Blueberry Yogurt #7, Coconut #23, Fudge Ripple #14
Author: winebabe
Title: Everything Costs
Story: The Gemini Occurrence
Rating: PG-13 (death mention)
Flavor(s): Blueberry Yogurt #7: a fresh start; Coconut #23: call me; Fudge Ripple #14: urgency
Word Count: 847
Summary: 2026; Genevieve acts in the wake of Jude's death.
Notes: Genevieve Kessler-Downing, Adelina Garland, Jude Downing.
It's over.
Death is disgusting. It's violent, loud, dirty and slow. Genevieve hasn't moved from her place in the corner of the kitchen for an hour, and her muscles ache from holding her up in a frozen state. The position of the sun has changed, and she only knows this because it's casting a square of yellow light directly onto Jude's glassy eyes now. It looks like he can still see her. It looks like he's staring at her, waiting for her to move, waiting to see what she does.
She doesn't move for another ten minutes, choosing instead to watch Jude and make sure she can't see the rise and fall of his chest. There's a part of Genevieve that is terrified to even walk past him. Too many zombie movies in her youth have terrified her of the dead, and she's never even been to a funeral in her 25 years of life. When her mother passed, her father kept her home. She never saw the body, never got to say goodbye, never knew a thing of death other than it took people away.
Now, her husband lay in front of her on the tile floor, the foam around his mouth dried onto his waxy skin, his unblinking, glassy eyes reflecting the fading sunlight. And Genevieve knows what she's done is wrong, unforgivable, but the only thing she feels is relief. He's gone. He's gone, and he can't hurt her anymore. Without the laws, without the violence, she feels like she's done the right thing.
Genevieve can't walk in front of Jude's corpse, so she runs out through the dining room and into to foyer. She dials 9-1-1 first, because she knows she needs to. If they check her phone, they can't see that she called anyone else first. It's easy to sound like a distraught, terrified wife on the phone when she's as panicked as she already is, and once the kind operator says she's sending help and asks her to stay on the line, Genevieve hangs up. She calls Adelina and presses her nose against the stained glass window inset in the front door, and watches for the flashing lights of emergency vehicles.
"Genevieve?" Adelina asks, and her voice is tinged with worry. They haven't spoke about anything light in weeks, and every time Genevieve reaches out, Adelina expects the worst--Genevieve knows that.
"It's over," she whispers, and her voice comes out hoarse. "He's gone--on the floor. Lina, he--oh, God, it was so much worse than I expected. It was so violent."
"She told you," Adelina whispers. "She told you it wouldn't be pretty, but they can't trace it."
Genevieve shudders; she isn't stupid, she knows the first thing they'll do is take Jude for an autopsy. They'll cut him open, test his flesh and blood, because a man his age isn't supposed to die. Johanna had gone over the specifics, explaining what the effects of the poison were and what a fatal dose would do to him. It mimics a number of natural health emergencies, she'd said, and they may not even suspect foul play. If they do, it'll be inconclusive. The compound will only show up for specialized tests.
"I don't think I can stay here," Genevieve says.
"No, no, of course not," Adelina replies. "No one will expect you to. You've witnessed a tragedy; they'll know you wouldn't want to stay in the house where it happened."
"I want to leave town," she says. "I don't want to stay here."
Adelina is ever-patient on the other end of the line. "Can you stay with your father? I'm sure he'll understand. Geni, it's okay. It'll be okay."
"I don't want to stay with him!" Genevieve shouts. There are tears running down her cheeks now--not because of the death of her husband, but because of her circumstances. She hadn't thought through the repercussions. She had never expected the trouble that would follow after Jude's death, and she feels so young, suddenly. She feels so alone, trapped inside an echoing, empty mansion with a dead man on the dining room floor.
Outside, the faint sound of sirens permeates the quiet air, and Genevieve turns to whisper into the phone, "I have to go. The police are here."
"Call me," Adelina replies, just as quiet, before Genevieve hangs up on her.
She waits by the door as the police make their way out of their cars, and even though every instinct she has begs her to do something, she refuses to wipe the tears from her face. They'll see a broken woman when they get to the door, and in some ways, she is. All she wants to do is run away, like she's wanted to do every day for the last several years of her marriage, but now that she can, Genevieve can't find the will to move from the hallway. The police push past her and scope out the house, while one young officer stands by her side, his hand on her upper arm, asking her questions she's lucky to simply understand.
Title: Everything Costs
Story: The Gemini Occurrence
Rating: PG-13 (death mention)
Flavor(s): Blueberry Yogurt #7: a fresh start; Coconut #23: call me; Fudge Ripple #14: urgency
Word Count: 847
Summary: 2026; Genevieve acts in the wake of Jude's death.
Notes: Genevieve Kessler-Downing, Adelina Garland, Jude Downing.
It's over.
Death is disgusting. It's violent, loud, dirty and slow. Genevieve hasn't moved from her place in the corner of the kitchen for an hour, and her muscles ache from holding her up in a frozen state. The position of the sun has changed, and she only knows this because it's casting a square of yellow light directly onto Jude's glassy eyes now. It looks like he can still see her. It looks like he's staring at her, waiting for her to move, waiting to see what she does.
She doesn't move for another ten minutes, choosing instead to watch Jude and make sure she can't see the rise and fall of his chest. There's a part of Genevieve that is terrified to even walk past him. Too many zombie movies in her youth have terrified her of the dead, and she's never even been to a funeral in her 25 years of life. When her mother passed, her father kept her home. She never saw the body, never got to say goodbye, never knew a thing of death other than it took people away.
Now, her husband lay in front of her on the tile floor, the foam around his mouth dried onto his waxy skin, his unblinking, glassy eyes reflecting the fading sunlight. And Genevieve knows what she's done is wrong, unforgivable, but the only thing she feels is relief. He's gone. He's gone, and he can't hurt her anymore. Without the laws, without the violence, she feels like she's done the right thing.
Genevieve can't walk in front of Jude's corpse, so she runs out through the dining room and into to foyer. She dials 9-1-1 first, because she knows she needs to. If they check her phone, they can't see that she called anyone else first. It's easy to sound like a distraught, terrified wife on the phone when she's as panicked as she already is, and once the kind operator says she's sending help and asks her to stay on the line, Genevieve hangs up. She calls Adelina and presses her nose against the stained glass window inset in the front door, and watches for the flashing lights of emergency vehicles.
"Genevieve?" Adelina asks, and her voice is tinged with worry. They haven't spoke about anything light in weeks, and every time Genevieve reaches out, Adelina expects the worst--Genevieve knows that.
"It's over," she whispers, and her voice comes out hoarse. "He's gone--on the floor. Lina, he--oh, God, it was so much worse than I expected. It was so violent."
"She told you," Adelina whispers. "She told you it wouldn't be pretty, but they can't trace it."
Genevieve shudders; she isn't stupid, she knows the first thing they'll do is take Jude for an autopsy. They'll cut him open, test his flesh and blood, because a man his age isn't supposed to die. Johanna had gone over the specifics, explaining what the effects of the poison were and what a fatal dose would do to him. It mimics a number of natural health emergencies, she'd said, and they may not even suspect foul play. If they do, it'll be inconclusive. The compound will only show up for specialized tests.
"I don't think I can stay here," Genevieve says.
"No, no, of course not," Adelina replies. "No one will expect you to. You've witnessed a tragedy; they'll know you wouldn't want to stay in the house where it happened."
"I want to leave town," she says. "I don't want to stay here."
Adelina is ever-patient on the other end of the line. "Can you stay with your father? I'm sure he'll understand. Geni, it's okay. It'll be okay."
"I don't want to stay with him!" Genevieve shouts. There are tears running down her cheeks now--not because of the death of her husband, but because of her circumstances. She hadn't thought through the repercussions. She had never expected the trouble that would follow after Jude's death, and she feels so young, suddenly. She feels so alone, trapped inside an echoing, empty mansion with a dead man on the dining room floor.
Outside, the faint sound of sirens permeates the quiet air, and Genevieve turns to whisper into the phone, "I have to go. The police are here."
"Call me," Adelina replies, just as quiet, before Genevieve hangs up on her.
She waits by the door as the police make their way out of their cars, and even though every instinct she has begs her to do something, she refuses to wipe the tears from her face. They'll see a broken woman when they get to the door, and in some ways, she is. All she wants to do is run away, like she's wanted to do every day for the last several years of her marriage, but now that she can, Genevieve can't find the will to move from the hallway. The police push past her and scope out the house, while one young officer stands by her side, his hand on her upper arm, asking her questions she's lucky to simply understand.