troublewillfindme

“Can we at least feign some normalcy?“

For a town at the center of one of the greatest cosmological mysteries ever observed, it’s surprisingly cute. It has its oddities, yes, but on the whole, he’d go so far as to call it charming. He’d say the hybrid floral shop-cryptid detective agency was an odd business model but something tells him they do a booming business.

–

Can I have the attic room? Harper’s text reads. Want to be Meg Murray.

Oliver chuckles and considers his response. Let’s just hope your never need Which, Whatsit, and Who to rescue me and Wesley.

–

The situation works like this: he has the kids during the school year and for the first half of the summer. Emma has them for the second half and school breaks. They spend the holidays together, one big dysfunctional family after all.

He’d offered them the chance to reverse the arrangement when it became clear the relocation was imminent. Not one of them even considered taking him up on his offer.

Harper rides in the front passenger seat, map spread out on her lap, charting their course. Mason, Leah, and Wesley take up the middle row, with a generous helping of snacks and their must have essentials in the third.

“Ready, Navigator?” He asks.

“Let’s go!”

–

Against all odds, it’s a pleasant ride north. They stop in North Carolina for the night, and manage a real dinner. In the hotel room, the twins gleefully jump on their bed.

They wake bright and early in the morning, and are on the road once more for the final six hours.

He drives them through the center of town on their way to the house. They’ll still beat the moving truck by hours, and he wants to get them acquainted with their new home.

“Dad,” Mason pipes up. “What’s a cryptid?”

–

They spend a busy night with the movers, hauling boxes and setting up the bare bones of the house. He finds Harper half-hanging out of her attic window, gazing up at the stars.

“It’s perfect, Dad,” she gushes.

He sends them off into town the next day while he unpacks the kitchen and waits for the cable company.

They return some time later, arms laden with flowers and a thermos of coffee — and without Mason.

“He’s still at the florist’s,” Harper explains. “Lizzie was happy for the distraction to keep Lazarus out of trouble, she said.”

“Who?”

“Lizzie. The florist.”

“And who is Lazarus?”

“They work for her.”

“Why did you leave your brother there?”

“Oh! Lazarus is a painter. We couldn’t get Mason to leave, and Lizzie didn’t mind.”

“You left your brother with a florist and a painter?”

“Here,” Harper says, pulling a piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it from her pocket. “She said you’d be worried.”

“She was right.”

“Lizzie’s nice, Dad. Don’t worry about it. We wouldn’t have left Mason with anyone bad. You can call her if you don’t believe me.”

“I think I’ll just go introduce myself.”

–

He finds his son safe and unharmed, happily sitting on the counter when he walks in the door. He opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off by a woman somewhere in the back.

“Will, that better not be drawn in blood.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; it’s ketchup.”

“And, technically, it’s painted,” a third voice adds.

Oliver feels the color drain from his face.

“Hey, Lizzie!” Mason yells. “Dad’s here!”

The woman who emerges does not look like a serial killer, at least, but he knows all too well how deceptive looks can be.

And she had just implied there might be blood somewhere.

But she doesn’t seem threatening.

“Hi,” she says, extending a hand. “I’m Lizzie. You must be Oliver; welcome to town.”

He takes it. “I hear I owe your assistant for their time.”

“More like I owe your son for his.”

Something crashes in the background and he watches her grimace. “He did a lot to keep Lazarus from their more … adventurous tendencies.”

“Lazzy told me about the cult!”

“The … cult?”

“They’re friendly. Not … Jim Jones or Heaven’s Gate. Just … you know. Paying homage to the ocean. While running around dressed like knights. With cats.”

Oliver thinks he’s losing his mind, but she does have the decency to look sheepish.

“You get used to it?” Lizzie offers. “It was kind of a shock for me when I moved in. But, they’re not recruiting anyone. Well,” she pauses. “Not actively. They’re pretty welcoming, but —”

Another crash in the background.

“Should you go … check on that?” He asks.

She shakes her head. “It’s … I’m sure it’s fine.”

A third crash.

A look of positively parental exasperation passes over her face. It’s a feeling he knows well.

“We have company, you two!” She calls over her shoulder. “Can we at least feign some normalcy?”

“Boss, normal is vastly overrated,” Lazarus yells back.

Again the look of exasperation. Oliver begins to understand Harper’s assessment.

“Elizabeth,” a taller man appears over her shoulder.

He realizes he should have made the connection. A town full of strange happens and the name Will should have pointed him to only one person. He’s still shocked to cross paths with Weir out in the wild.

Weir looks every bit as surprised. “Hayden.”

“Weir.”

“Oh good,” Lizzie says. “You two know … each … other?”

“Work,” Weir answers, not missing a beat.

“Work,” Oliver agrees.

Mason looks to him. Lizzie looks to Weir. Neither of them volunteer any more detail.

If Weir is here, the situation’s even more interesting than he’d been led to believe. After the incident with his agents and the Looking Glass, his people had taken a keen interest in the phenomenon. For Weir to be out in the field, well.

Oliver has a feeling it’ll be a very productive tenure at Wallops.