Who: Wren (and five seconds of antitoxin delivery by Selina) What: Narrative Where: Eventually, a campground When: Recently Warnings/Rating: None
Wren left Cerise's hotel before the sun rose. A sleepless evening, and she felt restless in a way that only came after layers of madness. First, Thierry. Then, the toxin. Lastly, losing her home. And Luke wasn't anywhere, and she knew Luke wouldn't be anywhere for days and days. She was restless mad, that old trauma that Thierry had dredged up still coating her limbs. But she remembered now. She remembered the antique shop, and she remembered Luke's reactions. He'd been scared of her. She'd never seen him look at her like that before. She couldn't even whisper it all away as madness, because she'd cut men up like ribbons in Seattle. She thought, as she had many times before, that Luke didn't actually know her. He looked at her through a lens that made her something good and pure, but she wasn't either of those things.
And he knew now. He'd seen. He finally understood.
She was angry. She was so angry. When she was young, she'd done what everyone had wanted, and she'd buried any anger she felt down, out of the way, deep in a bottomless well with no bucket. Her own wants had been pushed aside, pushed down, until she'd become a thing that only did what other people wanted, and that had no value of her own. She'd crawled and sucked and begged, and she'd been a blank-eyed doll. Even in Seattle, where she took out that unspilled anger on men, she'd kept her hatred out of sight, not even feeling it herself, really. Even here, when her arm held a crop that sliced mercilessly across a man's back, her anger had slumbered in quiet silence. But she was angry. Make no mistake, she was angry.
And now Luke knew. She'd seen it in his eyes.
He'd killed people. She knew that. But he'd done that for other people. She wanted to cut Thierry apart for herself. Selfish, selfish anger, and now he knew.
She left Cerise's because she felt trapped and sad and without purpose. She couldn't go home, not with that man there, the one that had made her leave the home that felt like it belonged more to Luke than to her. Jack was there. Jack was more important, and that made her angry too.
But their neighbors were back from Disney, and she wanted to see her son. No, more than that. With Luke gone, she feared CPS. She feared the custody she didn't have. Maybe she should have been unselfish, left him there for Luke to claim once he returned. But she knew she wouldn't hurt Gus. Mad at the world, half crazed, drowning in sadness, she would never hurt Gus.
She noticed the box on her own doorstep as she walked up to the neighbors' house. She collected it, opened it, and read the note Thierry had left.
The detour to Passages was unexpected, but she didn't hesitate. The note to Selina was brief, and the whole thing took less than thirty minutes. Selina's return note was equally brief: Left them where he would find them, with the note.
She returned to the neighbors' house. Gus was full of stories. Stories about mice and castles and small worlds. She hugged him, and she thanked the neighbors. She was going to meet Luke, she told them. Their own little mini-vacation, she told them.
She checked the mail and, finding a shiny promotional credit card in a pure white envelope, she smiled. A mini-vacation. Luke would take Gus away once he was home, surely. Now that he'd seen what she really was. A mini-vacation, she decided. It wasn't as if they could go home, not anymore. Or maybe Gus could, but she couldn't, and she wasn't going to leave Gus with that man.
And maybe she should have felt guilty, but she didn't.
Clothes first, then a night in a hotel as she considered.
Years ago, when her maman had died, she'd hidden in all the campgrounds that the Keys had to offer. It hadn't lasted long; the sheriff had found her, bare feet and skinny knees and a skirt that was easy to lift. But she remembered the trees as safety and, more mad than sane, she went looking for something like that, something without men, something safe.
Spring Mountains was huge, green and vast. She bought a tent and supplies and, when Gus yearned for Finch, an expensive puppy joined the purchases.
The campsite was remote, near running water, and within days they'd settled into a wildness that seemed like a wonderful adventure for a four-year-old, and that felt like freedom to her. Life became shoeless days, and baths in the bracing river, and nights spent sitting around a fire speaking French. Luke's car provided daily transportation to zoos and aquariums and movies and playdates with friends, and she didn't have the forethought to try to hide. She wasn't trying to hide. She knew Luke would be back eventually, sometime, and she knew he'd take Gus. She wouldn't try to stop him. She even called his work and said he was sick, that he needed time off work, the concerned wife. She missed him. She missed him. She was heartsick and heartsore.
At night, Gus snuggled her when she cried, the unnamed puppy a warm, wiggling bundle between them in the tiny tent. "I miss papa, too," he said.