Published on
Misty LeClaire had been making up stories since she was a little girl.

Anytime she had a writing assignment for school, she always overexcelled. This gradually led to her writing for fun outside of that, which led to her eventually submitting short fiction to magazines. But this was where the rude awakening began, because, as Misty soon learned, there was a big difference between fiction that made you happy and fiction that made you successful, and she wasn't attaining the second one. And so, Misty changed gears. She took the things she was good at, and she went about writing for others instead of herself. She was good at information gathering, pairing things down to just the essentials, and mimicking the voices of others, which made her the ideal candidate when it came to ghost writing.

But the one thing she hadn't counted on was having to ghost write for someone who's entire shtick was telling people to think for themselves. Which is why, when the book released the day prior and Natasha picked up a copy, she was...well...understandably confused by its contents.

                                                                                                           ***

"You do realize why this is insane, right?" Nat asked, as she and Misty sat in her living room, the book on the coffee table between them; Nat gestured toward it and shook her head in disbelief, "I don't...I don't even really know how you managed to get away with it, quite frankly."

"The publisher wasn't happy, trust me," Misty replied, "I had to really sell it to them."

"Yeah, and how did that go?" Nat asked, leaning back into her couch and folding her arms.

"Not good!" Misty said, laughing, as Nat continued shaking her head. Misty seemed so...unfazed. As if what she'd done was normal. Totally and completely understandable. Not at all freaking weird. Nat just couldn't wrap her head around it. After a few minutes of chewing on her lip and thinking about it, she finally spoke again.

"You know, when we agreed to do this, you said you would shadow me, take notes, organize it all and put out something that would show the public what my life was like, to make me even more relatable than I apparently already am. What happened to that idea? I liked that idea," Nat said.

"That idea didn't feel honest," Misty said, shrugging, "it felt...it felt disingenuous to who you are, and what you represent to others."

"And what is that? What do I represent?" Nat asked, sounding annoyed.

"Choice," Misty said flatly, "I mean, plain and simple. Choice. You represent choice. All you ever tell people is not to listen to you, and to make the decisions they feel are right for themselves. I figure, hell, reading this book might make you relatable, sure, but it'll also be like a guidebook, and who wants that. They should think for themselves. Not buy a book because it tells them what to think, but because it suggests their own thoughts are far more worthwhile."

Nat blinked a few times. That...certainly hadn't been the answer she'd been anticipating. She sighed and reached up, rubbing her face in her hands. Misty set her coffee mug on the table and crossed her legs.

"You know," Misty continued, "when I was first starting out, like professionally, not when I first started writing, I was told that I'm good at mimicking others. You don't really think about what that does to your personality at the time though. Sure, it got me work, but it...it created this empty hole inside of me, where because I never wrote as myself, I don't think I'm a person. I've been everyone but me."

Nat nodded, listening. Misty had a point. To spend ones entire life covering others entire lives, in some cases outright pretending to be them while simultaneously not getting the credit for the things "they" wrote...that had to be intensely frustrating. Nat's eyes scanned back down to the book on the table between them.

"Regardless of anything else," Misty finished, "I think it goes without saying that I've never really had much of a chance to utilize my writing to explore myself. I've explored others to death. Plumbed the depths of their personalities, discovered who they were and what made them tick. But...I've never known those very same things about me. I have vague ideas, sure, but nothing concrete. I think...I think yours might be the last one I write. I think I want to find out about me next."

Nat smiled. Had this, in some way, been yet another example of her ability to get people to want to listen to themselves? She sure did seem to have a knack for that. Nat sighed and crossed her legs.

"I guess in the grand scheme of things what you did isn't bad or even wrong," Nat said, "just...confusing. Not what anyone was expecting. But, ya know, perhaps that's what this business is. Always leave 'em guessing."

"Well, if there's one thing I'm good at," Misty replied, "it's giving people something to think about."

                                                                                                          ***

"You're very talented," her 11th grade english teacher said, "you excel at not using your own voice, which is not a skill every writer has, and it's likely to guarantee you a good deal of success. But I am concerned that you don't have a voice of your own."

Misty had always enjoyed english classes throughout school, but her favorite had been her 11th grade teacher, Mr. Markson's, class. He was encouraging, supportive and he truly did see her potential, something every teacher had seen but not every teacher had brought attention to. She appreciated that.

"Well," Misty said, shrugging, standing in front of his desk, "is that so important? I mean, fiction lives or dies by how realistic its characters are, right? So being capable of having multiple voices is, as you said, a good skill to possess."

"It is," Mr. Markson said, nodding, "but at the same time I worry that you may don't understand why not having your own is concerning. Your own voice is what separates you from the rest of the writers in the world, it's what makes you recognizable. Yes, the ability you have is impressive, and I'm jealous even, but if your characters voices overshadow your own, then...all anyone will remember is them as their own existing people, not the person who brought them to life. Again, not necessarily a bad thing, you want people to connect with them that deeply, but it's just something to keep in mind."

Misty tried to keep this in mind, but really, she didn't understand the problem. Most of her life, especially amongst her peers, nobody liked her anyway, so why care if she had her own voice? Clearly, people were more interested in her if she was someone else. And so she stuck the course. She remained being others, because that seemed far more preferable, especially in regards to her chances at success. And she wasn't wrong. That very same skill was what eventually got her work doing ghost writing. Oddly enough, she found that she really didn't care about getting credit, either. The act of writing itself was enough to sustain her. She was paid handsomely, and so she could live rather comfortably. She wrote her own original stuff in her spare time, published to a small website she ran that housed all her work under a pseudonym, but otherwise, she really didn't care just spending her life being other people.

Until she met Natasha.

                                                                                                            ***

"I gotta say," Nat said, "when I opened it up just to find...well...what I found, I wasn't even angry, I was just confused."

"Probably the likely reaction of everyone," Misty responded, shrugging.

"That being said, your argument makes a great deal of sense," Nat continued, "and, you really did kind of capture the essence of who I am and what it is I stand for and so how can I possibly be angry about that? Is it a little scammy to get paid for doing essentially nothing? Debatable, but hey, I think you're the only one who ever really got it, so how mad can I realistically be?"

Misty chuckled at this sentiment, but nodded in agreement. She had, after all, done her job, and judging by the numbers thusfar, the book was on its way to being a totally financial success. She picked her mug back up and continued sipping the coffee.

"But folks might be mad, understandably so," Nat added, "I mean, after all, we did just sell them an empty book."

Misty laughed, nodding again.

"We sure did," she said.

That was the thing. Misty had spent weeks, months even, learning things about Nat, her life and her business, and compiled it all into heavily detailed notes, only to, in turn, throw all of that out in favor of something that, as Nat had put it, captured the essence of who she was and what she stood for. Misty finished drinking the coffee and plopped the mug back down on the table, then sighed.

"Listen," she said, "as I said, your entire persona is that you want people to think for themselves, trust their own guts, feelings, emotions. You don't want to be a leader. You want them to lead themselves. That's what people find admirable about you. So how could I, in turn, release something that would be the exact antithesis of that very sentiment? I mean, this book was supposed to show your life to people, but people often model their lives after those they admire, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not, and that just seemed so...wrong. That isn't you. So instead I opted to leave the entire thing blank, as if to say 'Look, what's important is that everyones story is their own, and you can write yours too'. I know it's out there, but...it just felt right."

Natasha had a hard time arguing, really. Misty had, in actuality, gotten her down to a science. Besides, everyone already knew what Natasha's life was like. She'd been so open about it in interviews, on the website, everyone knew the history of the show and herself, why repackage and resell them the same old story again when doing something new was far more interesting and unexpected?

"And what happens when they complain? Because someone inevitably will," Nat asked, and Misty shrugged.

"Fuck 'em," she said, "is the book a novelty, a prop, a gag? Probably. But it's also a statement. Somehow with yours I did so much more by saying nothing than all the ones I wrote where I said too much. I think that alone speaks for itself."

Natasha smiled and leaned forward, picking the book back up and skimming through its empty pages.

"So what do you plan to do now?" she asked.

"Honestly, I don't know," Misty replied, "I was thinking maybe I would do something for myself. Work on actually submitting and publishing fiction. With my track record now, people can't say no to me. All I do know is this...I am so tired of writing for others, of being others, and I'd kinda like to learn who I am for a change. I guess I owe that all to you, too. I'd like to follow my own instincts, you know? That's what you always preach, so."

"I think that's a great idea," Nat said, putting the book down in her lap and looking up at Misty, "...I guess we don't have any business together anymore now that this is completed, but that doesn't mean we can't stay friends. I'd like to keep you on somehow. Give you a job with the site, the company, but only if you want to."

"Maybe after a little hiatus," Misty said, standing up and shrugging as she pulled her coat back on, "but we'll see. I need some downtime first and foremost."

Nat got up and followed Misty to the door. Misty opened the front door and stood there, then turned around and faced Natasha.

"You know," Misty said, pulling her hood up over her head, "I had an english teacher once, who I greatly respected and who was very supportive of me, tell me that even though I posessed magnificent skill in giving voice to others, I had no voice of my own. But look at where that's gotten me. Sure, maybe I don't have my own work out there and maybe I odn't know who I am exactly, but I'm successful, and now I can bankroll my own projects as a result. Guess it just goes to show that teachers don't know everything, even if they do believe in you."

Nat laughed as Misty held her hand out, and Nat shook it. As Nat watched Misty walk to her car, she couldn't help but wonder something.

"Hey," Nat called out, "How did you manage to get them to publish a blank book?"

Misty stopped, hand on the car door handle and looked back, shrugging.

"I didn't," she said, "I just sent it off myself."

And with that, she got into her car and drove away, leaving Nat rather speechless. If Nat was a hero to others...Misty was hers.

                                                                                                            ***

A joy of words doesn't come from nowhere. It often has to be nurtured, and Misty LeClaire had it nurtured to the nth degree. When she was a little girl, she would crawl into her mother's bed with storybooks and ask her to read them to her until she fell asleep in her arms. Misty's mother continued to nurture her interest in the written word as she got older, taking her to libraries, book signings, and even bookmobiles. She and her mother even had little book club nights featuring just the two of them. They would each pick a book and they would sit in the living room with the soft lighting and the quiet and they would read together. Sometimes they would even pick the same book so they could discuss it afterwards.

And then, one day, a teacher told Misty she didn't have her own voice. That she was talented, that she could speak for others, fictional or otherwise, but that she couldn't speak for herself. That she didn't know what her internal dialogue sounded like. She was so distraught that she sat at the kitchen table and ate an entire box of peanut butter cookies. When her mother got home, Misty told her what had happened, what her teacher had said, and her mother, instead of putting the groceries away, set them on the countertop and seated herself at the table with her daughter, one hand on her back.

"What you have," she told Misty, "is a gift. An ability to give a voice to the voiceless. To those who might otherwise not be listened to. It isn't a bad thing. Nothing about you ever could be. Use this skill to the best of your ability, because one day...one day it'll pay off in spades."

And from that moment on, Misty felt no shame in what she was capable of doing. She churned out ghostbook after ghostbook, wrote article after article - all dry and factual without ever requiring a voice of her own - and all to great success. That's what Misty saw in Natasha, above all else, as she spent time around her. The same kind of woman, raising Violet, that she had as her own mother. That night, after getting home, Misty called her mom up and told her about her latest success, and when she told her she was finally going to take some time off to work on her own projects, get her own original fictin published, all her mother had to say was

"You do whatever you feel is best for you."

Because, again, like Natasha, her mother was nothing if not a proponant of listening to your heart, and not the intents of others. If only everyone could be so lucky as to grow up with that.
Published on

Raymond Sykes was never late.


He was always punctual, always on time, lived life to the tick of a clock. He planned his days meticulously, and to the letter. This morning, for instance, he woke up at his normal time, showered, shaved, got dressed, got coffee, and headed into the office. He was a slave to the routine in the most successful kind of way. As he strolled into the building, heading down the hall to his office, he couldn't help but think about what else he had on his plate for today. He opened the door to his office and stepped inside, surprised to find a woman already inside. She had red hair and was wearing a slimming black dress with a large black sunhat, a white ribbon tied around it. She turned to face him as he entered, pulling the large sunglasses down the bridge of her nose.


"Hello," Raymond said hesitantly, shutting the door behind him.


"I'm sorry, I hope this isn't an intrusion," the woman said, "I was told it would be okay to wait in here by your secretary."


"Oh, yes, it's more than fine," Raymond replied, walking around her and getting behind his desk, plopping his briefcase and coffee down on its topside before looking at her; he raised an eyebrow and asked, "though I am curious who you are."


"Right, I'm sorry, I'm all out of sorts," the woman said, "I'm Heather Bastion, Chuck Bastion's daughter. I was told you were familiar with my father."


"I was, I'm sorry to hear of his passing. Wasn't aware he had any kids," Raymond said as he sat down at his desk and nervously adjusted his tie.


"Well, to be fair, we were related in blood only," the woman said, sitting in the chair opposite Raymond, continuing, "I mean, he wasn't exactly cut out to be a father, and my stepfather wasn't too pleased about his wife having a child with another man. But I'm not here to give you my life story. I'm here to ask a favor. My father once spoke to me of his business, about how he helped funnel money through tax shelters for casinos. Said they funded not just his continued political career, but others as well. I was just hoping to have some documents to perhaps verify things, so that I can continue to be the recipient of his...generosity, now that he's gone."


"I see you're as morally bankrupt as the rest of us," Raymond replied, smirking.


"I'm not going to question where money comes from so long as it goes to me," the woman said, leaning back in her chair, grinning, making Raymond laugh.


"Chuck was a good friend, and we did do a lot of business together," he said, "I wouldn't mind helping you with that. But why would you be in financial straits, don't you have parents?"


"Not anymore," the woman said, "um, my folks, well, let's just say they were less than pleased when I...when I told them I fancy women over men. Seems love is apparently the biggest sin one can commit."


Raymond's face softened, and he reached across the table, patting her hand.


"I'm very sorry to hear that, that's...that's no way to treat your child," he said, "so you're just looking for doctored paperwork, right? Stuff that'll keep the IRS from being interested and keep you in the loop, financial wise? Because I've got all that. We can do this over a series of a few visits."


"That would be so lovely, thank you so much. Ever since he died, people have been...less than helpful," the woman said, smiling warmly at him, causing him to smile in return. As Raymond got up and started digging through a nearby filing cabinet, the woman stayed sat in her chair, watching closely. She was so good at this. She was such a good liar. After spending her life being a chameleon, always changing herself up for new opportunities, new chances at success, she had become an expert at it. This? This would be a breeze compared to running a cult. Claire really knew her skills.


                                                                             ***


"Am I the only one partially concerned with how many practice attempts this has taken him?" Benny asked, "I mean, if he was good at it, wouldn't it...ya know...not take that many attempts?"


Benny, Salem, Allie and Molly were at yet another one of Jackson Strange's public practice attempts at his upcoming Glass Box trick. Standing amongst the crowd, Salem was clearly nervous, constantly tugging on the tassels from his windbreaker hood, as Allie eyeballed him. Molly was busy eating a churro, while Benny downed a whole can of Root Beer. Benny finished his drunk, scrunched the can in his fist and tossed it into a nearby trashcan.


"Tricks like this are dangerous, you of all people should know that," Allie said, "not because you do them, but because you work in the industry."


"Tricks like this are bullshit, is what they are, a spectacle, nothing else," Salem said, finally breaking his silence, "tricks like this are what cause accidents, and accidents are what causes loss of faith in performers in the general public. This man is a menace not just to those around him but to our profession."


"This guy's angry, I like him" Benny said, causing Molly to chuckle.


"All I'm saying is things like this are what causes general unease in audiences," Salem said, "because they come to a show like this for escapism-"


"Quite literally that's what he's doing," Benny said, making Allie laugh.


"-and yet," Salem continued, "what they might get instead, if done incorrectly, is their very life threatened. This thing is a supposedly glass box, suspended feet in the air above people outside, and if anything were to go wrong, and I'm not even speaking on Strange's behalf in regards to his abilities but moreso to the preparation of the trick itself, then this thing could fall and shatter and hurt lots of people."


Allie chewed her lip and nodded, listening closely.


"Yeah," she muttered, "yeah it could."


                                                                           ***


"Here," Zoe said, putting the device down on the desk of Agent Siskel, who looked up at her, plopping her chopsticks down in her take out container.


"That didn't seem very difficult," Agent Siskel said, and Zoe shrugged.


"I got in, planted it, got out and then went back," Zoe answered, "I did exactly what you asked me. I think there's probably a lot of good stuff on there, he has a lot of meetings with this shady 'lawyer' named Raindrop, so I don't think you're gonna have to search too far for the answers you're needing."


"Raindrop?" Agent Siskel asked, picking up the device and looking at it, then putting it back down, "Raindrop Mullens? Kind of a...a lithe, very cold woman who speaks in a stilted way?"


Zoe nodded, confused. Agent Siskel backed her chair away from her desk, climbed out of it and headed to a nearby file cabinet. After sifting through some folders briefly, she finally came away with an envelope that she plopped down on the desk as she seated herself once more, opening it. Zoe watched in confusion as Agent Siskel slid the papers inside out onto the desk and shook her head.


"She's been a problematic lawyer for years," Agent Siskel said, "always helping those who shouldn't be receiving help, those clearly committing crimes they should pay the consequences for. After Nicole, who used to doctor all of her fathers papers for tax shelters blew her brains out, Raymond needed someone else to do just that. Suffice to say, if she's 'working' for Tony, she's not working for Tony."


"...aw fuck," Zoe mumbled, rubbing a palm over her face as she slumped more in her chair, "it's always something."


"However, she clearly has no knowledge of what's going on between you guys and us, being in the middle of all of this, which provides us with the chance to gain invaluable insight into her dealings. Take her out. Get her drunk. Make her talk. She's a criminal lawyer but she's also a lush, and I guarantee enough drink on her lips and a pretty girl to talk to, and she'll crack wide open like a walnut."


"You do realize you're not in Dragnet, right? You don't have to talk like this," Zoe said, "so now I have to take this girl out? Pretend to be interested in her? I just got engaged! My fiance doesn't know about any of this, what if she-"


"Zoe," Agent Siskel said, putting the papers down and cupping her hands on the desktop, clearing her throat, "Allie's looking at taking a lot of time behind bars for what she did. Granted, she's taking a deal for a longer sentence to ensure none of her accomplices also face charges. Noble, certainly, but still. You wanna help reduce that sentence even further? Do this. Get Raindrop on the same charges we're going after Tony and Raymond for, and Allie maybe won't spend a good part of her late 30s in prison."


Zoe sighed. She knew Allie had taken a deal. She knew Allie was doing her best to shield the others from the consequences of her actions, and their interaction with them. She figured, hell, she owed her that much. Zoe nodded.


"I'll do it," Zoe whispered, "but I won't be happy about it."


"That's life, kid," Agent Siskel said.


                                                                         ***


Rachel St. Sebastian was making dinner.


She loved to cook. For all the work she did in a rather unsettling and predominantly male field of business, she was extremely feminine, and cooking was one of her favorite hobbies. It was just that she so rarely had the time or energy to do so anymore. But tonight? Tonight was special. Tonight she was doing something nice, not just for herself, but for Claire as well. She had a gorgeous glazed duck in the oven, she had made mashed potatoes from scratch, she had created a vegetable medley of sorts. It was going to knock Claire's socks off. Rachel checked the duck once more, then shut the oven lid and turned, screaming, hand to her chest as she saw Claire sitting down at the kitchen table.


"Christ, you're so good at that," Rachel said, making Claire smirk; Rachel then furrowed her brow, "why...why are you dressed like a high priced call girl?"


"I was going more for a rich uppity wasp, but okay," Claire said, removing her earrings, "I had a meeting today. Something smells good in here. Are you cooking?"


"I, yeah, I am. For you. For us, whatever. I didn't have much work today, so," Rachel said, flustered, "you had a meeting? What kind of meeting?"


"You know, a meeting. Something where you get together with someone, in this case someone very prominent, and you discuss business," Claire said, standing up and approaching the stove, putting her hands on Rachel's shoulders and leaning in, pushing her lips on her neck, whispering, "and to think, after that, I get to come home to such domesticity. What a lucky girl I am."


Claire kissed Rachel's neck, and Rachel seized up, half out of lust and half out of fear. What wasn't Claire telling her? After being necked for a bit, Rachel then gently pushed Claire away and caught her breath.


"Where were you?" Rachel asked, this time more sternly.


"I told you, I had a meeting."


"No, you don't get to be vague, okay? I helped you do what you did, we're partners in more ways than one, and-"


"Oh we are? Was that your decision?" Claire asked, causing Rachel's blood to run cold; Claire smiled, "sweetheart, yes, you did good, helping me, protecting me, but let's get one thing clear here above all else, okay? You're not my partner. Not in a business sense, and not in a romantic sense."


Rachel's breath became shaky, as she stumbled back against the counter, grasping it with her hands, terrified.


"wh...what am I then?" Rachel asked quietly as Claire grabbed her by the chin and smiled.


"You're my pet, of course," Claire said, "my pretty, precious pet. Now, let me know when dinner is finished, I have to go make a phone call."


With that, Claire exited the room, leaving Rachel visibly shaking. Rachel clambored for her cigarettes, grabbing the carton and retrieving one, lighting it and smoking right there in the kitchen. She hated smoking in the house, but sometimes...sometimes she didn't have a choice. A pet? That's what Claire thought of her. Rachel could feel her heart breaking. All she wanted was for this girl to be stable, to love her in a genuinely romantic way, and yet she was...a pet? Then again, Claire didn't feel the things ordinary people felt. She didn't understand human emotions. She was a sociopath. Rachel knew she was asking for too much. But she still wished for it, as every woman does. To be loved unconditionally, by people who will never do so.


Claire, meanwhile, headed down the hallway and into the bedroom, shutting the door and locking it behind her. She picked up the landline on the bedside table as she seated herself on the bed and started to push her heels off with her feet. She dialed, then waited for a bit. Finally, after about seven rings, it went to voicemail.


"Meers, it's Claire. We need to talk," Claire said.


                                                                           ***


Allie didn't get back to the suite until late that night.


After seeing Strange's practice performance, she and the others went out to eat and plan, and after that, Benny and Molly went home, while she and Salem stayed out a bit longer. They discussed the ethics of magic, the morality of Vegas, and everything in between. Salem was a smart guy, Allie quickly discovered, and she was more than happy to have him on her team. When she finally did get back to the suite, she stepped inside and was instantly ready for a bath, but she quickly discovered she wasn't alone. Zoe was sitting on her couch, looking terrible. Her makeup was smeared, running down her face, and she was drinking, something Allie rarely saw.


"Zoe?" Allie asked, as she approached the couch.


"Yeah, hi, hello," Zoe said.


"What are you...why are...are you okay?" Allie asked, and Zoe shrugged.


"Is anyone, at this point? What even is 'ok' anymore? We're all fucked, Allie," Zoe said, "we're all so fucking fucked. This is a nightmare, a never ending nightmare and I can't even begin to pretend that it isn't anymore. I thought, ya know, for a while, maybe I could convince myself things would even out, would somehow...would somehow get fixed, but they aren't ever getting fixed. This isn't ever going to go away."


Allie climbed over the couch and sat down beside Zoe, taking the drink from her hand and placing it on the coffee table in front of them before rubbing her back.


"Zoe, it's going to end, okay, that's a guarantee, because there's no way a crime of this magnitude goes on indefinitely, especially not when there's so much evidence already gathered," Allie said, "I get that you're feeling scared and overwhelmed, and right now it feels like it'll always be this way, but it won't. I promise."


Zoe looked at Allie, her eyes wide and watery, her curly bangs falling down over her face.


"You took the whole blame," Zoe said, "I know you said it, and then the agent said it today, but I don't think it really sunk in until this moment what that means. It means you are taking full responsibility, will face the full brunt of the consequences. I...I can't believe someone would do that, especially not someone who was once so selfish, and god I'm sorry that was rude to say but-"


"No, it wasn't rude, it was right. I was selfish. I was a drug addict, an alcoholic, losing my job, my boyfriend, with no friends. When we met, I was at absolute rock bottom, and that's what I'm trying to prevent all of you from reaching as well. You especially, Zoe. You don't...you deserve better. So much better. It's going to end. We are getting so close, believe me. After we get into the vault in a few days, god, it's all going to change."


"We're all Jackson Strange," Zoe wept, "we're all trapped in a glass box, vying to get out, terrified of what happens if we don't, and it's suspended above everyone who can see our failures. Can see our faults. Can see our flaws. They know we're frauds. Fakes. They know we're going to underperform. I'm so scared."


"You are not Jackson Strange," Allie said, "and you're not going to stayed trapped in the glass box, I'm making damn sure of that."


Zoe leaned in and hugged Allie, as Allie, surprised but pleased, hugged her back.


"you're my hero," Zoe mumbled through her tears, and Allie's heart broke a little. Flattered, certainly, but she wished Zoe had better heroes. After a moment, Zoe held up her hand, saying as she weeped, "I got engaged. Effie asked me to marry her," and Allie smiled so wide. She wanted Zoe to be loved, to be taken care of, and she knew Effie adored her to the ends of the earth. Things really would be okay. Behind them the phone rang, and after a handful of rings, it went to voicemail, where Claire's voice rang out loud and clear.


"Meers, it's Claire. We need to talk," she said.


If anything, it wasn't the end of everything that worried Allie. She knew how it would end. Tony and Raymond would be held accountable for their crimes, she herself would spend time behind bars for the things she'd done, and everyone else would get off relatively scottfree. Molly, Olivia and Benny would leave town, presumably. Salem would likely go back to his quiet, unbothered existence. Zoe would continue to perform, likely better than she ever had before, and be a married woman. The one wild card, however, was Claire. Allie didn't know where things would end with Claire.


And to be honest...


...she was fucking scared to find out.

Published on
"Mom, please, open the door!" Corrine shouted.

She was standing on the front porch, banging on the door, sobbing. A few hours earlier, her ex-girlfriends mother had called her parents, and told them their daughter was queer. Now Corrine was standing on the steps of her childhood home, begging her parents to speak to her, but to no avail. Nobody answered the door. Nobody even opened a window to yell out of. Corrine finally stopped and sat on the porch swing, hugging herself, trying not to hyperventilate. You see, she thought, this is what you get when you aren't perfect. She eventually buried her face in her hands and bit her lip hard, thinking back across her life, how hard she'd tried to be the daughter they so clearly wanted. To be the heterosexual, successful, not mentally ill daughter they craved, like the ones their friends had. But try as she might, she couldn't be any of those things.

And now she had no parents.

When Corrine started living in the editing room at the studio, before being discovered by Jay and Sharla and moving into Natasha's, she thought about how much she hated herself, and how much she loved her parents, even in the face of their out and out denial of her personhood. How could she still love them after the way they looked at her? After disowning her outright in front of the neighbors she'd grown up around? How could she still possibly want to be able to connect with them and want their support and understanding? Because the world, she realized, without parents, was extremely small and cold. It was somewhere she didn't want to be. She would lay on the little nest she'd created for herself, she would hug her stuffed animal tightly to her chest, and she would think about what she had lost, instead of all that she had gained. Because the thing about this sort of rejection is that one rarely entertains the idea of what they actually have now as opposed to what they've lost. Sure, Corrine had lost her parents. She'd lost her ability to continue to go to college. She'd lost the only girl she'd ever loved. But she'd gained freedom. She'd gained her identity. She'd gained people who loved her, even in spite of her faults and her flaws, people like Natasha, who, in her own way, knew what it was like to not live up to a parents ideals.

And then Corrine moved in. She took up the spare room in Nat's house, she became friends with Violet, who in turn turned to her in a time of questioning her own sexuality, which was truly a sign of trust, and she was a crucial element to Nat's success thanks to her editing skills and her ability to work under tremendous pressure. Corrine and Nat became best friends, and Corrine finally started to see the things she'd gained instead of the things she'd lost. She'd gained a family. She'd gained the respect of people older than her, and her peers, and an audience who constantly commented, in addition to how great the episode was, how great the editing was. Corrine finally started to see and accept the good things she had, the good ways people saw her.

And then she slept with Nat's sister, and all she could see again was what she'd lost.

                                                                                                        ***


"It's a girls night out," Sharla said, "ya know, to, kinda, alleviate ourselves of all the stress and drama of recent times."

"You two are old, you're not girls, you're women," Corrine said, laying on the couch, her statement making Nat crack up as Sharla took a drink from her squirt bottle and put a hand on her hip, looking at Corrine; Corrine continued, her fingers interweaving her cats cradle, "in fact, I'm the only one in this room who probably qualifies as a girl right now."

"I don't know, Sharla, I have a lot to do," Nat said, sitting upright, putting her pen down on the table amongst all the papers, "I have to find a new camera man, I have to pay some bills, I have to do some refinancing in general. I just don't know that I have the time or energy to focus on something like that."

"Okay, it's attitudes like that that makes us seem old to people like Corrine," Sharla said.

"Actually it's your age, but okay," Corrine said, making Nat laugh once again, which made Corrine smile. She appreciated the fact that Natasha found her so very funny.

"We are going on a girls night out, okay? That's final," Sharla said, "so get your best goddamn outfit together, get gussied up, and when I get back here after work, y'all better be ready for a night on the town."

"Gussied?" Nat asked, looking up.

"Y'all?" Corrine asked, also looking over, "...are you from Texas?"

Sharla stared at them, then exited the house. Corrine went back to her cats cradle, Nat to her paperwork. They sat there in silence together for a while. Corrine appreciated this about Natasha. She didn't require constant interaction, she didn't demand ongoing discussion, they could simply occupy the same space without doing anything together. There was a level of respect and comfort you had to have around someone before you could achieve that kind of presence amongst others. After a bit, Nat put her pen back down and sighed, scratching her nose.

"What am I gonna tell Jay?" she asked.

"About hiring a new camera guy? I mean, why are you doing it?" Corrine asked.

"Because, good as he is at his job," Nat said, "I want to move him up. He's a founder, and he shouldn't be relegated to simply doing production. He should be doing something far more important. Not that production isn't important, I'm sorry, you're an editor, everything you production people do is the most important cause otherwise we wouldn't have a show, but you know what I mean."

"Do I?" Corrine asked, "wait, am I important? I've never felt important before. Is this what true power tastes like?"

Nat smirked and leaned back on the couch.

"Are you okay?" Nat asked, and Corrine shrugged.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she replied.

"Well, things have been...fucking weird lately, for one. I just...we haven't really talked a lot about what's happened, outside of that brief car ride. I just wanted to check in with you and make sure that you're doing okay."

Corrine sat up and put her cats cradle down, then looked at Nat.

"You don't have to always be doing your show," Corrine said sternly, surprising Nat with her tone of voice, "I'm going to find an outfit for tonight, even if I don't necessarily know the definition of 'gussied'."

                                                                                                           ***

Courtney was at her physical therapy, trying to get back to walking easily after her surgery. This was one of the things she hadn't anticipated being an issue, but apparently it is. Makes sense, she thought, given that the surgery had taken place between her legs. Still, it frustrated her having to rely on her dad for everything now, or her at home nurse. She missed being independent. As she gripped the metal bars on both sides of her, doing her best to stay steady and focused, she heard the door to the room open and looked up, spotting Violet entering, and she smiled. Violet walked alongside the bars as she continued working.

"How, um, how long do you, ya know, think you might have to go?" Violet asked.

"I really couldn't tell ya," Courtney said, "but I will say this, when I'm done, I'll be really happy cause this is exhausting."

Violet laughed as Courtney reached the end of the bars, turned around, and started to head back, Violet keeping up pace with her. Violet had come here not to just to check up on her, but also for another, very important reason. After coming out to her mother, she figured the next step was to finally be direct with Courtney. Up to this point, things had been said, but those have been vague at best. Violet wanted concrete answers. She wanted to know where it all stood, even if it meant their friendship was in danger.

"When will you, um, uh, yeah, have a break?" Violet asked.

"As soon as I reach the other end again," Courtney said, "I have to do this about 5 times in a row, so."

"When you're done, can we, uh, can we, ya know, maybe go for a walk?" Violet asked, and Courtney stopped and stared at her, as Violet laughed and said, "okay, maybe bad question, but I could, um, push you in a wheelchair."

Courtney laughed and nodded.

"That sounds good," she said, "I could stand to get out of this room for a while."

After Courtney finished her physical therapy for the day, Violet got her wheelchair and helped her into it. Then, gripping the handles tightly, she started to push it through the halls of the hospital. It was a very nice hospital, thanks to the money put forward by both Courtney's father and Natasha. For a while the girls just sort of wandered aimlessly, but after a bit, Courtney told Violet to take a right at a certain area, and suddenly they were in the childrens wing. On the walls were all sorts of arts and crafts kids had made during their stay at the hospital.

"I like coming here," Courtney said, "it's nice to see kids still be creative even in the face of terror. Nothing is scarier than being a child in a hospital. You haven't been alive long enough to grasp the concept of death, so the whole situation feels so foreign to you, and you don't know how to deal with it."

"Speaking from, uh, experience?" Violet asked as they stopped at a spot full of watercolors plastered on the wall.

"Kind of," Courtney said, "heck, being my age and being in the hospital is scary, and I understand the concept of death perfectly."

"Can we talk?" Violet asked, and Courtney looked up over her shoulder at Violet. Courtney sighed.

"I knew we'd have to eventually," she whispered.

Violet didn't like that tone.

                                                                                                    ***

"I cannot believe for the life of me that you own a rhinestone encrusted cowboy hat," Natasha said.

She, Corrine and Sharla were sitting in a booth at a bar, eating cheese sticks and other various bar snacks and drinking anything other than alcohol. Each woman had their reason for abstaining from imbibing the substance, but that didn't mean they couldn't have fun.

"It really does make me wonder even more if you're actually from Texas," Corrine said.

"I like cute clothing," Sharla said, "what can I say? I like stuff with glitter and sparkles and gems and if that makes me a cliche, then dammit I'll be a cliche."

"Yeehaw, pard'ner," Corrine said, raising her glass to Sharla, making them both laugh. Sharla finished her drink and slammed her mug on the table, exhaling.

"Now if you'll excuse me," Sharla said, "I'm going to go dance for a few minutes, because there's some really cute guys here and it ain't a girls night out if you don't try to flirt."

With that, Sharla slipped out of the booth and left for the nearby dance floor, leaving just Corrine and Natasha behind now. Corrine slunk down further into the booth seat while Nat continued to eat her wings, tossing the bones back into the little plastic basket as she finished them. Corrine casually sipped her soda from her mug little by little, trying not to be noticed by anyone or anything.

"I'm surprised you wanted to do this," Nat finally said, chewing, as she added, "after all, you're not the type who strikes me as a girls night out sort of lady. Or a night out sort of lady at all, really. You really come off as a hermit, more than anything, and I mean that with the kindest inflection."

"I'm my mother," Corrine finally said, causing Nat to look at her, confused.

"Elaborate?" she asked.

"When I was in middle school, my mom had an affair with the science teacher, Mr. Dukes," Corrine said, "and everyone called her a homewrecker, even though, really, my home didn't change at all. Mr. Dukes home did, of course, his wife divorced him, there was an ugly custody battle, and it was all very public, and all the other teachers at school constantly talked about how that 'homewrecker' had ruined his life, as if partaking in it wasn't his choice. Somehow the men never get blamed. Somehow their infidelity is infallible, forgivable, expected. Now I've done the same thing, and the saddest part is my mother won't even speak to me, so I have to be like her without getting the chance to speak to her."

Natasha finished her wings and pushed the basket to the edge of the table, indicating to a waitress to remove it. She picked up her mug and took a long drink, then wiped her hands on a napkin.

"She won't speak to you?" Nat asked.

"I begged them to speak to me," Corrine whispered, sniffling, "after getting outed, I went home, and I begged them to speak to me, but they wouldn't even answer the door. They wouldn't answer my phone calls. Nothing. Apparently forgiving your wife for sleeping with another man is easy, but forgiving your child for being queer? That's outright impossible."

Sharla plopped herself back into the booth, looking disappointed.

"Back so soon?" Nat asked.

"You know, dancing would be a lot more fun if men didn't take it as a direct invitation to invade your personal space," Sharla said, "what're you girls talkin' about?"

"Corrine thinks she's a homewrecker," Nat said.

"What? Why? Just cause you slept with Nat's sister and ruined her marriage? Honey, any relationship that can be ended by someone new coming along wasn't very strong to begin with," Sharla said, causing Corrine to look towards her, listening; Sharla shook her head, "take it from me. My sister, god love her, she dated this guy for like seven years, and the entire time he was sleeping with other women. A relationship has to be strong from the outset, I mean, sure it can be built and worked upon, strengthened over time, but I think you have to really genuinely love a person right from the get go to avoid those kind of pitfalls. Also, from what I've been told, your situation is vastly different. That poor girl, she didn't know what she wanted. She didn't even know who she was, really."

"It's true," Natasha said, "and, frankly, the fact I somehow missed all the signs of her being queer is shocking to me. But I suppose she was just that good at hiding them, surpressing them, even if so unintentionally. Like me, I think she didn't wanna let our parents down, just like you, sweetheart. You've done nothing wrong. You're not a homewrecker, and most importantly, you're not your mother."

Corrine wiped her nose on her sleeve and sniffled some more, her voice cracking.

"If I'd done something terrible," she said, "if I'd killed someone, even accidentally, or I'd caused some kind of awful event or I'd committed some kind of crime, even if non violent, all these things I would understand them holding against me. But all I did was love somebody. Why is that enough to hate me?"

Sharla pulled Corrine into her and stroked her hair, letting her cry against her. Natasha picked up her drink and took another long gulp. She wanted to help Corrine, but frankly, she hadn't even expected her own daughter to come out, let alone be aware of her sisters sexuality. She just figured she'd stick the course, be there when they needed her, and be supportive until that time came.

"Let me ask you a question," Sharla said softly, "are you happy when you're with her?"

Corrine nodded.

"Like truly happy?"

"Happier than I think I've ever been," Corrine said, causing Natasha to smile, knowing someone loved her sister that much.

"And she's happy when she's with you, yeah?" Sharla asked, and Corrine nodded again.

"She says she adores me," Corrine replied, making Nat smile even wider.

"Then honey, what's the goddamned problem. You've got what everyone wants," Sharla said, "fuck your parents."

Corrine laughed a little, and just stayed being held for a bit longer. Sharla was right. She so badly wanted them to love her, to approve of her, hell, to even speak to her, but she knew that was just something that was never going to happen. And really why should she care about people expected to love her who were so willing to leave her just because she found happiness? Sharla was right. Fuck her parents.

                                                                                                            ***

Violet and Courtney were still in that empty hall of the childrens wing, Violet now sitting on a bench, facing Courtney in her wheelchair. Violets eyes, however, were cast to the floor, scared to look up. A few nurses walked by, and after they passed, Courtney sighed and spoke.

"It was just...a lot to deal with at the same time, my surgery and then what you felt," Courtney said, "and I'm sorry if I reacted less than ideally. But there's something else you have to understand, and that's that, for girls like me, of which there is a distinction regardless of whether or not I want to admit it, one of the defining traits for womanhood as seen by society for our legitimacy is heterosexuality."

Violet nodded, but she didn't move. Courtney continued.

"That boy I dated, that lifeguard, I mean it didn't last because we're just teenagers but...I realized partway through that that what I was doing was simply playing into the role that society expected me to. In order to be seen as what they consider a girl, I had to date who they considered to be acceptable. That would be boys. It isn't fair, because so many other girls our age just get to be themselves. I mean, that isn't to say they don't face ridicule or injustice or whatever, but their sexuality isn't called into question as fevervently as mine would be, because to these people, if I liked girls, that would indicate to them I was still a boy, which is ridiculous."

Violet nodded again, and Courtney sighed.

"So I did what I did because I was scared. I was already an outcast, you know? People already hated me for being who I am, and to add queerness on top of that? Oh my god, that would be just giving them double ammunition. But the thing is, who I am is already a revolt against their preconceived ideals about identity, so why be afraid to be something else they hate when I'm already something they hate? Why live in that fear if I've already broken through the first barrier? It's stupid, right? It's totally stupid."

Courtney rolled her wheelchair towards the bench, stopping in front of Violet and reaching out, taking her chin in her hand and lifting her face up until they were eye to eye.

"And then there's you," Courtney said, "someone with a learning disability, someone else society sees as 'other', who people claim to be slower than the rest of them, and yet you've been nothing but supportive the entire time, nothing but understanding, so really, if anything, you're far more intelligent than them. You accepted me right out, stood by me, defended me, came to see me after surgery, and now here you are, telling me that, for a while, you've had feelings for me. I'd be dumb not to reciprocate and not because of being expected to but because I feel the same way you do."

That made Violet's eyes widen, her breath quicken. Courtney smiled, blinking at her, her lashes wet with tears.

"I don't really know where this will go," Courtney whispered, shrugging, "but...much like my transition, I'm excited to find out."

With that, Courtney leaned in and kissed Violet on the lips, taking Violet completely by surprise. This hadn't been what she'd expected, even though it'd been what she'd hoped for. Violet simply shut her eyes and kissed Courtney back. If there was one thing Violet had learned throughout her life with her mother, it was that you had to grab your love where you could find it, and to hell with whoever questioned your choices.
Published on

Allie woke up and groaned, rolling onto her side from her stomach. As she gained consciousness, she gripped the top of the couch with her fingers and managed to hoist herself up further, and glanced around the suite, her eyes adjusting to the light of the new day, only to be surprised when she spotted Jenny standing in her kitchen, making coffee. Allie sat upright fully and licked her lips, rubbing her hands over her eyes as Jenny came back to the couch with a mug, handing it to Allie before taking a nearby blanket and putting it over her shoulders. Allie lifted the mug to her lips and took a long sip, then looked up at Jenny, standing in front of her, smiling down.


"...what are you still doing here?" Allie asked, her voice hoarse, making Jenny shrug.


"Didn't feel right leaving you," she replied, "you just seemed like you shouldn't be alone."


"I can handle myself," Allie said.


"Can you? Cause anytime I see you you're about to self destruct," Jenny remarked, sitting down on the couch now. Allie pulled her legs up under her, continuing to drink her coffee as Jenny went on, adding, "just seems like you're always looking out for others but nobody's looking out for you, I guess."


Allie thought about what an astute observation this was. She was always there for Zoe, for Molly, for everyone around her, always trying her best to shield them from the consequences of her actions, their actions as a group, but they had support systems of their own as well. Zoe had Effie, Molly had Benny and Olivia. Seemed like she was the only one being unsupported for the most part, especially now that Nick was distancing himself once again. She sighed and, much to even her own surprise, she scooted closer and rested her head on Jenny's shoulder.


"...I guess it could be nice to be taken care of now and then," Allie said.


Though, with Jenny's face mirroring Allie's, it was like she was taking care of herself.


                                                                        ***


Molly, Benny and Olivia were out, eating breakfast nearby the casino. Molly was having a dish made of cheese and scrambled eggs, while Benny and Olivia shared a stack of waffles. Molly scooped food into her mouth with her fork and chewed, looking out the window by their table as she did so, thinking. Benny looked up from the plate and swallowed, then put his fork down and picked up his water glass, taking a long sip.


"You okay there sport?" he asked.


"I just keep thinking about how we're going to accomplish this," Molly said, "I mean, realistically, what's the outcome? We get in there, get some photos and get out? That's hardly evidence. We can't take anything from it, because he would know, and who's to say there aren't cameras down there?"


"All valid questions," Olivia said, stabbing at the waffles.


"We could get masks, like those guys in bank heist movies," Benny said. Just then Zoe dropped onto the bench next to Molly and sighed, running her hands through her hair. Everyone looked at her and smiled politely. She waited a moment until a waitress came around and ordered a breakfast sandwich and some espresso and then looked at the table.


"I went to see Salem Shaw," she said, catching everyone off guard.


"You went to do what now?" Benny replied.


"We need someone who can be a distraction," Zoe said, "he can be that distraction. I'm not going in, so he and I can work the floor together, do a floor show in the main casino. This will provide ample distraction to anyone who should instead be focusing on security. Who's going in, by the way, do we know?"


"Me, Allie, Molly, Rufus and, apparently, someone else that Allie won't tell me yet," Benny said, "I think that's far too many, but who knows. Maybe we'll need that money."


A moment passed and Zoe grinned, then held up her hand, flashing the ring on her finger. Everyone took a minute to try to comprehend her message, until Olivia's eyes widened and she put a hand to her mouth.


"Did you get engaged?!" she asked excitedly, and Zoe nodded.


"Yeah!" she replied, "yeah, Effie asked me last night. It's...it's so weird. I'm so happy but it's also something I never saw myself doing. Then again there's lots of stuff in the last few years I never saw myself doing, so who knows."


"Congratulations," Molly said solemnly, without looking up from her eggs, making Zoe feel confused. While she and Olivia continued to discuss the ring and the engagement and the potential wedding plans, Molly excused herself to go outside and have a cigarette. After a minute or so, Benny opted to join her. He found Molly standing on the side alley by the dumpster, smoking, and stopped right beside her, as she passed the cigarette to him and he took a puff, coughing a little.


"Haven't done this in a while, and certainly not in a location that makes me feel like I'm in high school," he said, making Molly smirk as she took it back and continued smoking; Benny swatted at the smoke in the air, cleared his throat and asked, "are you okay? Your whole demeanor seemed to shift there real quickly."


"...I'm not supposed to be happy," Molly said, "I'm not...that just isn't for me. I'm glad Zoe's happy. I'm glad she's getting what she wants, or didn't know she wanted until it happened. But I can't be around that kind of happiness because I'm not destined for it myself, so."


"Destined for it? Molly, you're not a lead in a fantasy novel," Benny laughed, "and I had no idea you might even want-"


"I don't know that I do, I just...it'll never happen for me, regardless, and that's kind of sad," she remarked.


A pause, and Benny kicked the ground in front of them.


"You know," he said, "there was a point in time where Olivia and I discussed marriage. She was never kinda for it, it was always very, uh...whatever to her, ya know? Me, I grew up around lots of happy couples, my parents are still together, and so I...I always liked the idea and I was certainly the one who was pushing for it more than she was. I guess what I'm trying to say is that, we eventually came to an agreement that, if we were gonna be together, and be open, we wouldn't mind bringing in a third so long as she didn't care if I got married."


Molly slowly turned her head to look at Benny, who reached over and ran his knuckles across her cheek.


"I think subtext is enough, right?" he asked, and she laughed, nodding, as he came around in front of her and pinned her to the alley wall, kissing her, and she happily kissed him back. Molly never expected to be involved in crime, but she also never expected to fall in love. First time for everything, she figured.


                                                                            ***


"I wonder if there's irony in the fact that a person who performs magic for a living feels like such a fraud in their personal life," Allie said.


She was still sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket while Jenny picked up around the suite, gathering items into a large trash bag, putting dirty laundry into a nearby hamper, just taking care of the things Allie had been willfully neglecting for a while now.


"I mean," Allie continued, "nothing about me is real. My personality is simply an amalgamation of people I've admired, my interests and hobbies are just things I picked up from others and not anything I discovered on my own, and my ability to have friends and romantic partners is always tainted by the fact that I feel like I'm putting on a show. Everything is so performative. Nobody really knows who I am or how I feel because I'm scared if they did...they'd hate me. And why wouldn't they? That me is worse than the version they know, and the version they know they already hate, so logically it just makes sense they'd hate the real me too."


Jenny stopped and looked at Allie, hand on her hip as she tossed her hair back behind her head.


"Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, the facade isn't a bad thing?" Jenny asked, and Allie looked up, one eyebrow raised in confusion; Jenny sighed, rolled her eyes and added, "everyone makes such a big deal about being real, being raw, being authentic and true to themselves. But all the most famous people in the world are entertainers who's actual personhood we know nothing about. We like the fraudulent. We embrace those putting on a mask. So maybe the facade isn't an inherently bad thing, Allie. Take it from a girl who no longer has her own face...sometimes fakery is better."


Allie watched as Jenny plopped the bag down on the floor, tossed another pair of jeans into the hamper and then sat back down on the couch beside her, sighing, shaking her head.


"Because nobody recognizes me now, but they sure like me more than they used to," Jenny continued, "because I'm not who they used to think I was. Now I'm somebody different. In some cases, someone they like or recognize or admire. They like me cause I look like you."


Allie looked at Jenny, who looked back at her, and for a brief moment, Allie saw her own self worth in someone elses eyes. Jenny smiled weakly and flopped back into the couch cushions, exhaling, blowing her bangs from her face.


"I think, when we spend our entire lives hating ourselves, it becomes hard to believe others might like us," Jenny said.


"...then why doesn't Nick like me the way he claims to?" Allie asked, sounding genuinely defeated, and Jenny shrugged.


"Maybe the problem isn't with you," Jenny answered, "maybe the problem is Nick doesn't know what he actually wants. Do you know what you actually want?"


Allie hesitated, bit her lip, and then nodded.


                                                                             ***


Rachel St. Sebastian was finishing up work for the day.


She tugged the rubber gloves off her hands and tossed them in a nearby bin, before adjusting the tubing leading into the corpse on her table, and then backed away, reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out her cigarettes. She unboxed one, lit it and then lifted it to her lips, where she took a nice, long puff. She shouldn't be smoking around the dead, she knew this, but it wasn't like they'd get cancer. Besides, the embalming process basically guaranteed they were wax figures, so the smoke wasn't any harm to their skin. Rachel stood there, tapping her foot on the floor, thinking about her job. She could've done something 'normal'. She could've been just an ordinary doctor. Lord knows she had the smarts and ambition for it. She could've helped people, saved people, but...the thing was...nobody ever wanted to help the dead. Only the alive.


She could remember being a little girl and going to a funeral, she was maybe 12 years old, and she could recall how someone had called the service "a celebration of life", and she found that viewpoint far more morbid than anything that was actually supposed to be morbid. Everyone was so afraid of death that they couldn't even spend a single day discussing it. Instead, they turned what was meant to be a goodbye into a "celebration". That felt wrong to her, somehow. So disingenous. So maybe she was in the right career field after all, doing what she could to help the dead. After all, she certainly couldn't help the living.


"You should keep this door locked," Claire said as she entered down the stairs, causing Rachel to jump in surprise, putting a hand to her chest.


"Jesus don't do that," she muttered, "what are you even doing here?"


"I like to keep tabs," Claire said, grinning, "actually I just missed you. We don't see eachother much anymore."


"Well, that's partially because I'm busy working and you're busy being a fugitive, so," Rachel replied, taking a long drag off her cigarette, as Claire got closer, took it from her lips and popped it between her own, taking a drag herself before blowing smoke into Rachel's face, causing her to cough, and feel her heartbeat quicken. Claire knew exactly the kind of attitude she liked, and she hated herself for it. She hated how attracted she was to her.


"So," Claire asked, turning to face the table, "who's the deadbeat?"


"Um," Rachel said, chuckling as she scratched her forehead, "his name was Chuck Bastion, he was a...a prominant politician, nothing really high up but very well respected. Leaves behind no family, no wife, no children, not that anyone knows about anyway."


Claire glanced down at Chuck's body and grinned.


"Is that so?" she asked, taking another drag.


                                                                            ***


"Thanks for keeping me company today," Allie said.


She was now sitting on the kitchen island counter as Jenny finished doing the dishes. Jenny sopped the excess water up, then dried her hands with some nearby paper towels before turning away from the sink and back to facing Allie, smiling warmly at her.


"I didn't have much else going on," Jenny said, shrugging.


"That's a ringing endorsement for the enjoyability of my company," Allie said, both of them laughing; Allie continued, "no really, I think I needed a day off. A day with no magic, no drama, no nothing. I've been burning the wick at both ends and I feel like I was finally running out of steam."


"And metaphors," Jenny said.


"Right," Allie said, chuckling, "and to have some company from someone that isn't someone I see all the time, that's nice. There's no expectations in regards to our interaction. Everyone else I deal with...they expect things from me, you know? My friends expect leadership, my audience expects entertainment, my boss expects financial return on his investments. I think you're the only person who doesn't expect anything from me. Nick sure expected things..."


Jenny walked up to the island and put her hands on Allie's knees, looking up at her.


"Love, be it romantic or platonic, should never be required to be reciprocal. It should just be reciprocal by nature. You should want to help those you care about, not feel forced to. I just thought you might need some help, so I came by to check on you, cause...well...seemed like nobody else was. And it's understandable, people get wrapped up in their own lives, but...at the end of the day, maybe, ya know...try to care about those you claim to? You can tell someone you love them all you want, but unless you show it, it doesn't mean shit."


Allie nodded, listening closely. She then leaned in and let Jenny hug her, stroking her hair. Here, hiding in the background the whole time, was the one person who genuinely wanted to be around her, and she'd never even expected it. Jenny was what Allie needed. Zoe came with so much baggage now, Molly really wanted nothing to do with any of them, and Nick...Nick wanted her to be someone she wasn't. But Jenny...Jenny just wanted to make sure Allie was okay, and didn't need anything in return.


"We're all getting together next week to see Jackson Strange's practice at his public performance soon," Allie said, "you should come. I want you to come."


"Then I'll be there," Jenny replied, patting her on the back before pulling away, grabbing her by the shoulders and looking her dead in the eyes, smiling and saying, "it isn't just a stage name, remember that. You ARE fucking astounding."


With that, she kissed her on the cheek, then grabbed her coat, and exited the suite. Allie continued sitting on the kitchen island counter, just thinking about the entire interaction. When Jenny had told her she'd had feelings for her in the hospital, Allie had been flattered, but had said she'd never really been one to be interested in women. Sure, she could see women being attractive, and sure, she had celebrity crushes like anyone else, but she never once felt any real intense interest in being in a romantic situation with another woman, not like Zoe did, and so she brushed it off. But after today...after the kindness, and the sincerity she just experienced, something she'd never once gotten from men, not even the good ones like Nick, she was feeling confused.


Allie finally hopped down and, blanket still wrapped around her, headed into the bathroom. She flicked on the lights and looked at herself in the mirror. What was she feeling? She didn't even know. All she knew was that she liked having Jenny around, was sad when she left, and wanted her to come back. Allie wasn't gay. She was still attracted to men very much. But something about the softness that Jenny had given her...that was something no man had ever managed to achieve. Allie felt safe, and not performative for once. She felt simply understood and seen, and allowed to be herself regardless of the wallowing. Men didn't like it when she wallowed. Jenny, however, just told her she would be okay. Allie sighed and blinked a few times. She was so tired. She had so much about to happen, she didn't need to be grappling with this sort of identity crisis on top of it all as well. She needed to talk to her cousin. She needed advice. But before she could do that, someone else knocked on her door. Allie left the bathroom and walked to the living room, pulling open the door and was surprised to see Salem Shaw.


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


"...I'm in," Salem said, "let's rob these fuckers blind."

Published on
"Maybe this was a mistake," Nat said, sitting on the trunk of her car, Stephen sitting next to her.

"The show today or?"

"Everything. Us. My career. All of it," she replied, "maybe it was all a mistake. Having Violet wasn't a mistake, she's the best thing I've ever done, but the rest of it...maybe I'm the mistake, I don't know. I just know that, each time I try to make something better, I somehow make it worse. I'm so tired of being a screwup for the whole world to see. I want my mistakes to be private, not public, but this is the life I've chosen and I don't know how to get out of it."

"...are you saying what I think you're saying?" Stephen asked, and Nat shrugged.

"I just don't know that I can do this anymore," she whispered, near tears, wiping her nose on her sweatshirt sleeve, "or that I want to."

A huge admission coming from the woman who had once said she wanted to save everyone, but Stephen was proud of her. She'd admitted that she was no longer happy in what she was attempting, and that proved so much strength to him. He just wish she could see it too. It broke his heart that she couldn't fathom how strong she actually was, that she constantly saw herself as weak or less, despite all the good she did. She laid back on the trunk, and he joined her, and they looked up at the sky.

"What would you do otherwise?" Stephen asked.

Nat didn't answer for a few minutes. The sound of other cars driving by overtook their silence as the early evening streetlights began to flicker awake.

"...be happy," Nat finally said, and Stephen nodded.

"Not a bad choice," he said.

                                                                                                           ***

The whole thing could be traced back to Sharla, really, it had all been her fault, because it had all been her idea. And she'd said it all so casually, almost in passing. "Take your family on the show!" she'd exclaimed, explaining that, contextually, this might help not only the audience understand her better, but also those who are going through the same thing might understand themselves and their situation more too. The problem was...the last time Nat had put Violet in the limelight, it had caused undue duress to her, and now she was scared of any public recognition, understandably. Stephen, on the other hand, was far more receptive to the concept. But then again, why wouldn't he be? He was going through extreme upset, and anything he could do to avoid focusing on his feelings regarding the situation would be ideal. Going on the show might provide him a window into nostalgia, a way to feel like he was back in time, and they were all still technically a family.

"I don't know," Nat said as she drank her coffee, Sharla sitting at her kitchen table eating a package of trail mix; Nat shook her head and continued, "what if it goes sideways? I'm kind of sick of putting the people I love on constant public blast. It isn't fair to them."

"But you can show that if people just sit down and talk to one another, then maybe there's a good chance things can actually be resolved in a healthy manner, rather than simply ignoring the problems like most families tend to do. I know that, growing up, my parents opted to just...not talk about stuff. That eventually grew into resentment, which eventually led to divorce."

"I know, and you're not wrong, but I just...I almost lost my daughter before because of this kind of stuff, and I don't want to run that risk again," Nat said.

"Then don't take her. Take Stephen," Sharla said, "make it a show about amicably managing a relationship with an ex spouse. Lots of people could use that too, and I'm sure he would appreciate it."

"Yeah but then I'm just doing unpaid labor for a man who's no longer in my life, a man who left me for my own sister, by the way," Nat said, "Given how the audience thinks of him based on my former phrasings, they probably aren't the biggest fans of the guy."

"Well, give them a chance to be," Sharla said, smiling, popping some pretzels in her mouth as someone knocked on Nat's side door to the kitchen. Nat walked over and opened it, finding Misty standing there. Misty stepped past her and into the kitchen, waving politely at Sharla, before turning to face Nat.

"I think I'm about done," Misty said.

"Oh god, what's happened?" Nat asked, sounding concerned, "are you okay? Should we take you to see someone?"

A moment passed as Misty looked between Sharla and Nat, confused.

"I think I'm about done with your book," Misty said, and Nat laughed; Misty shook her head and continued, "editing is almost finished, I compiled everything, and it looks like it should be on the shelves any day now, really."

"That was fast," Sharla said.

"Well, these kinds of works don't really take much time," Misty said, glancing from her back to Nat before adding, "no offense but they aren't exactly the most sought after literary items. They're generally just an easy way for a publisher to make a quick buck, more than anything else. That being said, I take pride, care and consideration into what I do, and so I think I did a good job, and I hope you'll agree when you see it."

"I don't have to buy my own copy, do I?" Nat asked, and Misty shook her head.

Truth be told, Misty was actually scared of Nat's reception to the book. She had taken all these notes, spent all this time with her, and then, instead of utilizing any of that, she opted to throw it all out in favor of something she felt far more accurate to who Nat was as a person. Whether or not Nat would appreciate or understand it remained to be seen, but for the next week and a half, Misty would feel nervous as hell.

Which, at least, was something she was used to.

                                                                                                         ***

"I don't think I made you out to be the bad guy intentionally," Nat said, "I don't think I went into doing the show after you left thinking 'I need to make sure everyone knows what a douchebag this guy is', because I was mad, and when you're mad you don't think clearly. You don't make logical decisions. So perhaps I tainted your reputation unintentionally, but hopefully today fixed some of that."

"It isn't your job to fix others perception of me, even if you were the one who altered it. Clearly I got what I deserved, because look at how I acted. I was supposed to be an adult, and instead of talking about anything, I just had an emotional affair that turned physical. That...that isn't mature, Nat, you weren't totally wrong in feeling the way you did. But it's admirable of you to wanna undo that damage."

Nat put her arms behind her head and kept watching the clouds, smiling to herself.

"This is how we used to spend our time, remember?" she asked, "when we first started dating, we would go out for these long drives and we would just talk and watch the skies. You claimed we were hunting for UFOs, which, honestly, would've been way cool if it'd come true. How do you go from such simplicity to such complexity in just a handful of years?"

"By not talking," Stephen said, "weren't you listening to what I just said?"

"I'm sorry are you speaking?" Nat asked, grinning, the both of them laughing.

"Seriously though, if you aren't open about your problems, especially with the person you have those problems with, then how the hell do you expect to ever fix anything? Here I was, taking my issues to your sister, and okay, it was your sister, not some random woman, so maybe societally turning to a family member of sorts was more acceptable, but still. It's awful. What I did was awful."

"I brought you on today because of Sharla, god I hate her sometimes," Nat said, "Sharla made this whole impassioned speech about, like, being able to show others that you can move past your issues with an ex-spouse and have a healthy relationship and not blame yourself blah blah blah, but I don't think she really knew what she was talking about. I mean, sure, her sentiment is good, and her heart's in the right place, but, ya know...she wasn't the one who went through it. I think to make that kind of leap in faith you need to have experienced it first hand."

A car pulled into the lot and parked. A woman and her two kids got out and walked on by, Stephen and Nat watching for a bit until they were out of sight. Seeing this womans two daughters, Nat's thoughts turned back to Violet. Her coming out recently, her feelings of inadequacy in the face of public recognition. Nat grimaced and felt her eyes water.

"I ruined our daughters life," she whispered, "I ruined her adolescence."

"Hey, no, come on," Stephen said, leaning on his elbows and looking over at her, "you didn't...Nat, don't say that."

"But I did," she continued, "and unlike you there's no damage control to be done, there's no getting back what we had."

                                                                                                          ***

Corrine woke up and was surprised to find the bed empty. She had rolled onto her side, her fingers reaching out for Ashley's skin, but instead finding cold sheets. Corrine sat up and pushed her tussled hair from her face, then got out of bed and tugged on a tank top she'd slung over a nearby chair and some jogging shorts. She exited and walked down the hall, hearing the TV on in one direction. When she arrived in the living room, however, Ashley wasn't there. Then Corrine heard the sound of something being shuffled about in the garage, so she headed in that direction. She pulled open the door to find Ashley standing in the garage, looking through dozens of open cardboard boxes, frantically breathing.

"...are...are you okay?" Corrine asked as she entered, causing Ashley to look up.

"I'm sorry," Ashley said, wiping at her face, "I didn't wake you up did I?"

"No, I woke up and you weren't there, and that made me nervous enough to get up and check what was going on, but...what is going on?"

Ashley stopped, sitting crouched on her knees on the hard garage floor, shaking her head and picking at her hair.

"I'm the bad guy," she said, "this whole time, I'm the villain. I was sick. I needed comfort. But I did something so wrong. I'm the bad guy. She...she took Stephen on her show this morning, and they talked about their relationship, their split, me, everything. None of it was negative, it was all very 'be what it may' but...but it made me realize, hearing it all laid out like that in post chronological order that, yeah, I'm the bad guy of this story."

Corrine walked further in and pulled a little stepladder across the floor, stopping in front of Ashley and reaching out, taking her face in her hands, causing her to look up at her.

"...you're not the bad guy, there is no bad guy. You're only the villain if you set out with bad intentions. A villain has to WANT to do something to hurt others, right? You didn't do that. All of you were in pain and nobody knew how to handle it."

"And then," Ashley continued, still crying, breathing hard, "and then, as if what I did once wasn't bad enough, I did it AGAIN. I turned to you from him."

Corrine's eyes widened, and her stomach dropped.

"Do you...do you regret that?" she whispered, sounding hurt.

"Oh, no no no, god, no, I'm sorry, that sounded so wrong. I regret hurting my sister, taking her husband from her, but I...I could never regret what you and I have done. What we have. The difference between the two situations couldn't be more clear, Corrine, I mean...when Stephen and I got together, it was because he was upset with his marriage and I was sick, or we thought I was anyway. I was scared and in need of reassurance. But you and I...we're together because I knew what I actually wanted. Because I'd time to come to terms with who I was, and...and there's no regretting that."

Ashley reached up and touched Corrine's cheek, making her blush. Ashley then leaned up on her knees and pushed her lips against Corrine's, kissing her, with Corrine happily kissing her back. After the kiss ended, Ashley looked back towards the box and sighed.

"What are you even looking for?" Corrine asked, and Ashley shook her head.

"...when I was a little girl, I had this stuffed horse, because horses were my favorite animal. I know, what a cliche. I've held onto him forever, but I...I don't know, I felt weird about having him so close when I was with a male partner, I thought maybe they'd think I was childish or something - which, sadly, isn't a turn off to a lot of them - so I packed him away. I'm looking for him now, because I don't feel that shame anymore. Not with you."

Ashley looked back from the box to Corrine and smiled.

"I'm not very good at feelings," Corrine said, "understanding them, or whatever, but that's only when it comes to my own. I think I can understand others, or at the very least moreso than I used to be able to. But you won't be judged by me, no. Not for that. Not for anything, really. I'll help you look."

Corrine climbed off the stepladder and onto the floor, opening up another nearby box, and as she dug, Ashley couldn't help but smile and wipe the tears from her face, feeling more genuinely loved than she ever had. This woman, without question, came looking for her to make sure she was okay, reassured that things would be alright and she wasn't bad, and then offered to help her find what she was looking for without a second thought. Ashley had run away from her sexuality for so long, but right now, god damn it felt good to be queer.

                                                                                                        ***

"This is all your fault, really," Nat said.

She and Sharla had gotten together that evening, after both were done with work and after Stephen had gone back to his hotel. Sitting in the booth of a local pub, ordering cheese fries and drinking soda - something Sharla insisted on because, while she maintained a healthy diet, she also mainted the belief that alcohol was far worse - Nat couldn't help but lay the blame for today on her.

"I mean, you're the one who suggested I do it, and for what? I mean, okay, sure, we really talked through some things, and maybe that was good, but we could've done that in private, why do it on the show? Why must every facet of my life be available for public consumption just because I have a public access series?"

Sharla picked up another cheese fry and bit into it. She chewed for a bit, then took a long drink from her mug and burped.

"I'm not trying to make you feel bad, by the way," Nat said, chuckling, "I just needed someone to take the blame, and since you're the one who suggested it, I figured you'd be the best bet. But I do think that, maybe, if you'd gone through something similar, you'd understand that you can't just put stuff out there for others to see and hope they get it, you know? If it helps them with their own situations, that's one thing, but I'm not looking for pity."

"Did I ever tell you I used to be married?" Sharla asked, causing Nat to stop speaking. Nat shook her head, staying quiet as Sharla continued, "Got married to my first boyfriend in college. We were that couple, you know, the one everyone admired and aimed to be. We shared a lot of interests, particularly in health, that's why we got along so well. Used to go for hikes, used to swim together for sport, all that stuff. And then, when I started doing what I do for a living, taking it seriously and really getting into shape, mostly for myself because, let's face it, I'm a shallow creature and I only feel good if I look good, uh...he got so weirdly jealous. I think it's because society puts higher value on attractive women then men, and so he...he didn't know how to handle the attention I started receiving, attention that, for the record, I never once responded to. He was still the only man I wanted."

"Men are so fucking insecure," Nat said, making Sharla smirk and nod.

"Sometimes," she said, "but that often isn't their fault. Once again, society makes them feel that way. The good ones are the ones who recognize their worth is in what they bring to other peoples lives, not what they get out of other peoples lives. And I don't mean that in a sort of, uh...dependable way, you know? That you have to provide, be a big strong man, rawr, all that nonsense. I mean, just, their presence, you know? Just being there is enough. Those are the ones who are good. He couldn't see that. He couldn't fathom it. He thought everything was transactional. The better I got, the worse he became. It was like a fucked up emotional pendulum."

Sharla took another fry and ate it, sniffling. She started to breath a little harder, and Nat could tell she was trying not to cry.

"...and then he started to hit me," Sharla said, without any warning, taking Nat by total surprise; she continued, "and when I say hit me, I don't mean just, like, a slap here and there. That...that would've been manageable comparatively, even if it was still wrong. No I mean...I would..."

She stopped and took a breath, shaking. Nat reached out and put a hand on Sharla's back, rubbing gently.

"I would come back from something, the gym or a run or whatever," Sharla said, "and he would see me feeling good, and he would think 'I have to make her feel bad', and he would. He would grab my hair and throw me into a wall, he would pin me there, and he would scream at me. There were times I hid in the closet for hours just to avoid being beaten. It was like, if he couldn't feel good, neither could I."

"Jesus christ, Sharla," Nat muttered, "how did you..."

"Thankfully, my mother, who had been a victim of domestic abuse in her first marriage before she had me, she was amazing in helping. Offered to let me move in without even discussing it, sent my dad to get my things so I didn't have to see him again. We thought about pursuing criminal charges, but honestly, at the end of the day...I just wanted to be over with it. I know that by not doing that, I was just giving him the go ahead to continue treating other women that way, but...I just needed to move on. So, when I tell you that maybe you should attempt to show people that their relationships with their exes can be amicable, maybe it's because I wish mine fucking could've been."

Sharla started sobbing, and Nat pulled her into her body, hugging her tight in the booth. She had no idea Sharla had ever been through anything like that. In a way, she figured, she and Sharla were exactly the same. Utilizing their own issues to try and help others. If one thing could be said about Stephen, it's that at least he never laid a hand on her, and it was sad that the bar was that fucking low.
Published on

Jenny Gibbons was standing staring at a sign. It wasn't a large sign, maybe medium sized, and it was more of a poster than a sign proper, pasted on the wall of her workplace. It was for the Card Shark, and it featured some of the best acts; dancing girls, Effie, a new kids area, and, of course, Allie Meers. It was an older poster, clearly, because Zoe wasn't on it, but it didn't matter much to Jenny. She stared at Allie's face, and then ran her hand up to her own, remembering they looked damn near identical now. She wondered if she could convince Allie to come see Domino again. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder and looked to her side to see her boss, Peter Lorde, standing there.


"It's spooky, isn't it?" he asked, "I really should take that thing down. You know how it is, you put up promotional banners and then forget about them because they just fade into the background."


"I don't think you should remove it," Jenny said softly, "I think it's nice."


"Well, it's ancient, it's advertising a casino that hadn't been built when it was printed," Peter said, "it would just make sense to put up something a bit more...current."


"It isn't ancient...it's a time capsule. It's a glimpse into a different moment in time that creates a sense of nostalgia. That's something people like," Jenny said, surprising Peter as she added, smirking slightly, "some people like magic."


                                                                            ***


"It's weird seeing children in a casino," Claire said, pulling the hood of her sweatshirt up a bit more over her face, adjusting the sunglasses on her face, "it's one of the few places one doesn't expect to see children. Surrounded by alcohol, gambling, all sorts of debauchery."


Allie glanced over at her and snickered, making Claire make a face at her.


"You look like the unibomber," Allie said.


"Thank you so much for your comfort," Claire replied, "I was way more inventive when it came to killing people. What are we even doing here, Meers? First you tell me you don't wanna stroll into a casino vault with me, and then you bring me here anyway. What's your plan?"


"We're meeting someone," Allie said.


The women rounded the corner and headed to one of the small restaurants tucked away in the back, near the bar. Allie and Claire continued further in, until they found a table in the very very back, where an old man was sitting in a button down shirt, a jacket and a polka dot bowtie. As the women sat down across from him, he looked up from his breakfast plate and smiled at them, reaching for his napkin and wiping his mouth daintily.


"Hello ladies," he said.


"Hi Mr. Magic," Allie said, "this is my friend, Claire."


That word...'friend'...it made Claire feel weird. Were they friends? Were they actual genuine friends? Or were they simply friends by proximity, because they both just happened to be in similar situations and willing to work with one another in order to get out of their respective crimes? To Claire, the only actual friend she'd ever had was Rachel St. Sebastian, and even that was...well, it often felt so one sided so much of the time, and that bothered her. but she always opted not to bring it up as a means of keeping the peace. So, to hear Allie call her her friend, that made Claire feel weird, but...also happy. Very very happy.


"I recognize you from the TV," Rufus said.


"So much for the disguise," Claire replied, taking the sunglasses off and adding, "do you want an autograph?


"Why is she here, Allie?" Rufus asked, cupping his hands on the table as Allie snatched some hashbrown flakes from his plate and dumped them into her mouth.


"Because," she said while chewing, "she demanded to be here, and a lot of this is partially her fault, so. Beyond that, she's had extreme practice at getting things in and out of walls."


"Yes, mostly people, if I recall the news correctly," Rufus said.


"People, items, semantics get nobody anywhere," Claire replied, shrugging, "now, let's discuss how to rob this son of a bitch."


                                                                            ***


Zoe swallowed and curled her fingers into a ball, knocking on the apartment door. After a moment of no answer, she knocked again, and this time the door opened a bit, revealing a face peaking out at her. The eyes rolled and the door unlatched, fully opening, revealing Salem Shaw standing there.


"What are you doing back here?" he asked, opening the door a bit more and allowing her to enter. She followed him into the apartment.


"I need your help," Zoe said, "or, well, we need your help. Don't worry, it's nothing ridiculous, we just need you to do one small thing for us. If you wanna get back at Raymond, then this is the way to do it."


"After what I already told you guys why would you even assume I'd want to risk that?" Salem asked, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a glass from a nearby cabinet, then running it under the sink faucet, gathering water to drink; after he finished, he added, "I mean, the guy is literally a personified death threat. He even gets wind I'm involved, and it's curtains for me, not to be dramatic."


"Well, you are a magician, dramatization is part of the job," Zoe remarked, making him smile; Zoe smiled back, then added, "...Rufus is involved."


This got Salem's attention. He put the glass down loudly on the counter and looked her dead in the eye as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.


"You just say what I think you said? Rufus Heck is involved in this little plan?" he asked.


"He is," Zoe said, nodding, "and I'm sure he'd like to see you again. That's why I'm here, cause Allie's with him right now, discussing the plan. We've got a whole little team, another magician, an architect who helped build the vault under the new casino, a serial killer-"


Salem gave her the weirdest look and Zoe shook her head.


"Don't ask," she said, "it's all a very long, convoluted story. My point is that we're essentially pulling a magic heist here, and Salem, we need you. But all we need you for is the simplest of things. You aren't coming into the vault. You aren't breaking any law. Nobody will even know you're a part of it."


"Then what the hell am I doing there?" Salem asked, and Zoe grinned.


"We need you to do what you do best," she said, "we need you to do magic."


                                                                               ***


"Money was always an object to me," Claire said, picking at her teeth with a toothpick from the table, "I mean, I recognize it's value, but it was always just a thing. I mean think about it, it has, inherently, no worth. It's just paper. Metal. We, human beings, gave it the value. We assigned value to it. It, by itself, has none. Therefore it's meaningless in the grand scheme of things. So sure, I recognize that it's a necessity for survival, only because we've deemed it so, but it is just a thing, like any other thing."


"Are people just a thing to you too?" Rufus asked, and Claire shrugged.


"Some people," she said, "and I recognize that isn't the answer anyone wants to hear, but it's the truth. Those closest to me, like Allie, are not. They are important. But ordinary everyday citizens passing by on the street, people with whom I'll never share a connection to, sure, why should I care about them? If they aren't directly involved in my life, then what purpose do they get from my empathy? It's stupid. It's all stupid."


Rufus smirked and nodded, as Allie continued to eat the burger she'd ordered.


"You know," Rufus said, "before I decided to do magic as a calling, I was studying finances. Insurance. Things of that sort. After I was barred from doing magic, I went back to that interest, because the law of money has always intrigued me. You want to know something interesting? Casinos don't care if you rob them. They're insured. If you try to rob them, they're supposed to help you along with a smile and a nod and get you out of there as fast as possible. But chips...chips are different. Chips are not insured. In fact, chips have been collectibles for as long as anyone can remember, so while they are owned by the casino and not legal tender outside of the building, obviously, there is a chip collector club that meets yearly in Vegas to buy, sell and trade them."


Allie and Claire exchanged a look, confused as to where Rufus was going with this, but they stayed quiet and let him continue. He cleared his throat, took a long sip of coffee and continued.


"Because collecting chips is different than using them as currency. They aren't purchased to be used as a means of currency, but for hobby. And the thing is, since chips cost a fraction of their face value to produce, casinos love when players collect 'em, cause then they don't have to redeem them for cash, meaning they make a big profit on them, especially at the higher denominations. So imagine this, if you will..."


He leaned back in his seat and exhaled.


"You have a guy who's donating funds from his business to the governor of the state to help him run his campaign and do his work. This guy also happens to own a casino, which is where the money is coming from. But why isn't it traceable? Because it isn't cash. At least, not cash they have to mark on. Tony is funding Raymond's work with casino chips. As I said, he doesn't have to redeem them, so he makes big profit. Now the question is...where are all these chips?"


Allie and Claire waited a moment, and then said in unison.


"...the vault..."


"Bingo," Rufus said, snapping his fingers and pointing at them, "which is why it's imperative we get in there and get this information back to your law enforcement buddies."


"Goddamn," Allie said, leaning back in her side of the booth now, "...imagine how much money that would be."


"And here's the kicker, typically, the only casinos where the chips are interchangeable are those owned by the same company. For instance, if you have chips from Caesars Palace, they'll accept them at Paris, Bally's, Planet Hollywood, or any of the other Caesars properties. So you could steal or 'collect' a lot of chips from one, take them to another casino owned by the same company and exchange them there. They won't be playable, but but they will accept them. It's a whole fucked up system, honestly," Rufus said.


While Claire and Rufus discussed this, Allie simply sat and thought. Thought about what that vast amount of wealth could do for a person. She could start an entirely new life. She could leave Vegas once and for all and be happy somewhere else. She could maybe buy back Domino and take off to wherever she wanted to go.


And all she had to do was rob a casino blind.


                                                                                 ***


Zoe had had a long day.


In addition to the practice she'd put in, she'd also run a handful of errands, gathering new supplies and props, as well as doing wardrobe check up, and then of course her meeting with Salem Shaw. All she wanted to do now was get home to Molly's and relax. She knew Molly would be at Benny's and that, more often than not these days, she wound up having the house to herself as a result, something she wasn't about to complain about. As she kicked off her shoes and tossed her jacket on the couch, she was surprised when she entered the kitchen and found Effie standing over the stove, finishing cooking. Zoe stopped in the doorway as Effie turned to face her, smiling warmly.


"Welcome home," Effie said.


"What is all this?" Zoe asked, half laughing out of nervousness, "does Molly know you're here?"


"No I broke in, of course she knows I'm here!" Effie said, the both of them laughing now as Effie approached Zoe, put her arms over her shoulders and kissed her, then added, "I wanted to do something special for you. I know lately stuff has been crazy, and...and you've been so stressed out and anytime we do see eachother I can see it in your eyes, how exhausted you are. So I wanted to take care of you tonight."


Zoe wanted to cry. She never thought she deserved to be treated with such reverence, with such admiration, adoration. She didn't think she did even now, and yet here Effie was, giving her her all and then some. Zoe pushed her face into Effie's neck and Effie ran her fingers through her hair.


"You're alright, I got you, you're home and safe with me," Effie whispered.


After a moment, Zoe pulled away and sat down at the kitchen table, wiping her eyes on her arm, breathing hard from crying. Things had been so difficult and weird lately, and she didn't know how to escape it. She wanted to tell Effie everything, but she knew if she did...if she did, she'd likely lose her. What they were doing was bordering on criminal, which was ironic given the police were directly involved in working with them.


"Listen," Effie said, "I didn't just come here to make you dinner."


Zoe looked up and watched her carefully as Effie pulled up a chair and sat in front of her.


"I mean, yeah, I wanted to do that too, but there's something else," Effie continued, "something I wanna talk to you about. Do you ever think about leaving Vegas?"


"I...I don't know, why?"


"Because I've been given an offer to headline a sitcom," Effie said, "they want me to write it, produce it, be in it, the whole shebang, and to do that more effectively, I'd have to go to LA, and...and I want you to come with me. It won't be until I finish my residency here, I do have a contract with Tony and they don't have the timeslot yet anyway, so it won't be for another year at least but...but if you were interested-"


"You seriously see yourself being with me by the time that option becomes a reality?" Zoe asked, sounding broken, hurting Effie's heart. Effie reached out and took one of Zoe's hands in her own, rubbing the back of it with her thumb.


"I seriously see myself being with you forever," Effie whispered, "and that...that isn't something I've ever said to any other girl, so I know it's serious."


Zoe lit up a bit, feeling more secure. She always waited for the other shoe to drop, having been abandoned by so many people. That was, she figured, why she and Allie were so stuck like glue to one another. Neither one wanted to go through that kind of loss again, even if the relationship they had was toxic as hell. Effie reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a small box.


"And, like," she added, "not just as my girlfriend. But as my wife. If...if you're interested in that."


Effie opened the box and revealed a beautiful small diamond ring, causing Zoe's eyes to widen in shock.


"I want to marry you," Effie said, "and I know this might come out of the blue, but...no relationship I've ever had has been so easy and normal. You're wonderful, spectacular, and dammit, someone needs to spend their life making you happy and I'm gonna do that myself, so, if you want to-"


Zoe didn't even speak to respond. Instead she just kissed Effie again, the both of them laughing, as Effie slid the ring on her finger. Zoe had performed a lot of magic tricks in her day, but getting someone to want to marry her? That was by far the greatest feat she'd accomplished yet.


                                                                              ***


Allie walked to her suite door and pulled her keys from her coat pocket. It had been exhausting, dealing with Claire, and the meeting with Rufus, but everything was slowly falling into place. Soon enough they'd be in the vault, and they'd clear themselves of any wrongdoing, turning Tony and Raymond over to the proper authorities. She sighed as she put the key into the door lock, and then heard someone standing nearby. She turned to see Jenny in a long waisted black raincoat with large gold buttons standing nearby, hands in the coats pockets.


"God you really need to stop showing up like that, it's creepy," Allie said, "what are you doing here now?"


Allie opened the door and headed inside, Jenny following right behind her, shutting the door as she entered.


"At work today, my boss told me he wanted to remove a poster featuring you, from when the new casino was being built," Jenny said, "and I had to convince him not to."


"Why the fuck would you care about something as trivial as that?" Allie asked, heading to the beer and grabbing a soda from inside, popping it open and drinking it as Jenny leaned against the wall, folding her arms.


"Because in some weird way it felt like giving up a part of myself," Jenny said.


"You look exactly like me now and I gotta admit it's very unsettling," Allie said, "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm all for flattery and whatnot, but...god it's hard talking to you. Seeing you. Looking in your face and knowing it's mine. It's so goddamned jarring."


Jenny nodded, smiling slightly. Allie pulled out another soda and tossed it to her. Jenny caught it, opened it and started drinking. Together they walked to the couch and sat down on it, both drinking, sitting in silence. After a few minutes, Jenny exhaled.


"Where's Nick?" she asked.


"....he's not really around much," Allie said, "I don't know. We haven't broken up but things are always complicated between us. Sometimes it feels like he only wants to be with me if I'm a specific way and, like, if he can't love the bad parts of me, then why should I give him the good ones, you know? Complicated."


Jenny nodded, listening, sipping on her soda can. Allie finished hers, crumpled it and tossed the can onto the floor. She then shifted and leaned against Jenny, putting her head on her shoulder and shutting her eyes.


"I'm just gonna lay here for a bit," she said quietly, "it's been a long day."


"You want me to stay?" Jenny asked.


"You can," Allie whispered, yawning, already passing out, "it's kind of nice to know there's a good version of me out there."


Jenny smiled and held her hand, squeezing gently. And so they sat together, and Allie fell asleep on her, and Jenny thought back to her discussion with her boss. How much she wanted to keep that poster around. A poster from a better time. She wanted to be here, to help and to listen, to be, as Allie had put it, the 'good' version of her. The one who cared enough to keep you from doing the bad things she wanted to do. To keep her from falling back into her vices. She wanted to protect her because, from what she saw, nobody else was even doing a remotely decent job of it.


How so badly she craved to keep just a little bit of magic left in the world.

Published on
"That's perhaps the single most delicious cup of irony I've ever tasted," Sharla said.

She, Nat and Misty were sitting in Nat's kitchen. Jay was busy running production errands, Violet was at school, and Corrine...who knew where Corrine was. Likely hiding out of embarrassment, despite being told repeatedly she had no reason to be embarrassed. Nat nodded as she poured herself some more coffee and sat back down at the table.

"Yeah, it was...pretty incredible, how circular the whole thing became," she said, raising her cup and taking a short sip, "I mean, think about it, he cheats on me with my own sister, I become so distraught my show goes off the rails so I leave the channel to pursue my own run program, thus hiring a queer editor who then gets my sister to cheat on the man who left me for her. Wild. And the worst part is Corrine blames herself. She really shouldn't. If anything, she's a hero to me right now. I mean, there's so much I could do to get back at Stephen for what he did, but even then I didn't wanna follow through with any of it. But she did the one thing more painful than anything else I could've ever conjured up, and I wanna thank her repeatedly for it."

"You don't find any of this...upsetting?" Misty asked, and the girls looked at her; she sighed, set her cup down and continued, saying, "I mean, sure, the irony of it all is very humorous, one cannot deny that, but this is a man you loved once, and now he's been hurt in the same way he hurt you. Don't you feel even the slightest bit of sympathy towards him in that regard?"

"I do," Nat said, "and it wasn't like his infidelity came out of the blue. Things hadn't been good between us for a while. I don't blame him for leaving. I'm not saying I wasn't upset or mad, but I understood. What irked me most of all, however, was leaving me for my sister. That's what makes this so perfect to me."

Misty nodded, jotted something down in her notepad and continued drinking. Sharla popped a few vitamins and shook her head.

"So what happens now?" she asked, "I mean, let's face it, things aren't gonna stay the way they were."

"No, they won't," Nat said, "but the nice thing about being divorced is, guess what, his problems aren't mine to solve anymore."

Just then a knock at the front door came through loud and clear, and they heard Stephen calling out for Nat. Nat sighed and rubbed her face with her palms.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered.

                                                                                                       ***

Noreen and Violet were sitting in the garden in the back of Noreen's parents house, on the porch in the shade. Violet needed to talk to someone, but she couldn't go back to Corrine, they weren't exactly family, and she couldn't go to her mother, not yet anyway. She couldn't go to her aunt, because something was clearly happening and her aunt wasn't available. So Violet turned to the one woman in her family she related to above all else, her aunt Noreen. Sitting there at the small, wooden table, sharing a package of cookies, Violet still couldn't help but feel weird for even attempting to broach this subject with someone related to her. It felt so personal, how could she ever hope to discuss it?

"You're awful quiet," Noreen finally said, and Violet looked up from her lap, chewing.

"I'm sorry," Violet said softly, "I'm, um...well, I...I'm uh I'm having a problem. It's all I can think about."

"I figured as much, and that's why I'm glad you came to see me," Noreen replied, smiling warmly, "if anyone will understand you, it's gonna be me. You certainly do seem distracted. You know you can talk to me about anything without judgement."

Violet nodded, and thought back to that night in Courtney's room. Courtney had said it was obvious, that it was okay, but nothing had happened after that or since. What exactly had it meant, really? She didn't know, and thusly, she didn't know how to broach the topic to discuss it with someone. Hell, simply asking Corrine about things had been awkward enough, and that had been vague as hell.

"I don't understand what's happening," Violet finally said, "everything, um, feels so weird. Not just at home. That's weird too, but, ya know, with me. With this friend of mine. I've never understood how people, ya know, uh, feel things or other people. I know I love my mom, but that's cause, like, she's my mom. That isn't weird to me. But to, um, to, ya know, love someone else...that's weird to me."

"...are you in love with someone?" Noreen asked, grinning, making Violet blush.

"...yeah," Violet said softly, "I guess I am."

                                                                                                              ***

"What are you even doing here?" Nat asked, as she and Stephen entered the living room. Stephen looked...bad. He looked like...well...how Nat had looked for a few months after he'd left her. He hadn't shaven, his clothes were rumpled as if he'd been sleeping in them, he looked disheveled to hell and back. Nat stopped by a bookshelf and turned to face him, as Stephen plopped himself down on the couch.

"I don't know," Stephen said in such a weak voice, "I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know how to handle this. How did you handle it?"

"Are you seriously asking me to tell you how I dealt with you leaving me for my sister?" Nat replied, her eyes wide, almost grinning, "seriously? Look, I don't wanna take glee in what's happening, but...it's karmic retribution if I've ever seen it and, ya know, from an ex-wife perspective, regardless of the beliefs I claim to hold true, it tickles me."

"That's fair," Stephen said, flopping onto his back and putting a hand on his forehead, sighing before adding, "I just...I can't believe this. Am I the problem? Was I the problem the whole time? Were my issues with you, the things between us, not that bad and I just blew them out of proportion? Cause I thought Ashley and I were great. Mostly, with you and I, it was work work work. And I don't mean the relationship was a lot of work, I mean work was the problem because it was all you did. It took over your life."

"You knew when you married me what I wanted to do," Nat said, folding her arms, then sighing and adding, "course, I suppose I could've made some kind of sacrifices, made more time for my family, sure. It isn't good to be working all the time."

"No but that's the thing, you...you shouldn't have to sacrifice what you love to do for others," Stephen said, surprising her as he continued, "you have a calling, a way to help people, and someone wanting to spend time with you shouldn't be enough to endanger that. I've come to realize I was being somewhat selfish in that regard. Some people can handle that in a relationship, and I'm just not one of those kinds of people. Ashley just...fit what I needed better. But then THAT makes me sound bad cause it sounds like I was just looking for a cookie cutter woman who could slot perfectly into my life without respecting her as a person."

Stephen looked over at Nat, his eyes wet.

"Am I just a bad man?" he asked, his voice shaky, "I always...I always thought I was pretty good. I respect women, I...I support their rights. Yet here I am, same as any worse man, just looking for the right kind of girl to fit MY lifestyle without taking into account the person she is. I don't wanna be like that."

This was something Nat had never expected Stephen to say, because she herself had never thought about it. She walked over and sat down on the footrest by the couch, putting a hand on his leg.

"I'm done doing emotional labor for the men I'm in relationships with, but the good thing is, we're not in a relationship anymore, you're just my friend now, so I don't mind helping you," Nat said, "no, you're not a bad man, Stephen. But I think acknowledging these faults is a good place for you to start working on them. And frankly, I think most people are like that. They want someone who fits with them. They often don't think about who that person is, as a person, so long as they fit their preconcieved lifestyle. But yeah, if you're gonna love someone, you have to love the parts of them that aren't parts you like, and accept that's who they are, unless of course those parts are actively hurting others, like out of control drinking, that's a whole different story then."

Stephen smirked and wiped his face with his palms before exhaling deeply.

"How is Ashley handling this, by the way?" Nat asked.

"The hell should I know," Stephen said, "I've been way too wrapped up in how I'm doing to care about others."

"Okay now that makes you a bad man," Nat replied, the both of them laughing. Even with all their history, she couldn't be mad at him. She just had an innate need to help those around her, even the ones who had hurt her unintentionally.

                                                                                                            ***

Corrine's wrists were pinned to the wall as Ashley kissed her, then down her jaw and to her neck, making her breath heavier and heavier. After a minute, Ashley pulled away and sat down on the end of the bed, crying again. Corrine sat down beside her and put a hand on her knee. It had been like this ever since they'd been discovered. Ashley would be fine one minute, and then absolutely wrecked the next, and Corrine understood, having gone through a breakup with someone she'd loved deeply.

"A few weeks ago," Ashley said, trying to speak through her labored breathing, "Stephen and I went to dinner. We always had these date nights twice a week, and this was the second of those for that week. We thought it kept it fresh, like we were still in the early stages of dating so we didn't get bored and complacent."

"What's so bad about complacency? Honestly, it just means you're comfortable," Corrine said, and Ashley smirked.

"Not gonna argue cause I agree," she replied, "but my point was that, at that dinner, afterwards we went for a walk near a river downtown. They have all these little shops and restaurants near it, and it's a very pretty place to be. While we were there, he started talking about the future, talking about, ya know, marriage and stuff like that. I entertained the idea simply to keep him distracted, but then he said he thought I was 'the one'. That...that threw me. That's when I knew I had to tell him sooner rather than later."

Corrine furrowed her brow and cocked her head to the side like a confused cocker spaniel.

"Wha...why...why would that throw you?" she asked, "do you not believe in the concept of 'the one'?" she asked.

"No, I do," Ashley said, looking at her and putting her hand on top of Corrine's on her knee, adding, "but it was because while I might've been his, you're mine."

Corrine felt like she'd been punched in the chest. Somehow, even after everything else, anytime Ashley said something remotely romantic towards her, it still caught her off guard. Corrine looked at her feet and nodded, thinking. After a minute or two, Corrine, still not looking at Ashley, spoke again.

"I never thought I'd be someone's 'the one', but I guess there's a first, and hopefully only, time for everything," Corrine said, "I've always been kinda afraid of someone loving me so deeply that they made me their entire world, not because it was weird but because I was scared I wouldn't live up to their ideals. Expectations frighten me. But...there doesn't seem to be any expectations with you, and that makes me feel safe."

"I want you to feel safe," Ashley said, running her hand up to Corrine's face and gently carressing her cheek with her thumb, "that's all I ever want. And, yeah, it might take a bit before I'm over the shock of everything that just happened and I apologize in advance for that and how it might make me act, but it isn't gonna change things between us. That much I can promise you. You're exactly who I've been looking."

"It doesn't bother you that I'm so much younger?" Corrine asked, "I mean, I'm still in college. Your sister has a teenage daughter."

"It really doesn't," Ashley said, "you're an adult, I'm an adult. I don't care so long as we make one another happy."

"I've never been happy until recently, I don't know how to handle it," Corrine said, making Ashley laugh.

"Well then," Ashley said, leaning in and kissing her on the neck, "allow me to be your guide to happiness."

                                                                                                               ***

When Violet got home that evening, she discovered that the house was empty except for her mother. Nat was in her bedroom, lying on the bed just reading a book when Violet came in. As soon as she entered, Nat put a marker in her book and set it down on the bedside table, as Violet climbed onto the bed and nuzzled up to her mother, who wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter and squeezed, kissing her on the forehead.

"How you doin', kiddo?" she asked.

"I have to tell you something," Violet said, "cause you're my mom, and my best friend, and I don't wanna hide things from you. You're always tell people to do what they think is best for them, and to believe in who they are, so I think you'll understand and accept me."

"I'll always accept you, sweetheart, what's going on?" Nat asked, and Violet exhaled deeply, then shut her eyes.

"I think I'm in love with Courtney," Violet said, "and it's scary cause I've never felt this way about anybody, and I didn't think I could, but she's my friend and she makes me feel safe and happy and understood. I just want to be with her. I was scared you might be mad at me, but that was dumb cause you're never mad at me, even when I do bad things like running to dads."

"First of all," Nat said, running her fingers through her daughters hair, "running to your dads wasn't a bad thing. You did what you had to at the time to protect yourself. I respect and understand that. Was I hurt? Tremendously. But I brought it upon myself. It's why, even with the fame we have now as a result of the livestream, I'm far more focused on my interpersonal relationships, and specifically, my relationship with you, because those are way more important. And secondly...I'm happy for you. I always liked Courtney, and I think the two of you are good for eachother. I don't care who you love, so long as they respect you."

Violet cuddled more into her mothers side and cried a little. She knew she would be accepted, that was obvious, but it still scared her to say it. Nat just shushed her softly and continued petting her. No matter how old she got, Violet would always be her little girl, and she could count on her mom for anything, especially emotional regulation.

"You know," Nat said, laughing, "if you ever need to talk to another family member who knows how you feel, I know just who you can speak to."

                                                                                                            ***

Corrine and Ashley, in post coitous afterglow, were laying under the sheets of the bed, staring up at the ceiling, holding hands. Corrine was absentmindedly chewing on her lip, while Ashley rested her eyes. Corrine rolled her head to the side to look at Ashley and then back up towards the ceiling.

"The girl I dated before you," Corrine said, "she used to send me these little glass animals. She would find them in Hawaii after moving there, and she would mail them back to me because they were affordable, both in purchase and in packaging. My favorite was the turtle, cause I guess, in a way, I always felt kinda like a turle. Sheltered. Hidden away."

"I could see that about you, yeah," Ashley said, nodding.

"But I don't think it was just the animal that I related to," Corrine continued, "but the glass. The fragility. I've always been fragile. So much more so than everyone else around me. Always about to go to pieces and shatter. So I guess, what I'm saying, is maybe don't break me. If I'm going to entrust you with my fragility, don't break me."

Ashley felt her heart hurt a bit, but she understood Corrine had clearly been through some shit, emotionally, and she didn't want to be one of the people who added to that, so she was going to her damndest not to. Instead, she simply squeezed her hand a little bit tighter.

"What kind of glass animal would I be?" Ashley asked.

"Oh, you're a tiger, for sure," Corrine said, making Ashley laugh.

"And what makes you say that?" she asked.

"Cause, like a tiger, you can't change your stripes, you're exactly who you always were meant to be. Also you're kind a predator," Corrine said, making Ashley cackle as she rolled over and got on top of Corrine, kissing her, making Corrine laugh too. If Corrine didn't believe in the concept of 'the one', she sure did now.
Published on

Rachel St. Sebastian stood off to the side, trying not to draw any attention to herself, in her black suit, black sunglasses, her large black rimmed sunhat. She lifted her coffee cup to her lips and took a long sip as she watched the service go on ahead. The priest read from the bible, the few people who showed up looked sad, yada yada yada, the usual funeral stuff. Rachel had been to so many funerals at this point that nothing really felt different, except...this one was different. This was a funeral for the death of a woman she'd been directly involved with. She'd helped cause this. And the thing was...the guilt was eating her alive inside. Once the service ended and people started to disperse, Rachel walked up to the headstone and let out a long exhale.


"I'm so sorry," she said, "I didn't know it would go this way. If I...if I had, I don't know that I would've let her go into that apartment with you. I know it doesn't mean shit now, but I am sorry, regardless."


The newly etched name into the stone, Kristin J. Whetworth, shone back at her. Rachel St. Sebastian shook her head, then took another long drink of coffee before adjusting her large sunglasses.


"For what it's worth," she added, "...she's going to pay for it eventually. I can promise you that."


Meanwhile, while Rachel headed back to the morgue, Allie was seated in a bistro downtown, a very old, very forgotten bistro. The place she used to go to see Sunny to get her medications. The kind of place one goes to have shady business dealings. She twiddled her thumbs and felt her stomach churning. She didn't want to agree to this meetup, but it had been so many weeks now, she figured she didn't have a choice. She watched as a father and son, the son looking to be in his late teens, entered and approached the counter, and she wondered what that must be like. To have a family who wanted to spend time with you. To not be so completely alone. She heard the chair across from her pull out, scraping its legs against the floor, and turned back, face to face with Claire Driscoll, who just smiled at her.


"Hiya Meers," she said, "it's been a while."


                                                                               ***


"Why are we at the library?" Benny asked, "the library makes me feel weird. Like I'm...I'm late to turn in a book report."


"We are here, because," Molly said, as she knelt in front of the bottom row of a section and started looking, "I need to back up my theory before I can qualify it with confidence. I think I know how Jackson Strange does what he does, but I wanna confirm it first."


Benny leaned against the shelf and put his hands in his coat pockets, then looked down at Molly, who was sifting through each book individually. He smiled to himself and chuckled, shaking his head. After a few minutes, Molly popped back up and held a book in her hands.


"You know," Benny said, "this might come as a surprise, but back when I was first starting out, I would do this exact thing. Come to the library and find books about magic, study everything I could, every different trick and technique. I wanted to just be the absolute best at it. I don't seem the studious type, but here we are."


"You might not seem the studious type, but you're certainly the dedicated type," Molly said, making Benny blush, his eyes widen a bit as she added while flipping through the book, "and that's the thing, that's what's admirable. You're driven, determined, dedicated. That's why I like you."


Benny smiled, approached her and kissed the side of her head, making her smile too as she finally stopped on a page.


"Right here," she said, pointing at it with her finger, "this is it. This is what I meant that night at his show. This is how Jackson Strange does what he does. Harry Houdini."


                                                                            ***


Zoe was standing outside of Tony's office, waiting. She'd met with the agents the previous day, and now, was here to fulfill her duty. As she tapped her foot anxiously, the door to the office opened and Raindrop, along with Tony, came walking out. Raindrop stopped and looked at Zoe, who looked immediately back at the floor, intimidated by her for some reason. Raindrop stopped after putting some papers in her bookbag and turned to face Tony.


"He'll want to see you soon. A meeting is inevitable," she said, "and I suggest you bring some evidence of success that makes him happy. He is a benefactor after all."


"I...I know," Tony said, "I know, yes. And I will. Just tell me when and I'll show up. Until then I have other business to attend to."


With that, Tony grabbed Zoe by the arm and tugged her into his office, shutting the door hard behind them. She stood there, perplexed, as he walked back around to his desk and poured himself a drink, shaking his head, clearly exhausted from his meeting with Raindrop. Zoe, after a moment, turned her focus towards him as he pulled out his desk chair and plopped down within it, putting his feet up on the desktop as she gently sat down across from him on the opposite end of the desk.


"What was that all about?" she asked.


"Never enter into an ongoing business agreement," Tony said, sipping from his glass, "it ain't worth it. No matter what they promise you, kid, it ain't worth it. They'll suck ya dry until you're a husk of your former financial self. Every businessman is a goddamn loan shark. It's much better to try and manage and finance yourself, trust me on that."


"I don't disbelieve you, for what it's worth," Zoe replied, shrugging.


"Anyway, what're you doin' here?" he asked, shaking his glass at her, the ice within tinkling against the sides, "you want a drink?"


"Oh, no thank you sir," she said, "um, I'm here because we're having an issue with the theater. There's some structural integrity of the pillars, specifically around the stage and front row. I don't think it's safe to continue doing shows until it gets looked at, and probably repaired. Thankfully I've outlined the exact issues and even drew up a rough estimate of what it would cost to fix and you'll be happy to learn it won't be much, at least if we start now before it gets worse."


"Everything is fucking money," Tony said in a hushed voice, shaking his head and standing up, looking out the window behind his desk while he continued drinking; he sighed and continued, "...ya know, if I'd known all the trouble opening a second casino would bring me, I wouldn't have done it. I only did it so I could maybe make more so my family could live more comfortably. My kids, they deserve the best, because I didn't have the best growing up and I wanna make up for that to them. But this entire place, it's just been one nightmare after another. Well, at least you're bringing me something I can easily fix. We should take a walk down there and see what-"


The door opened and his secretary popped her head in.


"Sir?" she asked, "you're needed out here, there's an altercation on the main floor."


Tony sighed again, set his glass down on the desk and walked past Zoe.


"We'll go when I get back, it'll only be a few minutes," he said. As soon as he left, Zoe sprung into action. Agent Siskel had given her a small, almost watch battery sized device that she was to place underneath his desk somewhere to record audio in the room, and she wasn't going to squander this chance now. She got on her knees and crawled beneath the desk, pushing his chair aside, pulling the device from her pocket. She looked around for a minute for the right spot, somewhere he would never look, and then pushed it against the wood grain hard, watching it stick. She grinned, satisfied in her efforts, then started to climb back out. However, as she exited this position, she knocked the desk, and his now empty glass fell. Zoe scrambled, reached out, and grabbed it before it hit the floor. She took a long breath then set it back on the desk exactly how it had been, before taking her seat once more. Minutes later, as promised, Tony came back. Together, they went to the theater to investigate its issues, and Zoe couldn't help but silently congratulate herself.


Sleight of hand had always been something she'd been somewhat of an expert at.


                                                                           ***


"You sure you don't want anything?" Claire asked, biting into her sandwich, as Allie shook her head slowly; Claire shrugged and spoke while she chewed, "your loss I suppose. Food's excellent here. So how you been?"


"How have I been?" Allie asked, "How have I been? Seriously? Well let's see, the last time I saw you we were in an empty apartment where I killed a perfectly innocent woman, all because she MIGHT have gone back to her boss. So, that's twice now I've...gotten rid of someone, rather against my will, so I'm not doing exactly great."


"You get used to it," Claire said.


"I don't want to 'get used to it', I don't want something like that to be so normalized in my day to day life that I no longer feel bad about it," Allie said through clenched teeth, leaning a bit across the table, "don't you live with any fear, any guilt?"


"Not particularly," Claire said, shrugging, "but that's because we're aiming for a bigger prize. I'm going into that vault with you."


This took Allie by complete surprise.


"You...you're...excuse me what now?" she asked, "you most certainly are NOT. I'm not strolling illegally into a casino vault with a convicted serial killer. That's, like, triple the law breaking. If anything, I think the space we've granted one another is good. We need people to not think we're associated. Why would you even wanna get in there?"


"Allie," Claire said, wiping her mouth on a napkin and then cupping her hands on the table, "think about the amount of money that's down there. We're sending these people to prison, right? That's the goal here. Why can't we Robin Hood a little? Take care of ourselves. We take a fair portion, we leave town, not necessarily together, and we start new lives. Let's face it, Vegas hasn't been good to either one of us."


"Vegas has actually been great to both of us, the problem is we fucked it up," Allie said, "I'm doing better now than I've maybe ever done."


"Okay, well, look at it from my point of view. I lost everything. I...don't wanna go back to what I was like. What I was doing. I realize this might sound contradictory from my statement earlier, about you getting used to killing people, but what I meant was that the more often something happens, the more normal it becomes to you. I'm not in any way suggesting you keep doing it. I don't even want to do it anymore. I want to take some of that dough and leave town, once and for all. Now look, I've helped you a LOT, I figured the least you could do is give me this send off."


Claire had a point, she had indeed helped a lot. She hated admitting that, but it was true. Allie sighed and leaned back in her chair, running her hands over her face. Claire exhaled and blinked a few times, then looked down at the table.


"I like you, Allie," Claire said, "I wouldn't betray you, of all people. I still think we're two sides of the same coin. I just want us both to come out of this even, you know? After all we've both been through, don't we deserve a chance to be happy?"


"You murdered people and stuffed them in walls," Allie said flatly.


"I know what I did, I don't need a reminder," Claire said sternly, "How come people who are drug addicts, alcoholics, how come they get the benefit of the doubt? You were a painkiller addicted, gin swilling mess and yet people believed in you, that you could change, that you deserved to be better. Why aren't I allowed that same kindness? Just because I did what I did I'm somehow irredeemable? That doesn't seem fair."


Allie looked at Claire, who looked genuinely hurt.


"Nobody wants to give convicted criminals, regardless of the crime, even the slightest hope that they might get better. Sure, I did horrible things, but how is that any different from the horrible things these men are doing? It's all crime, regardless of the format."


Claire, once again, had a point, and Allie hated that. She hated how often Claire made sense of the senseless. Allie sighed and sat back upright.


"Alright," Allie said, "...if you're coming, we need to set some ground rules. And you should probably come talk to someone with me."


"Who you have in mind?" Claire asked, sipping her drink.


"A former magician by the name of Mr. Magic," Allie said.


                                                                             ***


"This..." Molly said, as she and Benny sat at a table in the library and she pointed at something on the page before them, "is the plate glass box. As the book clearly states 'the escape from a box made of sheets of plate glass in interesting is that it was performed by both Houdini and Mrs. Houdini and shows the performer visible from every angle. The box is held together by metal and heavy bolts kept in place through holes in the glass. The cover of the box lies flat and is hinged to one of the long sides. The front of the box has two hinged clasps at the upper edge with the top of the box having two metal staples projecting at the front edge. Once the performer is inside the box, the cover is closed and heavy padlocks are connected through the staples.'."


"So Strange just stole the idea outright and performed it on a more public scale?" Benny asked, "god he's an even bigger hack than I thought."


"It goes on to say 'The secret of the escape lies in the hinges. Each bolt in the back of the box has two portions, the hollow bolt and the bolt-head, provided with a small screw-bolt. When the bolt-head is screwed into the hollow end of the bolt, the result is a solid bolt that exactly resembles the real bolts. From inside the box, the performer can unscrew the bolt-heads with a flat key hidden amongst the 42 bolts, push the bolts out of the holes, lift up the cover with the hasps acting as hinges, and escape. After escape, the heads are easily put back in place either through use of a string from inside the box or unlocking the padlocks to release the front cover, replacing the bolts in the hinges. The cover may then be closed and relocked'. Don't you see? He called himself an illusionist one time, and now I get it. I didn't realize until that night you and I went that he'd lifted it directly from Houdini, and I knew I'd seen it somewhere before."


"How did you even know to recognize this?" Benny asked, sounding impressed.


"When I was little, I had this aunt and we used to watch a lot of documentaries," Molly said, "one night, she fell asleep and I watched this thing about Harry Houdini, and I guess it just stuck in my brain, but I'd forgotten about it until now. But seeing Jackson perform it, it all clicked back into place for me."


"So what do we do? Now that we know how it's done, how do we implement it to our plan, to the...to the architecture of the vault?" Benny asked.


"We don't," Molly said, grinning as she slammed the book shut and looked at a rather confused Benny, "not entirely. The faux wall is ready to go, and is being installed tomorrow. But it isn't going to be the main attraction, or the only way we succeed, because someone's already going to be inside."


"They are?" Benny asked, "someone's gonna be IN the vault, waiting for us?"


"Can't be a magician without an assistant," Molly said.

Published on

Chelsea had seen many strange things since coming to The Elsewhere and working at The Last Shop on the Left. She'd seen creatures horror filmmakers could only fantasize about, and then some they never would because they were too horrifying. She had seen things beyond her comprehension, she had seen things that defied definition. Creatures that existed as pure beings of light, creatures that were nothing more than a set of sharp gnashing teeth looking for a good toothpaste, creatures who had so many limbs that they seemed more limb than torso. And yet, despite all of this...the strangest thing she'd ever seen had finally walked into the shop today of all days, and it wound up being a plain black horse walking and talking like a person. Funny how these things go, isn't it?


Standing behind the counter with Juno, watching him shop in the chip aisle, Chelsea couldn't help but wonder why this felt so weird to her. Perhaps it was because horses were from her world, horses were a plain, ordinary thing in the human realm, so to see one walk and talk was throwing her. That had to be it. Because nobody, nobody at all, ever runs into a set of disembodied sharp gnashing teeth back where she was from. That just wasn't something that happened, and not just on the regular, but EVER. But a horse? Yeah. Everyone, regardless of being urban or rural, had seen a horse. Hell, a lot of people had likely interacted with them, ridden them, and that's what made this sight so unusual. He was pure black, with no other distinguishing facial features aside from his almost cartoonishly large eyes, and a red and white striped tie hanging around his neck. He was currently tapping his hoof on the floor, as though lost deep in though.


"Um," Juno finally said, breaking her concentration, "I think you've been counting that single nickle for five minutes."


Chelsea glanced down, nodded, and finally tossed it into the register, shutting the drawer.


"What's got ya so focused?" Juno followed up.


"It's this horse," Chelsea said, nodding towards him, causing Juno to glance at him, one eyebrow raised.


"Yeah? He's just standing there looking at chips," Juno said, shrugging.


"Yes, exactly, that's the problem. He's a horse. A horse standing on his hind legs, looking to buy snack food," Chelsea said, "it feels oddly menacing. Horses don't walk on their hind legs and they most definitely don't eat snack food. Horses don't just pop open a bag of chips after a hard day at work."


"...he's literally just looking at chips," Juno said.


"He's coming up to the counter, be cool," Chelsea said, and Juno rolled her eyes in annoyance. The horse approached the counter and dumped a few items on it, looking at Chelsea, who just smiled politely at him as she asked, "is this all for you today, sir?"


"For the moment, I suppose," he replied, "unless, give me some of that chewing tobacco, yeah?"


Chelsea nodded, turned, and grabbed a packet of chewing tobacco off the shelf. She turned back and plopped it onto the counter, causing the horse to look down at it and then back up at the girls.


"You ladies wanna know a secret?" he asked, and Juno nodded, smiling; he leaned in and whispered, "Cows ain't chewing cud."


The girls waited a moment for it to sink in, and then burst into laughter. It was always something new here.


***


"Don't you have anywhere else to be besides here?" Polaris asked.


Luna had called him up and asked him to get together, with, seemingly, no ulterior motive whatsoever. In fact, it appeared she simply wanted to spend time with him, which was surprising to him. Regardless, Polaris wasn't one to argue. He always wanted to see her more often anyway. They were currently sitting outside a butcher shop, having purchased what was commonly called a Wallet, a delicacy in The Elsewhere, filled with mysterious meats of various sources, wrapped tightly in a lightly fried, enclosed crunchy casing, almost like a Calzone.


"I have plenty of places to be besides here," Luna said, "but the girls at the shop keep insisting I shouldn't avoid you, so here we are. I'm not so sure they're right, but I'm willing to entertain the idea. Besides, after you took care of that...problem...I suppose I felt somewhat obligated to thank you."


Polaris snickered, finishing his snack, while Luna continued to eat hers. After finishing and licking her tentacles clean, Luna tossed her hair from her face, uncovering her one large eye sitting in the center, and she sighed.


"I didn't want to ask you to do that," she said, "I was desperate."


"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Polaris replied, lighting a cigar.


"Yeah, but I'm trying to be better than the others here," Luna said, "I'm trying not to be violent or even encouraging of violence. The Elsewhere is such a nasty place, and I want to make it just a bit more...approachable."


"To whom, exactly?" Polaris asked, and Luna shrugged.


"To me, I suppose. I'm not the same as all these other monsters and creatures," Luna said, "you of all people should know what that's like, partially coming from the human world."


Polaris nodded, exhaled smoke and tapped his cigar on his leg, ashing it to the ground.


"I do," he said, "but what you're forgetting is that the human world is often much like here. You're conflating one place with peace and another with pain, and that just simply isn't the truth. The truth is, Luna, that both places are despicable holes of anguish, but that doesn't mean good can't be found or made within them, like you're trying to do. Frankly, it's admirable. Not many would care enough to make the world a better place."


Luna smiled and nodded as Polaris sat there puffing on his cigar, exhaling smoke into the early evening sky. For what it was worth, maybe the girls had been right all along. Both Chelsea and Juno had gotten along with Polaris, and maybe, just maybe, she'd allowed their history to color their relationship in a negative light. After all, he'd never once done anything to her, nor had he ever done anything to make things difficult for her. Hell, he'd even helped her open the shop, given her what she really wanted. Maybe the time to look past their differences was finally here. Luna bit into the wallet and chewed as they sat in silence for a few minutes.


"The Elsewhere is a bad place," Polaris finally said, "but you're making it so it doesn't have to be. I respect that."


Luna smiled. She'd never known Polaris to respect anyone. She certainly felt special.


***


"Stilles Wasser is the name," the horse said, holding out his hoof for the girls to shake, which they happily did as he added, "it stands for dark horse, of which I am one of such variety, as you can plainly see."


"I was curious whether or not you meant that metaphorically," Juno said, causing Stiles to chuckle, mixed in with a neigh or two as he did.


"No no, it's definitely literal, that I can assure you!" he said, leaning against the counter, "So what are two lovely young ladies like yourselves doing working for slave wages in a sweatshop such as this?"


"Dude, she's a child," Chelsea said, sounding disgusted. But, as soon as the sentence left her lips, she was met with the confused stare of both Stiles and Juno, who then exchanged a humorous glance between themselves.


"Yeah, and I'm a human in a horse costume," Stiles said.


"I am not a child," Juno said coldly, "I'm way older than you."


This statement nearly threw Chelsea to the floor in total shock. How was that a statement that could even be remotely true? She'd seen some unusual things here, she knew time here worked differently than in her reality and she also knew that what she considered to be the normal rules of the world didn't apply here. But still...Juno....older than her? No. Literally impossible. Chelsea shook her head and picked up a box on the floor behind the counter with them and started carrying it to the aisles to restock. She needed a break from the weirdness. As soon as she was out of earshot, Stiles and Juno having watched her leave, they turned their attention back to one another once more.


"She seems high strung," Stiles said, making Juno chuckle.


"She's not from here, Luna employed her from the human reality," Juno said.


"Ah! A diversity hire!" Stiles said, making Juno cackle, the sound carrying throughout the store and making Chelsea feel awkward. Chelsea sat on the floor, cross legged, and started stocking the bottom shelves. As she placed item after item, she suddenly felt herself shiver, then she smirked, rolling her eyes.


"You know," Chelsea said, "for a ghost, you're not very subtle."


"Are ghosts supposed to be subtle? I mean, all we do is throw plates and...and...rattle chains," Monica said, making Chelsea crack up, her head thrown back.


"Rattling...who are you, Jacob Marley?" Chelsea asked, the both of them giggling now; Chelsea turned and leaned back against the shelf, sighing, as Monica sat - as well as a ghost can sit - on the floor across from her, hovering just so slightly over the floor. Chelsea shook her head ever so slowly, then said, "do you...do you ever think about the fact that you don't belong here?"


"I mean, not in the same sense as you probably do, but yeah. It's almost like...if I'd been killed back home, you know, where we're from, would I even be a ghost, or am I only a ghost because I was killed and buried here? Is The Elsewhere in direct correlation as to what is keeping me around? I don't know. I just know that it kinda sucks, either way."


Chelsea listened, nodding along. She thought about her sister. Her sister shouldn't exist either, but she did, but only here, in The Elsewhere, so yeah, she could very much relate to Monica's quandry. Chelsea glanced back down the aisle at the front counter, where she could just barely see a sliver of Stiles and Juno still conversing.


"My sister loved horses," Chelsea said flatly, "...maybe that's...maybe that's why it's so discomforting for me to see one, especially like this, cause all I can think of is how much she'd loved to have met him had she had the chance. Course, if she hadn't died, I wouldn't even be here, so I guess it's all sort of in contrast with eachother."


Monica smiled.


"I think you should embrace the weird, for your sisters sake," Monica said, "she'd want you to."


Chelsea knew she was right. Up until now she'd done a great job of embracing the weird, but because this was something that was so closely tied to her sisters interests, it had been jarriung and thus harder to acknowledge. She bit her lip and grinned to herself. She could take photos, tell her sister all about it after work in the back room where she was kept. She bet she'd love that. She did love being told stories, after all. Chelsea stood up and sighed, tossing her hair.


"Come on," Chelsea said, "let's go talk to a horse."


"Now that's a sentence you don't hear everyday," Monica remarked, the both of them laughing as they headed back to the front.


***


Luna and Polaris were strolling the sidewalk in the downtown, on their way back to the shop, sharing a cigar. Luna didn't often smoke, but she figured, when with him, it was worthwhile to partake in his hobbies. Neither had said a thing for what felt like hours, since eating, but that was okay. The simple silent company they kept between them was more than enough to make them happy. Finally, they stopped and look in a window at a deli, with various horrifying meats hanging from hooks.


"You know, despite it all, I have missed having you around," Luna said, "I just...it's hard to trust you, you know, cause of...well...cause of Morgarg."


"I am aware," Polaris said sternly, his blank face fixated on the window before them as he puffed out smoke and added, "there's no argument I can make that would counter your concerns in a logical manner. I can't claim Morgarg isn't dangerous. He is. But...he's what I needed. What I required."


"I know, that's why I try not to judge you for it, but it's made it hard to have you in my life, and my store," Luna said.


They hadn't spoken much about Morgarg since he'd shown up, but it was nice to finally at least somewhat broach the topic, even if only somewhat, by referential and nothing else. Luna sighed and looked at the suckers on her tentacles.


"Is there...is there a way to get rid of him?" she asked quietly.


"What gives you the assumption I would want to?" Polaris asked, "he's given me everything I desired."


Luna nodded solemnly. She understood. She wanted Polaris back in the fold, but his connection to Morgarg was too great a danger to risk her employees to. Their safety came first, no questions. She looked back down at her shoes and shook her head again, softly speaking.


"It's gone, isn't it? The way that it was?" she asked.


"Likely," Polaris remarked, shrugging, "who's to say what's to come. Things can always be vastly different in a brief amount of time, as you should know. I'm sure Chelsea sure as hell didn't see herself working in a place like this just a year ago, and look at her now. The future is unwritten, regardless of what some supposed seers may try to get you to believe."


Luna smiled and chuckled at his wording. Polaris still had his edge, even if Morgarg had taken most everything else from him. She appreciated that. In a way, it was as though he were still the same man she'd once known and loved. But he wasn't, and she had to remind herself of that fact far more often than she wanted to.


"Well," she said, "I hope he was worth it."


"Is anything, in the end," Polaris asked, making her eye widen a little.


In the deepest reccesses of her hearts, she hoped, prayed even, that this meant he regretted it. Wished he hadn't given in. Accepted his fate. But she'd been burned once, and she could so easily be burned again. Still, hope...hope was what got her through her life here in The Elsewhere.


Hope was all she really had. Hope...


...and her shop.


***


"I'm tellin' ya," Stiles said, "I know I should quit chewing, but it just isn't going to happen, gotta have at least one vice to make life remotely enjoyable."


"I feel that," Monica said, "I still buy lottery tickets even though I know I won't be able to collect since I'm dead, but the rush of the potential of winning, the adrenaline, it makes me feel as if I'm still alive."


"See, she gets it!" Stiles said, "that's what it's all about! You find the things that bring you even the smallest modicum of joy in a world where joy is damn near a sheer impossibility and you cling to it as much as you can."


Stiles looked back to Chelsea, who suddenly felt nervous and smiled in response.


"Especially in a place such as this," Stiles continued, "if there's one thing you learn as a horse, it's how quickly you can lose your life, all cause of one simple thing, so it makes you truly appreciate life for what it is, what you have. In the end, what you have is what you've got. No sense in running a track that ultimately goes nowhere."


This horse was somehow spitting philosophical fire, and Chelsea had never agreed with someone more than she did with him right now. Stiles thanked the girls for his purchases, hung out a little bit longer - happily obliging to take some photos with Chelsea and Juno - then said he'd gladly return to the shop another time before heading on his way out. The rest of the night went by without much to note. Stocking. Checking the register (if they were brave enough to stick their hands in). Cleaning. Monica even stuck around to help a little bit here and there to the best of her abilities. When it finally came time to shut down shop for the night, Chelsea pulled her apron off and hung it on the hook rack before turning to Juno, running her hands through her own hair and shaking her head.


"What did you mean earlier," Chelsea asked, "about, you know, being older than me?"


"Pretty self explanatory statement if you ask me," Juno replied, not looking at her.


"Is it though? Nothing in this place is remotely self explanatory," Chelsea said.


"It is once you give in to the absurdity and recognize the differences between reality and here," Juno replied, now turning to face her, "...I'm sorry for being rude. I just..I don't want to talk about it. About me. Ever. Okay? Can we just agree to continue being surface level?"


Chelsea nodded slowly as Juno hung her apron up as well, said goodnight, gathered her things and headed out the door. Chelsea got her stuff and headed to the backroom to see her sister, show her the photos with Stiles and tell her the stories of the talking horse. There was so much unexplained in this place, and some of it bothered her, but the one thing that was unexplained that she didn't care if it remained a mystery was simply the fact that this was a place where the reality, as she had known it, had no domain here, and thus, she could be whoever she wanted, do whatever she wanted, and have back whomever she wanted. And she wouldn't trade that for the world, especially not her own shitty one. Stiles was right. Why run a track that ultimately goes nowhere.


Chelsea had never really born a horse girl.


But she was starting to come around.

Published on
Corrine was laying in bed, asleep, while Ashley lay beside her, her eyes never leaving her sight. Truth be told, Ashley wanted to cry. She wanted to cry harder than she'd ever cried before. Corrine felt...well, like a secret, and she was, and that was something Ashley never wanted her to feel like. She felt as though she were ashamed of her, and it was starting to eat away at both of them. The last thing in the world Ashley wanted Corrine to feel like was a shameful secret of some sort, because she was anything but. She could never be ashamed of this woman, in any way, shape or form. Ashley leaned back against the headboard and anxiously chewed her nails. She finally reached over and shook Corrine awake, who roused rather violently, confused. Corrine wiped the sleep from her face and stared at Ashley.

"You're right," Ashley said, "this...this isn't fair. I don't want you to feel like this. I can't claim I'm being honest about myself if I'm hiding the person I love."

Corrine sat up on her elbows, still half asleep but listening.

"So you're right," Ashley continued, "and...and today we'll come clean, okay? Because you deserve so much better, and I...I don't wanna make you feel this way, like you're something I can't share with the world, when you have become my world."

Corrine blushed and pushed herself against Ashley, burying her face into her neck, hugging her around the waist, snuggling up. Ashley giggled and ran her hands through Corrine's hair. Ashley had come back from the brink of death, and really, coming out couldn't be anywhere near as frightening as that.

                                                                                                        ***

"I really need to store this stuff somewhere for the time being, so I appreciate you letting me use your garage," Nat said.

She and Stephen had gone out to lunch, her treat, as payment for him letting her store some of her work equipment until she could get an actual studio set up outside the home. Sitting in the BBQ restaurant, chowing down on a plate of spareribs together, Nat couldn't help but feel like, not too long ago, this had been her entire life. Doing things with this man, a man she loved, and now here they were, as if nothing had changed. Stephen licked his fingers clean and picked up his glass of soda, taking a long drink while shaking his head.

"Don't worry about it, man," he said, "I got plenty of space in there. Besides, you'll be moving it back out soon enough, so it's not in an inconvenience in any way."

"I hate looking for studio space," Nat replied, "I really do. It's so frustrating. And then I feel like I'm going too commercial on top of that. I like doing things in the house because it still feels personal, ya know? But once you're in a studio, you feel so corporate, and that's how people view you."

"Trust me Natty, no one thinks you're corporate," Stephen said, smirking, making her laugh.

"Anyway, it's just some lights, cables, a few smaller cameras, stuff like that. It's all in my trunk, I just don't have anywhere to store it in the house proper. Though, I do like the idea of removing all aspects of the work from the house so Violet doesn't feel as interrogated. She's been having a lot of trouble adjusting lately."

"Really?" Stephen asked, picking up another sparerib and biting into it.

"Yeah, she says people, mostly older women with daughters, are coming up to her and talking to her and it's making her very uncomfortable so I figure, ya know, best I can do is just remove some of the stuff that reminds her of what it is I'm doing, what she's a part of, and maybe make the house feel more like a home."

"That's admirable," Stephen said, "she can also always come stay with us anytime she wants. She's always welcome."

"That's a nice gesture, and she should see her father more often, but seeing how she is I just don't see it happening much," Nat said, laughing, as Stephen joined her. It was true, and he knew it wasn't personal. Violet was just a person who liked her privacy in the comfort of a familiar space, and her bedroom was that space. When she'd lived with them before, she'd never really felt 'at home', so the last thing Stephen would ever want to do is make his daughter feel even more uncomfortable for the sake of his ego. He loved her to death, and only wanted her happy, and right now...right now she was very happy.

                                                                                                        ***

"Okay, so, uh, so they have, I got, ya know, lots of different candy and chips and stuff, they have a lot in the machines," Violet said as she re-entered Courtney's bedroom. Courtney was still in bed, recovering from surgery, and Violet was keeping her company. She sat down on the side of the bed before Courtney tugged her on the arm, insisting that she get fully onto the bed, which she happily did, laying beside her. Together, the girls watched TV on mute and chowed down on junk food.

"It's weird," Courtney said through a mouthful of nouget, "I don't feel different at all. I always heard some girls say they felt different after getting it done, but I feel like the exact same person, more or less. I guess that's just because I AM, but still. Though I do hurt a lot, and it's going to take a bit before I can walk again."

"Who's helping you do, um, like, the dilation?" Violet asked.

"A female home nurse comes in to do it," Courtney said, "because my dad doing that would be fucking weird."

The girls laughed as Violet laid her head on Courtney's shoulder and they continued to snack.

"I'm glad you're okay," Violet said softly.

"Of course I'm okay! It's just some surgery," Courtney said, "I mean, yeah, it's kinda major, but it's not life threatening in any way. Did you...did you think I might not be?"

"I don't know," Violet said, shrugging, popping candy into her mouth and chewing as she added, "I guess I just have gotten, ya know, like, really uh, really used to people going away unexpectedly. I'm just glad you didn't go away."

Courtney smiled and rested her head against Violet's, her free hand lacing its fingers through hers, causing Violet to blush deeply. Violet had never had these feelings before and now they were so incredibly intense, and she didn't know how to handle them. Courtney turned her head and planted a kiss on the side of Violet's, making her breath catch in her chest, her heart beating rapidly.

"You're my best friend," Courtney said, "I'm not going anywhere."

Friend. That word used to make Violet so very happy. Now it just made her so deeply sad.

                                                                                                         ***

"Why do you have seven boxes of Christmas decorations?" Misty asked, standing in the garage, setting a box of cables down. Stephen turned away from her and towards Nat, jerking his thumb towards Misty.

"Does she have to be here?" he asked.

"She keeps me entertained, she's like a jester," Nat said.

"I've often been called a clown, but never a jester. I like that," Misty said.

"Besides," Nat continued, "she's taking notes on every aspect of my life so that this book can be perfect. That means she needs to get to know you, know our dynamic. You were my husband, Stephen, the father of my child, you're kind of a crucial point of understanding here."

Stephen unloaded the last box and, together, the three of them headed into the house. Once inside the kitchen, Stephen opened the fridge and pulled out some bottles of water for everyone, which they gladly took. Misty sat down at the table as Nat hopped up onto the counter, Stephen still standing in the center of the kitchen, all of them taking nice, long drinks.

"Boy," Stephen finally said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, "been a while since I did some grueling physical labor."

"You moved 3 boxes, Stephen," Nat said, "that hardly qualifies as 'grueling'."

"Hell it hardly qualifies as 'labor'," Misty added, making Nat laugh.

"Look, I don't need to stand here and be insulted by my ex wife and her fanfic author," Stephen said, making both women laugh as they continued relaxing from the labor, drinking their waters. Truth be told, things between Stephen and Nat were so good lately, and she thought part of that was just because of the livestream. He'd seen, firsthand, what her family, him included, had meant to her, and taken it to heart. They had no interest in getting back together of course, but it was better than it had been in a long, long time. Misty finished her bottle then stood back up.

"So, where is your bathroom?" she asked.

"It's the third down on the right down the hall," Stephen said, and Misty thanked him, then excused herself.  Once she was out of earshot, Stephen looked back at Nat and grinned, shaking his head, saying, "she's weird."

"I know, I like her," Nat said, laughing.

"Aren't you worried about this book she's writing though?" Stephen asked, "I mean, seriously, what if it winds up being an unintentional hit piece?"

"At this point, I think I'd deserve it," Nat replied, shrugging. Just then a scream came from the hall, and Misty came quickly back out, stopping at the kitchen and looking at the ground as both Stephen and Nat looked over at him with confused looks on their faces.

"Um," Misty said, "uh, not to alarm you but there's two naked women in your bed. I think I picked the wrong door."

Stephen and Nat glanced back at one another briefly before getting up and briskly walking back down the hall, Misty a bit behind. Once they entered, they saw what she meant. Sitting there in the bed, the sheets pulled up around her, was Corrine, and beside her, partially dressed, was Ashley.

"...this doesn't go in the book, got it?" Stephen asked, looking back at Misty, who nodded with vigor.

                                                                                                          ***

Violet and Courtney were still laying on the bed, in the same position as they had been for the last few hours. Violet had dozed off a few times, and when she awoke, she was surprised to find that Courtney was squeezing her even tighter, as if she were a plushie of some kind, bringing her great comfort, and this made Violet happy. After a bit, Violet sat up and yawned, then looked at Courtney.

"You gonna go home?" Courtney asked, "my dad can drive you."

"I don't want to, but, um, well, it's late, and-"

"You could just stay the night, we could have a good ol' fashioned slumber party," Courtney said, sitting upright a bit, "when I was little, I was always so jealous of the girls in my class getting to do things like that, and I always wanted so desperately to be included. Now we can."

Violet wanted to stay, but she also felt as though that would be crossing some kind of boundary, with how she felt towards Courtney these days.

"You don't have to," Courtney said meekly, "it was just a suggestion."

"No, I, um, I want to, but uh...but, well..." Violet stammered to find the words, "I don't..."

Violet felt her eyes swell up with tears, and she bit her lip to keep herself from crying. Suddenly she felt a hand reach out and grab hers, squeezing gently. She looked up and saw Courtney's face, smiling warmly back at her.

"I know," she said.

"You...know?" Violet asked, "you know, um, like, that I should go home or?"

"No, I know," Courtney said, "I know how you feel. You're not very subtle, hah."

Violet felt her stomach churn. She was afraid of whatever words were going to come next.

"Why don't you stay here tonight, we can have a slumber party, eat snacks and watch movies and stuff," Courtney continued, "and...and maybe talk about it, cause...I don't feel that different from you."

Violet's eyes widened, and she nodded, slowly. She then nuzzled up against Courtney, the way she had been just a minute ago, and felt her anxieties melt away as Courtney's fingers ran through her hair once again. Within minutes, she was asleep, a real dream come true.

                                                                                                       ***

Misty in the backseat, Corrine in the passenger and Nat driving, they were on their way back to Nat's home after the incident earlier, and nobody thusfar had said a word. Corrine had her arms wrapped around herself, thinking about what Stephen and Ashley were discussing. Nat seemed fuming, but without really saying anything it was hard to tell. Misty leaned up between the seats and cleared her throat.

"For what it's worth," she said, "you're in fantastic shape."

Corrine turned her head and looked at Misty, one of her eyebrows raised.

"...thank...you?" she asked.

Nat finally pulled up to the house and Misty immediately exited the car, needing to rush inside and finally use the bathroom. Given all the hubub that had happened back at Stephen's, she never did manage to get the chance to go. Sitting now in the car alone, Corrine looked at Nat, who still had her hands gripping the steering wheel, and she sighed.

"You must hate me, and...and I understand, and if you don't want to be my friend anymore and you want me to move out, please just-"

"Why would I hate you?" Nat asked, finally turning her head to face Corrine, "...he cheated on me with my own sister, then left me for her. And now, you've stolen her away from him, doing the exact same thing, but to him. It's like the most fucked up but acceptable form of karma I've ever seen. If anything, I'm thankful for you, Corrine. You just got back at him in a way I never could, and god I'm thankful for you."

This...wasn't what Corrine had expected.

"But...but what I did was totally inexcuseable," Corrine said, "like, I think I broke up a marriage."

"Yeah, well, so did he," Nat said, "if anything, I'm more shocked by my sister being into women than anything else."

Corrine and Nat sat there for another minute, and then Corrine leapt towards her and hugged her so tightly, surprising Nat, making her laugh. Nat had spent her entire life helping others, pushing them to be themselves, to do what makes them happy, so why did Corrine possibly think she might be judgmental towards her for following her exact advice? If nothing else, Corrine was happy it was all out in the open now, and they could maybe move together normally now, as a group.

Course...that was if Stephen could ever get over the betrayal.
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About

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

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