting smell of a home. The ingredients were still left out on the counter too, along with Lana and Jen's plates covered in crumbs and cheese residue. Wendy opened the fridge and rifled.
"I have 7Up, Coca Cola..."
"I'll have some 7Up. Thank you, Wendy." He smiled again as Wendy cracked open the bottle on the side of the counter and poured Oliver a glass and ha des it to him. He took a sip. "It's come to my attention that - Miss Winters has escaped Briarcliff a little more than thirty-five hours ago."
"Lana?" Wendy bit her lip and feigned shock. "I - I, Lana is alive? A nun, Sister Mary Eunice - came by weeks ago and told me Lana had died, I-" Wendy was never a great actress. Her heart was drumming out of her chest, face obviously so red it probably looked purple.
"Unsurprisingly, Briarcliff's corrupt under Sister Jude's power. She believes she's doing good, at least what she leads me to understand. Here, Miss Peyser. Sit down. You look shaken." Oliver soothed, and Wendy internally breathed a sigh of relief. He bought her act, at least for now. She allowed the man to lead her to one of the kitchen chairs, the one Jen had been perched in moments before. Her ha da were trembling, but not at his words. "They're trying to keep it under wraps - your Lana has escaped with a criminal. One of my patients, to be exact with you. I'm sorry I wasn't able to get to you sooner, Wendy. You deserve to know."
"The police? Aren't they looking for them? They have to be."
"The storm's covered mostly everything either one of them could have left behind. The authorities are trying to smooth it over, make it seem as though it never happened. They couldn't care less about Miss Winters, but Miss Autumn-"
"Jennifer Autumn? Bloody Face?" Wendy gripped the chair, rolling her eyes towards the hallway. Down it only a few paces was the bathroom.
"Don't worry, Wendy. I'll try to pull some strings. I'm very respected in my community and I know of many who would be glad to help if I'm in need of a favor." Dr. Thredson covered Wendy's left hand with his own, setting down his fizzy glass of soda. He seemed to study her fingers slowly, like he was counting the, to make sure they were all there. "On another account, I've another account of business to attend to. I believe I have something that belongs to you?"
"Really?" Wendy's voice shook as Oliver rifled through his pocket, surfacing with a ring. He held it up, peering through the small circular opening at Wendy, who was in just as much shock as she would feign to be. "Is this yours?"
She gave a watery, suspicious smile, trying to sound sincere. "Y-yes. Dr. Thredson, where did you - where did you get that?"
"Haven't you been missing it for quite some time?" He questioned softly, smiling and slipping it onto her finger like he'd just proposed. Wendy's hands shook as she pulled away from him, almost too quickly.
"Yes. H-how - how did you know? How did you -"
"Never mind that, Miss Peyser." His lips curled softly into a smile, a smile that suddenly made Wendy uneasy. So uneasy that she leapt from the kitchen chair almost too desperately in an attempt to rush him out the door.
"Well, I - I won't make you drive in harsher weather than you have to. The rains picking up, and -"
"Oh, it's really no trouble." Oliver set his finished glass on the table. "No issue at all."
"The house is a mess, and you really should be going - back to your patients, I mean. Briarcliff will be missing you, I'm sure -"
"Isn't today a Wednesday?" He questioned, standing in the door way. In that moment he looked so tall and dark. His shoulders were so broad, eyes so thick. In that moment, Wendy was afraid.
"Yeah." It came out a hoarse whisper as she bacaked against the wall, arms flattened at her sides. Oliver stepped closer to her.
"Don't teachers work on Wednesdays? It isn't a holiday, is it?"
"No - no, I stayed home today. Touch of a sore throat, but I'm feeling a little better now. Didn't want to pass it on to the children, you know?"
"I admire that about you, Wendy. Always thinking of the children. Enriching young minds, that's a sacred charge." Dr. Thredson was closer to her now, within a few step's distance.
"I really have to ask - ow, ow!" Crying out harshly, Wendy crumpled as Oliver grabbed her wrist, twisting her arm around behind her back in a position an arm should never bend. "What - what are you doing? Oliver, oww, oh please, stop!"
"Wendy!" Lana appeared through Wendy's vision, blurred with tears of agony, still dressed in her pajamas with her robe half draped around her body. Her mouth moved some more, but Wendy didn't hear her.
"Lana, no!" She mustered, but it was probably only a whisper. A whimper. A whine, something else pathetic.
Something hard and cold came down against her head with a crack of finality.
Wendy cried, feeling the numb ache begin in the back of her head. She tried to kick him, her last form of defense, but that earned her another fatal blow to the head. It felt like cotton had been stuffed in her ears, and a stagnant ringing chorused. She gave a final whimper and everything went hazy.
Lana... Lana.
XXX
Lana let her consciousness seep back into her body slowly. Somehow, she expected her body to be chained to the bed again - but wherever she was seemed much, much worse than waking up in Briarcliff. Everything around her was cool, the chilly at,ops here pooling back into her skin all at once as she peered around, blind and dumb. Fumbling with every ounce of strength she could possibly muster, she dragged her body up from the floor, black vision lollying around her like Van Gogh's Starry Night.
A muffled sound escaped her mouth as her hands groped the cool ground. They tingled in her skin, like they'd been encased in plaster and were suddenly set free. But this location was unfamiliar feeling, foreign smelling, and she couldn't place it anywhere. Not even in the back of her mind. She remembered getting hit over the head with something. Hard. Hard enough to knock her unconcious, but that was it.
"Help!" The cry escaped her as her vision began to come back spotty, splotched in black like ink across her corneas as she crawled forward. Her foot caught and she fell against the floor again, jamming her chin against what felt like tile. She pushed herself back to her knees and felt a strange weight in her left ankle; awkward, gawky. Cold and metal. She fingered blindly down her bare legs and grasped the metal cuff around her ankle.
"Oh, God," she cried, breath quickening in her lungs. "Help me! Someone, please help me!" The bolt of the chain, tethered to the floor, was only mere feet away, and she crawled to it, foolishly pulling at the coarse metal u til her fingertips turNed white. Her struggle was to no avail, and she let out another hoarse whine. "Somebody help!"
No one came, but Lana noticed that her vision was becoming better with each passing second. She began to see vague shapes - a bed, pushed up against the wall. Like a newborn kitten, she crawled weakly toward it, falling with a grunt as the chain caught her. It wasn't long enough to reach the furniture. Lip trembling, Lana turned to view her other surroundings.
The floor was white tile, and after scooting a few inches forward towards the metal tether, she realized she'd been sitting on top of some sort of drain. Like a community shower. Everything was a whitewashed bleach color, and it smelled like disinfectant.
A wall of tack board was directly in front of her - hung neatly in rows were hacksaws, screwdrivers, various sharp tools she didn't know the name of. Pulled back around the tile was a thick, yellowed transparent curtain. The place immediately sent a shiver down her spine.
"Hello?" Her voice was even more hoarse than it was before, perhaps from misuse. No one answered, but she heard the definitive click as a heavy bolt was pulled back, sensing yellow brightness into the dim white room. Tears burned her eyes, mixed with confusion as she cowered in the middle of the floor. She was wearing nothing but the nightgown she'd put on the night before - a thin, silky lavender number with thin straps. It did little to shield her from the cold.
"Lana," the voice came, strident and low as she heard the creak of the stairs. Lana's lip trembled as the man descended the stairs step by step, swinging his arms at his sides as he finally made it to the bottom step. Oliver Thredson's dark eyes stared back at her. His fists were at his sides, right hand bruised with one split knuckle. Suddenly, she remembered.
She and Jen huddled in the shower, listening for any definite sign that the coast was clear. It was slippery, and she had been wearing socks. Jen's breath came in loud huffs. She'd put her hand over her mouth to quiet the other woman.
Wendy's signs of struggle were what tore her from the shower. She remembered the sound Jen making being somewhere between a screech and a whimper, but there was no stopping her. And then there was darkness. Darkness, and nothing else, until now. She didn't remember anything but a loud crack like fireworks in her ears, and blackness.
"Dr. Thredson?" Her mouth formed the name as if she were remembering an old friend from high school. Her eyes flicked to the shackle on her ankle and then back to him. "I don't - I, please-"
"You'll lose your voice, babbling like that." He said matter-of-factly.
"I don't - why are you - why are you doing this?"
His dark brows furrowed as he brushed a hand backwards through his hair with the hand that wasn't injured, pursing his lips. "That's a question I'll be able to answer throughout the course of our therapy, which we'll begin tomorrow. For now, you should rest. You've had quite the ordeal."
Lana lifted her head, a wave of nausea flowing through her stomach as she caught sight of the pegboard of tools behind him. The backdrop seemed so much more sinister than tools in a basement should be. "Dr. Thredson, I don't - I don't understand."
"I didn't expect you to." He sighed and touched the butcher shop curtains with gentle fingers, admiring slowly. "But there's one thing I wish you to understand tonight. Don't play me the fool, Lana. I know who you are. And what your capable of." He said it with such tenderness, such gentleness, as if he was speaking to a lover. "You've got your story."
"What?" Her lip trembled.
"Write this down, Miss Winters." He smiled softly,metering her with genteel demeanor. "Some people go looking for one thing and stumble upon another," he kneeled precisely, grabbing the thick chain in his left hand, dragging her against the tile ground with an unexpected force. "You wanted the scoop on Bloody Face - I'll tell you anything you want to know."
Fact: 7Up is Lana's favorite drink
Fact: Wendy has one younger sister who still speaks to her