December 30th
Boys' Haven Of America,
Beaumont, Texas
For as chilly as it was, Ivaleigh and Lailea both were glad for the blue jeans, boots, sweaters, and jackets they had on.
Twice, they had exuberantly hugged Melina Jo hard enough to knock the wind out of her, and the Thank You's had been genuine and endless.
Their hearts were pounding uncontrollably, their hands shaking as Melina Jo introduced them to the woman at the front desk before asking where Braxton Walters could be found.
Down with the horses, of course; it was the time when he was at his calmest, when he was able to forget the nightmares for a little while.
Peeking around the corner of the wide horse barn, immediately spotting him sitting straddled on the tall wooden fence – with his right arm in a sling for the moment and his full attention on the Appaloosas, Palominos, Quarters, and Andalusians – the twins noted first that he was taller than they recalled, but also thinner, the lean muscle, hollowed cheeks, and slightly sunken eyes impossible to miss.
A tired young man, only twenty-one years of age – dressed in a thick flannel shirt, with a long-sleeved shirt underneath, blue jeans, and hiking boots – with olive green eyes and dark-blond hair, and he seemed to be regulating his own breathing, wet glistening on his cheeks.
Lailea hesitated, wondering if they were doing the right thing, intruding on this small solitude that he'd fought to make a comfort out of, and she murmured this to Ivaleigh.
"You're probably right, an' he needs the whole truth." Ivaleigh defended, and went marching across the acre to him, hauling herself up to sit in front of him, close-mouthed and staring sadly, her hands resting unthreateningly on her knees.
Braxton Walters blinked, paling, staring back, recognition and realization crashing over him in a slow tidal wave, inch by inch, and it took him one breathless, gut-clenching minute to understand that he wasn't day-dreaming; he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting nausea, shaking his head numbly, looking at her again, managing a feeble, "Don't ... "
This stopped Ivaleigh from hugging him. He's more wrecked than we are.
"Too late, we already did. Lailea's over there." she answered (loud enough that she knew he would hear), not bothering in trying not to cry, gesturing shakily, beckoning her sister to join them. "An' there's a whole hell of a lotta shit ya need t' know, big brother."
"I knew you were gonna run. I heard you both talkin' 'bout it. I thought you'd be safe away. God forgive me, I thought you'd both be safe away." The words came out haltingly, the burning tears sliding down his face, endless, always endless.
"Why didn't ya come with us?" Ivaleigh demanded, after a surprised moment, as Lailea came to a walking-on-eggshells halt beside them, her eyes enormous and shining with falling tears.
Melina Jo watched from a distance, not able to hear their words but plainly seeing the rage and suffering etched into their faces; it made her wish dearly that Ambrosia Lynn and Duke Storm could be raised from the dead, Let them be killed again, slow and in excruciating pain, I never got a chance for children, that remorseless bitch got three, and look ... She shook her head a little and departed for her cousin's home, meaning to return later in the afternoon.
"Because I thought you'd be safe away from all three of us." Braxton whispered hoarsely. "I was terrified, that what they'd started me doin' was somethin' I wouldn't be able t' stop. I was havin' godless thoughts, an' it was makin' me sick. Still makes me sick." He shook his head violently, shivering. "I ain't never gonna get married, or have kids." He drew in several shaking breaths, letting them out, wiping at his eyes. "But ... but, Gertrude Miller?"
"Yep." Ivaleigh's head wobbled, her eyes hardening. "Listen close, cos if you think it was fucked up before, ya ain't heard nothin' yet, Braxton."
Fitz Storm smiled a tiny bit at the sound of his new name, and was completely silent for a good while after the long narrative was finished. This included: All of the details concerning Ambrosia Lynn, the fire she had started, small mentions of Ivaleigh's time on Skid Row, the Millers, and Willodean; Solvi Storm; all that had happened so far with both Rafael's and Michael's families; Sullivan Hargrove and Drake Barrett; and Leonard, Scarlett, and Brielle.
What if I'm just like her?
Braxton stared pointedly towards the west, the poisonous thoughts twisting at the back of his mind, making his fingers itch to be wrapped around a bottle.
Preferably Old Overholt Straight Rye Whiskey.
He knew he should be angry, should want to rip Guillermo Jimenez a new one for raising his hands against his sisters, but the thought of any more violence drained him. Am I failing them again?
"You should come t' LA with us." Lailea finally said, reaching and carefully gripping his bad arm, her smile tremulous, welcoming.
"What's in Los Angeles?" he asked, still staring away, and Ivaleigh snorted mildly, replying, "The bigger question, what isn't? I think there ain't nothin' ya can't find if ya look hard enough."
Braxton looked at her, at both of them, loving them, relieved that they were and would be safe.
"Come an' stay for a few weeks?" Lailea entreated. "We can get you set up someplace nice. Give you a change in scenery."
Never had he hated his parents more than he did right now; he hated himself nearly as much.
"I'll need t' talk it over with my supervisor at the library. He won't be back for two days."
The lie slid uneasily from his mouth. It felt like there was no other option but to spare his sisters his issues; for that to happen, he needed to disappear.
He wondered more than once if they'd noticed that he wasn't entirely sober, sitting here with them on the fence.
Ivaleigh let her brother's despondency sink in, and she tilted her head to a side, regarding him too closely for his liking. "You ain't thinkin' of doin' somethin' stupid, are ya?"
He couldn't quite meet her eyes, remembering the sharp flash of pure intelligence that was always there; couple that now with her survival instincts, and she was downright dangerous.
"Fitz ... Braxton, please ... what're ya thinkin' of?" Lailea pleaded.
"That you two ain't tainted the same as me. You weren't in the middle of it the same as I was. You don't keep rememberin' faces I can't forget."
"But we did hear their screams." Ivaleigh countered after a moment, her eyes narrowed in challenge.
Braxton shook his head. "That ain't what I meant. I wasn't takin' a dig at you. What I mean is that ... " He gave a too-bitter laugh. "I'm half-drunk right now. I'm always drinkin'. All the time. Always chasin' the next high t' catch oblivion. You say, come to LA ... I say, I ain't puttin' any more bullshit on you. That was a lie a minute ago, 'bout my boss not bein' back for two days. He don't like me much, says I'm always too on edge, 'specially 'round kids. He asked me once if I think sins I shouldn't. Didn't know how t' answer him, just said no, but I don't think he believed me. He ain't never let me work alone since."
"So come t' LA with us. It's a bullshit we can deal with." Ivaleigh countered. "Lailea had a baby at thirteen cos some fucker decided t' get back at the queen bitch, an' I was a hooker. This, what they did, fucked us up, and over. There ain't a damned thing ya could say t' either of us that would scare us off. We got the scars t' prove it, same as you."
Braxton nodded, feeling sick. "I'd have t' meet you there." He shook his head. "Let's talk more on this later, I need t' walk."
They spent the remainder of the day together; there was lunch (what little their stomachs had any room for), and Braxton teaching them some of the sign language alphabet; there was the horseback riding (one sibling to a Palomino) before they went to dinner at a steakhouse, where Ivaleigh talked about Los Angeles and the surrounding areas and some of the things to see and do; after, they went wandering, looking at what was left of the holiday decorations.
It was nearing the end sundown when the Millers, Bastian, and Caitríona (with Diamond in tow) arrived, looking agitated, relieved, awe-struck. Ivaleigh and Lailea waved hello (reluctantly, not ready to share their brother yet), and Bastian went marching up to Lailea, giving her a hug, and an impressed, amused, and irritated growl of, "Stubborn girl, the next time you decide to just vanish on me, I'm demanding that you don't."
"Oh, you're demanding?" Lailea posed, eyebrows raised, a smile curving one corner of her mouth as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Tear Beaumont to the ground to get to you, girls." Caitríona replied, a small grin forming. "We were all worried, even if that seems silly. And such a crafty one Melina Jo is. We brought everything with us, we can fly back to LA via the airport here."
Stanton and Gwyneth were staring at Braxton.
"Braxton, will you be joining us?" Caitríona asked.
"I'm thinkin' on it." Braxton answered, staring almost blankly at Diamond, who had her gaze focused on the horses, her expression wondrous.
"Urm ... hello, Fitz – "
"Braxton. Say that right, please, Gram, it's important." Lailea cut in.
Braxton stiffened, an icy flush of shock razing his nerves – he hadn't realized – "No!" came out shrilly.
A few heartbeats of silence, before the newly-arrived Melina Jo called gently, "What's your limit t' how many persons you can deal with right now?"
"Just Ivaleigh an' Lailea." was the shaking response.
"Would it be all right if Gwyneth an' Stanton Miller introduce themselves? Then we'll let you an' the girls alone for a while." Melina Jo continued calmly, missing the looks the Millers gave her.
"Please, Braxton? Just a moment with you, our grandson, before Gwyneth and I head back to New York?"
Braxton shook his head, taking steps back, the tension screaming up and down his spine, everything too stiff. "No. My sisters are my limit."
"We understand that you blame us for – "
"You really need t' back off with that!" Ivaleigh snapped, her arms folding tightly. "Caitríona's told you, an' now I'll say the same, ya can't fix your mistakes with Gertrude through us, just stop tryin' t' force yourselves on us! You lied, an' we don't owe you anything!"
Melina Jo wanted badly to ask for the whole story, but ultimately held her tongue.
"That's the Millers?" Braxton asked, regulating his breathing again, and his sisters nodded, with Lailea saying, "They're okay an' decent enough ... it's all that mess that happened with Gertrude before.", shaking her head. "Ivy an' me chatted 'bout goin' t' track down Willodean, if it's possible, but we'll see, I guess."
"I cold, I cold." Diamond piped up, looking earnestly at Caitríona. "Go go hot now."
She's accepted her, Lailea thought, and the realization was sweet and bitter.
Braxton looked over at the Millers, noticing their sorrowful, guilt-ridden expressions, but having no room at the moment for sympathy for them; he wanted a drink, and knew that it wasn't too late to go back out, being the Friday before New Year's Day and all ...
Ivaleigh and Lailea went with their grandparents, Diamond, Bastian and Caitríona to a hotel for the night, with a promise that they would meet Braxton in the morning and drag him out to breakfast. Melina Jo began the drive home, with half a notion that she would never see Lailea, Braxton, or Ivaleigh again, and that no one else from Hattiesburg or New Augusta would either.
Braxton stayed up for hours after bidding them good night and good-bye.
It was nearing three in the morning (December 31st), and he was sitting in a vacant parking lot, having downed half a bottle of Kentucky Red-Eye, which he'd stolen from the liquor store several blocks over after beating the clerk bloody with it, and he was thinking of Lailea's smile, and the flash of brilliant cleverness in Ivaleigh's eyes. The way they'd both smiled at him.
I'm bad, bad, bad, no good.
He took another long swig.
They don't blame me.
But his sisters were having enough of a time getting their own lives together, they didn't need to get caught up in his, he reasoned, not when he couldn't kick the addiction.
I'm not putting any more of my shit on their minds.
They had sounded like they'd wanted to take those demons head on.
They don't need to get saddled with an alcoholic.
He had a few years of savings from working at the library, nearly six hundred dollars.
Come t' LA, Ivaleigh had said. No one'll know, you can be anyone you want.
That thought was incredibly tempting, and seemingly impossible. I can't be just anyone I want, too much shit happened.
He was still trying to decide which way to go when he slid into sleep, dressed in his day clothes, laying down on the pavement with his knees tented.
He was woken rather abruptly by the blaring of a police car horn.
The policeman was his father, was Duke Storm, soaking wet from river water and coming at him with a belt, and a rope, roaring What a failure you are –
He tried to run, and couldn't, the bottle was tripping him up.
Duke Storm's face was looming over his, cold, derisive, sickening on appearance. Three of his teeth were missing, his nose flat and malleable, one eye a mess of splintered bone and torn flesh.
The belt came down, cutting over Braxton's eyes, Worthless, you couldn't even, the rope was around his neck, the belt continuing to pound, pound, the blood flowing everywhere, there's the girls, with the broken bodies, arms and legs bent wrong, hair matted with the blood between their legs, badly beaten faces, all those girls, all those girls, his sisters were among them, looking at him dejectedly, why didn't you help us, I'M SO SORRY FOR EVERYTHING –
Fitz Storm sat up straight on his bed, a soundless, high-pitched wail tearing him apart from the inside out. He leaned over and vomited on the floor, every inch of him soaked with sweat, he face covered in tears.
"Braxton!" someone shouted. "Get up, it's breakfast time!"
There was a peppy and rhythmic pounding on his bedroom door, his neck and legs stiff, his insides whirling violently, a swath of bright sunshine pouring in through the window.
Of his bedroom.
Braxton managed to lift his head, to look around, his vision clearing a little, every inch of him shaking: He'd gone to bed.
No stolen Kentucky Red-Eye, and no badly beaten liquor store clerk. No vacant parking lot, no police car with a blaring horn. No belt, no rope, no blood, no ghost girls.
Ambrosia Lynn and Duke Storm were dead.
And Lailea and Ivaleigh were on the other side of the door –
Braxton leaned over and threw up again, knocking over the bedside lamp in the process; it crashed to the floor, the bulb shattering.
The door was shoved open, and the expression on his face was seen, as was the widening circle of piss at the front his blue jeans, and then there was a flurry of activity: Bastian and Caitríona (after handing Diamond over to Gwyneth) hauled Braxton to his feet, frog-marching him towards the bathroom, the shower, Bastian turning the spray on to lukewarm while Caitríona yanked off Braxton's flannel shirt, undershirt, boots and socks, tossing them aside without regard, alarmed at the heat of his skin, her eyes hardening at the belt-buckle scars across his back.
Ivaleigh, Lailea, and the Millers were right on their heels, and Caitríona told the twins, "Hose him down thoroughly, head and face first, turn him in circles; make sure to wash his mouth. I'll go fetch a broom and a mop bucket and some honey lemon tea, it'll help with the nausea."
Upset, Diamond squealed loudly the second Caitríona disappeared from her line of sight; Caitríona peeked back in, saw Diamond reaching, and gathered her close before disappearing again. Bastian moved, raiding Braxton's closet, pulling out a clean pair of blue jeans and a thick grey sweatshirt that had "Ole Miss Rebels" stitched across it in large red letters, wondering for a moment if the clothes he had been wearing were any he'd want to keep.
Gwyneth and Stanton began picking up the bulb shards, glancing towards each other and their grandchildren repeatedly, needing to do something and feeling completely helpless for the turn of events all over again.
Braxton blacked out for a moment, sagging against the shower wall before coming back around to himself. "Warmer water, please ... who is it?" he asked groggily, rubbing at his face and eyes. He wanted to stretch, to stop his muscles twitching, to let his bones pop, let everything breathe for a while.
Ivaleigh turned up the heat of the water, smiling vaguely when Braxton relaxed a little, while Lailea answered, "Pizza!", her voiced lowered to sound rough, masculine.
Braxton gave a tiny smile, taking a deep breath to wake up more, to wash the nightmare away, remembering the game. "Strike one."
"Aliens from Uranus!" Ivaleigh stated after a moment of quick thinking, and Lailea started laughing.
"Ivaleigh, for heaven's sake ... " Gwyneth muttered, a dry smile flitting.
"That's two." Braxton said, pressing his mouth against a tiny rush of humor. The nightmare faded a little more.
"Tell us what caused this episode an' I won't start t' singin' Easter Parade. Lailea'll back me up with Singin' In The Rain."
"Easter parades in the rain ... " Braxton grumbled.
He had a headache, and he had to pee.
He wanted to go back to sleep.
Not in this place, though. Not ever again.
"I'm leavin' t'day. I'm coming with you t' Los Angeles."
Ivaleigh and Lailea both beamed, joyously relieved.
He would tell them about the nightmare later. Maybe.