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.
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.