Cometh the Hour

Home Truths

After what felt like an eternity of silence, the Doctor stepped back away from her again, eyes moving across the shelves against the back wall until they fell upon a small photo frame.

He picked it up and turned it over in his hands – an obligatory school picture of the child, perhaps a year or so ago.

"Everleigh..." he began. "A family name, perhaps?"

"My mother's name was Evelyn," Clarice told him, eyes trained on the floor.

"Your reaction is disconcerting, Clarice. Had you hoped to keep this from me indefinitely?" Hannibal asked. "I must say, I'm a little disappointed."

"Why, Doctor? Are you gonna pay maintenance?" she snapped, her accent slipping into full West Virginia as it often did when she was angry.

"I could help, Clarice," he told her, choosing to ignore her latest outburst.

"I don't need your help!"

He put down the picture frame, glancing up at her.

"Can you be so sure? Moving from state to state, holding onto those big Bureau dreams, towing around a child that so clearly resents you for it – so much so, you're on first name terms. It won't do, Clarice."

The setting of her lower jaw told him his insight was accurate.

Another silence passed between them before she spoke again.

"I'd like you to leave."

With that, she opened the door to show him back out into the hallway.

The Doctor looked like he was considering a response, but something caught his eyes on the stairwell and instead, he stopped in front of Clarice.

"Very well," he agreed, smiling softly.

He stepped out into the hallway again, raising his hat momentarily at the girl sitting on the stairs.

She watched him with interest as he moved towards the door, before stopping and turning to look at Clarice again.

"I can see you need some time to reflect, Clarice. But I feel sure this won't be our last conversation on the subject," he told her. "I'll be at the old farmhouse when you've taken the time you need. Mr Miller is feeling very hospitable of late."

His eyes moved back to the child once more, and he gave her a wink before slipping through the doorway where he paused once more.

"I trust that I won't regret sharing the location of my current accommodation with you, Clarice. After all, it seems we might both have secrets we'd rather keep concealed from the FBI," he said, before disappearing into the night.

No sooner had the door closed than Clarice was halfway up the stairs, moving past the child and into the bedroom.

The girl followed, watching as she pulled the clothes out of the wardrobe and flung them onto the bed.

"What are you doing?" she asked, stopping the doorway.

"What did you say to him?" Clarice asked her. "About that old hick out on the farm?"

Everleigh shrugged her shoulders. "Just that he's mean. And rude. Why?"

Clarice cursed under her breath.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"What?" the girl asked again. "Clarice, what are you doing?"

"We need to leave. Tonight," was all she said, pulling out a suitcase from underneath the bed and starting to pile the clothes into it.

"What? Why?" Everleigh asked, confused.

"I'm not discussin' this with you right now. Go pack a bag," Clarice told her.

"No!"

"Everleigh, now is not the time–"

"–I don't wanna leave! I'm tired of moving around!" she cried. "We weren't even here that long!"

"Go. And. Pack. A. Bag," Clarice said, firmly.

"No! Not until you tell me why!" Everleigh demanded.

"Because I said so!"

"That's what you always say! That's not even an answer!" she cried. "I'm not going unless you tell me why!"

"I'm your mother and I've decided, that's why," Clarice told her, starting on the drawers.

"No you're not. You don't act like one," Everleigh said, her voice softer now.

Clarice glanced back over her shoulder at the child, but she didn't respond.

"You're never here... you're always at work," she continued. "You care more about the FBI than you do about me. You don't care that I have to keep starting new schools and trying to make new friends. You don't even care whether I like these stupid places you bring us to. It's not fair!"

"Well, you know what? Sometimes life isn't fair," Clarice snapped. "Now go pack your bag."

"What are you running away from?" Everleigh asked. "From that man?"

Her mother's lack of response to this served only to anger the child further.

"He seemed nice," she said, an edge to her voice. "Nicer than you, anyway."

With that, Clarice flew across the room and came to kneel in front of her, taking hold of the child's shoulders firmly.

"Now you listen to me," she hissed. "You don't have any idea what you're talkin' about. So you go into your room and you get your things–"

"No!" Everleigh struggled against her. "I'm not going!"

Clarice kept a firm grip on the girl's arms as she fought against her, surprisingly strong for her eight years.

"Yes you are! It's not safe for us to be here!"

"Let go of me!" Everleigh fought harder.

"Stop behavin' like a spoiled brat and listen to me!" Clarice shouted, losing what little patience she had left as she gave the child a firm shake. "You're eight years old and you don't get to decide what we do or where we go!"

For a moment the girl seemed a little taken aback by the outburst, likely because Clarice rarely raised her voice, despite their differences.

But if Clarice had intended this to fan the flames, she was sorely mistaken, for as quickly as the child stilled, she returned to the struggle with a vengeance – ten-fold and far more violent.

"Let go of me!" she cried.

"Everleigh!"

"LET GO OF ME! YOU'RE SCARING ME!" the child screamed.

In a millisecond, the room fell silent, and Clarice let go of her daughter, as if she had been burnt.

Pushing past her, Everleigh took off across the landing.

And then the bedroom door slammed shut. Hard.

So hard, that the whole house shook as it did.

Clarice closed her eyes.

"Shit."

Suffice to say, they would not be going anywhere that evening.

∞∞∞