corpus christi carol

A soft voice pulled Ken’s attention to Julie West, one of his students and most avid church attendee beside Pastor Abbott himself. He replied with a tightlipped smile, refusing to let the weariness show on his face. It bore down on him with a weight heavier than he’d ever felt, somehow feeling like the lack of information on Brian had something to do with him. Like he wasn’t doing everything he could. Like he didn’t have an entirely other job to do, like he didn’t have his own family to worry about, his own children. “I can’t take any credit for it, aside for some taste tests.” 

Ken tried to keep the conversation light, knowing how important morale was at a time like this. People were beginning to gather in the street, each one brandishing a Crockpot with some family recipe. He got the feeling Linda would be going home with a massive heaping of leftovers. 

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss one of Devil’s Knot’s famed potlucks.” He nodded around at the set up. It was festive, yet bleak. He wondered if all of this was for nothing. 

“You guys did a great job with this,” he gestured to the tables, the strings of lanterns, the comforting hands on shoulders. “Hopefully we can get a little normalcy around here.” 

He wondered if normalcy is what they needed. What happened when they couldn’t find Brian? When he became just another mystery, another dark spot on the town’s history? Or worse- what if they found him? Strung up and mutilated just like Philip?

“If you liked it, it’s enough to attest for how good it is.” Julie took the pot and gestured for Ken to follow her, looking for a plate to set the dish. She was proud of the way everything turned out, and while she had no doubt the entire force of Devil’s Knot community would attend, it was always good to see hopes being met. There was barely enough space to fit another dish, and a glance at the door showed more people coming in every few minutes.

Julie entered the door to the kitchen and found a clean plate to set the Hawker’s contribution. She had never been close with any of the Hawker kids: she was in the wrong generation, either too old or too young to be truly familiar with any of them, but everyone in town knew of the name and what it meant. If Devil’s Knot had royalty, they would likely be it. At least, that’s what the Mayor liked people to think -- looking at Ken, bags under his eyes and the signs of age starting to wear down on his forehead, that idea was almost comical. But then again, everyone was saying these last three weeks had aged the Hawker patriarch more than the last ten years.

Julie transferred the contents of the stewpot to a dish and placed it on the counter for someone else to wash. “You can pick it up later tonight, it will be clean.” She flashed her joyful smile, a beacon of light in what felt like the darkest times. She bit her lip and looked around, the hustle and bustle of everyone making enough noise that, when she lowered her voice, she was sure nobody else would hear them. “This was… really important.” Julie glanced around the room, encompassing everything with her gaze. “The town needed it…” She shrugged. “Is there...” She hesitated, wondering if she should be the one to ask him that. “Any news?” Of course, she didn’t have to specify, and she also wasn’t expecting Ken Hawker to confide in her if there was, but she was confident enough in her blue eyes and doe-eyed expression to think that if anyone would be able to get anything out of him, it was her.

What a performer. That was Stan’s first thought. He had to applaud it, the gusto, the dedication, the lack of any hesitation. Being a literature lover, he knew all about acting and as a consummate bullshitter himself he knew a well-crafted performance when he saw it. How could you not appreciate it? 

But beware one’s own ego. Despite the fact in his bones, he knew she was spinning him like a wheel down the hill, part of him deluded himself into it. It was fake, exaggerated, like a page out of a novel. And he loved it. As she buried herself into his chest, not unlike a Jane Austen heroine, he found his arm wrapping around her anyway. 

That said, Stan wasn’t completely stupid and he could hold himself back from completely playing along. At her declaration of modesty, he found himself laughing, the rumble travelling down his chest and against her cheek. He dropped his head, like a conspirator, his warm breath brushing against her ear. “If you are ordinary, I fear what extraordinary entails.”

Games, however, weren’t all about fun. He pulled back as she looked at him, his dark rumbling eyes heated from the moment, not feeling bad for her little pantomime, but getting heated from the adrenaline. That was until she dropped the last line, and quickly that aloof arrogance twisted into anger. She hadn’t said the words, but they both knew she had just dropped her counterpunch. Check. 

His face was still that of a cordial, smartly dressed and kind teacher, but his eyes swarmed with thunder, a silent fury that she would get the upper hand and try to twist the knife. The worst of it,  was the whole charade only made him wish they weren’t in the middle of the class day even more. The things he would do. Like that, she had reeled him in like a fish on the wire, and any semblance of avoiding past mistakes had long washed away as he was left gasping for air. 

“You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.” Stan murmured, voice thick, eyes hazy as they stared at into the trapping abyss of her light ones, quoting Oscar Wilde as if it may save him from the situation. It did not, for what was Wilde about if not giving into temptation. He found himself leaning closer to her, fingers brushing her shoulders, breath drawing to her lips.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG

Then like a snapped rope, he recoiled backwards at the school bell, his hands falling away as of scorched and he found himself adjusting his shirt and clearing his throat. “I…”

“You’d best not miss the bell. Wouldn’t want to tarnish your school record would you?” 

This is what she always thought it would lead to: her cheeks were heated, rose-colored contrasting against every other pale thing about her, and while most of it could be attributed to the fake tears and the strain that it took to pull that off, beneath that studied drama was the same feeling she had felt when, beneath dim lights and hushed tones, she first heard his voice in her ear. It was hazy, almost dream-like, the state they were that night at the bar, and while Stan (or whatever he said he was called then) was not her first conquest under similar circumstances, something about him lingered, still, to this day, to the point that seeing him there was both a thrill and a disappointment. Julie never wanted to see the man in the bar, ever again -- she knew it was dangerous to keep playing with the same mouse. Eventually, the hunter had to devour the prey, or else it would learn how to flee. She worried he was beginning to. She worried she would let him.

She allowed his words to produce the desired effect, calming her breath as he caressed her back, her hand travelling to her eyes to clear away the excess of tears. There was still much to be figured out, but Julie was sure of one thing: Stan was a romantic, eager to become one of the characters in his beloved classics, longing for something to inspire him. What inspires and terrifies more than eating a forbidden fruit? To tear its flesh with hungry teeth, digging in until there’s nothing left but its core. Julie was familiar with that hunger, that constant, insatiable hunger, and, in her mind, it wasn’t any different from anger. It wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t right, and she could read all about it in the glint of his eye, the unspoken feelings his status did not allow him to profess. They weren’t so different after all. They both hid terrible, tremendous secrets behind their carefully tailored personas. Rip and tear, she thought. Show me something real.

Her eyes instantly closed the moment he came closer, steading her breath for what was to come. Her lips were swollen from all the crying, a ruinous temple. Julie wondered if that was the reason he desired her so much. But then --

She opened her eyes, the sound of the bell slicing through her dreams so abruptly it felt out of place, before she remembered where she was: at school, in his office, not in the bar where they first met. Her heart skipped a beat, and she drew away, mimicking his own movements. It was that dangerous atmosphere that drew her there in the first place, but playing with danger was a game of restraint. Better things would come.

Smoothing her shirt, clearing her throat and her eyes once more, she picked up the almost forgotten books laying on his desk and held them to her chest, the school girl aesthetic replacing the fille fatale of a few seconds ago. Julie nodded, thinking anything she said at the moment would be pointless, allowing him to hold the last words, a remnant of power. “Goodbye, Mr. Meyer.” I will see you soon was unspoken as she opened Stan’s office door and walked out to face the school day.

Part of him loved it. A sick, twisted part of his soul drew strength from seeing that flash of malice in her eyes, seeing that she knew the seedy truth and revelled in it. The same intoxicating foolishness that leads him into these situations, the love of doing something wrong. It was in the dark conspiracies that he found himself feeling alive, important. Like the protagonist in a novel reaching the twisting exhilarating story beats. 

He kept all that beneath, however, letting the half of himself that held onto self-preservation take the wheel. His dark eyes were still wide a little with adrenaline and bemusement as he watched Julie play her little show, that sweetened tone made from the foulest of honey. 

He stepped up to her, as she smiled, his hand leaning on the desk partly as he looked down on her. He had that at least, his height, his position as a teacher giving him some leverage in this fight. After all, she had no proof and even if she did, it was before his term had begun properly…a fake name, he couldn’t have known. She, on the other hand, had been drinking underage. Stan used that logic to keep himself tough in her verbal games.

Yet as he came closer, it became worse. The faint smell of baking wafted from her, and his eyes found themselves flickering to her lips for just a moment, listening to them purr out his real name. His breath was heavy as he forced his eyes back to her wide doe eyes. Oh, what a cruel mistress she is.

“Good literature is good literature. It couldn’t have been you either, I don’t remember the name being Julie West, or her age being…eighteen.” 

He should have taken a step back, but didn’t, hovering and unable to pull his eyes away. His tone, despite his words, wasn’t harsh or even threatening. If anything, they seemed wistful. “You wouldn’t want that sort of thing getting out, I assure you. Imagine what the pastor would think. Best we just…forget it.”

It was a cat and mouse game, or a fisherman and its hook. One moment the water was still, the fisherman was in control, the fish caught, and the next, all the fuss that it did was enough to send it back to the water, and whatever progress was lost. Fish, fisherman, cat and mouse. Which was which?

Julie looked into Stan’s eyes without saying a word, finding a new sparkle beneath his dark tones, the previous fear she found there gone and replaced with something else. Did it meant Julie was the mouse and the fish, now? Something inside of her burned, a new rage forming at the pit of her stomach as he took a step further to meet her, trying to impose his strength with his height. It made her want to sneer, spit on the floor and laugh. With men, power came down to strength and their strength came from their body. It was a petty, weak thing in Julie’s eyes.

In mythology, there was nothing that compared to a goddess wrath. Their touches were the softest, the ichor in their veins the purer, but when the skies darkened and thunder rumbled, the people knew it wasn’t Zeus or Hades wrath, but Hera’s might and Persephone’s temper that destroyed. Stan thought himself taller, stronger, but the gaze in Julie’s eyes towered over him. It was fun, this game they had been playing, until it wasn’t. Until she was losing.

He wants to be the fisherman? Let him think he is, I’ll be the fish. “Oh, Mr. Meyer. I’m so sorry.” Julie had this ability to change suddenly, quickly enough that people wondered if what they had seen was ever there at all and so, just as quickly as she had shed her lambskin, she put it back on.

She threw herself at Stan, burying her face in shame against his chest, tears welling up in her eyes and wetting his shirt. “I have a very ordinary face.” She spoke a muffled sound, a theatre of a defeated girl. “Blue eyes, fair complexion, pale hair. It’s almost every gothic’s heroine. I’m sure you dreamed me, imagined me in the place of someone else.” Her eyes reddened and as tears fell down her cheeks, her lips welled, plump and cracked, she raised her head to look him in the eyes.

Men, male fantasies: they are so afraid of weakness they always look the other way, as if tears were a poisoned herb one shouldn’t touch. Yet, Julie held on to his gaze, unbending, tears flowing freely down her cheeks, her breathing faster, making her chest go up and down, hiccuping. “I have never done anything wrong. I go to church every Sunday… I confess my sins.” A flash of malice in her eyes, just for a second, as she touched the hanging cross between her breasts. “I will confess this one, too.”

Brooke knew Julie was freaking out, that’s what tends to happen when you were really close to someone. You know how they react in situations of distress or when they’re scared. Brooke had only seen her mildly afraid but she imagined that she felt just like most people felt, not that there was any way of knowing. When they were younger they were a lot more emotional, by now Julie had perfected this exterior of who she was. Breaking that seemed to be no option as she looked over at Brooke. Her blue eyes as hard as always under those pretty long lashes. Always so pretty, so pretty it hurt sometimes to look at Julie.

Brooke frowned and looked away, scared that her vulnerability was showing. Julie would always be a reflection of her old self and her old life. It was like a glance of her made Brooke’s heart ache for what used to be but as soon as Julie moved or spoke, the image was shattered. “Yeah, well. Welcome to being an adult. Everything hurts all the fucking time.” She snapped back at her. 

Julie’s tears were pushing her too far as Brooke knew that it was just a show. “Stop it,” She stepped towards Julie, making sure she and only she could hear her words, “We both know it was no mistake and a lot of things have changed since then.” Her words caused her to flinch as she stepped back again, letting her pass to the toilet. 

“Loved me? I doubt you ever felt anything like that, let alone for me.” Her words were spoken softly but the message was a hard-hitting one. Crossing her arms over her chest, Brooke stared out in the shop and pursed her lips as she waited.

Julie leaned against the wooden door, the small cubicle feeling like a prison, a single lamp hanging from the ceiling was all the light there was. Her previously twisted expression and tears gone from her face, all that was left was the beauty of her porcelain skin, immaculate, made holy by the tears that she pushed into her eyes and now rolled down her cheeks.

The pain on her belly was coming and going in gasps, too intense for a second before almost disappearing completely. Or maybe she just got used to that sudden burst of pain, only getting caught by surprise for that millisecond. She finally sat at the toilet, pulling her jeans and panties to her ankles. Her white panties were stained with blood, an almost perfect red stain. She sat for a while looking at it, how crimson it was against the whiteness of the fabric. Brooke’s words reverberated through her skull, echoing against her head’s walls in a crescendo of intensity. I doubt you ever felt anything like that.

Looking absently to her left, she was almost startled by another presence, before she realised she was still alone, it was only her reflection in the bathroom mirror: cracked in the middle and with dirt too inlaid, it was impossible to ever be clean again. She could almost smell the bleach and the cleaning products, see the ghostly imagine of an imagined woman scrubbing, trying to get it clean, to no avail. Julie approached, eyes fixed in her own reflection. It didn’t feel like her, not in this moment, at least, so eerily unfamiliar she was waiting for whoever it was on the other side of the mirror to not mimic her movements, to smile when she was only frowning, to say goodbye and walk off, to leave her staring at nothing at all.

Nothing of the sort happened. She smiled her practioned smile and was met with it on the other side of the mirror, the only difference being the fragment of a dozen Julies smiling back at her. She felt a rumbling sensation against her chest, before she realised what it was: the urge to laugh uncontrollably. Of course, she didn’t, mindful of the presence on the other side of the door, almost sure she would be silently trying to listen what was going on on her side -- if Brooke thought she was crazy (or dangerous? or an awful person? she wasn’t sure), hearing her laugh hysterically would surely confirm that, and that was the last thing she wanted. Instead, she fought against that feeling, allowing her body to win just by smiling, the redness of tears still clouding her eyes. Love me? I doubt you ever felt anything like that. Could it be true? Could Brooke be right? Could she be an awful person?

Looking down again to her blood-stained panties, another urge washed over her: the want to smear all that blood all over her body, to see what it would look like to be covered in blood. Would she look like a monster then? Would it terrify her, to think of that blood as somebody else's? Or would she enjoy it? Would it felt like control? Power? Or maybe love. After all, she didn’t know what love was supposed to feel.

Finally, she took her gaze out of the mirror. She cleaned herself, pushed her jeans and panties back up and flushed the toilet. Julie took a glance at the basin but decided against it, instead opening the door and walking out. Let the blood spill freely, let the filth engrain beneath her fingernails. If that’s how Brooke thought she was, so be it: she wasn’t afraid.

Holding On || Open

The last time Devil’s Knot had a potluck was under much better circumstances. The square had been filled with lights and joy and laughter, each and every citizen had been full and content. Tonight, the cool breeze penetrated everyone’s coats and stuck deep into their hearts. It was hard to pretend to be in good spirits when a child was still missing. They were entering the third week with no more information to go off of than they had before. Ken felt the questions burning in everyone’s mind: what happens now? 

It was hard to see the Goode children around town. Even harder to see Linda’s hopeful face at each town meeting. He forced himself to give them each an encouraging smile, but he wondered how hopeful it really looked. His own father had kept his distance from the whole ordeal, and in the back of Ken’s mind he wondered if it was to force him into the hot seat. Everyone knew Ken would stop at nothing to help the town, and if this was Abel’s diabolical plan to get him into the Council once and for all…well so help him. 

It was ten till 6 when Ken walked up to the Community center, noting a large group of church goers bustling about, setting up tables and small bonfires. The whole point of this thing was to raise spirits, but Ken wasn’t sure that would ever be possible. He set his dish – a crockpot full of sweet potato casserole that Aisha had whipped up – on one of the completed tables.

“Here we go,” he mumbled to no one in particular.

“Sweet potato casserole? Looks delicious.” She approached the table, her lips turned in a smile, a graceful hostess smile. Julie revelled in this kind of town events, a feeling of importance overthrowing any sadness she may feel. Three weeks after the disappearance of Brian, the town was starting to get back into normalcy, as if the still absence of a little boy was old news. What else could be done? Every corner of town was searched for nothing to be found, the police keeping their secrets tight-lipped, no rumours to be gossiped about. Even the church was starting to forget, the daily prayers turned into weekly ones. Until now. Devil’s Knot seized every opportunity for a potluck.

The still hot dish emanated a dulcet smell, and Julie looked a little bit closer, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe a little bit burnt, but I’m sure no one will notice.” She smiled her honeyed smile, lashes slowly batting. “I’m so glad you could make it, Principal Hawker.”

Brooke walked to the back of the shop and stopped at the door of the toilets. She pulled out a key and held it in her hand as she waited for Julie to catch up. Her dark eyes stayed on Julie the whole time. The appearance of Julie was so different than hers. If Brooke thought about her mother, she knew she always wanted her to grow her hair long again and wear the same clothes Julie wore. That was if her mom took a second to glance at her and worry about her appearance. Brooke glanced down at the floor for a second, tapping her foot impatiently.

The reason why Brooke and Julie could never be friends again was burned in her brain as if it had happened yesterday. Brooke knew that a lot of parents trusted their children to Julie and she took care of them, nobody questioned it. That was just one of the ways how Devil’s Knot worked. It was just a split second but she had seen Julie, the real Julie. The Julie that lurks under that pretty blonde hair and perfect skin. Under those sickly, sweet smiles and kind but pointed words. It scared Brooke but more than anything she knew it unnerved Julie. It was never something that she would tell anyone but if there was a moment that the world needed to know about the real Julie West, she would tell whoever was asking.

The moment Julie’s face fell into a blank canvas stare, Brooke felt her heart skip a beat. She watched her with her eyes narrowed. The snatch hadn’t been anything crazy but it was a crack. A crack of that perfect exterior. Brooke let out a laugh, dry and short, as her dark eyes fixed on Julie’s. “Oh no, I don’t dislike you,” Brooke said, her words filled with venom, “I despise you. You make my skin crawl.” 

“Don’t lie to me.” She snapped. “I know you, Julie. I’ve seen you.” Brooke turned to the toilet door and unlocked it, yanking the door open hard. “And we will never be friends again.” Stepping forward to her, she repeated Julie’s last words back at her.

“I hope you can remember that.” Whatever Julie had been trying to convey in her message, Brooke wasn’t having any of it and matched it in tone. “I’ll be waiting here until you’re done.” She replied, curtly.

Fear wasn’t something Julie was used to feeling: the blind control that she did exerted in her life was so committed, so perfect by now, she could almost be effortless in maintaining it. It didn’t take much, either: it was easy for a blonde girl with pale hair to stand out in many situations, but it was always with the same sentiment. So beautiful, so fragile. When she was old enough to understand what it meant, she was clever enough to know how to take advantage of it. And oh, she had. A perfectly curated image of perfection, but not too much -- she wasn’t like Kelly Shah, for example, so perfect she stood out, enough to be admired. No, Julie was the exact amount of perfection to let other people trust her: after all, too much of something is a risk, too. So she was… ordinary, in many respects. She couldn’t afford to be fearful, especially not in front of Brooke.

“That’s too bad,” she assumed a truthfully sorrowful look, jeeringly exaggerated. “I’m hurt that you despise me so.” Her blue eyes became clearer and redder, an indication of tears that started to form behind her eyes. “Whatever you think you saw, you’re mistaken. You always had a wild imagination, it was one of the reasons why we were friends and I loved you so much.” Julie let the words hang in the air for a few seconds, letting the silence soak them in as more tears started to form in her eyes. “Memory is a tricky thing.” Finally, she turned her back on the brunette and entered the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

 a smile settled on heathers lips as she watched julie begin to dance. she looked completely silly, but still perfect as always. her movements prompted heather to reiterate. it felt so god to just let loose, and be free. especially after the week that they had been having. her fingers interlocked around the fingers she knew so well as she began to sing, twisting her hips to the beat - “caught her eye…she told me that her dad was loaded, i said in that case i’ll have a rum and coca-cola.she said fine.. and in thirty seconds time she said…” the words rolled off her tongue with ease. this was her favorite song. she would even dare to say the soundtrack to her life. 

she imagined herself on a television screen, walking to school with the song pumping behind her. her hair blowing in the wind as she screamed out the words. “i want to live like common people,” she went on, not realizing that at this moment she was living in the most common way of her lifetime. 

It wouldn’t be a lie to say Julie loved Heather with her entire heart. Whatever way love was supposed to feel, she was sure it would resemble the way she felt about Heather: she was unmistakably ordinary, and in her mundanity she let Julie be, too. She almost didn’t have to pretend and when Heather’s laughter flooded the room, her heart glows. Just two teenage girls being teenagers, sleeping over on a saturday and dancing to the song of the moment -- no missing kids in the woods, no dead bodies to be found. They were just themselves in a bubble that she never wanted to burst.

Julie rocked her hips to the rhythm of the song, screaming the lyrics at the top of her lungs and mumbling nonsense whenever she wasn’t sure what they were supposed to be, prompting a giggle from her. It was working, taking Heather’s mind out of the current situation and the heavy memories attached to them: sometimes Julie forgot who Heather lived with, why she came to Devil’s Knot in the first place. It was easy to forget, looking at Heather and her striving desire to be perfect, without realising she already was, without having to do so much. Yet, Julie kept her mouth shut about it. There was, however, something she had been meaning to ask her friend.

When the song ended, Julie caught her breath and coughed, too much excitement making her heart beat frantically and her throat sore. She threw herself to the bad again, falling on the mattress with a dry thud. “So… I overheard someone the other day mention David…” She turned to look at her friend. “I saw you talking to him today.” A smile appeared on her lips. “He’s cute, right?”