The light was still on in the shack. The alligator was gone for once, but he couldn't make a move now. Not when she had company. She looked to be one of those women who had accompanied the children, back when he had finally found this place. He could probably handle it, but the thought of hurting an innocent woman, even one that associated with this witch, was appalling. It was not God's will for her to die. He could only hope the divine forces would find some way to strike down upon her for her ignorance. Either way, it was not his job.
He had found a good spot, one where he couldn't be seen from the road or the shack. Sometimes he thought she had seen him or at least heard him. She knew how to read nature, he was aware of that. He had seen her talking to plants and whatnot in the brief time she lived at home. It baffled him that the others couldn't see just how mad she was.
Finally, movement. The guest was returning home. They appeared in the doorway. He hadn't see them closely when this other woman arrived, because she had entered before Misty could show her face. Now he could see them both. And he stared. Because he had not been prepared for this.
They didn't commit any physical act of wrong, but the way they held each other, the way they leaned into each other's faces, there might as well had been those forbidden touches. It couldn't be any more obvious. Misty touched the other woman's face, tugged her hair behind her ear and Gavin had to look away. If he saw more of this abomination, he wasn't sure he could keep from bursting out of his cover and run forth to cut both these wenches down. Was nothing sacred in this Godforsaken place behind the trees?
When he dared peeking, the woman was leaving. She's an innocent, he reminded himself. Enchanted. She couldn't be held responsible for dancing to the flute of the devil.
Gavin glared at the witch left at her door. There was truly not a shred of humanity in her. She might be in touch with nature, but she was the greatest sin against it. He remembered how some of the boys in town, who didn't know what she was, tried to impress her. Tried to get their way with her. To no avail of course and now he understood why. She could not feel natural love. Of course she couldn't. There was nothing natural about the devil. This demon descend was no different. She lived only to corrupt pure souls in the most despicable ways. She had even gotten to him, filled his own blood with filth, before he was even born.
He hated her. With all the white-hot fury of a roaring fire, he hated her. He hated that he saw some of his own features in her face. That they shared blood. His half-sister. He almost hated his father for bringing this upon him. They should have cut Margaret Day's throat the day she had fallen pregnant. Even if it meant his father might have gotten the knife too and Gavin himself would never have been born, they should have done it!
He remembered there had been a torn atmosphere the day Margaret Day returned with her witch child. She was a teenager by then, just a skinny, but taller. Fiercer. Wilder. Her eyes shone with a sinister power. It was clear to everyone that she had conquered something in those woods. Some didn't even remember her, because the years had changed her so much, if you overlook the hair. Those who did were either too awed by her survival or too scared for the same reason to bother her. Some even liked Margaret in her frail days and payed a few visits. She didn't yell as much and somehow that was rewarded with company. Gavin always stayed as far away as possible, but he caught glimpses of Misty once in a while. She spent most of her time trying to force her own wickedness into her mother, making pacts with the devil to lift her from the disease, which had fallen upon Margaret for her atrocity. The little witch never knew who he was, he made sure. She didn't talk to his father either. That was the deal. He was the priest now. He shouldn't endure the presence of evil. It was bad enough that he had allowed it back in his town. He had a soft spot for this one and it wasn't until a few weeks ago, where he finally confessed the truth, Gavin understood why.
The light went off in the shack. This was his chance.
Silent, like a shapeless shadow, he snuck through the woods towards the door. He could feel the thrill flow through his body with the adrenaline. As soon as he sunk the blade into her body, he would be free of this suffocation. He would no longer be related to this container of evil. He wondered, in his approach, what it would look like, when he killed her. He imagined she would bleed. Her form was human after all. Perhaps her blood would be black. That seemed fitting. Perhaps her eyes would go white or red and he would feel a sense of cold as the demon descended back to the flames of hell. Maybe not cold, maybe a burn in his feet instead. It didn't matter. He would know soon enough.
A sudden fast ruffling through the grass made his heart leap into his chest. When he saw it, he only had a second left to react. The alligator came running towards him, dead eyes of an ancient predator zoned in on him and tail swinging like a weapon behind it. He didn't think. He turned and ran.
His heel kicked its deadly jaws once and he sped up. He rushed back into the cover of the forest and climbed the first tree that welcomed him. Safe on a branch, he hugged his arms around the tree, his heart pounding painful pulses through his system. He dared looking down.
The alligator was moving back towards the shack. It laid down by the garden, close to the front door. He felt like it was still watching him. Did alligators even behave like that? Of course they didn't, he thought, sending out another hateful thought. She had enchanted it. Perhaps her powers stretched further than he had first anticipated. He would have to find a new point of entry now. He started to wish he had just run out and killed Misty along with her bewitched guest, when he had the chance.
O0O
Misty strode up the pavement towards the Goode mansion. The promise to lay off Hank wasn't forgotten, but a night's sleep hadn't eased her mind one bit and she would take it no more. It felt like something was watching her out there and she thought maybe it was just the image of that man's hands bruising Cordelia's arm, which haunted her.
She didn't spare a second thought this time, but went straight for the door. It was unlocked and she shoved it open. It was the strangest feeling, being back here, but she only allowed herself a moment's remembrance, before she moved down the hallway in search for Hank. The cold, white walls and the lack of smell wouldn't get a change to subdue her.
When she barged into the living room, it wasn't Hank she found. It was Fiona. And what she saw made her stop, for a fleeting moment too shocked to go on.
She had never seen Cordelia's mother look this weak.
She sat in an armchair with her side turned to Misty, but she didn't look up. Misty wasn't sure she even noticed her entry. On the table in front of her was a bottle of a whiskey – Misty had seen enough of those by now to recognize the brand – and a half-empty glass. Fiona didn't notice that either. She stared at her own hand, holding an airy lump of blonde hair. Her own.
"You don't realize your own mortality until you're staring into the face of your newborn child", she suddenly said. Her voice was a ghost of the sharp clear one Misty remembered. Her gaze remained on the hair in her hand and Misty wasn't sure, if she was talking to her or herself. Fiona continued in the same hoarse, weak voice: "The balance of nature must prevail. The life you bring to is the reason you must die in the end. That's it. Goddamn balance." A scoff. The first sound Misty could truly allocate to her picture of Fiona. "And they say childbirth is a miracle. It's a death sentence!" At this, she finally looked up. Her face looked decades older and her eyes were wild with frantic fury. They widened, as she seemed to finally realize who was listening to her words. "You?"
Misty sensed it in her, the sickness. But if there was ever a time she felt sorry for Fiona Goode, now wasn't it.
"How dare you speak of Cordelia that way?" She snarled. "How dare you sit here feelin' sorry for yourself after all the misery you caused her? You were never there for her when she needed you. You're a horrible mama!"
Fiona's eyes narrowed. A familiar tone of superiority crept into her sneer, when she said: "You've got some nerve, kid. I took you in, put under my roof, fed you and this is the gratitude you show me? Disturbing my peaceful morning by yelling things of which you don't have the first clue?"
"I know nothin'? You treated me like a dog!"
"You never behaved like a goddamn human! You screamed all the time, you ate like a savage and you continuously wet the bed, because you were scared of silly things like cooling fans and nightlights!" She looked like she wanted to say more, but closed her mouth before it could get out. She eyed the handful of hair again and when her gaze found Misty's again, all the fury was gone. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It was a different world for you after all. Tell me instead what you're doing here after all this time?"
Misty's teeth were bared in a snarl, but the change in Fiona's voice had softened her urge to attack. She answered, in a calmer voice: "Hank bruised her arm. I came to talk to him."
Fiona laughed, one that was croaked and mocking. "He's not here. Normal people work at these hours, you see. But I don't think you came here to talk." Misty snarled at her. It earned her a raised eyebrow. "Glad to hear you're still so well articulated- Calm down, Mowgli, you have my blessing, if you want to knock him out. I heard about your little drama and honestly, you have my vote. I may have stopped you back then, but I won't this time. It was wrong of me and I'm sorry."
Misty found herself at a loss for words. She didn't know what to do with this sudden change of topic. The apologies out of nowhere. It was so odd, seeing Fiona like this. Illness shone from her, her voice was weak with age and whatever hid under her skin, but her words were as sharp as Misty remembered them. Until a second ago.
"Why are you bein' so nice all of a sudden?"
Fiona sighed. It wasn't a sigh of exasperation, one of those she had given Misty all through her childhood, when she thought her nothing but a laughable circus act. This one was full of resignation, something the Fiona Misty knew would sooner die than express.
The stranger in the armchair squished the hair between her fingers and then hid it in her fist. With her free hand, she reached for the glass and emptied it. The metallic clink as she sat it down cut into the silence like a blade.
"Because", Fiona finally said. "I need your help."
Misty crossed her arms. "What makes you think I'm gonna help you?"
Fiona searched her face. "Do you even know what I'm asking of you?"
"You're sick. You want me to make you better."
She could see that Fiona had not been expecting this. Her eyes searched a little deeper and then she shook her head.
"You really are something. You're right. It's liver cancer. Cordelia wasn't wrong; I have been sabotaging my own body. I never cared. But this goddamn thing took me by surprise and I'll be damned if Papa Legba is getting me before I win back my glory. That bastard Foxx hasn't seen the last of me..." She chuckled with humorless laughter. "The doctors keep shoving poison into my veins and telling me it might fix me or it might just kill me more. But what harm would it do you to help me? I could just change doctor if you're afraid they will know about your abilities. I'll shut up forever, but I can't die like this… Your skill hasn't become a limited source now, has it?"
"Not that I know of."
"Then what is the problem?"
Misty took a good look at the stranger in front of her. A bit of the old Fiona stared out from those eyes. The face might have aged, but eyes didn't age the same way. It was the woman of her childhood staring back, demanding her cooperation as if she was still the same old dictator, but the eyes had lost some of their strength. She had no power over Misty. And she knew it. Whatever shred, she might have had of such, disappeared as soon as she handed over the adoption paper.
Misty stared her down with all her distaste centered in her gaze.
"You don't deserve it", Misty said. "You broke your own daughter and I'm glad I wasn't really yours. I spent a year of my life tryna save my real mama, but I wouldn't waste two minutes on you."
Fright blossomed in Fiona's eyes. Misty thought it might have made her feel better to feel above the supreme of the house for once, but it didn't. Still, the unease wasn't enough to change her mind.
"Please, Misty."
"No." Misty turned to leave. There was no reason to be here anymore. Even the urge to twist Hank's arm around until it snapped had seeped out of her, driven away by this new plead in Fiona's voice. It sounded all wrong and she didn't want to be here another second.
"Wait!"
With great reluctance, Misty turned around again. Fiona's gaze were fastened on her and it shone with desperation.
"Please don't tell my daughter", she said. "I don't think she can handle it right now."
Misty knew she was right. She hated the thought of keeping a secret from Cordelia, but she remembered the misery in her eyes, when Misty learned about Myrtle's death. Her fragile soul might just die.
"I won't", Misty promised. "But for her sake. Not for yours."
Then she left.
O0O
Fiona had only moved from the chair once since Misty slammed the door behind her. At first, she was worried she might not be able to keep it together, if she got up. She had taken Misty's compassion for granted. Why exactly she had done so, she couldn't quite remember now. Perhaps it was that every memory she had of Misty was tied to her daughter as well. Misty was the most compassionate soul in the universe, whenever she was with Cordelia. She was always smiling or looking at Cordelia with those big blue eyes full of adoration. Everyone could have been fooled. Fiona had momentarily forgotten how Misty used to snarl at everyone else. Misty was loyal, yes. Fiercely so, but her loyalty had only ever lay with Cordelia.
Fiona never stood a chance at getting her help. And now death felt closer than ever. She could practically hear Papa Legba laughing at her.
This thought was what drove her to get up once. The fear crawled inside her like a suffocating heat and she needed a dash of snow to cleanse her system. A whiff to make her feel alive again. This particular feeling had started to look like a limited source.
Neither of them knew. It suited Fiona just fine that they foolishly believed she went on dates. Cordelia didn't realize it, when Fiona started swapping most her alcohol for cocaine back when they lived in Boston and she didn't need to know now. Let her think Fiona was trading her whisky for a man. She had enough with her sponge of a husband. It seemed she had managed to work Fiona's favorite poisons into the picture of her father, when Cordelia chose her husband.
Fiona leaned back and enjoyed the hours while the effect of the drug peeked. Alcohol were never friends with nausea, but this took the edge off. She just barely found her way back to reality, back in her chair, when Hank came home.
He skulked around the house for a bit, as Fiona descended. Fiona wasn't counting on seeing more than that of him, for which she was grateful. Imagine the rough landing from the flight, with this apprehensive caveman as her only welcome committee. Even so, she noticed his restlessness. As if the house suddenly felt too big for him, now that he knew his wife may not be there to take up half the space after all. Cordelia wasn't with Misty as often after the reveal, Fiona noticed, but she didn't refrain completely. Fiona really hoped Hank pulled himself together soon, linked the dots and got the hell out of her house.
To her surprise, he came into the room and sunk onto the couch instead.
"Christ, you must be desperate for company."
Hank only huffed and helped himself to the bottle he had brought with him. He took a graceless mouthful, chewed it and sunk it, staring right ahead all the while.
"For someone who's been drinking heavily since puberty, you really have no handle on the grace of it."
He huffed again and Fiona started to get annoyed.
"You're too old to mope like that."
He finally looked at her. A certain shadow had crept over his face. It was growing darker every day and Fiona wondered how long he would take it, before he snapped.
"Don't you have a job to go to?"
She did. She had taken the day off. Sadly, her Boston head secretary, Quentin Fleming, had started to notice the amount of sick days she had and now he was in on the secret. As much as she loathed the fact that he knew weakness in her, at least she got to take advantage. She was supposed to fly home a week ago, but she couldn't really bring herself to care. They could go bankrupt without her and Quentin could hold the fort for another few weeks. She would do her work from here. God bless the phone. It spared her the immense displeasure of his company. Quentin was just as nosy as her former secretary, but half as efficient. She almost missed Cecily Pembrooke, that snooping idiot.
Fiona merely shrugged for an answer and shot a glance at the flask.
"You don't even care that she cheated on me, do you? You just want me to give up and leave, don't you?"
"I truly do."
He almost slammed the bottle down on the coffee table with a tremendous clatter.
"Watch my furniture, will you?" Fiona said in a calm voice. The last of the snow dance kept her from getting overly upset about the noise.
"You're a horrible person, you know that, right? She cheated on me! I've done nothing but love her and keep her safe the best I could, you know this! Yet, I'm sure you would have gutted me like a fish if it was the other way around!"
"Of course I wouldn't gut you. Apparently, I had maids for that, but you knew that, didn't you? I'm sorry I can't conjure a higher level of passion for your deranged moral code. Why don't you just admit to me, that's how your father got all the intel to smear my reputation? You ran off and told him everything about the little drama as soon as you got it out of Cordelia, did you not?"
His face paled and his eyes grew wild for a second, before he shook his head and took another mouthful.
"I don't know what you're talking about. It was all over the news."
"I know you're an idiot, Hank, but don't take me for the same. I know it was you. So you don't get moody points for complaining about my daughter deceiving you, when you started that game long ago."
"Who says I'm the one who told anyone anything? I've met one of your old friends, she was more than willing to spill about Cordelia's past, so why not yours too?"
There is was again. Fiona recalled Cordelia saying something similar.
"Who is this imaginary friend you're all talking about?"
His eyes narrowed. "Who's playing stupid now? I talked to Pauline. You're really trying to make me believe you don't know her?"
The thoughts kept twirling in her mind. There were no memories to gather from; she had never had a friend of this name. No amount of alcohol or cocaine could erase an entire person. Still, she couldn't grasp how else Hank would know all of this. She had always kept the details tight. She had made sure no one ever asked about Misty after she left. Anyone who might come by the house was forbidden to mention her, because Cordelia flinched at the bare whisper of her. No one else but the habitants of the house would know about the nature of Cordelia and Misty's relationship. Not even she had recognized it fully, how could someone from the outside… Then it hit her. It didn't have to be someone from the outside. She had no control of either former servants' whereabouts, but the one that could talk was running out of sentence. How could she forget?
"This Pauline…" Fiona asked, ignoring his question. He stared at her, clearly annoyed that she had checked out of the conversation in her efforts to remember. "Is she a sour looking old crone with dark hair and a face like a toad?"
Hank eyed her with suspicion. "Yeah I guess... If you're still pretending not to know her, you're not very good at-"
"Oh I know her, you blind moron. She's my old maid, not my friend!"
His eyes widened more and with the uncontrolled beard and the ruffled, unkempt hair he looked more like a wild dog than ever. "You're saying that…"
"I shouldn't have been surprised she conned you. It's been Delphine, filling you with lies. Her sentence must have expired a month or so ago. Ten years she got for that disgusting stunt. And for threatening my daughter. And Misty."
"She told me Misty is dangerous."
Fiona scoffed. She glanced at the bottle, but with Hank's saliva on the edge, she would rather down a flask of drain cleaners and get it over with.
"Lies. She's wild and weird and awfully bothersome, but she's not dangerous."
"She also told me that Cordelia and Misty always were more than friends."
"That one, it seems, is true. I'll give her that." Fiona chuckled, mostly because the look of desperation on Hank's face grew with each second. Fiona wondered where Delphine was now. Probably hiding somewhere in the city. Fiona imagined she would see the bitter, unstable employee again and soon. She would have to keep her eyes open.
"You really don't want me to win this, do you?" Hank finally said. He stared at the bottle while he said it, spoke through his clenched jaw.
Fiona got up. "If you call my daughter 'something to win' again, then maybe I will gut you like a fish. Don't ever think that us sharing the bottle gets you any kind of goodwill from me, boy."
She walked out of the living room then. Watching him suck on that bottle of vodka made her insides cry out for a drink and she thought a little one could hardly make the nausea any worse. And she needed some liquid strength to process the thought of their old maid freely roaming the streets of New Orleans. Fiona imagined she would strike her first.
A/N: I wonder if anyone feels like taking Hank's side yet? The poor guy could use someone in his corner against Fiona at least. Also, I want to apologize in advance for being really late with the next chapter. I have two lovely exams coming up soon, so the writing will be scarce.
