AN: I maintain that she had dementia or something similar. She was never a kind woman, but things didn't get like this until much later. Shame I didn't know for sure-I would have just moved out and left her to her own devices.
Christineoftheopera-Arkham's tolerable. So long as the clown is silent. Isn't that the truth?
She didn't mean to.
Really, she didn't mean to.
These old bones can't stand for long periods anymore, all she meant to do was go back inside and sit down until the time was up. But she got a bit too comfortable in that old armchair and without really meaning to, she nodded off. And now the clock is chiming midnight when it should have been chiming nine.
She makes her way up and hobbles back outside, sick to her stomach. How will she explain this?
The crows are silent, unnervingly so, and she pushes the heavy doors open with no small feeling of trepidation.
Jonathan's huddled up against the wall near the door, hands and face hidden behind his knees. He doesn't react when she enters and for one horrid moment she wonders if the worst has happened.
"Jonathan." She doesn't mean to sound that harsh, either, but it works-his head shoots up and he scrambles to his feet.
"Granny, m'sorry, I promise not to-"
She holds up a hand and he silences.
"Let's go in."
He's oddly hesitant to move, and when he does finally come forward, it's with the stiffness of someone going to the hangman. For Heaven's sake, she isn't going to...to...
Is he really so afraid of her? She wanted respect, of course she did-let a child run the house and things will go ill-but...not like this.
They reach the house as it starts to rain again. He's just starting for the stairs when she says his name.
"Jonathan." A little less harsh this time, but still he flinches back and looks at her, wide-eyed and pale. "Let's get you cleaned up."
"I-I'm fine, Granny, really-"
Anger stirs in her-ungrateful brat, she ought to just leave him to fend for himself-
No. Not tonight.
"That wasn't a choice."
For a moment she thinks he'll run from her, but he doesn't. He waits instead for her to make her way to the foot of the stairs and says, voice soft, "Would you like help up?"
Absolutely not. She is not some helpless old woman, thank you very much.
She swats him away, pretends not to notice the way he moves as though to avoid a strike. Humph. When has he grown so spineless?
She shoos him into her room and makes him sit on the settee-when did he grow so tall?-before getting a basin of water and a washcloth.
"Don't look so frightened, boy." she chides. "I'm not going to bite."
"Sorry."
Humph.
There's a scratch on his forehead that goes deep, deeper than she would have thought, and when she coaxes his hair back-he needs a haircut, it's getting out of control again-she finds his skin to be warm. Too warm? She doesn't know.
"Really, I can manage-"
"Sh."
He falls silent after that. She has no idea what to say to him. He brought this on himself,
I didn't mean for it to go on this long
and anymore every conversation they try to have ends...poorly.
The stillness is only broken by a sudden sneeze that startles them both.
"Go to bed." she says brisquely. "It's late."
He all but flees the room and she shakes her head. Overly dramatic child. Always has been.
She supposes he gets it from her side of the family. Karen was the same way.
She sighs and prepares for bed. It's been a long day.
THE END