Leslie Swann was late for work.

Truth be told, she was late for work most days, but being the network head, she could get away with it. And besides, she often stayed late into the night to make up for it, so she felt nobody had any right to complain about her being late since she wound up making up the hours long after work had ended for everyone else. While they were sitting snugly at home, she was sitting in her office still, trying to find a budget that would work. But today was raining, and Leslie Swann hated rain, and it hadn't started raining until after she'd left the house, meaning she was unprepared for this type of weather because it wasn't just rain, no, it was a goddamned downpour. After spilling her coffee on her shirt, getting honked at by a dictator mom in a minivan with a cheap 4 dollar haircut and the 6 kids she was stuck with because she believed a wife couldn't say no to her husband, Leslie finally pulled up to the building, only to find someone had parked in her spot, despite there being a sign designating it hers. She wanted to scream, but she had more important things to do, and she couldn't waste the energy on that right now. So instead Leslie parked somewhere else, stepped out of the car, and - in her brand new pumps - right into an enormous puddle that went halfway up her leg.

Now she screamed.

In fact, she did more than scream. She threw a whole ass temper tantrum in the parking lot, and didn't care who saw. Her makeup was running, her hair was a mess from the rain, her coffee was staining into her nicest dress shirt and now she was soggy from a puddle. As she collapsed against the back of her car, she heard shoes approaching her, and looked up to see a woman standing in a dog covered rain slicker, holding an umbrella and smiling at her.

"Let me buy you breakfast, screw going in today," Beatrice said, and Leslie, without waiting, flung herself around her old friend and cried.

                                                                                              ***

"This is very nice of you," Leslie said, sitting at a table in a diner across from Bea as she dabbed at her work shirt to no avail. She pulled her wet hair back and sighed, adding, "I've had a bad week, Bea."

"So it isn't just today?"

"No, god...it's been an awful week all around. I was thinking today would be maybe alright, and since it's Friday I could go home and then relax and enjoy myself for a few days and then..."

"Isn't Friday casual clothes day?" Bea asked, sipping her cocoa, and Leslie sighed, leaning back into the vinyl diner booth.

"Yes, but I don't like wearing my civilian clothes to the office," she said, making Beatrice laugh.

"Your civilian clothes? Leslie, you work in public broadcasting, not the federal bureau of investigation," she said, trying not to laugh, which only made Leslie start to chuckle herself.

"I wanna set a good example, you know? I mean, I don't care if other people wear theirs on casual day, but...I feel like a leader should be well dressed, maintain order, without being a dictator, you know what I mean? How're these people gonna respect me if they see me in my Snoopy pajamas and horse slippers?"

"You have horse slippers?" Bea asked, "God, I came just at the right time."

"...why were you waiting for me?" Leslie asked, now raising an eyebrow as their waitress set down stacks of pancakes for them.

"I need your help, Leslie," Bea said, "The show's coming back, we're already well into pre-production, but...this network head, she and I don't see exactly eye to eye, and I need you to come in and back me up on some things. I wanna hire you."

"What kind of credit would it be?" Leslie asked, slicing off a hunk of pancake and dabbing it in syrup before eating it.

"Executive Producer," Bea said, "plus, the public broadcasting station will get first airing rights on the new episodes after they've been on the streaming service for a year. Not only will it boost your network, but it puts more eyes on the product."

"You sound like you've been sitting in with tech heads," Leslie said, "It's not a good sound."

"Believe me, I don't like it either," Bea said, making Leslie smile again.

                                                                                            ***

Michelle had been having that dream again.

The one where she was still 7 years old, and her mother had put her into an art class during the summer because she so badly wanted her daughter to be like her. Michelle had stayed inside during break one afternoon, to finish a drawing, and she'd started having trouble breathing. It became so bad that she started stumbling around the room, looking for the front door, and instead bumping into everything in sight. Paint cans spilled, everyones hard work ruined, and herself covered in colors. When she finally made it out, her teacher immediately called an ambulance. Her peers were even more worried about her than about their now ruined work (they were only children, after all), but her mother...

"It's okay," she'd said on the way to the hospital, "Every artist has setbacks."

Michelle woke that morning with a terrible headache. As she walked to the kitchen, she found Keagan sitting by herself at the table, reading a book and eating toast. Michelle seated herself across from her after finding some painkillers and popping them. Keagan looked up at her and smiled.

"Where's Lexi?" Michelle asked.

"At her parents," Keagan said.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, she just went to help her mom do some things," Keagan said, "...can I ask you a question, Shell?"

"Yeah, of course," Michelle said.

"...do you think Lexi and I make sense?" Keagan asked.

"I don't have a whole lot of relationship experience, so maybe I'm not exactly the best person to give advice on this sort of thing, but...she seems to really like you, and I think that's pretty important in a relationship. I don't mean just, like, enjoy being in a relationship, either. I mean she genuinely likes just being around you, and I think if you can find one person in the world who you can genuinely like being around, then...you know...yeah, I think that's good."

"She's just so prim and proper, she's from such an upper class family, she's so..."

"White?"

"Okay, sure, yeah. I didn't wanna say it."

"So what? You're not from 'the hood' or something, Keagan. And even if you were, who cares? Isn't the whole appeal of Romeo and Juliet the fact that they come from different classes of society and yet they manage to find undying love for one another?"

"Not sure 'undying' is the right word to use in this context in regards to that story, but okay," Keagan said, making Michelle snicker, "...no, you're right, and I know you're right. I guess I just let other peoples judgements make me judge us. You sound pretty knowledgeable about this sort of stuff, why haven't you been in many relationships?"

"Uh, I don't...know."

"Are you gay too?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I've found girls pretty, but I also like guys, probably moreso honestly, but...it's all aesthetics for me, you know what I mean? Like...it's all visual, and it doesn't elicit any kind of response other than awe or...or admiration. There's no...uh...I don't know how to put it."

"You don't wanna sleep with anyone?"

"I guess, yeah, I don't really feel sexual attraction," Michelle said, "I guess I've never really openly said that."

Keagan smiled and reached across the table, touching her hand, "I'm glad you did, because I think it helps us understand one another more. You know, at first I was worried living together with people I barely knew would be okay, but...I guess there's a reason we all get along after all, outside of our love for media."

Just then the phone rang, and Keagan, sitting beside the landline on the wall, reached up and picked it off the hook, putting the receiver to her ear.

"Hello?" she asked, before handing the phone to Michelle, whispering, "I think it's Liam."

Michelle furrowed her brow. Why would Liam be calling her? She cautiously took the phone and put it to her ear.

"Liam?" she asked, "...oh, okay, I'll be right there."

"Something going on?" Keagan asked, and Michelle looked at her.

"Can I borrow your truck?" she asked.

                                                                                             ***

Liam had given her the address, but even when Michelle reached it, she was surprised at how out of the way and sort of dingy it was. Sure, it was a storage facility, but even then, she was surprised someone who'd worked in television would put their belongings in someplace like this. She pulled up to see Liam opening the gate from the keypad for her, and then drove through until she parked. She climbed out of the truck and rushed under the awning, Liam approaching her with a duck umbrella.

"I like you umbrella!" she stated happily, making him smile.

"It is cute, isn't it?" he asked, "Sorry to ask you to help me with this, but I couldn't get a hold of Bea. She's busy."

"It's okay, I don't mind. We're coworkers now, right?" she asked, smirking, hitting him playfully in the shoulder. Together the two of them headed inside and to the elevator, where they stepped inside. As the doors shut, Liam punched in the floor he wanted to ascend to, and then looked at his shoes.

"You can't tell Bea I brought you here, okay?"

"But...but you were gonna invite her first, so what's it matter if-"

"Because nobody besides us knows about this place," Liam said, sounding deadly serious.

Michelle kept quiet until the elevator stopped and they both stepped out. The lighting overhead was soft, pleasant, and the sound of their shoes clacking on the hard floor beneath them as they strolled down the empty hall made Michelle feel a bit calmer. After a few minutes, they finally reached a unit and Liam fished a pair of keys out of his pocket, shoving one into the lock, and the second into a second lock. He then pulled the lock off, and started to bend over to pull the door open, but quickly retracted this stance, putting his hand on his back.

"Would you?" he groaned, as Michelle nodded and bent down, pulling the door open.

What was inside was boxes, furniture, and other odds and ends. Michelle was confused. She expected something amazing, something spectacular, not something so...mundane.

"Uh, this is just stuff," Michelle said.

"It's Marvin's stuff," Liam said, entering the unit and running his hand up and down a beautiful rolled up rug, "...or, it was Marvin's stuff. It's mine now. But there's one box in here in particular that I'm looking for. It's big and dark green and plastic, it should be labeled BBC."

"British Broadcasting Corporation?" Michelle asked, making Liam laugh.

"Beatrice Beagle Costumes," he said, "How he wound up with it is beyond me, but he told me one of the last times we spoke that he had it stored in his unit, which he left me directions and the key to after he...well, you know."

"Is that it?" Michelle asked, pointing to a box in the dark corner, underneath a few other boxes. She helped Liam move the other boxes, before she bent down and pulled the other box out and together they knelt to the floor and Liam lifted the lid. Michelle couldn't believe her eyes. Inside was Marvin's costume, and costumes to numerous other human characters who showed up on the series - like Bea's veterinarian Veronica and her dog trainer Theresa - which Michelle immediately wanted to touch.

"This is amazing," Michelle whispered, making Liam smile.

"Indeed," he said, "I figured we needed to pull these out for the show when it starts shooting soon, so I wanted to ask Bea to come, but I figured...well, this wouldn't even be happening without you, so you should know where this stuff is."

"...what was Marvin like? I mean, as a person?" Michelle asked, and Liam sat down in a nearby rocking chair, running his thumb over the wooden head of his duck umbrella, smiling warmly.

"He was such a great guy. So much fun, so smart, so caring. Most of the people Bea recruited were very empathetic folks, hence doing a childrens show, and Marvin and I really understood one another...once the show ended, we were still..."

He paused and bit his lip, either trying not to cry or trying to choose his words carefully.

"...I miss him so much every day and I just wish he'd reached out to me instead of killing himself," he whispered, tears starting to roll down his face, as Michelle crawled over to him and put her arms around him, hugging him tight, and him hugging her back, somewhat surprisingly.

"...this morning, Keagan and I were talking about sexuality, and how, even though I'm not exactly queer, the fact that I differ from 'the norm' makes why we became such good friends make a lot more sense, because she's gay, and you're gay, and...I guess it's nice to find a community, even if it is one often steeped in loss," Michelle said, "...but it doesn't have to be loss, right? Because, look, he isn't gone. He's still here, in a way."

"He always will be, not just in this unit, but in my heart," Liam said, which made Michelle almost weep at how sweet this was. She might not feel sexual attraction, but she certainly understood the concept of undying love.

                                                                                                ***

Eliza was pacing nervously outside Stephanie's office door, chewing at her fingernails, as Bea and Leslie were inside, talking to Steph. Eliza had been told to wait, but she didn't understand why, and the waiting was beginning to drive her nuts.

"You're treating the show as a commodity," Leslie said, sitting across from Steph, "but the thing is, art isn't a commodity. It's a creation. To treat it as anything else is to cheapen it. There's nothing inherently wrong with making money from art, but to see it as nothing other than pure financial net gain...that's where it loses something special, and people notice."

"So you're suggesting we don't push the advertising right off the bat?" Steph asked, and Leslie shook her head.

"No, I'm suggesting you don't advertise it at all. I mean, sure, commercials, print ads, whatever is fine, but the minute you start churning out toys, dolls, etc, that's when people start to see it as not something personal or special but as just another thing to entice children. That's where you lose respect."

Steph sighed and ran her hands through her hair. She should've known Beatrice would find a way to throw a wrench in her longterm advertising plans. Suddenly, Bea stood up and walked to the door, opened it and pulled Eliza in gently by the arm.

"This is my puppet maker, Eliza. She worked with me on the original show," Bea said, "Eliza, please, show Stephanie why making money off something cheapens it."

Eliza nodded, then put a dog hand puppet on her arm before kneeling down in front of the desk, hiding herself. She popped the puppet up in front of Stephanie, and Stephanie smirked, unsure of where exactly this was going, but curious to see certainly.

"My name is Brisket!" Eliza said in a high pitched voice, "Right now I'm your friend, and that makes you feel good doesn't it?"

"I...suppose," Stephanie said, trying not to laugh.

"You need to put yourself in the mind of a child watching the show," Bea said, and Steph nodded, trying to do just that as Bea added, "Go on Brisket."

"Right now you know I'm here for you, to listen and to help, and make you not feel so alone, and that's a good feeling isn't it? Because the world is big and scary and it's easy to feel overwhelmed," Eliza continued as the puppet, "but then you see another kid, maybe even a kid who bullies you every day, with a backpack with me on it, and that makes you sad doesn't it? It makes you not trust me anymore, and then you will have a hard time trusting anyone, all because little ol' me was also friends with your bully. That doesn't feel good, does it?"

Steph's eyes widened, and she looked from the puppet back up at Bea.

"Do you get it now?" Bea asked, and Steph glanced to Leslie, who cleared her throat and patted Eliza's head, telling her she could get off the floor, as she leaned forward and crossed her legs.

"Children aren't stupid. They aren't reliable gullible consumers. They can tell when they're being sold to, likely moreso than any adult can," Leslie said, "You go down that route, you lose that connection, and soon you won't be any different from any other show. Being on a streaming service, along with the addition to be beamed into every home thanks to my public broadcasting network license, means you're gonna have more eyeballs than anyone else right off the bat, and your show will be more accessible than any other kids show. You tell a child they're special, then sell the very thing that makes them feel special to other children, all you're doing is giving them lifelong relationship issues."

Steph nodded as Eliza stood up and pushed her glasses up on her face, hugging Brisket to her chest.

"I think I get it," Steph said softly, actually meaning it.

As Eliza left the room, she bumped into Michelle, who was hauling the green plastic box down towards the costuming room. Both women immediately apologized to one another, and Michelle smiled at the puppet on Eliza's hand.

"That's cute," Michelle said, and Eliza held Brisket back up, putting the voice back on.

"Thanks! I am pretty cute!" she said, making Michelle laugh before she continued on her way.

The door opened, and Bea and Leslie stepped out into the hall. Bea put her hand on Eliza's back and rubbed it gently.

"You did great, kiddo," she said, "Go back to The Hole. I'll have your lunch delivered, okay?"

Eliza nodded and headed along her way, as Bea turned to Leslie.

"Thank you," Bea said, "I knew you could make this work."

"I'd do anything for you Bea," Leslie said, "...thanks for including me. I should probably get to the office now, though," she added, checking her watch.

Leslie and Bea hugged, then Bea stood and watched Leslie Swann walk off towards the parking lot. Bea stood there and smiled to herself, not knowing Leslie was smiling to herself. Leslie had had a bad week, but once again, all it took to make her week better was the dog. All it ever took was the dog. Mans best friend, as they said. Leslie reached her car, let herself in and started it up. Being with Bea again as a team made her feel so good inside, that now she couldn't go to work in a bad mood.

Leslie Swann was still late for work.

But this time it was worth it.

Her name was Eliza Tartt, but the crew just called her The Puppet Master.

She had brown, frizzy hair and large, thick round glasses. She stayed away from most of the cast and crew interaction, except to ask specific questions in regards to what they wanted from their puppets, otherwise she simply stayed in what the others referred to as "The Hole". It was her own private work station, far removed from the rest of the work stations, where she simply created puppets day in, day out, for the show. Once the series ended, except for Liam and Bea, everyone else stayed in contact with one another, except for The Puppet Master. Nobody heard from her again.

Which is why, when Beatrice showed up at her home, she was stunned. Even though it'd been so long, she looked exactly the same, almost as if she were somehow frozen in time. Same buck front teeth, same frizzy hair, just now wearing loose fitting clothes since she wasn't working in a studio. Eliza hadn't answered the door, however, that had been her father.

"Would you like to come inside? She'll be down in a minute," he said, leading Bea inside and towards the kitchen, where he offered her a cup of coffee, which she happily accepted as she seated herself at the kitchen table.

"You have a lovely home," Bea said as he filled up her mug and handed it to her, watching as she sipped it cautiously.

"Thank you! I've always enjoyed decorating," Don said, "My wife was an interior decorate for a long time before she retired, and she often employed my help," he added, chuckling. Just then, Eliza stepped in the doorframe that opened into the kitchen, and that was when Bea was struck by her immortal appearance.

"Hiya," Bea said, waving slowly, as Eliza stood, braiding some of her hair, her eyes looking everywhere else besides at Beatrice.

"I'll leave you ladies to discuss business, and please, have as much coffee as you want," Don said, leaving with his own mug.

"Do you wanna sit down?" Bea asked, "This could take a while."

"Could it?" Eliza asked, her speech fast and shaky, "Okay. I'll sit."

"You look great," Beatrice said.

"Do I? Do people change the way they look? I just always assumed people look the same forever, but then again I can't tell one persons face from another, so. You look the same. Just...older, sorry, that's rude. You should never tell a woman she looks old."

"No," Beatrice laughed, "No, I appreciate it. Wiser is better than naive. How've things been?"

"They've been," Eliza said, still refusing to look at her, "Um...why are you talking to me?"

"I've been given an incredible opportunity," Beatrice said, "and I want you to come with me. We're bringing the show back, and this time it's my creative control. No outside advertising, no blatant pandering. Now is the time for creator owned content to shine. Liam and I got a deal at a streaming network for a new batch of episodes, and I can't imagine doing this without my shining star."

"...you haven't talked to me in forever," Eliza muttered, "did I do something wrong?"

This question punched Beatrice in the gut.

"No, god no, I...Eliza, after what happened I just...vanished. I couldn't deal with anyone. I'm sorry I didn't stay in contact with you, but it wasn't like I forgot about you. Whenever people might find me, and if they were in the market for making their own things, I always directed them to you because I knew your work was so good. I don't know how much work that actually wound up netting you, but-"

"I don't make puppets anymore," Eliza said.

"Eliza-"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I need to go," she said, getting up suddenly and running back up the staircase to her bedroom. As Bea sat and watched in stunned silence, Don re-entered the kitchen, sipping from his mug and eating a shortbread cookie, one of which he offered to Bea, and she graciously accepted.

"What the fuck happened to her?" Bea asked softly, "I mean, she was always eccentric, that was why I liked her, but...what happened to her?"

"...I guess things stopped being alright when her mom died," Don said.

"I get that loss has an irreversible effect on people at times, lord knows I myself have experienced that first hand, but...but how could it-"

"Because she thinks she killed her, Bea," Don said, sighing, "She thinks she killed her mother. And no matter what I say to her, she'll never believe otherwise."

Beatrice went from looking at Don to looking back up the staircase, just wishing she could know what had destroyed her star.

                                                                                               ***

"You're playing with fire," Liam said, "You do realize that?"

Stephanie sighed and sat back down at her desk, twisting open the lid on her bottle of water and taking a long sip.

"Yeah, I do, but we have our set contracts, and we can't just back outright of them. We have people we hire to do this sort of work."

"She won't work with anyone she doesn't trust," Liam said, "and frankly, I don't think I would either at this point."

Stephanie, arms folded now, glanced from Liam to Michelle, seated beside him.

"What about you? You know her too, what do you think? Could I sell her on this idea?" Stephanie asked.

"I...I don't think it's a good idea. She already vanished for almost 20 years just thanks to another studio hurting her and trying to make her work into something it wasn't, and here she thinks she's safe, because you've told her as much. I think you need to honor that. She can't be hurt again, she can't..." Michelle said, sighing before saying, "...she can't lose Beatrice again."

"How about this? How about half and half? She gets to hire the most important folks. The costume designer, prop maker, stuff like that. We choose the more film ground crew; editors, sound designers, stuff like that. That sound like a fair mix? This isn't us trying to hurt her, for what it's worth-"

"We understand that," Liam said.

"-it's about us having to honor pre-existing contracts we have with our workers," Stephanie said, "we're already doing a risky thing bringing back a kids show basically nobody ever heard of. In this day and age, when nostalgia sells like nothing else, to back something unheard of instead of a well known IP is kind of a shaky move, but we believe enough in the product and in your guys efforts to warrant the decision. That being said, Bea does not have the same clout as other successful saturday morning kids shows from the 90s."

"Fair, and totally right," Liam said, "Alright, I'll talk to her about it, but she might not be happy."

"We wanna keep her happy," Stephanie said, "But we also are legally obligated to keep everyone we work with happy, so."

After the meeting ended, Liam and Michelle were heading down the hall and towards the parking lot, when Liam stopped and pumped a dollar bill into a vending machine for a snack pack of chips. Michelle took a puff from her inhaler and exhaled deeply.

"This is beginning to feel like a mistake," Michelle said softly.

"I'm annoyed too, but this is business, this is what it is. It isn't all about making dreams come true," Liam said, popping open the bag and eating a few chips as they continued walking, adding as he chewed, "and besides, I think what she offered was a fair enough deal; so long as Bea gets to pick the most crucial people, I think she'll continue to feel safe."

"The thing I've learned in the past year, Liam, is that...the people you think are the most crucial are rarely the ones that actually are," Michelle said.

                                                                                           ***

"Eliza's always had...I don't wanna say 'problems', but, she's always been different," Don said, "When she was a little girl, she fell off a piece of playground equipment and hurt herself on the way down, hitting her head on a big piece of metal. As a result, she's...she's never really been the same. Not that she was exactly 'normal' before that. She was diagnosed with ADHD and a slew of other things but...that fall really did more than anything else did."

"I never knew about this."

"She doesn't talk about it, she's not embarrassed but...she doesn't think others should have to know," Don said, "and for the most part, I think she's right. Her mother took her to weekly therapy sessions for physical and mental therapy, because Eliza never learned to drive. One day they were on their way home after a particularly stressful session, and Eliza was just inconsolable about her lack of progress or what she perceived as lack of progress."

"I don't like where this is going," Bea mumbled.

"We've all heard the same story a million times, because it happens so often. It's a cliche for a reason, because it continues to occur. Rainy roads, loss of control, an accident, and eventually a death. My wife was my best friend, but losing her hurt Eliza more than it hurt me, and even I can openly acknowledge that. After that she stopped working on puppets entirely, and now she doesn't do much except play with her model trains."

"...I just always thought she was weird, in a good way, not...I don't know."

"Damaged?"

"I don't think damaged is the right word, because that insinuates there's something wrong with her, and there's not, she's just different," Beatrice said, making Don smile wide.

"You really are good at boosting a kids self esteem," he said, making Bea chuckle.

"I should get going," Bea said, "If she changes her mind, please let me know."

"Will do."

Bea got up, pulled her coat back on, threw her scarf around her neck and headed out the front door, Don leaning in the doorframe as he watched her descend down his porch. After a moment, she stopped and turned back to face him.

"You know," Bea said, "When we were in studio back in the day, I sectioned off an area specifically for her to work in, called The Hole. Nobody else ever went there, and she had the entire place to herself, far removed from everyone else. I just assumed she was a weird hermit, a sort of creative savant, and I respected her for that. I haven't lost that respect upon learning this, but...it makes a lot of things a lot more clear in regards to her behavior. I guess I felt protective of her, because I felt like I could relate to her. Just two weird girls making weird shit. I hope she comes around. You have my number."

"I do," Don said, smiling, "And thanks for everything you've done."

With that, he shut the door, watching Beatrice get into her car and drive away. After he saw her car turn the corner, he headed up the stairs and opened the door to Eliza's bedroom; it was filled with puppets she'd made over the years, and of course, model train tracks and small towns made of miniatures. She didn't even look up from him as he sat on her bed, and instead she continued to paint a small tree she was planning on inserting on a hillside.

"I know that might have been stressful, and I apologize for that," Don said, "Um...are you okay?"

"Okay," Eliza said flatly.

"There's something I think you should know," Don said, "...Bea paid for everything after the show ended. She continually sent money to help you stay afloat. Most of your therapy was paid for by her, even if she didn't know that was what the money was being spent on. Now I'm not saying this so you'll feel guilty and work for her again, but I want you to know that, yes, the world is cruel a lot of the time, especially to vulnerable people like you...but there's also those elite few who really do care, Eliza. Beatrice loves you. She loves your work. Just like you mom and I do."

Eliza stopped and looked at her dad.

"...I don't know that I know how to make," Eliza said, stuttering, "I...I'm scared I won't be good anymore. What if she isn't happy with me? Most people aren't happy with me."

"She came to get you specifically because she believes in your work," Don said, smiling, adding, "You're just as capable as you ever were. She told me she's best friends with a young woman who has breathing problems and often uses oxygen tanks. She works with people the rest of society considers broken because she sees that just because they have cracks doesn't mean they're broken. It means they're strong. To be that supposedly damaged and still going? That's power to her. Whatever you wanna do is fine by me, but I...I just don't want to see you give up a chance to do something great because you don't believe you're capable of it, when I know fully well you are more than capable of it."

Don stood up, kissed his daughter on the head and left the room. Eliza looked around the room at all the puppets, sighing, still braiding her hair as she usually did when nervous.

What would mom do?

                                                                                                ***

Beatrice was sitting in her apartment that evening, eating a sandwich as she listened to old jazz records and read a big book of paintings and their meanings. She'd always looked art books. She always found things in these deep dives to apply to her own work ethic, and she appreciated that. As she chewed, there was a knock on her door, and she stood up. It was probably Michelle, as she had said she'd stop by to discuss the meeting with Stephanie, but when Bea finally opened the door, she was surprised to find Eliza standing there.

"Oh!" Bea said, taken aback, "...Hi! Do you wanna come in?"

Eliza nodded, and Bea stepped aside, allowing her to enter.

"I'm sorry," Eliza said, "Um, I'm afraid of disappointing you. I don't wanna disappoint you. I always wanted you to be proud of me."

"I was always proud of you. You made me realize how important it was to connect with people the rest of society has thrown away and ignored. The sick, the ill, the damaged. Eliza, I don't wanna pressure you into this job, I just-"

"I wanna do it," Eliza said, "but, I'm not...mmm..."

She paced before sitting on the couch, leaving Bea standing and staring at her.

"Can I tell you a story?" Bea asked, and Eliza nodded as Bea finally sat down beside her; she continued, "a little over a year and a half ago, I met a young woman named Michelle. At first, I considered her to just be another overly enthusiastic fan, but...I quickly saw the value of what she saw value in, and I saw that because I saw that same enthusiasm in you and what you do. Michelle remade the set to the show in her basement. That level of commitment...I'd only ever seen it from one other person, and that person was you, Eliza. You won't be alone. Michelle will really like you, just like I do, and Liam does."

"...dad told me you paid for everything," she said.

"I did. I knew whatever the money from the network would be wouldn't be much, and I...I just felt like you deserved to be more well taken care of. Your passion for what you do reminded me so much of myself, so yeah, I sent monthly checks to your family. I didn't know until today that they were likely paying for medical expenses and whatnot, but..."

She paused and sighed.

"...it doesn't matter what they were used for. The point is the money was for you, and it went to helping you. I would do anything for the people who matter to me. Michelle knows this too. Vulnerable, different women in society are so often taken advantage of, and if all my work in life has been for nothing else than to show that they deserve better, than that's been worth the effort alone. Sure, a dog is mans best friend, but Beatrice Beagle is womens best friend."

Eliza smiled, and threw her arms around Bea, squeezing her tightly.

"I missed you," she whispered, crying against her shoulder. Bea stroked her back and sighed.

"I missed you too, sweetheart," Bea said, "I'm sorry I wasn't more involved. I promise, I won't ever leave you again. I'm nothing if not loyal."

                                                                                         ***

Michelle and Liam were standing in the parking lot of the streaming studio, eating breakfast together, waiting for everyone else to arrive. Liam bit into a breakfast biscuit from a nearby fast food place and moaned deeply.

"You don't have to sound like you're having sex with it," Michelle said, making him almost choke from laughing.

"I just really enjoy it! I never eat garbage like this, so it's nice sometimes to remind myself how bad it is for me while enjoying how good it tastes," Liam said.

Suddenly a car pulled up and parked. The door opened and Eliza stepped out, her hair fully done up in braids. She was wearing overalls and big clunky shoes. Beatrice got out of the drivers side and walked around between Eliza and the other two.

"Eliza, this is Michelle, and you remember Liam," she said.

"It's nice to meet you," Eliza said, holding out her hand so Michelle could shake it, which she happily did.

"You too, I like your braids!"

"Beatrice did them this morning," Eliza said, giggling, before glancing at Liam and adding, "It's nice to see you again."

"It's great to see you Eliza."

"So, let's get to work guys, we got a show to write," Bea said, clapping her hands together as she lead the group inside the studio, all cracking jokes together on the way in, knowing this would be a wonderful work environment.

                                                                                              ***

"This is it," Bea said, opening the door to area, "The Hole."

Eliza, young and bright eyed, walked inside, carrying some of her equipment.

"It's big!" she said.

"It is big, yes," Beatrice said, "This is your space, and nobody else's. Feel free to decorate it, and just generally do whatever the hell you want. Passion projects? Go for it. Just be sure to get your work for the show done too."

"Absolutely!" Eliza said, her buck teeth lisping her speech a little, "Thank you Beatrice!"

Bea smiled and left the room, leaving Eliza to make The Hole her own little home, and she did. She made it her own space, and she loved it. Years later, upon tearing it all down, it felt like she was breaking herself down as well, and she never really recovered from that. The last time she saw The Hole was the saddest moment of her life, and she cried for days. She thought nothing would ever top this grief, until her mother died, and she realized the difference between creation and loss.

One you chose, and one you didn't.

And after her discussion with her father and Bea, she knew which was the one she wanted to fight for.

"I have to admit, this is sort of exciting, I've never been in an actual production studio before," Michelle said as she, Keagan and Beatrice walked through the back halls of the lot where the show was to be produced.

"It gets less exciting, trust me," Beatrice said, "Not to sound jaded or anything, but...once you see where the magic comes from, that same magic stops being magic. That's why a magician never reveals his secrets, because he knows the value of a mystery."

"I disagree," Keagan said, "I find the creation aspect fascinating. I mean, here's an entire group of people working together to bring one idea to life. If government worked even half as well as the entertainment industry, the public would be ecstatic."

Beatrice couldn't resist chuckling at this sentiment, as she did have a point. The girls approached a room with an open door and peered inside, only to see a young woman finishing makeup on an older womans face. She looked up as they entered, and she smiled.

"Sorry, didn't know something was going on in here," Keagan said.

"No, it's fine, come on in," the young woman said as she turned away from her client, "We're done anyway."

The older woman stood up, checked herself in the mirror and thanked the younger woman before taking her leave. The three entered the room fully now as she the makeup artist wiped her forehead with a rag and exhaled loudly.

"They workin' you hard?" Keagan asked, arms folded, smirking.

"No," the makeup artist responded, laughing, "no, the air conditioner has been broken in this back area for weeks. You'd think that a streaming service could put up money into this part of their business, but apparently not. It's fine, I have my desk fan. Just can't have it on while doing someones makeup cause it blows everything around."

She clicked the desk fan on, then sat in her makeup chair and looked at the women again.

"Are we going to be working together?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm the only one who's going to be on camera, and even then I'll be wearing a mask, so likely not," Beatrice said, holding her hand out to be shaken, "I'm Beatrice."

"Clara," the makeup artist responded, shaking her hand firmly, "Well, someone in your cast is going to be utilizing me, so just send them my way when you know who."

Just then the little beeper on her hip sounded, and she groaned, excusing herself into a smaller, separate room from them. The women stood there momentarily, until they realized she wouldn't be coming back, and then turned to leave. As they crowded back into the hall, Beatrice shook her head.

"I've been out of the business for so long, and it hasn't changed at all. Sad," she whispered.

                                                                                              ***

Liam was sitting in a booth at a diner near the production studio lot when he heard the bell over the door ring, and quickly found Beatrice sliding in across the table from him. He sighed, put down his fork and looked at her as she skimmed through the menu.

"I take it it didn't go well," he said.

"Actually it went fine. The girls were far more enamored than I was, obviously, but nobody was rude or demanding or anything. We just took in the studio site, all that, and we gave the photos of Michelle's basement to the set designer, considering her mockup was the best photographic evidence we have of the set we used to own."

"They couldn't just use the tapes for that?"

"Please. Don't get me wrong, Keagan did a wonderful job cleaning them up, but the image quality is still so old that it wouldn't work," Beatrice said, "You are reprising your role, right? I wouldn't be doing this without you by my side."

"Yeah," Liam replied, smiling a little at her insistence, "Yeah I'm reprising my role, don't worry."

"Good. They want us to do 20 shows this year, each airing a week apart. Sounds brutal, but really it's the same as the old schedule."

"A week apart? Isn't the whole point of streaming to drop giant batches of content at once?" Liam asked, scratching his head.

"Yes, but that doesn't work with childrens programming. Children have school, homework, social duties. I don't want to overload them with things they won't have the time to watch, and then feel bad if they aren't as up to date as their friends are. That's why I fought for the weekly drop. I want it to be something special, something that feels like it happens only once a week and only for them."

Liam smiled. He'd forgotten just how endearing Beatrice could be. Sure, she'd done nice things like this on the previous show; birthday shoutouts and the like, but she was always genuinely nurturing little children in many ways they couldn't even comprehend, and he found that extremely kind. He was starting to feel grateful to work with her again.

"You have the puppet, right?" she asked.

"Yep," Liam said, "In my apartment, fit as a fiddle."

"Good," Bea said, sighing as she set down her menu and looked around, "...you know, if you'd told me when the original show ended that we'd be doing it all over again, I would've not only laughed at you but I might've beaten you to death too."

"Understandable."

"But the more I think about it, the more I wonder how lucky we really are. I mean, how many people are lucky enough to get to do what they want once, let alone twice? How many people make something that touches that many people that they want it to come back? That's...I don't know. I guess I feel special that Beatrice touched that many lives."

"You should," Liam said, itching his mustache, "I mean, you're going to be the bright light for a whole new generation of kids, and that's....that's simply not a thing everyone gets to do. To help mold a child, even if only through a TV show? That's a unique attribute that only a few people, and dogs, have."

"Though I gotta tell ya, I don't really enjoy the idea of being inside that wretched costume for hours on end again. Don't get me wrong, I love Bea, but that thing is brutal to be inside of."

"Yeah well, we all suffer for our art," Liam said with a chuckle, making her laugh.

                                                                                            ***

"I hate the idea of working with others," Keagan said as she put her laundry away into the closet.

Lexi, pulling her earrings from her ear and setting them on the vanity table before brushing through her long golden hair, simply nodded in response to this. When Keagan went off on something, she knew it was best to just let her blow off the steam as much as she could without interrupting or countering.

"I mean, I don't mind working with Michelle, because that's a real friendship, but...I don't know. These other people, like the makeup artist...it's weird. I guess I always feel like I have to prove myself around white people more than anyone else. Like...like if I don't, then they'll just immediately associate me with all the racial biases they already have or something."

"Well," Lexi said, turning on her stool, setting her hairbrush in her hands, "You didn't have to prove anything to Michelle, and you certainly didn't have to prove anything to me."

Keagan blushed. She knew Lexi was right. Both she and Michelle had liked her right from the offset, but still...she couldn't help but feel nervous going to work in a predominantly white studio. She'd always hated being the 'token black girl' no matter where she was, but especially at work, where she felt she had to show her worth far more than any white folks had to, as if to say she was worthy of being there whether her skin color was different or not.

"I'm just nervous, I guess," Keagan said, sitting on the end of the bed, "...like, all my life I wanted to work in media of some kind, and when I found out about lost media, I got so excited because here was a field that there was a lot of room for success in. I wanna be of help to Bea, and Michelle, but I just don't know that I know enough about actual media to really justify whatever credit it is they decide to stick me with. And with the makeup artist...it feels like I'm always wearing makeup, no matter what I'm doing or where I am. I'm always pretending to be someone else. Someone society will respect. I guess I understand why Bea hid behind a mask, because whether you're black or a woman - or in my case both - society is going to judge you doubly hard. But at least under piles of makeup, or behind a mask, it makes their judgement a bit tougher to make."

Lexi, using her toes, pulled her stool towards the bed and ran her hands into Keagan's bushy hair, smiling as she leaned in and kissed her cheek.

"Your skin color is your personhood, not a tool to be used for the debating of your skills," Lexi said, snuggling up to her, making Keagan want to cry. How did she get so lucky to have someone so loving in her life? Sometimes, admittedly, she missed having her solitude just like Michelle did, but a lot of times, also admittedly, she couldn't deny being so thankful to have such caring people around her all the time.

This was one of those times.

                                                                                            ***

Michelle scooted another set of hangers further down the rack, pulled a few back, then sighed and kept looking. Delores stood off to the side, sitting on a small bench, as she watched. After a little bit, Michelle stopped and turned towards her, looking dejected.

"I don't know what looks good on me," she said.

"Well, kiddo, nobody does except models," Delores said, "but if you pick something that isn't perfectly fitted, we can always have it tailored more to your measurements. Unless you feel uncomfortable in form fitting clothing, I don't know."

"Are suits supposed to be form fitting?"

"Everything is supposed to be form fitting on a woman," Delores said, sounding annoyed which made Michelle laugh; Delores chuckled a little and continued, "but yes, they're supposed to, generally, accentuate your best features. Same with dresses. Even for men, suits are meant to make them look good. But are you sure you even really need a suit for a job like this?"

"I wanna be professional," Michelle said, seating herself on the bench beside Delores, tucking some of her hair back behind her ear, "...I've never gotten the chance to be professional, and I want to make Beatrice proud."

"I think you've already done that," Delores said, rubbing her back gently, "after all, you got her show back on the air after how many years?"

"Yeah, but...I want her to see that I'm more than just some media obsessed weirdo," Michelle said.

"Why? That's obviously what she likes about you," Delores said, "Why rock the boat?"

"I...I don't know. I guess cause I could never prove it to my mom," Michelle said quietly and Delores exhaled deeply, straightening up and adjusting her sleeves.

"You know, when I was your age, I wanted to prove to my mother that I was professional too. I so badly wanted to show her that I could handle life in the work force, so I volunteered everywhere I could. I saved up my money, I bought myself some cheap second hand suits from thrift stores, and I volunteered anywhere that would have me. I did gofer jobs mostly, but it didn't really matter what the job was exactly, I was determined to show her that I could handle it because she thought I couldn't."

"Why'd she think you couldn't?" Michelle asked, and Delores sighed, shaking her head, her curly brown hair bobbing as she did so.

"Never really knew why, she'd never tell me and I rarely asked. I guess some parents just don't have very high opinions of their own children," she said, shrugging, "but I soon realized the one I was proving right was myself, not her, and that was far more valuable honestly. I proved that I didn't need her approval, because my approval of a job well done was worth far more."

Michelle smiled at this story as she looked at her shoes.

"I guess my mom thinks because I'm sick that I'm just not capable of doing much," she muttered, "is that what the whole world thinks of sick people? Why do people like myself have to prove our worth to a world that doesn't respect us to begin with?"

"You're a disabled woman," Delores said, "you're still capable of doing anything anyone else is, but so many are going to not see that or agree with it. Trust me though, kiddo, in the end, the only one worth proving anything to is yourself. Do things for you, not for them."

"...I like the color grey, I think I'll get a grey suit," Michelle said, standing back up and heading back to the rack; she glanced over her shoulder and smiled, adding "thanks for coming with me to do this, Delores."

"Anytime," Delores replied.

                                                                                                ***

Women, especially women who don't fit into the general "normative" culture as society sees it, often have to fight harder to be seen, recognized and even respected. Women like Beatrice, who share too much of themselves too easily, or women like Keagan, whose only real difference was something beyond her control, or women like Michelle, who just had trouble breathing a little more than most women do. None of these women had anything wrong with them. They were simply different, and it was those very differences that made them equal, not better.

This was something that Clara, as she was coming into her small apartment late that night, was coming to realize. She'd fought so hard her whole life to not judge, and to not feel superior to others, and the only way she could find herself feeling less superior was to ruin herself so she could have something to point to to say "look, I'm worse than you, see!"

As she unplugged the cork from the bottle of wine and sat on her couch, pulling the little baggie from her coat pocket and putting the coke into lines on the coffee table, she realized how ridiculous it was. Self sabotage only because society hadn't given her something to hate about herself. It saw her as a heteronormative, cisgendered woman - which she was - with no real ailments of any kind, so instead she created some of her own, simply so she could claim she wasn't as "perfect" as society seemed to claim she was.

Lying back into the couch after doing two bumps, she sipped her wine and exhaled.

"We all wear makeup," she'd told a friend in the business one day, "just that some of us wear it all the time."

"You...you're offering me how much?" Beatrice asked, sitting beside Liam and Michelle in Stephanie Mirk's office.

Stephanie smiled sweetly and cupped her hands together on her desk as she leaned forward, her voice buttery yet professional.

"It'd be exclusive only to our service. We pride ourselves on making content specifically for children, and family, and after the viral success your tapes had, we can see there's a market for such a show. We're prepared to offer you a million an episode, and full creative control so long as you don't include any adult material or offensive content."

Bea looked at Liam, who shrugged and smirked. Bea nodded, then looked back at Stephanie as she exhaled.

"We have a deal, but only if you include my friend here," Bea said, putting her hand on Michelle's shoulder, adding, "After all, I wouldn't have viral success without her efforts. If she isn't included, then I walk."

Stephanie chewed her lip for a moment, then reached across the table and held out her hand.

"Deal," she said, as Bea shook it, adding, "And Michelle, welcome to show business."

                                                                                              ***

                                                                                 3 WEEKS EARLIER

"You do know your calendar is out of date, right? It's from 4 years ago," Bea said, knocking on it with her knuckles as she turned to see Michelle adjusting the knob on her oxygen tank before plugging the cannula into her nose. Michelle nodded as she seated herself back on her bed.

"I like the pictures," she said, making Bea smile.

"You're like a child, it's cute," Bea said, taking a seat in Michelle's desk chair across from the bed; she exhaled and looked at her, asking, "You sure you're doing okay? You don't need any help? You know you can ask me for anything."

"I'm okay," Michelle said, "I've had a hard time adjusting to living with people, admittedly, but it's somewhat easier seeing as they're friends of mine and not strangers. Still, I miss my solitude...and my basement."

"I'm sorry," Bea said quietly, "I know how that feels."

Bea had spent so long missing the set, that she knew how deeply it must hurt Michelle to miss the set she'd recreated in her basement. Somehow bother women had fallen in love with the same imaginary place built in two entirely different areas. Bea shook her head, then remembered and clapped her hands together.

"I forgot to tell you, I got a phone call the other day!" she said happily.

"Did you not own a phone before, or?"

"No," Bea said, laughing, "No, I mean someone from a streaming service called me and said that they wanted to meet with Liam and I about the show. They said they'd seen the viral success of the episodes you and Keagan had recut, cleaned up and uploaded to the site and they wanted to talk to us about doing something together."

"That's awesome," Michelle said.

"And I want you to come with me," Bea said, surprising her.

"You want what now?"

                                                                                                ***

Liam couldn't believe his ears. Standing in his apartment as he watered his plants, he mulled over what Beatrice and Michelle had just told him. He finally put his small brown watering can back down on a bookshelf and, using his cane, turned towards the women.

"Are you telling me you're actually considering going back to the business?" Liam asked, "Because I find that hard to believe after what happened. I find it even harder to believe that you want me to be a part of it, considering what happened."

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to be a more forgiving person these days," Bea said, shrugging as she leaned against the armchair and watched Liam waddle his way back towards his kitchen to make some more coffee.

"And you want her to come with us?" he asked, pointing at Michelle with his cane as he filled the pot with water from the sink.

"Yes," Bea said, "If it weren't for her and Keagans efforts, I'd still be a hermit and you'd likely be dead, so, I think we owe quite a bit to them. I want Michelle to be considered a co-creator and Keagan a consultant or executive producer."

"But neither one has any experience in the industry."

"Exactly, they aren't tainted by its ills."

Liam smirked. Bea always knew just what to say to counteract his points. He sighed as he waited for his coffee to brew, and looked at the two women in his apartment. He knew he didn't have a choice. Instead he just sighed and nodded.

"Then I guess we're doing this. I'll have to dig out some of my nicer clothes," Liam said.

                                                                                             ***

Keagan was upset, but she didn't want to say it.

As she watched Lexi cut a sandwich into pieces, Keagan wanted so badly to just stand upright from the table she was seated at and shout that she was angry, but her reasoning for being angry was so stupid, she thought, that she couldn't fathom actually doing such a thing. Lexi turned from the counter and brought the finger sandwiches back to the table, setting them down in the middle before bringing them each a glass of carrot juice to go with it.

"I think I eat a lot healthier with you around, that's for sure," Keagan said, "Doesn't help that I'm too broke to pay for fast food though."

"It's good to eat well. Gives you more energy," Lexi said, seating herself and taking a sandwich, "besides," she added, "I like cooking. I always wanted to maybe be a chef of some kind of something. It was a hobby I always really enjoyed, and I especially like it when others appreciate what I've made."

"Well, I certainly appreciate you making food, because I suck at it," Keagan said, "I could burn water."

Lexi laughed loudly as she popped her sandwich into her mouth and chewed. Keagan liked making her laugh, that she couldn't deny. As she watched Lexi lift up the newspaper and read, Keagan started to feel a bit better. She had to admit, domesticity was nice, and certainly far better than the loneliness she had experienced beforehand. Lexi also would agree; no longer living with her mother and sister, she was thrilled to be living with someone she felt truly enjoyed her company.

"I think...I have to say-" Keagan started, but Michelle walked in through the side door of the kitchen, smiling at them.

"I've had an interesting day," she said, putting her canister and cannula in the corner before looking at Keagan and saying with a grin, "How'd you like to work in television?"

                                                                                              ***

Sitting in the pizzeria after the meeting, Bea, Michelle, Liam and Keagan were enjoying a pizza pie and soda. Laughing and eating, it was like having a real family, Michelle thought. Liam sipped his soda and smacked his lips, exhaling.

"God, I'm so glad I stopped drinking," Liam said, "I mean, sure, it makes eating out kind of bland, but I recognize it's better for my health."

"So what is it like, working in show business?" Michelle asked.

"Well, you'll both get regular paychecks, for starters," Bea said, "Much higher than whatever you're making now is, I guarantee that much. Plus, Michelle, health insurance. That alone should cut your living costs drastically, not to mention make you even less reliant on your mother for financial support."

Michelle's lip quivered, she wanted to cry, but she held it back and waited for Bea to finish.

"And Keagan, this will help get your foot in the door to do more work on this type. I know you've always been fascinated by lost media and whatnot, and this could easily get you access to vaults worth of forgotten content to discover."

"That sounds amazing," Keagan said.

"Who knows, if things go well enough, perhaps you'll even be given the chance to do your own show all about lost media," Bea said, "Lord knows upping the intelligence of the public in regards to the arts is certainly a worthy and valiant effort."

"I'm scared I won't know what to do," Michelle said, finishing her slice and wiping her mouth on her napkin.

"Just stick with Liam and I and we'll navigate you through all of this, okay?" Bea asked, rubbing her back and smiling, "Don't worry, we won't let you get lost in the shuffle. You're the heart of this thing. If people see you're passionate about something, it gives them the illusion that it matters, and they become passionate too. You're passionate about the show. About the dog. Others have been proven to follow that lead already."

Michelle nodded and smiled. She loved Bea so deeply, but she was also afraid to attach herself to something so iconic, of getting too close and witnessing the evils it could produce. After all, if things had gone wrong once...

...who's to say they couldn't go wrong again?

                                                                                                 ***

Sitting in her hospital bed as a little girl, staring up at the TV screen and watching Bea sing a song, Michelle had forgotten all about the fact that her mother hadn't come to see her in days. Secretly she wished Beatrice Beagle could be her mother, and when she napped, she often had dreams about such a thing. Being with Beatrice, even just on the television, made Michelle feel as though she were cared for after all, and that she should get better because Bea would be proud of her for doing so.

When she came home, she continued to watch the show every day. Sitting on the floor in front of the television in their living room, often while her parents yelled at one another in their bedroom at the back of the house, Michelle was capable of tuning all the negativity out and focusing instead of this dog who told her that she was important, and she did matter. Only when Beatrice went away did Michelle start to have problems believing such things, but only from time to time. Deep down she internalized the things Bea had taught her on the show, and felt she deserved better. Felt she deserved more.

When she finally moved out - albeit into a home rented by her mother - she thought "Wow, if only Beatrice Beagle could see me now!"

Sometimes all we need in life is one person, imaginary or otherwise, to help us help ourselves.

                                                                                                   ***

"I can't believe you're doing this," Lawrence said, sitting in his office chair as Stephanie made herself a drink and then came and sat beside him; he stirred the ice in his cup and shook his head, chuckling, "Like, you realize often internet numbers don't match up with traditional media, right? Sure, people clamor online for something, and sometimes they even get something to come back in a reboot or an uncancellation, but rarely do those very same people follow through on the promise of actually supporting it once it's back on air."

"I know, but I think this is different. This is something children can connect with," Stephanie said, "Children are online more than adults, especially younger children. Parents don't wanna take care of their kids, they use devices to do the babysitting for them, and the tablet is the television. Everyday I see articles about how much screentime kids spend on sites like Youtube, just watching, aimlessly, for hours, in a trance. I think, with a built in recognition factor, we could have that very same audience. Think about it...we craft it as a forgotten icon, someone who was hurt by traditional media, someone who - like most of the young people today - was against capitalism and thus capitalism was used against her. They'll relate to that. They'll find her persistence admirable."

"I think I see where you're going with this."

"Right," Stephanie said, taking a sip, "so we build on that. 'Hey, we're the new way to engage in content, and we won't hurt them this time!' and people will believe it. Streaming services are said to be the new frontier, which we all know is bullshit. I mean, we have no advertisers, and our competitors pale in comparison when faced with our original output. We're the folks who say 'yeah, forget traditional television, come to us! We'll let you do whatever!' but it's a ruse, because we'll only do that for as long as it's profitable to our brand, same as anyone else, but because we can just make something and put it out there with no bullshit behind it, that entices people into thinking we're the good guys."

"You're so negative towards your own work," Lawrence said, laughing as Stephanie pulled a grape off the small silver plate on his desk and ate it. She shrugged.

"Listen," she said, chewing, "I grew up watching traditional television. Weekly appointment water cooler TV, okay? That's why I know streaming is no different. Does it have pros? Certainly, but its cons are just as bad as traditional television and far outweigh the few pros it has over its aged out predecessor. Once it's a success - and it will be because parents follow their childrens interests - then we start producing merchandising and once that takes off, the show is secondary to the brand."

"I see how you got to be where you are today," Lawrence said, "You're smart as hell."

"You don't watch a lot of TV and not come away with something," Stephanie said, the two of them raising their glasses in toast to one another; "To Beatrice Beagle," she said.

"To Beatrice Beagle," Lawrence replied, and they drank.

                                                                                                 ***

When Michelle and Keagan got home that evening, Michelle soon found herself alone, thanks to Lexi's insistence that she and Keagan also go out to celebrate this new job offer. Michelle didn't mind, though, she was more than happy to be home alone. Lying on her bed, looking at the glow in the dark stars she'd stuck to the ceiling, she couldn't believe what had happened. How had she gone from being just a sick child in the hospital looking to a fursuited woman for guidance to now working with that very same woman?

Beatrice Beagle was going to get another chance to shine, another chance to be adored by kids all over, and Michelle was so proud to be able to say she was a big part of that chance. She smiled to herself as she pulled her blankets up to her neck and shut her eyes. Everything Bea had taught her as a kid had in fact paid off. She'd believed in herself and look at where she'd gotten. She was no longer just some poor sick kid, no, she was going to be someone in the entertainment industry, guided by the very woman whom she'd once shared an intimate hospital room with.

And Beatrice, after arriving home that night, immediately pulled out the suit.

She set it on the floor and looked at it. It would need some minor adjustments, a bit of maintenance, but overall it was still in tip top shape, she was proud to say. She took good care of the thing, even if it had been stored in her closet for all these years. Bea ran her hands along the head and felt the fur on the ears. God, she was going to have to spend hours in this stuffy costume yet again, but this time...this time she thought it'd be worth it. Unlike the first outing, this one was paved with good intentions, at least from her and Michelle's point of view, and she wouldn't let the same thing happen this time around that had happened to her and Liam the first time.

But most importantly, she thought about Beatrice, the actual dog, and how much she wanted the world to recognize how special she was.

And now maybe they would.

It was Michelle Helm's birthday.

A day she dreaded, quite frankly, and rarely celebrated these days. As she lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, she couldn't help but not want to get out of bed today of all days, but she knew she had to call her mother. Even with that bugging her in the back of her head all morning, Michelle tried to go as long as possible to postpone the inevitable. She took a while to figure out her outfit, to make breakfast, to do her breathing exercises and much more before finally exhaling and picking up the phone to dial her number.It rang a few times before she finally heard her mother pick up the other end.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Mom, it's me," Michelle said.

"I was wondering when I'd hear from you. It's almost 3pm you know," her mother said, and Michelle groaned internally. She knew that would be the first thing her mother said to her. Michelle rubbed her forehead with her fingers and shut her eyes tight, already annoyed.

"I know," she said, "I didn't wake up until late, and took a slow start to the morning. Sorry I didn't call you back the other night, I was very tired."

"That's okay," her mother said, "Can I come over and take you out for lunch?"

"Okay," Michelle said, "A little late for lunch, but okay."

"Well, whose fault is that?" her mother asked, laughing so it didn't come off as accusatory, a tactic she'd always used to sneakily judge Michelle without being called on her questionably behavior. After they discussed where to go to eat, the conversation ended, and Michelle mentally prepared herself for the fact that she'd soon be dealing with her mother in person, something that usually left her with a migraine, and this year, sadly, she'd discover it'd be no different.

                                                                                                ***

The door opened, and Lia - understandably - raised an eyebrow and stepped cautiously back as he looked at Beatrice standing in her regular clothes but with the dog head on her shoulders. He hesitated before smirking as she pulled the head off and held it under her arm.

"That's unsettling," he said, "Do you answer the door like that all the time?"

"Only for you," she said, "It's still in excellent shape."

"I can see that," Liam said, as Bea stepped aside so he could, cane in one hand, hobble his way into her loft. He glanced around, taking it all in, as he'd never seen this particular living situation before and was obviously curious how she was living these days. Bea shut the door behind him and followed him into the living room.

"So," he said, turning and looked back at her, "You look nice."

"Thank you, I'm seeing someone later," she said, "That's actually partly why I was hoping you'd meet with me this afternoon. Would you mind helping me do something?"

"You do realize I'm not in top physical condition right now, right?" Liam asked, somewhat shaking his cane at her, and she laughed.

"You don't need to move anything," she said, "I hired people for that. No. I want you to do something else for me. Something very important; this cannot be done without you, in fact."

This piqued Liam's interest, as he cocked his head to the side and raised a brow.

"Okay..." he said, "What are we doing, Bea?"

"We're giving someone a gift."

                                                                                          ***

Celia Helms, a woman who looked like she hadn't aged a day past her college self, as an "artist", and one that neither Michelle nor her father ever particularly understood. This was, honestly, a big reason why they fought a lot, to hear Celia tell it anyway, though Michelle knew she could never trust what came out of her mouth to be the absolute truth. She'd learned that the hard way unfortunately, over the years. Celia looked a lot like her daughter, except was shorter than her, and had a semi unearthly quality about her, almost like a wood elf from some fantasy novel. She dressed in a white lacey top and soft black jeans, her bangs clipped to the side behind her ear so as to keep them out of the way of her giant spectacle clad eyes as she perused the menu.

"I've always wished I could've taken you to Paris," Celia lamented, "But after the hospital bills nearly wiped out our savings, not to mention the payments on tanks and miscellaneous equipment, it just was never financially viable. Sadly, you've had to make due with faux French food from the city."

"Yeah," Michelle said blandly, "A real shame."

"I hope this is okay," Celia said, in a tone that Michelle had come to learn meant 'I'm going to pretend to ask your permission, but I don't want you to tell me I did wrong'; she added, "After all, I chose this place because this is something I've always wanted to give you. Food from another culture."

"It's fine, mom," Michelle said, her own eyes glued to the menu, trying to find something - anything - that wouldn't make her sick later as she said, "How have you been?"

"Exhausted," Celia said, "You wouldn't believe the amount of work I've had to do lately. I've been trying to open a new exhibition hall, but everywhere wants too much, especially in the downtown district. Rest assured, I won't stop until I achieve my goal. You know I'm no quitter."

"Lord do I know," Michelle said.

Celia put her menu down, seemingly having decided on her order, and as they waited for someone to come ask what they wanted, she looked across the table at Michelle. Celia cupped her hands on the table and smiled. Michelle noticed her nails were light pink, manicured, and french tipped. She was jealous her mother got the chance to do nice things like that for herself, when she so often could barely go out for a single day without feeling winded or exhausted.

"Michelle," Celia said, "I'm afraid I have to admit that I found myself struggling to figure out what to get you for your birthday until I stumbled upon something I thought you might like."

With that said, Celia reached to the side of her booth seat and pulled up a box, well wrapped with ribbons, and passed it across the table to Michelle, who graciously took it, a smile on her face, never one to rock the boat when it came to her mother. She just did as she was told, because - as her father had once said - it's just easier. Michelle pulled the bow and the whole thing unraveled, then she carefully undid the tape on the sides and finally unleashed the lid from the top of the box. Staring down inside the box, lid still in her hands, she couldn't feel herself breathing.

"The fuck is this?" Michelle finally blurted out.

"Language! This is a nice restaurant," Celia said, sounding genuinely shocked at her own daughters supposedly 'abhorrent' vocabulary.

"Mom, is this...is this a...fucking ONSIE?" Michelle asked, refusing to even touch it as she glared up from the box to her mother, "Is this a onsie for a baby?? Does this imply what I think it implies?"

"Has to happen eventually," Celia said, "I was just hoping maybe I could jumpstart you into-"

"How dare you," Michelle said under her breath, her ire burning a hole through her heart, "how dare you even suggest that I, someone who can barely manage to keep her own life together on a day to day basis, take care of a fucking baby."

"Okay, I'm sorry, calm down, I just-"

"Do you even understand how hard it is to take care of myself?" Michelle asked, "Not just disability wise, either. I'm an incredibly capable person, but no, just in general. All the little things it takes to make it through a single 24 hour period intact? And now you want me to give you grandchildren? Are you senile?!"

This abrupt change in behavior surprised Celia, and she stopped talking, the look of a scolded child now dancing across her face. Michelle knew this tactic well enough; it was to make her, and any onlookers, think that Celia was in fact the victim, but Michelle knew not to fall for it and she was old enough to not give a shit what onlookers might think anymore.

"God you are so incredibly selfish!" Michelle said, standing up and tugging her tank behind her, "I should've known better than to trust you to, just once, just one time in my entire life, get me a normal birthday present! I don't think, in all the years I've had a birthday, that I've ever been given something meant for me that I enjoyed. You're never going to change."

Michelle stormed out, best as she could, leaving her mother to sit and stew by her lonesome, surely approached by nearby mothers who told her she was in fact in the right and that children 'just never appreciate what we do for them'. Bullshit. Michelle knew it was all bullshit, and yet...and yet she couldn't help but feel the tears stinging in her eyes as she tried to escape and ignore the pain that was breaking through her heart. Every single time she thought that maybe, finally, her mother would know her she would always be wildly disappointed and underwhelmed. It wasn't even worth trying anymore, she had to remember that. She needed to afford a place on her own, because she could no longer risk being financially independent on her mother. It just wasn't worth it.

And she knew just who she could ask.

                                                                                             ***

"I like the taste of squid," Lexi said, popping a piece of butter baked and breaded Calamari in her mouth,"I know it's chewy, but I love the taste, I can't get enough of it."

"It's not bad," Keagan said, "I'm glad you suggested this."

"It's the best Italian place I know of, and they make the best Calamari," Lexi said, sitting on the counter of Keagan's apartment and licking the butter taste from her fingers as Keagan smile, watching her.

Since their evening together, the two had been fairly inseparable, and neither one questioned it. Keagan was, if nothing else, a bit surprised, but happy to have the company and the newfound love. She picked up a piece and walked across the small kitchen and, leaning on her toes, pushed the piece to Lexi's mouth, which she happily ate. After she swallowed it, she put her hands on Keagan's face and, pulling her closer, leaned down and kissed her. As the kiss broke, and their smiles widened to a giggling fit, they heard a knock on the door. Keagan wasn't expecting guests, so she cautiously headed to the door and waited.

"Who is it?" she asked, but no response. Finally she just shrugged and pulled the door open to see Michelle standing there, in the pouring rain, her hair ratty and her clothes soaked to the bone. Keagan stood there, surprised by her appearance, and unsure what to say, and just when she thought she'd found the words, Michelle surprised her yet again by simply hugging her.

After Michelle had showered and was sitting in a fluffy robe on the floor by the heater, eating some of their take out, she relayed the whole situation to them, and both girls were also disgusted by Celia's behavior.

"I just...I keep thinking maybe she'll finally decide to learn about me, but she refuses to do that," Michelle said, "She's like a stubborn child. It's so frustrating."

"Sounds like it," Keagan said.

"You know," Lexi said, crossing her legs on the couch and pushed her hair back into a messy bun, "I know how you feel. My parents are so caught up in their own drama they don't have any time to appreciate me and all the things I do for them, for myself. It's like, after a certain age they just stop learning new things about you, even obvious things, and just decide that how you were at eleven years old? That's how you'll always be."

"Exactly!" Michelle said, putting her mask over her face and breathing in, "I'm so tired of dealing with her. I was kind of hoping, maybe...I could stay with you until I could save money to afford my own new place? Otherwise I'll have to put up with her shit since she pays for my rental home."

"Oh, uh, yeah, I mean, okay," Keagan said, "That shouldn't be a problem. I...I don't have much room, but you could totally-"

"We could all get a place together," Lexi said, surprising both of them.

"What?" Keagan and Michelle both replied, in differing tones.

"I mean, if we all pooled our money together, we could just afford our own place. I know I don't like living with my mom or sister, I would certainly appreciate having a quieter place to study, and Keagan you could totally try and do your web work fulltime, and you probably get disability, right?" she asked, looking at Michelle, who nodded; she continued, "Exactly. Between that, part time jobs, odds and ends sales online, we could totally make it work."

"I...I don't, uh, know how viable that is," Keagan said, "I mean, you and Michelle basically don't know one another, would you even be comfortable with that?" she asked, glancing at Michelle, who merely shrugged.

"Better than living under my mothers thumb," she said softly, and Keagan understood.

But, and Keagan wouldn't admit this, it wasn't Michelle she was worried about. She was just surprised at quickly Lexi had jumped in to suggest the idea of living together. They'd only spent one evening together, and now suddenly the discussion of living together was coming up? And, sure, it was probably more to help Michelle out of a jam, but Keagan was unsure whether or not she was ready for this level of commitment. It frightened her, she couldn't deny.

"Okay," Keagan finally said quietly, continuing to eat dinner.

Lexi made the plans; the three of them would start looking the coming week, and until then Michelle could room with Keagan, she'd just have to go home and get some things first. But that could wait until the next day. Tonight? It was all about destressing, and celebrating what was left of Michelle's birthday, which she greatly appreciated. And it was funny...as soon as her mother was removed from the situation, she felt as though she could breath just a little bit easier.

                                                                                             ***

As Michelle packed her bags the following day, she couldn't help but feel lighter than she had in ages.

She'd need some shirts, jeans, dresses, and of course her medical supplies, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was that things were finally going to be better, and that alone made it easy to deal with. Change was usually frightening, but this change? This was glorious, unabashed joy. As she stuffed a few of her favorite books into a bag, she heard a knock at the front door and thought it was either her mother coming to harass her more, or it was Keagan, early to pick her up. Michelle stood up and, heading down the hall, heard the knock on the door again. She opened the door to her surprise...Leslie.

"Oh," Michelle said, "...what are you doing here? How did you even know my address?"

"You know, there's a lot of information that can be easily accessed if you just know the right people," Leslie said, "I need you to come with me. Something's come up."

"What's happened?" Michelle asked.

"Just get in my car," Leslie said, clearly suppressing a smirk.

Michelle did as she was told, and got into the car. Leslie got into the drivers seat, pulled away and started driving down the road. Michelle looked behind them to make sure they weren't being followed or something else strange, and then, lowering her voice and chewing on her lip said, "I have to be back shortly, I'm moving in with a friend and they're coming to-"

"This shouldn't take long, don't worry," Leslie said, taking a few turns. After a good twenty minutes driving, what Michelle assumed, was rather aimlessly, she began to get irritated but didn't say anything. She knew Leslie wouldn't just screw with her, she barely knew her. So Michelle kept her mouth shut, until suddenly, Leslie pulled over and pulled out a bandana and looked at Michelle.

"You need to wear this," she said, and Michelle scoffed.

"I do?" she asked.

"You really do, trust me," Leslie said, and Michelle - against all better judgement - took the bandana and wrapped it around her eyes, tying it in the back to blind herself. She huffed, crossed her arms and felt the car lurch forward again as Leslie continued toward the still obscured destination. After another few minutes, she felt the car park again and, as she reached up to pull the bandana off, felt Leslie lightly slap her fingers.

"Ow!"

"Do you want to spoil the surprise?" Leslie asked, "Just open the door, I'll come around and guide you."

Michelle opened the car door and waited for Leslie to take her hand, leading her out of the car and across what sounded like a parking lot full of gravel.

"This is ridiculous," Michelle said, half laughing out of nervousness, "Do you work for the mob or something?"

"Public television can certainly feel that way sometimes," Leslie murmured, making them both chuckle.

Michelle heard a door open, and they stepped inside what felt like somewhere air conditioned. Michelle could hear the sound of electronics buzzing around her, and generic upbeat music playing over speakers. Michelle sighed and felt a hand on the back of the blindfold, tugging it off. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust, and when she had blinked a few times, the first thing she saw in front of her was a woman wearing a postal uniform and carrying a mailbag.

"Uh," Michelle said, as she approached Michelle and handed her a letter.

"Telegram!" she said, "You've been invited to a birthday party!"

"...you're...Postal Patty," Michelle said, suddenly recognizing her from the show.

"Well, kind of a mean thing to call me these days, given the level of my many medications, but yes,"Postal Patty said, "Come with me, you don't want to be late, you're the guest of honor!"

So Michelle, buying into the rouse, followed Postal Patty throughout the venue, until they reached a back room, completely black, with only a singular table with red silk tablecloth over it for her to sit at. Michelle, Leslie and Postal Patty all took their seats and and waited. Michelle wanted to ask what this was all about, but she decided against it; after all, Leslie was right...why ruin the surprise? After what felt like an eternity, the stage lights blasted on, and suddenly Michelle knew exactly where she was.

One of the defunct pizzerias.

And on stage was a doghouse, and Beatrice, in full costume. Sitting atop the doghouse was a small potted plush cactus, with blackness surrounding them, obscuring Liam who was obviously performing as the cactus.

"You know, it's been a while since we've celebrated anything, hasn't it, Liam?" Bea asked, and the cactus nodded.

"It feels like it's been decades!" he said, eliciting quiet laughter from the three women watching.

"But today is different, today we're celebrating! It's a birthday, did you know that? The birthday of a very important, very special young woman," Bea said, "Do you know who I'm talking about?"

"My mom?" Liam asked, and Bea chuckled.

"No! Our friend Michelle!" Bea said, and then, turning and walking off the stage as the room lit up more, the old animatronics now working on stage, Beatrice strolled up to Michelle and looked down at her, asking, "Today IS your birthday isn't it?"

"Actually, it was yesterday," Michelle said, and Bea shook her head.

"A dog never knows what day it is! After all, we think one year is seven years!" Beatrice said, making them laugh again as she added, "You just can't trust us to gauge time correctly! So, Michelle, what's the one thing you want this birthday more than anything else?"

Everyone looked at Michelle, who had tears rolling down her face, and smiled.

"I already have it now," she said, half laughing.

"Good answer!" Beatrice said, "Friendship IS the best gift!"

And so Michelle spent her birthday with the cast and crew of Beatrice Beagle - which ones they could easily track down on such short notice anyway - and played arcade games with them, and ate cake with them, and it was like, if for just a single day, she was a little girl again. A little girl who's best friend was the woman in the dog costume who didn't even know she was making a difference in her life, only now she did know, and was thrilled to have a purpose again. And after all that had happened, Michelle knew none of it would've been possible if not for the single actions of one man, one person, who couldn't be there that day, and as Michelle shoveled pizza in her mouth and laughed at Beatrice and Liam's tales from the set, she could think only one thing...

"Thank you Marvin Burgis."

Thus proving that even suicide isn't in vain.

These images that flashed before her in the dark on the small television screen were things she hadn't seen in years. Sitting there on the end of her bed, looking into this television screen - the television that had the built in VCR, the only one capable of playing these tapes anymore, lest they be forever locked away - Beatrice couldn't help but feel a pang of remorse for those days gone by. Those days with the people she'd once considered her friends and coworkers, her co-conspirators in creativity. And what should've made her feel better, only made her feel more uneasy, because now, a young woman - a young woman she didn't know except via the osmosis of the television screen from years prior - had rebuilt her shows entire set in her basement, and for some reason...this made Beatrice Burden extremely sad.

                                                                                               ***

"I really wish you'd reconsider," Leslie said as she sat back down at her desk, handing an envelope to Bea, who was seated across from her as she continued, "we'd love to have you back. We'd give you a budget you'd be comfortable with and you would have complete creative control. Corporate sponsorship is the way of the past, gone like the dinosaurs, and even publicly funded groups like ours that provide free entertainment to the lowest of income families can manage to make productions of grandeur out of seemingly very little."

"I appreciate the sentiment, you've always been extremely kind to me," Bea said, smiling as she used one of her nails to undo the envelope, "But I'm fairly comfortable in semi self imposed exile."

She opened the envelope and slid out a card, which she smiled at briefly before opening it to wide eyed surprise.

"Happy?" Leslie asked, smirking as she leaned back in her comfy leather desk chair, arms behind her head.

"Uh...this is extremely generous," Bea said, "I...I don't know that I can accept this."

"Think of it as back payment, for all the money stolen from you in years prior," Leslie said, "I'm doing my best to make things right between you and this station. Now that Nassar is no longer in charge, and we're all doing things my way, I've been doing my best to make amends between everyone he wronged. Turns out it was a lot of people."

"You say that as if it's uncommon for a businessman," Bea said, making Leslie chuckle.

"Well, be that as it may, I hope you like what I've tried to do for you," Leslie said, "And, like I said, if you ever want to come back, you have my number and the station would welcome you with open arms. Most people here thought you get a bad rap. You're a childhood icon, please don't forget that."

Much as she'd like to, even if she wouldn't admit it, she couldn't forget it even if she tried.

                                                                                              ***

Beatrice paced her lofts living room, chewing nervously on her nails.

She had been waiting for a phone call for a few weeks from an event organizer getting together people from public access kids shows, and they'd been trying to get Beatrice on the phone for ages. Eventually she realized she couldn't just ignore them, and so she promised to speak to them tonight. This organizer, her name was Diana, was attempting to make a small convention of sorts, but needless to say, Beatrice wanted nothing to do with it, and ignoring someone was considered rude so she decided she'd just politely decline.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the phone rang and Bea quickly answered it, hoping to get this awkward conversation over with as quickly as possible.

"Hello?" Diana asked, "Miss Beagle?"

"This is Bea," Beatrice said, "How can I help you?"

"I'm so glad we finally get to talk! I've been dying to speak with you for weeks now, and you just seem so unavailable! My name is Diana Riggs, and I am-"

"Miss Riggs, I don't mean to be rude, but I am not interested in whatever it is you're trying to do. I'm sure your intentions are good and that you mean well, but honestly, I just want to be left alone. I hope you understand" Beatrice said, blurting it out, not even letting her finish. When she finally spoke again, the disappointment in her voice was clear as day, even as she tried to hide it.

"I...I understand," Diana said, "I just had to ask, you know how it is. Thank you for at least speaking to me."

"Of course, and thank you for the invitation," Bea said.

"If you change your mind you have my number, and the convention is a week from tomorrow," Diana said, "Everyone would love to see you there, we're all big admirers of you. You're such an icon."

After Bea had hung up, she stood there staring at the phone, tapping her foot on the floor as she chewed on her lip. How could she be an icon, especially when compared to so many others that were still so fondly remembered? It just didn't make sense to her, and the label never really sat well.

                                                                                            ***

Why? Why was Michelle the one who had remembered it as well as she had, and why had she clung to it so desperately for so many years? It just didn't make sense. But after seeing the set remade in the basement, Beatrice couldn't help but feel grateful for her lifelong admiration, because there was one thing Michelle never called her...and that was an 'icon'. Oh sure, she'd said the character of Beatrice had been inspirational, but the word 'icon' had never left her lips, near as she could remember.

But what was she honestly supposed to make of the basement set? Was it just the strange project of a strange lonely young woman with a breathing disorder? Or was there something deeper here that she was missing? Something Michelle had intended to jump out at her? Sure, she appreciated the effort to hell and back, but for some reason, other than Michelle's general love for her work, it didn't make sense to Beatrice why she'd done this.

Maybe the best course of action would be to simply ask her.

After all, time and time again Bea had found that had she just talked to someone things would've turned out a lot better. Communication is kind of strange like that.

                                                                                                    ***

"Am I an icon?"

This sudden question surprised Liam, who jumped a little and dropped his magazine on his lap in the hospital bed. He looked at Beatrice standing in the doorway, before she stepped into the room and took a seat on the chair beside the bed reserved for 'guests', of which she'd been the only one. Liam shook his head and shrugged.

"A simple 'hello' would've sufficed," he said, "Maybe a 'how are you doing? any better?', but I guess not."

"Hello, how are you doing? Any better? Also am I an icon?" Beatrice asked, making Liam laugh and, thusly, wheeze a little. She set her purse on her lap and watched him as he set his magazine down completely now and looked at her, cupping his hands in his lap.

"Yes, but not to the kids like the other shows...Those shows are icons because the kids grow up to remember them fondly, and thus they retain some semblance of relevancy in todays world. But you're not that kind if icon, Bea...you're an icon to the people in the industry," Liam said, shifting and sitting up better, "You're an icon to the creative people who want to do their things on their terms, and damn what 'the suits' might say, or anyone for that matter."

"That's...definitely an answer I didn't expect," Beatrice said, fingering her jangling charm bracelet on her wrist, "but...but what kind of legacy is that to leave?"

"You goin' somewhere?" Liam asked, making her chuckle.

"No," Beatrice replied, shaking her head, "Just thinking about the future. Is that really what I want to go down as? A creative person who inspired other creative people but became a self imposed hermit and burnt her only true venture to the ground for the sake of fighting back against a rabid capitalistic consumer driven culture that only demanded new content as soon as the old got boring?"

"Beatrice," Liam said, grunting a bit as he struggled to sit up straight and glanced at her, "Listen to me, okay? You accomplished something that most people in the entertainment industry never do, no matter how long they work for or how much success they achieve. You created something that people, especially other creative people, really connected with, and then - as if that wasn't enough - you ended it on your own terms because you weren't happy with the outcomes. You publicly fought against the way it was viewed and mishandled, and a lot of that was my fault and I have been so sorry you have no idea, but do you know how many other creative people would kill for the kind of guts you just seem to brazenly have?"

Beatrice smiled and pulled her hair back, tying it up in a messy bun as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, folding her arms.

"I want you to know that I'll forgive you one of these days," she said, "And that I'm very happy you didn't die."

"Which will come first? Your forgiveness or my untimely demise?"

"That remains to be seen," Bea said, making them both laugh.

An icon? Yes. This was something she might be able to work with after all, and she knew just the person to work on it with.

                                                                                              ***

Michelle was standing in her kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal as she stared at the calendar tacked to the fridge. She couldn't help but notice a particular day coming up, one circled in red, October 17th. A day that she hated had to happen yearly. As she groaned and chewed, she heard a knock at the front door. Michelle set her cereal bowl down and pulled her mask back on over her face, tugging her oxygen tank along behind her as she headed to answer whoever it was knocking.

She pulled the front door open to reveal Beatrice, standing on her porch. This, she had to admit, was a surprise. Michelle stepped aside to let Bea enter, which she did, almost happily so. As she got into the living room, she turned quick on her heel and looked at Michelle.

"Having trouble today?" she asked, motioning towards the tank.

"Yeah, some days it's really bad," Michelle said, sounding out of breath.

"Well, that's good because now what I have to say can't take your breath away," Beatrice said, and then after realizing Michelle wasn't laughing, shrugged and added, "Sorry, that was likely in bad taste."

"What are you doing here?" Michelle asked, still somewhat starstruck by her sudden appearance.

"I realized the other day that...the thing I was running from all along wasn't my shame or my fear or my anger, but was my appreciation. I was mad that people appreciated me and what I'd done because I couldn't, so I figured if I wasn't capable of it, then nobody else should be allowed to either. I know it's ridiculous and unfair, and I put myself under my own scrutiny more than anyone else ever put me under, but it's the gods honest truth. Ever since the show went off the air and the whole thing went kaput, I've been told, repeatedly, that I am an icon. I hate that label."

"That must be frustrating, yeah, especially if you don't hold yourself in high esteem," Michelle said, making Bea snap her fingers and point at her.

"Bingo, see, you get it. You...you seem capable of appreciating the Beagle the same way I did," Beatrice said, "...she was my best friend in the whole world, and I simply wanted to share the love and comfort that she gave me with everyone else who never got to experience it, because I didn't want them missing out on her gifts."

Michelle couldn't believe this, Beatrice was spilling her guts to her. This was like a dream come true.

"Then what are you doing here?" Michelle asked.

"You're the only one who didn't call me an icon. I appreciate that. It made your admiration more...real, more believable. Like...like you didn't like what I had done, you liked me specifically. Aside from my parents, maybe Liam, I've rarely felt liked in the world."

"I know what that feels like."

"I'm sure you do, that's why we understand one another," Beatrice said, "Michelle, I want to do something for you. Something I've never thought about asking another person to do. I want to give you all my tapes, and I want you to digitize them so we can release them online for free. I want you to help me create an archive for something we both love. Will you help me?"

Michelle was speechless. She never in a million years could've expected this.

"Can I have a drink of water?" Bea asked, "I'm so thirsty."

"Yeah, there's a dispenser built into the fridge," Michelle said.

Beatrice excused herself and stood up, heading to the kitchen. She found the glasses in the cabinet, pulled a mug and filled it up. As she drank, she tapped at the calendar and looked back into the living room over the couch at Michelle.

"Why's this circled?"

"...it's my birthday," Michelle said.

"Not too happy about it?" Bea asked, walking back to the living room now.

"How...how would this work?" Michelle asked, as Beatrice once again seated herself.

"Well, I'd bring them over to you and we could sit together and watch them, take notes on things I'd like cut out, make some small edits here and there. But you're the only person I'd trust with this kind of project, despite barely knowing you. I just...I can sense you appreciate me, and because of that, I appreciate you. I'd happily pay you, of course, if that's what you're asking."

"That...that wasn't what I was asking, but I can't really turn it down. I am in need of employment..." Michelle said, sounding embarrassed.

"You know, when I was your age, I couldn't see myself doing anything else other than what I wound up doing. Can you honestly say you don't feel the same? Can you see yourself wasting away in some dreadful little office for the next 30 years, toiling away for someone who doesn't give a shit about you while your actual talents go to waste?"

Michelle chewed her lip and shook her head.

"Every job I've tried just...doesn't feel right. I've...I've never really known where it is I should be or what it is I should be doing, but I know it isn't any of the things I've tried, that's for sure," Michelle said, and Bea smiled, leaning forward.

"Because guess what, knowing what you don't want to do is more important than knowing what you want to do, and it's not an insight everyone gets, unfortunately," Bea said, "Help me help you. I know this is weird, I know it's out of the blue, I know we barely know one another but I see potential in you that I saw in myself, and I would never forgive myself if I didn't try and bring it out of you."

Michelle smiled, and tried not to cry. Her idol, a woman she'd long admired her entire life, was sitting in her living room and telling her she believed in her. How things had come to this she couldn't really understand, but they had, and she never felt more thankful.

"I have to go, I have some other errands to run," Beatrice said, standing up and pulling her purse back up over her shoulder as she headed for the door, "But please think about my offer. Interviewers, convention organizers, even Leslie herself - god love her - wanted to heap praise onto me for the things I made, not for the person I was so I can't help but appreciate that you tracked me down for a very personal reason. You liked the things I was saying, not the things I was selling. That means a lot to me."

As she stood in the door, about to exit to the porch, she pulled something out of her purse, along with a pen. She flipped open the little booklet and began scribbling in it before finishing with a flourish and tearing the paper out, handing it to Michelle.

"...this...this is three thousand dollars," Michelle said, staring at the paper, her eyes wide.

"Yes it is," Beatrice said, stuffing her things back into her purse, "Get yourself some new equipment, a new apparatus, something to make life easier. The people who've been abandoned by everyone have to look out for one another."

And then, without even asking, Beatrice leaned in and hugged her. Michelle couldn't breath - even more than she already couldn't - because these were things she never in a million years could've imagined happening. After the hug broke, Michelle watched Beatrice walk to her car, a tiny little hatchback, got in and honked goodbye as she pulled away. Michelle walked back around to her couch and plopped back down, her eyes glued to the check in her hands.

After everything in her life, it wasn't her parents that came through for her.

It was a long forgotten childrens public television host.

And she could appreciate the humor in that.

Everything hurt, his limbs felt heavy and his eyesight was blurred, but Liam knew he was alive. He could tell from the pain that he wasn't dead, because if he were dead, he wouldn't be in pain. He couldn't really move much, but he was able to look to his side and see, sitting in a chair by his bed, a woman reading a book. He coughed a little, and she lowered the book, revealing herself to be Beatrice, who then smiled at him.

"What...are you doing here?" he asked.

"I'm your emergency contact," Bea said, "I guess you never changed that."

"I...I guess not. Sorry to drag you out of your lair," Liam said, groaning as he adjusted himself and felt his body ache.

"Try not to move much, you really did yourself some damage," Bea said, touching his arm and then bringing the blanket up over him more, tucking him in a bit before sitting back and sighing, asking, "...why did you do this? I mean, I figured you missed him, but-"

"This doesn't have much to do with him, as it has to do with you," Liam said, surprising her as he added, "I broke you as a person, and I don't deserve to live if I'm going through life damaging others."

"Liam that's ridiculous," Bea said, "Don't believe-"

"Just...don't," Liam said, "I'll make sure to take you off my emergency contact."

And with that, Liam rolled over and went to sleep, leaving Beatrice there to watch and wait. She couldn't help but feel like maybe she wasn't the only one who'd gotten hurt by the fallout of the shows end, and perhaps she'd been focusing on herself a bit too much. Sure, Liam had been the thing that brought it all crashing down in a way, but it also never would've been without him, and she often forgot that.

                                                                                             ***

Michelle set her hammer down and stood up, stretching, taking a puff from her inhaler as she stepped back and admired her work. She smiled, feeling good about her progress, and knew that she was, for the most part, done at this point. As she headed up the stairs and into the bathroom to wash her hands and face off, brushing the sawdust off her clothes, she heard a knock at her front door, and went to answer. As she pulled the door open, she saw Delores standing there.

"Oh, hi," Michelle said, "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in? I have some things to run by you," Delores asked, and Michelle stepped aside, letting Delores in. Delores set her coat and briefcase down before turning around and adjusting her rings on her hand, smiling the whole time.

"What's up?" Michelle asked, grinning  nervously.

"So," Delores started, "how has working for David been going?"

"It's been, not very challenging, thankfully," Michelle said, "I mostly copy things for him, or do course work correction. He's been very accommodating."

"He's been a friend for many years, so I'm glad to hear he hasn't become a worse person," Delores said, "His cousin was very ill for a long time, so I figured he'd know how to work with someone who was also somewhat disabled."

"Thank you, Delores, I really appreciate it," Michelle said.

"Are you taking any courses outside of that, like we talked about?"

"Um, not currently, no, I've...I've been kind of busy with a personal project," Michelle said, rubbing her arm nervously as she walked around the couch and sat down in the loveseat. Delores shrugged and sat down on the couch, setting her briefcase on her lap and popping the lid open.

"Well, I'm here for a very specific reason," Delores said, "I want you to know that I've found something a bit more interesting than just being David's gofer. There's a startup company interested in original streaming content for families and children. You said you wanted to work in entertainment, didn't you?"

"I...did, yes," Michelle said, surprised Delores remembered this.

"Well," Delores said, pulling a manila folder out and unclasping it, sliding out some papers and handing them across to Michelle, adding, "these are their applications, and with my help, they'll absolutely take you. All we have to do is make sure we get it in before they open up to a more public crowd."

"How did you find out about this?" Michelle asked, taking the papers and flipping through them.

"A friend I know who works in entertainment is part of it, her mother is anyway, and she's helping her mother get it off the ground seeing as she's the more tech savvy of the two. When she told me about it, I immediately knew it'd be perfect for you."

Michelle was surprised at Delores's kindness. She'd always been helpful, but between David's part time assistant gig and now this, she was going somewhat above and beyond as an unemployment social worked, for some reason Michelle couldn't even begin to fathom. Sitting there flipping through the papers, she couldn't help but take note of the letterhead at the top, noting the company name: CLEAN. This name struck her as somewhat...straight forward, but Delores had said they were invested in bringing family entertainment and content to children, so it did make some sense.

"Delores, this is...this is a bit overwhelming, but I'm definitely interested," Michelle said, "Could we maybe meet at your office this-"

"Forget my office, meet me at Gayle's, you know that small coffee shop near the office, and we'll plow through these together this weekend, okay? But no later, because as soon as this offer opens up to a more public job searching group, you're not going to have time."

"I understand," Michelle said, smiling, "Thanks, Delores."

"You feeling okay, sweetheart?" Delores asked as she packed her things back up and, clicking the locks back shut on her briefcase, looked at Michelle concernedly, adding, "How's your breathing?"

"I'm okay, Delores, it's just been a...a very strange week, hah. I just need some time to recuperate and relax," Michelle said, "My breathing's been fine. I've just been finishing a personal project and it's taken a lot out of me, physically. I just...I'm not mentally there enough right now to focus on this."

"Completely understandable," Delores said, standing up and heading to the door, putting her hand on Michelle's shoulder, smiling as she said, "...you take care of yourself Puffin, we'll get this done this weekend."

Michelle rose from the couch and followed Delores to the front door, an eyebrow arched, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Puffin?" she asked, "That's an odd term of endearment."

"It's because your hair is so black but the rest of you is so pale, except your eyes. So vibrant, so full of life. You really smash the ridiculous idea that sick people aren't capable of anything," Delores said, standing on the porch and looking at her address plates, picking at them, "These should be replaced, you really shouldn't let them get so worn out."

"Okay, I'll make sure to put it on the list," Michelle said.

The women hugged, and Michelle watched Delores head to her car. As she watched her drive away, Michelle couldn't help but feel like she had an adult in her life who really genuinely cared about her, and now it was time to show an adult she really cared about them. It was time to show Beatrice the basement.

                                                                                              ***

"You sure you don't want to do something?" Lexi asked, pulling her backpack straps up around her shoulders as she and Keagan stood out in the back of the restaurant while Keagan smoked a joint, but Keagan just shook her head.

"Nah, I'll be okay, I have to run some errands anyway," Keagan said, walking Lexi to her car. Lexi pushed her long, perfectly bleach blonde hair back behind her ear and smiling as she looked at the ground in front of them as they walked.

"You know," Lexi said, "You could come over after your errands. Lord knows I got nothing but time."

"Shouldn't you be studying?" Keagan asked, and Lexi shrugged.

"Eh, I'll do it on the weekend," Lexi said, stopping at her car, hand on the roof, her piercing green eyes looking at Keagan, "Come over. I'll order something totally awful in to eat and we'll just hang out. It'll be nice."

"Aren't your mom and sister-"

"She took my sister to another town for the weekend for a Lacrosse game, she's going to root from the stands, which will surely embarrass my sister which is great, because frankly she could stand being taken down a peg," Lexi said, making Keagan laugh.

"So I see, you're all alone and you're creeped out, so you don't want to be alone?" Keagan asked, squeezing the tip of the joint to save it for later before stuffing it in her back pocket of her jeans.

"Puh-lease, I don't get scared. I watch horror movies for fun," Lexi said, "I just thought it'd be cool to do something."

Keagan was rarely invited places by other girls she had been friends with, and to be friends with Lexi often surprised others when they found out that the rather perfect aryan girl with her beautiful alabaster skin and her perfect bright eyes and her perfect blonde hair was friends with the frizzy haired black girl, but Lexi was nothing if not racist. Lexi opened her car door and tossed her backpack on the passenger seat, then leaned on the door, her arms crossed on the top as she rested her chin on her arms and smiled.

"I guess I could come over," Keagan said, "I just need to run a few errands first."

"Great!" Lexi said, "I'll see you soon!"

Lexi got in her car and backed out of the lot, pulling away and honking at Keagan, who headed back inside to clear out her timecard, lock the place up and head to do her errands before going to Lexi's. Keagan first stopped at a drug store and picked up some toothpaste and mouthwash, along with a few packs of tooth whitening gum before heading to a bookstore to return something. She then finally headed to Lexi's. Having never seen the place before, she was humbled by the quaint apartment complex Lexi and her family had been made to move into after losing all their assets, and she parked in the guest parking before heading to the apartment she knew was Lexi's. As she knocked, she could hear Lexi tell her to come in, so she did, only to find the place completely dimmed and only lit by candles.

Keagan stepped inside and shut the door quietly behind her, confused. Was the power out? Nah, couldn't be, because she'd seen the lights on in neighboring apartments. Could they not afford their power bill? As she put her bookbag down and looked around, she couldn't help but feel confused, until she noticed a fire was lit in the faux fireplace, and then Lexi stepped out from the kitchen in a silk bathrobe. Keagan stopped and looked at her, still confused.

"What's going on?" Keagan asked, "Are we gonna hold a satanic ritual?"

"God, if only," Lexi said, approaching Keagan, "No, I just wanted things to be perfect."

"What?" Keagan asked, backing up until Lexi had her pinned against a wall, smiling at her.

Lexi reached up and touched Keagan's face, then ran her soft fingers down to her chin and lifted her face gently, before pressing her own lips against Keagan's, taking her completely by surprise. Keagan didn't fight it, she was much too shocked to fight it, but after the kiss ended, she was still standing there in complete shock.

"Uh..." Keagan said, "Um, what...what is this?"

"What does it seem like?" Lexi asked.

"Seriously?" Keagan asked.

"Are you not-"

"No, I mean, I don't know," Keagan said, "I never...I never really thought about it, I guess, but I...uh..."

"I'm sorry, I just assumed that..."

An awkward quiet fell over the room, and both girls looked at the floor, avoiding shame. Lexi finally walked around to the couch and buried her face in her hands, crying. Keagan finally stirred enough to follow her and sit beside her.

"God, I always do this," Lexi said, "I always meet someone, and then I just...I assume they're like me, and they never are and then I never hear from them again. I've had to change jobs so many times since dad went under because of making this mistake. Heterosexual people, they never have to assume, they just usually ARE correct in their assumptions. But me? God forbid I think someone might be like me."

"I...I didn't even know you were-"

"What? A lesbian?" Lexi asked.

"I just...you're so...perfect, I just assumed you were straight."

"Yeah, you'd be surprised how many guys say the same thing. That's the problem with being a femme queer; they think to be a woman who likes women you have to be this...this weird butch woman who wears combat boots and looks like she lost a fight to a pair of scissors."

Keagan chuckled, which made Lexi smile a little, as she sniffled and wiped her nose on the arm of her silk robe.

"Please don't cry," Keagan said, "I don't want your eye makeup to run, it's not a great look."

"How can I not cry? Look at my life, Keagan, look at the mess that it is," Lexi said.

"I...I know, but I just...your life isn't the only one that's a mess. You should see this friend of mine I'm working on something with," Keagan said, "She's not much better. Nobody our age is doing much better, to be quite honest. Besides, I never said...I wasn't..."

Lexi looked at Keagan, who looked at her hands in her lap.

"I just...I guess I never really thought about it, honestly," Keagan said, "And, like, especially with you, because you're so pretty, how could you like me of all people."

"Don't say that about yourself," Lexi said, "You're the one who's beautiful."

Keagan smiled and looked at Lexi, who reached forward and pushed some of Keagan's hair back, running her hands through it. Keagan shut her eyes and enjoyed this feeling, sighing softly. Lexi edged closer and took Keagan's hand in her free hand, gripping it softly before pressing her lips against Keagan's neck, making Keagan gasp a little.

"Stay here," Lexi whispered, "Just stay with me."

"Well how can I say no really," Keagan said, falling back on the couch as Lexi crawled over her and pinned her wrists over her head to the arms of the couch, chuckling, "Just...don't take it personally if I freeze up, I'm kind of new to this."

"I understand," Lexi said, "Just let me take care of you."

And she did, and she didn't regret it.

                                                                                             ***

Beatrice was exiting her apartment complex, heading out to her car when she heard a car door shut and looked up to see Michelle crossing the street, dragging her wheeling oxygen tank behind her, the tubes from it attached to a mask around her face. Bea stopped and looked at her as she struggled to pull the oxygen tank up onto the curb.

"Miss Burden," Michelle said, "I hope this isn't weird."

"Not any weirder than showing up before," Bea said, smiling slightly, "What can I do for your Miss Helm?"

"I really need to show you something," Michelle said, "Please come with me to see my basement."

"Hah! Uh, forgive me if I'm a tad hesitant to take a near total stranger up on that offer," Bea said, opening her car door before turning back to look at Michelle again, "...Miss Helm, I have some things to do today, would this take long?"

"No, I promise it'll only take a few minutes, but I've spent the last year working on it, and I need to show you," Michelle said.

This piqued Bea's interest.

A half hour drive later they were heading inside Michelle's rented house, with Bea helping her get her oxygen tank up over the porch and over the door threshold, back into the house. From there she followed Michelle to the basement door, which Michelle opened and, after disconnecting the tank and taking a few puffs from her inhaler, began heading down. Beatrice exhaled, shook her head and followed her, unsure what it was exactly she was walking into. As she descended into the dark basement, she could hear Michelle moving, but she couldn't see a blessed thing. Only after Michelle turned the lights on, and her eyes finally adjusted, did Bea raise her hands to her face in shock at what she was looking at.

"Oh my...god," Beatrice said, stepping off the last few steps and further into the basement, "You...built this?"

Michelle nodded, grinning from ear to ear. Beatrice was staring at what boiled down to essentially the main set of her show, recreated in perfect replication down to the very last detail. She walked past all the things Michelle had built, like the small gazebo and the fake plants she'd bought and installed, running her hands over the wooden textures.

"This is..." Beatrice started, then finished, "...insane."

"Wh...what?" Michelle asked, her smile faltering.

"This is insane," Beatrice said, turning back to face her, "Why would you do this?"

"Be...because, because growing up this was the place that felt the most like home to me," Michelle said, "Aside from the hospital, which no child should feel is a home, and my home certainly wasn't a home, but your show...your world, your home...that's the place that gave me that feeling of warmth that a home should give a child. I know it was just a set, but it...it felt real to me."

"...I just...I can't..." Bea said, struggling to find words as her head whipped around at this fever dream of a creation, "...why did you bring me here?"

"Because...because people took it away from you, and I wanted to give it back," Michelle said, "because you, of all people, didn't deserve to have your home ripped from you the way it was. I know it isn't exact, I know it isn't the same, but I did my best to make it like it was, and...and after finding you, I just wanted to show you what you really meant to the world."

Bea looked around again, her breath caught in her chest until she finally looked back at Michelle and started weeping, falling to her knees. This surprised Michelle, who knelt and put her arms around Bea, who pushed her head against Michelle and sobbed.

"Thank you," Bea said, "Thank you, thank you."

"Of course," Michelle replied, "Thank you for giving it to us in the first place. I see now what kind of beauty can come from a place built by multiple people. That's what a real home should be. Nobody should ever feel they don't have a home. Especially a dog."

She wasn't sure how long they stayed there like that, but Michelle was willing to give Beatrice all the time she needed to accept this act of kindness. After all she'd given Michelle - even without knowing it - Michelle had finally repaid the debt.

And she was right, after all.

No dog should be homeless.

The doorbell rang, and Bea sighed, pulling her soaped up arms out of her sink. She wiped them off on the hand towel hanging off the stove and then walked across the loft to the door to answer it. As she tugged the door open, time seemed to slow down, but not for Beatrice, only for the people on the other side of it. This was a moment they'd been dreaming of, and now here it was. Bea smiled at them politely and looked between the two young women.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice high, feminine and somewhat nasally.

"My name is Michelle," Michelle said, "and this is Keagan. We're your biggest fans."

This was not the way Beatrice wanted to end her day.

                                                                                             ***

"Hello, please, do come in!" Leslie said, ushering Michelle and Keagan into her office before heading around to the back of her desk and seating herself again. She waited for the girls to sit down before speaking again, polite as she'd always been in her career. She had to be, this was public access after all, and she needed the community to like her, and thusly, like her network. After they'd sat down, she smiled and pushed a bowl on her desk towards them, asking, "Candy?"

"No thank you, I'm diabetic," Keagan said, and Michelle looked at her.

"You never told me that," she said.

"It never came up," Keagan replied, shrugging.

"No bother, just an offer," Leslie said, pulling the bowl back, "So...I guess I should state the obvious right away...you're looking for Beatrice, right?"

"Yes," Michelle said, "I've been searching for her, or anything related to her for years. She has virtually no web presence."

"Not surprising. She paid some people to wipe most of everything they could from the internet about her," Leslie said, surprising them; she leaned back and propped her feet up on the desk, feeling comfortable with these young women before continuing, adding, "You're not the first ones to come looking for her, obviously. A few stragglers have come in over the years, but once they hit so many dead ends, they knew to give it up. It isn't even that she would've been hard to find, it's more that she didn't want to be found, and actively worked towards erasing any trace of herself - and thusly the show - from every plane of existence."

"Why did she-" Keagan started, but Leslie shook her head.

"I really have no concrete reason. I know the business with the pizzeria didn't make her happy, and I know that she really disliked the man who ran the place when that deal was put into place. She blamed Liam for all of that, and the two drifted apart as he took over the more business aspect of the whole thing. She saw him as grifting her creativity, shilling out her pain for cash."

"That had to hurt," Michelle said.

"It hurt her tremendously," Leslie said, "and once the whole shebang fell apart, Bea did her best to erase the entirety of it. She pulled all the tapes so it couldn't be rerun, she bought out all remaining merchandise - including the stuff from the pizzeria - so it couldn't circulate and she packed everything away in a storage unit. She cut ties with everyone, except me, which she sends me holiday cards and came to my baby shower."

"That's nice of her to stay in touch," Michelle said and Leslie nodded, smiling sweetly.

"I think she saw how much I respected her love of the work itself, far more than her love of the money it brought her," Leslie said, "I admired her morals on the capitalistic bullshit that came with selling your art, especially when your art is so deeply entwined with your personal feelings and isn't just something you're trying to deliberately make money off of. She appreciated that."

"She sounds so...very disciplined," Keagan said.

"She is, which is why it isn't unusual for people to come in searching for her," Leslie said, "She inspired a lot of young artists with her beliefs once they found out about them, and that's why they want to seek her out. I just assumed that's why you two are here."

"We're not artists," Keagan said, "I'm just interested in lost media."

"Ah, and you?" Leslie asked, turning to Michelle.

A hush fell over the room as Michelle debated opening up, and really explaining her complex emotions tied to Beatrice, a woman she's never met, and the beagle she represented. She took a few deep breaths, batted her eyes a few times, pulled her inhaler out and took a few puffs before exhaling again and began speaking, her nails tapping on the old oak arm of the chair.

"I almost died as a little girl," Michelle said, "I was in and out of the hospital a lot, and my parents...they fought a lot, and I fell by the wayside. They just...they didn't have the time or energy to expend on me when they could barely deal with their own problems. Because of this, I spent most of my time awake in the hospital, attached to various breathing apparatuses, watching TV, and mostly Beatrice Beagle. She gave me hope, she was always so sunny and bright and...and she made me not feel alone. She made me feel like I was cared for, even if it was by a stranger in a dog costume."

Nobody spoke, but Leslie opened her desk drawer and pulled out a small packet of kleenex, tearing it open and dabbing at her eyes.

"When the show ended, I felt like I lost my only friend in the world. I was so alone. But...but she inspired me to not give up and to always have hope and to always keep going no matter how bad things got. I'm not looking for her for any other reason than to thank her for what she gave me. A will to live."

"I'm going to write something down on this piece of paper," Leslie said, after wiping the tears from her face and composing herself once again, "you aren't going to say how you got it, and you aren't to ask me for anything else. I have never, in all my years of meeting people trying to find her, given anybody this information, but after what you've told me, I don't know how I can't help you."

She finished writing, capped her pen, folded the paper neatly and slid it across the desk. Keagan picked it up and looked at without unfolding it, her lip quivering.

"What...is it?" she asked.

"It's Beatrices address," Leslie said, "and if you see her, if you actually speak to her, please be as candid with her as you were with me. It'll benefit you."

"Why are you giving us this? Doesn't this invade her privacy?" Keagan asked and Leslie leaned back in her chair and smiled, pushing some hair from her eyes.

"Because someone has to tell that woman how wonderful she is," Leslie said, "So maybe she'll finally start believing it."

                                                                                               ***

"...how...how did you find me?" Beatrice asked, still standing tucked halfway behind the opened door, as if she expected them to hurt her in some way for some reason.

"Got lucky," Michelle said, not at all eager to sell Leslie up the creak, "can we come in?"

"...I...I'm not interested in visitors. If you're seeking autographs or something of that nature, I don't-"

"Miss Beagle, please, just let me speak to you," Michelle said as Bea started to shut the door, "You saved my life."

The door stopped closing, and she opened it back up cautiously, peering at the two young, clearly trustworthy women, and then sighed, shook her head and opened the door.

"Come in," she said, "But don't expect much."

The inside of her apartment loft surprised them. Elegant, chic, and yet somehow stuck in the 40s. Soft jazz played from the old record players horn and the artwork on the walls were mostly paintings, though none they recognized whatsoever. She had bookshelves filled to the brim with books on any and everything you could imagine, and her lampshades were beautiful and looked hand crafted. As the girls took a seat on the couch, Bea looked at them, hands on her hips and chewed her lip.

"I suppose I should offer you something to drink," she said.

"You don't have to," Keagan said, "We're okay."

"You have to excuse me, I...I rarely have visitors, especially ones I'm not expecting," Bea said, "In fact I spent a good few years ensuring that would never happen, and yet every once in a while someone still manages to find me. Seems, in this day and age, one can't disappear completely. Anonymity is dead, long live omnipresence."

"Miss..." Michelle started, and Bea smiled as she seated herself across from them on an old stool.

"Burden," she said, "My last name is Burden, but call me Beagle if you so wish."

This made the girls giggle.

"Miss Burden, you're...you're what kept me going. When I was a little girl, I was in the hospital, I suffer from severe bronchitis and COPD, or Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. I spent a lot of time attached to breathing apparatuses of one kind or another, and today I still use inhalers and oxygen tanks regularly. But the one thing I did like having in the hospital was you. You were on the TV almost every day, reruns, and then your regular new shows when those aired. My parents didn't visit a lot, and I didn't really have any friends, so you were pretty much all I had, and you kept my spirits up and made me not as scared as I probably would've been."

They watched for any sign in Beatrice's face of how she felt, but nothing came. She was stone faced. This made them feel somewhat uncomfortable, and Keagan and Michelle exchanged a brief nervous glance before Michelle started again.

"When the show ended, I...I felt like I'd lost the only person to ever guide me and teach me anything. I've spent my life following your ideals, your beliefs, or I guess, those of Beatrice Beagles, I guess I should say, because-"

"No, they're my ideals and beliefs. I am Beatrice. We are one. Please do not separate us," Bea said, surprising them as she crossed her legs, "Please, go on."

"I...I mean there's not much else to tell. That was it. I have some old episodes still taped that I've digitized, but I didn't know you worked so hard to erase it all. If I'd known that, I would've done the same, if that's what you wanted," Michelle said, "I didn't know how badly you wanted to vanish."

"I didn't want to vanish," Bea said, surprising them yet again, "The world wanted me to vanish, because I refused to play their game. Liam and his...his stunt with the pizzeria chain, that was a hump we never got over. As time wore on, I didn't feel as much like a person as I did a mascot. I knew, deep down, that to the network, I was there to get kids to ask their parents to take them to the pizzeria, not because I was imparting wisdom to young children who needed to be guided. They robbed me of my integrity by co-opting the most important personality I had and bastardizing it to be nothing more than another corporate excuse for creativity."

"I'm so sorry that happened," Michelle said quietly, pulling her handkerchief from her coat pocket and putting it to her mouth, coughing violently into it.

"So I figured if the world didn't want me the way I was, then I didn't want them to have any part of me," Bea said, continuing, looking her nails, her voice wavering a little, "they don't deserve people who care about their work if they don't respect the work itself. If they didn't want Beatrice Beagle for who she was, she didn't want them either. I try to refrain from using bad language, but really, what the fuck does a dog have to do with pizza anyway? Nobody was ever capable of explaining that to me."

The girls laughed and nodded, which made Beatrice smirk as she continued.

"I have to say, I'm not happy to have visitors, but it is refreshing for it to be for a good reason for once, because it means at least I made it through to one person for what I said, not what I sold," Bea said, "that almost makes it all worthwhile."

Just then she heard the oven beep and excused herself to get up and head into the kitchenette. As they waited, Michelle using her inhaler again, Keagan looked to the side table by the couch they were seated on and noticed the picture of Bea as a young girl and her dog, sharing an ice cream cone. She picked it up tenderly, her mouth slightly agape.

"Look at this," she whispered, pushing it into Michelle's lap, adding, "The dog. That's her. That's the beagle. She made the character after her dog. No wonder it was so personal to her."

"Would you care for some food?" Beatrice asked, coming back in with an oven mitt on one hand, "I made some chicken, if you're interested."

"Was this your dog?" Keagan asked, and Bea didn't respond, but she took the photo and looked at it for a few moments before exhaling and sitting back down.

"That was Beatrice," she said, "Beatrice wasn't my real name. I adopted it as a moniker once she was gone. A testament to the long lasting love a friend such as a dog can give you. I molded and crafted the suit after her, with the help of a friend. It was in memory of her, to keep her spirit alive. That's all I wanted. I'd known her, nobody else had, but everyone deserved to have the same happiness she gave me. That's why I brought her to the world, only to have the world not appreciate her for anything other than her child friendly appearance and ability to market to the young audience."

"I bet there's others out there who appreciated her the way we did," Keagan said.

"Perhaps," Bea said, "But I don't do it anymore. The costume is put away for good. Beatrice is retired. Put down a second time. Do you have any idea what it's like to lose your best friend twice in a lifetime? It destroys a person."

Michelle started crying, not even afraid of what Bea would think.

"...thank you for proving to me that what I did had a purpose, made a difference," Bea said, "because by the end, it really felt like it hadn't."

The girls stayed and had a bite to eat, discussed the legacy of the show a bit more and, when the time to leave came, Beatrice was seemingly enjoying their company and somewhat sad to see them off. As Keagan stood in the hall, pulling her jacket on and Michelle wheezed her way through her handkerchief, Beatrice excused herself momentarily. When she came back to the door, she had a tape in her hand.

"I want you to have this," Bea said, "You need it more than me."

She pushed the tape into Michelle's hands and smiled at them, before saying goodbye and shutting her door. Despite her kindness, and surprising openness, they couldn't help but notice she locked the door once it was shut. Likely force of habit more than anything else, but they couldn't ignore it either way. Keagan dropped Michelle off and then headed to work, leaving Michelle to watch the tape by herself. As she settled into her living room, she popped the tape into the VCR and sat back to see what she'd been given. After a bit of static, and then a title screen with production codes - clearly cut from broadcast but used for the networks cataloguing - passed by, the title screen for the show came on and the intro jingle started.

She watched throughout the entire show, a rather mundane episode about not much in particular, but come the end of the episode, Beatrice did her usual farewell before saying she had some birthdays to read off from children who'd written in. As she read the names and gave sweet little birthday wishes to each and every one, Michelle finally realized why she'd given her this tape in particular.

"And this letter comes from Michelle Helm, and it's her 9th birthday," Beatrice said, "She's written in to say that it would mean the world to her if I would visit her for her birthday, but seeing as I cannot do that, I figure the best I can do is say Happy Birthday, Michelle. You are a beautiful, intelligent young lady and I am happy you exist. I hope you have the best birthday you can have, and realize that every day you're here is a special day."

This finally broke Michelle, and she started crying, but for the first time in a long time, they were tears of joy. Michelle stood up, clutching her Bea doll to her chest, and walked over to the basement door. She opened it, headed down the stairs and pulled the light string, brightening the room. She smiled at her work and knew she was on the right path.

It was a good day.

She'd have to remember to send Leslie Swann a gift basket.

She could hear the paws scratching at the door, and she knew that Beatrice had to go out. So, heaving herself out of bed, still in her cloud covered pajamas, Amelia Burden headed downstairs, Beatrice by her side. Together they raced down the steps to the living room to find her parents sitting in the kitchen - her mother reading the newspaper while her father cooked and made coffee - and Amelia pulled the handle on the sliding glass door leading to the backyard so she and Beatrice could rush out together. Beatrice did her business while Amelia sat on the picnic table benchseat and let the morning sun warm her. It was another beautiful summer day out here, and she had nothing expected of her except to enjoy it.

As Amelia and Beatrice came back in, she took a seat at the table and Beatrice sat right beside her on the floor. Her mother, Gloria, set the paper down and smiled at Amelia as her father, Gordon, came and poured more coffee into Gloria's mug before heading back to the stove to work on his eggs. Gloria sipped her coffee carefully before looking back at Amelia.

"Any plans?" she asked, and Amelia nodded.

"I think we're gonna go down to the library and get some books," Amelia said.

"They let Bea into the library?" Gordon asked, and Amelia nodded.

"They don't mind, they love her down there," she said, smiling happily at the dog lying on the floor beside her feet. After breakfast, Amelia pulled on her overalls and her clogs and, Bea by her side, headed down to the small local library. Beatrice never wore a leash, she never had to, as Amelia knew she never wandered far from her side. Beatrice was an extremely well behaved dog. Entering the library, the librarian behind the desk smiled and waved at them as the usual guests they were, and then they set upon finding books. Amelia got a mystery book, always a fan of mysteries, and then a whole slew of books on the arts, be it dance, acting or painting. Amelia had always been drawn to the arts, thanks to her fathers painting work.

Once they were back home, Bea and Amelia holed themselves up in Amelia's bedroom on the floor and Amelia read through the books one at a time for Bea to follow along with, while she shared her string cheeses with her. It didn't matter that Bea couldn't understand what Amelia was saying, Amelia didn't care, because she had all she wanted in the world; friendship and literature. What more could a little girl ask for, really?

                                                                                             ***

"Miss Burden?" the man asked, still standing there, "Would you like a moment?"

She nodded, wiping at the tears on her face.

                                                                                              ***

Beatrice didn't seem to understand that Amelia wasn't going back to the house with her parents. Standing there in her dorm at the college, her father dropping the last box on the floor, Beatrice looked from one member of the family to the other, head cocked to the side, ears perked slightly up. She whined a little, which caught Amelia's attention, and she knelt down to stroke her head.

"She'll be in good hands," Gloria said, "You know we love her sweetheart, you won't have to worry about her."

"I know, it's just going to be weird not having my best friend here," Amelia said, "Bea's been with me for as long as I can remember. I can't imagine not having her around. That life seems completely inconceivable to me."

Gordon touched Gloria's shoulder and, after they patted Amelia on the back, they left her alone with Beatrice momentarily so she could say goodbye to her best friend. Amelia ran her hands behind Bea's ears and scratched lightly.

"This isn't goodbye, I'm going to come home for the holidays and stuff and see you and mom and dad," Amelia said, "But I have to do this in order to be an adult, I hope you understand and don't forever hate me for it. You know I love you Beatrice, you know you're the best dog and greatest friend anyone could ever ask for."

Beatrice barked and wagged her tail, making Amelia throw her arms around the dog, squeezing a bit, fighting back the tears. She promised she'd see her again, and she kept true to that promise. A year later, during summer break, Amelia came home and as she got out of her car and headed up the walkway, she could see Beatrice standing on the couch against the front window, yapping excitedly, so happy to see Amelia come home, even if only for a bit.

That summer was great fun, as Amelia and Bea fell right back into the same relationship they'd had since they were young girl and pup respectively. Running in the fields surrounding the house, exploring and playing fetch, lounging inside when it rained and listening to old jazz records, and Amelia always sneaking Bea an extra little treat here and there. Their friendship was a testament to the truth that distance, nor time, could destroy a connection as deep as theirs.

                                                                                               ***

Amelia entered the small room, its counters littered with metallic surgical instruments and the stench of less. She shut the door softly behind her and then looked at the slab table in front of her, centered in the middle of the room, completely unsure of what to even say.

How does one say goodbye to someone they aren't ready to lose?

                                                                                                ***

Amelia would've preferred literally any other kind of news to the kind she had received that Sunday morning. Drinking her tea and reading a book on bird watching, her landline rang only once before she scrambled to answer it, expecting a callback from a local theatre she'd auditioned for earlier that week. But it wasn't the man she'd auditioned for, no, it was her mother, and her voice was shaky. Immediately, without her mother even saying the news, Amelia knew something was wrong.

And as soon as the words left Gloria's lips, Amelia crumpled to the floor and curled into a ball of weeping pain and writhing grief. She immediately told her professors she had to go home for an emergency in the family, packed her car that afternoon and was on the road in no time. When she arrived, Bea was lying in Amelia's bed, but wasn't out of it enough to keep her tail from wagging like crazy upon seeing her. Amelia knew she didn't have much time, and that this was something she herself was going to have to do, so after spending an hour or so with her in her childhood bedroom, she loaded Beatrice up in the car and headed off to the vet.

She knew Beatrice wouldn't be coming back.

It had spread so rapidly, and Bea was full of tumors. There was nothing that could be done except put her to sleep, to end her suffering. But now, standing in this small sterile room, seeing her best and oldest friend lying on a table preparing to, likely unknowingly, face oblivion, Amelia couldn't conjure anything to say. She couldn't muster any words in her throat, and instead, she just stood there and held her paw. The doctor came back in, before realizing he'd left the shot in the other room and excused himself to go get it, giving Amelia one last chance to say something to Bea. She reached up with her other hand and stroked between the dogs eyes gently, forcing herself to smile.

"You're okay," Amelia whispered, "You're okay. You aren't alone. I wouldn't let you be alone, you never let me be alone."

And before she knew it, Beatrice was gone. Amelia went to the local courthouse the following week and legally changed her name to Beatrice, before going back and finishing college, majoring in theatre. Though she lacked most of the resolve to really try, and none of her auditions ever lead anywhere. After a while, Bea simply gave up and instead attempted her hand at writing, which didn't really go anywhere either. And then, a year after her dogs death, she had an idea. She set about going to the library, as she had as a child, and taking it upon herself to learn sewing and costume design. Within a few months, she had the suit and the head made, and the very first time she put it on, standing and looking at herself in the mirror, she finally knew what she was meant to do.

                                                                                                 ***

"I have to be honest with you," the station manager said, "I don't understand the appeal."

"That's because you're not 5," Liam said, "Trust me, this is the next big thing. Beatrice is determined to make this thing work."

"...how about we make a deal?" the station manager said, leaning forward and cupping his hands on the desk, "I am a part owner in a local chain pizzeria, and it doesn't really have proper theming. We want to really make it a bigger place, make a mark with it, so how about you let us use the characters you have to do that, and you get to make your show?"

Liam looked at Bea, who glared at him, and bit his lip. He thought momentarily before turning back to face the station manager and asked if they could have a few moments. He happily obliged, and left the two alone in the room. Bea crossed her arms and looked away as Liam stood up and paced.

"Look, as long as we aren't outright promoting it on the show, it shouldn't matter much, right? As long as we aren't blatant advertising, then-"

"It doesn't have to be blatant to be wrong," Bea said, "This is an incredibly personal creation, and you're willing to shell it out to a pizzeria for a shot at fame on a puppet show. You can't even begin to imagine what the character of Beatrice means to me."

"Bea, she's a dog," Liam said, "She's not even real. You made her up."

Bea didn't respond to this. Liam didn't know the origin, he didn't even know how intertwined the character of Beatrice had become to the newly minted Beatrice herself, and perhaps if she'd spoken about this in depth, Liam would've understood, and he wouldn't have somehow cajoled her into going along with the station managers plan. Maybe if she'd dug out the photo albums, brimming with imagery of young Bea and her namesake pup, Liam would get it. Maybe if she'd spoken, he would've listened. But she didn't, and he didn't, and the whole thing went off anyway.

As time went on, Beatrice grew to dislike what the creation represented, because in the back of her mind - despite her original intentions with the creation of the character to sift through her own life and help kids grow with their own - she couldn't help but remember she was really just there to hawk pizza. This only became more exacerbated when the animatronics were added to the pizzeria, and the whole thing was fused like some sort of horrible manufactured and poorly engineered Frankenstein; this bastardization of what Beatrice was meant to mean made her sick, and before long she loathed putting the head over her own. She wanted nothing but to be as far removed from Beatrice as she could be.

And it was all Liam's fault, at least that's how she saw it, because if there was one thing Beatrice was never good at, it was taking blame for things.

And 13 years after Liam met Bea in that alley after the show, Bea pulled the plug on the whole thing, and the pizzeria collapsed simply because of changing tastes in family entertainment for the decade. Soon enough, nothing existed of Beatrice Beagle, except for the memory it left in the head of one little girl, one little girl Bea never knew existed, named Michelle Helm.

                                                                                               ***

"Are you sure you don't want anything else to drink?" the dark haired, indian woman asked as she stood in Bea's kitchenette and poured a glass of wine.

"No thank you, I don't drink much," Bea replied, "And if you're trying to get me sloshed to get into my pants, rest assured, I'm asexual, so that won't happen."

This made the indian woman laugh, as she brought herself and her drink back to the couch to sit back down. This was their third date, Bea and the womans - whose name was Amad - after having met a few months ago in a crafts store Bea frequented. Bea had dated men and women in the past, but these days she leaned primarily to women when dating, mostly because as Liam had proved, men couldn't be trusted. Amad sipped her wine and smiled at Bea.

"You don't have to worry," Amad said, "I'm certainly not one to pressure anyone into anything, so you have nothing to fear. Honestly, at my age, sex doesn't interest me all that much anymore as it is. I'd much prefer spending time with someone and talking."

Bea smiled a little, feeling happy Amad understood and respected her.

"I love your apartment, it's so...old fashioned," Amad said, "Record player, oil paintings, the stained glass lamps."

"Those are Tiffany's," Bea said, "They came from my father. He's big into class."

"Well, he has good taste then," Amad said, "It's nice to see things people consider relics still be considered important. It's nice to know that the old things are never really gone, it makes you feel like perhaps immortality isn't impossible on some basic conceptual level."

"I've always believed in immortality, or at least certain ideas surrounding it," Bea said, turning to Amad, continuing she added, "Like...like how if you really love something, you'll always remember it, and therefore it can never really die, because if it can't be forgotten, it won't fade away. It'll always live on in some way through you, vicariously."

"I like that, that's beautiful," Amad said, "What is your stance on something like reincarnation?"

"I don't rule it out, and for those who hope it's real I hope it is for their sake, but I certainly wouldn't want to personally have it happen to me," Bea said, "I've had enough suffering for one life, and not nearly enough love."

This made Amad said, and she set her wine glass on the coffee table before running her fingertips on Bea's face and smiled at her, their eyes locking.

"I can fix that for you," Amad said, leaning in to kiss her. Beatrice didn't stop her. While they kissed, she heard her answering machine pick up, and it was Liam once again. Bea tried to block it out, but halfway through, she interrupted the kiss and unplugged the phone before coming back to the couch and continuing the romance.

                                                                                           ***

Liam hung up the phone slowly, trying to not take it personally. She'd always been a rather private person, and he knew he'd been dumb to even try and call her. Instead, he stood up, straightened his tie and walked into his bathroom. Liam opened his medicine cabinet, pulled out his prescribed sleeping pills and went into the bedroom where he sat on the bed and, after a few minutes of trying hard to untwist the cap, finally opened the bottle and - with a glass of water - downed the whole thing. He then laid down on the bed and shut his eyes, folding his hands on his chest. He couldn't help but think of Bea, and all the things he wish he could've said to her before he'd leave this world, but it didn't matter now. He'd be gone soon.

He felt something roll down into the center of the bed and push against his hip, and he smiled. It was Marvin's urn.

At least he didn't have to go alone.

"I like your hair," Michelle said, making Keagan smile as she ran her hands through her hair.

"Thanks, it's one of my better assets, quite frankly," Keagan said, going back to stirring her coffee with her stirrer as Michelle pushed her fork into her salad and dug around for a bite. Neither one spoke again for a few moments, but finally Keagan took a sip from her cup and then looked at Michelle.

"This is weird, isn't it?" she asked, and Michelle nodded, pushing lettuce attempting to escape back into her mouth.

"It's very weird," she replied, chewing.

"How did you, I mean if you don't mind me asking, get those episodes you showed me?" Keagan asked, and Michelle finished eating, then sighed, pushing her salad bowl away.

"I recorded them on VHS back when I had the chance. I wish I had more, but I only managed to get a handful of them," Michelle said, "Sometimes, if I was too sick to see it that day, I'd have a nurse in the hospital record it for me so I could watch it when I woke up."

"Hospital?" Keagan asked.

"I was in the hospital a lot as a kid," Michelle said, "I have serious bronchitis and lung problems. I have an oxygen tank at home that I use fairly regularly, and I can't do much without getting too winded, or it could make me faint."

"Jeez, I'm so sorry."

"It's just part of my life, you know how it is, you get used to things," Michelle replied, looking out the window they were sitting by and smiling as she added, "But having the show made everything seem alright. Made everything seem like....like I would be okay, because I always had someone there for me even if my parents weren't. Beatrice was always there, always ready to teach me something new."

"People become extremely attached to media in ways that don't make sense," Keagan said, "at least not to others, and I think it's beautiful that we manage to connect to fictional things so deeply. In fact, I seem to be able to connect to fictional characters far better than real people these days, it feels like."

"You think it says something about the human brain?" Michelle asked.

"I think it says that we're so very desperate to be understood that we cling to even the smallest examples of fake people understanding us, that we can relate to. So many people aren't understood by the people they so deeply wish they were understood by, that when we find a fictional character who seems to 'get us', we feel lucky. We feel as if they were made just for us, you know?"

"I know."

The girls stopped and Michelle pulled her bowl back to her, continuing to eat her salad as Keagan sipped on her coffee. They'd agreed to meet here at this little bistro downtown, to finally maybe formulate a plan on how to find Beatrice using the knowledge that they had accrued, but most of the conversation thus far had been primarily about their own connections to the show, to Bea, and to media in general. Keagan told Michelle all about her love for lost media, and her quest to unearth as much of it as she could, and Michelle told Keagan all about her adoration for Beatrice and why she was so very determined to track her down.

"So," Keagan asked, "How do you propose we go about this?"

                                                                                                   ***

"Thank you for shopping with us, have a nice day," the young checkout woman said as she dropped the change into the older womans hands. The older woman, dressed in a very long raincoat and a scarf, her blonde hair tucked neatly into a dark blue beanie, took her change and grabbed her bags before heading out to the parking lot. She put her things into the trunk of her car, got in and started the engine, then began backing out when she noticed she'd almost hit a woman - completely oblivious to her surroundings due to walking while looking at her cell phone - and her young child. The woman immediately began approaching her window, shouting.

"Don't you ever look where you're driving?!" she yelled, rapping her knuckles on the window of the car, "You could've easily killed us! You should be more aware of your surroundings when you're in a vehicle!"

She couldn't take it. She started slamming her fists into her steering wheel and screaming, looking the woman right in her face through the window.

"Leave me the fuck alone!" she shouted, loud enough for passerbys to hear. This seemed to work well enough, as the woman and her child quickly turned heel and rushed away. She collected herself, backed out of the parking lot, and headed towards her next errand.

                                                                                                 ***

"Liam told me he'd met her at a show she did downtown. Perhaps she still frequents local theatre," Keagan said, "We could just go down there and see."

"How would we know? She wore a costume," Michelle said, "We never saw what her face looked like. Unless he's got a photo he's willing to lend you, I don't think that's going to do the trick."

"Oh...yeah, you're right. Dammit," Keagan stirred her coffee again and thought, chewing on her lip, "How about...well, no, I don't want to bother him anymore than we already have."

"Sounded like the poor guy's been through the ringer lately, so that's probably the right choice," Michelle replied, before adding, "...damn, how do you find someone who doesn't want to be found?"

"Wait, you have those episodes recorded right? In the end credits of shows, they always say where they're filmed at, what sound stage, what studio. Maybe we freeze frame it, figure out where they shot it and then go there for more information?"

"That's...not a bad idea, actually," Michelle said, "We could go back to my place and I could load it up so we can screenshot it."

A plan now coming together, the girls seemed happy, and it felt like things were starting to look up.

                                                                                                   ***

"I'm sorry, we don't know where it is," the drycleaner said, "It's...it's somewhere in here, but we can't find it at the moment. I know this is probably extremely upsetting, but please just be patient and I'll call you immediately when we find it."

"How do you lose clothes?! Your entire business is based around clothing!" the woman shouted, clearly agitated as she rubbed her hands against her face, "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. It's a mistake, I know you didn't mean it."

"We really don't, you've been coming here for years, you know we rarely have mistakes like this," the drycleaner said, "Tell you what, next cleaning is on the house, okay? Does that sweeten the deal?"

"It does ease the pain a little, yes," she replied, smiling for the first time that day, "Alright Gino, just...please find it. It was very important to me."

She stumbled back through the door, hearing the little bell ring overhead, and stopped on the sidewalk as a couple walked by with a large dog on a leash. The dog stopped and tried to smell her hands, then licked them gently. She smiled at this, then looked up at the couple.

"He seems very sweet," she said, "What's his name?"

"Corky," the woman holding the leash said, "He's usually scared of strangers, I'm surprised to see him act like this."

"Dogs have always liked me," the woman said, "I used to have a dog myself, so he probably can sense that. They can sense a lot of things people can't. That's why when you see footage of haunted houses with pets in them, they can always see the ghosts, they stare at the walls, because they can see things we can't. They're brilliant, loving animals."

She knelt down and stroked Corky's face, scruffing his ears a bit and smiling at him.

"You're a good boy, Corky," she said, "Thank you for the kisses."

After the couple led Corky away, she got back into her car and, fighting back tears, started up again to head on home. Her day was done, and it was time to relax, destress and have something to eat.

                                                                                                 ***

"Leslie Swann Studios," Keagan read, squinting her eyes as she leaned as close to the television as she could, "Jesus it's in such small print and it's such an old recording, it was kind of hard to make out but that's what it says. Goddamn my eyes hurt now."

"Leslie Swann Studios?" Michelle asked, quickly typing away into her browser and hitting 'search'; she scrolled a bit before finding something, "here we go, Leslie Swann Studios, downtown, here's the address right here. Public Access Television, she's the current owner and president, we could easily make an appointment to speak to her."

"Really? That's an option?"

"Well it says studio tour, but I'm sure if I asked to speak to her specifically I could finagle that," Michelle said, opening her e-mail and copy/pasting Leslie's address into the to field, before looking up at Keagan and asking, "...do we really wanna do this? What if all she wants is to be left alone?"

"That coming from you?"

"I know, it's weird, but...I want to meet her more than anyone else, but what if we're violating her space? Didn't Liam say she was, like, heartbroken over losing control of her lifes work and how it'd been treated? What if she just doesn't want to see anyone ever?"

"Well, she should've thought of that before she became a public icon," Keagan said, "Once you're in that line of work you basically forfeit all rights to privacy."

Keagan sat on the couch beside Michelle, and together they cobbled together a little e-mail to Leslie Swann. After they hit send, they got some Chinese food delivered and spent the evening just watching television and eating, waiting for a response. Finally, right as Keagan was getting her jacket on the head to work, a response blipped into Michelle's inbox.

"She says to come down tomorrow," Michelle said, "3pm."

"Well then let's get this party started," Keagan said, grinning.

The hunt was on.

                                                                                               ***

The door to her apartment opened, and the woman entered, dropping her grocery bags on her counter before heading into the living room to take off her coat and scarf. She hung them up neatly on the rack against the wall and then headed back to the kitchen to put her groceries away when she heard something fall. She turned to see a framed photo on the ground. She sighed and walked over, picking it up, reminding herself internally to get a new frame. This had been happening for months because the standee on the back had been broken for ages, and it wobbled, constantly falling off the table.

She held the photo in her hands and she smiled. There she was, younger and vibrant, her dog sitting right there by her side, the two of them licking a Vanilla ice cream cone. Her absolute favorite photo of her now deceased dog. She sat on the couch and continued looking at the photo, and ran her fingertips down the glass in the frame. The dog had been gone for a number of years by this point, she was used to the loneliness, but she still missed her incredibly so. But despite being deceased, the dog had lived on. After all, she'd modeled the costume after her.

The phone rang and voicemail picked it up. Liam spoke.

"Bea, it's Liam. Um, thank you for your message, it's....been hard lately, for me, and now that he's gone, I...I guess I just wanted to hear a familiar voice. Anyway, you don't have to call me if you don't want to, but I'd sure like to hear from you. I miss you. Everyone does. Bye."

Beatrice looked back at the photo and shook her head, pulling the frame to her chest and starting to cry. She'd never really dealt with loss well, and her grief had, over time, eaten up the majority of what was left inside of her emotionally. She just couldn't handle it anymore. Where had all the years gone? Where had her creativity died? Where had her drive diminished to? She no longer wanted to do anything, but doing nothing was also just as equally bad. She felt stuck. Bea stood up and placed the photo on the table again, then went back to the kitchen to start cooking dinner.

That night she had a nice dream, though. She dreamt she and her dog were together again, playing in a field, the field near her house where she'd grown up, and she was a little girl once more. God how she longed to feel her fingers running through that dogs fur, feel the warmth of its body pressed against hers as they slept in front of the fireplace during the winter, hear its bark when she came home from school every day. God how she missed that dog.

God how she missed Beatrice Beagle.