Before Her Eyes (Constance Langdon x OC)

Four Little Words

After her final day with her nose buried in the same old book, Cassandra felt strange. She'd gained a lot of insight and knowledge into subjects she'd never broached before, but nothing seemed concrete enough to be the answer to her one and only burning question. Things were finally settling down though, it seemed. She still held the fond memory of her last evening with Constance, though it was hard to believe it had already been a week ago. It felt good to be enjoying her life again. She used to be all monotonous research, no play. She had answers to find of course, but she wasn't doing herself or her family any favors by becoming a recluse. She'd find what she was looking for one day. She wouldn't rest until she did, but there could be time for other things. Her time in California had taught her that much.

Cassandra looked at the time, expecting it to be around dinner as her stomach grumbled the moment she looked at the clock. Nine at night. It was later than she thought. Just enough time for a quick snack to satiate her and then off to bed. She'd be sure to eat a big breakfast the following morning. Now, despite being a bit hungry and seriously tired, Cassandra was feeling good, normal even, for a girl who lived in a house full of ghosts and talked to her cat.

It was business as usual the following week, which was almost a refreshing change of pace. Several of her article deadlines were met far before they needed to be. Cassandra was feeling efficient and accomplished. She planned a date with Constance for the weekend. They were actually going out this time. A nice restaurant fairly close to a park, where they could walk and talk afterwards. Everything was falling into place.

Cassandra was almost concerned when another week went by just as smoothly. Something bad had to be coming, or maybe her luck had simply, finally, turned around. She didn't dwell on it too much, since there was no use complaining about things going right. She was just going to ride this wave of good fortune until it crashed at the shore. Which it did on Friday morning.

Friday morning was going as effortlessly as usual until Cassandra finished breakfast. She headed into the library and found Simon batting something around on the floor. Chastising him, she shooed him off and took a look at what it was that he'd been playing with. The bookmark. He'd ripped it. Luckily it was only a piece that had been torn off, but it still didn't make her happy. Now she had two pieces of a mysterious paper. The larger part had the numbers 79138295 and the smaller part contained the first two digits. 66. Sixty six, she thought, dragging the words out in her mind. Why did that seem so familiar to her? Cassandra looked into her journal of notes and found where she made a note off to the side about the bookmark. She'd found it on page 66. Cassandra went to pull the book off the shelf again in a rush. That had to be a sign, didn't it? Cassandra slammed the book down on the desk and flipped to the right page. She read every word until none of them made sense anymore. There was nothing of significance on the page. Had she been wrong? Or was page 66 only part of it?

She looked at the rest of the numbers. Maybe it was that common, page number then corresponding word number, code. She tried that until she ran out of combinations. Then she dropped her head onto the opened book and groaned. She may have run out of options now, but she wasn't about to give up on it. Moderation, she reminded herself. Everything in moderation.

Another week went by and she kept up her mantra of balancing everything out, despite the frenzied thoughts of the puzzle's potential solutions that periodically flooded her mind. By the week after that, the unbreakable code was really beginning to eat at her. She thought of mentioning it to Constance, but then thought better of it. Best not to drag her into her craziness too far. She didn't want to ruin a good thing, and it was great between them. Better than great. It was wonderful. For the first time in her life, Cassandra was falling in love.

By the end of the month, Cassandra had lost her focus, her rhythm. She called and visited Constance less than usual. She missed the deadline for one article and barely managed to make another. She even paid Simon less attention, though she'd noticed he got plenty enough from Moira, and the occasional affection from Nora as well, who appeared to now be thriving. Breaking her cycle of sorrow had actually helped.

Cassandra, however, reverted back to old habits. She stayed solely focused on that bookmark and its possible code. She'd googled common codes, tried really obscure ones that probably weren't actual codes at all, but just something that her mind had made up in attempt to keep her sane. Nothing seemed to work. She was losing it. Had she spent all this time fretting and obsessing over nothing? A break. She needed a break. Nothing big. She wouldn't leave the house, just stay in and take a couple days to unwind, let the mania over those damn numbers go for a while. Maybe if she just left them be, something would come to her in a couple of days time when she looked at them again. If not, then it was to the trash for the crummy old piece of scrap.

It was a challenge, but Cassandra forcibly pulled herself away from everything and focused on something else. A marathon of horror classics on tv, listening to Vivien play her cello in the living room, reading a novel, anything to keep her mind occupied. She called Constance a couple of times to assure her that she was still alive, which was apparently a genuine concern of Constance's, but she didn't go over to her place. She didn't think it was wise just yet. They may be on the verge of taking things to the next level and Cassandra was a bit paranoid about scaring her off if she found her in a state like this.

Finally, after what seemed like forever for her, but had in all actuality been forty eight hours and hardly a minute more, Cassandra went back into the library and took another look at the torn bookmark and it's taunting numbers. Pages. Maybe they were all just pages. If she put them in order, then there'd be a number of different pages she'd need to look at. Page 66, obviously. It had to be. Next would be 79, then 138 and 295. She read all of them. They didn't connect. They didn't even have a general theme. They were only excerpts from stories Phineas had collected. "Ugh, Simon, what do I try now," Cassandra asked out of frustration. The cat meowed once. Cassandra then suddenly perked up as a bout of inspiration hit her, and in her burst of energy she swooped the cat up in her arms and pressed a kiss to his furry head. "That's it! Simon, you absolute genius! The first word on each page."

Cassandra sat the cat down gently and began to try and decipher her code again. She flipped to the pages in order. 66. 79. 138. 295. Writing down the words as she reached them, Cassandra felt the rush of adrenaline course through her. This had to be it. As she finished penciling down the last word, it all clicked. She hadn't really been paying attention to them as she'd transcribed them, though her subconscious picked up on it. Cassandra's lead snapped at the end of the last word from the pressure she was now putting on the pencil.

Her blood turned to ice in her veins as she read the simple sentence it translated to. I. Killed. Your. Family. I killed your family. That's what it said. But, that wasn't possible. Cassandra suddenly lost the ability to think rationally. Phineas, he said, he said that he'd had the book printed especially for her. But no, it couldn't be. This wasn't possible. He —the book— the whole time it had been him? Cassandra's breathing was uneven, the stress nearly causing her to have a panic attack. She couldn't keep sitting here and staring at these pages, those words. Those, sick, sick words. She still didn't want to believe them. She couldn't believe them, though deep down she knew they were the truth she'd been looking for. Now, she didn't even want to think about them. She had to do something, anything else, something that would take her fully away from all this.

Heart still pounding fiercely, Cassandra shoved back her chair, tipping it over and scaring the cat who darted to another room. She left it there and bounded for the front door. Slamming the door behind her, but not bothering to lock it, she ran over to Constance's house and frantically knocked on the door, not stopping until Constance swung the door open. Cassandra's eyes were wide and wild. Her breaths still came to her sharply, and she feared she was on the verge of a breakdown. She would do anything, anything to stop it.

"Cassandra, are you alright," Constance asked. The words were hardly out before Cassandra pulled Constance into a rough, passionate kiss. She needed to feel...something, anything other than whatever it was she was feeling, if she was even feeling anything at all. She couldn't really tell anymore. Constance didn't resist, didn't question it. She wanted this almost as much as it seemed that Cassandra needed it. If she wanted to talk about it after, then so be it. Now, they were well beyond words.