Chapter Text
“To the world you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world.”~Dr. Seuss
1998
Cathal did not know what his mother was thinking, when she came in their cozy little cottage in the Scottish country side, announcing they were moving to America. Even the family cat, Macbeth, his orange and black Calico raised his head from his paws as if to say 'are you mad, woman?'.
No, Sorscha is not by any means mad. She is perfectly healthy body and mind when her own son asked that of her. He loved it in Scotland. The people, the architecture. His friends were here. He spoke of the move to one of them, an Irish lass named Cadhla. Her face paled more so, when she learned the school he would be transferring to.
Cathal…I don't like this, not one bit. Columbine is a dangerous school from what I have read, do you really have to make this move? They favor jocks and popularity above anything else.
And? It's like that everywhere, Caddie. I'll be fine, I'm a big boy.
Apparently so.
They arrived at their new house early Saturday morning, on a beautiful golden dawn morning. In a place called Littleton, Colorado. A Queen Anne style house, that made Cathal miss their cottage life already. It was not too big, at least. There is a rounded out part in front next to the front door, blue with a white trim. It reminded Cathal of a castle tower in a way.
He could feel his mother's arm around his shoulder, smiling bright. "Well? What do you think, darling? It's wonderful isn't it? You have a bigger bedroom, too!"
"I guess it's…alright," Cathal said. Trying to put on a brave face. He was only seventeen, a senior in high school. This was a big move. He wore a cream colored buttoned down shirt with sleeves and dark brown pants. Colder here as well, which is not unusual for him or his family.
Macbeth could be heard pacing in his crate, growing restless from which Sorscha sighed and released the furball at last. "Alright, out ya go, 'Your Majesty'." She spoke with sarcasm, Macbeth noticed and merely turned his head trotting up to Cathal rubbing against his leg.
A chuckle left Cathal's lips, picking him up with ease. "Mam, you know he's going to resent you for coming up with that nickname." He teased.
"Oh, I'm not afraid of him one bit, he best not forget whom it is that feeds him those cat treats he likes so much. The kind with that soft cream filling?" Sorscha raised a challenging brow. Macbeth's chest rumbles with a chirping sound, of disdain making both laugh.
Sorscha and Cathal looked alike in some ways. He had her dark brown hair, that was not spiked or unusual to look at with her natural curls. He had soft brown eyes with green specs in them. Both were pale, but not sickly pale, they liked being out much as they could.
Soon as Sorscha unlocked the front door, they helped their moving team much as possible. Cathal could hear his mother call out 'Be-careful, those are very fragile!' referring to her glass collection of doves and fox figurines. Hand painted by his grandfather.
Once they had their boxes laid out, and after hours of unpacking and arranging furniture, Cathal could safely say it felt like home somewhat. Unsure what to have for dinner, as both suffered from jetlag still, Sorscha thought take out would be nice. Neither had a fondness for pizza, instead ordering Chinese.
Cathal's mouth watered to smell orange chicken and fried rice, all but devouring it. Macbeth slanted on ear at him.
"Oi, I've see you eat, don't judge me." He stuck out his tongue.
If cats could talk, he wondered what Macbeth would say to him. Sorscha laughed, taking a not so dainty bite out of her egg roll. Her mother, that is Cathal's grandmother, insisted on etiquette despite the fact they were not a family of wealth.
"Macbeth judges everyone remember? We are no exception. Now…have you Seen anything, dear?" she inquired.
He paused mid chew, swallowing. "…I guess? It was pretty frightening, this time."
"You don't have to, but, I am curious. And your mother. I don't wish any secrets from either of us."
Cathal hesitated. Unsure if he wanted to even go back there just yet. "I saw lockers…of my new school. Something was on everyone of 'em, red stained. I knew it was blood, somehow, I could smell it even when I was asleep, or awake? I don't know. It scares me sometimes, mam, when I get these visions. I want to understand them, but part of me just wants them to go away."
Sorscha placed her hand gently on his. Calloused with hard work, before she took up nursing, she worked on her family's farm. "It could mean something, or nothing at all. You've been under stress since grandpa passed away. Don't deny it, I see it in those eyes of yours, his very eyes."
She showed pictures of her father. A tall man of six foot. He once interrupted a fight at a wedding, but realizing it to be his own brother in the brawl, Bahltair Voron lifted him by his shirt, setting the man back down. "Oh, sorry Harold, didn't know it was you." He had said.
Cathal is five foot and five inches tall, fairly short for a young man. He did indeed have Bahltair's eyes from all pictures he had seen of his grandfather.
"Now, that dinner's over with do you want to walk around town a bit? Get used to our new bearings?"
"I guess, yeah. Macbeth you coming?"
The cat gave a pointed look, returning towards his television show. Neither mother nor son asked how the tv turned on, let alone to 'Sabrina the Teenage Witch'. He liked Salem, that much Cathal could tell and concerned him.
He thought neighborhood's like this existed only in movies or books, a quaint area perfect for families. A couple of twelve year olds went by on their bicycles, someone's dog barked at them walking by, but allowed his head to be pet by Sorscha upon the owner's permission. Most animals liked her.
The Rockies could be seen just by their tall peaks, golden afternoon light crowns atop them. Inspite of the quiet of this neighborhood, Cathal could hear music blaring from a black BMW. He flinched, unfamiliar with the band playing. Rory and Kyle liked their rock and roll music back home, while Cathal preferred softer, instrumental music.
Sorscha found a bookstore that peeked her interest and Cathal's. A cozy little shop, smelling of new books and that faint scent of pumpkin spice being October 1st. Laughter echoed from behind them, revealing two boys.
One is tall and lanky, uncoordinated based on movement alone. He wore a t-shirt with some band named Cathal did not know, wondering if they were the two driving by. "Hey, think that new issue for Swamp Thing came in?"
His friend is shorter. Dark hair cut short, blue eyes that stood out. He wore a white shirt with a flannel jacket and dark colored jeans. Both had on combat boots to Cathal's annoyance. Why were those so popular?
"I hope so, been dying to read something with actual art." The tall one stated.
Cathal snorted. Sorscha gave him a warning look, while the two boys noticed his reaction. "Jee, look Dyl, a book snob. What a shock around here." He sighed in mock disappointment.
Dylan had difficulty looking in Cathal's direction. You could see it in his eyes, brushing away a strand of blond hair. Yet, he did manage a raised brow. "What's wrong with comic books?"
"Nothing. Nothing's wrong, you'll have to forgive my son, we just moved here and he's suffering jet lag still." Sorscha attempted to smooth things over, to which Cathal's face burned with embarrassment.
"Mam, I can handle myself just fine," he muttered. Looking back at the boys. "Well, she's right nothing's wrong, but you aren't really reading. You're looking at pictures with one word things. 'Bam'. 'Pow'. 'Take that Batman'…."
"Cathal…" she hissed warning.
Eric was bored, but Dylan cocked his head. A smirk tugging over his lips. "Is that so? Alright, what books do you read then?"
Cathal jutted his chin. "Books that mean something. Think…Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, Jane Austen's works. Anne of Green Gables. Heck, even Winnie the Poo has more depth than…Swamp Thing."
"A boy who imagines his toys coming to life. Uh-huh, and that's not childish in any way at all." Dylan hummed, liking the way Cathal bristled, muttering under his breath. Sorscha heaved an impatient sigh, turning with a face that read 'please don't tee-pee our new home later'.
"I am so sorry for him, he gets rather grumpy after long flights or car rides," she ignores his mortified 'mam!' exclamation. As long as you're reading, I see no harm whatsoever." She cleared her throat, offering her hand. "I'm his mother, Sorscha Voron. And this is Cathal."
Eric laughed once, flicking through a comic. "What kind of name is Cathal? Sounds like Cat-Hall."
Oh, the look on his face. He is not violent by any means, but Cathal balled his hand at his side. "It means to do battle in Scottish," Sorscha stated, not afraid now that her son's name had been insulted. "My father picked it out."
"Whatever."
Sorscha huffed. Muttering how she hated that word, 'whatever'. Dylan gave them a mock salute upon paying for his comic, Eric whispered something in his ear. Cathal turned to his mother, a most unamused expression crossed over.
"They're going to tee pee our house now."
"Doesn't take a psychic to see that." Sorscha sighed. "You just have to be like grandpa, don't you?"
Though there is pride in her eyes, she liked when he stood up for himself. Even as a little boy, he would fight back with words should someone say something about him. Once bit a boy on his back, in middle school trying to toss him into the dumpster.
A
Night is quick to fall over Littleton. Cathal had finished his preparations for his first day of school, laying out clothes, getting his notes ready. Flash cards for studies were laid out neat on his new desk. His bed feels welcoming, soft. A faint smile crossed his face, looking at the picture of himself and his friends at a beach one year.
"Sorry guys, hope we can see each other again soon…" he let out a yawn, stroked Macbeth's ears. And allowed his eyes to close, hearing an episode of Twilight Zone play from his mother's bedroom.
Macbeth slanted an ear at his owner, laying his head across Cathal's ankles. He too falls asleep, dreaming of whatever it is cats dream about.