March 23, 2019 - 08:32 pm
It's been a tough day at work. There are days like this at the hardware store, when absolutely everyone seems to need 12-gauge nuts. I toss my keys into the bowl on the hall table, and the light flickers a little when I turn it on. I'm about to take off my jacket, which has my name - Rin - tagged on it, but something catches my eye on the console. A piece of paper, typical of The City's telecommunications. I frown, taking a closer look.
The last thing I expected tonight was a telegram. Least of all a telegram from Klaus. But I look at it nevertheless, with a kind of apprehension linked to the fact that he never sends any. The message begins 'My father is dead, please come and stay for a while', then gets lost in words I don't understand.
I sigh. Great. I sigh again. Shit.
*Crack!*
In a flash of bluish light, I split space-time and disappear in the direction of the bus stop.
I've known Klaus for – let me count – ten years. He's given me a run for my money, often. Far too often. But this time, it's not his fault, at least I hope not. He's the kind of guy with whom you remake the world, with whom you share the best laughs, the most absurd nights and the worst bullshit. The kind who also needs support, all too often. Literal support: I mean by strength of arms. Fortunately, I don't have many people like him around me. Or many people at all. Having to hide a power, in all aspects of life, doesn't help. At least he understands that.
We understood very quickly that we shared this 'particularity' when we met, and we never really asked ourselves why. If there's one thing I'm trying to learn from Klaus, it's a form of letting go. There is only one thing we have realized. An administrative detail for you perhaps. We were born on the same day. At the same time.
*Crack!*
I reappear, at the windowsill, and look down. Hargreeves Mansion is a large, nonsensical, composite edifice, made from several buildings on the same block. Klaus left the window open, as he used to do. This used to be my regular drop-off point, back when he still slept here from time to time, when he couldn't find any other option. Gradually, he stopped coming here altogether: I'd say the last time was three years ago.
I look inside and see him, slumped on his bed, underneath his surreal posters and the writing he's been doing on the wall for years, as if to clear his mind. He has his bad-day look on his face, and he looks like he hasn't slept in ages. Yet he seems to have heard me coming, because his eyes are already scanning the window with jerky movements. The arrival of my space jumps is usually rather discreet, but he's always been able to spot them. Maybe because I'm not the first person around him to have historically done this.
We never talked in depth about his brother, the one who ran away. The one who could do things in common with me. To be honest, Klaus was always too stoned, carefree or both for that. We didn't care, anyway: all we wanted to do was have a good time and, above all, think about something other than family. But possibly, tonight, things are about to change.
"Hey there, Rin", he says, his cheek crushed against an old furry pillow.
"I know, it's late... Is it late?"
His words are lost on the loose sheet, while I jump up onto the old wooden floor and look around. The room is quite large, consisting of two older ones. An armchair, a hookah, lots of memories: some good, some bad. Years of sporadic presence have accumulated a rather unspeakable mess: disgusting bottles, piles of clothes and scattered handkerchiefs. I walk over to the bed and notice the hospital bracelet on her wrist, below the umbrella tattoo.
"Rehab? Emergency room?".
He grumbles, but sits up, rubbing his face with his right hand.
"Both..." he sighs. "It's been... a pain."
I stand beside the bed, letting his hand fall limply back onto the sheet as he continues.
"At first, I felt euphoric, I swear, but now... it's all coming back at me... like a boomerang."
I've never met Reginald Hargreeves. We've always managed to keep it that way. Most of what I know, I know from voices other than Klaus's. I don't know everything about their relationship, but I know enough to understand that he may have gloated for a while. And at the same time... I know that feeling you get when you lose someone: like missing a step, and never being able to climb it again. It doesn't matter who it was. He glances up at me, struggling to fix his gaze on anything.
"Did you hear what happened?"
My lips pinch.
"I watched TV, like everyone else. And you, do you know... 'how' it happened?"
Klaus finally manages to stabilize himself in a sitting position, more or less with dignity, and shrugs.
"Some kind of heart attack. Fuck, I so don't want to be here".
"Does that make you sad?"
He shakes his head, somewhat confused and evasive.
"I know how I'm supposed to feel. I should be sad, no doubt".
His voice is strained but paradoxically calm, probably because he's half stoned.
"I'm... angry... relieved... and I also have a damn urge to scream my joy".
With a nervous laugh, he completes this statement with an eloquent gesture, clearly struggling with conflicting feelings. I'm not sure what to say to him, and I see him stare in the direction of the door, then sigh.
"This place is going to be crowded again. I'm such an idiot for coming. All I wanted was to find a quiet shack, go for a ride with you, listen to some good old retro hits..."
He rants in frustration, giving up on the idea. I pat him on the back.
"Life's a rollercoaster, and the brakes are broken."
Before you ask, there's no 'love' between Klaus and me, not in any sense you can conventionally picture anyway. More a form of 'deep affection'. Maybe for what we are, or maybe for everything we've been through. But when the hell was his last shower? What's the point of putting on eyeliner if he smells like a dead rat? He looks at me with eyes that exaggeratedly beg for pity.
"Can you stay a while?" he said. "There's like... 'a hundred' spare rooms in this fucking house, you could sleep wherever you want".
Perhaps my face involuntarily expresses how little the proposition tempts me. And sometimes I'm really annoyed that Klaus is so out of touch with reality.
"You may not realize it, but I'm working this week. And Granny's going to be all alone at the apartment".
Even though I'm almost thirty and have a job, I live with my grandmother. Rent is cheaper for two, and - at least - neither of us is on our own. I've struggled to find this job, even though it may seem miserable. But for Klaus, it's just a detail that prevents him from seeing me during the day.
"The bus is super convenient," he says, "and the drivers listen to bossa music. This place isn't a prison. Well, not anymore".
And as his arguments leave me unmoved, I see him change strategy back to pity.
"Seriously, my life's a wreck, I can't even tell day from night and - here - they're going to ask me... to 'participate'".
Unfortunately, I can see that he's not just pretending: there's something sincere and somewhat disoriented behind his usual theatricality. He looks down and mutters, as if to himself:
"I'm sorry..."
I blink slowly. If I dismiss him on the day his father was found dead, what kind of human being will I be? I shake my head.
"No, you don't have to be," I say. "Shit happens."
I sigh, again and again.
"How long?"
"I don't know... A day or two? A week? Honestly, I don't know."
I sit on the bed as well, my eyes unfocused.
"I'm going to need some clothes. And my toothbrush."
I guess I've just said yes, and Klaus's eyes light up like it's Christmas. He's hopeless, but I'm used to his mood swings.
"You rock, Rin," he whispers with a confused form of glee. "I know I can be difficult."
"Indeed..."
Despite my sarcasm, I smile, and lay my purple scarf on the side of the bed. By now, sounds are coming through the door from the rest of the house. I assume his family is already gathering. But I quickly turn my eyes to Klaus: in the hallway, voices and footsteps are approaching. Sharper, closer. And as he tenses up a little, we hear a woman's voice.
"Klaus?"
The sound is only barely muffled through the wood of the door.
"I heard you come in. Are you there?"
He looks nervous, and whispers:
"Always first on the scene, Allison, huh. Some things really never change".
Indistinctly, someone seems to whisper something more, behind her, and Klaus adds, teeth a little clenched.
"Damn it, Diego".
Before I can say anything, he's already swallowed three pills.
I've never known Klaus to be sober, to be honest. Not of alcohol, nor of any substance whatsoever. I'm not saying I've never touched anything, either, but there are some things you just leave behind. If you can. And Klaus can't right now.
The knocking starts again, on the door. I don't really care if his brothers and sisters come in: if I'm really going to spend a week here, sooner or later they're going to have to learn to deal with me. I've never met Allison; Klaus doesn't talk about her much. But I do read the celebrity press at the hairdresser's from time to time, like everyone else. It doesn't intimidate me.
"Klaus?" she calls again, as if now expecting the worst. " Damn it, can you answer me?"
Then finally, reluctantly, he says to her with a huff:
"Go ahead, the door's open'.
Immediately, Allison appears. All hair, wide-legged pants and a tight camisole. She's quickly followed by the dark silhouette of the guy I identify as Diego. They both spot me directly, and everything - in my bodily expression - expresses how sorry I am. For being within these walls at a painful family moment. And for the state in which they are about to find their brother.
"I'm Rin," I say, and that's by far the most useful thing I can say to them.
None of them see fit to introduce themselves in return. I suppose, having been brought back by Klaus, I'm already classified as a brainless junkie. Diego surveys the mess on the floor with sharp, critical eyes. Allison, on the other hand, walks up to us and crosses his arms, looking down at this brother she hasn't seen in years.
"What happened to you?"
Klaus looks at her with vacant eyes, and she concludes without even needing a word:
"You're high as a kite".
Diego raises his eyes to the ceiling, with little surprise overall.
"Honestly, it's his problem, what he chooses to do to himself."
But Allison has just advised his wrist.
"Rehab. Seriously, Klaus? Barely out the door, you're relapsing?"
Her tone is stern, filled with a kind of judgment that never leads to anything good with Klaus. He avoids meeting her eyes, and mumbles as he gazes at the hookah:
"Don't lecture me about things you have no idea about".
I can tell she's got an opinion about his looks, too, and probably a pretty accurate idea about the fact that he doesn't have a permanent place to stay. I say nothing. I'm the one who doesn't belong in this house. Diego looks like he's about to add something, but Allison raises a hand to silence him.
"Klaus," she said in an uninterpretable tone. "You can't live this way. But above all, damn it, this really isn't ~the right time~ to 'do this' to us!"
Diego looks at her with eyes like blades. I'm guessing they haven't seen each other in ages either, maybe even a decade, because he seems to be rediscovering her, and not in a good way.
"You really, really don't give a shit about him, do you?" he told her with a startled expression.
All she seems to care about is getting their funeral stuff done quickly and safely. But I have good reason to think that Klaus isn't listening, and that tomorrow he won't even remember seeing her today.
"Listen..."
I venture to speak, even though I'm not sure it's relevant.
"Klaus has asked me to stay here for a few days. I don't know if it's welcome, but... if I can lend him a hand and if it's okay with you too... I will".
I can feel both Allison's and Diego's eyes on me, their expressions torn, and I know what they're thinking. On the one hand, it's clearly not the right time: they're supposed to be holding a family mourning, not a garden party, and on the other hand... they can't deny that I might be able to keep their brother 'just about afloat', which they need. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Diego stammers something inaudible, and Allison finally nods.
"Okay," she says, standing up straight again.
"Just make sure he's on his feet for the eulogy, because Luther's definitely going to want one."
I nod, a little bewildered by the situation I've just been thrust into in the span of fifteen minutes.
"Thanks, I... won't be a bother".
"You're not the bother," Allison retorts immediately, her voice softening as she addresses me.
"Klaus is".
A little nervously, she pulls a cigarette from a packet and lights it. It's not an easy situation for her either, I can see that.
"When is... this eulogy?"
Allison looks toward the ceiling, inhaling smoke.
"It was supposed to be tomorrow, but... I'm not even sure anymore. Luther's come a long way. And now it's also going to depend on whether that moron can get his act together".
Klaus still says nothing. It's so annoying when he's bad-tempered. Unfortunately, when it comes to him, I know that 'getting his act together' often means 'being high enough to not be down'. But then, unexpectedly, I hear him say next to me:
"I'll manage to be sober. At least tomorrow for the day".
His voice is barely audible, but Allison seems to take it directly as a promise. And believing Klaus's promises when he's high is really a huge mistake. She and Diego walk to the door, and just before she walks through it, she turns to me one last time, taking another drag on her cigarette.
"We're having dinner in half an hour. Mom cooked".
Upon this invitation, which sounds more like an ultimatum, she closes the door behind them. No sooner have they left than Klaus relaxes significantly, but I heard what he said, and I don't know if he realizes that - now - he's going to have to keep his word.
"You promised Allison you'd get sober," I say a little abruptly and he shrugs.
"It didn't cost anything to say it, she's gone: it worked."
I'm not in the mood for jokes, and he can tell by the unyielding look I give him. He tilts his head back, realizing he's caught at his own game.
"I'll try."
I take a deep breath, really feeling the trouble coming in.
"Look, I can give you a hand, but... there are some things I have no power over."
"Are you kidding?"
He blinks, his attitude instantly reverting to a pathetic form of mischief.
"Come on, your power is super cool. 'Crack!', you disappear from here. 'Crack!', you reappear over there. Crack!', you collect the burgers at Berty's. 'Crack!' You're a freakin' instant punk delivery service."
"I'm not punk anymore".
I sigh. I didn't mean 'that' power, but Klaus's neurons are unplugged plugs. However, after a moment, he seems to understand, as his expression becomes more anxious and lucid.
"I know what I'll get if I try to stay sober. Tonight 'they' probably won't rest in peace".
We both know what he's talking about. Who. And Klaus's problem isn't just the dead he sees, but the memories that haunt him. His siblings may see me as a bad person, but while I don't condone all those drugs Klaus takes, I don't blame him either: I know why he does it. He looks further down at the floor.
"I'll try not to burden you with this, I'm a fucking shame."
I shake my head.
"You sent me that telegram, I came. Now I'm willingly caught in the spiral".
The corner of his mouth stretches into a vague, somewhat indescribable smile.
"Thanks, Rin," he bellows, as I finally stand up in the middle of his mess, and tow him upright on his feet.
"I told you, this is my true power: to be able to handle you".
There are several meanings to this sentence, but I sense he's going to start joking again anyway.
"No chance of that being a better power. 'Crack!', you pop to the mini-mart. 'Crack!', you bring back the beers..."
He gives a short laugh, then rubs his eyes with a somewhat pensive expression.
"My brother Five... he could do that too."
"You told me. Once."
My lips purse. I always knew that one day Klaus would make this kind of connection again. Better late than never. He scratches his head, a little uncomfortably, then looks at me, as if to warn me.
"The others, since you're staying. They'll understand that you're just like us. Exactly like us."
"Not... not 'exactly', no".
I shake my head, because it's not accurate, even if Klaus is right: they're bound to find out eventually. With a confident gesture, I roll up my left sleeve and reveal my forearm: clear-skinned, unmarked, free of the umbrella tattoo. Forty-three children were born at noon on October 1, 1989, to mothers who didn't know they were pregnant that morning, and Reginald Hargreeves adopted seven of them. I've never been adopted by anyone, and that makes all the difference in our lives.
Klaus's face is now serious and touched, as he stares at my forearm next to his. Slowly, he runs his index finger over that ink-blank skin, just once. And even though he's seen it countless times, he's never really weighed it until now. I know what it's like to get a tattoo, I've got plenty of them myself, such as the lotus flower opening on my back. But this umbrella one, above his wrist, I know it pierced his skin more than any other.
He says nothing for a moment, and I stare at him. Because today, his father is dead, and that part of him is slipping behind him too. His gaze is lost, I don't know where, and he finally says:
"I wish I had your life. I really do".
I don't answer him. For once, I let him delude himself. My eyes trail over the umbrella one last time, contrasting with its absence on my arm, then I pull down my sleeve. My heart sinks for Klaus, for the whole Hargreeves family too. I'm sorry for what they're going through today, as much as for the guilty freedom they feel.
"Klaus, you're not a fucking shame, right now".
I smile, as more noises rise from the house.
"I really wonder if this will last".
Notes:
You got it now, I chose to inject an OC - Rin - into the plot of The Umbrella Academy season 1, appearing almost only in deleted scenes or offscreen. I'll try to give her an interesting story on her own. What if some of the events seen in the series were actually caused by some of Rin's actions?
I always give chronological markers so that people interested can check the episode to see when the deleted scene could take place.
What to expect: digging into the psychology of the characters, seeing their daily lives beyond the canon of their stories, deciphering what's only skimmed over in original works. A bit of fun, too, eh?
Have you noticed that phones are deliberately absent from the TUA show?
Any comment will make my day!