Published on
"You wanna tell me where you got these?" Father Krickett asked, shaking the little bottle of pills at Boris as he sat at the kitchen table, his arms folded, scowling.

"Why? You my dad or something?" Boris asked.

"We're just curious how long you've been using them," Whittle said, sitting across from Boris, "...I'm guessing you kept them from the incident you and Polly went through, but have you been taking them regularly?"

"...sort of," Boris said, "I've been having nightmares. I've been using them when I need them, which is what they tell you to do with any medication, right? Use only when necessary?"

"Yeah, when they're prescribed to you! She stole these out of the medicine hall of the home, Boris," Father Krickett said sternly, rubbing his forehead and beginning to pace around the table; after a moment he sighed and said, "I don't wanna be the straight edge priest here, but this isn't an acceptable situation. I cannot, in good conscience, allow this to continue."

"Then stop caring," Boris mumbled.

Father Krickett shook his head, surprised and saddened by Boris's attitude. He couldn't just 'stop caring', because he'd seen first hand what these sorts of things could develop into, spiral towards, and leave in the wake of peoples lives. He didn't like to talk about it, but yes, he'd seen it.

And he swore to never see it again.

                                                                                              ***

John Potter Krickett had been a young man when he'd been in the accident.

He was a young man in college, his second year in, when it happened. He hadn't been drinking, he hadn't been out late, he hadn't been speeding. He had done absolutely nothing to instigate the incident, it merely happened, as these things so often do. Someone else disobeyed a traffic law, and suddenly John Potter Krickett was scrunched between his steering wheel and a lamp post. They told him he was lucky to even be alive, but was he? No. His parents were lucky he was alive. After all, he'd watched them lose his brother, he didn't want to put them through that level of agony and anguish yet again. Once had been enough for a lifetime.

At the hospital, they gave him the pain medication. Once he got out, he still was being given it. He took it fairly regularly, partially because it helped with the pain but also, and he'd never admit this to anyone, because it made him feel less bad about having survived. He hadn't wanted to survive. Sitting there, drifting between states of consciousness, John Potter Krickett swore up and down that he'd seen the face of god, and that all he wanted was to join him in heaven. When he awoke in the hospital, he was devastated. Oh sure, most people - likely all people honestly - just took his sadness as a reaction to what happened, but no...he wasn't sad about the accident.

He was sad that he'd survived it.

Lying in bed one night, John couldn't sleep. Instead, he pulled himself out of bed, slipped his feet in his sandals and headed outside to the backyard of his parents house, where he found his father sitting on a chair, having a beer. John sat down in the chaise lounge, and after acknowledging one another with a brief smile, they both silently watched the stars together overhead. After a few minutes, John sighed.

"Why don't we ever go to church?" John asked.

"...I mean, your mother used to drag us there for holiday situations, but otherwise, neither of us just ever saw the need," his father replied, "why?"

"Just curious," John said, shrugging, before adding, "...so you guys don't believe in heaven? You don't think Jeff's up there or something?"

"...I think we each have our own personal viewpoint of the situation, frankly," his father said, "your mother is far more spiritual than I, but no, I don't think either of us believes in heaven, at least not the way the catholics define it."

John nodded, listening intently.

"What kind of proof would you need for you to suddenly believe in a concept like heaven?" John asked, and his father shrugged, shaking his head.

"I guess, you know, visual confirmation of the sort. I'm definitely a 'see it and it's real' kind of person. I know that doesn't exactly fly for everyone, but for me my eyes have never lied, and never would, so that's good enough evidence to convince me of anything. You hear it all the time from skeptics who never believed in ghosts until they saw one, or never believed in aliens until a UFO showed up over their yard. That's what I'd need. I'd need to see the face of God."

He didn't know it at the time, but that sentiment had begun John down a path that would eventually lead him to the church. John had seen the face of God, and nothing in the real world compared.

                                                                                     ***

"What are they for?" Steven asked, lying in bed as he watched John head to the bathroom and pull out his pain medication, taking one before shoving the bottle back into the cabinet.

"I was in an accident a few years ago," John said, "I still have pain from it now and then, so I've just had an ongoing prescription since then that they keep honoring."

"You sure you're not abusing that?" Steven asked as John came back and sat on the side of the bed.

"...I am, and I can admit it. My folks were so angry with me when I told them I was still using them, but they insisted on getting me help. I told them no, I have to get help myself, I can't depend on others. Except, being religious, that's what you do. You depend on others. You depend on the lord to guide you, you depend on your people to take to heart what you say in your sermons. You depend entirely on faith itself."

"What do you think God would find more blasphemous?" Steven asked, sitting up now, "Abusing medication or sleeping with a man?"

John smirked, chuckling.

"Frankly, I don't think God has any right to tell me how to live my life so long as my life is lived in service of him. So long as I spread his gospel, treat his word as truth, try and help others with the love Jesus gave to those around him, then God has no say in what I do outside of that. I've already given my life to God. He shouldn't get to dictate every single aspect of it."

Steven smiled and kissed John's shoulder, John reaching back and running his hands through Steven's fluffy hair. Their relationship had been going on a year now, and nobody knew. John wasn't exactly afraid of what would happen if his parents found out or anything, but he was afraid what the church itself might say. Between their relationship and his medication abuse, he was almost certain he'd be asked to leave.

But before anyone could find anything out, there was yet another accident.

This time, it was John's fault. This time he couldn't point blame at anyone else flagrantly disregarding traffic laws or simply chock it up to one of those things that happens in life. No. This time he was solely responsible. And it was something he'd never forgiven himself for. God might have, certainly. That's the idea, isn't it? God forgives your sins so long as you're willing to repent for them and make right. So okay, he had God's forgiveness. But he could never forgive himself.

                                                                                     ***

"This cannot continue," Father Krickett said, "We're going to put an end to this. I'm willing to hold onto it for you, give you some when you really genuinely need pain relief, but I cannot allow you to continue having it in your hands. I refuse to stand idly by and be responsible for something I could easily stopped."

"You told me I wasn't responsible for Polly's death, so what would make you responsible for anything that happens to me?" Boris asked, growing agitated.

"Because yours would've been avoidable!" Father Krickett said loudly, his anger surprising Whittle, who'd never seen him get mad before.

"Oh, and hers wasn't? At any goddamned point during that entire situation I could've stopped, I could've said to her 'hey, maybe this isn't such a great idea!' but I never did, did I? I never once did that. Ergo, I'm responsible for her death. Polly is dead because of me!" Boris shouted, standing up now, hands planted firmly on the table, staring Father Krickett down from the other side. Krickett wasted no time, matching Boris's stance, like a wild animal defending its pups from a predator. Whittle backed away and simply watched, fascinated.

"You don't get to decide after the fact what would've been better in the moment, that isn't how things work. You make the decisions you make and you live with the consequences thereof, be they positive or negative. The only thing you can do afterwards is move on and try to do better. By dwelling on things, you're only inviting more pain unto yourself that isn't exactly warranted nor necessary!" Father Krickett shouted back, "I know because I've been there! I killed someone because of pain medication!

This stopped Boris in his tracks. His face softened, his eyes widened. He saw the tears swelling in Father Krickett's eyes.

"what?" he asked softly.

"I was in an accident in college. They gave me pain medication to deal with it, pain medication I became extremely reliant upon. A year later, I met a man named Steven, and we fell absolutely in love with one another. A year after that, wouldn't you know it, I had yet another accident. Except this time it was my fault. This time I was to blame. Driving hopped up on pain medication, frustrated with the church for trying to tell me what I could and couldn't do outside its walls. He died because of me. He died because of my recklessness. I will not have that happen again. You may think you're the first person to go through this, but I assure you, you are not. You may, however, be the most goddamned stubborn."

Boris didn't respond. Instead he merely slunk back into his seat and bit his lip, looking at his old, wrinkled hands in front of him on the table.

"...then you know. You know what it's like to miss someone," he whispered, "I didn't love her, not romantically anyway. Besides, she was gay too. But I loved her as much as I've ever loved anyone platonically. I keep having dreams about her. It's like she's haunting me. Do you know how much that hurts? To see the face of someone you miss so badly, only to realize their face is not here anymore? You're seeing a memory of their face. I'm old. My memory ain't what it used to be and it's only going to get worse. What if I forget what she looks like? What if...what if at some point I have a dream about her, but it doesn't look like her? I may not be responsible for her death, but I'm sure as hell responsible for her memory."

Father Krickett slowed his breathing, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve before walking around the table and kneeling beside Boris, putting his hand on the old mans hands and squeezing them gently.

"Time...takes everything from us. It cannot be reasoned with, it cannot be fought, and it cannot be bargained against. It takes what it takes without compassion, but also without malice. It can't do it with either, because it isn't a living thing, it's a concept. The older we get, the more we lose, be it people we love, our health or simply parts of ourselves. The only way to fight time is to be timeless. Untethered from its restrictions and its indignant disregard for our personhood. To not think about time gives time no power over you. Sure, seasons will still change, people will still leave and we'll still grow old. But at least we do it on our own schedule instead of doing it on times schedule, or that's what we can tell ourselves anyway. Memory is the only thing we have in the fight against time, and so long as you remember Polly - even if she looks nothing like you remember - then you've won. You've won. Because the idea of her is what's important. The feeling she imparted on you. Not what she looked like. That's what photographs are for."

Boris looked at Father Krickett, his face running with tears, and he turned and put his arms around the priest, hugging him tightly.

"I miss her so much, John," he whispered.

"I know," Father Krickett said, hugging Boris, patting his back, adding, "and that's good. That means her life made a difference."

He didn't argue with Boris any further that day. He just let him cry, and he held him. He made Boris feel safe, understood and cared for, because so often, people never get that in their lives, especially our elderly. Boris let Father Krickett take the pills home that night, and agreed to see a doctor about his addiction, which made Father Krickett happy. After Father Krickett left that night, he drove home, and he made himself some dinner. Fish and rice and roasted carrots. He ate dinner, he took a shower, and then he got ready for bed.

John put his pajamas on, had dessert, then he brushed his teeth and he slipped the medication into his medicine cabinet. John then went to bed, pulling his quilt and sheets back, climbing under them and adjusting his pillows, laying his head back and sighing. He done the right thing, he knew this, and he was proud of himself. He picked up a book from the bedside table and opened it, then, just as quickly, set it in his lap face down so he wouldn't lose his spot and he pulled open the bedside table drawer and removed a framed photograph from it. He smiled at it, kissed the glass and then placed it on the pillow beside him. John picked his book back up and started reading again.

                                                                                    ***

"You look good," John said, adjusting the lens on the camera, "Your parents will love it."

"I hope so. I haven't had a haircut in a long time," Steven said, sitting on the steps outside John's apartment, continuing, "thanks for doing this, by the way. I really wanted to send them a Christmas card this year, and I can't take a decent photograph to save my life."

"Hey, it's no problem," John said, smiling, "Just make sure I get a copy."

"Of course," Steven said, blowing a kiss at him.

"Smile!" John said, before snapping the photo.

                                                                                        ***

John put a bookmark in his book, set it back down on the bedside table and turned the light off. He rolled onto his side, facing the framed photo on the pillow and smiled as he shut his eyes, one hand on top of the frame, patting it ever so gently.

"Good night, Steven," he whispered, before drifting off to sleep.
Published on
Sitting in the hallway of his childrens elementary school, Wyatt Bloom couldn't help but feel anxious. Parent/Teacher conferences always put him on edge. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with people evaluating his children specifically, it was that he found the mere act of child evaluation sort of sickening overall. You never know what a parent might be like, and if they hear something that's less than stellar than their perception of their child, they may go home and abuse said child in any number of ways, ranging from physical to verbal to emotional. That's too much pressure to put on a kid, frankly. He tried to push the thought out of his head and flipped the page of the magazine he'd brought with him when he heard someone seat themselves in the chair beside him.

"So," Celia said, "Come here often?"

Wyatt smirked, replying, "Oh yeah, I'm a regular here. Probably spend more time here than is healthy."

"Boy," Celia said, "You've got a problem, you should see someone."

They both laughed as she positioned herself more comfortably in her chair and sighed.

"It feels like a totally different life, doesn't it?" Celia asked, "Like, high school still seems fairly fresh, but elementary school...it seems like it happened to someone I just watched vicariously instead of living."

"I know what you mean, the passage of time screws me up if I think about it too long," Wyatt said, "I know I went to elementary school, I know I did homework, I know I ran on the playground, it just isn't stuff I'm too capable of remembering vividly."

"I think it's because a childs brain is still forming at that age, and their long term memory isn't exactly functional because, well, they haven't really lived long term just yet," Celia said, pushing her hair from her eyes, "but I actually am able to remember more than most people it seems. I have more than a handful of very vivid childhood memories and adolescent recollections."

"That has to be awkward," Wyatt said.

"It certainly makes things, uh, weird, yeah," Celia said, chuckling, "but it's also nice, ya know, it's nice to fondly remember things, especially if it was a good time and it really was, for me at least. I had a good home life, I had friends, I did well in school. Nothing to really complain about."

Just then the door to the classroom in front of them opened, and a woman stepped out.

"Mr. Bloom?" she asked.

"That's me," Wyatt said, standing up and, looking back at Celia before leaving, he added "don't wait up."

They chuckled and he headed inside.

"Please Mr Bloom, have a seat," the woman said, shutting the door behind him as he sauntered inside; she walked around to the back of her desk and sat down, clearing her throat and rifling through a small stack of folders before finding one she opened. When she looked up, Wyatt was squeezed into one of the childrens school desks. She almost burst out laughing, but years of teaching had given her an incredible amount of restraint. Instead, she merely readjusted her glasses and asked, "...how are you doing?"

"I think the blood circulation to my legs is cut off," Wyatt remarked, "but please, go on."

"Let me start off by saying that Mona is such a great kid," the teacher, Ms. Dinsburg, said.

"If you have to start with compliments, that usually means it only gets worse," Wyatt replied.

"You're not wrong," Ms. Dinsburg said, "She's a great kid. She's very easy to talk to, she does her homework and she listens better than anyone else I have. That being said, she doesn't really fit in with the other children. She seems to have absolutely no interest in playing with kids, she's somewhat reserved and she seems to have trouble concentrating sometimes and instead prefers to stick to fantasies."

"Well, I don't know if you're aware of this, but...she is a child," Wyatt said, making her smile.

"Certainly, but it goes beyond that. She often has an aversion to touching certain things, certain types of paper. For example, recently we did a small class project, and it involved handling construction paper. She wouldn't even touch it after the first time feeling it, she said it made her feel yucky. Same goes with glue. She got glue on her hands one time and, when needing the dry glue peeled off, she started to cry. Normally I might chock this up to just fairly heavy sensitivity, but there's too many correlations between her and other students I've had to ignore it."

"...what exactly are you trying to say?" Wyatt asked, now sitting up more directly, concerned.

"I think your daughter has a disorder, and I'd recommend you get her checked out for it. Now I'm no medical professional, but it seems to me she some sort of sensory processing condition," Ms. Dinsburg said, sighing before finishing with, "have you ever heard of ASD?"

                                                                                                 ***

"So your folks have no idea?" Rachel asked, standing at the sliding glass door in the kitchen that led out to the backyard as Calvin fixed himself a sandwich.

"Nope," he said, screwing the lid back on the mustard, "they know it's my personal space that I use, and besides that, I changed the locks, so they couldn't go in even if they wanted to."

"They aren't suspicious of that at all?" Rachel asked, surprised.

"Please, I've never given them reason to suspect me of anything. I've got a completely clean record. I've never been arrested, never even for minor offenses like traffic violations, and I've always been fairly forthcoming with my parents. All that goodwill eventually leads to you being able to tell your parents anything and having them believe it automatically."

Calvin finished his sandwich and, together, they walked back out to the patio in the backyard and seated themselves so he could eat. Rachel sipped on the beer he'd given her and wiped her mouth on her flannel sleeve before exhaling.

"And you've never even built a bomb before?" Rachel asked.

"Nope," Calvin said, taking a bite of his sandwich, chewing and swallowing before replying again, continuing with, "it's surprisingly easy, actually. For something they don't want people to do, they sure allow a lot of people to write about the subject."

"When do you think you'll be done?" Rachel asked.

"No idea," Calvin said, shrugging, "I have a date in mind, but who knows if I'll reach it."

"You know," Rachel said, "you could theoretically use coffee beans. If you keep beans in a sealed container, like a mason jar, without opening them daily, it produces an effect called offgassing. This means that, when finally opened, it could explode. It isn't dangerous exactly, but perhaps, in mass quantity. See, coffee beans have carbon dioxide when roasted, and carbon dioxide is what's often responsible for explosions through gaslines."

"Why do you know this?" Calvin asked.

"I really liked science in school," Rachel said, shrugging, "Either way, I can get a bunch of beans from work and we can see what we can do with it."

"That's a possibility, but the thing I've noticed about bomb building, especially from watching shows about true crime, is that you don't want to stick out. You don't want to be unique. The greatest thing you can accomplish when building an explosive is to be as mundane and standard as possible. A fingerprint makes you far more identifiable."

"Yeah but you're only building one," Rachel said, "Besides, there's receipts with your name on it for fertilizer. They can trace that. But if some coffee beans just disappear from work, a workplace you don't work at by the way, they would never expect that."

Calvin tossed his bangs from his eyes and looked towards the shed. He sighed and shrugged again.

"I suppose we could see," Calvin said.

"Alright then," Rachel said, "Let's commit some crimes."

                                                                                                ***

Wyatt was sitting back in the hall, reading over some papers Ms. Dinsburg had given him, when Celia approached and sat down beside him. He leaned back and sighed deeply, running his hands down his face, putting the papers on his lap. Celia cocked her head and looked at the papers and then back at Wyatt.

"Not go well?" she asked.

"Have you ever heard of ASD?" Wyatt asked.

"Autism Spectrum Disorder?" Celia asked, and Wyatt nodded.

"Yeah. She says my daughter is an excellent student, but she thinks she has sensory processing issues and wants us to get her checked out," Wyatt said.

"And that makes you mad? You don't like the idea of having a disabled child?" Celia asked.

"What?" Wyatt asked, looking at her now, an eyebrow raised, "no, no I...I don't care. I'm mad at myself. I mean...Mona's never really liked crowds. She's never really liked lots of noise. And what do I do for a living? I work in an industry dedicating itself to the deforestation of the earth, bringing in more civilization, making the world a more crowded, noisy place. I'm directly responsible for making the world around her worse for her. I don't want her to have a life that's painful for her because I had a hand in making the world worse for her."

"...wow, that's...that's deep," Celia said, patting his knee, "but, you're not responsible. These things happen. Like you said at your office, you need to support your family. People with ASD find ways to cope, ways to manage, ways to survive. She knows you love her, and so long as you support her-"

"How can I support her while simultaneously making the world worse for her to exist in?" Wyatt asked, sitting up again now, "that's not supportive! If anything I'm being unsupportive! In fact, she's so unsupported that I may as well change my name to Adobe Software!"

Celia laughed, which made Wyatt crack a little smile.

"I just...I don't know what to do," he said flatly, "...I need to do better."

"We'd all like to do better for our children, by our children, but in the end sometimes the most we can do is simply love them."

"You said I'd get disenchanted with what I do, with the life I lead. You're not wrong. I already was. I just didn't wanna admit it. I have everything. Everything one could strive to attain in the modern world, and I have it. A comfortable home life, a loving family, a cushy job, and...I'm so far from fulfilled. How original, right? Wow, someone who achieved the "american dream" and finds it's more a nightmare than a dream. How cliche. But you know what? Maybe it's a cliche for a reason, because it keeps happening, because it's that true."

"...I don't know what to say," Celia said quietly.

Wyatt, leaning back on the bench, rolled his head towards her and smiled.

"I want to do something more with my life, something I can look back on - something my children can look back on - with pride. You're lucky. You're a good person, and me? I'm just a person," Wyatt said.

Celia felt her heart hurt for Wyatt, and wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be okay. Tell him that, deep down, he really was a good person, but she knew she couldn't afford to be that affectionate upfront towards a married man in their kids school no less. After a few minutes passed, a handful of other parents passing them in the hall, chatting and laughing, Celia looked back at Wyatt and smiled warmly.

"I have to get home, but maybe you'd like to go get something to eat first?" she asked.

"...I could eat," Wyatt said after a pause, getting up and following her down the hall, adding, "but please, nothing healthy. I've suffered enough today."

                                                                                              ***

Rachel and Calvin were sitting in Rachel's car, parked in the lot across the street from her place of work, waiting for the shop to shut down. She had a pair of binoculars in her hands, peering through them, waiting for the lights to switch off inside. She pulled the binoculars down and looked at Calvin, who was reading one of his many library books on bombs.

"Why are you doing this?" Calvin asked, without looking up.

"...what? Helping you? I don't know. I guess cause I've got no reason not to. Look at my life, Cal. I dropped out of college, I live by myself, above the place I work at, and the brightest spot in my life recently was my high school reunion and only to see someone who didn't even show up. Not exactly a fairy tale life is it?" Rachel asked.

"A few weeks ago you told me you were 'living the dream' and now you're saying this is no sort of life to be proud of? Make up your mind!" Calvin replied, chuckling.

"Something being easy doesn't equate it to being good," Rachel said, "Yeah, sure, there's no expectations on me and that means there's no pressures, but that also means I have absolutely no goals to reach for because I'm too scared to even try anything. Yeah, I'm alive, but I'm not doing much living."

Just then the lights switched off, Calvin pointed and Rachel got out of the car. Calvin watched as the last employee of the night exited out the front, then watched as Rachel ran across the street and around to the back. She used her key, gained entrance, all while the other employee got in their car and drove away. After what seemed like ten of fifteen minutes, Rachel came back, carrying a box full of bags of beans. Calvin got out, took her cars and opened the trunk, watching her plop them inside. They shut the trunk and looked at one another, and Calvin shook his head.

"You shouldn't throw the possibility of a life away just because you don't have one now," Calvin said, "I've already lost what I had, but you can start over. I cannot."

"But you're my friend now, and I have to stick by my friends. I screwed that up once already, I can't screw it up again," Rachel mumbled.

Calvin furrowed his brow. He wasn't sure what she meant by this - he had no context for her past with Kelly - but he appreciated her honesty and companionship nonetheless. Suddenly Rachel hugged him, then the two of them climbed back into her car and drove back to his folks house. After she helped load the beans into the shed, they bid one another goodnight, and Rachel went home. When she arrived back to her apartment, she heated something up for dinner in the microwave and pulled off a photo album, seating herself on the bed and flipping through the pages while she ate.

Photos of her and Kelly during the summer at amusement parks, having birthdays, sleepovers, holiday get togethers. The girls had once been inseparable, and now the only time they'd seen one another in the past decade was at their high school reunion. She'd let Kelly down, and she'd always felt bad about that. She couldn't go through that again with Calvin. Rachel needed to have friends. She needed to help. She needed to be needed, even if it meant perhaps being involved in something criminal. Sure, Calvin was right, she could start over, but really...

...that was too much effort too, and he knew how she felt about effort.

                                                                                               ***

"I just don't feel like things were so hard for kids when we were kids," Wyatt said, looking out the window near their booth in the diner, his hands wrapped around a mug of hot coffee as they waited for their order; he continued, "I mean, I know there's always been worry about illness, disorders, stranger danger and shit, but...it just seems like kids today have it so much more difficult than we did, and we're only making things harder for them as they get older. Instead of making the world fairer, easier, less difficult or complex to navigate let alone exist in than it was for us, we're making it more difficult for them as they grow up. That doesn't seem right. The people who come after you shouldn't have to suffer in the same ways you suffered, am I wrong?"

"Not at all," Celia said, pouring sugar into her coffee and stirring it, "between the housing market and student debt, the continually decimated economy and wars in countries we have no business even being in, yeah, shit's gotten worse. We like to pretend it hasn't. We like to say we have better technology or are more accepting and open minded, but better technology only leads to more expectations and we're not more open minded, we just pretend we are. The majority of us are still bigots. The mere fact that you, a once white prominent high school baseball star is even having coffee with me, a black woman who works in environmentalism, is something to be surprised by, even if it shouldn't be. We still have all the racist, sexist ideals we once had. We're just better at hiding them now."

Wyatt nodded as the waitress set his steak and eggs on the table and then went back for Celia's food.

"I just want her to be happy," Wyatt said, picking up his wrapped utensils and freeing them from their napkin tomb, adding, "She's my daughter, she's the world to me, and I wanna give the world to her. But when I see how fucked up the world is, especially for someone with her potential disorder, is it even something worth giving?"

"She'll be okay if you just get her tested, find out for sure and help her cope," Celia said, "It's not a terminal illness, Wyatt, it's just a processing disorder. Sounds are sharper. Textures are rougher. Lights are brighter. These people find ways to have perfectly happy lives in spite of their differences. So long as she has that support, and you seem nothing if not overly supportive, she'll be fine."

Wyatt smiled at Celia's kindness as he started to cut into his steak. The waitress returned with Celia's food - a small salad and a watercress sandwich - and placed it on the table, then said if they needed anything she'd be nearby, before turning and leaving them alone. As Celia dug into her food, Wyatt couldn't help but feel good about what she'd said. He was a supportive father, and he wasn't a bigot. Scarlett said nice things about him all the time, but it's harder to take compliments about your person at face value when they come from someone who can only see the good in you.

But coming from a stranger? Yeah, those he could see a genuine.

"Maybe I should become a vegetarian," Wyatt said, chewing on his steak, "if I wanna help make the world a better place and all."

"God, life is hard enough, don't make it worse for yourself," Celia said, the both of them laughing.
Published on
Rachel Minnow had vomited until she couldn't vomit anymore.

Flopping down onto her back on her bathroom floor in her dorm, she couldn't take it. She knew she had to go to class in about 15 minutes, but the way she was feeling...she couldn't afford to blow it off, but she also couldn't afford to throw up on everyone she came into remote contact with. Rachel eventually gathered herself back up, cleaned herself off, got changed, gathered her things and headed to class. She had to go. After all, people expected great things from her.

That was all she'd been told her whole life. That people expected great things from her. From the moment her natural artistic talent began to show through, even at such a young age, her parents repeatedly told said, "You're going to be so successful that one day you'll be able to take care of us!"

The level of unwarranted pressure that puts on a small child is despicable, Rachel quickly realized, and the last thing she wanted to do was take care of other folks, when she could barely manage to take care of herself. Now, as an adult who worked at a low effort coffee shop, she couldn't be happier with where others expectations of her lay. In fact, the only person she could let down at this point was herself, and she had the lowest expectations of all for herself, so she was rarely disappointed. Rachel still liked to paint. It wasn't like she'd given up on it entirely. She just couldn't handle the pressure that came with the potential success. Some people are built for fame, but most people aren't.

Rachel, however, was built for fame. She just didn't want it.

                                                                                                 ***

"Do you think we'll go to the same college?" Kelly asked, lying on Rachel's bed one summer afternoon in Sophomore year of high school. Rachel was seated at her desk, doing some light sketching while Kelly flipped through a magazine.

"I doubt it," Rachel said, "mostly because I'll be attending an art college."

"Maybe I could attend art college too," Kelly said, making Rachel laugh.

"You don't have any artistic skills," Rachel replied, "You could barely manage to make a diorama for school!"

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Kelly said quietly, sighing, then adding, "it's just not fair. I don't wanna go back to not having any friends. I got used to having you around."

Rachel spun around in her desk chair and looked at Kelly. She smiled.

"Hey," she said, "don't worry about it. We'll still be friends even if we go to different colleges. That'll never change."

It did, in fact, change, and it didn't even wait until college to happen. Rachel stopped being friends with Kelly before high school was even over, and she rarely, if ever, felt bad for the fact. The reasoning? Certainly not anything Kelly could ever figure out, and was always too afraid to ask about. Instead she sat on the sidelines, seeing write ups about the up and coming future star painter, until one day, Rachel dropped out of college, and then dropped out of sight.

Kelly never knew why this happened either, but at least this time, she was a bit more curious to find out the reason.

                                                                                                ***

"I'm livin' the dream," Rachel said, sitting at the table by the window, the usual spot she and Calvin and taken to meeting in the last few weeks; she bit into a bagel and said, "yes sirree."

"This is the dream?" Calvin asked, trying not to laugh, "Gee, and the rest of us thought we had it made with the house and the family and the high paying job, when in actuality we got it all wrong. We're so stupid."

"I don't necessarily mean the way I live is perfect, but, like, this way I have absolutely no expectations put on me, and it doesn't make me anxious. When I was in college, and my painting started getting noticed, it was stressful as hell. All those galas, all those shows, it was just...too high strung. Everyone always expected my best work. Mediocre or even middling work was never acceptable. Always had to be top notch stuff. But this? Nobody expects me to make the best cup of coffee they've ever tasted. That level of pressure I can live with."

Calvin sipped his coffee and nodded, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, "Once you've removed all the stressful things from your life, or in some cases had them removed for you, it does become somewhat easier to gauge what exactly matters the most. Keeps your mind clear. You're able to think more cleanly."

"Exactly," Rachel said, "My head was fogged and clouded so often, and now...I mean, I have extreme depression but at least I can think about how to handle it without worrying about a million other things."

A moment passed as they watched a mom and her two kids leave the coffee shop, both kids happily eating pastries while the mom drank her coffee. Calvin smiled at the sight, and Rachel sighed.

"I used to think the most important thing in life was doing it perfectly," Rachel said, "meet someone, get married, have some kids, have a career, never allow a blemish on this plan...but now..."

"It has its perks, I'll admit," Calvin said, "having people to care about and who care about you, but again, pressure."

"I can barely handle a relationship. The last woman I was with became so intensely clingy that I felt bad when I split up with her because I didn't want her to assume it was the clingyness and not the fact that we were merely incompatible as partners."

"And?"

"I mean, it was partially the clingyness, but still, she shouldn't have to feel bad about it," Rachel said, the both of them laughing softly.

                                                                                                 ***

The last person Rachel ever expected to see the night of graduation was Kelly, and yet here she was, standing on the front porch. Rachel hadn't gone to any of the graduation parties, but she was dressed and ready to go out with a few friends she'd met at a summer art program in senior year. Kelly, on the other hand, was wearing a band t-shirt and jeans, looking like the kid she always looked like.

"What are you doing here?" Rachel asked.

"I needed to pick something up. I left something with you a few years ago and you never returned it," Kelly said, "it's a photo album."

"Oh, okay, come on in," Rachel said, stepping aside and allowing Kelly entrance into the house.

The two girls headed up the stairs to Rachel's bedroom, and Kelly began looking through the closet, knowing this was where most of the stuff she left over eventually wound up. The girls used to be as tight as ever, always borrowing one anothers belongings, leaving things over at one anothers houses for years at a time, but now this item was the only thing of Kelly's left in Rachel's presence, and even that was about to leave. Rachel sat on the bed and watched her former best friend search.

"I'm going out, if you wanna come," she said quietly, surprising even herself at the offer.

"Uh, no thanks, I have to take this photo album to my grandma in the hospital," Kelly said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know," Rachel whispered.

"Besides, you didn't want to see me in high school, what would make me think you wanna see me now that it's over?"

"I was just trying to be nice," Rachel said.

"There's something you haven't done in a while."

"You don't have to be a bitch," Rachel snapped.

"No, actually, I kind of do. After the way you treated me, I think I need to stand up for myself once in a while, even to the people I never once would've expected to be mean to me," Kelly said, still searching through the closet, not even looking at her, "because you were the one person I never thought I'd have to defend myself from. It hurts."

Rachel didn't even want to respond to that, because she wasn't really sure how to. Instead, she just stayed seated on the bed and waited until Kelly finally managed to uncover the photo album. The two walked back downstairs, and once Kelly was on the porch, she thanked Rachel for the invite, and apologized for what she said. As Rachel watched her former best friend leave, all she could think of was how bad she felt for Kelly. Rachel had always been weird, but she was able to at least make friends. Kelly couldn't make friends. It had been a miracle she and Rachel had become friends at all, and Rachel wondered what life must be like, to be that lonely.

Now, as an adult, she understood exactly, and she couldn't lie, she felt kinda bad about the whole thing, even if she did enjoy her solitude.

                                                                                              ***

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," Calvin said another day, this time sitting in his car in the parking lot so Rachel could have a smoke break; he continued, "being alone and stuff. I mean, sure, it's got its perks, but there's something to be said about the level of comfort that comes from having those around you who want you there without expecting anything of you, and that's what a good relationship actually brings."

"It's too hard. Everything's too hard," Rachel said, blowing smoke out the window, "I'm just not cut out for things that take any effort."

Calvin laughed loudly at this and nodded.

"I understand that sentiment all too well," he said, "these days I find it harder and harder to do anything that doesn't feel required of me. I can give my all to a project that feels necessary, but the small stuff? Laundry, cooking, having friends? Seems so much harder."

"I didn't realize it at the time, but...I kinda need the structure school gave me. I think that was partially why college didn't work, because it was so unstructured. Like, sure I was expected to do the work and show up for classes, but what was the ultimate punishment if I didn't? Nothing, really. Unless you allowed it to get so bad that they flat out dropped you, but even that took some level of effort. I need that rigid structure that general school gives. Apparently I can't be damned to care about anything if nobody is expecting me to do it."

"Expectation is both a blessing and a curse then, it sounds like," Calvin said, "when I was married, my wife expected things of me, but they weren't huge things, and I did them not because they were expected but because I wanted to make her happy."

"That's sweet," Rachel said, smiling.

"But these days, I totally get it. Without that need, I just...I don't care."

"...I think I could make it work with someone, if I met the right woman, but...the right woman is never the woman I meet. That's the problem. And it takes so much effort to meet someone you can really see a future with, and that's a whole other set of expectations that I just can't deal with."

"What's with the aversion to expectation? I mean, I kinda get it, I just don't-"

"I had this agent, when I was in college. He was highly recommended, was said to be very supporting of the artists he promoted, and honestly he didn't seem that bad. But the more I learned about him, particularly from other women he had as clients, the more I realized I couldn't give him what he wanted. He wanted perfect work every time. He wanted a good part of the commission. When I stopped turning in high quality stuff, and when I demanded that I be paid my fair share because I'm the one actually making the art, he got...mean."

"What kind of mean?" Calvin asked.

"It was at one of the showings, but everyone had left and we were clearing things up, and he tried to...anyway, I was lucky. One of the waitresses there who came back because she'd left some of the catering equipment walked in on his attempt, and helped me stop him. It didn't get far, but the effort was enough. He put effort into that. He planned that. He made sure it happened when we were alone. Effort, ever since then, has just seemed wrong. He expected me to give him what he wanted, and when I wouldn't, he tried to take it anyway."

Calvin couldn't believe his ears, his jaw somewhat slack.

"And you never told anyone?" he asked.

"Why would I? They'd never believe me," Rachel replied, "but let me tell ya, ever since then, I never want anyone to expect anything of me, nor do I want to put any effort into anything. I've seen where both of those can lead you, and I don't wanna go back there."

"Well," Calvin said, finishing his coffee and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "I'll add him to the list of people to blow up then."

Rachel laughed at this joke, fully unaware Calvin actually meant it.

                                                                                              ***

Rachel didn't see Kelly again after that night until the night of the reunion, and judging by Kelly's reaction to her, she'd either forgiven or outright forgotten the last conversation they'd had. When she arrived back upstairs in her apartment that night, Rachel thought about what Calvin had said, about how being alone wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and despite admitting he was right in some regards, she couldn't allow herself to become involved with anyone. Hell, this weird pseudo-friendship she had with him was tough enough to manage.

Rachel took a shower, then made something for dinner. As she watched TV while eating, her thoughts turned to Sun Rai.

Despite the way she felt, she couldn't deny the fact that she had gone to that reunion solely to see Sun again. She did obviously want to have that human connection, she couldn't deny it, no matter what she might've told Calvin. The fact that she yearned to see Sun said it all. She still had romance within her, even in light of what had happened to her. Rachel finished eating and laid back on the couch, then reached to the end table and picked up the cordless phone. She dialed a number and lifted the receiver to her ear, listening to it ring.

"Hello?" Calvin answered.

"What're you doing?" Rachel asked.

"Just working on a project," he replied.

"Can I come over?" Rachel asked, and after a moment of silence that she took as apparent hesitation, he said yes, then gave her his parents address.

                                                                                                 ***

"Nice place," Rachel said upon arriving, making Calvin smile.

"Yeah, it has its charm," he said, opening the back gate and letting her follow him, as he added, "I'm surprised you wanted to hang out."

"Well, I was just thinking about what we were discussing and I guess you're right, I didn't wanna be completely alone. I only went to that stupid reunion to see someone, and she didn't even show up, so," Rachel said.

"Glad to be a fallback," Calvin said, making her smirk as they approached the shed; he opened the door and walked inside, letting her follow him in. Her face took on an immediate change of both intense curiosity and mild confusion.

"Are you an engineer or something?" she asked, half laughing.

"Naw," Calvin said, "this is just what I've been working on for the last few months."

"What...what is this?" Rachel asked, approaching the table and looking down at the device Calvin was building.

"It's a bomb," he said.

"Really? That's pretty cool," Rachel said, "...why are you building a bomb? Just for kicks?"

"Because I'm going to blow someone up."

Rachel looked at Calvin, and Calvin looked at Rachel, and after a moment or so, she nodded.

"Alright," she said, "So, tell me, who we killing?"
Published on
The sun peaked through the slit blinds of Leslie Swann's bedroom, splashing onto her face, making her skin warm ever so slightly. She rolled over, stretching and yawning, half her face hidden by her long bouncy hair, until she smiled, seeing Beatrice lying in bed beside her. Bea smiled back at her, reaching out and pushing Leslie's hair back behind her ear.

"When my husband and I split, after the miscarriage, I never thought I'd feel this safe in a bedroom again," Leslie said, speaking softly, "...amazing how things can change if you give them the chance."

"I'm not used to being with others," Bea said, "I'm...it makes me almost...scared."

"You don't have to be scared," Leslie said, "I know it's scary, but you never have to be scared with me. I always admired you. I was so touched when you asked if I would come on board, I couldn't believe it. And then that night..."

Bea smiled again as Leslie wiggled closer and kissed her. After it broke, Leslie rolled back over and sighed.

"People were right," Beatrice said, "It IS easy to bed women when you're famous."

Leslie couldn't help it, she broke out in contagious laughter, making Bea laugh too.

It was a good morning.

                                                                                            ***

Eliza spun around in her chair, holding up a small train, making Michelle smile.

"Do you wanna do the honors?" Eliza asked, and Michelle nodded, getting up from the chair and walking to the table where Eliza attached the train to the rest of the line and then stepped back, pointing at the table, adding, "on the side there, you'll see a switch, just flick it and the whole thing will turn on."

"Okay," Michelle said, fiddling around with her fingers until she finally found the switch and flicked it, the whole table coming to life; the streetlamps flickering on, the train beginning to whistle as it took off around the track that surrounded the cute little town Eliza had built. Michelle stepped back beside Eliza and admired it, hands on her hips.

"This is what God must feel like," Michelle said, making Eliza scoff.

"God doesn't see the beauty in what's made, to him creation is nothing more than an assembly line, churning out things quick and cheaply, hoping nobody will notice the shoddy craftsmanship," Eliza said, "...I'm way more invested than God in what I bring to life."

Michelle laughed, just as Eliza's father opened the bedroom door and looked inside.

"Uh, girls, you have a phone call," he said, "They're asking to talk to either one of you."

Eliza and Michelle glanced at one another, then Eliza shrugged and went back to the table, leaving Michelle to take the cordless phone Don handed her. Michelle graciously took it from him, mouthing 'thank you' as he smiled at her and exited. She lifted the phone to ear.

"Hello?" she asked, "Hi Bea. Yeah, I'm with Eliza right now."

Eliza stopped looking at her train set and looked back at Michelle, one eyebrow raised now.

"Okay, we'll be there shortly," Michelle said, before hanging up and looking at Eliza, adding, "That was Beatrice. She wants us to meet here somewhere."

                                                                                            ***

The show had been airing for a few weeks now, and the reviews were absolutely spectacular. Beatrice herself was called a "savant" by many, and one very kind write up even went so far as to state that she truly understood the child mindset, making her a remarkable asset to their developmental abilities. These reviews certainly made Beatrice feel good, better than she had in months actually, but she still preferred to stay out of the limelight and let Liam deal anything press wise.

Liam, however, also didn't seem to enjoy his newfound responsibility to talk to the press, but he did it out of respect for Bea. Sitting in his office at the network, typing away something on his keyboard, he heard a knock on the door and looked up, only to see Stephanie standing there, grinning at him as he looked up at her and adjusted his oval glasses.

"Hi," she said, "Am I interrupting?"

"I fuckin' wish," Liam said, making her chuckle as she cautiously entered the room, clearly somewhat nervous about something. She folded her arms as she began to pace in his office.

"Um...so," Stephanie said, "The show is a wild success, as we all know now. So we should talk about our next move. Obviously we still have a handful of episodes left to air this season, but we should talk about next season, and even potentially additional seasons beyond that, and also merchandising."

"Bea's not gonna go for merchandising," Liam said.

"I'm aware of that, which is partially why I'm here," Stephanie said, "You're her best friend, her closest creative ally, and I think you-"

"No," Liam said sternly, "I already screwed up my friendship with her once, and nearly lost her for good. I...I was responsible for her losing faith in the creative industry and essentially shuttering herself away from the world for like 20 years. I can't...no, Stephanie, I can't be responsible for that again, I refuse."

"We just need to have the conversation. It doesn't have to go anywhere. The higherups are pushing me to at least talk with her about this," Stephanie said.

"The higherups? You run this place!" Liam said.

"I have bosses, everyone has a boss," Stephanie said, "I just...please, talk to her."

"I...if I do, you have to promise it can't go anywhere," Liam said, "As you said, we'll simply have the conversation, and leave it at a mutual disagreement, unable to meet a ground where everyone is happy. Stephanie, I understand where you're coming from, I do. I handled all the business stuff in the past for her, and she's essentially saddling me with it again this round, but I..."

Liam leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his thinning hair, sighing deeply.

"...Bea and I go back a long way, and we have a very...complex and strange and often times strained relationship, and I will never do anything to remotely jeopardize that again. We're already getting inundated with offers from toy companies and such that I have to sift through and either outright deny or potentially approve, and only once I run the potential approvals by her. A few weeks ago, she drove me out to her parents house, and after seeing what I saw there, I simply cannot morally allow any further bastardization of something so deeply personal and important to her."

This remark piqued Stephanie's curiosity, as she seated herself on the edge of Liam's desk.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"It's not really my place to expand upon it, honestly," Liam said, "maybe she'll tell you someday. All I'll say is this...if you try and make something out of Beatrice Beagle beyond her comfort zone, you'll be actively attacking a part of herself. This dog...is not just a character to Bea."

Stephanie left Liam's office shortly after this discussion, all the more curious about Bea's past. She figured she'd approach Bea about it next time she saw her, and until then, well, she'd just let sleeping dogs lay.

                                                                                                  ***

Michelle, driving with Eliza in the passenger seat, was curious why Bea wanted to meet with them. Eliza adjusted the air conditioner to blow directly on her face, and shut her eyes, enjoying it as her hair blew back. Michelle couldn't help but smile at appreciating such simplicity. After a few moments, Eliza looked at Michelle and adjusted her big glasses.

"Um," Eliza said, "...can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Michelle said happily.

"Beatrice is sort of like...a parent to you, in some way, right?" Eliza asked.

"Beatrice isn't like a parent, she's...it's hard to explain. She's kind of like...my conscience, in a way," Michelle said, "Beatrice Beagle, the character, showed me how to like myself and how to be happy when I was a sick little girl. She often felt like the only friend I had. I understand parasocial relationships aren't healthy, but at the same time, what kind of relationship is? I mean they're all variations, right? No relationship is 100% healthy."

"This isn't parasocial," Eliza said, chewing on her necklace, "You actually know Beatrice."

"I do, but...at the same time, it's a very broad generalized knowing, you know what I mean? I do know her, but not in the same way that Liam, or even you, knows her. You know her extremely well," Michelle said, "and over time we will get to know one another better and better, but, right now..."

Eliza nodded, looking at her glittery nails and sighing.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Eliza asked.

"Always."

"After my mom died, I used to pretend Bea was my mom. In my head, I mean. I would, uh, go into these maladaptive daydreams and fantasize about what it'd be like if Bea was my mom. Beatrice was always so comforting, and so trusting, and she always believed in me and my skills. My mom loved me, I can't deny that, but she did sometimes make remarks that I could've done more. My mom wanted me to reach for something I couldn't grab, but Bea was just happy with what I was able to hold at all."

Michelle smiled, tears swelling in her eyes.

"I don't know. That level of acceptance is, to me, far better," Eliza said, "No expectations, just joyous respect."

As the car pulled up to a stop at a storage unit, they saw Leslie standing outside, waving at them. They hadn't expected to see her here, but Eliza rolled down her window as they approached so Leslie could bend over and tell them to pull into the lot and then follow her, which they did. After parking and getting out, they followed Leslie into another area of the unit, until they finally saw Beatrice leaning against the wall, spinning a keyring around her index finger.

"They're here," Leslie said.

"Thank you," Bea said politely, "You guys, all of you, need to follow me please."

The three women followed Bea to a staircase, and up it to the second, then the third and finally the fourth floor. By the time they reached the floor, Michelle was leaning against a wall, panting, as she pulled her inhaler out of her pocket and took a few puffs. Eliza stopped and walked back to her, kneeling down, touching her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," Michelle said, "Just...wish this place had an elevator."

Eliza helped Michelle back up and together they caught back up with Bea and Leslie, who had by this point stopped at a unit near the end of the floor. Bea was pushing a key into the lock attached to the unit and clicking it open, removing the lock. She then turned and looked at the three women, smiling at each of them as their eyes made contact.

"I asked you three to come here because...outside of Liam, you guys are my best friends, and...and you're who I trust to open myself up to the most," Bea said, "that's why I need help cleaning this out."

All Michelle could think about was the unit Liam had taken her to months previously, and now here she was, back at another storage unit. How many buried secrets did this people have? Bea reached to the handle and lifted the door up, then reached inside and pulled the string on the light hanging from the ceiling, blasting the unit with blinding brightness. After the woman were finished shielding their eyes momentarily, they each stared ahead at the interior, each unsure of how to react.

Inside the unit sat a plethora of things, ranging from photo albums of Beatrice and her family to boxes of rejected various merchandise to, of all things, suit prototypes. As they each entered the unit, Bea stepped back, folding her arms and clearing her throat.

"Up until now, even with knowing each of you for various lengths of time, I've remained kind of a mystery, and for this to work, I can't be an island anymore. I want you to look through these things, ask me questions, and then help me move it out of here. It's time to stop living in the past."

Eliza asked Bea about her parents, while Michelle asked Bea about the stuff from the show, while Leslie just sat in silence, smiling, enjoying seeing Bea finally open up to people. She had a feeling this was going to be a wonderful partnership. Lying in bed that morning, Bea had talked about how secrets were the one thing holding her back from those she wanted to connect with most, and how she was finally ready to be free of them. How her parents had never lied to her, how her parents had taught her to be an honest person, and show business was what had driven her to create fabrications, how grief had managed to manifest untruths in order to cope. But she was ready to move past all of that now, and she made a promise to never lie to those she loved.

If only she knew the irony.

                                                                                                 ***

It was dark, and Amelia Burden was standing in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. She was 11 years old, and she was in her pajamas, ready to get into bed. The only issue was that Beatrice wouldn't come inside. It was getting dark, and Bea was outside barking her head off, despite how many times Amelia had called for her to come in. Gordon, standing, watching his daughter brush her teeth, kissed the top of her head as she passed him on the way exiting the bathroom.

"I can't sleep without her," Amelia said.

"I'll get her in, you just get in bed and she'll join you. She's a dog, sweetheart, she needs to bark," Gordon said, smiling as he led his daughter to her bedroom.

Amelia climbed into bed and pulled the covers up. Gordon tucked her in, kissed her nose and knelt by her bedside.

"I love you, and I hope you have sweet dreams," Gordon said, "I'll go get Bea, okay? When you wake up, she'll be right here with you as always, I promise."

Amelia smiled and nodded, yawning. She was sleepy, actually. With that promise, she felt like she could actually go to sleep comfortable with the knowledge that her dog would be with her the following morning. Gordon headed back downstairs, made himself a bowl of ice cream and then sat in his recliner to finish reading the chapter of the book he was currently engrossed in. He'd go get Bea after he finished this. A few minutes later, he heard the backdoor open swiftly and his wives shoes tapping on the floor as she rushed to the living room. Gordon turned to look at her; her hair a mess, her eye makeup running, she was covered in dirt and blood.

"...what the hell?" he muttered.

"gordon," she whispered, "you need to come."

Gordon immediately got up and, after pulling on his jacket and grabbing a flashlight, followed his wife outside, the two speaking in hushed voices as they walked briskly across the field, towards the road.

"Jesus it's cold tonight," Gordon said, "What's happened?"

"it's terrible, and i don't...i don't know what to do, and..." Gloria muttered, "i needed you."

"Well I'm here, I'll fix it, whatever it is."

"no..." Gloria said, stopping and looking at him, "...you can't fix this."

A few moments later they reached the road, and Gordon immediately knew she was right. His stomach dropped, the wind knocked out of him. Lying there, dragged to the side of the road - presumably by Gloria, noting the blood on her clothes now - was Beatrice's body. Gordon approached the dog cautiously, and then knelt down, running his hand over her soft fur. He shook his head, his eyes shutting tightly, tears rolling down his face. It was over. She was already dead. After a few moments, he stood up and approached Gloria, putting the flashlight in her hands and then putting his hands on her shoulders.

"Listen to me, okay?" he asked, seeing her nod as he continued, "you're going to take Bea back to the house, and you're going to bury her. Do it deep. Use the good shovel from the shed, okay? Then wash your clothes, take a shower, and go to bed. Do not let Amelia wake up, okay? I'm going to go into town."

"What are you going to do?" Gloria asked.

"I'm going to find a new dog," Gordon said.

He'd made a promise, and god dammit he was going to keep it.

Gloria did as she was told. She went back, got a wheelbarrow, managed to hoist Beatrice's body into it and then take it back as quietly as she could. Once back at the house, she found the shovel and quickly dug a deep hole. As she looked at Bea's body in the wheelbarrow, she wanted to throw up. She reached down and kissed the dogs soft head, trying not to weep loudly. She told the dog that she was loved, and that she was sorry this had happened. She promised they'd find whoever had hit her. They never would. Then she lifted Bea's body out of the wheelbarrow and plopped it into the grave, quickly burying it and making it look natural. Then she went inside and she took a shower, washed her clothes, and went to bed.

Gordon had read an ad in the paper recently about someone close by who had a dog they were trying to get rid of because it was too much work for them as they got up there in age, and he drove there immediately. He explained the situation, realized the dog looked nearly identical to Beatrice, and he paid cash. Sitting in the truck on the way back to the house, he glanced over occasionally at this imposter Bea and shook his head.

"She can never know," he said, as if the dog would respond somehow, "okay? She can never find out about this."

He was surprised when the dog nuzzled his arm and licked his hand. He took that as an oath of trust. When he got home, he put Bea's collar around the new dogs neck, carried it up the stairs, carefully opened Amelia's bedroom door and put the dog on the bed before retreating. He went back downstairs, took a shower, did his own laundry, and afterwards, in his pajamas, found his bowl of ice cream now melted. He wasn't even mad about the waste. He could let some ice cream go to waste. He couldn't let his daughters faith go to waste. He washed his bowl, and he went to bed.

The following morning, when Amelia awoke, she was none the wiser. She and Beatrice were tight as ever, and she never learned of the extremes her parents had gone to keep this horrible tragedy hidden from her. Years later, when Amelia put Beatrice to sleep after she'd been riddled with cancerous tumors, it was a loss brought on by her own accord, not a loss life handed to her. It was natural, not cruel. After Bea was put down, when Amelia had gone back to college, her parents sat at their dinner table, each sipping a mug of coffee.

"...we did the right thing," Gordon said, "she didn't have to say goodbye twice."

"She didn't, but we did," Gloria said, making Gordon grimace.

"That dog made this family," Gordon said, "I wasn't about to let that dogs absence tear us apart."

"We're good parents, right?" Gloria asked, and Gordon, reaching across the table and holding his wifes hand gently, smiled at her.

"She's never hated us yet," Gordon said, "and that counts for something."

Oh yes, if only she knew the irony.
Published on

It was absolutely packed with people.


Apparently, as Alex put it when they started to walk up, the only things that brought a neighborhood out in masse was the murder of a child or a really good BBQ. Lillian knew she shouldn't laugh, but she couldn't help but chuckle, and that was precisely why she brought Alexis along. They'd each been handed a candle upon arrival, already lit, and began to make their way through the crowd.


"How long am I supposed to hold this for?" Alex asked, "Can I eventually put it down someplace?"


"I think, the way these things usually work, is that yes you'll eventually place it at the memorial site they've built."


"Don't get me wrong, I'm not coldhearted, what happened was awful, but, like..." Alex sighed, "...kids die every single day. Whether it's an accident, or an illness, or in some cases like this one, a straight up murder, kids dying is nothing new. But the kids who have accidents or illnesses never get shrines or memorialized. Why is murder the only one that seems to bring out the heartfelt sentiment of the neighborhood?"


"Because those other two happen fairly naturally. As a neighborhood, we don't like to think that our children are two doors away from the end of their lives," Lillian said, "This is why the whole neighborhood turns out when something like this happens, because we just try and ignore the fact that it can."


"When I was in high school-" Alex started.


"What, like 6 months ago?" Lillian interrupted, making her smirk.


"shut up, but when I was in high school, this girl murdered her boyfriend and they had a whole, like, ceremony for it at the school, and it was just weird seeing these other girls who'd been treated so badly by her suddenly have empathy for this monster. I don't know. Humans creep me out."


"I can't argue with you," Lillian mumbled, before knocking elbows with another woman, who turned to face her; Lillian smiled, "Oh, Rina! What...what are you doing here?"


"Apparently it's the place to be," Alex said.


"I babysat a few times," Rina said, "Maddie's here too, somewhere. Her parents asked me to bring her. What are you guys doing here?"


"Didn't you hear me? It's the place to be," Alex restated, making Lillian and Rina chuckle.


"We...we just came cause it felt like the right thing to do. I mean, everyone else showed up, so," Lillian said, "This is the second death she's been around in just a few months. First that kid at her party, and now this kid, though she probably didn't know this kid."


"They went to the same after school program a few times," Rina said, "In the same school district, so. But no, you're right, she didn't know them, thank god. Girl is riddled with enough problems without adding more on. Who's your friend?"


"This is Alex, she works for the costume company I work for," Lillian said, as Rina held out her hand to shake, which Alex politely shook her head at, then held up her free hand, indicating it was gloved.


"Germs," she said, "Not gonna happen."


"Fair," Rina said.


"I'm gonna see if I can track down Maddie, you guys just hang out for a minute, okay?" Lillian asked, the two of them agreeing, before she disappeared into the sea of people to search for Maddison. Rina shoved her hands in her coat pocket and looked around at the people, before looking back at Alexis.


"This sort of thing is what keeps me from wanting kids," Rina said, "I'm down with everything else, I babysit for god sakes, clearly I'm good with children, but...the idea that something absolutely horrendous can happen to an innocent child is just..."


"It's no bueno," Alex said.


"Well put," Rina said, smiling.


"No, I know what you mean," Alex said as the two sat on a small concrete planter box and talked; she continued, "I've never really dealt with death well, honestly. I've never had, like, a traumatic experience either, but for some reason I just...I've never really been good with the whole mortality thing. It really bothers me. So yeah, I get why it's even worse when it happens to a literal child."


Meanwhile, Lillian was pushing her way gently through the crowd, searching all over for Maddison. When she finally spotted her, Maddie was standing alone, looking at a small corkboard that had been smothered with photos of Stephie. Lillian approached her cautiously and touched her shoulder. Maddie turned around, looked up at her, then threw her arms around Lillian's legs and squeezed her hard.


"They didn't give you a candle?" Lillian asked.


"They won't give them to children," Maddie whispered, sniffling, "it's okay, I didn't wanna carry one anyway."


"How are you doing?" Lillian asked.


"I...don't know," Maddie said, pulling away and wiping her eyes on her sleeves, her braids swinging gently behind her, "uh...it's weird, I didn't really know her, but...she shouldn't have died. That boy at my party shouldn't have died."


Lillian knelt down so they were eye level, and she noticed the tears streaming down Maddison's face.


"why..." Maddie muttered, "...why do people keep dying around me?"


This broke Lillian's heart, and she pulled Maddie into her again, hugging her tightly, stroking her braids, telling her it was okay. That she wasn't the cause. That these things just happened. She knew none of this was likely as reassuring as she'd hoped it'd be, but it was the best she could do.


                                                                             ***


"I'm glad we finally found some time to get together," Vera said, smiling across the table at Tyler, who smiled back as he sipped his wine. They were seated in a small, but fancy, restaurant downtown and having dinner, which Vera was opting to pay for seeing as her paygrade was better than Tyler's, a fact Tyler didn't mind. She was dressed in a nice dress, and her hair was pulled back into a bun, and Tyler was dressed in slacks and a button down shirt, his hair combed and gelled.


"Yeah, I feel like I never get to just go out without it having to be work related," Tyler said.


"I know," Vera said, "that's why I asked you to join me tonight, because it just...it feels nice to do something that isn't work related. I feel the same way. I feel like I work nonstop, and it's exhausting. It's nice to just go somewhere, have dinner, talk about things not related to work."


"Yet here we are, discussing how much we work," Tyler said, making Vera laugh.


"Well, okay, let's move away from that then. Been involved in any hobbies lately?" Vera asked, making Tyler stop and think.


"Uh, I guess I've been taking up knitting," Tyler said, "My sister's having a baby, so I wanted to make her something. It's hard, I don't know how people used to knit entire rugs and coats and stuff, that shit is complicated. I can barely manage a pair of booties."


"That's really sweet," Vera said, smiling widely, "what made you wanna do knitting? I mean, besides your sisters pregnancy."


"I guess, like, it's quiet and slow paced? When your daily life is surrounded by parties, you want your downtime to be something chill, you know? Even if it is still related to children in some way, but that's cool, I like kids," Tyler said, the waiter setting down their entrees and the two beginning to dig in; Tyler scooped some shrimp pasta into his mouth, chewed then added, "I wanna have kids someday."


"Yeah, me too," Vera said softly, blushing.


                                                                            ***


Lillian and Maddison were walking through the crowd, Lillian having given Maddie her candle to hold because she'd asked to, and Lillian was tired of her hand cramping from it.


"I was looking at the photos on that board cause I was jealous," Maddie said quietly, "she had parents who loved her. She vanished while trick or treating with her dad. They had a lot of family trip photos and all sorts of stuff like that. I don't think I have a single photo of myself with my parents."


"Don't feel bad, I don't either. The only ones I have were the ones taken when I won another pageant and it was required for my mother and I to have our photo taken together," Lillian said, "sometimes it almost feels like I don't even have a past because I have virtually no photographic evidence of it."


"That's so sad," Maddie said, "I want my parents to want me."


As the girls approached Rina and Alex, they found Alex was napping, her head resting on Rina's shoulder. Rina nudged gently, waking Alex, who looked around before noticing Maddie holding the candle before noticing Lillian no longer had hers.


"Heeey," she said, "Where's your candle?"


"I gave it to Maddie," Lillian said.


"That's not fair! Here, hold my candle!" Alex said, making them laugh.


"How are you doing?" Rina asked as Maddie climbed up to sit with them on the concrete planter.


"This is weird," she whispered, "I feel weird being here."


"We can leave if you'd like," Rina said, "We can go get something to eat before I take you home. Lillian and her friend can join us, if that's okay with them," she finished, looking up at Lillian who smiled and nodded. Maddie thought for a moment and nodded in response. Together they all stood up and began to head out, before Alex stopped Lillian and looked around.


"What is it?" Lillian asked.


"Where do I put my candle?" Alex asked, "Aren't I supposed to add it to some shrine or something?"


"Just give it to someone, they'll do it for you."


"No! You might've dragged me here, but by god I'm gonna do the right thing!" Alex said.


Lillian agreed to help Alex find the area to put their candles, and after taking Maddie to the area, she and Alex approached the shrine, waiting to set their candles down, while Lillian and Rina stood back, watching. Alex exhaled deeply, feeling nervous, until she felt Maddie's hand in her own, squeezing it tightly. Alex, at first taken aback at this physical contact, then quickly changed gears and smiled at it, squeezing her hand back. When they got to the front of the shrine, they both knelt and placed their candles on the small tin holders.


"There we go," Alex said, "Now we've honored her."


"...thank you," Maddie whispered, and Alex patted her on the head.


"Thank you," she replied softly.


Alex and Maddie got back up, rejoined Lillian and Rina, and the four of them headed to a fast food place to get something to eat. It had been a somewhat somber evening, and now it was time to make it a little bit better. After all, as Alex put it on the way there, they weren't dead, so they should try to have a good time.


                                                                           ***


Tyler and Vera were walking down the street, near the riverwalk, the lights in the trees lit up overhead. The sound of the water softly lapping against the lip of the walk, the boats slowly drifting by them, Vera felt like nothing could ruin such a perfect night. Walking alongside her, Tyler looked at his shoes, kicking little pebbles on the ground into the nearby water.


"I feel like my life is nothing but work," Vera said, "to the point where even my social life, with you, is work related in some way."


"Well, I can quit the job, get something normal, then this wouldn't as awkward," Tyler said.


"No," Vera replied, chuckling, "No, I don't want you to quit your job, Ty. I like the closeness this gives us. It keeps us entangled, in one way or another, no matter what. If anything, I'm the one who should quit. I have no real upward mobility, partially thanks to my skin color, and I need to find something long term."


"We love having you there," Tyler said, "Group wouldn't be complete without you."


Vera stopped and looked at Tyler, who stopped and looked back at her. The strung up lights in the trees brightened her face just a bit, and he could see her eyes shine. She looked even more beautiful than he normally thought she looked.


"They say you shouldn't mix business with pleasure, that office romances never work out," Vera said.


"Well then," Tyler said, approaching her, "I guess it's a good thing we don't work in an office."


And he leaned in and kissed her. She didn't hesitate, if anything she embraced it, and kissed him back. The tension between them had been bubbling for ages, and they both finally felt it was an okay enough time to give into it, and neither one regretted it.


Yes, this was the best date either one had had in years.


                                                                            ***


After parting ways with Rina and Maddie, Lillian started to drive Alexis home. Alexis had her forehead resting against the passenger side window, Lillian was playing soft classical music on the radio, and it was starting to rain ever so gently. As they pulled up to a red light, Lillian looked over at Alex.


"You okay?" she asked, "You're not mad that I made you come are you?"


"No," Alexis said.


"...no to which?"


"I don't know, both, I guess," Alexis said, "Being there it just made me think about my family, about all the people who aren't here anymore, and you're right, I get it, I get why you're protective, cause a child shouldn't have to endure that much loss in that short amount of time span at their age. But she has a good support system. We didn't."


"Alex, you can tell me if-"


"I don't think I wanna be alive anymore," Alex whispered, "...my life is going nowhere. Look at what I do for a living. Meanwhile my brother and sister are practicing professionals and here I am, dressing up like a fucking pirate for kids parties, and it isn't even that shame that really gets to me, it's the fact that I don't feel like I deserve better. Like this is all I'm really capable of."


The light changed to green and Lillian kept driving, still listening to her friend, who was now crying as she spoke.


"...my parents don't expect anything out of me, and I'm in my mid twenties," Alex said, "I can go weeks at a time without contact and they don't even notice."


"Where's this coming from? You were in a good mood earlier."


"I was high, dude," Alex said, surprising Lillian; Alex wiped her eyes on her sleeves and nodded, "Yeah, yeah I was high. I took heroin before we went. Drugs are all that make me function remotely like a normal person anymore."


"Jesus, are you-"


"I'm fine," Alex said sternly, "they only drug test at mandatory get togethers, and I make sure not to do it within a certain time frame surrounding those. I'm not going to lose my job. I know it's wrong, or at least that's what society thinks, but...in the grand scheme of things, how wrong is it?"


"What do you mean?" Lillian asked, turning a corner, getting closer to Alexis's apartment.


"I mean, we went to a candlelit vigil for a little girl tonight. Someone brutally murdered a child. I think there's varying degrees of evil, and on that sliding scale, taking heroin isn't really all that bad. It isn't like I'm hurting anyone, and I'm not dangerous to myself, so who's the bad guy here, Lil? The guy who viciously killed a small girl in her Halloween costume, or the girl who works kids parties for a living and does heroin in her spare time?"


"...probably the guy who killed a child," Lillian said.


"Exactly."


As they pulled up to the curb, Lillian came to a full stop and looked at Alexis.


"You wanna stay over?" Alex asked quietly.


"...you don't wanna be alone? I can stay if you don't wanna be alone, I don't have to work tomorrow, so," Lillian said, "If you just want a friend around-"


"please," Alex whispered.


"Of course."


Lillian got out of the car, as did Alexis, and together they headed up the stairs into the complex. Lillian actually hadn't wanted to stay, she was looking forward to a quiet night by herself, but she figured Alex could use the companionship, and she didn't feel comfortable leaving her alone in this state of mind. So Lillian went into he apartment with her, they ordered in food, and they watched game show reruns all night, and in the morning, when Lillian woke, Alex had already gone out to get coffee and and brought her back some too.


All in all, sometimes the people you work with, Lillian thought, might just be most suited to be your best friends.

Published on
It was a gorgeous day, and Carol was determined to take advantage of it.

She took a bath, got dressed in her finest clothes and then headed outside to the garden, only to find Larry and Burt toiling away in the soil. They waved at her as she came out, and she smiled at them before heading to the gazebo, climbing the steps carefully to find Boris sitting on one of the benches inside.

"Good morning," she said happily.

"Is it?" Boris asked, looking up from his newspaper, "I can never tell anymore."

"Cataracts are a bitch," Carol said, making him chuckle as she seated herself beside him, "...so, got any plans for today?"

"You're lookin' at it," Boris said, "Nobody's at the apartment, so I didn't wanna be there. Came here just to relax, which is funny, because there's nothing very relaxing about this kind of place."

"Hey, I made a lot of renovations in order to make this home much more appealing and welcoming," Carol said, "I'll have you know that since renovations have finished, all I've gotten has been great feedback from people!"

Boris smirked and kept reading, letting Carol know he was merely pushing her buttons. She enjoyed having him around again more. Just then they heard the sound of an ambulance pull up to the front of the home. Carol and Boris stood up and walked to the edge of the gazebo interior, watching from the rail as a few paramedics entered the home and, a few minutes later, exited with someone covered in a sheet on a gurney. As they wheeled the metal slab onto the ambulance and started to drive away, everyone stood around somewhat slack jacked. Finally a woman approached Carol.

"Who was it?" Carol asked, leaning on the gazebo rail.

"It was Alice Holbrook," the woman said, "In her sleep, peacefully,"; the woman then turned to everyone else within earshot and, cupping her hands around her mouth shouted, "who had Holbrook?! Who had Alice Holbrook?!"

After a moment a man on a cane came forward, his hand raised.

"I did!" he replied, and Carol rubbed her forehead.

It was time for something to change.

                                                                                           ***

"A woman died at the home this morning," Boris said, sipping his coffee as he sat in a booth across from Father Krickett, who was spreading butter on toast from a little plastic butter container that was set on the table.

"Sort of an everyday occurrence at an old folks home, isn't it?" Krickett asked, smiling a little.

"Sure, nothing new, business as usual, but...I don't know. This felt different. Carol was very upset about it," Boris said, "I can't blame her, really. It's hard watching people around your age croak, it puts you right at the top of the list. Never know when your time is finally up."

"God does enjoy playing russian roulette," Krickett said, taking a bite out of his toast and chewing before responding again, "but perhaps it's not the proximity to her own mortality that's upset Carol, perhaps it's something else. Carol's never struck me as the kind to be worried about the end of her life, personally."

"You're not wrong, she never has seemed to fear death," Boris said, filling in another section of the papers crossword puzzle before looking up at Krickett, "...do you?"

"Do I what? Fear death?" Father Krickett asked, setting his toast down and clasping his hands together on the table, clearing his throat and adding, "...I think people like me, who are religious, don't often fear death because we believe in the idea of eternity with our father in heaven. That being said, I can't deny the idea of nonexistence skeeving me out of a bit, sure. But overall, I like to think I'm not as affected as most, certainly."

Boris nodded, then set his paper down and picked at crumbs on the table, his voice low when he finally spoke again.

"...I'm scared," he said, "I never was, but...watching Polly die. It changed me. It made me scared. The idea that this, all of this, who I am and what I do and the things I like, just ends...yeah, that's kind of terrifying to me now."

"I believe it," Krickett said, reaching across the table and patting the old mans hands, "That couldn't have been easy, and I'm sorry for that loss. I'm here if you ever want to talk about that whole ordeal."

Boris opened his mouth, then shut it again and shook his head. In the months since Polly's overdose, he hadn't talked about her, not to Whittle or Krickett or Carol or anyone. He kept that entire debacle to himself, and some nights he'd wake up in fits from nightmares where he was discovering her body over and over again. These nightmares were causing him ridiculous amounts of mental anguish, yet he didn't tell them to anyone. He didn't want anyone to worry about him. He just wanted them to stop. He'd kept the pills Polly had stashed, and took Valium fairly regularly to get through the days and nights, especially after the nightmares.

"What's your day look like?" Krickett asked, "Any plans?"

"Not really. Just...not really."

Boris didn't talk for the rest of the morning. He simply went back to his crossword puzzle, leaving Krickett to read the rest of the newspaper before heading to the church. Despite the lack of discussion, both enjoyed simply having the other for company. Sometimes presence, not interaction, was all that was necessary for friendship.

                                                                                               ***

"What do you mean you're closing the pool?" Burt asked, "That's the most exciting aspect of living in an old folks home!"

"I can't do it anymore," Carol said, "the death pool started as a fun way to compete with one another, but after renovating the home, after getting to know a lot of the people here, I cannot, in good conscience, allow it to stay open. It makes me sad to think of people the age of the deceased profiting from the deaths of their peers."

The door to Carol's office opened and Boris entered, shutting it behind him.

"Carol's closing down the death pool!" Burt said, turning in his chair to face Boris, almost like a child telling on another child to their parent, "I can't believe this, try and talk her out of it."

"I think she's right," Boris said, leaning against the wall, unwrapping then popping a hard candy into his mouth, "I mean, after getting to be friends with Polly, I was devastated by her loss, not ecstatic by what I gained from it. It was a fun idea, but it's time to grow up."

"Grow up? We're in an old folks home, how much more grown up could we get?!" Burt asked, making Carol chuckle.

"Burt, I'd like you to go gather everyone's sheets please, and inform them that we won't be doing the death pool anymore," Carol said, "I'll join you in a minute."

Burt sighed, nodded, then stood and exited as Carol looked up at Boris from her desk.

"Something on your mind?" she asked.

"...I'm gonna see Ellen and Lorraine today," Boris said, "though, truth be told, I don't necessarily feel as if I want to see either one of them. Most of the time we simply help Ellen with her physical therapy, and when we aren't doing that, Lorraine and I just bicker under our breath so she can't hear it."

"Well," Carol said, standing up and smoothing out her outfit as she approached Boris, "I think it's good for you to have things to do. Take your mind off other things, you know? Take advantage of your family, Boris. Polly wasn't able to. She lost everything before losing herself. Do it for her."

She patted him on the chest, then headed out of the room to catch up with Burt. Boris stayed and looked around the office. When had things changed so dramatically? It seemed like it'd happened so quickly, almost overnight, and he hadn't even noticed. He was beginning to wish for the days when everyone just sat around, complaining, as old folks like to do, instead of whatever it was they had embroiled themselves into these days. The good ol' days were gone, he knew. Time marched ever onward, stopping for no man, woman or child, and he was lucky enough if he was able to just keep up.

                                                                                               ***

Sitting in the therapy room, watching Ellen do basic leg exercises best she could with her nurse, Boris couldn't help but feel sick. He felt like he'd put Ellen in this position. He was responsible for the accident that had crippled her in the first place, and then he felt like perhaps the shame she attained from it was secondhand because she thought her parents thought less of her, and thus the surgery that then put her into a coma, was even worse. Now Ellen couldn't still couldn't walk well - though they insisted that would change over time with the therapy - and she couldn't remember her family.

"You know," Lorraine said, leaning towards Boris and whispering, "I knew a girl in grade school who had leg braces, and that's all this therapy reminds me of is that girl. Now everytime I watch Ellen try and regain strength in her legs, all I see is that girl and hear everyone laughing at her."

Boris rolled his head towards her and smiled.

"That's a nice story," he said.

"You know what I mean," Lorraine said, half laughing and hitting his arm playfully, "These associations make themselves. I'm not happy about it and I know they're not the same, but because that's the closest I've ever been to something like this before it happened to her, that's what I'm reminded of."

"I guess I know what you mean," Boris said, "...do you think she's getting better?"

"I do, yes. Slowly, but yes. In a few months, maybe a year, she'll be literally on her own feet," Lorraine said, sighing, "...whether or not she ever remembers us is another matter entirely."

"She would be so lucky," Boris muttered, making Lorraine grimace.

As her therapist took leave for a few minutes, Ellen rolled herself in her wheelchair over to her parents and smiled at them.

"I'm sorry you guys have to come for this," Ellen said, "It's probably awkward, considering I don't really remember you."

"No, it's fine," Boris said, waving his hand thusly dismissing the thought, "it's absolutely fine. Whether you remember us or not, we're still your parents, and we should be here to support you."

Lorraine was rather surprised by this statement. Boris had, since the accident, remained somewhat aloof and distant, because he felt like he'd failed as a father. What had changed? Why was he so suddenly being so welcoming and comforting? Lorraine looked back to Ellen and smiled.

"You're doing great, sweetheart," she said, "Absolutely great. We're very proud of your efforts, and we're seeing real progress."

"For what it's worth, even though I don't really remember much, it is nice to have people here to support me," Ellen said, "it...it helps me not feel so alone while dealing with something so challenging."

"And there's no shame if nothing changes," Boris said, leaning forward, "remember that. If you don't regain strength in your legs or don't remember us, that's perfectly fine. We'll be here to help, no matter what, okay?"

Boris reached out and stroked her hair, pushing her bangs out of her face, making Ellen blush.

After the session, once Ellen was back in her hospital room, Lorraine and Boris headed to the parking lot, a flurry of questions swirling in Lorraine's head. As they approached Boris's car - the Gremlin Polly had left him - he spun the keyring around his index finger before unlocking the door.

"What the hell was that all about?" she asked, "All that togetherness crap? Who are you and what have you done with my husband?"

"Very cute," Boris said, "I think these days I'm just...trying to be more open, more with those I care about."

"I know that losing your friend hurt," Lorraine said, "and I can't begin to imagine what that kind of loss must've been like, to find her like that, to feel responsible maybe, but-"

"I don't feel responsible. I know she was the reason she did. Sure, I've debated endlessly whether or not I could've, or even should've, tried to stop her, but in the end Polly was going to do what she wanted, and no matter how much we might've mattered to one another that wasn't going to change. She was ready to go. Some people just don't wanna be here for the end, and frankly, I can't blame them."

Boris opened the door and climbed inside, shutting the door before rolling the window down as Lorraine bent down and looked into the car.

"Boris, I'm...I'm here, if you wanna talk about it," she said.

"Why does everyone assume I wanna talk about it? What does talking about it really do besides making me relive something I'd rather move past already? Don't you think I've talked about it enough? Don't you think, if anything, that I'm sick of talking about it? I appreciate the offer, Lorraine, I really do, but I don't wanna talk about the death of my best friend, thanks. I'm trying to move on, not stay stuck."

"Okay, I'm sorry," Lorraine said, pulling herself out of the window and patting the roof of his car as he pulled out of his parking spot and drove away, leaving his wife standing there, more confused about who Boris actually was than she'd ever been before.

                                                                                             ***

That night, Boris was asleep in bed when he woke to the sound of someone walking down the hall. He assumed it was Chrissy, or Whittle, but he climbed out of the bed nonetheless, pulling his robe on over his pajamas and heading out of his room towards the kitchen. He flicked on the light switch but the lights didn't come on, and then he saw her, sitting at the table. Polly. She looked at him, and he froze on the spot. She smiled at him, and he felt his chest tighten. He grasped at his chest, before suddenly waking up, back in his bed.

Another nightmare. This was getting old. Boris sat up and scooted towards the bedside table, where he opened the drawer and pulled out a small box. Inside were the Valiums he'd pocketed off Polly before he called anyone, and he took one with a sip from the glass of water he kept on the bedside table. He sighed, ran his hand over his face and coughed. He wanted this to end. Why wouldn't this stop?

Boris finally got up and, pulling his robe over his pajamas, he grabbed his car keys.

Father Krickett was surprised when he opened his front door, only to find Boris standing on his porch.

"What are you doing here?" Krickett asked.

"...I hope I'm not disturbing you," Boris said.

"No, I wasn't asleep," Krickett said, "I was reading. Please, come in, it's cold out."

Krickett moved aside, allowing Boris to enter. Boris walked in circles once inside, looking exasperated and fed up. His eyes were red, like he'd been crying, and his hands trembled. Krickett folded his arms, watching his friend, waiting for him to speak.

"There's...there's something wrong with me," Boris whispered, his voice straining not to crack, "I'm scared, and I don't know what's happening. I keep seeing her. I have these extremely vivid nightmares and I keep seeing her, and then I wake up and she's not there, and it's like...it's like I'm living it all over again."

"I think what you're experiencing is likely due to PTSD from what happened," Krickett said, "Granted I'm no psychiatrist, but...it would make perfect sense. And there's nothing wrong with that, many people have PTSD and they lead perfectly normal lives. What you went through, Boris, was traumatic. Even for someone like yourself, who acts so strong and sturdy, it-"

"That's...that's just the thing, I'm not those, Krickett, I'm not. I would love to be, but I'm not, and I...I need your help, please," Boris said in a hushed voice, approaching the priest and pushing his face against him, crying against his pajamas, squeezing him tight.

Krickett, surprised at first, then smiled warmly and held the old man in his arms.

"You're fine, Boris, I'm here. I'll help you," he whispered, "I'll help you."

That was the thing about Father Krickett. Once he made a promise, he kept that promise, and Boris knew this all too well. He knew Krickett wouldn't let him down, which was what he needed most right now. Boris might not have been religious...

...but he did find some comfort in the arms of the church that night.
Published on
Calvin Klepper was sitting on the couch in his parents living room.

It was busy, people circling all around the room, talking in low hushed voices, barely audible, but he took no mind to them. A few people stopped and tried to give him a refreshment, a drink or a snack, but he politely declined each time. He sat there and he didn't say a single word the entire time, and after the wake was over, Calvin stayed there late into the evening, well after his parents had gone to bed. Eventually he fell asleep on the couch, and the next morning, he woke to his mother making breakfast. He ate, then he drove to his well paying job, quit on the spot and headed to a local hardware store.

Calvin bought a handful of various items, piled them all into his trunk and then drove back to his parents house. He outfitted their shed in the backyard with his new purchases, creating a small workshop of sorts, and he told them he'd be back in a bit. Calvin Klepper then drove to his apartment, told his landlord he wouldn't need the space anymore, and that he'd be moving back in with his folks. Calvin moved back into his childhood bedroom, did some light redecorating, and then, when his folks were asleep, he went back out to the shed, and he got to work.

                                                                                            ***

"Say cheese!" Calvin's mother, Amelia, said, snapping a picture.

Calvin and his soon to be wife smiled, and then kissed after the photo was taken. Amelia turned away to speak to Calvin's father, Barry, momentarily, while allowed Calvin's wife, Stacy, to look at Calvin and straighten his tie.

"Do I look okay?" Calvin asked, and Stacy smiled.

"You look fantastic," she said quietly, patting his cheek, "did you trim your beard?"

"Yeah, hah, I figured it should be somewhat presentable," Calvin said, "After all, we only get one wedding."

"Unless I leave you and you remarry," Stacy said, "Not that I plan on doing that, but you never know. I might run into a celebrity, and I'm sorry baby, but you just can't compete with the likes of Brendan Fraser."

"Oh I don't blame you, I'd leave you for Brendan too," Calvin said, making her laugh.

Calvin had waited for this day for so long. As he watched Stacy be whisked away by his mother, so she could help prepare the flower girl - a sweet little neighbor girl named Annie - Calvin watched her and felt a warmth inside of him that nothing else in his whole life had ever given him. Calvin had met Stacy in college, but the two of them stayed friends until their last year, when she suddenly showed up to his dorm room one night because she heard the music he'd been playing from a party down the hall, and it turned out to be her favorite band. The two stayed in his dorm the entire night, just talking about music and themselves, and went to breakfast the next morning. They were seriously involved less than a week later.

Stacy had chestnut colored hair and almond colored eyes, both differing shades of brown but both so beautiful, and each seemed to glitter when the light hit them. She had majored in nursing, hoping to get a job as a school nurse, which Calvin found sweet. Soon they had an apartment together, and shortly after that, Stacy was pregnant. A year later, they had a pair of twin baby girls named Chelsea and Lacie, and Calvin finally realized what he'd been longing for his entire life...fatherhood.

He could still recall the day they were born, and he stood there looking at her while Stacy got some sleep. He promised he'd never let anything happen to them, or his wife either, really. Sadly, Calvin would find out, that was a harder promise to keep than he expected.

                                                                                               ***

Calvin was sitting in his car, a pair of binoculars strung around his neck, as he waited. He sighed and checked his watch again. After so many months, you'd think he would've known this mans schedule by now, but no. He was still guessing, at best. He picked up his book on the seat beside him, the one he'd gotten from the local library, and started skimming it again. He wanted to have everything perfect. Then he heard a door slam shut, and he quickly dropped the book, raised the binoculars to his eyes and watched.

There he was.

Robert Grudin. Clean cut, nice suit, approachable haircut, perfect smile. Bastard. Absolute bastard. Swore up and down he was running on a platform that was meant to help keep the streets safe, keep families afloat, but Calvin knew it was all just a lie. He waited until he saw Grudin disappear into the building he'd parked in front of, then quickly got out of his car, raced across the street and knelt down, taking measurements. He pulled the pencil from his teeth, jotting numbers down in a little notepad, then once he was finished, shoved the measuring tape back in his pants pocket and headed back for his car, taking off before Grudin ever reemerged.

Halfway home he spotted a "Choosin' Grudin!" sign plunged into someones lawn, and, his blood beginning to boil, he quickly pulled off to the curb, hopped out, raced up to the lawn and yanked the post from the dirt. He then walked back to the street and bashed it against the curb and his car until the entire thing lay in tatters. Satisfied at his destruction, Calvin then climbed back into his car and headed home.

He'd chosen Grudin, all right.

He just hadn't chosen him to be elected.

                                                                                          ***

"Can I help you?" a voice asked, making Calvin jump in his skin a little as he turned in the aisle, spotting Wyatt's face. Wyatt didn't recognize him, that was for sure. Calvin scratched his forehead and blinked a few times before speaking.

"Yeah I'm...I'm looking for a fertilizer, a certain kind, immodium nitrate," Calvin said, his voice sounding hoarse, like he'd spent the entire day screaming.

"For sure, we have that. You redoing your backyard, or is this something or a job?" Wyatt asked, leading Calvin down towards another aisle, adding, "I only ask because it's not generally the one people buy to do small gardening around their home. We have much nicer stuff."

"You work here?"

"I own this place," Wyatt said, grinning, "Well, my dad owns it, but I basically own it now. He's long since retired and leaves me to do everything."

"Good gig."

"Not a bad life, no."

"...yeah, I'm in landscaping," Calvin said, lying, "I need quite a bit of it, maybe all you got."

"Doing a large project?" Wyatt asked.

"Country club," Calvin said.

"Well, then we got you covered," Wyatt said.

Wyatt helped Calvin pick out his bags, and even helped him load them to his car. Standing there in the parking lot afterwards, Wyatt patted the trunk and then shook Calvin's hand, still smiling like an idiot.

"Good luck on your job, man. If you need anything else, come back and I'll see what I can do," he said.

Calvin wondered why he'd been so concerned about seeing Wyatt at the reunion now. He hadn't even recognized him. Why would he, anyway. It wasn't like they were friends. Wyatt had been somewhat kind to Calvin in high school, but more often than not he'd also antagonized him quite a bit, and that left Calvin with some bitter memories he wished he could forget. His parents were on a small vacation to see his aunt a few hours away, so Calvin had the house to himself for a bit. He decided he would need caffeine in order to get some of this job done, staying up so late, so he pulled off into yet another parking lot, hoping to get some coffee.

Calvin entered the coffee shop, and waited in line. When he finally got to the front, he was surprised to see, of all people, Rachel Minnow standing on the opposite side of the counter from him. She was in an apron with a dorky little hat, and she immediately recognized him.

"I didn't know you worked here," Calvin said, "I swear I'm not a stalker."

"Please, stalk me, make my life more interesting," Rachel replied, monotone, "What do you want?"

"Uh, large plain black, and some kind of muffin if you have any," he said.

"We have blueberry, raspberry, strawberry, peach, apple-" Rachel said, quickly listing them off until he interrupted her.

"I just want a muffin, I don't wanna start a fuckin' farm," he said, making her smirk.

"Go take a seat, I'll bring your coffee and surprise you with something," Rachel said, "my break is coming up anyway."

Calvin seated himself near the window, furthest away from everyone. After about 8 minutes, Rachel finally brought him his coffee and a small platter of different muffins. She seated herself across from him and had a cup of coffee for herself too. She picked up a muffin and took a bite, watching as he sipped his coffee.

"Weren't you like, a successful artist?" Calvin asked, "Didn't you get accepted to like a really prestigious art academy?"

"Wow, bring up my failings immediately, cool," Rachel said, "Cause I don't think about those enough on a daily basis."

"Sorry," Calvin said, laughing, "I didn't...I'm not good at talking to people, even people I've already met. I'm just kinda surprised to see you working in like a half assed coffee shop. Hey, you're not the only one, alright? I failed plenty."

"Good to know I'm in the presence of such spectacular failing company," Rachel said, smirking, taking another bite of her muffin and eating it before continuing; "I just...I was, yeah, I was accepted, and I went. And uh, I was doing pretty well, getting noticed by agents and even galleries during student presentation weeks, but it didn't really pan out."

"...how's being an artist not pan out? I mean, aren't you kind of your own boss?" Calvin asked.

"Uh, because about 3 years in, I tried to drive my car off a bridge," Rachel said, "I should explain, it wasn't...it wasn't intentional, at least I don't think. I was given medication for a few different medical issues, and I guess they didn't really mix well, and then I went to this really fancy gallery show one night and I drank a little and that only exacerbated the issues all the more and before I knew it I was heading home and I kind of...fell asleep at the wheel, I think? I don't know if it's a dream or I hallucinated. I saw this...this totally strange looking horse standing in the road, and you could see through his skin, and you could see his skeleton and his insides and...I don't know, the next thing I know I was being taken to the hospital and people thought I was suicidal and that was the end of school."

"Jesus," Calvin mumbled, sipping his coffee, "that's horrific."

"I fucking hate horses," Rachel said under her breath, "annyyyywaay, what about you? How'd you fuck up so badly?"

"...actually I didn't," Calvin said, "I was doing great. For as shitty an adolescence as I had, as terrible as high school was, I actually flourished in college. Met a woman, got married, had two daughters. Things were...kind of perfect, storybook life."

"And what, you don't have any of that anymore?" Rachel asked.

"...no," Calvin said, "no I don't."

"But you didn't do anything to make them leave?" Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I didn't," Calvin said, "...someone else did."

This only made Rachel all the more curious, but she decided not to push it, and instead she changed the subject.

                                                                                          ***

Calvin was making dinner that night.

He was making his wifes favorite dinner, and he already had the table settings placed. He was humming along to the song blasting out the radio in the kitchen, and was just about to take the meal out of the oven when the phone rang. He picked up.

"Hello?" he asked, expecting Stacy, but it wasn't Stacy; he waited then replied, "...yes, this is Calvin Klepper, why?"

Calvin couldn't really remember much after that. He remembered dropping the phone, hearing it break. He remembered the sound of the timer on the oven blasting away, indicating his meal was burning, and he remembered falling slowly to this knees, panting, clawing his way to a wall until he slid further down, finally laying facedown on the kitchen floor. Eventually his neighbor in the apartment next door came over to see if he was okay, and when she finally got him off the floor and he told her he needed help, she agreed to drive him.

It was over so quickly, they told him. Stacy and the girls probably didn't even suffer, because it was so fast, so swift, so headon. When Calvin learned that a local potential politician was responsible for the accident, he was told there'd be justice. He was told that somebody of this caliber couldn't get away with something so horrific, and he'd stupidly believed them. What was he thinking? Of course famous people could get away with anything. And then, the clincher, a few weeks later during a press conference was when he heard the very same man who'd killed his family - who never took any blame for this act whatsoever - say out loud that he'd buckle down on public intoxication, and that families had a right to safe streets.

That was what pushed Calvin over the edge. Later that night, still stewing in rage from the hypocrisy, he stumbled onto a show on the History network all about bombs, and that lit an idea within his brain. Yes.

That was the night Calvin Klepper decided he would blow up Robert Grudin.

                                                                                               ***

Calvin was standing outside the classroom, reading a book as he waited for the door to unlock and class to begin. He heard a few other students join the area, but he didn't pay any attention to them. It wasn't until he heard a backpack be set down right next to him that he finally looked up, only to see Wyatt Bloom standing there, leaning against the wall. Wyatt grinned.

"Isn't this cool, man?" Wyatt asked.

"...what?" Calvin asked.

"Shop class, dude," Wyatt said, "Like, all the tools and stuff. Get to learn how to bend metal and make it do whatever we want. It's gonna be sick."

Wyatt then offered Calvin some gum, which he graciously accepted, unwrapping and popping it into his mouth, chewing.

"My dad owns like a hardware store, and so I get to hang out there a lot and look at all the tools, and some of them look so dangerous, but you just know they're fun. I'm gonna make a buncha stuff," Wyatt said, chewing his own stick of gum before adding, "Wouldn't it be cool to make something unexpected though? Like, make a bomb or something?"

Calvin nodded.

"Yes. It would be cool to make a bomb," he replied.

                                                                                              ***

Calvin awoke in his parents shed the following morning, having fallen asleep at the table he was working at. He stretched, yawned, then stood up. He grabbed the now empty coffee cup on the table near him and shook it, before thinking. Calvin headed inside, and he took a shower, then he got dressed, then he went to the coffee shop. When he entered, he saw Rachel sitting at a table, reading a magazine. Calvin sauntered over to her and plopped himself down in the chair across from her, surprising her.

"Oh, hey," she said, "What're you doing here? It's really early."

"...you wanna go get some breakfast?" Calvin asked.

"I guess, my shift doesn't start for like another hour," Rachel said, checking her watch, "But sure, let's do that."

Calvin drove Rachel to a nearby diner, where they sat in a booth and ordered. He offered to pay for everything. Sitting there, Rachel couldn't imagine why this weird guy she barely knew from high school was asking her to breakfast, but she did at least feel as though it wasn't for any romantic kind of reasons.

"So," Calvin said, putting his menu down, "You ever meet up with Sun?"

"No, she never showed," Rachel replied, "I was stupid to think she would. I just...I guess I thought she might, and that'll teach me to ever have hope."

"Hah," Calvin chuckled, "Why did you wanna see her so bad anyway? You guys weren't really friends, right, you said it yourself."

"I..." Rachel stammered, unsure of what to say, until she started sniffling, making Calvin reach across the table and hold her hand; she finally managed to say, "...I was so in love with her, and it's never gone away. I just wanted to see her again. See how well she's doing. See if maybe she...I don't know. It's so hard to be unable to be with a person you care about so much."

Calvin nodded, saying, "Yeah, I know what you mean."

So Calvin and Rachel ate their breakfast, talked for a bit, and he took her back to work. They agreed to hang out again soon, before Calvin headed back to his parents house. He locked the door once back inside the shed, an entire palette of coffee cups in a brown styrofoam holder placed on the table beside all his tools and effort. He sighed and looked back at the photo on the wall, running his fingers across it. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He had to do this. For everyone who'd ever had someone taken away from them, in one way or another. Calvin set up his materials and got back to work on his bomb. Grudin had promised that he'd make the streets safer, and Calvin was going to hold him to that promise. The way Calvin saw it...

...by removing Grudin entirely, the streets would be safer.
Published on
Eliza Tartt was standing over her mothers headstone, looking down at the name, feeling like she was going to be sick. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she noticed her father shuffling up beside her. Don sighed as he pulled his daughter a little closer and looked at the headstone with her.

"It was a nice service, wasn't it?" he asked.

"Mhm."

"You did a good job," Don said quietly, "She'd be proud of you. She always was."

Eliza appreciated the kind words her father was giving her, but she didn't really believe it. She only knew deep down two things for certain. The first was that she was an expert puppet maker, and the second...was that she'd killed her mother. Oh sure, it was an accident, but they'd been involved in it because of her, and that was something nobody could ever convince her otherwise of.

                                                                                             ***

"Well, here's to wrapping everything up," Leslie said, clinking her glass together with Bea, clinking it with Liam as well before taking a swig from it, adding as she licked her lips, "You know guys, I'm really grateful you asked me to come on board."

"I'm glad you agreed to," Bea said.

"I just saw the fire in your eyes, and I could tell you really were dedicated to it again," Leslie said, "So here's to hoping everyone else sees that same dedication when it starts to air. Any plans beyond this celebratory post filming night of debauchery?"

"I'm gonna go to Disneyland," Liam said, making them laugh; he chuckled at his own joke then said, "actually, I think I am gonna go out of town for a while. I haven't had a vacation in years, and I could certainly use one, especially after everything that's happened. Last vacation I took was when Marvin and I..."

He paused and looked at his drink, almost as if he were debating whether or not to say this out loud.

"...was when we went to Canada, and saw Niagra Falls on our way up," he continued, "we went on the Maid of the Mist boat ride, went underneath the falls. That was pretty spectacular, and I always wanted to go back, but...few weeks later he was dead, so."

"You should take that vacation," Bea said, patting his hand and smiling warmly.

"I actually already bought tickets," Liam said, "I should probably get home early tonight so I can finish packing and get some sleep before heading out tomorrow."

"I'll probably just hermit myself for a while," Bea said, "I never get alone time during shooting, so I kind of need it after the shoot's over. Need time to recharge, you know?"

"I understand. As a hermit myself, I completely get why it's necessary," Leslie said.

"Well then, here's to the Beagle, she rides again," Liam said, the three of them clinking their glasses once again before all drinking once more.

                                                                                             ***

Eliza heard the door to The Hole open and turned in her chair to see Michelle coming in.

"Oh," Eliza said, setting her puppet down on the work table, "...hi."

"Bea asked me to come out with her and Liam, but I'm running kind of late. You wanna go? I'm finally leaving now."

"Where's...you know, your friends?" Eliza asked.

"Keagan? She and Lexi had things to do. But I meant to ask you all day and I just kept getting sidetracked," Michelle said, pulling her inhaler from her pocket and huffing on it before stuffing it quickly back in her pocket, "but if you don't wanna go-"

"No, I'll go!" Eliza said, quickly getting up from her chair and grabbing her coat, pulling it on and joining Michelle as they exited The Hole and walked down the hallway towards the parking lot; Eliza continued, "I'm surprised Bea didn't, uh, I guess come say something. She usually tells me."

"She was busy today," Michelle said, "Final editing and everything, so. I only learned about it when Liam mentioned it and then she brought it up to me when she saw me around lunchtime. Usually she tells me that kind of stuff too, but, like I said...busy."

"...thanks for asking," Eliza said, wiping her nose on her sleeve, "I don't...I'm not used to people asking me to go with them anywhere."

Michelle smiled and patted her back, "We're friends! That's what friends do!"

Eliza smiled. She liked that. She liked having friends.

                                                                                               ***

Leslie brought the table a few club sodas, taking a break from the champagne, setting the glasses down on the table. Bea quickly pulled hers towards herself and sipped it through the straw. Liam had left a short while before this, so it was just the women now. Bea exhaled deeply as she sat back in her seat and looked across the table at Leslie, who was also sipping her drink.

"It's kind of remarkable when you think about it," Bea said.

"What is?" Leslie asked, wiping her mouth on her napkin.

"Just...everything that's happened, really. Michelle and Keagan finding me, discovering how much the show actually meant to some people, getting a new deal for a new batch of episodes, just...everything, you know? It feels surreal. Having people be respectful of my work instead of simply using it to shill their product. That one especially surprises me."

"Showbusiness is a fickle bitch and it doesn't care who it hurts," Leslie said, "And people think streaming services are the saviors, and they might be for a short time. Willing to take on the things a normal broadcast network wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole because it doesn't have an automatic built in audience, but...that's changing, and quickly. They're becoming a less restrictive yet more brutal version of cable, honestly. Sure, they'll take your project on, but if it isn't immediately globally successful, then nuts to you."

"You sound bitter," Bea said, smirking, "I like it. It's a good look for you."

Leslie threw her head back, laughing loudly, "God! Thanks! I'm not bitter, I'm just...it hurts. As someone who works in the industry, grew up on the industry, it saddens me to see it become what it is. I was at an industry party once and I was talking to someone whose show had gotten canceled after just one season on a streaming network, and they were saying how much the network promoted it, and how much of a budget they gave them and how little notes they had to deal with, and then a week after it drops they were canned because nobody 'binged' it. Streaming networks don't seem to realize that people have lives, responsibilities, and we can't just sit glued for hours to our couches watching the same thing, besides, it simply isn't enjoyable that way. Everything is so easily digestible and just as easily disposable because of it. Anyway, after she told me that, she said 'nobody makes a show now, they make content', and that always stuck with me."

"She's not wrong," Beatrice said.

"I guess that's why I have remarkable respect for you, because you genuinely appreciate what it is you're doing, and the impact it can really have on others," Leslie said, "and that...there's just something so...refreshing about that, I guess."

"It's getting loud in here, let's go for a walk," Bea said, standing up and pulling her jacket on. Leslie did the same, and the two headed out of the bar and grill, onto the sidewalk outside. Fairly empty, a cool night just before summer, and the streetlamps glowed softly overhead.

"I was scared," Beatrice said, "I really was, to come back. I was afraid that, you know, I'd just get taken advantage of again, and that nobody would respect me or what I was trying to do."

"I think you found a good place to be," Leslie said, "After talking with Steph for a bit, she seems to be more level headed than most streaming network bosses, and bringing me on board definitely helps, since I work with public broadcasting. The two of us can really get into the nitty gritty of it without involving you, which I think is good for your mental health."

"...I came up with Beatrice in college," Bea said softly, "it was just a way for me to cope with things, and eventually I started putting on one man shows downtown, and that's where I met Liam. He believed in what I was doing, but Liam also allowed himself to get starstruck and carried away with the faux glitter that is Hollywood. That's why he sold us out, much as I might've begged him not to. I understand why, and...and I do forgive him now, but for so long it made me so wary of trusting anyone who told me they believed in me or my work."

"Did you not believe Michelle?"

"At first, I think I was...cautious, yeah. I just thought she was another over enthusiastic fan and that...ya know...once she met me perhaps that interest would wane, but when she showed me the set in her basement, that really changed everything. That's when, I think, I really started to understand the profound impact something can have on someone else, even twenty years after the fact."

Leslie chewed on her lip and nodded, thinking. Beatrice reached down and slipped her hand into Leslie's, surprising her. She squeezed gently, but didn't look at her, and didn't say anything. Leslie smiled. Together, the two of them continued down the street, together, yet alone.

                                                                                            ***

"I guess we missed them," Michelle said as she and Eliza took a seat in a booth near the back. They both pulled off their coats, and Michelle started eating from the complimentary bowl of chips on the table as Eliza let her hair down.

"I never go to places like this," Eliza said.

"I usually don't either, and I wouldn't have if I didn't think she was still going to be here," Michelle said, "...so how did you wind up knowing Bea?"

"She hired me for the original show. She had a little get together with college kids who knew how to sew and make puppets, and I was the one she picked. She was always very kind to me. She paid for my medical bills after I was in a car accident and lost my mom."

"I'm so sorry," Michelle said, "I didn't know. Sounds like something Bea would do though. She's rarely interested in her own happiness, and far more invested in making sure others are happy, even if it means making it happen herself."

"You're not wrong, she, uh, she should probably should focus on her own happiness now and then," Eliza said, "I mean, I know that she loves the show, and that that makes her happy, but still, she should have something to focus on when the show isn't in production. It's like me with my puppets. I love them, but at home I work on model trains."

"I don't...I don't think I really have anything outside of the show either," Michelle said, "I should probably get a hobby."

"You could come see my trains!" Eliza said excitedly, immediately feeling weird for being so joyous about it, adding, "I...I mean, you know...if you want to."

"That would be cool, yeah," Michelle said, smiling.

After they spent a little time, having a few appetizers, the two pulled their jackets back on and piled back into Michelle's car, heading to Eliza's. When they arrived, all the lights were off, meaning Don wasn't home, so Eliza didn't feel self conscious about bringing someone home. She shut the door once they had gotten inside, and told Michelle she could hang her jacket on the coat hanger by the door, which she did. Eliza asked if she'd want something to drink, and Michelle said sure, making Eliza rush out to the kitchen. While she waited, Michelle strolled down the hall, looking at the photos of Eliza as a child, and with her parents. She smiled at these when she heard Eliza reenter the room, handing Michelle a juice box, which Michelle gladly took.

"Sorry, it's all I have," Eliza said softly, almost as if she were embarrassed.

"It's perfectly fine," Michelle said, chuckling, "Was this your mom?"

"Yeah..." Eliza said, "...I miss her."

"I have a mom but we don't get along, so a lot of times it feels like I don't," Michelle said.

"I feel like I killed my mom," Eliza said quietly, "I know it isn't actually my fault, I'm not stupid, but...I can't help but feel responsible for it. If she hadn't been driving me, if I'd learned to drive myself...I don't know. Everything just...feels like it was because of me."

"Oh, don't say that," Michelle said, turning to face Eliza, "You couldn't have known, nor would you have meant for it to. Terrible things happen every single day to perfectly decent people. My family is a great example. My mother wanted to live vicariously through me, was mad when she couldn't, then decided to continue being an artist instead of a mother, or both. My father, well, the less said there the better. But I'm not the cause of my familys rifts, and I'm certainly not the cause of my health problems. These things happen."

Eliza nodded and began to head up the stairs, Michelle in tow. As they entered her bedroom, Michelle was awestruck by the amounts of puppets and miniature model towns covered with model trains filling the room. She grinned wide as she could, almost feeling intensely jealous.

"This is so cool," she said quietly.

"This one's my favorite," Eliza said, pointing at a very small table with an entire model town built on it, "because, well, it just is. I like the colors. It looks like a good place to live."

"You know, I built a set in my basement," Michelle said, "and after a while I realized I was living more in a fantasy world than reality, but really, where's the harm in that if it's making me happy and it isn't damaging anyone else? I think that's what Beatrice sees more than anything, is the ability to reconnect with the real through the unreal. Children live in fantasy worlds, and the best adults don't ever fully grow up."

Eliza smiled. She knew she could trust Michelle.

"They call me the Puppet Master," Eliza said, "and I like to think it's, uh, just because I'm, well, ya know, good with puppets. But truth is, I'm also pretty good with people, when I wanna be. I know exactly how to manipulate them to get them to do whatever I want, or get them to do the things they wanna do but are too afraid to."

"...like what?"

"Like be alone with someone they might otherwise not have been alone with," Eliza said, "That's why I told Bea not to wait for us."

"...what?"

"I knew she and Leslie needed some time together," Eliza said, "I hope you're not mad at me. Sorry you got roped into it, I just...I knew they needed time to talk."

"I'm not mad, no, I'm impressed if anything," Michelle said, chuckling, "you really do know how to pull strings."

                                                                                                  ***

Walking up the steps to Leslie's house, Bea pointed at the porch light and Leslie sighed as she dug her keys out of her purse.

"I knooow, it's been doing that for months," she said, "I keep reminding myself to fix it, and I just never do. One of these days, when I'm not swamped in work."

"I could fix it for you," Bea said, "It would take all of 5 minutes."

"That's very appreciative, thank you," Leslie said, "You really are a jack of all trades aren't you?"

Leslie, now holding her keys in her hand, turned back to Bea and looked at her. In this soft glow of this flickering porch lamp, she looked...different. Warmer. Almost comforting. Leslie smiled and jangled her keys as she tossed her hair back a little.

"Thanks for letting me join you tonight, and in general," Leslie said, "It's nice to be a part of something I can feel proud of, not that I'm not proud of my work or whatever, but you know what I mean."

"...can I ask you a question?" Bea asked, and Leslie nodded.

"Sure," she replied.

"...you ever get the feeling that, in some way, you're lost? Like, you have your life, your friends, your job, but something still doesn't feel right? I thought finding people like Michelle would help, and it has, she's my best friend besides Liam, and I thought getting the show back would help, and it has, and I can't wait to see it start airing now that the editing is all done, but...it still feels like there's a hole inside you that you can't fill with anything? It was full, once, when I had a dog. It's never really been full since then though."

"I think I know what you mean," Leslie said, "I...I keep going on dates and it never works, and I keep wanting to push new projects but they don't get funding, and I just feel oddly stagnant despite my life going well. It's like nobody really understands me, even though I'm surrounded by people who theoretically do. And then, at night, I lie in bed and I think about my life and my career and my goals, and I realize that even if I got everything I ever wanted, even if I somehow found a way to achieve everything I sought out to do...I'm still alone, and there's nobody there to tell me victories to. Nobody to hold me when it gets bad."

"Exactly," Bea said, stepping up one stair, getting closer, "and sometimes you're scared, right? You're scared of trying because you think that, no, that can't be who I am, I can't be this way, especially when I work in a public field like entertainment where I'm constantly viewed and recognized and held up as an example. But don't we all deserve that? No matter what career we wind up in, we all deserve to have that person we come to, that we tell our secrets and fears and successes to. That person who just...maybe they don't understand, fully, but they try, and more than that, they're there."

Leslie dropped her keys back into her purse and let her purse slide off her arm and onto the porch.

"I don't know if I can do it," Leslie whispered, almost as if she was going to cry, but Bea gently wiped her tears from her face with her hand and smiled back at her.

"It's okay, nobody knows if they can," Bea said, "but that dog I had, she taught me the one thing that dogs all know, which is to leap brazenly into the unknown. Chase cars that you may never catch, because it's better than being too afraid to try."

Leslie nodded and looked at her shoes, crying.

"...you want to come in?"

"I'd love to come in."

Leslie picked up her purse again, finding her keys and opening the door, letting Bea walk past her. As she shut the door, she thought about what she was doing, and she realized she didn't care suddenly what anyone else might think. Afterwards, when she and Beatrice were lying in bed, Bea spooning her close, her face shoved against her shoulderblade, Leslie realized she was right about what dogs do. They chase the unattainable, they enjoy the simple pleasures, and, above all else, they comfort you when you least expect it. It'd been a while since Leslie had had a dog in her bed.

She'd forgotten just how much she'd missed it.
Published on

Despite working at them for a living, Lillian had ironically grown to hate parties. Parties of any kind. Birthday parties, new years parties, you name a kind of party and Lillian hated it. Except for this party. This was the one and only social event of the year she looked forward to, and it was the company's annual Halloween party. This was the time she could wear whatever she wanted, instead of her princess getup, and she appreciated that.


Sitting in the car, riding with Alex who had asked her to carpool, Lillian was dressed as a Genie while Alex was dressed as a werewolf. Alex was applying eye makeup in the rearview mirror while Lillian drove, and she occasionally glanced over at Alex, somewhat scoffing.


"What?" Alex asked.


"Who ever heard of a werewolf using beauty products," Lillian said, making them both chuckle.


"Well," Alex replied, "most werewolves aren't as ravishingly beautiful as I am, so there."


Lillian laughed again, loudly this time, as she turned into the parking lot of the usual building the company rented for this event. After parking and getting out of the car, the two women started to head through the lot, towards the building. It was brisk out, and they could hear the shouts of a nearby house party as kids ran up and down the street in Halloween costumes, trick or treating. The sounds made Lillian remember why this was her favorite holiday.


"It's so easy to feel like a kid again when Halloween comes around, even when you're older," she said, "I mean, it's the only holiday that has absolutely no restrictions on it. Candy for everyone, we all get to dress up and it's entirely nondenominational."


"You make a valid argument," Alex said, pulling her werewolf mask down over her head, then looking at Lillian, asking, "How do my eyes look?"


"You know, I now understand why you were doing makeup, because it really does add to the effect," she replied. Just then Tyler, dressed as a golfer, jogged up to their side and began walking beside them. Lillian and Alex started chuckling and pointing at him.


"That's your costume?" Alex asked.


"It was easy," Tyler remarked, shrugging, "at least I'm gonna be comfortable all night."


"...shit, he's got a point. This thing is gonna make me sweat," Alex mumbled.


                                                                            ***


Happily walking down the street, her little braids bobbing up and down, young 9 year old Stephie Marks was having the night of her life trick or treating with her dad. Her mom had stayed home to hand out candy, and when she asked why dad couldn't do it, he'd told her, "because people don't trust candy given by strange lone men", which made her mom laugh. She liked it when her mom laughed. She liked it when her parents made eachother laugh. Honestly, there wasn't much in the world that Stephie Marks didn't like, except perhaps dark chocolate. She much preferred milk chocolate to that, and even white.


Stephie had picked out her costume months in advance, and not because it was difficult to make or anything - she was just dressed like a mermaid - but because she loved Halloween that much. Now, skipping down the street hand in hand with her dad, who was also skipping along with her, Stephie was thrilled to finally have her favorite holiday be here once again. At school that day, they'd spent the whole afternoon doing Halloween activities - reading spooky stories, watched a scary movie and having a Halloween parade around the school so all the kids could show off their costumes - and now it was the long awaited trick or treating.


"Stay in my sight, okay?" her father called as she skipping ahead of him.


Stephie raced up the stairs of one house, grouping herself with another bunch of small kids, and as the door swung open they all hollered "treat or treat!" and the woman who answered smiled at them all before dumping handfuls of candy in their respective containers. After she was finished, only Stephie thanked the woman profusely before running back down the steps to her father, who waved politely at the woman as he took his daughters hand and kept up with her down the street to the next house.


Yes, Halloween was the best night of the year.


                                                                           ***


Alex couldn't believe that most of the women here, all in their twenties or thirties, were dressed in fairly skimpy or sexy costumes, and now she felt especially out of place. Tyler patted her back and chuckled as Lillian continued past them to the snack table.


"Well, at least you can take some sort of solace in the fact that you aren't a sexy werewolf," Tyler said.


"Jokes on you, everybody would wanna sleep with a sexy werewolf," Alex said as they followed Lillian to the table. Alex immediately scooped up a handful of chips and, lifting up the mask, stuffed them into her mouth and chewed as Lillian picked up a small cracker with nice cheese and a small slice of meat atop it and nibbled on it.


"Did you not eat before coming?" Tyler asked, and she shook her head.


"No, I expected them to serve something here," she replied, "I mean, I wasn't expecting a five course meal or anything, but still you'd think a company this large and successful would've somehow found a way to manage feeding their employees for just a few hours. Hell, there's not even any Halloween themed cookies or anything."


"There's pumpkin pie," Alex said, pointing at a pie that hadn't even been opened, making Lillian roll her eyes.


"Great, yeah, cause pumpkins are used during Halloween. They really went the extra mile here, didn't they," Lillian mumbled, making Tyler laugh as Vera walked over to them. Vera was dressed like an elf from a fantasy book, and Tyler raised an eyebrow as she approached.


"Wow, you look fantastic," Tyler said.


"Thanks!" Vera said happily, pushing her hair behind her elf ears placed over her actual ears, "I wanted to do something different, as most years I don't really try very hard. I always liked reading fantasy novels when I was younger, so."


"You don't read fantasy anymore?" Lillian asked.


"I only read dirty magazines," Alex said, making everyone look at her until she quietly added under her breath, "...but, like, for the articles."


Vera, barely able to container her laughter at Alex, said, "I don't really have as much time to read anymore, and a lot of fantasy is in depth, complex and very lengthy, so it takes a lot of time and patience, and I just don't have those qualities as an adult."


"It's true, as a kid I had nothing but patience to sink time into things others considered pointless or trivial," Tyler said, "now I feel like my time is precious."


"It's because as an adult you realize you only have such a finite amount of it before you die," Alex said.


"You know, it's no surprise to me that you don't get invited to many parties," Tyler said at her.


Lillian wandered away from the group as they gathered around the snack table, and she noticed someone sitting on a chair near an office door, fiddling with their costume. Lillian slipped away from the group while they bickered amongst themselves and walked towards the person. They looked up as Lillian stood in front of them, and smiled down. The person appeared to be a teenage girl, and Lillian was surprised to see her here.


"My dad's around somewhere if you're looking for him," the girl said, and Lillian drug a chair next to hers and seated herself.


"No, you just looked bored, so I thought I'd keep you company. I don't like parties myself," Lillian said.


"Then what are you doing at one?" the girl asked.


"Well, I'm legally obligated to be here, since, you know, I work for these people," Lillian said, "Trust me, I sat out one one year and was firmly reprimanded because of it. They essentially told me if I didn't wanna be a part of the team, then I shouldn't be signed up with one, even though we all work separately and only ever see one another during times like this."


"You're not a loner. You came with people," the girl retorted, making Lillian glance back at the crew, still by the table, clearly discussing something intensely.


"I mean, those are actual friends, not just coworkers. But okay, that's fair, perhaps I'm not as withdrawn as I make myself out to be," Lillian said, her thoughts immediately leaping to that of Maddison and Rina. She had been more social lately, it seemed. She sighed and stood up, adding, "Well, I just thought you might like some company, but I can leave if you'd like."


"No, you...you don't have to go," the girl said, "It's nice not to be alone."


Lillian seated herself again and the girl shifted in her seat.


"So what's your dad usually dress as for work?" Lillian asked.


"A monster," the girl said softly, "not much of a stretch of the imagination, if you ask me."


This statement worried Lillian.


                                                                             ***


It was getting late, and Stephie's father wanted to begin heading home. The streets weren't empty, exactly, but they had certainly thinned, and he was getting tired. Stephie, of course, still had energy to spare, because children never run out of steam, especially on a long awaited holiday. He checked his watch and scratched his forehead before tapping Stephie on her shoulder while she dug through her candy bag while walking.


"I think we should start heading home," he said.


"Just one more house!" Stephie said excitedly, making him smile. How could he turn down that level of unbridled enthusiasm?


"Alright," he said, "but just one more."


He didn't really recognize this neighborhood, and that alone should've tipped him off that they'd gone too far from their usual route, but Stephie was having such a good time he didn't think much of it. He stopped and looked across the street at a house party going on, and he thought back to the kind of Halloween parties he and his wife used to attend before they had Stephie. Those days were long gone, now. These days their idea of a wild night was to stay up until 2am and eat a few bowls of ice cream apiece.


He turned back as he heard the sound of small feet shuffling up beside him and looked down, expecting to see Stephie, but instead seeing a little boy. He quickly apologized, and the mother understood politely, taking her little boy by the hand and leading him down the street. Stephie's father continued to turn in circles, looking everywhere in his immediate vicinity for his daughter, only to come up empty time and time again, and he began to grow worried. Where had she gone? Just one more house.


Just one more house.


It was something he'd regret saying for the rest of his life.


                                                                            ***


"Parents are dicks," Lillian said, "I mean, even the ones who seem to try for your best interests wind up being dicks, because they never ask you what you want, they just think they know what you want. So even if their heart is in the right place, their actions speak louder than words."


"It's embarrassing having a dad who works for parties for a living as a costumed character," the girl said, "everyone else's dads are doctors or lawyers or work in office buildings or are involved in some remotely kind of respectable career, but my dad just...does parties in a monster costume."


"I like to think that we perform an important service, bringing joy to kids," Lillian said.


"Funny how he can bring other peoples children joy but he can't make his own kid happy," the girl replied.


"I know what you mean," Lillian said.


"Do you? Because you sound just like every other adult who's tried to relate to me," the girl said, almost snapping at Lillian and surprising her now, continuing, "every therapist, school counselor, teacher, whatever...you all sound the same. Do you really understand, or are you just saying that to get me to let my guard down?"


Lillian was surprised, taken aback by this sudden vinegar, and didn't know how to respond. The girl stood up and took off quickly, walking into the crowd and vanishing. Alex took her seat, eating a piece of pie crust and looking at Lillian.


"You okay?" Alex asked.


"...I guess just because you're friends with one kid doesn't mean you can be friends with them all," Lillian said.


"Teenagers are scary," Alex said, finishing her pie crust, and then sliding a paper plate with another piece of pie on it onto Lillian's lap, smiling, "here, I brought you a piece before it was all gone."


"...thanks Alexis," Lillian said, smiling lightly; she couldn't deny that Alex was a real friend, and perhaps she should just be grateful for that. So Lillian spent the evening in the chair, talking with Alexis, occasionally dancing with her when Alex asked, and just overall having a surprisingly decent time. On the way back to the parking lot that night, she spotted the teenage girl screaming at her dad near their car, and as Lillian lifted a fairly drunk Alexis into the passenger side seat, she shifted and opened one eye.


"What's with all the screaming?" Alex asked, groaning.


"It's nothing," Lillian said, "none of our business."


And then she drove Alexis to her apartment, letting her spend the night, thinking she shouldn't be alone. As she drove past the teenage girl and her father, their eyes caught briefly, and she could see the teenage girl looked genuinely remorseful for how she'd acted, but it was too late now. The party was over.


Maybe next year.


                                                                             ***


Stephie, despite hearing her father say to stay in his sight, had immediately rushed up the porch of a house, and rang the doorbell. The lawn was well taken care of, the house looked nice and clean, and a man almost her fathers age, dressed well, opened the door to her. She held up her bag and said "trick or treat!", and the man immediately grabbed a bowl of candy inside near the door, dumping some into her bag. Stephie thanked him, then turned, her back to him, as she looked through her bag before heading back to her father. The man looked around, noticing how empty the streets were, and then swiftly placed one hand around her mouth, the other around her waist, and pulled her violently into his house, shutting the door behind him.


Stephie's father would eventually return home, much to his wifes shock, with a slew of policemen. They would stay up all night, waiting for the cops to find their daughter, only for morning to break with no sign of a return. It wouldn't be another week until they finally found Stephie, wrapped in a carpet and dumped in the back field of a nearby high school. She'd been strangled to death. Even days after that, her father, Jackson, could still hear the shrill sounds of his and his wifes screams when they were brought to the morgue to identify their little girl. No fingerprints or any other evidence was found, and no suspect was ever named.


Every night, before he fell asleep, Jackson would be lying in bed, trying to clear his mind but all he could hear was that sentence, destined to be forever haunted by four little innocent words...


Just one more house.


Just one more house.


Just one more house.

Published on
Wednesday night, 9pm. The kids were asleep, and it was now time for Wyatt and Scarlett's weekly scheduled sexual encounter. Scarlett, on her back - her thighs wrapped around Wyatt's hips - was moaning loudly into the sock she'd stuffed in her mouth, while Wyatt worked as best as he could to keep her happy. She gripped the sock, removed it and started talking.

"Come on, come on, give it to me," Scarlett whispered sensually, winking up at him.

"Give what to you?" Wyatt asked, grunting, sweat running down his forehead.

"You know what," she replied.

"I...wha...a...a venereal disease?" Wyatt asked, squinting, making Scarlett crack up.

She started laughing so hard that she pushed him off of her and rolled onto her side, doubling over in laughter. Wyatt rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, his feet up on the pillow near her head. He smirked, and rested his hands on his chest as she rolled back onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, running her nails up his leg next to her head.

"Do you remember the first time we had sex?" Scarlett asked, and Wyatt nodded.

"Yeah, I do," he said, "that was my first time. I was nervous because you were so beautiful, and I didn't wanna ruin your makeup."

"Awww, you're so dorky," Scarlett said, chuckling and kissing his ankle. Wyatt turned and climbed up, lying beside her, running his hands through her reddish blonde hair, losing his fingers in its depth as he looked in her eyes.

"I still worry about that," he said quietly.

"Really?" she asked.

"Yeah, you always look so perfect," Wyatt said, "I just...don't wanna ruin that."

He shut his eyes and rested, as Scarlett stared at his face. This face she'd seen every single day for the last 15 years almost. So familiar, so comforting. She didn't know what she'd do if she had to face even a single day without his face in her presence. She buried her face into his neck and pulled his arms around her. He squeezed her gently, and she smiled. Scarlett Bloom had it really good.

The following morning, Wyatt was sitting at the breakfast table reading the newspaper. His almost 11 year old daughter was sitting at the table, tapping her spoon on her cereal bowl, and it was starting to grate on his nerves. He sighed, lowered the newspaper and looked at her.

"Alright, what?" he finally asked.

"I'm tired of cereal," Mona said, "I want something different."

"Well there's an entire pantry of breakfast food in the kitchen, just pick something," Wyatt said, "Have a poptart if you want."

"Mommy won't let me have poptarts for breakfast, she says they're too sugary," Mona said, sitting back and crossing her arms in annoyance. Wyatt glanced at her, his brow furrowing, as he leaned forward.

"Really?" he asked, making her nod; he looked towards the staircase, knowing Scarlett was in the shower, before looking back at his daughter and adding, "well, mom's not in charge of breakfast today. I am, and I think poptarts are on the menu."

Mona squealed, then raced from the table to the kitchen. Wyatt smiled to himself as he went back to reading his paper and sipping his coffee. Scarlett hurried down the stairs about 10 minutes later, drying her hair with a towel as she kissed Mona's head, who was by then seated back at the table eating her poptart. Scarlett patted Wyatt on the shoulder and leaned down beside him.

"Evan isn't feeling well," she said.

"Does he have a fever?"

"Yeah, so I'm thinking if you'll run Mona into school on your way into work, I can stay behind and look over him," Scarlett said. Wyatt nodded and kissed her hand, telling Mona to finish her poptart and get her backpack. As he piled his daughter and himself into the car, Wyatt couldn't help but look around his small, safe neighborhood and exhale deeply as he watched a long line of other parents - all of whom looked exactly like him and Scarlett, who lived in houses just like theirs, with children just like theirs - do the same thing. Was this all there was to life after school?

Wyatt climbed into the car and started it up, fastening his seatbelt, waiting for Mona to buckle hers before he pulled out of the driveway. He dropped Mona off at school, waited until he saw her get indoors, and then headed downtown towards the office. When he showed up, he headed straight for his office, mostly so he could check his messages, but as soon as he was inside, he heard his secretary knocking lightly on the door as she entered, a bad habit he'd yet to break her of. He smiled up at her as she walked in cautiously.

"Sir, Peterson is in Conference Room B, and says he needs you to join him," she said, "there's a guest here to see you two."

"...a guest?" Wyatt asked, confused, "alright sure, thank you Winona."

Wyatt checked his work messages, made a quick phone call and then headed down the hall to conference room b. Upon entrance, he was surprised not just to find Peterson looking worried, but also to see their guest, sitting there calmly as could be...none other than Celia Moss.

                                                                                                   ***

Scarlett had never in her life expected to be a stay at home mom.

She had never really given up on the idea of being a parent, in fact she'd always assumed she would be, but she also had never really counted on being the kind of parent who stayed home and took care of the kids, and more the kind of parent who paid someone to do that sort of work while she went to a high profile business somewhere. But once she had the kids, she found she didn't really trust anyone to watch the kids other than herself and her husband. Well, and their usual babysitter. Evan was napping, having taken some cold medicine, so Scarlett might have been playing "stay at home mom", but she found today she had quite a bit of alone time on her hands.

She figured she'd tidy up the house a bit, and maybe get some reading done. Lately she'd been reading awful romance novels, mostly because she didn't seem to have the concentration for anything more genuine, but it was good enough for the time being. Lying on the couch, baby monitor on the coffee table beside her, Scarlett was chewing on her lip as she read when she heard a knock at the door. Scarlett was somewhat surprised, as she hadn't been expecting anyone. Nonetheless, she got up and went to answer it, only to find Wyatt's mom on the porch.

"Oh," Scarlett said, genuinely unprepared to see her, "Priscilla, what are you doing here?"

"I actually need to borrow your sewing machine," Priscilla said, "if that's okay. I'm trying to alter some curtains I've been working on, and mine jammed up. I remember you used to make Mona's Halloween costumes when she was little, and so I figured-"

She heard a little moan come from the baby monitor and glanced at it, then back at Scarlett.

"Is someone here?" she whispered.

"It's Evan, he doesn't feel well, and you don't have to whisper, he can't hear you through it," Scarlett said, trying not to laugh, "and yeah, you can absolutely use my sewing machine. Come in. I'll have to dig it out, it's in the garage at the moment because I haven't used it in ages."

Priscilla followed Scarlett further into the house, and through the kitchen to the door that led into the garage. Scarlett put her book down on the kitchen table before entering the garage, and Priscilla stole a quick glance at it the book before following Scarlett into the garage.

"Everything okay between you two?" Priscilla asked.

"What?" Scarlett asked as she dragged a small stepladder to a shelf and started climbing it.

"In my experience the only women who read awful romance novels are the ones who are unsatisfactorily pleased with their marriage," Priscilla said, making Scarlett laughed.

"No, god, it's just something to waste some time in," Scarlett said, "Wyatt and I are perfectly fine. I would like to get back to reading more complex literature, I just...I don't have the time or patience, and I'm always so fried after being with the kids, so I just don't have a very good attention span anymore. This at least keeps my hobby alive in some way, so maybe one day I can get to the stuff I actually wanna read."

"You won't," Priscilla said, surprising Scarlett, who - while gripping her sewing machine and trying to scoot it towards her off the shelf - looked over her shoulder at her mother in law, a grimace on her face.

"What?"

"You won't ever get to it," Priscilla said, "you'll lose all your hobbies. I did. Every woman does. We like to pretend we don't, maybe by keeping them alive vicariously through our children, but in the end we're all just moms and nothing else. It sounds hopelessly depressing, I know, but you get used to it. Just be glad you and Wyatt still like one another. That's more than most couples have."

"Uh, thanks for the concern," Scarlett said, climbing down the stepladder and handing her the sewing machine now, "but I still have hobbies and I don't intend to lose them simply because I chose to pop out a few kids. I was having problems concentrating on reading well before I had children."

"I'm just letting you know what happened to me, and so many of my friends," Priscilla said, taking the sewing machine, then asking, "when do you need this back?"

"You know what, why don't you keep it for a while," Scarlett said with a smile.

Anything to keep Priscilla from coming back anytime soon.

                                                                                                ***

"I'm representing a nature conservation society, specifically one interested in defending the rights of an endangered insect, whose main habitat just happens to be where you're interested in logging, leveling and constructing on soon," Celia said, opening a file and sliding two pieces of paper - both identical - to Peterson and Wyatt. Wyatt took the paper and started skimming it, his lips reading silently; Celia continued, "We're willing to not move forward with court proceedings, granted you give us adequate time to perhaps relocate enough of the species."

"...that sounds fair," Wyatt said, surprising Peterson, who looked at him in near disbelief. Wyatt had been brought onto the board at his young age because he was a shark, and he often took these kinds of people to town for the sake of the company, saving them face.

"I figured you'd understand," Celia said, smiling, "We'll have another proposal ready for you in a few weeks. I have to get going, your firm is one of the few I have to stop at today and serve papers to."

Celia stood up, pulling her purse onto her shoulder, as Wyatt quickly stood up and followed her out of the room.

"Let me walk you to the elevator," Wyatt said.

Wyatt and Celia headed down the hallway, and stopped at the elevator, where Wyatt pushed a button, calling it to their floor.

"I didn't know you worked here," Celia said after a moment, "believe me, this didn't give me some kind of perverse pleasure or anything. Honestly, if anything it just made me feel worse, because after our talk at the reunion, you don't seem like the kind of person whose out for oil and industry."

"I'm honestly, not, I only have the job I have because my father was friends with the chairman," Wyatt replied, "and it pays well, and I have to make good money to afford to take care of two kids and a wife, so. You ever think about the irony in your last name associated with your line of work?"

Celia chuckled, nodding as the elevator doors opened and they stepped inside; she pushed the main floor button and said, "Actually yes, all the time, it's one of the few things people realize about me pretty quickly. You know, your last name is Bloom, that could also work well in my line of work, given how much effort we put into saving flora and fauna."

"Heh, yeah, sure, but I can't just switch careers at the drop of a dime," Wyatt said, "it would raise too many eyebrows, and in the suburbs you need to remain as unremarkable and disinteresting as possible to your neighbors, otherwise you run the risk of their kids alienating your kids, which in turn makes your kids hate you."

Celia suddenly pushed the emergency stop button and turned towards Wyatt. She started digging through her purse and pulled out a card, handing it to him.

"This is my personal business card. Call me when you find yourself sick of the suburbs, the fake plasticity of it all, and decide you wanna do something more with your life. And believe me, that moment will come. Ignoring your dissatisfaction only gets you so far, trust me on that."

Wyatt slipped the card into his back pants pocket and looked at her, confused.

"...do you have kids, Celia?"

"Yeah, a son," she replied, hitting the button so the elevator would continue its decline.

"So you know what it's like to do something you dislike so your kids can have a good life then?" Wyatt asked and Celia, not looking at him, bit her lip.

"I did," she said, "before I left my husband. Women put up with a lot when they're married, and almost always silently and alone. You and Scarlett seem happy, but trust me, she's grappling with it too. Eventually everyone wants something a little more than what they have, even if what they have feels perfect. Contrary to popular belief, perfection isn't unattainable, but it is unsustainable."

The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. Celia looked at Wyatt and smiled again.

"See you soon," Celia said, shaking his hand before leaving.

                                                                                                  ***

When Wyatt got home that evening, having stopped off to bring dinner in, he found Scarlett lying facedown on the couch in the living room, her face muffled against a pillow. He set his briefcase and then the bag full of food on the coffee table before standing and looking down at her.

"You okay, mopey?" he asked.

"Do you think I'm anything other than a mom? Do you still see me as a person?" Scarlett asked, and Wyatt sat down on the arm on the couch, running his hand up her back.

"Of course I do," he said, "what makes you think you're not?"

"Your mom," Scarlett said, somewhat muffled by the pillow.

"Well okay, you don't have to tell me, but insults from the early 2000s doesn't help," Wyatt said, making her laugh.

"No, literally, your mother," Scarlett said, rolling her head to the side so her face was visible now, looking up at him, "she stopped by today to borrow my sewing machine and she told me how she and all her peers just exist in the shadow of their former selves. How all women eventually lose who they were, lose their hobbies and interest, and just...are nothing but mothers."

"Yeah well, my mother might not be the best voice of reason when it comes to how women turn out. After all, she she bought into the whole spandex exercise tape fad of the 80s, so," Wyatt said, "Anyone who fell for that automatically loses their credibility in my eyes."

Scarlett sat up and pulled her knees to her chest, sniffling, smiling at him.

"What did you bring for dinner?"

"Thai food, and I brought you a box of eclairs," Wyatt said softly, kissing her nose.

"The kids are asleep," Scarlett said, "Do you wanna eat down here and talk about our respective days?"

"That sounds disgustingly wholesome," Wyatt said, chuckling, "I would love to do that."

So Wyatt and Scarlett bloom ate their dinner, and their desserts, and they talked about their day. Scarlett told Wyatt all about his mothers visit, about how she and Evan eventually read some storybooks when he was feeling better, and Wyatt told her about his day at work, which was fairly uneventful. But he didn't tell her about Celia. For whatever reason, a reason even he himself couldn't fathom, that was something he wanted to keep to himself.

And Celia, that night, was reading her son his favorite bedtime story. Once he fell asleep, she turned on his motion lamp that threw lighted silhouettes of dinosaurs on the walls of his bedroom. She kissed his head and then headed to her own bedroom. She got into her pajamas and climbed into her bed, picking up a book from her nightstand and flipping to her bookmarked section. But she couldn't read. She found herself increasingly distracted by the idea of working with Wyatt.

No, she thought, no.

The last thing she needed to complicate her life was romance with a married man.

She'd worry about that another day.
Picture

About

So Happy Together is a dramedy about couple Aubrey & Brent. After Aubrey plays an April Fools joke on Brent that she's pregnant, Brent confesses out of panic that he actually has a secret daughter with an ex wife, and everything changes overnight.

Archives