Dragon's Lair

Chloe trundled along the road. Her trolley bag kept getting caught in the potholes and cracks that had been made by the winter weather. She stepped carefully over the cracks, never letting the heel of her shoe touch one, and lifted her bag cautiously over the puddles, lest she was accidentally pulled to the mirror district. Her mind, as always, was everywhere other than the dreary walk from the convenience store back to her apartment, thinking about to do lists and dead body pick ups and the kinds of necklaces people wore to the funerals of people they didn’t know well. 

So when a paper airplane poked her in the nose, at first, Chloe was too surprised to even realise she’d caught it. Jolting back into the present, she looked around curiously, but there were no children chagrin at her to retrieve their make shift toy. It was pretty damn well made too, the paper folded in intricate shapes designed not to streamline it but to make it look exquisite, like the process of folding had been a labour of love. Under the folds of the wings, Chloe could see the distorted edges of a drawing. She looked around again, stepping to the side of the pavement onto the grass berm, but no one was looking at her, so Chloe unfolded it. 

Each fold revealed a new feature of a watercolour portrait. A perfectly curled lock of hair, collar bones bearing exquisite jewels, brown skin that gleamed gold, and piercing blue eyes that had as many facets as diamonds. Chloe was staring at a face rendered more perfectly than it had been in the papers. One that she knew the tiniest details of: the poreless skin, the slightly pink teeth.

Captured on this piece of paper was the earth shattering beauty of Lydia Griffin, staring right into her soul as she stole it. 

“Season’s greetings!” It read in bright red script. As her finger brushed over the text, from the edge of her eyes, Chloe saw a flicker of movement. For the briefest second, it had looked as if the drawing of Lydia had winked. The page fell through Chloe’s fingers, onto the grass. Her breath rattled in her lungs as she looked around, only to see no one and nothing looking at her. A man jogged past, pushing a pram with a sleeping child in it. Two teenagers walked past, swapping memes on their phones. A woman leant against a nearby car, yelling into her earbuds in something that sounded like German. Normal, everyday people, doing everyday things. 

White Crest was surprisingly full of those, relative to the monsters (both sentient and otherwise) who had shaped her first year in White Crest. Lydia was dead,  the only way she could haunt Chloe was through pictures like this. Someone pulling a prank, being an asshole. White Crest was full of those too, after all. She slowed her breathing and carefully stooped to pick up the piece of paper, staring at the visage of Lydia’s eerily perfect smile. Under the sheet of paper, Chloe felt something soft and spongey brush against her fingertips: a perfectly round, beige mushroom, poking out between the blades of grass.

Of course, thought Chloe. 

Did she have her wallet? Her keys? Her laptop? Every time Chloe left Erin’s funeral home, there was something she ended up leaving at her desk, so the daily rummage through her bag once she was outside the building had become a ritual. Maybe it was better to do inside, but it served a second purpose - a moment to collect herself and work out how she was feeling after usually emotionally draining days, before she got into her car. Today hadn’t been too bad. In a town like this, an elderly relative passing in their sleep was a novelty. Still heavy with grief, but a different kind than someone who had been cut short by an ‘animal attack’. Satisfied she had everything, Chloe pulled her bag onto her shoulder, walking over to her car. Tonight there was green curry in the fridge and a new season of big brother to catch up on. Her mind half a world away, she didn’t realise who else was there until too late.

Chloe froze, key in hand as she looked at her red car. There was a young man casually leaning against the hood, looking right at her. His face was hauntingly familiar, but Chloe couldn’t quite place where she knew it from. An equally familiar fear crept up her spine like a leisurely spider. “Can I... help you?” She asked, adjusting the grip of her keychain in her hands for the iron key she had on it, that didn’t open any door other than her own protection.

 People didn’t always match Eddie’s enthusiasm, and that was fine. Some people, like Chloe, didn’t bother responding to him at all. That was also fine. Talking about the supernatural didn’t come to everyone as easily as it did to him, especially when trauma mixed itself into the subject. It made sense that she didn’t want to share the excruciating details of being held captive with a stranger, who would? But Eddie knew convincing her to open up about her experiences had the potential to change—if not outright save lives.

The story of Lydia Griffin sounded like folklore when Eddie heard it; an affluent author lures people into her home to spin stories, devouring them when they outlived their usefulness. It had ‘fae’ written all over it in bold italics. To think Chloe was the only surviving victim of fae greed couldn’t be true, but she was one of the few given a voice by the ordeal. If she spoke out, how many others would take comfort in knowing they weren’t alone? How many needed reassurance that what happened to them was real? Eddie’s heart thrummed at the thought of normalizing conversations pertaining to trauma with supernatural roots. If only he could pass that feeling along to Chloe.

And that’s precisely what led him to the Nichols family’s funeral home where she worked. He checked in from time-to-time to sit in on funerals with unremarkable turn-outs. No one deserved an empty visitation. Today, however, he planted himself in the parking lot and waited. And waited. He really should have checked her schedule before stopping by.

When Chloe finally exited the building, Eddie immediately straightened up from slouching. His expression switched from pained boredom to unbridled enthusiasm in a matter of seconds.

“Yes, you absolutely can,” he responded without hesitation. Eddie offered her an outstretched hand without noticing the way she clutched her keys. “Chloe Brown, right? I’m Eddie Carridine, and I’d really like to ask you a few questions.” 

Chloe extended her hand, and tapped the iron key against his fingers instead of shaking his hand. Chloe never had a plan for what would happen if someone recoiled with blisters bursting from their fingertips, never able to think past the deepset anxiety of someone waiting for her, knowing her name, and having questions. Her heart jumped into her throat as his name sank in. The spam email, the texts, the weird occassional memes shared on certain pages of the boy who thought ghosts were real and he was the one destined to talk to them. After a moment, Chloe found her voice an octave higher than it had been earlier. 

“This. Is a funeral home! This is so beyond- completely inappropriate!” Chloe looked behind her, back towards the funeral home, but Erin wasn’t near any of the windows. For right now, alone. If Chloe screamed, maybe Erin would come running with her trusty baseball bat, or call the police. But a promise tied a knot in her throat, stifling how hard she could scream even if she wanted to. “In what universe is this the place to- to accost people to ask a few questions?!”

When metal met his hand instead of skin, Eddie’s brow furrowed in mild confusion. It took him a moment to register that the key must have a precautionary measure. Either that, or Chloe was intentionally messing with him, and he could respect that too. Eddie awkwardly retracted his hand and buried it in his front pocket when it became clear that a standard greeting was out of reach.

“I mean, I feel like that’s only taboo if you approach someone in mourning,” Eddie mused without missing a beat. “You just work here, right?” He decided not to question how his upbeat introduction counted as accosting her. If that’s how she felt, he doubted anything he had to say would change her mind.  

"It- it doesn't matter! Don't you think its weird if some guy is lurking outside the funeral home for- how long have you even been here?" Chloe asked, backing away slightly, his laid back demeanor rattling her nerves. He didn’t seem threatening, but then, all the most dangerous people didn’t need to. 

Chloe scrounged through her memories as to what she knew about the kid who hadn’t stopped messaging her since he’d learned about her. He was a semi successful youtuber, who scammed the world by telling ghost stories and other bullshit. He didn’t help, he profiteered, and she was sure every once in a while he stumbled across someone like her,  and their stories would get distorted by the camera and tricky editing under the guise of wanting to spread the word. They were just cheap entertainment, as bad as the podcast hosts who wanted to see bite marks on Chloe’s limbs. “And you don’t think there’s anything wrong with showing up at someone’s work? I haven’t been replying to your messages for a reason, get a grip, dude!”

Eddie responded with a shrug. “Dunno,” he said in regards to how long he’d been at the funeral home. He didn’t keep up with time well, so checking his phone wouldn’t proffer any answers. The sun looked a little lower than it had when he first arrived, but not by much. “An hour, maybe?” His arms crossed loosely over his chest. “And I don’t think you can lurk in broad daylight, not out in the open anyway.” He looked away as if considering whether or not he agreed with himself.

Her next comment caused Eddie to recoil in surprise. Point taken, she hated his guts. Chloe had plenty of company in that regard. “Yeah, and maybe that reason was uncertainty or—or, I dunno, you could’ve just been bad with technology. How was I supposed to know? You didn’t reply.” He resented the implication that wanting clarification and a chance to make his case was wrong, but her distress seemed genuine enough to warrant reconsidering his methods. “I wanted to meet you here because it’s a public setting. I thought that would eliminate the sketch factor.” Eddie’s lips pursed. “I never intended to stress you out, I just think your story would help a lot of people, maybe even save some lives. You really won’t consider telling it?” His eyes pleaded with her to see things from his point of view.

“A-a-an hour?” Chloe stuttered indignantly, clutching her bag more closely. She stared at him with wide eyes, the only thing protecting her from terror was his casual confusion about why she’d be put off, which… was actually a very fae thing to be. But he’d passed the iron test. On the other hand, he’d been leaning against her car for the past hour.  “The sun doesn’t stop creepy behaviour.”  She shuddered as he described how much thought he’d given here, as if meeting in private had even been on the table. Like he’d worked out where she lived. “Not replying is not an invitation!”

“Bullshit,” Chloe said, crossing her arms across her chest, thinking about the lyrics she wrote and how often she heard them on the cafe radio. “You want the adsense and sponsorship money from a weird true crime story. I’ve seen your channel, It’s creative storytelling about people who died.” She closed her arms over her chest, leaning away from him. “You’re not exactly the first person to ask. Please just leave me alone.”

Eddie cringed when Chloe referred to his behavior as creepy. He didn’t see it that way at all. All he wanted was clarification and, hopefully, an interview. While the latter didn’t look like it would pan out, she was certainly taking care of any ambiguity. Their first meeting and she already hated his guts, it usually took people a little longer to settle on disdain. Eddie began to wonder if her indignance wasn’t unfounded. He had a habit of romanticizing concepts like changing the world with a single interview. Reality didn’t stand a chance against his sanguine aspirations, which made it difficult to discern when lines were being crossed. Good intentions, terrible execution: the Eddie Carridine story.

“That’s not—” Eddie cut himself off. Newfound guilt persuaded against arguing with her about his motivations. Hearing her say ‘please’ shattered his rose-colored glasses. He didn’t simply make her angry, he made her feel unsafe. 

“I didn’t think I’d freak you out,” Eddie explained as he took a few steps away from her car. “Really, I didn’t.” His hand raised to nervously brush through his hair. “So, that’s… my bad.” He winced at his own understatement. “I’m genuinely sorry. I can’t promise you’ll never see me again—y’know, it’s a small town and all—but, yeah, I’ll leave you alone.” 

Eddie began backing away, an apologetic expression on his face. “Ball’s in your court in case you ever change your mind.”

“You didn’t think,” Chloe echoed harshly, and bit back the second part of that sentence. You didn’t think of me as a person, just an opportunity. Which Chloe was used to at that point, she expected it. No amount of his lying would change her mind. (Chloe could hear Lydia’s whisper rage at him denying it, like she had any time she’d heard something she didn’t like and thus didn’t believe.) She wished, for a second, that she was fae enough to make him promise it, to make him hurt for giving her so much hurt in turn, but the next second the same though filled her throat with bile, and all Chloe could stand to do was swallow and nod. 

Chloe’s fingers drummed anxiously against her thigh as she waited in the lobby of the funeral home. Her eyes darted curiously around the decor, meant to set grieving families at ease as they prepared for viewings or wakes. It seemed so innocuous, so far from what Chloe had read online. She smoothed her hands over her copy of her resume, straightened the lapels of her blazer for the eighth time in the last five minutes, and swallowed her nerves. She’d already met Erin, after all. They’d watched a shitty movie together, laughing over the bad CGI and pelting the tv with kernels of popcorn as the characters on screen survived yet another absurd shark attack. Erin had been kind and understanding, not at all the image painted of her on her Yelp reviews. So, this oughtn’t be too scary. Even if she had no experience working reception nor working in the funeral industry. Even if her references were from people she’d worked with last seven years ago, not even people from her last job. Dealbreakers, it turned out, for a staggering number of local employers. 

 Chloe’s eyes darted around the room again, as if she was suddenly expecting it to look more grey, the soft warm lighting to become cold and clinical, maybe even an errant drop of blood on the walls. But it remained perfectly serene, and entirely new. Erin’s office door clicked, and Chloe stood up carefully, with a poised smile on her face. Maybe it said something about her that the organ trafficking accusation hadn’t dissuaded her from applying, but, well, Chloe was really, really eager to get a job at this point. Her moral standards just weren’t quite what they used to be. 

 “Hi again Erin! How are you today?”

 There was something familiar about the name Chloe Brown. Not in a way that had sent her immediately to Google before their afternoon matinee filled with marine natural disasters. Chloe Brown, inherently, was a common first and last name. More than likely, the nagging in the back of her mind had come from some mix-up. Her days were filled with names that she would forget within a week’s time. It was the nature of the business. But when Chloe Brown’s resume hit her desk, and the gaps in her unemployment were too hard to ignore, Erin finally broke down. It only took one search with the right keywords and quickly she discovered that quiet nagging had come with good reason. 

 Chloe Brown. The Chloe Brown from the incident with Lydia Griffin, the woman who held those people captive in her home on Harris Island, was applying to work at her funeral home. She remembered immediately Marley’s complete breakdown at the discovery of the woman’s true nature and that not one but two of her friends had been close with her. None of that was any reason to turn down someone. Chloe Brown had been skittish and untrusting for good reason. There had been no good reason for her to turn the woman away - she seemed capable, eager to work, and the call for her to come in for a proper interview came after she had time to digest the news. Yet here she sat, idling in her office as she steadied her nerves, reminding herself over and over not to stare at the woman waiting on the other side with big, sympathetic eyes that told Chloe she knew everything. It was harder than she anticipated. “Hi!” Erin chirped in response, too much enthusiasm in her voice as she brushed the wrinkles from the front of her suit. “I’m good! Thank you - and thank you for coming in.” Her first instinct was to reach to shake her hand but her own anxiousness fought against it. “Come on in. We can just get right into it.” She ushered the other woman into her office, shutting the door behind her. 

“So,” she started, taking her time to get resettled at her desk, that picture perfect smile still plastered on her face. “You actually want to work at a funeral home, huh?”

 Considering that last time they’d met under the pretenses of making adult friends, Chloe wasn’t entirely surprised that Erin’s work persona came with a surprisingly bright smile and and equally chirpy voice, which… seemed a little off brand for a funeral home director, but Chloe wasn’t about to be the judge of that. That said… it was almost the kind of tone Chloe expected from someone working at a theme park. Too bright and sparkly by far. Chloe adjusted the corner of her corduroy jacket. She tried not to flinch at the thanks, and followed through into Erin’s office, looking around idly at the decorations. This also felt all too new, because of the fire, Chloe now knew. 

 “Sounds great,” she replied without quite the same level of enthusiasm as Erin had affixed on her own face, her fingers trembling until she clasped them tightly in her lap. “Yeah. I’ll admit it isn’t a field I have much experience in at all, but it’s definitely time for something new that helps people at some of the hardest points in their lives.. I’ve been trying out different linked in courses on being a personal assistant and receptionist to get a feel for the requirements and develop the necessary skills for the job, and while unconventional, I think my work as a teacher gave me the necessary patience and compassion for the work.” 

 It was a rehearsed script, sure, and Chloe didn’t really know the ins and outs of working reception in a funeral home beyond what she’d found on a quick google search, but considering this was her first job hunt in like… nine years, cut her some slack. 

 Erin was impressed. Not that she had many doubts about Chloe’s probably professionalism. Everyone turned it up a little bit during the interview process, including herself, but she was more prepared than someone… well, someone who was handling what Erin had read in those news clippings. “Compassion is probably the most important thing you’d need to work here, honestly. You can learn the phones and the organizational practices as you go but if you can’t learn genuine compassion. There will be some client interfacing and they will be grieving. They’re raw and emotional and they’ll know when you’re sincere or not.” She paused, her smile dropping slightly, giving her a small nod. Her fingers fidgeted slightly on the desk. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, because I mean this as respectfully as possible, and--I know that’s what people say when they’re about to be offensive, but--” Her smile turned wry and she sat up a little straighter. “It can be intense. Most days, it’s depressing at the very best.” That part was obvious, she hoped. Erin was smiling now in front of Chloe, but in two rooms over there was a decedent laying in the viewing room and a family scheduled to come weep at their loved one’s side. 

 She narrowed in on her point, her eyes softening in Chloe’s direction. “I think you’re a great candidate. I really do. But I need to know, considering how heavy this can be, and--considering your… past, that this is something you can handle,” she finished, emphasizing the word past, hoping her indirectness and the softness of her tone would be enough for Chloe to figure out the implication. That Erin knew, more the Chloe realized probably, but also that she understood.

 “My past being what you’ve read in the news about Lydia Griffin?” Chloe asked, an eyebrow arched, leaning back in the chair as she considered the question. At a local post office, her interviewer had looked her up and down and had shaken his head. It’s a matter of trust, he’d said with a kind voice that belied his cruel words, we’re not sure anyone would trust someone with your past to handle their post. Chloe knew the quotes that had been captured in the delirium following breaking Lydia’s promises and watching Todd collapse over the threshold. How she’d looked on the photos taken at great distance as she’d been helped into the ambulance. She also knew how her neighbours had looked at her the first time they’d found her dissociating in the hall, checking through the keys on her keyring one by one for minutes at a time, her mind clearly elsewhere. Chloe wasn’t surprised Erin needed to ask, she’d prepared an answer, but it still got stuck in her chest for a second. Chloe cleared her throat. 

 “I’m not afraid of handling other people’s grief. Which is saying something, because I’m afraid of a lot. But death was a constant in Lydia’s home, so grief was too,” Chloe looked down at the callouses on her hands, then at the wood of Erin’s table. “If anything, it might be cathartic to provide solace in a way I couldn’t, before.” Slowly she raised her gaze back up to Erin’s, with a knowing smile. “I know I’m anxious in social settings, but a professional workplace is different. I wouldn’t freak out at anyone, or ask them to touch iron.” Chloe remembered just how Erin had looked at her when she’d asked that of Erin. “But if you have specific concerns, I’d be happy to address them.”

 Erin just barely held back the shock that flushed through her when the woman’s name left Chloe’s lips. Addressing her kidnapper and tormenter by name without hesitation. Lydia Griffin. Certainly wasn’t how she expected the nervous woman she’d met outside of her apartment complex a few months ago to react, especially now that she knew where many of those anxieties probably stemmed from. Erin relaxed her features as best as she could, silent as Chloe spoke. That anxiousness was still there, certainly, but also a quiet determination. She met Chloe’s small smile with one of her own. “The iron thing was probably my biggest concern, so I’m glad we’ve settled that,” she said, soft but teasing. “There’s something different about how helping people in this specific way makes you feel. Death cuts right through everything. Both of you know the situation can’t be changed, or fixed, and there’s not always a ‘right’ thing to say. Some people don’t want you to say anything at all. Everyone’s different.” Death was a constant in Lydia’s home, so grief was too. Her mind drifted momentarily to the horrors she could only imagine occurring behind those doors and behind Chloe’s eyes.

 “But it is fulfilling in a way that’s hard to explain. You’ll understand once you start working with the clients. Everyone always does.” She paused briefly, reaching for Chloe’s resume, glancing down and shrugging. “You clearly have the organization skills, and the patience of a saint to willingly teach a room of kids with loud instruments. Employment gap or not, that’s impressive. I could never, in a million years, never.” 

 The lightness in her tone drew more serious again as she found Chloe’s eyes, her own nerves biting at the back of her neck. She didn’t want to make a fuss about her experience with Lydia, or be too soft--it didn’t seem like Chloe wanted that, given her response, but she still needed to say something. But this was uncharted territory and she forced herself to tread lightly. “I’m sorry that’s how grief and death became such an intimate part of your life. That those things you endured made you a better fit for a job at a funeral home and that you can spin it as life experience now. I know and understand grief, intimately, but I can’t possibly truly understand that and I’m not going to pretend I do. But if you think you’re ready and capable of taking this kind of job on, I’m willing to trust you.”

 Chloe touched the iron pendant on her neck self consciously, not even realising she'd done it until she was lowering her hand. "Well, because you're hum-" human. Chloe flushed, and tried to course correct. "What I mean to say is, my iron related anxiety is related to unknown contexts. All grief is different and all conversations about it will be nature different. But the context here will always be the same. Is what I mean." Not that this needed explaining twice. Not that Erin has asked. But Chloe couldn't exactly say that the main reason she was fine with forgoing the iron was that no self respecting fae would come to a human for their funeral.  No one who associated with Lydia would. She tried to keep the conversation moving forward, but she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Chloe nodded as Erin described the tribulations and joy of her work. She smiled at the compliments, and didn't point out that she couldn't work with kids anymore, not ever again. The spark you needed at that age was long gone. "I appreciate the compliment. That all makes a lot of sense. A funeral is an intimate thing. Meeting people where they're at was crucial as a teacher, it's just as important here."

 Her pleasant smile took a bittersweet tinge. Chloe sat there for a long moment, not sure what to say. Lydia Griffin making an appearance in her interview was far from a surprise, but the genuine, kind empathy reminded Chloe why Erin was in this line of work to begin with. "Your trust means a lot." It might have been misplaced. It wasn't like Chloe felt a strong call to the funeral industry, it was that she itched for any kind of work that were compatible with her disabilities. It wasn't that she was completely confident of being able to do the job, it was that everywhere else had turned her down. She didn't want to get the job because of Lydia, but she also wasn’t about to refuse the win either. “I appreciate all of that. I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t want to let you down. This is about starting a new chapter, moving forward… all of that good stuff. By which I mean that I am hardworking and dedicated to doing well!” Chloe finished, trying to get back to the interview answers she’d prepared. 

 It was hard to concentrate on anything Chloe tried to say immediately after her small verbal hiccup. Because you’re human. Erin’s eyes narrowed and her mind jumped back to the awkward dance they performed at her apartment, making loops and less than graceful steps around the word ‘promise’. By the end, it had become clear what the word was synonymous with. Fae. The iron part didn’t connect immediately. Did it have a similar effect to fae as it did on ghosts? And why Chloe wore it and made a point to have others touch it. “Human,” Erin finished the thought, but didn’t push it. If Chloe wanted to elaborate on that in another way, she’d listen, but wasn’t sure how much she wanted to toe the line between appropriate and inappropriate. This was still an interview, after all, and should things go well after this conversation, Chloe very well was her newest employee. The questions were there, so many questions, and it took everything in her to hold them in and continue.

 “My last assistant let the house burn down on his watch. I think the bar is set pretty low,” she teased, stretching the truth a fair bit in hopes to ebb some of Chloe’s possible concerns. The other interviewees weren’t nearly as qualified and the longer she was without, the need for an assistant just kept growing, much like the pile of paperwork on her desk. If that meant taking a chance on Chloe, Erin was willing to hedge some bets if it meant she was finally getting some help. 

 There was some pause before her next words, her shoulders unconsciously tensing. She hated this. Hated this part of any discussion about her business to anyone who may or may not have been around last summer or had caught wind of those rumors. “Before we move on or decide anything one-hundred percent, I think it’s important to address some other things.” The dread continued to build in her gut but she pushed on. “If you haven’t heard already, you’ll know that there’s more than a few, uh--unsavory rumors out there about some of the things that go on behind these walls. I know I’m supposed to say this, and I’m sure you’ll believe what you want, but I cannot stress how completely untrue and disgusting those rumors are. And in the event you decide that you do want to work here, it’s unfortunately something you’ll have to deal with.” Everything about her was tight, anxious and she wrung her hands together, hidden behind her desk, recalling the dozens of conversations she’s had on her own about the organ-trafficking bullshit from current (and, for some, now previous) clients. “I just wanted to be as transparent as I can about it all.” 

 Chloe brushed her hands against her thighs to dry off her palms as she nodded, confirming Erin’s conclusion to her statement. There was no way she was expanding on that now, like it hadn’t made her so out of touch with reality as to cost her this job too. Definitely a conversation for another day. Or never. Both would work. Her honesty about what she’d been through was essential to surviving this after-hell special, but it came with a steep price. 

 Her eyes widened at Erin’s throwaway comment about the fire. "Well I can assure you that I've never burned down anything before," Chloe said with a deadpan smile. The smile faded as Erin tightened up and began to talk, addressing with unflinching certainty the rumours that Chloe had heard over and over. The knot in her chest untangled as Erin denied them in their entirety. Not that Chloe wasn’t desperate for work but… well, she liked to think she still had a few morals rattling around her brain somewhere. “I’m so sorry. I can handle the odd cruel rumour or two.”

Abuse and mental illness: Let’s be very honest here: Chloe currently has severe PTSD symptoms and anxiety that severely impacts how she interacts with people. From strange greetings to stammering and being unable to make decisions, to being afraid of verbal backlash, she really struggles in even simple conversations with people she trusts like Agatha and Kaden, nevermind everyone else. (Unless the conversation is in the context of a very specific framework in the way that it is at her job) Additionally, Chloe doesn’t know how to live a life that doesn’t revolve around Lydia - it’s why most of her conversations cycle back there eventually. An alternate timeline Chloe has a dozen interests, she’s always watching tv, reading books, keeping up with the news, following bands. She’d be a witty, engaging conversational partner with lots of interests and knowledge about a wide range of things. Current Chloe could be that, but it is going to take time and lots and lots of therapy to get there. 

Chronic illness and terminal illness: The other thing is that ultimately, being fed on for 4.5 years by Lydia came very close to killing Chloe. If she hadn’t been rescued, she would likely be dead by now. She has had so much of her life force consumed that she only has a couple years of life left, and she has a number of medical conditions and disabilities that she wouldn’t have at this stage in her life in this alternate timeline.