Fear Itself

It was a few days later on December 8th that Avery finally showed his face in the tunnels. Not to me specifically, of course. In fact, he didn’t really come seeking me out at all which was kind of hurtful, though he mostly just popped in to talk to Sam and sure enough, he was off on his way again, but I was not going to let him off so easily. I was determined to talk to him, since I was terribly sick of just being ignored. Without so much as word to anyone else, I took to following him, staying just a few feet behind him the whole way, watching attentively to every step and movement, sure not to lose his trail.

I followed him through the tunnels, up the canal, and up into town. I watched carefully and silently as he entered the market, and I even watched him leave with a strange amount of groceries, more than what he had brought down for Sam just a few days ago. I half-expected him to turn back and head back to the tunnels. Maybe Sam wanted more food. He didn’t, though. He took an opposite turn and headed further into town. Afraid I’d lose him, I began shoving my way through the crowds and ducking around people, catching up following him around several twists and turns until we were somewhere I’d never seen before. It wasn’t nice or awe-striking by any means. In fact, it was bad, maybe just a little worse than the rest of West London that I’d seen. It was a building, a tall one, made entirely of old, worn brick. Upon closer inspection, it looked almost like someone had taken several buildings and stuck them together. Every section was made of a different color brick, and every other column of windows was adorned with a black fire escape. I followed him inside the main door, followed him down the first left turn, into a hallway, and I continued with him all the way to the end, to a faded, tan door that sat below a flickering exit sign.

He went in and disappeared inside. I gave it a few moments, counting the steps in my mind, hoping that he would be far enough away when I entered that he wouldn’t be able to see me. After I thought enough time had passed, I pressed through the door, quickly grasping the interior side to make sure it closed without a sound. Footsteps still sounded from above, so I silently started up the stairs, careful not to touch the grimy metal railing on either side. Instead, I kept my eyes peeled for signs of Avery, signs of anyone for that matter, and followed him up the fourth floor, at least I thought it was. I really only got to the last flight of stairs in time to see the door closing. I chewed my bottom lip, checking behind me for a moment. I stuck my left hand in the pocket of my sweater and felt the switchblade. At least I knew that if somebody was following me, I had it and was ready to use it.

Slowly I started up the stairs, my attention waning from the door to my surroundings for a few minutes until I blinked at the sound of a man’s slurred shouting. Soon enough, the man was sent hurling out the door and tumbling down the stairs beside me. Instinctively, I stepped back a bit to let him pass without allowing him to bowl me over in the process. I turned my head back to the door where Avery stood, looking at me, probably angry that I followed him. “Princess,” he grumbled. “What’re you doin’ here?”

I quickly scurried up the steps. “S-sorry, Mumbles,” I stammered. “I just… It’s just that I haven’t seen you a few days, and it’s been a rather dreadful few days at that, I just… you kind of vanished, and I feel like it’s my fault. I don’t know what else to do, Mumbles. It would just make me feel a lot better if we could talk, and I… I didn’t think that…” My eyes began to wander around, not looking at him. I looked at the floor, the ceiling, and even the hall behind him for a moment. Dim lights trailed out behind him, barely lighting up the corridor. “I thought maybe we could talk.”

“Not a good time,” he told me gruffly.

“But, Mumbles—“

“Princess, go home,” Avery muttered, about to turn, but I rushed forward and caught the door.

“No!” I protested. “You left me here alone for days! You just vanished, and I almost got trampled in a riot, and I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

Avery opened his mouth to speak, but both of us were interrupted by the sound of a nearby door creaking open. “Avery,” a woman’s voice slurred. The sound of bare feet shuffling against coarse carpet echoed until an older woman with ratty, tangled brown hair stumbled into view. “What’re you—“ She seemed angry until she stopped, staring right at me, perhaps even through me, eyes wide open, face flushed white, but she was unbalanced, swaying even with her hand grasping the door frame. “Amelia?” she called out to me, shocked, obviously, and it took me a moment to realize that she was addressing me. “It’s been ages,” she slurred again, beginning to leave the door way, taking a view steps before she landed clear on the floor. Avery rushed over immediately. “Avery, you sonuvabitch,” she snarled, swatting him away even as he began lifting her back to her feet. “Invite ‘er in, don’t be so bloody rude. An’ make us some tea. ‘Melia always liked tea,” she mumbled.

I just stood there, confused, shock, and speechless until Avery just sighed. “Princess, just get in here,” he huffed a bit before disappearing inside. Picking up the pace, I entered the hall and eventually the flat. I closed the door behind me. Avery had set the woman, the woman from the picture in his wallet, on the couch. She sat limply, head rolling around on her shoulders until it settled against the back of the couch.

“Avery, ‘urry up, an’ make the goddamn tea,” the woman sneered.

There was no hesitation in his voice as he hurriedly replied, “Yes, Mum.” He headed straight for the kitchen, and there I stood, right behind the door, trying to take all of this in and failing miserably to wrap my head around what I was seeing.

“Amelia, what’re you doin’ just standin’ there? You act like you ain’t ever been ‘ere before,” his mother laughed, hiccuping. “C’mere an’ sit down, ‘oney. We should talk.” Her voice slurred to the point where it was hard to understand her. I inched across the carpet carefully, ignoring the crunch of broken glass embedded in the fibers under my boots. I sat down on the couch gingerly, sitting on the far end, keeping my distance. On the shabby, uneven coffee table before us sat several empty glass bottles. She smelled profusely of alcohol, but I didn’t dare say a word or even make a face. I felt locked up and frozen, and all I could do was give the woman a crooked grin.

She managed to sit forward in a bit of a lurch. “Bloody hell,” she laughed under her breath. “You don’t look a day o’er eighteen, love. What’s it been since you were ‘ere last… some…” She paused a sighed a little, narrowing her eyes at me. Her hand reached dangerously close to my face. I felt her fingertips brush my skin. Glasses clanked around in the kitchen. “Eighteen years I think… ‘asn’t it, been?” She seemed shocked by the revelation. “An’ what’s with this ‘air? You were ginger last time I saw you.”

It wasn’t until then that I realized she was talking about my mother. Still, I sat, still unable to comprehend what I was hearing. Did my mother know his mother? He had never mentioned it before. Maybe she was wrong. She did seem to be not much more than a sloppy drunk, and it was probable that she had made all of this up in her head, but she continued. Her fingers lightly pulled at a lock of my hair. “Looks nice on you, though. Then again, you kinda look a little too much like yer pretty boy ‘ubby,” she laughed. “‘Ow’s that little girl doin’? ‘Aven’t seen ‘er in awhile… ‘aven’t ‘eard ‘bout ‘er much neither… What was ‘er name again?”

“Tali,” I replied quietly. “Erm, Thalia… but we always called her Tali.” My voice shook. My chest ached. She knew my mother. She knew me. Why hadn’t I known about this?

“Beautiful name,” she slurred, smiling and humming a little. “Beautiful name, beautiful girl, beautiful Mummy… she gone have quite a life ahead of ‘er that one.” She fell back against the couch again, and I took a deep, shaky breath. My hand clutched at the fabric of my shirt. I felt cold. It was colder in here than it was outside. I shivered. My hand moved up to cover my mouth in fear I might lose it and cry. I didn’t want to cry. Suddenly, I didn’t even want to be here, but the microwave beeped, and she started shouting again. “Took you long enough,” she spat as Avery emerged from the kitchen with two mugs.

He handed them to us. His mother immediately took to drinking, but I carefully sat my down on the table. I was never one for piping hot tea. I didn’t think his mother was either, judging by the scowl on her face. I watched her as the scowl deepened into literal rage. “What the fuck is this shit, Avery?” she snapped, and her hand drew back a little. She was going to throw the tea. Entering panic mode, I shoved my arm in it’s path. The mug collided with my forearm, and steaming hot tea poured over my skin. It stung and burned, and I winced. I fumbled still, catching the mug in my hands.

“It’s fine,” I reassured him. “Really.” My eyes drifted upward to see him staring. He was staring right at me, and his eyes shook with emotion maybe fear, maybe shock, I wasn’t necessarily sure. I stared back, trying to figure him out.

“‘Scuse me,” he mumbled, taking the cup from my hands. “I’ll fix more tea, Mum.” He forced himself to turn, but when he entered the kitchen, I heard the water run, then I heard it turn it off, and after that, nothing.

I turned to his mother, who still looked angry with that scowl plastered on her face. “Give me just a moment,” I said softly, excusing myself. I thought she mumbled something rude, but I ignored her. She wasn’t my concern right now. I headed toward the kitchen, confused at the emptiness for a moment. I saw the mug on the counter, and it wasn’t until my ears caught the sound of shaky, strained breathing that my eyes fell upon Avery, reduced to tears, sitting pressed against the corner of the room. “Mumbles,” I addressed him softly, but he merely shot me a glance before averting his gaze, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I don’t understand,” I continued, stepping across the old tile with care before kneeling down beside him. “Mumbles, what’s wrong?” I asked with genuine concern, settling into the floor.

“I knew you,” he stated bluntly, his shaking voice cutting through the air like a knife.

“What?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows.

“I tried to forget,” he continued, stumbling over his words. “I thought maybe if I just… if I pretended you were never there in the first place…” he mumbled.

“Well,” I chuckled softly, giving him an attempt at half-hearted humor. “Seems you pushed me out of your mind, after all.” I offered him a smile, but he only cried more.

His eyes lifted to me again, red and stung with moisture. “They said you were dead,” he whispered to me.

I merely shook my head at him. “Very much alive, Mumbles,” I reassured him. “Always have been, always will be.” Well, maybe not always. That was a stretch, but I didn’t know what else to say. I was confused by Avery’s tears, and I was confused that he thought he knew me, especially when I had no recollection of it.

“You were just a baby,” he continued softly, rubbing at his eyes again, breathing deep. “Only got to see you once… and then…” He shook his head, looking away from me as he clenched his eyes shut.

“But, Mumbles,” I began, mouth agape, left open without words as my mind snapped back to that picture. That single picture. That one picture of me and the boy, the boy with the dark hair and the happy smile. I tore my backpack off, and he opened his eyes to watch as I rifled through my belongings. “It’s you, isn’t it?” I asked hurriedly, still rummaging until I came upon the envelope. I tore out one of the two photos. “In this picture—“ I held it up and showed it to him. “—That’s you, isn’t it?”

Gingerly, he took the photo from my hands. He blinked out a few tears and stared at it. Things got quiet for a good couple of moments while he examined the thing. His eyes, still puffy and red, drifted back to me. “You can keep it if you want,” I offered softly, giving him a small smile. A real, genuine smile flashed across lips before his body was racked with quiet sobs. Swiftly, his arms grabbed me and pulled my against him. I could feel him shaking with every breath, every spilled tear. He clung to me like a frightened child would cling to their favorite stuffed animal, and I just let him cry. I slid my arms around his center and squeezed. “Sh,” I hushed him. “It’s okay, Mumbles.”

“They told me you were dead,” he repeated, choking through a sputtering sob.

“I know,” I whispered. I rested my chin on his shoulder and closing my eyes, running my fingers along his spine comfortingly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

We stayed like that for a bit. I don’t really know how long. I didn’t have a watch, and there wasn’t a clock to be seen, but I didn’t mind. I stayed there, hushing him until he calmed down. I held him tight until his sobs stopped, and I began to realize that under his tough exterior was nothing more than a lonely, scared little boy… nothing more than a sorrow, a sorrow so deep that it left his insides excessively raw and red.

Eventually, his grip on me loosened, and he sat back. We both looked at each other. I smiled softly at him, letting my hands rest on my knees. “You’re just like your mum,” he chuckled softly. “Princess, I fuckin’ loved your mum.”

My smile widened a little, but not in happiness, mostly just trying to appease him. It hurt hearing about my mum sometimes… Never quite knew why, never thought it would bother me before, but it was suddenly like everything my father ever told me about her was being uprooted, and I was sitting here, listening to all of these lovely things about a woman I would never get to meet and probably never live up to. “Everyone says she was lovely,” I agreed.

“That’s an understatement,” he corrected. A serene smile crossed his face before his eyes fell on my arm which had grown to be a bright red, and I was still trying to forget the sting. “Fuck,” he murmured. “Hold on.” He quickly got to his feet and went over to the sink.

“It’s okay, Mumbles,” I insisted, shaking my head. “It’s not so bad if I don’t think about it.”

“Good joke, Princess,” he huffed, returning to me a thin dish towel soaking in cold water. He grabbed my hand and laid it against the afflicted area. I winced. “I know. Hurts like a bitch, don’t it?” he mumbled. “Spent my whole life gettin’ tea thrown at me.”

“But that’s awful,” I told him, looking up to him with concern. He just shrugged, holding the thing to my arm still. “Why do you still come back?”

“She’s my mum,” he replied with a shrug.

I scoffed, laughing. “Says the man who told me I should run away from home because my dad locked my door.”

“It’s different,” he retorted softly.

There was a bit of a pause. I thought it best not to press the issue. “So, you knew my mum?” I asked. He nodded. “What was she like? Was she as beautiful as everyone says? Or as lovely? Or as brave?”

“Um,” he hummed. “All of the above.” He huffed a laugh. “She was the only good part of my childhood, Princess. That much I know.” He paused. “Pulled my mum inside after she passed out in the snow, scared off her boyfriend… cleaned up the house a bit… as soon as she introduced herself and made me mac and cheese, I was in fuckin’ love with that woman.” I smiled softly, and he continued, “Came over once a month, kept me in school… let me hang ‘round her and her friends—“

“Landon and Lawrence?” I asked with excitement. Avery looked a bit startled that I knew, and I just grinned at him. “Sam told me.” Avery smiled a little.

“Yeah, them,” he affirmed. “Gave me a normal life one day a month, sometimes more. Took care of me when my mum forgot. Brought me presents on birthdays and Christmas. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe she was real.” He paused and sighed quietly. “Introduced me to you. Promised to bring you over more, and I don’t think you know how excited I was ‘bout that.” His face fell. “But then they got caught. Never got to see her again. Tried to see you, but your dad chased me away. News people said you died…” his voice trailed off. We sat in silence for a moment. “What you say we get you back, then, Princess?” he asked. “I got things to do… Maybe you can hang ‘round Sam and bother him for me,” he joked.

“Is your mum gonna be okay?” I asked him.

“She’ll be fine. Think she passed out, anyway. I’ll see her next month.” He rose to his feet and helped me up. “How’s you arm?”

“It’s okay,” I told him quietly.

“Alright. C’mon, then,” he said, looping an arm around me and tugging me out of the apartment. For once, on the way back to the base, he walked beside me, not behind me.