The small, golden circular tag jangled on his plain brown leather collar as he plodded along down the road. He'd once belonged to someone, but that had been ages ago, and now he was a free roaming dog, able to go wherever he wanted. The dirt beneath his paws warm but not too hot, he liked the feeling of the breeze on his fur, and the feeling of the ground on his pads. He finally stopped in a field and sniffed the air, before walking over to a specific spot and starting to dig. He loved to dig, but this was a particularly enticing scent. And why wouldn't it be?
It was flesh, after all.
***
Rachel was sitting in a booth of a diner, her hands wrapped tightly around a mug of coffee as she stared at the grain of the table in front of her. Today, for some reason, she was thinking of her parents more than usual, her father specifically. How, when she was a little girl, she used to go out to breakfast with her dad on the weekends, just the two of them, and she could remember the first time he let her order coffee. Coffee was something they then bonded over, going to different places, opting to try the coffee there and then discuss their varying opinions on its quality. Rachel smiled weakly to herself. She was clinging desperately to memories lately, because, quite frankly, she didn't see herself making new ones anytime soon.
"Hello?" a woman asked, and Rachel looked up, wiping her nose on her sweater sleeve, to see a woman taking a seat across from her in the booth; the woman smiled softly, and added, "I'm...I'm Amelia."
"Oh. Oh, right," Rachel said, "um, hi. Sorry it took so long for us to get together."
"It's okay," Amelia said, "are...are you okay?"
"It's been a lot lately," Rachel said, "But I'll be okay. I'm sorry we had to meet like this, under, ya know, these circumstances."
"It's fine," Amelia said, "I just...I wanted to meet my brothers friends."
That word. Friends. It stabbed Rachel in the heart. They had, in fact, been friends. That wasn't a lie. She and Calvin had been friends before Wyatt came into the picture with them. If he'd never shown up, in fact, it's easy to believe that she would've taken his place. Helped kill Grudin. Been the one dealing with everything. She wouldn't have stood a chance. Here she was, on the veritable sidelines, and she was barely holding it together. Rachel lifted her mug to her lips and sipped, letting the coffee warm her up.
"Yeah, we were friends, we were close," Rachel said, looking down into the mug, "...I miss him."
And the worst part was...she wasn't lying. She did, in fact, miss him. She missed him so much. She knew Wyatt did too. That was the worst part of it all, she thought. Was the fact that they didn't want Calvin to die. But he left them no choice. He was on a downward spiral, and he would've taken them all with him. There was simply no other option. Amelia coughed a little, then ordered her own coffee from a waitress passing by before returning her look towards Rachel.
"Can I ask you a question about him?" Amelia asked, and Rachel nodded slowly.
"Yeah," she whispered, "of course."
Amelia sighed, scratched her nose, then leaned in across the table and lowered her voice.
"...how did he die?" she asked.
Rachel was taken by surprise. She figured Calvin's death was suspicious, but nobody had come forward yet to claim so...until now. Rachel looked up and locked eyes with Amelia. She wanted to break. To tell her everything. She wanted to tell her what Calvin had done, how he'd done it. How he'd blown a man up. A man who, justifiably, deserved to be blown up, but still. How he'd then taken down an entire plane, with her best friend on board, no less. How he was planning to murder a child for the sake of revenge. But she couldn't do that. She couldn't tarnish the image of a dead man to the very sister who adored him. So instead, Rachel shook her head and sighed.
"He shot himself," she said, "I mean...I'm sure they told you. He shot himself by the river. It was somewhere we went to together now and then, just to hang out, drink. That's what happened."
Amelia sighed and fell back into her side of the booth, disappointed.
"Shame," she said, "always kinda hoped he'd go out better than that."
Oh if only you knew, Rachel thought.
***
"If you don't stop messing with my air conditioner," Angie said, slapping Wyatt's hand away as he chuckled.
"This place is far out here," Wyatt said, "I mean, I guess it's not that surprising, cults usually invest in communes, removed from the prying eye, but still. This is...this is out of the way, even for a cult. Why...why did this guy wanna meet me?"
Angie bit her lip and turned a corner, heading down the last stretch of road before reaching the gate.
"He cares about me, he knows who I'm associated with, and he knows the situation now. I went to him to help hide your dad," Angie said, "I didn't know who else to turn to, who else could...ya know, manage that sort of thing, so I came here. Don't worry, he'll protect me, and, by proxy, anyone I care about. That being said, I'm not happy about you meeting him."
"Why, think if he gets involved with us he might also end up dead?" Wyatt asked, smirking a little.
"It's not him I'm worried about," Angie whispered, "it's what he could do to you."
Wyatt admitted, that wasn't the answer he expected. This guy, this Art guy, he must be one hell of an awful person if even Angie was so clearly scared of him. Wyatt sighed and continued adjusting the knobs, turning the heat on and blasting it in his face. It was getting warmer, but the mornings were still brisk. The compound then come into view, and he had to admit, he was impressed by the size. As her car approached, the gate opened, and Wyatt was even more impressed. She was apparently so trusted she didn't even require a security check of any kind. As she pulled in and parked, turning the car off, she looked at the steering wheel, and Wyatt looked at her as he undid his seatbelt.
"...just don't let him hurt us please," she whispered.
"Have I let anyone hurt us so far?" Wyatt asked, and she smiled weakly.
"No, but he's different, he's...dangerous. Calvin wasn't dangerous," Angie said.
"Calvin wasn't dangerous?" Wyatt asked, "The...the guy who blew up an entire plane, out of the sky? That Calvin?"
"He was unhinged, there's a difference. He acted mostly without malice, but also on a whim. Art is methodical, he plans. He does things with deliberate intent. I'm not saying the things Calvin did were not with intent, he meant to do them, but he acted on emotion...not logic. Art acts on logic."
Wyatt nodded, thinking. Art sounded like his father, and that definitely made his blood run a little colder. Wyatt cleared his throat, then reached over and put a hand on Angie's shoulder, causing her to glance in his direction.
"Whatever happens," Wyatt said, "whether it's here, with this man, or anywhere with anyone else, I won't let anything happen to you or hurt you. That's a promise, okay?"
Angie smiled and nodded in response, and, together, they climbed out of her car and headed for Art's house. Wyatt made these promises, but how long could he realistically keep them for, he wondered. He promised Rachel he would take the fall, he promised Celia that he would help her stop her husband, and now he promised Angie that he would protect her. At some point...one of them was going to be let down, and he was quite frankly scared to find out who.
***
"He lost everything," Amelia said, mouth full of scrambled eggs.
She and Rachel were still in the diner, and Amelia opted to pay for breakfast. Together they were sitting, eating, while Amelia discussed her brother, Rachel doing nothing more than lending a sympathetic ear to the woman whose brother she'd helped murder.
"I mean you know that, you knew him," Amelia said, "but he lost it all, and that was all that meant anything to him, besides, well, me. Calvin had always been a loner, same as I had, but the difference was that I knew Wyatt in high school, so I at least had some level of socialization because I had a boyfriend. But Calvin...he didn't really have anyone until he met his wife, and they had their family. And once that happened, god, it was like nothing else in the world mattered to him. He poured all his time and energy into that."
Rachel nodded, opting to eat instead of respond, let Amelia just get it all out of her brain and into the open. She figured she needed to just talk about him.
"And after he lost them," she continued, "he just...he was empty. He was a shell. I don't blame him. I was out of the picture well before then, I had been moved to an inpatient facility for a few years to get better, then managed to live on my own thanks to the help of social aide, but somehow he seemed worse than me. He always seemed so much more fragile and delicate than I did, even emotionally."
"What were you in inpatient for?" Rachel asked, before stopping and holding up a hand, "I am so sorry, that was really rude. I...I only ask cause I've had a lifelong history of mental illness myself, so I'm always curious what lands other people in that situation."
"Oh, it's okay," Amelia said, "I don't mind. Um...well, after Wyatt dumped me I felt pretty devastated, as teenage girls often do. But my emotionality was always really weak willed, and I just...crumbled. I couldn't deal with school, I couldn't deal with our parents. I didn't, like, start to hallucinate or anything, it was nothing like that. But I..."
Amelia stopped herself and looked down at her plate, Rachel raising an eyebrow as she bit into her toast.
"If I tell you something," Amelia said, "Something I never even told Wyatt, you can't tell anyone."
"Of course, this is girl talk, I respect the boundaries of girl talk," Rachel said, the both of them giggling.
"Um..." Amelia said, "and I need to preface this by saying I still don't know why I did it, and it certainly wasn't being dumped, I'm not that dramatic. I think it was just everything on top of me all at once that pushed me to this point, ya know? Worrying about finishing high school and getting into art college and then, of course, being dumped and...but one night uh...I used to take baths every night. It was how I unwound. I'd fill the tub with warm water, not hot water, just warm water, and then I'd slide inside it and just lay there, shut my eyes, fantasize about things. One night, lying there, I realized I couldn't fantasize anymore, and that's...that's when I realized it was because I didn't see a future for myself. So I took one of our fathers razor blades off the sink and I got back into the bath and I started gutting my arm."
"Holy shit," Rachel mumbled.
"Yeah," Amelia continued, "Calvin found me because the downstairs bathroom was out of commission and he had to use the toilet, so they managed to rescue me. I guess that's why I asked how he died, because a part of me was hoping it would be something else. But I guess he and I were more alike than I thought, if we both just attempted out of the blue. At least Calvin had more reason than I did though."
"That isn't fair," Rachel said, "don't say that. Your reasons were perfectly valid. Don't sell yourself short."
"It isn't really about selling myself short, it's more..."
Amelia exhaled and pinched her nose between her fingers, clearly trying not to cry.
"...I miss my brother," she said, crying quietly, breaking Rachel's heart. Rachel got up and slid into the booth beside Amelia, pulling her in for a hug, stroking her hair, letting Amelia break down and sob against her.
"It's okay," Rachel whispered, "you're okay. I know. We all do."
"Would you maybe...help me deal with his estate? Say goodbye to him?" Amelia asked through her tears, "I don't...I don't wanna do it alone."
"Yeah of course, whatever I can do to help, you just let me know," Rachel said, causing Amelia to cry more. Rachel sat there, consoling this poor, grieving woman. As she did, her eyes scanned up to the large window beside the booth, only to see Sun Rai standing there, looking at her. Rachel's eyes widened, as Sun's narrowed. She was holding a bag from a medical supply store in one hand, a bag of takeout in the other. Clearly on her way to help care for her father, spend the day with him. Rachel's stomach dropped, as Sun turned and continued walking. Rachel lowered her head against Amelia's and started crying as well.
Just two women, grieving very different things together.
***
"Nice digs," Wyatt said, hands in his jacket pockets as they walked through Art's home, heading for the greenhouse.
"I do take personal pride in my living arrangement," Art said, "as one should. After all, you spend all your time at home, it should be the nicest place you are."
"Couldn't agree more. Nothing worse than when that place falls apart," Wyatt said, thinking to home...to Scarlett. He cleared his throat as he stopped to admire a statue, Art stopping alongside him, Angie behind them both, nervously chewing her lip. Wyatt finally asked, "So...what was it exactly you wanted to see me about?"
"Angie's an important person to me, Wyatt. I just like to make sure that the people who claim to care about her actually do so," Art said.
"That's admirable, I feel the same way, that's why I agreed to meet you," Wyatt said, catching Art off guard.
"You...you think I'm untrustworthy?" Art asked, smirking, chuckling.
"Well, let's face it, people who run cults rarely are trustworthy. I mean, how many have coaxed their followers into ending their own lives, after all? That doesn't feel like having anyones best interest at heart, now does it?" Wyatt replied, smirking back. Angie couldn't believe what she was witnessing. Wyatt was actually doing it. Standing up to this man, not backing down, holding his ground....for her.
"You're not wrong," Art said, "I won't even argue with you because I agree. That's why I sow unity, not distrust. You'll notice I let people leave if they want, I didn't stop her parents, and I only am speaking with her now because she came back. People here live nice lives. But they are free. They're choosing to stay because I offer them guidance and comfort in a world that generally offers nothing but cruelty."
"You're also not wrong, the world does generally offer nothing but cruelty," Wyatt said, "and far be it from me to tell you how to run what you do. You're obviously an expert at it. And, look...for what it's worth, I appreciate the help. If you're able to do what you're able to do, with your vast network of connections, and track down the person at the center of all of this, then I'm more than willing to give you that chance. I think you and I both want children to be safe, is the end result here. I grew up in an abusive household with an abusive father, I know Angie distrusts her parents, my friend Rachel's folks disowned her for her sexuality, nobody I know, basically, sans one or two people, has had a good childhood. Now I don't know anything about your past, and frankly I don't need to unless you feel interested in sharing, but of course no obligation, but I'm willing to bet you didn't wind up here because you had a great childhood yourself."
Art cackled and slapped Wyatt on the back.
"You know, you really do have a way with words, Wyatt. I think we can come to some kind of arrangement that benefits us all," Art said.
After a bit more talk, a light lunch, Art agreed to continue to help in their search for the mastermind of the operation. He and Wyatt agreed to a regularly scheduled meeting, and after that, Wyatt and Angie left. As they drove back down the road, passing through a somewhat unfamiliar neighborhood, Angie still couldn't believe how things had gone down. She came to a stop sign where kids were crossing on their way home from school, and she chewed anxiously on her nail.
"You talked to him in a way I've never seen anyone talk to him," Angie finally said.
"That's the thing about cult leaders, they like to act like they're gods, but they're people," Wyatt said, "capable of distrust and every other possible unfortunate human trait. Gotta talk to them like they're people, to remind them of that."
"Wyatt....thank you," Angie said, "I...I know I'm not well, and I know I...I know I'm not well. I'm very not well. But you haven't run away, and you haven't abandoned me, and you care, and that means so much, so thank you."
"I have a daughter," Wyatt said, "I guess, in a way, taking care of you is like taking care of her. You deserve to be cared about, Angie, regardless of your mental state. I'm just doing what is right."
They looked ahead at the street, at the crossing, and noticed the kids now grouped in a circle, all looking at something. Wyatt and Angie exchanged a glance, then unbuckled their seatbelts and climbed out of the car. As they headed over to the group, they could see the tail of a dog wagging vigorously, and Wyatt laughed. Kids, always happy to see a dog, he thought. Until the dog stopped and looked up at him, a disembodied hand between its teeth. Wyatt bent down, looked at the dogs nametag, which read, "Clark", then grabbed the dog by its collar and lightly tugged it towards the car where the dog happily hopped in. Angie got back into the drivers seat quickly as they buckled back up and started to drive away.
"Why did you take the dog?" she asked, "it's carrying a human hand, man."
"Yeah," Wyatt said, his eyes wide, his breathing shaky, "...a human hand that happens to be wearing my fathers engraved watch."
It was flesh, after all.
***
Rachel was sitting in a booth of a diner, her hands wrapped tightly around a mug of coffee as she stared at the grain of the table in front of her. Today, for some reason, she was thinking of her parents more than usual, her father specifically. How, when she was a little girl, she used to go out to breakfast with her dad on the weekends, just the two of them, and she could remember the first time he let her order coffee. Coffee was something they then bonded over, going to different places, opting to try the coffee there and then discuss their varying opinions on its quality. Rachel smiled weakly to herself. She was clinging desperately to memories lately, because, quite frankly, she didn't see herself making new ones anytime soon.
"Hello?" a woman asked, and Rachel looked up, wiping her nose on her sweater sleeve, to see a woman taking a seat across from her in the booth; the woman smiled softly, and added, "I'm...I'm Amelia."
"Oh. Oh, right," Rachel said, "um, hi. Sorry it took so long for us to get together."
"It's okay," Amelia said, "are...are you okay?"
"It's been a lot lately," Rachel said, "But I'll be okay. I'm sorry we had to meet like this, under, ya know, these circumstances."
"It's fine," Amelia said, "I just...I wanted to meet my brothers friends."
That word. Friends. It stabbed Rachel in the heart. They had, in fact, been friends. That wasn't a lie. She and Calvin had been friends before Wyatt came into the picture with them. If he'd never shown up, in fact, it's easy to believe that she would've taken his place. Helped kill Grudin. Been the one dealing with everything. She wouldn't have stood a chance. Here she was, on the veritable sidelines, and she was barely holding it together. Rachel lifted her mug to her lips and sipped, letting the coffee warm her up.
"Yeah, we were friends, we were close," Rachel said, looking down into the mug, "...I miss him."
And the worst part was...she wasn't lying. She did, in fact, miss him. She missed him so much. She knew Wyatt did too. That was the worst part of it all, she thought. Was the fact that they didn't want Calvin to die. But he left them no choice. He was on a downward spiral, and he would've taken them all with him. There was simply no other option. Amelia coughed a little, then ordered her own coffee from a waitress passing by before returning her look towards Rachel.
"Can I ask you a question about him?" Amelia asked, and Rachel nodded slowly.
"Yeah," she whispered, "of course."
Amelia sighed, scratched her nose, then leaned in across the table and lowered her voice.
"...how did he die?" she asked.
Rachel was taken by surprise. She figured Calvin's death was suspicious, but nobody had come forward yet to claim so...until now. Rachel looked up and locked eyes with Amelia. She wanted to break. To tell her everything. She wanted to tell her what Calvin had done, how he'd done it. How he'd blown a man up. A man who, justifiably, deserved to be blown up, but still. How he'd then taken down an entire plane, with her best friend on board, no less. How he was planning to murder a child for the sake of revenge. But she couldn't do that. She couldn't tarnish the image of a dead man to the very sister who adored him. So instead, Rachel shook her head and sighed.
"He shot himself," she said, "I mean...I'm sure they told you. He shot himself by the river. It was somewhere we went to together now and then, just to hang out, drink. That's what happened."
Amelia sighed and fell back into her side of the booth, disappointed.
"Shame," she said, "always kinda hoped he'd go out better than that."
Oh if only you knew, Rachel thought.
***
"If you don't stop messing with my air conditioner," Angie said, slapping Wyatt's hand away as he chuckled.
"This place is far out here," Wyatt said, "I mean, I guess it's not that surprising, cults usually invest in communes, removed from the prying eye, but still. This is...this is out of the way, even for a cult. Why...why did this guy wanna meet me?"
Angie bit her lip and turned a corner, heading down the last stretch of road before reaching the gate.
"He cares about me, he knows who I'm associated with, and he knows the situation now. I went to him to help hide your dad," Angie said, "I didn't know who else to turn to, who else could...ya know, manage that sort of thing, so I came here. Don't worry, he'll protect me, and, by proxy, anyone I care about. That being said, I'm not happy about you meeting him."
"Why, think if he gets involved with us he might also end up dead?" Wyatt asked, smirking a little.
"It's not him I'm worried about," Angie whispered, "it's what he could do to you."
Wyatt admitted, that wasn't the answer he expected. This guy, this Art guy, he must be one hell of an awful person if even Angie was so clearly scared of him. Wyatt sighed and continued adjusting the knobs, turning the heat on and blasting it in his face. It was getting warmer, but the mornings were still brisk. The compound then come into view, and he had to admit, he was impressed by the size. As her car approached, the gate opened, and Wyatt was even more impressed. She was apparently so trusted she didn't even require a security check of any kind. As she pulled in and parked, turning the car off, she looked at the steering wheel, and Wyatt looked at her as he undid his seatbelt.
"...just don't let him hurt us please," she whispered.
"Have I let anyone hurt us so far?" Wyatt asked, and she smiled weakly.
"No, but he's different, he's...dangerous. Calvin wasn't dangerous," Angie said.
"Calvin wasn't dangerous?" Wyatt asked, "The...the guy who blew up an entire plane, out of the sky? That Calvin?"
"He was unhinged, there's a difference. He acted mostly without malice, but also on a whim. Art is methodical, he plans. He does things with deliberate intent. I'm not saying the things Calvin did were not with intent, he meant to do them, but he acted on emotion...not logic. Art acts on logic."
Wyatt nodded, thinking. Art sounded like his father, and that definitely made his blood run a little colder. Wyatt cleared his throat, then reached over and put a hand on Angie's shoulder, causing her to glance in his direction.
"Whatever happens," Wyatt said, "whether it's here, with this man, or anywhere with anyone else, I won't let anything happen to you or hurt you. That's a promise, okay?"
Angie smiled and nodded in response, and, together, they climbed out of her car and headed for Art's house. Wyatt made these promises, but how long could he realistically keep them for, he wondered. He promised Rachel he would take the fall, he promised Celia that he would help her stop her husband, and now he promised Angie that he would protect her. At some point...one of them was going to be let down, and he was quite frankly scared to find out who.
***
"He lost everything," Amelia said, mouth full of scrambled eggs.
She and Rachel were still in the diner, and Amelia opted to pay for breakfast. Together they were sitting, eating, while Amelia discussed her brother, Rachel doing nothing more than lending a sympathetic ear to the woman whose brother she'd helped murder.
"I mean you know that, you knew him," Amelia said, "but he lost it all, and that was all that meant anything to him, besides, well, me. Calvin had always been a loner, same as I had, but the difference was that I knew Wyatt in high school, so I at least had some level of socialization because I had a boyfriend. But Calvin...he didn't really have anyone until he met his wife, and they had their family. And once that happened, god, it was like nothing else in the world mattered to him. He poured all his time and energy into that."
Rachel nodded, opting to eat instead of respond, let Amelia just get it all out of her brain and into the open. She figured she needed to just talk about him.
"And after he lost them," she continued, "he just...he was empty. He was a shell. I don't blame him. I was out of the picture well before then, I had been moved to an inpatient facility for a few years to get better, then managed to live on my own thanks to the help of social aide, but somehow he seemed worse than me. He always seemed so much more fragile and delicate than I did, even emotionally."
"What were you in inpatient for?" Rachel asked, before stopping and holding up a hand, "I am so sorry, that was really rude. I...I only ask cause I've had a lifelong history of mental illness myself, so I'm always curious what lands other people in that situation."
"Oh, it's okay," Amelia said, "I don't mind. Um...well, after Wyatt dumped me I felt pretty devastated, as teenage girls often do. But my emotionality was always really weak willed, and I just...crumbled. I couldn't deal with school, I couldn't deal with our parents. I didn't, like, start to hallucinate or anything, it was nothing like that. But I..."
Amelia stopped herself and looked down at her plate, Rachel raising an eyebrow as she bit into her toast.
"If I tell you something," Amelia said, "Something I never even told Wyatt, you can't tell anyone."
"Of course, this is girl talk, I respect the boundaries of girl talk," Rachel said, the both of them giggling.
"Um..." Amelia said, "and I need to preface this by saying I still don't know why I did it, and it certainly wasn't being dumped, I'm not that dramatic. I think it was just everything on top of me all at once that pushed me to this point, ya know? Worrying about finishing high school and getting into art college and then, of course, being dumped and...but one night uh...I used to take baths every night. It was how I unwound. I'd fill the tub with warm water, not hot water, just warm water, and then I'd slide inside it and just lay there, shut my eyes, fantasize about things. One night, lying there, I realized I couldn't fantasize anymore, and that's...that's when I realized it was because I didn't see a future for myself. So I took one of our fathers razor blades off the sink and I got back into the bath and I started gutting my arm."
"Holy shit," Rachel mumbled.
"Yeah," Amelia continued, "Calvin found me because the downstairs bathroom was out of commission and he had to use the toilet, so they managed to rescue me. I guess that's why I asked how he died, because a part of me was hoping it would be something else. But I guess he and I were more alike than I thought, if we both just attempted out of the blue. At least Calvin had more reason than I did though."
"That isn't fair," Rachel said, "don't say that. Your reasons were perfectly valid. Don't sell yourself short."
"It isn't really about selling myself short, it's more..."
Amelia exhaled and pinched her nose between her fingers, clearly trying not to cry.
"...I miss my brother," she said, crying quietly, breaking Rachel's heart. Rachel got up and slid into the booth beside Amelia, pulling her in for a hug, stroking her hair, letting Amelia break down and sob against her.
"It's okay," Rachel whispered, "you're okay. I know. We all do."
"Would you maybe...help me deal with his estate? Say goodbye to him?" Amelia asked through her tears, "I don't...I don't wanna do it alone."
"Yeah of course, whatever I can do to help, you just let me know," Rachel said, causing Amelia to cry more. Rachel sat there, consoling this poor, grieving woman. As she did, her eyes scanned up to the large window beside the booth, only to see Sun Rai standing there, looking at her. Rachel's eyes widened, as Sun's narrowed. She was holding a bag from a medical supply store in one hand, a bag of takeout in the other. Clearly on her way to help care for her father, spend the day with him. Rachel's stomach dropped, as Sun turned and continued walking. Rachel lowered her head against Amelia's and started crying as well.
Just two women, grieving very different things together.
***
"Nice digs," Wyatt said, hands in his jacket pockets as they walked through Art's home, heading for the greenhouse.
"I do take personal pride in my living arrangement," Art said, "as one should. After all, you spend all your time at home, it should be the nicest place you are."
"Couldn't agree more. Nothing worse than when that place falls apart," Wyatt said, thinking to home...to Scarlett. He cleared his throat as he stopped to admire a statue, Art stopping alongside him, Angie behind them both, nervously chewing her lip. Wyatt finally asked, "So...what was it exactly you wanted to see me about?"
"Angie's an important person to me, Wyatt. I just like to make sure that the people who claim to care about her actually do so," Art said.
"That's admirable, I feel the same way, that's why I agreed to meet you," Wyatt said, catching Art off guard.
"You...you think I'm untrustworthy?" Art asked, smirking, chuckling.
"Well, let's face it, people who run cults rarely are trustworthy. I mean, how many have coaxed their followers into ending their own lives, after all? That doesn't feel like having anyones best interest at heart, now does it?" Wyatt replied, smirking back. Angie couldn't believe what she was witnessing. Wyatt was actually doing it. Standing up to this man, not backing down, holding his ground....for her.
"You're not wrong," Art said, "I won't even argue with you because I agree. That's why I sow unity, not distrust. You'll notice I let people leave if they want, I didn't stop her parents, and I only am speaking with her now because she came back. People here live nice lives. But they are free. They're choosing to stay because I offer them guidance and comfort in a world that generally offers nothing but cruelty."
"You're also not wrong, the world does generally offer nothing but cruelty," Wyatt said, "and far be it from me to tell you how to run what you do. You're obviously an expert at it. And, look...for what it's worth, I appreciate the help. If you're able to do what you're able to do, with your vast network of connections, and track down the person at the center of all of this, then I'm more than willing to give you that chance. I think you and I both want children to be safe, is the end result here. I grew up in an abusive household with an abusive father, I know Angie distrusts her parents, my friend Rachel's folks disowned her for her sexuality, nobody I know, basically, sans one or two people, has had a good childhood. Now I don't know anything about your past, and frankly I don't need to unless you feel interested in sharing, but of course no obligation, but I'm willing to bet you didn't wind up here because you had a great childhood yourself."
Art cackled and slapped Wyatt on the back.
"You know, you really do have a way with words, Wyatt. I think we can come to some kind of arrangement that benefits us all," Art said.
After a bit more talk, a light lunch, Art agreed to continue to help in their search for the mastermind of the operation. He and Wyatt agreed to a regularly scheduled meeting, and after that, Wyatt and Angie left. As they drove back down the road, passing through a somewhat unfamiliar neighborhood, Angie still couldn't believe how things had gone down. She came to a stop sign where kids were crossing on their way home from school, and she chewed anxiously on her nail.
"You talked to him in a way I've never seen anyone talk to him," Angie finally said.
"That's the thing about cult leaders, they like to act like they're gods, but they're people," Wyatt said, "capable of distrust and every other possible unfortunate human trait. Gotta talk to them like they're people, to remind them of that."
"Wyatt....thank you," Angie said, "I...I know I'm not well, and I know I...I know I'm not well. I'm very not well. But you haven't run away, and you haven't abandoned me, and you care, and that means so much, so thank you."
"I have a daughter," Wyatt said, "I guess, in a way, taking care of you is like taking care of her. You deserve to be cared about, Angie, regardless of your mental state. I'm just doing what is right."
They looked ahead at the street, at the crossing, and noticed the kids now grouped in a circle, all looking at something. Wyatt and Angie exchanged a glance, then unbuckled their seatbelts and climbed out of the car. As they headed over to the group, they could see the tail of a dog wagging vigorously, and Wyatt laughed. Kids, always happy to see a dog, he thought. Until the dog stopped and looked up at him, a disembodied hand between its teeth. Wyatt bent down, looked at the dogs nametag, which read, "Clark", then grabbed the dog by its collar and lightly tugged it towards the car where the dog happily hopped in. Angie got back into the drivers seat quickly as they buckled back up and started to drive away.
"Why did you take the dog?" she asked, "it's carrying a human hand, man."
"Yeah," Wyatt said, his eyes wide, his breathing shaky, "...a human hand that happens to be wearing my fathers engraved watch."