endlesswoes

She checked her surroundings next, her right eye making it harder to see. Pews. The altar. The holy wooden cross on the floor with splatters of blood sticking on one side, she recalled what had happened. The fucked up vision that had clouded her mind from staying sharp, from defending herself when she needed to - and then she saw him. ''Leandro,'' she breathed out hoarsely, followed by a ''what the fuck!?''

Emery wanted to demand answers, wanted to demand to be let go out of this tied up situation, wanted to freak the fuck out - but her common sense kicked in to remain calm. Her way of reasoning with people kept her from doing what most people did - she didn't panic, she didn't scream, she didn't cry or plead.

''Leandro -'' she drawled out his name, feeling how dry her throat had become, how she barely sounded like herself from the trauma her body had received, ''- whatever this is .... you don't wanna do this.'' Emery tried to feel if she could wiggle her hands even remotely loose without keeping her eyes off of him. Trying to play the friend card, because that's what they were in a sense, no? They mutually understood each other, despite their different ways of life, she hadn't done anything to make him act like this, there was no doubt about that. ''I am not your enemy, Leandro,'' she said, making sure to tell him her state of mind - anything to persuade him to untie her. ''We're friends, Lea ... tell me what is going on. I won't be mad, I won't harm you, just untie me and we can talk, alright?''

Clearly her words did nothing to trigger his empathy, something blocked him, something deafened him. Or perhaps, someone. Emery could see how dull he seemed to be towards her. There was no recognition in his eyes. Still, she tried to talk him into untying her. Until eventually she had no choice but to move into the fragile subject of his children.

Which could go either way. It could play into his fear of them seeing her like this. The common house leader beaten up and tied to a chair. The woman who'd always been kind to them, welcomed them into the common house when they just got into town, had gifted them supplies to help them try and feel a bit less scared about this shit town.

Or it could fuel his unknown fury, for using his kids against him. When really, she didn't know if they'd heard the commotion upstairs. Not with the blizzard raging, with the lights flickering and the wind doing its best to tear off anything of the exterior it could take a hold of. ''Leandro, look at me. Look at me. Do you see me? Do you see what you've done?'' When she ran her tongue across her lip, she felt the all too familiar metallic taste of blood coating her skin. ''Lea, I will ask you again ... let me go. We have bigger problems at hand, whatever grudge you're holding, we can solve it later - just ...'' The words came from her throat ragged, coated with pain from the blow she received. ''... let me go.''

She had no idea how much time had gone past when the door nearly got torn off its hinges when it opened. It took her longer than a few seconds to process what was going on, her eye blurry and swollen, her head throbbing, it wasn't until Leandro stepped aside she could see who had come in. The brightness from the storm made it hard to see that it was Valentina who had made it back to her respected residency. However, for Emery there was no respect to be had for the church. Not anymore. To Emery the dialogue they had was only a blur - a blackout of a moment until she made it back to the door and went into the storm. Recklessly, still Emery counted her chances of surviving the blizzard and making it back to the common house higher than staying any longer at the church when there was a demon present in the house of the holy.

Though Leandro would love nothing more than to liven up the church with a couple days of adoration and praise events, he knew little to no people would make an effort to attend. Still, that didn’t stop him enjoying each Friday and Sunday morning celebrating with his children. Sunday being his children’s favorite day since they got to play ‘music’ with the pots and pans. A few people would come in and out sporadically throughout the days, but only a small amount that came back in the following weeks or even months. He didn't see Nicolas amongst that servitude, though it did not stop his offer. “You can try next Sunday. We are in great need of a lead vocalist. I think it’s getting a little late for a home visit now, no?”

Rosa had hesitated at first when Diego had tried to burrow his way onto her lap, an attempt at professionalism since she’d hoped this would be a common occurrence. But their circumstances were significantly different than if they were back home. After a few moments, she eventually had scooped him up, allowing him a closer look as she sloped through the alphabet with him. “Hi, Mr. Contreras.” Despite Leandro chastising Rosa harmlessly a few times to call him by his first name, it’d left a bad taste in her mouth. A hard habit to break - she referred to all her students’ parents back home professionally, but it also allowed her to keep Leandro at arms length. It hadn’t escaped Rosa that he was the pastor in town, and even looking at him filled her with an anxiety she couldn’t name, let alone wanted to touch on.

“Go on,” She whispered to Diego, helping him down as he wriggled out of her lap to run to his father. Rosa had noted her weight loss since coming to town, appetite completely lost on her and meals forced down with all the enthusiasm of a child being told to eat their vegetables. Even the clothes she’d came to Arcadia in were slightly baggy on her now, belt needed to keep her jeans up. But she appreciated the sandwich all the same, giving Leandro a half-hearted grin before accepting the food. “Thanks.” Rosa had been ripped out of her comfort zone for the better part of a month now, but she had yet to feel particularly awkward until now. “I’ve been thinking,” she started, wringing her hands before catching herself and straightening her spine, clearing her throat before continuing, “I’d like to start teaching Diego at my house. Where he learns and where he lives should be separated - for his own growth. He’s a really smart kid, he should be allowed out, to explore. Within safe confines, of course. If you’re comfortable with it.” It also helped that in doing so, it gave Rosa a wide berth of the church.

Expecting his little guy to rush over to him, Leandro ensured to spread his arms to catch Diego as he jumped into them. A grunt escaped him on impact, though he merely chuckled, “Hey there, little dude.” he greeted the gleeful child with a kiss on the head and raised him onto his side as he stood. It was no overnight observation, but Lea had begun to notice just how big his Diego was getting each passing day. His legs wrapped all the way around Lea’s frame when once they’d lie limp at his side, unable to reach the other side or grip properly onto Lea’s waist.

“Yes, of course.” Leandro replied, nodding his head before he turned over to his son, “What do you think little man? Do you want to go over to Rosa’s place to learn?” He didn’t bother to explain that his kids did spend a healthy amount of time outside. Between the farm, the diner, and the edges of the woods where Leandro took them often for running games and hide and seek. As long as Leandro was with them, of course, which he knew was exactly as Rosa meant. “Will you be alright with me passing by at least once during my rounds? For my poor heart’s sake.” Any length of time away from his children was dreadful in general, but even more in recent times. 

Shifting around the room, Leandro walked over to the couch to place Diego and set his sandwich in front of him. He didn’t normally let them eat down in the living space to keep some form of cleanliness beyond the naked eye, and Lea didn’t want bugs in the area they slept. For the day though, he figured it would be alright. “How has the day been so far? Anything exciting?”

closed for @endlesswoes

What kind of malevolent God would create a town like this? Juliette was used to violence, had cut her knuckles on enough cheekbones to feel warm in the embrace of blood and broken bones. She drew the line at guts coming out from clawed incisions from the clavicle down to the belly button, made with the ease of a zipper coming undone. These creatures, whatever they were, had the violence of nightmares, of horror movies, of things that on all account shouldn't have been real.

Again, what God would willingly put his creations to this place like lamb to slaughter. Jules had never been religious, but her grandmother had been Catholic, or was it Christian? Whatever. She had been baptized (at least she was pretty sure) at a young age but when her parents split she stopped having anyone forcing her to go.

So it was strange for her to find herself sitting in the pew of the town's church, looking at a wooden cross that seemed worst for wear and wondering just how to start this conversation. "Forgive me father, or whatever, I haven't actually sinned. I'm here cause like... what the fuck, man? Like I just want to know, I guess, what I've done wrong? You put me in this town, with these people, man, they're all crazy. And like, I don't even think they know they're crazy. At least I know I am going to be crazy, if I stay here. Like.. is there a purpose? Or like are you just fucked up?" She paused and looked at the pastor sitting next to her. "How's that, am I doing it right?"

The last few weeks have put so much into perspective for Leandro. His thoughts surrounding the people, and the town, and even himself had changed drastically ever since Sol invaded his dreams. His mission seemed clearer than it had been once before. His thoughts cleansed like Jesus had cleansed the world of sin. Where once sat worry and fear, now only determination and purpose resided. 

His moment of prayer was distributed by the sound of approaching feet, and so he raised to his feet - coming up from his kneeling prayer position - to take a seat. Leandro let her get her thoughts out without interruption, offering a smile by the end, though she could not see his face. “It is alright to want answers, but what you seek and what you receive will change greatly based on your belief, or lack thereof. Overtime, we have come to learn so much from God and yet in our worst times we forget all that he has done. It is so easy to turn from him now when the world seems to lack mercy for our own.” Lea sighed, pressing his lips together, “Do know that plenty shared in your sentiments. Some questions just… have no answers.”

She would always belong to him and to the Tree. Had he been in his right mind at the time of his death, he would have appreciated the calculatedness of his murder, and the importance of it for the Tree. It had been Nika’s time to navigate the politics of Arcadia, wax sermons in the name of the Tree, give pain and pleasure where it should be received.  

Leandro did that too, she knew. Spewing sermons of a false God as though his God could save them. She found it laughable, the criticism the settlement received when most of the people in that town had at one point or another kneeled for their lord, consumed His body and His blood. How were they any different? Nika could bend the knee, drink blood, and consume bodies (in more ways than one), all for the Tree and she would be labelled a heretic for it.

She guided Leandro into her office and shut the door behind them. “None,” she answered cooly as she walked around to sit in her chair, feet kicking up naturally onto the desk. “But his injuries were mild, too mild for creatures. So I suppose what we should be asking is who killed him. Or better yet, who would gain the most from killing him. The answer to that one is simple, isn’t it, Leandro? It's either you, Emery, or me.”

“Now, what exactly could I gain from murdering the sheriff, Nika?” he asked, finally taking the seat before her desk though every cell in his body told him this was all a bad idea. That he should find a way out, because if what she was saying was true and one of them killed the sheriff, what is stopping them from taking him out next? Leandro could only really speak for himself, though he hated to think that Emery - one of the many he would dare to call a friend - was capable of such sin. “Or is this meeting really just your own confession?” 

His question was not in any way accusatory. More a need to confront just how outrageous her assumption had been as a whole. That any of them would attack the good sheriff who had done nothing but help the town in their time of need. Who had put other’s welfare ahead of their very own in a place such as this. Leandro found no purpose for his murder, if that was even the absolute truth. “Help me understand your logic because I’m truthfully coming up blank.”

His eyes lit up at the idea of a new project. Emmett had met Lea’s kids a few times, and they were very sweet. He didn’t think he was the best with kids, but he was good with tools and he’d never built a treehouse before - first time for everything. He always wanted one himself when he was little - a boy in his class had one and they used to play a game they simply, and affectionately, referred to as “Dragons”. But his mother thought the fantasy stuff was an affront, so eventually he stopped going over that boy’s house. 

Spitefully, he wished he could have just chopped down the tree that led everyone in here, but that would have been impossible - he was never able to find it again. “I think that sounds fun,” he said. “Maybe in the woods, behind the church? So they can come back quicker.” If they stay out too late. An unspoken fear, but as a parent, he was sure Leandro was thinking similar. “I haven’t been doing a whole lot, I don’t think - I’ve been fixing up the cinema’s roof lately. A little before that I was helping some families reboard some broken windows.” Emmett stepped up to the diner’s door before Lea did, holding it open for him. "Also, I fixed that shutter outside the church that kept banging against the wall with the win, so it should be quiet now."

Leandro smiled at the kind gesture and overall manners that Emmett displayed despite the lack of societal norm in Arcadia. It’s the same values he planned to instill in his kin so they grew to treat others with respect and kindness. A nod of thanks acknowledged the younger male opening the door while Leandro slid through the threshold and led the way to his usual booth. “I had been meaning to get to that, thank you. I’m sure that also extends to Valentina.” Lea let out a brief chuckle then moved on, “How is your living arrangements over in the cinema, by the way? Do you find yourself in need of anything? I know there was a small food storage space over there, have you gathered enough to sustain yourself through the night and in case of any coming storms? We can’t be too careful.”

And Leandro—a friend, perhaps, though the memory of Sol existed between them as if it were a dragged-out vigil. An illusion of tenderness could only ever be a betrayal. How even as they moved against him, they thought of another face, the ache of their ribs from too much desire and grief and longing displaced into his bones, his muscle. That in the place where their bodies met, Shaw had thought of only escape, of water rushing past the river mouth and into the ocean. Dissolve into something else so they could drown out the specificity of the hard planes of his body, the flatness of his chest, the scratch of his beard clinging to the bone of his jaw as he turned against them. “It’s the least I could do.” They had kept the betrayal only to themselves. A tender heart and a body fully given, only to ever be drawn by them as a reproduction far too imprecise. 

So Shaw was without shyness as they uncovered their wounds. To display themselves in full was an ease that had come brutally. Leandro was not keen on seeing the damage, taking the blanket and draping it back over themselves as he finished his examination. A lick of their lips, tongue skipping over cracked skin. The response in which they had landed was nothing quite. “I don’t know,” they said, the chuckle sputtering out almost displaced How difficult it was now to predict anything. But they would not dream of an exit. “It isn’t unpainful,” a slight roll to their shoulders, “but I’m sure others have sustained worse injuries.” It would be much harder to trudge through the realms of self-examination. At least, Shaw mused, they had not died. This world would not be so forgiving. 

I’m okay. They watched as he averted his gaze, listened to his terse response to his well-being. “Leandro.” In the airing of syllables: almost a caution. “Would you lie to me?” The unspoken request then: a trade for a trade. I have shown my wounds. Now show me yours. For surely no one would have come out of the nightmares unscathed. Leandro and his two children had nightmares of their own. Shaw had, too. The blade that had cut through them pulsed still, restitched but just as easily reopened in the night. Healing would not douse it. Least of all prayer.

“Leandro, look at me,” they willed him to speak. No doubt it was a lie; his words and gestures carried the same formlessness as air. Their gaze softened but was still full in its resolve. “Who is it haunting you?”

A nod acknowledged their words, though his head hung with relief and exhaustion. He could only hope Guadalupe would listen to them and allow Shaw to guide her through all this until he could figure things out. There had to be more to that riddle. Some hidden clues he was missing in the midst of all the chaos that ensued. Lea just hated how much his kids were witnessing and experiencing while he struggled to keep them safe. How could he explain that the ghost tormenting them in their dreams was not the same woman who had brought them into the world? And if he did find a way to explain, how could he know for certain it wasn’t real when it left him scars that burned?

Leandro watched them in shock still, eyebrows raising in disbelief when they mentioned it not hurting. The sight alone was enough to cause him pain, he saw no way where their wounds were superficial. He had half a mind to lift their blanket once more, for another look but her words brought him pause. Lea’s eyes closed at Shaw’s question: Would you lie to me? Such an easy response it should have been, and it was, but he couldn’t find the nads to paint his love in such a manner. To allow the words to escaping his lips when he knew well she’d never hurt him so. That she would have cut her own hand before attacking his back in the rabid way his nightmares formed. 

“Please.” he spoke quietly and shook his head to deny the horrors only his back acknowledged. His gaze met Shaw’s again, though everything in him screamed to get up and leave. To put distance between them before he gave in so easily like he knew he could. His own suffering didn’t bother him. It was his children's he couldn’t stand to bear.  “She’d never hurt me.” Leandro allowed himself to say, answering their question but avoiding saying her name. “It isn’t her. This place just plays games with our minds... I’m okay, really.” In a show of good faith he offered them a contorted smile that barely reached his eyes. 

Noting their chose in words he pondered then asked, “Have you been haunted too?” He’d learned of the tree accident, which easily explained away Shaw’s injuries, but now Leandro wondered if there was more to come. Was Shaw just as tortured in their dreams as he and Valentina were? “I initially assumed it was one of those things… those creatures outside maybe trying to get us out. The kids have been sleeping with me since it started. I was too scared something would happen.”

Whether it was insanity or sweet, he couldn’t figure it out. Chase had a hard time wrapping his head around people still having religious tendencies here. The comfort of it all, the community it could build, he supposed he could understand - that’s probably why so may people were into the settlement like they were. He learned quick that he had to praise that motherfucking tree in order to get what he wanted out of the place, but there was always a lingering fear that they’d figure out he wasn’t totally sold. But, never say never - stranger things happened. 

That’s where he was headed tonight, anyhow. Today. For later. There was always an air of seriousness in the Common House, especially since it was in the center of town. Sometimes people came in there when they stumbled into Arcadia's mystical borders. Some would stay there one night and then die the next, and though Chase had been living there for the last seven– eight, now, good lord - months, he hadn’t gotten used to that. People were always in and out of here and when Chase headed downstairs to see a semi-familiar face leave at the same time he did, he couldn’t help himself before bounding to the door and holding it open, like the gentleman he most certainly was. But the man couldn’t leave just yet, not with Chase’s hand flat on his chest as he stepped over the threshold from inside to out. “Can we chat?” *// @endlesswoes

After about twenty minutes of waiting around, Leandro made a couple of stops over to some new people - introducing himself and offering his help if they ever needed it - before he found himself approaching the front doors. His plan was to make his regular rounds around the town and check in once more before he headed back to the church. Surely he’d get a hold of her between if not by then, but his attempt at exiting the house was halted unexpectedly. Glancing up quickly, his heart in his chest, Leandro came face to face with the younger male. 

“Of course.” he replied, always willing to put aside time for anyone around. “Did you want to speak here, or…?” Leandro glanced around in an attempt to find some place for them to sit. It wasn’t uncommon for people to stop him mid day, though they were surprised to see Chase whom he had not ran into for a good few weeks by this point. Not unlikely for the place they were stuck in, or for the younger crowd. “You ought to know this place better than I, by now.” he went on with a smile. “How have you been?”

time to settle. rylee felt the prickle of unease at the nape of her neck, an itch she couldn’t quite scratch. acceptance had been pressing at the edges of her mind. whispering that she had no choice but to endure—to make peace with the hand fate had dealt them. she'd always been a dreamer. wild with imagination and stubborn hope. arcadia’s shadows had forced her to temper that idealism with something sharper. survival. childhood had slipped away too quickly—almost cruelly so. her daughters deserved a chance to bloom, even in a place like this. if sacrifice was the price...she would pay it a thousand times over to ensure they lived vibrantly. unburdened.

One of his many jobs as a pastor, besides extending his knowledge and preaching the word of the Lord, was listening and providing counsel whenever the situation demanded it. With Rylee, he listened earnestly. Allowing her the time she needed to dig in her mind for words and air her worries. The mention of sleepwalking made him suck in a silent breath of horror, though there was nothing that surprised him anymore. 

Lupita had been the same when Sol passed away. Waking up in the middle of the night, out of their shared bed at the time, and attempted to open their bedroom door. With everything that happened, Leandro had began locking every single room they slept in after that - being too terrified that the next person he’d find would be his own flesh and blood. Not a week after he had switched to the basement of the church all together. He needed to push as much distance between his kids and the outside as he could. 

“What precautions have you taken?” he asked after a moment had passed, the noise of the children above them filling the ambiance almost comically. Far too many lives had been lost to this place, too many children taken too early to make sense. Leandro could have died happily without the image of all the children’s graves he had prayed over. “I can help secure the locking mechanism to the outer side of their doors, if you’d like. That way you can lock them in at night, and let them out in the day.” Had their situation allowed for another way he wouldn’t offer such a horrendous option, but if it kept the children alive through the night he could see no fault in it. The only other option was to tie them to their beds. “Their windows are all bordered up, right?”

Yet the nights before had been such a foreign thing. Disturbances that had made itself known both in the mind and in the body, neither faculties of which were at Shaw’s best. Leandro’s, too. Sat up, they searched his expression and found strong features that now were so contorted in despair. They wondered, if a little indulgently, if this was what they looked like too. “Let me try and talk to her.” 

And Leandro’s levees, too, had been saturated. Despair now flooding over, they watched simply as he let go of what little control he had had, his litany of worries thorned by the watering of his eyes. His apology came not long after though their response came only as a short shrug. “It’s okay,” they said. Nothing that they hadn’t handled. But they felt their own energy depleting. A shallow laugh punctured the air, weak in its resolve but still an attempt. “But I don’t know how much help I could be at this point.” 

“You’d do that?” Though the offer had already been presented, Leandro couldn’t help but ask. He’s often turned to Shoshana over the years, whether as a form of comfort for being the first person to have greeted and cared for them upon their arrival, loyalty over their relationship and the part they played in his child’s birth, or as a cure for the ache in his chest when it presented itself. He didn’t believe for a second that their offer was due to some underlying connection between them as opposed to her genuine graciousness, but even so, he couldn’t tame the flicker of warmth Shaw’s words brought upon him. 

His name made his head pop up and gear towards her. Meeting her gaze against all thoughts even as he knew the torture that lay behind them. Shaw didn’t need to witness it more than they already had, nor would he add to their suffering. Leandro’s brows furrowed at her words but he didn’t comment, simply allowed his gaze to travel with the sheets to their revealed injuries.

A gasp escaped him though he did attempt to mask it by quickly slamming his teeth together. Caging his tongue behind them, along with any word of surprise that could have escaped. “How..?” Words continue to evade him the longer he watched, “Shaw, I’m - at a loss for words. How bad is the damage? Will you be…?” Leandro reached over, though didn’t dare allow his touch to harm her further, and took hold of the blanket - draping it back over their wounds slowly. An injury of such magnitude in the town was concerning to say the least, especially when Shaw’s life was so important to the overall longevity of Arcadia. 

It made sense now. Why he hadn’t seen them as often as he normally would on his walks through the clinic. Why they’d chosen to reside elsewhere throughout their healing process, as knowing Shaw - it was easy enough to know they wouldn’t like to be seen in these conditions. Leandro placed a hand over theirs, comforting in the only way he could think of in the moment. Glad that they’d chosen to confide in him.  “How long, do you think, before you're back on your feet?” 

And yours?

Leandro wasn’t sure that was a question he could bring himself to answer. He had his share of injuries, for sure, but unlike the others he believed he deserved each and every one of them. He’d take them seventh fold if it meant his children, and Shaw, were spared from the same hell. Lea couldn’t bring himself to catch their eyes and shook their head instead. “I’m okay.” he restated, hoping he sounded more leveled than the question had made him feel. The marks on his back burned intensely with his lie.

Arriving at THE CHURCH ⟳ ˚ ╱ written for @endlesswoes !

𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘  𝗜𝗦  𝗔  𝗣𝗢𝗘𝗧𝗥𝗬  𝗢𝗙  𝗔  𝗦𝗢𝗥𝗧  𝗧𝗢  𝗔𝗟𝗟  𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦,   the  dichotomy  of life  and  death belonging  in  the  same  body,   the  concept  that  all  things  must  END  and  then  become  new.  But  for  most,  the  lyrical  nature  of  it  stops  at  the  concept.  For  most,  the  cyclical  nature  is  apparent  only  to  those  who  can  encounter  the  aftermath  of  it  (  whether  that  be  the  reaper  itself  or  those  proposing  a  eulogy,  memorializing  the  departed  with  an  insight  only  afforded  when  looking  backward  ). Meryl thinks she's died a million little deaths, yet the torment this town has brought upon her seems worse than the former life lived.

The  second  night  swarms  into  her  veins  like  ink  in  water,  curling,  diffusing,  staining,  just  as  the  first  night.  The  dreams  had  begun  the  night  prior,  creeping  into  her  mind  like  a  parasite,  whispering  riddles  and  promises  of  torment.  The  first  time,  she  had  shaken  it  off,  convincing  herself  it  was  nothing  more  than  the  echoes  of  exhaustion,  the  strain  of  Arcadia  masticating  at  her  nerves.  But  now,  the  weight  of  the  dream  still  claws  at  her  ribs,  curling,  diffusing,   staining all the same.  It  did  not  slip  from  her  upon  waking;  it  clung,  webbed  and  whispering,  a  living  thing  burrowed  into  her  marrow.  The  bruise  where  Cheryl  had  struck  her  pulsed  like  an  open  eye,  dark  as  an  eclipse,  as  if  it  too  is  watching,  waiting.  The  words  from  the  dream  scuttles  through  her  skull  like  spiders  weaving  WEBS  in  the  hollows  of  her  bones:  the  ice  will  claw...  The  morning  staggers  before  her,  a  fever  haze  of  twisted  air,  the  town  outside  her  window  silent  in  a  way  that  felt  unnatural,  predatory.  No  beasts.  No  howls.  Only  a  brittle,  waiting  hush,  thick  as  stagnant  breath  against  glass.

A  flicker.  A  smear  of  movement  in  the  periphery,  a  presence  slides  just  behind  her  sightline.  Meryl  has  seen  ghosts  before — has  lived  in  their  company  long  before  Arcadia  swallowed  her  whole.  The  specters  of  her  father  and  brother  had  LINGERED  at  the  edges  of  her  sight  since  the  day  she  had  killed  them,  shadows  caught  in  the  turning  of  her  head,  echoes  warping  the  quiet ( They  would  stand  just  beyond  reach,  in  doorways  where  no  one  stood,  at  the  foot  of  your  bed,  watching  with  eyes  that  saw  past  flesh  and  into  marrow.  They  had  never  spoken,  never  reached  for  you,  never  clawed  their  way  into  the  space  you  occupied.  They  were  there  but  distant,  half-formed  figments  of  grief,  specters  born  of  the  past,  shackled  to  your  mind's  quiet  agony. Until Arcadia. ).  But  Cheryl — Cheryl  has  never  been  here.  Never  once.  Until  now.  The  mirror.  No.  Not  the  mirror.  She  refuses  to  look,  refuses  to  acknowledge  the  weight  pressing  against  her  spine,  the  too-cold  fingers  of  recognition  creeping  up  her  ribs.  But  the  gravity  of  the  thing  in  the  glass  is  a  force  that  demands  surrender.  Her  eyes  dragged  against  her  will,  and —

Cheryl.

Meryl’s  breath  snaps,  caught  between  throat  and  ribs,  trapped  in  the  tight  hollow  of  her  chest.  Her  twin  stands  behind  the  silvered  surface,  abnormal,  her  face  blurred  at  the  edges,  features  slipping  like  oil  on  water.  Not  still,  but  seething,  moving  at  the  periphery,  shifting  through  reflections  fractured  by  something  unseen.  The  mirror  bled,  the  edges  no  longer  defining  the  boundary  between  real  and  not.  Cheryl  reaches  out.  Frostbite.  Her  fingers  graze  Meryl’s  skin  through  the  glass,  and  the  cold  is  a  living  thing,  a  hunger  burrowing  deep  into  the  bone.  The  riddle.  Again.  Again.  AGAIN.

Meryl  fled.

She  does  not  remember  to pull  on  her  coat.  Does  not  remember  stepping  into  the  streets,  the  fog  swallowing  her  whole,  pressing  into  her  pores  like  damp  rot.  The  town  bends  around  her,  streets  twisting  inward,  narrowing,  guiding  her  somewhere  unseen.  Cheryl  follows — no,  not  in  form,  but  in  PRESENCE,  always  just  beyond  reach,  a  whisper  of  breath  at  her  nape,  a  tension  in  the  marrow.  Arcadia  pulses  with  something  unseen,  something  coiled  beneath  its  surface,  waiting  to  slip  its  fingers  through  the  cracks  of  reality.  Was  she  running,  or  was  she  merely  circling  a  place  she  had  never  left?  The  church  rose  before  her,  its  door  ajar,  dark  and  waiting.  A  mouth  parted  in  expectation.  No  thought,  only  instinct,  only  the  urgent,  desperate  need  to  be  elsewhere.  She  stumbles  inside,  breath  clotted  with  the  thick  scent  of  wax  and  aged  wood,  the  hush  within  pressing  against  her  skin  like  a  second  presence.

The  stained-glass  windows  fractured  the  light,  and  in  their  broken  spectrum — Cheryl.  Always  Cheryl.  Her  face  contorts  in  the  colored  panes,  fragmented  into  something  almost  DIVINE,  something  otherworldly varnished.  Seven  nights.  Meryl’s  vision  wavers,  body  swaying  under  the  weight  of  unreality.  Was  she  still  alive?  Had  she  ever  been?  Or  was  she  merely  spiraling  some  fevered  dream,  a  body  half-decayed  in  a  bed  elsewhere,  trapped  in  an  eternity  of  unraveling?

Meryl feels the convulsions  come,  cruel  and  sudden,  as  if  strings  have been  snapped  and  her  body  no  longer  belongs  to  her.  A  violent  arc,  her  spine  bending,  limbs  seizing  with  an  unseen  force,  her  muscles  wrenching  against  her  own  control.  Her  fingers  curled  into  claws  against  air,  scraping  at  the  unseen,  her  breath  a  choking  rattle  in  the  cavern  of  her  throat.  Something  slithers  beneath  her  skin,  illicit,  tightening  like  wire   COILED through  flesh,  a  alien  thing  burrowed  into  her  essence.  Her  head  snaps  back,  mouth  open  in  a  silent  cry,  her  eyes  rolling,  whites  stark  and  gleaming  against  the  dim  candlelight.  It  is  inside  her,  creeping  through  her  veins,  whispering  in  a  voice  that  was  her  own  but  not.  The  world  blurred,  edges  distorting,  collapsing  into  themselves.

Once he learned of the nightmares his own children endured, he felt it safer to sleep in one room. Lupita refused to let him in on her nightmares, but he had noticed the redness on her arms not too unlike that of Diego’s. With them in his bed it was easier for Leandro to wake them if the need arose. He hadn’t been able to sleep for a couple of nights now, doing his best to get to Diego before he screamed. Thankfully that all seemed to stop when they visited the tree so he felt a little better about tucking them each into their beds.

“Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo. Santificado sea tu nombre…” they began their nightly prayer, all kneeled on the bottom bunk while resting their elbows over the bed. Hands pressed in prayer as they leaned forward and bowed their heads. “...no nos dejes caer en malas tentaciones. Mas líbranos del mal, Amen, Amen, Amen.” Using the frame of the bed for support, Lea raised from the ground and placed a kiss on both his children’s heads before tucking them into their respective bunks. 

That night the Contreras slept soundlessly, so much so that the following morning they all decided to sleep in. Leandro less so, as he rose to make his children pancakes for breakfast with some ingredients he was able to source from the diner. He’d been mixing the batter when he heard the loud thump coming from the church entrance. “Valentina?” Leandro called out, in case she needed a hand with something large and heavy, but he heard no reply. 

Furrowing his brows, Lea set the bowl aside and wiped his hands on a nearby towel before walking onto the sanctuary. It took only a matter of seconds for him to find the source, her body hidden behind one of the pews almost completely out of sight. “Are you alright?!” Leandro called out, dropping the towel in his hand as he rushed over to her convulsing frame. Not wasting a moment longer, he reached for her shoulders putting some distance between her and the pews to prevent any further injuries.

“Meryl? Stay with me, okay?” He spoke softly, doing his best to remain as calm and collected as the moment allowed, “I’m going to turn you slightly so that you don’t choke.” Lea felt it necessary to inform her of his actions, just in case Meryl was mentally present and scared. He followed the little information he knew on handling seizures, and sat beside her on the ground while holding her at an angle. “It’s going to be alright. You’re going to be okay.”

All that was going through her mind was pure terror.

Finally when he heard someone calling her name - someone that decidedly was not Robbie, she opened her eyes; only just, out of fear that if she did, he'd be so close to her face again. But she didn't see him. She even stood up, hastily pushing fabric aside to see behind them, like a determined final girl in the last ten minutes of the kinds of movies she hated. And she looked, but she didn't find anything. Valentina met him at the door, hands shaking, and knowing she must have looked like a wild animal, with her hair a mess (and bleeding, but that was forgotten in her haste) and her eyes darting around. "Lea," she breathed, when she opened the door, relieved that it was just him and not her mind playing even more tricks on her. "I just--" She caught her breath with a sigh, hand rubbing her chest as if to calm her racing heart. "I just had the most horrible nightmare. And then it, like, didn't end."

Lea turned and motioned towards the kitchen for Valentina to follow him, “Come. I’ll make us some tea.” Something warm to ease their minds while he attempted to make sense of any of this. “What are your dreams about? If you don’t mind the question. What does it didn't end mean, exactly?” Though he was sure as the marks on his back that he knew the answer to them both. A chill entered him as he awaited her answer. 

Moving around the kitchen with ease, he found a pot to fill with water at the sink and set that on the stove. They didn’t have too much for food within the church, but he always kept herbs for tea and took home muffins and biscuits left over at the diner. As he turned on the stove, he couldn’t help but be relieved that his children had their own space to sleep so his early morning huff and puffing the last few days hadn’t been a disturbance to them. Leandro couldn’t fathom having to explain to them what his nightmares displayed or the panic he felt.

In the interim—a spate of visitors. The door now had been left half-open. At times, Shaw indulged in the strange thought that this was probably the most faces that the ranch had seen in years since Jude took over and Paz had settled in. Their presence, at best, was a distraction here. At worst an intrusion, demanding in its attention, consuming time and space and energy that could not be reciprocated. Not when their body was still too heavy to be anything but a burden and guilt had gnawed at their core besides, biting in its reach and affection. 

The presence of Leandro felt displaced here. Uncanny, almost. But they had let him stay regardless. They crossed their arms, trying to conceal the worst of the bruises and stiff limbs and skin. A consummate professional, even clad in Jude’s ratty clothes and tangled in her sheets. “And, Lupita—does she have the same dream?” Shaw began, resting their back on the headboard. They would not retire from this role completely, they mused. This act of bearing witness, this duty of care. That the children should share their nightmares was a terrifying thing. They should have expected it. Hell had not held anyone indiscriminately. Only the animals were spared, privy to its secrets. “And yours?” It might be discourteous to say that they hadn’t thought of how it would affect Leandro at all.

Leandro wasn't sure why he’d come to Shaw with all this. Knowing that there was nothing she could really do to help him even if they wanted to. Or that they may be experiencing the same and his being here only added to her stress. “I’m ok.” he replied, with ease. It wasn’t true - not in the slightest - but he could handle his own suffering. His children, on the other hand, should not be plagued with the murderous ghost of their mother. Diego hadn’t really gotten a chance to meet her, while Lupe barely remembered her face. Whatever this thing, this evil, that had entered their dreams was powerful enough to leave marks on their bodies. Strong enough to be real. 

His eyes fell closed and his head fell onto his hands. “I don’t know what to do.” he said softly, doing his best to keep the flow of despair from breaking through the surface and lace his voice in agony, “And prayers only go so far. I’m afraid I’ll wake one day and they’ll…” Leandro shook his head and lifted his head towards Shoshana apologetically, “I’m sorry. I should’ve - I shouldn’t have put all that on you without even checking-” He sniffed, then allowed himself to really take them in, “How are you doing?”