Chapter Text
And all I wanted was a sliver to call mine
And all I wanted was a shimmer in your shine
To make me bright
Make You Better – The Decemberists
There was a new sign on Finn’s door. A cartoonishly gross caterpillar wiggling beneath tenacious red strokes—Clementine squinted, growing more vexed by the second as she failed to translate the characters. When it finally clicked in her brain, a smile split her face. She bit her cheek to keep from laughing.
Do not enter! It eats brains. Like me!
Black construction paper today, held up with strips of colorful washi tape he’d most definitely stolen from her desk. Beneath one corner, she could see the torn edge of a blue sheet of paper stuck to the wall with curling masking tape. It was yesterday’s drawing—a bifurcated locus, ripped from the door overnight by the plastic doll that cursed their lives.
Okay, maybe that was a bit dramatic… but when it came to their ‘stepmother’, Clementine felt theatrics were appropriate. Necessary, even. Lillian was one dimensional—shameless and theatrical, manipulative. Whatever spell she cast, their dad was blind to it. Willfully ignorant, according to Wyatt. For a while, Clem didn’t think it was a fair assumption. Now, she was certain his ignorance wasn’t just ‘willful’. When she realized it was going to be the three of them against the world—her, Wyatt and Finn—Clementine knew what she had to do. Knew what role she had to play with Lillian.
Her mom claimed she was a good detective because she knew bad guys as well as she knew herself. It takes a rotten person to spot a rotten person. Clem used to hate it when she said those things. She was starting to get it, though. When you stoop to someone’s level… what does that say about you?
Lillian hated ‘childish things’ (fun… she hated fun). She hated them. Yet, her dad… loved her. That man was not their father. Their dad liked novelty coffee mugs and wore socks with his sandals. He ate sugary cereal and played drums on the steering wheel when he drove her to school. His hair was always held back by a worn rubber band, and he insisted on stopping at every roadside attraction on long drives. Their dad would never love someone as cold and spiteful as Lillian, let alone marry her. The ghost at the dinner table was not her dad .
Clementine swallowed the lump in her throat and knocked three times—a quick tap, tap, tap right over the caterpillar’s beady eyes—and pushed the door open. She was late enough as is and breaking a promise to Finn was not an option. If they were going to get to the pet store before it closed for the weekend, they needed to leave… ten minutes ago. At this rate, they’d never make it.
“Clem! You’re home!”
A grin split Finn’s face as he looked up from his Switch, dark eyes lingering a half second longer on the screen as he undoubtedly saved his game progress. He tossed it to the side a second later and kicked his legs out from under him, dangling them over the side of the bed.
She loved his room. Various insect identification and educational entomology posters lined his walls. Shiny laminated diagrams labeling tibia spurs and patella, thorax and antenna were meticulously spaced between colorful illustrations identifying different species. His bookshelves were lined with specimen jars and experiments, books about all sorts of types of -ologies.
“Sorry,” Clementine cringed and shrunk into her shoulders. Getting lost after living there for nearly half a year was past the point of embarrassing and into pathetic territory. That alone was bad enough, but she was late because she got lost on her way home from a tutoring lesson . It was mortifying. “I got mixed up and got off at the wrong station. I thought it’d be faster to walk the rest of the way.” She laughed, admitting, “It wasn’t, by the way.”
He frowned, fuzzy brows knitting together. “I would’ve helped you if you called me.”
“I’m supposed to be the one who helps you.” At his expression, she clicked her tongue against her teeth and took two big steps towards to him, hand already outstretched to scruff the muddy blonde mop on top of his head. “It’s an older sibling thing, Finn. Don’t give me that constipated grumpy look—you’re hanging around Wyatt too much, y’know. Besides, I used that translation app you told me about. If you want to get all technical, you did help me.”
“I could’ve helped more,” he grumbled.
He was small for ten. Not quite tall enough to make his lanky limbs seem right on his body. He had always been small. Clementine cried the first time she held him; despite being barely six years old, holding her baby brother for the first time… she thought she was going to break him, he was so tiny. At the same time, she wanted to show him her favorite toys and shows and take him to her school so she could show her teacher how tiny and soft he was. Would he like pancakes? He had to—their mom made the best pancakes. When could they take him to Dollywood? Was he going to stay that small forever?
Her parents laughed when they lifted him out of her arms—but she didn’t want them to take him away. She wanted to hold Finn forever. Had Wyatt felt like that the first time he held her?
“I know you would’ve, but I’m not going to learn if I don’t figure it out myself. Hey! Before I got lost, I was feeling pretty good about myself. My tutor said I did a good job on my assignments.”
Having a tutor was a new experience for Clementine. Back home, she got okay grades… most of the time. Pulling ‘meh’ grades kept her on the soccer team When their dad yanked them out of school to move to another country with only five weeks left in the school year, Clementine was definitely failing her second consecutive semester of German. As hard as she tried—a spot on the soccer team was on the line, so she was trying her damnedest—she couldn’t grasp learning another language beyond rudimentary basics. The more she thought about words and sentences, vocabulary and syntax—it made Clementine feel lofty and existential. Memorizing language like computer code almost felt like a blasphemy to lived experience.
Fitting, she’d end up living in Tokyo without warning. Dropped straight into lived experience and still struggling.
“That’s great! You should still feel good about yourself. The station maps are really confusing,” Finn said, hopping off his bed. He tilted his head and looked up at her, mischief twinkling in his chocolate eyes. “You can do all the talking at the pet store.”
Finn had immediately taken to the challenge of learning Japanese. Over the summer they both worked with a tutor, and he outdid Clementine in every lesson. The attended the same private school for international students with a rigorous language program. After only a few weeks, Clem started twice a week lessons with a new tutor. Her request, not the school’s. Despite her frustrations and seemingly constant humiliation, she’d never felt more motivated to succeed. The stakes were higher than they’d ever been; if she was going to take care of herself and Finn, she needed to be independent. She needed to prove to herself that she could do this—just this one thing, to take care of him.
“Now you’re giving me homework, too, Phineas?” She gasped, recoiling with mock disgust, then whispered loudly, “Jerk. You know I’m allergic to homework.”
“We can stop at that sweets shop on the way home if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Getting desserts will make me feel better, huh?” Clementine poked his shoulder and laughed, “Alright. You can wait outside with your new friend, and I’ll go and get a big bag of goodies all for myself.”
“What! No fair!”
She laughed again and headed for the door. “If we don’t leave soon, we won’t get either. Are you ready?” He nodded, reaching for his two-sizes-too-big backpack as he followed her into the hall. Clementine hooked a finger at her closed bedroom door. “Rad. I’ll meet you downstairs; I just need to change and grab my bag.”
They went in opposite directions, and Clem did her best to be in-and-out of her bedroom. Swapping her now wrinkled uniform (she’d been wearing it for nearly twelve hours—it wasn’t her fault she looked sloppy) for a pair of distressed, ripped jeans and a cropped tie-die pullover (an intentionally sloppy look); Clementine transferred her wallet, phone and a scrunchie from her school bag to a fanny pack and hurried to meet back up with Finn.
The house felt more like a hospital than a home. The layout was awkward, with long hallways and small rooms stacked in weird directions. It felt like they were on a spaceship; it made Clementine claustrophobic. Modern design , her dad had said with a shrug, millionaires love this shit, huh? He was eager to fill the role. IT was a sterile and heartless house. Glossy white floors and even whiter walls—it’d been six months since they moved to Tokyo, and they remained empty. Blank space on blank space, the only color coming from strange sculptures and gaudy chandeliers.
“It’s the aesthetic. Good art doesn’t belong on walls,” Lillian said, frowning as she examined her nails. When she smirked, she looked her age—little lines destined for Botox wrinkling her forehead. She buffed an invisible mark on the shiny purple polish. “You wouldn’t understand, Clem.”
It was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard.
Clementine’s home was seven thousand miles away, across the Pacific. Home was a well-loved brick split-level in the Nashville suburbs. It was the creaky stairs that made sneaking out next to impossible and faded beige carpet. It was the frogs that came every summer, bellowing below her bedroom window, and the rusty swing in the back yard. Back home, their walls were shades of brown and cluttered with framed family photos.
Her parents on their wedding day—foofy lace dress and mullet, posed with an Elvis impersonator in a Vegas chapel. Her mom in a crisp uniform the day she graduated the police academy. Wyatt strapped to a highchair, flimsy cone hat crooked on his bald head, grinning at the camera while he smashed birthday cake between his fingers. Him a few years later, russet locks flopped around his young face, while he smiled next to their mother in the hospital bed while she held Clementine. Unlike Wyatt, she’d come out with a head full of wispy hair. Their mom shaking hands with the Chief of Police after accepting a first responder award. Clementine dressed as a pumpkin her first Halloween, a neon orange bundle in her dad’s arms. Dressed like a vampire, fake fangs on display as he stared down at her. Their family of four on the lake. An assortment of Clem’s youth soccer photos. Their family of five on the lake—a cartoonish layer of sunscreen on Finn’s delicate skin. Finn’s preschool photos—all freckled cheeks and gap-tooth smile, his too-big, wrinkled polo shirt tugged half off his shoulder. Wyatt looking embarrassed at his first band concert, trombone standing tall next to him.
Those memories felt like they belong to a different person—a different family. That wasn’t a complete untruth… they were a different family. One day their mom was there, the next she was gone. Killed in the line of duty. A hero, dozens of lives saved. Gone forever. One day her dad was there, the next he was a ghost. One day her dad was down-on-his-luck developer, the next he sold his technology for millions. One day he was a widow, the next… the next he introduced them to Lillian.
Her voice echoed as Clementine jogged down the stairs—cause for Clem to pick up her speed.
“I don’t care what your dad said, I’m saying no! It’s bad enough you keep dead ones. No way in hell I’m letting one that’s alive live under this roof.”
Finn’s red-rimmed eyes swung to Clementine as she skated into the room, adrenaline already thrumming beneath her skin. She had to play it cool, for Finn’s sake. Even though she’d heard enough to know the answer, she looked between a scowling Lillian and Finn, his broken heart on his sleeve, and asked, “What’s going on?”
“She said—”
“You two are out of your minds if you think you’re bringing a beetle in this house to keep as a pet.” One of her manicured fingers narrowed to a point when Clementine started to protest. “I don’t care what Brent told you, it’s not happening.”
Clementine huffed and rolled her eyes. “Keeping stags as pets is normal. They’re safer than pretty much any other house pet we could get. Ever heard of a thing called gratitude, Lillian? What if we’d asked for a tarantula or worse—a puppy. I can picture it now, a slobbery puppy pissing on all these white rugs.”
“You’re a disgusting little girl, Clementine,” Lillian sneered, eyes glassy. She’d probably spent the day jumping from bottle to bottle. If there was one good thing to come out of their move to Japan, it was Lillian’s misery. Whatever fantasy she had about living in a different country, the real thing hadn’t lived up to it.
“We really don’t have time to fight about this. Finn wants to get the habitat set up before his friends come over this weekend,” she said tersely as she took a step for the door, waving a hand at Finn. “C’mon. We can probably catch the owner before he locks up.”
This was the first time Finn had ever asked to invite friends over. This was the first time Finn had ever called another person his friend. Clementine was going to make sure he impressed the socks off every single one of those boys. She was going to make sure they wanted to be his friend. She was going to make sure Finn had a good fucking life because he deserved it, and Lillian wasn’t going to stand in her way.
“I said no!” Lillian snapped.
“Lucky for me, I don’t need your approval. Brent already said yes, remember?”
“And I said I don’t care what he said, remember?” She mocked. Her face was pulled tight with anger, red and pinched. It looked like she was sucking on sour candy. Clementine knew the look well—Lillian was gearing up for a fight. “I’m putting my foot down! This is my house—”
“Sure is,” Clementine interrupted, barking out a laugh. She reached for her shoes. Ignoring her was the best option. The only option. The longer she played Lillian’s game, the higher the chance they’d find a closed sign at the store. Clementine tightened her fanny pack, decision made, and stalked to the door. “Finn! Let’s go!”
“Stay where you are, Phineas,” Lillian directed.
Finn stopped mid-step, retreating back to a statue position with a trembling frown. He avoided Clementine’s eyes, choosing instead to stare at her tight-lipped reflection in the buffed white floor tile. “I’m sorry, Clem. I don’t want to upset dad… it’s really not that big of a deal, anyway.”
Little liar. He hadn’t stopped talking about getting a stag since they moved. Six long months of talking about breeds and sizes and fun facts and names. Lillian was not going that from him.
But Clem wasn’t about to put a mark on Finn’s conscious and get him wrapped up in Lillian’s mind games. Whatever lies she managed to tell their dad—Clem could talk her way out of it. If he’d taught her anything it was that men with wool over their eyes wanted to be deceived.
She forced a smile his way, hoping it didn’t look too fake, and started for the door. “Don’t apologize to me, bud. She’s the only one who should feel sorry.”
“You’ll sleep on the street tonight if you try bringing one of those things in this house.”
“Yeah, sure I will. This is a four thousand square foot house. Are you really going to check every nook and cranny for a tiny little beetle? Get over yourself.”
“Wait until I tell Brent about this—”
“Go ahead and call him. I’m sure he’s not too busy with his secretary to take a call from his wife, right?” Clementine shot off, enjoying the anguished look in Lillian’s eyes a little too much.
It takes a rotten person to spot a rotten person. Maybe she was the most rotten of all.
“Clem, wait!” Finn’s voice rang shallowly behind her as the door slammed shut.
She was already gone. Sneaker on pavement, stomping down the sidewalk in a desperate attempt to put distance between herself and the ticking time bomb. Way to take care of Finn, huh? Clem knew Lillian’s routine, though. She’d throw a hissy fit, cry and stomp her feet. Spam call their dad. Get voicemail. Drink a bottle or three of wine. Drunk spam call their dad. Get voicemail. Drink another bottle. Fall asleep with said bottle. Wake up, repeat. Finn knew it, just as she did. If he stayed in his room, he’d be okay.
Plus, Clementine had a plan. She’d be back before Lillian even got to the second bottle of wine. The route to the pet store was already programed into her phone, app freshly updated to avoid any weird bugs. She’d studied the store’s exterior online so she knew what to look for. She had a script started in her head of what she was going to say, and dammit, she was going to stop on the way home for Finn’s favorite sweets. She’d even get extras, so his new friends would have some when they came over.
She fished her phone out of her fanny pack, eyes widening at the time. The pet store closed in less than thirty minutes. No biggie, Clem. Run it like a drill. With two swipes, she pulled up the map application and started her route, eyes urging the screen to load faster as she turned the corner—
Body-checked into an ornate stone fence. Clementine gripped her phone a millisecond before it flew out of her hand, a string of English swears already flying out of her mouth as she turned to lug tromping down the street without looking where they were going. She did not have time for this!
Her curses fell flat when she finally got a look at the person, her mouth flopping like a fish. “Holy shit. What are you doing here?”
Wyatt grinned at her and pushed a lock of dark hair behind his ears. It was longer than he normally kept it, but it didn’t look bad. “Is that any way to greet your brother?”
He was supposed to be in America. He was supposed to be at Vanderbilt, enjoying his freshman year at his dream college. Three months ago, she stood next to Finn at the airport and waved Wyatt off. The college gave him permission to move in his dorm early. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to leave. So why the hell was he standing in front of her on a Wednesday night?
Did it really matter? It’d been months since she’d seen him, and because they were in different time zones they’d only talked sporadically. Wyatt wasn’t a big texter, in the first place. Honestly, she’d gotten the feeling he was ignoring her on purpose. She didn’t want to be the annoying sibling who couldn’t handle their brother going off to college, though. And she had her hands full with school, Finn, and trying to talk to her friends back in the States. Back in the states… where Wyatt was supposed to be.
Clementine couldn’t help but meet his smile with one of her own. She slipped her phone in her pocket and pulled him into a two-armed hug, squeezing his midsection with an incredulous laugh. “Have you been working out, Wy?”
“Jeeze, you monster!” He teased, wiggling in her hold. “Let go of me. You’re cutting off my oxygen supply.”
She dropped her arms and looked at him, smile wavering as the seconds passed. It didn’t make sense, him being there. Something felt… wrong. An uneasy sickness pooled in her gut. A black duffle bag, looking deflated and nearly empty, sat at his feet. For some reason, it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Clementine swallowed hard and looked back up at Wyatt.
“Seriously, though, what are you doing here?” She couldn’t help but look at the bag again. It made her nauseous. Nervously, she found his eyes. Instead of the soft brown she expected, Clementine saw hard brick and stone. “Are you planning on staying? What about classes? Have you talked to dad?”
“For a few days. Fall break,” he said dismissively, eyes soaring over her head to look at the street behind her.
It wasn’t even October; there was no way he was on fall break already. Why would he lie about something like that, though? She let out a tense breath, nostrils flaring—this was ridiculous. She was ridiculous, trying to find a conspiracy around every corner. She needed a vacation from Lillian.
“Is he home?”
Beneath furrowed brows, Clementine asked, “Who?”
“Dad.”
“Oh, no. Not yet.” The last few nights, Clementine heard him stumble in after midnight. Heavy footsteps on delicate stairs, treading a cadence that sounded like something straight out of a horror movie. “Lillian’s in a real mood, though. You might want to give it a while before heading in. I pissed her off and dad’s been ignoring her… so she’s going to drink her way to victim in there.”
“What are you talking about?” Wyatt leaned and snatched the duffle from the ground, then said drolly, “That’s the best time to announce myself.”
Clementine swore she saw something move in the distance. She swallowed the lump that immediately formed in her throat—she’d been seeing a lot of things in the distance, lately. Fuzzy shapes and blobs behind streetlamps and on rooftops. By the time she squinted, it was always gone.
Nothing but shadows playing tricks.
“You know what—you’re right.” Misery loves company, and all. Plus, with Wyatt around she’d be a little less worried about Finn being there all alone with Lillian. “Keep an eye on Finn, would you? She pulled some bullshit stepmom card and expected us to go along with it, and he’s worried about upsetting dad.”
“Yeah, yeah. You forget I’m the oldest? I’ve always got my eye on you two.”
“Says all my ignored messages.”
“I saw them. I’ve just… been busy.” Wyatt’s jaw tightened; his gaze skirted over her, stuttering at her eyes for a second before focusing on the street behind her again. After a second, he blinked and muttered, “Sorry.”
He was acting so fucking weird, but she didn’t have time to call him out on it. She didn’t have time for this, period.
“Don’t sweat it. We can catch up when I get back.” Clementine pulled her phone out, glancing at the time with wide eyes. “Shit!” Less than twenty minutes now. She was really going to have to book it there, but she was fast—she’d make it. With one last apprehensive look at the duffle bag, Clementine rocked on her heels and hit the ‘restart route’ option on her phone. “I gotta go. I need to get to the pet store before they close—long story, Finny can fill you in.”
“Look up from your phone every now and then or you’re going to keep running into people!”
Clementine waved in lieu of a response—he was the one who ran into her, not the other way around. She was a top tier multi-tasker, great on her feet and even better at dodging people while moving fast. Adorable kids with tiny little backpacks and businessmen on bicycles didn’t stand a chance. Weaving down the street like it was a patch of turf and she was on offense, Clementine’s confidence grew as she neared the red dot on her screen.
A bus whirred by with a shrieking horn. She looked up just in time to jump back from curb, high-tops squeaking as Clementine teetered on the edge of the street—arms windmilling and honey eyes widening. She straightened her back and banked the inside curve of her foot against the concrete, managing to catch herself after only a second or two of panic. Next to her, an older woman waiting at the crosswalk made a disapproving noise under her breath. Already flush from running, the near-death experience and tight-lipped scowl from the stranger only added to the color warming her face.
That was a close one, holy shit.
She willed the little red hand to switch to the ‘WALK’ signal on the display, bouncing on her heels. Her new friend at the crosswalk made another noise—this one not as subtle. Clementine winced at the sound, vexed enough to start jogging in place just to see if she could get the lady to have a meltdown before the light changed.
By the time the display switched, Clementine had resorted to over-enthusiastic arm stretches and high knees. Other than a strawberry-colored face, the woman gave no reaction. Learning absolutely nothing from almost becoming a gory pancake on the side of a bus, Clementine rocketed into the street as soon as the pixels flashed without sparing a look in either direction.
A cyclist curved around her as her feet hit pavement and she had to run a tweaked shuffling drill to weave through the oncoming crowd, but she made it across unscathed. Sweat stuck her clothes to her body, and she was pretty sure her fanny pack was chaffing the sliver of exposed skin between her top and bottom. But Clementine was only two streets away from the pet shop and even though seven minutes felt like more than enough time to get there—more than enough time to convince the worker to stay open just a few more minutes for her… for Finn—she didn’t want to stop to adjust her clothes and risk it.
There wasn’t a line connecting Point A and Point B on the screen anymore. So close… so close...
Clementine shoved her phone in her pack, teeth gritting as she sprang into a full-blown sprint down the street. Sounds whirred past her—a too-late horn, a surprised yelp, stroller wheels on concrete. When she turned the last corner, her eyes immediately found the blue awning above the pet store, narrowing with determination. Dust kicked as she slid to a stop in front of the tiny shop; her heart dropped as the cloud dissipated.
“No, no, no, no!” Clementine howled, rushing the glass door separating her and the shadowy store.
The lock clicked when she pulled, wringing the last bits of hope and calm from her chest. She tugged on it a few more times for good measure, even though she knew it wouldn’t budge. There was a printed sheet hanging on the other side of the glass. Clementine squinted at it, the words jumbling in her brain as she struggled to translate it. Bits and pieces stood out.
Closed. Family emergency. October.
Clementine leaned her head on the cool glass and sniffled. She failed. She tried her fucking best, but it wasn’t enough—and now, God—now she was going to have to crawl back to the house empty-handed. Face the disappointment in Finn’s eyes. Listen to him tell her it was okay when they both knew it wasn’t.
Nothing had been fucking okay in their lives since Wyatt opened the door to the police captain at three am, hat in his hands and his blue eyes crinkled with regret.
Three years. It’d been three years, and she was fucking everything up. Three years of trying to hold her family together. Three years of juggling being a patchwork parent and a helpful daughter—and… and a grieving, lonely girl who just wanted her mom back. Without her, everything was coming unglued. Wyatt was thousands of miles away (or was he? she didn’t know—she didn’t know anything anymore). She didn’t recognize their dad anymore; the success and wealth from his app changed him, turning him from ghost to stranger. Lillian was awful and most days, Clementine felt like she woke up with the sole goal of making them miserable. And Finn…
Finn was like a sunflower, back to the shadows while he basked in all that was good and light.
Clementine swiped a hand at her chin, surprised at how wet it came back. There were other pet stores. If Wyatt was sticking around, he could easily make the purchase while she was at school. They could get Finn all set up for his friends together. There was still a chance—but Clem’s heart felt woozy and she couldn’t stop the tears from pooling. She was tired of failing. Tired of giving everything her fucking best just to fall short, time and time again. Clementine was tired of pretending to be stronger each time she stood back up.
She bit her cheek, a temporary distraction to stop her tears. The slight relief was enough, and she started calming down. She was stronger than this, and her ego could only take so much of a hit—crying like a lunatic in front of a closed pet store was definitely a new low point in her life. Smack dab between the time she almost killed her driving instructor ( it was the squirrel’s fault, not hers ) and the night she cried her way through forty dollars’ worth of gas station junk food when her first real boyfriend broke up with her.
Even though she managed to get to the pastry shop without getting lost or using her translation app, Clementine fumbled her way through her order, too stubborn to accept or ask for help. A partial victory Finn would no doubt celebrate, but it didn’t feel all that great to Clementine. Another case of trying her best just to have it not be enough.
Bags heavy with two of every menu item, she stopped outside the shop to send a text to Finn. Surprisingly, she didn’t have any messages waiting from him. She almost could’ve counted on one about Wyatt’s arrival—unless he decided to wait for her to make his appearance. Deciding not to think too much about it, she let Finn know she was on her way back… and because she was a coward who didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes, she sent a second message to let him know the pet store was closed when she got there. Then a third message with a string of emojis. And for good measure, she sent another promising an absurd amount of sweets.
She stared at the screen, gnawing on her bottom lip while she waited for a reply. Her stomach was in knots. Was he mad at her? Was he busy with Wyatt? After only a few seconds of silence, she huffed and pocketed her phone. Ridiculous—she was acting like a nut-case. Maybe she needed to talk to her dad about starting therapy again. It didn’t help all that much the months after her mom died, but she’d had friends to talk to back then and a coach treated her random, late night sobbing phone calls with nothing but sympathy.
More than an ocean and different time zones separated Clem from her friends—they were different people, even after only a few months of separation. They were all starting their sophomore year, and while she’d been struggling in private tutoring lessons over the summer in a windowless room in Tokyo they spent their days at the lake and their nights by bonfires. Zoe had a new girlfriend. She was teaching them how to skate. Dan finally got his license after failing three separate times. Jamie kept her updated on all the team drama and gossip—apparently there was a transfer from California who wanted to take Crystal’s goalie spot.
Making new friends was another notch on Clementine’s list of failures. School had been in session for just over a month, and she still ate her lunch alone. Not that she wasn’t trying. She was probably trying too hard, honestly. God—she wasn’t coming across desperate, was she? How embarrassing. Maybe that’s why she was so desperate to give Finn the best day ever with his new school friends.
The moment she turned down her street, Clementine knew something was wrong. She looked up from the pavement, pity-partying ceasing the moment the hairs started sticking up on the back of her neck. It was quit—abnormally quiet, and too dark for the time of day. It wasn’t even night, yet shadows the shape of crescent moons stamped the rows of houses like a sloppy decollage. When she took a step, it echoed silence. The dread pooling in her stomach sloshed around her insides, churning until she felt nauseous—churning until it spilled over her ribcage, oozing through her organs until sickly fear consumed her.
What the hell was going on? Why couldn’t she move? She needed to get home to make sure everything was okay—to make sure whatever this was, was just inside her head… but her feet wouldn’t move, no matter how many times she tried to unstick herself from the ground.
It felt like the second the doorbell rang in the middle of the night.
It felt like her sluggish footsteps in the hall, creaking wood under stained carpet.
It felt like strobing red and blue lights, making a mockery of their family photos as they bounced through the curtains.
It felt like the chief’s boots padding inside, asking where their father was.
It felt like a closed casket, body too battered to be considered anything but vulgar.
It felt like death—empty and hollow, a swan’s song.
Out of the corner of her eye, Clementine saw it. A blur. Fuzzy traces of something that stretched up into the sky. She squinted—then rubbed her eyes with the back of a bundled fist. They were sore and puffy from crying, but that didn’t explain what she was seeing. Was this some kind of trick? At the end of the street, some kind of black sheet blanketed—
Their house! It was blanketing their house!
“Finn!”
Deciding she didn’t really care what it was, Clementine swallowed the sickly lump of fear that threatened to make acquaintance with the concrete and bolted down the street, abandoning her shopping bags on the curb. Each step felt wrong, uncanny in a way that stole her breath. Warning signs triggered red and purple behind her eyes, and she did her best to ignore them. As long as she kept going—as long as she tried—
“Excuse me! Hey! Miss!” A voice erupted in the otherwise dead silence, taking her by surprise.
It took her a second to process the words, translation clunking in the sticky gears of her brain. Clementine ignored it—she was in no mood to be nice to her neighbors. She skirted around a black sedan parked a few houses down, heart nearly thumping out of her chest as she got closer to her house. She could see the veil closer now, with more clarity. Despite the dark pigmentation, it was almost translucent. Inside, their house seemed shrouded in darkness. There was a slight tremor to the cover—a good sign, she could probably walk right through it. Was it a slime? Radio waves? Even if it melted her skin, she’d walk through it if it meant getting to Finn.
She wasn’t going to fail. Stubborn determination knitting her brow, Clementine lifted a palm—fingers spread wide, hovering over—
“Miss! I insist, you must stop right there!”
The tips of her fingers curled, and Clementine jerked backwards. On instinct, she swatted the assailant and jumped back, pulling her sleeve out of their grasp. Finally, she took a look at the man behind the wiry voice. He looked the part; tall and thin, almost skeletal looking— his black suit almost ill-fitting. Inky locks split down the middle, angular face shadowed with unease yet reflecting enough authority to give her pause.
“What the hell is going on?” She demanded, pinching her gaze at his expression. This wasn’t one of her neighbors, and judging by the look on his face he knew the answer to her question. She took a step towards the veil again, and his hand lifted. Incredulously—desperately, she remarked, “This is my house! My brothers are in there, I have to—”
“I’m sorry,” He said, and she could tell he meant it—she could see it in his eyes. It was the same look the captain gave them in the doorway that night. The same look hundreds of blurred faces gave her as she stood in front her mom’s closed casket. “I cannot let you in there. Please, come with me until—”
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw it. Something was moving inside. Some things were moving inside. A shadow in the window. Wiggling arms and splitting limbs. No, not arms… tentacles. That didn’t make sense. They were growing, growing, growing. What the hell was that?! The shapes bounced from window to window, illuminated with bright white flashes that bled through the murky veil.
Her body felt like rubber again, but this time Clementine was ready for it. She was ready to face whatever the fuck was in her house because she knew it wasn’t in her head—and whatever it was, her family was in danger. Her family—three years, three years and she wasn’t going to give up now.
Whatever was inside the veil… whatever was inside their house… she’d brave it because her family was in there and they were all she had left. Clementine had already faced hell for them, and she would continue to stand back up—time and time again—if it meant keeping Finn and Wyatt safe and protected. She couldn’t fail them this time. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—fail her mom.
How did she face boogeymen every day? Was it always like this? Like her stomach was dropping through the floor? Did she shake like this, shaky fingers hidden in a clenched fist? Did she want to puke? Did she want to run? Did she feel like this that night—before she charged into the warehouse? Was this what their mom felt before she died?
The blood of the detective who lost her life rescuing twenty-two children from monsters disguised as humans coursed through her veins. Her mom stood back up until she couldn’t, and goddamn it, Clementine would too.
Hoping her eyes, blurry with confused and angry tears, delivered all the apology she could muster—Clementine pushed the stranger out of the way and darted towards the black wall. She forced her eyes to stay open as it sucked her in. It didn’t feel like anything. Half-expecting to be missing a limb or be covered in cosmic goop, Clementine held an arm out and stared at it… like she was willing it to explode.
A female scream erupted from the house, followed closely by a shattering window. Particulates of glass and dust flew her way with a spray of neon green and pillowy smoke. Clementine dodged it, tripping over her feet as she scurried to the house. She wasn’t going to press her luck and assume it was as seemingly harmless as the veil. Neon goo didn’t seemed like a good sign, either way. Voices volleyed inside, a rapid fire she couldn’t translate in real time. Another scream. Was it Lillian? Before she had time to process the noise, running it against every errant yell and petty tantrum Lillian threw, she heard another scream.
Finn’s scream. A desperate, sobbing noise. Her name.
Adrenaline coursing through her body like static lightening, Clementine barged through the front door ready to take on whatever faced her. She’d take on Lucifer himself to get to Finn, walk on blades and cough blood. She’d die for him. It was her job. It was her duty as his big sister and she was going to protect him. She had to protect him. Whatever was happening, she couldn’t stop to be afraid. Couldn’t stop to think it wasn’t real. Couldn’t stop to—
Clementine needed to run.
Once too white, the walls were splattered with gore like an abstract painting. It dripped from the ceiling like a leaky faucet, syrupy red falling with an unchoreographed pitter patter, and filled the cracks between the tiles. Good art doesn’t belong on walls, Clem, you wouldn’t understand. At the center of the carnage was something inhuman, looking like it was ripped straight out of a Lovecraftian story. A slimy, limbless beast covered in gushing sores and purpling welts—spikes covering the end of every tentacle. The creature’s head was split vertically; rows of jagged, blood-stained teeth were exposed, held back with stringy tendons and dark muscle. Lillian’s legs stuck straight out of its mouth, stiff in a way that reminded her of a mannequin in a department store.
“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!” She chanted, frozen in place with mesmerized shock that vibrated through her entire body.
A bloody squelching sound ripped through the ringing in her ear—no, that wasn’t ringing… those were voices… what were they saying?!—and the creature turned her direction. Only then did she realize the oozing sores on its body weren’t sores at all, but eyes. Beady eyes, split up the seam like a lizard.
She was stupid. So fucking stupid and naïve. Whatever this was, it was her grim ferryman. She was going to die. Clementine was going to be gobbled up, just like Lillian was. Just like… Finny? Finn?!
“ Clem! Run! ”
Just as the creature launched her direction, Clementine ran blindly toward Finn’s feral whine. She was fast—used to operating on instinct, knew when to play offense and when to switch to defense. Playing death is just like playing the beasts from Glenncliff, she lied to herself, diving behind a crumbled pedestal. Using the remnants of a shattered sculpture as a shield, she frantically scanned the room looking for Finn.
Strangers. There were two, from what Clementine could see, both dressed in all black. One with a baggy ski mask tugged over his face, attention on the ghastly abomination as it wept blood—a fresh pool forming under its worming body. The other looked her age, a fade blooming into a bouquet of dark curls that seemed to defy gravity. Every line and angle on his face was sharp, bold with an austere intentionality. Unlike his partner, who was seemingly ignoring her existence, his heavy gaze was pinned on Clementine. He scowled at her beneath thick, furrowed brows and skeeted her direction.
Who were they? Did they do this? Were they dangerous? What the hell was that thing? Where were Finn and Wyatt?
The stranger’s hand clamped down on her arm before Clementine thought to pull away. His voice was low, demanding. “You can see this?”
“Of-fucking-course I can see that!” She hissed, furious tears clouding her vision. She tried pulling away from him, but his fingers only seemed to dig deeper into her arm. Words thick and unfamiliar on her tongue, she yelled in Japanese, “Let go of me!” He didn’t, but his grip loosened. “Where are my brothers?”
Two of the creature’s tentacles stretched to the ceiling, bending with a boneless curl as it slithered their way. The person— the thing ?—in the ski mask extended its arms with intention and precision: a horn covered in swirling white patterns seemed to unfold from his fingertips, launching at the tentacles. The creature jerked back a second too late, the horn having already severed the bulbous lumps. They fell to the ground with a sickly plopping noise and a screech. But as the stumps slunk back to the creature’s body, paining the ceiling with goopy carnage, the ends of the tentacles were already growing back in.
Clementine was lightheaded; she stopped fighting the stranger next to her and started gripping him instead. Red-rimmed eyes leaking, she stared at him and asked the question she dreaded the answer to most: “What is happening?”
“No time to explain. Both of those kids are your brothers, you said?”
“Yes,” She snapped, annoyed he was wasting their apparently precious time asking such a stupid question. “Are they okay?”
Like he was waiting the perfect moment to make his grand entrance, Wyatt strode into the room with confidence—giddy smile twisting his face into an awful, menacing mask. He was holding Finn; the instant relief she felt upon seeing them together vanished almost as quickly as it flooded her system. Blood soaked his hair nearly black at the scalp, dripping in tacky streaks down his forehead. Tears spilled from his wide, panicked eyes—pooling at Wyatt’s hand as it clamped down over his mouth.
“Perfect timing Clem. I have to say, I do wish dad were here to see this.”
“What are you doing Wyatt? Stop messing around—Finn, he’s hurt, right?” She licked her lips nervously, eyes darting from his hand on Finn’s mouth to the impish smirk spread across Wyatt’s face. Bile coated her tongue, a metallic tang that assaulted her senses as she struggled to fit the pieces together. Struggled to accept the vile reality—the possibility of betrayal. This time when she jerked her arm, it came free from the stranger’s hold. Voice desperate and pleading, she stepped out from behind the sculpture. “Wy? What’s going on?”
This wasn’t right. None of this was right. Clementine had been willing to face death for Finn—for Wyatt. It was their job to protect each other. It was their duty as Finn’s older siblings to take care of him, to shelter him, to raise him like their mom would’ve raised him. There had to be an explanation, some way to rationalize Wyatt’s hand… his dead eyes and menacing aura. Was he actually helping Finn? He had to be. Or if he wasn’t, he wasn’t doing this on his own will—it had to be blackmail, mind control, alien invasion, possession. Whatever his reason—whatever the reason, Clementine knew she needed to get Finn away from Wyatt.
It happened all at once, so slow but so incredibly fast. Faster than Clementine. Faster than death.
Clementine pushed off the ground, eyes focused on the spot where Wyatt stood with Finn. The stranger behind her was a second too slow, hand squeezing the air as his eyes widened. Tentacles burst from the creature, erratic—too many for the masked person to take at once. One snapped at her ankles; Clementine jumped before the slimy membrane tightened around her ankle, stumbling face first into a pool of sticky blood. And with both arms tucked beneath Finn’s squirming frame as he screamed frantic, desperate noises—Wyatt… tossed their brother into their air, then turned her direction. A spiked tentacle closed around Finn's tiny body.
Time, with the pressure of the Mariana’s Trench, fell back into place around them. Gagging at the carnage she now bathed in, Clementine scrambled backwards, slipping as she frantically tried to get to her feet. It was no use. She didn’t stand a chance. Not when her entire world was shattering around her. Not when Finn’s cries were like trumpet’s signaling the horsemen’s arrival. Stupid, so stupid. She thought the creature was her grim ferryman, but she should’ve known better… the worst boogeymen were dressed like humans.
Clementine flipped on her back just as Wyatt slid to his knees beside her; his clenched fist made contact with her face, but instead of a punch he worked his fingers in her mouth—something pinched at her tongue, a hard shell pressing against her teeth. Disbelief leaked from her eyes as she thrashed against his hand, trying to keep her mouth clamped shut. Too little, too late.
She looked down, panic-stricken, and saw the back half of a dark beetle as Wyatt shoved it in her mouth. He formed a fist and bumped it under her jaw, forcing her to take a bite—half of her teeth made contact with her tongue, blood and saliva drooling from the corners of her lips almost immediately, and the other half of her teeth crunched around the bug. Blood and bits of bug sprayed on his face when she cried out.
Unphased, he whispered, “Now we’ll see who’s stronger” and tossed her body towards the stranger, using her as a shield as he swiftly dodged the advance.
Dead weight and covered in blood, she slipped out of his arms. He juggled her, yelling words she didn’t quite understand. Static filled her head and she was hot she felt like she was on fire—no, she was freezing. Jagged teeth pulled at her sinew. As the stranger steadied her on her feet, Clementine’s eyes uncrossed. He released her, voice directed at something behind her. She couldn’t look—too focused on the nightmare that was unfolding before her eyes; Finn dropping from one tentacle—once again cut down by the masked stranger—right into another tentacle, outstretched and waiting.
It wasn’t over yet. She yelled his name, gargling gore, and forced her body to move. Clementine would get back up time and time again because it was what she had to do. This was her family, and it was her job to protect them. Three years… and she had to protect them. Him. Her baby brother, so tiny in her arms. There was so much he needed to see, so much he needed to experience. Finn had too much life left to live for this to be happening.
The world tipped around her; Clementine flew forward as a tentacle slapped the ground in front of her, tripping her instead of trapping her. The spikes dug into her ankle with searing pain. Keep going. She'd played games with sprained ankles and bloody teeth. This was no different. She kicked off the side of the meaty slab, bouncing off the inside curve of her foot as she reached for Finn with both hands stretched open. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the masked stranger—body coated in an ethereal haze—do the same thing, swirling horns bursting from her hand.
She would make her mom proud. She’d show her. Clementine would not fail. Failure meant losing Finn, and if she lost him… what did she have left?
Again, time warped—stretching the inevitable, a suffocating void that threatened to consume and destroy.
Pulsing pressure struck her open palm like an iron brand. Clementine bellowed as the sensation burst from her hand—streaks of orange and red danced in her wide eyes as she struggled to comprehend what was happening. Hard black shell glistening, massive hook menacing as its long pinchers twitching—a scarab beetle the size of a small dog emerged from the rippling waves of energy at her palm. She didn’t need to know what was happening or why, she just needed to get Finn. The beetle rushed towards the creature alongside the stranger’s spinning horns.
It wasn’t enough.
The inevitable.
Failure.
Bones cracked. Finn’s body went limp in the creature’s hand as it lifted him above it’s split head and snapping teeth. Clementine collapsed with a sob that threatened to end space and time. Her vision blurred, but she still saw the masked stranger go back in for a second attack. The creature evaporated in a poof of rancid black smoke.
Too late. Too late. Too late.
Someone was at her side. The stranger with curly hair. The stranger with the suit. The stranger with the mask—they started lifting it up, but Clementine’s eyes were already closed.
She wanted to hold Finn forever. Had Wyatt felt like that the first time he held her?
She wanted to hold Finn forever. Had Wyatt felt like that the first time he held her?
She wanted to hold Finn forever. Had Wyatt felt like that the first time he held her?