Patrick "Bud" Pleasure found his hands trembling as he set out plates for breakfast.

One for him. One for his wife, who sat smiling dreamily up at him.

One for Pacifica.

Bud slid the plate onto the table as if it would bite him. It sat innocently at Pacifica's empty place, and for a moment it seemed like a normal plate for a normal girl.

Then a frustrated scream shook the walls.

Bud winced and backed away from the table, as if the plate he set out for Pacifica had been the one to scream. But no, the scream had come from the girl herself, who had yet to venture out of her room since being dropped off last night by the Northwest boy.

Last night had been the hardest one Bud had ever had to live through. He still remembered the sensation of curling up underneath his covers, shivering in a cold that wasn't really there, wishing he could fall asleep as easily and peacefully as his wife Catherine. But his daughter hadn't slept, either. Instead, she had kept Bud up all night with her screams.

And now, even with the morning sun streaming through the windows to give him strength, Bud waited in terror for his daughter to come out.

"It's so nice that Pacifica is staying with us," Catherine said pleasantly.

Bud glanced at his wife, a helpless frustration washing over him. Even after six years of her condition, he still wasn't sure how much Catherine understood, but it was clear he was the only one who felt the fear that swirled through the room. Didn't Catherine hear the screams? Didn't she see Gideon Northwest on their doorstep yesterday, holding their unconscious daughter in his arms, informing them that she was broken?

A door banged down the hallway. Bud jumped.

"Here she comes." Catherine smiled at her husband. "You made her favorite, didn't you, honey?"

"Yes, I. . ." He trailed off as he realized it had been some time since he'd checked on the food. 

Bud turned and hurried into the kitchen, where he flipped the eggs on the stove and prayed they weren't burned. They looked fine. He breathed a sigh of relief, and decided to stay here in the kitchen for a while, where it was a little less stifling.

"Good morning, Pacifica, darling."

Bud squeezed his eyes shut. He shouldn't leave Cathy alone out there, but. . . he'd rather just stay in here. . . .

No. Bud Pleasure knew he was a coward, but he couldn't just leave Pacifica and Catherine alone out there.

He flipped the eggs one more time and picked up the pan, balancing a plate of toast in the other hand. Then, plastering on his best Happy Family smile, he exited the kitchen.

"Pacifica, I'm glad you're awake! I made you some breakfast."

He got his first view of his daughter and faltered. Pacifica's smoky grey eyes were staring to the left of Bud's face, framed by splotchy purple make-up that was far less precise than her usual impeccable look. Her hair stuck out at strange angles, the loop of hair that was usually tucked under her headband now a ratty mess, starchy with hairspray. She had on the same clothes she'd had on yesterday: her black shawl and bell-shaped purple dress with moon designs on the skirt over black stockings, but now unkempt, her skirt crumpled and her shawl sitting askew on her shoulders. Where her amulet usually sat on her collarbone was an empty space. Bud found his eyes drawn to the spot. He hadn't seen Pacifica without her amulet in four years.

Pacifica tried to sit daintily in the chair Bud had pulled up for her, but she misjudged where the chair was and nearly fell off. Bud's fear tripled. He'd never seen his daughter so. . . decomposed.

"Did you sleep well?" Catherine asked politely as Bud set the eggs and toast on the table.

Pacifica slowly turned to look at her mother, but her eyes never quite reached Catherine's. Then she took a long, deep breath. Bud braced himself for the worst.

"The smoke is fading in and out," Pacifica said.

Her words were slow and careful and slurred, her tone slightly confused but mostly expressionless. And Bud had no idea what she meant.

"What's that, darling?" Bud asked.

Pacifica swung her gaze to the space beside her father's head. "Do think clearly, Daddy," she said in that same emotionless voice. "It's unbecoming. You know, when he told me about what you've been hiding, I didn't believe him at first. Such a lovely yellow glow."

Bud tried to catch everything, but Pacifica wasn't speaking clearly, and it didn't seem like she was saying anything that made sense. He did pick up on one phrase, however: "What you've been hiding."

Bud suppressed a shiver and moved to serve the eggs. "Here, Pacifica, have some breakfast."

Pacifica stared at him with no response. Bud decided not to say anything, and started scooping some eggs onto Pacifica's plate. A minute or two passed in silence as Bud moved from Pacifica's plate to Catherine's to his.

"I'm not hungry," Pacifica said suddenly. "But I wondered why the carpet was white. I suppose rich people need everything to look as clean as possible." She looked expectantly as Bud, as if waiting for him to agree.

"Yes," Catherine said with a nod.

Bud finished serving himself and sat down, feeling that helpless frustration again. Of course. Now both his wife and his daughter were crazy. And they were speaking a language he didn't know.

Just keep acting like everything is fine, Bud told himself as he took a bite of his food.

"Daddy," Pacifica said, "why didn't you tell me that I was the heir to a cult?"

Bud choked on his eggs.

It took a good few minutes to cough, take a gulp of water, and be able to breathe again. Pacifica sat, waiting patiently, the whole time. She seemed disinterested in Bud, even after what she had just asked him. Her plate of food was untouched.

Finally, Bud found the ability to speak. "What do you mean, dear?"

"He told me," Pacifica said. "He said you were a part of a group, and you were supposed to be in charge, but you were too weak. And now I can be in charge. It's in my blood." She frowned down at the eggs and toast sitting before her. "These are cold."

No, they aren't; you haven't even touched them! Bud wanted to scream. But he restrained himself and said, "Who told you, sweetie?" How on earth could she know?

Pacifica looked up at him, her gaze once again settling just next to his head instead of into his eyes. "It's okay; he isn't mad at you," she said.

Bud clenched a fist under the table. "Who told you about the group?" he said, straining to keep his voice patient.

"We really must tell my agent I'm not doing shows anymore."

Bud was struggling to keep up. "Why wouldn't you be doing shows anymore, darling?"

"I do love your show," Catherine said. She'd gone every night since Pacifica had gotten back in town some weeks ago. Not that Pacifica ever noticed.

Bud's eyes once again flicked to the place where Pacifica's amulet should have been. "Is it because. . . your. . ." He didn't dare finish.

Pacifica picked up her fork and started prodding at her eggs. "How can I do a show when I'm busy running the Order?"

The Order.

She really did know.

"Sweetie," Bud said carefully, "there's already a leader of the Order."

"He said I could be in charge," Pacifica replied.

"Blind Lincoln?" Bud asked in surprise.

Pacifica didn't seem to hear him. She kept pushing her food around her plate.

"Pacifica. . . Darling. . ."

She looked up at him, thirty seconds after he'd said her name.

"Will you tell me how you know about the Order?"

Pacifica's eyes flicked around Bud's head, as if she were looking at something behind him. Bud turned, but nothing was there.

"Why are you thinking that?" Pacifica asked sharply.

Bud whipped back around. Pacifica's hands were braced on the table, and she was staring intently at the space beside Bud's left ear.

"Wh-what?" he asked. Then he realized: She has mind powers. Of course she has mind powers. She has powers, just like the Northwest boy, but you turned a blind eye!

Wait. . . but. . . if the amulet was gone. . .

"You want me dead!" Pacifica said. "You're thinking — you're thinking you're going to kill me — so I can't lead the Order — you have an assassin just outside!"

The scariest thing was that while her voice got louder, her tone was still flat.

"No — no, darling, I'm not thinking that at all!" Bud said. And he wasn't! Sure, he was thinking that he was afraid — that something was terribly wrong with his daughter — but he certainly didn't want her dead.

"Don't try to hide it, Daddy," Pacifica said. "I can see your thoughts." She brought up a hand and started tracing it through the air. "Floating around your big bald head. I've always wondered why men go bald but women don't."

"You. . . you have?" Bud asked. He was completely lost, but at least talking about balding wasn't talking about assassination.

Pacifica was done with that topic, however. "Who are you sending to kill me?" she asked. "Nobody can get past my powers. You do know that, Daddy? Is it Gideon? He has powers too but he's not as strong as me. Blue is a much uglier color than purple, don't you think?"

"I think all the colors are beautiful," Catherine said helpfully.

Even though Pacifica was still talking slowly, Bud felt everything spiraling quickly out of control. If there'd been any control in the first place. "Purple is a great color," he tried.

Pacifica nodded in satisfaction. "I always say that if you can't think something intelligent—"

Then she screamed.

Bud was so startled he nearly fell out of his chair. One moment she had been talking about. . . something. . . in that deadpan voice, and the next she was screeching at the top of her lungs, pointing to something behind her father. Bud's pulse raced as he turned around, but there was nothing there, just the wall and a small painting of a starlit landscape.

But Pacifica was still screaming.

Bud jumped out of his chair. "What is it? Pacifica, what's wrong?" He tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she stopped screaming long enough to recoil as if he had shocked her. Then she screamed again, standing up and knocking her chair to the ground.

"Get away!" she screeched, staring with wide eyes at the blank wall. "You can't get me! Get away! I'll kill you!"

"Pacifica!" Bud shouted. "Pacifica, darling, nothing's there." He found he was crying. "Nothing's there, darling, it's okay, you're safe!"

Pacifica whirled on him. "You did this! You sent her! It's not going to work! She can't get me!"

"Who?" Bud pleaded. "Who's there? I didn't send anyone!"

But Pacifica had turned her attention back to whoever she thought was standing on the other side of the table. "Stay away!" she shouted. "You're too weak! You can't hurt me! Not anymore!" She backed away, fear in her eyes. "Stop! Stay away from me! Stay away from me, you freak!"

"Pacifica, please—"

She turned and fled the room, stumbling over her own feet. A moment later, the door to her bedroom slammed. The sound echoed down the hall into the dining room.

Catherine took a bite of her eggs.

Bud looked desperately at his wife, wishing he could be as unperturbed as she. "Catherine. Catherine! Did you see anything?"

Catherine looked up at him and blinked. "No," she said. Then she smiled. "Did you?"

The tear tracks on Bud's cheeks were once again wet. He felt like he couldn't breathe.

He grabbed his coat off the hook and ran out of the house, slamming the door behind him. Out on the porch, he leaned against the railing and took heavy breaths. They weren't enough. Nothing was enough.

Something flashed blue in Bud's periphery, but when he turned to look, nothing was there. So he put his head down on his arms and started to cry.

A/N Please note that while Pacifica's mental issues are heavily based off of schizophrenia, they is not a reliable representation and should not be taken as an example of what schizophrenia is actually like. (That being said, I did do my research.) Also, Catherine doesn't really fit into any disorder; her behavior fits various symptoms, but is mainly a product of my imagination. Please do your own research if you would like to know more :)