Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vera did not belong here. She realized that far too late. She agreed to go out with Linda, had dolled herself up for it, and now she was sitting alone while Linda was off flirting in order to score free drinks. Sitting alone, and feeling pretty fucking miserable. What had she been thinking? Makeup and curled hair wasn’t going to change the truth: that she was destined to be an outcast, forever a sheep in wolf’s clothing.

Maybe her mother was right.

She should have brought a book. Yes, it’d make her look even more like a loser, but at least it would have given her something to do.

Wait, was that man…? Vera straightened up a little as an unknown man made his way over to her. More of stumbled, really. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Seem a bit lonely,” the man slurred.

Alright, maybe beggars could be choosers.

Panicking, Vera stammered, “Actually, um, I’m not alone.”

“Really? Cos I sure don’t see anyone. C’mon, scoot over. Lemme get to know ya.”

Oh god, this could not be how her night would go.

“Sorry about the wait,” a smooth, feminine, surprisingly American voice interrupted.

Vera looked up to see another stranger. Unlike the man, this woman was steady on her feet. She was holding two Lagers, her dark brown hair pulled up into a ponytail with a few strands framing her face. She pushed past the man and sat down beside Vera as if they knew other well.

Still the man stood there, wavering slightly. He wasn’t eager to leave. The tension he brought with him thickened the air. “Don’t worry, been keeping her company,” he said, gesturing to Vera with his beer.

The woman slid her arm around Vera’s shoulders. It was unexpectedly intimate yet Vera felt at ease. “Well thanks for keeping an eye on my girl,” the woman said.

His drunken expression of bemusement turned into a scowl as the American’s meaning clicked in his mind. “Fuckin’ dykes,” he muttered spitefully before taking a long pull from his beer bottle and stumbling back into the Thursday night crowd.

Vera and the American watched him go, both staying silent until he was completely out of sight, swallowed up by the sea of people. Only then did the two women relax.

“Sorry,” the American said, withdrawing her arm. “Didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“No, no, not at all!” Vera assured her. “Really, thank you. That… thank you.” Her eyes fell on the Lagers for a brief moment. “You can go and bring that to your friend if you’d like.”

“Hm? Oh, no.” The American slid one of the glasses over to Vera. “That actually is for you. Would’ve been weird if I came over with only one drink.”

“Are you not here with anyone then?”

“Nah.”

“Well, thank you.” Quicker than she meant to, Vera grasped the cold drink and brought it to her lips. She gulped down a decent amount, grateful for the alcohol to numb her embarrassment. So much for a fun night out. Still, apparently not all was lost. “So um… do I get to know my girlfriend’s name?”

The American, thankfully, laughed. “Isabel. You?”

“Vera.”

They shook hands, properly introduced. 

“Long way from home, aren’t you?” Vera took another large gulp of Lager. “What brings you all the way here?”

Isabel’s smile faltered for a moment, and it was in that moment Vera noticed that Isabel looked tired and pale, the dark circles under her eyes noticeable even in the dim lighting of the bar. Her eyes were… haunted. Yes, that was the word.

“Escaping,” Isabel answered. 

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’re a criminal; I’m off the clock.”

“Oh god, you’re a police officer.”

“Corrections,” Vera clarified. “I’m the Deputy Governor.”

“No idea what that means but it sounds like a big deal.”

The alcohol in Vera’s system loosened her tongue considerably, otherwise she wouldn’t have raised her chin slightly and boasted, “It absolutely is.” She was Deputy Governor! Perhaps not the highest ranking, but she was the right hand. She was the one who did the actual work. 

Isabel raised her glass and tapped it gently against Vera’s. “Well cheers to that.”

“Cheers,” Vera echoed before taking another gulp. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Oh I’m not nearly drunk enough to talk about myself yet.” 

But that was easily remedied. 

A few shots turned into a few cocktails turned into a few more shots, all of this interspersed with water for hydration. And just as the alcohol loosened Vera’s tongue, it did the same with Isabel’s.

Somehow, somewhere along the line, they ended up on the topic of mothers. It wasn’t something Vera thought she wanted to talk about, but she found she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t rant about how awful Rita Bennett was to her coworkers. But a stranger was fair game, and god it felt so good to get it off her chest.

“I swear she just… her only goal in life is to make me miserable,” Vera lamented.

“Felt that,” Isabel muttered before taking a large sip of water. It was cold, refreshing. Stabilizing. “My mom…” She fell silent. She’d never talked about her mother much, let alone their relationship. “You know how some people aren’t meant to be mothers? I think it goes both ways. Some people aren’t meant to be daughters.”

And for a while, she hadn’t been Constance’s daughter. For the first seventeen years of her life, Isabel didn’t even know about her existence. She missed those days.

Vera studied Isabel for a few moments, as if she could get the entire story from just her expression. But of course, she couldn’t. Even when sober, Vera wasn’t that good reading people. “What happened?” she asked.

She was really going to tell a stranger this story? Then again, at this point, Vera didn’t feel like a stranger. Though they’d been talking for just a couple of hours, she could feel the lifetime of friendship between them. “Oh god, strap in. So,” Isabel started.

And she told the story. She told the story of how her mother gave her up for adoption, how her birth father didn’t even know, how she was raised by a single man who loved her more than anything when he’d been alive and how they traveled all over America together because he was a successful true crime novelist who took his research very seriously. When he’d died, that was when it really all fell apart. Isabel inherited a house and a large sum, and felt empty ever since.

Jesus, this was a lot. Isabel never realized it until trying to explain it. 

“You never did tell me what you did,” Vera said to fill the awkward space. “For a living.”

“I’m um… Actually, I’m a writer.” It was more than that, but Isabel knew better than try to explain that putting a pen to paper was sometimes like putting a gun to her head; that she made herself bleed ink.

“Like your dad was?” That was heartwarming. A young woman taking up the mantle after her father’s passing. 

“Yeah. I don’t do true crime, that was always his thing. But like… yeah, I’ve got a few books on the market.” A bestseller and a couple of half popular follow ups. Nothing major. No, it was Derek Noble who found success in the literary world.

Vera studied Isabel, the way her smile didn’t reach her eyes when she said this. The way that there wasn’t any excitement in her voice. “You’d rather be doing something else?”

“I like writing,” Isabel insisted, even though Vera wasn’t accusing her of anything. “It’s uh… it just has a tendency to get me into more trouble than it's worth.”

“Now that sounds like a story. How do you mean?”

Now that was something Isabel would never be drunk enough to talk about. Thankfully, Isabel’s stomach growled, interrupting them. “Right, I need a slice of pizza and then I need to go to bed.” 

“God, I should get to bed too,” Vera said, looking at her watch and seeing how late it actually was. She suddenly remembered Linda, who was now long gone. “I still have work tomorrow.” Fuck, she was going to feel miserable in the morning.

“Gimme your phone,” Isabel said, and Vera handed it over without hesitation. “I’m here for a week. Maybe longer.” She typed in her number and sent herself a text message from Vera’s phone so that they had each other’s contacts. “We should hang out again.”

Vera’s cheeks warmed. Someone, who just a few hours ago was a total stranger, wanted to hang out again. Someone actually wanted to spend time with her. “Uh, yeah, yes, I’d… I’d like that.”

“Especially if you need to escape your mom. Just give me a call, and I’ll come running.” Isabel raised her water glass to Vera’s; a final toast to finish off their night. “To new friends and shitty moms?”

Vera tapped her water glass against Isabel’s. “And escaping." 

Chapter Text

There. It was over. Isabel’s house was just a giant ball of fire, soon to be nothing more than ash and a few wayward bricks. 

(Something’s wrong)

(Hush darling, I know)

Good riddance.

Sirens filled the night air. Flashing red and blue lights lined the street. She felt woozy, her lungs more smoke than tissue. Coughing into her forearm, Isabel turned away from the blaze, walking in the opposite direction of the firemen running towards the danger. Everything moved in slow motion, something she thought only happened in movies. 

She thought she would at least get stopped by a paramedic. 

(Go on and take your medicine)

She was smeared in soot; she’d very clearly come from the burning house. But everyone was too focused on the bright orange tragedy. Maybe she had managed to turn herself invisible. It didn’t matter the reason; she was grateful to go unnoticed.

Isabel made it a decent way down the street, away from the chaos, when her cellphone began ringing. After inhaling deeply through her nose, Isabel took the device out of her pocket. Now really wasn’t the time to be taking a call, but the caller ID couldn’t be ignored. So she answered. 

“Vera?”

“Hi, I… I’m sorry to wake you.”

“Don’t be. I uh, I was already awake,” Isabel said, looking over her shoulder at what was once her house. She watched a section of the roof, weakened by the fire, collapse inwards.

“Are those sirens?”

(Take your medicine)

“Huh? Oh, yeah. There’s uh, just something going on down the street.” She turned her back on the scene. 

“Are you sure I’m not interrupting anything? You… well, you sound like hell.”

“Yeah, I just got back. So what’s up?”

Vera exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry about this— well really I feel ridiculous asking. But… do you remember what you said? That night we first met?”

(Oh god. Strap in)

“Gonna have to be more specific.”

“That if I called, you’d…” She was too ashamed to finish the quote. God this was a mistake. She needed to just suck it up and deal with the disaster on her hands.

But Vera didn’t have to finish her sentence. The memory rocketed forward in Isabel’s mind. The bar, the man, the exchanging of phone numbers. If Vera called, she’d come running. “I remember.”

“Did… did you mean it?”

The bright glow of the fire started to die down as gallons of water rained down from hoses. It wasn’t enough, though. California was in a drought. California was always in a drought. There really would be no saving the house. It was gone for good, along with her possessions. Her books, her clothes, her ghosts. All gone.

“I may have been a little drunk when I said that but yeah, I totally meant it. What do you need?”

“It’s a big ask.”

“Ask me anyway.”

There was a long pause, and Isabel could picture Vera biting down on her lip and staring up at the ceiling with her impossibly wide eyes. She waited patiently for Vera to find the right words.

“It’s my mum,” Vera finally said. “She’s… She’s sick, and she hasn’t been doing well, and I— I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.”

“Vera,” Isabel said sharply. Her friend had a terrible habit of rambling and downplaying, her words building a wall so that the person she was talking to couldn’t see doubt and weakness. Unfortunately for Vera, that wall she tried to hide behind was usually made of Plexiglas. “Do you want me to come visit?”

“I told you it was a big ask.”

A last minute trip from the American west coast to Australia wasn’t exactly ideal. But it wasn’t like Isabel had anything else going on. She looked back down the road, the sky filling with smoke. Neighbors had left their houses to see the destruction.

(Take)
(Your)
(Medicine)

Isabel pulled her phone away from her ear and pulled up Google and began searching, leaving Vera unattended on the phone. 

“Isabel?”

Another moment of silence, a few more taps on the screen, and then, “One-way ticket from LA to Melbourne, all booked.”

Flabbergasted, Vera stammered. “You… no, I didn’t mean… I shouldn’t have even brought it up!”

“Too late, already done, ticket's nonrefundable,” Isabel replied. It wasn’t like she had much of anything going on here in Los Angeles. The house was gone. Her things were gone. All she had now was her car and whatever was inside of it. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a Red Eye to catch in a few hours. See you soon?”

“Isabel you shouldn’t…” Vera faltered. There was no point in arguing, she could feel it. The flight was booked and Isabel seemed almost eager to get out of the country. “It’s not a Red Eye if it’s during a normal time of day.”

Isabel snorted quietly. “It’s a Red Eye if I’m sleepy. So, see you soon?”

“Yeah, see you soon.”

They hung up, and Isabel headed back towards the fire. The fire that she set. Could she go to jail for setting fire to her own house? She actually wasn’t sure. That hadn’t been on her mind at the time. It wasn’t like she was trying to file a false insurance claim. She just needed that place gone.

She needed the memories gone.

She trudged up her driveway, now grabbing the intention of the first responders. But she paid them no mind, ignoring the shouts of, “Ma’am!” as she got into her car and turned on the engine. A paramedic was knocking on her window as she rifled through the center console where she kept her passport and debit card. 

“Thank fuck for small miracles,” she muttered before reversing out of the driveway, carefully not to hit anyone, and speeding down the street. She knew she would have to clean up the mess at some point. But it would wait.

Her music kicked on, the Fleetwood Mac CD she always left in blaring through the speakers, urging her to listen to the wind blow and to damn her lies. Insisting that if she didn’t love them now, then she would never love them again.

(Something’s wrong)

Isabel didn’t dare go over the speed limit, but still managed to make good time for her flight. She strolled into LAX with her passport and debit card and nothing else. Her car keys were left in the vehicle. Someone else could have it. Why not? Everything else she owned was gone.

She scrubbed her face in the bathroom sink so she was at least presentable, though she still smelled like a campfire. TSA was a joke, and no one even batted an eye on why she didn’t have bags. It was as if she had cast a spell over everyone, hypnotizing them not to notice her just like the first responders at the house. Hypnotizing them to not perceive her as any sort of threat.

Pretty privilege. The phrase entered her mind unbidden. Yes. She was just pretty enough to go unnoticed. Just pretty enough that when she was gone, no one would remember.

(My pretty girl)

Once through the TSA checkpoint, Isabel bought some clothes at a duty free shop and changed. She left her old clothes in a trash bin, then sat the Starbucks, nursing an iced coffee until it became watered down and tepid. Then she bought a fresh one.

She stopped by one more shop before getting on her flight, intending to buy a book to keep her occupied. After all, she had a fifteen hour flight ahead of her.

There on one of the shelves was an all too familiar title: Hotel Sin by Z. Langdon. Her first book, written under a pseudonym. Somehow a bestseller. Who knew there would be a market for ghost erotica? 

Funny, she’d been a virgin when she wrote it. Never experienced actual sex but wrote about it and was successful with it. Like horny sixteen year olds writing fanfiction. And now that she had experience? Well, it wasn’t much different apparently. Not that her experience was normal.

(Hush darling, I know)

A voice came over the PA system. It was time to board her flight.

Chapter Text

Vera frowned in her sleep, shifting as her dream disturbed her. Someone was hammering away at something… no, it was her. She held a hammer and brought it down repeatedly on her mother’s head. She could feel warm rivulets of blood dripping down her face as her mother cried out “Vera!” 

She awoke with a start as the hammering sound continued, her mother’s cries not just in her dream but very much real. 

“Vera, the door!” her mother cried out from the bedroom at the end of the hall. 

Vera shut her eyes tightly, trying to squeeze the sleep from them. She was torn between being grateful and annoyed at having been pulled from her dream, until she realized there was only one person who could be knocking at her door at such an hour.

Sure enough, Isabel Noble was there. Her hair, once dark brown now dyed a shade of caramel, was a mess, she looked dead tired, and she didn’t have a suitcase with her. Her skin was wan, and did she look a bit thinner? Vera questioned none of it as she embraced her friend. The amount of relief Vera felt wash over her was indescribable. She didn’t even realize how much tension she had been holding in her muscles until that moment.

Isabel returned the hug, though she found the gesture unexpected. She didn’t know Vera to be a touchy-feely person. The stress must really be getting to her. “Sorry it’s so early but, y’know, fourteen hour time difference.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry. Come in.” 

Vera stepped aside to let Isabel in just as Rita squawked out her daughter’s name. Vera shut her eyes, briefly reliving her dream, the hammer coming down in a sharp strike. “Sorry, I have to see to her. Um please, just make yourself at home.” 

She left Isabel, who took it upon herself to look for the kitchen. 

The house was quaint; exactly what she expected of Vera Bennett. The numerous bottles of pills probably belonged to Rita. Looking at the clock, she saw exactly how early it really was and immediately got to work making a pot of coffee.

“Isabel?” Vera paused as she came into the kitchen. “Are you… making coffee?”

“Yeah, I hope that’s okay?”

“Oh, yeah, of course! I’m just… not used to someone else making the coffee.” And again, a wave of relief. “Listen, I really hate to do this to you when you just got here. But… but I’ve got to go to work soon. Mum has a carer,” she added quickly, “so you don’t need to do anything. I just can’t be around to help you settle in. And Mum’s taken over the guest room so all I’ve got is a couch…”

“Perfect, I love couches.” Isabel put her hands on Vera’s shoulders, holding her still. “You called me. I’m here. Anything you need, just let me know.”

Vera knew Isabel’s eyes to look haunted. The very first day they met, that was what she noticed about them. But this was different. There was a sadness that ran deep.

“Isabel, why are you here?”

“Because you asked me to come.”

“Yes but you just dropped everything and showed up; you don’t even have a suitcase! What’s going on?”

Isabel clenched her back teeth together as she tried coming up with the words to say. She didn’t want to lie but no way in hell was she going to admit the full truth, at least not right now. She couldn’t possibly begin to describe how in the year between now and when they first met she had loved and lost; that in the arms race of horrible mothers

(Take your medicine)

hers had come out on top.

She forced a smile that she knew came off as sad. “Go to work. We’ll talk tonight. I’ll get us a bottle of wine and we’ll catch up, yeah?” Not that she had intentions of saying much of anything.

Vera would have to accept that answer for now. “Pinot.”

“Noted.”

So Vera left the kitchen to get ready for work, and Isabel tended to the coffee, making sure it was extra strong. She drank a full mug as Vera showered and dressed, and poured herself another one. The coffee was bitter and warm; a hug from the inside.

“Vera!” Rita cried from her bed. “Vera it hurts!”

Isabel hesitated a moment. Vera had said that there was a carer and she didn’t need to worry about anything. But wasn’t she here to help? Isabel put aside her coffee and wandered into the guest room.

Rita Bennett was a pathetic sight to see, and the room stank of sweat, piss, and general decay. Death weighed heavy on Isabel’s shoulders.

“Who are you?” Rita croaked as Isabel leaned against the door jamb.

“Isabel. Vera’s friend.”

“Vera doesn’t have any friends,” Rita said with a dry laugh that turned into a hacking cough, spittle flying from her mouth. “Leaves me to die with a stranger.”

“Yup, she sure did,” Isabel said flatly. She was not in the mood to indulge in the pity party, and she turned away from Rita, heading upstairs to take a shower. She needed to wash away the grime, the crime; the past. She came to Australia to help Vera, yes, but her other motivations were selfish.

A new start.

“I’m gonna take a shower, okay?” Isabel called out as she passed by Vera’s bedroom towards the bathroom.

“Towels are in the linen closet!”

“Gotcha.” Isabel shut the bathroom door and turned on the hot water. Steam immediately began filling the room, obscuring her image in the mirror that hung above the sink.

Good. She couldn’t stand the idea of looking at herself just yet. 

She stood under the steady stream of piping hot water. Soot she didn’t manage to clean off in the airport bathroom swirled down the drain.

(What’s going on)

Even if she was encouraged by wine, Isabel knew she would never be able to explain to Vera what happened; would never be able to get Vera to understand.

(Take your medicine)

By the time the water ran cold and Isabel toweled off, Vera was gone. Off to work, hi-ho, hi-ho. Isabel slipped into Vera’s bedroom and borrowed an old tee shirt just to have something to wear while she laundered her one outfit. She would have to go clothes shopping when she went out for wine.

Rita Bennett had fallen quiet, no longer calling out for her daughter, no longer feeling the need to dramatize her suffering.

Bitch.

The word slipped into Isabel’s mind unbidden, and she forced it away. Not all mothers were like hers. Rita Bennett wasn’t great, but she was sick and it wasn’t Isabel's place to say that her displays of pain were circumstantial.

While her hair dripped dry, her clothes were tossed into the wash, and Rita was tended to by the carer. 

She confined herself to the Bennetts’ kitchen, feeling the most comfortable leaning against the counter top. Another cup of coffee kept her palms warm. There was a dull ache behind her eyes that was getting harder to ignore. 

On the counter were numerous pill bottles, all Rita’s. A cocktail of painkillers awaited her, but Isabel only stared at the labels. She could picture herself grabbing the bottle of Oxycontin, popping off the top, and chugging the contents. Numb the pain. Numb the thoughts.

(Take your medicine)

But that would leave Vera with a body and dying sounded like a lot of effort. Instead, Isabel took her clothes out of the dryer, put them back on, and left the house to go shopping.