Chris Goes Home

Later in the evening, the encounter with the hooded woman the furthest thing from his mind, Chris made his way home, happy to be finished work for the day, but... not unhappy to have to be with his daughter, but... maybe distressed was the right word. He was certain Shay's pain of losing her mother was worse, but it still hurt Chris deeply to see his daughter in such a state.

Case in point, after taking off his shoes and jacket and depositing his briefcase, Chris made his way towards the kitchen. Long days at the office and a depressed daughter didn't give him an excuse to slack on upkeep for the house; he had basically become the de-facto homemaker as well as breadwinner since Becca's passing, cleaning and cooking and everything else that came with running a household. That meant dinner was his responsibility, and the first thing he did when returning home. Much to his great surprise, upon entering the kitchen though, was a rare appearance by his daughter.

He would have loved to say that seeing her did his heart well, but as bad as Shay was mentally, she was just as rough physically. Her blonde hair, normally neatly trimmed to the nape of her neck, was a long, tangled mess. Greasy and matted and dull and flat. Large red zits covered her face, with her eyes being downcast and dark where they were once so bold and bright. Shay use to take after her mother, too, both women slender and petite, but it seemed Shay only found solace in junk food nowadays, having grown pudgy along her waist and in her cheeks, the extra weight visible even through her overly-large sweater.

Still, Chris did his best to put on a warm, welcoming face. "Hey there, sweetie." He said in soft tones like he was trying to coax a scared animal forward. "How are you doing? How was your day?"

Much like a scared animal, Shay flinched visibly at the sound of his voice, going deathly still for a long moment. Then, she averted her eyes, mumbled something inaudible, and skulked away upstairs and to her room. Chris sighed in defeat, slumping his shoulder, holding his forehead in the palm of his hand. That... could have gone worse. He rarely saw Shay outside of her room these days, for one. Hell, he remembered Christmas Day when he couldn't even coax her out of her room, the poor girl spending the entirety of the holiday isolated, alone, and sobbing.

Chris knew he had a responsibility here, but he was at a loss over what to do. If he couldn't get his girl to come out for one hour on Christmas morning, how was he suppose to convince her to go see a therapist? As he slowly worked his way to making dinner, he fought off the ever-present nightmare of Shay doing something drastic; self-harm or, worse yet, taking her own life. He felt like he was doing a good job keeping himself together in the wake of Becca's ****, but he didn't think he could survive losing both wife and daughter in such a short time.

All he had were memories of his little girl, it seemed. Of the sweet, sunny young woman who loved to swim and go on long bike rides, who they shared plenty of nights together watching movies or playing video games, making silly wagers on games of _Smash Bros. _or Mario Kart. One time, she had bested him by the skin of her teeth on Rainbow Road, forcing him to dump leftover spaghetti all over his head and then go and say hello to their neighbours. She followed behind in his wake, giggling and sputtering with laughter, totally breaking by the second house and waving him off of his responsibility by the third, Shay red in the face and reduced to tears.

With only the sound of the TV to accompany him, Chris made dinner (Shay did not come down to eat), ate, cleaned up, and went to bed, trailed everywhere he went by the ghosts of happy memories of the shadows of his worst fears.

In his bedroom, later that night, Chris began to undress for the day and go to bed. It was then and there he pulled out a strange ring. It took a moment for his memory to start up, remembering the odd encounter with the woman, her cryptic knowledge and speech, and her sudden disappearance.

"Grant my desires? Grant wishes? What a crock..." Chris said to himself, rolling the silver band across his fingers. But, then again... what did he really have to lose here? Was it really that bad to wish for something better for his daughter? To have hope?

Slipping it on to his ring finger next to his wedding band, Chris decided to roll the dice.

"I wish my daughter was happy and healthy again."

He honestly didn't know what to expect. Light or noise or any sort of effect to signal that it worked. But there was... nothing. The simple ring still felt oddly warm, but he rationalized that it was just because it had been in his pocket all day.

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself for his naivety, Chris crawled into bed and went to sleep, unaware of the weak, pulsing light radiating from the stone on the ring...