*Short Authors Note: This chapter became unexpectedly long, so much so that I decided to split it into two chapters, because editing that much at one go would take me forever, and this one is late as it is. Also it'd be a pain in the ass. So, what you're reading is really the first part of two. The second part (chapter seven), will be edited and released next, hopefully in a couple of days.*
December 6th, 2024
“Uh huh. And that… alright. Alright, I understand.” Replacing the phone in its cradle with a small click, Ryan turns serious eyes towards the threshold of his study, where Celestia and Luna watch him nervously. Taking a deep breath, he gaze flicks quickly from them to the phone, and then back. “They’re here.”
The two sisters exchange a pensive, worried look. Celestia swallows audibly before looking back to her father. Uncertainty is writ large across her face, but Ryan would almost swear there’s a shine of excitement in her large rose colored eyes as well.
She swallows again before opening her mouth to speak, but Ryan cuts her off, holding up a preemptory hand. “I want both of you to go up to your room, Tia, and wait. Don’t make any noise, and don’t come down no matter what you hear, until I tell you it’s alright.” Studying her expression a moment longer, he adds “And for God’s sake, stay away from the window.”
Luna takes a shuffling step forward, as if she’s not entirely sure what she should do. Anxiety twists her mouth in dismay, widening her eyes and contorting her normally graceful features. “Dad, are you sure…” She falters as Ryan rises from the plush office chair.
Crossing the short distance between chair and doorway, he lays a comforting hand on each of their cheeks, alabaster and indigo coats a downy softness beneath his palms. He smiles down at them, a little bit of nostalgia causing the overhead light to reflect damply from his eyes. It seems like just the other day he had to crouch down to touch his girls. Now he can just stretch his hand out and ruffle their manes, and he only has to lean over to give them a hug. He doesn’t even have to lean that far. If there are two irrevocable constants in this existence, he’s come to understand that time passes, and children grow.
Looking at each of them in turn, he puts on his most reassuring smile. “It’s going to be OK, girls. We’ve known this was coming for a while now. Everything is going to be alright, I promise.” Dropping his hands, he glances at the far wall, as though he can peer through the smooth plaster and wood paneling, down the gravel track that runs from the front yard and descends the hill to the access road. “Go on now, and hurry. They’ll be coming up the drive any moment.”
Watching them as they turn away, his smile founders, revealing for a moment some of the apprehension that he’s so far kept hidden. His eyes follow them as they turn the corner and head up the stairs in a gentle double cadence of hoof falls. From the front of the house the sound of crunching gravel just precedes the muted rumble of an engine, the sound growing louder as it approaches before cutting off. In the following silence he hears the thump and click of Tia’s bedroom door closing from up above.
Taking a deep breath, he walks into the living room, giving the space a final once over. The lighter squares and rectangles scattered about stand out against the darker paneling of the walls, the framed photographs that once occupied them tucked away in a box upstairs, where prying eyes can’t see them. Their absence is noticeable, but there isn’t anything he can do about it. Giving a shrug, his eyes continue to sweep the room.
Other than the missing pictures, the place looks acceptable. The books, magazines, brushes and other paraphernalia associated with having two daughters have been put away, and he’s gone over the floor twice this morning with a broom, sweeping up stray feathers and loose hairs. Everything is clean, organized and most importantly, normal. A sharp knock echoes from across the room. Listening for a moment to make sure the girls are settled, he makes his way over, casting a last perfunctory glance as he moves. Almost to the door, he catches something from the corner of his eye and freezes in mid-step, head whipping back around. From this angle he can see part of a bright white shape peeking out from beneath the couch. From in front of him comes another set of bangs, the impacts sounding a little agitated.
Moving quickly, he bends and snags a long feather from underneath the broad leather mound of the sofa. It must have been blown out from farther underneath by the heater vent. It’s the only way he can figure he missed it. About two inches across at its widest, the tapered end would extend a bit above the tips of his fingers if he laid it flat in his palm. It looks like a primary. The winter sunlight filtering through the blinds picks out glossy highlights along its length, and he makes a mental note to have another talk with Tia about preening in the living room. The knock sounds again, sharper this time, snapping him out his study. Stuffing the offending feather deep into his pants pocket, he makes his way over to the door again, eyes doing a rapid search for anything else he may have missed. Seeing nothing this time, he sighs in relief and opens the door, taking in the broad shouldered man filling the door frame.
The man is young, probably in his early twenties, and swarthy, his eyes unreadable behind the polarized lenses of his sunglasses. Glancing dispassionately at the clipboard he’s holding, he looks back at Ryan with a stoic expression. “Mr. Ryan Williams?”
Closing the door with a gentle nudge, Celestia walks quietly over to her bed, giving her wings a small, nervous flutter as she settles herself on the floor at its foot. Breathing out with a sigh, she glances across the room at her sister, still standing by the doorway. Luna looks…well she looks pretty much like Tia feels. Nervous, jittery, and frightened. Standing and stretching her wings out, trying to adopt a nonchalance that she doesn’t really feel, she gives a quick shake of her head before walking over to sit beside her sibling.
Luna’s still peering at the closed door, her eyes wide and a little wild looking around the edges. As Celestia approaches, she gives her little sister a gentle nudge in the side, eliciting a startled squeak from Luna, who looks over quickly. “It’s going to be alright, sis. Dad said there wasn’t anything to worry about, so long as we stay quiet and out of sight.”
Luna looks up with frightened eyes as her older sister takes a seat near her. “I know, but still…” She trails off, glancing at the door before meeting Tia’s eyes. “They’re outside people, Tia. What if they find out about us?”
“It’s not like they’re looking for us, sis. They can’t find out about us if we’re up here.” Tia responds soothingly, motioning Luna to sit with her.
Settling on her haunches, Luna leans against Celestia, who wraps a comforting wing around her shoulders. “…I know, I know. Dad will take care of everything. It’s just…it’s a little scary having people here.”
Allowing a little of the same fear and uncertainty visible on her younger sisters face to show on her own, Celestia nods her head, pulling Luna closer into a comforting embrace. It is a little scary. “You know Daddy would never let anything happen to us. We just have to hide out for a while, and then everything will be back to normal.”
Leaning against each other, the two sit for a time, taking solace in one another’s presence. From below they can hear muffled voices, one easily identifiable as their father, the other obviously from a stranger. They can’t make out any of the words being spoken, but it sounds like they’re talking by the stairs. There is a sharp slam, the sound flat and sudden in the quiet of their home, and both of them jump a little before recognizing the metallic clatter of the screen door swinging closed.
Cocking her head, Tia strains to make out any part of the conversation their father is having, but the voices are incomprehensible, muted by the walls and distorted as they echo faintly up the stairs and through the hallway. The quiet sounds of conversation are soon joined by others, moving around the front of the living room. She raises an eyebrow, wondering why the television is on, and it isn’t until she can make out the additional sounds of thumps and thuds that she realizes that it’s not the T.V., but rather more people downstairs.
In spite of herself and the situation, she can’t help but wonder about these strangers in her house. There have only been two other people in her whole life, after all, and Celestia had long ago decided that everybody else in the exterior world must fall into one of two categories. Good, kind people that were like her and her family, and cruel, selfish, untrustworthy people out to make trouble.
She mulls over these thoughts as she sits leaning against her sister, both of them straining to make sense of the noises coming from the floor below, and as she does she feels a change slowly come over her. The nervousness and uncertainty remain, but she can feel her fear flowing away from her, evaporating under the warmth of a steadily building curiosity, heightened by a small rush of excitement. There must be three or four strangers in the living room. New people, folk she hasn’t known for as long as she can remember.
Were they really safe up here? The longer she sits, leaning into her sister and beginning to grow a little warm from the shared body heat, the more she becomes convinced that they are. What she told Luna is right, no one knows that they’re upstairs. Nobody would even think that it was more than just her father living out here. And if nobody knew they were around…
Coming to a sudden decision she stands, startling Luna, who is still focused on the odd noises drifting up from beneath them. Shooting her a quick, reassuring smile, she quietly pads over to her bed, stopping beside it and glancing back at the dark form of her younger sister. Luna has settled onto the floor with her legs neatly tucked beneath her, hear head cocked toward the floor and her gaze a little unfocused as she continues trying to listening.
Taking a breath to steady her nerves, and then a second one, Celestia makes her way to the bedroom window. Standing before it for a moment she studies it, her father’s admonishment and her own thoughts mixing and churning. Blinking, she nods her head once, and then hesitantly noses the blinds over, just enough to create a small gap through which she can gaze down at their front yard.
The day is gray and overcast, the heavy looking clouds riding low enough to feel almost claustrophobic. They bring with them just enough wind to keep the branches of the oak trees in front of the house in constant motion, swaying back in forth in gentle and irregular arcs of gnarled bark.
She can make out the back end of a truck parked at a close angle to the porch, a tall, square boxed affair with a roll up door in the back. The unmarked white paint is smudged and stained in abstract patterns above gritty looking sprays of brown mud that fan out behind the dark tires. It’s not what she expected. She thought it would be…cleaner, better taken care of. Dad kept their truck looking better than that, after all. He was always spraying it off with the hose. Studying the vehicle, her breath catches as a man walks around from the far side, stopping at the back and bending to fiddle with something at the bottom of the door.
He’s a stranger, somebody from outside, and despite her misgivings she can’t help but feel fascinated as well, a thrill shooting down her back and leaving goose bumps along her spine. It’s hard to tell from this angle, but she thinks he might be tall, and he looks a little fat. She recognizes what he’s wearing as coveralls, although she’s only ever seen them in magazines and on T.V. Peering down from her second floor window, she can’t help but wonder about this unknown man. What was his name and where did he live? Did he have a family? Was he kind, or was he cruel? Would he be friendly? A million questions float around her head. He could be anybody, from anywhere. Maybe from town, maybe from a far off city, like New York, or Memphis. Musing, she tries to imagine who he might be, and in her mind she begins to construct an elaborate story.
Maybe his name is Kent. He certainly looks like a Kent. He’s young, but he works hard, probably to support his girlfriend and ailing mother, who both live with him in his small, poorly maintained apartment. He’s got a good heart, but sometimes he has to do the wrong thing in order to get by. He doesn’t get along with his landlord, a callous and stingy fellow who refuses to fix anything and who constantly harps about the rent. His girlfriend takes night courses at the local community college. She wants to be an artist, but she’s constantly having to bail out her no-good brother, Carlos, which causes problems between Kent and her. It’s a sad and compelling life, full of large struggles and small victories that sounds…it actually sounds strangely familiar, for some reason.
Following the thread of her thought, her eyes narrowing, Celestia realizes, with no small amount of embarrassment, that the back story she’s just invented for this stranger, who’s long since opened the roll up door and climbed into the back of the truck, is actually the plot to a daytime drama she’s recently taken to watching. Streets of L.A. Kent Barrister is the main character.
Warmth flooding her cheeks, she chuckles quietly in embarrassment and continues watching from the window, waiting for the strange figure to re-emerge from the back of the truck. So caught up is she in her thoughts that she barely registers the muted, startled racket of hooves on the carpet, which is quickly followed by a shocked, hushed voice from behind her.
“Tia, what are you doing?” Lurching across the room, Luna bumps her sister, knocking her away from the blinds, which drop closed with a gentle clatter to sway back and forth. “Dad said to stay away from the window!” Eyes wide, Luna noses at the plastic white slats, stilling the blinds as much as she can. Breathing a little shakily, she turns an incredulous, demanding glare onto her older sister.
Straightening herself and giving her tail an irritated swish, Celestia turns to her sister with an annoyed huff. “I’m just taking a peek, Luna. No one can see me up here, anyway.”
“You don’t know that, what if one of them did?” Luna returns, snorting and resisting the urge to stamp her hoof. “And Dad told us…”
“I know what Dad told us. It’s just that…”
“One of them could have seen you, Tia!” Luna cuts her off, speaking as loudly as she dares. “Then we’d be caught! Dad told us…”
“I know what Dad told us!” Tia snaps back, her eyes flashing. Luna takes a step back in surprise, her teal eyes widening at the outburst. Celestia moves back a step as well, her breathing a little ragged. She’s a bit surprised, too.
Bending her head and closing her eyes she takes a moment, finally getting herself under control. Looking back up, she meets Luna’s wary and bewildered gaze with all of the calm she can muster. “Look sister, I’m sorry. And I understand, I really do. Believe me, I don’t want to get found out any more than you do.”
Luna opens her mouth to speak, but Celestia cuts her off with a look. Eyes wandering back to the shuttered blinds, a strange expression comes over her, part frustration, part longing. “Do you realize that we’ve never seen anybody, at all, other than Dad or on the T.V.? For our whole lives?” Looking back at her sister, she continues, her voice low and a little husky. “Our whole lives, Luna. We can’t go near the highway, we’ve never been into town. And we’re never likely to. We’ve never seen another real live person before, and now there are at least three of them, in our house. Right. Now”
Studying Luna’s expression for a moment, watching her consider what she’s just heard, Tia can see the fear and caution on her sisters face begin to fade. Quirking an eyebrow, she gives a little grin. “Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
Faltering a little, Luna looks up, hesitant to meet her sister’s gaze. “…Well, yeah Tia, of course I get curious.” The fear is gone from her expression and from her voice, but the caution still remains. ”But this is dangerous. You know what Dad says, other people won’t understand about us.” Turning her head she studies the window pensively, but not so much as before.
“I know what Dad says,” Celestia repeats, earnestness in her voice this time instead of anger. “But all we’re doing is taking a peek. No one will see us if we’re careful.” Turning back, Luna meets her eyes, uncertainty and curiosity warring on her face.
They look at each other for a long moment, and then Luna swallows with an audible click. “Are you sure no one can see us?”
Her grin growing, Celestia nods her head. “Absolutely.”
Glancing from the blinds to her sister and back again, Luna swallows again. “Did…did you see anybody?”
Smiling encouragingly, Tia motions over towards the blinds. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”
“…And here, and here.”
Signing with a small flourish, Ryan suppresses a sigh of relief. It’s just about over with. Looking up, he hands the clip board back to the swarthy gentleman, Phillip by name, who’s standing expectantly before him. “And the warranty is good for three years?”
“That’s right sir,” the coverall-clad man replies, throwing a quick glance back over his shoulder towards the front of the living room, “Although with this model, I’d be surprised if you ever needed it. Very dependable, Mr. Williams.”
“Well that’s good to hear.” Ryan answers with a forced smile, offering his hand. “I’d hate for you boys to have to make another trip all the way out here.” The guy shaking it has no idea how sincerely he means that statement. Ryan’s a little surprised at how anxious having people out to the home place makes him feel, much more so than he expected. It’s like an uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades that he can’t quite reach. Although upon reflection he guesses he shouldn’t be that surprised. Ten years of a self-enforced hermit lifestyle, save for the occasional, brief trip into town, can change what you’re used to. Add to that the twin secrets hiding out upstairs and it’s enough to make a man overly anxious.
Following them out onto the porch, he watches as the three delivery men pile into their grimy moving truck. Donning what he hopes is a grateful smile, he waves as they turn around and start down the gravel drive. The driver returns the wave absently from his window as the vehicle makes its way down the hill, slowly dropping out of sight.
Waiting, he listens as the crunch and rattle of tires over gravel grows fainter and fainter. He stands for slow minutes, ears straining, his breath a feathery mist in the early winter evening. When he’s certain that they’re not coming back he finally drops the grin with a pent up sigh, his body slumping in on itself. They were gone.
Taking a moment to gather himself, he turns on his heel and walks back inside, absently nudging the front door closed with his heel as he looks over the receipt in his hands. Early Christmas gift or no, he still winces slightly at the total neatly typed at the bottom of the invoice. For that much he’d better never need the damn warranty.
Stopping in the living room, he breaths deeply, trying to expel the residual tension that still sits tight along his spine, like bunched knuckles pressing into his back. They were gone, and everything had gone well. As well as could be expected, anyway. No one had asked about stray hoof prints or strange feathers, and the odd noises from up above were easily explained away, once he invented a pair of cats to cause them. Rambunctious cats, who were probably going to be in some trouble when he caught up to them.
They’d talk, of course, the delivery men. To their friends and co-workers- he’d seen the curious looks and unasked questions- but it’d be about the weird hermit-cat-guy, and nothing else. That was the important part. Picking up the rest of the documentation from the coffee table and shuffling it all together, he sighs again, the remainder of his stress flowing out on the exhale as he walks to the foot of the stairs. Cupping a hand, he pitches his voice to carry. “OK girls, you can come down now!”
There is a silence, and he frowns at it before he’s able to make out the hesitant clatter of hooves transitioning from carpeted bedroom to the hardwood floor of the hallway. The steps travel slowly down the corridor, picking up in both speed and confidence as Celestia and Luna make their way down the stairs. They both stop about half way down, eyes going wide as they take in the new addition to the living room.
“Wow…is that it?” Tia asks, finally finishing her descent to the first floor.
“That’s it, sweetheart,“ Ryan answers, following her gaze with a small look of pride. “The top of the line model.” It’s absurd that he should feel proud of it, it’s not like he built the thing, but the feeling remains, none the less.
“It’s so…big…” Luna trails off, approaching uncertainly. Looking back over her shoulder, she quirks an eyebrow. “It looks weird sitting where the old T.V. was.”
Studying it for a moment, Ryan nods his head thoughtfully. The big screen OLED television certainly looks decidedly odd occupying the place their dependable plasma had always held. The ludicrously thin display seems as if it should tumble from the plastic and burnished metal base at the slightest provocation, and special coating or no, Ryan knows he’s going to be paranoid about bumping into the thing and shattering it.
Walking to the couch, he picks up the remote, a doubtfully thin, small black rectangle, and hits the power button. The display explodes to life instantly, the manufactures logo flashing onto the screen in splashes of unbelievably vivid color, causing them all to lean back in wide eyed surprise. Settling on the edge of the seat, Ryan can feel the start of a goofy grin forming on his face, and he motions the girls over to join him. They sit on either side of him, wide, excited eyes gazing up at him above their own grins.
Placing a hand on each their shoulders, he looks from one to the other. “Well girls, who wants ice cream and a movie?” Their ecstatic responses cause his grin to break into a wide smile. This was worth it after all.
Time can be a funny thing. Ethereal and intangible, it often defies our imperfect perception of it. It can move by unnoticed in great lurches, leaving us looking back over a long, dim corridor of years, pondering how we got to where we are. Parents are especially susceptible to this, as Ryan has begun to notice for himself.
Or time can flash past in an instant, leaving us scratching our heads in wonderment at where the day has gone. Often times such quicksilver days are a boon, bringing quickly to a close such chores as we might have, and bringing us from work to home in what seems to be, to us anyway, the blink of an eye.
For Ryan, today is not one of those days. Today time has shifted its inexorable course, seeming to stand still in what could almost be construed as an attempt to flow backwards. For Ryan, today has passed by at a plodding, almost malevolent pace, each delay an irritant, each hold-up a bubble of frustration, the minutes and hours drawing out in long sibilant whispers, dripping like slow molasses from a cracked jar.
The day was average enough, for its type, consisting of a list of chores and a short trip, and it should have started out that way. Ryan’s day, unfortunately, started out well before dawn, where a night of fitful and broken sleep had finally cast him blearily upon the shores of consciousness, leaving him laying in bed in a resentful state wakefulness in the small and dark hours before sunrise.
When the day finally did dawn, it did so with slate colored clouds, thick and heavy, that bore with them a persistent and biting wind. The wan light of a cloud filtered dawn had begun to outline the curtains of his bedroom window, and at last he had risen and showered and dressed, making his way down stairs to start breakfast. The girls had slept late, and awoken grouchy and out of sorts.
Luna was querulous over breakfast, unhappy when he told her he would have to go to town for the morning and sullen when he told her he expected her room to be clean when he got back later that afternoon. He had reminded her, perhaps a little too firmly, that she had wanted her own room, and having her own room also meant taking care of it. Her martyred expression was almost as funny as it was exasperating. Tia, for her part, had sat through the exchange silently, watching her plate quietly as she pushed her food around.
Luna’s behavior, while unfortunate, was to be expected. She was at that age, after all, and it had arrived with a surprising swiftness, seemingly overnight. Twelve going on thirteen seemed to be the universal period when children began testing their boundaries, and she had been doing quite a bit of that, of late. She was just as prone to balk and argue as she was to be agreeable and smile, and although he had been expecting it, Ryan cannot wait for her to get through it and back to being his sweet girl once more. She’d become more rebellious than her older sister was when she reached that same threshold.
The thing weighing on Ryan’s mind this morning isn’t his youngest daughter’s impending transition from adolescence to fledgling teenager, however, but rather the physical well being of his eldest. Tia had him worried, and that worry has been growing. She had started suffering from headaches a few weeks ago, and her cheerless attitude this morning, and the amount of food leftover on her plate, tells him that they aren’t getting better. They seem to still be getting worse, more frequent, and that’s just what he can observe. He’s pretty certain she’s hiding the true extent of the problem from him and her sister.
The headaches aren’t even the most alarming part of it. She’d taken to resting whenever they were particularly bad, and the other day he had walked into her room to find her swaying and stumbling about, struggling to climb into bed. She had claimed that it was just the headache, but after pressing the matter she had finally admitted that she had gotten dizzy, and couldn’t figure out which bed was the right one. He had left her tucked in with a cold washcloth draped across her brow, and a feeling like he had swallowed a lump of ice. The headaches were worrisome enough by themselves. Dizziness and double vision were an order of magnitude worse.
Cleaning up the breakfast mess, Ryan had glanced out of the window, taking a measure of the weather. The wind had begun to pick up, gusting forcefully in the wane mid-morning light that filtered through the swollen grey masses overhead, and carrying with it the feel of moisture and the promise of rain. It was a day for brooding if he’d ever seen one. Scrubbing plates and glasses, he’d begun mulling over Celestia’s headaches, worrying at the problem like a dog gnawing a bone. The situation was equal parts frustrating and frightening.
He knew what was happening to Tia wasn’t normal, but then again what was normal for his kids? Was this something that happened to Alicorns when they reached a certain age, like some sort of growing pains? They’d gone through odd growth spurts, with achy legs and soar wings, but never anything with their horns. Never anything like this.
Celestia’s headaches didn’t seem to be to product of a growing body, though. They didn’t feel that way. Which meant the cause was likely something else, but if so, what? Despite not being a doctor, Ryan knew enough about medicine to know some of the possible causes, and they scared him. Viral infection. Swelling of the brain. Tumors. And if it was something medical, what should he do about it? What could he do? The whole thing left him feeling helpless and angry. He just didn’t have any information to go on.
Realizing that he had run out of dishes, Ryan finally drained the soapy water from the basin. Drying his hands on a towel, he had began searching for his list of chores, looking past it several times before he finally spotted it on the fridge, held up by the magnet that looked like a little tomato. Giving his head a shake to clear it, he had walked to the living room closet for his coat.
He needed to sit down and figure out some sort of plan for his oldest girl. Be it medicine or prayer or finding a doctor he might be able to trust, it needed to be soon. Resolving to come up with a course of action this afternoon, when he returned, Ryan strode outside, feeling a little better.
Setting his worries about Tia to the side, for the moment at least, he had glanced over his list as he made his way across the porch. His first stop was the manager’s office of the local grocery. Three deliveries had been late, and the last one had been half wrong. If Tim Markely thought he was going to pay for three cases of sardines, six heads of cabbage, and poor service to boot, then he was sorely mistaken.
In addition to that, several automatic payments and monthly transfers were as screwed up as the last grocery delivery had been, and so after he left Mr. Markley’s office, he’d get to head to another office four blocks down, where he’d get to speak to Mr. Dufresne at the savings and loan about straightening out the whole mess.
After all of that, he was actually looking forward to running to the hardware store for shingles and nails, even if the job requiring them left him less than thrilled. The last storm to roll through had knocked a dozen of the damned things all over the yard, and if he didn’t get it fixed, sooner rather than late, rain and snow melt were going to start seeping in. Replacing shingles was a pain. Fixing water damage and dry rot would be worse.
Zipping his thick canvas jacket shut, Ryan had glanced up as he made his way across the gravel drive. The grey sky had begun turning a darker, ugly color, and the wind had picked up with a gust as he climbed behind the wheel of their beat up truck and started the engine, grimacing at the grinding sounds as he searched for the right gear. Ryan’s no more mechanic than he is a doctor, but he’s pretty certain there’s something wrong with the transmission. The vehicle had developed an unfortunate habit of popping out of gear lately, and he’s had to start engaging the parking brake when he’s not driving it. He knows it needs to be checked, he just hasn’t been able to find the time to leave it at a garage.
One thing at a time. Sighing, he had turned around in the front yard, pointing the nose of the truck downhill, and rain had begun to fall in fat drops against the windshield, blurring his view. Flipping on the head lights and the wipers, he had nodded his head in dour amusement. Definitely a day for brooding.
The sound of the truck faded into the distance, the crunch and pop of the tires moving over the rock quieting until the noise of it was buried beneath the erratic rush of the wind outside. Normally, Dad leaving for town was something of an event for Celestia. He had started leaving her in charge, and every time he took a trip she felt a small thrill of pride at the trust he placed in her. She liked the responsibility, liked being able to help out around the house. Unlike the other times however, today the departure of her father is hardly noticed, the quick, involuntary flick of one ear the only indication that she had heard anything at all.
Celestia’s attention, what little of it she can muste,r at any rate, is focused inwards, consumed by the steady, vise-like hurt that pulses sickly in time with her heart beat. Her eyes closed, she lies on top of bunches and folds of her comforter, legs folded beneath her as she tries to wait it out with her head down. She’d awoken tired and unrested, as she did most mornings lately, but for a wonder without the increasingly present ache in the back of her head. This wasn’t always the case, which made the mornings where she just woke up feeling sluggish and run down something of a relief.
All of that had changed as she made her way to the kitchen this morning, however. Negotiating her way down the stairs, feeling a sort of dazed hopefulness that maybe the migraines might finally be done, she had felt a shiver run down her spine, followed by a dismayingly familiar tightening of the flesh behind her ears and down the back of her neck. By the time she’d reached the living room she was fighting the urge to look over her shoulder, and she knew with a depressing certainty that today would be no different from the others.
The headaches had come on gradually, starting out as minor and mostly ignorable annoyances three weeks ago. At first she had dismissed them as a poor night’s sleep, and later as possibly the beginnings of a cold. Her father had started her on the usual routine he used when one of them started getting sick, but when three days of aspirin, herbal tea and extra rest hadn’t had any effect, they’d both began to get worried. Since then they had only gotten worse, and she could tell as she had settled at the breakfast table that this morning was going to be a bad one.
About a week after they had started, she’d begun to notice a strange feeling, an odd thing that at first she could hardly credit. It always seemed to precede them. It had started with an uncomfortable prickling of her back, like there was something looming over her, and for that first week she had gone around constantly looking behind herself in growing confusion. Gradually that feeling was followed by a different one, a strange type of warmth, like the sun was just out of sight over her shoulder even when she was inside the house.
That was when the dreams had started as well, strange things that left her with a confusing welter of emotions when she woke from them. They changed constantly, so that one night she might find herself standing in her front yard, the next sitting at the mouth of the canyon, and the third on an endless, featureless plain. The locations seemed to be random and meaningless. She was never doing anything in these dreams, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save that it was always night. If it wasn’t for their unusual vividness, she would have called them boring. Except for the colors.
The colors were the only other constant in her odd dreams, and they definitely weren’t boring. They showed up in the same fashion every time, always starting as a distant glow from over the horizon, like the moon just before it rose into view. The glow would slowly intensify, growing gradually brighter in a way that left her with the strangest feeling, like she stood before an impending flashflood, some unfathomable wall of on-rushing water just out of sight. Overhead the night sky would begin to change, shimmering, the familiar constellations warping and twisting, until the very fabric of it seemed to burst into great sheets of light in constantly shifting hues, like an iridescent borealis of every color, that would descend to envelope her, setting everything ablaze with radiance and wrapping her in rippling waves of light that washed over her with a tingly feeling, warm and pleasant.
They weren’t nightmares. She never felt threatened by the colors, but they gave off a sense of…power. There was no malevolence, but when she was in the middle of them it felt almost like she was standing in the midst of a vast and incomprehensible ocean of energy, floating over unimaginable depths and unseen currents, just barely sensed. It always left her feeling elated and awestruck. And frightened.
The weird feelings and dreams she had so far kept to herself. In truth, she wished she could keep all of it to herself. Dad worried about them enough as it was, and she felt a twinge of guilt at adding to that worry. Shifting, she rolls gently onto her side, groaning in a helpless way. That uncomfortable prickling feeling is there again, causing the hairs along her back and neck to try to stand up, and she can feel that unseen warmth growing behind her again, like the sun peeking out from a break in the clouds. As if on cue she feels a peculiar sensation in her head, like a muscle tensing. The tensing goes on and on, building in pressure, and as the warm feeling fades away fresh waves of pain erupt in her skull, causing her to cry out softly into her blankets.
The journey into town was a slow going affair, hampered by the dancing, wind-driven sheets of rain. Moving along the mostly deserted streets – no one was out in this mess who could avoid it – Ryan made his way at a moderate pace, keeping a wary eye out for damn fools who didn’t know the difference between a wet roadway and a dry one. There were always some.
In a way he was glad that everybody seemed to be staying indoors. The fewer people he saw, the better he felt. It wasn’t that he felt any sort of animosity towards anyone in town, but running into folks he knew would lead to slightly awkward conversations, about how he was and what he’d been up to. Today he just doesn’t have it in him to smile and dissemble. No, today he wants to be about his business as quickly as possible, and get back to the house, to the girls.
He’s finally, almost begrudgingly, began growing accustomed to leaving them on their own when he has to. Well, maybe accustomed isn’t the correct word. Resigned to the need for it would be a better fit. He doesn’t think any span of time will ever make him completely comfortable leaving them without anyone to keep an eye on things, although Tia is old enough now to partially handle that responsibility. Mostly handle it. The memory of a horrifying mess, centered around a spectacularly failed attempt at a milkshake, intrude rudely into his thoughts. She’s getting better, anyway. He still has no idea how they managed to get the blender down out of the cabinet.
Tia is the other reason he’s in such a rush to finish up and get back home, aside from the terrible weather and poor sleep. Normally, she can handle keeping an eye on her younger sister and things around the house, when she’s feeling well. Now she’s not feeling well, and leaving her resting while he makes a run into town leaves him uneasy. True, Luna should be fine on her own for a couple of hours, but still it bothers him. Part of that is your standard parental worry, no doubt, but the rest of it is genuine concern. His oldest daughter is ill, and despite the need of this trip, he doesn’t like the fact that she’s laying in bed without her father there to take care of her.
Pulling up to his first stop, he kills the engine, belatedly remembering to set the parking brake after he swings the door open. He very much wants to wrap this day trip up as quickly as possible. It’s still only mid-morning, but already he’s beginning to regret not putting it off until later. Too late now, though, he’s already here. Soonest begun, soonest done, his father had been fond of saying, and as Ryan steps out into the cold, rain-slicked parking lot of Three Brothers Grocery, he pulls up the collar of his jacket, squares his shoulders, and makes his way towards the entrance with a determined, no-nonsense stride. Soonest begun, soonest done.
Waking with a startled gasp, Celestia opens her eyes, images of coruscating fans of light still vivid in her mind. Something’s wrong. Her face is hot, the air she breathes in stifling, humid and unpleasant. Everything is dark. Blinking a few times in confusion does nothing to clear her vision, and fear begins to run light fingers along her ribs, trailing cold strokes along the edge of her wings and up her neck.
She lies still for a moment, eyes rolling back and forth sightlessly as her disoriented mind tries sluggishly to figure out what’s going on. Rational thought comes slowly to her sleep addled brain, however, and suddenly an unbidden but persuasive idea bubbles up in the confused jumble of her mind, like a blister of dark oil; the headaches have stolen her vision.
She’s blind.
Frightened, she tries to sit up, but something in the dark is holding her head down, lying along her face and neck, keeping her from rising, and all she can think about are those unknowable depths from her dreams, and what they might hide. Her mounting fear gives way to panic. She’s blind, and some thing from out of her dreams now has her. Thrashing about in terror she heaves over with a muffled scream, rolling from her side onto her belly with a ripping sound, slamming her eyes shut with a strangled cry as the blackness explodes into light. Sides heaving, she half-lunges away from the thing trying to pin her, head whipping around to face the unknown danger as her eyes fly open. Blinking in confusion, she sees not some eldritch horror or strange, humped beast, but instead the wall next to her bed, the still shuttered blinds that hang in the window let through a muted glow. Panting, her head darts around, taking in the familiar confines of her room, searching for whatever had a hold of her.
Finding nothing, and then checking around a second time, she looks back at the satin white of her down comforter, bunched up and pulled half way across the bed. She pauses for a few heartbeats, her breath still coming ragged, before reaching out tentatively to smooth the folds of the blanket, spotting a large rip running across the fabric once it’s mostly flat again. Feathers and little puffs of down are already spilling out and beginning to dance lazily in the mostly still air. She stares uncomprehendingly at the tear, drawing in lungfuls of sweet, cool air, her mind spinning as her racing heart begins to slow. Eventually, as she calms, understanding begins to sink in, bringing a faint heat to her face.
She’d fallen asleep at some point. She must have tossed around a bit, and her head had ended up under a fold of the blanket, which had gotten stuck on her horn. That was all it was, no blindness, nothing threatening. Just a nap and a blanket on her head. Glancing around the room again, she chuckles weakly in embarrassment. She feels ridiculous.
Wondering blearily what time it is she looks away from her ruined comforter, yawning before her gaze settles on the bedside clock. Staring at the illuminated numerals in puzzlement, she finally makes sense of the time. Eleven-thirty. She’s been asleep for at least an hour, maybe closer to two. She feels like she hasn’t slept for days.
Grimacing at the dry, hot feeling in her mouth, she gingerly slides off the bed and heads to the bathroom for a drink of water. She doesn’t know if it was the rest or the panic, but her headache has receded some, from a horrible squeezing pressure to a dull throbbing ache. The noise of the television drifts up from below as she enters the hallway on unsteady legs, and she figures it must be Luna. She doesn’t think Dad would be home yet. He’s probably going to be ticked about the blanket.
Rinsing out the unpleasantness and swallowing a few cold mouthfuls, she feels a little better. Not a lot, not really, but it’s a step up from how she felt this morning. Exiting the bathroom, she looks back at her doorway, unable to suppress a little shiver. Ridiculous or not, she doesn’t think she can lay back down right now. Sighing wearily, she turns the other way, plodding towards the stairs. Maybe whatever Luna’s watching will help her forget about the whole episode. Reaching them and beginning her descent, she winces, the dull throb in her head picking up a little. Hopefully Luna won’t mind turning the volume down.
“That’ll be sixty-three even for the shingles, Mr. Williams. Sorry about the nails, but we should be restocked by next week. Seems like everyone had some problems with that last wind storm.”
Holding back a sigh, Ryan hands over his debit card. “Don’t worry about it, Hap. Weather’s supposed to clear up by this weekend, so I imagine I’ll be alright for the time being.” Inwardly he tries to fight down a growing swell of irritation. What the hell good were shingles going to do him without roofing nails? This was a hardware store, wasn’t it? How could they run out of hardware?
Grabbing his receipt and the two bundles of shingles, he is just barely able to contain an exasperated grunt as he pushes through the stores exit. It’s not Hap’s fault, just bad luck, although he doesn’t understand why you would order more shingles than you had nails for. Crossing the sidewalk towards his truck he hunches his shoulders, partially in response to the cool of the breeze, but mostly in an attempt to keep cold drops of water from running under his collar and down his neck.
The weather had slackened, from a wind driven downpour to a moderate drizzle, but the sky had remained heavily overcast all morning, the directionless light hardly seeming to brighten as noon approached. The temperature had also been dropping steadily, and eyeing the wet sidewalk and waterlogged streets, Ryan’s glad that his chores for the morning are finally done with, before it gets cold enough for things to start icing up, turning a careless step into a slip, and a slip into a fall.
Tossing everything onto the passenger side of the bench seat, he slides in behind the wheel and turns the key, ignoring the urge to slam the door shut. The hardware store isn’t the reason he’s agitated right now. Not having the right nails is a pain in the ass, but it’s one of those things that can’t be helped. It’s also been par for the course today. All day it seems like everything has been fighting him.
Tim Markley had been obstinate about a refund for the misdelivered groceries, insisting there was no return policy on perishable food stuffs, and becoming almost combative when Ryan continued to press the issue. It wasn’t until Ryan had threatened to cancel his long standing delivery order that the man had begrudgingly deigned to see reason, if without any sort of grace. He hadn’t gotten the full amount back, but a partial refund and a discount off the next two deliveries was better than nothing. However, Tim’s stubborn jack-assery had made the ordeal twice as long as it needed to be.
Pulling up to a four way stop, he glances at the dashboard clock, his eye narrowing a little at the time displayed. He’d hoped to be home by noon at the latest, and here it’s already going on a quarter to one. Grunting sourly, he signals and turns off of the main drag and onto the highway.
The visit to the bank hadn’t been much better. After cooling his heels for twenty minutes, he’d finally been ushered back to the strictly ordered and organized office of Mr. Dufresne. Andy was a nice enough guy, methodical and meticulous, two qualities you’d normally want in the person handling your money. Unfortunately, those same qualities made him slow, and he’d insisted on going over every line and detail of the accounts in question, stopping to check, recheck, and cross-check every variable and factor. And no amount of shoe tapping or blatant watch checking would hurry him along. By the time Ryan had shaken his hand and turned to leave, his jaw had been knotted from clenching his teeth.
Dialing up the heater and setting it to defrost, he looks down at the speedometer, a little surprised to see it climbing past seventy-five and edging towards eighty, and he forces himself to slow down. Shaking his head, he knows better than to drive that fast when it’s this wet out, he begins mulling things over in his head. He’s been agitated and a little on edge all day, and it isn’t strictly because of his trip to Three Brothers Grocery, nor is it because of his stop at First Nevada Savings and Loan. Tim Markley’s always been a tight-fisted ass, and Andy’s always been a fastidious and overly fussy banker.
No, it hasn’t been any one particular part of today that’s got him so wound. As he thinks about it, he realizes that it really started as soon as he left the property. His mind keeps returning to Celestia, lying in bed, ill, and Luna, left mostly to her own devices. It’s not the automatic worry that he normally feels whenever he has to leave the girls at the house though, the worry about what they might get into, or how they may accidently hurt themselves. Giving it another moment’s thought, it isn’t entirely because of Tia’s headaches, either. This seems stronger, more basic, yet unfocused, an uncomfortable urge he’s felt all day to just forget about everything and get home. It drags up blurry yet distinct memories of a nightmare some years back, and his chest tightens.
It’s silly though, isn’t it? Old nightmares notwithstanding, driving at speed in these conditions is irrational and dangerous, and he isn’t going to do anybody any good if he kills himself on the road because he let his fears get the better of him. Especially the girls. Thinking of them left all alone because he had some weird feelings and bought it on the highway causes him to slow more, dropping from seventy to sixty-five to sixty.
It’s been a crap sort of day, what with the poor sleep and even poorer weather, and despite his desire to get home and check on them, he’s got to be smart about what he’s doing. It’s just nerves, guilt at leaving his oldest when she’s not feeling well, and his youngest when there’s no one to properly watch her. What else could it reasonably be?
Peering at the deserted highway through the blurred streaks left by the windshield wipers, Ryan unconsciously applies pressure to the gas pedal again, tightening his grip slightly on the steering wheel. It’s only a twenty minute drive, but right now it seems like an eternity. Eyes intent on the road, he keeps a look out for hazards and other vehicles as he speeds through the rain.