"I feel...like it's my fault," Bea said, "everyone tells me not to feel that way, but I do. I took something that was important to her, something she had, in theory, been doing already for an extended period of time, and I gave it to others. It was a betrayal, and in hindsight, she had every single right to be mad at me about. In turn, I'm mad at Michelle because she told me that Casey, and her emotions, were not my responsibility, but the thing is...they weren't anyones. She had no family. No romantic partner. She had nobody but me. So, if she wasn't my responsibility, whose was she? Her own? No. That's callous. Nobody should be alone."

The therapist nodded, taking it all in as Bea and Leslie sat on the couch together. Ever since Casey had killed herself, the two of them had made it a habit of coming here once a week to try and work through Bea's grief. Thusfar, however, it hadn't really been all that successful and endeavor, sad to say.

"I understand that your entire...schtick, so to speak, is caring about everyone, especially kids who had nobody else to care about them, but-"

"It isn't a goddamn 'schtick'," Bea grumbled, Leslie and the therapist exchanging a glance, indicating the therapist had indeed messed up with that verbiage; they tapped their pen on their clipboard a few times anxiously and quickly course corrected.

"Um, right, I'm sorry, I apologize. But even still, she wasn't a child. She was a grown adult," the therapist said.

"Was she?" Bea asked, "because trauma stunts the developmental process. So, sure, from the outside they may look like adults, but emotionally, psychologically, they're still the terrified little kids they were when the trauma occured. Saying she was a grown adult is only accurate if you're speaking of her physiologically."

Leslie exhaled and took one of Bea's hands in her own, squeezing gently.

"Hey," she said softly, "you cannot save everyone."

"I have to," Bea said, on the verge of totaling losing it, "I have to, cause nobody else will."

Her thoughts turned from Casey to Liam, to their daughter. Every single time she closed her eyes lately, she saw her little girl. She saw the day they left her. She saw the betrayal, front and center. Seemed all she'd done her life was betray little girls. Maybe that was why she'd attached herself so tightly to Michelle, because in a way, she saw a woman who hadn't really had a mother, and so in a sense, Beatrice could make up for her past mistakes.

"Does Michelle know about this?" the therapist asked and Bea scoffed, chuckling, shaking her head.

"We've barely spoken since the incident. We spoke at the speech, but that was about it. Since then I've kind of kept my distance, which I'm sure has hurt her but...it's better this way, cause I know...I know that the next time I see her face..." Bea stumbled for words, biting her lip, "...will be the last time I see her face."

***

Michelle was standing outside The Hole.

The lot was busy, bustling, preparing for the next shoot, but Michelle wasn't involving herself, opting instead to stand outside The Hole and simply stare at a nearby billboard featuring Bea's face. She was chewing gum as she stared at the billboard, featuring Bea, Liam's character and a few other puppets, advertising the show, and she shook her head as the doors to The Hole opened and Eliza stepped outside.

"Did you wanna come back in?" Eliza asked, wrapping her arms around Michelle's waist from behind, hugging her, "it's cold, and I could make you warm."

"I don't even think being here is good for me," Michelle said.

"Was it Keagan?"

"I mean it's not her fault someone sought her out as a line to Bea," Michelle said, shrugging, "that's what Keagan does, she...she finds things. That's how this all started. I can't blame her, she's my friend, and she's an unwilling participant. No. It's Bea's fault. It's Bea's fucking fault for doing this in the first place, for creating this landmine that was set to detonate at a later point in time, taking out everyone around her with it."

Eliza pulled away and looked at the Liam puppet under her arm, before sliding it back onto her arm and raising it up, standing in front of Michelle now.

"Don't be mad at her," Eliza said, pretending the puppet was talking, making Michelle smile softly, "she was young, she didn't mean to. You can't blame someone for something they didn't mean to do. Ask Eliza, she would know."

Michelle's eyes moved from the puppet up to Eliza's face, her eyes now cast to the ground, making Michelle slightly nervous. Was Eliza using this puppet as a way to work through things, or was this a subconscious thing she wasn't aware she was doing, thinking this puppet was actually Liam? Her heart ached at the idea of the second being true.

"He's right," Eliza said quietly, still looking at her shoes, "it isn't her fault. And even if it were, it's only partially, cause there's still the dad to blame, whoever he ends up being, if it even matters. But he's right."

Michelle pushed the puppet down a bit and took Eliza's soft face in her hands, pulling her in close and kissing her softly. Eliza blushed and gave in, her knees buckling as she leaned into it, so happily kissing Michelle back. Michelle and Eliza rested their foreheads against one another, both trying not to giggle uncontrollably.

"You make me feel so grounded in a world of uncertainty," Michelle said.

"And you make me feel like there's more to me than my work," Eliza replied.

"I love you, baby," Michelle whispered.

"I love you too," Eliza said, before holding the Liam puppet back up and adding, "and I love you both!" making Michelle cackle. Just then a car came screeching to a halt in the lot, almost doing a donut as it stopped, causing Michelle and Eliza to look up, surprised by the sudden noise and arrival. The car idled momentarily before turning off and the door opening, Justine stumbling out. She was wearing a pleated grey pencil skirt, a blue button down blouse with a cream colored houndstooth cardigan over it, her hair looking as though she'd at least tried to make it into a bun but had done so sloppily. She stood and stared at the girls over the roof of her car.

"Justine?" Michelle asked, "what are you doing here?"

Justine turned and looked up at the billboard, then pointed at it.

"Fuck that dog!" she shouted, making Michelle laugh nervously to herself.

***

"I don't know what to do," Leslie said, sounding exhausted, as she sank back into the couch. Bea had retreated to the restroom momentarily, leaving the therapist and Leslie alone. The therapist nodded, bouncing their knee as Leslie continued, adding, "I've...I feel, like, fuck, I've done all I can at this point, and it's absolutely killling me to watch this and what the guilt is doing to her."

"Until she accepts it wasn't her fault she won't move forward, it's simple as that," the therapist said.

"I don't think she can," Leslie said, "I genuinely...knowing her intimately, loving her, I don't think she's capable of allowing herself that grace. She's too harsh on herself."

The door opened and Bea quietly slipped back inside, shutting it gently behind herself. She then seated herself back on the couch beside Leslie, who leaned in and planted a small kiss on her cheek, making Bea smile and blush, just a little.

"Beatrice," the therapist said, "you grew up with a good family. Great parents. Where do you think this need to be a mother to every little girl comes from?"

Bea knew the answer, but admitting to it would forever change her relationship with Leslie, as well as Leslie's perception of her as a whole. No. She couldn't have that. She wouldn't. Bea shook her head and shrugged. Perpetuate the lie to keep the peace. That had always been their plan. Now, with Liam gone, the responsibility fell to her and her alone, even if it meant isolating the ones she loved around her further.

"It can't just be related to the show, to the morals you want to express," the therapist said, "because it obviously runs so deep in your soul, or else you wouldn't be feeling this way and doing it to such a degree offscreen. I'm just...I'm trying to figure out the source. Help me, Bea, so I can help you, and we can help eachother."

"There's nothing to figure out," Bea whispered, eyes looking at her hands between her legs, "please stop looking. I'm as plain as day."

Leslie felt her heart hurt just a little more. Beatrice sounded so wounded, so run down. But, as the therapist had said, without her cooperation, all their efforts were moot. Bea put her hands in her hair and started crying, making Leslie lean over and pull her head to her chest, rocking her gently.

"There there, I've got you," Leslie said softly.

"I'm a bad person," Bea whispered through her tears, her breathing shaky, her voice weak.

"Why do you say that, sweetheart?" Leslie asked.

But Bea, as per usual in these sessions, didn't elaborate. Elaborating meant facing the truth, and the truth would tear her whole world apart. No. Stoicism in the face of uncertainty, that was the path forward.

No matter what the cost.

***

"Goddamn dog came into my home, cleaned up my kitchen, removed all my alcohol!" Justine shouted as she stumbled towards Eliza and Michelle, "who is she to have such moral superiority!? As if she's better than me."

"Did you drive here drunk?" Michelle asked, now sounding more concerned than finding it amusing as she had before; she lowered her voice even more to spare Justine the embarrassment, adding, "Justine, did you drive here intoxicated? When did you start drinking?"

"When did I stop?" Justine asked loudly, "I'm drunk from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep, and it wasn't an issue until she decided to stop by and take it upon herself to act like a goddamn AA sponsor!"

"I'm...going to go inside," Eliza said sheepishly, backing away. Michelle understood, and didn't stop her.

"This is serious, you cannot be driving under the influence," Michelle said, "for fucks sake, Justine, there's schools between here and there, not to mention the people who bring their kids to the lot. Or even hurting other drivers, pedestrians, yourself."

"As if hurting myself would be bad," Justine said, taking Michelle by surprise. Justine walked, or rather shambled, over to the nearby wall and leaned against it, sliding down it as she cried softly, "it's one thing to lose someone once, but to lose someone twice? That's...that is a loss that is insurmountable. I didn't have a choice in losing him, that was an accident, that was the result of weather and poor plane maintenance. But her?"

She didn't even need to say their name. Michelle knew all too well.

"...she didn't have to die," Justine continued, her voice so weak and soft, as if she were scared of hearing herself, "she didn't have to die, and she did, and it's my fault, and I could've stopped it. I couldn't stop the other one but I could've stopped this. But she's dead. She jumped off that bridge thinking nobody loved her. She was my friend. She was my friend, and I killed her. I was selfish for an hour and I killed her."

Michelle approached the wall and sat down beside Justine. Justine fall into Michelle, sobbing against her shoulder, as Michelle reached up and ran her fingers through her hair.

"You didn't kill her. She killed herself," Michelle said, "that's a distinction you need to recognize. Your actions didn't motivate that. After learning what her life had been like, I...I can't say I was too surprised. I mean I was surprised in the moment, cause, yeah, you never expect that. But in hindsight? Fuck. Impressive she made it that far, even. You didn't kill her, Justine."

"Why..." Justine asked, looking up at Michelle now, their eyes locking, as she uttered, in the lowest voice possible, "...why does everyone I love keep dying?"

That did it. That broke her. Michelle herself was now feeling tears form on her face.

"Uh," she said, wiping her face on her other arm, "um, fuck. I can't answer that, I'm sorry. I...I genuinely wish that I could, but I can't. If it's any consolation, though, it happens to everyone. Everyone that loves others loses them to death eventually."

Justine grabbed Michelle's arm and cried even harder. Michelle exhaled.

"I know how you feel," she continued, "I know it's not the exact same, Casey and I didn't really have the working relationship that you two did, but I know how you feel. After she died, I took it upon myself to bring Beatrice back from the brink of a breakdown once Liam left, and I...I need to save those around me, because I pushed Casey away from the production. I was the one who told Bea not to worry about her, which sent her spiraling, and onto your doorstep. You wanna blame someone for what happened? Fucking blame me, okay?"

Justine looked up at Michelle, their eyes meeting yet again.

"You didn't kill her, Justine, I did," Michelle said, crying now too, "and I'm gonna pay for that for the rest of my life, or die trying to save everyone else instead."

Another car pulled up and Beatrice climbed out.

"The hell is going on out here?" she asked.

Michelle stared Bea down.

"I have something you need to see," Michelle said flatly.

***

Inside The Hole, Eliza was sitting at her work desk, staring at the Liam puppet, still on her hand, raised to eye level.

"I can't help them," Eliza said.

"You can, you just don't know how to yet," the Liam puppet said.

"No," she shook her head, "I love Michelle so much, but I can't help her. I can't even cope with you being gone. That's why you're here now. And if...if she ever gets the idea of what you are, to me, then that's going to scare her and make her stop loving me."

"You know that girl could never stop loving you," the Liam puppet said, and Eliza lowered him onto the table, pulling him off her arm and laying him there. She leaned back on her chair, pulling her legs up into her chest and wrapping her arms around them, a physicality she always retreated to when things got scary. She knew the puppet wasn't talking. She wasn't hearing his voice. She was simply utilizing it in a way that helped her cope with the grief of his absence. Besides Bea, and her family, Liam was the only other person she had known for that long, and for him to now be gone, it had gnawed a hole clear through to her heart, and she didn't know how to handle it.

"...I wish it had been me," Eliza said softly, to a room full of nobody but puppets.

***

"Where are we even going?" Bea asked as the three women marched across the studio, heading to the trailers in the back.

"You'll see," Michelle said.

"I don't have time for cryptic vagueries today," Bea said sternly.

"You had time to clean my fucking kitchen," Justine said coldly, catching Bea off guard.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was helping you regain sobriety an inconvenience to you?" Bea asked, as Michelle opened the double doors at the back, the three of them continuing to head outwards and towards the trailers, now within sight.

"Do you really think the wisest way to respond to someone drinking to deal with loss they feel responsible for is to antagonize them further on the subject?" Michelle asked, and Bea shut up. Michelle was sounding...like her. Bea should've been proud, but instead, all she felt was even more ire for the woman now.

"Oh, you think...you think that was an inconvenience? Well you know what was a real inconvenience?" Justine asked, "telling a woman so devoted to the craft you'd built that she couldn't be a part of it because of her emotions, things you tell children every day they shoudln't be ashamed to feel or show."

Bea began to snarl through her teeth without saying a word, her insides fuming with rage. How dare Justine think she had the right to speak to her like this. Justine wasn't even really involved in this production, what the fuck was she still even doing in their lives?

"It's appropriate that your age range for your work is small children, considering the way you act," Bea replied sternly, making Justine laugh.

"That's a rich one coming from a woman who talks to puppets on fucking television!" Justine said, "no, ya know what, it actually makes sense you would pretend to be a dog, because you're definitely not a human, and everyone loves dogs, and you need everyone to love you, don't you?"

"You wish the worth of your work remotely rivaled my own," Bea said.

"Unlike you, Beatrice, I don't fucking judge myself based on arbitrary standards of the content I produce, you know why? Because it isn't indicative of my value! We are in the same business, we both make things for kids, the only difference between us is that I recognize that what I do is a job, and you think you're a saint for doing something other hosts have done longer and better than you have and ever could! It's a fucking TV show, get over yourself."

"I'm trying not to hold a lot of what you say in high regard considering you're drunk," Bea said, "but being drunk doesn't give you a license to just insult everyone around you."

"I'm not insulting everyone around me, I'm only. insulting. you," Justine said.

"Guess it was inevitable you'd turn to being an alcoholic, seeing as how you're a writer and all," Bea said.

They finally reached the trailers, as Michelle gathered her key from her pocket and put it into the lock.

"At least I'm not afraid to practice what I preach. You spout all this bullshit about togetherness and understanding, all while hiding everything about yourself, because to allow yourself to be a fully fledged person would mean you're not a faceless entity that children can project themselves onto."

"And what do you preach, exactly? How mommy gets drunk to escape her problems?" Bea asked, and that got it, as Justine turned and socked her in the nose hard. Bea stumbled back down the ramp a little as Justine recoiled in pain, nursing her fist in her hand. Michelle finally got between them.

"Guys! Chill the fuck out!" she shouted, "we are all suffering from the same thing, okay? She died. We all lost her. The last thing we should do is turn against one another."

"Why did you even bring me out here?!" Bea yelled, "she wouldn't be dead if it wasn't for you convincing me that I shouldn't chase after her!"

Michelle couldn't believe her ears. Bea was...blaming...her? Was that...was that what was happening right now?

"You...it was...you think it was my fault?" Michelle asked, her lip quivering, voice broken now, "...I just didn't want you to be stressed."

"Well I'm stressed. I'm stressed every goddamn day now," Bea said, "I was supposed to protect girls like that and you stopped me!"

"Then allow me to fix the goddamn problem!" Michelle shouted back, turning and kicking the door to the trailer open, "enjoy!"

Beatrice's eyes widened in shock. Time itself stood still. No noise penetrated this moment. There, sitting in the trailer before her, was a young woman who looked suspiciously like a mixture of both herself and Liam. No. No no no, there was no way, this couldn't be, how could this be happening? Bea slowly walked in, and Claire looked up from her chair. Bea reached out and slowly, so slowly, put her hand on Claire's cheek. Claire closed her eyes and smiled.

"Mom," she whispered.

Bea turned and looked back at Justine and Michelle, standing in the doorway. She then pulled her hand back and walked up to Michelle, looking her directly in the eyes, before taking her hands in her own.

"Michelle," she whispered.

"I didn't know you blamed me, but I...I guess I was hoping this might be a way I could make up for it. I took a girl away from you, and now I'm giving you this one back. Keagan, of course, is who actually got in touch with her first, but I asked if I could introduce you two, because I knew...I had to atone for my part in Casey's death. We...we built this thing together, you and me and Keagan. Just like you and Liam. We cannot devolve into what we're devolving into, Bea. We just can't. What we have built here is just...it's far too important for that."

"Michelle," Bea said, smiling, squeezing her hand.

"Bea, I'm sorry," Michelle said.

Bea turned and looked back at Claire, before looking back at Michelle, their eyes locked, their whole history lay bare between them. She smiled so wide, making Michelle giggle in response.

"Oh, Michelle," Bea said, "...you're fired."

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?

Gently rocking. The soft sound of water. A dim, orange light slipping in through the slivers of the windowshades. Alexis put her arm up over her face, and then gasped in surprise as Rick mounted her and looked down into her eyes. She blushed deeply and grinned, putting her arms around his neck.

"Good morning," he said.

"It will be, once you get to work," Alexis replied, making him laugh. They didn't leave the sleeping space of the boat for another hour at least, making it almost rock harder than the waves themselves did. Alexis had never expected to get railed on the high seas, but who knew, she truly was a pirate at heart after all.

Alexis and Rick had spent the last handful of months away from society, just on the boat, occasionally docking whereever and grabbing snacks, supplies, whatnot. Between his shared account with his sister for the bakery and Alexis having saved up a bit of money from work herself, the two knew they would be fine for a while. And that while? Well, that while was the happiest she'd ever been in her life. Walking across sandy white beaches in her bare feet, holding the hand of a man who dug for hermit crabs with the intense enthusiasm usually reserved only for a Golden Retriever searching for a previously buried bone. Laying on the deck of the boat under the slowly sinking golden sunlight as night approached, each not saying a word, opting instead to simply let the gentle waves do the talking. Using fishing poles they'd bought on the cheap to sit on the occasional harbor and fish and smoke, all the while discussing plans for their inevitable return and what they could do together once they were on more solid footing, with a good foundation beneath them.

And then, one morning, while laying in bed together after a particularly energectic tryst, Alexis sighed and sat up, Rick back asleep beside her, and she looked around the cabin. She knew. It was time to go home. But she wasn't scared, as she glanced down at Rick, snoring, and instead she smiled, leaning down and kissing his head, before getting up, heading to the console, and setting sail for land.

They docked, the unpacked, Rick never making a big deal about anything, just happy to be back by her side, and they climbed into the car they'd left in the lot when they'd ran off. Alexis turned the key and headed off. Elsewhere, across town, John was making breakfast. Ellen sat at the table, awaiting food as she watched TV. John sipped from his coffee mug and smirked as he glanced over at Ellen. It was so nice having her around.

"You excited?" he asked, "I'm making chocolate chip pancakes."

Ellen eagerly nodded, with the vigor of an giddy child, as John chuckled at this. A knock. John put his spatula down, and headed towards the front door.

"When we're done eating," he said, "I thought today we might go out, do some stuff outside, maybe go to a zoo or something. It's good to break up the monotony of being in the house all the time, and I took a lot of time off to help you settle in here, so I've got the availability."

He swung the door open, and his entire face changed. There, standing on the porch, was Alexis, Rick a bit behind her, at the bottom of the steps. Alexis smiled softly, tossing her hair from her face, as John bit his lip, before losing to his feelings, and breaking down, grabbing her and pulling her in tightly for a hug unlike any other. Alexis laughed, as did Rick, as she patted him on the back.

"I'm home, dad," she said.

"Yeah. Yes, you are," he whispered in response.

And she was.

***

Jenny Matisse loved to swim.

She was currently standing in the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror; critical of every aspect of her body, even in a one piece. She sighed, and ran her hand down her tummy. At least she managed to stay fit, even after everything. Jenny then gathered her bag of supplies, and headed out onto the beach. The sun was bright, the sand warm beneath her feet as she made her way towards the high chair, where she placed her bag down beside it and started the short climb up. Once seated comfortably, Jenny pulled her hair back into a ponytail and pushed her sunglasses onto her face. Nobody was at the beach just yet, but they would be, and it was her duty to protect them.

That's what a lifeguard does, after all.

***

"When did you-" John started, but Alexis interrupted.

"Literally like two hours ago. You're the first place I've come to," she replied.

After letting them inside, Alexis, Rick and John were seated around his coffee table. Ellen was seated a bit aways, curled up in John's old beanbag chair he'd had since college, hugging her legs to her chest, her hoodie pulled over her face. Alexis didn't understand why her own sister didn't seem excited to see her, but she didn't want to push her to interact if she wasn't feeling up to it, so she didn't.

"Where have you two even been?" John asked.

"Where haven't we been?" Rick replied, making Alexis chuckle.

"We spent a lot of time just sailing, or anchoring in the middle of the sea and just...being away from everything. It was...hard," Alexis said, glancing towards Rick, "especially for him, having to go cold turkey in order to do so. Hasn't had any drugs in his system in months now."

"Yeah, it's...kinda wild, being sober," Rick said, "uh, you forget what colors are when your brain is constantly dampened with mind altering chemicals. Not being on anything, and being out somewhere with so much color, it really...it really woke me back up to reality. It was...necessary."

John smiled. He saw, sitting in front of him, himself and his wife. Two drug addict alcoholics who just happened to fall in love, but this time, there was a happy ending. Alexis rested her head on Rick's shoulder and he reached up, gently petting her hair.

"How have things been here? Like, with you, with the company?" Alexis asked, as John raised an eyebrow and she diverted her eyes to the floor, exhaling, "...with Lilian?"

"Good, actually, really...really good. Rina's finding her footing, I've been helping your sister acclimate to the world, figure out how to do whatever it is she wants to, company's honestly never been sturdier. Lilian, though, that's a whole other barrel of monkeys, I gotta say. She has been...distraught, since your exit. I'm not entirely sure how she's going to take seeing you again."

"Yeah, I can't say I blame her," Alexis mumbled.

She had been worried about everyone, but Lilian had taken the front of her brain the entire time, which surprised her. She'd expected John to be the thing she missed most, but oddly enough, it was just her best friend, and she figured the reason must be because, for as much as John loved her, and even chose to adopt her, support her, Lilian had been there first. Lilian had never turned her back on her like the others had. She had always looked out for Alexis and her well being. She was a hell of a best friend.

"Is it weird, being back on dry land?" John asked.

"Well, you know how there's that term sea legs?" Rick asked, and John nodded as Rick added, "I still don't know what the hell it means, but I think I have 'em now."

John started laughing, which made them laugh. A perfect reunion. It was good to be home.

***

Jenny was standing on the pier, in front of the sandwich shop, watching the girl who worked there, almost exclusively by herself, prepare her sandwich. Jenny pulled her sunglasses down and scanned her eyes across the nearby beach, just to make sure everything was fine. She was on break, but she still took her duties seriously.

"You have excellent taste in sandwiches." the girl, Ramona, said.

"Do I?" Jenny asked.

"Yeah, seriously," Ramona replied, "like, the stuff you ask me to make isn't even on the menu and it's better than the menu. You give me purpose."

Jenny laughed, causing Ramona to blush as Jenny turned to face her now, sunglasses still pulled down, resting gently on the bridge of her nose, her big soft brown eyes exposed, the long lashes glinting in the sunlight. Ramona blushed even harder. While Jenny was nearing her fourties, Ramona was only 22, still in college, but neither one cared. Jenny reached over the counter and took Ramona's jaw in her hand gently, pulling her towards her and kissing her.

"As do you," she whispered.

Jenny had met Ramona a few weeks after Ramona had started this job. It had been Ramona's first week, and Jenny was more than happy to provide her with company when she could, and Ramona, well, she was hopeless against Jenny's charms. She'd always had a thing for older women. Ramona put the sandwich stuff in her hands down, grabbed Jenny's face and kissed her back hard, making Jenny laugh as their tongues intertwined. Kissing Jenny felt like tasting heaven, and Ramona couldn't get enough of it.

"So," Jenny said, after the kiss broke, "you interested in coming with me to the carnival on the pier tonight?"

"Oh I'm so interested," Ramona said, "I love rides and carnival food, you can't keep me away."

"We'll go on the tunnel of love," Jenny said, "swan boats, romantic music, all that cute stuff."

"That sounds wonderful," Ramona said, the both of them blushing now, as she went back to finishing Jenny's sandwich. The two were an odd pair to outsiders, especially those who think any age gap of any kind is somehow akin to predatory behavior, but neither one cared. Each had the others back and best interests at heart. After the sandwich was finished, Jenny took it, paid and headed back to the beach, turning and blowing a kiss to Ramona as she did, making her all the more giddy.

Ramona had never anticipated that the woman she fell hard for would be a lifeguard, but it kind of made sense, considering how bad her life had been until she met her.

***

John and Rick were standing outside as Rick smoked a cigarette. Alexis was inside with Ellen, so the guys were giving them privacy. Leaning against the trailer, Rick offered John the cigarette, but he politely declined, waving it away with a smile. Rick shrugged and continued smoking.

"I'm gonna say something to you," John said.

"You mean besides that?" Rick asked.

"Don't get smart, or I'll hit you."

"Ooh, yes daddy," Rick remarked, making John cackle. Once he'd regained his composure, he continued.

"I don't know what your family life was like, and I don't know if this will mean anything coming from a man you barely know, but...as a former drug addict myself, I'm proud of you," John said, reaching out and putting a hand on Rick's shoulder. Rick glanced over at the hand, then up to John's face; John smiled and continued, "seriously, I'm proud as hell, especially the way you did it. That had to be rough. Chills, vomiting, like, you're stronger than me, man."

"...I didn't have a choice," Rick said, "she needed me. Nobody...nobody's ever needed me, before, but she needed me. It isn't like I'm some loser who's never had luck with girls, I have actually been quite successful on that front, actually, not to brag. But with Alex, there's just...from the day I saw her, I couldn't stop seeing her, even when I closed my eyes."

"Yeah, that's how certain women get you," John said, thinking about his wife, "I was hit with the same thing. Love is crazy. One day it's nonexistent or seemingly unimportant, and the next it's all encompassing once you meet that person."

"It wasn't just that. I was selfish. I was...I wasn't a great person before I met her. Especially not to the people I was involved with. Now I'm not saying I was abusive, but I was distant and kind of standoffish, even when we were together. Never cheated on any of them or hit them or yelled or anything like that, but I was so closed off, and I could tell it hurt each and every one of them deeply. I knew I had to make up for it. I had to prove to myself that I was, in actuality, capable of being someone someone else could lean on."

John nodded solemnly, taking it all in. Rick turned the cigarette over a few times between his fingers, one foot nervously tapping into the dirt.

"Thank you, by the way, for being proud of me," he said quietly.

"It's my pleasure. Nobody ever said it to me, so I figured somebody needed to say it to you," John replied.

Inside, Alexis and Ellen were sitting together on the bean bag chair, both cross legged, facing one another. Ellen still had the hood over her head, the sleeves pulled over her hands, seemingly hiding inside this hoodie, and Alexis didn't understand why.

"Has John been good to live with?" Alexis asked and Ellen nodded but didn't speak; Alexis continued, "okay, well, are you comfortable here or would you like to maybe move back in with me, and Rick?"

No answer.

"Ellen, what's going on with you?" Alexis asked.

"I can't gain weight," she whispered, and Alexis got said.

"What do you mean? You've been eating, right?"

"Mhm, very well. John cooks a lot, and he cooks good food, and we eat out a lot too," Ellen said, "but I can't put any weight on, and I'm scared. I'm somehow even thinner than I was before, and it's making me so tired all the time. I wanna do things. I wanna go to school. But I never have any energy and I'm instead spending a ton of time sleeping."

Alexis reached out, holding her hand out. Ellen cautiously placed her own in Alexis's palm, and Alexis squeezed, gently, warmly, causing Ellen to smile weakly.

"We'll get you there, okay?" Alexis said, "we will, I promise, it'll be okay. If I can get better, Ellen, anyone can."

John and Rick re-entered the trailer, and Alexis looked up.

"I need to speak with John for a minute," she said, as she stood up and grabbed him by the sleeve, tugging him into another room, leaving Ellen and Rick alone together. Once in the back bedroom where John slept, Alexis locked the door.

"What's up? Are you okay?" John asked.

"...you're not going to believe what I'm about to tell you," Alexis said, "but it isn't cause of Rick, or having saved my sister, or coming home that fixed me. It wasn't even rehab, in the end. It's cause of the boat."

"Well I imagine that makes sense, you had a traumatic incident in the water as a child, nearly died, so to then live on water, yeah, I get that," John said as Alexis hugged herself and shook her head.

"No, not that boat. We went on another boat," she said, smiling softly, "...a swan boat."

***

The ride was fairly empty, seeing as most people wanted to enjoy the more fast paced thrilling rides that the pier carnival offered, but this just meant more privacy for Jenny and Ramona, who were nestled together in one of the boats as it driftly slowly down the current on the guided path, soft romantic music playing overhead, the lights pink and dim but soft and romantic. Ramona closed her eyes and laid into Jenny, who held her closely, kissing the top of her head.

"Did you save anyone today?" Ramona asked.

"Nah, I rarely need to. In fact, my title might be lifeguard, but I almost never have to actually guard lives. It's only happened a few times," Jenny said, "most notable one being when I was just starting doing this, and I was back in college, doing this as a side job for the summer. Had to save a kid."

"Wow, you're a real hero," Ramona said, edging up and kissing Jenny's cheek, causing her to blush.

"It's claustrophobic," a voice said behind them. Jenny glanced over her shoulder and spotted a man and a woman sitting in the swan boat directly behind them, the man holding the womans hand. She smiled.

"It can be," Jenny said, catching their attention now as she added, "sorry, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but it's kinda hard when there's nobody else here to make conversation around you."

"It's fucked up," the woman said, "we've been living on a boat for months, and yet this makes me nervous."

"Why?" Jenny asked.

"Bad association with water," the woman said, "I almost drowned when I was a little girl. But you'd think being on a boat for so long would change that, and yet in here I'm struggling."

"It's okay to struggle, especially when you survived something so horrible," Jenny said, "I'm sorry that happened to you. I've learned that I can't let things define me, solely because as a human we're just, ya know, amalgamations of all the things that created us, who we are today, and so to let one singular moment make me the person I am, control everything about me, it just feels...unfair, right, to all the other things and moments that did the same, had the same impact."

The woman looked at Jenny now, listening closely. Jenny smirked and shrugged.

"At a certain point, you're faced with a realization and a decision; the realization is that you are whoever you decide to be that day. Sometimes it's inspired by moments you wish it wasn't, but that's okay, we can't be perfect and healthy all the time. And so long as you have someone who loves and supports you, as it seems you do, then you'll be alright. That's the realization."

"And what's the decision?" the woman asked quietly, her breath barely a whisper, as if she were being fed important information from the universe itself.

"...to choose to live that way," Jenny said, "Like you, I was faced with a horrible moment on a beach, saving a little girl from drowning when I was in college, and for a long time it stuck with me, but when I realized it wasn't my end all be all origin story, that I could choose to live differently every day, that was the moment I really became me. And I'm not saying it's easy, that you just wake up and choose to be a better version of yourself every day. Some days you're gonna fuck up majorly, and some days you're gonna be really sick, and some days you won't be able to separate yourself from the bad moments and will instead live in them. But that's okay. They all make up who we are. We just can't let any one of them define us."

The woman sat back in the boat, not realizing she had leaned in as close as she had, her mouth ajar. Jenny smiled at her, then turned back to conversing with Ramona. The man leaned into the woman and whispered.

"You alright, Alex?" Rick asked, and she nodded slowly, a smile slowly growing on her face, more genuine than any smile she'd had before in her life. She thought about telling the woman. She thought about stopping her outside the ride and thanking her. But she didn't. That would antithetical to the very concept she had been presented with mere moments prior. So Alexis let Jenny Matisse walk away. And that...

...that was the moment she realized, that she really was healed.

***

"Fucking hellllll," John said, sitting on his bed and listening as Alexis told him this story, leaning against his bedroom door, nodding in agreement; John sucked air in through his teeth and then asked, "Are you...okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, actually. In fact I'm better than fine," Alexis said, "the next day, I asked around and found out she was the lifeguard there. Contemplated talking to her again, still chose not to. The old me would've dragged it out. Seen it as this, like, life altering moment, a thing of closure after so much, but...I don't. Not now. Now I see it for what it is, what she said it was. Just...another moment that happened, in a long line of moments that happen."

"Alexis, jesus, you're like a whole different person," John said quietly.

"Her name was Jenny Matisse, French, I think," Alexis said, "that was all the info I needed, really."

Alexis sat down beside John and he put his arm around her as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I studied French in college," John said, "there was this girl I was into, she was French, so I was trying to do whatever I could to impress her, as dumb guys often do. And you're right, that is a French surname. But, do you know what it means?"

Alexis shook her head.

"It means Gift of God, Alexis," John continued, "her surname means Gift of God."

Alexis chuckled, shaking her head again as she looked at her shoes.

"Well if that ain't fucking' perfect," she said, making John laugh with her.

Beatrice was vomiting.

This was the third time this week, and she wasn't even sure why. It was 4am and she was leaning over her toilet, holding her own hair out of her face as she stared down at the now stained porcelain interior. She laid her head against the toilet and chewed her lip. She had to be at the studio in an hour, and she hadn't eaten breakfast or bathed, and now she was scared to do both. What if she threw up breakfast. What if she threw up in the shower. Neither option sounded particularly enjoyable or worth the risk. So, instead, Bea got up from the floor, brushed her teeth, ran a comb through her hair and got dressed. She then exited the apartment, got into her car and headed to work.

Upon arrival, Bea parked in the parking lot, climbed out of the car and locked it, before turning and heading inside. As she did, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and smirked when she saw it was Liam. His hair messy, his face unshaven, dressed in casual work clothes, he looked handsome as ever, a joint hanging from his lips that he was attempting to light as they walked.

"So, how was your night?" he asked.

"It was wonderful, a coworker and I had dinner, then we went to their place and we watched classic foreign films and debated the artistic merit in todays media landscape before ravaging eachother on the couch," Beatrice said, as she and Liam stopped at the door outside the studio. Liam smirked and took a long inhale before passing it to Bea, who hesitantly took a hit.

"That does sound nice," he said, "it's weird, I had the exact same night."

Beatrice laughed, coughing out smoke as she handed him back the joint. They'd been sleeping together for years now, and it was nice, Beatrice had found, to have that kind of company in her life. Besides, she and Liam were two halves of the same mind, in a lot of ways. Both creative, with Liam being more business driven than her, so they made a great pairing, especially in the kind of world they inhabited, career wise. A true power couple. Liam took another puff, then exhaled, squeezed the tip and tucked it into his shirt pocket before turning to head inside when he felt Beatrice grabbing his tie and yanking him back to her, kissing him, making him laugh. He put his hands on her hips and kissed her back happily before parting and heading into the studio together.

And it was good that they would have this one night and morning to look back on, because this was the day that Liam would ruin her life, in more ways than one.

***

Liam was laying on his couch, staring at his TV as he watched a show about Antiques, arm half buried in a box of cereal. He watched with intense interest as the show switched gears, away from a doll collection, and instead now focusing heavily on a beautiful armoire. Vintage, large and oak with glossy finish, it looked pristine. Liam nodded along as he listened to the narration of the presenter, as they informed the person who'd brought it in exactly what it was they had. A clunk. His remote had fallen to the floor, and Liam rolled over a bit, reaching for it. When he rose back up from this position, he realized the camera had cut to a shot of the presenter, and he found himself still, almost frozen, at the sight of him.

A tall man, with well kept blonde brown hair and wearing a gorgeous cobalt blue suit with a dark yellow tie, his face lightly salted in stubble. Liam's eyes widened as he watched this man speak passionately, not taking in anything he was saying he was so focused on the mans features. Liam felt something inside him shift, and he sat upright now, slowly shoveling cereal into his mouth. His door opened, and he turned, taken totally by surprise, at Beatrice as she entered, softly shutting the door behind her.

"You look glum," Liam said, mouth half full of cereal.

"I didn't interrupt you did I?" Bea asked, and Liam shook his head as he stood up from the couch and wiped his hands on his pants.

"No, of course not," he said, "not at all. Um. You didn't call, what...what are you doing here? Did we have a date or?"

Beatrice carefully set her things down on his kitchen bar facing outwards towards him and then placed her palms flatly on the tile, sighing deeply. Liam got nervous. This sort of physicality rarely was followed by anything good. Beatrice wouldn't look back up at him as he shifted himself towards the counter and sat down on a stool opposite her.

"Bea?" he asked.

"...we have a problem," she said quietly.

"I guess you...you found out," Liam said, catching her off guard. Now she looked up at him, face screwed up in confusion as Liam sighed and said, "yeah, I knew this would happen. I knew I'd have to face this. Um, I'm sorry. I'm sorry but we needed the funding, and...and ya know, these sorts of restaurants are all the rage now and-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bea asked.

"...this...this isn't about the..." Liam asked before stopping himself, "what is this about?"

"What are you talking about?" Bea asked, now concerned.

"Uh..." Liam said as he watched Bea connect the dots in her head and her eyes widen, her jaw drop a little, her lip quivering.

"You didn't," she whispered, the rage in even a whisper barely hidden, "you fucking didn't."

"I'm sorry," Liam said.

"You son of a bitch!" she shouted, "you absolute son of a bitch! We talked about that!"

"Bea, listen to me," Liam said, walking around the counter and taking her hands in his own, linking their fingers as he looked her in the eyes, continuing; "listen, it was a literal necessity. They provide us with funding and, as a result, we do small promotions for the restaurant and they get to use our likeness in the establishments, it's a win/win, okay? Artistic integrity is great but it doesn't pay the bills or produce work."

"I was already mad at you, but now I'm furious," Bea said.

"What else could I have possibly done?" Liam asked, laughing.

"You got me pregnant, how about that?!" she shouted, and Liam's entire demeanor shifted. His smile instantly vanished, his anxious laughter turned to silence, his posture softened. He backed away, opened the freezer and grabbed a bottle of vodka, popping it open and taking a drink right out the spout.

"fuck," he said.

"Yeah, fuck is right," Bea said, leaning against the counter, arms folded.

***

When Bea and Liam had initially met, each one hadn't expected this to turn into what it would eventually become. Liam loved her immediately, but platonically, not romantically. He admired her creativity, her brazenness, her bravery to just go for the gold and chase her dreams the way dogs chased cars. Likewise, Beeatrice loved him for a multitude of reasons, but, again, not exactly romantically. But the more time spent together in this creative partnership, the more they began to see how obvious it was they were right for eachother in every possible way...except for the sexuality.

Liam had always hidden his interest in men. He'd always known it, but he'd hidden it. At least, after a certain age. When he was a young boy, he'd known another boy, named David. David and Liam had been in school together, been best friends, but when they reached middle school, when David started being interested in girls, Liam felt jealous. He wanted David's attention all to himself. Instead, he went along, also trying to like girls, simply so they had something to talk about beyond mere boyish interests.

Likewise, Beatrice had also always known about herself, but had tried to hide it even more than Liam had done for himself. She'd been so obsessed with certain girls growing up, certain women around her, that she would write their names in fancy cursive in her notebooks, fantasize about being with them, but would always know what society would do if she acted on any of it. She couldn't live like that. Moreso, she couldn't put her parents through that shame, even if she knew they would love her regardless.

So each hid it, as was custom back then. And then they had Claire, and, ironically enough, having a baby as a seemingly heterosexual couple was the one thing that finally pushed their hidden homosexualities out into the open.

Bea and Liam would attend dinners, playdates, school functions, play the role of doting, loving parents - which they were, none of that was ever pretend - when in reality they weren't straight in the slightest. And one night, at a social function for the kids in the neighborhood, Bea found herself in a neighbors bathroom when a woman she only sort of knew from Claire's school, asked to come in so she could adjust her makeup. Bea, having finished her business and now only washing her hands, agreed. And while the woman reapplied her eye makeup, she scoffed and shook her head, saying a single thing that would forever alter the way Beatrice saw love.

"They think having a baby is going to make them love eachother," she said, "but it doesn't, and I can say that with certainty, as it didn't save my marriage, and we still divorced. You can't love something you weren't designed for."

And with that having been uttered, Beatrice knew, deep down in her soul, that one day she and Liam would have to face up to what and who they were, and that Claire was the colatteral damage. And she fucking hated herself for that fact. But what she hated herself for more than that was she had had a chance to avoid her daughter from ever being hurt like that...

...by avoiding having her altogether.

***

"How much could it cost?" Bea asked, causing Liam to shrug as he poured her another shot before taking another long drink himself.

"Quite a bit, I would imagine, but it's not like we can't afford it now with what we just made from this franchise deal," Liam said, "but that's only if you want to do that."

"Perfect timing, huh? One problem solves the other," Bea said, "...this show is like our child, we don't need another."

Liam smirked and nodded as he watched Bea down her shot. Liam looked towards his wall and saw the photos of himself and his parents, how happy they were, and remembering his childhood. His home. His family. He felt a twinge of hesitation in his heart, and he glanced back at Bea, who was now smiling herself. He smiled at her, confused, as she looked up at him.

"I love my parents," Bea said, "my parents are so good. They were always so supportive, encouraging, they were, just...they were everything, still are. And, maybe, you know...maybe this wasn't planned and we're not prepared, but maybe it could be okay?"

"Don't be blinded by nostalgia, Bea, okay? And don't do it for the sake of my feelings. You're a woman, you're the one with the organs to make this come to full fruition, it is entirely up to you. I'm just...here to offer support and guidance if I can, where necessary. I'm okay with whatever choice you wind up making. Besides, a life like we have, with all the work that we do, could we realistically make time for a child? In a meaningful manner?"

"Don't know until you try, right?" Bea asked, "We're already 7 years deep into this, I think we could manage. We can definitely afford it."

Liam nodded, agreeing, even if he wasn't certain. But the more Bea talked about it, the more convinced he became it could be a good thing. And yet, in the back of both their heads, was that doubt. That nagging doubt. Not about their love for a child, their inability to be parents. That was never once brought into question. But about themselves. The truth of each of them. Truth each had tried to hide from the other. Bea tapped her shotglass on the counter, indicating she wanted another, snapping Liam back to reality. He poured her another shot and watched her drink it as she paced around his kitchen. She stopped and looked at the fridge, her eyes scanning over the photos he had plasted to the fridge with magnets and she smiled, chuckling.

"I remember this," she said, reaching out and touching one; she continued, "this was when we went to the fundraiser a few years ago, remember, and we took my parents? They were so excited to come see what the declared the 'fine arts'. Like, guys, just cause it's at a museum doesn't make it fine arts automatically."

Liam chuckled, remembering. Bea sighed and tapped the photo with her nails.

"...this will ruin our lives," she added, "this will absolutely ruin our lives, guaranteed. But, maybe...we deserve to have our lives ruined a little bit. We've had it too good for too long, after all."

Liam threw his head back and cackled, which, in turn, made Bea laugh. She reapproached the counter.

"If we do this, though," she said, "We cannot hold it against one another, okay?"

"Agreed."

"I will be mad at you for many things, but having a child will not be one of them. This is our decision, not theirs. They get no ire from it. I refuse to bring a child into the world if that's what awaits them."

Liam was so smitten with her in these moments, where she showed so clearly how empathetic and intelligent she was. How much she understood a childs psyche. And all without having undergone severe trauma or abuse. Beatrice was, by definition, the perfect antihesis to the belief that great art and compassion can only be borne from deep pain and suffering. Liam sat upright on his stool best he could, the both of them fairly drunk, and he stuck his hand out for her to shake.

"It's not a business deal," she said, the both of them laughing as she walked around the counter and climbed into his lap, whispering, "now kiss me before I change my mind."

Claire would be born nine months later. And six years after that, just as Beatrice had predicted, their lives would be ruined. But never because of Claire. At least, not in their eyes. Claire, however...Claire had never gotten over it.

***

"I always wondered what I did or said that made them leave me," Claire said quietly.

She was sitting in Justine's kitchen with Keagan while Justine drank a beer. The lights were dim, the air was quiet, and Keagan was simply taking in what Claire was saying, occasionally side eyeing Justine, seeing as she'd already drank quite a bit this evening.

"I was six, and they were all I knew, and then sudenly I was with an entirely different family. I think, maybe, they didn't expect me to remember them, and maybe, had I been, liked, four or something, that could be true, but I remembered. They were so good, how could I not? I remembered everything."

"Well, soon as we verify some things and form a plan of approach, we can bring this all to her attention, okay?" Keagan said, smiling warmly, "until then, you're free to stay here, nobody from production is going to come around and see you, so you'll be hidden away until the perfect time."

Claire nodded, then asked to use the bathroom. Justine directed her to it being down the hall and on the left at the very end. Claire exited the room, as Keagan turned to face Justine, who finished her drink and opened yet another. She'd gone through the entire six pack of ciders in the span of an hour. Justine laid her head flat facedown on the table and exhaled loudly.

"Are you okay?" Keagan asked.

"No," Justine said sternly, "of course I'm not okay. I'm working on the book of a dead girl, a girl who's only dead cause I didn't make time for her, why would I be okay?"

"Casey wasn't your responsibility, you know that right?" Keagan asked, and Justine scoffed as she looked up, smirking.

"That's what Michelle said to Bea the last time they saw her. Then she killed herself. I'm starting to think, I don't know, we all might be responsible for eachother," Justine said, her speech slurred. She was asleep seconds later. Keagan couldn't shake that out of her head, but she also couldn't deal with it right now, so instead she got a quilt from the couch and laid it over Justine before propping her head up on a couch pillow on the table. Keagan entered the living room to find Claire sitting on the couch now.

"What if she doesn't wanna see me?" Claire asked.

"That's not gonna happen," Keagan said, chuckling, "you're her daughter, so you say, I can only imagine she'll be excited as all get out to see you."

But Claire had a point. Neither knew it then, but the past was about to repeat itself. Claire was going to arrive, seemingly out of the blue, and Bea's life would be ruined once more, in the best kinds of ways. Keagan began pulling her coat on, reaching for her keys in her pocket, when she felt Claire's hand grabbing her wrist.

"Don't go just yet, okay? It's...it's lonely, far away from home," she said, and Keagan nodded, sitting beside Claire, the two just talking endlessly into the evening, the only ambient noise filling the silence being Justine's snores from the kitchen. Keagan knew all about found family, and even if Bea had trouble adjusting, she wouldn't let Claire feel alone. She knew what that felt like. They all did. But she bit her lip as Claire told her more about her childhood, and she thought about the one thing she had to do next that she really wasn't looking forward to.

And that was telling Michelle.

Hours upon hours of scrolling. Thousands of articles, listacles, seemingly private records of addresses and phone numbers, all leading to the inevitable dead end that always seemed to loom just around the corner. At this point, what had been a somewhat Sherlockian effort at the start had now simply become exhausting; a question without an answer, a mystery with no answer as to whodunit. And, frankly, Lilian was ready to call it quits. She had contemplated hiring a PA, but that just felt like another avenue that would turn up nothing in exchange for monetary fees. She'd wasted enough time and resources on this, at this point, she figured.

And then, one morning, she found a name.

Alicia Browning. This was the first actual name linked to the incident in question. Somebody had named the woman who had died. Not a family member, but it was a start at least. Sadly for Lilian, the surname of 'Browning' was so damn universal that finding a relative now felt like an even bigger needle in a haystack. But her determination had paid off. She'd managed, somehow, through link hopping across dozens upon dozens of dead end domains full of defunct blogs and newssites, finally come across one post, one singular post, that had a name for the woman in question, and if that didn't feel like success, then she didn't know what would.

So, she figured, if she couldn't find another Browning, then she'd do the next best thing. She'd track down the poster.

The things we do for closure.

***

"Your job sounds so cool," Kate said.

She and Miranda had gone out for breakfast that morning. Miranda had considered asking Lilian to accompany them, but she figured it was best to not only leave her to her research, but also have some one on one time with her sister.

"It has its perks," Miranda said, shrugging, scooping eggs and bacon together on her fork, "it's definitely unique, I can say that with pride and certainty. Nobody really gets to do what we do, and we bring a very specific kind of joy to children, so it's cool."

"Do you think...maybe...I could do it?" Kate asked, shifting the contents of her plate around absentmindedly, looking down at the table, as if expecting rejection to her proposal. She was doing better, eating, but she still struggled, and Miranda noticed it this morning. She moved food around more than she ate it. Still, patience was required, and maybe having a physical job would make her feel better about herself and entice her more to eat.

"I'd have to ask my boss," Miranda said, shrugging, "but I guess I don't really see the downside exactly. Still, things are...wonky, at the office, like, at all times, so it might be a bit before I get the chance to approach her with the idea."

"Howdy pard'ners," Tyler said, settling himself in beside Miranda.

"Heya Sherrif," Miranda replied, elbowing him playfully, "how was your gig?"

"Exhausting. I get why they schedule kids parties in the morning, cause the little shits are up and rarin' to go, but christ if it ain't wearin' me out," Tyler said, taking his hat off and fanning himself with it, causing both Miranda and Kate to exchange a playful look, both giggling.

"Your character is starting to seep into your personality, you are aware of that, right? You're not on the clock anymore, you don't have to talk like a cast member of Gunsmoke," Miranda said, causing Kate to finally break and laugh.

"You can take the cow out of the boy but you can't take the boy out of the cow," Tyler said, before screwing up his face and adding, "ew. That...that sounded better in my head."

The girls completely lost it, cackling maniacally as Tyler smiled and ordered from a passing waitress. After the laughter had subsided, Miranda turned to Tyler and nodded.

"Do you...my god that was funny, thank you for that. Um, but, do you think Helena would let my sister work with us?" Miranda asked, "I mean, theoretically, the more performers on payroll, the more jobs we can cover, right? So it would make sense for her to be okay with the concept."

"See, the thing you're doing though is viewing Helena's business decisions through a practical lens. That woman is...a mystery," Tyler said as the waitress returned with his coffee, "um, I mean, your logic is correct, yes, but who's to say that's also how she would respond. I don't know. What character would you like to be, exactly?"

Kate looked between her sister and Tyler in confusion.

"Ch-character?" she asked, stammering, "What, uh...what do you mean?"

"Well, like me, I'm a cowboy," Tyler said, "Your sister is a mermaid, Lilian is a princess, Alexis...was a pirate. We each have our archetype and we play into that, often to themed parties. So I think your best thing to do is go into a meeting with Helena with something already crafted, you know, that way she can tell you're earnest about your inclusion and committment to the role."

Kate nodded, smiling, taking it all in. She then finally stopped talking, and, instead, started eating once again, which made Miranda in turn smile warmly. Miranda looked at Tyler, who was sipping his coffee from the mug as the waitress returned with his order, a plate of bacon and eggs, and he unsheathed his knife and fork from their napkin.

"Looks like a meal fit for a man of the west," Miranda said.

"Can't be a sherrif if ya don't eat like a farmhand," Tyler replied, the both of them laughing once again. Nobody would say it, but...without Alexis around, the air felt lighter. Things felt less dramatic. Tyler was at ease, and Miranda and didn't have to worry about Lilian worrying about her best friend. Hurt to acknowledge but it was true. Sometimes the best thing you can do for others, and Miranda knew this firsthand, was go away.

***

Lilian stared at her screen.

She'd gone through the DNS records to track down who owned the IP associated with the site she'd found the article on, and had been returned with one name. Barbara Hawkins. This name, thankfully, turned out to be far less unique than Alicia Browning. In fact, doing a little bit more digging, she easily uncovered a social media trail of Barbara Hawkins that led to numerous accounts, though most seemed to be either completely privated, defunct or outright abandoned after having been wiped. But there was one. One account still up and active, on a site for journalists. And there she was, plain as day, at least Lilian assumed it was her.

She looked like an ordinary woman. A soft skin, blonde haired woman with the typical cozy outfit attire one would expected to see on a woman her age in certain niche internet circles centered around being cozy. A white knit beanie adorning her head, a yellow sweater, and big chunky glasses. A nice smile. She looked welcoming, inviting, and Lilian felt like she had a good shot. So, Lilian brought up her e-mail, copied and pasted Hawkins into the field, and began typing.

And it was only then, about three sentences in, that she started to realize just how utterly batshit what she was doing actually was and how she sounded to a complete and total stranger.

"Hey, I'm looking for information on a woman who threw herself in front of a monorail almost twenty years ago, could you get back to me? I cyber stalked you to get this done, thanks!"

Yeah, that's not creepy and offputting at all. Lilian closed her laptop lid once more, leaned back into the couch and sighed. She needed a break, a breather. She stood up and she headed to the bathroom, intending to get a shower, maybe a bath, and just relax. Let her heart rate slow down. This all felt so intense, so life and death. But, as she passed through the narrow hall, she stopped and looked at a photo hung on the wall of herself and Alexis at a job together, in full costume, and she almost felt like crying.

How could she just...leave.

She knew why. She got it. But context didn't make it hurt any less. She missed her best friend. Wherever she and Rick were, she just hoped they were alright. With that, she walked into the bathroom, locked the door and filled the tub. She then undressed and slid herself into the water, relaxing, closing her eyes. Maybe one day she too would get the chance to run away, even if only for a little while. Some time away may just do her some good.

Though, and she didn't know this at the time, she wasn't the only one struggling with feeling as though she belonged.

***

Rina was standing in the kitchen of an otherwise empty home.

The party was...well, barely a party. The decorations were up, sure - streamers and balloons and decor littered the area - but there were no kids, and the birthday child, a young girl named Ami, was also nowhere to be found. So instead, Rina was standing at the kitchen island, opposite Ami's mother, as she helped her frost cupcakes.

"They wouldn't come," Ami's mother, Gwen, said as she swirled another curled topping to one cupcake; she then wiped her forehead on her brow and added, "I talked to parents, but they wouldn't give in, and the ones that tried couldn't get their kids to relent. It was a hopeless endeavour, all in all."

"That's awful. Why? What was the issue?" Rina asked as she finished another cupcake.

"Ami's always had trouble fitting in," Gwen said, "but especially lately. After her grandfather passed she's been acting out, but not in the ways one would expect a child to. She got really into witchcraft, started reading books about it, watching movies - the ones we'd let her, anyway, that wouldn't give her nightmares - about the subject, and started telling everyone that she was a witch who could communicate with the deceased, said she was going to contact her grandfather."

Rina smiled weakly. She always loved a weird little girl with an active imagination, as it reminded her of herself when she was that age. She continued to listen as Gwen went on.

"I guess," she continued, "it just freaked the other kids out so bad that now nobody wants anything to do with her. Now here I am, single mom, making an entire birthday smorgasbord of treats and delights for a party that didn't happen. I don't mind her having them all to herself, or myself after she goes to bed, but still, she wanted friends, not cupcakes."

Rina nodded. She herself had struggled to be liked when she had been that age, so she got it. Rina set down the frosting applicator on the counter and exhaled, putting her palms flat on the tile, shaking her head.

"Would it help if I spoke to her? I mean, I'm here, she should take advantage of the fact that a real witch is at her party, right?" Rina asked, making Gwen smirk.

"I'm sure it might do her some good. She's in the den," Gwen said, and Rina nodded before turning off on her heel to go find Ami. She walked down the hall, past a bathroom, a bedroom, and then stopped at a little alcove with three steps that entered into a slightly sunken denroom, and there she was. Sitting there, by herself, looking through a book, was Ami. She was wearing a very flowy dress, her hair in two braids, and a stick sitting by her side. Rina entered quietly and stepped across the carpet, before settling in on the floor beside her.

"What are you reading?" Rina asked.

"It's a book about ghosts, and how to talk to them," Ami said, "I'm looking for spells."

"Found any yet?" Rina asked, and Ami shook her head dejectedly.

"Is this your magic wand?" Rina asked, carefully picking up the stick, treating it with the same reverance a child would, and Ami nodded eagerly, starting to smile a little. Rina smirked, adding, "you wanna know the secret to being a witch?"

"Okay," Ami said, turning now to face her, both of them sitting cross legged.

"Okay," Rina said, "the secret to being a witch is all about believing in yourself. See, so many people don't think we have powers, but that's because they're jealous. As such, they won't believe in us, and it's up to us to believe in ourselves. Even if it seems like your spells aren't working, if you believe they are, then they are. Just because the dead might not talk back to you doesn't mean it isn't working."

Ami sniffled and rubbed her nose on her loose fitting dress sleeve. She then reached up and took her pointy witch hat off and placed it in her lap.

"But nobody came to my party cause they're scared of me or think I'm weird," Ami said, "is it better to be myself or to be someone people like?"

Rina felt her heart break a little. Her parents had always been loving, supportive, understanding...but they also held her to impossibly high standards, especially when she was in school. As such, she also had this issue with her peers. Rina spent much of her adolescence alone or only with her family, teaching herself not to be so weird as to make them or anyone else uncomfortable. But that wasn't a lesson she was interested in passing on. She had gotten to the point of embracing her strangeness, and encouraging others, especially children, to do the same. Besides, when else are you allowed, truly allowed, to be weird, societally, other than childhood? Hell, it's almost expected of you. If anything, the truly weird kids were the kids who weren't weird at all.

"It is always better to be yourself," Rina said, "you can never stop being with you the way others can leave you. You need to be your own best friend. That is a truly magical spell. It's a hard one to learn, but once cast correctly? It's the most useful one you'll have."

Ami smiled again as Gwen entered with a tray of cupcakes.

"Who wants sweets?" she asked, causing both girls to grin in delight. Rina finally got it. She understood now why Lilian, Miranda, Tyler, everyone, did this job. The chance to make a childs happiest day the brightest it could be.

And the desserts were just icing on the cake, no pun intended.

***

Lilian was sitting on the bed.

She was dressed in her oversized pajamas, her hair still somewhat wet, as she stared at the laptop screen again, her inbox specifically, just waiting for a response to pop up. The door opened and Miranda walked in cautiously, not wanting to disturb her if she were up to something. But upon looking up and seeing her, Lilian simply beamed and held her arms open, making Miranda laugh and briskly walk to the bed, holding Lilian as she hugged around her waist.

"I missed you, did you have a good morning?" Lilian asked.

"Yeah. My sister wants to come work with us, but I told her it could be hard to get approved, and that we'd have to speak to Helena."

"Could be good for her though," Lilian said, "Lord knows that she could use something productive to do to keep her from feeling bad about herself. She seems like she thinks she's useless, and that isn't true, so maybe this will make her stop feeling that way?"

"Could be," Miranda said, resting her chin on Lilian's head as Lilian closed her eyes and kept smiling. All the horrors of the world outside, of the evils throughout their respective lives, nothing came into this room. This room was unvarnished and untouched by such things. A safe, warm and comforting space where only light and no darkness was allowed. A ping. Lilian opened one eye and peered at her brightly glowing laptop screen. A new email in her inbox. From Barbara Hawkins. Subject line: Requested Information. Lilian shivered as she reached out, her hand gently touching the trackpad, and she moved the cursor over the email.

And she clicked.

The felt had never felt better in her hands, the sewing machine clicking with an eerie precision as she continued her efforts to capture the essence of his personality. Eliza had always been excellent at making puppets, at getting their emotions just right, but for whatever reason, she'd been struggling with this one for weeks now, and hadn't yet managed to get it just the way she'd wanted. The way she'd hoped. She pulled away from the machine, the table, and pushed her glasses up her face so she could rub her eyes, groaning. The Hole was starkly quiet in a way that unnerved even her for a change, and she thought to herself maybe now would be a good time to get a snack.

Eliza headed out from the building and entered the main production area, walking to the vending machine. She stopped, slipped her hand into her pants pocket and pulled a few quarters, jingled them in her palm, and then started feeding them into the slot. She wasn't entirely sure what exactly it was she wanted, she just knew she wanted something that would be tasty enough to make her forget, even albeit momentarily, about her troubles with her work. She stared at the contents of the machine, running the gamut from salty pretzel sticks to chocolate covered raisins to, for some reason, a box of what looked like some kind of foreign trail mix.

She could still hear his voice in her head. She rested her forehead on the machine and raised her wrist, absentmindedly pressing in a selection, then listening to the whirring of its innards as it sprang to life to grant her request. She heard it drop into the bucket below, knelt down to retrieve it and when she stood back up, she screamed at the sight of someone standing behind her, visible in the reflection of the glass of the machine. Course, it was just Keagan. Eliza turned to face her.

"You can't sneak up on me like that!" she said sternly.

"Sorry," Keagan said, her voice hushed, as though she were frightened someone would hear them, despite them being, as far as she knew, the only two in the building right now; Keagan glanced around and stepped closer, "I need you to see something."

Eliza nodded, then quietly followed Keagan down the hall. They walked for a while, until they exited the building and were on the backlot of the studio now, where the mobile buildings sat. Keagan pulled a set of keys from her pocket, Eliza munching away, silent and confused, but watching intently as Keagan unlocked the door and then stopped, palm on the door as she turned to face Eliza once again.

"You can't tell anyone what you're about to see, is that understood?" Keagan asked.

"What are you hiding, a dead body?" Eliza asked, as Keagan pushed the door open, and the two of them stepped inside. There, sitting at a table, was a young woman, about Eliza's age, honestly. She had familiar features.

"You're back," the woman said as Keagan approached, "I was starting to think I was gonna just be a prisoner in here forever."

"I'm sorry that took so long, and don't worry, you won't be stuck here much longer, I've arranged it with a mutual friend of ours that you can stay with her for the time being," Keagan said, causing Eliza to furrow her brow in a mixture of confusion and suspicion; Keagan then turned to Eliza, motioning towards her with her hand as she said, "This is Eliza, she does all the puppetry and set stuff for the show. And Eliza, this is Claire."

Eliza reached out and shook Claire's hand, as she'd always been taught to do.

"Nice to meet you," they said at the same time, laughing nervously at the accidental synchronicity.

"And Eliza," Keagan said, exhaling as she looked back to Claire, "this is Claire. Bea's daughter."

Eliza had been hit with some whoppers in her lifetime. The death of her mother. Her feelings for Michelle. Liam's absence. But Bea having a daughter? That one took the cake.

***

Lexi was laying in bed when her curtains opened.

She wasn't undressed, hell, she wasn't even in pajamas. She had slept in her clothes - low rise jeans and a shirt with a leather jacket - after having passed out from drinking too much. As she lifted her head, hand half covering her eyes, she spotted the culprit of this invasion of privacy to be none other than Michelle herself.

"What are you doing here?" Lexi asked, groggy and frustrated.

"I'm getting you up," Michelle said, "what does it look like I'm doing? Now get up."

"Leave me alone," Lexi said wearily, tugging the blanket up over her head.

"Your life doesn't end just because his did," Michelle said, causing Lexi to pull the blanket back down a little, their eyes meeting; Michelle sighed and sat on the side of the bed, hands cupped in her lap as she added, "listen, I know what it's like, you know? To have your father taken away from you? You don't even get to say goodbye, or anything. He's just...gone. I know that feeling, Lexi, like, way too well."

"First he left me on purpose, then he left me by sheer happenstance," Lexi said weakly.

"He didn't leave you on purpose, he went to jail," Michelle replied, "and, for what it's worth, he was framed, as we know, so it wasn't even his decision."

"Yeah, well," Lexi said, rolling over to avoid further contact, "it was his decision to be involved with people like that, to work all the time and forget he had a daughter. I bet if I'd been a son he would've included me. Made time for me. But no, same gender as my mother, whom he also couldn't stand, so I had to be excluded as well."

Michelle sighed. She could hear, and understand, the deep pain in Lexi's voice. She stood back up and started to pace, rubbing her forehead. Finally she stopped and looked at Lexi, who was now staring at her.

"Come with me," Michelle said, "you want to prove your father wrong in regards to your knowledge about business? Come with me today."

"Where are you going?" Lexi asked, and Michelle grimaced.

"To help Bea settle Liam's estate," she replied quietly.

***

Eliza, now seated back in The Hole, was stitching.

This was deliberate stitching though, the kind that came with intent, not something she was doing as a way to maintain her sanity. The kind she did on days she was feeling bad to keep herself from falling further apart. Actually, as it turned out, this was a puppet she'd been working on for a while now, and she was finally coming close to completion, maybe another week or so at best. Not that she'd show it to anyone. As her fingers busily worked, her mind turned back to what Keagan had told her about Claire.

She'd come here from the city, and she'd been staying in a hotel on Keagan's dime, without Lexi knowing. The whole thing smelled like an emotional bomb waiting to go off, and frankly, Eliza didn't want to be at ground zero for this one.

So instead she set her sights, her focus, entirely on the puppet. She had everything she needed, of course - after all, the studio kept her fully stocked with material - but she also had the things she really required beyond that to make it personal. The items that had once belonged to them. Hell, even the fabric for the puppets suit had been made entirely out of one of their actual suits. She had reference photos, though, again, not that she'd need them. She knew what they looked like. After all, she'd only spent a good portion fo her life around them.

Beatrice had a daughter. Eliza bit and chewed her lip as her glasses slipped further down her nose. If Michelle learned this...course, Keagan had made her swear to secrecy for the time being, not that she would've said anything anyway but still. But if Michelle were to learn, no, when Michelle learns of this, goodness, the total and complete obliteration of her heart would be impossible to watch. Eliza knew of the road of shrapnel that was ahead of her, and sadly, her vehicle wasn't all terrain. Eliza finally stopped, her busy hands now sitting calmly in her lap as she leaned back in her chair, pulled the loupe up from her eye and exhaled deeply, blowing her hair from her face.

Everyone grieved in their own way, this just happened to be hers.

***

"I'm still not entirely sure what it is I'm doing here," Lexi said, as she and Michelle walked from the car into the law offices where Bea was preparing to meet with Liam's attorneys. To spare her the trouble of having to manage his estate while working through her grief, Liam had made it so that a few months could pass before Bea was contacted about the whole matter, and she did greatly appreciate that.

"You majored in business, that was, like, your whole thing," Michelle said, "I just...I guess I thought using it as a way to get you out of the house, and maybe be a voice of reason here, would be good for you."

"I don't think anything is good for me," Lexi said.

"Not even Keagan?" Michelle asked, grinning, but Lexi didn't return a reply, which made Michelle worry; Michelle tossed her hair, cleared her throat and added, "look, really it's just a way to make sure Bea doesn't get screwed, you know? Not that Liam would try to do that, but still, it's good to have extra eyes on stuff such as this and-"

"She's so busy with that call in show that I rarely see her," Lexi said, "between her work and my work and...I just...how do you stay a couple when you rarely interact? That might work for others, but that doesn't work for me."

Michelle and Lexi stopped in the hall, letting some people walk by them, waiting for them to pass before continuing.

"Have you told her this?" Michelle asked, and Lexi, leaning agains the wall, arms folded, shook her head. Michelle sighed, adding, "well don't you think you should, especially since it pertains directly to her?"

"I guess I don't think you should have to constantly be fixing things for a relationship to be manageable. Something shouldn't be so broken that it so consistantly needs replacing," Lexi said, shrugging, "and she would probably agree, but you know Keagan, she's like...well, she's like Bea. She's whole heartedly in love with the work. It's weird, it's like...it's almost like you and Keagan are both sides of Beatrice but cleaved into two halves."

"That sounds...painful," Michelle said, the girls chuckling.

"Like," Lexi continued, "you know, like...Bea loves her work, but she also loves the people around her. Keagan is like her in the sense of loving the job, and you're like her in the sense of loving the people. Not to say they don't overlap for both of you - obviously, you're capable of caring about the artistry just as much as she's capable of caring about the people - but I'm just saying it's like Bea's two main interests got split between you two, and she's...she's always going to drift more to work than to me. That isn't a dig against her, either, it's just who she is. She's driven. Motivated. I respect that, it's....it's like, one of the things about her that I was wildly attracted to, but at this point in my life..."

Lexi looked down the hall, tears forming in her eyes as she bit her lip, voice wavering.

"Attraction to a singular trait doesn't mean said trait can carry that attraction forever," Lexi finished, "at some point, you need more than that. Not everyone does. But I do."

Lexi and Michelle locked eyes, and Michelle nodded slowly, her heart breaking a little. She knew what this was. She was witnessing, first hand, the death of a relationship, whether it wanted to die or not. Michelle sighed and they continued walking again, Lexi wiping her eyes with her palms.

"Eliza and I...I think maybe it's that age gap that helps us," Michelle said, "she's old enough to recognize that her work isn't her defining legacy and reconciling the fact that her connection to someone, like me, is far more important in the long run."

"Well lucky you then," Lexi said coldly.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to make you feel-"

But before she could finish, they reached a room where Bea popped out through the door, exhaling, rubbing her forehead. She smiled at them both, then hugged each one of them tightly.

"Thank god you're here, both of you," Bea said, "I don't know what to make of what he's left me."

"...what did he leave you?" Michelle aske.

"Everything," Bea said softly.

As Michelle would soon learn, she meant that quite literally. Everything the franchise had ever made, that'd he gotten paid for, he'd kept. He kept, gained interest on and put aside for Beatrice in the result of his early exit before her. Now that that plan was the reality, this meant Bea was on the cusp of inheriting a lot of money, the kind of amount of money she didn't know what to do with, and that scared her. Wealth of that magnitude scared her to death.

"Alright," Lexi said, rolling her eyes, "allow me to help where I can."

And with that, she walked past Bea and into the office.

***

"Do you...do you think she'll be happy, you know, to see me?" Claire asked.

Claire and Keagan were still seated in the mobile office on the backlot, while they ate food Keagan had ordered in for them.

"I can't imagine not, if what you're saying is true, which, considering what you've told me so far, is hard to imagine it isn't. You're way too specific and detailed to be some kind of con artist," Keagan said.

"I just really wanted to know her," Claire said, "I always wanted to know my mom and...and when I finally had to face the truth of my birth parents, I just felt like I had to reach out no matter what the outcome might be."

Keagan smirked and nodded, listening closely. After all the horrible things Bea had endured in the last few years, she figured having Claire in her life may finally make up for it all. But for everything that seemed like it had the potential for positivity ahead, the same couldn't be said for Eliza, who finally finished her work and stood up, gripped the puppet and slipped one arm inside it before raising it to match her eye level, smiling.

"It's so good to see you," she said, sounding so relieved at its presence. And why wouldn't she be?

She had always liked having Liam around.

Allie was having trouble breathing, but her shortness of breath wasn't caused by anything health related, or sexual, and moreso because she simply couldn't believe she was finally here, on the precipice of finality. The end was in sight. She sat in her car and exhaled again before putting her shaky hands on her steering wheel and looked out the window at the nearby hospital. She then turned the car off, climbed out and headed inside. His room wasn't hard to find, he'd given it to her directly, but still...could she stand to witness him in this state? Hell, he'd sounded bad and that was just over the phone.

Allie stopped at his door, took another long breath, and then opened the door, stepping inside. There was one bed, with a curtain surrounding it. Allie approached cautiously, concerned she was bothering him, but as she reached out to tug the curtain back, she was taken by surprise when it moved on its own, his own hand doing the job for her from the opposite side. His face, weathered and wrinkled and worn, looking older than before somehow, but his smile still warm as ever.

"You're not as stealthy as you might think," Rufus said.

"I just didn't want to wake you up in case you'd fallen back asleep before I got here," Allie replied, pulling up a nearby chair and sitting down beside his bed; she crossed her legs then asked, "so...you don't look well."

"Gee, you're such a comfort," Rufus remarked, laughing and coughing as he did, making Allie smirk; he continued, "yeah, I don't look well. I don't know how not well I look, but I also don't want to. They've offered me a mirror, like when they've trimmed my mustache, but I've turned it down simply cause I don't want to see my face."

"I can't say I blame you," Allie said, shifting nervously in her seat, "actually, I'm glad you called, cause I needed to talk to you."

"Sorry it's not under happier circumstances," Rufus said, and Allie shrugged.

"Believe me, I've spent a good chunk of time in the hospital in the last few years so," Allie said, "um...Rufus, you want to see Raymond burn, right? You want to see him pay for everything he's done? Cause I have the smoking gun, right here in my pocket, but I need your help. You're the last piece of the puzzle."

A pause, and Rufus grinned.

"Well, with an offer like that, how can I say no?" he asked.

***

Salem waltzed into the garage to find Sonia kneeling down, welding mask over her face. Hands in his coat pockets, he whistled at the bike she was currently engaged with, causing her to stand up and tug the mask off, grinning at him.

"Nice piece of machinery," he said.

"Hopefully they won't be able to pay for it and I'll get to claim it as my own," Sonia remarked, setting her tools down and wiping her grease stained hands on her jumper, "not even gonna put in the shop, just gonna buy it immediately once they lapse. I might be a pawn merchant, but nobody's gettin' this baby."

"I don't blame you," Salem said, "and speaking of vehicles, I'm gonna need that car back sooner than I thought, I think."

"Oh?" Sonia asked, grabbing a half eaten sandwich off a nearby metal tray and taking a large bite, "and why is that?"

"Because it's mine, well, my friends, and we need it," Salem said, "magic stuff, you know how it is. I wouldn't have asked you to hold onto it, but, ya know, we didn't know where else to keep it. Often people don't use cars as props, unless you're film, I suppose."

Sonia smirked and nodded, walking to the wall and retrieving a fob with keys on it, turning back and heading back to Salem as she spun it around her finger.

"Thanks, by the way, I really...we really appreciate it," Salem said, but as she approached him, she stopped and grabbed the key fob in her fist, pulling her arm back away from Salem, who looked at her with a concerned stare on his face. Sonia bit her bottom lip and Salem rolled his eyes, before adding, "okay, alright, how much?"

"Maybe I don't want money," Sonia said, "maybe I want the car."

Salem hadn't seen that coming, he had to admit. His eyes widened at this shocking admittance, and he pulled his own arm back now, confused, concerned. He cleared his throat and shook his head a little, as if he were trying to understand what he'd just been told.

"Say what now?" he asked, chuckling anxiously, "uh, please, do me a solid and run that by me again, cause I think I misheard you, either that or you said something so incredibly ridiculous that-"

"No. I didn't. And you didn't. I like the car, and I want it," Sonia said.

"Okay, well, you can't have it? So..." Salem replied, "seriously, it's for an act, and we-"

"Cut the shit, dude," Sonia said, "seriously, you think I'm an idiot? A casino gets robbed, a car gets stolen, and suddenly you and your magician friends need somewhere to store a vehicle? Yeah, not exactly subtle, Shaw. I want. The car."

Salem exhaled. There was always one more fucking problem, it seemed.

***

Raymond and Claire were seated at a fine seafood restaurant, the kind with soft lighting and smooth jazz and a pleasant aroma of money and fish. The kind only the elite could afford. And today...as his guest...Claire was one of the elite. Raymond adjusted his tiny spectacles and then pulled them off his face, rubbing his eyes with his hand as he let his menu drop.

"You know, eyesight going bad is one of the things you know is likely gonna happen, but you just...you never really expect it," he said, "when it sneaks up on you like that, you're not prepared."

"Lot of stuff like that in life, one could argue death is like that," Claire said, biting her lip, her eyes catching his and the two of them chuckling; she too lowered her menu and exhaled, "um, thank you for meeting with me on such short notice."

"Of course, anything for a friends kin," Raymond said, placing his napkin on his lap and adding, "so, what exactly is it that I can help you with?"

"My father was moving money hoping officials wouldn't notice," Claire said, "of course they did, but that's beside the point. I'm assuming it's a practice most people in your business wind up doing, so I was curious if you had any advice to give me on how to avoid any issues with authorities."

"The thing to remember is this," Raymond said, cupping his hands on the table and leaning in a little, his voice lower, more shifty now; "they'll try to tie as much proof to you as possible, but proof isn't definitive, despite its preconceived definition. That's why juries be swayed so easily to believe a seemingly completely guilty man is actually innocent. So long as you believe you're innocent, that will come through. Obviously being in control of information helps, but you'd be surprised by just how much charm and charisma can get you."

Claire smirked. She didn't need to be told that. Charm and charisma had been how she'd managed to get as far as she had in life. Hell, it's exactly why she was here right now. Claire thanked him, then lifted her glass to sip.

"Course even those things aren't guaranteed," Raymond continued, "sometimes you can spot a liar from ten feet away."

Claire slowly glanced over the rim of her glass and noticed Raymond was looking directly at her. Her pulse quickened. Did he know? He wasn't stupid. She knew that. But had she downplayed his ability to be as good at calling fakery as she was?

"Sometimes," he added, sucking on his teeth, "you can have all the charm and charisma in the world, and still be completely obvious."

Just then the waiter arrived, thankfully breaking the tension. They didn't talk much throughout the rest of the meal.

***

"Do me a favor Allie," Rufus said.

Allie and Rufus had gone over the plan, and they were now simply enjoying their time together; she'd run back out and gotten him an actual sandwich, not something from the hospital cafeteria, along with one for herself, so they could have a nice lunch in the hospital room. As he chewed a mixture of salami and cheese, he went on.

"Don't spend your life doing magic," Rufus said, "it...it isn't worth it, and I say that as someone who loves it."

"What do you do when you're only good at one thing, and only passionate about said thing?" Allie asked, "I don't...like anything else. Nothing else has ever appealed to me the way that magic does, and...without it...I don't know who I am or if I even wanna be."

Rufus nodded, picking up his soda from the side table and taking a long sip on the straw.

"I know what you mean, but nobody is only good at one thing," Rufus said, "it takes many skills to be a magician, and you can apply those skills to other things in life. You're more than you think you are, Allie, trust me. You think you aren't, because we're inherently designed to believe the worst about ourselves, but you are. You've been so damaged for so long that you have trouble seeing past the broken and the hurt to the goodness underneath, but it's there. And the broken and the hurt don't diminish either the goodness or your sense of worth in general, they're a part of you, and you can use them to do more."

Allie buried her face in her hands, crying, sandwich fully in her lap now. Rufus sat up, unaware he'd do that much damage with his words, and reached out to touch her back.

"I'm sorry, I didn't to-"

"No, it's fine."

"I just didn't want you to become me."

"Why is it so easy for other older adults to parental figures to me than it was for my own parents?" Allie asked through the sobs, "I begged my parents for things, and not physical goods, but just guidance or acceptance or, fuck, recognition as a person, and got nothing. I walk into this room and you give me whatever I want, no questions asked. Why couldn't they?"

Rufus exhaled and shook his head.

"I can't tell you that, Allie, I wish I could but I can't," he said, "but I can tell you why I do it. I see us in eachother. I see, in you, the person I was. So willing to do whatever it took to protect those we cared about, and still be faithful to our craft. But I also see in me the person you can become if you don't do something different. I want more for you than what I got. One of us deserves a happy ending."

Allie turned and looked at him, her face completely wet. He smiled warmly at her, fingers digging into her shoulder, gripping firly, squeezing.

"Especially since your ending will come so much later than mine, you still have time," Rufus said, and the tone in his voice caught Allie off guard; she looked at him again, their eyes locked. Rufus nodded, and her lip quivered.

"...no," she said.

"Fraid so," he mumbled, "yeah. Why do you think I'm so willing to do this for you, besides believing in you, and that you deserve better? I got nothing to stick around for. I had a young womans life ruined by her association with me, it just seems like last thing I could do on this earth would be to help a different young woman escape the same fate."

"Rufus," Allie muttered, her voice fragile, "I'm...I'm so sorry."

"Eh, don't be. Show's gotta end sometime right? May as well leave 'em with something to remember us by," he said, smirking, chuckling then coughing, making Allie laugh along with him. Allie scooted the chair closer and hugged him, arms clasped tightly over his shoulders. He smiled and rubbed her back as he added, "the word astounding isn't just because of your abilities in magic, you really are astounding, and please don't ever believe otherwise."

"I won't, I promise," she said softly.

And it was yet another promise she made sure she'd keep.

By the time she arrived back at Jenny's, she was a mess. She'd stayed in her car in the hospital parking lot after leaving and cried herself stupid for at least a good twenty minutes or so, just letting it all out. When she finally stepped through the door to Jenny's, Jenny, understandably, was visibly concerned. Allie brushed her off for a moment, opting instead to go to the bathroom and take a long shower, but after a bit, Jenny came into the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat, not saying a word, the two just enjoying one anothers silent presence.

"I need a favor," Allie finally said through the shower curtain, the sound of the water.

"Anything," Jenny said, "I'd do anything for you."

"Okay two favors; the first of which is to stop being so loyal to people who don't deserve your loyalty, and the second is I need to see my tiger," Allie said.

Jenny stiffened. The last time Allie had asked for this favor, Jenny had lost her face. It was understandable why she'd be so hesitant, react so heavily. The towel slung over the shower bar was tugged down, and seconds later the shower curtain itself was pulled back, Allie revealing herself standing there, wrapped in the towel. Jenny's breath caught in her throat. Allie was still so gorgeous. She wanted to do anything to make her happy. But the tiger...

...she didn't even know if she could. She didn't even know if she could get access, or if she wanted to go with her even. The idea of seeing it again terrified her outright. Allie stepped over the tub lip and approached Jenny, holding her chin gently in her palm, until Jenny looked up at Allie and their eyes met. She didn't have to say anything though. Jenny could see it in her eyes. Allie was never going to love her the way she loved Allie. It'd become excessively clear to Jenny just how one sided this entire relationship actually was, but that didn't stop her from being hopelessly in love.

"Please Jenny," she whispered, "I'm so close to the end. I just need this one last thing from you. Can you help set me free?"

Jenny slowly nodded. With that, Allie leaned down and kissed her forehead, then headed to the olive colored landline phone hung on the kitchen wall and plucked it from its perch. There was just one thing she had to do now. One more person she had to convince to meet with her.

Jackson Strange.

***

Zoe was sitting on the bed, huddled up in a large sweatshirt, when Effie flicked the lights on as she entered the room. She was immediately taken by surprise by her presence, and jumped a bit, grinning, hand to her chest.

"Goodness ya gave me a fright!" she said, "what are you doing in here, alone, sulking in the dark?"

"...I don't deserve to be married," Zoe whispered, the guilt about Raindrop, even after what she and Rachel St. Sebastian had done for her memory, eating away at her slowly from the inside; she wiped her nose on her sweatshirt sleeve and added, "I've done horrible things. I'm a bad person and I deserve bad things."

Effie settled on the bed in front of her on her knees, taking Zoe's face between her palms and forcing her to look up at here, where she smiled sweetly, warmly.

"Humans do good and bad shit," Effie said, "there's no such thing as good and evil, it's not that cut and dry. There's shades of both. Layers to each. You're not bad, baby. You've been surrounded by bad, but you're not bad yourself."

"It's so overwhelming trying to plan a wedding with everything else going on and feeling like I don't deserve it on top of it, I almost feel like I'm self sabotaging my planning progress because deep down I believe I don't deserve you, or happiness, or love, because of the things that I've been a part of."

"Well that just isn't true, and if it's that overwhelming, then don't plan it," Effie said, causing Zoe's eyes to widen.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Effie said, leaning and kissing her softly, "let's get in my car, and let's go to a chapel and let's just get married tonight. It's fucking Vegas, babe. It's kinda what we do here."

Zoe blushed, then started laughing, nodding. Before she knew it, she and Effie were in their matching dresses and out the door, in Effie's car, as she drove to the closest chapel. Unbeknownst to Zoe, Allie was also in a car. She and Jenny were headed to where Domino was currently living, though neither was saying a word, the air surrounding them completely different. As they pulled up to the lot, Jenny used her key card to get in, then Allie pulled forward, as another car followed up close behind her. The two cars parked, and Allie exhaled. She turned the car off then looked at Jenny.

"Whatever happens," Allie said, "don't get out of this car, okay?"

Jenny stared at her.

"I need you to promise me that," Allie said, grabbing Jenny's hand and squeezing it, "promise me you won't get out of this car and go anywhere near that pit."

Jenny nodded, as Allie let her hand go and exited the car. The other car opposite them opened its driver side door, and Jackson Strange leaned out. Allie stopped in her tracks and the two magicians stared at one another.

"Meers," Strange said.

"Strange," Allie replied.

"Let's talk, what is this about? You ready to come clean?" Strange asked, and Allie giggled.

"No, that isn't what this is about," she said, "no, this is about how you're going to take the blame for everything."

"Oh, is it now?" Strange asked, "Well I can't wait to hear how you plan to make that happen."

Allie approached and leaned against the car, grabbing his tie with her hand and pulling him in.

"Bitch," she whispered, "it already happened."

Strange had to admit...girl had stage presence.

Rachel St. Sebastian loved two things.

Working on cadavers, and being on her knees between a womans legs, and thankfully, rooming here at this funeral home under her apprenticeship while attending mortuary school, she got to do both, a lot. The woman who ran the funeral home, an older woman named Alyssa, had taken more than just a shining to Rachel, and soon enough, Rachel had happily become a staple in her bedroom. She'd had a perfect day. They'd worked on a corpse together after she got out of class, and then they went to dinner and then came home, where Rachel St. Sebastian now found herself on her knees at the floor by the end of the bed, her face buried deep between Alyssa's soft, warm thighs, her cries of pleasure filling the room, her fingers gripping Rachel's hair. As she climaxed, Rachel gladly cleaning it all with her tongue, Alyssa felt like the luckiest funeral director in the world. And Rachel? Well. Her parents always told her college was all about new experiences.

                                                       ***

"Why do you have taxidermy in your room?" Katie asked.

"Because I do it for fun," Rachel replied, shrugging. Katie had been Rachel's damn near only friend all throughout school, but now, about to finish high school and attend college, she couldn't help but feel like they'd grown apart, and part of that was just because Rachel's interests discomforted Katie.

"You do it for fun?" Katie asked, sneering as she looked at the bird on the shelf.

"When I was a kid," Rachel said, sitting up on her bed now, "I used to collect dead animals and stuff, keep em in shoe boxes. I just...always found death weirdly beautiful. Like...there's this odd sense of serenity, you know? The things we thought were huge, that we made grandiose gestures towards, didn't really matter, because we all end up this way in the end and I guess that's kind of the approach I want to have in life. Not be so worried all the time. Not take everything so seriously. Also, I just like birds."

Katie laughed and sat back on the bed.

"You're so weird, dude, I'm gonna miss you," Katie said, and Rachel smiled back. She would miss Katie too, but she knew that she was headed for new and better things. They both were. And they graduated, they went to their respective colleges and, as usually happens, they drifted apart slowly over the course of the next year. Katie went into interior design and fashion, while Rachel St. Sebastian wound up in an apprenticeship during her tenure at mortuary school, and becoming intimately involved with her boss. All in all, it was good. It was a new life. She called her folks once a month, kept them at arms length, and she focused on her career, her studies, and her love for women.

And then...a few years after college...Katie called her up.

"I'm glad you're easy to find," Katie told her, as she lay in her bed at home, Rachel sitting in a chair beside her, "I'm glad I reached out and looked, because it just...didn't seem right not to. I'm sorry that I got so distant. I'm sorry that now the only reason you're seeing me is because I'm about to die from illness. But I'm glad you're here. Cause there's nobody else I'd trust with this."

Rachel was confused. Trust with what, exactly, she wondered.

"I want you to do it," Katie whispered, reaching out and taking Rachel's hand, smiling warmly as she ran her thumb over the skin of her fingers, "I want you to do my autopsy, prepare me for burial, all of that. I want you to do it."

"Excuse me?" Rachel asked, genuinely shocked, her eyes wide.

"You say you see beauty in death. I dedicated my life to beauty. The beauty of homes, and people, fashion and interior design are all about looking great," Katie said, pausing to wipe her nose, "and...I don't look great now, but you could make me look great. Please. Do this for me. I trust you."

Rachel had never worked on the body of a person she knew, but...how did one turn down someone who was dying, who meant so much to them at one point in their formative years? So she said yes, because that's what Rachel St. Sebastian had been brought up to do. To say yes. She was a people pleaser, especially to those she felt connected to, such as Katie Gillis. And after Katie passed, she did exactly what she'd been requested. She received the body, and she did the work. She emptied her, embalmed her, and got her looking as pretty as possible. Standing there in the funeral home the day of the showing, in the back smoking a cigarette, Rachel St. Sebastian felt like she was changed now, somehow. Like the allure of death had somehow been jaded by this act of kindness. Women had always requested things from her that she didn't want to give them. Katie, asking her to embalm her. Alyssa, coming onto her. Her own mother had pushed her to do things in school she didn't want to do, either socially or academically. All her life, Rachel St. Sebastian had simply said 'yes' to other women.

She would never say yes to herself.

                                                       ***

Rachel hated these little get togethers.

She hated talking to other morticians and funeral home directors, but she came because it was good to be kept in the loop, especially about new tools, new equipment, and, of course, for the snacks. Standing at the table and picking at the little sandwiches and cheese and cracker plates, the small cookies, she figured if nothing else at least she might not have to eat dinner when she got home.

"You guys are all kinda morbid," a woman said from beside her. Rachel turned and saw a young woman with bushy red hair and big round glasses standing there, smiling at her.

"Well, we are morticians," Rachel replied, "I mean, it just kinda comes with the territory."

"You didn't seem very interested in being sociable," the woman said, "and I don't mean that as a judgment or anything, I mean, hell, who wants to be sociable, am I right? What good has ever come from knowing others? I guess I more am just wondering if you're okay, cause you seemed so reserved."

Rachel smiled weakly. The woman really got her sense of disillusion with other people, and she liked that. She also appreciated how she seemingly was concerned for her well being.

"I'll be alright," Rachel said, shrugging, "I've had a rough week. Lot of bodies. Had to order new supplies, which is always a frustrating endeavor. Dealing with suppliers is my least favorite part of my job. Having to pretend to be all friendly...as you said, being sociable is horrid."

"What did you have to order?" the woman asked, picking up a little cupcake from the table.

"Some new tools, new equipment, ether, things like that," Rachel said, not noticing the woman smirking.

"I'm Claire," the woman finally said, reaching out, leading to Rachel shaking her hand as she added, "so, if you don't like being sociable, how about we leave and we go discuss the awfulness of human interaction elsewhere, away from people?"

Rachel St. Sebastian finally turned back and looked this woman up and down. Was she...propositioning her? Rachel didn't know it at the time, but Claire really wanted her access to ether more than anything else, as she'd found that it calmed the horrible thoughts and voices that constantly ran through her head. In the end, yes, Claire would find Rachel to be a wholly intriguing and worthwhile person to know, would develop romantic feelings for her, but at the start? She was the means to an end, nothing more, nothing less, just like every other person she saw in life. And maybe it was how attractive she was, maybe it was the fact Rachel hadn't been laid in months, maybe it was the fact that, after so many years spent being closed off, she wanted to be with someone again...but Rachel was willing to give it a shot.

"Where did you have in mind?" Rachel asked, as Claire leaned in and whispered.

"Well," Claire said softly, their faces a mere inch apart now, her breath hot on Rachel's face, causing her heartbeat to quicken; Claire continued, "I've always wanted to know what it's like to be on the table. You've got one of those, right? Where you embalm them?"

Rachel nodded slowly, feeling herself flush.

"Show me the other side," Claire whispered, and that was all it took. Rachel St. Sebastian was hooked. For the next few years she would give Claire ether so long as Claire kept her satisfied sexually, and it was a mutually beneficial exchange, each one appreciating and enjoying the others company genuinely, and not solely involved for the things they got out of it. But over time, Rachel once again became aware - especially once Claire had gotten the cult going, moved onto the compound - how much she was willing to sacrifice just for a pretty girl who liked her. Once again, she didn't say no. She just went along. And when Claire finally killed someone, and begged her to help, she didn't say no.

But, would it matter, really, if she did? Would the word 'no' even mean anything to Claire?

She hoped it would. But she couldn't be certain, and that terrified her more than anything else.

***

"Would you be willing to entertain the possibility that your own parents detachment from your life, particularly your mother, is why you crave the approval of other women?" her therapist asked, causing Rachel to grimace.

"Maybe," she replied, shrugging, "but I don't think it's that simple. I wish it were, but I don't think it is. I think I just want to be appreciated. Hell, even my job centers around doing things for people who aren't even alive anymore. Even the needs of those who've shuffled off this mortal coil gain more importance than my own to myself. I do everything for other people."

"You do, and it isn't healthy," her therapist said, "but it's good you recognize it."

"Well I'm not an idiot," Rachel remarked, shrugging, "I know my flaws and my faults, that's why I'm in therapy, because I am aware enough of them to want to change them if they are, in fact, things that can be changed. But I like taking care of others, too, so it's a hard tight rope to balance on."

Rachel looked out the window, then down to her shoes. Black. Shiny. Bright gold buckles. She smiled as she tapped her cigarette on a nearby ashtray.

"Claire got me these shoes," Rachel said, "she used to do nice things for me like that. She used to think of me a lot. But I suppose that's how relationships are, right? They eventually sour or simmer down. Things stop feeling as special. You just...you're never prepared for it if you're a hopeless romantic, you want the honeymoon period to be eternal."

Her therapist nodded, taking in her train of thought before clearing their throat and crossing their arms as they sank back into their chair.

"Do you think it's healthy to want it to be eternal?" they asked, "I mean, that level of co-dependency can't be good, right? To never be, like, your own person?"

"See I don't see it like that. I don't see it like...two people coming together to form one, that isn't codependent to me, that's love. You share your life with eachother, but you won't share eachother? Something about modern romantic mentality doesn't add up to me. And now...the things Claire has done, not just to me but to people around me that we know, I don't want to be associated with someone so callous, who only puts herself at the front, especially when my entire career is built on the concept of helping others."

"That's admirable," her therapist replied, nodding some more before asking, "so then, in that case, what do you do about it?"

Claire thought, chewing her lip. That was the question, right? She didn't have the answer. She couldn't cut Claire off. She couldn't turn Claire in. All she could hope for was that the universe would eventually course correct itself. All the other evils that surrounded her were seemingly finally getting their just desserts. Maybe the same would happen to Claire. And if that day ever came...oh if it ever happened...

...maybe some new shoes would be in order, and that way she could walk away fully on her own.

***

"Do you know what the False Shuffler is?" Zoe asked.

Zoe and Rachel had been meeting for lunch almost daily. It was weirdly therapeutic for each of them; Zoe, because Rachel had been the one to clean Raindrop up, and Rachel because Zoe was the closest thing to Allie, which Claire was obsessed with. Sitting at the pizza parlor downtown, Rachel took a long sip of her soda and shook her head.

"Pray tell what is the false shuffle?" Rachel asked.

"So, obviously, it's a magic term. A False Shuffle is a card shuffling technique that makes a deck of cards appear to be randomized when its order actually remains the same or is subtly altered. Basically, you give the illusion that you aren't retaining control, when, in actuality, you still have total control over the cards," Zoe said.

"And you're telling me this why?" Rachel asked, a smirk on her lips.

"Because it feels like everyone around me is constantly doing false shuffles, you know? Allie likes to act as though she has no plan, flying by the seat of her pants, but is she really or is that all just an act so she can claim innocence? I'm sure you think the same thing about Claire," Zoe said, "either way, I trust Allie, but...I do have to remind myself at times that she's an expert liar, it's what makes her so good at magic in the first place."

"Even if you lack control, to give off the illusion that you're still in control is a valuable one," Rachel said, picking up her pizza and taking a long bite, chewing as she added, "because it throws off everyone else around you. They'll constantly question reality. That's a good upper hand to have."

Zoe shrugged and bit into her own pizza. Rachel reached for a napkin and dabbed gingerly at her mouth. She sighed, setting it back down and looking at the pizza on the plate before her.

"It is important to always act as though you're in charge, even if you're not, because it can ultimately give you the upper hand," Rachel said, "but I don't think we see magicians the same way. You act as though they're geniuses, capable of outsmarting anyone. You speak of them in terms of expert card tricksters. I see them much more in the way of someone playing the shell game on the street. Yes, Allie...and Claire...they're liars. But Allie is doing it for the benefit of those around her. Claire is not. So maybe count your blessings, and don't count cards."

Zoe nodded slowly, taking it in. Rachel had been through hell and back, she knew that, and she knew not to second guess whatever advice she had to offer up, especially on the topic of hero worship. She knew Rachel had hitched her wagon to an unhinged horse, and now was paying the price. And she also knew that, eventually, the horse would have to be put down.

***

"Your friends seemed perturbed by our age difference," Rachel said.

She and Alyssa had just finished a tryst, and Alyssa was now standing at the minibar she had in her bedroom, fixing them both drinks. Alyssa chuckled as she mixed some drinks and then turned to face Rachel, who was still lying in bed, sheet barely covering her over the hip.

"It doesn't bother you, does it?" Alyssa asked.

"I couldn't care less," Rachel remarked, shaking her head, "no, I'm not perturbed. I'm aware of it, and aware of the perception others might have of it, but I know what I like, what I want, I'm an adult. I was just making small talk was all."

Alyssa finished the drinks and brought them back to the bed, handing one to Rachel who sipped it carefully. Rachel, in hindsight, would later realize how young and naive she was, but all people that age thought they were more mature than their peers. Even as she neared her mid twenties, out of college, she still thought it. It was likely she always would.

"Do you ever think about who is going to take care of you when you finally go?" Rachel asked, "I had a friend...this friend growing up, and she...she asked me specifically to take care of her when she died. I did it. But it felt...wrong. Sex is supposed to be this intimate thing, you know, to give oneself to another fully, but embalming someone you care about, that feels so much more intimate. Seeing them at their absolute weakest. No longer alive. That's trust."

"She probably felt safe with you," Alyssa said, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her robe.

"She shouldn't," Rachel whispered.

She knew, even then, somehow, that she would end up doing terrible things. Not of her own accord, exactly, but she would. Now, today, standing in the room over her table as she watched yet another person drain of their fluids, different fluid pumped inside them, cigarette hanging loosely from her lips, Rachel St. Sebastian realized that if she could just do one good thing...one amazing thing, maybe it would make right all the wrong she'd been a part of. Maybe karma wasn't real. Maybe fate didn't exist. Evil is rarely held accountable and justice is rarely served. The one lesson Claire had taught her was that if you want something done right, you had to do it yourself.

And she knew exactly what she had to do.

"What do you mean Nicole has a book?" Allie asked.

She was sitting up now, staring at Tony.

"When I met with Raymond, he talked about, uh...about how he and Nicole loved coffee, and that they would often go to various coffee places around the city, get coffee and take reviews of them for their own amusement. She had these little black notebooks that she kept her coffee ratings in. You say the agents say they didn't find anything damning enough, it's because the information they're looking for doesn't look like information. After that meeting I got to thinking..."

Tony stood up and started pacing slowly, one hand on his hip, the other on his face.

"...what if she kept all of it, every last pertinent detail in one of these books," Tony continued, "and that's why they didn't find it. I know they took all her stuff, right, but they obviously didn't take those. You open one, see what it is, open another, see what it is, you think 'oh, that's all these little books are, nothing of value here', but that's where the value is, hidden in plain sight. The likelihood of that information still being in her apartment...it's so high. Just sitting on a shelf."

Allie stood up slowly from the couch, staring at Tony, who was staring back at her as she started to breath heavily.

"And if I'm right," he added, "and she does have it in one of those, and they just...ignored it...that's it. That's the end. That's the smoking gun they want and need, and we will be in the clear. You need to get into that penthouse and look for that book, Allie."

Allie nodded. He was right. If the agents had simply...overlooked it, somehow, then everything they needed that would cinch it all together neatly was just sitting somewhere in plain view, staring them in the face. And Allie knew exactly who she needed to call for help.

                                                       ***

Rachel St. Sebastian gasped, leglocking Claire's head and pulling her in closer between her thighs. Rachel reached back and grabbed the headboard as her stomach muscles clenched and she screamed, making Claire blush as she kept on licking. Rachel St. Sebastian hated herself. This control Claire had over her, to both disgust and arouse her. It felt like she was so at odds within herself at all times, and it made the sex - something that should be enjoyable - feel tainted. Afterwards, when Rachel had lit a cigarette and was sitting off the side of the bed as Claire showered in the bedrooms attached bathroom with the door open, she couldn't take her eyes off her silhouette...but not for the reasons one might assume.

Oh, sure, Claire had a phenomenal body, and Rachel loved admiring it in any variety of ways, but no. Her mind was set on something different. Here she was, indifferent to her presence, her mind occupied on something else. How easy it would be, Rachel thought as she looked towards a nearby belt draped over a chair, to just...come up from behind and end it all. Strangle her until the light left her eyes. Give her a taste of her own medicine. The freedom she would receive was exhilarating. But she couldn't...she couldn't. She loved her too deeply. Rachel took another drag and thought about the work day ahead of her tomorrow. Multiple showings, funerals, reconstructions and bodies to work on. She exhaled, watching the smoke billowing in front of her face as Claire exited the bathroom, having dried herself off and now in search of clothes.

"I'm too up to sleep," Claire said, "do you want to go get some food?"

"I don't...I don't know that I'm hungry," Rachel said.

"You really expect me to believe that didn't build up an appetite?" Claire asked, glancing over her shoulder, grinning and winking as she dug into a dresser drawer for clothes, making Rachel chuckle. Claire pulled a button down shirt on and popped the collar, then began to button up, adding, "come on pet, it's my treat."

Rachel St. Sebastian grimaced at that nickname once again. Pet. Even if said affectionately, it made her feel ill. Just as she opened her mouth to respond, Claire's cell rang, and she answered.

"Hello?" she asked, before grinning wide, "Meers, what can I do for you?"

"How do you feel about committing a crime?" Allie asked, and Claire laughed.

"You don't gotta ask twice," she said.

Claire finished getting dressed, kiss Rachel goodbye and said she'd be back later. Claire having left now, Rachel St, Sebastian found herself fully alone, and, post orgasm, her mind was unfogged now. She looked back at the belt and she bit her lip. Pet. She shuttered again. She thought back to her last therapy appointment, talking about the threefold rule. If anyone deserved to be hit by that level of karma, it was Claire. Rachel couldn't be here any longer. She needed to do something to take her mind off things, off Claire, so she got up, got dressed and headed to work. Standing in the room, over a body cut open on the metal slab, digging around in someones insides, it was all Rachel could do to not lose her mind. Staring down at this cadaver, she just imagined it was Claire. She knew that, regardless of anything else, eventually time catches up to us all, and that was the one bit of comfort it brought Rachel St. Sebastian, was that, at some point, Claire would be the one on the table.

                                                         ***

The elevator was taking its sweet time to reach the bottom floor, and the silence that surrounded Claire and Allie was stifling to say the least. Standing in the lobby of what was once Nicole's high rise condo - Allie, hands stuffed in her coat pockets, chewing her lip; Claire smoking a cigarette despite the very clear 'no smoking signs' plastered to the nearby wall and tapping her foot - neither woman really wanted to speak. It was just nice not to be alone for something of this nature. Claire ashed her cigarette and spread it around on the tile floor with her shoe.

"So," she said, still looking ahead at the elevator, "there's a book?"

"That is what I've been told," Allie said, "but who knows if we'll actually find it."

"And this little book definitively ties Raymond to the crimes, exonerating Tony and ultimately giving you your freedom?" Claire asked and Allie shrugged, grimacing.

"I still killed a man, regardless of anything else," Allie said, "I think I should have to pay for that."

"Should you?" Claire asked, "I killed many people. I paid for it, for a while anyway, but incarceration is hardly the most effective form of punishment. Actual punishment can only come from the person who committed the acts they're being incarcerated for. My guilt, my shame, my regret...those are the things that leave me a different person, not being in a cell. The problem with incarceration is that, eventually, in most cases, you leave prison. But if you're your own prison, there's no escaping that. You have to live with that forever."

Allie nodded solemnly. She understood what Claire meant, and it scared her. The elevator reached the lobby and dinged, the doors sliding open, as the women walked inside. As they headed to the floor of Nicole's flat, Allie couldn't help but think about the possible outcome if they actually managed to find this book. Potential freedom. An end from a seemingly neverending nightmare. It was all so within reach now. The elevator stopped, and that's when she realized Claire had stopped it herself.

"What are you doing?" Allie asked.

"If we find this," Claire said, stubbing her cigarette out on her tongue and putting it into her shirt pocket, "I need you to promise me that you aren't leaving the city without me. You need assurance? Well so do I. We leave together, that's the deal. After that, if you wanna go your separate way, I won't stop you. I think we could do amazing things together, but I'm not going to force you into anything, outside of this I suppose. I just..."

Claire took a slow, deep breath and looked at the floor, and for the first time maybe ever since they'd met, Allie saw a brief glimpse of a human being beneath the facade that Claire always wore.

"...I need to know at least one person has my back," Claire said.

"What about Rachel? You don't trust her?" Allie asked.

"I do, and I love her deeply, but she won't come with me," Claire said, "she has her whole business here, and I wouldn't wanna uproot that. But you and me, we can get out, we can go somewhere new, start fresh. Is it a deal, Meers? If I help you find this book...that's it. We leave together."

Allie chewed on her lip and thought, anxiety coursing through her body. Finally, she nodded, knowing she had no choice. Claire smiled, reached out, and allowed the elevator to resume its ascension. The walk to Nicole's condo wasn't far down the hall, and because of the crime, it was still considered under police jurisdiction so it hadn't been cleaned - past moving her corpse of course - or rented out again. Claire pulled her lockpicking kit from her jacket pocket and got to work while Allie stood guard.

"Let me ask you a question," Allie said.

"Shoot," Claire said.

"You say you feel regret and shame and guilt, but...do you?" Allie asked, leaning against the wall and folding her arms, "or do you just feel those things about getting caught?"

Claire grinned and glanced up at her.

"You know me well," she said, "we're not that different, Meers."

"As you've said repeatedly."

"I just mean that you're more like me than you acknowledge, in your sense of self preservation," Claire said, "And I'm more like than you acknowledge, in my sense of abilities to get in and out of places like a magician."

And with that, the lock clicked, and the door swung slowly open, Claire grinning the whole time. Allie laughed and shook her head. Claire was a showman, that couldn't be denied. The women headed into the loft and shut the door behind them. Nicole's apartment was swanky, upscale, ritzy, whatever word one would want to use to describe the elite top class citizen in terms of financials, it was exactly that. And, as predicted, aside from some cleaning of blood and the stuff the agents took, it had been virtually untouched since she'd killed herself.

"Wonder why he still keeps this place," Allie mumbled.

"Maybe he's looking for it too," Claire said, shrugging, "or maybe he just comes here because he misses her. Monsters are still humans."

Allie looked at Claire as she walked past, and she felt a pang of grief in her heart for her. Was Claire a monster? It was arguable, Allie would say, but she wasn't wrong. Even the most monstrous of us have some semblance of humanity somewhere inside. She continued further in, heading into Nicole's bedroom while Claire checked the office. The bedroom was minimalist, clean, maximizing her space. A large built in wall shelf that housed a small library, a stylish dresser and a large flat screen TV hung on the wall opposite the bed with the silken sheets and the designer pillowcases. Allie bit her lip as she walked further in, Claire's words about Raymonds reasonings running through her head. Her own parents had barely ever reached out to her in the time she'd left, become famous, and had all her problems. Was Raymond, monster though he was, that capable of loving his own child more than Allie's seemingly normal parents? It made her sad. She stopped by another small shelf, upon which sat trinkets, a small jewelry box, more books and some framed photos. Allie smiled as she reached out and picked up one of the photos of Sunny and Nicole together at an amusement park, grinning like idiots in front of a ride, each holding a churro.

"I ain't finding shit," Claire said, breaking the silence and causing Allie to jump.

"Jesus, don't do that," Allie said, hand to her chest, breathing hard.

"Anything in here?" Claire asked.

"Nothing except mementos and ordinary life stuff," Allie said, her eyes fixated on Sunny; she felt her eyes sting with hot wet tears, as she added, "...I didn't mean to kill him. I didn't...I didn't think it would...oh fuck."

"Hey, Meers, hey come on," Claire said, walking up behind Allie, as Allie turned and walked to the bed, sitting down, Claire joining her. Claire cleared her throat and continued, "you were doing what you thought was right for the sake of someone elses safety. They can call you a murderer, but you're not. You didn't set out with the intent to hurt him. It wasn't premeditated by any means. Meers, I killed people. I killed a lot of people. Was it because I was off my meds? Yes. I wasn't myself. But I'd be lying if I also said I didn't enjoy it. Some people are just...wired to hurt others. To want to hurt others. You're not one of those people, Meers. We're alike, yeah, but...you're not me."

Allie had grappled with their similarities so long, denying them outright to herself, trying to rationalize it all away, but to hear Claire herself finally admit it, that despite their similarities she wasn't Claire, that made her heart feel lighter. Allie looked up from the photo at Claire, who smiled and reached out, pushing Allie's hair from her face and touching her cheek.

"I don't deserve freedom," Allie said, "I did a bad thing, and I did more bad things in order to cover it up, and I need to pay for it all. It's the only way forward."

"We're our harshest critics, give ourselves the cruelest judgements. You can't say what you deserve because you're biased, but you deserve freedom, Meers. For all that you've done, all that you've been through...you deserve to be free. Leave Vegas with me. And I'm asking from an admittedly somewhat self serving place, because I...I know that I'll never meet anyone who understands me the way you do. I don't want to lose that."

Allie smiled weakly, tears rolling down her face. She nodded, and leaned in, hugging Claire.

"That's a lot of books," Claire said, making Allie chuckle.

"I know," she replied, wiping her face on her jacket sleeve, "I know, I like to read but hell, this woman really enjoyed it."

"No no, not the book books, those books," Claire said, pointing at the large built in wall shelf. Allie pulled back and turned, looking at the very top and her eyes widened. There they were. Little black books, all lined up in a row, what looked like hundreds of them. Allie scrambled to get off the bed and jump up at the shelf, but she couldn't reach. Suddenly she felt Claire's hands on her waist, as she was hoisted up. Allie giggled and reached, pulling some down. They were numbered on the cover, and together, they sat on the floor and flipped through every single one.

"These are all just coffee reviews," Claire said, sounding exasperated.

"This is making me thirsty," Allie said, "god, I can't imagine that it would be this easy. Nothing has been this easy. There's no way the answer has just been sitting here all along, all this time. It wouldn't...it just wouldn't...make sense, like, for the cops to miss it, for the agents to not look at it."

"How good of agents do you think they are? Look at how long I've eluded them, let alone you staying one step ahead that whole time," Claire said, "you stole and fed a corpse to a tiger, Meers, right under their noses. I think you give them too much credit. You've done most of the work for them."

"I just can't imagine that she wouldn't be more careful about where she kept that kind of information, you know?"

"Meers," Claire said, interrupting, snapping her fingers.

"Like," Allie continued, ignoring her, "she struck me as a much more secretive and secure individual. Someone who would be careful."

"Meers," Claire continued, snapping louder.

"Maybe I'm a bad judge of character, I don't know, but deus ex machinas in stories always feel so cheap and that's what this feels like I'm building to, some get out of jail free card, you know what I mean? Something to absolve me of my mostly willing participation in horrific incidents and give me an at least somewhat happy ending. I don't deserve that after all the things I've done. There's just no way that-"

"Allie!" Claire finally shouted, catching her off guard by using her first name; Claire grinned as Allie finally looked at her, and she slowly turned the small book in her hands over and showed it to her, whispering, "it's here. This is it."

Allie slowly reached out and took it, holding it in her own hands before cautiously flipping through it. Her eyes scanned every word, every number. This was it. This was the proof. Tony had been right. Somehow he'd been right, and somehow Raymond hadn't known about this. Nicole had in fact left it in plain sight where nobody would suspect it. Everyone had missed it. She finally, after all this time and effort, held the answer to freedom in her hands. The end was upon her. She looked up at Claire, the both of them grinning like idiots.

"What was that you were saying, about deus ex machinas?" Claire asked.

"Eh, who cares," Allie said, "those complaints usually come from people who don't know how to write anyway."

                                                         ***

Tony couldn't believe his eyes. It was here, sitting on his desk in front of him, plain as day. He looked up from the book back at Allie, sitting across from him, drinking a soda and eating peanut m&ms. Tony looked back down, then back up at her.

"You did it, it was real, and you got it," he said, sounding flabbergasted.

"Yeah well, what can I say, making things suddenly appear is kinda my whole schtick," Allie said, making him laugh; Allie leaned forward and cleared her throat, adding, "Tony...um...I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about everything sooner, and that...that I've been the cause of all this."

"You weren't the cause, Allie. This extortion bullshit has been going on for years. You just happened to do something that cracked it open," Tony said, "and frankly, I'm glad. I'm ready for it to be over. That man is dangerous and should have no power."

"...while we were there, I wondered, like, why he kept her apartment. Claire told me that maybe, uh, it was cause, ya know...he liked coming there. Remembering her. And it made me sad, cause he's a guy who's so villainous, and yet he can love his daughter, and...and my own father barely ever speaks to me. We haven't talked in years. I guess it just hurts to know that people that evil can still be better parents than the boring folks I grew up with."

"I've told you a million times, kid, you're the daughter I never had, and I'm proud of you," Tony said, "so what if your own dad doesn't care. I care. You're a great magician and a wonderful person, Allie, and I'm...I'm so happy you were in my life."

Allie wanted to cry. She couldn't get this stupid plastered smile off her face, and Tony couldn't either.

"So," Allie said, "what do we do with it now?"

Tony looked down at it and grinned.

"You're good at slight of hand, right?" he asked.

"Course," she replied, shrugging, "one of the first things you learn in magic. You need to be proficient at it."

"Good," Tony said, "Cause we're about to plant some evidence, baby girl. Jackson Strange doesn't know what's about to hit him."

Zoe had never felt so uncomfortable in her life.

Sitting on the plastic covered couch of this home, she couldn't help but feel incredibly out of place, but she was here with purpose, and she refused to ignore it. The woman brought her a cupcake and a cup of coffee, both of which she accepted graciously, before the woman seated herself beside her husband. Both were wearing the kind of clothing one would expect from aging out hippies. Zoe sipped her coffee, then pulled the wrapper off her cupcake and took a bite. After a moment, she finally spoke.

"I know this is sudden," she said, "um, believe me, I'm aware of how strange it is, but I just...I felt so bad, and she was my friend, and I just want to do something nice in her memory."

"We appreciate it," the woman said, crossing her legs, "really, we do. Nobody else seems to have even cared, sans her boss. We've been hurting so much since it happened, we can't even go to the graveyard. It's all just...too overwhelming. To lose something you didn't anticipate having in the first place, and then loving with such ferocity."

Zoe got a confused look on her face, so the man sighed and leaned forward, hand resting on his wifes knee.

"Raindrop wasn't...planned," he said, "hell, that can likely be said for many of the children in our community at the time they were conceived. The love was free, the contraception not so much."

Zoe laughed. Fully, heartily laughed, and it felt good. He smiled.

"But," he continued, "we loved her so deeply. She was our special little girl, and she was so talented, so skilled, so driven. Ambitious. Sure, she wound up encompassing all the very things we despised in our youth, but you know what, we'd rather her betray or morals and live a moderately comfortable life for herself than try to follow in our footsteps in a world that no longer believes in those things anyway, and be unhappy as a result. We didn't care. We were just happy she was successful. She was our daughter, and we loved her."

"I only knew her a short time, while she was working at the casino right before she was killed, but we became good friends and...and I really just want to do something that honors her memory, you know? Something that she would want someone to do in her name. Carry out, like, her final wishes or whatever," Zoe said, "but I'm not even really sure what those might be."

A lie. She knew damn well Raindrop had already gotten what she wanted...a swift exit from the situation. Away from Raymond. Away from it all. Still, Zoe wanted to do something more for her. Alan and Mary looked at one another, thinking about it momentarily, until Alda snapped his fingers and pointed at Zoe.

"You know what she really loved, I mean, at least when she was a kid, can't speak for her interest in it as an adult of course," Alan said, leaning forward and grinning now as he whispered, "she loved space."

                                                       ***

Agent Rebecca Siskel had been late getting to the office thanks to having to order her coffee three separate times, because they'd been training someone new who simply couldn't get it right. Finally having parked in the parking garage and now stepping out of her car, cup in hand, she felt exhausted and it was only 9 in the morning, a whole work day stretching before her. She started the walk to the elevator, sipping her coffee, letting the warmth bring her back to life.

"You're not gonna believe what I have to tell you," a voice said, causing her to jump and spill her coffee all over herself, which, in turn, made her scream.

"Fuck! Fuck that's hot!"

"Oh god I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!" Allie said, stepping out of the shadows.

"Then why are you hiding like Deep Throat?!" Agent Siskel shouted back.

"I'm a magician, I just like making an entrance!" Allie replied, helping wipe her shirt down, adding, "I'll pay for cleaning, don't worry, hell I'll even buy you a new suit. But trust me when I tell you that I wasn't being hyperbolic, you really aren't going to believe what I'm about to tell you."

Agent Siskel finally finished dabbing at her clothing, with Allie's help, and stared her down. Allie couldn't tell if she was going to dismiss her or not, which was stupid, because why would they come this far and not finish it? After a few moments, Agent Siskel ran a hand through her hair, exasperated, and rolled her eyes.

"Alright, walk with me," she finally said, the two women continuing through the parking garage before getting into the elevator that led up to the main offices; Agent Siskel added, "so what is it that was so imperative that I know that you had to scare the living shit out of me?"

"Tony came to me," Allie said, "I went to my loft to get some things, and found him waiting for me, watering my plants. He told me that he is terrified of Raymond. He knows I stole the car. But here's the thing, he isn't mad. He wants to work with me, and he has, as he put it, a scapegoat, a fall guy."

Agent Siskel stopped the elevator and turned to face Allie.

"Miss Meers," she said, "I'm an agent of the law, sworn to uphold and protect it, and you're asking me to participate in the involvement of blaming everything on a seemingly innocent man. Now, normally, I'd say absolutely not, but the thing I've learned repeatedly during this investigation is that fairness, justice, isn't real. It's an illusion. My case is being buried repeatedly by red tape, thanks to Raymond having so many favors with judges in the court. Unless we hit him with so many things that he can't help but cave, there's no taking him down. He's a politician. They're untouchable."

Allie stared at this woman, a woman who, at one point, believed so deeply in her work, her ethics and morals, who had now become an embittered and cynical shell of her former self, and she smirked.

"Well then," Allie said, "I guess if justice is an illusion, it's a good thing that's my specialty, being a magician and all."

Agent Siskel stared back, and then smirked as well. She was ready to hear what Allie had to offer.

                                                      ***

Rachel St. Sebastian was sitting on the porch of the funeral home, eating her breakfast sandwich and sipping coffee when the car pulled up and parked. Rachel looked up and casually took a drag from her cigarette before ashing it on the edge of the old, brass table beside her seat and took another bite of her food. Zoe exited from the car and slowly approached the car, hands in her coat pockets initially, but as soon as she saw Rachel's posture stiffen at this, she removed her hands from her pockets and Rachel immediately changed her body language, softening.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asked.

"I need a favor," Zoe said, "um...and it may very well be immoral, I don't know, but-"

"Yeah, cause that's stopped me before," Rachel said, interrupting, taking another drag as she looked away. Zoe seated herself on a chair beside Rachel and exhaled, hands clasped tightly on her knees.

"-I need you to dig up Raindrop and...and burn her. Put her through the cremation process. I mean, what remains of her anyway, at this point, if that's possible. Forgive me, I know nothing of the decomposition process. And before you get all legal about it, yes, her parents said it was okay, and I even got it in writing."

"Not for nothing, but it can take 10 to 15 years to fully decompose to a skeletal form, so you're right in admitting you know nothing about the decomposition process. Since it's only been a few months, she'll be, more or less, relatively the same as when we buried her. And kudos on you for getting their permission, but...I do have to wonder why you need me for that?"

"Well you're the one who buried her, and..." Zoe said, shaking her head, staring at her shoes, "look, I'm gonna level with you, the whole thing's left me so shaken up that I can barely manage day in or day out. I want to fulfill her last wishes, or what her parents thought they might be. But I can't do it alone. All of this happened because I was trying to protect a woman I care about, you of all people should recognize what that's like."

Rachel nodded slowly, taking another long drag and then a sip of coffee. She did indeed know what that was like. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and nodded again.

"We can do it, but I'll need you to tell me more about what it is we're doing with her, post cremation," Rachel said.

Zoe continued staring at the wooden slatted porch and exhaled slowly, deeply, shutting her eyes.

"We're taking her to space," she said, causing Rachel to raise an eyebrow.

                                                      ***

"Everything lines up perfectly," Allie said.

She, Agent Siskel and Agent Tropper were now seated in a private, locked room, the agents at the table as Allie paced in front of them, laying it all out bare for tem the way Tony had for her. She continued.

"Tony hired Strange as a new act," Allie said, "Strange is literally an escape artist. Now he approaches Tony claiming I'm the one who tried to rob him, I'm the one who's after him, and his supposed proof? Grainy film footage from a hidden camera HE installed in the parking lot of the casino, which we can frame as him casing the joint for years in advance. He's the perfect candidate. We give Tony the car, Tony gives it all to you guys, you take Raymond down on embezzlement charges - because wealth fraud is the only thing the courts give any shit about - and Tony and I each do a bit of time. Everyone else walks free. Jackson gets the brunt of the blame."

She stopped and looked at them. Agent Tropper was eating a hashbrown from a local fast food place. He chewed, then looked at Agent Siskel and shrugged. She sighed, sipped her new mug of coffee and set it down on the table.

"It isn't that simple, Allie," Agent Siskel said, "It's just one groups word against another. We still need proof. We still need proof of everything. We have a bunch of doctored papers that Nicole kept for her father, records and such, but...we need the smoking gun. We need numbers. These papers, they're just...they're receipts and stuff, links to questionable banks and sources and funds. We need a detailed account record. Without that, it's just...heresay."

Allie groaned and sat down across from them. She put her head on the table and stared at the wood grain. Why was it always so difficult. Why, just once, couldn't everything work out in her favor. All she was trying to do, at this point, was spare her friends any more hardship, make things right. She thought about Sunny. About that night in her loft, the night that started all of this, when she killed him. She grimaced.

"All I've been trying to do this entire time is protect someone," Allie mumbled, "protect someone who only wanted to work with me. I didn't want to see her get sucked into the same bullshit lifestyle I got sucked into. But...the thing is...I think even that's sort of an excuse, cause she was never as damaged as me. She never would've fallen victim to it. I think I just saw enough of myself, or who I could've been had I been a healthier person, in her that I was scared she'd also succumb to this cities ills."

Allie finally looked up at the agents again.

"And if we can get that one vital piece of information?" Allie asked.

"Then we're golden, but we've cleaned house, there's nothing left at Nicole's," Agent Siskel said, shrugging, "I'm sorry, Allie. Tony's plan is good, but without that crucial thing that ties it all together...that irrefutable proof...we have nothing, as always."

She'd tried so hard, she'd gotten so far, and repeatedly had the end snatched away from her. Allie wanted to disappear. Thankfully, that was another thing magicians were good at.

                                                        ***

Zoe and Rachel were seated in the main viewing station of the local planetarium.

Nobody else was there, and they had the dome to themselves, an urn sitting between Zoe's legs. The star screen overhead slowly rolled by, both women staring at it intently, each lost in deep thought about something. Zoe finally broke her concentration and looked down at the urn when she heard the sound of a lighter being flicked, and looked to see Rachel lighting a cigarette. Zoe smirked.

"They really do allow smoking anywhere in this city," Zoe said, "thank you for helping me."

"I get it," Rachel said, not looking at her, "I get you. I get what it's like to want to do the right thing, especially for a woman you care so much about."

"I didn't really know her that well, I just-"

"Not her," Rachel said, shaking her head, "no. Allie. That's why you've done anything you've done, right? I get that. To love someone so deeply, be it platonic or not, that you'd be willing to do anything for them...even if it means sidelining your own best interests and well being. Only difference is, I think, Allie genuinely cares about you. I don't think Claire cares about me. Not in the way I want, or need. We're not that different, Zoe. Not at all."

Zoe looked at Rachel, tapping her cigarette on the arm of the chair, ashing it to the floor where she smeared it around with her shoe.

"We just want to be appreciated and loved," she continued, "like anyone does. You're a good person. I like to think I am, but I can't be certain. You can't call yourself a good person, that's the thing, because that's egotistical, narcissism. You have to have that goodness verified by outside sources. So I'm verifying yours right now, Zoe. You...are a good person. You gave this woman information for the right reasons, because, from the way you explained it to me, you saw someone else like us who wanted out from under the boot of an owner. You felt guilty about her death, so what did you do? You didn't hide it. You didn't run away. You approached that guilt head on by going to her parents and asking them point blank what could be done to make her memory stronger. Zoe," Rachel said, turning and taking Zoe's hands in her own, her eyes wet with tears, "you...are a good person."

Zoe bit her lip. Her entire time in Vegas, working with Allie, all of this...she'd struggled so much with that very question of her morality, and whether or not it even existed. Now here was a woman, a woman who'd helped another woman - much like herself - hide bodies in walls tell her outright she was, in fact, good. Zoe started to cry, and Rachel pulled her in for a hug. Rachel wasn't typically the sentimental type, but she was so tired, so very very tired, from dealing with everything, with Claire, and it'd finally broken through her walls. Rachel St. Sebastian squeezed this poor young girl as tight as she possibly could, and when she finally pulled apart, she held Zoe's hands and she smiled warmly.

"Let's do this. Let's send her to space," she whispered, and Zoe nodded.

Zoe stood up and they undid the screw lid on the urn, then they carefully tipped the urn into their cupped hands and started tossing Raindrop's ashes all over the auditorium. Here she would, forever, amongst the planets and the constellations and the galaxies. From nothing she came, to nothing she returned, stardust once more. But at least she'd be remembered.

                                                        ***

Allie entered her loft, exhausted. She slowly pulled her jacket off and dropped it on the floor when she noticed Tony, still here, looking through a photo album. He smiled as he watched her approach, and then patted the spot on the couch beside him. She smiled weakly, and took her seat, laying her head on his shoulder.

"Are you looking at my photos?" she asked.

"I like to see where you came from, before I found you," Tony said, "Allie I built this casino, this business, but you helped cement it with your stage work. I like to see where you started. You don't seem like a very happy child in most of these."

"Not sure why I even keep reminders of an adolescence I ran so far away from around," Allie replied shrugging.

"I think cause it helps contextualize our present. A sort of 'look how far I've gotten' mentality, you know?" Tony asked, "I'm proud of you, I hope you know that. You put this place on the map of the city with your act, you survived a tiger attack, you got sober. I'm so fucking proud of you, kid."

Allie looked up at him and she realized he wasn't just saying this. He really meant it. Sure, they'd drifted a bit apart since all of this started, but in the end, he really did love her. He really had been more of a father to her than her own ever was. Allie closed her eyes and nuzzled against him more, and he rubbed her back, holding her close. It was a moment of quiet reflection, of solidarity. Rufus had been right after all. Tony had never tried to implicate her, or anything of the sort, he'd done the exact opposite...protect her, at all costs. She'd gotten herself involved, albeit accidentally, of her own accord. What a fucked up pseudo father daughter bonding experience this turned out to be.

"How did it go?" Tony asked.

"Not good. I mean, they liked the plan, but they said without a bullet proof key piece of evidence, something that really is iron clad about his knowingly financial involvement, that he's untouchable," Allie said, sighing, feeling herself start to fall asleep; she yawned, then added, "I think we're done, Tony. I can't do any more."

He looked at the photos in the album on his lap. A photo of Allie in her magician costume as a teenage girl. This adorable little girl, the daughter he'd always seen her for, the talent he'd long since appreciated and admired, and he couldn't...he just couldn't let her go down for a man she had never even been directly involved with.

"What's that phrase magicians use?" Tony finally asked, "there's nothing up my sleeve? Well I still got one trick up my sleeve."

"Yeah, what's that?" Allie asked, half laughing, half asleep.

"...Nicole has a book," Tony said, and Allie's eyes slowly opened as she looked upwards at him, and he down at her. That had woken her back up.