For sinemoras09-Molly fic

[black_hat]

For sinemoras09
Hi! I tried out a Molly angst fic. This is for sinemoras09 who mentioned  she'd like an angst Molly fic ;-) where Molly thought about her parents. This is kind of different, and I don't know if this fits the bill, but I did want to give a gift of some kind for a friend. :-)

Warning: Darky fic? (I guess)
Word Count: 2, 706
Non-betaed and the tenses make me suspicious. >.>; So if there are mistakes, feel free and set me straight on them. :-) 

“Let’s go before your mother gets down here and causes a scene. She means nothing to me. You don’t want to force me to hurt your mom, do you? I’m asking.”

 

&&&

 

“Matt,” Molly began, furrowing her brow, as something so sudden appeared in her mind, with such clarity that it must have been there forever. For as long as she’s know the Boogeyman and Matt. Which was indeed forever. “Did you ever read his mind? I mean…just a little bit.”

 

“…No,” Matt said. “I didn’t want to. I’ll never want to.”

 

“But just a little bit? When you were chasing him away, didn’t you pick up….”

 

His face closed up, tight. It may have been then that Matt realized there was more to her than a little girl who liked little girls things and only had little girl thoughts. It was a clever question that would reveal the woman to come, and already—already—Molly the woman was proving to be much different than Molly the girl.

 

“I picked up some things, yeah,” he agreed. “Disjointed but focused…like a lot of bullets going towards the same target, tearing through everything and anything to get to it. Yeah, I picked something up, but nothing that I didn’t already know about men like that. Same man each time, with a different gimmick.”

 

“Oh,” she said, and returned to her coloring. Then she paused. “Could it ever be a girl, sometimes?”

 

“Um, sure. Sometimes it is a woman,” he muttered, and searched for a distraction. “Hey, we still haven’t finished Peter Pan yet.”

 

&&&

 

Molly thought she could share anything with Matt. Anything and everything, like he had said.

 

So she had thought, and she wanted to believe that. But one night, dancing in and out of a dark dream, she heard something far worse when she woke up to a clattering of dishes in the kitchen and the murmuring of voices. Usually, this sound comforted her. It reminded her of her home, and she burrowed her body into between the sheets happily.

 

Then she listened to the words.

 

“I can’t help it, all right,” Matt whispered, and in her mind, she saw him leaning against the counter, his arms crossed. A police man is never used to be interrogated, and he took offense. “I don’t like her thinking about him.”

 

“In what way is she thinking about him?” Mohinder asked. “Is she angry, afraid? I fail to see how that’s bad. We all thi-.”

 

“Like she’s curious about him. Curious.”

 

There’s a lull.

 

“That’s to be expected.”

 

“You’re not…It’s like she…damn, it’s a feeling, alright. Has she been to see anyone, doc? To talk about-.”

 

“It’s surely not a normal case, Matt! Who would you suggest taking her to?”

 

They were fighting over her, and she wished the bed would eat her alive and she wouldn’t be a problem anymore. She started to remember Matt’s eyes, when looking at her, and how things change.

 

They weren’t her parents.

 

When you see something really, really bad, can it get inside of you? If you see the Boogeyman in the light.

 

She closed her eyes tightly and buried her face into her pillow.

 

That’s the night the dreams began, the dreams where she was in a dark, dark place and there was the sound of wood sagging against an incredible weight—outside, outside—and she had to be quiet, very quiet and still and small. Eventually, in her stillness, so still, the darkness simply…was her.

 

On the outside, there’s a voice, low and calm and thoughtful. Oh-so-nice. The sound, the sensation of a hand on the hollow wood, the fingertips touching the surface gently…

 

“So when are we going to tell them what you are?”

 

Never, she thought, growing smaller still. Never-ever.

 

&&&

 

Molly can only truly think when Matt’s asleep.

 

He didn’t know yet. And she couldn’t stop thinking about it, but she tried very hard. She would color until the crayons were stubs during the day, and not think a single thought. Not a one.

 

She was proud of this because she didn’t want to make Matt sad. Eventually, though, she just had to think. It was always both a relief and a torment when her hero finally started to snore in the other room.

 

Then she could think about what she had done.

 

What would Matt and Mohinder think of the fact that the Boogeyman had offered not to hurt her mother? What would they think of the fact that she had turned his offer down?

 

Or worse, worse, worse—

 

Molly never wanted to meet him before. She had met him before, before he came to her house, and it had been her fault, her responsibility.

 

She bit her lip and stared at the ceiling, stared past the ceiling.

 

And remembered.

 

&&&

 

That morning—it was always that morning in her mind—the air had seemed colder. She had gotten dressed for school, and had hurried down the stairs, skipping a few of the steps and wondering at the coldness. The doorway to the kitchen was practically icy. 

 

Her father’s head was cut clean open.

 

Molly felt, rather than let, herself slide to the cold ground, feeling something sputtering around in her head, a sort of numb disbelief. Something kind of red and pink, like her father was wearing a new hat, only….

 

There was a man sitting at the table, arms crossed over his chest, looking serious and grave. He had obviously come to inform her that her father was an icicle now and it was very serious. He had been sent by someone, because someone had to come and make her dad better. He watched her out from under a cap, darkly, and Molly had the sudden realization that just maybe, the top of his head was gone as well.

 

She would have been sick if she could have moved. And he was still very serious, this dark-eyed man.

 

“S…stop,” she choked out. At time, at life, at her mind. For she couldn't block out the sight, it had been burned into her eyelids.

 

“I did stop it. Technically. You might want to see this. I have a very good source that once said that this is the house of the soul, right here for you to see.”

 

He motioned to the top of her father’s head, and she looked and thought she saw her father’s eyes flicker.

 

(Here, remembering, Molly bit her lip in the darkness much too hard. There’s pain, and then there’s this.)

 

She shook her head, drifting but still herself enough to cover her face. Make it go away, make it not real.

 

“Oh well. Come sit down, have some orange juice. Is your mother up?” She heard his voice past her fingers, and then recognized him.

 

“You—you were at the bus stop. You…” she whispered into her hands.

 

“Yes. Do you remember what we talked about, little one?”

 

She was almost folded over on the ground, and would have given it up and passed out, or lay there as a small animal would—still, so still—to avoid its predator. Instead, she let herself fall on her back and tried to move along with her hands. Her legs weren’t feeling right, steady.

 

“That’s one way to get nowhere,” the Boogeyman commented. To her horror, to her pain, to the gate that only opened more room for a spreading numbness, he turned to her, looking…regretful about something that she was sure shouldn’t apply here. He put a napkin on top of her father’s half empty head and walked towards her faster than she could scoot away.

 

 “Don’t worry, he wasn’t in pain. It was necessary to kill him, but believe me, I could have made him feel pain, Molly. Instead, he died pretty much instantly. That’s a luxury that most people don’t even get.”

 

Yes, she knew him.

 

He had been at the bus stop, weeks ago, sitting—always waiting—on the bench. She had smiled at him; the school bus had been late, just a little bit, and in the bundle of children waiting, she had no friends. He had smiled back and said hello.

 

Then there were things said. She had been angry that her mother had made her sign up for the play coming in November. She had been angry that her mother hadn’t packed her the right sandwich. Later, of course, always later, she’d have to go to piano lessons, and she hated piano, and old Miss Finch would tell her off for not practicing. Tell her that she had no talent, no gift for music.

 

And her parents were going to replace her.

 

This prospect had made her angry and she had said, after many things were said, that she would give anything to have different parents.

 

He had looked surprised, and then asked—anything?

 

Oh yes, anything. She wished they’d just go away. Wished they’d just go away. It was a rare time she voiced this thought, the only time she had wanted to, and she had answered him with certainty, looking him in the eye.

 

Wish they’d just go away.

 

Oh…

 

Oh.

 

“I-I-I called you here,” she whispered into the palm of her hands. “I…I…”

 

“Yes,” he responded, kindly, kneeling in front of her. “You did, you special girl. I would have never found your father if I hadn’t followed you home. Thanks for that.”

 

Molly believed him because she knew all about finding people, finding certain people, through their emotions, their feelings…

 

And Molly wanted to die. She wants to die. She will want to die.

 

“Let’s go before your mother gets down here and causes a scene. She means nothing to me. You don’t want to force me to hurt your mom, do you? I’m asking.”

 

“Nnnn,” was all she could really say.

 

“Because something tells me that if I did that, you’d hate me. Isn’t that right, little one? You’d want to see me dead.”

 

She was caught in-between nodding and shaking her head.

 

“I have two minutes to decide what to do with you. No one knows about me yet. The FBI think they do, but they don’t have the ability to grasp what I truly am, what I am becoming. My name is only the tip of the iceberg. I think I might be unstoppable. And no one would know better, no one would know to stop me. Do you see my problem?

 

No one to hurt me, no one to challenge me, no one to better me. I’ll need some stimulation, someday. But on the other hand—you’ll be alone. All alone because now you know people can die and leave you, no matter what they promise. I wouldn’t do a thing like that. So, what would you have me do? Kill your mother and leave you to find me, or come with me like a good girl? It will be like an adoption without the headache.”

 

Molly had no idea about the FBI or icebergs—though she’d learn about all that later.

 

All she knew know was that she didn’t want to go with him, no, she didn’t. She couldn’t, he couldn’t ask that of her. “I’m scared,” she whispered, used to so many things that were before. Before things would slow do, stop if she was scared, and her mother would turn on one of her old records and her father would do puppet-shadows.

 

“I know you are, kiddo. Just pick one.”

 

“I…I…can’t.”

 

He smiled, off the center yet the only center there was, and walked back into the kitchen, knocking the napkin, the now-bloody-one, to the floor with a casual flick of his hand.

 

In her mind, she saw her mother, getting dressed and in one second, she’d start down the stairs. Only Molly couldn’t say what was in her heart, to save her mother, past what was in her mind. To save herself from dark horrors. Selfish, stupid, and she started to cry.

 

“Molly?” her mother’s voice echoed down the hallway, alarmed, and Molly only wanted it to stop.

 

“Pl-wait, I’ll g-.”

 

One word too late. Her mother arrived, concerned but still not quite enough. “Oh, sweetheart, did you fall? I told James not to polish the floor yet, but did he lis-.”

 

Her mother turned her head to tell off her father, her words falling on deaf ears, and her voice caught in her throat.

 

Molly watched the remaining two adults stare each other down. The Boogeyman smiled. “Hi,” he said, friendly, consuming. “What are we having for breakfast? I hate cereal, and your husband over there gave me the cold shoulder, so-.”

 

Her mother screamed, and did the incredible. The impossible. She reached the counter and grabbed a knife.

 

Molly scooted away, afraid seemingly past the point of endurance, and managed to open the small cubbyhole under the stairs with shaking hands. She pushed herself inside and shut the door quietly.

 

Quietly. She wasn’t scared enough to slam it.

 

(Here, she smiled in the darkness.)

 

“Molly, get away. Hide!” Her mother screamed out, not knowing that her daughter had already left her to fend off the monster by herself. 

 

“The mamma bear is getting protective,” he said, laughing. “Hide, huh. Good idea. I’ll take yours.”

 

Something happened that made her mother gasp. A pause, a lull, a breath.

 

“How did you…”

 

“It’s complicated. Let me break it down for you.”

 

A body, full of blood and bones and a new baby, slammed against the side of the stairway, making the frame shake. It was like hearing a dart hit a target. Bulls-eye.

 

“Your husband was handpicked. Chosen, you could say, made just for me. You aren’t, and I really don’t care if you live or die. But there’s something about you I just don’t like.”

 

Another hiss, and cry as another thud hit the frame. Shudder. Shudder, and down came the spiders as something crawled over her hand. She nearly screamed and clapped her hand to her mouth.

 

“Something wrong, something…off. You really aren’t that good of a mother, Grace, if you think about it. Living through your kid like a life-sucking leech. She’s a conversation piece to you. She doesn’t like the piano, she doesn’t like the plays, and she doesn’t like you. I’ll give you a chance to do something right. Distract me. Let the little one get away. Can you do that?”

 

“I—” Cut off with a harsh sound and a scream of pain.

 

Molly listened. Couldn’t her mother let her get away? Didn’t she want her to get away?

 

“No…Okay. I’ve left you hanging long enough...”

 

“Wa-wait, I’m with-.”

 

She looked, and hung on, on to her mother’s feelings, her being, but it was like trying to hold on to air. Her mother slipped, and slid, until finally she fell off the side of the world. Flat after all, it was, when it really mattered.

 

But her father was still here. Molly looked with her mind and saw that his presence had not slipped off the earth like her mother’s had. Like her new sister’s had.

 

The Boogeyman had eaten his soul.

 

She slid into silence.

 

&&&

 

Molly had been foolish for running from the Boogeyman when he had come for her again.

 

She had been stupid for not recognizing her father’s soul when after all, she could always find him.  That had been how Molly had found the Boogeyman in the first place for Mohinder and Matt.

 

She stared past the ceiling, hiding her thoughts, and wanted her father to come back for her. He still hadn’t slid off the earth, and she’d be still. She’d be a good girl. It was nearly perfect. She hadn’t wanted a sister, anyway. The Boogeyman had known, too, and that’s why she had wished for him to come and kill her mother.

 

From now on, it’d be just the two of them, Molly and her daddy. For when the Boogeyman came back, she’d tear him apart until she found her father again.

 

“I want my daddy back,” she hissed into the shadows, into the silence.

 

Looking at the car lights moving across the ceiling, she made a promise. All she would have to do is to hide behind the smiles.

 

She’d have her daddy back if it was the last thing she ever did. 

-BB