Ian Russell & Jonathan Crane (strawed) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-08-20 15:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | poison ivy, scarecrow |
Who: Ian & Cerise
What: Father and daughter say goodbye
Where: Ian's hideout in Henderson
When: Recent
Warnings/Rating: Just some sads.
The address that Ian had given to Cerise led to a small house in Henderson. It had a shabby appearance, chipped paint, a splintered deck, more along the lines of the places that Ian had set up in El Paso, cobbled together estates that consisted of places that should have been condemned rather than lived in. But it had sufficed then, and it would suffice now. It had everything that he needed, and at that moment, that consisted primarily of a place to stay out of the public eye. The radio had done well in keeping him informed of the ongoing manhunt, and he knew it was only a matter of time before things ended, one way or another. Either the government would find him, with their dogs and guns and SWAT shields, or the Wallace boys would find him. If he had to choose, he'd prefer the latter over the former, simply because the Wallace boys had always been good at cutting right to the point. He didn't look forward to getting lost in the system while someone tried to make up their mind what to do with him. Ian liked finalities, he appreciated ending things with a bang, not a needle in his veins to stop the heart and still the life.
And that was why he had asked Cerise to come. There were few people in this world that Ian felt any sort of affection for, and Cerise was one of those. His daughter, even if there was no blood tying them together, and seeing her was important. He trusted her not to lead the boys his way, trusted her to keep her lips shut and her fingers still. He would see her, and then things would be alright.
There was no porchlight on to light up the splintered deck of the tiny white house, but lights flickered within to alert anyone outside that there was life dwelling within. The house was small, one bedroom, a kitchen, a living area, and a bathroom, all tucked into a tiny square house that would have been uncomfortable for more than a single occupant. No cars sat outside, nothing to give any indication that the most wanted man in the area was dwelling there.
The house that Cerise pulled up to was small, bringing to life the memories of dustbowl drought postcards and dead cows in dead fields bringing about no milk, and no crops, and no money. This was nothing like the homes that she'd always associated with Ian, and the regression brought to mind stories of fallen kings heading to the guillotine. She killed the engine on that borrowed car, but left the keys in the ignition before making her way up to the flickering porch. The drive into Henderson had been carefully numb and it still felt like more of a dream than reality when she made her way onto the porch steps that creaked with the kind of old age that threatened to buckle into a splintered haystack. Cerise hesitated for a moment, listening for any sign of life on the other side. She didn't think she was too late, she at least knew that she'd get here before Sid and Drake, but that didn't mean that somebody else might not have gotten here first.
But everything was quiet, and that was about as reassuring as things got in times like this, so Cerise sucked in a determined breath, stepped up to the door, and knocked.
The simple fact that there was a knock at the door, simple as a knock could get, was enough to ease some of the worry that had ridden up Ian's spine at the first sign of the headlights that had shown briefly in the front window of the rundown house. Police wouldn't knock; they would announce themselves before simply ramming the door down, and the Wallace brothers were beyond even that. There would be no knocks from them, no announcement of their presence. They would simply be there, and Ian wondered if this would be the time that they would succeed or would something go wrong yet again for them?
But the knock told him at least one thing. It was Cerise. Everything else was up in the air.
The baby was sleeping in the bedroom, the door shut, locked, not that locking an infant anywhere would do anything to help him. So it was just him who answered the door, throwing the locks and opening it just a crack, long enough to verify that it was her and no one else before it was pulled open fully to let her come in. Nothing was said until long after the door was shut behind her, the deadbolt thrown and the curtains tugged back into case. Nothing was said even as he looked at her, and there was something old in his eyes, something ancient and tired. "Thank you," Ian finally said, and it was said as he always talked to her, with warmth and a familiarity that he didn't have with many people. "I knew you'd come."
Cerise smiled a little when the door opened by a crack, gentle reassurance written clearly in her face until the moment that she realized he'd only opened it a crack. Just the briefest peek of an eye through the seam, a shy little mouse kind of peek. The kind of a peek that men with something to fear gave from the dark side of hidey holes. It was a look that Cerise never expected to see from Ian, and that alone triggered the crippling realization that he was afraid. The man who virtually was fear was afraid, and Cerise found herself momentarily speechless as the door opened fully.
"Of course, I came," she said gently while taking a step inside. The desert landscape was quiet behind her, with no police, or SWAT, or Wallaces. For the moment, it was only them, although she knew that wouldn't last for very long. "When I left," she explained, "They still did not know where you were, but I don't know how long that will last." She glanced around the small interior of the house, "I know you don't want to hear it, but you really need to consider turning yourself in to the police. If somebody else gets here first," and they both had to know who she meant, "They're going to kill you.." She hadn't quite accepted the fact that he was going to die either way, rotting in a cell on death row, or tonight.
"It won't be for long, I'm sure," Ian said quietly, and it was something that was hard to admit even to himself. Things were not going as he wanted, and the running, the hiding, it was taking a toll on him that he hadn't expected. He said nothing more as he took a seat on the beat down couch that was in the small living room, sinking down into it like someone much older than he really was. He was just over fifty, young in many respect, but Ian didn't feel that young right then. He felt old and tired and the decisions he had made, while exciting in the heat of the moment, were ones he was starting to question now that things had ended as they did.
He patted the couch beside him, inviting her to sit. "I'm going to die either way, Cerise. We both know that," Ian said softly, his eyes upon her, hands clasped together between his knees. "I can't picture a life spent in prison, among those sorts of people." Through it all, he still didn't classify himself like them. He was apart, higher, different, and that was something he felt even know, sitting there at five minutes until midnight. "And perhaps they'll fail again, just like they did last time. We'll go to Mexico. You and I. They'll take the baby back to its mother, and we'll go to Mexico. There's a lot of people I know there, people that would help us. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" It was a lofty dream, something he wanted, but wasn't putting much stock in.
When Ian patted the couch beside him, it was a familiar gesture. Cerise had a moment of remembering so many versions of that same movement of a hand spread across a sea of years, and as the water got deeper, Ian's face got younger.. and it was like seeing their entire lives through a hundred different panes of faceted quartz. But, yes he looked old now. Cerise realized that with the kind of suddenness that felt like waking in the dark from some loud noise; throat tight, anxious, and more than a little afraid. Afraid for him. But she did not take a seat. Skinny fingers scratched at the side of her neck, as if she could somehow dig out the words that she needed instead of just inhaling with exasperation. She simply did not know what to say to him, what could she say that could possibly make this any better? She'd always done what he asked to resolve any situation they found themselves in.. but right now, he was just asking her to do nothing. To sit down and wait for the end to come. The clawing panic in her chest surged again as she looked around the small, sad interior as if it would reveal a trick closet or underground tunnel. Surely Ian had something planned!
But no, it was just a hot, arid, little living room, with nothing to offer but each other. Cerise swallowed, nodding with a sad little smile when he asked if she would like to go to Mexico. She knew it wasn't an option, and she knew that even if it was.. she wouldn't go with him. There had been a time when she would have gone anywhere, done anything for him.. but there were too many scars and too much hurt between then and now. She wasn't here to save him, Cerise was only here to give him the option of saving himself. When Ian mentioned the baby, she glanced at the closed door, which presumably led to a bedroom and the only place that the child would be. "Let me take her back to her mother?" She asked tentatively.
When the invitation to sit beside him was not taken, something in Ian's eyes shifted, something in his perception of Cerise changed. Things were changing around him, and he recognized these shifts, the way that things a week ago were so far removed from how things were today. And he just didn't have the energy to fight it. The thing with Sam had taken a toll on the man, something in him not quite the same as it was before. "You can take her," Ian responded quietly, giving a nod of his head as he rose back to his feet. He moved over to a small side table, an envelope resting there that he picked up and took over to hand to her. "To take care of you," he said quietly, reaching up with his other hand to remove the hand that scratched at the side of her neck, giving her fingers a tight squeeze. "There are accounts set up for you. There has been for some time. They've seized nearly everything, but these - they can't touch them." The smallest lift of a smile on his lips as he released her hand. "I wanted to make sure you were taken care of if anything happened to me. You've always been dear to me, Cerise. Always." He reached up to touch her face again, fingers brushing back some of her hair, tucking it behind her ear as he leaned forward, lips pressed to her forehead. "I hope you can forgive me for the bad decisions I've made, Cerise. That you can remember me as someone fond." The words were breathed out against her forehead as he lingered there, eyes falling shut.
Cerise felt it. She felt the change between them, even if she couldn't identify what it was. She'd never had to say goodbye to someone before, she'd never been the one to leave.. and to be honest, she wasn't quite sure that she had what it took to turn her back on someone when their eyes were so heavy with regret and solemn resolutions. Her hands were shaking, and they found their way to her mouth for a clench, suddenly so torn with uncertainty as to what she needed to say or do. She knew that nothing she could do would help him. She couldn't get him out of here, and she couldn't hurt Sid or Drake. She couldn't just stand here and watch them shoot Ian either, and the fear of every outcome was so fucking overwhelming that Cerise started to shiver, a spastic vibration that wracked her without consent or volition. When Ian stood and took a step closer to her, the levee of nervousness broke into a loud, stuttered sob.
The fact that she knew it was damn near blasphemous to be crying over a man like him only made it worse. Ian was talking about accounts and taking care of her, but she couldn't process the words adequately. She kept thinking about how she was supposed to want this, how she'd stood in Sid's bedroom with his arms tight around her and his words a comforting promise of murder in her ear, and she'd wanted it. So why was she crying? The night that she'd gone to Ian after the party, when she'd sat in his lap and he'd stroked her hair and told her that everything was going to be alright.. he'd known it was unraveling. No matter what he'd told her, he'd known it was the end. It felt like the end. She went up on her toes to kiss him with eyes squeezed shut, and her mouth a solid, momentary press against his before she drew back. "You'll always be my father," she confided in a gentle whisper. She would never take that away from him, even if she would never be able to forgive him.
The envelope remained limp in her hand, unimportant in the moment. She just stared at him for a moment longer, wondering if this truly was going to be the last time she'd see him. She'd thought he'd died once before, all those years ago.. but this felt different. With none of that cocky self-assurance and the grave weight in his eyes, Ian seemed already dead. In the other room, the baby had begun to cry, probably hungry, and Cerise closed her eyes with a brief shake of her head, touching Ian's shoulder in passing, "I've got to go.."
It pretty much went without saying that she needed to not be around if and when the cops showed up, but her own criminal record was not an immediate concern. She really needed to leave before Sid and Drake arrived, because she was quite certain that she would not be able to stand by while they murdered her father. Cerise had to focus on the baby, she had to take the baby. That was what she had to focus on. Inside the bedroom, it was dark, and baby Beth was writhing around in the binding of a small blanket with fussing that escalated to wails within a minute. Cerise had never held a baby before, but she managed it with some awkwardness before reemerging and going straight for the door. She was crying, and so was Beth, but she did not look at Ian again as she made her way outside to the car. Cerise just had to go forward, she had to move on. It was time.
Ian didn't move, didn't say a single world as Cerise first kissed him and then pulled away, her words echoing in his ears though the time had passed when they would provide him any comfort or warmth. It wasn't that he had made his peace with the world, but he felt, at least, he had made some bit of peace with her. At least her last memory of him wouldn't be stained with blood.
It was long after her car had pulled away, taking both his daughter and the squalling child at the same time, and as Ian settled back onto the couch, his gaze distant, he felt, for the first time, alone. Solitude was always something he had cherished, but it had never felt as absolute as it did at that moment. Waiting for the reaper, for the end, for brothers who had been destined to succeed at some point sooner or later. Sooner had arrived, and Ian welcomed it with open arms.
A glass of scotch, a single light, and a handgun resting on his lap, one hand draped over it casually, and Ian waited.