Justine had never been a big drinker.

Even when she'd been younger, it simply had never been an activity that she'd found much pleasure in, but now...now she seemed like no matter how much she drank she couldn't stop being thirsty, and she couldn't stand the idea of being sober, so being drunk for as long as she was awake seemed to be the only option. She groaned as she woke up on the bed, still in her clothes from the previous night, and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. She slowly sat upright and figured, if nothing else, she should at least try to get some food inside her. Justine climbed off the bed, knees weak and wobbly, as she put her hand out and placed her palm on the nearby dresser to help steady herself. Then she started to make her way downstairs, a risky move in and of itself, considering. When she breached the kitchen doorway, however, she stopped and stared. There was Casey, standing at the stove, cooking.

"...Casey?" she whispered.

"Good morning," Casey said, turning to face her; her appearance was different, the color faded from her skin, her clothes sopping wet, her hair matted down from water. Justine slowly slunk into the kitchen and seated herself at the table.

"...what are...what are you making?" she asked.

"Fish," she said.

"For breakfast?" Justine asked, laughing nervously.

"For my breakfast. This is yours," Casey said, grabbing a packet of airline peanuts from the counter and plopping it down in front of Justine, who recoiled at the sight. Terrified, she looked up at Casey, their eyes meeting, though there was definitely no life behind her eyes.

"...why are you in my kitchen?" Justine asked, her voice shaky.

"Cause you want me to be," Casey replied.

And then she woke up, vomiting. Justine rolled to her side and continued throwing up off the edge of the bed. When she finished, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve and tried to catch her breath. She was so shaken from this dream, to see Casey again, but in that manner, had rattled her deeply. Justine did her best to scoot up the bed and lean herself up against the headboard, sighing and trying to catch her breath as she ran her hands up into her hair.

"I need a drink," she said.

***

"That tickles," Eliza giggled as Michelle kissed just under her ear.

Eliza was propped up on the nearby worktable, Michelle's hands on her hips, giving her soft kisses, teasing her, the both of them giggling. They had gotten breakfast on the way in, and then headed directly for The Hole, because Michelle simply didn't want to be apart that morning, and who was Eliza to argue. Besides, she figured, the more time she spent with Michelle, the less time she spent alone with the Liam puppet, and that was for the best.

"Do you like when I whisper in your ear?" Michelle asked, her lips right against Eliza's lobe.

"It feels funny, but it does feel nice," she replied softly.

"Yeah?" Michelle asked, her hands running up into Eliza's bushy mop of hair, adding, "you like that my pretty girl?"

Eliza blushed crimson and nodded as Michelle kissed down her neck and stopped on her collarbone. They still hadn't slept together, but that was fine. This level of intimacy was good enough for them both. Eliza liked the attention and Michelle liked taking it slow, giving things a chance to blossom naturally. Just then the door to The Hole swung open, and Keagan walked in. The girls stopped and quickly readjusted themselves, causing Keagan to chuckle as she approached.

"Sorry," she said, "did I interrupt?"

"Interrupt what? We obviously weren't doing anything lewd at all whatsoever," Eliza replied, making her laugh harder.

"Um," Keagan said, trying to stifle her laughter, "uh, Eliza, I need to borrow Michelle for a bit."

Eliza's smiled quickly faded. She knew that tone. It was time. Time to introduce Michelle to Claire. Eliza cleared her throat, her eyes darting around the room anxiously.

"Shouldn't I help?" Eliza asked, "wouldn't that be a good idea?"

"...sure, yeah, you're right, that's probably smart, have as many hands on deck as possible," Keagan said, "we're gonna go to the radio office. Just follow me."

Michelle, confused by the shift in tone and vagueness of it all, felt mildly concerned, but she knew neither woman would ever do anything to hurt her in any way so she trusted them. She picked Eliza up off the table and put her back on the floor, making her laugh again, then took her hand as the two followed Keagan. Eliza, as they exited The Hole through the swinging doors, glanced back at the Liam puppet sitting on her workdesk, and bit her lip. Her own secret, she figured, would pale in comparison to the one about to be unveiled.

"Why the radio offices?" Michelle asked.

"Bea never comes over there," Keagan said, "in fact only Steph does, and she's not here today, so. Just kinda want some privacy."

"Oooh, are we planning a surprise party for Bea?" Michelle asked, half joking.

"...you could say that," Eliza muttered under her breath.

***

Justine was sitting on her front porch now.

She had sobered up quite a bit, and was now watching the people of her neighborhood go about their day. She took a long breath in, then held it for a moment before expelling it. She was doing everything in her power not to get stinking drunk again at least until evening rolled around; after all, she did have a reputation around here to consider. She finally gave in and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, opting to light one up. She was doing her best not to smoke too much too - a habit she'd kicked after the crash - but right now she was so on edge and it seemed like the lesser of two evil vices, all things considered. As she clicked her lighter, a car pulled up and stopped in front of the house, and a woman stepped out before casually heading up to the front steps and stopping. Justine glanced up at her, she was an older woman, wearing a nice blouse and slacks, her hair well groomed.

"Hello," Justine said.

"I got your address from Liam's office," Bea said, "I hope it's okay that I come by here."

"Course," Justine said, blowing smoke out as Bea seated herself in the wicker chair beside her.

"Heard about your efforts with the book," Bea said, "the one that Casey left behind."

"Did ya now?" Justine asked, turning the cigarette between her fingers, admiring the light.

"I just...I wanted to come by and see if maybe you needed any help, or, perhaps, wanted a contributor," Bea said, "I guess I feel greatly responsible for what happened to her, and I...I just want to extend my efforts any way that I can to ensure she has a legacy of some kind."

"You feel responsible? That's weird, because I'm the one who killed her," Justine said, he cold, flat tone surprising Bea as she took a long drag and continued, crossing her legs, "she came by here, needing to talk, begging me to give her just a little bit of my time, and I didn't. I had people over. A social calling. I'm pretty sure she went and jumped immediately after that. She's dead because I had a party. You can't have joy in this life without giving sorrow to others."

"Well that just isn't true," Beatrice said, reaching out and putting her hand on Justine's knee, adding, "you had no way of knowing what state of mind she was in. You weren't her mother, her sister, or any familial kin."

"But I was her friend. Her creative partner. I have to be held to some level of accountability," Justine mumbled, her voice breaking, her eyes welling up with tears, "I had a moral obligation and I failed to uphold it, and as a result, she is dead. You of all people can't fucking sit here and tell me that people aren't supposed to help one another, it's what your entire goddamned brand is about! Being there for others! Listening! I didn't listen. And she's fucking dead."

Bea nodded slowly, taking it all in, as she pulled her hand away and sighed, easing herself back into the wicker. She looked around as the sky turned colder, and a soft, light rain began to drizzle down around them. Bea chewed her cheek and sucked air in through her teeth.

"People always say not to blame yourself, but sometimes, in order to process, to cope, to move on, that's exactly what one needs to do," Beatrice said softly, "there's no wrong way to work through things, and being told you're not to blame doesn't automatically make you feel less guilty. If anything, it just makes you feel even worse, cause, well, great, now you're not even grieving correctly, are you good at anything?"

Justine chuckled a little at this sentiment, which made Bea crack a smirk.

"I think," Bea said, continuing, "we need to work together, to make this happen. I...I really need to help you do this, if you'd be kind enough to let me. I think, maybe, together, we can kind of process it all, and create something great for her to leave behind."

"She already left something great behind. All I'm doing is polishing it," Justine said, and Bea smiled again, nodding. Justine truly believed in Casey and her work, and it was nice to see that, even if nobody else might, she would at least be remembered by one single person on this planet who clearly missed her very, very much. Justine took another long drag, then exhaled, tossing her bangs from her face before adding, "you can help if you want, but only my name goes on it with hers in the boilerplate."

"Understood and agreed upon," Bea said.

Justine didn't know it, but Bea had ulterior motives, though nothing sinister. She just felt like she had done the same thing to Casey that she had done to Claire, she had left her behind for the good of her work, and she hated that she'd made the same mistake twice. Now she was attempting to do whatever she could to rectify that to some degree. Justine invited Bea inside for some lunch, which she graciously accepted. Upon entering the kitchen, however, Bea noticed the enormous swath of alcohol bottles and containers, and quickly realized that the biggest demon Justine had wasn't her guilt, but was, in fact, her vice as a result of said guilt.

Bea had her work cut out for her.

***

Michelle, Eliza and Keagan stopped at the radio office, and Michelle couldn't help but notice the degree to which Keagan had ensured privacy within the studio. The curtains were drawn, shut tightly, and the door was locked. She stood behind a ways, arms folded, as she watched Keagan reach into her pocket for the keys. Eliza looked down at her shoes, catching Michelle's attention.

"What's wrong baby?" Michelle asked, and Eliza blushed a little.

"I just...I really hope you're okay after this," Eliza said quietly, making Michelle all the more nervous. She looked up again, hearing the jingling and spotting Keagan holding an enormous keyring full of keys.

"Are you a medieval dungeon master?" Michelle asked, making Keagan laugh.

"Quiet wench," she replied, causing Michelle to laugh in response.

The lock clicked, and Keagan put her hand on the knob, then stopped. She turned and looked toward Eliza and Michelle; Eliza and Keagan's eyes met, and they nodded as Keagan sighed deeply before shaking her head.

"I'm so sorry Michelle," she said softly, before opening the door, reaching in and flipping on the light. The room filled up with bright lights as Michelle entered and spotted a young woman, a little bit older than her, sitting at the editing bay. Eliza entered after Michelle, closing the door behind her so Keagan could secure it once again.

"You know this isn't Al Capone's vault, right?" Michelle asked.

"I do know, because unlike that, there's something in this room," Keagan said as the woman at the bay turned in the spinny chair to face them.

"This thing is complicated," she said, "there's so many buttons and knobs and, like, you'd think with things being so digital now that it'd be different, I guess? You've still got such an analog setup."

"Well, it's not just for editing," Keagan replied, shrugging, "it's also for taking the calls, stuff like that. Um, Michelle," she said, looking towards her now, "this is Claire, and Claire, this is Michelle."

"Hiya," Claire said brightly, clearly feeling more chipper today.

"Yes, hello," Michelle replied politely, smiling nervously, before asking, "is this, like, an intern, your assistant, I gotta be real with ya, Keagan, I'm at a loss here."

"No," Keagan said, "Claire...is Beatrice's daughter."

A long, heavy pause hit the room. The air was as still as air could possibly be perceived as being. Eliza and Keagan watched Michelle for any kind of reaction, but she remained stoic, cold, emotionless.

"...run that by me again," Michelle finally said.

"I'm Beatrice's daughter," Claire herself reiterated, "gods honest truth."

"...you know, I thought that, at this point, I wouldn't have to struggle to breath anymore, but you damn knocked the wind right out of me, I'll give you that," Michelle said, "uh...I...I need to..."

And with that she turned and faced the door to hide her tears.

"Did I do something wrong?" Claire asked.

"No, you didn't," Keagan remarked quietly, "Can't say the same for your mother, though."

***

Michelle was sitting in front of the TV, a big blanket wrapped around her, the lights in the room off. She was squeezing a stuffed dog to her chest, pretending it was Beatrice, as she watched a rerun of the show that day. The show hadn't had a new episode in months. She didn't understand why it wasn't coming back. Footsteps. Her mother entered the room, causing Michelle to look upwards at her as she stood in the doorway in her overalls, a paintbrush tucked behind her ear, her hands messy with material residue.

"Your father isn't coming home," she said sternly.

"Why not?" Michelle asked, "he's been gone so long."

"And he intends on keeping it that way. Says it's too difficult. You're too difficult. Everything encompassing your medical situation has him on edge, and scared, because he's weak. Can't be around it."

Michelle felt her pulse quicken. Her father was staying away because she was sick? That didn't seem right...he'd never really...though...she had heard them fighting about it, so maybe he had been upset about her illness...

"Can I see him?" she asked.

"He's not even in town, Michelle," her mother replied, "he probably won't be for a good while. Said he had to get away from all of this. But don't worry, I'm still here, and I'll take you to your appointments, help you manage your health, your breathing, okay? Just because he's a coward doesn't make you one."

"It's my fault though?"

"It's nobody's fault you're sick," her mother said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed now, "but it hasn't helped things. Your father and I have always been shaky, but this pushed it all out into the open and over the edge. So, yes, one could make the argument that had you been healthy, we could've kept pretending, gods honest truth."

Michelle nodded slowly, gently, squeezing her plush dog tighter. She looked back at the TV now as her mother readied to return to her work.

"Why aren't they showing new episodes?" she asked.

"Show ended, I believe," her mother said.

"So dad is gone, and the show is gone?" Michelle asked, fighting back tears now.

"Seems that way. I'll be back out in a bit to make us lunch, okay?" her mother said, before rushing back off to her paints. Michelle stared back at the screen, her face now wet with a deluge of tears, even though she made no audible noise to indicate their presence. Her father had left. The show had left. Her mother probably would too, if she were given the opportunity.

Why did everything she love leave her?