Amelia opened the bedroom door and stood in the frame of the doorway, staring into its darkness. She hesitated going inside, as if she would be somehow violating Calvin's privacy, and then she remembered her brother had no privacy...she had no brother anymore. Amelia slowly set foot inside the room and flipped the lightswitch by the door, looking around as she did. She and Calvin had been close once, but that time had long since passed. Amelia got further into the room and sat down on his bed cautiously, almost as if he were still laying in it and she didn't want to disturb him, before looking to the nightstand by the bed and noticing a photo of the two of them as kids at a theme park. She smiled as she looked at it, wondering if she'd stayed if they'd still be close. She did always regret losing touch with him, after all, though she'd never admitted to him. And, really, truth be told, she always thought she'd be the first one to die.

A feeling which, at this very moment, Wyatt himself was wishing was true about himself and his father.

Wyatt and Angie were carrying a dresser off a moving truck while Kelly leaned against the wall of the apartment building, sipping her iced coffee.

"You need to tilt, you need to tilt forward, give me more leverage if we're gonna get this thing down the ramp," Wyatt said, groaning.

"I don't have much upper body strength," Angie grumbled, "what is inside this?! Your rock collection!?"

As they got to the bottom and dropped it on the ground gently, Wyatt leaned against it and wiped his forehead against his arm while Angie put her face down against the wood grain. Wyatt looked up to Kelly who just smiled at him, making him smirk.

"Can we get you anything? A pillow or perhaps one of those pair of binoculars rich people use at the opera?" Wyatt asked, and Kelly laughed.

"No I'm good, thanks," she said.

Kelly had purchased a new apartment and was finally moving out of her parents house, ready to be back on her own. Her folks were worried she wouldn't manage it, but she'd gotten better at walking with her new prosthetic and she was feeling pretty confident. She didn't have to walk down stairs, she could take the elevator, plus anyone at work would help if she needed it, and then of course she knew she could rely on Wyatt if she really needed to. Angie finally looked up and exhaled.

"I need two things, something to drink and somewhere to pee, not exactly in that order," Angie said.

"There's a corner store down the street," Kelly said, as Wyatt pulled his wallet out, grabbed some cash and handed it to Angie.

"Get me something too," he said, "root beer and some chips, don't care what kind, something sour cream related."

"You can't say you don't care then give me specifics, those two cancel one another out," Angie said, taking the money and walking off. Wyatt walked up beside Kelly and together they sat on a nearby bench, taking a moment to relax. As Angie disappeared down the street, Kelly, sipping her coffee, motioned towards her.

"What is with that girl?" she asked.

"It's a long story," Wyatt said, "so, are you...I mean, will you be okay? I can stay for dinner if you'd like."

"Oh?" Kelly asked, smiling, "inviting yourself in already?"

"I just don't wanna see my parents," Wyatt said, "my father's been...hounding me, and I'd really rather not see them. Supposed to have dinner with them tonight, but I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna deal with him. He's...he's terrifying."

Kelly was surprised to hear this fear from Wyatt. He'd always seemed so collected, so very sturdy. It didn't make her like him any less, of course, if anything it just made him all the more real to her. Wyatt sighed as Kelly handed him her coffee, and he smiled, taking a drink of it.

"You'd think," he continued, "that with everything we've been through, I'd be a rock by now, but, that just isn't the case. No matter what happens, no matter what I endure and survive, I think my father will always terrify me, and that sucks. I hope my children never feel terrified of me. I don't want that to be the thing they remember best about me, is their fear of me."

"I'm sure that won't be the case," Kelly said, taking her coffee back, "I know it won't."

Kelly lifted her drink back to her lips and Wyatt glanced at her, sideyed so she wouldn't notice his stare. It was early afternoon, the sun was bright, breaking through the leaves of the many trees that covered the sidewalk this apartment complex just happened to nestled on, and was lighting up her face. Kelly, with her big eyes and her small nose and her golden hair. Wyatt felt a pang of fear in his chest, and he looked away, clearing his throat.

"Yeah, well, I am gonna do whatever it takes to be his opposite," he said, "enough people fear me as it is, I'm sure. My kids don't need to be on that list too."

                                                                                                         ***

Celia had had a busy day.

First work, then she had to pick up her son, Daryl, and now the two of them were at the pediatricians office. He was on the floor, playing with one toy or another with a little girl around his age. Daryl was 5 and she was 7. Celia was glancing up over the top of her book on occasion and smiling at the sight before going back to reading.

"What are you in?" a woman asked, sitting nearby, making Celia chuckle.

"Um, he's having a problem sleeping through the night," Celia said, "I want to rule out anything like sleep apnea or whatever, you know? That way I can rest easy knowing he's resting easy. What about you?"

"My daughter's just here for a minor checkup," she replied, "nothing serious. We have other doctors to attend to her medical needs, this is just a general practitioner visit, you know?"

"I hope he's not running late, I have to get back to work," Celia said, checking her watch, "last thing I wanna do is be coming home late again. At some point the babysitter is gonna accuse me of child labor for all the hours she's had to watch him for me. Girl shouldn't be complaining, she's makin' a mint off me, lemme tell ya."

The woman snickered, and Celia smiled. It was nice, she thought, chatting with another mom. A totally normal, simple thing to do. Almost made her feel like her life wasn't the kind of fucked up twisted soap opera it was.

"What about his father?" the woman asked, and Celia sighed.

"We aren't together," Celia said, "he actually isn't even in town anymore. He wasn't abusive or anything, don't let me give you the wrong idea, we just...he had things he had to figure out, and we weren't as ready to have a kid as we thought. We were young. Believed in true love and all that nonsense that accompanies it. I try to hold no ill will towards him, but it can be hard. What about you?"

"My husband is dead," the woman said, sniffling, "um, but, you know, I make do. With settlement money, lawsuit money, money from his job, savings, etc. We manage."

"I'm so sorry, what happened to you-" Celia started, when a nurse came from the back with a clipboard.

"Leslie Grudin, the doctor will see your daughter now," she said. The woman gathered her things, stood up and took her daughter by the hand, waving goodbye at Celia, who stared on dumbstruck. She couldn't believe her eyes. Of all the mothers she could've been seated by, it was Leslie goddamned Grudin. And the worst part? This wasn't even the most shocking thing that would happen to her today.

                                                                                                             ***

"Where are Calvin's papers?" Amelia asked.

She was standing with her parents in the living room, the two of them seated on the couch watching a golf tournament while sharing a bowl of mixed nuts. Her father stood up, wiped his hands on his pants and motioned for her to follow him. As they headed down the downstairs hall, to his office, Amelia didn't know what to expect, really, from her brothers will.

"When you two were little," her father, Barry, said, "you guys used to hide things all around the house, remember? Little notes and stuff. Stuff for mom and I to find. You'd put 'em in our books, in our dressers, anywhere you knew was important enough that we would find them. So, when Calvin came to me, asking for a place to keep this kind of stuff once he was married and it became important to him, I knew just the right spot."

Barry opened the door to his home office, and the two of them walked inside, Barry shutting the door behind them. He then turned his attention to an air vent, pointing. Amelia dragged his desk chair over to the wall, climbed up on top of it and pulled the grate off, then reached inside, pulling out a folder.

"This isn't even a proper air vent," she said.

"No, it's not, I hollowed it out to make room for this specifically," Barry said, and Amelia couldn't help but smile at their fathers efforts for them. She climbed back down from the chair while he held it steady, then once her feet were flat on the floor, she opened the folder and looked inside.

"Anything in here I should know about that you already know about or?" Amelia asked, and Barry shrugged.

"I never read it. He named you the sole benefactor of his estate," Barry said, "didn't want us dealing with it. I think...I think maybe he knew how it would hurt us, because of the loss he went through firsthand. Didn't wanna impart that on his own folks on his way out."

Barry sat down in the chair and covered his face with his hands as Amelia shut the folder, tucked it under one arm and put her other hand on her fathers back, rubbing in a slow, soothing motion.

"I miss him so much," Barry whispered, trying not to cry, "...I can't believe he did this. I mean, on one hand, and your mother would never want to hear or agree with it but, on one hand, it really isn't all that surprising. He lost everything. He was lost, himself. He had a few friends, but that was it. Otherwise he spent most of his time out in the shed, working on various little projects. Keeping his mind occupied. Because that's what hobbies become when you have nothing else, they become your everything. Instead of a hobby, they become an outright distraction from the pain. When I was in college, my grandfather, who I'd been very close to, died suddenly, and as a result, I started building model airplanes with alarming regularity. It was something we'd done together. At first I figured, you know, it made it feel like he wasn't gone but...but in actuality all I was doing was hiding from the fact that he was. He was gone. And now my son is gone too."

Amelia, now doing her best not to cry either, leaned down and kissed her father on the head.

"I got this dad, you don't have to worry," she whispered, "I'll take care of it all. We'd always been close, so I don't mind."

After they left the office, Barry heading back to the living room while Amelia headed back to Calvin's room, all she could think about was how her father was right. Calvin's death, presumably suicide to his family - that's what it had been labeled as anyway, despite the shot being in a rather suspicious place - really didn't come as that much of a shock after the initial, inevitable shock. Calvin had always had one foot in the grave, she felt. They both hand, they were morbid, that was part of what they had in common. Amelia set the folder down on the bedside table and then curled up on her brothers bed once more, pulling a stuffed bunny to her chest and hugging it tightly.

Ironic, she thought. She always assumed she'd be the one to off herself.

                                                                                                       ***

Wyatt and Kelly were in her apartment loft, as Angie had to attend another engagement so she couldn't help finish the job. The place was spacious, with a sunken in area in the middle of the living room for a couch and a table, large sliding glass doors that led to a balcony, tons of closet space. Wyatt had to admit, he was impressed. He didn't know news anchors made this much. Course, Kelly probably got a mint from the airline for the crash, which probably didn't hurt. He dropped a box onto the floor and sat on it, as she came walking in.

"No no, don't sit on that!" she shouted, and he quickly leapt off.

"Sorry, I didn't...I didn't know it was fragile or something, it's not labeled," Wyatt said, as she opened the lid, revealing her plastic horse collection.

"Well why would I label anything, I moved across town, not to another city with a moving company handling it, I know what's in what," Kelly said, Wyatt smirking as she pulled out a few horses and checked them; after a moment she looked up at him and blushed, asking, "what?"

"Nothing, just...nothing. You're such a girl," he said, laughing.

"Ya know, girls aren't the only ones who like horses," Kelly said, standing up and walking to a nearby buit in wall shelf where she started to place the horses, adding, "I mean, most of the most famous people in the west were guys, cowboys. Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Sherrif Matt Dillon from Gunsmoke. We're not the weird ones. Guys liked horses just as much. It's just that, at some point, society decided that horses were a girl animal and now guys are afraid to like them."

"I won't argue with you on that, cause you're right," Wyatt said, stepping down into the sunken area and plopping onto the couch as Kelly continued putting her horses on the shelf.

"I loved riding," Kelly said, "I'm so sad I probably won't get to do it again."

"Who says you can't do it again?" Wyatt asked.

"I mean, prosthetic leg, hello?" Kelly asked.

"So fuckin' what?" Wyatt asked, making her laugh; he leaned forward as she sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, and he continued, "I mean, you yourself told me about that girl in college, the track girl, and she had a prosthetic leg. You can do the same things you did before, Kelly, you're the same person. You're not fucking suddenly prisoner to some weird ass restrictions, okay?"

Kelly smiled and looked at her hands in her lap, playing with her false nails.

"Do you, I mean...have you gone horseback riding?" she asked.

"Kelly I'm rich, yes, I've been horseback riding. I don't know if you know this, but rich people use horses a lot. Fox hunting, polo, it's a little ridiculous actually, our reliance on the equine. Especially when we can afford Ferrari's," Wyatt said.

"Yeah but you can't hunt foxes in a Ferrari," Kelly said, as Wyatt snapped his fingers and pointed at her.

"No need for guns when you can run 'em down," he said, the both of them laughing. After the laugh ended, they sat in their respective seats and looked at one another. It was getting later in the day, and Wyatt figured he should be going home. He stood up, and she did as well, surprising him with her sudden movement.

"Are you going?" she asked.

"I really should have dinner with them, much as I don't want to," Wyatt said.

"Oh, right, okay that makes sense," Kelly said, walking with him to the door. As they got to it, Wyatt stopped and turned to face her.

"You wanna go horseback riding with me and my daughter?" Wyatt asked, and Kelly's eyes widened in excitement.

"Really?!" she asked, with the infectious enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning.

"Yeah, really. I bought her a pony, you know that. We can use some of the horses at the stable, just go for a ride. Prove to yourself you can still do it," Wyatt said, and Kellys face redened more than he'd ever seen as she looked at her feet, smiling like an idiot.

"I would love to," she said, "thank you."

"I got you girl, we'll go soon," Wyatt said, before exiting into the hall, Kelly holding the door open as he went. He stopped again and looked back once more, adding, "it's a nice place. I'm a little jealous. Hopefully by the time I come back, you'll have it fully furnished, and I can see all the things you're interested in so I can more accurately make fun of you."

"That's what friends are for," Kelly said, shrugging, the both of them laughing. He hugged her, then went along his way. Kelly watched him disappear down the hall, into the flight of stairs, and she sighed. She wanted him to stay. She wanted him to have dinner here, with her. She wanted to keep cracking wise, unpacking with him, and then, after they were finished, she wanted him to take her to the bed and make love to her. She wanted to feel him inside her, to feel like she finally understood what it was to be desired by someone. But he had a wife. He had a family, and children. Kelly would, as she'd done so many times in her life, have to live inside a fantasy instead.

Part of being a weather girl, really. Her head was always in the clouds.

                                                                                                         ***

Celia had put Daryl to bed and was finally winding  down for the evening. She was sitting on her bed, eating ice cream in her silk black and pink pajama set. She didn't have anything in particular on the TV, she was just watching it rather absentmindedly, but the background noise helped keeping her thoughts from returning to the afternoon. To the interaction with Leslie. She sighed and shook her head. After Celia finished her ice cream, she took her bowl to the kitchen, filled it with some water and left it in the sink. She would deal with it in the morning. Halfway back down the hall was when the knock on the front door came. She turned and walked back, peering through the peephole before sighing and opening it.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"We have to talk," Paul said, "We have to, Celia."

"...I won't fight you on that, I do think we need to talk. He's asleep already, in case you were hoping to see him."

"I can wait," Paul said, "but you and I need to discuss some things. Can I come in?"

Celia sighed and stepped aside, allowing her estranged husband to enter the house. Meanwhile, across town, Amelia had just woken up from a nap. She went downstairs and found it quiet. Parents already in bed, clearly. TV still on in the living room, but on mute. She clicked it off before hitting the bathroom and brushing out her hair. She then headed for the kitchen, made herself some cocoa and took it back upstairs. Once back in Calvin's room, she sat on the bed and set the glass down on the bedside table, atop the folder. As she moved to get into the bed, her knee knocked against the table, making it shake, the glass spilling a bit onto the folder and the photograph she'd been looking at of the two of them falling back between the table and the wall. Amelia grasped at her knee, wincing.

"Mother fuck," she whispered, before pulling the table out a bit to retrieve the picture. Instead, what her hand grabbed, was a small black book. She pulled it out and opened it. A day planner. And inside, on the day he'd died, Calvin had written one thing.

"Call Rachel."

"Who the fuck is Rachel?" she mumbled to herself, before flipping through and her eyes catching something else, from a few pages back. Something about a lunch. A lunch with Wyatt Bloom.

Liam was sitting in the pizzeria, watching the animatronic band. He had been coming here a lot lately, trying to grapple with his mortality. He was holding his cane in his lap, his other hand gripping one of the turquoise plastic cups used for soda, and sipping from it casually as he watched the band perform. He heard the swing doors open and close behind him, and he smiled to himself weakly.

"Glad you could make it," he said as Beatrice sat on the other chair he'd pulled beside his own, but she didn't speak; he added, "guess you're mad at me, which is understandable. Just figured...after what happened to Casey, now would be the best time to talk about this."

Bea folded her arms, but continued her silent approach. Liam sighed and lifted the cup to his lips, taking a long drink before shaking his head.

"Bea, we need to talk about it. It's not going to change. This is going to happen, regardless of your feelings."

"When have you ever considered my feelings?" Bea asked, "...you're an asshole, you know that?"

"That's a valid response, considering the situation, so I'm gonna let it slide," Liam said, "and yes, I...I've done some bad things in my life, but I've spent the last few years trying to make up for them. Starting with you. With this show. But there's things we need to discuss, but I don't have much time left."

"I hate you," Bea said, with such vitriol in her voice, such venom, he was almost prepared to believe it; she added, "I can't...I hate you, Liam. You took my show from me, you took Claire, and now you're leaving me too? How else am I supposed to feel?"

"First of all, I didn't take Claire. We mutually decided to end that situation because we recognized it wans't-"

"I didn't mutually decide shit!" Bea shouted, snapping at him, "no, I did what you wanted to do, because I trusted you! I gave into the demands of the pizzeria because I trusted you! Everything that has had an enormous negative impact on my life has been a direct result of trusting you! Now you're gonna fucking tell me you're dying, and I'm supposed to be sad and weepy as if that isn't also a horrible thing? You're selfish, is what you are!"

Liam didn't respond. He knew Bea needed to vent. He'd let her do what she had to, process the grief in the only way she knew how. Next to her parents, Liam was the person she'd known the longest, and this...this was eating her alive, he knew this even without her admittance. Bea shifted in her seat, breathing hard, watching Liam to see any change in his face but nothing came.

"...I can't do this without you," Bea said quietly, making Liam finally look at her.

"Of course you can," he replied, smiling back, "look at what you accomplished before me. You created the character, you staged the first iteration. Bea, I only know you because of seeing your show. You did all that on your own. You can absolutely do this without me."

"Okay how about I don't want to," she said.

"Well, that's different," Liam responded, shrugging, "but you gotta keep the flame alive. We built this thing up together. Just cause one half of us is gone doesn't mean-"

"I always thought we could fix things," Bea said, interrupting him, "I always thought...I always thought there'd be more time to set things right."

Liam raised an eyebrow, confused.

"What do you mean, we...we got this thing off the ground, have completely creative control, more or less, what else could we possibly-"

"Claire," Bea said, looking at the floor, not at him; she cleared her throat and added, "I always thought we'd fix things. We just...we just left. I have never felt right about it. I agreed at the time, cause it did seem like the right thing to do, but...I think that's why I've clung onto so many other, younger women with family problems. Trying to raise them up because we abandoned her. Michelle. Eliza. Casey. I think that's why. I have never managed to forgive myself."

"You blame me for that too?" Liam asked, and after a moment of chewing on her lip, thinking hard, she shook her head.

"No, I...I don't, actually. I do think you were right about that one. It was a messy situation. But that doesn't mean I don't feel remorse about it. I just hope she's doing well. I hope she grew up to be a wonderful adult. I suppose maybe it's the not knowing that kills me the most. Sometimes, when Leslie and I go for walks in the evening, we'll pass by this little local park near my apartment, and we'll see these families playing, and I see these little girls and I think of Claire. I hope she understands why we left. That it wasn't personal."

"I'm sure she does," Liam said, grimacing. He knew Bea was in pain over this, but he had no idea just how deep it went.

Bea looked up towards the stage and exhaled. She didn't really hate Liam, and he knew that, so she didn't have to clarify. They'd always had this sort of unspoken rule that they could say whatever they felt in the moment and it would be taken as an irrational statement because of the overwhelming feelings included therein. That's what happens when you work on a show for kids about learning and acceptance. You don't take things at face value and you, instead, operate in a sort of 'let us feel and sort it out later' mentality. Bea looked at her hands, her freshly manicured nails that she'd had done just before Casey ran off.

"It's funny, isn't it?" Bea asked, sniffling, smiling weakly.

"What is?" Liam asked.

"Us. How...how queer people gravitate towards one another, regardless of knowing their own identity in the moment. When we met, neither one of us was sure we were who we are. And now look at us. You had a lovely, long relationship with Marvin, and I'm with Leslie. I don't know that we could've done it without one another. I think...I think we needed eachother, Liam. I know I sure as hell needed you."

Liam nodded solemnly. He knew what Bea meant. The two of them, together, they'd both discovered who they were because of their direct interaction with one another. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, clearing his throat. He thought back to that first apartment they shared back in the city, back before the show was officially on the air. Back when they were still workshopping, doing small performances, doing fine-tuning. He smiled. Those were some of his happiest memories. Liam looked towards her, and noticed she was looking at him now.

"You don't regret it, do you?" Bea asked.

"Which part?" Liam asked, the both of them chuckling.

"What we did," Bea whispered, "you don't regret it, do you?"

"I really don't. It isn't who we ended up being, but I sure as shit don't regret it, no. We did the best we could, considering the situation," Liam said, "I just kind of wish, if anything..."

Liam scuffed the floor with his shoe, making Bea tense with anticipation.

"...I wish, if anything, that maybe circumstances could've allowed us to see it through. That we could've known what it would've been like. I'm not saying I'm unhappy with who we are, because I'm not and I wouldn't change a moment of my life, with Marvin, or with you, but it would've been fun to see how it would've been. You know, when my father learned that I was queer and living with Marvin, he wasn't disgusted or angry or confused. Instead I was met with quiet disappointment. Acceptance isn't acceptance in that case. I never felt welcome home, especially with Marvin. When he got sick and started to go down, I asked him what his biggest regret in life was, and he told me that it was not being as brave as his son wound up being. A small consolation prize, too little too late certainly, but you have to take your wins where you get them. But even if he admired my bravery, I know he always wanted...well...what came before that, to last."

Bea smiled weakly and nodded, looking back at her shoes. She sighed and shut her eyes, rubbing them with her fingers.

"I'm so mad at Michelle," she whispered.

"What? What for?" Liam asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Because she told me Casey wasn't my responsibility. Leslie even backed her up. But because of what she told me, because I listened to her, Casey is dead. I could've prevented it, and-"

"Bea, you couldn't have prevented it. That girl was a ticking time bomb. It would've happened sooner or later. Some people are just like that, with this built in self destruct, and I've never seen a more clear example of that then with Casey. I know it hurts, but please don't be mad at Michelle. She's right. And she was saying it to alleviate yourself of the guilt of not being able to be there all the time for everyone. You're allowed to look out for yourself."

"I did that already, and look what happened. Claire is gone," Bea said, and that hit Liam in the heart. He knew she was upset about Claire, even all these years later, as was he, but he had no idea how deeply that sadness truly went. Bea had cared so much, hadn't wanted to leave her with those people, but she knew, in the end, that it was the right decision. Still, to see that sadness upfront, clearer than he ever had before, it hurt intensely. Bea wiped at her face with her sweater sleeve, drying herself of her tears and exhaling, adding, "I promised myself, after that, that I would never put myself first again. That, for every young girl who needs familial harmony, I would provide that."

Liam hated himself more in that one singular moment than he ever had before.

"...i'm so sorry," Liam whispered and Bea nodded slowly.

"yeah, me too," she replied quietly.

Liam was so mad. He didn't want to die, not while she was in this state. He wanted to stick around. He wanted to make things better. He groaned and climbed out of his chair, pacing, his cane tapping on the ground as he walked.

"For what it's worth, though, thank you," Bea said, catching him off guard. He glanced at her as she added, "I mean, I was determined to make something of myself, of...of making Beatrice a real thing, but...but I don't know that I could've done it without you."

"You absolutely could've," Liam said, "the success you found wasn't because of me, I just happened to be here."

"No, you don't get it. At first, yeah, I was doing the stage show myself, creating the world without you, and that was fine, but after we left Claire, that was when I became dependent on you. I felt like maybe you believed I couldn't do what needed to be done and that was why we did what we did, so I worked harder to prove myself to you that I could. I wanted you to be proud of me. I know that's stupid, especially for someone as seemingly independent as I am, to be so co-dependent and reliant on someone, but...you made me want to be better."

"I never thought that, Bea," Liam said, feeling hurt, "I never would believe-"

"I know that, I just felt that way at the time," Bea said, shrugging, "I was young, and stupid. I couldn't help but believe dumb shit like that. Now I realize, of course, that I could've done anything without you, but I'm glad I didn't have to. I'm glad you were with me. I can't imagine the journey without you..."

Bea and Liam locked eyes and stared as Bea started crying.

"...but reaching the destination without you kills me," she muttered, before breaking down. Liam walked back to the seats and leaned down, hugging her, letting her sob into him. Liam rubbed her back and looked around at the pizzeria, taking it all in. This history they shared. This thing they'd built together. After the hug broke and Liam pulled away from her, she looked up at him and asked, "...what happens to you?"

"You mean who gets custody of me?" Liam asked,smirking, and she laughed; he continued, "I'll be being cremated, and you can do with my ashes what you want. It's up to you. But Bea, you gotta promise me something. You can't stay frozen in time anymore. Especially not with this. I know you have trouble moving past things, losing your mother, losing your dog, but I can't be one of those. Use me as a springboard for growth, not a mouse trap for nostalgia. Can you make me that promise?"

Bea squeezed him tighter and sighed.

"I wanna say yes," she mumbled, "but I don't know that I can. I'll try, is that okay?"

"That's a perfectly reasonable response, yes," Liam said, kissing the top of her head.

Bea thought back to their time in the city. When they were young, fresh, just starting out. A different world, it felt like. A completely different world than the one they currently inhabited, and not just in their own day to day lives but moreso in the sense of society itself. She and Liam were both lying to themselves then, trying their best to pretend to be anything, anyone, other than who they were simply because of societal pressures. Now she got to see Michelle and Eliza be happy together, openly, and it warmed her heart, but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't jealous of that freedom, the very freedom she was denied. Because of that, she and Liam had made a decision, a decision that haunted her to this very day. A decision she wasn't sure she could ever recover from.

"Just...tell me," Bea said, as Liam pulled away a bit and looked down at her, stroking her face gently with one hand as she asked, "tell me you'll remember me."

"How could I ever forget you," Liam whispered, "what we tried might not have worked out, but look where we are now. Look what we've accomplished. Bea, I couldn't have done any of this without you. You could've gotten here on your own, but I like to think you are happier you did it with me at your side. I'm sorry things crashed the way they did, I made some big mistakes, but I've tried so hard to rectify them for the sake of our relationship, to prove how much I loved you, love you, have and always will."

Bea nodded, wiping her face on her sleeve as she stood up and walked with him, arms linked, towards the stage as the curtain came back up and the band started once more. They stood there, watching, smiling together. Bea rested her head on Liam's shoulder, and he blushed.

"Nobody would ever believe it, you know," she said.

"I know," he replied, "trust me I know."

Bea turned to face him, as Liam did the same, the band playing atop the stage before them, music echoing, filling the empty hall. Bea put her hands on Liam's face, feeling his stubble, knowing she would likely never touch this face again. She leaned up on her toes and planted her lips on his, and he happily kissed her back. After a very long, loving kiss, Liam rested his lips against her forehead as she wept against his chest, Liam running one hand up and down her back.

"Luckily for us," Liam said, "there's some stories that are just ours."

"It was a pretty good story," Bea whispered.

"It was," Liam said, "happy I got to see how it ends. Now, go make another."

"Your father scares the hell out of me," Amelia said.

She and Wyatt were sitting in his bedroom, Wyatt on the floor leaning against his bed while Amelia was up in the nook of the large, round window overlooking his mothers garden. Wyatt was sipping from a can of soda as he looked through his collection of baseball cards, sorting them, organizing. Something he often did when he felt stressed. Amelia was sketching in her notebook, eating a cracker mix from a nearby bowl as she did.

"He scares the hell out of me," Wyatt replied, "I'm not sure if he knows he's intimidating or he does and he uses it to his advantage, but...god knows I'd never want my kids to be scared of me."

"I don't think it'd be a problem for me because I can't envision myself ever having kids," Amelia said, "I don't think I'd be a very good mother."

Wyatt grimaced. He wanted to be a dad someday, but he also wanted to be with Amelia, without forcing her to give up her autonomy. He wasn't sure how to reconcile this. He thought, maybe, with time, she'd come around, but...but what if she didn't? Would this lead to resentment? He wanted his future wife to be his best friend, not his enemy. Wyatt looked up towards her, diverting his attention away from his cards and to Amelia, smiling as he did. She looked ethereal, like a pixie, with her small face, her curly bangs falling halfway over her eyes, her small frame fitting perfectly into the windowsill as if it were custom made for her body.

"I hate playing baseball," Wyatt finally said, "my dad's the one who pushed me into sports. I mean, it's good exercise, helps you learn how to work with a team, sure, but it just...it isn't something I wanted. And then these cards...they were his, and he got me to start collecting, and I don't even like that. I feel like I'm nothing but an extension of his interests and not my own person."

"There's living vicariously through your kids and then there's whatever the fuck it is he's doing," Amelia said, making Wyatt laugh, which in turn made her smile. Wyatt stood up and walked to the window, climbing up onto the small built in wall bench in front of it. Amelia looked up from her notebook at him as he reached out and put a hand on her face. She shut her eyes and put her hand over his, enjoying his touch. Wyatt then leaned in and kissed her, and she happily kissed him back. Amelia had never felt this kind of love before.

And she never would again.

                                                                                                        ***

"You know, we could just cram a bunch of stuff into an underutilized piece of foreign bread and call it a specialty food and start our own business," Wyatt said, biting into his lunch, "people will try anything once. Look at folks who use cocaine."

"An odd jump to make but you're not entirely wrong," Celia replied, laughing.

Celia had come to his place of business to check up on him, have some lunch. Wyatt looked better than he had at the funeral, that was for sure, but he was still pretty not with it, wearing sunglasses indoors, not matching his clothes as well as he used to. Celia could tell Calvin's death had hit him really hard, harder than he'd likely ever admit. Wyatt picked up his root beer and took a long drink, then wiped his mouth on the arm of his suit before leaning back in his chair and burping. Celia smirked.

"So..." Celia started, "...things seem to have...quieted down, for the time being."

"Remarkable how that happens when you don't have someone constantly stirring the pot, isn't it?" Wyatt asked, "...still, I'd like to find out who was behind it all. Not the person who sent Ricky, we know that. We know that was Grudin's wife. I mean with Wattson. With the trade ring. That's the loose end that's eating at me."

"We'll figure it out, don't worry," Celia said, "in the meantime, just-"

"In the meantime," Wyatt interrupted, "I'm not able to just do anything. I can't focus, I can barely sleep, I've been drinking more. I don't...I don't like who I'm becoming. I know getting Calvin out of the picture was a necessity, hell, a prerequisite, even, but that doesn't make it easier to swallow. If anything, it makes it harder to SHIT."

Celia gave Wyatt a confused, but mildly bemused look until she noticed he was looking at his office door, now open, his father standing in its frame smiling at them.

"Hello," Rufus said, "I didn't realize you had company."

"I'm Celia Moss," Celia said, reaching out her hand to shake, which he politely did, adding, "I'm just someone Wyatt went to high school with."

Rufus then entered the room, and, standing between Celia and Wyatt, looked down at her.

"Would you mind giving us a few minutes?" Rufus asked, "I need to speak to my son about the business."

Celia glanced at Wyatt, who looked nervous as hell, but she couldn't really say no. Instead, she gathered her things, what was left of her lunch, her purse, her jacket, and headed outside the office. Leaning against the wall and continuing to eat gave her perfect earshot of the conversation going on inside. Rufus had sat down in the chair she had been seated in and crossed his legs.

"You don't seem particularly pleased to see me," Rufus said.

"I'm sorry I didn't throw you a ticker tape parade for coming into your old job," Wyatt said sternly, making his father smirk. He'd always appreciated his sons sense of snark, albeit generally moreso when it wasn't directed at him, which he found rather disrespectful.

"I don't know what Scarlett was talking about. You seem okay to me," Rufus said, which got Wyatt's attention. He looked up now.

"...Scarlett called you?" he asked.

"Everyone is worried about you, Wyatt. You look like hell, her words not mine though I certainly won't debate them, and she says you've been drinking more. As your father, it's my duty to ensure you're doing okay," Rufus said and Wyatt scoffed.

"No, it's your duty to ensure I'm still capable of running the business, which I am," Wyatt said.

"You think I don't care about my own sons well being?" Rufus asked, sounding genuinely hurt, which made Wyatt feel remorse. Wyatt sighed and shrugged.

"I...I don't know, dad, I just...I'm sorry. I've been under a lot of stress and-"

"The you go to a doctor. You get on medication. You don't do whatever this is," Rufus said, his tone now changing, colder, more direct, catching Celia off guard, but certainly not Wyatt, who was more than prepared for this having grown up with it.

"That's easy for you to say, Mr. My midlife crisis was paying showgirls in Vegas to hook up with one Another," Wyatt said, making his father glare at him until he added, "at least mine is just me being a little run down and drinking more, not cheating on my wife. Not that you ever loved mom."

Rufus stood up, the chair scooting across the floor, Wyatt now regretting his words. Rufus walked around to his side of the desk, hand planted firmly atop it, as he leant down and lowered his voice to a low growl.

"You listen to me," Rufus said through his teeth, his eyes boring a hole into Wyatt's, "and you listen damn good. You may be a grown adult, but that doesn't entitle you to the right to backtalk me. I put up with this shit when you were a teenager because adolescence is a time for rebellion. I didn't like it, but I would've been wrong to quash what was a relatively normal phase of growing up. But you're a fucking grown man now, you need to get your shit together and start acting like it, do you understand me? Because you think the worst I could do is turn your wife against you? Take this business back? Dream on, boy. What I could do is so. much. worse."

Wyatt, breathing hard and fast, nodded, giving in. Rufus smiled and patted him on the face with his other hand.

"Glad we had this talk, I'll be back in in a few days, and we'll be having dinner at your place soon," Rufus said, standing up firmly and heading to the door; he tugged it open and exited, saying goodbye to Celia as he passed by. Celia entered and sat back down, looking at Wyatt, pale as a sheet in his desk chair, one hand to his chest.

"That was brutal," she said, "you okay?"

"I'll be okay when he's dead," Wyatt said.

                                                                                                     ***

Something Wyatt had never told Scarlett, or anyone really, was that she wasn't, in fact, his first time, like he'd led her to believe. That was also Amelia. It had happened late at night, and had been unplanned. In fact, it hadn't even been on a date night. Wyatt happened to have Amelia over while his folks were out for the night, and she had been helping him with a science project. Sitting in his bedroom as they worked on it, Wyatt couldn't stop feeling so lucky for how smart his girlfriend was. Amelia stepped away from the table the project was atop of and put her hands on her hips, smiling.

"There we go," she said, "now that's a guaranteed A+."

"You're amazing," Wyatt said.

"I know," Amelia said, the both of them laughing. Wyatt was sitting on the bed, watching, as Amelia turned and faced him. Wyatt smiled at her, as the early evening moonlight peeked through the shuttered blinds and splashed across her face. She was so beautiful, and Wyatt had no idea why she was in love with him, but he was so grateful for it.

"What did you tell your parents about having to go out?" he asked.

"Just that I had to help a friend with a school project," Amelia repled, shrugging, "Seeing as I'm a good student, they don't question that, plus it's the truth."

"What, that we're working on a project or that I'm a friend? Cause I'd sincerely thought we'd moved past the friend phase," Wyatt said, making Amelia laugh as Wyatt scrambled off the side of the bed and reached under, saying, "by the way, I got you something!"

After a moment, Wyatt climbed back up onto the bed and held out a large case for Amelia. She took it, looking confused, and set it on a nearby desk, opening it, then gasping, a hand over her mouth. She slowly turned and looked back at him.

"I remember, months ago, you were talking about this specific kind of paint you can only get in France, so I looked into it, had my mom mail order some," Wyatt said, "I guess, now that you've helped me with this, it'd be a perfect time to give it to you, though I was gonna give it to you no matter what, so. I just wanted to do something nice for you."

Amelia had never had much luck with guys. She also hadn't really been interested, but the few times she'd been, it hadn't exactly gone well. The thing was, too, that she never expected to be with a jock. Okay, sure, Wyatt was only a jock by proxy of playing Baseball for their school team, and mostly because his dad made him, but he was, in fact, a popular jock, and yet he wasn't ashamed in the slightest to be dating who many considered the weirdest most socially unpopular girl in their school. Amelia pulled her glasses off her face, set them down on the desk, and then tied her messy frizzy hair up into a bun before walking to the bed, pushing Wyatt onto his back and climbing on top of him, surprising him.

"What, uh, hey now, this could be considered assault," Wyatt said, chuckling, and Amelia smirked.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked, and he blushed, shaking his head; she bit her lip, then leaned in and kissed him as he reached over and shut off the bedside lamp. That first time was special. So many peoples first times are often awful, things they try to forget, but Wyatt and Amelia were lucky. They were really truly happy to be with one another, and afterwards, lying in the bed beside a sleeping Wyatt, Amelia couldn't believe what they'd done, not that she was regretful but just in the sense that they'd actually done it. She stood up and walked back to the desk, looking at the paints again, then glancing back over her shoulder at Wyatt, smiling to herself. This boy...this boy was such a good person. She felt so lucky. She wanted to spend her life with him. He had stolen her heart completely.

And just as easily he'd be the one to break it.

                                                                                                        ***

"He sounds awful," Celia said.

Celia and Wyatt had taken off from the office and driven up to pick up Celia's son from school. They then took him to a playground, and sat on the hood of Wyatt's car, watching him play with the other kids. Wyatt inhaled his joint then handed it to Celia, who partook. Wyatt exhaled and shook his head.

"He's a monster," Wyatt said, "an absolute monster. All he cares about is his empire of shit. He was so abusive to my mother, never physically - though it came close at times - but definitely psychologically, mentally, emotionally. If I hadn't had my girlfriend in high school...I don't know how I would've survived. She was a safe place for me in the midst of his bullshit."

"Scarlett seems very sweet and-"

"No, not Scarlett," Wyatt said, interrupting Celia, "the girlfriend I had before her. This girl, Amelia. She was the absolute sweetest girl, a totally different breed of person. There was just...no bad in her. I genuinely think I didn't become my dad because of her influence, because it would've been so easy to fall in line under his thumb. But she made me realize it was okay to be empathetic. To be what a man should be. Whenever my dad was awful, I would remind myself that not having his love didn't matter, because this amazing girl loved me instead, for who I actually was, not for who he wanted me to be."

Celia smiled and patted him on the back.

"You are a good man, Wyatt," Celia said, "I don't think anyone could ever argue otherwise."

"That's the thing, people could argue otherwise," Wyatt said, "I'm a perfectly curated lie. I've done awful things. But they've all been under the guise of good intentions. I'm just as bad as Calvin was, I'm just better at hiding it."

"No, Wyatt," Celia said, feeling truly bad that he believed this sentiment; Celia put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look at her as she said, "Wyatt, listen to me, what Calvin was going to do would've been unforgiveable. Up to a point his decisions were understandable from his grief and pain, not justifiable but understandable...but what he was planning? That wouldn't have been okay. You. are NOT. Calvin."

Wyatt smiled weakly and nodded, taking another long drag on the joint before handing it back to Celia.

"So what happened to this amazing girlfriend?" Celia asked, and Wyatt sighed.

"I did something bad," Wyatt said, "...all because of my dad."

                                                                                                        ***

"I'm sorry," Wyatt said, his voice hoarse from crying, "...I'm sorry. I can't...I can't take it anymore. He's threatening to take everything away from me. Threatening to not help me with college, to...to not let me have the business. I need those things."

"More than you need me?" Amelia asked, her voice also broken from screaming and crying. The two had been arguing for hours, and now were just sitting on his back patio, near the pool. His folks were once again out for the night, trying to fix their marriage - ironic, Wyatt thought, taking relationship advice from a man who can't keep his own marriage afloat - and Wyatt had invited Amelia over after his fathers ultimatum.

"I'm not...I'm not good enough to do it on my own," Wyatt whispered, "I need his help. His resources."

"Bullshit you're not," Amelia said, "bullshit bullshit bullshit. You're so capable, dude. And I'll be with you. We can do it together."

Wyatt broke and started crying again. The pressure had finally made him crack. He didn't want to end things with Amelia, he loved her so much, but his father terrified him more than he loved her, at least in the moment. Amelia sighed and looked at the pool, trying not to cry again herself.

"...so that's it?" she asked, and he nodded.

"i'm sorry," he whispered.

"...it was supposed to be you, you know," Amelia said, sniffling, wiping at her eyes as he looked up at her, hating himself for making her cry as she added, "the future was supposed to be you. now i just don't want it. good luck with your father."

Amelia hopped down from her seat and walked briskly to the fence, pulling the gate open and exiting. He would see her around school for a bit, but avoid her best he could. His father would start treating him better because he'd listened. A few weeks later he would start dating Scarlett, a cheerleader, someone his father vastly approved of because of her conventional beauty and overt femininity. And a few weeks after that, Amelia would leave school, and soon the state entirely. So when Celia told Wyatt of the lives he'd saved by taking Calvin out, it didn't make a difference to him, because he'd already ruined the life of the only person he'd never wanted to hurt.

And there was no forgiving that.

Beatrice woke up that morning to the smell of coffee. She slowly sat up, pulled her silk robe on over her night shirt and sleep shorts and headed out into the living room, where she found Leslie standing in the kitchen, sizzling bacon on the stove, her hair in tangles from the previous nights escapades. Leslie was wearing a long sleeve button down shirt and nothing else, but it covered her perfectly. Bea walked up behind her and wrapped her arms around her tight, nuzzling the back of her head, kissing it gently, making Leslie blush.

"Gosh, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Leslie asked, and Bea shrugged.

"Well," Bea said, "You were pretty incredible last night, I guess I just like to show my appreciation for the effort."

"Oh, you're a supporter of the cause? I can accept that," Leslie said, grinning as she turned around. Bea pinned her against the counter, making her catch her breath, and leaned in, kissing her. Leslie happily kissed her back. These were the good mornings. The perfect mornings. The mornings Bea always dreamed of having, and now couldn't believe she was lucky enough to get. As she pushed herself against Leslie more, Leslie's hands trying to find space on the countertop to hold herself up so her knees didn't completely buckle, she accidentally hit the remote for the small TV they had in the kitchen, turning it on.

"Goodness," Leslie said, breathing hard after Bea finished frenching her, "what did I do to deserve such adoration?"

"...I'm just tired of not taking advantage of the good things in my life," Bea whispered, running a hand up to her face and cupping her cheek gently, looking in her eyes, "I'm tired of, you know, not feeling like I deserve them too. After losing my dog, my mom, I guess I just want to grab hold of those close to me and keep them here forever."

"I can accept that answer, and you're more than free to grab me," Leslie said, giggling as she hopped up onto the counter to sit, hitting the change channel button on the remote now, shoving it aside, as Bea put her hands on her hips and kept kissing her. As Bea made out with her neck, Leslie's eyes scanned over her shoulder to the television, and she got a concerned look on her face. After a moment, Bea stopped and looked as well.

"What is it?" Bea asked.

"I don't know, something on the news, they're pulling a body out of the water by Garvins Bridge," Leslie said, grabbing the remote and turning the volume up a bit, the newscasters voice now coming in clear midsentence.

"-certainly not foul play, and definitely a suicide, the police have reiterated repeatedly. A car was found parked on the bridge with a note in its windshield, indicating as such. The car, after having its registration run through the system, was found to belong to one Casey Kochawski. The police, now having retrieved the body from the lake, have in fact confirmed that it is Miss Kochawski, tying her to the vehicle. At the moment, none of her family, nor anyone else, has come forward with statements about the matter, but all signs point to Miss Kochawski have struggled with intense depression, and she appeared to have a history of drug abuse. More on-"

Leslie switched the TV back off, and looked at Beatrice, who was standing deathly still, staring at the now blank screen in front of them. Leslie didn't know what to do, Bea seemed to be in a trance. After a minute or so, Bea slowly dropped to her knees on the kitchen floor, then laid down on her side, wrapped her arms around herself...

...and screamed as loud as possible.

                                                                                                         ***

"You have a visitor," a woman said to Liam as he sat at his desk. He looked up to spot a woman entering, struggling to walk a little. She looked relatively young, around Michelle's age, maybe a bit older. She stopped and looked at him, appearing nervous. Liam just smiled politely and leaned back in his chair.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I'm looking for Michelle Helm, I'm Justine Hench. Is...is she here? I know this is her place of business."

"Michelle has not come in yet, no," Liam said, "...can I ask what this is regarding?"

Justine pulled the chair opposite Liam out and slowly seated herself in it, groaning as she did, likely from her injuries. After a few minutes, Justine finally gathered herself, mentally, and exhaled, looking back up at Liam.

"Okay, um," Justine said, "it's about Casey. She came to my home the other day while I was entertaining guests, and she...she was...clearly having some kind of psychological breakdown. I offered to meet with her after that, but she ran off, drove away, I haven't heard from her since. I've texted, I've called, I've e-mailed, but not avail. I just...I need to get in touch with someone who knows her who can maybe fill me in on what's going on because, at this point, I'm genuinely concerned for her wellbeing."

Liam's heart broke. He had already heard. He'd heard on the radio on the way in that morning. He swallowed and leaned forward, cupping his hands on the desk.

"Uh," he said, "fuck. Um. You'll have to apologize, I'm...I'm not used to having to break this kind of news to people, and I'm not doing so well myself health wise, so please forgive me but...you haven't...heard anything? Seen anything on the news?"

Justine, now afraid, slowly shook her head, her fingers tugging at the hem of her skirt.

"...Casey jumped off a bridge last night," Liam said, struggling to get the words out without breaking into tears himself, "uh...the...the cops pulled her out of the lake this morning, a few hours ago actually, and it's been on the news since then. I'm honestly surprised you somehow hadn't heard anything yet."

A quiet filled the room. The kind of quiet that's somehow deafening it's so loud. The kind of quiet one only hears on certain occasions, when presented with the worst news possible.

"...Casey...what?" Justine asked, now starting to cry herself.

"Yeah," Liam whispered, looking down at his desk now, feeling his tears rolling off his face and onto the wooden finish, "uh yeah...her folks aren't going to be of any help, or care, so I have to go and identify her, just for the sake of it, at some point today once she's been processed into the morgue. I'm sorry to have to be the one to break this to you, I never like-"

"She can't be dead," Justine replied in a broken, hushed tone, "no she...she can't. She was...she was JUST on my porch. She can't have...in that time span, she can't..."

Justine knew all too well though the seven stages of grief. Having survived a near-death experience herself, she knew she was just speedrunning them now. Justine finally cracked and started openly weeping, burying her face in her hands. Liam groaned as he did his best to stand up, head back to where his secretary was and ask for some coffee and pastries, before grabbing a box of tissues and shutting the door to his office. He wouldn't be taking any other meetings today.

                                                                                                        ***

Michelle had found Eliza in outright hysterics. She'd gone out to get them breakfast, and when she got back...

...Eliza was lying fully clothed in the bathtub, full of water, screaming at the top of her lungs. Michelle quickly dropped everything in the kitchen before rushing into the bathroom to find this sight, completely befuddled at what she was witnessing. She dropped to her knees by the bathtub and grabbed Eliza's hand, holding it, just letting her finish getting her emotions out. After a bit, after Eliza had calmed down, she rolled her head towards Michelle, her eyes bright red from the tears, big dark circles underneath.

"What is going on?" Michelle asked, "what...what caused this? Are you okay?"

Eliza just stared. All the death. All the death surrounding her. First Liam's diagnosis, of which she couldn't even tell anyone about, and now Casey. She simply couldn't handle it, she was losing her grip.

"Don't leave me," Eliza whispered, her voice shaky and scared.

"Never!" Michelle said, leaning in and kissing her on the forehead, "why do you...when...why would I ever leave you?"

"I don't even mean just leaving, I mean...don't die," Eliza said, "you almost died, and you almost died before I told you I loved you, and...and please don't die, ever. Ever. Please."

"Okay, I promise, I'll find a way to be immortal," Michelle replied, the both of them laughing weakly at this, before adding, "but you...you have to talk to me, what's happening? Did something happen? Did somebody hurt you?"

"Somebody hurt all of us," Eliza mumbled, "Casey is dead."

This hit Michelle like a brick to the face. She was not prepared for that. She fell back onto her ass, still holding Eliza's hand. The last time she'd seen Casey had been at that audition, where she'd flipped out at her and Bea. She told Casey she'd have her removed if she couldn't behave. Fucking fuck. Fuck. What the hell had she been thinking. She'd acted in a professional manner, not her usual comforting one, and now...now it'd cost Casey her life, all because she simply hadn't listened.

"...she begged not to be an afterthought," Michelle said, sniffling, "the last time I saw her, she was SO upset, and she begged me and Bea for her to, just once, be somebody's first choice for something. I should've listened. I was never my mothers first choice, I know what that does to a person. I should've listened. I killed her."

"No!" Eliza said, rolling onto her side in the water filled tub, "no you didn't, don't think that! If I didn't kill my mom then you didn't kill Casey, okay? Just cause...just cause we have bad last conversations with people before they croak doesn't mean we're responsible for their deaths, right? That's what everyone has always told me, so you need to believe it too."

Michelle looked back at Eliza, and in that moment, in that very moment, she realized something. She never, no matter what, wanted to let this girl go. Michelle reached out and took Eliza's face in her hands and pressed her lips to Eliza's, kissing her for a good minute or so. After it broke, Michelle rested her forehead on Eliza's, the both of them crying.

"...if I can't leave, you can't either, okay?" Michelle asked, and Eliza nodded eagerly; Michelle then, after a deep breath, added, "...if...if all we can do is keep living, then...then I wanna do it together."

"Me too," Eliza whispered, kissing her again.

Death has a funny way of making people realize what they really want.

                                                                                                     ***

"The thing about death," Liam said, "is nobody and nothing can properly prepare you for  it, whether it's happening to you or to somene else. You're never ever ready for it. I've got...I don't know...weeks left maybe? You wouldn't really be able to tell, looking at me, because I'm putting up a good front, but every single day I'm so weak, so tired. But I'm not scared. That's the one saving grace I have for my own sake of mind. Casey didn't seem scared either."

"How are you NOT scared?" Justine asked, biting into a donut hole, sipping her coffee, "god, I remember being on that plane, heading for the ground, knowing that could very well be it, expecting that to very well be it, and I was terrified. I'm shocked I didn't shit my pants."

"...people have always assumed that Beatrice writes the show. But we mostly do it together, and I've written a lot of it myself. It's...it's like this child we have together. Or, a thing that took the place of where a child would be, since we don't have one. My whole life, I...I've been living lies. Creating personas for myself. Telling stories. That's what I do. I can't cope with reality, neither can Bea, so we tell stories to help placate our eternal sense of unease. Death is just...another story. It's the next chapter. The final installment. If anything, I'm excited to see it."

Justine couldn't help but smile, albeit weakly, at this sentiment. Liam was a remarkably well adjusted person. She shook her head and looked back down at her lap, resting her coffee mug in it between her palms.

"...losing my boyfriend, I used to think, was the worst thing that could happen to me," she said, "but this might be worse. Casey and I were working on so many little projects, we were creative partners. I'd never had that before. We just got one another. She was so talented. She was...my friend. I hope she knows she was my friend."

This statement pushed her to start crying again.

"I feel so fucking selfish," Justine continued, trying to speak between sobs, "if I'd just talked to her, if I'd just...put in a tiny bit of effort that one day...fuck."

Liam stood up and walked past her to a filing cabinet, retrieving something from there and then plopping it onto the desk between them before taking his seat once more. Justine, after recomposing herself, looked at the folder, then up at Liam, raising an eyebrow.

"What's that?" she asked.

"That," Liam said, putting his feet up on his desk best he could with some effort, pointing at the folder, "is something Casey gave me. She wanted me to help her with something, and, as a result, she gave me this. Gave it to me to find a way to get it organized, published. It's something she'd been working on for a good portion of her life. I've read through it, it's shockingly grim and beautiful, feels autobiographical in nature. I am putting this in your hands. You work in literature. You're the one who needs to make this happen."

Justine slowly reached out and took the folder, opening it, reading through Casey's notebook, her sketches, her concepts. She nodded slowly. Liam was right. She had to get this out there. She had to do this for Casey. It was the only way she would feel like she didn't completely let her down. Justine shut the folder and looked back up at Liam, biting her lip, chewing, thinking.

"...so you're excited?" Justine asked, and Liam grinned.

"I'm THRILLED," he said.

                                                                                                      ***

Beatrice was laying on the couch, her head in Leslie's lap as she ran her fingers through Bea's hair. Bea hadn't said a thing since screaming her lungs out and calming down. Now she just stared ahead in dead silence. The TV in the living room was on, on some show about antiques, but the sound was off. The lights were off in the apartment. When Bea got overwhelmed, Leslie knew it was her duty to remove all the sensory issues to help her ease back down. Bea exhaled and shut her eyes, gripping the bottom of Lesle's shirt.

"I put myself first," Bea said, "I put myself first, and look what happened. Michelle told me she wasn't my responsibility, and now she's gone."

"To be fair, she wasn't," Leslie said, "you can't save everybody without ruining yourself, babe. You need to recognize that. Michelle was right. It's understandable to feel guilty, or whatever, but this wasn't because of you. She was clearly struggling with so many other things."

"I'm never putting myself first again," Bea whispered, "that's a promise."

Leslie sighed. She knew that when Bea made promises, she NEVER broke them. Leslie just continued stroking her hair as Bea rolled onto her back and looked up at Leslie, who smiled down at her warmly.

"If you wanted to kill yourself, you'd tell me, right?" Bea asked.

"Of course!" Leslie said, "sweetheart, I would never do that to you, not without discussing it first. Trying to get help. But I'm also not about to judge those who need to just have a swift exit. Life isn't for everyone, and there's nothing wrong with acknowledging that. Some people...they just....aren't built for this, built for longevity. But I wouldn't do that, not to you."

Bea smiled weakly and nodded, rolling back onto her side.

"...I'm so mad at Michelle," Bea whispered.

Michelle, meanwhile, was still in the bathroom, laying on the floor beside the tub, still holding Eliza's hand. Neither one had said anything for a while, they were simply taking in the comfort of the silence that surrounded them. Michelle was thinking, anyway. Thinking about herself, her own near death experience. How Eliza had been at the hospital for her all that time, had always sought her out before and after that to get to know her, to get closer. Her thoughts turned to Justine. That woman survived a goddamned plane crash, and sure, she'd lost her boyfriend in the process, but she was here. They both had more in common than she'd initially thought. Michelle, then, turned her thoughts to Marvin. That's where this all started. Goddamned Marvin.

"Marvin killed himself, you know," Michelle said, "I mean you know that, I'm sure. But that's what kicked everything off. Marvin killed himself. Marvin killed himself, and that got Keagan to start looking into the show, which got her in touch with me, which put us in touch with Liam, which led us to Bea, which then resulted in everything else. You and I are here, together, today...because Marvin killed himself."

Eliza rolled her head towards Michelle and sniffled.

"Why are you saying this?" Eliza asked.

"Because...because good things can come from tragedy. Casey didn't have to die, but she also doesn't have to die for nothing. Marvin's suicide created a new throughline for my life. Maybe Casey's can do the same. It can be another fresh start."

Michelle and Eliza stared at one another and Michelle smiled.

"...do you wanna marry me?" Michelle asked, and Eliza's eyes widened in shock, before eagerly nodding, making Michelle laugh as she scooted up closer and kissed her.

As Liam had explained...death isn't the end, but a new beginning.

Barry Klepper headed down the stairs, out through the kitchen, and across the back lawn to the shed. He tugged the door open, allowing light to flood in and looked around. He then grabbed the old push mower from the wall and tugged it out onto the lawn, where he stood with it, one hand on his hip, surveying the job before him. He heard the sliding glass door close and glanced to see his son, Calvin, coming up to him, his head wrapped in gauze, struggling to move on a cane. Barry smiled as Calvin approached.

"Are you gonna do yard work?" Calvin asked, "I don't think I've ever seen you do yard work."

"I've done yard work," Barry replied, laughing, "how are you feeling?"

"Bad," Calvin said, "really bad. How about you?"

"About the same, all things considered. Just happy to have you home."

Calvin stood by his fathers side and looked out at the lawn with him, one of his fathers hands on his shoulder. Barry shut his eyes and breathed in the pleasant afternoon air, just relaxing and enjoying the moment. Barry, his eyes still shut, could hear the sound of a gentle afternoon breeze wafting through the sky, through the leaves of the overhead trees in the backyard, and he smiled.

"You know things can't stay like this forever," Calvin said, causing Barry to open his eyes, Calvin adding, "you know you'll stop having these eventually, right? It's a trauma response. I'm gone, dad."

Barry looked at his son, and his son looked back and smiled warmly.

"I love you," Calvin said, and Barry woke up. He slowly sat upright in his bed and looked around the dark room. He climbed out, headed down the hall and down the stairs, where he got himself a glass of juice from the fridge, before heading back, stopping by the answering machine that sat on a small table by the wall. He reached out and searched for the message. The one from the police. The one that informed him his son had been shot in the head, and he was needed at the hospital immediately. Barry then headed upstairs and stopped at Calvin's room, opening the door and entering. He set his juice down on a bedside table and he laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"If only I knew," he thought, "that the last time was the last time."

                                                                                                      ***

Angie Dickenson was tearing ass down the freeway, rock music blaring from her car stereo. She was wearing a tight, slim dress and her hair was done in a pretty upbraid, with a pair of big black sunglasses on her face. She had a cigarette hanging from her lips, and she shifted gears as she glanced over at Wyatt in the passenger seat. Unlike Angie, Wyatt was disheveled. Well dressed, but disheveled nonetheless. To be fair, though, Wyatt had been sleeping like shit and drinking a lot. In fact, that's what he and Angie had been doing just before leaving for the service that morning. They had driven to an old timey themed saloon about an hour or so out of town just to get tipsy before having to see everyone.

"You don't think anyone will mind I came?" Angie asked.

"Who cares what anyone thinks," Wyatt said, even his words sounding tired, "who the fuck cares about anything."

Wyatt, since Calvin's death, had become increasingly withdrawn, morose, cynical. Moreso than usual, and it'd been up to Angie to help wrangle him back in, seeing as everyone else was still reeling from the reality of the situation. In fact, since Calvin's death, the group overall had barely spoken. Rachel had started going to therapy to deal with her parents rejection of her sexuality, while Celia had sunk herself into her work. Kelly, meanwhile, had undergone her surgery for her new prosthetic leg, and had been in bed recovering since then. This service today would be the first time they all had seen one another in months.

"You don't think he'd show up, do you?" Angie asked, and Wyatt shrugged. They were, of course, talking about Ricky

"If he's smart, he'll get out of town and cut ties, never look back," Wyatt said, rubbing his forehead, "that's what I'd do if I could."

Wyatt pulled out a pill case from his jacket pocket and popped some aspirin, moaning. He'd had a killer headache since last night, and drinking today certainly hadn't helped it. They were, at this point, about fifteen minutes from their destination, not that Wyatt was all that interested in seeing anybody. Since Calvin's death, he'd steered clear of most interactions, except for the times Kelly had needed help with her prosthetic leg. Other than that, he didn't want to be bothered. But Scarlett had sensed something was wrong. His whole family had. His father was apparently going to pay him a visit because of this recent behavior, which only resulted in more anxiety for Wyatt.

"Should I stand a bit aways when we get there?" Angie asked, not wanting to make anybody uncomfortable, a surprising show of empathy from her, Wyatt thought. He shrugged.

"I don't know, up to you," he replied, "do whatever you want."

So she would. Angie would do whatever she wanted. Advice he would later regret half heartedly giving her.

                                                                                                      ***

The night of Calvin's death, Ricky was strapped to the chair in the shed. It was dark, sans the moonlight coming in through a small window near the roof, and he had nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Would he ever see his apartment again? Should he even go back to his benefactor, given the severity of the situation, or would she simply not believe him? Ricky exhaled and shut his eyes. His fish were probably dead. He wanted to cry. The door to the shed suddenly opened, and Ricky glanced towards it, expecting Calvin, instead surprised to see Wyatt.

Wyatt entered the shed, his eyes red like he'd been sobbing or rubbing at them, or both. He was quiet. Cautious. They didn't look at one another, and Wyatt didn't say a single thing as he entered and looked around the shed for a moment before finally turning his gaze on Ricky, who raised his eyebrows. After a moment, Wyatt sighed and looked around the shed again before speaking.

"Keys?" he asked, and Ricky nodded at a small box on a shelf. Wyatt walked to it, pulled the box down and opened it, retrieving the key and kneeling in front of the chair, beginning to free Ricky, much to his surprise.

"What...what are you...why are you..." Ricky started, but wasn't able to finish.

"I'm doing what should've been done a while ago," Wyatt said, "I brought you here, it only makes sense for me to let you go. Angie is outside, she's going to drive you back to your hotel. When you get there, you're going to take a shower, get some food on my expense, then head home."

The chains clattered to the floor, freeing Ricky, who rubbed his wrists. Wyatt looked up now, their eyes locking.

"Where's Calvin?" Ricky asked, sounding as if he already knew the answer.

"...he's dead," Wyatt said, "that's all you need to know. Now go."

Ricky stood up, then fell back into the chair, his legs wobbly. It'd been so long since he'd walked. Wyatt helped him back up, then helped him walk outside. Angie was leaning against the shed, filing her nails. When they got closer, Wyatt transferred Ricky's weight to her, and she took him happily. The three of them stood there for a brief moment, taking in the late night air, and Ricky couldn't believe how good the wind felt on his skin.

"Take him, then go home. I'll call you," Wyatt said, and Angie nodded. They all walked to the cars parked out front, Angie helping Ricky into hers, before turning back and looking at Wyatt. The two nodded at one another, then climbed into their respective vehicles and heading in opposite directions. As the car headed away from the house, from the shed, Ricky couldn't help but notice a smattering of blood on Angie's hand and shirt. His eyes scanned up to her face, and she was smiling, looking completely unphased.

"...what happened to Calvin?" he asked meekly, almost terrified.

"What could've happened to you," she said coldly, and that was enough to make Ricky not ask more questions.

                                                                                                         ***

Kelly Schuester was sitting on a marble bench in the cemetery, looking around at her surroundings. It was beautiful today. Rachel and Celia were both already here and were standing near Calvin's headstone, but she was staying a bit aways. She felt awkward, having come, considering her lack of proximity to Calvin. She hadn't been friends with him. But Rachel had invited her nonetheless, 'the more the merrier' she'd morbidly put it. She heard someone walk up beside her and glanced up, noticing Wyatt standing there, and she smiled wide.

"Hi!" she said brightly, then felt weird for sounding so chipper, considering.

"Everyone else seems to be here," Wyatt said.

"Yeah, but I didn't wanna interrupt," Kelly said, "Calvin wasn't my friend. I really only came to see you. Forgive me but I don't really feel the need to grieve the man who blew up the plane I was on."

Wyatt chuckled as he sat down beside her and pulled a small bottle of liquor from his jacket pocket and unscrewing the cap, taking a long drink. Kelly watched, concerned, as he finished and wiped his face on his sleeve. Wyatt then glanced down at her leg, noticing the prosthetic under the hem of her dress, before looking back up and catching her eyes.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Is it difficult to live with?" he asked, nodding at it.

"It's whatever," Kelly said, shrugging, "I'm getting used to it. Starting to feel like I can take care of myself again, going back to work soon, going back to my apartment soon - or rather a new apartment - and that'll be exciting. Why are you drinking this early in the day?"

"Don't change the subject, that's rude," Wyatt remarked, smirking at her as he lifted the bottle to his lips again before she reached out and grabbed it, the both of them staring one another in the eyes; Wyatt felt Kelly slowly lower the bottle, his arm, and he looked at her confused before his eyes welled up with tears and he said, "I did this. This is my fault. He's gone because of me."

"He's gone because of his own decisions," Kelly whispered, "you guys did what had to be done. He was going to do something so much worse than what he did to me, and if I'm what helped break that cycle, then I'm happy to have been involved, even if unwillingly so. He had to be stopped, Wyatt."

Wyatt leaned against her and cried on her shoulder, feeling Kelly run a hand up into his hair and massage his scalp. Wyatt wanted to be like this with Scarlett, but she wasn't involved. She didn't know any of what had been happening, and he wasn't about to drag her into it. Besides, he always felt like he had to put on a strong front, be the baseball star she'd fallen for. She knew he was sensitive, but he was still embarrassed to outright breakdown in front of her, to have that cool guy facade crumble, and besides, when she did give comfort, it wasn't the kind of comfort Kelly managed to give him. Something about Kely's comfort felt effortless, Scarlett's felt forced, as if she felt uncomfortable doing it. After a moment, Wyatt sat back upright and wiped his face on his sleeve again, trying to regain what little composure he could manage to have these days.

"I guess we should go over there," Wyatt said, and Kelly nodded. He stood up and tucked the bottle back away into his jacket as Kelly stood up too, stumbling and falling to the ground, looking embarrassed.

"Sorry," she whispered, "I'm still getting used to this thing."

Wyatt smiled, helped her up, then picked her up on his back, giving her a piggyback through the cemetery. Kelly wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on the back of his, just enjoying the moment. Meanwhile, Angie was staying back at the cars, watching from afar, when she heard another car door shut and glanced to her right to see, of all people, Ricky approaching. He stopped beside her, looking far better than he had the last time she'd seen him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Been following you guys for a bit," Ricky said.

"Not still gathering info for your boss, are you?" Angie asked, taking a long drag from her cigarette.

"No, no, actually," Ricky said, clearing his throat, "um...actually, I'd like to help you."

Angie eyeballed him, curious, but cautious. She stubbed the cigarette out on the car behind her and nodded.

"Help us how?" she asked.

As Wyatt walked through the cemetary with Kelly on his back, approaching the headstone where the others were, he couldn't help but smile. Something about being here, in this moment, with Kelly on his back, was the best moment he'd had in months. Since Calvin's death. He stopped for a moment and looked around at the surrounding graves, taking in the statues and the various architecture of tombs. Kelly lifted her head and rested her chin atop his head.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked.

"Just taking a moment," Wyatt said, "I think it's nice here. Something soothing about cemeteries. Back in high school, I dated this girl, Amelia. She liked to have photoshoots in graveyards. Very grim and artistic, but very cool girl. We used to hang out in cemetaries a lot as a result. I guess being in one now, for Calvin, is making me think of her. Not because she still means anything to me, but because she's adjacent to the subject, considering her relation to the deceased."

They were only a few graves from Calvin's, where Rachel and Celia were posted up, talking, so Wyatt slowly lifted Kelly down. She stumbled against a grave, catching herself before he put a hand on her waist, helping stabilize her. She looked at him and smiled, the two facing one another, not saying a thing.

"I understand thinking of her," Kelly said, "but she isn't here, so. You should focus on the people who are here. Not Calvin, certainly not his sister. Focus more on the women who are here today, who love you."

"Oh, is that right?" Wyatt asked, "and who exactly did you have in mind?"

Kelly bit her lip, and Wyatt raised an eyebrow. But before anything could happen, Rachel had walked over. She put her arms around Wyatt, who happily hugged her back, before turning her affection towards Kelly. Together, the three of them walked back to Calvin's grave, Kelly holding Wyatt's hand tightly, partly for comfort, partly to help her from falling over. They stopped at the headstone and Wyatt nodded at Celia, who nodded back, acknowledging his presence. The four of them stood there, looking down at Calvin's final resting place, and Wyatt couldn't help but feel so incredibly guilty.

"...I told him I'd kill him," Wyatt finally said quietly, almost a whisper, "I told him I'd do it. After the crash. That day in the kitchen. I told him I'd kill him for what he'd done."

"You just arranged for it, you didn't pull the trigger yourself," Rachel said.

"That doesn't make me any less responsible," Wyatt said, "I'm who made it happen. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of what happened to him. His wife, his family, taken from him in that manner. His sister being sent out of town. None of it. But...but there's right and wrong ways to cope with something, and he kept choosing the wrong way. Was his anger towards Grudin justified? Absolutely. Hell, I'd even go so far as to say that his want to kill the man was also understandable, but he followed through on every single bad impulse."

"And that's the difference," Celia chimed in, "you looked for every possible alternative before doing the last resort. That's what makes you two different. You are not Calvin, Wyatt. I hope you know that. I really do."

"I try to believe it, but it's hard," Wyatt said, sniffling, feeling Kelly squeeze his hand tighter, "I admit, I miss him. He was a mess, but...fuck. I miss him. That's the weirdest part of all this, is how much I miss him. I guess, in a way, if it hadn't been for him, we all wouldn't be here together today, and I suppose I owe him that. Owe him your friendship. But he's also why we're in a lot of trouble. We can't be reckless anymore. We can't be Calvin."

"Agreed," they all said in unison.

"So what do we do now?" Rachel asked, and Wyatt shook his head.

That was the million dollar question.

"Well, think of it this way," Kelly said, resting her head on Wyatt's arm, "things can only get less complicated from here, right?"

                                                                                                           ***

Amelia Klepper had been watching a documentary about ghosts when she'd gotten that phone call. The one from her father, telling her her brother was dead. She could recall the moment, even now months later, with absolute clarity. She didn't cry, she didn't scream, hell she didn't even pause her program, no instead she simply laid on her side on the couch and curled up into a ball and stared in silence at the screen. Calvin was dead. Amelia felt, deep down, that it was only a matter of time before this happened, honestly. Ever since losing his family to the accident, she felt he was on a path for ultimate destruction of his own undoing.

And now, months later, Amelia was piling bags into the trunk of her car, and shutting the lid. She looked back at her apartment and sighed. She'd be back shortly. She just had to go to town to help deal with Calvin's will, settle his estate. After the accident, he and Amelia had sat down - he'd come for a visit - and written up this will just in case. It had to be changed now anyway, considering he no longer had a wife or children. Amelia was now the sole benefactor, and that required her to be in town to deal with. Amelia walked around and opened her car door, climbing inside and starting the car. As the car burst to life, so did the stereo, playing America's "A Horse With No Name". Amelia turned the volume up and backed out of the parking lot, then headed out onto the road.

And she drove.

She drove so far, rarely stopping for anything. She stopped now and then to nap, to use truck stop bathrooms, to grab some more food, but otherwise she drove and drove and drove. Calvin being gone was so surreal and yet so normal. Perhaps it was the distance, having been so far away for so long now that lessened the blow, but in a way, she also felt like she'd never really known who her brother actually was. In fact, that sentiment wasn't far off. She knew nothing about his inclination for revenge, his interest in explosives, all the things Wyatt ended up knowing. Amelia was scared to see her parents, but she'd been doing better. Much better. She had to be strong for them now. The lost their son. But they were about to regain their daughter.

Every cloud has a silver lining, she thought.

Casey Kochawski was 15 years old, and she was sitting on the hood of a strange mans car as it was parked on the side of very tall bridge. The man in question, whom she only knew by the name of Nick, was sitting beside her and staring out over the water that seemed to stretch endlessly before them. Anyone passing by might just assume this was a father/daughter outing, but this man wasn't her father, and just scant moments previous they'd been in the backseat of his car having sex. He was just one of the many man men her mother sold her to for afternoons and evenings, but by now, Casey had become so numb to it.

"...you shouldn't have to do this," Nick finally said, "this is wrong."

And yet you benefited from it, Casey thought to herself.

The absolute hypocrisy of some of these guys was astounding. Most of these men would have sex with her and then be on their way, but some of them would get morose, would start trying to distance themselves from the other men who did the same thing, as if there was a difference. There wasn't. They were still disgusting monsters. They just wanted to believe they weren't. Wanted to act as though they had some kind of moral high ground. And the sad thing was, because what he was saying was true, Casey did agree with him.

"I'm a bad person," Nick said, shaking his head, "and I recognize that. I recognize this...this is awful. This is unforgivable. I'm not asking for forgiveness, either, by the way, just stating a fact. I'm sorry."

That was the difference though, about Nick and the others, was he apologized. None of the others, even the ones who did seem to feel some twinge of guilt, ever apologized. Nick did. And she truly believed he meant it. Didn't excuse it, didn't justify it, but it was a nice little parting gift all the same. And a month later, when local authorities would pull Nick's car out of the water after he careened it off the side of the bridge and drowned himself and a little girl he'd stolen right out of her front yard to, presumably, do the same monstrous acts with that he'd done with Casey, Casey couldn't help but feel as though Nick had the right idea. If nobody is going to like you, if nobody wants you around, why not exit?

So now, standing here on the edge of a bridge herself, Casey couldn't believe she was somewhat sympathizing with such a degenerate. But hey, she had been a degenerate too. At least in the eyes of society. She'd been a drug addict. Casey sat down on the rail and sighed, wiping her face with her long flannel sleeve, trying not to cry. It wasn't fair. All she wanted when she was a little girl was a family who protected her, not sold her. And now, as an adult, she still couldn't find that solace in others. There was no protection, she realized, for certain people. Some people were just left to their own devices. And sometimes their own devices were a means to an end.

                                                                                                        ***

"Sometimes," Casey said, "when I am about to do something, I like to close my eyes and fantasize about a different outcome. Like, if I'm in a car with a guy, or in his apartment, or wherever we are, I'll close my eyes and I'll pretend someone comes in at the last minute to stop it from happening. So pathetic."

Casey was sitting in a diner, in a booth, across from an older man. This man, another one of her mothers "clients", was a man in his early fifties named Steven, but unlike the other men, Steven didn't want sex with her. Steven liked to take her out, get food, just talk. Casey figured he just enjoyed the company.

"I don't think that's so pathetic, we do lots of weird things to cope with unbearable situations," Steven said, "for example, when my wife left, and took my daughter, I'd lay in bed at night in total silence and darkness, and I'd shut my eyes and I'd think about them coming home suddenly, without warning, surprising me. I'd be so upset when I'd inevitably wake back up the next morning and they were still gone."

Casey actually liked Steven. He was the only one she genuinely enjoyed being around, because he just was a nice, normal guy. He didn't ask for anything from her but her company, her time, and he never made any kind of advances towards her. Casey thanked the waitress as she set down another glass of iced tea in front of Casey, and then Casey turned her eye back to Steven.

"I'm sorry they left," Casey said.

"Eh, I wasn't a great husband. I'm a great father, but not a very good husband," Steven said, "and you have to find a balance, it can't just be one or the other. One can't be neglected while the other is adored. That isn't fair."

"Wish my dad was a great father," Casey said, sipping on the straw in her drink, "he's just as gross as the men they make me go out with."

"Well Casey, one day, when you're older, you'll have escaped this life and you'll look back and realize how strong you actually were. You'll be thankful for having survived it. Not that you should've had to endure something so awful to begin with, but I like to think it's a silver lining of sorts. That's the kind of thinking that gets me through, anyway."

Casey smiled and nodded as the waitress returned with their respective lunches. After this, Steven would take her to a local arcade and they would play Skeeball and other games together, and then he would take her shopping for new clothes for school, and then back out to dinner before going to his apartment, where she slept in the spare bedroom. It was nice to have one small escape now and then, her own space, where nobody intruded or violated it. Her time at Steven's was lovely, and she appreciated every minute of it, perhaps a bit too much.

                                                                                                          ***

The very first time Casey's mother had turned her out was when she was 9, or at least that's the first time Casey could remember. Sitting on the bridge, Casey thought back to this moment. She often went back to it when she was feeling particularly hopeless. It was before there was a system, and any kind of setup. The man was someone her mother had met in a clinic, who had offered her hard drugs and money in order for her daughters "company". Casey had been in her bedroom when he entered, and she could remember feeling confused and scared, simply by the size of his shadow that was cast on the wall when he entered. Her mother could hear her crying, shouting, but she didn't stop it. If anything, she only encouraged the man to keep going for as long as he wanted. After it was done, her mother cleaned her up. Casey, sitting on the toilet lid while her mother wiped her down with a wet sponge, all Casey could think was how much she hated her mom, and how she couldn't believe she would let this happen.

"Everyone has a role to play in their family," her mother said, cigarette hanging, ashing, from her lips as she wiped her down gently, "and this is yours. We need the money."

Casey always heard this. That they 'needed the money', and yet she was confused because they always seemed to have enough for drugs, for alcohol, just not for the things she needed or wanted. Casey often wore free clothes left at the church donation box or bags left on the street. Her parents always gave her morning after pills on the occasions the men didn't wear protection. And when she was finally old enough to, she started using her parents drugs to grant herself even the smallest bit of serenity from the hellhole that was her life. It was the least she could be given. Casey thought about how her mother never really saw her as a person, but a tool, something she could use to further get what she wanted. There was one night in particular when Casey came home after a surprisingly rough session with a man her mother had sold her to for the evening, and Casey was bruised, battered, looked like hell and felt like shit. When she walked into the house, she found her mother passed out on the couch, and she stopped and stared.

It would be so easy, she thought.

All she would have to do would be to get a knife from the kitchen and stab her thirty, fourty times, and nobody would blame her and even if they did, even if she did face some kind of justice, well, being in juvenile hall or prison for life would be better than the everyday hell that she currently existed in. Casey walked into the kitchen and grabbed the sharpest, biggest knife she could from the butcher block and came back out, standing over her mother, staring down. She felt her knuckles tighten around the handle, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it, because, unlike her mother...she wasn't a monster. Casey finally sighed, let the feeling subside, and went to put the knife back before attending to her pain in the bathroom alone. Nights like this, with men like that, made Casey actually miss Nick. He had never been rough with her. He'd always been gentle. Still unwanted, but hey, she had to take her wins where she could get them she figured.

Casey, partway through cleaning herself up, glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror, her makeup completely ruined, her face red and stained with nail marks and hand prints, and she promised herself that one day...one day she would get away from this. And she did.

But distance, as it turns out, wasn't the answer. Running only solves so much.

                                                                                                       ***

"I can't even imagine," Justine said one afternoon at lunch, as Casey told her horror story after horror story about her adolescence, "that sounds just awful. How anyone could treat their own child like that, I am so fucking sorry you had to live through that."

"The worst part," Casey said, biting into her burger and chewing, "is that I miss it, for some warped reason. A therapist at rehab told me it was because it became so normalized to me that to not have it feels wrong, and I built a lot of my self worth around my attractiveness to the men who used me. Made me feel special, like I had a purpose."

"Yeah but that's just fulfilling their needs, not yours," Justine said, "your needs were a safe home with a loving family and you weren't given that. That isn't fair to you."

"It's just hard to build self worth around me because I don't know who I am, even, outside my drawings," Casey said, shrugging. She'd tried very hard for many years now to try and discover who she was, the things she liked or enjoyed, things she could be proud of, but she'd yet to discover any of them outside of her art, and even her art she had a hard time finding pride in because it had been created as a way to cope with being abused so it just felt like an extension of her grief, not an actual escape or rebirth. Just another reminder.

This lunch had taken place a few weeks ago, and now, Justine was waiting at a cafe she and Casey often had breakfast at, texting her, trying to see if she was going to show up. The night Casey had shown up on her porch, during her get together, Justine felt awful that she hadn't stuck around, hadn't just talked to her, and since last night she'd been trying to get a hold of her, but to no avail. Justine sighed and sipped her coffee, looking around. She knew Casey was sick, damaged, but she also knew she was extremely talented, and a good person, and she deserved the success she was seeing now. Not that Casey would ever agree on these points. Justine exhaled and set her phone down after sending yet another text, then tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the table top before picking up her muffin and biting into it.

"Justine?" a voice asked, and Justine turned her head to see Michelle and Eliza standing there in line.

"Hi!" Justine said, smiling, as she got up to hug Michelle.

"What are you doing here?" Michelle asked.

"Waiting for Casey, we're supposed to have breakfast but she hasn't texted or call me back," Justine said.

"She...she was not in a good headspace yesterday," Michelle replied, shaking her head, "I'm worried about her."

"I mean, I am too, but I also know how strong she is. Probably just needs some time to herself. I know she'll be okay," Justine said, smiling.

Justine would remember this conversation 24 hours later.

                                                                                                      ***

Casey pushed Steven's bedroom door opened just a small amount and crept inside. He sat up in bed, groggy, as she climbed in with him. Steven smiled as she curled up beside her and pulled his arms around her. Steven closed his eyes and exhaled.

"You have a bad dream?" he asked.

"I just wanted to be with you," Casey whispered.

On occasion, when she slept over, Casey would wind up in Steven's bed if she was scared or had a nightmare, and Steven was always nothing if not a complete gentleman. Always proper and polite, always had boundaries. He was more than happy to just serve as a safety net for her in these dark times. Steven nodded in response, and tried to go back to sleep as Casey wrapped one of her hands around his wrist and slowly dragged it down between her legs. Steven's eyes snapped open and he jerked away, confused.

"The hell," he said, confused, "Casey, what are you-"

"Please," she said. Steven climbed off the bed, wrapping the sheet around him as he did, backing away. Casey got on her hands and knees and crawled across the bed towards him; she sniffled and batted her eyes to get the tears out of them, "please. You're the only one who's good to me. Take me in. Don't send me home. I can...I can make you happy, make you feel good."

"I don't want that, you're a teenager," Steven said, "and my friend, Casey, not...I'm not..."

"But...but you're the only one who treats me like a person," Casey said, starting to cry, "how...you don't...what's so wrong with me that you don't want me but all those awful men do?"

"That's the difference," Steven said, "they're awful, they don't care how their actions affect others. I'm not like that. I'm just lonely. I miss my daughter, I miss my wife, I'm not looking to supplement either of those with a fucking teenager, Casey, this is wrong. You of all people should know that. I understand getting attached to the one person who treats you well, but I don't do it for sexual favors for god sakes. I do it because you deserve a brief respite from the awfulness that is your everyday life."

Casey couldn't believe she could be so stupid. She should've known he was better than them. Better than her. She had begun to equate herself to the men who used her, nothing more than a perverted weirdo. Casey curled up on the bed and pulled her legs to her chest, hugging them, crying. Steven approached the bed, sighing, and seated himself down beside her, reaching out and putting a hand on her back as she sobbed.

"Casey," Steven said, "you don't-"

"The only good one doesn't want me," she cried, and Steven's heart broke.

He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Instead he just sat there and comforted her best he could. And to his credit, he didn't cut her off because of this, because he knew she was confused, making mistakes. She was a teenager. She was struggling with so much, she needed support, and he wasn't going to hold this against her, but he did define some boundaries afterwards. Things were never the same though, and after a bit she stopped taking his calls and seeing him. Steven hurt for her. They were two sides of the same coin, after all. He knew all she wanted was to be wanted, which was all he wanted too.

Just not from her.

                                                                                                           ***

Casey sighed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, finishing her cigarette and flicking it off into the water.

She exhaled, waving at the smoke in front of her face, before reaching out to the metal of the bridge and helping herself stand up. Her breath was shaky. She trembled a little in her fingers. This was for the best. This way she wouldn't disappoint anyone again, and nobody could hurt her anymore either. It wasn't fair that she didn't get the chance she deserved, but not everybody does, it wasn't personal against her. The universe didn't have a vendetta towards her. Some people just had shit luck, and she was one of them. Casey braced herself, steeled herself for the descent to the water, and shut her eyes. That's when she heard a car pull up and a door slam behind her, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her back down.

"What the hell," Justine said, almost in tears, "I have to go to a meeting with a publisher, I just happen to be crossing this bridge, and here you are, ready to jump? Why didn't you answer?"

"I don't...I don't deserve to answer," Casey whimpered, "I don't deserve...to live."

"Bullshit," Justine said, "that's bullshit, utter bullshit, Casey. I was in a plane crash. I didn't have a choice when it came to almost dying, but you do. Please don't opt in. We can fix this. I will help you."

Casey smiled and nodded, hugging Justine, who patted her on the back.

"This is what you always wanted, isn't it?" Justine asked.

"I did want a friend," Casey whispered.

"No, not that," Justine said, "to be rescued at the last minute. You always wanted to be rescued at the last minute."

And Casey realized. She opened her eyes, feeling the wind around her as she plummeted down towards the water, staring back up at the bridge where she'd been standing. She started laughing, crying. This stupid fucking coping mechanism. Always hoping to be saved before something awful happened. That being said, she'd always heard that people always regretted it the second they jumped, but she didn't feel regret, she felt relief. For the first time in her entire life, she felt like she knew what peace actually was. Freedom. CHOICE. That was the thing. She'd never had choice, and now she did. She chose to do this, and she didn't regret it. But she also knew she was an unlikely statistic, and that most people wouldn't feel this way. Still, it was nice, she had to admit, to pretend she'd be saved at the last minute. But that didn't happen. Not in real life. There was no knight in shining armor, and some people are just eaten by the dragon.

Casey hit the water.

Beatrice and Michelle were standing in front of a small window, peering out at the room of women preparing to perform for them. Beatrice sipped her tea as Michelle ate a cinnamon roll, neither one saying a word. Bea lowered the mug from her lips and clasped it between both hands, sighing heavily. Michelle glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow. Bea felt like she'd been here before, but for a different reason. Back when she and Liam had made the deal with the pizza place, she had to watch other women don shoddy Beatrice costumes that they could use in store for birthdays, meet and greets and more. And now, here she was again, doing it once more. Ya know, she thought to herself, for all that Liam tells me it's different, it really isn't all that different. She turned to Michelle.

"Last night," Beatrice said, "when we were laying in bed, and I was talking Leslie's ear off about doing this today, I realized that all I ever do is complain."

"God, I know, you're exhausting," Michelle replied, the both of them giggling.

"I want to like what I do enough, trust enough in the process, to not have to complain about it all the time. I'm trying to let her go. I'm trying to let others have her. But it's hard. These women...I'm sure they're all talented, wonderful people, but they don't know who Beatrice was. Is. They can't carry themselves the way I do, speak with the same cadence. It isn't the same dog."

Michelle nodded, listening. Beatrice raised her mug back to her lips and sipped again, then smacked her lips and sighed.

"I guess," she continued, "all I can do is continue trying. I was lucky enough to make it in the entertainment industry. People try and tell you it's about talent but it's only maybe 30% talent, and it's 70% luck. You can be the most talented person on the planet and still not catch a break. So many people go unrecognized, unappreciated. Why do you think paintings triple in value once the artist is dead? Because nobody knew or liked them when they were alive. So I got lucky. Now is the time to raise up others, give them the chances I was given. You're not meant to act as a barrier once you've achieved your goals, you know? You're meant to act as a ladder, to help others achieve them to, or reach even greater heights. Art is...is about boosting others, not tearing them down."

Michelle smiled big. She loved how Bea spoke about art, almost as if it were a religion, and to Beatrice it was. She loved art almost more than anything else in the world, and it made the most sense to her of all the subjects. When she was a little girl, she used to ride her bike down to the library, with Bea by her side, and they would get so many books on art out and take them home where she would spend hours reading up on them. Mediums she wasn't even really interested in, she would read about. Paintings, sewing, glass blowing. Anything she could find. Because to bring something of beauty into a world that wasn't beautiful, to grant it that serenity even only momentarily...that was something Beatrice could understand.

"Well," Michelle said, "Better not keep 'em waiting."

Bea nodded, as she and Michelle headed through the door, clipboards in hand.

                                                                                                       ***

Liam opened his front door to find Eliza standing on his porch. Surprised, certainly, but more surprised by her forcing her way into his home. He shut the door after she'd barged in, and watched her walk in circles, clearly exasperated. Eliza looked like a mess. Her hair was disheveled, her clothing was wrinkled, she looked like she'd barely been sleeping. Finally she stopped pacing and turned to face him.

"Why did you have to tell me that!?" she shouted.

"I'm sorry," Liam said, knowing immediately what she meant, "I had to tell someone, and I couldn't tell Bea, not just yet. Eliza, it's a sign of trust, you know? It's...you go so far back with us, I can't help but feel safe telling you."

"Yeah but what am I supposed to do with that?!" Eliza shouted, "I mean...you...you know what loss does to me! You know how it affects me! Don't act like this is somehow the noble thing to do, cause now all I do is worry and freak out and...and I can't sleep and I've just been crying nonstop and-"

Liam approached Eliza and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in for a tight hug. Eliza fought it for a moment before giving in and sighing. She shut her eyes and hugged him back.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be, perfectly natural reaction," Liam said, "I'm the one who should be sorry, having to die, dropping it on you."

"You can't help dying, everyone dies," Eliza replied.

Eliza stayed there in his arms for a bit and thought back to when she'd first been hired. She thought back to when she first met Liam and Bea and had been brought on to make the puppets and other props. How she felt like, in them, she'd found a mother and father figure who would love her no matter her limited mental capacities and her other countless issues, issues that, to people who truly loved and appreciated her, wouldn't seem like issues. Would seem miniscule or nonexistent in scope.

"I was baking some brownies, do you want a brownie?" Liam asked, and Eliza nodded, squeezing tighter; Liam smirked and patted her on the back, "that's my girl. Let's have a tea party."

                                                                                                          ***

"You have an impressive resume," Bea said, "multiple theme park character experience, theatre work, honestly, I won't lie, you seem ideal."

The woman in front of them smiled politely and crossed her legs. Michelle rolled her eyes and looked away. They'd been doing this all day and she'd seen so many actresses now that she knew when they were acting even when they insisted they weren't. The thing about acting, she'd come to realize, is how fake a person can be outside of the job. Never fully trustworthy, everything about their personality coming down to a perfectly curated performance. Michelle stood up and excused herself, heading out of the room and down the hall to get a drink from a vending machine. Standing there, she pulled her wallet from her back pocket and removed a dollar bill, smoothing it out on her leg and then pushing it into the machine.

"Where is everyone?" Casey asked, scaring Michelle. Michelle grabbed her drink once it dropped and turned to face her.

"You look like shit," Michelle said, "are you okay?"

"Where's Bea?" Casey asked as Michelle unscrewed the lid to her drink and had some before offering it to Casey, who shook her head; Casey continued, "Liam isn't in his office, Eliza isn't in The Hole, where is everyone?"

"Calm down, I don't know where Liam is, and as for Eliza I assume she's at home. I'm her girlfriend, not her ankle monitor. Bea's in the room down the hall, we're interviewing people. Are you okay?"

Casey looked towards the door and glared.

"Interviewing people for what?" she asked.

"Well," Michelle started as they began heading down the hall back towards the room, "we need people for public performances. Meet and greets, stuff like that, so we brought in a lot of actresses to see how well they'd do. I was just in there with her a minute ago, we can-"

Casey walked faster, pushing her way into the room. The woman Bea had been speaking to had since left, leaving just Bea alone now in the room. Bea turned and looked at them as they entered, smiling, happy to see them.

"Hello!" Bea said.

"Why are you interviewing people?" Casey asked sternly, "You already know me! What about me?!"

Bea looked past her at Michelle, who had now entered the room behind her, both confused. Bea thought about what Casey meant by this, but couldn't place it. She shook her head, and Casey, clearly exasperated, started pacing back and forth, grabbing at her hair. She looked like she hadn't slept, she looked like she hadn't showered, she looked messy and as if she'd been up doing drugs all night. She stammered, tripped a little, then turned back to facing Bea.

"When we met, this is exactly what I was doing!" Casey said, "remember? At the pizza place?! I was playing you! But now when it comes to finding people you go outside, you source new people, you don't even consider me?! Why am I never fucking good enough for anyone?!"

"Casey, calm down," Bea said, approaching her, "what...what is..."

"You're just like the rest of them," Casey said, thinking back to her parents, back to the interaction she'd had the other day with her former babysitter, "you pretend like you care but you don't, you just want to find people to do things for you without ever giving them anything back in return, you're a fucking liar, and then people have the audacity to call ME a user!"

Michelle finally walked past her, standing between the two and facing Casey.

"You're gonna have to stop right now," Michelle said coldly, "I will not let you stand here and speak to her this way, this is not acceptable, nor appropriate workplace behavior. If you won't control yourself, I will have to have you removed until you can be calmed down."

"Fuck you!" Casey screamed, then looking past her at Bea added, "fuck both of you! Fuck everyone! I'm perfect for this! This is what I did! You don't care! You never fucking cared! Nobody ever did!"

"Casey, calm down, okay?" Bea said softly, "we can find something for you if you'd like to do this too, it didn't even occur to me that you might, I figured you'd be too uncomfortable with public-"

"It never does occur to anyone does it!?" Casey screamed, crying hard, "I don't want to be an afterthought, I should've been the first choice, but I'm never anyones first choice! I'm always the leftover! Just once, just one goddamned time, I want people to think of me! I'll make everyone think of me!"

Casey turned and ran out of the room,leaving a bewildered Bea and a stunned Michelle in her wake. Bea plopped herself back down onto the chair as Michelle sat down slowly in the chair beside her. Bea stared at the floor as Michelle ran a hand through her hair and sighed. She didn't know what the hell just happened. She could chase her. But she figured Casey was irrational right now, that she needed space. Michelle glanced at Bea, whose wide eyes said all that needed to be said.

"You're not like that you know," Michelle said, "what she said about you, I mean. You don't just use people."

"...she hates me," Bea whispered, and Michelle didn't know to respond to that. She just reached out, instead, and held her hand.

                                                                                                        ***

"I remember back during original production," Liam said, the two of them now sitting in the kitchen as he had served them brownies and tea, "you were almost never insecure of your talents, and for someone your age back then that was refreshing. We had to do so much work with other people on the show, trying to get them to believe in themselves, but you just...did."

"I have always known what I'm capable of, even if others have doubts about my intellectual capacity," Eliza said, sipping her tea and then picking up the remainder of her brownie, biting into and chewing as she spoke, "besides, I had support, I had my parents. They may not have really understood it, but they told me how talented I was, so."

Liam smiled and looked around his kitchen, his eyes landing on his cane as he sighed.

"You know what I'm gonna miss most?" he asked, Eliza shaking her head as he continued, "so many people say they'll miss their friends, their families, their lovers, all valid things to be fair. Others try and be more intellectual about it, say they'll miss the small, easily ignorable things like the sunshine or the birdsong. But me? I'm gonna miss me. I know it sounds selfish, self absorbed, but I spent so many years cultivating who I am as a person, and I'm gonna miss that person. A lot of time and effort went into making me who I am, and it hurts to know that I'll be gone, and I won't get to learn about new things I would enjoy or have new experiences I can remember fondly."

"I don't think that's selfish at all, in fact...I think that's very down to earth," Eliza said, "I think more people should think that way but, well...a lot of people hate themselves."

Liam chuckled, making Eliza smile weakly. She stared at his face, as if trying to burn it into her memory. This man. This man she'd known for over twenty years. He was going to be gone. How could she go on with that being the case? And what about the show? Liam had played such a pivotal role for so long - both behind the scenes, creatively and business wise as well as literally being a starring voice - that for them to lose him was almost...almost inconceivable to her. How would they go on?

"I'm not sure what to tell Bea, to be perfectly frank with you," Liam said.

"Well I think she's gonna find out sooner or later, once you die," Eliza replied, making Liam laugh.

"I just mean," he added, wiping his mouth on a napkin before setting it back down on the table, "it's going to be very hard on her. We've had a somewhat tumultous relationship, but we've been best friends for almost thirty years. I don't know how she's going to handle this. Hell, I don't know if she's going to handle this. She's already suffered so much loss..."

While Eliza continued to eat her brownie, Liam thought back to all the things Bea had lost. Her dog. Her mother. Claire. Goddamn Claire. Now he would be added to the list, nothing but a fond memory of something she loved with her whole heart that also had the gall to leave her behind, albeit unintentionally. He hoped, however, that she understood none of these were her fault, even Claire. They did what they had to do. Liam bit his lip and shook his head.

"When do we tell her?" Eliza asked, breaking his concentration, causing him to glance back in her direction.

"I don't know yet, but I'm sure the opportunity will present itself soon enough," he replied, shrugging.

Oh how right he would be.

                                                                                                     ***

Justine was standing in her home, laughing and talking with a small group of friends. She had a weekly meetup with a group of women, all of whom were childrens book authors or illustrators, and it was the one thing she looked forward to the most every week. Standing there in her white pencil skirt and her dark blue long sleeved blouse, her hair up, her makeup just right, she kept picking at the snacks she and others had laid out on the table for the get together as she listened to her friends stories and anecdotes and opinions on the industry and their lives in general. A knock at the door caught her attention though, and she went to answer it, only to find Casey standing on the porch, looking disheveled, her eyes darting everywhere.

"Hi," Justine said, as she glanced over her shoulder, then exited to the porch, closing the door behind her, "are you okay?"

"I just need someone to be nice to me for like five minutes, okay?" Casey asked. Justine nodded, and the two went to the porch swing, seating themselves side by side. Casey rubbed her blood red eyes and sniffled.

"What's going on?" Justine asked.

"I'm so tired," Casey mumbled, "I'm so tired."

"Get some sleep, go home and try to rest, cause you don't seem-"

"Not actually tired," Casey said, "tired of everything. Tired of existence. Being lied to, being used, being taken advantage of. Never being good enough."

"Who said you weren't good enough?" Justine asked, sounding upset.

"A lot of times there's no words, and it's the actions that prove it," Casey said, "never actually being a part of something, even when asked to be. Never being fully included or involved the way others are. I'm not even good enough to be working with you, let's be honest. My skill level compared to yours is garbage."

Justine reached out and put a hand on Casey's arm, then looked back at the door to her home, where her friends were still having fun together. Justine thought about asking Casey to join them, she was an artist after all, but she was unsure if this was the right decision; after all, she was the only one actually familiar with Casey and her work, her abilities. It might be awkward for everyone involved. Justine sighed and looked back at Casey.

"Can we maybe meet tomorrow?" Justine asked, "I'm currently doing something, and I do really want to talk to you, help if I can, but I'm literally right in the middle of this and-"

Casey lost it. She got up and she ran down the porch, stumbling as she slipped on the  grass, then getting back up and heading across the street as a car nearly hit her. She screamed at them, kicked the grille of their car and then got back into her car and took off. Justine stayed on the porch, watching in shock. She felt awful. She shook her head and invited her in, or talked more to her, but she needed this meeting today for her own sanity. It's one of the few times she gets to feel okay about herself and her own life. Justine walked back to the door, opened it and stepped back inside, back to the serenity of her joy.

Meanwhile, as Michelle and Bea were heading to the parking lot, to their respective cars to head home, Bea couldn't shake the incident from earlier.

"You know," Bea said as they walked down the hall, sharing a small bag of chips, "I feel terrible. I feel like I should do something for Casey, make her feel more welcome and needed."

"I hate to say this, especially given all you've done for me, but...not everyone is your responsibility," Michelle said, chewing, stuffing chips in her mouth, "you can't save everyone, Bea, nor is it your duty to do so. I understand that you see yourself in me, in Eliza, in Casey, in Keagan...we're all artists and stuff. But, ya know, some people can't be saved or helped, especially if they won't let themselves be. I tried to get Casey into a drug program, but it didn't really take, and I tried to include her more in what I did, but she still felt like an outsider. She's a nice person but she's this...this self defeating, self fulfilling prophecy, and until she learns she can break free of it, nothing anyone does will ever really help her. She needs to WANT to be helped first. I know that's so tropey to say, but fuck it."

Bea nodded, listening. Bea thought about Claire. She thought about telling Michelle about Claire. It would help her understand so much more, but...but it also might complicate things. Raise more questions than provide context. Best to leave the past in the past, she figured. They exited and hit the parking lot, the evening starting to set in. Michelle and Bea had parked side by side, as they always had, and each reached out, opening their respective car doors before stopping and facing eachother once more.

"You know," Bea said, "I always put others ahead of myself, and maybe it's...maybe it's okay to do the opposite for once. Maybe you're right. Thank you, Michelle."

"Of course," Michelle replied, as they hugged one another, got into their cars and headed their opposite ways towards home. When Bea arrived, she found Leslie in the kitchen, already preparing dinner. Bea walked in and hugged her from behind, and felt such a sense of peace come over her, all her fears and doubts and anxieties melted away right then and there, that it was hard not to admit that nobody but herself was her responsibility and Michelle had been right after all. And Michelle, when she got home, she found Eliza sitting cross legged on the couch reading, and when she walked in, Eliza quickly scrambled off the couch and threw her arms around Michelle, surprising her as she kissed her face everywhere. Michelle giggled and returned the affection happily, before the two of them sat back down and talked about their day.

Casey, though, Casey pulled up and parked alongside the rail. She reached up, turned the little overhead light on and then retrieved a pen and paper from the glovebox of her car, uncapping the pen and scribbling something on it. She then stuck it into the windshield of her car from the inside and climbed out. Casey headed across the road from where she'd parked, to the opposite side, and looked over the edge. She was on an enormous bridge, the wind blowing her hair into her face, and she took a deep sigh.

It would be so easy. It would all be so easy. And what would she really be missing, after all? She just needed to be brave enough to do it.

But people often misunderstood the definition of bravery.

Liam was sitting in one of the armchairs in the office, looking out the window nearby, his fingers twiddling on the top of his cane where Martin's ashes were housed. He bit his lip as he watched a bird land on a branch, pick at something on a leaf, and then take off again into the sky.

"Take as much time as you need," a woman said, and Liam looked towards her. She was wearing a powder blue suit and a button down white shirt with a black tie. She smiled at him and Liam smiled back, nodding.

"Um, I guess I knew it was inevitable," he said, "death always is, after all. I guess what I didn't expect was how it would happen, but I guess who does? Who expects to die in the way they do? At least, in my instance and instances such as mine, we're sort of lucky. We get time to plan. We aren't just killed on impact in a car or...or crushed by an anvil or something."

"Alright, Bugs Bunny, calm down," his therapist, Melissa said, jotting something down, the both of them chuckling.

"I just mean I should count my lucky stars that I am going out the way that I am, because I have time to tie up loose ends. Not everyone gets that. More often than not they leave behind big messes to be cleaned up. I'm not going to do that. I'm taking my messes with me. Nobody will have to worry about anything in regards to my life outside of my estate perhaps, meager as that is."

"...and what about Claire?" Melissa asked, and Liam snapped his eyes to hers.

"What about Claire?" he asked sternly.

"Well, you went through the trouble to find her, did you think about saying anything to her?" Melissa asked.

"Why would I? We haven't been in contact since she was very little, why should I re-enter and complicate her life now?" Liam asked, "I mean, honestly, what would that solve?"

"It would give her a chance to know you a little better before you go. You never know, she might appreciate that," Melissa said, "but obviously it's up to you, don't get mad at me for asking the things I feel need to be asked, Liam, that isn't fair to me."

Liam exhaled and nodded, running his free hand through his thinning hair.

"You're right, I'm...I'm sorry," Liam said, "I've been snapping at people lately and I don't like it. I guess I just feel as though now that I have a finite amount of time I don't like having my time wasted on things I don't think are important. Claire is an adult now. She has no need to be dragged down with us."

Truth was though...he did want to. He wouldn't, but he did want to. It'd been so long, and he knew she was fine, that she'd turned out okay, that her parents had raised her well in the end, but he still wanted to. But he knew it was the wrong thing to do. After all, why bring someone into your life, maybe get them to care, only to leave so shortly after? That just seemed cruel to him. And this was a sentiment that Casey herself was about to discover.

                                                                                                  ***

Casey was sitting in the car, watching Micah gather groceries from her trunk. Casey bit her lip, and, with her now or never mentality, forced herself out of the car and across the street. As she got closer, she noticed Micah struggling, and she quickly swept in to help.

"Can I take one of those?" Casey asked, and Micah turned, smiling politely, thanking her. Casey took two separate bags and carried them up the porch and into the house. There were no children. No husband. Photos on the wall showed a happy, loving family, but she and Micah were currently the only ones in the house. Casey followed her into the kitchen and set them on the counter.

"Thank you so much," Micah said, "I guess the kindness of strangers is appreciated, as they always claimed."

"I'm not really a stranger," Casey mumbled, "was it just too much to carry, or?"

"No, I hurt my elbow playing tennis last week. My husband and I have weekly games, trying to stay fit, but last week I took a bad spill and a bad swing, so I'm just...I'm in pain," Micah said, chuckling, "...did you say you aren't a stranger? Do you live in the neighborhood?"

Standing in the kitchen, looking at Micah, Casey suddenly had a dawning realization of the passage of time. She was older. She didn't look old, but she was mature, if that made sense. Casey hated the idea of aging. She didn't want to get old. She didn't want to get enfeebled and need help. She wanted to be young forever. Casey cleared her throat and leaned against the counter, folding her arms.

"Um," Casey said, "I don't live in the neighborhood, no. Uh...we...we've met before though. A long time ago. My name is Casey Kochawski. You might not remember, I mean, I was a little girl back then, but-"

"Casey," Micah said quietly, and Casey nodded, a lump in her throat; Micah pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down, "no, of course I remember you. You don't forget a situation like that. It's because of you that I wound up doing the work that I do, protecting children, placing them with foster families, getting them out of abusive environments. I always felt so guilty about not being able to do more for you, it spilled over into an entire career."

Casey sat down as well and exhaled.

"I mean, I wasn't your responsibility," Casey said.

"But you were," Micah said, "you were my responsibility. I was there to keep you safe, and I couldn't keep you safe from them. As a babysitter, my one goal is to keep children safe from harm, but...but when I can't be there twenty four seven and the harm is ongoing, it just breaks my heart. You deserved better."

Casey smiled. She was so prepared for this meeting to go badly, and instead it was going exactly the way she'd hoped it would. Even after all these years, as a woman reaching middle age, Micah proved she was compassionate, considerate, comforting. All the things she'd long since expected her to be and had remembered her as. Casey nodded, smiling, looking at her hands on the kitchen table.

"Thing is, everything's pretty okay now in my life. I've got a good job, two good jobs in fact, and I'm making money with my art, and I guess I just wanted to say thank you to being one of the few adults who tried to make my childhood normal and safe. That meant a lot," Casey said.

"It makes me sad, the adults who hate children. I understand not wanting your own, that makes sense to me, but to outright hate a child...to hate the concept of a child...these terrified little base people who barely have any world experience or knowledge, who look to us for guidance and understanding, and you're going to hate that? Worse, take advantage of it? Despicable. I'm glad I managed to be a bright spot in your otherwise miserable adolescence. That makes it all worthwhile."

Liam was wrong. Finding the people who meant a lot to you was worth it.

Or, at least, she thought so in this moment.

                                                                                                       ***

Lexi's father, David, was more than thrilled to see his daughter. In fact, when asked by his lawyers why he'd chosen to go the route he had recently, it was because he simply wanted to go back home to his family, specifically Lexi. Lexi and her father had always been close, even if his work kept him busy and away, and to now have the chance to make up for that? Perhaps that, more than anything else, was the silver lining to come out of this whole mess. Sitting across from Lexi and her friend, Michelle, he couldn't stop smiling.

"You didn't wanna come to a prison alone?" David asked, and the girls laughed.

"Partially that, yeah," Lexi said, "but Michelle is also a good friend and support system. Besides, my girlfriend couldn't drive me today, she was too busy doing filming and having meetings."

David had always had a sneaking suspicion that his daughter was gay, not that he cared at all, but it was nice to have it confirmed finally. It felt like she was finally really opening up to him about who she was, and he loved that. This was a foundation they could truly build on.

"I felt so guilty," David said, looking down at his cuffed hands on the table, "I just...not for what I did, or allegedly did, and not even for what that did to your mother or sister, but...but because of how it affected you. We were always so close when you were growing up, and when I started working more, I felt bad about it, but I wanted to provide the best life that I could for you, specifically."

"Why me?" Lexi asked, an eyebrow raised, "why not the whole family?"

"Because you're..." David started, then sighed and stopped. No. He wouldn't implode her world, not today, not right now, not like this. He looked back up at his daughter and smiled weakly. Michelle shifted in her seat, tossing her hair from her eyes.

"You know," she said, "my father went away when I was very young. I think the fact that you didn't turn tail and run and instead have done everything for Lexi is admirable. Neither of my parents cared about me, so at least she has you. And you put yourself in harms way by taking the deal, but you still did it for her. It's nice to see a parent that cares for their kid."

David smiled more, nodding. He did care. He cared so deeply for her. But not for the reasons she might think.

                                                                                                             ***

"It's all so fleeting," Liam said, "...it all seems so important while you're here, and then you reach the end and you look back and you cringe at the things you fought for, fought over, valued and considered necessary. Far be it from me to think I'm the first to ever have this kind of realization, honestly. I'm not. I'm not saying anything new, but...but still, it rings true. All the clichés are spot on."

The front door to the house opened, and Casey and Micah could hear a man enter with two small children, and Casey smiled even more. A warm family home. This is the kind of environment one must cultivate for healthy growth into adulthood.

"You should leave," Micah said, catching her attention, "I've never really talked to my husband about you, or really anyone that I babysat, and so he's going to think the whole thing is weird. But it was really nice seeing you again."

"Oh, I guess I understand that," Casey replied, "can we maybe meet up again? Have lunch?"

"Don't take this the wrong way...I am proud of what I did, and I am so happy to see you here now as the adult you've become, cause it shows you made it, and it shows I impacted you. But I don't think that's a good idea. That was a different me, a different life. Sure, I still help children, but I also have my own children now. And yes, you're an adult, it isn't like you're some kid coming to look for me, but...I just don't think it would be healthy or beneficial for either one of us."

"You think things will go one way, they go another, life is never what you expect and rarely what you want, and for some of us, we don't catch a break. We, instead, end up broken. I'm one of the lucky ones. I met a woman with a very specific vision, who was willing to let me tag along. God knows where I'd be if she hadn't. I owe everything to Beatrice. And sure, I screwed things up more than once, but I was more than willing to pay for my mistakes, make up for them. That's more than a lot of people can say. Most don't like taking responsibility, instead opting to chock things up to 'fate' or some other pseudo spiritual bullshit. A lot of it is, admittedly, luck. But a lot of the time you have to take responsibility as well, because luck can only get you so far," Liam continued.

Casey stood up and backed away from the table as Micah ushered her towards the sidedoor attached to the kitchen.

"I don't...I don't understand, we can't even just...stay friends? We're adults. I'm an adult now," Casey said, "I went through all this trouble to find you, and you're not even going to grant me the possibility?"

"Casey, I appreciate what you think and feel, but it isn't healthy to look people up like this," Micah said, "frankly, you should speak to a therapist, not a former babysitter. Again, I'm so happy to see who you've grown up to be, and you do seem relatively well adjusted, all things considered, but I know how this is going to go. You're going to want more than just a familiar attachment. You latched onto me because I was an older woman who cared. But I'm not your mom. I'm someone else's mom."

"You don't know what I-"

"I do, and I don't wanna let you down in that regard, you deserve better than that," Micah said, opening the door and helping Casey outside it, "again, thank you for finding me, telling me that what I did made a difference, but maybe you should do the same now, go make a difference in someone else's life. Go forward, not backward."

And with that, the door shut. Casey stood there, somewhat shocked.

"I don't want to be a downer, because there is so many positive things to experience, but so much of life IS disappointment. Rarely do things go the way we want, the way we hope, and instead of reaching the end, naturally, so many people can't take the constant frustration and failure and opt out willingly instead. I know because I tried it myself. I mean, I guess in the moment I figured...it has to happen eventually. That being said, I'm glad I didn't succeed. I'm not saying others who do are wrong, everyone does for themselves what they feel is best, most appropriate, but for me, I would've missed out on this time with Bea, with the girls, with everything. That was more than worth sticking around for. In the end, you die. It's a disappointment, but so is much of life, even when you factor in the good things. That's just how it goes. Some people can take it. Others cannot. I'm lucky to be one of the ones who can."

Casey ran across the street, crying, and climbed back into the car. She sat there and she started to hyperventilate, then she started the car and pulled away violently from the curb, driving anywhere else but here.

                                                                                                           ***

Michelle glanced over at Lexi as she drove, while Lexi sat in the passenger seat and looked out the window, sipping on her iced coffee. Michelle cleared her throat, brushed her bangs from her face and spoke.

"Are you okay? I think that went really well," she said, "sorry Keagan couldn't come."

"Actually...I think I'm glad it was you," Lexi said, "you really understand what it's like to lose your safety net. I'm sorry your father is gone, but I'm sure he'd be proud of you if he were here. Look at where you started, where you are now, it's pretty damn impressive, and all of that achievement was made before you were healthy."

"Please don't call me inspiring," Michaelle laughed, making Lexi laugh.

"I wasn't going to, but okay," Lexi said, "no, I know how frustrating it can be to be disabled and be called inspiring, as if the mere act of your existence is some kind of radical thing, when in actuality you're just like everyone else. I wouldn't do that to you, Michelle. But thank you for coming with me. I'm really glad my father is getting out soon, cause I'd really like to rebuild our relationship."

Michelle smiled, nodding, as she pulled up to a red light and tapped her nails on the steering wheel.

"You're lucky," Michelle said, biting her lip as Lexi finished sipping from her cup.

"I am?" she asked.

"Yeah. My mother will never accept me, and who knows how my father would feel," Michelle said, "sometimes I wonder if the reason he left was because he knew I was gay just by looking at me, and was so ashamed of that that he ran away. I know that's stupid, but the shame, the internal shame, that comes with being queer...it's so strong. You see the world for what it is, a place not designed for you, and you can't help but feel like the odd one out."

"I get that," Lexi said, "yeah."

Michelle hated herself for it, but she couldn't help it. She did know how Lexi felt in regards to dads at least. After she dropped Lexi off at home, she headed home herself and found Eliza laying on the couch asleep. She must've had a hard day, but lately she seemed particularly troubled by something and she wouldn't tell Michelle what. Michelle didn't pry though, she knew Eliza trusted her, and would tell her in due time. Michelle tugged her jacket off, hung it  up and curled up on the couch behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist and pulling her in close. Eliza smiled, her eyes still shut.

"You're back," Eliza whispered.

"If I said I was jealous of you and your dad, would that be weird?" Michelle asked, and Eliza shook her head.

"No, I think that makes sense," she said, yawning, "I'm lucky to have him."

Eliza rolled around to face Michelle and pushed her face under Michelle's chin, one of Michelle's hands making its way up into her hair and running her fingers through it.

"I guess I just am sad I don't have any parents, which feels pathetic, given the age I am now," Michelle said.

"Not pathetic to mourn what you can't have," Eliza said, kissing her neck, "and you don't need parents. You got me."

Michelle blushed and kissed the top of Eliza's head, and they lay like that well into the night. Eliza was right. Family didn't have to be parents. Family was whoever you decided it was, who loved you no matter what. And goddamn if Michelle didn't have that in spades.

"You know," Michelle said as she pulled her jacket on outside the car, Beatrice standing on the opposite side waiting, "if you'd told me as a child that one day I'd get to see the place giant parade balloons are made, I would've absolutely lost my shit."

"And now?" Bea asked.

"I'm kinda absolutely losing my shit," Michelle replied, making Bea laugh as Michelle pulled her hair out from under the coat, adding, "guess I really am still just a kid at heart."

"That's important though. To keep that magic alive," Bea said, "once you lose it, once you become an 'adult', that's when you start dying."

Bea and Michelle walked around the car and headed towards the office building in front of them, the enormous warehouse looming behind it. Michelle never in her wildest dreams could've imagined where this job would've taken her, and was thrilled for every opportunity that it opened her up to. Beatrice, however...she'd been down this path before. She knew that commercialization was unavoidable, hell, even a necessity at some times, especially in this day and age...but this level of commodification...it was starting to feel like the pizza parlor all over again. Liam was signing deals she wasn't particularly enthused about and she was confused as to why when he'd been such a proponent of doing things her way this time up til now. As the women entered the office and approached the main desk, a man in a button down shirt and a tie looked up to greet them.

"Hello," he said, "do you have an appointment?"

"We're here to see the progress on the Beatrice Beagle parade balloon," Bea said.

"And you are?" the man asked.

"I'm Beatrice Beagle," Bea remarked, making the man laugh and nod as he stood up and told them to follow him. Heading down the halls, towards the back so they could exit to the warehouse where production was underway, Bea couldn't help but notice all the people in their tiny little offices in here, and how, in a way, she kind of longed for that simplicity. Maybe she'd quit the show, get a nine to five job, leave everything creative behind.

"Sorry," the man said as they walked, "I have to ask everybody, and I'm new here so."

"You're fine," Michelle said, hands in her coat pockets, smiling back at him, "you wouldn't want some random nobodies to come in and get unguided access to things, I get it."

The three of them continued further down the hall and out through the back doors, leading to a large, open area that led directly to the enormous warehouse they'd seen from out front. The man opened the door for them, allowed them to enter, and then excused himself back to the front office. As Bea and Michelle walked in - Bea looking around at everything skeptically, Michelle with her hands in her coat pockets smiling as she took it all in with childlike wonder - a crane started moving above them and a box attached to it dropped down slowly, with a woman inside it.

"Hey there!" she shouted, her voice echoing throughout the spacious area, "you here to see something?"

"How'd you know?" Michelle asked.

"We often get people dropping by the check on stuff," the woman said; she was in a jumper, with her hair pulled up, presumably to make it easier for her to work, she continued, "so who are you two here to see?"

"We're here to see a woman about a dog," Michelle said, making Bea chuckle. The way Bea saw it, if she had Michelle around, maybe these sorts of things wouldn't be so bad after all.

                                                                                                         ***

Casey was seated at the table in the break room when Liam sat down across from her. Casey put her book down, but continued shoveling chips from the bag in front of her into her mouth. Liam reached inside his coat and pulled something out, his voice low and calm.

"I have someone else to go see, but before I do that, I'm gonna slide you a piece of paper," he said, "and it's going to have all the information you need for your contact on it."

"Are you a spy?" Casey asked, "cause this is some secret agent kinda behavior right here."

"I just don't wanna be the guy who gets known for being able to find others for people," Liam remarked, smirking at her comment; he slid the paper across to her and she took it as he added, "just...please don't expect an amazing outcome, that's all I ask. More often than not these kinds of interactions wind up backfiring. If you haven't seen a person in twenty years, and you were rather ancillary to their life, chances are they've moved on, forgotten you and have settled into a comfortable routine now. So don't go looking for miracles."

Casey scoffed as she grabbed the paper with her free hand, wiping her chip greased hand on her shirt.

"As if miracles happen," she said, "I learned a long time ago that stuff like that was bullshit. You can pray to God every night, 'please make daddy stop hitting mommy', but it never comes true because there's nobody listening."

"You are way too young to be this bitter," Liam said.

"All I'm saying is people who believe in miracles are the same people who believe in fate," Casey said, stuffing the paper in her shirt pocket, "people who don't understand that sometimes cool things just happen or people who don't wanna take direct responsibility for their actions. Everything has to be offloaded to some magical guide in the sky. Who else you need to see, by the way?"

Liam didn't answer. He didn't need to explain his activities to her, but moreso he didn't want someone else going to get information on him. But he had to talk to someone. Liam stood up, straightened his tie and nodded at her.

"...I hope one day, maybe, you're able to view things in a less cynical light," Liam said, "sure, there's no proof of anything, nothing definitive anyway, and sure sometimes people go through a lot that justify their views on stuff like God, but at the end of the day, despite being proofless...is that a word? Well, either way, despite it, there's also no harm in simply believing in something good can happen too, or believing there's something watching over us that only wants the best."

"Funny," Casey said, putting her boots up on the table, "you never struck me as the religious type."

"I didn't say I am," Liam replied, shrugging as he grabbed his cane, "but at some point in life, I suppose, you get exhausted being dour all the time, and instead look for something good to throw the weight of your belief behind. I used to be like you, Casey, always certain the worst was all there was, and only bad things would keep coming. But look around at where you are now...you still believe that? Cause from where I'm standing, you've got things pretty good at the moment."

Casey chewed her lip and thought as Liam said his goodbye and exited the room, heading to another section of production. He had a point, and yet...

...and yet all she could do was feel anxious, waiting for the inevitable shoe to drop.

                                                                                                       ***

"This place is enormous," Michelle said with some awe as she looked around while they walked through the warehouse. Bea could hear the two women talking ahead of her, but she didn't really pay much mind to what was being said. Instead, all her focus, her attention, was turned towards the fact that there were dozens of balloons in here, all based on famous pre-existing fictional characters, beloved then and now, and all she could wonder is if this kind of treatment lessened their intrinsic artistic value. Eventually she saw Michelle had stopped near a door and so she stopped as well as Michelle said, "she needed to pee."

"You don't think I'm...uncompromisable do you?" Bea asked, "Liam said I constantly flip flop on wanting success and being scared of it, of wanting to share Bea with the world and wanting to keep her to myself, and that, eventually, I'd have to choose a side."

"I don't think uncompromisable is the right word," Michelle said, "I think you're steadfast. You hold true to what you believe in, even if it wavers from time to time, and that level of dedication to your beliefs is extremely admirable, believe me. But it has to get old, right? Constantly going back and forth like that?"

Bea sighed and leaned against the wall beside her, crossing her arms.

"It does," she said, "I can't deny that. I guess I just wish I had some level of proof that the people who love Bea, as a character, love her in the same way that I do. That she genuinely means something to their lives. That she isn't just another thing they can slap into their interests next to more famous characters as a part of their interests. I want her to be acknowledged as something greatly important, emotionally, not just..."

Bea sighed and rubbed her face.

"...not just a balloon."

"You should see their faces then," the woman said, coming out from the bathroom, taking them both by surprise; she continued, "the faces of the kids who come to see the parade. To a child, a fictional character IS real. They see them on the TV, they plaster stickers on their school binders, they get shirts with them on it, and then they come to see the balloon and their faces light up in the way that only a childs face can. This is something they identify with, not because it's 'part of their interest' or whatever but because, to them, it's something they see every day and that level of certainty, closeness, it means a lot. To some kids, ya know, it's a small bit of comfort having that routine while to others it's knowing they aren't the only ones out there who are like this character, and if people love this character, people might love them too if they're that similar."

Bea looked at the woman and nodded slowly, taking it all in.

"I know it's hard," the woman said, "cause, ya know, we are just making balloons, but...it does mean something. I assure you of that. They come here, maybe after a bad day at school or a bad week at home, and they see the balloon in the parade, and for one brief fucking moment in their tiny closed off lives...they don't feel so bad. So sure, to us, they're balloons.  But to kids, maybe they represent hope."

With that, she turned and continued leading to them towards the space the Beatrice balloon was being made. The whole time, Bea thought over her words. She was right. Why had she spent so much time worrying about this when, in reality, she'd always known that, to a child, a character is life saving? Hell, that was what got her and Michelle in touch in the first place, was because Michelle had Beatrice when she'd been a sick little girl in the hospital, and it had truly saved her. Maybe it was time to let these doubts go.

Maybe it was time to give Beatrice to the world.

                                                                                                   ***

"This place is so empty," Liam said as he approached Eliza's workshop desk, causing her to spin in her chair and look at him, her jewelers loupe still on her face. She smiled as he dragged a nearby folding chair over and seated himself in it beside her, asking, "you really need all this space?"

"I atually do," Eliza replied, "yes. When production really gets going, I have to hang hundreds of puppets and props and stuff from the rafters, so the space is necessary. Why did you come here? Did you need something?"

"I needed to talk to someone," Liam said, "um...someone who isn't Bea. Someone else I've known a long time."

Eliza put her tools down, pulled the loupe off her face and turned fully to face him now, a somber look coming over her.

"...what's going on?" she asked.

"Eliza, I need to tell you something, and I need you to not tell anyone," Liam said, "but I gotta talk to someone because if I don't, I might go nuts, and I can't afford to be going nuts right now. So can you keep a secret for me?"

Eliza nodded, anxiety rising up within her.

"Okay," Liam said, exhaling and continuing, "...a while back I started going to the doctor. I was feeling...off. Like every other day something was wrong. I figured, you know, I'm older now, I should get these things looked at, lord knows I've got the insurance for it thanks to the show. So I started going. They do some tests. They find some things. They do more tests. Eventually I'm left with the truth that...that I don't have much longer to live. At this point, I've got a few months maybe, if that. I'm doing my best to hide it from everyone, but it's getting very hard. I'm having trouble being mobile, I'm having trouble focusing, and when I'm done with stuff for the day and I go home, I just pass out immediately. I'm telling you this cause, well, I...I'm scared, Eliza. I didn't want to admit it, and I wanna put up a brave face when the time comes to tell everyone, but I'm scared."

Eliza felt her eyes water. No. Not Liam. Not Liam please.

"I don't know," Liam added, sniffling, wiping his eyes on her sweater sleeve, "...I don't think I'm scared of dying. Obviously I'm not, I tried to kill myself after all, but I'm more scared of what me dying will do to others. To Beatrice. I need you to watch out for her for me, please. I've been by her side from almost the start, we built this thing up together, we are creative partners through and through. But at this point, she's gonna be without me, and she can't be alone. She has Michelle, and they are close, but you've known her longer. It has to be you, Eliza."

Eliza finally cracked and started crying. Liam knew this would happen, he knew she didn't handle loss well. He leaned forward and put a hand on her knee, patting it gently for reassurance. She wept soundly for a few minutes, then tried to catch her breath. After a bit, she looked back up at him and adjusted her glasses.

"Eliza," Liam said, smiling softly, "...it has to be you, you understand why right?"

"I do," she whimpered, "I do, yes."

"Okay then. I'm sorry, I know this is a lot to put on you, but-"

"I wanna help, cause I kinda caused my moms death, and I wanna make up for that," Eliza said quietly, making Liam's heart ache as she added, wiping her eyes on the balls of her palms, "I just wish I didn't have to keep losing everyone who meant anything to me."

"I know, kiddo," Liam said, "me too."

                                                                                                       ***

Casey was sitting in the car with Justine, parked across the road from a house as they watched intently. They had been doing work on another book, but during their lunch break Casey asked if they could go for a little drive. Didn't say why, and Justine didn't press her, but she was certainly curious. Sitting here now, eating her thai takeout as Casey sat behind the steering wheel, Justine couldn't help but feel as though they were cops on a stakeout. She stabbed some baby corn with her fork and ate it, speaking as she chewed.

"Are you following an ex around, is that what this is?" Justine asked, and Casey shook her head; Justine nodded and said, "okay, so long as you're not stalking someone. Well, you mind telling me what's going on then?"

"When I was a kid," Casey said, "I had his babysitter. She used to protect me from my mother, when she could anyway. Once she found out what my mother was doing, selling me to men to be used, she tried as hard as she could to get me out of there. Sometimes she'd snatch me away for a few days, just to make sure I was safe even for a little bit. I've been thinking about her a lot lately."

"And that's who we're watching now?" Justine asked, and Casey nodded; Justine unscrewed the lid to her water bottle, took a long swig and then said, "well, trauma does funny things to our brains. Like, after my plane went down, for instance, I found myself obsessed with plane crash movies. I would watch them on a loop. It was almost as though I were trying to recreate the moment, hope it came out differently. It never does, of course, but...but the hope was enough to carry me through."

Casey looked towards Justine who ate some beef strips and continued talking.

"It's weird, I know, but-"

"No...it isn't," Casey said, "cause I do the same thing with movies about babysitters. Or, really, any kind of movie where an adult cares for a child. It...it's comforting."

Justine smiled. She knew she had liked Casey for a reason, she knew they could relate to one another, connect on a level she wouldn't be able to otherwise with someone else. They'd both experienced such trauma, and yet they both came away relatively okay in spite of it. Sure they were a little dinged up emotionally, or in Justine's case physically even, but they had one another and they had a support system around them. That was more than most people in their situations got. Justine constantly counted her blessings in that regard.

"So you intend to speak with her?" Justine asked.

"I'd like to," Casey said, her eyes widening as the front door opened and a woman walking two young children to the car exited; she added, "...but what has conversing with adults ever gotten me?"

                                                                                                             ***

"It's gargantuan," Michelle said.

She, Bea and the woman were standing there looking up at the enormous Beatrice balloon. The woman smiled, patted Bea on the back and walked away, leaving them to have their privacy for a bit. Michelle shook her head, hands still stuffed in her coat pockets. She couldn't believe the size of this thing, she was in awe. She glanced over at Bea, who was standing there slightly slackjawed herself, and she smiled.

"What do you think?" Michelle asked.

"...I think...I think I'm okay with this," Bea said, "I took a dog who gave me her love and I turned around and gave that love to the world. If this is how the world wants to treasure her, then who am I to stop them, to tell them that the way they love is wrong? It's...it's so beautiful, so large. And what that woman said was true, honestly. Kids look up to characters as a source of safety, inspiration, they're as real to children as sports stars and celebrities are to adults. Bea deserved that. Liam was right. It's time for me to let go."

Michelle walked over to Bea and put an arm around her shoulders, Bea laying her head against Michelle's, and the two of them stood there like that for what felt like an eternity. Bea had no idea that Liam was on his way out...but if she had...

...she'd probably try to get him a balloon too.

Casey Kochawski was hiding in her bedroom closet.

She could hear the yelling, as always, but this time it wasn't her father and her mother...it was her mother and her babysitter. She couldn't make out the words, everything was muffled through the closet doors, her bedroom doors and all the wall space between them, but she could feel the intensity. Casey hugged her stuffed dog closer to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut tighter, trying to escape from this place, even if just for a little bit. Her babysitter, Micah, had been reading her a bedtime story, as was the usual routine, when her mother had burst into the house shouting. Micah, quick as lightning, dragged Casey into the closet and hid her there before going out to confront Casey's mother in the hall, and it'd felt like an eternity since that moment.

After a bit longer, the shouting subsided, and Casey heard a door slam shut. Then she heard her bedroom door open and then the closet doors were yanked open as well, as Micah reached inside and scooped Casey up, carrying her quickly out of the room, down the hall and out of the house. Micah put Casey in the backseat of her car, told her to lay down and be quiet, and then got into the drivers seat. She started the car up and pulled out of the driveway, then sped off down the street. Neither one knew where exactly they were going, but Casey had to admit, it felt kind of nice to have a real life knight in shining armor. After a bit, watching the streetlights pass over the backseat windows, Casey felt the car come to a stop, but she still stayed laying down in the backseat. The door opened and Micah climbed in beside her, breathing hard, before opening her arms. Casey climbed up into her lap and Micah held her tightly, crying against her.

Casey didn't know what had caused this sudden leave from the house, or the argument that had preceded it, but she was grateful to have at least one adult in her life hold her, especially in a non sexual way.

                                                                                                         ***

"Look at these sales figures," Liam said, his voice hoarse, leaning on his cane with one hand, holding a paper with his other; he continued, "after that live show, jeez...our merchandise is flying off the shelves, viewership numbers are blasting through the roof on the service, and we keep getting asked when we might do another live show."

"Mmm," Bea said, chewing on her lip, sinking further into her seat. She didn't want to think about the commodification of her best friend.

"They're even going to build a balloon for the Thanksgiving Day Parade this year," Liam said, "just nuts. Alright, well, Bea, you and Michelle should go down to the balloonist shop tomorrow or sometime this week and check it out. Everyone else just keep working on the show. Eliza, I need those new puppets sometime this week. Casey, just, keeping helping anyone who might need it."

"Can do chief," Casey said, saluting.

"Most of the new puppets are already done," Eliza said, pushing her glasses up her face, "in fact, a few already are, but I'd rather hand them over in bulk."

"That's fair, do it however you feel most comfortable," Liam said, smiling at her, making her feel comforted as he added, "Now, I have to go to an appointment, but when I get back, I expect to see everyone working hard, you got me?"

Everyone nodded, and the meeting broke. Casey, Michelle and Eliza headed their own way, leaving Liam and Bea in the room alone together. As her shifted his papers into a briefcase and adjusted his tie, Bea, legs now up on the table, just shook her head as she watched him until he finally noticed her.

"What?" he asked.

"What's with the sudden charge of leadership?" Bea asked, "not that you weren't always bossy, but this feels different."

"I'm just trying to make sure everything runs smooth," Liam said, "but, uh...are you okay? Cause you don't seem very okay."

"How okay can I be? They're financially prostituting my best friend," Bea said, and Liam nodded, scratching the back of his head.

"Yeah, yeah I...I figured you might feel this way about the success," he said, "but you gotta pick a side at some point, Bea. You flip flop, go back and forth between these two, ya know, these two mindsets of wanting to share her with the world so everyone can see her as you did and then wanting her all to yourself, and believe me, I understand the struggle, but...if you don't decide what you're truly okay with, you're never going to find inner peace."

"You're one to talk about inner peace," Bea scoffed.

"I'm not saying I have it either," Liam said, "this dog is just as important to me as she is to you. You know that. You and me, Bea, we've been through a lot together. Don't paint me in the light of someone who doesn't care, because I do, but this needs to be a well oiled, easily manageable machine, because, like it or not, it's going to keep you afloat financially for the rest of your life, and you're gonna need that, and know how to do it yourself. I can't always do it for you."

Bea screwed up her face, grimacing.

"The fuck does that mean?" she asked, and Liam shook his head.

"Just a generalized statement. I have an appointment to get to," Liam said, "I'll see you later."

As Liam exited the room, Bea thought about his words. When would he ever be going somewhere? He was always going to be here, he was number two in charge, essentially. This thing they'd created...sure she'd crafted the character and setting and concept herself, but together they'd fine tuned it, and so it was just as much his as it was hers. Bea eventually shook her head, gathered her things and headed into the hall as well. As she walked, she suddenly felt Casey walking alongside her.

"Hi," Bea said, smiling weakly at her.

"Are you okay?" Casey asked, sipping from a can of root beer.

"Honestly, I don't know," Bea said, "you're an artist, how would you feel if a character that meant the world to you, was integral to your personhood, was co-opted by the world as a financial cash cow? Sure, she's bringing happiness to so many children, even adults, but...at what expense?"

"I mostly draw monsters, creatures," Casey said, "but I do have one human character I've drawn for a long time. I'd eventually like to finish my graphic novel about them interacting with the monsters that surround her. It's mostly done, it just...it needs some cleanup and stuff. But she means so much to me, I don't think I could ever give her to anyone else. Giving her to the publisher alone would be hard enough."

"I admire your willingness to put integrity before commodity," Bea said, "that's so nice to see. I wish I could've been that way."

The thing is...this 'character' Casey had 'created' wasn't much of a character at all, but moreso an amalgamation of herself and another person. In a way, it was her small way to thank them for being in her life when they had been, and showing her that maybe, just maybe, if you found the right people, your life could be worth living after all. A sentiment Casey really appreciated.

Even if she still had trouble believing in it.

                                                                                                     ***

Michelle was chewing on her lip as she drove, Bea in the passenger seat eating yogurt from a little cup with a tiny spoon they provided along with it. They came to a red light and stopped, Michelle half shutting her eyes in concentration as Bea watched her, curious about where her mind was at. Bea sucked on the spoon for a minute, then dropped it into the yogurt cup and exhaled.

"Everything okay in there?" she asked, tapping the side of her own head, making Michelle smirk.

"Yeah, everything is fine," Michelle replied, "I'm just thinking about something."

"And what might that be? Feel like sharing with the class?" Bea asked.

"Well," Michelle said, gripping the wheel with both hands, "I don't know. I feel...I feel like something is wrong but I just can't put my finger on it. Something just feels so off. Liam is being very driven, not that he hasn't always been but something about it is different, and then..."

Michelle glanced over at Bea and sighed, shaking her head, running one hand up into her messy curly hair.

"...and then Eliza and I are happy, but I keep feeling like it can't last. The dread from a lifetime of illness, uncertainty from continued existence, has really made me nervous. Not about commitment, that I have no problem with, but moreso what could happen out of the blue. Even now, with as well as I'm doing health wise, I can't help but be scared."

Bea reached over and patted Michelle on the knee, smiling at her.

"When Liam and I originally did the stage show," she said, "or rather, I did the stage show and brought him on as a consultant of sorts, before we sold the thing to the pizzeria, we had this mother come speak to us one night before a show. She was bringing her child, they had something or other, I don't remember at this point, but she told us how terrified they were - the mother, not the child - of not being around anymore. Child apparently handled their mortality just fine, but the mother was the scared one, which makes sense. Children are often stronger than the adults around them, which is something I've always tried to perpetuate as a truth to the public. Either way, she asked that, after the show, we stop and speak with them, in costume of course."

Michelle smiled as she listened to this, the light turning green and she pressed her foot on the gas, continuing to drive towards their destination. Bea cleared her throat and continued, pulling a bag of peanuts out of her pocket and opening them.

"The thing is...the kid got better. They didn't have that fear to begin with, but their mom never recovered from the possibility that they could die at any given moment. She became overbearing, overprotective, moreso than mothers already are, and she simply wouldn't let up. Kid stayed in contact with us for years, eventually telling us they opted to simply move out of state just to escape her hounding them. Mother followed them to their new place and, in a fit of mania, I suppose, ended both their lives. It became a self fulfilling prophecy."

"Gotta admit, wasn't where I saw that going," Michelle said, surprised, causing Bea to chuckle.

"Not to laugh at the murder of a family, of course, but yeah," Bea remarked, "and that's the thing, Michelle. You survived death. You survived a lifetime of possible death. You said it yourself, you don't know how to keep going from that. But you're doing great. We all are. With the exception of those two, of course. Eventually, we all die. There's no escaping it. You can dwell on it, and that leads to some rather fascinating revelations about the sense of ones self worth, but overall, it's just another thing that happens to us. We all die, and some of us lose children."

Bea glanced out the window as they came to a stop sign and Michelle slowed, preparing to turn, looking over at her, confused. She kept waiting for the stinger to the conversation...

...but it never came.

                                                                                                      ***

"I need help," Casey said, standing in Liam's doorway to his office. Liam lowered his glasses and smiled at her.

"Glad to hear you finally admit it," he said.

"Shut up," Casey replied, the both of them laughing as she came further in, shutting the office door behind her; as she seated herself in the chair opposite him at the desk, she sighed, then said, "you found Justine, for Michelle, remember? I need you to do the same for me. Course, mine isn't anywhere near as noble a quest."

"I'm not the goddamn bureau of missing persons," Liam said.

"No, but you're good at it," Casey said, "I can pay you."

"I don't want your money, I have my own," Liam said, "what do you want to find this person for?"

Casey didn't want to say. She didn't want to divulge that she was searching for her old babysitter, a woman who may not even be alive anymore for all she knew, let alone in the state for that matter. She swallowed and shut her eyes, then opened her backpack between her legs and pulled out a sketchbook, plopping it down onto the desk. Liam put his glasses back on, leaned forward and started leafing through it.

"The hell is this?" he asked.

"This is something I've been working on for years," Casey said, "I don't...I want to put it out, but I'm scared and I don't know the proper channels and, like Bea, I'm scared of having it taken away from me. I was hoping, maybe, if you helped me find this person...you'd be willing to take half the percentage of this if we can get it into the hands of publishers."

Liam raised an eyebrow, certainly intrigued by her offer. He continued to flip through the pages, admittedly impressed by what he was seeing. After a little bit longer, he stopped and looked back up at Casey, who appeared to be extremely anxious, tugging on the tassels of her sweatshirts neckline.

"...if I can ask just one question," Liam said, "you think you want this, but do you really? Because, trust me, finding someone is different than the yearning you're currently feeling right now."

Casey squinted at him, confused, as Liam sighed, shut the book and leaned back in his chair.

"Years ago," Liam said, "I looked up this little girl I used to know. Someone Bea and I were only tangibly involved with, but still, I had my curiosities. Her name was Claire. Bea and I knew her back when we were in the city, when we were in our twenties."

"Was she a part of the team or?"

"Casey, you listening to me? She was a child," Liam said, waving his hand at her, "point is, she was there. And Bea and I cared for her deeply, but we also knew it wasn't a good evironment for her. After a lot of difficult deliberation, we came to the conclusion that we needed to cut ties, and we let her go, and it hurt like hell. Bea never really got over it, always feeling so guilty about dropping someone like that, as did I, but a few years ago, right before we started the show again, I decided, on a whim, to look her up."

Casey crossed her legs and listened as Liam exhaled and ran his hand through his thinning hair.

"...I found her, it wasn't hard," he continued, "but once I did, I wished I hadn't. Not because she was doing bad or anything, in fact if anything she was flourishing, but because it just hurt to see her again. To know we all could've stayed in one anothers lives if things had just been different. Her folks, they did a great job raising her, that much was clear, and for that I'm grateful, but...you think you want these things because you create this fantasy in your head about how the reunion will be, but Casey, it isn't always the case. It doesn't always go the way you expect or even hope. So that's why I'm asking...do you really want this?"

Casey chewed on her lip and thought for a moment. Did she? Yes, she did. She nodded and Liam smiled, nodding back.

"Alright," he said, "I'll look into it once you give me some info on who it is you're stalking."

Casey laughed and agreed. She had to do this, for the sake of her own mind. What could possibly go wrong?

                                                                                                       ***

Keagen, Lexi, Michelle and Eliza were at a restaurant that evening. It had been something they'd been trying to do more and more lately, spending time together outside of work, their little core group, as it were. Especially Michelle and Keagan, as they felt they hadn't been seeing one another often enough, which, considering the roles they each played in getting the show back on the air to begin with, felt ridiculous. Sitting there eating their respective meals, Eliza just listened to the conversation, often feeling as though she had nothing to really add.

"So what do you plan to do when you graduate?" Michelle asked, looking at Lexi as she stabbed some of the tiny potatoes on her plate with her fork and popped it into her mouth.

"Well," Lexi said, "likely look for a job in the field, honestly. Dad will be out of prison in time for my graduation, so that makes me happy. He'll get to see how well I did even in spite of his absence. How hard I worked to keep the family afloat, keep myself going. But yeah, I'll look for a job in the physics or engineering field. One thing's for sure, I'll never have to worry about money."

"Yeah that's nice," Michelle said, laughing.

"You're not mad at your dad?" Eliza asked, biting into her grilled cheese she'd ordered from the kids menu, catching her glasses as they started to slide off her face.

"I mean, I harbor some resentment, sure. The guy ruined our lives with his decisions," Lexi said, "but honestly, I'm just happy he'll be out and that he's regretful. He isn't a bad man, and he certainly wasn't a bad father, not intentionally anyway. Negligence is negligence I suppose, I just know I'm luckier than others thanks to the fact that mine wasn't on purpose. Doesn't forgive it, but softens the blow at least."

"You're right," Michelle said, "negligence is negligence. As someone who's on the opposite end of that spectrum, kind of like Casey, I can speak to that truth. But I'm happy you're at least getting the chance to have a better relationship with your father. I wish mine were still around so I could do the same."

"Well, I'm going to start going to the prison to see him, so," Lexi said, "hopefully we can manage to build something out of this whole mess, and that way when he comes to my graduation, we'll already have some footing to start out on."

Eliza continued listening as she ate, all the while thinking about how lucky Lexi was. She didn't lose her father, but the chance to start again with a parent? That struck a chord with her. She wanted that so badly. Eliza didn't talk the whole drive home, and when she and Michelle finally made it into the apartment, greeted by their Dalmation, Roscoe, she finally let it out. She laid on the couch and she sobbed. She sobbed for what felt like hours. Lately she'd been having a lot of thoughts about her mom, and Michelle knew this. Michelle laid on the couch with her, wrapping herself around Eliza as best she could, and simply told her it was okay to not be okay. Eliza felt so lucky to have Michelle, but she still so badly wanted her mom.

"Grief never goes away," Bea had once told her when they were hanging out in The Hole one day during production; Bea took a drag off her cigarette and added, watching the tip burn and ash away to the floor with a look of wistfulness that only the most successful Frenchmen often managed to convey, "and it never becomes acceptable. Everyone feels bad for you at the start, and then annoyed when you don't move past it."

And Michelle hadn't gotten annoyed yet, but who knew when she would? Eliza had already lost her mom. Could she survive losing the woman she loved too? Introverted as she was, there was only so many years she could spend alone with puppets.

                                                                                                         ***

"Is there anything you want to discuss?" Doctor Franks asked, sitting on the little stool in his examination room he was currently sharing with Liam. Liam was looking at his cane and thinking about Marvin. Liam smirked and rubbed the head of his cane.

"When my longtime Marvin died...I was the one who got to decide what to do with his remains," Liam said, "eventually I settled on having him cremated. Then, after I tried to off myself and was given the chance to have a custom cane designed, I figured I'd put Marvin in the top of it, in here, and that way we'd always be together."

"That's very sweet," Doctor Franks said, smiling.

"I don't want to force that same decision on someone else," Liam said, "especially not her."

"Do you have any children, Liam?" Doctor Franks asked, crossing his legs. Liam thought about this question, then bit his lip and decided against it, shaking his head; Doctor Franks sighed and nodded, "okay then, well, you're gonna need someone, Liam. You need to assign this responsibility to someone. I know Beatrice is currently your emergency contact, but-"

"I don't want her dealing with this," Liam said, "I don't. I can't do that to her. I know how hard it was for me with Marvin, and I'd never do that to her."

"Then Liam," Doctor Franks said, standing up, "I highly suggest you start looking for that person. Because it's going to happen, soon, and...and I just don't want things anymore difficult for your friends than they already will be."

With that, Doctor Franks exited the room, leaving Liam with his thoughts...and his cane. How was he going to manage all this? The show, as well as his plans for his death? It was all going to take so much time.

Time he no longer had.