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The girl had never felt such an urge to scream before. She wanted to shout at God himself, but she couldn't, thanks to the rag wrapped around her head, stuffed in her mouth. She then felt fingers on her shoulder, rolling her onto her side, and saw the blonde teenage girl kneel down beside her. She smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear, her grey eyes glistening in the moonlight. The blonde sighed, looked around and gently shook her head.


"People are just so rude, aren't they? You try and be nice, like, you try to do the right things, but the right things never happen to the right people, do they? They always happen to people who don't deserve them. Politicians, movie stars, whatever. I may come from money myself, but that doesn't mean I'm self centered," the blonde teenage girl said, "after all, I mean, I spend literally all my spare time thinking about others, and how I can best hurt them. That counts as thinking about others, doesn't it?"


The girl moaned and shrugged. The blonde - who looked like she'd just stepped out of a teenage fashion magazine, dressed in the finest chic outfit one could have with perfect makeup - checked her nails and then pulled a book of matches from her coat pocket.


"It's like," she continued, "...I wish I wouldn't be seen as a bad person for doing what I do. After all, I'm just giving you your just desserts. I watched you hit that poor womans seeing eye dog and leaving it for dead in the street. You have absolutely no respect for the disabled."


The blonde pulled a match from the matchbook and struck it, smiling at the fire dancing at the tip.


"Don't worry though, because I'm gonna teach you to respect them," she said, pulling a small thing of firecrackers from her other pocket and then taping them to the side of the girls head right over her ear, before sitting back and giggling uncontrollably, adding, "see, soon you'll know what it's like to be differently abled, and you'll be able to see how hard life can be when you're not the norm."


The blonde put the match head to the firecracker fuse, patted the girl on the cheek and blew a kiss at her.


"Besides, take it from me, being the norm is boring," she said, standing up and running away. She'd picked this abandoned drive in movie lot because she knew nobody would be out here, nobody would see or hear this. She waited with almost giddy anticipation, and watched as the girl struggled to break free, to stop what was about to happen, but she was powerless. She began to sob quietly, as the blonde hopped up on the hood of her jeep and sighed, starting to file her nails.


"People are so stupid," she said to herself, "they never see when you're doing what's best for them."


The firecrackers exploded, blowing a clean hole in the girls head where her ear had once been, and making the blonde cheer a little.


You have to make your own fun as a teenager, she'd found.


                                                                          ***


A series of gentle taps on the glass window woke Jason Tulridge, and he immediately opened his eyes and realized his face was pushed up against the glass of his drivers side window. He saw the cop outside motion for him to roll his window down, so he peeled himself off the window and did as he was instructed. The cop was one that he saw fairly often; she had a nice smile, she was older than he was, but he liked that. She had deep blue eyes and curly blonde hair.


"You know you can't sleep here," she said softly.


"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep here," Jason said, "uh, my...my car isn't starting."


"Oh," the cop said, "Well, I could call in a tow, get you taken to the closest body shop."


"I appreciate that, but even then I wouldn't have the cash to pay for fixing whatever's wrong with it," Jason said, running his hands through his scruffy brown bedhead and then down his face, feeling his rough stubble. He felt embarrassed, and the cop smiled politely.


"You know what I'm gonna do? You seem like a nice guy who's just having a little trouble," she said, "I'm gonna call in to my force, I'm gonna tell them to just leave you be, alright? But you gotta promise me that you're gonna work on getting your life together, getting that cash together and getting this car fixed."


"Believe me, nothing would make me happier than getting my life together," Jason said, yawning.


"Here," the cop said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a few dollars, pushing them into his pockets and saying, "Go get yourself a cup of coffee, on me. That'll make the day better."


She smiled and then walked away from the car. Jason stuffed the cash into his coat pocket and then climbed out of the car and stretched once standing on the sidewalk. He yawned again, then headed towards the nearest cafe he knew of. Jason Tulridge's life had fallen apart, but at least he could still have coffee. The little bell over the door rang, signaling his arrival as he pushed his way in, making a handful of people stop and glance before going back to their activities. Jason hated that fucking bell. He hated when people caught notice of him. He walked to the counter and stopped, tapping his nails on it until a young woman, only a year or so younger than him, stepped up to take his order.


"Hey," she said, "You look like shit, dude."


"I feel like shit, dude," he replied, making her smirk.


Her nametag read "Fawn". She had short dark chocolate colored hair and deep green eyes. Despite being almost in her thirties, she had braces, which Jason found really cool. He rarely saw adults with braces, and it always made him feel not so weird because he himself had had them in his twenties.


"What can I get you today?" Fawn asked.


"Uh...whatever..." he said, pulling the cash out and putting it on the counter, sorting through it, "uh...this much will get me."


"I'll make it better than that, okay?" she said, taking the money and starting to throw together a drink. While he waited, Jason turned and leaned against the counter, exhaling as he glanced around at all the people in the shop.


"Look at all these yuppies," he said, "all sitting around on their laptops, their phones, not even thinking about the hardships of others. How do you stand working for all these stuck up snobs?"


"Mmm," Fawn said, putting a lid on the drink, "I just try and ignore everything, otherwise I just imagine having the power to blow their heads up with my mind."


She handed his drink across the counter and he took it, thanking her as he did. As he began to lift the cup to his lips, he noticed she'd put a little heart next to his name, and he blushed slightly. He looked back at her, and she winked at him, then went back to helping another customer. Jason walked to a booth near the back and seated himself, sipping his coffee. Things could be worse, he figured. He could not have coffee. Jason reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, opening it and looking at a photo of himself with a little girl, and he smiled. God what he'd give to have those days back.


The bell over the door rang again, and he looked up, just like everyone else. A blonde teenage girl, looking about 16, walked to the counter and ordered with a credit card. She was well dressed, looked posh and rich, and her hair and makeup was perfect. As she waited for her coffee, she also bought a biscotti and bit into it, chewing as she looked around the cafe, stopping when she noticed Jason. He looked back down at the photo in his wallet, ignoring her. Suddenly, however, he heard the vinyl of the booth squeak as she scooted in across from him.


"You don't mind, do you?" she asked, and he shook his head.


"No, it's fine," he said.


"You seem unusually grimy," the girl said, "Sorry, that came out rude. I'm Kelly."


She reached across the table, and he shook her hand.


"You look nice," Jason said, "I like your denim jacket."


"Oh, thanks! It's a favorite," Kelly said, "I know denim is like, so nineties, but whatever. Contrary to popular belief, the fashion industry is wrong, and decade doesn't dictate clothing. You can make anything look good, no matter how outdated, if you know what you're doing."


"You into fashion?" Jason asked, sipping his coffee as she took a bite of her cookie and chewed.


"Yeah," she said, "My dad, he owns a clothing company and my mom's a professional photographer for models for it, so I spend a lot of my time around clothing and stuff. Guess you could say I picked it up from them. What do you do?"


"Uh, survive day to day," Jason said, chuckling, "I'm...I'm living in my car. Life hasn't been...good."


"I'm sorry to hear that," Kelly said.


Jason stood up and smiled at her.


"I better get going," he said, "I need to canvas for work. Besides, you shouldn't hang out with an older guy. People might get the wrong idea."


"What's the right idea?" Kelly asked, making him chuckle as he exited. Kelly grabbed her drink from the counter, finally ready, and followed him out of the building back onto the sidewalk, where they walked side by side as she said, "You know, I could help you. I could find work for you to do. Just depends on what you're willing to do."


"At this point, damn near anything," Jason said.


"It could be mutually beneficial for us. My dad works a lot, he doesn't have time to do things for me, and I could use some help," Kelly said, "I could pay you in cash, under the table, that way you could create a little nest egg and get back on your feet."


"Uh, I...I appreciate that, I really do, but that sounds...questionable," Jason said, almost laughing nervously, "besides, you don't know anything about me. Why'd you even approach me?"


"I know you live in your car," Kelly said, making him stop in his tracks and look at her as she added, "And I know you're desperate. These are just glaringly obvious facts I've gleamed from the last few minutes. I know you're trying to get something back, judging from the way you were looking at your wallet, and I could be your way to get it back, whatever it is. I've seen you around the last few months, and I know you need the help, so help me help you."


"...who are you?" Jason asked, his voice hushed now.


"I'm Kelly Baker," she said, "and I'm the answer to your prayers, Jason."


                                                                          ***


Jason hadn't had a shower in days.


The water felt so good, but he couldn't shake the weirdness of the situation. Once he was finished, he stepped out, toweled off and found a pile of nice looking clothes sitting on the hamper in the bathroom, which he changed into. They fit perfectly, and damn if he didn't look good in them. Jason stepped out into the hall and walked down to the living area. Kelly was laying upside down on the couch, reading a magazine when she saw him.


"Wow, you look really nice when cleaned up," she said.


"This is your dads place?" he asked, "Are your parents divorced?"


"Naw, this is just his little lovenest," Kelly said, "You know, where he takes models he wants to sleep with. Not a very good husband, is he?"


"Jesus," Jason mumbled as he walked to a nearby chair and sat down, asking, "what...what is this? What are you doing right now? Why am I here?"


"You're here, Jason, because I cannot afford to get my hands dirty," Kelly said, sitting upright now, "I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, but because I'm being nice, you can't tell anyone. A few nights ago, I took a girl about my age out to an abandoned drive in theater, bound and gagged, and strapped some firecrackers to her ear."


Jason's eyes widened.


"what?" he asked softly.


"She was a bad person, Jason, she hit someones seeing eye dog, and she didn't even stop to take blame for it. So I taught her what being differently abled was like," Kelly said, "the world is full of disgusting, immoral people, a lot of them like me, a lot of them wealthy, and I wanna make it better. They deserve it. But I can't do it all myself. Some things I can't do at all. Can't buy firearms, for example."


"...what are you proposing?" Jason asked.


"I'm going to pay you a lot of money to help me kill people," Kelly said, standing up and pacing in front of him, "I'm going to get you back on your feet, but you do whatever I say whenever I say it. If I say to end someone, you do it."


"I...I can't do-"


"Cut the shit, Jason, don't try and pretend like you've grown a conscience, alright? You really willing to sit there and tell me to my face that you've never once fantasized about killing someone?" Kelly asked, "Everyone has, whether they admit to it or not. That person who keeps adding items to the belt once in line at the grocery store or maybe that person who cut you off illegally and then flipped you off, as if they weren't already in the wrong enough. Everyone thinks about it. But I'm brazen enough to do it."


"...why?" Jason asked.


"Because I'm rich, and I can," Kelly said, sitting back down and sipping her coffee, "Jason, if you help me, you will be well taken care of, and before you know it, you will have a life again. Unless you'd rather continue living in your car."


Jason scratched the back of his head. This afternoon had taken quite an unexpected turn, and he wasn't exactly sure how to deal with it. This teenage girl, Kelly, was way smarter than he'd originally pegged her for. She spoke elegantly, she was clearly well educated, but she was obviously malicious to a sickening extent. Could he really live with himself if he did what she wanted him to do? Could he stomach the things she might ask of him? And it wasn't like she was wrong. He had thought about it from time to time, in the exact ways she had described. Someone who'd wronged him just a little, making his day just a bit worse. Jason sighed and exhaled.


"...what do I need to do?" he asked.


Kelly smiled.


                                                                           ***


A young woman, skinny as a rail with piercing blue eyes and perfect, bouncy red hair, was shopping, scooting hanger after hanger holding chic clothing down the pole as she searched for something perfect. She was completely unaware of the teenage girl and the man who were watching her from just a bit down the aisle.


"Why, uh, why her?" Jason asked.


"I have my reasons," Kelly said coldly.


"And how do you plan to get away with this?" Jason asked in a hushed voice.


"Malls are notoriously well protected places, especially higher class malls, but you know what's surprising? For as much security as the inside of the mall has, the parking garage has none whatsoever. It's just endless concrete corridors full of people trusting enough to leave their cars there. There's no security cameras, there's rarely even bike cops. I've tagged her car a few weeks back, and we parked right next to her."


"Jesus you're methodical," Jason said, "Shouldn't you get a hobby like a normal teenager?"


"This is my hobby," Kelly said, "Also I kind of like stamp collecting."


"Really? I do too actually," Jason said.


"She's found something," Kelly said, "come on."


They must've watched the girl for an hour or so, before she finally checked out. Then they walked a bit behind her as she headed through the mall. She stopped at the food court, got herself a juice from a stand and then continued along her way, the whole while Jason and Kelly just far enough back to not arouse her suspicions.


"Have you ever considered going to therapy? Lord knows you could at least afford it," Jason asked.


"I was in therapy as a little girl," Kelly said.


"And?"


"The therapist requested I stop coming," Kelly said.


Jason didn't ask again.


Once they were out in the parking lot, they waited behind a pillar, watching the woman. She put her bags in the back of her convertible, then climbed inside herself. She checked her makeup and hair in the mirror, then started the car. Kelly stuffed a small burlap sack into Jason's hands and counted down. Just as the car was starting to back out, she nodded, and Jason - unsure of how this had even gotten so far - rushed out, hopping into the back of the convertible and throwing the sack around her head. Kelly then rushed up, turning the keys and shutting the car off as Jason pulled the woman out of the car and into Kellys. Kelly then turned the womans car back on momentarily, pulled it back into the parking spot fully and grabbed her shopping bags, taking them with her. She climbed into her car, started it up and pulled away.


It had all been so smooth, Jason realized, that he was amazed people didn't get kidnapped more often.


After driving a while, Kelly finally pulled into the parking lot of an old textile factory. She stopped the car, then climbed out, snapping her fingers. Jason followed like an obedient dog, pulling himself out first before pulling the woman with him. They dragged her inside the building, tied her wrists and ankles together, then pulled the sack off. Her makeup had run, and she looked terrified, but also angry as hell. When her eyes landed on Kelly, all of her looks softened.


"Kelly?" she asked.


"Hi Tanya," Kelly said, "Gosh it's been a while hasn't it?"


"Kelly what the fuck are you-"


"You don't get to talk, you talked enough," Kelly said, kneeling down and slapping tape over Tanya's mouth. She then sat cross legged on the floor in front of her and sighed, saying, "you really took my dad for all he was worth, didn't you? You know, he still thinks about you. Even after sleeping with a dozen other models, you were still his favorite, and the only he was really connected to. It wasn't bad enough to damage my family, but then you just left. That's what really pissed me off. I can't be that mad at you for sleeping with my dad, because that's half his decision, but you didn't need to hurt him like that."


Tanya looked away from Kelly and up to Jason, who was standing nearby, arms folded as he just watched quietly. Tanya then saw Kelly snapping her fingers in front of her face and she brought her eyes back to Kelly, who patted her cheek gently.


"Atta girl, pay attention," she said, "So here's how this is gonna work. You do a lot of hand modeling still, right?"


Tanya nodded.


"Perfect," Kelly said, "Because that's what we're working with. I'm gonna ask you a series of questions, and you're gonna answer them, and for every answer I don't like, my friend here's gonna cut a finger off. We'll see how well you do in the hand model industry when missing a few digits."


Kelly stood up and walked to Jason, handing him a small pair of branch trimmers, looking at him.


"You okay?" she asked, sounding genuinely concerned.


"I...I feel kinda sick, but otherwise I think I'm handling it better than expected," he said.


"Good," she said, turning back and pulling a piece of paper from her pocket and looking at it before looking at Tanya again; Kelly cleared her throat and asked, "Alright Tanya, question number one, where's my moms jade bracelet that my dad got her for their 5th anniversary?"


Tanya said something muffled, and Kelly reached down, pulling the tape off her mouth.


"Sorry," Kelly said, "I didn't catch that."


"It's in my apartment in the nightstand beside my bed," Tanya said.


"Okay," Kelly said, "Question number two, why did you think sleeping with my dad was a good idea? Wasn't it enough to be paid to be attractive?"


"He...he came onto me and-"


"And you could've said no, right? It's amazing how many options you had in the moment and which one you chose to go with. That decision really says more about you than you could ever say out loud," Kelly said, "I didn't like that answer, but I'm gonna give you another chance, okay? Why'd you think sleeping with my dad was a good idea?"


"Be...because I...I thought maybe he would get me better work if I did, and...and he...he's a really handsome and nice man, Kelly," Tanya said.


"...alright, I'll accept that," Kelly said, "Question number three...why'd you call me a spoiled slut?"


"...what?"


"Once, when you and my dad were hanging out and you didn't think I could hear you, I heard you say to a friend on the phone that I was a spoiled slut. What makes you think that's okay? First of all, it isn't my fault my parents have accumulated wealth. I had nothing to do with that. I was born into it. I don't see how that makes me spoiled. I don't ask for anything, really, except maybe my car, and as for the slut part, well, that's just downright inaccurate. I'll have you know, Tanya, that I'm still a virgin, believe it or not."


"I'm...I'm sorry, I just-"


"I mean, don't teenage girls have enough problems without women older than them putting them down? I have self image issues, I'm not perfect. I struggle with my weight sometimes, and a lot of that comes from being the daughter of a man who regularly deals with malnourished women in an industry that favors beauty over health. I didn't deserve that, so why'd you say it? Did you just say it because you thought I couldn't hear you? And what makes that okay?"


"I...I don't...I'm sorry," Tanya said, crying, "I didn't mean it, I just...we never really got along and-"


"Of course we didn't, you were sleeping with my dad," Kelly said, "What'd you expect Tanya, you think I was gonna call you mom?"


"I'm sorry! I don't know why I did it, I'm sorry!" Tanya shouted, and Kelly shook her head.


"I don't like that answer, because it's not an answer," Kelly said, whistling and walking away as Jason walked forward. Tanya started screaming as he knelt down and put the cutters around her right index finger and she could feel the sharp cutters against her skin.


"I'm sorry," he whispered, before cutting her finger off at the knuckle. Her screams were unlike anything Jason had ever heard, and they made him sick to his stomach. By the time they were finished, she'd be missing two more fingers. Afterwards, when they dropped her back off at the mall, Tanya had swore she'd stay quiet and stay away from Kelly and her dad. She'd make up some story to the hospital about her fingers. As she pulled away in her car out of the parking garage, Kelly and Jason watching her go, Kelly couldn't help but smile.


"I think she got the message," Kelly said.


"What kind of message were you trying to send?" Jason asked.


"Don't fuck with me," Kelly said flatly.


                                                                              ***


Kelly knew her father wouldn't be using his lovenest for a bit, so she let Jason stay there momentarily. She told him she'd call him the next day, before she headed home herself. When she got there, she found her mom had actually made dinner, and that she and her father were actually sitting in the living room, eating dinner and watching TV. When Kelly walked in, they shouted happily at her, asking her to join them. Kelly dumped her things on the floor and climbed onto the couch, between her parents, laying her head on her dad's shoulder.


All she wanted was her family, and nothing was going to get in the way of that.


Jason, meanwhile, spent a rather sleepless night in the lovenest. He rolled back and forth on the pull out couch. Everytime he shut his eyes he could hear Tanya's screams, he could see her fingers sitting on the floor of the textile factory, bleeding profusely. Jason finally got up and scavanged in the fridge for something to eat. He found some leftover pizza from a good nearby pizzeria, and he turned the TV on, which flickered to life instantly, on some true crime show. Jason quickly changed the channel.


He dreamed a lot that night, when he did finally crash out.


He dreamed about his daughter, he dreamed about his old life, his old job, and he dreamed about Tanya. When he awoke the next morning, it was because Kelly was in the kitchen, using the blender to make a smoothie. He looked up, groggily to see her in a tracksuit, her hair up in a ponytail.


"...you jog?" he asked.


"Need to stay in shape," Kelly said, "You look like you could use some breakfast. I brought a box of donuts and coffee. Eat, then take a shower. We have work to do."


When she exited, Jason let his head fall back on the couch's pillow and he groaned.


He was going to miss living in his car by the end of this.


Kelly did in fact jog for her health, but she was jogging for another reason. A very particular, specific route, because she was watching someone. Marking down their habits, their routines, their comings and goings. She knew the next person she wanted dealt with, and she was going to make sure she had all the information necessary before starting the job. While she was gone, Jason showered, ate, dressed and, while brushing his teeth, looked at himself in the mirror. He saw the man he used to be, before he'd lost it all, and he was happy to see that man again...


...completely unaware of just how difficult it'd be to be that man after getting involved with Kelly Baker.

Published on
High school graduation is one of those things you never expect to actually happen.

You fixate on it for so long, you always imagine life after school, but you never really expect it to come, and when it does, so many students wind up completely unprepared and flapping in the wind mere months later. Leaning against the lockers, waiting for Scarlett to finish her makeup in the nearby bathroom, Wyatt was looking at his neatly manicured nails when he heard a snicker from beside him. He glanced and noticed Rachel Minnow sitting on the floor - also in her graduation gown - sitting there, doodling.

"What?" Wyatt asked, somewhat grinning.

"Nothing, just never seen a guy look at his nails the way you are," she replied.

"Oh, it's only cause my girlfriend did them so they'd look good today," Wyatt said, "I can see you're not a believer in proper hygiene though."

"Hey, my nails are perfectly fine, thank you," Rachel said, setting her pen down in her book and looking up and down the hall, sighing, adding, "it's weird, right? This whole thing is weird? The fact that come an hour or two from now, we'll no longer be students? Hell, we never have to be again if we don't want to. College isn't an outright requirement."

"This is true," Wyatt said.

"I never thought this would actually happen. School is so long, it just seems like it would go on indefinitely. I never really thought the day would come when I'd be an adult," Rachel said, "it's...scary."

"It is scary, yeah," Wyatt said, "but hey, look at it this way, school is full of assholes, right? So at least after today, we'll probably never see any of these people ever again. That's pretty good, right?"

Rachel thought for a moment, then nodded. It was good. She didn't like basically anyone at the school, save for Sun Rai, and after today she'd never have to interact with any of them ever again if she didn't want to. If only she knew that, ten years later, she'd be stuck right back with the people she vowed to never see again.

Life's funny that way.

                                                                                                      ***

Wyatt pulled up to Calvin's house early that morning. Calvin was disheveled, wearing sunglasses, and had a plastic grocery bag full of snacks. Wyatt smirked as he climbed into the car and Calvin pulled off his sunglasses momentarily, smirking.

"What?" he asked.

"Didn't realize we were goin' on a picnic," Calvin said.

"Hey, we can't just blow him up immediately, it needs to be remote detonated, but it has to happen at the most random time, so we might be here for a while. You're free to have some of what I brought," Calvin said as he buckled his seatbelt.

Calvin started up the car and began pulling away, heading to Grudin's first Tuesday stop, his local bank. As Calvin sipped his coffee, he sighed and looked at the styrofoam cup in his hands. It had come from Rachel's place of work, and he smiled. How weird it was, to be here ten years later, with the same exact people. He glanced over at Wyatt and cleared his throat as they pulled to a red light.

"You ever think about the fact that we barely spoke in school and now, here we are, about to commit a murder together?" Calvin asked.

"Please, let's not call it a murder. It's a mercy killing," Wyatt said.

"Whatever verbage you need to use to soften the blow to your morality is fine with me, I just think it's weird," Calvin said, "you know...I just never really thought I'd see you or anyone from school ever again, and yet here we are. Not that we ever interacted much in school, but still. The whole idea is weird, but I guess that's what happens when people never leave the town they went to school in."

"I always sort of assumed that I'd have left this place at this point in my life," Wyatt said, "Never wanted to work for my dad, but I couldn't resist the offer, especially once Scarlett got pregnant. He quite literally made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

Calvin chuckled as he reached into the bag and pulled out a travel sized bag of chips, pulling it open as Wyatt continued.

"Believe me, if I could've just taken Scarlett and run for the hills, I would've in an instant," Wyatt said.

"I couldn't stand being that far away from my parents, they're my best friends," Calvin said.

"That's sweet."

"Especially after losing my wife and kid, they're really the only ones I feel like I can depend on," Calvin said, "besides, what with my sister having run off, I couldn't leave them completely childless like that. It would just be outright cruel. We need eachother."

"Well, you're lucky," Wyatt said, "...wish I was blowing my dad up instead."

The red light turned green, and Wyatt sped off, heading towards the bank.

                                                                                                ***

Sun Rai was making herself breakfast when the knock at her door, urgent sounding in its intensity, surprised her. She put the butter dish lid back on and headed to the front door, opening it to find Rachel standing on her porch. Each woman had the look of sheer surprise to see the other, but Sun Rai finally stepped aside and allowed Rachel inside the house.

"Your parents aren't here?" Rachel asked.

"No, my mother took my father to a doctors appointment," Sun Rai said, "Do you want some toast? I'm making toast."

"No, that's okay, thanks," Rachel said, walking down the hallway that connected the foyer to the rest of the house, looking at all the pictures of Sun Rai on the walls and smiling to herself, "...I guess this is kind of weird, right? Just showing up suddenly?"

"I did it to you, so it's only fair," Sun replied, making Rachel laugh.

"True, true," she said, "uh...god this is hard. Okay, so, like..."

Sun walked towards Rachel and Rachel stepped backward, stammering, blushing. She had so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to admit, and yet she couldn't do it. Despite waiting literal years to have this discussion, dreaming it would never happen, she now somehow found herself woefully unprepared.

"You don't have to say anything," Sun Rai said, and Rachel shook her head.

"No, no I have to, I have to say that I have been in love with you since high school and that I never could've expected you would feel the same way about me and that I'm terrified and-"

"I never have liked a woman before," Sun said, shrugging, "but there's something about you...so considerate and beautiful, so funny, I can't not like you. But you don't need to say anything about it, because I believe you. I believe it's hard to admit it, and I just want you to not feel you owe me any sort of explanation or anything, because you don't."

"I'm a screwed up lady, Sun. I...I gave up my dreams, I have some pretty severe mental health issues and I'm involved in some things I probably shouldn't be, but...I can't ignore a decades worth of feelings, you know? No matter how scared I might be, I just can't ignore the fact that you're here, that you actually like me, that we wound up working together. To ignore that would be like giving the middle finger to destiny."

Sun Rai threw her head back, laughing, which made Rachel feel better.

"I wanna try it," Rachel said, "If you want to."

"Of course," Sun Rai said, taking Rachel's hand and pulling her closer, then touching her face and pushing her lips against Rachel's. Rachel shut her eyes and kissed Sun Rai back, eager to finally, after a decade of fantasizing, taste her. Needless to say, it didn't disappoint. As the kiss ended, Rachel blushed, laughing nervously and looking at her feet.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "I'm just...I'm not very good with romance."

"Come have some breakfast," Sun Rai said, leading her to the kitchen.

Rachel nodded, following happily. In the midst of all this bullshit, she could use some domesticity for a change.

                                                                                                     ***

Grudin's schedule on Tuesday saw him hit the local bank, then do a stopover from some light campaigning at a college before heading to lunch. They figured lunch would be the best spot. Something so ordinary and mundane would certainly made it seem less sketchy and suspicious that his car would randomly explode. He'd arrived early for lunch at his regular spot, a bar and grill called Rudy's, which meant Wyatt and Calvin were sitting in Wyatt's car across the parking lot, keeping a keen eye on both Grudin in the restaurant and his vehicle. Grudin always took a window seat, and Calvin had even made a map of the interior of the restaurant, marking which seat was his.

Wyatt shoveled chips from the bag into his mouth, wiping the dust on his pants and sighing. He glanced over at Calvin, who was making some kind of notes, and he adjusted his seat so he could lean back a bit, opening up the sunroof so he could feel the sun on his face as he relaxed. He knew he had to be alert, but he figured he could take a moment for a breather.

"At least he gets a full meal," Wyatt said.

"Alright, ya know what, you don't get any of my snacks anymore," Calvin said, "besides, he ordered nothing but a patty melt and a shrimp cocktail."

"Good last meal, actually," Wyatt said, picking at his teeth.

Calvin smirked and went back to looking through his binoculars. Wyatt readjusted his chair and sat back upright, holding the remote detonator in his hand and looking it over. He glanced from the remote to Calvin and raised an eyebrow.

"How did you learn to do all this?" Wyatt asked.

"Took shop class in high school," Calvin said, "that got me interested in building things, but I kind of fell off the interest once I got married and had a kid. Once Grudin killed my wife and child, I just knew I wanted him to suffer in a way as painful as they did, and blowing him up seemed like the easiest way, funny as that may sound. If we have remote detonator, how are they going to pin that on Oliver? I mean, wouldn't he have to be alive to detonate it?"

"Well, maybe he had an accomplice and after he died the accomplice still carried out the plan," Wyatt said, "in memory of his partner in crime."

"Mmm. Just seems like there's a lot of gaps in this situation," Calvin said, "but whatever."

"Grudin's a politician, and not a very well liked one at that despite doing well in the polls. I'm willing to bet that his family would prefer to have him buried and move on without much investigation," Wyatt said, "I mean, politicians make a ton of enemies. Is it really worth the effort to track down all the possible suspects?"

"You may be right."

Grudin paid his check, stood up and pulled his jacket on, then picked up his doggy bag of leftovers and headed for the door. Calvin snapped his fingers repeatedly and pointed to Grudin on the move. Wyatt sat upright now, clenching the remote in his hand, sweaty as sweaty could be.

"He's heading to his car," Calvin said.

"I don't think I can do it," Wyatt suddenly said, making Calvin look at him.

"What?!"

"I...I don't know," Wyatt said, "I feel...sick."

"This was your fucking idea!"

"I know, but...but I can't kill someone, I was...I was talking out my ass, and I..."

Calvin snatched the remote from Wyatt and snarled at him.

"I'll do it my fucking self then," he said angrily, but Wyatt fought for the control back, the two men now wrestling in the car. Grudin exited the restaurant and got into his car. He put his doggy bag on the passenger side seat, and then he attempted to start the car. Wyatt felt the control in his hand, and he instinctively clicked the button. It was all over so fast. The explosion was immediate, and afterwards, both men sat there in utter shock. They waited, afraid to drive away as that would look suspicious, so instead they slid down in their seats, hoping nobody would see them.

Unfortunately for them, they'd be there for a few hours, hearing the sirens get closer, and the people chatter.

                                                                                                     ***

Leslie Grudin was standing in her kitchen, preparing her daughter's late afternoon snack, the both of them singing along to the music on the radio. Their daughter, Michelle, was homeschooled thanks to a learning disability, and Leslie was happy to have her daughter around. The house got so lonely when Robert wasn't around, and she appreciated the company. As Leslie set down the plate of apple slices and cheese on the table, she stroked her daughters hair.

"There you go sweetheart," she said, "What are you drawing?"

"A picture for daddy," she said.

"I'm sure he'll love it," Leslie said, kissing the top of her daughters head and going back to the sink to wash her hands when she noticed the cop car pull up in front of the house. She continued smiling, thinking that was just where they were parking to visit someone else, never once considering that they were, in fact, there for her, to deliver the worst news of her life. It wasn't until the knock at the door that a knot formed in Leslie's stomach. She went to answer it, and there the cop stood on the porch.

"Can I help you?" she asked politely, her voice wavering nervously.

"Ma'am, I-" the cop started, until he noticed Michelle sitting at the table, "why don't you step outside?"

Leslie did as she was told, shutting the door behind her.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice now stern, but still scared sounding.

"It's your husband," the cop told her, "there's been an...incident."

Whatever he said after that, Leslie didn't hear. All she knew was that Robert was never coming home, and that that picture their daughter had spent the afternoon drawing for him would never be seen. She listened to what the cop told her - an explosion of some kind, the car blown to bits - but she didn't really take any of it in. All she felt, after the initial coldness, was a growing rage. Oh sure, she'd expect the cops to try and figure out what happened, but she instinctively knew it was a vendetta of some kind, and she vowed to herself then and there that she'd rectify the situation.

No matter what it took.

                                                                                               ***

"Robert Grudin is out of the race for election," the news anchor said solemnly, "after his vehicle exploded abruptly this evening, and the hopeful potential elect was killed inside it. Police have their suspects, but no arrests have been made thusfar. The main suspect is also deceased. Still, the community mourns a man who could've been great for them, had one angry individual not taken him away from us. This is-"

The TV clicked off. Calvin leaned back against the couch, exhaling, as he rolled his head and looked over at Rachel who was seated on the couch alongside him. Rachel looked at Calvin, bit her lip and shook her head, then leaned forward and buried her face in her hands, running them up through her hair.

"...I can't believe this," she whispered, "I can't believe it happened. It all just seems so surreal."

"That mother fucker," Calvin muttered.

"What?" Rachel asked, turning and looking back at him.

"That was my goal, my decision, and he took it away from me. I was supposed to do it for my family, and he took my vengeance out of my hands," Calvin said, "mother fucker. I never liked him."

"Why?" Wyatt asked, stepping back into the living room, beer in hand, Celia right behind him; he sipped the beer then asked again, "inform me why you never liked me."

"Because you always had to be the center of attention!" Calvin said sternly, standing up now, almost face to face with Wyatt, adding, "and now look what you've done! Nobody asked you to do this for me! Nobody asked you to...to take away what was rightfully mine to do! He destroyed my family!"

"Calvin, I just saved you from a lifetime of prison, alright? Trust me, you would've been one of the first people they looked at. That situation was highly publicized, and you two were closely entwined. They would've come for you almost instantly. What I did was divert that attention to someone else, and give us a bit of breathing room to figure out what our next move is."

Wyatt sighed, wiped his mouth on his jacket sleeve then sat down on a nearby ottoman, Celia seating herself beside him.

"Now," Wyatt said, "...let's figure out a way to make sure this never comes back to us."

"They've already pegged Brighton as their main suspect, you heard them," Rachel said, "I mean...what else could we do to alleviate ourselves of any wrong doing?"

"We just need to get our stories straight, so everything lines up," Wyatt said, turning to Celia, "and if nothing else, we have a lawyer to back us up."

"An environmental lawyer, you idiot," Calvin said coldly.

"So...what do we do now?" Rachel asked.

"We make sure none of us deviate from the story, and we stay in close contact. If anyone comes asking anything, we deny everything. None of us were ever anywhere near Grudin, except Calvin from the accident, but otherwise we know nothing and had nothing to do with it. Until that day comes, and if that day comes, we go on with our lives, just like normal."

"Just like normal," Rachel said, echoing Wyatt softly, "right."

Whatever normal was, though, Rachel didn't know.

After the group split and went their respective ways, Calvin too left his house and drove to the cemetery. He picked up some flowers on the way, and when he arrived he walked through the mostly empty graveyard until he found his wife and daughters graves. He sat down between the two headstones and laid the flowers - splitting them in half - one each grave. Calvin looked up at the sky and thought about what had happened that day, and the last few days in fact. He'd done the right thing, sure. Robert Grudin was dead. But that vengeance didn't bring his family back. Was that why he felt empty? Who knew.

But he took the victory for what it was.

Meanwhile, Wyatt picked Mona up from her afterschool group and drove home. He found Scarlett making dinner when they got home, and the family all ate together as if nothing was wrong. As if Wyatt hadn't just blown a man up earlier that afternoon. Scarlett smiled at him like nothing was wrong, because, to her, nothing was wrong. She knew nothing about what he'd been a part of, and if he did his job, she never would. That night, after she'd fallen asleep, Wyatt sat in bed and watched the news coverage which seemed to take over every channel. All he saw were pictures of Grudin's car, in some state of burning at all times, and of course Grudin himself. He listened to people talk about their colleague, their friend, the hopeful electorate, but Wyatt didn't feel bad.

Until he saw the family photo. They put the family photo of Grudin with his wife and their daughter on the television, and Wyatt honed in on the announcers voice.

"Grudin, of course, leaves behind his wife, Leslie, and daughter Michelle. Michelle, seven years old, is homeschooled due to a learning disorder, and was reportedly confused when her father didn't come home that night. Leslie Grudin has struggled with how to break the news to her. Our hearts go out to this poor little girl, and this family, left in tatters."

Wyatt muted the television. Grudin's daughter was just like his. He felt like he needed to vomit. He stood up, went to the bathroom and washed his face, looking at himself in the mirror, before he went to Mona's bedroom and watched her sleep. He sat on the side of her bed and gently stroked her hair. Wyatt suddenly felt like the worst person in the whole world.

How could he have done this?

Rachel, however, felt the best she had in years. She and Sun Rai went out that evening to see a movie and get dinner and do some browsing at a local bookshop. Holding hands most of the night, it was the thing Rachel had always dreamed of. She never once thought about Robert Grudin, and she didn't even considering what she'd been involved in. All that mattered to Rachel right then was this moment, with Sun Rai. At one point, when Sun Rai was looking at a book of ancient architecture from various cultures, Rachel - a bit down the aisle from her - casually looked over and admired her, smiling to herself.

And Celia...well, Celia went home that night, and let her son sleep in her bed while they watched movies and ate ice cream. She tried not to think about what had happened, about what she'd gotten involved in, but when she saw the same news report Wyatt had, after her son had fallen asleep, she too couldn't help but feel sick. She tried to ignore it, drinking half a bottle of wine, but it didn't do much besides slightly calm her nerves and help her eventually fall asleep.

Things would be strange for a while, she thought as she began to drift off to sleep, but eventually everyone would move on, and nobody would remember the incident. Robert Grudin would be buried, and the past would be the past. Besides, as the news even put it, the main suspect was already dead considering it was being pinned on Oliver Brighton, and who would look into a dead man? Celia put her arm around her son, pulling him close to her and breathing his smell in. She smiled, and fell asleep.

                                                                                                ***

A phone rang.

It rang again, and this time a hand reached over to the bedside table, until it wrapped its fingers around the phone and lifted the receiver to the face in the bed, half asleep.

"Hello?" the man answered groggily.

"Brighton is dead," a voice said, "I don't know if you've heard."

"What? When did-"

"The other day, killed himself and his family. He's being blamed for a local politicians death as well," the voice said, "which means they'll likely begin investigating Brighton closely, which means they could find his connection to us. We need to do something, or the business runs the risk of being exposed."

The man sat up in bed and rubbed his forehead.

"Alright, I'll get on a plane and head back," he said, "I'll see what I can find before the cops do. If Brighton's smart, he put all the product somewhere safe, somewhere not easily traceable. I'll call you when I get there."

The man, Leonard Wattson, hung up and sighed. He then got up from the bed, got dressed and started packing a few suitcases. He then walked back into the bedroom from his walk in closet and shook his head. Production would have to stop for a while, but the girls deserved a break. They'd been working hard lately, and he could see they were tired. He then headed down the hall, towards the front door. He'd buy his ticket in cash when he arrived at the airport. As he passed the photos hanging on the wall, he stopped and looked at one, shaking his head again. The photo was of the history class he'd once taught, and sitting near him in the front of the photo was Oliver Brighton. His best supplier was dead, and he would find out who did this and why.

He'd worked hard for years to hone Brighton's abilities, and now it was all gone in the blink of an eye. Someone had pushed Brighton to do what he'd done, this much he was certain of, and when he found out who, and why, there would be hell to pay. He wasn't about to let not just his best supplier but also his entire empire come crashing down simply because of the murder of a local politician. He'd free Oliver of these claims, find out who had connected him to Grudin's death, and make right of the whole thing, the whole time believing he was truly doing good when in fact he was just as bad as Brighton himself.

He was just protecting his assets, illegal as they may be.

As he slammed his front door shut, the photos on the wall swayed, and the class photo fell to the floor, the glass cracking upon impact.
Published on
Calvin stepped back from the table and smiled. He was looking down at his creation, his bomb, then grabbed a nearby damp washcloth and cleaned his hands of the grime and sweat that had accrued on them from working on this today. Finally, after months and months of reading about about to properly make an explosive device, he'd accomplished it, and he was happy. Calvin needed coffee. He exited the shed, locked it behind him and headed across the backyard, mug in hand. He reached the patio and stepped up, slid open the glass door and got into the kitchen. He found his father had already made a pot, and he poured himself a cup, then headed back outside. Standing on the patio, looking at the shed from across the lawn, he couldn't help but feel accomplished. He was suddenly surprised when he heard a knocking at the side gate, and he could see a woman's head peeking over the top. Calvin furrowed his brow.

"Is he back there?" Wyatt asked from behind the fence.

"I think I see him," Rachel said.

"Well hurry up, get him to come to the gate, you weigh a ton," Wyatt said.

"Don't say that to a woman!" Rachel replied.

Calvin sighed, set his mug down on the table on the patio and headed to the gate. He unlatched it, just as Rachel was climbing down off Wyatt's back. Calvin stood and stared at them, as Rachel smoothed out her shirt and Wyatt got off his knees, wiping the grass stains from his pants.

"What the hell are you doing?" Calvin asked, half bemused.

"We know how to kill Robert Grudin and not have you pinned for it," Rachel said, "We just need your bomb."

"...come in," Calvin said after a moment, stepping aside, curious to hear their plan. He shut the gate again once they were in, locking it and biting his lip. Calvin followed them to the shed, unlocked it again and let all three of them inside, shutting and locking it from the inside once again. He then turned to face them and asked, "so, what's your plan?"

"I don't know if you saw the news this morning, but Oliver Brighton killed his family and himself," Rachel said, "remember Oliver? We went to school with him? Kinda lanky weird kid?"

"Yeah, that narrows it down," Calvin mumbled, making them smirk.

"Anyway," Rachel continued, "he worked for a company that was set to destroy natural property for high priced condominiums, and we figure if we kill Robert Grudin, everyone will suspect it will be an act of revenge from Brighton."

"Why would they assume that?" Calvin asked.

"Because Grudin's been one of the biggest proponents of industry and giving these companies the go ahead," Wyatt said, stepping forward, "He's the one funding these projects, especially this company Morgana, and so people will learn Oliver was let go from his job, then decided to take Grudin out for his willingness to put industry before nature before killing himself."

"But Brighton's already dead," Calvin said, "wouldn't it be poor timing if-"

"We thought about that, and we think if we just set it so that it's been waiting to be activated then people won't think twice. This was his final act after his death, sort of a revenge from beyond the grave type of thing," Rachel said.

"...your proposal is all very interesting, but Grudin is my target. He killed my family," Calvin said, "by shirking that responsibility-"

"By shirking that responsibility," Rachel said, interrupting him, "you'd be in the clear, Grudin would be out of the picture and Morgana would be under investigation for their shady business practices. It works out in everyones favor. I know you feel you need to do this for your wife, your daughter, but...but don't throw your life away for this piece of shit, Calvin. You don't deserve to lose that too."

Calvin looked from Rachel to Wyatt, who just shrugged, and then back at Rachel. She was sincere, and he knew that. He had to admit, he hated the idea of going to prison, and he did enjoy his freedom. Calvin sighed and nodded, setting his mug down on the table.

"...alright," he said, "but if we're doing this, I'm the one placing it. At least grant me that much."

"Of course," Rachel said, smiling and hugging him.

It'd been a long, weird, winding road, but it was all finally coming together, and in a day or so, Robert Grudin would be dead, and Calvin Klepper would not only have his revenge but be free of any blame. He had to admit, he did kinda like blaming someone else for his poor decisions.

                                                                                                  ***

Calvin Klepper had been tracking Robert Grudin's movements for over a year.

He knew his schedule, down to a tee, and he kept a highly detailed log of his excursions. He even noted the days he made stops somewhere else, just to make sure that, when he finally exploded him, he wouldn't have someone with him. Grudin was the only one Calvin wanted, he didn't need collateral damage. Sitting in the car together that afternoon, watching Grudin's car from afar, Wyatt couldn't help but feel awkward being here with Calvin. Rachel had to go back to work, leaving Calvin and Wyatt alone together. Calvin bit into the cart burrito's he'd bought them just around the corner, and chewed, binoculars still to his face.

"So..." Wyatt said, "uh...about your sister."

"Don't, just don't," Calvin said.

"I just...I guess we should talk about it. I should explain myself."

"There's nothing to explain," Calvin said, "you hurt her and now she's not here. Simple as that."

"No, because it's not simple as that," Wyatt said, "your sister was awesome, I just...I didn't know how to explain that to her, nor did I know how to deal with liking her. I was a star baseball player, man. I was popular as shit. Peer pressure does weird things to an adolescents brain. I certainly didn't intend for her to get hurt. Besides, once I met Scarlett, anything I might've felt for your sister was gone."

Calvin slowly looked at Calvin, finished chewing, then said, "...she doesn't talk to us anymore, do you know that? She's so distraught from feeling unlovable that she doesn't even communicate with her own family anymore because, to her, anyone is a liability intimacy wise."

"I'm sorry, man," Wyatt said, "For what it's worth, my feelings were genuine."

"I believe you, that's the sick part," Calvin said, "but that doesn't mean I forgive you for it."

"Look, I know what you've been through sucks, losing your wife and daughter, and it must make you angry, especially at anyone else who might've been mean, even if incidentally so, to anyone in your family, but Calvin, if I hadn't met Scarlett, I...I would've taken her out, I really would've. I couldn't ignore my feelings, even with my popularity at stake. I was a high school boy, sure, but I wasn't an asshole."

"...yeah, that's kind of the thing that's confused me for years about you, actually," Calvin said, "I wanna be angry at you, but you seem so genuine that it makes it difficult to hold a grudge."

Wyatt laughed, which made Calvin chuckle a little. Wyatt hadn't thought about Calvin's sister in a while, but it wasn't like he never thought about her. Sure, Scarlett was the love of his life, he couldn't deny that, but Calvin's sister, Amelia Klepper, was such an interesting girl, and he'd been so smitten with her that he was actually nervous about being around her, something he'd never dealt with when dealing with women he'd been interested.

"So...you don't know how she's doing?" Wyatt asked quietly.

"Not really. I get an e-mail from her once a year, maybe," Calvin said, "sort of an infodump about her life, but divulging nothing of real note. I like to believe she's happy and doing well, wherever she is and whatever it is she's spending her life doing."

Just then Wyatt pointed out the window and they both slid down in their car seats. Robert Grudin had walked out of the building, unlocked his car and climbed inside. He started the car, and pulled away, just as Calvin did the same, maintaining a safe distance so as not to seem suspicious. They drove for a while, nearly heading across town.

"Of all the days I've noted," Calvin said, "the one day he never does anything with anyone else is Tuesdays. That's the day when it'd be perfect to strike."

"Alright," Wyatt said, "god, if you'd had asked me months ago where I'd be now, I certainly wouldn't have said this."

"That's the thing about loss that I've learned," Calvin said, turning to follow Grudin down yet another street, "it makes you desperate to protect what you really love. You never really know how far you'll go to save something until you're pushed to that edge."

"...I have a daughter in elementary school, her name's Mona," Wyatt said, "we recently got her diagnosed with ASD, and ever since then, all I've wanted to do is protect her and make the world a better place for her to exist in. I'm so sorry about your daughter, Calvin, I...I can't even imagine not having mine in my life. That sort of grief must destroy a person."

"They were my entire world," Calvin said softly, "and when you lose your entire world, it makes you wanna burn down the rest of the world with the loss."

They didn't speak for the rest of the afternoon.

                                                                                                  ***

Rachel pulled into the parking lot and parked harshly, seeing Sun Rai sitting on the hood of her own car, drinking a coffee. Rachel got out of her car and stood there, the two women staring at one another. Rachel approached Sun's car and stood in front of her, not saying a word, just staring at her. After a long moment, Rachel finally took a long deep sigh and spoke.

"I'm scared," Rachel said, "I'm sorry I left so suddenly, I'm just...I'm scared of being hurt."

"That's totally understandable," Sun said, "I can quit the job if that makes you more comfortable. I'm sure I could get something else."

"No, god no, I...I love working with you. It's so great having you around," Rachel said, "this was always kind of my dream, dorky as that sounds, was us being together, doing something together, just...having fun. But now that my dream is a reality, I guess it frightens me. I lost everything after school, and I'm so not the girl I once was, and I guess having you back is sort of like being able to almost reclaim that girl I was, and that feels good but also scary. She was so uncertain of herself, of everything around her."

"Yeah, and you're so not like that," Sun said, smirking, making Rachel chuckle as she sat down on the hood beside Sun, picking at her nails.

"I guess...I just need to think about things," Rachel said, "I was almost assaulted during college and it...it really screwed me up for intimacy. Just give me some time, okay?"

"Take all the time you need," Sun said, "I mean, let's look at my life, it's not like I'm goin' anywhere."

They both laughed and Rachel laid her head on Sun's shoulder. All she'd ever wanted was this, but after seeing how Calvin had turned out from loss, seeing how Oliver reacted to losing something, she just couldn't bring herself to risk that. Not yet. Maybe sometime, but not yet. Just not yet.

                                                                                                     ***

That evening, Celia, Rachel, Calvin and Rachel met in Rachel's dingy apartment, seeing as she was the only one with any real kind of privacy. Sitting on the couch, everyone watched Wyatt give his little presentation as he explained the plan he and Calvin had formed.

"Here's the rub, guys. Robert Grudin was paying off Morgana to do this pre-construction, and his plan was that once he was elected, he'd officially fund their projects, damaging the environment for decades to come. Oliver Brighton worked for Morgana as a safety consultant, and was fired because he didn't prevent what Celia and I did on Halloween night. As a result, Oliver killed his family, then himself. But we think we can also pin Grudin's death on Oliver. We can take Oliver and make him a local hero, a fighter for what's right, a defender of the environment. Sure, what he did wasn't okay, but if it gets the heat off us, then it's worth it," Wyatt said, pacing.

"And how are we going to do that, exactly?" Celia asked.

"Good question," Wyatt said, "Calvin's built a bomb. Grudin killed Calvin's wife and daughter a few years back, and never took responsibility or faced legal repercussions as a result, and Calvin wanted revenge. If we can make it seem like Oliver left this bomb as one last measure, to take Grudin out for what he was doing with Morgana and for being fired, then Calvin gets his revenge and Grudin faces consequences and Brighton winds up an environmental martyr."

"...sounds good," Rachel said, not really there. She stood up and walked to the little kitchenette, looking around for a glass and a drink.

"This is ridiculous," Celia said, "how do you think we're going to get away with it? Won't they just-"

"Yes, they would've questioned a bomb left after his death, but the way we see it, Grudin's made so many enemies, that any kind of investigation would lead to quite a few people, and Brighton would be the most obvious choice, considering his recent activities. People are just going to automatically assume he did this, because, well...look at what happened to him. All we gotta do is place the bomb, make it seem like it's been waiting to be triggered, and kaboom, the end of Grudin and our problems."

Celia noticed Rachel off in the kitchen, and she stood up and headed to speak to her, leaving Wyatt and Calvin to discuss their plan.

"Hey," Celia said as she approached Rachel, "you doing alright?"

"I've been having a weird few days," Rachel said, "...someone I've loved for a long time finally admitted they like me, and I...I just don't know how to react."

"Wouldn't you be happy about that?"

"Under normal circumstances, sure," Rachel said, "but I'm scared to get that close to someone again."

"Look at the people in this room, Rachel," Celia said, as they both glanced back at Calvin and Wyatt, "Calvin lost his family, my husband left me and my son, and Wyatt is the only one with any kind of family, but he isn't sure how to keep them safe. We're all scared to be close to someone. That's just...what relationships are like. You get scared. But isn't the good they bring also worth the risk?"

"I don't know, is it?" Rachel asked, "I guess that's the million dollar question."

"That's something only you can answer," Celia said, "but let's put it another way. Do you wanna be Wyatt, with his wife and his children, or do you wanna be Oliver, who hated himself so much he wiped out his own lineage?"

Rachel looked down at her glass and shrugged as Wyatt and Calvin approached the girls in the kitchen.

"Alright," Wyatt said, "this coming Tuesday, we do this. You guys don't have to do anything. In fact, go to work, because that will give you alibis if ever needed. Calvin and I will take care of this, and we'll meet together once it's over, alright?"

"Sounds like a plan," Celia said, with Rachel nodding.

As everyone left, Rachel was finally alone again. She pulled the curtains on her windows shut, went into her bedroom and sat on her bed, thinking about what she was about to be involved in. She was about to have a hand in exploding a local politician. How had things gotten to this point? She couldn't be involved with someone, she couldn't risk getting them involved with something this ridiculous and dangerous. Rachel laid on her back and stared at the ceiling overhead, exhaling.

She realized what everyone was risking, and here she was, too scared to risk even loving another person.

Maybe she deserved to be alone.

                                                                                                   ***

Calvin was sitting on the patio that evening, sipping iced tea and staring at the shed, when he heard the glass door slide open and saw his father, Barry, exit and sit in the chair beside him. Barry and Calvin smiled at one another.

"Nice night," Barry said.

"It really is," Calvin said.

"Terrible what that man did, isn't it?" Barry asked, "That guy all over the news?"

"Oh, right, yeah. I can't imagine someone willingly taking away something so great," Calvin said, "I miss my child and wife so badly, and here's a guy willing to just destroy that firsthand. Despicable."

"I mean, we don't really know what was going on with him, but still," Barry said, "either way, those poor little girls and that woman didn't deserve to suffer because of his shortcomings and failures. You know, I know it may seem rude of me to say this but...you can start over, Calvin. There's no law that says you have to grieve forever. I know plenty of young women who'd be happy to go out with someone like you."

"Thanks dad," Calvin said, smiling as he swirled the cubes of ice in his glass, "but I'm alright for now, just being on my own, with you and mom. Maybe sometime later, when I'm ready, then I'll consider it. For now, grief is...comforting. It's become something I'm used to. I know that probably doesn't sound healthy, but...it's good."

"I totally get it," Barry said, "your mother and I love having you here. At least one of our kids wants to be in this family."

"That isn't fair, Amelia was always weird, she doesn't-"

"I know, I shouldn't judge her, I just...I miss her," Barry said.

"She'll come home eventually," Calvin said, "trust me."

"I hope you're right," Barry said, opening up the newspaper he'd brought out with him and starting to read it. Calvin looked back at the shed and sipped from his glass, thinking about his sister, thinking about Wyatt, and thinking about this weird fucked up friendship he now had with all these one time strangers from high school a decade prior.

                                                                                                ***

Robert Grudin read his daughter a bedtime story that night, then joined his wife on the couch in the living room to watch late night TV. Sitting there, laughing at a monologue, holding hands with his wife, Robert Grudin had no idea that in 48 hours he'd be blown to bits. But that didn't matter, because all that mattered was this moment, living right here, right now. Hell, he didn't even notice the man in the driveway, kneeling under his car, wiring up a bomb. When finished, Wyatt stood up and wiped the sweat from his forehead, then looked through the window from afar, noticing Grudin and his wife.

For one brief moment, Wyatt felt a pang of regret, but he knew this was something he had to do. And then he saw their daughter join them, and his guts twisted even more. He grimaced, turned and walked the few blocks to his car, got in and drove home. When he got there, he kissed Mona's forehead, careful not to wake her, before entering the bedroom and finding Scarlett sitting on the bed, doing a crossword. She looked up and smiled at him as he shut the door behind him.

"Hey!" she said, "where'd you-"

But before she could finish, he walked up to the bed, climbed on and kissed her heavily. She didn't resist, and even kissed him back.

"I love you more than anything in the world," Wyatt said after the kiss, putting his forehead against hers, lacing their fingers together.

"I love you too!" she said, giggling, "What brought this on?"

Wyatt thought for a moment.

"Seeing that guy on the news...kill his own wife...just made me realize how lucky and grateful I am to have you, to have the kids," Wyatt said, "that's all."

"Well that's sweet, even if kind of sick," Scarlett said, making him laugh. They laid on their backs on the bed and cuddled, and as she felt his fingers go through her silky hair, she shut her eyes and sighed pleasantly; she asked, "did you ever think, when we first met, that things would be like this one day? That this is where we'd be?"

"...no, I really didn't," Wyatt said, recalling the things he'd recently gotten involved with, "I can definitely say it's been a surprise."
Published on
Oliver Brighton had been a great student.

He'd been on the honor all throughout grade school, he'd been class valedictorian and he'd been so well put together that even Wyatt Bloom had been kind to him on the few occasions they interacted, which was surprising as Wyatt often had a habit of making fun of some of the more academically gifted students. Oliver had always been helpful, considerate, compassionate. He'd started an animal rights group at their high school, he'd courted his future wife in such ways that made her friends jealous, and he was often employee of the month at his yogurt job in college. So how does a man like that turn around and kill his entire family? Well, it's hard to pinpoint the exact spot where things started going downhill, but for Oliver, it was fairly easy to know. Contrary to popular belief about people who just snap, it was never a specific moment.

He'd always been a monster in the closet.

                                                                                                     ***

"Okay, fair enough. What should I do?" Oliver asked, following he as she started to walk back to the group of men.

"Find another job," she said, which stopped him in his tracks.

"Wh...what?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Oliver, but this is too big to ignore," Melinda said, "I have to deal with this. You're fired. Not my orders."

And with that she turned away and headed off to deal with the men. Oliver stood there, staring at the sight, aware his world was crumbling around him. Oliver turned and slowly walked back to his car. He got in, shut the door behind him and just stared at the sight in front of him. He felt rage building inside him. Everything he'd built up for himself, in a legitimate career, had suddenly come to an abrupt end. Oliver reached to the glovebox and opened it, looking at the handgun in it, then shut the glovebox and started the car.

He then started the car, and started to drive away. He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he needed to drive. He had this burning sensation in the pit of his stomach like he'd swallowed a bucket of lava. He had always been perfect, had a spotless track record, and now he was going to be seen as a screwup, a failure, a giant liability. Forget ever getting work with any other companies, because after hearing about this, there was no way in hell anyone would hire him. Oliver pulled over to a local bar and grill and parked, then got out and walked inside. He seated himself at a table in the back, ordered a basket of steak nachos and a light beer. He sat and ate and drink, and just thought. He thought about his options, and eventually came to the realization that he only had one.

And it could be solved with the gun in his glove compartment.

                                                                                               ***

"Girls, get your things together," Roberta said as she walked into the bedroom, seeing her daughters quickly packing. She stood in the doorway and watched momentarily, then added, "remember you don't have to take everything, okay? Clothes and shoes and stuff we can buy more of. Just pack the things that mean the most to you, alright? I'll carry it all out once you're done, just come get me."

Robert turned and walked briskly down the hall, back to her bedroom, continuing to pack herself. She'd waited for this day for so long. She'd planned it to a tee. She'd finally be leaving her husband and his monstrous behavior behind for good, and she'd be taking her kids and going to her brothers house a few states away. Her husband wouldn't even know where to find her, and that was all that she wanted. Once out and unencumbered, she knew she could muster up the strength and energy necessary to start filing divorce proceedings. Whether she'd go beyond that, talk to the police about his behavior, remained to be seen. Robert's first and foremost goal was to get her daughters to safety.

She heard a door open, and she groaned, tossing her dress down on top of the suitcase and heading back into the hall.

"Girls, don't try and take that stuff out yourselves, alright? I can-"

She stopped in the hall. Standing there was Oliver, his presence shocking her as he was supposed to be at work. Roberta tugged gently on her pearl necklace, grimacing.

"What are you doing home?" she asked.

"I got fired," Oliver said, "For something I didn't even do, or couldn't prevent. You going somewhere?"

"I just thought I'd take the girls to my parents for the weekend, so we could spend some time alone," Roberta said, lying through her teeth, "You know, just have some private time like we used to."

"That sounds nice," Oliver said, slowly walking down the hallway. It was then that Roberta noticed the gun in his hand. She tensed up and tried not to draw attention to her nervousness, pulling her eyesight away from the gun in his hand. Oliver stopped in front of the bedroom door and looked at it. He pushed the door open a little and reached inside, grabbing their oldest daughter who was 7 by the hair, and dragging her out into the hall, putting the gun to the side of her head.

"Oliver, what-"

"I could make sure we have alone time forever, if that's what you'd prefer," he said, "I provided for this family, and you're trying to leave? After all I've given you?"

"What have you given us besides PTSD?" Roberta asked, immediately regretting her snark, "I'm sorry, that was wrong of me. I just...let her go, okay? Let her go, and let's go and talk about things. I know things haven't been good for a while, but the girls have nothing to do with that. They're tired, Oliver, they're tired of everything you make them do, and I think it's only fair we let them go live with my family and I'll...I'll get a job, okay? That'll cover whatever monetary loss we take and-"

"You think whatever you make would even come close to what the girls manage to bring in?" Oliver asked, sighing, then releasing his grip on his daughters hair, "go on, go to your mother."

As she started walking quickly down the hall, tears in her eyes, Roberta opened her arms wide to embrace her. Oliver sniffled, raised the handgun and put five bullets into the back of his daughter. Roberta felt like the entire world stopped. She dropped to her knees and wanted to scream, but nothing came out of her. Suddenly she saw their younger daughter, only 4, standing at the doorway to her bedroom, hugging a stuffed animal tightly to her chest. Oliver looked from Roberta to the girl, raised the gun again and pulled the trigger. One shot, clean through the head. Roberta crumpled to the floor. She felt Oliver walked towards her, grab her by the hair and drag her down the hallway back to their bedroom. She didn't even care anymore what he might do to her, because for Roberta Brighton, her world was already over.

                                                                                                 ***

Abuse begets abuse, or at least that's the theory many subscribe to anyway.

If you're abused as a child, you're likely going to abuse others as an adult. But this isn't actually the case. Surprisingly, more often than not, the abused go the opposite route, and wind up becoming the most empathetic and considerate people you could hope to meet, almost going out of their way to make sure those around them are okay. They never want someone to go through what they went through. Oliver Brighton came from a normal home with a normal loving family. He never suffered any kind of abuse of any sort from anyone anywhere. Even at school he was left relatively alone, despite being on the dorkier side of things. His mother and father lauded praise onto him, and Oliver was the highlight of his family.

But that didn't mean Oliver Brighton was going to grow up to be a good man. When he started dating, he'd come off as a relatively clean cut nice guy, the sort of guy your folks would almost be thrilled to have their daughter romance, but behind closed doors, Oliver Brighton was a sick and twisted individual. He hurt these women, sexually and otherwise. Sometimes he'd just be angry, and sometimes it'd be to get his rocks off. Oliver Brighton, despite looking like someone who'd have the demeanor of someone who writes computer code for a living instead had a violent temper, one that he couldn't control, nor would he want to. He liked making the women he knew hurt. He liked making them cry.

And his daughters...the things he did to them...

When Roberta Falls first met him, her best friend said something about the guy seemed off, but Roberta defended him day in and day out, saying that nobody saw who he actually was the way she did. Far too many women have unfortunately been lulled into this exact sense of false security, and often met with violent ends themselves. Roberta, after a year of being married, decided her friend was right, and she no longer wanted to play house with this creep, but Oliver had other plans. Roberta didn't want to have children, but she didn't have a choice. Oliver made it happen. And once the children were in play, she knew she couldn't leave. She knew she'd forever be tied to him in some form or fashion, and that sickened her. So Roberta stayed, and she plotted, trying to come up with some way she could get out.

When she finally made the decision, and began asking her brother for help, she knew her life was about to change for the better. No longer would the girls be subjected to the awful torture their father put them through, and really it was their pain that she couldn't allow. She didn't care what he did to her, but she'd die before she allowed him to continue to exploit her daughters.

Turns out she was half right.

                                                                                                    ***

Oliver sat on the bed, undoing his tie as he looked down on the floor at Roberta, curled up and sobbing. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I tried to give you the best," he said, "and-"

"Oh spare me," she replied, knowing she no longer had anything to lose so why hold back her tongue, she continued, "don't give me that underappreciated good husband bullshit. What you did to me, what you did to our children...god...you're despicable, and the fact you're trying to play victim only makes it worse."

Oliver looked at his tie in his hands and sighed, turning it over.

"Remember when you got me this tie? For our 5th anniversary?" he asked, "...I love this tie. You really knew me, you really knew what I'd like. I thought we knew eachother, but I guess I was wrong. I guess I didn't know you as well as I thought, because I never could've imagined you'd try to run. Now this tie will be tainted."

"...what?" Roberta asked, finally trying to roll over and look up at him, but she wasn't fast enough as she felt his knees crush into her spine as he knelt on her, wrapped the tie around her throat, his hands grabbing both ends, as he started to strangle Roberta. She clawed at his hands, but she couldn't make any difference. She knew she was overpowered.

"You did this," Oliver whispered through gritted teeth, "you did all of this and this is all your fault. I want you to die knowing you caused this."

Roberta drowned him out as he eyes rolled back. She stopped listening, and instead focused on the one good thing she had...her religious belief. She knew that, as soon as her life was over, she would be with her girls again, and that was the thought she died with. As soon as her body went limp, Oliver rolled off of her and started sobbing. He crawled across the floor and sat next to the closet. All he wanted was a family who would obey him, and instead he got people willing to risk everything to leave. Oliver Brighton reached over, grabbed the handgun and pulled it to him, lifting it and opening his mouth. He slipped the barrel in, said a prayer, then pulled the trigger.

                                                                                                      ***

Wyatt locked the car and walked around to the other side, finding Celia; he threw his arms up and asked, "what's the big deal now?" but she wouldn't answer, and instead she headed inside. Wyatt didn't question, he just followed. Once inside, she stopped at the bar, snapped her fingers and asked for the remote control to the TV, which she was quickly given.

"Hey! Earth to Celia! What's the big damn deal?" Wyatt asked, but she snapped her fingers in his face and then pointed at the television. Wyatt's gaze slowly moved towards the television, which was on a breaking news report. A lovely little home in a quiet little suburb was on the television, surrounded by cop cars. Wyatt didn't recognize the place, but he had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"-if you're just joining us," the announcer said as Celia turned the sound up, "then allow me to reiterate this breaking news. Local resident Oliver Brighton, safety inspector for the Morgana landscaping and construction company, is dead. It's speculated that Brighton, after a recent incident at their latest work site cost him his job, came home wherein he killed his wife and both daughters before taking his own life. As of this moment, there's not a lot of information about-"

Celia muted the TV and looked at Wyatt, his jaw hanging. He slowly looked at her, and their eyes locked.

"...what the fuck did we do?" she whispered.

From the parking lot, a car horn beeped, and Wyatt could hear Mona shouting.

"Daddy! I'm gonna be late for school!"

Wyatt slumped onto a barstool and stared at the bowl of mixed nuts. He couldn't feel anything in his body anymore, and Celia sat beside him. The two sat there for what felt like hours, but were only mere seconds. He heard the car horn honk again, and the bartender looked out the window, then approached Wyatt.

"Hey man, your kid is beeping your horn," he said.

"Y...yeah, thanks," Wyatt said, waving him away.

"...this is our fault," Celia whispered, "we caused this to happen. What we did...those poor little girls...that poor woman..."

"We had no way of knowing," Wyatt said, "Hell, we didn't even know Oliver was employed by them. We couldn't have fucking predicted this."

Wyatt finally stood up and composed himself, then pulled his car keys out of his coat pocket.

"Where are you going?" Celia asked, following him.

"I'm taking my daughter to school," Wyatt said, "and then I'm gonna find a way out of this mess."

As they exited back into the parking lot, Celia couldn't believe he was just leaving. She stood there, mouth somewhat agape as he unlocked his car, climbed back inside the drivers seat and slid the key into the ignition, just as another car suddenly veered into the lot, almost hitting his. He climbed out, ready to yell at the driver, when he noticed the driver was, in fact, Rachel Minnow.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

"I saw your car and I knew we should talk," she said, "ya know, about Oliver."

"What the hell is she talking about?" Celia asked.

"I know what you guys did, Wyatt came to me, asking me for an explosive to erase evidence," Rachel said, "obviously we failed to do that. I was at work and I had to suddenly leave and I heard about this on the car radio. What are we gonna do?"

The three of them stood around, completely uncertain of what decision to make here would be. That was until a bus passed by on the road, with a big banner endorsing Robert Grudin, and suddenly Wyatt had an idea.

"...Wyatt?" Rachel asked, "What are we gonna do?"

Wyatt smirked and looked at Celia, then Rachel.

"I'll tell you what we're gonna do," he said, "we're gonna kill Robert Grudin."
Published on
The home was beautifully decorated.

Carol and company had really gone all out, it seemed. The place felt more cheerful and full of life than it had in recent memory, and standing in the bingo hall - which had been all but cleared out for snack tables, decorations and whatnot - Boris couldn't help but feel a sense of pride for his friend as he watched her still trying to put some last minute touches together before the Senior Prom that night. After finishing talking to someone, Carol walked back over to Boris and she leaned against the wall, exhaling deeply. Boris crossed his arms and chuckled at her.

"I never knew you could be such a take charge leader," he said.

"Neither did I," Carol replied, "I mean, I always suspected as much, but I did question if, when the chips were down, I could actually carry through with my duties, but here we are. You're going to come tonight, right?"

"Yep," Boris said, "in fact, uh, I have a date."

"Really?" Carol asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Boris said, almost blushing, "should I bring anything, or-"

"Naw, everything is already supplied, nobody needs to bring anything except themselves," Carol said, "and your date, I guess."

Boris hadn't told anyone that for a few weeks, he had been seeing someone, and if he had alluded to it, he was very vague, only saying 'I've been having dates'. The feeling had been nice, going out again and doing things socially, romantically. He'd missed that. Boris sighed and checked his watch, then sucked on his teeth.

"Welp," he said, "I guess I better get home, get my suit ready and whatnot. I'm proud of you, you know that right?"

"Really? You're proud of me? Gee, thanks dad," Carol said, making him laugh.

"I mean it!" he said, "You set yourself a goal, and you achieved it. You bought the home and remodeled it, you realized the death pool was cold and you put an end to it, and now you've put on a big party for everyone to be able to enjoy their old age and celebrate their lives. That's something worth respecting, Carol. You've done more good for this home than anyone else ever did."

Carol smiled and looked at her shoes, annoyed at how giddy she felt at being complimented.

"Well, thanks," she finally said, "...it just seemed like we were being swept under the rug, and I really wanted to do something for everyone, you know? The people who were running this place were running it as a business, not a selfless notion, and I think we deserve better than being treated like a commodity for some wealthy stock broker. At some point, we seem to forget that human beings - young or old - are not a product to use for your ledgers."

Boris nodded.

"That's why it's good we have old people like you," he said, "Because the best people to have helping old people are other old people. We best understand our needs and requirements, and we're the ones who will go to the ends of the earths to make sure they're met. Doctors, more often than not, see old people as expendable, and I think you alone have proved we're anything but."

With that, Boris stood up, adjusted his jacket and hugged Carol, saying he'd be back that evening. He left the home, got to the parking lot and got into Polly's Gremlin. Boris started up the car and pulled out, heading towards the apartment.

                                                                                                   ***

John Krickett wasn't having the best day.

First he'd burnt his breakfast, then he'd shrunk a favorite t-shirt of his, and finally, on the way over to the church, he'd hopped up onto the curb while parking. As he walked inside the church, passing by the pews, he heard someone rushing after him, catching up and walking alongside him. It was one of the youngest nuns they had on staff there.

"Good morning father," she said happily, almost chipper.

"Good morning Sister," he replied.

"What are you doing in here today?"

"I came by to pick up something in my office," he replied, "why?"

"Well, I was...I was curious...um...a lot of the other nuns have talked about you and they say that you're..."

Father Krickett stopped and looked at her, waiting for the shoe to drop.

"Queer?" he asked.

"In not so polite terms, sure," she replied, "but I was curious if you feel like you've made the right decision to dedicate your life to an institution that doesn't respect or accept you. I myself am queer, though nobody knows, and lately I've been having doubts and-"

"Let me save you a lot of trouble for the future, sister," Father Krickett said, putting his hands on her shoulders, "leave. If you're even having the smallest doubt, then leave. My situation was unique, but you don't have to follow in my footsteps. Go be yourself. Be happy. Be with someone you love. Don't marry God. Sure he's home every night, but he's kind of abusive."

Sister Jenn smirked at this and nodded, understanding.

"What if we left together? What if we made our own place of worship, where we didn't play the rules of the church, where you were free to be with whoever you wanted, as was I, without also losing our field of profession?" Sister Jenn asked.

"...I'm interested," he said, continuing to walk towards his office with Sister Jenn in tow.

"Well," she continued, "I was looking at space downtown and I noticed we could easily rent a building if we pooled our money and took donations, and we could get tax exempt status because we'd be a religious affiliation. But think about how many queer people there are that want to be religious but are fearful of the church, for good reason. We could be the saving grace to those people."

Father Krickett tugged his office door open and started searching through his desk for what he'd forgotten as Sister Jenn kept talking.

"Because, I can't speak for you personally, but I've definitely felt uncomfortable here, and I think a lot more people like us would be willing to participate in a church that saw their personhood as personhood instead of something to combat," Sister Jenn said, "...uh, Father, what are you looking for?"

Father Krickett stopped, shutting the drawers on his desk and scratching his head.

"...Uh...it doesn't matter," he said, "Anyway, I think it's a wonderful idea. We should talk about it more, maybe take some meetings with banks and the property owner and whatnot."

Sister Jenn was glad to hear he was interested, but he also seemed distracted. He didn't even finish the conversation, and instead he left the room, and the church, getting back into his car and speeding away. Sister Jenn stood there in front of the church, watching him drive off, and felt all the more confused than she had before he'd shown up.

                                                                                                  ***

"You look so handsome," Whittle said, adjusting Boris's tie and smiling at him while Chrissy ran a lint roller down his suit.

"Well thank you," Boris said, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, "I do what I can with what I have."

"It's a shame you don't have more," Chrissy said, making him and Whittle laugh as he reached down and ruffled her hair.

"So what time do you think you'll be back tonight?" Whittle asked, finishing the tie and stepping away, hands on her hips as she watched Chrissy continue to run the lint roller down his pants legs.

"No clue," Boris said, "Probably late. Carol likes to keep things going far past the point that anyone's interested, so. I'll try and be quiet when I get in."

"Did you go to your actual senior prom?" Chrissy asked.

"Yeah, of course," Boris said, "Went to all my high school events. Didn't enjoy 'em much, but I went. You were kind of required to and kind of ostracized if you didn't."

"It's good to know things don't change," Chrissy muttered, making them laugh again.

There was the sound of the front door opening, and Whittle swiftly exited the bathroom, heading out to greet whomever had entered the apartment. While she was gone, and as Chrissy finished delinting him, Boris sat himself on the side of the tub with her and looked at his watch.

"You know," Boris said, "It seems like adolescence is the most important time in your life, but honestly...it's over so fast. You're older for far longer than you're young, it just doesn't feel like it because time speeds up and the way we perceive time changes so drastically as we age. This watch was given to me by my father. One of the few things he gave to me, besides lifelong trust problems, and it still feels like I just got it yesterday, even though it's been like 60 years now."

"...I'm scared to mature, honestly," Chrissy said.

"Well, the great thing is that your generation doesn't really have to, you guys have all but broken down all those barriers," Boris said, "Stick with the arrested development, it suits you well. Stay a kid as long as you can or want to. Being an adult is overrated."

They looked up as Father Krickett and Whittle entered the bathroom.

"Your ride's here," Whittle said.

"You look dapper," Father Krickett said.

"First time for everything I suppose," Boris remarked, as the two men sauntered out of the bathroom and headed toward the front door. They said goodbye to the girls, then exited the apartment. Whittle looked at Chrissy and smiled.

"You wanna watch a movie and braid eachothers hair while eating nothing but peanut M&M's for dinner?" Whittle asked.

"You read my mind!" Chrissy stated eagerly.

                                                                                               ***

Father Krickett was driving Boris to the home for the Senior Prom, but neither were speaking once they were in the car. Boris was concerned that perhaps he'd done something to upset the priest, but he couldn't exactly place what that could've been. Boris leaned forward and adjusted the air conditioner, feeling it blow on his face as he shut his eyes and enjoyed the breeze.

"I can't find my rosary," Father Krickett finally said.

"Eh?"

"I can't find my rosary. They were a gift from Steven, my ex. I thought I'd left them at the church, but they weren't there when I went to look today, and I'm really worried," Father Krickett said, "they're very important to me."

"I'm sorry John, I'll keep my eyes open for 'em," Boris said.

"You excited?" Father Krickett asked.

"Yeah, ya know what, I actually am. It's weird, too. It's an odd feeling, looking forward to something. I haven't been excited for anything in so many years that it feels like an almost foreign concept to me now," Boris said.

"Well I'm glad, and I'm sure you'll have a great time," Father Krickett said, smiling, "...I'm leaving the church. I mean, not for good, but the church I'm with anyway. A nun and I are going to look into starting our own little branch downtown for queer people or anyone else who feels unrepresented by the major religious groups."

"Well that sounds fantastic," Boris said, "Good luck to you guys."

"But I need to find my rosary," Father Krickett said, "I wanna make Steven a little shrine there."

Boris smiled. He admired how much love Father Krickett still had for a man who'd been gone for so long, and he only wish he himself had realized sooner that love wasn't something to run from, but instead to embrace. Father Krickett dropped him off, told him he'd be back to pick him up later, and then went along his duties. Boris strolled to the front of the nursing home, then instead went around the back, and headed towards the gazebo. He climbed up the steps and seated himself on one of the benches inside, watching the party from afar.

He wanted to go in, he really did, but he felt nervous. He'd never really done well in giant social situations such as these, and he certainly didn't want to go in without his date. Boris sat there and listened to the records from that large vinyl collection they'd sifted through be played over a stereo, while everyone laughed and ate and danced. He could see Carol through a nearby window, and he was thrilled to see how happy she appeared to be. Suddenly he heard the sound of heels heading slowly up the gazebo steps, and he looked up to see Lorraine.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself," she said, following his gaze to the building, "...you people watching?"

"Far more preferable to interacting," Boris said.

"Yeah, you never were one for socialization," Lorraine said, seating herself on the bench beside him, "Still, I'd like to dance at some point. I'm, admittedly, a bit shocked you asked me to come with you, seeing as we haven't done anything together in years and haven't really been good friends lately but-"

"I owe you an apology," Boris said, "I was...I was not the easiest man in the world to be married to, but that doesn't mean I never loved you. I've never loved anyone like I love you. I didn't wanna leave. I had to, I hope you understand that, but I didn't want to."

"I do," Lorraine said.

"but it always killed me because in the back of my mind I thought 'here's a woman who, even after being abandoned, still hasn't divorced you' and perhaps it's just the generation we are that we don't believe in divorce, I don't know, but...god I missed you. I tried to make the same connection we had with other people; Burt has been a good friend, Carol's been an excellent companion, and Polly...but nobody-"

"What about the priest?" Lorraine asked, surprising him, catching him off guard.

"Wh...what?"

"What about the priest?" she repeated, "I mean, you guys have...some sort of thing going."

"...John's taught me a lot about myself, most importantly that, uh, if I was younger or he were older, if it were a different time or anything about anything was different, then we'd probably be together, and that's been nice, to stop running from that part of myself, but we're just friends ultimately. He's my best friend, but that's all he is. Well, and my priest, obviously."

Lorraine smirked.

"I know it's been too long and that a lot has changed and that we may not have a whole lot of time left but I'd like to try again," Boris said, "I'd like to, at least, salvage whatever it was we had."

"I'd like that too," Lorraine said, "You've really grown, I can see it. You're the best version of the man I always knew you could be. I never stopped loving you either. I was mad, absolutely, but...I never stopped wanting you to come home."

"I got you a flower," Boris said, pulling a blue orchid from his pocket and handing it to her, "it's the same color as your eyes. I know you liked these."

Lorraine wanted to cry. For so long she'd wanted this sort of thing to happen, and now it was, and she was so happy. She touched the petals gently with her fingertips and smiled.

"It's beautiful," she whispered.

"You're beautiful," Boris replied, "do you wanna go inside and dance?"

"I'd love to," she said.

As they stood up and began to head inside the home, Boris's cell phone he'd borrowed from Whittle rang in his coat pocket, and he excused himself momentarily to fish it out and answer it.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Boris, this is Elise Bentley with the publishing house," the woman on the phone said, "How are you doing?"

"I'm actually in the middle of something, can I call you back tomorrow or-"

"Well definitely, in fact that's preferable because we have a lot to talk about," Elise said, "But I wanted to call ahead and give you the news now. Not only are we going to give you a regular poetry corner in the magazine, monthly, but I've talked it over with my partner and we're interested in giving you a book deal."

Boris couldn't think clearly. Did he hear her right? A book deal?

"Boris? You there, buddy?" Elise asked, half laughing, "I know it's a lot to take in, but-"

"I'm here and that sounds wonderful," Boris said, "But like I said can I call you tomorrow?"

"Absolutely, just phone my office in the early afternoon and we'll talk more then," Elise said.

As the phone call came to an end, Boris slid the cell back into his pocket and looked at Lorraine standing near Larry's Gardenias, admiring them. She looked more beautiful than ever before, and for a brief moment in time Boris felt like he was a young man again. He felt like things were finally the way they always should've been. He and his wife loved one another more than they could imagine, he and his daughter were finally building a relationship worth having, he had found some sort of religious presence in his life and, finally, he was going to be a published author. As he walked down the gazebo steps and across the flagstone walkway, taking Lorraine by the hand, he kissed her on the cheek.

"What was that all about?" she asked, "The call I mean."

"Nothing that can't wait one more day," he said.

And he wasn't wrong. After all, he'd waited 40 years already.

What more could 24 hours hurt.
Published on
Calvin woke early the morning after Halloween, in a great mood.

His folks were already at work, so he tuned the radio in the kitchen and found the old soul station. Calvin smiled and started snapping his fingers along to "My Girl" by The Temptations, as he headed to the fridge and pulled out some ingredients and made himself some breakfast. He made himself a stack of waffles, with blueberries in them, and poured himself a large glass of orange juice. He then made himself some bacon and toast, then set his breakfast platter down on the table and sat down, prepared to eat. As Calvin stuck his napkin in his shirt collar, he took a deep breath. Yes. It was a good morning.

And then before he could start eating, there was a knock at the door. Calvin groaned, stood up and walked to the living room. Twisting the front door open, he was surprised to find Rachel standing on the porch.

"Oh," he said, "hey, good morning. What are you doing here?"

"I need help," Rachel said.

"Okay...with what?"

"My friend needs a bomb," Rachel said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the car. Calvin leaned to the side and looked, surprised to see none other than Wyatt Bloom sitting in the passenger seat. Calvin scratched his head and sighed.

                                                                                              ***

"I had no idea it would do...well...that," Wyatt said as he and Rachel sat at a nearby diner that morning before heading to Calvin's. They had just ordered a large basket of fries and were sharing them, but Wyatt wasn't too hungry, so Rachel was the one actually eating them.

"Why'd you do this in the first place?" Rachel asked.

"Cause I...I wanted to make a difference," Wyatt said, "I've spent my life in an industry dedicated to the destruction of our planet and its natural resources, and then when my daughter was diagnosed with ASD, I just...I realized how much worse I was making the world for her specifically, and I wanted to leave her a better world than that. We just...we didn't really think things through. We didn't mean to destroy any kind of buildings or anything, we just wanted to do a little sabotage."

"And now?"

"Now I need to find a way to cover it up," Wyatt said, "In some way, in some capacity."

"I mean, you know they're going to discover it before you can erase any evidence, right? There's no way we're getting a bomb in there before they get there today," Rachel said, grasping a handful of seasoned chili friends and shoving them into her mouth; "besides," she continued while chewing, "all that's gonna do is create an even more intense investigation."

"Who said anything about a bomb? Where'd you get bomb from? Who do you know that even makes bombs?"

Rachel wanted to slap herself. Wyatt reached across the table and grabbed the basket of fries, pulling them away from her.

"Hey!" she said loudly, mouth still half full of fry, making Wyatt chuckle.

"Rachel, tell me...who do you know that makes bombs?" he asked, his voice low.

"...I got a guy," she said.

"You got a guy?"

"I always wanted to say that," she said, shrugging.

                                                                                            ***

Wyatt and Rachel entered Calvin's kitchen, as Calvin sat back down at the table to finish eating his breakfast. Wyatt looked around the kitchen, hands in his coat pocket, as Rachel sat down with Calvin and nervously watched Wyatt before turning her attention back to Calvin, lowering her voice so as not to alert Wyatt.

"I'm sorry, I know this is sudden and weird, but he's in a nasty situation and his wife is my friend and...you gotta help me, man," Rachel said.

"I got no qualms helping you, Rachel, you know that," Calvin said, making her smile until he added, pointing his fork at Wyatt, "it's him I got a problem helping."

"Why? What'd Wyatt do to you?" Rachel asked, furrowing her brow.

"It's not about what he did to me, it's about what he did to my sister," Calvin said, "even if it wasn't intentional, she still suffered as a result, and that's just something I can't forgive."

"Do it for me, please," Rachel said, pleading, "Scarlett's my friend, and she doesn't deserve to deal with this if he gets arrested or something. Come on, Cal. I helped you."

Calvin chewed his lip, then tossed his fork down on his plate and groaned. Just then he looked to the side and saw Wyatt coming up to the table. Calvin folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, watching Wyatt as he looked around the kitchen, then took a piece of bacon from the breakfast plate and bit into it.

"Sorry," he said, chewing, "I didn't eat breakfast."

"...so you want a bomb, huh?" Calvin asked, "follow me to my shed."

Calvin slid his chair away from the table and opened the glass door that led to the backyard. Wyatt followed, Rachel behind him shutting the door as they exited the house. The three of them walked briskly across the backyard and Calvin unlocked the shed. He flung the door open and let Rachel and Wyatt enter. Calvin then came in behind them and shut the door, locking it once more. Wyatt looked around the shed, noticing the photo on the table beside all the mechanical pieces.

"...this your family?" he asked.

"Was," Calvin replied, "They're dead."

"Jesus, I'm so sorry," Wyatt said, "I couldn't imagine losing my daughter or wife."

"Yeah, it kinda destroys a person," Calvin said, "So...you do realize that if I help you with this, you can never - if caught - bring it back to me, right? I have important things to finish, and I can't have my goals hampered by whatever it is you're dealing with. Also, they likely will trace it back to you and then connect you with the prior situation as well, so be prepared for that."

"Thankfully I have a lawyer on my side already," Wyatt said, "but yes, I'm fully aware of the possible outcomes. I stand by what I did. Morgana is a horrible corporation and what they're about to do is deplorable, and somebody had to take a stand."

"Did you say Morgana?" Calvin asked as he turned away from the workbench, now facing Wyatt and Rachel once more.

"Y...yes?" Wyatt asked, "Why?"

"...Robert Grudin supports Morgana," Calvin said, "he's the one who said he'd sign off on their plans if he was elected into office. Turns out he isn't just interested in destroying families, but also the environment, good to know. Well then, if that's who we're dealing with, I'll gladly help you take him down another notch or two."

Wyatt got a funny look on his face and chuckled nervously.

"Why...why do you hate Robert Grudin? Who even IS Robert Grudin?" he asked.

"He's a local politician," Rachel said.

"And he killed my wife and daughter," Calvin said, taking Wyatt by surprise.

                                                                                               ***

That night, after going home and having dinner with his family, Wyatt Bloom couldn't sleep.

He just felt nervous. Instead, he got up, walked downstairs and paced mindlessly back and forth for what seemed like hours. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to laugh. The entire spectrum of human emotion flushed through him seemingly all at once, and he felt overwhelmed. How could he really do this? Celia didn't even know that he'd gotten the bomb; in fact, all he'd told her was that he'd take care of the mess they'd made, he never said how. Now that he had the answer, he found he was terrified to take the action.

Wyatt sat in the living room, staring at the blank television screen, looking at his reflection. He looked haggard, worn out and sad. His hair was messy, his eyes were red and overall he looked like a former shell of the man he usually was. He thought back to Calvin, and what he'd said in the shed. As soon as Grudin's name came up, Calvin seemed all the more interested to help, but Wyatt felt bad dragging him further into a crime hole than he already was. He heard someone walking behind him and he looked to see Mona standing by the couch, holding her stuffed giraffe.

"Hey little peach, what are you doing up?" he asked as she sauntered into the room, yawing, wiping her eyes.

"My tummy hurts," she said.

"Let's get you some hot chocolate," Wyatt said, "That always makes you feel better."

He stood up, took Mona by the hand and led her to the kitchen. She hopped up onto the stool at the kitchen island and watched as her father made a cup of hot chocolate. He hummed to himself, allowing himself to get lost in this moment of pure domestic bliss, not thinking about the bomb sitting in his car or the 2nd crime he was about to commit to cover up the first. He finished making the drink and slid the mug across the island to Mona, who picked it up - both hands around the mug - and sipped it cautiously.

"That better?" Wyatt asked, leaning on the island, smiling at her as she nodded and smiled; he said, "good, I'm glad."

Wyatt watched his daughter finish her drink, then he carried her back to her bedroom, turned on her comfort night light, read her a story and rubbed her back until she fell asleep. Afterwards he stood up, headed to his own bedroom and crawled into bed. He felt Scarlett pull him towards her, then climb on top of him, kissing his throat.

"Right now?" he asked, surprised.

"We're both up, why not," she whispered.

Wyatt smiled. Maybe she was right. Maybe this would be the thing to take his mind off his troubles.

Unfortunately for Wyatt, and everyone else, their troubles would be threefold by the morning.

                                                                                 ***

Rachel opened the shop that morning, expecting herself to be the only one there. Honestly, she was happy for the solitude, and for the chance to get back to some kind of normalcy after the last few days. As she headed into the back, to the staff break room, she found Sun sitting at the table, her presence taking Rachel by surprise. Rachel jumped back at the sight of her, putting her hand to her chest.

"Jesus!" she shouted, making Sun laugh as she asked, "god damn woman, why are you even here this early?"

"Couldn't deal with the parental pressure this morning," Sun said, "also I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh, everything okay?" Rachel asked as she walked further into the room and started pouring herself a cup of coffee, then tearing open a complimentary pack of biscottis. She sat down at the table as Sun turned her chair towards Rachel.

"...ever since I started working here, I've been so thankful to have a friend," Sun said, "like, I was so worried that, coming back to this town, it would make me feel so lonely, but you've been here and it's been really comforting. But I also feel uncomfortable around you."

"...is it because I'm gay?" Rachel asked.

"It is," Sun said, "but...not...I don't mean that the way it sounds. I don't mean it like I don't like queer people, I mean it like...it makes me uncomfortable because it's made me think about myself, and...fuck this is weird and hard."

Rachel stopped chewing her cookie and swallowed. She was nervous as hell all of a sudden, and unsure not only of what was coming next but whether or not she wanted to hear it.

"I think I like you," Sun finally said, "in a romantic kind of way and that makes me feel weird cause I've never liked another woman before and now I feel weird for admitting all this and now I feel weird for admitting that. I'm just one big messy weirdo, but I like you and I-"

"I waited so long for you to come back," Rachel said, "I...I know that sounds, like, super stalkerish but I was so bummed when you didn't show up at the reunion and...and happy as I am to hear this I...I don't know that I can be involved with someone again."

The words, even as they left her mouth, surprised Rachel, but they also made sense. After what she'd been through, after nearly being assaulted, she was terrified of intimacy and had a hard time trusting people again, especially in a romantic fashion, and yet...yet this was what she'd wanted for so many years. Over a decade, actually, and now she was gonna wuss out? Rachel suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

"I need to go, I'm gonna throw up," she said, suddenly rising from her chair and rushing out the door, leaving behind a very bewildered Sun Rai.

                                                                                   ***

"Dad, do horses have feelings?" Mona asked as Wyatt drove her to school the next morning. He chuckled at her question and bit his lip.

"I...have no idea, honestly," he said, "I would imagine though, I mean, everything has feelings, right?"

"So horses get crushes and stuff?" Mona asked, "Like one horse can like another horse?"

"Sure, why not? It's only natural after all to want to have babies and keep the species going," Wyatt said as he rolled up to a red light. He sighed and looked around at the outdoors. It was a gorgeous day, honestly, even if it was the start of November. He like this late fall air, and the colors of the leaves, especially early in the mornings and especially when he got to share these quieter moments with his daughter, even if they were talking about something absolutely ridiculous. Just then he noticed a car pulling up beside him, and he glanced over to notice it was Celia. She wasn't smiling. Instead, she furiously motioned for him to roll down his window, something he gladly did.

"Mornin'," he said.

"Follow me, it's an emergency," she said coldly, and then she sped off as soon as the light turned green. Wyatt shrugged, started the car back up and did as he was told. After a few minutes driving, they pulled into a nearby parking lot attached to a bar, and Wyatt unbuckled his seat belt.

"Sweetheart, I'll be right back, okay?" he asked, and Mona nodded, continuing to brush her toy horses hair. Wyatt locked the car and walked around to the other side, finding Celia; he threw his arms up and asked, "what's the big deal now?" but she wouldn't answer, and instead she headed inside. Wyatt didn't question, he just followed. Once inside, she stopped at the bar, snapped her fingers and asked for the remote control to the TV, which she was quickly given.

"Hey! Earth to Celia! What's the big damn deal?" Wyatt asked, but she snapped her fingers in his face and then pointed at the television. Wyatt's gaze slowly moved towards the television, which was on a breaking news report. A lovely little home in a quiet little suburb was on the television, surrounded by cop cars. Wyatt didn't recognize the place, but he had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"-if you're just joining us," the announcer said as Celia turned the sound up, "then allow me to reiterate this breaking news. Local resident Oliver Brighton, safety inspector for the Morgana landscaping and construction company, is dead. It's speculated that Brighton, after a recent incident at their latest work site cost him his job, came home wherein he killed his wife and both daughters before taking his own life. As of this moment, there's not a lot of information about-"

Celia muted the TV and looked at Wyatt, his jaw hanging. He slowly looked at her, and their eyes locked.

"...what the fuck did we do?" she whispered.

From the parking lot, a car horn beeped, and Wyatt could hear Mona shouting.

"Daddy! I'm gonna be late for school!"
Published on
Elise Bentley was having an excellent morning.

She'd gotten up early, she had a new outfit for the day and she'd managed to get her makeup and hair just perfect. She even was thrilled to discover that her favorite fast food place that served breakfast hadn't actually run out of stuff by the time she'd gotten there for a change. As she entered her office, she checked her watch, and saw the time. She smiled. In just an hour or so she'd be meeting with Boris Wachowski, and hopefully have a new, and extremely talented, poet on her hands for her literary magazine.

Yes, Elise Bentley was having an excellent morning.

Boris Wachowski, however, was another story entirely.

                                                                                              ***

"My back is killing me," Boris said, groaning as he lowered himself into his chair at the kitchen table; he sipped the coffee from the mug Whittle placed in front of him and then added, "I really wish I could just get one of those titanium spines you read about in medical journals."

"Are you taking Chrissy to school or am I?" Whittle asked, and both Boris and Chrissy looked at one another, then looked back at Whittle.

"It's....Saturday," Boris said.

"It is?"

"Yeah."

"...oh. God I guess I've been kind of off lately," Whittle said, sitting down as well, "jeez. I had no idea. Well, in that case, do you wanna go with me to the salon and get our nails done?"

"Okay!" Chrissy said, sounding excitable.

Just then the front door opened and Father Krickett walked in, in his casual clothes. A salmon colored button up shirt with the collar done and black slacks with brown loafers. He stopped at the table and looked around at everyone, smiling politely.

"Good morning," he said.

"Mornin'," Boris replied.

"What's everyone up to for this weekend?" Father Krickett asked, taking a seat beside Boris.

"I'm taking Chrissy so we can go get our nails done," Whittle said, "What about you two?"

"I got nothin' planned," Boris said, "Actually might even just go back to bed and lay down. My back hurt so much."

"I brought your mail," Father Krickett said, plopping it down onto the table, "and resting isn't an option, because you have an appointment."

"I...I do?" Boris asked, "...is it with death?"

"No! Jeez!" Father Krickett responded, laughing loudly, "God no, just...open this and read it."

Father Krickett slid a letter into Boris's hands and waited. Boris hesitated at first, then carefully ripped it open and slid the letter out. He unfolded it, leaned back in his chair and read it to himself. After a few moments, he was finished, and he had to reread it just to believe it. Finally he lowered it, looked at Father Krickett and grimaced.

"This can't be real, right?"

"Indeed it is, and I'm taking you," he replied.

"What is it?" Whittle asked.

"A literary magazine wants to meet with Boris about his poetry," Father Krickett said, "I submitted some stuff for you and it seems they're interested, so we have a meeting this afternoon."

Boris was without words. Somehow this was both what he'd always wanted and also what he'd always feared happening. He didn't know whether to slap John or hug him. Eventually, he did neither, and instead got up to go get dressed and brush his teeth and hair. Whittle also left to go get dressed, leaving Father Krickett behind with Chrissy at the table.

"Can I ask you a question?" Chrissy asked as Father Krickett buttered a piece of toast.

"Of course," he said, biting into it and chewing.

"...are you like a guardian angel?" Chrissy asked, "I mean, I know you're not dead, but...you seem to watch over Boris a lot more than an ordinary priest would, and it's..."

"Sweet?"

"Creepy."

"Fair. To be honest, we have a complicated relationship," Father Krickett said, clearing his throat, "um, I...I'm not really sure I know exactly how to explain it, but...he's the sort of man that I would have fallen for romantically had he been my age. He's funny, he's driven, he's constantly changing, but more than anything else, he's kind. He comes off as gruff, sure, but in the end, he's a real loving person who cares deeply about those around him."

"So...what you have is romantic?"

"No, of course not," Father Krickett said, "I'm a part of the church, and he's much too old - nor do I think he's queer - but overall I still feel protective of him because of that. Let me put it this way, do you have a teacher you have a crush on?"

"Yeah," Chrissy said, scooting her eggs around on her plate and blushing, "yeah, Mr. Lacks. He's my science teacher. He's really handsome and kind, and we like a lot of the same science stuff. Why?"

"Because it's kind of like that. A person you obviously can't be with, but can fantasize about being with, you know? As a kid it's normal to have crushes on people older than you, and that doesn't change with age. I've found plenty of men older than me attractive. Boris just happens to be a special case in particular because I know him."

Chrissy nodded and shoveled eggs in her mouth, then chewed and swallowed before pushing her bangs from her eyes and looking back at John and cocking her head to the side.

"Yeah?" he asked, buttering yet another piece of toast.

"...why do you stay with the church if you can't be with someone, especially if you can't be with someone in particular because of the churches beliefs? That seems like giving into their bigotry," Chrissy said, making Father Krickett think for a moment.

"Because, in all honesty, if I didn't have the church, I wouldn't really have anything," he finally said, just as Boris came back out, ready to go. The two men said goodbye to Chrissy and then left the apartment, leaving her alone to think about the state of the world. To Chrissy, if she couldn't be with someone she loved because someone told her it was wrong, she'd be with them anyway.

Your happiness should never come at the expense of someone elses comfort.

                                                                                                 ***

"Why do you have a baby monitor in your office?" Dennis asked, picking it up and jiggling it a little.

"It's so I can listen to the other higher ups and see if they turn someone down during their meetings, and if they do but I think the writer is worth saving, I'll swoop in after the meeting and snag them anyway," Elise said, not even looking up from her desk.

"Wow, that's pretty underhanded of you," Dennis said, setting the baby monitor back down.

"Well, we are in corporate america," Elise said, making Dennis chuckle. Dennis strolled across the room, his hands shoved in his pants pockets as he looked at the art hung on the walls and eventually he flopped down in the chair by the window, looking outside.

"So..." he said, "you think this guy is really worth it?"

"I think that nobody gives the elderly a chance to prove their worth," Elise said, "and I think that alone would be good publicity, but I also do think he's a pretty solid writer and poet, yes. You know me, man, I don't just pick people for fun unless I really think they have something worth sharing."

There came a knock on the door and her assistant, Niah, poked her head into the room.

"Um, they're here," she said, before leaving.

"Welp," Dennis said, getting up, "I'll go gather 'em. Let's see what it is we're working with."

Elise cleaned her desk off a bit, refilled the candy jar on the desk and then adjusted her hair a little using her compact. She snapped it shut and slipped it into her coat pocket as the door opened once more and Dennis, Boris and Father Krickett walked in. The three men took their seats - Dennis back in the chair by the window, Boris and John in seats across the desk from Elise - and Elise smiled at them all.

"Thank you for coming in to meet with me," Elise said.

"Thanks for being interested," Boris said.

"How could I not be? After reading some of the stuff that was sent in, I immediately knew I had to meet you," Elise said, cupping her hands on the desk and leaning forward, smirking as she asked, "have you been writing poetry for a long time?"

"Very," Boris said, "I started doing it to court my wife, and then I did it to help my daughter fall asleep. Eventually I gave up because I had to get a paying job and nobody was interested in poetry, so I just...put it on the backburner and only wrote a few pieces in private here and there over the years, often to satiate my own emotions."

"Well, nobody may have been interested then, but we are now," Dennis said.

"Boris, can you just tell me...why do you write poetry over general fiction or even genre fiction? What is it about poetry that pulls you in?" Elise asked.

"I guess," Boris said, crossing his legs and thinking, tapping his nails on the arm of the chair, "...I guess because it's harder to convey exactly what you mean in a medium that's reserved for dialogue and plot. Poetry is pure form, pure feeling. It's the closest thing we have to expression of the soul verbally. People talk a lot of shit about purple prose in writing but that's almost all poetry is sometimes, and it's all the better for it."

"You really know your stuff, I'm impressed," Dennis said.

Boris smirked at this, nodded in his direction, then continued saying, "and I suppose it also was a way for me to work out my internalized issues about myself, my life, my family at the time. It was helpful. Sure, I wrote things for my wife and daughter, like I said, but I also wrote those things for myself. It was like writing it made it real. Like...like feeling it wasn't enough, and I had to somehow bring it into the world another way."

"...interesting," Elise said, "Well obviously we're interested. We run a slew of magazines here, but I overhead the literary magazine called Scope, and I'd love to have you write a few pieces and see how it works out, if you're interested, of course."

Boris chewed his lip and thought for a moment, then straightened up and, pulling his hat off, rubbed his balding head.

"I just have one request," he said, "if I do this. I don't want to be paid for the pieces. I want what I would get compensation wise to be sent to charities for disabled and terminally ill children. That's my only stipulation."

"That sounds fair, if you really wanna do that," Elise said.

"Besides, who knows, maybe we'll find another way to pay you anyway," Dennis chimed in.

"That's admirable, but not entirely necessary," Boris said, as he and Father Krickett started to stand up, ready to exit; as he tossed his scarf around his neck, Boris added, "you know, I always wondered what it'd be like to be a professional writer. I always wondered if I'd feel any different than I did beforehand. Turns out it changes nothing except your expectation for failure to be publicly visible."

And with that, he smiled and exited the room, Father Krickett on his heels, leaving Elise and Dennis sitting there, utterly dumbfounded. Dennis finally stood up, scratched the back of his head and shut the office door before turning on his heel and looking back at Elise.

"What a weird old man," Dennis said.

"I love him," Elise said, grinning from ear to ear.

                                                                                                 ***

Sitting in the diner after their meeting - Boris having ordered a stack of waffles even though it was well after lunch now and John having ordered a lambchop - the men were both uncertain of how to feel about what had just transpired. Boris felt like he should thank Father Krickett, after all, it was his persistence that got Boris the offer, but Boris also felt slightly irritated that he hadn't simply left well enough alone. Now he had expectations to let down, and that made him all the more nervous. Last thing an old man needs is higher blood pressure, he thought to himself.

"So," Father Krickett asked while cutting into his slab of meat, "any idea on what you'll be submitting first?"

"Yeah, a piece entitled 'People Should Mind Their Own Business'," Boris said snidely, "based on actual recent feelings."

"I deserve that I guess," Father Krickett said, chuckling as he lifted a piece of meat into his mouth and chewed, pointing his fork at Boris, "but I just hate to see you squander potential while you've still got it. When we first met, you said you felt like you weren't doing enough with your old age, that you didn't want to just die and have the last part of your life read like a todo list. Woke up. Got dressed. Read the newspaper. You said you wanted to do things with the time you had left, be someone better."

"I did say those things, but when the chips are down, and the moment comes, it can quickly remind you how terrifying it is to try and attain a legacy that will outlive you. I caused a lot of pain and grief to people, albeit not purposefully, and I'm scared that what I write will only hurt people further."

"It's not like you write cruel things. If anything, it'll help. I mean, think about how many people, even years from now once we're both dead and buried, might come across your work and think 'finally, someone who gets how I feel!'. They'll be appreciative that you took a stand however many years prior to make your feelings known, so that they could feel known later on."

Boris thought about this for a bit, then nodded.

"Fair enough," he finally replied, pouring more syrup onto his waffles and cutting into them, adding, "but that doesn't make it any less frightening or daunting a task to undergo. Creativity isn't like a faucet you can just turn on and off, I've gotta be in the right frame of mind, the right emotional place. That's why deadlines and I never worked out."

"Be good enough for the publisher to fight to keep you onboard and you can forego any deadlines," Father Krickett said, "Let me tell you a story. When I first started preaching, like seriously preaching in this church here, I was told that we do things by the book. A strict set of rules. Here's how we word things, here's words we avoid using, here's phrasing that people expect to hear, and if you didn't follow these rules, then you were considered an unreliable asset. A dangerous asset, even. But the thing is, because I went around those, preached my own way, and as a result got a lot of people coming to sermons because of the way I preached, the church couldn't outright fire me. I was bringing them people! I was worth something. How I preached was worth bending their precious little rules. People like other people who don't play by the rules, especially if they're doing it for good reasons and not selfish ones."

Boris leaned back and chewed his waffle bite, then swallowed. He looked around the diner and thought about how he hadn't been writing well lately, how he hadn't felt very good about his work these days, and how he'd love to change that. Perhaps now this was the chance to do so.

"Well," he finally said, "can't make my life any worse, can it? Just seems unsettling, like it's a challenge. Good things never happen to me, because when they do, they're followed by even worse things, so it's almost as if the universe is daring me to accept this. And I'm gonna, cause at this point, what more could the universe do that it hasn't already done?"

"That's the spirit," Father Krickett said, as they clinked their glasses together.

                                                                                                ***

Ellen was laying in her hospital bed the following day when the door opened and Boris entered. She put down her book and looked at him, somewhat surprised and somewhat confused. He pulled a chair around and seated himself beside the bed.

"Dad? What are you doing here? I don't have any therapy today, and you didn't say you were gonna come visit, so-"

"Do you remember when you were a little girl and I used to read you poetry?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Yeah, I do remember that, actually. Not very well, but faintly," she replied.

"Then let's make some new memories too," Boris said, pulling out his journal and turning to a certain page, "I recently got an offer to do some poetry for a literary magazine and I'm trying to work on some stuff. For a long time I thought that perhaps the way I viewed the world was what was wrong with my writing, and it turns out I was right. I shouldn't say how I see the world. I should say how I wanna see the world. What I want the world to be."

Ellen smiled warmly, and reached out, holding his hand.

"By the way, all the money is going to disabled or terminally ill children, so I'm not even doing this for financial compensation."

Ellen felt like she wanted to cry. She was still, admittedly, having trouble remembering who her father had been, but the man she was looking at she was becoming proud to call her dad now.

"I hope you like this, I wrote it a few weeks ago," he said, "It's gonna be my first submission for publication next month. It's called 'Polly'."
Published on
Calvin had loved Halloween as a child.

As an adult, he'd still loved it, especially once his daughter was born. Together, they would go and pick out a set of costumes together, and decorate the house together, and all in all it was the time they both looked forward to most in the year. Now, however, Halloween was marked heavily by her absence. Sitting on his parents front porch swing, sipping a beer and watching all the kids running around in costumes from door to door...he couldn't help but feel an odd combination of loss and anger. Loss because he no longer was able to do this, and anger that others could. If some kids came up to the porch, he was polite and handed out candy, but otherwise he was more or less content to people watch.

He heard the front door and screen door swing open, and he looked over to see his father, Barry, walk out onto the porch. He looked at Calvin, and the two waved at one another. Barry then walked over to the swing and sat down beside Calvin, reaching into the bowl and pulling out a few pieces of candy, unwrapping and popping them into his mouth.

"You doing okay, buddy?" Barry asked.

"Doing as okay as I can, I guess," Calvin.

"I know it's hard," Barry said, "I'm sorry. I'd like to say it gets easier, but I can't because I've never gone through this, so it'd mean nothing coming from me. Still, I wish I could say something that would be comforting on some level."

"Thanks dad," Calvin said, slightly smirking, "I appreciate your innate inclination towards trying to be comforting."

Barry laughed, which made Calvin chuckle with him. A pair of young boys raced up the stairs and asked for candy, which Calvin happily gave them as Barry waved at the parents waiting on the lawn. After the boys raced back down, Calvin looked into the bowl and sighed. Barry patted his son on the shoulder and stood back up.

"Your mom's making dinner if you want anything," he said, but Calvin just shrugged.

"I think I'm just gonna stay out here a while," he said quietly, "It's nice seeing the kids."

                                                                                                  ***

"Happy Halloween!" Rachel said as Scarlett opened the front door. Rachel was dressed as a mummy, having wrapped toilet paper all around herself, while Scarlett was dressed as a black cat. Scarlett laughed and hugged Rachel before inviting her in.

"Boy, that's a lot of toilet paper," Scarlett said, shutting the door behind her, "You sure that's a good way to spend your hard earned cash?"

"Are you kidding me? This isn't mine. This came from work. What do I look like I'm made of money?" Rachel asked, making her laugh again as she looked around and added, "Where's your kids?"

"Wyatt took Mona trick or treating, while his mom took our son for the night," Scarlett said, "I stayed behind to drink and pass out candy."

"Well lucky for you then that I brought both alcohol and candy," Rachel said, holding up dueling grocery bags, "let's get this party started."

Rachel headed into the living room, Scarlett following behind her. As Rachel set the bags down on the coffee table, she turned and looked back at Scarlett, who was grabbing a small bottle opener from a nearby table and walking over with it.

"I see you went with the classic hot girl costume," Rachel said.

"Of course, it'd be a sin if I didn't," Scarlett said, "They'd revoke my hot bitches club card."

Rachel reached inside the bag, pulled out a six pack of dark beer and handed one to Scarlett, then took one for herself. Scarlet popped the bottlecaps off both bottles and they toasted, then drank in unison. After a moment, Rachel sighed and flopped down onto the couch, Scarlett doing the same.

"I'm surprised Wyatt took the kid," Rachel said, "Hopefully he's able to handle that."

"He's so good with Mona, she honestly prefers him."

"Doesn't that feel weird?" Rachel asked.

"Not really, everyone was the favorite at some point when it came to their parents," Scarlett said, "I accepted a long time ago that she was daddy's little girl, and I'm happy that she has that. Lord knows I was never like that with my father. I mean, he loves me, I love him, but...it's not the same."

"...I don't even talk to my parents," Rachel said, "kinda makes holidays lonely."

"Well, now you have a family to spend the holidays with," Scarlett said, patting Rachel on the leg before hopping back off the couch, "Oh! I just remembered! I got jello shots!"

                                                                                                     ***

"Dad, we are going trick or treating, right?" Mona, dressed as a ladybug, asked from the backseat.

"We are, yes," Wyatt said from the drivers seat, glancing over at Celia in the passengers seat, who grimaced at him; he looked back at Mona and asked, "Can you put your noise cancelling headphones on? It's gonna get a bit loud for a moment while I open the windows."

He knew she would listen, as she hated the sound of wind rushing past the car when the windows were open. Mona nodded, pulled her headphones off the seat beside her and slid them over her ears. The only downside was now Wyatt had to actually open the windows, if only momentarily. He rolled them down, then turned the radio on to cover his and Celia's voices.

"I cannot believe you brought her," Celia said, "How are we going to do this if she's here?"

"Trust me, she'd never tell anyone anything," Wyatt said, "Especially if we make it worth her while after the fact."

"We're going to commit sabotage, for gods sake," Celia muttered, starting to sound frustrated, "How do you expect to-"

"Celia, let me worry about my kid, okay?" Wyatt asked, which made her quit asking questions; sure Wyatt had had his doubts about taking Mona with them, but he knew that he could trust her, he could count on her, especially if - as he'd said - they made it worth her while afterwards. Heading towards the construction area Morgana was about to begin work on, Wyatt felt a mix of emotions inside him. Part of him was terrified at what he'd gotten involved in, or was about to be involved in, but another part of him felt proud, like he'd never done anything so righteous in his life and this was a long time coming.

                                                                                                 ***

"When we were in high school, did you ever go to one of Kendra Killgore's Halloween parties?" Scarlett asked as she slumped more and more into the couch, shoving M&M's in her mouth.

"Not really. I wasn't really a party person," Rachel said.

"Neither was I, actually. Contrary to popular belief, cheerleaders aren't just party girl airheads. I only went to one and only because she asked me to help her throw it, and we had been best friends in middle school so I felt weirdly obligated," Scarlett said, sipping her beer, "anyway, we throw this party and Wyatt came with me and at some point during the night I got suddenly overwhelmed and I had to hide in a hall closet with him so I could get away from all the noise and stuff."

"That's sweet that he hid with you," Rachel said, smiling.

"That's Wyatt for you. Everyone expects him to be this judgemental douchebag but he really isn't that at all. He's such a nice guy, and an actual nice guy, not a guy who says they're nice simply to get into your pants. Anyway, we're in there and he's talking in this low voice, telling me it'll be okay, that I'll be okay, and that if I just focus on something other than the noise that it won't bother me as much...when our daughter got diagnosed recently with ASD, I knew he immediately would be good at dealing with it. He's just...really capable at taking care of those he cares about. I wish I was."

"You don't think you're a good mom?" Rachel asked, and Scarlett shrugged.

"I don't know," she said, "To be honest, I don't know that I ever really expected to be a mom, exactly. I mean, I wasn't against it or anything, I just...I'm pretty self absorbed, and I'll admit that. I love my children to death, but I do think I'm not a great mom."

"You seem like a better mom than mine," Rachel said, "So that's a step in the right direction."

Just then a knock came at the door, and the girls heard a symphony of shrill kids shout "trick or treat!" at the top of their lungs. They smiled at one another, grabbed the candy bowl and pounced off the couch, rushing to the front door where they were met with cheers.

                                                                                                  ***

Wyatt pulled the car into the construction lot and waited for a moment after shutting the engine off. He took a deep sigh, then looked at Celia, who looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"You ready?" she asked.

"Indeed," he said.

"You got a mask? In case they got cameras?"

"Indeed," he repeated, pulling a mask over his face, "I'm Batman."

"You're such a dork," Celia chuckled.

"What are we doing?" Mona asked, pulling her headphones off and looking at them. Wyatt and Celia looked back at her, then exchanged a glance, and then realized they couldn't hide it from her. Wyatt took a deep breath and reached back, putting his hand on his daughters knee.

"I'm gonna do something that's going to make the world a better place, not just for everyone, but for you too, but you can never tell anyone we did this, do you understand? We're like...a secret spy team. You wanna make the world a better place, don't you?" he asked, and Mona nodded; he smiled and patted her knee, adding, "Atta girl."

Wyatt opened his car door and got out, heading towards a nearby bulldozer. He looked around, then climbed up it and felt around. Surprisingly, he found the keys just sitting there, and so he sat down and pushed them into the ignition, starting the bulldozer up. As the sound roared out of it, Mona shouted at the sound, then pulled her headphones back on over her ears. Celia reached back and held her hand.

"Shh, it's okay, it's alright, just cover it up," she whispered.

"Jesus, how does anyone work these things?" Wyatt asked. Surprisingly, despite working in a similar field, he'd never actually drove any kind of major construction equipment. Suddenly the bulldozer shifted beneath him, thrusting him forward violently, making his face hit the windshield. He groaned, the fell out of the bulldozer and rolled down it onto the dirt below.

"Daddy!" Mona shouted.

"Jesus," Celia said, suddenly lunging from the car and rushing to where he'd fallen. As she knelt down beside him, she could hear him groaning, so she knew he was at least alive. Just then she looked up and noticed the bulldozer, still going on its own, had somehow turned and then crunched into a nearby mobile office. Celia and Wyatt just sat there, completely in shock. A moment later, after regaining herself, Celia lifted Wyatt back up and helped him back to the car.

"Daddy? Are you okay?" Mona asked, and Wyatt nodded, pulling his mask off and running his hand through his hair.

"I think so," he said, "I think a tooth is loose, but otherwise I'm fine. Luckily my nose didn't break."

"Daddy?" Mona asked.

"Yeah baby?"

"Can we go trick or treating now?" she asked, making both Wyatt and Celia chuckle.

Kids always knew how to make things better.

                                                                                                ***

"I want what you have," Rachel said, both women lying on the floor of the living room now, still eating candy out of the bowl, both about three beers into the six pack.

"What? You wanna murder me and replace me like some kind of Stepford Wife?" Scarlett asked.

"No," Rachel said, both of them laughing, "no I...I just...I want the kind of love you have in your life. I want that with this girl. I just can't bring myself to do it, which is stupid, cause love's all that really matters in the world, isn't it? Caring about one another?"

"It should be if it isn't," Scarlett said, groaning as she sat up and adjusted her cat ears, saying, "I mean, we all act so combative but we shouldn't be. We're all the same species. We should all be helping one another, caring about one another, whether we're blood related or not. I think you should just go for it, tell this girl how you feel and-"

"I can't," Rachel said quietly.

"Why not?" Scarlett asked, "I mean, I know you said you're worried about ruining the friendship, but-"

"It's more my parents than worrying about the friendship," Rachel replied, "I'm so scared of disappointing them."

"You being happy would disappoint them?"

"Actually I wouldn't put that past them," Rachel said, both women chuckling again before she added, "but no, it's more the being gay thing. They act liberally. They act like they're open minded, but behind closed doors they're somewhat closed minded, especially when it comes to people in their immediate lives. I'm just scared of disappointing them, which makes no sense considering they don't care about disappointing me."

Scarlett looked over her shoulder at Rachel and shook her head.

"I say go for it," she said, shrugging, "I mean, look at what you have now. Parents who don't love you and a girl who might but you aren't sure. At least if the outcome is that she does, then you'll have someone who loves you, even if your parents still don't. I'd say that outcome is worth the effort."

"...maybe," Rachel said, chewing on her lip.

"Oh my godddd I have to peeee," Scarlett said, getting up and hurrying off to the bathroom. Rachel got up and started to clean up the candy wrappers when she heard the front door open. She looked up and saw Mona running upstairs, her bag full of candy, and then Wyatt stumbled into the doorway to the living room.

"You're here a lot now," he said.

"What happened to your face?" Rachel asked.

"It's not noticeable is it?" he asked, touching his face, "shit it hurts. Where's my wife?"

"In the bathroom," Rachel said.

"You leaving?" he asked.

"I will if you want me to," she replied, "but I think my presence is more dictated by your wife than you."

Wyatt smirked and sat down on the arm of the couch, reaching up into his mouth and groaning as he poked at a tooth. Rachel immediately came over and knelt down to eye level, telling him to put his head back. Wyatt listened and Rachel reached inside, then grabbed the tooth with her fingers and pried it out. Wyatt groaned, but quickly covered his mouth to hide the noise. Rachel stepped back, looking at the tooth, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"Did you get in a bar fight?" she asked.

"I did something stupid," Wyatt said, sounding, and looking, fairly pathetic, like he was worried Scarlett would ask questions. Just then Rachel heard Scarlett coming down the stairs, and she quickly reached into her pockets, pulled out a piece of hard candy, unwrapped it and shoved it into Wyatt's mouth.

"Bite down then scream!" she whispered urgently, and he did as he was instructed. Just as Scarlett entered the room, Wyatt screamed, opening his mouth and letting the small jawbreaker roll from his mouth onto the floor. Rachel knelt down and acted as though she were picking his tooth up off the floor.

"What the hell happened?" Scarlett asked.

"I gave him a piece of candy and it took his tooth out!" Rachel said, "Wyatt, I am so sorry, are you okay?"

Wyatt nodded, going along with the ruse even if completely uncertain why exactly Rachel was helping him. Rachel pushed the tooth into Scarlett's hand. She looked down at it, and then grimaced.

"Ew," she said.

"We've had kids together, you're not allowed to be disgusted by a singular tooth," Wyatt said, making her laugh.

"I should get going," Rachel said, "I'd suggest going to a dentist quickly and getting that taken care of."

Rachel gathered her things, hugged Scarlett goodbye and headed for the front door, Wyatt coming along with her. As they walked onto the porch, shutting the door behind them, Wyatt grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around to face him.

"What the hell was that about?" he asked.

"Your wife is my friend, and a happy wife means a happy life, so you owe me," she said, "what happened anyway?"

"...I did something I shouldn't have," he muttered.

"Yeah, well...I know what that's like," Rachel said.

                                                                                                 ***

Oliver Brighton had a normal morning the day after Halloween.

He ate breakfast, he read the newspaper, he took his kids to school and then he headed to work. As he pulled up to the location, he found quite a scene. A bulldozer crunched into the mobile office, a group of men trying to clear the wreckage, and his supervisor, a woman named Melinda Barr, who walked briskly up to him, a really angry look on her face.

"What the hell happened here?" Oliver asked, pushing his glasses up.

"That was gonna be my question to you," Melinda said, "You're supposed to prevent this sort of thing. What the hell, Oliver?"

"I...I don't...what happened?"

"Someone left the keys in the bulldozer and drove it right into the office, it's pretty cut and dry," Melinda said, "but you're our safety supervisor, you're supposed to prevent these sorts of things. This is going to stall our operations by months, as now we're gonna have to have an outside safety supervisor come in and make sure this work site is in fact safe to work at."

"Well, you don't need someone else to come in and do that, I'll write off on it, you know that. Anything to get-"

"No, we need an outsider if we don't wanna wind up in court," Melinda said, "If we had you do it, because you work for the company, it'd look like we're trying to get away with something. By having an outside safety supervisor come in, at least we can say we're trying to do things by the book."

"Okay, fair enough. What should I do?" Oliver asked, following he as she started to walk back to the group of men.

"Find another job," she said, which stopped him in his tracks.

"Wh...what?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, Oliver, but this is too big to ignore," Melinda said, "I have to deal with this. You're fired. Not my orders."

And with that she turned away and headed off to deal with the men. Oliver stood there, staring at the sight, aware his world was crumbling around him. Oliver turned and slowly walked back to his car. He got in, shut the door behind him and just stared at the sight in front of him. He felt rage building inside him. Everything he'd built up for himself, in a legitimate career, had suddenly come to an abrupt end. Oliver reached to the glovebox and opened it, looking at the handgun in it, then shut the glovebox and started the car.

He then started the car, and started to drive away.
Published on
The apartment was a mess. Materials were thrown everywhere, glue was running down the wall and the shoebox they'd been working in was tipped over onto the floor. Father Krickett wiped his forehead with his sleeve and exhaled, leaning against the wall, looking across the room at Boris who was slumped on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

"This was a bad idea," Boris finally said.

"Gee, you think?" Father Krickett asked.

"What made us think we could help with this?" Boris asked, "I mean, we don't know anything about homes! We're probably the least two qualified men on the planet to be helping with such a project. Ridiculous to think we could."

Father Krickett slid down the wall and onto the floor, his eyes landing on the shoebox. He reached up and ran his hand through his short blonde hair, wishing he knew what to say or what to do, but something in the old man brought something combative out in him, and he both hated and loved it. Boris made him feel things he hadn't felt in years.He scanned the room again, his eyes running from Boris back down to the floor and again landing on the shoebox.

"We need to finish what we started," Father Krickett finally said.

"Are you kidding me?" Boris asked, "We're gonna kill one another if we try that."

"Here's to hoping," Father Krickett mumbled, making Boris chuckle.

Yes, it was hard trying to make a visual representation of family. but it was something they both needed to try and do.

                                                                                     ***

"I have to make a shoebox diorama of our home," Chrissy said, sitting at the dinner table the previous evening, "But I don't really know how to do that. I mean, how do you make a visual representation of something that is so hard to understand as it is?"

"What's hard to understand?" Boris asked, piling peas onto his plate, "you live here, with us, and we take care of you. I'd say that's pretty simple."

"Because it isn't 'normal'," Chrissy said, making air quotes, "Because what we have is really unusual, so how do I represent that? I mean, you're not my grandpa and Whittle's not my mom-"

"What about me?" Father Krickett asked as he took his seat at the table after getting himself a drink.

"-and he's not my priest," Chrissy said, making him laugh as she finished, "I live with a nurse, a priest and an old man. That's not a family. That's the start to a joke."

"For what it's worth," Whittle said, "A lot of people have unconventional families and they do just fine. Hell, single parents are still considered a somewhat unconventional family, even though it's been a normalized thing since forever. Plenty of people have families made up of people they aren't related to. We aren't any different than any of your classmates who have moms and dads at homes."

"It's true," Father Krickett said, reaching for a roll to split open and put butter on, as he said, "after all, the way it's shaken out for you, you know you're taken care of. You live with a nurse, who cares for your health, a priest, who cares for your soul, and a Boris."

"...I don't care about anything?" Boris asked, glancing at the priest.

"I don't know, do you?" Father Krickett asked.

"...no, you're right, not particularly," Boris said, making everyone laugh a little as he looked across the table at Chrissy and said, pointing with his fork, "except you. I care about you. We can help you, if you need it. I'd love to work on something. Give me something to do this weekend besides all the nothing I normally do."

"I'd like to but I can't, I have a prior engagement," Whittle said, "but best of luck to you if you do."

"Fine, but you're the one missing all the fun," Boris said.

Whittle smiled as she watched and listened to everyone banter while she ate the dinner Father Krickett and Boris had helped make together. This was the kind of family she liked, in all honesty. For a short time, she'd wondered if she'd made the right decision about leaving her boyfriend, but this, what they had here, was far more suitable for her, and for everyone else it seemed. Oh sure, Father Krickett didn't live with them, but he was there often enough that it felt as if he did. Honestly, she thought, Chrissy was lucky. She'd have killed to have had this setup at her age.

                                                                                        ***

"So, I'm thinking streamers, everyone likes streamers, right? And a disco ball," Carol said as she and Burt walked down the hall, Burt jotting everything down on a little notepad.

"How are we gonna get that stuff on the ceiling?" Burt asked, "I don't trust anyone here to climb a ladder, do you?"

"We'll hire people to prepare for us," Carol said.

Just then, they passed by a large walk in storage closet and stopped, backing up and peering inside. Inside the closet was Boris, standing on a small stepladder as Father Krickett stood beside it, keeping it steady. Father Krickett smiled and waved at Carol and Burt as they walked inside, joining them, a curious look on their faces.

"What are you doing?" Carol asked.

"Looking for arts and crafts supplies," Boris said.

"Why you robbing us? The preschool closed?" Burt asked.

"It's because this is what we had access to. And yes, the preschool was closed, in fact," Boris said, "Hold that ladder steady, dammit! I don't wanna fall on my ass!"

"Like you have an ass anymore to fall on," Carol scoffed, crossing her arms and asking, "So, what is this even for?"

"We're helping Chrissy with a project, a shoebox diorama of her home life," Father Krickett said, "But we don't have any supplies and he's too cheap to buy them himself, so here we are. Thank goodness you guys have a lot of stuff, because otherwise I think he actually may have tried to rob that preschool."

"I'd fight preschoolers, I think I could take them," Boris said, making everyone laugh.

"Well," Carol said, "if you're going to borrow stuff, the payment can be easy. I need you to help get the cafeteria ready for the Senior Prom. Think you guys could help with that?"

"Sure thing," Father Krickett said, "we'd be happy to."

Carol nodded, then turned and exited the room, leaving the boys to their thievery. Burt caught up with her and continued down the hall with her, still writing down her suggestions for the Senior Prom. Back in the storage closet, Father Krickett looked back from the door up the small ladder at Boris and grimaced.

"What's a senior prom?" he asked.

"It's something Carol's throwing to celebrate everyone in the home," Boris said, "I'll explain more later. Hold it steady, I've almost got all the glue."

                                                                                         ***

Unfortunately for the boys, come the weekend, Chrissy was sick and in bed. Whittle hesitated going on her date, but Boris insisted she do it, saying he and Father Krickett would watch her while she was gone, in addition to doing her diorama. Whittle argued for a bit, but eventually conceded and left, leaving the old man and the priest in charge. They broke out the supplies, scattered them on the coffee table and got to work.

"The thing about a diorama," Father Krickett said, "is that it's not supposed to be perfectly accurate. It's simply supposed to represent the makers idealized vision of what it is they're seeing."

"Deep," Boris said, "but if it isn't accurate, then aren't they just lying?"

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Father Krickett said, cutting into some construction paper, shrugging, "Everyone views their homefront as something different. Every member of a family sees something different in what their experience is."

"Like I would know anything about what makes a good home," Boris said.

"I know the feeling. Coming from a home full of grief, it makes it hard to find a reason to try and make a new home," Father Krickett said, "Even if what happened wasn't entirely my fault. My brother dying wasn't because of me. Still, it makes it hard to care about creating something that's meant to be permanent, when I'm not sure the permanance is permanent. Life is so fleeting that even a home eventually becomes uninhabitable over time."

"Gee, you're a bundle of sunshine," Boris said, smirking, as Father Krickett glued a little design to the construction paper, trying to make a proper wallpaper for the shoebox.

"I just mean that home is a weird concept to begin with, and it can mean many different things to many people or nothing to many others," Father Krickett said, "They call the church the house of God, and yet it doesn't feel homely. It feels cold and empty. But to me, that's what home feels like. My own house, as a result, feels weirdly incorrect because it's warm and cozy."

"Home isn't the place, home is the people," Boris said, "It's a construct of an idea. We try and make homes be the buildings, but it isn't, it's the people who reside in those buildings. That's why it can hurt when it all falls apart, because you;re not coming from a broken domicile, you're coming from a broken group of folks."

"Interesting viewpoint," Father Krickett said.

"Take home furnishings for instance," Boris said, "people like to put so much thought into what goes into their homes, but it's all outward visual extensions of the self. You don't get nice furniture or good artwork on the walls to represent yourself, you get it to hopefully trick visitors into seeing a different, often better, version of yourself. A version you aspire to be but could never reach."

"Well that's a tad cynical, don't you think?" Father Krickett asked and Boris scoffed, standing up and throwing his arms into the air.

"I mean, in my experience, the house is a lie. Photos are lies. The only thing true are lived experiences. Everything else is a ruse. A smokescreen," Boris said, "You're not the church, because, unlike the church, you're not cold and unwelcoming."

"I never said it was unwelcoming-"

"But it is, isn't it? I mean, let's face it, a good portion of the general public feel unsafe there," Boris said, "I don't know what it is I'm trying to say, John, I'm just...I'm just saying that a building doesn't represent a person, you know? This apartment? It's just a place to be, man. It doesn't say anything about its inhabitants."

Father Krickett stood up and, jar of glue in his hands, started pacing, peering down at the table from time to time.

"I suppose you have a point, but every child deserves to grow up in a stable environment, don't you think?" he asked, "I mean, by that logic, doesn't that mean the building then inherits the responsibility of those who inhabit it?"

"It can't inherit anything, it's not a living being," Boris said, "ahhh, what do either of us know about family anyway."

"A hell of a lot more than the little girl who lives here," Father Krickett said sternly, surprising Boris, as he added, "I mean, she didn't even know what kind of diorama to do, and now look, we're making it for her. Granted she's sick, so that's why it's fallen on us, but...but here's a child who doesn't know what a home is supposed to be. Do you wanna be realistic, cold and cruel, and create a visual representation of what a home actually is, or do you wanna give her some hope and something to wish for and create a visual representation of what a home should be?"

Boris stared at Father Krickett, then furrowed his brow and waved his hand.

"Whatever, forget it," he said.

"Yeah, shrug it off, like you do with everything," Father Krickett, which got his attention again.

"Excuse me?"

"You always run from bad situations. You ran from your life after the accident, you ran from your problems with Polly and then you ran from what happened with her by becoming dependent on pain medication. No wonder you don't see a home as something that could be something good, because you never spent any time in one. If anything, a hotel is a better example of a living situation for you, because you're always on the move."

"How dare you!" Boris shouted, grabbing the construction paper and throwing it on the floor, adding, "I don't just run! I've come a long way from that! Yes, I'll grant you that's what I used to do, but that isn't the case anymore! And what's it matter to you? What are you even doing here, John? Why are you so involved in this pathetic little excuse for a life I have if you think so lowly of me?"

"I don't think lowly of you and that's the problem!" Father Krickett shouted back, "that's the goddamned issue, is how, like Polly, we both think more highly of you than you do of yourself! The things you're capable of and the things you've done, but you don't see that! All you see is failure and disappointment! When are you gonna open your eyes and start seeing what you're made of instead of what you think you're made of!"

Father Krickett then turned and threw the jar of glue against the wall, screaming, surprising Boris.

"I'm so sick of this, Boris! I'm so sick of seeing you continually believe that just because things have been bad that they'll always be bad, that your lived experiences will continue to define and dominate your future experiences instead of realizing your can make better ones! So you were a bad father, so what! So were a thousand other men! Guess who else is a bad father? I am! I'm a bad father! I'm a bad priest! Because I'd prefer to spend my time saving the soul of one old man instead of the hundreds of other people who might benefit from my help!"

"My soul doesn't need saving!" Boris yelled.

"Oh you're goddamned right it doesn't," Father Krickett said, half laughing, tears running down his face, "Because you...you don't even have one! Right? Isn't that what you believe? That you don't even have a soul? Well the body is the home of the soul, so I guess once your body shuts down your soul will be permanently nomadic, so let's hope it can get an apartment. We're all just houses! We're all just renters in these flesh prisons! That's what you're not seeing!"

"Oh how existential of you," Boris said, sitting down on the couch again as Father Krickett leaned against the wall across from him; Boris continued, "...so you're saying this diorama isn't about the apartment, it's about HER. It's about how she views herself, and our input on her personhood?"

"I don't know what I'm saying," Father Krickett said.

"Why do you even care so much?" Boris asked, "If there's others out there who could use you, why stick around here and continue to be berated? Why do you-"

"Because I love you, man!" Father Krickett said loudly, "because I...because I love you, man."

Neither men said a word for what felt like an hour.

The apartment was a mess. Materials were thrown everywhere, glue was running down the wall and the shoebox they'd been working in was tipped over onto the floor. Father Krickett wiped his forehead with his sleeve and exhaled, leaning against the wall, looking across the room at Boris who was slumped on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

"This was a bad idea," Boris finally said.

"Gee, you think?" Father Krickett asked.

"What made us think we could help with this?" Boris asked, "I mean, we don't know anything about homes! We're probably the least two qualified men on the planet to be helping with such a project. Ridiculous to think we could."

Father Krickett slid down the wall and onto the floor, his eyes landing on the shoebox. He reached up and ran his hand through his short blonde hair, wishing he knew what to say or what to do, but something in the old man brought something combative out in him, and he both hated and loved it. Boris made him feel things he hadn't felt in years.He scanned the room again, his eyes running from Boris back down to the floor and again landing on the shoebox.

"We need to finish what we started," Father Krickett finally said.

"Are you kidding me?" Boris asked, "We're gonna kill one another if we try that."

"Here's to hoping," Father Krickett mumbled, making Boris chuckle.

Yes, it was hard trying to make a visual representation of family. but it was something they both needed to try and do. As they got up and started to clean, they heard the front door open. Whittle was standing there, looking somewhat surprised.

"What the hell did you do to my apartment?!" she shouted.

"Why aren't you on your date?" Boris asked.

"He had to reschedule. There's glue on the fucking walls!" she shouted.

Just then they all heard a cough, and all 3 of them looked up to the hallway to see Chrissy standing there. Her eyes were red, like she had been crying. She was squeezing her plushie to her chest and then tossed her hair back behind her a little out of her eyes.

"Can I have a glass of water?" she asked quietly.

"...yeah, yeah go back to bed, I'll bring it to you," Whittle said as she entered the apartment, set her things down on the kitchen table and then filled a water glass up, heading down the hall, not even looking back at the men in the living room. As she opened the bedroom door, she saw Chrissy sitting on her bed, crossed legged, the lights off. Whittle entered and shut the door behind her, sitting on the bed and handing Chrissy the water as she reached behind her and rubbed her back.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked.

"not really," Chrissy said, "everywhere I go adults fight."

"...when I was your age, my parents argued a lot too. I think that's partially why I was so willing to take you in, because I knew where you were coming from. My situation wasn't as bad as yours, but it was rough at times. But I think the thing to remember here is that your parents were fighting about themselves, and Boris and John are fighting about you."

"That makes it better?" Chrissy asked.

"Hell yeah it is, kid. How many kids are lucky enough to have adults argue about the best way to raise a kid because they care so much about them? Your parents argued because they were mad with themselves for failing themselves, but Boris and John are arguing because they're mad with themselves for failing you. That's a pretty important difference, I'd say. You're a very loved kid."

Chrissy smiled as she looked into her water glass, then took a big sip.

"Will you tuck me back in?" she asked.

"Of course pumpkin," Whittle said.

After Whittle put Chrissy back to bed, she came back out into the living room, but both men were gone, and the room was cleaned. She sighed, sat down at the kitchen table and started eating her take out. What had her life become? Different, difficult at times...but better than it was. She smiled to herself. Frankly that's what everyone in this apartment had now, and it was better than where they'd come from she thought.

                                                                                   ***

Father Krickett and Boris were seated in the school hallway. Boris was holding the diorama in his lap, but neither men would look at eachother, instead opting to watch the kids all go to their respective classes as the school day started. Father Krickett was wearing corderoy pants and a turtleneck with a sports jacket on it, while Boris was in a sweater with a collared shirt peaking out the top, and old black jeans. Eventually Father Krickett cleared his throat and looked at Boris.

"...I'm sorry," he said, "for making things weird or whatever it was I did."

"...you know," Boris said, "if things were different...another time period, if I were a different age, I might be more inclined to return your feelings. Nevertheless, I appreciate your concern, and for what it's worth, I love you too, man. I can't imagine my life without you in it. You're my best friend."

"Same here," Father Krickett said, "I just hope this abomination passes for coursework."

"If it doesn't, then we'll just redo it," Boris said.

"Yeah, sure, and maybe this time we'll just bypass all the yelling and instead kill eachother outright," Father Krickett said, making Boris chuckle as he added, "...I don't think you're wrong, for what it's worth. I think homes are often a facade, but they don't have to be, and especially for a child they shouldn't be. I just wanna make sure Chrissy grows up in a better home than any of us did."

"...yeah, that's what I want to," Boris replied, "I just want her to grow up at least feeling like someone cared enough to TRY."

Just then they looked up from the diorama at Chrissy, now standing in front of them, looking down at the diorama. Eventually all their eyes met.

"What are you guys doing here?" she asked.

"We brought your diorama. We managed to finish it last night," Boris said, handing it to her, "...sorry it's such a mess."

"Like I'd expect anything less," Chrissy said, "but, ya know, that's how I like it. Perfection is boring. I like how messy we all are. I like how messy our home life is. It's weird and it's unusual, but that just makes life more interesting, right? I mean...we're all weirdos, but at least we're weirdos together."

Boris and Father Krickett smiled at her, then one another.

"Thanks for helping, guys," she said, hugging them both, "I don't care what grade I get, cause at least I know the people who helped make mine really cared."

The bell rang, and Chrissy turned, rushing off to class, waving bye to them over her shoulder. Father Krickett put his hand on Boris's shoulder as Boris slid his hands into his pants pockets, the two men standing in the hall, watching her run down the hall to her classroom.

"Come on," Father Krickett, "I'll buy you breakfast."

"You always buy me breakfast."

"Yeah but this time it'll be for a good cause."

"What, me not starving isn't a good enough cause for you? Isn't the church supposed to want to feed the needy?" Boris asked as they turned and walked down the hallway toward the front doors of the school.

"Boris?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Alrighty."
Published on
"What the hell is tapioca?" Burt asked as he and Carol stood in line getting lunch. She shrugged and plopped another jello square onto her tray.

"I don't know, some kind of pudding I'd guess," Carol said.

"Everyone assumes old people eat the grossest shit. Tapioca, oatmeal, liver and onions...don't they realize that our palette hasn't changed just because we've aged? I want cheeseburgers god dammit," Burt said, making her chuckle as they carried their trays back to the table, finding Larry already seated and eating an enormous burrito; Burt looked at him agog, and asked, "Where did you get that?"

"From a little vendor outside," Larry said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "You should try leaving the home once in a while. It's amazing what things you can find two feet from the door."

"I'm gonna kill you and eat your lunch," Burt mumbled.

"Hey," Carol said, interrupting the bickering as she shifted her food around her plate, "...what do you guys think about, like, a senior prom?"

"What about it?" Larry asked.

"Like, you remember going to prom, right? We all presumably went to prom," Carol said.

"I like that you said presumably," Burt said.

"Well, who knows, you could've been a loser who stayed at home and danced with his mom, I just didn't wanna make any assumptions," Carol replied, smirking, "but do you guys think that would be a good idea? Sort of a little party to celebrate the fact that we're seniors? Seniority has a lot of perks to it, aside from being closer to death than anyone else."

"I think it's a cool idea," Larry said, "We could get suits and dresses and do decorations and maybe order catering."

"Exactly. And for people with alzheimers, it'd be nice, it'd be like reliving the days they think they're living already," Carol said, "I know they say you shouldn't wallow in your memories but sometimes those are what get you through the day. Memory is important."

"I'll try to remember that," Burt muttered, making them all laugh.

                                                                                                ***

Boris parked the gremlin and got out. He stuffed the keys in his coat pocket and started walking through the parking lot, unsurprised when he heard the sound of heels rushing up behind him, and found Lorraine walking beside him now.

"Boy, you drive in style," she said, smirking.

"I do what I can to impress the ladies, yes," Boris said, smiling a little himself, "Did Ellen tell you anything at all about why she wanted us to come to her therapy session?"

"No," Lorraine said, hoisting her purse strap further up her shoulder, "No, all she said was that it was important, and that was enough for me. I no longer require explanation, I'm just trying to be there for her whenever she asks."

"Yeah, exactly," Boris said, kicking small pebbles in front of him as they approached the building. He reached out and opened the door, letting Lorraine enter first. She thanked him, and he followed her inside. They checked in at the counter, then were told to take a seat, and they would be let into the office in a few minutes, so Boris and Lorraine seated themselves. Lorraine picked up a well worn looking magazine from the table by her chair and started flipping through it.

"I used to think it was important to keep a nice household," she said, looking at the various photos in this housekeeping magazine, sighing, "but really, the household itself doesn't matter. The people inside it matter. You can keep the most disheveled home, but so long as the people inside it are tight knit, the appearance doesn't matter."

"Deep," Boris said, "You should write a philosophy book."

Lorraine looked at him, somewhat smiling at his statement, but also wishing that, for once, he'd be serious.

"...we didn't try hard enough," she finally said, flopping the magazine down in her lap, "we thought all you had to do was get married, remember? That was it. Get married, have a kid, everything else would fall into place. It'd just work. That isn't how it works."

"No it is not," Boris said, laughing a little, "but...I don't think it's fair to say we didn't try hard enough. We tried plenty. It just...didn't work. Sometimes things just don't work. Sometimes the people you wanna have in your life are...are not meant to be there that long."

He looked away and ran a hand through his thin hair, making Lorraine reach out and hold his hand.

"You really miss her," she said quietly.

"Every goddamned day. I've never missed a woman I didn't romantically love more than her," he said.

"Losing a friendship, especially a really good friendship, can be just as brutal as losing as a lover," Lorraine said, "I'm sorry that happened to you, Boris, she seemed like a good friend to you."

The door opened and a woman was standing there. She smiled and waved at the couple, insinuating they could follow her, which they did. They got out of their chairs and headed through the door, then followed the woman down the hall towards an office. Once inside they found Ellen sitting there, and she smiled weakly at them as they entered. Boris immediately got an awful feeling in his gut.

"Hi sweetheart," Lorraine said, hugging Ellen, who hugged her  back.

"Hi mom, hi dad," she said, and Boris smiled at her and hugged her lightly after Lorraine was done. The two took their seats again and looked from Ellen to the therapist, who just scrawled something on a piece of paper on a clipboard and then looked back up at everyone else.

"So," she said, "I'm Dr. Krowder, it's nice to meet you. I'm very glad you were able to meet with us today," she said, "I've been working with Ellen for a few months now, and we have made...uh...decent progress, I guess, is a way to put it. Nothing outstanding but also more than nothing at all. She's been great to work with, but she really wanted you guys to come in this week because she remembered something and she wanted to bring it up to you both."

Lorraine and Boris exchanged a seemingly nervous glance before looking back at Ellen, who was now looking at her hands in her lap.

"Okay," Boris said, "Well, whatever we can do to help her, obviously."

"Why did you and mom split up? I remember the fight, the night you left," Ellen said, still not looking at them, "and, uh..." she paused and pushed some hair back behind her ear, sniffling, "and I just never really understood why it happened. But I guess piecing it together now, it makes sense, if we had an accident and you felt responsible and whatnot..."

"That was a big part of it," Boris said.

"but why did you say what you said?" Ellen asked, causing Boris and Lorraine to, once again, exchange a glance before Boris furrowed his brow.

"What...what did I say?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"You said you never wanted a family to begin with, that mom is the one who wanted this, and that you knew you wouldn't be good at being a father," Ellen said, finally looking up at her father.

"...when your mother and I met, I was trying desperately to be a writer," Boris said, "I was taking any job I could, doing copy, whatever, but...but in my spare time I was working mostly on my poetry. She and I met at a small poetry group at a local bookstore, and she was immediately smitten."

"It's true, I can't deny it," Lorraine said, chuckling nervously.

"and likewise," Boris continued, clearing his throat and cupping his hands, "uh, I thought she was beautiful and very very intelligent, and so we immediately started dating. We just...I guess, we assumed that's what you did when you got serious. You got married, you had kids, whatever. It wasn't...it wasn't so much that I didn't..."

Boris scratched his head.

"How do I explain this," he muttered, "uh...I wasn't against having you. Does that make sense? After we got married, after you were born, yeah, I started to realize that that wasn't the life I wanted and we had both been kind of pressured socially into doing that, and while I may have regretted giving into that pressure instead of following my original plan...I never once regretted you."

"I believe that," Ellen said softly, "but I...I feel like the accident, what happened to me specifically, is what caused you two to finally split."

"No, look, we were not doing well already by that point," Boris said, "and the accident itself may have triggered it ultimately, but you weren't the reason. I was at fault. I was always at fault. I could've walked away at any point before that, and I chose not to because that's something you didn't do back then. You didn't break up your family. It made you less of a man, whatever the hell that means. So I stuck around until I literally felt so guilty for sticking around that I couldn't anymore. I felt like maybe if I'd left before that, the accident wouldn't have happened, and if it hadn't had happened, you wouldn't have needed the operation and then you wouldn't have been in a coma and we wouldn't even be here right now and it's ALL my fault."

Lorraine looked at Boris and smiled. She'd truly see the growth he'd made in the last few years, and she was once again finally recognizing the man she'd once loved so deeply.

"I just remembered the fight the other night, and it...it made me feel bad because I felt like I was the reason you guys were unhappy. Like I was why you were stuck," Ellen said.

"Sweetheart," Boris said, "you were never the reason for anything bad, okay? If anything, even if this isn't what we wanted originally, we've never regret having you. You've been the only good outcome of our life together. That's never gonna change."

Ellen smiled and wiped her eyes on her sweater sleeve, making Boris smile.

"...I love you guys," Ellen said, surprising them both; she continued, "I didn't...I don't remember everything, and what I do remember I don't remember well, but I'm glad to have parents who love me so much. I love you mom and dad."

"We love you too," Lorraine said, making Boris nod.

For the first time in a long long time, Boris felt like perhaps memories weren't such a bad thing after all.

                                                                                                   ***

"You sure you don't want a drink?" Lorraine asked, Boris now sitting in the living room back at her house, the house that had once been their house; she strolled back into the room and handed him a glass, but he waved it off.

"Naw, I gotta drive home still," Boris said as she sat down in a chair near the couch and watched him, casually sipping her drink. After a moment he cleared his throat and added, "Maybe we weren't such bad parents after all."

"You've changed," Lorraine said, "in a good way. You seem more at ease. You don't seem so tense. You seem...different. I don't know how to put it. Today in that office you were so open and honest and emotional and it was...it was something I hadn't seen in you in a long time. I remember when you took me to a quiet lake for a picnic, and you read me a poem you wrote for me, and I just thought to myself what a good man you were and how lucky I was to find you and claim you as my own. That's how I'm feeling lately. Seeing that man again."

"I missed that guy," Boris said, making them both chuckle as he added, "I started writing poetry again."

"Really?" Lorraine asked, actually surprised.

"Yeah, I...I guess I just wanted to try my hand at it and see if I still could do it," Boris said, "You expect your skills to atrophy over time but, surprise surprise, I wasn't terrible, hah. Don't think I could do it professionally anymore though. Think that time has passed."

"Sunset gold on silver blue, sentiments old but feelings new, green to red and red to brown, all this beauty when you're around; the colors and the seasons change, but nothing leaves me feeling strange, because the winter brings something fresh to see, the best part of you is how you feel for me."

Boris looked at Lorraine, who smiled weakly and stirred her drink.

"You still remember parts of it by heart," Boris said, "Impressive."

"It's not impressive," Lorraine said, "that's what love does to you. It makes you remember. Memory is, good or bad, all we have in the end. I choose to make it good."

Boris smiled and said, "I think I will have that drink after all. I can stay a while."

                                                                                               ***

Carol was sitting by Larry's garden, sunning herself on the chaise lounge; sunhat pulled over her face, sunglasses covering her eyes. She didn't even hear Boris walk up beside her and seat himself on a footstool beside her. He eventually cleared his throat and she pulled the hat up and pulled her sunglasses down, turning her head and smiling at him.

"Hey," she said, "Where you been?"

"Had a doctors appointment," Boris said, "Anything going on around here?"

"I'm throwing a senior prom," Carol said, "Bring us all back to our youth for just one evening. You wanna come?"

"Are you asking me to be your date?" Boris asked and Carol cackled.

"Right! Like I'd be caught dead going with you," she said, making him laugh, then added, "You can bring a date if you want. I know I will. Hey, do you know what tapioca is?"

"You mean besides disgusting?" Boris asked, shrugging, "No clue, why?"

"I'm thinking of serving it at the prom, if only just to piss off Burt," Carol said.

"Wow, petty."

"You gotta find ways to entertain yourself at this age," Carol said.

                                                                                                ***

That night, Boris brushed his teeth and got ready for bed. As he passed down the hallway, he heard Chrissy still awake. He opened her bedroom door slowly and peeked inside, to find her curled up on her bed under the blankets, crying. Boris entered the room and sat down on the bed.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked.

"...the kids at school keep making fun of me cause I don't have a family," Chrissy said, "but I do have family, it's just not the same kind of family they have. Why can't they understand that?"

"Kids are stupid, they got tiny brains," Boris said, then ruffled Chrissy's hair, "Except this one. This kid's got a big brain, and frankly I think science is going to have to intervene and explain how she got this way before it gets too out of hand and she overpowers us all."

Chrissy laughed and rolled onto her bed, looking at Boris.

"Did you have a good family growing up?" she asked and Boris's entire face changed. He exhaled through his nose and looked around the room. Finally, after a few minutes, he looked back at her.

"When I was a kid, family was an obligation," he said, "you stuck with them through thick and thin, even if you hated one another, because it's what was expected of you, and to do anything different was damn near blasphemy. It's not like that now, and that's a good thing, hell it's a GREAT thing, because a lot of times birth is all based around circumstances, you know? You have no control over being born, or who you're born to, and that isn't fair, and now people are taking their lives into their hands and saying, 'ya know what, you're not good for me, and I deserve better' and that's awesome."

Chrissy watched him as he paused and scratched at his chin.

"No, I didn't have a good family growing up. They weren't abusive or anything, but they were parents because they were obligated to be, not because they wanted to be. They had a child because they were expected to, not because they loved one another enough to create another person. I think your parents love you. I just think they don't love eachother, and often times the child gets caught in the middle. But hey, lucky you, you got a 2nd home! Most kids don't have that. So really, when the shit hits the fan at home, and those kids have nowhere to be, think how lucky you are and who'll be laughing then."

Chrissy smiled and nodded as Boris leaned in and kissed her on the nose.

"Sleep good kitten," he said, "Have sweet dreams."

As he exited the room and stood in the hallway, he thought of how utterly lucky he was, in fact, to have a 2nd chance himself. Not just by having the chance to raise Chrissy in some way, but to also rebuild his relationship with his own daughter. Boris headed to his bedroom and shut the door, then sat down on the bed and looked at the drawer of his bedside table. He pulled it open and pulled out a small old leather brown photo album, opening it and turning to a particular page which showed him as a child and his parents. He sighed and shook his head, then put it back into the drawer, laid down and shut the lamp off.

Not every memory is a pleasant one.

But the cool thing about memory, Boris was coming to acknowledge, was that you were always able to make new better ones.
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About

So Happy Together is a dramedy about couple Aubrey & Brent. After Aubrey plays an April Fools joke on Brent that she's pregnant, Brent confesses out of panic that he actually has a secret daughter with an ex wife, and everything changes overnight.