Chapter: 34

"Tempest."

Even as it was happening, I knew it was a dream. It was one of those dreams where you could just tell. Moreover, the contents of this dream were unrealistic enough for my unconscious brain to recognize so. I sat in a space, couldn't tell you where, couldn't tell you when— I sat there with my siblings. I guess I knew it was a dream from the onset because we were happy, laughing of all things.

We had regressed to the ages that we'd been together; it was a peaceful sight to me, as I saw it both as a first-person and an on-looker. Three children brimming with joy. Two older ones enjoying the antics of their little sister, clapping and encouraging her. The little girl was a beauty— all coal-black locks and eyes, you almost couldn't tell that something sinister hid within her.

Suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, the scene changed. It was just Luca and I now, Katie as out of sight as she had never been there in the first place. I looked around in confusion, but Luca didn't look worried at all. It was strange, I thought, wasn't it strange? Why didn't Luca look concerned about Katie being out of the picture when she was standing right there a few seconds ago.

In the next instant, a very peculiar and almost paradoxical thing happened. Luca turned to me, still not looking the least bit alarmed, he actually appeared almost serene, if I had to describe it. With that impassive expression on his face, he point-blank asked: "What happened to Katie?"

That one sentence set me free from the confines of the dream, my eyes splitting open as I sat on the bed. I was matted in sweat, realizing I had fallen asleep in Killua's bed as we talked last night. He was lying right next to me, seemingly in peaceful sleep, with an arm strewn over his face.

I tried to level my breathing, careful not to disturb him, and grateful that my jolt of awakening hadn't alarmed him. My mind went back to the dream, it was so simple, yet it stuck to me. It felt to me like the dream had occurred to help me get to something.

I thought it all over, every detail of it that I could recall as I laid back down. What was so unusual about it? The only thing that echoed in my brain was Luca's question. What happened to Katie? What happened to Katie? What happened to Katie? Over and over again. That wasn't an unusual question, I thought. It was completely natural given what had transpired.

As I simply laid there, finding comfort in Killua's rhythmic breathing, it struck me. It felt like my heart stopped beating for a few seconds as the realization washed over me. Because the truth was that while in my dream Luca asked what he should have, in reality, he never had.

About two days later, I was at the airport, staring at the flight information display. To an onlooker, I might have looked immersed in the contents of the screen, in reality, I was hardly present at all.

"Your gate's the other way," Killua informed me, suddenly appearing after checking with the attendant at the desk. "Let's go." He had my luggage in one hand, like the bag barely weighed anything. He used the other hand to take one of mine and lead me in the right direction.

In that little moment of contact, I longed to be closer to him, almost like it was a carnal ache that wasn't physical at all. I just wished that I could unload even a small percentage of what I felt on him— he would understand.

Too bad all the layers of concealment and cowardice I had built up between us made that impossible. I would give anything to be able to go weak right in front of him right now. With no options, I just walked numbly alongside him.

Killua and Gon were heading to East Gordeau that very afternoon. He had scheduled my flight so he could ship me off himself. The truth was that no one in their right mind trusted me to go through airport protocols alone, even for a two-hour local flight. Ridiculous.

After he had my bag submitted at the check-in counter, we still had a little bit before boarding when we arrived. I wasn't sure how I would manage to appear even the slightest bit composed in this frame of time without anything to do.

"Hey," Killua said, bending down slightly to look at me. "It's just a few days, and no one's being drafted off to war."

I blinked at his description; I forgot how perceptive he always was. He had been silently observing me since breakfast this morning when I told him I wasn't hungry. "I know." I managed, trying not to sound like I'd been punched in the gut, and failing.

Thankfully just then the call for my flight's boarding sounded. "Well, that's me," I announced unnecessarily. I topped it off by extending a hand out for him to shake. What was that? I wondered to myself.

He stared at the gesture, surprised. "No salute? That's dry."

I pursed my lips, not very well-equipped at the moment to counter humor with humor. "I thought… because of what you said- about the touching— " I stuttered like an idiot.

His raised eyebrows went even further up at my incoherent statement.

A second boarding call went off.

He stepped closer, barely leaving a few inches between us. "I said that?" He feigned innocence well, but I knew he was just trying to make me lose my train of thought.

I'd actually have succumbed to that quite gladly. If only I could pause the thoughts in my brain for just a little bit.

That glimmer of hope must've registered as a silent prayer, because in the next instant, Killua tipped my chin up towards his face and put our lips together.

This was shocking on many levels. In addition to the no-intimacy rule he had laid down for the purpose of his training, Killua was strictly a no-PDA guy. I suspected he was allergic to having any aspect of our relationship shown or talked about to or by any outsider.

Not to be overly dramatic, but the kiss itself felt like unexpected rainfall after an extended drought. Too bad another drought was soon to follow after this one, unbeknownst to me then.

"Thank you," I mumbled breathlessly. As soon as the kiss ended, I turned to head in the direction of my gate, when Killua caught my arm and spun me back around.

"Where's the fire you crazy person?" he asked, looking both perplexed and amused by my little number.

I swear if he looked at me like that for a second longer I would have broken down into tears right then and there. Thankfully, by some strange miracle, he instead pulled me in for an embrace. His musky scent helped calm me down a bit.

Behind us, the last boarding call sounded.

"Listen, be good, and keep me posted." These were his last words of decorum before I entered the gate and took off.

The flight was short and absolutely uneventful, which meant it did nothing to keep me from the thorns of thought stuck in my brain. I went back and forth with myself, eventually coming to the conclusion that I could hold the tempest within me until the opportunity to process everything uninhibited presented itself.

Breaking down in front of my mother after two months of not seeing her wasn't an option. A window of solitude would come and that's when I'd face the things I'd been told.

I rushed out of the airport after I landed in record time. As soon as I had my bag from the luggage carousel I was out and hailing a cab.

I hadn't told my mother I was coming. The primary reason for that wasn't that I wanted to surprise her. My mother was, for lack of a better description, almost pathologically obsessive. If she knew I was expected in a couple of days, calls every five minutes and high-pitched screams would become the norm.

I had gathered a thing or two about managing her in the time we'd been with each other. I called that body of knowledge my reverse-parenting techniques.

Believe it or not, I also had a couple of things I used on my dad, too. Like slowly and subtly feeding him an idea so he'd think he was the one who came up with it and bring it up to my mother. Or telling him I was sick while pretending to brave through it and repeating over and over that I simply had to go to school until he was the one forcing me to stay home.

Those memories put a lump in my throat that I simply wasn't in a state to deal with at that moment. It felt like just a couple of blinks later, I was right in front of my house. I unlocked the door and then glided in, flickering on every light in my way.

It was still early afternoon, so I knew I had somewhere between half an hour to an hour before my mom was due. I even knew her after-work sequence of picking Katie up from daycare and then heading to her favorite dessert place, of which she would never admit because she was supposedly cutting out sugar.

I texted Killua of my whereabouts, before he took matters into his own hands. I refused to let myself collapse in the silence, I knew that the little time I had before my mom got here simply wasn't enough to process.

I rushed upstairs to my room and pulled my old cello case from under the bed. The cover had been gathering dust for a while now. For some reason, the instrument was calling to me; I found I always felt calmer when I played.

After searching for the sheet music for a few minutes, I abandoned that agenda and simply resorted to carrying the case down to the middle of the living room. This was where I played for my parents just a short while back when my dad was still with us.

I pulled a stool by the kitchen counter and dragged it to my make-shift concert setup. Next, I took the cello out from the case alongside the bow. The wooden material felt comforting to my fingertips; nostalgia at its finest.

Once I was seated and the cello was balanced just right against my knee, I bent a little to pick up the bow I had deposited on the carpet. It was just me, but the little routine I did felt unnerving, quite like I felt before performing in orchestra back in the day. I had to take a breath to really get myself in the space.

I closed my eyes and experimented with the friction of the bow on the strings. The first few strokes felt rough— there was no doubt that I was out of practice. But I was surprised to learn how quickly it all came back to me like it was second instinct. Especially considering that I was playing from memory.

The melody took shape once my mind and hands settled into the pattern of it all. I was playing a simple piece that I'd rehearsed to the point of exhaustion in the past. My dad loved this one, he liked having it in the background when he was wrapping up some leftover work at home.

I didn't know how or when, but soon enough the music started washing through me. I kept myself from recalling too much, I was already at a tipping point. I wanted to use the mechanical practice of playing the cello as something to hold myself in place. But the familiarity of it was getting beyond the surface.

The living room filled with the sound, a rich tapestry of notes woven together. I progressed through the highs and lows, feeling my emotions go up and down with the notes. But I was in too deep to not continue, I was overcome.

I gradually led the melodies towards the end, feeling the overwhelming compulsion to complete it. When the remnants of the last notes vibrated through the string, I felt like I was released from some sort of spell.

On opening my eyes, the sight of mom standing at the door with Katie in tow and tears brimming in her eyes was the most beautiful thing I could've imagined.

"I had a feeling," she whispered overladen with emotion and I met her halfway for a hug that didn't last nearly enough. The embrace was an awkward placement of hands and arms because we had to accommodate the tiny thing my mom was carrying in one arm, AKA my little sister.

When I pulled back to really take a look at the baby, it hit me how big she suddenly looked. She was now six months old, it was surprising to see just how a couple of months had changed her. It was even more astonishing to see how she resembled her namesake so strikingly. I could swear this was how my Katie looked when she was that little.

Despite the time and distance, the little thing was more than happy to propel herself towards me when I made the motion to reach for her. I know everyone says this about babies in their family, but this tiny one was way too smart and had way too good a memory for her age. That sent another wave of emotion running through me that took everything in me to fight down.

The catch-up session with my mom spanned hours and she made sure to leave no stone unturned from my mundane life.

"You probably haven't had a homemade meal in a while," she assumed, as we sat eating around the kitchen counter.

"Killua's a really good cook mom, he keeps me well-fed. Sometimes against my will," I assured with a smile I couldn't repress.

"You got a good one," she approved fondly, "and I hope you're being just as good to him."

That one left me unsure and reassessing my role in Killua and I's relationship. Ever since we'd gotten back together, he had asked two things of me: to be more transparent and cautious while living in York New and to not hide anything from him. So far, I was doing rather awfully on all counts.

There were also other things; like how he was always the one taking care of me, looking out for me, making things easier for me. Was I doing anything for him?

"Claire." My mom brought me back in real-time. "I want to know why you haven't even mentioned once that Caden is in your classes?"

That one really left me trampled and when I looked up to see that she had mom-mode eyes on, I knew I was in trouble and also in for a session. This was on me, because how could I have been so dumb to assume that Mr. Domoto, who was probably here more than I was now, wouldn't pass this on to her?

I lifted the glass of water next to me for a sip, taking my time to really come up with some reasonable response. "I forgot." Was the only genius explanation I could whip up.

"What's going on?" she probed and if I could tell you just one thing about my mother that would summarize her entire being: she did not give up on things. "What's the story with Caden?"

"Mom!" I whined, sounding to my own ears like I was ten again and she was forcing me to war ear-muffs to school. "Please, just drop it."

She raised an eyebrow, as to say, "Excuse me, do you even know me?"

"I just… I didn't mention it to anyone because I feel like it would make Killua upset." Her blank expression forced me to elaborated a little further. "Caden tried to kiss me last time he was in town."

"And Killua knows…?"

"Killua saw." It was like I was recounting an episode from the most dramatic soap opera of all time.

Clearly, she still wasn't convinced. "Claire, I hope you know how ridiculous you sound. Killua does not strike as an unreasonable boy to me. What kind of reaction are you expecting out of him? I'm sure it won't be his favorite coincidence in the world, but I hardly think he's going to have a melt-down over that."

I processed her words; what kind of reaction was I expecting from Killua? I came up blank. Would he throw a fit? That seemed unlikely. Would he go off into battle with Caden? Unlikely again. Tell me to withdraw from my program? That one sounded downright ridiculous.

"Honey, if there's one thing I can tell you about being in a long-term relationship, especially if it's one you want to continue being in, don't keep things from the other person. Even if it's small meaningless things… like maxing out multiple credit cards on unplanned shopping sprees," she said with a slight hint of pink coming up to her face, "or tweaking the number of people you've been with before…"

"TMI mom," I informed, breaking her out of her reminiscent haze.

"Sorry. The point is, I promise you these things always have a way of coming around, and in so much more worse ways than they'd be if you'd been straight-up honest in the first place. I know Killua and he's not the kind of person who'll appreciate being kept in the dark."

Amen to that.

"Be honest with him Claire, you guys have a good thing going."

I let my mom's words of wisdom wash over me. Even before I thought it through I knew she was right. But there was so much to unpack, could I tell him everything? And even if I did, could he process it all?

I spent the rest of the night having these words and more stuck to my mind. I didn't sleep a blink. As soon as the slightest rays of sun hit from behind my window's curtain, I was up.

I took all but five minutes to sort myself and find a jacket. I sneaked out with my mom's car keys in one hand and was driving to my intended destination just a little bit after that.

For a while, I just drove and drove. I had no trust in my driving skills, but the window of solitude I was after was a necessity now. I was heading to the only place where I knew I would find some solace from the storm that was raging within me.

After about twenty minutes of a silent but restless drive, I finally made it to the contours of the little hill where Killua and I had spent some of the most decisive moments of our relationship.

It was from here that every little corner of the town was right in sight, so small that it automatically made you feel a feeling of grandeur. So, it was ironic that I felt the smallest I'd ever felt there, in that moment.

As soon as I got out of the car, the cracks of a sunrise barely hugging the clouds that took over most of the view, I sank to my knees and screamed. I could let it all out here and no one would hear me.

I cried so loudly I felt like my lungs would give out. My palms felt weak on my knees and eventually were on the ground, with no energy left to support them.

Trembling and tears clinging to my eyes, I recalled the revelation that had rendered me this way.

On a quiet afternoon in an ordinary apartment hallway, an unpredicted storm was underway. It came in the shape of an eighteen-year old girl, laden with confusion and questions. She banged at the door in the furthest left of the floor.

The noise seemed to go on forever before the click of the lock sounded. Despite it, she continued the impact relentlessly.

"Claire?" Asked the young man, who could almost be mistaken for a male version of her— their brown eyes, brown hair, and cream skin didn't have the slightest shade of difference.

She just pushed the door open and past him. "Why didn't you ask about Katie?" — no pleasantries, no pretenses, she just put that question immediately out there.

"What?" He asked confused, but there was an edge to his voice.

"That day at that park, when I told you Katie was dead," she rushed, a little breathless from the run up several floors, "You never asked how, you never asked anything about it."

At that, he fell silent. There was a sense taking over him, telling him that the moment he wondered about, dreaded, attempted to delay, was here. And it was demanding payback for the years he left it waiting.

"Why didn't you ask anything about Katie?" His sister repeated, sounding almost afraid to hear the answer.

In the brown and maroon-tinged living room they stood in, it felt like every object, inanimate or otherwise had frozen in time. Anticipating the answer that would tear everything.

"Luca," she called, her voice and resolve to unearth the mystery growing weaker, "please."

Suddenly the young man was a thirteen-year-old boy again, the age when he had carried out the original sin of his life. When he stood trembling there and now looked forward to his future self in time, asking, "Is it that moment now?" and on receiving a nod in response, "Oh."

"Claire, I—" he began, knowing well that there could be nothing that would further keep from the words of truth being let into the open now. He just knew, he just knew. "I didn't ask because I already knew."

"What did you know?" The fear on her face had made it almost white. "But you already left…"

Unbeknownst to either of them, they had entered a paradoxical state of self-hatred and fear. The lack of alignment made it so that either of them were on separate splits of the same road— but the road would converge, it was never a parallel to begin with.

"I left after," he said quietly, not quite able to mention the deed.

"But… you just left?" Her shock and confusion were through the roof. "How can you? If you already knew, how you can not hate me?" She wondered, could he really be that Godly to know and not only forgive but also never mention it?

"Hate you? Claire, why would I hate you?" He demanded, perplexed.

Her windpipe felt constricted at that point. There was only one answer to his question. Something inside her told her that it was now or never. So, for the first time in eight years, she said the one thing she had never said out loud. "Luca, I killed Katie," she confessed in a hushed whisper, tears overtaking her.

That hit him like a blow to his body. Seeing his sister sinking there on the ground, with her head in her hands and hysterical cries escaping her. He realized that he hadn't just wronged one sister.

That did more for his resolve than anything ever could. He sat down next to her, so quietly that it almost seemed unhappening.

"There's something inside me, Luca," she explained, fighting her cries to offer some semblance of a reason, "something evil. I don't know how I did it, I don't know when—"

He put his hand on hers, his gentle and repentant eyes shocked her. "How long have you thought this?"

She blinked. Was this really all he could think of asking her? Why wasn't he yelling and cursing at her? When they were little, he gave her quite the reprimand just for being unkind to their little sister. How was he responding this way to the news of her death?

"Claire," he began, knowing that if he could do one good act of repentance, he would begin with honesty, "you didn't kill Katie."

The confusion on her face evolved further into utter blankness. "How do you—?"

He took one last breath, the last one before he might have some measure of respect and familiarity from his sister. "I killed Katie."

Everything went still, those words just echoed on. Everything from the beginning of time to that very moment played over again. And then again. And then again, before any further words were spoken.

"What?" — nothing else could encompass everything.

"I killed Katie," he repeated, sounding a little firmer, "she was in pain, Claire. That presence inside her, it was hurting her— Ingrid would've never let her go, using that power for all sorts of twisted things."

Truth be told, the delivery of his explanation was when she really came face to face with the fact that he was telling the truth. Before that, a part of her was entertaining the slight glimmer of hope that he was only creating this narrative for her sake.

"If there was any way to help her, I would've done that, you have to believe me."

"No." Disbelief. Rage. Disappointment. Utter sadness.

This just couldn't be. What was that strange mix of grief and relief that was inhabiting her?

She looked up from the ground, having stared at a void for the greater part of several minutes. How could he—

How unfair, a small part of her thought. How unfair for Katie. She realized then, that despite the pain and self-loathing, she could have lived with the idea of having done this to Katie. All she had ever been to her was awful. It made sense that she'd be the one to take her life in the fiery pits of her hatred.

This was absurdly unfair. The one person that had loved her, had given up on her. What a strange feeling. How must have Katie felt when she witnessed it happening? The hollow feeling within her body was too much.

"How could you…." She wondered, how could he? "She loved you."

The muffled cry that followed those words had her whipping her head in the direction of its origin. The young man sat there, crying next to her, looking like he had been reduced to nothing more than a helpless child.

"You don't get to," she said numbly, "you don't get to Luca."

His cry intensified, one of his hands covering his face. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost. That was of the essence here.

"I'm sorry," he wailed, looking beside himself. She realized that she had never seen him lose his composure like this. "I failed you, I failed her. I just didn't know, Claire. I just didn't know what to do, I was so tired."

Was he offering this up as an excuse? She refused to believe this. Why was a strange, disgusting part of her willing to understand him?

"I just wanted out. I didn't want to see her hurt anymore."

There was a strong, almost blinding impulse to hurt him. But she fought it because she didn't want to give him that satisfaction. She knew that unforgiving silence would convey everything.

It took her an eternity to gather the will to stand up. Her brother's pleading eyes following her.

"You had no right," she declared simply. "I don't want to see you again, I don't want to talk to you again. Luca, you're dead to me."

He just sat there defeated, knowing he had neither the right nor the fight to plead his case.

My cries didn't subside, even after what felt like a very long time. I was crying for the sheer injustice of it all, I was crying because while this should have set me free, it somehow made things feel even worse.

I had spent the last eight years of my life at battle with myself. Now, things had turned around so I was released from my self-imposed cage of repentance. It made no difference, none at all.

I was crying because of the shitty hand that Katie had been dealt, that I had been dealt, that my brother had been dealt. We were set on the board with the intention of losing, we never stood a chance.

I was crying because I understood Luca, as much as it pained me to admit it, in my heart of hearts I knew. Because all those years I thought it was me who was responsible, I would've done anything to have someone's forgiveness. But despite that, I couldn't give that to him.

The fact was and would always remain that while my assumed perpetration had been out of my hands, Luca did this on purpose. What sick, disgusting, and downright evil logic would have driven him to make a decision like that. I didn't understand, I couldn't understand, I wouldn't understand.

An ear-splitting shriek escaped me. I was done with this pain, I wanted out. Ironically, I knew these were exactly the reasons Luca had given for his actions. I was done with this constant feeling of defeat, this impending emotion of darkness that had settled into my being for so long now— too long now.

I cried until there were no tears in me, and my wails subsided to hiccups. In that miserable state, when I was so overtaken with everything from my past, I wished so very much that I had Killua with me. He could comfort and shelter like no one else could. He just knew how to do it all. I just wish… I'd be honest with him. I knew then, I had to be honest with him. It was time.

I realized many things sitting up on that hilltop. I understood the betrayal-like feeling that dishonesty and concealment brought. I understood how I was tricked by Ingrid into believing what I believed for so long. Most importantly, I understood that my poor choices and actions were what led me to believe something so gruesome about myself so quickly.

The one thing I didn't know then was that, as exhausted as I was, there was so much more to come— and right around the corner too. I really had no idea what I was in for now.

Author's note:

The idea was for this to be a mega-chapter with more than just one major plot element revealed, but then I thought that would be too much. So, there's more shocking revelations coming in the next chapter!

On a separate note, I can't tell you how amazing it feels seeing this story get reviews after soooo long. Every word you write I read over and over! It does so much for my motivation to write this story on and complete it. So, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Lastly, I've updated the first seven chapters of this story and intend to keep going. Do let me know if any of you are reading those too!