Wyatt was sitting at a table on an outdoor patio to a restaurant that he and Scarlett used to frequent on their date nights. How long ago those seemed now. He looked down at his cup of coffee in front of him and sighed, reaching up and pushing his hair back, thinking about how today was going to go. After all, how does one easily dissolve a marriage? He wasn't sure he was ready for this, to be quite honest, but it wasn't fair to either him or Scarlett to continue living this lie, each knowing the other wasn't happy. Wyatt looked around and saw a few other people seated on the patio with him, ranging from solo folks to a few couples to a family or two. It was the families that got to him. He was losing what he'd spent so long building. His children. His wife. And for what? For a weather girl? Sure. But a weather girl that made him genuinely happy. Someone he wanted to be with, not someone his father had wanted him to be with.
"How's the coffee here?" a voice asked, and he jumped in his seat a little before turning to the railing beside him and seeing Ricky leaning on it, smirking.
"Don't do that," Wyatt said through his teeth, "I'm paranoid enough as it is."
"As you should be," Ricky said, "When you're done, come on by the hotel, I got something I need to talk to you about."
"You can't just talk to me about it here?" Wyatt asked, and Ricky grimaced.
"It's better not to discuss matters regarding something of this nature in a public space, I'm sure you understand," Ricky said, "but trust me, you're gonna wanna hear it."
"Will Rachel be there?" Wyatt asked.
"Well she's currently living with me, so yeah, I'd say there's a high likelihood she will be."
"You know I liked you better when you were too scared to be snarky," Wyatt said, the both of them laughing together. After a minute, Ricky went along his way, leaving Wyatt alone again. Wyatt turned his thoughts back to the day ahead of him. All he wanted to do was get this over with, go deal with whatever Ricky had for him, and then go home. Go home to....what even was she now? 'Friend' seemed out of the picture. 'Lover' just sounded wrong. Wyatt needed clarity, terminology, definition. What was Kelly. What were they together. Maybe he didn't need to describe her, or them, maybe she was just...Kelly. The metal chair opposite him scooted out and he turned his gaze back to that direction, seeing Scarlett seat herself.
"Hi," he said weakly.
"Hey," she replied, sounding raspy, tired. She still looked her best, of course. She'd never let anything change that, but she definitely sounded like shit.
"Thanks for coming to see me. I didn't really wanna come by the house," Wyatt said, "...I assume you got my letter."
"Yeah, unfortunately I am literate and have eyes that can read," Scarlett remarked. A silence followed, and then, as if each could read the others mind, they simultaneously said
"We need to talk."
***
Amelia and Rachel were in Amelia's car, heading towards the cemetery. Amelia had swung by the hotel and picked Rachel up that morning, then they'd gone to have breakfast, and now they were headed to Calvin's grave so Amelia could have her final goodbyes. Each one was dressed up, seeing as it was a 'special' occasion; Amelia in a shoulderless black dress with floral lace sleeves, while Rachel wore just a plain stormcloud grey backless dress.
"Is it a nice cemetery?" Amelia asked.
"It's pretty nice," Rachel said, taking a puff off her cigarette then ashing it out the window, "I mean, if one could describe a cemetery as 'cozy' then I suppose I would."
"Considering you're resting there for all eternity, I would hope it's cozy," Amelia replied, the both of them chuckling.
As Rachel continued smoking, looking out the window at the passing landscape, Amelia, who should be keeping her eyes on the road, instead kept stealing glances in Rachel's direction. It was still pretty early in the morning, and the morning sunlight lit her face up in a way that made Amelia's breath catch in her chest. After a bit more driving, they pulled into the parking lot of the cemetery and parked. Rachel climbed out and stretched, yawning, before tossing her cigarette on the ground and stomping it out, as Amelia climbed out of the car and walked around to meet Rachel. Together they started walking through the grounds, towards Calvin's grave.
"I love cemeteries," Amelia said, "I know that's so horribly cliche of me, oh wow look at the totally unique painter girl who loves cemeteries, so original. But I do. There's just something oddly comforting about them."
"I think it's cause it's where we all end up," Rachel said, arms folded, shrugging, "ya know? There's something...something nice about being able to visit what's considered the end, even if you aren't yet a resident of it. You can come here and see the peace and tranquility that it offers from the pain life puts you through."
"That's surprisingly goth of you," Amelia said, making Rachel laugh.
"I didn't know you were a painter, I'm a painter too," Rachel said.
"Yeah!" Amelia replied, chirping up, "yeah I've been painting my whole life. I love it. It helps me feel...free."
"I know what you mean," Rachel said, and Amelia smiled.
As they passed by tombstone after tombstone, some headstones flush in the ground, all Amelia could think about was how her brother was underground here now, resting, with his family. And here she was...what was she supposed to do now without him? How was she supposed to be the one who lived on? She looked over at Rachel and blushed as Rachel, not noticing being watched, pushed some of her hair from her own face and back behind her ear. Amelia bit her lip. She didn't know how to handle this. She never felt this way before towards a woman. Was it just the connection to her brother that drew her in, or something far bigger? Something that was awakening inside of her after years of dormancy?
"Here we are," Rachel said, stopping at a stone, both women turning to face it.
"Calvin," Amelia whispered, reaching out and putting her hand on the smooth grey stone flecked with black; she sighed and reached down with her other hand, holding Rachel's, who happily squeezed back.
"It must be hard, I'm sorry," Rachel said quietly, "it must be really hard. I don't have siblings, so I can't imagine, but..."
"It's hard," Amelia said, nodding, "but it's easier having you here, so thank you for coming."
"Of course," Rachel remarked, smiling, "of course. Anything I can do to make it easier for you."
Living in a hotel with a detective, taking a pretty art girl to see her brothers grave, Rachel couldn't deny she was enjoying her sabbatical from the usual messed up life she seemed to have had. She almost didn't want this part to end, to go back to the nonsense that was surely awaiting her. But she knew, when that moment came, she'd just have to cling to these memories harder than ever, because memories, good memories, were all that got her through the present anymore.
***
"You called my dad," Wyatt said, looking down at the table, "I mean, after all you have learned about me from how long we've been together, you called my fucking father. The one person I am more scared of in the world than anyone else."
"You were a mess, Wyatt, what else was I supposed to do?"
"Be there for me, just, fucking...be there. I know that's impossible apparently, but it really was the answer, the simplest answer. When he told me you called him, that...that destroyed any trust I had in you, Scar. That man, the things he did to me, the things he did to my mother, like, fucking hell, how could you?"
"You...you were drinking like crazy, you weren't sleeping well, you were skipping work, and-"
"I was grieving!" Wyatt said sternly, loudly, noticing the other patrons looking in their direction from his heightened voice, before he lowered it back to a simmer and added, nearly growling, "I was grieving. I was so fucking sad, I lost one of my closest friends."
"I helped kill one of my closest friends" was all that ran through his head as he said it. Always denying responsibility, yet using it as an excuse.
"And of course I can't say 'no' to you, can't tell you I can't do something, cause you'll throw a temper tantrum," Wyatt said, continuing, "I'm sorry. That was mean. I didn't mean that. But I was as scared to say no to you as I was to say no to my father growing up. I knew the level of disappointment you could have in me if I said I needed to not work that day or...or needed to just....relax or hang out with someone else. I don't like making you mad at me."
Scarlett had no idea Wyatt felt his way about her, and she felt horrible about it.
"I...I didn't know I instilled that kind of fear in you about me," Scarlett said.
"It isn't you," Wyatt said, shaking his head, "It's everything. I love being a father, I do, Mona is the best part of my life, but...but it isn't what I wanted to do. Everything we've done together I did because it was expected of me. I got married, I had children, I had that job. I'm not saying I wouldn't want to be married or have a family or have a good job, because I do, but I wish I could've done it of my own accord as opposed to feeling forced to do so."
Scarlett leaned back into her seat and sighed, looking at the table, hands in her lap. She never once expected Wyatt to say he had been this unhappy.
"...have you been this miserable the whole time?" she asked softly.
"My whole life, rather," Wyatt said, "never once got to make a decision for myself. Was always expected to do something or forced to do something, or did something out of sheer guilt or fear or the want to be accepted. Never once did anything I wanted to do because I wanted to do it. That's why I bought Mona the pony. Because...fuck it. I could. For once it was a decision I could make. That taste of freedom, of choice...it's addicting when you've never had it."
Having admitted this, Wyatt now realized something. Something about the last nearly year. He had done everything he'd done because he could. Because he could finally make decisions for himself. Sure, some of it he was coerced into, by Calvin, but in the end it was him making the decision to go along with it full tilt. He sighed as well.
"I don't think we should be married," Wyatt said, and Scarlett started to cry, covering her face with one hand.
And here he was, yet again, making a decision he wanted to make for the sake of himself. So why did he feel so guilty about it?
***
Amelia and Rachel were sitting with their backs to the tombstone, on the ground, sharing a bottle of wine. Rachel thought about Sun Rai in this moment, and how their entire relationship had always been so surface level, and never had this kind of intimacy, where they could just...BE...together. It was almost as if they'd had the queer version of a heterosexual relationship. But this...this felt so genuine and real, and it was just a friendship. Rachel felt lucky. Amelia handed her the bottle of wine, which she happily took, before wiping her mouth on her hand.
"I used to come to cemeteries in high school, do photoshoots, drink on occasion," Amelia said.
"You really were a cliche," Rachel said, taking a sip, the both of them laughing.
"WAS?" Amelia asked, and they laughed some more; Amelia continued, "no, it's true, I was, and I still am. But at least I know myself, you know? And I think that's the thing is Calvin never knew himself, not fully anyway. He...he knew things he wanted, he knew he wanted a wife, children, whatever, but that isn't knowing ones self, not in the real sense. That's just knowing you have goals."
"Yeah," Rachel said, "yeah I know what you mean. Growing up gay, or rather, coming to realize it when I did, that was a big revelation for me. Made a lot of things make sense finally putting that piece of the puzzle in place."
"How did you know?" Amelia asked, almost scared of the answer.
"Just...how I never liked guys, never found them attractive, always felt like I was forcing myself to try to be interested in the ones who'd been interested in me. Then I'd see some woman in an advert and I'd think to myself, 'goodness, what a goddess', and there was some overlap of do I want to do her or do I wanna look like her cause, ya know, women are always sizing themselves up to one another, so to detangle that in and of itself was a web and a half of lies. But really it was so obvious that in the end I felt stupid for not knowing it sooner."
Amelia nodded. A lot of what Rachel had said made sense. The difference was that Amelia had always liked men. She had loved Wyatt to hell and back. But she'd never, at least until meeting Rachel, felt that same kind of feeling with a woman. Now it was gnawing at her.
"I don't want you to go," Rachel said, chuckling as she took a long swig from the bottle, "I really am gonna miss having you around to hang out with."
"I could stay," Amelia said.
"Don't you have some kind of life to return to?"
"Not really, no," Amelia said, "I could easily stay."
Rachel shut her eyes and rested against the stone until she noticed Amelia had crawled around to be sitting cross legged in front of her, taking her by surprise. Rachel handed Amelia back the wine, who took it and took a really long drink, boosting her courage.
"Why would you? There's nothing here for you? I mean, your folks, I guess, but otherwise-"
"There's nothing there for me either. I live on my parents dime in a small apartment, I don't really work," Amelia said, "it'd be so easy to just come back. Hell, I'm already here. I could just pay some company to move all my crap back home. Besides, like you said, you'd miss having me around, right? You're here, we could hang out."
Rachel felt her heartbeat quicken. What was Amelia insinuating, exactly? Amelia scooted closer towards Rachel, causing Rachel to back up more against the stone, just instinctually.
"You've been so nice to me," Amelia said, "you've...you've been so supportive and helpful, and...and I don't get that from anyone else. I don't want to. I like getting it from you, cause it feels nice. I could move back home, start painting regularly again, sell stuff to the gallery, we could hang out and...and be friends and..."
Rachel and Amelia locked eyes.
"No," Rachel said, shaking her head, "fuck declarations."
"Huh?"
"The last time I had a declaration, it ended up being so fucking fake," Rachel said, "I don't want fake."
"I wasn't declaring anything," Amelia said, "I was just...gonna....kiss you."
A long pause, a soft breeze blew by as a family, clearing heading to a funeral, passed them.
"I've never liked a girl like this," Amelia continued, "This is all very new and scary to me, but...but being an artist, as you are, I guess you know that it's fun to try new mediums, right? So...so I guess I wanna try a new medium. Cause I've never had these feelings until I met you."
"You're grieving, you're not...you're not thinking right, I was close to your brother, so you feel close to me, and-"
"It isn't just that, no," Amelia said, shaking her head, pushing her glasses back up as they slid down her face, "it isn't just that. You're so cool and confident and...and pretty. You're SO pretty. Funny. You're hilarious. I like everything about you, not just your proximity to something else that mattered to me. I'd really like to try, if you...if you'd let me."
Rachel didn't know what to say. She couldn't deny that she found Amelia incredibly attractive, and they shared a far more similar range of interests than she and Sun Rai ever had. But she was scared. Amelia was yet another person removed from the situation, another person she'd have to lie to. For god sakes, Rachel had been the one to suggest killing her brother, and now she was going to hook up with his sister? What kind of soap opera bullshit was that? And yet...to deny this girl...those big beautiful eyes and that lovely smile and that big mess of frizzy hair. Rachel reached out slowly, cautiously, and laced her fingers through Amelia's, tugging her closer towards her.
"I've had a really bad few months," Rachel said softly.
"Then let me make the next few months exponentially better," Amelia whispered, dropping the now empty bottle in the grass and, using her other hand, pulling Rachel's face towards hers, kissing her. And it was like the world was new again. All the death and sadness and pain melted away in that singular instance, and all Rachel could feel was love. Hope. Rachel kissed her back, but Amelia pushed her against Calvin's stone and kissed her harder, causing Rachel to giggle.
Maybe she'd been right when she'd said at the funeral that Calvin had to go, for the better of everyone.
***
Ricky opened the hotel door to find Wyatt standing there. Ricky stepped aside and allowed him entrance before going back to his pizza box and offering Wyatt a slice, who happily accepted. They stood there in the room in silence, just chomping on pizza for a few minutes. After a bit, Ricky picked up a nearby napkin and wiped his mouth, then balled it up and tossed it into the garbage can across the room, perfectly.
"Nice shot," Wyatt said.
"You know," Ricky said, "the last time you and I were in a room alone together, you were freeing me."
"And?" Wyatt asked, and Ricky grinned.
"I'm about to free you, Wyatt Bloom, and all your friends," he said, causing Wyatt to make a face.
"Where's Rachel?" Wyatt asked, "shouldn't she be here for this?"
"No clue, but take a seat," Ricky said, and Wyatt nodded, sitting down at the desk as Ricky gathered a file; Ricky cleared his throat and said, "after a bit of digging, I discovered that the night Oliver Brighton was pronounded dead, someone made a call to Leonard Wattson. The two had been business partners, Oliver making a good share of the, uh...content, if you want, for Wattson. Except there in lies the question, who called Wattson? Who informed him of Brighton's death? Well, simply by logical deducation, we can conclude that whoever it was had that information immediately after it happened, which means they were made aware of it within minutes of the body being discovered, which makes them..."
"...in law enforcement," Wyatt said, and Ricky smiled, snapping his fingers, pointing at Wyatt.
"Ding ding ding!" he said, "which puts that person squarely in our area, probably someone high up on the chain, too. Now, this raises alarms because, well, how do you enforce the law on someone who wields that kind of power?"
"Wait wait wait, what about Grudin's wife?" Wyatt asked.
"Man," Ricky said, "she's not involved. She's just a grieving woman wanting answers. That's all. We'll deal with her too, but right now we gotta prepare a case, because eventually someone is gonna come knocking, or we're gonna have to cut a deal, and that means being ready with the proper information to turn on someone else."
Wyatt sighed as Ricky ploped the file down in front of him.
"This is my copy of the file I gave you the other day, remember?" he asked, and Wyatt nodded; Ricky added, "I went and got information on all the calls made on specific dates, to and from, etc. What I came away with was one name in particular. John Augustine. So I took that name and I did some further investigating. Head police chief here in town. Now, and you may not like this, but here's the thing that's really wild."
Wyatt rubbed his eyes, shaking his head, unable to process all of this.
"He's been there the whole time," Ricky said, "he was the one who dealt with Calvin's death. So, if he's a police chief, clearly well versed in what he does...why would he let what was clearly a murder go by labeled as a suicide?"
Wyatt and Ricky exchanged a look. Wyatt had questions.
But he didn't know if he wanted the answers.
"How's the coffee here?" a voice asked, and he jumped in his seat a little before turning to the railing beside him and seeing Ricky leaning on it, smirking.
"Don't do that," Wyatt said through his teeth, "I'm paranoid enough as it is."
"As you should be," Ricky said, "When you're done, come on by the hotel, I got something I need to talk to you about."
"You can't just talk to me about it here?" Wyatt asked, and Ricky grimaced.
"It's better not to discuss matters regarding something of this nature in a public space, I'm sure you understand," Ricky said, "but trust me, you're gonna wanna hear it."
"Will Rachel be there?" Wyatt asked.
"Well she's currently living with me, so yeah, I'd say there's a high likelihood she will be."
"You know I liked you better when you were too scared to be snarky," Wyatt said, the both of them laughing together. After a minute, Ricky went along his way, leaving Wyatt alone again. Wyatt turned his thoughts back to the day ahead of him. All he wanted to do was get this over with, go deal with whatever Ricky had for him, and then go home. Go home to....what even was she now? 'Friend' seemed out of the picture. 'Lover' just sounded wrong. Wyatt needed clarity, terminology, definition. What was Kelly. What were they together. Maybe he didn't need to describe her, or them, maybe she was just...Kelly. The metal chair opposite him scooted out and he turned his gaze back to that direction, seeing Scarlett seat herself.
"Hi," he said weakly.
"Hey," she replied, sounding raspy, tired. She still looked her best, of course. She'd never let anything change that, but she definitely sounded like shit.
"Thanks for coming to see me. I didn't really wanna come by the house," Wyatt said, "...I assume you got my letter."
"Yeah, unfortunately I am literate and have eyes that can read," Scarlett remarked. A silence followed, and then, as if each could read the others mind, they simultaneously said
"We need to talk."
***
Amelia and Rachel were in Amelia's car, heading towards the cemetery. Amelia had swung by the hotel and picked Rachel up that morning, then they'd gone to have breakfast, and now they were headed to Calvin's grave so Amelia could have her final goodbyes. Each one was dressed up, seeing as it was a 'special' occasion; Amelia in a shoulderless black dress with floral lace sleeves, while Rachel wore just a plain stormcloud grey backless dress.
"Is it a nice cemetery?" Amelia asked.
"It's pretty nice," Rachel said, taking a puff off her cigarette then ashing it out the window, "I mean, if one could describe a cemetery as 'cozy' then I suppose I would."
"Considering you're resting there for all eternity, I would hope it's cozy," Amelia replied, the both of them chuckling.
As Rachel continued smoking, looking out the window at the passing landscape, Amelia, who should be keeping her eyes on the road, instead kept stealing glances in Rachel's direction. It was still pretty early in the morning, and the morning sunlight lit her face up in a way that made Amelia's breath catch in her chest. After a bit more driving, they pulled into the parking lot of the cemetery and parked. Rachel climbed out and stretched, yawning, before tossing her cigarette on the ground and stomping it out, as Amelia climbed out of the car and walked around to meet Rachel. Together they started walking through the grounds, towards Calvin's grave.
"I love cemeteries," Amelia said, "I know that's so horribly cliche of me, oh wow look at the totally unique painter girl who loves cemeteries, so original. But I do. There's just something oddly comforting about them."
"I think it's cause it's where we all end up," Rachel said, arms folded, shrugging, "ya know? There's something...something nice about being able to visit what's considered the end, even if you aren't yet a resident of it. You can come here and see the peace and tranquility that it offers from the pain life puts you through."
"That's surprisingly goth of you," Amelia said, making Rachel laugh.
"I didn't know you were a painter, I'm a painter too," Rachel said.
"Yeah!" Amelia replied, chirping up, "yeah I've been painting my whole life. I love it. It helps me feel...free."
"I know what you mean," Rachel said, and Amelia smiled.
As they passed by tombstone after tombstone, some headstones flush in the ground, all Amelia could think about was how her brother was underground here now, resting, with his family. And here she was...what was she supposed to do now without him? How was she supposed to be the one who lived on? She looked over at Rachel and blushed as Rachel, not noticing being watched, pushed some of her hair from her own face and back behind her ear. Amelia bit her lip. She didn't know how to handle this. She never felt this way before towards a woman. Was it just the connection to her brother that drew her in, or something far bigger? Something that was awakening inside of her after years of dormancy?
"Here we are," Rachel said, stopping at a stone, both women turning to face it.
"Calvin," Amelia whispered, reaching out and putting her hand on the smooth grey stone flecked with black; she sighed and reached down with her other hand, holding Rachel's, who happily squeezed back.
"It must be hard, I'm sorry," Rachel said quietly, "it must be really hard. I don't have siblings, so I can't imagine, but..."
"It's hard," Amelia said, nodding, "but it's easier having you here, so thank you for coming."
"Of course," Rachel remarked, smiling, "of course. Anything I can do to make it easier for you."
Living in a hotel with a detective, taking a pretty art girl to see her brothers grave, Rachel couldn't deny she was enjoying her sabbatical from the usual messed up life she seemed to have had. She almost didn't want this part to end, to go back to the nonsense that was surely awaiting her. But she knew, when that moment came, she'd just have to cling to these memories harder than ever, because memories, good memories, were all that got her through the present anymore.
***
"You called my dad," Wyatt said, looking down at the table, "I mean, after all you have learned about me from how long we've been together, you called my fucking father. The one person I am more scared of in the world than anyone else."
"You were a mess, Wyatt, what else was I supposed to do?"
"Be there for me, just, fucking...be there. I know that's impossible apparently, but it really was the answer, the simplest answer. When he told me you called him, that...that destroyed any trust I had in you, Scar. That man, the things he did to me, the things he did to my mother, like, fucking hell, how could you?"
"You...you were drinking like crazy, you weren't sleeping well, you were skipping work, and-"
"I was grieving!" Wyatt said sternly, loudly, noticing the other patrons looking in their direction from his heightened voice, before he lowered it back to a simmer and added, nearly growling, "I was grieving. I was so fucking sad, I lost one of my closest friends."
"I helped kill one of my closest friends" was all that ran through his head as he said it. Always denying responsibility, yet using it as an excuse.
"And of course I can't say 'no' to you, can't tell you I can't do something, cause you'll throw a temper tantrum," Wyatt said, continuing, "I'm sorry. That was mean. I didn't mean that. But I was as scared to say no to you as I was to say no to my father growing up. I knew the level of disappointment you could have in me if I said I needed to not work that day or...or needed to just....relax or hang out with someone else. I don't like making you mad at me."
Scarlett had no idea Wyatt felt his way about her, and she felt horrible about it.
"I...I didn't know I instilled that kind of fear in you about me," Scarlett said.
"It isn't you," Wyatt said, shaking his head, "It's everything. I love being a father, I do, Mona is the best part of my life, but...but it isn't what I wanted to do. Everything we've done together I did because it was expected of me. I got married, I had children, I had that job. I'm not saying I wouldn't want to be married or have a family or have a good job, because I do, but I wish I could've done it of my own accord as opposed to feeling forced to do so."
Scarlett leaned back into her seat and sighed, looking at the table, hands in her lap. She never once expected Wyatt to say he had been this unhappy.
"...have you been this miserable the whole time?" she asked softly.
"My whole life, rather," Wyatt said, "never once got to make a decision for myself. Was always expected to do something or forced to do something, or did something out of sheer guilt or fear or the want to be accepted. Never once did anything I wanted to do because I wanted to do it. That's why I bought Mona the pony. Because...fuck it. I could. For once it was a decision I could make. That taste of freedom, of choice...it's addicting when you've never had it."
Having admitted this, Wyatt now realized something. Something about the last nearly year. He had done everything he'd done because he could. Because he could finally make decisions for himself. Sure, some of it he was coerced into, by Calvin, but in the end it was him making the decision to go along with it full tilt. He sighed as well.
"I don't think we should be married," Wyatt said, and Scarlett started to cry, covering her face with one hand.
And here he was, yet again, making a decision he wanted to make for the sake of himself. So why did he feel so guilty about it?
***
Amelia and Rachel were sitting with their backs to the tombstone, on the ground, sharing a bottle of wine. Rachel thought about Sun Rai in this moment, and how their entire relationship had always been so surface level, and never had this kind of intimacy, where they could just...BE...together. It was almost as if they'd had the queer version of a heterosexual relationship. But this...this felt so genuine and real, and it was just a friendship. Rachel felt lucky. Amelia handed her the bottle of wine, which she happily took, before wiping her mouth on her hand.
"I used to come to cemeteries in high school, do photoshoots, drink on occasion," Amelia said.
"You really were a cliche," Rachel said, taking a sip, the both of them laughing.
"WAS?" Amelia asked, and they laughed some more; Amelia continued, "no, it's true, I was, and I still am. But at least I know myself, you know? And I think that's the thing is Calvin never knew himself, not fully anyway. He...he knew things he wanted, he knew he wanted a wife, children, whatever, but that isn't knowing ones self, not in the real sense. That's just knowing you have goals."
"Yeah," Rachel said, "yeah I know what you mean. Growing up gay, or rather, coming to realize it when I did, that was a big revelation for me. Made a lot of things make sense finally putting that piece of the puzzle in place."
"How did you know?" Amelia asked, almost scared of the answer.
"Just...how I never liked guys, never found them attractive, always felt like I was forcing myself to try to be interested in the ones who'd been interested in me. Then I'd see some woman in an advert and I'd think to myself, 'goodness, what a goddess', and there was some overlap of do I want to do her or do I wanna look like her cause, ya know, women are always sizing themselves up to one another, so to detangle that in and of itself was a web and a half of lies. But really it was so obvious that in the end I felt stupid for not knowing it sooner."
Amelia nodded. A lot of what Rachel had said made sense. The difference was that Amelia had always liked men. She had loved Wyatt to hell and back. But she'd never, at least until meeting Rachel, felt that same kind of feeling with a woman. Now it was gnawing at her.
"I don't want you to go," Rachel said, chuckling as she took a long swig from the bottle, "I really am gonna miss having you around to hang out with."
"I could stay," Amelia said.
"Don't you have some kind of life to return to?"
"Not really, no," Amelia said, "I could easily stay."
Rachel shut her eyes and rested against the stone until she noticed Amelia had crawled around to be sitting cross legged in front of her, taking her by surprise. Rachel handed Amelia back the wine, who took it and took a really long drink, boosting her courage.
"Why would you? There's nothing here for you? I mean, your folks, I guess, but otherwise-"
"There's nothing there for me either. I live on my parents dime in a small apartment, I don't really work," Amelia said, "it'd be so easy to just come back. Hell, I'm already here. I could just pay some company to move all my crap back home. Besides, like you said, you'd miss having me around, right? You're here, we could hang out."
Rachel felt her heartbeat quicken. What was Amelia insinuating, exactly? Amelia scooted closer towards Rachel, causing Rachel to back up more against the stone, just instinctually.
"You've been so nice to me," Amelia said, "you've...you've been so supportive and helpful, and...and I don't get that from anyone else. I don't want to. I like getting it from you, cause it feels nice. I could move back home, start painting regularly again, sell stuff to the gallery, we could hang out and...and be friends and..."
Rachel and Amelia locked eyes.
"No," Rachel said, shaking her head, "fuck declarations."
"Huh?"
"The last time I had a declaration, it ended up being so fucking fake," Rachel said, "I don't want fake."
"I wasn't declaring anything," Amelia said, "I was just...gonna....kiss you."
A long pause, a soft breeze blew by as a family, clearing heading to a funeral, passed them.
"I've never liked a girl like this," Amelia continued, "This is all very new and scary to me, but...but being an artist, as you are, I guess you know that it's fun to try new mediums, right? So...so I guess I wanna try a new medium. Cause I've never had these feelings until I met you."
"You're grieving, you're not...you're not thinking right, I was close to your brother, so you feel close to me, and-"
"It isn't just that, no," Amelia said, shaking her head, pushing her glasses back up as they slid down her face, "it isn't just that. You're so cool and confident and...and pretty. You're SO pretty. Funny. You're hilarious. I like everything about you, not just your proximity to something else that mattered to me. I'd really like to try, if you...if you'd let me."
Rachel didn't know what to say. She couldn't deny that she found Amelia incredibly attractive, and they shared a far more similar range of interests than she and Sun Rai ever had. But she was scared. Amelia was yet another person removed from the situation, another person she'd have to lie to. For god sakes, Rachel had been the one to suggest killing her brother, and now she was going to hook up with his sister? What kind of soap opera bullshit was that? And yet...to deny this girl...those big beautiful eyes and that lovely smile and that big mess of frizzy hair. Rachel reached out slowly, cautiously, and laced her fingers through Amelia's, tugging her closer towards her.
"I've had a really bad few months," Rachel said softly.
"Then let me make the next few months exponentially better," Amelia whispered, dropping the now empty bottle in the grass and, using her other hand, pulling Rachel's face towards hers, kissing her. And it was like the world was new again. All the death and sadness and pain melted away in that singular instance, and all Rachel could feel was love. Hope. Rachel kissed her back, but Amelia pushed her against Calvin's stone and kissed her harder, causing Rachel to giggle.
Maybe she'd been right when she'd said at the funeral that Calvin had to go, for the better of everyone.
***
Ricky opened the hotel door to find Wyatt standing there. Ricky stepped aside and allowed him entrance before going back to his pizza box and offering Wyatt a slice, who happily accepted. They stood there in the room in silence, just chomping on pizza for a few minutes. After a bit, Ricky picked up a nearby napkin and wiped his mouth, then balled it up and tossed it into the garbage can across the room, perfectly.
"Nice shot," Wyatt said.
"You know," Ricky said, "the last time you and I were in a room alone together, you were freeing me."
"And?" Wyatt asked, and Ricky grinned.
"I'm about to free you, Wyatt Bloom, and all your friends," he said, causing Wyatt to make a face.
"Where's Rachel?" Wyatt asked, "shouldn't she be here for this?"
"No clue, but take a seat," Ricky said, and Wyatt nodded, sitting down at the desk as Ricky gathered a file; Ricky cleared his throat and said, "after a bit of digging, I discovered that the night Oliver Brighton was pronounded dead, someone made a call to Leonard Wattson. The two had been business partners, Oliver making a good share of the, uh...content, if you want, for Wattson. Except there in lies the question, who called Wattson? Who informed him of Brighton's death? Well, simply by logical deducation, we can conclude that whoever it was had that information immediately after it happened, which means they were made aware of it within minutes of the body being discovered, which makes them..."
"...in law enforcement," Wyatt said, and Ricky smiled, snapping his fingers, pointing at Wyatt.
"Ding ding ding!" he said, "which puts that person squarely in our area, probably someone high up on the chain, too. Now, this raises alarms because, well, how do you enforce the law on someone who wields that kind of power?"
"Wait wait wait, what about Grudin's wife?" Wyatt asked.
"Man," Ricky said, "she's not involved. She's just a grieving woman wanting answers. That's all. We'll deal with her too, but right now we gotta prepare a case, because eventually someone is gonna come knocking, or we're gonna have to cut a deal, and that means being ready with the proper information to turn on someone else."
Wyatt sighed as Ricky ploped the file down in front of him.
"This is my copy of the file I gave you the other day, remember?" he asked, and Wyatt nodded; Ricky added, "I went and got information on all the calls made on specific dates, to and from, etc. What I came away with was one name in particular. John Augustine. So I took that name and I did some further investigating. Head police chief here in town. Now, and you may not like this, but here's the thing that's really wild."
Wyatt rubbed his eyes, shaking his head, unable to process all of this.
"He's been there the whole time," Ricky said, "he was the one who dealt with Calvin's death. So, if he's a police chief, clearly well versed in what he does...why would he let what was clearly a murder go by labeled as a suicide?"
Wyatt and Ricky exchanged a look. Wyatt had questions.
But he didn't know if he wanted the answers.