Been a while, uh? Graduation is no joke, guys. So is work.
This chapter was supposed to also cover the return to Raccoon City but I had to change my plans, otherwise you wouldn't get any update until who-knows-when! So, please, accept this short chapter as my personal way to say I'M NEVER GONNA GIVE IT UP. I crave this story more than y'all do combined. [Not sorry to Rick Astley all over you guys, I'll also Ed Sheeran though.]
Dedicated to Mini-Xaori with all my heart.
Chapter 32 – Bad Habits
Part 1 – Daddy instinct never fails.
Somehow, they'd made it to the morning.
That seemingly never-ending weekend had finally come to the last day. The guests would all leave by early afternoon. Everyone would wrap that brief November vacation and return to their daily routines, more-or-less stressful jobs, schoolwork and, most importantly, to a steady high-speed internet access.
The latter being particularly dear to Chris and Claire.
The terrible connectivity of the mountainside had almost driven them crazy – especially Chris. Not because they couldn't live without stupid social media or without texting their friends, rather because they were dying to search for answers to their troubles – answers that only a private browsing tab could grant them. Moreover, after what had happened the night before, both siblings felt the need to leave, and leave Grandma Mary's unpredictable ways behind. That sudden appearance of hers by the bathroom, right in the dead of the night, her impenetrable looks, her cunning persona, the rather explicit suggestiveness of her words... that had truly shaken Chris and Claire to the bone. Insomuch so that now all they wanted was to fly away from the cottage of their best childhood memories. If, on one hand an eloquent impatience imbued all their attitudes, on the other, they carefully resisted to give in to the maddest frenzy.
Such hardly restrained eagerness had compelled them both to jump out of bed at a pretty early hour on a cold Sunday morning. Aside from Robert and John, in fact, everyone else was still asleep when the siblings decided to have breakfast and finally leave that suffocating cage of a bedroom, sickeningly too small for the hugeness of their distress. Long story short, beyond an appearance of calm, they were champing at the bit to finally get in the car and drive over their place.
In the crystalline light of the early-morning sun, Robert sat at the head of the long table, right in front of the big windows, sipping black coffee while trying to load the latest news on his tablet. Every now and then, he'd mumble quiet imprecations to himself anytime the page read only "error 408". And every time Rob was a little louder than quiet, John, who sat on the armchair, would shake his old-fashioned newspaper in gloating spite at his son and modern times' gimmicks.
Chris and Claire sat by the longer side of the table, having their breakfast in superficial calm. Their blank faces little let on about how on edge they felt. They put great effort in concealing it the best they could, but a heedful eye sure wouldn't miss to notice subtle hints of resurfacing nervousness.
Claire would glance at the cuckoo clock above the fireplace every three seconds and a half while struggling to eat slower than her morning hunger compelled her to. On her right side, nose-dip into the bowl, Chris chewed the cereal with his usual voracity and big movements of the jaw as if to finish his food would somehow accelerate the departure. He looked just like the same old Chris, although, right below the tabletop, his knee restlessly bounced up and down in nervousness.
A sound of approaching steps snatched their eyes off the clock and the food to force them to look at the stairs' direction, where the devil in nightgown and slippers made her solemn entrance.
Chris's eager chewing slowly trailed off, unlike his knee who didn't stop bouncing at all.
Yawning and all wrapped up in her shawl, grandma Mary crossed the living room, dragging her fluffy slippers on the hardwood floor. With every step she took, a new alarm rose in the kids' heads.
When she was about by the armchair, Chris stopped breathing.
Once she reached the couch, his heartbeats were already hammering in his throat like a jungle drum. It was a matter of time before beads of cold sweat would spring all across his forehead like daisies on a lawn on a sunny April day.
If she ever made it to the dining table, Chris would certainly jolt up in jitters and scream his way out of the room.
Oblivious of the tension she was arousing within her grandkids, Mary kept walking. The more she did so, the hardest Chris's knee bounced. Soon, the whole table would start quaking and rattling if he didn't stop fidgeting like that! But Mary was approaching ever so threateningly and Chris couldn't get out of his head that she was just about to theatrically shout out something like "I-know-what-you-did-last-night!" and unmask their nasty shame in a really Shakespearian manner: all finger-pointing and judgemental-eyebrows-quirking while thunders would peal beyond the big windows and the audience would gasp on their seats, appalled.
The boy should've known better. He should've known Mary is way more complex and subtle than that.
Just as the lady stretched a smile, about to bid everyone a good morning, Chris almost lost the grip on himself. He straightened up on the seat and sucked in a sharp breath ready to either fight or flight when a providential hand came to appease his nerves and suppress any further reaction.
Right below the tabletop, unseen, Claire slid a hand over her brother's thigh, gently fondling it. Either like a magic spell or a sedative, his leg immediately came to a halt and his bouncing heel finally got to rest on the floor and, there, lay immobile.
"Good morning, family." Mary chirped.
Robert mumbled an answer into his cup while, all frowning, he glared at the display of his tablet so stubbornly not loading a thing. Claire smiled a good-morning back and gently shook Chris's thigh to entice him to play it cool as well but he failed to comply. He busied himself with another spoonful of porridge shoved into his mouth, waiting for his grandmother to disappear in the kitchen like she hinted to do.
Once even the last fibre of Mary shawl eclipsed beyond the closing kitchen door, Chris's hand as well slid below the tabletop and grasped Claire's.
Fingers entwined, palms glued and stuck to each other.
Chris pushed the back of her hand harder against his thigh, gently rubbing it with it. It was his way to breathe a forbidden sigh of relief without anyone else to notice but Claire.
Her clutch was firm, her touch steady and Chris both cherished and despised it.
He loved that she was back to her usual affectionate manners, that she was no longer shying him away, that she sought comfort in his proximity, but he couldn't help hating feeling like being the one in need of solace between them. He ought to be the heartening presence, he and he only ought to offer protection and reassurances. He oughtn't to be on the verge of freaking out. But he was. And he hated it. He hated feeling so helpless and- Chris flinched in surprise as he felt Claire's lips pecking his cheek.
They locked gazes.
Claire slid her hand off their hold, and eagerly rubbed his back, throughout smiling in encouragement. If, on his side, Chris felt weaker, Claire felt stronger since she'd confided him her secret, now theirs. To know she wasn't bound to face it completely alone allowed her a little sense of safety, just that much enough to automatically make her be the one offering the much-needed reassurance.
Chris faintly grinned at her and resumed his sloppy chewing. Alright, he hated being reassured but... well, being helpless had its advantages in the end, one couldn't really complain.
A smile can only instil warmth if genuine.
On the far side of the table, Robert hadn't missed to watch that little interaction, peeping from behind his cup of coffee, and he inwardly giggled at the alleged accuracy of his prediction about his kids' fight not surviving the week.
I was so right. Take that, Lily!
Part 2 – And So Does Granny's.
The rigid tarpaulin rose to the ceiling of the cabin with a crackling rustle.
There it was, the motorbike his grandfather had been dedicating a great deal of his time to lately. Chris remembered the day John purchased it from old Jim, back when he was still forced to pretend being Claire.
A few essential parts were missing, the seat had to be cladded with some quality leather and, hell, steel parts needed one heck of a polishing. Nevertheless, it was a great motorbike albeit it was reduced to a skeleton of tubes, nuts and bolts.
All things considered, Chris didn't feel much different than that clunker. Both were in pieces, both needed an overhaul and a hella kickstart. Only that the motorbike would've gotten it way more easily than him. Lucky little bastard.
The early afternoon daylight filtered through a couple of high barred windows and cast a faintest oblique beam of light towards the centre of the square cabin, right where the disassembled bike lay, surrounded by tools, crates, boxes rife with rusty metal parts and a variety of garden tools neatly hung on dotted panels above a cluttered carpenter desk.
If Chris had grown a passion for motors, it was mostly due to the long hours he'd spent there with his grandfather since he was a toddler. Among the many things John liked to gloat about, there was his grandson being handed a spanner before he could even hold the feeding bottle on his own. Those thick wooden walls had seen him grow to a sturdy young adult. They had witnessed him grow taller inch by inch, his voice become manlier summer by summer and his skills improve rivet by rivet. On that day, they'd witness him become... else.
Word by word.
Alone in the cold dim-lighted backyard tool shed, Chris lighted up a cigarette.
The smoke sure wouldn't have helped him either to warm up or to focus on the bike's mechanics as he wished, but Chris couldn't think of anything better to kill time as he had to wait for his parents to finally make up their minds and drive back to Raccoon, where he'd finally start to mend his troubles and repair his life.
This forced immobility was wearing him out and, at once, he knew he might come to regret it one day. Can one feel impatient and willing to procrastinate at the same time? Chris did, anyway.
The frosty hinges of the door behind him creaked lightly and Chris turned just in time to see grandma Mary peak in and get inside. So it happened that, all of a sudden, the quiet wintry cabin turned into a fiery lion's den, where one had to either fight for their life or succumb and turn into a bloody snack. Chris could've either rolled his eyes, sighed in exasperation or screamed in panic for how damn hard he wanted to rush elsewhere in that moment but he managed to stand still and calm, on the lookout for the upcoming attack like the bravest of gladiators.
He couldn't tell if he'd just fallen into a trap set for him, but he sure knew there was no escape. What was meant to happen, would.
The old woman closed the door as she answered the fake welcoming nod of her grandson with a genuine serene face.
So serene it could only hide malice and premeditation.
Mary confidently approached the carpenter table right next to the entrance and rested the plier she'd brought along on top of it. She knew she'd need it again next time she'd have to turn on the oven since her husband had lost the stupid throttle knob, but now it served more as an excuse to be there. The plier was her ticket to the cabin and to all the secrets lurking in there through her grandson.
Long instants of building silence passed, as permeating as the mountain cold. Both pretended to be observing the dismembered clunker: unashamedly her, stubbornly him. Both seemed to purposefully ignore the fact that the final match had just started.
Chris knew he was running out of time. He knew his grandmother would soon move her pieces and cage him in a game he was bound to lose.
He knew well.
"Have you got a spare one for your granny?" The lady asked, pointing at the cigarette hooked between the boy's lips.
Chris frowned in confusion. "I thought you quitted it. Thirty years ago." He mumbled, the cigarette in his mouth bounced up and down as he spoke, like a lever gone mad.
"And I thought you only smoked behind the cabin."
"Well, there's no need to anymore." Chris shrugged, scraping the back of his neck out of uneasiness with cold fingertips. Since his grandpa knew about his bad habit, what was the use for hiding longer? Yet, he still had to get used to that new freedom, if one can call it so.
"Yeah," Mary nodded. A phony grin popped up on her wrinkly face as quick as it faded. "Whatever. Do you have it or do I have to go all the way down to Brazil and roll myself a leaf straight from a tobacco plant?"
With a faint jolt, Chris extracted his new silver cigarette holder with the lighter inside it, he clicked it open and offered its contents to Mary.
"Be my guest." He absently muttered and, as soon as she picked what she needed, he immediately stepped back to his spot in the ever-narrowing room, just to keep a safety distance from his grandmother and her claws.
Mary lighted up the cigarette and began to idly stroll around the motorbike, pretending to be critically observing it longer. She exhaled dense white ruffles of smoke as she walked, slow and elegant like a feline. Yet to Chris she resembled an unstoppable locomotive, ready to derail and run over him at any moment.
Eventually, when Mary had circled two thirds of the room, she sat down on a crate, after carefully dusting it.
"So? Are you gonna stand there like a penguin in a storm all day?" Mary croaked and, patting on the next crate, she invited him to take a seat as well.
With the same excitement of who is stepping on gallows, Chris approached and sat down as she commanded. Like every sentenced criminal, he perfectly knew his destiny as well as he knew there was no way to avoid it – not that he actually wanted to. It may happen, at some point in the life of the guilty, that one may want to be seized and run in – like the finest serial killers do, for instance. Unlike every sentenced criminal, in fact, Chris thought he deserved whatever swinging sword of Damocles was about to thrash onto his neck and slice it apart from the body.
He needed to be punished.
Grandma and grandson smoked in silence for a while, until almost half of Mary's cigarette had consumed. Then, the old lady decided it was about time to interrupt that hideous quiet. Her grandson was about to discover a side of her he'd never witnessed before and that'd scare him to the core. He'd soon see how serious and solemn his lovely and quirky granny could be. All in good time, though. A cat always plays with her preys before eating them and Mary was no exception.
With the cigarette delicately pinched between her bony fingers, Mary smoothly adjusted the thick ankle-length flannel gown over her knees and crossed her legs. "What do you think about your grandfather's handiwork over here, uh?" She asked casually, right before taking a drag.
Chris scoffed quietly. So she's opted for going the long way round, he thought. At this rate, his agony would definitely be more painful than expected. Nevertheless, he could only go along with it. This time, it was up to her to set the pace of the dances. A wise gladiator never pricks the lion.
"I think it's quite good, actually. It'll come out a pretty decent bike."
"If you say so." Mary mumbled, quizzical. "It looks quite a mess now."
"You don't say." The boy only hummed.
Taking in a breath, Mary straightened up on the seat a little and tossed the ash off the burning cigarette. "It'll take a while to put all those scattered pieces together, I presume, but in the end the whole thing will come together." She observed, putting quite an emphasis on the last sentence, as if to hint at something, either a clue or a warning. "Don't you think so, darling?"
Chris sighed. At this point, it was obvious that Mary had decided to grill him on a low heat. And that she would.
Confronted by an obstinate silence, Mary quirked a brow and played some more just for spite. "It's nice that John asked for your help with it. He really has a high consideration of you, Chris dear."
"Yeah..." the boy sighed, tiredly. Speaking with a tone of cautious dejection, he raised the cigarette a bit and, nodding at it, he said, "I just hope he still does after what he saw me do."
Mary hummed.
Mary hummed a hum loaded with scorn. Then, silence. She was in control of her emotions as much as she was so of the conversation. There was no point in pretending that mechanics was the real topic of the conversation, so why indulge longer? It'd be so easy to just jump straight to the sore point after that ridiculously-appropriate occasion her grandson had served her. Damn, could he be any less indirect? He'd basically just asked for her forgiveness! To unmask him now would be a child's play but it'd also be harmful to Chris. Maybe he was eager to end that uncomfortable conversation, but the matters to be tackled needed utmost care and delicacy. Mary couldn't just be straightforward as if she were talking to a complete stranger about random crap like pickles price increase! This was serious shit and in seriousness it'd be treated.
Feeling every bit of his grandma's silence punch him like a tornado of steel fists, Chris took a strong drag. He kept the smoke inside for a few seconds, then exhaled it altogether. Just as he took in a breath to speak though, Mary preceded him.
"Listen dear," she said, her voice steady but soft, "I feel I have to be honest with you even if at the expenses of someone else's trust."
Regardless that he'd just done it, Chris shoved the cigarette back through his lips again and took another desperate drag. Eyes shut, he appealed to all the remaining shreds of courage left in him, if he could even find some among all that howling sense of alarm blasting in his head.
There she goes.
"And I hope for my honesty to be returned, Chris dear." Mary continued, looking straight at her grandson's face, who couldn't get to do the same and only offered her the sight of his profile.
Chris knew what was coming. Or at least, he thought he knew. He had this feeling like he wasn't the only one Claire had talked to about the pregnancy. Alright, she'd sworn nobody else knew but... but he knew she'd talked with grandma Mary all alone in the kitchen the other day, when she was broken as hell. He wouldn't blame her if she'd spilled the beans.
Yes, Mary knew for sure! And she was totally going to tell him so. She was going to say aloud that he had gotten nasty with his sister and impregnated her altogether. The truth was just one second away from blasting into the cabin and shaming him in his unearthed perversion, for sure!
Crushing every paranoid certitude of him, Mary rested a palm on his knee and, leaning in a little, she said, "I know about the accident."
Chris stiffened and gasped under his breath.
Accident.
Yeah, the pregnancy was totally an accident but... in his family that word only referred to one other thing since... since the 24th of September. Also, if Mary knew about the pregnancy she'd not beat around the bush, would she? She knew about... about... damn, did she know about the accident?!
"What accident?" Chris asked, playing it dumb to make sure he wasn't misunderstanding her words.
"The thing in Robert's lab and... and what it did to you and Claire." Mary answered, struggling to find the words to describe something as incredible as souls switching bodies.
In the silence that fell as that pack of trigger words faded into the cold, Chris released a shaky breath as the first of many shockwaves to come hit him. Despite being clear now that his grandma wasn't questioning him about the unwanted consequences of his debauchery, his heart began pumping hard, nevertheless. His inner alarm didn't allude to lower. On the contrary, it kept rising and rising, forcing adrenaline to release into his blood system.
"How do you know about it?" Chris asked, his voice shaking a little as he surrendered to the evidence.
Mary candidly answered "your dad told me a few days ago."
Chris clenched his jaw and eyelids as anger rose in him up to a point that it almost trumped his fear. "Why did he tell you?" He growled.
"Oh, please," Mary scoffed, "you know Robert, he can't hold his water."
Dad had told their grandma about the accident but it hadn't crossed his mind to tell him and Claire about it?! They should know about something this important! They should totally know there's someone new in the narrow circle of people they could confide to about past troubles!
Chris wanted to stand up, rush into the cottage, grasp his dad by the collar and bellow at his face how dared he to impose secrecy on his kids when he evidently couldn't keep it on his own!
Chris truly struggled to contain his rage. He clenched both fists, all at his cigarette's detriment that squeezed and broke between his fingers. Teeth gritted so hard in his mouth that even Mary could quite hear the screech, had she been younger.
The woman delicately rested a cold hand on Chris's wrist. "Calm down now." She soothed, worried by the livid colour arousing on her grandson's face and the bulging veins on his temple and throat.
"I've always kept my word." Chris blurted, flaring like a mad bull, "I never said a word about it to anyone just as he said and then he... h-he..." Chris almost chocked on his own anger. On the verge of crying out of rage, he trembled like a broken washing machine.
"Hey, now," Mary interrupted, "don't you think he just came clean as soon as I saw him. I had to work him up for a while," and, frowning darkly, she continued "also, I'm his mother, your grandmother, I'm not exactly anyone."
"I know but," Chris panted, by then unable to breathe regularly. He spoke in short, ragged pants, as he struggled to take a grip on himself. His chest heaved, his fists shook, his jaw clenched and tensed. "All this time... I had to hide and lie. To family and friends. I even had to meet grandpa and pretend I was a fucking girl. And I'm still supposed to keep my mouth shut and then? he blows it to everyone like twice!"
"Twice? Who else knows?" Mary wondered, surprised.
Chris briefly muttered something about Robert telling his two friends, Leon and Rebecca, when they'd already clearly discovered something on their own and had gotten Claire and him cornered.
Mary listened carefully, throughout fondling Chris's arm to help him appease his fluster, but to no avail. "I understand you're upset about it, dear, but to me it's like your dad only came to your rescue back then not to get you two harmed."
Chris snorted, "yeah but... still, he didn't have to tell you."
"Are you assuming your father shouldn't get help from his mom when he needs it?" Mary pointed out.
"No but... no, I don't mean that..." Chris sighed, downhearted, and his whole chest deflated a little, "But he should've told me he told you. At least that." He took his face in his hands and leaned onwards, resting his elbows on his knees. With the base of his palms he rubbed his eyes in the vain attempt to rub away that overwhelming feeling of hopelessness as well.
Mary raised her brows and pouted her lips in a quizzical manner and slightly ducked her head aside, "don't be too hard on your daddy. We all do mistakes, don't we? Wouldn't you want to be forgiven for making a mistake, Chris dear?"
Chris lowered his hands and let them dangle from his knees. His jaw and frown slowly relaxed to an expression of composed surrender. "I do."
Hell, if I do!
"I cannot imagine how hard it must've been for you and Claire..." Mary moaned, not letting down her quizzical expression.
"Hardest thing ever." He whispered, almost inaudibly.
"Mh," Mary hummed, "and you had to face it all on your own, right?"
For some reason it didn't feel quite alright to him to say she was wrong. She wasn't wrong. He and Claire had really felt let down to confront that huge shit all by themselves. "Yes," he eventually sighed.
"Would you like to talk about it?" Mary softly asked, rubbing his shoulder.
"There's not much to say..." Chris shrugged, finally noticing the crumpled remains of the cigarette in his hands and putting it off on the floor, "...except that it's over."
"And I'm so glad it is!" Mary exclaimed, "but something this big must've left some sort of mark in you. Please, dear, don't tell me you're fine 'cause I'm no idiot."
"I won't."
"So tell me," Mary enticed, "tell me how it fucked you and Claire up."
Chris shrugged, unsure on how to handle that question.
Fuck up can sound like the mildest of all euphemisms in the multi-millenary history of the English language when is meant to refer to what had happened to him and his sister. Is "fucked up" enough to describe someone forced to pretend belonging to a different gender for the sake of someone else? Isn't it "fucked up" to suffer such injustice, to endure such load of crap so that a bunch of bigwigs could sleep tight in their multi-millionaire beds and wages? How much fucked in the head he must've been to accept such state of things?
"I know it did." Mary grimly said, suddenly adopting a stern tone in her croaky voice. "And I suspect it left a pretty ugly scar on you, if it's safe to assume that the wound isn't still bleeding."
Chris sighed, fretful.
It was escalating too quickly, too directly.
Ill at ease, Chris stood up, unable to sit down any longer. Adrenaline and rage pushed him to step away from his grandma, he needed some air. He walked up to the motorbike and clenched his fist around one of the hand grips and absently clutched the brakes lever as if to test it.
His grandma wanted to talk it out but he only wished it all to stay dead and buried in the past where it belonged. Funny how, if she ever asked him only a week before he'd been utterly glad to get it all off his chest and receive comforting words in return, even though there's no way to talk it out for real and separate that tragic story from his forbidden incestuous romance. But now... now things had changed, bigger problems had come to make the whole body-switch thing seem like a child's play in comparison. He had way harder things to face now, he'd need greater advice now but, once more, he was in the position of keeping both a secret and his needs frustrated.
"Isn't it batshit crazy?" Chris forcibly chuckled, in a lame attempt at defusing the situation and regain a little control over his own feelings and, hopefully, the conversation as well. He quickly glanced over his shoulder at his grandma, who still sat behind him. "I've been your granddaughter for a month."
"Batshit crazy is letting a worldwide company hurt your kids, get away with it and even help it cover their own shit up! All for the sake of what? Their big money and a secret that shouldn't have ever existed in the first place!" Mary snarled in irritation towards the injustice that had stricken her loved ones. "That fucking science is batshit crazy, I tell you! My friends in the commune have been right about it since the sixties! But they gassed and shot at us rather than listening!" Grimacing in resentment, Mary shoved the cigarette back between her lips and took another long drag, suppressing the thought that her friends used to warn from tobacco companies' unscrupulousness as well. Exhaling, she snarled low and unforgiving, "your Dad's been a gutless pussy!"
"He hadn't much choice." Chris shrugged, letting go of the hand grip he'd been squeezing all along and, saddening even more, he simply stood there, with his back turned to his grandmother, eyes dropped. "He worked hard to get us back to normal, granny."
"Normal!" Mary tsk-tsked, "Normal, you say. But all I see is my two grandkids on the verge of breakdown!"
Chris's head ducked even lower, so low that the chin almost grazed his buff chest. Tight-lipped, he grabbed both sides of his head and raked his fingers through his short hair, massaging the scalp as if a strong headache just blasted within the skull.
Mary watched him throughout. Had he turned by chance, he'd have seen the look of determination on his grandmother's face. Mary knew the time to urge him had come. They'd tergiversated for too long. It was about time to lay all of their cards on the table and be honest with each other.
Mary's grey eyes cut through the air, sharp like blades, and pierced Chris square in the back as she spoke, low and earnest, "what happened in the bathroom?"
Chris stiffed on the spot. He'd seen it coming, yet he wasn't ready. How could he ever be ready to such a confession? He'd quite wanted it, he'd inwardly wished that question to be asked and give him a chance to be set free from his lies. But now that it was finally happening, he faltered. The fear of the consequences was too strong.
"Nothing." He promptly lied, keeping his eyes dropped and his back turned.
"Christopher." Mary warned.
"We told you," he said, unconvincing even to him, "I'd uh... I had the runs."
"Are you telling me that a gippy tummy caused your boxers to fall on the ground?" Mary sarcastically snorted, strangely slightly amused by his obstinacy. The old woman took a drag and quickly exhaled, not to leave any time for her grandson to utter further bullshit at her face. "Let's see if I get this right," her forefinger swinged in the air as she spoke, "you get colic therefore you expose yourself to your sister. Perfectly logical."
"I had to wash myself afterwards." Chris explained, discomfort hastening his words, "and Claire's seen me naked a thousand times when she was me. So no big deal."
"Cut the shit, Christopher!" Mary bellowed, forcefully standing up and pushing him to turn to face her. "Who do you think I am?!" She snarled. Her voice sounded rougher than usual, her scowl darker than ever, her lips tighter than the hold of panic that gripped her grandson's bowels right then. With the cigarette pinched between her fingers she accusingly pointed at him. "If that was the look of an innocent that I saw on your face I'd tell, don't you think so?"
There was no way Chris could find the words to defend himself further. So he didn't even try. He could see when the end begins. His time had come. There was no point in weaselling further nor in his stubborn pride. What's the point of lying if everyone already knows the truth?
Chris sighed and ducked his head. Eyes dropped to the ground, he clenched his jaw and loosened his fists, and nodded, eventually giving up and accepting his fate.
Unperturbable in her determination, Mary looked at him down her nose and took account of his surrender. "I'll let you speak first," she said, softer than before but not less earnest, "don't waste this chance to save your face to your granny for one last time."
As burning tears pricked in Chris's eyes and he fought them back mercilessly, he shook his head, unsure what he was supposed to say. Or rather... how.
"Why were you naked with Claire in the bathroom?" Mary urged, repeating her question loud and clear.
"Last night I..." he cleared his throat twice before continuing, unable to look at his granny straight in the face as his own face grew hot, anticipating the shame that was about to possess him, "I touched her."
Mary's silence frightened him in a way he'd remember for the rest of his pitiful life. The wordless quiet lasted no more than a couple of seconds, but still, it almost gave him a heart attack. If the news hit hard Mary, her wordless expression hit even harder Chris.
"Have the balls to call things by their name, Christopher." Mary reproached, her voice quivered madly as she spelled each word slowly and solemnly, "how far did you get?"
With a barely audible whisper, flushed cheeks and vision blurred by restrained tears, Chris answered, "far enough."
"You mean too far, then." Mary chastised with a husky wheeze, her croaky voice rife with hurt and disappointment.
Like after every blast, once the echo has faded, only silence remains to fill the void and it can grow so tense it suffocates you. Similarly, so it happened inside the backyard cabin now that Chris had admitted part of his wrongdoing and nastiness.
Finally feeling the blow, Mary had to sit back down on the crate lest she'd faint. She collapsed onto it quite short of breath. She tossed the cigarette on the floor, careless to even extinguish it with the foot. If there was someone in that fucking place that she'd like to stomp all over to, well, it certainly wasn't the cigarette.
Aside from him and his sister, Mary now was the only other person in the whole world to know about their sin – or rather, about part of it. This could either turn her into a precious ally or in the worst of enemies. It was only up to her to decide the fate of her grandkids, Claire and Chris. The latter being perfectly aware that the next ten seconds would make the difference between death and life for him.
When the air gets so rarefied for the explosiveness of unmentionable truths, to hold your breath for just ten seconds can seem like the most difficult apnoea ever. Therefore, Chris almost choked on his own words as soon as he found the courage to speak again.
"Grandma..."
"How long has it been going on?" Mary snarled, harsh and interrupting his vain attempt to clearly say something stupid like I'm sorry.
"A while now." Chris muttered, and hastened to add, "but we've stopped now."
Mary raised her gaze to pierce him with her cold grey eyes, burning with raging hurt, and wrinkles encircled her scornful frown as she squinted at him. "Oh please! Show a little respect! You haven't stopped a fuck!" She grunted in anger and offense. The old lady didn't wait for Chris to retort but abruptly stood up to confront him. "You say you touched her, I say you two fucked," she sputtered, approaching with every word she said, "and no one will change my mind, let alone you and your apologies."
"I never denied that." Chris replied, staring challengingly. He was taller than her, but her stature would top him nevertheless for how little he felt inside now that they were standing face to face, ever so close.
Mary tightened her lips in a grimace of restrained judgement and spelled her next question without any pity to soil her words. "How's Claire position in this?"
Chris perfectly knew what she meant. And it took him a while to gulp down the temptation to go back on his word and make his sister the victim of his perversion, but he lastly avoided uttering the words he promised to never say. Maybe he did it out of honesty, maybe out of cowardice.
"She... uh," Chris cleared his throat, how was he supposed to say it? "She wanted it too."
"Wanted?"
"I never forced her to make love to me, if that's what you're asking." Chris said, feeling outright accused by her tone.
The woman seemed to overlook the explicitness of his words and focused on the meaning. "Are you sure you didn't push her into something this harmful?" Mary insinuated, although softer than moments before, "she looks up to you so much, you may not know the effect th-"
"She started it, okay?" Chris exclaimed, raising his voice just a little, "is it enough for you? She started it!"
Mary inspected his features for long instants of renewed overwhelming suffocation before nodding and accepting his words for true. There was no deceit to be found.
Chris glanced over his shoulder at the door to make sure it was closed and to check that nobody was coming, maybe drawn by his sudden outburst. Then he looked straight into Mary's eyes and grasped her shoulders, frowning slightly as he did so. "Don't tell anybody." He commanded, or rather, intimated.
Absolutely unaffected by the threat underlying his words, a scoff escaped Mary's nose quite spontaneously. "I fear you haven't grasped the gravity of the situation, then."
"I have!" Chris snapped, "I know it all too well. But I can assure you we got this."
"What I smelled in the bathroom air last night tells a different story, Chris."
"That was a mistake."
"And I fear it won't be the last one if we don't do anything."
Chris tightened his grasp around her shoulders. "Dad would kill us if he knew. Please, granny, don't." He begged, desperate.
With a quick movement, Mary slapped his hands off her shoulders and shook off his grip, throughout making an unforgiving eye contact with him. "What the hell were you thinking, Christopher?!" Mary bellowed, grey irises shrinking in the bloodshot white of her peeled eyes.
As she raised her voice, Chris lost it and both began yelling at each other. Mary's accusations overlapping with his excuses.
"What the fuck was in your mind-"
"It didn't happen out of nowhere! Fucking Lord!"
"-when you decided it was a good idea to-"
"We were dying, each day, and-"
"-shove your dick inside your sister?!"
"-nobody cared to check us out!" Differently from Mary, Chris didn't stop his yelling. "She was the only one! The only one standing by me! And I know," he let escape a sarcastic snort at himself, between the tears running down his stubbled cheeks, "I know I shouldn't have touched her body, but it was the only escape I had! And when we switched back… I… I couldn't stop wanting her."
"Having sex with your sister is not like smoking, you bloody fucker! It ain't a bad habit you can't quit!"
"To me… it was." Chris wept shakily, a thick wall of tears glistening in his brown eyes, as his brows furrowed in pain at the remembrance.
"Liar." Mary hissed. "It's a choice! You chose to. Every single time you chose to cross a line you were never even supposed to see that close!"
"I had no more control." Chris continued, trying a desperate last defence. "I had nothing left but her."
"Don't act like a victim, 'cause your not. Not in this, at least." Mary reproached.
Chris was about to say that he'd fallen in love with Claire but somehow to admit he had romantic feelings for his own sister felt worse than confessing he'd regularly fucked her. Also, it wouldn't take long for Mary to remember what he'd told her a few days back, in the porch, about being hopelessly in love with an impossible girl.
So Chris said nothing and simply watched Mary stalk back to the crate. She breathed heavily, as if she'd just stopped a long run, suddenly feeling all of her seventy-two years weigh on her limbs. Shivering in cold, she adjusted the woollen shawl draped around her skinny shoulders. Chris eyed them, so curved under the weight he'd just unloaded upon her, braids and pins of the neat updo hairstyle being the only thing bravely standing the grave load, and Chris couldn't help pitying her and feeling sorry for himself.
Mary worried her wrinkly face and forehead with her bony hands and gently shook her head from side to side, deep in thought.
"You were wrong before." Mary mumbled at some point, unclear whether she was actually speaking to him or she was thinking out loud, "Robert is not going to kill you two." Spitefully, she raised her head and turned once more to face him. "He'll kill only you." Her thin lips naturally pouted and pointed straight at him when uttering that ominous last word.
Chris didn't move a single muscle and let the prediction thrash against him like a tsunami.
Mary looked away. Wrinkles cut deep around her down-curved mouth and her forehead. She'd exhale hard every now and then. "You tell me, what am I supposed to do right now, uh?" If it was a question, it rather sounded like an imploration.
Chris shook his head, weeping all along, "nothing." His whisper was more of a wheeze. "You have to do nothing."
"It is so goddamn dangerous what you're doing."
"I know," he said, "we both know and, please, for the life of me, believe me, we have stopped! If you fink on us now, all of our efforts will be… useless."
Mary scanned his features for long moments before the hardness wrinkling her grimace began fading and relenting. "You have to assure me, Chris, that it's over. This is some big shit."
"I promise."
"So, if I have to do nothing, what will you do?"
Chris wiped his tears with the back of his hands and gulped down. One-million-dollar question. Mary didn't know, but he couldn't ignore the fact that there was also the whole pregnancy thing to deal with, he had to considered it in his answer.
For a long, long instant a tempting thought crossed his mind.
He stared at Mary, dead in the eye.
It was risky.
It was tempting.
It was unfair.
It was dangerous.
Mary did nothing to entice his answer, considerately letting him the time to ponder it carefully.
Chris's lip shook.
He couldn't confide his grandmother to accept that second revelation as easily. There was no fucking way she'd be as merciful if she knew… she knew…
"I'll talk to Claire. I'll tell her you know." Chris murmured. "This will surely push her not to touch me ever again. She'll hate me, she'll die in shame, but she- we'll be safe. And then…" He faltered.
"Then?"
The muscles of his jaw tightened below the stubble as a look of determination dawned on his face. "Then, if I'll need your help, I'll reach out. But you have to promise me, that no matter what I say, you'll keep your word and tell nobody about anything you'll learn. This story must not leave this cabin."
"You speak as if there's more to it than I know of."
"It's your only way to help your grandkids, granny. Otherwise…" Chris's frown became immediately darker and threatening, "otherwise, everyone will know that you knew and did nothing."
"I don't like the way you sound right now," Mary warned, scowling.
Chris's look hardened further, "you must keep this a secret and take it to the grave, grandma. You're the only one we can trust. Promise me."
"You can't ask me such an oath."
"Promise me, grandma."
"You're eighteen years old, Christopher. I'll never take orders f- I'm your grandmother, I'll always do what I think is best for you, not else."
Chris nodded. To him, that was all he needed to hear.
Mary watched her grandson leave the cabin and walk back to the cottage all wrapped in his black coat.
Watching him from behind, one could actually believe he was a man and not an overgrown boy who's hardly in his coming of age. But it'd not trick her. Chris believed he could handle the shit he was swimming into, but Mary knew he'd soon implore her to come, cover their sin and clean their mess. What would she do if Robert ever found out? Would she offer her protection? Would she shield her grandchildren from the shocked backlash? Would she stand her ground against her own first-born son or would she side him? Would she join the torch and pitchfork crowd?
Enough.
She needed a break.
She knew she couldn't just make do with Chris's words but she needed to think this all through. Calmly. With a cool head.
There's no reason to hurry up, after all.
Mary gave one last glance at her surroundings and grimaced, "what has John even got to do with a motorbike? He can't even ride with all those bloody piles he got. Had he to wait being in his seventies to get his fucking middle-age crisis?"
Somehow, I made to the ending of the chapter.