Callisto Thatcher

PRIVATE NUMBER: Questions are easy to ask.

PRIVATE NUMBER: Just beware the cost of the answers.

PRIVATE NUMBER: I wasn't careful.

PRIVATE NUMBER: - A

CALLISTO: Wrong number.

Danny was sure by now it might have just looked strange that he was there, a drink or two in while everyone else was well on their way to being absolutely plastered, a state he did not want to be on like a night like this. Given he wasn’t all that into drinking anyway, he might have still let himself drink a little more had a local girl not gone missing, or turned up dead at the last two town events. Third time lucky, or cursed, he wasn’t sure which one he expected. Nevertheless, his name on her lips rocked him to his very core, as if the excitement in her voice might not have been spurred on by intoxication, though he knew better. “Hey Callie,” he choked out through a laugh and a tidal wave of near shock as she pressed lips to his cheek. “Happier for you than me apparently, you feelin’ alright?” 

Callisto always found an unparalleled happiness in celebrations like these. Not only reserved for New Year’s, but gatherings of people come together for new beginnings. There was an electricity in the air that tingled on her skin for once not caused only by his presence. “Alright? I’m absolutely great; free booze? I’m easy to please.” The grin on her lips said as much as she looked up at him. Inhibitions stayed firmly intact despite the blush that expressed itself on her cheeks. “And you? Are you enjoying the Callahan’s fancy party?”

@calthatcher

The span between Christmas and New Years seemed to blend together into a hazy swirl of wild evenings and sloshy afternoons. Faced now with the pressing dilemma of the impending present, Katrina wearily staggered from her apartment, bundled heavily with scarves, mittens and a large wool hat, trudging through the mess to the garage. While it was cold, it wasn’t nearly as terrible as it had been over the past week and the brunette miserably sucked at a cigarette while she walked, spitting it into a snowbank as it burned low to the filter.

She groaned upon approach, wiggling her hands free of the gloves to knock at the door. “Cal, you in?” Her visit had a multitude of purposes– she wanted to see the vehicles that were knocking around for sale, and she simply wanted to catch up with her friend. Her voice rose to a sing-song, “I brought coffee.”

The break from work during the holidays had been a blessing, always an enjoyment for Callisto but being thrown back into a routine was always a distraction from what had happened. The knock on the door brought her attention away from the machinery her hands were busy fiddling with, having remembered her plans to meet with Kat. “Come in!” She called, despite approaching the door and swinging it open to let the brunette inside the slightly warmer garage. During the winter they kept the doors closed but it did little to keep the cold at bay. So much so, that she even wore two layers beneath her typical jumpsuit. “My savior, you are a blessing.” Callisto took the women into a quick hug at the mention of coffee; happy for the much-needed break. “We’ve got a couple cars around back that won’t be too hard to fix up if you want to check them out.”

Having grown up in the city, Mason had honest to God never seen a chicken in real life. Sure, he’d seen the ones sold in the meat section of a grocery store, but never alive. So when the question was presented to him, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea. He even imagined a little hotel like structure for chickens. “What the hell are chickens even going to look at? What’s coming to eat them?”

Asher was too interested in the contents of her phone, a Buzzfeed article to be exact, that she didn’t realise that her friend had been speaking to her. It had to get her a double take before she slid her phone in her pocket. “Sorry.” she started, an apologetic smile forming on her features, though was replaced with a raised brow. “Depends. If you’re keeping them outside in this weather, then probably not. I’m sure chickens get cold too.” she paused before holding up an index finger. “I didn’t think you were the chicken type, Cal. Seem more like a dog person to me.” she joked.

Callisto inserted the drill bit into the drill in her hand, deciding on the piece that was better. “I’m not sure about the legitimacy of the blog I read but it did say they need ‘winter training’; and to keep the door open.” Though Cal did think the cold was harsh as well. She let a laugh escape her lips at Asher’s tease. “What? Have you ever had a chicken, they’re great companions? Feathery dogs, I swear.”

Mind was fogged - cloudier than Seattle on a good day, it brought her one good. Her mood was everywhere, unlike her usual state - things took a sudden turn after Christmas day and shook her up unexpectedly. Lending a helping hand did help her out and allow her to take a moment though. There was no doubt over how biased Athena was to helping people and how quick she enjoyed hearing Callisto’s father even mention building something, even if she wasn’t all of the greatest at building but she tried and somehow got involved. Nestled up in beanie with a pom pom, gloves keeping her fingers warm, a thick scarf and coat allowed her to endure the chill in Westbrook. Just moments ago was when Athena zoned out, Callisto’s words bringing her back to focus as a smile forced itself now. “Sure, why not,” she mentions, investigating the chicken coop, “If I was a chicken, I’d love to have a window or two, especially to see the unpredictable whether of Westbrook. Oh, should we install heaters for them or is that too extra?” 

Callisto couldn’t help but laugh. If anything, she’d love a heater at the moment, she’d love to be cozied up inside on the couch wrapped up in a blanket. “I’m sure they’d love a heater, but I read that it wasn’t good for them. They have to get use to the weather in order to survive it. Poor chickens.” It’d been the first year her father and her had taken the chance and with it came a bunch of research but thankfully, the internet provided. “Here, grab the saw so we can cut out the forms—Or we can sneak off to make some hot chocolate…”

Cassidy had heard a drill bit working as she was walking down the sidewalk. Pausing when she saw the woman building a coop, Cassidy quirked her brow at her. “Umm, maybe? I’m not too sure on chicken houses, but I do know my way around building human houses,” she says with a small laugh and walked over to the woman. “So what are you trying to do here? You got chickens that need a good home?” she asks, looking at what had been built so far. 

“You do?” Callisto felt a bit of hope. She loved diving into projects, but her fingers were getting numb from the cold. The pieces had been cut, for the most part excluding the possible windows. “Yeah, yeah. My father decided the chickens needed an upgrade for the winter…in the middle of winter. I read somewhere that it shouldn’t be too insulated, or the humidity could cause mold when it heats up during the summer months. I figured I’d add a ‘window’ for easy access to the eggs.”

“What, you think I’m stupid? I plan to maximize my life – not die from tetanus or HIV. I’m on you know what, don’t worry about it.” He smiled a little, following her slowly down the stairs to the cellar. Anthony Callahan’s collection was impressive, to say the least.

“I’m sure that’s what they all say.” The sarcasm in her tone wasn’t meant to slip, in fact, she usually didn’t judge but those who were close to her weren’t usually users of such addictive substances. She hadn’t expected Maverick to come back to her like this. “You’re right forget it—What do you think is the most expensive thing down here?”

       “Just….” He paused, trying his best to think of how he was going to try to explain his thoughts to her. “He’s got a log going on with the case, y’know? He can’t tell us shit without breakin’ some laws and I figure if he’s got some pretty big information floatin’ around in that thick skull of his, I’d want some space too if I were him.” Carrying around all of that information and not being able to disclose any of it to anyone without the right credentials was a stressful job, at least from what Elvis could assume. Westbrook wasn’t exactly used to the type of case that was ongoing and even those who didn’t know Alexis seemed to be reeling in the aftermath. Elvis let of a frustrated sigh when Cal seemed to catch on that he was trying to avoid eye contact with her and simply shook his head, his arms tightening against his chest slightly. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Cal. I met her at the wedding.”

Callisto had seen the toll the job took on her father, many nights he’d come home exhausted…almost fragile. It broke her heart, and she logically suspected those harrowing thoughts had become normalcy to most in the field. Everyone had that one case. She nodded in agreement, they always seemed to share these similar thoughts. It had always been Elvis’s heart that attracted her most, his kindness and self-sacrifice to his friends and family. His care for Danny was admirable; and while it warmed her chest, guilt of her own feelings simultaneously tighten imaginary strings until she felt breath catch in her throat. Fear of what Elvis may think. “Maybe we should actually take him out for tacos, then.” It had taken months, years really if you counted the time they were childhood friends, until Callisto had fallen into an almost transparent comfort with Elvis. She confessed to him worries haunting her mind that no one else knew; and in turn she felt she knew him just as well. Callisto patted the chair across from her for him to sit, “Was she nice?” Sometimes it felt like pulling teeth to have him open up. Each question unraveling the blockade, she always assumed it was the duty he felt to stay strong for his family. Offering her own anecdote for comfort, “I knew her when we were kids. She was one of my first friends. I, still, can’t believe what happened? It doesn’t seem real, and I wasn’t even close to her.”

Callisto had a complicated relationship with crime, conspiracy theories, and violence in general. As a given, she can’t handle much of anything overstepping boundaries close to her reality. She dreads the crime rate in her own town, knowing full well what people are capable of. This stems from an event that happened when she was around five years old. Her father had been working double shifts at the police station but often brought even more work home to continue. He balanced some where between police officer and climbing the ranks to detective. After all, he’d been on the force long enough to make the promotion. For a few months, he’d been working one particularly gruesome case. The folder, and photos, tucked away in his desk drawer when the curious child that Callisto was decided to investigate. Not so cleverly, she pretended to have been playing a game of hide and seek or at least, that’s what she told herself to excuse sneaking into the only place she was forbidden from being alone. When she opened the drawer, and saw the photos an uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. She didn’t understand what was happening within the scene, but it was a clear it held a darkness best kept locked away. Curiosity swirled in her mind, even at such a young age and about week later the night terrors began. For months she awoke her family members in the middle of the night with terrified shrieks and blubbering eyes until she was rocked into a calmer state. The cycle repeated every few weeks for three years, and it wasn’t until she was in her adolescence that she confessed her crime to her father. He eventually blamed a correlation and removed all traces of his work life from their household.

As an adult, she still gets that uneasy sickness in her stomach at the thought of violent crimes. In fact, she can barely stomach blood or the idea of something as simple as a needle puncturing skin (though she has pushed through this feeling on occasion, with much preparation). This feeling is always intensified for cases within Westbrook, the location of the crime illogically pulling the memory from her childhood more so than cases outside her reach. This being said, for those closest to her who work within Westbrook’s police force, she attempts to push past these feelings to lend them an outlet to vent; knowing full well the effects it has on your psyche. Sometimes, she still gets nightmares with too much exposure.

It certainly wasn’t easy getting to know her, she’d never really made it an effortless attempt, but he’d tried nonetheless, and somewhere along the line he’d come to learn more about her than more cared to think about. Like the fact that she could never handle the volume on anything on an uneven number, or that she’d always move her drink and draw random things into the moisture rings left behind regardless of whether they’d remain permanently or not. Danny knew that she’d almost never slept without the tv on, only because she’d grown so used to falling asleep watching her conspiracy theories, or that talking about her mother was like pulling teeth. The palm that curled around his arm sent a chill over his spine, not the kind that drew the hairs across his skin to rise, no; but the kind that made his stomach twist with a heat that flushed out across his throat, but he made no move to pull away from her touch. “Maybe not now. Maybe you’re worried about that now, but I think one day you’ll wake up and you won’t even think about it anymore. I think maybe we all do. Everything we’ve worried about just.. disappears, and instead of wanting to question everything there’s some kind of clarity. Or I hope there is anyway. —- You’re not selfish though, you’re not capable of that, Cal.” At least he never thought so; to even consider that any part of her mother could live a deep set life within her was beyond comprehension to him. The tightening of her hand drew him a little closer, leaning over against her shoulder in a light nudge, though one that he never seemingly pulled back from; all short lived until she pulled away and he felt the electricity of her touch snap and short circuit so brutally he might have looked to see if it left a mark. “You don’t know my dad.” As if that completed an argument against what a kind person Danny could be. “He was a nice guy once too.” Every question that had previously fell from her lips shifted something in his chest that he couldn’t decide whether it was simply hard to think about, or whether it hurt. “You don’t know that.” A mirror image of what he’d told her not even two minutes ago; as it became damningly clear that neither could ever really be sure of what would find them in their darkest moments. The shift in her tone, whether intended or not made it hard to breathe, the heat from his chest burning at every inch of skin that it could possibly reach, Danny finding it near impossible now to look away from eyes that swam with an abyss he could have lost himself to years ago. “I uh..— Yeah,” he clicked his fingers sharply and Callie shifted, pulling herself across the floor to sit at his side, his fingers burying themselves in her fur. “You’re probably right, she’d be lost.”

He’d never know just how much his words affected her, how the reassurance in his voice calmed any uneasy thoughts. “Maybe one day.” One day she’d stop trying to forcefully ignore the dread that boiled in her stomach when she saw a child holding the hand of their mother, or a couple happily cuddled on a park bench. One day, those thoughts wouldn’t enter her mind as frequently until they were gone forever. But the puzzle she’d yet to piece together was that those worries almost always disappeared quickly when she was with him. An ease and happiness that consumed with just the thought of his smile. It had grown so ingrained in her habits that she never quite noticed how quickly she picked up her phone to text him the moment her stomach sunk with a negative thought. Motivated by the idea that just maybe a joke or two would grant him a break while he worked locked away in the station, or maybe he’d laugh as he woke up to a funny picture she’d come across the night before. Comedy was a crutch but much more than that, a way to heal wounds. “Oh, you don’t know what I’m capable of. You’ve never seen me go against the first graders in Westbrook’s annual Easter egg hunt. Those eggs are mine.”

She wanted nothing more than to lift him up; admit everything she felt about him. His humanity, his dedication, all evidence of the purity and strength he possessed. The years had undoubtedly changed them, but clearly his heart remained kind despite the mountains of greed and destruction he’d seen throughout his life time. Callisto had a sliver of perspective, a foot half in and half out to the things he encountered at work, but she could only imagine the resilience it borrowed. “I do know that.” Words spoken with finality before the eye contact between them broke. She looked down as he called to Callie, noticing the evasion of her admission. Callisto never knew how far to step, what to let out. She worried for a moment that she’d made him uncomfortable, that he took it as an advance. This energy between, now, was so difficult to read. She wanted to assure him the truth of her words but the perspective she had of their friendship had clearly shifted. It was only brief moments when she wasn’t reminded of what he did not know had happened between them. Guilt filled her chest, as she reached to ruffle Callie’s fur. A whispered choke of words, “I-I mean it,” before she cleared her throat to stretch. A change in topic was needed, and absent of grace she stood to commit. “Hey, why don’t I throw some popcorn in the microwave and we watch a movie, yeah? What are you feeling spooky or action? We can go over that darknet stuff later or something. Have I forced you to watch all of my favorites yet?”

“Cal – we’re not teenagers. Why destroy them when you can fucking sell them for money or better stuff?” Maverick huffed out a laugh, pulling out his keys from his pocket, “He has security cameras. Just because you don’t see them doesn’t mean they’re not there. He’s Anthony Callahan, but he’s not an idiot,” he opened the door, pushing it open and motioning for her to start walking. “Heroin is much more of a good time than wine.”

She mocked offense, pressing a hand to her heart. “Because then you don’t get to enjoy his reaction when he sees the evidence of it all wasted.” A laugh escaped as she followed his direction through the door. “I know a computer guy, we’ll get the videos scrubbed. That’s the term, right?” His words sunk her heart, it was something she never divulged in nor judged others for, but she had been well versed in what Heroin did to others. Her father’s lectures to thank. “Yeah, as long as you avoid gangrene from a dirty needle.”

“Well – I did grow up in this creepy hallway, so they all look the same to me,” Maverick smiled a little at the sound of Cal’s voice, slinging his arm around her shoulders, “Nah, but I have a key. I like the hard stuff. Beer is just a cheap way to get drunk, and scotch is a better way to get slammed.” He played with some of her hair, “But I ain’t here to get drunk – why are you wandering around?”

She fell into his side, it was nice to have him back in town. Slipping easily into the friends they once were as teenager. “So…” She drew, “You wouldn’t really cry over split wine, would you?” The idea had only entered her mind when she saw the door; antics such as these hadn’t been her forte in years. “Drink? Who said anything about drinking?” Callisto avoided his question, not wanting to admit she’d been worried about him. He didn’t seem to take well to that these days. She looked to the corners of the hall, the smirk still present. “You know, I never understood why your dad didn’t install security cameras when he invites strangers into his home or the price tag on alcohol…Want to see what some of the most expensive bottles look like smashed on the ground?”