I do not own American Horror Story: Freakshow.
I doubt Ryan Murphy would even recognize it now.
Wherever You Are
For the Living
"You need to come home, Annabel."
"Why, what's up, Daddy?"
"It's your moms."
Her arms were crossed over her chest.
Tight. Still.
Holding herself together by sheer force of will.
He had just said it.
Said it.
Like it was nothing.
Like it was all over.
Which, for him, she guessed, it was.
But for her it had only just begun.
Right there. In the front yard. Right there, he had met her.
She had hugged him and he had hugged her back and she had first asked her question again.
"What's up, Daddy? What's going on with Moms?"
His shoulders had stiffened.
And she had felt it.
And the sick, churning dread.
Drawing back, looking him in the eye.
"Daddy?"
And he had spoken.
"They're gone, Annabel. They died."
And she had been confused.
Letting go. Stepping back.
And wrapping her arms around herself.
In fear. In confusion. In dread.
"When? Where? Can I see them?"
And he had shaken his graying head slowly.
"No, baby. I'm sorry."
And her confusion had grown.
"What do you mean? Where are they?"
Jimmy had shook his head again.
"They're gone, Annabel. Cremated."
And she had stared in shock.
"Dad, what the hell are you talking about?"
He had just stood there, not answering her.
And he had looked so old.
So old and tired.
"Daddy?"
Jimmy Darling Walker had looked into the mismatched eyes of his only child.
Searching. Seeking. Questioning.
And he had known he had to answer her.
And that she might not understand.
Probably would not understand.
And he might lose her forever because of it.
But he answered her.
Because she was his daughter.
And he had no choice.
"They died, Annabel. At home. Ma-Da . . ." he swallowed thickly. "Dot. First. Then Bette."
She was breathing heavy, pretty face a confused, building storm.
"Daddy. What did you do?"
He didn't look at her, not directly.
Only turned away from the hot, burning Florida sun.
Into the lonely, empty house.
"You'd better come on in."
"But . . . but . . . why?"
She had come alone. He had requested it.
He sat hunched forward, elbows on knees.
Staring blindly at the wooden hands he had chosen to wear today.
Old and worn.
And still strong and unyielding.
Unlike him, he felt.
So weak and old.
He had never felt so weak and old and lost.
Not in so very long a time.
So very, very long.
"Why didn't you take them to the hospital? Why did you just . . . discard them like that? Like . . . like you were just done with them or something?"
Razor sharp pains would've pierced his heart, ripping him to pieces.
"Annabel, no . . ."
If he'd had a heart to feel anymore.
". . . no, honey, no, they . . ."
If he'd even been alive.
"Annabel, that's exactly what they were afraid of. Being looked at and examined and pulled apart and put back together. They didn't want that for themselves. Or me. Or you. Especially you."
He looked up then.
Found her staring at him.
Those eyes, mismatched and piercing.
"They didn't want you to feel like your mothers were freaks and on display to be stared at and talked over. And they didn't want you to have the responsibility of helping them pass either. Or be set free. They didn't want you to bear the responsibility of doing something that was, well, kind of undercover like that in case questions were asked. They wanted freedom for you. They wanted peace for all of us, Annabel."
Her mouth was opening and closing like a stunned fish.
He stopped talking, dropped his face down away from her.
Then pulled it back up.
"I'm sorry you didn't get to say goodbye to them, Annabel. They . . . they loved you more than anything in this world. And, and I know I've said that before but . . . it's true, it's really true. You were their miracle, just that you were even here and they only wanted to protect us all in the end and . . ."
He stopped, unable to continue, then forced his words on.
"I took care of them in the end . . . the best way I could. I had to. And I didn't want to do what I did. But there was no choice."
He dropped his head again.
"And I'm sorry I hurt you with this, Annabel. But I had to take care of them. I was the only one that could. The only way I knew how. So they could have peace."
Neither of them said anything for a long while.
Jimmy honestly didn't think he could anymore.
He felt, rather than saw, Annabel stir.
Rise.
Slowly.
And then, without saying anything, she left.
He let her.
It was all he could do.
She came back in a little while later.
Stood in the doorway.
Not near him.
Away.
"I'm going back home, Daddy."
Away.
"Okay."
He felt numb. Empty. Lost.
"I can't . . . I don't . . ."
Jimmy looked at her. Nodded.
"I know, Annabel. It's okay."
There was silence for a minute.
Then his daughter spoke again.
"I'll call you when I get home."
He nodded again.
And then she was gone.
She called two hours later.
Jimmy, dozing in the chair, roused . . .
Who is it, Bette?
. . . and stumbled to the phone.
"Hello?"
"We have to have a wake, Daddy."
Dot, Annabel wants a cake. Do you girls have time to make her one before Murder She Wrote?
"A what?"
"A wake! A funeral! A closing ceremony! Something!"
She was shouting now and he let her.
"God, Daddy! It's like you didn't even care about them!"
He did care about them.
Had.
Always.
Would.
Always.
It was just . . .
"Don't 'Annabel' me, Patrick!"
. . . he . . . couldn't . . .
"Daddy!"
. . . think.
"What?"
Her fury was a white hot thing.
"Are you even hearing me?!"
Distant nod.
"Yeah, honey. Of course. We'll have a service for them. Don't you worry."
The line was quiet for a moment.
And he thought she had gone.
And knew that he would let her.
And then-
"We'll be up in the morning, okay? To arrange everything."
"Okay."
And then she really was gone.
And have a funeral they did.
In a few days' time.
And everybody in the entire town, it seemed, came.
To see Jimmy. To see Annabel.
To see Patrick and Little Jimmy and the empty box.
The empty box.
They didn't know it, of course, those that came to mourn.
No one knew.
No one but Jimmy and Patrick and Annabel.
And the man who had helped Jimmy burn his dead wives to free ash in the first place, Frank Glen.
They knew the box was empty.
As Jimmy knew his heart was.
I love you, Bette. I love you, Dot.
To go with his empty heart.
I miss you.
People milled around.
But he didn't see them.
Knelt or sat and talked.
But he didn't hear them.
Oh, he looked at them.
Smiled and said polite things.
And they responded and hugged and patted.
And then eventually wandered off again.
And he remained.
Even Annabel.
Back and forth and back and forth.
Talking. Guiding. Directing. Comforting.
He guessed.
Patrick would have stayed still.
Next to him, he supposed.
But he had Little Jimmy.
And even a good seven year old at a funeral is still a seven year old at a funeral.
So Patrick and Little Jimmy were here and there and yonder.
And Jimmy let them.
Because they could.
Move and breathe and think and function.
Without the amazing, unbelievable, unflappable Tattler Twins.
And he, Jimmy Darling, could not.
He went through the motions.
He stood when he was told.
He sat when he was told.
He looked where he was told and closed his eyes when he was told.
He walked when he was told.
And Tom Clark drove the car to the cemetary.
Jimmy in the seat next to him.
Annabel and Patrick and Little Jimmy in the back.
Kathy behind in another car with part of Patty's horde.
Everybody loved. Everybody cared.
And Jimmy could not . . .
I love you, Dot. I love you, Bette.
. . . feel any of it.
They took him home afterward.
After they lowered the empty pine box into the ground.
And covered it with dirt.
Stood and prayed and sang and wept.
And then went home.
Pulled funeral food out of the kitchen.
Ate. Drank. Etcetera.
Turned on the TV for Little Jimmy.
And he and Big Silent Jimmy sat and watched it.
The artificial lights and tinny sounds flowing unheeded and unnoticed like waves over the latter.
While he floated in a Tattler-less void of emptiness and grief.
Vaguely aware that Annabel and Patrick were having a mostly controlled argument . . .
". . . my mothers, Patrick! And then just got rid of them without even telling me or letting me say goodbye! I'm not going to just pretend that didn't happen!"
. . . in her old bedroom . . .
"I really don't think it's like that, Annabel. And I really don't think you do either."
. . . about something that he just couldn't bring himself to focus on.
And then Patrick, face carefully blank and set, came into the living room.
And talked more at Jimmy's face.
". . . eat?"
". . . drink?"
". . . sleep?"
And Jimmy let him.
They left the next morning.
Nearly beating the sun to Brandon's hazy dawn horizons.
Annabel cutting a stormy path back and forth from the house to the car and back again.
Patrick, face drawn and riddled with worry, wavered in front of him time and again.
Speaking. Patting.
Caring.
And Jimmy appreciated it. He really did.
Good boy, he's a good boy. Dot and Bette always said he was such a good boy.
And Jimmy smiled. Talked.
Hooks couldn't return pats.
And Little Jimmy, the little scamp.
Playing with his LEGOs.
Playing with his pupper, Sam.
Sweet little kid. Even if he did have ten whole fingers.
And then, at least in his daughter's mind, it was time to go.
For her.
". . . go."
For Patrick.
". . . in the car."
And Little Jimmy Anderson.
". . . your toys, come on."
And that was okay too.
They needed to, he guessed.
Nothin' good doing here anyway.
Everyone on the road.
Everyone roll out.
Last call.
That's it.
Except . . .
". . . on, Sam. Come on, boy."
And Sam, standing next to Statue Jimmy in the yard, whined.
And plopped his butt down.
And did not move.
". . . dog, Patrick! I want to get home before rush hour."
Patrick Anderson, a man of medium build.
Cleanly trimmed brown hair.
Hazel eyes.
Patrick.
Who'd never had a family before this one.
Who'd saved a dog from a shelter, rescued him and brought him home.
Transplanted himself halfway across the country for the woman he loved.
And, gladly it seemed, gave everything he could for the family he had been gifted.
Stood in the humid Florida morning.
Ignored his beyond infuriated wife's strident demand.
And looked at the man. The dog.
And advanced.
"I think he wants to stay with you."
Jimmy looked down at the canine and up to his son-in-law.
"He's not my dog."
Patrick stopped. Seemed to consider.
"Wanna go home, boy? Go get in the car."
A very well-trained dog.
Intelligent, smart.
Understanding.
Who whined.
And did not move.
And Patrick, his owner, looked again at Jimmy.
"I think he is right now."
Jimmy looked down and up.
Didn't say anything.
So Patrick did.
"It's Tuesday. Why don't we come see you Friday? See how's he doing? See what you want to do then?"
Jimmy looked down and up again.
"What about Annabel? Little Jimmy? He's their dog too."
Patrick smiled thinly, humorlessly.
"Not right now he's not."
Pain in his eyes. Pain in his voice.
Pain Jimmy could not feel. Because Jimmy could not feel.
"Okay."
Patrick bent down.
Scratched the set canine behind the ears while the world turned.
"Take care of him, Sam."
And the returning whine and tail wag.
Then Patrick straightened.
And locked eyes with Jimmy again.
"I love you, Jimmy," he said simply, without embarrassment or awkwardness. "All my life I wished for a father like you've been to me. Annabel doesn't understand, she's not listening and she's not thinking. She's just hurt and in pain. If we didn't have Little Jimmy, I'd stay here and make sure you were okay. But I can't not take care of him."
Jimmy nodded vaguely.
The boy, his grandson.
Of course. Love him.
"I there's Alpo in the cabinet for Sam. I'll bring more Friday."
Jimmy nodded.
And Patrick clenched his jaw, then released.
"And don't . . . don't die, okay? I know you miss them. I do too. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to Annabel. But please. Don't die."
Jimmy nodded again.
"You're a good man, Patrick."
Patrick nodded. Tears in his eyes.
"Thank you."
And then they went.
And Jimmy stayed.
With Scruffy Sam the Sublime right next to him.
Honestly, I don't know if Scruffy Sam the Sublime's actions are actually plausible. But 1) it's American Horror Story, 2) he's called Scruffy Sam the Sublime for a reason, and 3) I felt like it. ;)
Anyway, thanks to midnightrebellion86, brigid1318, and autumnrose2010 for taking the time to review previously!
Three more chapters to go! Can you believe it?