A bend in space-time (Season 3) - The Umbrella Academy

Chapter 9: The Great Mystery

Chronological markers: this scene fits in as a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, season 3, episode 3, around 14:00 (while Luther, Viktor and Allison discuss the missing persons at the bar).

Suggested soundtrack: Omnia - Shaman of Chaos ; Parov Stellar - All Night.

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April 3 2019, 23:32

I was unsettled when I teleported out of Hargreeves Mansion. Even more so – a thousand times more, to be honest – than when I had entered it in search of answers. At least now, I know what happened to Christopher. What could have happened to me. My mind is roaring and churning. Because now I know what Reginald Hargreeves did to him, and – through the looking glass – to me.

As I walked, letting the biting air of April nights invigorate me, I realized that he hadn't entirely lied to Klaus. In his twisted way, he had admitted - unbelievably - that he had messed up raising the Umbrellas by choosing a form of 'parenting' based on absolute authority and domination. He had used the 'control group' - in the experimental sense - consisting of Lila, myself, and perhaps others, to study how our powers might have developed under different upbringing scenarios.

I also got a kind of confirmation that he didn't adopt the Sparrows simply to replace his previous children, but to complement them with a group raised differently, and perhaps with complementary powers. He was fully aware that Five would bring the Umbrellas back to him. This time, he took the opposite approach and based his parenting on mastering powers, boosting self-worth, and building ego. He created such confident personalities that he might once again lose control: at the very least, that's what happened with Christopher, and it cost him dearly.

Two different types of parenting, two failures stemming from excess. Really, it's as if Reginald Hargreeves is incapable of nuance when it comes to understanding human psychology, even though he can manipulate the most incredible technologies.

And unfortunately, there is more to the turmoil I am experiencing now. Earlier, another one of those terrible waves of energy pulsed through me, so strong that my hands flew to my temples. Incredibly powerful this time: as if it were being drawn from point-blank range. As if it were born from the very depths of Hargreeves Mansion.

Rainshade Square was absolutely deserted when I crossed it. Not a soul in sight, as if I were in one of those zombie or epidemic movies, where cities are empty of people and silent. I can't help but connect this to Five's words earlier in the car. With this new apocalypse he predicts, due to the paradox we have become. A new kind of doomsday, which he assumes is inexorably destined to sweep away all beings, and then everything else.

And yet, the bus passed by. A few pedestrians re-entered my line of sight as we crossed the few stops that separated us from Hotel Obsidian. It's a lot to take in for a single day, and I feel like I'm in a daze. It will be very difficult for me to sleep, even though I'm exhausted.

Invisible and intangible, I cross the lobby, as if I want to remain hidden from everyone and everything. Basically: to not exist myself, just for a moment. Chet is no longer behind his counter: only Iggy is still sipping a drink, alone at the bar, the long feather of his hat standing out in black against the amber bottles of liquor. I think back to our conversation from the morning, but I don't stop. I head toward the Grand Staircase, concealed from anyone's view, not slowing my pace.

I don't even use the buttons to operate the elevator. I channel my energy directly into its system and turn to watch the doors close on the retro-futuristic lobby.

It starts to move.
I close my eyes.
And my power probes what is around me.

I feel the energy and mechanics pulling me upward, much like Klaus would encourage me to feel the shakti flowing through my chakras. Just as I once sneaked into the mechanics of the bus we called Priscilla, I explore the electrical systems of the floors I pass, the rooms, letting the connections extend down to the basement and higher, ever higher. The coffee machines, the Art Deco lamps, the telephones. Up to the crackling of the large red neon light on the roof.