When she was a little girl, Amelia Burden used to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on television every year, mostly because of the balloons. Those great gas giants, hoisted high above the crowd, representing the most beloved childrens media that the country had to offer. She could remember sitting in front of the television with Beatrice by her side, scratching her gently behind the ear, her eyes wide in awe at the spectacle unfolding before her.

The thing was, she didn't make any proclamation of fame or state any big dreams she hoped to one day achieve, she didn't say, in a hushed voice, the kind of sentence that whispers and origin story destined to become reality where she claimed, only loud enough for the dog to hear, that she would one day have a balloon in this very parade, because, well, until things went belly up in her life, Amelia didn't really have much interest in the performing arts. She liked writing plays, stories, sure. But it wasn't until college, until Beatrice passed away, that she felt this innate drive to create something, and really, it was for her own grief, but under the guise of helping children, not that she'd ever openly admit to that.

Now, as an adult, standing in the large hanger where the Beatrice Beagle balloon was being prepared for its debut in the parade that early evening, Bea couldn't help but feel something else...a sense of disconnect between herself and this character she'd long since crafted and held dear. Leslie was beside her, smoking a joint, as they watched the balloons preparation.. After a few minutes, Bea, who'd been chewing on her lip up to now, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets, sighed.

"I think the issue is that she's me," she said.

"...okay, I know I'm smoking weed, but even I'm not stoned enough yet to understand the existentialism of that statement. Care to elaborate?" Leslie asked, causing Bea to chuckle.

"Liam used to tell me that I was too protective of her, and that was why I had such a hard time letting her go, letting her be the publics, and not mine. But I don't think it's because of what she meant to me, I think it's because she WAS me. I took her on as a second identity. In a way, it felt like the public was claiming ownership of me, not the character."

"And what, do you think, is the solution to that?" Leslie asked.

"...I think I wanna go back to my name," Bea said, "I think I've run from my identity for so long, that I've forgotten who I used to be, and actually am. I'm not Beatrice Beagle. She's a character based on a dog I had when I was a child. I'm Amelia Burden. Maybe it's time to embrace that."

Leslie smiled warmly and clung to Bea's arm, hugging tightly.

"You do whatever you think is best, and I'm behind you one hundred percent," Leslie said.

It had been two weeks since Liam had died, and Michelle had found Bea in that destroyed apartment, and since then, she'd been making the concerted effort to be better, more stable. But it was hard. She missed Liam more than anyone could ever know or imagine. The phone he'd left her had filled her with so much doubt about her life choices, with regret, even though he'd obviously intended it as some sort of sweet send-off. Bea now was simply keeping everything internalized instead of expressing things to anyone, at least when it came to emotional stuff like that. She did, however, really feel the need to revisit her actual identity.

"And just remember," Leslie said, kissing Bea on the cheek, "no matter who you are, I'll love you all the same."

Bea blushed and kissed Leslie back on the forehead, the two of them cuddling as they looked up at the balloon. It had been a hard year, but it was now the holidays, and if Bea could just get through her Thanksgiving speech, she would be in the clear until the next season started.

                                                                                                     ***

"Yes, hello, I'm trying to reach the offices of Beatrice Beagle," the woman said, "it's very important that I speak with her. If you could just put me through, I would be so grateful, or if you have a personal number I could reach her at, that would be even better, because if I get lumped in with work calls and such, I don't know how long it'll take for her to get back to me. Please reach me at this number once you get this message, thank you."

She sighed and hung up the phone, then walked over to a large corkboard she had posted on her bedroom wall, removed a few index cards with numbers and info that had gone nowhere, and tossed them into the garbage. She then pulled the one with the number she'd just dialed down to the forefront, hoping this would be the one to get her what she wanted. She stood back and sighed, hands on her hips. She was so close.

So very, very close.

                                                                                                      ***

"We've opened up the phone lines for the first time broadcast of the radio program, Keagan is in the box right now preparing to take calls," Stephanie said, "are you ready?"

Bea shrugged as she sipped her cocoa, sitting in Liam's old office, her legs up on his desk as Stephanie paced in front of it.

"I know it's been hard, it's...it's weird not having him here," Stephanie said, "and if we can just make it through tonight, through this speech and parade, we'll all have time to properly grieve and mourn and work through it, alone and together. I miss him too, Bea. I really do. He was kind of a force to be reckoned with, especially in the business world, because he was cutthroat even if he didn't seem like. Always willing to go to bat for those he believed in, knowing they deserved better."

"Speech is ready, I'm ready, what more do you want from me?" Bea asked flatly, staring at Stephanie as she poured in more tiny marshmallows into her mug and stirred, adding, "there's only so much assurance of stability that I can promise you, really."

"Bea," Stephanie said, sitting on the desk now, "let me send you and Leslie somewhere after this. I'll pay for your vacation, okay? You guys deserve some time outside of this environment, outside the city in general. Go have some fun together somewhere, alright? It's...it's been a lot this year, between Casey and then Liam and...you just...I think you need time to recuperate."

Bea nodded slowly, acknowledging that Stephanie wasn't wrong, honestly. A break would be really nice, in fact. She checked her wristwatch and sighed.

"Where the hell is Michelle?" she muttered.

Little did she know that Michelle was, in fact, on company property. She just happened to be in The Hole. As she entered, she found Eliza standing underneath a ceiling covered in puppets and marionettes, looking up at them like one looks up at a star filled sky. Michelle approached slowly, so as not to startle her, and when she got close enough, Eliza finally realized she wasn't alone and she looked down at Michelle, who smiled, pulled her in and kissed her briefly before looking back up above with her.

"What are you doing in here?" Michelle asked.

"I'm thinking about all the puppets I've made," Eliza said, "I've spent more time with felt than with people. Does that make me weird?"

"Trust me, that isn't the thing that makes you weird," Michelle said, making Eliza blush as Michelle giggled and kissed her on the cheek, adding, "you're passionate, and that's admirable. I'm passionate too. That's why Bea brought us in. She gathers up people that have the same drive and ambition creatively that she has, so that can never be a negative thing, trust me."

Eliza rested her head on Michelle's shoulder as Michelle ran her long fingers up into Eliza's hair, playing with it.

"People say 'art is dead' because all they see is commodification," Eliza said, surprising Michelle, as she added, "they rarely see people using art as ways to express their pain, their anguish, their joy anymore, and instead it's all about making a franchise, creating a long-lasting IP, and so they say that art is dead. They're just not looking in the right places, is the thing. They only see those things because the mainstream media has so co-opted entertainment and shut out the little productions that it becomes hard to see the genuine stuff that gets made. The stuff with heart in it. Art isn't dead, and working on this show proves that. I put my heart into every single one of these puppets-"

"Creepy, like a satanic ritual," Michelle said, making Eliza laugh; she continued.

"-so I know firsthand that they mean something because I put meaning into them. Like that puppet Keagan and I made together. That was for a specific cause, it had a very real reason to exist, and it's only done good for people since it was introduced. The people who say art is dead are the people who didn't understand art in the first place."

Michelle couldn't be more proud of Eliza. She was starting to sound like Beatrice, and that was not a negative. Michelle pressed her face into Eliza's hair and breathed her in, wrapping her arms around her waist tightly, slowly swaying back and forth in silence for a few minutes as they both looked upward at the marionette chandelier overhead.

"Are you ready to see Bea's speech, the parade?" Michelle asked, and Eliza nodded. Eliza then pulled away and turned around, facing Michelle, looking her dead in the eyes, before taking Michelle's face between her hands and pressing her lips to her own.

"We can go in a few minutes," Eliza whispered, "I wanna stay here and kiss you first."

"That's good enough for me," Michelle replied, giggling more, happily kissing her back.

                                                                                                          ***

Keagan took a deep breath as she tugged her headphones fully over her ears, looking back towards Stephanie. She exhaled as Steph gave her a thumbs up and a nod, grinning, before Keagan lit up the switchboard and went live. She breathed for a moment, and then she spoke.

"Hello and welcome to the show, my name is Keagan Stills, and this is our very first episode, so please bear with us as we try to get things under way," she said, "this radio program is produced as a means to take calls, field questions, speak to the wonderful young audience we have that support us, as well as any creative person who might want to discuss the ins and outs of production. You may recognize my voice, that's because I play Serena on the show. In fact, I not only play Serena, I was integral to her creation, being asked firsthand to help bring her to life with the help, of course, of our amazing puppet master Eliza Tartt. With that in mind, I'm your host, and let's get things underway with our very first caller," Keagan said, before hearing Steph snap her fingers at her, causing her to look back; Steph was holding a sign that simply read 'SPEECH' and Keagan nodded, adding, "right, and I've just been reminded of course that Beatrice is giving a speech at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade tonight, so be sure to either tune into that or, if you're able, see her life in person. We're now opening the lines up for calls."

Steph smiled, nodding as she leaned back against the wall and watched. She knew Keagan would be perfect. Not enough people gave Keagan credit around her, she'd sort of fallen into the background rotation of crew, despite being a literal integral part of why this show existed to begin with, and Steph really felt like it was time for her to be recognized for her abilities. She wanted to uplift her best she could, because she saw a lot of herself in Keagan. Ambitious, driven, business savy. She knew what she was capable of, and she was more than willing to give her the chance to exercise those abilities to their fullest. Thing is...it hadn't been her idea.

"We have multiple sound stages, sound booths, and this space is basically being wasted," Liam had said to her just weeks prior, "we could produce something here. Extra content means extra eyes. Extra attention on the product. We produce a radio show, a storytelling show. Once a week a different story, generally featuring a different character, will be told through this show, and then every fifth episode we can have maybe interviews, behind the scenes stuff, and at the end of every episode we have calls from kids. We need to connect directly with the audience without a screen or a force field of some kind in front of us."

"I love the way your brain works, man," Stephanie said, shaking her head in awe, "and, you're right, we have the resources. I can gather up some potential applicants, we can run through them together, see who fits best, and-"

"No," Liam said, coughing as he waved his hand at her, "no, it's Keagan. I want Keagan."

This, Steph admitted, surprised her. Liam continued.

"Let me explain," he said, his voice sounding froggish, as he added, "Michelle and Bea are close. It's understandable. They're very alike, they're both very passionate about the show, about what they enjoy and do, and their hearts are set in the same place. Their connection makes sense. But this whole thing...this whole endeavor, wouldn't even exist if it weren't for Keagan, and it's goddamned high time she got recognition for it. She's the one who wrote about Marvin's death, not Michelle. She's the one who tracked me down, not Michelle. Together, the two formed and unstoppable force dedicated to bringing us back, but it all started at Keagan. It has to be her. She can't just be relegated to a voice for a puppet and menial task work. She deserves more."

Stephanie felt like crying. This man...this man had gone out of his way time and time again to defend Beatrice, to help Michelle, to bring so many womens dreams to fruition. All he cared about, it seemed, was helping prop women up in a position of power. Steph wiped at her eyes and nodded.

"Yeah, okay sure, yes, it can be Keagan," Steph said, "let me do some budgeting, stuff like that, and I will approach her."

Steph, now back from her memory, looked at the spot beside her where, just weeks earlier, Liam had stood, and they'd had this conversation. She then exited, quietly, swiftly, out into the hall as Keagan broadcasted, and cried into her hands. She hadn't really mourned Liam's death just yet, and now, seeing this dream of his come true, she couldn't help but finally lose it. The man had been a force of nature, of business savy, and now he was gone. But, she thought, though he may be gone, his ideas would continue. His influence would be felt. She wouldn't tell anyone this, but on the night Liam died, when she'd heard, she snuck into The Hole and she took one of his characters puppets to take home with her, that adorable little Cactus he'd voiced for years. Stephanie's home was full of plants.

What did one more hurt.

                                                                                                       ***

Beatrice, Michelle, Eliza and Leslie were standing on a balcony overlooking the parade. Beatrice hated crowds, and so the idea of speaking to one right now made her overly anxious. She lit another cigarette and exhaled smoke into the air as Leslie ran her fingertips down her spine, trying to calm her down. Michelle downed her drink, then looked at Bea.

"You gonna be okay, chief?" she asked.

"I'll manage, I'm nothing if not experienced at this point," Bea said, "I mean, don't get me wrong, I've got the jitters, but it'll be okay."

"I am going to go in search of snacks," Leslie said, "Eliza, care to join me?"

"I could snack," Eliza said, the two of them heading away from the balcony and exiting the room into the hallway of the hotel, leaving Bea and Michelle alone together. Michelle rested her head on Beatrice's shoulder and Bea smiled, resting her head against Michelle's.

"I wish Liam was here," Michelle whispered.

"I know, sweetheart, I do too," Bea said softly, "I miss him more than anything. He was my best friend. He knew me in ways nobody else ever has, and probably never will. Michelle, there's something I want to give you. I know the holidays aren't for another month, but I'll be on vacation, so I want to give this to you now."

Bea walked back into the room, retrieved something, then came back out onto the balcony. She opened a small jewelry box and pulled out a little bracelet with gemstones on it. Michelle held out her wrist and Bea slipped it on carefully.

"This," Bea said, "was something from my mother. She had as long as I could remember, and when I started succeeding in the arts, she gave it to me. I'm giving it now to you. Losing Liam has made me really think about the people in my life who mean the world to me, who I would do anything for, and there's nobody closer to the top of that list than you are."

Michelle wanted to cry as she looked up from her wrist to Bea, their eyes meeting. Bea reached out and carefully pushed some of her hair back behind her ear, smiling warmly.

"I fucked up," Bea continued, "I wasn't there for Casey the way I had been there for you, or Eliza, or other young women when they needed someone. I failed her. I will never forgive myself for that. But...I can do better for the ones I still have. None of you really have moms, and if you do, like you do, they aren't worth having. The age I am now, I'm not going to have kids, that opportunity has passed me by, but that doesn't mean I don't see you as my daughter. For god sakes, Michelle, you have part of my organs inside of you, hah, so I think it's clear we are connected at this point. I wanted to give you this because my mom gave it to me, and now I am a mother to you, even if not by blood."

They stared at one another again, before Bea grabbed Michelle by the shoulders and very gently pulled her in for a hug, the both of them crying happily.

"I love you, Michelle, happy holidays," Bea whispered.

"I love you too," Michelle replied, squeezing tighter and tighter. After the hug, Bea pulled away and exhaled, then wiped her face down and smiled.

"Well," Bea said, "Guess I got a speech to make."

Michelle watched Bea leave the room, and watched her re-emergence outside below the balcony. She stepped up onto the makeshift stage they'd created, as the parade continued around them, and the crowd clapped at seeing her. Michelle smiled so big, she couldn't have asked for a better outcome in life than to be here with not only her hero, but now her surrogate mother. Bea cleared her throat and tapped on the microphone a little, before sighing. The crowd deafened, waiting to hear her speak.

"Hello," she said, "my name is Beatrice. Actually, my name is Amelia Burden. I just go by Beatrice. Most of you, especially the children, know me as Beatrice Beagle. In fact, that's my balloon, right there. Course children aren't stupid, they're often smarter than the adults around them, more perceptive, so you all know I'm not actually a dog. You know I'm a woman in a dog suit. But...the reason I'm telling you my name is because, for far too long, I have run away from who I am, and that's not a message I want to send to kids. If there's one lesson I want to impart to children, it's to be yourself, no matter what anyone thinks or tells you. I love you, Beatrice loves you, because you're you. And you'll be happier in the end if you don't hide who you are from the world, but instead allow the world to love you as you are."

Across town, Lexi, who had graduated and was waiting for her father, was annoyed. He'd promised he'd be here. He said he was getting out early enough to come see her graduate. How could he just lie to her face like that? She was, honestly, livid. Pacing back and forth, clutching her framed diploma and degree to her chest, she was so frustrated. They'd put in the work to be better, why wouldn't he...and then she saw it. A woman in a suit coming her way, with two cops. Her breath stopped in her chest. As they got closer, she had a sinking feeling something was wrong.

"Sometimes," Bea continued, "we don't understand that. We get rejected by people we so desperately want to love us, that we think that's a comment on us, not on them. But it isn't. The people who love us will come through, no matter what, unless life doesn't allow them to. The ones who love us...they're there, and even when they aren't, we feel them. I lost my mother a while back, and I miss her every single day, but I know she isn't gone, because I remember her. If you can remember someone, the love they felt for you, that never goes away. And they loved you for who you were, not who you pretended to be or thought you had to be to please someone else."

Lexi dropped to her knees slowly, the women kneeling with her, hand on her shoulder, apologizing. He wasn't coming. Not because he didn't want to, but because, as he left the prison and headed down the city block, he'd been pulled into a nearby alley and stabbed multiple times by men who had been hired by the people he'd fingered in court to gain early release. He wasn't here because he didn't want to be. He was here because he was dead. This was supposed to be a hugely happy day in her life, but all Lexi could feel was devestation.

"And if, for some reason, the people who should love you no matter what, like your parents, don't...then know that I do. You have, in me, a mother. You have, in Beatrice, a friend, and you are never alone. We will weather these storms together, and we will come out stronger, and healthier, as a result of it. They say the children are our future, but that future only is worthwhile if we raise you right. If we raise you to love not only yourselves but those around you. If we fail to do that, then we've failed not only the future, but also you, and I am so sorry for the parents who failed you, or are failing you. A good friend of mine, her parents failed her, and it cost her her life. She deserved a better life. You all deserve a better life. A life full of love, and learning, and if your folks won't do it, then I will. I will burn myself at both ends until I am nothing but ash to save you from the forces that try to break you."

Michelle smiled, crying, as Eliza and Leslie returned and Eliza kissed Michelle on the head, the two of them nuzzling on the balcony as they continued watching.

"If the most I can be is a mother to you, the I will be that mother," Bea said, "you are not alone. The world is big, and scary, but it can be managed, and I will help you manage it. I may live in a doghouse on TV, but that doghouse is a home to any child who needs the shelter, and you're always welcome to it. So even if you get nothing else out of the holidays this year, know this...you got me. I love you. And I always will. Thank you."

Bea stepped away, to thunderous applause, and walked back down the stairs. Michelle couldn't be more proud. Meanwhile, across town, as the show was winding down for the night, Keagan was ready to get home and finally get some rest. It'd been a long night, and she was pleased with how it had gone but she also was ready to relax, kick back, and take in the holiday season at a slow and comfortable pace. She clicked the switchboard off, stood up, pulled her coat on, and headed to the door. As she tugged the broadcast room door open, the phone rang. Keagan stopped and looked back at it. There was an answering machine. It would pick up. It kept ringng though. Keagan finally sighed, came back in and answered the phone, lifting it to her face.

"Hello?" she asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Hello, thank you," a voice came through the receiver, "hello, yes, I am so glad I caught you. I heard this on the radio, I tried to get through but it was always so busy."

"Yeah, first night show, lots of callers, understandable. Feel free to call back next week though, okay? We're always-"

"I NEED to speak to Beatrice," the voice said, sounding urgent, causing Keagan concern.

"Uh, well, she isn't here, unfortunately, but I can take a message for you, if you'd like," Keagan said, gathering a pen and some scraps of paper, "what is this regarding?"

"It's regarding her daughter," the voice said, catching Keagan off guard, her eyebrows arching.

A moment passed. Keagan stood up straight and anxiously bit on the pen cap.

"Who is this?" Keagan asked.

Another pause.

"My name is Claire, and she's my mom."

Bea was at a park, relaxing on a blanket in the sun. She was wearing a cute dress and a big floppy sunhat, with large sunglasses. The camera was fixated on her, and she hadn't noticed until just now. The scene then cut to a shot of Bea, still at the park, playing with Claire, who couldn't have been older than 4. The two were blowing bubbles, and looking like they were having the time of their life together. At one point, Bea would blow more bubbles, and Claire would excitedly attempt to pop them with her tiny hands, causing them both to laugh. The scene then cut to Bea driving, presumably heading home, while Claire was filmed asleep in the backseat. The camera panned back to Bea, who glanced over at it and smiled, then stuck her tongue out playfully before she and Liam, the one holding the camera, laughed. The scene then went dark, and Bea found herself staring back at a blackened phone screen.

When had he done this? When had he had all of these transferred? Some of these were so old. He'd kept all this film all these years, without even telling her? They'd agreed to relinquish anything remotely related to her. Then again, it wasn't like she'd abided by that rule herself, so how could she seriously admonish him for doing the same, really.

She sighed, scrolled through and picked another, lost in the memories of a life she'd loved.

                                                                                                         ***

"Tell me when too much is too much," Bea said as she spread chunky peanut butter on some bread, Claire sitting on a bar stool across from her at the counter. She was 6 years old. After a moment, Claire finally nodded, and Bea stopped, dropping the knife back on a paper towel on the countertop and screwing the lid back onto the jar before handing the sandwich over to Claire, who happily took it and started eating.

This wasn't the life Bea had expected to have. Not at all. Not by a longshot. The door opened and Liam came in, walking right by the kitchen and heading towards the back bedroom down the hall. Bea, concerned, walked past Claire and told her to keep eating whle she went to check on him. Once inside the room, which was still dark as he hadn't turned on any lights, she shut the door behind her and leaned back against it.

"....are you okay?" she asked softly.

"I don't know," Liam said, "I don't...I don't know."

"What's going on? What happened? I thought you were having a meeting with someone from-"

"I was, I was at the meeting," Liam said, "and...and I was sitting there, and I was listening to this man talk. Just the two of us, you know, just...just him and me. I was taking notes, and I was polite and...and the whole time I couldn't help but think, 'oh, this guy is handsome, I wish I looked like him, he has such nice hair', but the thing is, Bea, I don't think it's admiration for who I want to be, I think it's lust for who I want to have."

Bea nodded, sitting on the bed beside him, reaching out and putting a hand on his back.

"We can't keep playing house like this," Liam whispered, "at least I can't. I can't go on anymore pretending to be someone I'm not. She needs a family. We're not a family. She can't stay here. It isn't fair to anyone."

"What about to me?" Bea asked, "It isn't fair to me?"

"You're perfectly content just...hiding who you are from the world so you can continue doing what you do?" Liam asked, "really? Pretending to be someone you're not for the sake of the public eye? Because I'm sure as shit not, and you shouldn't be either."

"This wasn't a choice we made but it was a choice we were given, and I'm not about to fuck that up," Bea said sternly, surprising Liam with her brash language as she often didn't swear; she cleared her throat and continued, "and yes, I'm happy ignoring who I am. You might be comfortable with yourself, but I never will be. There's absolutely no way I could ever be okay with that. You can't be...that way, and work in childrens media. Considering the show and what I bring to kids lives is so important to me, yes, I'm fully willing to ignore that part of myself forever."

With that, she stood back up, smoothed her dress and walked back to the door, gripping the knob.

"But that doesn't mean you have to be," Bea said, "you're more than free to explore yourself, to be who you are, I would never deny you that, but don't deny me what I want either."

And she exited the room. Liam sat in the darkness, the silence, confused as to how to progress without blowing everything up. He sighed and flopped onto his back, laying there for a bit until the door opened back up and, he assumed it being Bea, he glanced at the door only to see Claire climbing onto the bed beside him. She curled up by him and rested her head on him, so he ran his fingers gently through her hair.

"Are you okay?" she asked and he smiled, nodding. Because, yes, in this very moment, he was, in fact, okay.

                                                                                                          ***

Beatrice was in the grocery store.

She wasn't really thinking of buying anything in particular, as much as she was staring at objects on the shelf. After a moment, she reached out and grabbed a box of pasta, then turned it over to read the back.

"It's good to read the classics," a voice said beside her, surprising her; she turned and saw a woman about her age standing there, basket on her arm full of items, smirking as she added, "me, personally, I love the story of Rigatoni more than that of Ravioli, I think it has better character development."

Bea snickered and put the box back on the shelf.

"Frankly, I'm partial to the storytelling in Gnocchi myself," she replied, "I think it relies far less on tropes."

The woman cackled, and her laughter made Bea's heart swim. But she quickly pushed that feeling back down, went back to ignoring it, and continued shopping, occasionally side eyeing the woman. She was about the same age, dressed in a button down blouse and tight jeans, with a cardigan. She had her hair up in a braided bun of sorts, her makeup perfect like she'd had it professionally done. Everything about her looked...pristine. Beatrice liked order. The woman sighed as she grabbed a few other boxes off the shelf and plopped them into the basket.

"Gotta have easy to make food cause I don't feel like cooking most of the time," she said, "the last thing I want to do when I get home from work is then work some more in a different way. I just want to eat, for god sakes, not be forced to be a five star chef."

"What do you do for a living?" Bea asked, giving into temptation.

"I'm a five star chef," the woman responded, the both of them laughing; she continued, "I work downtown in an upscale restaurant, I'm the head chef there, so, as I said, last thing I wanna do is take my work home with me. For all the spices and seasonings and different ways to cook, in the end, I'd prefer simplicity for myself. Maybe it's so I can give others my all in the kitchen, I don't know, but that's just how it goes."

"I wish I could be like that," Bea mumbled, picking a jar of pasta sauce off the shelf, "I feel like what I do is all encompassing, and there's no escape from it. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't want my life to be anything but, but some days it would be nice to forget who I am and what it is I do, and just...exist. You know?"

And that admission was all it took, really.

Soon, Bea and this woman, Pauline, were spending so much time together. Bea would always be going to her place for dinner, they would go out and do fun activities together, and they loved listening to one another talk. At some point, Bea realized now what Liam had been talking about. How he couldn't hide anymore. She was now face to face with that herself, and she didn't want to ever go back. But that meant dropping the facade. Letting it all fall away and giving into selfishness. And what kind of a child could be happy surrounded by people who constantly lied to pretend to be okay around her? She thought about Claire. She thought about the kind of message that would send, to keep hiding, to never truly be your authentic self. And what was the alternative?

Laying in Pauline's bed one late evening, as Pauline smoked beside her while Bea stared up at the ceiling, one forearm resting on her head, she couldn't come to any conclusion where there was a good outcome for all involved. She'd run away from this aspect of herself for so long, her whole life, really, and now here she was, faced with it. In a way, though she'd never admit it, she hated Liam for this more for far longer than she hated him for giving into the industry. She'd crafted this carefully curated facade, a mask that she could wear to exist in society, and now it had slipped and broken into a million pieces on the floor, and it was all his goddamn fault for questioning in the first place. She knew, as an adult later on, that he was right to do so. Nobody should have to live a life of quiet desperation, but still. Pauline stubbed her cigarette out, then rolled onto her side and kissed Bea's bare shoulder, resting her head on her.

"When can I see you again?" Pauline asked, and Bea wanted to cry. She wanted the answer to be 'every day'. She wanted this life. With this woman. A woman. She was, like Liam, tired of playing house. Not for Claire's sake, she loved that little girl to the ends of the earth and back, but because society saw it as she was a straight woman with a straight man when that couldn't be further from the truth.

"I'll call you," Bea said, as she climbed out of bed, got dressed and left. That age old excuse. A blowoff technique. You're never going to call them. And it hurt. It burned her up inside to say that to a woman she genuinely liked and wanted to pursue romantically, but she just couldn't allow herself. Not if she wanted to keep working in the industry of childrens media. Not if she wanted to keep what she had.So instead she went home, she went back to being there for Claire, to pretending to be happy with Liam, all the while feeling her repressed sexuality clawing at her rib cage like an enraged animal eager to escape.She would lay in bed at night beside Liam, and she would think about Pauline. She would think about how, if she could just have this life she had right now, but with her, with a woman in general, how normal that would feel.

She'd never openly admit it, but Liam had ruined her life. In both the best and the worst kinds of ways.

                                                                                                        ***

Another video, this one showcasing Claire learning to ride a bike. Training wheels, of course, but still. Bea was walking down the city street, hand placed on her back to help steady her, as Liam filmed from behind. Another video. A birthday. Claire had just turned  6. Presents and cake and joy. Another video, this time presenting Bea with a trip they'd all taken to the zoo together. Memories from a whole other life, long since disavowed. Buried as far back in the closet as she herself had once been. Bea lowered the phone between her knees and hung her head, sobbing silently. Why had he given her this? Why had this been what he left for her? Did he think this would make her happy? This felt like cruelty, not love.

The night the truth finally came out, the night they finally had to discuss it. God. The aching inside them both they felt. She could remember it so clearly, even without the visual aide of it being filmed, which, thank god, it hadn't been. They were sitting in Claire's bedroom, she had gone to a friends house from school for a sleepover. It was only 7 months after ending things with Pauline. Claire was still 6. Sitting on the floor of her bedroom together, Beatrice couldn't help but feel like each already knew it was over. Liam leaned back against the wall from the floor and ran his hands up through his hair, as he had a tendency to do when anxious.

"Funny how one room can be so full of love and the rest of the house can be so devoid of it," Bea muttered.

"That's because we love her. We don't love ourselves, because we aren't ourselves," Liam replied.

Bea nodded, understanding, agreeing. Liam exhaled.

"On paper it makes total sense," Bea said, "you and I. It made sense in the moment, because neither of us really knew. But...it doesn't really make sense, does it? As creative partners, sure, but not romantic partners. At least, not to us. Maybe to those outside looking in. But not to us. The ones involved."

"What about Claire?" Liam asked, his voice low, like he was scared to even asked.

"She'll be okay," Bea said, stiffling her own sobs, "she'll be fine. We'll find people. She's 6. She's young. She'll barely remember. We'll find people who can give her more than we ever could've. We didn't plan on this anyway. She deserves better. All I know, Liam, is that...is that you and I...we found one another, and...and we changed one another in ways we never could've expected. I am who I am because you embraced who you are. Without eachother, we might've gone on throughout our lives denying ourselves our personhood. I love Claire so much, but...but this is the best way forward."

Liam looked at Bea, who was looking at the floor, sitting cross legged on the carpet, her fingers playing with the pieces of a large puzzle portraying various dogs.

"We're beards, Liam," Bea said, before whispering, breaking into tears, "and I don't know about you, but I'm tired of not shaving."

Liam nodded, then crawled across the floor and held her, the both of them sobbing. Bea clicked through to another video, the last one on the phone. She'd gone through them all now, and had finally reached the end. This was when Liam had first gotten the camera, just in time for the momentous occasion. This was back when fathers were allowed in the delivery room. Back when they could film births. He was watching Beatrice on the hospital bed, screaming in agony as a doctor and some nurses surrounded her, trying to help ease the process.

"You're doin' great, just think of all the ice cream you're gonna get after this!" Liam said, and Bea glared at him.

"As soon as I'm off this bed I'm going to strangle you!" she shouted, and he laughed, as did she. Even in her supposed angriest, she couldn't help but be kidding with him. The whole thing was filmed, from entering the hospital to the birth itself, and, at the end, Beatrice was holding this newborn girl in her arms in the bed as Liam kept filming, occasionally reaching into frame to touch them both gently. After a little bit, Bea looked towards the camera and smiled warmly.

"What do you think?" Liam asked.

"I think even a mistake has benefits," Bea said, chuckling, "...what do you think of the name Claire?"

"I love it," he replied, leaning in and kissing her on the forehead, the camera cutting off, presumably running out of battery. And now Bea was alone again. Without her daughter. Without the man who'd given her to her. Without anything. Face staring back at her in the blackened phone screen once more. She no longer had a connection to that life.

And everything was worse now.

                                                                                                        ***

Laying against the bookshelf, the apartment a mess, the phone still in one hand as Bea stared at the ceiling above her, she didn't know how to go on. The sound of the quiet, empty apartment complex surrounded her, suffocating her in slence. Just like Claire, he'd been here, and now he was gone. She was completely alone now. That entire life was gone. Nothing left to give her the sense of connection now. All that was left was this phone, with these videos. She smirked at the irony. After Marvin had died, Bea had done the same, given Liam an unlisted video wishing him well, so it was beautifully circular for him to have done the same. She exhaled and shut her eyes, feeling herself shut down. How  could she possibly go on after this? He was her other half. The show, as it was, didn't exist without him, so how could it exist if he didn't? The front door opened, and Bea was surprised, she thought she'd locked it. Standing there was Michelle.

Michelle looked at the apartment, then looked down at Bea. The two locked eyes but neither said a word. After a few minutes, Michelle entered the apartment, picked up best she could, and managed to get things into a somewhat presentable manner again, for when Leslie gets back. When she felt she was finished, she opened her coat pocket and pulled out a small envelope, plopping it onto the coffee table, causing Bea to raise an eyebrow in confusion as Michelle turned to her and said, "tickets, for the Thanksgiving Day Parade. They want you to give a speech." Bea nodded in acknowledgement. Michelle then walked over to where Bea was, slumped on the floor against the bookshelf and reached out with one hand.

"Now get up," Michelle said, "you have work to do."

Eliza didn't want to be here.

The one and only time she'd been to a funeral, it had been for her mother. Now, here she was, standing outside the church, while Casey's service was underway indoors. She was seated on a marble bench next to some fancy headstones, eating a blackberry fig bar, staring at the ground in front of her. Crying had become her normal, so much so that she no longer even knew she was doing it. Tears wet her face as she chewed, and thought about the last few weeks. Suddenly the church doors opened up and Justine exited, Eliza looking over at her, their eyes meeting. Justine sighed, leaned against the wall by the bench and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, lighting one.

"This is a no smoking zone," Eliza said.

"Oh, what, one of the corpses gonna get cancer?" Justine asked, "...sorry, that was kind of bitchy. I know, I shouldn't...I don't even wanna be doing it anymore. Are you okay?"

"Define 'okay'," Eliza said, making Justine scoff.

"Yeah," she replied, "I know what you mean. This is...I feel sick. I feel sick to my stomach. None of this should be happening, yet it is. It's like...it's like there's no winning, in life, you know? Things might start to seem good, you might start to recover, but in the end you're pushed back down into the hole you crawled out of and ultimately you're forced to face the realization that, no, you can't win. No matter how hard you try, how long you try for, you cannot win. Some people, and I think Casey knew this because I think she was one of them, are destined for doom. That isn't fair, but it is what it is."

Eliza finished her fig bar and stuffed the wrapper in her sports coat pocket, beginning to tie her messy hair up behind her.

"You're probably not wrong," Eliza said, "I try to be positive, but-"

"i did this," Justine whispered, causing Eliza to stop and look at her again, confused; Justine, one hand holding her cigarette, the other covering her face, started crying, whispering, "i did this to her. i didn't bring her inside. i didn't leave to talk to her. she needed someone, and i wasn't there. i was there but i wasn't there. she's dead because of me. the only creative partner i've ever had is dead because of me. i could've had more get togethers with my friends. i can't have more time with her now. my priorities were fucked, and i killed her."

"I used to think I killed my mom," Eliza said, "but it isn't true, these things just...happen. Back when the show was originally being made, Bea, Liam and I discussed doing an episode on the topic of death, but like, not heavy handed or anything, you know? We didn't wanna freak kids out. But kids are smart enough to understand the concept, moreso than adults give them credit for, and it's stupid to try and hide it from them. Only makes them more confused and scared in the end. We wrote a script, but we never shot it, it never even got remotely into production. I think it was more just...a way for us to cope with things. But in that script, Bea wrote something that said 'we try to assign blame to whatever we can when someone dies because it makes it easier, but death isn't easy, because life isn't easy, and more often than not, there's nobody to blame'. I always think about that quote."

Justine looked towards Eliza and sniffled, wiping her face on the ball of her palm. She then put her cigarette out and sat down on the bench beside her, Eliza scooting over a bit, making room for her.

"When my plane was going down," Justine said, "the last thing my boyfriend said to me was 'I did this', and the thing is, at the time I didn't understand what he meant, but in hindsight, I get it. He was the one who wanted to go on the flight, with me. He thought his mere presence was enough to put an end to us both. I wish I could tell him how wrong he was."

Eliza laid her head on Justine, and Justine smiled, hugging her. It had been a rough few weeks. Justine's eyes scanned the cemetery and thought about Casey. Thought about Liam's offer to release Casey's book, to finish it, compile it and publish it under her name. She promised she would do it, if for nothing else than for the hope of making sure everyone knew her name in more ways than just her death. Justine didn't think it fair that the only way the world would ultimately know Casey was by her exit.

"Everyone failed her at every turn," Justine sad, "I'm not saying she didn't have problems of her own, but...collectively, as a society, everyone failed her in life. I'm not gonna fail her in death too."

Eliza didn't know what this meant, but the sentiment alone was enough to make her smile.

                                                                                                       ***

David was wiping his mouth with a napkin as he watched his daughter push her chow mein around with her chopsticks across the table from him in the prison cafeteria. After a few moments, he cleared his throat, causing Lexi to snap back to reality and look up at him, shaking her head, rubbing her forehead with her other hand.

"Shit, I'm...I'm sorry," she said, "I'm sorry, I should be more present."

"Why don't you go to the funeral," David said, "we can always have lunch another time, and pretty soon I'll be out of here, and we can have lots of lunches then. In fact, I was hoping that, maybe the night of your graduation, you'd like it if I took you and your friends and your girlfriend out to dinner somewhere to celebrate."

Lexi smiled, looking back down at her takeout container.

"That's really sweet dad," she muttered, "I think that would be fun, yeah. It's been a hard few months. But I'm excited, like, to finally be out of school, to finally be making a career for myself, and for you to come home. Course I don't like at home anymore, but you know. Will still be nice to have you back."

Lexi couldn't believe how much life was about to change. She was about to graduate with multiple degrees. Her father had been all but exonerated after turning evidence and would soon be free. She and Keagan had been discussing more serious topics, such as along term relationship plans. Seemed like everywhere she turned, things were changing, and Lexi liked change, it made her feel reinvigorated. She welcomed it. She rolled some of her noodles up around her chopsticks and lifted them to her mouth as her father took a long drink of his soda and smiled at her.

"You know what's best about being a parent that nobody ever mentions?" David asked, and she shook her head; he continued, "you watch your kids grow up, become their own person, forge their own identity, change and grow. It's wonderful. Everyone acknowledges that. But nboody ever seems to bring up the fact that they still act like the kid they were without even knowing they're doing it. You, for example. The way you eat noodles, any kind of noodles, be it ramen or pasta or chow mein...you always roll it in a specific way and you always slurp them. You've made the same face eating noodles since you were five years old, and when I see it, it reminds me of that little girl you were, that little girl you'll always be to me..."

Lexi felt her eyes tear up and she reached across the table, holding her fathers hand. Michelle's dad had left, Casey's dad had used her, it seemed like so many people she knew had awful or absent fathers, and she felt so lucky to have the opposite. She squeezed and he squeezed back as he sniffled.

"You're the best daddy," she said, and he chuckled.

"Well," he said, shrugging, "I try to be, for the best daughter."

                                                                                                      ***

Keagan was walking down the hall, going through various files in her hands, feeling awful that she herself wasn't at the funeral, but in all honesty, she didn't know Casey all that well and, frankly, she felt she did better when she avoided things such as these. She focused on work and that was what got her through it all. Keagan stopped at the water fountain and took a long drink before continuing, hearing heels coming after her quickly, turning to see Stephanie.

"Hi there," Keagan said, smiling, "you in a hurry?"

"Just to catch you, speedy," Stephanie said, making Keagan chuckle as she continued, "I have an opportunity for you. The brand is seeking to reach out into other avenues of media. As you may have heard, podcasts are all the rage, everyone and their sister have one."

"They do?" Keagan asked.

"Well, me and my sister have one, so," Stephanie said, "anyway, they rake in tons of money with little production effort. That isn't to say they don't take effort, I'm just saying that when you remove the video aspect of something, it makes it quite less expensive to produce. Anyway, I looked into your background. Doing college radio, doing journalism. You were quite prolific when you were solo, and that's why I figured I'd come to you for this."

Keagan stopped in the hall and turned to face Stephanie, confused, raising an eyebrow. Stephanie folded her arms.

"Look, I won't lie," she said, "frankly, I don't think there's anyone else remotely capable of doing this. I'm appealing to your ego, here, Keagan. Do this for me, with me. I want to create a storytelling podcast for the show, one that's fully audio based, maybe each week a different story with a different character, and then every fifth episode you can take calls from kids or answer letters from kids or viewers. Does that sound...appealing to you? Could even bring on people from production sometimes, get a behind the scenes look at stuff for those in the industry."

Keagan tapped her shoe and bit her lip. She had been feeling underutilized for a while here, and this did sound like a good chance for her to spread her wings out a bit and try something new. Keagan felt like, at some point, she'd fallen into the background, blending in with everyone else in production, and while that was safe, comforting even, she did feel like her talents were being wasted. After all, it'd been her who'd tracked down Liam, not Michelle. She had always kind of envied Michelle's inclusion in the show.

"Okay," Keagan finally said, making Stephanie do a little boogie midhall, which caused Keagan to laugh and add, "but, if we do this, we do it my way. I'm not saying that the premise, the setup, the execution you offered isn't gonna work, it sounds fullproof, but I want to be able to do it the way I want to do it, is that okay?"

Stephanie put her hands on Keagan's arms and smiled.

"Keagan, whatever you want you got it," she said, "I'm just grateful you trust me enough to take the chance."

"Truth be told, I'm kind of bored here," Keagan said, shrugging, "I'm always interested in doing something else."

"Come with me, and I'll show you the audio studio," Stephanie said, "you're gonna love it, it has its own dedicated kitchen."

"Is food all you think about?" Keagan asked, laughing.

"It's lunchtime!" Stephanie replied, also laughing as they headed down the hall together now.

                                                                                                     ***

"Art, I think, is not just our way of processing things, for those who not only make it but also consume it, but also a way for us to preserve ourselves in the annals of history, to not be forgotten. So long as we produce something, we can be eternal, immortal," Justine said, standing with Eliza across the street from the cemetery, in front of a deli where they'd each gotten a sandwich and were now looking back towards the headstones; she wiped her mouth on her napkin and added, "I know that's so trite, so cliché, but that's the truth."

"I don't think the truth is either of those things," Eliza replied, shrugging, chewing, "and I don't think you're wrong. I know I make puppets to process the way I feel about people, things, so you're not wrong. But even the kids we talk to about the show, when we have these live get togethers, they always talk about how important it is to them. Michelle told me it made her feel special and safe when she was a little girl in the hospital, and to know that it has that kind of impact, it means a lot."

"Casey was the same way," Justine said, as they started walking down the street, Justine tugging at the collar of her jacket, keeping it closed as she kept eating, "one night while working we ordered in and she was telling me that, in the midst of an awful, abusive childhood, she felt seen, heard, accepted because of the warmth that the show brought to her life. That's the best kind of art. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with art for the sake of enjoyment, something that's made purely for entertainment, I think a healthy balance is important, but the ones that help us make sense of the world, that...that help us make sense of ourselves, those are the best ones...Eliza, will you help me?"

They stopped on the street and Eliza looked at Justine, waiting for the question. Justine sighed, finished her sandwich and tossed the wrapper into a nearby garbage can.

"I'm going to finish, compile and release a book that Casey had spent her life working on, a book kind of about herself," Justine said, "but I want there to be something to go with it, a puppet, a doll of sorts, to represent her and the creature in the book. I can't think of anyone better suited than yourself to do the job."

Eliza kept chewing, thinking. This would be a lovely way to honor Casey, to memorialize, nay, immortalize her. If she could have a hand in that, she should realistically take the chance. But what if she did a bad job? What if her puppets and dolls made the whole thing so uncanny that it scared away whatever target audience who might be remotely interested in it?

"I just...I feel like I need to do something for her," Justine whispered, looking at her shoes, hands stuffed in her coat pockets after having buttoned it, "I feel like this would be a great way to say I'm sorry."

Eliza finished her own sandwich, threw her garbage away and nodded while chewing. She then finished, swallowed and hugged Justine, much to Justine's surprise. Eliza patted her on the back and smiled.

"I'll help you," Eliza said, not realizing in the moment just how much she'd regret offering. See, the thing about Eliza is that she wants to do right, she wants to help others, she wants to make others matter...even if it meant it came at the expense of her own mental health. Puppetry had made her. Now it might break her.

                                                                                                     ***

Bea was sitting by Liam's bedside in his hospital room.

Nobody knew why she wasn't at the funeral, and she felt bad about not showing up, but early that morning, at aroud 4am, Liam called her for help. He needed to be driven to the hospital, and she obliged without hesitation. Now, sitting here, reading a book about bird watching as she listened to the sounds of machines around her, she couldn't help but feel like things were never going to be the same as they once were. Unlike Lexi, Bea hated change. She sighed, put a bookmark between her pages and set the book down in her lap.

"...when did we get old?" she asked, looking off and away in the distance, Liam smirking from the bed, his face covered by a respirator.

"I know," he mumbled, "people say life goes fast, but it feels as though it's been two eternities, yet even then I can't believe I'm now at the end. My perception of time is so warped."

"I can remember being a little girl, going to the library with my dog," Bea said, crossing her legs and looking at her manicured nails, "that world, the one at home with my parents, was the only world I ever knew. Now I wish it still was. Knowing the world, so many different worlds...it's awful. I miss simplicity, I hate complexity. Ironic that I would wind up trying to teach children how to be okay when I can't be okay myself."

Liam shifted, making an uncomfortable sound and pulling a phone from his pants pocket. Bea looked over at him, confused. This wasn't his phone. Why did he have this? He reached out and held it towards her, Bea leaning forward cautiously, taking it.

"I need you to have this," he said, "you need to take this. The password is her birthday."

Bea furrowed her brow as she looked at the phone in her hand before looking back up at Liam.

"...what is this, Liam?" she asked.

"You need it," he replied, his breathing quickened, "Bea, you need it, trust me. Watch it. Watch every single one. By yourself."

Bea got off the chair and stood by his bedside, holding his hand with her other hand, squeezing, her face screwing up, her eyes full of tears.

"Liam," she said, almost growling, "what IS this."

Liam smiled up at her.

"Answer me!" she shouted, as Liam pulled his hand back from hers, reached up with both hands and took her face between his hands, pulling her down towards him and kissing her, taking her by surprise. After the kiss, he leaned back on his pillow and his eyes fixed on the ceiling overhead, his breathing shallow.

"Liam?" Bea asked, sounding choked up.

"They say you see heaven, a light, a tunnel, the faces of the ones you loved who are waiting for you," he whispered, "but I don't see anything."

"Liam, don't go," Bea said, now sobbing, squeezing his hands tight in her own. He just smiled wider.

"It's okay Bea," he said, "I'm not afraid. I don't need heaven. I already had it here with you."

With that, Liam's eyes widened, and his breathing slowed. He grinned as wide as he could.

"...I'm gonna go make something new now," he whispered, and that was it. He stopped breathing. He stopped moving. Bea didn't know what to do. She squeezed his hands, she screamed at him, but nothing made a difference. The flatline went off, and a crash crew burst into the room, pushing Bea gently out of the way. She stood back against the wall as she watched them work on him, but she knew better. She knew it was over. Bea turned and ran out of the hospital room and down the hall, clutching the phone he'd given her tightly in her fist. She climbed into her car and she drove home, not even turning the lights on. Leslie wasn't here. She had to go out of town briefly for work, so Bea was completely alone.

Bea walked in circles, pacing, before putting the phone down gently on a bookshelf, then turning and shrieking, grabbing a whole series of books off a table and throwing them clear across the room. She grabbed her coffee table and flipped it, kicking the ever loving shit out of her couch, screaming at the top of her lungs. Once the apartment was sufficiently turned over and undone, she let herself fall back against the wall and slide down against it. She sat there on the floor, breathing, staring at nothing. She then remembered the phone, reached up and grabbed it from the bookshelf, and, putting in Claire's birthday, unlocked it. There was nothing on the phone but one single app, a video player. Bea opened it and saw hundreds, nay, THOUSANDS, of videos. Some were so old, grainy, as though they'd been converted from VHS, and some were really crisp, as though they were recent. She started at the first one, pressing her thumb on it to load.

Up on the screen came Liam, younger and vibrant, a full head of hair, his winning smile. He was holding the camera facing him, and he grinned at it, waving with his other hand.

"Hey! I got it working! I'm in the city, I'm in an office, a real honest to god office, and look who's with me!" he said, panning the camera around to reveal a young Bea, sitting cross legged on the desk, the Bea head in her lap, but not in full costume otherwise. She smirked at him and flipped him off, making him laugh. Then he panned back to the doorway of the office, showing a little girl, maybe 3, standing there. Bea's eyes widened, the tears started coming once again.

"And there's Claire! Hi Claire!" Liam said, making Claire giggle and wave as she toddled up towards him, before being redirected towards the desk, where Bea leaned down and picked her up, plopping her in her lap after moving the head. Claire reached out and touched the head, Bea now full on sobbing as she watched; Liam added, "there they are, my two favorite girls!"

He then set the camera down on a nearby shelf aimed at the desk before walking over to the desk and taking Bea's chin in his hands, kissing her, before leaning down and kissing the top of Claire's head too. After they whispered something to one another that wasn't audibly captured, he walked back to the camera, and the video ended. Bea was staring at her face in the darkened phone screen now, unable to process what she'd just watched. Claire had been gone for so long. Liam was now gone too. Bea rested her head back against the wall and exhaled best she could. She then got up, made a pot of tea, and sat back down on her couch, pulling a quilt around her, tea between her legs. She was going to watch every video on this phone.

No matter the cost to her fragile psyche.

Liam was sitting in the pizzeria, watching the animatronic band. He had been coming here a lot lately, trying to grapple with his mortality. He was holding his cane in his lap, his other hand gripping one of the turquoise plastic cups used for soda, and sipping from it casually as he watched the band perform. He heard the swing doors open and close behind him, and he smiled to himself weakly.

"Glad you could make it," he said as Beatrice sat on the other chair he'd pulled beside his own, but she didn't speak; he added, "guess you're mad at me, which is understandable. Just figured...after what happened to Casey, now would be the best time to talk about this."

Bea folded her arms, but continued her silent approach. Liam sighed and lifted the cup to his lips, taking a long drink before shaking his head.

"Bea, we need to talk about it. It's not going to change. This is going to happen, regardless of your feelings."

"When have you ever considered my feelings?" Bea asked, "...you're an asshole, you know that?"

"That's a valid response, considering the situation, so I'm gonna let it slide," Liam said, "and yes, I...I've done some bad things in my life, but I've spent the last few years trying to make up for them. Starting with you. With this show. But there's things we need to discuss, but I don't have much time left."

"I hate you," Bea said, with such vitriol in her voice, such venom, he was almost prepared to believe it; she added, "I can't...I hate you, Liam. You took my show from me, you took Claire, and now you're leaving me too? How else am I supposed to feel?"

"First of all, I didn't take Claire. We mutually decided to end that situation because we recognized it wans't-"

"I didn't mutually decide shit!" Bea shouted, snapping at him, "no, I did what you wanted to do, because I trusted you! I gave into the demands of the pizzeria because I trusted you! Everything that has had an enormous negative impact on my life has been a direct result of trusting you! Now you're gonna fucking tell me you're dying, and I'm supposed to be sad and weepy as if that isn't also a horrible thing? You're selfish, is what you are!"

Liam didn't respond. He knew Bea needed to vent. He'd let her do what she had to, process the grief in the only way she knew how. Next to her parents, Liam was the person she'd known the longest, and this...this was eating her alive, he knew this even without her admittance. Bea shifted in her seat, breathing hard, watching Liam to see any change in his face but nothing came.

"...I can't do this without you," Bea said quietly, making Liam finally look at her.

"Of course you can," he replied, smiling back, "look at what you accomplished before me. You created the character, you staged the first iteration. Bea, I only know you because of seeing your show. You did all that on your own. You can absolutely do this without me."

"Okay how about I don't want to," she said.

"Well, that's different," Liam responded, shrugging, "but you gotta keep the flame alive. We built this thing up together. Just cause one half of us is gone doesn't mean-"

"I always thought we could fix things," Bea said, interrupting him, "I always thought...I always thought there'd be more time to set things right."

Liam raised an eyebrow, confused.

"What do you mean, we...we got this thing off the ground, have completely creative control, more or less, what else could we possibly-"

"Claire," Bea said, looking at the floor, not at him; she cleared her throat and added, "I always thought we'd fix things. We just...we just left. I have never felt right about it. I agreed at the time, cause it did seem like the right thing to do, but...I think that's why I've clung onto so many other, younger women with family problems. Trying to raise them up because we abandoned her. Michelle. Eliza. Casey. I think that's why. I have never managed to forgive myself."

"You blame me for that too?" Liam asked, and after a moment of chewing on her lip, thinking hard, she shook her head.

"No, I...I don't, actually. I do think you were right about that one. It was a messy situation. But that doesn't mean I don't feel remorse about it. I just hope she's doing well. I hope she grew up to be a wonderful adult. I suppose maybe it's the not knowing that kills me the most. Sometimes, when Leslie and I go for walks in the evening, we'll pass by this little local park near my apartment, and we'll see these families playing, and I see these little girls and I think of Claire. I hope she understands why we left. That it wasn't personal."

"I'm sure she does," Liam said, grimacing. He knew Bea was in pain over this, but he had no idea just how deep it went.

Bea looked up towards the stage and exhaled. She didn't really hate Liam, and he knew that, so she didn't have to clarify. They'd always had this sort of unspoken rule that they could say whatever they felt in the moment and it would be taken as an irrational statement because of the overwhelming feelings included therein. That's what happens when you work on a show for kids about learning and acceptance. You don't take things at face value and you, instead, operate in a sort of 'let us feel and sort it out later' mentality. Bea looked at her hands, her freshly manicured nails that she'd had done just before Casey ran off.

"It's funny, isn't it?" Bea asked, sniffling, smiling weakly.

"What is?" Liam asked.

"Us. How...how queer people gravitate towards one another, regardless of knowing their own identity in the moment. When we met, neither one of us was sure we were who we are. And now look at us. You had a lovely, long relationship with Marvin, and I'm with Leslie. I don't know that we could've done it without one another. I think...I think we needed eachother, Liam. I know I sure as hell needed you."

Liam nodded solemnly. He knew what Bea meant. The two of them, together, they'd both discovered who they were because of their direct interaction with one another. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, clearing his throat. He thought back to that first apartment they shared back in the city, back before the show was officially on the air. Back when they were still workshopping, doing small performances, doing fine-tuning. He smiled. Those were some of his happiest memories. Liam looked towards her, and noticed she was looking at him now.

"You don't regret it, do you?" Bea asked.

"Which part?" Liam asked, the both of them chuckling.

"What we did," Bea whispered, "you don't regret it, do you?"

"I really don't. It isn't who we ended up being, but I sure as shit don't regret it, no. We did the best we could, considering the situation," Liam said, "I just kind of wish, if anything..."

Liam scuffed the floor with his shoe, making Bea tense with anticipation.

"...I wish, if anything, that maybe circumstances could've allowed us to see it through. That we could've known what it would've been like. I'm not saying I'm unhappy with who we are, because I'm not and I wouldn't change a moment of my life, with Marvin, or with you, but it would've been fun to see how it would've been. You know, when my father learned that I was queer and living with Marvin, he wasn't disgusted or angry or confused. Instead I was met with quiet disappointment. Acceptance isn't acceptance in that case. I never felt welcome home, especially with Marvin. When he got sick and started to go down, I asked him what his biggest regret in life was, and he told me that it was not being as brave as his son wound up being. A small consolation prize, too little too late certainly, but you have to take your wins where you get them. But even if he admired my bravery, I know he always wanted...well...what came before that, to last."

Bea smiled weakly and nodded, looking back at her shoes. She sighed and shut her eyes, rubbing them with her fingers.

"I'm so mad at Michelle," she whispered.

"What? What for?" Liam asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Because she told me Casey wasn't my responsibility. Leslie even backed her up. But because of what she told me, because I listened to her, Casey is dead. I could've prevented it, and-"

"Bea, you couldn't have prevented it. That girl was a ticking time bomb. It would've happened sooner or later. Some people are just like that, with this built in self destruct, and I've never seen a more clear example of that then with Casey. I know it hurts, but please don't be mad at Michelle. She's right. And she was saying it to alleviate yourself of the guilt of not being able to be there all the time for everyone. You're allowed to look out for yourself."

"I did that already, and look what happened. Claire is gone," Bea said, and that hit Liam in the heart. He knew she was upset about Claire, even all these years later, as was he, but he had no idea how deeply that sadness truly went. Bea had cared so much, hadn't wanted to leave her with those people, but she knew, in the end, that it was the right decision. Still, to see that sadness upfront, clearer than he ever had before, it hurt intensely. Bea wiped at her face with her sweater sleeve, drying herself of her tears and exhaling, adding, "I promised myself, after that, that I would never put myself first again. That, for every young girl who needs familial harmony, I would provide that."

Liam hated himself more in that one singular moment than he ever had before.

"...i'm so sorry," Liam whispered and Bea nodded slowly.

"yeah, me too," she replied quietly.

Liam was so mad. He didn't want to die, not while she was in this state. He wanted to stick around. He wanted to make things better. He groaned and climbed out of his chair, pacing, his cane tapping on the ground as he walked.

"For what it's worth, though, thank you," Bea said, catching him off guard. He glanced at her as she added, "I mean, I was determined to make something of myself, of...of making Beatrice a real thing, but...but I don't know that I could've done it without you."

"You absolutely could've," Liam said, "the success you found wasn't because of me, I just happened to be here."

"No, you don't get it. At first, yeah, I was doing the stage show myself, creating the world without you, and that was fine, but after we left Claire, that was when I became dependent on you. I felt like maybe you believed I couldn't do what needed to be done and that was why we did what we did, so I worked harder to prove myself to you that I could. I wanted you to be proud of me. I know that's stupid, especially for someone as seemingly independent as I am, to be so co-dependent and reliant on someone, but...you made me want to be better."

"I never thought that, Bea," Liam said, feeling hurt, "I never would believe-"

"I know that, I just felt that way at the time," Bea said, shrugging, "I was young, and stupid. I couldn't help but believe dumb shit like that. Now I realize, of course, that I could've done anything without you, but I'm glad I didn't have to. I'm glad you were with me. I can't imagine the journey without you..."

Bea and Liam locked eyes and stared as Bea started crying.

"...but reaching the destination without you kills me," she muttered, before breaking down. Liam walked back to the seats and leaned down, hugging her, letting her sob into him. Liam rubbed her back and looked around at the pizzeria, taking it all in. This history they shared. This thing they'd built together. After the hug broke and Liam pulled away from her, she looked up at him and asked, "...what happens to you?"

"You mean who gets custody of me?" Liam asked,smirking, and she laughed; he continued, "I'll be being cremated, and you can do with my ashes what you want. It's up to you. But Bea, you gotta promise me something. You can't stay frozen in time anymore. Especially not with this. I know you have trouble moving past things, losing your mother, losing your dog, but I can't be one of those. Use me as a springboard for growth, not a mouse trap for nostalgia. Can you make me that promise?"

Bea squeezed him tighter and sighed.

"I wanna say yes," she mumbled, "but I don't know that I can. I'll try, is that okay?"

"That's a perfectly reasonable response, yes," Liam said, kissing the top of her head.

Bea thought back to their time in the city. When they were young, fresh, just starting out. A different world, it felt like. A completely different world than the one they currently inhabited, and not just in their own day to day lives but moreso in the sense of society itself. She and Liam were both lying to themselves then, trying their best to pretend to be anything, anyone, other than who they were simply because of societal pressures. Now she got to see Michelle and Eliza be happy together, openly, and it warmed her heart, but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't jealous of that freedom, the very freedom she was denied. Because of that, she and Liam had made a decision, a decision that haunted her to this very day. A decision she wasn't sure she could ever recover from.

"Just...tell me," Bea said, as Liam pulled away a bit and looked down at her, stroking her face gently with one hand as she asked, "tell me you'll remember me."

"How could I ever forget you," Liam whispered, "what we tried might not have worked out, but look where we are now. Look what we've accomplished. Bea, I couldn't have done any of this without you. You could've gotten here on your own, but I like to think you are happier you did it with me at your side. I'm sorry things crashed the way they did, I made some big mistakes, but I've tried so hard to rectify them for the sake of our relationship, to prove how much I loved you, love you, have and always will."

Bea nodded, wiping her face on her sleeve as she stood up and walked with him, arms linked, towards the stage as the curtain came back up and the band started once more. They stood there, watching, smiling together. Bea rested her head on Liam's shoulder, and he blushed.

"Nobody would ever believe it, you know," she said.

"I know," he replied, "trust me I know."

Bea turned to face him, as Liam did the same, the band playing atop the stage before them, music echoing, filling the empty hall. Bea put her hands on Liam's face, feeling his stubble, knowing she would likely never touch this face again. She leaned up on her toes and planted her lips on his, and he happily kissed her back. After a very long, loving kiss, Liam rested his lips against her forehead as she wept against his chest, Liam running one hand up and down her back.

"Luckily for us," Liam said, "there's some stories that are just ours."

"It was a pretty good story," Bea whispered.

"It was," Liam said, "happy I got to see how it ends. Now, go make another."

Beatrice woke up that morning to the smell of coffee. She slowly sat up, pulled her silk robe on over her night shirt and sleep shorts and headed out into the living room, where she found Leslie standing in the kitchen, sizzling bacon on the stove, her hair in tangles from the previous nights escapades. Leslie was wearing a long sleeve button down shirt and nothing else, but it covered her perfectly. Bea walked up behind her and wrapped her arms around her tight, nuzzling the back of her head, kissing it gently, making Leslie blush.

"Gosh, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Leslie asked, and Bea shrugged.

"Well," Bea said, "You were pretty incredible last night, I guess I just like to show my appreciation for the effort."

"Oh, you're a supporter of the cause? I can accept that," Leslie said, grinning as she turned around. Bea pinned her against the counter, making her catch her breath, and leaned in, kissing her. Leslie happily kissed her back. These were the good mornings. The perfect mornings. The mornings Bea always dreamed of having, and now couldn't believe she was lucky enough to get. As she pushed herself against Leslie more, Leslie's hands trying to find space on the countertop to hold herself up so her knees didn't completely buckle, she accidentally hit the remote for the small TV they had in the kitchen, turning it on.

"Goodness," Leslie said, breathing hard after Bea finished frenching her, "what did I do to deserve such adoration?"

"...I'm just tired of not taking advantage of the good things in my life," Bea whispered, running a hand up to her face and cupping her cheek gently, looking in her eyes, "I'm tired of, you know, not feeling like I deserve them too. After losing my dog, my mom, I guess I just want to grab hold of those close to me and keep them here forever."

"I can accept that answer, and you're more than free to grab me," Leslie said, giggling as she hopped up onto the counter to sit, hitting the change channel button on the remote now, shoving it aside, as Bea put her hands on her hips and kept kissing her. As Bea made out with her neck, Leslie's eyes scanned over her shoulder to the television, and she got a concerned look on her face. After a moment, Bea stopped and looked as well.

"What is it?" Bea asked.

"I don't know, something on the news, they're pulling a body out of the water by Garvins Bridge," Leslie said, grabbing the remote and turning the volume up a bit, the newscasters voice now coming in clear midsentence.

"-certainly not foul play, and definitely a suicide, the police have reiterated repeatedly. A car was found parked on the bridge with a note in its windshield, indicating as such. The car, after having its registration run through the system, was found to belong to one Casey Kochawski. The police, now having retrieved the body from the lake, have in fact confirmed that it is Miss Kochawski, tying her to the vehicle. At the moment, none of her family, nor anyone else, has come forward with statements about the matter, but all signs point to Miss Kochawski have struggled with intense depression, and she appeared to have a history of drug abuse. More on-"

Leslie switched the TV back off, and looked at Beatrice, who was standing deathly still, staring at the now blank screen in front of them. Leslie didn't know what to do, Bea seemed to be in a trance. After a minute or so, Bea slowly dropped to her knees on the kitchen floor, then laid down on her side, wrapped her arms around herself...

...and screamed as loud as possible.

                                                                                                         ***

"You have a visitor," a woman said to Liam as he sat at his desk. He looked up to spot a woman entering, struggling to walk a little. She looked relatively young, around Michelle's age, maybe a bit older. She stopped and looked at him, appearing nervous. Liam just smiled politely and leaned back in his chair.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I'm looking for Michelle Helm, I'm Justine Hench. Is...is she here? I know this is her place of business."

"Michelle has not come in yet, no," Liam said, "...can I ask what this is regarding?"

Justine pulled the chair opposite Liam out and slowly seated herself in it, groaning as she did, likely from her injuries. After a few minutes, Justine finally gathered herself, mentally, and exhaled, looking back up at Liam.

"Okay, um," Justine said, "it's about Casey. She came to my home the other day while I was entertaining guests, and she...she was...clearly having some kind of psychological breakdown. I offered to meet with her after that, but she ran off, drove away, I haven't heard from her since. I've texted, I've called, I've e-mailed, but not avail. I just...I need to get in touch with someone who knows her who can maybe fill me in on what's going on because, at this point, I'm genuinely concerned for her wellbeing."

Liam's heart broke. He had already heard. He'd heard on the radio on the way in that morning. He swallowed and leaned forward, cupping his hands on the desk.

"Uh," he said, "fuck. Um. You'll have to apologize, I'm...I'm not used to having to break this kind of news to people, and I'm not doing so well myself health wise, so please forgive me but...you haven't...heard anything? Seen anything on the news?"

Justine, now afraid, slowly shook her head, her fingers tugging at the hem of her skirt.

"...Casey jumped off a bridge last night," Liam said, struggling to get the words out without breaking into tears himself, "uh...the...the cops pulled her out of the lake this morning, a few hours ago actually, and it's been on the news since then. I'm honestly surprised you somehow hadn't heard anything yet."

A quiet filled the room. The kind of quiet that's somehow deafening it's so loud. The kind of quiet one only hears on certain occasions, when presented with the worst news possible.

"...Casey...what?" Justine asked, now starting to cry herself.

"Yeah," Liam whispered, looking down at his desk now, feeling his tears rolling off his face and onto the wooden finish, "uh yeah...her folks aren't going to be of any help, or care, so I have to go and identify her, just for the sake of it, at some point today once she's been processed into the morgue. I'm sorry to have to be the one to break this to you, I never like-"

"She can't be dead," Justine replied in a broken, hushed tone, "no she...she can't. She was...she was JUST on my porch. She can't have...in that time span, she can't..."

Justine knew all too well though the seven stages of grief. Having survived a near-death experience herself, she knew she was just speedrunning them now. Justine finally cracked and started openly weeping, burying her face in her hands. Liam groaned as he did his best to stand up, head back to where his secretary was and ask for some coffee and pastries, before grabbing a box of tissues and shutting the door to his office. He wouldn't be taking any other meetings today.

                                                                                                        ***

Michelle had found Eliza in outright hysterics. She'd gone out to get them breakfast, and when she got back...

...Eliza was lying fully clothed in the bathtub, full of water, screaming at the top of her lungs. Michelle quickly dropped everything in the kitchen before rushing into the bathroom to find this sight, completely befuddled at what she was witnessing. She dropped to her knees by the bathtub and grabbed Eliza's hand, holding it, just letting her finish getting her emotions out. After a bit, after Eliza had calmed down, she rolled her head towards Michelle, her eyes bright red from the tears, big dark circles underneath.

"What is going on?" Michelle asked, "what...what caused this? Are you okay?"

Eliza just stared. All the death. All the death surrounding her. First Liam's diagnosis, of which she couldn't even tell anyone about, and now Casey. She simply couldn't handle it, she was losing her grip.

"Don't leave me," Eliza whispered, her voice shaky and scared.

"Never!" Michelle said, leaning in and kissing her on the forehead, "why do you...when...why would I ever leave you?"

"I don't even mean just leaving, I mean...don't die," Eliza said, "you almost died, and you almost died before I told you I loved you, and...and please don't die, ever. Ever. Please."

"Okay, I promise, I'll find a way to be immortal," Michelle replied, the both of them laughing weakly at this, before adding, "but you...you have to talk to me, what's happening? Did something happen? Did somebody hurt you?"

"Somebody hurt all of us," Eliza mumbled, "Casey is dead."

This hit Michelle like a brick to the face. She was not prepared for that. She fell back onto her ass, still holding Eliza's hand. The last time she'd seen Casey had been at that audition, where she'd flipped out at her and Bea. She told Casey she'd have her removed if she couldn't behave. Fucking fuck. Fuck. What the hell had she been thinking. She'd acted in a professional manner, not her usual comforting one, and now...now it'd cost Casey her life, all because she simply hadn't listened.

"...she begged not to be an afterthought," Michelle said, sniffling, "the last time I saw her, she was SO upset, and she begged me and Bea for her to, just once, be somebody's first choice for something. I should've listened. I was never my mothers first choice, I know what that does to a person. I should've listened. I killed her."

"No!" Eliza said, rolling onto her side in the water filled tub, "no you didn't, don't think that! If I didn't kill my mom then you didn't kill Casey, okay? Just cause...just cause we have bad last conversations with people before they croak doesn't mean we're responsible for their deaths, right? That's what everyone has always told me, so you need to believe it too."

Michelle looked back at Eliza, and in that moment, in that very moment, she realized something. She never, no matter what, wanted to let this girl go. Michelle reached out and took Eliza's face in her hands and pressed her lips to Eliza's, kissing her for a good minute or so. After it broke, Michelle rested her forehead on Eliza's, the both of them crying.

"...if I can't leave, you can't either, okay?" Michelle asked, and Eliza nodded eagerly; Michelle then, after a deep breath, added, "...if...if all we can do is keep living, then...then I wanna do it together."

"Me too," Eliza whispered, kissing her again.

Death has a funny way of making people realize what they really want.

                                                                                                     ***

"The thing about death," Liam said, "is nobody and nothing can properly prepare you for  it, whether it's happening to you or to somene else. You're never ever ready for it. I've got...I don't know...weeks left maybe? You wouldn't really be able to tell, looking at me, because I'm putting up a good front, but every single day I'm so weak, so tired. But I'm not scared. That's the one saving grace I have for my own sake of mind. Casey didn't seem scared either."

"How are you NOT scared?" Justine asked, biting into a donut hole, sipping her coffee, "god, I remember being on that plane, heading for the ground, knowing that could very well be it, expecting that to very well be it, and I was terrified. I'm shocked I didn't shit my pants."

"...people have always assumed that Beatrice writes the show. But we mostly do it together, and I've written a lot of it myself. It's...it's like this child we have together. Or, a thing that took the place of where a child would be, since we don't have one. My whole life, I...I've been living lies. Creating personas for myself. Telling stories. That's what I do. I can't cope with reality, neither can Bea, so we tell stories to help placate our eternal sense of unease. Death is just...another story. It's the next chapter. The final installment. If anything, I'm excited to see it."

Justine couldn't help but smile, albeit weakly, at this sentiment. Liam was a remarkably well adjusted person. She shook her head and looked back down at her lap, resting her coffee mug in it between her palms.

"...losing my boyfriend, I used to think, was the worst thing that could happen to me," she said, "but this might be worse. Casey and I were working on so many little projects, we were creative partners. I'd never had that before. We just got one another. She was so talented. She was...my friend. I hope she knows she was my friend."

This statement pushed her to start crying again.

"I feel so fucking selfish," Justine continued, trying to speak between sobs, "if I'd just talked to her, if I'd just...put in a tiny bit of effort that one day...fuck."

Liam stood up and walked past her to a filing cabinet, retrieving something from there and then plopping it onto the desk between them before taking his seat once more. Justine, after recomposing herself, looked at the folder, then up at Liam, raising an eyebrow.

"What's that?" she asked.

"That," Liam said, putting his feet up on his desk best he could with some effort, pointing at the folder, "is something Casey gave me. She wanted me to help her with something, and, as a result, she gave me this. Gave it to me to find a way to get it organized, published. It's something she'd been working on for a good portion of her life. I've read through it, it's shockingly grim and beautiful, feels autobiographical in nature. I am putting this in your hands. You work in literature. You're the one who needs to make this happen."

Justine slowly reached out and took the folder, opening it, reading through Casey's notebook, her sketches, her concepts. She nodded slowly. Liam was right. She had to get this out there. She had to do this for Casey. It was the only way she would feel like she didn't completely let her down. Justine shut the folder and looked back up at Liam, biting her lip, chewing, thinking.

"...so you're excited?" Justine asked, and Liam grinned.

"I'm THRILLED," he said.

                                                                                                      ***

Beatrice was laying on the couch, her head in Leslie's lap as she ran her fingers through Bea's hair. Bea hadn't said a thing since screaming her lungs out and calming down. Now she just stared ahead in dead silence. The TV in the living room was on, on some show about antiques, but the sound was off. The lights were off in the apartment. When Bea got overwhelmed, Leslie knew it was her duty to remove all the sensory issues to help her ease back down. Bea exhaled and shut her eyes, gripping the bottom of Lesle's shirt.

"I put myself first," Bea said, "I put myself first, and look what happened. Michelle told me she wasn't my responsibility, and now she's gone."

"To be fair, she wasn't," Leslie said, "you can't save everybody without ruining yourself, babe. You need to recognize that. Michelle was right. It's understandable to feel guilty, or whatever, but this wasn't because of you. She was clearly struggling with so many other things."

"I'm never putting myself first again," Bea whispered, "that's a promise."

Leslie sighed. She knew that when Bea made promises, she NEVER broke them. Leslie just continued stroking her hair as Bea rolled onto her back and looked up at Leslie, who smiled down at her warmly.

"If you wanted to kill yourself, you'd tell me, right?" Bea asked.

"Of course!" Leslie said, "sweetheart, I would never do that to you, not without discussing it first. Trying to get help. But I'm also not about to judge those who need to just have a swift exit. Life isn't for everyone, and there's nothing wrong with acknowledging that. Some people...they just....aren't built for this, built for longevity. But I wouldn't do that, not to you."

Bea smiled weakly and nodded, rolling back onto her side.

"...I'm so mad at Michelle," Bea whispered.

Michelle, meanwhile, was still in the bathroom, laying on the floor beside the tub, still holding Eliza's hand. Neither one had said anything for a while, they were simply taking in the comfort of the silence that surrounded them. Michelle was thinking, anyway. Thinking about herself, her own near death experience. How Eliza had been at the hospital for her all that time, had always sought her out before and after that to get to know her, to get closer. Her thoughts turned to Justine. That woman survived a goddamned plane crash, and sure, she'd lost her boyfriend in the process, but she was here. They both had more in common than she'd initially thought. Michelle, then, turned her thoughts to Marvin. That's where this all started. Goddamned Marvin.

"Marvin killed himself, you know," Michelle said, "I mean you know that, I'm sure. But that's what kicked everything off. Marvin killed himself. Marvin killed himself, and that got Keagan to start looking into the show, which got her in touch with me, which put us in touch with Liam, which led us to Bea, which then resulted in everything else. You and I are here, together, today...because Marvin killed himself."

Eliza rolled her head towards Michelle and sniffled.

"Why are you saying this?" Eliza asked.

"Because...because good things can come from tragedy. Casey didn't have to die, but she also doesn't have to die for nothing. Marvin's suicide created a new throughline for my life. Maybe Casey's can do the same. It can be another fresh start."

Michelle and Eliza stared at one another and Michelle smiled.

"...do you wanna marry me?" Michelle asked, and Eliza's eyes widened in shock, before eagerly nodding, making Michelle laugh as she scooted up closer and kissed her.

As Liam had explained...death isn't the end, but a new beginning.

Casey Kochawski was 15 years old, and she was sitting on the hood of a strange mans car as it was parked on the side of very tall bridge. The man in question, whom she only knew by the name of Nick, was sitting beside her and staring out over the water that seemed to stretch endlessly before them. Anyone passing by might just assume this was a father/daughter outing, but this man wasn't her father, and just scant moments previous they'd been in the backseat of his car having sex. He was just one of the many man men her mother sold her to for afternoons and evenings, but by now, Casey had become so numb to it.

"...you shouldn't have to do this," Nick finally said, "this is wrong."

And yet you benefited from it, Casey thought to herself.

The absolute hypocrisy of some of these guys was astounding. Most of these men would have sex with her and then be on their way, but some of them would get morose, would start trying to distance themselves from the other men who did the same thing, as if there was a difference. There wasn't. They were still disgusting monsters. They just wanted to believe they weren't. Wanted to act as though they had some kind of moral high ground. And the sad thing was, because what he was saying was true, Casey did agree with him.

"I'm a bad person," Nick said, shaking his head, "and I recognize that. I recognize this...this is awful. This is unforgivable. I'm not asking for forgiveness, either, by the way, just stating a fact. I'm sorry."

That was the difference though, about Nick and the others, was he apologized. None of the others, even the ones who did seem to feel some twinge of guilt, ever apologized. Nick did. And she truly believed he meant it. Didn't excuse it, didn't justify it, but it was a nice little parting gift all the same. And a month later, when local authorities would pull Nick's car out of the water after he careened it off the side of the bridge and drowned himself and a little girl he'd stolen right out of her front yard to, presumably, do the same monstrous acts with that he'd done with Casey, Casey couldn't help but feel as though Nick had the right idea. If nobody is going to like you, if nobody wants you around, why not exit?

So now, standing here on the edge of a bridge herself, Casey couldn't believe she was somewhat sympathizing with such a degenerate. But hey, she had been a degenerate too. At least in the eyes of society. She'd been a drug addict. Casey sat down on the rail and sighed, wiping her face with her long flannel sleeve, trying not to cry. It wasn't fair. All she wanted when she was a little girl was a family who protected her, not sold her. And now, as an adult, she still couldn't find that solace in others. There was no protection, she realized, for certain people. Some people were just left to their own devices. And sometimes their own devices were a means to an end.

                                                                                                        ***

"Sometimes," Casey said, "when I am about to do something, I like to close my eyes and fantasize about a different outcome. Like, if I'm in a car with a guy, or in his apartment, or wherever we are, I'll close my eyes and I'll pretend someone comes in at the last minute to stop it from happening. So pathetic."

Casey was sitting in a diner, in a booth, across from an older man. This man, another one of her mothers "clients", was a man in his early fifties named Steven, but unlike the other men, Steven didn't want sex with her. Steven liked to take her out, get food, just talk. Casey figured he just enjoyed the company.

"I don't think that's so pathetic, we do lots of weird things to cope with unbearable situations," Steven said, "for example, when my wife left, and took my daughter, I'd lay in bed at night in total silence and darkness, and I'd shut my eyes and I'd think about them coming home suddenly, without warning, surprising me. I'd be so upset when I'd inevitably wake back up the next morning and they were still gone."

Casey actually liked Steven. He was the only one she genuinely enjoyed being around, because he just was a nice, normal guy. He didn't ask for anything from her but her company, her time, and he never made any kind of advances towards her. Casey thanked the waitress as she set down another glass of iced tea in front of Casey, and then Casey turned her eye back to Steven.

"I'm sorry they left," Casey said.

"Eh, I wasn't a great husband. I'm a great father, but not a very good husband," Steven said, "and you have to find a balance, it can't just be one or the other. One can't be neglected while the other is adored. That isn't fair."

"Wish my dad was a great father," Casey said, sipping on the straw in her drink, "he's just as gross as the men they make me go out with."

"Well Casey, one day, when you're older, you'll have escaped this life and you'll look back and realize how strong you actually were. You'll be thankful for having survived it. Not that you should've had to endure something so awful to begin with, but I like to think it's a silver lining of sorts. That's the kind of thinking that gets me through, anyway."

Casey smiled and nodded as the waitress returned with their respective lunches. After this, Steven would take her to a local arcade and they would play Skeeball and other games together, and then he would take her shopping for new clothes for school, and then back out to dinner before going to his apartment, where she slept in the spare bedroom. It was nice to have one small escape now and then, her own space, where nobody intruded or violated it. Her time at Steven's was lovely, and she appreciated every minute of it, perhaps a bit too much.

                                                                                                          ***

The very first time Casey's mother had turned her out was when she was 9, or at least that's the first time Casey could remember. Sitting on the bridge, Casey thought back to this moment. She often went back to it when she was feeling particularly hopeless. It was before there was a system, and any kind of setup. The man was someone her mother had met in a clinic, who had offered her hard drugs and money in order for her daughters "company". Casey had been in her bedroom when he entered, and she could remember feeling confused and scared, simply by the size of his shadow that was cast on the wall when he entered. Her mother could hear her crying, shouting, but she didn't stop it. If anything, she only encouraged the man to keep going for as long as he wanted. After it was done, her mother cleaned her up. Casey, sitting on the toilet lid while her mother wiped her down with a wet sponge, all Casey could think was how much she hated her mom, and how she couldn't believe she would let this happen.

"Everyone has a role to play in their family," her mother said, cigarette hanging, ashing, from her lips as she wiped her down gently, "and this is yours. We need the money."

Casey always heard this. That they 'needed the money', and yet she was confused because they always seemed to have enough for drugs, for alcohol, just not for the things she needed or wanted. Casey often wore free clothes left at the church donation box or bags left on the street. Her parents always gave her morning after pills on the occasions the men didn't wear protection. And when she was finally old enough to, she started using her parents drugs to grant herself even the smallest bit of serenity from the hellhole that was her life. It was the least she could be given. Casey thought about how her mother never really saw her as a person, but a tool, something she could use to further get what she wanted. There was one night in particular when Casey came home after a surprisingly rough session with a man her mother had sold her to for the evening, and Casey was bruised, battered, looked like hell and felt like shit. When she walked into the house, she found her mother passed out on the couch, and she stopped and stared.

It would be so easy, she thought.

All she would have to do would be to get a knife from the kitchen and stab her thirty, fourty times, and nobody would blame her and even if they did, even if she did face some kind of justice, well, being in juvenile hall or prison for life would be better than the everyday hell that she currently existed in. Casey walked into the kitchen and grabbed the sharpest, biggest knife she could from the butcher block and came back out, standing over her mother, staring down. She felt her knuckles tighten around the handle, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it, because, unlike her mother...she wasn't a monster. Casey finally sighed, let the feeling subside, and went to put the knife back before attending to her pain in the bathroom alone. Nights like this, with men like that, made Casey actually miss Nick. He had never been rough with her. He'd always been gentle. Still unwanted, but hey, she had to take her wins where she could get them she figured.

Casey, partway through cleaning herself up, glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror, her makeup completely ruined, her face red and stained with nail marks and hand prints, and she promised herself that one day...one day she would get away from this. And she did.

But distance, as it turns out, wasn't the answer. Running only solves so much.

                                                                                                       ***

"I can't even imagine," Justine said one afternoon at lunch, as Casey told her horror story after horror story about her adolescence, "that sounds just awful. How anyone could treat their own child like that, I am so fucking sorry you had to live through that."

"The worst part," Casey said, biting into her burger and chewing, "is that I miss it, for some warped reason. A therapist at rehab told me it was because it became so normalized to me that to not have it feels wrong, and I built a lot of my self worth around my attractiveness to the men who used me. Made me feel special, like I had a purpose."

"Yeah but that's just fulfilling their needs, not yours," Justine said, "your needs were a safe home with a loving family and you weren't given that. That isn't fair to you."

"It's just hard to build self worth around me because I don't know who I am, even, outside my drawings," Casey said, shrugging. She'd tried very hard for many years now to try and discover who she was, the things she liked or enjoyed, things she could be proud of, but she'd yet to discover any of them outside of her art, and even her art she had a hard time finding pride in because it had been created as a way to cope with being abused so it just felt like an extension of her grief, not an actual escape or rebirth. Just another reminder.

This lunch had taken place a few weeks ago, and now, Justine was waiting at a cafe she and Casey often had breakfast at, texting her, trying to see if she was going to show up. The night Casey had shown up on her porch, during her get together, Justine felt awful that she hadn't stuck around, hadn't just talked to her, and since last night she'd been trying to get a hold of her, but to no avail. Justine sighed and sipped her coffee, looking around. She knew Casey was sick, damaged, but she also knew she was extremely talented, and a good person, and she deserved the success she was seeing now. Not that Casey would ever agree on these points. Justine exhaled and set her phone down after sending yet another text, then tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the table top before picking up her muffin and biting into it.

"Justine?" a voice asked, and Justine turned her head to see Michelle and Eliza standing there in line.

"Hi!" Justine said, smiling, as she got up to hug Michelle.

"What are you doing here?" Michelle asked.

"Waiting for Casey, we're supposed to have breakfast but she hasn't texted or call me back," Justine said.

"She...she was not in a good headspace yesterday," Michelle replied, shaking her head, "I'm worried about her."

"I mean, I am too, but I also know how strong she is. Probably just needs some time to herself. I know she'll be okay," Justine said, smiling.

Justine would remember this conversation 24 hours later.

                                                                                                      ***

Casey pushed Steven's bedroom door opened just a small amount and crept inside. He sat up in bed, groggy, as she climbed in with him. Steven smiled as she curled up beside her and pulled his arms around her. Steven closed his eyes and exhaled.

"You have a bad dream?" he asked.

"I just wanted to be with you," Casey whispered.

On occasion, when she slept over, Casey would wind up in Steven's bed if she was scared or had a nightmare, and Steven was always nothing if not a complete gentleman. Always proper and polite, always had boundaries. He was more than happy to just serve as a safety net for her in these dark times. Steven nodded in response, and tried to go back to sleep as Casey wrapped one of her hands around his wrist and slowly dragged it down between her legs. Steven's eyes snapped open and he jerked away, confused.

"The hell," he said, confused, "Casey, what are you-"

"Please," she said. Steven climbed off the bed, wrapping the sheet around him as he did, backing away. Casey got on her hands and knees and crawled across the bed towards him; she sniffled and batted her eyes to get the tears out of them, "please. You're the only one who's good to me. Take me in. Don't send me home. I can...I can make you happy, make you feel good."

"I don't want that, you're a teenager," Steven said, "and my friend, Casey, not...I'm not..."

"But...but you're the only one who treats me like a person," Casey said, starting to cry, "how...you don't...what's so wrong with me that you don't want me but all those awful men do?"

"That's the difference," Steven said, "they're awful, they don't care how their actions affect others. I'm not like that. I'm just lonely. I miss my daughter, I miss my wife, I'm not looking to supplement either of those with a fucking teenager, Casey, this is wrong. You of all people should know that. I understand getting attached to the one person who treats you well, but I don't do it for sexual favors for god sakes. I do it because you deserve a brief respite from the awfulness that is your everyday life."

Casey couldn't believe she could be so stupid. She should've known he was better than them. Better than her. She had begun to equate herself to the men who used her, nothing more than a perverted weirdo. Casey curled up on the bed and pulled her legs to her chest, hugging them, crying. Steven approached the bed, sighing, and seated himself down beside her, reaching out and putting a hand on her back as she sobbed.

"Casey," Steven said, "you don't-"

"The only good one doesn't want me," she cried, and Steven's heart broke.

He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Instead he just sat there and comforted her best he could. And to his credit, he didn't cut her off because of this, because he knew she was confused, making mistakes. She was a teenager. She was struggling with so much, she needed support, and he wasn't going to hold this against her, but he did define some boundaries afterwards. Things were never the same though, and after a bit she stopped taking his calls and seeing him. Steven hurt for her. They were two sides of the same coin, after all. He knew all she wanted was to be wanted, which was all he wanted too.

Just not from her.

                                                                                                           ***

Casey sighed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, finishing her cigarette and flicking it off into the water.

She exhaled, waving at the smoke in front of her face, before reaching out to the metal of the bridge and helping herself stand up. Her breath was shaky. She trembled a little in her fingers. This was for the best. This way she wouldn't disappoint anyone again, and nobody could hurt her anymore either. It wasn't fair that she didn't get the chance she deserved, but not everybody does, it wasn't personal against her. The universe didn't have a vendetta towards her. Some people just had shit luck, and she was one of them. Casey braced herself, steeled herself for the descent to the water, and shut her eyes. That's when she heard a car pull up and a door slam behind her, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her back down.

"What the hell," Justine said, almost in tears, "I have to go to a meeting with a publisher, I just happen to be crossing this bridge, and here you are, ready to jump? Why didn't you answer?"

"I don't...I don't deserve to answer," Casey whimpered, "I don't deserve...to live."

"Bullshit," Justine said, "that's bullshit, utter bullshit, Casey. I was in a plane crash. I didn't have a choice when it came to almost dying, but you do. Please don't opt in. We can fix this. I will help you."

Casey smiled and nodded, hugging Justine, who patted her on the back.

"This is what you always wanted, isn't it?" Justine asked.

"I did want a friend," Casey whispered.

"No, not that," Justine said, "to be rescued at the last minute. You always wanted to be rescued at the last minute."

And Casey realized. She opened her eyes, feeling the wind around her as she plummeted down towards the water, staring back up at the bridge where she'd been standing. She started laughing, crying. This stupid fucking coping mechanism. Always hoping to be saved before something awful happened. That being said, she'd always heard that people always regretted it the second they jumped, but she didn't feel regret, she felt relief. For the first time in her entire life, she felt like she knew what peace actually was. Freedom. CHOICE. That was the thing. She'd never had choice, and now she did. She chose to do this, and she didn't regret it. But she also knew she was an unlikely statistic, and that most people wouldn't feel this way. Still, it was nice, she had to admit, to pretend she'd be saved at the last minute. But that didn't happen. Not in real life. There was no knight in shining armor, and some people are just eaten by the dragon.

Casey hit the water.

Beatrice and Michelle were standing in front of a small window, peering out at the room of women preparing to perform for them. Beatrice sipped her tea as Michelle ate a cinnamon roll, neither one saying a word. Bea lowered the mug from her lips and clasped it between both hands, sighing heavily. Michelle glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow. Bea felt like she'd been here before, but for a different reason. Back when she and Liam had made the deal with the pizza place, she had to watch other women don shoddy Beatrice costumes that they could use in store for birthdays, meet and greets and more. And now, here she was again, doing it once more. Ya know, she thought to herself, for all that Liam tells me it's different, it really isn't all that different. She turned to Michelle.

"Last night," Beatrice said, "when we were laying in bed, and I was talking Leslie's ear off about doing this today, I realized that all I ever do is complain."

"God, I know, you're exhausting," Michelle replied, the both of them giggling.

"I want to like what I do enough, trust enough in the process, to not have to complain about it all the time. I'm trying to let her go. I'm trying to let others have her. But it's hard. These women...I'm sure they're all talented, wonderful people, but they don't know who Beatrice was. Is. They can't carry themselves the way I do, speak with the same cadence. It isn't the same dog."

Michelle nodded, listening. Beatrice raised her mug back to her lips and sipped again, then smacked her lips and sighed.

"I guess," she continued, "all I can do is continue trying. I was lucky enough to make it in the entertainment industry. People try and tell you it's about talent but it's only maybe 30% talent, and it's 70% luck. You can be the most talented person on the planet and still not catch a break. So many people go unrecognized, unappreciated. Why do you think paintings triple in value once the artist is dead? Because nobody knew or liked them when they were alive. So I got lucky. Now is the time to raise up others, give them the chances I was given. You're not meant to act as a barrier once you've achieved your goals, you know? You're meant to act as a ladder, to help others achieve them to, or reach even greater heights. Art is...is about boosting others, not tearing them down."

Michelle smiled big. She loved how Bea spoke about art, almost as if it were a religion, and to Beatrice it was. She loved art almost more than anything else in the world, and it made the most sense to her of all the subjects. When she was a little girl, she used to ride her bike down to the library, with Bea by her side, and they would get so many books on art out and take them home where she would spend hours reading up on them. Mediums she wasn't even really interested in, she would read about. Paintings, sewing, glass blowing. Anything she could find. Because to bring something of beauty into a world that wasn't beautiful, to grant it that serenity even only momentarily...that was something Beatrice could understand.

"Well," Michelle said, "Better not keep 'em waiting."

Bea nodded, as she and Michelle headed through the door, clipboards in hand.

                                                                                                       ***

Liam opened his front door to find Eliza standing on his porch. Surprised, certainly, but more surprised by her forcing her way into his home. He shut the door after she'd barged in, and watched her walk in circles, clearly exasperated. Eliza looked like a mess. Her hair was disheveled, her clothing was wrinkled, she looked like she'd barely been sleeping. Finally she stopped pacing and turned to face him.

"Why did you have to tell me that!?" she shouted.

"I'm sorry," Liam said, knowing immediately what she meant, "I had to tell someone, and I couldn't tell Bea, not just yet. Eliza, it's a sign of trust, you know? It's...you go so far back with us, I can't help but feel safe telling you."

"Yeah but what am I supposed to do with that?!" Eliza shouted, "I mean...you...you know what loss does to me! You know how it affects me! Don't act like this is somehow the noble thing to do, cause now all I do is worry and freak out and...and I can't sleep and I've just been crying nonstop and-"

Liam approached Eliza and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in for a tight hug. Eliza fought it for a moment before giving in and sighing. She shut her eyes and hugged him back.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be, perfectly natural reaction," Liam said, "I'm the one who should be sorry, having to die, dropping it on you."

"You can't help dying, everyone dies," Eliza replied.

Eliza stayed there in his arms for a bit and thought back to when she'd first been hired. She thought back to when she first met Liam and Bea and had been brought on to make the puppets and other props. How she felt like, in them, she'd found a mother and father figure who would love her no matter her limited mental capacities and her other countless issues, issues that, to people who truly loved and appreciated her, wouldn't seem like issues. Would seem miniscule or nonexistent in scope.

"I was baking some brownies, do you want a brownie?" Liam asked, and Eliza nodded, squeezing tighter; Liam smirked and patted her on the back, "that's my girl. Let's have a tea party."

                                                                                                          ***

"You have an impressive resume," Bea said, "multiple theme park character experience, theatre work, honestly, I won't lie, you seem ideal."

The woman in front of them smiled politely and crossed her legs. Michelle rolled her eyes and looked away. They'd been doing this all day and she'd seen so many actresses now that she knew when they were acting even when they insisted they weren't. The thing about acting, she'd come to realize, is how fake a person can be outside of the job. Never fully trustworthy, everything about their personality coming down to a perfectly curated performance. Michelle stood up and excused herself, heading out of the room and down the hall to get a drink from a vending machine. Standing there, she pulled her wallet from her back pocket and removed a dollar bill, smoothing it out on her leg and then pushing it into the machine.

"Where is everyone?" Casey asked, scaring Michelle. Michelle grabbed her drink once it dropped and turned to face her.

"You look like shit," Michelle said, "are you okay?"

"Where's Bea?" Casey asked as Michelle unscrewed the lid to her drink and had some before offering it to Casey, who shook her head; Casey continued, "Liam isn't in his office, Eliza isn't in The Hole, where is everyone?"

"Calm down, I don't know where Liam is, and as for Eliza I assume she's at home. I'm her girlfriend, not her ankle monitor. Bea's in the room down the hall, we're interviewing people. Are you okay?"

Casey looked towards the door and glared.

"Interviewing people for what?" she asked.

"Well," Michelle started as they began heading down the hall back towards the room, "we need people for public performances. Meet and greets, stuff like that, so we brought in a lot of actresses to see how well they'd do. I was just in there with her a minute ago, we can-"

Casey walked faster, pushing her way into the room. The woman Bea had been speaking to had since left, leaving just Bea alone now in the room. Bea turned and looked at them as they entered, smiling, happy to see them.

"Hello!" Bea said.

"Why are you interviewing people?" Casey asked sternly, "You already know me! What about me?!"

Bea looked past her at Michelle, who had now entered the room behind her, both confused. Bea thought about what Casey meant by this, but couldn't place it. She shook her head, and Casey, clearly exasperated, started pacing back and forth, grabbing at her hair. She looked like she hadn't slept, she looked like she hadn't showered, she looked messy and as if she'd been up doing drugs all night. She stammered, tripped a little, then turned back to facing Bea.

"When we met, this is exactly what I was doing!" Casey said, "remember? At the pizza place?! I was playing you! But now when it comes to finding people you go outside, you source new people, you don't even consider me?! Why am I never fucking good enough for anyone?!"

"Casey, calm down," Bea said, approaching her, "what...what is..."

"You're just like the rest of them," Casey said, thinking back to her parents, back to the interaction she'd had the other day with her former babysitter, "you pretend like you care but you don't, you just want to find people to do things for you without ever giving them anything back in return, you're a fucking liar, and then people have the audacity to call ME a user!"

Michelle finally walked past her, standing between the two and facing Casey.

"You're gonna have to stop right now," Michelle said coldly, "I will not let you stand here and speak to her this way, this is not acceptable, nor appropriate workplace behavior. If you won't control yourself, I will have to have you removed until you can be calmed down."

"Fuck you!" Casey screamed, then looking past her at Bea added, "fuck both of you! Fuck everyone! I'm perfect for this! This is what I did! You don't care! You never fucking cared! Nobody ever did!"

"Casey, calm down, okay?" Bea said softly, "we can find something for you if you'd like to do this too, it didn't even occur to me that you might, I figured you'd be too uncomfortable with public-"

"It never does occur to anyone does it!?" Casey screamed, crying hard, "I don't want to be an afterthought, I should've been the first choice, but I'm never anyones first choice! I'm always the leftover! Just once, just one goddamned time, I want people to think of me! I'll make everyone think of me!"

Casey turned and ran out of the room,leaving a bewildered Bea and a stunned Michelle in her wake. Bea plopped herself back down onto the chair as Michelle sat down slowly in the chair beside her. Bea stared at the floor as Michelle ran a hand through her hair and sighed. She didn't know what the hell just happened. She could chase her. But she figured Casey was irrational right now, that she needed space. Michelle glanced at Bea, whose wide eyes said all that needed to be said.

"You're not like that you know," Michelle said, "what she said about you, I mean. You don't just use people."

"...she hates me," Bea whispered, and Michelle didn't know to respond to that. She just reached out, instead, and held her hand.

                                                                                                        ***

"I remember back during original production," Liam said, the two of them now sitting in the kitchen as he had served them brownies and tea, "you were almost never insecure of your talents, and for someone your age back then that was refreshing. We had to do so much work with other people on the show, trying to get them to believe in themselves, but you just...did."

"I have always known what I'm capable of, even if others have doubts about my intellectual capacity," Eliza said, sipping her tea and then picking up the remainder of her brownie, biting into and chewing as she spoke, "besides, I had support, I had my parents. They may not have really understood it, but they told me how talented I was, so."

Liam smiled and looked around his kitchen, his eyes landing on his cane as he sighed.

"You know what I'm gonna miss most?" he asked, Eliza shaking her head as he continued, "so many people say they'll miss their friends, their families, their lovers, all valid things to be fair. Others try and be more intellectual about it, say they'll miss the small, easily ignorable things like the sunshine or the birdsong. But me? I'm gonna miss me. I know it sounds selfish, self absorbed, but I spent so many years cultivating who I am as a person, and I'm gonna miss that person. A lot of time and effort went into making me who I am, and it hurts to know that I'll be gone, and I won't get to learn about new things I would enjoy or have new experiences I can remember fondly."

"I don't think that's selfish at all, in fact...I think that's very down to earth," Eliza said, "I think more people should think that way but, well...a lot of people hate themselves."

Liam chuckled, making Eliza smile weakly. She stared at his face, as if trying to burn it into her memory. This man. This man she'd known for over twenty years. He was going to be gone. How could she go on with that being the case? And what about the show? Liam had played such a pivotal role for so long - both behind the scenes, creatively and business wise as well as literally being a starring voice - that for them to lose him was almost...almost inconceivable to her. How would they go on?

"I'm not sure what to tell Bea, to be perfectly frank with you," Liam said.

"Well I think she's gonna find out sooner or later, once you die," Eliza replied, making Liam laugh.

"I just mean," he added, wiping his mouth on a napkin before setting it back down on the table, "it's going to be very hard on her. We've had a somewhat tumultous relationship, but we've been best friends for almost thirty years. I don't know how she's going to handle this. Hell, I don't know if she's going to handle this. She's already suffered so much loss..."

While Eliza continued to eat her brownie, Liam thought back to all the things Bea had lost. Her dog. Her mother. Claire. Goddamn Claire. Now he would be added to the list, nothing but a fond memory of something she loved with her whole heart that also had the gall to leave her behind, albeit unintentionally. He hoped, however, that she understood none of these were her fault, even Claire. They did what they had to do. Liam bit his lip and shook his head.

"When do we tell her?" Eliza asked, breaking his concentration, causing him to glance back in her direction.

"I don't know yet, but I'm sure the opportunity will present itself soon enough," he replied, shrugging.

Oh how right he would be.

                                                                                                     ***

Justine was standing in her home, laughing and talking with a small group of friends. She had a weekly meetup with a group of women, all of whom were childrens book authors or illustrators, and it was the one thing she looked forward to the most every week. Standing there in her white pencil skirt and her dark blue long sleeved blouse, her hair up, her makeup just right, she kept picking at the snacks she and others had laid out on the table for the get together as she listened to her friends stories and anecdotes and opinions on the industry and their lives in general. A knock at the door caught her attention though, and she went to answer it, only to find Casey standing on the porch, looking disheveled, her eyes darting everywhere.

"Hi," Justine said, as she glanced over her shoulder, then exited to the porch, closing the door behind her, "are you okay?"

"I just need someone to be nice to me for like five minutes, okay?" Casey asked. Justine nodded, and the two went to the porch swing, seating themselves side by side. Casey rubbed her blood red eyes and sniffled.

"What's going on?" Justine asked.

"I'm so tired," Casey mumbled, "I'm so tired."

"Get some sleep, go home and try to rest, cause you don't seem-"

"Not actually tired," Casey said, "tired of everything. Tired of existence. Being lied to, being used, being taken advantage of. Never being good enough."

"Who said you weren't good enough?" Justine asked, sounding upset.

"A lot of times there's no words, and it's the actions that prove it," Casey said, "never actually being a part of something, even when asked to be. Never being fully included or involved the way others are. I'm not even good enough to be working with you, let's be honest. My skill level compared to yours is garbage."

Justine reached out and put a hand on Casey's arm, then looked back at the door to her home, where her friends were still having fun together. Justine thought about asking Casey to join them, she was an artist after all, but she was unsure if this was the right decision; after all, she was the only one actually familiar with Casey and her work, her abilities. It might be awkward for everyone involved. Justine sighed and looked back at Casey.

"Can we maybe meet tomorrow?" Justine asked, "I'm currently doing something, and I do really want to talk to you, help if I can, but I'm literally right in the middle of this and-"

Casey lost it. She got up and she ran down the porch, stumbling as she slipped on the  grass, then getting back up and heading across the street as a car nearly hit her. She screamed at them, kicked the grille of their car and then got back into her car and took off. Justine stayed on the porch, watching in shock. She felt awful. She shook her head and invited her in, or talked more to her, but she needed this meeting today for her own sanity. It's one of the few times she gets to feel okay about herself and her own life. Justine walked back to the door, opened it and stepped back inside, back to the serenity of her joy.

Meanwhile, as Michelle and Bea were heading to the parking lot, to their respective cars to head home, Bea couldn't shake the incident from earlier.

"You know," Bea said as they walked down the hall, sharing a small bag of chips, "I feel terrible. I feel like I should do something for Casey, make her feel more welcome and needed."

"I hate to say this, especially given all you've done for me, but...not everyone is your responsibility," Michelle said, chewing, stuffing chips in her mouth, "you can't save everyone, Bea, nor is it your duty to do so. I understand that you see yourself in me, in Eliza, in Casey, in Keagan...we're all artists and stuff. But, ya know, some people can't be saved or helped, especially if they won't let themselves be. I tried to get Casey into a drug program, but it didn't really take, and I tried to include her more in what I did, but she still felt like an outsider. She's a nice person but she's this...this self defeating, self fulfilling prophecy, and until she learns she can break free of it, nothing anyone does will ever really help her. She needs to WANT to be helped first. I know that's so tropey to say, but fuck it."

Bea nodded, listening. Bea thought about Claire. She thought about telling Michelle about Claire. It would help her understand so much more, but...but it also might complicate things. Raise more questions than provide context. Best to leave the past in the past, she figured. They exited and hit the parking lot, the evening starting to set in. Michelle and Bea had parked side by side, as they always had, and each reached out, opening their respective car doors before stopping and facing eachother once more.

"You know," Bea said, "I always put others ahead of myself, and maybe it's...maybe it's okay to do the opposite for once. Maybe you're right. Thank you, Michelle."

"Of course," Michelle replied, as they hugged one another, got into their cars and headed their opposite ways towards home. When Bea arrived, she found Leslie in the kitchen, already preparing dinner. Bea walked in and hugged her from behind, and felt such a sense of peace come over her, all her fears and doubts and anxieties melted away right then and there, that it was hard not to admit that nobody but herself was her responsibility and Michelle had been right after all. And Michelle, when she got home, she found Eliza sitting cross legged on the couch reading, and when she walked in, Eliza quickly scrambled off the couch and threw her arms around Michelle, surprising her as she kissed her face everywhere. Michelle giggled and returned the affection happily, before the two of them sat back down and talked about their day.

Casey, though, Casey pulled up and parked alongside the rail. She reached up, turned the little overhead light on and then retrieved a pen and paper from the glovebox of her car, uncapping the pen and scribbling something on it. She then stuck it into the windshield of her car from the inside and climbed out. Casey headed across the road from where she'd parked, to the opposite side, and looked over the edge. She was on an enormous bridge, the wind blowing her hair into her face, and she took a deep sigh.

It would be so easy. It would all be so easy. And what would she really be missing, after all? She just needed to be brave enough to do it.

But people often misunderstood the definition of bravery.

Liam was sitting in one of the armchairs in the office, looking out the window nearby, his fingers twiddling on the top of his cane where Martin's ashes were housed. He bit his lip as he watched a bird land on a branch, pick at something on a leaf, and then take off again into the sky.

"Take as much time as you need," a woman said, and Liam looked towards her. She was wearing a powder blue suit and a button down white shirt with a black tie. She smiled at him and Liam smiled back, nodding.

"Um, I guess I knew it was inevitable," he said, "death always is, after all. I guess what I didn't expect was how it would happen, but I guess who does? Who expects to die in the way they do? At least, in my instance and instances such as mine, we're sort of lucky. We get time to plan. We aren't just killed on impact in a car or...or crushed by an anvil or something."

"Alright, Bugs Bunny, calm down," his therapist, Melissa said, jotting something down, the both of them chuckling.

"I just mean I should count my lucky stars that I am going out the way that I am, because I have time to tie up loose ends. Not everyone gets that. More often than not they leave behind big messes to be cleaned up. I'm not going to do that. I'm taking my messes with me. Nobody will have to worry about anything in regards to my life outside of my estate perhaps, meager as that is."

"...and what about Claire?" Melissa asked, and Liam snapped his eyes to hers.

"What about Claire?" he asked sternly.

"Well, you went through the trouble to find her, did you think about saying anything to her?" Melissa asked.

"Why would I? We haven't been in contact since she was very little, why should I re-enter and complicate her life now?" Liam asked, "I mean, honestly, what would that solve?"

"It would give her a chance to know you a little better before you go. You never know, she might appreciate that," Melissa said, "but obviously it's up to you, don't get mad at me for asking the things I feel need to be asked, Liam, that isn't fair to me."

Liam exhaled and nodded, running his free hand through his thinning hair.

"You're right, I'm...I'm sorry," Liam said, "I've been snapping at people lately and I don't like it. I guess I just feel as though now that I have a finite amount of time I don't like having my time wasted on things I don't think are important. Claire is an adult now. She has no need to be dragged down with us."

Truth was though...he did want to. He wouldn't, but he did want to. It'd been so long, and he knew she was fine, that she'd turned out okay, that her parents had raised her well in the end, but he still wanted to. But he knew it was the wrong thing to do. After all, why bring someone into your life, maybe get them to care, only to leave so shortly after? That just seemed cruel to him. And this was a sentiment that Casey herself was about to discover.

                                                                                                  ***

Casey was sitting in the car, watching Micah gather groceries from her trunk. Casey bit her lip, and, with her now or never mentality, forced herself out of the car and across the street. As she got closer, she noticed Micah struggling, and she quickly swept in to help.

"Can I take one of those?" Casey asked, and Micah turned, smiling politely, thanking her. Casey took two separate bags and carried them up the porch and into the house. There were no children. No husband. Photos on the wall showed a happy, loving family, but she and Micah were currently the only ones in the house. Casey followed her into the kitchen and set them on the counter.

"Thank you so much," Micah said, "I guess the kindness of strangers is appreciated, as they always claimed."

"I'm not really a stranger," Casey mumbled, "was it just too much to carry, or?"

"No, I hurt my elbow playing tennis last week. My husband and I have weekly games, trying to stay fit, but last week I took a bad spill and a bad swing, so I'm just...I'm in pain," Micah said, chuckling, "...did you say you aren't a stranger? Do you live in the neighborhood?"

Standing in the kitchen, looking at Micah, Casey suddenly had a dawning realization of the passage of time. She was older. She didn't look old, but she was mature, if that made sense. Casey hated the idea of aging. She didn't want to get old. She didn't want to get enfeebled and need help. She wanted to be young forever. Casey cleared her throat and leaned against the counter, folding her arms.

"Um," Casey said, "I don't live in the neighborhood, no. Uh...we...we've met before though. A long time ago. My name is Casey Kochawski. You might not remember, I mean, I was a little girl back then, but-"

"Casey," Micah said quietly, and Casey nodded, a lump in her throat; Micah pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down, "no, of course I remember you. You don't forget a situation like that. It's because of you that I wound up doing the work that I do, protecting children, placing them with foster families, getting them out of abusive environments. I always felt so guilty about not being able to do more for you, it spilled over into an entire career."

Casey sat down as well and exhaled.

"I mean, I wasn't your responsibility," Casey said.

"But you were," Micah said, "you were my responsibility. I was there to keep you safe, and I couldn't keep you safe from them. As a babysitter, my one goal is to keep children safe from harm, but...but when I can't be there twenty four seven and the harm is ongoing, it just breaks my heart. You deserved better."

Casey smiled. She was so prepared for this meeting to go badly, and instead it was going exactly the way she'd hoped it would. Even after all these years, as a woman reaching middle age, Micah proved she was compassionate, considerate, comforting. All the things she'd long since expected her to be and had remembered her as. Casey nodded, smiling, looking at her hands on the kitchen table.

"Thing is, everything's pretty okay now in my life. I've got a good job, two good jobs in fact, and I'm making money with my art, and I guess I just wanted to say thank you to being one of the few adults who tried to make my childhood normal and safe. That meant a lot," Casey said.

"It makes me sad, the adults who hate children. I understand not wanting your own, that makes sense to me, but to outright hate a child...to hate the concept of a child...these terrified little base people who barely have any world experience or knowledge, who look to us for guidance and understanding, and you're going to hate that? Worse, take advantage of it? Despicable. I'm glad I managed to be a bright spot in your otherwise miserable adolescence. That makes it all worthwhile."

Liam was wrong. Finding the people who meant a lot to you was worth it.

Or, at least, she thought so in this moment.

                                                                                                       ***

Lexi's father, David, was more than thrilled to see his daughter. In fact, when asked by his lawyers why he'd chosen to go the route he had recently, it was because he simply wanted to go back home to his family, specifically Lexi. Lexi and her father had always been close, even if his work kept him busy and away, and to now have the chance to make up for that? Perhaps that, more than anything else, was the silver lining to come out of this whole mess. Sitting across from Lexi and her friend, Michelle, he couldn't stop smiling.

"You didn't wanna come to a prison alone?" David asked, and the girls laughed.

"Partially that, yeah," Lexi said, "but Michelle is also a good friend and support system. Besides, my girlfriend couldn't drive me today, she was too busy doing filming and having meetings."

David had always had a sneaking suspicion that his daughter was gay, not that he cared at all, but it was nice to have it confirmed finally. It felt like she was finally really opening up to him about who she was, and he loved that. This was a foundation they could truly build on.

"I felt so guilty," David said, looking down at his cuffed hands on the table, "I just...not for what I did, or allegedly did, and not even for what that did to your mother or sister, but...but because of how it affected you. We were always so close when you were growing up, and when I started working more, I felt bad about it, but I wanted to provide the best life that I could for you, specifically."

"Why me?" Lexi asked, an eyebrow raised, "why not the whole family?"

"Because you're..." David started, then sighed and stopped. No. He wouldn't implode her world, not today, not right now, not like this. He looked back up at his daughter and smiled weakly. Michelle shifted in her seat, tossing her hair from her eyes.

"You know," she said, "my father went away when I was very young. I think the fact that you didn't turn tail and run and instead have done everything for Lexi is admirable. Neither of my parents cared about me, so at least she has you. And you put yourself in harms way by taking the deal, but you still did it for her. It's nice to see a parent that cares for their kid."

David smiled more, nodding. He did care. He cared so deeply for her. But not for the reasons she might think.

                                                                                                             ***

"It's all so fleeting," Liam said, "...it all seems so important while you're here, and then you reach the end and you look back and you cringe at the things you fought for, fought over, valued and considered necessary. Far be it from me to think I'm the first to ever have this kind of realization, honestly. I'm not. I'm not saying anything new, but...but still, it rings true. All the clichés are spot on."

The front door to the house opened, and Casey and Micah could hear a man enter with two small children, and Casey smiled even more. A warm family home. This is the kind of environment one must cultivate for healthy growth into adulthood.

"You should leave," Micah said, catching her attention, "I've never really talked to my husband about you, or really anyone that I babysat, and so he's going to think the whole thing is weird. But it was really nice seeing you again."

"Oh, I guess I understand that," Casey replied, "can we maybe meet up again? Have lunch?"

"Don't take this the wrong way...I am proud of what I did, and I am so happy to see you here now as the adult you've become, cause it shows you made it, and it shows I impacted you. But I don't think that's a good idea. That was a different me, a different life. Sure, I still help children, but I also have my own children now. And yes, you're an adult, it isn't like you're some kid coming to look for me, but...I just don't think it would be healthy or beneficial for either one of us."

"You think things will go one way, they go another, life is never what you expect and rarely what you want, and for some of us, we don't catch a break. We, instead, end up broken. I'm one of the lucky ones. I met a woman with a very specific vision, who was willing to let me tag along. God knows where I'd be if she hadn't. I owe everything to Beatrice. And sure, I screwed things up more than once, but I was more than willing to pay for my mistakes, make up for them. That's more than a lot of people can say. Most don't like taking responsibility, instead opting to chock things up to 'fate' or some other pseudo spiritual bullshit. A lot of it is, admittedly, luck. But a lot of the time you have to take responsibility as well, because luck can only get you so far," Liam continued.

Casey stood up and backed away from the table as Micah ushered her towards the sidedoor attached to the kitchen.

"I don't...I don't understand, we can't even just...stay friends? We're adults. I'm an adult now," Casey said, "I went through all this trouble to find you, and you're not even going to grant me the possibility?"

"Casey, I appreciate what you think and feel, but it isn't healthy to look people up like this," Micah said, "frankly, you should speak to a therapist, not a former babysitter. Again, I'm so happy to see who you've grown up to be, and you do seem relatively well adjusted, all things considered, but I know how this is going to go. You're going to want more than just a familiar attachment. You latched onto me because I was an older woman who cared. But I'm not your mom. I'm someone else's mom."

"You don't know what I-"

"I do, and I don't wanna let you down in that regard, you deserve better than that," Micah said, opening the door and helping Casey outside it, "again, thank you for finding me, telling me that what I did made a difference, but maybe you should do the same now, go make a difference in someone else's life. Go forward, not backward."

And with that, the door shut. Casey stood there, somewhat shocked.

"I don't want to be a downer, because there is so many positive things to experience, but so much of life IS disappointment. Rarely do things go the way we want, the way we hope, and instead of reaching the end, naturally, so many people can't take the constant frustration and failure and opt out willingly instead. I know because I tried it myself. I mean, I guess in the moment I figured...it has to happen eventually. That being said, I'm glad I didn't succeed. I'm not saying others who do are wrong, everyone does for themselves what they feel is best, most appropriate, but for me, I would've missed out on this time with Bea, with the girls, with everything. That was more than worth sticking around for. In the end, you die. It's a disappointment, but so is much of life, even when you factor in the good things. That's just how it goes. Some people can take it. Others cannot. I'm lucky to be one of the ones who can."

Casey ran across the street, crying, and climbed back into the car. She sat there and she started to hyperventilate, then she started the car and pulled away violently from the curb, driving anywhere else but here.

                                                                                                           ***

Michelle glanced over at Lexi as she drove, while Lexi sat in the passenger seat and looked out the window, sipping on her iced coffee. Michelle cleared her throat, brushed her bangs from her face and spoke.

"Are you okay? I think that went really well," she said, "sorry Keagan couldn't come."

"Actually...I think I'm glad it was you," Lexi said, "you really understand what it's like to lose your safety net. I'm sorry your father is gone, but I'm sure he'd be proud of you if he were here. Look at where you started, where you are now, it's pretty damn impressive, and all of that achievement was made before you were healthy."

"Please don't call me inspiring," Michaelle laughed, making Lexi laugh.

"I wasn't going to, but okay," Lexi said, "no, I know how frustrating it can be to be disabled and be called inspiring, as if the mere act of your existence is some kind of radical thing, when in actuality you're just like everyone else. I wouldn't do that to you, Michelle. But thank you for coming with me. I'm really glad my father is getting out soon, cause I'd really like to rebuild our relationship."

Michelle smiled, nodding, as she pulled up to a red light and tapped her nails on the steering wheel.

"You're lucky," Michelle said, biting her lip as Lexi finished sipping from her cup.

"I am?" she asked.

"Yeah. My mother will never accept me, and who knows how my father would feel," Michelle said, "sometimes I wonder if the reason he left was because he knew I was gay just by looking at me, and was so ashamed of that that he ran away. I know that's stupid, but the shame, the internal shame, that comes with being queer...it's so strong. You see the world for what it is, a place not designed for you, and you can't help but feel like the odd one out."

"I get that," Lexi said, "yeah."

Michelle hated herself for it, but she couldn't help it. She did know how Lexi felt in regards to dads at least. After she dropped Lexi off at home, she headed home herself and found Eliza laying on the couch asleep. She must've had a hard day, but lately she seemed particularly troubled by something and she wouldn't tell Michelle what. Michelle didn't pry though, she knew Eliza trusted her, and would tell her in due time. Michelle tugged her jacket off, hung it  up and curled up on the couch behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist and pulling her in close. Eliza smiled, her eyes still shut.

"You're back," Eliza whispered.

"If I said I was jealous of you and your dad, would that be weird?" Michelle asked, and Eliza shook her head.

"No, I think that makes sense," she said, yawning, "I'm lucky to have him."

Eliza rolled around to face Michelle and pushed her face under Michelle's chin, one of Michelle's hands making its way up into her hair and running her fingers through it.

"I guess I just am sad I don't have any parents, which feels pathetic, given the age I am now," Michelle said.

"Not pathetic to mourn what you can't have," Eliza said, kissing her neck, "and you don't need parents. You got me."

Michelle blushed and kissed the top of Eliza's head, and they lay like that well into the night. Eliza was right. Family didn't have to be parents. Family was whoever you decided it was, who loved you no matter what. And goddamn if Michelle didn't have that in spades.

"You know," Michelle said as she pulled her jacket on outside the car, Beatrice standing on the opposite side waiting, "if you'd told me as a child that one day I'd get to see the place giant parade balloons are made, I would've absolutely lost my shit."

"And now?" Bea asked.

"I'm kinda absolutely losing my shit," Michelle replied, making Bea laugh as Michelle pulled her hair out from under the coat, adding, "guess I really am still just a kid at heart."

"That's important though. To keep that magic alive," Bea said, "once you lose it, once you become an 'adult', that's when you start dying."

Bea and Michelle walked around the car and headed towards the office building in front of them, the enormous warehouse looming behind it. Michelle never in her wildest dreams could've imagined where this job would've taken her, and was thrilled for every opportunity that it opened her up to. Beatrice, however...she'd been down this path before. She knew that commercialization was unavoidable, hell, even a necessity at some times, especially in this day and age...but this level of commodification...it was starting to feel like the pizza parlor all over again. Liam was signing deals she wasn't particularly enthused about and she was confused as to why when he'd been such a proponent of doing things her way this time up til now. As the women entered the office and approached the main desk, a man in a button down shirt and a tie looked up to greet them.

"Hello," he said, "do you have an appointment?"

"We're here to see the progress on the Beatrice Beagle parade balloon," Bea said.

"And you are?" the man asked.

"I'm Beatrice Beagle," Bea remarked, making the man laugh and nod as he stood up and told them to follow him. Heading down the halls, towards the back so they could exit to the warehouse where production was underway, Bea couldn't help but notice all the people in their tiny little offices in here, and how, in a way, she kind of longed for that simplicity. Maybe she'd quit the show, get a nine to five job, leave everything creative behind.

"Sorry," the man said as they walked, "I have to ask everybody, and I'm new here so."

"You're fine," Michelle said, hands in her coat pockets, smiling back at him, "you wouldn't want some random nobodies to come in and get unguided access to things, I get it."

The three of them continued further down the hall and out through the back doors, leading to a large, open area that led directly to the enormous warehouse they'd seen from out front. The man opened the door for them, allowed them to enter, and then excused himself back to the front office. As Bea and Michelle walked in - Bea looking around at everything skeptically, Michelle with her hands in her coat pockets smiling as she took it all in with childlike wonder - a crane started moving above them and a box attached to it dropped down slowly, with a woman inside it.

"Hey there!" she shouted, her voice echoing throughout the spacious area, "you here to see something?"

"How'd you know?" Michelle asked.

"We often get people dropping by the check on stuff," the woman said; she was in a jumper, with her hair pulled up, presumably to make it easier for her to work, she continued, "so who are you two here to see?"

"We're here to see a woman about a dog," Michelle said, making Bea chuckle. The way Bea saw it, if she had Michelle around, maybe these sorts of things wouldn't be so bad after all.

                                                                                                         ***

Casey was seated at the table in the break room when Liam sat down across from her. Casey put her book down, but continued shoveling chips from the bag in front of her into her mouth. Liam reached inside his coat and pulled something out, his voice low and calm.

"I have someone else to go see, but before I do that, I'm gonna slide you a piece of paper," he said, "and it's going to have all the information you need for your contact on it."

"Are you a spy?" Casey asked, "cause this is some secret agent kinda behavior right here."

"I just don't wanna be the guy who gets known for being able to find others for people," Liam remarked, smirking at her comment; he slid the paper across to her and she took it as he added, "just...please don't expect an amazing outcome, that's all I ask. More often than not these kinds of interactions wind up backfiring. If you haven't seen a person in twenty years, and you were rather ancillary to their life, chances are they've moved on, forgotten you and have settled into a comfortable routine now. So don't go looking for miracles."

Casey scoffed as she grabbed the paper with her free hand, wiping her chip greased hand on her shirt.

"As if miracles happen," she said, "I learned a long time ago that stuff like that was bullshit. You can pray to God every night, 'please make daddy stop hitting mommy', but it never comes true because there's nobody listening."

"You are way too young to be this bitter," Liam said.

"All I'm saying is people who believe in miracles are the same people who believe in fate," Casey said, stuffing the paper in her shirt pocket, "people who don't understand that sometimes cool things just happen or people who don't wanna take direct responsibility for their actions. Everything has to be offloaded to some magical guide in the sky. Who else you need to see, by the way?"

Liam didn't answer. He didn't need to explain his activities to her, but moreso he didn't want someone else going to get information on him. But he had to talk to someone. Liam stood up, straightened his tie and nodded at her.

"...I hope one day, maybe, you're able to view things in a less cynical light," Liam said, "sure, there's no proof of anything, nothing definitive anyway, and sure sometimes people go through a lot that justify their views on stuff like God, but at the end of the day, despite being proofless...is that a word? Well, either way, despite it, there's also no harm in simply believing in something good can happen too, or believing there's something watching over us that only wants the best."

"Funny," Casey said, putting her boots up on the table, "you never struck me as the religious type."

"I didn't say I am," Liam replied, shrugging as he grabbed his cane, "but at some point in life, I suppose, you get exhausted being dour all the time, and instead look for something good to throw the weight of your belief behind. I used to be like you, Casey, always certain the worst was all there was, and only bad things would keep coming. But look around at where you are now...you still believe that? Cause from where I'm standing, you've got things pretty good at the moment."

Casey chewed her lip and thought as Liam said his goodbye and exited the room, heading to another section of production. He had a point, and yet...

...and yet all she could do was feel anxious, waiting for the inevitable shoe to drop.

                                                                                                       ***

"This place is enormous," Michelle said with some awe as she looked around while they walked through the warehouse. Bea could hear the two women talking ahead of her, but she didn't really pay much mind to what was being said. Instead, all her focus, her attention, was turned towards the fact that there were dozens of balloons in here, all based on famous pre-existing fictional characters, beloved then and now, and all she could wonder is if this kind of treatment lessened their intrinsic artistic value. Eventually she saw Michelle had stopped near a door and so she stopped as well as Michelle said, "she needed to pee."

"You don't think I'm...uncompromisable do you?" Bea asked, "Liam said I constantly flip flop on wanting success and being scared of it, of wanting to share Bea with the world and wanting to keep her to myself, and that, eventually, I'd have to choose a side."

"I don't think uncompromisable is the right word," Michelle said, "I think you're steadfast. You hold true to what you believe in, even if it wavers from time to time, and that level of dedication to your beliefs is extremely admirable, believe me. But it has to get old, right? Constantly going back and forth like that?"

Bea sighed and leaned against the wall beside her, crossing her arms.

"It does," she said, "I can't deny that. I guess I just wish I had some level of proof that the people who love Bea, as a character, love her in the same way that I do. That she genuinely means something to their lives. That she isn't just another thing they can slap into their interests next to more famous characters as a part of their interests. I want her to be acknowledged as something greatly important, emotionally, not just..."

Bea sighed and rubbed her face.

"...not just a balloon."

"You should see their faces then," the woman said, coming out from the bathroom, taking them both by surprise; she continued, "the faces of the kids who come to see the parade. To a child, a fictional character IS real. They see them on the TV, they plaster stickers on their school binders, they get shirts with them on it, and then they come to see the balloon and their faces light up in the way that only a childs face can. This is something they identify with, not because it's 'part of their interest' or whatever but because, to them, it's something they see every day and that level of certainty, closeness, it means a lot. To some kids, ya know, it's a small bit of comfort having that routine while to others it's knowing they aren't the only ones out there who are like this character, and if people love this character, people might love them too if they're that similar."

Bea looked at the woman and nodded slowly, taking it all in.

"I know it's hard," the woman said, "cause, ya know, we are just making balloons, but...it does mean something. I assure you of that. They come here, maybe after a bad day at school or a bad week at home, and they see the balloon in the parade, and for one brief fucking moment in their tiny closed off lives...they don't feel so bad. So sure, to us, they're balloons.  But to kids, maybe they represent hope."

With that, she turned and continued leading to them towards the space the Beatrice balloon was being made. The whole time, Bea thought over her words. She was right. Why had she spent so much time worrying about this when, in reality, she'd always known that, to a child, a character is life saving? Hell, that was what got her and Michelle in touch in the first place, was because Michelle had Beatrice when she'd been a sick little girl in the hospital, and it had truly saved her. Maybe it was time to let these doubts go.

Maybe it was time to give Beatrice to the world.

                                                                                                   ***

"This place is so empty," Liam said as he approached Eliza's workshop desk, causing her to spin in her chair and look at him, her jewelers loupe still on her face. She smiled as he dragged a nearby folding chair over and seated himself in it beside her, asking, "you really need all this space?"

"I atually do," Eliza replied, "yes. When production really gets going, I have to hang hundreds of puppets and props and stuff from the rafters, so the space is necessary. Why did you come here? Did you need something?"

"I needed to talk to someone," Liam said, "um...someone who isn't Bea. Someone else I've known a long time."

Eliza put her tools down, pulled the loupe off her face and turned fully to face him now, a somber look coming over her.

"...what's going on?" she asked.

"Eliza, I need to tell you something, and I need you to not tell anyone," Liam said, "but I gotta talk to someone because if I don't, I might go nuts, and I can't afford to be going nuts right now. So can you keep a secret for me?"

Eliza nodded, anxiety rising up within her.

"Okay," Liam said, exhaling and continuing, "...a while back I started going to the doctor. I was feeling...off. Like every other day something was wrong. I figured, you know, I'm older now, I should get these things looked at, lord knows I've got the insurance for it thanks to the show. So I started going. They do some tests. They find some things. They do more tests. Eventually I'm left with the truth that...that I don't have much longer to live. At this point, I've got a few months maybe, if that. I'm doing my best to hide it from everyone, but it's getting very hard. I'm having trouble being mobile, I'm having trouble focusing, and when I'm done with stuff for the day and I go home, I just pass out immediately. I'm telling you this cause, well, I...I'm scared, Eliza. I didn't want to admit it, and I wanna put up a brave face when the time comes to tell everyone, but I'm scared."

Eliza felt her eyes water. No. Not Liam. Not Liam please.

"I don't know," Liam added, sniffling, wiping his eyes on her sweater sleeve, "...I don't think I'm scared of dying. Obviously I'm not, I tried to kill myself after all, but I'm more scared of what me dying will do to others. To Beatrice. I need you to watch out for her for me, please. I've been by her side from almost the start, we built this thing up together, we are creative partners through and through. But at this point, she's gonna be without me, and she can't be alone. She has Michelle, and they are close, but you've known her longer. It has to be you, Eliza."

Eliza finally cracked and started crying. Liam knew this would happen, he knew she didn't handle loss well. He leaned forward and put a hand on her knee, patting it gently for reassurance. She wept soundly for a few minutes, then tried to catch her breath. After a bit, she looked back up at him and adjusted her glasses.

"Eliza," Liam said, smiling softly, "...it has to be you, you understand why right?"

"I do," she whimpered, "I do, yes."

"Okay then. I'm sorry, I know this is a lot to put on you, but-"

"I wanna help, cause I kinda caused my moms death, and I wanna make up for that," Eliza said quietly, making Liam's heart ache as she added, wiping her eyes on the balls of her palms, "I just wish I didn't have to keep losing everyone who meant anything to me."

"I know, kiddo," Liam said, "me too."

                                                                                                       ***

Casey was sitting in the car with Justine, parked across the road from a house as they watched intently. They had been doing work on another book, but during their lunch break Casey asked if they could go for a little drive. Didn't say why, and Justine didn't press her, but she was certainly curious. Sitting here now, eating her thai takeout as Casey sat behind the steering wheel, Justine couldn't help but feel as though they were cops on a stakeout. She stabbed some baby corn with her fork and ate it, speaking as she chewed.

"Are you following an ex around, is that what this is?" Justine asked, and Casey shook her head; Justine nodded and said, "okay, so long as you're not stalking someone. Well, you mind telling me what's going on then?"

"When I was a kid," Casey said, "I had his babysitter. She used to protect me from my mother, when she could anyway. Once she found out what my mother was doing, selling me to men to be used, she tried as hard as she could to get me out of there. Sometimes she'd snatch me away for a few days, just to make sure I was safe even for a little bit. I've been thinking about her a lot lately."

"And that's who we're watching now?" Justine asked, and Casey nodded; Justine unscrewed the lid to her water bottle, took a long swig and then said, "well, trauma does funny things to our brains. Like, after my plane went down, for instance, I found myself obsessed with plane crash movies. I would watch them on a loop. It was almost as though I were trying to recreate the moment, hope it came out differently. It never does, of course, but...but the hope was enough to carry me through."

Casey looked towards Justine who ate some beef strips and continued talking.

"It's weird, I know, but-"

"No...it isn't," Casey said, "cause I do the same thing with movies about babysitters. Or, really, any kind of movie where an adult cares for a child. It...it's comforting."

Justine smiled. She knew she had liked Casey for a reason, she knew they could relate to one another, connect on a level she wouldn't be able to otherwise with someone else. They'd both experienced such trauma, and yet they both came away relatively okay in spite of it. Sure they were a little dinged up emotionally, or in Justine's case physically even, but they had one another and they had a support system around them. That was more than most people in their situations got. Justine constantly counted her blessings in that regard.

"So you intend to speak with her?" Justine asked.

"I'd like to," Casey said, her eyes widening as the front door opened and a woman walking two young children to the car exited; she added, "...but what has conversing with adults ever gotten me?"

                                                                                                             ***

"It's gargantuan," Michelle said.

She, Bea and the woman were standing there looking up at the enormous Beatrice balloon. The woman smiled, patted Bea on the back and walked away, leaving them to have their privacy for a bit. Michelle shook her head, hands still stuffed in her coat pockets. She couldn't believe the size of this thing, she was in awe. She glanced over at Bea, who was standing there slightly slackjawed herself, and she smiled.

"What do you think?" Michelle asked.

"...I think...I think I'm okay with this," Bea said, "I took a dog who gave me her love and I turned around and gave that love to the world. If this is how the world wants to treasure her, then who am I to stop them, to tell them that the way they love is wrong? It's...it's so beautiful, so large. And what that woman said was true, honestly. Kids look up to characters as a source of safety, inspiration, they're as real to children as sports stars and celebrities are to adults. Bea deserved that. Liam was right. It's time for me to let go."

Michelle walked over to Bea and put an arm around her shoulders, Bea laying her head against Michelle's, and the two of them stood there like that for what felt like an eternity. Bea had no idea that Liam was on his way out...but if she had...

...she'd probably try to get him a balloon too.

Casey Kochawski was hiding in her bedroom closet.

She could hear the yelling, as always, but this time it wasn't her father and her mother...it was her mother and her babysitter. She couldn't make out the words, everything was muffled through the closet doors, her bedroom doors and all the wall space between them, but she could feel the intensity. Casey hugged her stuffed dog closer to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut tighter, trying to escape from this place, even if just for a little bit. Her babysitter, Micah, had been reading her a bedtime story, as was the usual routine, when her mother had burst into the house shouting. Micah, quick as lightning, dragged Casey into the closet and hid her there before going out to confront Casey's mother in the hall, and it'd felt like an eternity since that moment.

After a bit longer, the shouting subsided, and Casey heard a door slam shut. Then she heard her bedroom door open and then the closet doors were yanked open as well, as Micah reached inside and scooped Casey up, carrying her quickly out of the room, down the hall and out of the house. Micah put Casey in the backseat of her car, told her to lay down and be quiet, and then got into the drivers seat. She started the car up and pulled out of the driveway, then sped off down the street. Neither one knew where exactly they were going, but Casey had to admit, it felt kind of nice to have a real life knight in shining armor. After a bit, watching the streetlights pass over the backseat windows, Casey felt the car come to a stop, but she still stayed laying down in the backseat. The door opened and Micah climbed in beside her, breathing hard, before opening her arms. Casey climbed up into her lap and Micah held her tightly, crying against her.

Casey didn't know what had caused this sudden leave from the house, or the argument that had preceded it, but she was grateful to have at least one adult in her life hold her, especially in a non sexual way.

                                                                                                         ***

"Look at these sales figures," Liam said, his voice hoarse, leaning on his cane with one hand, holding a paper with his other; he continued, "after that live show, jeez...our merchandise is flying off the shelves, viewership numbers are blasting through the roof on the service, and we keep getting asked when we might do another live show."

"Mmm," Bea said, chewing on her lip, sinking further into her seat. She didn't want to think about the commodification of her best friend.

"They're even going to build a balloon for the Thanksgiving Day Parade this year," Liam said, "just nuts. Alright, well, Bea, you and Michelle should go down to the balloonist shop tomorrow or sometime this week and check it out. Everyone else just keep working on the show. Eliza, I need those new puppets sometime this week. Casey, just, keeping helping anyone who might need it."

"Can do chief," Casey said, saluting.

"Most of the new puppets are already done," Eliza said, pushing her glasses up her face, "in fact, a few already are, but I'd rather hand them over in bulk."

"That's fair, do it however you feel most comfortable," Liam said, smiling at her, making her feel comforted as he added, "Now, I have to go to an appointment, but when I get back, I expect to see everyone working hard, you got me?"

Everyone nodded, and the meeting broke. Casey, Michelle and Eliza headed their own way, leaving Liam and Bea in the room alone together. As her shifted his papers into a briefcase and adjusted his tie, Bea, legs now up on the table, just shook her head as she watched him until he finally noticed her.

"What?" he asked.

"What's with the sudden charge of leadership?" Bea asked, "not that you weren't always bossy, but this feels different."

"I'm just trying to make sure everything runs smooth," Liam said, "but, uh...are you okay? Cause you don't seem very okay."

"How okay can I be? They're financially prostituting my best friend," Bea said, and Liam nodded, scratching the back of his head.

"Yeah, yeah I...I figured you might feel this way about the success," he said, "but you gotta pick a side at some point, Bea. You flip flop, go back and forth between these two, ya know, these two mindsets of wanting to share her with the world so everyone can see her as you did and then wanting her all to yourself, and believe me, I understand the struggle, but...if you don't decide what you're truly okay with, you're never going to find inner peace."

"You're one to talk about inner peace," Bea scoffed.

"I'm not saying I have it either," Liam said, "this dog is just as important to me as she is to you. You know that. You and me, Bea, we've been through a lot together. Don't paint me in the light of someone who doesn't care, because I do, but this needs to be a well oiled, easily manageable machine, because, like it or not, it's going to keep you afloat financially for the rest of your life, and you're gonna need that, and know how to do it yourself. I can't always do it for you."

Bea screwed up her face, grimacing.

"The fuck does that mean?" she asked, and Liam shook his head.

"Just a generalized statement. I have an appointment to get to," Liam said, "I'll see you later."

As Liam exited the room, Bea thought about his words. When would he ever be going somewhere? He was always going to be here, he was number two in charge, essentially. This thing they'd created...sure she'd crafted the character and setting and concept herself, but together they'd fine tuned it, and so it was just as much his as it was hers. Bea eventually shook her head, gathered her things and headed into the hall as well. As she walked, she suddenly felt Casey walking alongside her.

"Hi," Bea said, smiling weakly at her.

"Are you okay?" Casey asked, sipping from a can of root beer.

"Honestly, I don't know," Bea said, "you're an artist, how would you feel if a character that meant the world to you, was integral to your personhood, was co-opted by the world as a financial cash cow? Sure, she's bringing happiness to so many children, even adults, but...at what expense?"

"I mostly draw monsters, creatures," Casey said, "but I do have one human character I've drawn for a long time. I'd eventually like to finish my graphic novel about them interacting with the monsters that surround her. It's mostly done, it just...it needs some cleanup and stuff. But she means so much to me, I don't think I could ever give her to anyone else. Giving her to the publisher alone would be hard enough."

"I admire your willingness to put integrity before commodity," Bea said, "that's so nice to see. I wish I could've been that way."

The thing is...this 'character' Casey had 'created' wasn't much of a character at all, but moreso an amalgamation of herself and another person. In a way, it was her small way to thank them for being in her life when they had been, and showing her that maybe, just maybe, if you found the right people, your life could be worth living after all. A sentiment Casey really appreciated.

Even if she still had trouble believing in it.

                                                                                                     ***

Michelle was chewing on her lip as she drove, Bea in the passenger seat eating yogurt from a little cup with a tiny spoon they provided along with it. They came to a red light and stopped, Michelle half shutting her eyes in concentration as Bea watched her, curious about where her mind was at. Bea sucked on the spoon for a minute, then dropped it into the yogurt cup and exhaled.

"Everything okay in there?" she asked, tapping the side of her own head, making Michelle smirk.

"Yeah, everything is fine," Michelle replied, "I'm just thinking about something."

"And what might that be? Feel like sharing with the class?" Bea asked.

"Well," Michelle said, gripping the wheel with both hands, "I don't know. I feel...I feel like something is wrong but I just can't put my finger on it. Something just feels so off. Liam is being very driven, not that he hasn't always been but something about it is different, and then..."

Michelle glanced over at Bea and sighed, shaking her head, running one hand up into her messy curly hair.

"...and then Eliza and I are happy, but I keep feeling like it can't last. The dread from a lifetime of illness, uncertainty from continued existence, has really made me nervous. Not about commitment, that I have no problem with, but moreso what could happen out of the blue. Even now, with as well as I'm doing health wise, I can't help but be scared."

Bea reached over and patted Michelle on the knee, smiling at her.

"When Liam and I originally did the stage show," she said, "or rather, I did the stage show and brought him on as a consultant of sorts, before we sold the thing to the pizzeria, we had this mother come speak to us one night before a show. She was bringing her child, they had something or other, I don't remember at this point, but she told us how terrified they were - the mother, not the child - of not being around anymore. Child apparently handled their mortality just fine, but the mother was the scared one, which makes sense. Children are often stronger than the adults around them, which is something I've always tried to perpetuate as a truth to the public. Either way, she asked that, after the show, we stop and speak with them, in costume of course."

Michelle smiled as she listened to this, the light turning green and she pressed her foot on the gas, continuing to drive towards their destination. Bea cleared her throat and continued, pulling a bag of peanuts out of her pocket and opening them.

"The thing is...the kid got better. They didn't have that fear to begin with, but their mom never recovered from the possibility that they could die at any given moment. She became overbearing, overprotective, moreso than mothers already are, and she simply wouldn't let up. Kid stayed in contact with us for years, eventually telling us they opted to simply move out of state just to escape her hounding them. Mother followed them to their new place and, in a fit of mania, I suppose, ended both their lives. It became a self fulfilling prophecy."

"Gotta admit, wasn't where I saw that going," Michelle said, surprised, causing Bea to chuckle.

"Not to laugh at the murder of a family, of course, but yeah," Bea remarked, "and that's the thing, Michelle. You survived death. You survived a lifetime of possible death. You said it yourself, you don't know how to keep going from that. But you're doing great. We all are. With the exception of those two, of course. Eventually, we all die. There's no escaping it. You can dwell on it, and that leads to some rather fascinating revelations about the sense of ones self worth, but overall, it's just another thing that happens to us. We all die, and some of us lose children."

Bea glanced out the window as they came to a stop sign and Michelle slowed, preparing to turn, looking over at her, confused. She kept waiting for the stinger to the conversation...

...but it never came.

                                                                                                      ***

"I need help," Casey said, standing in Liam's doorway to his office. Liam lowered his glasses and smiled at her.

"Glad to hear you finally admit it," he said.

"Shut up," Casey replied, the both of them laughing as she came further in, shutting the office door behind her; as she seated herself in the chair opposite him at the desk, she sighed, then said, "you found Justine, for Michelle, remember? I need you to do the same for me. Course, mine isn't anywhere near as noble a quest."

"I'm not the goddamn bureau of missing persons," Liam said.

"No, but you're good at it," Casey said, "I can pay you."

"I don't want your money, I have my own," Liam said, "what do you want to find this person for?"

Casey didn't want to say. She didn't want to divulge that she was searching for her old babysitter, a woman who may not even be alive anymore for all she knew, let alone in the state for that matter. She swallowed and shut her eyes, then opened her backpack between her legs and pulled out a sketchbook, plopping it down onto the desk. Liam put his glasses back on, leaned forward and started leafing through it.

"The hell is this?" he asked.

"This is something I've been working on for years," Casey said, "I don't...I want to put it out, but I'm scared and I don't know the proper channels and, like Bea, I'm scared of having it taken away from me. I was hoping, maybe, if you helped me find this person...you'd be willing to take half the percentage of this if we can get it into the hands of publishers."

Liam raised an eyebrow, certainly intrigued by her offer. He continued to flip through the pages, admittedly impressed by what he was seeing. After a little bit longer, he stopped and looked back up at Casey, who appeared to be extremely anxious, tugging on the tassels of her sweatshirts neckline.

"...if I can ask just one question," Liam said, "you think you want this, but do you really? Because, trust me, finding someone is different than the yearning you're currently feeling right now."

Casey squinted at him, confused, as Liam sighed, shut the book and leaned back in his chair.

"Years ago," Liam said, "I looked up this little girl I used to know. Someone Bea and I were only tangibly involved with, but still, I had my curiosities. Her name was Claire. Bea and I knew her back when we were in the city, when we were in our twenties."

"Was she a part of the team or?"

"Casey, you listening to me? She was a child," Liam said, waving his hand at her, "point is, she was there. And Bea and I cared for her deeply, but we also knew it wasn't a good evironment for her. After a lot of difficult deliberation, we came to the conclusion that we needed to cut ties, and we let her go, and it hurt like hell. Bea never really got over it, always feeling so guilty about dropping someone like that, as did I, but a few years ago, right before we started the show again, I decided, on a whim, to look her up."

Casey crossed her legs and listened as Liam exhaled and ran his hand through his thinning hair.

"...I found her, it wasn't hard," he continued, "but once I did, I wished I hadn't. Not because she was doing bad or anything, in fact if anything she was flourishing, but because it just hurt to see her again. To know we all could've stayed in one anothers lives if things had just been different. Her folks, they did a great job raising her, that much was clear, and for that I'm grateful, but...you think you want these things because you create this fantasy in your head about how the reunion will be, but Casey, it isn't always the case. It doesn't always go the way you expect or even hope. So that's why I'm asking...do you really want this?"

Casey chewed on her lip and thought for a moment. Did she? Yes, she did. She nodded and Liam smiled, nodding back.

"Alright," he said, "I'll look into it once you give me some info on who it is you're stalking."

Casey laughed and agreed. She had to do this, for the sake of her own mind. What could possibly go wrong?

                                                                                                       ***

Keagen, Lexi, Michelle and Eliza were at a restaurant that evening. It had been something they'd been trying to do more and more lately, spending time together outside of work, their little core group, as it were. Especially Michelle and Keagan, as they felt they hadn't been seeing one another often enough, which, considering the roles they each played in getting the show back on the air to begin with, felt ridiculous. Sitting there eating their respective meals, Eliza just listened to the conversation, often feeling as though she had nothing to really add.

"So what do you plan to do when you graduate?" Michelle asked, looking at Lexi as she stabbed some of the tiny potatoes on her plate with her fork and popped it into her mouth.

"Well," Lexi said, "likely look for a job in the field, honestly. Dad will be out of prison in time for my graduation, so that makes me happy. He'll get to see how well I did even in spite of his absence. How hard I worked to keep the family afloat, keep myself going. But yeah, I'll look for a job in the physics or engineering field. One thing's for sure, I'll never have to worry about money."

"Yeah that's nice," Michelle said, laughing.

"You're not mad at your dad?" Eliza asked, biting into her grilled cheese she'd ordered from the kids menu, catching her glasses as they started to slide off her face.

"I mean, I harbor some resentment, sure. The guy ruined our lives with his decisions," Lexi said, "but honestly, I'm just happy he'll be out and that he's regretful. He isn't a bad man, and he certainly wasn't a bad father, not intentionally anyway. Negligence is negligence I suppose, I just know I'm luckier than others thanks to the fact that mine wasn't on purpose. Doesn't forgive it, but softens the blow at least."

"You're right," Michelle said, "negligence is negligence. As someone who's on the opposite end of that spectrum, kind of like Casey, I can speak to that truth. But I'm happy you're at least getting the chance to have a better relationship with your father. I wish mine were still around so I could do the same."

"Well, I'm going to start going to the prison to see him, so," Lexi said, "hopefully we can manage to build something out of this whole mess, and that way when he comes to my graduation, we'll already have some footing to start out on."

Eliza continued listening as she ate, all the while thinking about how lucky Lexi was. She didn't lose her father, but the chance to start again with a parent? That struck a chord with her. She wanted that so badly. Eliza didn't talk the whole drive home, and when she and Michelle finally made it into the apartment, greeted by their Dalmation, Roscoe, she finally let it out. She laid on the couch and she sobbed. She sobbed for what felt like hours. Lately she'd been having a lot of thoughts about her mom, and Michelle knew this. Michelle laid on the couch with her, wrapping herself around Eliza as best she could, and simply told her it was okay to not be okay. Eliza felt so lucky to have Michelle, but she still so badly wanted her mom.

"Grief never goes away," Bea had once told her when they were hanging out in The Hole one day during production; Bea took a drag off her cigarette and added, watching the tip burn and ash away to the floor with a look of wistfulness that only the most successful Frenchmen often managed to convey, "and it never becomes acceptable. Everyone feels bad for you at the start, and then annoyed when you don't move past it."

And Michelle hadn't gotten annoyed yet, but who knew when she would? Eliza had already lost her mom. Could she survive losing the woman she loved too? Introverted as she was, there was only so many years she could spend alone with puppets.

                                                                                                         ***

"Is there anything you want to discuss?" Doctor Franks asked, sitting on the little stool in his examination room he was currently sharing with Liam. Liam was looking at his cane and thinking about Marvin. Liam smirked and rubbed the head of his cane.

"When my longtime Marvin died...I was the one who got to decide what to do with his remains," Liam said, "eventually I settled on having him cremated. Then, after I tried to off myself and was given the chance to have a custom cane designed, I figured I'd put Marvin in the top of it, in here, and that way we'd always be together."

"That's very sweet," Doctor Franks said, smiling.

"I don't want to force that same decision on someone else," Liam said, "especially not her."

"Do you have any children, Liam?" Doctor Franks asked, crossing his legs. Liam thought about this question, then bit his lip and decided against it, shaking his head; Doctor Franks sighed and nodded, "okay then, well, you're gonna need someone, Liam. You need to assign this responsibility to someone. I know Beatrice is currently your emergency contact, but-"

"I don't want her dealing with this," Liam said, "I don't. I can't do that to her. I know how hard it was for me with Marvin, and I'd never do that to her."

"Then Liam," Doctor Franks said, standing up, "I highly suggest you start looking for that person. Because it's going to happen, soon, and...and I just don't want things anymore difficult for your friends than they already will be."

With that, Doctor Franks exited the room, leaving Liam with his thoughts...and his cane. How was he going to manage all this? The show, as well as his plans for his death? It was all going to take so much time.

Time he no longer had.