Just wanna say thank you for those who're enjoying the story so far. I promise it'll start to pickup soon, just need a little patience for pieces to fall into place.
For those who care, the slight delay in updating came from me deliberating on half this chapter's plot, specifically because choosing its direction would determine a specific overall plot. Now that I've made a choice, I gotta stick with it; otherwise, this fic will never get done lol. Plus, I wanted to get this out before I go on vacay next week :)
Midday sun basked the three-story building in its warming rays against winter's cold air, tiny specks of fiberglass glistening within aged cedar shingles wearing away. Lined in bricks with its once vibrant rosy hues weathered into a dull umber, beige columns arched the iron double doors and framed the pane windows. Within the lightly frosted lawn was a large sign mounted in yellow concrete amid the green shrubbery, inscribed with black letters which read 'Dimmsdale Psychology and Counseling Center.'
Surrounded by olive walls and pistachio carpet, a glass coffee table centered the blue-grey polyester of a loveseat for parents and two single chairs facing across from each other, one for the pediatric patient, and one for the therapist. White blinds were slanted just enough to allow seeps of sunlight into the minimal lighting of dim floor lamps, and white wooden bookshelves lined the wall across from the double pedestal office desk. Faux plants filled in blank spaces throughout the room, and paintings colored empty spaces along the walls with blue waves gently crashing along the sandy shore of Dimmsdale Beach.
Within one corner nearest the office's desk sat a little boy born of pale skin, cropped black hair, ears on his neck, poor vision corrected by circular black rims, scraggly limbs, and the hunched back of a genetic deformity formally named Hartman's Syndrome. White dress shirt fastened by the crisp collar with a black tie and tucked into dark jeans, the toes of his red chucks tapped absently to the imaginary song playing in his head. Engrossed in his version of a fae fantasy world brought to life within his sketchbook through meticulous strokes of colored pencils.
Kevin was about to finish the artistic effect of a translucent wing when a low hoot distracted him, lifting dark-blue eyes to the turquoise saucers staring through its cage. Stationed atop a single wooden end table beside his stackable chair, its dark-rimmed eyes appearing small compared to the rounded mass of its head. Fluffy grey plumage light with dark streaks, stretching from the top of its head down the elongated cape of tail tapers. A cluster of darker feathers sat just below its beak similar to a bowtie, a dapper touch to its majestic presence.
"What is it, Bulma?" Kevin called out to his Great Grey, tucking his colored pencils into the sketchbook's spine as a bookmark. "Are you hungry?"
Bluma twittered once more, ruffling the chest of her grey plumage as turquoise saucers remained unblinking. Taking this as his cue, Kevin lowered his sketchbook onto the seat cushion before standing to make his way from the corner chair to the office desk currently occupied by his mother, a desk plate engraved with the name 'Dr. Katherine Crocker, PhD.'
Preparing for her anticipated client, hazel eyes scanned the notes within a magenta notebook from a prior session which involves a child struggling with severe symptoms of OCD. Footed with Steve Madden loafers, miles of legs coated in sheer black stockings were crossed beneath the hem of her high waisted, black rayon skirt. Layers of flounce ruffles lined the buttons of her white chiffon blouse, cuffing the balloon of her long sleeves. Dangling in the center of her ample bosom was a silver chain hanging from the high jabot collar, a French Script 'K' framed within a sterling heart.
"…hey, mom?" Kevin squeaked in his approach beside his mother's chair, wringing his fingers near one of the drawers. "Can I grab some food for Bulma?"
"Of course, honey." Katherine permitted warmly, her eyes fixed on her notes as Kevin then reached for the top drawer, retrieving a package of dried beetles and earthworms before shutting the drawer back.
Because Saturday was the one day of the week Katherine would let him hangout in her office while she conducted her sessions, Kevin made certain to bring Bulma as company. Between Kevin's schooling and Katherine having just one day of the week off, Bulma was often left unattended at home. Bulma was unusually diurnal, so Kevin never liked leaving her all alone as much as Katherine was never comfortable leaving Kevin without supervision for too long. The two or three hours between his arrival from school and her return home from work was the longest she'd ever allow him home alone, and even that was a stretch.
Hartman's Syndrome, while primarily a physical abnormality, came with its slew of other medical conditions. In her half-brother's case, some conditions were minor enough to indirectly hinder quality of life, while others, in her son's case, can be life threatening. Kevin's unfortunate past consists of multiple hospital visits due to uncontrollable ticks and horrible mouth-foaming seizures, and while she was thankful that these symptoms had been virtually nonexistent for quite a while…a mother's worry never ends.
Bulma ruffled her feathers in an elated hoot as Kevin opened the bag with both hands, waiting ever so impatiently for him to unlatch the door. Pulling out a palm full of shriveled earthworms, he held it within Bulma's reach of her eager beak. "Good girl…" he crooned, setting the back in the nearby chair to brush behind her top feathers with one hand. She pecked at her afternoon snack in his other palm, undisturbed by the show of affection.
Kevin shortly shuddered as shrill rings blared from the desk phone, turning to see his mother pick up the handset before a second ring could shriek. "Yes, Laura?"
"Hey, Katherine." The receptionist from the center's front desk spoke through the phone's speaker. "The man that emailed you this morning has just arrived with his daughter. Should I send them?"
Hazel eyes glanced at the wall-clock mounted above the sole entrance and exit. Katherine's next session was to start in about five minutes, but she had also expected this walk-in from the very first email she'd read upon clocking in. It had been sent from a widowed father requesting an in-person visit to learn more about her services and to perhaps schedule an official consultation for his daughter diagnosed with both an anxiety and panic disorder.
This walk-in was basically her own 'About Me' session with a new potential client. A rare yet simple chore of which she'd figured she could squeeze in between the ten-minute downtime between patients.
"Okay, thanks, Laura. Send them in."
Kevin reached into the bag for more insects as he silently watched Katherine end the call and run a hand through her hair in a low exhale. Scooting coolly from her chair, Katherine brushed off her skirt as her long strides made their way to the door. Holding the door's handle, she braced herself with another breath. Hoping to make a good enough first impression before the twist of the handle revealed the pair coming from down the hall; a wildlife conservationist leading his daughter dressed in yellow by the hand.
For a second, she felt a breath catch in her chest, flabbergasted by the prominent jawline and eyes greener than the lushest forest. Such brawny calves that could trek any mountain with ease, such burly arms that could both defend from danger and protect the prey. His shirt like extra skin over his, dare she say, herculean build. Buttoned modestly with a minor, enticing peek of those strong pecs-
Katherine, what the hell…her professionalism groaned at her own pathetic thirst over a man she did not know. The unexpected pregnancy of her son should have been her lesson not to pine so hard. She cleared her throat, pulling herself together with the most professional smile she could muster once father and daughter shortened the gap between them. "Hi, Dr. Katherine Crocker! You must be Clark Carmichael!"
"Yes, ma'am." Clark curled a small smile of his own, greeting her with a firm handshake. "And this is my daughter, Chloe."
He pressed a palm to Chloe's back in his introduction of her, causing her to involuntarily flinch as if terrified of touch. Her gap bit her bottom lip in her timid bow of greeting, antsy fingers fiddling with her indigo necklace.
In attempts to soothe the child's obvious unease, Katherine leaned down with hands over her thighs, giving the softest, warmest grin. "It's nice to meet you, sweetheart."
Chloe's flight quickly hid behind her father's leg, and Clark arched a befuddled brow towards her. "No need to be shy, Chloe." His tone was tender, and yet the only visible part of Chloe clung to the sides of his leg, her fingers digging into their nearest support from this venture into the unknown.
"It's perfectly fine." Katherine kindly dismissed as she straightened herself upright. The psychologist in her understood that Chloe's behavior did not necessarily stem from shyness; the imbalance of anxiety has this conniving way of distorting logic and instilling irrational fear into one's perception of their surroundings, no matter the absence of threat. "Please, come in!"
Closing Bulma back in her cage, Kevin observed the father and daughter pair entering the office. Well, more like the father dragging the one leg that his daughter clung to, her feet scurrying in hesitant steps behind him. As his mother shut the door, he studied the unnerve in the baby-blues that darted in their rattled scan of the décor, something he recognized from experience. Most kids acted as if reluctant to therapy, which, he understood from a child's prespective. Talking about bad and personal stuff to a stranger psychoanalyzing your every word can feel embarrassing, even scary.
But this girl? She seemed downright terrified.
"What's gotten into you, Chloe?" Clark couldn't figure out where this behavior was coming from. Albeit apprehensive, Chloe was willing to cooperate earlier that morning. Now she was using his leg as some sort of protective shield. What brought this all of the sudden?
Chloe herself didn't understand this sudden onset of jitters welling waves of acid in her stomach. Or, rather, she did, but the cluster of scrambled thoughts prevented her ability to think clearly…
You're much dumber than I thought agreeing to this useless nonsense! her mother's voice echoed through her mind's buzzing chaos. This is a waste of time! YOU are wasting everyone's time!
"Hey, Chloe?" Katherine decided to give another try, leaning to the child ducking furrowed eyes behind her father's leg. Pointing to the boy in the corner near the family owl, Katherine kept her tone light and warm, hoping to convey a welcoming and safe atmosphere. "Would you like to meet my son?"
Gaining just enough courage to peek from behind her father's thigh, Chloe spotted the only other kid in the room. A boy who looked like the younger, shorter clone of her 5th grade teacher. When Katherine called him over with a short gesture, he zipped the bag of dried insects next to the sketchbook on the chair and scurried to his mother, hugging the side of her skirt. Folding his lips, Kevin greeted Chloe with a timid wave, and Chloe, still feeling ever so hesitant, meekly waved in return.
"Why don't you get to know each other while I talk with your father for a bit." Katherine proposed, and Kevin glanced up at his mother's suggestion.
"I think that's a great idea." Clark interjected, reaching to gently rub Chloe behind her back. "What do you say, Chloe?"
Chloe lifted coy eyes to her father, then snapped them towards the boy staring in her direction. Releasing his mother's leg, Kevin pointed to the Great Grey's charming hoot as her chest feathers ruffled.
"Y-You can meet Bulma…" he squeaked, and a momentary look of discomfort entered her gaze when Chloe noticed the turquoise stare fixed on her, once again fidgeting with her necklace in hopes of holding onto the illusion of security.
"Go on, Chloe." Clark nudged his daughter from her shell, careful not to use too much insistent force. Hugging herself, her feet shuffled towards Kevin, and he scratched behind the concave in his neck as Kevin led her to the faint ruffle of chest feathers eager to meet the newcomer.
As Kevin introduced Chloe to Bulma, Clark observed his daughter attentively. Having someone her own age to socialize with was both an unexpected surprise and not his main objective for bringing her with him. However, perhaps it could help make her more comfortable if she gained a new friend out of the ordeal.
"Y'know, I've never had a parent ask to meet in person before scheduling a consult." Katherine expressed in a lighthearted yet solemn tone, regaining Clark's focus.
"Well, I was up doing some research this morning and came across all your accolades and awards from the ACA." Clark admitted, folding his arms as his feet spread apart. He started to feel his own nerves tingle in his skin, but he dismissed his own nerves to focus on what was relevant. "Online reviews aren't always the most trustworthy, but something compelled me to take a chance. So, I'd brought Chloe for us to get a feel for your services and what you have to offer."
"Now, correct me if I'm wrong…" Katherine tilted her head slightly, drawing from memory. "In your email, you'd mentioned that Chloe was diagnosed with GAD along with a panic disorder?"
"That's correct." Clark tersely nodded. "I'd already left a voicemail for her psychiatrist to see about getting her back on medication, but I also wanted to get the ball rolling on setting her up with therapy."
"Oh wow, you're really on top of things." Katherine commended, genuinely impressed. "If only more of my younger clients had parents who cared as much as you seem to."
Clark licked his lips. "Chloe's been through so much, and when her mother died…" he stalled with eyes downcast, pressing his lips as if to shove down emotions undesirable to feel. Exhaling, he met Katherine's listening gaze "…I want to do right by her. Get her the help she needs."
Taking a second to process, Katherine grinned solemnly. "I completely understand."
And Clark felt himself grin back. "Thank you…"
Just as Katherine was about to enter her pre-rehearsed spiel of her specialties with pediatric patients in the plethora disorders falling under the anxiety and traumatic stress umbrella, another series of rings blared from the desk, slicing the otherwise calm atmosphere. "Excuse me." Katherine pardoned herself from her guest, walking around her desk. Seeing the same caller ID as before, she answered the call on the fourth ring. "Hey, Laura."
While Katherine took the call, Clark turned his gaze to the two children by the window. His daughter stood to the side, rubbing at one arm as Kevin unlatched the cage for the Great Grey. A species of owl that, to Clark's knowledge and the knowledge of every wildlife conservationist ever, was impossible to domesticate. They're natural-born hunters not bred to live with humans. Not to mention extremely high maintenance, nocturnal, noisy, and overall destructive.
If not out in their natural habitat, owls were primarily kept in zoos and wildlife centers, given lots of space and handled by trained professionals. Yet here was this indoor Great Grey, captive in a cage just large enough not to suffocate her, content and well behaved, wide awake during the day, and squinting her eyes like a dog craving affection as Kevin scratched under her neck feathers.
What the heck kind of special permit (let alone special cash) gave them access to such an abnormality?
"Alright…thanks."
Hearing the switch to an exasperated tone, Clark looked back to Katherine as she returned the handset to the receiver in a short 'click,' watching her close her eyes in a quiet groan to herself as she pinched her crinkling nose bridge. "Is…something wrong?" he thought to inquire, and Katherine raked fingers through black, silking strands in a self-calming fashion.
"Looks like my 1:00pm just canceled on me…again."
"Oh…" Clark subtly frowned. "I'm sorry to hear."
"Thank you…" she sighed. "Unfortunately, this is not the first time this mother would rather pay a 100 cancelation fee than a 10 copay for her child's life-improving treatment…" Opening a drawer to tuck away the magenta notebook she no longer needed, Katherine then unlocked her computer to manually adjust her own schedule. "Like I said…if only more parents cared as much."
Contempt bunched in his chin. Man, did that hit oh too close to home…
"Looks like fifty minutes just freed up…and your daughter's already here…" Consideringly, Katherine raised eyes to Clark, getting an idea that may very well be farfetched but worth the shot. "Would…you like to just go through with the consultation right now? I couldn't dare bring myself to charge you since it's so last minute."
Thinking for a moment, Clark stroked an imaginary beard. If he accepted, he could see Katherine's 'award winning' methods in action. And, based on Chloe's reaction and willingness to open up, he can gage live on whether it'd be worth making this a full-time gig. To decline would be senseless, in all honesty.
"Hey, Chloe." he called to her. "C'mere, honey."
Shivering subtly, Chloe looked to Kevin's stare, one that seemed disappointed to see her leave yet considerate that she was here for a purpose other than being his friend. She then looked to her father and scampered towards him as he kneeled to her.
"So…" Clark began, holding Chloe softly yet supportively by both arms. "Dr. Crocker would like to go ahead with the consultation today."
Chloe shuddered, legs losing sturdiness like they would give out "…t-today?"
"Yeah. And it won't cost a dime." he made sure to add in an attempt to chip off pressure, noting the brew of anxiety just in her body language. "So, what do ya say?"
She had no idea if she was ready; she wasn't expecting everything to progress so soon. However, not wanting to let her father down and make his efforts in vain, she chewed her lip, lowering and raising her head in a brief, rigid nod.
Satisfied with this outcome, Katherine edited her digital schedule to include Chloe's name, though she did not enter personal information such as her DOB since she was not yet an official client nor was she in Laura's vast database of patients. Once done, she invited Clark to sit on the couch so that he may observe the consult. It was an option she liked to offer for parents of first-time clients and for any parents who wished to sit in future sessions, whether simply to observe her methods or give support to their child.
With Clark making his way to the couch between the two chairs, Katherine searched through one of her drawers for a sunny-yellow notebook to jot down some notes during the consultation. She never used the same notebook for different patients; her patient list had started to become so extensive that keeping up with the come and go of patients and the progress of multiple sessions became a juxtaposition of organized chaos. To alleviate that issue, she'd purchased too many notebooks to count, all in colors distinct from the other, and the color that reminded her the most of that particular patient was assigned that notebook.
So, for Chloe, she'd picked out a notebook that matched the color of her pretty dress before she shut the drawer and smiled to Chloe's thin lips, her tone friendly in her instructions for Chloe to sit in any chair of her pick. Fiddling once more with her necklace, Chloe mentally commanded her feet to shuffle their way to the chair to her left of the central coffee table while Katherine traveled in even strides to the opposite chair that faced directly across from Chloe.
"Hey, Chloe." the indigo necklace whispered up to her goddaughter as Katherine settled in her seat. "Ion know about you, but I'm gettin' weird vibes."
Ensuring none of the adults were watching, Chloe met Susie's gaze with a brow slightly furrowed, whispering back "…f-from the therapist?"
"No, from that owl starin' at you."
Now feeling like lasers were searing the back of her head, Chloe spun her head behind her chair at Kevin latching Bulma back in her cage. Turquoise saucers transfixed on her as her caregiver settled into his stackable chair and returned to his sketch. Bulma's unblinking, unnerving stare sent a jolt of chills through her bones. Sheesh, do all owls have that same creepy stare? It already took an exorbitant amount of willpower as is just to keep her heart from bursting out of her chest…
"I would like to welcome you again. Thank you so much for being here." Katherine decided to start the session, snapping Chloe's wide eyes towards her which nearly made her neck crack. "It's a pleasure having you here."
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Chloe painted the weakest smile that weakened without fail. "T-Thank you, Dr. Crocker."
"Please," Katherine grinned "feel free to call me Dr. Katherine."
"Oh…" Chloe squeaked, prompting her to gulp down another anxious lump "…o-okay."
Clicking her ink pen, Katherine opened the yellow notebook to a fresh first page, looking down long enough to write Chloe's name and the date along with known diagnoses. "Your diagnosis of General Anxiety Disorder coupled with a panic disorder tells me that you've been struggling with these symptoms for quite a while, is that right?"
Chloe nodded, tugging at a platinum strand.
"And how do you feel about being here today?"
A tight cracking remained in Chloe's voice "…n-nervous."
"I understand." Katherine assured with eye contact, hazel eyes soft yet radiant with a warmth that Chloe could feel melt away at the coat of ice in her bones. "It's okay to be nervous; it is perfectly normal."
Don't be dunce; she's lying. Ice resolidified in her bones at the sound of her mother forcing herself to the forefront of her thoughts.
"During regular sessions, I like to get to the core of the diagnosis, or the root of where the anxiety and depression stem. And while some sessions will be tougher than others, it is my hope that, in due time, you can see this as a safe space. Free of judgement, only solace and support."
Keeping his focus primarily on his daughter, Clark could tell in the faint spasms in Chloe's crossed legs that she was far from comfortable. He was at least grateful that she wasn't spiraling into a whirlwind of panic, and Katherine seemed to speak to Chloe with this kind, sort of motherly patience that Chloe was far from accustomed to…
"Are there any recent situations that we can focus on for today's consult? Situations wherein you felt anxious?"
She chewed her lip to the point of tasting iron, barely able to hear her own thoughts through the thunderous pulse of her heart. As if she wanted to get into the utter calamity that was a psychogenic seizure not even twenty-four hours ago. A seizure stemmed from an attacking burst of anxiety reminding her who was truly in control of her psyche. Who will always be in control.
"It's okay, take your time." Katherine noted Chloe's apprehension, maintaining a genuine grin. "No pressure."
"U-Um…" she managed to squeak out, repeatedly clearing a dry throat of which could not be quenched. The edges of her surroundings began to warp and distort, irrational fear clouding her perception in blurred vision. Blue eyes shot downward, and her head bowed as if a foot of distress pressed down on her neck.
"You can do it, Chlo-bird." Susie tried to offer consolation when she could physically feel each rapid thump of her goddaughter's heart. Unfortunately for Chloe, her pulse throbbed in her ears, a relentless drumbeat that drowned out everything but the breaths that grew thin and ragged.
"You're not alone, Chloe. Your father is right here, and I am right here with you." Katherine assured from across her client, remaining calm. Just as she suspected; not even five minutes into the consultation, and Chloe was experiencing the onset of a panic attack.
Chloe sank herself into her chair, curling knees to her stiffening chest struggling to intake air. Clark's first instinct was to intervene and give her daughter reassurance, but Katherine held out an arm as he was about to stand, gesturing for him not to act.
"She has our support, but Chloe needs to practice riding these waves of panic on her own." Katherine gently advised, a soft firmness in her features. "If she is coached or coaxed too much, these distressing sensations may likely only worsen overtime."
In the midst of Chloe's hyperventilative pants, Clark fixed his grave stare on Katherine, clenching his fists. Debating whether to save Chloe regardless of a professional's opinion. What if she hyperventilates herself into another seizure? What if she stops breathing again? What if…her heart stops…and this time, he can't bring her back?
"Chloe, what you are feeling is very much real." Katherine redirected her attention to Chloe's uneven gasps that shook in her shoulders. "But I need you to hear me; the sensations you are feeling are only temporary."
Her skin prickled with a clammy cold sweat, goosebumps rising. Trembling palms pressed against her temples as a tornado of frantic thoughts spun wooziness across her tear-stained vision.
Kevin frowned, powerless to the girl now reduced to hitched sobs. He'd witnessed his fair share of panic attacks, some more frightening than others, and yet he couldn't recall any of them being as heartbreaking as Chloe's. His empathy went out to her.
"Panic is pain trying to tell you not to keep holding yourself together." Katherine continued, her calm countering Chloe's spike in terror. "Allow yourself to fall apart, do you understand?"
She's full of it; GET a GRIP! Her mother's haunting roar held no mercy. Just stop beinga whiney brat and GROW UP!
Blood drained from her skin, blanching her panic-stricken face as her lips parted in silent terror. A hard knot constricted her throat, unable to scream. Unable to breathe. A high-pitch ring pierced through incoherence, swelling into dizzying buzz that ballooned at a rapid rate. Squishing her brain against her skull, squeezing her vision black.
The muffled call of her father's cry was the last she could comprehend before the loss of control drooped her body forward…
The wintry sun shone brightly, heating the cold gust swaying through the city of Dimmsdale. Multiple cars of midday traffic zoomed past the black van stranded on the sidewalk's curb. Despite a visible deflation in all four tires, the tires were not the main culprit which had rendered the van undrivable. Truth be told, its hunched-back driver couldn't be bothered to wreck his brain over the cause. Excogitation consumed the bulk of his brain power, mentally debating with waning reason and the urge to walk out in front of moving traffic and rid himself of his burdens.
Brooding on the sidewalk in front of his van, the elementary teacher hid his head in the white sleeves of his dress shirt tied with a black tie, tucked into his black slacks with black darbies on his feet. Crooked teeth sneered into arms crossed over bent knees, winter's cool air reddening the tips of the ears on his neck. In spite of the cold temperature, his slender frame did not shiver. The animosity for life itself burned enough fire to warm against the chill.
If Denzel Crocker's core was not fueled with a cold wave of loathing, he was not but a hollowed shell of what was lost. Carlos and Wilma, his green parakeet prince and pink galah princess. His beloved birds who'd tragically passed without explanation. Oh wait, there was an explanation. He never deserved happiness.
They were of similar shades to the winged, crowned, green and pink creatures that had appeared in every night's dream since his coma. Creatures who expressed their love for him, creatures of whom he felt a fragment of love in return. Creatures who seemed to know him by name, and during the dreams, he'd know theirs. Yet upon opening his eyes every morning, their names would escape him.
Since he could never remember their names, part of him started to believe the creatures to be the spirits of Carlos and Wilma…if they were miniature humans with wings, that is. It was more than justification for his desire to stay with them, live in his dreams and never wakeup again. What else was left for him in this pathetic world?
His psychiatrist had prescribed him Zoloft, pills that his mother would sometimes question why they seemed to have no effect. Oblivious to the reality that whenever his mother micromanaged his daily prescription, he'd hide the pill under his tongue and spit it out whenever she'd leave his room.
Since his first attempt, all he's ever wanted was to return to an existence without pain, to sleep forever. However, in a cruel twist of fate, his attempts always failed no matter what methods he tried.
He couldn't try pills again; it'd send him back to the hospital to save the life he didn't want to be saved. He's tried a noose; it would somehow loosen at the last minute and make him fall on his butt. He's tried a loaded gun; the bullet would get itself stuck in the barrel but it fired just fine as soon as he aimed it in the air. He's even tried drowning himself in a full bath; the drain would unplug itself and the water would drain out before he'd kept his head under long enough for success.
It's like he just can't freaking die, but he couldn't understand why he was still here with zero purpose.
Ever since he'd been discharged from the hospital, he felt like a stranger to himself. The self that once believed fairies were flippin' real, the self that'd done nothing but make himself a mockery of this Godforsaken town…
His coma had somehow gotten into the grimy hands of Dimmsdale News, though being in the news since the age of ten for various reasons, it didn't surprise him. What did surprise him was the petition circulating through a group of parents for his permanent termination from Dimmsdale Elementary. They believed that someone who is a danger to himself should not educate children, and now his career was in jeopardy. Then again, it was him, the resident lunatic. Folks were just itching for an excuse to get him axed.
His mother, the half-sister who'd just entered his life, and Principal Waxelplax had been publicly coming to his defense in every way they could, but it'd only taken one news report to paint him as a looney who'd finally snapped. Public opinion had expressed their grievances, how he should 'do it right' if the lunatic wants to die so badly. Well, he's tried to give them what they wanted. He'd even tried earlier that day, hence why he was currently stranded on the side of the road…
He'd been speeding in his van, not a care for speed limits. Driving in his destination towards the highest cliff in town for a final plunge. Then, without any semblance of a warning, the battery went caput. Finito. Dead. He'd nearly lost control of the van (which would've been welcomed,) but it was as if other hands steered the wheel, guiding the van into realignment and rolling the tires to a halt. Couldn't have been Jesus taking the wheel; he was never certain in a belief in that stuff, either.
Still, whatever unexplained divinity foiled his plans, could it do the same thing if he were to walk out into traffic? How quick would it be to give himself his wish?
A shrill caw stripped him from his thoughts, loud in his right ear over the normal rumble of engines and light squeal of brakes. When the caw screeched again, he lifted his head. Looking down at a black raven who then cawed again once it'd been acknowledged, ruffling its silky feathers. Confused, Mr. Crocker squinted through his glasses, taking a closer glimpse at the lavender eyes staring at him. Crows don't have bright eyes like that…was he seeing things?
Lifting his glasses to rub his eyes, excessive blinks did nothing to change the color of lavender eyes once he'd returned his glasses over his sight. Croaking, the mysterious raven waddled on its black talons towards his right leg, brushing its head feathers against his slacks. Dark-blue narrowed, finding this behavior unusual for wild ravens. Mr. Crocker attempted to shoo the crow away, and though the raven jumped backwards, it was not scared off. Instead, the raven ascended before it glided gracefully onto his right shoulder like its own personal perch.
Irritated, Mr. Crocker grunted. "I don't have food for you to pick at me for, if that's what you want…" the teacher grumbled, and the raven stared with piercing lavender eyes. Eyes that appeared as if iridescent sparkles glittered within each iris, a phenomenon Mr. Crocker found himself unable to look away from.
As if that wasn't mystic enough, a voice invaded his mind.
[My only want is the end to your self-destruction.]
It wasn't just any voice…it was his voice. But he knew for certain that he did not just think those words. In fact, in that very moment, it felt as if he was uncapable of thinking for himself. Like a poking needle had injected those thoughts into his brain without consent.
The iridescent sparkle disappeared when the raven's head instantly snapped to the left, blinking Mr. Crocker out of his daze. A roaring V8 rumbled in his ears, amplifying with shortening distance. Still seated on the sidewalk, Mr. Crocker soon spotted a red pickup pass him, appearing to slow instead of maintaining the speed of the road. Unmerging from moving traffic, the pickup pulled near the curb, coming to a short stop before rear lights flicked on as tires carefully rolled in reverse.
As the truck's bed neared him, the back rolled to a halt about three yards in front of Mr. Crocker's feet planted on the concrete. The rear lights flicked off, and Mr. Crocker furrowed, pondering just what this driver was up to.
"It's Mr. Crocker!" Tootie gasped, peering through the back windshield of the red pickup at the elementary teacher eyeing the truck skeptically.
Slouched to Tootie's left in the backseat, Molly looked to the raven-haired girl with a nonchalant shrug "…so?"
"Mr. Crocker taught at Tootie's school before he took a leave of absence." the teal bracelet around Tootie's wrist explained.
"You mean that teacher that tried ta off himself?" Molly's dark-blue earring asked in such a casual manner that slit Tootie's brow in an involuntary grimace, making the teal bracelet bunch her chin. Rose knew how sensitive Tootie can get about topics that were a little complex for her to grasp, such as the concept of wanting to take your own life.
"Yes." Rose confirmed, sticking with the conversation at hand. "He's also the rare adult that still believes in fairies, so much so that he'd tried exposing their godparents when Timmy, Chloe, and Remy were in detention that one time."
Partially intrigued by this new information, Molly's head tilted to one side. "Chloe and Remy got detention?"
Tootie scrunched her lip, noticing the lack of a mention for Timmy in Molly's disbelief. As if no one should ever be surprised that Timmy had gotten detention as well. Displeased, Tootie grumbled "Not the point…"
Turning the keys in the fob, Vic killed the engine after putting the shift in park. "Stay put, girls." he instructed, removing the keys from the ignition. "I'll be right back."
"What're you doing?" Vicky questioned her uncle from the passenger, arms crossed loosely against her chest.
"Goin' ta see what's up." Vic's casual reply resulted in a raised brow from Vicky.
"Uh…you do know who that is, right?"
"Duh, I ain't blind." Vic snorted, unlocking the driver's side door.
Watching her uncle step outside the vehicle, Vicky's nose scrunched in a subtle frown, beginning to wonder if this impromptu act was some sort of guilty conscience. Retribution for being a shit babysitter in the past, atoning for the sins that, perhaps to Vic's belief, indirectly contributed to the teacher's suicidal path. "Uncle…"
"I just wanna see if he might need some help, that's all." Vic assured, his tone solemn like his grin. "I won't take too long."
Before his eldest niece could object further, Vic shut the door in an audible slam, watching out for oncoming cars as he wandered along the truck over to the grown man he once babysat as a child. Mr. Crocker's lip curled in a sneer at the sight of his former tormentor, his shoulder stiffening beneath the raven's talons gripped to his shirt.
"What's goin' on?" Vic greeted, standing before Mr. Crocker with hands in his jean pockets. "You alright?"
As cars continued to zoom by, Mr. Crocker slanted between his brow, grumbling "…what do you care…"
Vic raised a thumb, gesturing to the parked vehicle. "Somethin' wrong with ya van?"
"Again, what do you care…"
Lowering his chin in a sigh to himself, Vic then looked back to Mr. Crocker, steering the awkward exchange to his original decision for stopping in the first place. "The girls and I were on our way ta Mike E's when I'd seen your van on the side of the road…felt like checkin' ta make sure you was okay."
"Why." Mr. Crocker uttered sharply.
"…you got help on tha way?"
"It's been almost three hours…" Mr. Crocker groused matter-of-factly. "No one's coming."
Pausing, Vic arched a brow "…you at least call somebody?"
"Certainly not you."
Starting to feel his friendly face fade at Mr. Crocker's resentment, Vic's brow flattened, exhaling a broody groan "…you remember me, don't cha."
Mr. Crocker deepened his glare, recognizing exactly who this bastard was. Even after the foremost worst day of his life, his mother continued to leave him under terrible care without as much as a damn for his safety. "I don't know…should I?" he mockingly spat with a drip of bitterness, that of which Vic had expected as much.
"Look, Denzel-"
"Will you just stop your stupid pretending and just leave me alone?!"
[Do not close yourself away. Be open to a helping hand.]
Once again baffled by his voice speaking thoughts that were not from his own head, Mr. Crocker shot a glance to the lavender eyes lasered on him, as if its eyes peered into the very depth of his soul. Transfixed by the crow's lavender glitter within each iris, shimmering with the mystical sheen of holographic paper reflected by light.
At this point, he honestly wouldn't be surprised if he was truly crazy…
"Alright…if that's what cha want…"
Hearing the disappointed groan, Mr. Crocker's gaze snapped to the sight of Vic about to walk away, and an unexplainable urge compelled him to blurt out "Wait!"
The pair of black combats paused, pivoting on his heel. No hint of hurt in his muted gaze towards Mr. Crocker's uncertain stammer.
"…i-it's just the battery…it…i-it died on me."
"Hmm…" Vic pursed his lips and tapped his chin, coming up with a solution. "I got jumper cables in the trunk…wanna seeya 'bout gettin' a start?"
"I…um…" the fact that Mr. Crocker was even entertaining the very man that used to make his life a living hell made eye contact such a struggle "…t-that would help."
While Vic coordinated with Mr. Crocker on the safest way to move his van so that they weren't right next to moving traffic, two raven-haired girls were now both observing through the back windshield, watching the conversation but were unable to hear properly through the glass.
"Look at her eyes…" Molly pointed to lavender-eyed raven on Mr. Crocker's shoulder, commenting at a level that only Tootie and their godmothers could hear "…they're an odd color."
"Yeah…" Tootie could see this as well, then realized what Molly had said as she glanced to her left. "Wait…how do you know it's a she?"
"Female ravens are smaller in size than average, like that one." Molly informed. "And her neck feathers are shorter in comparison to how male neck feathers look."
Reminded of Molly's near-extensive knowledge of ravens, Tootie returned to her observation "…b-but she can't be a fairy, right?"
"That's definitely not a fairy." Swizzle asserted, dangling from Molly's ear with a proper view of the crow to be correct. "No crown."
"But it's so strange…" Rose mused, cuffed around Tootie's wrist. Her teal eyes narrowed. "I can sense…magical energy."
Swizzle, too, pointed her dark-blue gaze. "Same."
"But how can you sense magic?" Tootie questioned in a way that was geared towards both fairy godmothers.
"It's real subtle, like a faint itch that you barely wanna scratch…" Swizzle remarked "…but it's there, no doubt."
Tootie's brow dropped low over her eyes, trying to decipher this information. "So…" she faced Molly's profile "…what does this mean?"
Deep furrows appeared between Molly's brows, studying the crow whose eyes had now spotted them inside the truck. Staring as if she already knew them well.
"…no idea."