Well, I got one foot on the platform
The other foot on the train
I'm goin' back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain


tales of a reluctant demon slayer

First time I met Jimmie, I was on the corner of Royal and Bienville rolling a smoke and a quarter the way through a bender. The rats I hung with at the time had rattled off to Decatur to see some punk band and I was alone listening to the blissed-out strummings of a high runaway playing Stairway to Heaven again and again outside one of the closed shop fronts. Jimmie I hadn't even noticed in his approach through my bourbon haze until he was crouched down right beside me. It was the smell of his cigarillo that grabbed me, made my eyes shoot over in disgust. It smelled like sour cherry and cardamon, I swear, like some kind of spicy **** and in my stupor and sickness I couldn't handle it. I yelled at him and he laughed and said that he would put it out. Then he sat in silence, right beside me, watching the high guitarist as I sipped and smoked, sipped and smoked.


That was it, for the first night.


Jimmie appeared three more nights in a row. The rats asked if he was my pimp, my boy or my toy, all of which didn't apply but gave Jimmie pleasure, read only in his reply, which was a slow to appear smile and a gesture to me like I had the **** answers. I waved all of them off and would return to my belongings and my bourbon. I asked him to leave me alone, that I wasn't going to turn no trick that I wasn't doing it anymore, and that I definitely didn't need his pity. But as always, he was silent, smiling and little else. A constant presence on the edge of my vision. I suppose one night I just got used to him. To the way he felt near me. When you've been drunk and the days jumble into one another it's easy to become disaffected, to lose your edge, to just fade out and fade into a moment without any real feeling for what was going on.


And Jimmie, he was a curiosity, I'll give him that. He was dreadlocks and pinstripes, top hat and mahogany cane. Every time I saw him, he was Halloween. I took him for a local eccentric, for there were plenty, except that he smelled liked money in a way only those in the gutter can perceive. His clothes were always pressed, his cologne was quality and his teeth were clean. He still didn't offer me anything though - never money or drugs. He would just appear like some reluctant admirer and when whatever it was that he felt it was time, he would simply stroll off, swinging his cane in circles as he moved down the streets of New Orleans.


I had known him, had become accustomed to him, about two months in when he slid me a card in his gloved hand and whispered to me in French. I had no **** idea what he was saying but his words and his gestures seemed to imply that the name on the card was a destination (there was a drawing of a grand house) I ought to bring myself along to. I didn't see him after he gave me the card and **** no did I visit that address.... initially. I was convinced at that point that he was not only an eccentric, maybe a creeper too, but that he was a religious man, trying to convert me to some local revival or worship and I wasn't exactly a preacher's daughter. Those sorts were abundant and preyed upon us rats. I will admit, when he stopped showing up, wherever we were set up - outside Jackson Square near the tour groups, on Frenchmen getting stoned while dancing in circles to trumpets from the Spotted Cat or on Bourbon, pick pocketing or stealing people's drinks, I felt his absence. Acutely. Even though I was either stoned or drunk every day, I felt that. That bothered me.


Eventually, I gave in. I got curious enough despite myself and went to the **** address. It was in the Garden District, so getting there required alift, because **** no was I dragging myself along the street car; it too way too **** long. That afternoon, my life changed forever more. I think I knew that even then, that **** was about to go down. That the gears were about to shift. If you pay attention you can feel it happen. But you've got to be listening. I only heard because for once, I wasn't plastered. I wasn't the walking drunk. And I was too curious for my own good.

As soon as her beaten allstars hit the entry way, a small dark-skinned woman in an emerald dress approached her, urging her over to the parlour and its plush, jade coloured carpet. The room was filled with various antique clocks which ran out of sync with one another and after only a moment in the space the sound was irritating. She didn't hide her distaste, her discomfort, and swung around, her kohl-rimmed eyes seeking Jimmie out as the door shut and locked behind him and he approached her.

"You are aggravated by my time pieces?"

"Yeah. It's freaking annoying."

"Well, they are here, scattered, for a reason, Little Girl. To remind myself, daily, and my guests, my subjects, that our time... it is fleeting. And no matter how much we think we have, it's already midnight somewhere else, a new day begun. We must be economic with our days."

"You ***** serious?"


He laughed and settled into one of the antique, Victorian armchairs, made of solid walnut with delicate floral ornate and tapped his fingers on the curved arms, which reminded her of a slender woman bending over. She slumped into the one he gestured towards and dumped her tattered messenger bag at her feet, her toes pointed together, her eyes defensive and cold.

"Elizabeth, I am a not a man who wastes his time. On anyone. But, I am a business man, first and foremost, and I believe that all men, all erudite business men, need to take... what you would call a calculated risk."

Her brows dove together and she frowned, sitting forward.

"I'm a calculated risk?"

"You are more than that. I am being polite."

His voice carried in waves towards her. She didn't think it was possible or all natural the way his tones melted like notes in her ear, traveled down her spine. He had, what she assumed, what people meant as charisma. His equanimity and languid, feline grace, and despite his talk of time spoke and moved as if he was in no shortage of it. The unnerving essence. But, being as she was, not sober, not altogether capable of the utmost clarity, a lot of what he appeared to be and what he was could not, would not be dwelled within. To be in his company in the decadence of such a building was a dimly enjoyed novelty. It was really the only reason why she had come. To bask in something unusual for her and perhaps to quantify his interest in her. He wasn't a bad looking guy and his intensity and its lasting remnants in his absence still bothered her.

"Jimmie, I may be coked up half the time, or drunk, but some things aren't lost on me. Like why you couldn't possibly have anything to do with me. So, spill yer deal."

He too sat forward then and removed the top hat he wore. Without it, he seemed less imposing but more contemporary. He wasn't of this time. Not in his manner, in his regard, in his carriage nor his clothing.

"I have a proposition. I asked you here because I know you have nothing to lose. Your family is estranged to you and your only real friend is that other homeless man with the sad face. Robbie-boy? You are strung out more often than not and are easy to manipulate.. ah ah, don't pull that face and walk out the door. You can't argue that last notation because you are here."

It was true, Roach was at the entry to the parlour and hall and looking like a wolf about to blow a few houses down. But the baiting of his words had her paused and stifled.

"Little Girl, when you have nothing, and you, my dear, soul-pierced, angry child, have nothing. So, I can give you something to really wake up for. Money, to put towards a life that is more than the one you have. You can't live this life, the way you are, always. At some point it will run itself to a ruinous end and you will find that you wish to die. You should listen to what I have to say. The world, it will open and you will never want for anything again. Not food, not bed... tell me..." he curled a finger towards himself and she smelled magnolia's. As if the room had filled with them. Impossibly. It made her nose wrinkle and her head spin.

"When was the last time you had a full meal, off a porcelain plate? When was the last time you slept in an actual bed with pillows and clean sheets, no lice, no fleas, no men to grope your body while you try to fin-"

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"I'll do it. Whatever."

He stood and placed on his hat and stepped towards her to take her fine-boned little hands into his. He gripped them tight and smiled. "I did not expect to win you over so easily."

Roach looked fearlessly into his eyes, a look that even surprised him. "You don't really know me then."

Early hours of June 9th 2016


I started finding reasons to like what I was being given crumb to hate. I knew, in some sense, that it was wrong, but surviving necessitated more than being righteous. I was in no place to stand any sort of ground in a world that held forces in it that I, up until Jimmie, had had zero awareness of.

I am going to fast forward the story a bit now, because, well, it's probably easier if I do that. If I let some of the gaps fill in themselves. And, they will.


Tonight was an important night because Jimmie died. Insofar as I know. Whether it's really true is a matter up for debate, but because a black angel of a woman saved me, along with some bearded guy I've never laid eyes on before, I feel like maybe I could do with some believing in something. Even if I am proven wrong.


I hadn't seen Robbie in almost a week, nor Kate, though she keeps tabs with me and on me which given her business, I get. She's still looking into things and says she has a lead with a socialite by the name of Mitsford. We'll see about that. It's rare that Zoel be sought indirectly but stranger things have happened. And hey, I could be lucky.


I kept passing out tonight after the incident. Salome is the name of the black angel woman. Total babe. I woke up in her arms and it was just a shame I had crap all over my face for the encounter, and even more a shame that it wasn't because I had picked her up. She'd taken me to one of the rooms at the Inn, where I was asleep off and on for hours. She kept a vigil until she didn't and when she was gone I felt alone. Alone in a way I haven't felt since before Robbie in the Quarter. It was a drowning a feeling. A feeling that kept rising and washing over me and pushing me down with a strange sort of weight. I didn't like it. I didn't like that someone had had to take care of me properly, like, actually had to wipe the crap off my face and make sure I wasn't unconscious every so often. I don't know what it was about her, but she made me feel safe. What the ****.


I stared out the window for ages, at the rooftops. Wondering if Jimmie really was gone. What that meant for NOLA, what it meant for my contract. Where did that put things, now that he was.... whatever he was.


As for Zoel? Maybe I go ahead with meeting her anyway. Just in case. In the very least, girl needs to know that there have been hellhounds on her trail. What happened to Jimmie, who so happens to be her ex-lover.


My grandmother used to always say, "be careful of the webs you weave...lest you become tangled in your own" and that is kind of how this all feels right now.



I wish Salome hadn't left. I don't feel like being alone and I don't feel like going back to my apartment. The world is a spider waiting to bite.

((Zydeco song playing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GoZ7OoQlHEU))

Be not inhospitable to strangers, lest they be angels in disguise

Outside D.B.A, Frenchmen Street, New Orleans

http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g469/madirye/Pict_Location.jpg

Meeting Robert had been an unexpected slice.

I had been drunk at some bar on Frenchmen and stumbled out at the behest of security. Okay, well, really, they had thrown me out, and I had hit the gutter hard. A few of my rats huddled around, not to see if I was ok, but steal some change from my pockets, a light for a smoke and the last of my pack. When I came to, I crawled up off the wet street and over towards the side of a closed restaurant where a dumpster stood huddled like a faceless beast in the shadows. I used it to support myself to my feet and then there was a sound, steel grating the concrete and I looked around the steel hulk to see a man in cherry-coloured neon being shoved out of the side door of the restaurant on the other side of the dumpster, by an irate Chinese chef.

He stumbled backwards into a pile of trash and recovered himself from falling by way of the dumpster's mouth. I peered from where I was, watching him try and try again to stand, but he kept slipping on the food containers and beer cans and clutching at the wall or the bin. He wore ragged clothing and a long coat of good make that looked like a relic from another life, either his or someone else's. He had dark hair that made me think of wires and a serious five o'clock shadow, from what I could tell being that I was

A Very drunk
B My head hurt. A lot.
C I was drunk
D It was a dark alley way and the man was mostly in shadow at this point.

However, he must have felt me watching because suddenly he turned, crouched on the ground as he was, and looked at me with eyes that were glassy and exhausted but very focused on me and making out my shape in the dark but he seemed to find something interesting or concerning about my face, the way he looked at it? Like he was worried? I don't know why, but my instinct, was to hide myself around the dumpster and out of his line of sight like he hadn't seen me, or might think I was but a drunken imagining. At D.B.A across the street, zydeco played loudly and the sound rattled into my consciousness reminding me of where I was and why I was here and also, why in fact my damn threads were sodden. Oh yeaeaaah, I had fallen in a puddle. Ouch. My head really effing hurt.

I was looking down at my dirty, falling apart shoes, quietly dealing and then there was a sound of scrambling, slipping, a squeal against the dumpster of a hand running down it and there he was, the drunken disgrace, just like me, kicked out to the kerb. He was swaying side to side. He was looking intently at my face despite his questionable balance and when my chin tilted up so I could look him in the eyes, he reached out to touch my temple. He muttered something. When he took back his hand I saw it was covered in something. In the alley, I couldn't make out what it was, but figured it was alcohol or gutter water which had gathered into that grimy substance that it sometimes forms and leaves residue.

It was a delayed reaction of mine when it happened, but he suddenly had me by my shoulders and had hauled me forward. My first reflex, however slow, was to cat claw at him but it quickly became apparent he wasn't dragging me further into the alley to have his way or rob me, but was pulling me out into the lights of the street, as numerous and bright as they were. That's when I saw his face in full, the crepe-like bags beneath his eyes, the thickness of the beard and the color of his eyes; hazel, like mine, but hinting closer to brown. He leaned in and looked at me with that same intensity, inspecting my face. All I could smell was stale booze and..cinnamon. Odd, but very much the smell now that the stranger was up in my business.

I was so out of it I didn't fight him further, I just kind of stared at him vacantly. He wasn't a violent drunk, so far, and if he had bad intentions he surely wouldn't have pulled me out into the open. There was a brief thought in my swimming, inebriated mind, that maybe he was an undercover inspector, one of those cops that trawls the quarter looking for a rat to give a hard time to, I don't know. But given the stink of him and seeing him shoved out that door, it wasn't likely. Around us, the music was very loud and it all felt very strange. Who was this guy? Why were we standing there? He looked very concerned. That only confused me more. He let me go and said something but it competed weakly with the sounds from the club nearby.

"What?" I yelled over the music.

He had me by my scrawny shoulders again, pulling me further along the busy path. People pushed by, some swearing at us for blocking the way and for being "bums" and this time, he spoke louder, now that there was some more distance between us and the music.

"You're bleeding." He said it, with more depth and a haste that made me feel worried. He was frowning and going between looking at me as straight as his state would allow, which was really still the best part of crooked, and the severity of my wound.

"What... ?!"

I reached up and touched where he had and found his words were wet as the cracked skin at my hairline. Wet and thick and parts of it felt crusty where it had dried. I looked immediately at my hand and indeed it was covered in blood. I gasped. No wonder my head was screaming with pain. I hadn't really noticed, given the tequila consumed was burning away the best of my own senses and numbing my skull from the inside out.

"Come with me."

"What?!"

The man looked at me gravely and chewed his lips and then gestured in a loose throw of his arm behind him like he was making a decision he was already regretting. He took off into the slowly thickening crowd on Frenchmen. I looked from his retreating back and at my bloodied hand and then back to his quickly disappearing coat amongst the revellers and roaming brass band taking up most of the road. Between the zydeco and the jazz the world was very quickly too loud and the roar of it was acute, it sounded like the bass was coming from inside my head and throbbing through my concussion. I dropped my hand and took off after the man. Chasing after him in a stupor, pain, confusion. Jumping over puddles and twisting past tourists.

I caught up to him, his coat flaring wide in the wind as he reached for and grabbed a door on its inward swing and surreptitiously disappeared inside a faded, peach coloured building just as the relenting rain started up again. Thunder rolled overhead and drowned out the saxophones and washboard. I didn't make it very far down the hallway behind him before it all went black and I crumpled to my feet.


And that's how I met Robert Brohkun.

Early hours of the 24th June 2016

Crazy evening last night.

I had a date earlier in the evening with Morgan, so I could get a feel for the work he was going to do in town and if possible, weasel my way in. We got cut short, he had to run take care of business and I had to get home to get high. Always paramount!

Later in the night I ambled on over to the Red for a drink and to see who was out and about. Taneth was there, that cackling cherub girl and Kane whom I am yet to make my mind up about. And man oh man, I haven't ever seen anything like it.

There's a freaking monster stew. Monster stew! I poked and prodded at it because apparently that was the mood I was in and bam... it launched itself at me. Things got cray - ending up with guns, cleavers and fireballs and the stew exploding... but then it did this even crazier **** and like... gathered itself together and went back to the pot. It was something else.


Then, this asshole walked in with a mannequin, he proclaimed to call his girl, and I couldn't resist indulging my own asshole streak and started hitting on the dummy. That's right, I hit on the dummy - much to that freak's chagrin. Cue, more cleaver, the guy throwing a glass at me and me ending up with a dislocated nose as a result. I set it but it's hurting like a bitch. I hope I see that guy again so I can beat him over the head with that one legged plastic girlfriend of his.

And, I may have met someone who doesn't annoy the **** out of me, besides Robert. And maybe, maybe Salome. And Taneth. Grey, he's not too bad on the eyes, neither.


Rhy'Din, you ain't half bad as I thought. Maybe I will stay around longer. It's plenty entertaining.


But first, that trip back to the Crescent. I am still kinda shocked that Robbie offered to drive? Guess he's got ghosts and demons he's got to face back there too. Secretly though? I'm happy he's coming. I got lots to make right with that man, after all that went down. He's been taking care of me since I've been here, and he really didn't have to do that. And hell, I care about him. A lot. Hopefully we can make things right on our trip.

I'm gonna fight him for control of the car radio though. Sho.

But, before we switch gears again, to the present.

There's the manner of going from homeless girl to demon kicking babe.

Okay so maybe I added that last little bit on but it has a better ring to it then homeless demon slaying waif ...

I digress.

So like, Jimmie approached me a few more times, inviting me over for dinners, warming me up, even though I had agreed. There were a few times that I spotted Gerry's car on the street but guy couldn't help himself, even if I was a ****head. He liked us kids and felt responsible to us, even the ones he didn't really like. I thought nothing of it, though. It was Gerry.


Only thing was, I found out about five months into my work with Jimmie that Gerry hadn't been an active priest in five years. That's right. So, he kept his duds and his visits but he wasn't actually a priest. And it turns out, he hadn't been a priest at all - he'd just been a clergyman with roots in rural revival sects. I got all this out of Menace. He always kept his ear to the street, like Dr. Dre.


That was all a weird divergence however, I figured he couldn't let go of work he loved. I had to, until Menace got more on the guy's story. We're still waiting. This stuff can be hard to dig up, especially in a city of so many swamp; it was easy to bury and drown your past.


Anyway, so after several dinners with Jimmie he took me to an abandoned building out in the Ninth Ward and started running me through things.

One, that to be an effective demon slayer, I was going to have to assume some traits that I didn't already have. Like, being able to conjure crap. For reals, this was step one. Him telling me all this. I would then be trained accordingly by Menace and a few other minions and go through a process of being inducted and pact-bound. Hence, the palm slitting contract that Robert enquired about when I got to Rhy'Din and he asked about my being marked. The tattoo that was encrypted was a whole other thing, but the guy who did the artwork was obviously a follower of Jimmie's so it all just worked perfectly well for that bastard. You know, getting me 'marked accordingly' - I can't believe I never considered it.


I know people, that as a shining example, think I'm dumb, but there's choices a desperate person makes. I was living on the street, with no money except stamps and what could be stolen, I was off the grid in terms of a social security card and had been since leaving NYC to go to NOLA. I was a faceless, nameless, numberless figure. So yeah, when Jimmie came along I got involved. I assumed I could handle a lot, which I could, which I did... but I didn't know how dangerous the debts could be. The contracts. Well, I did, but the offer was too good. The money was such a lure, but what could I do? Ignore it and starve forever? I guess I could have. But frankly, I didn't want to. I was done with fighting to live on that level. Plus, Robbie was going. Maybe if he had stayed, maybe if I hadn't have screwed up so bad with him, I might have had a chance. Maybe.


But I haven't ever lived in maybe. I'm turning things around these days, or, trying to. Slowly slowly.


But back to the abandoned building and the stages of inducting.

I would have to go through a process of not only being bound to the contract with my own blood but being 'enchanted' - and a series of lessons and cycles, from learning how to fight, how to kick, how to punch but how to develop the more unnatural talents bestowed upon me. Given my nature, fire was what I had become most attracted to working with and when they saw I had a way with it, it became my major unit of learning and study, under the guidance of Jimmie primarily, as well as Menace and a couple other, who really aren't worth mentioning. All up, I was initiated over a series of months. By the time I was walking out of the Ninth Ward, I was ready to take on the world. The world I had been introduced to. A world where demons had to die.


Meanwhile, Gerry kept showing up. I began to get suspicious.

When the call from Menace came through I was half way through another load of laundry, a tub of pasta salad and watching another video on the subject Robert asked I become acquainted with. I answered, hurrying a huge spoonful of cold penne into my mouth and struggled to pull my eyes from their fix on the compromising position between an extraordinarily flexible couple, courtesy of Rhy'Din's uncensored internet. Menace was breathing heavily and I could make out foot traffic around him and the horns of passing cars. I quickly exited out of the window.

"Who you bringing witchu, Hellion?"

Chew, chew, chew, swallow. "A friend. "I told you."

"He gonna be trouble like you are?" He laughed and there was the sound of metal rustling, like chains and a door squeaking open and thudding shut.

"No, but you'll still dislike him" I said around another bite, sliding on top of the washing machine as it grumbled below me with a large load in anticipation of Monday's departure. "So why the call?"

He didn't press on who I was coming with any further except for another of his loud rattle-cage laughs as he moved through another series of doors which whined and clanked as he went. "Just calling to say I'm not in Crez right now but due back Tuesday or Wednesday; visited Ma out in the boonies."

"Awwwww, ain't you a good son, ya jerk."

I laughed and it got him going too; we both knew he had been the worse son ever and had only turned things around in the last couple of years once he realised, like me, there was a rabbit hole he was falling in and Jimmie was pushing us down it blindly. Still, I liked to rib where I could.

"Look uh, I wanted to fill you in, too, Hellion. Got some.. ah.. interestin' news. I mean, best news yet this week is hearin' you're coming' to visit, and maybe we can all let loose a little but... there's some troublin' **** I got to share, baby girl." His reflex always had been to soften a blow. It was a quality I admired and loathed in equal measure when it came to the big stuff.

Placing down the salad I brought my legs up and folded them mystic style while straightening my spine. "Okay, get to it, man. Troubling news on which front, exactly?" I could hear the anxiety in my voice and was trying to keep it out, berating myself silently.

"Baby girl, I haven't been able to bring you much on that revival minister, but Vince and Eustace came through." He switched the phone from ear to ear as he unlocked his apartment and set foot inside.

"You mean, little Vince, with the moustache and mono-brow?"

"Yeah, little Vince. He's been reaching out ever since Eustace found out that he wasn't a priest no more, hadn't ever been, yadda yadda. Anyways, peach, turns out the guy.. ah, god." He was filing through his mail, slipped under the door. "Damn bills, they are coming out my butt these days."

"Dude, keep talking. Please." Yeah, I whined. I didn't like where this was going.

"Frye was accosted by Vince and his homeboy Thom down at the bus exchange coming back. They happened upon him. Been cruising but hadn't seen him in about six weeks. They roughed him up a bit on account of his hanging around a lot before you went out on Jimmie's orders. Least, that was the excuse they gave. But look, they checked his tickets and he was coming in from where-yat.. Rhy'Din."

The cell slipped out of my hand. I could hear Menace repeating my name over and over distantly, as if he was echoing back from the edge of space and time, while my thoughts very quickly spiralled. I swallowed hard and swore out loud.

"Hellion!!!!"

I took a moment. I breathed in and out deeply and retrieved the phone from my lap. I was gripping it tightly.

"Yeah, I'm here." I rasped.

"You okay, kid?"

"I am in the middle of a few things right now. I need to process what you just told me, yo. I mean, eff, I am headed back there. What is this guy's deal?" I had my ideas.

"If we see him, we'll deal with it. Whatever his deal we'll make sure it is a thing of the past. Don't you worry, just wanted you to know.. but, you gotsa stay all happy about J being dust and you coming back and giving me a big hug. Missed you."

"Missed you too" I sighed into the phone. We said a few last words and hung up. I must have been sitting there stunned for another twenty minutes as suddenly the machine was making its finished chime and I was so startled I almost dropped my phone again.


I spent the rest of the afternoon in a bit of a haze as I packed a bit more, went out and bought Robbie and me some snacks and a few other things. But the whole time, I was turning that guy's name over in my head like a jigsaw piece. Trying to avoid connecting the dots I knew were there, because my Gramma always, always said to keep council of other options first before you go running in one direction. Mostly, I suck at that, but I wanted very much to believe that he was here coincidentally or maybe, maybe if it was for me, that he had heard about J's death and had come to pick me up out of the fall out, motivated by an honour of the past and tarnished responsibilities.

But, I knew better. I knew where that piece really fit. I didn't like the picture it made in my head when it did.

Java Hell, West End

Midday.

The place was empty as I sat waiting for the boys. Menace had called me the night before real late. I had fallen asleep beside Grey on the couch after whoopin' his ass (okay, I am being generous; I annihilated it) in CoD on the xbox and went feeling around the empty beer bottles, left over Chinese and the popcorn bowl for my phone, which started going off like mad after midnight. He was telling me that he had decided to come into Rhy'Din to get out of NOLA as it was already driving him nuts with the local bullcrap with Doll and co. Little did I know, he was doing as he did; softening the blow.

So, I expected news. He hadn't really elaborated as I unwound myself from the dead weight of 5'11 sleeping boy arm and leg, trying not to wake him and sneak into the kitchen so try and get some more out of him.

"Don't be frettin', Hellion, just a visit. I wanna get out of town anyway, you know this. Good excuse to see how you've set yourself up there."

"Okay... you sure? You got me spooked?" I turned and leaned back into the sink and frowned, well, went to, when I saw that Grey was standing at the wall peering around me to see if all was okay. I gave him an OK signal with my fingers and he grinned tiredly and took off blearily to face plant on my couch. Menace was still talking.

".. and so I should be getting in about 11 or so. Where and when should I meet you?"

"Noon at Java Hell."

I gave him the address, hung up and walked back to nudge and poke the sleepy-face awake and drag him into my bed where we promptly passed right out in a tangle of legs and arms and groping hands.


So's, I'm sitting there waiting and I see Menace duck his head under the door - he's wearing a SAINTS cap that I smile for, because he was a religious fan of the game, when that smile fell straight off my face. Coming in behind him was Eustace and Vincent. Mono-brow, moustached Vincent.

I rose from the table I had commandeered and strolled over to greet them each, but giving Menace a long-eye in question.

"I didn't expect the whole choir; what's the story?"

Menace gestured with one of his thick, timber-plank hands to the table. His dark complexion showing blue in the low, off light.

"Hellion, we got some big news."

The three sat around the table in various leans and slouches, lighting up cigarettes - lighter after lighter after lighter flickflickflick - while I nursed a luke-warm coffee and state of mind. What Was The Dealio.

"And..?"

"When you visited, after the removal of the brand, we discussed the fact that your contract was still in the wind. We knew that it had fallen somewhere with the fall out but were trying to pin point exactly."

Monobrow Vince piped up. "It ain't got air no more, Lizzie."

Eustace - a huge Samoan with a stubby forehead like a basketball, a tattoo of a briar along his neck and dressed head to toe in black with midnight-blue vans, nodded along silently, his arms folded across his middle.

"Say what?" I was gripping the coffee cup tightly, picking at the chipped porcelain with a nail.

"Hellion, someone picked up your contract. We are trying to find out who. In the meantime, you might find that you are marked accordingly, baby girl. So, watch yourself. For any signs --"

"How do you know someone bought it?"

"There's a register of sorts", Vince said around a cigarillo as he reclined back into the metal chair like we were discussing whether or not he liked ranch sauce or chipotle.

I just blinked.

"Look, baby girl" Menace interrupted, "if someone purchases or buys into a contract, in Jimmie's death, we have greater agency on what goes on. Someone picked it up late last week. Right before you left NOLA. We saw the books. Jimmie's portals and windows are still operational and we tapped into it."


"For my contract? Dude. You don't know what you're messing with! No offence yo, but y'all were like, like..his henchmen."


"Lizzie" Vincent again, sitting forward, "We do. We been watchin' this stuff. We told you that Jimmie had gotten...shaky in the last few months ever since Zoel split. We exploited that."

I sat dumbfounded, concerned, surprised, but mostly, confused.

"Okay, okay, boys, but like, where from here?"

"We wait, we pounce when we know more."

All three nodded to that and I rolled my eyes, sitting back in my seat so hard that it made a brief, shrill sound.

Something was up. Not just because of the fact all three were here. I could feel the bad vibration in the air, as easy to spot as a toupee or fake tits.

"How do you know anything is going to turn up, for sure?"

"We don't, Lizzie. But we gotta hope so." Vincent shrugged and tried to give her a look that appealed to her worries. "It's okay, kid."

"How are you so sure?"

Eustace and Vincent traded looks and Menace gave me a sly look.

"What the **** guys?"


Ten minutes later and we were down a side street in West End staring at a very beaten sedan. The closer we got to the it the more one thing became more certain; there was definitely muffled yelling coming from it. From the boot.

"What is this?" I yelled, a fury rippling through me. My heart was stammering, it was war-marching and I gave them each a cold stare.

Nothing.

"What is this?" I repeated this time more demanding, but my voice was rising, giving away how unsettled I was.

Menace gave me a finger indicating that I wait one minute while the other two closed into my sides and guided me around to the boot. There were dings and dents all over it and the sound of struggled breathing and screaming was disturbing.

Menace was at the trunk working the key. The hood gave some and he slid a finger between the gap and pushed it back towards the windscreen. Vincent and Eustace each laid a hand on each of my arms and held me for support. They gently nudged me closer.

"Soul for a soul, Hellion. We got us some bait."


Gerry was trussed, gagged and tied inside. His face covered in blood and his eyes wide with mortal panic.

Been staying low.

Last couple weeks have been bad. I dunno if being here is good. Some days I wanna stay and I wanna move somewhere else in West End; get these ideas in my mind of getting out of Broom Street Ten and into a nicer apartment. Then I think, shiz, I might as well stay where I am until I make up my mind for sure. Despite the storm, I love New Orleans. It always gets under my skin. In a way no other city ever has. Like I'm sick with it. And when I'm there, even when the days are bad, like these have been, there's an obscene happy effing feeling alive in me. Like the world glows just a little brighter that my spirits don't entirely dampen. I miss it even though there's hard memories attached and now even more so after what I did to Robbie.

But, enough of the emo shiz.

So's, Robbie is leaving town. I don't think it is a bad idea but I feel like maybe I should be the one leaving. He has the museum, he's established. I don't got squat.

I still feel weird and sad and confused about all of it. Likes, I dig the guy, but everything started off wrong and maybe, maybe that means that we aren't a good idea. It just was something real too soon? I dunno. I really don't. I don't got any idea how I even proceed to like.. be friends with the man in time? He wrote me back a letter, telling me that we'll pick up where we left before we got physical. We'll see. Boy was hurt and I knows I deserve his disdain, that I deserve to feel this shiz. Was never about that. I don't know that I deserve his friendship, at all.


And Grey, he bit off my goddamned head right after Robbie showed up and was led out by that chick he works with. Delphine? She walked him out just as he asked me a question that bothers me a whole lot. He asked if I would change anything. It stalled me for a second. Man, it friggin' hurt. I am not gonna lie.


Anyways, so I go out to the alley with Grey after turning my french on some cajun bitch who had verbal diarrhoea and I was like, trying to thank him for having my back and he launches into this diatribe at me about my not expecting shiz from him? Since then, I haven't made no peep. No texts, no calls, nothing. Zilch. That hurts too but I haven't been able to bring myself to say nothing. He annoys me, the way, like goddamned NOLA, he gets under my skin. I don't want nothing from the boy; I like him a lot, a whole lot, and maybe that's pushing my own rules about that stuff, but man. It's on my mind, he's on my mind, don't really matter why. He's there. That's enough.

And to complicate shiz, I got a job coming up that I texted him about before all the crap went down and so's I got to be seeing him soon. Kinda sucks, kinda great. If only I could stop my pussy from getting in the way of everything.


The job... the job is a heist. Stealing some chick's body, Zynnara her name is? And transporting it to a forest. Taneth's forest. This whole thing sounds like a disaster but like, it's money and whatever crazy it brings, gonna be fun as shiz. I can feel it. Disaster, but an enjoyable one.


Still no word on my contract from Menace, who says he's digging still. He drove back to the Crez with Gerry and I haven't asked what in frig is going on there because I am half afraid of finding Gerry's body at the morgue when I go run this heist.


Life is zany right now. I feel like every day I gotta remind myself that Jimmie is gone. There are and there will be consequences but anything is better than where I was at a few months ago. Still, there's the matter of whether I ever feel out Zoel and see what she knows and that demon dude I was meant to kill. Like, what happens to all these assholes now? Do I just clear my conscience and pretend I didn't do what I did? And why did Jimmie want that demon dead? I never asked questions I just killed. Now I am looking at these things real different like.


But I'm troubled..

Thing with that Zynnara sitch is ... well, I saw her ghost. And I told her I would get her back to her body. And I meant it. And it's the first time in years I haven't been a selfish bitch. I saw her standing there at the edge of my vision, not quite corporeal but not all ghosty neither and I joked that I was doing it all for the money, but it isn't. It is, partly. But mostly?



I want to do something right.

"Yo Hellion, what's doin' baby girl?"

"If you must know, I just got out of the shower and on my way out. Sup? You calling me with good news?"

There was muffled laughing on the line.

"Baby girl, I wish I was. Nothing been turned up yet. We're digging deep though."

"Right. Well, I uh, I'm kinda in a hurry so... that all?"

"Don't got time for your brother from another mother, Hellion?"

"There's some block party on tonight. I need to get out, man."

"Okay, kid. You going with anyone?"

"What? Why?"

"Well, that guy you were in town with...what's going on there?"

"Dude, I seriously gotta go."

Her voice was strained as she put the phone on speaker and laid it on her bed as she dried herself down and began dressing.

"Touchy, touchy. Look, I worry about you, Lizzie. That's all. Robert is a demon. You can't trust demons. You should forget about that realm and come home. You belong here, girl. And we're here, we was a crew once. Don't you miss it? City comes alive when you're here."

"Ace, no, I don't. If you recall, Jimmie kinda forced me into your elaborate game and the point of being here is so I'm not, you know, there, yo, so like, no. I don't think I'll come back for a bit. And hell, Doll was saying storm is brewing. Don't intend to be there while it does."

"Doll talks a lot of junk. You saw her when in town? News to me..."

"Look, man.. like I said." She dressed quickly then tossed her towel across her bed and sat on the futon, beginning to lace up a fuchsia combat boot. "I really wanted to make it to the thing tonight..it's getting late. I'm sure you can understand I gots a lot on my mind that I'd like to forget for an evening."

"Be safe, Hellion. I understand, but a man worries. Someone should be keeping an eye on you." He laughed teasingly.

"Ha. Yeah. If they wanted to lose their eyeballs. Know some demons who would add them to their mint juleps."

"You know some sick people, Roach."

"Speaking to one."

More laughter. Roach cracked a smile and hit 'end'. She sat there a moment staring at her phone with a deep frown, before grabbing it, getting up, rolling on some patchouli oil, applying some lipstick, hanging her towel and then flicked the lights off, grabbed her purse and made for the door.

"Watching me. Pfft. I'd put those eyeballs somewhere alright.." she muttered, off down the hall that strobed with flickering anemic flashes and derelict shadows.

Saw Robert for the last time before he leaves tonight.

Know what that word feels like now. Bittersweet. Never appreciated that word; oxymoron that it is. All sugar and lemon. I don't got the words for explaining it.

I kissed him good bye, it feels like I'm never going to see him again. It feels wrong and it feels like it does when there's a black out and now I gots to navigate by candle light. Know, I know it sounds stupid. There's a telling difference though when he's around and we're hanging out and when we're not. With so many years gone by I didn't know what it was like. A caged bird thinks flying is an illness; I saw friendship as a weakness.


Saw Tuck again. He asked me about the con and then told me a story about some Gordion Knot and Alexander and his sword. Been thinking about it. Been thinking about it a lot. I liked the way he put it and I like the strength in his silence. Reminded me some of what I can recall of my dad.

And, Salome. I shot her a text this afternoon to see how she was after the exploding glass shiz and see if she wanted to come party. There's a Mako rave weekend after next and I might try drag her out there. Think we both got some stress to shake.

I left Grey with a voicemail too. Things don't feel so tight since our brawl at the Annex. It's good. I invited him to a gig I'm going to on the weekend; The Meteors are in town and I'm stoked! Figure the kid might like it.


This week has had its curses and its blessings. Kind of feel like maybe I'm doing something right, likes, stepping out of where I'm used to being and trying to make the friendships I have work. I even hugged Tuck and I don't even know the dude. But it's like... all of a sudden, I got this urge to start trying harder at -- I don't want to be like my mother. I don't want to make people feel the way she made me feel and thus far, I haven't really done that. I've been making excuses. But they wear thin and they trip you over eventually.



I'm really going to miss Boo Radley. Guess that's part of my atoning, eh. Not knowing if he's ever going to return and he could always ignore my texts if he wanted to; wouldn't blame him. He seemed less distant with me but then, he's still going away, isn't he.

Guess demons can have demons too.

"How's it lookin', Eyes?"

"She's not been out much. Hard to tell."

"Any visitors?"

"Nada."

"So's, what you got then, aye?"

"Only what I last told ya. Followed her and the boy with the spiky hair to a gig at Rattlers on Friday night. But that's it. She's been to the Inn twice since and not for very long. Think she's depressed."

"Spiky haired guy? You mean Timothy. Are you logging this **** properly, Eyes?"

"All on paper, Vincent."

"Okay. Good. I'll be callin' ya in a week. Have more for me. And remember, don't go close to her or inside her apartment block, okay?"

"Heard you the first time."

Vince hung up.

Gerry got off the toilet and placed his cell down on the basin. He flushed, he washed his hands over the beaten basin and wandered out to the brown lounge room; the furniture, the walls, the scratchy carpet were all the same shade. He walked over to the horizontal blinds and peered through them. The street was empty. He looked down at his long, pasty legs. He wore only underpants and a soiled wife-beater. He picked up the envelope of photographs he had taken of Elizabeth and Timothy and shuffled through them. There was one of them leaving the venue, laughing and shoving one another. The next one was her leaning in over his lighter with a cigarette, the boy smirking at her. The next was them wandering off down a side street into shadow.


He flicked back through the pile to the first. One of her leaving the Inn, digging in her purse for something. The next was her alone outside the Shanachie Theatre looking especially and unexpectedly plaintive. After that, one of her beside a goblin in a dark, burgundy suit, both of their faces scrunched up mid argument. Gerry sighed and tossed them back into the envelope and walked over to the kitchen to collect the other half of his ham sandwich. He ambled back over to his corduroy-upholstered recliner and sat back, digging around down the side of it for a photograph he had tucked down the side. He pulled it out; it was covered in moist fingerprints and crumbs. In it was a picture of a twenty year old Elizabeth in New Orleans at a peepshow. Straddling a black chair, she wore a stage bikini covered in pale blue sequins and translucent stripper heels. Her skin appeared iridescent, covered in rub-on glitter. Cherry-pink neon threw coloured shadow across her body. One eye closed in a wink. Sliding a hand down the elastic of his underwear, Gerry held the picture before his face with his other and pleasured himself.

Text sent late afternoon, Saturday 30th July '16


Text from Shaun Preece Freakzone] to Lizzie

A detective showed at the door tonight asking about a missing man. Care to explain what is going on?

Demi is selling up. You got things here. I can drive them into town via that Brooklyn portal or have them shipped but I think we have to speak. What is going on?

Text to Freakzone

Detective? For whom? I don't care about my old stuff at this point.

Text to Lizzie

They say you knew a Gerrald? He's been missing for a few weeks. What's going on kid?

Text to Freakzone

Never heard of him. Nite.


A minute later, a message leaves Elizabeth's phone

Text to Menace

Yo. Feds are asking about your bait. WHERE IS HE?

Chain smoking over cold Chinese takeout, Roach paces her apartment over a response. Her text receipt says the message was read at 10:50pm. She finally passes out on her couch in front of the television at 3am, high as a kite and drunk.

The text, it still remains unanswered...

Midnight, Friday 5th August '16

Like a bullet, the black van shoots away from the Dragon through the dark until the brownstone is in sights and the wheels begin to ease in their manic pace. The driver and the second Russian exit and Roach too, slipping from the sliding side door of the back and out onto the street. She's feeling electric; there had been an almost brawl at the Inn and Tucker's words had given her some spirit for words she didn't have, or didn't know, how to say. The visit had been a spur of the moment decision; the safehouse was driving her stir crazy and frankly, she was out of vodka.

But, first things first. Eyes dance over the street as the two large men flank her to the stairs and security gate of the building. "Guys, easy, easy." She pushes at them but they continue to shadow her tightly like bookends. She frowns at them, going for the key in the front pocket of the indigo, flared jeans that fall heavy over the converse on her feet; laces nearly undone and covered in drying rum from the incident back the Inn where the gunslinger had a glass thrown at him by Charlie - a glass she had ducked from but which had gone all over her shoes. The guy had been offering to shoot someone, so, he had it coming.

Producing the key she goes to-- but one of her bodyguards is already unlocking the gate. He gets a weak smile and a mumbled thanks as she shoves past and inside. "You guys gotta relax a little." She wonders if they even understand her as she drifts up the three flights of stairs and into her room to dump her purse by the threshold. The two men watch her go and share a look, trading words in their tongue that amount to "blonde girl is crazy."

Roach sets foot into her room when..

Bam.

Grey. He's sitting on her bed, in the dark, just a shadow in the gloom. "'sup, seksual'nyy. Good night?" A flash of teeth, that crooked grin. "You remember your toys?"

Ashen brows lift as she hits the light and puts him in the spotlight. She tries fighting her grin at seeing him; there's shock to her face but delight there too. But it disappears quickly cuz *mask* always has to be on. Even with Tucker's words ringing in her head like a jackhammer. "Course. In my purse, silly. Wells, the gun is. I got that pretty little claw sitting in my pocket right here." She crosses the room real slow, a walk to emphasize the roll of her hips as she approaches. "You checking up on me?" She stops right in front of him. Black, chipped nails fan out quick and grab his hair raking through the tips. "Don't trust your Roachie?"

"Hmm," He slides his legs to either side of hers as he sits up and forward on the bed, arms going around her as he tugs her closer. "I dunno," he drawls. "Your purse is all the way over there, now, and these jeans seem awfully tight. I don't think you can get a knife out of your pocket with any speed." In this position, his face is about level with her breasts and he rests it between them and inhales deeply, breathing in that patchouli, cigarette smoke, and Roach smell he won't admit that he misses. His hands on her hips slide back, and he takes a good, double hand grope of her ass.

"Shame. Wells, you could get it out for me while yer back there, you know. Help a girl out some." Her arms wrap around him and she smiles though he can't see that. It's her real smile; the one that pops that dimple on her right cheek and shows teeth. Takes away the shadows of her frowns and makes her look a little different. She closes her eyes and sighs, drooping just enough that says I missed you, too because she feels the boy all over. "Dunno if you saws my text but there was a goddamned gunslinger there tonight. Shiz went sideways. Felt like OK Corral in there. Ya woulda loved it,

"Sorry I missed it," Genuine regret in his voice. "Had some other fires to put out. You handled yourself okay, though." It's not a question; she's here, she's intact, meant she was up to whatever she faced. "Your boy Menace is comin' back. Guess their watchdog noticed you slipped out of his yard. I had to get the brass band set up, roll out the red carpet and everythin'."

"Frick." She doesn't move though but lets the words rattle around her head like a 'coaster about to go off its tracks. "Wait... okay, uh, so's, he's coming back.. how did you...?" she leans back then, an arm still around him while her other hand draws around to slip beneath his chin and guide his eyes to hers. "You looked in all this tonight? Babe...you've done enough. Here, this joint. I mean..." she shook her head, her face almost regretful for having gotten him tangled in this web. "He still hasn't replied to me, neither", she tacks on the end, with bite.

It seems slightly inappropriate to feel her ass (as much as he's enjoying it) when they're talkin' about serious matters, so he lets his hands slide down from that delightful swell to rest on the backs of her thighs. His green eyes meet her hazel, and he's smiling ever so slightly. "Lyubovnik, you know how I work. This dog gnaws that bone to a nub, once he's set loose. Ya boy's got somethin' dirty in mind for ya. I don't know what, yet, but there's something goin' on back on Earth. Back in Nawlins." As always, he drawls the word. "Strange things moving in the deeps. Drums in the swamp. Headless chickens running the street. Yanno, big ominous like wossnames. Signs and portents." He shrugs a little. "It's 'enough' when this shizz is off ya back, Roachie." Maybe something more in that smile. "I don't like people who frakk wit' my friends. I ain't got many. They - you - mean somethin' to me, okay? So. I can help. I do things." He shrugs.

She frowns and leans back just a little more, absorbing the clever green of his eyes. "I dunno what to say, gangster. I owe you. I owe you a lot." Stepping back she drops down beside him on the bed and sinks her elbows onto her knees, sitting forward. A sigh. "There's dots I've been trying to connect. Demi, my Ma, the monster; she used to talk about.... weird, weird shit. I mean", she held a hand up in the air and pointed, "like, not funny haha, something you take with a grain of salt and are humored by like some family joke. It's stuff that perplexed me. My Granma used to talk about it too. But basics, there's some kinda past my family got in Nola. Something I never picked at. I guess I best start to."

Roach continues after a considering pause.

"Menace never saw much in me, not until this last visit. Something.... something changed. Don't know if it's just him feeling like he gots to be important now Jimmie dead, like, he's got something to prove? Or he's just throwing shade at the world, and Robbie, because Robbie got my contract." The mere mention of the contract makes her frown deepen, and she brings her hands to her temples and rubs before raking hands back through the bleached tendrils and ropes of her hair. "Anyways. Thanks for letting me know. Menace always did like a brass band." An elbow dig; lightly though and she gives Grey a slant-wise grin. It's small but it's there.

"You don't owe me crap, Roach." A pause, he starts to say something more - and the curve of his lips, the glint of his eyes, she can just tell it's gonna be somethin' about how if she's really feelin' obligated, there's sexual favours she could do. And then somethin' changes, a sudden seriousness in his expression, and he's leaning closer to her - hand brushing hers away from her face - so he can crush their mouths together in an unexpected kiss. Unexpected in its abruptness, unexpected in the hunger and near-desperation of it, unexpected in the way his hands behave, not goin' for her bra or slidin' down to tease an erogenous zone but cupping her face as though he's afraid she might break and run. After an eternity that still ends too soon, he pulls back and away. "You don't owe me crap," he says again, his voice hoarse.

Though it be unexpected, it not unwelcome, and she matches him step for step; her kiss telling him the things that she had told Tucker, that she wants to say but is afraid to. Likewise, her hands don't go for his fly or his ass, but rise up to wrap around the back of his head cradling it. Her nose runs down his face when it ends and she closes her eyes. Her mouth still puckered in the space between. "I do." She inhales and the breath out quavers behind her closed mouth as she presses a kiss to his brow. "You mean a lot to me. You mean ... you mean more to be than a friend." The moment she says it her eyes open and her heart stammers like a snare drum in the hands of a drunk musician. "I'm sorry..."

"Ah, babe," and maybe he would have said more - but there's a knock at the door, respectful and quiet. He bumps her forehead with his. "Don't be sorry." That teasing grin. "It's not your fault I'm irresistible." He kisses her temple, then her cheek, and then her lips. "I can't - I've got a lot of shiz in my life, Roachie, lotta bad stuff hangin' in the wings that you don't want a part of. Trust me on this, if you've ever trusted me on anythin'. I... people get killed aroun' me, Roach. And worse." A flinch, and then his features stiffen a little, steady up. "After this is all done, I've got someone to introduce you to. He's... he's kind of a friend, too." A quick grin that doesn't quite hide the shadow of pain in his eyes. "Different kinda friend, though. But he's a great example of how I manage to eff everythin' up, eventually." He brushes his hand across her hair as he starts to stand. "Don't let me eff you up, too."

"Then what does it say about me?" Taut-tangles of white get caught on his sleeve as he stands. "I got shit coming at me every which way. And I'm still here telling you that you mean something to me." Her brows knit. "So's, that said, I don't think what your saying to me stands as an excuse. But, if you don't feel the same then that I can handle. But I don't believe that be the case we are working with." Not trying to lay down any kind of law, because rebels don't make rules, she slowly rises from the bed and it gives some beneath her making a creak. She looks towards the door then towards him. "I'm going to say this to you though. I'm saying this to you right here and if you want out the door without answering me then this conversation is over. And it won't come up no more." Standing, with a hip popped to the side and a hand on either one. There's another knock. "Coming; give us a second, christ!" she yells out. Then, she steps over towards the boy and takes his face into her hands and looks into his eyes. "Anyways. Can't eff up a eff up."

"I- yeah, okay? I'm frakkin' crazy about you, Roachie. More'n I'm just plain crazy. You mean a helluva lot to me, more than anyone has in... a long time. Because they all fuckin' died, ya dig?" There's something lost in his eyes as he looks back at her, almost like he's looking through her - like he's a million miles away, at the bottom of a long, dark hole. "So, yeah. I push you away because I'm scared I'm gonna get you hurt, and losin' you would effin' end me. I can't- I can't go through it again. It-" He sways in her grip, his head suddenly throbbing. "It killed me the last time, too."

His eyes focus, and he comes back to the here and now. "Look, this is really shit timin' for somethin' this heavy, right? When this is over, when you don't have heavies gunning for you and I'm not juggling half a dozen burning plates and runnign chainsaws, we can sit down and talk about feelings and deep shit." That crooked grin flashes across his face. "I'l buy ya dinner, maybe getcha some roses and wine and shit. Whatcha think?"

She continues holding his face once he's done explaining that he doesn't want to unintentionally kill her; always a plus to know and then drops them to rest on her hips. "That talk may never come, baby boy. You'll always be juggling hot plates and chainsaws just as I'll always be target practice for flying glasses and trying to Houdini my way out of some lunacy." She lifts her shoulders and drops them. "I got enough at risk let alone putting my heart out there amongst it. I can't do that. I don't live in maybe's and chocolate and roses and excuses. So's, I'm going to dial this back. Feelings.." and Tucker's still jackhammering concrete in her head, but she talks despite it, "I can eff em away, I can smoke em away, so, they'll get gone in their own time. Just you keep your crazy for me on simmer too and we're best off that way."

She turns to open the door. One of the Russians, the one she noticed usually standing guard outside, gave her a deep bow of his head. "Miss Lee. Sergei has informed me that a detective has visited your old place. We've been observing the compromised location."

Roach tilted her head alllll the way to the right and screwed up her face. "Ah, frick."

((note: this entry is time marked as subsequent to what takes place in the following post in Hell..or High Water: http://rdi.dragonsmark.com/forums/viewtopic.php?p=222762&highlight=#222762))

Diary entry for Saturday 6th August '16



Hold your breath and count to ten,
And fall apart and start again,
Hold your breath and count to ten,
Start again, start again...


Shiz be crazy. Still.

I am only doing this because doing it the other night peeved me off, seeming to no end, 'til the next day I didn't feel quite so lousy. So, I am putting this down on paper. Write more.


I snuck out of the house. After watching each of the guys and getting an idea of their habits I noticed that Sergei was not only the front of house guard but the one who on his breaks was always out the back in a lawn chair with a smoke. He had left the door a jar while he was out side at dusk so I snuck over and put a tiny piece of cardboard against the corner of the door so that as he went to lock it, it wouldn't connect and spring. While the guy was all eyes and ears when on duty, he could be sloppy about some things which I found odd but exploited it. It worked; he didn't check the door as he walked back in, he was too busy on some app of his, frantically tapping at the screen. That or it was pron-pron.

So after my success with that (because when you're stuck at home, any little deviation in routine is a cause for celebration) I basked in my self-improvised freedom by stopping by some small bar on the corner of Weir, Charlie's I think, and grabbed a drink. The bar tender had this super hot accent and a kind way about him. I rolled on.

As I was sneaking around town it occurred to me that that Annex night was on; Lirssa and her boy, Aric, had reminded me of it last Wednesday, so I stopped in to say hi. Saw Candy but she was asleep on that Sal guy the whole time. I didn't linger long, I felt paranoid. Restless.

I hate writing this stuff. Why is it so effing hard? Whhhhhyyyy?

I hate that I feel so small, so powerless. I don't have a lot of belief in my fire abilities lately; I haven't had to mete out on anyone for Jimmie, so as long as its under-utilised, my belief and my ability weakens. I don't got really any place to practice; don't want the Russians to cotton on and I don't exactly got the funds to be renting out some warehouse space like the crew had.

But, back to Sat night.

I rolled out of the Annex and into the Inn for a bit, but it was dead, so on I went. I decided to do a little recon of my own and flagged a taxi. I made the guy go down Broom on the edge of Allison but I didn't see nothing weird. So, I made him reverse, park on the corner of Elphinham and I bribed him; I asked him to go into my apartment building and have a look around and gave him extra if he would check my apartment out too. I gave him my key. He didn't come back. I was sitting in the taxi for like twenty minutes, maybe thirty, and I bolted. I freaking pulled up the hood on my cardi and I ran like a mothereffer.

I was already stressed as eff and at that point, because of it, the two drinks had hit me harder than normal, so I was feeling a bit queasy. But I kept rolling. Chin up, don't feel, don't over think, keep moving. I didn't want to be sober that night. So in the end, I ended up in a far corner table at Java hell drinking irish coffees without the coffee until Alex said I should probably leave because I got into an argument with lady who got into my bizz for no good reason. Started touching my hair and shoving my chest because I wouldn't quit smoking, but I was in the smoking section. Hence, my point to the bitch. But nope; she was going on about the environment and pollution and contaminants in the air and jesus effing christ on an effing pogo stick, I cracked it, gave her the bird and well.. I left. Alex came and checked on me outside but I told her not to worry. Nice lady.

Outside, there's sirens wailing, from all directions. I watch for a few seconds and it's car after car after car. I see some Watch officers go running down the street and jumping into a wagon. I'm like, what in eff? So I get walking, keeping low, keeping to the dark; a few short cuts through some alleys. Wind up on the middle of Elphinham looking West and the cars are aimed for the tenements.

I hung back a while in one alley. Checked my phone. Distracted myself with some Poke-Dragon-Go and then snuck back out and asked a passerby what had happened. Turns out, some guy had been ripped to shiz at the Ten. I mean, it's a leap to assume.. but ... so I asked another few people, hassled this older guy, and he told me some taxi driver, Pakistani; torn limb from limb, blood everywhere. His car had been set alight, parked down the way..


Ok. I'm done writing. Eff this bullcrap. Too much. I can't.

Text to Menace: Yo. Answer my effing calls. WHERE IS HE? WHAT DID YOU DO?
Text to Menace: A trap demon killed someone trying to visit my apartment. We both know this is a Jimmie move. Text me, call me, let me know what in eff is going on.

A few minutes pass...

Text to Roach: Took care of the bait, Hellion. Don't you worry. Haven't text as city churning. Storm hitting. Just rest easy.

Text to Roach: Don't know about trap demon. Why you asking me? Don't like your tone, neither, girl. You live in Rhy'Din, Lizzie. Demons are a dime a dozen.

Roach calls Menace, to no avail.

Text to Menace: Pick up, asshole. Pick the effing phone up. We gotta talk.

Text to Roach: Can't right now, baby doll. Still living in the same place? Or move after demon?

Text to Menace: Eff you.

Later in the day..

Text to Robert: Yo. I think some bad shiz is turning with Menace and co. He's still being shady. Just in case this contract shiz has ruffled some feathers, plz be careful.

--

At six pm, a dingy sedan with a paint job best likened to an old bruise, rolls onto Broom Street, outside the tenements. It pulls over and three men leave it to cross the road and enter the building across the way. Moments later, there is a knock on Gerry's door.

"Yo Eyes."

"Hey, hey.. come in, come in.."

Menace ducked his head and proceeded flanked by mono-browed, moustached Vince and silent, serious Eustace in midnight blue vans. The three take over the room, filing off in different directions to different ends; Menace to the log, Vince to the fridge to raid beer and Eustace to the toilet to drop a few logs off.

A fat finger runs down the log pages, over the indentations of pen like bite marks on skin. He glances to Gerry. "You a detailed son of a bitch. Good work. Found her new place yet?"

"No... she's been at the Inn though. Spending time with some other guy. Tall fella. Dark. Looks European."

Menace furrowed a brow deeply and slowly turned around to look at Gerry. Gerry wore a stained, khaki shirt unbuttoned at the wrists and a pair of suit trousers that were seemingly too big so all but fell off his thin, pasty legs, held up by a cheap black belt.

"Not Grey I take it?"

"Not him. That guy I haven't seen for a scratch. Like he's a ghost. Whoosh. Gone." He smacked his hands together.

Menace made a sound and rubbed at the salt and pepper coming into the hair at his chin. "Heh. Maybe he's out of the picture. Still, be wantin' uou to keep an eye out for the boy"

"Can do. Can't guarantee it, Menace, guy moves quick."

"This other guy, this European, watch him too."

Gerry grinned a little; yellow toothed and sly. "Gets around. Don't recall her being quite so hungry in the Crez..." he leaned against the wall watching as Eustace opened the door from the bathroom, admitting a foul stench after himself, and Vince returning from the fridge with a bottle for each man.

"Lizzie was always .." he lifted his broad shoulders, "..Alive. Zhebe.. " he paused, "Turbulent, like the storm she arrived the year after, man. Effin' hurricane of a girl. But right now, sounds to me like girl is shiftin' stress, Gerry." He walked towards the man. "Demon got her contract. She'd be feeling the heat.. and not only her own kind, yo."

Entry written Saturday August 13th

Called Robert for the first time before he headed off to Seattle but no answer. I'll give it a day or so and see and try again if I got to. Need to know what he knows, what he thinks, if anything whack been going on. I'm starting to get antsy again.

Vee raised a really, really effing good point. I know a demon having my contract is not no thing, I know it's a situation unto itself. I also know that Robert insisted that contracts were "above his pay grade" and that angle is bothering at me. I can only wait to see what he says, how he's doing, if anything to question has gone down on his end.

No word from Grey still. I haven't seen him since last Tuesday. Driving me effing crazy here. I just want to effing hear his voice. But he hasn't replied to my text so why would he answer the phone? And the way that Vee is talking, it's like I should probably hang back. Maybe cuz of that girl, or maybe so I am more focused on this. I mean, of course, smack bang in the middle of it all I gotta go and get feels for the guy. Figures. Figures I fall in love at the worst possible time. But then, I got no choice in this shiz. That love thing is doing what IT wants and dragging me with it. Stupid feelings!!!! I should never have listened to Tucker!!!!! Even though I know he's right, in a way. Still. Dumb dumb dumb.

All's I know is I can't spend another week like this.

Fighting the urge to take off out of the house and ... I don't know. Find something to get into. No boys, no trouble like that, just do something other than ruminate and hesitate and feel like I'm going to explode from anxiety. Every day the dice rolls and I never know what I'm going to get.

Then, I remind myself; least the dice is rolling.

I'm not dead. Long as that is the case, there's something I can do, something I can change.

Keep moving. Keep moving. Chin up.

Also, hope Luc is okay. I should text the dude. We went to a house party the other night and it was ..... odd. We danced a little, drank a little but ended up busting into one of the upstairs bedrooms and talking. For like, a few hours, and then we spooned and fell asleep. Like, say what? He looked so sad after I asked about Salome. I had to ask what was up there. And that's how we got talking. Kind of mentioned what Salome said at Entanglement, about what he's like, about him being important. I tried to express to him, in my own way, that he don't have to tear himself to bits over her. But that maybe being friends with her, at least right now, isn't a good idea.

I drank with them both last week and all seemed gravy but it isn't, under the surface. She's leaving town soon I learned too, so I guess that gives the guy the space to sort himself out. He's really hurting for her and there's something about his sadness that is affecting. Makes me hurt for him, which is super WTF as empathy, HELLO. WHAT IS THIS. I don't like to get too close to people, too into their lives. He really opened up to me, and being able to not think about my own shiz was good. To give someone some encouragement. I do NOT know myself no more. WHUTTTTT.

But boy, he loves her. He really, really loves her and man, I get it.

I get it.

"So, tell me again, where did you see her?"

The Junkie coughed and spat into the street. "Java Hell, a week ago. Hoe was out front smoking and crying like a hot mess."

"Right. Well, we are appealing for anything, anything at all, to help us find her. She's been on the streets and off the map the map for years", Gerry replied, in soft, coaxing tones; smiling graciously as he grabbed a hold of the man's shoulder and have it a squeeze. "Here's my number; if you see her again, give us a call. Her family are desperate to find her. She's their only daughter and a real angel of a girl." He shook his head with manufactured dismay and looked down with a forced sigh. "You have been helpful today, Mister Carlisle."

"Nah, no problem, man. If I see her again I'll call you." The Junkie held up the square of paper to show the red-headed priest that he had it before ambling back up the path to the rehabilitation centre.

Gerry's jaw ticked as he turned his eyes to the street. And there, in that single turn, he sees the van. Black, no plates. He races down the street in his his cassock, arms flailing as he hit the car and tore open the door. He gunned the engine and in an erratic turn, swerved the sedan around and off down Fountain Road, screaming laughter with sinister jubilation.

"I've got you, you bitch!" One hand on the wheel as he glanced between the phone he tapped at in his lap and the street ahead.

"Vince, I'm tailing them now. The moving van."

"Where you at?"

"Fountain Road. Uh.. uh" he was trying to get a read on where they...

"They're turning onto Allison."

"Maintain distance, keep following. I'll tell Menace. Good work, Eyes."

He hit 'close' and drove on. Sweat beading on his brow. "Where are you, Lizzie. Where are you hiding.."

Stuck to the dashboard was his polaroid of her at the peepshow. Twenty years old in a blue stage bikini with sequins and translucent stripper heels, straddling a black chair and winking. Encouraging him to find her. That slut. "Come find me, Gerry."

He stroked the picture as his other hand spun the wheel down Allison.

"Guys, we are comin' to the passage we been waitin' for. Things are heatin' up to the point that we are going to have to start making things happen."

Menace pointed behind himself to the window that looked over Broom and then swung his fist back around to point at the three men in various poses with smokes before him.

"What we never accounted for in this whole endeavour, was the Russians. Baby girl had to go get feelsy with one and now we got an angle we got to cover. They are a problem. In terms of getting to Lizzie, they're the barrier. They're the wall we got to break down. But!"

Vincent sat forward and frowned as did the other two, rolling his cigarette between his fingers.

"But... what about Grey, himself? Guy a threat all on his own, yo."

Menace worked his tongue against his lip and shook his head. "Right. He's a problem but right now, I'm lumpin' him in with the bro's."

"What about the older one man?" Eustace, his voice a boombox buried in a Samoan, sat up a little scratching at his lumpy, round head. "He might be slower than the rest but he's the linchpin."

"Right. Again." Menace placed his hands on his hips and looked down. "He's got me concerned too. But again, let's just leave those ***** in the same group. Right? Right."

The small hill of a man began to pace. He took a drag from his cigar as he scratched absently at his broad chest hidden beneath hordes of ink and a wife beater.

"What I'm worryin' at guys, is the demon. Got feed comin' through that explains why he grabbed her contract. An' it weren't cuz he was grindin' on her." He paced back the way he had come and walked over to the window and held his arms up and against it as he pushed it up and peered down over the street. He inhaled the air; always slightly smoke tinged, always a little like freshly turned tar, always a little like asphalt after a rainstorm. He turned back.

"There are rumours swirling around that that frakker got himself a new job, a new station. Kinda like us boys after Jimmie went out. I wanted to ensure she fulfilled her story in the Crez, not in this forsaken shizhole of a city. But it's too late for that now. Changes are going to start and we got to make a start before that shiz goes down. He's not who he thought he was and by the accounts I got, he still don't and she still got no idea of her potential nor his. We can't let things go where they can without shifting gears first. Russians, the boyfriend... they're a worry. Make no mistake. They are merciless. But a demon who don't know what he wield is worse, in a whole different frakking way.

This in mind boys, here is how it's going to go.

Gerry, you're going to be in the sedan from here on in. Sleep in the goddamn thing if you got. We'll bring you food, you can come back here change, but that's it. We need you on the road, we need to find that frakking black van. No more peepin' at the shelters. Maybe that junk ass weed will come through but we need surveillance on the damn street. No one gonna touch her apartment now and baby girl not stupid enough to come back this way.

Vince, I'm getting you on the rooftops. I don't give two shiz's how big this part of town is; we need eyes on the ground and on high, yo. There's another Crez fella who's now runnin' Mako side, he'll hook us up.

Eustace, you're going to watch for Robert. I need you observing the museum until he's back and when he does. You're going to get in his biz. Soon as he's back, you go. Yo?

We good boys?"

The three of them nodded but changed poses on their chairs; cigarettes forgotten between their fingers.

"What you gonna do, Ace?" asked Gerry, tapping a foot against the carpet and stubbing his smoke. "How you plan on intercepting the demon?"

Menace spun to face them and adjusted the lid and peak of the Saints cap. White piano-key teeth in that infernal smile. "Gonna give him a history lesson."

Moonlight scrawled across the sky like graffiti. Over clouds so low they seemed to catch themselves on the corners and peaks of the tallest buildings in West End. Pep Miz cried out in tones that rolled like black waves through the evening and a Fury sedan idled to a stop on Broom Street.

Eustace looked into the back seat and reached for the duffle that lay across it; heavy as a body and about as long. With a grunt he hauled it over onto his lap and hit the handle of the door to drag himself and the bag out onto the street.

Menace exited the entrance door of the corner opposite and moseyed across. In his usual disaffected way he walked in large strides and broad rolling shoulders, in a coat of blue cigar smoke. The rest was as usual; ribbed, white singlet, low, baggy pants and light feet in big boots. He carried a cigar and a gun and the way he handled them was like a man carrying his groceries. He was casual about his vices. He was casual about his violence.

?Yo dog? he approached Eustace, throwing a fist into his shoulder as greeting which the Samoan returned with a brute groan and a cheap smile. ?Yo man? and he stuffed the duffle into Menace?s arms and stepped back. ?You sure you?re ready??

Menace gave the other man a contemptuous look and laughed as he exhaled around of blue vapour that swarmed the air between them. He tossed a look upwards to Gerry?s apartment. ?As ever man. Can?t wait no more. We wait, we risk them getting the other hand.?

Eustace nodded and then swung the sedan?s open door shut. The pair moved across the street and in the door to make their way up to the stalker?s apartment.

When they entered, they found the not-priest seated opposite Vincent and a two dollar chess set. Gerry was scratching his chin and looking riled but as soon as they saw the bag in Menace?s arms they jumped to attention, forfeiting the game and their booze to step closer.

Menace grinned at them, big and completely devoid of mirth, and walked the duffle over to the cleared plywood table that served as Gerry?s study. The duffle seemed to move a moment, independent of the man?s motion of placing it on the table and the three other men exchanged looks.

?She?s out for the moment. Don?t be alarmed.?

The three shared another look.

?Ahmadi was a error. We caught the wrong fly. But now, we won?t be having those problems.?

All four men stood around the table staring at the duffle as it rustled softly with signs of life. Of breath.

Eustace nodded to Menace and reached out and gently drew the fat black zipper down the length of the large duffle. Inside, 5 feet of demon. Dull, pale red skin mottled with pale pink rosettes. Crusted, shell-pink eyelids closed in drugged sleep; a single black forelock curling against its greasy brow. It?s tail - long, ruddy and covered in thin tufts of short black hair, coiled up close to its back. Menace snickered and the other three just stared in horrified fascination, even Eustace, who hadn?t seen the creature before. He?d only been the delivery man.

?This here will be our weapon and our new bait. She?s not like the trap demon we got waiting across the road, she?s a little more adept, a little more like us. She feels, she?s got smarts, and she?s brutal. The one we do got is like a bullet in a vacuum; she just feeds. Just kills. Here, we got organised chaos. She?s also going to be a way to zero in on Hellion?s demon. Call him out, if Hellion don?t do that first.?

?Where you gonna place her? Roaming with Vince?" Gerry asked, with a disquieted tone. He folded his freckled arms snug against himself.
The pervert imagined the thing on a leash, running ahead of Vincent, doing his bidding. He hadn't seen it awake. He hadn't seen the demon without tranq in its system.

Menace turned his way and placed the cigar he cradled in the ash tray on the kitchenette counter. He grinned.

?And you, Eyes, you?re her chauffeur. You're going to take her out for a nice long drive. Get her acquainted with the smells of the city, the sights. Keep her fed. Keep her safe.?

"Aww frakk no, man. I--"

Menace looked back down to the sleeping creature; her breaths came in quiet, wheezing gasps.

"She's not going to hurt you, Gerry. I need you. We need you."

Eustace and Vincent nodded solemnly as the Samoan closed the bag back up. "You lose her though, you're in the shiz. We need this demon. It took me a while to get her so once she wakes up and we get her settled down, you're taking her out."

Gerry, with a long suffering sigh, nodded distantly and then shrugged. "So where to?"

"Around the West side. See if maybe it draws the Hellion out too. Then, want you going by that museum. Got that P.I on the phone in an hour with updates. He sold Robert out to us and we're going to take him for whatever he's got. He knows how the demon works, what he's like to respond to. We'll see. But this little girl here gonna draw one or both of them out. She's been programmed."

"Programmed?" Vincent stepped away. The weird ass snores coming from that thing were making him feel off. The way it smelled. It's creepy, dreadful little face. "You ask Doll to hex it some?"

"Course, yo. That hoe will do anything for me if she thinks it's gonna advance her. You know how easy she is to dip in a dance."

Vincent had seen the man pull a number of moves but this whole business was straight up stupid. Putting enchantments on demons with old, bad magic. This wasn't what they did, this wasn't how they had done. The Crez Crew had never dealt in demons. The humans stayed on their side, played with a little blood magic and fire, but the demons were their own thing. You didn't go there. And you didn't hunt them down, drug them and take them off world as bait for their own kind, or anyone connected to them.

Vincent, leaning against the wall, lit up a smoke and stared at his feet. It felt like the beginning of the end.

Diary entry dated Saturday August 27th '16

Early hours. "Intimate" by Crystal Castles on low. A cigarette burns in a heart shaped, glass tray beside on the foot of the bed. Nearby, Roach lays flat on her stomach staring numbly at the screen of her laptop, its glow illuminating the angles of her catlike face propped on the knuckles of a hand. Thinking, thinking. Trying to get some some semblance of order in her mind. Where to start. How to get the words... out..

And at long last, they come. Brows knitting, she begins tapping away.

Grey got shot.

I'm frakking furious right now. Writing about it. Can't do it. I know I gotta calm down. And like, I know it can happen, we run in similar circles - assholes ahoy- but shiz. He's okay. He's got a scratch (which, don't make no sense) but he's fine. He's as perfect and cocky as the moment I first laid eyes on him.

I hate that this is a frakking sentence I am writing down, though, that he got hurt. Not him. He's all I got. He's my good.

Vee didn't handle it well. Found him sobbing in the kitchen when I got in, made him a tea. The poker game finished early so was just he and I, talking.

The sedan was spotted again.

Kate's asked me to come on board and do some work. Mentioned to her at that mansion party that I needs some cash and was a little surprised that she hit me up. Around Jimmie's death she told me she couldn't risk keeping me on board. But, guess she likes the work I do. Doubt it's cuz we was sleeping together for a bit. Not her style. But this stuff is different. It's a little more dicey. Recon, retrieval. Says she needs access to the morgue. Whaddayaknow.

And I'm for sure being level ten paranoid right here, but something happened last night that is bugging me.

Don't know that it was Menace (wrong car) or Gerry (unlikely he'd be so bald about it) but Queen Kate and I went down to the Docks tonight for a walk after our meet and a frakking car cased us. It was raining and dark so I couldn't make out the plates.

Bronco; big ass car. Bronco? How in shiz do I even know that? The window went down, it kind of went idle, was trying to see into it. Couldn't make out much, looked like a chick. Then the car drove off. Bam. I glanced at Ei and she saw it too. No one else seemed bothered but her and I and I didn't like it none. Bad juju.

Maybe it was only a creep. I mean, we was at the Docks, like, late at night.

Maybe it a Watch officer, doing patrol.

Want to tell Grey about it. For all I know, it's related to the waters he's in. But if it's not? He's gonna worry. Even more. And he got motherfrakking shot. So no. I won't. I'll leave it. But seriously.

Frakk this noise.

"There's nothing to it. Taking care of him is easy. You pick him up when he falls, you hold him close when he shakes and you put some wind in his sails when there's none left. You don't have to figure it all out up here", she tapped her temple,"as long as you feel here." She placed a hand over her heart.

The words were a solid thing in her mind as she stepped out of the cab and headed up the stairs of the brownstone.

She looked off as the taxi pulled away and morning light filtered through the clouds. There was a hint of rain in the air, in the passing, low clouds.

It'd been a long day spent at Vitaly's side at the hospital with Grey; when he wasn't attending to his Jobs and she wasn't running the few errands she had to, while keeping scarce as possible and in the eye of shadows. The Inn had meant to be a few drinks. And it had been; she'd had three beers. But, as some nights turn, it had become the occasion to network the frick out and make a new friend. And, as kept occurring, the interaction served to strengthen her ideas about her feelings towards Grey. There was a surreal element to it all for her still, coupled with her worries that she would stuff up, that she wasn't equipped to love, and only assailed by the fact that she knew that she did, and that he felt the same.

"There's nothing to it. Taking care of him is easy. You pick him up when he falls, you hold him close when he shakes and you put some wind in his sails when there's none left."

Grey was sitting up in the kitchen with a smoke as she stumbled down the hall. There was always surprise, when she found him at the house, when so often it was that the night took him away and to the Crazy Life.

There's only a moment of pause before she walks straight towards him as he sits forward with that crooked smile and opens his arms and his legs so she could step into him. A fierce hug is poured about his shoulders, pulling him to her as she squishes up close, her face buried into the black spikes of his hair. Her purse sliding down off her shoulder to drop onto the checkered linoleum at their feet as they move around one another.

"I love you."

She doesn't explain her sudden need to see him and what seeing him sitting there had done. There's just the hope that he makes out what is burgeoning inside, with his head against her heart in that hug.

Corner of Broom, West End. 8pm. July 13th '16.

'Let it go' ASAP Ferg has got the Pontiac shaking around the corner, just off Broom. Roach is pulling on the cap emblazoned with COSA NOSTRA PIZZA as she checks it in the rearview, adjusting the brim and then a grin into the mirror at the dark figure in the backseat.

"Ready, boy?"

Decked in the black and white all over a snapback bounced up and down in agreement. He bent over to grab his tool and looked back at Roach in the mirror.

"You?"

She winks and adjusts the rearview, angling it for the road. Reaching for the pizza box beside on the passenger's side she turns the car off and the music cuts abruptly. Then, out she gets, scanning the street in a bald glance and slamming the door. A reach around to check the .22 down her jeans and the time on her cell, before relegating it back to the pocket of black jeans. Hazel eyes traveled up the height of the building and then swung over to Slug.

"Don't hold back with this freak."

He waited for that loud bass to die down before he opened the door and stepped out into the street. Usually the scratching aluminium against the street was a good calling card but tonight wasn't just any gig. The black bat with its chipped paint rest on his shoulder when he walked up beside her. "He needs to be able to talk right?" As it stood now he knew for a fact the bastard wasn't going to need to walk.

"If that, yo. Only needs his hands; to access his online banking and make a few transfers. But if he could still gurgle, it would help." She cracks a cruel smirk and then makes her way to the front door. Pausing at the intercom, she wiggles her fingers before all the buttons and then hits level 7, unit 110. She waits for someone at the other side to pink up. And when it goes through, it's a crackled voice of an old woman.

"Yo, pizza delivery, let us up."

"But I didn't order pizza."

"You got a son?"

"Yes, why?"

"Maybe he did?"

The woman yells out in a loud, nasal voice. Roach looks back to Slug and rolls her eyes.

"HEY ERNIE, YOU ORDER A PIZZAAAHHH?"

"Oh come the frakk on" Roach mutters. The old woman returns the speaker.

"What did you say?! Look my son doesn't think he ordered pizza."

"I said pizza's getting cold. Look, lady, shiz getting cold and someone on your floor ordered dinner. Don't waste some underpaid slave's time making it and think of all the starving waifs at the orphanage and let us up."

"Oh right right.. fine..but you're very rude, young lady!" and there's a loud, grating buzz. Roach moves for the door, crooks it open and holds it for Slug.

"Frakking people."

Impressed, he stepped through behind her and took a look around the complex. Well it certainly wasn't The Stanley Hotel. The smell of urine was rightfully abundant and there were plenty of tells that this place should have been either under maintenance or downright closed. A pair of brown bags caught his eye from a man in tattered clothes sleeping beneath the stairwell down the corridor. The walls were a mess, it all made him sick to his stomach. "To hell with this place man." He shook his head and nodded to her.

"Lead the way."

She proceeded on light steps, the box balanced in one hand, a little too heavy to be pizza with the other hovering at her side and back in case the need was there for the gun; a need she hoped not to have to have. There's an elevator and given the pressing time and the presence of the Batter she opts to use it this time for their ascent to the seventh floor. Once they are both inside, she hits 'close' immediately with a final peek at the door; sad blue shadows and pale green reflections of streetlights transmuted through old glass hit the floor. Yeah, it made her sick too; it was a building that looked, smelled and felt like ass. There's a loud peal as the bell goes at floor seven. She hangs back with a hand out across Slug's middle until the doors are cleared and then she cautiously steps out. A young asian couple are huddled by the vending machine talking and she gives them a thrust of the chin as she passes with a big, brassy smile.

"Oh pizza, yum!" one of them cries. Roach nods once and continues on around the corner. As soon as they see Slug step into the hall they turn away and their voices drop. Roach hears this and grins again as she saunters along, bound for door 113.

Every now and then the heat she had been packing slipped into view and it helped bump his pulse just a little bit. Stepping into the elevator he thought he'd be greeted by some terrible track that even the guy who wrote it didn't know its name. Instead it was the rickety climb with the cables and the lights passing until the ding was heard. "Hate these things. I always feel like they're gonna just drop while I'm in 'em." He tapped on the floor while she walked out and soon he followed after her. The bat whirled around in his hand like a propellor as he walked by the couple, not looking at them and he could feel they weren't looking at him. Soon by the looks of it they'd be bolting anyway.

"Probably hasn't been serviced in years" she replies once they round the corner. To her surprise, in a back-slung glance, the Asian couple creep to peer at them around the corner; make her think of dumb frakking mice. Their white fingers curled around the corner, their eyes wide. Roach holds a finger to her mouth an and simply stares at them; some people, you don't want looking at you and between that stare and the bat the pair very quickly realise this isn't a pizza delivery they want a slice out of. Bad dum dum tish. They slide back around the wall.

The girl shifts a look up to Slug. "Going to knock, going to yell out. Like at Ev's, once the handle turns, let's be ready." A breath out and she nods at Slug and hits the door once in a loud knock.

"YO, PIZZA." In a shithole like this, with screams, thumps, bangs and hisses every other hour, no one else would come peeking, except maybe the couple down the hall who she could just make out whispering.

He nodded and gripped the bat nearer the top and took in a deep breath. "Anyone else who gets in the way, don't matter right?" He rolled his shoulders and got ready, keeping an eye on that knob.

"Don't matter. All scum." And the handle turns. A chain scrapes on the other side of the door. She eases back a touch; a hand at her lower back, the other holding the box at a level, the lid facing the door. The door opens....."Hope you like it spicy, A$$HOLE."

As soon as the chain scraped its way off and Roach gave the greeting he stepped up with the bat in hand and drove his foot right into it. No one better call Slug a gentleman cause he didn't wait for ladies first. He held the bat with as much in one hand and slammed the face into the first face he saw on the other end of the door.

Gerry went flying backwards into the wall; terror, shock competing on his face for first. She ducks beneath Slug's arm and heads after the man scuttling backwards with his elbows and ankles along the floor as blood pours from the split in his forehead; his eyes gone glassy, consciousness is waning. Over him, the box in hand, she brings it down across his face in a side hook; the contents spill. A metal disk filled with spikes of metal, something she'd found at Bones' metal yard. He sprawls backwards, gurgling as foretold, muttering, howling... she sends a boot flying into his chin and he's forced to sprawl. Stepping over him she walks around the apartment; it's dingy, 70's style (all brown, all sick green) and covered in .... photos of her. Her eyes widen in her own terror as she takes it all in. Her alone, her and Grey, pictures of the facade of the Otherworld Museum, pictures of Java Hell, pictures of the black van, another shot of Grey on a corner, and then one that makes her gasp. She marches across the room and tears it off the door leading into his bathroom with a sticky snap. It's her at twenty one, at a peepshow... straddling a black chair in a sequinned blue stage bikini winking at the camera in translucent stripper heels.

Tearing it in half and it's like she's erasing history. She turns around to face him. "You sick frakk." Steeling herself, she balls fists. "Slug, do what you want." She makes a hiss of a sound, holding back tears of horror, her pale features slowly configuring into a look of disgust. She exhales and storms over to stand nearby. "Frakk you Gerry. Game Over."

He kicked his way into a time capsule nightmare. Photos everywhere, pinned to cork, laying out on tables, everywhere. He could feel his knuckles turning white when glove squeezed against the bat's handle. You couldn't not see them. Littered across every surface and he felt his nerve slipping. Soon he didn't see a man before him on the ground, he didn't see the scattered trophies of this sick person's habits. All he could see was the red. Both hands were on the bat and overhead he held it before the first swing came down. Crack! Gerry began to howl and scream. It only took one hit but his left arm now bent the other way. It wasn't enough. The bat rose up over head and this time went right to the ribs. Crack! Blood drizzled on the floor adding to the shit that was already there. No, not done, there was still red, still fire. The bat rose again and he kicked Gerry onto his back. The knees, first the left. Crack! Gerry thrashed about and writhed in the agony beyond words. His one good arm banging on the floorboards as he gurgled in his blood. Again. Crack! The other knee shattered. He was panting as he swung to the femur, crack! He was sweating, the heat in the outfit and the apartment getting to him but he went for the other, crack! Gerry had long since passed out from the pain. It wasn't enough. Passed out but face up, Slug regained what little composure he could by placing the bat against Gerry's teeth. He shook, his rage eating him as he lifted it up overhead. CRACK!

His shoulders rose and fell as he wiped the red from his bat on his black tee. "I left an arm."

She's still reeling at the photograph of herself from five years go on the floor just across the way, when the bat begins coming down and she realises the velocity of what of what is happening and that the energy and the pace of things has gotten hectic. It's all been a bad dream but now she's waking up. Days of hiding, of sneaking and now, now the tables were turned.

The bat is unforgiving. But every crack is like a door slamming between her and the past, between her and Menace's extended ploy, between Gerry and his obsession. She wondered if he ever saw this coming, if he ever thought she might wield her own storm. She's reminded of that time at that coffee shop on Royal when she'd tried explaining to him her life, tried to explain herself. It felt like a life that wasn't hers.

Gerry had gone from an acquaintance to a spectre that made her life a kind of hell, one unto itself, wholly apart from Jimmie's machinations. Crack, crack, crack, crack. By the end, she's turned away; there's splatter on her black boots and her jeans. A few drops like spilled wine on her pizza shop shirt. A grimace as he turns back and looks into the dark mask of Slug's mysterious countenance and shrugs. "Even that's too much mercy. If it wasn't for Kate I'd feed him to the fishes." She is shaking all over; vibrating the way she did when she got worked up, before sex or before she shot those flames out of her hands. The way she'd gotten when she threw Mishka's phone the garden ground. The way she did when Menace and the boys had pursued her across that rooftop, only days ago. "Okay; now to get this frakkface to the car." She wants to spew, she wants to scream, she wants to cry and some absurd part of her wants to laugh, out of relief. Queens coming out in her voice; her mouth tight with frustration, with hurt, with malice. It's then she notices the Asian couple are peering in the door; transfixed in fright.

It filled him with dread to think he'd have to now haul this man like the roadkill he was to the car. He bent over and pulled him over the shoulders with his head facing the ground so he wouldn't drown on his own blood. Slug was tough but carrying this bastard was going to take most of his concentration. When he lifted him up and saw the couple he let out a sigh. "This prick is heavier than he looks."

"What do we do about them?" He stared at the couple.

She would assist with Gerry; a hand up to say wait as she crept past Slug and throwing some weight into her steps headed towards the two gawking in the door. They scattered backwards like marbles on her approach but she continued after them until they had crashed themselves back into the opposite wall.

"I gots a good memory. You say anything", index and middle fingers out, she directs them at her eyes and then at each of them, "to anyone's, I'm going to know who to come back for and where to find them." They begin protesting, muttering, warbling and she shakes her head once, dropping her hand. "You don't shut up and frakk off right now, I'm not going to need to come back. Get."

At just under 5'4 and more lissome than bulk, it isn't her height or build that sends them running, and running off for real this time; sidestepping along the wall until they can break and run. It's all in the way she holds herself, in the confidence she emanates, and, most importantly, like that first glance she grazed their way all rough-knuckle stroke, it's in the eyes. Eyes that echo all that Slug has just unleashed, eyes that look a little too far past someone, like she could potent their future and she predicated terror. They run up to door 105 and rush in.

"Room ONE-OH-FIVE."

She hollers out after them, to hit home her words a little harder, seeing as they hadn't heard her the first time. Then she turns and walks straight over to assist her associate with the weight of the body, grunting as she did. "Going to have to come back here and takes down all these photos.." and with her back to the door, she begins directing the way out, Gerry's feet in her arms, held awkwardly over her shoulder; she's straining and struggling, but she's doing her best.

"Could always push 'm down the steps and see if he makes it t' the end." He said between grunts as they made their way back towards the elevator. At least in Rhy'Din explaining this wouldn't be too bad. Just a friend who got in a fight. "We oughta take some pics of him now and send it to his friends so they get the right idea. Or we dump 'm out front their place when we're done with him."

"He's good collateral" she says around gritted teeth groans as she heaves along with Slug, carrying the prone pervert to the lifts. "It's a risk, keeping him, but I gots that lock up and it's going to be secure enough for the time being. Kate said she'd be sorting his retrieval first thing, maybe even before sex tomorrow morning, so he shouldn't be an issue for very long. And when we get him back, I'm going to find other uses for him. He's a dog, just like the other's; go to anyone, as long as you got someone they want."

The bell goes and they lurch with the man like lumberjacks carrying logs, into the rickety box of the elevator.

"He's gonna need some touching up. Did a number on him and I'm more than happy to do some more on him if you want but.." There was a trail of red as they went and when they got in the elevator he eased the man down with a thud. "Tell you what though all this got me in a mood for some pizza, for real."

"I know just the place" her face lifts to Slug in the anaemic light of the elevator, not unlike the bare glow that used to be in her apartment across the way, before she had had to flee to the safehouse. At least, slowly, incrementally, this long road was finding its end. Roach steps around the body to run the very tips of her fingers along the bat. A lick of blood streaked across them. Raising her hand, she drags them across her cheeks like warpaint and smirks. Then she tears off the dorky delivery driver hat and the bell chimes again. Turning, she grinds her ass against Slug in a celebratory twerk and sets foot outside of the elevator in a roll of combat thud to bend over and begin dragging out cold Gerry from the box and into the sad foyer of that shitty, shitty building.

"You've done more than enough, yo." Peeking up at him in the shadows. "You sho know your way around a bat, baby boy."

He laughed when she showed off her quality assets and playful swung the bat in front of her like a gate before she walked through it. He made to get a hold of the bastard by the arms as they continued on their way. Assault and Battery, kidnapping, the list kept on growing. "Not as well as you know how t' drop it, girl." It'd be nice if they could avoid any peering eyes on their way back to the car.

"So we gonna get that bite first and leave 'm in the trunk? Or do we have to drop him off first?"

"You know it" she smirks back as she heaves his feet and begins shuffling backwards, ass first towards the door. "If you want. I could eat. Even though I just watched you beat a guy half to death... I've definitely got no soul." A ironic, curt chuckle at that. Ass to the door to lead them out. If anyone was waiting, she didn't think either of them were in the mood to mess around. But as it was, there was only a lonely, poorly lit street, a light, flicker of a breeze, no notorious sedan, no one loitering, no Watch. She steered them for the waiting Pontiac.

"Funny how violence makes ya hungry, eh?"
Casually, like they weren't carrying no unconscious man to a getaway car.

"Burn energy, you gotta get it back somehow." The bat dragged against the pavement filling the ghost street with its eerie song. "Wouldn't mind a drink either." He almost dropped the worthless shit but caught him at the last second. "Yeah no wonder Kate's not on this one. All this labor." He was smiling underneath the black nylon mask and bandana.

"I got my flask in front for a kick" as she grunts a bit once they get him situated. She draws cable ties and rope from further to the side of the boot and restrains his ankles and wrists before getting trusty old duck tape and pasting it across his asshole mouth. Then she saunters on over to the driver's side and reaches around, arms a cross over her head, to slide the pizza shirt off. She's in a plain, black midriff tank and with the hat gone too Back to herself. She gets in and starts the motor at once; Ferg filling the old beast again. A look out the windscreen across the road to her old building and the hairs raise on her arms. Her eyes sting briefly; hands on the wheel tightening. She composes herself. It was going to be okay.


He helped dump the sorry ass in the trunk and threw the bat into the back seat. He looked at himself in the reflection of the tinted windows and ran a gloved finger across the hood of the car. "It is a damn nice ride." He opened the front door and got inside, instantly opening up the glove compartment and hoping that flask might be there. When the loud bass started to shake he looked over and saw her looking out. Those knuckles were lookin' like they might pop at any second so he put his hand at her neck and rubbed a little grease into the base.

"Come on let's get a bite and leave this hell behind for a bit."

Just like The Ferg said..let it go. She casts Slug a slanted look and nods once. Like she wants to explain, to say something, but can't either find or form words. She kicks the engine in a loud roar and takes them off in a haze of smoke, bound for Cosa Nostra Pizza. "Yeah's let's put its behind us for a while." Her chin tilted back, she sends them around the corner in a reckless swerve, spinning the wheel one-handed as she reaches for the volume and spikes the volume so that the car is sending ricochets of bass up the walls of the buildings.

Let it go.

West End, meet The Batter.

Lil Slugger]

Into the deep, dark forest...

"Where the fuck is he?"

"You go away, Miss Lee."

"Nope. Where is he?!"

"He busy. Forget about him now. He not want talk to you."

"Fuck you, Sergei!"

With that over with, she slid her cell down the back pocket of her black skinny jeans and stalked off down the street, peering over the top of her mirrored, round aviators with a fire in her eyes. If he wouldn't answer and no one else was going to help, then she would circumvent them all. She would go directly to the source of things, into them deep dark woods.


Her destination, a basement apartment on Allison Road, occupied by one Timothy Grey.

((Complementary post:http://rdi.dragonsmark.com/forums/viewtopic.php?p=224818&highlight=#224818))

"What do you think you're doing here?"

Marcus, the Landlord, stood breaching the entrance with a look of utter surprise and suspicion. It bothered her that she hadn't even heard him come in, as compelled by the files in her hands as she was, wading through the histories of the others, the ripples the men had made crossed into her own. She sucked a breath as she caught movement from the corner of her eye as he spoke.

"Oh. Yo." She shrugged and pressed all the files beneath her arm and began heading towards him, her face defiant and cold. "Scuse us!"

"Where do you think you're going?"

Roach paused and looked at Marcus in her very direct manner. Her eyes seeming to darken as they levelled on his. "I'm goings, is what. You didn't see me. 'Kay, homes?"

"Excuse me!" He looked back over the room. What there was to take was limited and whatever files were beneath her arm she was gripping tightly. Marcus didn't feel like getting into a fisticuffs with a girl who looked like she played dirty and probably bit too. And her eyes....

But, nevertheless, he pursued back up the stairs to the street as he walked off in a determined way down Allison. He hurried behind her. On a glance, not much of a threat, even with the grimace, the tatts, the steel in her face. She wasn't very tall, less than 5'5, a narrow build, but the way she walked was like she owned the street; haughty in her posture, sass in the way she shot her legs forward, led by the hips and like she was about to raise hell. The boots were thick-soled and hit the ground in confident, Dixie-rhythm, she wore an outfit that looked like something out of Thrash Zine with striped arm warmers and a black tank with a cobweb motif on the chest, a black beanie drooping back from her head, the ends of her long, ropes of hair like a hypnotist?s chain or the swing-swing of a guillotine.

And, her eyes...

He was panting by the time he caught up to her.

?Who are you??

She shook her head as she pulled the round, mirrored aviators over her eyes.

?Don?t listen do ya.? She was one to talk.

?He got himself into.. into some bother. I had the Watch ram raiding his door. And now? you.. you? and.. taking his stuff. ?

Roach came to a pause so hard that the man crashed into her and stumbled back too steps.

?He paid up for rent??

She still wasn?t looking at him.

?Yes? yes.. I just want to know what happened to him.?

?Some things, Marcus..?

She swung about to face him, beating the files in the air between them. It was wings. It was clapping hands. It was a smack to the face at a distance.

?Some things you don?ts got to know. Boy paid up, that?s all youse got to worry about. Beat it.?

?I?m calling the Watch.?

?You do that, means you saw me. And you couldn?ts possibly have.? She grinned.

He sighed, exasperated. ?Well, why are you taking his things??

?His things? These? These is all mine.?

She stepped up, got into his face, nudged the glasses down and made sure he could see what she meant it. ?You says a word to anyone, I will be back. I got a friend, he likes to swing his bat around. Yeah? And me, I gots myself a taste for pyromania. Don?ts fuck me. I got a tolerance, but it?s real low these days, homes. Grey is fine. He?s paid up, forget the rest.?

And then she turned around and continued her saunter off down the street. He watched her go and turned away a moment to look back at the destroyed door. When he cast his eyes back the way she went he appeared flabbergasted. "What the?"

Girl was gone.

Diary entry marked as at January 24th, entered at 4am in her bedroom at the Boneyard

Doc says I should be writing it all down, everything that happened. Every little fucking thing.

I'm still trying to piece the motherfucking jigsaw together. What I know and what I think aren't always the same thing; the truth and the opinion aren't seated at the same table. But Doc got a way and I'm trying to do it right, to get it together, something together.

Stuck on the part where some blonde.... dude came in and stole the fucking show. I don't understand how the crap he knows that scary as fuck Sabotage but hell, I don't understand a lot.

But abc... I'll start there. Record keeping. Map making. If there's anything that my bitch mother taught me it was getting my facts straight.

Robbie and me, we banged. That complicates it all but hell, every thing is complicated and maybe we just had to get that out of our system. I dunno. But it's done and last I knew he was okays with the whole shebang. New spooky dooky powahz.. If Jimmie had been a mortal man I grin to myself cuz man would be turning in his grave. A demon, and of all, Robert, not only holding the contract but got himself all amped up on juju. Ha!!!! Anyways, so after the knocking boots sitch, that blonde guy rocked up and took me back here. Michael? Says he knew some cult back in the bayou.. every fucking son of a bitch has some connection with the fucking bayou.

Been laying low, when not making some ruckus with that Beasty, Hyde. But being good, staying cool, helping out Bones at the yard.

These are my facts and they are straight but my opinion on it all, even the truth of it, is something I'm still working out in my head. And we's all know that head is a dark place. Even for me, and I'm walking around with it. But Doc. Finch got me the lead that went back to Johnny Boy and this fucking carousel I'm on keeps turning.

Fucking cliches.

I'll write more later. Need some weed.

"Weren't you supposed to lay off the fucking and dating and shit?"

"I have been! And then... then he did this. He said that. And... and..." she was exasperated as she turned around to pick up another hefty rock to peg at the stack of empty TEXACO oil cylinders, her eyes alight with a fire all their own. "You got any beer?" Weighing the rock in her hand before launching it towards one of the cans.

"Not for you."

Roach gave Bones a flat stare then walked over to the small, second garage where a few non-important personal affects, memento's, kitsch collectables and a bar fridge were housed. She pulled out two Badsiders and walked them back over, cracking both open on the side of the trailer before handing him one, toasting him and taking a long swig. She hissed as she lowered the bottle and looked over the glinting, shadowy yard. Her eyes still stinging. Her throat hurting from that pride showing up too late and holding her tears in all the way to the yard from outside the vampire's house. She winked at the man who leaned quietly, his face kind and austere as always with barely a raised brow to give away any of his thoughts on the matter beyond an anecdote or chide.

"Youse love me."

"You need an English tutor."

"Screw you."

"No; I am the only one that loves you, kid. You need to keep your head above all this shit. Hear me?"

Roach sank against the trailer and shook her head.

"Look, what happened exactly, Lizzie? What happened with Johnny? With Grey?"

"Johnny... been avoiding the guy. I means, he might go burn down another house, you know. Public safety." She was off hand, joking, her eyes brightening a moment then slitting as she took another sip. "Grey, don't see him no more. He's been..." she waved a hand in the air, looked down. "Gangster's been busy. I been gone. Don't want to interfere, you know? Caused him a lot of strife and..."

"And what about Luc?"

"I don't fucking know, Bones. I don't. We was hanging out, all was fucking swell, then he says he still cares about me, so's I opened up, said that he matters too.. and.."

"He rebuked you, didn't he? And your stupid pride can't take it. A man turning down your feminine wiles."

"Oi. Boundary. You crossed it, old man." Inflamed, she gave the taller man a scowl and jerked the bottle at him, designing the air as she spoke. Vivid with her actions. "Isn't 'bout that. We was friends, him and I. We were cool. Now we're not. And.. and I don't gets why we would bring this shiz up now. Likes, he's got a fucking live in. A live in. He's doing the fucking love shack over there. And yet..."

"Maybe it's overdue emotion, Liz. From when you were missing. People you care about that care about you are going to be at different stages of reacting. You were gone a while. Maybe he's confused. Life's catching up for you, but his has been going on without you."

That hurt. Her eyes showed it as she leaned away and walked a few steps back. "Oh, so's he couldn't possibly have feelings for a street rat, right? That it, old man? I'm too cheap to love?"

"I never called you cheap."

"Didn't have to."

She turned away and he shook his head slowly and stepped off the trailer near her to crowd her and place a hand on the side of her head. It was a gesture he had done back in the Crez; just behind her ear, half holding her jaw, fingers curled against her skull. "Look at me."

"Fuck off."

"Lizzie."

Her eyes crept up until they met his; she was wincing. "What?"

"No shame in being real with another person. If you can call a vampire that." A brief distaste crossed his face. He'd never reasoned well with them back on the streets of the Quarter. They had always been deceptive, manipulative, charmers and little more. He valued human life more than an immortal for whom human life was but a thread of pearls to be counted.

"But like I said. Head above the water. Go see Les, see if he's dug up more about that artefact for your goddamn contract and continue to keep your goddamn pants on. Les is a hard ass. But he'll be good to you and good for you in the end. See if you can't help him around that pokey store of his. I'm running out of jobs for you around here and you need to keep busy."

"That guy is weird as shiz."

"And demons, vampires...aren't?" He humoured, breaking out into laughter, his bone-white hair floating about in the wind, as he plucked a feather from the air and brushed it along her cheek to tuck it into her dreads, just behind her ear.

"Listen closer, Lizzie."

She looked away and pulled the feather out. Watched as it went from white to black to brown to white and then she brushed it along her jaw and looked back up at him, but he was turning, his long, navy blue coat billowing behind him as he walked off into the darkness of the yard whistling, as though he was taking a spring day stroll.

When she looked again at the feather it was black. Twirling it between her fingertips she sighed and then took another swig from the Badsider. Exhaustion was pulling at her like marionette strings. Emotionally wasted, she trudged inside. The black feather relegated to the pocket of her hoodie hanging from a hook in the hall.


When she awoke the next morning it was gone. In its place a small, neatly folded note with Les's phone number and six missed calls from Doctor Finch. She continued to ignore them. Other things would need to come first.