Chapter Twenty-One: Emperor's New Clothes

Wendy and Jonah finally stop for the night after a full twelve hours on the road, somewhere in bumfuck Kansas, checking into a cheap motel. The room is a little dark, a little dingy, and smells like cigarette smoke. It's awfully tacky, the beds made up in red, white, and blue covers, pictures of bulls hanging above each headboard.

Wendy loves it.

"It's like classic americana, the motel!" Wendy exclaims, snapping pictures with her tiny, palm sized telephone. Cordless, she can fold it in half and stick it in her pocket. That little bit of technology really throws Jonah for a loop.

"Is that some new-fangled slang for dirty and gross?"

"Ah, Jonah! You just can't appreciate it…it's called kitsch, and it came about after your lifetime."

"I know what kitsch is! Kitsch was born in the twenties, and it was certainly better than this patriotic cesspit—"

They'd started bickering for fun around four hours into the drive, both of them bored to tears with the whole stretch of absolutely bumfuck nothing countryside they'd been driving through. The two of them continue to bicker, sniping back and forth at each other, as they bring their things in from the car.

They decide to eat at the twenty-four-hour diner on the property, and they walk over. Wendy can't help but notice, as they slide into a booth together, they way the few other patrons watch them. They do seem to make an odd couple—Wendy, in her thirties and dressed in a crop top and high-waisted jean shorts, tattoos on full display, with the rather conservative-looking, teenage Jonah, dressed in slacks and the undershirt from before. Wendy can't help but smile, amused that the reincarnation took her advice and ditched his dress shirt, looking more like a hipster than a Mormon now. Wendy's used to garnering stares in more conservative states, and she imagines Jonah is used to stares too, considering his history, how notorious he must have been in the small town of Goatswood.

They both order burgers, thick, grease-soaked masses of beef and buns, paired with rather limp fries. Jonah seems pleased with it, nodding along as he chews, smiling as he sops up ketchup with several fries at once. It's funny, seeing him like this, looking as casual as he's able to, and eating with his hands. They continue one of their conversations from before, Wendy doing her best to explain how the stock market crashed and the effect it had on the entire United States. She also explains the effect of the Great War on Germany, how badly it fucked that whole country, and made room for a smooth-talking supremascist racist—masqurading as a socialist—from Austria, to come in and spread a rhetoric so entrancing, genocide seemed more like a solution than a tragedy.

Jonah is an attentive listener, and she watches the horror grow on his face as she describes the ghettos, the fully loaded trains, the gas chambers and the bodies stacked like cordwood in camps all over seized land. He looks enraged at the plight of the Jewish folk, making comments about how unfair it is, considering how already-persecuted their people were. His rage shifts to horror, pale, as Wendy tells him, no, not just them, explaining all of the Black folks, gypsies, and gays that were rounded up as well.

"So all it took was a pink triangle then, huh? To send people like me and Matthew to death."

"Well, yes, though luckily, a lot of gay men were so firmly hidden, they escaped. Like you, they kept their predilections under wraps most of their lives. Matt, however…he probably would've been rounded up."

Jonah seems too nauseous to eat, then, so Wendy takes this opportunity to change the topic.

"Yeah, me and Aunt Sarah had kind of wondered if Matt's sexuality was different, when he turned twenty and still hadn't dated. His mom was honestly worried that he was aromantic, or asexual, considering he never brough anyone home, or expressed any interest at all, in either gender."

Jonah nods along, picking at his food, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"That means you thought he had no romantic, or, ah—sexual drives, right?"

"Right. I don't know what it was like in your time, but it's pretty common nowadays for people to lose their virginity sometime in their teens, to start dating relatively early, say, around sixteen. Matt just never did. As I said, he didn't start dating until his mid-twenties, and even then…he's only dated like two people, until now. We really were worried he just didn't want romance of any kind."

"That's understandable though, he had a pretty traumatic run as a teenager. It's not as if he had much chance to, well—explore, considering he was cancer-ridden most of his teens."

Wendy nods, pointing to Jonah as if to agree.

"Exactly. That was my thought, too. But even after he was healthy, and had started college—nothing and no one. Sarah and I were hoping that he was fooling around in college, just secretly. But then he finally brought someone home, and his parents were so relieved. Peter especially, considering Matt's first partner was a girl."

Jonah's stomach flips, and he does his best not to look shocked. Wendy catches it though, the flicker in his expression, and smiles to himself.

"Yes, Jonah, Matt's first partner was a girl. They didn't last long though, only a few months, before the poor girl ran for the fucking hills—"

"Why would she? I mean, ah, why did she run from Matthew?"

"Well," Wendy sighs, sipping her coffee, "I would imagine it had something to do with how horribly and irrevocably obsessed her cute new boyfriend was with the dead. That's another thing, too. I think you forget how unusual Matt looks, with all that scarring. We weren't surprised when she nope-d out of that relationship pretty fast. After her, it took Matt a few more years to find someone else again, and by then, how he was choosing them seemed pretty clear. Matt certainly has a type, considering how much his two partners had had in common."

Jonah's stopped eating entirely again, looking nervous and playing with his food.

"You've said that before, that the two of them had something in common. What was that, Wendy?" He asks, sounding almost worried.

Wendy laughs, considering the boy in front of her, and how it all makes sense now. How they hadn't realized it earlier, considering how openly Matt had obsessed over Jonah, she'll never be able to reconcile.

"Don't worry your pretty head, kid. I can tell you are, you're worried you don't fit the criteria. But that was the thing, kid—you were the criteria. Claire, his first girlfriend, and Sam, his boyfriend after her, they resembled each other. Both of them had been rather small people, pale, with short black hair, and blue eyes. Nothing like yours, of course, Jonah. Matt was right—you certainly have the bluest eyes, no one else's can compare."

Jonah's gone pale, his eyes wide.

"Are you really saying that you think Matt chose his partners on how much they could potentially look like me?"

"Mhm. I mean, it was pretty obvious." Wendy is nodding, and she laughs ruefully, "Thinking back on it, it's awful funny that his relationship with Claire didn't last as long as his relationship with Sam. Claire probably didn't have the right equipment."

Wendy laughs openly at the look of horror on Jonah's face, the teen blushing up to his freshly-raised hairline.

"Sarah didn't care, when Matt brought home a boy, but Peter was pretty devastated. But Matt and Sam only dated for about a year, before he ran away from him, just as he ran from Claire, before. Perhaps the resemblance wasn't strong enough…Matt told me once that he thought that Sam was an idiot, but that he was pretty. At the time, I remember being horrified that Matt would talk about his partner like that. Especially considering Matt's looks, and how he's a hard cup of tea to swallow, I was floored he would be so selective. Now I realize that he was holding Sam to a standard he could never reach."

Jonah mulls this information over in silence. His blush has faded to a quiet, pale look of horror, as he stares at his food. Wendy had thought the kid would find it funny, Matt's specific type, his tastes, but instead, the medium looks upset.

"Aw, Jonah, don't look so devastated. I'd be overjoyed, if I were you. Your soulmate only has eyes for you."

"Yeah, though, Wendy, I ruined him—I basically turned him into a fairy, for fuck's sake—"

Wendy laughs loudly at this, attracting several stares.

"Well, oh well, kid. At least you reciprocate his feelings now. I imagine that was difficult…I mean, Matt basically did the same to you, right? Would you be with a guy if it wasn't Matt?"

"That's the thing, Wendy," Jonah starts, sounding miserable, "I preferred men, before Matt came along, I just wouldn't accept it, and did my best to fit in with normal society. Being gay had been one of many factors that ruined my life, before I died. My father did not take too kindly to his only son making eyes at boys on the street."

That shuts Wendy up, a look of horrified understanding flashing across her face. No wonder the kid was so quick to condemn Matt, to shut him down, if he'd spent his previous life doing his best not to give into the temptation Matt was so desperate to acquire his participation in.

Wendy wakes up the next morning from a nightmare. A nightmare of punishing hands, a beratement of hateful language and abuse, as she falls to the cold, unforgiving wooden floors of Hell House, stripped naked and crying under the hands of Jonah's father. It was fucking awful, bearing witness to even such a small taste of the Hell Jonah was subjected to, by his own father, and it leaves Wendy feeling used and vulnerable.

She steals Jonah's cigarettes and goes outside, leaning over the motel walkway's balcony, smoking one after another. She understands now, why he and Matt are so prone to chain smoking. She'd left Jonah tossing and turning in his own bed, his murmured, fitfully little pleas for his father to stop chasing her right out of the fucking door. She's considered waking him, but she also didn't want the teen to know that she knew, that she'd seen, glimpsing the nightmare, the memory, he was living in his sleep.

God, he must be a powerful medium, if he can astral project like that, broadcast his subconscious state to other. That's a concept she's literally only seen in horror movies. Wendy wonders if he's ever gotten lost, if he's ever wandered so far into the dream realm, or too deep into his memories, to come back. And when—if—he does, what is it even like, coming back to reality? How does the kid ever feel rested, if his sleep is so dangerously disturbed?

Wendy is startled from her musings by the motel door opening, Jonah emerging in his undershirt and underwear, silly little things that look a bit like bloomers, how they're cinched in at the waist but loose everywhere else. They look almost feminine, compared to men's boxers of today, especially considering the waist, and how they button, a triangular shape reminiscent to the underthings women wore in the regency era.

Wendy finds it horribly unsettling, how dedicated Matt was to recreating an accurate nineteen-twenties men's wardrobe. She wonders if it's like a kink of his, seeing his reincarnated soulmate in the same clothes he would've been wearing in his previous life, clothes similar to the ones he died in.

"Morning, Wendy. Can I have one of those?" Jonah asks, reaching for his own cigarettes. Wendy blushes and gives the back to him, muttering an apology for taking them.

"Absolutely no worries, Wendy. I owe you a lot more than cigarettes for taking me on this trip. I just hope I haven't gotten you started smoking. It's a nasty habit, one a lady with children should abandon."

The thinly-veiled misogyny of it makes Wendy laugh. What a little undead hypocrite, admonishing her for smoking. But she doesn't truly mind, not really. She's almost grateful for the sense of normalcy, as the reincarnation stands next to her, leaning over the railing in the same fashion she is, looking drawn and tired as he smokes. He looks a little sick, a little too pale, with those massive black bags under his eyes. She wonders if he remembers the nightmare he had last night. She'd love to talk about it, if the kid is willing.

"So, Jonah…your dad, he was a real piece of work, wasn't he?"

Jonah smiles and laughs a spiteful little laugh, flicking the ash from his cigarette, watching it flutter all the way to the parking lot, several stories below them.

"Yes, he was. I'm so terribly sorry, Wendy, that you saw all of that. To be honest with you, I thought it was only Matt I could project to. Now that I know otherwise, I'll be sure to take precautions when we sleep in the same room. Nothing a Melatonin can't fix. I'm so sorry you didn't get the rest you need—"

"It's fine, kid, I'm sure you didn't mean to. But I'm worried about you, and your sleep. How do you ever feel rested, with dreams like that?"

"Well, I never really do…but it's not always this bad, either. When things were fine, and Matthew and I were sleeping peacefully in Hell House, I had good dreams, more often than not. Since his absence, I've been having nightmares every night."

"You know, kid, I would wager Matt's been having nightmares every night, too, unless he's developed a crippling addiction to sleeping pills. Which, knowing Matt, he probably has."

Jonah looks worried, then.

"Is he…Matthew has quite an addictive personality, doesn't he? I noticed that, in our time together. He was bordering on alcoholism, even then, and he was supposedly happy, considering his life's wish finally came true, the two of us together."

"Well, Jonah, addiction is a theme in both sides of his family. Peter was straight up an alcoholic, if you remember some of his behavior when we were living in Hell House, and on Sarah's side, you've got her sister—my mom—and her mother, and her grandmother before her, were all addicted to something. It's not pretty, and it's a hard cycle to break. Sometimes I wonder if that's why Aunt Sarah turned out like she did. So religious, I mean. Apparently, she swore off all substances and alcohol in her early teens, and started getting high on the love of the Messiah, Jesus Christ, instead."

Jonah chuckles at the metaphor, his face grim.

"Well, it's better to be addicted to godliness than anything else, I suppose."

They drive that whole day, and repeat a routine very similar to the night before, checking into a cheap motel, and eating cheap food. Tonight, Jonah makes sure to take two Melatonin before bed, a little prescription bottle he pulls from his bag. Later, Wendy looks at the bottle, feeling forlorn that Matt takes prescription-grade sleep aids, his name printed all in caps on the bottle, set to refill every two weeks.

They do work, though. Jonah had begun his usual nighttime routine of listening to music and reading a book, a blue one without a front or back cover, when he'd knocked off right to sleep, headphones on, the book still open on his chest. He hadn't stirred when Wendy took the headphones, CD player, and book from him, pulling the covers over his unconscious form. Waking him in the morning had been a whole thing—it had been almost impossible to rouse him, and he'd kept falling back asleep. Somehow, Wendy had gotten them all packed up, the kid in the car, before he'd fallen back asleep with his head resting on the passenger-side window, weather all of the shakes and rattles of the road with little more than a snore.

Wendy felt bad that she was grateful the kid was getting some sleep, and was unable to project like this. She drove for hours before he eventually woke, looking groggy and confused. He apparently didn't even remember getting dressed, or getting in the car, he explains to Wendy. As apology for having to deal with him, he makes her a sandwich from the food Sarah had packed for them, which has almost run out. They eat this lunch on the road. Jonah doesn't seem like he feels like reading or listening to music, so they sit in silence together, chatting here and there as they pass through states.

"So…you think he's going to be happy, to see me? He's not going to be upset I went like, under his nose and left the house?"

"No, Jo, I think he's going to be ecstatic to see you. Though, I hope he feels at least a little guilty, having left you there, alone."

Jonah seems like a bundle of nerves, as they pass into Nevada. He's literally only a few hours away from seeing Matthew again.

His nervous excitement abates, when, only two hours into Nevada, Wendy's car makes an unfortunate sound. They rattle to a stop at a streetlight, where the car completely dies, Wendy cursing up a storm so fierce, Matthew would've been proud. Luckily for her, though, it's small town, and in less than an hour, Wendy and Jonah are crowded together into the cab of a tow truck, on their way to the town's only repair man.

"Fuck," Wendy repeats, as she watches the nice man load her car into his garage and jack it up, "well, that's going to set us back several hours—and a couple hundred dollars, no doubt."

"I'm sorry, Wendy. I'm sure Matt can help pay for it, when we get to him—"

"I have the money, kid, I just really wanted to get the two of you reunited today. That might not be a possibility, now."

"It's fine, Wendy, it's not your fault, and I understand," he replies, doing his best to mask the dejection in his tone.

Wendy considers the teen standing there, looking like he stepped out of a vintage black-and-white advertisement for men's clothes. He does look sharp, and handsome, smoking a cigarette in his slacks and suspenders, a dress shirt rolled up around his elbows, but he looks woefully out of place. Wendy had seen the way the mechanic had kept looking over at Jonah on the car ride there, no doubt wondering to himself what a door-to-door salesman, or a religious missionary, was doing out her in nowhere-Nevada, with Wendy driving him around.

"Hey, Jonah," Wendy calls for him, as she pulls a crisp twenty dollar bill from her wallet, handing it to the confused teen, "do you remember a store called Goodwill we passed, on the way here? It's just down the street, that way."

"Yeah I do," he replies, staring down the road at the white and blue sign in the distance, "but what could you possibly need front there that will take twenty whole dollars?"

"Twenty dollars is not nearly as much money as you remember it being, kid," Wendy laughs. "And it's for you. Goodwill is a second-hand clothing store. Sorry I can't exactly afford to get you new clothes, but you'll get a lot more bang for your buck there. You should be able to afford a few pairs of pants and some shirts with that, at least three a piece, plus shoes if you see any you want."

"Wendy, I can't just take your money and buy myself new clothes—"

"They aren't new clothes, honey, they're second hand. And, it's not entirely my money, anyway—Aunt Sarah and I agreed we should stop and get you some modern clothes on the way, so you don't stick out so much like a sore thumb, when we get to the university. It won't do to have Eric kick you out, when he realizes who you are, before you even get to see Matt. the retro clothes are a dead fucking giveaway."

"Well, I guess you're right—"

"I always am. Now hop to, kiddo. I have to stay here with the car, but you go ahead and go check it out. If you get freaked out, or have questions, don't hesitate to come get me, okay?"

"Alright," Jonah hollers to her, as he starts off back the way they came.

It surely is a hot day, he thinks to himself, watching the way the heat wavers off of the sidewalk. He notices now, some of the looks he receives as he walks past people. People looking normal, for the two-thousands, compared to his own clothing. Jonah finds the fashion to be rather distasteful, if he's honest, observing the clothing of the men and women he passes. The women are wearing practically nothing—he's never seen so much bare skin before, except for maybe in the chorus line of some seedy Jazz club. Particularly paired with the tattoos, which is seems everyone has today—he's particularly horrified to spy one on a lady, right above her, uh—dierriere—a horribly tacky and nonsensical design of a heart wrapped in barbed wire, with wings of all things, peeking from her awfully low-riding and short jean skirt.

To Jonah's dismay, the men aren't dressed much better, nor modestly. The mean wear shorts of varying lengths, no doubt due to the summer hear—Jonah hopes, anyway—displaying their furry calves and upper thighs, khaki-pockets bulging with God-knows what. Their arms are bare, too, most men wearing t-shirts, like Matthew's, or shirts resembling undershirts, missing the sleeves entirely, displaying the muscles of their forearms and hints of their broad shoulders, all similarly tattooed with seemingly nonsensical tattoos, thick black swirling lines like some misinformed parody of an Indian's tribal tattoos. Jonah can't help but wonder if that's entirely appropriate.

Jonah keeps the common fashion of this age in mind as he enters the store, gritting his teeth and only hesitating for a moment as the door slides open for him automatically. The store is rather dimly-lit and musty smelling, though it contains row after row of men's and women's clothing, apparently sorted by type and size, thank God. He takes deep breaths and acquires a little blue hand basket, wishing desperately that he would've had the presence of mind to retrieve Matthew's CD player, or at least the headphones, as he's already acquiring a headache from the incessant, mechanical buzzing of the unnatural, yellow-tinged overhead lights.

Jonah feels lost, then, as he wanders the rows. The clothes here seem a bit old-fashioned as well, though obviously less-so than his own clothing. Jonah starts at the pants, the section he is dreading the most, to get it over with. Three of each, Wendy's voice repeats in his head, and he does his best to select three articles of clothing that look like they'll fit him, that he doesn't hate; a pair of black jeans, similar to a pair Matthew wears all the time, with little tears at the knees; a pair of gray pants of some unknown, smooth fabric, with pockets at the hips, and the sides of the thighs. These seem like they might be tight-fitting to the legs, and woefully low-riding, with the pant legs belling out at the knees and around the calves; and finally, a pair of shorts, like the man outside was wearing, with the same little cargo pockets, and cut-off and ragged at the hems, though in black.

Next, are the shirts, and Jonah has a lot more fun with this. If it's one thing he can give the fashion sense of this era, it's that the men can have a little more fun than they ever could before. The first shirt he picks out of the endless row of fabric, he actually really likes; he likes the colors, earth green and browns, faded to look like watercolors, swirling together in a blotchy sort of pattern. It's a t-shirt, like Matthew wears. The next shirt Jonah picks out makes him smile, and reminds him of Matt; a gray t-shirt patterned with a howling wolf, tacky and kitchsy, well-suited, again, to the men he studied outside. Finally, he fishes forth a sleeveless shirt, much to his initial distaste. It's suitable though, for the heat, appropriate. Jonah likes the design, at least, a black-and-blue striped garment, a little faded and cut short at the bottom, with a little pocket on the breast.

Jonah is pleased with his selections, putting together outfits in his head as he peruses other sections in the store. He picks out a belt, a thin little black-leather thing with a brass buckle that will certainly be more appropriate than his suspenders, no matter how much Jonah loves them, and finds comfort in them. The last little treasure that he finds is hiding in the shoe section, a pair of worn black Converse, with black rubber detailing and black laces, that look exactly like Matthew's though smaller, of course.

Jonah goes to pay, but the nice lady at the front informs him that he can try the clothes on, if he wants, before he purchases them.

"Could I also, maybe, change my clothes, if I like them? I'm, uh…trying to ditch this outfit behind—"

"I see why!" The woman laughs, and Jonah's face flames, embarrassed at her disdain for his clothes, "You look like you just stepped out of Sunday school! Go ahead, and here's a bag to put your old things in."

He thanks her, despite her rudeness, and locks himself into the little cubicle-like room. All of the clothes blessedly fit. Jonah sighs, taking big deep breaths, trying to gas himself up and raise his own confidence, as he changes into his first completely-modern outfit, ever. He studies himself in the mirror, after, and isn't sure if he likes what he sees. He was too shy to wear the shorts, or the jeans, so he's wearing the gray pants, though these do come with an unfortunate setback—they are low-waisted, as Hell, Jonah's sharp little hip-bones peeking out.

It's a damn miracle you can't see my pubic hair, for fuck's sake, he thinks to himself, as he feeds the thing belt through the loops. He likes how the pants bell out, though, at the knees, and all the pockets are nice. They'll be useful.

Jonah is further mortified, then, as he dons the striped undershirt, thinking it'll be sort of like a compromise for not showing off his pale, skinny little legs.

This might be worse, though, he bemoans, wrapping his arms shyly around the little sliver of skin, pale and winking, exposed between the hem of the shirt and the waist of these stupid pants. If he's not careful, people will see his fucking hip bones, and his stomach, Jesus-fuck—

Plus, they can already see his arms, all the way up to his freckled shoulders. At least he's got muscles…if his arms were any skinnier, paired with his middle, and the thinness of his thighs, the public could mistake him for a waif. The thought makes Jonah laugh, as he puts on and laces the Converse, his mood lightening considerably at how familiar they look, how much they remind him of Matthew.

"There we go, boy, lookin a bit more normal, now!" The clerk tells him, as she rings him up, and Jonah finds that reassuring.

Jonah stuffs Wendy's change into one of the many aforementioned pockets, along with the small gift he found for her. He thinks she'll like it, and it'll suit her aura, anyway, considering the beads are all the same colors. People don't stare at him, this time, as he walks back to the garage, and he wonders if his facade is working—does he look like he belongs here, now?

"Hey, Wendy," he calls to the woman as he comes up behind her, flushing pink in the summer sun, "I brought back your change."

Wendy turns, mouth open to reply, but stops short, just staring at him, drinking in his new outfit.

To say the teen did a good job is understatement—he looks straight off the TV, or a teen fashion magazine, especially in those pants, and especially with the little bit of hips and tummy the kid has decided to expose. He could downright be distracting, with that little bit of skin, his arms, and that haircut, so perfectly showing off Jonah's face, his sharp jaw and handsome features.

It seems Matt's influence has rubbed off, Wendy thinks, as she looks at the kid's shoes, noting the teen's color palate of black, gray, and blue. The kid could be going for punk, or even emo, with his hair, the stripes, the exposed stomach.

Matthew's going to be just fucking thrilled.

Wendy tells Jonah as much, and the teen beams. It's almost charming, how excited he is to please Matt, though it settles wrong in Wendy's gut.

"You think he'll like it? I look alright?"

"Yes, kid. You look great.. How you nailed down his style, kid, is beyond me. But yes, he'll absolutely love it. Probably won't be able to keep his hands off you, in those cargos, and you certainly pass for modern."

Jonah blushes, smiling happily. He roots around in the left-thigh pocket of his new pants, shifting the bags of new and old clothes to his other arm, pulling forth a wad of cash and change, which he gives to Wendy. Wendy thanks him, but then Jonah is handing her something else—a bracelet, a delicate gold-linked thing, with baby-pink glass beads. A tiny gold butterfly charm hangs from the clasp, and she fiddles with it as Jonah clasps the bracelet on her wrist.

"I wasn't sure if you'd like it, but I saw it, and it reminded me of you—if you don't like it, I can walk right back and get your money back—"

"No, Jonah…I love it, thank you. I like it an awful lot."

She smiles at him, and he looks relieved.

"I'll never be able to thank you properly, for all the help you've given me—the ride, the clothes, everything, especially your company—"

"You don't have to worry about it kid, though I am grateful for this gift."

How Jonah knew pink is her favorite color, and gold, her favorite metal…she can only guess, staring into those bright, almost omniscient, eyes.