#tasm oc

Charlie rolled the bottle of pills absentmindedly in her hand. The dreams were back. Not the one where red eyed Peter comes to visit her but the memories of the brown eyed boy and his lover. She couldn’t pretend any longer. They were memories. She wasn’t sure if they were hers or someone else’s but there was no denying it. Dreams don’t continue in a perfect, detailed timeline. She was reliving someone else’s life every time she closed her eyes. At first the pills help keep them at bay. Now, not even the drugs could fight them off. They were too strong. Someone, or something, was desperate for her to know their story. She’d be a fool not to listen. 

Charlie read through her old journal entries where she’d write down everything she remembered after waking up, piecing together the story in the snippets of memory she was given. A tragic love story about a woman named Charlotte and a man named Peter. Two lovers, forced to see each other in secret, but bound by their love. Charlotte came from a poor, simple family on the outskirts of the colony. Peter came from wealth. He was meant to marry someone closer to his higher status. There was a young woman who lived next door who his parents were pushing him to woo. They couldn’t understand why he refused. She was a perfectly respectable Puritan girl. They would make a fine pairing. Yet, Peter resisted. He kept his true love a secret. Bringing her small tokens of his affections each night. Something little that he could find along the way, things she could keep out of sight. Indiscreet tokens of his love.  His desires for this young woman grew too large. The secret hand holding and longing glances weren’t enough. He desired to kiss her, to hold her in his arms, to make her his. They both knew what they were doing that night in the barn was wrong. It was against everything they were ever taught. Peter knew more than Charlotte but neither of them were blameless. They risked it all. Night after night. Once that dam was broken they were unable to stop. Two people, young and careless, unable to resist the temptation of lovemaking. 

Charlotte was the first to notice the change. She’d been plagued with dreams of crying babies and awoke one night to the realization that she was pregnant. She counted the days since her last bleed, realizing that she had been so caught up in Peter that she failed to notice two months go by since her last. She wanted to be happy. She wanted to celebrate the creation of life but it was impossible. Peter’s timeline to convince his father to let them wed was now cut short. Their time was running out. She did her best to hide the bump for as long as possible. Her dresses were thick and layered. It wasn’t hard at first. No one took notice. Her Pa hardly glanced in her direction. She could bide their time until Peter got the approval he sought. 

That was until the day she fell ill with a terrible flu. Her Pa was forced to call on the doctor. It was during his exam that he noticed. Word spreads fast in a tiny town. Finding an unwed woman pregnant was all anyone could talk about. Rumors spread about who could have done it. She heard whispers that they were planning on giving her a public whipping and throwing her in jail, giving her father a hefty fine for his daughter’s indecencies. When she heard the knock at the front door one morning, she had hoped it was Peter coming to her rescue. Instead it was his father and a group of men. They accused her of being a witch. They dragged her off to the jails. She was stripped naked, every part of her body thoroughly examined. She’d never felt so violated in her life. No man, besides Peter, had ever touched her. They treated her like meat, an animal to be thrown around, no longer worthy of her dignity. They poked and prodded, invading every little crevice of her, and taking detailed notes of any mark on her skin. They claimed the small birthmark on her left shoulder, the one Peter loved to kiss, was a mark of a witch. 

Charlie paused her rereading of the tales at the mention of the birthmark. She tugged down the collar of her shirt to reveal her left shoulder. A small birthmark peeked back at her. She slammed her journal closed. She was not Charlotte. Yes, that was technically her name, but she was not this person. That was impossible. She didn’t believe in reincarnation and witches and vampires…

Peter was a vampire. 

She couldn’t deny what she saw. With the fog cleared from her brain, she remembered everything. He no longer had the hold over her to keep her confused and questioning. She saw it with her own eyes. There were forces happening in the world that she didn’t understand or could comprehend. Somehow she released Peter when she pulled the stake from his heart. She had set all of this into motion. He saw her and believed she was the woman from his past. The red eyed Peter that she knew, the vampire, he was the same one from memories being given to her each night. He was once the brown eyed, gentle, sweet boy who held his lover close and promised her the world. He was once the boy who was so broken at the thought of having to lose her that he’d willingly give up his life to become a monster to save her. He was once the man who waited 330 painful years just for the chance to see her again. Her.

“Me,” she whispered to herself. 

She had to know how the story ended. There was still one more piece to the puzzle that she needed to find. 

She ran to her desk and pushed open her laptop. She should have googled this months ago. Hell, even their local museums probably told this story. She grew up going on field trips to plays that reenacted the witch trials. She had grown up hearing their stories. Even their damn high school mascot was a witch. These were stories she should have already known. She could make fun of Nora for fucking up historical dates all she wanted, Charlie was just as oblivious. 

She typed in the name Parker and Salem Witch Trials. 

She should have remembered. It should have been obvious. 

The Salem Slaughter of 1692 

After the burning of an unknown woman at the stake, a mysterious slaughter took place amongst the townspeople. Over half of the attendees at the burning were brutally murdered. The most prominent of the victims being the entire Parker family. Richard and Mary Parker, and three of their five boys, Isac (17), Elias (15), and Jacob (14) were found dead at the scene. They’re bodies were burned at the feet of the unnamed woman. Their youngest two children, their son Josiah (10), and their daughter Abigail (8), were found murdered inside their family home. Their eldest son, Peter (21), was not found amongst the victims. It was unclear if he was never identified or if he managed to escape the brutality. Either way, his name does not appear on any further records from that colony. Other victims included three court judges, the executioner, and four other men (their names were never identified as the bodies were so badly charred, it could be true that Peter Parker was one of them). Records from this particular time period are rare, at best. After the slaughter, a large fire broke out. Historians assume that many important records were lost in this fire. What caused the slaughter was never discovered though it seemed the Parker Family was the main target. No other children or women were harmed in the killings apart from those in the family. It leads us to believe that whoever was able to accomplish such a heinous act had a particular grudge against the Parker’s. Many like to speculate. Some think it was a scorned lover brought to madness by seeing his lover burn. Others think it was a disgruntled parent seeking revenge for their daughter falsely accused. But, the true believers, follow the path that it was the unnamed woman herself. A true witch setting flame to those around her in one last attempt to make them pay for her untimely demise. 

Charlie stopped reading and closed her laptop. She felt sick. She flipped back through her journal pages of her old dreams. By all accounts here, Charlotte was meant to be hung at the gallows. That didn’t make sense. Why would they burn her at the stake last minute? They hadn’t done that to any other witches of Salem. It was obvious to her that Charlotte was the unnamed woman in the article and Charlie had a decent idea of who caused the slaughter of 1692. She was pretty sure she just solved one of her town's biggest mysteries. Not that anyone would believe the truth. 

Charlie dumped four sleeping pills into her hand, double the recommended dose, but she wanted to fall asleep quickly and stay that way long enough to get her answers. She wanted the ending. She needed to know exactly what happened. 

With a quick call to her annoyed boss, she called in sick to work this evening. 

She would get to the bottom of this and find that last piece of the puzzle. 

This was ending now. 

“Peter!” Charlotte sobbed. “Stay with me…”

The man carrying her had dropped her to feet once they left the jail and was now pulling her along by the rope attached to her hands. She shuffled towards the outskirts of town surrounded by men on all sides. Her legs were shaky beneath her, barely keeping her upright. 

Richard fell in step beside her, “I’ve got a surprise for you, girl.” 

She responded with a quiet whimper. All she thought of was Peter, locked away in that cell, sick and unable to fulfill his last promise to her. 

“You won’t be hanged for your crimes, oh no, I convinced the court on alternative methods. A hanging was too sweet, too simple, for the crimes you’ve committed against my family. I want to watch you suffer a slow and painful death.” 

Charlotte’s eyes widened in horror as they crested the top of the hill. Instead of the usual sight of the gallows, a large wooden stake stood in its place. Surrounding the stake were bushels of twigs and hay. A proper witch burning.

Her eyes welled with fresh tears. She wished she could wrap her arms around her sweet, unborn child and protect him from the horrors he was about to experience. His life, taken before he even drew his first breath. Her and Peter’s child. Lost to the cruelness of time. 

A crowd had formed to watch. A night of entertainment for the people. She could hear laughs and sneers as she was dragged by. She recognized some of the faces in the crowd. Her father was absent from the faces. She wasn’t sure if it was because he couldn’t stand to watch his daughter burn or if couldn’t be bothered to miss out on a full night of sleep. Peter’s mother, standing around a few of his brother’s, had her head hung low. Charlotte could tell she didn’t enjoy this kind of entertainment but was probably forced to watch in support of her husband. The youngest of her children would probably already be in bed at this hour. What a shame for poor Abigail Parker. She’d had to miss out on the smell of burning flesh and listening to the screams of the woman she falsely accused. She must be devastated. Charlotte wished she was here to experience, first hand, the damage that was caused from her actions. 

Her arms were released from the binds and forced behind her to wrap around the stake. She felt her wrists tighten, shooting pain up her arms, as someone bound her to the wood. Her ankles followed. Charlotte gave a hard tug, trying to fight the ropes, but knowing it was useless. They were stronger than her. This was her destiny. Her end would be filled with pain. Not from the fire that would peel away her skin, not from the smoke that would fill her lungs and choke out her oxygen, not from death itself. The pain came from knowing that her last look at the world was at the people who wanted her dead. The people who hated her. The people who were glad to watch her burn. Instead of her beloved Peter. His promise to stay with her until the end falling flat. 

Someone was reading out her list of crimes. Telling the crowd exactly why she was being put to death. She didn’t care. It was all lies. She held her head high, clench her jaw tight, refusing to allow any cries to leave her lips, and would go with what little dignity she had left. She would not give these people what they wanted. She would not give them a show. She would go silently and stoic, no matter what. Charlotte closed her eyes. If she couldn’t see Peter with them open then she would see him with them closed. 

She remembered every line of his face. The way his eyes would crinkle when he laughed, the sound filling her with joy. She imagined herself free from these ropes. She pictured him standing in front of her. She saw herself lift her hand to his cheek. So soft. So warm. His eyes were bright as they stared down at her. A smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t need to tell her that he loved her with words. His love poured out of every pore in his body whenever he caught a glimpse of her. 

“I love you, Peter Parker.” She whispered to herself. A last goodbye as the roar of the flames burst to life. 

The weight of the feather, tucked behind her ear, grew heavy against her skull as a wave of calm washed over her. She had almost forgotten it was there at all. Peter’s gift to her. A gift filled with a crazed story, the ramblings of a broken hearted man, trying his best to give her one, last ounce of hope. She smiled at the thought. Even if his story wasn’t believable, she felt safe with it tucked beside her, a piece of him to hold onto. He would risk everything for her protection. 

Charlotte could feel the flames licking at her feet but she felt no heat. It felt more like a soft cat rubbing its side along her ankle than it did of fire. That was unexpected. She didn’t dare open her eyes to confirm that what she was feeling was, indeed, the flames. She wanted to keep the image of Peter as close to her as she could. Opening them would take him away from her. She was afraid that if she opened them, and lost sight of him, that the panic would set in and she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from screaming. That would be giving the people what they wanted. 

The flames were getting louder in her ears. It was undeniable that she was quickly being engulfed. She didn’t need to see to understand that. They crackled against the twigs, sizzling and popping, and thundered up the stake. She knew they were around her. She kept waiting for the excruciating suffering to follow but, the longer it took to happen, the more she wondered if it was ever coming at all. 

A pained scream ripped out over the sound of the fire. For a second, she thought maybe it was her. Maybe her mind had dissociated from her body and that was why she couldn’t feel the searing heat on her skin. But as the sound continued to get closer, she realized she knew that voice. Charlotte had never once heard him scream that like before. The sound pierced straight into her soul. 

Her eyes snapped open. 

Peter was running towards her. She could just make him out through the red, blinding flames. Torment was etched onto this face. The screams he was making sounded desperate, broken. Her heart swelled with ache at the sound. Her eyes filled with bittersweet tears. He had kept his promise. Somehow, he had kept it. He had fought his way out and back to her side. She should have never doubted him. 

“No!” He shrieked. “Get her down! Stop this!” 

He made a straight line right for her. She could smell burning flesh and singed hair in her nostrils. With her eyes now open, she got a whole new sense of bad she was burning. She only tore her eyes away from him for a moment to look down at her body. The flames had engulfed her. Her skin bubbled and blistered. She could see it melting down her arms and exposing the raw nerves underneath. Her eyes watered, knowing it was from the severity of the heat but unable to actually feel it. Thick, black smoke filled her throat. It clogged her pipes and blocked the air from reaching her lungs. Still, she felt no pain. No fear. She felt nothing but a pleasant, soft calmness. The same feeling Peter would give her when he held her in his arms after they made love. Her eyes sought him out in the crowd again. She’d prefer to look at him than watch her body die. She wished she could tell him that she was okay. That she felt no suffering. That his special feather had worked. She wanted to tell him these things but her tongue seized in her throat. She felt a tightening around her neck like her skin was shrinking around her. It was almost time for her to go. 

Peter leaped towards the flames. He wanted to save her but her body was beyond saving now. He could see that. He fell to his knees in front of her. Sobbing. Heavy, gut wrenching sobs. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaked. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me, my love.”

She didn’t. 

Because there was nothing to forgive. 

They had done nothing wrong. She saw with an otherworldly clarity now, as her body succumbed to the flames, she saw all of time laid out bare in front of her. They were not sinners. They were not wrong for loving each other. They had created something beautiful in a world that despised beauty. 

“Come back to me.” She could hear Peter begging at her feet though she could no longer see. Her eyes had surrendered to the flame. Like he promised, her last look, before she left, was of him. 

“Please, please, come back to me. Don’t leave me alone. Don’t make me wait. Come back. Find me. Find me…”

Find me. 

His last words echoed in her ears as she stared at the ceiling bathed in glowing, morning light. Her heart felt heavy and her limbs numb.

Charlie had found him. 

She had found him and then she banished him away. This was illogical. It defied everything she thought she knew. She couldn’t be his Charlotte. She couldn’t be. 

Heavy tears flooded her eyes as she found herself mourning for a woman she didn’t even know, or knew too well, she wasn’t sure. She mourned for the misery she had heard in Peter’s voice as he was forced to watch his love die before his eyes. She mourned for her own life. Her own, pathetic, boring, useless life. She mourned for the creature that Peter had become. He had waited all those years and for what? For her? What a pathetic let down he must feel. She was not Charlotte. Not the one that he wanted. She couldn’t help him. She couldn’t even help her father. Or Nora. Or herself. 

The heavy feeling of despair weighed on her weakened mind. 

Downstairs she could hear pots banging against the cabinet and the tv turned up to full volume. Her father was awake. His erratic shouts echoed from under the floorboards. He was having an episode. From what Charlie could make out from his screams, he was fighting with her dead mother. She couldn’t be bothered to get up. The neighbors could complain all they wanted about the sounds. She was done. 

A ray of light fighting through the curtains landed perfectly on her bottle of sleeping pills. 

The universe was taunting her. 

She popped open the cover and took two more, swigging them down with the bottle of water on her bedside table. She’d already slept nearly the entire day yesterday and all night, why not keep going? Her alternative was to deal with the problem happening downstairs. Not today. Today, she will sleep some more. 

Maybe tomorrow too. 

Maybe forever. 

She hadn’t decided yet. 

A swirling darkness enveloped her as she spun through the air. Beautiful, little, glowing specs swirled around her. They danced against the ebony backdrop of infinity and brought warm light to whatever they passed. 

Stars, she thought. 

No. Not stars. 

Souls. 

She was spinning through a universe of souls. They were all headed in the same direction. But not her. Not Charlotte. She was catapulting away from them. The bluejay feather placed behind her ear was her guide. She could feel it tugging her away from everyone else. It didn’t allow her to go where they were destined. She could not follow after them. She was on her own path. A path few ever traveled. 

She was going this way because she had to find someone. She was supposed to find someone again. But who?

Her thoughts came in flowing whisps, unable to stay focused on a single one. She forced herself to think because she knew that piece of information was important. 

Think, Charlotte. Who must you find? Who are you running to? 

Those chestnut brown eyes found her in the dark. A smile tugged at her lips. 

Peter. Of course. Her Peter. How could she ever forget him? She was running to find him. He was waiting for her. He had made her promises. He had kept her safe from the pain. He was giving them a new chance at life. A redo. She just had to find him. 

But first she needed a body. The one she left behind was gone. 

He wasn’t up here with her. He wasn’t swirling around, lost in the nothings of forever. He was grounded somewhere. She had to get there. Wherever  “there” was. 

Charlotte focused all her energy on the feather. She trusted that it knew where to go. She let the powers raging inside of it guide her to her destination. 

Peter. Peter, Peter, Peter. 

The longer she spun, the harder it was to remember. She could feel parts of her life slipping away. Did she have parents? A mother? A father? Did she have any siblings? She couldn’t remember. 

Peter, Peter, Peter.

She kept repeating his name. Whispering aloud to herself. Where did she grow up? What was her surname? How did she die? How did she get here? Her memories were fading quickly. 

Peter, Peter, Peter. 

Do not forget her Peter. 

His name sounded unfamiliar on her lips. Where was she going? Wherever it was, she was almost there. She could feel it. What was her name? She couldn’t recall. Was her name Peter? No…no…that wasn’t right. 

She wasn’t Peter. The memories of who she was had slipped between her fingers but she knew that name was important. 

The word “soulmate” fell from her lips. 

She smiled. Yes. Peter. Her soulmate. 

She tried to hold onto him. He was all she had left of her past life. She could feel him ebbing away from her the closer she got to her new home. 

Peter…Peter….Peter….Pe…

Light. Bright light. 

The sounds of a baby crying. Blurry vision. A woman smiled down at us.

…Us. Me. Her. We are the same. I am Charlotte. She is me. We are one. 

Charlie rolled over in her sleep. The noise downstairs is getting louder and more chaotic. She grabbed her pillow and threw it over her head, urging herself to slip back into the subconscious. 

“Charlotte,” the woman spoke. “Her name is Charlotte. My little Charlie.” 

Snippets of own life flashed before her eyes. Memories she thought she had long since forgotten. 

Lullabies her mother would sing as she held her close against her breast. A dribble of milk rolling down her chin as she was swaddled tightly in a soft blanket. Glowing green stars stuck to her ceiling. 

A second birthday party. Balloons popping. The loud noise scares her. Laughter follows her as she cries and hides under a table. The warmth of her mother pulling her back out and telling off the guests. Protecting her. Keeping her safe. Soothing her worries with a secret treat. The taste of frosting on her tongue. Taken from the back of the cake so no one would notice. 

Running too fast down a steep hill. Her tiny legs not able to keep up with the pull of gravity. Losing her balance as she summersaults forward. The feeling of her skin scraping when she finally comes to a halt. The pain in her knee. The tears in her eyes. The warm embrace as she’s scooped off the ground and carried back inside. Screaming when her mother tried to wash the dirt from the cut. A green bandaid. Her favorite color. The green makes everything all better. 

Flattening herself to hide under her bed. The fighting downstairs having woken her up from her dreams. Clinging to her teddy. The musty smell of his synthetic fur. She refuses to let anyone wash him. There is glass breaking. More yelling. Her mother’s shriek. A body hitting the floor. Her hands go over her ears then. Her eyes squeeze tightly close to block out her reality. She pictures her imaginary friend. The one who keeps her safe. Her friend Peter. He calms her terrified soul. Soothes her worries. Makes her eyes heavy so she can fall asleep hidden under the safety of her bed. 

Her first day of kindergarten. Waving goodbye to her mother from the window of her classroom. No tears. Only smiles. Unaware that would be the last time she ever sees her. She looks so beautiful standing out there, waving excitedly next to her car. She’s so proud of her daughter. A big girl going to a big girl school. She already knows what she’s going to do when she pulls away. She knows she has her bags packed. She hid them in the trunk last night. She smiles and waves. Hiding her tears.

“When’s mommy coming home?” It’s the question her father hates but she can stop asking. She’s asked about ten times in the last hour. She can see he’s getting mad. She can see he’s losing his temper but she keeps asking. “Just tell me when. I need to know. Please. When is mommy coming home?” A slap across the face that sends her flying to the ground. He’s so much bigger than her. He got his point across. She won’t ask again. 

Third grade. The school counselor has called her into her office. It’s the second time this week. Last time it was to talk about why she thought it was appropriate to bite Thomas Sheehey on the neck at recess. Today it was to discuss a drawing she made during art class. A picture was placed on the desk in front of her. Done with crayons. Her favorite. She had drawn her friend with the glowing eyes and sharp teeth. He was surrounded by bodies. She used a lot of red crayon and pressed down really hard to make sure that she got all of the blood. In the corner of the page was Charlie, herself, fast asleep on the ground. She was going to give it to him next time he came to visit. The counselor wanted to know why she drew this. She wanted to know if she ever saw something like this in real life. She wanted to know who her friend was. But Charlie never told. She’d never actually seen the bloodied bodies Peter would drink but she knew that he did. That was how he got his food. He had told her so himself. That’s why she bit Thomas Sheehey to see what it would taste like but her teeth weren’t sharp enough. She tried to tell the counselor that Peter wasn’t real. He lived in her imagination. She wanted to tell her that he kept her safe when her daddy got too angry but she knew she wasn’t supposed to talk about that. Daddy wouldn’t like it. 

Ten years old. Her best friend Nora and her were having a sleepover. At Nora’s house. No one was ever allowed to come to hers. It wasn’t safe for them. Nora’s house was safe though. Her mother was nice. She made them popcorn and let them watch movies. They fell asleep in the living room. Charlie remembered this memory unlike the others. She knew what was about to happen. She would awake from her sleep with a sharp pain in her heart. An empty feeling would overtake her. She’d start screaming, holding onto her chest. Nora and her parents would wake up. They’d rush her to the hospital. They thought she was having a heart attack. Charlie wouldn’t be able to stop crying. The pain in her chest was too much. Her limbs would start to feel cold. Her body would start to feel stiff. The doctor’s would call it a panic attack but that never felt right. After that night she would always be left with a feeling of loneliness. She was always a lonely child but this was different. Hollow. Like something important was missing. 

Charlie felt a searing pain in her shoulder. It confused her because the ten year old dream version of her was currently experiencing the pain in her heart. Her body and her mind weren’t in sync. 

Her eyes snapped open, fighting against the effects of the sleeping pills still hungrily clawing at her mind. Her room was dark again. She was successful in sleeping through another day.

“Wha-” She mumbled. Her mind was groggy. Her blurry eyes struggled to focus on anything. She could feel the weight of someone straddling her waist. 

“You bitch.” 

Her father. 

He was on top of her.

“Dad?” She muttered in confusion. The pain in her shoulder was spreading down her arm. “What are you doing?”

“You bitch,” he spat at her. “You think you could leave me for another man? You think you could run away and I wouldn’t find you?” 

Charlie blinked down at her shoulder. The sleeve of her hoodie was starting to soak with blood. Panic rose in her chest. Her eyes caught the glint of a large kitchen knife clutched in his hand. Her blood rolled down the stainless steel and pooled at the tip before dripping on her stomach. 

“Dad, stop!” She shouted. “I’m not mom! I’m not your wife! It’s me. It’s Charlie! You daughter.” 

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” he repeated. Foaming, white spit collected at the side of his mouth. His eyes were crazed. She knew that look. He couldn’t see her. Whatever angry visions played before his eyes clouded him from reality. He was lost to his failing mind. “You left me! I knew you were a whore. I knew you were fucking around and I didn’t say shit. I let you have your fun as long as you promised to be home in time to feed the baby. I didn’t give a shit what you did as long as you promised to take her off my hands. And what did you decide to do? Fucking leave me with her! You ran away! You left me! I took care of you! And you gave me nothing! Well, guess what, bitch, your time has come. I’m going to make you pay for what you did.” 

He raised the knife over his head and tried to plunge it down into her chest. Charlie caught his wrists with her hands, using whatever force she could muster to hold him back. 

“Stop it!” She screamed. “I’m not mom! I didn’t leave you! You’re not thinking straight!” 

Her arms wobbled. She could feel they were starting to give out. Her shoulder felt like it was splitting off from her torso. Her father might be old but he wasn’t weak. With her downing sleeping pills for nearly two days straight, and fresh stab wound, her strength was severely lacking. Tears slipped down the side of her face as she desperately tried to push the knife away. 

“Dad, please. Listen to me. It’s Charlie. Your daughter,” she begged. “You’re having an episode. You should have taken your damn meds.” 

“I’ve killed you once and I’ll kill you again,” he spat down at her. 

Charlie’s eyes widened at the realization of what he was saying. The pieces fell together like rain around her. Her mother had abandoned her when she was young. She ran away. She left them alone. She left her alone with a father who hated her. A betrayal. A heartbreak. A year later she had gone to her mother’s grave. Her father had brought her. There was no funeral. One day her mother was there. Then she ran away. Then she was buried in the ground. Her father had shown her the grave. Her mother’s name, carved in neat, simple letters, into the tree she was under. The dirt was still fresh from being dug. Charlie had found a worm squirming around in the soft pile. She was too young to understand. Her mother was already out of her life at that point. There was no difference between death and being away. At seven years old, they both meant the same thing to her. “She deserved it,” her father had said. “She got what was coming to her.” Charlie poked at the worm. He turned to walk back through the forest towards the car. That was her cue to follow. Another lost memory, now recovered, to add to her growing pile. 

“Dad,” Charlie whispered. “What did you do?”

“I found you. I told you I would find you. You can’t run from me,” Her father grunted and threw more of his weight against the knife. 

Her strength was rapidly failing. Her shoulder was screaming in pain. The knife inched closer to her chest. She was running out of time. Running out of fight. For a brief moment she considered letting go. The blade would plunge into her heart and she would be free. 

Then she thought of Charlotte. A young woman who had her life forcefully and unfairly taken from her. She thought of the sacrifice Peter had given just to give her another chance at living. Whether or not she truly believed she was Charlotte didn’t matter. What mattered was that she had been watching this woman’s life for the past six months. She had been watching her struggle to survive. Charlotte felt like an old friend now. It would be a slap in her face if Charlie gave up that easily. She would not throw away her life without a fight. 

She knew she couldn’t match the strength of her father but she knew who could. 

She closed her eyes and pictured him as vividly in her mind as she could, trying to mentally summon him to her side. 

“Peter!” She cried out, letting her croaking voice fill the room. “Peter! I need you! Help me, Peter!” 

The breath caught in her throat as cold air rushed up her skin. Her window burst open, the curtains billowing out in the Autumn wind. A menacing growl ripped through her ears. The darkened lightbulb of her bedside lamp shattered. It rained tiny shards of glass over her face as she flinched away. 

She heard her father grunt as his bulky weight was wrenched off her. Her arms fell to her side, heavy and exhausted from the fight. Moonlight filtered in through the open windows. The glow cast a shadow over the towering figure holding her father in his grasp. 

Her father was lifted off the ground, held aloft by the hand wrapped around his throat. She watched Peter’s grip tighten. His eyes pierced dangerous daggers as he stared down the man who dared to hurt his beloved. Charlie struggled to force herself into a sitting position. She felt woozy and her vision blurred. Her hand pressed against her shoulder. The blood seeped from her thick hoodie into her palm. When she brought her hand up to her face, she saw it was painted in red. 

Peter’s attention snapped in her direction. His nostrils flared at the smell of her blood. His fangs bared and a low hiss slithered out his throat. She watched his eyes roll into the back of his head. With a sharp growl, he tossed her father to the ground. Before she even had time to react, he had pounced on top of him, ripping open his neck. Blood spurted from the wound. It splattered over her old rug. An awful gurgling sound bubbled out from her father. His limbs flailed and gave weak, little jerking movements. Peter’s back hunched over his prey and his mouth latched on, drinking from her dying father. 

The sight she was witnessing and sounds she was hearing made her gag in disgust. Charlie tried to get up. She tried to run away, to stumble blindly out of the room, but her mind was tumbling in spirals. She staggered against the door frame, desperately trying to hold herself up. The sleeping pills, the blood loss, the horror of watching her father be torn apart, or a combination of the three was making her start to slip. Her fingers tingled with a strange numbness, she felt lightheaded, her skin was hot and sweaty as the nausea hit her. 

“Peter,” she whispered, a fuzzy darkness creeping into her vision. 

Someone caught her right before she hit the ground. 

Her eyes rolled in her head, trying to focus on the face in front of her. 

Peter’s blood soaked face smiled sadly down at her. He cradled her protectively in his arms.

“I’ve got you, Charlie. You’re safe.” His voice purred in her ear. “I’m taking you home. Please. Let me bring you home. Say yes.” 

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out, instead she responded with a silent nod of acceptance. 

She would very much like to go home. 

[PART FOUR]

A/N: If you enjoyed the story up to this point, please feel free to reblog or leave a comment. They are very much appreciated. This wasn’t so much a full, standalone chapter as it is the end half of Part Two. So I hope it didn’t flow too terribly. Part two would have just been way too long had I kept them combined. If you want to be tagged for the final chapter, let me know. I’m hoping to make it the bloody, smutty, vampire-y delightfulness of your dreams. 

Tag List: @redbircl​

-

He had taken the bus back to her apartment with her. Just her and Spider-Man, sitting side by side, on an empty bus, while the driver gave her confused looks in the rearview mirror. Peter gave her the window seat and she stared at his masked face in the darkened reflection as the rumble of the bus lulled her into a trance. She studied the way his gloved fingers would fidget against his thigh like he never stopped moving. His leg bounced anxiously against hers. She wanted to reach out and steady it for him but resisted the urge to touch him any further. They sat in an awkward silence the entire ride home until it was her stop. He followed a step behind her the rest of the way, never speaking a word, as she lingered at the building door. 

“This is it. You don’t have to come inside. I’ve got it from here,” she had said to him. She was embarrassed about the state of her apartment. On a good day, the place was run down and falling apart. On a day like today, she had no idea what they’d be walking into. She hadn’t cleaned in a while. Her job was to clean people’s houses. She didn’t want to come home and do the same thing. 

But he hadn’t accepted her answer, “The deal was I saw you curled up in a blanket by a heater, remember? You pinky promised me. You can’t break those.” 

She guessed that he was afraid if he left too early she would run back to the hospital. He didn’t have to worry. She had no intentions of going back out in the cold. Not tonight, anyway.

He followed her up the steps, kindly refraining from commenting on the permanent smell of urine in the stairwell, and waited patiently while she unlocked the door. When it swung open, Lucy strode inside and turned to watch him hovering the doorway.  The sight of Spider-Man with one foot in her home and one foot in the hallway was a unique picture. She wanted to care more than she did but found herself unable to muster many emotions. Her body ached and her brain felt fuzzy. 

“Happy now?” She asked, her tone anything but friendly. “I’m home.” 

He shook his head, “I don’t see a blanket and heater. Is it always this cold in here?” 

She shrugged, “Yeah. The heating is terrible. Liv and I usually pull out the space heater if it gets too bad. It’s in the bedroom. Do you actually need to see me turn it on or can we agree on a compromise?” She wasn’t sure why she was being so snippy with him. He had done nothing but save her entire life. She should be worshiping at his feet for what he accomplished today. Instead her gratitude came out as a tired annoyance. 

“I guess it’s fine,” he mumbled, picking up on her impertinent tone. His masked eyes looked around the tiny room until they landed on the bucket of her cleaning supplies she had tossed down right before she got the call. “Are you a maid?” 

Lucy narrowed her eyes, she hated not being able to read his expression to know if he was judging her or not, “Personally, I prefer the term house cleaner but yes.” She stared at him, refusing to invite him inside any further, as she slowly took off her jacket to reveal her uniform and pointed to the embroidered logo. “Meticulous Maids, at your service. It’s no superhero job but it pays the bills…kind of…”

“Superhero-ing doesn’t actually pay the bills either.” He shuffled his foot awkwardly against the floor, avoiding her gaze by looking around the little room. 

Their conversation was stalling. She didn’t want him to see any more of her apartment then was necessary so she kept him hanging by the door. He seemed reluctant to leave, almost like he didn’t want their meeting to end, but refused to step in any further without verbal permission. Lucy was not going to be the one to give it. 

She cleared her throat, “Well it was nice meeting you, Peter.” 

He perked up at the sound of his name like he had forgotten she knew it, “Is that my cue to get outta ‘ere?” 

She gave him a tight, forced smile and shrugged, “I guess so? You did what you came here to do, didn’t you? I’m no longer in the cold. I’m home safe. When you leave, I’ll get into some sweats and climb into bed. I promise I’m not going anywhere else tonight. Your job is done. You did it. You played the part of the hero perfectly today. Good job. I’d give you a gold star sticker if I had one lying around.” 

He had laughed then. It was a pleasant sound. She found herself wishing she could hear it again some time but refused to verbalize her desires. 

“It was nice meeting you, Lucy Miller. Olivia will be okay. Give her some time. She’s not lost to you forever.” He gave her a quick wave, not waiting around for her reply, before stepping out into the hallway and shutting the door softly behind him. 

-

Peter. 

Her smile lingered as she curled into her pillows and closed her eyes. Her body was exhausted, her limbs heavy, and her brain foggy. 

She wondered what he was doing right now, if he was replaying back his day just as she was. Her emotions were in turmoil. The guilt kept desperately trying to make itself known but it was repressed by the sense of peace that he had given her. 

Olivia would be okay. Tomorrow, Lucy would call out of work. She would get the apartment in perfect order. She would visit her sister. Then she would call back the woman from social services to give her a proper interview. 

No one was going to be taking her sister away. They would get through this. Together. 

Her heavy yawn filled the quiet room and she closed her eyes. 

Sleep called out to her and she graciously answered.

Five thirty in the morning was not kind to her. 

The sun wasn’t even awake at this hour. Lucy rolled over in bed to flick on her bedside lamp. Her eyes felt like they were glued shut. She estimated she only got about three hours of sleep last night. Her body ached and shivered with chills. Despite her claims to Peter, she had opted not to turn on the space heater. Electricity costs money. Running it all night was a waste, especially if Olivia wasn’t here to benefit from the warmth. 

Her heart dropped. 

Olivia. She was too tired to fight off the sudden invasion of tears clawing at her tired eyes. Any hope she had the night before was lost in the new day. Lucy threw the blankets over her head and curled up in the dark, letting the tears flow. It was her first night in a long time that she had slept in this bed without her sister. There was only one bedroom. They didn’t have the funds for another bed. Sometimes she would sleep on the couch if Olivia kicked too much but, even then, she was still only a room away. 

Lucy took a shuddered breath to calm her silent sobs. Tears were a waste of precious energy. She didn’t have time for crying. There were things that needed to be done today. Important things. And they started with a shower. 

After every terrible day, a shower was needed to wash away the events. A fresh start. Clean and hopeful. That’s what she was going to aim for. She could regain some of that hope Peter had left her with last night. Repress, repress, repress and move on. 

Her knees stung as she stretched out her legs and kicked them over the side of the bed. They were crusted with dark, dried blood from when she had fallen to the icy roof. She let out a low, grumbling, groan as she pushed herself from the tangle of warm blankets. 

“My life sucks,” she mumbled, her bare feet dancing up and down on the chilly hardwood floor. 

Lucy made her way quickly to the bathroom, practically jumping onto the bathmat to keep from touching the floor longer than she had to. With a flick of the switch, a tiny, yellowed light bulb struggled to life in a pathetic attempt to illuminate the small room. She avoided the mirror while bending down to turn on the shower. The hot water in this building was always unpredictable. Someday’s it would start off icy and suddenly spike to inhuman levels of heat, other days it struggled to even warm up. She hoped this morning it would reach scorching levels. She needed her body to thaw out. 

Her hand danced in and out the weak stream. Once it was lukewarm, she stripped off her clothes and eased herself inside. It wasn’t the scalding heat she wished for but it would serve its purpose. The sting of her knees as the water washed away the dried blood helped rip the lingering sleep from her mind. She felt like she was floating, her thoughts were foggy, and her skin tingled like she was still on high alert. Even as she lathered shampoo into her hair, she took notice of how badly her hands were shaking. The anxiety from yesterday had yet to disappear. There was still so much left to do. The constant threat of the social worker hung over her head. This apartment would need to be spotless for her. Olivia was out of her control, at least while she’s in the hospital. She would have to trust the doctors to be the ones to help her. The best Lucy could do for her sister would be make sure everything behind the scenes was in perfect order. 

She quickly finished her shower once she felt the water start to get cold again. It hardly heated up at all this morning. The stream was weaker than usual too. This entire place was a dump. Lucy grabbed a fluffy pink towel and dried herself off before wrapping it around her slim body. She wiped what little condensation had formed on the mirror and took a deep breath, looking up to meet her wary reflection. The dark bags under her bloodshot eyes were deeper than usual. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were blotched crimson from windburn. Her face looked hollow and pale. She looked older than she remembered. Seeing Olivia fall had probably taken years off her life. At least the way she felt matched her outward appearance. A walking corpse. Lucy huffed, diverting her eyes from her bleak image, and grabbed her toothbrush instead. She sat on the closed toilet lid, slouching against the wall to help her hold her up, while she brushed her teeth. Today was going to suck but she would get through it. She always did. 

As she spit out her mouthful of minty toothpaste, she turned on the faucet to wash it away. The water sputtered out in quick, jerky bursts before dying out completely. She turned the handle again. Then the other one. Nothing. She tried the shower. Nothing. Lucy chewed on her chapped bottom lip, wondering if she forgot to pay the water bill. That’s all she needed. Having no water was not going to go over well with a social worker home visit. At least she managed to get in her shower before they cut it. She’d have to add dealing with her landlord to her growing list of responsibilities. 

By the time 6:30 hit, she was dressed in a thick cozy sweater, slathered on a layer of makeup to mask her true appearance, and had dried her long, wet hair. She sat cross legged on the floor in her bedroom in front of her full length mirror while she parted her hair to start two french braids. She tapped on her phone to call her boss, Patty, putting her on speaker. It only took two rings before the older woman picked up. 

“What’d’ya want?” Her annoyed, sleepy voice cut through the silence of the bedroom. 

Lucy took a deep breath to ground herself back to reality and away from her tumbling train of terrible thoughts, “Hi, Patty. This is Lucy.” 

“Yeah, I know, we have caller id at the office,” she huffed, her response snippy and unfriendly. “The question still stands. What do you want?”

“I-” She hesitated, Patty always made her nervous. “Could I have the day off? It’s a family emergency. My little sister is in the hospital. She had an accident. I need to get a million things done to make sure everything is okay for her.” 

Patty laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. “Absolutely not. I already had two girls call out this morning and you have no more time off. You used up your limit. Besides, we got a new client. They stopped by at the crack of dawn this morning to drop off the spare key. I hadn’t even managed to get in my first cup of coffee before they were bangin’ on the damn door. A young man. Kinda scruffy lookin’, one of those disheveled types, but they live off in the nice part of the city. Probably have a big house. One of those rich folk, I bet. I bet his parents were doctors or something. A trust fund kid or one of those young prodigies who make an app and suddenly their swimming in money. Imagine the life I could have had if I was a trust fund kid. I could of been payin’ some poor sap to clean my mansion instead of trying to round up a bunch of lazy bitches who never want to do any actual work.” 

Lucy flinched, “It’s not that I don’t want to work. You don’t understand. Olivia, she had an accident. She fell off a roof. She-”

She was cut off with Patty’s loud, bored sigh.

“I know! I watched the news last night. If I recall, she was saved by that Spider-Freak. She’s not injured. You can visit her after you finish your duties. Or not. I don’t care what you do on your off hours as long as you get my jobs done. The answer is no, Lucy. You’re already on thin ice with your previous track record from working here. You should be lucky that you still have a job at all after what I caught you doing a few months ago. This client asked for you specifically. No idea why they wanted you. My guess is they probably heard about all your extra services. I swear to god, little girl, if I catch you getting on your knees or giving more than you should to another client, you will be so screwed. If you do not show up on time this morning to get the key to this house then you are fired. No exceptions.”

“But!” The line went dead.

Tears welled up in her eyes but refused to fall. A piercing, fiery rod felt like it was stabbing through her skull. Her hands trembled as she finished off her final braid. Lucy did her best to pull herself together. She tried to pretend like Patty’s words didn’t cut straight into her soul and rip her to shreds. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been allowed to take the day off. She knew, deep down, that she would be denied. It was the events of her past that Patty brought up which ripped through her. She loved to throw them back in Lucy’s face whenever she could. She held them over her head, taunting her, using them like strings attached to her fingertips to puppet her around into doing what she wanted. 

And it worked every time because she needed this job and Patty knew it. 

Lucy grabbed a tissue off the bedside table and blotted any wetness from her eyes. No more crying. She had to get moving. She couldn’t be late. Being fired would be the final nail in the coffin for Olivia to be taken away.

Luckily, her bucket of supplies was still next to her front door. She tossed on her apron over her cozy outfit, grabbed appropriate attire for surviving the cold weather, and left her apartment. As she locked the door behind her, a red envelope taped under the peephole caught her attention. Olivia’s name was scrawled on the front. 

She frowned and pulled it off the door, immediately opening it. She was smart enough to know not to deliver strange mail to her little sister without vetting the contents first. A lot of creeps lived in this building. 

The letter was written on a graph notebook page and haphazardly torn out, the frayed edges still clinging on. Scratchy, penned doodles of the Spider-Man logo dotted around the margins of the page. For the first time this morning, a tiny smile tugged at the corners of her lips. 

“Dear Olivia,

Hi, this is Spider-Man writing to you. Don’t forget the hyphen. A lot of people forget the hyphen between the Spider and the Man. It’s very important. 

I wanted to check in and see how you were doing. You really scared me the other day. I don’t want to see you get hurt. You would be doing me a big favor if you could keep your feet firmly planted on the ground from now on. I’d never want to see anything bad happen to you. You’re too special to get hurt.

I talked to your sister a little bit. She told me all about you. I heard that you won every science fair you ever entered. I used to win at my science fairs too. Maybe when you’re older, you can be my trusty sidekick. I need someone smart and strong to help out. Until then, stay safe, keep learning, and stop climbing onto roofs!! 

From, 

Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man

P.S. I hope you know how much your sister loves you. I think she would do anything for you. Remember to tell her you love her from time to time. 

P.P.S. When you get back home, I hope I’m still invited to dinner.”

Tucked into the letter was a polaroid picture of Spider-Man squatting in front of the hospital she was at, giving a peace sign to the camera. The sun was just barely starting to peak over the horizon. It couldn’t have been taken that long ago. Peter must have just dropped this off. She glanced down each end of the hallway in the fleeting hopes of catching him and gave a mournful sigh. He would probably be long gone by now. Spidey could move fast when he wanted. 

Lucy studied the picture, the fondness for their new friend growing. Even if she never saw him again, she’d always remember him with love for everything he did to save her family. She gave another heavy sigh, stuffing the items back into the red envelope, and tucking into her bag.

The fresh snow that had fallen in the night was already turning to dirty slush on the sidewalks as the sun rose higher over the tops of the buildings. Snow in the city never stayed beautiful for long. Lucy poked the toe of her old boot at a clump of heavy slush as she waited for the cross light to signal her to cross. When the crowd of people began stepping forward in unison, she followed in a blind daze, her mind elsewhere. She called to leave a message with the woman who answered the phone at Olivia’s unit. She was told that a doctor would call her back later to give her an update and that visiting hours ended at five tonight. If she wanted to see her sister, she’d have to get there before five or else she could schedule a call to speak to her on the phone. As long as Lucy could finish cleaning this new house early, she thought she’d be able to make it. 

The subway was crowded with the morning workload of city dwellers trying to get to their respective buildings. All the seats were taken and Lucy ended up standing, squished, in front of a man who had far too large of a leg spread, failing to be considerate of his neighbors. The older woman stuffed beside him was forced to shrink into herself and angle her body away from his to avoid his leg invading her space. Lucy rolled her eyes at his ignorance and clutched tightly onto her large bucket of supplies. With her hands full, she had no choice but to brace herself with only her legs as the train car lurched forward. The last thing she wanted to do was accidentally tumble into that man’s lap. 

As they tumbled through the underground, the man’s phone loudly rang, causing him to get a few glares from those nearby. She tried to drone out his one sided conversation but something in his words peaked her interest. It wasn’t the crude tone in which he was speaking but how his story seemed oddly familiar to her own morning. 

“I got a call from my secretary at work an hour ago,” he boasted into the phone. “She told me the water in our office has been shut off. The entire building. No water. Meanwhile, my wife was bitching at me all morning-” He hesitated to listen to whatever the person on the other end said and followed it with a spiteful, booming laugh. “I know! It might be time for wife number three. This one is losing her touch. Anyway, she was nagging me all morning because our water broke in our house. She blamed me for not paying the bills. You know me, Carlos. When have I ever not paid a bill on time? She’s out of her damn mind. That’s when my secretary calls to tell me about the water at the office. That’s weird, right? It can’t be a coincidence that both my home and my work are being targeted. So I gave my cousin Jim a call. You remember Jim? You met him at the Christmas party. Yeah, yeah, the fat one with the mole on his cheek. He works down at the police station. I give him a call because I’m startin’ to worry that this is a direct attack on me and my business. One of our rivals pullin’ some kind of shit to mess with me. But Jim tells me that it’s not just me. It’s half the freakin’ city! They don’t know why! Half the city has no water and these dumb fucks at the station are running around trying to figure out what’s going on. He told me he’d give a call back when they find out the issue. I’ll tell ya right now, Carlos, if I get home tonight and I still don’t have water, you better believe I’m going to start suing people!”

His voice faded into the back of her mind as she mulled over his conversation. Half the city, without water. She wondered what would cause that. They’d had electricity blackouts before but never everyone losing water all at once. Lucy hoped it wouldn’t affect her work and that the house she was going to was one of the lucky ones. It would be hard to clean without a sink. At least she felt comforted in the fact that it wasn’t her fault. In instances like this, that rich asshole and herself were all in the same waterless boat.

“Excuse me! Pardon me!” Lucy shouted as she pushed her way through the crowds of Hell's Kitchen. 

The Meticulous Maid’s headquarters ran out of the back section of an old building. The floor above them was dedicated to an up and coming law office and Patty often had to redirect lost citizens looking for their lawyer to the proper staircase. She never missed the opportunity to hand them each a business card as they were ushered in the correct direction. 

“You’ll need someone to clean your home while you’re on trial. Don’t want to return to a messy house!” She’d often be heard yelling after them. “We’ll even clean crime scenes for the right price!” 

This morning was no different as Lucy heard her boss’ usual spiel following a confused man walking out the front door. She gave him a sympathetic smile, knowing what it was like to be bombarded by Patty, and shuffled past him. She had made it just in the nick of time. 

The office was small. It had enough room for a desk which Patty sat behind most days, operating the phones, and orchestrating where each girl needed to be every day. There was a small closet in the back that held a bunch of vacuums and mops. It was the only supplies the employees didn’t have to purchase on their own. All the rest of the cleaning supplies came out of Lucy’s own pocket. She tucked her bucket, rattling with her things, under her arms and flashed a forced smile at her boss. 

Patty looked up from behind her desk with an unimpressed stare and slid a single key on top of a sticky note over to her, “You’re almost late.” 

Lucy gasped for breath, the cold air stinging her lungs, “But I’m not. I’m here.” She reached for the key and paper, an address scribbled onto it with a purple pen. “Did you hear half the city doesn’t have water? That’s crazy, right?” 

Patty responded with a grunt, “Don’t see what that has to do with you.” 

“Well…it’d just be difficult to mop someone’s floors without a bucket of water, I guess…” 

“Figure it out,” she turned towards her computer, angling her back away from her least favorite employee. 

Lucy shuffled the toe of her foot against the stained carpet, taking that as her sign the conversation was over before it even began. She awkwardly turned to the closest to pull out an old vacuum and mop. 

“It was nice seein’ ya, Patty. Hope you have a good morning,” she mumbled before hauling the heavy equipment out the door. 

It was always a struggle to maneuver her way through the city and subway system with her arms full. The weight of all her equipment combined was probably just as heavy as herself. The addition of the snow only made it more difficult but she managed to shuffle her way into the neighborhood of Forest Hills an hour later. Her back already hurt and she hadn’t even begun to start any actual labor. 

Anxiety twisted her stomach into knots the closer she got to her destination. Patty’s words rang in her ear. This client asked for you specifically. She wasn’t sure why anyone would specifically ask for her. She had no idea who would even know who she was. The majority of houses she cleaned were always empty. The ones that weren’t…

My guess is they probably heard about all your extra services.

Her heart lurched, feeling heavy in her chest. She didn’t do that stuff. That wasn’t her. The lump in her throat was making it hard to breathe. She tried to take deep breaths, letting the cold air fill her desperate lungs, as she trudged down the street. These people requested her. It wasn’t like she was a cleaning god. She didn’t do a better job than any of the other girls. She was average, at best. It was preposterous to think that someone would look at her cleaning job after she left and recommend her highly to their friend. Someone must have known her. 

My guess is they probably heard about all your extra services. 

“Stop,” she whispered to herself. Her heart was starting to race. She didn’t do extra services. That wasn’t her. It wasn’t. Not anymore. There was only one group of people who would have requested her. They’d done it before. They’d passed her around between their friend’s houses like their personal cleaning girl. Their eyes would follow her around as she made her way through each room. Leering. Undressing her with their minds. 

Until it wasn’t just their minds. 

“That’s wasn’t me,” she swallowed, speaking the words out loud so she could hear them. “You don’t have to do this. If it’s them, you leave. If it’s them, you walk out. If it’s them, you lose your job…” 

If she walked out, she would lose her job. Patty made that clear. If she lost her job, that would be another strike against her from the social service perspective. Olivia needed her here. They needed this job. No matter who was on the other side of that door, she would have to stay. For Liv. 

Lucy blinked the film of water tears from her eyes and fished the yellow sticky note out of her jacket pocket to double check she had the right address. It was a cute brick townhouse with a white front porch. A garden flag stuck out the snow in what little yard they had. It waved at her in the wind. Two striking red cardinals sat on a white birch tree against a deep blue background. Red pom poms lined the bottom of the flag. Something about its presence helped quite her nerves. The kind of people who had cute, seasonal flags were not the same kind of people who she was dreading. If she had to guess, the quaint home would belong to someone older. Patty mentioned a young man requesting her services but it was possible he worked for the older couple. Or maybe they were a nice, young family? A husband wanting to do something nice for his pregnant wife. It was their first child and she was struggling to clean being as pregnant as she was. Her mind made up fantasy clients but, whoever they were, they couldn’t be the same people who frightened her. 

Lucy climbed up the stairs and gave three loud raps against the sturdy door. When no one answered, her nerves continued to shrink. Maybe someone really was impressed with her cleaning skills and recommended her to a friend? She stuck the key in the lock and opened the front door. 

“Hello!” She called out, just to be sure. “Meticulous Maid cleaning service! I’m coming in to work!” 

When no one answered, she let out a deep sigh of relief. This house was safe. She was safe. Everything was okay. 

The first thing she did was remove her snow crusted boots and hang her jacket up on an empty hook by the entrance. Then she wandered deeper into the home. This was always her favorite part. There was something voyeuristic about walking through someone else’s house when they weren’t home. She liked to see the way different people lived. Even if she never met the person, she could gather a decent picture of who they are. It was a peek behind the curtain. A sneaky look at a stranger’s life. Over the years, she’d gotten very good at picking up on different details. 

This was a real home. It wasn’t perfectly tidy or showcase worthy. Sometimes she would get to walk through the elite millionaire’s lives. Their houses always felt like a museum. Cold and untouched. The people who lived there reminded her of ghosts floating through a space without ever interacting with their own belongings. Not here though. A family lived here. Small and quiet. There was a couch in the living room with the pillows stacked up on one end by someone who would lay across the entire thing. Next to the couch was a single, overstuffed, soft pink chair. It had a warm, knitted blanket draped over the back and footrest propped up in front. If Lucy had to guess, she’d say two people lived here. Maybe an older couple judging from the dated decor. She pictured a gray haired man laying across the couch after a long day and his wife curled up on the armchair beside him as they watched tv. There were stacked magazines and various clutter around the room. The living room looked well lived in and cozy. This was not the house of anyone bad. 

Lucy walked into the kitchen, taking note of a singular mug and plate left in the sink. The mug was white and decorated with colorful flowers. Light red lipstick was pressed against the rim. A staining of brown coffee ringed around the bottom. Two people might live in this house but only one of them ate breakfast this morning. She tried the handle on the faucet and was pleased to see the water come shooting out. At least this street still had access to water. It would make her cleaning job much easier. She got to work washing the dishes. It was usually where she liked to start. A sink void of dirty dishes was always a pleasant sight to behold. 

As she washed, she heard a creak coming from the ceiling above her. Lucy turned off the faucet to silence the water. She closed her eyes to focus on enhancing her hearing. Another creak. It didn’t quite sound like footsteps walking overhead, more like someone rolling over on an old, springy bed. She wasn’t as alone as she initially thought. The anxiety started to claw its back up to her throat, blocking the air from finding its way down to her lungs. She felt the sudden urge to turn and run. Panic surged through her body.

Lucy tried to focus on her breathing to quell the rising hysteria. Slowly. Deeply. Gently. In and out. This was not that house. These people were not a part of her past. She was safe. They were nothing but an elderly couple. She conjured up the image of the supposed homeowners. She focused her sights on the soapy mug clutched tightly in her hand. The red lipstick. The coffee stains. The flower patterns. She imagined the wife sitting at the breakfast nook, staring out the window, while drinking her morning coffee. Her retired husband slept soundly above her. She’d spend the day out shopping with friends. They’d go out to eat, maybe purchase something for their grandchildren, and then she’d return home this afternoon to a beautifully clean house. Her husband would be dozing on the couch and the tv volume would be up too high. She’d smile to herself as she shuffles inside to place her purchases from the day on the kitchen island to sort through later. They were nothing but a sweet, old couple. That was all. They meant Lucy no harm.

She finished cleaning the two items with a new found sense of peace. The nagging, anxiety fear still lay crouched in wait in the shadows of her brain but she could hold it off for now. Whoever was home was sleeping. They didn’t hear her call out when she entered. They were either dead asleep or hard of hearing. Either way, she would be safe. No one here was going to harm her. 

This client asked for you specifically.

“Get your shit together, Luce. You’re becoming unhinged,” she mumbled under her breath.

A new plan of action formed in front of her eyes. She would clean the upstairs first. This client asked for no bedrooms to be cleaned, only the upstairs bathroom and entire downstairs. If she cleaned that bathroom quickly and quietly, hopefully whoever was up there…the sweet, gentle old man with kind eyes…probably…would stay asleep or stay in his room and not bother her. 

She grabbed her bucket and mop before silently ascending up the steps. She’d mastered the art of stealth as a child. Tiptoeing around parents with severe anger issues and crappy foster homes became a means of survival for her young self. It helped her now as she climbed the creaky wooden steps making as minimal noise as possible. The longer the stranger slept, the easier her life would be. She could be in and out of the bathroom in twenty minutes tops. Then the entire upstairs would be left for her stranger and she could work on the downstairs in peace. 

The second floor of the house was simple. There were three doors along the hallway. The only open one was the bathroom. She plopped her bucket on the closed toilet lid and started removing her things. Usually she’d be throwing on her headphones by now but she wanted to have all her senses on high alert. If the stranger came out of their room, she would hear it. Lucy closed the bathroom mostly shut, leaving an inch crack so she could hear better, and started to fill her bucket under the bathtub faucet. While it was filling, she started wiping down the sink surface with some bleach wipes. When she finished, she tossed them her trash bag and turned to check on the bucket. 

“Oh!” She gasped when she noticed the change.

The water coming out had turned brown and thick, almost resembling mud. She quickly turned it off. Inside her bucket was a mess of watered down earth. Bits of brown, dead grass floated on the surface next to chunks of dissolving soil. It looked like something she’d make on a hot summer’s day as a child. She’d call it Special Mud Soup and try to serve it to her friends while they sat around in their bathing suits and sprayed each other with the hose. She had no idea how something like this would come out of the pipes. Her best bet would be that there was a major leak underground somewhere. She was no plumber but even that felt like a stretch. 

Lucy leaned over to poke at the bucket. Perhaps this house wasn’t as lucky as she originally thought. Something was messing with the water in this city and the results weren’t pretty. She thought about dumping the bucket out into the tub but decided against it. It wasn’t like she’d be able to wash the dirt back down the drain with water. She’d be left scooping it out with her hands. 

She gave an annoyed sigh, grumbling to herself, “Guess I’ll dump it outside.” 

Lucy hoisted the heavy bucket into her arms. She kicked her foot through the door gap to pull it open. As she shuffled out into the hallway, desperately trying not to spill the sloshing liquid, the door beside her flung open. Before she could even turn her head to catch sight of the culprit, a heavy force sent her flying. The bucket launched from her protective arms. She heard it smash to the ground as she fell with it, sending the contents splattering across the floor and walls. Freezing cold, dirty water doused her leggings as she caught herself from hitting her face against the ground with her hands at the last second. A surprised yelp fell from her lips from the shock. 

Her survival instinct kicked in, not allowing her any time to process the spilled bucket or the fall, and she spun around onto her bottom, crawling quickly backwards away from the assailant and onto her feet. Lucy pressed herself against the dripping wall, her eyes wide with fear, as she locked onto the man who pushed her. Through her panic, her eyes focused on the face of a disheveled, half asleep man. His chestnut hair stuck out at all angles. His eyes matched her own wild gaze. His hands were stuck out in front of him, still locked in the position he had shoved her with. 

She knew this man. 

“Peter?” Her voice raised an octave in surprise.

He blinked, realization flickering across his face as his brows tugged together in confusion, “Lucy?” 

She responded with a slow nod, continuing to take him in. The lower half of his face was darkened with a thick stubble. He was wearing an old shirt, the print on the front so faded it was no longer legible, and covered in more holes than fabric. His legs were bare apart from his black boxer briefs clinging to his thick, muscular thighs. He looked like he had rolled out of bed and decided to choose violence this morning. 

“What the fuck?” Her voice was breathless and barely more than a whisper. 

She looked around at the mess he had created. Dirty water stained the white walls, leaving streaks of brown dripping down to the baseboards, and pools of it puddled along the hardwood. Her pants and socks were soaked through. 

Peter looked out of it. His eyes darted around the room like he was struggling to focus on just one thing. He resembled her father when he was searching for his next fix. The sight didn’t sit well with her. At least her racing heart was beginning to settle. While he looked slightly psychotic, she didn’t think Spider-Man posed any actual threat to her safety. 

“Why are you in my house? I thought you were…I don’t know…someone bad…” His voice trailed off, along with his attention span. He ran to the hallway window, completely ignoring the puddles he ran through on his way, and peered outside. Peter spun back around to zero in on her face after not finding whatever he was searching for, “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to shove you. I-” He hesitated, finally taking note of the mess around him, his shoulder’s sagging. “Well, shit.”

“Yeah. Well, shit.” Lucy crossed her arms. “Are you okay? You look…not all there. You’re making my job harder than it has to be.” 

“Is that why you’re here?” He asked, ignoring her inquiries about his mental state. The realization dawned on him and his lips parted into a silent ‘O’. “When I requested you to come clean our house this morning, I didn’t think it would happen today! I thought they would send you in, like, I don’t know, a week or something…” 

“Uh, nope. They sent me in today.”

A bashful look reddened his cheeks, “I wasn’t stalking you, if that’s what you think. But you showed me your name tag where you worked on your apron last night and I just figured that, uhm, it might be the only way to see you again. So I thought I would, I dunno, request you? No, that doesn’t sound right. I’m, uhm, I don’t know what I’m saying. I’ll stop talking now.” 

Lucy blinked, trying to process what he was saying, still reeling from her fall and the new mess, “What? You hired me to clean your house so you could see me again? The morning after my sister fell off a roof and was placed in psychiatric care?” She could feel the anger replacing her initial fear and confusion.

Peter shuffled his big toe into the floor and shrugged, looking ashamed, “I didn’t know it would be today! I was on my way back from walking my aunt to work. I don’t like it when she has to go in early and the suns not even out yet. I don’t like her walking around in the dark by herself. I went with her. And on the way home, I thought, ya know, I could stop by your work and request you. Then I go home, go back to bed, and next week you would come over and…clean…my house….it sounds terrible when I say it out loud!”

“You know where I live! You were literally at my apartment this morning! You left a note! Why not just ask me then?”

His shoulders were up at his ears in shame, “I don’t know! I’m bad at this stuff! Stop yelling at me!”

“No! Look at what you’ve done!” She waved her hand wildly in front of her to gesture at the mess. “Look at this. Your water is broken. I have no way to mop this. How do you expect me to clean this? I’m going to have to be on my hands and knees with paper towels and bleach wipes. I have no water to mop, Peter! You just added another hour onto my shift! I wanted to get done early so I could go visit Liv!” 

“I’m sorry!” He whined, sounding more and more like a scolded child the longer she berated him. “I didn’t mean to. I fucked up, alright? I’ll clean it. And what do you mean our water is brok-'' He stopped mid sentence, his face paling and eyes flashing to alert. His head snapped around as he turned in a full circle like he was searching for something again. 

Before she could ask, he shoved past here and ran down the stairs. Lucy looked around in confusion. There was nothing out of the ordinary that she could see. Whatever he could sense was beyond her plane of reality. 

“What’s going on?” She yelled down, following after him. 

Peter stood in the living room, remote control clutched in his hand. Despite whatever impending danger he seemed to sense, her eyes couldn’t help but travel down his tight boxer clad ass. His calf muscles stood pronounced against his toned legs. He looked like he couldn’t care less to be running around with no pants on and she had to admire the confidence. She gave her head a quick shake and focused her attention on the television screen to divert it away from her wandering, debaucherous thoughts. He had turned it onto the local news station. A woman was frantically reporting down by the East River but it looked like a disaster had hit. There were floods of pooling water and debris scattered everywhere. It resembled the aftermath of a hurricane. She was in the midst of yelling something as Peter turned up the volume. 

“-completely draining the river! He was last seen making his way towards the center of the borough! The mayor has urged Queen’s residents to stay inside their houses! It is unknown what kind of damage this creature is capable of causing. Be on high alert and stay inside!” 

While she spoke her last sentence, recent video footage from a few moments prior began to play. Lucy took a step closer to get a better look. A giant man-like creature was rising out of the water. He seemed to be made entirely of water but was in the vague shape of a man. As he grew, he sucked up all the water around him, making him bigger by the second. He towered over the river. People ran screaming as a tidal wave of dirty water crashed down on them, sweeping them off their feet, and out the frame. 

“Holy shit,” Lucy breathed in quiet horror. “What is that thing?”

Peter didn’t answer. He turned and dashed back up the stairs. She could hear him dart into his bedroom, banging around up there, as she turned back to the tv. The creature’s attention was now aimed at the camera. He knew it was there and he was deliberately putting on a show, about to send out a direct message to the one man he wanted to find. 

“Get! Me! Spider-Man!” He boomed, flecks of water splattered over the camera lens before the footage went black.

The woman returned onto the screen, continuing to urge residents that the creature they dubbed as Hydro-Man was heading this way and to stay inside. 

“Lucy!” Peter called from upstairs. 

She pulled her attention away from television and towards the windows. Peter’s street looked normal. Quiet. There was nothing going on outside to indicate potential doom or inevitable destruction. It looked like a beautiful, peaceful winter morning. 

“Lucy!” He yelled again, more demanding this time. 

She tore her eyes from the windows and jogged up the stairs towards him. Her foot slipped out from under as her wet sock skidded through a puddle. 

“Shit,” she cried, grabbing herself on the wall before she could fall. “What!?”

When she rounded the corner, she came face to face with a maskless Spider-Man. Peter gripped his arms on either side of her shoulders. His face held a look of determination but she could sense the fear being pushed down under the surface. 

“Stay here,” he ordered. “Don’t worry about cleaning up. It’s fine. My aunt doesn’t even know I hired a house cleaning service. I’ll tell her I spilled the water. I need you to stay here. Lock yourself in my bedroom. Sit on the bed. Read a book. Twiddle your thumbs. I don’t care what you do but do not move. Got it?” 

The urgency in his voice was enough for her to know not to argue with him. She had no intentions of leaving his house with that creature on the loose. 

Lucy nodded in response, her eyes wide with alarm, “What are you going to do?”

Peter shrugged, releasing his grip on her, and tugging his mask over his face, “I’m going to go fight him until he’s no longer a threat.” 

She swallowed, the uncertainty clear in her voice, “How are you supposed to fight water? Won’t you go right through him?” 

He didn’t answer. 

Instead he turned around, threw open his window, and jumped out. A single web shot out to attach to the glass and slammed the window shut behind him. 

Silence filled the room. 

Lucy’s chest heaved with short, panicked breaths. She hadn’t even realized how close to hyperventilating she was becoming. Her panic wasn’t even because of the threat of a monster. Stuff like that was freakishly common in the city. Her panic stemmed from being attacked from behind earlier. Her fingers shook as she raised them to her face, rubbing her eyes. This was not the morning she had prepared for when she woke up. 

“You’re safe,” she muttered to herself. Talking out loud often helped. It was like there was another person whispering comforts in her ear. “It was just Spider-Man. He won’t hurt you. Peter is not them. He is not a part of that. He fights against people like that. You are safe.”

While she struggled to calm her racing heart, Lucy tried not to think of Spider-Man going up against a giant water monster. What had the news woman called it? Hydro-Man? Spider-Man and Hydro-Man. A man with spider abilities fighting a man with water abilities. She hopes their fighting skills were better than their naming skills. The thought made her give a breathless, nervous chuckle. If he was going out to risk his life for the city first thing in the morning, the least she could do was clean up the spill in the hallway for him. Lucy turned out of Peter’s bedroom, disregarding his plea to stay put, to walk across the hall into the bathroom. She pulled open the free standing linen closet tucked into the corner and started piling some towels into her arms.

A loud rattling sound coming from behind her grabbed her attention away. 

Lucy spun around to come face to face with the bathtub, the towels falling from her grasp to her feet. The shower head was violently shaking. The pipes tucked inside the walls began wailing as they shook back and forth. It was like an earthquake was happening inside the plumbing while the rest of the house sat perfectly untouched. A weighty feeling of dread sunk into her stomach.

“Peter?” His name fell from her lips as if she could summon him with merely her voice. 

In a perfect response to her cry for help, the shower head forcibly shot off the attached pipe and landed with a deafening crack against the bottom of the tub. A rift split through the porcelain in a spiderweb of tiny fissures from the force at which it landed. Water rushed out of the exposed pipe. Heavy pressure like a firehose coming to life before her eyes. Her face was pelted with the icy shards of sharp water drops as they bounced off every surface. 

Lucy let out an involuntary scream. The shriek was immediately drowned out by the sounds of rushing water. A wave washed over the side of the tub in a cascade of dirty, brown water filled with bits of earth. She tried to push her way towards the safety of the open door but the water was faster. The force of it slammed the door shut, locking her in. The frigid water started to pool over her feet, numbing her already cold toes, and clawing up her ankles. Two large hands formed around her calves as the water took shape. They jerked her feet out from under her. Her balance was lost. Lucy came crashing down hard onto the solid bathroom tiles as the water continued to rise. Her head momentarily went under, her scream silenced as water flooded into her lungs, before she broke through the surface once more. 

She sputtered and gagged. Her brain went numb. Her lungs constricted from the polar shock of being suddenly submerged under the frigid water. Uncontrollable, gasping breaths took over any rational thought she could have. Lucy pulled herself up onto the toilet in a desperate attempt to get out of the rising water. Her blueing lips chattered and her wild eyes caught sight of the creature taking shape amongst the sloshing. 

A man started to form in the middle of the room. His body sucked in the water as he grew. The creature was featureless in appearance but it was clear that this was man. A dark, open watery hole widened where his mouth should be and twisted into a deranged smile. His face towered over Lucy as he leaned in closer like he was curiously inspecting the person in front of him. 

“And what do we have here?” His gargling voice sent the hairs on her arms to stand on end. 

Whether from the cold or fear, she couldn’t control her body’s violent shaking. 

“Peter…” She cried in desperation once more.

Chapter Four

[Chapter Index]

✵ Pinterest Board ✵

✵ World: The Amazing Spider-Man ✵

✵ Faceclaim: Alexandra Breckenridge ✵

✵ Full Name: Abigail Joy Hayden ✵

✵ Nickname: AJ ✵

✵ Birthday: January 10th, 1995 ✵

✵ Abilities: ✵ She is extremely talented when it comes to anything computer-related, whether that be physically taking them apart and putting them back together or dealing with software and coding issues. She is also very good at hacking and has used it to get into (and out of) trouble on more than one occasion.

✵ Relationships: ✵ Damien Hayden (Father, Estranged) Adelaide Kelley (Mother, Estranged) Nisay Khim (Ex-Step-Father, Estranged) Eve Khim (Older Half-Sister, Estranged) Peter Parker (Friend/Love Interest, Alive)

ﾟ･:†┏┛ Backstory ┗┓†:･ﾟ

AJ was born as a result of an ongoing affair that her mother had behind her husband’s back. When AJ was born and her mother’s husband found out, he immediately divorced her and left his family behind. For the first few years of AJ’s life, she was raised by her mother who split her time between her apartment where she took care of her older daughter Eve and AJ’s father’s apartment where she took care of AJ. She was technically also raised by her father, since she lived in his apartment, but he was barely around. It wasn’t until she was around four years old, and her mother just stopped showing up, that her father even tried to put any effort into raising her. Even then, he did a pretty terrible job of it. He was an addict and he worked odd jobs to put food on the table or get money to feed his addiction, but he never could hold down an actual career. And, to make matters worse, he never even wanted a kid, so AJ’s presence in his apartment never did anything but annoy him. As she started to grow up, his resentment for her to grew and he became emotionally and verbally abusive to her. For a while, that was as far as things got and AJ could usually escape by locking herself in her room until his anger died down.

But things changed one day when AJ was nine years old. Usually her father would leave her money if he was going to be gone for a while, but he forgot to on this particular day. By the time evening came around, AJ had already eaten the few bits of food she could find in the fridge and she was starting to get hungry, so she stole some money out of her father’s nightstand. She snuck down to the corner store, bought herself some food, and returned the change all before her dad came back home. But when he came back the next morning, he immediately noticed that some money was missing. He had been drinking and he was already having a terrible day, so this was the last straw for him. He stormed into AJ’s room and started to throw her around and before he realized what he was doing he had thrown her through the window. The glass broke and cut up her face, but she was lucky they lived on the first floor. She landed on the sidewalk, managed to stand up, and just started running. She didn’t stop until a cop approached her and took her to the hospital. She told them everything that happened, they sent someone to arrest her father, and someone from CPS came to talk to her. They tried contacting her mother, but she said she wanted nothing to do with AJ and willingly terminated her parental rights. With her father going to prison and with her having no other living family, AJ was placed in a group home until they could find her a better placement.

AJ stayed in that group home for several months, during which she ran away on more than one occasion, before she was finally moved into an actual foster home. After a year in this foster home, her father was released from prison and a CPS worker came to talk to her. She claimed that her father’s rights technically hadn’t been terminated and that he still had a chance to get her back if he proved he was clean and he wouldn’t pose a threat to her again. AJ ran away from her foster home that night. They found her and brought her back and this began the cycle of AJ being bounced between half a dozen foster homes. Sometimes her father would try to visit her and she would run to get away, and sometimes she ran away just because she could. Then, the summer before AJ started high school, she was placed with a new family. They were the first family not to force her to visit with her father, so she decided to stay. No longer busy with the constant bouncing between foster homes, AJ could finally just do things she enjoyed. She tried a dozen different hobbies until she realized she liked skateboarding and that she really enjoyed hacking. She got really good with computers and, one day during her sophomore year, she hacked into the school’s system to play a prank. They realized it was her and she got sent to detention where she met Peter Parker for the first time. They became good friends after that first meeting and, little by little, AJ realized she was falling for him.