2021-12-14 - Curtains and Walls

Henry has purchased a nice little craftsman here on Oak Street, and has promptly set about renovating it. Not that he is doing the renovating. Contractors have been hired, checks have changed hands, demolition has begun. Plastic covers various surfaces and the sub-floors of the home are exposed after all of the old flooring has been ripped up. Perhaps this is why, after letting them in with a jangle of keys, Henry says, "Watch your step."

He leads his sister to an archway over which a plastic sheet hangs. He pushes it aside and reveals the kitchen, a room which has not yet suffered the same fate as the rest of the house. He places the bottle of scotch on the table and gestures. "Have a seat if you like. I'll warm the place up." So saying, he moves to a cast iron fireplace that occupies one corner of the room, pausing only to fish a couple of small split pieces of wood from a basket.

Catherine looks around the house with expertly feigned indifference. "All the plastic sheeting for when you butcher your dates?" she deadpans. "Or is it family as the first victims? You should murder a stranger first. They can't link you with any of the victims then." Unzipping her leather jacket, she places her helmet on the floor next to her chosen seat. She definitely looks uncomfortable being here. It's the company.

"Is there a reason you didn't buy a finished house? A psychiatrist can probably afford mansions, right? Lot of money in other people's misery." Now that she's got the charm out of the way, Catherine literally lets her hair down and shakes it loose. "We drinking from the bottle?" Her tone suggests she is happy to rather than demanding glasses.

"I suppose we could," Henry says, wrinkling his nose for a quick second at the idea. "I mean...feel free to. But I also have some glasses right here." And so saying, he opens a cabinet and pulls out a couple of small rocks glasses. "Do you like your scotch straight or with water?" He's pretty much ignoring most of the other questions for now, and all of the murder commentary. He does, however, throw out one tidbit to keep the conversation alive. "I like this house. It has good bones. I just want to update it a bit...everything was done in that horrible red oak and dark granite from the eighties."

So saying, he takes a seat across from Catherine and studies her across the table. "The scotch isn't a bribe, C.C. It's just something to take the edge off. I would like to know how I can go about earning your trust now that I'm back."

"The house has good bones? You mean the victims you buried? That decoration sounds like the 1880s." Given permission to drink from the bottle, Catherine doesn't wait for the glasses and downs a quick mouthful. "Fuck...that's not too bad." Being a nice person, she pours out a shot into each of the glasses that arrive with her brother. His question causing her to purse her lips in thought.

"I dunno. Do you actually intend to stay this time or will you run away again?" Catherine raises her glass, studying the liquid for a moment. "Isn't this why you weren't there for John? You were drunk somewhere instead of with him. Why do you even still drink?" She downs the shot, trembling a little at the kick before pouring herself another. At least 'C.C.' is much more acceptable than 'Kitty-Cat'. "I suppose mom and dad fawned all over you when they saw you. Though you still haven't brought them grandchildren."

"I took a job here. I intend to stay." That's all Henry says for a moment, pulling the glass of scotch closer and staring into its depths while he swirls it lightly. He is silent for such a long moment that it might seem as if he's done talking altogether. Eventually, however, he draws a slow breath.

"It's different out there." He nods vaguely with his head, supposedly meaning the 'wider world'. "The things that made me good for John went away. And the things that made me bad for John," he swirls the scotch a little more, "also went away." He looks up from the glass and studies her. "Do you...em, can you..." He trails off in frustration and then sets his jaw, staring hard at his sister.

''Catherine''. It's Henry's voice, only his lips aren't moving. Right in the center of Catherine's skull. Soft, but still likely disturbing as hell if she's never experienced it before.

"I wouldn't know how different it is out there. I stayed" Catherine manages to reply before something strange is happening. Strange really shouldn't be a surprise to a native of Gray Harbor but she has cut herself off from as much of it as possible for so long. "What the fuck!"

Catherine pushes the chair back and leaps to her feet, glaring at her brother with a mixture of alarm and fear. "Did you hear that?" Maybe Henry's a ventriloquist? That would make much more sense than allowing the Strange back into her life. She definitely wants that to be true. "Ha, ha, nice trick" she smirks, downing some of the scotch in a hurry. "That ventriloquism must really freak your patients out."

Henry just keeps staring at Catherine. There is no smile, no look of confusion. And this time, instead of speaking to her, he sends her images:

...their parents, welcoming him home a few weeks ago, mom crying about how good it was that he was here to stay for awhile...
...John, shortly before his death having a violent fit and someone (Henry?) making soothing noises to him...
...a little girl, Catherine, maybe 7, with a toy train in her hands smiling like she is looking at one of her heroes...

Each is startlingly clear, and each lingers for exactly five seconds, like slide show. And then, the voice again, Henry's voice: 'Not ventriloquism. I'm sorry. I had to show you.'

"Stop it" Catherine whispers. mild panic in her tone. Eyes clenched shut, Hands against the side of her head in a useless attempt to shield her mind. "Stop it! Get out of my head!"

Now she glares at her creepily staring brother. "Freak!" There is anger now, though it is just as much directed at herself than Henry. Having spent so long hiding her own Strangeness away, to discover that more than insanity may run in the family brings it all back in a rush. Catherine should run away. Again. Go back into hiding. But she stays...for now.

Deep breathing to try and calm herself....and downing way too much of that bottle of scotch way too quickly. "Don't you ever do that again. "

"Sorry." It's a pathetic two-syllable word to offer in exchange for the violation, but there doesn't seem to be much else for Henry to say at the moment. He slumps back in his chair, eyes the glass in his hand, then downs the whiskey. It is smoother than he expects, but he still pulls his lips back tight against his teeth in the aftermath.

Eventually, he says, "that's what I was running from. Or, well, part of it. Imagine that, only I'm a kid, and I don't know what I'm doing." His smile is bitter. "So yeah, I ran away. The veil is...thicker out there." Henry reaches for the bottle and pours another shot.

"So, you get these...these...'super powers'...and you run away? People should be running from you. I should be running from you" Catherine replies with, slightly, lessening anger. It's not as if she doesn't have her own secrets.

"The Veil? What the fuck is that?" More of that whiskey downed straight from the bottle. Soon she may not make much sense but it's not as if Henry is. Catherine already feels the need to sit down again. Is Henry going to get the bottle back to pour himself a refill? Nope.

Henry's hand closes on air as the bottle is snatched by his sister. The look he gives her is best described as...dry. He leans back again. "The veil. The...curtain that separates us from The Other Side." He seems to know how that sounds and he shakes his head. "Shit."

After another moment of silence, he tries again. "Lots of weird shit happens in this town. Yeah? Crazies. Murders. And even harmless but nonsensical shit. Like...way more than happens in the rest of the world. " He studies Catherine's face to see if she's at least in agreement with him on that much. "That's because the...curtain that separates normal life from...spirits, hauntings, the supernatural...it is really, really thin here. Things leak."

Catherine is doing her best 'you're talking crap' expression though Henry is a psychiatrist and he can see the signs that show she is hiding something. The discomfort. The fidgeting. "Yeah, strange things happen here, sure. But I haven't been to the rest of the world to find out if that's unusual."

A fake snort of amusement about curtains separating worlds, not to mention the supernatural. "I thought you were a doctor, Hank. They'll take away your certificate if you keep talking like this. They may even certify you instead." She waves a hand at the air around them. "Show me. Open up the curtain and let's see what lies beyond."

"It's not like that. Or, at least, I don't think it is something you can just pull back and reveal." Henry bites at his lip, but he doesn't seem particularly bothered by the implication that he is crazy, nor does he seem worried that he about to lose his license. "Look. I don't know a whole lot about it, but there are people here who do. We should talk to them."

Only then does he seem to pause, his eyes taking in his sister, his head tilting in study. He opens his mouth, then simply closes it. Abruptly, he goes back to the earlier topic. "Alexander Clayton. He's a good place to start. Do you know him?"

"If you can't open a curtain, I think they call them walls" Catherine snorts in as mocking a way as she can manage. Another few mouthfuls of whiskey before she stands once more, teetering a little on her feet and taking a couple of attempts to put the bottle down on the table. "Let me see if I can remember how to do this" she mumbles to herself. "I don't think I know this Clayton guy. I like to keep to myself."

Whatever she's trying to remember to do, it seems she is succeeding. A shimmering in the air and the Veil is parted. "It's not a curtain if you can't open it." Catherine seems quite proud of herself, her tipsy state driving her to do something quite dangerous. Which is what the yelling in her mind is reminding her. "Oh fuck..." Now she looks alarmed. "Close you stupid thing!" It seems she has more of an ability to open than close.

"Just stay back, Henry. If they come, they'll be looking for me."

"Catherine, what are you--oh, fuck." Henry doesn't need to be told to stay back. He can see the veil part. Well, not 'see' exactly, but in his mind's eye the gaping wound in the fabric of reality is a plain to him as a punch in the face. He pushes back from the table to hard that his chair goes over and Henry spills with it to the floor. His feet kick against the smooth hardwood, trying to get purchase to push him even farther away.

"Close it, C. Don't fuck around. CLOSE IT. THEY ARE WHY I LEFT."

"I don't know how to close it!" Catherine screams back. "It closes itself after a little time." Though that time seems to be so very long when you're worried They will appear any moment. All she can do is watch to make sure nothing is coming. Trying to will it closed quicker. "Come on. Come on."

The stress almost unbearable as her heart pounds in her chest. Catherine bites her lower lip so hard that she is drawing blood.

And then it seals.

The tenseness flows out of Catherine's body so quickly that she has to grab the table to stay on her feet. Legs all wobbly relief now. "You knew about this? And you left us behind to its mercy?"

There is nothing Henry can say for a long moment. His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as his heart slowly, slowly, ceases its hammering. From his position on the floor, head slightly propped up on the side of the kitchen island, he stares at Catherine. "You--" He swallows thickly and pushes himself to a seated position, legs still splayed out in front of him. His face is slightly red. "You call me a 'freak' and say people should be running away from me, and then you pull...THAT??" With a grunt, he forces himself to his feet, but his hands are still shaking. He sounds angry.

"Well, I guess we all have our secrets, don't we C.C.? And there's a hundred ways to run from something besides leaving home. At least I'm back."

"I know I'm a freak too" Catherine hisses back. "And everyone does run away from me." A glare at the whiskey bottle - it's all its fault that she did what she did. "You may be back but I never left. And you couldn't even be bothered leaving a warning. What do you think I went through being able to do this with no one to tell me what was happening. When you're abandoned, you start to look to other places for a bit of attention and self-belief..." A wave of her hand where the portal once was. "That was my place. It was like a dream until..." Her face grows a little pale. "Until 'they' started showing up." Now the glare is for her brother. "And you knew about them and didn't say a word."

"You were six, Catherine." Henry blows out a long breath and brushes his hair back with one hand. Then, he starts to pace. "And I didn't know you could..." He shakes his head and marches to the table, only to find that bottle and its vastly reduced contents. He throws back a slug from what is left, not bothering with the glass. A sharp inhalation follows.

"Anyway," Henry continues after a moment, "I don't think my continued apologies are going to help you feel any better about things. What I DO hope will help is that I have come back. That I didn't stay away. That I have TRIED to get my shit together so that I can return to help as something more than a liability. You don't have to agree, but I would ask that you think about it. And that you don't do any more of...THAT..." He gestures vaguely at the air where the rip was created, "...again any time soon."

"Sure, I was six. Some guidance about fantasy lands would have helped" Catherine grumps but they could have that circular argument for years...and probably will...so best to let it lie for now. And now there's no whiskey left either.

"I wouldn't have done that if I wasn't a bit tipsy" Catherine mumbles in reply as she slowly sits herself back down. The chair is a more secure and solid place to be than on her feet at the moment. "Does Dom know you're back?" A snort. "Probably, since I'm always the last to know." A long thoughtful pause as she sucks on her bottom lip. "Welcome home" she finally decides to add.

"...Not yet," Henry says, clearly grumpy that Catherine always seems to find the trump card in this conversation. "But I promise I will call him." Beat. "Does he drink whiskey"

The look is hopeful, but it doesn't linger long. Instead, it is replaced by something more thoughtful. "Thank you. For the welcome. I know there's a lot of work to do to earn your trust again. I didn't want this meeting to be a...get out of jail free card kind of thing. I guess I just wanted to say that I'm here to do the things I couldn't do before and to try to help. And to be here for you in ways I wasn't. And that is your call, not mine. But I'm going to try to show you that I can do it. "

"You're also going to have to put me up for the night" Catherine replies in her own grumpy way, not seeming to take delight in countering every point Henry brings up. "I'm too fucked up to ride." And definitely too drunk. "If Dom doesn't drink it, I will. Problem solved." She tapes her fingernails on the table for a moment. "Fuck...I'm going to have to see people for Christmas, aren't I? Damn it, Hank! I like being all moody and anti-social around this time of year." Her eyes narrow. "You couldn't have come back after Christmas? Now I have to get you a present."

Catherine rises, shakily. "Where's the bedroom. I assume you'll be sleeping on the couch."

"Last door on the right at the end of the hall," Henry says with a nod to the hallway in question. The house isn't particularly large. While there are two bedrooms, however, the second one has not yet been furnished, so Henry resigns himself to the couch. Before he trundles off that way, it would seem he has one last present for Catherine. A large glass of water.

He passes it over, a different peace offering than the whiskey, but perhaps a more essential one. "Bottle of Aleve under the sink. I think there's a still-wrapped toothbrush in there from my last dentist visit, too. Help yourself. I won't even count it as your Christmas present." He offers a tired half smile.

"Your dentist gives away toothbrushes? Damn, aren't you living the high life. I suppose I should be thankful you haven't cleaned the toilet bowl with it yet." Catherine takes the glass of water. Yes, it's a sensible offering but it's hardly very cool! "I'll try not to leave in the morning without saying 'goodbye'...which is very unusual for me. Night, Hank." And then she is off to sprawl over his bed and, maybe, try not to throw up all over it.