Howdy! As the description said, this story doesn't just have a T rating for bragging rights; there's gonna be some depictions of violence, some blood and other bodily unpleasantness, and a whole lotta language. And, though it wasn't my intention, this first chapter has a nice helping of all of them. If you're not comfortable with the above, I'm sorry to say this might not be for you.
(Though I will shamelessly self-promote and say that I do have another Undertale-centric story called "A New Day" that's MUCH less violent/bloody/foul-mouthed, if you do wanna jump over there)!
Okay. That's enough of me talking- if you're still reading along, I hope you enjoy; onto the story!
"Home is, I suppose, just a child's idea. A house at night, and a lamp in the house. A place to feel safe."
-V.S. Nailpaul
Atop Mt. Ebott, a lazy wind urged the grass and wildflowers to bend and sway in a lilting dance.
And below Mt. Ebott, where the wind couldn't reach, all it produced was an occasional whistle as it passed over a hole in the cavern ceiling.
A child lay on their back in a bed of vibrant golden flowers, staring up at the break in the rock ceiling. Mindlessly, her hands searched for a stem and when she'd grasped it, plucked it from the ground. She didn't offer the flower a moment's attention before digging her thumbnails into the center and prying it apart. Small petals and pollen drifted free, joined by more as the flower was shredded further.
When only the stem remained, the child split it in two, then halved the twin pieces, then again, and again, producing crisp snaps with each break.
She tossed the small pieces aside, adding them to the scattered pile of destroyed flowers. What difference did it make if they were growing or not—they were only plants.
The girl fished around for another flower while her eyes remained fixed on the sunlit gap above; her eyes were narrowed, as if she thought she could bully the light into submission.
It hadn't worked yet, but she had time.
Something rustled the flowers behind her, just out of eyesight. She didn't turn, unconcerned.
Then the sun was suddenly blotted out, her vision obscured by the lens of a boxy video camera.
"Chara! Do your creepy face!"
If it had been anyone other than Asriel, she wouldn't have hesitated to swat the camera out of her face. Instead, Chara complied with his wishes—she widened her eyes until they were near-perfect circles and flashed her teeth in a smile. It wasn't at all a pleasant expression.
"Aaah!" Asriel shrieked, jumping a little, but soon he was laughing, "Gah, you do that so well!"
"I know." She turned back to the ceiling, "And you left the lens cap on, dummy."
The young monster fumbled with the camera, his white fluff nearly making him lose his grip, then shrieked again.
"Shoot! You're right!"
"Don't bother taking it off," Chara told him flatly, "I'm not doing it again."
"Aw, what?"
"Sorry. That was it for today."
"Aw…" he pouted, "I'm gonna get it next time, though!"
All she offered was a huff, "Sure."
Asriel sat cross-legged in the flower patch beside her, careful not to crush any beneath himself, "Whatcha doing out here?"
"Nothing."
He followed her gaze up to the ceiling, staring curiously at the sliver of sunlight that steamed through. For a while, he was quiet.
"… how big is it?" He finally asked, "When you see it outside?"
Chara glanced back, "How big is what?"
"That." Asriel nodded upwards, "The sun."
She scrunched up her face in something resembling displeasure, "It's not so big. You can hold up a hand and block it out."
"Oh, it doesn't take up a whole bunch of the sky? I just thought because it's so bright—"
Chara scoffed, "No, it hardly takes up any of it. If it filled up the whole sky, it'd probably burn up everything out there." She didn't bother hiding a smirk brought about by the image it evoked, "It'd serve them right."
Now Asriel looked back at her, "What?"
It was now that he noticed what remained of the flower petals on Chara's sweater, as well as the half-demolished one currently being meshed between her hands.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes." The response was automatic and hollow.
Asriel tilted his head to the side a bit, "Are you sure?"
Chara withheld a small scowl at the gesture.
I hate it when he does that, she mused, Him and his dad both, with that damn pitying look.
"You can tell me if you're not," he assured, "I won't tell anybody if you don't want me to."
Chara flicked the flower carcass to the side, saying nothing. Her attention remained fixed on the ceiling and away from Asriel.
He frowned, his eyes dropping down to his hands before they drifted off to the side. Chara knew that expression too, having seen it time and time again. She could spell out the thoughts going through his head at that exact moment; he didn't believe her, clearly, but couldn't quite bring himself to say so. More often than not, this meant the end of the current topic.
"Well. Um." Asriel sorted through his words carefully, "I guess… it doesn't really matter what they're doing up there. Cause now you're down here, and it's a lot better!" Asriel smiled hopefully, "Right?"
Chara's eyes shifted to meet his. She stared.
Silently.
… before her lips twitched upwards into a split-second smile.
Dammit, Asriel.
Seeing he'd gotten through to her, he giggled, somewhat in relief. Chara conceded defeat, sitting up and letting the flower residue fall from her sweater and into the dirt.
"Right," she surrendered, "It is." After a pause, she added, "Not much of a contest."
"See? They're all missing out!" Asriel assured, "Even though… well, it would be nice to see what things are like out there."
"It looks about the same," Chara told, "Just more green. You're not missing anything."
"But I wanna see the—the—" He tried to get the thought back on track, "You know, the nighttime sun!"
She looked at him oddly, "The wh—" It came to her a second later, "It's called the moon."
"Okay, the moon." Asriel made a face, teasing, "We don't talk about it enough for me to remember the word!"
Chara huffed a laugh, "Whatever."
"But… I really do want to see it," he repeated, a little softer than before, "All of it. Even if it's the same, it'll be different… you know?" Asriel peered up at the gap in the ceiling, "And I want all the other monsters to see it, too."
When Chara didn't speak, Asriel looked back at her with a face she hadn't seen often enough to identify, immediately. He was frowning, but not quite. His eyes were unwavering, something strong behind them.
"Do you think one day we really will break the barrier? And get to leave?"
She said nothing, letting the question settle in. The wind outside produced a faint whistle that bounced around the empty cavern, reminding the two how small they were by comparison.
And Chara dug her heels in, refusing to submit to it.
I am not small.
"Yes." Chara nodded solemnly, "We will."
Asriel's eyes widened at the unusually optimistic response, "You really think so?"
"Yes." She looked him dead in the eyes, "And we're going to be the ones who do it. You and me."
"We are?"
She nodded again, her face set in an unwavering determination.
"No one else has, so why wait? We'll do it ourselves." Chara began to smile, "We'll both be heroes. Everyone's gonna love us, then!"
It successfully fueled the little spark of passion that burned inside him, and Asriel mirrored her smile, sitting up a little taller.
"Let's do it!" He raised a fist into the air and whooped, "Let's break the barrier!"
Chara held onto her smile as she reclined in the flowers, and even maintained it while she stared up at the ceiling once again.
"How are we gonna do it?" Asriel asked, his voice brimming with excitement, "With magic? Or something else?"
Her grin spread, now resembling the "smile" she had frightened Asriel with, before.
"Don't worry." Chara closed her eyes, beginning to string together the wayward thoughts and images into something much more… interesting, "I've got a plan."
Wendy closed her eyes, exhaling slowly as her ears sunk below the water level. The sounds of the world were drowned out, replaced by an echoey drone that seemed to resonate from below the house. It was occasionally accompanied by a tinny thunk or gurgle of old pipes; not nearly silence, but it was the closet she could achieve, for now.
A drop of water trickled down from her hair and into her face, the unmistakable sting of soap erupted in the corner of her eye—she rubbed at it fiercely, trying to pacify the burn before it could rear up into something worse.
Throughout this, she was careful to avoid opening her eyes, knowing the moment she did, the illusion would be shattered. If she couldn't see the fading carnation-pink wall tiles, the crusty and crumbling grout that was likely twice her age, and the mirror with the missing bottom corner… then maybe she could convince herself that it wasn't there, at all.
A sound broke through the monotone drone—the heavy thud of a closing door.
Wendy sat bolt upright in the bathtub, short and still soapy hair flopping forward into her now wide opened eyes. The water sloshed violently at her sudden movement, lapping at the porcelain surface in choppy waves; she struggled to hear anything over the noise.
It was quiet—or was she missing the sounds? Much too slowly, the water stilled to match her rigid form. Wendy stared at the bathroom door.
… a thump: a quiet one. Further in the house, maybe arou—
Another like it, closer. The living room.
She was unable to tear her gaze away from the door. From the spot above the handle where the wood was unpainted and splintered. Where the lock used to be.
Thump.
Her arms prickled uncomfortably, from cold and nerves. A different sort of discomfort, a slow and painful tightening, took hold of her stomach.
Thu-thump.
Wendy's breath hitched.
Did he put something down? Was it stumbling? Her mind raced, Is it heavy enough to be him? Trish would've put her keys down first thing—I would've heard them. He might be in the kitchen…
The footsteps—there was no denying that's what they were, anymore—entered the hallway and stopped briefly… before they started again, coming closer.
He'd have yelled first. Wendy knew she should be searching the room for anything she could use in defense, but reason wasn't the one holding the reigns right now, I'd know for certain. He'd have yelled for me. It's too early for him to be home. His steps would be louder than this—
All sounds halted once again. Wendy watched the door.
… someone knocked softly.
"Wendy? Are you in there?"
The urgency left her body and she exhaled heavily; she'd apparently been holding her breath the whole time.
"Jo." She coughed, "Jesus, you scared me."
There was a giggle, "Why'd I scare you? I didn't even do anything!"
Wendy rubbed her eyes, which had been burning with soap the whole time, "Nevermind." She scooped water by the handful into her face, "Why are you home? What time is it?"
"I dunno."
"You're supposed to wait for me to pick you up," she chastised, "Why did they let you walk home by yourself?"
"A lot of my friends walk home by theirselves!"
"Yeah right." She pulled the plug in the tub, her momentary escape cut short, "They let other six-year-olds walk home all by themselves."
"They do too!" Jo's pout was practically visible from her tone alone, "And it's not that far!"
"I don't care how far it is. You're too young to walk home by yourself; all sorts of things could've happened to you—"
"Ooh, like I couldda found a million dollars?"
Wendy frowned, "No, Jo."
"Or I couldda got lost in the forest and found a fairy kingdom!"
I was thinking something more along the lines of you getting kidnapped. Or hit by a car. Wendy's mind began to spin hundreds of scenarios, Or gotten lost, or the dog down the street could have gotten loose, or you could've fallen into an opened manhole and cracked your head open and bled out—
"Wendy!" Jo repeated, having gone unheard in her previous attempts, "What are you doing?"
She shook off the rapidly derailing train of thought, "Nothing. Don't worry about it." Shivering, now just from the cold, she sifted through towels to find the cleanest, "Start your homework. I'll be out in a minute."
"But I'm hungry!"
"I'll make you something when I'm out!" she replied, keeping it just short of a yell, "Start your homework, first."
Jo uttered a long, overdramatic sigh, and her small stomping footsteps faded down the hallway. When she was sure her sister was out of earshot, Wendy exhaled again, slouching where she stood. Her heart was a jackhammer somewhere between her chest and throat, where it remained regardless of what she did to steady it.
"Christ, Jo."
It didn't matter what vantage point she chose; from all angles, the pantry was mostly barren.
Wendy pressed her forehead into the door frame, barely withholding a groan of frustration.
As she trudged the well-worn path from pantry to fridge, she glanced over to Jo, who was currently dangling her legs from one of the seats at the dining room table. Her backpack, a garish heap of pink and purple, sat opened on the table with its contents strewn about. Wendy could hear her humming as she worked, counting on her fingers to solve math problems.
She opened the fridge. Still just as empty as it was three minutes ago.
"Okay…" She whispered aloud, her mind too jumbled for anything to stay in one place, "She's got the milk carton from school. There's the bread, the cheese."
There was a package in one of the bottom drawers—someone had left a single hotdog. And they'd left the package opened. She shuddered as she picked it up, the plastic cold and slick with the leaking hotdog juices.
It… seems fine. Wendy exhaled, slowly, That's protein. The milk and cheese'll be dairy. Bread is carbs. She needs some sort of vegetable—something healthy.
The fridge seemed to mock her. She shut the door.
Healthy-ish.
Nothing in the freezer offered her any help, so back to the pantry she went. This time, she sifted through the cans at the bottom with a clearer goal in mind.
"… Hey Jo?"
"Uh-huh?"
"You like tomato soup, right?"
She uttered a sound of disgust, "Ew, no!"
Wendy stood to look at her, "Since when?"
"I never liked it!"
"You liked it the last three times I made it."
Jo shook her head, making the short red curls bounce, "I changed my mind. I don't like it anymore."
Wendy fought back the bubbling, burning feeling in her stomach, though her voice was tight when she found it again, "Can't you just eat a little bit of—"
"No! I don't like it!"
Wendy was barely able to bite her tongue in time to muffle a response. She turned on her heels and grabbed the pantry door, prepared to slam it shut.
She's just a kid! Wendy assured herself, trying to temper the frustration, She doesn't understand. She's not trying to be difficult, okay? It's not her fault.
She took in a breath, then huffed it out forcefully.
It's not her fault.
Gradually, her clawed grip on the door loosened; she used her free hand to press against one of her closed eyelids, momentarily relieving the pressure behind it. She exhaled, a little more composed than before.
Just… get creative in how you word things.
After a pause, she turned back to Jo with a heavy sigh.
"Oh well, if that's what you've decided." Wendy's voice was laden with an exaggerated sense of unwilling acceptance, "I guess all the rest are mine, then… so I hope you don't change your mind anytime soon. Because like, I'm not gonna wanna give them up, now." She shrugged, "Hey, that's okay with me—I didn't want to share, anyway."
Jo's pencil stopped moving abruptly, and she peered into the kitchen with a furrowed brow. Something was going on behind her eyes, analyzing what had been put before her.
"… wellll…" She tilted her head to the side, finalizing the decision, "… maybe I can eat a little bit."
Wendy didn't bother hiding the smile that spread across her face, flooded with relief.
"Okay, if you're sure." Wendy crouched down to retrieve the can, "I guess I can share it this one time."
While the soup slowly warmed on the stove, Wendy popped bread into the toaster, and the lonely hotdog into the microwave. The low, steady hum of the spinning plate helped her zone out, and she slouched against the kitchen countertop.
"Hey Wendy."
"Uh-huh?"
"Guess what I did today?"
"What?"
"I got to be line leader when we went to recess!"
The surface of the countertop was crusty under her bare arms. She considered cleaning it.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah! Macy wanted to be it but I wanted to do it too, so I was super quiet during class and raised my hands when Mrs. Young asked questions and cleaned up right away when class was over!"
I'll clean it later.
"Uh-huh."
"And then Macy got real mad cause I beat her." She beamed with pride, "So when Mrs. Young wasn't looking, I stuck my tongue out at her and made her madder."
"Uh-huh."
"It was funny— but she got to be line leader two times on Monday, so she shouldn't have been mad!"
"Uh-huh."
"Wendy!"
The microwave alarm snapped her out of it.
"What?"
"You're not listening!"
Wendy cast a glance over her shoulder, immediately subjected to the most intimidating glare her sister could muster.
She turned in full, then offered a dramatic bow, "My apologies, Princess Josephine. Please, show me mercy and forgive me for this most grievous error."
Jo's glare immediately vanished, replaced with a grin and a giggle.
"No! Off with your head!" she declared.
"I guess you're gonna have to make your own dinner, then."
"I could do it!"
Wendy scoffed, fishing silverware out of the drawer, "Sure."
After a few more minutes of… "culinary creativity," Wendy joined Jo at the table, setting a plate and bowl down in front of her. There was a "grilled cheese" sandwich cut in two (meaning two pieces of toast with a slightly melted piece of plastic-yellow cheese in between), tomato soup garnished with little cylinders of a sliced-up hotdog and oyster crackers, and a small, single-serving milk carton.
For once, the stars must've aligned in Wendy's favor, because the only thing Jo complained about was the milk: "Can I have juice instead?"
"No." She opened the carton and put it down in front of her, "This is healthier."
"But juice tastes better."
"Yeah, that's how healthy stuff works." Nevertheless, she rose from her chair, made a beeline for one of the kitchen drawers, and came back with a bendy straw, dropping it in the carton, "Better?"
"Yep!"
Wendy sat down once again, taking half of the sandwich for herself and dipping the edge into the soup. She noticed Jo watching her curiously, and was unsurprised when a moment later, she picked up her own sandwich half and imitated the gesture.
"You need help with your homework, after this?" she asked, glancing over the worksheet of simple addition and subtraction problems.
"Nope! I'm almost done with it!" Jo announced through a mouthful of sandwich, "Did you do your homework, too?"
Wendy took another bite of sandwich, "Uh-huh."
Nope.
"Was it super hard?"
"Nah, it was easy."
Cause I never even got it.
"Did you play with your friends at recess?"
This one got a scoff, "You don't get recess in middle school."
Jo was aghast, "You DON'T?! Why not?!"
Wendy shrugged, "More time for work, I guess."
"That's stupid." She scrunched up her face, "You have to have recess."
"Says who?"
"Says me! That's the only time you get to play with your friends!"
All she offered was an additional shrug, "I don't know what to tell you, Jo."
Keys jingled in the front door, which opened a few seconds later—Wendy didn't bother turning to greet the woman who entered.
Jo broke into a smile, "Hi Trish!"
"Hi Josie," she replied, offering a small smile, "Hi Wendy."
Wendy said nothing.
"Trish," Jo immediately began, "Guess what I did today?"
"What did you do today?" she asked, hanging her keys on a rack in the kitchen.
"I got to be line leader!"
"Oh yeah?" Trish spoke over her shoulder, setting her purse on the counter, "Cool."
Her voice betrayed a forced interest that only Wendy caught, and she hid a scowl.
She doesn't care, Jo.
"Yeah!" She practically bounced in her seat, eager to talk, "And then at recess we were playing tag and I got to be it a lot of times!"
"That's great!" More fake enthusiasm.
Like I was any better, Wendy mused. She left the remaining corner of her sandwich discarded on the plate as she stood.
"Finish your food, Jo."
Diligently, she avoided eye contact on her way to the stove, giving all her attention to the empty pot as she brought it to the sink.
The fridge was opened, and Trish perused the emptiness, "How'd school go today? Good?"
"Mmhm." Wendy turned on the faucet full-blast, hoping to drown out any further conversation attempts.
"… fridge is pretty much empty, huh?"
No shit.
"Mmhm."
Trish straightened up, sweeping back her hair as she did, "Sorry, didn't notice earlier—I'll get some stuff for you guys before I leave tomorrow."
Wendy quickly shut off the faucet, turning swiftly, "What?"
"When I leave tomorrow," Trish repeated, "The trip for work…? I know I remember telling you about that."
"But that's next week."
She shook her head, dangling earrings bouncing, "No, it's this week. Because of the three-day weekend—that's why it's scheduled for now."
Wendy's heart sank to her feet, taking the pit of her stomach along with it.
"That's… that's next week." It was faint, devoid of any conviction.
Trish eyed her with confusion, "No… it's this week." It shifted to concern, "Why?"
Pot long discarded, Wendy hurried towards the hallway, brushing past Trish in her haste.
"Hey! Wendy? What's wr—"
It was cut off as she slammed the bedroom door behind her, immediately dropping to her knees beside her bed. Wendy wedged her arm between the mattress and the box spring, lifting it to reveal the flattened black backpack beneath. She knelt on the floor as she emptied the bag of its contents—clothes, an empty gummy worm bag, a keychain flashlight—until she found what she was looking for.
A small handful of disposable cameras, and a ratty red spiral notebook. After more digging, she pulled out the tattered white sock that was balled up at the very bottom of the bag, which jingled at the movement.
She shoved a hand inside and pulled out the small wad of crinkled bills, mouth moving as she wordlessly counted them… frowned, then re-counted.
It's not enough.
Wendy sat back, staring at her hands. Though she knew it wouldn't help, she counted the money once more, including the pile of spare change, this time. Nothing changed.
Shit, it's not enough…
Heat began to grow in her cheeks, and she bit down on her tongue with force.
Shit shit shit… Wendy reached up and ran a shaky hand through her hair, tugging at the short strands, Shit, what are we gonna do? This isn't enough…
Still biting back the oncoming tears, she shoved the money back into the sock and squeezed it in a fist.
What the hell are we gonna do?
Her eyes drifted down to the bag's other contents, and she managed to take in a hissing breath.
I still have so much to do.
… well. No time like the present.
Wendy swept everything back into her backpack, tossing it on the mattress while she threw on a jacket, then laced up boots that used to stay together without the aid of duct tape. She threw the bag over one shoulder, flung open the bedroom door, and rushed to the front door.
"Wendy?" Jo's voice rang out, unmistakably worried, "Are you okay?"
The question went unanswered, and Wendy was unimpeded as she left the house.
"Where are you goi—"
She was again cut off by the door's heavy slam.
The computer screen was little more than a fuzzy white blur, regardless of how many times Wendy rubbed her eyes.
She let out a low groan as she stretched her arms out in front of her, flattening her top half against the desk. For a moment she rested her head on them, but lifted it soon after—if she closed her eyes for more than five seconds, she knew she'd be asleep in an instant. There were more important things to do than sleep.
So she continued typing, transcribing the contents of the filled spiral notebook on auto-pilot.
Behind her, someone cleared their throat—the librarian, again. Wendy pretended she didn't hear it; she knew she had another half-hour left until close.
The university library was vacant other than a student in the far corner by the windows, headphones on and hoodie up. It was fine with her; the less people she saw, the less people there were to give her funny looks, wondering what a hardly passed pre-teen was doing in a college library.
A sound like a snore came from the boy in the corner, and he nestled deeper into his chair.
Lucky.
When the last page had been written, Wendy forced herself to give the document a once-over for errors, then sent it to the printer. The machine whirred, spitting out sheet after sheet, each filled with large blocks of text.
Wendy was just present enough to sense the librarian's eyes boring into the back of her head, becoming more apparent the longer the printer worked. In response, she took extra time to ensure the pages were perfectly aligned before she put them through the hole-puncher.
The last thing she did was secure the small stack of papers in a red plastic folder she'd snagged from the library's resource table, and with a huff of finality, she slipped it into her bag, zipped it up, and left the library straight away.
It wasn't far to the drug store, and the walk passed in a haze of car engines and fluorescent store signs. At her approach, the door opened with a hiss, and Wendy kept her head down as she made her way to the back, where the photo development counter stood.
She stopped in front of it, only lifting her gaze enough to see the arms of the man at the desk, crossed and propped against it.
"Yeah?"
"I have photos that should be done," she muttered, barely enunciating the words.
"Name?"
"Howlett."
"Alright."
Footsteps shuffled towards a door in the back, and Wendy's attention shifted to the brightly colored packages that crowded the shelves.
Lightheaded, she forced her eyes back to the counter.
I don't need it.
Her stomach said otherwise.
I'm fine. I don't need it. She pocketed her hands, It's not like I'm starving—I ate today, okay? I'm fine.
After a painstakingly long wait, the man returned with a paper envelope, holding it up to read the label as he punched numbers into a computer. Preparing for what was next, Wendy removed her backpack and found the small hoard of bills, counting a few into her hand.
"That'll be $39.94."
Wendy's heart skipped a beat.
"How much?"
"$39.94."
Her mouth was dry, and her hand tightened beyond her control. She swallowed.
"Okay." The small shake in her voice was all but imperceptible.
The envelope was shoved roughly into her bag, the sock of money into her jacket pocket. Wendy left the store in a hurry, unable to lift her gaze up from the floor.
Now midnight, she began the much longer walk back home. The street went from blinding to barely lit as she passed stores, apartments, underpasses, and chain-linked fences. Faint yellow streetlights did their best to illuminate the sidewalk, reflecting feebly off the shards of brown glass that littered its uneven surface. Wendy kicked at one of the larger pieces, then thought better of it.
She didn't stop until the final stretch of concrete that led from the sidewalk to her front door; her fingers had just brushed the cold doorknob when something made her halt.
If he found this…
Wendy took a shuddering breath, withdrawing the outstretched hand into herself.
After a moment of silent thought, she left the front porch and made her way around to the side of the house, where sun-bleached bricks were partially hidden by a few unwieldy bushes. Wendy took off her backpack and slid it beneath the bushes, shoving it flat against the wall so there was no chance of it being spotted by anyone who wasn't explicitly searching for it.
She walked back to the door… and knew the most difficult part of the night lay just ahead of her, inside.
As they had done multiple times that day, all of Wendy's senses screamed at her in warning of the danger she was already well aware of. She pressed past them, lifting the mat at the door with a shaky hand, taking up the dusty key she found underneath, and slid it inside the lock as quietly as it would allow.
Faintly, it clicked. Wendy drew in a breath.
She turned the knob. And pushed.
A gentle drag of carpet fibers against the underside of the door was the only sound emitted by her entrance. She took a step inside, letting her foot find its place on the ground before gingerly easing the rest of her weight into it. This painstaking process continued until she cleared the doorway, where she then shut the door in the same manner as it had been opened.
Wendy stood in place, scanning the house from her spot by the front door. The living room was dark and empty, lit only by a faint white light that she attributed to moonlight through the windows. The dining room was much the same: dark, silent, still.
She fought the urge to make a dash for the hallway; holding her breath, she waited, straining to listen for anything that could mean danger.
The house was quiet…
…
… it was time to move.
Wendy took a step. Waited. She took another. Waited.
…
She took a step, then another after it without hesitation, and then another after that.
The hallway came into view out of the darkness, and Wendy locked onto it, walking with a purpose. Her footsteps were muffled by the carpet, no more than half-second whispers that went unheard by the house's sleeping occupants.
As if a shade had been drawn, the faint white light vanished—and the fridge door shut with a forceful thud.
It hadn't been coming from the windows, at all.
"What were you doing out?"
Wendy stopped walking. And breathing.
The following silence was a physical presence, taking the place of the air in her lungs.
"I asked you a question. So answer it."
The plan was to not get caught. There was no plan for what she would do if she was. Because there was nothing she could do. This was only going to end in one way.
And nothing she did was going to change a thing.
Get it over with.
Wendy didn't move.
There's nothing you can do. Just get it over with.
Light flooded the room as her father flipped a switch, and Wendy involuntarily cringed at the sudden brightness.
"I asked you a goddamn question." The last words were spiked with impatience, as were the ones that followed, "So I expect you to answer my goddamn question."
She pivoted in her stance, facing him with her side, head turned over her shoulder and towards him. But she didn't meet his eyes.
Get it over with.
Wendy rehearsed the words in her head, testing them again and again for anything that could be misconstrued as disrespect, "I wa—"
"Answer me!" he snapped.
"I was tryi—" She choked back the remark at the last second, like a dropped object caught before it could shatter on the floor. Frantically, she fumbled to cover her mistake, "I was at the library to do homework. On the computers."
The man scoffed, "What, you think I'm a moron?" He entered the no man's land that separated the two of them, and he didn't stop in his advance, "Do you think I'm a fucking moron, Wendy? The library? At night?"
She could've moved back, but she didn't. He'd reach her eventually. So she waited.
Even from feet away, his top half had exceeded her downcast eyes— all she saw was his feet, still heading towards her.
They stopped, and Wendy could hear the heavy breathing that was huffed through his nostrils. She set her jaw, subtly as possible, to stop the tremor that had seeped its way into her bottom lip.
"Where the fuck did you go."
It wasn't a question. He was looking for an opening, not an answer.
Wendy spoke deliberately, keeping her tone even, "I went to the library to—"
And then there were only inches between them.
"Stop lying to me you little bitch!"
Wendy steeled herself, refusing to flinch. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"What were you out doing?" The heat of his breath swept past her cheeks, "Huh?! What were you doing— fucking your damn friends for money? Huh, you little slut?! Is that what you were doing?"
Her neck prickled, and Wendy ground her teeth to the point where it was painful.
"No."
He barked a laugh in her face, the sound gouging a hole in her composure.
"You're a bad liar." Her father stooped to invade her gaze— she caught a glimpse of his dark eyes before evading them once again, locking onto the stubble on his chin, just below those bared, disgustingly ugly teeth that made her want to rear back and—
"Wendy?"
Her anger was snuffed out like a flame, the heat replaced by a cold terror.
She jerked her head around to stare wide-eyed at Jo: standing in the doorway, clinging to it with both hands, mouth opened in a look of fear.
"Josie." Her voice cracked, "Go to your room—"
Wendy's arm was grabbed at the wrist, then wrenched backwards, forcing her to bend over herself with the sudden pain. She bit down on her tongue to stifle the cry that almost broke free.
"You look at me when I'm talking to you!" Whatever reigns he'd kept on his anger, they were finally discarded; he twisted her arm further, making her curl up even more, "Fucking look at me!"
Wendy had to quickly change her stance in order to maintain balance, head around the level of her waist.
"Josie go to your room—" She ignored everything else, "Go to your room and shut the door— go right now Jo—"
Her father twisted further— it earned him a shrill, strangled whimper, but nothing more.
Out of the corner of her blurred vision, Wendy saw the new pair of feet that treaded silently out of her father's bedroom, passing behind the couch as they headed in Jo's direction.
Any crumb of relief it might've provided was swept away as Wendy felt the hand that invaded her jacket pocket— it ripped something out, producing a low jingling sound.
No.
The tears broke free. No— no no no I forgot to put it back in the bag—shit I forgot to put it back—no no no NO NO NO—!
"What's this shit?" Wendy heard the coins shift further as he examined it, "What's this shit?! You steal this from me?!"
"No." Her voice betrayed defeat, and she hated herself for it.
"Then where'd you get it from?" Her arm wouldn't twist any further, but he aimed to change that, "Who'd you steal from?"
Wendy's knees were shaking, "I didn't steal it—"
"You were out there screwing your friends!" he declared, a sort of manic victory peaking over the anger, "Screwing your friends like a damn sidewalk slut— I didn't raise you to be some damn whore!"
Suddenly the pressure on her arm was released— nails dug into her shoulder as she was yanked upright.
"You wanna be like your mother? Huh?" He shook her, nearly giving her whiplash, "You wanna end up like your damn mother?!"
Wendy met his eyes. She snarled.
"Yes."
Her face was shoved into the living room wall; picture frames rattled against its surface from the force of impact.
Jo screamed, tears leaking into the sound. Trish, who'd been keeping her in place, hazarded a step forward.
"Neil you're going to really hu—"
"Shut the hell up!" He turned the entirety of his rage onto her, "You don't tell me how to raise my fucking kid!"
Trish's eyes darted from him to his daughter, then returned to him.
She took a step back.
Wendy felt the grip on her sleeve, her shoulder forced into the wall so that she was pinned to it, against her back. Tears rolled down her face, and her audible breathing hitched with pain— but that was the only sound she permitted herself to make.
"Look at me!"
Wendy stared at the back wall.
He jammed his thumbnail into the bare skin below her collarbone, trying to hook it underneath the bone itself. A shriek was wrenched from somewhere inside her throat, ending in a shrill squeak.
"I said look at me."
But she refused.
It seemed that her full submission wasn't worth the hassle— with a final shove, Wendy was released, allowed to collapse against the wall.
A door slammed. The house was silent again.
Wendy's vision was obscured by coarse carpet fibers, but clearing it would mean sitting up, so she resigned herself to it. She listened to herself breathe, to the pulsing throb in her ears…
She exhaled. It turned into a small whimper.
Hands brushed the skin on her arms, and a voice sounded from just beside her, "Hey, you o—"
Wendy whipped her arms away, "Don't fucking touch me."
Trish flinched at the outburst, drawing her arms back into herself like a dog that had been scolded. Wendy rose to her hands and knees, ignoring the string that reared up in her collar— she exacerbated it further by snapping her head up to glare are Trish. Hatred oozed into her voice.
"It's a little late to start helping now."
Slowly, Wendy managed to rise to her feet, keeping a hand on the wall for support. When she was able to lift her gaze up from the floor, the very first thing she saw was Jo, hugging herself around the middle, tracks of tears running down her face.
Wendy quietly extended a hand, "Come on. Bed."
She allowed herself to be led to their bedroom at the end of the hall, the cluttered room illuminated by a little pink night light that shone diligently in the corner. The space was a hodgepodge of clothes, toys, plastic cups, and the wayward number two pencil.
Wendy ushered Jo to her bed, the rickety remains of what used to be a crib; she pulled back the sheets for Jo to climb up, then tucked her in.
Jo reached out for one of her sister's arms, finding it and squeezing tightly, "Wendy?"
"Bedtime, Jo."
"Wendy can I sleep in your bed tonight?"
"Not tonight." Her voice was hoarse, exhaustion finally taking its hold, "Go to sleep."
Her arm was not released, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
Jo's eyes glinted in the low light, "W—Wendy—"
"Jo please just go to sleep." It fell just short of begging, her composure crumbling before them both, "I can't do this tonight, okay? Please."
Jo hiccuped, hugging the arm to her chest.
"Can you sit with me? Til I go to sleep?"
Wendy's body ached. Her head was hazy and throbbing. It hurt. Everything hurt. She just wanted everything to stop.
… but she sat on the side of the bed.
"Okay."
It only took a few minutes for Jo to roll onto her stomach, a stuffed animal clutched in her arms. Wendy rested a hand on her back, making gentle circles with her nails, lulling the both of them into a sense of something just short of "calm."
Wendy tried to think. And failed.
Figure it out tomorrow.
Jo shifted in her sleep, emitting a tiny sound. Wendy moved her hand up to the girl's head, cradling the messy curls that encircled it.
Her breathing threatened to pick up again, so she swallowed forcefully— crying wouldn't do her any good.
Wendy looked over the room, her eyes coming to rest on Jo's backpack, lying opened in the corner.
She remained at Jo's side for a few minutes more, then rose to her feet and picked up the backpack, emptying it of the school papers and supplies stuffed inside. And she began to fill it with clothes.
The next day, after buying groceries like she'd promised, Trish left for the weekend. Unsurprisingly, Wendy didn't bother seeing her off. Other than to make Jo breakfast, Wendy didn't risk leaving the bedroom at all.
Instead, she made preparations for that night. When her sister wasn't looking, Wendy filled her backpack with supplies: a change of clothes, a pack of fruit snacks, her toothbrush, hairbrush, a coloring book and tiny pack of crayons. She couldn't risk retrieving her own bag, so the necessary items were folded into an inconspicuous pile on the bed: extra socks, toothbrush and toothpaste, a half-filled box of band aids, and a plastic water bottle.
After several minutes of pained deliberation, Wendy picked a single comic book to serve as her one luxury. Then she dug deeper beneath her bed and retrieved the large, dusty hardback of fairy-tales that Jo used to keep under her pillow, ready for bedtime stories.
It's gonna be too heavy for her to carry around everywhere, Wendy told herself. She sighed… then added it to her own growing pile.
It wasn't enough.
… but it was all they had. So, it would have to do.
The only other thing Wendy did that day was test the bedroom window—it shrieked initially upon being opened but slid quietly the rest of the way. She left it cracked slightly, to avoid the sound from happening again.
And then… she waited. Sitting in the corner of her bed, legs pulled to her chest, staring at the door, she waited. Bouncing a knee. Watching. Without a word.
Slowly, the light that was cast from the bedroom window and onto the back wall turned from pale yellow to orange, to red, to deep blue, before it vanished altogether.
Wendy put Jo to bed as usual, meeting the questions about her noticeably strange behavior with brief, unconvincing non-answers. Despite this, Jo was quick to fall asleep, leaving Wendy alone to watch and listen… for the right moment.
Finally, after a day's worth of unflinching vigilance, it came.
Heavy, uneven footsteps left the kitchen and faded after the swift thud of a closing door. Wendy's heart skipped a beat, the looming reality of the situation becoming harder to ignore— but she didn't act, yet. Still, she waited, counting the seconds under her breath…
… then, reaching a number just short of a couple thousand, she knew. It was time.
Wendy rose to her feet, slinking over to Jo's bed and placing a hand on her back. She shook her gently.
"Jo."
It was met with a small, sleepy groan— Wendy jostled her again.
"Josie. Wake up, but be really quiet."
"Wendy?" she mumbled, immediately disobeying the instruction, "Why—"
Wendy clapped a hand over her mouth, "Jo. Hush."
Jo fought against her briefly, making several muffled protests, but Wendy grabbed one of her shoulders to brace her in place.
"Jo shut up right now!" she hissed, unmistakably frantic, "Listen to me!"
Her tone must've gotten through because Jo stilled, staring at her sister with wide eyes.
"Listen," Wendy breathed, "You need to do exactly what I tell you to do, okay? And you can't say anything."
Jo started to speak, so she repeated, "No— Jo, you have to stay completely silent. Just trust me. Everything'll be okay, but only if you don't say anything at all. Understand?"
After a long pause, Jo nodded obediently. Only then did Wendy release her hold, calming down the slightest bit.
"Okay… okay, listen." Wendy took in a breath, "Here's what's gonna happen: you're gonna get dressed as quietly as possible. I'm gonna help you climb out the window, then when I'm out too, we're gonna walk for a while until we get to the police station, okay?"
Jo opened her mouth to protest, but Wendy hushed her immediately.
"No— no talking, remember? Just do what I say." She tried to look as reassuring as possible, "It'll be okay, I promise."
Uncertainly, Jo offered a nod. Wendy returned it.
"Okay. Get dressed. I've already got clothes out."
While Jo changed out of her pajamas, Wendy kept an ear pressed to the bedroom door, holding her breath as she listened for anything that might've sounded from within the house.
When Jo had finally finished, slipping on her scuffed white sneakers, Wendy pulled her over to the window. She inched the glass open, flinching at the slightest squeak or scuff, until it was wide enough to accommodate them both.
Wendy turned back to Jo, "Lift your arms— I'm gonna pick you up."
She did as she was told, and Wendy hoisted the girl up onto the window frame, sitting her a moment before she lowered her to the grass outside. The chilly night air licked across her bare arms and face, drawing a shudder, but it was the least of her worries at the moment.
After another brief pause, still hearing nothing that alerted her, Wendy dropped Jo's backpack onto the grass, then her own misshapen pile of supplies. The last thing she grabbed was her jacket, putting it on and rolling up the sleeves several times to free her hands, as she surveyed the room for what she hoped was the final time.
Wendy felt a tremor in her knees, unsure if it was fear or anticipation; whatever it was, it would have to try harder than that to keep her in place.
She huffed a breath, It's been fun. But we're not coming back.
Without hesitation, Wendy climbed out of the bedroom window, landing nimbly on the ground outside. She gestured for Jo to put on her backpack, then went to retrieve her own; thankfully, it was right where she'd left it, with all the contents inside.
When she returned, Jo was bouncing on the balls of her feet, making the zippers on her bag jingle.
"Wendy—"
She shushed her, kneeling down to shove the extra supplies into her backpack, "No talking."
"But Wendy—"
"Jo," she hissed, "I said be quiet."
Jo grabbed onto her arm and shook it, "We left Truffles!"
Wendy blinked, lost.
"What do you—"
But it hit her, and Wendy grimaced, "Jo, it's a toy. We need to go—"
"But I can't leave her!" she insisted, no longer whispering, "We have to get her!"
"Jo shut up right now—"
She stomped a foot, "No!"
Wendy growled, but knew reason didn't mean shit to a six-year-old who'd made up her mind.
"Fine—" Wendy zipped up her bag violently, "Fine! I'll get your stupid toy! Just— just stay here and say NOTHING, okay?!"
Barely keeping a lid on the string of curses that longed to burst into speech, Wendy put her hands on the edges of the window frame, hoisted her leg up to join them, and pulled herself back inside the bedroom. The thud of her landing was muffled by the carpet, but Wendy didn't risk taking her time— her eyes darted around the room, searching for the cause of her current desperation.
The glassy black eyes of an old, half-stuffed, matted old moose toy taunted her from the end of Jo's bed. Wendy met them with a glare.
Damn moose.
She snatched it up by one of its raggedy legs, almost ready to hurl it out of the window… but something else seeped its way into her mind.
The money.
… the money that he stole from me.
She tried to rationalize away the burning feeling that erupted in her cheeks— it wasn't even that much. It didn't matter. They could get by without it…
… could they, though?
Caution protested, You're almost out! Escape is right there! Less than a minute and you're out! You're home free! It's just a few dollars! It doesn't matter!
Wendy tried to move towards the window. But didn't. If she left now, she'd have to live with that bitter taste in her mouth. She'd be letting him get away with it— all of it.
She'd be letting him win.
I earned that money. I didn't steal anything.
Her grip on the stuffed animal tightened.
And I am getting it back.
Her tense, silent venture into the pitch-black living room was a little too fresh in Wendy's mind for her liking. And Truffles the Moose wasn't exactly offering any reassurance.
Much like the constant that was the jingle of Trish's keys in the door when she returned home, Wendy knew, without fail, where she'd find her father's wallet after a "hardworking" day: in his coat pocket, over a chair in the kitchen.
And that's exactly where she found it.
Containing a whopping $3.
The bastard already spent it.
She threw the wallet on the floor.
That goddamned bastard spent my money!
Nagging thoughts of "this was a waste of time" and "I told you it wasn't worth it" stampeded to the forefront of her mind, which only added fodder to her sweltering rage. Wendy wasn't able to quell it, just shove it to the side for a brief moment.
You know what? Screw it— screw this! He can have it! She rose to her feet, fuming, and left the ki—
A dark shape entered the hallway, briefly illuminated by the bathroom light, before the door was shut and the space was once again submerged in darkness.
Wendy froze.
And she realized.
I left the bedroom door open.
She flew down the hallway, only just remembering to keep quiet, burst inside, then tried to calm herself enough to silently shut—
The door closed audibly. Very audibly.
Truffles was tossed into the waiting arms of Jo, who had the nerve to ask Wendy why she'd taken so long— this was summarily ignored as, in a blind panic, Wendy grabbed hold of the window frame and hoisted herself up.
And then she found herself on her back, on the bedroom floor. Staring up at her father.
"I thought that's what I was hearing in here."
He held something in the hand at his side. Wendy recognized it immediately.
She was barely able to roll out of the way in time to avoid the 9-iron that was brought down around where her ribcage used to be.
Staggering to her feet, Wendy could only think to back away— but all that did was leave her cornered, staring at the still opened window and the single obstacle in her way.
And that obstacle took another swing at her.
This one missed too. Wendy ducked out of the way, then scrambled over the footboard of Jo's bed, trying to gain enough traction to crawl towards the window—
Her jacket was snagged, and she was yanked off the bed, thrown back on the floor she'd risen from seconds before. All she could think to do was raise her arms and cover her face.
They took the brunt of the impact, but not all of it. The tip of the golf club was able to continue forward, stopped only by her upper jaw. It felt like the skin exploded, white-hot pain shooting across her face— she didn't know if she cried out or not.
A similar pain erupted in her arm— her shoulder— her arm again— her ribs— her shoulder— her arm—
He's going to kill me. Wendy could only continue to shield her face, He's going to kill me this time.
He's going to kill me.
He's going to kill me.
I'm going to die like this.
And then. The terrified cry broke through.
"Wendy!"
Wendy's eyes flew open and darted to the window.
Where her father had grabbed Jo by the arm. And was dragging her back inside, ignoring her shrieks of pain.
There were no more internal protests from her injuries. No more fear of death.
When Wendy dove forward and wrenched the golf club from her father's distracted grip, raising it above his head, there was only one thing that she harbored inside her:
Rage.
A crack reverberated through the club and up her arm as she brought it down on his skull. She felt the bone give way under the force of her swing.
He released Jo, who fell back onto the lawn outside, while he collapsed onto his hands and knees, uttering a shocked, low-pitched sound—
It was cut short as he was hit again, in the same place as before. He made another sound, his arms giving out—
He was hit again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
…
… feeling seeped back into Wendy's limbs. She realized that she was breathing heavily. Her hands were shaking. She tasted blood.
She smelled it, too. Strong. And it wasn't just her own.
There was a rapidly growing red halo around her father's head, spreading out across the dirty carpet. It gurgled like a gentle, bubbling fountain as it poured from the visible gouge in his skull.
In the faint light, blood glinted on the metal golf head. It was marred in a few places by clumps of hair.
Somehow, he was still breathing. For the moment.
… oh no.
Wendy dropped the club, jumping at the dull thunk it emitted. She couldn't look away from the scene.
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
This wasn't part of the plan.
She couldn't bring herself to pass the body in order to get to the window; Wendy sprinted down the hall and to the front door, threw it open, and kept running.
Jo sat crying in the grass, so Wendy threw on her backpack, then lifted Jo into her arms, clutching the girl tightly to her chest.
"Jo— are you—" Her voice wavered, weak, "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
Her curly hair bounced as she shook her head, trying to form words but failing.
"It's okay—" Wendy smoothed down her hair, "It's okay, it's okay— you're okay, don't be scared; we're fine—"
The street was empty and glowed yellow under the dim lights above. She started down the sidewalk and towards…
… towards the…
… shit.
The police station wasn't an option anymore. Not after…
… shit. Shit shit shit!
Wendy held Jo tighter as reality came crashing down around them.
No no no, this can't be happening… this can't— no this ruins everything! This— I can't— now—
She needed to move. To run. So she did.
Not a single car passed by as she ran down the street, heading away from downtown. The lights grew fewer and farther between, and the only thing that marked her path was the sound of her footfalls against the sidewalk. Her heart hadn't slowed since she'd first left the kitchen, only speeding up since then.
By the time she was forced into a jog, the burn in her chest finally too strong to ignore, Wendy recognized the area they'd arrived at: the gates of Victory Garden Park. Really, it wasn't so much a "park" as it was a "giant grass clearing bordered by trees that led up the side of a mountain."
… but it was just the kind of place that could easily hide two runaway children.
The tall iron gates were left open just as they always were, so Wendy passed through unhindered, heading straight for the line of spruce trees that stood as black blots against the night sky. Light from the full moon illuminated the area in an eerie blue glow, and any place the light couldn't reach was shrouded in an inky darkness.
She could feel the tall grass brushing against her legs as she waded through, shuddering when bare skin, revealed through the holes in her jeans, was tickled.
Eventually they reached the cover of the trees, and Wendy allowed herself to slow down. The grass gave way to dirt, rocks, and exposed tree roots that threatened to remain concealed in the shadows until a chance arose to trip her.
The ground became noticeably steeper, and she found it harder to catch her breath— she stopped to do so, but couldn't convince herself to start moving, again.
Come on, she urged, Keep going.
The throbbing pain in her legs and arms, along with the burn in her chest, made it much easier to ignore her internal prodding. Panting, Wendy turned to face the direction they'd come from; trees obscured any sign of the grassy expanse of the park.
… we're probably far enough away. To not be seen.
Wendy's body, on the verge of collapse, begged her to agree.
We… can stop. For a couple minutes.
As she trudged over to a nearby tree, Wendy realized that somehow, Jo had managed to fall asleep in the midst of their desperate escape. Truffles was hugged devoutly to her chest, her other arm looped around Wendy's neck.
Not even bothering to remove her backpack, Wendy slumped against the tree once she'd reached it, sliding down to the ground and releasing an exhausted huff once she got there.
Can't go to the cops now, can we?
She took in a breath, hearing it shake.
They're not gonna let Jo stay with a murderer.
The thought made her flinch, and she rushed to her own defense, I didn't kill him—he was still breathing!
The silence was overwhelmingly judgmental.
I didn't kill him! I didn't— and— and even if I did, it was an accident! He was hurting Jo and— I had to make him stop…
It didn't make her feel any better.
Wendy stared up at the looming trees, which seemed to stare back down at her.
She clutched Jo tighter, all she had left.
I'm not a murder. I didn't kill him.
… I didn't.
The last thing Wendy remembered thinking before she fell asleep was that maybe, things would be better in the morning.
From the moment she opened her eyes, she knew the hope was in vain.
Jo was quick to let her know about everything that was currently ailing her: she was cold, she was tired, she was hungry, she was thirsty. Wendy kept a tenuous hold on her patience as she tried to remedy the problems: she adjusted the pink jacket to shield Jo's face, and assured herself there were worse breakfasts than water and fruit snacks.
While she was occupied, Wendy pulled up her sister's sleeve to look over her arm in daylight; other than a few thumbprint-sized bruises, she didn't see any other marks.
There wasn't a point in trying to get a look at her own state— the dull ache in her side and face gave her a good enough idea of what she'd see.
"Wendy?"
"What?"
"When are we going back home?"
Wendy felt a pang in her stomach. She turned her gaze away from Jo.
"… not right now."
Jo tilted her head to the side, "Then… where are we going?"
Wendy bit the inside of her mouth, stopping quickly at the pain that reared up stronger than usual— she rubbed the area sorely.
"I'm thinking."
They weren't going back to the house, she knew that much. Police station was now out too, thanks to her.
I mean… if they don't know about… The thought stalled, If I say that it was in self-defense, then… if they have the pictures, and the folder…
… she didn't know. There was no way to be sure of what would happen, no matter what she did. One mistake could cost her Jo— if she hadn't made that "one mistake" already.
That couldn't happen. She would not let that happen.
"Wendy?"
"What Jo?" It was shorter than she'd intended, so she repeated more gently, "What is it?"
"Where are we going?"
She took a breath, "… we're going to keep walking for a little bit. Around here."
"Why?"
"It's nice out." Wendy rubbed her eyes, "And I said I'd take you exploring out here when you got older, right?"
Jo didn't seem to be buying it, noticeably frowning.
"… I guess so…"
Wendy forced a smile, "Come on. It'll be fun. And hey, I heard there's this giant patch of flowers near the top of the mountain."
A flip had switched, setting Jo's eyes alight.
"Flowers?! Can we pick them?"
"Sure." She stood and offered a hand. "So come on."
Jo accepted the hand and was pulled to her feet, already sporting a spring in her step.
"Hurry up, Wendy!" Her backpack zippers jingled as she bounded ahead, "Hurry!"
"I am." After a brief stretch, easing the tension between her shoulders, she followed in suit, "Stay where I can see you, okay?"
The much needed levity began to peter out only minutes into their mountain hike; Jo seesawed between the determination to touch every tree, rock, and plant she laid eyes on, and the repeated insistence that she couldn't possibly take another step forward.
"You're fine, Jo," Wendy assured for the fifth time, her voice flat, "You can walk."
"I'm tiiired," she whined.
"If you were really tired, you wouldn't be able to run around touching everything."
Jo groaned, "My feet hurt… can you carry me?"
"No."
"Pleeease?"
"I said no."
"Pretty please?"
Wendy adjusted a strap on her backpack.
So they kept going. Gradually the trees began to thin, and the air grew colder as it rushed down the mountain. Wendy unrolled her sleeved and shoved her hands into her pockets, fighting a shiver.
The constant walking was all that kept the mounting frustration at bay, though she couldn't avoid it completely— what were they going to do that night? Jo needed to eat something more than fruit snacks— she should've brought something else. Why hadn't she thought of that? God dammit, if she hadn't been so damn fixated on the stupid money—
"Wendy can we please stop?" Jo begged, "I'm tired!"
Her boots scuffed loudly as she came to a sudden halt.
"Jo, we're not gonna get anywhere if we keep stopping."
"But why do we have to get anywhere? Why can't we just go home?"
Wendy's patience evaporated, "We are not going home!"
Jo crossed her arms angrily, "Why?"
"Because we're just not, okay?!"
The lousy reasoning did nothing, and Jo jutted her bottom lip out in a stubborn expression.
"You're being mean!"
"And you're being a baby!" she snapped back, "So cut it out!"
Jo threw down her hands and stomped a foot, "I'm not a baby!"
"Then quit acting like one!"
With a final shriek of anger, Jo spun around and ran up the mountain, leaving her sister in the dust.
"Jo!" Wendy scolded, "Get back here! I told you to stay where I can see you!"
The running footsteps grew fainted.
"Dammit Jo! I said get back here!"
When it was apparent she was not going to be obeyed, Wendy uttered a sound of anger not unlike Jo's from moments before, then ran after her.
The trees continued to thin until there were hardly any left, giving way to tall, thin grass that swayed at the mercy of the wind. The sun shone brightly overhead, alone in the vast blue sky.
And then the grass gave way to a sea of flowers. Wendy stopped long enough to observe them, caught off guard by the sudden barrage of color. She couldn't identify most of the flowers present, minus the obvious daisies and… she was pretty sure the reed ones were called poppies… or were they pansies?
Okay, are we really gonna debate flowers right now? We've got nothing better to do?
She agreed with the thought, disregarding the plants in pursuit of her sister. At first there was nothing— just more flowers and grass, which didn't exactly help in her search.
Wendy huffed impatiently, Great. She's doing this shit again— Jo, we don't have time for this!
"Jo, quit hiding," she called out, "I'm not in the mood."
Nothing came of it, so Wendy traversed the numerous flowers, pushing aside the larger patches in case a certain pouting child was using it for cover.
It was around the ten-minute mark that Wendy realized there might be a problem.
"Jo." There was no longer any hint of annoyance in her voice, "Jo, I mean it. You need to come out."
There was no answer.
Wendy's heart sped up considerably, "Josie, come out right now— you're not in trouble, okay? I promise. I just need to see you."
Nothing.
Once again, she found herself in the throws of panic, searching frantically for anything that would give away Jo's location.
"Josie!" Wendy ran, paying no attention to where she was going, "Jo say something! Please say something! Tell me where you are!"
Tears made the words catch in her throat, adding to their clear desperation, "Josie—"
Suddenly, the ground gave way beneath one of her feet, and Wendy felt herself falling— she landed hard on her chest, but managed to dig her fingers into the dirt around her, stopping the plummet short.
Wendy clawed around for a better hold, able to pull herself back onto solid ground, then immediately turned to see what the hell had almost done her in.
Well hidden by the flowers, the earth gave way to a gaping hole, large enough to easily swallow up a small child.
Oh god no.
She scrambled to crouch beside the edge, "Jo?! Josie?!"
Expecting the worse, Wendy forced herself to peer inside.
Truffles hung suspended from a wayward root, dangling above the pitch-black expanse inside.
Wendy tried to call out, and found her voice missing. She cleared her throat.
"Josie?"
It was echoed back at her, reverberating from somewhere deep inside the mountain.
"Fuck… no no no…" Wendy got down on her hands and knees, squinting to make out anything that could've been lying in the darkness, "Josie?"
Another echo, and nothing more.
For a moment, she tried to convince herself that maybe Jo hadn't actually fallen in— she could still be hiding, or she dropped her toy and was currently looking for Wendy so she could retrieve it, or…
… Wendy clutched her head, feeling her hands tremble.
Oh god… oh god no, she's down there… she has to have fallen down there… no no no this is all my fault— Jo— Jo why didn't you just stay with me like I told you to?
She opened her eyes again, staring hard at the darkness below.
… slowly, she began to remove her backpack.
If... I use it to break my fall, she reasoned, Maybe… there's the book inside, but the rest of it is pretty soft, so it'll even out, probably…
Nothing she came up with was going to make this any easier. So she stopped trying.
As an afterthought, she reached out and grabbed the moose toy by its closest leg, freeing it from the root before she stuffed it into her backpack.
She'll need it, Wendy told herself, When I find her.
If.
No. When.
Wendy put the bag on backwards, centered over her chest, and wrapped her arms around it for dear life. Hunched over on her knees, she peered down into the pit, unmoving.
She stayed that way for another minute, continuing to stare.
Then, she closed her eyes. And pitched forward.
Wendy disappeared from the field of flowers, leaving behind no trace in the world above ground.
Oof that ran kinda long, huh? Sorry about that! 0_o Thankfully, in the next chapter, the real Undertale fun starts happening! Hope to see you then!
(also, if you feel so inclined to leave feedback of any kind, I'd really appreciate it! That's what keeps me writing)!