longer.blue

Before we begin regularly posting, a recap.... Part 4 of 8 The Skye Sisters Saga with Raine Skye (@@romanticraine.bsky.social) and Billie Skye (@billieskye.bsky.social) Raine Continued... She’s not who we thought she was or what she thought she was. And frankly I’m not sure what, if anything, was what we thought it was. *I rambled the alcohol starting to take awake the tightly controlled and eternally guarded filter I normally carried* +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Billie I didn’t touch the glass she slid my way. Just spun it slow on the table, watching the light catch in the whisky instead of drinking it. “When in the hell?” I echoed, letting it drag with a bitter laugh. “That’s some bedtime story shit, Raine.” The thought stuck though, in spite of myself. When, not where. That was how the bookstore had felt too, like it hadn’t been there until I needed it. Like it had opened its door just for me. My eyes flicked up to the portrait, then back to her, sharp. “So which is it? Mam? Dad? D.C.? Or is this just you drowning in whisky and hiding behind half-truths while I choke on ghosts?” The vowels came flatter, harder than I meant, old edges I’d long sanded down slipping back into place. I leaned in closer, voice dropping lower, tighter. “If you’ve got answers, stop circling. Stop hinting. Because I’ve had enough drinks to know this, if you don’t tell me straight, I’ll find the truth myself. And you bloody well know that’s the last thing you want.” +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Raine I squared my shoulders, struggling to hold my nerves at bay, feeling every bit of this room pushing down on me. I wasn’t sure if I was afraid it was going to swallow me or Billie or both of us, but we were teetering on the edge of something we’d never be able to turn back from. But I wasn’t sure we had a choice anymore. I scoffed as I finished what was in my glass before picking up the one you weren’t drinking* Answers? More questions? Truths or things I don’t know how they’re possibly true? Except that I’ve experienced them. And now you’re sitting in the middle of one of them. If we walk out the door of this place…and mind you, at this point, that’s a big if in all my recent experiences…if we walk out of the place and turn back, it’s not going to be here. Is that our Mum? Yes. Is the portrait as old as you think it is? Bloody hell, it could be centuries older and still be her. *I let out a long breath, clutching my bag holding the journal tighter next to me as I leaned in closer* Do I know why and how that is true? Yes. Do I dare speak it here? *shaking my head, reaching across and grabbing your hand with my own shaking ones, my eyes narrowing* We have to get out of here. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Billie I yanked my hand back, fingers curling tight around the edge of the bar instead. “Out of here?” My laugh came harsh, too loud in the heavy quiet. “You drag me into some Twilight Zone shit, tell me Mum’s been hanging on a wall for centuries, and your grand solution is we have to get out of here?” I glanced at the door, ghosts shifting at the edges of my vision, then back at Raine, heat flaring in my chest. “You think walking out’s going to fix this? I’ve spent years doing that, London, San Francisco, anywhere but here. I told myself I’d never look back. Then Paris happened. I tried to ignore it, tried to walk past the pull, but I couldn’t. That’s why I’m here. So don’t sit there clutching your bloody journal and telling me to run. If you’ve got something to say, you say it. Here. Now.” I leaned back, snorted, and patted down my pockets out of habit. No cigarettes. My hands fidgeted, restless, drumming the wood, tugging at my sleeves. That’s when I saw it, just for a second, the ash-grey blur of ghoulish faces in the crowd, hollow-eyed, skin sagging like burned paper. Then they blinked back to normal, resuming their half-lived routines: lifting glasses, staring into nothing, mouths moving without sound. My gut twisted hot, the same old instincts that had always gotten me out by the skin of my teeth boiling up, urging me to move. But then I looked at Raine. And for the first time in my life, she looked scared. Really scared. That stopped me cold. I pushed off the barstool with a bratty huff, rolling my eyes like I was the one being dragged to church. “Fine.” I slapped a couple of notes down on the bar, loud enough to cut through the low murmur of voices. “Let’s go,” I snapped, like I was the one sick of the fight. Like we were just two sisters tearing strips off each other, not two women trying to peel ourselves out of a room full of ghosts. I didn’t look at the portrait. Didn’t look at the crowd. Just kept my chin up, eyes on Raine, daring her to match my pace. If we played it right, we’d walk out looking pissed off, not terrified. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Raine *I stood, shouldering my bag, clutching it tight with one hand and reaching out and putting a death grip on your hand, pulling you towards the door at a breakneck pace. I just had to hope this would work. The only way I had been pulled back to the present from the Viking village on the loch was with the help of a very specific Viking. And he was no where to be seen in this dodgy tavern full of questionable creatures. I took a deep, ragged breath as we reached the heavy, oak door and leaned into it with my shoulder at full force. Only once I felt the door give way did I feel my heart start again and I tugged harshly on your hand, pulling you cleanly through the door, not stopping until I heard it slam shut behind us. My breaths were coming as hard and fast as my heart was beating as I threw my arms around you, holding you tighter to me than I had since the night our parents died. I lifted my head and as I expected the pub was no where to be seen. Shaking my head, my eyes found yours once more, my voice quiet and wavering as I spoke* We can’t just stand here in the middle of the street, especially with the sun setting. I’ve got a room down the way at the Guy Fawkes. Let’s get safely tucked in and I’ll tell you everything I know, though I’m not sure it’s not just going to give you more questions and answers.* +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Billie I stumbled as she yanked me through, the slam of the door at my back rattling all the way through me. The air outside cut sharp, colder than it had any right to be, and I dragged it into my lungs like I hadn’t breathed in hours. Then Raine crushed me against her. For a second I went rigid. The last time she’d held me like that was the night everything burned down, our parents, our life, the only version of “safe” we’d ever had. My arms twitched with the urge to shove her off, to spit some sharp line and keep moving, but I didn’t. Not right away. When I did pull back, I was already fidgeting, patting my pockets, restless. No cigarettes, no anchor. Just the street empty around us where the pub should have been. My voice came low, flat, not trusting itself to hold steady if I let it rise. “Guy Fawkes, huh?” I muttered, the corner of my mouth tightening. “Fitting, since the inn I’m holed up in already has a bloody plaque about him on the wall. Like he’s following me, same as you.” My eyes narrowed, locking on hers. “Fine. Let’s go. But don’t think dragging me out here changes anything. You still owe me the truth, Raine. Every bloody bit of it.” Halfway down the street, I stopped dead, jerking my hand out of hers. “Wait.” Before she could answer, I ducked into the corner shop, slapped cash on the counter, and asked for Lammies without thinking. The pack hit the counter a second later, plain cardboard, no flash. I was already tearing it open as I stepped back outside. The first drag hit like oxygen, like my lungs had been starving without it. I blew the smoke out slow, head tipped back, feeling my pulse steady with every pull. For the first time all night, I felt a piece of myself slide back into place. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Raine *We walked in silence as you smoked, this scene comfortable in its familiarity, despite the fact that the night and the descending fog was closing in rapidly around us. We reached the inn and I paced anxiously at the entrance, waiting for your cigarette to find its end The only thing this changes is that, so far, this place and my room in it has been safe and completely uneventful. And for this that is exactly what we need. Because whatever we just hauled ourselves out of will soon come creeping down this street, rolling back layer after layer, and if we don’t get out of it we’ll be rolled up with it and in it. I watched you snuff out the butt and once again took hold of your hand, pushing open the glass and iron door of the inn, exhaling deeply as it closed behind us. Even the air smelled different, clearer, brighter, lighter and that alone sobered me up quickly. I nodded at the desk clerk as he gave me a warm smile, asking if he could please send up a large pot of coffee, along with some cakes. I could feel my sister’s eyes boring into the back of my head. I didn’t have to look to hear the unspoken dialogue in my head. Years and years had written it before. Up the stairs we went and I carefully unlocked the door to my suite, holding the door open and letting you past, locking it behind us and dropping the key on the little table at the entrance. Make yourself at home and get comfortable. We’ve got a long night ahead of us. *And with that I turned my bag upside down and dumped its contents on the large coffee table, our father’s journal and all the research I’d accumulated since finding it spilling out with it*