Work Text:
Connor Murphy Week Day 4
Ghost | Guardian Angel
Description: In which there were good things. Zoe just realized too late.
They would be leaving the house soon. The two-story residential structure with the white picket fences had ceased to become a home the moment the son had lost control. His permanent absence only made it worse. With family dinners filled with depressing silence (save for her father’s commentary on the latest news or one of his emails, and her mother’s endless attempts at starting a conversation), the lingering absence of a dead member, and the knowledge that they were tearing up at the seams, their family was barely one. It was s time for a new start.
Zoe just graduated high school, and she would be living near campus for college so wherever Larry and Cynthia were headed, she wouldn’t be staying for long. It was just about time for her to finish packing up the last of her things. Everything was sorted into neat boxes, and a backpack held what she didn’t want in the U-Haul truck. The attic, however, was a different story.
The Murphy family attic, like all attics, was a place where all used and forgotten belongings eventually wind up. Connor’s room was left untouched, but a lot of his items went here. Past yearbooks, a small baseball glove, comics, old memorabilia he eventually grew out of; bits and pieces of the brother she once had. It was like he never grew up.
Zoe remembers the last time she was in there. She was nine, and she and Connor had gone up to avoid a particularly loud argument between their parents. She doesn’t recall exactly what it was about, but she knows she was scared – of the darkness, of the general vibes the attic gave off, and of the thought of her parents fighting. Connor was there, holding her hand, telling her the lamest jokes, because he was Connor, and that’s what he did.
“I’m telling you, Larry! You can’t just force him back into Little League after he tells you he doesn’t like it!”
“Well Cynthia, what do you want me to do? The boy’s already too soft, he needs to toughen up!”
“Why? So he can make up for your fragile masculinity!?”
Little Zoe was hiding behind the kitchen door, eavesdropping on their parents’ argument. Of course, they were arguing about Connor. They always did. It was like Connor was always to blame, when in fact, he wasn’t. In Zoe’s eyes, the adults just liked to blame him when he didn’t do anything wrong. She was already debating whether or not to barge into the kitchen to defend her brother, but it ended when she felt a hand pressed on the small of her back.
“Hey Zo, are you listening to mom and dad fight again?” It was Connor, looking at her with eyes that say you can’t do that Zoe, we’re gonna get caught.
“I don’t like it when they fight, Connor. It makes me scared.” She could feel her eyes welling up. Their parents’ fights were always a sensitive topic between them, considering that Connor was aware that he always caused them.
“Hush,” he whispered, putting a finger to his lips. “they’ll hear us, Zo. Come on.” He gently tugged on her hand as he led her away from the kitchen, into somewhere quieter.
“Where are we going?” she asked, pulling on the back of Connor’s shirt as she struggled to catch up.
“Promise not to tell anyone that I’m taking you here, okay?” he demanded, turning to hold both of her hands in his
“I promise!” she beamed at him.
Connor let go of her hands to open a door in the corner. A door which she knew lead to the attic. Suddenly, her eyes widened in realization when she recognized the steep stairs leading into their attic.
“Connor, I don’t want to go into the attic!” she whispered, frantically looking around for somewhere else they could hide.
“It’s okay Zo, I’ll protect you.” He wrapped her in a tight hug, and immediately let go to lead her upstairs.
Protect her he did. They had such a good time there, digging through their parents’ old things playing make believe that they forgot to go down. Larry found them later pretending to be their parents. He snuck a picture and had it framed, though it was nowhere to be seen these days. She’ll try to find it later, but for now she opens the window. It’s getting hot.
She continues to dig through the boxes, ignoring the lingering feeling creeping up on her. Old things began to pile up on the space beside her until she saw a worn copy of The Little Prince . She couldn’t help but wonder why her brother’s favorite book made its way into her things, until she found Connor’s messy scrawl at the back: Property of Connor Murphy – AND ZOE – Zoe, this is mine – can we share? – ok fine – YAY! Property of Connor and Zoe Murphy, please do NOT open. And all around it, little stars were drawn in sparkly purple ink. She remembers their nightly escapades, when they read together when both of their parents fell asleep.
“Are they asleep?” she asked, as he padded toward her bed, holding his newest book.
“Yeah, so we gotta be quiet.” He answered, taking his place next to hers on the mattress and bringing out the giant flashlight they kept in her nightstand.
“What do you have for us tonight? The Little Prince?”
“Again, Zo? We just finished last night! No, this is something even better!” he exclaimed, pointing the flashlight at the cover of the book.
“Harry Potter?” she read carefully.
“Yeah! It’s about witches and wizards and magic!”
“Like fairy princesses?”
Connor rolled his eyes. “Sure, something like that.”
Zoe ended up liking it, because they spent the next few nights finishing the first book. As she tucked herself in, Connor right beside her, she couldn’t help but ask:
“Hey Connor?”
“Yeah?” he yawned.
“If You Know Who-”
“Voldemort.” he interrupted “Fear of a name is fear of the thing itself, remember?”
“Right. So, if Voldemort ever broke into our house and went all magic-y on everything, what would you save first?”
“You, of course.”
“But I don’t need saving, Cone!” And he laughed, something Zoe rarely heard.
“I don’t doubt that for a moment, but I’m your big brother. I’ll be damned if I ever let anything happen to you.” He paused to put the flashlight back into its place. “Good night, Zo.”
“Connor, wait!” she called as quietly as she could. He rubbed his eyes.
“Yeah, Zoe?”
“You’re my hero!”
Zoe laughed bitterly. If only she knew of the years to come. For being her hero, he let her down a lot. Looking back, that was the last happy memory she had of him before he spiraled out of control. But sometimes, sometimes she’d see glimpses of the old Connor. The one that cared for her, the one that loved to live.
It was Zoe’s sixteenth birthday, and she was dreading it. Connor just got out of rehab and Cynthia was fussing over him so much, she probably wouldn’t notice. Larry is indifferent to everything. Connor would probably remember, but she doubts it, considering the current state of their relationship. She was hoping to at least have a decent celebration with her jazz band friends, they would definitely remember. Or maybe that junior, Evan, would greet her. She noticed him staring at her a lot lately. Then again, they barely talked. How was he to know her birthday?
She was right for the most part. Cynthia didn’t remember until Larry greeted her without even looking up from her paper. Connor took a big gulp from the milk carton (again) and nodded at her. Cynthia talked about her latest obsession and badgered Zoe on being sixteen (“Honey, how does it feel?”) until Zoe was able to finish her breakfast and drag Connor to the car.
The ride to school was silent save the radio. Connor was decent enough not to fight her over it this time, and instead opted to stay silent and pick at his chipping nail polish. She tried to ignore the tension in the air and focused on the road until Connor suddenly spoke.
“Pull over there.” he demanded.
“What? The orchard? It’s closed. Besides, what do you need from the orchard anyway?” she countered, gripping the wheel.
“Just pull the fuck over, Zo. I promise you won’t be late for class.” he insisted, reaching into his messenger bag.
“Connor, you better not smoke in here if that’s what you plan to do.”
“Zoe PLEASE. Just, pull over.”
“Okay, fine!”
She parked and stared at him impatiently while he fished for something in his bag, then turned the volume of the radio up and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.
“Fuck, it better be here.” she heard him mutter worriedly.
She stared at him again. She relented.
“Something missing?” she asked.
“I hope it isn’t.” he grumbled. He fumbled some more until he had a paper bag in his hands.
“Here, take it.” he said. She noticed that he was avoiding eye contact despite the fact that he was literally pushing the bag in her arms.
“Connor what?”
“It’s my birthday gift okay, I- just take it.” he insisted, rolling his eyes.
When she opened the bag, she found a guitar pick and a rose pin. Connor looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him.
“Connor… “ she started, reaching for his arm.
“Look, if you don’t want it, I get it. I’ve been terrible to you but I saw the pick on sale and I saw the bandages around your fingers and I assumed it was from band practice and I noticed you didn’t have one and-”
“I thought you didn’t care.” she stated blankly.
“Yeah, no shit. I fucking suck.” he sighed.
“But you do…?”
“No- I mean, yeah. Look, I know that I haven’t been the best. But I notice these things, and I just- I want to be better. And god, it’s your birthday and I’m making this about me. I guess I just wanted to say happy birthday.” He picked at his nail polish again as she fiddled with the pick.
“I missed you, Connor.” she admitted, tearing up. “What happened to us?”
“Well, I was your big brother, and then I wasn’t. My brain is fucked up, Zoe. I wouldn’t be surprised if I mess this up again.” she could swear he was tearing up too.
“C’mere.” she called him over, arms wide open.
“Zoe no.”
“Come on, please?”
He obliged, hugging her back. He smelled like weed and worn denim. It felt strange, to say the least. They hadn’t hugged in years, and she almost forgot what it felt like. But she had her brother back, and that’s what’s important. Once they were done, Connor leaned more into his seat.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“I never told you why I got you the pin.”
“I just assumed you bought it because you thought it was cute.”
He scoffed. “I don’t buy shit because they’re cute Zoe.” She knew there was truth to that statement. Connor Murphy was many things. Shallow was not one of them. So she racked her brain for anything related to pins or roses.
“The Little Prince!’ she exclaimed.
“You finally remembered.” he retorted, slouching forward.
“When we were small you used to say-”
“-I was the Prince and you were my Rose” he finished.
“You always wanted to protect me…” she reminded him.
“I still do…”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Somewhere down the line, Zoe would realize he was right. Connor would mess it up again. He got back into his old habits. After a week of getting along, he pushed her away again. Zoe didn’t trust him after that, but that didn’t mean she stopped caring. She still used the pick and the pin remained attached to her backpack. For a while she hated him for breaking his promise. But the deeper he got into drugs, the worse his mental state became, she thinks maybe he didn’t. Maybe he wanted to protect her from himself. That doesn’t excuse him from all the times he threatened to kill her, but now she knows.
She packs up all the boxes and sighs. College Zoe would be different. College Zoe would put the past behind her. No more Connor Project, no more sadness, no more lies. It would be a total reinvention.
She looks around one last time and feels the hairs on her arms rise. Goosebumps. Right, the window. She reaches up to close it, but stops when a gust of wind shows itself in. Along with it, rose petals (probably from Cynthia’s prized garden) flew inside. Like a child, she scrambles and jumps to grab them one by one. She surprises herself by laughing. Hard, and clear, like all her laughter saved itself in her belly and is only letting itself out now. She can’t remember the last time she laughed like this. Probably before things went wrong between her and Connor. The wind envelopes her in what feels like a hug, and somehow she’s comforted, like she’s nine again and hiding in this very attic, or like when she was twelve and she knew that she would always have a hero, or even when she was sixteen, during a brief moment of reconciliation and - oh.
“Connor?” she calls out.
She feels silly. Since when did she believe in ghosts? But standing there, with rose petals in her hands and faded memories, she realizes she doesn’t believe in coincidences either. She tries to shut the window again and succeeds. She takes the book and pockets the rose petals before taking a shaky breath, steeling herself and smiling.
“Goodbye, Connor.”
For the first time since he died, Zoe let herself cry. She cried over the memories that would never bring him back, over the times she could have been there for him but wasn’t, and over the brother she never really understood. The release feels great, like she should have done it earlier. It takes her a long time to collect herself.
When she’s done, she heads downstairs and passes by Connor’s room, grabbing whatever clothes were folded and a few of his sketchbooks, making sure to leave some for her parents. She’ll look through them when she gets to her dorm tomorrow. For now, she’ll pack her things. She closes the door behind her, and it dawns on her that this is definitely the last time she’ll see it. She opens the door again, jumps on his bed, and inhales on the pillow for good measure. She takes it all in. This is all that’s left of Connor. He’s all paper and fabric and ink. He would never grow old. He would remain forever in this room and haunt the next person who sleeps in his bed. His legacy is nothing but an online mental health awareness movement built on a web of carefully crafted lies. But Zoe? She would move out and away, go to college and make new friends. She would fall in love and grow old. She thinks of all the milestones she has left and feels an ache in her chest. Connor wouldn’t be there for them, wouldn’t experience them himself. Still, she vows to keep him alive. At least, in her heart.
One day, Zoe would trade in her guitar for a newer, more professional one. She would keep the pick though, wear it on a leather cord around her neck. If someone asks, she’ll say it’s a good luck charm. One day, she would graduate college and become a famous musician. She would write a song of requiem and dedicate it to her fallen hero in hopes that Connor is smiling down from wherever he is. One day, she’ll talk to fans who feel the way Connor always did. And she would cry with them, tell them that it’ll all be okay. One day, she’ll save a drawer in her closet, just for the clothes she stole from his bedroom. When times would be truly hard, she would open them and smell weed and worn denim. And she would be alright. One day, when she gets married, she would leave an empty seat in the front row, just for him. He’d like that. She tries to imagine him in a proper suit and laughs at the image. One day, she’ll have a son. She’ll name him Connor, and she would do her damn best to make sure that he doesn’t end up like his namesake. She would make him feel seen and heard (and maybe keep him away from drugs).
For now though, Zoe is a child again, falling asleep next to her brother. And when slumber comes to take her, she dreams. She dreams of wizards fighting the Dark Lord and heroes saving the day. She dreams of a prince and a rose, and of sparkly purple stars. Lastly, she dreams of an angel. One with long, chestnut hair and eyes much like her own. He smiles and waves, and utters exactly six words before disappearing.
“It’s okay Zo. I’ll protect you.”