Thicker Than Water [Jesse]

[Micah]

The boxes had been sitting there for a month doing nothing but gathering dust. Bunny had mentioned them a time or two but Micah had brushed it off and gave a vague response to her inquiries. After they had arrived he had instructed his thrall to move them from the table and into the living area. She had of course, gotten upset and refused at first but he was adamant and so she grudgingly did as he had instructed her to. He tried to say that he wasn’t curious about what was in those boxes but it was a lie. He was. He wanted to know what she had found so important that she had made the decision to box things up and have them sent. There was only one way to find out.

Once the decision to go through the contents of the boxes was made it still took him a few nights to actually follow through. He had waited until Vel had left for the evening before bringing a small stack out to the floor beside the table. While he didn’t know what was inside he did know that there wasn’t anything inside that he wouldn’t be willing to share with his wife. No it was more his unwillingness to let her see any weaknesses including emotions that he didn’t normally display. No matter what this wasn’t going to be easy for him. He knew that.

When he opened the first box he groaned and closed it back up. Nothing but baby pictures, and a few childish odds and ends that he had made for his mother when he was no more than five. Micah was quite surprised that some of the items had withstood the test of time but his mother had sealed them well, preserving them for what he was sure were sentimental reasons. The box was moved off to the side and another one was pulled open. Finding it full of things that belonged to his mother that one too, was put off to the side. He wasn’t ready to go through it yet. Bunny had been thoughtful enough to leave a few specific pieces out, ones that he had requested be brought back so there was no need to look through the rest just yet.

The next box was full of file folders and manila envelopes. Pulling out a stack he flipped open one of the yellowing folders and immediately closed it. Last Will And Testament of Savannah Adele Andrews. Yeah no thanks. That was one that he’d probably never be able to look at, but he could ask Vel. Several manila envelopes were opened next and soon the surface of the table was covered with photographs. Pictures of him as a child, pictures of him with his mother - there were even a few of Lizzie, Zoey’s mother and his childhood best friend. Those were set off to the side for Zoey. Micah was pretty sure she’d like to have those.

One particular picture caught his eye and he reached out to pull it closer. His first car. It had been the biggest piece of **** ever but his mother had worked overtime for 2 months to get it. Of course he was too young to drive it and it had needed a lot of work before it would even run. Micah hadn’t cared. He stared at the photograph for a long time, getting lost in his thoughts.

[Jesse Fforde]

Although I had informed Velveteen of Grey’s turning, I had not sought her out specifically to do so. It had happened in passing. She had asked what I had been up to, and so I told her. The way in which it had happened – Grey’s turning – is… well, it’s not something I’d share, even if, when I think back on it, it gives me all kinds of good, shuddering vibes. The moment had been profound; one shared just between her and I. Deeply personal, deeply private.

Perhaps that is why I delayed; it is why I didn’t shout the news from the rooftops. Perhaps I wanted only to indulge in that moment for a few days longer, all to myself. However, having just told Velveteen what had come to pass, I realise that I should inform Micah. Sure, there’s a good chance Velveteen might have already told him. But there’s a good chance she mayn’t have yet got around to it, either. Micah had been more affronted, angrier about my involvement with a human than Velveteen, and I believe he deserves to know that the problem has now been resolved.

And, although the invitation to join Andras, as family, had come from both Velveteen and Micah, I had yet to thank Micah. I had yet to express to him how proud I am that I should mean so much – that they should care so much as to bring me further under the fold of their combined wing. Hell, I could also ask Micah his thoughts on Axel – Velveteen had said that all of the Fforde lineage were welcome, too, to join Andras. I wanted to make sure that the invitation also extended to Axel. Of course, Axel hadn’t done anything concrete to arouse distrust. But there are small things, I know, that might weigh negatively in Axel’s favour.

Dressed only in jeans and a tank top, shoes and jacket left behind on the second floor, I press the button that’ll take me up to the fourth tier of the Eyrie, and into Micah and Velveteen’s abode. The doors swish open and I step onto the landing; there’s no guarantee that Micah will be here, but I take the chance.

It’s odd, the wave of familiarity that washes over me as I stand in an apartment that is not my own. Although I had only spent a week locked within its confines, it felt like far longer than a week. So much had happened in that time – there’s something about this space that will always hold sentimental value for me. Maybe they aren’t really happy memories, but they are memories of incidents that changed my life forever. Incidents that proved, without a doubt, that Velveteen and Micah do care, despite all my ********.

I place one foot on the first step and clear my throat.

“Micah? You around?” I call out. As much as this space might feel familiar to me, I keep in mind that it is not my apartment, and I cannot – should not – just waltz on in uninvited.

[Micah]

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but everything seemed to freeze, become motionless as the seconds ticked away. Had it been hours? Minutes? Seconds? Time seemed to blur the longer he sat there with that picture in his hand. Micah turned the square over and looked at the back but nothing was written on it. That was a bit of a surprise. Savannah had been meticulous in writing down the time and the place of every photograph she had taken so that led him to believe that it wasn’t one of hers. And it had been so long ago that now he couldn’t even remember who else had been there the day she had presented the vehicle to him. The only thing he could recall was the smile on her face, and the indulgent look in her eyes as he inspected the pile of junk.

At first the sound of the elevator door opening didn’t register to him. He was too lost in the past. Sometimes he wondered if he’d still be where he was had she lived. Savannah had been a wonderful woman. Loving and caring, but fiercely protective over her loved ones. There wasn’t a thing she wouldn’t do for her only child. And after she died Micah had been so furious with her for leaving him that he threw everything she had taught him off to the side and forged his own path. He shook his head. She’d be disgusted with him - no she was if the voice he kept hearing was any indication of her feelings. Or maybe that voice was just his own guilty conscious speaking to him. He’d go with that.

Hearing someone calling his name pulled him forcibly back to the present. “Jesse?” ****. Micah hadn’t been expecting anyone to come up. It was rare for that to even happen almost as if it was some sort of unspoken rule that the top floor of the fortified tree was off limits without invitation. That really wasn’t the case at all. The main areas were open to anyone who wanted to drop by but the bedroom and the hot tub were off limits, as Tameka had found out when Micah had decided to trap the hell out of it. That particular memory still brought a smile to his face.

He dropped the picture and started to haphazardly gather up the piles of photographs that littered the glossy surface of the table. It wasn’t that big of a deal if Jesse saw them but this was something that he hadn’t even shared with Vel yet. It just didn’t seem right for anyone else to see them before she did. “I’m in here.” He continued to stuff pictures into envelopes, knowing there was no way in hell he’d get them all put away before Jesse walked the short distance from the elevator to the table.

[Jesse Fforde]

He’s home. Great. Good news. I assume that Velveteen will be there too, but that doesn’t matter. Somehow, I get the impression that most of the time the married couple share everything with each other – though I suppose it’s not entirely true, in some respects. I feel like I’ve been privy to certain upsets between Micah and Velveteen that others haven’t. But, again, those upsets were mainly caused by my, inadvertently or not. It makes sense that I should have been involved.

I lope up the stairs, taking two at a time, striding into the open space that leads toward the table. Micah is there, hastily cleaning away a bunch of old papers and photographs. I’m not a nosey person. I know if people have things they don’t want others to see, there’s always a good reason. Hell, I have plenty of things I don’t want others to see – plenty of things that are for my eyes only. Plenty of thoughts and emotions and inner turmoils that rarely see the light of day. And I know what it’s like when people pry and don’t mind their own business; when they think that your business should be theirs. I ******* hate it. I loathe it. And normally I let them know exactly how I feel, too.

Somewhere, in the back of my mind, it registers that Micah’s hasty tidying is due to a reluctance to share what it is he has been looking at with me. That’s fine; I am not hurt by it. I understand it, completely. At the same time, however, there’s a voice that tells me, if he were so concerned, he would have told me to wait until he was ready. I would have.

Though I do suppose no formal invitation was given – just an answer to my greeting. An I’m here! Not a Come in!.

Regardless, I don’t snoop. I don’t snatch. I don’t pry. I don’t ask what it is that Micah is doing. In fact, I’d likely help him. And I do. Because there, on the floor on my side of the table, where Micah can’t see, there’s a photograph, face down. It must have fallen off, drifted away from the other riff-raff while he browsed or… whatever it was he’d been doing. I reach down to pluck the photo from the ground. In doing so, it turns right side up. I hold it out to Micah. At first I pay no attention – the photograph itself is grainy, old, with that tinge of sepia that all old photographs seem to adopt, with age. At first, it’s only a blur of faces. It’s only when I hold the photograph still that I glance at it properly – and I recognise one of the faces.

I snatch the photo back, dancing away from Micah, and the table. I stare hard at it. And then I stare hard at Micah. And then at the files and envelopes in front of him. I shouldn’t have any reason to doubt Micah or his intentions but falling back into the defensive is a habit that I likely will never lose. I’m too used to being hurt by the ones who I believed cared. Not that Micah has done anything. Not yet. And I’m not even sure what this is.

”What the **** is this?!” I ask, tone flat, though I’m almost certain the bold wariness is evident in narrowed slits that my eyes have become.

[Micah]

Why did there have to be so many pictures? Better yet why did he have to empty them all in one go? It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Micah figured that he’d just have a quick look and easily be able to store over half of the prints back in their envelopes. But it hadn’t worked out that way. He’d gotten caught up in that one stupid picture and allowed the memories to take over making him less than aware of his surroundings. A stupid mistake. He was smarter than that. Paranoia ran rampant in him and normally he prided himself in always being aware of his surroundings even when he was in the safety of the Eyrie.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jesse bend down and pick something up off the floor. He turned his head towards the other and saw he was holding something out for him to take. A picture. Jesus they were everywhere. It must have fallen in his haste to clean up the mess on the table. Micah reached for it only to be denied as Jesse snatched it back. Frowning he put the overly stuffed envelopes on the table and pushed his chair back intent on standing to retrieve the photo from Jesse but the necromancer moved away before he got the chance to take it.

“What the **** does it look like?” He couldn’t help the snarky retort. It was pretty obvious what it was that Jesse was holding. Micah went to say more but then he finally noticed the way that Jesse seemed to be staring at the image. It it were possible Micah was pretty sure that there would be holes in that picture with the way Jesse was looking at it. Getting to his feet he moved to stand beside the other male so he could take a look, but he stopped in his tracks when Jesse looked up, his gaze almost accusing as he stared at him, then at the pile of envelopes on the table.

“It’s a picture of my mother and her sister.” Disgust colored his words. Growing up Savannah didn’t say much about her sister and Micah had never pressed. Because of that he’d drawn his own conclusions about the woman and it was entirely possible that none of them were right. “I don’t know who these others are or when it was taken, but that is definitely who it is.” He paused long enough to let his words sink in. “You wanna hand that back so I can put it away with the rest of them?”

[Jesse Fforde]

The way Micah stands, the chair scraping against the floor, and comes toward me, I know that what I have is something that he’d prefer I don’t see. Given the fact that what it looks like to me is a picture of my mother with a bunch of strangers, of course I feel legitimized in my accusation and wariness. His hurry to retrieve what I have taken only seems to solidify my concerns. Which are what? That Micah and Velveteen keep files on all the members of Tytonidae? Files filled with personal stuff, so that they know more than their own members do about the human lives they had led?

When Micah reaches me, however, he doesn’t immediately reach out to snatch the photo back. He doesn’t look remorseful. He just looks angry – a little taken aback, maybe. My head spins as he answers me.

His mother. Her sister. There are only two women in the photograph; they both seem so happy. And my mother is so young – God, I don’t think I ever remember her smiling like that, or looking so pretty. So clean. The mother that I remember is gaunt with sallow, yellowed skin. With teeth that are rotting from the inside. With eyes always rimmed in red, and hair that is dead, broken, like straw. When I think of my mother, all I can remember is the smell of bourbon and cigarette smoke.

She used to be different. Before Dad died. I know that. I remember that, now; I remember sunshine and happy families. Jordan and I, Mum and Dad, in the park. I do remember some of the good times, but they feel like dreams. Fantasies, and I can’t be sure that they are real. I lick my lips and hold tighter to the photograph, even as Micah asks for it back.

And then I laugh. A short, bark of a laugh that lasts no more than a second. I shake my head, and I stare a little harder. Yes, I am sure. Beneath all the rot and grime, if my mother had taken care of herself, this is what she would have looked like. I walked past that smiling face in the hall every day – a picture of her on her wedding day. I point to her. I show the picture to Micah, the flimsy paper still held tight between my fingertips.

”That’s my mother,” I tell him. And then I wait. I wait for some kind of easy explanation, something that’ll have us both laughing at my stupidity.

[Micah]

Awkward. So very awkward. Jesse didn’t seem to want to surrender the photograph to him. Normally he wouldn’t much care about that but his mother was in the image. Of course he hadn’t really sorted through the massive pile that he had hastily stuffed away but Micah assumed that that wasn’t the only image of his mother. It was the smile on her face that he had seen as he looked over Jesse’s shoulder. Obviously a old picture, perhaps when Micah was very young or not even born yet that smile spoke of happier times. It was clear from the way Savannah was hugging her sister that she had been someone important to his mother at some point in time. How things changed.

He reached a hand out intent on taking the picture by force if he had to when Jesse’s words finally registered to him. His mother? What the actual ****? “Shut the **** up.” There was no heat behind the words but disbelief there was plenty of. Micah looked at the picture again and was finally able to see the similarities between the women. The shape of their faces, the lines of their jaws and the gentle slope of their noses. There was no color in the picture but if there had been Savannah’s vibrant eye color would have stood out, the same eye color he had inherited from her.

Micah didn’t know what to say to him. He knew that Jesse was looking for an explanation but he just didn’t have one. But Jesse wasn’t lying to him, that much was certain. There was nothing to gain by making **** up and from the look on the necromancer’s face he was just as confused as Micah was. What was he supposed to say to that? The family resemblance in both women was strong so there really was no point in trying to deny that they were in fact related.

“Your mother?” He stepped back and moved to retake his seat, grabbing one of the hastily stuffed envelopes in his hand to upend it and spill the contents over the table. If there was one of her then there had to be more right? The silence that seemed to stretch between Micah and Jesse seemed to be loaded with tension but Micah ignored it in favor of looking through the mess. Locating another one he flipped it over and was relieved to see Savannah’s neat, scrawling script on the back. The words were faded with time but the black ink was still legible. “What was her name?”

[Jesse Fforde]

I laugh again. Out of pure incredulity, and because I think it’s the first time, ever, that I remember someone telling me to ‘shut the **** up’. Even if meant metaphorically – as slang – rather than literally. Regardless, I don’t say a word as Micah moves away from me. He leaves me with the picture, which I continue to clutch as if it’s some long lost token of my childhood. In some ways it is. This picture shows me the woman that I could have called my mother. The one that I asked for a goodnight kiss from every night; I couldn’t sleep without it. The one who used to sing us lullabies. She had a wonderful voice. So damned soothing – something I obviously have not inherited from her. This picture shows me a woman who used to smile, a lot. She used to laugh. She was the original Mrs. Darling, to me.

Not anymore. It’s almost as if she’s dead, even though I know she’s not. My heart, metaphorically of course, twists in my chest as I think about her. Is there something I could have done, in the end? Should I not have abandoned her, as she had abandoned me? What’s worse is that she abandoned even as we lived under the same roof. Am I a bad child, because I was too stubborn to be a man and take care of her? To try to steer her away from her bad habits?

I swallow air, and almost stumble closer toward the table, to where Micah is rifling through some envelopes. All accusation and wariness has dropped from me. I am ashamed that I felt that I had been betrayed by this man; after everything, why should he betray me?

There’s no more laughter, either. I have regained full composure, and all seriousness. Micah finally speaks. Asking for a name. Of course, he should want some kind of reassurance. This is a test, isn’t it? So that he can know, for sure, that I’m not playing some kind of joke. Is this the kind of joke that I would play? Maybe. But I’m not doing so now.

”Lil—“ my voice catches in my throat. I’m forced to clear it. ”Liliana. Lily. Is. Her name is.” I say. Once upon a time I used to call her Mum. Somewhere along the line she stopped being my mother. I called her by her first name. Liliana, most days. She was too rugged, too far gone to be a Lily. Lily are supposed to be beautiful. Majestic, even. Looking at the picture in my hand, I can understand how she could have suited her name. A name that I have not spoken in… probably a decade. Maybe a little less.

I glance down at the photo again. It’s clear that the two women have very striking eyes, both. It’s not clear what colour they are, but they are bright. Just like their smiles. They always said I had my mother’s eyes.

[Micah]

Micah knew the answer. Could feel it deep down in his bones that the name that Jesse spoke would be the same name that was written on the back of the picture in his mother’s familiar script. That same script that had never faltered despite the sickness that ravaged her body and stole her life at such a young age. He forced those thoughts out of his head and frowned to himself as the whispers that had been silent started back up. They were back to being just sounds again making it impossible for him to make out what was being said. He had a feeling it wasn’t good though.

As Jesse spoke the name he looked down and stared. Even though he had expected it, it was still a shock to see it. Savannah and Lily, summer of 1977. “You have to be ******* kidding me.” He kind of felt numb all over and he didn’t think that it had quite hit him, what it was that he was seeing. Jesse’s mother was his aunt. Savannah had only had one sister and while she never said much, the very little that Micah knew was enough for him to know that regardless of what had happened between them Savannah had loved her sister very much.

Moving on auto pilot Micah placed the picture off to the side and continued to search. Picture after picture joined that second one until he had a decent sized stack sitting off to the side. There was nothing later than 1979 that he could find. It seemed like all contact Savannah had had with her sister came to a stop right around the time she would have gotten pregnant with him. His mother’s past wasn’t something that came up very often. All Savannah had said was there had been a disagreement but no further details were forthcoming. Something to dwell on at another time.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted. Rarely was he ever at a loss for words but this time he really had no idea what to say. Where would he even start? Clearly there was a family connection between the two of them. It didn’t bother him. Why should it? And when he thought about it, it made sense. How many times had he said that Jesse reminded him of his younger self? Quite a few. Finding this news out wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, he could see himself starting to like the idea. Family. Something that he’d never had much of as a human. Now, as a vampire it was surrounding him on all sides. How could he think that was a bad thing?

[Jesse Fforde]

Welcome to my world, I want to say. But I don’t. I never really know what to say, in situations like this. Not straight away, anyway. And even after a few long second have passed, I know that I’m not going to spew poetry. I may have been writing for the past sixteen years of my life, but that doesn’t mean I’m any good at it. Sure, the writing itself may have been aesthetically pleasing, but the words? They’ve always been quite blunt, with sharp edges.

Micah doesn’t strike me as much of a poet, either. I stood there and watched as he rifled through all the photos, piling a few of them to the side. Looking. Looking for what? More evidence? We have all we need, don’t we? There’s a photograph or a hundred. There’s a name. And the solid testimony of two men who would not lie to each other – or so I assume. There’s his mother, and there’s mine. Sisters.

I reach out for one of the chairs. I pull it out from its neat position under the table, and drop down onto it. I lean against the table, still holding that one picture between my fingertips. I always knew I had extended family in America. I knew my mother had a sibling. Siblings? How bad is it, that I don’t even know how many there might have been? She never told me, and I never asked. Not when I was at an age where I could retain the memory, anyway. By that stage I’d already given up hope, and had begun to harbour a violent disdain for the very notion of ‘family’.

That’s all changed now, of course. I’ve learned that family by blood connection isn’t necessarily so great, but that one can find a family outside of blood. I shake my head. Is this the reason? Is there some grand plan that the universe has for me? Is this where my path would inevitable lead? Into a faction and a bloodline where I would meet an actual, honest-to-god blood relative? I laugh, and finally put the photo down, face-up, in front of me. I rub my hands through my hair, still laughing. When finally my fingers drum against the wood of the table top, I’m again shaking my head. But I look up at Micah.

”I’m going to be honest with you, man,” I say, assuming the face of a man who’s letting out all his problems, and yet doing so with serenity.

”I’m really ******* pissed you never came to any of my birthday parties. Could have really used a cousin, y’know?” I say. Because it seems, sometimes, that I am not at all capable of maintaining any kind of seriousness. Of course I never had any birthday parties. Or well, maybe, before Dad died, but I can’t remember them. A lot of my life involving Jordan is still a little hazy, though specific memories come back every now and again. I suppose it’s easier to remember the suffering than it is to remember the good times, because sometimes remembering the good times makes the pain worse.