—chapter thirty-three.

  ❛ the day that was. ❜ 

ELODIE TURNED HER HEAD, PRESSING A quick kiss to her brother's temple. He was already half asleep on her shoulder, the poor kid. He must have been exhausted, waiting for her to come back.

"You should get to bed, you got school in the morning."

"Mm." Ellis peeled off her and she immediately missed the embrace, silently wondering if they would get that again. He headed towards the stairs wearily, only to pause at the very first step. "I forgot. I picked up the mail for you."

"Thanks bud. Anything good?"

He shrugged. "Don't think so. There was an ad for a guy running for city council...some letter, too."

"Like, a bill sorta letter?"

Ellis frowned. "I didn't look closely at it. But it didn't look like a bill. It was sent from..." the boy paused as he tried to remember what he had seen. "Uh...South - no, New York."

The words hit like a truck. Elodie had never experienced a real heart attack, but she certainly felt like she was having one as she stared at her brother, all oxygen fleeing her body and leaving her a gaping, wide-eyed, shell of a woman behind.

"I just put it on the counter," Ellis continued, oblivious to his sister's shock in his exhaustion. "With the rest of the stuff. Just thought you would like to know."

"T-thanks," she choked out, still struggling with how hard her heart beat. It felt like a giant press was slamming up and down on her chest, forcing air in and out too quickly for her to grab onto. She had to physically cough out an 'I love you' and barely recognised that he said it back. She was already full consumed by the fact that there was a letter from New York City with her name on it.

Somehow she managed to get on her feet and moving. Elodie floated through the house as though in a trance, bumping into the kitchen doorframe without even hesitation, stumbling but then walking straight through again. Her hands fumbled at the wood of their table, struggling to find the envelopes as her eyes darted about and lights flashed in them, temporarily blinding her, searching for the familiar feeling of that crisp white paper.

Finally she found it and held tight, stumbling over to a chair to fall into. It was as thought; black cursive letters spelling just her name and then a neatly printed address and information box in the top. It looked inconspicuous, and yet it made her more nervous than maybe anything ever in her life before. Just one letter, holding all the secrets of the universe -- or absolutely nothing at all."

Elodie would not end up sleeping that night.

"YOU LOOK TIRED."

Elodie yawned into her mug, smiling sheepishly as she finished the tell-tale motion. "Yeah...didn't sleep much yesterday. But it's okay. I feel twice as good as I usually would on like, half so much sleep."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing." She downed the rest of the dark liquid and set the mug down, wiping her mouth free of any spare droplets. "We should do something soon. Something fun. Tomorrow or something."

The boy glanced up from his cereal bowl, looking a little confused. "Why?"

"We haven't spent the whole day together in a while, have we?" Elodie continued on without a response back. "I miss our good old times. Acting like tourists, getting the worst foods possible -- oh, we could ride the ferry out to the island! Does that sound nice?"

Ellis' soft brows fell harsh over his eyes as he considered his sister's words. He seemed surprised at the random outburst, and maybe that made sense -- if he was the one who had not slept and was rambling on about new plans for spontaneous outings, she'd probably question it too. Still, despite the shadow of concern, a smile tickled the boy's lips.

"That...sounds fun."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Sure. But is there any incentive for this?"

Elodie shook her head, sending curls flying all around her like a tumbling halo of brown. "I just miss you. And I need to do something fun more often, else I think my cause of death is going to be boredom. Or way too much paperwork done at once. You feel?"

As she finished her sentence, the strangest sensation came over her -- like the feeling that somehow, she had already said that very thing, or stood in that place and felt the same she did that second. It couldn't be possible, of course, and it was probably just a mixture of exhaustion and frequent habits, but it did strike Elodie as strange.

Still, she let the feeling drift from her thoughts and offered her brother a ride into school. He declined. When Elodie protested, he said he was perfectly fine to walk and that she shouldn't have to get up so fast on her day off. No matter what she threw back, he refused to take her off, leaving her to hug him goodbye and watch him wander off on his own. Though, Ellis was forced to promise her that their outing would in fact happen -- or else, she had glared mockingly.

Elodie watched her brother walk down the sidewalk and out of sight, still with the same prickly feeling on the back of her neck. Like a spider bite, sans superpowers and with a little more 'Memento'.

"And that's why," she murmured, shutting the door with a heavy exhale, "you need sleep, dumbass. You start to think you're in some sorta paradox and -- and then what?! Maybe we'll get aliens on our door step tomorrow, too. Heh."

The young woman shrugged and sank into her couch. Her bones accepted the relief gratefully, aching as they were from so much pacing the night before. She leant her head back and smiled, eyes half shut, at the pebbled ceiling above. There was too much to do and people to talk to, bonds to be mended and those who left to be welcomed in again -- but she would be a fool, to ignore how nice to rest for a moment. Even the silence, did not feel so pressing then.

However, her peace was cut short, as it always was those days. Just as the woman's lids drooped shut, a loud knock pounded against her front door. She startled up, confused and stumbled over to the door. Her mind had no consideration for time or who the hell it could be and any bad outcomes were dashed as she threw open the door.

"Oh...hello?"

Whoever she had subconsciously expected on the other side, it certainly had not been her elderly neighbour, Karla.

Karla was an oddity, as were most people in Elodie's life -- only, she really wouldn't consider the woman in her life, considering they had only spoken once or twice. Never had they approached one another like that, it'd been waves across driveways or calls as she got into the car or -- well, never knocking on each other's doors with a creepy smile that showed off her crappy dental health in way too much detail.

That was, in Karla's case. Elodie never missed a trip to the dentist.

Elodie leant her weight against the door, folding her arms across her tank top. "Hello?" she repeated. "Can I help you, ma'am?"

The older woman started and nodded suddenly. It was as though she was remote control; one moment she was frozen on the doorstep and the next she was bounding forward like a spring chicken. She held out her hands and offered Elodie a small brown package.

"This was left at my door yesterday, but I'm afraid it's not mine. They must have mixed it up again, because this is marked for you."

Her frown deepened. "Oh. That's strange. I wasn't expecting anything...?"

"Well, whoever it is, they must have really wanted you to have this." Her claw gestured to the other side of the package, displaying the big red letters spelling out 'urgent'. "I hope it's not too late."

"Yeah. Uh...thanks."

Karla nodded, satisfied when she took the package, and turned. Without another word, she walked away.

That was definitely weird -- but she could think about that later. Right then, the only concern Elodie had was for the strange package. Whatever label had been there before was scratched off, leaving only fragments and black lines where someone must have scribbled over something important. 

She hadn't bought anything, or expected any sort of mail -- the letter was one thing, but a suspicious package that her whack-ass robot neighbour had to deliver? That was a whole other (possible horror?!) story.

Still, Elodie wasted no time tearing it open and dumping the contents out onto the couch. She tossed the box over her shoulder and stared at what had been inside. It looked like a mess of trash; newspaper bits, half-torn letters, scribbles and photographs that couldn't be less than a few decades old. Her eyes caught on one; with shaking hands, she reached for it, drawn to the wide eyes looking back at her.

It was a photo of a young woman. She wasn't familiar in the slightest but still Elodie stared at her. She looked exhausted, sat up by a handful of pillows in bed. Her dark hair clung to her forehead and face and heavy bags made her eyes droop low and weary. But she was still a pretty sight, or she could have been, in a better time.

The woman held a small bundle in her lap; a child, Elodie guessed, by the way she held it to her chest. The face wasn't visible, but that didn't matter; it was a stranger anyways.

"What the..." her words stuck to her throat as she flipped the photo over. Six neatly written words sat in the bottom right corner of the picture, so small one could easily miss it. The ink was faded and Elodie could barely make out the words.

"October first, 1989," she read aloud, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Jimena and...and...holy shit."

She dropped the photo. It landed at her feet; Elodie paid it no mind.

"This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't..."

The picture smiled at her from the floor, the small dark haired woman named Jimena and the babe in her lap. It said the child's name was Elodie, but that couldn't be more than a coincidence. Right?

Quickly, she leafed through more and more pages, trying to pick out any buzz word that could sum up what the hell she had just received. But half of it was in Spanish, and the rest gibberish; blocky letters scribbled on scraps, warning her about the end in all caps, and on others, just the words 'save yourself before it's too late'.

Elodie gulped. She dropped another scrap of foreign text and reached for a second photo. This one at least at some clue to it. Even after years of estrangement, there was no forgetting Ursula Morticelli's sorry face, grimly staring back at her like she was the real bringer of bad news.

But this wasn't her style; the letter she received last night proved it. She liked order and withholding details as it pleased, but at least in a neat fashion, not scribbles upon scribbles shoved in a box and dropped on the wrong doorstep.

"Jimena de la Cruz and Ursula," she read, tracing the tiny script on the photograph. More was written underneath but it just looked like more crazy scribbles. Whatever 'our just executioner' and 'will our ends be kind' meant to these two ladies, it was absolutely nothing to Elodie.

She heaved out another long, shaky breath, trying to still her heart before it burst in its hollow cage. But nothing seemed to ease the sharp panic building. And what could? Who else received ominous packages with pictures of strange women and old ex-adoptive-mothers, and random warnings about someone who will bring on the end of it all?

A longer sheet of paper caught her eye; the first that hadn't been torn or ruined in some way. It was a carefully penned letter of some sort, written with a clear elegance -- certainly not matching the notes before. They were writing to Jimena about a baby, a child who was born of the most unexpected circumstances -- to a woman who had never even had the chance to consider conceiving a child. The person assured Jimena that they would pay handsomely to take the baby off her hands, and more unnecessary details Elodie skimmed over. She turned the page over, searching for some identification -- only to gasp, throwing the letter like it was on fire. The cursive signature was for a name she knew all too well.

Reginald Hargreeves, head of the Umbrella Academy, and so-proclaimed father to seven children, all with abilities existing beyond human talent.

"Impossible...this is impossible," she yelled to her empty living room. "This is insane! This is some...some sort of joke, a practical prank, a...goddammit!"

Another letter seemed to be in response to whoever wrote the first one (be it Reginald or sick prankster), from Jimena to a woman dubbed 'Sul'. She promised the truth was safe with her and that she would not break to Sir Hargreeves will. 'Sul' would have her child and no one would know that it was ever even in her grasps.

The went on and on, speaking on Jimena's fear and great regret with giving the child away. She must have been in stuck in some trouble, Elodie gathered, as Jimena explained her partner leaving her and her family threatening to cast her out. And yet still, she wanted the best for the child and with 'suns for palms' and hoped to meet her, when she was grown, just so she knew she did the right thing.

But Elodie had no clue who 'Jimena' was, and did not recognise any of the women from the photos -- whether they were all her or not. She had never heard anyone mention that name or where she was from...especially not her absent, cold-hearted 'mother'.

"This is fucking nuts," she muttered, glancing over yet another sheet of scrap paper. It looked like absolute gibberish, like some sort of alien language. But the kind in movies, not that would show up in a box for her. In real life. "Man..." a shaky laugh fell from her lips, barely holding back a sob. "this...this..."

Her hands burned and Elodie scowled, coming back to her senses without a string of foul language that would put the worst of sailors to shame. She raced to the kitchen and pulled out a bag of peas from the freezer, clutching it tight between her hands. It wasn't much and it only slightly dulled the heat, but at least it would stop her new present from going up in flames.

"This has got to be a joke," she said to the bag of peas, which were already starting to thaw. "This -- right? I'm not -- this isn't real, right?"

Unfortunately for Elodie -- or fortunately, depending -- the peas could offer no response.

It wasn't the idea of Jimena being her 'real' mother that scared her. Sure, it was a little out of the blue and she hadn't expected a box of her oddball thoughts, if the scraps could even be called that. Elodie had always known she wasn't a Morticelli and been proud of that fact. And she had been doing all she could to find her real parents, eager to make a better connection then the psychopath who made her a monster.

No, it was...just about everything else that box of fuckery brought with it. 

The woman dropped the peas back into the freezer and took an ice pack back to the couch. She clutched it tight in one hand as the other gingerly sifted through the papers. No matter how weird it all was, she would be daft to burn it, of all things. And her burning curiosity was outgrowing her fear, so just waiting for her anxieties to never go away wouldn't work.

Elodie rolled her neck and focused.

There was another letter -- or half of one. It did not say a lot, much to her chagrin. Only that the writer was glad Jimena was still with her family, and that the baby was in safe hands. There was some mention of a 'source', but whatever the writer meant by that, Elodie would never knew. The page was ripped clean through the start of a title, or a name -- 'Ra' was all she got in answer.

But another photo came with that one. Ripped too. It was another black and wide print of a baby, bundled up warm sitting on someone's lap. Elodie could guess it was her at some early age. She had rarely seen herself as a kid -- what a surprise, her father wasn't the sentimental type -- but could piece together the clues.

The baby's hands were glowing, even in the faded state of the photo she could see that. Guess it was before he broke me, Elodie mused bitterly. She glanced around the halved photo before catching on one peculiar detail of the person holding her.

Something about their hands, too...maybe Elodie's baby fists reflected oddly, but they looked metallic in the photo. And not just that -- they looked like claws.

She swallowed hard again, resisting the urge to just burn it all up.

Another scrap, then another; pieces of a puzzle Elodie didn't know how to solve. Jimena told 'Sul' about her new marital problems, how she had been given to an older man after losing someone named 'Maxie'. She talked about prayer a lot but to or for what, Jimena never said. Only that it was a necessity after the 'events'. She was grateful, though, for the updates given on her child -- she always referred to the child as her own. Her baby, her little girl, her blessing given away.

Jimena seemed to think 'her' child was in good hands. That 'Sul' knew how to handle her. That she was good for her, that she'd protect the world from some invisible threat Jimena was convinced of. 

'She will protect them all'.

But that couldn't really be Elodie. And it certainly could not be her adoptive mother.

That woman had been a beast in her own right; perhaps not so physically fearsome as her husband, but she had a way with words that never ceased to paralyze her child whenever she started to speak. Where Archibald was loud and crashing, she was soft and slippery as a snake, creeping into the cracks of Elodie's mind. For the years Ursula had been around, she had hated her. So whoever Jimena knew, it could not be the snake-tongued, sly, pale fingered Ursula that had only ever sought suffering.

The words became too blurred and she had to stop trying to read them. Elodie clutched tightly to the melting icepack as she cried, begging for some relief from the ash filling her throat. Her head fell to the couch armrest, face buried into the fabric as she cried, all alone with nothing but herself and the cold, dead truth lying right in front of her.

Her father claimed she was a miracle given to him by the gods, and he abused her like she was a weapon made only for his incapable hands. Her mother, when she had spoken to her, said Elodie was a rare being for the world. But she was just stolen goods from a random woman from who knew where. A baby dropped from who knew where to fall into unsuspecting arms, only to be torn away and lived a torturous life of lies.

And then given a box of more lies to make up for it.

Elodie lifted her head and glanced back to the pile. Her eye caught on the photo that had kicked it all off. Jimena and her newborn. October 1st, 1989.

"Is everything a lie?" she murmured, staring at the baby's round cheeks. "Am I just another piece of their stupid game?"

ELODIE SPENT MOST OF THE MORNING SOBBING.

She only moved when she had to. Abandoned was the idea of water or food, even changing from her pajamas -- she laid on the couch, staring at the photos, at the truth, picking apart every little detail and realising how fucked her life had been. Every time she reread something, more truth came out, and more and more was she forced to realise, everything she ever knew was a lie. The only thing that was her own was her first name - and even then, saying her name felt dirty. Wrong.

When her phone first rang, she ignored it. She let it ring without care. But at the second, and then third ring, Elodie growled and rose, stomping to the kitchen to answer whatever brat had to drop a bomb on her that time. 

Maybe it'll be my dad from the dead, she mused, raising the phone to her ear. Maybe the fucker wants to off me for what I did, huh? Might as well be.

"Seriously, wh--" 

"--is this Elodie Verbeck?"

Is it? You tell me. "Yeah. What's goin' on?" She paused, listening drearily before starting. One name left her shocked and standing pin-straight, suddenly extremely interested in the conversation. The man on the other end rambled on, and for once she took in every single word, so far as to the little details of cell numbers and more.

"I'll be there," Elodie promised, before ending the phone call and leaving the couch. She was a mess, teary and broken and she really hated the idea of leaving the house - emotionally, she did not feel up to even a trip to the grocery store, let alone to the police station. But it was important and she would do it a thousand times over for him. Much as she wouldn't regret it.

Not ten minutes later and she was off, grumbling the whole way, the baby photo in her pocket and hands clutched tight to the worn steering wheel. She swerved recklessly and began to speed, going down a road she had not in a very, very long time.

"Diego Hargreeves," Elodie mumbled, "you son of a bitch."

Hahaha...

But also, now having the sequel fully-fledged, all these hints can actually mean something so even though Diego and Elodie are still not together...at least there's funky random suspicious stuff :)))

Also! I'm differing from the way I originally wrote this (with Elodie's background) because of the whole season two thing; I want to at least separate a little from another forty-three, just...well, half from some sort of creative desire and half cause I have no clue if all forty-three are related. I don't know how it's gonna go, but I'm trying. We'll see how it goes.

Thank you for reading, let me know what you thought.