Chapter Seventeen: Tears in the Rain

It was strange, at first. Rebecca's absence didn't seem to affect us much, except for Shauna, who looked oddly lost.

Surprisingly, Roy seemed actually happy that Rebecca had left. When I asked him about it, he told me that all the girls who find a home here grow up and leave eventually. If one leaves earlier than expected – Rebecca, in this case – then, he said, the best thing you can do for them is wish them well.

That made perfect sense, but I sort of expected Roy to be more unhappy that she had left. Besides, it's not like she'd gone in the best of circumstances.

To which Roy replied: "Well, Ed, I don't think that matters. I think, I'm not sure, but I think that she's actually serious about your brother. And from what I know about him, he's serious about her too. This could turn out very, very well."

"Or it could turn out very, very badly."

He shrugged. "You'll learn eventually that it's impossible to do well when you're a pessimist."

As he walked away I called, "I'm not a pessimist!"

He laughed.

Winnie also seemed ill at ease with Rebecca being gone. She was edgy, and she didn't seem comfortable any more with me holding my hand, or touching her at all. Roy had told me once that Winnie and Rebecca were like sisters, so I tried to understand this as best I could. Winnie probably felt like she lost Rebecca, and after Michael, that was a big deal to her.

Winnie began going to bed earlier, without me – she'd never sleep in my room anymore, either. I tried to get to know the other girls better.

Lillian talked to me a lot. Mostly about her family and her journey to America, and then sometimes about Winnie and about Rebecca. Helena would listen to my long conversation with Lillian, saying a comment now and then, but mostly staying silent. Margaret tried to get my attention by brushing past me, or trailing her fingers across my hand just a little too long, but after failing a few times, she took to telling me about the other girls, no matter if they wanted me to know or not.

She told me that Daley had stumbled upon the house in the beginning of her pregnancy – she had been nearly starving, which, Margaret said, was not good at all for the baby. Daley was still building up her strength – after all, she would need all she had to deliver the baby. She told me Shauna had been a battered ten-year-old child when Roy found her hiding in the garage. In the three years since then, she had changed a lot. At first, she was quiet, completely silent – then, looking a little resentful, Margaret said Shauna had followed Margaret around for about a year, then she became bored and latched onto, and begun, the way Margaret put it, worshipping Rebecca.

Fiona's story was one of the most interesting. She was the eldest daughter of a wealthy family, but had some sort of brain defect; it was unclear exactly what it was. She was supposed to have been transferred to a mental hospital quietly, but, before her she was sent there, she ran away. Margaret said Irene found her, on the streets. She had assumed at first that Fiona was a drunk, because of her strange way of acting, but later she realized whatever was causing the craziness was out of Fiona's control. Fiona's family had never reported that their daughter was missing.

Margaret said she didn't know that much about Anne, except that Winnie had said once that Anne had lived with an abusive mother before Winnie picked her up.

"But she didn't even have any bruises or scars when she spent her first night here," said Margaret matter-of-factly. "And that doesn't make sense; all of us had bruises."

Mostly, though, Margaret talked about herself.

"Oh, of course, my story is tragic," she said, grinning, then launched into a long narrative of her life's story. According to her, she had grown up with three older brothers who constantly beat her. After taking this for nine years straight, she ran away from the home, where, if I was to believe her, she was raped at least six times, and four times she narrowly escaped from being murdered. It was plausible up until the point when she began to describe the incident when she was eleven years old that she had taken out a whole police force of men intent on making her their personal slave.

I began to wonder whether or not I could trust her about the stories of the others. Quickly, though, I decided to believe her, because she seemed like the type of person who would strive to get any information on anyone else, and pass it along to the best of her ability. When it came to her, however, whatever she deemed too personal she extrapolated on, and made it worse that it really was. It was her interpretation of privacy.

I thought, this girl would make a good reporter.

And then I asked, "Margaret, do you know anything about Rebecca's past? Or should I ask Winnie?"

Something glinted in Margaret's eyes, and she leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Do I know anything about Rebecca, oh please, what do you take me for, a complete idiot?" She didn't wait for me to answer. "Yes, Ed, I know all about precious little Becca." She grinned at me. "You've met her stepfather, haven't you? His name's Norm, her mother married the man when Becca was little, and – oh, you should meet her mother, Ed, it's unbelievable that she and Becca are related, her mother's this tiny little woman who still believes in that old a woman's place is in the kitchen rule – well, so, Becca's stepfather is brainless, I'm sure you already knew that, and he wasn't too kind, but he wasn't that bad, either. As far as I know, Becca and her sister never got more than a few bruises and a bloody nose from him, and-"

"Sister?" I asked, interrupting her. "Rebecca has a sister?"

Margaret smiled faux-guiltily and put a hand to her lips. "Oops. Didn't mean to tell you that." I tried not to roll my eyes. She continued. "Yes, Becca has a sister. Or maybe I should say had. See, none of us know what happened to her. Rachel– that was her name, by the way, Rachel – Rebecca and Rachel, has a sort of ring to it, doesn't it? Anyway, so Winnie found both Becca and Rachel asleep somewhere on the streets, Winnie found a lot of the girls, and brought them in, they were about Shauna's age, I think, maybe younger, but it was maybe, I don't know, a month or two, and then Rachel just left, it was the strangest thing, we just woke up the next morning and she was gone. She left a note, but Becca never let anyone else read it, and so we didn't ask her again or anything, because we all knew she needed time to heal. Becca ran away again and again, but we always found her, or she came back, or, you know, she ended up in jail a few times. Nobody agrees with me, but personally I think that she was looking for Rachel. I mean, if your brother suddenly decided to just take off and you didn't know where he was, you would go after him, right? Of course you would. But no one ever listens to my theories."

This was believable, too. Well, believable enough, anyway.

Margaret leaned back and said, "Look how late it is, I should have been in bed a while ago. Well, goodnight Ed."

She got up and left, to go to her room. I sat there for just a moment, trying to digest what I had just heard. Becca had had a sister, just like Winnie had had a brother. I didn't even know.

I admit, my first thought was, I wonder if Al knows? Then, slightly ashamed, I shook my head, and headed to my room.

I couldn't remember the dream I had, the next morning, but I woke up with clammy palms and a pounding headache. Ignoring it, I got up, got dressed, and headed downstairs.

Roy and Riza were in the kitchen, Riza hurriedly telling something to Winnie, and Roy cleaning something up. When he saw me, he said, "Ed, Riza and I have to leave for a few hours, is that okay?"

"Fine by me," I said, yawning. He nodded, and, a few minutes later, he and his wife were out the door. Only Irene and Winnie were downstairs, but, after lingering for a while, Winnie went back upstairs, to her room. I wanted to talk to her. But I didn't know what I would say.

Irene was in the living room, sitting at the piano, with Tom Mustang, Roy and Riza's son, next to her. He was hitting the keys at random, laughing with delight. Irene was looking at him with a soft look in her eye, and when she put her arm around him, she looked complete… she looked like such a natural mother.

When Irene saw me, she said, "Go wake up Margaret," to Tom, who jumped off the piano bench and ran past me, up the stairs.

I smiled after him. "Good kid," I said.

Irene stifled a laugh. "Yes, a very good boy," she said. There was something different in her eye, wistful, painful.

Suddenly, she said, "I have a daughter." I looked at her. A bitter smile appeared on her face. "Oh yes. I was married before I came here. I'm the oldest one who hasn't left this place yet, only a little younger than Riza, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Yeah," I said. "I had noticed."

She let out a little grunt of laughter. "Well. He, my husband, treated our daughter reasonably well. But… I don't know. After a while, he got tired of me, or something. He made me leave. I would have started over, gotten a job, a home of my own… but I can't."

She raised her right arm, shaking down her sleeve a little, and I saw that her arm was twisted and withered on that side. She was so adept at covering it up, I hadn't noticed until now, when she pointed it out.

"Factory accident," she said simply, before I could ask. "The machines… well, it was always dangerous. Anyway. My daughter."

She paused for a second, then said softly, "Her name was Nina."

All the blood in my body seemed to freeze at the mention of that name, and I stared at her, my eyes wide. She didn't seem to notice. "Irene… what was your husband's name?"

She looked at me, finally recognizing my horror. "Tucker," she said shortly, confirming my worst fears. "Shou Tucker."

I stood there, absolutely still for a moment, then turned and got a piece of paper and a pen. "His address," I said, sick to my stomach. "Give me your husband's address."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously. "Do you know him?"

I hesitated. "Yes," I said. "I… knew him."

For a few more seconds, she looked into my eyes, then she shook her head and picked up a pen and wrote down an address, then held it out to me.

"Don't do anything stupid," she said. I nodded, but I couldn't speak, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even think, I just had to get to this address…

Once I was in a car and heading towards the address – I had to sort of guess where it would be, since I didn't have directions – I calmed myself down to think things through.

What would I say? He wouldn't know me. She wouldn't know me. How old would she be? It had been… it had been ten years…

But of course it was her. It had to be. Nina Tucker, the name couldn't be mere coincidence. What had been the name of Tucker's wife? Goddammit, hadn't I asked him? Didn't I know? Her name hadn't been Irene, had it?

Dammit, drive faster!

My heart was racing, and my blood was pumping in my ears. What if… what if I was too late, again?

Images flashed through my mind. A girl, a dog, snow on the ground, drawings, a thing, and then him, the bastard himself, as I hit him again and again in the face… and then, the blood on the wall, and the rain… the rain, which was coming back. Raindrops fell on the roof, and the windshield.

I looked at street names, trying to figure out where the house had been. I should have asked Irene…

Irene. Wait.

In my world, Tucker had transformed his wife into a chimera. Since alchemy was impossible here, of course something different would have happened. If I had had to assume what would have happened to her, I would have guessed that Tucker killed his wife, somehow, someway, and got away with it. And his… his own damn daughter would be next…

But Irene had gotten away. She had gotten out, fine – hadn't she even said he made her leave? Which meant that there was no reason he would kill his daughter. There was no reason Nina Tucker would not lead a long and healthy life, and grow up, and, and, and…

Despite this reasoning, my heart rate didn't slow, but I forced myself to stop driving so fast. In fact, I forced myself to pull over, to the side of the street, and listen to the rain pounding on the hood of the car. If anything, however, the rain intensified my fears. It had rained that very day. But the rain wasn't enough to wash away the blood on the wall.

Dammit, dammit, dammit, NO!

I squinted out of the car window, at a street sign. I checked the paper, then looked back at the street sign. Then, I got out of the car, ignoring the rain that pelted my head and shoulders. I checked the paper again, and realized I was standing in front of it. It was in the higher middle-class part of town. None of the people there were what you could call wealthy, but they weren't struggling too much either. He had turned them into chimeras for the money, to keep his lifestyle. If he wasn't struggling, then that meant that he wouldn't have to do anything… right?

I marched up the stairs stoically, preparing myself for a bloody crime scene, or perhaps a struggle – what if I walked in while he was trying to kill her? And I could save her, once and for all, and I wouldn't have to worry, and everything would be right in the world…

I knocked one, two, three times on the door.

For a few moments there was nothing. I was going to knock the door down, and be the hero that I wished I had been.

Then, there was a gentle click and the door opened.

She was taller, and leaner, and her fingers were thin and adult-like, and what had I been expecting? The chubby fingers of a four-year-old? Her face remained very much the same, although longer and somehow older. Her hair was the same color as I remembered. But she was now more of a young woman than a little girl.

"Can I help you?" she asked. Her baby lisp had gone, and she sounded kind but cautious.

"…Is your father home?" I asked, trying to speak. There she was. Why did I need to speak to Tucker? There was no need…

"Just a moment…" She went inside and I heard her call, "Father! It's for you!"

And then there he was, standing in the doorway like he was an innocent man. I wanted to punch him and kick him and kill him. But I didn't. He said, "Good morning…"

"Are you Shou Tucker?" I asked bluntly.

He nodded, frowning. "Yes, is there something I can help you with?"

Let me see your daughter again, I thought. "No," I said. "I'm…sorry. Excuse me." I glanced over his shoulder, to see her once last time. I only saw her from the back.

Then I turned and walked down the steps and away from the house, slowly. I couldn't concentrate. She was alive… she was healthy… and she was old enough to take care of herself now… she was too old to play…

I closed my eyes and saw her once more. The child I knew. The little girl I had befriended, and promised to come back to. The woman I would never know.

The rain was falling harder than ever, but I took my time walking back down the street. There weren't many people out, apart from myself.

But even if they had been, in the rain, no one would have seen the tears silently slide down my face.

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Ahahah I'm evil.

Review. The chapter from Noa's point of view will probably be the next chapter, because I wrote it in that order. But maybe it would fit better after Chapter Twenty... I don't know. Tell me what you think.

(Sorry I haven't updated in a while. Things have been hectic.)