Chapter Text
The house was cozily decorated. There were wildflowers in the lawn, planting pots on the front porch. In the sliver of the front hallway he could see, the walls were painted in soft pastels. There were photographs of children hanging in frames.
The woman, Mrs. Noceda, matched her home. She was fortyish, maybe, short and soft and unimposing, smiling at him the moment she opened the door.
"Good morning, Camila," said Mx. Whispers. It was nice to stand behind them, to let them talk.
"Good morning, Raine. Come in, both of you. I just made coffee."
The two of them led Hunter deeper into the house. He counted three windows, with at least two more upstairs. None of them were barred, but they might be glued down. Two doors, front and back. The rest of the house was much as the front hallway had been. Bright, colorful, decorated by someone who cared to make it look cozy. The walls were hung sporadically with art, movie posters, and family photos. The photos featured, between them, a man, a woman, and two girls of approximately the same age. Though, Hunter noted, the man stopped appearing in photographs past a certain date—judging by the ages of the other figures in them—and one of the little girls, the blonde one who didn't look like the others, only appeared in photographs past a certain date. There were baby pictures of the other one, but not of her. She and the man never appeared in pictures together.
The place was clean, but a little bit cluttered. The furniture all showed signs of wear. The hardwood floors were scuffed. There was a girl's sweater thrown over the back of a chair in the living room, a fantasy novel abandoned on a side table, a basket of videogame controllers with their wires tangled haphazardly in a corner, a pair of shoes lying beside the couch as if someone had just kicked them off and walked away.
They passed a hall closet on their way to the kitchen. It had no obvious method of locking from the outside.
Mrs. Noceda sat them down at the kitchen table. The wood was scarred in places, and stained by old spills, but it had been wiped down recently. The primary smells were of laundry detergent and coffee.
Under the table, Hunter pinched himself hard on the upper thigh to keep from shaking his leg. He kept his eyes down. Mrs. Noceda got Mx. Whispers a cup of coffee and asked Hunter if he wanted anything. "Water? Juice? Tea?"
"No, Ma'am, thank you," he replied. If it bothered her that he hadn't looked up and made eye contact, she didn't say so in front of Mx. Whispers. She just took her seat a couple of chairs removed from the both of them, hands wrapped around her own cup of coffee.
The grownups talked, as grownups tend to do. Hunter only half-payed attention to any of it.
….probably best to wait until next year, since we're already so close to the end of…have that sent over to you by Monday…Oh, and how is Vee doing? It's been so long since I've…
It was easy to tune out. Hunter sat quietly and let it all go blurry. The voices, the situation, his hands where they sat folded on the tabletop.
He came back a little bit when Mx. Whispers left. They said goodbye to Mrs. Noceda, and then they asked Hunter if he remembered their phone number—he did—and assured him that he could always call if he needed anything. And then they left. They left, they were gone, and Hunter was alone at a stranger's kitchen table.
She smiled at him. She'd been smiling almost nonstop since they arrived. "I imagine this must all be pretty scary, huh?"
Hunter floundered for a response for a couple of seconds, and then said, "It's been fine, Ma'am."
She nodded, like that meant something to her, and then, "Well, I'm sure you've been told some things already, but my name is Camila Noceda. You're welcome to call me Camila, or Ms. Camila, if it would make you more comfortable."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"I'm told that your name is Hunter. Is that the right name to use?"
"…Yes, Ma'am."
"Ay, you're so polite, aren't you? But you really don't have to call me 'ma'am.' You're going be living here. There's no need to be so formal with me."
Hunter pursed his lips. He didn't see the relevance of whether or not he'd be living here—he had lived with his uncle, after all, and called him "sir" all the time. And using her first name at all felt disrespectful enough to be dangerous, whether she said it was fine or not.
It had been too long since he'd spoken, and he still hadn't found a suitable response, so his idiot mouth just fell back on, "Yes, Ma'am."
She wasn't angry. Maybe she was slow to anger. Better not to test it.
"So, now that we've been introduced, how about a tour?"
So Hunter shouldered his bag and followed her on a tour of the house. The two girls, he was told, were still at school and would be until three in the afternoon. Still, he saw evidence of them everywhere. Both tidy, like the jackets hanging in the front hallway, and slovenly, like the plates from their breakfast piled in the sink. It looked like they had the run of the house, like their mother placed almost no restrictions on them whatsoever. Their presence could be felt in the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, and up and down all the halls. They were scarred into the floorboards, subtly fingerprint-smeared on the windows and around the handles of the doors.
Still, there was care here. Intention. Someone swept and vacuumed regularly, wiped down the countertops, hung art and photographs on the walls. There were children's drawings pinned up by magnets on the refrigerator.
Luz, Mrs. Noceda told him, might be a little overwhelming at first, especially if he didn't like loud noises. "But she means well," Mrs. Noceda said. "She's a very sweet and open-hearted girl, she just struggles a little bit with new people. And don't take it personally if Vee is shy with you at first. They're both excited to meet you."
No one had ever been excited to meet Hunter before. He didn't know what to do with the information, or the feeling it evoked in him.
She showed him upstairs. Two windows up there, at least without seeing into the bedrooms. One at the front of the house and one at the back. Probably another in each of the rooms, but there were no trees immediately outside and the roof didn't jut out over the first floor, so they wouldn't be safe to use. And a total of three hall closets. The one upstairs didn't have a latch on it, either.
Leading him back downstairs, "I hope you can understand the sleeping arrangement. Luz and Vee already share a room, and I thought it was better to give you your own space, so—" she opened the one door which hadn't been explained to him yet. Beyond it, a flight of stairs, leading down.
Hunter could understand. Hunter understood perfectly. He'd slept in a basement before. And in a closet. And on the floor. On one memorable occasion, in a church pew. And honestly, the basement was one of the better options. At least it was roomy, and there was likely to be something to sleep on.
He half-expected to simply be shoved in the direction of the stairs and hear the door slam behind him. He actually braced for the blow, started calculating how best to land so as to avoid falling down the stairs. But she continued through the door herself, gesturing for him to follow, and so he did. Safely behind her, into the dark.
At the base of the stairs she flipped a light switch and Hunter blinked, momentarily disoriented. It looked—
Well, primarily, it looked like a bedroom. There was a bed pushed into one corner, with a nice, unobstructed view of the entrance and a set of sheets already on it. Yellow, with stripes. Mismatched pillow cases. A quilt folded on the foot of the bed, thick and heavy-looking. A bookshelf against a wall, a desk against the other, with a reading lamp. A chest of drawers and a rack with hangers. A rug on the floor.
"It's not much," Mrs. Noceda was saying, "but you're welcome to customize it however you like. We'll go shopping sometime in the next few days, so make a list if you think of any big gaps."
Hunter turned in a slow circle. "Th— Thank you. Ma'am. Thanks— Thank you. Um."
He was trying to find something else to say. Some way to ask, Why all this? Why for me? You don't even know me. Some way to say, This is the nicest bedroom I've ever had. I love the sheets. I don't deserve this.
Even as he ordered the thoughts into words, none of them seemed like the right ones. They all got lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth.
"Of course, Hunter. I hope it'll be comfortable." A pause. If she expected him to say something, they were both disappointed. "Do you need anything right now? Have you had breakfast?"
Two different questions, but Hunter answered them both. "I'm fine, Ma'am, thank you. Mx. Whispers made sure I ate before we came over."
"Good. I'll leave you to get settled, then," she said. "There's a bathroom through there. You're welcome to come up anytime if you need anything, or even just to say hi, but you're equally welcome to stay down here if you prefer to be alone right now. Luz and Vee won't be home for another few hours. If you get hungry, feel free to take anything you want from the pantry."
Hunter opened his mouth, hesitated for just long enough to look like an idiot (Stop gaping like a fish, boy. Out with it!), and said, "Yes, Ma'am."
She nodded and left. The door clicked closed behind her. The sound of footsteps trailed off in the direction of the living room. Hunter counted slowly to twenty. At the end of it, he crept quietly up the stairs, avoiding the one which had creaked on the way down, and he tried the doorknob.
It was unlocked.
His body didn't quite know what to do with the fact that it was unlocked. He supposed he was relieved. If he'd been locked in, it would have frightened him, sure. But he also would've known where he stood. Without the door to decide for him, he had no idea how to feel.
He went back down and took in the room. It was cozy, almost. Nothing dusty, no random piles of boxes everywhere, no spiders. Nothing he'd expect from a basement.
Do something. Do something.
He unpacked his bag. All his worldly possessions, not counting the clothes he was currently wearing, amounted to two pairs of pants, three shirts, a button up, a hoodie, some socks and underwear, toiletries, and a prayer book. The pants and underthings, he folded and put into the drawers. The button up, he hung on the rack with the hangers. The toiletries, he arranged neatly on the counter in the bathroom. He toed off his sneakers and slid them under the bed. Made sure the toes were peaking out, so it would be obvious that he wasn't trying to hide them.
He sat down heavily on the mattress and picked up the prayer book, smoothed his thumbs over the cover, turned it over a couple of times in his hands.
He exhaled sharply, frustrated with his own trepidation. It was unwarranted, and probably blasphemous, to be afraid of it. His hands were mostly steady as he flipped open the front cover.
To Hunter, from your Earthly guardian, that you may never be without guidance.
He ran his fingers over the inscription, tracing the thin, looping lines of his uncle's handwriting. These past weeks, he'd read it far more than he read the actual scripture. That you may never be without guidance.
This, he did hide. Tucked up under the sheet, wedged against the headboard of the bed, so that someone checking under the mattress or the pillows would be likely to miss it.
And suddenly, there was nothing left to do. No chores had been assigned to him yet, and the basement and bathroom were both already clean. He had an open invitation upstairs, but there was nothing to do up there that couldn't be done down here—the walls were just as nice to stare at. So he settled in, laying on the bed with his ankles crossed, hands folded on his stomach, and he waited for a reason to move. He was good at being bored.
He wasn't sure how much later it was when he heard a door open upstairs. Around three in the afternoon, presumably. It pulled him out of his stupor a little, sharpened and focused him as he strained to hear what was going on.
Young voices. Probably girls. One of them much louder than the other. Which of her daughters had Mrs. Noceda said would be the louder one?
There was shouting, laughing, a couple of syllables in the shape of his name. And then Mrs. Noceda's voice, calm and low, and the girls went a little bit quieter. A few seconds later, just about the length of the walk from the living room to the basement door, there was a knock.
Hunter sat bolt upright. Why had she knocked? It seemed rude to give her permission to enter a room in her own house. Ruder to say nothing. Ultimately, the best he could do was squeak out, "Um…Yes!"
The door opened. Mrs. Noceda poked her head in. "Luz and Vee are home now. You don't have to come upstairs if you still don't want to, but they'd like to meet you."
"I— Um. Yes, Ma'am." He stood and followed her out. Deliberately stepped on the squeaky stair, to imply that he hadn't noticed it.
In the living room, seated on the couch, were a pair of girls. One looked very like Mrs. Noceda, though her hair was slightly unkempt and there were marker doodles up her forearms. She was sitting on the very edge of the couch, her hands pinned beneath her legs, bouncing slightly in—not anxiety. Anticipation? Excitement? The other was blonde and sitting stiller than her sister, in the opposite corner of the couch with her knees tucked up beneath her. At least he didn't have to guess which was which.
"Luz, Vee," said Mrs. Noceda, "This is Hunter. Hunter, this is Luz," she gestured to the bouncing girl, "and Vee." She gestured to the one in the corner.
Luz shot up abruptly enough to make Hunter startle back a step. She put her hand out to him. Her hands had been drawn on, too, he noted. Mostly the backs, but a little on the palms. A variety of inks, more than one type of doodle, and one of her hands must be dominant, but it was on both. More than one person had been drawing on her. He accepted the handshake.
"It's nice to meet you, Hunter, I— Woah!" Her grip on his hand tightened and stilled, not giving him the option to pull away. Hunter's skin prickled, which was stupid, she was a little girl, it wasn't worth getting worked up about. "Dude, that scar is so cool, where'd you get it?"
Heat. In Hunter's head, like a fever, overwhelming. Ringing in his ears. Don't be so dramatic, Hunter.
Don't be so dramatic, Hunter. Don't be so dramatic. Don't be so dramatic. Don't be so—
"Luz, baby, we don't ask questions like that to people we just met. If Hunter wants to talk about that, he'll start the conversation, okay?"
"Oh. Sorry. Sorry, Hunter."
Speaking. Speech, yes, that warranted a response. He couldn't be rude to Mrs. Noceda's daughter, she probably wouldn't like that.
"It's, um. It's fine."
"Seriously, though, it's nice to meet you. I'm glad you're living here. Vee thinks so, too, it's just harder to tell."
"Uh, thanks."
"I do," Vee piped up from her corner of the couch. "I think it's nice to meet you, too."
"Thanks, um…You, too."
Smooth, Hunter. Real smooth. Why were people always talking to each other, and how did they all know how to do it?
Finally, blessedly, Luz let go of his hand. A star, a heart, and part of a spiral had rubbed off on his palm in blue ink. His vision was still weird. Not cloudy, just surreal, like he was viewing everything from behind a screen. Like it was being filmed live from his point of view, not like he was actually living it.
"Mamá! Do we have those goldfish I like still? The colorful ones?"
"I think so. Why don't you go check?"
"I want some, too," Vee said. "If we do."
"Hunter?" Asked Mrs. Noceda.
Hunter blinked, shook himself, tried to convince himself that the world in front of his eyes was really there. "Sorry?"
"Do you want goldfish?"
"Uh—" It squeaked in the back of his throat. His traitor stomach twisted at the thought of eating. His breakfast had been almost eight hours earlier, and it hadn't been very large. But it was past four in the afternoon. Dinner—presuming he would be offered dinner—would probably occur in the next two or three hours. That was no time at all to wait.
Food, though. Free, easy food. Maybe this would all be easier with something in his stomach.
"…Yes, Ma'am? Thank you, Ma'am."
"Of course, honey. Luz, do you mind?"
"Three bowls of goldfish, coming right up!"
She disappeared into the kitchen.
Five minutes later, Hunter was perched awkwardly on the edge of the couch, Luz and Vee chattering about their days at school a little to his left.
Hunter didn't say anything. He listened. There was all kinds of information to be had for people willing to slow down and listen.
For example: Luz enjoyed learning but didn't do well in classrooms. Vee did extremely well in class but complained at length about her teacher. They each spoke more about each others' wrongs than their own. Vee angrily recounted how Luz had been unfairly penalized for a mess she hadn't made, and Luz bemoaned that Vee had been robbed in a class spelling bee. Safe to assume that they were close, then.
They spoke about some friends, most of them shared mutually between the sisters, though Luz seemed to have a much longer list of people she disliked. Hunter got the distinct impression that, if one of them was going to make trouble for him, it would probably be Luz.
The crackers were good, but they hit his stomach like so much air. All he could think about was more.
Out of sight of the others, he pinched the underside of his arm, the pain racing outward along his nerves.
Forgive me, he thought. I am weak. Forgive me. I am grateful. I am grateful for the comfort and nourishment granted to me. I am grateful for the life I am permitted to live. I ask for nothing more. Forgive me. I am grateful.
The pain in his stomach was easier to bear when he deserved it.