Knock On Wood
AN:
Hey hey! I decided to not wait for the reviews. Who checks the new stories anyway? Er, anyway, here's the next chapter. May all your cliffhanger worries be dismissed!
Oh, um…in the previous chapter I accidentally called Lamium-toddles away-
Teefa85 -- Ah, look, a review! Thank you, your contribution of time and patience means a lot to me, really! And yes, actually this was not what I originally planned, but it seems to fit well. I'll wing it from here. twiddles her thumbs
WARNING: This fanfiction contains major spoilers.
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Chapter 2: Outlanders.
"Yes?"
Time seemed to melt into bronze minutes, dropping on the green-haired drifter from above an bruising every bit of his exposed, hopeful conscience.
The haggard old woman blinked at him cruelly. "Well, what is it you want? I'm not buying anything. Whatever you're selling, I don't want it and you certainly won't want anything of mine."
All at once, the horrible frozen feeling in his chest seemed to dispel, if only slightly. Clive faltered, looking rather taken aback and quickly adjusted his glasses in a humble manner. "Please excuse me," he said hastily. He had already begun to turn around when he felt Virginia grab his shoulder and hold him in place.
"Excuse us," she said politely, stepping into view of the old lady. "We're looking for someone who may have lived her a little while ago. Her name is Catherine."
The elderly woman's eyes seem to flicker with faint recognition at the name. "Oh, I see," she muttered, glancing about the madness of people outside her door. "Well, don't just stand there. Come in, dears."
"Um," said Virginia, perhaps a little too quickly. "We actually have two other friends, and this is really important..."
Gallows and Jet seemingly appeared from nowhere. Jet appeared surly, irritated and bored as usual, but the Baskar was almost eager in his approach. While they shuffled towards Clive's 'former' house, the old woman regarded them with surprised amusement.
"My goodness," she commented, although kindly. "A regular pack of vagabonds, aren't you? Well, I suppose I'll have to trust you if you know Catherine."
A tiny flame of wonder struck inside Clive's hollowed chest. "Is she here?" he asked with a hushed tone.
The woman stared quietly, but hesitated before answering. "I believe you should all come in, now. I reckon Catherine knew this was going to happen..."
As she disappeared into the dark interior of 'her' house, Virginia exchanged looks with the Drifter at her side. There was no solemn apology yet, but her gaze explained every ounce of concern they now shared. Whatever this woman meant by what she said, there was a terribly dark cloud brewing almost certain negativity in their minds.
Gallows cleared his throat, drawing their attention. The Baskar held out his arm, bearing Clive's red coat. "Uh, here," he said uncertainly. "You probably don't want this stolen. I don't even need to be a priest to tell there's bad apples in this crowd."
Clive half-whispered something close to a "Thank you," and relieved Gallows of the garment. He thrust one arm through a sleeve before flipping it around and placing his other arm in its place. In utter silence he adjusted the coat so that it fit comfortably on his shoulders. "Let us take in this woman's hospitality," he went on. His mind then seemed to change. "She knows Catherine..."
"So what are we waiting for?" said Virginia, always attempting to be cheerful. It failed, however, nice as her intention was. "We'll follow you."
Clive did not speak, or nod, but he did agree on a level of solemn integrity. Ignoring the invisible cloud of misfortune that draped around him, the Drifter stepped into the gloomy interior of the old lady's 'house'.
At first, he'd felt convinced that nothing had changed at all. For the most part that was true, especially when it came to the arrangement of furniture and ornaments. Some things had been replaced, like the tapestries that normally hung beside the window on the far wall. The place certainly smelled different, more…elderly. It was unmistakably dim, it seemed. The drapes were drawn shut and the only light radiated from an oil lamp in the corner of the room.
The old woman had retreated towards the far end of the room. She smiled as the four Drifters arrived in her home, waving her hand as she sidestepped into the kitchen.
Her somewhat sophisticated voice drifted through the open doorway. "Would any of your youngsters like a nice spot of tea? It's an old family recipe…"
Standing rather near the door, the four Drifters exchanged glances with one another. Clive was disinterested in anything but the present situation; Virginia did not need to ask him whether or not he wanted some tea. She herself didn't care for tea, or coffee for that matter. One look towards Gallows confirmed that his desire for anything was limited.
Which left Jet. Virginia turned her gaze on him and found him staring straight back at her. "Do I look like I want some damn tea?" he wanted to know.
Virginia sighed and dropped her shoulders slightly. "No thank you," she said loudly, hopefully loudly enough for the aged lady to hear her.
The woman did apparently, for she appeared at the kitchen doorway again barren of any pot of tea saucers. Her expression had not changed whatsoever, and to describe it would prove difficult in words. She bore the appearance of a weary traveler relieved of their worn-out shoes. She also had a glint of sad hope in her eyes. To make the description complete, she seemed to be lost in deep thought, or engulfed in a fit of emotional turmoil.
Just like Clive.
However, Clive was not the first to break the silence. Instead, Virginia stepped forward and faced away from the sofa. "May I?" she inquired courteously, indicating the seat she had chosen.
"Why dear, of course you may," the old woman breathed. "In fact, why don't you all take a seat? I'm afraid this will take some time to explain."
Clive felt a sudden panic rise within him. "Catherine--" he said with a sudden fever. "Is she safe?"
"Patience," the old woman insisted. Her tone was slightly more cross than it had been before, but she practiced exactly what she preached and kept her temper. "I implore you, take your seats! I will answer anything within my knowledge once we are settled down."
There was a awkward moment of milling about before all four Drifters had found a place to sit down. Jet completely ignored the turning events and stationed himself against the wall nearby. Whatever the case was, it couldn't have anything to do with him.
"Now," said the old woman. She hobbled forward and gently lowered herself into an empty armchair. A moment passed as she removed her tiny spectacles, ran a hand over her face, and replaced them. "Before we begin, let us introduce ourselves. My name is Arabella Vercant, and I am the caretaker of this abode, not the owner."
Clive started to get to his feet. "Cather-"
"Oh, do sit!" the lady snapped. She clasped her hands together tightly in front of her. "Before you start berating me, allow me to finish what I am saying!"
Slowly, almost dazedly, the green-haired Drifter sat back down.
"Now," the old woman repeated herself. "My name is Arabella, but you can call me Belle. As for Catherine, yes, she is the legal owner of this estate. But-"
Here it came, Clive realized. There was no blocking this out, there was a definite reason for the old woman to draw this conversation out, and it most certainly was not a happy thing.
"Is Catherine okay?" came Virginia's voice. There, she had voiced the question he never would have faced himself.
Belle paused a little longer, and then sighed. "I honestly believe so, yes. Unfortunately, I have not seen nor spoke to her in three years."
A cold, black bell tolled in Clive's head. Although it was difficult to detect in the dimness, his face blanched of its colour as the second wave of truth struck him down. He could not bring himself to form any reply, but to merely stare at his gloved hands in a thoughtless stupor.
"I'll explain the best I can," said the old woman. "Catherine fell ill shortly after her husband's disappearance. For as long as I've known her, she had chosen not to believe that he was truly dead. I suppose she had reason too, considering how the Ark put a fantastic reward on his head for his death or capture."
At this, everyone but Clive flinched inwardly. Had the old woman presumed their identity, or was she merely voicing her opinion?
"When she hired me to take care of the house and her daughter, she told me that she had waited for much for his return," Belle went on. "I tried to talk some sense into her, of course, but she had her heart set on becoming a Drifter to search for him."
Another pang shot through Clive's head. How much more could he take in a single hour…?
"Kaitlyn, her daughter, became grossly involved with books after that," said the old woman with a ring of sadness. "With her mother left to search for her missing father, she began to feel restless and, in my opinion, foolish. I hardly saw her without her nose in one of her father's books after that. And that child, she read through each and every volume within months! Before I knew it, our conversations at dinnertime mainly consisted of Filgaia's Theory and the leylines of planetary lifeblood! Crystals, historic craters, something called the Hyades Project and Yggdrasil, were all topics she took absolute delight in explaining to me over and over again."
"Catherine returned home only twice after setting out. The first time, I was appalled to wake and find her lying on the living room floor, bloodied and weary! However, with the aid of Cheville, we were able to fix her up and feed her. And, joyous as those few moments she spent home again were, she left scarcely a week after that. The second time she returned, she told me. All of it. She explained to me everything her husband had told her about Guardians, the Demons and the Blue Menace. It was heartbreaking. In that very same day, she made me promise that should she fail to return within that year that I would turn ownership of the estate to her daughter. Also -- she was so quiet by this -- she had me promise to give this letter--" Belle withdrew a folded note from the drawer of an end table, "--to her husband should he ever return." The old woman paused sorrowfully. "I haven't the faintest idea where she went, but she must have known it would be dangerous to make me promise such dreadful things."
There was an understandable lack of words in the room following Belle's tale. Now the elderly housekeeper sighed, and unclasped her hands. "It has been three years since I last saw her."
As the silence continued, Clive managed to formulate the words he wished to speak first in his head, then on his lips. "Kaitlyn…where is she now?"
Belle set her mouth in a thin line, allowing her lack of an immediate response spell out the trouble it caused for her to explain these situations. "That poor child is another story, I regret to say. She is not here now, if that is what you mean. Lately, she has taken to leaving the house without consulting me beforehand. I know she travels to those monster-infested ruins. She has become so strong of will these past years, however. There is nothing I can do, I fear. I am, after all, an old woman and she is just starting her earliest days of womanhood!"
Another pang. That was right, of course. It was a difficult thing for Clive to imagine, but his little girl was no longer eight years old. The guilt was heavy, heavier than the leaden air that blanketed the town.
Virginia knew Clive, and Clive trusted her to say the right things when he was disabled to. Swallowing dryly, the young female Drifter averted her eyes to the floor and spoke.. "We're…friends of Catherine. We had heard rumours, but we really didn't think…"
Gallows, never being particular to being left out, took up their leader's end of the conversation. "So uh, Miss Bell…uh, ma'am. Kaitlyn snuck out what, this morning? You think she'll be back by tonight?"
"Oh goodness no," said the elderly woman, shaking her head. "That young lady sometimes disappears for days at a time! Once, I tried hiring a young man from the village to find her, but she has this nasty habit of finding the newest places to hide. I do worry about her, truly. She is, after all, like my own grandchild to me."
And she is, thought Clive, my very own daughter. He could not help but feel slightly angered with this woman, who spoke as if she were Kaitlyn's last living relative.
Then again, he thought regretfully, he was the one who had vanished from her life these past five 'years'.
"Dear me!" Belle suddenly exclaimed. "How silly of me to get ahead of myself like that. I don't even know your names, do I? If of course, you don't mind sharing them."
Virginia hesitated, although she tried to appear completely casual. "Um…of course," she said, and thought as quickly as her brain would allow. "I'm…Cecile, this is Morgan," she said, gesturing to Gallows. She then looked at Clive. "Um…"
"Ah, my dear, you needn't rush into things," said the old woman, a little mysteriously. "Now, if I can recall…oh, yes! You are…Clive Winslett, I presume?"
Virginia's face dropped as if she'd run headlong into a brick wall and the pain had yet to register. Clive's expression was similar, although somewhat not as subtle. Bell chuckled merrily.
"I admire your daughter, Mr. Winslett," she said with a small sigh. "Although I suppose I must wonder where you have been and just how important this job of your must have been for you to so shamelessly abandon such a sweet child!"
Virginia's shock was easily overcome with a tousled fury. "Wait just a darn minute!" she cried sharply. "You have no idea how hard it's been for Clive! How can you even believe, for just one second that he would-"
"Virginia," came Clive's moderate voice. For a few seconds, the entire room was deathly quiet. Clive lowered his face slightly, apparently in control of himself once more. "I appreciate your help, but I believe it is more practical to explain ourselves before starting an argument."
The female Drifter huffed, but obliged him promptly, although she did not spare the elderly woman a very callous glare.
"I am…" Clive searched for the words that would best explain his reasoning. "…haunted by the thought of abandoning my family. I have always felt that, in some way, my methods of researching Filgaia's memories were the wrong thing to do. I cannot recall a day that has passed that I did not whole-heartedly regret my decision to pursue the cause of Filgaia's decay."
"How interesting," said the old woman. Whatever warmth there had been in her voice earlier was now greatly subdued. "I would be even more interested to know exactly why it is that you chose to hide for so long? A simple letter would have prevented this entire catastrophe! I have spent the past five years wondering what kind of father this 'Clive Winslett' was to put such a terrible burden on his daughter! Not to mention Catherine, who I think no less of than my own daughter!"
He could not. How did he explain that there had been no five years change? At least, not for him. In five years, he'd done no more than breathe once and watch as their bodies were expelled from Beatrice's palace of nightmares. There could not have been a letter, there could not haven been a return for him…until now.
"Lady," said Gallows, "you've got Clive all wrong. I mean, they don't exactly sell postcards where he's been…"
"That's right! Clive is a kind, caring father!" Virginia spoke up. "It's not his fault that he was chosen by the Guardians, or that the Dark Spear was awakened or that Beatrice corrupted the minds of Filgaia! We were stuck in Beatrice's own dimension. It's her fault he disappeared for so long, not his!"
Bell's eyes widened slightly as she listened to this volley of new information. There was some vague recognition of those words, but she herself had never been able to fully comprehend them as they flew so quickly from Kaitlyn's mouth. "I think," she said carefully, "you should start from the beginning. Tell me exactly what has happened."
Clive took over at this point. Holding up his hand to silence Virginia from launching into a mad dash of answers, he began to tell their story from the moment they had met on the train. He knew the tale would take a great deal of the day, but quite frankly, he cared less.
As long as Kaitlyn was at sake, there was nothing he would not do.
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So there you go. Um…next chapter! Will they make Arabella understand? Is Clive REALLY a terrible father? And WHERE is Kaitlyn? GASP!
Avoid making melodrama contracts with me, please.