Tales from Turnpike House

[magbeam]

(Reserved for TinyDuchess and Lady_Mornington)​

Professor Martin Vaughn, Chairman of the Marshall College Department of Astronomy, paused as he entered the lecture room, Baron Hall 117. It was his 3:30 class, Astronomy 350: Galilean Moons. Like all the rooms on the first floor of Baron Hall, 117 was an amphitheater-type setup, with one hundred seats divided between four levels, curling around the white board and projector situated at the front and bottom of the room. It was his usual lecture room, and this was his first class since the 8:15 session (Astronomy 255: Carbonaceous Asteroids) had gotten out earlier in the morning, at 11:30. In the time since, Martin had eaten lunch, and then spent time grading the generally atrocious papers from his 255 class, on the exobiological implications of C-type asteroid composition. He had grown used to this sort of petty-mediocrity-to-downright-horrendous grade range. Marshall College was not held up as any sort of international bastion of scholastic aptitude, that was for sure; the small school to the north of Winnipeg had only a bit more than 2000 full-time students. And of those, probably the vast majority took their required science courses with him. Oh, to be sure, there were the occasional gems, the diamonds in the rough: those he kept on as TAs, nurtured through independent studies the best he could, wrote what letters of recommendation he could before sending them off to Hawaii or Arizona or Colorado to further their astronomical careers. The vast majority of his students, however...

While he had been off eating lunch and grading their papers, someone very likely belonging to his average group of students had scribbled on the white board:

FUCKIN PROFESSOR VAUGHN CAN SUCK MY BALLS
GO BACK TO MARS WIERDO​

Martin didn't need the misspellings to guess that it was likely one of Marshall's cricket team who had written the little memento on the board. Like the rest of the students at Marshall, even the school's athletes - "sports medicine" majors, for the most part - had to do a required science course, and many of them took one of his astronomy classes. And as they did in most of their other classes, they did terrible academically. There had been a time when Martin had loved cricket; he had named his daughter Lara after Brian Lara. But after a single semester of time at Marshall, his enthusiasm at the sport had dampened considerably after being exposed to the students who played it here. He had finally gotten tired of passing them for grades that would get any other student a D or F. Jim Vance, the new Vice President for Enrollment and Marketing, had taken the school down a new path, concentrating less on attracting academic-oriented students and focusing more on athletes in an attempt to boost the school's prestige. Given how horrible the school's athletics teams did, Martin did not see how it could possibly be working, but Vance claimed all kinds of new funding coming from it. As a result, not only had his policy of being academically honest resulted in vandalism like this, but it had also put him into hot water with the school's administration - the last thing he needed.

Martin walked down to the front of the room, picking up an eraser and passing it over the words written on the board. He frowned, and did so again. Still nothing. He leaned in, peering closer, and sighed. The graffiti wasn't written in dry-erase marker ink. It was done in Sharpie permanent-marker ink. Martin sighed again, put the eraser down, and pulled out his cellphone to call Maintenance.

* * * * * *​

His life hadn't always been this difficult. He had been a promising student, once - studying at Cambridge, no less, where he had met his wife - and graduating with flying colors. He had gotten an undergrad degree in astronomy, and had focused on astrobiology - the study of the potential for life existing on worlds other than Earth - at Cambridge. He had gotten offers from the Royal Greenwich Observatory, NASA, Lowell Observatory, the Planetary Society, the SETI Institute - he could have had his pick. His wife, Julia, had wanted to return to her native Canada, however; she was pregnant with their first (and only) child, and Martin had been happy enough with both developments to be willing to oblige her. Julia was a professor of English literature, and so they had found difficulty in locating a school they could both teach at, but they finally had a breakthrough with Bonar Law University. It had been perfect, for a few years - Lara's birth had come easily, and they had both settled into their jobs and their comfortable new home.

It didn't last.

Martin had been denied tenure when the time came, and they had moved on to a new school. Julia had been happy with her spot at Bonar Law, and had not wanted to subject Lara to the stress of a move. As if Martin had. But they hadn't had any choice, unless she was willing to raise Lara virtually on her own, with them only able to visit each other every few months. Neither of them had wanted that, and so they had moved on to Papineau College. In several years' time, Julia had been the one to not make tenure. And so they had kept leapfrogging. The one time they had moved to the United States was when Martin's mother had gone through a state of bad health. They went to Massachusetts, and lasted six months at Miskatonic University before returning to Canada.

It was because of the mistake.

During his time at Miskatonic, a meteorite had been located in Antarctica called AHL 97012. It had actually been discovered in 1997, but was only now being analyzed. It was believed to have originally been a piece of the south pole of Mars, blasted off by an asteroid impact, drifting through space for several thousand years, before crashing to Earth. Not only was it from the south polar region, but from a so-called dark dune spot, a number of anomalous dark regions located beneath the polar ice cap on Mars. Martin had been one of the ones to analyze the sample of AHL 97012 sent to Miskatonic. In it had been a number of nanoscopic, carbon-chain tubules, appearing as a series of linked, regular sections. A form not too unlike the extremophile bacteria that lived beneath the ice in Antarctica, in an environment not too unlike that of Mars.

Martin's research had been published under the title of "A Cyanobacterial Hypothesis for Anomalous Polycyclic Aromatic Hydrocarbon Nanotubules in AHL 97012". In other words, that extremophile bacteria caused the dark dune spots beneath the Martian ice, and AHL 97012 - blasted off that very region of Mars - contained a sample of them within it. It had caused a brief stir within the scientific community - until it was revealed that AHL 97012 was a hoax. A member of the Committee for Skeptical Inquiry stationed at the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Station had contaminated AHL 97012 with cyanobacteria when it had first been discovered, as a practical joke (although on whom, the Skeptics' Society or the astronomers who would eventually discover the rock, was not very clear).

Needless to say, Martin's career as a respectable scientist had come crashing down.

It had not helped that he had been a noted science fiction fan. The War of the Worlds had originally got him interested in the search for extraterrestrial life as a child, he had given several speeches on the likelihood of finding intelligent extraterrestrial life through SETI, he had even once met Neil Armstrong, and a poster of The X-Files had sat on his wall in his office. It didn't take long for the rumors to start. The kinder ones were that he had been an intellectual lightweight whose childish love of the genre had made him blind to the possibility that there might be an alternative explanation to the bacteria in AHL 97012. The less-generous ones speculated on him deliberately falsifying his reports in order to spurn interest in astronomy, the space program, conspiracy theories, half a dozen other peripheral projects.

Martin no longer had the Mulder poster in his office or watched the occasional network repeats of Star Wars. His taste in recreational entertainment had also been ruined for him by this scandal.

They had finally both been able to find a permanent home at Marshall, where his notoriety was offset by the fact that such a small school had almost nothing to attract anyone with an Oxford education. He didn't think Julia liked it very much - he knew it - but she said nothing. It was the first place where they not only had both gotten tenure, but also become the heads of their departments - her as the Humanities chair, him as Astronomy. It also resulted in half of his class being conspiracy theorists who assumed either he had been frightened into dispelling his thesis by the men in black, or that he had deliberately covered it up because he too was a member of the Majestic-12 shadow government; and those who spent their free time talking in Klingon to each other. Actually, come to think of it, most of those groups intermixed to a great extent. But if that was the cost of destroying his career before it had ever truly gotten started, Martin supposed he was more than paying his penance.

* * * * * *​

"Hell of a thing, Martin, but it happens to the best of us." Vice President Vance's voice came over the phone. "We'll look into it, put a notice up in the school announcements, but bottom line is that we probably won't ever find the people who did this. I should also point out that there's no evidence that student athletes were behind this..."

"Oh, of course not," Martin replied, his finger already going to the button to disconnect the speakerphone. "Thanks so much for your time, Jim."

Martin sat at his desk for a few minutes, glasses up and pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve the stress. He had once been a very calm man. After things had started going sour in his relationship and professional life, his patience had begun to evaporate. The past year or two, it had finally worn thin. His hair, once thick and black, had started going gray, and though Julia assured him he was being paranoid - whenever they still talked - he suspected it was starting to thin. His skin, once very dark, almost Middle Eastern, had lost much of its color from his days spent sleeping, indoors, or in Winnipeg sunlight. He had lines on his face he had never had before, what he was sure was an ulcer or two, and these stress headaches. And then, of course, there was Julia. He and Julia had never fought at first. Now they often did. Maybe not fought - not in the traditional sense - but it seemed a day couldn't go by when they didn't snipe at each other. And over the stupidest, most petty things.

At least, for the most part, they were. He didn't think Julia getting angry at him spending so much time at the campus - he was an astronomer, stars only came out at night, and only the school had the big telescope, what did she expect? - was that petty. Nor were their arguments over Lara. He loved his daughter, he loved her deeply, but he was still very disturbed at her behavior, really since she had reached adolescence. Even now, when she was a student at Marshall - largely due to her parents' influence rather than any scholastic aptitude of her own - she was barely scraping by. Julia had always been closer to Lara - perhaps because they were both women, or perhaps (he felt more than a little guiltily) he did spend less time at home than his wife had. But that also meant that he was less willing to tolerate Lara's bouts of nonsense and rebellion than Julia was. Which in turn meant that their arguments over it had resulted in things thrown, words shouted, and Julia spending more than a few nights in Lara's room and Martin spending even more nights at the observatory.

He pinched the bridge of his nose again, sighing as the phone rung. He picked it up this time, wondering what new horrors would spring forth from it to torment him. "Hello?"

"Hello, Martin. It's Victor." The benefits of a small school: the faculty were all on a first-name basis. Victor was Victor Acheson, Dean of Students.

"What can I do for you, Vic?" Martin asked Dean Acheson.

"It's a bit of a sensitive matter, Martin," the Dean said in a tone that did not seem reassuring to Martin. "Can you come to my office?"

Fifteen minutes later, Martin was stepping into the office of the Dean of Students. He paused briefly, seeing his wife there also, then moved to sit down in the chair next to her. The time used to be that they would smile at each other, or kiss each other on the cheek and hug. Now, Martin just blew out a breath. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew where this was going.

Of course, Julia still was worth kissing, or even smiling at. The Julia Vaughn of today looked barely older than she had when she was still the Julia Patriquin she had been when they had met and started dating, two decades earlier. Her eyes still the same, piercing emerald green they had been when they had first drawn him to her. Her skin china-pale and perfect. Her hair still dark and glossy, and if there was a gray hair here or there, it only added a sense of exoticism and allure to her. Still drawn up in her omnipresent bun, her long, regal neck hidden beneath one of her omnipresent turtlenecks. She was still so beautiful, and Martin still loved her dearly.

And yet...

And yet, he knew that things had changed between them. They both had their jobs now, busier than ever despite the fact that neither was at the place they had wanted to be. They both had made concessions for each other, with the result that neither was happy. Martin was acutely aware that she had made the greater bulk of concessions for him, only to have him fritter everything away with his bout of youthful stupidity that had continued to taint him into his middle age. They did not see each other as often, and when they did, there was a strain - invisible in some cases, all too apparent other times - between them. Lara's antics dragged them apart, even as Lara was drifting further afield of either of them.

He did not want to lose his family, but every day, he saw less and less of a chance of keeping them.

"I've asked you both here today for a rather delicate reason - I feel that it would be best for you both to know now, rather than later..." Dean Acheson pulled out a folder, placing it on his desk and opening it. It was Lara's transcript. It was dotted with Fs and the occasional D.

"I know this must be hard to hear, for two department heads especially, but it can't be a surprise, so I'll just come out with it. I'm afraid that Lara is failing almost every course of hers. In some, she hasn't even shown up for a single class. Her records don't show her as having purchased even a single book for a class. She hasn't even logged into her student network account once. I'm very sorry, Julia, Martin, I truly am - but as of this moment, I'm afraid that Lara is on academic probation. Which, in her situation, I have to say, seems very likely to result in expulsion at the end of the semester."

* * * * * *​

Martin drove home with Julia that day, a rarity. The drive was made in silence, until just before they reached their home. Then Martin exploded.

"The damn brat!" He pounded the steering wheel with free hand. "That goddamned, spoiled...What does she think we are? What does she think she's going to do with her life? Nobody is going to want to hire her based on how many Saint Etienne albums she's blared at one AM. She has no damned idea what we went through to get her into Marshall. And then she goes, and spits on us - our own daughter, the only child of two department chairs, is about to flunk out! We are going to be laughing-stocks, here, Julia."

Julia replied softly that perhaps if her father had been available more, perhaps she would have had a more suitable role model and would not have descended into such behavior - which was surely overstated, anyways.

"And perhaps if her mother hadn't been such a coddling, enabling, permissive, she might have developed an actual work ethic and sense of responsibility," Martin snapped. He regretted the words even before he was done saying them, but like an accident in slow motion, he was unable to even slow them down. Julia stiffened, her face flushed red, and stepped out of the car, which had stopped in front of their house. Martin was still for several minutes, shaking with anger and self-loathing at himself and his ability to seemingly make any situation worse. At least there was nothing in here for me to throw. Then, he reached over, closed Julia's door, and drove the car into the garage.

* * * * * *​

They cooked and eat dinner silently. As Julia always did, she made portions and set a place at the table for Lara, even though their daughter was not there. Afterwards, Martin retired to his office, beginning to grade more meaningless papers, his mind even less focused on it than normal. It was around midnight when he heard a car pull up into the driveway, the door open and the voice of Lara talking with one of her friends before she entered the house, the front door slamming behind her. Martin made his way downstairs to find Julia already there, speaking softly to Lara.

Martin loved Lara deeply. She was his only child, and he would always think of her as his little girl. However, she frustrated him greatly - increasingly so, as she aged - and he had to concede that she had always been somewhat...weird. Physically, she almost perfectly resembled her mother, save for her skin, slightly more tinged with his own dusky complexion. She had even always been closer with her mother than her father. But while Julia was quiet and withdrawn, Lara had always been somewhat of a wild child. She had had a penchant for playing loud music from a young age, and when she had entered puberty, and Martin had nervously sat down to explain to her the birds and the bees, she had laughed in his face and explained she already knew all about "fucking". He knew she had a reputation for promiscuity - with either gender - and she had delighted in tormenting her parents by taking a girlfriend of hers to her high school prom. Most, if not all, of her friends regularly took some form of controlled substance.

She was currently attired, unsurprisingly, in her favorite outfit, that of a schoolgirl. A short tartan skirt sat over her knee high black tights and scuffed red sneakers, while her black bra showed through her thin white Oxford blouse. A tie with the same pattern as her skirt completed her ensemble, while her hair - the same thick, glossy dark as her mother, with a few streaks of color thrown in for good measure - were done in pigtails. For whatever reason, Martin found her penchant for constantly dressing the schoolgirl perhaps the most disturbing part of his daughter's personality. And more than a little ironic, given how little she seemed to give attention to her classes.

Julia's low conversation with Lara stopped as soon as Martin reached the bottom of the stairs. Both pairs of startling green eyes turned to his gaze, before Julia's went down to the floor while a small smile spread across his daughter's face. Martin could feel his face flushing, and he pointed a finger at her.

"You wipe that smile off your face this instant, young lady," he said, his voice on the verge of shouting. "Never mind just where the hell you are until midnight." He held up his other hand, containing a copy of her transcript. "Your mother and I were with Dean Acheson today. Something you forgot to tell us - like, say, you decided to blow off everything your mother and I have worked our asses off for you to be able to do? Just going to throw your life away, is that it? And look at you - you're dressed like a, a, like some kind of slut! Is that the sort of daughter I raised, one with no sense of decency?"

Julia, gaze still aimed at the floor, quietly suggested that perhaps he should calm down.

"Calm down?" Martin did begin to yell at that. "What the hell is there to be calm about? Our daughter is about to flunk out of school! Do you know why I can't be calm about this?"

He looked back at Lara.

"Because I...am...angry!"

 

[Lady_Mornington]

Lara Vaughn

In a world where everyone strove to be different no one would ever achieve originality. The only thing to be obtained was just another flavour of conformity. Be yourself; express yourself, be fucking unique and be granted all the rewards which consumer society could offer you.

It was all rubbish.

Difference did not equate happiness or success; in fact it was the complete opposite. Being different; having achieved the prized originality which everyone desperately wanted you found yourself lonelier than you could ever imagine. For as long as Lara could remember she’d been feeling the same sense of being different. Most children probably did, but in her case it was not in the sense that the world was full of possibilities, or that she held a special position in the hearts of her parents. Rather it was the very opposite, the cold realisation that her existence did not matter in the great scheme of things. Perhaps she could have lived with that, or at least survived, but the thing which scared her was that when she grew older she gradually seemed to lose the ability to feel attachment to anyone.

Least of all Julia or Martin.

Perhaps if she’d been born in a normal family, things wouldn’t have turned out as they had inevitably done. The problem with growing up with the Vaughns had been that Martin was an incurable drama queen and Julia the ever-suffering martyr. Between the two extremes and the fact that Martin had pissed away his career there wasn’t much to be done. Lara had not even tried to fight it herself. It was easier to wear the masks and assume the variety of roles she’d played for longer than she cared to remember.

It was easier than having to admit that she was hurting, and that she couldn’t do anything to heal, or at least lessen the pain. It was not a premeditated rebellion like her parents suspected and accused her of. In fact her self-destructive behaviour over the years had been everything but. Yet when she reached the conclusion that she wasn’t able to help herself, never mind assuming the place she longed for, then the best option had seemed to do what she could to negate the effects of her perceived misery.

She had challenged the rules and conventions by which her parents lived, drinking heavily, taking what Martin referred to as ‘controlled substances’, throwing herself without abandon into one abusive relationship after another. Needless to say, the few vestiges of leading a normal life had quickly been discarded, and by now Lara neither could, nor wanted to try and salvage herself. She’d been summoned the very afternoon to see the Dean of College and receiving the talking to which accompanied her failure to even show up at her classes. It had come as no great surprise that she’d been put on academic probation. While reasonably intelligent, Lara had early on given up any attempts at academic excellence. There really wasn’t a point, not with two professors as parents. Whatever she could have produced would in comparison be mediocre at best. Not that she had ever aspired to match her parents’ achievements; in truth, Lara had never really held any real aspirations it seemed. Having said that was however not the same as admitting to be completely devoid of talents. Growing up, Lara had gone through a spell when she had actually devoted her time to sketching. It had been evident that her attempts had at least showed the beginnings of promise, but as usual, Julia and Martin had ruined it by suggesting that she’d take proper courses to ‘develop her potential’ or some other equally stupid bullshit.

Lara knew that her academic probation was liable to cause all hell to break lose. Dean Acheson had been rather forthright (and the old fart hadn’t even bothered to hide that he would relish conveying the news to Julia and Martin). Not that arguments weren’t frequent an occurrence, although it was usually Martin who did the shouting. On one level, Lara could understand him; she’d be rather disappointed if her offspring had turned out to be as fucked up as she had. Then again it was pretty much his fault when all was said and done.

“Are you ok?”

Lara glanced sideways at Jamie who returned the look with one filled with concern. They had an on-and-off kind of relationship, which was characterised by Jamie’s desire to ‘save’ her. She seemed to be attracting guys like him; kind, considerate, caring, and it usually ended in tears, at least on their part. The other kind of men she dated (got fucked by) were the utter bastards, who treated her much in the same fashion as she was currently treating Jamie. Needless to say, Lara didn’t care overly much about her companion, and as for his ambitious plans to get her life back on track it was nothing but fickle hopes. She couldn’t be salvaged and the question was whether she cared for it. If she was to be perfectly honest she had no idea why she dated him, the fact of the matter was that she was slowly dragging him into the same downward spiral as she was on. Still, she hadn’t exactly forced him and even though Jamie was daft, he ought to be perceptive enough to realise what a slippery slope he was on. She didn’t have any responsibility for his life after all.

“Yeah I’m fine. I’ll call you tomorrow ok.”

She got out of the car cutting Jamie off before he had the chance to kiss her. Such an everyday intimacy seemed repulsive. Fucking was alright, it was a purely mechanic act, but kisses. The thought of it was enough to make her nauseous. It had been symptomatic, that while Lara had been leading a fairly active sexual life, her relationships had never included that. The same went for her interactions with Julia and Martin. She couldn’t recall the last time she had voluntarily hugged anyone of them. It was probably alright with Martin, but she knew that it hurt Julia to the point of tears, and needless to say, Lara had find a source of, if not pleasure than at least something very akin to that in denying her that.

It was also quite typical that Julia was waiting by the door as she came in. Her mother offered her a concerned look, the kind which she usually bestowed on her, and with it came the customary attempt to reach out. It was almost comical to watch as Julia took a tentative step forward and extending her arms, only to check her actions and retreat to her starting position. The whole display was pathetic, and it didn’t help when Julia began recounting what she had learned form Dean Acheson. As usual her mother tried to provide both sides of the discussion, both conveying parental disappointment and what would have been Lara’s explanations, if she had bothered with such.

As it where, Lara didn’t. There wasn’t a point in doing so given that both Julia and Martin thought it wholly incomprehensible that she wouldn’t have gone to college. It had been expected, decided even since the day she was born. The daughter of the Vaughns should of course follow in their footsteps and becoming an academic in her own right. They’d probably had pictured her winning the bloody Nobel Prize by the end of it.

Lara couldn’t help but smile sardonically as the thought surfaced. Yeah that would be the day. Her mother did of course note it and responded in her usual fashion by giving her an exasperated look and a sigh which signalled that another accusation/explanation litany was in the making. Luckily for Lara she didn’t have to suffer another one of Julia’s little displays as Martin came walking down the stairs, his features set in a mask of what he probably thought was righteous indignation with the way his offspring had failed him.

Because it was always about him. Martin Vaughn. Lara felt herself withdraw even further behind her own mask, her features becoming impassive as her father began shouting about this and that, the words lost even before they reached her ears. She’d heard it enough times already and the meaning was perfectly clear. She was a failure, she lacked respect for him and Julia, she behaved like a slut etcetera, etcetera in fucking absurdum.

There was no point in trying to explain herself and instead of standing there like a good girl and taking her chastisement gracefully Lara turned and simply strode from the stairs. She could hear Martin draw breath, clearly preparing for another verbal assault. Well he could knock himself out. She could hear Julia trying to calm him down, apparently without much success. Martin had his eyes set on a fight, but Lara wouldn’t give him the pleasure of such. Not tonight at least. It wasn’t just weariness with the constant conflicts that raged between her and her parents. If she were to be honest it was part of a strategy as well. Martin, being the person he was couldn’t ever accept the fact that he wasn’t the centre of the world’s attention, and by simply refusing to acknowledge his fits Lara had actually managed to antagonise him more than she would by answering back.

She got a few moment’s respite in the kitchen. The table was set for three, Julia at work again ever hopeful that against everything she knew about their dysfunctional family, they would actually have a meal together. The meal had been yet another one of Julia’s attempts at Italian cuisine. It was actually one of her mother’s stronger points, her cooking. Not that it made up for the countless bad habits, but every once in a while one could afford to be gracious about it. Lara reached out for the casserole, helping herself to a slice of lasagne, which she unceremoniously dropped on her plate. It was in that position Martin found her. Her left elbow on the table, chin supported by her hand as she chewed a piece of the now cold food.

Once again her father got ready to deliver his great affronted speech. Lara coldly noted that she hadn’t seen him this angry in a very long time. Dropping out of college must thus be worse than underage drinking in his book. She listened as he began to shout, not deigning to reply but focusing on the food thankful for what little distraction it provided. She intended to remain like this until Martin had had enough but apparently he was angry enough to be physical. As she didn’t responded, he lashed out, sending the plate to the floor with a crash of broken china, causing Julia to yelp with fright.

Lara looked up at him, seeing how the veins at his temples protruded. Yes he was definitively angrier than she had hitherto seen him. She gave him a long stare before she spoke, keeping her voice as void of any emotion as possible.

“Sure I’m a failure and a fuck-up Martin. What else do you want me to say?” She waited for a reply which didn’t come. “You’ve made all that perfectly clear years ago, and even though I couldn’t learn a thing I’ve at least picked that up. So what are you going to do? Throw me out? Go ahead it’s not like I feel particularly welcome here anyway.” She slowly stood up and pushed a strand of hair from her face. “Who knows? Perhaps your friends will think it a blessing if the perfect couple finally got rid of their fucked-up daughter, eh?” Lara offered him a cold smile as she continued. “Or you and Julia would just end up killing each other by degrees when you don’t have me to blame for all your failures. Isn’t that so Julia?” Lara turned and smiled at her mother. “There would be a lot more nights playing the cello all by your self when Martin’s staring at the sky. You know what? You deserve each other.” She turned around to leave but was stopped as Martin who by now had worked himself into a fury grabbed her by her arm, snarling something about not having to put up with her behaviour and that enough was enough. His grip hurt but she’d be damned if she gave him the satisfaction of seeing that, thus she steeled herself as replied in a hiss, the words making Martin back up.

“You go ahead Martin, slap me around if you want to. I know you’ve been dying to do that but what do you think Julia will say, eh? She’d think you an idiot, a failure and an idiot. Because you know what?” Lara fixed her gaze on Martin’s, challenging him to make good on his threats. “I am a failure, but you’re even worse because you don’t have the guts to admit it. Yeah isn’t it so? You made an arse of yourself with that discovery of yours, and now you try and take it out on me. God you are pathetic.”

She counted to three, waiting for the blow to fall but nothing happened. Instead Martin let go of her arm, turning away and leaving the room without a word. Glancing at Julia she saw that the she was crying. The same kind of tears which she always shed after confrontations such as this. Silent suffering as if the very act was offensive.

An in a way it was.

While Julia had a seemingly limitless capacity for tears, Lara hadn’t cried in years. It didn’t mean that she didn’t hurt, but the act of crying was something she had found herself incapable of. She’d tried to, God knew she had but the tears had never come. She’d even gone as far as to cut herself, but not even that had helped. Thus seeing Julia cry added to Lara’s cold fury.

“What the fuck are you crying for?”

It was not like she’d be getting an answer, not now at least. Julia would rather cut of her arm than admit to the reasons why she was hurting, and there was no point in pushing the issue any further. She left her mother where she was standing, not caring to offer her a second glance as she went up the stairs to her room.

She didn’t turn on the light, nor did she bother to undress. Instead she curled up on the bed, hugging her knees as she bit her lower lip. She wasn’t proud of herself, she’d never been. The things which had happened tonight only served to underline that. Perhaps she had run her course. There wasn’t much else left. She’d successfully managed to alienate everyone around her and where did it leave Lara Vaughn?

Alone and pretty much out of options.

 

[TinyDuchess]

Julia Vaughn

“What the fuck are you crying for?” Lara had snarled, the look of disdain on her face causing Julia’s tears to double in their flow. Julia was never certain how it was things always seemed to come to this, everyone screaming at each other with her left alone and crying in the end.

It didn’t matter how well the day started out, they somehow always seemed to end the same way. Today had been no different. It had been a quiet morning, a rare thing indeed of late. Julia had awakened first, early riser that she was. It was a thing of habit really, a memento of her childhood that she had clung to dearly. Her father had worked the night shift as a police officer and the hours between the end of his shift and Julia’s classes had been a time reserved just for them. So what had had begun out of necessity and developed into something more, something worth looking forward to. Now that she was grown it had become something else, a time of privacy and solitude where she could be alone with her thoughts, fuelled ever more by the fact that Martin had never been a morning person. Lara had come downstairs a bit later, already dressed for her day, and after drinking a glass of juice had left the house without a word. And though it hurt, Julia tried to convince herself that even silence was preferable to the constant arguing that every conversation seemed to end in no matter how harmless their beginnings had been. When Martin had finally ambled his way down to the kitchen for breakfast, their conversation surprisingly amiable had been kept to a polite minimum.

The day had progressed in a similar fashion, classes had run smoothly. Julia had the reputation amongst her students for making even the most mundane of topics come to life. As a result her classes were often full to bursting with students, so much so that they often spilled out of the seats and into the aisles. Julia saw it as one of life’s small mercies, her days were often so full she often had little time to think of other things. But of course, she was never truly able to escape her reality. That much was clear when she received the telephone call from Dean Acheson.

Julia knew what it was about the moment she got the call from Dean Victor Acheson. Having over the years acquired the knowledge that most of the conversations she had with other adults would inevitably end with her having to defend her daughter. While part of her wanted desperately to believe that it was only a phase which Lara was going through, the rational part of Julia Vaughn had long since understood that there was something fundamentally wrong with Lara. That knowledge however did not make it any easier for her to bear, if anything it caused her even more heartache. This time however there was very little she could offer in Lara’s defense, given the evidence presented against her. Be that as it may, it did little to deter Julia, who was adamant in her claims that everything would go much more smoothly after Lara’s probation period. After all surely such a serious course of action would be enough to scare Lara on to the straight and narrow.

The ride home was spent in silence. In truth Julia had been taken aback by Martin's offer to take her home. So much so that she had grown quite flustered before blushingly accepting, much like a schoolgirl who had been offered a ride from her latest crush. The tension between them was almost enough to make Julia wish she had refused and instead walked the way to their two storey home at 112 Hamilton Drive as she always did. She could quite literally feel Martin seething from where he sat. She wasn’t at all surprised when he finally blew, damning their daughter to hell and back for her behavior. Julia still upset by the fact that he had uttered not one word in Lara's defense during their meeting with Victor- had responded quite icily saying that perhaps if he had bothered to concern himself with what his daughter thought of him even half as much as he seemed to care what others thought they would not be in their current predicament.

Harsh though her words may have been, Martin's own reply proved even more hurtful wounding her deeply. Julia knew she was perhaps a tad over-protective of Lara, but Martin, just as well as she knew the reasons why. She had stiffened visibly, her already perfect posture going more rigid, drawing her almost regally upright in her seat. Julia was grateful to see that they were only a few yards away from the house, she could already feel the tears threatening to well and spill from her eyes. Rather than have Martin see her cry and without giving it much thought at all she opened the door and stepped from the car, causing Martin to go into a state of slight panic. And without a backward glance she made her way across the lawn and into the house.

She hadn't even bothered to slam the car door shut behind her, though heaven knew somewhere deep inside of her she wished she had. But that had never been Julia's way; she was never one to fuss and cause a scene it simply wasn't in her. A fact she was well aware was a direct contradiction of her other half. It had always been like that, Julia had noticed it even when they had first began dating. She and Martin had polar opposites in terms of their temperament. While Martin had been the outgoing, adorably, fun-loving brainiac, she had been the ice queen - cold and distant- a title made ever more fitting by her pale and seemingly un-chipped porcelain appearance. And yet despite being so diametrically opposed, there was this undeniable force of attraction between them. God knows how she had tried to fight it at first, but it was as though they couldn’t help but be drawn to each other.

That all seemed light years away now. In their earlier years if she had stormed out on him like that, just left him sitting there like she had, he'd have come after her. He would have apologized, holding her in his arms while begging for her forgiveness. Today however he hadn’t even tried to stop her, had not even given a whisper of protest.

It appeared the passion was gone from their marriage. It existed now only in her mind and on the pages of her journals. Set ablaze once more only when her pen touched the paper. Each page filled with the ghosts of memories and dreams of bodies entangled, nude and drenched in moonlight and shadows. Julia was all too aware of the fact that it had been quite some time since she and Martin had made love. It frustrated her to no end that their only interaction was found in the menial tasks of everyday life. Cooking dinner was perhaps the only time they were ever alone together anymore. It pained her to admit it but the truth was, having him lean in close to her when breathing in whatever tempting concoction she had going on the stove or the accidental brush of his hand against hers while taking down the china were things for which she come to long.

They took their meal in silence, with Martin still fuming and Julia’s eyes darting over to the empty place she had set for Lara ever so often. They hadn’t eaten together in God knows how long, but Julia still had hope. It was her opinion that no matter what happened, they were still a family. And as a daughter of Henri and Yvette Patriquin, time spent at the dinner table was definitively a family affair. As a result the importance of family was etched in her very being. And despite her numerous shortcomings Julia refused to fail in this regard.

Once they had finished with dinner, they had each gone their separate ways. Both retreating to their own private corners; Martin to his study upstairs and Julia to her armchair in the living room. That’s where she was, losing herself in the pages of her journal when she heard the car pull into the driveway.

She knew it was Lara even before hearing her voice, and rose quickly to go stand at the door. When it opened and Lara stepped inside Julia couldn’t help but step forward her arms open ready to embrace her daughter. She hesitated, Martin’s earlier words coming back to her like a slap to the face causing her to step back, her arms dropping to her sides.
She didn’t know what she should say, knowing that whatever she did say it would come out wrong or be misinterpreted. So instead she did what she always did, presented the fact s and her thoughts on the matter at hand and then waited for Lara to give her own views. To Julia it was a perfectly diplomatic approach but judging by the look on Lara’s face she was none too impressed.

Julia opened her mouth to speak, but found her breath caught in her throat at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She turned to see Martin making his way down to where she and Lara stood, his face a mask of pure rage. She had nowhere to look but down at her feet as he drew closer, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze, much like a child who had been caught committing a serious offense. She knew that she should have perhaps waited for Martin before speaking to Lara, since it was always best to handle things like this together in the interests of presenting a unified front. But from Julia’s own experience having two parents coming at you at once could be quite the intimidating thing. She remembered preferring her father to speak to her rather than her mother or both of them, especially since her mother had been an overly domineering woman. And so in trying to spare her daughter a similar fate she had done what had felt right, as she always did when it came to all things concerning Lara. But Julia knew that it perhaps was not always the wisest choice, having felt a wave of guilt wash over her as Martin had cast and accusing glare at her before starting in on Lara.

After that the world seemed to move in fast forward, with everything thing happening all too quickly and Julia unable to slow it down. Martin was yelling at Lara, his face beet red the veins at his temples looking as though they were ready to pop. Julia softly advised him to calm down, but it was as though she alone could hear her voice. Lara having grown weary of her father’s display turned and walked from the room; Martin did not hesitate to follow. By the time Julia had caught up to the two of them, Martin was standing over Lara growing down at her. When he had apparently had enough of Lara’s apathy to the matter, he chose to send the plate Lara was staring at so intently crashing to the floor. The sound of the china shattering caused Julia to jump, giving a small shriek as she clutched at her heart. The next moment Lara was on her feet threatening to walk out again and the next thing Martin was grabbing her by the arm. It was as though something inside her had snapped, the sight in front of her transporting her back to a similar event in her own childhood. Her mother clutching her arm, the blows landing one after the other. The same fear that had gripped her then held her close now, causing her to cry out to Martin. Her voice was frantic, her normally subdued French accent growing thicker as she pleaded for him to release Lara. When he finally did Julia couldn’t stop the tears that were flowing down her cheeks.

The sound of Martin’s shoes on the tiles drew her from her reminiscing, and Julia turned to look at him from where she was crouched on the floor. He offered a thinly veiled excuse about needing to return to the observatory for the evening, but Julia wasn’t fooled. They both knew his work was the furthest thing from the thing from his mind right now. He needed escape. Going to the observatory provided him with a convenient excuse to leave the mess/war/battle which was his family. The two unmovable forces that were Martin and Lara would continue to collide, and the relationship between growing ever more embittered until whatever love they might still have for each other would inevitably die.

The thought of it all had fresh tears springing from Julia’s eyes, as she sat on the floor clutching the pieces of broken china to her chest. Her fingers lovingly caressed each shard as she picked them up off of the floor – as though she needed any more reminders that her marriage was lost. The plate had been their wedding gift –a fact she doubted Martin had even noticed through his rage - part of a set given to the then newlyweds by Julia’s father. The precious china had been a family heirloom brought over from the old country by her father’s gran-mere. Julia remembered how strongly her mother had protested against her having it, but was thankful her father had paid no heed to his wife. But looking at the delicate splinters spread out before her Julia couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps her mother had foreseen this. Then again her mother had never made it a secret that she expected Julia’s marriage to fail and by the looks of things it seemed the woman had been right. The very thought chilled Julia to the bone.

She took her time in cleaning up the kitchen. When she had finally finished she took a step back her eyes looking over the room. It was perfect; one would almost think there had been no incident earlier on at all… almost. As she left the room Julia’s thoughts drifted to Lara once more. And as always she found herself being drawn to stand outside her daughter’s bedroom door. Pressing her ear lightly to the smooth wood, Julia listened closely for any indication of movement within the room, her hand hovering eagerly over the doorknob. She could hear nothing and took that as a sign that Lara had fallen asleep.

Easing the door open Julia tiptoed quietly into the room. She felt her chest tighten at the sight of Lara slight frame curled up in bed. Taking a blanket from the foot of the bed, Julia gently draped it over the sleeping girl, before pulling the nearby desk chair closer to the side of the bed before taking a seat in it. It was something she had done ever since Lara was a little girl, the poor darling used to suffer with what seemed like the most terrible night terrors, though at times Julia was certain it was the result of an all too active imagination. She hadn’t been able to refuse the innocent wide-eyed look Lara would give her when she begged for her to stay at her side, and so a nightly tradition had been born. And though it had started as a means of comfort for Lara it had, over the years developed into something else. For Julia it was a means of strengthen in the bond between them, though lately it had become more of an introspective exercise. More and more Julia found herself wondering just where she had gone wrong. She knew that Martin and a considerate number of her friends and colleagues blamed Lara for having turned her marriage and family life – what little there was of it - into something of a support function yet Julia could not bring herself to the same. She knew that Lara had her own demons to battle, quite like herself.

They were alike in so many ways, Julia had often marveled at their close resemblance that was nothing if not striking. They had the same sparkling eyes, the same soft porcelain skin, and thick wavy hair, as if unable to help herself Julia reached out her hand to lightly stroke at Lara’s head still in awe of its lustre. Despite their similarities Julia knew well they were also very different, like mirror images one prefect and unscratched, the other shattered and desperately trying to remain within its frame. There was a touch of Martin in her as well, that same headstrong stubbornness and quick temper. But Julia knew most of the fault lay with her. As a mother she should have done more or at the very least be able to mend the damage she had caused. But for now she was at a loss as to where to begin, and took solace in the fact that at least while in dreams her daughter was at peace. Rising soundlessly, Julia leaned over her sleeping little girl and lightly brushed her lips across her cheek, whispering her love – something she could never say aloud when Lara was awake.

After leaving Lara’s room, Julia went to her room her hands going instantly to her cello. Much like her writing, her music was like salvation. It called to her, bade her shed her burdens in its haunting melodies. It was only when she was fully spent, weeping as she played, that she settled into bed… alone once more, as always. She consoled herself with the thought that with tomorrow there would be another chance to start again.



*******************************



Lara was already awake by the time Julia made her way downstairs the next morning. She was sitting at the kitchen table leafing through a magazine, wearing nothing but a t-shirt – that was far too short and too thin to be considered decent, to Julia’s mind – and her panties. Julia said nothing not wanting to start the morning off on a bad foot, and instead set about preparing breakfast. Martin had not yet returned home from campus and would no doubt be hungry when he arrived. Seconds later as though having heard her thoughts, he came walking through the kitchen door. Julia turned to offer him a smile, but saw that his eyes weren’t on her. Lara had by now gotten up to get a glass of juice from the refrigerator, or so Julia had thought. Following Martin line of vision, she saw Lara standing in front of the refrigerator with the door ajar drinking her orange juice straight from the carton. Julia could tell by Martin’s expression that he had not yet gotten over last night’s shenanigans. She could almost see the storm clouds rolling in across his features, and she knew she was in for one hell of a morning. So much for a fresh start…

 

[magbeam]

Martin Vaughn

So this is what it's come down to, Martin thought, as Lara subjected him to her infantile rant. He felt like reaching out and slapping the little bitch across the face. Little bitch. There had been a time when he never would have used those words, never would have even considered using those words about any of his family members, let alone his daughter. Even after she had started becoming a teenager and going into her sullen outcast phase, he has resisted it for a long time, long after she practically began to beg the term to be applied to her by her every action. He had resisted it as a matter of honor. She just wants the attention associated with being called a bitch, a whore, a slut, he had thought to himself. Rise above it. She'll grow out of it, and when she does, it'll be better for her not to have to remember her father calling her those things.

He had abandoned that idea maybe five years ago. He remembered the night perfectly - yet another broken family dinner like tonight, Julia at the table with him well after the food had gone cold and hours after Lara had promised she would be home. It was funny; he could remember the setting of that night perfectly, but couldn't remember what had triggered it. Was that the night Lara had come back home obviously drunk, with the remains of vomit down the front of her shirt? Smelling of pot? Getting dropped off by the car full of college basketball players? No, it wasn't that; that had been the night Lara had called him a racist just because her 'friends' had been mostly black. Obviously the thought of his little girl getting gang-banged by half the school basketball team had had nothing to do with it. In any case, Julia had softly asked where Lara had been, and gotten the (by then, already) usual dismissive reply. Martin had been quiet until then, but at
hearing Lara's snideness, he shot up out of his chair, bellowing, "You show some respect to your mother, you goddamned BITCH! Go to your room. I don't want to see your face tonight."

Julia had stared at him, mouth open, hands half-way up towards covering it. Lara had stared at him as well for a second, before starting up the stairs, launching over her shoulder one of her usual sardonic retorts. Probably something to the effect of "Cool down, Martin, you'll give Julia a heart attack" or "You think this is punishment? Why do you think I stayed out past dinner time in the first place?" or something along one of those tracks. Even then, after she had gone, Martin had felt horrible, and had even gone up to her room later that night to try and apologize.

Lara blew him off, of course. And now, he called her a bitch so often that it might as well have been the name on her birth certificate.

"You think I'm pathetic? I'm a failure?" His hold on her arm was tight enough that it had to be hurting; Lara didn't make any expression (probably too stoned to feel anything, anyways - even assuming she could feel any emotion other than sadistic glee at destroying her life and the lives of everyone who came into contact with her) so Martin squeezed her arm even tighter. He wanted her to feel this; he wanted to make an impression. Part of it was a tiny frustrated, angry, repressed, sadistic side of his own personality; part of it was a frustrated, sad, hurt part of him that hoped that just maybe this would be the time he could break through the monstrous shell Lara had built around her and he could get in to the sweet girl his daughter had once been. "You think you're a failure? How can you be a failure when you haven't even tried anything? And it's not fear that you'll do poorly, is it? I think you're afraid you'll do well. After all, then what
sort of excuse for fucking up your life would you have? Bah." Martin let go of her arm, wandering off into the living room. His head was pounding, his brain felt like it was going to crack open his skull and explode through the roof, there was so much pressure building up there. His doctor had been warning him about high blood pressure the last few years. Martin had a feeling it wasn't just a familial disposition towards it that was to blame.

After some choice parting obscenities to her mother, Lara went upstairs to her room. Martin stood still, trying to hear the slam of the door behind her; in a way, that would be a blessing, show that she was affected by some emotion. Instead, there was just the faint sound, muffled through the floor, of her closing her door behind her. She was a fucking Mr. Spock, calmly and logically hitting just the pressure points needed to send her parents into meltdown and then just as calmly and nonchalantly leaving the scene of the carnage behind her, unphased. Just give her some pointy ears and a bowl haircut and the illusion would be complete.

Martin walked upstairs after a few minutes, to his study. Putting his coat on and tucking a few papers into his briefcase, he locked the door behind him, then stepped over to in front of Lara's room. He remained there several moments, unmoving, faintly considering knocking gently, maybe seeing if it was open, going in and sitting down on the edge of her bed like he used to do when she was a child, stroking her hair or hugging her and whispering to her that it was all right, that he still loved her, that even daddies and their daughters got into fights once in a while but it didn't change that they still love each other.

"You're a coward, Lara," he called through her door, instead. "A fucking coward as well as a fuckup. You fuck our lives up, and then just go hide behind your door. At least I wasn't afraid to face up the Astronautical Society. Who the hell have you ever stood up to?"

Julia was on her knees in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess Lara had made with her temper tantrum, of course struggling to remain the picture of the ideal domestic goddess even in the face of this utter fiasco. "I need to head back to campus for the night," he said. "Got some big observations coming up." The excuse was deliberately half-hearted, to put it generously. When he first realized that his profession offered an easy out for unpleasant nights home with the family, Martin had made up grandiose excuses incorporating actual astronomical events, paranoid that Julia would see through it somehow, that she would care enough to look up whether Jupiter was in the sky currently or when Eta Carinae actually set or if Tralfamadore was an actual planet or not. He had slowly come to realize that she didn't even care, and as time went on, he realized he could get away with flimsier and flimsier excuses. He got something of a thrill out of it, vicious even in
his own eyes, seeing how far he could push Julia in this way, make her act like she believed him when he didn't even try to make it a believably excuse. However, like every night he used it, to this she merely mumbled something, giving her consent.

The roads were almost empty at this hour of night, which was good, all things considered. Around half-way between their house and the Marshall campus there was a package store; Martin stopped, and bought a bottle of Jack Daniel's from the dour Hindu proprietor. Several more minutes brought him to campus, where he parked his car and climbed the stairs of the Ogilvy Astronomy Building to where his office was. He never took the elevator; he wanted to stay in shape somehow, after all. Although recently, he wondered why. It wasn't as if he still had to show off for Julia, or that she even noticed.

In the office, Martin placed the pillow he kept in one of his cabinets on his desk, and wrapped himself in an old blanket. One of the blankets he and Julia had used to lie on to stare at the sky in their younger days. Now he used it to just keep himself warm; a student had once gotten hypothermia when he had fallen asleep in the school library overnight. He fancied he could still smell a trace of young Julia's perfume on it. Martin wasn't a drinking man, but soon half the small bottle of liquor was gone.

The next thing he knew, there was a knock on his door, and the digital clock on the wall was telling him that it was 6:30 AM. Five whole hours gone by. Martin got up from where he had been drooling into the pillow on his desk, the action making his head pound even more; thankfully, even half a bottle of Tennessee whiskey couldn't compare to how Lara made his head ache. He put the bottle of pick-me-up into his desk drawer, and went to answer the door.

"Martin? I saw your light on - wondered whether you'd been burning the midnight candle again. Not like you to leave lights on, after all." The man, another member of the astronomy faculty, looked at him critically. "You feeling all right?" His nose twitched; no doubt smelling the whiskey. "You know, if you're not feeling well, you can always take a day off; I mean, I don't think I've ever seen you to take a class off. I'm sure your students wouldn't mind."

"I'm sure of that, Herbert. I'm fine." Martin yawned, then wished he hadn't when he saw the face Herbert made. He rubbed his face, which felt like a curious mix of sandpaper and raw beef. "Although maybe I could stand to freshen up for a bit." Hopefully neither Julia nor Lara would be up at this hour, anyways.

Herbert nodded his head. "That sounds like a capital idea, Martin. I'll see you in a few hours."

Twenty minutes later, and Martin pulled his car back into his driveway at home, not bothering to put it into the garage. He would only be there for a few minutes, anyway - and anyways, opening the garage door might wake up Julia. He took a deep breath. Maybe this was all just a rough patch, after all. Maybe a few days where he kept to his work to calm down, where Lara stayed out of his sight, would lower the stress valves inside him, let him get over it, give him the strength to get back in control...

When he opened the door to the house, he saw his attempts to slip in and out undisturbed were in vain. Julia was in the kitchen, cooking, of course, and of course turned to give him a smile as soon as he walked in, once again escaping from reality (or at least trying to) into one of her domestic bliss fantasies. And Lara...

Lara was wearing nothing but a T-shirt that was too short, too tight, and too transparent. He could see her nipples clearly through the material, for Christ's sake - not just the bumps they made, but see them, two miniature Mons Olympi. Below, she wore a thong that was pale blue in color, made of a similarly transparent material and clinging perfectly to the shape of her cleft - she was shameless. A shameless whore.

As he watched, Lara picked up something, bringing it to her mouth - one of Julia's cigarettes, nicked from her mother. That, or Julia had given one to her. In either case, she was clearly too weak to even tell her daughter not to smoke indoors, let alone confront her over why she was smoking. Lara stood up, ciggy dangling from her lips, as she sashayed over to the fridge, opened it, and removed the carton of orange juice. Opening it, she placed her cigarette in her free hand and drank straight from it.

Martin fumed. Her being a slut was one thing. Her polluting herself was one thing. But this...That was a carton for everyone. He didn't drink milk from the carton, and never had; was his daughter going to be as big a slob as any teenaged male stereotype?

Looking over at him, Lara met his gaze - then evenly moved her other hand over, and flicked the ashes from the cigarette into the orange juice carton.

"God damn it, that's it." Walking over to where Lara stood there, her sarcastic little smirk on her face, Martin was consumed with an urge to wipe it off. And so he did.

With his right hand, Martin slapped his daughter hard across the face.