Camila Hargreeves's Story

November 4, 2019

To my dear students:

If you are receiving this letter that means I’ve passed away due to natural causes. As I’m sure you are aware, I’ve made Pogo the executor of my will as well as the one to arrange the funerary services no later than a week after my death. It is my last wish that you attend my burial.

Attached below is the passcode to the drawbridge.

#19890110

Sir Reginald Hargreeves

---

You piece of shit.

Even in his posthumous letters, he managed to be an emotionless ghoul. Sven crumpled the letter and threw it across the room...shortly before retracting it into their hands.

They already saw the obituary in the newspaper, the black and white photographs on the Internet accompanied by shallow anecdotes, and the thinkpiece articles regarding his life as an inventor, Olympic athlete, and father to nine superheroes. Everything reeked of opportunism. It was a race to garner clicks with none of the depth. Nobody explored the experience of being an Anchor Academy student nor the ethical violations that came with weaponizing your own children.

Save for Savannah and Lucien (who they didn’t care about), the rest of their siblings left an online footprint. Everyone moved on from the academy in some form. Lucky splashed her lavish life all over Instagram. Nathan joined a rock band. Uma performed fortune readings and made sketches. Similar to Nathan, Ronan joined their own band as well. Vya...Honestly Sven didn't know what he did other than drink and hang out with Lucky's exes. After their father's death however, only Ronan and Vya claimed Reginald as their own. Everyone else either didn’t bother to post about it or did so in subtle ways.

Not that Sven would ever admit to cyberstalking their siblings.

They moved beyond the need for siblings and Anchor Academy clout. They were at peace with their nomadic lifestyle and Shisa kept them company on the days that they missed having a family. Friends were easy to come by and despite Sven's emotional emptiness, warm bodies were even easier. People sought connections regardless of what they were based on even if it meant being ghosted two weeks later.

All that mattered was that they were living their best life.

That begged the question of why they couldn't destroy that damn letter. It had been six days since it ended up in their P.O. box and they tried every method of destruction possible yet they couldn't stop themselves from restoring it each time. Whether it was ripped, burned, marked "return to sender", or ditched at someone's apartment, they reversed their decision. His words rewound in Sven’s head, mocking each failure to keep the letter shredded.

Maybe it’s worth going...for confirmation.

Reginald Hargreeves was an asshole, but he was rarely dishonest. He didn’t need to fake his death to gather everyone.

That was perhaps the reason why Sven booked a ticket to West Anne three hours after arriving home.

---

The trip itself did not present any trouble and strangely, that train ride was the best nap Sven had in a long time. Granted, it wasn’t saying much given their inconsistent sleep schedule but any rest was good rest. Even the long walk (Sven hated driving) didn’t faze them. Despite being gone for nearly a decade nearly everything remained the same. From the sea breeze to the chimes of ice cream carts, West Anne beckoned for its tourists to stay an extra day or week to soak the sunlight if not retire there altogether.

Anchor Academy was the only outlier. Its drawbridge proved imposing as ever and the creaking showed how long it had been since somebody crossed. Had everyone left that long ago? Or did their father decide to bunker down? Not that either options were mutually exclusive.

"You've your brother's grave and disobeyed my orders. Leave!"

Why am I here?

Sven bit their bottom lip. It wasn't too late to renege their decision. They could rewind their trek and draw the bridge back up. They could toss the letter into the ocean and go home. They could do just about anything to avoid traumatizing themself again.

Oh, but they didn't. They continued across the bridge, taking a deep breath as they set foot on the flagstone pavement.

"Good to see you again Mi-Sven. It has been far too long." Pogo emerged from Anchor Academy's center door in his red suit.

"Yeah..." Sven pressed their lips together, holding back a twinge of annoyance.

The person that stood before them was no longer the spry simian that taught them world history or strategy during Reginal's busy days. Pogo's hairs grayed at the ends and the bags under his eyes formed full wrinkles. His face drooped and even his back seemed the slightest bit hunched. Despite all that happened they didn't hate him. They just wished he had done more for them.

"Has anyone else come yet?" Sven asked, jostling their backpack back onto their shoulder.

"Ah, you are the first to arrive actually-" Pogo paused for a second-"but I believe that your mother has prepped tea and cookies if you wish to wait in the living room."

"You didn't need to do any of this you know."

Pogo shook his head.

"I'm fulfilling his last request just like you."

He gestured for Sven to head inside, glancing at the clouds looming in the distance.

songxx outfitxx bedroom xxdialogue hex #CE7B97

xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xx
xxLucky picked at the hardened scab, enjoying the sensation as she tore it revealing shiny new pink skin. She’d grown fond of scars into her adulthood. For so long it felt like everything was erased like it never happened, Sven turning back the clock to restore them to their former selves. It felt like her body wasn’t ever really wholly hers, just pieces of her. A firm hand gripped her thigh, pulling her closer. She wrapped her arm around them, throwing back her head to arch her back into them; not because she enjoyed it, but because she knew they did.

“What are you thinking about?” They mumbled into her ear, burrowing themselves in her dark tresses.

She smiled softly, pushing aside her hair to see them clearly. The sunlight was still figuring it’s way into their room, not quite at the angle to reach the bed yet. Her fingers ran along their jawline, her touch soothing them back to sleep.

“I’ll tell you about it later, go back to sleep.”

They drifted back into their dreams, Lucky watching for a moment – envious of that peace. Even her sleep was restless, dark circles forever shading beneath her eyes. She slid out from the bed wrapping herself in a silken robe.

Rose was an intoxicating scent, one she always favored. The aroma filled the room as she filled the tub, pouring the rose extract generously where the spout poured into the frothing water. When she closed her eyes it was all she could sense, that heavy floral musk. Her impulse was to retract as she lowered herself into the bath, she could feel her skin reddening from the heat. That’s what the rose extract was for. She bit her bottom lip, plunging herself into the water all at once her gasp twisting into a wince. Her body tensed, holding itself in place as it acclimated.

When she was here it felt like she could forget everything for a moment – in that time as her body felt like it might be on fire battling the elements struggling to adjust so could finally have that moment of peace. Ghosts were always lurking in the corners of her psyche reminding her of what lurked in the shadows. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back and submerging herself holding herself under until she ran out of breath.

“Hey,” Their voice surprised her, a scratchy whisper. She looked over, spitting bubbles in response. “You okay? You’ve been quiet last couple days….”

Lucky nodded slowly, closing her eyes again and sinking further into the water. She waited until she heard the door close behind her latest paramour before opening her eyes again reaching for the battered bound novel that sat on a table beside the tub. Most of the book had water damage, warping the pages so that they wouldn’t lay flat swelling it in size.

She started to flip through the pages, the book opening to where she’d shoved a folded a piece of paper into the spine. Careful to unfold it so that it stayed pressed against the book and hidden should her paramour walk back in unannounced. The note was beginning to tear at the folds from the repeated motion, caught in the cycle of reading it until she felt too sick to look at it anymore, folding it furiously and hiding it away. Out of sight, out of mind – right?

To my dear students,

How could he be so cold and yet so uncharacteristically warm in the same sentence?

A closet full of pretty things with a high price tag. Each piece made her think of someone she wish she was, anyone but herself really. Maybe one day she’d put on the perfect outfit to finally become someone else. Every morning she put together who she wanted to be that day, at least for pretend. She stood there, dripping wet and naked – every thing around her tailor made yet none of it fit her anymore.

“I’ve got to go home,” She hollered from the bedroom, recognizing the sound of someone shifting in the next room followed by footsteps.

“Home?” They asked, coming into the closet. “The States you mean?”

“L.A., just outside the city.” She lied; they didn’t even know her real name. Why start being honest now?

“Did something happen?” They asked, grabbing a towel that had been strewn aside from a previous day of dress up and wrapping around Lucky. A shiver ran down her spine, prompting them to rub her arms quickly to help her warm up.

“No – not really. I guess they’re selling the house and need our help going through the things to see what they can throw out.” She didn’t even know what she was saying until the words left her mouth, the story spinning itself.

“Do you want me to come with?”

“No! – no, trust me that’ll just make it take longer. Plus you’ll end up becoming best friends with my brother which will immediately doom our relationship, so trust me it’s for the best.”

They furrowed their brow in mild suspicion before kissing atop her head gently, her hair dripping across their chest. They pushed her hair back, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in. “Any way I can help?”

She smiled, kissing them deeply before asking sweetly – “Will you take me shopping?”

________________________________________________________________________________

“You look nice.” Whispered the fox, following Lucky from a distance as she trudged through the Shadow Realm.

Lucky pursed her lips, avoiding eye contact forcing herself to remember the details of the door to her room in the Academy. She had been offered a first class flight instead but she didn’t want them hovering over her shoulder as she bought the ticket asking why she was booking a flight to New York City instead of L.A. Besides, she hated connecting flights from international to domestic. Even with first class and TSA pre-check it was still a pain to transfer.

“Too good to talk to me now? You rarely come visit anymore….I’ve grown lonely.”

“Maybe if you didn’t stalk me like prey every time I came in here, I’d be more inclined to keep you company.” Lucky spat, rolling her eyes. The Shadow Fox was always lurking whenever she passed through. She stopped being afraid of it a long time ago. In here she was the one in charge of the world around them.

“Well what’s a fox to do? Not much else here to keep my attention.”

“Maybe whatever you did before I got here?”


“Sleep,” It let out a cold laugh, Lucky twitching with discomfort at it’s pitch. “If only it were that simple. You don’t help much, passing in and out of here without a care in the world.”

“Sounds like a personal problem. Now go away, you’re breaking my focus.” She shooed the fox away, the shadowed creature shrinking in size to dodge her and circle around.

“Excuses, you should be able to do this in your sleep by now.”

“Jesus Christ – forgive me if I’m a little distracted. Will you just shut up please? I’ll be on my merry way and you can go back to sleep.”

“I think we’ve known each other long enough that you know that isn’t what I want.” Its tone sent a chill down her spine, looking at her with still beady eyes.

Lucky snarled,“And that’s why you’ll always be lonely.”

“I just want you to stay where your safe – isn’t that exactly what you wanted for your family?”

Lucien’s face flashed in her mind; he’d been only a voice for so long she wondered if they’d even recognize each other. She shook her head, the fox infecting her thoughts. It was an endless power struggle between them, yet they were somehow the one being who was a constant in her life. Locked away in its cage it didn’t seem so scary, though it was harder to distinguish that when it slipped into her dreams.

The door, she had to remember the door. The trim was covered in polaroid’s, her favorite pictures of her siblings and their mother. She would spend hours looking at the pictures in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep, trying to recreate her memories to feign the idea of a childhood. The door was oversized and took her full strength to move with an ornate brass knob from the original design of the house. The light always gleaned off of the warm browns of the varnish, reflecting the room in it’s surface. She could feel the hardwood beneath her feet, opening her eyes to see the door conjured within the Shadow Realm.

“Looks like that’s my cue, nice catching up.” Lucky flicked off the Shadow Fox one last time, opening the door and stepping through.

The first time she teleported through the Shadow Realm it felt like she was being spat back out into the light. She had been unconscious for over a day afterward, her body exhausted from over-exerting her power. She didn’t travel through the Shadow Realm as often as she could have, when the alternative was private jets and first class it wasn’t a downgrade in any way. If it meant some extra time lapping in luxury, why would she waste her energy on something as taxing as the Shadow Fox.

Though eventually, as always, the time would come where she’d burn some bridge or get herself in some situation that led her to the same place. She’d learned how to manifest portals in and out of the Shadow Realm with relative ease unless the Shadow Fox was especially a nuisance that day. At least stepping through the portals had become less volatile.

She stepped from the shadows into her bedroom, blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the light.

There were white linens pulled over the furniture, but the plants were as lush as ever. Lucky smiled, ‘Mom’. Lucky had been to the Academy since she left, though usually just stealing an hour with mom in the kitchen or maybe rifling through her dad’s study for notes regarding his research into her powers (usually a result of a coke-fueled night leading to a spiral of resentment). She hadn’t been in her room since she left. She could tell their mom had continued to clean it, not a single speck of desk settled on any surface in the room.

She began pulling the linen from the furniture, folding each one neatly and setting it on the end of her bed. Seeking the shadows of the house, she could read Pogo lingering in the parlor watching the door and their mother in the kitchen. The other’s had yet to arrive, she wondered if any of them would even show. As if her thoughts had manifested them, the sound of the drawbridge broke her inner dialogue.

She watched as Sven emerged from the car, stunned for a moment having to catch her breath. They were the last person Lucky expected to show, though maybe for that same reason they’d be the first one to want to confirm the guy was really dead. A metallic taste filled her mouth, Lucky realizing she’d been biting her lip so hard it began to bleed. Waiting for Sven to follow Pogo into the house, she opened her window as quietly as possible hanging out as she lit a cigarette.

Sliding into the chair beside the window so that she was hidden from sight but hanging her hand out the window so the smoke wouldn’t travel into the hallway, Lucky sat like that for a while. It was another three cigarettes when she heard the sound of the drawbridge again, peaking above with caution to watch Ronan ride in on a speed bike.

“Well that’s it,” She mumbled to herself, putting out her current cigarette and tossing the butt out the window. If Ronan and Sven were both in attendance, it was free game for anyone to show. How many ghosts would she have to face today? She was already chewing on her lip again, lighting up another cigarette in defeat. Anything to keep her hands busy.

Lucky paused, looking at her phone as if it had become the enemy. If there was ever a time to call Lucien, it’d be now – though admittedly she’d never called him when she was sober. She didn’t know if she’d be able to handle him not picking up today of all days, didn’t want that hanging over her head. Against her better judgement she hit the call button, smoking her cigarette furiously to stop herself from chewing her bottom lip raw.

Vya wasn't one for sadness. It wasn't his shade, didn't fit him. Besides, he wasn't sure sad was what he was even feeling. Shocked, definitely. But 'sad' was pushing it a little. He really hadn't thought Reginald Hargreeves would ever do them the kindness of dying.

He'd crumpled his letter up and tossed it in the trash only to dig it out the next day and read it again, chewing on his fingernails and pacing the length of his apartment. His husky, Koda, had paced with him in a show of solidarity.

Two days later he'd texted Ronan a simple: you going? and gotten an even simpler yeh as a reply. Which had pretty much sealed the deal that Vya was going. For one, he wasn't going to make Ro face it alone, and for two, he couldn't face it without Ro, so there was that.

He wasn't sure if any of the others would. He and Ronan had been the last to leave, and the only ones to really claim Dear Ol' Dad (although he had a feeling they both did it because it made it easier to pull the 'abused kid' card but that was besides the point). ((Or maybe it was just because Ro got outed and Vya couldn't let his sib go down alone.))

Besides, who else was going to go home, confirm the bastards death, deal with the will and estate and anything else? Lucien was too busy being a goddam hermit (Vya had tried calling him - about 15 times if his phone history was to be believed.) Lucky would probably laugh in the face of anyone who suggested she handle it. And Sven- no. It was him, and Ronan. He'd shit his pants if anyone else showed.

He took a shot and threw the damn letter away again.



Vya was drunk before he boarded the plane. He ordered another drink once he got settled, and spent the flight from Cali to NY playing games with a toddler in the seat next to him. His very tired mother looked very appreciative and neither of them acknowledged the fact that she 'accidentally' drank his coffee and baileys before taking a nap.

He fucked around in town for a bit, he hadn't been back to West Anne since he'd left the academy. He sent a few touristy pictures to a contact in his phone labeled '*Bee Emoji* J' and picked up a mug for him in a novelty shop and spelled out 'UNT' next to the handle. He could get the same stupid shit back home but he was traveling which made it special.

When he couldn't ignore what he was there for anymore, Vya found himself crossing that fucking drawbridge. While his PTSD didn't have shit on his siblings, it still wasn't pleasant, and he found himself wishing he could have held Ronan's attention long enough to coordinate their arrivals.

Pogo was waiting for him. Great. Vya took a swing from his flask.

"Master Vya-"

"I know my way around, I'm okay," Vya interrupted, his tone not as harsh as his words. Pogo opened his mouth, perhaps to say more, but for some reason Vya just really, really didn't want to hear it. "I need to take a walk."

He stood there just long enough to see Pogo nod his head and place both hands on a cane that was supporting him in his old age, then he fled. It wasn't about Pogo, not really, their relationship was pleasant if distant. It was about being home. The way the sea salt water smelled different on the West Coast than the East. It was about the way it felt crossing the draw bridge. It was about not being ready to enter the great hall and look into the face of a mother who hadn't aged a day since he was a child.

He didn't know where he was going at first. Why he bothered to run at all. It made more sense to go seek out Ronan (if they'd arrived yet) and a bottle of finely aged Scotch. But his feet propelled him outwards, until he was stumbling over graveyard dirt. A sad smile crossed his face as he realized where he was, and he pulled his flask from his coat again to take another drink before he climbed onto the statue and pressed his forehead against the cold metal of Ben's, preserved forever at sixteen. He wondered, briefly, if it was creepy now that he was an adult. But really, he didn't care.

"You could probably use a drink today too, huh?" Vya muttered, and let a little whiskey dribble onto the gravestone he was standing on. Find peace in the light. What a bunch of bullshit. "Don't worry, I won't let him be buried anywhere near you."

---

---

“Hello?” His voice was scratchy from the early morning, the cobwebs of sleep still tugging his mind back under. He’d arrived in Rio Grande a few days ago and was still adjusting to the time change. Lucien was early for this year's fishing season, so he’d promised to be on call for a new fishing crew he didn’t normally sail with. Usually his phone was lost somewhere in a coat pocket or bag, but he’d actually kept the ringer on and phone charged for once.

“Lucien,” Lucky whispered in a hush tone, as if her voice could carry down the hall and stairs, into the formal where Sven and Ronan waited. “Please say you’re on the way.”

The sun was filtering in the small window next to his bed, warming a patch across his face and giving him enough of a charge to pull himself upright. He ‘hmmmed’ into the phone at his sister, scratching a hand through salt tangled hair as he tried to sort out why the hell she would think he’d be on the way anywhere.

“Got any idea what time it is here?” He grumbled as he pulled the blinds up the window and directed himself fully into the sun's light, “Are you drunk or something?”

“What the fuck are you talking about? You better be on the same time zone as the rest of us because right now I am standing in my room. In the Anchor Academy. With Szen and Ronan downstairs.” Lucky spat as she spoke, her urgency pressed into her consonants. She looked out the window at the sound of the drawbridge lowering, squinting to make out who it was. “Didn’t you get the letter?”

Lucien let out a shaky breath, Lucky’s stressed voice seeping into his bones. Sven, Ronan, and Lucky were are back at the Academy? His mind immediately went to the the last true time the family had gathered, lowering Ben’s body into the ground while they all stood around him in matching uniforms. Lucien’s mind immediately screaming someone died again and he couldn’t stop the wave of anguish that passed over him. If Ronan, Sven, and Lucky were there, then it had to be Vya, Nathan, Uma, or Sav.

“No. No letter. I'm south for the season and I don’t have an address down here” His voice was shaking but he was trying his best to adopt that ‘Number One’ tone that meant all business. “Who was it?”

Lucky almost laughed, sinking back into the chair and massaging her temples. It was some sick irony that left it to her to break the news. The same person who had worked so hard to drive the wedge between them to deliver the final nail in the coffin. She used the butt of one cigarette to light another, wondering to herself if she’d have to go into town to buy another pack before the rest of them showed up.

“It’s dad,” She eventually sighed, watching as Vya exited the car below. “He’s dead.”

Lucien wasn’t really sure what the first feeling that washed through him was. Relief? That didn’t both him, they all knew Reginald deserved it, but it was also twinged with something like frustration. Leave it to their father to die and still make him feel like he should have been there to stop it. That haunting savior complex that only existed because of that man, what Lucien had spent the majority of his adult life running away from. Now he was washed in the hot morning sun of Argentina, half a world away, and wished he could just be there.

He was quiet for a while, glaring out the window and trying to figure out how to puzzle out his next words and the heaviness in his chest.

“You don’t have to come….” She eventually broke the silence, “I can manage the mess - who knows, maybe even Sav will show. I’ve already seen a couple of ghosts today; another one wouldn’t surprise me.”

His head was in his hands, the sunlight streaming against his bare back but doing little to comfort him. That relief turned frustration was beginning to darken to anger at his own reaction- Lucien shouldn't care this much. He’s wanted Reginald dead ever since Lucky had tugged him out of their fathers grasp. Maybe he was mad that he wasn’t the one to kill him, though Lucien had never thought of himself as a killer. Maybe he was just angry that Reginald was leaving them all to sort this shit out.

“How is everyone taking it?”

Lucky watched as Vya ran full sprint across the drive way toward the graveyard, pulling himself onto Ben’s statue and melding their foreheads together.

“Ugh....well, too soon to tell - but I guess they’re managing. You know, all things considered.” Lucky said, her face twisting into a combination of confusion and mild amusement as she watched Vya slowly unravel. “I mean, I haven’t really left my room yet so that’s just based off of first impressions from watching them through the window.”

“And you?” He paused for a moment, “You said I don't have to come, but do you want me to come?”, Do they want me to? went unsaid, but the thought was just one of those pieces he was trying to sort out.

Lucky felt her voice caught in her throat. Not because she didn’t want him to come, or maybe a part of her did - but more than that small bit of regret in that corner of her mind she just wanted to hug her brother. To actually have some sort of physical proof that he wasn’t just some voice at the other end of the phone.

“Of - Of course I do,” She stumbled over her words at first, suddenly realizing this was the first time she’d spoken to Lucien while sober in maybe years. “I know I’m not the only one either....

“Vya, he needs you.” She added, though her tone made it clear she was referring to herself.

He snorted, “Vya needs a lot of things” But he actually had a pang of longing for their weird, chaotic brother, “It would be good to see Mom and Pogo too, I’m sure this is hard on them”

Lucien stood and stretched, suddenly feeling like if he didnt act now he’d chicken out and hide with his fishing nets for a few more years.

“I'm south for the season so I gotta figure out a way back” He explained as he walked into the adjoining bathroom, already beginning to pull together a light bag, “I… well I have a vague idea of how to do it, I’ve never flown that far before”

Lucky’s brow furrowed, “Don’t you fly from Alaska to Argentina? - you know what, it doesn’t matter. Just if you can try to get here before the burial please?”

Her eyes drifted back to Vya, “I can - do my best to keep them all from spiraling out in the meantime.”

“Thank you” Lucien breathed out, “Really, thank you Lucky. I wouldn’t have known unless you called. I’m kinda proud the old man couldn’t find me in Argentina. I’ll see you when I land”

He hung up, his brain already cycling through how the fuck he was going to fly 6,536 miles without tiring. He probably should have explained to Lucky that he wouldn't be using a plane, though explaining this new growth in his power would take too much of his energy. Lucien understood the logistics, stay high above the clouds, keep the sun on him to charge up, and pack some energy bars for the flight. But the last time Lucien had flown for any length of time beyond some light power practice was six years ago when he’d skipped out on the Air Force and flown straight to Alaska.

He texted the fishing crew a vague ‘take me off the crew list’ and tossed his phone in his small pack. He’d grabbed a change of clothes, his stash of cliff bars, a couple water bottles, and his toothbrush. The small apartment he’d rented and few random belongings he’d brought would have to be ditched, but he didn’t care. Lucien hadn’t felt a drive like this to act in almost a decade and he was riding that adrenaline ever since Lucky had said yes, she did need him.

The morning was cold unless he stood in the direct sun, but his second-story apartment landing served as a great charging pad. The sky was cloudless, that burning ball that kept him alive a welcome warmth and electric pulse against his tanned skin. He stood there for ten solid minutes, a statue with his eyes closed and head tilted skyward. When he focused on it, it felt like the sun had its piercing eye on him and him alone, its light and warmth zeroed in on its favorite human.

Lucien whispered it a silent thanks, crouched, and allowed glowing tendrils of its light to bloom from his back. Hot like the glowing star itself, they shaped themselves into long feathery wing-like forms. Nothing concrete, only light manifested into power in order to keep him aloft. Similar to his shields, they pulsed with his light power and expelled in all direction, it only took a little maneuvering for Lucien to force them in a specific direction. Lucien reasoned that as long as he stayed high and allowed the sun to keep them charged, he’d have no issue reaching the Academy by nightfall.

They moved like his shields, heavy with power but light as the air itself. Lucien drove them downwards, threw himself on the balcony ledge, relished in the freefall before catching himself with a single beat of light, and aimed himself northward.