He had brought Hannah over to meet his parents…but it had been the most boring conversation. It was mostly about magnets, sometimes about Rosie, her parents' jobs which were just as bland and thankless as accounting, not to mention she only stayed for about half an hour before her friend called her wanting to do something on a Saturday. In a way he understood. They weren't serious. He hadn't even asked her to be his girlfriend yet. And, until she met Rosie at least, he didn't plan to.
And with Rosie's clear intention to fly despite him having spoken to her school's principal already, it was for the best that Hannah stayed away. Rosie hadn't gotten too extreme again, but even in her sleep her wings would twitch. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe they were doing it on their own.
It was probably for the best. That following Sunday was Rosie's birthday. If he could just get past this birthday party…just past this one Sunday…maybe he would be in the clear permanently. And seeing as how Rosie wanted to fly so badly, he'd gotten her a small bike with training wheels. She seemed ready for one, and he would be watching her very carefully, so this thing might just make the perfect distraction. Hopefully she would stop trying to fly all the time…
And his parents got her about three different sticker books that he knew would end up everywhere. Her birthdays were undoubtedly at direct jab at him. They just used it as an excuse.
He looked at Rosie, just dozing off to sleep in her bed but still too excited about tomorrow to really go to sleep.
He snuck past the door and fixed himself a small glass of water.
Pop a pill real quick.
Put the cup in the sink.
Sneak to bed again.
Get settled.
He didn't want to take drugs to help with anything, but tomorrow was not going to be easy and sleep would surely help keep him mellowed out. A very nice, very restful sleep… A calm…quiet…relaxing slumber…
Within the next minute he was out cold.
A deep sleep that would've gone through the night ended when he was awakened by a creaking sound. He had fallen asleep on his back but at some point had turned onto his side, towards the bedroom door.
His first thought was Rosie having woken up to go to the bathroom. In her excitement, she had taken a longer time to go to sleep than normal.
He listened closer for her soft, light footsteps coming down the hall.
He never heard them.
He sat up, still looking at the door, this time considering the possibility that someone else, someone besides Rosie and him, was inside the house. No more creaks but that didn't mean someone wasn't there, and the birthday party was being planned at his parents' house so it wasn't as if somebody was coming over to help with decorations…
His brain didn't even have the time to tell his legs to swing over the bed to check out the house before he heard a small gasp to the side…in his room. At night. And it couldn't have been Rosie.
He mustered the courage to look where the gasp came from and instead saw two feet dangling in midair at the foot of his bed. Against his better judgment, he followed the feet up, past the legs, past the stomach, and past the chest.
Star hung by a noose made of rope, unmoving.
He started to scream but slapped a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes, pulling his knees to his chest and turning away from her body.
It was hard to breathe so heavily just through his nose, but it was better than his young daughter running in to find him like this. Besides, a large part of him hoped to pass out right about now. Maybe if he held his breath entirely, it would happen sooner.
Without removing his hand from his mouth, he used the other to feel the bed covers.
"What will Star's punishment be?" he asked the Thagerian prince.
He ever so slightly tightened his grip on his nameless daughter. The one Star had somehow brought back to life in his arms, after she was born dead. The one he and Star could now take care of. The one whose life Star worked so hard to preserve. And the one he would never let die again…not after his first hundred blunders failing to protect either of them.
"The penalty for treason is a public execution, usually by hanging or beheading," the prince answered, "but…if the crime is deemed severe enough, my father may decide on a more painful death."
His breath caught in his throat. Having another man's child while engaged to the prince of a seemingly violent kingdom would probably qualify as a crime deemed severe enough.
The newborn grasped at his shirt as he desperately struggled to come up with an excuse for Star. Some way to at least save her and their baby.
He touched his knees, keeping his eyes shut and paying more attention to the clothing on his knees, and the feeling of his fingers touching them, than he did to the corpse hanging from his ceiling.
His hands moved down to his legs, focusing on the same things, then his feet, then toes, then back to the bed.
No less than twenty minutes had to have passed before he felt confident, or at least comfortable, or perhaps courageous, enough to crack one eye open and look at the ceiling.
Nothing.
He let go of his mouth and wiped away any wetness, sweat or tears, on his face. The amount of air he managed to suck in was beyond all human limits, he was sure. Tuba players didn't even have the lungs for this.
"Good job…" he panted. "Good job…"
He positioned himself back under the covers and tried to go back to sleep. He managed it after some time but…
When he woke up, the last part of the dream he remembered was the undeniable sound of a shotgun. It wasn't something he liked waking up to, but the gunshot in his dream was just his alarm in the waking world, which actually sounded nothing like a shotgun. It was annoying but that strangely helped him feel a little better about a dream he couldn't even remember. It must've been a wild one for the last thing to be a gunshot sound. He didn't need anything else wild after what he saw last night.
He got out of bed and smacked the button on his alarm to shut it up. He didn't have the best night's sleep, that was fine. Just meant he had to try a little harder today. He could do that.
A good start would be chocolate chip pancake batter and a griddle. Or a skillet, since he didn't actually have a griddle. Next best thing, he supposed.
It was too early for Rosie to be up yet considering how late she kept herself up last night, so he finally got some morning time to himself. A nice, hot cup of coffee in a unicorn mug. A chance to savor the silence. Smell the batter cooking. Hear birds sing. Watch the squirrels from the kitchen window. Maybe Hannah had a point about being a morning person…
He sent a quick text to his mom asking if everything was set up yet or if he should distract Rosie when she woke up.
Just a few more balloons, according to the reply, and they would be all ready to go.
Rosie didn't have an alarm, he was her alarm, but she did have a sort of internal alarm. But only on her birthday and Christmas. Those two days, the roles were reversed, and his organs were crushed as his alarm jumped on him, demanding that he get up.
But this birthday, he beat her to it. No squashed insides today.
It didn't last long though. He barely had the time to finish that mug of coffee before he heard rustling in her room, followed immediately by rapid footsteps to his room. He cracked a slight smile.
"Daddy?!" she yelled.
He didn't get to answer before she zoomed in and saw him in the kitchen.
He set down the mug and she ran full sprint to him, where he hugged her, squeezed her, lifted her up, and shook her back and forth. She squealed in delight.
"Happy Birthday, pumpkin!" he said.
"Can I have cake for breakfast?"
He gave her one final squeeze and set her back down.
"No cake, sorry."
"Can I open presents now?"
"We have to sing the birthday song fi—"
"Sing it!"
"I can't yet."
She pouted.
"Breakfast is almost done though," he said, nodding towards the golden brown pancakes.
Actually, might be best to check on those just to make sure…
"Can I have chocolate chips on them? It's my birthday," she reminded him.
"What if I did something even better than that?" he countered. "What if I put chocolate chips in the pancakes?"
She started jumping to try to see them as they were just finishing cooking.
"I…think…I see…them," she said between jumps.
He took a spatula and lifted one pancake after another onto two separate plates.
"Go sit down," he said.
She took off for the table and he turned the stove off. He poured a thin layer of maple syrup over the pancake stack on one plate, and got out some whipped cream and chocolate syrup for the other. The chocolate syrup was a little more thickly poured than the maple and the whipped cream was more or less just for decoration…topped with a single strawberry.
He brought both plates to the table and set the chocolate wonderland in front of her. He settled for his "boring" pancakes.
"What did I get this year?" she asked through a mouthful of breakfast.
"First of all, don't talk with your mouth full, and secondly, what do you think you got?" he replied.
He cut out a little triangle with his fork. The sweet maple syrup actually made the coffee taste a bit better. Maybe next time he would try to use that instead of milk. Or, maybe try it with milk.
"I want…a puppy," she decided.
He shrugged. "Maybe."
She took the strawberry and dipped it all in the dollop of whipped cream.
"The only thing I want more than a puppy is a pony…a pink one…"
Her words slowly melted away from existence as she continued describing the ideal pony. The strawberry she bit into trickled out thick, dark red juices all over her pancakes. The chocolate syrup there was the same color…dark, red, and not as thick as it would normally be.
He glanced over at the countertop, where the same liquid was overflowing from the top of the syrup bottle.
It was almost nauseating.
"Daddy?"
He was pulled back to his daughter with that one word.
"Yes, cupcake?"
"What's the matter?"
He heard the liquid dribble from the counter onto the hardwood floor.
"I'm…I just…am… I'm a little tired this morning, that's all," he answered.
"Why are you tired?"
"What?!" He faked a laugh, but tried to make it sound as realistic as he could while trying to ignore the slowly expanding puddle in the kitchen. "Is that even a question? It's your birthday, silly goose, I was up all night thinking about it!"
It was enough to satisfy her, or, at least, it seemed that way. Her concern suddenly vanished and her excitement returned.
She took another huge bite of her pancakes. The red fluids just dripped off as she put it in her mouth. Suddenly his appetite was gone.
He shoved a bite in his mouth anyway and worked through the disgusting, coppery taste it left in his mouth.
He mostly let Rosie keep talking. She went down a whole list and included the pony again, this time elaborating a little more on how much she wanted that pony, but would take a puppy instead.
He actually did get her a pony but it was purple, not pink, and it was a small bath toy. It was supposed to have a button she could press that would move the legs to make it look like the pony was swimming.
"Daddy, when are we going to Grandma and Grandpa's house?" Rosie asked.
"We need to finish breakfast first and I need to get a shower," he answered. "You need to brush your teeth, hair, and get dressed. Then we can go."
He pushed through one of his last few bites of pancakes.
Besides, even though his mom specified "some balloons," his parents might've needed more time to prepare other things like any streamers or banners or whatever.
"Why can't I just wear this?"
She held out her arms and pointed to her body.
"Those are pajamas."
"But it's my birthday."
"That doesn't mean you don't have to get dressed."
He took a napkin and wiped his mouth off, plate finally finished. He could go scrub the wet copper off his tongue now…
"Finish your breakfast, okay? I'm going to shower now."
He stood up and dumped his plate in the sink. Rosie noisily chewed her food as he left to hole himself in the bathroom. He wanted to lock the door too but he had already established a rule of no locking doors inside the house. It was always good to keep the outside doors locked but inside? Nope. They had to be able to get to each other quickly in case of an emergency. Or more specifically, he had to be able to get to her quickly.
He turned the faucet on and quietly growled at the dark red water pouring out. Part of him was hoping it would be just water. Part of him expected the same thing as in the kitchen. Sucked that the latter was the part that won.
He squirted some toothpaste onto his toothbrush and started brushing. Normally he would've wet it but he was pretty sure he could manage this one without dipping it in blood first.
He didn't spend nearly as much time on his teeth as he did his tongue. The mint flavor of the toothpaste helped combat the nasty taste in his mouth, which probably would only have been exacerbated if he had wet it first.
Thankfully the mint flavor remained after he spit.
"Come on, Diaz…" he said to his reflection in the mirror.
Next up was a shower and, of course, the clear water had turned red too. A nice, warm, red spray for him to stand under. The soap was fine at least, with white lather that didn't soak up any red. It washed off the blood…until he had to rinse himself off in more of the stuff.
The shampoo didn't have red in it either. White suds drained down in the midst of little red streams. Not a single part of him felt clean. In fact, he felt dirtier than before. The temptation to keep cleaning himself was insanely strong, but somehow he resisted. Maybe because he wanted to get away from the spray even more than he wanted to try to clean himself off in it…
He stepped out when he was fully rinsed and dried his face with the towel, burying his face in it just to avoid seeing the red splotch that would follow.
But eventually, he did have to lift his head up. No red anywhere. The water left at the bottom of the shower was clear now. None of the water painted the towel or his face, or any other part of his body.
There was still a mixture of dread and nervousness but at least he had one accomplishment under his belt now.
He finished drying off and got dressed. He combed his hair and brushed his teeth for a second time, not because his mouth was dirty but because some illogical feeling kept reminding him of what he was tasting not long before.
"Daddy, can we go now?"
Rosie hadn't even knocked before she opened the door. She was still very young, and until a mere few months ago he even found it more time-saving and convenient to bathe with her, so it wasn't a big deal for her to come in even if he had still been showering. But she was a girl and sooner or later she would get curious about things he wouldn't be comfortable discussing. Things on him. Things she didn't have on her. According to all the parenting books he'd read, co-bathing was perfectly fine until either the parent or child began to show signs or feelings of discomfort or worry. So he stopped.
He still watched her when she bathed, not only for protection in case she fell into the water, but also because she never washed her hair or face properly for fear of getting soap in her eyes. His mom used to do all the bathing but for…different reasons. Things beyond his control. Things that took a little time to fix, or at least work through.
But he was the father. It wasn't anyone else's job to raise his child. Once he acknowledged that, it was time to step up. He was young, inexperienced, and going through a lot at the time, so he did still have a lot of help from his parents with childcare, but he made things work between Rosie and college. Bought parenting books that seemed to be more relevant to fathers, including one that was dedicated to single fathers, and found time to read those too. The main trade off was his social life. He did keep in touch with his old friends but not nearly as much. Eventually he confessed why, as the excuse of college assignments began to wear thin, and his parents explained the basis of what happened with Star. His friends were supportive and much more understanding, so at least he didn't have to isolate himself.
Now he even used them as babysitters from time to time. They seemed to enjoy spending time with Rosie so so that was good. He didn't have to worry about Rosie's wings or cheeks with them. Once Star was her mother they never questioned anything except the lack of magic, which was something he couldn't explain. After that they didn't ask anything more about Star, something he couldn't have been more grateful for.
"You didn't brush your teeth," he said.
She had gotten dressed, thankfully in the outfit he had picked out for her instead of her own unique…style.
"I don't need to brush them," she said. "I ate a strawberry, remember?"
"That doesn't mean your breath will smell like strawberry."
"No it does though."
"Well it needs to smell like toothpaste," he said.
"But it's my birthday!"
"Well your birthday breath needs to smell like toothpaste."
She frowned but took her place at the sink.
He left to pick up the dishes from the table. Sometimes he wished he had a wife. Delegate the work. Have someone to help around the house and make sure Rosie was doing what she was told to do, or at least remind her a hundred times. Maybe if Hannah met Rosie and things went well… But she was still kind of young. Besides, parents or not, he'd managed this long. If he had a wife, what if he would start missing out on Rosie's milestones? He was there for her first word, her first step, he even held her in his arms when she took her first breath. His finger was the first thing she grabbed. He wanted to be there when she finally took off on her first flight, or learned how to drive, or got her first car. He wanted to meet her first boyfriend, teach her how to cook, throw her a graduation party for high school and college… What if a wife caused him to miss any of this?
It wasn't like he didn't have plenty of time to think about that though.
"Can we go now?" she complained.
"Hair," he reminded her.
He pulled a hairbrush out of the cabinet under the sink and took the first lock, careful to avoid scratching her wings with the prongs as he brushed. He discovered very early on that they were sensitive to certain stimuli. Falling on them wouldn't faze her at all, but she acted like he was going to rip them apart if he brushed them by accident.
"It looks fine…" she muttered.
"It's all tangled," he replied. "If you don't take good care of your hair, it'll fall out."
She groaned. He figured six was a little too young to start heading straight into her rebellious teen hormones. But she did let him finish brushing her hair without further whining.
"Now can we go?"
"Yup," he answered.
Her eyes lit up.
"Just let me get my keys and we'll leave."
"Okay!"
She ran out of the bathroom to wait impatiently by the front door. He grabbed his car keys off the counter as he walked by and unlocked the door for her to run out and stand by the car. He made sure to lock the door behind him and made his way over to a car with a giant, bloody dent in the front, as if he had hit something or run over someone.
He sighed and rubbed one eye, forcing himself to overlook what was possibly a tuft of long blonde hair in that dent.
He pressed a button on his key fob twice and heard the soft thumps inside the car as it unlocked. Rosie was quick to jump in and buckle herself up in her booster seat.
Not that she ever had a problem with the buckle anymore, but he still took it upon himself to do a quick seatbelt check before shutting the door.
"Do you like cake or presents more?" he asked as he slid into the driver's seat and started the car.
He busied himself checking the mirrors and car indicators before backing out of the driveway and onto the road.
"Maybe the cake can be a gift," she finally said.
"Yeaahhhh I don't think so," he laughed.
"Then I think I have to say…gifts."
Somehow he knew to expect that answer.
He didn't feel much like talking but thankfully Rosie had no shortage of one-sided conversations. All he had to do was pretend to listen by humming a yes or no to any questions.
Normally he would've put some music on but his parents didn't live far away at all. He had been too nervous to move very far away from them when he decided to get a house. Somewhere more spacious and homey that he could raise Rosie in, as opposed to them both living with his parents and him getting stuck with the stigma of being an incapable adult that couldn't take care of himself, let alone raise a child. So in that regard, maybe the house wasn't just for Rosie's benefit.
It couldn't have taken any longer than ten minutes to get to his parents' house.
He unbuckled Rosie and she immediately jumped out of the car and sprinted to the front door, jamming the doorbell so many times he was certain they would be mad. It would definitely annoy him…
He locked the car and caught up to his daughter just as the door opened.
"Hey!" he said to his mother.
"Hi, Marco!"
His mom knelt down to give Rosie a tight hug.
"Happy Birthday!" she said.
"Thanks, Grandma!"
His dad appeared behind his mom and his mom let them both slide by into the house. Rosie received a second hug and Happy Birthday from his dad before running off to look for gifts.
Rosie's greetings weren't always sincere…
The door was closed but while Rosie ran about the house excitedly, his parents stopped him from going any farther.
"Marco, are you sure you're okay?" his mom asked.
He rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."
"This has always been a stressful day for you," his dad added. "We're worried."
He opened his mouth to speak but Rosie was suddenly in the middle of this little circle, practically coming out of nowhere to pop in out of curiosity. She wasn't used to not being the center of attention on her birthday.
"What are you guys talking about?" she asked.
His mom suddenly slapped a hand over her husband's mouth.
"Grandpa!" his mom scolded. "You can't talk about Rosie's super surprise birthday present yet!"
"Oooh, can I see it?!" Rosie asked excitedly.
"You'll have to find it first!"
It was all the incentive she needed to run back off and his mother took her hand away.
"Marco," his mom said, turning back to him now that Rosie was distracted and out of earshot. "Let's please just talk about this."
"You could have waited until after today," his dad said.
"All I want is to celebrate my daughter's birthday like any other parent," he returned. "I'm happy that I can light six candles, some people can't say that. I'm happy to see what kind of person Rosie is growing up to be. And I'm happy to be here for her."
"Son, please, you really need to consider—"
"Dad, she was dead," Marco interrupted. "You came home from the hospital holding a crying baby, you know what I got? The first time I saw my baby, I picked up the tiniest corpse I've ever seen. I'm not just celebrating a birthday, I want to celebrate a miracle."
Both of his parents were visibly uncomfortable.
"That's why I think you should reconsider this whole decision since…that thing that happened. It's not just Rosie's birthday to you, it's an anniversary of…that," his mom explained.
"And 'that' is why I chose this," he replied. "It's time to move on for good. I don't want Rosie to grow up thinking drugs are the answer to everything. And if I can just make it through this one day, I should be in the clear."
"And…have you gone without, um, incident today?" his mom asked.
"Little trouble sleeping last night but aside from that, not really," he lied.
His dad put a firm hand on his shoulder.
"If anything happens today, let us know."
He removed the hand and shrugged more nonchalantly.
"How about we just celebrate Rosie's birthday," he suggested. "Today isn't about me and she's been really excited since the moment she got out of bed."
He didn't give either of his parents a chance to respond before moving past them to seek out Rosie. It wasn't very hard to find her. She kept looking under the couch and chair.
"Trying to find that super special surprise?"
"It's not in here," she said, not even looking up at him.
"Well it is hidden pretty well," he said.
"Do you know where it is?" she asked.
"Maaaaaybe," he slyly answered. "But maybe you can go look in the secret room."
She wordlessly pushed herself off the the floor and ran up the stairs to the "secret room." It wasn't actually a secret room in the house, it was just his old room. They had come to call it the secret room because each year, a mystery gift was left in the middle of the floor. Never wrapped, so the mystery was as simple as opening a door. His parents always claimed they never knew how the gift got there, which just reinforced the whole secret room idea. Even he didn't know what they had put in there.
But it better not be something that would end up on the walls again… In fact he was pretty glad they did wrap that stuff so he wouldn't have to carry around the sense of dread knowing where the stickers would go and how they accidentally and mysteriously were meticulously placed on walls, baseboards, and furniture. Of course Rosie would deny it every time but she wasn't fooling anyone.
Normally she didn't stay in the secret room for long before rocketing back downstairs with her newest gift. This time it had been a full minute. Maybe two. And normally the gift was right in the middle of the floor so it wasn't like she had to search around for it.
He decided to go up and check on her. In the moment he was assuming she had started playing with the toy but as he stepped into the room she was looking under the bed. Perhaps the toy was a ball and it had rolled underneath it.
"Hey there, cupcake," he said, catching her attention. "What are you doing? Did you find the secret gift?"
"Is this it?" she asked, pulling out a small piece of paper from underneath her.
He took it and at first it was blank, but when he flipped it around, he couldn't help but wonder where she had found this old, fading picture.
"That lady is like me," she said, pointing specifically to the cheeks.
Cheeks with hearts on them.
"Is that you?" she continued, moving her finger to a slender boy wearing an iconic red hoodie.
A young Marco with one arm loosely hanging over the shoulders of a beautiful blonde with a fun smile and striking blue eyes.
"Daddy?"
A real smile from the old days.
"Hello?"
Back when tragedies were unfathomable.
"Are you okay, Daddy?"
Back when magic ruined his plans.
"Daddy…?"
When adventures were a thrill.
When he tried to hide the sugar seeds on the top shelf using a ladder, but someone flaunted her ability to flutter up and effortlessly eat all the cereal anyway.
When he made a huge plate of nachos and someone generously drizzled melty cheese on the plain chip he sometimes grabbed.
When he got stuck in a web of glitter glue and spent half an hour talking to a fly with a mustache, monocle, and six fancy shoes while listening to huge book pages turn one after another.
When he would follow a girl anywhere knowing he could get hospitalized if he did.
He felt a sharp yanking on his arm and hissed.
"Daddy!" Rosie whined. "Listen to me!"
He turned the picture over and flattened it on the nearest desk.
"Sorry," he said. "Did you find the gift?"
"It's a unicorn whale!"
For some reason she was staring above him, and when he followed her line of sight, a stuffed narwhal hung over one of the ceiling fan blades.
"I can't reach it," she said.
Why did they put that thing all the way up on the fan?
Rosie tried to prove her point by jumping and trying to reach—which he noticed that, while in the air, her wings began to move—but he simply flipped a switch on the wall and the fan began to spin faster and faster. After a few seconds the narwhal fell, and Rosie rushed in to grab it. This thing was big for a stuffed animal, it had to be at least two-thirds of Rosie's size, if not a bit bigger than that. The thing was wider than her and almost as tall.
He wasn't entirely sure how he missed something like that upon entering the room but chalked it up to the earlier distraction.
"Let's go show Grandma and Grandpa what you found!" he exclaimed.
She didn't hesitate to waddle down the stairs with her new toy.
Where did she even find that old picture? Was she rummaging through everything looking for that narwhal? And why a narwhal anyway? Did his parents just feel like getting something unique? No more teddy bears or stuffed dogs or anything? No little building blocks? No glow-in-the-dark star stickers for the bedroom ceiling? It was just…very random. And honestly it was something he didn't need to see today, not paired with a picture that should've been tucked away better. Maybe it was less a toy for Rosie and more a test for him…an animal that he used to see rather frequently…
He had a sudden sense of dread, or maybe paranoia, or both, or maybe even something else he didn't recognize yet. It was very possible that today wouldn't go as planned. But no matter what happened, no matter what he felt or saw, if he could work through any of it, then he would've finally accomplished something monumental.
He took a deep breath and followed his daughter down, where she was already showing off the stuffed narwhal. His parents were pretending to have no clue what kind of animal it was or where it came from or who put it in the secret room. The usual routine, something to stimulate and excite Rosie, making the toy feel that much more special to her.
Seeming to forget about the cake or other gifts, Rosie eventually moved to the couch to start playing with her new buddy. She probably already had ten names lined up…
"She really likes that thing," Marco said in the midst of his parents.
"When are you bringing out the bike?" his mom asked.
"I think I'll do that one last. It's the super special surprise, after all."
"I know she will love it," his dad said. "She won't need to fly with a bike."
"Speaking of flying, have you guys noticed her wings flapping around?"
"Not at random…" his mom mumbled in thought. "But yes…when she jumps or tries to reach high up. Sometimes I'll hear this sound, almost like a buzzing sound but not quite? Is that what you mean?"
"Yeah." He put his hands in his pockets. "I was wondering if it might be that Brandon kid again but she hasn't said anything and she's not jumping off chairs or tables anymore. Any ideas?"
"We thought you might know something…" his dad replied.
"Not a clue. It might be unintentional but I really don't want other people knowing about this."
"Well, let's hope the bike stops all that."
"It'll be fun to see her ride it around," his mom added. "And of course, you did very nice putting training wheels on."
"Safety first. I also got a unicorn helmet," he said. "It's hanging off the handles."
"Oh, she'll love dressing up in that."
"I know. I didn't think that one through, she'll probably be using it as a costume or a hat or something," Marco sighed.
"You would dress up in bath towels at her age," his mom giggled.
He heard the door open, followed by footsteps, followed by a slow, creaking closing. The sounds were all slightly hollow. They had a very slight echo to them, not sounding quite as real as other sounds. Still.
"Hey, is anyone else supposed to come?" he asked casually.
"No."
"Not Janna or anyone?"
As annoying as Janna could be, she was typically his go-to babysitter for Rosie if his parents weren't available. This, of course, was due largely to everyone else's work schedule. She wasn't a bad babysitter, she was just…strange. He didn't ever see it rub off on Rosie but he was less than thrilled about taking that risk.
"Not unless you invited her," his mom said. "Did you?"
Marco perked an eyebrow. "Seriously, Mom?"
"What, she's babysat for Rosie plenty of times before," she replied.
"Well, the answer is no, I didn't invite Janna."
And he likely never would, unless he owed her his life. He would pay her for her troubles so he didn't have to be indebted to her but aside from that, he didn't want her to be a main character in Rosie's life.
He chose to keep his eyes away from the door. The less he focused on these things, the easier it would be to ignore them. So he hoped, anyway.
At first it was easy. Although Rosie was supposed to open her gifts last, his parents had made her favorite lunch—she was at a very simple age so lunch was just peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, with strawberry jelly—and she got to open them before cake because she "was too full to wait." It wasn't her best lie ever, but it was her birthday and none of them found any harm in letting her open gifts early.
She opened his bath toy horse first and took little interest in it before moving on. A quick thank-you and up next was a Lego building block princess tower set from his parents. He didn't get her any other gifts because of the bike, but his parents had gotten her four in total, and she paid attention to none of them as she opened the rest. He figured he would let her have fun with her new toys, which included the scratch-and-sniff stickers he hated, and reveal her super special surprise later. The plan was to trick her into thinking they had to leave early and then bring out the bike from the garage, claiming to have forgotten something.
The cake would wait until after dinner. Now that the mystery of the gifts was over, she started playing with them. It didn't seem like he really knew what the bath toy did though, so it still didn't get much love. She was extremely attached to that narwhal, at least at the moment, and pretended to be building a pink princess tower with it. The tower was turning out to be nothing like the picture on the box and the instructions that came with it were totally ignored.
And as he and his parents joined her in building that clunky tower, he eventually couldn't tune out the footsteps that used to be off in the distance. They still didn't completely sound real. But apparently they were real enough to set off his internal alarms.
He stuck another block onto the tower. Maybe he couldn't ignore it all, but he could still pretend like nothing was happening now that his mom confirmed nobody else would be coming. This would pass and everything would go back to normal.
"Marco?" a hollow voice said.
He swallowed and kept building the tower, moving at a slower and casual pace. As long as he just focused on the tower…as long as he just ignored it…if he could work through it all…
He could do this.
"Marco," the voice said again, this time almost a whisper in his ear. Just a few little inches away. So close…
He felt himself tense up but forced his muscles to relax again.
"Marco, are you okay?" he heard his mom ask.
Her voice wasn't so…ghostlike. He was fairly certain it was real. But if it wasn't and he answered…but if it was, and he didn't answer…
"Hm?" he said.
"Are you okay?" his mom repeated.
"Oh, yeah," he answered. "I'm fine."
Rosie was paying absolutely no attention to anything except her toys, but he felt the concerned stares of his parents. He simply kept his eyes on the tower while Rosie shifted from building it to playing with a white Lego horse.
"Rosie, why don't we play with all this in the secret room?" his mom said. "Maybe we'll find a new present there!"
He didn't object. If, by chance, something did happen, he didn't want Rosie there to see it. And, honestly, the possibility was growing by the second.
"Okay!" Rosie chirped.
His parents gathered up the toys, aside from the narwhal Rosie already had, and followed her up the stairs. Despite the skyrocketing anxiety, he felt some amount of relief when he heard the door shut. The relief was extremely short-lived though.
A gentle hand put itself on his shoulder.
"I'm back," the voice said.
If he wasn't frozen already, he was now. But the final straw was when he saw a face appear from the corner of his eye, leaning over his shoulder. Whatever cage was containing his mix of curiosity and terror popped open and he whipped his head to the side—one half of him wanting to know who this voice belonged to, even though he had a good idea already, and the other half needing to assure him everything was okay.
But when he stood up and broke free of Star's soft grasp with a step backwards, any curiosity was snuffed out by fear. He wanted to say her name, he wanted to hear her respond. It didn't matter what she said. She could hate him for never trying to come back to save her, he wouldn't even justify the excuse of choosing to keep Rosie away from the dangers in exchange for Star's life. He didn't care. It had just been so long.
Her voice was soothing in a way, like music, but the kind of music only heard in horror movies seconds before a bloody chainsaw was slowly brought out from behind the masked killer. Soothing but…terrifying.
"Star?" he choked out, despite having already seen her last night.
"Hello."
He felt his heart throwing itself against his chest, over and over, until it became physically painful.
"No," he breathed. "No, you're dead."
"Hello," she repeated.
"You died…"
He immediately looked down at the floor, still littered with wrapping paper. She died six years ago. She wasn't real. And he knew she wasn't real, he knew it was bad to interact with her, or, not her but this crazy hologram-like illusion of her. He regretted ignoring everyone's advice.
But even if she wasn't really here here, she was here in this moment.
"Marco," she said. "Look."
No. That was a bad idea. He needed to wait for it to go away.
But he looked back up anyway.
She straightened up and stared listlessly at him. Her eyes were so dull. No smile. For once he would love to see the girl he used to know. Not this. Not a shell.
"Marco?" two other voices said in unison.
Or, no, they weren't just saying his name. His parents were calling out to him. He heard footsteps loudly and quickly thumping his way.
"Marco, it's not real," his mom said, trying to turn his head towards her.
He wanted to do what she wanted him to, but…he couldn't look away from Star.
"Marco, look at me, okay?"
Her voice was suddenly calm and her words were slower.
"Just calm down, breaaathe," she cooed.
He wanted to obey, he really did, but for some reason he remained so transfixed on Star that he barely even registered his parents' words from then on…especially as he was forced to watch a red line slowly extend itself across Star's neck.
She promptly fell forward, blood pooling around her head and spreading towards his feet.
He knew he was breathing but…he couldn't breathe anymore. It felt like he was suffocating. Like no matter how much air his body allowed in, it simply wasn't enough.
He watched the very edge of the blood creep towards his feet, closer and closer. He would get her blood on him.
He saw his mom's feet move in front of him, the blood she couldn't see easily an inch away from her heels.
"Don't step in that," he wheezed. "Don't step in that!"
She said something, he couldn't make out what, and he was pushed back a few steps.
He struggled against the force and sidestepped the entire puddle, the huge and sickening puddle of blood still pouring from Star's dead body. It surrounded her now but really only seemed to try to stretch after him.
He only had enough time to turn around, ready to run the other way, before blade pressed themselves against his neck. He noticed they were attached to wooden sticks, and as he followed the sticks with his eyes, on either side of him stood an armed Thagerian guard ready to strike him down at a moment's notice.
He threw his hands up in surrender and turned his gaze from the guards to the royal family in standing before him.
"Make way for the princess!" a different voice announced.
A very exhausted, sweaty mewman with tangled blonde hair, pale skin, and blue eyes with dark rings under them appeared coming down a flight of stairs. She didn't look well at all, rather sickly in fact.
One of the guards stabbed his upper left arm and he shrieked out her name.
"Star! Tell—"
The spears pressed themselves further against his neck and he quieted.
"You will not speak to the princess so rudely!" the king angrily yelled. "Pray she has mercy on your soul, boy!"
"Your life depends on her word," the queen added.
Star looked at him for a time, just…stared at him as he was held still by spears threatening to decapitate him on command.
Her fiancé turned to her and said, "Princess, this is the young man who has inflicted such terror upon you. As promised, you shall be the one to decide this lowlife's fate."
Star did say something, but he couldn't make out half of it. Something about weapons and knowing him. The spears were removed from him and his knees buckled under him. Star turned away, saying something else but not to him. Something else about his service to Mewni. A pardon…for something… His vision began to blur and fade, but the last thing he saw was her bowing to the family. The last thing he felt was the entire upper half of his body hit the tile floor.
When his vision began to clear back up, he felt a soft object repeatedly poke his lips.
"Daddy?" a small voice said.
Rosie.
He grunted as he propped himself up on one elbow. Everything felt so light…so weak… His left arm hurt…but…it was also kind of numb…
Rosie looked fuzzy but stood in front of him holding a piece of cheese. She pushed it up against his lips again.
"You have to eat," she said.
"Rosie, honey, maybe you should get something else," someone said.
He dragged his blurry eyes to where the sound came from. His mom, just in time to usher Rosie away.
His surroundings weren't necessarily quiet, but he was able to hear his own breathing more clearly than he normally would, and he felt his heart beating. It was hard to visually focus on anything. Easier to just…silently stare ahead…at nothing in particular…maybe just…his own eyes…
He gathered the willpower to roll just a bit and ended up falling against, or…or maybe on, some soft thing…off a different soft thing…but the first thing was softer…more cushy…
"Marco!" a man's exclaimed.
It took him a few seconds to realize he was on the carpeted floor, on his stomach.
"Marco, are you okay, can you stand up?" the same man asked.
He felt a strong hand grab his bicep and tug on it. Almost reflexively, his legs struggled to help the man lift him off the ground. They felt so heavy…
His legs felt heavy, anyway, but his joints felt…absent. Or maybe so slippery they just didn't want to work right. He stumbled sideways into the man who he now recognized as his father in an effort to maintain balance.
"Let's sit down for a little while longer," his dad suggested.
"Is Daddy okay?" Rosie asked.
"Daddy's fine, he just needs a little nap," his mom replied.
"But he just woke up from a nap."
"Well…um…yes, but he woke up too early. He was up very late last night helping us plan your party. You know what he told me?"
"What?"
"He told me he didn't sleep at all. He was so excited for today."
Everyone was talking way too fast. He heard the words but processing anything was difficult to say the least.
His dad eased him back onto the couch, and this time he sat vertically, using his arms to stabilize himself. Even through the murk in his head he knew he would be bombarded with questions later, and not just from his parents but from Rosie too, meaning his answers to each question would be changing twice.
He sighed as Rosie climbed up onto the couch and cuddled up to him, almost throwing him off balance.
She was young but not stupid, she probably had a feeling that this was more than just a nap. He would have to ask his parents later but hopefully she didn't see any of whatever happened earlier. It scared his parents, particularly the first several times it happened, so he could imagine it would terrify a child.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, not to rest but to not be forced to look at a foggy world. It helped keep some of the input down. He could only take in so much information at once, and his vision was really the only thing he could control.
He could deal with real life later. For now…maybe just pull himself together.
A/N
WHEW. That was a long one. Thank you so much for the support! Between life and this fic, I've been pressed for an update. Next chapter will also be long so the update may be extended too, just a heads up! Anyway please enjoy this ridiculously long chapter and don't forget to let me know what you think about it! :)
*I did want to put the conversation between Hannah and Marco's parents in, but this was already so long I just decided to cut it and put it in a nutshell. There were actually several ideas I wanted to put in that didn't make it either... :( Some were due more to being too overboard, others were just unnecessarily long. I even had two scenes for Janna planned...