Chapter Text
The envelope was grey, as was the paper inside. Cecil frowned at it while he chewed his toast.
“What’s up?”
He looked up from the paper. “We have to go to my sister’s today. Well, I do anyway. Wanna come with?”
“Sure.” Carlos smiled. Generally, Cecil smiled back, but not this time. “What’s the matter, Ceec?”
“Hm? Oh!” He crushed the paper in his hand and picked up the glass ashtray from the center of the kitchen table. He rolled his eyes while he flicked the lighter. “Prophecy.”
He caught a corner of the scrunched paper with the flame and they watched it curl and smoke in the ashtray. Cecil burned most of his mail. Carlos had stopped wondering why.
“I’ll make something. Give her a call and see what we should bring. We could have, like, a family barbeque!”
“Oh spire, a barbeque with Steve.” Cecil set his forefinger against his temple, thumb cocked, and mimicked a gunshot.
Carlos poked through the cabinets while Cecil was on the phone, his heart beating loud in his ears. This was it. This was the best chance he would get. They didn’t get to see Abby much. Maybe this prophecy was a sign!
“She says bring that mac and cheese you made for the firehouse potluck,” Cecil called from the living room. “Janice has been asking for it.”
“Gotcha.”
While he cooked, he rehearsed.
Carlos could not remember much of his family. His Tia had been sweet as anything and a champion baker, but what little else he could remember was not pleasant.
Not like this.
They sat on the back porch, which Janice had insisted they string with fairy lights, a desire Cecil encouraged after Steve attempted to talk her out of it for fear of what attention it could call to the house. Steve had grilled things and hugged Carlos like he belonged, called him “brother”. And Abby had let him in on a family ritual, one Carlos remembered seeing in movies but never, ever experienced first hand.
After they ate dinner, she emerged from the kitchen with cold cans in her arms, passing around beers and sodas. Cecil had positioned himself so he was facing Carlos, chin in hand, his back conveniently towards Steve.
“Hey Gersh,” Abby said, “what are you drinking? Coke or Coors?”
He turned with horror and frustration. “Abby, we are both adults and you do not need to ever call me that again.”
And that’s when it began. After all that came next, Carlos held to that moment, when Abby began the Embarrassing Family Stories, which she addressed to him as a newcomer, but one who belonged here, one who should know these things.
“When we were little,” she explained, “my dad was still around, and his name was Cecil too.”
“It was?” Cecil muttered with a frown.
“So when my mom called for Cecil he’d toddle in from wherever he was playing and stare at her until she realized why he was there. So then we started calling him by his middle name. After dad was gone, it kind of stuck.”
“So what happened to your dad?” Carlos asked, affecting a casual air to hide his joy at being included.
“Um--”
Abby and Cecil exchanged hasty glances.
“Things,” she said finally.
“Yeah.” Cecil gestured vaguely with his empty hand. “Stuff.”
“Anyway,” Abby went on, “of course it got shortened with time--”
Carlos felt a prod at his shoulder and turned to face Janice. She’d been giggly since dinner ended, probably because she got to stay at the table for the grown-up talk.
“Uncle Carlos,” she said, obviously watching his reaction to the title, “can you open this for me?”
He felt his cheeks flush and smiled down at the plastic tablecloth while he popped the cola can and handed it back.
“--and that’s when he pushed Earl out of the tree.”
Carlos didn’t mind missing the story. Uncle Carlos! She thinks of me as her uncle!
“He didn’t speak until he was like, four. He just sort of whined and stared at shadows in horror. You know. Normal kid stuff. And then he started talking, in full sentences, and he hasn’t shut up since.”
“Abby, I have stories on you, you know. First time she got drunk she made herself ridiculously sick. And then she was trying to pretend she wasn’t hungover at school the next day so she wouldn’t have to go for reeducation. Convinced the nurse she had Spanish flu and ended up getting the whole school district quarantined. Two weeks we slept in the cafeteria.”
“When I was pregnant with Janice,” Abby countered, “I didn’t even get to tell her biological father. He heard it on the radio.”
“Well how was I supposed to know you hadn’t told him?” Cecil cried. “I was just excited to be an uncle, okay?”
“He skipped town before I even saw him again.” She paused thoughtfully and looked at Steve, who was smiling quietly at the end of the table. “Or maybe he’s in the abandoned mineshaft. Hmm. Whatever. Point is, Cecil has no filter.”
“Which is why we know he’s so happy with you,” Steve added. “You’ve been good for him, Carlos.” He slapped Cecil heartily on the shoulder.
Cecil rubbed his temples and hissed “Do not.”
“Anyway, it was hard having her on my own, but I wouldn’t trade what I have now for all the world. And I have Mister Bigmouth to thank for it.”
She smiled at Steve. He smiled back. Cecil made a face at the can in his hands.
Abby sighed. “Alright, I’m gonna start clearing up. You behave yourselves,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Cecil.
“Oh, let me help you!” Carlos said, jumping to his feet and getting tangled in the legs of his plastic chair.
“Oh no, no,” she said, waving him off, “please. You’re a guest.”
“I’ll help!” Cecil shouted, clearly looking for a way to get out of sitting with Steve without Abby as a buffer.
“No, I insist,” Carlos said. His heart was pounding again. This was it. This was his chance. He grabbed a couple of plates before anyone else could object and followed Abby into the kitchen.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have left them alone,” Abby mused, peering out the screen door. “I’m too young to be a widow.”
Carlos laughed nervously. “So, um, Abby. Y-you’re his only living relative, right?”
She paused at the sink, staring at the running water until it overflowed the pot. “Well--uh. That’s an interesting question.” She turned the sink off with a flourish and said brightly, “I’m certainly the closest! Only one in city limits!”
Cecil and Abby made the same face when they were deflecting, Carlos noticed. “I have a question. Well, a couple of them, actually.”
“Shoot.”
“First of all, what’s all this prophecy stuff?”
“Oh, that?” She waved a hand dismissively and scraped bits of macaroni and chicken bones off a plate. “Nothing, really. He just takes after mom. This stuff used to happen a lot when we were kids. He likes to be nearby when something’s gonna happen though, we have the same blood type.”
“Oh, of course,” Carlos said, although he barely understood.
“Nothing major’s happened in a while. Not since he, uh, settled in to his position. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“Okay.”
“You said you had another question?”
“Well, yes. I was thinking--”
There was a strangled cry from outside.
“Aw hell.” Abby stomped to the door and Carlos followed close behind.
“Steve, there is a child present!” Cecil had his hands securely over Janice’s ears. “Don’t you dare talk that way in front of my niece!”
“I was only saying--”
“You will say nothing, Steve Carlsberg!" Cecil roared.
“Cecil! Stop it!” Abby’s expression could only be described as maternal rage.
“You didn’t hear him, Abby, you didn’t hear the dangerous lies--”
“I don’t care. Sit your ass down and both of you stop it.” She turned to Janice, who had pushed away from the table and was regarding her uncle and stepfather with concern, and sweetened her voice. “Baby, could you bring in the empty cans and rinse them for recycling?”
Shit shit shit! Janice was at the sink and he needed to talk to Abby alone.
Abby sighed deeply and tossed the dishcloth she was holding on the counter. “You were saying?”
Carlos jerked his head towards the doorway to the living room.
It was a comfortable room, very lived in, with that old wood paneling and a worn path on the carpet from the kitchen to the hallway. Abby stood in the center of the room in front of an aging recliner and said, “Well?”
“So, uh, listen. I was wondering--” Suddenly everything he’d rehearsed was gone, his mind was blank, not three hours ago he’d figured out exactly what to say and now he had nothing. “Um. I was wondering. How you would feel if I--if I...asked Cecil...to, um.” He cleared his throat. His hands were shaking. “To.”
“Carlos.” she said. There was a thump outside, which she pointedly ignored. “You’re planning to propose.”
Carlos nodded slowly, avoiding eye contact. “Yes.”
“And you’re asking my permission?”
“Well. Yes.”
“Carlos this is the cutest thing and it is about time you make an honest man out of him!” She squealed softly and rushed forward, hugging him tightly around the shoulders.
“Please, please don’t tell him--”
“Of course I won’t. Oh, this is just perfect! I’m so excited--”
The screen door banged open. Janice made a sound from the kitchen and dropped something. “Uncle Cecil--!”
He was looking pale as he came through the doorway, his pupils contracted, snapping his fingers by his right ear.
“You look like death,” Abby said, then clapped a hand over her mouth like she’d misspoken.
“I feel...poorly,” Cecil mumbled. “I think Steve must have undercooked the chicken.” He trudged forward, not seeming to notice that until seconds ago his sister was clutching his boyfriend in glee.
“You need any help?” Carlos asked.
There was no response as he moved toward the bathroom in a daze.
“Don’t you lock that door!” Abby shouted after him.
“Is he okay?” Janice rolled into the living room, her eyes wide and serious.
“He’ll be fine, sweetheart, you just go to your room and shut the door, okay?”
“Is this the prophecy thing? What do we do?”
“Probaby. But don’t worry, he had the presence of mind to blame Steve so it’s probably not that--”
There was a tremendous sound from the bathroom, like an airplane door opening midflight, like amplified thunder, and a gust of cold air through the house.
“Oh no no Steve!” She didn’t turn when the door banged open. “Get the little stones and the fresh blade--wooden handle, not the steel. Quickly!” She strode across the living room in two big steps and fought to open the door. It was stuck fast.
“Wait!” Carlos felt the hollow wooden door and rammed it with his shoulder, once, twice, calling out what may have been a name, or may have just been anguish given voice, sounds without meaning.
The wood around the knob cracked and broken the vacuum in the little room. Abby shoved him roughly out of the way and pulled open the door.
Carlos didn’t really have a chance to process what came next. There was too much noise, too much movement, his head felt light and his body was heavy. Steve moving past him in a blur, saying “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I tried to warn him but he wouldn’t listen--” and the crease between Abby’s eyebrows as she dug through the small black bag, mumbling to the small bloodstones and setting them carefully around Cecil who was--no no no--and Janice crying from her bedroom, the scream-sobs of a terrified child--
“Carlos, focus!” Abby snapped. Carlos’ dizzy mind crashed back into his body and he more fell than knelt by Cecil’s head. “Hold his neck straight, keep his head off the floor. Steve, go sit with Janice.”
Her movements were swift and precise; she had clearly done this before. Carlos set Cecil’s still, cold head on his knees and stroked his temples.
Abby worked. She’d sketched out a small circle in stones around the prone body, then raised the small, wooden-handled knife to her left arm. Carlos looked down at Cecil’s face, but that was as unsettling as what he was trying to avoid seeing. When he looked up she was whispering, carefully trailing blood down her wrist and off her fingertip, two small dots on the stones by his feet, two on those near his hands, one on the spare stone she placed on his navel. Three drops on each of the stones around his head.
“Towel!” She snapped, and Carlos tossed one towards her. She wrapped her forearm tightly and climbed over Cecil’s still body, careful to keep her bare feet outside of the circle. “I’m calling an ambulance. Talk to him. Sing. Anything. Just keep making sounds. Give him something to follow back!”