summary: “Unorthodox,” she states with a shaken breath. “You said…it was unorthodox.”
Lips part to speak—to reply and confess he understood where he had gone wrong. To apologize and grovel if it meant keeping her on the path he had begun to pave for her. A place of safety despite a dwindling trust.
“Is that really all I am? My-my purpose?”
warnings: suggestion of kidnapping, child neglect, mistreatment, sad times
wc: 2,436
There’s a storm out in the middle of the woods out west. It’s unheard and unfelt by all, except for the three inhabitants of a small cabin. It moves with fury as Hopper charges through the front door with a teenage girl in tow, eyes red and seemingly empty. She stands in the doorway, unmoving as if she’s forgotten how to move her legs. Her body locked up by the cold to assault her skin, and her mind poisoned by the stories of a child who now follows the large man with her eyes like a small puppy.
Her small voice can be heard even now. She described all she could with her limited vocabulary: how Brenner forced them against one another, handed out punishments, and neglected them should they fail or simply stand against his demands. A monster disguised in a well-tailored suit and a loving look in his eye. It was difficult to understand whether he was a loved creature or hated. Perhaps feared—maybe a touch of everything in between. Maybe it’s how it came so easily to others and harder for some.
And what was she back then? She was barely old enough to understand the meaning of life. Did she follow him like a dog or spit at his feet?
Heavy coats and dry socks are in the sheriff's grip as he maneuvers through the small space, handing them off to Autumn before taking a knee in front of the child. His large hands grip her frail arms, begging for her to stay put and to answer the door for no one. It’s unclear what his intentions are until he’s guiding the teenager out to his car.
They say nothing during the drive through the dead trees. The crunch of snow beneath the tires was the only sound to fill their ears. The pair can hardly stomach the thought of facing one another, so they bite into their own flesh and awkwardly fiddle with whatever is available to them. The girl busies herself by peeling away wet socks in favor of the ones he provided. Not bothering to thank him as she tucks herself away from him, her gaze is cast out of the window as they take that familiar path. It’s much different than their first visit. Her heart stilled and nearly dead, compared to the wild beast it once had been. Her body now a husk and hollow, not fueled by fire.
His words are mumbled at the gate—or she chooses not to listen. And when his plea isn’t heard, a palm slams against the icy surface of the car door, rage in his tone. “Tell him it’s an emergency, goddamnit!” The guard is unshaken by the outburst, though annoyed, turning to mutter something into the walkie-talkie before opening the gate.
There should be fear as she stands beneath the intimidating shadow of her supposed past. If she were anything like that girl, at least. Yet, Autumn feels…nothing. Not the swell of her chest as it fills with cold air, not the raging tides in her veins—only the surrender as she follows after her guide through the main doors and down familiar halls. All seems to move blindingly fast. She’s sat in that same old seat alone. Her fingers pick at the threads of an old armrest, brows furrowed as she listens in on a muttered conversation at her back.
The doctor and the sheriff argue back and forth in hushed tones—but it’s not enough. “How did this happen? There was a plan!” Owens hissed, though Hopper would never answer with truth—lying was something he seemed fairly good at. He would blame himself. A simple slip of the tongue—anything to keep attention from the hidden-away girl.
The sound of hesitant steps fills the room as both men emerge from the shadows. Owens had shed his coat from heated stress, now left to hang over his arms before resting it just over the back of his chair. He doesn’t face the girl—not yet. Instead, he prepares himself. Hands hoisted up onto his hips, a visible shift in his body as lungs fill with a steadying breath. And with a forced smile, he turns on his heel to face the room—to face her.
What was once numb and statuesque begins to melt and boil under his stare. She feels the rush of a thawed heart coming to life, beating faster and faster until it’s hard to catch her breath. The pressure is building inside. Knuckles pale with the grip she holds in her lap, eyes darting away to escape the anger—the fear. But every corner hides something to leave her dizzy. The shadow of Hopper’s tall figure across the floor, the paintings that blur into nothing, or the chessboard he has yet to stow away. Autumn settles in the darkness but isn’t entirely alone there, either. There’s no peace as the man El called “Papa” stands at the center of the abyss.
“Unorthodox,” she states with a shaken breath. “You said…it was unorthodox.”
Lips part to speak—to reply and confess he understood where he had gone wrong. To apologize and grovel if it meant keeping her on the path he had begun to pave for her. A place of safety despite a dwindling trust.
“Is that really all I am? My–my purpose?”
Her tone is devastatingly tormented. A 17-year-old, now shrunken to the size of a child, twiddling with her fingers with her head ducked low to hide from the hurt. The doctor can hardly look at her. A single hand raised to run along his face, pulling at tense muscles as his gaze moves elsewhere.
“Born t’just–t’just be used for science? A project?”
“No–” he answers with a heavy and frustrated sigh, stumbling over his next words. “It–it wasn’t supposed to be this way. I–” He comes to a sudden halt as the girl stands from the chair, and despite her size compared to the man, her presence is oddly threatening. Knowing what she could do or what vile yet honest things she could say made him feel…small. And for a moment, he swears there’s a force against his form. His body is now pressed up against the desk as she closes the space between them.
“Just tell me. Tell me what this is.” She’s pleading—begging for the thick curtain to finally come down and reveal all, no matter the horror that awaited her.
“Forced exposure can lead to trauma,” the doctor begins, remaining strong against the unseen grip she had on him. “There was a plan, Autumn.” The girl noticeably winces at the mention of her name. Focus turned away as if a hand had struck her cheek. Jaw locked and teeth clenched. “You weren’t meant to–”
“Is that even my name? Am I no one? Just some–some number on a board?” Her voice begins to tremble, and a familiar red hue fills the whites of her eyes from stress. A glossy look in tired eyes as she bites back the sob in her throat. But she can see the look of pity beyond the haze. She can see the forcibly sealed lips, unsure of what to say, and an old friend lurches from deep inside—a devil. “What the fuck am I?” She cries out, sending waves of anger across the way to leave him stumbling against the desk.
The look of fright and shock is instantaneous as he grips the edges, trying to regain his composure and recover from what few others have experienced. And that familiar guilt rises from her gut, hot and foul-tasting. “I–I’m sorry.” She stammers. Shaken legs carry the girl backwards—the predator now cowering from its prey as realization sinks in. “I don’t know–I–”
But the prey dusts his shoulders off and straightens his shirt with a kind yet sad smile shining. It’s as if nothing had happened—as if he had forgiven her before feeling the claws dig across his chest. She was just a girl with a dark and undeserving burden. Forced to make do and accept what was, or allow it to pile up and choke out her final breath. “There’s no need for apologies here.” His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and ruffled hairs are eased back down. He settles against the shifted desk, arms crossed as he faces her head-on. “You need t’know that I only wanted what was best for you.”
He waits for her to flee. For Autumn to change her mind and slip right out that door out of anger and frustration. Yet she stands firm, though her form is visibly weak as a trembling hand rises to push back a stray tear. “All of your life, did you ever have a doubt? Did you doubt your existence? What you truly meant to your father?”
The cosmic fuck-up of the universe. That’s what she had called herself in comparison to her life with neighbors her age and classmates. The picture-perfect family where they praised every achievement and picked each other up after each failure.
“You said he didn’t care. You said he loved you in his own way. But have you considered why you may have felt that way? Why your past seemed so…hazy? Why you’ve seen family pictures hung up on everyone else's wall but not a single baby picture of you in your own home?”
Autumn doesn’t realize she’s moving until there’s a gentle thud at her back. She’s stumbled right into her chair, sending it backward just an inch or two in an attempt to escape what was coming. But a piece of her lays anchor, feet firmly planted despite the itch to run. “H–he said they were–”
“Lost?” He sees something shift in her. A realization that, just like Brenner, Owens had known him as well. The extent was unknown to her, but enough to relay what were once private conversations, where she would ask, and he would only provide disappointment. “You were born out of love, Autumn. What came after was tragic.”
She remembers the dust from a gravel road rising to cloud her view. Her feet dragged against rigid rocks as she kicked and forced her heel down to find something solid—something to rip her out from the arms of faceless men. The girl shouts, but nothing is heard—her cries vanishing into the haze along with that blue car that haunts her dreams. And for a moment, before all fades to nothing, she swears a figure stares back at her from the front seat—a shining crimson beneath the ray of sunlight.
“Wh-what came after?”
Blue eyes shift to look just over her shoulder, where Hopper stands, and she follows his gaze. Hopper meets her across the way briefly before averting his focus down to the envelope in his hands. His shoulders are slouched in defeat and shame, muttering curses to himself in a hushed breath before looking back at the doctor. “I don’t know if this–”
“It’s already begun, chief. There’s no plan now.”
Hopper spares a glance in the girl's direction—a look of horror etched into her features. He’s not sure what's worse. To continue down the path of lies and ignorance until they reached a breaking point, or to hand over the secrets he had been harboring for her protection.
“We should start at the beginning.”
He wasn’t even entirely sure what the beginning was. Loose suggestions—accusations. It couldn’t have been something as simple as a coincidence. A tattered friendship between two men—one now missing and the other with a new name, one he gives to a girl that somehow comes into his care. A written agreement? A will? A sworn oath to protect this baby should something happen?
What did happen?
A life uprooted from their quiet and loving home and never seen or heard from again. The only proof of their existence is in scattered documents and old photographs, some of which contain a familiar face. A girl once blissful and full of light, now twisted by the hands of the devil.
His steps are cautious as the distance between them lessens. His fingers running along each indent of shuffled pictures, knowing every face inside the folded paper and what order they lie in. Every detail is memorized before he offers it to trembling hands.
The girl looks between the two men, puzzled. A finger already slid beneath the fold, working on autopilot to spill out its contents. Split the carcass of her past and expose the darkness inside. Or was it beauty? Was it a bizarre mix of both? But as she finds his face, free of the mustache he grew in adulthood, her stomach churns with sickness. Her father is young—a different person entirely, it seemed. Someone she couldn’t fully recognize, though undoubtedly the same man to care for her.
She doesn’t understand the purpose. Is it to taunt her? To show her the kind of man he had become? A father turned monster as he abandoned his only child. A sacrifice to evil hands as they work their way inside a quiet, sleepy home. It’s painful. Her chest tightened at the sight of smiling photographs, some including her as they moved through various phases of life. A stray photograph cut from a yearbook nearly falls from her grasp. A young man she’s unable to place. The more she flips, the more he appears. Some on their own, others with strangers, or with him.
Her father stands at the man's side as friends—as colleagues. They laugh together, enjoy games, and attend various events where a woman slowly enters the frame. She’s hidden behind a hand or somewhere in the background—shy and determined not to be seen. Until one day, she’s there. Hair fallen to her shoulders with a timid look about her. Something uncertain and uneasy as she tries to blend in with the crowd.
It all happens in a flash, nearly knocking Autumn back as she suddenly sees the woman in white. A sad smile with lips stained red. Life fading from her at the center of her chest—seeping out and spreading through every fiber of soft fabric until she fades into nothing. But she’s there—alive and happy. She’s in love. “I-I don’t under–” She’s reached another era of life. Ian is long gone, and instead, the unknown man sits on the front steps of his small home with an arm wrapped around the waist of the woman. She seems to care little about the camera, as her full focus is on the baby in her lap. A child that resembles…a familiar girl framed in a now hollow home.
