Bodies lay strewn across the courtyard, the compound frozen and lifeless.

Wyatt Bloom was laying up against a car, breathing hard, unable to focus his eyes. It had all happened so fast, so very fast, and he didn't have time to process any of it. He was waiting to hear something, anything, and he glanced towards her body. Motionless. A streak of blood shot out from her head, staining the ground beside her like it was a smattering of paint from a brush. He closed his eyes tight, grimaced, and tried not to cry. He felt a tongue lapping at his hand and he looked to his side to see Clark standing there licking him. Wyatt smiled weakly, and reached up, petting the dog gently. In the back, a few buildings away, he could see them laying on the ground together, both unmoving. Her hand was in his. Once again, blood everywhere. Wyatt slid down the car further and laid on his back, eyes cast up towards the clouds and the sun, a cool wind starting to blow in. Clark laid down beside him, and he rested his hand gently atop his head, and then closed his eyes. A siren in the distance.

And that was all he heard as the darkness enveloped him.

4 WEEKS EARLIER

Amelia pressed her lips against Rachel's forehead, making her blush and giggle. Rachel sighed and kept her eyes shut, letting Amelia's kisses cover her face, her hands exploring her body. It had been...just...so long since she'd felt this wanted by someone. With Sun Rai, everything had felt so...performative, almost as though Sun Rai were not only settling for Rachel because she knew Rachel adored her, but also choosing her as a way to actively defy her parents culture and beliefs. Rachel was a weapon. Not a person. But to Amelia, oh she was so much more. Rachel finally opened her eyes and saw Amelia just hovering over her, looking down. She made Rachel grin, as she lowered her face down again and their lips met. It was heaven. Perfection. And yet, Rachel knew...so tentatively fragile. Because, Rachel knew, at any given moment, the end would be upon them, and once Amelia discovered it all, once she learned of Rachel's hand in her own beloved brothers demise, well, that would be it.

"You are so beautiful," Amelia whispered, bringing Rachel out of her stupor and back to reality.

"What?" Rachel asked.

"You...are so...beautiful," Amelia whispered again, "like, just...wow. An angel, honestly. I never..."

Amelia pulled away and sat crosslegged on the bed now, in front of Rachel, who leaned herself up by her elbows, tossing her hair from her face. Amelia exhaled and shook her head.

"I never thought that I deserved love like this," Amelia said, "but then again, my perception of love has always been a little warped and under realized, because it mostly came from a single relationship as a teenager, so. Either way, I just always fantasized about being deeply in love and having it be reciprocated at the same level, but it still...it just always seemed like it'd always be just that...a fantasy."

"For what it's worth, I always kinda felt the same," Rachel said, "especially being so rejected by my family. I just sort of gave into the belief that, you know, this is what girls like me get...isolation, rejection, endless yearning. Guess we each proved the other one wrong, huh?"

Amelia blushed and nodded. Being with Amelia had fulfilled Rachel in ways that being with Sun Rai never had. With Sun Rai, everything had been so surface level. Sure, Rachel's feelings were genuine, she'd harbored that love for Sun Rai since high school, but Sun Rai's love had always felt less like love and more like cautious experimentation. But for Amelia...this entire experience was based on completely unfounded and shaky ground. She'd only ever really dated Wyatt, and had never once even remotely entertained the possibility of being with a woman, so to fall for Rachel, and to have Rachel feel just as intensely for her as she did, it kind of melted her brain a bit. Rachel finally laid on her back and relaxed, Amelia doing the same, but in the opposite direction, both women staring up at the hotel ceiling.

"You know..." Amelia started, "I don't miss Calvin as much as I thought that I would."

"Really?" Rachel asked, sounding surprised.

"Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I do miss him, he was my brother and I loved him, but...as close as we were growing up, the more distance that was put between us, the less close I felt. Had he still been alive when I came home - say I came home under different circumstances and not because he'd died - I can't really say with any concrete certainty that I would be that close to him. We'd drifted apart. We talked on the phone, online, sent packages, but it never really...we never quite got back to that same closeness you have with your siblings when you grow up with them."

"Wouldn't know, never had siblings. Barely had parents," Rachel said, "...the world is really lonely when you grow up without anyone. It's one thing for a kid to be self-reliant because their parents are supporting the household, or whatever, but it's a whole other thing for a kid to be self-reliant because nobody gave a shit that they were there to begin with. I think having family who opts not to be there is worse than just not having family at all. One is a choice, the other is not."

Amelia sat up, crawled on the bed until she hovered over Rachel, now upside down beneath her, and both grinned. Amelia leaned down and kissed her.

"That's why we make our own families," Amelia whispered, "just call me mommy."

"Oh dear god," Rachel said, cracking up.

Thing is, even with it being said under the guise of semi joke, Amelia wasn't wrong, and Rachel knew this. Having Wyatt in her life, having Ricky as a friend, and now having Amelia as a partner, plus having Kelly back by her side...yeah. She'd forged onwards through the loneliness and come out the other side with those who cared about her, wanted her there, sought her company out because they felt it enriched their own lives to boot. Family was just a word, in the end.

And words, as she knew from her English classes in college, had shifting definitions all the time.

***

"I love him, I want him," Kelly said, standing next to Wyatt in a curio shop downtown, staring at a jackelope sitting mounted atop a small wooden base. Wyatt nodded in solemn agreement.

"He is rather dashing isn't he, and he'll be even moreso once we give him a top hat and a monocle," Wyatt said.

"He isn't a 1920s railroad tycoon, his name is Slothgore, and he shall live in our living room, on the bookshelf, protecting the knowledge," Kelly said.

"Knowledge? All that's there are vintage cookbooks," Wyatt replied, smirking.

"And he'll protect those cookbooks and their awful meat jello combination platters with his life," Kelly said, the both of them chuckling now. Wyatt reached an arm around her waist and pulled her in, kissing her on the side of the head. In the last three weeks, things had cooled off. Wyatt had given Paul the information he'd needed to get a proper investigation started, and Paul had told him he'd simply "be in touch" when he required more assistance. And that, until that moment came to pass, Wyatt should just go about living his life. Which he did, happily.

"You know, if you'd asked me right after I fell out of a plane whether or not I'd be happy again, I'm sure I would've said yes, if only because, you know, I still somehow had the ability to walk and had survived an airline accident. But I definitely wouldn't have considered the reason being influenced by being in love."

Wyatt blushed as she turned to look at him.

"My ex wife, she...she would've wanted to go shopping for stuff that was boring and expensive. I always liked the weirder side of stuff, the obtuse and bizarre."

"Explains why you like me then," Kelly said, giggling.

"And I always found it far more entertaining going out and simply riffing on stuff, window shopping, than actually purchasing things," Wyatt said, "...thanks for giving me that. Thanks for, you know...allowing me to be that version of me again."

Kelly could hear the shift in his tone, and knew he was being serious. She nodded slowly, putting her hands on his face and, leaning on her tiptoes, reached up to kiss him. Kelly had had a point, he knew. Of all the wild things that had come out of having simply attended that reunion, meeting her and falling madly in love had somehow been the wildest. His love for her overshadowed the involvement with a cult, murder, an illicit pornography ring. No. Kelly. She was the wildest part, and that made him feel like he was actually still living in the real world, if something as ordinary as simply loving another person could be the most interesting aspect of a life that had long since stopped being remotely normal by all standards.

"How would you feel about getting take out, and then going home, and maybe trying to find just the right spot on the shelf for Slothgore the 3rd," Wyatt asked, making Kelly chuckle.

"Oh, he's the third now?" she asked.

"Well he comes from a long lineage of keepers of the knowledge, you know how it is," Wyatt replied, shrugging, making her laugh as she buried her face in his chest. They both knew the good times wouldn't last forever, so they should enjoy them now while they could. She had every intention of doing just that.

"That sounds perfect," she whispered as he kissed the top of her head.

***

Ricky opened the door to the hotel, wearing a v-neck, some sleep shorts and a white robe spotted in multicolored dots, his hat still atop his head. Rachel smirked as she looked him up and down.

"Hello, I'm with the Fashion Police, and I have a warrant for your arrest," she said, as he rolled his eyes and stepped aside, letting her enter. She tossed her things onto the nearby second bed and exhaled. Ricky walked back to the table and grabbed another taco from the box, biting into it as he went back to typing with his freehand on the laptop.

"Didn't know you were coming back today, or else I'd have prettied myself up," he said, mouth full of taco.

"Aw, you're always pretty, you're gonna be the prettiest girl at the prom," Rachel said as she seated herself on the end of the bed and tugged her shoes off, tossing them to the floor.

"Finally, Jason Killborn will notice me," Ricky said wistfully, making Rachel cackle.

"Though, I must admit, the robe is...it's a decision," she said, causing Ricky to stop and turn to face her.

"What's wrong with my robe?" he asked through his bite.

"Dude, you look like you skinned a clown," Rachel remarked.

"You know, in some fictional universe, that would make me a goddamn hero," Ricky said, "listen, uh, I need your help. I'm...I'm gonna reapproach Grudin's wife. With the information I have now on who was involved in this thing, I feel like we may need her on our side. I wanna talk to her about everything, tell her everything. But that only works if I go in with a united front."

Rachel nodded, understanding. Ricky was, in a sense, throwing himself on the mercy of the court. She sighed, looked around the room and thought. How would Grudin's wife react to this sort of information? After all, the man who'd gotten her husband killed was still alive, but he'd killed the man whose plan it was originally, so...it was hard to decide where the blame would fall, and where her ultimate loyalties would lie.

"She's got that daughter, the disabled one, and I think, you know, if anyone is going to be sympathetic to a case like the one we've come across, it's gonna be a parent, especially a parent to a child who could so easily become prey to such vile people," Ricky said, "you don't have to help me, Rachel, but you're good at it, and you're my friend, and I've enjoyed doing this together with you. I wanna see this thing through to the end with you by my side and, maybe, ya know, after it's all over, we can work together regularly."

"I'd like that, actually," Rachel said.

"You have an eye for detail, it's why you're a painter," Ricky said, "and that eye for detail is a critical, crucial necessity for detective work. You're good at this."

Nobody had ever really told her she was good at anything, and to hear it come from such an unexpected place, it took her by surprise. But what took her even more by surprise was the fact that she so easily believed him. Rachel had, thanks to the people who had hurt and used her - especially in college - grown to be wary of anyone who complimented her, often following up their question with an internalized question of her own of "what are you trying to get out of me?" but...this wasn't the situation with Ricky. He had nothing to gain from her. He simply liked having her around, and the feeling was mutual, he was fun to investigate with. Rachel smiled.

"So when are we going?" she asked, making him grin excitedly.

***

Wyatt was sitting on the couch back at the apartment as Kelly took a shower. He was comfortable, reading a book - the first time he'd managed to sit down and do that in a while, so he was happy - and had a bowl of chips next to him. It was quiet, and calm. Peaceful. It had started to rain ever so slightly, and the water was pooling a little on Kelly's balcony floor right outside the living room. Sometimes lightning would strike, and he would occasionally glance towards the window and smile. Life, when you had the one you wanted, really was enjoyable to experience, he'd learned. And then the phone rang. Wyatt groaned, slipped his bookmark into his novel and reached over to answer.

"Hello?" he asked, lifting the receiver to his face.

"It's Paul," Paul said, and Wyatt's entire demeanor changed.

"...I was wondering when I'd hear from you," Wyatt said, sitting upright now.

"We need to meet up and talk soon," Paul said, "I've been going over the specifics of some things, gathered from the information you and your informant managed to dig up, and...it isn't good, Wyatt. It's not good at all."

"How so?" Wyatt asked.

"I'd prefer not to discuss this over the phone, frankly," Paul said, which caused Wyatt to raise an eyebrow. He rubbed his stubble and bit his lip, crossing one leg.

"That serious huh?"

"...this...thing, that you guys managed to uncover, this thing with Brighton and everyone involved, it runs so much fucking deeper, man," Paul said, his voice stone cold, "let's meet soon okay? I'll give you a location and a time and date when I decide. Until then just...get your rest. You're gonna need it."

And with that Paul hung up. He worked for the feds, sure, but...Wyatt didn't expect him to be stereotypically stoic and vaguely ominous. He hung up the phone just as Kelly walked into the living room, towel around her, brushing her hair.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"Celia's ex husband," Wyatt said, "wants to talk to me about...about Calvin and stuff."

"Oh...is...everything okay?" Kelly asked, approaching the couch. Wyatt reached out and put his hands on her hips, pressing his face into her.

"Yeah," he said quietly, "Everything's just fine."

***

Wyatt was laying on the ground beside the car, his vision fuzzy, his body aching. Clark licked his hand gently, as if to tell him everything would be okay. But...would it? So many were dead now. People he loved. Cared about. Some were hurt, but others were outright gone. How does one contend with that kind of loss and grief? It all just felt like too much. How does one come back from that? He closed his eyes, the silence of the space surrounding him bringing him a calm that knew no equal. After so much chaos the past 11 months, and so much pain the last few hours, he was finally happy to embrace the quiet.

Shoes walking on dirt. Steps getting ever closer.

"Sir?" a voice asked, and Wyatt opened one eye. A man stood in front of him, tall, a little older than him, in a cop uniform. The sun was blinding over his shoulder. Wyatt raised an arm in front of his face to shield his vision from the light; the man asked again, "Sir, do you need help?"

How much time had passed? How long had he been laying here? Wyatt looked to his right. Clark was gone, nowhere to be seen, presumably carted off by the cops. He looked around. A shroud lay over her body. His too. And she was nowhere to be found as well, likely taken to the hospital for help. Wyatt groaned and tried to sit up, but the officer knelt down and gently pushed him back.

"Whoa there buddy, take it easy," he said, "you're hit but you're alright, we've got ambulances on the way. You wanna tell me what happened here?"

"I'll tell you," Wyatt said weakly, straining to speak.

"Let's start with your name," the officer said.

"Wyatt. Wyatt Bloom," he said.

"Wyatt, nice to meet you. You know you're a goddamn hero, right?" the officer asked, holding out his hand to shake, "Wyatt, I'm Officer Augustine. John Augustine, head chief of the local law enforcement."

As Wyatt's hand clasped with his, their eyes met, Wyatt suddenly realized who this man was. This...was the enemy. This was the man behind it all. All the pain, all the horror that had befallen the children involved in Brighton and Wattson's crimes and god knows who else. This was the man with the brain to put it all into motion. Wyatt narrowed his eyes and struggled to smile.

"Nice to meet you too," he said, nearly whispering. And it was nice. It was nice to finally put a face to the name.

But it would be even nicer when he killed him.