Chapter Text
He hadn’t really thought he’d be able to do it. Because this wasn’t an ordinary memory. This was the story of him losing himself. The kind of memory where, in the first hours, he only remembered small fragments, and then in the hours, days, and months that followed, the details came back.
At the beginning, his intention definitely wasn’t to spill blood. Unlike Hunter’s suggestion, he had no intention of coming into contact with that man’s sick blood. That was true both metaphorically and literally. In fact, two days later, he had gone with Hunter and Scott to get tested, the three of them sitting there like the Dalton brothers, waiting to give samples.
“No woman ever touches me, and I’m still here,” Hunter said, almost complaining, then laughed. Out of the three of them, he was the most put together in that moment, which already says enough about the others. Mike was still forcing his mind to remember. Yes, at the beginning, the plan definitely wasn’t to spill blood, but then suddenly, Jane came down on him, completely, all at once. Everything they had lived through for nearly a year, all that pain, collapsed on top of him and he killed him. That was it. He stabbed him over and over again, choked him, cut him with a scalpel, and forced him to drink the blood that had already started clotting in those defective blood bags.
So what had they planned with that blood? The blood would first fill those bags. They were defective, bags without the liquid that prevents clotting. Then they would give it back to him, blood that had already lost its function and was dangerous to use. His own filthy blood would become even more disgusting and it would kill him like that. And then they would burn him at the foundry. It was a clean plan. The kind of plan that wouldn’t require him to go into the shower over and over again, scrubbing himself raw with anything he could find just to feel clean. He was supposed to watch him suffer. But now he just remembers. And honestly, if you take that disgusting blood out of it, it really was clean.
“Hey, hey, okay-Scott, hold his arm. Don’t step there-Mike… Mike!! Calm down, man, calm down, brother. Hey, Matty! Die already, you fucking cunt… he’s still breathing, for fuck’s sake.”
He heard it-but all his senses were locked onto what he was seeing.
Matthew Alan Day.
His one pupil were blown wide. He was staring at the ground. His head kept dropping forward, then jerking back up with small spasms. Like he was trying to say something. He wasn’t dying.
Even death itself didn’t seem willing to take him.
Good.
The fact that they wouldn’t be burying him at the end of this was good news for the ground-chances are, it would’ve spat him back out anyway.
Good.
He lifted the arm that still had the needle in it and looked at his wounds. He didn’t even realize there was a scalpel lodged in his eye.
Hunter stepped closer, looked down at the torn, ruined body. He leaned in, staring straight into the open eye.
“JUST DIE ALREADY, YOU FUCKING COLANDER. COME ON. SOME OF US ARE STILL ALIVE AND HAVE SHIT TO DO.”
It was obvious he was in agony.
And Mike…
He just watched him.
And then... nothing.
According to Hunter, he had a breakdown after that. Lost control. His movements got… reckless. Dangerous enough to hurt himself.
So in the end, Hunter did something that would make him apologize over and over later-
he injected him with drug to calm him down.
That was it.
That night, the smell of spoiled blood clung to him, refusing to leave his nose. Hunter took him to the warehouse first. Made him shower.
Mike didn’t remember what he said, but he did remember cursing Cassy out-hard. He remembered Cassy’s voice—“Wow... Mike, darling, I didn’t say anything, calm down.”
Then, before taking him to Jane in Mike’s own car, Hunter just made him drink a strong coffee. Honestly, Mike had expected to go into shock after all of that. When he realized, sitting in the car, that he wasn’t in shock-
that’s when a second wave of panic hit him. What was he going to do when he saw Jane? He thought, instantly, that he wouldn’t be able to look at her. That he’d feel ashamed.
But all of this… everything that happened that night…
The moment he got to Mama Dolores’ place and saw her-
everything went quiet.
He had never held Jane that tightly in his life.
And he probably never would again.
“It’s over,” he whispered. “The bugs are gone.”
So what was the cost?
A lost stretch of therapy progress.
An ongoing daycare lawsuit.
Thousands of dollars in damage.
Drugs in his system.
A murder-brutal, no matter the reason.
A mind pushed so far it started seeing things from lack of sleep…
…
Alright.
Even that-
fine.
As long as his daughter could live in peace.
Now he was watching that girl from behind. And next to her- the love of his life. His daughter -no, their daughter- was full of energy that day, overflowing with it. Unlike her father. To him, everything looked like a pillow in that moment. So once again, the duty of being the passenger princess and wearing the crown fell to him.
Even in the morning, while El was getting dressed, she hadn’t said anything. She had interpreted things up to a point, but after everything he had told her, she hadn’t said a word about it. And right now, she couldn’t. She was holding Jane’s hand, answering her questions as Jane kept asking for the Icelandic words for everything she saw around them.
He used to envy families like that. The ones who spent time together, who looked at each other with warmth.
Now he had it.
And that... was what was keeping him going.
He caught up to them quickly. Reached for El’s hand. El turned her head, looked at him, and smiled.
The most beautiful smile in the world.
When they got home, satisfied from having done everything they had planned that day, they went into the bedroom to change. El had promised Jane a game of chess, so she was getting changed quickly. When she felt his eyes on her, she turned to him, gave him a small smile, and raised an eyebrow like what is it?
He just shrugged. El walked over to him.
“You want me to say something,” she said softly, “but there’s nothing to say. That guy hurt our daughter, and he paid for it. That’s it. No matter how much this keeps circling in our heads, we don’t get to let go of what’s real. I’m not going to let you get lost in your head, Mike Wheeler.” She leaned in and kissed him. “Reality is already hard enough. For example, I’m about to go in there and face the consequences of agreeing to play chess with that little monster. I just hope I get the chance to castle* before she destroys me.
She paused, tilted her head slightly, then pointed toward the other room.
“Do you hear that? She’s warming up. I’m done for.”
She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “So… come and comfort me after my crushing defeat, Mr. Wheeler. God have mercy on me, because Jane definitely won’t.”
When they went back to the living room, Jane had just finished her last warm-up game and was setting up the pieces for the real one. When she saw El, she smiled. “That sweater looks really good on you.”
El smiled. “Is that a real compliment,” she said, sitting down, “or your strategy to make me happy before you make me cry?”
Jane thought. “Both.”
They laughed. Mike went into the kitchen, put the water on for coffee, and when he came back, he watched with quiet amusement as El tried to build strength through the center pawn. The first game lasted seventeen minutes. The board had been balanced for a long time. El had held on longer than she expected, managed to castle and make a large number of moves after it. She was actually holding her ground against Jane.
Now she was thinking, and then finally made her move. She shifted her king one square to the side. It was one of the safest moves she could make in that moment. And the second the piece settled-
Jane leaned forward. This time she wasn’t fast. She took her knight. And placed it right next to the king.
“Check.”
The move El had to make was obvious. She took the knight. She had to. The corner of Jane’s lips curved ever so slightly. This was exactly what she had been waiting for. Before El even lifted her head, Jane’s black queen moved, coming in from the diagonal and targeting the only square the king could escape to.
"Checkmate.”
El didn’t freeze. She looked quickly. Studied the move. Her eyes flicked to Jane for a second. Jane was already done. El let out a slow breath. Looked at the board again. Replayed the moves in her head. She must have calculated at least four moves ahead.
“Congratulations… that was… pretty good.”
Jane’s eyes lit up at the compliment.
“Second game?”
El looked at the board. Looked at Mike. Looked at Jane. Play another game and lose again in fifteen minutes? Absolutely.
“You want white this time?”
As Jane moved her queen four squares to the left, she did something she normally never did while playing chess. She started a conversation.
“You know, El? I actually don’t like my therapist much.” Mike came into the living room both because of what he had just heard and to check who was winning, saw that the game was still going, and exchanged a surprised look with El.
El caught Mike’s surprised look, then gave Jane a small glance and thought about her move. She was going to get checkmated again… This girl was really… very good. She pulled her bishop back. “Why?”
Jane, the moment El moved her bishop back, pushed forward with her knight. “She doesn’t let me play chess professionally. Says it’s too much for me. If she didn’t interfere, I’d already be at 1300 ELO. But…” she looked at El. “For my school life, my chess life, and a lot of things in my life, we follow her recommendations. And my dad listens to her too, SO I’M BASICALLY IN PRISON.”
“Heey.”
“Mike…” El said, looking at him, then lightly gestured toward the bedroom with her eyes. Mike stood up, put on his jacket, and stepped outside.
“This…” El said, moving her knight to the right, “is a difficult situation… Normally you shouldn’t feel that way.”
As she quickly scanned the board, Jane said, “Definitely.” She brought her bishop forward. “I think I play really well, so why shouldn’t I be a grandmaster at 12?” She looked at El. “Checkmate, by the way. And she interferes with everything. A person shouldn’t interfere this much.”
El didn’t even understand how it was checkmate, she couldn’t even see where she’d slipped, but it didn’t matter. “What does your dad say?”
Jane straightened up from where she had been leaning on her knees and sat properly in the chair. “He says it’s a process, that we’ll get through all of it, and that we need to be patient. Sometimes I understand him, but sometimes he acts like a total Jedi Master,” she said, looking at El. “But it’s pointless. Because in some things, I’ve already gone full Vader, dark side and all. I don’t want to be patient anymore. I don’t want the process. I don’t want those therapies. They make me feel sick.”
El didn’t know what to say. Considering everything Mike had told her, the therapy was very important for Jane, but Jane was also right in her own way. “Did you talk to your dad about this?” Jane was about to object. El continued. “He listens to you, he always does. Did you tell him you don’t want this, that you don’t feel good?”
Jane looked at the board. “No.” She scratched her cheek. “I can’t say it.”
“Why?”
“He’d be upset.” Jane was looking at her hands under the table. “I’m going to my room. I’ll play with the horses.”
“Jane,” El called after her. “I think he’ll be more upset if you don’t tell him.”
Jane said nothing, went to her room, and closed the door. El got up from the table and looked out the window toward the front door. Mike was standing there, shaking.
“Are you done? If your conversation isn’t over, don’t rush. I’m already done.”
El rolled her eyes. “We’re done. Come on.”
Mike stepped inside, still trembling, looking around. “Where is she? Did you talk?” he asked in a whisper.
El walked to the bedroom, Mike followed. She closed the door, turned to him.
“Yes?”
El lifted her shoulders. “It’s nothing much. Just…” she lowered her voice. “She said she doesn’t want it.”
Mike nodded. “She can’t stop. That woman has been her therapist for a long time. Getting used to someone new, trusting them… that’s a very long process. The whole ‘stopping’ thing is already off the table. It’s done. You know what I told you, El. It took seven months for the daytime wetting to stop. Getting used to school and everything else… there’s no way we can stop. I know my daughter could become an amazing chess player, or that she could do better with kids on her level, but… I can’t. Just like her, I’m bound by certain things.”
El tried to speak. “Mike-”
Mike continued. “I don’t want to say this, but El, I can’t find a solution. I want everything to work out, I want everything to be okay, but this is the balance I can maintain. And unfortunately, she has to accept that. This is the life we managed to build after getting out of hell.”
“Mike.” El stopped him. “Talk to her. Explain. You can’t leave everything to her guessing, to what you call her empathy-”
Mike raised his hand. “That’s not just what I call it. Jane is simply an empathetic child, El. Her disgusting mother wasn’t part of any of those projects. We completely shelved that topic with that information.”
El raised both hands, trying to calm him. “Okay… but either way, you can’t leave this to her. She is still a child, Mike. You can’t expect her to understand your obligations. And at the same time, she’s not just a child either. She won’t fall for your ‘babying’ methods. You have to talk. You explain yourself, she explains herself.” She lowered her voice even more. “You’re not going to go in there and say ‘I killed your biological father,’ of course. But you have to explain things at her level.”
“What am I supposed to explain?” Mike objected quietly. “She has to continue therapy. That’s it.” His eyes moved around the room. “El, we’ve talked about this with her many times. We keep coming back to the same point. Yeah, I never told her the real reasons. I can’t put her trauma in front of her like that. Talking to her means bringing it back to that place. I can’t tell her any of this. I only told you. That’s it. This topic is closed. It’s gone to the bottom of the ocean, never to come back up. If I have to lie, I’ll lie. The truth doesn’t help her. As long as she never looks at me like I’m a stranger again. When she wets herself, I don’t mind changing her or cleaning her. I never have and I never will. But she feels uncomfortable.”
He took a few deep breaths. “I’m tired, El. I’m tired… There’s always something. One problem ends, another one starts. We never really get to be at peace. I’m scared you’ll come home and get scared and leave. Everything’s a mess, actually. I just swept the dirt under the rug. I don’t have the energy to take out the vacuum and clean it properly. I’m tired. Last night my daughter fell asleep, I spent some nice time with my fiancée, and then I slept. That’s a normal scenario, right? The kind of thing any adult man could have. And then I sleep, what, four hours? Five? And boom- phone rings. Another problem.”
He put his hands on his hips, jaw tight. “I’m telling you about that whole thing, and at the same time I’m thinking—what if that bitch becomes another problem for us? I keep asking myself, is she part of this too? If I hadn’t lost control, would that guy have confessed anything if there was something like that? Maybe she planned all of it, every time he went into that house.” He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose.
He opened one hand, bringing the fingers of his other hand together as if counting things off. “I need to check if that woman’s been discharged from the hospital, or her husband, or the other husbands in her little holy harem. I need to reach out to a director I know so he can warn the director of the social services agency handling the boy’s adoption. I need to make sure my daughter is safe, I need to keep writing. I have to finish that book and hand it over to the publisher so the series can be completed. I make a living by writing. I need a clear head so I can come up with new ideas and keep going.”
He let out a short, humorless breath, shoulders tense. “If this keeps up, I’m going to end up writing horror novels like Stephen King or Dean R. Koontz, with a big label on the cover saying ‘Based on a true story.’ And what a true story it’ll be. Like just waking up to go take a piss, a normal daily thing. Forget even coming up with story ideas. The most important thing is that I need to know you’re okay. I need to be sure everything I’ve been building for years isn’t going to fall apart. I have to protect you, El. I’m not sorry about my responsibilities, not for a second, but I feel like I’m about to collapse.” He glanced away for a brief second, then back at her. “Like I’m stuck inside some shitty show that just keeps dragging itself out for another season.”
He took a deep breath. “I can’t focus on Jane saying she doesn’t want therapy in the middle of all this. I can’t deal with finding a new therapist, I can’t start everything over from scratch.”
He just looked at El. She was only looking at him.
“Are you done?”
He was. He nodded. El crossed her arms. “You know what your problem is? At least one of them. The part that directly concerns me…” She stared straight at Mike. “Instead of seeing me as support by your side, you see me as a responsibility.”
Mike tilted his head. El cut him off. “Don’t do that. Don’t make that face. You said it yourself. Responsibility. Mike, I don’t want to be your responsibility. I’m your fiancée. I’m going to be your wife. That means I’m not someone behind you, not a weight on your back. You’re putting me, Jane, your writing, that woman and her husbands-whatever the hell that mess is-all in the same place. We are not burdens. We are your family. Yes, Jane is your responsibility, I accept that, but I am your companion, not your load. While you deal with the rest, I can make sure Jane gets to school safely, I can handle the therapist situation. I can do something. And even if you think I can’t do anything at all, I can still stand there and make sure I’m not just another weight on your shoulders.”
Mike jumped in the moment he found an opening. “El, that’s not what I meant. Of course you’re not a burden, neither of you are. Look, if I came off wrong, I’m sorry. I haven’t slept, I’m really exhausted. I’m sorry.”
El shook her head quickly. “Then sleep! SLEEP! Don’t feel sorry for that baby boy. No one felt sorry for you. No one felt sorry for Jane. Even the police didn’t support you-what kind of police work are you trying to do, Mike?” She immediately dropped her voice to a whisper, but it was sharp. “If what you did to that guy ever came out, the police would be after you. You’ve been tearing yourself apart trying not to cross those thin lines, you built a prison in your own head and you’re living in it. Snap out of it already, realize that you’re actually living. You have problems, we all do. You’re not the only one with problems. I’m trying to help you, I’m doing this for you, Mike. I’m trying to make sure you can sleep in peace. I even check if you go to the bathroom, wondering if something’s wrong with your kidneys. You’re not taking care of yourself. You said you quit those drugs, but I’m sure-absolutely sure-you haven’t even had a single check-up. You’re just waiting for your body to give you a sign. It already is. But you don’t see it. Because you’re stuck in your head. You’re trapped in there. You’re going to kill yourself. Enough. Get out of your own head. Shut that son of a bitch in your head up.”
She pressed a finger against his chest. “Listen to this. You’re not even sure I’m really here. You act like I could disappear any second. Mike, don’t do that. You’re afraid I’m going to leave. And you’re right-I did. But Mike… you’ve been carrying this guilt for so long just because you killed a man like that. Do you know how many people I’ve killed? Do you know how many people were after me? You only know as much as I’ve told you about coming here. I know your responsibilities. I know how much you’re struggling. And I also know that’s not all of it. I see all of it. Please… keep me by your side, don’t protect me.”
Mike’s voice rose. “Yes, I protect you! I protect Jane! Because I have to! I don’t have the luxury of taking you back to the States and saying ‘I’m sorry babe, I was wrong.’”
El spoke immediately.
“Mike, I understand you. But you don’t see me as a partner, you see me as a responsibility. And if you see me as a weight on your back… I can’t stay, Mike. You have to let me. You have to let me be by your side. Otherwise, I can’t-I can’t be just another person you’re carrying on top of everything else.”
Mike didn’t say anything for a long time.
This time… he really stayed quiet. He lowered his head slightly. Let out a breath. Trying to stay in control, and failing.
“El…” For the first time, there was no defense in his voice. Just exhaustion. “I’m sorry. I swear I’m trying. I swear… I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”
“I’m not asking you for an apology.” A short pause. “I’m asking you to keep me with you.” She stressed the word. “Not behind you. Not on your back.”
Her breathing picked up slightly, but she didn’t lose control.
“I’m not the only solution to your breakdowns. I’m not something you use to check if you’re still in reality.”
She lifted her finger into the space between them.
“I’m right here. In the same place as you. I listened to you. All of it. Even the parts you think are the ugliest, the darkest. I saw everything that’s inside you, and I didn’t run-because I love you, because I understand you. Please, try to understand me too. I’m going to be by your side. We’ll figure out what’s really bothering Jane about the therapist together, we’ll make sure she’s safe together. I don’t think the things you’ve built are going to fall apart, Mike-if I did, I wouldn’t have come. I trust you. But not as someone you carry on your back. As someone who can stand next to you and hold your hand. We’re going to put all of this back together. All of it. I promise."
She exhaled.
"But you have to… quiet that voice in your head. Me leaving isn’t your failure. You need to see that first. Because once you do… everything will change. Then I won’t just be ‘the girl who left.’ Then, in your mind, I’ll be someone who lost things too. And that whole structure in your head… will collapse. Right now, in the story your mind is writing, the roles are already set. You’re the one who stayed. I’m the one who left. You’re the one who suffers. I’m the one who walked away.”
She didn’t take her eyes off Mike’s.
“It’s easy, because of that. It feeds on your pain… don’t do this. Don’t do it to yourself, don’t do it to us. I burned too, Mike. In places you never saw. With people you never knew. Through things you never heard. You need to know that. Don’t stay in your head-come to me. Please.”
Mike nodded, reached out, took her hands. “Tell me. Everything.” He drew in a deep breath. “Everything that happened since you got here.”
El shook her head. “I’m not saying this so you’ll listen. Just, know-”
“No,” Mike cut her off. “I’ve been stuck in my own head, judging everything the same way over and over. El, tell me. Open up to me. Look… don’t think I don’t understand you at all. I do understand why you left. I know how desperate you were. But that’s still just what I know. Fall apart on me, El. I want to hear you. In all of it. However much you want to tell-however far you want to go.”
El quickly wiped away the tears gathering in her eyes.
“Alright… If the weather’s nice tomorrow… at least as nice as today… would you like to go for a drive with me, Mr. Wheeler? Starting from about halfway down the road that brought me here… because that’s where I started to understand what was happening.”
Mike gave a faint smile.
“It would be my honor, future Mrs. Wheeler."