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.

Tony was standing in the elevator as it slowly lurched up towards the main suite.

Hands in his pockets, fingers fidgeting with fabrics, he couldn't help but think about all the things that Jackson Strange had told him. He bit his lip so hard that it bled, but he didn't even notice. Allie. No. She just couldn't...she wouldn't...would she? She wasn't the type, and after all he'd done for her, why would she turn heel on him like this? The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open, as a man in a suit welcomed him to the floor, then led him down the hall and towards a room. Once they reached that door, and the man opened, Tony entered, only to witness Raymond Sykes picking his mug of coffee up off his desk and turn to smile upon seeing him.

"Tony!" he said, "Come in, thank you for coming on such short notice!"

Tony approached, anxious, nervous, his guts doing somersaults. Raymond motioned with his hand to a nice chair.

"Please, have a seat," he said jovially, to which Tony obliged. Raymond lifted the mug to his lips and took a sip, then exhaled, shaking his head slightly as he said, "you know, coffee used to be this thing I drank with my daughter. In fact, she's the one who got me hooked. Back when she was in high school, she started drinking coffee in order to stay focused, maintain a good GPA. I thought it was unhealthy, and, in fact, I even said as much. Didn't want her wearing herself ragged purely for academic purposes. But then we started getting coffee together, and it became this bonding thing."

Raymond leaned against his desk and crossed his legs, taking another long sip. He looked in his mug and an almost sorrowful expression crossed his face, the first time Tony had ever seen Raymond portray anything remotely close to a human emotion.

"We would go to various coffee shops," he continued, "we would order different things, see which places we liked best, which drinks we preferred. Hell, we even had little notebooks that contained our ratings and stuff on them. That's partially why she wound up as an accountant, you know? I don't know how much you know about the history of accounting, but the earliest known print use was in a 1975 Forbes article that stated 'this bean counter is the first executive to come up with a way of measuring trade offs'. After this, business writing started using it as a way to criticize people who were seen as overly focused on cost rather than things like creativity. The whole idea played on the concept of counting beans, a cheap, simple commodity, as a metaphor for tedious penny pinching work, which, well, let's face it, and we can both admit this as businessmen, that's accounting."

Raymond and Tony laughed together, and for the first time since Tony entered the building, his shoulders released their tension, his muscles relaxed, he felt more at peace. Maybe this would all be a good thing in the end after all.

"But she loved it. She loved the precision, you know? Of being the one who kept everything in check. But, as delicious as coffee is, its industry is rather exploitative. You know much about the coffee industry Tony?"

Tony shook his head and shrugged, "can't say that I do," he mumbled.

"Well," Raymond continued, "for starters, many of the farmers live below the poverty line. When global prices drop, the income they receive is sometimes lower than the actual cost of production. As a result, they only actually receive about five to ten percent of the retail price of a cup sold in wealthier countries. And it doesn't just stop at financial disparity, you know? It's all encompassing, this...this economic poisoning of the industry. Take their labor, for instance. Season workers are underpaid, housed in poor conditions, or sometimes not even formally contracted. Meanwhile the industry as a whole is dominated by a handful of multinational corporations, while millions of small farmers have very little bargaining power, meaning that middlemen and exporters capture much of that value for themselves, leaving these farmers dependent on volatile commodity markets."

Raymond put his mug down on the table with a thud, causing Tony's heart to start racing again. Raymond looked at his well maintained hands and smirked.

"You provide me with money so that I continue to stay in power so that you continue to benefit from me staying in power, you are, in essence, my coffee farmer, but you're treated far better than they are, wouldn't you say? You certainly don't live in poverty," Raymond said.

"Damn straight," Tony said, nodding, trying to grin.

"But anyone below the top dog is inherently greedy. That's the problem with capitalism isn't it? Anyone who isn't at the top is constantly clawing to be at the top, threatening your livelihood. That's the problem with the coffee industry, Tony. The global coffee industry is structurally exploitative because the wealth is concentrated in consuming countries and corporations, while the producers bear the highest risk and the lowest rewards," Raymond said, strolling towards Tony and kneeling down, their eyes level, his voice now a low rumble, "...I'm the corporation, and you...are the producer. And what happens when the producer tries to cut off the means of production?"

A man entered the room, and Tony glanced over his shoulder at him before Raymond grabbed him by the jaw and forced him to look back in his eyes.

"I asked you a goddamn question, don't look away from me," Raymond snarled quietly, Tony now visibly shaking.

"I...I uh...what...what happens?" Tony asked.

"Often times they're let go, aren't they? Replaced by someone who will do the job, no questions asked, no trouble raised. But, and here's where you get lucky, I like you, Tony, we're friends. And we work in tandem. I can't spend my time building up that kind of trust with someone new, that takes years, so you're going to work with me, okay? Because if not..."

The man handed Raymond a pair of small bolt cutters, which he took while the man grabbed and held Tony's arm on the arm of the chair, Tony breathing hard and fast as Raymond placed Tony's right index finger between the cutter blades.

"...I won't be the only one missing digits," Raymond said, before making the cut.

                                                        ***

"You look like shit," Salem said as Benny held the door open for him to pass through.

"Thanks, I do try my best," Benny replied, the men chuckling, "please, come into my home and insult me some more."

Salem laughed more as he entered fully, Benny closing the door behind him. Salem turned his sights to Molly, who was in the kitchen, making tea. She didn't even look at him. Salem continued through to the living room, hands in his pockets, nodding as he took in the architecture of the loft.

"Cool place," he said.

"It does the job," Benny replied, "I'm gonna...well, not walk to the bathroom, more like hobble, but you get the idea, and then when I come back, we'll discuss the car."

"Right," Salem said, sitting down on the couch as Molly walked over with a mug of tea, sipping it carefully as she stopped and stood in front of Salem, looking down at him. His hands were clasped between his knees, somewhat spread apart, and he jumped a little when he finally noticed her presence. He grinned, saying, "Hi, you doing okay?"

"You have it in a safe place?" she asked, sipping carefully, slowly.

"Yeah, it's hidden, don't worry," Salem said, "why?"

"Because when this is all over, I'm taking Benny and Olivia and we're leaving Las Vegas for good. So you better damn well make sure nothing happens to that car, because it is our golden ticket out of this mess. Please don't take anything else away from us, we've lost so much already."

Salem nodded solemnly. Molly spoke like a woman who was done with everything. The tone of her voice, the cadence of her speech, this was a woman who was finished. She wasn't close to being finished, no, she was finished already, and was now waiting for everyone else to catch up so she could move on. Benny reappeared from the bathroom and walked back over to the couch as he kissed Molly on the cheek while she passed by him. Benny sat down beside Salem and exhaled.

"Lemme tell ya, peeing, while on crutches? It's hard," Benny said, making Salem chuckle before asking, "so, where is it?"

"Currently it's sitting in a private garage that's owned by a friend of mine who runs a pawn shop," Salem said, "I used to perform at her shop sometimes to get eyes on the place, so it wasn't hard to call in a favor, and don't worry, I didn't explain shit to her. I just told her I need her to hold onto a car I'd used in a performance for a bit."

"Good, the less anyone else knows the better," Benny said, "what do we do with it? Do we just...turn it over to authorities? The agents?"

"That would be my guess," Salem replied, shrugging, "but that's something Allie needs to do, wherever the hell she is."

Benny grunted. He didn't know. Nobody really seemed to. Ever since the incident, she'd cropped up a few times, mostly to check on him and Molly, but even then those visits were brief, and most of them had taken place over the phone. Otherwise she'd been in hiding, and while he understood why, he also thought it was cowardly. But, maybe, he hoped, he was wrong. Maybe she was cooking up a final plan, one last grand trick to get them out of all of this. She was a magician after all, called herself astounding even. He just hoped she'd live up to her moniker in the end.

                                                         ***

Allie was sitting at the kitchen island, coffee mug shaking in her hands. She looked up across it at Jenny, standing across from her, still in her sleepwear, little shorts and a tank top. Allie, just as quickly, looked away. She had a hard time looking at herself since the heist. Jenny had made her food, a sandwich, lovingly crafted, and it was just sitting on the island in front of her on a plate, but Allie hadn't touched it yet. Her appetite had been near non-existent for days. She finally closed her eyes and hung her head, before feeling the warmth of Jenny's hands cupped around her own, and she glanced back up, looking into her eyes.

"You're okay, just take a breath with me okay?" Jenny asked, and Allie nodded.

The two then took a slow inhale, and held it briefly before exhaling. They did this a few times before Allie finally managed to crack a smile and the two locked eyes again. Jenny's eyes were the only thing that weren't Allie's, it was how Allie managed to differentiate themselves from one another, and it was the place Allie liked to look currently when she was forced to look Jenny in the face.

"You know you can talk to me," Jenny said, her voice so warm, soft, quiet.

"I know," Allie finally said, "I'm just scared. Everyone has a target on me. I feel like one of those carnival ducks, ya know? The ones on the rails that just go back and forth that everyone guns for, and eventually somebody's gonna get the shot. How long can you realistically avoid the ramifications of your actions?"

"Ask war criminals, or politicians," Jenny said, making Allie chuckle.

"Yeah but I don't have access to their level of wealth or power," Allie said, "you're the only one who doesn't hate me. Zoe is mad that I got her into the mess I got her into, Molly and Benny got shot because of me, Nick is furious at me for not being able to get sober while I was with him, and Claire...Claire doesn't hate me, but...but I also don't trust that she has my best interests at heart."

"She saved you," Jenny said, "she shot a woman in the head in order to save you."

"I'm a means to an end for her, if I go down, she goes down," Allie said, "I don't doubt she cares about me, but it's hard to know how genuine those feelings actually are. I don't know. I just feel like you're all I've got, and I guess I've never really showed my appreciation for you and that doesn't seem fair. Thank you, Jenny, for always having my back regardless of anything."

Jenny blushed and leaned in, kissing Allie on the forehead. Despite her admission, Allie still couldn't deny that she didn't love Jenny romantically. It was all superficial, all love for herself, because Jenny's face was Allie's, and Allie, in the end, loved herself so much that she couldn't help but be with a version of herself that was relatively untainted. Jenny went back to the stove and started making herself scrambled eggs, Allie still sitting at the island, sipping from her mug, her hands steady and firm now. But...this just made her exactly like Claire, didn't it? Using Jenny the same way Claire used Rachel, in the sense of utilizing her worship and devotion as a means to ground herself. Justify her actions.

Claire.

Allie and Claire had had sparse communication since the shooting, but one phone call in particular had stood out, and that was one that happened about a month and a half after it had happened. It was about 3am, and Allie hadn't been sleeping, so when the phone started ringing, she wasn't startled awake or anything of the sort, though it did catch her somewhat off guard. No good news ever arrives by phone at that time of night. Still, she picked it up, only to hear Claire's voice on the other end.

"Allie," Claire said, "I'm sorry it's been so long. Don't speak, you don't have to say a word, this is more of a voice mail and less of a phone call. I just want you to know one thing. I'm ready to leave town. I'm ready to get out of here. So when this is all over, you and me, let's do it, okay? Let me know what you think after you've had some time to debate about it. Together, Meers, you and I can do anything."

And with that the line went dead, and Allie's blood ran cold. Could do anything. Yes, she thought, Claire could do anything, and that's what fucking terrified her.

                                                        ***

Zoe was standing over the headstone, as she'd been doing for a while.

She'd get flowers, she'd bring them here and she'd stand for a little bit. Nobody knew she did this, not Allie nor Effie, nobody. Zoe stood there, umbrella over her head, her other hand in her coat pocket, just listening to the rain, the sound of distant thunder. Zoe had never really been one for cemeteries, and she didn't understand why she'd been coming here so frequently, why this was bothering her so much...perhaps it was simply because she had seen Raindrop as someone in a similar position as herself. Someone she could sort of relate to. Someone who, really, just wanted out. Sloshing of shoes on wet ground, as someone sidled on up beside her, the dim glow of a cigarette just out of her peripheral view.

"It's nice you come by," Rachel St. Sebastian said, "nobody else does."

"...it just feels unfair," Zoe said, "and I feel so responsible. I told her what was happening. I'm why it happened. I'm why she went down there, why Molly and Benny got shot, why she ended up here. All she wanted was to be free of Raymond. She was me."

Rachel sideyed Zoe and just listened as Zoe took a long breath and continued.

"I can't take the guilt," Zoe said, her voice cracking, shaky, "I'm planning a wedding, and she's dead. Where's the goddamned justice in that. I've done terrible things in the name of an other."

"So have I," Rachel replied, shrugging, "it's what you do when you love someone enough. At least that's how I attempt to make sense of my actions. But the truth is, eventually, it breaks you. No matter how much you love someone, want to see them happy, if you don't stop them from using you, their self destructive behavior will become your own downfall. I'm on a leash, but I don't bite the one leading me because I'm too afraid of what freedom may taste like. I can't tell you what choice is right for you, but either way, you'll have to make a decision or it'll be made for you. I still find it admirable though, that you come. Nobody else does. Not even her family."

Zoe looked at Rachel and watched as she took a drag, curls of smoke wafting into the air and rain. Zoe nodded slowly. She understood. She understood Rachel was right. And Allie didn't use Zoe, Allie really did care about her, but at what point was freedom actually freedom? When could she truly stop looking over her shoulder? To what lengths would Allie go to ensure her longevity? Zoe didn't know. But she did know one thing. She might be like Raindrop. She might be like Rachel. Be involved in things she didn't want to be, be used by someone who was making her a tool of sorts...

...but the thing was, Allie wasn't Claire.

And that was all the proof Zoe needed to know it would at least, if nothing else, end as well as it could.

                                                     ***

Allie had snuck back to the casino, needing to get into her loft to get a few items. It had been a while since she'd been in here, opting instead to hide out at Jenny's. The key turned in the lock, and that's when she realized it was already unlocked. Allie furrowed her brow, held the knob and pushed the door open. As she walked inside cautiously, she heard the sound of water, and when she turned the corner, peering into the main living area, that's when she saw him, Tony. He was here, watering her plants of all things.

"...so now you're my gardener?" she asked, and he jumped a little, hand to his chest. She noticed the bandage wrapped around it, and wondered what had made that happen.

"Christ, you scared me," he said, grinning, "well, you haven't been around, so I've been tending to your plants. I don't think it's fair for them to die just because of your absence. You aren't meaning to hurt anyone, I know, it isn't intentional or malicious."

This statement made Allie tense up, as Tony walked to the sink, filled the watering can back up and then placed it gently between the plant pots on the brass multi tiered shelf she kept her plants on before wiping his hands on his pants and finally fully turning to face her, smiling softly.

"Allie," he said, "I need to ask you two questions...I've taken care of you, you're like my daughter. I know that, in the last year or so we've been so busy that we've kind of lost that closeness, but that's never stopped me from feeling that way. Your success makes me immeasurably happy, and not because it brings me success, but because it's yours. Well deserved too, might I add, you're so damn good at what you do. But I need to ask you two questions. The first is did you steal my car."

Allie stood there, uncertain of how to respond. One way or another could lead to alternate paths, and she didn't even know what the second question was yet.

"Allie," Tony continued, clearing his throat, as if he were trying not to cry, "Allie I don't want to see you go to jail. And that isn't a threat. I'm telling you I will make sure it doesn't happen. But I need you to be honest with me, I need us to work together. Now did you steal my car?"

"Yeah," Allie replied, her voice low, nodding, "yeah I did."

"Okay. We'll have to discuss why later. But first I have the second question-"

"What happened to your hand, Tony? Was that from Raymond?"

This took Tony by surprise. His eyebrows raised, his breathing quickened.

"He did that to you, didn't he? Just like he worked that poor girl to death, just like he had his own adopted daughter doctor all his books. He cut your finger off, didn't he?" Allie asked, as Tony started to sniffle, raising his hand to his face and looking at it, his eyes wet with tears.

"Allie," he said, "my second question is...what do you know about Jackson Strange?"

Allie certainly didn't anticipate that one.

"Uh," she said, wiping her eyes quickly with her sweatshirt sleeve, adding, "um, quite a bit, why?"

"Because I think," Tony said, "I think I found a scapegoat."

Sharla Karbrook had once volunteered at a retirement home.

In all honesty, it hadn't exactly been of her own free will, and in fact was the direct result of having been involved in a teenage prank that had gone somewhat awry, leading her to having to choose a way to pay back her community. Of the available options, she chose this one, because it seemed the easiest. Sharla had once been an underachiever. Not cared about a damn thing in the world. This was the catalyst that changed all of that. Once arriving at the home, she was assigned to an older man, Peter Weathers, with whom she quickly became good friends with. Over time, Sharla came to appreciate her time with Peter, enjoyed learning about him, helping him. He, in turn, taught her about what he'd once done as a noted health guru. A man who had gotten famous for being a positive driving force for those who wanted to better themselves at a time where America was at its most gluttonous.

And now, here she was, in the back of an ambulance, being driven to the nearest hospital, after having what seemed like it might be a fatal heart attack. Her eyesight going in and out as she stared at the EMTS faces overhead, heard the radio chatter, could feel the rise of fall of every bump beneath their tires...Sharla had always been afraid this might happen. The sad thing was, this sort of event was usually a wake up call for those that survived them, to change their lifestyle, start getting serious about their health. But she was a licensed health professional. She had a popular Yoga show. She drank smoothies and endorsed active wear and she exercised on the regular. So...

..what the hell kind of lesson could someone like that take from such an event?

                                                      ***

4 months had passed since it had happened, and here Nat was, standing on the front porch holding another box of baked goods in hand, her earbud in as she chatted to Misty LeClaire on the phone.

"I haven't even rung the doorbell," Nat said, "What does one say in a situation such as this, it isn't like they sell sympathy cards for this kind of thing."

"Be honest, direct, compassionate. Be you, that's what people find admirable about you right, those traits?" Misty asked, as Nat raised a singular eyebrow.

"Where are you? What is that noise?" she asked.

"I'm at the racetrack," Misty said, "what you're hearing is the sound of hooves sloshing around in cold, wet dirt as they prepare to make me money."

"Are you gambling? I thought you were trying to write, are you getting notes on horses?" Nat asked, and Misty chuckled.

"Ya know, not every waking moment of my life is consumed by work," Misty said, "sometimes I do things normal people do, like, oh I don't know, have fun? You should try it sometime, it's supposed to be good for you, stimulate you mentally."

"I think I'm overly stimulated, thank you very much," Nat replied, before exhaling, reaching out and pushing her finger into the doorbell, adding, "this is tense, I feel uncomfortable."

"I know that's why you called me, because I know you the best," Misty said, "I spent months literally just observing you the way someone observes primate behavior in a zoo. I know all your ins and outs, the way you think, your routines and habits. That's why you call me whenever you're feeling scared because you're hoping that the person who knows at this deep of a psychological level might be able to help you either validate or invalidate your current feelings."

"...did you just call me a monkey?" Nat asked.

"I have to go, the race is starting," Misty said, and the phone went silent. Nat chuckled and shook her head, removing the earpiece from her ear as the door opened and there she stood, Sharla's mother standing there, looking worn out. Nat's face softened. She'd never once met Sharla's mother, but she knew of her, knew of the relationship they had, the kind of relationship Nat wish she'd had with her own mother.

"You brought more cookies?" she asked, glancing at the box in Nat's hands.

"I did, can I come in?" Nat asked, and she nodded, stepping aside, allowing her entrance.

It was always weird, coming into Sharla's home. Nothing had changed. Nothing had been moved. It was like a time capsule, just stuck in a specific moment in history. Nat walked into the kitchen and set the cookies down on the table as Sharla's mother, Marcia, went back to brewing her tea.

"How've you been?" Nat asked, seating herself at the table now as well.

"It's been hard," Marcia said, steeping the bag, "but you learn to manage. That's what life is, right, learning to manage?"

"I wouldn't say that's the outright definition of life, but yeah, it's a big part of it," Nat said, the both of them smiling weakly.

"It's hard," Marcia continued, "husband and I are divorced, I barely speak to my other daughter, and now...now Sharla...she always talked about you, you know?"

"Did she?" Nat asked.

"Mhm," Marcia continued, finishing making her tea and sitting across from Nat, sipping it carefully, cautiously; she continued, "she really thought what you did was admirable. She was for body, you were for mind. She felt like you two were kindred spirits in that sense."

"The irony is that both the things we fight so hard for betray us every chance they get," Nat said, "I've had so many mental breakdowns that I've lost count, and her own body turned against her. But I guess we can be martyrs for the cause, so long as it helps others."

"Why are you guys talking about me as if I'm dead?" Sharla asked, walking into the kitchen on her crutches.

Nat grinned. There she was. Out of bed and doing better every day. Her very best friend.

                                                      ***

Corrine liked grocery shopping.

She didn't like being in public, being around others, but there was a zenlike quality to grocery shopping that she just couldn't hate, that seemed to quell her otherwise eternal anxiety. She could stand there for what felt like an eternity, comparing brands, prices, cuts of meat, the ingredients in teas, and never once feel stressed or scared. It was nice. It was a brief respite from the stranglehold fear usually dominated on her brain. But that fear was about to become replaced with something else today, as she stood in the cereal aisle.

"Hey you," a voice said, causing her to look behind her and see Mary standing there.

"O-oh," Corrine stuttered, "yeah, hi, hello."

"What are you thinking of getting?" Mary asked as she walked up beside her and started admiring the wall of boxes for her own decision.

"Not sure, that's why I'm looking," Corrine said, "besides my girlfriend and I don't typically like the same kind of cereal, so I have to end up buying two anyway."

Mary nodded and kept looking, her silence somehow causing Corrine more distress than if she'd continued casual conversation. After a minute, Corrine plopped two cereals down into the cart and continued on her way, Mary grabbing one for herself and dropping it into her basket, following on her heels, walking alongside her.

"So, for what it's worth," Mary said, "I'd like you to come to this event."

"What is this event you speak of?" Corrine asked.

"Well, it's for my cousin, more than myself, but it'd be nice to have someone there who isn't family," Mary said, and Corrine chuckled. That was a mood which she could understand. Mary continued, "I mean, I wouldn't even be going if I wasn't expected to be, but I'm also doing the baking, so."

"Still haven't told me what it's for," Corrine said, stopping at the soups.

"Oh, sorry, uh, yeah, so it's for my cousin, he's finally gotten his degree in dentistry, so like I said, I'm doing all the baking and, ya know, it'd be cool to have some help but also some company, and you get free cupcakes or whatever pastry you want."

"Hmmm...you do present a delicious predicament," Corrine said, "alright, I'll come. When is it?"

Mary, now seeming giddy as a child on a day off from school, wrote down some information on the back of a receipt from her purse and stuffed it into Corrine's hand, then the two continued their shopping together. Corrine thought it was nice, to have her company sought out, especially by someone who had once meant so much to her, helped mold her into who she'd ultimately become. She wanted to have friends like this, friends from her youth, friends who'd known her outside of just working together.

Sadly, for Corrine, Mary didn't want to be just a friend.

                                                       ***

"You seem, what's the word, uh...like a total bitch?" Nat said, making Sharla smirk very weakly as she sat at the table and ate a piece of cake. Nat had rarely, if ever, seen her ingest sugar, so it was a strange thing to witness, but Sharla wasn't holding back. This was her third piece.

"Yeah, well," Sharla said, shrugging, stabbing her fork into the slice, "I guess maybe that's just what nearly dying does to a person. Lying in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, I thought to myself 'this is the kind of thing that happens to people who don't take care of themselves', but that just isn't true. That's a lie that I bought into because of the industry that I'm in. It happens to anyone, regardless of their physicality. It doesn't matter who you are, predisposition or lack of personal care or just random happenstance, it doesn't matter. It doesn't care. So why bother caring too."

"Jesus, Sharla, that's...grim. I mean, you're not wrong, arguably, but that isn't the mindset to take from an incident such as this, right?" Nat asked, raising her coffee mug to her lips and sipping, "I mean, just cause-"

"Do you know who Jim Fixx is?" Sharla asked, catching Nat off guard. Nat shook her head slowly, so Sharla polished off the end of her cake, dropped her fork noisily on the table then wiped her hands on her sweatpants, continuing; "Jim Fixx wrote the 1977 best selling book The Complete Book Of Running. He was credited with having helped start America's fitness revolution by popularizing the sport of running, being a jogger himself, and demonstrating first hand the health benefits of the act. Sure, we had other fitness celebrities in the past, like Jack LaLanne, or to some extent Richard Simmons, but the first was more celebrity than health nut and the second nobody took remotely seriously. That's why Fixx stood out. He was honest. He was...he was real."

Nat smiled. She always liked hearing Sharla talk in depth about her field of work. Sharla folded her arms on the table and looked down at the plate where the cake had just been.

"Then, in 1984, at the age of 52, he dropped dead of a heart attack. While running. During his autopsy it was revealed that atherosclerosis had blocked one coronary artery 95%, a second 85%, and a third 70%. Later on, in 1986, exercise physiologist Kenneth Cooper, after being granted access to his medical history and talking to Fixx's friends and family members, concluded that Fixx had been predisposed since his father died of a heart attack at 43, after a previous one at 35. Fixx also had a congenitally enlarged heart, which, I'm sure, didn't help matters."

Nat furrowed her brow and bit her lip, crossing her legs.

"Why are you telling me-"

"Because it doesn't fucking matter, Nat. You can dedicate your life to something, see the good in what you do, know that it's worthwhile, and it doesn't. fucking. matter. Firefighters die in burning buildings all the time. Comedians, the most seemingly light hearted people, kill themselvs on a daily basis. And health gurus drop dead from heart attacks. What we do, while we're here, doesn't matter. All we're doing is perpetuating a system that cares more about making money off these people than it does helping them. The health industry doesn't fucking care whether these people are healthy. It just wants to make them feel insecure enough about the possibility that they aren't so they'll spend money taking care of themselves, and 9 times out of 10...that stuff doesn't even help."

"Yeah, which is why people like you, who genuinely care, who are genuinely knowledgeable and can see the worthwhileness in the act, are so important to that ecosystem. Are you telling me that what I do doesn't matter too?" Nat asked.

"Does it?" Sharla asked, the two locking eyes. Nat wanted to cry as silence filled the room. This woman...this woman had been her best friend for a while now, and she'd long respected her belief in her work, and now, here she was, claiming that what they'd spent their entire lives dedicated to didn't matter one bit, was a total and complete waste of time. Nat and Sharla stared at one another for minutes on end, until Sharla finally stood up, took her plate to the counter and started to get herself another slice of cake. Nat stood up and approached from behind, hugging Sharla, taking her by surprise.

"I'm so happy you're not dead," Nat whispered, and Sharla wanted to cry.

"At least one of us is," Sharla whispered, causing Nat to squeeze her tighter.

                                                      ***

"...is what I do meaningless?" Nat asked.

She and Misty were seated at the bar of a restaurant, as Misty ate cheese fries from a basket and counted her receipts and winnings from her day at the track. Misty shrugged, ignoring the question. Nat sighed and finished her beer, then wiped her mouth on her jacket sleeve and shook her head.

"Sharla told me today everything she and I stand for and believe in is meaningless," Nat said.

"You know that you're allowed to form your own opinions on things, right? You're by no means required to just adhere to the beliefs of those around you, especially those who've just had their entire worldview shift thanks to an unprecedented and unexpected event occurring in their lives," Misty said, eating another few fries as she pulled out a small calculator and started tapping away.

"I know, I'm not...I'm not saying she's right, I'm just-"

"If you're not saying she's right, then why are you asking me for validation contrary to her statement?" Misty asked, stopping and looking at Nat. Nat smiled weakly. Misty always knew what to say, the true backbone to her life these days. Misty knew exactly how her brain worked, and she loved her for it.

"I guess..." Nat said, "...I guess, cause, she's a friend, a person, someone I respect and admire, who's opinion I value."

"Exactly, value, not take as gospel," Misty said, going back to her calculations; she continued, "I mean, if you ever reach a point where you're taking someones opinion as fact - outside of perhaps a scientist or a medical professional, and even then there's arguable wiggle room - then you're in a cult. That's a cult. Following someone blindly is what people do in parasocial relationships. Only you can attribute value to what it is you do. If you think there's value in it, then there's value in it. Simple as that."

Nat smiled warmly now, wider, nodding as she really took Misty's words in. Nat raised her drink to her lips and finished, then exhaled.

"So," she said, "how was your day at the track?"

"It was eventful," Misty said.

"Successful?" Nat asked, and Misty shrugged.

"Eh, success is relative. Did I make a lot? Not as much as I'd hoped. Did I lose a lot? More than I'd planned. But neither of those means it wasn't worth doing, since I enjoyed doing it," Misty said, stopping tapping at her calculator buttons and looking back at Nat, smiling back, "there was value to going."

And that was all she had to say for Nat to get it.