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fallingupwardsinlife · 2 years

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And We All Fall Down

Eliza Vorez hadn't always run a freak show. Before that, she was a cheerful woman with a wonderful son that had been the center of her world. So people now whisper about how sad it is, with what happened.

a/n: lil fic about a potential eliza origin story, generally pretty canon compliant. crossposted on ao3 here

Eliza wasn't afraid to admit that she was a proud woman. Everyone in her borough knew there wasn't a damn thing on this earth that could force her to lower her head. No matter what sort of bullshit she faced, she remained upright and bold.

It was this fact that had endeared her to a few people in her niche community consisting of most tenants in Brightview Apartments — one of which was a bookstore owner named Farla Smith. The two ladies loved to chat over novels and gossip, and Farla's favorite query was about Eliza's culture. In a world of American assimilation, the Roma stood out to her with their grace.

They often discussed the tragedy of lost customs and the beauty of Romani art. Occasionally, Farla would even manage to get her hands on a rather rare book written by scholars of the past, which often rambled on prose about forgotten traditions they had discovered after talking with kumpanias. These instances were highlights of the month for Eliza as she took them home. An entire bookcase had been dedicated to these texts in the back wall of her office in the apartment, to the chagrin of her young and curious son Silas. Sometimes she would catch a glimpse of him futilely reaching towards the top shelf with adorably pudgy fingers.

This time, Eliza was particularly excited to be bringing back a journal about an apparent phuri dai.

"I am home~" she called out cheerily. A thud in Silas' room sounded out before she heard the quick pitter patter of little feet rushing over. His tiny body flung itself into her outstretched arms at absurd speeds.

She couldn't help the smile spreading across her face as he snuggled his face closer. "Mamă," he pouted.

"Yes, my puiule?"

At that moment, the boy seemed to notice the book cradled in her bag. His eyes lit up with delight while his hands made grabbing motions towards it.

"Ah ah ah," she quickly tutted, moving it out of reach. "This is a very important book." Eliza stepped away to set her bag on the dining table then hoisted Silas into her arms.

"Did Doamna Smith give it to you?" He asked slowly, each syllable drawn out with care. Despite talking to her, his gaze never left the letterbound object. It was almost as if he forgot that he could hardly read.

She let out a small snort of amusement, poking the tip of his nose fondly. "Yes," Eliza drawled in a similarly slow pace. "And this one is quite special. Doamna Smith said that inside is a little ritual to give you the strength of a wolf. Wouldn't it be nice to not get sick so often?"

When Farla had first claimed that there was a ritual inside that could help Silas, she didn't dare to think it true. Her little boy had always been rather frail, getting colds every winter and the flu every spring without fail. Worse still, his illnesses lasted for weeks at a time. If modern medicine could hardly placate these diseases, what were the odds that this book would hold the answers? But she couldn't stop the little seedling of hope sprouting within that her culture had truly found a way to help her baby. At the very least, it would be fun to try a ritual together. Americans seemed to love them; she had once heard of athletes creating lucky garments to wear at games and children flushing ice cubes.

So once Silas nodded quietly, they began their preparation together.

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Mother and son giggled in sync as they doodled a little smiley face onto Silas' arm in wine. "Draw a kitty please," he whispered to her, voice rising in pitch with excitement. While the journal claimed the subject of the blessing needed to be painted with wine, it hadn't specified anything beyond that. So of course the two decided to have fun with it.

Eliza pressed a kiss to the top of his head before muttering an instruction to blow out the candle before them — it was a rather lovely campfire scent from Target. Grubby hands grasped the candle delicately as he let out a tiny puff of air. The flame flickered out, leaving behind imprints in their vision and tiny trails of smoke wafting up towards the low ceiling. Her breath caught in her throat with anticipation. Please, she silently prayed.

But nothing happened.

Hope died within her just as the fire had.

Silas shifted uncomfortably in his seat, tugging at the collar of his Transformers shirt. "Mamă, it's hot," he whined. A frown pulled the corner of his lips. "It's too hot."

She waited another beat for something to happen before she finally rose up out of her chair to fetch him a glass of water. Ice cubes clinked into the cup loudly enough that it could almost drown out the disappointment echoing in her mind, yet she knew nothing could erase the bitter taste building on her tongue. Eliza set the glass down in front of her son, paying no mind to the way his eyes snapped into a hateful glare at the liquid before him. It was only when he began to growl that she turned fully to face him.

"Silas?" she questioned.

"I don't want water," he hissed back, digging his nails into the table before him. They left tiny gauges in the surface, although she could have sworn she clipped his nails just the other day. Perhaps it was time to replace that old table then.

"Watch your tone," Eliza warned him absentmindedly as she leaned in closer to inspect the damaged wood, then promptly had to fling herself backwards as he hurled the cup at the wall. The glass shattered into countless crystalline pieces tinkling down to the carpet like sharp snow. Her heart had practically leapt in her chest, throat clamming up. Each shard glimmered under the kitchen light as if to taunt about her near fate. Holy shit.

Silas snarled almost inhumanly with bared teeth. His nails dug deeper into the table until it cleaved a crack clean through.

It felt like her brain had just bluescreened — she didn't even know what to do at this point. Eliza thrust her hand out to point down the hall furiously, limbs trembling. "To your room, now."

As his little feet stomped away far more forcefully than should have been possible, she collapsed into her chair. Heavy sighs escaped her lips. Silas had never been so unruly before, so what was happening now? Had he been hurt by someone? A twinge of pain curled in her chest at the thought; no matter how incorrigible, he was still her son. If she could shield him from all troubles, she would in a heartbeat.

Perhaps she ought to send him to a therapist. Although, she worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she thought, that may not be possible. With the landlord hiking up rent recently, money had gotten tight.

Loud crashes and a shriek of what she assumed was frustration destroyed the quiet atmosphere that had draped over the apartment. Wordless screams continued on and she shifted uncomfortably. Her son had always been the type to scream when throwing a fit, but it still unsettled her every time. The door rattled in its frame as he shook at the handle.

On and on for hours, she could hear Silas fussing about. She couldn't bend on this, however. There were already enough people doubting she could raise him on her own. Allowing him to run rampant and unchecked would simply turn the both of them into a laughing stock.

She had a restless sleep that night.

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The next morning, she rose with the sun and stumbled over to Silas' room. "It's time to get up, puiule," her groggy voice called out, still thick with sleep.

There was no response.

Eliza frowned, suddenly unnerved. Her baby was a light sleeper; even the slightest prompting would rouse him ordinarily. "Silas?" She pressed her ear to the door to search for even the slightest sound. Mere silence greeted her.

Her heart skipped a beat and she flung the door open, to be greeted with a sight that seared itself into her mind.

A limp body laid in the center of a gory room, blood splattered everywhere. The crimson liquid crawled up the walls as if clawing to bring the ceiling down closer while scraps of clothing she had bought only last week scattered over plastic toys and shredded bedsheets. Crayon drawings that had been so lovingly crafted were ripped from their places and torn apart.

And her son. Oh, god, her precious son. She had never realised just how impossibly small her son was until that moment. Her knees had collided with the wooden floor at some point as she desperately flew forward. No matter how she shook and pled to any god that would listen, he remained still, a lump on his dinosaur rug.

Someone was screaming but she couldn't bring herself to tear her gaze from her baby to look for who. It was only when she took in a rasping breath that rattled her heaving chest that she realised it was her.

In the distance, she absently noted the sirens headed her direction, likely called by the neighbors. Her hands grasped tighter to Silas, pulling him into her chest and paying no mind to the scarlet now painting her front. "It's gonna be alright darling," she whispered to him thickly as she smoothed down his hair with a shaking hand.

He didn't respond.

Law enforcement finally bustled in, ushering the pair down to the parking and into a waiting ambulance, all the while bombarding her with questions that fell on deaf ears. The only thing that mattered was watching the paramedics check over her son.

Tears that had been loitering in her eyes at last cascaded down, and she found herself unable to stop the sobbing. Her shoulders shook, head dizzy as her vision began to blot out, but still she refused to look away.

The blaring sirens were wailing and her son was dying and she didn't know what was going on and oh dear god not her baby, please don't take her baby—

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Eliza sat draped in her chair, gazing emptily out in front of her until the doctor finally stepped into the room. She snapped to attention.

"You are Mrs. Vorez, correct?" he peered at her from over his clipboard with a raised brow. Upon seeing her nod a bit too harshly, he continued. "Quite frankly, we're all a bit puzzled. Despite all of the blood covering the boy belonging to him, he shows no signs of blood loss. In fact, the only abnormality is a slightly high level of cortisol in his blood. He seems to be in perfect health otherwise."

It was as if strings had been cut from a puppet with how she positively melted in relief. Silas was alright.

"You can check him out at the front desk and we'll send you the bill shortly."

Her brief high was sent crashing down, reality settling in. "Alright," she muttered tightly after a moment, which the doctor took as his sign to leave. A trance settled over her to guide her feet towards Silas. His little face turned to face her and he lit up.

"Mamă," he cooed. Despite it all, he could still make her lips curl up into the softest smile. "This is a really big room!" His arms flung out all the way to emphasize just how big it was like she couldn't see for herself.

"Yes darling," she replied with a kiss to his head. "Do you like these big rooms?" His giggles eased the ache in her chest as she drew him into her embrace, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. The past few hours had been nervewracking and utterly horrid, but feeling his tiny body cuddled against her made it all worth it.

All worth it, she repeated to herself solemnly, even a half hour later at the front desk as she tried bargaining with her insurance on the phone as the secretary sat only a few feet away impatiently.

Worth it, she repeated again as her baby cried quietly, blubbering out apologies as she returned whispered reassurances all the while a pile grew in the corner of their living room to be shipped off to whatever pawn shop would take them.

“Worth it,” she hollowly echoed to the empty air of her living room, staring at the piece of paper before her notifying of her company’s ‘difficult decision to let go of a loyal, long-term employee due to recent budget cuts.’

Eliza stood up and drifted out of her apartment complex. Perhaps there were some shops in town that needed a new shophand. Or a restaurant that needed a waitress. Or anything that would provide some relief and end to the nights of sending her baby off to bed with yet another shitty microwaved meal unbefitting of the center of her world she called Silas.

“Please,” she begged, not even bothering to fight off the stinging in her eyes and trembling of her jaw. “I’ll be the best employee you’ve ever had.” Her hands shook from where she clasped them in front of herself. Yet still, the man before her merely sneered.

“I’ve already got enough bozos workin’ shop,” he drawled in a gravelly voice she was beginning to despise. Each word sent that drip of sweat beading on his forehead just a centimeter lower. As he paused, he looked her up and down with a considering gaze. “...You’re one of them damn gypsies, aren’t you?”

She froze.

At her sudden nervous expression, he cackled. “Tell you what,” the bastard started gleefully, “If you put on a nice lil’ circus act, I just might have somethin’ for ya.”

Lights overhead them both buzzed dully as if in agreement. They flickered on and off in taunting flashes. Take the deal, they hissed treacherously, prove all those idiots right. You’ve got no choice left. The sound of the air conditioning unit turning on in the distance hummed like a round of applause to the offer, and a chill settled in the air.

She stumbled out the door, vision blurred and cheeks burning red with shame. “I am not an exhibit,” she harshly declared to no one, and her voice cracking at the end was stubbornly ignored as she stormed back home. The door slammed behind her thunderously, rattling picture frames from where they rested on her wall. It felt as if nothing could quell the firestorm of fury building up within her–

Until she opened the fridge to find nothing left but a half empty ketchup bottle and a handful of eggs that she already knew had gone bad. The final nail in the coffin was the sound of her son’s stomach rumbling from somewhere behind her.

She began planning out the flyers the next day.

#the quarry #eliza vorez #silas vorez #fanfic #the quarry fanfic

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