Eliza didn't want to be here.
The one and only time she'd been to a funeral, it had been for her mother. Now, here she was, standing outside the church, while Casey's service was underway indoors. She was seated on a marble bench next to some fancy headstones, eating a blackberry fig bar, staring at the ground in front of her. Crying had become her normal, so much so that she no longer even knew she was doing it. Tears wet her face as she chewed, and thought about the last few weeks. Suddenly the church doors opened up and Justine exited, Eliza looking over at her, their eyes meeting. Justine sighed, leaned against the wall by the bench and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, lighting one.
"This is a no smoking zone," Eliza said.
"Oh, what, one of the corpses gonna get cancer?" Justine asked, "...sorry, that was kind of bitchy. I know, I shouldn't...I don't even wanna be doing it anymore. Are you okay?"
"Define 'okay'," Eliza said, making Justine scoff.
"Yeah," she replied, "I know what you mean. This is...I feel sick. I feel sick to my stomach. None of this should be happening, yet it is. It's like...it's like there's no winning, in life, you know? Things might start to seem good, you might start to recover, but in the end you're pushed back down into the hole you crawled out of and ultimately you're forced to face the realization that, no, you can't win. No matter how hard you try, how long you try for, you cannot win. Some people, and I think Casey knew this because I think she was one of them, are destined for doom. That isn't fair, but it is what it is."
Eliza finished her fig bar and stuffed the wrapper in her sports coat pocket, beginning to tie her messy hair up behind her.
"You're probably not wrong," Eliza said, "I try to be positive, but-"
"i did this," Justine whispered, causing Eliza to stop and look at her again, confused; Justine, one hand holding her cigarette, the other covering her face, started crying, whispering, "i did this to her. i didn't bring her inside. i didn't leave to talk to her. she needed someone, and i wasn't there. i was there but i wasn't there. she's dead because of me. the only creative partner i've ever had is dead because of me. i could've had more get togethers with my friends. i can't have more time with her now. my priorities were fucked, and i killed her."
"I used to think I killed my mom," Eliza said, "but it isn't true, these things just...happen. Back when the show was originally being made, Bea, Liam and I discussed doing an episode on the topic of death, but like, not heavy handed or anything, you know? We didn't wanna freak kids out. But kids are smart enough to understand the concept, moreso than adults give them credit for, and it's stupid to try and hide it from them. Only makes them more confused and scared in the end. We wrote a script, but we never shot it, it never even got remotely into production. I think it was more just...a way for us to cope with things. But in that script, Bea wrote something that said 'we try to assign blame to whatever we can when someone dies because it makes it easier, but death isn't easy, because life isn't easy, and more often than not, there's nobody to blame'. I always think about that quote."
Justine looked towards Eliza and sniffled, wiping her face on the ball of her palm. She then put her cigarette out and sat down on the bench beside her, Eliza scooting over a bit, making room for her.
"When my plane was going down," Justine said, "the last thing my boyfriend said to me was 'I did this', and the thing is, at the time I didn't understand what he meant, but in hindsight, I get it. He was the one who wanted to go on the flight, with me. He thought his mere presence was enough to put an end to us both. I wish I could tell him how wrong he was."
Eliza laid her head on Justine, and Justine smiled, hugging her. It had been a rough few weeks. Justine's eyes scanned the cemetery and thought about Casey. Thought about Liam's offer to release Casey's book, to finish it, compile it and publish it under her name. She promised she would do it, if for nothing else than for the hope of making sure everyone knew her name in more ways than just her death. Justine didn't think it fair that the only way the world would ultimately know Casey was by her exit.
"Everyone failed her at every turn," Justine sad, "I'm not saying she didn't have problems of her own, but...collectively, as a society, everyone failed her in life. I'm not gonna fail her in death too."
Eliza didn't know what this meant, but the sentiment alone was enough to make her smile.
***
David was wiping his mouth with a napkin as he watched his daughter push her chow mein around with her chopsticks across the table from him in the prison cafeteria. After a few moments, he cleared his throat, causing Lexi to snap back to reality and look up at him, shaking her head, rubbing her forehead with her other hand.
"Shit, I'm...I'm sorry," she said, "I'm sorry, I should be more present."
"Why don't you go to the funeral," David said, "we can always have lunch another time, and pretty soon I'll be out of here, and we can have lots of lunches then. In fact, I was hoping that, maybe the night of your graduation, you'd like it if I took you and your friends and your girlfriend out to dinner somewhere to celebrate."
Lexi smiled, looking back down at her takeout container.
"That's really sweet dad," she muttered, "I think that would be fun, yeah. It's been a hard few months. But I'm excited, like, to finally be out of school, to finally be making a career for myself, and for you to come home. Course I don't like at home anymore, but you know. Will still be nice to have you back."
Lexi couldn't believe how much life was about to change. She was about to graduate with multiple degrees. Her father had been all but exonerated after turning evidence and would soon be free. She and Keagan had been discussing more serious topics, such as along term relationship plans. Seemed like everywhere she turned, things were changing, and Lexi liked change, it made her feel reinvigorated. She welcomed it. She rolled some of her noodles up around her chopsticks and lifted them to her mouth as her father took a long drink of his soda and smiled at her.
"You know what's best about being a parent that nobody ever mentions?" David asked, and she shook her head; he continued, "you watch your kids grow up, become their own person, forge their own identity, change and grow. It's wonderful. Everyone acknowledges that. But nboody ever seems to bring up the fact that they still act like the kid they were without even knowing they're doing it. You, for example. The way you eat noodles, any kind of noodles, be it ramen or pasta or chow mein...you always roll it in a specific way and you always slurp them. You've made the same face eating noodles since you were five years old, and when I see it, it reminds me of that little girl you were, that little girl you'll always be to me..."
Lexi felt her eyes tear up and she reached across the table, holding her fathers hand. Michelle's dad had left, Casey's dad had used her, it seemed like so many people she knew had awful or absent fathers, and she felt so lucky to have the opposite. She squeezed and he squeezed back as he sniffled.
"You're the best daddy," she said, and he chuckled.
"Well," he said, shrugging, "I try to be, for the best daughter."
***
Keagan was walking down the hall, going through various files in her hands, feeling awful that she herself wasn't at the funeral, but in all honesty, she didn't know Casey all that well and, frankly, she felt she did better when she avoided things such as these. She focused on work and that was what got her through it all. Keagan stopped at the water fountain and took a long drink before continuing, hearing heels coming after her quickly, turning to see Stephanie.
"Hi there," Keagan said, smiling, "you in a hurry?"
"Just to catch you, speedy," Stephanie said, making Keagan chuckle as she continued, "I have an opportunity for you. The brand is seeking to reach out into other avenues of media. As you may have heard, podcasts are all the rage, everyone and their sister have one."
"They do?" Keagan asked.
"Well, me and my sister have one, so," Stephanie said, "anyway, they rake in tons of money with little production effort. That isn't to say they don't take effort, I'm just saying that when you remove the video aspect of something, it makes it quite less expensive to produce. Anyway, I looked into your background. Doing college radio, doing journalism. You were quite prolific when you were solo, and that's why I figured I'd come to you for this."
Keagan stopped in the hall and turned to face Stephanie, confused, raising an eyebrow. Stephanie folded her arms.
"Look, I won't lie," she said, "frankly, I don't think there's anyone else remotely capable of doing this. I'm appealing to your ego, here, Keagan. Do this for me, with me. I want to create a storytelling podcast for the show, one that's fully audio based, maybe each week a different story with a different character, and then every fifth episode you can take calls from kids or answer letters from kids or viewers. Does that sound...appealing to you? Could even bring on people from production sometimes, get a behind the scenes look at stuff for those in the industry."
Keagan tapped her shoe and bit her lip. She had been feeling underutilized for a while here, and this did sound like a good chance for her to spread her wings out a bit and try something new. Keagan felt like, at some point, she'd fallen into the background, blending in with everyone else in production, and while that was safe, comforting even, she did feel like her talents were being wasted. After all, it'd been her who'd tracked down Liam, not Michelle. She had always kind of envied Michelle's inclusion in the show.
"Okay," Keagan finally said, making Stephanie do a little boogie midhall, which caused Keagan to laugh and add, "but, if we do this, we do it my way. I'm not saying that the premise, the setup, the execution you offered isn't gonna work, it sounds fullproof, but I want to be able to do it the way I want to do it, is that okay?"
Stephanie put her hands on Keagan's arms and smiled.
"Keagan, whatever you want you got it," she said, "I'm just grateful you trust me enough to take the chance."
"Truth be told, I'm kind of bored here," Keagan said, shrugging, "I'm always interested in doing something else."
"Come with me, and I'll show you the audio studio," Stephanie said, "you're gonna love it, it has its own dedicated kitchen."
"Is food all you think about?" Keagan asked, laughing.
"It's lunchtime!" Stephanie replied, also laughing as they headed down the hall together now.
***
"Art, I think, is not just our way of processing things, for those who not only make it but also consume it, but also a way for us to preserve ourselves in the annals of history, to not be forgotten. So long as we produce something, we can be eternal, immortal," Justine said, standing with Eliza across the street from the cemetery, in front of a deli where they'd each gotten a sandwich and were now looking back towards the headstones; she wiped her mouth on her napkin and added, "I know that's so trite, so cliché, but that's the truth."
"I don't think the truth is either of those things," Eliza replied, shrugging, chewing, "and I don't think you're wrong. I know I make puppets to process the way I feel about people, things, so you're not wrong. But even the kids we talk to about the show, when we have these live get togethers, they always talk about how important it is to them. Michelle told me it made her feel special and safe when she was a little girl in the hospital, and to know that it has that kind of impact, it means a lot."
"Casey was the same way," Justine said, as they started walking down the street, Justine tugging at the collar of her jacket, keeping it closed as she kept eating, "one night while working we ordered in and she was telling me that, in the midst of an awful, abusive childhood, she felt seen, heard, accepted because of the warmth that the show brought to her life. That's the best kind of art. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with art for the sake of enjoyment, something that's made purely for entertainment, I think a healthy balance is important, but the ones that help us make sense of the world, that...that help us make sense of ourselves, those are the best ones...Eliza, will you help me?"
They stopped on the street and Eliza looked at Justine, waiting for the question. Justine sighed, finished her sandwich and tossed the wrapper into a nearby garbage can.
"I'm going to finish, compile and release a book that Casey had spent her life working on, a book kind of about herself," Justine said, "but I want there to be something to go with it, a puppet, a doll of sorts, to represent her and the creature in the book. I can't think of anyone better suited than yourself to do the job."
Eliza kept chewing, thinking. This would be a lovely way to honor Casey, to memorialize, nay, immortalize her. If she could have a hand in that, she should realistically take the chance. But what if she did a bad job? What if her puppets and dolls made the whole thing so uncanny that it scared away whatever target audience who might be remotely interested in it?
"I just...I feel like I need to do something for her," Justine whispered, looking at her shoes, hands stuffed in her coat pockets after having buttoned it, "I feel like this would be a great way to say I'm sorry."
Eliza finished her own sandwich, threw her garbage away and nodded while chewing. She then finished, swallowed and hugged Justine, much to Justine's surprise. Eliza patted her on the back and smiled.
"I'll help you," Eliza said, not realizing in the moment just how much she'd regret offering. See, the thing about Eliza is that she wants to do right, she wants to help others, she wants to make others matter...even if it meant it came at the expense of her own mental health. Puppetry had made her. Now it might break her.
***
Bea was sitting by Liam's bedside in his hospital room.
Nobody knew why she wasn't at the funeral, and she felt bad about not showing up, but early that morning, at aroud 4am, Liam called her for help. He needed to be driven to the hospital, and she obliged without hesitation. Now, sitting here, reading a book about bird watching as she listened to the sounds of machines around her, she couldn't help but feel like things were never going to be the same as they once were. Unlike Lexi, Bea hated change. She sighed, put a bookmark between her pages and set the book down in her lap.
"...when did we get old?" she asked, looking off and away in the distance, Liam smirking from the bed, his face covered by a respirator.
"I know," he mumbled, "people say life goes fast, but it feels as though it's been two eternities, yet even then I can't believe I'm now at the end. My perception of time is so warped."
"I can remember being a little girl, going to the library with my dog," Bea said, crossing her legs and looking at her manicured nails, "that world, the one at home with my parents, was the only world I ever knew. Now I wish it still was. Knowing the world, so many different worlds...it's awful. I miss simplicity, I hate complexity. Ironic that I would wind up trying to teach children how to be okay when I can't be okay myself."
Liam shifted, making an uncomfortable sound and pulling a phone from his pants pocket. Bea looked over at him, confused. This wasn't his phone. Why did he have this? He reached out and held it towards her, Bea leaning forward cautiously, taking it.
"I need you to have this," he said, "you need to take this. The password is her birthday."
Bea furrowed her brow as she looked at the phone in her hand before looking back up at Liam.
"...what is this, Liam?" she asked.
"You need it," he replied, his breathing quickened, "Bea, you need it, trust me. Watch it. Watch every single one. By yourself."
Bea got off the chair and stood by his bedside, holding his hand with her other hand, squeezing, her face screwing up, her eyes full of tears.
"Liam," she said, almost growling, "what IS this."
Liam smiled up at her.
"Answer me!" she shouted, as Liam pulled his hand back from hers, reached up with both hands and took her face between his hands, pulling her down towards him and kissing her, taking her by surprise. After the kiss, he leaned back on his pillow and his eyes fixed on the ceiling overhead, his breathing shallow.
"Liam?" Bea asked, sounding choked up.
"They say you see heaven, a light, a tunnel, the faces of the ones you loved who are waiting for you," he whispered, "but I don't see anything."
"Liam, don't go," Bea said, now sobbing, squeezing his hands tight in her own. He just smiled wider.
"It's okay Bea," he said, "I'm not afraid. I don't need heaven. I already had it here with you."
With that, Liam's eyes widened, and his breathing slowed. He grinned as wide as he could.
"...I'm gonna go make something new now," he whispered, and that was it. He stopped breathing. He stopped moving. Bea didn't know what to do. She squeezed his hands, she screamed at him, but nothing made a difference. The flatline went off, and a crash crew burst into the room, pushing Bea gently out of the way. She stood back against the wall as she watched them work on him, but she knew better. She knew it was over. Bea turned and ran out of the hospital room and down the hall, clutching the phone he'd given her tightly in her fist. She climbed into her car and she drove home, not even turning the lights on. Leslie wasn't here. She had to go out of town briefly for work, so Bea was completely alone.
Bea walked in circles, pacing, before putting the phone down gently on a bookshelf, then turning and shrieking, grabbing a whole series of books off a table and throwing them clear across the room. She grabbed her coffee table and flipped it, kicking the ever loving shit out of her couch, screaming at the top of her lungs. Once the apartment was sufficiently turned over and undone, she let herself fall back against the wall and slide down against it. She sat there on the floor, breathing, staring at nothing. She then remembered the phone, reached up and grabbed it from the bookshelf, and, putting in Claire's birthday, unlocked it. There was nothing on the phone but one single app, a video player. Bea opened it and saw hundreds, nay, THOUSANDS, of videos. Some were so old, grainy, as though they'd been converted from VHS, and some were really crisp, as though they were recent. She started at the first one, pressing her thumb on it to load.
Up on the screen came Liam, younger and vibrant, a full head of hair, his winning smile. He was holding the camera facing him, and he grinned at it, waving with his other hand.
"Hey! I got it working! I'm in the city, I'm in an office, a real honest to god office, and look who's with me!" he said, panning the camera around to reveal a young Bea, sitting cross legged on the desk, the Bea head in her lap, but not in full costume otherwise. She smirked at him and flipped him off, making him laugh. Then he panned back to the doorway of the office, showing a little girl, maybe 3, standing there. Bea's eyes widened, the tears started coming once again.
"And there's Claire! Hi Claire!" Liam said, making Claire giggle and wave as she toddled up towards him, before being redirected towards the desk, where Bea leaned down and picked her up, plopping her in her lap after moving the head. Claire reached out and touched the head, Bea now full on sobbing as she watched; Liam added, "there they are, my two favorite girls!"
He then set the camera down on a nearby shelf aimed at the desk before walking over to the desk and taking Bea's chin in his hands, kissing her, before leaning down and kissing the top of Claire's head too. After they whispered something to one another that wasn't audibly captured, he walked back to the camera, and the video ended. Bea was staring at her face in the darkened phone screen now, unable to process what she'd just watched. Claire had been gone for so long. Liam was now gone too. Bea rested her head back against the wall and exhaled best she could. She then got up, made a pot of tea, and sat back down on her couch, pulling a quilt around her, tea between her legs. She was going to watch every video on this phone.
No matter the cost to her fragile psyche.
The one and only time she'd been to a funeral, it had been for her mother. Now, here she was, standing outside the church, while Casey's service was underway indoors. She was seated on a marble bench next to some fancy headstones, eating a blackberry fig bar, staring at the ground in front of her. Crying had become her normal, so much so that she no longer even knew she was doing it. Tears wet her face as she chewed, and thought about the last few weeks. Suddenly the church doors opened up and Justine exited, Eliza looking over at her, their eyes meeting. Justine sighed, leaned against the wall by the bench and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, lighting one.
"This is a no smoking zone," Eliza said.
"Oh, what, one of the corpses gonna get cancer?" Justine asked, "...sorry, that was kind of bitchy. I know, I shouldn't...I don't even wanna be doing it anymore. Are you okay?"
"Define 'okay'," Eliza said, making Justine scoff.
"Yeah," she replied, "I know what you mean. This is...I feel sick. I feel sick to my stomach. None of this should be happening, yet it is. It's like...it's like there's no winning, in life, you know? Things might start to seem good, you might start to recover, but in the end you're pushed back down into the hole you crawled out of and ultimately you're forced to face the realization that, no, you can't win. No matter how hard you try, how long you try for, you cannot win. Some people, and I think Casey knew this because I think she was one of them, are destined for doom. That isn't fair, but it is what it is."
Eliza finished her fig bar and stuffed the wrapper in her sports coat pocket, beginning to tie her messy hair up behind her.
"You're probably not wrong," Eliza said, "I try to be positive, but-"
"i did this," Justine whispered, causing Eliza to stop and look at her again, confused; Justine, one hand holding her cigarette, the other covering her face, started crying, whispering, "i did this to her. i didn't bring her inside. i didn't leave to talk to her. she needed someone, and i wasn't there. i was there but i wasn't there. she's dead because of me. the only creative partner i've ever had is dead because of me. i could've had more get togethers with my friends. i can't have more time with her now. my priorities were fucked, and i killed her."
"I used to think I killed my mom," Eliza said, "but it isn't true, these things just...happen. Back when the show was originally being made, Bea, Liam and I discussed doing an episode on the topic of death, but like, not heavy handed or anything, you know? We didn't wanna freak kids out. But kids are smart enough to understand the concept, moreso than adults give them credit for, and it's stupid to try and hide it from them. Only makes them more confused and scared in the end. We wrote a script, but we never shot it, it never even got remotely into production. I think it was more just...a way for us to cope with things. But in that script, Bea wrote something that said 'we try to assign blame to whatever we can when someone dies because it makes it easier, but death isn't easy, because life isn't easy, and more often than not, there's nobody to blame'. I always think about that quote."
Justine looked towards Eliza and sniffled, wiping her face on the ball of her palm. She then put her cigarette out and sat down on the bench beside her, Eliza scooting over a bit, making room for her.
"When my plane was going down," Justine said, "the last thing my boyfriend said to me was 'I did this', and the thing is, at the time I didn't understand what he meant, but in hindsight, I get it. He was the one who wanted to go on the flight, with me. He thought his mere presence was enough to put an end to us both. I wish I could tell him how wrong he was."
Eliza laid her head on Justine, and Justine smiled, hugging her. It had been a rough few weeks. Justine's eyes scanned the cemetery and thought about Casey. Thought about Liam's offer to release Casey's book, to finish it, compile it and publish it under her name. She promised she would do it, if for nothing else than for the hope of making sure everyone knew her name in more ways than just her death. Justine didn't think it fair that the only way the world would ultimately know Casey was by her exit.
"Everyone failed her at every turn," Justine sad, "I'm not saying she didn't have problems of her own, but...collectively, as a society, everyone failed her in life. I'm not gonna fail her in death too."
Eliza didn't know what this meant, but the sentiment alone was enough to make her smile.
***
David was wiping his mouth with a napkin as he watched his daughter push her chow mein around with her chopsticks across the table from him in the prison cafeteria. After a few moments, he cleared his throat, causing Lexi to snap back to reality and look up at him, shaking her head, rubbing her forehead with her other hand.
"Shit, I'm...I'm sorry," she said, "I'm sorry, I should be more present."
"Why don't you go to the funeral," David said, "we can always have lunch another time, and pretty soon I'll be out of here, and we can have lots of lunches then. In fact, I was hoping that, maybe the night of your graduation, you'd like it if I took you and your friends and your girlfriend out to dinner somewhere to celebrate."
Lexi smiled, looking back down at her takeout container.
"That's really sweet dad," she muttered, "I think that would be fun, yeah. It's been a hard few months. But I'm excited, like, to finally be out of school, to finally be making a career for myself, and for you to come home. Course I don't like at home anymore, but you know. Will still be nice to have you back."
Lexi couldn't believe how much life was about to change. She was about to graduate with multiple degrees. Her father had been all but exonerated after turning evidence and would soon be free. She and Keagan had been discussing more serious topics, such as along term relationship plans. Seemed like everywhere she turned, things were changing, and Lexi liked change, it made her feel reinvigorated. She welcomed it. She rolled some of her noodles up around her chopsticks and lifted them to her mouth as her father took a long drink of his soda and smiled at her.
"You know what's best about being a parent that nobody ever mentions?" David asked, and she shook her head; he continued, "you watch your kids grow up, become their own person, forge their own identity, change and grow. It's wonderful. Everyone acknowledges that. But nboody ever seems to bring up the fact that they still act like the kid they were without even knowing they're doing it. You, for example. The way you eat noodles, any kind of noodles, be it ramen or pasta or chow mein...you always roll it in a specific way and you always slurp them. You've made the same face eating noodles since you were five years old, and when I see it, it reminds me of that little girl you were, that little girl you'll always be to me..."
Lexi felt her eyes tear up and she reached across the table, holding her fathers hand. Michelle's dad had left, Casey's dad had used her, it seemed like so many people she knew had awful or absent fathers, and she felt so lucky to have the opposite. She squeezed and he squeezed back as he sniffled.
"You're the best daddy," she said, and he chuckled.
"Well," he said, shrugging, "I try to be, for the best daughter."
***
Keagan was walking down the hall, going through various files in her hands, feeling awful that she herself wasn't at the funeral, but in all honesty, she didn't know Casey all that well and, frankly, she felt she did better when she avoided things such as these. She focused on work and that was what got her through it all. Keagan stopped at the water fountain and took a long drink before continuing, hearing heels coming after her quickly, turning to see Stephanie.
"Hi there," Keagan said, smiling, "you in a hurry?"
"Just to catch you, speedy," Stephanie said, making Keagan chuckle as she continued, "I have an opportunity for you. The brand is seeking to reach out into other avenues of media. As you may have heard, podcasts are all the rage, everyone and their sister have one."
"They do?" Keagan asked.
"Well, me and my sister have one, so," Stephanie said, "anyway, they rake in tons of money with little production effort. That isn't to say they don't take effort, I'm just saying that when you remove the video aspect of something, it makes it quite less expensive to produce. Anyway, I looked into your background. Doing college radio, doing journalism. You were quite prolific when you were solo, and that's why I figured I'd come to you for this."
Keagan stopped in the hall and turned to face Stephanie, confused, raising an eyebrow. Stephanie folded her arms.
"Look, I won't lie," she said, "frankly, I don't think there's anyone else remotely capable of doing this. I'm appealing to your ego, here, Keagan. Do this for me, with me. I want to create a storytelling podcast for the show, one that's fully audio based, maybe each week a different story with a different character, and then every fifth episode you can take calls from kids or answer letters from kids or viewers. Does that sound...appealing to you? Could even bring on people from production sometimes, get a behind the scenes look at stuff for those in the industry."
Keagan tapped her shoe and bit her lip. She had been feeling underutilized for a while here, and this did sound like a good chance for her to spread her wings out a bit and try something new. Keagan felt like, at some point, she'd fallen into the background, blending in with everyone else in production, and while that was safe, comforting even, she did feel like her talents were being wasted. After all, it'd been her who'd tracked down Liam, not Michelle. She had always kind of envied Michelle's inclusion in the show.
"Okay," Keagan finally said, making Stephanie do a little boogie midhall, which caused Keagan to laugh and add, "but, if we do this, we do it my way. I'm not saying that the premise, the setup, the execution you offered isn't gonna work, it sounds fullproof, but I want to be able to do it the way I want to do it, is that okay?"
Stephanie put her hands on Keagan's arms and smiled.
"Keagan, whatever you want you got it," she said, "I'm just grateful you trust me enough to take the chance."
"Truth be told, I'm kind of bored here," Keagan said, shrugging, "I'm always interested in doing something else."
"Come with me, and I'll show you the audio studio," Stephanie said, "you're gonna love it, it has its own dedicated kitchen."
"Is food all you think about?" Keagan asked, laughing.
"It's lunchtime!" Stephanie replied, also laughing as they headed down the hall together now.
***
"Art, I think, is not just our way of processing things, for those who not only make it but also consume it, but also a way for us to preserve ourselves in the annals of history, to not be forgotten. So long as we produce something, we can be eternal, immortal," Justine said, standing with Eliza across the street from the cemetery, in front of a deli where they'd each gotten a sandwich and were now looking back towards the headstones; she wiped her mouth on her napkin and added, "I know that's so trite, so cliché, but that's the truth."
"I don't think the truth is either of those things," Eliza replied, shrugging, chewing, "and I don't think you're wrong. I know I make puppets to process the way I feel about people, things, so you're not wrong. But even the kids we talk to about the show, when we have these live get togethers, they always talk about how important it is to them. Michelle told me it made her feel special and safe when she was a little girl in the hospital, and to know that it has that kind of impact, it means a lot."
"Casey was the same way," Justine said, as they started walking down the street, Justine tugging at the collar of her jacket, keeping it closed as she kept eating, "one night while working we ordered in and she was telling me that, in the midst of an awful, abusive childhood, she felt seen, heard, accepted because of the warmth that the show brought to her life. That's the best kind of art. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with art for the sake of enjoyment, something that's made purely for entertainment, I think a healthy balance is important, but the ones that help us make sense of the world, that...that help us make sense of ourselves, those are the best ones...Eliza, will you help me?"
They stopped on the street and Eliza looked at Justine, waiting for the question. Justine sighed, finished her sandwich and tossed the wrapper into a nearby garbage can.
"I'm going to finish, compile and release a book that Casey had spent her life working on, a book kind of about herself," Justine said, "but I want there to be something to go with it, a puppet, a doll of sorts, to represent her and the creature in the book. I can't think of anyone better suited than yourself to do the job."
Eliza kept chewing, thinking. This would be a lovely way to honor Casey, to memorialize, nay, immortalize her. If she could have a hand in that, she should realistically take the chance. But what if she did a bad job? What if her puppets and dolls made the whole thing so uncanny that it scared away whatever target audience who might be remotely interested in it?
"I just...I feel like I need to do something for her," Justine whispered, looking at her shoes, hands stuffed in her coat pockets after having buttoned it, "I feel like this would be a great way to say I'm sorry."
Eliza finished her own sandwich, threw her garbage away and nodded while chewing. She then finished, swallowed and hugged Justine, much to Justine's surprise. Eliza patted her on the back and smiled.
"I'll help you," Eliza said, not realizing in the moment just how much she'd regret offering. See, the thing about Eliza is that she wants to do right, she wants to help others, she wants to make others matter...even if it meant it came at the expense of her own mental health. Puppetry had made her. Now it might break her.
***
Bea was sitting by Liam's bedside in his hospital room.
Nobody knew why she wasn't at the funeral, and she felt bad about not showing up, but early that morning, at aroud 4am, Liam called her for help. He needed to be driven to the hospital, and she obliged without hesitation. Now, sitting here, reading a book about bird watching as she listened to the sounds of machines around her, she couldn't help but feel like things were never going to be the same as they once were. Unlike Lexi, Bea hated change. She sighed, put a bookmark between her pages and set the book down in her lap.
"...when did we get old?" she asked, looking off and away in the distance, Liam smirking from the bed, his face covered by a respirator.
"I know," he mumbled, "people say life goes fast, but it feels as though it's been two eternities, yet even then I can't believe I'm now at the end. My perception of time is so warped."
"I can remember being a little girl, going to the library with my dog," Bea said, crossing her legs and looking at her manicured nails, "that world, the one at home with my parents, was the only world I ever knew. Now I wish it still was. Knowing the world, so many different worlds...it's awful. I miss simplicity, I hate complexity. Ironic that I would wind up trying to teach children how to be okay when I can't be okay myself."
Liam shifted, making an uncomfortable sound and pulling a phone from his pants pocket. Bea looked over at him, confused. This wasn't his phone. Why did he have this? He reached out and held it towards her, Bea leaning forward cautiously, taking it.
"I need you to have this," he said, "you need to take this. The password is her birthday."
Bea furrowed her brow as she looked at the phone in her hand before looking back up at Liam.
"...what is this, Liam?" she asked.
"You need it," he replied, his breathing quickened, "Bea, you need it, trust me. Watch it. Watch every single one. By yourself."
Bea got off the chair and stood by his bedside, holding his hand with her other hand, squeezing, her face screwing up, her eyes full of tears.
"Liam," she said, almost growling, "what IS this."
Liam smiled up at her.
"Answer me!" she shouted, as Liam pulled his hand back from hers, reached up with both hands and took her face between his hands, pulling her down towards him and kissing her, taking her by surprise. After the kiss, he leaned back on his pillow and his eyes fixed on the ceiling overhead, his breathing shallow.
"Liam?" Bea asked, sounding choked up.
"They say you see heaven, a light, a tunnel, the faces of the ones you loved who are waiting for you," he whispered, "but I don't see anything."
"Liam, don't go," Bea said, now sobbing, squeezing his hands tight in her own. He just smiled wider.
"It's okay Bea," he said, "I'm not afraid. I don't need heaven. I already had it here with you."
With that, Liam's eyes widened, and his breathing slowed. He grinned as wide as he could.
"...I'm gonna go make something new now," he whispered, and that was it. He stopped breathing. He stopped moving. Bea didn't know what to do. She squeezed his hands, she screamed at him, but nothing made a difference. The flatline went off, and a crash crew burst into the room, pushing Bea gently out of the way. She stood back against the wall as she watched them work on him, but she knew better. She knew it was over. Bea turned and ran out of the hospital room and down the hall, clutching the phone he'd given her tightly in her fist. She climbed into her car and she drove home, not even turning the lights on. Leslie wasn't here. She had to go out of town briefly for work, so Bea was completely alone.
Bea walked in circles, pacing, before putting the phone down gently on a bookshelf, then turning and shrieking, grabbing a whole series of books off a table and throwing them clear across the room. She grabbed her coffee table and flipped it, kicking the ever loving shit out of her couch, screaming at the top of her lungs. Once the apartment was sufficiently turned over and undone, she let herself fall back against the wall and slide down against it. She sat there on the floor, breathing, staring at nothing. She then remembered the phone, reached up and grabbed it from the bookshelf, and, putting in Claire's birthday, unlocked it. There was nothing on the phone but one single app, a video player. Bea opened it and saw hundreds, nay, THOUSANDS, of videos. Some were so old, grainy, as though they'd been converted from VHS, and some were really crisp, as though they were recent. She started at the first one, pressing her thumb on it to load.
Up on the screen came Liam, younger and vibrant, a full head of hair, his winning smile. He was holding the camera facing him, and he grinned at it, waving with his other hand.
"Hey! I got it working! I'm in the city, I'm in an office, a real honest to god office, and look who's with me!" he said, panning the camera around to reveal a young Bea, sitting cross legged on the desk, the Bea head in her lap, but not in full costume otherwise. She smirked at him and flipped him off, making him laugh. Then he panned back to the doorway of the office, showing a little girl, maybe 3, standing there. Bea's eyes widened, the tears started coming once again.
"And there's Claire! Hi Claire!" Liam said, making Claire giggle and wave as she toddled up towards him, before being redirected towards the desk, where Bea leaned down and picked her up, plopping her in her lap after moving the head. Claire reached out and touched the head, Bea now full on sobbing as she watched; Liam added, "there they are, my two favorite girls!"
He then set the camera down on a nearby shelf aimed at the desk before walking over to the desk and taking Bea's chin in his hands, kissing her, before leaning down and kissing the top of Claire's head too. After they whispered something to one another that wasn't audibly captured, he walked back to the camera, and the video ended. Bea was staring at her face in the darkened phone screen now, unable to process what she'd just watched. Claire had been gone for so long. Liam was now gone too. Bea rested her head back against the wall and exhaled best she could. She then got up, made a pot of tea, and sat back down on her couch, pulling a quilt around her, tea between her legs. She was going to watch every video on this phone.
No matter the cost to her fragile psyche.