'Lost On You' (Jane Version)

[Alternate Text: A header image of a slightly foggy road that is flanked by dark, towering trees that are made all the darker from the clouded over sky. The title 'Lost On You' is in a simple white font in between one of the road markers that divide the lanes. Overall, it's mysteriously glum.]

This writing is set during Chapter 1 of TFS: Book One. It's what might have come before the Returning Visitor's encounter with the mysterious figure in the cul de sac. It provides insight into how J was feeling that night.

A few things to please note: 1. the A. Corvin in this has a negative past history/frenemy dynamic with the MC, so that's why they behave this way. I know some of you might not play with this triggered, but I wanted a bit of drama. 😌 2. Trent's disposition will differ across the writings just like it does in the main TFS series if you play with Jane versus James. 3. For this writing, J. Corvin harbors a childhood crush on the MC, which is a possibility based on your decisions and what information you uncover during the series. I'm mentioning it now, so no one is like: 'it's canon!' and rejoices or freaks out. Maybe, maybe not. You can trigger the flower memory hinted at in this writing in Book Two depending on your choices. 👀

All of that's to say: there are factors that helped me shape J's POV.

A weak knocking pattern barely draws Jane's attention away from the grisly images she's intently studying. It happens again—a series of half-hearted knocks as if the person doesn't want to strike the door. She gradually blinks away the phantom carving lines from her vision before stiffly rising from her desk chair to unlock the door. The shadows cast in the room seem to waver, twisting into those brutal lines.

It was a slow death.

When she opens the door a crack, Trent lingers near the threshold before offering an unnecessary wave. "Yes?" Jane offers a polite prompt. "Do you need something…? Is something wrong?"

"Nah, I'm just a messenger. Alek's on line 2 for you—uh, not that we were chatting for super long," he belatedly clarifies following Jane's jaw locking. "Because I'm on reception desk duty, which is still kind of important even if there’s no trouble tonight—or most nights, honestly. Oh, and Alek reminded me to refuel you, so here you go." He offers his boss a fresh cup of coffee.

"Still, the lines must be kept open at all times"—Trent eyes a particularly shiny fleck of something in the linoleum flooring during her calm reminder—"but thank you."

Her simple gratitude earns a smile from the relatively green deputy before the two part ways.

Jane doesn't swap out her favored ceramic coffee cup for this new one, leaving it in its designated spot among the files and papers instead. It cheerily smiles back at her before she collects the phone's handset to take the call. "Alek?"

"Have you seen our dearest returning visitor yet?"

Sarcasm laces through her brother's question in a way that would make Jane lightly pinch the bridge of her nose if not for her glasses being in place. She tiredly peers up at the ceiling tiles, noticing a blotch among them that is mildly rust tinged in this lighting. There was so much red—too much exposed of a man she couldn't bring herself to look at some days. "…Don't."

"I'm going to take that as a 'hell no', Jay," he breezily continues. "Good for you."

Only her sigh filters through the receiver as she rests her eyes, closing them for a moment since the door is locked and her brother's listening.

"When will that change?" he presses. "And I hope you aren't going to be the one who changes it? It'll be too desp"—Alek begrudgingly alters his word choice—"too eager after all of the time that's passed."

"[Name] only just arrived back today, and I'm not eager." In her mind's eye, the single date circled in red on her blank calendar appears before its border starts to steadily run and drip, bleeding. Jane blindly reaches for her fresh cup of coffee, taking a near scalding sip of its contents. She clears her throat. "Why are you calling me this late? Also, the reception desk?"

"I wanted to talk to Trent about our campaign, then I wanted to see if you're still awake, so I did both. Two birds, one crust of bread."

That isn't the saying; however, Alek wouldn't want to think about killing birds with a stone.

"Nice dodge, by the way."

Jane smiles wryly at nothing before slipping off her glasses to rub at her left eye. "I'll need to hand off [Grandfather_Name]'s personal items," she explains. The inclusion of the walkie talkie in your cardboard box is only going to spark a debate between them that she doesn't have time for. Alek is being protective while leaning into clashing with you. It's familiar. "No, I won't be the one seeing [him/her/them] first, okay?"

"You swear?"

"Alek," she intones his name. "It has been years."

"Exactly: it's been years, and I am sorry about his passing, but that isn't a free pass from me."

"Try to be polite, please?" Jane requests. "But, yes, I'm not going to crowd [Name] at all."

"Once you're kind to yourself then maybe I'll be polite," he cheekily replies, except there was an undercurrent of seriousness at the very start. "I've got to go feed Huck—he's eyeing my dice as if they're berries. Love ya. Go to sleep."

"Love you, bye."

Once the phone line goes dead so only that low, incessant drone consistently emits from its speaker, Jane instantly opens her eyes. It is only her inside of her office, no distractions or breaks from what's been laid out across her overflowing desk. It's a macabre spread. She's usually better at compartmentalization, but as soon as she saw your last name printed on the file folder, her boxes and walls started to erode.

It isn't entirely about [Grandfather_Name]…

She's concentrating on you as well.

Should she feel more sickening guilt over that?

Jane stares at the images and her notes for a moment, resolving to work more before taking a late night patrol to clear her thoughts—to tire herself out—to welcome dreamless exhaustion.

. . .

. .

.

With each step she takes, she's deviating from one of the listed patrol routes, not that many deputies like to take them on foot these days.

It's far different as the Detective.

Presenting a lawful, clean-cut presence is something Chief Bowers tasked her with that she took to heart if it helps put citizens at ease. It shouldn't be a stern deterrent, but a steady reassurance to them. Her opinion differs from her chief's about the 'why' of this routine, though who exactly is she reassuring by striding around this late at night in a neighborhood where everyone should be asleep…? It isn't like showing up at tomorrow's memorium, a public event with so many eyes.

Too many eyes.

As she patrols, her mind drifts away from the gruesome and the unknown to get lost in old memories of you. It's a bittersweet refuge. She would like to blame it on the circumstances—the death, your return, her guilt about another loss in your family, her hopes and fears—but she has often thought of you. Jane always has.

The past has silky tendrils that sink in.

She remembers past childhood games of hide and seek where you'd always find her.

The farm's unique setting gave rise to extreme games of hide and seek that used its many buildings and equipment as hiding spots. Years later, it's still easy for her to identify former places to hide, including ones she would gravitate towards to lurk. There was someone who was far less pleased with your ability to excel at this game and typically locate his sister first.

"Cheater!"

"Alek," Jane tiredly intones while brushing stray hay from her clothes. You were correct to search the hayloft's shadowy corners for her. "It really isn't like that."

"Then you're just letting [Name] win, so you'll always have someone to play with…"

Jane's hand freezes up whereas the disbelief shading her expression is allowed to bloom before it's lightened by keen empathy instead of annoyance. She shoots you a quick look that requests your patience without her saying a word. Alek's mild dismay following your repeated victories has turned into a poorly concealed pout that Jane wants to remedy. Fortunately, you nod your acceptance.

"Okay, why don't we team up for the next round?" Jane offers, which instantly earns a smile from Alek that flashes his slight dimples. "We'll hide together." 

Alek's glee turned smug because it took you forever to find the siblings hiding between full clothes lines, crouched behind a dark sheet that didn't move in the weak breeze. It was unlike Jane's typical hiding spots—open, variable, and bright. Still, you had won again.

. . .

She remembers giving you flowers. Wild forget-me-nots grow all around the Corvin farm, providing pops of color to the land. Their name took on a sharply bittersweet, yet fitting meaning when it comes to you—your time apart from her and the absence from each other's lives.

"They're beautiful."

Your sudden compliment startles Jane who was admiring you over the pretty flowers she has been tending to for weeks to ensure they'll flourish. You're fast enough to react, stabilizing the small pot by taking her hands in yours. Now, both of you are holding onto it. Only a tiny cluster of blue separates you from her on the narrow porch step. “Sorry," she reflexively apologizes.

"It's okay. It happens."

Your reassurance comes more quickly than your earlier compliment and it should coincide with you letting Jane go, but it doesn't. Her fingers are pressed between yours and cool terracotta until she takes your hand properly and sets the gift aside. Without the pot, she has no idea what exactly she's doing with her best friend at night in front of her house as a familiar nervousness starts up. Jane pulling you in for a close hug kicks it into overdrive while also soothing her.

This crush is complicated!

It's turning the familiar unfamiliar, but she knows how to hold you in her arms.

"I should've just hugged you like always," she mutters into your shoulder. "I'm not great with words… But"—Jane pulls back to meet your eyes, the warm porch light masks the start of her blush—"these are for you, the flowers, because you're… unforgettable."

. . .

She remembers how nervous she was to give you a place within her home.

You appear ready to reach out to her, possibly even grab on to her elbow, when Jane shoots you another half-hearted glance that fails to hide her nervousness. It's a grand surprise, so you're meant to wait and she's supposed to be acting more excited. She just hopes you'll understand.

"You're sure you're feeling okay?" you ask.

"Yes, thank you."

Your quizzical reaction doesn't register to Jane who follows behind you after you enter her bedroom first. Her attention is trained on a large dresser before she gestures for you to come over and then carefully opens its topmost drawer. It smells faintly of wood oil, interior glistening faintly and free from dust but also of any obvious surprises. She cleaned it all out.

"What?" you ask after staring into the farthest recesses. "Did it get out?"

"'It'?" Jane clarifies. "I wouldn't keep a pet in here. It's yours, if you want it to be…"

Jane believes time helped you better understand what she was trying to give you back then: a place in her home. The farm is remote, and she had a list of prepared reasons why it would be useful because you tended to play outside or leave stuff behind. It meant something more to her though, almost sentimental, that you'd be coming back to spend time with her.

. . .

She also remembers how she screamed for you when your grandfather abruptly took you away in a cloud of dust and screech of spinning tires. It was forceful–ferocious yet desperate–that it left Jane shaken and afraid for you. Something was wrong; she could tell that much. She didn't know how bad it was until her frequent phone calls went to a disconnected (burned down) phone line and you never returned to school. Naturally, Jane was willing to wait for you to come back.

Except you didn't.

Terror-filled days stretched into anxious weeks that lengthened into many agonizing months and then silent years.

Jane never forgot about you, her letters and her concern endured.

. . .

A warm glow disrupts the shadows hanging over the cul de sac enough to draw—to yank—Jane back into the present. She stops her reminiscing to study the Bed and Breakfast as she continues her regimented pace until she spots someone standing out on the porch. It's you.

She knows it's you.

The light cast from the porch works to her advantage, keeping her wreathed in shadow while you appear to bask in the string lights and staked lanterns. Her eyes widen in surprise, whereas her feet don't falter beneath her trained gait, a pace to project strength. She's staring. The town's detective isn't conducting a vigilant scan of the area; no, Jane Corvin is staring openly at her former childhood friend.

She can't yet make out all of the details—the differences among the similarities—but it's you.

When you offer a friendly wave, Jane's mildly transfixed state is broken. She decides to take a tighter circle around the circular drive to insert distance between you both for now. A swear to Alek wasn't made, but she won't overcrowd or impose on you during your first night back. It's—it wouldn't be fair to you. She isn't ready for it.

Besides, who waves at a dark stranger when it's this late at night…? Apparently, you do.

Jane's thoughts no longer have the safe and familiar underpinnings of the past where you're concerned. She saw you in the present, just a few seconds ago while she quickly strides away. This isn't a set memory to turn over and over in her head. It helps that she drifts closer to the darkest shadows that conceal what most would call a retreat if they could see the expression on her face.

Her soft smile for you—the you she fondly remembers—was tempered by everything else, only lasting for an instant in what was a reflex.

Still, there is a vestige of aged hope in the long glance Jane casts back at the distant B&B that's closer to a beacon in the night to her.