It's been two years, seven months, and twenty-one days since Marcus last talked to his uncle. The man had raised him, taken him in when his parents were no longer able. He had loved the man like he never could with his own father, but after his mother's death and the bout of alcoholism that followed, he'd thought it best to leave the poor man out of his life. Until now.
It takes hours of mental preparation just to get to the point where he's standing outside a phone booth, number clutched firmly in hand with a wealth of pocket change. It takes a few deep breaths before he steps inside, and a couple more to pick up the receiver. He slides each coin in slowly, the clunk of their acceptance giving off a definite sense of finality. The other side rings only twice before it's answered, and for some reason that catches Marcus off guard, unprepared. "Hello? Is anybody there? …I can hear you breathing."
Marcus swallows past the lump in his throat and barely manages to squawk out a hello. His heart is sitting high up his chest, making each shallow breath painful, and as his uncle takes a turn with silence, all the terrible things he did come rushing to mind, overwhelming what little confidence he had gathered. He's just about to hang up, maybe try again in another year or so when the memories have lost a little more potency when his uncle starts to talk again. "Marcus, please. Don't go."
The quiet desperation clear in his Uncle's voice forces out a shaky, nearly manic laugh as Marcus falls back against the glass of the booth, letting it support his weight. "Why? Why would- you should hate me." Marcus mutters the last bit as he closes his eyes, trying to keep his voice steady.
"Well I was never very good at doing what was expected of me." His uncle tries to keep things a little lighter- always was trying to get Marcus to be less serious, less harsh. "Talk to me. Please? I just… want to hear you talk."
Marcus lets out a long sigh, contained in it the weight of the world, but he's reminded of why he's here, the inspiration behind his reconnection with his last living relative. "It's about a boy, Uncle." It sounds so childish, so simple when he says it out loud, across the phone his uncle might even think he's making a joke, but here, in this place, it feels like a sinister confession. "I drew him up from the waters in my nets." The truth of the matter doesn't help his attempt to make the subject serious and it frustrates him quickly.
For a moment his uncle says nothing, perhaps debating in his head whether Marcus is currently sober or not, but when he answers, he sounds settled in for the long run. "What about this boy? Why have you called me, of all people?"
So direct, so to the point, it has Marcus hedging at first, still scared to really admit to himself, to another, what this call means. What Esca means. "H-he brings me luck, and I don't know why." His uncle says nothing, perhaps sensing, in that way of his, that Marcus just needs to soldier on through this. "I'm afraid, Uncle." He only realizes just how true it is now that he's let it out, and the usual cold outside seems so much more vicious with the truth. "I-I'm beginning…. to hope." His voice is quavering and he can feel the sharp prick of tears behind his eyes. It's been a long while since he let himself feel so much.
"You should never lose hope Marcus." His uncle's voice is quiet, but steadfast, as immovable as the man himself. His uncle was always a thinker, a philosopher, so unlike Marcus' father, but even so he still had the steel resolve that seemed so dominant in their family. Darkly, Marcus thinks it must have skipped a generation and left him drowning in this mire of fear and crumbling conviction.
"He was drowned, Uncle. He was drowned and my nets brought him back to life."
"That doesn't make any sense Marcus! What's going on? Where are you?" The questions are still calmly asked, but Marcus can tell his uncle is desperate to know just what he's gotten himself into.
Now that the dam has been broken, now that he's finally allowed this of himself, Marcus cannot stop. He has to get it all out there, say everything he's kept locked up in his heart, or he thinks it just might drive him mad. "None of it makes sense! That's why I'm afraid." There's a beep on his end of the telephone, and with a start Marcus starts digging around his pockets for the change he'd brought, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder and fumbling over the layers of his clothes. Half the coins fall to the floor before he fishes a few out and with shaking hands slides them into the receiver. The distraction proves to be only that, and once the beeping is gone Marcus is still faced with his problem. "I know something wonderful… or terrible is going to happen. That's just the kind of boy he is…. That's just the kind of person he is." Marcus runs a hand over his face, no longer able to keep the tears at bay.
Cottia is sitting patiently on one of the kitchen chairs, watching you as you continue to fiddle with the music box Marcus had bought for you. After the other night it's taken on a whole new meaning and you're determined to make it sing again. Every twenty minutes or so Cottia offers up a word of advice, asks if he'd like something to eat or drink, or turns to stare over her shoulder and out into the sea. She'd been looked over by the standby EMT's at the carnival and unable to offer up an explanation for her actions, they'd taken her to see a psychiatrist- worried it'd been a suicide attempt. She and Marcus had argued passionately with anyone in the hospital that would listen, but having seen the endless emptiness that would sometimes work its way into her eyes, you weren't so convinced they were wrong.
In the end they'd allowed Marcus to keep her out of a clinic, on the condition that he'd watch her, never let her out of his site, and bring her in for weekly sessions. So the two of you would take turns accompanying her throughout the day and then housing her at night. She played a good act in front of the both of you- smiling and laughing when called for, still curious and questioning as ever, but you knew. You think she can tell that you're not fooled, a distance having grown between you ever since she came home to find you'd hidden all the knives in the house, kept Marcus' spare rope and fishing wire out in the greenhouse behind your shack, and made your temporary bed right beside the one she'd be using.
You've tried to talk to her, made sure to let her know you don't think any less of her, that you just want to help. She shuts you down cold every time so now you've just adopted a mutual silence with each other. So when she turns to you today and casually says "Do you imagine things Esca?" you're caught off guard.
You don't quite know what her questions means, what it is she's searching for, but you purse your lips momentarily and offer up the only thing you can think of. "I usually leave that to you."
Cottia smiles, weary but genuine, and lays her head down on her arms resting on the table. "It's because I have too much time on my own, day in and day out. Nothing changes, everything static, the world passing by." She sighs and plays with a knot of wood, letting her words sink in before continuing. "I try to imagine a happy ending, like those fairy tales Marcus is so fond of. But it's hard." She looks up at you then and a chill runs down your back as you think you finally understand. "Some days it's hard."
When Marcus finally hangs up the phone, several dollars poorer, throat raw, and eyes burning, he feels raw, but a little better- like he'd sucked poison from a wound and was just now waiting for his system to return to normal. He pulls aside the folding door and takes long lungfuls of the crisp air until he notices Placidus waiting just outside. And right back into the fray he thinks as he steels himself. "Ah Marcus! Just the man I was looking for." Marcus starts walking back to his truck- parked just across the street and scowls when Placidus pulls up to walk beside him. "Got a light?"
"What do you want Placidus?" Usually Marcus at least tries to keep the aggravation from his voice, plays polite so the people in town will leave him alone, but right now he just doesn't have the energy for it.
"The boy on your boat- what is he to you?" All traces of the playful haughtiness fled his face in an instant and that cold, hard ugly reality beneath is revealed. Panic rises fast and unforgiving in Marcus' throat and suddenly he tastes bile on his tongue. "What do you call him?"
Marcus opens the door of the truck and pauses for just a moment to give his answer before getting in. "My mascot." He smiles brashly at the anger that flashes across Placidus' features before he speeds away.
You're awakened by the familiar sound of tires on the gravel uphill and for a few seconds you're thrilled to think it's Marcus, come to wish you goodnight and maybe share a kiss. But then a second and third car can be heard pulling up above the house and immediately adrenaline rockets into your veins. "Cottia!" You whisper harshly as you leap out of bed and yank on the nearest pair of boots and a trench coat. "We need to leave. Now!" You shake her awake and try to shush her loud protests.
"Esca? What are you doing?" You don't answer her as you can now hear car doors slamming and voices carrying across the wind. They are all laughing, calling out to each other, footsteps heavy on the rocks. Something's off about them, and you feel sick to your stomach with the thought that they might be without the usual inhibitions- a group of young townsfolk brash, under the influence, violent. Hurriedly you pull her out the door and run for the abandoned greenhouse, the only place out here you know to hide. Though Cottia lets you guide her behind the building and into the cover of the semi-opaque tarp that housed the broken pots and overgrown vines that lay in ruin, she constantly throws looks over her shoulder and continues to ask questions. "Is that Placidus? A-and Liathan? What's everyone doing here?"
You know why they're here, know of the animosity they've shown Marcus, probably now boiled over because of you. "Cottia, I need you to listen to me and do just as I say." You hold her face between your hands and force her to look you in the eyes, to try and think through the fear that must be causing the full-body shivers that are wracking her frame. "They're here for me so I need you to get out of here." You can see the protest working forward from her lips, but you cut her off with a harsh glare. "Run as fast as you can- find Marcus, he'll know what to do." You try to give her a reassuring smile, but are pretty sure that it comes out as a grimace.
She reaches up and gives your hands a brief squeeze before pulling back from your grip and crouching to look through a tear in the tarp. Once she thinks the way is clear she takes off, throwing you one last glance and mouthing "Sorry," probably just in case she doesn't see you again.
Marcus drives as fast as he can, unable to shake the feeling that Placidus' presence was something of a warning of things to come. He has to slow down once he gets out of town, the sun setting fast behind the hills and making these back roads dangerous to traverse in the dark. His anxiety grows more and more with all the time he has to imagine what the townspeople would do if they found out about him and Esca and by the time he pulls up to the footpath to the cove he's leaping out of the car, leaving the lights on and the engine running.
He nearly twists his ankle running down the steep paths cut into the hill. He doesn't pay any mind to his own safety as he bounds across the porch, but comes to a dead stop in front of the door of the shack, left ajar. His heart leaps into his throat and he feels like he's gonna be sick. It takes everything he has to lean forward and push the door aside. His breath catches in his throat as he waits… Waits for what? He's not sure what would be worse, to see the place empty or to see Esca broken and bloody inside.
At first there's nothing, this empty void that feeds into his fears. The room pitch black and the lack of moonlight gives no relief, but then a lamp flickers on towards the back and illuminates the scene. The house has been trashed, tables turned, glass broken, clothes and bedding strewn across the floor. But no Esca. The fear doesn't subside and Marcus turns away from it to look back at the hills he raced down. "ESCA!" He cups his hands around his mouth and screams so loud it hurts. There's no reply so he starts to run, where he's not sure, but he just needs to be doing something. "ESCA!"
He scours the surrounding land, tears he didn't think would be able to form so soon blurring his vision as he stumbles over rocks and creeks and divots. After a few minutes he can't call anymore, his voice hoarse, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. He's just about to give in, collapse to the ground and wait for Placidus and the rest of them to find him too, when he spots something under the small stone bridge he'd once seen Esca washing his clothes by. He stops, stares, pleading for the shape to move, to be something more than a moss covered rock, and when he steps forward, feet crunching over the gravel, a familiar pair of otherworldly eyes stare back. "I thought I get seven years." he croaks out as he wades through the creek and comes to sit beside the other boy. Esca just shrugs his shoulders and looks apologetic, shrinking into himself by hugging his knees to his chest and looking away again. "Ignore them. Tell 'em to piss off…. W-we could leave, never look back."
Esca laughs sadly and wipes at his nose with his sleeve, sniffling and gazing intently into the water as though it might have all the answers they need. "I wish I could." Marcus could hear the worry in his voice, the sheer level of desperation making a knot twist in his stomach. All he wanted to do was reach across the small gap between them and take Esca into his arms, make him forget this was the world they lived in.
"Wish then."
"I-" Esca's voice breaks and he buries his face in his lap for a few seconds before he comes back out and tries again. "I can't."
"You can grant a wish." Marcus says it with all the conviction he can muster, praying that maybe what they say is true- that if you believe in something hard enough it must be true.
Esca turns to him then, his eyes a wild kind of hopeful, looking to be reaching for any kind of foothold. "Are you sure?"
"Well if Cottia says it, it has to be true right?" Marcus chuckles half-heartedly at the idea of Cottia hearing him say she was omniscient. She'd love it.
Esca waits, looking as though he might be holding something back before it all comes spilling out. "Okay then, I wish she wasn't sick." This is hardly the time or place to broach the subject, but Marcus knows Esca's been waiting for the right time, seen the worried glances he's always throwing Cottia's way.
Marcus wants to say 'I don't know what you're talking about! Cottia's just fine, she's just as reckless and tempestuous as the sea.' but instead he just nods and says "So do I." Finally the space between them is broached as Esca places a firm hand on his knee and offers up a wry twist of his lips. "But I also wish things were different, wish we could stay."
"That's two wishes." Esca moves to let his hand fall away and looks back to the ground.
Marcus catches it before it gets too far and holds it between his own, giving it a brief kiss. "One for you and one for me."
