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Rachel sat on the stage of her schools auditorium, doing her paint work on the cardboard props scattered around her. She'd been coming here after school so she could work by herself, as opposed to coming here during the schoolday and being around her peers. She liked the solitude, but moreso she liked not being judged. Footsteps echoed in the room, and Rachel glanced up to see a boy entering and then looking back out through the small window on the doors, as if he were hiding from someone. Rachel perked up, and dunked her brush back into her water can.


"You know, for someone trying not to be noticed, you're acting pretty conspicuous," she said, making him jump in surprise and turn to face her, hand on his chest as she chuckled.


"Holy hell you scared the crap out of me," the boy said. He started to cautiously approach the stage, as Rachel smirked and continued to paint. He stopped at its edge, looking up, hands on his hips and asked, "what are you doing in here?"


"Painting. For a school play, but still," Rachel said, "what are you doing in here?"


"I, uh...I'm hiding," the boy said, hopping up onto the stage and sitting on it, his legs dangling off the edge.


"Hiding from what?" Rachel asked.


"...I have to break up with my girlfriend, and I don't want to," the boy said, exhaling, "I'm just kind of...avoiding her right now."


"I once again reiterate my previous statement of for someone trying not to be noticed, you're acting pretty conspicuous," Rachel said, the both of them laughing; she put her paintbrush down and held her hand out, "I'm Rachel."


He took it and shook, smiling as he said, "Wyatt. I think we've met, maybe."


"Probably. Being in the same school together you're often social with people even if you aren't friends with them" Rachel said, "It's a weird adolescent ecosystem, in a way. So why do you have to break up with her? You say have to like it's not your choice."


"It isn't," he replied, "it's my fathers choice. It isn't fair. To either of us, honestly. I love her, she's amazing, and I don't want ton break up, but he will make life impossible if I don't do it, and she...she doesn't deserve to have to deal with my family, or change for them, and I don't think she'd have the resolve to put up with it either way. It sucks. Everything always sucks."


"There's that can don't teenage attitude!" Rachel said, the both of them chuckling; she tossed her hair from her eyes and added, "well, for what it's worth, we both can't be with the girls we love, so don't feel too bad."


Wyatt nodded in response, exhaling. He'd do it tonight. He'd invite her over and they'd have a discussion in the backyard. That would maybe be a bit better, but, still...he just wanted to be with Amelia. If only he could see that, in the near future, not only would he be happy with a girl who wasn't her, but she would be happy too, with the very girl he was currently talking with. It's funny how life turns out like that sometimes.


***


"Nice place," Rachel said, looking out the window.


She and Ricky have driven to the neighborhood Grudin had lived in and were currently parked across the street from his house, watching it casually from the car. Ricky was preparing his notes, his tools, and gathering his nerves. Rachel looked from his window, taking her eyes off the home, and instead now looked at him.


"Dude, you're sweating," Rachel said, sounding concerned.


"I'm allowed to sweat, it's a free country," Ricky said. Rachel put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. He finally fixed his sight on her and sighed, adding, "I'm nervous as all get out. Haven't seen this woman since before getting trapped in that shed."


"You didn't even tell her you quit?"


"I resigned over the phone, said nothing was found, that she should seek therapy if she felt this paranoid," Ricky said, "which...now...saying it back to myself...that's pretty fucked up to say to a grieving woman who was actually right about her husbands murder."


"I'm sure she'll understand, especially once we lay it all bare," Rachel said.


She opened her car door and stepped out of the car, Ricky doing the same on his side, and together - all his evidence tucked under his arm - they headed across the street towards the house. Ricky was so nervous he felt like he was about to pass out, everything was spinning a bit and he was dizzy, his breathing labored. Rachel took his free hand and squeezed, smiling at him.


"You got this, partner," she said, and he laughed weakly, nodding. He really did appreciate having her along for the ride. They reached the home, walked up the porch steps and stopped at the front door, Ricky reaching out and knocking politely. Rachel glanced around at the front yard and saw evidence of the child, the little girl who lived here, Grudin's disabled daughter. How much it must hurt, she thought, to actually have a father who wanted you, loved you, and to have him ripped from you the way he had been. The door opened and a woman was standing there, well-dressed and soft-spoken.


"Hello, Miss Grudin," Ricky said, "I'm sorry to bother you on such sudden notice, but I have some things to show you, if you don't mind."


She nodded and stepped aside, allowing them entrance. Ricky and Rachel entered and Rachel was...surprised, to say the least. For the wife, and home, of a supposedly popular politician, the place was so very ordinary and reserved. She didn't expect overwhelming opulence by any means, but still. This just looked like a normal upper middle class suburban home, the kind of which she might have spent time at during high school, like it belonged to a friends parents. The woman walked past them after closing the door and locking it - 3 separate locks, Rachel noticed, which made her and Ricky look at one another - and then they followed her to the living room.


"You can sit anywhere," she said, her voice meek and reserved, following that up with the statement, "excuse the mess" which confused Rachel because the place was immaculate, but perhaps the statement was more in reference to herself, and not the house. Rachel and Ricky sat on a dark blue polka-dotted couch across from her. She didn't look at them. Instead, her eyes were fixed solely on the photographs that hugged the fireplace mantel, photos of her family, her husband and daughter. She smiled weakly. She finally said, still without making eye contact, "...I didn't think I'd hear from you again."


"To be fair, I didn't really expect to speak to you again," Ricky said, "but...things have changed. Ma'am, we're here to tell you about your husbands death. You were right in your suspicions. But...maybe not in the way you expected, and I say this with the upmost respect to his memory, but his death actually has blown open an entirely new case as a result. Your husband was-"


"It was Klepper wasn't it," she said, taking them both by surprise. Rachel's breath caught in her chest. The woman nodded slowly, sniffling, as she said, "I always knew if anything happened, it would be that man, and it would be justified. What happened was terrible, what he did...I couldn't believe it."


"What your husband did?" Ricky asked, and she shook her head.


"No," she said, "the officer."


Rachel and Ricky exchanged a nervous look.


"Chief Augustine?" Ricky asked, nervous, and she nodded.


"Yes," she said, "he's the only reason it was handled the way that it was. Rob never would've agreed to behavior like that. Frankly, I never really forgave him for caving the way that he did."


"You said it'd be justified," Rachel said, "why do you say that?"


"He lost his wife. His daughter. I look at my little girls face every single day and think how easily it could be her in that situation, if things were just somewhat different. And then we expect a man who endured that level of loss, at the hands of an avoidable mistake no less, to not want vengeance? He had every right to want vengeance. I pitied him so deeply. Where is he now?"


Ricky exhaled and loosened his tie.


"Calvin Klepper is dead. He...killed himself," Ricky said, and Rachel was surprised at Ricky hiding the truth, but...it was probably for the best. A long silence filled the room, and Leslie looked at them both, rolling her eyes.


"If you're expecting an expression of joy at the death of someone who already lost everything, then you're wasting your time. If anything, after Rob died, I only felt more akin to Klepper. I thought about seeking him out firsthand, speaking with him, but...I couldn't go down that path myself, hence why I hired you to begin with, was to maybe see if you could find who did it, if it was actually him."


"What would you have done if I'd come back with that evidence?" Ricky asked.


"...I wouldn't have gone to the police," she replied, "not with Augustine still in charge. Clearly the department is corrupt. Who knows what else he's involved in."


"Well, that's the thing, actually," Ricky said, plopping the folder down in his lap, "I know exactly what he's involved in, and you're right to be skeptical. The man who was said to be blamed for your husbands death initially, Oliver Brighton, killed himself and his entire family. The morning his body was found, a man in another city, a former teacher here named Leonard Wattson, received a phone call about Brightons death, a call that was placed by John Augustine. Augstine was instructing Wattson to come back and clean up Brightons life, because the three of them had been producing illicit material involving children together as part of a larger network. Brighton, in fact, had been using his own daughters for content, even participating in it with them himself."


"Your husband died," Rachel said, now chiming in, "but his death actually allowed the dominoes to fall to uncover all of this. Now we're involved with an FBI agent to try and bring Augustine down very soon."


"Well," Leslie said, "I suppose one has to be happy about that at least. His death will save countless kids from similar fates then."


The phone rang, and Leslie excused herself. She went to the kitchen to answer the landline, leaving Rachel and Ricky alone.


"You're doing great, man," Rachel said, whispering, patting him on the back.


"This is insane, this whole case is just...insane," Ricky said, "like, when actually said out loud, it just-"


The front door opened and a woman entered with a little girl wearing a backpack. The two stopped upon noticing Rachel and Ricky sitting on the couch and the woman laughed nervously.


"Hello," she said brightly, "I...I didn't realize Leslie would have guests. I was just bringing her daughter home."


With that, she walked the little girl to the hall and down to her room. Rachel felt such a pain in her chest, as Ricky slowly looked around the room, then looked back at Rachel, who met his gaze with a confused expression on her face.


"What?" she asked, "what is it?"


"...isn't it weird that Leslie said John is the reason things went down the way that they did? Which insinuates Robert didn't want to not take responsibility. But why? For what reason? For what reason would having Grudin in office benefit Augustine? It only just now occurred to me...what if...what if Augustine wanted Grudin in office so he could get close to the family, gain their trust? After all, you help a guy not get arrested for vehicular manslaughter, get him elected into office, they'd bound to trust you. Trust you around their family."


Ricky looked back towards the hallway, his voice low, cracking.


"Trust you with their daughter."


Rachel audibly gasped as the reality of what Ricky was suggesting started to sink in.


"You mean..."


"Yeah. I think he wanted to use Grudin's daughter in his work," Ricky said, "which is even sicker considering her mental disabilities making her ten times more vulnerable than your average child."


"Jesus."


"Rachel," Ricky said, "this man needs to go down for what he's done and what he planned to do. I can't...I can't let him get away with this. What he did...what he could still do...to children if he isn't stopped. Whatever happens, no matter what, we need to make sure he pays."


"I'm with you to the end," Rachel said, "We'll get him, no matter what."


Leslie returned and looked at Rachel and Ricky.


"If you don't mind, my daughter is home now, and I'd like to spend some time with her. But I'd really like to thank you both for your hard work, and for coming back to me for this. Maybe we could meet again," Leslie said, "I'm not my husband, but I do hold a significant amount of power even in his absence, since I knew a lot of the people he knew. Perhaps I could be of some further assistance."


"I'm going to leave you with a copy of this file," Ricky said, standing up and pushing it into her hands, "it explains everything in much deeper detail than I could. I hope you'll understand we only want the right people to pay for the crimes committed here, in the end."


Leslie nodded. Rachel and Ricky thanked Leslie for her hospitality, and after all the pleasant goodbyes were had, they found themselves outside once again. They began to walk down the pathway back to the curb, but Ricky stopped and looked at the plastic home sitting on the lawn, the one big enough for a child to be inside and pretend to be their own. Rachel came back and tugged at his sleeved arm.


"Come on, I'm hungry," she said, "all this crime fighting really builds up an appetite."


He didn't budge.


"Ricky?"


"We wanted a baby so bad," Ricky said, his voice quiet and low, weak, "we wanted a baby so badly. Kept trying, but miscarriage after miscarriage just made us more and more disillusioned, so I started doing my own research into what we could do, or what the cause might be. I started...doing my own detective work, to figure out how to right these wrongs. We finally found a doctor who listened to me, to us, to what we'd learned, and with his help, we managed to concieve."


"...ricky," Rachel whispered, hugging his arm.


"And then, 5 months in, another miscarriage. But this one...she was so far along, it..."


Rachel knew what the next sentence was, she didn't want him to have to say it, but he did anyway.


"...it took her with it," Ricky said, tears rolling down his face, Rachel fighting back tears of her own as he added, "it was my fault. It wouldn't have happened if I hadn't kept wanting to try, if we'd just given up like she wanted to after so many failures. I killed my wife, and my unborn child. So yeah, maybe this case hits a little too close to home. But I have to do it. I have to see it through to completion. We have to make sure John Augustine pays for his crimes, no matter what."


"We will, together, I promise," Rachel said, "we'll get him hook line and sinker."


With that they turned and walked to the car, deciding to go get lunch. They both needed a meal, and then...then they'd plan their next move.


***


"I think the best thing you can do," Rachel said, now sitting beside Wyatt on the edge of the stage, "is just be honest with her. Not in that cruel way either, where they disguise their cruelty as honesty then get mad at you for 'keeping it real' or whatever, but, like, ya know...actual honest. Just tell her exactly what's going on. She deserves that."


"I just wish we could all be with the people we want to be with," Wyatt said and Rachel nodded in agreement, kicking her legs.


"Yeah, me too," she said, her thoughts turning to Sun Rai.


"If honesty is the best policy, then that's what I'll do," Wyatt said, "she deserves nothing less. I hate this though, this isn't fair. Sometimes I really wanna kill my dad."


"Hey, who knows, sometimes dreams come true," Rachel said, hitting him in the arm, the both of them laughing.

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Bodies lay strewn across the courtyard, the compound frozen and lifeless.


Wyatt Bloom was laying up against a car, breathing hard, unable to focus his eyes. It had all happened so fast, so very fast, and he didn't have time to process any of it. He was waiting to hear something, anything, and he glanced towards her body. Motionless. A streak of blood shot out from her head, staining the ground beside her like it was a smattering of paint from a brush. He closed his eyes tight, grimaced, and tried not to cry. He felt a tongue lapping at his hand and he looked to his side to see Clark standing there licking him. Wyatt smiled weakly, and reached up, petting the dog gently. In the back, a few buildings away, he could see them laying on the ground together, both unmoving. Her hand was in his. Once again, blood everywhere. Wyatt slid down the car further and laid on his back, eyes cast up towards the clouds and the sun, a cool wind starting to blow in. Clark laid down beside him, and he rested his hand gently atop his head, and then closed his eyes. A siren in the distance.


And that was all he heard as the darkness enveloped him.


4 WEEKS EARLIER


Amelia pressed her lips against Rachel's forehead, making her blush and giggle. Rachel sighed and kept her eyes shut, letting Amelia's kisses cover her face, her hands exploring her body. It had been...just...so long since she'd felt this wanted by someone. With Sun Rai, everything had felt so...performative, almost as though Sun Rai were not only settling for Rachel because she knew Rachel adored her, but also choosing her as a way to actively defy her parents culture and beliefs. Rachel was a weapon. Not a person. But to Amelia, oh she was so much more. Rachel finally opened her eyes and saw Amelia just hovering over her, looking down. She made Rachel grin, as she lowered her face down again and their lips met. It was heaven. Perfection. And yet, Rachel knew...so tentatively fragile. Because, Rachel knew, at any given moment, the end would be upon them, and once Amelia discovered it all, once she learned of Rachel's hand in her own beloved brothers demise, well, that would be it.


"You are so beautiful," Amelia whispered, bringing Rachel out of her stupor and back to reality.


"What?" Rachel asked.


"You...are so...beautiful," Amelia whispered again, "like, just...wow. An angel, honestly. I never..."


Amelia pulled away and sat crosslegged on the bed now, in front of Rachel, who leaned herself up by her elbows, tossing her hair from her face. Amelia exhaled and shook her head.


"I never thought that I deserved love like this," Amelia said, "but then again, my perception of love has always been a little warped and under realized, because it mostly came from a single relationship as a teenager, so. Either way, I just always fantasized about being deeply in love and having it be reciprocated at the same level, but it still...it just always seemed like it'd always be just that...a fantasy."


"For what it's worth, I always kinda felt the same," Rachel said, "especially being so rejected by my family. I just sort of gave into the belief that, you know, this is what girls like me get...isolation, rejection, endless yearning. Guess we each proved the other one wrong, huh?"


Amelia blushed and nodded. Being with Amelia had fulfilled Rachel in ways that being with Sun Rai never had. With Sun Rai, everything had been so surface level. Sure, Rachel's feelings were genuine, she'd harbored that love for Sun Rai since high school, but Sun Rai's love had always felt less like love and more like cautious experimentation. But for Amelia...this entire experience was based on completely unfounded and shaky ground. She'd only ever really dated Wyatt, and had never once even remotely entertained the possibility of being with a woman, so to fall for Rachel, and to have Rachel feel just as intensely for her as she did, it kind of melted her brain a bit. Rachel finally laid on her back and relaxed, Amelia doing the same, but in the opposite direction, both women staring up at the hotel ceiling.


"You know..." Amelia started, "I don't miss Calvin as much as I thought that I would."


"Really?" Rachel asked, sounding surprised.


"Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I do miss him, he was my brother and I loved him, but...as close as we were growing up, the more distance that was put between us, the less close I felt. Had he still been alive when I came home - say I came home under different circumstances and not because he'd died - I can't really say with any concrete certainty that I would be that close to him. We'd drifted apart. We talked on the phone, online, sent packages, but it never really...we never quite got back to that same closeness you have with your siblings when you grow up with them."


"Wouldn't know, never had siblings. Barely had parents," Rachel said, "...the world is really lonely when you grow up without anyone. It's one thing for a kid to be self-reliant because their parents are supporting the household, or whatever, but it's a whole other thing for a kid to be self-reliant because nobody gave a shit that they were there to begin with. I think having family who opts not to be there is worse than just not having family at all. One is a choice, the other is not."


Amelia sat up, crawled on the bed until she hovered over Rachel, now upside down beneath her, and both grinned. Amelia leaned down and kissed her.


"That's why we make our own families," Amelia whispered, "just call me mommy."


"Oh dear god," Rachel said, cracking up.


Thing is, even with it being said under the guise of semi joke, Amelia wasn't wrong, and Rachel knew this. Having Wyatt in her life, having Ricky as a friend, and now having Amelia as a partner, plus having Kelly back by her side...yeah. She'd forged onwards through the loneliness and come out the other side with those who cared about her, wanted her there, sought her company out because they felt it enriched their own lives to boot. Family was just a word, in the end.


And words, as she knew from her English classes in college, had shifting definitions all the time.


***


"I love him, I want him," Kelly said, standing next to Wyatt in a curio shop downtown, staring at a jackelope sitting mounted atop a small wooden base. Wyatt nodded in solemn agreement.


"He is rather dashing isn't he, and he'll be even moreso once we give him a top hat and a monocle," Wyatt said.


"He isn't a 1920s railroad tycoon, his name is Slothgore, and he shall live in our living room, on the bookshelf, protecting the knowledge," Kelly said.


"Knowledge? All that's there are vintage cookbooks," Wyatt replied, smirking.


"And he'll protect those cookbooks and their awful meat jello combination platters with his life," Kelly said, the both of them chuckling now. Wyatt reached an arm around her waist and pulled her in, kissing her on the side of the head. In the last three weeks, things had cooled off. Wyatt had given Paul the information he'd needed to get a proper investigation started, and Paul had told him he'd simply "be in touch" when he required more assistance. And that, until that moment came to pass, Wyatt should just go about living his life. Which he did, happily.


"You know, if you'd asked me right after I fell out of a plane whether or not I'd be happy again, I'm sure I would've said yes, if only because, you know, I still somehow had the ability to walk and had survived an airline accident. But I definitely wouldn't have considered the reason being influenced by being in love."


Wyatt blushed as she turned to look at him.


"My ex wife, she...she would've wanted to go shopping for stuff that was boring and expensive. I always liked the weirder side of stuff, the obtuse and bizarre."


"Explains why you like me then," Kelly said, giggling.


"And I always found it far more entertaining going out and simply riffing on stuff, window shopping, than actually purchasing things," Wyatt said, "...thanks for giving me that. Thanks for, you know...allowing me to be that version of me again."


Kelly could hear the shift in his tone, and knew he was being serious. She nodded slowly, putting her hands on his face and, leaning on her tiptoes, reached up to kiss him. Kelly had had a point, he knew. Of all the wild things that had come out of having simply attended that reunion, meeting her and falling madly in love had somehow been the wildest. His love for her overshadowed the involvement with a cult, murder, an illicit pornography ring. No. Kelly. She was the wildest part, and that made him feel like he was actually still living in the real world, if something as ordinary as simply loving another person could be the most interesting aspect of a life that had long since stopped being remotely normal by all standards.


"How would you feel about getting take out, and then going home, and maybe trying to find just the right spot on the shelf for Slothgore the 3rd," Wyatt asked, making Kelly chuckle.


"Oh, he's the third now?" she asked.


"Well he comes from a long lineage of keepers of the knowledge, you know how it is," Wyatt replied, shrugging, making her laugh as she buried her face in his chest. They both knew the good times wouldn't last forever, so they should enjoy them now while they could. She had every intention of doing just that.


"That sounds perfect," she whispered as he kissed the top of her head.


***


Ricky opened the door to the hotel, wearing a v-neck, some sleep shorts and a white robe spotted in multicolored dots, his hat still atop his head. Rachel smirked as she looked him up and down.


"Hello, I'm with the Fashion Police, and I have a warrant for your arrest," she said, as he rolled his eyes and stepped aside, letting her enter. She tossed her things onto the nearby second bed and exhaled. Ricky walked back to the table and grabbed another taco from the box, biting into it as he went back to typing with his freehand on the laptop.


"Didn't know you were coming back today, or else I'd have prettied myself up," he said, mouth full of taco.


"Aw, you're always pretty, you're gonna be the prettiest girl at the prom," Rachel said as she seated herself on the end of the bed and tugged her shoes off, tossing them to the floor.


"Finally, Jason Killborn will notice me," Ricky said wistfully, making Rachel cackle.


"Though, I must admit, the robe is...it's a decision," she said, causing Ricky to stop and turn to face her.


"What's wrong with my robe?" he asked through his bite.


"Dude, you look like you skinned a clown," Rachel remarked.


"You know, in some fictional universe, that would make me a goddamn hero," Ricky said, "listen, uh, I need your help. I'm...I'm gonna reapproach Grudin's wife. With the information I have now on who was involved in this thing, I feel like we may need her on our side. I wanna talk to her about everything, tell her everything. But that only works if I go in with a united front."


Rachel nodded, understanding. Ricky was, in a sense, throwing himself on the mercy of the court. She sighed, looked around the room and thought. How would Grudin's wife react to this sort of information? After all, the man who'd gotten her husband killed was still alive, but he'd killed the man whose plan it was originally, so...it was hard to decide where the blame would fall, and where her ultimate loyalties would lie.


"She's got that daughter, the disabled one, and I think, you know, if anyone is going to be sympathetic to a case like the one we've come across, it's gonna be a parent, especially a parent to a child who could so easily become prey to such vile people," Ricky said, "you don't have to help me, Rachel, but you're good at it, and you're my friend, and I've enjoyed doing this together with you. I wanna see this thing through to the end with you by my side and, maybe, ya know, after it's all over, we can work together regularly."


"I'd like that, actually," Rachel said.


"You have an eye for detail, it's why you're a painter," Ricky said, "and that eye for detail is a critical, crucial necessity for detective work. You're good at this."


Nobody had ever really told her she was good at anything, and to hear it come from such an unexpected place, it took her by surprise. But what took her even more by surprise was the fact that she so easily believed him. Rachel had, thanks to the people who had hurt and used her - especially in college - grown to be wary of anyone who complimented her, often following up their question with an internalized question of her own of "what are you trying to get out of me?" but...this wasn't the situation with Ricky. He had nothing to gain from her. He simply liked having her around, and the feeling was mutual, he was fun to investigate with. Rachel smiled.


"So when are we going?" she asked, making him grin excitedly.


***


Wyatt was sitting on the couch back at the apartment as Kelly took a shower. He was comfortable, reading a book - the first time he'd managed to sit down and do that in a while, so he was happy - and had a bowl of chips next to him. It was quiet, and calm. Peaceful. It had started to rain ever so slightly, and the water was pooling a little on Kelly's balcony floor right outside the living room. Sometimes lightning would strike, and he would occasionally glance towards the window and smile. Life, when you had the one you wanted, really was enjoyable to experience, he'd learned. And then the phone rang. Wyatt groaned, slipped his bookmark into his novel and reached over to answer.


"Hello?" he asked, lifting the receiver to his face.


"It's Paul," Paul said, and Wyatt's entire demeanor changed.


"...I was wondering when I'd hear from you," Wyatt said, sitting upright now.


"We need to meet up and talk soon," Paul said, "I've been going over the specifics of some things, gathered from the information you and your informant managed to dig up, and...it isn't good, Wyatt. It's not good at all."


"How so?" Wyatt asked.


"I'd prefer not to discuss this over the phone, frankly," Paul said, which caused Wyatt to raise an eyebrow. He rubbed his stubble and bit his lip, crossing one leg.


"That serious huh?"


"...this...thing, that you guys managed to uncover, this thing with Brighton and everyone involved, it runs so much fucking deeper, man," Paul said, his voice stone cold, "let's meet soon okay? I'll give you a location and a time and date when I decide. Until then just...get your rest. You're gonna need it."


And with that Paul hung up. He worked for the feds, sure, but...Wyatt didn't expect him to be stereotypically stoic and vaguely ominous. He hung up the phone just as Kelly walked into the living room, towel around her, brushing her hair.


"Who was that?" she asked.


"Celia's ex husband," Wyatt said, "wants to talk to me about...about Calvin and stuff."


"Oh...is...everything okay?" Kelly asked, approaching the couch. Wyatt reached out and put his hands on her hips, pressing his face into her.


"Yeah," he said quietly, "Everything's just fine."


***


Wyatt was laying on the ground beside the car, his vision fuzzy, his body aching. Clark licked his hand gently, as if to tell him everything would be okay. But...would it? So many were dead now. People he loved. Cared about. Some were hurt, but others were outright gone. How does one contend with that kind of loss and grief? It all just felt like too much. How does one come back from that? He closed his eyes, the silence of the space surrounding him bringing him a calm that knew no equal. After so much chaos the past 11 months, and so much pain the last few hours, he was finally happy to embrace the quiet.


Shoes walking on dirt. Steps getting ever closer.


"Sir?" a voice asked, and Wyatt opened one eye. A man stood in front of him, tall, a little older than him, in a cop uniform. The sun was blinding over his shoulder. Wyatt raised an arm in front of his face to shield his vision from the light; the man asked again, "Sir, do you need help?"


How much time had passed? How long had he been laying here? Wyatt looked to his right. Clark was gone, nowhere to be seen, presumably carted off by the cops. He looked around. A shroud lay over her body. His too. And she was nowhere to be found as well, likely taken to the hospital for help. Wyatt groaned and tried to sit up, but the officer knelt down and gently pushed him back.


"Whoa there buddy, take it easy," he said, "you're hit but you're alright, we've got ambulances on the way. You wanna tell me what happened here?"


"I'll tell you," Wyatt said weakly, straining to speak.


"Let's start with your name," the officer said.


"Wyatt. Wyatt Bloom," he said.


"Wyatt, nice to meet you. You know you're a goddamn hero, right?" the officer asked, holding out his hand to shake, "Wyatt, I'm Officer Augustine. John Augustine, head chief of the local law enforcement."


As Wyatt's hand clasped with his, their eyes met, Wyatt suddenly realized who this man was. This...was the enemy. This was the man behind it all. All the pain, all the horror that had befallen the children involved in Brighton and Wattson's crimes and god knows who else. This was the man with the brain to put it all into motion. Wyatt narrowed his eyes and struggled to smile.


"Nice to meet you too," he said, nearly whispering. And it was nice. It was nice to finally put a face to the name.


But it would be even nicer when he killed him.

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Wyatt was standing on the bridge, staring at Paul. Celia was standing a bit behind Wyatt, back by the car, Paul's car a ways behind him. It was dark, the only light the bulbs along the bridge, and it was windy. They could hear the water of the river below them, flowing at a somewhat rapid pace. Wyatt and Paul hadn't stopped looking at one another since Wyatt had said what he'd said, and Paul just wasn't sure how to respond, how to progress. Finally he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair.

"This is...ludicrous," Paul said, and Wyatt scoffed, laughing.

"Yeah, yeah it is, but it's the truth," Wyatt said, "So what do you say?"

"...and why should I believe any of it?" Paul asked.

Wyatt knew what the answer to this was, but he also knew if the words left his mouth, that was it. There was no going back. He looked back towards Celia, who was crying and chewing on her nails, and he exhaled before looking back at Paul.

"Because..." he started.

                                                                                                 ***

Earlier that afternoon, Wyatt was in a bedroom, making Kelly make sounds she didn't know she could make. After making her eyes roll back, the two made lunch and sat in the living room of her apartment, or more like their apartment now, and ate as she put on a radio station to softly play. The two sat there, eating their respective sandwiches, just listening to music for a bit, until Kelly finally put what was left of hers back down on the plate in her lap and sighed longingly.

"Jesus," she said, "I didn't know what I was missing until we started sleeping together."

Wyatt cackled, throwing his head back, trying not to choke on the food in his mouth. After he recomposed himself, he nodded.

"Please, keep going, boost my ego," he said, making her smirk.

"What, my multiple orgasms wasn't enough of an ego boost?" she asked.

Wyatt continued laughing as he kept eating, and Kelly finished her sandwich. This, to them both, was heaven. Each had been through the mill in the last almost year, and to have this security now, this safety, with eachother...it made all of that, Calvin's death and the plane crash and everything else, seem so far away. With a bit of distance, it almost seemed like life was normal. But...as Angie had told him, there was no normal for Wyatt Bloom anymore, and he was about to find that out, because tonight was going to change everything once again...one last time.

Wyatt spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the apartment, doing dishes with Kelly, then getting dressed and figuring he should stop by the office. It'd been a while since he'd been spotted at work, and he thought that this might be a good time to make an appearance. Walking into the building and heading to his office, he was surprised when he opened the door and found Rachel sitting there. Wyatt smiled, having not seen her for a bit, as he entered and shut the door behind him, walking around behind his desk and taking a seat.

"Where have you been?" he asked.

"Fucking your ex girlfriend," Rachel said, not even trying to sugarcoat it, causing Wyatt to stare at her.

"...come again?" he asked.

"Uh..." Rachel said, "after meeting Amelia, um...ya know, I started to help her kind of wind down her brothers estate and stuff. But we wound up really getting along, and...and I don't know, Wyatt, but something happened. It was...so fast, and yet seemed to take forever somehow. I'm only telling you this because you're my friend and I thought you had a right to know."

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm fucking your best friend, so, I guess we're even," Wyatt said, grinning, causing Rachel to stare wide eyed at him.

"...what?" she asked, laughing anxiously, completely blindsided, "wait wait wait, you and Kelly-"

"Yeah," Wyatt laughed, "yeah, me and Kelly. It was a long time coming, to be honest, and it's...it's perfect. She's perfect. So I guess, if anything good came out of this entire ordeal, it's that we each found someone that the other knew first. Rachel...I know it's been almost a year now, and I know we haven't really ever spoken about that night, but...I didn't really wanna go to the reunion. Scarlett dragged me to it, and I did it to make her happy. All my life I've done things to make others happy. That's why being with Kelly is so amazing, cause I wanted to do it. I did it for me, for once. But I'm glad I went, because it meant actually knowing you."

Rachel stared at him, her eyes watering.

"...you're my best friend," Wyatt said, and Rachel put a hand to her mouth, starting to cry, as he smiled and continued, "and things are gonna get really sketchy really soon, I'm sure, but I just wanted you to know, after all we've been through, all that's happened, I wouldn't take any of it back. Not because of meeting Kelly, not because of finally being free of my father, no, because it'd mean not knowing you, and my life just doesn't work if you're not included in it. You're my best friend, Rachel, and you were the only truly good thing that came out of that evening, even if we didn't really meet there. After all this is said and done...I'm glad you were a part of it. I'm sorry you got dragged in, but I'm glad you were here, cause I don't think I could've done it without you."

Rachel kept crying, so Wyatt stood up and walked back around to her side of the desk. He opened his arms and she hugged him tightly. Wyatt smiled and stroked her hair and just let her cry. He knew the end was coming. He knew he was going to have to turn himself over for Celia's sake at some point. He knew that, eventually...this would all come to a close, and probably sooner rather than later. But he wouldn't let Rachel be blamed for any of it. She'd just been there. And right now he was here, for her.

                                                                                                ***

Angie was sitting on the hood of her car by the river where Calvin had died. The same river he and Wyatt had shredded and burned that material from Oliver's storage unit. She was sipping a large coffee while Clark sat on the ground in front of her staring up at her, with her occasionally tossing him treats from a little bag she picked up at a grocery store. Angie took another long sip as she stared at Clark, who was still finishing up chewing the last treat, then woofed quietly at her.

"I'm sorry," Clark said, "I'm sorry for unearthing what I unearthed for you, complicating things further."

"Well for what it's worth I'm sorry I killed you...well, not you, but Calvin," Angie said, "it's all so confusing."

"It's okay, I understand what you meant," Clark said, "and in response to that I say for what it's worth...I think you made the right choice. Without Calvin gone, none of this would be happening. You set us down a path that's quickly barreling towards a climax, a much needed shove to the finish line, and only you could've done that Angie."

Angie looked around at the field, the lake, hearing the cars on the road in the distance. She finished her coffee and set the cup down on the hood beside her and exhaled, reaching up and running her hands through her hair, the sound of her leather jacket shifting beneath her armpits.

"I know what I have to do," Angie said, "but I don't want to do it."

"I know," Clark said.

"Calvin wasn't a bad person, but these people are," Angie said, and Clark barked, almost as if in agreement. Angie pulled her legs back up onto the hood and wrapped her arms around her legs, tugging them to her chest, adding, "...all I've ever done is follow liars. Brighton, Art...but not Wyatt. Wyatt has only ever been upfront and honest about what's going on, what he needs. But I'm tired of following people blindly. I need to make a choice for myself for once."

Angie reached into the bag, gripped another treat and tossed it into the air, causing Clark to jump up and grab it. She applauded his efforts as he quickly scarfed it down before sliding off the hood of the car and straightening her shirt, then putting her hands on her hips.

"Well," she said, "let's go buy some supplies."

                                                                                                 ***

Rachel was standing at the vending machine, smacking it with her palm. She'd left Wyatt's and headed back to the hotel Amelia had gotten for them that night, and was now angrily trying to get the machine to cough up her chips. Amelia walked up and wrapped her arms around Rachel's waist, pushing her face into her neck, causing Rachel to laugh as she was tickled her lips on her skin.

"You know, I can just buy you a regularly sized bag of chips," Amelia said.

"It's the principle of the thing! I refuse to be beaten by a coin op!" Rachel said loudly, causing Amelia to laugh. Rachel felt her phone buzzed in her pocket but she ignored it. Amelia dug into her jacket pocket for change and retrieved some, then pushed Rachel gently aside.

"Look, if we just buy a second pack, it'll give you the initial one and the second," Amelia said.

"Yeah but that's just giving them more money!" Rachel said, "they don't deserve more money!"

But Amelia was right, and soon two bags of chips plopped down into the bucket. Rachel bent down to retrieve them, and then, once both were in her hands, she turned only to find Amelia pushing her up against the machine, pinning her there, causing Rachel to laugh. Rachel leaned in and kissed Amelia, putting her arms over her shoulders, resting her forehead on hers. Amelia reached down and picked Rachel up, and carried her back to the room, causing Rachel to laugh the entire way. Afterwards, laying on the bed half dressed with the TV on, Rachel finally started to feel the guilt set in. She should call Ricky. He was probably wondering where she'd absconded to.

"I was thinking," Amelia said as she opened a can of root beer and leaned against the dressed by the television, "maybe you'd like to come with me back to my apartment, help me pack up some things so I can fully move back to town. I feel like, with Calvin gone, I kind of need to be here for my parents."

"Understandable," Rachel said, nodding.

"But I also feel like I have to be here for you," Amelia said, smiling, "cause I really want to see where this goes, I don't want this to be a fling. I like you so much. I'm kinda crazy in love with you. You gave me so much support and comfort doing this time, helping me with his estate, just keeping my mind off things...it meant the world to me."

"Amelia, that's extremely romantic," Rachel said, mouth full of chips, "but I am not worth uprooting your life."

"What life," Amelia said, laughing, "honestly, I only moved away to be away from here, but now there's things worth being here for. I can tell you're scared to let yourself be loved, but...being with Wyatt in high school, I don't know, it kinda taught me that love is the most powerful thing there is. It's such a driving force behind so many decisions we make throughout the entire span of our lives, so just...shut up and let me love you, stupid."

Rachel couldn't help but, she cackled, as Amelia climbed onto the bed and laid beside her, kissing her on the cheek before resting her head on her shoulder and closing her eyes. In a few weeks, Rachel would look back on the last 48 hours and recall all of this with such fondness, because in just a few hours...

...everything was going to change.

                                                                                                  ***

"Do you think, and this is not a real question and more just a bit, that it's a double standard that we don't follow the sex lives of animal movie stars?" Wyatt asked as stood in the kitchen of the apartment, making some bacon for himself and Kelly as she sat opposite him at the counter.

"Pardon but what the fuck?" she asked, laughing, "why are you even...where does that even come from?"

"Well, we're all obsessed with movie stars and what they do in the bedroom, who they're hooking up with, whatever, but nobody ever seems to do a sleazy tabloid write up on Mr. Ed's sex life. Nobody's ever written a story about Lassie being a total whore. It'd just be nice to have that equality."

"Dude, you're lucky I love you cause you're fuckin' weird," Kelly said, laughing hard, making Wyatt smile wide. He plated the bacon and placed it the counter between them, the two of them eating a few pieces in silence, just looking at one another. Kelly's phone buzzed and she sighed, pulled it out then looked at the screen, adding, "ugh, I have to go back into work for the new contracts."

She stood up, took a few more pieces, then headed to the bedroom to put on more work appropriate attire. Wyatt did some light tidying up in the kitchen when a knock came at the door. He walked to it and opened it, finding Celia there, looking like a fright.

"Whoa," he said, as she pushed her way inside, "are you okay?"

"He took him," Celia said, "he took my son. Our son? I don't know. I came home last night and he took him."

"Celia, you know what-"

"I can't," Celia mumbled, "I can't give him the folder."

"Celia, I refuse to let another family fall apart because of my actions," Wyatt said, "please. Let me go with you, I'll give it to him myself."

Kelly re-entered the room, tugging her blazer on over her blouse, and then smiling as she saw company.

"Hello," she said, "how're you doing?"

"I'm okay," Celia said quietly.

"Uh, you're running into work, we have something to take care of, Celia needs me help delivering something," Wyatt said, taking Kelly gently by the arm and pulling her towards the sunken living room, lowering his voice, "we might not be back until late."

"Wyatt...is everything okay?" Kelly asked.

"It will be. Everything will finally be okay," Wyatt said, smiling, leaning in and kissing her before touching her face, then turning and exiting with Celia. Kelly knew he meant it, but she didn't know if that was a promise he could actually keep.

                                                                                               ***

The door to the shed cracked open and Angie entered cautiously. She'd waited for Calvin's parents to leave, then she'd snuck into the backyard and, with knowledge she'd accrued from quick online tutorials, she broke into the shed with a makeshift lockpick. Clark was waiting in the car. Angie exhaled and looked around at the interior, realizing now just how long ago it'd been since she was inside here. Seemed like an entirely other lifetime. Angie looked through drawers, found journals, notebooks, blueprints, lots of documents printed from the internet or scanned from books and gathered them all up, then took them to the car before returning for his tools. Once everything was securely in the car, Angie started it up and pulled away from the curb, the house, and headed down the street to somewhere secluded.

"You sure you know what you're doing?" Clark asked.

"Calvin built two bombs. How hard can it be?" Angie asked.

                                                                                                ***

"I don't want to let you do this," Celia said.

"Yeah, well, you don't have a choice. This is the only card we have to play at this point," Wyatt said, "and it's basically a get out of jail free card for everyone else. Angie and I did most of the grunt work. She won't be happy about it, but she'll go down with me if I tell her to. You'll get your son back, Rachel won't even be remotely touched, everyone else will walk away relatively unscathed. This is the way it has to be Celia."

"There he is," Celia said, pointing ahead of them, "That's his car."

A car was coming at them from the opposite end of a bridge, one not often traveled on. Celia had texted Paul to come meet her here, and here he had come. Wyatt brought the car to a crawl and stopped, Paul seemingly doing the same. Wyatt turned and looked at Celia, who looked back at him and he smiled. Celia stared at his eyes, which were visibly wet, as if he were trying not to cry.

"Ya know..." Wyatt said, glancing out the windshield as Paul walked in front of his own car and watched from afar, hands in his coat pockets, "you and I, that's where this all started. Only makes sense it'd be you and I bringing it to a close. You and I, Celia. We looked into Morgana, which led us to Brightons workplace, which led Brighton to killing himself and his family, and everything after, tying it all to Grudin, the Evergreens, Angie. It all started with us. Meeting you at the reunion...it changed my life. Whether that's for the better or not remains to be seen."

Celia chuckled at his attempt to be funny.

"But either way," he continued, "I wouldn't take a moment of it back. I got to know you guys, and that was worth everything that's happened. Stay in the car."

With that, Wyatt exited. As he walked around the front of the car, holding the folder in his hands, Celia couldn't do as he said, and climbed out but stayed back. Wyatt and Paul met somewhat in the middle of the bridge, Paul nodding towards the file.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Answers," Wyatt said.

"To?"

"Questions you have," Wyatt said, "and I know because they're the same questions I had."

"Mr. Bloom, I have to admit, this is...bold, even for you," Paul said, smirking.

"Ah, you know about my exploits?" Wyatt asked.

"I've done some light reading on the subject, I've compiled a file on you," Paul said.

"Then that means you've compiled a file on everyone involved," Wyatt said, "which probably includes Calvin Klepper."

"You an investigator?" Paul asked, eyeing him.

"Nah, just friends with one," Wyatt said, "you want to know what's in this folder? It's the truth as to why Calvin did what he did. Paul, I am about to make your entire career. You think you're gonna solve who blew up a plane? Sure, that would earn you some goodwill, a few merits, maybe a promotion, but you know what would even better? Taking down an entire illicit content ring that's actively harming children. I have who's responsible for that in this folder right here. But before I give this to you, I need to know that my friends won't be touched as a result. If you need someone to take the fall, I'm your guy, because I'm the one you can definitively tie to it."

Paul and Wyatt stared at one another as the old bulbs on the bridge flickered, and Paul cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair.

"This is...ludicrous," Paul said, and Wyatt scoffed, laughing.

"Yeah, yeah it is, but it's the truth," Wyatt said, "So what do you say?"

"...and why should I believe any of it?" Paul asked.

Wyatt knew what the answer to this was, but he also knew if the words left his mouth, that was it. There was no going back. He looked back towards Celia, who was crying and chewing on her nails, and he exhaled before looking back at Paul.

"Because..." he started, "...Calvin blew up that plane, you're not wrong, but only because that plane was carrying an associate of the man involved in this file I'm holding. But that wasn't the first thing he blew up. He built a first bomb."

Paul raised an eyebrow.

"...Robert Grudin," Wyatt said, "sound familiar? Local politician? Killed Calvin's family in a car accident, refused to acknowledge what he did, then worked with a shady company to take supposedly secured lands to tear down and build up into condos. So Calvin had a grudge, a personal grudge to kill him. However, Calvin wouldn't be blamed for it. That blame would fall to Oliver Brighton, another associate of Wattson and the man in this file. You must know what happened to Brighton."

"I do, pretty famous story by now," Paul said, "but why are you the one who has to take the fall?"

"Because..." Wyatt said, "...Calvin built the bomb...but I'm the one who blew him up. I killed Robert Grudin."
Published on
Rachel opened her eyes and waited for her eyes to adjust. The last thing she could remember was drinking wine in the cemetery, and then...and then she and Amelia had gone to get food, and drank some more. Rachel hadn't drank that much since college, but surprisingly she didn't have much of a hangover. She looked around the room and didn't recognize it at all. She rubbed her eyes and rolled over onto her back from her side, staring at the ceiling overhead. That's when she realized she was in a hotel room, but not the hotel room she was sharing with Ricky. And then she remembered, shit, she was supposed to have met with Ricky and Wyatt last night. Rachel groaned and covered her face with her hands when the front door to the hotel room opened and Amelia entered, smiling at her as she closed it with her foot.

Amelia was dressed in jeans and a big jacket, a scarf, the weather getting exceptionally colder. She was carrying a styrofoam holder with multiple cups of coffee in it, along with a bag in her other hand, a plain brown bag with a local deli logo on the front, designating its origins. Amelia set the stuff down on the bed, Rachel sitting up before realizing she was naked and pulling the sheet up around her more as Amelia kicked her shoes off and climbed out of her jacket and scarf and onto the bed.

"You went and got breakfast?" Rachel asked, opening the bag and peeking in.

"Yeah, there's this place Calvin and I used to go," Amelia said, "it's nearby so I figured I'd run down there and get something for us."

Rachel pulled out a breakfast burrito and bit into it, then looked up at Amelia as she handed her her coffee and for a moment their eyes locked, Rachel's hair, messy and tangled, falling in front of her face, causing Amelia to smile and reach out, brushing it back. Rachel's heartbeat quickened at this gesture, and for a brief moment, Rachel felt like her life was normal again. She took another bite, then sipped her coffee and set both on the nightstand before looking at Amelia.

"Um..." Rachel said, "I'm not a good person. I'm not a very stable person, either. So you should really be aware of what it is you're getting involved in because...because I'm exhausting and my life is exhausting and you still have the chance to turn tail and run, and I wouldn't even blame you one bit."

Amelia smiled, then ran her hand down from Rachel's hair and onto her face, before leaning across the bed, over the coffee containers and the bag of breakfast food and kissing her. Rachel melted. Absolutely melted. Somehow, whatever this was she was having with Amelia, was so much more real than whatever it was she had had with Sun Rai.

"I spent my life running from things," Amelia whispered as she rested her forehead on Rachel's, "...I think it's time I stuck around."

And Rachel wanted to sob.

                                                                                                   ***

Celia was sitting in a bar.

Not the typical kind of place she would frequent, but here she was. Especially not a bar like this. She wasn't against going somewhere for drinks from time to time, but she generally preferred the upscale kind of bars where she could order good food, there was nice music playing, and she felt safe. This...was not that kind of bar. This was a rough bar, with rough looking people in it. Frankly, being here alone, she was a little worried, but she was wearing leather pants and a tank top, trying to fulfill the look of a bad bitch not to be reckoned with and thusfar it appeared to be working. The doors opened and Wyatt entered, causing Celia to sigh relief as he seated himself next to her.

"It's about time," she said as he looked her up and down.

"Why are you dressed like a member of TLC?" he asked, and she glared at him.

"You know, this is the kind of bar where one could stab someone else and nobody would mind," she replied, and he laughed.

"Fair enough," he said, "I come bearing...well, not gifts, but information."

"I don't need information," Celia said, "I need advice. My ex is...he's breathing down my neck, and I don't know what to do. That's why I dressed like this, wanted to come here, cause I knew he would never think to look for me in this kind of establishment."

Wyatt nodded as he ordered a drink from the bartender. Celia sipped hers, then rested it back atop the bar.

"If I don't give him something soon..." she continued, "it isn't gonna be good."

"Well, lucky for you then that I have something you can give him," Wyatt said, sliding the file Ricky had given him across the bar towards her. Celia, skeptical, took it and opened it slowly, beginning to page through it, her eyes widening with each bit of new information that passed by her line of sight. After a few minutes, and Wyatt had finished his drink and ordered another, she finally shut the folder and looked back at him, Wyatt smiling large.

"Where did you even get this?" she asked.

"It's a long story," Wyatt said.

"How did you even know this?" she asked, following up.

"Not my story to tell, actually," he answered, "what matters is we have it, and you can use it to shield yourself, get yourself that immunity, and we take down the chief, we expose the whole thing. Your ex is an FBI agent, Celia, that gives him jurisdiction over any kind of local precinct if we can prove it beyond a reasonable doubt and, frankly, I'd say we can."

"But there's nothing tying us to this," Celia said, tapping her nails on the folder, "that's the issue here."

"There is, actually," Wyatt said, smacking his lips, "me."

Celia stared at him and he smiled weakly, the light dimming from his eyes.

"I'm gonna take the fall."

                                                                                             ***

Angie was sitting in her car outside the compound, a pile of snacks from the gas station down the street scattered around her as she sipped on the straw of her enormous drink, Clark sitting in the passenger seat. She glanced over at him and his ears perked up. She reached out and stroked the top of his head, smiling, as he thwapped his tail against the chair.

"Why exactly are we here?" she asked.

"You have paranoia," Clark said, "you didn't want to leave this place, your folks did, but for good reason."

"They had good reasons?"

"It's interesting what the psyche will block out when it needs to protect itself," Clark said, "you never think about your time here? You remember it fondly, speak of Art highly, but you don't remember your time here, in deep detail? How it's strange that there's no little boys living on the compound? How Art has many suitors, most of them younger women, all of legal age, yes, but much younger than he."

Angie furrowed her brow and took another bite of her gas station sandwich.

"What are you insinuating?" she asked.

"We block traumatic events, it's a defense mechanism," Clark said, woofing quietly, looking back out the windshield towards the compound, "you know what a cult does, right? Indoctrinates. Some are better at hiding their agendas than others. We remember the wild ones because they were wild, out there, willing to expose their ludicrous beliefs to the world no matter how morally incorrect they may have been. But we don't remember the ones that went on for decades, quietly just getting away with whatever they wanted behind closed doors. How do you think cults get new members? Recruits? They're not Mormons going door to door. They come from inside. But if there's no little boys in the compound, how are all the younger women having children?"

Angie slowly looked back at the compound, the gravity of Clarks words finally settling in, weighing on her.

"...you mean," she whispered.

"I do," Clark said, "and you remember these things, you just buried them."

"If I buried them how are you unearthing them?" Angie asked.

"Angie I'm just a dog that sounds like Calvin," Clark said, "but what did Calvin want most in the world? To protect children. Revenge for his daughters deaths. He took so much of that stuff from the unit and shredded it, Wyatt told you about that, because he simply couldn't fathom the concept of content like that existing in the world even if nobody was viewing it any longer thanks to Brightons death."

"And my parents?" Angie asked.

"Maybe you should ask them," Clark said, "you're already not on good terms, what could the truth hurt?"

                                                                                              ***

"What the hell do you mean you're gonna take the fall?" Celia asked, lowering her voice.

"Pretty straight forward statement, I thought," Wyatt replied, shrugging, "I cop to killing Grudin. You read the file, you know Grudin was friends with this Chief, they have ties, and the Chief investigated Brightons death, which ties him to Brighton, and Brighton ties back to us and Grudin. I take the blame for Grudin's death and that's that, we're in the clear."

"But you didn't-"

"I did, though," Wyatt said, "...I did. I'm the one who pressed the trigger. That day, with Calvin, in the car. We fought over it because I was having second thoughts, but in the end I'm the one who did it, not him. I'm responsible. Sure, I didn't build the bomb, nor did I have the motive, but I killed the man. Celia, this is the only way out of this that leaves everyone else unscathed. It has to be this way. We meet with your ex, I tell him everything, and we move on towards justice."

Celia stared at Wyatt, unsure of how exactly to process this information. He was willing to do this? To just...give himself up? He'd always said he would take the fall if it ever came down to it, but...but somehow, even being as good a man as he clearly was, she always sneakingly suspected that those were just words. Celia looked back at the file on the bartop and chewed on her lip. What about Mona? What about everything he had? She looked back at him and watched as he ate snack mix out of a basket on the bar, looking dead ahead. He was tired. He was running on empty. He'd kept this group together, kept things going, for as long as he had and he was run down.

"My only regret now is Kelly," Wyatt said, shaking his head, "I finally meet a girl I really love, that wants to be with me, and I have to let her go. Maybe she'll wait for me, who knows. Maybe my sentence won't even be that severe, once you take into consideration all the aspects of it, but who knows. Still, to have to hurt her, even on some level, hurts me."

Celia reached out and touched his arm, and he glanced over at her, smiling.

"Wyatt..."

"It's the way it ends, Celia," he said, shrugging, "it always has been. Someone's gotta be the villain. I'm just auditioning for the role. Now let's just drink, okay? Drink to the end of it all."

How could she resist an offer like that?

                                                                                             ***

Angie stood in front of her parents front door, then exhaled and entered, holding Clark's leash in her hand, leading him in behind her. As she entered, she saw nobody, but she heard the sound of utensils in the kitchen, and headed in that direction. She walked through the doorway and found her parents, Gloria and Anthony, sitting at the table eating, both of whom stopped and stared at her as she entered.

"Sweetheart, where have you been?" Gloria asked.

Angie stared at them, not answering.

"Kiddo, you okay?" Anthony asked, and Angie looked towards him. Her father was the one who would say it. She knew this. She knew her mother would try to obscure the truth for the sake of her sanity, but her father...her father would tell her; "Angie?" he asked again, snapping his fingers at her.

"Did Art groom young girls?" Angie asked, flatout, no wavering in her voice, "at...at the compound, at the...the cult. Did Art groom young girls to be involved with him romantically?"

Her parents exchanged a look, and then her father sighed and stood up.

"Yes," he said sternly, and Angie felt her insides crumble, "yeah, and he...he wanted you too. And I wasn't about to stand by and let that happen. The thing is, what Art originally preached we believed in. And then we stood by while he got worse, but he was good at making us think it was all for the best. Even once the grooming became obvious...well...we still believed so much in his...I don't know, his belief I guess, that we were willing to turn a blind eye to something nobody should be willing to turn a blind eye to. And then he tried to have you."

Angie felt everything inside her breaking. How could this be true? Was NOBODY sacred?

"I wasn't going to let that happen, so we made the decision to leave," Anthony said, "we did it for you, honey. You were more important to us than that place, than what we believed in."

Angie turned and, tugging on Clark's leash, ran from the house. That was all she had to hear. No wonder Art had been willing to help them. Because he was interested himself in that very sort of thing. After getting into her car and driving away again, Clark in the passenger seat, she didn't know what to do. Should she turn to Wyatt? Should she looked to Ricky? Who should she go to at this point? Or maybe, as Clark had said...it was time for her to do something herself. She would succeed where everyone else had failed, because, unlike the others...

...she was willing to kill for it.

                                                                                                   ***

Rachel and Amelia were laying in bed, nude, both panting. Rachel was staring at the ceiling, feeling her blood rushing, her heart pounding. She had had more sex in the last 24 hours than she'd had in the entire time she'd been with Sun Rai. She looked over at Amelia, who was eating carmeled popcorn from a bag and glanced back at her, smiling. Rachel blushed and giggled like an idiot.

"What?" Amelia asked, mouth full of corn.

"Just...it's crazy," Rachel said, "the way things go down sometimes. I was...I was done. I was at the brink. I was ready to give in, maybe...maybe kill myself to escape everything in my life, and...and now..."

"Yeah?" Amelia asked.

"Now I know what I'd be missing if I did," Rachel whispered, nuzzling up to Amelia, resting her head on her chest as Amelia stroked her hair; Rachel shut her eyes and exhaled, whispering, "...stay with me okay?"

"I couldn't think of wanting to be anywhere else," Amelia replied.

Meanwhile, Celia had returned home from drinking with Wyatt, only to find the babysitter gone. She was surprised when she entered and found Paul in the living room, their son sitting on the couch, bags packed at their feet. Celia and Paul stared at one another, as Paul sighed and slipped his hands into his coat pockets, then approached her and pulled her gently away from the living room.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"God your breath stinks of alcohol," Paul said, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Oh, fuck off, I'm always a professional, I just wanted to have fun one time," Celia said, "but what are you doing here? Why are there bags?"

"I'm taking him," Paul said, "this isn't an environment he should be in. I'm taking him to my hotel, it's a five star hotel, he'll be well taken care of there since I can work from the hotel room. You and I will meet later on to discuss things, especially once I've taken what I've gathered to my superiors, but Celia, this is what's best for him right now."

"No, you can't do this!" Celia shouted, and Paul put a finger to his lips.

"Hush, don't frighten him," he said quietly, before turning and walking back to the living room, gathering the bags and their son and carrying both to the car. Celia followed him, wanting to scream, wanting to break down, but she knew he was right about both what was best and not making a scene. She watched as she loaded the bags in the trunk and their son in the backseat, and stood there, tears flowing down her face, yet not making a single sound. Paul pulled out and drove off, leaving Celia on her doorstep, alone. She looked at the file in her hand, and she sighed.

She had the answer to it all, right here.

Now she just had to be brave enough to take Wyatt's offer. And end all of this once and for all.
Published on
Wyatt was sitting at a table on an outdoor patio to a restaurant that he and Scarlett used to frequent on their date nights. How long ago those seemed now. He looked down at his cup of coffee in front of him and sighed, reaching up and pushing his hair back, thinking about how today was going to go. After all, how does one easily dissolve a marriage? He wasn't sure he was ready for this, to be quite honest, but it wasn't fair to either him or Scarlett to continue living this lie, each knowing the other wasn't happy. Wyatt looked around and saw a few other people seated on the patio with him, ranging from solo folks to a few couples to a family or two. It was the families that got to him. He was losing what he'd spent so long building. His children. His wife. And for what? For a weather girl? Sure. But a weather girl that made him genuinely happy. Someone he wanted to be with, not someone his father had wanted him to be with.

"How's the coffee here?" a voice asked, and he jumped in his seat a little before turning to the railing beside him and seeing Ricky leaning on it, smirking.

"Don't do that," Wyatt said through his teeth, "I'm paranoid enough as it is."

"As you should be," Ricky said, "When you're done, come on by the hotel, I got something I need to talk to you about."

"You can't just talk to me about it here?" Wyatt asked, and Ricky grimaced.

"It's better not to discuss matters regarding something of this nature in a public space, I'm sure you understand," Ricky said, "but trust me, you're gonna wanna hear it."

"Will Rachel be there?" Wyatt asked.

"Well she's currently living with me, so yeah, I'd say there's a high likelihood she will be."

"You know I liked you better when you were too scared to be snarky," Wyatt said, the both of them laughing together. After a minute, Ricky went along his way, leaving Wyatt alone again. Wyatt turned his thoughts back to the day ahead of him. All he wanted to do was get this over with, go deal with whatever Ricky had for him, and then go home. Go home to....what even was she now? 'Friend' seemed out of the picture. 'Lover' just sounded wrong. Wyatt needed clarity, terminology, definition. What was Kelly. What were they together. Maybe he didn't need to describe her, or them, maybe she was just...Kelly. The metal chair opposite him scooted out and he turned his gaze back to that direction, seeing Scarlett seat herself.

"Hi," he said weakly.

"Hey," she replied, sounding raspy, tired. She still looked her best, of course. She'd never let anything change that, but she definitely sounded like shit.

"Thanks for coming to see me. I didn't really wanna come by the house," Wyatt said, "...I assume you got my letter."

"Yeah, unfortunately I am literate and have eyes that can read," Scarlett remarked. A silence followed, and then, as if each could read the others mind, they simultaneously said

"We need to talk."

                                                                                            ***

Amelia and Rachel were in Amelia's car, heading towards the cemetery. Amelia had swung by the hotel and picked Rachel up that morning, then they'd gone to have breakfast, and now they were headed to Calvin's grave so Amelia could have her final goodbyes. Each one was dressed up, seeing as it was a 'special' occasion; Amelia in a shoulderless black dress with floral lace sleeves, while Rachel wore just a plain stormcloud grey backless dress.

"Is it a nice cemetery?" Amelia asked.

"It's pretty nice," Rachel said, taking a puff off her cigarette then ashing it out the window, "I mean, if one could describe a cemetery as 'cozy' then I suppose I would."

"Considering you're resting there for all eternity, I would hope it's cozy," Amelia replied, the both of them chuckling.

As Rachel continued smoking, looking out the window at the passing landscape, Amelia, who should be keeping her eyes on the road, instead kept stealing glances in Rachel's direction. It was still pretty early in the morning, and the morning sunlight lit her face up in a way that made Amelia's breath catch in her chest. After a bit more driving, they pulled into the parking lot of the cemetery and parked. Rachel climbed out and stretched, yawning, before tossing her cigarette on the ground and stomping it out, as Amelia climbed out of the car and walked around to meet Rachel. Together they started walking through the grounds, towards Calvin's grave.

"I love cemeteries," Amelia said, "I know that's so horribly cliche of me, oh wow look at the totally unique painter girl who loves cemeteries, so original. But I do. There's just something oddly comforting about them."

"I think it's cause it's where we all end up," Rachel said, arms folded, shrugging, "ya know? There's something...something nice about being able to visit what's considered the end, even if you aren't yet a resident of it. You can come here and see the peace and tranquility that it offers from the pain life puts you through."

"That's surprisingly goth of you," Amelia said, making Rachel laugh.

"I didn't know you were a painter, I'm a painter too," Rachel said.

"Yeah!" Amelia replied, chirping up, "yeah I've been painting my whole life. I love it. It helps me feel...free."

"I know what you mean," Rachel said, and Amelia smiled.

As they passed by tombstone after tombstone, some headstones flush in the ground, all Amelia could think about was how her brother was underground here now, resting, with his family. And here she was...what was she supposed to do now without him? How was she supposed to be the one who lived on? She looked over at Rachel and blushed as Rachel, not noticing being watched, pushed some of her hair from her own face and back behind her ear. Amelia bit her lip. She didn't know how to handle this. She never felt this way before towards a woman. Was it just the connection to her brother that drew her in, or something far bigger? Something that was awakening inside of her after years of dormancy?

"Here we are," Rachel said, stopping at a stone, both women turning to face it.

"Calvin," Amelia whispered, reaching out and putting her hand on the smooth grey stone flecked with black; she sighed and reached down with her other hand, holding Rachel's, who happily squeezed back.

"It must be hard, I'm sorry," Rachel said quietly, "it must be really hard. I don't have siblings, so I can't imagine, but..."

"It's hard," Amelia said, nodding, "but it's easier having you here, so thank you for coming."

"Of course," Rachel remarked, smiling, "of course. Anything I can do to make it easier for you."

Living in a hotel with a detective, taking a pretty art girl to see her brothers grave, Rachel couldn't deny she was enjoying her sabbatical from the usual messed up life she seemed to have had. She almost didn't want this part to end, to go back to the nonsense that was surely awaiting her. But she knew, when that moment came, she'd just have to cling to these memories harder than ever, because memories, good memories, were all that got her through the present anymore.

                                                                                                 ***

"You called my dad," Wyatt said, looking down at the table, "I mean, after all you have learned about me from how long we've been together, you called my fucking father. The one person I am more scared of in the world than anyone else."

"You were a mess, Wyatt, what else was I supposed to do?"

"Be there for me, just, fucking...be there. I know that's impossible apparently, but it really was the answer, the simplest answer. When he told me you called him, that...that destroyed any trust I had in you, Scar. That man, the things he did to me, the things he did to my mother, like, fucking hell, how could you?"

"You...you were drinking like crazy, you weren't sleeping well, you were skipping work, and-"

"I was grieving!" Wyatt said sternly, loudly, noticing the other patrons looking in their direction from his heightened voice, before he lowered it back to a simmer and added, nearly growling, "I was grieving. I was so fucking sad, I lost one of my closest friends."

"I helped kill one of my closest friends" was all that ran through his head as he said it. Always denying responsibility, yet using it as an excuse.

"And of course I can't say 'no' to you, can't tell you I can't do something, cause you'll throw a temper tantrum," Wyatt said, continuing, "I'm sorry. That was mean. I didn't mean that. But I was as scared to say no to you as I was to say no to my father growing up. I knew the level of disappointment you could have in me if I said I needed to not work that day or...or needed to just....relax or hang out with someone else. I don't like making you mad at me."

Scarlett had no idea Wyatt felt his way about her, and she felt horrible about it.

"I...I didn't know I instilled that kind of fear in you about me," Scarlett said.

"It isn't you," Wyatt said, shaking his head, "It's everything. I love being a father, I do, Mona is the best part of my life, but...but it isn't what I wanted to do. Everything we've done together I did because it was expected of me. I got married, I had children, I had that job. I'm not saying I wouldn't want to be married or have a family or have a good job, because I do, but I wish I could've done it of my own accord as opposed to feeling forced to do so."

Scarlett leaned back into her seat and sighed, looking at the table, hands in her lap. She never once expected Wyatt to say he had been this unhappy.

"...have you been this miserable the whole time?" she asked softly.

"My whole life, rather," Wyatt said, "never once got to make a decision for myself. Was always expected to do something or forced to do something, or did something out of sheer guilt or fear or the want to be accepted. Never once did anything I wanted to do because I wanted to do it. That's why I bought Mona the pony. Because...fuck it. I could. For once it was a decision I could make. That taste of freedom, of choice...it's addicting when you've never had it."

Having admitted this, Wyatt now realized something. Something about the last nearly year. He had done everything he'd done because he could. Because he could finally make decisions for himself. Sure, some of it he was coerced into, by Calvin, but in the end it was him making the decision to go along with it full tilt. He sighed as well.

"I don't think we should be married," Wyatt said, and Scarlett started to cry, covering her face with one hand.

And here he was, yet again, making a decision he wanted to make for the sake of himself. So why did he feel so guilty about it?

                                                                                             ***

Amelia and Rachel were sitting with their backs to the tombstone, on the ground, sharing a bottle of wine. Rachel thought about Sun Rai in this moment, and how their entire relationship had always been so surface level, and never had this kind of intimacy, where they could just...BE...together. It was almost as if they'd had the queer version of a heterosexual relationship. But this...this felt so genuine and real, and it was just a friendship. Rachel felt lucky. Amelia handed her the bottle of wine, which she happily took, before wiping her mouth on her hand.

"I used to come to cemeteries in high school, do photoshoots, drink on occasion," Amelia said.

"You really were a cliche," Rachel said, taking a sip, the both of them laughing.

"WAS?" Amelia asked, and they laughed some more; Amelia continued, "no, it's true, I was, and I still am. But at least I know myself, you know? And I think that's the thing is Calvin never knew himself, not fully anyway. He...he knew things he wanted, he knew he wanted a wife, children, whatever, but that isn't knowing ones self, not in the real sense. That's just knowing you have goals."

"Yeah," Rachel said, "yeah I know what you mean. Growing up gay, or rather, coming to realize it when I did, that was a big revelation for me. Made a lot of things make sense finally putting that piece of the puzzle in place."

"How did you know?" Amelia asked, almost scared of the answer.

"Just...how I never liked guys, never found them attractive, always felt like I was forcing myself to try to be interested in the ones who'd been interested in me. Then I'd see some woman in an advert and I'd think to myself, 'goodness, what a goddess', and there was some overlap of do I want to do her or do I wanna look like her cause, ya know, women are always sizing themselves up to one another, so to detangle that in and of itself was a web and a half of lies. But really it was so obvious that in the end I felt stupid for not knowing it sooner."

Amelia nodded. A lot of what Rachel had said made sense. The difference was that Amelia had always liked men. She had loved Wyatt to hell and back. But she'd never, at least until meeting Rachel, felt that same kind of feeling with a woman. Now it was gnawing at her.

"I don't want you to go," Rachel said, chuckling as she took a long swig from the bottle, "I really am gonna miss having you around to hang out with."

"I could stay," Amelia said.

"Don't you have some kind of life to return to?"

"Not really, no," Amelia said, "I could easily stay."

Rachel shut her eyes and rested against the stone until she noticed Amelia had crawled around to be sitting cross legged in front of her, taking her by surprise. Rachel handed Amelia back the wine, who took it and took a really long drink, boosting her courage.

"Why would you? There's nothing here for you? I mean, your folks, I guess, but otherwise-"

"There's nothing there for me either. I live on my parents dime in a small apartment, I don't really work," Amelia said, "it'd be so easy to just come back. Hell, I'm already here. I could just pay some company to move all my crap back home. Besides, like you said, you'd miss having me around, right? You're here, we could hang out."

Rachel felt her heartbeat quicken. What was Amelia insinuating, exactly? Amelia scooted closer towards Rachel, causing Rachel to back up more against the stone, just instinctually.

"You've been so nice to me," Amelia said, "you've...you've been so supportive and helpful, and...and I don't get that from anyone else. I don't want to. I like getting it from you, cause it feels nice. I could move back home, start painting regularly again, sell stuff to the gallery, we could hang out and...and be friends and..."

Rachel and Amelia locked eyes.

"No," Rachel said, shaking her head, "fuck declarations."

"Huh?"

"The last time I had a declaration, it ended up being so fucking fake," Rachel said, "I don't want fake."

"I wasn't declaring anything," Amelia said, "I was just...gonna....kiss you."

A long pause, a soft breeze blew by as a family, clearing heading to a funeral, passed them.

"I've never liked a girl like this," Amelia continued, "This is all very new and scary to me, but...but being an artist, as you are, I guess you know that it's fun to try new mediums, right? So...so I guess I wanna try a new medium. Cause I've never had these feelings until I met you."

"You're grieving, you're not...you're not thinking right, I was close to your brother, so you feel close to me, and-"

"It isn't just that, no," Amelia said, shaking her head, pushing her glasses back up as they slid down her face, "it isn't just that. You're so cool and confident and...and pretty. You're SO pretty. Funny. You're hilarious. I like everything about you, not just your proximity to something else that mattered to me. I'd really like to try, if you...if you'd let me."

Rachel didn't know what to say. She couldn't deny that she found Amelia incredibly attractive, and they shared a far more similar range of interests than she and Sun Rai ever had. But she was scared. Amelia was yet another person removed from the situation, another person she'd have to lie to. For god sakes, Rachel had been the one to suggest killing her brother, and now she was going to hook up with his sister? What kind of soap opera bullshit was that? And yet...to deny this girl...those big beautiful eyes and that lovely smile and that big mess of frizzy hair. Rachel reached out slowly, cautiously, and laced her fingers through Amelia's, tugging her closer towards her.

"I've had a really bad few months," Rachel said softly.

"Then let me make the next few months exponentially better," Amelia whispered, dropping the now empty bottle in the grass and, using her other hand, pulling Rachel's face towards hers, kissing her. And it was like the world was new again. All the death and sadness and pain melted away in that singular instance, and all Rachel could feel was love. Hope. Rachel kissed her back, but Amelia pushed her against Calvin's stone and kissed her harder, causing Rachel to giggle.

Maybe she'd been right when she'd said at the funeral that Calvin had to go, for the better of everyone.

                                                                                              ***

Ricky opened the hotel door to find Wyatt standing there. Ricky stepped aside and allowed him entrance before going back to his pizza box and offering Wyatt a slice, who happily accepted. They stood there in the room in silence, just chomping on pizza for a few minutes. After a bit, Ricky picked up a nearby napkin and wiped his mouth, then balled it up and tossed it into the garbage can across the room, perfectly.

"Nice shot," Wyatt said.

"You know," Ricky said, "the last time you and I were in a room alone together, you were freeing me."

"And?" Wyatt asked, and Ricky grinned.

"I'm about to free you, Wyatt Bloom, and all your friends," he said, causing Wyatt to make a face.

"Where's Rachel?" Wyatt asked, "shouldn't she be here for this?"

"No clue, but take a seat," Ricky said, and Wyatt nodded, sitting down at the desk as Ricky gathered a file; Ricky cleared his throat and said, "after a bit of digging, I discovered that the night Oliver Brighton was pronounded dead, someone made a call to Leonard Wattson. The two had been business partners, Oliver making a good share of the, uh...content, if you want, for Wattson. Except there in lies the question, who called Wattson? Who informed him of Brighton's death? Well, simply by logical deducation, we can conclude that whoever it was had that information immediately after it happened, which means they were made aware of it within minutes of the body being discovered, which makes them..."

"...in law enforcement," Wyatt said, and Ricky smiled, snapping his fingers, pointing at Wyatt.

"Ding ding ding!" he said, "which puts that person squarely in our area, probably someone high up on the chain, too. Now, this raises alarms because, well, how do you enforce the law on someone who wields that kind of power?"

"Wait wait wait, what about Grudin's wife?" Wyatt asked.

"Man," Ricky said, "she's not involved. She's just a grieving woman wanting answers. That's all. We'll deal with her too, but right now we gotta prepare a case, because eventually someone is gonna come knocking, or we're gonna have to cut a deal, and that means being ready with the proper information to turn on someone else."

Wyatt sighed as Ricky ploped the file down in front of him.

"This is my copy of the file I gave you the other day, remember?" he asked, and Wyatt nodded; Ricky added, "I went and got information on all the calls made on specific dates, to and from, etc. What I came away with was one name in particular. John Augustine. So I took that name and I did some further investigating. Head police chief here in town. Now, and you may not like this, but here's the thing that's really wild."

Wyatt rubbed his eyes, shaking his head, unable to process all of this.

"He's been there the whole time," Ricky said, "he was the one who dealt with Calvin's death. So, if he's a police chief, clearly well versed in what he does...why would he let what was clearly a murder go by labeled as a suicide?"

Wyatt and Ricky exchanged a look. Wyatt had questions.

But he didn't know if he wanted the answers.
Published on
Wyatt was asleep, but Kelly was not. Kelly couldn't sleep, and she sure as hell wasn't going into work today. They were laying in her bed, covered by a tangle of sheets, as she stared up at the ceiling overhead, at a suspiciously growing stain. Water damage, perhaps, from the apartment above hers? She kept playing the previous night over and over in her head. Wyatt kissing her, her pushing him onto the couch, the two of them clawing at eachother like animals in heat who'd been kept apart for far too long. She could still feel it. Every movement. As he carried her to the bed and thrust inside of her, every muscle in her body clenching in ways they never had before. Her goddamned toes curling. Grunts and screams, both guttural and animalistic, filing the room. And once it was over, they just laid there, and he held her, and they talked. They just talked. Not about anything in particular, not about what had just transpired, just talked. Kelly rolled her head to the side and looked at Wyatt, still fast asleep, and she chewed her lip. Wyatt suddenly rolled over and opened one eye, and the two smiled at one another.

"Good mor-" she started to whisper, when he reached out, dragged her towards him by her hips, put one hand behind her neck and kissed her, making her melt all over again. She turned bright red and giggled as he kissed between her eyes.

"Should I make coffee?" he asked, and she nodded.

"That would be greatly appreciated," she replied.

Wyatt stretched and yawned, then laid on his side staring at her.

"What?" she asked, "why are you just staring at me?"

"The hell else am I gonna look, the ceiling? Yeah, that's exciting," Wyatt said, making her laugh as he said, "I like looking at you. Especially in the morning. I don't think Scarlett ever understood it, but...once she got all prettied up for the day, sure, she looked great, but there's something about seeing a woman when they're messy and unkempt, just waking up...that's the best. And you have that in spades."

Kelly's smile faded slowly and she looked down at the mattress.

"What? What did I say?" Wyatt asked.

"Scarlett," Kelly muttered.

"I told you, there was no fixing that," Wyatt said, "and, ya know, if last night proved anything, it's that I'm much happier here. With you. In fact...I can't remember a time I was happier with anyone than I am with you. Waking up in bed with you like this...it's wonderful, it's perfect. You're perfect."

"I'm not perfect," Kelly said.

"Is this about the prosthetic leg again, or the hump on your back?" Wyatt asked, and Kelly smirked.

"Hey, the hump is a beauty mark, okay?" she said, the both of them chuckling as she added, "no I mean, I'm not perfect cause, like...look at what I did. I slept with a married man."

"No, a married man slept with you, there's an inherent difference. I made the decision to push things forward, all you did was confess first, and let's face it, had you not I would've. If not last night then eventually. We both know that. And as for being a married man? Sure, legally wise, definitely not romantically. I think Scarlett and I...I think things ended a while ago and we just didn't want to acknowledge it. We'd been fighting, I was spending less time at home overall."

"Well then that begs the question...if you weren't, if you were getting along and things were good...would you still have wanted me? Or was I just some kind of fallback? A comfort because of what was happening?" Kelly asked, sounding nervous. Wyatt chewed his lip and thought about it for a moment, then smiled as he reached out and took her chin in his fingers, lifting her face so he could look in her eyes.

"I've thought about that, but it isn't true, because yeah I still would," Wyatt said, "I think you and I make way more sense than she and I ever did, even if you take out all the other stuff. You're the kind of girl I always liked. I'm just sad I didn't know you in high school, cause I could've had so much more time with you. But I wasn't really at my best then, so maybe you wouldn't have liked me, I don't know."

"I don't think there's any instance where I don't love you," Kelly said, surprising both Wyatt and herself with this sappy admission, "...and I realize how much of a romance novel protagonist that makes me sound, but it's true. I think I'd love you under any circumstances, no matter what they were. The fact I love you despite what's going on I think proves that alone."

Wyatt smiled, tears forming in his eyes as Kelly crawled on top of him and kissed him, his hands on her hips, holding her in place. As their lips parted, barely away from one another, she whispered.

"Let me prove it," she whispered.

                                                                                              ***

"I'm gonna be real with you, I didn't know there was more than one kind of omelette," Rachel said, making Amelia crack up across the table. The two had met for breakfast, Rachel picking her up at Calvin's and then going to a diner, since both had a penchant for greasy food.

"Jesus, how did you survive to be an adult?" Amelia asked.

"Hey!" Rachel replied, laughing herself now, "is that common knowledge? Am I just supposed to know that there's multiple types of omelettes? It isn't information that comes up frequently enough I'd think to be warranted being stored in my brain!"

"Did you at least know it was made of eggs?" Amelia asked.

"There's eggs in it?!" Rachel asked, the both of them laughing harder now. This was good for them. For both of them. Each woman had had such a horrible time as of late, and having this little friendship, it was nice. Amelia had to admit, the last thing she expected coming home to deal with her brothers estate was to become friends with his friend, but she was so happy it had happened. The waitress stopped by and topped off both of their coffee mugs, each woman thanking her as they simultaneously raised their mugs to their lips and sipped, locking eyes as they did and chuckling at their synchronicity.

"I found this key," Amelia finally said, setting her mug back down, "it was in with his other stuff. It doesn't go to anything in the house. I think maybe it's for a safety deposit box? I was hoping you might come with me to various banks and see what it opens."

"Yeah, of course I'd do that," Rachel said. The waitress stopped by again and asked for their orders. Amelia got scrambled eggs, while Rachel asked for an omelette, and when the waitress asked what kind, Rachel simply said "surprise me", which made Amelia cackle again. After she had left, the two continued the conversation, Rachel asking, "what makes you think it might be to that?"

"Well, unless he's got like an old murder mystery home stashed away somewhere that can only be opened with a sort of skeleton key, I'd say it's the most logical conclusion," Amelia said, and Rachel nodded.

"Fair assessment," Rachel said, "...what do you think might be in it?"

"I don't know. Calvin was really secretive," Amelia said.

You don't know the half of it, Rachel thought.

"I would imagine maybe some personal effects, things too important to let stay at the house just in case we got robbed," Amelia continued, "I'm curious to find out though. Maybe he had some money stashed away, gold doubloons or something."

"He's not Blackbeard," Rachel said.

After a bit, the waitress brought their food, and the girls began eating. As Rachel dug into her omelette, surprised at how much she liked it, Amelia couldn't help but chuckle and shake her head, occasionally lifting her head a bit to watch Rachel. Amelia had never really had a close friendship with a woman before, so this was all fairly new to her, and she liked it. But...something about it went beyond that. She felt more relaxed with Rachel than anyone else she'd ever known, sans perhaps Wyatt, or at the very least the same level of relaxed as with Wyatt. Amelia then felt a weird pang in her chest, and she got nervous, her smile faded, and she went back to eating her eggs, not daring to look up again.

                                                                                             ***

Angie was sitting in the hotel room, staring at Clark.

Clark was laying opposite her on the other bed, but neither one had spoken in a while. She had just been staring at him. She wasn't sure, quite frankly, that she wanted to say anything, because she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear what he might have to say in response. After a bit longer, Angie finally cleared her throat and stood up, going to pour herself some water into a plastic cup. When she turned back around, Clark was sitting upright on the bed now, staring at her.

"What?" she asked, sounding scared.

"You think this is guilt," Clark said, "you think what is happening is guilt. That's why I sound like him."

"Well what other reason could it possibly be?" Angie asked, "I shoot a man in the back of the head and then I just get to walk away from that, assuaged of any wrong doing? I don't think so. If anything I'm surprised it took this long."

"I'm telling you it isn't," Clark said as she walked back around and sat back down opposite him again, sipping her water cautiously, as he added, "it isn't guilt. After all, you've had this before. You've heard other dogs with the voices of familiar people. It's simply your brain attempting to assign reason to something that has no reason, because you're sick."

"...and you just happen to sound like the man I killed," Angie said.

"I can only give you pseudo therapeutic answers, not actual answers," Clark said, "I'm in your head, and your head is trying to calm you down. Trying to make you see that what you're dealing with isn't that big a deal, something to be scared of or ashamed about. You know Rachel saw the See Through Horse. People associated animals with trauma if the two are closely connected enough. That's all this is."

Angie nodded slowly, listening. Clark was right. Even if he sounded like Calvin, she knew it wasn't him, and she wasn't hearing him as a way to blame herself, but simply because, as he'd told her, this was what her illness did. Angie exhaled deeply and fall back onto the bed. Clark hopped down from the other and up onto hers, laid down beside her, and planted his head on her chest. She smiled and scratched behind his ear, making his tail thump.

"You're a good dog," she said, and he woofed quietly.

                                                                                           ***

"Banks make me nervous," Rachel said, "I always feel like I'm two steps away from breaking the law somehow."

Amelia chuckled, and Rachel smiled. The two had gone to 4 different banks at this point, and at each one, they'd been told this key wasn't theirs. They were hoping that, by this point, the 5th would be the one, but they weren't holding their breath anymore.

"I just want to have all of his stuff together before I leave town, you know?" Amelia said, as she turned the page in the magazine she was looking at as she and Rachel leaned against the wall, waiting for the teller to return; she continued, "I want it all together, everything finished, so I don't have to come back. So that Calvin can just...be put behind me once and for all."

"That's understandable," Rachel said, chewing on her nails absentmindedly, "you think this one will be it?"

"I'm not banking on it," Amelia said, the both of them smirking at one another.

"You suck," Rachel said under her breath, the both of them laughing again. Finally the teller reappeared and the girls turned to face her.

"This is our key," she said happily, "would you like to come with me, use it, see what's in the box?"

The teller opened the little gate and allowed the girls to enter, then followed her into the backroom and down a hallway. Rachel had her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets as she watched Amelia walk a bit ahead of her, speaking with the teller. Amelia, in her right low rise hip hugging jeans and her t-shirt with the Edward Gorey print and her bomber jacket. Amelia was so much cooler than she herself could ever hope to aspire to be, and it was nice to finally be friends with another artist with style.

"Your brother left you everything, you said, and we have seen you are the executor of his will, so," the teller said to Amelia, "obviously you're free to remove anything or everything from the box if you so wish."

"Why would he choose a different bank than where he kept his money?" Amelia asked, "That just doesn't make sense to me."

"People do it sometimes," the teller said, shrugging, "maybe this stuff was a bit more personal and he didn't want it to be associated with where he kept his cash, I'm not your brother so I can't say. Either way, I'm sorry for your loss, and hopefully having this sorted out will bring you some kind of peace. When you're done, please shut the box and I'll meet you back at the front."

The woman handed Amelia back the key and then exited. Amelia and Rachel looked at the key and then at one another. Amelia slowly sighed, as if preparing for something big. Rachel put a hand on her arm, and the two glanced at one another.

"You okay?" Rachel asked, "you want me to do it?"

"No, I can do it. I have to do it," Amelia said, Rachel nodding in understanding. Amelia turned to face the wall, the rows of boxes stretched out before her, and she inserted the key into Calvin's, number 379. She turned it, heard the box click, and slowly swung the door open. She reached inside and pulled out a handful of things. Some of them were just photos. Photos of him and his wife, his daughter, their family. Family photos of himself and Amelia. Jewelry, likely again belonging to his wife. Amelia sniffled and started to cry as she sifted through these things in her hand. Rachel came up behind her and hugged her, resting her head against hers. Amelia was so appreciative for the comfort. Some bank papers. Some important government documents, his original birth certificate, things of that nature. And then, at the very bottom of the stack, was a plain thin white envelope. With Rachel's name. Amelia and Rachel exchanged a similarly confused look, as Amelia handed it back to her.

"It's for you," she said.

Rachel took it, her hands shaking nervously, as she lifted up the flap and pulled out a single sheet of paper with Calvin's handwriting. She stood there and read to herself while Amelia went back to looking at the photos.

"Rachel,

I put this here as a security measure. If you're reading it, obviously I'm dead, hence why you're reading it. This isn't to blame anyone. This isn't to point fingers. Whatever happened probably happened because I deserved it. I blame myself moreso than anybody else. I brought everything onto myself. I am to blame. But I want you to know how much I appreciated you being my friend, and how much I hate that you'll be mad at yourself for my decisions. I did this. I killed me. If anything, you just kept me going for a longer amount of time than I should've had. Thank you for that, I suppose, painful as it was, because knowing you was enjoyable and I'll miss you greatly, as I'm sure you'll miss me. Tell Wyatt the same please. I hope you all can find ways to go on without me, and make progress in the areas you're hoping to make progress in. I figured you would come to this box with my sister, so since that's probably the case, take care of her please. She's a wonderful person and she's been hurt enough. Don't let another member of my family go down my path. Thank you again.

Your friend,
Calvin."

Rachel wanted to break down. He'd written an alibi letter. She had no idea he would've done this. He knew he was on the verge of being taken out, and he wanted to spare Rachel specifically any issues with that. He didn't want Amelia to think she or anyone else was involved. He probably knew, that very night, that he wasn't leaving that spot when he met with Wyatt and Angie. Rachel lost it. She fell back against the lockers and started weeping, sliding down against the wall. Amelia got on her knees and pulled Rachel into her chest, hugging her, petting her hair.

"Shhh, it's okay," Amelia said, crying a little herself, "you're okay. We're okay."

Rachel hugged Amelia back, and promised Calvin, internally, that she'd take care of his sister. It was the least she could do.

                                                                                                 ***

"Is there...anything else we really need to discuss?" Kelly asked.

"Maybe what's for dinner?" Wyatt said, "don't really feel like cooking tonight."

"I meant about...ya know, what's going on," Kelly said, making Wyatt chuckle as he came back to the couch and handed her her drink before sitting down. Kelly lifted her legs and plopped them down across his lap and he massaged her feet as she sipped her tea.

"There is but it's not a discussion I have to have with you, it's a discussion I have to have with Scarlett," Wyatt said, "you and I are clearcut, I think. I mean, unless you suddenly decide you don't want this, which I can't see being the case."

"I want nothing more than I want this," Kelly whispered, and Wyatt smiled. She rested her eyes and relaxed as he massaged her feet, and the two just sat there in silence, enjoying their newfound relationship. Each had wanted this so badly, and now the moment was here, and it felt so normal, so ordinary. Wyatt cleared this throat and looked back over at her.

"So I'm thinking maybe just...burgers? I know that isn't exciting, but," Wyatt said.

"Burgers is fine," Kelly said happily, "and that's okay, we've had enough excitement to last a lifetime."

Wyatt leaned over and kissed her, taking her by surprise, until she giggled and kissed him back, setting her mug down on the coffee table and crawled up closer, kissing him more. It was so nice, to both of them, to finally feel loved, either for the first time or again. Wyatt would order burgers, and they would eat and watch bad TV and crack jokes like every other night, and it was perfect. But he couldn't help but shake the fact that, in the back of his mind, he had to deal with one more thing before making a clean break. One last thing to end.

His marriage.
Published on
Kelly Schuester had had a bad day.

She'd gotten to work with a flat tire, had coffee spilled on her favorite dress - and then had to go on air wearing an ugly studio approved cardigan to cover it up - then had a mild hives breakout thanks to someone at the restaurant she went to for lunch not hear her order properly. She was informed by her bank that a credit card had been opened in her name, and while she hadn't lost any money, the legal loopholes she was required to jump through just to prove she was who she said she was were exhausting and time consuming, and then, just when she finally got home, she realized she had forgotten to get a birthday gift for a friend. By the time Kelly entered the apartment, soaking wet from the rain outside because she had forgotten her umbrella, all she wanted to do was curl up and scream. Instead, as she entered, she found the apartment full of warmth, both literally and figuratively. As she closed the door behind her, she noticed the gas fireplace in the sunken in living room was on, and Wyatt was standing in the kitchen, cooking, wearing an apron that said "Men Belong In The Kitchen".

"Wow," Kelly said, "that apron really is right. Who knew."

"Hey," Wyatt said, smiling as he looked towards her, "yeah it was the only one I could find in here, so."

"It was given to me as a gag gift," Kelly said, "not sure why, not like I ever had any men around to wear it."

Wyatt opened the fridge, then pulled out a soda in a glass bottle, and popped the top off, handing it to her. Kelly took it, blushing, thanking him. She had come home and he was making dinner and had her drink ready? What had she done to get so lucky to have such a good roommate and friend?

"You look a fright," Wyatt said, looking her up and down as he went back to slicing onions.

"Yeah, you know, for a weather girl, I do seem to forget my umbrella a lot," Kelly said.

"Well, the fireplace is roarin', I suggest you take advantage of it," Wyatt remarked. Kelly nodded, agreeing. She walked over to the sunken in living room and pulled her dress off, then stood over the hamper of clean laundry and sifted through it until she found some sweat pants and a t-shirt, pulling them both on. Wyatt turned to grab some spices from the opposite side of the counter and saw her. She was sitting on an ottoman in front of the fireplace, running her hands through her mess of sandy blonde hair, exhaling. Wyatt sighed, then grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked over, sitting beside her.

"Not a good day I take it?" he asked.

"Not particularly," Kelly said, "one of those 'anything that can go wrong will go wrong' sorts of days."

"Hate those days, and it feels like we have a lot of 'em," Wyatt said.

"How about yours?"

"It was...also not great," Wyatt said.

Kelly eyeballed him as she lifted her soda to her lips and sipped.

"...I found a dog," Wyatt said.

                                                                                              ***

A few hours earlier, after having left Art's compound, Wyatt and Angie were sitting in Angie's car, parked in a hidden away hiking spot, just petting the dog and trying to think of what to do with it. The dog, Clark, was laid across Angie's lap, while Wyatt paced just outside her car door, the window rolled down. He had taken his fathers hand, removed the watch, and reburied the hand in a place he knew it would be eaten by animals and never discovered by people. He stopped momentarily and looked in through the window.

"He seems to like you," Wyatt said.

"Dogs always like me," Angie said, "I had this job at a kennel after we left the compound, and all the dogs there always liked me."

"That's a good trait to have, actually, shows you're genuinely trustworthy if animals trust you," Wyatt said, "so you should be happy about that. Angie, where are you staying currently? You're not staying with your folks, right?"

"No, and I don't wanna go back," Angie said.

"Alright," Wyatt said, "...how about this. For the time being, I'll pay for you to move into the motel Rachel and Ricky are staying in. Not their room, obviously, just...the same building. They'll take dogs too, so that won't be an issue."

Angie looked down at Clark, her hand stroking the fur of the top of his head as he panted in her lap, before she turned her gaze up towards Wyatt.

"You would do that for me?" she asked, and he nodded, folding his arms; she looked back down and fingered the tag on Clark's collar, saying, "he was once somebody's pet. The fact that he's free, and has been free as long as he seems to have been, kinda says that they didn't die, they just...let him walk away. They didn't care if he stayed or went. I know what that's like. To be told you're important, only to have them turn around and leave you to your own devices. I think, at this point, you've been more of a parent to me than my own parents."

Wyatt smiled weakly as she exhaled.

"Okay," she said, "we'll stay at the hotel."

Wyatt reached in through the window and pet Clark on the head as well, causing him to thump his tail happily against the seat, both of them laughing at the dogs reponse. The funny thing was, Wyatt had never wanted to get a pet with anyone before. Not Scarlett, not Amelia back in high school, nobody. The way he saw it, having a pet was too much of an issue between two people, especially if one of those people died and the other suddenly had to take care of it. The commitment, in general, scared him. Humorous, he thought now, considering he had children with one of those women. But still...how funny was it that the woman he finally did get a dog with was Angie, of all people. They really were in it for the long haul together.

                                                                                                ***

"Well at least you found a way to keep the dog, and Angie, safe and housed for the time being," Kelly said, sighing as she tugged her stockings off from under the legs of her sweatpants, balled them up and tossed them into the hamper across the room, adding, "cause I don't think they'd let me have a dog here, so."

"It was a weird day, overall, and I think that's why I came home and played domesticity," Wyatt said, sipping his beer, "cause, ya know, after all the weirdness, some normality was a much needed comfort."

That's when he noticed Kelly smiling, blushing, and he smirked.

"What?" he asked, laughing.

"You called this home," she said, "that's nice. I'm glad you feel like it's your home too," Kelly said, shrugging, "I don't know, guess I'm feeling good about how comfortable you feel here."

"Well why wouldn't I?" Wyatt asked, "I get to cook, I get to keep the place relatively tidy, and then I get to hang out with you when you get back from work. All in all it's a great system. How was your day? Hopefully better than mine?"

"Worse," Kelly said, "...much, much worse. Not that finding your fathers severed hand in a dogs mouth isn't bad, but mine was more...personal, I guess. I mean I told you all the other things that went wrong, and yet somehow none of that was even the worst part."

"How's that? What could've been the worst part then?" Wyatt asked, raising an eyebrow, sounding concerned.

"...someone at my job got engaged," Kelly said.

                                                                                                ***

Kelly had been standing in the break room, trying to make herself new coffee since she'd spilled her own all over herself earlier. She was still itching a little from the mild hives breakout at lunch, and now she was hoping to just get through the day with a little bit of caffeine and get back home as unscathed as possible...and that was when the group showed up. A gaggle of coworkers, mostly women, marched excitedly into the break room, all laughing and talking excitedly and loudly. Kelly turned and watched as she finished fixing her coffee, leaning against the counter, when a page, Lewis, stopped beside her. Lewis was young, in his early twenties, and probably the only person at her job that Kelly truly liked.

"What are they all giddy about?" she asked, raising her mug to her lips.

"Jessica got engaged," Lewis said.

"Somebody asked Jessica to marry them?" Kelly replied, "yikes."

Kelly tried not to be catty, but when it came to some people, specifically Jessica Winters, she couldn't help but do so. Jessica was everything Kelly wasn't, in terms of success. She was one of the most popular anchors, not to mention gorgeous to boot. Kelly didn't think she herself was unattractive by any means, but Jessica was swimsuit model beautiful, and that's why, along with her skills, Kelly had to admit, she got the job, because not only was she good at what she did but she also looked good doing it. Jessica received a lot of fan mail, all from men, at the station, and Kelly had always felt inferior, especially because they didn't look all that much different in the end. Both were tall, lithe blonde women, both with fair skin and nice eyes, but Jessica had that...that certain something that Kelly didn't have, that gave her a pathway to success both career wise and romantically, and it was the second one that Kelly truly resented, seeing how she actually enjoyed her own career.

"I mean, she's only been dating this guy for like 5 months," Lewis said, "I'm young, and young people are rash and irresponsible, and even I can't imagine getting married after 5 months of knowing someone."

"That's because you're not a gold digger," Kelly said.

"No, I...I am," Lewis said, the both of them laughing; Lewis then asked, "well what about you, could you?"

And the thing was...Kelly could. She used to not be able to, but now she could...after meeting Wyatt. She easily could, yes.

"Doesn't really matter cause it isn't like anyone's itching to date me to begin with," Kelly said.

"What about that guy you're staying with?" Lewis asked.

"You've got a guy staying with you?" Jessica asked, approaching the cabinets, looking for paper plates for the cake she'd annoyingly bought herself for her own engagement announcement.

"Yeah, a friend of mine, he's having trouble at home and he needed somewhere to stay," Kelly said, shrugging, "it's no big deal. I've got the space."

"Wow, you're keeping a married man in your home," Jessica said, grinning, elbowing her playfully, "good for you, Kelly. I always thought you'd be a spinster, but hey, if you're looking at married men, then you've got more play than I anticipated and I'm impressed."

"It's not like that," Kelly said, trying to convince only herself, knowing damn full well it was.

"Well, give it time, honestly," Jessica said, "cause usually trouble at home...that doesn't get fixed once they leave, that gets worse. So your odds of finally meeting someone have shot through the roof, even if only because you're what was available, and I don't mean that in a mean way, that came out mean, I'm sorry. I just meant, ya know, I don't picture you as someone who goes out looking to meet people."

"You're right, I don't," Kelly said, "but I also don't get engaged after 150 days of knowing someone."

Kelly finished her coffee, slammed the mug down on the counter and looked Jessica in the eye.

"Happy fucking engagement," she said sternly, before storming out.

She hated that it had gotten to her, but that was how Jessica was. Hell, that was how most women had always been towards her. They could smell her societal weakness. How she'd never been in love. How she'd never even had sex. How her perceived 'value' as a woman in society had been completely and utterly disregarded, considered not viable. Once out of earshot, down the hall and a few corners rounded, she stopped and cried against the chip machine. The thing was, she wanted those things. She always had. She just...had never had the chance. Jessica was right, yes, she wasn't the type to go out and meet people, but that didn't mean she didn't crave the very same things. And now...now she had that chance, and it was with Wyatt, and all her morality wouldn't let her do it because, well, he was married, and she respected that. She respected the sanctity of marriage, because she had grown up with parents who loved and supported one another, and so she couldn't damage someone elses marriage for her own selfish reasons.

So she cried. And she had a terrible rest of the day. But somehow it had been that little exchange that had been the worst.

                                                                                                ***

"Jesus what a bitch," Wyatt said, Kelly chuckling, nodding in agreement; Wyatt scoffed and exhaled, "god I'm sorry. Guess we both had awful days. Guess that's why it's nice to come home to one another. Know you aren't alone, know you can tell someone who cares, you know?"

"I've always wanted that, either with a friend, like Rachel, or a roommate, or a lover, not that that one would ever happen," Kelly muttered, "but you're right it is nice."

Wyatt finished his beer and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then looked towards her. Kelly looked defeated, dejected, utterly humiliated. He wanted to reach out and hold her, to make her feel better. Something he'd never once wanted to do for Scarlett. This was the kind of feeling that had only been reserved for Amelia, and now he was having it for Kelly as well. Wyatt bit his lip.

"For what it's worth," Wyatt said, "she wasn't wrong."

Kelly looked towards him, confused.

"Who, Jessica? About what part?" she asked.

"About the trouble at home thing," Wyatt said, "things were screwed up before all this started, I just didn't want to acknowledge or admit it. Scarlett and I are friends, but I think only she ever saw us as lovers. I mean, don't get me wrong, she's very attractive, very conventionally attractive, and sure, that's nice, but...but there's a difference between being attracted to a person because they're attractive and being attracted to a person because you love them. One is based solely on visuals. The other isn't. Scarlett and I...we just never connected in that way."

"What way?" Kelly asked, sniffling.

"The way you and I do," Wyatt said, and Kelly stopped breathing. The two locked eyes, and neither knew what to say next, but Wyatt kept trying, saying, "with you, it's...it's easy. And I don't mean that in a negative sense, you know? But you come home, we have dinner, we hang out, it's...it's the way things should be. Things should be like that. Things shouldn't be forced. Nothing with you has ever felt forced, and that's why I think our friendship means so much to me because, ya know...it's nice to have that level of comfortability in your relationship with someone else. Scarlett and I never really had that, not on this level anyway."

"But she's your wife," Kelly said.

"Yeah, cause my dad liked her," Wyatt said, "she was good enough for him, and I didn't want to fight him anymore, and I liked her well enough so I figured why not. And I love our daughter, don't get me wrong, she's my whole world, but...but a child isn't worth staying with someone if you can't be the best possible version of yourself for your child that you can be because you're with that person. Scarlett reminds me of...of everything I've done wrong, everything I did for him, and not myself. You..."

They looked at one another again, this time neither one breaking gaze.

"...you make me happy," Wyatt said, "you make me see new opportunities. New chances. With Scarlett, it felt like...it felt like living in a hotel. Any day could be the day you need to check out, so you never really allow yourself to get comfortable. You appreciate the ammenities, but you never really allow yourself to get comfortable. I look at her and I feel regret, and displacement, and like I'll always be in the hotel. But I look at you...I look at you, and I..."

Kelly pulled her legs up onto the ottoman and turned to face him, Wyatt stammering.

"...I feel home," he said.

A long pause, then Wyatt stood up and exhaled, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry," he said, "that was a lot. I just wanted you to know how much being able to be here with you means and-"

"I love you," Kelly said.

Wyatt stopped, and slowly turned back around to face her. Kelly herself was now standing up, the both of them in front of the roaring faux fireplace, the rain only getting harder outside. Wyatt and Kelly stared at one another for what must've felt like minutes, but in fact was only mere seconds.

"....fuck," Kelly said, mumbling, running a hand nervously up into her hair, "um, I love you. I understand if that makes you have to leave. I understand if I've now ruined everything and, like everybody else, you have to leave now. I'm used to that, so don't feel guilty if you do. But I love waking up to breakfast and I love coming home to dinner, and I love just...hanging out and making jokes and feeling comfortable, for the first time in my goddamn life I feel comfortable. Truly comfortable. I love you. And I don't expect you to return it, I mean, how could you? I'm...I'm nothing compared to her. I'm just some fucking weather girl. Some weather girl with a fake leg. But I couldn't keep it to myself anymore."

"You never had to," Wyatt said softly, walking towards her, Kelly approaching him as he did.

"I didn't?" she asked.

"God no," Wyatt said, "I wish you'd said it sooner. I think...I think I only realized it myself in the last month or so, but..."

"You?" she asked.

"Yeah, me too," Wyatt whispered, "...life is, as you're aware, fucking awful. I'm embroiled in so much bullshit, so much bullshit you don't deserve to deal with-"

"But you don't deserve to deal with it alone," Kelly said.

"-and every day I worry that today will be the day it finally catches up to me," Wyatt continued, "that today will be the day that someone finally taps me on the shoulder, shows me a badge and asks me to come with them. To live with that fear and anxiety day in and day out is exhausting, and everyday that goes by where that doesn't happen only makes me more scared that the chances of it coming the next are vastly improved. But then...but then in between all that, I think to myself, how can I make Kelly happy while being here? You are an escape. And I don't mean that in the sense that that's all you are, but...you're security. Safety. With you, I don't have to worry about those things. I know you'd never judge me if that day came, and that helps. But I wake up and I think 'wow, I get to make breakfast for her again' instead of immediately wondering if today's the day it all ends."

"Please...keep making breakfast for me," Kelly whispered, on the verge of tears.

They were standing an inch apart, maybe less, looking one another dead in the eye. Thunder clapped outside, the fire roared beside them, and Wyatt reached up, running his hand over her face and up into her hair. She shut her eyes and felt her whole body quiver. She leaned up, as he put his other hand on her hip, and leaned down, being a bit taller than her.

"Wait," Kelly said, her voice low and breathy, "...wait...don't do this if it doesn't mean anything."

"Well then it's a good thing it means everything isn't it?" Wyatt replied, and kissed her. Kelly melted into him, and he kissed her harder. She pushed back against him, sending him tumbling down onto the couch where she climbed on top and the two continued to paw at one another. Soon her'd pulled her fresh t-shirt off and felt his hands on her smooth cool skin. She leaned down against him as he pressed his face into her neck and kissed, making her moan.

"Please," she whispered, "just please."

That was all she could manage to think of to say, and Wyatt chuckled. Kissing someone, even Amelia, had never felt more right than it did right now. And as they went further, and further, the couch eventually shaking with their passion as the fire warmed the room, and the rain watered her potted plants on the balcony outside, all either one could think in their heads was the word 'finally'.

                                                                                            ***

Angie was brushing her teeth in the hotel bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Dark circles under her eyes, her skin a little dry. She'd really let herself go recently, and she wanted to start taking care of herself again. Maybe now, being out from under her parents watchful eye once more, she could do just that. She spit into the sink, rinsed her mouth and then exited the bathroom, only to find Clark laying on the bed, his tail thumping as he saw her, which made her smile. She stopped at the desk and started to jot down a few things she needed on the pad of paper the hotel provided.

"It's going to get worse you know," a voice said, causing her to stop. She slowly turned and looked towards Clark, who was now sitting up and staring at her.

"What?" she whispered, her voice shaky.

"It's going to get worse," he repeated himself.

"It is?" she asked, and Clark woofed quietly.

"You're gonna have to do some terrible things, Angie," Clark said, as she approached and dropped to her knees in front of the bed, staring at him, as he added, "I'm so sorry."

Angie was used to hearing dogs speak to her. That was an auditory hallucination she'd long since made peace with, so while it was unnerving even today, it wasn't new. It wasn't surprising or shocking. She had come to expect it, especially when she was off her meds. No. What was horrible, she realized...

...was that he sounded like Calvin.
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The small, golden circular tag jangled on his plain brown leather collar as he plodded along down the road. He'd once belonged to someone, but that had been ages ago, and now he was a free roaming dog, able to go wherever he wanted. The dirt beneath his paws warm but not too hot, he liked the feeling of the breeze on his fur, and the feeling of the ground on his pads. He finally stopped in a field and sniffed the air, before walking over to a specific spot and starting to dig. He loved to dig, but this was a particularly enticing scent. And why wouldn't it be?

It was flesh, after all.

                                                                                              ***

Rachel was sitting in a booth of a diner, her hands wrapped tightly around a mug of coffee as she stared at the grain of the table in front of her. Today, for some reason, she was thinking of her parents more than usual, her father specifically. How, when she was a little girl, she used to go out to breakfast with her dad on the weekends, just the two of them, and she could remember the first time he let her order coffee. Coffee was something they then bonded over, going to different places, opting to try the coffee there and then discuss their varying opinions on its quality. Rachel smiled weakly to herself. She was clinging desperately to memories lately, because, quite frankly, she didn't see herself making new ones anytime soon.

"Hello?" a woman asked, and Rachel looked up, wiping her nose on her sweater sleeve, to see a woman taking a seat across from her in the booth; the woman smiled softly, and added, "I'm...I'm Amelia."

"Oh. Oh, right," Rachel said, "um, hi. Sorry it took so long for us to get together."

"It's okay," Amelia said, "are...are you okay?"

"It's been a lot lately," Rachel said, "But I'll be okay. I'm sorry we had to meet like this, under, ya know, these circumstances."

"It's fine," Amelia said, "I just...I wanted to meet my brothers friends."

That word. Friends. It stabbed Rachel in the heart. They had, in fact, been friends. That wasn't a lie. She and Calvin had been friends before Wyatt came into the picture with them. If he'd never shown up, in fact, it's easy to believe that she would've taken his place. Helped kill Grudin. Been the one dealing with everything. She wouldn't have stood a chance. Here she was, on the veritable sidelines, and she was barely holding it together. Rachel lifted her mug to her lips and sipped, letting the coffee warm her up.

"Yeah, we were friends, we were close," Rachel said, looking down into the mug, "...I miss him."

And the worst part was...she wasn't lying. She did, in fact, miss him. She missed him so much. She knew Wyatt did too. That was the worst part of it all, she thought. Was the fact that they didn't want Calvin to die. But he left them no choice. He was on a downward spiral, and he would've taken them all with him. There was simply no other option. Amelia coughed a little, then ordered her own coffee from a waitress passing by before returning her look towards Rachel.

"Can I ask you a question about him?" Amelia asked, and Rachel nodded slowly.

"Yeah," she whispered, "of course."

Amelia sighed, scratched her nose, then leaned in across the table and lowered her voice.

"...how did he die?" she asked.

Rachel was taken by surprise. She figured Calvin's death was suspicious, but nobody had come forward yet to claim so...until now. Rachel looked up and locked eyes with Amelia. She wanted to break. To tell her everything. She wanted to tell her what Calvin had done, how he'd done it. How he'd blown a man up. A man who, justifiably, deserved to be blown up, but still. How he'd then taken down an entire plane, with her best friend on board, no less. How he was planning to murder a child for the sake of revenge. But she couldn't do that. She couldn't tarnish the image of a dead man to the very sister who adored him. So instead, Rachel shook her head and sighed.

"He shot himself," she said, "I mean...I'm sure they told you. He shot himself by the river. It was somewhere we went to together now and then, just to hang out, drink. That's what happened."

Amelia sighed and fell back into her side of the booth, disappointed.

"Shame," she said, "always kinda hoped he'd go out better than that."

Oh if only you knew, Rachel thought.

                                                                                              ***

"If you don't stop messing with my air conditioner," Angie said, slapping Wyatt's hand away as he chuckled.

"This place is far out here," Wyatt said, "I mean, I guess it's not that surprising, cults usually invest in communes, removed from the prying eye, but still. This is...this is out of the way, even for a cult. Why...why did this guy wanna meet me?"

Angie bit her lip and turned a corner, heading down the last stretch of road before reaching the gate.

"He cares about me, he knows who I'm associated with, and he knows the situation now. I went to him to help hide your dad," Angie said, "I didn't know who else to turn to, who else could...ya know, manage that sort of thing, so I came here. Don't worry, he'll protect me, and, by proxy, anyone I care about. That being said, I'm not happy about you meeting him."

"Why, think if he gets involved with us he might also end up dead?" Wyatt asked, smirking a little.

"It's not him I'm worried about," Angie whispered, "it's what he could do to you."

Wyatt admitted, that wasn't the answer he expected. This guy, this Art guy, he must be one hell of an awful person if even Angie was so clearly scared of him. Wyatt sighed and continued adjusting the knobs, turning the heat on and blasting it in his face. It was getting warmer, but the mornings were still brisk. The compound then come into view, and he had to admit, he was impressed by the size. As her car approached, the gate opened, and Wyatt was even more impressed. She was apparently so trusted she didn't even require a security check of any kind. As she pulled in and parked, turning the car off, she looked at the steering wheel, and Wyatt looked at her as he undid his seatbelt.

"...just don't let him hurt us please," she whispered.

"Have I let anyone hurt us so far?" Wyatt asked, and she smiled weakly.

"No, but he's different, he's...dangerous. Calvin wasn't dangerous," Angie said.

"Calvin wasn't dangerous?" Wyatt asked, "The...the guy who blew up an entire plane, out of the sky? That Calvin?"

"He was unhinged, there's a difference. He acted mostly without malice, but also on a whim. Art is methodical, he plans. He does things with deliberate intent. I'm not saying the things Calvin did were not with intent, he meant to do them, but he acted on emotion...not logic. Art acts on logic."

Wyatt nodded, thinking. Art sounded like his father, and that definitely made his blood run a little colder. Wyatt cleared his throat, then reached over and put a hand on Angie's shoulder, causing her to glance in his direction.

"Whatever happens," Wyatt said, "whether it's here, with this man, or anywhere with anyone else, I won't let anything happen to you or hurt you. That's a promise, okay?"

Angie smiled and nodded in response, and, together, they climbed out of her car and headed for Art's house. Wyatt made these promises, but how long could he realistically keep them for, he wondered. He promised Rachel he would take the fall, he promised Celia that he would help her stop her husband, and now he promised Angie that he would protect her. At some point...one of them was going to be let down, and he was quite frankly scared to find out who.

                                                                                           ***

"He lost everything," Amelia said, mouth full of scrambled eggs.

She and Rachel were still in the diner, and Amelia opted to pay for breakfast. Together they were sitting, eating, while Amelia discussed her brother, Rachel doing nothing more than lending a sympathetic ear to the woman whose brother she'd helped murder.

"I mean you know that, you knew him," Amelia said, "but he lost it all, and that was all that meant anything to him, besides, well, me. Calvin had always been a loner, same as I had, but the difference was that I knew Wyatt in high school, so I at least had some level of socialization because I had a boyfriend. But Calvin...he didn't really have anyone until he met his wife, and they had their family. And once that happened, god, it was like nothing else in the world mattered to him. He poured all his time and energy into that."

Rachel nodded, opting to eat instead of respond, let Amelia just get it all out of her brain and into the open. She figured she needed to just talk about him.

"And after he lost them," she continued, "he just...he was empty. He was a shell. I don't blame him. I was out of the picture well before then, I had been moved to an inpatient facility for a few years to get better, then managed to live on my own thanks to the help of social aide, but somehow he seemed worse than me. He always seemed so much more fragile and delicate than I did, even emotionally."

"What were you in inpatient for?" Rachel asked, before stopping and holding up a hand, "I am so sorry, that was really rude. I...I only ask cause I've had a lifelong history of mental illness myself, so I'm always curious what lands other people in that situation."

"Oh, it's okay," Amelia said, "I don't mind. Um...well, after Wyatt dumped me I felt pretty devastated, as teenage girls often do. But my emotionality was always really weak willed, and I just...crumbled. I couldn't deal with school, I couldn't deal with our parents. I didn't, like, start to hallucinate or anything, it was nothing like that. But I..."

Amelia stopped herself and looked down at her plate, Rachel raising an eyebrow as she bit into her toast.

"If I tell you something," Amelia said, "Something I never even told Wyatt, you can't tell anyone."

"Of course, this is girl talk, I respect the boundaries of girl talk," Rachel said, the both of them giggling.

"Um..." Amelia said, "and I need to preface this by saying I still don't know why I did it, and it certainly wasn't being dumped, I'm not that dramatic. I think it was just everything on top of me all at once that pushed me to this point, ya know? Worrying about finishing high school and getting into art college and then, of course, being dumped and...but one night uh...I used to take baths every night. It was how I unwound. I'd fill the tub with warm water, not hot water, just warm water, and then I'd slide inside it and just lay there, shut my eyes, fantasize about things. One night, lying there, I realized I couldn't fantasize anymore, and that's...that's when I realized it was because I didn't see a future for myself. So I took one of our fathers razor blades off the sink and I got back into the bath and I started gutting my arm."

"Holy shit," Rachel mumbled.

"Yeah," Amelia continued, "Calvin found me because the downstairs bathroom was out of commission and he had to use the toilet, so they managed to rescue me. I guess that's why I asked how he died, because a part of me was hoping it would be something else. But I guess he and I were more alike than I thought, if we both just attempted out of the blue. At least Calvin had more reason than I did though."

"That isn't fair," Rachel said, "don't say that. Your reasons were perfectly valid. Don't sell yourself short."

"It isn't really about selling myself short, it's more..."

Amelia exhaled and pinched her nose between her fingers, clearly trying not to cry.

"...I miss my brother," she said, crying quietly, breaking Rachel's heart. Rachel got up and slid into the booth beside Amelia, pulling her in for a hug, stroking her hair, letting Amelia break down and sob against her.

"It's okay," Rachel whispered, "you're okay. I know. We all do."

"Would you maybe...help me deal with his estate? Say goodbye to him?" Amelia asked through her tears, "I don't...I don't wanna do it alone."

"Yeah of course, whatever I can do to help, you just let me know," Rachel said, causing Amelia to cry more. Rachel sat there, consoling this poor, grieving woman. As she did, her eyes scanned up to the large window beside the booth, only to see Sun Rai standing there, looking at her. Rachel's eyes widened, as Sun's narrowed. She was holding a bag from a medical supply store in one hand, a bag of takeout in the other. Clearly on her way to help care for her father, spend the day with him. Rachel's stomach dropped, as Sun turned and continued walking. Rachel lowered her head against Amelia's and started crying as well.

Just two women, grieving very different things together.

                                                                                              ***

"Nice digs," Wyatt said, hands in his jacket pockets as they walked through Art's home, heading for the greenhouse.

"I do take personal pride in my living arrangement," Art said, "as one should. After all, you spend all your time at home, it should be the nicest place you are."

"Couldn't agree more. Nothing worse than when that place falls apart," Wyatt said, thinking to home...to Scarlett. He cleared his throat as he stopped to admire a statue, Art stopping alongside him, Angie behind them both, nervously chewing her lip. Wyatt finally asked, "So...what was it exactly you wanted to see me about?"

"Angie's an important person to me, Wyatt. I just like to make sure that the people who claim to care about her actually do so," Art said.

"That's admirable, I feel the same way, that's why I agreed to meet you," Wyatt said, catching Art off guard.

"You...you think I'm untrustworthy?" Art asked, smirking, chuckling.

"Well, let's face it, people who run cults rarely are trustworthy. I mean, how many have coaxed their followers into ending their own lives, after all? That doesn't feel like having anyones best interest at heart, now does it?" Wyatt replied, smirking back. Angie couldn't believe what she was witnessing. Wyatt was actually doing it. Standing up to this man, not backing down, holding his ground....for her.

"You're not wrong," Art said, "I won't even argue with you because I agree. That's why I sow unity, not distrust. You'll notice I let people leave if they want, I didn't stop her parents, and I only am speaking with her now because she came back. People here live nice lives. But they are free. They're choosing to stay because I offer them guidance and comfort in a world that generally offers nothing but cruelty."

"You're also not wrong, the world does generally offer nothing but cruelty," Wyatt said, "and far be it from me to tell you how to run what you do. You're obviously an expert at it. And, look...for what it's worth, I appreciate the help. If you're able to do what you're able to do, with your vast network of connections, and track down the person at the center of all of this, then I'm more than willing to give you that chance. I think you and I both want children to be safe, is the end result here. I grew up in an abusive household with an abusive father, I know Angie distrusts her parents, my friend Rachel's folks disowned her for her sexuality, nobody I know, basically, sans one or two people, has had a good childhood. Now I don't know anything about your past, and frankly I don't need to unless you feel interested in sharing, but of course no obligation, but I'm willing to bet you didn't wind up here because you had a great childhood yourself."

Art cackled and slapped Wyatt on the back.

"You know, you really do have a way with words, Wyatt. I think we can come to some kind of arrangement that benefits us all," Art said.

After a bit more talk, a light lunch, Art agreed to continue to help in their search for the mastermind of the operation. He and Wyatt agreed to a regularly scheduled meeting, and after that, Wyatt and Angie left. As they drove back down the road, passing through a somewhat unfamiliar neighborhood, Angie still couldn't believe how things had gone down. She came to a stop sign where kids were crossing on their way home from school, and she chewed anxiously on her nail.

"You talked to him in a way I've never seen anyone talk to him," Angie finally said.

"That's the thing about cult leaders, they like to act like they're gods, but they're people," Wyatt said, "capable of distrust and every other possible unfortunate human trait. Gotta talk to them like they're people, to remind them of that."

"Wyatt....thank you," Angie said, "I...I know I'm not well, and I know I...I know I'm not well. I'm very not well. But you haven't run away, and you haven't abandoned me, and you care, and that means so much, so thank you."

"I have a daughter," Wyatt said, "I guess, in a way, taking care of you is like taking care of her. You deserve to be cared about, Angie, regardless of your mental state. I'm just doing what is right."

They looked ahead at the street, at the crossing, and noticed the kids now grouped in a circle, all looking at something. Wyatt and Angie exchanged a glance, then unbuckled their seatbelts and climbed out of the car. As they headed over to the group, they could see the tail of a dog wagging vigorously, and Wyatt laughed. Kids, always happy to see a dog, he thought. Until the dog stopped and looked up at him, a disembodied hand between its teeth. Wyatt bent down, looked at the dogs nametag, which read, "Clark", then grabbed the dog by its collar and lightly tugged it towards the car where the dog happily hopped in. Angie got back into the drivers seat quickly as they buckled back up and started to drive away.

"Why did you take the dog?" she asked, "it's carrying a human hand, man."

"Yeah," Wyatt said, his eyes wide, his breathing shaky, "...a human hand that happens to be wearing my fathers engraved watch."
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"Every hotel prides itself on doing the bare minimum; fast wifi, a free hot breakfast, cable TV!" Ricky said, "like, congratulations, you want a medal for achieving the lowest effort? That's why people opt to stay at 5 star hotels, not because they actually care but because they at least give the illusion that they do, you know? They do more than the bare minimum and suddenly that makes them top dog."

"You sure have a lot of opinions on things that don't really matter," Rachel said as she scooped her scrambled eggs onto her fork, making Ricky laugh as he poured her more coffee then placed the pot back on the countertop for everyone else before seating himself at the table. Rachel picked up a hashbrown and bit into it before asking, while chewing, "so what's on the agenda today?"

"Well," Ricky said, "I've done quite a bit of digging as it is, in regards to Brighton and Wattson. Brighton was a pawn, nothing more. A sick fucking man, and good riddance, but a pawn. But Wattson, that's where the lead is, I think. He's who we should focus on. Cause, really, he wasn't the one in charge, but he was high up enough on the rank to have information. Unfortunately he's fucking dead, no thanks to your friend."

"Yeah, well, you'll be happy to know he not only complicated your life but everyone's," Rachel said, wiping her mouth on a nearby napkin, "take solace in the fact you aren't alone in your frustration."

"Wattson got a phone call," Ricky said, getting Rachels attention, causing her to look up from her plate as he added, "the night Brighton died. He got a phone call that informed him, then urged him to rush back here and deal with the aftermath. I think it's imperative we start with where that phone call originated from."

Rachel raised her eyebrows and smirked, nodding.

"Damn dude," she said, "you really ARE an investigator."

"I'm a liar for a living, but I don't lie about my skills," Ricky said, lifting his coffee mug up to reach hers as they clinked together and he said, "welcome to team, Rachel."

                                                                                                    ***

Celia was having a rather uneventful morning, but that was about to change. So far she'd gotten her son to school, done some light cleaning around the house, then taken some time for herself. A nice long bath, read a bit of a biography she was partway through and caught up on some paperwork. It was about 11 in the afternoon when her day finally started to shift, all thanks to a knock on her front door. Celia opened the door, only to find Paul standing there. She smiled, stepped aside politely, inviting him in.

"Uh, thanks," Paul said, "Sorry I didn't call beforehand."

"Oh, you're fine," Celia said, shutting the door behind him and heading back to the kitchen where she'd been cutting up some fruits for a smoothie. Paul followed her and watched her dump a handful of various fruit choppings into the blender, then continue cutting up more; Celia eyeballed him as she did, asking "so what's going on? What brings you 'round?"

"Actually," Paul said, "uh, this isn't really a good kinda visit. Celia..."

Celia nodded, nervous, but continuing to put the fruit into the blender. Paul sighed.

"...what do you know about Calvin Klepper?" he asked, and that took the wind right out of her.

"Ex...excuse me?" she asked.

"Calvin Klepper. Went to school with you. Apparently you guys were kinda friends over the last handful of months, until he died anyway. Anyway, it's a pretty unanimous opinion around the office that Klepper didn't kill himself, but that's whatever. What's a bigger, more unanimous opinion around the office is that he blew up the plane that was carrying The Evergreens. Klepper had ties to almost everyone on that plane; a weather girl named Kelly Schuester, best friend to Rachel Minnow, someone else you're both friends with, as well as his former teacher Leonard Wattson. We traced receipts for items he bought, items specifically used for making bombs. Did you know about any of this?"

Celia did her best to keep her cool, but it felt as though she were standing at the edge of lava, and didn't know how to not be burned. She shook her head, shrugging, not saying a word. Paul smirked weakly, knowing when she was lying.

"Celia," Paul continued, "Celia, I need you to be honest with me. because...I want shared custody of our son. And, if you're lying about this, I can't...I can't protect you from what's gonna come. But if you work with me, we can work out some kind of arrangement and-"

"Are you blackmailing me? Seriously? Is that what's happening right now?" Celia asked, looking up, sounding incredulous.

"I'm looking to find a solution that benefits us both," Paul said, "we can make this work so he has both parents, so that the right people get charged with aiding and abetting his crimes. It doesn't have to be you who goes down for it, Cels."

"You're out of your mind," Celia said, "yeah, okay, I knew him. We met at the reunion this year, but we were barely friends. We saw one another a few times outside of that, but that was only because we had mutual friends, like Rachel. Jesus, Paul, what kind of person do you think I am?"

"...a smart one," Paul said, taking her by surprise as he added, "that's...you're smart, Celia, that's why you're a success. That's why I wanted to build myself up, cause I couldn't compare to you. You were always the better one between us, and I wanted to be as good as you. Now I can be, and now I can protect you as well. But I want to have shared custody of our son in return."

Celia stood there, opposite kitchen counter from Paul, the knife gripped tightly as possible in her hand, gritting her teeth. Paul sighed and backed away.

"I'll give you some time to think about it," he said, "just...don't do what's wrong for him. He shouldn't have to lose his mother after losing his dad."

With that, Paul took a swift exit, leaving Celia reeling. Had he even actually returned to see their son, or was he simply on the case, trying to get information from her? Celia walked to the freezer, pulled out an icecube and ran it over her face, trying to cool down. Wyatt. She needed to call Wyatt. If anyone would know what to do, it'd be Wyatt, but where could they meet that Paul wouldn't be watching?

                                                                                             ***

Rachel was sitting in the passenger seat of Ricky's car as they drove towards their destination, but she wasn't really saying much. Ricky turned the radio down, as she rolled down the window and exhaled the smoke from her cigarette out it. After a bit, she looked over at him and he smiled at her.

"So," Ricky said, "tell me about your girl."

"Not my girl anymore," Rachel said coldly.

"I mean...is that official?" Ricky asked.

"I guess not, we haven't really spoken to split up, but it feels pretty over. Either way I don't foresee her ever forgiving me," Rachel said, taking another long drag, "and it's probably for the best. I got to live my dream. I got to be with her for a while. But she's better off without me, that's for sure. Nobody who isn't directly involved in the situation should be involved with us."

Ricky grimaced. Rachel sounded utterly defeated when it came to her relationship, and he hated that. He hated what this had cost her. They finally pulled up to a small grey building, boxy and plain, and he parked. They climbed out of the car and started walking towards the front doors.

"What is this?" Rachel asked.

"This," Ricky said, "is where one comes when one wants to find out where a call originated from. Which is exactly what we're looking to achieve."

"And they just give that information out?" Rachel asked.

"How quickly we forget how good I am at my job," Ricky said, winking at her, making her chuckle. She appreciated his light heartedness, especially right now when all she really wanted to do was curl up into a ball and sob. Ricky opened the door, let her enter first, the followed her in, shutting it behind them. As they looked around the interior, Ricky elbowed Rachel, nodding towards the front desk, where a visibly queer looking woman was sitting. Rachel rolled her eyes and looked at him, and he smiled, laughing. They walked up to the desk, and the woman looked up at them.

"Hi, how can I help you today?" she asked.

"Hi there, Jennifer," Ricky said, reading her nametag, "my name is Saul Eckins, and I'm from corporate. I'm here today to try and get my new employee here caught up on how things work around here. This is Nicky Belle. See, she's going to be working in a location such as this, not at corporate with me, and I like to do on hands training, so I was hoping you could maybe show her the ropes."

"Oh, um, sure sir, yes, I can do that," Jennifer said, "please, excuse me, let me go and get a visits badge for her real fast."

Jennifer got up and quickly absconded to the back office, leaving Ricky and Rachel alone.

"Damn dude, you're good and all, but Nicky Belle? You gave me a porn star name," Rachel said, making Ricky laugh.

"Hey, who knows, it might help," Ricky said, "she's cute, right?"

"...what are you doing?" Rachel asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"...breakups suck, even if you aren't technically broken up," Ricky said, "but you know what helps? Flirting. Getting your self worth back. And if you can do that while getting some work done, then what's the harm in that. Not like you're ever gonna see this woman again anyway."

"You're one hell of a wing man," Rachel said, trying not to laugh. She was genuinely touched by Ricky's kindness. Jennifer suddenly arrived back at the desk and gave Rachel the badge, with the name "Nicky" written on it, before telling her she'd be shadowing her around the office. As Rachel pinned the badge to her shirt, Ricky looked at Jennifer and stepped behind the desk.

"Just try and give her the basics, maybe a bit of in depth training, and don't worry about your post, I'm right here," Ricky said, "your supervisor will never know you left your post, I got ya covered."

Once Jennifer and Rachel were out of sight, Ricky sat down and started tapping away on the computer, trying to bring up Brighton's phone records, looking for Wattons' phone number. Once he found it, he started running that through the system, bringing up his call logs. He scoured the numbers, tracing them all back to their various points of origins. Various businesses, food deliveries, things of that nature. Sometimes a family member or two. And then, at the very end...

...a number that wasn't associated with any of those. Ricky grinned and snapped his fingers.

"Gotcha," he whispered.

                                                                                              ***

Wyatt was laying on the couch, eating ice cream from the container, when there was a knock on the door. Wyatt sighed, got off the couch and walked over to the door, opening it and finding Celia standing in the hallway of the complex. She stared at him, eyeing him up and down. Wyatt, usually so well dressed, now standing before her in a v-neck t-shirt, shorts and a bathrobe. Wyatt stepped aside and let Celia enter, closing the door behind her.

"What are you doing?" Celia asked.

"Eating ice cream and watching romantic comedies," Wyatt said.

"Jesus, when did you turn into a divorced middle aged soccer mom with severe depression," Celia asked, smirking as Wyatt plopped himself back down on the couch. Celia came and sat on the footstool by the couch, and watched for a moment, glancing back and forth between the TV and Wyatt before picking up the remote and clicking the television off.

"Hey! Richard was about to win Ashley back!" Wyatt said.

"Okay dude, this is just sad," Celia said, "fearless leader this is not, and right now I need fearless leader."

"Maybe I don't wanna be fearless leader anymore," Wyatt said, "you ever think about that?"

"Wyatt...my ex is back, and he's threatening to take my son," Celia said, "he knows about Calvin. He knows about the bomb on the plane. He's a federal agent, an investigator, and we are cooked if this gets too out of hand. I need you right now, okay? I am...I am scared."

Wyatt finally sat back upright and put the empty ice cream container on the couch beside him, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his robe.

"Wait...start from the beginning," Wyatt said.

"My ex, with whom I have my son, has come back and wants shared custody. He's offering me protection, immunity from the consequences if I cooperate, as well as shared custody with our son. But that would mean turning you all over, and...Wyatt, all you've said is that we're a team, you, Rachel and I. By extension, I suppose, Kelly and Angie. I'm not gonna do that, I'm not gonna turn evidence on y'all just for the-"

"Do it," Wyatt said, shocking her.

"...wh...what?" she asked.

"Do it," Wyatt said, "Celia, if you can get immunity for yourself, not have your life disrupted, take it. I don't wanna see another family ripped apart. Take it. Place all the blame on Calvin and I. I'll take the fall, I don't care. Not like I got anything left anyway. Look around, Celia, I'm at rock bottom."

Celia couldn't believe what she was hearing. Here was a man, the man who'd weathered them through the worst storms, who now was just giving up. Celia stood up and grabbed the remote and started hitting Wyatt with it, causing him to recoil on the couch.

"Ow! That hurts!"

"Yeah, I bet!" she said, "what the fuck do you think you're saying?! You're content to lay here, watch shitty romantic comedies and just take the fall for things that weren't even started by you?! That isn't the Wyatt Bloom I know! The Wyatt Bloom I know is driven, and motivated, and ambitious. He'll stop at nothing to keep those he loves safe, and do whatever it takes to achieve that goal! The Wyatt Bloom I know is a man of honor and integrity! Not this...this robe coddled hobo you've become! This isn't Wyatt Bloom! Now you get the fuck up, you get fucking dressed and you help me figure this out or so help me god I will make sure you never have a moments peace ever again!"

Wyatt stared at her for a bit, then cracked the biggest smile. Celia started laughing, apologizing, and Wyatt stood up and hugged her. After all that had happened, this was really what he'd needed. Just one person to stand up and say to his face what she'd just said. After the hug, Wyatt pulled away and looked at her.

"Now go brush your teeth," Celia said, "we got work to do, and fearless leader don't do work with dirty chompers."

                                                                                               ***

Ricky and Rachel got back into Ricky's car and started back towards the motel. Nothing on the radio. No conversation. Ricky had accomplished his goal, more or less, but Rachel seemed distant, far off and distracted. They pulled to a stoplight and came to a crawl. Rachel exhaled and pushed her bangs from her face.

"Thank you," she said.

"Come again?" Ricky asked.

"Thank you," Rachel repeated, "I...I needed today. I know we were doing something very serious, but...I needed this. To...to flirt with another woman, to...feel better in general. To feel useful. I needed that. I've always struggled so much with my queerness, especially now, and this helped a lot. I feel better about myself. I just want her back though."

Ricky nodded, sighing, as the light turned green and they continued.

"Yeah," he said, "yeah I know the feeling. I lost my girl too. I want her back. But that's just how things go. Sometimes people who seem important don't stick around for as long as we'd like them to. And that's okay. It's taken me a long time to come to terms with that, but it's the truth. I don't regret any of the time she and I shared, I'm grateful for the experience, the chance to have loved her, but...it stings."

"What happened?" Rachel asked, and Ricky grimaced.

"So I'm feeling like lunch, what do you say?" he asked.

Meanwhile, Wyatt was taking the trash out, cleaning up the apartment before Kelly got home. As he stood out by the dumpster, putting in two out of three bags, he heard a car door shut behind him and turned on his heel, only to see Angie there. He sighed, hand to his chest, smiling, until he noticed how ragged she looked. She looked as if she'd been sleeping in her car, and hadn't showered. Wyatt sighed, opened his arms, and Angie walked towards him, collapsing against him as he held her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I will be," she said weakly, "but before we can focus on me, I need you to do something."

"Anything," Wyatt said, "I'm back on track, let's do this. What is it?"

Angie pulled away and looked up at him.

"I need you to meet my cult leader," she said.
Published on
Wyatt was fast asleep on the couch, enjoying the quiet. He was so used to being woken up to help with the kids, make Mona breakfast, take them to school, and, lately, get into a fight with Scarlett. To have this serenity...it felt unearned, and he felt like a bad father for enjoying it, but after everything that had happened over the course of the last few days, he was willing to ignore all that for the sake of his peace of mind. Kelly had left early in the morning, leaving a box of donuts on the counter from a place down the street, along with a pot full of coffee, so he was well taken care of when he would eventually rouse from his sleep. Wyatt slowly opened one eye, feeling the sun coming in through the curtains and rolled his head up a bit, a blurry face coming into view, causing him to scream and suddenly jolt awake.

It was just Rachel, though, sitting on the ottoman by the couch.

"Jesus!" he shouted, "don't do that!"

"What, sit here non-menacingly? Would you rather I have a shotgun in my hand?" Rachel asked as Wyatt sat upright and rubbed his eyes with the bottoms of his palms, groaning before getting up and going to get himself some coffee. As he poured it into a mug he checked his watch.

"Holy cow, it's almost noon," he said, "that's later than I've slept in ages."

Wyatt turned and faced Rachel across the counter, she was now sitting on a barstool, as he dug into the donut box for a treat and sipped his coffee. Rachel was still in pajamas; a black tanktop and emerald green sleep shorts, her hair a fright. Wyatt raised an eyebrow.

"You okay?" he asked.

"...am I okay?" Rachel asked, "well, let's see, in the last few days I've watched a man get his skull bashed in, put a car in a seedy neighborhood to be stolen and, oh yeah, probably lost the love of my life. So...no, Wyatt, but thanks for asking."

Wyatt grimaced and nodded solemnly as he continued having his mid morning snack. He felt so guilty. All these women around him, and he'd dragged them into his bullshit. Celia, with her son, Rachel, with Sun Rai, Scarlett, with everything, Amelia, with her brothers death, Angie, with...whatever the hell was wrong with her. Kelly was the only one seemingly untouched because she remained removed just enough to not warrant being in danger. Rachel lifted her head, her eyes meeting Wyatt's again.

"What were you doing here when I came by?" Rachel asked.

"Making dinner," Wyatt replied, chewing his donut, washing it down with coffee, "why?"

"Just...seemed a little, uh...romantic, is all," Rachel said, shrugging, "the table was set, candles and everything, you were dressed all nice. I don't know. Was just curious, I guess."

"It was just a nice dinner to thank her for letting me stay here," Wyatt said, "nothing more, nothing less really."

"If you say so," Rachel said.

If you say so. That bothered him. Who was he trying to convince, really, Rachel or himself? He finished his donuts, slurped down the last of his coffee and then set the mug back down on the counter with a soft thud as he looked at Rachel, who looked back at him.

"So," Wyatt said, "...let's talk about Angie."

"I thought the day would never come," Rachel replied.

                                                                                                    ***

Angie was currently standing in the hall bathroom of her parents house, looking at herself in the mirror. She was a fright. Even after three showers and lots of self care, she was still a fright. She didn't feel like herself. She lifted her hands up in front of her face, and she couldn't recognize them as her own. Angie shook her head and then exited the bathroom, shutting off the light on her way out, before bumping into her father in the hallway.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"You okay?" her father, Anthony, asked, and Angie shrugged; Anthony then asked, "you going anywhere? You have plans today?"

Angie shook her head again, knowing full well she was lying. She did, in fact, have plans for today. She was going back to the compound to speak with Art again, and she knew how much her parents would berate her for it if they knew. Angie slinked on past her father and headed for her bedroom, where she gathered up her things; her small backpack, some snacks, her headphones. She then exited, said goodbye to her folks as she passed through the living room, and headed out to her car.

Her parents had worked so hard to get them out of the cult, to get them into a so called 'normal life', all for the sake of their daughter who, they felt, deserved to have a shot at a life not lived under someone elses thumb. And yet here she was, willingly returning, as well as blindly following another man they didn't even know existed. Art said they would take care of the body, but she didn't know what they actually wound up doing with it. She figured they had some kind of off site area to bury people, but she didn't press the matter. Todays meeting wasn't even about that, or anything of the sort, really. In fact, it was about Wyatt. Because, oddly enough, despite the attachment she still felt to Art, and to the compound, she felt more protective of Wyatt, and so when Art asked to meet him, Angie got scared. What if things went south after introducing them? What if she was forced to choose between them?

Hell, she couldn't make that decision. She could barely think for herself, after all.

                                                                                                       ***

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rachel asked.

"Because I just...I figured it didn't matter, alright?" Wyatt replied, as he walked back to the sunken in living room, Rachel following cautiously behind him; Wyatt continued, "because it's me, okay? I'm the one he wants to meet, apparently, from what Ricky told me. Angie herself hasn't really brought it up yet. So if it only involves me, why drag you into it? You have enough to worry about."

"You're right, I do! Because of you, Wyatt!" Rachel said loudly, getting his attention. In all their time together, through it all, she had rarely if ever actually gotten upset with him, but now here she was, eyes red and voice cracking, the anger finally seeping out like sewage from a broken drain as she added, with venom in her voice, "everything that's wrong with my life currently is because...of...you."

Wyatt nodded slowly, seating himself on the ottoman.

"You're not wrong," he said quietly.

"You can try to blame Calvin for a lot of it, and arguably you'd be in the right, but at this point, he's gone, and yes, we're stuck cleaning up his mess, but that doesn't help the fact that you're adding to it! You're supposed to be my friend and now you're not even telling me things! I thought we were in this together, wasn't that what you said at the funeral? A team. We have to be a team. No more lone wolf bullshit! But instead you're...you're just hiding things from me, keeping information to yourself, and to compound all of that, you're not even going home, opting instead to only widen the gap between you and your wife while you stay here and play house with my best friend! I mean, what is that even about?!"

"I told you, it was just a kind gesture," Wyatt said.

"Wyatt," Rachel said, seating herself on the couch in front of him, pushing her hair out of her face and sniffling, "Wyatt...you don't make a woman a candlelit dinner from scratch without a reason. You can claim up, down and sideways that it's a gesture of kindness for her letting you stay here, but...I don't buy it one bit. I do think you're grateful, yes, but that's not the kind of thing one does on a whim. That's the kind of thing one fantasizes about doing and then, when they finally have the chance, they do it. I know, because I did the same thing with Sun Rai."

Wyatt looked up, Rachel having his attention now. He didn't want to talk about this, but he figured he should let her at least get her peace out.

"...I spent so much of my adult life fantasizing about...about what a life with her would look like," Rachel said, rubbing her face on her bare arm, sniffling more, "because I thought the opportunity was an impossibility. Then, when it became very much real, I followed through on those fantasies. What is going on between you and Kelly isn't really my business, I suppose, despite the closeness I have with both of you, but I know when someone is in love with someone, because I've felt that yearning, that pining, deep in my own soul for far too long to not be able to recognize it."

Wyatt lowered his head and let the tears silently roll down his face. Everything she said was the truth. He had said they had to be a team. He was in love with Kelly. He was keeping things from Rachel. Fuck. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Wyatt took a moment, exhaled, then shook his head.

"Things were supposed to be easier now," Wyatt said quietly, his voice cracking, "with Calvin gone, things were...things were supposed to be easier now. Doesn't seem like that's the case."

"Things are never getting easier until it's over, and even then there's no guarantee," Rachel said.

"...I didn't tell you because I needed to keep you as safe as possible, same reason Scarlett knows nothing, same reason I've tried to hide as much as I could from Kelly - though Calvin made that a bit harder by including her inadvertently - because...my whole life I watched women get manipulated by my father. He hurt my mother. Cheated on her left and right. He got me to leave Amelia, who I loved so very much, breaking her heart. I couldn't...I can't be him."

Rachel finally got it. That's when it clicked. Wyatt wasn't being secretive for any reason other than the protection of the women around him, and there was something deeply admirable about that. She smiled weakly and reached forward, patting him on the leg.

"You're not your father, Wyatt, I can tell you that much with certainty," Rachel said, "but I do have to say, if you don't wanna be him, really don't wanna be him, then you need to talk to Scarlett about whatever is going on in your heart regarding Kelly. Don't be like he was. Don't just do things and then try to make up for them. Be better than that."

Rachel then got up and gathered some clothes from her bag, Wyatt watching her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm taking a very long shower, and then I am going to go to Ricky's hotel room," Rachel said, "and see what we can come up with in regards to the people in charge, and maybe Grudin's wife. She's still on our trail. She's not gonna stop. We need to do something."

Rachel headed towards the hallway leading to the bathroom when she stopped and turned to face him again, their eyes locking but neither saying a word until she finally spoke.

"...for what it's worth," she said, "whatever is going on between you and Kelly, I like it. Scarlett is cool, she's my friend, don't get me wrong, and she doesn't deserve to be lied to about this, but...you and Kelly make a lot more sense. If you're wondering if...if it would work between you two? Yeah. It would. Take it from an outsiders perspective. You two kinda belong together. Hopefully that gives you some peace of mind."

And with that she headed to the bathroom, leaving a very emotionally confused Wyatt behind.

                                                                                                      ***

"When can I meet him?" Art asked.

Art and Angie were sitting in his sunroom adjacent to his library as they had tea and cookies. Angie was being cautious about her words, scared to say the wrong thing. Scared of what he might do to her if she angered him. For a man she was once all too eager to please, now she felt fear in replace awe. She hadn't put her lips on her teacup once the entire time.

"Well, I'll have to talk to him about it," Angie said, shrugging, "that's just the thing, he's been very busy. We haven't really had much of a chance to speak since, well, that night, really."

Art nodded, walking along and watering his flowers as he did. He stopped, reaching out and touching the petals of one white rose gently with his fingertips before speaking again, smiling.

"Angie, I always knew you were better than most of the kids who grew up here," he said, "much smarter, much more in tune with the truth of the world. It was obvious to anyone with eyesight, really. You had this...this shining aura about you that seemed to be impossible to extinguish. But I'm sad to say now it's been dimmed immensely, and I think a big part of that is simply your association with these people."

"You don't understand, he's why I wasn't on the plane, I'm alive because of him," Angie said.

"And that's certainly something to be thankful towards him for, no doubt," Art remarked, "But still, you're sacrificing yourself for the sake of others. I just want to protect you from that."

"My parents said you want me to sacrifice for you," Angie said, taking Art by surprise. He raised a single eyebrow, then smirked, running a hand through his slicked back white beach blonde hair.

"Sounds like something they would say," he replied, shrugging, "but they're entitled to their opinion. But why keep coming back here if you're so certain that they're right, that I only want to control you? I'm offering you help, not control. You came to me with a problem and I gladly took you in and did something about it. When's the last time someone did something for you, Angie? Hmmm? Instead of the other way around?"

Angie fidgeted nervously. She knew the tactics. She knew not to fall for it. Even now, in her mostly unmedicated state when the voices were starting again and she was unsure if she could trust anything she saw or heard, she still recognized the tactics and knew enough not to let herself be duped. She set her teacup down on the black metal circular table and exhaled.

"I can bring him by," she said, hoping if nothing else to appease Art for a bit longer, "but...he probably won't be interested in saying much. The last thing, I think, we need is more people involved."

"Angie, I told you I would help you. You want to protect children, don't you? That's what I want too," Art said, "let's work together to bring this to a close that's good for everyone involved."

Art approached the table, setting his watering can down on the nearby sill before leaning down on the table, their faces an inch apart, his breath hot on the skin of her face.

"...I want...to meet...Wyatt Bloom," he said, grinning, reaching up and patting her on the cheek.

                                                                                                      ***

Ricky opened his hotel door, then sighed and stepped aside to allow Rachel to enter. Ricky shut the door behind her once she was fully inside, then turned to face her, hands in his pockets.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Things went south," she said, "everything went south, as expected. I can't just stay with my friend, Kelly, she already has company, and more than three people in one apartment would eventually raise suspicions of the landlord or management or whatever the fuck it is they have, and I certainly can't go to my parents. I need somewhere to stay. I can pay for part of the room if need be."

Ricky sighed and looked at her as she sat on the end of one of the two beds. Rachel, now showered and clean, still looked like hell. She was wearing a shoulderless cropped shirt with a flannel over it and tight high waist jeans with big gold buttons on the front, her little black boots firmly on the floor, seeing how tall and leggy she was. Ricky walked over and sat beside her.

"I have this cousin," Ricky said, "uh, and when we were growing up, I just...I always had this intuition about her. About stuff in general, actually. It's kind of why I'm in the line of work that I'm in. Anyway, she and I were close. So a few years after college, she shows up on my doorstep. I was living in this tiny little kinda rundown apartment in downtown, right over a deli. Place always smelled like cured meats. It was a nice aroma, actually, but it didn't really get most girls in the mood. Salami, surprisingly, doesn't do it for women."

Rachel laughed, snorting, as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Ricky smiled, continuing.

"Anyway," he said, "she shows up and she tells me that she finally came out, and that her folks stopped speaking to her. My aunt and uncle, her parents. She says she dropped out of school, that she lost most of her friends, the usual spiel, sad to say. I let her stay with me, because I knew how cruel the world was to people like her. People like you, Rachel."

Rachel and Ricky looked at one another now, and he smiled warmly.

"The world is a nasty enough place, but to be different, to be othered, that only paints an even larger target on your back," Ricky continued, "so if I can, in some small way, help ease that pain, then by god I'll do it. I know things between us, your friends and I, are weird and complicated and y'all kept me in a shed for weeks on end, but...but that doesn't take away the humanity I want to show to others in their time of need. Queer people already deal with so much, the last thing you need to do is deal with it alone, struggle to just even exist. So your parents are assholes. So your girl kicked you out. It sucks. It's really shitty, and I'm sorry. But you have a friend here, with me. I'm nothing if not an ally. So yeah...you can stay here. But we're gonna be workin'."

Rachel broke down, part laughing and part crying, as she hugged Ricky, and he hugged her back, patting her on the back. Who would've thought this man, this man pretending to be someone else when he'd come into their lives and initially deceived them, would wind up being her new good friend?

It's always the people you least expect, she thought.

                                                                                                          ***

Angie parked her car back in her parents driveway and headed inside. She wanted dinner. She wanted to shower. She wanted to just feel...normal. Or as close to normal as her brain would allow her. However, as soon as she stepped into the living room, she noticed her parents standing in front of the couch, clearly in the middle of a discussion, and they quieted the moment they saw her. Angie stopped and looked at them, them looking back at her, and she felt the change in the air instantly.

"You can't be serious," her mother, Gloria, said, "please tell me you're not serious."

"That's...aggressive, Gloria, let's let her explain herself," Anthony said.

"Explain what?" Angie asked.

"Why you're going to see Art," Gloria said sternly, mostly out of concern, "we worked so hard to get us free, to get you to have a normal life. Why would you willingly-"

"It was just a single time," Angie said, already lying, "I just...I needed advice about something, and-"

"I found your medication," Gloria said, "not...not on purpose, I didn't go snooping. I went into your room to put your laundry away and when I dropped some of it on the floor, I noticed the bottle under the bed. You aren't taking it, and it seems like you might not have been taking it for a good while. You're not thinking clearly, Angelica. What's going on? How can we help you?"

"How did you even find out?" Angie asked, as Anthony and Gloria exchanged a look.

"...he called us," Anthony said, and this hit Angie like a punch to the gut.

"...he what?" she asked coldly, quietly.

"Mhm," Anthony said, nodding, "yeah, he called us. Trying to intimidate us, no doubt, that's what these kinds of people do. Angie, you know you can't trust a thing he says, you know that-"

Angie turned and yanked the door open, rushing back to her car. Her folks were quick behind her, but not quick enough as she slammed the door shut, locked it and started the car up, backing out of the driveway and speeding away down the street and around the corner. The tears coming in hot and fast now, she didn't know what to do or where to go. She felt so alone in this world. Finally, she decided. She drove to the kennel. She knew it'd be closed, but she had the key. Marion had left her one in case she ever needed to come someplace familiar and ground herself. Angie eventually parked in the lot, and entered the building, all the dogs barking all around her. But it wasn't barks. Not to Angie. To Angie they were voices, clear as day, instructions, ideas, criticisms, support. All different voices, some she recognized and others she didn't. Angie walked down the hall of kennels, until she finally stopped in front of a Dalmation and knelt. The dog nosed at her through the grate and then sat down.

"You'll be okay," it told her, and she wept, putting her hand through the metal bars so the dog could lick it. She had done so much to help Wyatt Bloom. She only hoped, now, that he would repay the favor and protect her again.
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About

A group of former high school classmates reunite at their 10 year reunion, and discover they each want something different, many with someone else there. What ensues is a labyrinthian relationship amongst them involving crime, murder, romance and, in one particular case, terrorism.