Chapter Text
"It… It's all in your head; you're going crazy! You are crazy, Lucy!
Am I?
But it's not all in your head… Is it?
No, it's real! So am I not crazy? But that is insane!
Why does this keep happening? Why to me? And who is that stranger I can't stop seeing?"
- - -
She was five years old when it first occurred, or at least that was the earliest instance her mind could remember. Perhaps there had been earlier moments, brief tremors in her perception that simply drowned itself into the vast, chaotic imagination that came with childhood. Or maybe she had been far to young. But from that late summer afternoon onward, the occurrences became impossible to forget. Soon enough, they grew entirely impossible to ignore, no matter how desperately she tried to lock them away, and pretend that nothing in her mind was going… crazy.
It happened after daycare, on a warm, lingering afternoon just weeks before Lucy was set to begin kindergarten. To bridge the restless hours before dinner, Vanessa took her daughter to the local park, hoping to drain the manic, bubbling energy that so often pushed her mother to the brink of exhaustion.
Lucy adored the park. To her, the play structure was a towering, brightly colored labyrinth. She made a strict game of conquering every single slide at least twice. Then there were the monkey bars, a daunting gap she constantly attempted to swing across. She could never quite reach the very first bar, before inevitably, her mother’s sharp voice would slice through the air.
"Lucy, get down from there! That is for the older children, and I have absolutely no desire to explain to your father why we are late for dinner because we had to visit the emergency room for a broken arm."
Back then, Lucy despised the restriction. She would stick out her bottom lip in a profound, dramatic pout, crossing her arms and stamping her foot right at the base of the metal structure. It was a display of defiance Vanessa never tolerated, but to five-year-old Lucy, it felt like a monumental injustice. Every other kid could climb them, so why not her? Of course, looking back, her mother had been entirely correct. The bars were far too high and the gaps too wide for a girl who had always been remarkably small and short for her age. She would have slipped, tumbled, and undoubtedly hurt herself.
But the swings were different. Lucy loved the sensation of pumping her legs back and forth, aiming for the sky. It felt like flying, and she loved the idea of flighting. On rare occasions, after Lucy pleaded at least three times, her mother would finally rise from the park bench to give her a push. Those were the best moments, when Vanessa would actually engage instead of remaining perched on the wooden slats, peering through her reading glasses at some dense folder, murmuring, "This is something important for work, Lucy. I will be over in just a minute. Be patient"
With her mother pushing, Lucy felt as though she could touch the clouds. She would become a breathless ball of giggles, screeching, "Higher, Mama, higher!" and letting out wild, echoing "Weeeees!" as she cut through the warm summer air, swing back and fourth.
---
It was her fifth birthday, and her parents threw her a modest party at the park with a handful of children from her preschool class, many of with would be in the same class in kindergarten. It was a nice afternoon filled with laughter and for Lucy…wonderful presents. Once the other children had been picked up, Lucy remained at the park with her parents as they began the tedious process of packing up. They cleared the pastel decorations from the wooden picnic table, boxing up the leftover cupcakes and carrying the heavy stack of gifts to the trunk of the car.
To keep Lucy occupied and out of the way during the cleanup, they allowed her to open a single toy. She chose a bug-catching kit, complete with a tiny mesh net and a plastic magnifying glass. Every few minutes, Lucy would race back to the picnic table, triumphantly presenting a cool new specimen trapped in her net.
Her father, always harboring high expectations for Lucy’s intellect even at five, would point to another of her gifts, a thick, colorful children’s encyclopedia of insects, and challenge her to identify her catch. Sitting cross-legged in the grass, Lucy would diligently flip through the glossy pages until her finger landed on what looked like a match.
"Papa, I found it! It’s… it's… C… ooo… cc… in… e… l… another… l… i… da… e."
"Correct. It is a Coccinellidae."
"Coc… ladybug!" Settling with the easy name instead of trying to repeat what her father called it.
"Do you like this one?"
"Yes, it is very pretty and it’s bright red!"
"Good. Now run along and release it so it can return to its home, and see if you can find another."
"Okay!"
Once the park site was entirely cleared, they did not head home immediately. Instead, they wandered back to the swings. Lucy claimed a seat, her father gently pushing her from behind, while her mother took the adjacent swing, swaying slightly on her own. Real, unburdened laughter echoed between them. That was the day Lucy experienced her very first underdog push, sending her soaring incredibly high into the air. It was also the first time her mother was treated to the same playful push, prompted by Lucy catching her father’s eye and chanting, "Oh, Papa, do it! Do it! Do it!"
"Patrick…" Vanessa warned, though her tone carried a rare, melodic amusement rather than her customary sternness, that Lucy was more familiar with.
Patrick did it anyway. Her mother gripped the cold metal chains for dear life, shrieking with laughter, while Lucy nearly collapsed with gleeful smile watching her mother fly too.
They lingered for a few more minutes to watch the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of orange and purple, two of Lucy's favorite colors at the time. It was beautiful. They had nearly reached the car when a cheerful, tinny melody drifted across the asphalt of the parking lot.
"Ice cream! Can we get ice cream, please? Please!" Lucy yelled excitedly!.
"You cannot even eat ice cream, Lucy; it upsets your stomach," her father noted.
"But popsicles! I can eat popsicles!"
"No, Lucy, we must get started on the drive home," her mother chimed in, her standard, disciplined evening tone returning.
"Please, please, please? It is my birthday. Papa?" Lucy turned her gaze directly to her father, searching for the ally that might go along with her request.
Patrick cast a glance at Vanessa that silently argued, ‘Why not?’, Taking the cue, Lucy turned back to her mother, widening her eyes and presenting her most persuasive trembling pout.
"She has already consumed a cookie and two cupcakes," Vanessa countered. "She does not require any more sugar."
"Vanessa, it is her birthday. A little extra sugar won’t hurt, and she did finish her entire dinner plate."
"Yes! Even the zucchini!” Lucy chimed in, eager to bolster her case for a popsicle, before adding in the very necessary to her, “Yucky!"at the thought of the zucchini.
"Oh, very well, just for today," Vanessa relented, retrieving her wallet from her purse. "But remember, Lucy, do not choose the yellow one. It is far too sour."
"But most people do not choose the yellow ones, Mama. I do not want it to be sad because it was picked last. Yellow is a lovely color!"
"Yellow is a fine color, but you do not care for the taste, and I have no desire to waste money on something you will refuse to eat."
"Okay…"
"Patrick, do not let her order the yellow one," Vanessa called out as Lucy and her father began walking hand-in-hand toward the glowing ice cream truck. Vanessa remained behind, resting on a nearby bench.
When they returned, Lucy was gripping a vibrant red cherry popsicle that was already staining her lips, chin, and fingers. The Los Angeles heat lingered heavily even with the sun gone, threatening to melt her treat onto her clothes very soon. Her father carried a small vanilla cone for himself, and, unsurprisingly, a yellow lemon popsicle.
Her mother raised an eyebrow, a slight frown tugging at her mouth. "Was the yellow one too sour?"
Yes, indeed it was. After a single experimental lick, after excitedly ordering it, Lucy’s face had puckered in absolute betrayal at the bitter taste. She had looked up at her father with sorrowful eyes, and he had smoothly swapped it for her preferred red one.
But Patrick knew his wife. Vanessa adored lemon. Lemon water, lemon in her tea, lemon chicken, and lemon sorbet. After a bit of gentle coaxing, because Vanessa rarely permitted herself such indulgences, she happily accepted the… lemon popsicle.
The three of them, occupied with their sweet desserts, climbed into the car and began the drive home, marking the conclusion of a wonderful day. Granted, Lucy made a terrible sticky mess in her car seat as the red syrup melted down her wrists, and her father was thoroughly annoyed at having to clean the fabric later.
But that had been one of her favorite birthdays still to this day, as it was just a day full of good moments one after another.
A truly perfect day.
- - -
That was also the final time Lucy truly enjoyed a popsicle, because the very next time was when the frightening, disruptive flashes began…
It happened on a different afternoon, right after her mother had finished pushing her on the swing. They were just beginning to gather their things from the bench to head home when that familiar, sweet tune drifted through the trees.
"Mama! Can I please get a popsicle? I promise I won't get the yellow one!"
"Lucy, I will not have you spoiling your appetite for the lovely dinner your father is preparing for us at home."
"But… what if I promise to eat every single vegetable?"
Vanessa crossed her arms, studying her daughter with disapproval, before offering a surprising compromise. "Every single one without any fussing? Even the zucchini?"
Lucy’s eyes lit up. She nodded vigorously. "Yes!"
"Fine. But you must consume it quickly. I will not have you climbing into the vehicle with a melting mess like last time, and we must be heading home soon."
"Yay!" Lucy cheered, sprinting toward the small queue forming at the side of the truck. Her mother caught up a moment later, just in time to pay for a bright red popsicle.
As Lucy waved the treat in excitement, her mother offered a stern warning. "Be careful with that, Lucy. If you drop it, I am not purchasing a replacement."
"I won't! I will be very careful!"
They walked over to the wooden picnic tables bordering the playground. Lucy took a few happy bites, but then, a strange, tight sensation began to squeeze behind her eyes. Her head started to ache.
"Mama, my head hurts."
"It is simply a brain freeze. It is your body’s way of reminding you that such cold, sugary things are not good for you. It will pass if you slow down."
"Okay," Lucy muttered, staring down at the frozen red treat with sudden disappointment.
To distract herself until the ache subsided, she wandered over to the thick wooden beams that bordered the woodchip play area, attempting to balance along the edge. She walked carefully, placing one foot directly in front of the other like a tightrope walker. But despite halting her eating, the throbbing in her head intensified. A sudden wave of dizziness washed over her, tilting the horizon. She managed to catch her balance and stay on her feet, but her hand slipped. The popsicle plunged downward, landing on the dark concrete with a wet, sticky splat.
"Oh, for goodness' sake, Lucy. Look what you have done. Now we must throw it away," Vanessa sighed, clearly irritated. She stood up, grabbing a few napkins, and walked over to retrieve the sticky wooden stick from the ground.
Lucy stood frozen, her head spinning, a deep sense of sorrow swelling in her chest over the lost treat, she still wanted. She trailed behind her mother toward the green metal trash can, watching the ruined popsicle disappear inside. Driven by a child's natural curiosity to see the final resting place of her treat, as to make sure it was sadly really gone, Lucy pushed herself up on her tippy-toes to peer over the dark rim of the bin.
But her head was throbbing violently now, the world tilting on its axis. Just as her eyes aligned with the dark opening of the trash can, a sharp, disorienting sensation shattered her reality.
‘Boom.’
The sound didn't travel through her ears; it detonated directly inside her skull. She couldn't hear the park anymore, save for a faint, ghostly whisper of a woman's voice that she didn’t know but did recognize, proudly and confidently saying, “Found it.” The words felt impossibly real, yet entirely out of place, echoing from a completely different situation...
Instinctively, Lucy squeezed her eyes shut. For a fraction of a second, there was a violent, terrifying eruption, a thick, blinding white cloud of powder blasting upward directly into her face. She screamed, tumbling backward onto the grass, flailing her arms wildly to bat away the suffocating white dust. She sobbed, desperate to clear her vision, entirely unaware that when she finally forced her eyes open, the air was perfectly clear. There was no white cloud. There was nothing there at all.
Her mother’s hands gripped her shoulders, firm and deeply embarrassed. "Lucy! That is absolutely not how we behave in public, especially over a dropped popsicle! We are leaving this instant!"
Vanessa pulled her up and practically dragged her toward the car, desperate to escape the curious and judging stares of the other parents.
Lucy was utterly bewildered. Her head throbbed, her treat was gone, and nothing made sense!
Once they were buckled in, she finally summoned the courage to speak through her tears. "What was that white cloud in the trash can, Mama? It hurt my head."
"What ridiculous stories are you inventing now, Lucy? There was absolutely no cloud coming from the trash can. The only spectacle worth noting was your dramatic tantrum over dropping your own popsicle. I shall certainly be informing your father about this behavior. And I still expect you to eat all of your vegetables tonight, including the zucchini."
"Yucky," Lucy mumbled, sinking back into her seat, terrified and deeply confused… and definitely not wanting to eat her vegetables.
"What was that?"
"Nothing!" Lucy cried out, her voice cracking with a mix of anger and fear, which only served to deepen her mother's frustration.
The remainder of the drive was spent in a tense, heavy silence.
---
At home, the family gathered around the dinner table. Lucy picked at her plate while Vanessa detailed the embarrassing display at the park to her husband.
"But Mama is lying, Papa! There was a big white cloud that came out of the trash can at me! It made my head hurt!"
"Silence, Lucy," her father commanded, his voice stern. "It is incredibly disrespectful to accuse your mother of lying. Clouds do not reside in trash cans, nor do they jump out at people, and they certainly do not excuse your behavior at the park. Now, eat your dinner. I made the carrots are exceptionally good tonight."
Lucy sat in stubborn silence, moving the food around her plate with her utensils, tuning out the dull hum of her parents' conversation about their offices, patient files, and adult responsibilities. It was incredibly boring. Boring, boring, boring! She managed to force down only half of her portion, her young mind still struggling to process the bizarre events of the afternoon. Her headache was slowly fading to a dull ache, but her confusion remained.
Perhaps ice cream and popsicles really were dangerous. She wondered if she would ever even be allowed to have one again, or if she even wanted to risk it.
Her mother's sharp voice broke through her reverie. "Lucy, you must finish your dinner. You gave me your word, and it is highly rude to reject the meal your father worked hard to prepare."
Vanessa reached across the table, taking Lucy's chopsticks to gather the remaining food and push it to the center of the plate.
In a fit of frustration, Lucy shoved the plate away. It skidded across the wood, sending pieces of food tumbling onto the table and landing squarely on her clothes.
"Lucy!" her father bellowed, standing up. "We do not tolerate such outbursts, and you will not be ungrateful for the things we work so hard to provide you!"
"Sorry, Papa," Lucy whispered, tears pricking her eyes.
"Go to the bathroom, Lucy," her mother directed, her tone cold. "It is time to wash up for an early bedtime. You clearly require sleep to adjust this attitude of yours. I will be in shortly to run the bath and wash your hair once I help your father clean up this mess."
Lucy walked slowly down the hallway, sitting on the cold porcelain edge of the bathtub to wait. When Vanessa entered, she turned on the metal faucets, filling the tub with warm water. She pointedly bypassed the bubble bath, offering no rewards for the day's behavior. She helped Lucy out of her soiled clothes, tossing them into the hamper, and assisted her into the warm water before pulling up a wooden stool. She sat just far enough away to avoid being splashed, but still kept a watchful eye on her daughter being in a body of water.
Lucy washed herself silently with her orange-scented soap, the bright liquid lathering against her skin. The routine was familiar and calming, until her mother stepped closer to wash her hair. As when Lucy did it herself, it would get all knotted.
Vanessa wrapped a dry towel around her own lap and leaned over the tub, reaching to wet Lucy’s hair with a cup of water. But the moment her fingers ran through the dark strands near the scalp, she paused, her brow furrowing in confusion.
There was a strange, tacky residue clinging to the roots, a sticky, doughy substance that matted the fine hairs together.
"What on earth have you managed to get into your hair, Lucy?"
"Nothing?"
"It is certainly not, nothing. It is all through your scalp. Did you sneak into the pantry? It feels… like wet flour? Why do you have flour in your hair, Lucy?"
"I don't know!"
"Sit still. This is going to be incredibly difficult to wash out. I hope this serves as a lesson to stay out of the kitchen cupboards outside of scheduled snack times."
For the next half hour, they sat in uncomfortable silence as Vanessa meticulously scrubbed the mysterious, doughy paste from Lucy's hair, occasionally muttering, "I truly do not know what has gotten into you today."
Once dried and dressed in her pajamas, Lucy was tucked into bed. She lay awake beneath her blankets for hours, staring at the shadows on her ceiling, her young mind spinning with questions she couldn't even formulate yet.
She had no way of knowing that this was only the first time. She did not know that this afternoon marked the beginning of decades of sudden, blinding headaches, tired flashes that evolved into fleeting visions, fragmented scenes of events that felt like memories but had never occurred… yet, and vivid dreams that refused to act like just dreams you woke up from…
Would anyone believe her eventually about the white cloud that attacked her? Or is she really just going crazy..?
- - -