Notes: I don't believe Annie's sister is ever named in the show, so I made one up. George and Mitchell's exchange in the doorway is stolen from the show.
I have never participated in a séance. I used to watch Ghost Whisperer on Friday nights when I needed a sentimental weep, so Catherine's technique owes more to that program than anything else. (Well, I wasn't going to borrow the creeptastic automatic writing from The Changeling!) The content of the family discussion owes a lot to some young-adult "problem novels" I read when I was a teenager back in the eighties. And, of course, quite a lot to real life experiences, not all of them my own
Warnings: Family angst. Like, considerable family angst, some of it possibly triggery, because I just feel like there must be something behind Annie's insecurity and the self-destructive choices she made. But rest assured, there are no evil parents in the offing. Promise.
Chapter Nineteen
Annie's plan to contact her family had one obvious weakness: it depended entirely upon the Sawyers deciding to contact Catherine Bennett. If Annie's mother threw away the telephone number, there would be an end to it.
There were, of course, other ways such contact could be made, and some of them were very simple. If, for instance, Loki and Annie walked into the Sawyer home, and Loki took her parents by the hands, that would certainly solve one problem. It would also create a great many more, revealing as it did the existence of supernatural creatures living in the world of humans.
The fact Annie, George, and Mitchell were known to the Avengers (and presumably, after last summer, officially to SHIELD as well) was not ideal, and perhaps they should have been more cautious. Still, the comradeship offered by Thor's allies was welcome, and Loki could not find it in himself to regret the trust placed in them. Annie's parents, though, were ordinary mortals, not superheroes with an understanding of secret identities. They might let something slip, and that could endanger everyone- including them.
Then, too, they might be horrified and afraid, if they knew their daughter lived in their world as a spirit, if they guessed there were other supernatural creatures among them. There was simply no way to be sure, and Annie was unwilling to risk the safety of her family and friends in case things went wrong.
So. This was Annie' chance to speak again with her parents, and if it failed there would not be another. Knowing this, Annie was visibly tense all evening, glancing occasionally at the house telephone or the pocket of Loki's jacket where his mobile lived. No call came. The evening ended with no word from Catherine Bennett, and when everyone else retired for the night Annie remained on the sofa, Scamp in her lap, looking at nothing.
Loki lingered at the foot of the stairs after George and Mitchell had gone up.
"Would you like me to stay with you?" he asked.
Annie started a little, focused on him, and shook her head with a sad little smile. "No, I think… I need to be alone right now. But thank you. I'll see you in the morning."
Loki nodded, smiled back as encouragingly as he could, and ascended the stairs.
And then, of course, sleep was a long time coming for him as well. His own ears strained for the sound of his mobile, or the house phone ringing, long after it would have been reasonable for Catherine to call.
He lay on his back, with the kittens on his chest and thoughts tumbling unchecked through his head. He imagined Mrs. Sawyer, in a house Annie would never see again, setting down the phone and staring at the numbers on the paper before her. Had she thrown it away? If she had, would she later retrieve it, perhaps hide it somewhere she kept things that were precious to her? Had she turned at once to her husband, or was she even now lying awake and wondering what to tell him? Wondering, perhaps, whether the chance of being deceived by a charlatan was worth the tiny possibility of truly speaking to her daughter one last time?
Or perhaps she would tear the slip of paper into tiny pieces, knowing they must learn to live without her.
As George's parents had.
Loki had not thought of it in so many words, but he knew that George, when he became a werewolf, had fled his old life for fear of endangering those he loved. They lived, and they were lost to him. As Mitchell's family had lived and been lost to him, when he became a vampire.
Carefully, so as to disturb the kittens as little as possible, Loki turned onto his side and curled up into a ball. Why had he never thought of this before? He supposed it was because the other three had been together before he arrived, and he so lost that all he could see was the family before him, not all that had been taken from the others. And yet Loki- the outcast, the banished criminal- turned out to be the only who still had a family in the conventional sense, one who wanted him yet and to whom he could return.
He twisted back the other way, hot with shame, no longer caring that he disturbed his bedmates. Truly, there was no end to his selfishness. But surely… he hoped… surely George and Mitchell also knew, if they wished to speak of this, if they needed him… surely they knew he was willing to give to them, instead of only taking?
He hugged his pillow. Surely.
He turned his thoughts back to Annie's mother, but since he had only met her once, her features were blurred in his mind. Instead, his imagination presented him with a picture of his own mother. And the look on her face...
Loki rolled onto his back again, to sleepily protesting mews from Philip and Elizabeth, who clutched reflexively at the covers as they moved. Loki reached a hand out from under the covers and rubbed their little heads in turn. Which made him think of Tony scratching his head. And then he thought of the weekend spent with his brother and the Avengers. Of the new foods, and the strange version of football, and chunks of wood crashing down on Tony in his suit, and the tiny black-and-grey bird looking up at him with its bright little eyes...
Loki was smiling when he finally drifted off to sleep.
~oOo~
The next day seemed extraordinarily long to Loki, and he could not imagine how it must have dragged for Annie. The house was rather cleaner than usual when he arrived home that evening, and the smell of a nice curry suggested that Annie had occupied her hands in order to distract her mind.
She was determinedly cheerful, although her eyes were bleak with disappointment. Scamp clung to her side as though aware of Annie's anxiety and determined to provide comfort. Loki, with similar motives, found occupations for himself that kept him near her until George and Mitchell came home and it was time to serve tea. During the meal she sat on the sofa with Loki, rather closer than usual, as though she found his presence comforting. It was a relief to be able to offer her that, at least.
After tea, the others had just convinced Mitchell that it was his turn to wash up when there came a knock at the front door. Mitchell abandoned his task at once and hurried to open it- Mitchell had very good manners, and also he hated to wash up. Scamp hopped off the sofa and trotted out of the lounge to join him. As she approached the door, her tail curled happily over her back and began to wag. She uttered a friendly "wuff" at the crack under the door, then yapped excitedly, skipping back and forth, as Mitchell opened it.
"Catherine!" he exclaimed, pulling the door wide, and the witch looked rather startled by the speed at which he ushered her in. One look at Annie's expression told the story, and Catherine's calm, trustworthy face broke into a very kind smile.
"Annie," she said. "I've been talking to your parents." Loki was suddenly aware of his hand reaching toward Annie, and her cold fingers closing around his.
"Yes?" Annie asked, on an indrawn breath. "Are they- did they say they would- ?"
Catherine nodded, all calm serenity. "Yes. They've agreed to come on Thursday evening. I told your mother that I'd arrange everything here in Bristol, and she's calling me back tomorrow to hear about the details. I'd like to hold the séance here, if you boys will allow it."
"Here?" George asked in surprise.
"Here?" echoed Annie.
"Here," Catherine confirmed. "Ordinarily, I would meet the participants in their home: the tea room isn't private enough, or... personal. That's for the sake of the survivors- the circumstances are upsetting enough, without asking the participants to sit in the dark in a strange place- as well as the ghosts, who are much easier to reach in a place that had meaning to them in life.
"And besides, as I was speaking to your mother... I really got the impression she and your father need some sort of closure on this house. I think it would be best for your parents to let them come here, have a last conversation with you, and let them go on with their lives." She cast a look of stern kindness upon Annie and added the statement, "This will be the last. Remember, if they're like most humans, they believe you've already passed on to the afterlife, and are coming back to speak to them. They don't know you're still here, and- "
"It's best if they don't find out," Annie agreed. "Yes. I've already been thinking of that."
Catherine smiled. "I thought you probably had."
Loki spoke up, confused and rather curious about this matter. "When you are asked to speak to the spirits of the dead- are you truly only able to do so if they are ghosts on this realm?" Catherine nodded. Loki frowned. "What... what do you do, if a family wishes to speak to someone who has, as you say, passed on to the afterlife?"
"I don't know that's the case until I've tried," Catherine explained. "Ordinarily, if someone remains on Earth as a ghost, I'm able to contact them, and they nearly always take the opportunity to speak. If they don't appear, I simply tell their family the truth: that when the business of someone's life really is concluded, they're content in the afterlife and don't respond to my overtures. Sometimes that helps."
Loki, thinking of the well-intentioned, would-be comforting lies he would probably be tempted to spin under such circumstances, felt abashed. He did not ask about the implication Catherine had made that, sometimes, ghosts appeared to her but refused to speak to their families.
Looking up at his father's face above him, its features blurred by the tears in his eyes and the effort of holding onto the end of Gungnir. His own voice high and desperate in his ears, trying to justify himself, begging for comfort, for understanding, to be assured he was loved after all.
"No, Loki."
He knew, now, what it must have cost his father to say those words, even though there was only one way to save Loki and this was necessary in order to do it. But he also remembered the blow they had struck, those two words, how the last flicker of hope had died in his heart.
"No, Loki." That was all Father had said. What Loki had heard was, "No, Loki. You are not worthy of a place in Asgard, or to be my son, and nothing you do can ever change that. The deception is over. I do not love you, and I never did."
So he had heard. And so he had let go, to fall to his death.
And yet he had not.
He had lived here on Midgard, with his friends, making himself a place with them and trying to be worthy, at least, of that. He understood himself to have been disowned, had tried his best to accept it humbly, in his mind and his heart. He called the King and Queen of Asgard by their titles, paying respect as any banished former subject should. He had not really noticed himself making an exception for Thor, calling him "brother," clinging still despite the wreckage that clinging had caused. He had tried to make peace with the loss of his family, knowing he had done it to himself and deserved to be cast out.
But after all that, if his father had come looking for him, wanting to explain, wanting him back... had Loki been able to hide away and refuse to speak to him- would he have done so?
No.
Loki was a creature of stubbornness and stupidity and pride, but he could not have stood against anything that looked like an overture, an offer of forgiveness or reconciliation. He had not expected such a thing, had never hoped for it, but had it been held out to him, he would have seized it with both hands- had seized it, when the offer came- especially if he knew it would be his last chance to speak to his father.
What sort of miseries could be the lot of mortals, to be brought to such a place, made such an offer, and to refuse it?
Once, when he lived on Asgard looking down upon the other realms, Loki had believed- had been taught to believe- the humans of Midgard, because their lives were so short, could not possibly feel things very deeply or understand very much. They simply had not the time.
Loki had believed that, as much of Asgard seemed to believe it. He had never had much interest in Midgard, but he supposed, if he thought about the mortals at all, he had assumed them to be dull little creatures. It was only after living here that he began to understand, when one is so constantly aware of the brevity of life, everything seems to be felt and experienced much more intensely. Joy, love, fear-
And possibly hatred and anger, too. Perhaps that was the reason for their constant wars and incursions against one another: feelings were intense, but lives were short, and memories too. Matters of ancient history to Midgard were remembered yet by many on Asgard. Invasion by the Jotnar had receded into myth here, though the resulting war had ended within Loki's own short lifetime. Steve Rogers' war, though only decades past, was a matter for the humans' history books, directly remembered only by a dwindling number of aging mortals, as more recent concerns took their place in the people's minds. They were intensely concerned with now, and felt things at least as strongly as any Aesir.
Perhaps, too, this explained how some mortals could carry their hurt and anger into the afterlife, cherish it and refuse Catherine's offer of a final chance for reconciliation and understanding.
He thought of Annie, of the expression on her face as she spoke of her parents and what they thought and believed about her. He thought of her newly-discovered powers, powers she could not control when she thought of her mother and father, and whatever hurts and betrayals lingered between them.
He thought of her wish to speak, to be heard and to listen, to resolve these matters and let everyone find peace- or at least to try.
He thought of all this, and he was grateful.
~oOo~
On Thursday, Loki sat at a table in the tea room, hands clasped before him, waiting. There was no cup or plate before him- Catherine had offered him tea, but he knew he would not be able to drink it.
He had been very surprised to have a role to play at all. Catherine had explained that Annie's mother had asked for him to be present when they met with her.
"But why?" he had asked, bewildered.
"Because they've met you, and they haven't me. And you were Annie's friend, the only one they know of in Bristol. They know she was alone here, but I don't think they can face exactly how alone. Not yet. So they'd like to have you here when we meet, and to come to the house with us to meet the new occupants. If you're willing."
"Of course. But not to stay for the, the séance," Loki clarified.
"No," Catherine admitted. "I don't think... they'd be able to offer you quite that much."
"It is understandable," Loki said quickly. "And I did not mean to ask for... I only wished to know the limits of my role." Annie squeezed his hand- and then, with a startled look, said,
"Catherine, will they be allowed to touch you? My parents?"
Catherine looked so bewildered that a limit to- or at any rate a difference in- her magic was immediately apparent. "We generally hold hands during a séance. Why wouldn't I let them touch me?"
"Because," Annie explained, "when humans touch Loki, they can see and hear me. It's how I talk to the Avengers."
"Really? Just by touching him?" Catherine asked.
"Yes," Annie said. "We assumed it would be the same for any sorcerer, but we've never had anyone to test the idea with."
Catherine looked interested. "Hmm. I admit, that's a power I haven't heard of before, and I've never experienced anything like it. Still, there are all kinds of magic. Unless you're an unusual ghost," she added thoughtfully.
Annie blinked. "I don't think that's likely," she objected.
"I think perhaps you should be cautious," Loki spoke up quickly.
Catherine nodded. "I think that's good advice," she said. "I'll come up with some sort of ritual to replace hand-holding, at least with me. In that case, Annie, you had better stay hidden until you hear me saying goodbye to Loki. Oh, incidentally, Loki- your name is Paul Harrison."
"I beg your pardon?" Loki asked politely.
"You didn't tell them your name," Catherine explained. "And Mrs. Sawyer realized it, when she was speaking to me. It didn't make sense that Annie's friend wouldn't have told me his name either, so I made one up." With a wry little smile, she added, "I happened to be listening to Rubber Soul when she called me." Loki nodded, rather pleased at recognizing the reference. "Paul Harrison," the medium repeated. "Write it down, if you have to."
Catherine had left shortly afterward, calling the next day to confirm times and everyone's part. Loki had gotten through work today, hurried home to see how Annie was, and then made his way to the tea room to meet the Sawyers with Catherine.
He glanced up as the bell over the door tinkled, took a deep breath, and stood.
"Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer," he greeted the couple, walking toward them with his hand extended. Mrs. Sawyer ignored it, stepped forward and embraced him.
Loki was startled, of course, but recognized the action as both a case of strong Midgardian emotions, and also of... substitution. She could not, after all, embrace the one she truly wished to. And it was not that Loki had not always appreciated the caresses of his friends for their own sake, but he certainly understood the impulse to seek such comfort as one could, when those for whom you yearned were forever out of reach.
Or seemed so, anyway.
Loki wrapped his long arms around Mrs. Sawyer and let her hold him as long as she had a mind to. When she finally released him and stepped back, her cheeks were wet. The redness around her eyes suggested, however, that her tears had begun much earlier in the day.
Loki fished in the left-hand pocket of his jacket, where he kept his store of clean tissues for the wiping of small noses at school, and offered a handful to Mrs. Sawyer with a mumbled word of condolence. He then turned to shake hands with Mr. Sawyer, and that was when he finally saw the young man and woman standing just behind him.
The young woman looked so much like Annie that Loki felt the world tilt alarmingly for a moment- and then the small differences between their features, and the fact she was some years older than Annie, became evident.
Mrs. Sawyer was holding Loki's hand in a way that suggested he really should not go near the house at all- that she might not let him go. She gestured toward the young couple and said, in a clogged voice, "Paul, this is our daughter Becky. Annie's older sister. And her husband- "
"Robin," Loki heard himself blurt. "Who works at the Post Office."
The young man, almost the same height as his wife but twice as broad, smiled slightly. "I've actually left there, I'm in computer systems now. Annie would laugh, she always thought the Post Office was the dullest job imaginable and now I'm even more boring."
Becky, the sister, spoke up: "She talked about us?"
"A little," Loki said. "I did not... know her long. But she missed you all, and sometimes would speak of you." He remembered something, and in case Annie did not think to ask, he offered a smile and said: "She was very interested in whether she might... become an aunt, someday."
"Oh," Becky said, tears welling. "Oh. Well, not yet." Her husband put his arm around her. Loki, sorry he had spoken, very much wished for more tissues.
Catherine looked around at the group with an expression of disinterested compassion. Loki could not imagine how she managed it; he felt nearly overwhelmed by the pain in the air around him. He wondered how much of it was his fault, for being there when the Sawyers came to the cemetery, for stirring up their grief again with his well-meaning lies. For bringing things to the surface that Annie had been happier not remembering.
Catherine's voice cut across his unproductive thoughts: "We'll have to take two cars. Paul, you'll come with me. Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer, will you travel with your daughter?"
"Yes," Mr. Sawyer said, and Loki was relieved at the choice. He and Catherine would have a chance for a final talk, and Becky would not feel... passed over. He wondered if she had ever felt her parents gave more attention to the dead daughter than the live one. Or were the Sawyers wiser than that? Of course, she had a husband of her own, which must make some difference.
The journey to the pink house was not a very great distance, was soon covered. Catherine parked her car behind Mitchell's, and she and Loki got out to wait for the Sawyers to cross the street toward them.
Then they all approached the shabby front door, and Catherine reached up to knock.
~oOo~
"They're here," Mitchell said, from his station peering out the front windows. "Annie, there's someone with your parents, a young couple."
Annie rushed forward to look out, in spite of George's anguished protests. "That's my sister! That's Becky and her husband, Robin." She let Mitchell pull her away from the window, and George usher her into the kitchen. "I wasn't expecting my sister to come," she said.
"Of course she came. Remember, stay here until you hear Catherine tell Loki goodbye. In fact, you should probably count to fifty after that, just in case," George instructed. He was pale and anxious, and any other time Annie would have teased him.
Not now. Instead, she sat down on a kitchen chair and folded her hands in her lap. Across the room, beside the stove, Scamp lay in the basket George had retrieved for her, watching Annie with devoted, worried eyes.
George went back out through the lounge to the entryway, where Mitchell was hovering by the door. "Okay," he said out loud, "we just have to stay calm. Just... stay calm." At Mitchell's raised eyebrow, George tried to pretend his breath wasn't coming short and insisted, on a high note, "We're two guys sharing a house. It's perfectly normal. All we have to do is... act normal."
"Yeah, good luck with that," Mitchell replied, as the expected knock sounded. Mitchell plastered a convincing smile on his face and pulled the door open. "Hello, welcome. Are you Catherine Bennett?"
"Yes," Catherine said calmly, as she led her little group inside. Loki hung back on the steps, ushering Annie's family before him, and then stood just inside the doorway as introductions were made. "Thank you so much for allowing us to make this experiment," the medium said to Mitchell and George.
"Glad to," Mitchell replied warmly. George let out a strangled little noise and Mitchell put a hand on his shoulder. "Myself and George thought we'd go down to the pub for a bit, just at the end of the terrace. Maybe you could look in when you've... finished, Catherine. The door'll lock behind you. And- we have kittens, they're shut in a bedroom so they won't slip outside past you. If you hear any funny thumps upstairs, it's only them." Tugging George along with him, Mitchell began to edge toward the door, pausing only to address the Sawyers: "We're terribly sorry about your daughter. I'm sure she was a wonderful person."
"Thank you. She was," Mrs. Sawyer replied, and then looked at Loki. "Paul, are you staying?"
Loki shook his head, a little surprised to be addressed. "No, it would not be appropriate. This is for your family." Annie's sister, oddly, looked as though she was unsure whether to be disappointed or relieved. Loki wondered whether the stranger, in addition to being an intrusion, might also be a welcome distraction. He addressed Annie's mother. "It was good to have met you, and I hope... I hope you find what you need. Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Paul," Mrs. Sawyer said, in a tone that recognized the finality of the word. Loki nodded to the rest of the family, and to Catherine's word of farewell. Then he slipped out the door and closed it firmly behind him.
Alone in the kitchen, Annie heard Catherine's voice, and then the door. She closed her eyes and, as quickly as she could, counted to fifty.
Then, her little ghost dog at her heels, she sidled through the beaded curtain into the lounge. Her parents sat on the sofa, her sister and brother-in-law on the little daybed across from them, and Catherine in the armchair facing toward the entryway, at the head of the proceedings.
Nobody saw her. Annie still moved very carefully, edged over to Catherine and sat on the arm of her chair. Scamp settled on the floor beneath her feet. Catherine reached into her purse, brought out a candle in a jar and a book of matches. Then, in a calmly authoritative voice, she began to speak.
"Now. Before we begin, I should tell you what to expect. Have any of you ever participated in a séance before?" Four headshakes. "Very well. You may have seen depictions of mediums entering trance states, perhaps speaking with the voices of the spirits with whom they communicate. That is a perfectly valid form of communication, but it is not what I do. I will remain fully conscious and aware throughout the session, and will speak in my normal voice. If Annie chooses to join us, I will relay anything she says, and I will tell you when she leaves us."
Catherine cleared a space on the coffee table, set down the candle, and lit it. "This candle will serve as a focal point during the session. I'll ask you to direct your gaze toward it- if your eyes begin to hurt, I recommend you close them, rather than look around the room. It's possible that I may receive a vague visual impression of Annie, and if that happens I may look toward her. I'll warn you in advance that you will not be able to see her, and if your attention begins to wander it may affect my ability to communicate with her. I understand how much you must wish to see her again, but I'm afraid I'm unable to offer that. I am only able to relay the words of spirits. All right?"
"All right," Mr. Sawyer said, after a momentary hesitation. No one else spoke. Catherine reached up to extinguish the lamp that leaned over her chair, and said,
"All right. Now, you may find it comforting to hold hands during this process. I will not, but if you wish, please do." Becky and her husband clasped hands at once. After a moment, their parents followed suit. "Good. Now, I'll ask you all to please think about Annie. Concentrate on her, remember her. Any strong memories you have of her. All of you, think of Annie."
"There's a first," Annie heard herself say suddenly, and flinched at the sound of her own bitter words. Catherine gave no sign of hearing, but she said,
"If you wish, you may speak of those memories. If Annie chooses to join us, she will make herself known to me and I will relay it to you. Annie, if you can hear us, please let me know when you wish to join us."
"I think I'd like to listen for a bit first, if you don't mind," Annie replied, pulling up her knees and hugging them as she balanced on the arm of the chair.
"She was such a beautiful baby," Mrs. Sawyer spoke up after a moment. "You should have seen her, those big dark eyes. Becky's eyes stayed blue for quite a while, but Annie's turned dark almost right away. She'd look at you like she understood everything, from the time she was tiny.
"And she was so good. Becky was fussy, strong-willed- we always knew when she wanted something- but Annie always seemed to be content. I was so grateful- Becky was three and she was into everything, and I was worn out all the time chasing her."
"They were so different," Mr. Sawyer agreed. "Becky, you were always in the middle of everything, asking questions and exploring, and Annie would be off in her room, playing with her dolls like a little mum."
"Becky would always take the lead," said their mother.
"And this is pretty much what I expected everyone think of Annie to turn into," Annie remarked, chin on her knees. "Everyone think of how much better Becky is."
As she spoke, the bookcase by the door rattled, its contents shivering. Catherine, who had been warned of this possibility, raised a hand and the commotion stopped. Annie folded up even more, pressing her forehead into her pulled-up knees. Her family stared, wide-eyed, at the bookcase.
Catherine, as though nothing had happened, said pleasantly, "It sounds as if the girls had rather clear roles."
"I... suppose they did," said Mrs. Sawyer.
"We did," agreed Annie. "Becky's role was to be the important one. Don't tell them I said that."
"Becky, you were the leader?" Catherine asked the question directly. Becky clutched Robin's hand.
"I suppose. I mean, I was the oldest, I- " She fell silent, chewing her lip in a gesture Loki might have recognized as like her sister, and then looked at the floor.
"She was never afraid to speak up for herself, Becky," her father said. "Like her granddad that way. I didn't thank him for passing on that trait, not when she got to her teens and answered back and questioned everything we said. Not defiant, just... strong-willed."
"Don't mind me," Annie said, into her knees. "Just pretend I'm not here."
"And what was Annie like?" Catherine asked. Becky continued to stare at the floor, shoulders hunched. Her parents looked startled.
"We've just been telling you," Mrs. Sawyer said.
"Actually," Catherine said, "you were mostly telling me about Becky. What was Annie like?"
"Insignificant," Annie said, to her knees. Scamp got up, whining anxiously, and stood on her hind legs with her forepaws braced on the side of the chair. Annie finally unfolded, looking at the dog, and reached down to rub her head.
"Annie is here," Catherine said calmly, ignoring the accusing look the ghost sent her way. "And she's feeling rather... overlooked. As though she doesn't matter to you very much."
"Of course she matters to us," Mrs. Sawyer protested. "We're here."
"Yes, you are," Catherine agreed. "And I know that means you love her and miss her. But you're speaking mostly of her sister, and she's noticed. Everyone, please think of Annie."
"I used to start arguments at home, and Annie would try to calm everyone down," Becky spoke up, without taking her eyes off the floor. "Like it... hurt her... to see us quarreling. I didn't mean anything by it, I just... so many people, so many girls, they just say yes sir, no sir, three bags full, and I didn't want to be like that. So if I had something to say, I said it. And I always knew Annie would smooth things over, run around doing things for Mum and Dad afterward, trying to make them happy and everything calm again."
"Annie was the peacemaker," Catherine prompted.
"I told her once she was Neville Chamberlain," Becky replied, finally looking up. "The minute we got angry, she'd give in on anything. All any of us had to do was get cross, or go silent, and she'd do anything for us. Like she thought if she made us angry we wouldn't love her."
"Becky, you know that isn't true," Mr. Sawyer protested.
"I know it isn't true," Becky retorted, wiping her eyes with the hand that wasn't holding Robin's. "What I'm saying is, I don't think Annie knew it wasn't. And I know I used it against her when it suited me, at least when we were kids. I never thought I was being cruel, I just... never thought." She looked at Catherine. "Is Annie still here?"
"Yes," Catherine replied, without looking at Annie.
"Annie, I'm sorry," Becky blurted. "I should have stood up for you. I should have encouraged you to speak up, too, and backed you so you could. I was your big sister, and I should have... I just... I suppose I was a bit jealous."
Annie's expression spoke for her. Catherine said gently, "Annie doesn't understand why you'd be jealous of her."
"I was jealous because she was sweet, and pretty, and good," Becky burst out.
"I had to be good," Annie protested. "It was the only thing left. Becky was the, the important one, the interesting one, she was strong and smart and sure of herself. I couldn't win against that. So I thought, if I was really good, I'd deserve- "
"Annie felt that being good was a way to be loved, too," Catherine condensed the speech. "She hoped that by being different from her older sister, she wouldn't be competing with her."
"It wasn't a competition," Mrs. Sawyer said faintly. "We loved her. She must have known we would love her no matter what- "
"No matter what?" Annie shrieked. Catherine raised her hands again as every ornament in the room trembled, and the bead curtain in the kitchen door shook. "I was good. I did everything you expected of me, all my life. I was so busy trying to work out what you wanted from me that I never figured out what I wanted. And I could never- I never guessed right. I never did enough." She pressed her hands to her mouth and fell silent.
"Annie hoped that being good, that never causing trouble, would make you love her, too," Catherine said calmly. "And she feels that it didn't work, that she didn't give you what you wanted from her, so in turn you didn't give her what she needed from you."
"I couldn't live up to her," Becky said suddenly. "I felt sometimes like I was always in trouble, that everyone wished I could be more like Annie. Of course everyone loved you, Annie," she said to the room at large. "There was nothing not to love. I used to feel like... I'd compare myself to you. And I never measured up, not to Saint Annie.
"So I was... in a way I was almost glad, when you started dating and you kept going out with... "
"With boys who didn't deserve her," Mr. Sawyer broke his silence to say.
"Yes," Mrs. Sawyer agreed. "It worried us, but we thought, at first... Annie was so sensible. She'd figure it out for herself."
"I knew I should talk to her about it," Becky said tearfully. "I was her big sister, it felt like my job. But... it was almost a relief, for her not to be so perfect after all. I never thought she'd really get hurt- I mean, I knew her feelings were hurt, but not... I never dreamed... "
"She fell for that little spiv, Owen, and you could smell a mile off he was a wrong'un," Robin spoke up, with sudden violence. "I wanted to send the smarmy little bastard off with a flea in his ear, but I didn't think it was my place. I wish I had done it. I'm so sorry I didn't."
"We wondered why she didn't realize she deserved better," Mr. Sawyer said quietly, "but when I tried to talk to her about it she... just wouldn't answer."
"Doing what you wanted didn't work," Annie said, equally quietly. "Becky had you both, and there was nothing for me. I loved you so much, but it wasn't any use. I wanted someone to love me. So I thought... If I earned it, if I... rescued..." She buried her face in her hands.
"She felt there wasn't anything left over for her, so she had to go elsewhere to get what she needed," Catherine said. "She thought that if she helped these boys, she would deserve their love. Would earn it."
"She didn't have to earn anything," Mrs. Sawyer protested. "We loved her. We still love her. There was no one in the world more deserving of love than her." She looked around, and her eyes fell, perhaps by accident, on exactly the place where her daughter sat. "Annie, please listen to me. Your father and I, we have always loved you. Before you were born, from the moment we set eyes on you, and right this minute. I don't know why we didn't do a better job of showing it, of letting you know, but we never realized how you felt.
"I suppose we assumed too much and looked too little. There was always something to worry about- not Becky, don't think that- but just... work, and looking after the house and you girls, and finding a way to keep up with bills and things, and worrying about the future, yours and ours and... I suppose we had enough problems calling themselves to our attention that we didn't seek any others out. We really thought you were all right, up until you started dating those... and by then it was too late, we hadn't tried to talk to you before, so you wouldn't listen to us then. I got more and more anxious, and you had never worried us before, not for a minute, and I couldn't understand why you were doing it now, and..."
"I wanted you to worry," Annie sobbed, with a look on her face that suggested perhaps she had just realized it. "I wanted you to pay attention. And you didn't, it was as if, you tried once and it didn't work and you just gave up, you didn't care enough to keep trying. Owen kept trying, he'd hurt me, yes, but then he'd act like he was sorry, and want me to love him again. He didn't just quit."
"Annie believed you gave up on her," Catherine relayed, her tone even. "That when she stopped being what you wanted, and she tried to make you... prove you loved her, she wasn't worth the effort after all."
"Yes," Annie said. "That's it. That's exactly it."
"And Owen acted like he wanted her- even though he hurt her, he'd work to win her back. It seems that she didn't realize he was manipulating her, testing to see how much she would put up with, gradually teaching her to let him get away with more and more."
"No," Annie said. "No, I didn't see that. Not until it was much too late. Not until I was dead."
Annie's parents were both shaking their heads, both crying.
"We never meant for you to think that," her father pleaded.
"Oh, Dad, I know," Annie sobbed.
"She knows that, now," Catherine said.
"But she didn't know when she needed to," Mr. Sawyer argued. "We didn't see, didn't try hard enough. And we left her with Owen, and he- "
Annie wiped her eyes with the cuff of her grey sweater. "Catherine, you've got to lie to them. Tell them it was an accident. I just fell. He never pushed me." The medium was silent. "Catherine."
"Annie wants you to find comfort," Catherine said quietly.
"You're not going to tell them?" Annie asked incredulously.
"She knows you love her. She understands that now."
"I do, that. That part. And I didn't mean to hurt them so much. I didn't want to do that, I just wanted to know they really- "
"She never wanted you to be hurt by this conversation. She just needed to hear you say you love her."
"We do," her mother wept. "Always. So much. We should have said it more."
"I should have, too," Annie admitted. "I wanted things from them, but I don't know if I really gave them anything. Everything I did was just to make them- "
"She loves you, too, and wishes she had said it more often. Had expressed it better, instead of only thinking about what she needed."
"She was a little girl when she needed it," Mr. Sawyer said fiercely. "I don't know how she'd have known to behave differently, when we didn't either."
"I thought we'd have time," Mrs. Sawyer sobbed. "I was thirty, I had children, before I could really talk to my mother. I dreamed about it, that she'd realize Owen was no good, that she'd come back and we would have a chance to really talk to each other. I thought we had time, and we didn't."
"That's not your fault," Annie said, hugging herself.
"She understands. She doesn't blame you anymore. You all tried to do the best you could," Catherine said.
"It just wasn't good enough," Mrs. Sawyer pointed out.
"But it was the best you had. And I hid things, so you didn't know," Annie admitted. "I didn't want you to know I was unhappy, because I thought it was ungrateful, would make you angry- don't tell them that part. I pretended, and then I blamed you for believing me."
"Annie didn't know how to make things different, so she hid her feelings," Catherine summarized. "And she understands now, that it's not fair to blame you for not knowing what she was hiding."
"She can blame us for knowing she was sensitive but acting like we believed nothing could ever bothered her," her mother replied. "Not when she was scurrying around acting like the world was ending every time someone raised their voice. Oh Annie, I'm so sorry."
"I'm sorry too, Mum," Annie sobbed. "I wish I had been more honest. That I realized I could trust you."
"I wish we could have made her feel she could trust us," he father said. "We'd have done anything for her, if only we knew what it was. I'm so sorry we didn't try harder to figure it out."
"I'm sorry I didn't ask, instead of just wishing," Annie said.
"Annie knows now, that you wanted the best for her. That you would have helped her, if she had been able to ask. She would have," Catherine added a sudden editorial aside. "If she had had more time, she would have learned to ask, to make herself clearer, so you could understand each other. She never wanted you to feel like this."
"That's true," Annie sniffled.
"Well, we never wanted her to feel the way she did, either, that she had to perform for us. Is she lonely?" Mrs. Sawyer asked suddenly.
Annie shook her head, and so did Catherine, saying, "No. She is not alone. There are... ways, in the afterlife, of gaining the things you need."
"The house agent sends them," Annie giggled, a little hysterically. "Or they fall out of the sky and bounce off the roof."
"You're sure?" Annie's father asked.
"Yes," Catherine replied. "You don't need to worry about that. She's not alone, and she isn't lonely." She looked around at the family, taking Annie in out of the corner of her eye. All of them looked exhausted. "I think we've done what we needed to, today."
"No," Annie protested. "I'm not ready. I don't want to... " She pressed her hands to her mouth, hard. When she lowered her hands, her eyes were resigned. "I love them. All of them. Please tell them."
"Annie doesn't want to say goodbye, but it's time. She loves you and misses you."
"Yes. That, too."
"And we love her," her mother said. "We always have. We'll see each other again someday."
"But not for a long time!" Annie protested.
"When it is your time, Annie will be waiting for you," Catherine assured the family. Annie got up from the arm of the chair, walked around to lean down and kiss each of them on the forehead or cheek. Her father started a little, looking around and reaching up to touch the spot her lips had touched. Catherine said softly, "Goodbye, Annie."
Then she reached up to switch on the lamp, and leaned forward to blow out the candle.
~oOo~
Annie was curled up on the sofa, Scamp and the kittens beside her, when there was a tap at the front door. Before she could call out, Catherine opened it and came in.
"I didn't pull it all the way to, when I went to see your family off," she explained. "I thought you might prefer not to be alone right now."
Annie gave her a tearful smile. "Good guess."
Catherine walked over to sit on the other end of the sofa. "We could go down to the pub and tell the boys they can come home."
"Yes," Annie agreed. "Or... I could make us some tea, and we could go find them in a little while."
"Certainly. Whatever you need," Catherine said quietly.