Guest: My interpretation of Vicky is loosely based on season 0; it seemed like she cared about her sister beneath the surface. Clark struck me as a Beta versus Connie as an Alpha on the show. It made sense in my head for him to start turning a new leaf. I've seen and heard of all the manipulation with CSA; it's honestly quite sad. I have no idea how any adult can sleep at night doing things like that to an innocent child.
Chloe had been in and out of medical offices over the last couple weeks. Her "education is more important" mother kicked and screamed about the schooling Chloe was missing, but her father needed to get to the bottom of why his little girl's heart suddenly stopped. Multiple tests had found Chloe in a perfect bill of health (the only 'perfect' thing about her,) but with the mystery of her physical symptoms, she was then referred to a psychologist. Interviewed and evaluated for hours about the panic and anxiety that Clark was previously nescient of, Connie flat out disbelieved, and Chloe hated admitting to.
The platinum blonde fiddled with her indigo necklace, seated on the grey loveseat within four vanilla walls. Distracting her mind with the stacks of books and puzzles along the wooden bookshelf to her left as the blonde-haired, blue-eyed psychologist addressed her parents. Dr. Kari Wahlgren's formal greeting was met with Clark's modest handshake versus Connie's nose held high with crossed arms. Dismissing the discourtesy, Dr. Wahlgren took her seat on the matching sofa chair, a folder of Chloe's psych evaluation in hand as she began the follow-up appointment.
"Going over Chloe's results, she presents on the higher end of General Anxiety Disorder coupled with a panic disorder."
"Oh, great." Connie muttered with a half eye roll, having been forced into compliance to waste money on this whole evaluation. "My child is crazy."
Chloe's shamed eyes glanced briefly to her mother before darting back to her buckled knees.
"Your child is not crazy, Mrs. Carmichael." Dr. Wahlgren corrected. "She suffers from anxiety that will require treatment."
"What type of treatment?" Clark inquired, ignoring his wife's slit brow towards him.
"I recommend cognitive behavioral therapy, as well as medication-"
"Oh, absolutely not!" Connie pumped the brakes at the mention of meds. "The side effects are so egregious; they would just make things worse!"
"I understand your concerns, but the side effects normally last the first week or so." Dr. Wahlgren assured. "We've seen great improvement in our patients on the right combination of medicine and therapy."
Clark took this into consideration. "And…how bad would the side effects be-"
Connie gave a hard nudge to her husband's bicep much to his agitation. "Our daughter will not become a pill popper!"
"If Chloe was much younger, I wouldn't suggest medication as an option." Dr. Wahlgren inserted. "However, with the severity of her case, I don't see much of a choice if you hope to improve her quality of life."
"What about natural or herbal remedies?" Clark tried a middle ground. "Would any of those work?"
"Exercise, which you're currently doing. Making sure she continues to eliminate sodas and/or excessive amounts of coffee when she gets older." Dr. Wahlgren remarked. "Passionflower or Kava supplements would also help, or drinking lavender or chamomile tea before bed…but," she leaned forward slightly in her seat. "I at least recommend putting Chloe on medication for about a year, and depending on her progress, we can start to taper her off."
Connie huffed, crossing her arms tighter "…this is so ridiculous…"
"The principal at Brightburg had told us how serious this was, how serious her attacks were getting." Clark reminded gravely. "We didn't listen, and then our daughter collapses on the sidewalk."
"She collapsed because breathing techniques flew out the window-"
"Can you not see how bad we've allowed this to get?" Clark was starting to uncover more of his beautiful wife's ugly qualities.
Irritated, Connie slit her brow, crinkling her nose. "If things were so bad, Chloe should have said something!"
Shame turned vexed snapped to her mother's willful ignorance, letting out a cry that'd been buried deep. "I did! Multiple times! But you never believed me! You weren't hearing any of it!"
"Chloe Mahatma Gandhi Carol Burnett Carmichael!" Connie returned a reprimanding glare across the loveseat to the bitter tears brimming in her daughter's frown. "You do not raise your voice at adults like that!"
"See?! You're not listening!"
"And you're being disobedient! Show some decorum!"
"Everyone, please!" Dr. Wahlgren waved her arms to regain order in the room. "Let's all just discuss this civically-"
"There is no discussion!" Connie retorted. "Chloe's just making herself sick with all these dramatics! Just look at her!" her finger pointed to the girl's breaths becoming strained. "She's acting like a brat and it's embarrassing! I will have none of it!"
"Mrs. Carmichael, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Dr. Wahlgren stood her professional ground, getting a clear picture of her patient's biggest trigger.
"Excuse me?! I'm paying your bills to be here!"
"Connie!" Clark grabbed his wife by the wrist, sick of her behavior. "Just do what she says and leave."
Connie snatched her wrist from her husband's grasp. "I'm not going anywhere!"
"Jesus, Connie, can you not think about yourself for one second?!"
"Well, we're certainly not going through this mess because of me!"
"Both of you! Out the room!" Dr. Wahlgren motioned sternly to her door as Chloe clutched the thumping pain in her chest, hitched breaths growing hyperventilative.
"Looks like our daily two minutes are up!" the multi-billionaire happily gestured to his Rolex, glad to move on to more important business.
"We better go prepare for our meeting with the investor!" his wife beamed, linking her arm with his.
"I'm always prepared for more money, my dear!" Mr. Buxaplenty boasted, joining Mrs. Buxaplenty in giddy chuckles in their waltz away from the staircase without so much as a 'goodbye,' though their only son was too lost in thought to care.
Remy continued to stare off, seated along the marble step with his chin propped in absentminded palms. Too absorbed to notice the nanny from down the adjacent hall who gave a grinning greeting that the Buxaplentys returned before they entered their joint office as he continued his venture. Noting the darkness in those captivating mint green orbs, Fenwick approached the lone boy. Coolly taking the empty spot next to Remy who didn't even budge. "…how was your visit with your parents?"
No response.
Concerned, Fenwick reached a tender hand to Remy's knee, becoming troubled when Remy didn't flinch from his touch. "…you didn't tell them about us, did you?"
This made Remy meet Fenwick's stare, hesitation in his eye.
"You know they wouldn't understand our bond. No one would." his hand trailed along Remy's inner thigh, slow and gentle in his strokes. "They would think it's wrong that we help each other feel better."
Remy inhaled a sharp breath as Fenwick's hand reached their intended target below the belt line. Green looked left and right, eyeing the foyer of invisible witnesses. Butlers, maids, and other hired staff occupied with their respective duties. No one around, only him and his nanny. He braced himself with warm hands onto cool steps. Calming heat in his pants soon blushing in his cheeks. A smirk curved Fenwick's lips when he felt tense muscles relax, his palm continuing their massage. Eyes focused on his lover.
The beat of Remy's heart increased in the same rising tempo of each knead, wounds old and fresh mended with the band aid of affection. He licked his lips dry from quick breaths, climbing to the peak to euphoria…falling when the massage stopped abruptly. Bewilderment turned to the man that had removed his hand. Loving in his smirking murmur, menacing in his words.
"…I'd hate for you to do something to make our love stop."
The purple ferret sighed with his gaze fixed on the gold canopy above. Curled against the plush pillows of his godchild's bed, paws folded in thought of the innocent hug turned criminal. He had tried explaining what was appropriate and what wasn't, but by that time, Remy was already convinced that his own godfather didn't love him.
Juandissimo had been forced into the box of a magical butler, given wishes just as a butler would be given requests. Mundane tasks, empty wishes. The bare minimum, avoiding magical buildup. He excused this the first few days, giving Remy the grace of processing what happened. Then days became a couple weeks, building a wall of emotional distance.
All the while, the pedo seemed to tone down his affections. He'd stopped sneaking into the bedroom, stopped touching Remy longer than need be…in Juandissimo's presence, that is. Unless in public, Remy instructed him to stay in his room more and more, and he couldn't help but wonder if something was going on behind the scenes. Something hindering him from fulfilling his purpose.
A soft creak slanted blue-violets to the opened door, seeing mint green physically pained. Quietly making his way to the other side of his bed after shutting the door. Laying to curl on his side, facing the afternoon sun beaming through the glass panes. Turned away from his godfather's watchful eye as the ferret then stood, walking across the duvet around the still figure. Stopping to sit near black darbies, waiting patiently for half-lid eyes to eventually acknowledge him. Juandissimo inched forward, careful and gradual. Stalling next to the arms tucked to his chest.
What is he doing? Remy lacked the voice to ask the question in his head. Giving little reaction when his little nose nudged at his elbow. He nudged with his nose again, trying to move the boy's arm as if a pet asking for attention. Remy had no time to push away when the ferret managed to push through the gap, crouched under his arm. Worried gaze fixed on him with his right side nuzzled against his tux. Juandissimo anticipated a level of discomfort, but he had to do something to keep those walls from bricking higher…
Remy stared back, feeling…strange, like when two strangers meet. This was outside what he knew to be Juandissimo's norm. Outside what normal was to him. A different flame of euphoria stirred within, almost too weak to spark as his arm subconsciously closed in around the furry creature. A comforting euphoria, chipping away the dark cast around his heart. Melting the surface…
Only for a new outer shell remolded, much denser than the last as Remy held the ferret with both hands. Lifting him to set him farther away from him on the bed before he curled into himself, conflicted eyes closing under Juandissimo's disappointed stare.
Shutting the door to his bedroom wearing his pink and green wristbands, the pink-hatted boy traveled towards the landing, peering through the rails to see his mother and father on the couch. Watching another home video of captured moments forever lost to the past. They'd stayed inside instead of going out, something his past naivety would've celebrated.
He would've celebrated the needed break from Vicky's reign of torture, having taken the couple weeks off for personal reasons he cared little for. He would've celebrated having his parents being home more often. However, to say the tension could be sawed with a chainsaw was an understatement.
Just as the Turners had spent the day reliving memories of their late daughter, Timmy had spent the day locked away in his room. Escaping only to relieve his bladder. For weeks, his parents only seemed bothered when they felt like complaining about his grades or his chore list forever growing. Acting like parents whenever he matched their hostility with a bad attitude. Verbal reprimands escalated into verbal arguments. One party wishing ill on the other.
Recalling their own clashes with their respective elders, his Fairy Godparents would warn him of the damage if the tensions continued to rise. He didn't care. They could find his body hanging in his closet without a batted eye, without a single tear shed. Clearly, they wanted nothing to do with him, so he wanted nothing to do with them.
As long as he had Cosmo and Wanda…pssh. To heck with them.
Traveling down the steps, Timmy stopped at the base. Observing Susanne's sniff into her tissue when the TV screen flashed to a baby Sophia cooing "Momma" for the first time. Blumine eyes held back tears as Daran watched Sophia through the screen, reaching for the person behind the camera as she then cooed "Dada."
The younger versions of themselves awed, happier versions of themselves. Zooming in on big blue eyes full of joy. So full of life, a life cut short. Disappointment shook in Daran's head. "She could've done so many great things…"
Susanne wiped the tear that escaped. "She was too pure for this world…"
Having heard enough, Timmy walked straight for the front door.
"Just where do you think you're going?"
Timmy stalled, hand on the knob. Feeling his dad's bitter eyes demanding an answer instead of asking a question. A question he had no intent on answering. "What do you care."
"What did you say?!" his mom had zero patience for his attitude.
And Timmy had zero patience for their entitlement for his respect, unlocking the bolt to twist the knob on his way out. Ignoring his father's call to him in his stomp out the front door.
Being locked in his room left opportunity for ideation to rear its ugly head. Soiling his mind with dares of trying again. Giving karma exactly what it wanted. Just as his godparents had requested, he told them, ignoring his deep-rooted fear of burdening them more. To this, Cosmo and Wanda had suggested he find new scenery beyond his four blue walls. Get away from the damper of the house. He remembered AJ mentioning his prior commitment to help his dad with some scientific research that weekend. Something only a kid like AJ would do for fun. So, he'd phoned Chester who was at home chilling with his dad, glad to accept Chester's offer to get lost in their own arcade world.
Brunette shag swaying softly in the autumn breeze, his back bathed in the sunlight of late afternoon. Hands in his pockets in his stroll, casually kicking dead leaves that'd fallen along the sidewalk. He'd chosen the long way to the local arcade instead of wishing himself there. You'd think he'd avoid staying in his own dark mind, but the walk was to clear his head. At least, try to.
Removing hands from his pockets, he glanced down at them. Palms coated in imaginary blood. His sister's blood. He closed his eyes, shaking the image from his mind. Reopening his eyes to bare palms, clenching them tightly.
"How ya doin', champ?" his green wristband spoke up.
"Not great…" Timmy admitted, tone softened in sadness. "…I miss Sophie."
"She misses you too, sport." his pink wristband sympathized, making Timmy furrow his brow.
"You're just saying that…"
"How do you know?" Wanda teased lightly. An odd attempt to reach the little boy she knew was still inside. "What if I told you she talks me sometimes?"
"No, she doesn't." Timmy doubted. "Fairies can't talk to dead people."
"Wanda can." Cosmo played along. "She has powers beyond magic!"
"Guys, I get you're just trying to help, but please…" his chin lowered somberly "…just stop."
The fairy couple's facials fell, disheartened by the sorrow in his voice. "Sorry, Timmy…" Wanda apologized on both their behalf.
"It's okay." Timmy didn't hold it against them, eyes downcast. "I just wish I can talk to her again…wish I knew if she forgives me."
Cosmo and Wanda locked eyes. Timmy was speaking figuratively, but he said the magic words 'I wish.' They rose their wands on a technicality, star tips sparkling before a gust of lilac clouded the boy's vision.
Blinking as the magical cloud withered away, Timmy's curiosity looked around. Finding suburban houses and empty streets the exact same as moments prior. "…wait, what just happened?"
"Nothing." both fairies quickly tucked their wands away as they spoke in unison.
The redhaired teenager yawned, head propped with her palm. Dressed for the night in a black oversized tee, white skull and crossbones in the center. Leaned over the booth table, fighting droopy eyes watching one of the three channels they could get with bootleg cable. Channel 7 News, eleven o'clock news. Same old news, no other station worth her weaning attention. Uncle Vic would be thirty minutes into his night shift as one of Dimmsdale Correctional Facility's security guards. Keeping criminals in line, from petty theft to first degree murder. Too bad the Byrnes weren't among that population.
If the Byrnes were as innocent as they claimed, they wouldn't have lawyered up. But Vicky and Vic weren't surprised, knowing the congregation was heavy in their ears and twisting their heads. With CPS on their case, they had the support of elders from the Kingdom Hall. They used California's Religious Exemption as a shield from lawful punishment. Too self-righteous to consider this exemption would only apply if Tootie had fallen ill and their parents refused medical treatment for spiritual prayer. Not for willful physical torture, which, the elders labeled this form of 'discipline' as part of their religious practice. Lawyering up was not to prove their innocence. It was simply to defend their corporal punishment against child abuse allegations. Hard to see how beating your child unconscious was somehow 'just.'
When Vic had been granted immediate temporary guardianship over Tootie, instead of fighting for the sake of their daughter, the Byrnes willingly allowed their parental rights to be suspended. Tootie did not shun her uncle, a disassociated person. Tootie did not shun her sister, a disfellowshipped person. Tootie broke the rules, denied her morals. Worst of all, Tootie willingly disobeyed Jehovah. An irreparable offense. She allowed herself to catch the disease of unrepentant sinners, corrupted by Satan. She'd become an infection that must be quarantined to protect the rest of the congregation from getting sick…
Another yawn rocked her shoulders before she grabbed the remote, calling it a night after a long day. Shutting the light of the TV screen, inviting silent darkness into the camper. Slithers of moonlight peeked through small blinds as Vicky took herself through the short, narrow hall towards the bedroom. Drawing back the navy curtain to find her raven-haired sister on her side to the right, facing the window of the back entrance where the full moon peering through acted as a nightlight. Glistening softly off her cheeks still damp.
Carefully pulling the curtain closed, Vicky took her time to crawl across the left side of black and white plaid. Doing her best not to disturb her little sister's sound slumber, she drew back the black and white duvet and white bedding, scooting inside the mattress to tuck herself in. Lowering her head to the pillow, facing the girl holding her teal bracelet loosely to her chest. Pulling the sheets to cover both their shoulders, cocooning them from the world.
Vicky stared at Tootie, reaching gentle finger to her sister's cheek. Only causing a weak stir before Tootie resettled in sleep. She brushed away the tears shed from hours of sorrow. Sorrow brought about from news that Tootie, her little sister, will be officially disfellowshipped at the next Kingdom Hall service. She bit her lip, containing her inner rage. Tootie shouldn't be subjected to such damning exile…she was just a little girl. That's the thing about "Christian" love…there's no other hate like it.
She'd seen how harmful religion can be, in more ways than one. It's why she could never lay a hand on Tootie, never yell at her. They've both suffered enough in that house no longer a home. Other kids are fair game; she was stronger than them. She was never stronger than Jim. Never stronger than God's wrath. But now, God couldn't touch them. Couldn't hurt them.
When Tootie began to cry weakly in her sleep, Vicky brushed her widow's peak to calm her. Watching as her whimpers returned to gentle breaths before her own eyes succumbed to slumber.
Blank space surrounded the ten-year-old in a void of white. A familiar void, unfamiliar of what the void meant. He lowered blue eyes to his hands, expecting them to be red. Surprised when they appeared clean, shocked when they appeared to radiate an ethereal light. Rainbow crystals glittered in his fingertips, glistened in his skin. His eyes then moved to his pink shirt and blue jeans, also sparkling arcs of colored light.
When a soft force brushed his left shoulder, he whipped around to the source. Taken aback by the eight-year-old version of himself, the female version of himself. Visible bangs in straighter, longer hair. Tied into a low pony with her signature light-pink ribbon. A matching puff-sleeve blouse over a white button-up, tucked into a plum pleated skirt. Stockings white like the purity radiant in her bucktooth smile.
Timmy blinked, and when the figure didn't disappear, a stunned breath escaped "…Sophie?"
Sophia Gladys Turner floated before him, taking his hands still held out into hers. He felt the warmth ins her smooth palms as she drew him closer to her, blurring the fantasy lines of reality.
"I forgive you, Timmy." she squeezed his hands, maintaining her smile. "And it's time you start forgiving yourself."
"But…" his pout looked down at their hands "…I killed you."
"On accident." she emphasized.
"Mom and Dad don't see it that way…"
"They're not the ones eaten away by their own guilt."
Timmy shut his eyes as if she'd struck him with a bat of truth he refused to accept. Her palms moved to cup his cheeks to lift his chin, forcing his eyes open to meet hers. "…I-I'm a bad person, Sophia." he whimpered.
"No, you're not." she spoke with a pragmatic innocence. "You're my brother."
His head shook faintly, indisposed to her kindness. Softly removing her palms from his cheeks "…how can you even say that?"
Her smile faded in a pained frown, almost hurt by his gesture. "Because my brother would never hurt me on purpose."
Timmy kept his gaze on the identical twin that now felt like a little sister with their slight height difference. The image of her was frozen in the age that she died.
"Bad people don't feel bad for hurting other people, accident or not." Sophia continued. "You're not bad, because deep down, you're hurting."
He tugged at his shirt with tearing eyes, scrunching the hem.
"But you have fairies to help wish away the pain."
Timmy looked up, not quite understanding. Sophia inched closer with her thumb, rubbing away the gloss in his stare. "If Mom and Dad won't love you, Cosmo and Wanda always will." she set a hand over where his heart would be. Sparkles of a brighter light shined behind her, blinding him as her voice began to echo. "Take guilt out…let love in."
White light disappeared in a blink. Blue eyes greeted by darkness. No screaming, no racing heart, no frantic sweat. Dry, calm heartbeat, and relatively at ease for the first time in months. His eyes had to adjust to the darkness, sitting himself up. Turning to the glow of 2:22am read on the digital clock next to the fishbowl.
For further confirmation, he directed his eyes at his hands. Seeing palms just as clean as his in what he assumed was a dream yet…felt far too real. Pale, translucent hands of a young girl reached from the void, resting atop his fingers. A short gasp let out, jolting his eyes around the room.
Finding nothing but creeps of moonlight through the bedroom window.