Ocean Eyes — Part 5 (Finale)
Pairing: John B Routledge x OC
Warning: Kidnapping, police involvement, talks of death, talks of drugging, talks and mentions of sexual assault, anxiety, fear, angst, blood, talks of drowning, scars, flashbacks, ptsd, torture.
Summary: Maeve finally comes home after being missing for six weeks, the aftermath of a storm no one could imagine.
“Please, please, please.” Maeve’s cries could be heard from inside the dark hallway, desperate pleads for it to stop. The physical and emotional pain that made her throat raw from sobbing and screaming. Silent pleads of Carol to come and take her back to the void of nothing. When Maeve thought she had no more tears left to cry, they’d appear. Her skin burning under her eyes from wiping them away to the point her skin turned pink and raw.
Topper didn’t stop. He kept giving her tiny white pills, a never ending taste of citrus on her tongue. The room never stopped spinning. His voice distorted, a long echo and her vision blurred. Her body became numb for how much time he needed with her. Whispering in her ear, degrading her, calling her filthy names. A pogue’s whore. A slut. He even called her out for faking a pregnancy to get out of a date with him. He didn’t know the real reason, it was her secret that no one will know.
When he was done with her, letting the drugs wear off, he locked the door to the room she was in. The room itself was how she saw herself in the mirror. An empty shell, hollow eyes that did not shine. Her smile, her fire, burned out. The constellations on her cheeks, across her nose. They were covered by grime and sweat, only showing when her tears run down her face. Her hair was tangled, oily. The roots were more visible, the long blonde strands had began to fade away.
Stepping away from the mirror over the sink, she backed away towards a wall. Her hand felt the bricks. Rough and dusty. She slid down, bringing her knees to her chest. She only had pleads and apologies going past her lips. Pleads for everything to stop. The panic and anxiety that eats away at her muscles. The depression that lingers in her bones after Topper has his way with her, forcing her to take pills that make her hate the taste of anything citrus. The envy and loathing towards the girl who lived in the city, who had the brightest smile, who captured the world around her in a sketchbook.
Who didn’t hate pigeons, but hated what they stood for. She couldn’t draw what this was.
It was the darkness that followed war around, a second shadow. A wolf following the weakest sheep back up a meadow. This is what the wolf does. Lingers around the farm, looking and searching for a gap in the fence to find that same weak sheep. Waiting until she is out in the open, until her friends aren’t looking at her anymore. The wolf strikes, clamping a hand over her mouth when she screams down an alley.
“Such a pretty little thing to be walking alone at night.”
She’s experienced a wolf before.
She was walking home from exploring the city all day, it was hot out. She had only one pair of shorts in her wardrobe, one pair that had lasted her two years because her parents couldn’t get her new ones. She thought she could get one last summer with them. After talking to Kenny and Carol, she walked for three blocks, not noticing a man lingering behind her, a shadow. A wolf. She was dragged into an alley, a hand over her mouth. The rest… she has blurred to forget.
And Topper was her wolf and she was a sheep.
Her shield and sword were gone, she had nothing but this version of herself she couldn’t recognize anymore in only a t-shirt.
Her apologies were like a prayer. With every night she faced the window over the sink and apologized. To Carol. To Kenny. Greggles. Names of those who she talked to years ago on the streets of Chicago. To the pogues. Sarah. Kiara. Cleo even though they barely knew each other. JJ. Pope. Her father. Her mother. And John B. She apologized to her parents for everything that went against their wishes when she was younger, how she should’ve listened to them more when growing up in the city. She apologized to her three friends for thinking she could do better for herself, she’s hit rock bottom. To the pogues. Though they barely knew her, she felt it was her fault that they might be to blame after hearing them tell stories of how people hated them for being the working class. Treating them as if they were the scum of the earth.
To John B for a version he will never see again.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She looked towards the window, wondering if she was staring at the same moon John B was.
Maeve had been gone six weeks, but for the pogues it was longer. Police were posted outside the Chateau. If they needed to leave someone followed them around. It lasted for four weeks. One day John B had left the Chateau to get to a side job, saw that the police cars weren’t there. He didn’t ask questions, glad they were gone. But he did wonder if Maeve was found.
He drove to her house, parked down the block. He threw pebbles at her window. Threw them until someone opened her window. Except it wasn’t Maeve. It was her mother, her face tear stained, red. She yelled at him and called the cops. He left before they got there.
Something he had been doing since Maeve disappeared John B had been going through her sketchbook. Reading the names of everyone in that sketchbook. Three names were in red while the rest were in black. Kenny. Greggles. Carol. All three in red pen. There were dates with every name and drawing of a pigeon. He thought they were the names of the pigeons, but none of the drawings were the same.
There were small notes in the margins, her handwriting was scribbly, but it was hers. Notes that talked about thoughts in the city. Parts of stories that he didn’t know about. It was as if he had opened Pandora’s box to Maeve’s secrets, her deepest thoughts. All through her sketchbook pages. There was a note on a page from six years ago next to a dark alley. Erased in the dark graphite was something he could only think of were eyes.
A cryptic message that made him close the sketchbook and put it back into her backpack. He had taken it inside the Chateau the day after the police came to their house. Sarah had to lie that it was her backpack, in case the police gave it back to Maeve’s mother. John B didn’t go through the pages afterward. There was ten years worth of sketches in the book, it wasn’t even full, but John B didn’t even get through half. He only saw four years worth of drawings.
He went out on the marsh, going into open waters. Hoping that he could find some sort of sign during the day. At night, he’d lay under the stars in the hammock. Counting constellations, remembering the pattern of freckles that were on Maeve. He tried to find her constellations in the night sky.
The pogues have gone out when they could to see if they could find any sign when seeing how John B had shut down. It brought them only a single step closer.
Four weeks ago, Sarah had gone home to grab something to go out with Kiara to help find Maeve when she ran into her brother. He was beaten. A healing black eye, a scabbed split lip. He looked ashamed, guilty. It took her asking Rafe over and over for three hours for the boy to open up.
He admitted that Topper had lost it after the beach incident. Watching as Maeve walked away from him, her talking to John B as if the two knew each other longer. Topper hated that John B had everything. And Topper wanted to make John B the way he felt. Alone. Angry. Desperate. Rage. John B could only say half of the list is what he felt.
When asking what Topper did, Rafe was hesitant at first. But Sarah got him to talk. He confessed that Topper had gotten pills, date rape pills from someone, he doesn’t remember the name. Rafe explained the plan about Topper taking Maeve out to the restaurant by the large marina where he kept his boat after lunch. But when Rafe saw him counting those tiny white pills, he froze. He knew Topper wanted to go out with Maeve since she moved to the island, but he didn’t think that he would take it this far.
Sarah was rightfully pissed at her brother for not saying anything to the police that day. She went as far as asking him if he knew who egged Maeve’s house. He didn’t know. He was angry at whoever it was. Rafe knew that Sarah had been partnering with Kiara on the turtle conservation on the island. Going to hatches and making turtle highways with the pogues. He even joined them once.
Then it was the biggest question. Where Topper disappeared to? They hadn’t seen him since the day Maeve went missing. Rafe and Kelce didn’t know where he was. Rafe felt horrible when confessing everything to Sarah. Even more so when the pogues were at her house and hearing everything come from his mouth. JJ and John B had to go to a different room to cool down when Rafe confessed about knowing what Topper was going to do on the date. They were angry at first, but when Rafe told the pogues that he tried to stop Topper, he gestured to his face as the result.
Six weeks since she was last seen. Everyone was losing their hope to find the girl with ocean eyes.
Topper had left thirty minutes ago, the drugs wouldn’t wear off for another few hours. Maeve stared at the window, thinking back on everything that had happened to her on the island, making a list of everything.
But a second list formed in her head just when the first ended.
Her eyes wandered from the window around the small room. Her vision was blurred, but she could still see her world the only way she could since she was nine. Her hands.
Off balance for a moment. Twenty minutes of getting balance on her hands and knees, but she got it. A bit wobbly, but capable. Slowly, she crawled, running her hand over concrete floor for anything. Using her hands as her eyes to find details had that have been blurred and smudged by drugs. Her breathing was was uneven, her head began to pound. She wasn’t going to stop, even if she wanted to close her eyes. She remembered who taught her that her hands were a prized gift.
“What do you want to do with your life baby?” Carol asked her, she was nine years old and coming home from school. She had met Carol that spring after giving away seven pennies and a dime she had found that day.
“I want to be an artist.” Maeve sounded confident when she said the word. Artist. Then holding up her sketch of a pigeon that had landed near them, she could still hear it cooing to others.
“You need good hands. Not just for drawing baby, but seeing your world.” Carol’s southern accent was heavy, it made Maeve feel safe. “Your eyes can see the shapes of the world, but your hands.” She lifted the hand Maeve held her pencil with. “They find the textures and details the eyes can never touch. Use them when your eyes can’t find those details baby.” Maeve leaned into Carol touch that day, giving her a hug before running off back home, waving goodbye with a smile as bright as the sun.
“Tony. Tony. Look around. I’ve lost… lost…” She sobbed, trying to find anything around her, remembering an old rhyme that Carol once told her one winter. It hurt to remember as a week later, Carol was dead on Christmas Eve. A fresh sheet of snow covered her body, stained by her blood. Their last conversation being about looking for lost items.
She groaned out in frustration, tears streaming down her face. She survived walking the streets of Chicago for a decade. Maeve slammed a hand down on concrete, ignoring the cold sting on her palm. Shaking her head of the emotional pain she carried throughout her entire being, she groaned out the words of the rhyme. Fighting the headache and dizziness of the drugs.
“Tony, Tony. Look around. I’ve lost a rock and it must be found.” Over and over again, she said the words, while crawling on the floor. Her hands being the eyes of texture and details her eyes couldn’t touch. Tears following her wake. The thought of Carol, guiding her hands along the floor.
She sobbed when a sharp cornered rock touched the side of her hand. A sob that brought a smile to her face. No apologies. No pleads. Only thank you’s were whispered. She held the rock tightly in her grasp. The edges digging into her palm, but it brought her joy. Just as the day Carol gave her the advice of her hands being her eyes.
Sitting up, her vision wasn’t clear, but she could make out the window over the sink. There was no way of opening it.
She threw the rock, it hit the wall several inches from the window frame. Took a minute to find the rock again. Threw it at the window again. Hit the wall. Not every throw at the window was a hit. It was one out of twenty that there was a clinking sound. The rock against glass was music to her ears. A song closer to her victory of freedom.
Someone outside had to hear it, they had to.
“I will make it out. I will make it out.” She whispered over and over again as she threw the small rock. If Carol wasn’t coming back for her, it meant her story wasn’t over.
It kept happening for the past thirty minutes. Missing the wall with every few minutes that passed. Until one hit of the rock cracked the glass, shattered shards falling into the sink, making a loud sound.
The door unlocked making Maeve glance behind her. She felt as if her feet were stuck in dried cement. Her body was paralyzed.
Topper stepped into the room, immediately seeing the broken window. He was calm when he saw it, his eye flicking from the glass to Maeve. He took long slow strides across until he was face to face with Maeve. Her body was shaking at what he was going to do to her.
He leaned, whispering into her ear lowly. “You thought you can run?” His voice was too calm for Maeve’s liking.
It happened the second he stepped back from her. The initial hit that sent Maeve falling to the concrete floor. She laid on her back, Topper getting on top of her, throwing punches with one hand, the other around her throat. His grip around her throat was tight, cutting away her air slowly, feeling her pulse hammering against his fingers. She was clawing at him, whimpering to get a breath of air.
“You think you can leave me?” His voice was raised as she clawed at his arm, nails digging into his skin. “You think you can get out of here?” He was screaming at her, pressing harder on her throat. Maeve dug at his arm with both hands getting his skin between her fingernails, pinching and twisting. It took a few times for him to stop and let go. She got her breath of fresh air. This giving her the chance to move from underneath him, far back enough to kick him in the stomach.
Maeve got to her feet, tried to go for the door that was left open. Went for it, only her hair was pulled on, sending her back. The back of her shirt was grabbed onto and she was thrown at the wall. Her head making contact first.
“You think I wanted to do this to you?!” He shouted, at her and took off his belt.
The pogues and Rafe had split up on the island when it came to looking for Maeve. JJ ended up taking the Twinkie with Rafe into the Figure Eight area even after John B told him not to. It wasn’t like Rafe was driving the car. JJ was still cautious about Rafe. Still wanted to knock his teeth in when he heard about Topper and the drugs.
“He doesn’t love her, does he?” JJ asked the question after parking the Twinkie down the block. The question about Topper loving Maeve was bouncing around everyone’s head. No one really asked the question.
Rafe scratched the back of his neck, a concerned look on his face. “If you want my answer, no. He doesn’t. If he did, he wouldn’t have done what he did.” Rafe confessed, glancing back at JJ. “And believe me when I say this JJ, if I’d known he would do that, I wouldn’t have pushed Maeve to go out with him.”
JJ shook his head at Rafe. “We all didn’t know what Topper would’ve done. Even if we’d known he’d do that, Maeve wouldn’t have gone out with him.”
“No, she made that pretty clear. And we should’ve stopped then.”
The sound of faint yelling and a snapping sound caught their attention. They walked a couple more feet to try and figure out where it was coming from. That was when JJ pointed towards a backyard. They walked along the side of the large house, keeping away from windows.
The sound of Topper’s voice was clear, followed by the sound of something getting hit.
“I would’ve loved you, but you had to break me. So, I’m gonna break you the way you did to me.”
The pair didn’t hesitate, they broke the rest of the small window the sound was coming from. They caught Topper off guard when climbing through the small window. Rafe went after Topper, tackling him to the ground. JJ saw Maeve, lying on the ground. Red and bloody patches covered her legs, her arms, even one on her face. She was breathing heavily, sobbing that made her body tremble.
“Hey, hey, hey.” He got to the ground lifting Maeve’s face upward. Tears had been running down her face. “We’ve got you, don’t worry.” His voice was soft as he looked over her.
“JJ?” She cried, feeling the burning of the marks the metal end of Topper’s belt left on her body.
“Yeah, it’s me.” He scooped her up in his arms, and turned to Rafe who was standing over Topper who was unconscious. “Let’s get out of here.”
Rafe held the door open, JJ left the room first. They weaved their way through the basement of the house, finding the stairs and making an exit. Rafe didn’t see the extent of Maeve’s injuries, but with JJ carrying her, they knew she needed to go to a hospital.
“Alright, I’ll let them know we are going to the hospital.”
Only there was a quiet sound that came from Maeve. “No.” She had closed her eyes, leaning on JJ’s shoulder.
“Mom will find me. I can’t go back there.” She cried, not wanting to go back to a house that didn’t love her. Didn’t see her. Barely acknowledging that she was her own person.
JJ hated what he was hearing, but he understood. He felt the same way about Luke. It’s why he stayed at the Chateau often. Avoiding the abuse. He glanced at Rafe and shook his head. “Call Sarah, let her know to get to the Chateau.”
The call was the hardest thing for the pogues.
The rest of the pogues had met back at the Chateau as the sun began to set. They were waiting for JJ and Rafe to get back when Sarah’s phone began to ring. She got up from her spot on the couch. They couldn’t hear what was being said, but the look on her face said it all. They had Maeve.
“How far out?” Kiara asked, getting up from her spot next to Cleo.
“A while, they’re coming from the Figure Eight area.” Sarah put her phone down, Pope got up from the couch to get the first aid kit that was in the bathroom.
“Figure Eight?” John B looked at Sarah. He wasn’t angry with her, but his tone was a bit startling. “She was in the Figure Eight area and no one had found her?”
Kiara stood in front of John B, trying to keep him calm. “John B.”
“Six weeks.” He shouted. “Six weeks she had been in the Figure Eight area and no one thought that she would be there?” Everyone in the room understood why he was angry. They weren’t going to invalidate his feelings. They got blamed for Maeve disappearing.
“She’s coming home though.” Sarah placed a hand on John B’s shoulder, her voice calm, collected. “And when she is ready, she’ll tell us who did this.”
John B didn’t know what to say to that. No one did. They didn’t know the state that Maeve was in. They didn’t know who had her, only JJ and Rafe do. He walked away to a different room, closing the door. His heart rate was racing, drumming against his ribs. His throat was tight, as if he tried to speak, the words he wanted to say would break.
“John B.” Sarah’s voice on the other side of the door, didn’t get him out of his thoughts. His mind spiraling. “John B, I’m opening the door.”
When Sarah opened the door she saw how he didn’t look at her. He was spacing out. She walked towards him, grabbing onto his hands that were shaking. He didn’t know how bad it was until Sarah grabbed onto him. His breathing was ragged.
What if she hates us? What if she wants to return to Chicago? Would she tell us she doesn’t like us? What if she hates me? Self-degrading questions made his grip on Sarah tighten. She got him to sit on his bed, but he still wouldn’t look at his friend. A silent tear rolled down his face, he felt like he could’ve done more six weeks ago on that boat. She was right there. He could’ve switched with Pope and held onto her.
“What’s going on John B?”
“It’s my fault.” He breathed out, another tear that trailed the curve of his cheek. His chest felt heavy, something pressing down to make it hard to breathe.
Sarah shook her head, getting him to look up at her. “It is no one’s fault, we talked about this. Topper is-“
“I could’ve kept her safe. I could’ve done things.” She kept her hands on his face to keep him from looking away.
“Hey. Look at me.” She could see that he was angry and scared. Concerned. “She’s coming home and whatever happens we will figure it out. She’s coming home, John B.”
“This isn’t your fault.” Her voice turned from calm to stern instantly. She knew everyone had bad feelings from what happened on the open water. Everyone thought they could’ve done something different that day. Sarah wished she held onto Maeve. John B wished he held her. Pope thought about how he could’ve helped her on the boat. Cleo wished she could’ve helped more. JJ wished he held onto her until the Pogues got to them. Kiara wished she could’ve helped more with Maeve. “This isn’t anyone’s fault. If not for me, for Maeve. And I swear she’ll tell you, this isn’t your fault except Topper’s.”
He nodded his head, feeling Sarah’s hands fall from his face. He saw her walk away from him, heard the door to the spare room close. He took that time to give himself a few minutes before leaving the room.
The Twinkie came to a stop, with JJ climbing out of the back seat carrying Maeve in his arms. Her blood was staining his hands and clothes. He was trying to keep her awake. Rafe climbed out after them, running to get the door to the Chateau.
“Pope!” JJ shouted, only making Maeve hiss from the noise. Her head was pounding, sounds have become an irritant to her.
The pogues came running out of the house, only stopping when they saw Maeve in JJ’s arms. The state she was in. Pope, Cleo, and Kiara were grabbing things they needed. Dish rags, first aid kit, a bucket, anything that they could use to help clean her up. Sarah’s hands flew up to her mouth seeing what had happened to her. John B’s heart broke. The pieces sinking into a pit that had formed in his stomach at what he was seeing.
He went into his room, grabbing one of the spare blankets that he had lying around. He walked slowly to the living room seeing JJ and Rafe.
“They took her into the spare.” JJ muttered, not knowing how to feel. “Kicked us out immediately.” Rafe didn’t say anything, he couldn’t.
John B followed where JJ told him Pope took Maeve. Down the hall, a bit further than his room. He glanced in seeing that Kiara, Cleo, and Sarah were all yelling at Pope. Pope stepped out of the room, glanced at John B and shook his head.
“They’ll only kick you out.” He told John B, then walked to where JJ and Rafe were who stepped out onto the porch.
John B knocked on the door frame, watching as Kiara stepped away from Maeve and glanced over at him. He held out the blanket, waiting for her to take it from him. She looked angry.
Kiara glanced back over her shoulder. Cleo and Sarah were focused on Maeve, using the bucket filled with water and dish rag to wipe away the blood from her skin.
“Right now is not a good time.” She shook her head, only to glance back at John B. “Can you grab her a shirt please?”
“Yeah. One of Sarah’s or yours you’ve-“
“One of yours.” Kiara told him, she wasn’t looking at John B, just glancing back at Maeve. How Cleo and Sarah were taking care of her. “I’ll grab her some of my things.”
She walked past John B, making him follow her. “Why one of my shirts?”
“She’ll want something else other than the one she has on. She’s gonna want a shower after getting cleaned up.” Kiara didn’t look back at him just walked out of the house to her car in the drive way.
He stood in the hallway for a minute letting his brain process what she just said to him. Kiara told him to grab one of his shirts for Maeve. And yet, his feet were stuck to the ground. The sound of someone else coming out of the spare room got his attention. Cleo. She carried the bucket to the kitchen, dumping out the bloody water. He followed behind her, JJ and Rafe could hear the conversation from the porch.
“How is she doing?” It was a loaded question to ask, an even heavier one to answer.
“She’s got a possible concussion and because she’s refusing to go to the hospital, we have to be on watch for her.” Cleo wasn’t the happiest, but she couldn’t take her anger out on Maeve. No one except the person who did this. “Sarah and Kiara are gonna help her into the shower, Kiara is grabbing her clothes.”
“I’m grabbing her a shirt.” John B didn’t want to hear the rest of the conversation. He went into his room and grabbed one of the cleanest shirts he had. Black checkered textured shirt that he hadn’t worn in a while since it had gotten hot out.
Carrying the shirt and blanket back to the spare room, it was empty. The bathroom door was closed, the shower was already running. He placed the blanket on the bed, and went over to the bathroom door. Sarah popped her head out, John B held the shirt for her to take. Just as the piece of clothing was taken, a quick thank you, the door was closed again.
In the bathroom, stripped of her clothing, curled in a ball on the shower floor. Maeve wrapped her arms tightly around her legs pulled to her chest. Sobs ripped through her body, making her body tremble. She was sure everyone in the house could hear her, but she couldn’t keep back the cries that clawed in her throat down into her lungs any longer.
Sarah placed the shirt down, Kiara had gotten back into the house, a pair of sweatpants and underwear on the counter with the shirt. She had changed into a pair of running shorts and a bikini top sitting behind Maeve, using shampoo and conditioner that she or Sarah had left at the Chateau after being on the marsh. A comb in one hand, fingers going through knotted sections, catching on every knot.
Sarah sat outside the shower, keeping the suds from the shampoo going into Maeve’s eyes. They were bloodshot, her eyes were puffy and raw. Wiping away tears that ran with the shower. Whispering to her, nothing, but good things. Whispers of promises that Maeve was going to be okay. Promises that they loved her. Promises for when she was ready to talk, they’ll listen and still love her. Promises she wasn’t going to be left alone.
It’s all she felt. In that basement after every time Topper locked the door for six damn weeks. Six weeks where he hadn’t given her proper food. Only stuff that made her stomach churn and made her want to throw up. Six weeks of where she felt she had lost a battle that made her feel less human afterwards. Made her a shell of who she was. The self-loathing amplified by ten after staring in the mirror at the girl who she wished would’ve stayed in the city. She wished Carol would’ve kept her hidden in the dark instead of the light coming back, wished she didn’t cough up the water on that boat.
Sarah then started humming a lullaby. Something no one knew, on the spot. “Feathers that whether, the shadows around. Give me a raven, one that lives on the ground. Let him bring me treasures from around, one for silver, two for gold, three times the quote the raven, oh the stories never get old.” A made up song of Edgar Allen Poe and his obsession with the raven and poetry. In a way, it made Maeve think about something other than the pounding in her head. The butterfly bandaids on her cheek. How Kiara was tugging on the knots in her hair.
It was simple, yet affective.
“Keep your eyes open, you have a concussion honey.” Sarah wiped away more suds from Maeve’s face.
Maeve smiled weakly, slowly nodding her head only to have her hair get snagged again on more knots. She tried to finger comb them before, but it wasn’t any use. Her chest felt heavy, as if dread had become a person and was putting all of its weight on her sternum. The thought of John B seeing her like this made her stomach turn. She didn’t want John B to see this version of her. A version where she feels disgusting, used, and worthless to those around her.
“Alright, I need to switch, my arms are starting to get numb.” Kiara spoke, getting Maeve to lean her head on the wall of the shower. Sarah didn’t hesitate. She took her flip flops off and got into the shower, taking over Kiara’s spot. Using more conditioner than what Kiara was using, knowing that she was going to get another bottle. But it was to get the knots out of Maeve’s hair. “Alright, after Sarah gets through the knots, body wash. Mine or John B’s?” Kiara grabbed the two bottles, holding them in front of Maeve. Her eyes were half open as she leaned against the wall.
She lifted a hand slowly, pointing to the bottle on the right. Kiara nodded putting the other bottle aside, a bit surprised at the choice.
It took a lot longer to get the knots out of Maeve’s hair, but with Sarah and Kiara taking turns to get them out, they got them. Each and every knot that tangled in Maeve’s hair. Kiara would be getting new bottles of shampoo and conditioner.
Then it was time for the body wash. Every pass of a washcloth on her skin, the body wash on her made the sobs return. Even with whispered of promises and encouragement from people she hadn’t known long, her cries could heard from the living room.
Pope and JJ had to hold John B from running to the bathroom. He heard her cries, ones that shatter a person’s heart. Ones that are filled with grief, anger. Feelings that are contained until those walls are broken down. He just wanted to hold her, tell her she wasn’t alone. That he was right there and he wasn’t leaving her.
“She doesn’t want us in there, not right now.” Pope took John B by the shoulders and getting him to walk towards the couch again.
John B shook his head, hearing her cries was breaking his heart into pieces. “I just want her to be okay.”
“This isn’t something you fix in a day.” Pope told him, JJ nodding his head in agreement. Rafe and Cleo looked at John B and nodded along.
“Emotional pain isn’t linear, it’s hard to read sometimes. Some days she’s going to be okay, others she’ll have days where she won’t want to get out of bed.” Cleo chimed in.
“Have you been reading his books?” JJ asked, trying to sound funny, but no one was laughing. “Sorry.” He mumbled.
Before anyone could talk further, the bathroom door opened, Sarah came out taking with her tiny pile of clothes. They looked at her from the living room, confused on where she was going.
“Kiara is with her, but Maeve asked me to get rid of her clothes.” She lifted what was in her hands and threw them out. “She’ll be out in a few minutes.”
“What does she want from us?” John B asked, he wanted to check on her. Let her know that he wanted to be there to help Maeve get through whatever was going on.
“Right now, just time.” Sarah spoke in a soft tone before going into the bathroom after throwing away the clothes.
John B moved from where he was and found Maeve’s backpack. Moving quickly he moved the bag into the spare room, placing the sketchbook on the bed. It was then that John B noticed how worn it was. A decade of delicate sketches on three fourths of the pages, dates and notes in the margins. Names that repeat. The cover was black, it had been wearing down. The bottom right corner was shredded apart. New questions formed in his head, ones that he’d have to save for a later date.
Putting on the long sleeve shirt that Sarah had placed on the counter after getting the sweat pants on, Maeve hugged herself. As if trying to grasp onto a new shield and sword again. For six years she’s always kept the combat boots and jeans because she felt safe with them on. It kept her toes from freezing in the winter. Kept her tattoo hidden for the most part. Sure she was warm in the summer, but it’s what she did to survive.
Sarah was sitting on the counter, brushing through Maeve’s hair, taking out any knots that had been left behind. She stared at the wall, wondering what everyone would think of her if they saw her.
“Do you want a braid or no?” Sarah asked her, making Maeve glance back at Sarah.
“No braid, please.” Her please was broken. Voice quiet, cracking as the word slipped past her lips. It broke Sarah’s heart.
“Okay. Now, we do need to get you some food, do you want anything in particular?” Sarah put down the brush, just kept running her fingers through Maeve’s hair.
“Gatorade and the stock cubes.” She held up her left hand, a space between her index and thumb as if something was supposed to fit in between.
“Bouillon cubes?” Sarah asked, making Maeve nod her head. She didn’t face Sarah, just kept staring at the wall. She didn’t trust her voice further. “Yeah, I’m sure we have them, but if not I will head out to find some. Anything else?”
Maeve shook her head. She needed something, but anything she thought of made her mouth dry and nausea went over her head. Sarah got off the counter of the bathroom sink, moving around until she was looking at Maeve face to face. She pulled the girl in close. It took Maeve a minute, but she wrapped her arms around Sarah, her body trembling, new tears falling.
“I’ve got you honey. We all do.” Sarah cradled the back of Maeve’s head, letting the girl cry into her shoulder.
“I just want it to stop.” She cried, holding onto Sarah tighter, her chest feeling like its was tightening around her, making it harder to breathe.
Sarah pulled away from the hug, but kept her hands on Maeve’s upper arms to keep the girl grounded. “Make what stop?”
“This.” Maeve gestured over her heart, the way it felt like it was tightening over and over again with every word she spoke. A lump forming in the base of her throat and if she spoke louder it would turn into a sob that would rattle her bones and make her throat raw. “It hurts, it hurts.”
If someone were to look inside her head, they’d see what she was talking about. Topper’s hands on her body, him ignoring her when telling him to stop. The pills that were shoved down her throat. The tears she had shed along side the screams for anyone to know she was alive in that basement. It was the phantom feeling of everything over and over again on her body, even though it was washed away. The memories wouldn’t leave.
Sarah moved her hands from Maeve’s upper arms to her hands, holding them tightly to let Maeve know she was right there. “Hey, hey, hey. I know it hurts. I just need you to breathe.”
“You can. Big deep breath in through the nose. Just follow my lead.” Sarah encouraged her giving her the steps. “Then out through your mouth like you’re blowing out a candle.”
“No.” Maeve was sobbing, letting go of Sarah, and backing into the wall and sliding down to the ground. Her hands sliding up her face, trying to block out whatever she could. Sound, sight, feeling.
“Yes, you can.” Sarah grabbed a hold onto Maeve, holding onto her hands as if they were back on that boat. She wasn’t letting Maeve slip away again. Not physically, not mentally. Not emotionally. “In through your nose, honey.”
Maeve tried, she really tried. It was uneven and choked up, but she was trying her best.
“Good, now out through your mouth.” She sat down on the ground, criss cross on the tile floor from Maeve, leading the way through the breathing. It was still chopped and uneven, but Maeve was trying her best.
They did this over and over again. Sitting on the bathroom floor, one following the other’s breathing until it was there. It took an hour. Talking Maeve through the breathing, letting her shed held down tears. Let her feel what she needed to, until her breathing was even and slow.
The door to the spare room was cracked open, Sarah glancing back to see Maeve’s eyes were closed and curled up on the bed. The blanket that John B had placed on the bed pulled up to her chin. A towel was under her head on the pillow. She hadn’t gotten proper sleep in six weeks. Her sketchbook was moved to the side table, close to the bed.
Sarah turned back to the pogues who sat in the living room. Kiara changed back into her clothes. Pope and Cleo were figuring out a schedule with changing the bandages on Maeve’s arms and legs. JJ and Rafe were quiet. John B, he was out on the dock.
Sarah moved into the kitchen grabbing one of the mugs from the cabinet and going through the pantry. There wasn’t much when it came to the seasonings, but after a quick scan and shuffling around canned goods, Sarah found the small jar of gold foil wrapped cubes Maeve had asked about. She got the kettle started and unwrapped the cube, dropping it into the mug with a clinking sound.
Stepping outside, she went towards the dock slowly. Sarah got to the edge, taking the spot beside John B. There was silence between them as they looked out at the dark marsh.
“She’s going to be asleep for a while.” Sarah breathed out, her feet touching the surface of the salty marsh. A soft breeze passing by.
John B nodded his head, heart was still in pieces for hearing her cry. He hated it. All of it. “Does she want anything to eat?” It was all that could come out of his mouth without getting angry for not being able to see her. He knew she needed space. He knew that.
“All she wants are bouillon cubes and Gatorade.” Sarah smiled softly, she was at least proud that Maeve was willing to try something. She glanced at John B, he was looking out towards whet ethe sun would’ve dipped behind the horizon line. “She asked who put her sketchbook in the spare, told her it was probably you.”
“Did she ask about me?” He finally turned his head towards Sarah, who nodded her head.
“She did, we told her that you were in the living room.” Sarah sighed deeply, anticipating his reaction when she told him the next thing. “Asked her if she wanted to see you.”
“And?” He was willing to knock on the door to see her.
“She’s not ready for visitors right now.” Her words came out shaky. John B slowly turned his head away, nodding. “I do think she’d want to see someone familiar though. You could bring her the bouillon and Gatorade.” She offered him.
“She’d kick me out.” He countered, remembering how Pope had gotten kicked out before. “You just said.”
“She might.” Sarah paused looking away for a second. Then continued. “But she might start talking to you if you offered her something else other than what happened.”
He sat with her statement. What could he talk about to Maeve? What would she want to talk about that wasn’t going to shut him out?
Wood of the old dock creaked as Sarah got up, the sound of the kettle whistling from the house could be heard where they were. John B watched Sarah walk away back to the house. He took a minute before getting up to follow behind her. Walking in the house to see Kiara pouring water into the mug. John B went into the fridge finding a bottle of blue Gatorade. He was at least going to get some ground with her. Build her trust.
The knocking on the door made Maeve slowly open her eyes. She stared at the tan wall of the spare bedroom. Her eyes wandered from the wall to the sketchbook on the side table. Questions filled her head. Did John B look through her sketchbook? Did he read the names of the people she’s met on the streets? Did he feel disgusted at how her secrets, her deepest thoughts were on the pages through her notes? She didn’t see him, just kept her eyes on the wall and the sketchbook.
“I brought you Gatorade, the stock cube still needs to break down.” John B’s voice was calm, soothing. When coming into her line of sight, she watched him place the bottle of blue liquid on the table. She would’ve thought that he would have brought her orange or lemon lime flavored. “Though I don’t know which flavor of Gatorade you wanted, I just grabbed what I had.” He sounded casual, as if she wasn’t hurting on the inside.
John B knelt on the floor, putting his arms on the bed. Maeve felt frozen staring at him. Her body couldn’t move, her voice was gone. She couldn’t scream. Her throat hurt from crying. “You don’t have to talk right now, but when you do, I’ll be right here.” His features were soft, not sharp. Hearing his words felt like they were a promise, an out reached hand to her. She just couldn’t wield herself to take it.
A minute passes by them, John B had rested his chin on his arms, looking at Maeve. She was staring back at him, tracing the lines in his face. How the muscles in his face were relaxed, eyes half open. Her eyes moved away from John B to the sketchbook on the table. She still felt paralyzed to move, as if reaching for anything… she didn’t know…
John B caught on, following her eyes to the sketchbook. But she might start talking to you if you offered her something else other than what happened. Sarah’s voice repeated in his mind. He slowly picked up the sketchbook, getting comfortable on the floor, leaning against the bed on his side instead. Maeve watched him open the book with care. She wondered if Topper would’ve been gentle with her things.
He flipped to the first pigeon drawing there was. It wasn’t exactly like a pigeon, but it was there. A bit of shading, but not much for a nine year old. A name was written in scribbled handwriting. Carol.
“Was Carol a pigeon you named in Chicago?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at Maeve then back at the drawing. “I’m curious, Carol is a nice name for a bird. You have it in here a few times.” His voice was soothing, gentle. Not mocking or bitter. Genuine curiosity about the drawings, the name on the page in red ink. He glanced back to see Maeve shake her head, no. “I’m guessing it was a person you met?”
She nodded her head, tears glazed her eyes. Maeve missed Carol deeply. Thought about her, even before she drowned. Maeve wished there was a way to talk to Carol one last time. Tell her she loved her, thank her for the six years Carol gave her. Tell Carol about the boy that drove her home late at night, a night she felt the most alive. A night that started a chain of events.
“Who are Kenny and Greggles?” He asked next finding their names show up in the early pages of the sketchbook she cherished and saved every page like there would never be a new sketchbook after this ond. “Other people in Chicago?”
Maeve nodded her head. He caught her smiling softly when he asked about them. A soft tear ran down her face. He slowly reached a hand out, only for Maeve to flinch back. John B didn’t move when his hand hovered over her cheek. Her wide eyes stared back at him. He waited, letting her set the pace. Maeve’s body trembled when she finally let herself lean into his touch, tears falling from her eyes.
John B didn’t move away, only wiped away her tears. His thumb under her eyes to catch her tears was the warmth she felt when the current caught them. A warmth that Carol did when she told her about the man in the alley. About her problems about the boy in her classroom. “Friends?”
Again, he only got a nod of her head, but she wore a sad smile and then began to cry. He moved to hug her the best he could, placing the sketchbook down on the end of the bed. Covering her top half of her body, letting her cry into his chest. “Just let it out, I’ve got you.” He rubbed small circles on her back, holding back his own tears. He hated seeing her like this.
Being this close to Maeve, he could smell his body wash on her. He couldn’t help the chuckle he let out. Maeve glanced up at him, eyes red and puffy. “I’m not laughing at you, just you used my body wash, sweetheart. And I like it on you.”
The nickname fell off his tongue easily, as if he’s rehearsed it before coming into the room. The sound of the nickname when hearing it, being called it. Warm, welcoming, tender. No venom made of acid. No wolf or shadow that dragged her down an alley.
“I like it on you too.” She mumbled, scooting up in bed to wrap her arms around John B’s waist.
Her movements were slow, but John B didn’t push her. It wasn’t until she was sitting up in bed that he was sitting on the edge, her arms around his waist that he hugged her close. A hand cradled on the back of her head, fingers tangled in damp hair. Leaving soft tender kisses along her hairline. His arms around her made Maeve have a sense of security. A grounding anchor.
John B smiled at her words, resting his chin on top of her head. “Well you can barrow it whenever sweetheart.”
“I like that too.” She pulled away from the hug first, letting him brush hair out her face behind her ear.
The first thing John B noticed were her eyes. Bloodshot, puffy, and raw. But those irises were the color of the ocean after a heavy storm. The waves he could ride until sunset, salt water that clung to his skin. He wanted to swim in her eyes forever.
“Then it’s yours.” A promise. A promise he never wants to break.
Maeve scooted over, letting John B sit beside her. She leaned against his side, an arm over her shoulders. She looked at the sketchbook, moving slowly to grab it. When looking at the page that it had flipped to randomly, she glanced at John B. It was the dark alley with erased out eyes.
She smiled weakly at him, showing off the drawing. “It’s all I could do back then.” Her voice was hoarse, John B looked at Maeve when her eyes were back on the open page. “Help me in some way.”
“Did you tell your parents?” The question was heavy in the air.
“Dad was never really there, mom was focused on how to pay the rent. Only person who knew was really Carol.” Maeve looked up at John B, the sketchbook resting on her knees.
“Can I ask who Carol was?” He wanted to ask about the other two names in red, but stopped himself. Give her space.
Maeve flipped through her sketchbook until she found the last date that mentioned Carol. A week before Christmas Eve. She had drawn a broken angel figurine that was near them when talking to Carol. She learned about the rhyme to help find lost items. Right next to Carol’s name was the rhyme in black ink.
“Carol was a homeless woman. I considered her more of a friend than the people at school.” Maeve’s voice was quiet, reminiscent on how she spoke about the woman.
“Can I ask what happened to her?”
Maeve stared at the wall, not sure how to put it in terms of what she saw on Christmas Eve. How her mother tried to sound sympathetic, but was obviously faking it. She shook her head in response, not ready to tell that story.
“Okay,” he whispered leaning in to kiss the top of Maeve’s head. “When you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen.” A promise, one that Maeve leaned into. She closed her eyes, letting her body melt into John B’s side.
“You still need to show me the rest of Kildear.” Her voice was soft, filled with sleepiness. He chuckled beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“The offer still stands.”
Maeve glanced up at him and though her eyes were red and puffy, John B saw what he did the first time he met her. A permanent ocean in her eyes, a mix of blue and green. Ocean eyes. And he hoped he could swim in them for however long Maeve would give him.
