Charmed: The Return
Disclaimer: See Chapter One.
Summary: After their parents' deaths, the Charmed Children moved on with their lives. Now they return home to where it all started and to the world they turned their backs on.
Author's Note: The year for this fiction is 2032. That means, the Halliwells died in 2027. Long paragraphs or sentences that are in italics are flashbacks, and any words that are in italics are just like that to show emphasis. There is mild language and violence in this chapter.
Also: Italics are flashbacks.
Chapter Thirteen: Unexpressed
"To the person in The Bell Jar,
black and stopped as a dead baby,
the world itself is a bad dream."
Sylvia Plath, "The Bell Jar"
Wyatt Halliwell descended the stairs into the foyer early one Tuesday morning. His brow wet with sweat already due to the hot September temperatures. In his right hand was his briefcase, filled with the manuscripts of aspiring writers, and in his left was his suit blazer. Wyatt was arguably the best dressed man in the family with his expensive suits and ties and perfect shoes. He had a rare smile on his face as he made his way to the kitchen for his morning cup of coffee. A rare smile that hid the pain of his loss, the pain of his illness and the pain of his guilt.
Samuel Montana was sitting quietly at the kitchen table. Propped open in front of him was a large leather bound text, with the title, Time and Magic: The Dangers of Witchcraft and Time. To his left was a yellow legal pad with handwritten notes, his pen moving methodically along the pale green lines. In his right hand was a coffee cup, and laying on the chair beside him was a robe, similar to that of a judge. His eyes following the words he was writing with a precision that struck any who were watching as odd. His face was stoic with that precision as he wrote to mask the pain of his loss, and his ongoing struggle to keep his illness from relapsing.
"Morning." The eldest said to the now youngest.
"Morning, Wyatt." Sam said in a short, almost cold tone.
Wyatt ignored it and placed his briefcase and blazer on the table. He stifled a yawn and went to the counter and poured himself a cup of hot black coffee.
"What are you up to?' Wyatt asked in between a long sip.
"Notes for my first class, today." again with the short, cold tone.
"That's good." Wyatt said, thinking of the tension between the two since Ali's death, two weeks before. Sam was his confidant and now Sam couldn't bear to be in the same room with him, let alone have a decent conversation. There was so much Wyatt wanted to tell Sam, but was afraid that Sam would no longer listen.
Rachel Dean walked into the kitchen just then. Her hair was in a tight bun and still wet from her morning shower. She wore a pale green blouse with a white floral skirt, and a white blazer. Her eyes were bloodshot. In her hand was a bottle of aspirin.
"What's with the aspirin?" Wyatt asked.
"Headache and lack of sleep plus the added annoyance of empathy and it being that time of the month. Need I say more?"
"No, that's quite alright." Wyatt said in a sarcastic tone.
"Now, give me coffee." she said as she went behind Wyatt and pulled down her mug and poured the black liquid into it.
"Okay, well I'm off then. I should be home around six." Wyatt said as he gathered his stuff.
"Okay, I'll see you then." Rachel said as she popped two aspirin and chased it down with coffee.
"Bye Sam." Wyatt said, and got no response from Sam who was nose deep in a book.
Wyatt shrugged it off and walked out the back door. Rachel put down her coffee cup, and looked at him.
"Sam, how long are you going to be frigid towards Wyatt?" she demanded.
"I'm not being frigid." Sam said as he jotted down a note.
"Really, because I'm getting the impression that you're ignoring him." Rachel said sternly.
"Don't use your empathy on me, you have no right." Sam said, putting down his pen and looking at Rachel in the eyes.
"I'm not. I've known you for a long time, Sam. You only act like this towards someone when you're mad at them."
"I'm not mad at him." Sam said, as he closed his book and placed the legal pad inside it.
"Samuel, yes you are. You're mad at him because he couldn't save Ali."
"Don't talk about her, damn it."
"No, Sam, we have to talk about her. Because if we don't, it's going to tear this family apart."
"I don't know what dream world you're living in, but this family is torn apart. Ali is dead. Wyatt is living a double life no one here knows about. Chris is too busy being involved with Cassie. You are always working, and Rose, well Rose is Rose. But look around, Rachel and smell the coffee, this family is not what it use to be." Sam said angrily and picked up his book and robe and swirled out in blue and white orbs.
Rachel, defeated, sipped her coffee and swore some colorful language to herself.
Wyatt Halliwell sat at his desk in his spacious office. In front of him was a manuscript for a novel about a young boy, who has to deal with life altering decisions. Wyatt stared at the white pages with the black type. There were circles and strikeouts and notes written in red ink, his criticisms of the page. His mind couldn't focus.
His blue eyes would leave the page of the novel and circle around the room, just in case something was different.
He took a deep breath and sighed a long sigh to himself as he let the air escape. He knew why Sam was cold and distant. He couldn't heal his cousin. His healing power betrayed him by not working. And that led him to question his powers and ability.
"Why would I be given these powers, can't even heal my own cousin?" he said to himself as he closed the manuscript in front of him.
"What twisted game, are you playing at?" Wyatt said, his eyes staring at the ceiling!
"Why me, why does this always have to happen to me?" he said, as tears came into his eyes. He put his head in his hands and started to weep. The tears falling from his palms and onto the desk. His breathing hard and fast as he struggled to let out a deafening sob.
"I'm such a failure." Wyatt sobbed to himself. "A huge failure."
"You're not a failure son." Leo said to an eighteen year old Wyatt.
"Of course I am, Dad! I couldn't heal Mommy or Aunty Phoebe. Why is my healing power always on the fritz?"
"Wyatt, you're new to healing, it takes time to master." Leo said placing his hand on Wyatt's shoulder.
"If you weren't there, Mom and Aunty Phoebe would be dead."
"Wyatt, don't talk like that."
"Dad, it's true! Healing is a power based on love, and me not being able to heal properly tells me that I am incapable of love."
"Wyatt, listen to me. You are not incapable of loving. I know that, remember when Chris was six and that boy down the street called him a baby because he was still on training wheels?"
"Yes."
"And what did you do?"
"I taught Chris how to ride a two wheeler."
"And?"
"Gave that boy a bloody nose, but what are you getting at?"
"You helped your brother, that right there is love."
"Dad, how can I love the people around me, when I don't even love myself?" as tears poured from his eyes.
"Why don't you love yourself?" Leo asked worried.
"Daddy, I'm afraid I might hurt myself." and the tears poured freely as Wyatt and Leo embraced, and Leo too cried for his hurting son.
Wyatt opened his eyes and brought his hand up to his face and wiped the tears from his eyes. He looked around his office and saw a family portrait on the wall. It was taken six years ago, about year before the incident. Piper was sitting in the middle smiling, Leo behind her, his white grin as big as ever. Chris was to the left of Piper and himself to the right. A happy family before it all went to crap.
Wyatt pressed the intercom button on his phone, "Julie?"
"Yes, Mr. Halliwell?" his secretary said.
"Cancel my lunch meeting with Paula. I'm going home." and he disconnected the line. He leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. Home, the one place he knew he couldn't go. He picked up his blazer and walked out of his office.
Wyatt walked down the crowded streets of San Francisco. His car still parked in his designated spot at the office. He could feel the heat of the blazing sun upon his face as walked past an elderly Chinese couple, holding hands.
"I want that." Wyatt said to himself as he made his way through the crowded downtown business section.
For twenty-nine years, Wyatt struggled to find his place in both the real and magical world. As a child, he wasn't the brightest. He would have surely flunked out of high school if it weren't for his father's guidance and patience. The days where he would dread coming home because he failed yet another test or paper. The days where he would come home with bruises from the torments of those older than he. The days where he would come home and cry for hours in the arms of his father. Wyatt had one release. His writing. A gifted writer, he would pen tales of far away lands and mortal relationships and even his adventures in magic. Locked in a chest at the foot of his bed were the many composition books, filled with his messy scrawl. The tales of the unexpressed Wyatt.
Upon looking at him, you could never tell that he was bullied throughout high school. He wasn't as athletic as many thought him to be. He was tall, lean and muscular, but he had no interest sports. He could throw a football far and hit a baseball with such force, but he never found the interest in doing it in an organized form. Chris was the athletic, popular and smart one, and didn't look the part either. Tall and lean with little muscle, although he has developed some over the years. He had a large IQ and had a PhD in anthropology. All Wyatt had was a bachelors in comparative literature and English. Up until high school, Chris had always felt inferior to Wyatt, but when high school rolled around, it was the other way around.
Their mother, Piper, would praise Chris and scold Wyatt academically. Leo would praise Chris and understand Wyatt. They were a family of favorites. Piper looked out for Chris, her baby, her Peanut; and Leo would care for his firstborn. Wyatt knew Piper loved him deeply, but sometimes it didn't show as much.
In the terms of magic, Wyatt was definitely more gifted, but the strain and pressure of his powers were great. He was twice blessed after all, but he always thought Chris should take that title, after all he was merely half witch, half whitelighter and Chris was half witch, half-Elder. But prophecy told it differently.
And now added to his painful, secret ridden past was the guilt of not being able to save his cousin. The pain of the loss stung him and the betrayal to her even more. At night he would lie awake and write spells to remove his powers in exchange for Ali's soul, but that would never happen. His family wouldn't allow it, his destiny wouldn't allow it. His prophecy wouldn't allow it.
But deep down, he would allow it.
Here's chapter thirteen! Hopefully it is a lucky thirteen and will get me some reviews? Sorry about the wait in updates. I've been on vacation. I drove cross country with my brother and uncle and just got back and while I was away I had a major spike in inspiration and low and behold I had no computer! So please review and enjoy. A/N: This chapter's quote is from "Sylvia Plath: A Biographical Note" written by Lois Ames, found in the back of my "The Bell Jar" book. It didn't specify if it was written by Sylvia Plath herself. Thanks and Review please! – Damien 455