Strangetown: Chapter Twenty-Four - part two
Warnings: language, sexual situations
Chapter Twenty-Four
Part Two
"Good afternoon, Nervous."
Pascal had found him playing with Wheezy, the puppy that he'd rescued, who had recently grown up into a dog.
In all truthfulness, wolf might have been a slightly more accurate word to describe Wheezy. With some help from the excessive feedings that Nervous had been giving him, he had grown into a monster of a dog. A big, docile, silly monster, made sillier by the haircut that Nervous had given him. It was like the mohawk that he had worn himself. Nervous tended to get a bit obsessive over hair.
Nervous Subject was just like that. He was often unaware of what was considered conventional or normal, and he often chose to ignore what he did know. He fixated on things. Like in that exact moment, when he didn't even respond to Pascal, because he was too caught up in playing with the dog.
"Hello, Nervous." Pascal repeated himself.
"Hello."
"How are you feeling today?"
"Okay."
"So, no headaches?"
"No."
"Well, that's good."
Nervous continued to play with Wheezy, as Pascal headed inside. "I'll tidy up a little, and make something for us to eat. How does that sound?"
Nervous smiled.
They had been fixing up the place by replacing some of the old furniture, and cleaning out some of Olive's questionable belongings.
Some of the furniture was antique and valuable, but that was no reason not to replace it with something that made the house feel warmer, and more livable. Pascal saw to it that these pieces found a proper owner, and the money they made from selling it was just added to the pile.
There was no doubt that Nervous Subject would never have to work a day in his life, and that was a good thing. The prospect would have been a difficult one for him.
After they had eaten, Pascal and Nervous observed the empty space where the graves had been, and the new cemetery off in the distance. The contractors had made short work of moving the graves. The new location was still close enough to easily access for caretaking, but far enough away to keep the hauntings at bay.
They stood there in silence for a while and then Nervous suddenly spoke.
"Olive killed those people."
Pascal looked at him in disbelief. Nervous Subject. He didn't say much, but when he did, it was usually direct. He wasn't in the habit of wasting words.
"You don't know that, Nervous. Those were just rumours."
"No," he said, "I know."
"What? How could you know that?"
"I... just know."
Pascal looked at him. He believed him. There was no reason for Nervous to make up such a thing, and he was hardly the type of person who took pleasure in inventing elaborate lies. No, if Nervous said so, it must be true. Olive Specter had been a serial killer. The more he thought about it, the more it all made perfect sense.
If that was the truth, then they should let the police know about it. That would be the right thing to do, but what terrible truths might that uncover? They'd already moved the graves. Did they really need to exhume them too? If the truth about Olive was revealed, it would cause a stir. The media would surely descend on them like a swarm of bees, and Pascal worried that it might cause a great deal of trouble for Nervous. He could see the same concern on Nervous Subject's face.
Pascal attempted a smile, to reassure him. "We'll keep that between us, for now."
"Okay."
"This must be horrible for you."
"It is."
Pascal stepped towards him, and carefully hugged Nervous, since he didn't always like to be touched. Nervous didn't resist. He just shook a little more than he usually did.
"That doesn't have anything to do with you, Nervous. You have no control over what your mother did, and you can't change it. It doesn't make you a bad person. You aren't. You're a good person. A very good person."
Nervous didn't say anything, but Pascal could tell that he had relaxed. For now, Nervous was calm.
After the graves had been removed and placed in the new cemetery on the adjacent lot, they had spent some time working on it. Ophelia had shown up on the weekends, just like she had said she would, and Johnny and Ripp were usually in tow.
They had planted some flowers on the graves, and they were also putting in some roses by the gate. Nervous liked the roses. They seemed so hopeful. So delicate, yet so decorative. It reminded him of when he had his mohawk. There was no real reason to make such a fuss over his hair, but the results were worth the effort. It looked cool. It made him smile. The roses were something like that too.
Nervous Subject had enjoyed their time spent in the cemetery, but it was hard not to be reminded of what it represented as he looked around at the rows of graves. He was surrounded by death. This was his legacy. This is what his mother had left him with: a collection of dead people, each of them hand-picked to suit her various whims.
It was also his father's work. He performed his task thoroughly and carefully, leaving nobody behind. Death touched everyone.
Nervous didn't have to look far for examples of the impact that his parents had made on this little desert town. There was Ophelia, his cousin, who had lost her entire family to death at an early age. There was Ripp Grunt, whose parents had also been brutally murdered, though he didn't know that yet. There was Johnny Smith, who had, so far, been lucky, but his troubles would come. Death didn't spare anyone. Nervous knew that his father had an appointment with Johnny's family, and sooner than any of them expected.
There was Pascal, who he wished to see Death leave alone entirely.
Nervous hoped that somehow, despite logic, Death might decide to grant Pascal some special privilege to walk untouched and happy throughout his long life.
If Nervous asked, he could make it so, but asking favours of Death always came with a price.
Nervous understood that, as he understood to need to let the dead rest peacefully. Moving the cemetery had been a good idea. The ghosts didn't tend to wander that far, and since they had arranged the graves in neat rows and marked each space with flowers, the ghosts had been haunting less frequently. Pascal had mentioned an old Curious family saying that a mourned ghost will never haunt you, so maybe was what kept them calm. The spirits just wanted a little care and respect.
Ophelia always gave the maintenance of the graves careful consideration. She knew that her parents were buried in that cemetery, even though Olive hadn't bothered to give them any more than a plain marker, like she'd given every other grave. Ophelia knew which graves belonged to her parents, and she knew every crack and dent in the stone that marked where they lay.
Ophelia carried the weight of her loss with her every day, but she was lucky to have people in her life that would support her when she found it hard to carry on. Nervous could see the importance of having this, like a family, to help a person overcome their struggles in life. It was like that for him too.
He now had Ophelia, his cousin, and Pascal who was his own dependable friend, and something like family too. With the Beakers, he had been completely alone. When Ophelia had told him that they were related, he had been so happy. It was the family that he had been denied all those years in foster care, and with the Beakers.
Nervous Liked Ophelia, and he thought that she might be able to relate to him better than most other sims. They both knew about Olive. At least, he suspected that Ophelia knew what Olive really was. Or what she had been, rather. She had to know. She lived there with her. She knew that, and, like him, she had met Death. She had met Nervous Subject's father, halfway, but hadn't gone with him. She had chosen to live instead, and if she had decided that life was worth living, then it must be true.
If Ophelia could choose to live, and be happy, then so could he.
Ophelia had been puttering around in the garden all day. She loved to get her hands deep into the soil, and to touch and care for the delicate plants. It made her feel very grounded, and purposeful, like she was completely in charge of something. Seeing the plants bursting with life was the perfect antidote to all of the death in her past.
She loved to watch them as they grew, day by day. It was always surprising to see what could come from a tiny seed. None of the plants ever ended up quite the way she imagined they would.
"What are you doing, Johnny?" Ripp asked. Johnny could see his ratty sneakers from under the newspaper. He didn't bother to look up while he responded.
"Just going through some paperwork for Jill," he said,"Getting her tuition and stuff straightened out. I'm looking for an apartment for her right now, since she's not so keen on the dorm idea. Does Buck have all that figured out yet?"
"Ummm..."
"You don't even know, do you?"
"Yeah, I know!" Ripp protested, "Of course I fucking know, Johnny!"
"You don't." Johnny was sure of it. He knew what Ripp was like.
"No... but I'm sure that Buck has taken care of it all." He made a mental note to call him later, just to be sure. He heard Ophelia enter the room from the door behind him.
"Johnny, you should eat something," she said, "You've been running on fumes since breakfast."
"Yeah, in a minute." Johnny continued to scan the paper for apartments.
"I'll warm up some soup," she said, and walked into the kitchen.
Ophelia took out a can of condensed tomato soup, and began to prepare it. She felt a presense behind her, and she could tell by the proximity that it was Ripp. He had a very tenuious grasp on the concept of personal space, so it wasn't unusual for him to be standing close enough for her to feel the heat coming off of his body, or to even have him leaning against her. He took advantage of any excuse to touch her. He was like that with Johnny too.
It might have unnerved some people, but Ophelia didn't mind.That was just how he was, and she was used to it. It didn’t bother her. She liked it, in fact. He just wanted to be close to someone. He wanted to be close to her. There was something quite comforting about having him near. She had already lived enough of her life keeping everyone at an arm's distance.
"Need any help?" he asked the back of her head, gazing at the smooth length of her neck. So beautiful.
"It's just canned soup, Ripp. I don't really need help."
He didn't say anything, and she worried that she may have been too cold. It wasn't often he took interest in such things, so she should be encouraging him.
"...but you can fill this can with water for me, if you want."
"I can do that," he smiled.
"I might make some grilled cheese sandwiches too. Can you stir this pot, Ripp?"
"Are you sure you trust me? I might fuck it up."
"Just stir. It's not that hard."
"Okay." Ripp watched, mesmerized, as Ophelia raised a spoonful of soup to her lips to taste it, slowly and carefully. Her lush, perfect lips. She turned to him and motioned for him to take over. "Maybe you should put your hair back first," she said," Nobody needs to find one of those in their soup."
"Okay." He was quick to obey. Ripp stood back and ran his hands through his hair a couple of times, forming a tail, and then stuck an elastic band over it.
Ophelia took the cheese and soy cheese out of the fridge, as well as her other materials, and headed towards the counter to get to work. She glanced at the freshly- ponytailed Ripp, who was stirring with intense concentration. It was still a novelty to see his hair back like that. She could actually see his whole face, and she decided that it really was a shame for him to hide it behind all of that hair most of the time.
She'd keep that opinion to herself, however. Ripp surely didn't need the ego boost, and Johnny didn't need to hear anything that might make him more jealous of Ripp, especially when things were going so well on that front.
"Ripp, how did this counter get so dirty?" she asked in disbelief. Ripp shrugged and flashed her a saucy grin. She smirked back at him. "Pig."
Johnny glanced up from his paper, and observed at the scene. Ripp was helping Ophelia to cook him lunch, just like they were all a happy little family. Ripp was probably just doing it to impress Phi, but it was still nice of him to help. Ripp was like a little boy who would do handstands for you to get praise, but he meant well. Johnny thought back to a time, not so long ago, when he would have been watching Ripp's every move for proof that he was zeroing in on Ophelia like a hawk, but these fears had passed. He trusted Ripp, and he knew that Ophelia loved him, so what was there to worry about?
The three of them lived together very well. Better than most would, he figured. People asked him about it sometimes, when he mentioned his living situation, and they seemed to think that it might be difficult to live like that, but it worked out just fine for them. Why question a good thing? He knew it wouldn't last forever. He would marry Ophelia, and Ripp would go on to do whatever it was he planned to do with his life, and then they wouldn't live together anymore.
He knew this, but even so, Johnny could imagine living like this forever. As strange as it was, he usually pictured the future that way. It was pretty silly, but the thought of it made him smile.
Buck had just finished rinsing Jill's hair in the bathroom sink. He had dyed it for her, at her request.
He had dyed it green.
"So what do you think?"
If Buck was going to be honest, it really didn't matter what Jill did to her appearance. He would still think that she was the hottest thing in the whole galaxy.
"It looks great."
"The colour came out so bright. I love it. And now people will react with the shock, just like they would if my skin was green. Well, maybe not quite that much, but still..."
"Yeah. They'll notice you. For sure."
"And then I can explain why I did it." She smiled, then paused for a moment before continuing.
"I feel different. Do you feel different, Buck?" She wasn't just talking about her hair.
"Yeah, I do, but it's a good diffferent."
"Yeah," she smiled, "It is."
They were talking about what they had done earlier that evening.
It had been the culmination of all of the evenings spent alone in Buck's house. They hadn't planned it, but it wasn't like they hadn't expected things to go there eventually. Things had progressed fairly rapidly since they had begun experimenting with each other. They'd done just about everything else, so what else was there to do?
Buck had dreamed of that moment for some time, and even though the reality of it was less idealized than his dreams, it was divine. Despite the nervousness, the clumsiness, and the embarrassing biological details, it had been nearly perfect. To merge himself with Jill in such an intimate way was more than Buck could ever ask for. It was like a dream.
That afternoon, they had been sampling the General's dwindling liquor supply.
It had been mostly Jill's idea, but after the first drink, Buck had hardly protested a second and a third.
Things progressed quickly after that.
They went about their task, clumsily attempting to make it work. Jill wasn't entirely convinced that it was going to fit, at first. Buck was careful and shy, almost embarrassed to enjoy himself. Jill, of course, was in pain. It was an exciting pain, but pain nonetheless. She'd been ready for that. She knew better than to trust the romance novels, so she'd turned to more accurate material in her research. She knew what to expect.
Ripp had given Buck several tutorials on condom usage over the years, given his insistence on the need to prevent unwanted pregnancy, especially in anyone that he was personally having sex with. All that good advice did not make the task any easier, however. It was clumsy and awkward.
It was all over before he had even gotten over the shock of actually doing it. Then they were lying there, looking into each other's eyes, having both given, and taken away, something immense to the other.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked. It was hard not to notice such a thing.
"No. Well, yes, actually. It did hurt, but it was a good sort of hurt. I'm sure it will feel better next time." She smiled. It was clear that all of his failings as a first- time lover were either overlooked or forgiven.
"Yeah..." Next time. He hoped so. Buck knew that he was being terribly sentimental, but he hoped that this was but the first of many times that he would sleep with Jill Smith. By the time he was an old man, he hoped to know the landscape of Jill's body better than his own. He might not be able to send her into the throes of ecstasy right now, but he could learn. That sort of thing came with time and practise. It was personal.
Ripp had told him that there were certain techniques that translated to most anyone, and that he'd do well to master them, but there was one piece of advice that he stressed more than anything else. Ask her what she wants, and then do it. That was really all there was to it. Buck could do that. He was used to having Jill tell him what to do, and he'd gladly follow her lead.
He planned to follow her wherever she may take him.
When Jill turned up at the Smith household, she found her father waiting up for her.
"Where were you, Jill?"
She knew that a lie wouldn't work. "I was just at Buck's house. Helping him to pack everything up." Buck had been staying in his old home for the past couple of nights, before he left for university. He wanted to make sure everything was in order.
He looked at her, examining the difference in her appearance. She was grateful for the physical distraction, since she felt like he'd be able to see the other change in her too. She felt so different that her lack of virginity had to be visible to the naked eye. Having her father look at her was uncomfortable in that moment.
"He dyed my hair," she added.
"Yes, I can see that."
"You hate it, don't you?"
"It's different. Your mother might not be so thrilled, but I think it's interesting." The old alien smiled his familiar smile. "Green is a good colour for you."
"Thanks, Dad."
Then his face turned serious. "Jill, I have something important I'd like to discuss with you."
Further down the Road to Nowhere, nearly at the limits of Strangetown, Vidcund approached the iron gate that stood outside of Circe's new home.
With even more reservation than he was was known for, he slowly placed his hand on cold metal, pushed the gate open, and stepped into the courtyard.
He was nervous, but also, hidden beneath that, he was excited. How was it that Circe Beaker could still keep her hold on his heart after all these years? After everything she had done to him and to others?
He hadn't told Pascal that he was going to go there to visit Circe, and that was no accident. Pascal would have tried to stop him, and maybe that was the sensible thing to do, but Vidcund didn't want to be stopped. Vidcund wanted to see Circe. Just to see her. What harm could come from that? He missed her. He missed the woman that had previously brought so much intellectual stimulation and excitement to his life. Before Loki had entered the picture, they had been quite the team. No other woman came close to matching Circe's mental prowess or her immense beauty.
No other woman had ever bothered to pay much attention to Vidcund at all.
Maybe he was stupid for coming here. It wasn't like him to ignore the facts. Even if Circe did intend to start something up with him again, why should he let her? It was too little, too late, wasn't it? Should he really jump at the chance to be the second choice? A weak and pale imitation of Loki Beaker? Should he ignore all the terrible things that the Beakers were suspected of doing? All that suspicion must mean something. Could he ignore logic?
He obviously could, or he wouldn't be walking towards her front door at that very moment. He rang the doorbell and waited for her to answer it.
"Hello, Vidcund," she said, as she stepped outside.
Vidcund felt his body go completely numb. He thought he had been ready, but nobody was ever really ready to look into the face of their one true weakness.
He steadied himself. He could do this. He would just go inside and talk to Circe. He was there to learn more about her, and the Beakers. He was doing this to find out what had really happened. That was what he was doing there, right?
"You look very well, Vidcund," Circe purred, "As sharp as you ever were."
"Th-thank you," he stuttered, "You - you look..."
Circe smiled. "Why don't you come inside, Vidcund?"
He did.
Jill Smith stood on the balcony of her family home.
Unable to move, she stared down at the patio below.
She could do it. Just throw herself off the balcony. Even the thought of it made her cringe. Her every thought was a melodramatic cliché. She was such a girl.
But how could she help herself, when her father had just turned her whole world upside down?
"What are you talking about, Dad?"
"It's just like I said, Jill."
She had only heard bits and pieces of the conversation, since she have drifted in and out, consumed by dread and her own thoughts.
"... a very important part of our culture..."
"... a match based on personality, aspiration, and genetics... selected by the parents..."
"... the survival of our species..."
"... an alien boy... a perfect match for you..."
"...Balizarde Roseland..."
The name was what shook her the most and snapped her back into reality. It was so real that he even had a name. A long and unfamiliar name.
"So, Jill," P.T. said, "will you meet him? Give this some consideration?"
Only one word came to her mind. It was startling. She'd always wanted to be considered an alien, and to be included in alien things, but this wasn't right. She didn't want to marry some random half alien boy. She didn't even want to meet him. He wasn't the boy next door. Wasn't someone that she knew, and had developed feelings for over time.
Most importantly, he wasn't a Grunt.
"No," she said.
"What?"
"NO!"
"Jill, please..." There was a deep sorrow in her father's voice, but she couldn't feel sympathy for him.
"I said no, Dad! You can't do this to me!"
She ran, tearfully, from the room. Like a stupid, emotional girl.
Jill felt a shiver race through her body. It wasn't a cold night, not yet, but she felt a chill. How could she be in this situation? She had thought that her dilemma of choosing between Ripp and Buck had been hard, but that seemed like a joke now. She was meant to have neither.
Her father had said that Johnny was also considering a marriage to an alien girl, but he'd never mentioned it. She couldn't imagine Johnny leaving Ophelia for something like this. Surely, he wasn't going to agree to it. But it was important to their father, and the survival of the alien species, so maybe he had considered it. Johnny did have a great deal of respect for their father, and he always tried to do the right thing. It was a quality that she admired, when she wasn't annoyed by it.
What would Johnny do?
She thought about Jolene and Jordan. They were so young, but her father was no doubt already making plans for them too. It was all so unfair. Were they all just tools in this plan? She didn't feel like a person anymore. She felt like a genetic unit. The only reason she even existed was to further the plan of the aliens. How could they be so cold?
Well, they were all going to die, and the species would cease to exist, that was why. It's not like it didn't make sense, but they weren't the ones who had to deal with the realities of that plan. They weren't a Jill, or a Johnny, or even a fucking Balizarde Roseland, were they? The aliens didn't know what they were really doing to them.
Jill stood there, and time passed, but she was unaware of how much.
Frances came home to find Tank watching TV. Thankfully, he was alone.
Well, Frances, he thought, if you wanted to bring it up, maybe this would be the best time to do it. You could just tell him that you're gay. See how he reacts. You don't have to mention the crush. If he seems okay with it, maybe then, but not before.
"Where'd you go, Worthington?" Tank asked, as Frances sat down beside him.
"The city. To visit Edie."
"Oh, how is she?"
"She's... well."
"That's good."
"Hey, can we talk?" Frances felt his guts roll and twist themselves into severely uncomfortable knots.
"What about?"
"Just talk."
"Aren't we talking now?" Frances didn't say anything further, and just looked at him.
Tank narrowed his eyes momentarily, but then seemed to warm to the idea. "Sure. Fire away. I have nothing better to do."
"It's about me."
"Okay."
"I'm... well..."
Tank just looked at him, waiting.
"You know how I've never had a girlfriend?" He tried to find the right words. "Or even dating anyone, as long as you've been here?"
"You don't have to be embarrassed about it, Worthington." He seemed clearly uncomfortable by the fact that Tank was dating and he wasn't, which amused Tank. The fact that anyone would envy Tank's social skills seemed like a colossal joke. "I wasn't exactly a Casanova before I started dating Kendall. In fact, I'm still far from it. I don't have a fucking clue about this stuff."
"Are you dating her? Like, officially?"
"Well, I'm not sure." Tank shrugged, and launched into the longest stretch of conversation that Frances had ever witnessed from him. "I guess we are. I don't know what's going on, really. Kendall is a bit... aggressive about it. I think it were up to her, I'd have a ring on her finger by now. She's just very serious about that sort of thing, and she knows what she wants. If it were up to me I'd never even ask anyone on a date. Well, except that one time... and that didn't work out the way I hope it would. So maybe I need someone who'll just take charge of the situation and lead the way, you know? Someone who doesn't -"
Tank only stopped talking when Frances had completely covered his mouth with his lips. It hadn't been part of the plan, but somewhere in Tank's rambling monologue, Frances had decided that he would have to make a move now or forever miss his chance with Tank. It terrified him, but he knew that he'd regret it forever if he did nothing.
Tank gasped with complete shock, drawing a sharp breath through his nose, as if he was being drowned. He went completely still, while Frances kissed him. His tongue met Tank's, briefly, testing it out.
It was all over so quickly that Frances barely had time to register the sensation before Tank reached up to his shoulders and shoved him, hard. He fell back clear across the couch.
"What the fuck are you doing, Worthington?!"
"I - I just -"
"You temporarily lost your mind?!"
"No, I..." He took a deep breath.
"I like you, Tank."
"God, Frances. You're like that?" He couldn't even say the word. "You like me like that?!"
"Well, yeah... I'm gay. I thought that maybe you knew. I thought it was probably pretty obvious..."
"So, what - I'm a fucking idiot for not realizing it? Why would I even think that?!" He shot to his feet, and turned away from Frances. Frances caught a glimpse of his face, which displayed a terrible, unknowable expression. He was shaking.
"No, I didn't mean that, Tank... I just thought that we might be the same like that. I thought -"
"You thought... Dear god, Frances! What on earth would give you the impression that I - God, I'm such a fucking idiot! I came here and lived with you all this time - and you -"
"I'm sorry, Tank."
"Stay the fuck away from me, Worthington! I have to go. I need to get out of here."
"Where are you going to go?"
"I don't know. Anywhere but here." Tank bolted through the door without so much as a glance back.
Frances dropped to the floor, where he sat in crumpled heap, letting his tears pour down his cheeks.
At least he wouldn't die from regret.