Title: Scattered Thoughts

Author: WhimsicallyAwkward

Rating: T

Beta: No Beta...all me, so forgive minor mistakes please. Also, I tend to be a comma whore - so forgive that as well.

Disclaimer: And, once again, I do not own any part of the Alpha and Omega series. No monetary gain is made.

A/N: So yes, when I look at my last update, I see that little line about the next update not taking long, and I cringe. I'm so sorry guys. And really, I have no excuse. I had the next update almost completely written when I last posted, and then I hit a terrible writer's block. I ended up going back and deleting a good bit of what I'd already written. So, anyways, I'm terribly sorry.
But, hey! Good news - I guess. This is not the last you will see of Heather. She has gotten into my brain, and her entire life has thrown itself at me, so her piece keeps growing and growing. That means that there will be a part 3!

Anna won't make an appearance until the next update.

Long note I know, but bear with me. I realize now that I didn't do a very good job of letting you all know who Heather was, and when the snap shots were taking place.


Heather Morrell is a mid-40s woman that we briefly met in Cry Wolf. She grew up in Aspen Creek, and her uncle is Tag. She and Tag brought the human victim(Heather's friend) of the rogue werewolf in to Aspen Creek to be seen by Bran and Samuel. Not much is known about her.


Heather Morrell: Part ll

She's thirteen. Her hair is long, her face full of braces.

She's adventurous. Always outside. Always playing with the boys. Baseball, dodge ball, anything and everything.

And she's known to never back down from a dare. Ever. It's a thing of pride for her.

And it is sometimes her downfall.

Like right now. Her friends Daniel and Mark are standing alongside her, next to a plain black mailbox.

A mailbox that sends terror through her.

Heather takes a deep breath, and stuffs her hands in her pockets so the boys won't see them shaking.

Her voice croaked in the cold weather. "Okay. So, I go up the driveway, and into the house."

Daniel nods. "Yeah, and bring back something to prove you went in."

Steal? From Charles Cornick's house? Well, that was her death sentence wrapped up in a bow.

She hesitates, and Daniel grins in victory. "I knew you would back down! Who's the -"

"Shut up, Danny. I'm going."

Danny's smile fades, and he sneers, "Your death wish."

Heather gives him an unimpressed look, and turns on her heel.

"Wait!"

It's Mark. Heather turns expectantly, sees him looking between her and Daniel in rapid succession.

"You can't be serious, Danny. We can't make her go through with this. It's dangerous! I think you can see that she is planning to go through with it. Isn't that enough?"

"No it isn't. It's a dare. You have to go through with it."

Mark groaned, his eyes still panicked.

Heather willed her face to smile. "It's okay, Mark. I'm going to go in, and then right back out. He won't even know I've been there. And if he did, it's not like he'd kill some stupid teenager, right?"

Her voice shook a bit on the last sentence, making it lose any power it had. But it reassured Mark, so she set off down the long driveway.

And it was a long driveway.

It's cold, and she's scared, and it's probably the most miserable she's ever been.

All dread, and terror churning in her stomach.

It doesn't matter that Charles Cornick isn't even in town. She still imagines him lunging at her in his wolf form when she walks into his house. And she's never even seen his wolf form.

No one goes inside Charles Cornick's house. So few even go down his driveway. No one looks at him wrong, no one speaks to him wrong.

So many stories she's heard, so many nightmare things.

She stops, her fear getting the better of her.

God, what is she doing?

Risking her life because of her pride. So stupid. Charles Cornick is a killer, and she's going to break into his house.

Her breathing is heavy, and her knees are weak.

There is still a good ways left to walk, but she can see the house now. It's dark. There is one faint light he apparently left on.

Okay. Breathe. He's out-of-town. Gone, like he always is. Off killing more people.

Okay, that last thought didn't help with the nerves.

Heather makes her legs move. She's a sensible person, and she knows that she'll be in and out. Real fast.

She'll pick something small up, and then she'll bring it back before anyone ever finds out.

Oh, if her mother could see her now.

She quits thinking, because she'll end up turning and running. She focuses on her breathing, on one foot in front of the other.

And then she's there. The house is right in front of her. Not overly big, not very fancy. Just a ranch style house, a truck parked in the driveway.

Okay, okay. No thinking, just doing. Just keep moving.

Heather, with one last look around, wrapped her hand around the door knob. She breathed once, twice, three times before pushing the door open.

She entered quickly. Then she stopped and rested her back on the door.

Just a house. A house like any other. A house like hers - with some considerably nicer things. Not a dungeon. Not a crypt like the monsters in the stories would live in.

Heather jumps into action. She needs to get in and get out. Her teeth are on edge, and her body keeps trying to run.

Something to take, something to take.

She sees a blanket first, turns it down because it's too big. There's a guitar, but that isn't a meaningless object.

She looks - frantic. A photograph? No. A pillow? No.

Running to the kitchen, she pulls open a few of the cupboards until she finds one with the glasses.

Not taking any time, she snatches a coffee mug, before gently shutting the cupboard. She makes herself walk back to the door.

Once Heather's got the door shut behind her - she's running.

The mug is cradled in her hands. Her body itching with the desire to get away.

Then she's huffing, and the boys are gasping. Heather collapses, her face dropping between her knees. Her stomach is rolling, and she hopes she can fight past the nausea.

"Oh my god, you did it! Why did you do that? Oh, we are so dead, so dead."

And Heather wants to cry, but she doesn't. She gathers herself to snap at Danny, but Mark get's there first.

"Shut up, Danny! It was your idea, remember?"

"Yeah, but I didn't think she'd go through with it!"

"Well she did. And you just going to have to deal with it."

Heather thinks she's okay now. The terror that had her knees shaking is numbed, so she stands; turns her eyes coldly to Danny.

"Well? Is this proof enough?"

The mug dangles on her fingers, right in front of Danny's face.

Danny's mouth is hanging open, his eyes wide. He nods slowly. "Um, yeah."

Heather nods too. Then she gives the mug to Mark to hold. She starts to wipe off the dirt on her jeans.

"Good. Because we're going to run back up there, and replace the mug before he gets back. That way he'll never know."

Mark just stares at the mug like it's going to attack him, but Danny looks shocked.

"We? It's your dare!"

"My dare was to break into his house alone, and to take something to prove I did. You never said that I had to go back to that place on my own."

She likes to think that she's making them come so that she can see the same fear she feels on Danny's face. But really, she doesn't think that she'd make it back to the house without someone to walk beside her.

It's illogical, because no one is at the house. She can't help it though. She just wouldn't make it up that long driveway.

So they start walking, none of them saying anything to each other. She takes the mug from Mark, and she tucks it into her shirt. She'd so scared that something will happen to it, and that Charles will know.

They can see the house now, and relief is preparing to set in when they hear it.

A car. Coming up the driveway.

Oh God. Oh God.

They were screwed now. Heather freezes, her eyes looking for the headlights to shine through the trees.

It was all over. She was never going to see her brothers again. Never going to watch TV with her uncle. Never hug her mom.

Oh, her mom. Amelia would be heartbroken.

Mark is screaming in her ear, so she looks at him. He frantically points. She follows it, sees that Danny has already tucked himself in the bushes. Hiding.

Oh, brilliant. She'd just have to put up with him after all.

Then she's running. She dives into the bushes, and when she hears the breaking of the mug so carefully contained, she wants to cry. But there are more pressing issues, and she stuffs herself as far back as possible. They all stop moving.

The car is close now; they can see headlights.

Then it's there - passing. Heather stops breathing. It doesn't slow, doesn't stop. Then it's gone. On down the road.

They wait until it's almost out of sight, and then they run all the way back to Mark's house. His sister is the only one there, and she only turns her nose up at the three dirty kids.

They go to his room, lay the broken fragments of the mug on his bed. They stare at it, and at each other until Mark's mom gets home.

They were so dead.


It's been three days. Three, long days. Later, she'd look back on it as the three most miserable days of her life.

Heather took the broken pieces home with her. She hid them in her closet.

Charles Cornick still hadn't returned home, and they were still living in dread.

Her family noticed how reserved she was acting, but she just brushed them off. Tag sat her down yesterday; asked her what she was so afraid of. She mentions something about an essay, and ignores his severe frown.

It's the same with her friends at school. Her and the boys hadn't told a soul what had happened.

Oh, it was horrible. The waiting, the dreading.

It's Sunday now, and she's sitting in church with Tag, Brady, and her mom. She can see Mark from where she's at. She knows Danny is somewhere behind her.

She knows that they are as petrified as she is.

Will today be the day he returns? He left last Monday, and he's almost never gone for more that a week. He rarely misses coming to church with his dad and his brother.

He was probably going to walk through those doors any second, and he would walk straight to her and accuse her of stealing. Then the Marrok would come over, Samuel at his side.

They would all stare down at her with their timeless faces.

Okay. Breathe. Stay calm.

Tag is here. Uncle Tag is sitting right next to her.

The thought gives her a lot of comfort. Uncle Tag is a werewolf too. He won't let Charles kill her. No.

Heather breathes. For comfort, she grabs on her uncle's arm. He looks down at her and smiles.

The Marrok and Samuel walk in…but there is no Charles.

Oh, the relief is sweet.

Another day. He was gone for at least another day.

There is some small part inside of her that is disappointed. That small part is just ready for the waiting to be over. She tells it to shut up.

The two make it down the aisle. Neither of them look anywhere near Heather or her two accomplices.

And for the next five minutes, Heather is okay. She thinks she'll be okay for a whole day now.

Heather lets out another breath, when suddenly a presence sweeps over the room.

A presence that feels an awful lot like that of Charles Cornick.

Her fear rocketing up, she tucks herself further into Tag's arm.

Sure enough, there he is. The Enforcer in all his glory. His face as cold as ever, his hair tied back.

The sight of him makes Heather crumple a bit.

The Enforcer is walking closer.

But he doesn't slow his stride, and he pays just as much attention to her as his family did before him.

Maybe they made it. Maybe they succeeded in not being found out. Maybe he doesn't really pay attention to the amount of coffee mugs he has in his cupboard.

Or maybe he just hasn't been home yet. Hasn't been there to discover he's been broken into.

Well, technically his door was open. But that's because he's one of the biggest wolves around here. No one would be stupid enough to break into his house.

No one except for Heather.

She doesn't know how she made it through the service without hyperventilating. Looking back on it later, she can't even remember what she did. What the service was about.

All she knew was that afterwards, she was standing in the church with her mom. They were talking to Miss Gloria. Charles Cornick was walking out the door.

Leaving! He left!

Gone without a word, without a glance. Maybe they'd done it. She tries to bat it off, but hope overtakes her.

Maybe, just maybe.

She meets Mark's eyes before he leaves, and he gives her a wobbly smile.

They leave. Tag and Brady head to Heather's house, and Heather goes with her mom to the store. They grocery shop every Sunday, and the routine of it helps soothe her frayed nerves.

By the time they get to the house, she's almost calm. But then she sees the truck in the driveway.

It's Charles's.

And just like that, her stomach drops, her heart races, and she thinks she's just going to die right here in the driveway. It'd probably be for the best. That way, she wouldn't have to face Charles Cornick.

Oh god.

She's shaking, and her mom frowns at the car - pulls Heather in to her side.

"Heather, baby? What's wrong?"

Heather shakes her head, tucks herself closer to her mom.

"He's not going to hurt you, Heather. He's probably just talking to Tag about werewolf business. It's okay, baby."

Then she stops, looks between Heather and the house. "Do you want to go somewhere until they're through?"

Heather sees the escape, and she almost takes it. But then that part of her that is so tired of waiting stops her.

"No."

Her mom is still frowning, and Heather's knees are still shaking as they walk to the door.

Heather holds tight to her mom's hand.

Everyone is in the kitchen. The air is almost suffocating.

Charles and Bran Cornick are both there. Sitting at Heather's kitchen table. It was an almost comical sight. To see people of such power sitting casually in Heather's home.

Tag had pulled a chair away from the table, and he'd folded himself into it. His arms were crossed over his massive chest, and his lips were pressed tight.

Brady was as far as he could get from the two guests. All the way across the kitchen, sitting on the counter, his back pressed against the cupboards. He wasn't moving. He was barely even breathing. His jaw clenched tight.

He wouldn't look at the Cornick's, but his body language made his feelings clear.

And Heather? Heather was drowning in her own fear.

Amelia walked them closer, and Heather pressed back into her mom. Trying to melt into her.

Her heart was going to give out if it didn't stop beating this fast.

"What is going on, Tag?"

Her mom hadn't yelled, but her voice sounded unnaturally loud.

Tag glanced over Heather; met his sister's eyes.

"They're here to talk to Heather."

Her mom's arm wrapped protectively around her.

"Heather? What? Why?"

Tag looked at Heather then, and Heather felt stinging in her eyes.

"They say that she went to Charles's house while he was away. That she broke in and stole a mug from his cabinet."

Heather felt the first tear well over.

Amelia's hold on her daughter tightened. "What? That's ridiculous! Heather wouldn't -"

"Amelia."

When Tag said her name, Amelia looked down at her daughter. Saw her fear, and her tears, and she stopped talking. Heather saw some emotion cross her face before it hardened.

Brady hopped off of his perch, walked over to stand next to them. He held his arms out, and Heather slipped out of her mother's slackened hold.

Brady. Her older brother. Who'd always protected her. She stood in his arms, taking shuddering breaths.

Uncle Tag met Heather's eyes.

"Is this true, Heather?"

She felt the weight of the Cornicks' eyes, and she almost buckled beneath it.

Slowly, she nodded her head yes.

And then, before she lost her nerve, she looked over at Charles - stared at a spot just beside his head.

"I - I'm sorry. I w-was going to put it b-back, but there was a car, and w-we, um, we got scared and hid, and I accidentally broke it, and I'm sorry!"

It was stuttering and shaky, and she had to force the last words out, but she managed it.

Bran, old-man Bran, spoke.

"We?"

Heather paled. They hadn't known about Mark and Daniel, and now she'd blown it.

She didn't say anything.

"It's okay, Heather. We already know that Mr. Daniel and Mr. Mark were there to."

She felt her eyes widen, saw Bran chuckle. "H-um, how did you know that?"

He stared at her, and she stared at his ear. "Wolves have extremely heightened senses, Heather. When Charles arrived home he was able to smell the three of you."

Oh. So really, they'd all been screwed the moment they stood at the top of his driveway.

Heather tried to look at Charles, and couldn't manage it. She saw Bran frown, glance at his son. And then suddenly the room was lighter, and her fear wasn't pressing into her so bad.

Behind her, Brady let out a small gasp.

Her fear was still there, but the all-crushing sense of doom was gone, and she figured it had something to do with the fact that Charles Cornick had managed to bottle up his aura.

The powerful presence that always followed him had been stuffed somewhere inside him.

Heather stared in wonder, and tried to meet his eyes.

Nope. Her gaze met his, and then floated immediately away. Everything was still there in those eyes. She remembers being able to meet those eyes when she was a child. Things had definitely changed.

He spoke, his voice piercing the room. "Heather."

Brady pulled her closer to him, and she felt like crying again. Here it was. Now he was going to accuse her of her crimes.

She looked at his hands that were resting on the table, and made herself speak.

"Yes sir?"

"I'm not going to hurt you. You have my word. You can ask your uncle. Wolves cannot lie to other wolves. He would know if I weren't telling the truth."

Despite herself, her curiosity forced the question passed her lips.

"You know when people are lying?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Oh. Well. I guess it's a good thing that I didn't lie about going into your house?"

He didn't smile, but Bran did, and when Charles spoke, his voice was lighter.

"Yes. It is."

No one spoke for a beat.

"Now, Heather. I just want to know why you went in my house, and took a coffee mug."

"It was a dare."

"A dare?"

"Yes sir. My friend Daniel dared me to go into your house, but then when we got there he made me bring something back because he wanted proof. He said that I wouldn't go into your house because I would be too afraid. So I had to go in, and get the mug. I was going to take it back, I swear! But when we were on the way back, a car came. We hid in the bushes and I accidentally broke it. I'm really sorry."

She forced herself to stop babbling. No one said anything, and Heather bit her lip, waited for the verdict.

She'd gone into a werewolf's house without permission. Gone into Charles Cornick's house. And now he was here, and he could kill her if he wanted to. And he probably wouldn't lose sleep over it.

That's what everyone said. That he was a killer. That he was cold, and emotionless, and ruthless. Her friends at school said their parents told them that he had killed hundreds.

What was one more?

So she waited, heart pounding, and her instincts screaming at her to run.

She cringed when he opened his mouth to talk, and then her jaw dropped at what he said.

"Well, you proved Daniel wrong, didn't you?"

Tag was smirking, and Bran was laughing, and Brady was frozen.

And Charles, the emotionless killer, was smiling at her.

Smiling!

It wasn't dramatic or anything. Actually - on anyone else, Heather would have said it wasn't even a smile. But his lips turned up, and it was the closest to a smile she'd ever seen him get.

Bran laughed, "She certainly did. You've got more guts than most, Heather. I don't know many grown men that would do what you did."

Heather, confused and still fearful, blushed.

"I didn't want to back down. I've never lost a dare."

Tag called her his girl, and her mom offered food. Everyone was talking, but Heather was still dumbstruck.

He hadn't even been angry! He'd smiled, and she was okay. She was definitely going to have a story to tell everyone at school.

Heather looked over at Charles, who was nursing his drink and not talking. His overwhelming personality still hidden somewhere.

He'd smiled, and she was still alive.

She thought about the stories she'd always heard, thought about everything she'd seen. He was definitely dangerous, and she knew he did kill people.

He'd killed her dad. She'd found that out a year ago.

Her mom had told her about her dad getting sick. He'd gotten sick, and he had three kids, so he'd had to try. Had to try to live. So he'd been changed.

But a lot of people didn't survive the change. That was why, every year they had three or four funerals in a row.

Her mom said that Charles killed them because they couldn't control the wolf inside. Said that it had to be done. She said that their dad would have wanted to die, because he couldn't control himself, and he would've hurt them. He wasn't the same person.

Her brothers said it was bullshit. They said that their dad deserved a chance, and that Charles was a cold-blooded killer.

Heather never knew what she believed, never knew how to feel.

But now, sitting at a table with two of the three Cornicks, she sided firmly with her mom.

Because Charles wasn't evil. She thought he was strong. Strong enough to do what he had to do. She didn't know why he was so cold, but she knew that he wasn't evil. That didn't mean he wasn't scary. Even now her heart still pounded.

Bran wasn't evil either. Bran, who laughed and called her brave. But, like his son, that didn't mean he wasn't scary.

Later, when they're walking out the door. Charles looks at her and says, "If anyone dares you to go in my house again, tell me beforehand."

She smiles, and says, "Maybe I could get you to scare them out of it?"

He doesn't say anything, but she sees that almost smile.

Then they're gone, and she hugs Tag and her mom. Her brother is scowling in the corner, and she can only feel sad that he doesn't see what she does in Charles Cornick. She will always fear him, though. Because he kills on command, and for the rest of her life, every time she sees him the fear will run over her skin.


She's eighteen. She's made it through school, and the world is open to her. It's exciting, and so scary.

It doesn't feel real. But it is.

She's standing in her gown with all of her classmates. She can see her family. Her mom, with hair more gray than brown now, smiling proudly. Uncle Tag who was trying to make himself fit into the chair provided.

And her brothers. She didn't even know if they would show up. Their continued hatred for the Cornicks, and the ways of this town had put a wedge in the family. They weren't estranged, but things were always tense when everyone was together in Aspen Creek - which is why for the most part, Heather and her mom visited them.

Josh was pulling on his tie, and that made Heather smile. He'd never been one for suits and ties. It was nice to see that old habit.

His wife was next to him, all pretty smiles and long blonde hair. They'd met at college, and gotten married when Heather was sixteen.

Her name was Jill, and Heather liked her. Because they lived outside of Aspen Creek, Josh wasn't supposed to tell her about the hidden side of the town, but he had.

In the aftermath there had been a blowup argument between Josh and Tag. The two of them still hadn't settled their differences completely. Heather didn't think they ever would.

Jill had reacted fine though. She'd been shaken up at first, but then settled to the idea. She really was great. Heather thought she was perfect for Josh.

Josh pulled her close to him, rested his hand on her growing stomach.

Brady was next to Josh, towering over him. Both boys had grown big, but Josh had stopped growing around 6'2 while Brady shot up to 6'5. He was still several inches shorted than Tag though.

Despite everything - all the fights and the differences - Heather loved each one of them fiercely. They were all here, and that was all that mattered.

Josh and Brady hadn't even made a fuss over the Cornicks presence.

All four of them.

Bran, Leah, Charles, and Samuel.

It was well-known that every year, Bran made it to graduation. But Samuel missed now and then, Leah sporadically made it, and Charles almost never made it.

So it was incredibly rare for them all to make it.

They were sitting in the back; being so indiscreet that they wouldn't have even been noticed had it not been for who they were.

None of them had changed. Not one bit. Heather understood the 'werewolves don't age' , but it was still weird to see people she'd grown up around never change.

Heather forgot about it all as she laughed, and cried with her friends. Everyone was going places, different colleges, different towns.

Including Heather.

Growing up she'd always planned to stay in Aspen Creek for the rest of her life, but she'd gotten a full-ride scholarship to an out-of-state college. She'd almost talked herself out of it, because she couldn't leave her mom, could she? She'd hated her brothers for leaving and now she was planning on it, but her mom had been her number one supporter.

So here she was, smiling with her family. Getting back-breaking hugs from her Uncle Tag and her brothers. Trading words with her mom.

Over her mom's shoulder, she sees Charles Cornick.

He looks the same as he did when she was five and blocking his way in the church aisle.

He's standing with his brother. A quick glance around shows Heather that Bran and his wife are talking with a few parents.

She'll never really know what possessed her to do it, but one second she's standing with her family, and the next she's walking over to Charles and Samuel.

She doesn't even know what she plans on saying, and she can barely think over the pounding of her heart.

The traditional fear that accompanies the Cornicks makes her knees wobbly and her palms sweaty.

They see her coming. Samuel smiles and raises an eyebrow, but Charles only looks.

She looks at the less threatening brother, hoping she won't lose her nerve.

Then she's standing in front of them, and the only thing she can think to say is "Hi."

Samuel's eyes flash in amusement, but he keeps his face straight for her benefit.

"Hi, Heather."

She starts. "You know my name?"

Samuel does grin now. "Well, it's a small town. And like I would forget the name of the kid who had the nerve to break into my brother's house."

She blushes deeply, stammers and then makes herself stop when Samuel laughs.

"Yeah, well they would have never let me forget it if I backed down." She could have left it there, but she felt compelled to explain. "I had prided myself on never backing down from a dare back then. So Danny decided to dare me to do something outrageous."

"Yes, very outrageous. You are very brave."

She snorted, "You wouldn't say that if you'd seen me. I was shaking like a leaf, and I had to stop and breathe every few minutes. It took ages to get down that driveway."

Charles spoke up, and his voice shocked her into stillness.

"You were thirteen years old and going alone to take something from a werewolf's house. A werewolf that terrifies you. I know wolves hundreds of years old who wouldn't have done that."

Samuel nodded.

Heather was overwhelmed, and it took her a minute to be able to choke out, "Thank you."

He nodded briskly.

She looked at him. This man who killed on orders, who'd killed her dad, and she felt sadness well up for him.

So many people were afraid of him, so many people hated him. That couldn't be easy, even for someone who seemed so emotionless.

She tried to will her fear away, because she knew now that he could sense it. It didn't work entirely. But her legs quit shaking.

They were both looking at her curiously. At least - she thought Charles was curious.

It was then that she realized what she had come to say.

"I want to apologize to you both, on behalf of my brothers."

Charles's face didn't change(of course),but Samuel looked surprised. His eyes flicked over to her brothers.

"I know that you know how they feel about you, and I just want you to know that they are good people, really. They're very kind, and very smart. It's just that they loved our dad very much, and I'm afraid they've been blinded to reason since his death."

She paused, hesitating. Both men waited for her to continue.

She breathed out, steeled herself to look up. She met Charles's eyes for a fraction of a second - just enough to show him she was directing this to him.

"And, I want to thank you. Thank you for being able to do what no one else can," she glanced at Samuel, "Thank all of you. I'll never understand everything about the wolves, but I understand enough to know that my father wasn't my father anymore after the change. So, I thank you for being able to kill him."

As she finished her speech, she wrung her hands together, stared at the ground.

A beat passed before either of them responded, but Samuel cleared his throat, and said, "I now see that you are wise as well as brave. I hope one day that your brothers will be able to see as you see. Nonetheless, I wish them - as well as you - good fortune in life."

Heather swallowed past the ball of emotion in her throat. Then she nodded.

"Um, could you relay my feelings to the Marrok?"

"There is no need. My father can hear us, now. He wishes for me to tell you that your father would have been proud."

Heather swallowed again, felt the tears brim in her eyes. She looked over to the Marrok, and saw that he was looking straight at her. She mouthed the words "thank you" and he nodded.

When she turned back around, Samuel was gone. It was just Charles, who rested his heavy gaze on her.

"I've lived for a long time, Heather. I've met a lot of people, and seen a lot of things. Your father was unique. He was very smart, very brave. He loved you and your family very much."

She nodded sharply. "Thank you."

"You are very much like him."

That was her undoing. The first tear slipped out, and she couldn't say anything so she only nodded.

Charles nodded as well, then said, "Go. Go be with your family. They're growing very anxious."

He spoke again while he was turning away. "I hope you find happiness."

She watched him go, her emotions raging inside her, and when he was about ten feet away, she whispered, "I hope you find happiness as well."

He neither slowed nor acknowledged her remark, but she knew he heard her.

So she was able to turn away and feel at peace for the first time since she was nine years old.


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Hope you liked, and I'll see you later with the final installment of Heather's piece. :)

~WhimsicalllyAwkward~