No More
Home : Stories by Author : Stories by TwiLightJoy : No MoreSummary: Tara decides she must escape her father's controlling and abusive home. First in a series.
AUTHOR: TwiLightJoy
EMAIL: twi_light64@hotmail.com
PREQUEL TO: A New Life
RATING PG-13
PAIRING: Willow/Tara
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How could he do this, Tara mused. How did Mother stand it? Why didn't she take me and Donnie and leave? He was young enough then, wasn't he? She was so strong, but they never knew it. They said she had to stay for her own sake. Maybe they're right. She wiped the steam off of the bathroom mirror and peered hesitantly at her own face, blurred by moisture on the mirror's surface. A fading yellowish bruise marred the pale beauty of the blonde's face, crossing her left cheek. Her father had done that. Her father's fist. Too many times he had threatened her, bullied her, and hit her. Tara was forming a plan, or more accurately, what she'd been hoping to do for nearly four years was about to spring into a reality. Soon.
It was one week until her eighteenth birthday. One week until she could leave and he would have no power to make her come back. She wanted and wished that she could leave immediately; change towns, change schools, change lives. Start over, somewhere with no more pain. She'd lost so much here, in this speck of a town. Well, why not? Why not just leave everything here behind? Tara nodded grimly at her reflection. There wasn't much she had a legitimate claim on owning, just clothes, books ... her sanity and pride. These, she would take with her. The pain and fear would gladly be left and, maybe some day, even forgotten.
The blonde turned her attention to the scrape on her elbow. It looked dramatically better, it was healing quickly now. She studied the too-smooth, pale shininess of the new skin, which contrasted sharply with the dark pink of the center which was still healing. That was the worst of the injuries she'd been dealt - this time, anyway. She'd been knocked backwards to the ground, sent sprawling, and had gotten a pebble pretty much embedded in her elbow. The heel of her left hand had been scraped too, but not nearly as bad as the elbow, which had been harder to reach to clean, initially. She'd been worried about infection for a few days, but she finally found a good angle to get at the wound and completely cleaned it out, painfully re-opening the skin to make sure there was not a speck of dirt in it. She had become something of an expert at making sure scrapes, cuts, and bruises healed safely and quickly - not to mention remaining as hidden as possible.
Tara combed her long blonde hair out very carefully, using her left hand to make sure the scrape didn't break open. She was already thinking about where she could go. Somewhere with inexpensive rent and an availability of jobs for eighteen-year-old girls with no prior work experience. Though actually, anywhere sounded better than here. Tara pulled on her robe and made her way quietly to her bedroom. This was going to be tricky, but she was sure it could be done.
Shutting the door almost silently, Tara waited a moment, then flicked her light on. It was "late" according to her father, meaning it was fully dark, so he'd gone to bed. He always left his bedroom door open, and any light would wake him. And when he woke up, he wasn't happy. She wasn't about to do anything that would add to her collection of injuries, especially when she was this close to having a way out. She went to her closet and looked back at her door, as if expecting it to open and reveal her and her plan to the man who knocked her down and beat her. Deciding it was just paranoia, she turned and knelt, wiggling loose a floorboard on her closet floor. She pulled out a tall, thin glass mason jar that was filled with small bills and change, a triumphant grin on her face. How much did she have now? She opened the jar and pulled a crumpled and worn piece of paper out, studying it for a moment. Under a long list of math, the final total was $264.77. Not trusting her luck to hold out much longer, the blonde replaced the paper and closed and returned the jar, laying the floorboard neatly over it again.
Now, how far would that take her? She would need to set aside at least $250 for housing, so that didn't leave too much left for the Greyhound. $14.77, she frowned. Though Greyhound was pretty cheap, it wasn't quite that cheap. Maybe she'd be able to get farther than 100 miles? Well, she still had a week. She could get more money, borrow some from her $250 for the ticket. That would work. Tara went to her bookshelf and pulled out an old atlas, taking it to her bed to study. She ran her finger down the 1, the 101, and the 5, looking for ... something. Past San Jose, but not all the way to Los Angeles. There! Tara leaned closer to the fine print of the old map. Sunnydale. They had a college there, didn't they? UC Sunnydale, she remembered with a smile. She could finish high school there; she'd arrive during Thanksgiving break, go to school part of December, then just about five more months left until graduation. And she'd apply to UC Sunnydale and live in the dorms if they had room. If not she'd stay in, well, the same place she would for the last part of high school. This could actually work.
At that moment her door flew open, her brother bursting in. Tara snapped the atlas closed and clutched at the neck of her robe with one hand. The towering boy sneered down at her, closing her door.
"Donnie, w-what are you doing in here?" the girl asked in a quiet voice.
He smirked. "Maybe I should be askin' you that, hmm?" He strode over to her bed, as always, looking like he felt he was so superior. "Whatcha got there?"
"It's called a book? N-not that you'd know anything about them," she retorted boldly but quietly.
Donnie snorted derisively. "Who says I don't? That's one of those map-books. Whatcha want one of those for? Planning some kinda trip?"
Tara mutely shook her head. She would not be caught by her weasel of a brother. Not tonight, and not any night. "C-colleges. Looking for the um, the close s-s-schools," she lied.
Donnie made a "tsk" noise. "Should be somethin' you already know." He paused as if considering something. "But ... I'll let ya tell me that. For now. Don't think you're gettin' away with anything though, ya hear that?" He turned and sauntered out of the room.
Tara let out a sigh of relief, replaced the worn atlas, and shut her light off, falling into a dreamless slumber.
The following morning passed pretty much like any other. Tara was up early as always to make breakfast for her father before he headed off to work. Donnie came in and finished off what was left, and then Tara fixed herself a scrambled egg sandwich on toast and later washed the dishes. Following that, they were both off to school, where Tara was largely ignored for the day. Which, in her opinion, was usually much better than the sort of "attention" her fellow students gave her, teasing her about her stutter, her clothes. It was better to go unnoticed most days. Her brother was, on many occasions, the ringleader for the bullies. Why anyone would follow someone going through their second senior year was beyond her.
On the way home, Donnie thought he would have some fun and "ditch" Tara to go to a friend's house, unaware that this was exactly what Tara had wanted. She took the opportunity to walk over to the bus station to get a one-way ticket to Sunnydale. It had ended up costing $57, which left her about forty bucks in the hole for her goal of $250 to spend when she got there. She hid the ticket inside her book bag, between the pages of her Economics textbook. Hopefully neither her father nor her brother would feel the need to brush up on Economics in the next week. They usually weren't overly nosey, but she wouldn't put it past Donnie after last night's little episode. She would just keep the book close. If they asked, she would have a mid-term coming up.
She arrived home to see it still blissfully empty. And it was Monday, so that meant she'd be expected to pick up a few things at the supermarket. Tara went to her room and emptied it of everything except her Economics book, then quickly pulled the jar out and put it into her bag. Filled with change, it was exceedingly heavy and jingled loudly as coins hit the glass sides of the jar. Nevertheless, she hoisted the bag onto her shoulders and picked up the cash and short list of necessary items kept on the kitchen counter before heading out the door again.
When she made it to the grocery store, she made a beeline for the CoinStar machine, separating the bills and dumping the change into the machine. After that she went about the grocery shopping as usual, picking up the items on the list and nothing else. She left the store with three bags and a good bit of cash, stashed back inside the now much lighter and quieter jar.
This time when Tara got home, her family was already there. The look from the elder Maclay clearly read "Where have you been?" His mouth formed a hard, solid line under his hawkish nose. In response, the girl held up the bags. "I l-left the list here this m-morning. I had to c-come back for it." Mr. Maclay nodded and gestured her toward the kitchen, where she put away the groceries and quickly went back to her room to drop her bag off. After that, it was back to the kitchen to make dinner. A few insults later, mealtime arrived. Always tedious, but never overly long - Tara bolted her meal and retreated into the kitchen as soon as she could to begin dinner dishes.
That night, Tara continued with her plans. She thought about doing some things in preparation tomorrow, maybe calling Sunnydale and trying to enroll herself in the local high school. She wasn't sure how far in advance these things needed to be done. Maybe she could just show up there and enroll herself when she arrived. She would just need to have the address and phone number of her school here, and they could send her records or whatever it was they did. She'd need to let her school know she was transferring, but would wait until the day before. She didn't want them to call her house until she was already gone. She might even leave her father a note, saying that she'd gone and wouldn't be coming back. That way he wouldn't be able to file a Missing Persons with the police, who would have an incredibly easy time tracking her from here to Sunnydale. At least she would have two good years, her own years, before ... the change. After that she didn't know what would happen, but her mother had been normal enough, hadn't she? And she had to keep trying. If she gave up hope, Tara would have nothing.
Now, for packing. How could she pack and keep it hidden? She'd have to be really quiet and keep most of it for just beforehand. She'd skip school the day before, maybe; pretend she was sick in the morning, and later on call in to say she'd be transferring to another school. Her birthday would be on a Friday, and she would be on the bus at 1:10 am on the way to Sunnydale. She didn't even want to think about the number of transfers she would have, how many hours it would take to get there. But when the sun came up on her birthday, she would be in a new town, free, and that was all that mattered. From there she would figure things out, get a cheap room somewhere and find a job, enroll in high school. It wouldn't be easy, but it was better to make a life for herself than to stay here and let her father lord over her and beat her whenever he felt she'd stepped out of line.
Tara leaned back, satisfied for the moment. There was still a lot to be done, all of it in secret, but what she had so far was the best part - the actual bus ticket. It was as good as gold, a promise that she would have a future outside of the one she could expect if she remained here. A one-way ticket out of hell and into a new life, one where no one could make her feel inferior, where no one would order her around. One where she could be herself and where she wouldn't have to obey anyone if she didn't want to. Except the police, she thought with a chuckle. A young woman on her own would need to be strong and brave, and Tara thought those qualities could fit her. She would go out on her own and take control of her own life for once. She wouldn't have to hide her magic books in her own home, wouldn't have to worry about her privacy or dignity being routinely taken away. Yes, this was the best thing she could do.
Today was it. It was very early in the morning, and Tara heard her father getting up and ready for work. She didn't get up to make breakfast, something that would either A) earn her a beating, or B) prove to him that she was sick. She sincerely hoped it would be B. She'd done an enchantment to temporarily raise her body temperature, and unfortunately, it really did make her feel as though she was ill. It would wear off within two hours, and it was worth the discomfort she'd go through if it would convince him that she was sick today. Just as she anticipated, Mr. Maclay appeared in her room, towering over her bed. "You getting up today or what, girl?" he demanded, shaking her by the shoulder. Tara groaned and opened her eyes partially, not having to feign nausea as she fully realized what he would do to her if he didn't buy the 'I'm sick' excuse. "I said, what's your problem, girl? I want you out of bed and in that kitchen," he repeated.
She cleared her throat and looked up at her father. "Dad, I d-don't feel good," she said groggily.
He heaved a sigh and put a hand to her forehead. The warmth he felt brought another frown to his face as he realized she was probably telling the truth. "Just get up and make me some eggs, then you can go back to bed. And stay there all day, you hear me? I don't want to have to take you to the doctor's office. I'll bring you in a pitcher of water and a glass before I leave."
Tara nodded and sat up slowly, sliding her feet into her slippers as she eased out of bed. She made her way into the kitchen, feeling terrible and showing it, and prepared a lighter than usual breakfast for her father. It was definitely not on par with what she could fix when she tried, and cooking was something she actually enjoyed doing, normally. And after today she would never have to do this again. The young witch delivered the plate of eggs and nearly burnt toast to the table, and Mr. Maclay nodded, dismissing her to bed.
Returning to her room, Tara smiled a little. Good, he bought it. Too bad I had to make it almost real to be completely believable, she thought, collapsing back into her bad in relief. I wonder how normal kids get away with faking sick! She thought about staying up and waiting until Mr. Maclay and Donnie were both gone, but decided against it. She actually felt pretty miserable with the self-made fever and that nauseating fear of getting caught when she was so close to getting away from this place. And after all, how many times did she get the chance to sleep in? She pulled her blankets over her, nestling down into the warmth with a sigh, and soon fell back to sleep.
When she awoke the second time, the fever enchantment had thankfully worn off. It was about 8:30 in the morning, and there was a pitcher of ice water covered with condensation and a full glass on her nightstand. Wow, Tara thought, I can't believe he actually did that! There was also a short note next to the pitcher. "Tara, rest up and keep hydrated. I'll give you a call this afternoon to check on you. Feel better, Dad." And more with the surprises, the young witch pondered. He's either worried that I'm really sick ... or knows that something's up. Her mind flashed back to the night Donnie had burst in and seen her looking through the atlas. Perhaps he'd told Mr. Maclay, and her father had put two and two together. After all, it was no secret that Tara hated how things were, that she'd do just about anything to leave, but a rebellious runaway could always be found and sent back to her loving home, to be gently disciplined by a caring father. Or, in reality, hauled back off to her prison, where she'd be bruised and broken for thinking she could actually get away with it.
Tara shuddered, then wrapped her favorite knitted blanket around her shoulders and walked through the house, checking to make sure that she was the only one there. She had this creepy feeling that one of them had stayed to make sure she didn't try anything. After a full tour, peeking behind doors and around corners, much to her relief, she found the house completely empty. She folded the blanket and returned to her room, grabbing a bran muffin to eat while she started packing.
She stayed in her pajamas and began packing the things that wouldn't be noticed this evening when he got home. This included pretty much everything in her closet and most of her dresser, all of which got folded, rolled, and tucked into her mother's old sewing bag. She'd once used it to hold fabrics and spools of thread, but now it held probably 90 percent of Tara's wardrobe, including skirts, sweaters, a few pairs of patchwork jeans, t-shirts, socks, and underclothes. She'd wear her weathered jacket when she left, and any other clothes that weren't considered essential would remain behind. After a moment's consideration, she stuffed a pair of sandals and a pair of sneakers into the bag, closed it, and tucked it back into her closet.
Now, for her books. The ones she kept hidden, anyway. Tara took a flattened bit of cardboard out from between her mattresses, and popped it open into a corrugated box. She taped the box's bottom securely back together with duct tape, then removed all the magic books from underneath the built-in window seat. She lovingly packed them into the box, taking great care with each one. This done, she duct taped the lid shut and neatly labeled the box "BOOKS" with a permanent marker. She pulled the box over and packed it into the closet next to the old sewing bag. Satisfied with that, the fair-haired girl plopped onto her bed for a break, finishing off the muffin and having a glass of water.
Now getting all this to the bus station could be tough, since she still had a bag and another box left to pack. Tara had already considered this, though, and had a great idea for how to get around it. In the back of the garage was a dusty old two-wheeled hand-truck that no one ever used. All she'd have to do was WD-40 the axle of the truck, and she'd be able to get it through the house silently at midnight, with both boxes and her makeshift suitcase bungee-corded securely to the cart.
The young Wiccan went out into the garage through the kitchen door, located the hand-truck, and cleaned it up. She carefully greased the wheels until she was positive the thing wouldn't make so much as the tiniest of squeaks tonight, then took care to make sure the wheels especially were completely clean. She couldn't have cart tracks running through the house - it would be a sure tip-off. Finally positive it wouldn't track, Tara wheeled the cart into her room, grabbing a few spare bungee cords to secure the boxes and bag. She put this in her closet as well, placing first the box of books onto the rack, then the sewing bag/suitcase on top. She bungeed the box to the truck, but not the bag, since it would be on top of another box filled with books, a few photos, and some trinkets.
So far, everything was going well. One would almost say perfect.
The living room phone had this strange ring, an almost cricket-like chirp. Reaching over to the end table, the young woman picked up the receiver. "H-hello?"
"Hello, Tara? Tara Maclay?" the nasal female voice inquired. She pronounced it 'Tar-uh.'
"Um, y-yes?" Tara said in her best 'I'm really sick' voice.
A static-y sigh hissed in Tara's ear. "It's our policy to call the student's house when they are absent, to verify that they are out ill. Parents like to know if their kids are cutting school," the woman informed Tara in an almost bored tone. This obviously was not her first such call today. "Our records say you live with your father, would he happen to be at home right now?"
"No, he - he's at w-w-work. I can, I can give you his w-work number, if you need it?"
Another sigh. "That won't be necessary. Thank you for your time," the nasal-voiced woman. "And Tara?"
Gulp. "Yes?"
"We hope you feel better soon," the lady said unconvincingly. "Bye now."
"G-good bye." Tara replaced the receiver and let out a giggle. It was easier than she thought to play sick. The hardest part had been convincing her father, since he tended to need a more easily noticeable symptom. She smiled and put her feet up on the coffee table, humming along with Steve and Blue in a repeat of Blue's Clues. She bobbed her pink-socked feet in time to the music, a grin on her face. She had her multi-colored knitted blanket around her and a glass of ice water on a coaster, so in case she got any unexpected visitors, she could say she woke up and felt like lying on the couch and watching some cartoons for a while.
She was done with all the packing she could do without it being noticeable, and had decided to take the rest of the day to just relax. She remained in her blue-and-white flannel pinstriped pajama bottoms and the long-sleeved lavender thermal shirt she'd worn to bed last night. She had also brushed her hair, pleased that the scrape on her elbow was almost completely gone, so she could now use both hands. It made her feel better to have done her hair, now at least she didn't look like a complete bum. In the middle of Little Bear, the phone chirped again. Tara put on her sick voice and picked up. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's Dad," her father said, as though she wouldn't recognize his voice or something. "How you feeling?"
"Um, a little bit b-better. I, um, I'm in the l-living room. Lying down. On the - on the couch."
She could all but hear him nodding his head. "Good, you keep resting. Need anything?"
Wow, this is weird, Tara thought. Since when does he care if I need anything? Out loud she replied, "N-no, no, I'm okay." Maybe he's just worried something besides him will end up hurting me. Or he still needs to know my every move, even though he isn't here, she mentally speculated. "Did the school um, c-call you, today? Because, they c-called here. To um, to make sure I was home. And n-not, not c-cutting school."
A phone rang in the background. "No, I didn't get a call from them. You must have answered their questions just fine." The phone rang again insistently. "Listen, Tara, I have to get going, it's pretty busy here. You need anything, just call, the number's next to the kitchen phone. Extension 5541. Your brother should be home right after school, and I've told him to leave you alone and let you rest up. He asks you to do anything for him, don't worry about it. I'll deal with him when I get home." A touch of that same familiar threat laced his tone, and it sent a chill up Tara's spine, even though it seemed to be directed at her older brother for once.
"Okay, bye, Dad," the witch said hastily.
"Bye, Tara." A click on the line was followed swiftly by the dial tone, and Tara again replaced the receiver. He must know something, she decided. There was no way he'd actually care that much if she just had a stomach bug and a fever. She didn't like it one bit. It made her stomach all acid-y. Oh well, it will all be over soon. Only twelve hours to go, then she'd hopefully never have to see this town again.
Tara returned to her cartoons to get her mind off her father. By the time The Adventures of Superman was on, she'd already made herself a light lunch and wasn't too sure what else she was supposed to do. Any housework, even a bit of sweeping and vacuuming, might tip them off that she wasn't as ill as she had seemed. It was just strange to not have anything to do, when she was used to taking care of pretty much everything that needed to be done in the house. Then she smiled to herself as she realized something, the finality of tonight's escape setting in. She had already vacuumed the carpets for the last time, folded the towels for the last time, and cleaned the shower for the last time. After midnight, this would not be her house any more. It was enough to make her want to dance with joy.
Unexpectedly, she heard footsteps at the front of the house. She looked at the clock in puzzlement. It was still too early for Donnie to be home, and way too early for her father. Who on earth could that be? A sharp knock came on the door. Tara wrapped the blanket around her as she stood, and padded to the front of the house. Peeking through the window, she couldn't hide the look of surprise that crossed her fine features as she saw who was standing outside.
"B-beth?!"
Tara hurriedly unlocked the door and pulled it open, tucking her hair back behind her ears. Remembering she was supposed to be sick, she wrapped an arm around her middle to hold the blanket around her, and ushered her cousin in. "Beth, w-what are you doing here? I mean, I thought you w-w-weren't coming until, um, until next w-week."
The impeccably dressed younger blonde smiled cheerily, looking nowhere except Tara's surprised face. "I took an earlier bus. I hope I'm not intruding, I know your birthday's tomorrow. I just hope you don't already have any big plans." She set her suitcase down inside the entry and closed the door behind her.
The witch wanted to laugh out loud at the truth her cousin's statement unknowingly held. She smiled weakly instead. "N-no, no big plans. No p-p-party."
Beth nodded sympathetically, as if taking pity on her poor backward cousin. "Anyway, now that I'm here, maybe we can do something together tomorrow." She adopted a thoughtful expression, then smiled. "I know, we could go shopping together. I could help you pick out a great outfit, maybe some nice earrings or something. New shoes." The slightly dazed, dreamy expression faded as she finally noticed Tara's attire, blanket and all, to be replaced with one of shock. "Oh my gosh, are you okay?"
"S-sick day," the Wiccan explained. "It's, um, it's a s-stomach thing." She waved one hand in a circular motion nervously as she spoke. "I, I had a fever this m-morning. But it broke," she finished lamely.
"Well, why don't we get you back to bed? I'm sure you don't need to be up looking after me. I'll be all right on my own." Beth walked through the kitchen and into the living room, Tara trailing along after her. "And in fact, I'll sleep on the couch tonight. Or, as long as it takes until you feel better."
Well, the couch was better than in her room, so Tara nodded in agreement. At least this way she'd only have to sneak past Beth once. "That's r-really nice of you, to offer."
Beth beamed. "Of course, Tara! You're family, and you know I'd do anything for you." She looked up at the older girl. "Do you need to go back to bed?" she repeated. "I'll understand if you do. I'll be really quiet out here, so you can rest."
The young witch felt a headache coming on, and didn't hesitate to play sick a little more. "Yeah, you're, you're probably right. I should go l-lay down. R-rest." She picked up the glass off the coffee table and headed back to her room, leaving Beth in the living room to take care of herself.
Could this possibly get any worse? Well, no, forget that. Of course it could.
What was Beth doing here? Did anyone else know she would be arriving almost a week early, or would Tara have the joy of explaining her cousin's arrival? Well, knowing Beth, she'd be sure to explain herself to the men right away. Any probably not that fluffy explanation she'd given Tara about just wanting to get here earlier. There had to be a real reason Beth was here. Fear sat cold and heavy in Tara's stomach, fear of being stopped, being made to stay here forever. Fear that Donnie had found something out and told their father, or Beth, or both of them. Fear that they all knew and were ready to hold her here by force. Maybe by breaking something, making sure she couldn't run.
Tara lay down again, too afraid to check her closet again to make sure that everything was the same. With her cousin here, there was that much more of a chance that she would be noticed doing, well, pretty much anything. As if things weren't difficult enough before.
She briefly considered a spell, something to make them all sleep, so she could be sure she would still get away, even with an extra pair of eyes and ears in the house. But she'd need to have it ready to cast at dinner, and wasn't sure she could do one with that little preparation time. After all, her books were all packed, and if there was even one ingredient she didn't have on hand, it could throw the whole spell off, maybe even make it backfire onto herself.
No, it was too risky, a chance at this point she didn't feel she could take. She would just depend on herself, her wits, to make it out of this.
As she lay there, her mind raced with myriad ideas and plans, going through each of them mentally a number of times, with different variables in each scenario. Many of the ideas got discarded after a few run-throughs, a few she held to. The safest, physically, was her original plan, the one she'd had before Beth showed up, and it would most likely be the one she stuck with for tonight. Her father and Donnie both went to sleep fairly early on, ten or eleven p.m. at the very latest since it was a school night. Even if they lay awake for forty-five minutes, they would still be asleep at midnight, when she planned to slip silently out of the house with her belongings.
Her route would be direct and simple. From her room she would go down the hall, past her father's open door across the way from hers, then past Donnie's closed door on the left. From there, she could cross the corner of the living room and into the kitchen. She knew each floorboard by heart, and knew which ones squeaked and exactly where. Once she made it out of the kitchen, she only had to turn right and make it out of the door, closing it and walking to the bus station, five short minutes. She would be at the bus station by 12:15 or 12:30 at the very latest, and her bus left at 1:10. With Beth on the living room couch, not one part of her plan would need to be changed. She would only need to take extra caution to be silent as she passed by the end of the couch. Any route out of the house had to go through the living room, save leaving through one of her bedroom windows. But going out the window would likely be loud, because the one that opened easiest creaked loudly and tended to need to be propped open, or else it would fall shut and possibly break the glass. The others were difficult to open, the wood was slightly warped and Tara usually needed to pound on the window to get it to open any wider than an inch and a half.
So far, the original was the best plan she had, and it would be wisest to stay with it.
The Maclay family sat at the dinner table that evening. It all looked very nice and traditional, from the outside anyway. Mr. Maclay sat at the head of the table, while Beth and Donnie sat on either side of the rectangle, and finally Tara at the remaining end. This evening they didn't have much choice but to go with leftovers, since Tara wasn't feeling well enough to cook. Or so all they thought. Tara, therefore, had a cup of vegetable soup for her dinner, while everyone else had mashed potatoes, vegetables, biscuits, and various meats.
Beth had been welcomed by the men, which Tara had overheard through her bedroom door as they each arrived at the house. She had listened with pleasure to her cousin's voice as she volunteered to get dinner together for the family. This consisted only of selecting a menu and reheating the plates, and the simple task of baking biscuits, which was so easy that they really could have done it themselves had Beth not been there.
Once she had a chance to step back from it, Tara was actually glad that Beth had arrived, since she filled in easily for Tara in the household help department. This meant that the attention was almost completely diverted away from the witch, so she had simply stayed in her room alone for most of the afternoon and evening, barring a slight interruption by Donnie when he had come home from school. He brought a small stack of folders, one from each of Tara's classes. The office had sent for the classwork and homework the girl had missed from each of her classes, and sent it home with her brother at the end of the day. She looked the contents of the folders over without much regard until Donnie lost interest in watching her like a hawk scouting its next meal, and then set them on her nightstand once he left to talk to cousin Beth.
Now Tara sat uncomfortably at the end of the table, sipping her soup and water alternately as the rest of her family talked. Donnie went over the few standout moments of his day at school when prompted by his father, and Beth updated them all on news from her house. This encompassed everything from her mother's health to the dog's annual visit to the vet's office, in a roundabout narrative. Beth's parents would still be arriving as planned the day before Thanksgiving, and Beth would be going back with them after the holiday. Tara still didn't know exactly why Beth had come ahead of time, because that part of the conversation had been pretty quiet, compared to the boisterous greetings she gave to cousin Donnie and her uncle.
Tara answered all questions she was directly asked, which luckily only included a short round about how she was feeling from her father, who seemed appeased by her vague, stammered answers. Beth went over her plans for going shopping with Tara tomorrow afternoon, if she was feeling well enough, for her birthday gift. Donnie sported a smirk, as if he itched to say something insulting relating to Tara's wardrobe, but thankfully refrained from comment. Mr. Maclay did mention that he thought Beth could provide a good influence on Tara, but didn't add anything else in that direction. In short, they were on their best behavior, which in regards to the young Wiccan was still not very good.
After she finished her soup, Tara quietly asked to be excused from the table. Her father conceded and Tara took her dishes to the sink, then went back to her room, closing the door behind her as if it would keep the tension out. She was tired of being made to feel that she wasn't good enough, that she was supposed to do everything for her father and brother. She refused to accept that all her life would be spent as a servant to the men of her family. She wouldn't stand for it any more. If she thought and spoke for herself and expressed her wish to be independent, she would no longer be a punching bag for those same men who thought she was meant to be subordinate to them forever. She'd had enough. Hopefully, at least this last night would be quiet.
The sun was setting, and Tara sat in the west-facing window seat, watching as the light scattered into every color imaginable. The witch looked on in awe as the blue zenith darkened to a deep indigo, and her eyes traveled slowly down to the horizon, watching as the colors went from a bold blue to a molten yellow-gold to a blazing red. The handful of stratus clouds slowly changed from white edged in golden to pink-lined blue as the sun sank behind the hills. Each color melded seamlessly into the next, until they finally all faded out into the deep navy-indigo hue that most people saw as merely black.
The stars sprang back into visibility one by one, until thousands of sparkling pinpricks of light came into view. Tara watched every second of nature's best light show, enjoying each moment, each different color, and every last star. It was, she noted, a new moon. How appropriate.
And thus the sun went down on what Tara Maclay hoped would be the last day under her father's oppressive presence.
Time!
It was eleven, and the house had fallen silent. Mr. Maclay had shut his light off almost half an hour ago, Donnie had closed his door shortly after, and the television no longer flickered blue-green and white in the living room. Beth was all set up with pillows and blankets on the pullout sofa-bed. Tara rose from her bed, fully dressed in a pair of patch-covered jeans paired with a red thermal shirt beneath a pale blue tee. She knelt beside her bed, slipping her hand between the mattresses for the second flattened box she had stored there. She popped it back into its six-sided state, then stuffed a blanket under her door to both block light and muffle sounds. Flicking the switch, the blonde witch's room was at once illuminated in an artificial, yellow-tinted glow. As quietly as possible, this box was duct-taped closed on the bottom. Now it was time to unload the small bookcase.
Tara made short work of this, taking no more than ten minutes to place the shelf's contents into the bottom of the box. A pair of small photo books went next, followed by a tiny, framed picture of her mother beaming and holding an almost impossibly small Tara that was kept in the drawer of her nightstand. A bittersweet smile flashed across the Wiccan's face, and with a sigh was gone again as she returned focus to her goal.
Cassette tapes stacked neatly on top of the photo books, and then candleholders went back into their original bubble wrap and boxes. Taper and votive candles were wrapped in a pillowcase, along with a package of tea lights, a trio of incense burners, packages of jasmine and sandalwood. The pillowcase went into the box next. A second pillowcase was designated for wrapping her breakables, cushioned by mateless socks. A miniature jade Buddah, a small replica of Tutankamen's sarcophagus, and various animal figurines went into the makeshift bag. This bag was cushioned top and bottom with sheets and her knitted blanket. She finally gave the room another once-over, then taped the box shut and left it in the middle of the floor. Considering for a moment, she took up her marker and labeled this box "STUFF."
What else, what else? Tara had already packed the remaining bag, her backpack, with a new-ish paperback she was reading, her Walkman with fresh batteries and a good mix tape inside, and some food. A couple packages of Pop-Tarts, some Ritz crackers, Cheetos, various other junk. The kind of stuff she wouldn't normally eat but she could sneak bit by bit out of the kitchen without being noticeable, as she had done throughout the night. She also had three bottles of water for the trip. She figured she could refill them from drinking fountains, if she needed to. Her cash had also gone into the bag, which would be her carry-on for the bus ride. Very important not to allow the bag to get out of sight. Her tickets were in the side pocket, which was less visible than the front pockets. She still left room for her things from the bathroom in the bag's middle pocket.
Looking around, she realized that was pretty much all that was left. She shut the light off, then pulled the velux blanket away from the door as she let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Then she picked up the bag and headed for the bathroom, across the hall from Donnie's room. Here she packed her brush, dental floss, toothbrush, her remaining supply of monthly necessities, a pair of razors, shampoo, and her shower pouf with the fishy on it. Ooh, and the spare tube of toothpaste, can't forget that. She snagged a pair of towels and a washcloth almost as an afterthought, stuffing them into the bottom of the bag. It was pretty full, and she didn't see anything else she couldn't replace easily. That was it for this room. She glanced at her Mickey Mouse pocketwatch, seeing with surprise that it was already 11:50. Almost time to head out!
Tara flicked the bathroom light off, then slipped back into her room, replacing the blanket under the door before turning her room's light back on. She set her bag down on the bed and quietly wheeled the hand-truck out of the closet. The sewing bag suitcase came off the top, and the fair-haired girl carefully lifted the second box, placing it on top of the first and strapping it firmly into place. The suitcase went back on top of the boxes, also secured to the truck. A satisfied but slightly fearful feeling washed over Tara as she looked at her room, mostly stripped of its personality now.
She had decided to go ahead and write the note, just as an extra precaution to be sure she couldn't be taken back against her will. She sat cross-legged on her bed and wrote the note.
"Dad and Donnie, I've decided that I have to leave. I didn't take anything that wasn't mine. I know you will be upset, but I need to get out on my own. I am sure you will be okay without me. Don't worry about me and please don't come after me. Tara."
She sighed and set the note on her bed, then went to her closet to take her jacket out. She put it on in one quick motion, and slipped her backpack over her shoulders. She let out a long, calming breath and got ready to wheel the hand-truck over to the door to put her sneakers on. Just then, a quiet, almost hesitant tap came at her door. The Wiccan's eyes widened in horror and she set the truck back down, flicking her light off.
The tap came again, more insistently. This time it was followed by a feminine whisper. "Tara? Can I come in?"
Dammit! Tara cursed mentally. She approached the door and whispered back. "Beth? W-what's wrong?"
"I need to talk to you, Tara, open up please?" her cousin replied in a hushed tone. She sounded really desperate, but Tara was getting desperate, too! She briefly considered diving out one of the windows.
Kicking herself, Tara mumbled, "Just a m-minute." She hurriedly set the truck down in the closet and tossed her jacket and bag in with them, returning to the door and pulling the blanket up off the floor, wrapping herself in it. Thank the God and the Goddess she didn't have her shoes on yet. She kept the light off, then opened the door and pulled Beth in. The door closed again behind her.
"I'm sorry, I heard you going back to your room, and I wanted to talk to you. You aren't still sick, are you?" Beth questioned quietly.
Tara shook her head, almost imperceptible in the darkened room. "No, I'm, I'm okay. W-what do you need?" Her heart was pounding in her chest, almost to the point where she was sure Beth would be able to hear it.
"Well, it's my mom. Like I said at dinner, she's not doing very well lately. I know you've been through the same kind of thing with your mom, and I don't feel like it's something I can talk about with Donnie. I was sure you'd understand about why I really had to come here early. It's just that it can be so hard to be at home, to see Mom keep getting weaker." Beth sat down on Tara's bed and heard a slight crumpling noise. She reached behind her, shifting her weight as she pulled the note up. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she apologized, peering blindly at the paper in the darkness. "This wasn't too important, I hope. Do you mind if we have some light? It's kind of hard to talk about this when I can't see you." Beth reached for the nightstand, flicking the lamp on even as Tara opened her mouth to protest. Beth moved to hand the paper back to Tara, then hesitated and looked closer at it, tilting her head to the side. "Wait a second, what's this?"
Tara snatched the paper away quickly, her face flaming and her pulse pounding. "That's, it's n-n-nothing. I mean, it's something, but, but it's a p-private something."
Puzzlement was written all over Beth's face. "Then why is it addressed to Uncle Steve and Donnie?" Realization dawned on her, her eyebrows raising. "Oh! That's not about - I mean, Tara, Donnie told me...." Her face turned about ten shades of red, and she paused in thought before she continued. "Tara, I'm pretty sure they already know."
"They d-do?" Tara's pulse beat even more rapidly, and her stomach felt all churn-y, like the spin cycle on the washing machine. Only not in a happy, clean clothes way. She gulped and felt suddenly weak in the knees, taking a seat on the bed next to her cousin.
Beth nodded, her shining blonde ponytail bobbing. "Donnie does, anyway. But I want you to know that I think it's perfectly okay. And I'm sure they will still love you, even after you tell them you're a lesbian."
Tara wanted to laugh out loud with relief, but managed to control herself and only grinned like a moron for what felt like endless moments. You know, Beth is cooler than I thought, she mused. She sees a lot of stuff that I wasn't sure she would. The witch nodded and sighed, her voice full of emotion. "I'm so g-glad that you understand, Beth. It means a l-lot."
Her cousin continued to smile supportively, and leaned over to give Tara a hug. "I should let you go to bed now. We can talk about my mom tomorrow, when we go shopping. I'm so glad you feel better, this means we can spend more time together while I'm visiting." She headed for the door and had her hand on the knob. "Good night!"
"Wait, Beth? Can I ask you a f-favor?" Tara inquired, thinking quickly. "To k-keep a secret for me." Please Gods let this work!
Beth dropped her hand from the doorknob and faced Tara. "Sure, anything. You name it."
Tara tucked a strand of hair behind her right ear, letting the blanket fall to reveal her fully dressed. A cunning grin spread slowly across her face. "I w-was gonna, um, sneak out tonight. To see m-my girlfriend? I really missed her today, w-when I was, um, sick. She wanted to give me my birthday present, and I'm, I'm n-not ready to have them m-meet her yet."
"Oh, that is so sweet!" the younger blonde squeaked. "You can count on me, Tara. I'll look the other way and keep it quiet. What time were you going to go?" Beth asked.
"Um, in about h-half an hour?" Tara said. "I still have to f-finish this note. For, for Dad and Donnie." She waved the note, making sure the actual words remained unclear. A delay, but she would still have plenty of time to make the bus. Maybe it was enough time for Beth to doze off, too. And if she heard a noise, she most likely would just assume Tara was off to see her 'girlfriend' and not bother to watch her leave.
"Perfect. Have fun tonight!" Beth said with an enthusiastic smile, still fortunately keeping her voice down. "Don't stay out too late! And happy birthday!"
Tara nodded, and gave Beth a sympathetic smile, rising and putting a hand on the younger girl's arm. "And I'm really sorry. About your mom, I m-mean. I know that it's r-rough to go through it all, but I'm glad you told me. A-and trusted me enough to talk about it."
Beth held a stoic expression throughout her cousin's speech, then crumbled, tears running down her cheeks. "I just knew you'd understand, Tara. Thank you so much." She hugged the witch briefly and tightly, before stepping back to the door. "I should go, I know you've got things to do. And I could use some sleep. Night."
"Bye, Beth," Tara mouthed, flicking the light off as Beth opened the door to leave the room. Mixed feelings washed over the young Wiccan, and she fell back onto her bed, emotionally exhausted. So that was why Beth had needed to come early, it explained a lot.
Still, she'd nearly had a heart attack when her cousin had the note in her hand. That had been such a close call, but thankfully there had been a convenient and even honest diversion from the note's true purpose. Except, you know, the part about having a girlfriend, Tara grumbled to herself.
It was kind of good to know that at least Beth accepted her for who she was, but it made her feel even worse to be lying about where she was really going. These last moments she'd spent with Beth had really shown a different side of her. It was kind of a shame that she finally felt close to one person in her family, now that she was leaving. It wasn't even a family member she got to see every day, but still, it was someone she had a blood tie to who didn't loathe her. She decided she would stay in touch with Beth, when she got to Sunnydale.
All right, no more false starts. This time, it's real. I'm getting out of here. Tara gave herself a pep talk as she straightened, stretching out the muscles of her back, shoulders, and legs. Good bye, secret floorboard. Good bye, window seat. Good bye, Dad and Donnie.
For the second time tonight, the Wiccan opened the closet door and put her jacket on, shouldered her backpack, and wheeled the hand-truck out. She was pleased to note that it barely made a sound, only the wheels rolling over an uneven floor. And that noise wasn't so bad, especially if she went nice and slow. A few cleansing breaths later, it was time. She had lay in the dark since shortly after Beth left, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the house and her ears to attune themselves to the house's sounds. Navigating the residence in pitch darkness would not be a problem now, and she was alert enough to notice any differences as she passed through the house. She only hoped that her father had not been doing the same.
She pulled her sneakers on over navy, red, and white Cat-in-the-Hat socks, tucking the laces inside the shoes so she wouldn't have to bother with tying them, but they wouldn't be able to trip her up. Finally, she turned the doorknob. Silently pulling the door open, she had a momentary vision of her father standing just outside, waiting angrily. No, it's not real. He doesn't know, you'll make it out. And no one can stop you.
Holding her breath, she looked down the hallway. Completely empty, she smiled. She pulled the hand truck behind her, quiet as a cloud passing between the earth and the moon. Past her father's door, now past Donnie's. Each step brought her closer, her mouth partially open and her breathing deep and low. She peeked her head around the corner into the living room, and Beth's breathing came slow and even from the sofa-bed. All signs indicated that she was asleep.
Slowly, cautiously, Tara eased the cart's wheels over the transition from hardwood floor to carpet through the living room. She paused over the sofa, reaching into her jeans pocket and pulling out a second note. It was folded and taped closed with "Beth" written on the outside. She placed the note carefully next to Beth, then continued on her way, rolling the truck gently back onto hardwood as she entered the kitchen. She continued to slink towards the exit, when she heard a door open down the hall. She abruptly ducked behind the kitchen table on the far side of the room, bumping her knee on a chair leg and biting her lip to keep from yelping, while still pulling the hand-truck soundlessly along after her. Donnie stumbled sleepily across the hall to the bathroom, out of Tara's line of sight.
After a couple minutes, the door opened and she expected to hear his bedroom door closing again, but instead his footfalls were coming this way! She crawled backwards to keep the table between herself and her brother, looking behind her to make sure the hand-truck wouldn't be visible from where Donnie was, now no more than six feet away. The light flickered on dimly over the counter to Tara's left, and she heard her brother rummaging through a cupboard to get a glass. Water ran briefly until the glass was full, and she caught the sounds of him drinking. The glass was again topped off, and the counter light blinked out. Donnie's footsteps retreated, and when she heard his bedroom door shut, she let out her breath, unaware that she'd even been holding it.
She waited until all was quiet again, and after what felt like an eternity, straightened to stand behind the table. The cart trailed along obediently as Tara began creeping towards the door again. She almost expected something else to happen, to stop her, but she rounded the corner and stood facing the door. A broad grin stole its way across her face, and she disengaged the lock, then the deadbolt. Each click seemed to Tara as loud as a train whistle, but Beth probably wouldn't have noticed if she were up. Quietly, she turned the doorknob, feeling a cool rush of nocturnal November air across her right hand. She pulled the door all the way open, turning the doorknob back to the locked position out of habit as she stepped through, pushing the screen door open with her knee and easing the wheels of the cart over the threshold and out onto the sidewalk.
Tara closed the inner door behind her, cringing at the comparatively earsplitting sound of the door shutting with the lock engaged. The screen door eased shut quietly, and then the witch stood on the sidewalk for a few moments, allowing her heart rate and respiration to return to normal, almost unable to believe that she had gotten out of the house. She pressed the Indiglo button on the side of her pocketwatch, the bluish glow highlighting Mickey's arms pointing out 12:50. Wow, I better go catch that bus! It leaves in twenty minutes! Tara mentally chastised herself, then took off at a jog for the bus station, the freshly oiled wheels of the hand-truck rolling along at the same pace.
At 12:55, an exhilarated girl with dancing blue eyes arrived at the bus station, wheeling behind her the most astounding-looking cart. She went inside the station with a giddy grin on her face to check about her bus, stammering a bit as she spoke. The few people in the station seemed unable to stop themselves from studying the cart, which held a pair of boxes and an odd-looking bag, all three strapped tightly in place. She tagged both her carry-on and the cart with her name, but no street address, only a city, then sat eagerly watching the window.
When the San Jose-bound bus pulled in, the girl left the station with her tickets ready, hauling the cart behind her to check it in the belly of the bus. The man behind the counter shook his head in silent laughter as the sweet-looking stuttering girl boarded the bus. He wished the kid well, God knows she was gonna need it out there.
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