#derek bishop

There was ringing in her ears, the soft push and pull of her own breath filtered through her. They didn’t want her in the room. Even the adults had approached her like she was a rabid animal, their hands raised and palms facing Kate. Drip. She’d seen fear in their eyes, something so palpable and fresh that it almost had a tangy scent. Drip. It was only then that she realized how bloodied her knuckles were, how her chest heaved, desperate for air.

She didn’t remember getting from her seat, or tackling Stacy Willis to the ground, or hitting her for that matter. Drip. All she remembers is white hot anger. It blinded her and filled her veins and took up residence in every part of her body until Kate acted upon it. Until Stacy threw her own right hook and crunched her nose with the purse adrenaline of escape. That had snapped her out of it.

Stacy was sent to an urgent care, and Kate was sulking in the hallway, shoulders trembling with the aftershock of what she had done. What she had done. The girls blood was still crusted to her knuckles in an ugly scabbed over mess. Pulpy and sick. She’d been grabbed by the scruff of her neck and ushered here by the resource officer. Now that her mother was here, they stopped considering Kate a flight risk and left her alone with her throbbing hands and her thoughts, and her nose that finally stopped it’s never-ending faucet of red.

When the door to the office opened, Kate did not look up. She could smell her mothers sharp floral perfume and felt the heat radiating off her body. It was a heavy hand on her shoulder that signaled it was time to stand, and she did without fault, eyes still trained on the tile despite the headrush.

She trailed behind Eleanor Bishop as if a lead had been clipped to the front of her shirt, focused on the sound of her heels. Kate did not doubt that her mother donated enough money to the school for another wing, a library, new projectors, something that benefited all of them. She would get out of this. Had gotten out of this with the wave of a checkbook and a lot of extra zeroes.

To add insult to injury, Kate dragged the side of her hand under her nose to collect some pigment against her skin, a habit her mother despised due to its unladylike connotation. However, Eleanor didn’t say anything until Kate went to open the back passenger door.

“Sit up front, please.”

Kate compiled out of the simple fact of having no other option. This was the first consequence of many for beating the living hell out of another student in front of an audience. It would reflect horribly on the Bishop name, not just Kate. The car was much too warm for her liking, but her mother didn’t make a move to start it. She stared forward at the visitor parking sign for a labored moment, hands white-knuckling the steering wheel.

“Suspended for a week, that’s the lowest I could barter considering you nearly destroyed  a girl in front of people who will be expecting action on her behalf. You probably scarred them all for life. I swear, they should put some of the thousands of dollars I’ve thrown at this institution towards a half-decent counselor.”

Kate swallowed the thick, metal taste in her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Kate whipped her head to the side. Her neck ached from how tense she was, her nose throbbed viciously along with the headache behind her eyes. This must have been an injury-induced haze, then. Her mother’s posture softening to the point of casual worry. Eleanor Bishop was not motherly in a traditional way, and the sight made Kate believe she was about to be driven to the desert and made to dig her own grave.

Eleanor clicked her tongue disapprovingly at her daughter’s antic. “I understand how you felt back there. That flood of anger was so overwhelming that only action could soothe it and your brain acted before your body even had a chance to stop it. And I’m willing to bet that you’re starting to feel it again.” She poked a perfectly manicured finger into Kate’s chest so hard it stung. “Right here.”

She wasn’t going to admit that her mother was right. The swallowing darkness pulsed like a living breathing thing and Eleanor had just stabbed it with the equivalent of a stick. The top of Kate’s ears heated up, matching the rose of her cheeks as she gritted her teeth in response.

“That’s what I thought.”

She didn’t know anything. She wasn’t a week away from sixteen with the hormones of a massive linebacker working against her. Or, at least that’s what Kate figured. It would explain a few other quirks she’d been shoving down these last few months, excluding the anger and the acne and the aching gums.

Eleanor turned in her seat, hand resting on the back of Kate’s. There was less teasing and more tenderness to her stare now. Quiet and contemplative. “I know Katherine. That type of anger, it runs in the family. It’s inescapable. Genetics.”

Well- genetics fucking sucked. She wasn’t quite sure how much she believed of her mothers explanation, or lack there of. She’d seen Eleanor annoyed, and petulant, and angry (Kate was mostly the cause of these emotions), but she’d never seen her mother lose an ounce of her control. She was calm and collected, and nothing short of deadly if you were to ask any of the other mother’s on the block.

“We’ll talk more at home.”

Kate opened her mouth to say something, closed it quickly at the sideways glance she got from the drivers seat. But her mother turned the air on full blast despite the cool air outside and cracked the windows to introduce even more arctic wind to Kate’s skin, hot and sticky, but cooling off significantly.

Neither of them spoke, but Eleanor lifted her chin in a jerking motion towards the bathroom. Kate took twice as long as she should scrubbing away the dried blood from her nose. It hadn’t broken despite the sickeningly loud crunch that had her classmates groaning and looking away. It wasn’t so much as crooked, just red from her diligence at getting her skin clear.

When Kate emerged, her collar slightly damp and her anger ebbed away in the slightest, she was met with a fear that filled that emptiness right away. Her mother was sitting primly on the sofa and her father’s back was to the room, focus stolen by the drink cart as he poured bourbon into a glass. He was home early from work, and it was clear that she was the reason why.

Susan flipped the page of a book she’d been engrossed in for a long while now. While her older sister was studious, she was a slow reader. If Kate was having a bad day, she’d poke fun at her like any younger sibling would. But she knew it was pertinent to keep her mouth wired shut right now, especially if her lashing was meant to be a public affair.

“Katherine, stop lurking, it’s very unbecoming.” Her mother purred out, accepting the glass of hard liquor that Derek passed her in a practiced routine. “Come now, we won’t bite.”

Susan smiled in a way that made Kate feel as if she wasn’t actually in on whatever joke was just muttered. No one laughed, but the electricity zapped through the room regardless. Kate lowered herself onto the edge of the sofa, her hands on her knees and her back straight. Her mouth was impossibly dry no matter how many times she tried to swallow back the discomfort.

Derek sat on the other side of his wife, stretched his arm across the couch behind her. Eleanor leaned in subconsciously, the most affection that they showed one another for the entirety of Kate’s life. She hadn’t so much as seen a kiss on the cheek.

“Katherine, did you know that I played football?” her father began, and she shook her head, not trusting the stability of her voice. The last time they’d all been in a room like this, they were being audited by the FBI. “I was damn good too. Big and strong and plowing through other kids like they were nothing. But then I started feeling this… insurmountable rage.”

Kate worked her jaw, gave her father her apt attention. Susan had shut her book and ran her fingers over the gold etching on the cover and the spine. She breathed as if she knew the end of the story. Dread was building deep within Kate, and she struggled to keep it down.

“Freshman year of high school and I was barely containing it. I was getting into fights and skipping class and defying every single rule that was set for me, but I got away with it because I was a star. But after the homecoming game in the locker room that year, I snapped. I beat the shit out of a man named Bobbie Paige.” He took a swallow of his drink, “didn’t find out until the next morning that he’d died.”

Kate felt a coldness wash over her, heart suddenly in her throat. Fuck. She hadn’t hit Stacy Willis hard enough to kill her. She’d watched her mom pick her up and cart her to the nearest doctor to stitch up her upper-lip. But she flexed her fingers regardless, imagined what it would be like if she’d just hit harder.

It was thrilling.

Derek held a glint in his tiffany blue eyes that unsettled Kate. “Your mother put her fist through a glass table at a baby shower and your sister slashed the tires of Cliftons car when she saw him speaking to his cousin at the same baby shower.”

“I… don’t understand.” Kate murmured, “So our family has massive rage issues and you killed a man but you’re somehow here and totally, completely normal?”

“Rage is one part of it, yes. You feel it eating away at you, even now as I drag this conversation out longer than I must. But, you need to understand Katherine, that our family is illustrious not just in the upper class of New York, no, in our species.”

Pride was seeping into his voice, puffing out his chest as if he were posturing, flashing his gold watch. Nothing he could do would sway Kate into his charm. What he was saying was one step away from unhinged and the fear in her stomach started eating away at the lining.

She hated the question that slipped past her lips next, but it felt like the natural order of things. “Human, right?”

Kate was met with more silence, just as charged as it was before. The ice in Derek’s glass was melting and Eleanor thumbed over the clasp of her necklace, eyebrow raised at her daughter who was slowly unraveling. She’d set this off- she’d hit Stacy fucking Willis because she was mouth breathing.

“Right?”

“Kate, Do you remember when we used to stay up all night and tell stories about our family?” Susan settled her gaze on her, eyes softer than usual “I’d always imagine that we lived in a castle, and mom and dad were royalty with control over all the land. But you? You were a little freak that told tall tales about creatures of the night, things with teeth and fur and enough temper to cut through the earth.”

Kate was itching to stand, so she did, felt a headrush once more but started to pace the length of the living room, across one plush carpet to the next. “Those were just stories. I watched too many horror movies as a kid. None of you are in your right mind.”

When Kate turned again, she ran into solid flesh, warm and intimidating. There was a musk coming off her father that she’d never picked up before. It bit at the back of her throat, made her want to cower more. He gripped both of her shoulders, not hard enough to hurt.

“What if they aren’t?” He peered down at her, nothing but truth behind his stare. “Katherine, there is the blood of a beast in your veins and I don’t want you to fear it. I need you to embrace it. Show the world that you’re superior.”

Things, of course, had clicked into place when she was just a child hidden under blankets sharing breath with Susan. She’d aim a flashlight under her chin and scare her older sister by rumbling on about how her parents vanished for one night every month, how it fell on a full moon. Dereks rage issues and Eleanors response in the same amount of vigor.

“What… how much time do I have?”

“Please, Katherine, you’re not terminal.” Eleanor chuckled behind her, always amused by her dramatics. “End of the week, which explains exactly why you nearly caved a girls face in for having a deviated septum.”

Her mother was enjoying this too much. Kate felt a sad whimper rip from her throat. She was trembling again. All the anger, the rage, was replaced with palpable fear. She wondered if she smelled sickly-sweet too. Knew that she did by the way Derek furrowed his brow and lifted her chin until she was staring directly into his eyes once more.

“Listen to me, Katherine. You are far from weak.” His grip tightened. “Make me believe it.”

The basement walls in the same building Kate Bishop had grown up in her entire life seemed to breathe. Large stones of varying shades of gray were stacked and slathered together with cement. Limestone that could trap noise in and keep noise out. She hadn’t even been aware that the building had a basement, had no need to enter it when all she was ever used to was going up. 

Steel pipes jutted out of the walls in unnatural angles, and Kate could hear the water scraping at the rust. It was an abysmal noise, but her parents had made no effort to instruct her on how to tamp it down. They were professionals, seasoned supernatural creatures, apparently. But Derek would shoot one look at Eleanor before both of them resolutely refused any type of instruction. Kate was meant to figure things out alone. 

She only seemed to be getting worse as the days ticked closer to the full moon. She’d found a farmers almanac at the bodega on the corner when she took a walk to clear her head, get as fresh of air as the city had to offer. Part of her hoped her mother had been lying when she said the next peak was so close. Who in their right mind would wait this long to make her grapple with the truth? It was a hard pill with claws and teeth to swallow. 

They were never an affectionate family unless cameras were pointed in their direction, but Kate would give credit where credit was due. She’d never, not once, felt unprotected by Derek and Eleanor and even Susan on a good day. All of that warmth was replaced with something cold, and calculated and horrifying now. She saw the lack of affection in her fathers eyes before he decided to fake it for Kate’s sake. 

Her senses were going haywire at every moment, now. The world outside and inside of the penthouse was loud and corruptive, but what scared her the most was the sounds her own body made that she was too impaired to hear before. The squelch of her eyelid closing, and the tick of her skull settling when she clenched her teeth. Bone could only withstand so much pressure and Kate picked up on its endless strain. 

Food tasted too strong and kicked up insurmountable nausea. Her tongue had touched the salted side of a cracker and Kate hurled up nothing but water into the hosed out can next to her bed, knowing damn well the whole house could hear her, though none would come to her aid. Even the water she hastily gulped down to counter the bile had a copper-sweet taste to it that brought it right back up. 

Kate had effectively ripped the cabinet free of its hinges in the kitchen. She’d propped it back up as if nothing had happened, a problem for someone else in the home that didn’t have every blood cell fighting against their immune system. Except when she stalked back to her room, she’d pulled the doorknob clean off too and slouched forward until her head against the cool wood. She could hear every fiber of that creak, too. 

By the time Derek Bishop had taken pity and addressed her, she was a deteriorated mess. Kate had barely eaten, or slept, or done anything except for curl up sadly in the corner of her room with a bucket to her chest. There were bags under her eyes and rinds of dirt under her nails, stains of sweat on her shirt, but her father didn’t mention any of that. Expected it, even. He gestured vaguely for her to follow him, and was patient as she found the strength to do just that. 

Kate would have worn shoes if she knew he’d lead her to the basement. 

The souls of her feet were blackened by dirt and deadened by the cold floor by the time they’d made it to one of the many corridors below the apartment building. Some were clearly used for storage, and some were left to rot in abandon. Her father led her to the very back, pace steady and shoulders relaxed. Kate stuck close enough to smell the crisp spice of his cologne and ran into his warm back the second he stopped, much too concerned with spiders to look ahead properly.  

Derek was well used to Kate’s clumsy disposition by now, but it didn’t stop the sidelong glance she received, nor the exaggerated show of him wiping her contact from his shoulder as if she’d left something disgusting behind. Kate’s stomach pitched again at the thought, at the connotation that any form of affection that she craved would be shirked for coldness. 

He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a key. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Kate saw the outline of a door, a slot at the very base as if meals would be passed to a prisoner on a metal tray. The door was as solid as the rest of the basement, and it squealed in agony when he peeled it open like some sort of passageway. 

Her mouth was dry and her stomach clenched like it wanted to give out on her, but had nothing to produce in surrender. Her stare couldn’t adjust to the type of darkness that lay behind that door. It was a void. It was a nothingness that could swallow her whole and never spit her back out if she wasn’t careful enough. An extension of the already dank basement. She could pick up on the mineral scent of limestone, and the metallic, rotted scent of old blood. Kate imagined this is what a meat freezer would smell like. 

“Did you…” Kate’s words got stuck in her throat.

“You can say it, Katherine. It’s not salacious nor is it a sin. It’s power. You have a beast weaved into your veins and it’s nothing short of a gift.” His pride was natural, boasting and echoing through the corridor. “But no. I did not. Neither did your mother. We were younger, less privileged.”

It made Kate feel worse that the ungodly stench in her lungs was the blood of her sister. She wished to brace herself against the wall but knew it would show the one thing her father had always tried to beat out of her. weakness.

He stepped to the side, lifted his chin. She was never one to deny her father his basic requests. Her feet felt like lead, but she lifted them regardless. Again, the temperature plummeted when she entered and she hugged herself closer, teeth chattering. There was a stiff dampness to the air that made her believe the walls themselves were bleeding.

Kate turned, saw the muzzy outline of her father in the doorframe. He filled it out with his hulking form. The hair on the back of her neck stood up and a bout of saliva coated her tongue. A warning that she’d vomit again. A fight or flight.

She knew. She knew. He wasn’t just showing her where she’d shift into a beast tomorrow night to ease her nerves. Her father was a lot of things but kind was not one of them. Kate was a lot of things too, but fast enough to beat the resolute slamming of the metal door was not one of them.

Kate ran straight into the frigid cold, solid metal. Of course it didn’t budge. It didn’t stop Kate from pounding on it until the side of her hand was numb. “Dad, please,” She her words broke against the solid force, she could taste rust with each plea. “Please let me out, let me out.”

There was a ball of pressure in her chest that was slowly releasing into panic. Her fingers were numb, her toes following suit. But she kept pounding on the door as if it would give, as if it would bend to her will, as if her father would see some error in his ways.

“Please don’t leave me here.” She sniffed, wiping her snot away with her sleeve, couldn’t possibly collect it all. “I… I don’t like the dark. You know I don’t like the dark. I don’t like the dark, daddy please.”

“That’s precisely the problem, Katherine.” His voice was muffled from the other side. He was walking away from her. Leaving her in this pool of utter nothingness. His loafers clicked on the stone floor. “You shouldn’t be afraid of anything. Not with what you are. But that’s okay. You’ll learn.”

Derek Bishop whistled as he audibly pocketed the key to the door and stalked away from his prey, having already trapped it in a cage. Kate could feel her breath sawing in and out of her lungs as she turned her back to the door, glued to the only thing she knew was there. She slid to the floor, cupped her hands over her ears to block out a tune she didn’t know.

You are cordially invited to the holy union of Susan Bishop and Clifton Williamson III. Please RSVP to Eleanor Bishop at [email protected] . You are allowed a plus one, and must specify whether you would like chicken, fish, or steak. Please see the registry attached!

Best,

Susan & Clifton

Kate’s grip on the manila cardstock creased the invitation. The words were typed in a beautiful font and grouped together with a wet signature. She ran her thumb over the glittered black, could smell the sour of the ink. She hadn’t even known they were engaged, that he’d agreed to take her back after the damage she’d done to his car. A classic with cherry red paint and brown leather seats, genuine until Susan slashed through them with what everyone believed was a knife.

Kate had not been home in nearly a decade. She supposed she didn’t have the right to know about the day-to-day lives of strangers. She knew Eleanor had tracked her PO Box down through less than savory methods out of obligation more than anything. But it didn’t stop the rush of cold that moved through like a phantom looking for a home.

“I know we said we were going to try and be better with our money, but they had stamps with frogs on them, and really, that’s so much better than the American flag.” You joined Kate at the row of boxes on the far end of the post office after battling your way to the front of the line, beamed as you pointed to a particular neon creature. “Poison dart!”

Your smile didn’t falter when you saw the paled look on Kate’s face, it fell entirely. Little stamps with amphibians forgotten as quickly as they had been acquired. One glance and you’d noticed the lack of color in your girlfriends cheeks, the trembling of her fingers. More than that, you felt it through the bond you shared, akin to a seasick feeling. “Baby, what’s wrong?” 

Kate swallowed the slowly enlarging lump in her throat, the saliva nearly coming to an impasse. She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she thrust the letter towards you instead. It took you a few moments to scan the script, but when you did look back up all she could see was your masked confusion. Of course, you didn’t know who Susan or Clifton were and based on your rigid stance you were much more concerned with the person you did know. 

The tips of her ears had grown hot and her skin prickled with discomfort. The walls of the already crowded city post office were pulsing, or perhaps it was her own vision. You didn’t need Kate to explain anything, not right now. Instead, you placed a strategic hand on the small of her back, tucking the letter into the pocket of your coat to banish it from sight. You ushered her from the hot, stale air, into cold rancid air instead. It helped. Everything you did helped. 

Kate could attribute it to the scar that graced her shoulder, not pink and uneven, from your teeth that went deep enough to brand bone. But it was more than that. Seven years living together in the compound and another two in your own cozy apartment in the city had made sure of that. She’d spent nearly a decade with you and it still didn’t feel like enough, she wanted forever. 

“Drink this, Katie. Little sips.” 

When had you procured a water bottle? The two of you stood in front of a cart that sold hot dogs and bottled drinks, and small stale bags of chips that were twice the price of what they should be. Four dollars for a water was outrageous, but the she obeyed, gulping down what she could and relishing in the shock of the cold. Your fingers were still squeezed around her own, letting her know that you were there. 

She was led carefully to a park a block down, away from the chaos, sat on the stone of a fountain that dribbled more than it spat. Kate swallowed the rest of her water by then, regained feeling in her fingers as she gave your hand a test squeeze, and then another. As her thoughts began to organize, she knew she’d have to give you some type of explanation. After all, you were her person. You deserved to know. 

“There you go,” you soothed, running your touch along her arms, producing shivers. “Feeling better?” 

Kate nodded, sniffed “Much.” 

Still, you didn’t release your hold, wouldn’t unless that’s what Kate needed. You both sat in relative silence. You didn’t push, you never did. Kate needed the words just right, she knows she did. It wasn’t as easy as blurting it out like she had a secret tattoo in a place that you hadn’t explored yet (there were none). This was different. This was detrimental. 

“Susan is my older sister.” 

She stopped there, had to grip the cold edge of the fountain to make sure she was still upright. Though you tried to school your features, you wore your heart on your sleeve. Shock flashed in those brilliant eyes of yours before it melted into understanding.

For the past decade, Kate had not been in contact with her family past a few letters that sat unopened in her desk. There were no unknown numbers that flashed upon her screen or impromptu visits. She’d hidden herself well, only using an offsite address and never leaving the compound unless necessary.

Kate was surrounded by family, and you. You were everything to her, but she still couldn’t bring herself to tell you about her mother and father and sister and the horrible things they’d done to her. Little memories would slip through the structure of her protective walls,

“Three years older than me, and I suppose she wants me to show up to her wedding.”

“sweetheart, you don’t have to go.”

Kate shook her head, “When something like this is sent, it’s not an invitation. It’s a summons.”

You nodded softly, Kate slumping into your shoulder. She smelled of pine, of something warmer like dryer sheets. Her hand swooped across your stomach, under your coat to steal some form of warmth and closeness.

“I would rather show up with dignity, show them how well I’ve done for myself, then be dragged back there kicking and screaming.” She tightened her grip on the fabric of your shirt. “That’s something my father would do, even after a decade of no contact.”

“Tell me about him?” You said after awhile, listening to her breathing, the slow in and out, the way she clung so fully to you. Her fingers twitched against your side, but she retained her relaxed posture, trying to find exactly what she wanted to say.

She peered up at you with a hangdog look. “Outwardly nice. A businessman, he smiles in a way that doesn’t look like he’s baring his teeth but that’s exactly what he’s doing. There’s this… this group of purists that barely exists anymore but they believe that what we are is superior to the rest of the world and we should utilize that power, not try to blend in.”

Your brow furrowed; heartbeat picked in that tacky, involuntary way.

“The foundation of his beliefs rely on utilizing the pain that comes with shifting to your advantage instead of trying to drown them out. He has a lot of anger and he likes to use it, wanted me to use it. And when I didn’t, when I defied him by wanting to embrace kindness instead, he punished me for it.” Kate let out the shakiest breath you had heard, it rattled in her chest. She sat up, kept one warm hand on your knee. “Violently and horribly until I was angry enough to do something that I can never take back.”

“Oh, Kate.”

She didn’t’ have to elaborate. The insinuation was enough. There was sadness in your eyes, but there was something more, too. A tenderness that she reveled in. No judgement could be found anywhere on your person, and for that, she was thankful, a brief moment of relief filling her chest.

“It’s hard to recognize yourself after you feel a heartbeat stop under your fingers. Harder still when you’re rewarded for it with the slightest bit of affection. When I failed him, he’d lock me away, keep me in this…” a sob escaped her, cracked through her chest. You cupped her cheeks, struggled to brush the tears away, but they were flowing too quickly. “This cellar so I could contemplate what I had done to disappointment him alone in the dark.”

Her shoulders trembled, the pain in her eyes was palpable, you could taste the electric on your tongue.

“I couldn’t take it anymore, so I did what he wanted, I hurt who he wanted for as long as I could. But I was never cut out for his beliefs, for his fear-mongering. So I left in the middle of the night, struggled on my own until I found Clint. I flinched under his hand for the first year, and by the second he had taught me that what we are didn’t just have to be pain and suffering and carnage.”