The small, golden circular tag jangled on his plain brown leather collar as he plodded along down the road. He'd once belonged to someone, but that had been ages ago, and now he was a free roaming dog, able to go wherever he wanted. The dirt beneath his paws warm but not too hot, he liked the feeling of the breeze on his fur, and the feeling of the ground on his pads. He finally stopped in a field and sniffed the air, before walking over to a specific spot and starting to dig. He loved to dig, but this was a particularly enticing scent. And why wouldn't it be?

It was flesh, after all.

                                                                                              ***

Rachel was sitting in a booth of a diner, her hands wrapped tightly around a mug of coffee as she stared at the grain of the table in front of her. Today, for some reason, she was thinking of her parents more than usual, her father specifically. How, when she was a little girl, she used to go out to breakfast with her dad on the weekends, just the two of them, and she could remember the first time he let her order coffee. Coffee was something they then bonded over, going to different places, opting to try the coffee there and then discuss their varying opinions on its quality. Rachel smiled weakly to herself. She was clinging desperately to memories lately, because, quite frankly, she didn't see herself making new ones anytime soon.

"Hello?" a woman asked, and Rachel looked up, wiping her nose on her sweater sleeve, to see a woman taking a seat across from her in the booth; the woman smiled softly, and added, "I'm...I'm Amelia."

"Oh. Oh, right," Rachel said, "um, hi. Sorry it took so long for us to get together."

"It's okay," Amelia said, "are...are you okay?"

"It's been a lot lately," Rachel said, "But I'll be okay. I'm sorry we had to meet like this, under, ya know, these circumstances."

"It's fine," Amelia said, "I just...I wanted to meet my brothers friends."

That word. Friends. It stabbed Rachel in the heart. They had, in fact, been friends. That wasn't a lie. She and Calvin had been friends before Wyatt came into the picture with them. If he'd never shown up, in fact, it's easy to believe that she would've taken his place. Helped kill Grudin. Been the one dealing with everything. She wouldn't have stood a chance. Here she was, on the veritable sidelines, and she was barely holding it together. Rachel lifted her mug to her lips and sipped, letting the coffee warm her up.

"Yeah, we were friends, we were close," Rachel said, looking down into the mug, "...I miss him."

And the worst part was...she wasn't lying. She did, in fact, miss him. She missed him so much. She knew Wyatt did too. That was the worst part of it all, she thought. Was the fact that they didn't want Calvin to die. But he left them no choice. He was on a downward spiral, and he would've taken them all with him. There was simply no other option. Amelia coughed a little, then ordered her own coffee from a waitress passing by before returning her look towards Rachel.

"Can I ask you a question about him?" Amelia asked, and Rachel nodded slowly.

"Yeah," she whispered, "of course."

Amelia sighed, scratched her nose, then leaned in across the table and lowered her voice.

"...how did he die?" she asked.

Rachel was taken by surprise. She figured Calvin's death was suspicious, but nobody had come forward yet to claim so...until now. Rachel looked up and locked eyes with Amelia. She wanted to break. To tell her everything. She wanted to tell her what Calvin had done, how he'd done it. How he'd blown a man up. A man who, justifiably, deserved to be blown up, but still. How he'd then taken down an entire plane, with her best friend on board, no less. How he was planning to murder a child for the sake of revenge. But she couldn't do that. She couldn't tarnish the image of a dead man to the very sister who adored him. So instead, Rachel shook her head and sighed.

"He shot himself," she said, "I mean...I'm sure they told you. He shot himself by the river. It was somewhere we went to together now and then, just to hang out, drink. That's what happened."

Amelia sighed and fell back into her side of the booth, disappointed.

"Shame," she said, "always kinda hoped he'd go out better than that."

Oh if only you knew, Rachel thought.

                                                                                              ***

"If you don't stop messing with my air conditioner," Angie said, slapping Wyatt's hand away as he chuckled.

"This place is far out here," Wyatt said, "I mean, I guess it's not that surprising, cults usually invest in communes, removed from the prying eye, but still. This is...this is out of the way, even for a cult. Why...why did this guy wanna meet me?"

Angie bit her lip and turned a corner, heading down the last stretch of road before reaching the gate.

"He cares about me, he knows who I'm associated with, and he knows the situation now. I went to him to help hide your dad," Angie said, "I didn't know who else to turn to, who else could...ya know, manage that sort of thing, so I came here. Don't worry, he'll protect me, and, by proxy, anyone I care about. That being said, I'm not happy about you meeting him."

"Why, think if he gets involved with us he might also end up dead?" Wyatt asked, smirking a little.

"It's not him I'm worried about," Angie whispered, "it's what he could do to you."

Wyatt admitted, that wasn't the answer he expected. This guy, this Art guy, he must be one hell of an awful person if even Angie was so clearly scared of him. Wyatt sighed and continued adjusting the knobs, turning the heat on and blasting it in his face. It was getting warmer, but the mornings were still brisk. The compound then come into view, and he had to admit, he was impressed by the size. As her car approached, the gate opened, and Wyatt was even more impressed. She was apparently so trusted she didn't even require a security check of any kind. As she pulled in and parked, turning the car off, she looked at the steering wheel, and Wyatt looked at her as he undid his seatbelt.

"...just don't let him hurt us please," she whispered.

"Have I let anyone hurt us so far?" Wyatt asked, and she smiled weakly.

"No, but he's different, he's...dangerous. Calvin wasn't dangerous," Angie said.

"Calvin wasn't dangerous?" Wyatt asked, "The...the guy who blew up an entire plane, out of the sky? That Calvin?"

"He was unhinged, there's a difference. He acted mostly without malice, but also on a whim. Art is methodical, he plans. He does things with deliberate intent. I'm not saying the things Calvin did were not with intent, he meant to do them, but he acted on emotion...not logic. Art acts on logic."

Wyatt nodded, thinking. Art sounded like his father, and that definitely made his blood run a little colder. Wyatt cleared his throat, then reached over and put a hand on Angie's shoulder, causing her to glance in his direction.

"Whatever happens," Wyatt said, "whether it's here, with this man, or anywhere with anyone else, I won't let anything happen to you or hurt you. That's a promise, okay?"

Angie smiled and nodded in response, and, together, they climbed out of her car and headed for Art's house. Wyatt made these promises, but how long could he realistically keep them for, he wondered. He promised Rachel he would take the fall, he promised Celia that he would help her stop her husband, and now he promised Angie that he would protect her. At some point...one of them was going to be let down, and he was quite frankly scared to find out who.

                                                                                           ***

"He lost everything," Amelia said, mouth full of scrambled eggs.

She and Rachel were still in the diner, and Amelia opted to pay for breakfast. Together they were sitting, eating, while Amelia discussed her brother, Rachel doing nothing more than lending a sympathetic ear to the woman whose brother she'd helped murder.

"I mean you know that, you knew him," Amelia said, "but he lost it all, and that was all that meant anything to him, besides, well, me. Calvin had always been a loner, same as I had, but the difference was that I knew Wyatt in high school, so I at least had some level of socialization because I had a boyfriend. But Calvin...he didn't really have anyone until he met his wife, and they had their family. And once that happened, god, it was like nothing else in the world mattered to him. He poured all his time and energy into that."

Rachel nodded, opting to eat instead of respond, let Amelia just get it all out of her brain and into the open. She figured she needed to just talk about him.

"And after he lost them," she continued, "he just...he was empty. He was a shell. I don't blame him. I was out of the picture well before then, I had been moved to an inpatient facility for a few years to get better, then managed to live on my own thanks to the help of social aide, but somehow he seemed worse than me. He always seemed so much more fragile and delicate than I did, even emotionally."

"What were you in inpatient for?" Rachel asked, before stopping and holding up a hand, "I am so sorry, that was really rude. I...I only ask cause I've had a lifelong history of mental illness myself, so I'm always curious what lands other people in that situation."

"Oh, it's okay," Amelia said, "I don't mind. Um...well, after Wyatt dumped me I felt pretty devastated, as teenage girls often do. But my emotionality was always really weak willed, and I just...crumbled. I couldn't deal with school, I couldn't deal with our parents. I didn't, like, start to hallucinate or anything, it was nothing like that. But I..."

Amelia stopped herself and looked down at her plate, Rachel raising an eyebrow as she bit into her toast.

"If I tell you something," Amelia said, "Something I never even told Wyatt, you can't tell anyone."

"Of course, this is girl talk, I respect the boundaries of girl talk," Rachel said, the both of them giggling.

"Um..." Amelia said, "and I need to preface this by saying I still don't know why I did it, and it certainly wasn't being dumped, I'm not that dramatic. I think it was just everything on top of me all at once that pushed me to this point, ya know? Worrying about finishing high school and getting into art college and then, of course, being dumped and...but one night uh...I used to take baths every night. It was how I unwound. I'd fill the tub with warm water, not hot water, just warm water, and then I'd slide inside it and just lay there, shut my eyes, fantasize about things. One night, lying there, I realized I couldn't fantasize anymore, and that's...that's when I realized it was because I didn't see a future for myself. So I took one of our fathers razor blades off the sink and I got back into the bath and I started gutting my arm."

"Holy shit," Rachel mumbled.

"Yeah," Amelia continued, "Calvin found me because the downstairs bathroom was out of commission and he had to use the toilet, so they managed to rescue me. I guess that's why I asked how he died, because a part of me was hoping it would be something else. But I guess he and I were more alike than I thought, if we both just attempted out of the blue. At least Calvin had more reason than I did though."

"That isn't fair," Rachel said, "don't say that. Your reasons were perfectly valid. Don't sell yourself short."

"It isn't really about selling myself short, it's more..."

Amelia exhaled and pinched her nose between her fingers, clearly trying not to cry.

"...I miss my brother," she said, crying quietly, breaking Rachel's heart. Rachel got up and slid into the booth beside Amelia, pulling her in for a hug, stroking her hair, letting Amelia break down and sob against her.

"It's okay," Rachel whispered, "you're okay. I know. We all do."

"Would you maybe...help me deal with his estate? Say goodbye to him?" Amelia asked through her tears, "I don't...I don't wanna do it alone."

"Yeah of course, whatever I can do to help, you just let me know," Rachel said, causing Amelia to cry more. Rachel sat there, consoling this poor, grieving woman. As she did, her eyes scanned up to the large window beside the booth, only to see Sun Rai standing there, looking at her. Rachel's eyes widened, as Sun's narrowed. She was holding a bag from a medical supply store in one hand, a bag of takeout in the other. Clearly on her way to help care for her father, spend the day with him. Rachel's stomach dropped, as Sun turned and continued walking. Rachel lowered her head against Amelia's and started crying as well.

Just two women, grieving very different things together.

                                                                                              ***

"Nice digs," Wyatt said, hands in his jacket pockets as they walked through Art's home, heading for the greenhouse.

"I do take personal pride in my living arrangement," Art said, "as one should. After all, you spend all your time at home, it should be the nicest place you are."

"Couldn't agree more. Nothing worse than when that place falls apart," Wyatt said, thinking to home...to Scarlett. He cleared his throat as he stopped to admire a statue, Art stopping alongside him, Angie behind them both, nervously chewing her lip. Wyatt finally asked, "So...what was it exactly you wanted to see me about?"

"Angie's an important person to me, Wyatt. I just like to make sure that the people who claim to care about her actually do so," Art said.

"That's admirable, I feel the same way, that's why I agreed to meet you," Wyatt said, catching Art off guard.

"You...you think I'm untrustworthy?" Art asked, smirking, chuckling.

"Well, let's face it, people who run cults rarely are trustworthy. I mean, how many have coaxed their followers into ending their own lives, after all? That doesn't feel like having anyones best interest at heart, now does it?" Wyatt replied, smirking back. Angie couldn't believe what she was witnessing. Wyatt was actually doing it. Standing up to this man, not backing down, holding his ground....for her.

"You're not wrong," Art said, "I won't even argue with you because I agree. That's why I sow unity, not distrust. You'll notice I let people leave if they want, I didn't stop her parents, and I only am speaking with her now because she came back. People here live nice lives. But they are free. They're choosing to stay because I offer them guidance and comfort in a world that generally offers nothing but cruelty."

"You're also not wrong, the world does generally offer nothing but cruelty," Wyatt said, "and far be it from me to tell you how to run what you do. You're obviously an expert at it. And, look...for what it's worth, I appreciate the help. If you're able to do what you're able to do, with your vast network of connections, and track down the person at the center of all of this, then I'm more than willing to give you that chance. I think you and I both want children to be safe, is the end result here. I grew up in an abusive household with an abusive father, I know Angie distrusts her parents, my friend Rachel's folks disowned her for her sexuality, nobody I know, basically, sans one or two people, has had a good childhood. Now I don't know anything about your past, and frankly I don't need to unless you feel interested in sharing, but of course no obligation, but I'm willing to bet you didn't wind up here because you had a great childhood yourself."

Art cackled and slapped Wyatt on the back.

"You know, you really do have a way with words, Wyatt. I think we can come to some kind of arrangement that benefits us all," Art said.

After a bit more talk, a light lunch, Art agreed to continue to help in their search for the mastermind of the operation. He and Wyatt agreed to a regularly scheduled meeting, and after that, Wyatt and Angie left. As they drove back down the road, passing through a somewhat unfamiliar neighborhood, Angie still couldn't believe how things had gone down. She came to a stop sign where kids were crossing on their way home from school, and she chewed anxiously on her nail.

"You talked to him in a way I've never seen anyone talk to him," Angie finally said.

"That's the thing about cult leaders, they like to act like they're gods, but they're people," Wyatt said, "capable of distrust and every other possible unfortunate human trait. Gotta talk to them like they're people, to remind them of that."

"Wyatt....thank you," Angie said, "I...I know I'm not well, and I know I...I know I'm not well. I'm very not well. But you haven't run away, and you haven't abandoned me, and you care, and that means so much, so thank you."

"I have a daughter," Wyatt said, "I guess, in a way, taking care of you is like taking care of her. You deserve to be cared about, Angie, regardless of your mental state. I'm just doing what is right."

They looked ahead at the street, at the crossing, and noticed the kids now grouped in a circle, all looking at something. Wyatt and Angie exchanged a glance, then unbuckled their seatbelts and climbed out of the car. As they headed over to the group, they could see the tail of a dog wagging vigorously, and Wyatt laughed. Kids, always happy to see a dog, he thought. Until the dog stopped and looked up at him, a disembodied hand between its teeth. Wyatt bent down, looked at the dogs nametag, which read, "Clark", then grabbed the dog by its collar and lightly tugged it towards the car where the dog happily hopped in. Angie got back into the drivers seat quickly as they buckled back up and started to drive away.

"Why did you take the dog?" she asked, "it's carrying a human hand, man."

"Yeah," Wyatt said, his eyes wide, his breathing shaky, "...a human hand that happens to be wearing my fathers engraved watch."

"Every hotel prides itself on doing the bare minimum; fast wifi, a free hot breakfast, cable TV!" Ricky said, "like, congratulations, you want a medal for achieving the lowest effort? That's why people opt to stay at 5 star hotels, not because they actually care but because they at least give the illusion that they do, you know? They do more than the bare minimum and suddenly that makes them top dog."

"You sure have a lot of opinions on things that don't really matter," Rachel said as she scooped her scrambled eggs onto her fork, making Ricky laugh as he poured her more coffee then placed the pot back on the countertop for everyone else before seating himself at the table. Rachel picked up a hashbrown and bit into it before asking, while chewing, "so what's on the agenda today?"

"Well," Ricky said, "I've done quite a bit of digging as it is, in regards to Brighton and Wattson. Brighton was a pawn, nothing more. A sick fucking man, and good riddance, but a pawn. But Wattson, that's where the lead is, I think. He's who we should focus on. Cause, really, he wasn't the one in charge, but he was high up enough on the rank to have information. Unfortunately he's fucking dead, no thanks to your friend."

"Yeah, well, you'll be happy to know he not only complicated your life but everyone's," Rachel said, wiping her mouth on a nearby napkin, "take solace in the fact you aren't alone in your frustration."

"Wattson got a phone call," Ricky said, getting Rachels attention, causing her to look up from her plate as he added, "the night Brighton died. He got a phone call that informed him, then urged him to rush back here and deal with the aftermath. I think it's imperative we start with where that phone call originated from."

Rachel raised her eyebrows and smirked, nodding.

"Damn dude," she said, "you really ARE an investigator."

"I'm a liar for a living, but I don't lie about my skills," Ricky said, lifting his coffee mug up to reach hers as they clinked together and he said, "welcome to team, Rachel."

                                                                                                    ***

Celia was having a rather uneventful morning, but that was about to change. So far she'd gotten her son to school, done some light cleaning around the house, then taken some time for herself. A nice long bath, read a bit of a biography she was partway through and caught up on some paperwork. It was about 11 in the afternoon when her day finally started to shift, all thanks to a knock on her front door. Celia opened the door, only to find Paul standing there. She smiled, stepped aside politely, inviting him in.

"Uh, thanks," Paul said, "Sorry I didn't call beforehand."

"Oh, you're fine," Celia said, shutting the door behind him and heading back to the kitchen where she'd been cutting up some fruits for a smoothie. Paul followed her and watched her dump a handful of various fruit choppings into the blender, then continue cutting up more; Celia eyeballed him as she did, asking "so what's going on? What brings you 'round?"

"Actually," Paul said, "uh, this isn't really a good kinda visit. Celia..."

Celia nodded, nervous, but continuing to put the fruit into the blender. Paul sighed.

"...what do you know about Calvin Klepper?" he asked, and that took the wind right out of her.

"Ex...excuse me?" she asked.

"Calvin Klepper. Went to school with you. Apparently you guys were kinda friends over the last handful of months, until he died anyway. Anyway, it's a pretty unanimous opinion around the office that Klepper didn't kill himself, but that's whatever. What's a bigger, more unanimous opinion around the office is that he blew up the plane that was carrying The Evergreens. Klepper had ties to almost everyone on that plane; a weather girl named Kelly Schuester, best friend to Rachel Minnow, someone else you're both friends with, as well as his former teacher Leonard Wattson. We traced receipts for items he bought, items specifically used for making bombs. Did you know about any of this?"

Celia did her best to keep her cool, but it felt as though she were standing at the edge of lava, and didn't know how to not be burned. She shook her head, shrugging, not saying a word. Paul smirked weakly, knowing when she was lying.

"Celia," Paul continued, "Celia, I need you to be honest with me. because...I want shared custody of our son. And, if you're lying about this, I can't...I can't protect you from what's gonna come. But if you work with me, we can work out some kind of arrangement and-"

"Are you blackmailing me? Seriously? Is that what's happening right now?" Celia asked, looking up, sounding incredulous.

"I'm looking to find a solution that benefits us both," Paul said, "we can make this work so he has both parents, so that the right people get charged with aiding and abetting his crimes. It doesn't have to be you who goes down for it, Cels."

"You're out of your mind," Celia said, "yeah, okay, I knew him. We met at the reunion this year, but we were barely friends. We saw one another a few times outside of that, but that was only because we had mutual friends, like Rachel. Jesus, Paul, what kind of person do you think I am?"

"...a smart one," Paul said, taking her by surprise as he added, "that's...you're smart, Celia, that's why you're a success. That's why I wanted to build myself up, cause I couldn't compare to you. You were always the better one between us, and I wanted to be as good as you. Now I can be, and now I can protect you as well. But I want to have shared custody of our son in return."

Celia stood there, opposite kitchen counter from Paul, the knife gripped tightly as possible in her hand, gritting her teeth. Paul sighed and backed away.

"I'll give you some time to think about it," he said, "just...don't do what's wrong for him. He shouldn't have to lose his mother after losing his dad."

With that, Paul took a swift exit, leaving Celia reeling. Had he even actually returned to see their son, or was he simply on the case, trying to get information from her? Celia walked to the freezer, pulled out an icecube and ran it over her face, trying to cool down. Wyatt. She needed to call Wyatt. If anyone would know what to do, it'd be Wyatt, but where could they meet that Paul wouldn't be watching?

                                                                                             ***

Rachel was sitting in the passenger seat of Ricky's car as they drove towards their destination, but she wasn't really saying much. Ricky turned the radio down, as she rolled down the window and exhaled the smoke from her cigarette out it. After a bit, she looked over at him and he smiled at her.

"So," Ricky said, "tell me about your girl."

"Not my girl anymore," Rachel said coldly.

"I mean...is that official?" Ricky asked.

"I guess not, we haven't really spoken to split up, but it feels pretty over. Either way I don't foresee her ever forgiving me," Rachel said, taking another long drag, "and it's probably for the best. I got to live my dream. I got to be with her for a while. But she's better off without me, that's for sure. Nobody who isn't directly involved in the situation should be involved with us."

Ricky grimaced. Rachel sounded utterly defeated when it came to her relationship, and he hated that. He hated what this had cost her. They finally pulled up to a small grey building, boxy and plain, and he parked. They climbed out of the car and started walking towards the front doors.

"What is this?" Rachel asked.

"This," Ricky said, "is where one comes when one wants to find out where a call originated from. Which is exactly what we're looking to achieve."

"And they just give that information out?" Rachel asked.

"How quickly we forget how good I am at my job," Ricky said, winking at her, making her chuckle. She appreciated his light heartedness, especially right now when all she really wanted to do was curl up into a ball and sob. Ricky opened the door, let her enter first, the followed her in, shutting it behind them. As they looked around the interior, Ricky elbowed Rachel, nodding towards the front desk, where a visibly queer looking woman was sitting. Rachel rolled her eyes and looked at him, and he smiled, laughing. They walked up to the desk, and the woman looked up at them.

"Hi, how can I help you today?" she asked.

"Hi there, Jennifer," Ricky said, reading her nametag, "my name is Saul Eckins, and I'm from corporate. I'm here today to try and get my new employee here caught up on how things work around here. This is Nicky Belle. See, she's going to be working in a location such as this, not at corporate with me, and I like to do on hands training, so I was hoping you could maybe show her the ropes."

"Oh, um, sure sir, yes, I can do that," Jennifer said, "please, excuse me, let me go and get a visits badge for her real fast."

Jennifer got up and quickly absconded to the back office, leaving Ricky and Rachel alone.

"Damn dude, you're good and all, but Nicky Belle? You gave me a porn star name," Rachel said, making Ricky laugh.

"Hey, who knows, it might help," Ricky said, "she's cute, right?"

"...what are you doing?" Rachel asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"...breakups suck, even if you aren't technically broken up," Ricky said, "but you know what helps? Flirting. Getting your self worth back. And if you can do that while getting some work done, then what's the harm in that. Not like you're ever gonna see this woman again anyway."

"You're one hell of a wing man," Rachel said, trying not to laugh. She was genuinely touched by Ricky's kindness. Jennifer suddenly arrived back at the desk and gave Rachel the badge, with the name "Nicky" written on it, before telling her she'd be shadowing her around the office. As Rachel pinned the badge to her shirt, Ricky looked at Jennifer and stepped behind the desk.

"Just try and give her the basics, maybe a bit of in depth training, and don't worry about your post, I'm right here," Ricky said, "your supervisor will never know you left your post, I got ya covered."

Once Jennifer and Rachel were out of sight, Ricky sat down and started tapping away on the computer, trying to bring up Brighton's phone records, looking for Wattons' phone number. Once he found it, he started running that through the system, bringing up his call logs. He scoured the numbers, tracing them all back to their various points of origins. Various businesses, food deliveries, things of that nature. Sometimes a family member or two. And then, at the very end...

...a number that wasn't associated with any of those. Ricky grinned and snapped his fingers.

"Gotcha," he whispered.

                                                                                              ***

Wyatt was laying on the couch, eating ice cream from the container, when there was a knock on the door. Wyatt sighed, got off the couch and walked over to the door, opening it and finding Celia standing in the hallway of the complex. She stared at him, eyeing him up and down. Wyatt, usually so well dressed, now standing before her in a v-neck t-shirt, shorts and a bathrobe. Wyatt stepped aside and let Celia enter, closing the door behind her.

"What are you doing?" Celia asked.

"Eating ice cream and watching romantic comedies," Wyatt said.

"Jesus, when did you turn into a divorced middle aged soccer mom with severe depression," Celia asked, smirking as Wyatt plopped himself back down on the couch. Celia came and sat on the footstool by the couch, and watched for a moment, glancing back and forth between the TV and Wyatt before picking up the remote and clicking the television off.

"Hey! Richard was about to win Ashley back!" Wyatt said.

"Okay dude, this is just sad," Celia said, "fearless leader this is not, and right now I need fearless leader."

"Maybe I don't wanna be fearless leader anymore," Wyatt said, "you ever think about that?"

"Wyatt...my ex is back, and he's threatening to take my son," Celia said, "he knows about Calvin. He knows about the bomb on the plane. He's a federal agent, an investigator, and we are cooked if this gets too out of hand. I need you right now, okay? I am...I am scared."

Wyatt finally sat back upright and put the empty ice cream container on the couch beside him, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his robe.

"Wait...start from the beginning," Wyatt said.

"My ex, with whom I have my son, has come back and wants shared custody. He's offering me protection, immunity from the consequences if I cooperate, as well as shared custody with our son. But that would mean turning you all over, and...Wyatt, all you've said is that we're a team, you, Rachel and I. By extension, I suppose, Kelly and Angie. I'm not gonna do that, I'm not gonna turn evidence on y'all just for the-"

"Do it," Wyatt said, shocking her.

"...wh...what?" she asked.

"Do it," Wyatt said, "Celia, if you can get immunity for yourself, not have your life disrupted, take it. I don't wanna see another family ripped apart. Take it. Place all the blame on Calvin and I. I'll take the fall, I don't care. Not like I got anything left anyway. Look around, Celia, I'm at rock bottom."

Celia couldn't believe what she was hearing. Here was a man, the man who'd weathered them through the worst storms, who now was just giving up. Celia stood up and grabbed the remote and started hitting Wyatt with it, causing him to recoil on the couch.

"Ow! That hurts!"

"Yeah, I bet!" she said, "what the fuck do you think you're saying?! You're content to lay here, watch shitty romantic comedies and just take the fall for things that weren't even started by you?! That isn't the Wyatt Bloom I know! The Wyatt Bloom I know is driven, and motivated, and ambitious. He'll stop at nothing to keep those he loves safe, and do whatever it takes to achieve that goal! The Wyatt Bloom I know is a man of honor and integrity! Not this...this robe coddled hobo you've become! This isn't Wyatt Bloom! Now you get the fuck up, you get fucking dressed and you help me figure this out or so help me god I will make sure you never have a moments peace ever again!"

Wyatt stared at her for a bit, then cracked the biggest smile. Celia started laughing, apologizing, and Wyatt stood up and hugged her. After all that had happened, this was really what he'd needed. Just one person to stand up and say to his face what she'd just said. After the hug, Wyatt pulled away and looked at her.

"Now go brush your teeth," Celia said, "we got work to do, and fearless leader don't do work with dirty chompers."

                                                                                               ***

Ricky and Rachel got back into Ricky's car and started back towards the motel. Nothing on the radio. No conversation. Ricky had accomplished his goal, more or less, but Rachel seemed distant, far off and distracted. They pulled to a stoplight and came to a crawl. Rachel exhaled and pushed her bangs from her face.

"Thank you," she said.

"Come again?" Ricky asked.

"Thank you," Rachel repeated, "I...I needed today. I know we were doing something very serious, but...I needed this. To...to flirt with another woman, to...feel better in general. To feel useful. I needed that. I've always struggled so much with my queerness, especially now, and this helped a lot. I feel better about myself. I just want her back though."

Ricky nodded, sighing, as the light turned green and they continued.

"Yeah," he said, "yeah I know the feeling. I lost my girl too. I want her back. But that's just how things go. Sometimes people who seem important don't stick around for as long as we'd like them to. And that's okay. It's taken me a long time to come to terms with that, but it's the truth. I don't regret any of the time she and I shared, I'm grateful for the experience, the chance to have loved her, but...it stings."

"What happened?" Rachel asked, and Ricky grimaced.

"So I'm feeling like lunch, what do you say?" he asked.

Meanwhile, Wyatt was taking the trash out, cleaning up the apartment before Kelly got home. As he stood out by the dumpster, putting in two out of three bags, he heard a car door shut behind him and turned on his heel, only to see Angie there. He sighed, hand to his chest, smiling, until he noticed how ragged she looked. She looked as if she'd been sleeping in her car, and hadn't showered. Wyatt sighed, opened his arms, and Angie walked towards him, collapsing against him as he held her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I will be," she said weakly, "but before we can focus on me, I need you to do something."

"Anything," Wyatt said, "I'm back on track, let's do this. What is it?"

Angie pulled away and looked up at him.

"I need you to meet my cult leader," she said.

Wyatt was fast asleep on the couch, enjoying the quiet. He was so used to being woken up to help with the kids, make Mona breakfast, take them to school, and, lately, get into a fight with Scarlett. To have this serenity...it felt unearned, and he felt like a bad father for enjoying it, but after everything that had happened over the course of the last few days, he was willing to ignore all that for the sake of his peace of mind. Kelly had left early in the morning, leaving a box of donuts on the counter from a place down the street, along with a pot full of coffee, so he was well taken care of when he would eventually rouse from his sleep. Wyatt slowly opened one eye, feeling the sun coming in through the curtains and rolled his head up a bit, a blurry face coming into view, causing him to scream and suddenly jolt awake.

It was just Rachel, though, sitting on the ottoman by the couch.

"Jesus!" he shouted, "don't do that!"

"What, sit here non-menacingly? Would you rather I have a shotgun in my hand?" Rachel asked as Wyatt sat upright and rubbed his eyes with the bottoms of his palms, groaning before getting up and going to get himself some coffee. As he poured it into a mug he checked his watch.

"Holy cow, it's almost noon," he said, "that's later than I've slept in ages."

Wyatt turned and faced Rachel across the counter, she was now sitting on a barstool, as he dug into the donut box for a treat and sipped his coffee. Rachel was still in pajamas; a black tanktop and emerald green sleep shorts, her hair a fright. Wyatt raised an eyebrow.

"You okay?" he asked.

"...am I okay?" Rachel asked, "well, let's see, in the last few days I've watched a man get his skull bashed in, put a car in a seedy neighborhood to be stolen and, oh yeah, probably lost the love of my life. So...no, Wyatt, but thanks for asking."

Wyatt grimaced and nodded solemnly as he continued having his mid morning snack. He felt so guilty. All these women around him, and he'd dragged them into his bullshit. Celia, with her son, Rachel, with Sun Rai, Scarlett, with everything, Amelia, with her brothers death, Angie, with...whatever the hell was wrong with her. Kelly was the only one seemingly untouched because she remained removed just enough to not warrant being in danger. Rachel lifted her head, her eyes meeting Wyatt's again.

"What were you doing here when I came by?" Rachel asked.

"Making dinner," Wyatt replied, chewing his donut, washing it down with coffee, "why?"

"Just...seemed a little, uh...romantic, is all," Rachel said, shrugging, "the table was set, candles and everything, you were dressed all nice. I don't know. Was just curious, I guess."

"It was just a nice dinner to thank her for letting me stay here," Wyatt said, "nothing more, nothing less really."

"If you say so," Rachel said.

If you say so. That bothered him. Who was he trying to convince, really, Rachel or himself? He finished his donuts, slurped down the last of his coffee and then set the mug back down on the counter with a soft thud as he looked at Rachel, who looked back at him.

"So," Wyatt said, "...let's talk about Angie."

"I thought the day would never come," Rachel replied.

                                                                                                    ***

Angie was currently standing in the hall bathroom of her parents house, looking at herself in the mirror. She was a fright. Even after three showers and lots of self care, she was still a fright. She didn't feel like herself. She lifted her hands up in front of her face, and she couldn't recognize them as her own. Angie shook her head and then exited the bathroom, shutting off the light on her way out, before bumping into her father in the hallway.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"You okay?" her father, Anthony, asked, and Angie shrugged; Anthony then asked, "you going anywhere? You have plans today?"

Angie shook her head again, knowing full well she was lying. She did, in fact, have plans for today. She was going back to the compound to speak with Art again, and she knew how much her parents would berate her for it if they knew. Angie slinked on past her father and headed for her bedroom, where she gathered up her things; her small backpack, some snacks, her headphones. She then exited, said goodbye to her folks as she passed through the living room, and headed out to her car.

Her parents had worked so hard to get them out of the cult, to get them into a so called 'normal life', all for the sake of their daughter who, they felt, deserved to have a shot at a life not lived under someone elses thumb. And yet here she was, willingly returning, as well as blindly following another man they didn't even know existed. Art said they would take care of the body, but she didn't know what they actually wound up doing with it. She figured they had some kind of off site area to bury people, but she didn't press the matter. Todays meeting wasn't even about that, or anything of the sort, really. In fact, it was about Wyatt. Because, oddly enough, despite the attachment she still felt to Art, and to the compound, she felt more protective of Wyatt, and so when Art asked to meet him, Angie got scared. What if things went south after introducing them? What if she was forced to choose between them?

Hell, she couldn't make that decision. She could barely think for herself, after all.

                                                                                                       ***

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rachel asked.

"Because I just...I figured it didn't matter, alright?" Wyatt replied, as he walked back to the sunken in living room, Rachel following cautiously behind him; Wyatt continued, "because it's me, okay? I'm the one he wants to meet, apparently, from what Ricky told me. Angie herself hasn't really brought it up yet. So if it only involves me, why drag you into it? You have enough to worry about."

"You're right, I do! Because of you, Wyatt!" Rachel said loudly, getting his attention. In all their time together, through it all, she had rarely if ever actually gotten upset with him, but now here she was, eyes red and voice cracking, the anger finally seeping out like sewage from a broken drain as she added, with venom in her voice, "everything that's wrong with my life currently is because...of...you."

Wyatt nodded slowly, seating himself on the ottoman.

"You're not wrong," he said quietly.

"You can try to blame Calvin for a lot of it, and arguably you'd be in the right, but at this point, he's gone, and yes, we're stuck cleaning up his mess, but that doesn't help the fact that you're adding to it! You're supposed to be my friend and now you're not even telling me things! I thought we were in this together, wasn't that what you said at the funeral? A team. We have to be a team. No more lone wolf bullshit! But instead you're...you're just hiding things from me, keeping information to yourself, and to compound all of that, you're not even going home, opting instead to only widen the gap between you and your wife while you stay here and play house with my best friend! I mean, what is that even about?!"

"I told you, it was just a kind gesture," Wyatt said.

"Wyatt," Rachel said, seating herself on the couch in front of him, pushing her hair out of her face and sniffling, "Wyatt...you don't make a woman a candlelit dinner from scratch without a reason. You can claim up, down and sideways that it's a gesture of kindness for her letting you stay here, but...I don't buy it one bit. I do think you're grateful, yes, but that's not the kind of thing one does on a whim. That's the kind of thing one fantasizes about doing and then, when they finally have the chance, they do it. I know, because I did the same thing with Sun Rai."

Wyatt looked up, Rachel having his attention now. He didn't want to talk about this, but he figured he should let her at least get her peace out.

"...I spent so much of my adult life fantasizing about...about what a life with her would look like," Rachel said, rubbing her face on her bare arm, sniffling more, "because I thought the opportunity was an impossibility. Then, when it became very much real, I followed through on those fantasies. What is going on between you and Kelly isn't really my business, I suppose, despite the closeness I have with both of you, but I know when someone is in love with someone, because I've felt that yearning, that pining, deep in my own soul for far too long to not be able to recognize it."

Wyatt lowered his head and let the tears silently roll down his face. Everything she said was the truth. He had said they had to be a team. He was in love with Kelly. He was keeping things from Rachel. Fuck. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Wyatt took a moment, exhaled, then shook his head.

"Things were supposed to be easier now," Wyatt said quietly, his voice cracking, "with Calvin gone, things were...things were supposed to be easier now. Doesn't seem like that's the case."

"Things are never getting easier until it's over, and even then there's no guarantee," Rachel said.

"...I didn't tell you because I needed to keep you as safe as possible, same reason Scarlett knows nothing, same reason I've tried to hide as much as I could from Kelly - though Calvin made that a bit harder by including her inadvertently - because...my whole life I watched women get manipulated by my father. He hurt my mother. Cheated on her left and right. He got me to leave Amelia, who I loved so very much, breaking her heart. I couldn't...I can't be him."

Rachel finally got it. That's when it clicked. Wyatt wasn't being secretive for any reason other than the protection of the women around him, and there was something deeply admirable about that. She smiled weakly and reached forward, patting him on the leg.

"You're not your father, Wyatt, I can tell you that much with certainty," Rachel said, "but I do have to say, if you don't wanna be him, really don't wanna be him, then you need to talk to Scarlett about whatever is going on in your heart regarding Kelly. Don't be like he was. Don't just do things and then try to make up for them. Be better than that."

Rachel then got up and gathered some clothes from her bag, Wyatt watching her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm taking a very long shower, and then I am going to go to Ricky's hotel room," Rachel said, "and see what we can come up with in regards to the people in charge, and maybe Grudin's wife. She's still on our trail. She's not gonna stop. We need to do something."

Rachel headed towards the hallway leading to the bathroom when she stopped and turned to face him again, their eyes locking but neither saying a word until she finally spoke.

"...for what it's worth," she said, "whatever is going on between you and Kelly, I like it. Scarlett is cool, she's my friend, don't get me wrong, and she doesn't deserve to be lied to about this, but...you and Kelly make a lot more sense. If you're wondering if...if it would work between you two? Yeah. It would. Take it from an outsiders perspective. You two kinda belong together. Hopefully that gives you some peace of mind."

And with that she headed to the bathroom, leaving a very emotionally confused Wyatt behind.

                                                                                                      ***

"When can I meet him?" Art asked.

Art and Angie were sitting in his sunroom adjacent to his library as they had tea and cookies. Angie was being cautious about her words, scared to say the wrong thing. Scared of what he might do to her if she angered him. For a man she was once all too eager to please, now she felt fear in replace awe. She hadn't put her lips on her teacup once the entire time.

"Well, I'll have to talk to him about it," Angie said, shrugging, "that's just the thing, he's been very busy. We haven't really had much of a chance to speak since, well, that night, really."

Art nodded, walking along and watering his flowers as he did. He stopped, reaching out and touching the petals of one white rose gently with his fingertips before speaking again, smiling.

"Angie, I always knew you were better than most of the kids who grew up here," he said, "much smarter, much more in tune with the truth of the world. It was obvious to anyone with eyesight, really. You had this...this shining aura about you that seemed to be impossible to extinguish. But I'm sad to say now it's been dimmed immensely, and I think a big part of that is simply your association with these people."

"You don't understand, he's why I wasn't on the plane, I'm alive because of him," Angie said.

"And that's certainly something to be thankful towards him for, no doubt," Art remarked, "But still, you're sacrificing yourself for the sake of others. I just want to protect you from that."

"My parents said you want me to sacrifice for you," Angie said, taking Art by surprise. He raised a single eyebrow, then smirked, running a hand through his slicked back white beach blonde hair.

"Sounds like something they would say," he replied, shrugging, "but they're entitled to their opinion. But why keep coming back here if you're so certain that they're right, that I only want to control you? I'm offering you help, not control. You came to me with a problem and I gladly took you in and did something about it. When's the last time someone did something for you, Angie? Hmmm? Instead of the other way around?"

Angie fidgeted nervously. She knew the tactics. She knew not to fall for it. Even now, in her mostly unmedicated state when the voices were starting again and she was unsure if she could trust anything she saw or heard, she still recognized the tactics and knew enough not to let herself be duped. She set her teacup down on the black metal circular table and exhaled.

"I can bring him by," she said, hoping if nothing else to appease Art for a bit longer, "but...he probably won't be interested in saying much. The last thing, I think, we need is more people involved."

"Angie, I told you I would help you. You want to protect children, don't you? That's what I want too," Art said, "let's work together to bring this to a close that's good for everyone involved."

Art approached the table, setting his watering can down on the nearby sill before leaning down on the table, their faces an inch apart, his breath hot on the skin of her face.

"...I want...to meet...Wyatt Bloom," he said, grinning, reaching up and patting her on the cheek.

                                                                                                      ***

Ricky opened his hotel door, then sighed and stepped aside to allow Rachel to enter. Ricky shut the door behind her once she was fully inside, then turned to face her, hands in his pockets.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Things went south," she said, "everything went south, as expected. I can't just stay with my friend, Kelly, she already has company, and more than three people in one apartment would eventually raise suspicions of the landlord or management or whatever the fuck it is they have, and I certainly can't go to my parents. I need somewhere to stay. I can pay for part of the room if need be."

Ricky sighed and looked at her as she sat on the end of one of the two beds. Rachel, now showered and clean, still looked like hell. She was wearing a shoulderless cropped shirt with a flannel over it and tight high waist jeans with big gold buttons on the front, her little black boots firmly on the floor, seeing how tall and leggy she was. Ricky walked over and sat beside her.

"I have this cousin," Ricky said, "uh, and when we were growing up, I just...I always had this intuition about her. About stuff in general, actually. It's kind of why I'm in the line of work that I'm in. Anyway, she and I were close. So a few years after college, she shows up on my doorstep. I was living in this tiny little kinda rundown apartment in downtown, right over a deli. Place always smelled like cured meats. It was a nice aroma, actually, but it didn't really get most girls in the mood. Salami, surprisingly, doesn't do it for women."

Rachel laughed, snorting, as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Ricky smiled, continuing.

"Anyway," he said, "she shows up and she tells me that she finally came out, and that her folks stopped speaking to her. My aunt and uncle, her parents. She says she dropped out of school, that she lost most of her friends, the usual spiel, sad to say. I let her stay with me, because I knew how cruel the world was to people like her. People like you, Rachel."

Rachel and Ricky looked at one another now, and he smiled warmly.

"The world is a nasty enough place, but to be different, to be othered, that only paints an even larger target on your back," Ricky continued, "so if I can, in some small way, help ease that pain, then by god I'll do it. I know things between us, your friends and I, are weird and complicated and y'all kept me in a shed for weeks on end, but...but that doesn't take away the humanity I want to show to others in their time of need. Queer people already deal with so much, the last thing you need to do is deal with it alone, struggle to just even exist. So your parents are assholes. So your girl kicked you out. It sucks. It's really shitty, and I'm sorry. But you have a friend here, with me. I'm nothing if not an ally. So yeah...you can stay here. But we're gonna be workin'."

Rachel broke down, part laughing and part crying, as she hugged Ricky, and he hugged her back, patting her on the back. Who would've thought this man, this man pretending to be someone else when he'd come into their lives and initially deceived them, would wind up being her new good friend?

It's always the people you least expect, she thought.

                                                                                                          ***

Angie parked her car back in her parents driveway and headed inside. She wanted dinner. She wanted to shower. She wanted to just feel...normal. Or as close to normal as her brain would allow her. However, as soon as she stepped into the living room, she noticed her parents standing in front of the couch, clearly in the middle of a discussion, and they quieted the moment they saw her. Angie stopped and looked at them, them looking back at her, and she felt the change in the air instantly.

"You can't be serious," her mother, Gloria, said, "please tell me you're not serious."

"That's...aggressive, Gloria, let's let her explain herself," Anthony said.

"Explain what?" Angie asked.

"Why you're going to see Art," Gloria said sternly, mostly out of concern, "we worked so hard to get us free, to get you to have a normal life. Why would you willingly-"

"It was just a single time," Angie said, already lying, "I just...I needed advice about something, and-"

"I found your medication," Gloria said, "not...not on purpose, I didn't go snooping. I went into your room to put your laundry away and when I dropped some of it on the floor, I noticed the bottle under the bed. You aren't taking it, and it seems like you might not have been taking it for a good while. You're not thinking clearly, Angelica. What's going on? How can we help you?"

"How did you even find out?" Angie asked, as Anthony and Gloria exchanged a look.

"...he called us," Anthony said, and this hit Angie like a punch to the gut.

"...he what?" she asked coldly, quietly.

"Mhm," Anthony said, nodding, "yeah, he called us. Trying to intimidate us, no doubt, that's what these kinds of people do. Angie, you know you can't trust a thing he says, you know that-"

Angie turned and yanked the door open, rushing back to her car. Her folks were quick behind her, but not quick enough as she slammed the door shut, locked it and started the car up, backing out of the driveway and speeding away down the street and around the corner. The tears coming in hot and fast now, she didn't know what to do or where to go. She felt so alone in this world. Finally, she decided. She drove to the kennel. She knew it'd be closed, but she had the key. Marion had left her one in case she ever needed to come someplace familiar and ground herself. Angie eventually parked in the lot, and entered the building, all the dogs barking all around her. But it wasn't barks. Not to Angie. To Angie they were voices, clear as day, instructions, ideas, criticisms, support. All different voices, some she recognized and others she didn't. Angie walked down the hall of kennels, until she finally stopped in front of a Dalmation and knelt. The dog nosed at her through the grate and then sat down.

"You'll be okay," it told her, and she wept, putting her hand through the metal bars so the dog could lick it. She had done so much to help Wyatt Bloom. She only hoped, now, that he would repay the favor and protect her again.

Angie Dickenson was standing in the middle of the hall of the dog shelter she worked in, caged in dogs on either side of her, as she stared at one in particular; a large, German Shepard. She had been doing kennel cleanup, but stopped and started staring at this German Shepard - the nametag on the kennel read Lucky - partway through her efforts until one of her coworkers, an older woman named Marion stopped and patted her on the back, bringing Angie back to reality.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" Marion asked, as Angie snapped back into herself.

"Yeah, yes, um, yeah," Angie said, stammering, "yeah I zoned out."

"Dissociation is normal, especially when you're escaping something like you and your family are," Marion said, "you've only really known one life for so long that coming back to actual life is bound to be a little jarring. It makes sense. Why don't you give me the supplies, I'll finish doing cleanup and you go get everybody's food bowls ready, okay?"

Angie smiled, and politely thanked her before heading to the back where they kept the food. Angie had only been working here a few months, since her family had left Art's compound. Marion had taken pity on her, having grown up in a cripplingly overbearing religious organization herself, and wanted to do what she could to help, which Angie greatly appreciated, as did her folks. But as she started to scoop the kibble into various bowls, all she could think about was Lucky. She'd heard him in her head. Just like the dog at the park when she was a little girl. But she couldn't possibly tell Marion, or anyone else for that matter, that she was hearing things, hearing dogs speak to her, telling her to do the unspeakable. That wouldn't work. So instead she'd continue the medication regiment she'd recently been prescribed, and she'd hope for the best.

And for a while, the best worked. She was stable. She was good natured. Well meaning, earnest, hopeful. She felt like she could finally take on the world, fight for things she genuinely believed in. This is what led her to The Evergreens. This is what led her to Wyatt Bloom.

And then it all fell apart again.

                                                                                                        ***

"Here's your coffee," Kelly said, setting a mug down in front of Wyatt as she seated herself across from him. It was early, about 6am, and she was due into the studio at 7 to do the weather. Still, it was nice, to have this morning with Wyatt. It almost felt like they were an ordinary couple, even though they weren't a couple, nor were they ordinary in any way, but she liked playing house. Wyatt thanked her, sipped it, then continued scribbling onto paper with his pen. Kelly licked her lips and watched before saying, "I can pick up dinner, if you're gonna be here."

"I'm gonna be here," Wyatt said, not even looking up or giving more expressive emoting whatsoever.

"Yeah? Okay. I'll bring something back."

A long silence passed them by, and Kelly sniffled, then looked around the apartment before looking back at Wyatt.

"...why did you come here?" she finally asked, and Wyatt looked up.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "uh...aside from the fact that Scarlett would never think to look for me here, because she doesn't really know you, it just...it felt safe. You feel safe. I needed to feel safe for a little bit. I knew I could count on you for that, plus you have no roommates and I knew you had the space since I helped you move in, so."

"All true things," Kelly said, sipping more from her mug, "but...nothing other than that?"

"I...I don't know, what kind of answer are you expecting?" Wyatt asked, and Kelly shrugged.

"No idea," she said, shrugging, "...sorry, guess it's weird. I've never lived with a man. I've never actually lived with anyone but my parents, so. But I'm happy you're here! Please don't think I'm not. And you can stay as long as you need. I like your company."

Wyatt smiled, nodded, then went back to writing. Kelly looked down into her mug and sighed.

"It's just...I've also never slept with a man, not in my bed, not at all, and so, I mean, even though you're just a guest, my friend, it was strange having someone in my bed with me," Kelly said, chuckling.

"...wait, back it up," Wyatt said, "did you say at all? Like ever?"

Kelly then realized her slip up and shook her head.

"Yes," she said, "yeah, I said at all."

"So like...you've never had a guy stay over in your bed or like..."

"No, Wyatt, that isn't what I mean," Kelly said, "no. I mean that's also true, technically, but that isn't...no. I'm...a virgin."

That took Wyatt by surprise. He didn't know why, it wasn't like Kelly seemed the type to sleep around or anything, nor was it really any of his business, her sexual life, but still, it surprised him. A girl this pretty, this funny, this stable, with a good job? Just was unusual to him, but he also knew, being a somewhat late bloomer himself, that circumstances are circumstances and the opportunity doesn't always present itself.

"It's complicated," Kelly said, continuing, "um...like...well, first of all, nobody's ever really wanted to date me, so there's that. Then there's the other side of that coin which is that I've never really wanted to date anyone, not seriously enough to get physically intimate anyway. Hell, I've like...never even been out on a proper date, so. Yeah, it just never happened. But it's no big deal. I mean, whatever. I focus on my job and stuff. That keeps me more than satisfied."

"I'm sure the rainclouds make sure you're plenty wet," Wyatt said, the both of them laughing.

Wyatt then went back to his letter as Kelly finished her coffee, gave him a hug and said she'd be back after work, said he was welcome to anything in the apartment, food or entertainment wise, and to make himself at home. Once out in the hall, Kelly walked down to the elevator and entered, heading to her car. As she leaned against the elevator door, she couldn't help but bite her lip and realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that if the opportunity were the somehow arise, she wouldn't hesitate for a second to go to bed with him. She'd never felt this strongly for a  man before in her life. But a lot of things would have to happen for that to be a reality, she knew. First off, his marriage would have to end, and the likelihood of that, she figured, was slim to none.

But hey, he was living with her currently, and that was good enough for her.

                                                                                                         ***

Rachel waited until Sun Rai was out of the apartment before going in herself. Once inside she took three separate showers to get fully cleaned, and then took her clothes to a laundromat before heading back, changing into nice clean clothes and then pacing, wondering how she was going to ever possibly explain her absence to Sun Rai. She could say she went to see her parents after the show, that Wyatt had dropped her off there, but Sun Rai wouldn't believe that. Rachel had made the effort not to speak to them even over the phone since their last interaction. She could say she just crashed at Wyatt's for the night, that she and Scarlett had a girls night, and while she knew he would cover for her, she knew Scarlett would be confused as to what it was they were lying about, especially if Wyatt wasn't in on it and it didn't really happen.

Rachel's options were limited, she knew, and she hated it.

What could she possibly do? She had to come up with something. Like Wyatt, she didn't want to bring her significant other into their business, but at this point...fuck. She didn't have much of a choice, other than to just lie outright and hope Sun Rai believed it, no matter what it was. Sun Rai didn't know Wyatt and Scarlett much, perhaps she wouldn't push on the lie if that's what Rachel went with. But it was too risky, and it also risked exposing Wyatts lies to his wife. She couldn't jeopardize everything like that. Rachel finally sat on the couch and exhaled, running both hands up into her hair, feeling like she was going to cry. There was no way out of this. There was no lie that was going to smooth everything over. There was only one option.

And it meant the end of her relationship.

                                                                                                         ***

"You have always been a special member of this commune," Art said, as he poured Angie some blackberry tea and sat down with her, "and that's why I'm willing to help you, because you matter to me. All my members matter to me, but you especially, Angie. I'm proud of you for doing what you did, standing up for someone, protecting them. Nobody else will tell you that, perhaps sans the guy you protected, but I will."

Angie nodded, staring at the cup in front of her as Art lifted his to his lips and took a long drink.

"You're no longer on medication, right?" Art asked, and Angie shook her head; he smiled and nodded, "Good girl. That dulls the senses, clouds your thoughts. We need your capable of critical thinking, Angie, that's the only way to work towards your goals. And a firm grasp on your beliefs, OUR beliefs. I'm glad you came back to the fold."

Angie was listening, but only barely, and she could't help but think about the dog.

"When..." she started, "when I was a little girl, my grandfather died. We'd been close. We'd been really close. Losing him hurt a lot. But then I started to see this dog at the park everytime I went, it belonged to this nice old lady in the neighborhood, and she always let me play with him. But he talked to me. He sounded like my grandpa. And then...after we left the commune and I got a job working at a dog kennel, it happened again. This German Shepard named Lucky. He sounded like you. I...I'm not sure if it's...part of the psychosis and I just...overlay important peoples personalities onto these animals, or if they're really speaking to me."

"The impossible isn't as impossible as the secular world would like you to believe that it is," Art said, "who's to say you aren't a prophet? Who's to say that these animals aren't speaking to you as a higher calling? You're gifted, Angie, I always knew that about you, it's why I took a special interest in you that I didn't take in most other members."

"But when I was on medication, it stopped happening," Angie said, "and I've been off it for a while now, and it hasn't happened since, but...but doesn't that mean it is just a symptom of my illness if the medication quelled it?"

"That's what medical science would like you to believe, certainly," Art said, "but that's because they're scared of those who can hear the word of God. The word of any Gods. They want to shut down anyone who doesn't follow the one organized religion they've deemed to be acceptable, and they'll go to any great lengths to shut us down, shut us up, keep us placated and obedient. But you're not like that, Kelly, you're better than that."

Kelly nodded, listening, but not exactly believing. She didn't know who to trust now. She still felt so loyal to Wyatt, but Art and she had so much more history. Art took another long drink from his cup, then sighed.

"I will have someone hide the body," Art said, "so you don't have to worry about that. But I want you to do something for me."

"Y...yeah?" Angie asked, glancing from her lap up at him now, feeling scared.

"I want you to keep not taking your medication, but I also want to meet Wyatt Bloom. I think it's time we talked," he said, smiling.

                                                                                                              ***

Wyatt knew what Scarlett's schedule was, knew when she'd be out of the house with their son, and when Mona would be at school, so he knew when was the best time to go to the house. Once there, he let himself in, turned off the alarm and gathered two suitcases full of his things. Clothes, some books, bathroom supplies. Once he was packed and everything was in the car, Wyatt then stood in his kitchen and pulled the envelope from his coat pocket, plopping the letter on the table. He then turned, ready to leave, before seeing the photos hung on the fridge by cute magnets. Photos of him, his family. Him and Scarlett on vacation, Mona's past birthdays, various holiday celebrations and many many photos of just random moments forever captured in time by the snapshot of film. Wyatt reached out and plucked one of himself and Mona at an amusement park, tucked it into the inside pocket of his jacket, and headed to the door. He turned the alarm back on, arming the system once more, being climbing back into his car and heading back to Kelly's. He was, surprisingly, looking forward to this evening. To having dinner. To not feeling scared for a change.

When Wyatt got back to the apartment, he cleaned up for her. He washed down the bathroom, did her laundry, all sorts of chores and domestic duties so that, when she got back, she wouldn't have to do a thing. After all, she was letting him stay here, so it was the least he could do for her. But then he turned to the kitchen and looked, hands on his hips, biting his cheek. He knew she had offered to bring food back, but...he smiled, and he got to work. When Kelly entered the apartment in the early evening, she not only found it spotless, but she found the lights had been dimmed, the table had been set with candles and fancy silverware - or as fancy as she had anyway - and an entire meal had been cooked. She set the takeout on the counter and entered, somewhat in shock, before Wyatt came out from the hall, dressed nice and well groomed now, and smiled at her.

"Shoot, you're back, I wasn't fully ready," he said, chuckling.

"...the hell is this?" Kelly asked, and Wyatt stopped at the table, pulling a chair out for her.

"Well," Wyatt said, "I mean, this morning you said you, uh...you had never really been on a proper date, and okay, we're not dating, we're just friends, and we're not going out, but...I figured I'd do something nice for you. So I made dinner, and I put this whole thing together and you should really sit down. You've probably been on your feet the whole day."

Kelly wanted to cry on the spot. This was the single sweetest, most romantic thing any man had ever done for her. She pulled her jacket off and Wyatt took it, hanging it on the wall hook, before pushing her chair back into the table and then taking a seat across from her.

"You made a whole duck? And side dishes and stuff?" Kelly asked.

"Yeah, I figured, hell, we both could use a good meal," Wyatt said.

Kelly picked up her fork and started to eat, occasionally picking up her glass of white wine and taking short sips, not used to drinking alcohol. Wyatt, eating himself, would look up every now and then and look across the table at her, his heart racing when his eyes landed on her again, every time. Kelly, with her should length shaggy blonde hair and her cobalt blue eyes, her braces on her teeth and her black dress showing off her shoulders, her collarbone. Her face, softly illuminated by gentle candlelight, he couldn't deny it any longer.

"I took the letter to Scarlett," Wyatt said quietly.

"Was she there?" Kelly asked.

"No," Wyatt said, "I'm a coward, can't do this face to face. But it's there."

"What did it say? I mean, if that isn't too personal," Kelly said, biting into the duck on her fork.

"Uh, basically that I...I can't come home, and that we need to talk about things, and that my father..." Wyatt said, stopping, taking in a breath, "...that my father left town and that I don't think it's good for him to be around the family. That we need to discuss our relationship. She and I, not my father and I. It was all kind of a mish mash, honestly. I wasn't in the best headspace. But I had to do it."

"I'm sorry," Kelly whispered.

"Don't be, I'm not," Wyatt said, "I loved her, but...we were really only together because my father accepted her more than he did my previous girlfriend. But he's not here anymore, and maybe that means I can do what I want now."

"And what do you want?" Kelly asked, the both of them looking up at one another across the table. Would now be the time? Both wanted it, but both were so scared.

"I don't know," Wyatt finally said, "but I do know it wasn't what I had. All I know is that, right now, there's nowhere else I'd rather be, and no one else I'd rather be with."

Kelly blushed and nodded, as they continued eating. It wasn't technically a date, but to Kelly, it was better than any date could possibly be. Meanwhile, Rachel was sitting on the couch at the apartment when Sun Rai finally entered. As soon as she shut the door behind her, Rachel looked up and the two locked eyes. Sun Rai didn't even have a facial expression at this point, and she walked right past Rachel to the bedroom, shutting the door, locking it. Rachel got up and walked to the door.

"Sun," she said, almost in tears already, "Sun please, talk to me, it-"

"You need to go," Sun Rai said.

"This is MY apartment," Rachel said, half laughing.

"Well I'll leave in a day or so, but you need to go right now," Sun said through the door, and Rachel pushed her forehead against the door, tears rolling down her face. She didn't know where else to go. She sighed, gathered the bags she'd packed in the potential reality of things going this way, and walked out of the apartment and out to her car. Once there, she drove away, going to the one place she figured she could. As Wyatt cleaned up dinner, the two of them in the kitchen, laughing and making jokes as they did, he couldn't be happier. This was the lightest he'd felt since Calvin's death, and it felt great. Amazing. Kelly handed him another dish to wash as she opened up a new can of soda and drank.

"You don't really drink, do you?" Wyatt asked, and she shook her head.

"Nah, alcoholism runs in the family on my dads side, but both my parents never drank, so. I don't wanna risk it, and besides it tastes bad," Kelly said.

Wyatt dried his hands on a small towel, then turned and looked at her. She set the can on the counter as he approached her, and she felt her blood rush to her head.

"Are we...is that it, are the dishes all done?" she asked quietly, and Wyatt nodded; she smiled, adding, "good" before leaning on her tiptoes, their faces inches apart when a knock came at the door, much to both their dismay. Kelly turned quickly on her heel, annoyed, yelling, "who the hell is it?!" before yanking the door open, only to find Rachel standing there, holding her things.

"Hi," Rachel said, "I don't take up much space, a cupboard would be fine."

"....alright," Kelly said, letting her in, and shutting the door behind her.

The car roared along beneath her as Rachel drove through the rain and the mud, the sky thundering above her. She didn't know where she was going, she just knew she had to go somewhere, put the car somewhere. But where? Where would he possibly go that might result in his death? Rachel chewed on her lip, the images of Angie beating him to death running through her head like some sort of fucked up slideshow she couldn't escape. Then she knew where to go. Stonyham. After all, he'd been said to frequent places to meet women of immoral status, and there was nowhere else more immoral than Stonyham. Rachel shifted and took an exit in that direction. She just had to hold it together a little while longer. Just a little. while. longer.

Meanwhle, Wyatt and Amelia had gone to a nearby gas station and ordered the greasiest food they could possibly find, then drove to a somewhat wooded area where they used to go as teenagers to get high, now sitting on the hood of the Amelia's car munching away but not saying a word. Somehow, Wyatt thought, it felt like he'd managed to step back into time. Like nothing had ever actually changed, and they were still young and in love. He took another bite of his tacos and chewed as he glanced over at Amelia, who was sinking her teeth into a panini, and he smiled to himself. She then reached over, took the giant soda they'd gotten and took a nice long drink.

"This is weird," Wyatt finally said.

"You're tellin' me," Amelia said.

"To be fair, I didn't do it myself," Wyatt said, "I suppose I shouldn't take credit for it, but I was there, I watched, I didn't stop it from happening. I'm an accessory to murder."

Amelia shook her head as she pulled more foil back from her sandwich and took another large bite.

"Don't do that to yourself," she said, mumbling while chewing, "he did so much damage to you, don't let him feel guilty from beyond the grave too. You're free."

Wyatt finished his food, the wiped his hands on his pants. He took a long, deep breath and looked out at the night sky while Amelia finished her food. As she ate in silence, Wyatt couldn't help but let his eyes drift over to her, but not because of fond memories, and moreso because he wondered what she'd say about that if she knew he also was why her brother was dead. That he'd essentially okay'd the murder of Calvin. Had set it up and been there to witness it firsthand. That's when his mind turned to Angie. Where could she have gone? He pulled his cell phone out and wrote a quick text to her, but got no response, so he pocketed it again and sighed.

"...I can't believe you're here," Wyatt said, "there's so much I have to say to you."

Amelia turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised, and he sighed again. Finally, he thought, he'd get the chance to properly apologize. Meanwhile, Rachel had pulled into a motel parking lot and was knocking on the door to room 105. When it finally opened, Ricky was standing there, brushing his teeth, seeming confused to see her. She wouldn't look at him though, she just kept her eyes cast towards the ground.

"I need your help," she said, "I need you to come with me."

Ricky pulled his toothbrush from his mouth, grabbed his coat and pulled it on over his pajamas, then followed Rachel to the car. He didn't hesitate, he didn't ask questions, he simply did as he was asked. If he wanted to get to the bottom of all of this, he was going to have to cooperate...even if he didn't know just what he was cooperating with.

                                                                                                        ***

"Remember when we were in school and we snuck out at lunch to make out in my car?" Amelia asked, causing Wyatt to laugh and nod; she continued, chewing on the straw still in the lid of their drink, "that seemed so serious at the time, we couldn't wait to get away, just be alone together. Seems so far away now. Not insignificant at all, just...like it was a whole other life belonging to a whole other person. Course I say that as someone who hasn't really changed much at all so what do I really know."

"You still seem like the same girl I loved," Wyatt said, "which, yeah, is definitely a good thing. Not sure how you could possibly get any cooler than you already were."

"Oh, it's possible, there's no end to my coolness," Amelia replied, making him laugh harder. She smiled, blushed and set the drink back down, then said, "Wyatt, why was my brother meeting with you?"

This caught him off guard. He stopped laughing, growing uneasy, as he cleared his throat and exhaled.

"Uh, well, he was friends with Rachel, and I'm friends with Rachel, so we all just sort of knew eachother," Wyatt said, "nothing more than that, really. We all went to the highschool reunion, and we got back in touch, started being friends, doing things together. Why...like...what even brings this up?"

"I found his day planner, and he had an entry for a few days before he died," Amelia said, "that just said 'lunch with Wyatt', so it made me curious was all. I'm sorry, I'm not, like, accusing you of anything, obviously. It's just been hard. Especially for our dad. He's really...he's not doing well. It'll make him happy to know that Calvin had friends at the end. People who cared about him."

Wyatt felt his heart sting a little in his chest. Here she was, under the impression that he had cared for Calvin - and, yes, on some level he had - when, in actuality, he'd been the one to decide Calvin had to die. He'd been the one to orchestrate his murder. He'd seen it happen firsthand. He hadn't pulled the trigger himself, but as he told Kelly at the cemetery, he may as well have. He was just as guilty. Wyatt looked down at his shoes and shook his head.

"Amelia-"

"I was so mad," Amelia said, "when you ended things. I knew it wasn't what you wanted, I understood how scared of your dad you were, but I guess I felt like maybe your love for me was greater than those things. It hurt to learn I was wrong."

"You weren't wrong, you weren't," Wyatt said.

"Yes I was, but it's okay. It was easier to not fight him than to fight for me, and I understand that," Amelia said, "I'm just glad to hear he's dead."

"Yeah," Wyatt said solemnly, "yeah...me too."

                                                                                                      ***

"How did you even know where I was staying?" Ricky asked as Rachel drove in total silence, the heater on their faces.

"Angie," she said coldly, "Angie gave all of us your motel information, just on the off chance that we might need you for something."

"I...don't like how much that woman knows about me," Ricky said, looking out the window, away from Rachel, before asking, "who's car is this?"

"Wyatt's dads," Rachel said, "and I need your help to get rid of it. Or, well, rather, I need your help to make sure I don't get hurt while I try to get rid of it."

Ricky's stomach lurched forward. Why did they have his fathers car? Why were they trying to dump it? He licked his lips, anxious, because he already knew the answer to these questions. These people just kept having brushes with death, either intentionally or unintentionally. He shook his head and looked back towards Rachel, who clearly seemed shaken, and that's when he noticed - thanks to the dashboard lights - the mixture of mud and blood caked on her otherwise soft, pale hands, and he knew exactly what had happened.

"Where are we going, anyway?" he finally asked.

"Stonyham," she replied, staring straight at the road ahead.

"Makes sense you'd want some kind of male presence in a neighborhood like that," Ricky replied, "if I'm gonna help you, afterwards, you're gonna tell me exactly what went down to lead to this specific situation, alright? If I'm gonna help you people, I need to be kept as informed as possible. Especially now that Angie wants to bring that Art guy in on the fold."

Ths got Rachel's attention, and she glanced at him, her face contorted into a confused, yet curiously scared, look.

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, everyone failed to mention that to you, did they?" Ricky asked, causing Rachel concern. Why hadn't Wyatt brought this up to her? Perhaps he'd been waiting for the right chance, maybe after the play or something, but even then...she was usually in the loop as much as he was, and to not be informed on something so seemingly crucial, well, it felt like he didn't trust her. She shook her head. Stupid. Of course he trusted her. He had entrusted her to get rid of his fathers car, after all. That was a sign of immense trust. But why keep things to himself? Between himself and Angie? She curled her lip and shut her eyes into a narrow slit.

"That girl is a problem," Rachel said.

"She sure is," Ricky agreed, chuckling.

"...I don't like problems," Rachel said, almost snarling, and Ricky grimaced.

                                                                                                        ***

"When Calvin and I were kids," Amelia said, she and Wyatt now lying on the hood of the car, relaxing, "we used to leave these notes around for our parents, always hidden for them to find, like some kind of weird treasure hunt. When I got back to the house, our...MY...dad, he apparently had adopted the habit, cause he pulled all of Calvin's important papers from an air vent in his home office."

Wyatt chuckled, taking a sip from the drink, nodding as he listened.

"It kinda hurt, cool as it was to see that, cause it was something Calvin and I had come up with together," Amelia continued, "and now he's gone. My brother is gone, and along with him are all the things we made up together. Now it's just me, and the memories of things too painful to revisit. How am I supposed to continue when a big part of your identity is so intrinsically tied to someone who's no longer here?"

Wyatt sighed and nodded, exhaling.

"Yeah," he said, "yeah I know what you mean. Not having my father around, you'd think I'd feel relieved, and I suppose, on some level I do, but I also feel weird. There's no threat to my life anymore. He's gone. I mean, there's definitely threats to my life, but not from him, not from the one person who managed to scare me. He's gone. An insurmountable challenge has been eliminated, and now that the wall is down, I feel almost...invincible, like I can do anything, no matter how hard it seems."

Amelia sat up, cross legged, and looked around at their location. She was surrounded by the past. This place, this town, her family, Wyatt. All of it so familiar, yet so foreign. She'd worked hard to get out from under the shadow of this life, create something new, she couldn't allow herself to get dragged back into it. Amelia pulled her bushy hair back up into a ponytail and tied it up, then bit her lip and glanced at Wyatt, who looked over at her and smirked.

"What?" he asked.

"...I loved you so much," Amelia said, "and I always thought, if we ever had this kind of reconcilation, that it'd be...I don't know...more dramatic. I always saw it going either one of two ways. I saw it being me forgiving you and you embracing me and we'd run off somewhere, completely in love as we'd always been, OR, I wouldn't manage to forgive you and I'd throw hands."

"I have to admit, the second one would be kinda amusing, cause I've seen you try to be intimidating," Wyatt said, the both of them laughing. Wyatt sat up, also cross legged, and the both of them turned to face the other; Wyatt reached out and brushed some errant hair she'd missed from her face, making her blush, as he added, "truth be told, I'll always love you in some way. How could I not. You were my first everything. But it isn't the same kind of love that I felt then. If anything, my guilt of how it ended far surpasses the love now. But I'm glad to know that we could manage to be civil, even when you have every right in the world not to be."

"Well, regardless, you're married, and I wouldn't wanna be a homewrecker. Plus, it isn't like I'm staying in town after dealing with Calvin's estate," Amelia said, shrugging, "but I agree. It's nice that we can just be friendly."

"Marriage isn't..." Wyatt started, sighing deeply, knowing how much it was going to hurt him to say this, before finishing with, "marriage isn't all it's cracked up to be."

He loved Scarlett. He knew this. He had made a life with her, a family, and he did genuinely love her. And yet...yet his attachment to her came about almost primarily because of his fathers presence. Because his father encouraged him to end things with Amelia, and then encouraged Wyatt - once he'd met Scarlett - to pursue because he found her to be a far more 'appropriate' partner for his son. So while Wyatt loved her, he also recognized that she was the last lingering thing keeping him tethered to his father. Well, besides the business, but he couldn't give that up without ruining them financially. And then...

...and then there was Kelly. God, did she complicate things. Wyatt couldn't deny he felt something deeper for her, something he'd been fighting to ignore, likely for a good while now, and didn't want to act on both for the sake of his marriage and for the sake of their friendship. He also, like Amelia, used to fantasize about their reconciliation one day, and maybe getting back together, but now, actually being here with her, what he found was that all he wanted, after the night he'd just had, was to go to Kelly's. To feel her comfort. Her warmth. Her joy. Fuck. He was in love with her, and he didn't know how to deal with that, especially now on top of everything else.

"So," Wyatt finally asked, "uh, why did you and Calvin do the little note thing anyway?"

"Oh," Amelia said, chuckling, "well, it's kinda embarrassing but, when we were kids we always thought it'd be neat to be spies. You know, embroiled in a mystery, fighting for our lives, dealing with secrecy, that sort of thing. I guess that's what spurred it. We used to watch a lot of spy movies and shows on TV when we were younger, and it was just sort of a common interest."

Wyatt nodded solemnly. If only she knew. If only she knew that her brother had become exactly what they'd pretend to be. Which, he supposed, made Wyatt himself the villain.

                                                                                                      ***

Rachel and Ricky found the most secluded spot in Stonyham, somewhere dingy, run down but still accessible, and they left Rufus's nice car there after removing any and all personal items, just to make it also appear to be a robbery of sorts, if the car itself wasn't, in fact, stolen soon by someone. They then went to the nearest car rental and Ricky got them a car, opting to drive them all the way back to town. Rachel, now sitting in the passenger seat, couldn't help but think back to the events of the evening preceeding picking up Ricky.

Why was Wyatt giving Angie a pass, but not Calvin? She knew why, realistically. Because Calvin had been a threat not only to them but to those around them, to the point where he was bringing innocents in on his destructive tendencies. Angie only operated solely when Wyatt needed her to. So was that it? Did it all just boil down to control? She scoffed. She could remember when Wyatt had been weirded out by Angie, had wanted to persuade her NOT to follow him, NOT to help. Now, suddenly, she was their savior? Their ace in the hole? Truly strange. And where did that leave Rachel herself? She'd always seen herself as Wyatt's got to confidant, his biggest supporter, the one whose input he most valued. Now she felt insignificant, relegated to tasks like the one tonight. Rachel finally cracked and started sobbing uncontrollably, taking Ricky by surprise. Ricky pulled the car over to the side of the road and let it idle as he unbuckled his seat belt, then tugged at Rachel's shoulder sleeve, pulling her towards him, opening his arms.

"C'mere," he said softly, and she nodded, understanding, as she collapsed into him, allowing him to hold her and rub her back; he sighed and added, "that's it, you're alright, I got you. Everything's gonna be fine, I promise."

All Rachel could think about was going home to Sun Rai, but it was now so late, she'd been gone so long, and she was caked in mud and blood, looking like an absolute fright. She also wouldn't be coming home in the same car. She knew exactly how Sun Rai would percieve the whole thing. But it was all she wanted. She wanted to climb into bed, feel her waist be hugged, feel Sun Rai's body against her own and feel safe for the first time in ages. But all she could have right now was this, this man she barely knew, this private detective, holding her, reassuring her, and while she was grateful, she had to admit...it wasn't what she wanted.

Meanwhile, after Amelia and Wyatt went back to the school and Amelia took off, Wyatt climbed into his car and started driving, but unlike Rachel, home was the last place Wyatt wanted to go. Instead he drove into the city, until he reached the downtown area where he parked on the street and headed into an apartment building. He ran up the stairs and wound up knocking on a door, but to no answer. Another knock and this time the door swug open and a half asleep Kelly stood there in her sleepwear, tugging her silk robe closed over her body once she saw who it was. The two stared at one another, and Kelly could see the pain in Wyatt's face. He didn't need to use words. She understood it all nonverbally, that something awful had happened. Kelly stepped aside and allowed Wyatt to come in, shutting the door behind them.

"I just needed to see you," Wyatt said, and Kelly nodded, walking towards him as he paced anxiously, adding, "I've had a really bad night, Kelly, and I...all I wanted to do was come see you."

"Well, I'm here, and you're here now too, so," Kelly said, smiling, before holding her arms out and allowing him to hold her and cry. She squeezed him tightly. If all she could ever really offer him was comfort, friendship, then she'd gladly take that over nothing. Wyatt wanted to pull away, to hold her face and kiss her, to feel his lips against hers, to finally know what it was like to be in love again, but instead he just cried. He just cried and cried and cried. And come the morning, when he'd wake up on her bed, still fully clothed, and she was still holding him, he'd know how it felt to be loved, regardless of the lack of romantic intimacy. For right now though, he had this.

For right now, he had Kelly.

And as for Angie? Angie was pulling up to the compound and pressing the button on the speakerbox. It crackled to life, and Art's voice came through loud and clear.

"Do you have any idea what time it is? Who's calling on me at this hour?" he asked.

"Art, it's Angie," she said, "I know it's late but...I need help."

"Are you okay?" Art asked, opening the gates for her to drive through.

"Yeah," she replied, "but I need to hide a body."

When she was a little girl, Amelia Burden used to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on television every year, mostly because of the balloons. Those great gas giants, hoisted high above the crowd, representing the most beloved childrens media that the country had to offer. She could remember sitting in front of the television with Beatrice by her side, scratching her gently behind the ear, her eyes wide in awe at the spectacle unfolding before her.

The thing was, she didn't make any proclamation of fame or state any big dreams she hoped to one day achieve, she didn't say, in a hushed voice, the kind of sentence that whispers and origin story destined to become reality where she claimed, only loud enough for the dog to hear, that she would one day have a balloon in this very parade, because, well, until things went belly up in her life, Amelia didn't really have much interest in the performing arts. She liked writing plays, stories, sure. But it wasn't until college, until Beatrice passed away, that she felt this innate drive to create something, and really, it was for her own grief, but under the guise of helping children, not that she'd ever openly admit to that.

Now, as an adult, standing in the large hanger where the Beatrice Beagle balloon was being prepared for its debut in the parade that early evening, Bea couldn't help but feel something else...a sense of disconnect between herself and this character she'd long since crafted and held dear. Leslie was beside her, smoking a joint, as they watched the balloons preparation.. After a few minutes, Bea, who'd been chewing on her lip up to now, hands shoved deep in her coat pockets, sighed.

"I think the issue is that she's me," she said.

"...okay, I know I'm smoking weed, but even I'm not stoned enough yet to understand the existentialism of that statement. Care to elaborate?" Leslie asked, causing Bea to chuckle.

"Liam used to tell me that I was too protective of her, and that was why I had such a hard time letting her go, letting her be the publics, and not mine. But I don't think it's because of what she meant to me, I think it's because she WAS me. I took her on as a second identity. In a way, it felt like the public was claiming ownership of me, not the character."

"And what, do you think, is the solution to that?" Leslie asked.

"...I think I wanna go back to my name," Bea said, "I think I've run from my identity for so long, that I've forgotten who I used to be, and actually am. I'm not Beatrice Beagle. She's a character based on a dog I had when I was a child. I'm Amelia Burden. Maybe it's time to embrace that."

Leslie smiled warmly and clung to Bea's arm, hugging tightly.

"You do whatever you think is best, and I'm behind you one hundred percent," Leslie said.

It had been two weeks since Liam had died, and Michelle had found Bea in that destroyed apartment, and since then, she'd been making the concerted effort to be better, more stable. But it was hard. She missed Liam more than anyone could ever know or imagine. The phone he'd left her had filled her with so much doubt about her life choices, with regret, even though he'd obviously intended it as some sort of sweet send-off. Bea now was simply keeping everything internalized instead of expressing things to anyone, at least when it came to emotional stuff like that. She did, however, really feel the need to revisit her actual identity.

"And just remember," Leslie said, kissing Bea on the cheek, "no matter who you are, I'll love you all the same."

Bea blushed and kissed Leslie back on the forehead, the two of them cuddling as they looked up at the balloon. It had been a hard year, but it was now the holidays, and if Bea could just get through her Thanksgiving speech, she would be in the clear until the next season started.

                                                                                                     ***

"Yes, hello, I'm trying to reach the offices of Beatrice Beagle," the woman said, "it's very important that I speak with her. If you could just put me through, I would be so grateful, or if you have a personal number I could reach her at, that would be even better, because if I get lumped in with work calls and such, I don't know how long it'll take for her to get back to me. Please reach me at this number once you get this message, thank you."

She sighed and hung up the phone, then walked over to a large corkboard she had posted on her bedroom wall, removed a few index cards with numbers and info that had gone nowhere, and tossed them into the garbage. She then pulled the one with the number she'd just dialed down to the forefront, hoping this would be the one to get her what she wanted. She stood back and sighed, hands on her hips. She was so close.

So very, very close.

                                                                                                      ***

"We've opened up the phone lines for the first time broadcast of the radio program, Keagan is in the box right now preparing to take calls," Stephanie said, "are you ready?"

Bea shrugged as she sipped her cocoa, sitting in Liam's old office, her legs up on his desk as Stephanie paced in front of it.

"I know it's been hard, it's...it's weird not having him here," Stephanie said, "and if we can just make it through tonight, through this speech and parade, we'll all have time to properly grieve and mourn and work through it, alone and together. I miss him too, Bea. I really do. He was kind of a force to be reckoned with, especially in the business world, because he was cutthroat even if he didn't seem like. Always willing to go to bat for those he believed in, knowing they deserved better."

"Speech is ready, I'm ready, what more do you want from me?" Bea asked flatly, staring at Stephanie as she poured in more tiny marshmallows into her mug and stirred, adding, "there's only so much assurance of stability that I can promise you, really."

"Bea," Stephanie said, sitting on the desk now, "let me send you and Leslie somewhere after this. I'll pay for your vacation, okay? You guys deserve some time outside of this environment, outside the city in general. Go have some fun together somewhere, alright? It's...it's been a lot this year, between Casey and then Liam and...you just...I think you need time to recuperate."

Bea nodded slowly, acknowledging that Stephanie wasn't wrong, honestly. A break would be really nice, in fact. She checked her wristwatch and sighed.

"Where the hell is Michelle?" she muttered.

Little did she know that Michelle was, in fact, on company property. She just happened to be in The Hole. As she entered, she found Eliza standing underneath a ceiling covered in puppets and marionettes, looking up at them like one looks up at a star filled sky. Michelle approached slowly, so as not to startle her, and when she got close enough, Eliza finally realized she wasn't alone and she looked down at Michelle, who smiled, pulled her in and kissed her briefly before looking back up above with her.

"What are you doing in here?" Michelle asked.

"I'm thinking about all the puppets I've made," Eliza said, "I've spent more time with felt than with people. Does that make me weird?"

"Trust me, that isn't the thing that makes you weird," Michelle said, making Eliza blush as Michelle giggled and kissed her on the cheek, adding, "you're passionate, and that's admirable. I'm passionate too. That's why Bea brought us in. She gathers up people that have the same drive and ambition creatively that she has, so that can never be a negative thing, trust me."

Eliza rested her head on Michelle's shoulder as Michelle ran her long fingers up into Eliza's hair, playing with it.

"People say 'art is dead' because all they see is commodification," Eliza said, surprising Michelle, as she added, "they rarely see people using art as ways to express their pain, their anguish, their joy anymore, and instead it's all about making a franchise, creating a long-lasting IP, and so they say that art is dead. They're just not looking in the right places, is the thing. They only see those things because the mainstream media has so co-opted entertainment and shut out the little productions that it becomes hard to see the genuine stuff that gets made. The stuff with heart in it. Art isn't dead, and working on this show proves that. I put my heart into every single one of these puppets-"

"Creepy, like a satanic ritual," Michelle said, making Eliza laugh; she continued.

"-so I know firsthand that they mean something because I put meaning into them. Like that puppet Keagan and I made together. That was for a specific cause, it had a very real reason to exist, and it's only done good for people since it was introduced. The people who say art is dead are the people who didn't understand art in the first place."

Michelle couldn't be more proud of Eliza. She was starting to sound like Beatrice, and that was not a negative. Michelle pressed her face into Eliza's hair and breathed her in, wrapping her arms around her waist tightly, slowly swaying back and forth in silence for a few minutes as they both looked upward at the marionette chandelier overhead.

"Are you ready to see Bea's speech, the parade?" Michelle asked, and Eliza nodded. Eliza then pulled away and turned around, facing Michelle, looking her dead in the eyes, before taking Michelle's face between her hands and pressing her lips to her own.

"We can go in a few minutes," Eliza whispered, "I wanna stay here and kiss you first."

"That's good enough for me," Michelle replied, giggling more, happily kissing her back.

                                                                                                          ***

Keagan took a deep breath as she tugged her headphones fully over her ears, looking back towards Stephanie. She exhaled as Steph gave her a thumbs up and a nod, grinning, before Keagan lit up the switchboard and went live. She breathed for a moment, and then she spoke.

"Hello and welcome to the show, my name is Keagan Stills, and this is our very first episode, so please bear with us as we try to get things under way," she said, "this radio program is produced as a means to take calls, field questions, speak to the wonderful young audience we have that support us, as well as any creative person who might want to discuss the ins and outs of production. You may recognize my voice, that's because I play Serena on the show. In fact, I not only play Serena, I was integral to her creation, being asked firsthand to help bring her to life with the help, of course, of our amazing puppet master Eliza Tartt. With that in mind, I'm your host, and let's get things underway with our very first caller," Keagan said, before hearing Steph snap her fingers at her, causing her to look back; Steph was holding a sign that simply read 'SPEECH' and Keagan nodded, adding, "right, and I've just been reminded of course that Beatrice is giving a speech at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade tonight, so be sure to either tune into that or, if you're able, see her life in person. We're now opening the lines up for calls."

Steph smiled, nodding as she leaned back against the wall and watched. She knew Keagan would be perfect. Not enough people gave Keagan credit around her, she'd sort of fallen into the background rotation of crew, despite being a literal integral part of why this show existed to begin with, and Steph really felt like it was time for her to be recognized for her abilities. She wanted to uplift her best she could, because she saw a lot of herself in Keagan. Ambitious, driven, business savy. She knew what she was capable of, and she was more than willing to give her the chance to exercise those abilities to their fullest. Thing is...it hadn't been her idea.

"We have multiple sound stages, sound booths, and this space is basically being wasted," Liam had said to her just weeks prior, "we could produce something here. Extra content means extra eyes. Extra attention on the product. We produce a radio show, a storytelling show. Once a week a different story, generally featuring a different character, will be told through this show, and then every fifth episode we can have maybe interviews, behind the scenes stuff, and at the end of every episode we have calls from kids. We need to connect directly with the audience without a screen or a force field of some kind in front of us."

"I love the way your brain works, man," Stephanie said, shaking her head in awe, "and, you're right, we have the resources. I can gather up some potential applicants, we can run through them together, see who fits best, and-"

"No," Liam said, coughing as he waved his hand at her, "no, it's Keagan. I want Keagan."

This, Steph admitted, surprised her. Liam continued.

"Let me explain," he said, his voice sounding froggish, as he added, "Michelle and Bea are close. It's understandable. They're very alike, they're both very passionate about the show, about what they enjoy and do, and their hearts are set in the same place. Their connection makes sense. But this whole thing...this whole endeavor, wouldn't even exist if it weren't for Keagan, and it's goddamned high time she got recognition for it. She's the one who wrote about Marvin's death, not Michelle. She's the one who tracked me down, not Michelle. Together, the two formed and unstoppable force dedicated to bringing us back, but it all started at Keagan. It has to be her. She can't just be relegated to a voice for a puppet and menial task work. She deserves more."

Stephanie felt like crying. This man...this man had gone out of his way time and time again to defend Beatrice, to help Michelle, to bring so many womens dreams to fruition. All he cared about, it seemed, was helping prop women up in a position of power. Steph wiped at her eyes and nodded.

"Yeah, okay sure, yes, it can be Keagan," Steph said, "let me do some budgeting, stuff like that, and I will approach her."

Steph, now back from her memory, looked at the spot beside her where, just weeks earlier, Liam had stood, and they'd had this conversation. She then exited, quietly, swiftly, out into the hall as Keagan broadcasted, and cried into her hands. She hadn't really mourned Liam's death just yet, and now, seeing this dream of his come true, she couldn't help but finally lose it. The man had been a force of nature, of business savy, and now he was gone. But, she thought, though he may be gone, his ideas would continue. His influence would be felt. She wouldn't tell anyone this, but on the night Liam died, when she'd heard, she snuck into The Hole and she took one of his characters puppets to take home with her, that adorable little Cactus he'd voiced for years. Stephanie's home was full of plants.

What did one more hurt.

                                                                                                       ***

Beatrice, Michelle, Eliza and Leslie were standing on a balcony overlooking the parade. Beatrice hated crowds, and so the idea of speaking to one right now made her overly anxious. She lit another cigarette and exhaled smoke into the air as Leslie ran her fingertips down her spine, trying to calm her down. Michelle downed her drink, then looked at Bea.

"You gonna be okay, chief?" she asked.

"I'll manage, I'm nothing if not experienced at this point," Bea said, "I mean, don't get me wrong, I've got the jitters, but it'll be okay."

"I am going to go in search of snacks," Leslie said, "Eliza, care to join me?"

"I could snack," Eliza said, the two of them heading away from the balcony and exiting the room into the hallway of the hotel, leaving Bea and Michelle alone together. Michelle rested her head on Beatrice's shoulder and Bea smiled, resting her head against Michelle's.

"I wish Liam was here," Michelle whispered.

"I know, sweetheart, I do too," Bea said softly, "I miss him more than anything. He was my best friend. He knew me in ways nobody else ever has, and probably never will. Michelle, there's something I want to give you. I know the holidays aren't for another month, but I'll be on vacation, so I want to give this to you now."

Bea walked back into the room, retrieved something, then came back out onto the balcony. She opened a small jewelry box and pulled out a little bracelet with gemstones on it. Michelle held out her wrist and Bea slipped it on carefully.

"This," Bea said, "was something from my mother. She had as long as I could remember, and when I started succeeding in the arts, she gave it to me. I'm giving it now to you. Losing Liam has made me really think about the people in my life who mean the world to me, who I would do anything for, and there's nobody closer to the top of that list than you are."

Michelle wanted to cry as she looked up from her wrist to Bea, their eyes meeting. Bea reached out and carefully pushed some of her hair back behind her ear, smiling warmly.

"I fucked up," Bea continued, "I wasn't there for Casey the way I had been there for you, or Eliza, or other young women when they needed someone. I failed her. I will never forgive myself for that. But...I can do better for the ones I still have. None of you really have moms, and if you do, like you do, they aren't worth having. The age I am now, I'm not going to have kids, that opportunity has passed me by, but that doesn't mean I don't see you as my daughter. For god sakes, Michelle, you have part of my organs inside of you, hah, so I think it's clear we are connected at this point. I wanted to give you this because my mom gave it to me, and now I am a mother to you, even if not by blood."

They stared at one another again, before Bea grabbed Michelle by the shoulders and very gently pulled her in for a hug, the both of them crying happily.

"I love you, Michelle, happy holidays," Bea whispered.

"I love you too," Michelle replied, squeezing tighter and tighter. After the hug, Bea pulled away and exhaled, then wiped her face down and smiled.

"Well," Bea said, "Guess I got a speech to make."

Michelle watched Bea leave the room, and watched her re-emergence outside below the balcony. She stepped up onto the makeshift stage they'd created, as the parade continued around them, and the crowd clapped at seeing her. Michelle smiled so big, she couldn't have asked for a better outcome in life than to be here with not only her hero, but now her surrogate mother. Bea cleared her throat and tapped on the microphone a little, before sighing. The crowd deafened, waiting to hear her speak.

"Hello," she said, "my name is Beatrice. Actually, my name is Amelia Burden. I just go by Beatrice. Most of you, especially the children, know me as Beatrice Beagle. In fact, that's my balloon, right there. Course children aren't stupid, they're often smarter than the adults around them, more perceptive, so you all know I'm not actually a dog. You know I'm a woman in a dog suit. But...the reason I'm telling you my name is because, for far too long, I have run away from who I am, and that's not a message I want to send to kids. If there's one lesson I want to impart to children, it's to be yourself, no matter what anyone thinks or tells you. I love you, Beatrice loves you, because you're you. And you'll be happier in the end if you don't hide who you are from the world, but instead allow the world to love you as you are."

Across town, Lexi, who had graduated and was waiting for her father, was annoyed. He'd promised he'd be here. He said he was getting out early enough to come see her graduate. How could he just lie to her face like that? She was, honestly, livid. Pacing back and forth, clutching her framed diploma and degree to her chest, she was so frustrated. They'd put in the work to be better, why wouldn't he...and then she saw it. A woman in a suit coming her way, with two cops. Her breath stopped in her chest. As they got closer, she had a sinking feeling something was wrong.

"Sometimes," Bea continued, "we don't understand that. We get rejected by people we so desperately want to love us, that we think that's a comment on us, not on them. But it isn't. The people who love us will come through, no matter what, unless life doesn't allow them to. The ones who love us...they're there, and even when they aren't, we feel them. I lost my mother a while back, and I miss her every single day, but I know she isn't gone, because I remember her. If you can remember someone, the love they felt for you, that never goes away. And they loved you for who you were, not who you pretended to be or thought you had to be to please someone else."

Lexi dropped to her knees slowly, the women kneeling with her, hand on her shoulder, apologizing. He wasn't coming. Not because he didn't want to, but because, as he left the prison and headed down the city block, he'd been pulled into a nearby alley and stabbed multiple times by men who had been hired by the people he'd fingered in court to gain early release. He wasn't here because he didn't want to be. He was here because he was dead. This was supposed to be a hugely happy day in her life, but all Lexi could feel was devestation.

"And if, for some reason, the people who should love you no matter what, like your parents, don't...then know that I do. You have, in me, a mother. You have, in Beatrice, a friend, and you are never alone. We will weather these storms together, and we will come out stronger, and healthier, as a result of it. They say the children are our future, but that future only is worthwhile if we raise you right. If we raise you to love not only yourselves but those around you. If we fail to do that, then we've failed not only the future, but also you, and I am so sorry for the parents who failed you, or are failing you. A good friend of mine, her parents failed her, and it cost her her life. She deserved a better life. You all deserve a better life. A life full of love, and learning, and if your folks won't do it, then I will. I will burn myself at both ends until I am nothing but ash to save you from the forces that try to break you."

Michelle smiled, crying, as Eliza and Leslie returned and Eliza kissed Michelle on the head, the two of them nuzzling on the balcony as they continued watching.

"If the most I can be is a mother to you, the I will be that mother," Bea said, "you are not alone. The world is big, and scary, but it can be managed, and I will help you manage it. I may live in a doghouse on TV, but that doghouse is a home to any child who needs the shelter, and you're always welcome to it. So even if you get nothing else out of the holidays this year, know this...you got me. I love you. And I always will. Thank you."

Bea stepped away, to thunderous applause, and walked back down the stairs. Michelle couldn't be more proud. Meanwhile, across town, as the show was winding down for the night, Keagan was ready to get home and finally get some rest. It'd been a long night, and she was pleased with how it had gone but she also was ready to relax, kick back, and take in the holiday season at a slow and comfortable pace. She clicked the switchboard off, stood up, pulled her coat on, and headed to the door. As she tugged the broadcast room door open, the phone rang. Keagan stopped and looked back at it. There was an answering machine. It would pick up. It kept ringng though. Keagan finally sighed, came back in and answered the phone, lifting it to her face.

"Hello?" she asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Hello, thank you," a voice came through the receiver, "hello, yes, I am so glad I caught you. I heard this on the radio, I tried to get through but it was always so busy."

"Yeah, first night show, lots of callers, understandable. Feel free to call back next week though, okay? We're always-"

"I NEED to speak to Beatrice," the voice said, sounding urgent, causing Keagan concern.

"Uh, well, she isn't here, unfortunately, but I can take a message for you, if you'd like," Keagan said, gathering a pen and some scraps of paper, "what is this regarding?"

"It's regarding her daughter," the voice said, catching Keagan off guard, her eyebrows arching.

A moment passed. Keagan stood up straight and anxiously bit on the pen cap.

"Who is this?" Keagan asked.

Another pause.

"My name is Claire, and she's my mom."

"Wyatt?"

Wyatt was staring straight ahead in disbelief. He looked down at his hands, the blood on them. He was shaking ever so slightly, his eyes glued to the car in front of him, the body wrapped in a blanket being loaded into the trunk.

"Wyatt?" the voice asked again, and he turned his head to face Rachel, staring at him. She reached out and put her hands on his face, attempting to ground him. He shook harder, and she nodded, whispering, "it's okay, it's gonna be okay. Everything is gonna be okay."

She heard the metal clang of the trunk shut, and looked where Wyatt had been looking, and for the first time in a while, she felt genuine fear. Calvin had, up to a point, committed his so called atrocities under the pretense of noble morality. But this...this was just murder. And she was terrified. They weren't Calvin. They were so much worse.

                                                                                          EARLIER THAT DAY

Angie was sitting in front of her vanity mirror in her bedroom, looking at her hair. She'd just colored it to a mixture of black and dark red, and was now going to apply her makeup. First she did her lipstick, a kind of brownish red, then applied her eyeliner, a thick black. She caked her face in a pale coverup, and smiled at her efforts. She felt like she was finally getting back to herself, after having gotten lost in the bullshit of The Evergreens, who demanded she tone herself down. She backed up from the mirror and pulled some clothes from her closet, a v-neck t-shirt and a tight pair of ripped black jeans. She pulled her hair back into a partial ponytail, and then headed out of her room, down the stairs and to her car in the driveway.

She drove over to a diner downtown, where she intended to find Wyatt waiting for her. When she arrived, she was surprised he was not only already here, but also had already ordered and started eating. Angie seated herself, causing Wyatt to look up from his breakfast plate and smile politely at her before going back in for more scrambled eggs. The waitress stopped by and took Angie's order - same as Wyatt's, it was a staple of the place after all, and black coffee - and once she was gone, Angie turned her focus back to Wyatt, who was now wiping his mouth with his napkin and burping lightly.

"So," he said, "when you showed up at the ranch the other day, you said you had something to talk about."

"Yes," Angie said.

"What's with the new look?" Wyatt asked, looking her up and down.

"Actually my old look," Angie retorted, "back before I ended up with The Evergreens, who insisted I tone it down. Now that they're history, I figure, what's the harm in being myself again. But we're not here to discuss my fashion choices-"

"Or lack thereof," Wyatt interrupted, making her chuckle.

"-we're here," she continued, "because I asked my old cult leader, Art Johnson, to help me with finding out who was above Wattson, production wise, of the material. Right now Grudin's wife isn't our top priority. She's just...an unfortunate byproduct of the situation. What we need to be focusing on is figuring out who is actually the head of this entire operation of illicit material."

Wyatt nodded, clearly in agreement. This had, after all, been Calvin's cause, and now it was up to him to finish the job, seeing as Calvin was no longer here. He felt he owed him that much at least. And, if he could figure this out, tie it to Brighton definitively, publicly, and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt to Grudin's wife that her husband was simply a sad key in bringing all of this to light, then perhaps they could move on. Still, he didn't hold too much hope in that. Angie plopped a little backpack on the table and unzipped it, sliding out a series of folders.

"These," she said, "are what we managed to dig up on both Wattson and Brighton. Some of this came from Art, some of it came from Ricky. Either way, it's what we know so far," Angie said, "so take these with you, read through them, give me your honest interpretations, and let's move forward from there."

Wyatt nodded again, slid the envelopes to his side of the table seat and then they ate breakfast together in silence for a bit. For a while, it was nice to just have company. Wyatt had felt so bad about his performance at work lately, his home life, his issues with his father, that he'd been spending as much time out of the house as possible, much to an increasingly frustrated Scarlett's chagrin. Angie bit into some bacon and chewed, looking at him.

"What do you wanna do about your dad?" she asked.

"Nothing," Wyatt said, adding more pepper to his eggs, "absolutely nothing. It'll blow over if I just...give him what he wants. Everything will go back to normal."

"Oh, Wyatt, no," Angie said, chuckling, "there is no normal for you anymore."

He wasn't sure what he hated more...the fact she was right, or how she had said it.

                                                                                                          ***

Rachel was in the bathroom putting her earrings in, trying to decide what to wear to Mona's school play that evening. Scarlett had invited her, considering she'd helped make the costume, and so she wanted to do her best to look nice, presentable. Sun Rai was doing the dishes in the kitchen as Rachel exited the bathroom and walked into the kitchen, still fidgeting with her earring clip.

"You know," Rachel said, "she never said I couldn't bring a plus one."

"As cute as you make that sound, I don't think going to an elementary school play is exactly a romantic date," Sun Rai replied, "unless you're a creep, of course."

Rachel laughed and then cursed, having pricked herself with the earring. Sun Rai put the dishes down, wiped her hands on a towel on the counter, then walked over and helped her finish putting them in. After they were securely fastened in her earlobes, she stepped back and put her hands gently on both sides of Rachel's face, smiling warmly. Rachel blushed and cast her eyes down to the floor. Sun Rai then leaned in and kissed her, making her heart do somersaults.

"Amazing that you can still have the same effect on me now just by kissing me that you did the very first time," Rachel said.

"Guess that's what a lifetime of yearning does for a person," Sun Rai replied, shrugging. That's when the knock at the door came. Neither were expecting anyone, not yet anyway - Wyatt was going to pick Rachel up before the play that evening - so they were confused as to who it could be. Sun Rai went back to the dishes, as Rachel went and answered the door, only to find a woman with large glasses and bushy hair standing there.

"Oh," the woman said, "hello, hi. Um...you aren't going to know me and this is going to sound crazy, I know, but...my name is Amelia Klepper, and I think you knew my brother."

That made Rachel turn cold all over. She looked back inside briefly, before exiting into the tight hallway and closing the door behind her.

"Yeah, yes, yes I...I did," Rachel said, crossing her arms, a defensive stature she'd picked up when she was dealing with her parents years prior, "um...yeah, we...he was a very good friend of mine, and...and losing him has been very hard. What is this about? I'm sorry, you've just kinda caught me completely by surprise."

"Oh, no, I totally understand that, and I'm so sorry, I hope I didn't interrupt anything," Amelia said, "no, I just...he didn't really many friends...well, any friends, as far as I knew anyway, so when I found this photo behind his bedside table I figured it'd be good to meet someone who knew him. See what he'd been up to. How he'd been right before...you know."

"I know," Rachel said, and she did know, but she knew that what Amelia knew wasn't the truth.

"We were so close growing up," Amelia said, "I just feel like...like it would be good for me to know who he was friends with. I miss him."

Rachel knew she had to tread lightly. This was dangerous territory she was in now, but...she had to admit that she felt really bad and wanted to help Amelia out any way that she could. This was clearly a woman who was mourning her brother, and if she could help bring her some kind of closure then perhaps that would make Amelia less of a problem later on down the road. Rachel sighed and looked at the floor.

"Look," she said, "I have to go to a school play tonight, why don't you meet me there and afterward I can tell you what I knew about Calvin, what our friendship was like. You deserve to have some nice memories of him. He said you guys barely spoke anymore, so...I don't know, I guess I just feel like I wanna give you any kind of ending that I can."

"That would be really nice, thank you," Amelia said. Rachel then told her the elementary school she would be at, and Amelia went along her way. As Rachel came back into the apartment, she saw Sun Rai organizing the living room, who looked at her curiously.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"Just a friend of a friend," Rachel said, "the sister of a friend, really. It's...it's messy. It's nothing though, don't worry about it."

Rachel headed back to the bedroom, continuing to look for an outfit for that evening, and while Sun Rai knew, deep down, that she had nothing to worry about, she couldn't help but feel uneasy. Rachel had wanted her for so many years, surely she wouldn't cheat on her, right?

                                                                                                    ***

Wyatt, after breakfast, found himself back at work.

He didn't want to be here anymore though, and why should he? Clearly his own father didn't trust him with it, so why should he even care at this point? Wouldn't be his problem anymore much longer, if his dad had anything to say about it. As he did some paperwork about inventory, he chewed on his lip and thought about what he would do with all his soon to be free time. He could spend much more time with Mona. Hell, he could even fix what was going on between himself and Scarlett. They'd been drifting apart for so long now, and he hated that. He sighed and looked at the photo on his desk, the one of him and his family, his wife, his children. It had been taken while on vacation at a famous theme park, and he found he was yearning for those days, when he realized Angie had been right. Those days were gone, and there was no getting them back ever. The door to the office opened and he looked up, only to find Kelly come in. Wyatt brightened up immediately at the sight of her.

"Hey!" he said enthusiastically, as she sat down on a nearby chair.

"Figured I'd find you here," she said.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, leaning back in his own chair, putting his pen down before checking his watch and asking, "wait, shouldn't you be at work?"

"Wyatt, I'm a weather girl, since when are there midday weather reports?" Kelly asked, making him laugh as she added, "besides, after what happened at the ranch the other day, I guess I should felt I should just come and see how you were holding up. That was pretty tense."

"Yeah, that's my dad for ya," Wyatt replied, exhaling, "I really hate to admit this, but what I said was true. I can't wait for him to kick the bucket. I know that sounds so harsh, looking forward to your parents demise, but the man is a monster. He always has been. There's almost no redeeming qualities to him whatsoever. Anything that ever made me happy he made sure to try and ruin or take away or convince me otherwise of. It's a good thing he doesn't know about you, for that matter."

Kelly's eyebrows lifted, and Wyatt cleared his throat.

"Well, cause you're my friend," he added, "you and Celia and Angie, everyone. Like, it's good he doesn't know about my social life, you know? Especially since the last thing we need is for someone like him to be aware of what's going on, insert or involve himself, muddy things up further than they already have been."

"Right," Kelly said, sounding a tad disappointed, "for what it's worth I don't think it's awful to hate your folks or look forward to them dying. Some people simply weren't meant to be parents. Some are unequipped but do their best and some are perfectly equipped and couldn't give less of a shit. Some are just outright bad people. Children, parents, we're all just human beings with flaws, you know? Being somebody's kid or somebody's parent doesn't automatically make you a better, more moral human being."

Wyatt nodded in agreement, picking up a little stress toy off his desk and squeezing it, making it squeak, making her giggle, which made him smile. He sighed heavily and slid down in his chair further.

"And now I have to see him tonight," he groaned, "for this play at Mona's school."

"I could come, if you'd like," Kelly said, "relieve some tension."

"No, it's fine," Wyatt said, "I mean, I'd love having you there, you tickle me, but Scarlett would probably think it's weird to have some random friend with me. Only reason Rachel's even going is cause she helped design Mona's costume."

"What is she anyway? What is the play?" Kelly asked.

"It's a collection of acted our nursery rhymes," Wyatt said, "she's a teapot for 'I'm a little teapot'."

"Well that's obnoxiously adorable," Kelly said, the both of them laughing.

"Listen, Kelly," Wyatt said, after a brief moment of silence, "I have to tell you something."

Kelly perked up, hopeful as he continued.

"Um," he added, "and this is weird cause I haven't...I haven't had to say this to anyone in many years, but...and I hope you don't think it's weird for me to but, uh...lately I think I've..."

Their eyes locked, and it was as if the other was already well aware of what it was they were going to say. Wyatt struggled, looking at her. She was so pretty, so effortlessly pretty in a non conventional way, in a way that didn't feel performative. She just existed, exuding natural beauty. She wasn't like Scarlett. Scarlett was gorgeous, sure, but so much of it was an act. She bought nice clothes, she got her hair done, she was an expert with makeup. Kelly was...well, like Amelia had been. Just naturally pretty without even trying to be. Her slight smile made his heart jump in his chest, and he found his nerve, recomposed himself and went on.

"It's been a weird few months, what with everything that's happened. Your surgery, your leg, the crash, Calvin's death...nothing has seemed normal, but...you've made things feel normal and I'm really grateful for that. Angie and I had breakfast today and she told me that there is no normal for me anymore, but when I see you, I feel like that isn't true, I feel like...I feel like you bring back normality, and you ground me, and I'm very grateful for your companionship. Kelly, I think...I think I'm-"

But before he could finish, the phone on his desk rang, and he sighed, apologizing and answering it.

"Hello?" he asked, "yeah, hi Scar. Yeah I know, okay. Yeah Rachel's gonna meet me there, if you'll take Mona. Okay. I can leave any minute. Alright, I'll see you there. Tell Mona daddy loves her. Love you too. See ya."

He hung up and looked at Kelly, who looked as though she was about to explode into tears. Wyatt stood up and pulled his jacket back on over himself, then walked around the desk and sat on it, looking down at her. Kelly looked up at him, and no words had to be said, really. The silence sad it all. Each knew what was about to happen here had that phone not rung, but each also knew how wrong it would be to give in like that. Wyatt reached out, slowly, and petted the side of her face gently with his knuckles.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked, as she pulled away and stood up.

"Do I have any other choice?" she asked.

"What's the weather gonna be tonight? So I know if I should drive safe," Wyatt asked, making her smile weakly.

"You should always drive safe, regardless, but it's light rain," she said, "with a 90% chance of heartbreak."

And with that she turned and exited, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

                                                                                                        ***

"Am I a bad person for wanting to be anywhere else, with anyone else, other than my wife right now?" Wyatt asked.

He'd swung by Rachel's and picked her up, and they were now headed to the school. Rachel was applying eyeliner in his car mirror as they drove.

"All the things you've done and this is what makes you question your moral fiber?" she asked.

"You're not helping."

"When have you ever known me to be helpful?"

"Alright, that...that's actually fair," he replied, the both of them chuckling.

"No, Wyatt, you're not a bad person for wanting something different now and then, I think almost eveyrone does," Rachel said, "what...what brought all of this up?"

"Nothing in particular," Wyatt said, lying. He sighed and thought back to earlier in his office, with Kelly. He would've kissed her. He would've given in, no doubt, had the moment gone on any longer. Lately, she was all that made him feel good. Truly, genuinely good. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. This was awful. The last thing he needed right now in the midst of everything else was romantic feelings for a woman who wasn't his wife. Rachel finished applying her makeup and dropped her eyeliner pen back into her purse, now checking her lipstick. Wyatt glanced over at her and smiled.

"You look pretty," he said.

"Well thank you," Rachel said, "I always try and doll up if I'm going somewhere, especially to support the arts."

"I don't know if I'd call an elementary school play 'the arts'," Wyatt said, scoffing.

"Well, I don't think I'd call what I'm doing 'support', so that's fine," Rachel replied, the both of them laughing as someone behind them flashed their brights. Wyatt grimaced, and stuck his arm out the window, waving them around, but the car didn't pass. He shook his head and kept on driving until it happened, once, twice, three more times. Now, genuinely irritated, he started to mumble obscenities under his breath as Rachel added, "maybe there's something wrong with the car and they're trying to tell us."

Wyatt nodded, acknowledging this could be the case, as he pulled over and parked. He climbed out, and noticed the other car had pulled over as well. His blood ran cold. Rufus stepped out of the vehicle and Wyatt threw his arms up in the air in frustration.

"What are you doing to me?!" he shouted, "what, now you're gonna criticize my driving!?"

"No, actually, well, you are a little low in the back right tire, but actually I wanted to give you something before we go to the school," Rufus said, pulling his coat open and pulling out an envelope, handing it to Wyatt. Wyatt took it, cautously, eyeing his father as he opened it, pulled out the paper and started reading.

"...the fuck is this, dad?" he asked.

"That," Rufus said, as Rachel also climbed out of the car and approached Wyatt from behind, "is from my lawyer. He, along with my accountant, found multiple discrepencies in the books for the business. Now, it's possible they're just clerical errors. Lord knows you were never the best mathematician, but we're going to have to do some digging and see if it goes further than that."

"...are you...suing your own son?" Rachel asked, since Wyatt seemed to be too in shock to respond.

"Not yet," Rufus said, chuckling, "no, this is a precautionary measure to ensure we don't have to go that route. We're hoping to find nothing illegal, we're hoping to absolve him of any kind of accusation and-"

"You're a fucking piece of shit," Wyatt said, taking his father by surprise. Wyatt had sparred with him verbally before, but never had he outright said something that openly callous; Wyatt looked up from the papers at Rufus and added, "fuck you. Fuck YOU. Go fuck yourself. I'm not going to fucking court to prove my supposed ineptitude in  mathematics to you. Don't just get back on the horse you rode in on, but bend over so the horse can fuck you to death as well."

Rachel couldn't help it, she doubled over in laughter. After so many years of wanting to stand up to her own folks, it was somewhat cathartic to hearing Wyatt do that exact thing with his father.

"Nothing I've ever done has been good enough for you! Ever! I didn't wanna play baseball, you wanted me to! I didn't wanna work in this business, you brought me into it! Even Amelia wasn't good enough for you!"

"Wait, what?" Rachel asked, now recognizing thee name.

"I loved that girl to the moon and back and I ended things with her, with who might've been the love of my life, because she wasn't up to your bullshit standards, but neither am I! I never have been and I never will be, so why the FUCK should I keep caring what you have to say?!" Wyatt shouted.

"You're clearly unfit," Rufus said coldly, "not just to run a business, but to be a family man."

"Don't you DARE fucking talk about my family," Wyatt said, "at least when my daughter tells me she loves something, I do all that I can to help her embrace it rather than shame her and find an alternative! She wanted a horse, so I got her a fucking horse! At least I'm there! At least I'm not out there fucking random women behind my wifes back, like you did to mom!"

Rufus reached out and smacked Wyatt across the face, causing both him and Rachel to recoil in shock. The rain started to come down harder, and Wyatt snapped. He leapt at his father, taking him down to the ground, the two of them fighting in the gravel and mud. Rachel yelled, trying to get them to stop, but she couldn't do anything, as each was much bigger and stronger than she was. She saw some lights stop nearby. Another car? A passing civilian curious what was happening? It seemed to be the case, until she made out the figure coming up briskly behind the two men to be Angie of all people, and she felt confused and worried. Wyatt was on his back, Rufus on top of him, holding him down. And then, Rachel watched, in stupified horror, as Angie raised a shovel behind them and brought the head of the shovel against Rufus's skull, a loud cracking ringing out. Rufus rolled off his son, causing Wyatt to scramble as he backed away on the ground with Rachel's help. Rufus rolled over, bleeding profusely from his head, as he looked up at Angie and realized who it was now.

"Don't. Touch. HIM!" Angie screamed, beating Rufus's head in with the shovel as Rachel and Wyatt stared on in horror. after she was done, she stood up and looked up at the sky, shutting her eyes, letting the rain wash the blood off. She then looked towards them and she smiled, saying, "we have work to do, and we can't have anyone interferring. I'll go get a blanket from my car."

Rachel helped Wyatt up as Angie walked off, then returned and started rolling Rufus's body up in the blanket, opening her trunk.

"Wyatt?"

Wyatt was staring straight ahead in disbelief. He looked down at his hands, the blood on them. He was shaking ever so slightly, his eyes glued to the car in front of him, the body wrapped in a blanket being loaded into the trunk.

"Wyatt?" the voice asked again, and he turned his head to face Rachel, staring at him. She reached out and put her hands on his face, attempting to ground him. He shook harder, and she nodded, whispering, "it's okay, it's gonna be okay. Everything is gonna be okay."

She heard the metal clang of the trunk shut, and looked where Wyatt had been looking, and for the first time in a while, she felt genuine fear. Calvin had, up to a point, committed his so called atrocities under the pretense of noble morality. But this...this was just murder. And she was terrified. They weren't Calvin. They were so much worse. Angie shut the trunk and turned to face them, hands on her hips, before nodding in silence, Rachel returning the nod, before getting into her car and pulling away. Wyatt picked up his fathers keys from the ground and looked at them in his palm before handing them to Rachel.

"Take his car, drive far away from here," Wyatt said, "I'll tell Scarlett you were sick."

"Okay," Rachel said, not even hesitating, as she snatched them from his hand and did what he said. Wyatt then got back into his car and continued heading towards the school. Once there, he parked, headed inside, washed his hands off in the bathroom sink best he could and headed down the hallway. He could already hear the nursery rhymes being belted out by kids from the theater, but he stopped. Standing at the opposite end of the hall...was Amelia. He slowly approached her, and she looked him up and down.

"You look like shit," she said.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I came back to town to deal with my brothers estate, met a friend of his named Rachel, she invited me," Amelia said, "Wyatt...are you okay?"

Wyatt looked at his shoes, and then looked back up at her.

"I killed my dad," he said.

"Well, it's about fucking time," Amelia replied, causing them both to laugh. They didn't make it into the theater. Instead, they went back out to the parking lot and and drove away. Drove as far away from the current nightmare as possible. Inside the theater, though, a heartbroken Mona couldn't find her fathers face in the crowd, and Scarlett...well...Scarlett had finally had enough.

Bea was at a park, relaxing on a blanket in the sun. She was wearing a cute dress and a big floppy sunhat, with large sunglasses. The camera was fixated on her, and she hadn't noticed until just now. The scene then cut to a shot of Bea, still at the park, playing with Claire, who couldn't have been older than 4. The two were blowing bubbles, and looking like they were having the time of their life together. At one point, Bea would blow more bubbles, and Claire would excitedly attempt to pop them with her tiny hands, causing them both to laugh. The scene then cut to Bea driving, presumably heading home, while Claire was filmed asleep in the backseat. The camera panned back to Bea, who glanced over at it and smiled, then stuck her tongue out playfully before she and Liam, the one holding the camera, laughed. The scene then went dark, and Bea found herself staring back at a blackened phone screen.

When had he done this? When had he had all of these transferred? Some of these were so old. He'd kept all this film all these years, without even telling her? They'd agreed to relinquish anything remotely related to her. Then again, it wasn't like she'd abided by that rule herself, so how could she seriously admonish him for doing the same, really.

She sighed, scrolled through and picked another, lost in the memories of a life she'd loved.

                                                                                                         ***

"Tell me when too much is too much," Bea said as she spread chunky peanut butter on some bread, Claire sitting on a bar stool across from her at the counter. She was 6 years old. After a moment, Claire finally nodded, and Bea stopped, dropping the knife back on a paper towel on the countertop and screwing the lid back onto the jar before handing the sandwich over to Claire, who happily took it and started eating.

This wasn't the life Bea had expected to have. Not at all. Not by a longshot. The door opened and Liam came in, walking right by the kitchen and heading towards the back bedroom down the hall. Bea, concerned, walked past Claire and told her to keep eating whle she went to check on him. Once inside the room, which was still dark as he hadn't turned on any lights, she shut the door behind her and leaned back against it.

"....are you okay?" she asked softly.

"I don't know," Liam said, "I don't...I don't know."

"What's going on? What happened? I thought you were having a meeting with someone from-"

"I was, I was at the meeting," Liam said, "and...and I was sitting there, and I was listening to this man talk. Just the two of us, you know, just...just him and me. I was taking notes, and I was polite and...and the whole time I couldn't help but think, 'oh, this guy is handsome, I wish I looked like him, he has such nice hair', but the thing is, Bea, I don't think it's admiration for who I want to be, I think it's lust for who I want to have."

Bea nodded, sitting on the bed beside him, reaching out and putting a hand on his back.

"We can't keep playing house like this," Liam whispered, "at least I can't. I can't go on anymore pretending to be someone I'm not. She needs a family. We're not a family. She can't stay here. It isn't fair to anyone."

"What about to me?" Bea asked, "It isn't fair to me?"

"You're perfectly content just...hiding who you are from the world so you can continue doing what you do?" Liam asked, "really? Pretending to be someone you're not for the sake of the public eye? Because I'm sure as shit not, and you shouldn't be either."

"This wasn't a choice we made but it was a choice we were given, and I'm not about to fuck that up," Bea said sternly, surprising Liam with her brash language as she often didn't swear; she cleared her throat and continued, "and yes, I'm happy ignoring who I am. You might be comfortable with yourself, but I never will be. There's absolutely no way I could ever be okay with that. You can't be...that way, and work in childrens media. Considering the show and what I bring to kids lives is so important to me, yes, I'm fully willing to ignore that part of myself forever."

With that, she stood back up, smoothed her dress and walked back to the door, gripping the knob.

"But that doesn't mean you have to be," Bea said, "you're more than free to explore yourself, to be who you are, I would never deny you that, but don't deny me what I want either."

And she exited the room. Liam sat in the darkness, the silence, confused as to how to progress without blowing everything up. He sighed and flopped onto his back, laying there for a bit until the door opened back up and, he assumed it being Bea, he glanced at the door only to see Claire climbing onto the bed beside him. She curled up by him and rested her head on him, so he ran his fingers gently through her hair.

"Are you okay?" she asked and he smiled, nodding. Because, yes, in this very moment, he was, in fact, okay.

                                                                                                          ***

Beatrice was in the grocery store.

She wasn't really thinking of buying anything in particular, as much as she was staring at objects on the shelf. After a moment, she reached out and grabbed a box of pasta, then turned it over to read the back.

"It's good to read the classics," a voice said beside her, surprising her; she turned and saw a woman about her age standing there, basket on her arm full of items, smirking as she added, "me, personally, I love the story of Rigatoni more than that of Ravioli, I think it has better character development."

Bea snickered and put the box back on the shelf.

"Frankly, I'm partial to the storytelling in Gnocchi myself," she replied, "I think it relies far less on tropes."

The woman cackled, and her laughter made Bea's heart swim. But she quickly pushed that feeling back down, went back to ignoring it, and continued shopping, occasionally side eyeing the woman. She was about the same age, dressed in a button down blouse and tight jeans, with a cardigan. She had her hair up in a braided bun of sorts, her makeup perfect like she'd had it professionally done. Everything about her looked...pristine. Beatrice liked order. The woman sighed as she grabbed a few other boxes off the shelf and plopped them into the basket.

"Gotta have easy to make food cause I don't feel like cooking most of the time," she said, "the last thing I want to do when I get home from work is then work some more in a different way. I just want to eat, for god sakes, not be forced to be a five star chef."

"What do you do for a living?" Bea asked, giving into temptation.

"I'm a five star chef," the woman responded, the both of them laughing; she continued, "I work downtown in an upscale restaurant, I'm the head chef there, so, as I said, last thing I wanna do is take my work home with me. For all the spices and seasonings and different ways to cook, in the end, I'd prefer simplicity for myself. Maybe it's so I can give others my all in the kitchen, I don't know, but that's just how it goes."

"I wish I could be like that," Bea mumbled, picking a jar of pasta sauce off the shelf, "I feel like what I do is all encompassing, and there's no escape from it. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't want my life to be anything but, but some days it would be nice to forget who I am and what it is I do, and just...exist. You know?"

And that admission was all it took, really.

Soon, Bea and this woman, Pauline, were spending so much time together. Bea would always be going to her place for dinner, they would go out and do fun activities together, and they loved listening to one another talk. At some point, Bea realized now what Liam had been talking about. How he couldn't hide anymore. She was now face to face with that herself, and she didn't want to ever go back. But that meant dropping the facade. Letting it all fall away and giving into selfishness. And what kind of a child could be happy surrounded by people who constantly lied to pretend to be okay around her? She thought about Claire. She thought about the kind of message that would send, to keep hiding, to never truly be your authentic self. And what was the alternative?

Laying in Pauline's bed one late evening, as Pauline smoked beside her while Bea stared up at the ceiling, one forearm resting on her head, she couldn't come to any conclusion where there was a good outcome for all involved. She'd run away from this aspect of herself for so long, her whole life, really, and now here she was, faced with it. In a way, though she'd never admit it, she hated Liam for this more for far longer than she hated him for giving into the industry. She'd crafted this carefully curated facade, a mask that she could wear to exist in society, and now it had slipped and broken into a million pieces on the floor, and it was all his goddamn fault for questioning in the first place. She knew, as an adult later on, that he was right to do so. Nobody should have to live a life of quiet desperation, but still. Pauline stubbed her cigarette out, then rolled onto her side and kissed Bea's bare shoulder, resting her head on her.

"When can I see you again?" Pauline asked, and Bea wanted to cry. She wanted the answer to be 'every day'. She wanted this life. With this woman. A woman. She was, like Liam, tired of playing house. Not for Claire's sake, she loved that little girl to the ends of the earth and back, but because society saw it as she was a straight woman with a straight man when that couldn't be further from the truth.

"I'll call you," Bea said, as she climbed out of bed, got dressed and left. That age old excuse. A blowoff technique. You're never going to call them. And it hurt. It burned her up inside to say that to a woman she genuinely liked and wanted to pursue romantically, but she just couldn't allow herself. Not if she wanted to keep working in the industry of childrens media. Not if she wanted to keep what she had.So instead she went home, she went back to being there for Claire, to pretending to be happy with Liam, all the while feeling her repressed sexuality clawing at her rib cage like an enraged animal eager to escape.She would lay in bed at night beside Liam, and she would think about Pauline. She would think about how, if she could just have this life she had right now, but with her, with a woman in general, how normal that would feel.

She'd never openly admit it, but Liam had ruined her life. In both the best and the worst kinds of ways.

                                                                                                        ***

Another video, this one showcasing Claire learning to ride a bike. Training wheels, of course, but still. Bea was walking down the city street, hand placed on her back to help steady her, as Liam filmed from behind. Another video. A birthday. Claire had just turned  6. Presents and cake and joy. Another video, this time presenting Bea with a trip they'd all taken to the zoo together. Memories from a whole other life, long since disavowed. Buried as far back in the closet as she herself had once been. Bea lowered the phone between her knees and hung her head, sobbing silently. Why had he given her this? Why had this been what he left for her? Did he think this would make her happy? This felt like cruelty, not love.

The night the truth finally came out, the night they finally had to discuss it. God. The aching inside them both they felt. She could remember it so clearly, even without the visual aide of it being filmed, which, thank god, it hadn't been. They were sitting in Claire's bedroom, she had gone to a friends house from school for a sleepover. It was only 7 months after ending things with Pauline. Claire was still 6. Sitting on the floor of her bedroom together, Beatrice couldn't help but feel like each already knew it was over. Liam leaned back against the wall from the floor and ran his hands up through his hair, as he had a tendency to do when anxious.

"Funny how one room can be so full of love and the rest of the house can be so devoid of it," Bea muttered.

"That's because we love her. We don't love ourselves, because we aren't ourselves," Liam replied.

Bea nodded, understanding, agreeing. Liam exhaled.

"On paper it makes total sense," Bea said, "you and I. It made sense in the moment, because neither of us really knew. But...it doesn't really make sense, does it? As creative partners, sure, but not romantic partners. At least, not to us. Maybe to those outside looking in. But not to us. The ones involved."

"What about Claire?" Liam asked, his voice low, like he was scared to even asked.

"She'll be okay," Bea said, stiffling her own sobs, "she'll be fine. We'll find people. She's 6. She's young. She'll barely remember. We'll find people who can give her more than we ever could've. We didn't plan on this anyway. She deserves better. All I know, Liam, is that...is that you and I...we found one another, and...and we changed one another in ways we never could've expected. I am who I am because you embraced who you are. Without eachother, we might've gone on throughout our lives denying ourselves our personhood. I love Claire so much, but...but this is the best way forward."

Liam looked at Bea, who was looking at the floor, sitting cross legged on the carpet, her fingers playing with the pieces of a large puzzle portraying various dogs.

"We're beards, Liam," Bea said, before whispering, breaking into tears, "and I don't know about you, but I'm tired of not shaving."

Liam nodded, then crawled across the floor and held her, the both of them sobbing. Bea clicked through to another video, the last one on the phone. She'd gone through them all now, and had finally reached the end. This was when Liam had first gotten the camera, just in time for the momentous occasion. This was back when fathers were allowed in the delivery room. Back when they could film births. He was watching Beatrice on the hospital bed, screaming in agony as a doctor and some nurses surrounded her, trying to help ease the process.

"You're doin' great, just think of all the ice cream you're gonna get after this!" Liam said, and Bea glared at him.

"As soon as I'm off this bed I'm going to strangle you!" she shouted, and he laughed, as did she. Even in her supposed angriest, she couldn't help but be kidding with him. The whole thing was filmed, from entering the hospital to the birth itself, and, at the end, Beatrice was holding this newborn girl in her arms in the bed as Liam kept filming, occasionally reaching into frame to touch them both gently. After a little bit, Bea looked towards the camera and smiled warmly.

"What do you think?" Liam asked.

"I think even a mistake has benefits," Bea said, chuckling, "...what do you think of the name Claire?"

"I love it," he replied, leaning in and kissing her on the forehead, the camera cutting off, presumably running out of battery. And now Bea was alone again. Without her daughter. Without the man who'd given her to her. Without anything. Face staring back at her in the blackened phone screen once more. She no longer had a connection to that life.

And everything was worse now.

                                                                                                        ***

Laying against the bookshelf, the apartment a mess, the phone still in one hand as Bea stared at the ceiling above her, she didn't know how to go on. The sound of the quiet, empty apartment complex surrounded her, suffocating her in slence. Just like Claire, he'd been here, and now he was gone. She was completely alone now. That entire life was gone. Nothing left to give her the sense of connection now. All that was left was this phone, with these videos. She smirked at the irony. After Marvin had died, Bea had done the same, given Liam an unlisted video wishing him well, so it was beautifully circular for him to have done the same. She exhaled and shut her eyes, feeling herself shut down. How  could she possibly go on after this? He was her other half. The show, as it was, didn't exist without him, so how could it exist if he didn't? The front door opened, and Bea was surprised, she thought she'd locked it. Standing there was Michelle.

Michelle looked at the apartment, then looked down at Bea. The two locked eyes but neither said a word. After a few minutes, Michelle entered the apartment, picked up best she could, and managed to get things into a somewhat presentable manner again, for when Leslie gets back. When she felt she was finished, she opened her coat pocket and pulled out a small envelope, plopping it onto the coffee table, causing Bea to raise an eyebrow in confusion as Michelle turned to her and said, "tickets, for the Thanksgiving Day Parade. They want you to give a speech." Bea nodded in acknowledgement. Michelle then walked over to where Bea was, slumped on the floor against the bookshelf and reached out with one hand.

"Now get up," Michelle said, "you have work to do."

"It's sweet of you to get something like this," Kelly said.

She, Wyatt and Mona had been out on a trail, riding for a little while now. While Mona's horse trotted a bit ahead of them, Kelly and Wyatt stayed behind a ways to have conversation. Wyatt smirked and shrugged.

"I mean, how many dads can actually fulfill their daughters request of being given a pony," he asked, "I'm just lucky enough to be able to do so is all. Really nothing more to it than being fiscally well off."

"Thanks for inviting me," Kelly said, "I really needed this. I've been struggling so much lately with my leg and then the self worth that comes along with that, and so this is...this is nice. I needed this. Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Wyatt said.

But Kelly wanted to mention it. She wanted to mention how grateful she was to him, not just for this, but for everything. She wanted to mention so much more too. She wanted to mention how she felt. How much she cared about him. How much she wanted him to be hers. But she wasn't a homewrecker. She wasn't about to take a little girls daddy away from her, break up a seemingly happy marriage. That wasn't who Kelly was, nor was it who she wanted to be, so instead, she just smiled politely, nodded and agreed to not mention it.

Always opting to put others comfort before her own.

                                                                                                     ***

"You can't be serious," Celia said.

"I'm dead serious," Paul replied, "why is that so shocking to you?"

"Paul, you...you wanted to go discover who it was you wanted to be, and I respected that because we did get pregnant so young, I didn't wanna tie you down, and now seeing you as you are, a professional federal agent, it's impressive. I'm proud of you. But you chose the life you chose because you didn't want this one. The life that's mine. The life I wanted and stuck around for. He's your son biologically, but he's my son emotionally. I was here."

Paul nodded in agreement. He couldn't deny that, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Celia or their son in some way. But he still wanted to be a part of their life. He sighed and drank from his coffee mug, then leaned back in the booth. He and Celia had come out to breakfast this morning while their son was at school, and actually have a discussion about this, but so far it hadn't really been going in his favor.

"Listen," he said, "there's no defense, you're right. You're one hundred percent right, and I ain't got a leg to stand on. But the thing is, we both are professionals now, and we both can give him a better life. Maybe split custody? I'm willing to move back. Lord knows I could do my job from anywhere, really. But please, meet me halfway Cels."

Celia rolled her eyes and chuckled. She'd always hated that nickname, and yet...there was something oddly endearing about being called it right now.

"I'm...willing to entertain some kind of compromise," she said, "but for his sake, not yours. And certainly not ours. You and I were finished the moment you left. I don't hold any kind of grudge against you or anything, but you do need to know that. That whatever it was we had...it's gone."

"I understand that and I'm by no means attempting to re-establish a romantic relationship with you. This is about knowing my kid, specifically," Paul said, and Celia nodded.

"So long as we're in agreement," she said.

Celia didn't know it, but she wasn't the only one busy. Rachel was currently in therapy, Wyatt and Kelly were horseback riding, and Angie...Angie was currently on her way to her former cults compound with Ricky by her side. Seemed everyone had an appointment to keep today.

                                                                                                          ***

Ricky had watched a lot of stuff about cults. Movies, documentaries, television specials. It was a special interest of his, but up til now, that's all it'd ever been. An interest. Never a direct experience or interaction. Now, sitting in Angie's passenger seat, on his way to meet her former cult leader, he had no idea what to expect, and frankly, as a private investigator, that excited him more than it probably should've. As Angie's car pulled up to the large front gate that led to the compound, Ricky had a sneaking suspicion he'd regret getting involved in this girls life, but he needed answers, and this might be a good place to start.

"Don't be weird," Angie said as she pulled in further, looking to park.

"You're one to talk," Ricky replied.

"Seriously," Angie said, "these people can smell fear like it's a pheromone from a wild animal. They will eat you alive. Don't be weird and stay close to me."

Angie eventually parked and shut the car off, herself and Ricky exiting the vehicle. Once he was out of the car, he stood and stretched, looking around, taking in the compound. It was lovely, well kept, one could even say flourishing. And everyone seemed friendly and approachable. But...that's cults for you, isn't it? Everyone always seems friendly and approachable. Rarely do you see a documentary or photos about a cult where people are displeased and non content. Angie stopped and stood by him, and together they began heading in a specific direction away from the car.

"So," Ricky said, turning the small recorder in his shirt pocket on without her knowing, "this is where you grew up?"

"For a bit," Angie replied, "until my folks decided to leave. That was why I joined The Evergreens. It was never about the message for me, well, it kind of was, I do care about the planet, but moreso it was about following someone. Someone with an idea, someone who was a martyr. Didn't know at the time what a horrible man Oliver Brighton actually was. Then, when Wyatt got me to not get on that plane and it crashed, I realized I'd been following the wrong man."

"So it's all about being led, for you?" Ricky asked, Angie nodding in response as he added, "and how does this connect to what's going on with Wyatt and everyone else? I don't understand."

"Cults have a lot of resources," Angie said, shrugging, "if anyone can find out who's behind it all...it's Art."

Ricky nodded and followed Angie in silence, hands in his coat pockets. As they passed by multiple people, all of varying ethnicities, body types, age, single people, couples and even full on families, Ricky started to wonder what exactly he'd gotten himself involved with here. Maybe, if he managed to get to the bottom of this situation, he could return with information about whoever was running this trafficking ring to Mrs. Grudin and she would be so disgusted she would forget about her want for revenge for herself and, instead, turn her sights to stopping this instead. Yeah, Ricky thought, and maybe I'll be the queen of England one day. Eventually they entered a lovely little cottage style home and stopped in the foyer.

"Art?" Angie called out in what was, to that point, perhaps the most polite voice Ricky had heard her use. After a moment, a well dressed, older man - who appeared to be in his early seventies at least - walked to the banister above them and looked down, smiling at her. She smiled and waved back as he began to descend the staircase.

"Angelica!" he said happily, "what a nice surprise!"

As he reached the landing, the two embraced, and Ricky immediately got the sense of history between them. Angie's folks may have managed to escape the mindrot of a cult, but Angie was clearly still attached. Ricky actually started to feel bad for her. Art then turned his attention to Ricky, who held his hand out to shake, which Art happily did.

"Ricky Loach," Ricky said, "nice to meet you. You have quite a place here, and I don't just mean your personal abode, I mean the entire compound. All the land. You must've bought it a long time ago."

"It came from my grandfather," Art said, "it was the one thing he left me. He purchased it with intent to do something himself, but he simply never had the means. He had the money for the land back when land was cheap, but never the money for construction of any kind. I like to think he'd be proud of what I've managed to build up here. So, what can I do for you today?"

"Art," Angie said, "we need help. It's a long story."

"Angelica, for you, all I have is time," Art said, smiling.

Hell, the guy was so charming, charismatic, that even Ricky had to remind himself what he was dealing with here so as not to get sucked in. The three of them made their way to the parlor, where Art had someone bring them food and drink, and Angie began to tell the entire story, as she knew it, from start to finish. Stuff even Ricky hadn't heard. By the end of it all, he felt worse by having helped Mrs. Grudin, considering Wyatt and the groups reasonings, and all they had been through together.

Maybe, he thought to himself as he listened, just maybe...there was a bigger story here than just some asshole politician getting killed in the crossfire. Maybe there was bigger justice to be served. And he wanted to help serve it.

                                                                                                         ***

Rachel was siting on the couch, her feet up on it, her arms hugging her knees, her eyes cast down towards her lap. The sound of the clock on the wall ticking ever so slowly, the sound of her therapist tapping her pencil. After a little bit, Rachel wanted to speak again, but what could she realistically say? Oh, by the way, did you know I'm involved a massive cover up of the murder of a politician, also the crash of a major airliner, the unintended manslaughter of an entire group of pseudo activists and we killed a friend of ours? Yeah. That would fly. She sighed and shook her head.

"Have you spoken to your parents since?" her therapist asked, and Rachel shrugged.

"Not really, no," she replied, "I'm honestly afraid to. I'm afraid they'll pull some kind of conservatorship nonsense, say I'm a danger to myself or some other ridiculously controlling bullshit like that. Sun keeps telling me I don't need them in my life, and she's right, but god it hurts being so alone, not having any parents, any family whatsoever."

Her therapist nodded in understanding, chewing her lip.

"Rachel," she said, leaning forward, "when I was in college, I worked at this juice bar, and there was this girl I worked with. She was another student, studying criminal psychology, her name was Alicia. Anyway, because we worked together, and we were the only two girls who worked there, we became kinda buddy buddy, you know? Looked out for eachother in the workplace, and were cordial towards one another on school grounds. The thing is, and I didn't realize this until years later when she came to see me at my practice, she was like you. But unlike you, Rachel, she allowed the fear of ostracization and her parents bigotry and rejection get the better of her. Granted, different time, but still. She married a man. She had three kids. And she was fucking miserable."

"Is this story supposed to make me feel better, cause I gotta tell ya, it ain't working," Rachel said, making her therapist smirk.

"Let me finish," she said, "she regretted so much of her life. She regretted having children, something she didn't even want, much less want with a man. That wasn't to say she was a cruel or neglectful mother, but more that she wished she'd never let the fears overtake her desire for happiness and self fulfillment. In the end, she left her husband, got joint custody of her children, and met a woman. She's happy now. She's happier than I'd ever seen her be. She was scared of losing her family just like you have, but she also came to realize that the people around her, in her community, who were her friends, they were her family now too. I know that's trite, cliche even, but it's the truth."

Rachel nodded slowly, taking it all in. In a way, she knew her therapist was right. She had Wyatt and Kelly and Sun Rai. She had a family of sorts. She had Calvin. But when she thought about that, it made her sad. After all...who kills their family members?

                                                                                                          ***

Wyatt and Kelly were putting taking the equipment off their horses while Mona put hers back in its stable. Standing there in the bright sun, watching Wyatt undo a saddle, Kelly leaned back against the fence, having finished her own work, and smiled as she viewed him. She had had such a good time, and she was so happy to have been given this opportunity not just to spend time with him, but also to go back to her all time favorite hobby. As Wyatt finished and lugged the saddle off, plopping it onto the bench nearby, he exhaled,, turning to look at her, hand on his hip.

"This was a lot of fun, thank you," Kelly said.

"Yeah, I'm glad we managed to do it," Wyatt remarked, glancing back at his daughter brushing her horse down; he chuckled then added, "Mona and I try to do a ride once a week, so maybe you can start coming along most weeks, if you're free. I know she'll still want ones just with me, which is fair, but."

"I don't wanna intrude," Kelly said.

"Oh, please, you revel at the chance of intruding," Wyatt said, the both of them laughing. He walked up to the fence and leaned back against it beside her, letting the sun warm his face. Kelly did the same. She leaned back and shut her eyes, breathing slowly, softly, trying to relax. After a few minutes, Wyatt opened his eyes and looked over at her. The sunlight was brightening her otherwise pale skin, and glinted off her eyelashes. Wyatt's eyes opened, and in that moment, he realized something he'd been trying to avoid. He swallowed and looked away.

"Imagine this being life," Kelly mumbled, "just this. None of the other stuff. Just horseback and work and parenting. You don't know how much you miss normal until you're face with abnormal. You're lucky. You're lucky to have all this. I'm envious."

"Envious of me?" Wyatt asked, laughing.

"Envious of Sc..." Kelly started, then stopped herself, bit her lip and shook her head, "yeah, envious of you, yes. I just have my apartment and my job, and it's nice enough, but being embroiled in all this extra nonsense..."

"I'm sorry for dragging you into all this," Wyatt said, sounding shameful.

"No, don't be. I waited my whole life to be involved in stuff. At least now I am," Kelly replied.

They looked at one another, and Wyatt slipped his hand into hers, squeezing, making her blush. Just then a car pulled up, and they both turned their focus to that, pulling their hands away once more. It wasn't anyone they expected though, in fact, it was just Angie. Angie parked and climbed out of the car, staring at them. She then glanced in the direction of Mona and back to Wyatt and Kelly.

"What are you doing here?" Wyatt asked.

"We need to talk," Angie said, "it's about-"

But before she could finish, yet another car pulled up, and this one made Wyatt's blood run cold. Rufus parked and climbed out of his car, smiling at Wyatt and the two women. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his sports coat and looked around the ranch.

"This is beautiful. Not your land, of course, I presume," he said.

"No, we just keep the horse here," Wyatt said.

"Every time I see you lately it seems you're with women who aren't your wife," Rufus remarked, making Wyatt grit his teeth.

"You know other women?" Kelly asked, trying to lighten the mood, making Wyatt smirk. He appreciated her so much right now.

"What are you doing here dad?" Wyatt asked.

"Went to the house to see my granddaughter, Scarlett told me you were here on a little riding trip, so I figured I'd stop on by," Rufus said, looking at Kelly and adding, pointing at her, "you look familiar. Aren't you a weather girl?"

"Yes I am," Kelly replied as he then turned his attention towards Angie.

"And you are?" he asked.

"Your worst fucking nightmare," Angie said, "I'll eat your sister."

Wyatt and Kelly had to do everything in their power to stifle themselves from laughing, despite knowing full well she wasn't kidding. Her response, in turn, certainly made Rufus back away a little. He started to pace between the cars, looking at the riding arena.

"Wyatt," Rufus said, "I just wanted to let you know that in a few weeks, I'll be bringing in an insurance adjustor to the store, as well as a management efficiency expert. Between their findings, whatever those may be, you might be relieved of your job. I hope this doesn't come as a surprise to you."

"Frankly nothing you do comes as a surprise to me," Wyatt said, narrowing his eyes at his father, "you really don't trust me, do you? You don't think I'm capable of running a business you yourself weren't interested enough to stick around for."

"Oh, I think you're plenty of capable, and I do trust you," Rufus said, "just not right now. You are slipping, and that affects everything and everyone around you, and until you can get stable again, I think it's in everyones best interests to take responsibility away from you."

"Grandpa!" Mona said, running up and hugging him tightly.

"Hi kiddo!" Rufus said.

"Are you coming to my play this week?" Mona asked, "I'm gonna be a teapot, and mom and her friend made my costume!"

"I'll definitely be there, wouldn't miss it for anything," Rufus said, patting her on the head. He then turned and walked back to his car, waved goodbye to everyone and started it up, pulling out and driving away.

"Mona, go get your backpack," Wyatt said, watching her run away; after a moment he exhaled, and felt Kelly's hand on his back, reassuring him as he said, "I can't wait for my father to die."

And Angie, ever the faithful, nodded in agreement.

Eliza didn't want to be here.

The one and only time she'd been to a funeral, it had been for her mother. Now, here she was, standing outside the church, while Casey's service was underway indoors. She was seated on a marble bench next to some fancy headstones, eating a blackberry fig bar, staring at the ground in front of her. Crying had become her normal, so much so that she no longer even knew she was doing it. Tears wet her face as she chewed, and thought about the last few weeks. Suddenly the church doors opened up and Justine exited, Eliza looking over at her, their eyes meeting. Justine sighed, leaned against the wall by the bench and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, lighting one.

"This is a no smoking zone," Eliza said.

"Oh, what, one of the corpses gonna get cancer?" Justine asked, "...sorry, that was kind of bitchy. I know, I shouldn't...I don't even wanna be doing it anymore. Are you okay?"

"Define 'okay'," Eliza said, making Justine scoff.

"Yeah," she replied, "I know what you mean. This is...I feel sick. I feel sick to my stomach. None of this should be happening, yet it is. It's like...it's like there's no winning, in life, you know? Things might start to seem good, you might start to recover, but in the end you're pushed back down into the hole you crawled out of and ultimately you're forced to face the realization that, no, you can't win. No matter how hard you try, how long you try for, you cannot win. Some people, and I think Casey knew this because I think she was one of them, are destined for doom. That isn't fair, but it is what it is."

Eliza finished her fig bar and stuffed the wrapper in her sports coat pocket, beginning to tie her messy hair up behind her.

"You're probably not wrong," Eliza said, "I try to be positive, but-"

"i did this," Justine whispered, causing Eliza to stop and look at her again, confused; Justine, one hand holding her cigarette, the other covering her face, started crying, whispering, "i did this to her. i didn't bring her inside. i didn't leave to talk to her. she needed someone, and i wasn't there. i was there but i wasn't there. she's dead because of me. the only creative partner i've ever had is dead because of me. i could've had more get togethers with my friends. i can't have more time with her now. my priorities were fucked, and i killed her."

"I used to think I killed my mom," Eliza said, "but it isn't true, these things just...happen. Back when the show was originally being made, Bea, Liam and I discussed doing an episode on the topic of death, but like, not heavy handed or anything, you know? We didn't wanna freak kids out. But kids are smart enough to understand the concept, moreso than adults give them credit for, and it's stupid to try and hide it from them. Only makes them more confused and scared in the end. We wrote a script, but we never shot it, it never even got remotely into production. I think it was more just...a way for us to cope with things. But in that script, Bea wrote something that said 'we try to assign blame to whatever we can when someone dies because it makes it easier, but death isn't easy, because life isn't easy, and more often than not, there's nobody to blame'. I always think about that quote."

Justine looked towards Eliza and sniffled, wiping her face on the ball of her palm. She then put her cigarette out and sat down on the bench beside her, Eliza scooting over a bit, making room for her.

"When my plane was going down," Justine said, "the last thing my boyfriend said to me was 'I did this', and the thing is, at the time I didn't understand what he meant, but in hindsight, I get it. He was the one who wanted to go on the flight, with me. He thought his mere presence was enough to put an end to us both. I wish I could tell him how wrong he was."

Eliza laid her head on Justine, and Justine smiled, hugging her. It had been a rough few weeks. Justine's eyes scanned the cemetery and thought about Casey. Thought about Liam's offer to release Casey's book, to finish it, compile it and publish it under her name. She promised she would do it, if for nothing else than for the hope of making sure everyone knew her name in more ways than just her death. Justine didn't think it fair that the only way the world would ultimately know Casey was by her exit.

"Everyone failed her at every turn," Justine sad, "I'm not saying she didn't have problems of her own, but...collectively, as a society, everyone failed her in life. I'm not gonna fail her in death too."

Eliza didn't know what this meant, but the sentiment alone was enough to make her smile.

                                                                                                       ***

David was wiping his mouth with a napkin as he watched his daughter push her chow mein around with her chopsticks across the table from him in the prison cafeteria. After a few moments, he cleared his throat, causing Lexi to snap back to reality and look up at him, shaking her head, rubbing her forehead with her other hand.

"Shit, I'm...I'm sorry," she said, "I'm sorry, I should be more present."

"Why don't you go to the funeral," David said, "we can always have lunch another time, and pretty soon I'll be out of here, and we can have lots of lunches then. In fact, I was hoping that, maybe the night of your graduation, you'd like it if I took you and your friends and your girlfriend out to dinner somewhere to celebrate."

Lexi smiled, looking back down at her takeout container.

"That's really sweet dad," she muttered, "I think that would be fun, yeah. It's been a hard few months. But I'm excited, like, to finally be out of school, to finally be making a career for myself, and for you to come home. Course I don't like at home anymore, but you know. Will still be nice to have you back."

Lexi couldn't believe how much life was about to change. She was about to graduate with multiple degrees. Her father had been all but exonerated after turning evidence and would soon be free. She and Keagan had been discussing more serious topics, such as along term relationship plans. Seemed like everywhere she turned, things were changing, and Lexi liked change, it made her feel reinvigorated. She welcomed it. She rolled some of her noodles up around her chopsticks and lifted them to her mouth as her father took a long drink of his soda and smiled at her.

"You know what's best about being a parent that nobody ever mentions?" David asked, and she shook her head; he continued, "you watch your kids grow up, become their own person, forge their own identity, change and grow. It's wonderful. Everyone acknowledges that. But nboody ever seems to bring up the fact that they still act like the kid they were without even knowing they're doing it. You, for example. The way you eat noodles, any kind of noodles, be it ramen or pasta or chow mein...you always roll it in a specific way and you always slurp them. You've made the same face eating noodles since you were five years old, and when I see it, it reminds me of that little girl you were, that little girl you'll always be to me..."

Lexi felt her eyes tear up and she reached across the table, holding her fathers hand. Michelle's dad had left, Casey's dad had used her, it seemed like so many people she knew had awful or absent fathers, and she felt so lucky to have the opposite. She squeezed and he squeezed back as he sniffled.

"You're the best daddy," she said, and he chuckled.

"Well," he said, shrugging, "I try to be, for the best daughter."

                                                                                                      ***

Keagan was walking down the hall, going through various files in her hands, feeling awful that she herself wasn't at the funeral, but in all honesty, she didn't know Casey all that well and, frankly, she felt she did better when she avoided things such as these. She focused on work and that was what got her through it all. Keagan stopped at the water fountain and took a long drink before continuing, hearing heels coming after her quickly, turning to see Stephanie.

"Hi there," Keagan said, smiling, "you in a hurry?"

"Just to catch you, speedy," Stephanie said, making Keagan chuckle as she continued, "I have an opportunity for you. The brand is seeking to reach out into other avenues of media. As you may have heard, podcasts are all the rage, everyone and their sister have one."

"They do?" Keagan asked.

"Well, me and my sister have one, so," Stephanie said, "anyway, they rake in tons of money with little production effort. That isn't to say they don't take effort, I'm just saying that when you remove the video aspect of something, it makes it quite less expensive to produce. Anyway, I looked into your background. Doing college radio, doing journalism. You were quite prolific when you were solo, and that's why I figured I'd come to you for this."

Keagan stopped in the hall and turned to face Stephanie, confused, raising an eyebrow. Stephanie folded her arms.

"Look, I won't lie," she said, "frankly, I don't think there's anyone else remotely capable of doing this. I'm appealing to your ego, here, Keagan. Do this for me, with me. I want to create a storytelling podcast for the show, one that's fully audio based, maybe each week a different story with a different character, and then every fifth episode you can take calls from kids or answer letters from kids or viewers. Does that sound...appealing to you? Could even bring on people from production sometimes, get a behind the scenes look at stuff for those in the industry."

Keagan tapped her shoe and bit her lip. She had been feeling underutilized for a while here, and this did sound like a good chance for her to spread her wings out a bit and try something new. Keagan felt like, at some point, she'd fallen into the background, blending in with everyone else in production, and while that was safe, comforting even, she did feel like her talents were being wasted. After all, it'd been her who'd tracked down Liam, not Michelle. She had always kind of envied Michelle's inclusion in the show.

"Okay," Keagan finally said, making Stephanie do a little boogie midhall, which caused Keagan to laugh and add, "but, if we do this, we do it my way. I'm not saying that the premise, the setup, the execution you offered isn't gonna work, it sounds fullproof, but I want to be able to do it the way I want to do it, is that okay?"

Stephanie put her hands on Keagan's arms and smiled.

"Keagan, whatever you want you got it," she said, "I'm just grateful you trust me enough to take the chance."

"Truth be told, I'm kind of bored here," Keagan said, shrugging, "I'm always interested in doing something else."

"Come with me, and I'll show you the audio studio," Stephanie said, "you're gonna love it, it has its own dedicated kitchen."

"Is food all you think about?" Keagan asked, laughing.

"It's lunchtime!" Stephanie replied, also laughing as they headed down the hall together now.

                                                                                                     ***

"Art, I think, is not just our way of processing things, for those who not only make it but also consume it, but also a way for us to preserve ourselves in the annals of history, to not be forgotten. So long as we produce something, we can be eternal, immortal," Justine said, standing with Eliza across the street from the cemetery, in front of a deli where they'd each gotten a sandwich and were now looking back towards the headstones; she wiped her mouth on her napkin and added, "I know that's so trite, so cliché, but that's the truth."

"I don't think the truth is either of those things," Eliza replied, shrugging, chewing, "and I don't think you're wrong. I know I make puppets to process the way I feel about people, things, so you're not wrong. But even the kids we talk to about the show, when we have these live get togethers, they always talk about how important it is to them. Michelle told me it made her feel special and safe when she was a little girl in the hospital, and to know that it has that kind of impact, it means a lot."

"Casey was the same way," Justine said, as they started walking down the street, Justine tugging at the collar of her jacket, keeping it closed as she kept eating, "one night while working we ordered in and she was telling me that, in the midst of an awful, abusive childhood, she felt seen, heard, accepted because of the warmth that the show brought to her life. That's the best kind of art. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with art for the sake of enjoyment, something that's made purely for entertainment, I think a healthy balance is important, but the ones that help us make sense of the world, that...that help us make sense of ourselves, those are the best ones...Eliza, will you help me?"

They stopped on the street and Eliza looked at Justine, waiting for the question. Justine sighed, finished her sandwich and tossed the wrapper into a nearby garbage can.

"I'm going to finish, compile and release a book that Casey had spent her life working on, a book kind of about herself," Justine said, "but I want there to be something to go with it, a puppet, a doll of sorts, to represent her and the creature in the book. I can't think of anyone better suited than yourself to do the job."

Eliza kept chewing, thinking. This would be a lovely way to honor Casey, to memorialize, nay, immortalize her. If she could have a hand in that, she should realistically take the chance. But what if she did a bad job? What if her puppets and dolls made the whole thing so uncanny that it scared away whatever target audience who might be remotely interested in it?

"I just...I feel like I need to do something for her," Justine whispered, looking at her shoes, hands stuffed in her coat pockets after having buttoned it, "I feel like this would be a great way to say I'm sorry."

Eliza finished her own sandwich, threw her garbage away and nodded while chewing. She then finished, swallowed and hugged Justine, much to Justine's surprise. Eliza patted her on the back and smiled.

"I'll help you," Eliza said, not realizing in the moment just how much she'd regret offering. See, the thing about Eliza is that she wants to do right, she wants to help others, she wants to make others matter...even if it meant it came at the expense of her own mental health. Puppetry had made her. Now it might break her.

                                                                                                     ***

Bea was sitting by Liam's bedside in his hospital room.

Nobody knew why she wasn't at the funeral, and she felt bad about not showing up, but early that morning, at aroud 4am, Liam called her for help. He needed to be driven to the hospital, and she obliged without hesitation. Now, sitting here, reading a book about bird watching as she listened to the sounds of machines around her, she couldn't help but feel like things were never going to be the same as they once were. Unlike Lexi, Bea hated change. She sighed, put a bookmark between her pages and set the book down in her lap.

"...when did we get old?" she asked, looking off and away in the distance, Liam smirking from the bed, his face covered by a respirator.

"I know," he mumbled, "people say life goes fast, but it feels as though it's been two eternities, yet even then I can't believe I'm now at the end. My perception of time is so warped."

"I can remember being a little girl, going to the library with my dog," Bea said, crossing her legs and looking at her manicured nails, "that world, the one at home with my parents, was the only world I ever knew. Now I wish it still was. Knowing the world, so many different worlds...it's awful. I miss simplicity, I hate complexity. Ironic that I would wind up trying to teach children how to be okay when I can't be okay myself."

Liam shifted, making an uncomfortable sound and pulling a phone from his pants pocket. Bea looked over at him, confused. This wasn't his phone. Why did he have this? He reached out and held it towards her, Bea leaning forward cautiously, taking it.

"I need you to have this," he said, "you need to take this. The password is her birthday."

Bea furrowed her brow as she looked at the phone in her hand before looking back up at Liam.

"...what is this, Liam?" she asked.

"You need it," he replied, his breathing quickened, "Bea, you need it, trust me. Watch it. Watch every single one. By yourself."

Bea got off the chair and stood by his bedside, holding his hand with her other hand, squeezing, her face screwing up, her eyes full of tears.

"Liam," she said, almost growling, "what IS this."

Liam smiled up at her.

"Answer me!" she shouted, as Liam pulled his hand back from hers, reached up with both hands and took her face between his hands, pulling her down towards him and kissing her, taking her by surprise. After the kiss, he leaned back on his pillow and his eyes fixed on the ceiling overhead, his breathing shallow.

"Liam?" Bea asked, sounding choked up.

"They say you see heaven, a light, a tunnel, the faces of the ones you loved who are waiting for you," he whispered, "but I don't see anything."

"Liam, don't go," Bea said, now sobbing, squeezing his hands tight in her own. He just smiled wider.

"It's okay Bea," he said, "I'm not afraid. I don't need heaven. I already had it here with you."

With that, Liam's eyes widened, and his breathing slowed. He grinned as wide as he could.

"...I'm gonna go make something new now," he whispered, and that was it. He stopped breathing. He stopped moving. Bea didn't know what to do. She squeezed his hands, she screamed at him, but nothing made a difference. The flatline went off, and a crash crew burst into the room, pushing Bea gently out of the way. She stood back against the wall as she watched them work on him, but she knew better. She knew it was over. Bea turned and ran out of the hospital room and down the hall, clutching the phone he'd given her tightly in her fist. She climbed into her car and she drove home, not even turning the lights on. Leslie wasn't here. She had to go out of town briefly for work, so Bea was completely alone.

Bea walked in circles, pacing, before putting the phone down gently on a bookshelf, then turning and shrieking, grabbing a whole series of books off a table and throwing them clear across the room. She grabbed her coffee table and flipped it, kicking the ever loving shit out of her couch, screaming at the top of her lungs. Once the apartment was sufficiently turned over and undone, she let herself fall back against the wall and slide down against it. She sat there on the floor, breathing, staring at nothing. She then remembered the phone, reached up and grabbed it from the bookshelf, and, putting in Claire's birthday, unlocked it. There was nothing on the phone but one single app, a video player. Bea opened it and saw hundreds, nay, THOUSANDS, of videos. Some were so old, grainy, as though they'd been converted from VHS, and some were really crisp, as though they were recent. She started at the first one, pressing her thumb on it to load.

Up on the screen came Liam, younger and vibrant, a full head of hair, his winning smile. He was holding the camera facing him, and he grinned at it, waving with his other hand.

"Hey! I got it working! I'm in the city, I'm in an office, a real honest to god office, and look who's with me!" he said, panning the camera around to reveal a young Bea, sitting cross legged on the desk, the Bea head in her lap, but not in full costume otherwise. She smirked at him and flipped him off, making him laugh. Then he panned back to the doorway of the office, showing a little girl, maybe 3, standing there. Bea's eyes widened, the tears started coming once again.

"And there's Claire! Hi Claire!" Liam said, making Claire giggle and wave as she toddled up towards him, before being redirected towards the desk, where Bea leaned down and picked her up, plopping her in her lap after moving the head. Claire reached out and touched the head, Bea now full on sobbing as she watched; Liam added, "there they are, my two favorite girls!"

He then set the camera down on a nearby shelf aimed at the desk before walking over to the desk and taking Bea's chin in his hands, kissing her, before leaning down and kissing the top of Claire's head too. After they whispered something to one another that wasn't audibly captured, he walked back to the camera, and the video ended. Bea was staring at her face in the darkened phone screen now, unable to process what she'd just watched. Claire had been gone for so long. Liam was now gone too. Bea rested her head back against the wall and exhaled best she could. She then got up, made a pot of tea, and sat back down on her couch, pulling a quilt around her, tea between her legs. She was going to watch every video on this phone.

No matter the cost to her fragile psyche.