a chaotic heart
Chapter 9

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'What else can you tell us?' Snow asks.

They're ignoring Claire's last admission. Maybe they can't accept it. Maybe they just don't understand it. After all, she's the only one who's met Bhunivelze face to face – except maybe Hope. But his "meetings" might not count as all, if the God was just a shadowy voice in his head and heart.

Nora and Bartholomew exchange a quick glance, and then look away at each other. 'There's also,' Nora begins, before swallowing and beginning again. 'We admitted him a few times. When we couldn't patch him up – or when he really frightened us and we just couldn't take it any more – ' She's shaking, and inching closer to her husband: to his tall statue and infinite warmth. 'We always feel so guilty afterwards – ' She chokes. 'But – we just can't –'

'Hospital,' Bartholomew interrupts, carefully schooling his own tone but Claire can hear the tremor underneath and wonders if Snow can too. 'They've transferred him to the psychiatric hospital a few times too. Tried all sorts of treatments. Didn't try a few others.'

'We put our feet down.' Nora laughs suddenly. 'Maybe not soon enough, because – we were desperate. Said no to cutting into his brain – ' Snow gasps here, but Claire is not surprised. She's heard of the barbaric ways they treat things – and, sometimes, how necessary it is. But that's when the skull's imploding with blood and you need to drill a hole to get it out, or there's a tumour you need to chop out with a bit of good tissue. Organic things. Things that can be removed, or fixed, or fought. She's no doctor, but this…this doesn't sound organic. And she's heard plenty of horror stories about how people have been torn apart by such "treatments" too. ' – but we allowed the electrical shocks – for a bit.'

Snow's breath is suddenly and unbearably loud in Claire's ear. 'Shock?' he repeats, faintly. 'Why would you –'

'Electrical shocks can reset the brain, so to speak,' Bartholomew explains. 'The brain's made up of lots of little circuits. It's like restarting a computer that's not working, or jumpstarting a car. And the heart's the same – in a general sense, of course. That's why we thought – ' He shakes his head. 'Look at how far we've been willing to go.'

'And then – ' Nora is crying now, but she doesn't lift a hand to brush away her tears. 'He's just gone one day.'

'He's about fourteen and a half,' Bartholomew explains. 'No note, no warning. He's just gone and we panic. We call the police, and everyone who might've seen him. Catch his tail-coats a few time but he bolts, and then he shows up again a few weeks later looking like – ' He gulps. ' – like a zombie.'

Claire wonders at the description. Zombie? Was there something hidden in there? Something the parents didn't want to tell the two of them? Or one of them in particular? They've been talking openly – even frankly – so far, but all families have skeletons they don't want even their closest friends to know. What they've spoken…for the Estheims, is out of both worry and desperation. And for her – maybe she's desperate as well. I'm sorry, Snow, for dragging you out here and into this.

'And this has happened a few times again, since,' Bartholomew finishes. 'Miss Lightning – '

'Claire,' she interrupts.

' – Claire,' he corrects himself, 'spotted Hope about a week ago and called us, and that's how we're here today.' He pauses. 'It occurred to me,' he admits, after a breath, 'that I could try and contact you – the two of you, and Miss Fang, and Mr Sazh – but I knew none of your full names and neither did Rygdea. He's security in the government building I work at,' he explains.

'Small world,' Claire mutters to herself. She wonders if things would have been different if they'd introduced themselves properly all those years ago. But would it have even mattered? She's got far too many regrets as it is.

Snow shifts beside her. 'I see now,' he says, a somewhat distant tone in his voice. Distant in that his thoughts are elsewhere, drowning amongst other thoughts like the rest of them. 'Why you called, Sis.'

It's a decidedly unhelpful statement. Summarising things, and nothing else. But pure Snow.

'You know things I didn't,' she says flatly. Maybe it had irked her a little as well, but it was also the truth.

And the silence that descended upon them now was the longest yet.

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'It's almost lunch time.' Nora stands. Tears have frozen on her face, but she seems to have forgotten them, though her voice is still high. 'Will the two of you be staying?'

'Please,' says Snow, before Claire can respond – and rightly so, she realises. His hands are trembling slightly still, and it's he who'll be driving them back. He needs the time: is in command of the reins and it's selfish of her to demand otherwise.

Nora leaves the room. None of the three remaining follow or volunteer their help. None of them can cook. They simply sit, none of them in the mood for small talk and all of them occupied by other thoughts.

Claire goes through what the Estheims have told her again. Is there anything that speaks of Hope, or Bhunivelze? That laughing – yes, that laugh from the bar, from her nightmares, from the void beyond before the God decided to discard his human vessel and crush him like a poorly made clay vase. The emotionlessness – but can she blame Bhunivelze for that or was it Hope, protecting himself from the parasite that had taken up residence in his body? She'd never asked. Never even thought to wonder why Hope had become this way, like her when she'd had reasons – and she'd forgotten her own reasons too. And, to think, I'd wanted to stop that very thing, over a thousand years ago.

Then what about Hope? She searches, but where is the Hope that had been scared of every moving shadow but had a strong heart deep down? Where was the child who'd matured, who'd become the voice of reason, the voice of hope? Where was the child who'd vowed to not be a burden, to protect and allow himself to be protected? And where was the boy who'd grown into the man who became humanity's hope and the one who had truly spared them from humanity's destruction?

The tears, the feelings of guilt. That's Hope to a "t", she thinks. The part of him that flees might be as well, and the part of him who comes back but it's all too vague. Do you think you're burdening your parents? Is that why you run? Or are you afraid you're hurting them? All feasible reasons. All feasible Hope reasons, anyway. If Bhunivelze was trying to tear this family apart – or just plain tearing Hope apart – then he was doing a pretty good job with it. Maybe not so much between the parents, but between parent and child. Or not. Who knew what Hope thought of his parents this time round, but with Bartholomew's red eyes and twisting hands and pots trembling in the kitchen with Nora's unsteady handling, Claire had no doubt the couple did not blame their son for his behaviour one bit. She might have thought it naïve of them, but it wasn't. Especially not for Bartholomew who remembered his son from the old world and who he'd grown up to be. And maybe there was a parental instinct at play as well. The one she's never had.

'Miss – Claire,' says Bartholomew suddenly, and Claire looks at her. 'Did – did Hope say anything to you? The second time you two met?'

'I – ' She remembers those last words all too well, even if what happened after that is unclear. There's bile in her throat again but no so much. Bearable, though she grimaces as she swallows it down to no avail. Roll back, she scolds herself. 'I found him in a church,' she explains. Churches aren't exactly a nice topic, but still it's better, far better. 'He was listening to a sermon, so I stayed and watched the tail end too.' She notices Snow grimace out of the corner of his eyes. He hates places of worship for the same reasons she does. But, unlike her, he's developed a reluctance for bars and similar entertainment places after Yusnan too. 'Asked him to have lunch with me. He followed without a fuss and I got a couple of boxes from a street vendor and went to the park.'

'He did?' There's a faint smile on Bartholomew's face, she's surprised to see. 'He remembers and trusts you,' he explains further. 'He only follows us or large crowds otherwise.'

She remembers Hope following her for very different reasons, initially. But all three of them are aware of that. And there's still the initial question. The question she's let slip behind. 'Hope didn't touch his food,' she continues. 'Stared at it, but didn't eat a thing. And then he – ' She chokes again, and this time it's noticeable because both men's heads snap up in concern and she waves them off and swallows that damn bile down again. Just spit it out. 'He asks me who's not letting him die, Bhunivelze…or me.'

'What?' Snow gapes.

Bartholomew blinks, and then leans back and closes his eyes, searching. For the differential Claire's already reached, and he confirms it a moment later when his eyes are open again. 'In the Saviour role, perhaps?

'Probably.' She tries to shrug nonchalantly but doesn't fool either of them. 'I'd never considered that his soul, up in the Ark, would have needed saving to begin with. Not until it was too late, anyway.'

'That's ridiculous,' Snow snaps. 'Not from Hope's point of view, I mean. Not if he doesn't remember that part. But he was with us when we kicked Bhunivelze's butt so you must have saved him at some point. You two were the only two being in the world alive except for him!'

'I thought I had,' she admits quietly. Her eyes burn along with her throat. 'I really thought I had. But then why – why – Is he here, or not? When he laughed at that, when he had his palm out like everyone was going to get sucked into it again, I – '

At times like this, she hates Lumina: the weakness that makes her control crumble into nothing. Snow is a rigid statue beside her and Bartholomew is rising from his seat. What he plans to do, they don't find out, because the doorbell rings and he detours to answer it instead.

And at his cry of 'Hope!', the two of them and Nora in the kitchen rush into the entrance hall.