to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest)

a TMA fanfic

Chapter 41: October 1998

Content Warnings:

Bullying, Halloween, anger, panic, paranoia, rain, darkness, implied/referenced emotional abuse, brief scenes of missing child

“You can’t stay in the closet forever.”

“Says you.”

“Are we talking literally or in metaphor?” Gerard asks.

Melanie glares at him. At least he thinks she’s glaring at him. It’s hard to tell under the fake fur glued all over her face. Gerard understands, kind of, why she doesn’t want to wear a mask, but he still thinks she maybe went overboard just a tad.

Not that he’s going to say that. Melanie may be small, but she is vicious, and even if her claws are made of rubber she’s more than capable of tearing him to shreds.

Turning back to the firmly closed door in front of her, Melanie presses against it and says coaxingly, “C’mon, Martin, we’re waiting on you. Your mum even says it’s okay if Gerry takes us alone this year. It won’t be any fun without you. Please?”

There’s a long, long silence. Finally, Martin’s muffled voice comes from the other side. “Okay, but you have to promise not to laugh.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye,” Melanie promises.

“We’d never laugh at you,” Gerard assures him. “You can laugh at me instead.”

Melanie shoves him as she steps back from the closet door. “You don’t look that bad.”

It’s Halloween, not one of Gerard’s favorite holidays—the idea of a whole festival surrounding the things his mother studies and borderline worships is not his idea of a good time, and he’s a bit keener on the inherent mischief of Bonfire Night anyway—but Melanie loves it. Actually, what Melanie loves is dressing up in costumes and having fun, and Halloween is one of the few excuses she gets to do so, especially since they’re all beginning to get leery of the theater and its implications. This will be the third year running that one of the mothers in the support group for single parents holds a party all the children are invited to, and since Gerard strongly suspects this will be the last year Roger and Aunt Lily are members of that group, he’s agreed to go with Melanie and Martin. He’ll do just about anything for them.

Including wearing fancy dress.

The closet door opens slowly, and Martin steps out, very hesitantly. Gerard is shocked—not because it looks bad; on the contrary, the outfit thoroughly suits Martin—but because he knows Martin pulled this together himself.

“Oh, Martin,” Melanie says, sounding delighted. She claps her hands—paws, whatever. “You should’ve told me you were going as Dmitri, I’d’ve gone as Anya and we could’ve matched.”

Martin’s cheeks turn pink. “I wasn’t sure I could pull it off.”

“You did.” Gerard adjusts Martin’s cap—he thinks it’s called a flat cap—so that it sits at a slightly more rakish angle, then nods approvingly. “You look great. Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” Martin tugs at the front of his vest a bit self-consciously. “You both look great, too.”

Gerard thinks he’s being generous, at least on his behalf, but doesn’t say so. Martin will just insist that no, really, he means it. And it has to be admitted that Melanie’s Beast costume is very convincing.

“C’mon,” he says instead. “Let’s go before we miss the train.”

It’s not that easy. Of course it’s not that easy. Roger insists on taking pictures of the three of them, both as a group and individually, and then Gerard has to fetch the encyclopedia—fortunately the Blackwoods have the same one he pulled from the library—to show him the entry on Veles he used as inspiration for his costume. They don’t get all the way out the door before Roger realizes Melanie’s tusks are still in the car, they only get as far as the stoop before Aunt Lily presses an umbrella on them, and they’re halfway down the block before Gerard’s mum calls after them that they’ve forgotten their train fare. By the time they finally get away, they have to run to catch the bus that will get them to Paddington in time to not have to wait a whole hour for their train.

For some reason, Gerard can’t figure out why, the party is in Oxford. He isn’t sure if the woman who’s part of the support group just comes all the way to London because there isn’t anything closer or if her family lives out there, and he’s not sure if Martin or Melanie know the answer either. This is the first year he’s gone, since he and his mum pop in and out of town so much and she left the group, and he’s not quite sure what to expect.

“It’s fun,” Melanie says when he asks. She’s popped the tusks out of her mouth again, as they make it difficult for her to talk effectively, and Martin has them folded into his satchel along with the bauble he found somewhere that somehow looks exactly like the music box from the film. “There’s treats and games and dancing, and there’s always a costume contest. I bet Martin’s going to win this year.”

“Yours is better,” Martin says. “Judith said they were going to maybe do one of those murder mystery games this year, too.”

“That’ll be…interesting,” Gerard says. He’s not sure if fun is the right word, and he doesn’t think he’ll be very good at it either. Martin will, though. Melanie, jury’s still out.

Fortunately, they’re not the only ones going to the party on the train, so not only does Gerard not feel particularly self-conscious about his costume (or about Melanie’s, for that matter), they can tag along with a parent who knows the bus routes well enough to get them to the house, which is on practically the other side of the town. Good thing the buses are running, too; the rain seems to have followed them up from London and all the way to the street, which is aptly named Hill Top Road. The site of the party is an enormous house, bigger than the others on the street, bedecked in crepe paper and cobwebs, and while Gerard looks slightly suspiciously at the cobwebs, Martin quietly assures him they’re fake. Since Martin has a way better sense of the Fourteen than even Gerard does, he trusts him.

Mrs. Bradford is plump and jolly and welcomes all the children with open arms and doesn’t even mention the absolute gouts of water pouring from the fake fur of Melanie’s costume because she wouldn’t stay under the umbrella, only showing her to the bathroom and offering her a towel to dry off. There are a couple girls dressed as Anastasia, eyeballing each other from across the room above identical store-bought costumes, and one or two dressed as what Gerard assumes are other popular characters, but most of the kids are dressed as witches, goblins, skeletons, or vampires. Food is laid out in the living room—popcorn balls, caramel apples, bowls of candy, cookies shaped like bats and pumpkins, and a gigantic crystal punch bowl—while the study has a metal tub in the center filled with water and apples to bob for. Another room has had all the furniture pushed against the walls, with music playing for kids who want to dance; still another is set up for games. A room filled with pillows and beanbag chairs seems ready-made for storytelling. All the rooms have the lights turned off, lit only by flickering, guttering candles, the perfect counterpoint to the rain still lashing at the windows.

Gerard has to admit, as far as spooky kids’ parties go, this one’s not bad.

He circles the rooms once or twice, just to see what’s going on. He declines to participate in the apple bobbing because of his false beard, but he joins a game of Cluedo and another of Beggar-My-Neighbor, tries to learn a party dance (made a bit awkward by the fact that his teacher is Melanie, who is somewhat hampered by her still-damp fur), then drifts into the storytelling room. Mrs. Bradford’s father, who was probably a schoolyard chum of Robert Smirke’s he’s so old, does an admittedly good job of telling a proper spooky story and making it sound real, about something that supposedly happened in one of the houses on this very street. It’s so convincing that Gerard might be tempted to go and investigate himself if it wasn’t still raining.

Choosing not to offer up a story himself—he knows plenty, but he lacks Martin’s way with words to tell them properly—he wanders through the kitchen. Mrs. Bradford is preparing something she calls a “snap-dragon”—Gerard isn’t sure what that is—and assures him she doesn’t need assistance, then kindly directs him to the washroom when he asks. He’s had more than a few cups of punch and he really needs to pee.

He manages to maneuver his costume such that he can relieve himself, then carefully washes his hands. After taking a moment to study himself in the mirror to make sure he still looks presentable, he reaches for the doorknob and starts to exit, then freezes when he hears a conversation in progress just down the hall. “—why you would even want to invite that one, honestly.”

“I didn’t.” The disgusted voice belongs to a girl he’s pretty sure is Judith, who’s Mrs. Bradford’s daughter. “Mummy insisted we couldn’t leave anybody in the group out, and certainly not just one person. Besides, they’re a matched set these days. Melanie comes with Martin and that’s all there is to it.”

Gerard bristles. Who do these brats think they are? Martin’s worth ten times any other person in this building, Gerard included, and they have no right to act like he’s a, a burden or an inconvenience or worse. He also knows that Martin would be perfectly happy to stay home and let Melanie go to things without him if he’s not wanted, because he feels like he’s making things less enjoyable for her. And really, considering there are more girls than boys among the children of single parents, it probably wouldn’t take much convincing to get him to stay home.

He’s about to step out and say something to that effect when the other girl, the one who’s not Judith, sighs heavily. “I don’t know what he sees in her, honestly. She’s so annoying. Always stepping in where she’s not wanted, and she never shuts up. And those clothes she wears.”

“Yeah,” Judith says with a nasty laugh. “Even a clown would be embarrassed to dress like that. And, ugh, her hair.”

“Good thing she’s covered in fur tonight. It’s less ugly than her face.” The other girl laughs, too, in a very mean way. “She definitely picked the right costume. Who could ever learn to love something like that? Martin’s just too nice to tell her the truth, that’s all.”

They’re talking about Melanie. Gerard feels suddenly lightheaded. Melanie, outgoing, vivacious Melanie—Melanie who’s the first to chat up the new kid on the playground or volunteer to sit with the person on their own at lunch, Melanie who tends to do the talking whenever they’re in shops, Melanie who actually likes people instead of just wanting them to either like her or not notice her like Martin and Gerard do—they don’t want Melanie here? Not that it was okay when he thought it was Martin, just that it was…typical. It shouldn’t be like that, but it is. But Melanie?

“It’s always good when the costumes fit the people,” Judith is saying, and then she jumps as Gerard flings the bathroom door open hard enough that it clatters against something and steps out into the hallway. “Who—oh, Gerard, is that you?”

What did you say about Melanie?” Gerard demands, drawing himself up to his full height—which isn’t much, but is at least over Judith and the other girl—he recognizes her now as someone called Helen, who’s always very cagey about where she and her mother live but spends most of her time with the better-off kids in the group. Judith is dressed, aptly enough, as a witch, whereas Helen is one of the Anastasias, the one who didn’t bother with a wig. Something about that seems vaguely important, but not enough to bother about. They’re both, he remembers now, closer to his age than Martin and Melanie’s, evidently old enough to be in the catty stage.

Judith looks a bit flustered, but Helen wrinkles her nose. “You got stuck coming in with her, didn’t you? I’m so sorry. Maybe we can shove her outside, what do you think, Judith? If we convince her to reenact that scene from the movie, she might even go up on the roof and we can lock her out there.”

For a second, Judith actually looks like she’s considering that. Fury grips Gerard like a vice. “Don’t worry. We’re leaving.”

You don’t have to go,” Judith protests, blinking very rapidly and clasping her hands in front of her chest.

“If my sister isn’t welcome,” Gerard snaps, “neither am I.”

“She’s your sister?” Judith blurts.

Helen frowns. “I thought her mother was dead. Or are your parents…divorced?” She says that like it’s the most horrid thing she can think of.

Gerard doesn’t bother explaining. He shoves past the girls and stomps down the hall in a blind fury. The rest of the kids are rushing towards the kitchen, giggling and chattering excitedly; Gerard snags the Beast and Dmitri as soon as they get close. “Martin, Melanie, come on, we’ve got to go.”

“Already?” Melanie sounds disappointed, even through the fangs. “They were just about to do a snap-dragon.”

Martin tugs Melanie’s sleeve. She doesn’t seem to notice. “That’s not safe with your costume. Come on, let’s say goodnight and go. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

It’s not, or at least it’s not so late that they have to leave, but Gerard doesn’t tell them that.

Mrs. Bradford tries to dissuade them from leaving when they (well, Martin and Melanie at any rate—Gerard can’t bring himself to be nice to someone whose daughter is so poisonous and nasty, and he finds himself bouncing on the balls of his feet and mentally urging them to hurry up already) thank her for the lovely evening; she brings up everything from the lateness of the hour to the rain and says that if their mothers can’t pick them up they’re welcome to spend the night, but Gerard simply says no and hustles Martin and Melanie out the door before anyone can say another word.

It really is a nasty night; the rain is pouring even harder than before, obscuring what little moon there ordinarily would have been, and it’s the kind of rain that chills to the bone, but Gerard is so hot he can barely feel it. He also doesn’t care that he doesn’t know Oxford well—or really at all—and only has a vague sense of which direction to head in to get to the train station. They’re also almost certainly going to have to wait for the next train, but it’s better, he tells himself, than dealing with…that. Melanie doesn’t need to be around people that hate her. She deserves so much better than that.

At the intersection at the end of the road, he starts to turn left, but Martin catches his sleeve. “Cross here and cut through the park, it’ll save us time.”

“We don’t—fine.” Gerard takes Martin’s hand on one side and Melanie’s on the other and practically drags them across the street, despite their protests. In a tiny part of his mind, he realizes he just put their lives in danger and what if a car had come along, but they make it to the other side in one piece, so who really cares.

The park is almost certainly closed by now, but nobody really stops them as they cross through a small copse of trees that offers a little shelter but is definitely not an official entrance by any means. There’s a rustle and a pop, and then Gerard is vaguely aware that he’s not really getting wet anymore. Melanie says, a bit anxiously, “Slow down, Gerry, we’ve got to bunch up together or we won’t all fit.”

“I’m fine. You two be under the umbrella,” Martin says. “This old thing’s keeping me plenty dry and warm. You guys are the ones that are never going to dry out.”

Gerard automatically takes the umbrella’s handle when Melanie presses it into his hand, then takes off again, as fast as he can. He’s only vaguely aware that Melanie is stumbling to keep up with him. Now he’s even angrier, and not just with Judith and Helen—are they the only ones that feel like that? Does every kid in the group think Melanie isn’t worth being friends with? He’s angry with himself, for not thinking this through, for not telling Mrs. Bradford why they’re leaving, for not telling Melanie and Martin why they’re leaving, for dragging them out into the rain, for not bringing a second umbrella, for making his costume out of velor instead of something that won’t hold onto the moisture like the robes are currently doing.

One thing’s for sure, he’s never growing real facial hair if it feels anything like this fake beard feels soaking wet.

Christ, it’s hard to see out here. Gerard sincerely hopes they’re still heading in the right direction, because visibility has dropped to just about nothing and there’s nobody out here. He imagines it’s probably a popular enough spot, during the day at least, maybe even usually on Halloween night, but this late and especially in this weather, they have it to themselves. It’s easy to believe it’s just them in the whole wide world, really, and it would be easy to lose track of Melanie if the sodden fur of her costume wasn’t tickling his hand.

“Martin? Martin! Gerry, stop, we lost Martin!” Melanie practically screams in his ear.

Every thought and cell in Gerard’s body comes to a sudden, screeching halt.

They’re in, so far as he can tell, a completely open field. There are no trees, no statues, no fences. Hell, it suddenly hits him that they’ve been climbing a hill, and that they’re probably standing at the highest point in the park, which would be dangerous if there was a thunderstorm going on but isn’t so dangerous when it’s just rain. The point, though, is that there’s nowhere for Martin to hide, no way they could possibly have lost him.

And yet, when he spins around, nearly losing his balance in the wet grass, he can’t see Martin. He can’t see anything.

“Martin!” he bellows. He’s afraid, suddenly, to let go of Melanie’s hand and cup his own around his mouth, afraid that if he does so she’ll get lost too even if she’s standing right next to him, but he tries to make an effective megaphone with his single free hand. “Martin! Where are you?”

Gerard feels the sudden shift of weight on the umbrella as Melanie lets go. Completely panicked, he drops it and reaches out with both hands to where she was a second ago—oh, Christ, please let her still be standing there—and gasps in relief as his hands make contact with sodden fur.

Martin!” she yells, and then screams in what sounds like genuine fear as Gerard grabs her and pulls her close.

Christ, Neenie, don’t let go of me!” he bawls back at her. “I’m not losing you too!”

Gerard can just make out the shape of Melanie’s face in the dark, but her eyes are so huge they’re practically luminescent. “He’s here, he has to be here!”

“We’ll find him,” Gerard promises fiercely, and he doesn’t know if he can really promise that, but he’s going to anyway. God, this is all his fault, if he had only thought a little harder about this…

Melanie grips his hand so tightly it hurts, and they start back down the hill, both of them yelling Martin’s name. There’s no answer but the rain, and the further down the hill they go, the harder it gets to be able to see. Everything feels…far away, somehow, and Gerard can’t even see the faintest hint of the city on the horizon.

Fuck, no, no, no…

“Neenie,” he says suddenly, coming to a stop. “This isn’t natural.”

“It’s rain,” Melanie says, but he can hear the hysterical edge in her voice. “It’s just rain, and—and it’s after sundown, and there’s no moon, and—”

Gerard pulls her closer and tries to quell the fear in his own voice. If it knows he’s scared, it’ll come for them too, and they’ll have no hope of getting Martin out. “Melanie, I know you can feel that too. How could we have lost Martin so easy if—if he didn’t have help getting lost?”

No,” Melanie says, her voice cracking. “No, we can’t, it can’t—Martin!”

Gerard echoes her cry, but it feels…hopeless, somehow. Like he’s not going to be heard. It occurs to him then that their voices should be echoing, at least a little bit, but there’s nothing. The sound’s being swallowed up…or maybe it’s like it’s coming from all around them. There’s no way to tell, no way to be sure…Gerard isn’t even sure anymore that they’re going back the way they came, or that he’ll be able to find which way they’re supposed to be going if he does manage it.

Panic takes hold, and this time it’s not letting go. He cannot have been so feeble as to lose Martin to something like this…

He’s aware, suddenly, of music. Someone is singing, loudly and a bit off-key, but with a sincere feeling, like whoever is singing really means the words. It takes him a second to catch on to the fact that it’s Melanie singing, and he tightens his grip on her hand, letting the words filter into his brain. It sounds familiar, but he can’t place it.

And then he hears another voice, a bit faint but steady and clear, singing the next part of the song—at least he assumes it’s the next part, it’s the same tune anyway—from somewhere just ahead of them, and he gasps, because it’s Martin singing. He runs forward, Melanie dragging along with him, as she jumps back in with another line, and then she and Martin are singing together.

And then there he is, directly in front of them, what of his hair isn’t tucked under his cap plastered flat against his head and his hands tightly clenched, but it’s Martin and Gerard can see him. He gives a little cry and reaches out for him, just as Melanie does the same, and they grab his hands and pull him close and hug him tightly, and he hugs them back just as hard. For a moment, probably a too-long moment, they cling to one another in sheer relief.

Finally, Martin pulls back, just a little, and blinks up at them. “Can we go now?”

“Yeah. Don’t let go,” Gerard says. He’s still hopped up on adrenaline, and he tells himself that’s why he’s shaking.

It’s awkward to walk with his arms around Melanie and Martin’s shoulders, and their arms around his waist, but he doesn’t care, because it’s better than not knowing where they are.

They somehow make it to the train station, and Gerard manages to get their return tickets just in time for them to make the train—it probably isn’t the last one to London, given the hour, but he finds he doesn’t want to hang about in Oxford any longer than he has to. Unsurprisingly, the train is largely empty this time of night, so it’s not hard to find somewhere isolated they can sit huddled close to one another.

For the first several minutes, none of them speak. Then, after a bit, Martin eases back, fishes a handkerchief that’s somehow managed to remain dry out of his coat, and begins wiping his glasses, shoulders hunched and head bowed as he concentrates very hard on them.

Melanie bursts into tears.

Martin’s head jerks up, and he only just has time to shove his glasses back onto his face before Melanie crawls into Gerard’s lap and throws her arms around Martin’s neck. She’s not just crying, she’s full-on sobbing, and Gerard, who’s never even heard her sniffle before, admittedly panics a little again. He wraps one arm around her and another around Martin and pulls them both close, and it’s a bit like hugging a sponge in the middle of doing the dishes, but he does it anyway, because now his mind is running all the possible scenarios of what could have happened if he hadn’t been able to find Martin, if Melanie had got a little further away from him, if he hadn’t held either of their hands and hadn’t noticed them falling behind. Surprisingly, very few of them are concerned with what Aunt Lily would say.

“I’m sorry!” Melanie wails. “I’m sorry, I th-thought you were holding my hand, I d-didn’t realize you’d l-let go until we were so far away and then we couldn’t find you and it almost got you and it’s all my fault…”

“Melanie. Melanie. It’s okay. It’s okay.” Martin squeezes Melanie tighter, and Gerard too. “It’s not your fault. I should’ve said something before I let go, I just—I couldn’t see anything, my glasses were too wet, I was just trying to clean them off and—” He breaks off with a gulp, and it’s a second or two before he’s able to continue. “I-it was just—everything seemed so faraway. Like I couldn’t find my way out. I, I didn’t know It was there or I would’ve…”

“Not your fault, either,” Gerard says, and he’s a little surprised to hear the hitch in his own voice, but he doesn’t care. “I’m the one that made us leave early. I’m the one that dragged you two through that park instead of waiting until everybody else left so we could go in a group and be safe. I’m the one who didn’t hold your hands, and I’m the one who was too angry to sense the—”

He doesn’t say its name. He can’t. He doesn’t want to invite it onto the train, doesn’t want to risk it trying to take Martin away from him again, even with both him and Melanie clinging to him as tight as they can. What if it’s stronger than he is?

“It almost got you,” he chokes out. “And now it’s going to be looking for you again.”

Martin sighs. It’s too weary a sound to be coming from a ten-year-old. “I’m pretty sure it was already after me, Ger. I—I think I ran into it when I was little. I dunno. Maybe I’m wrong, but…I think that one tried to get me a long time ago.”

“We won’t leave you alone ever again,” Melanie says fiercely. Her voice is still as waterlogged as her costume.

It does make Martin chuckle, at least a little. Gerard rubs his cheek against his hair, dislodging the hat slightly, then looks down at Melanie. “Well, the other kids already think you’re a matched set, so that shouldn’t be too much of a problem, yeah?”

“We’re not getting married or anything.” Martin sounds slightly appalled, and Gerard can’t help but laugh. “And I don’t—Neenie deserves to get to have fun with people.”

Melanie finally gets her knees off Gerard’s lap and wedges herself in between them. She’s shorter than they are, so they can see each other over her head. “You’re people. And you’re fun. Why wouldn’t you get to come and have fun with me?”

“I don’t think many people want to invite us both.”

Gerard winces. “Um. That’s—that’s kind of why I made us leave.”

Melanie’s eyes darken, and her chest puffs up under the sodden costume. “Did someone say something mean? Who said it?”

“Probably a lot of people,” Martin mumbles.

“I—I only heard two,” Gerard says carefully. “Judith and, um, Helen, I think her name is? The Anastasia without the wig.”

“Yeah, that’s Helen.” Martin makes a face. “I knew she was just trying to play a joke on me.”

For a second, just a second, Gerard is tempted…but no. After the night they’ve just had, he needs to be honest. “It’s not you they didn’t want around, Martin. It’s Melanie.”

Melanie?” Martin repeats, dumbfounded. “But everybody likes Melanie.”

“No, they don’t,” Melanie mutters. “They think I’m annoying. Like everybody at school. I—I thought maybe they were different, since they were inviting me to the party, but…I guess Mrs. Bradford made Judith invite me, huh?”

Martin holds onto her tighter. Gerard’s heart lurches. “Yeah,” he admits. “That’s what she said. That’s why I made us leave, that’s why I got so angry. You deserve better. You both deserve better.”

Melanie looks up at Martin. “I don’t want to leave you alone, but—what if I just walk you to hang out with people and then come back and get you? That way the people who like you can spend time with you, and—”

“They don’t like me either,” Martin says matter-of-factly. “They like the person I pretend to be so they won’t be mean to me. That’s all. I didn’t set out to be liked. I just wanted to be…”

Safe.

The word lingers in the air unspoken and stabs Gerard deeply. Martin certainly deserves to be liked, he deserves people who enjoy his company and want him around, just like Melanie does. He deserves friends. But Aunt Lily’s made him believe he doesn’t, and she’s made him believe nobody likes him if he’s who he really is, and so he tries to put himself into a tiny, tiny box and tick off all the right things on the list and be what people want, or at least what they expect, and he thinks if he does that he won’t get hurt.

But if Martin is right and the thing that just tried to hurt him—they’re not saying it, but they all know it’s the Lonely—has tried to hurt him before, the worst thing he can be is alone. And if he doesn’t have friends, real friends, he will be, even in a crowd. Sometimes the loneliest place in the world is in the middle of thousands of people and knowing that not a single one of them cares whether you live or die.

Gerard should know.

We like you,” he says, yanking Martin’s cap off with one hand and ruffling his miraculously still dry hair with the other, teasing a grin out of him. “We love you. We always will. No matter what, don’t you ever forget that—you’ve always got us. Always.”

“Always and forever,” Melanie echoes.

Martin scoots a little closer, squeezing Melanie tighter between them and accidentally wringing water all over their laps, and for once he doesn’t immediately apologize. “I know. Just like you’ll both always have me.”