Setting: Eight years after Chapter 1, Season 8, directly after "Forbidden Fruit."
It had been eight years since Karen had set foot in that room. When she locked the door for the last time and began her walk down the long hall, she vowed to never look back. And she didn't. Not until earlier that day when Jack had so innocently asked her what was in that room.
Over the years, Karen had walked that hallway every day, sometimes multiple times. On her way to Stan's library to yell at him for drinking all the gin or to kiss him goodnight on evenings when she retired first. On her way to pull more liquor out of storage. On her way nowhere in particular just to steal a glance, to grab the knob and contemplate opening it, to imagine herself putting it to good use. After a few years, she had learned to ignore it, to pretend that the door was no different than any other along the hall, and eventually to not even notice its presence any more. One day she sauntered past, singing and whistling to herself as she often did as she strolled the manse, and failed to stop and stare at the wooden surface. Failed to slow down and cast a meaningful glance its way as she passed. Failed to even flinch or realize where she was in the slightest.
She had become numb, desensitized to what had happened, to the fruitless dream and glimmer of hope that lived behind that door. After a while, Karen failed to care any more. Sure, the want was always in the back of her mind, but as she grew older, Karen became resigned to the cold hard truth. She accepted it with reluctance when Stanley went to prison for over a year, with forced dignity and silent torment when he died, and with anger and extreme resentment when he announced that he was, indeed, alive. Not so much even for faking his own death, but for wasting two years of her life.
Now, in her late forties, Karen Walker kneeled on the floor in the hallway at three o'clock in the morning, holding the loose doorknob and a screwdriver. She bit her lip as she unsuccessfully tried to reattach the knob to the door where it had ripped free when she wrestled it from Jack's grasp earlier that day. She groaned in aggravation and hurled the screwdriver away in disgust. It bounced off the door and ricocheted off, leaving a deep dent in its wake, hitting the wall behind her. The doorknob fell from her hand and rolled down the hallway as she dropped her head in disappointment, frustrated tears beginning to form in her eyes.
Karen would be the first to admit that she didn't have the faintest idea what she was doing, but no one else could know about this room. She couldn't call Handyman to fix this. She couldn't even call a complete stranger who wasn't on her staff for fear of it getting out. It was bad enough that now one more person was enlightened as to the secret that Karen held. Four people. No one else could know.
"Lose something?"
Karen's head snapped up and she hastily rubbed the tears off her cheeks. "Mason!" She glanced up at the teenager standing before her in his pajamas, holding a sandwich in one hand and the rogue doorknob up in the other, looking utterly surprised to see his stepmother on the floor outside the Forbidden Room. "Um, yeah, I did." Karen wiped her eyes once more and took the piece of hardware from him, keeping her gaze focused on the carpet. "Thanks, honey." She felt around blindly behind her until she grabbed hold of the screwdriver. Karen cleared her throat and held the knob up to the door, trying to look like she knew exactly what she was doing. She licked her lips and pretended to change her mind, letting out an informed "Ah" and deciding instead to randomly stick the screwdriver into the lock and move it around importantly.
Mason didn't look convinced. "Want some help with that?"
"What?" she chirped, pretending to be surprised to find him still standing there munching on his midnight snack. "No, honey. I'm fine." She flashed him a perfect smile and turned her attention back to the door, clearly running out of ways to feign fixing the problem.
"I could have this done by now, Karen. Let me –."
"No!" she yelled a little louder than she meant to and took a blind swing at his legs as he stepped forward. Karen continued her futile attempts to reattach the doorknob, becoming increasingly more annoyed and distraught. Not just by her lack of skill, but by everything that had happened that day and all the unwanted emotions that flooded out of that room like a huge, even more vicious version of Pandora's Box.
Without a word, Mason set his sandwich on the table next to the door and knelt down next to his stepmother. He gently took the doorknob and screwdriver from her hands, which had given up the fight and dropped heavily to her lap. Tired and resigned, Karen sat back on her heels and watched Mason expertly fix the door.
"How'd you learn to do that?" she finally asked in a quiet impressed voice.
"I used to follow Handyman around on days when you refused to play with me." Mason stole a glance at her and smiled slightly, trying to lighten the mood.
"I'm sorry," Karen whispered anyway.
"No, that's okay. I was pretty annoying." This got a smile out of Karen and Mason grinned back at her, satisfied, before turning again to the door.
It was silent for a long moment while Mason finished reattaching the doorknob. When he was done, he sat back and stared at his work for a proud second before putting the screwdriver to the surface before him and pushing, the door swinging open on its hinges. He heard Karen gasp sharply as she visibly tensed beside him, but she didn't move or utter a word.
They sat there, side by side, staring into the darkness before them, nothing but the carpet directly in front of them and the legs of the crib visible in the light that seeped in from the hallway. "So, what's with the room?" Mason began finally, still confused at finding her there after eight years of more or less ignoring its presence. He seemed to realize something and lit up for a second, asking, "Are we having a baby?"
"No, honey," she replied softly, her gaze lost in the swirling darkness.
"Why not?"
Karen heaved a deep sigh. "I don't know, honey. We're just not. I don't think it was meant to be."
After that evening, Karen had hoped that she wouldn't have to see the inside of this room ever again, or at least not so soon. But in a way, she knew she had to in order to be able to move on. Jack had convinced her to leave it like a nursery for a little while and she knew that it would be a repeat of that night eight years before – she would leave and never go back, never come to terms with what had happened, or … what hadn't happened, what never would happen.
After leaving the room earlier that night with Jack, she had gone across the hall to Stan's library to tuck her poodle in and tend to his illness. She gave him some medicine, fed him his chicken soup, and even told him a bedtime story, singing to him until he fell asleep. It was at that moment, sitting on the edge of the chaise lounge Jack was using as a bed with his feverish head on her shoulder, that she finally realized that she would have made a half decent mother to a baby. She had basically been raising Jack for the past eight years and he had turned out somewhat normal. And the stepkiddies hadn't filed any complaints, although they had a million reasons to do so.
When Jack had finally nodded off to sleep, Karen gently nudged his head off her shoulder and slid off the chaise lounge. She brushed her hand across his cheek and tenderly kissed his forehead before covering him with a blanket. Karen shut off the lights as she left and quietly closed the door behind her.
Out in the hall she turned around and came face to face with the nursery. She picked up the doorknob that had been left in the middle of the floor and slowly pushed the door open. She left the lights off and wandered across the room, sitting down in the plush green chair. Karen glanced down and noticed a teddy bear staring up at her from the floor beside the chair. She picked it up held it gingerly in her lap, smiling down at the toy as she stroked its fur. Karen lowered her head to the bear's and hugged the animal close to her body as the tears came.
Karen and Mason sat in silence for a long while until Mason turned to look intently at his stepmother. "I kept my promise," he said simply.
After a moment, Karen finally peeled her gaze from the shadowy room and smiled at him. She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Thank you."
"But I think he should know," Mason added, effectively ruining the moment as Karen's smile slid off her face.
"No, honey, I – I don't think that's a good idea."
"I don't think he would've objected."
Karen laughed slightly. "Oh, honey, we don't want to encourage him." She pat his hand and thought for a moment. "Besides, I couldn't have taken that sort of disappointment on a regular basis. I think it was already too late. And now – well, just forget about it."
Mason shrugged, not entirely comfortable with the subject matter at hand. "Hey, if Geena Davis can pop out twins at forty-eight…"
"Okay, honey, you're done. No more Insider for you. That Pat O'Brien's a dirty old man anyway. I hear he drunk dials celebrities and leaves naughty messages for them."
"Dad passed this room every day," Mason began, knowing that Karen was poorly trying to change the subject, "Didn't he ever ask what was in here?"
Karen sighed again and turned back to the dim room. "Once. I made up some lame explanation. I'm not sure if he bought it, but he never asked again." She paused and looked down at her hands, fiddling with one of her huge diamond rings. "Sometimes I'd wish he'd ask, though, just so I'd have an excuse to tell someone. But I knew it was better kept to myself. Couldn't rock the boat."
There was a long pause as Mason watched his stepmother watching her hands. She couldn't do this to herself any more. She couldn't let it cross her mind ever again. She had to lock the room up and never look back. For real this time. Finally, she spoke up very softly, "Close the door, Mason. I'm done."
He nodded and wordlessly got to his feet. Mason leaned forward and grabbed the knob, pulling the door closed and watching the room slowly disappear before him. Mason glanced at Karen, who hadn't moved or lifted her head, and reached down to help her up. When she was on her feet, Mason then turned to the table beside the door and picked up the gold key that lay there. Karen had retrieved it from the ring when Jack started snooping around the door in order to have it safely in her possession and out of his reach. She had forgotten that she had dropped it there upon finding Jack trying to pick the lock and immediately jumping him.
Mason held the key up to Karen. "Do you want to do the honors?"
She nodded and took it from him, inserting the key into the door. Karen hesitated and stopped, leaving it unturned in the lock. Her hand began trembling and she squeezed her eyes shut, covering her face and leaning into the doorjamb. Mason laid a tentative hand on her shoulder and soon found his stepmother in his arms, enveloping him in a tight hug and burying her face in his chest.
Although Karen had hoped she wouldn't have to see the room again, Mason knew it was difficult for her to give it up for good. It signified the end – of her dream, of her fooling herself. Mason wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head. He had never seen her like this, not since the night he found her in the nursery eight years prior, and, frankly, it scared him a little bit. Sure, she had her moments of weakness and emotion, but Karen Walker rarely shared them with anyone. And when she did, it was never with him or his sister.
But they had this room in common. On the days immediately after discovering its presence, Mason would wander the hall and stare at the door curiously, often trying the knob and always finding it tightly locked. Little Mason would scowl, secretly hoping that one day he would find the room unlocked and with a little person living inside it. Someone he could boss around as Olivia did him. Or at least he hoped he would find it unlocked so that he could take possession of the gargantuan, nearly life-sized stuffed animals that called it home if no one else was going to use them.
As he grew older, Mason nearly forgot about its existence, becoming more focused on his schoolwork and his friends. And once he became enlightened in middle school health class as to where babies actually came from, he secretly hoped he would never find the room unlocked and with a little person living inside it.
"When'd you get so tall?" came a sudden muffled question.
"You were at Barney's."
Karen choked out a laugh and sniffled. "Shut up." After a moment, Karen finally lifted her head and wiped at her eyes. "Sorry, kid," she muttered, referring to the wet spot she had left on the front of his shirt. Clearly ashamed of her second emotional outburst of the evening, Karen kept her gaze down and hurriedly tried to contain herself. "It's late. Go to bed," she emphasized with a poke to his stomach.
"Are you okay?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm swell, honey." She smiled up at him. "You're a good boy, Mason. But this is still our little secret, okay?" Karen held up her hand, pinky finger extended for him to swear on.
"For now." Mason made to make it official, but she pulled her hand back.
"Uh, uh, uh! Promise me," Karen instructed levelly, pointing at him with her free hand.
"Fine, I won't say anything," he halfheartedly settled, and she could tell. Karen continued to glare at him and Mason shifted uncomfortably. "Okay, I promise!"
Karen smiled as they linked fingers, the unbreakable Pinky Swear now bonding their agreement. "Now, go on, honey. Get outta here. It's late," she repeated as she began poking and pushing him down the hall.
"All right!" He swatted her away and grabbed her hands. Mason leaned down and swiftly kissed Karen on the cheek. "G'night, Ma." He turned around and, as quickly as Mason had snuck up on her over an hour earlier, he was gone.
Karen smiled and watched the direction he had gone long after he was out of sight and she heard the door to his room close around the corner. She exhaled deeply and pushed her hair back into place before straightening out her shirt.
Karen bent over and retrieved the screwdriver from the floor before turning and slowly opened the door to Stan's library to check on Jack. He looked restless, sweat glistening on his forehead from where his fever had broken. She quietly entered the room and slid the screwdriver back into the desk drawer. Karen recovered Jack's blanket from the floor and laid it over the bottom of the chaise lounge where it was accessible if he needed it again. Jack stirred uneasily in his sleep, muttering incoherent things in his dreams, but didn't wake. She leaned over and pressed her lips to his forehead. Still warm, but significantly cooler than when she put him to bed hours earlier.
"Get well soon, poodle," she whispered, turning to leave the room. She leaned against the closed door before glancing at her watch – 4:18 in the morning – and groaning inwardly, finally realizing just how exhausted she was.
She would go to bed, smile, and tell Stan that her Jackie was just a little sicker than they originally thought, that's all. No big deal. Everything's fine.
Except that it really wasn't.
Maybe after eight more years of denial and torment it would be, but not quite yet.
Karen turned and started off down the hallway. But this time, she took one quick glance over her shoulder.