Chronological markers: this scene fits in as a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, season 3. It begins following the previous chapter, episode 4, around 20:50 (while Klaus and Stan are "cleaning" the rooms), and continues in episode 5, around 38:00 (after Five and Klaus talk alone at the bar and Five teleports away).
Suggested soundtrack: First Aid Kit - My Silver Lining. TW: reference to near-death experiences and 'actual-death experiences', as well as drug and alcohol use.
April 4 2019, 5:42 pm
H. G. Wells once wrote about that feeling you sometimes get, of detachment from oneself and the world around us. The feeling of 'watching it from the outside, from somewhere inconceivably remote, out of time, out of space, out of the stress and tragedy of it all'.
Dave used to quote 'The War of the Worlds' sometimes, when his uncle Brian's reactions and expectations exceeded his comprehension. And now, I think of him, somewhere in Cleveland. For that feeling of disbelief toward reality, and not only. How many science_fiction books did we read together during those months in Dallas, in 1963? How many did we pass to each other, over our balconies of the small Glen Oaks shops?
If only he had known.
If he had known how sometimes our reality is as strange as the works of Heinlein, Clarke, or Herbert. If he had known that castaways from other worlds are walking among us, like Iggy and his kind. 'Aliens', in the literal sense of the word. If he had known that I, or Klaus - and others - possess absurd abilities. So-called 'powers' that seem more like they consume us day by day, damaging every timeline we cross.
Truly, if only he had known.
In Iggy's tales about the fall of Makȟá Zuȟéča - about the Cosmologist and the Wayfarer - I heard echoes of what seems to stir the entire universe around us. Apocalypses, inevitable: ends, and transformations. I don't know if we're in some dystopian novel, a sci-fi movie, or some absurd tv-show spawned from the deranged minds of psychopathic writers. What I do know is that amidst our wanderings... I found something I had lost long ago.
Yes, Dave was right: sometimes something good comes with the bad, born amidst the adversity.
One day, in the former 2019 - possibly on the eve of the first apocalypse I experienced - Klaus accused me of having lost all hope. Legitimately so, at the time, as I was just a worn-out worker, turned apathetic and un-rebel, leaving my job at the hardware store only to crawl into bed, depleted. Without dreams, without even a desire for the future. Willing to accept that I could be the cause of an apocalypse, without truly protesting.
I am tired of these ends of the world. I'm scared of living too fast, too slow at the same time. Too fast, because we never have time to stay long in one place, in the same timeline. We run, over and over, just to remain in the same spot. Too slow, because - consequently - we never manage to build anything. I wish I could finally settle down somewhere: have an apartment, keep my job. Make friends outside the narrow circle of the Hargreeves that seems to absorb me more and more, every day.
To exist, a little. To be free. And that desire is a spark within me. Like Iggy, I feel those glimmers of hope, now. Perhaps I, too, long for some return of the White Buffalo, and a restoration of balance? Yeah, I do want that harmony promised by the Great Mystery to the Lakota. For all of us. People like me, Klaus, the Hargreeves, and Lila have suffered enough.
If there truly is a way to reset the damaged machinery of the universe, then that's what I want. It doesn't matter that I don't take the easy road: I know this isn't just another TV to fix. But if the cosmos is a machine indeed, none of those shit has ever resisted me. Just like Five's briefcase this morning: I want to understand its parameters, its components, its power source.
And I think I know where to look.
Iggy put on his skin again, and smuggled me out of the the top floor's 'private facilities'. Along with the other 'hosts', he went back downstairs, to the lobby. And I paused in the long, foliage-patterned hallway of our rooms, careful not to draw the attention of Klaus and Stan, who were still 'working' on cleaning the rooms. I faintly smiled, hearing Klaus talk to that 'nephew' like an equal. But I left them behind, stepping back through the door of the White Buffalo suite.
I no longer want to flee: I am more determined than ever.
I feel there are answers there, beyond the pachinko machine that still makes the air hum to my chest. Like a voice in the energy, calling out for me.
So - again - I cross the room, now bathed in the descending light of that April evening, and stare at the design Iggy called a 'Sigil'. I only know that word from pop-culture, where it's associated with a symbol or seal used in magical practices to focus intentions or desires. To me, it always looked like a printed circuit board, which now makes sense.
"Oh, I don't give a shit if you look at me, now", I say to the White Buffalo as it seems to lock its black eyes on me once more. "I don't know what you're hiding, or if you can really be a bridge to the machinery of the universe. But one thing I'm sure of: I'm no longer afraid of you."
I place my hand on the surface of the pachinko, gripping the energetic vibrations it emits. I delve beyond it, finding a shining abyss of pure energy, somwhat similar to the cracks of light I make when teleportating. I reopen my eyes. What lies beyond that door resembles nothing. An unfathomable enclave, outside space, outside time. And I—
*Clack*
With a crisp click, the pachinko pivots. Before I can fully process what's happening, it opens onto a corridor, ten paces long, glowing with the stellar brilliance I had anticipated.
"Oh, holy shit", is all I can utter. And I feel it again, more powerfully than ever: the call of what is beyond, unknown.
My hand moves to the Sigil tattooed on my arm. I glance at the White Buffalo one last time. Then, with firm determination, I step into the narrow corridor, dazzling like a thousand mirrors. Is this the bridge the White Buffalo guards, leading to Wakȟáŋ Tȟáŋka?
*Clack*
The door closes behind me, but I don't look back. I move forward slowly, seized by an odd vertigo, like a dulled version of time-travel sickness, that one feels the first few times. Perhaps I have an enhanced perception, but - for me - there's no doubt that time flows differently here. I don't know if I've been gone a minute, an hour, a day, or a year.
I have no idea what would happen if the Kugelblitz took everything while I'm in here. Possibly, nothing would happen to me. Yes. Here, I am within a singular bend in space-time: outside of everything.
I walk a few more steps to the other end of the corridor and pause. Before me is another closed door, identical to the back of the pachinko I left behind. I lay my hand on it, ready to try to open it. But a deep, distorted sound behind me suddenly makes me jump and turn around.
*SHTONK!*
The door to the other pachinko - the one I entered through - shudders from a brief, violent impact, as if struck by a projectile.
I look back and forth between the two doors, and suddenly, a deep anxiety grips me. What if something happens that keeps me from going back? I can't risk getting trapped in here. The danger of what I'm doing hits me even if my attraction to what lies beyond makes my blood pound in my temples.
I hesitate, trembling, feeling time stretch on and on. After a moment of reflection - probably far too long compared to the hours passing in my reality - I give up... and I go back. Slowly at first, then faster, anxious that I won't be able to see the White Buffalo again.
But the door opens easily.
My foot lands on the hideous carpet of the suite with relief, and I push the pachinko shut with my back. The taxidermied animal is still there, watching me, and a sigh of relief escapes me. Even though I notice that the door to the suite is open, when I was sure I had closed it. Even though...
Is that a snore I just heard? I almost choke. On what had been my bed for a few nights, Diego and Lila lie entwined, asleep in a pose that leaves little to the imagination. I roll my eyes in exasperation, feeling a slight urge to laugh. Outside, it's pitch black now: time has clearly moved faster here. I glance around, wondering how long I've really been-
"Ow!"
Suddenly, my head hits something to my left: a long wooden object tipped with metal, lodged in the door above the pachinko. An arrow? A speargun? Is that what struck it while I was inside? And I freeze.
Blood?
On the surface of the arrow. On the floor, too, where one of the shaggy rugs is missing. Dull red blood that seems to have dried at least an hour ago. A little farther, on one of the armchairs, lies the speargun that used to be beneath the White Buffalo trophy.
My blood runs cold as I recall the earlier altercation with the Sparrows and the possibility of it happening again. But there's something worse. Through the open door of the suite... I spot the cleaning cart Stan and Klaus were using, with all the products, including the small flask Klaus was sipping household alcohol from.
I don't know if I closed the pachinko door, and checking it is the last thing on my mind. Something happened, involving Klaus. And Stan. And blood. And a fucking speargun.
"Damn it".
I knock over the cart.
*Crack!*
I teleport farther down the hall and sprint to the room Klaus shares with his brothers, finding it dark and empty.
*Crack!*
In another split second, I'm in one of the two elevators, forcing my power into its system, its cables and pulleys straining under the push. I hurl it downward and slip out even before the doors have fully opened. My eyes and power scan the lobby, sensing any manifestations of Marigolds. I rush across the star-patterned carpet toward those I feel closest.
*Crack!*
I reappear at the entrance to the Obsidian bar - oddly empty of the bartender and 'regulars' - just in time to see Five teleport away and...
"Go get them buddy..."
There, on one of the tall stools, lounging in his mustard shirt with tropical leaf prints, with a glass in his hand, Klaus looks like his usual self: at least, as he does when he's exhausted, overwhelmed by life... and somewhat drunk.
"Thank goodness", I whisper as all the air seems to rush out of my chest.
Slightly shaky, I lean against the corner pillar of the bar, and Klaus turns his head toward me, blinking in confusion while downing a shot of gin.
"Hey? Did you also have a ballistics accident or was your workday..."
*Crack!*
In another second, I'm on him, pushing him against the bar despite being much shorter than him.
"What's this speargun doing in my pachinko? I saw the cart upstairs!"
"Oh oh oh, ~your~ pachinko? Easy, Rinny, remember you're squatting that suite, and now I have my own reasons for feeling sentimentally attached to those fluffy rugs-"
"What the hell happened, KLAUS, talk!"
"Hey, hey, calm down. Bad day at work? Me too. Let's sit, breathe... if you want, we can order shawarmas like in the good old-"
"What is that..."
He huffs dramatically but realizes my eyes are already on the bloodstain soaking his ex-favorite shirt, over his solar plexus. He glances down, tugging the collar aside to inspect it, even though it's not easy.
"If I tell you it only stings a little now, will you believe me?"
I don't even listen, forcing his stool to spin with my boot to inspect his back. There, between his shoulder blades, is an identical stain, and my tired brain easily connects the dots.
"That damn thing went straight through you."
It isn't a question. And there's not even surprise in my voice at seeing him sitting there. Maybe because I'm beyond shock... but not just that. I collapse onto the barstool beside his as he rotates back to face me, eyebrows slightly furrowed. He's also noticed my lack of reaction.
"It was... by far my worst experience with a penetrating object. But you..."
He remains perfectly still, which is rare.
"You already know I died and came back."
I stare at the glass Five left on the counter, unable to look at him. Yes, I understood this form of immortality of his, let's call a spade a spade. I've known it for a long time. Yet each time - like today - I always fear he won't come back. That one time will be one too many. I run a hand over my eyes.
"Klaus, last week in 1963, we died together in Dallas. We found ourselves among those damned black-and-white lotuses at the same time, with that haughty bicycle girl. What did you think happened?"
"I told my mother the same thing earlier when I saw her conception of 'heaven'."
So, he saw her, and she may have helped him cross that threshold. That's probably for the best.
"I thought I was flexible, resilient and cartoon-like... with a loyalty card to the video store of near-death experiences."
His eyes narrow with a pain that speaks to the denial he lived with for so long. But today, his death was too glaring to ignore. I sigh, because I think he deserves honesty now.
"Do you remember, Klaus, the snowstorm that hit The City in 2010? When you thought hiding in a dumpster would be enough. To me, it was already clear you'd died of hypothermia by the time I found you."
He says nothing, knowing I could list many more.
"Those two times you fell while sneaking in Hargreeves Mansion to steal silverware? The second time, I'm pretty sure one of your vertebrae was sticking out. All those biker showdowns, all those overdoses - intentional or not. Those risky behaviors that never had any consequences, not even on your health..."
I shake my head slowly.
"For me, there's never been any doubt that your power connected to death was also connected to life."
Without that aspect of his power, silencing the ghosts through drugs, alcohol, and reckless behavior would never have been viable. No one else would have survived that. And it even goes deeper: Klaus has always tested the limits of his own mortality. And he blinks, struck again by realization, this time through these tangible memories, and I know more are coming to him.
"Rachel... said I'd died 56 times before this one and come back. And I've been doing this like forever, I think. Before I even knew how to roll my own cigarettes or use a 'Tenga', when Dad... tested how long it took for me to come back: I understand it now."
Pain flickers across my face as I hear that, with so little surprise for what Reginald Hargreeves was capable of. But Klaus doesn't even dwell on that past and those terrible abuses. Another kind of pain seizes him as he adds:
"And you..."
The words catch in his throat.
"... how many times did I make you witness it?"
I shake my head. "It doesn't matter, Klaus, you're here."
"It does. It does matter."
It strikes me that this is what concerns him most, in his unpredictable curly head. After everything that just happened - after his entire life, really - that's what he worries about? My heart clenches because Klaus is so much more than the credit he gives himself. Sometimes, I feel like I don't deserve him. Since we arrived in this version of 2019, I've only given him scraps of time and attention, when he desperately needed it.
This is something I never do, but tonight is different. I gently place my hand on his limp neck and pull him softly toward me, letting him reclaim some of the strength he's lost. Klaus has always been like a dried-up sponge, reviving when given affection. I'm terrible at it, even deficient in these kinds of gestures, probably because I'm burdened by my material dimension. But in some extreme circumstances, like today's, I can do that.
"Don't worry about me", I say.
He doesn't reply, taking a deep breath, but we communicate in another way, right now. Finally, he makes a sound that's halfway between a laugh and a sob.
"Your complete lack of shock was almost insulting, you know. You could have pretended."
I chuckle slightly too, letting all the tension I've accumulated in the past few hours melt away.
"You know... I'm used to you having even more lives than cats. Just like you don't freak out when I disappear out of sight."
Strangely, I don't try to escape his grip at all, as if I too need to refill somehow. We stay still for a moment, and the oppressive silence of the lobby around us strikes me. I eventually open my eyes to the empty bar and frown slightly.
"Klaus, what time is it?", I ask, my chin still on his shoulder fabric.
I still don't know how much time passed in the temporal warp beyond the pachinko. We part, and his 'Hello' hand drops to his thigh.
"Why? Do you have a dentist appointment? A car repair? Oh. A vet visit."
I'm stupid for asking: Klaus never knows what time it is. I turn my eyes toward the little art-deco clock behind the empty aquarium that still makes bubbles. 8:27 p.m. At this time of night, the lobby should be bustling.
"Where's the barman? Where are... the regulars?"
Klaus turns as if looking for them too.
"I don't kn—oh. Yes, I know. There was a pulse from that Kugel-thing earlier... I fear they were all taken. But look on the bright side: we're now self-sufficient for gin service, right?"
He hoists himself up on the stool and refills his glass, his tone light and detached, but I freeze. A lump forms immediately in my throat. Iggy. Iggy, who confided in me just a few hours ago... taken. He and his people, who hoped for salvation for so long. The Film noir couple with their cocktails at any hour. The Furry ladies, whose cats left hair everywhere on the seats. Hemingway and his moody scowl. Waler, with his pipe smoke that stung the throat. They all had waited so long for the restoration of their lost planet.
"What?" Klaus's face is filled with confusion. "You'll figure out the coffee percolator. You always say so yourself: no machine ever resists you."
"Yeah... yeah, I will..."
My heart is heavy, and yet, I refuse to believe this is the end for them, and it won't be the end either for us, Kugelblitz or not. Yes, there is still hope. It lies in those possibilities of a 'reset' of the universe, beyond the pachinko. Again, my anxiety and grief gradually give way to resolve. More than ever, I am determined to understand. But will I have enough time?
"Are you sure you're okay, Rin?"
Again, my eyes are on the clock, and I jump as if waking up. 8:30 p.m.
"Shit, Klaus!"
I stand up hastily.
"We have twenty minutes left. Damn it, don't you remember?"
He waves his 'Goodbye' hand lazily.
"Oh, you know, schedules and I have always had a rocky relationship."
"Granny. The Celestial Theatre. Chicago!"
This could have seemed trivial compared to everything we've just been through, except for one important detail.
"I invited Christopher."
Klaus almost falls off his stool.
"Excuse me?" he says, blinking in disbelief. "I must have a champagne-cork-sized ear blockage or have left my frontal lobe in the beyond, because I think I misheard... Christopher, Rin? You remember the Sparrows... they came this afternoon... to kick our asses? Uh?"
I try in vain to drag him off his stool.
"I'll explain on the way... Three teleports and a bus, and we can still make it. CHICAGO, Klaus. You love Chicago. No matter what you say, you love Granny. And deep down... I know you're dying to see me next to my evil twin."
"Mmm are we sure who's the Yin and who's the Yang between you two, in the end?"
He almost starts laughing in his semi-drunken state, and I see in his eyes that, once again, his will to live takes over. He unstably gets to his feet as well.
"Let's go wild", he says, catching the bottle he's been nursing. "After all, nothing tops glamorous murderers, lies wrapped in sequins, and noir-era swing to finish a day like this."
He takes one last shot of gin, downing it beneath the speargun wound that has mostly healed during the brief time we spent talking.
"But, Rinny, if you're dragging me to the music hall like in the good old days..."
He follows me, stumbling a bit, toward the elevator, before turning around.
"You need to give me time to primp."
-
Notes:
The evening was eventful for both Rin and Klaus, under the watchful gaze of the White Buffalo. At least, some aspects of his power are clear to him now, freeing Rin from certain unspoken truths. And in the middle of adversity, there's a glimmer of hope for better self-understanding now. Definitely a silver lining.
Can you remember Klaus 'primping' in front of the mirror, as 'My Silver Lining' plays - around 38:00 - just as the pachinko door Rin didn't close looms behind? The song's lyrics are particularly fitting here, and maybe you could spot some references to it in this chapter.
Rin is now convinced that the reset is the way out. But now, it's time to head off for what may be the last musical before the world ends.
Any comments would make my day!