hide (when the sun gets higher). chapter 1
A/N: at long last it's finally here. beta'd by my lovely besties @darling-disastrous and the tlg group chat.
Warnings: gender neutral reader, angst, discussion of missing peoples
Missing.
You supposed a great deal was missing from your life, when you truly considered it. Things both big and small had notable absences. You’d never had a grand feeling of purpose or life’s meaning, so you switched college majors like outfits and as a result only found yourself working crappy service jobs to pay the rent as months droned on monotonously. Working for minimum wage meant hobbies went to the wayside, along with your social life, keeping your circle of ‘friends’ - if you could call work and college acquaintances that - shamefully small. And romance? Needless to say, you weren’t exactly swept away by any of the potential suitors in your life. You’d had your fair share of disappointment, but you always assumed these were things every broke, mildly depressed, former gifted kid burnout dealt with. You assumed most people were missing these things.
Then you got the call from Lucy, and you were wishing that you could be “most people” again.
You had apparently been the Emersons’ last hope, the last good memory linking Michael to Phoenix despite how much time had passed. Mr. Emerson had taken everything he could from Lucy in the divorce and buzzed off to God-knows-where, not that Michael was ever going to go looking for him anyway. You stayed up all night, just in case, hoping and praying he came knocking on your door.
Nothing.
You called out of work, citing a "family emergency." The Emersons were your other family, after all, and how sleep-deprived you were was in the back of your mind as you drove up the California coast. You tried to appreciate the beauty, the waves crashing against the rocks, the sunsets on the horizon, but each sight made you wonder if Mike had sought comfort in them. Then you'd remember Lucy's hiccups as she held back sobs and Sam's dashed hope that you had seen his brother alive, and you'd have to pull over and cry, the tears too intense to safely see the road.
When you weren't considering worst-case-scenarios, you remembered the good times: Halloweens with coordinated costumes, playing pirates and secret agents in kindergarten, slumber parties where you stayed up all night gorging yourself on Lucy's baking and Michael telling Sam to leave the big kids alone, climbing that giant tree in your yard so you could be on top of the whole world.
That New Year's night freshman year…
It was hard to believe that was almost half a decade ago. If you thought really hard, you could still remember how the blanket felt under your legs, how good his jacket smelled and how warm it was around your shoulders against the chill in the winter air, and how shyly he had asked with hope in those sky-blue eyes if he could kiss you as the clock struck midnight.
It was a chaste kiss, being both of yours first, but it did confirm something you'd always known but had trouble admitting.
Without a doubt. Michael Emerson was the first person you had ever loved. And he hadn't been seen in weeks.
~
The "murder capital of the world" wasn't as impressive as it sounded, despite the title blazoned on the back of the billboard. It was little more than a kitschy beach town. You'd never been to the beach, but you weren't necessarily eager to visit this one. But as the sun began to dip on the horizon your protesting stomach demanded a stop before heading to the Emersons' home.
A hole-in-the-wall Chinese place on the boardwalk was bustling with customers, and happened to be the only food not deep fried multiple times and sweating grease. Unfortunately, the way to the entrance took you right past a fence covered end to end with missing persons' posters. Most of the people walked right by without pausing, not even a glimpse at the sea of faces. You walked by with your head hung in shame, every pair of eyes feeling like Michael's gaze boring into your head, demanding to know why you weren't out looking for him yet. A sudden gust of wind had you pulling your arms around yourself as it ripped an old posting off the fence, settling right at your feet.
It was ancient by the looks of it, the paper having long yellowed and wrinkled in the damp sea air. An impossibly young looking boy stared miserably at you, not even a smile on the memory’s features.
“Laddie” Thompson, it read, the lovingly given nickname apparently much more important than the boy’s true one. Who’s missing you, Laddie? you wondered as a wrench pulled at your heart. Are they still looking, or did they have to give up? Are you still out there, somewhere, waiting for someone to find you?
You had to blink away tears as you stepped inside the restaurant. Everyone seemed to be buzzing, barely able to stay in one place, as if they all had somewhere very important to be.
Despite how crowded and noisy it was, you felt more alone than you did driving down the deserted highways. Anyone of these people could have glimpsed Michael, even just for a second, but might never know the wonderful being behind his baby blues and boyish curls.
But you knew. And it ached like an aggravated old wound that never healed properly.
You were snapped back from the brink of another sobbing breakdown when you heard your order number finally called. The smell of dumplings and spicy sauce were calling your name as you reached out, only to see the bag snatched away before you could grab it.
“Hey!” you tried to shout to the gossiping pair escaping with your food, but the restaurant was so loud they were out the door before you could get your dinner back. If this were a normal night, it would’ve been a funny circumstance, something to laugh off, but your frayed nerves and empty stomach had you trembling all over again. Please, don’t let me have a breakdown in public, please please…
“...and whatever this babe had, add that on.”
A leather-clad hand landed on your shoulder as you heard a silky voice caress your ears. You turned to see a young punk with angelic features and curly mullet. Topaz brown eyes drew you in, sparkling from the smirk that seemed all too natural to the guy’s features.
"You don't have to-" you began to say. Suddenly your voice felt very loud and it was then you realized the whole dining room had gone quiet. Everyone stared at you- or rather, they stared at your generous new friend, who had yet to take his hand off your shoulder.
"Not a problem, angel," he winked at you. You felt yourself turn red, as if he was repeating your thoughts about him. “But that pretty blush is thanks enough.”
The heat of your face and the prickling feeling of jealous eyes on your skin made you look down. It wasn’t like you didn’t get flirted with back home, but it had been a while since it really affected you. Maybe it was your already heightened emotions, or the audience your paramour had amassed…
You swiped your takeout as soon as it touched the counter. “Thanks, but it really wasn’t necessary. It’s not like it was your fault.”
“Well…” he drawled out, playfully biting the leather knuckle of his glove with a devil-may-care smirk. “It might be my fault, in a way.”
“Oh?”
“They’re all trying to get out of here and catch the show,” he explained, grabbing a ridiculously large carton of boxes. “Aren’t you?”
“Uh, no, I-I just got into town. I’m…” you hesitated, not wanting to kill his good mood. “I’m visiting some old friends.”
He suddenly pouted, looking quite like a kicked puppy despite his badass exterior. "Aw, and here I was hoping I'd see you in the audience. I could always use a lovely volunteer."
Oh. Definitely wasn't just the setting that phased you. You were definitely enjoying his flirtations.
No, no, bad brain, you chastised yourself. You're just weak from the grief. Red flags all around.
"Well, if you need something to take that sad look in your eyes away…" he produced what looked like a theater ticket from his chaps. "Come see me."
The ticket was red and gold with fanciful black lettering, proclaiming it belonged to a VIP visitor for a one-night showing of...
"'Cirque de Praeteritus?'" You read aloud. Soft gasps sounded around you, clearly envious of what you'd been given. Whispers and hisses passed amongst the crowd, and it didn't take a genius to realize what they were about. "I can't accept this, it's very generous and I don't think I can-"
"Bring your friends, if you want," he said over his shoulder as he made his way out of the restaurant, clearly ignoring your words. But he paused and looked back at you with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Just don't bring a date."
"But I- I don't-" you fumbled for some excuse, "I don't even know your name."
He laughed, throwing back his head and showing off his dazzling smile. "It's Marko, angel."
And with another wink, he was gone.
~
The boardwalk gleamed in your rearview mirror as you drove up the winding hills, all the while mentally bracing yourself for reuniting with the Emersons. They had been your second family your entire childhood, before…
You couldn't bring yourself back to that day. It was too horrible to remember, and it made guilt eat away at you like a parasite. The way Lucy had called you with such hope… you weren't even sure she knew the entire story of what happened.
It wouldn't surprise you if Michael never told her or Sam. He was always like that, carrying the heavy things on his own, refusing to let anyone else help. Even you… especially you.
Horses grazed the field surrounding the house, and various windchimes decorated the porch. It was peaceful, deceptively so, being so close to the chaos and bright lights of the boardwalk.
You stepped out of your car and shivered at the surprisingly cold sea air. In the slight night breeze the chimes of the house danced, but the sound was… strange. You could have sworn it was like someone laughing on the wind. Looking around, there was nothing around but the trees that surrounded the home… and the giant wooden spikes. Huh.
You took a step up on the porch, but a sudden strong gust put you off-balance. Your hair whipped around your head, blinding you for just a moment.
Angel...
The window shutters rattled as you got back on your feet, gripping the railing for dear life. Had you really just heard…?
Wind pushed at you again, and you swore the laughing was right at your ear.
Hey, angel!
You jerked around to see who was there and… nothing. Just leaves tumbling their way down the drive. Your heart drummed against your chest as the wind died.
Maybe I do need to do something fun… you thought to yourself.
The door crashed open with a bang and you held back a yelp as you faced an old man in a leather apron and a headlamp.
"Waitin' on an invitation?" He asked with a strange, suspicious scowl.
"Um… no- I-"
"Hey, Grandpa, who's-" a familiar voice called your name with a squeak, and a hurricane of brightly colored clothes ambushed you in a hug.
"Sammy?" You laughed, unable to help yourself from being sucked into his cheerful energy. "When'd you get so tall?"
Sam pulled back with a great big grin. "Knew you wouldn't even recognize me."
"How could I not, Sambo?" you joked, punching him lightly on the arm. "You're still the same old Sammy whose diapers I helped change."
"No you didn't!" He snorted as he pulled you inside. "I, um… see you met Grandpa."
The old Emerson's eyes still appraised you as he retreated into a room off the den, completely lit with red lights.
"Texas Chainsaw Massacre, much?" You whispered to Sam.
"That's what I said!"
The two of you dissolved into laughter as he dragged you towards the kitchen, where an amazing smell was emanating. "Wow, what's cooking-"
A soft voice said your name, like a blanket wrapping around you. You turned, melancholy sweeping the room. "Hi, Lucy."
She glided to you, embracing you tightly. She hadn't changed a bit, even the scent of her favorite perfume clinging to her was wonderfully familiar. You could feel her trembling just a bit, a slight sob caught in her throat.
"It's gonna be okay, Lucy," you whispered to her despite how hopelessness also nipped at your heels. "I promise, we'll be okay."
~
Dinner was delicious, making you completely forget about the Chinese food still sitting forgotten in your car. Catching up with Sammy, it was like no time had passed at all. It even brought a smile to Lucy's face, seeing the two of you catch up. You did notice that Grandpa Emerson, however, never came out from his strange red room again.
Though Sammy did explain the room was for taxidermy. The horror movie comparisons continued thusly.
Eventually you did address the elephant in the room as Lucy brought out ice cream for you all to dig into. She swore up and down that nothing strange had happened, nothing odd that Michael spoke of.
"He knows about… about my runaway days. Both of the boys know, even you know. He knew- knows he could always come to me with troubles like that…"
"He was… having troubles?"
Lucy paused, settling a shaky hand over her mouth. "I mean he was… a little off. I just assumed with the move, and the divorce, he needed time to adjust and I…" she stopped, as if realizing something important. "He told me I wouldn't understand. Oh, God… I should've pressed harder, I should have…"
You restlessly paced in the living room, wondering what Michael kept from Lucy. Your own guilt kept you from saying anything, unable to help from wondering if this was all your fault, and you wished you could tell Lucy that without being terrified she'd throw you out of the house. You would, after all.
I can't do this. You were going insane walking and worrying in circles, the walls were closing in. Maybe a distraction would be good.
You trekked up the stairs, knowing Sam would have some comics you could get lost in until you could sleep. Luckily the door was already slightly ajar.
"Hey, Sammy, could I-" you began as you stepped in, only to see a perfectly made bed in a spotless room. In the corner stood a set of weights, and a motorcycle care magazine sat on the nightstand.
Oh… this was Michael's room.
You didn't want to disturb what was clearly set up in expectation for him to return, but despite all the time that had passed between you everything about this space screamed the Michael you knew and… loved.
A leather jacket hung from the door. Since when did Mike wear leather jackets, you wondered. You couldn't help but run your fingers over it. It was still brand-new, barely worn at all. Without thinking about it too much, you slipped it from the hook and held it close. Tears sprung to your ears when you realized it carried his scent: motor oil and cologne.
Knees gave out and you sank to the floor, wrapping the jacket around yourself as you cried, cried until there was nothing else inside of you.
As your sobs finally subsided, you trembled from the emotional exhaustion. You slipped your hands in the pockets to pull the jacket, the closest thing you had to Mike's embrace, even closer.
And your hand brushed against something… paper. A note, maybe?
You quickly yanked it out, only to find a strangely familiar ticket.
One VIP guest, for Cirque de Praeteritus.
Maybe you could make the show tonight.