Chapter 6: Cast from the Fire
Another Friday and Molly's nerves were no better than the last. She tried on her new lipstick, the red shade too bright for her comfort. She left it on anyway, pouting her lips out before puffing her cheeks in frustration. She braided her hair to the side, frowning at the awkward point of her chin and small angles of her lips. Turning away from the mirror, she shimmied into her skirt and blouse. Her phone buzzed on the dresser, the phone lighting with a message.
Jim: Ready?
Molly: Nearly.
She set her phone down, glancing over her braids, smoothing her skirt, turning to see herself in her mirror. Her phone went off again, vibrating across her dresser top.
She leaned over, giving a frustrated sigh at his name again on the screen. He certainly didn't seem to be very patient. He usually texted her four times to her one, without saying anything new.
She heard the apartment door open as the ringing stopped, and she quickly tugged on her shoes and sprinted across the room to meet him in the living room.
Instead, she came face to face with her mother. The woman swayed on her feet, cheeks red and face scrunched in anger. Molly stepped instinctively back, taking note of objects in her mother's reach. She continued stepping back, watching her mother look around the room. She wasn't fast enough.
Momma's eyes locked onto her. Molly winced at the snarl that twisted her mother's lips.
"What kinda whore make up is that? I ain't taught you to dress like no slut." Momma came towards her with shaky legs. "All your tits hanging out. Bet you think you look right pretty."
Momma sneered, advancing until Molly's back hit the wall behind her.
"Momma, I'm going on a date, remember? I'm going with Jim from last week." Molly tried to pull away when Momma grabbed hold of her blouse. The thick smell of whiskey rolled over Molly's senses, and she blinked the sting of alcohol out of her eyes.
"I ain't ever let you dress like a slut, girl." With one hard yank, the fabric gave, and the v-cut of Molly's shirt tore around to reveal the white cotton of her bra. Momma laughed. "Teach you to wear that shit. Go make me a drink."
"You've had enough. I thought you were supposed to be looking for a job." Anger burned on Molly's tongue like bile. She pulled her shirt over her chest, trying to think of another shirt she could wear. She didn't have many nice ones to choose from.
Her thoughts were interrupted as her mother swung back around to her, half pushing and half leaning against her, nearly toppling them both over. Cigarette smoke and whiskey nearly choked her, the mixture heavy and vile on the air. Her mother pushed off of her with a painful grip on her shoulder.
"I said get me a drink. I ain't asking you twice, now get." Momma pushed away from her, shuffling over to collapse on the couch.
Molly blinked back tears, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "I said no, Momma. I'm not getting you a drink. You've had enough, and I'm not going to be here tonight to watch you."
"You're gonna go whore around with that boy of yours ain't you? Well I got news for you, girl. I saw your man." Momma chuckled darkly, struggling to reach the remote on the floor. "He was all doped up behind my bar. I saw him there when I went out the back, just slumped over with a little needle in his arm."
"You vile liar!" Molly rushed into the living room, blocking the television. "You don't even know what he looks like. Why do you ruin everything?" She shrieked it louder than she'd meant. Her shirt flapped uselessly, falling down her shoulder.
"You don't call me no liar, now!" Momma screamed, jumping up on unsteady legs. "I keep this house in line while you're off chasing junkies."
Momma stumbled towards her. She fell with a crash onto the kitchen table, knocking over the candles and leaves and pumpkins Molly had set up for fall. She let out a low, guttural moan from the floor that slowly turned into Molly's name.
"Molly, baby, help your Momma. Moooolly…" She twisted on the floor, tangling herself in the tablecover.
Molly sighed and ran her hands through her hair, waiting on her mother to stand or kneel or something. When she continued rolling fruitlessly shuffling over to the mess on the floor, Molly finally edged over, keeping on her toes in case her mother tried to swing from the ground. "Get up. You got yourself down there, you can get yourself up."
"Don't lip me. Help your Momma. Help your Momma up." Momma held out her hands, letting loose another low moan.
Molly leaned over the pitiful tangle of orange fabric and flailing limbs, frowning and offering her mother a hand and grunting at her dead weight. "Did you spend all day at the bar again, Momma?"
"No! I got an escort from the building." Momma stuck her nose in the air, brushing off imaginary dust from her fall. "I got tired of their attitude."
"They cut you off and kicked you out, you mean." Molly said dryly. She sighed, picking up the mess off the floor. She'd only just managed to get up the last leaf when something hard smacked into the back of her head. Black flashed behind her lids and she caught herself on the floor, turning around to see her mother fuming. The candle that had been chunked at her rolled away into the kitchen.
"I told you not to call me no liar." Momma's voice was loud in Molly's ringing ears.
Molly froze as she tried to stand. The door opened behind her, and she heard a low hum of surprise as the newcomer noticed the mess of her home.
"I guess you're not ready?" Jim's voice slithered through the living room, spurring her into motion.
She stood, pulling her ruined shirt over her chest. She crossed her arms, her cheeks burning red as she looked down. Pain bloomed across her head when she stood, the base of her skull pounding.
"I'm not sure tonight's such a good night." Her voice shook, tears gathering at her eyelashes. "I'm so sorry you had to see this." She gestured at the mess with the arm not holding her shirt.
"You apologizing for me? You don't speak for me, shut your mouth." Momma sauntered over to Jim, face inches from his as she looked him over. "I don't like the looks of this one. You ain't going out tonight no way. Your Momma needs you."
"Nonsense. Your daughter is perfectly capable of making her own decisions. Of course she wants to go with me." He slipped away from her mother's shrewd scrutiny, coming over to place a hand against her arm. "Go on and get changed, Molly. We'll have a wonderful night."
"She ain't going nowhere with no boy. I ain't having no slut walking 'round here. She got studies, she got bills to pay!" Momma shrieked, hurling worn-out couch cushions at the two of them. "She ain't spreading her legs for you if she wants to sleep in this house. She ain't giving you no free lay."
Molly stood, frozen, in the middle of the floor as her mother and Jim faced off. He remained smiling, ignoring Momma's screaming, thrashing fit. He dodged a trinket, fixing cold eyes on her and raising an eyebrow. "Molly, weren't you going to get dressed?"
"Oh, yeah," she mumbled, scurrying back to her room and grabbing the first decent blouse she found. She paused to steady herself, her head pounding and her blood surging in horror and anger. With a deep breath she started to get dressed.
Stripping off the ruined remains of her first shirt, she tossed it in the garbage and hurried to straighten out her new one. She practically ran back to the room, half expecting to see Jim cowering under Momma's endless screaming. Instead, she found Momma pacing through the living room, path blocking the door, hollering occasional obscenities and insults.
"You ain't going. You ain't leaving this house, you hear me?" Momma stopped her pacing long enough to point a wobbly finger at her daughter, her face red and hair wild. Wide eyes made her appear mad.
"Momma, go lie down. You'll feel better about this when you've cooled off some." Molly tried to reach for her mad, circling mother, but the woman jerked away. "Come on, Momma. Going on a date isn't going to change anything. It's just Jim." Molly placed one arm in Jim's, willing him to use some of his charms. "See, perfectly proper."
Jim chose that time to slide his arm away from hers and wrap it around her waist. She blushed when a gentle grip squeezed against her hip, and pulled her flush against his side. She grit her teeth and took a forceful step back. Shooting Jim an incredulous look, she caught him snickering at her. With a shake of her head she marched to her still pacing mother.
"Momma, I'm going on a date. I'm going to have to grow up eventually. It's going to be ok. Now go lay down. John promised me he'd be here soon." John hadn't said actually said anything to her yet, but Sherlock had promised to have him here tonight. She tried not to think about their track record of keeping promises. "Now, I'm going to leave. I'll be back tonight, ok?" She kept her voice low, her mouth trying to twitch into a smile. She never quite succeeded.
She turned to walk back to Jim, surprised when something hard collided against her back, sending her sprawling onto her knees. She looked behind her, arms shielding her face, to see her mother wielding an old breakfast tray, eyes glinting like hard steel. Jim stepped back from the two of them, hands held in front of him protectively.
"You go out that door, you ain't coming back in it. I mean it. No sluts in this house. You choose me or him, right now."
"Oh, dear. Such drama." Jim wiggled his eyebrows at her, offering her a hand up. "Didn't expect such excitement today." He grinned at her, standing firmly by the door.
Molly scooted away from her mother, standing abruptly when she got to Jim. She didn't say anything until she'd dragged him beyond the door, tears tracking silently down her cheeks. She'd come back tonight, and Momma will have forgotten all about this. Right now, she had to get out.
"It'll be fine. Let's go." She waved away his comforting hand at her back and rushed out of the building. She wiped furiously at her tears, trying to hide her sniffling behind her hand.
"I hope you're still up for our date." He pushed the hair away from her face, grinning at her and bopping her nose. "You're all snotty, dear. Let's get you cleaned up first."
Molly stepped back, trying to escape his constantly reaching hands. Her skin felt too sensitive, her heart beating too fast to be touched right now. Exhaustion ate away at her bones, and she bit back a retort to his strange condolence. "Couldn't we just, I don't know, go to the park or something? Do we have to go out? I don't really think I'm up for it."
Jim didn't understand. To him this was all a spectacle, amusing and a bit strange, if not a bit disturbing. Was this how everyone would respond to her mother's abuse? She'd never had anyone witness her mother's fits, besides John. Jim had laughed…
She was brought out of her thoughts by a soft hand at her chin, another touch at her hip. Jim was speaking to her, the smile at his lips gentle, his words delivered with a cool, calming quality.
"Nonsense, dear. I've got just the date to get this whole mess off your mind." He moved closer to her, gripping her hips. She resisted the urge to step back again, offering him a hesitant smile.
"I'm really not up for the public, I'm afraid." She fidgeted, rubbing her hands against her sob-swollen cheeks. "I probably look like a mess."
"You do, but I can fix that." He steered her around with a forceful hand at her lower back.
This car was different from the first one she'd saw. Black and sleek and small, she couldn't help but be impressed. There were only two seats, and he opened the door with a key. She watched it slide up and fold in, before Jim's laughter made her look away, her face scarlet with embarrassment. She'd never seen such fancy doors.
"How easily impressed you seem to be, little Molly Mouse." He grinned at her and walked her to her side.
She slid into the warm, smooth seat. She sunk into soft leather, running her fingers over the supple covering. Jim started the car in total silence, no revving or roaring or growling engine. Instead, the lights and air conditioner flickered on in cold quiet. This car had the same sickly sweet smell that turned her stomach. She glanced over to Jim, wondering if she could ask him to turn the air off. At least maybe the smell may weaken.
He was already engrossed in traffic, mouth turned down in a scowl as he glared down the oncoming cars. She bit her lip, wondering why he'd insisted on their date as he inched out of his parking spot.
Her breath caught as her eyes landed on dark, unruly curls bobbing above the heads of strangers. She only barely glimpsed his broad shoulders and her brother dragged reluctantly behind before they disappeared into her building and she was whisked away down the road.
"Now, which do you prefer: Chinese or Indian?" He didn't look at her, turning the wheel sharply as he took a corner.
"Um, Indian? Are we going out to eat? I'm not really hungry." Her stomach flopped as another burst of air freshener blasted through the vents and he took another sharp turn.
"Got a bit turned around there, trying to get out. Do you like horror films?" He continued on as if he hadn't heard her question.
"No. Not much for the big, scary stuff." Molly held tightly to her seat. "That and Sherlock always picked holes in the plots when all of us went out." She grinned, remembering how silly the movies had seemed when he and Mary had talked, loudly, about the ludicrous decisions of the protagonists.
"Yes, he does have a habit for picking things apart doesn't he?" Jim tapped his steering wheel, before starting his questions again. "Do you enjoy classical music?"
Molly blushed, wondering if she should confess that she liked listening only to the violin. He probably knew that Sherlock played. She jumped, stifling her surprised squeak as he came within feet of a passing car. "Could you maybe drive a bit more carefully?"
"No worries, dear. The airbags in this gal are phenomenal." He patted her thigh, and she shrunk against her seat. "So, do you enjoy classical music or not?"
"Um, not generally, no." She tried to pay attention to where they were going, but the buildings were falling further and further away. Her sputtering vehicle had never taken her this far away from home. "Where are we going again?"
"Oh, just some property my friend is letting us use for the night. I've a really gorgeous night planned for you, Molly-dear."
They approached a stop sign, an empty road stretching before them with a daunting sameness. No landmarks stood out, no signs told where they were. Molly eyed her phone, seeing her signal flicker at one and two bars. He took the opportunity to lean over towards her, tracing her jawline with a fingernail, a touch without touch. She forced a smile, but he did not smile back. His eyes shone at her with something dark and something cold that made her shiver.
"So, uh, why so far out?" She looked out the window, wondering if she should tell him she wanted to go home. Fear and nausea pounded against her skin, roiling through her insides in terrible waves. Her phone buzzed loudly in the small car. The sound drew Jim's curious gaze, but he quickly looked back to the road.
"I have a great evening planned. Just me, you, and some starlight. I have something in the back you'll just die for, Molly." He did grin at this, tapping his fingers steadily on his steering wheel to sounds Molly couldn't hear.
"I'm not really feeling up to surprises, Jim. Can't you just tell me what it is?" She checked her phone, surprised to see John's name on the message.
John: Molly, what on earth happened? Momma hasn't stopped blubbering since we got here.
"What, don't you trust me, little Molly mouse?" He laughed, holding the steering wheel with one hand so he could grab hers. "I'd really love to see your hair in pigtails again one day. When you haven't worked all these yummy curls in, I suppose."
"Uh, thanks, I think." She texted John back with one hand, nibbling on her lip. "I just have had a long day." Clearly, she thought, but didn't say.
Molly: It's a long story. Please, really, don't ask.
Her phone buzzed immediately, this time with Sherlock's name. She rolled her eyes, certain that Sherlock had been reading over John's shoulder (if he hadn't just stolen John's phone in the first place.)
Sherlock: Molly, did you run away with Moriarty?
She frowned, surprised at the accusation. Did they really think she'd run away with some man she'd only gone on one date with? A sharp noise caught her attention, and she looked over to see Jim looking at her expectantly.
"Oh, sorry, what was the question again? John's asking me what happened." She hid her phone, hoping he wouldn't see Sherlock's name.
"I asked if you drink champagne or wine. I wasn't sure, from what Sherlock has told me of your family life." He ended the sentence coolly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "It appears you've quite the history, Molly Hooper."
Molly bit her lip, glancing back at her phone. "Uh, I prefer not to drink, but I sip sometimes." Sherlock had told him about her?
"I think you could use a drink, dear. Trust me, I know when someone needs a little lift." He tossed her warm smile, but her stomach twisted again.
Just needed a little lift before going out, Molly dear.
It's just a little lift for the interview.
It's a little lift for those pre-date jitters.
Her mother's voice echoed over the years, forcing her to take a deep breath and close her eyes.
"Hey, are you ok?" He squeezed her hand, pulling off the road and onto a dirt path. The vehicle shook. She shot him an incredulous look.
"You're driving this car off-road?" She glanced out the window, a fine dust film settling over the clear glass. Dirt and rocks kicked up in the mirror,
"Oh, no worries. It's simple enough to clean the gal." He shrugged it off and whatever concern he'd shown for her vanished as quickly as it'd come.
She looked back at her phone, angling it away from Jim's view. She responded quickly, looking around to see again if there were any landmarks she could use to tell John or Sherlock where she was. No houses or buildings were in sight.
Molly: We're just out. Momma's drunk. She threw a fit. Everything's fine. I'll talk later.
She hit send, hoping she still had enough signal for the message to reach Sherlock. Then she sat back, watching the sun slip away and the path grow narrow and the main road sink beneath the grass. By the time the car finally stopped, they'd reached the middle of the field, where a patch of broken grass and crumpled paper cups seemed to be their only destination.
"Um, is this where you were taking me to?" She stepped out of the car hesitantly, feeling ridiculous in her skirt and blouse and make up.
"Oh, it'll be positively on fire in an hour or so. Want to get the stuff from the back?" He tossed her the keys as he began picking up the cups and tossing them further away.
She went to the trunk, furling her nose at the once-shiny black paint all covered with dirt. Inside was a large blanket, folded into quarters, with a heavy, full basket on top of it. She lugged one out, and then the other. The basket smelled like jams and breads and fresh fruit, but felt as if it were weighed down with rocks.
The weight turned out to be bottles, large and round and green as the backs of flies. Three bottles and two stem glasses with long flutes and pale pink twisted around the bottom. Granny apples and pink ladies and glass bowls filled with cherries and strawberries spread out against the blanket, a feast of sweet and tangy and fizzy delights. In the middle of it all were fresh baked breads. She caught cinnamon and pumpkin in the air, and saw one loaf with a thick glaze drizzled over the top. Her stomach growled, and she realized she hadn't really eaten all day.
"I thought we might like something a little—"
The shrill ring of her phone interrupted him, and Molly covered her face in embarrassment. "I'm so sorry." She fumbled to grab her phone, seeing John's name on the screen but knowing, somehow, that it was Sherlock on the other side of the line. She answered, walking a few steps away from Jim. "What on earth do you want?" She tried to keep her voice calm, but threads of paranoia wove through as she remembered his warning. Just be careful, Molly Hooper.
She certainly wasn't being careful now, she thought, glancing back to the bottles and praying they were just fancy bottles of sparkling grape juice.
"Tell me you're not alone with him. Tell me he took you somewhere public." Sure enough, it was Sherlock's voice that broke through the silence on her phone. He sounded distant, the line fading out over his words.
"What on earth are you afraid of?" She smiled at Jim, waving off his worried glances. She bit her lip, knowing that she couldn't fool Sherlock. "We're just at a picnic, I think. I'm not entirely sure what he's doing, but it seems to be innocent enough." She repeated the last part to herself, counting over all the perfectly normal moments she and Jim had on the way here.
He'd asked her questions, tried to engage in small talk. That wasn't scary. It was innocent.
He'd tried to comfort her, albeit in a very uncomfortable way. She'd just explain to him that she didn't like being touched so much. It wouldn't be a big deal.
He'd prepared a night time picnic. Even that wasn't daunting. Everything he'd done had been perfectly normal.
She turned, without thinking, to the empty road, pacing a small circle beside the car. Her shoes sunk into the dirt. She twirled her hair on her finger, biting her lip as she waited for him to answer. He was taking too long. He knew she was lying.
But she wasn't. Not really. Right?
"Molly, you don't know him like I do." His voice came through again, a note of irritation. "You're mom says you can't come back."
"Sherlock, my mom always says I can't come back. She's threatened that at least a dozen times this month." She hissed his name, glancing back in time to see Jim's eyes roll heavenward. "This really isn't a good time, ok?" Of course this had to be the one time Sherlock was actually concerned for her. When it was likely nothing was happening at all.
"John's worried." The line went quiet, and she'd thought she'd lost him until he came through again, loud and clear. "You can stay with us. Don't go home with him."
Her face bloomed red, her foot stamping into the soft earth in aggravation. "You can't tell me what to do, Sherlock."
"It was John's idea." She could hear John shouting in the background, and she was certain he had no knowledge of this plan. "Or at least, it would have been, if he wasn't busy telling off your mom for being drunk. Again."
"I'll stay with Mary. Does that make you feel better?" But her phone was quiet, without the spurts of background noise. The line had died.
She turned back towards Jim and smiled, ignoring the way her stomach twisted into knots and her mind thought over the empty, endless road that separated her from safety. She walked back to the blanket, sitting carefully in her skirt and tucking her legs under her.
"Sorry about that. My brother's just really… worried." She looked down at her hands, rolling her bracelet between her fingers. "Sorry about all this. I know my family is rather crazy. Especially with all…" She trailed off when he placed a hand against her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze before his fingers dragged away. She frowned, tucking her legs more tightly beneath her.
"No worry for all that now, Molly dear. We've got a date to enjoy." He held a glass out to her, a smile bright on his face that contrasted his flat, black eyes. "Just trust me, dear. One drink won't make you an alcoholic. I've seen my fair share to know."
She shook her head, biting her lip. He pressed the glass into her hand, pouring from one of the large bottles to fill her glass halfway.
"Sip away, Molly dear."