How to Dig Yourself a Hole

im actually pretty impressed with the cohesiveness of the project despite the fact that i ended up not using the plot i originally created! at some point the characters took it a different way. that’s life i guess!!!  the good thing is that there are so many strings and connectors between random points that it all feels like it’s meant to be! which means when i do my first draft rewrite, it’ll be easy to fill in plotholes and the like.

suddenly i’ve hit this weird crossroads of possible endings and i don’t know which one i’m gonna pursue for real. for now i’m going with my original (generally) plot but the options are twofold:

1. as planned, gideon and co. confront wayland at his hideout and there’s a fight + explosion and/or fire. this involves loud confrontations, probably a fist-fight, magic users club crap and a dramatic ending

2. the sudden alt plot is where wayland is held captive by gideon and co. as they wait for gideon’s sister to come mete out justice her way. this would involve LOTS of characters talking to one another about morals and ethics and shit, and the ending would be tense but probably not as dramatic

Any chance of finding survivors evaporates as Gideon reaches the hallowed ground the listing church has settled into.  The graveyard had been small and old in Gideon's youth, but now it seems to have quadrupled in size, rudimentary crosses lining the fence and taking up all available space.  

The sight of nearly two-dozen fresh graves nearly takes his knees out from under him.  Gideon desperately wants to turn back, to run back to Emily's house and pretend that all of this is just some kind of horrible dream — but he can't.  He can't deny what he's seeing.  What's more, he can't deny what his own friends have been keeping from him.

The church is lit up as though in full service, and Gideon wearily drags himself through the gates and up the path.  Nobody is around to stop him, and he pushes open the front doors unimpeded.  They creak as though they haven't been used in years, although that's hardly a surprise to Gideon regardless of the state of the town.  

The thing that surprises him is the vast emptiness of the church's interior.  The pews have been pushed aside, and the floor is covered in chipped ceremonial circles, bird feathers and blood.  All of the religious decor stands — the crosses, the painting of the Virgin Mary, the hand-lettered list of recent events — but the space between them feels singularly unholy.  And even as Gideon closes the door behind him and passes deeper into the building, he still finds himself alone.

Gideon avoids the worst messes as he approaches the altar, scowling darkly at the offering plate festering with flies left lying there.  He can't tell if the food was left here on purpose, or simply discarded by whoever destroyed the rest of the town.

His worst fear is realized when he hears the church doors open behind him.  Turning in place, Gideon watches Rex's calm, demure entrance, his blood boiling as Rex seems to smile to himself as he closes the door behind him.  Like he's somehow got the upper hand here.  Like he thinks Gideon won't burn this place to the ground with the both of them inside, if he's gotta.

Rex takes a step forward, then another, stopping only when Gideon lifts his hand.  "Don't you dare," he snaps.

"I told you, you shouldn't come into town," Rex points out mildly, as if he'd warned Gideon.

"Goddamn you," Gideon hisses.  "Why the hell would you keep this from me?  What the hell did you do?"

"Me?" Rex asks, visibly scandalized by the accusation.  "I didn't do anything.  Oh.  Well... I did do this," he gestures to the circles drawn across the floor, "But that was after the rest of the town was already destroyed.  Don't be confused — my Satanic rituals really don't have anything to do with the rest of Housewater."

"Satanic my ass," Gideon snaps, pointing, "That's the same symbol from the coin."

Rex frowns, looking down momentarily at the sigil he's standing in the middle of, before nodding.  "Good eye, Gid," he says.  "I'm impressed.  You were right about the coin, by the way."  He reaches into his pocket, pulling the offending piece of copper out and holding it up between them.  "It's just a party favor.  But the seal, I think, is pretty legitimate."

Gideon swallows.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

Whatever friendliness that lingered in Rex's smug grin evaporates.  "Come here, Gideon."

The first step almost goes unnoticed, but Gideon catches himself before he moves again.  Keeping his foot planted to the floorboard is like fighting his own willpower, and it's a miracle when he takes one more step but no more.

"Everyone I've tried this on has been dead.  It's fascinating watching it work on a mortal," Rex points out, patting his knees and cooing with a little laugh, "Come on, Gideon, you can do it, come here!"

"You let me near you and I'm gonna strangle you," Gideon growls as he staggers forward, heels scraping on the floorboards as he digs in and forcibly holds his ground.  "That's a warning, Rex — don't you dare."

"I'm not going to hurt you," Rex replies.  "I would never hurt you.  Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I was going to murder you in cold blood, but that was before I got to know you."

It's like — Gideon understands almost immediately what the words mean, what the implication really is, but there's a disconnect between understanding and truly comprehending the full horror dawning on him.  He's walking forward, staggering, trying to stop himself from being pulled down the current as Rex stares him down, waiting for the shoe to drop.  Knowing that it's coming.  Knowing that the realization is going to sink in because he's seen it happen a dozen times before.

Gideon's voice gets backed up in his throat until the words come out in a gurgle of panic.  "What changed your mind?"

"You, of course," Rex replies.  He holds out his hand, which seems to be as much an order as his verbal ones.  Gideon fights his arm, but his hand extends anyway, fingertips touching until Rex grabs his palm in a bony, iron grip and drags Gideon forward.  "The conviction you had when you told me I couldn't be a demon because they don't exist was sweetly naive — but the fact that you'd believe in faeries over demons is charming.  I've had a lot of people say the opposite, you know.  It's only recently that I even considered they might be wrong."

It's still Rex talking to him.  Gideon can't help it, his mind fanning through countless memories of standing with his best friend, hugging him, laughing with him.  He can't help but hear Rex's voice, even though now he thinks there's something wrong with it.  It even smells like Rex.  But it isn't Rex talking to him, it's something far worse than that silly bastard could ever hope to be.

The bony hands holding on to him aren't Rex's, but they support him even as his legs give out.  Gideon doesn't weigh overly much, but it's disorienting how easily Rex props him up.  "You even told me I was more than a thief.  Which is right, although I admit I do steal.  I have to.  Nobody wants to do business with somebody like me.  And nobody believes in my goal, except the few friends I've made along the way."

"I don't understand it.  I only came to my senses recently."  Mrs. M----- reaches up to touch her face, her fingertips passing through her cheek.  "I don't know if I will stay this way.  I don't think I enjoy it."

"You don't have to," Gideon replies.  "I'd bet Emily would be sad to see you go, though."

"I won't go until she's gone," she replies.  "I know that much."  She moves to step down onto the floor, only to flicker and disappear.  She reappears halfway up the stairs, fainter again; it's likely every trip is eating away at the energy that it takes to manifest.  He doubts she'll be at it much longer.

"Will you take her, Gideon?" she asks as she reaches the bottom step.  "Take her away from here?"

Given the little that Gideon knows about ghosts, he isn't inclined to upset one, but he doesn't know which answer might do that.  "Is that what you want?" he asks instead.

"Yes," she says.  She disappears, reappearing on the same step, briefly so tangible that she's barely transparent before fading down to that ethereal mist.  "Take her away from here, Gideon."

"Emily's stubborn," Gideon weakly replies, "I don't know if I can force her."

"You have to take her away from here, Gideon," she repeats, her face contorting briefly as it struggles to convey her desperation.  "She cannot live her life in a ghost town."

As harsh as the judgment is, it's one Gideon's made himself many times.  It's still jarring to have a woman so long-lived in the area agree with him, even if she is a ghost.  "It isn't so bad," he finds himself trying to say, although they both know he's lying.  "I — I'll ask her, if that will make you happy.  But I don't think she'll budge if she knows you're here."

"She will," Mrs. M—— replies forcefully.  She disappears, then lingers momentarily at the top landing.  Her shape has faded into some shadowy half-figure, and the appearance of her looming in the dark puts goosebumps back on Gideon's arms.  He struggles, then successfully contains his knee-jerk fear.

"I'll talk to her," he promises, because that's what she really wants from him.  It seems to be enough, anyway, as moments later she steps out of the shadows and disappears on the top step.

Gideon lets out a long, shaky breath.  Well — at least he had the opportunity to talk with her one more time.  Emily will most likely refuse to leave, but that doesn't mean Gideon won't try on her mother's behalf.  Still — how could Emily not tell him that her house was haunted?  After everything Harlan has told her about his job, and after everything Gideon has admitted to being wrong about, you'd think she'd be tripping over herself to rub a spectral encounter in his face.

Then again, it is her mother.  It's more personal than the ghost of a stranger appearing in your doorway, and it's not something to throw out as a party trick.

Gideon stands still for a moment longer, waiting to hear any sounds from anyone else in the house.  It doesn't sound like his hushed conversation with a ghost roused anyone else, but he's half-tempted to wake up Harlan just for some advice.  He'll wait until tomorrow, because Harlan deserves the sleep, but it's definitely tempting.

As he passes the front room on his way back to bed, Gideon can't help but indulge his instinct to check the road.  It's a bright night outside, the moon hanging half-full in the sky, and it would be a good time to take a turn around town.  His uncle used to go out late at night to wander the main road in thought — never this late, of course, but it was a common enough occurrence growing up.  Maybe he's hoping to catch a glimpse of his uncle taking one of those late-night sojourns; it would be just like him to creep around nearby without making himself known.

It's such a long-shot of a hunch that Gideon almost doesn't look out the window long enough to notice the figure standing further down the road.  His heart leaps into his throat, at first triggering an intense fear in him before he realizes that he'd been right to look, and that he'd guessed his uncle right from the start.

He doesn't bother to check his assumption as he quietly but quickly leaves through the front door.  If it's not his uncle, then it's Rex, and if it's neither of them, then Gideon will scream loud enough for Harlan and Emily to rescue him.  The idea that it might be the changeling only crosses his mind once he's stepped outside, but by then he's caught sight of his uncle's familiar walking stick, so the thought doesn't last long.

If his uncle sees him, he doesn't acknowledge it.  Gideon gives up on silence as he jogs down the path, cutting across the ditch along the road so that he can meet the other man in the road properly.  It's bright enough out that Gideon can make out everything on his uncle's face — the pale, drawn nature, his sunken eyes, his wiry brown hair gone thin and gray — but still his uncle refuses to do more than stare at him.

"Sneaking around in the dead of night seems like a lot more work than talking to me face-to-face," Gideon snaps as he approaches.  "What are you doing out here?  You're too old to be doing this."

His uncle's stoic face softens somewhat, his frown turning gentle.  Not quite apologetic, though, of course.

"If you wanted to see me, you should have come when Rex asked you to.  As far as I'm concerned, you don't want anything to do with me, and there are plenty of reasons you might have for that, but you've never been such a stubborn bastard about anything else in your life as you're being about my leaving!  You know, I'm sorry I didn't want to dedicate my life to Jesus, or become an exorcist for you, but I have the right to live my life the way I want to, and you ought to respect that.  I wanted more than this place, and if you'd been even an ounce more supportive, I would've written you letters just like I did for Rex and Emily.  And then to continue not to see me because — because Rex told you why else I left, I suspect — that's exactly what I expected from you, and yet I'm still disappointed."

Gideon expects to feel vindictively relieved when he finishes his semi-coherent rant, but all he feels is tired and empty.  His uncle's expression has been falling deeper into despair, and now it looks as if the once-stoic old man might shed a tear.

He slowly shakes his head.  He looks over his shoulder at the town dotted in the empty land behind them.

"Oh, Gideon," he finally says, his voice warped, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.  "I am so sorry."

Even as Gideon stares at his pale, drawn face, he can see the cracks in his uncle's facade.  The way the fence post is visible through his eye, the cold chill that emanates from him as Gideon tries to step closer and get any sign that he's misunderstood.  "I don't — I don't understand," Gideon gasps, "Why — why didn't anyone tell me?"

His uncle's face shifts like water, sadness and fear warping his features as he fights to show one emotion over another.  "We can't," he moans, lifting his finger to point over Gideon's shoulder.

There's no choking back his fear as he spins in place, finding Emily standing at the gate, her dark hair blowing in the wind, her pale, pale face wet with tears.  Gideon can't stand the thought that comes to mind, and he launches himself towards her — she only clenches her eyes shut as he grabs her tight and squeezes either shoulder, shaking her once just to make sure she's still there.

He can't help shouting in her face as he grabs her.  "What happened?  Why didn't you tell me —"

"Gideon, I'm sorry," she sobs, covering her face with her hands.  Gideon wants to smack them away and force her to explain herself, but all at once the moon seems to dim, and Gideon turns back to the town only to see charred remains dotting the spots that once were buildings.

"What is going on?" Gideon shouts, whirling back to Emily as his fear turns into blind panic.  "What the hell is happening?"

The only light he can see in the distance is coming from the church, which is lit up as though every candle in town were there.  Gideon swallows thickly and asks Emily, "Does this have something to do with Rex?"

The floor above his head creaks.  Gideon isn't sure if Emily is wandering around or not, but he knows the room overhead is the one that belonged to her parents, and he would hate to interrupt her during some midnight mourning.  As he listens, the creaks indeed solidify into footsteps, which circle the floor slowly before quietly making for the stairs.  There's an effort to be quiet, at least, but Gideon is wide awake now and there's no way he'll let Emily wander in the dark while he's around.

He checks Harlan to make sure he's still asleep, unable to help admiring him openly without an audience.  Unlike Gideon, Harlan is lean with strong shoulders, but there's no missing the soft layer starting to form over cut muscles.  Without Gideon in bed, he's already started to spread his limbs across the mattress, and it would be so much easier to lie back down with him than go check on Emily.

But there will be time to lie down with Harlan later — hopefully.  There probably won't be many more times for Gideon to provide solace to his stubborn-as-hell friend.  It's that decision alone that pushes him to pull on his pants, although as he slowly dresses, a dash of adrenaline courses through him.  Irrationally, he considers waking Harlan up too — but Emily deserves some privacy.

He doesn't bother with the lantern as he carefully slinks out of the room, leaving the door open just an inch to facilitate an easy return.  The hallway is pitch black, but his eyes have grown accustomed to the dark, and he's used to every floorboard and wall sconce in the house.  He's also familiar with the sound of the stairs creaking as someone gently wanders down them — but as he reaches the landing, he finds nobody is there.

Immediately, the hair on his arms stands on end.  He feels a cold chill, a shiver that he can't stop, but he forces himself not to panic as he hears the distant sound of footsteps up the hallway.  It's harder to prevent the panic as he spots the transparent legs standing at the top landing, but he just manages to hold it in.

He doesn't know for sure, so he guesses blindly.  "Mrs. M———, hello," he whispers, minding his voice more to keep the terror out of it.  "That is you, isn't it?"

The legs begin to slowly descend the stairs.  As they do, Gideon catches flashes of the rest of the body in shafts of moonlight from the windows — a hint of a robe, the curious smile, one moment of dark, curled hair framing a pale, familiar face —

It disappears, reappears at the top of the stairs.  He can see more of her, now, although the image shifts and barely holds together in a misty form.  She looks almost the way he remembers her, though, and although he knows fundamentally that he's still terrified of the strange apparition, he's also flooded with relief.  At least this ghost will know him.

That relief turns cold when she reaches halfway down the stairs and manages to call out his name.  Her voice is strange, warped and twisted, a warped reflection of what Gideon remembers her lilting voice to sound like.  But she vanishes before his terror can overwhelm him, and when she reappears it's with a distinctly irritable look on her face.

"Are you... do you have to keep doing that?" Gideon asks, recalling what Harlan had told him about ghosts and their movements.

She nods as she descends.  Gideon, sensing that she's trying to keep her voice down to not scare him, feels obligated to relieve her worry.  "I'm not afraid of you," he whispers, "I'm just not used to ghosts so much.  You might wake Emily up, though.  Does she know you're here?"

She comes to a stop a few steps before the one she disappears on.  It looks like it takes some work on her part, but she grips the railing and stands her ground as she nods her head.  "Yes," she says, her voice warbling in and out of audible range.  "I'm sorry, Gideon."

"Don't be," he says, waving away her concern.  "You alright, though?  This — this okay, for you?"

She shakes her head, then hesitatingly nods.  "It's difficult," she says.  "I'm not the same."

"No, I don't think you are.  But that's... you know, okay.  You're still you enough.  See how you didn't scare me at all?  You know anybody else appearing would've terrified me."

"Beheading seems a bit extreme for petty theft," Rex remarks.  They're over halfway to the scarecrow now, listing sadly on its post, just as dirty and torn and old as the rest of the damned town.  If it could talk, it would probably start singing psalms and commenting about the War as if it were still going on.  It would also find capital punishment more fitting the crime than either Rex or Gideon.

"I agree," Gideon says, "But it's not something I have any control over.  Even the Dullahan didn't seem to have much of a choice.  The only safe option was putting me with someone she trusted.  If she thought it was appropriate, I bet she wouldn't have bothered to wait for an explanation."

"And she trusts Harlan St. John, huh?"

Gideon rolls his eyes at Rex's all-too-casual question.  "I can understand why.  He's got experience with the crossover of the natural and super-natural worlds, and he's patient enough to put up with me."

It's a little stunning, the way Rex overtakes Gideon's pace, muttering under his breath what sounds like, "I'll bet."  Gideon isn't sure if it's the aggression in his steps or the seeming irritation in his voice that confuses him more.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he snaps, quickly regaining step with Rex.

"Nothing."

"Bullshit, nothing, spit it out."

Exhaling heavily, Rex shakes his head.  "I don't know, Gid," he sighs.  "I've had a lot of time to think, what with the distance, and everything, and I — realized that I hold a lot of the blame for why you left."

"That's not true.  It was the church, and my uncle, and —"

"No, Gid.  I don't think it was."

They pull up a good thirty feet short of the scarecrow as Rex comes to an abrupt stop.  Gideon scowls at Rex, his emotions too much in turmoil for him to know what expression to stick with.  Rex doesn't seem to notice, reciting words like he's rehearsed them for a long time.  "I realized that when you said you wanted to run away with me, you meant it romantically.  I knew the moment you said it.  But I didn't know — didn't realize — just how badly I would miss having you around until you left.  The dumbest part of me thought you might just marry Emily, and maybe I — maybe we — well, it doesn't matter.  What happened was you left, because I didn't love you the way you needed from me, and the church only made sure you had no other reason to stay.  Emily was already turning a corner, and I had rebuked you without even realizing that I didn't... mean it."

"Why are you saying this," Gideon tries to ask, but his voice is tight and breathless.

"I don't know.  I guess I just — have to get it off my chest.  And, I'm not asking you for anything.  I only wanted you to know that I understood.  And... that I'm sorry for how it turned out."

There's a distant ringing that Gideon mistakes at first for church bells before he realizes that it's only a buzzing in his ears as his pulse overtakes him.  He turns and begins to walk towards the scarecrow again, desperate to gain some distance, some perspective, but Rex grabs him by the elbow and holds him in place.

"Don't run away again," he pleads.

What else can Gideon do but run?  That's all he's ever been good at.  If only Rex would let go.

"Right now, Rex?" Gideon manages to ask.  "This is what you're going to do right now?  Just because I showed up with another man —"

"It doesn't have anything to do with him," Rex quickly cuts in.  "I'll — I'll show you the letter I was writing before you showed up.  It'll prove I mean it.  It's alright if you don't feel the way you used to, I just... needed you to know."  He sighs heavily and lets go of Gideon's arm.  "It was the least I could do."

Gideon doesn't run, despite his every instinct urging him to bolt back to Emily's house and lock the door.  "Really," he rasps.  "You don't care?"

"I didn't say that," Rex replies.  "But I would understand.  It's been a long time.  I've changed, and I'm sure you've changed, too."

Emily, glancing briefly out the front window, rises to her feet all at once.  "Rex is here," she says, "He's coming up the path now.  You two wait here, I'll go let him in."

Harlan waits for Emily to leave before asking quietly, "You gonna be okay?"

It should be easy enough to lie, but Gideon doesn't feel capable of doing so to Harlan.  Instead, he crosses over to sit beside him on the couch, resisting the urge to regain that contact they'd had in bed the night before.  Harlan seems to have trouble as well, leaving the two of them sitting awkwardly upright.  If it were only Emily around, maybe — but not with Rex reaching the porch.

"If you could make sure I don't stick my foot in my goddamn mouth, that'd be great," Gideon suggests under his breath.  "Last thing I need to do is upset the asshole before he hands the coin over."

"Fair enough.  But I'm not throwing the first punch if a fight breaks out."

Gideon can't help but laugh.  "Doubtful," he says, unable to hide his smile even as he hears Emily open the front door.

"You got my message?" Emily asks.

"Of course.  Let me in so I can see the bastard."

Rex's voice is soft, tempered by a few years of studying under Gideon's uncle, no doubt, but the smile is as evident in his tone as it is on his face as he rounds the corner and enters the room.  He's almost as tall as Gideon, wearing his dark brown hair in the same close-cropped style.  The differences are mainly in his wardrobe — he's tidied himself up from his rambunctious childhood, and he's finally wearing a pair of circular glasses after complaining about his vision for years.  He looks almost respectable — worse yet, he looks almost like a priest.

"Good Lord, G.D., you look like shit," Rex says.

"Mind your p's and q's, preacher," Gideon replies with a scowl.

"Don't be like that."  Rex crosses the room, leaving Emily standing in the doorway and ignoring Harlan entirely as he sticks his hand out.  "It's been two years, and I still managed to miss you some."

Sighing heavily, Gideon reaches out and takes Rex's hand.  He means for it to be a brief, firm handshake, but Rex easily pulls Gideon to his feet and embraces him.  He feels a little thin, probably not eating so well with his uncle's austere lifestyle, but he's warm and smells like soap.

Gideon pats his back heavily twice, then pulls away.  "Likewise, I suppose, although now that I see you, I wonder why I missed you at all.  Really, Rex, the church?"

Emily is the one to interject, stepping up to guide Rex to a nearby chair.  "Let's not get into that right now," she says.  "You have more important things to talk about, I think."

"That's right," Harlan says.  "We should sit down and —"

"Sorry," Rex says, leaning forward in his chair to extend a hand towards Harlan, "I didn't realize you were there.  That's Gideon for you, taking up all the attention.  Rexford W——."

Harlan smiles, returning the handshake.  "Harlan St. John," he replies.  "Sorry we're dropping in unannounced."

"The only one you need to apologize to is Emily.  Really, it was a smart idea to host them here," he tells Emily.  "I don't think I mentioned how ornery your uncle's gotten since you left in any letters, but that was my mistake.  It could have been messy, if you'd come all the way into town without warning."  He leans back in his chair, finally relaxing out of what Gideon can tell is a forced politeness.  It's a relief to see Rex sigh and run a hand through his hair like he used to.  "The whole thing's fucked, honestly.  But let's talk about why you're here, Harlan."

"He's trying to keep my head attached to my body," Gideon replies before Harlan has to defend his presence on his own.  He glosses over some of the less interesting parts as he catches Rex up to speed with the situation, but it's clear when he's finished explaining the situation that Rex has more questions than Gideon is ready to answer.

"So... you were gifted a stolen ring, and now you think a changeling is coming to kill me and take a token you sent me?" Rex asks for clarification.

"Well, that's the extremely boiled down version of events," Gideon says.  "It ignores how the two things are related."

"And how, exactly, are they related?"  Rex leans back as he digs into his pocket, drawing out the coin in question.  It's about an inch in diameter, cast in copper, and it looks as harmless as it had when Gideon had received it.  "I understand the body was desecrated somehow, skinned and whatnot, but that doesn't mean faeries exist."

"What do you want me to think it was, then?" Gideon asks.  "A demon?  Beelzebub himself, sneaking around like a wolf in sheep's clothing?"

"Why is it that you're willing to believe in faeries and ghosts, but not demons?" Rex sighs.  "I just don't understand."

"...So, I'm standing in the parlor surrounded by these wealthy fat-cats, tryin' to convince them they don't need to hire an exorcist for their so-called poltergeist.  I've got my leathers on, I'm covered in mud after digging through all those abandoned graves, and the bigwig in charge still can't wrap his head around me walkin' in through the front doors.  I get halfway through the history of the land they built their damn oil rigs on, I'm literally tellin' them that they've got a problem with gremlins, and he's still talking about his dead ex-mistress or whoever he thought managed to migrate their dead ass three states west for petty revenge."

"Gremlins," Emily utters, unable to shelf her disbelief for that one.  Gideon can't blame her, he doesn't believe in gremlins either.

"Close enough, anyway.  Neutral energy gathers up in places where a couple fights break out, packs itself tight enough to manifest, and then it goes to work causing chaos.  Mostly harmless, honestly, except when they're messing around with machinery they don't understand.  I dunno if that's what you'd call it back in Europe, but it's what we call it here."

"I think they're like faeries," Emily says.  "Strange folk who don't live quite in the same realm we do.  But what did you do to convince them?"

"Me?  There was nothing I could do."  He gestures vaguely at the air.  "They weren't going to believe anything I said about it.  I should've known, honestly.  Never met them before I took the job, just did it out of respect for the man who got crushed.  But, in the end, it wasn't up to them to do anything.  I'd already told the workers how to deal with them, and they at least respected my opinion on it.  We twisted a few nails together, sprinkled them over the property — and there you go.  All you really need is harmless toy for the energy to focus on, and it defangs them pretty quickly."

Gideon's entrance hadn't been as subtle as he'd hoped, because Emily now directs a grin his direction.  "Looks like you found that interesting life you were looking for," she laughs.

"I haven't been in it long enough to believe everything Harlan says," Gideon replies, "But I'm trying to expand my horizons."

"You don't believe me?" Harlan asks, managing to pretend at being offended for all of two seconds before breaking with a smug smile.  "I'll show you.  It's a week's ride, but it'll be worth it to wipe that skeptical look off your face."

Gideon hadn't even really considered the idea of him continuing to ride with Harlan once this was all over.  Like most things, he'd been letting the wind take him where it would, not willing to risk thinking beyond the situation where he might lose his head.  The idea that he has the choice to ride with Harlan for a while longer only reminds him that he doesn't have a whole lot of other options on the plate.  Nothing anywhere near as nice, in theory and hopefully in execution.

"Could be you wanna go your own way, of course," Harlan continues, misreading Gideon's initial silence.  

For better or for worse, Gideon forgets entirely about Emily's presence as he quickly corrects the assumption.  "Which way would that be?  I don't have many plans for once my head is off the chopping block."

"Gideon doesn't always think very far ahead," Emily says, as though she's apologizing for a naughty child.  She even shoots him a nearly disapproving look.  "I think it'd be good for you.  You aren't happy stuck in one place all the time, you know."

"I was plenty happy in [Blair]," Gideon retorts.  "Until I got dragged out by my hair, anyway."

Emily laughs loudly.  "Don't lie to me, you brat!  I have your letters, you know.  I can go get them, right now, and we can all read together about how miserable you were, and how you were saving up to get away."

This is what Gideon should have worried about.  He huffs loudly, crossing his arms tightly over his chest as he avoids looking at either of them.  "I don't need you mothering me, alright?" he grouses.

It would be worse, but Harlan interrupts before the argument can slide from friendly complaining to something more deliberately antagonistic.  "We've got time," he says.  "But we should worry about what we're doing now, before we start thinking about what comes later."

It sounds like a line he's been practicing for a while.  Gideon can't help but wonder if he's talking about more than just riding together, but he's right.  It's something to think about later.  Right now, they have much more pressing issues.  At the very least, they need to get that coin from Rex, or at least warn him of the possible danger.

"Speaking of that," Emily interrupts, clearly thinking something along the same lines as Gideon, "I asked [somebody] to go find Rex.  I didn't want to say too much — word travels too fast for comfort, you know that.  But it'll be better to surprise Rex here, than have you wander right into the lion's den."

"Is my uncle really so upset that I left?" Gideon asks.

"It's... one thing he's upset about," Emily replies.  She doesn't look at him, which only makes Gideon feel worse.  He can only imagine what else might have driven the wedge between them further.  Even her attempts to reassure him don't do much to help.  "Really, it's for his health as much as your own good.  He's an old man, you know.  His heart might not be able to take seeing you so abruptly.  But... if Rex would talk to him, maybe it would be better."

"Why would Rex be the voice of reason?" Gideon asks.  "You keep talking about him being close with my uncle, but I don't know what that means."

"Somebody was going to take over the church eventually," Emily sighs.  "If not you, then somebody.  And Rex has always been more... open to religion than either of us.  You know that."

"Yeah, real religion.  Not the half-assed hogwash my uncle spews out like Jesus's true gospel!  The man doesn't even have formal recognition outside of this damn town.  Rex doesn't need to take over anything!"

"I don't know anything about that," Emily says.  "I only know that Rex wanted to help your uncle.  Maybe when he passed, Rex would give it up himself — but that's not what happened, is it?"

"Not yet, anyway," Gideon grunts.  "There's still time to change his mind, anyway."

"I wish you wouldn't," Emily groans.  "He gets so sour about it.  He never listens to me anymore, not when it comes to his work."

Emily retires shortly after, leaving them with an oil lamp and directions towards the bedroom on the lower floor. She leaves them standing in the kitchen, the last of their light dinner stored in the ice-box.  Gideon finds that he doesn't know where to look, casting his eyes towards the floor as Emily's creaking footsteps disappear upstairs.

"I suppose we'll be here for a couple days," Harlan says.  "Sigrun will be heading this way any time now."

"Hopefully not too long — I don't want to overstay my welcome any more than I already clearly am."  Sighing heavily, Gideon scrubs at the thick stubble forming on his chin and says, "We're lucky Emily was willing to let us stay here.  I don't think we'd last a minute in town with my uncle."

"She's a nice girl," Harlan replies.  "Not to be impolite, but I can see why your family might've wanted you to settle down with her."

Gideon laughs.  "Don't get yourself twisted — I'm well aware that Emily would have been the best thing that could've happened to me in Housewater."  He shakes his head and gestures towards the hall.  "But, I'm more comfortable camping out in her guest bedroom than trying to slink into her own."

There's no missing the way Harlan drops his voice, just in case it might carry upstairs.  "I suppose you've got different proclivities, anyway."  Gideon is startled enough to look Harlan in the eye, and he gets a sly smile in return.  "Larger towns, I mean.  More modern ways of living.  That sort of thing."

Gideon leads the way past the stairway and towards the back of the house.  Keeping his own voice low so as not to disturb Emily, he tries to seem nonchalant as he replies, "Yeah.  That sort of thing."

They reach the end of the hall, a tight squeeze by any measure, and Gideon comes to a stop in front of the shut door, realizing too quickly that he'd just — accepted Emily's suggestion, hadn't even offered to sleep in the foyer or on the couch, even though he knows full well that there's only one bed to share between them.  He hadn't even let Emily finish offering the master suite to them — as if he would want to sleep in the same bed her mother had died in.

There's not any room to maneuver back to the kitchen.  There's not much room to separate him from Harlan, either, and the oil lamp only manages to highlight the small bubble of space they're now sharing.  Harlan is watching him with his usual placid, unreadable expression, and Gideon wants to offer an escape from this situation — either to himself, or to Harlan.

"You want me to sleep in the front room?" Harlan whispers.  It's so he doesn't bother Emily, of course, but the sound of his voice in that octave manages to rattle about inside Gideon's chest.

"No," he replies.  He tries to whisper, trying even harder to ignore the way his voice cracks.  "Do you want me to —"

"No," Harlan says.

Okay, it’s been two whole weeks now since i started writing, so it’s a good time to check in and see where i’m at.  i know that the accountability posts haven’t been doing much to explain the plot, but i promise there is actually plot stuff happening outside of the two dummies i’m forcing together like my personal barbie dolls (hey, guess what, they are!!! b/c i made them up!!!)

let’s see the stats:

WORDCOUNT 11/14: 25,365

LAST ACHIEVEMENT: 25k words/ 14 days in a row

WORDS PER DAY: 1,811

AVERAGE WRITING SPEED: 18 words per minute

STORY POINT: just about to the end of act 2, which should happen sometime in the next 2 or 3 days. then it’s gonna be open waters as i try to suss out how the ending is supposed to go!

looks like i’ve slowed down a few words, but that’s ok. i’m still ahead of my goal enough that i don’t mind.  i think i might get a big boost in numbers when it comes time for the big bad to show up, b/c i know how that scene is gonna go better than the rest, but it will be interesting to see how the skeleton i set up in november holds the meat of act three.  what shape is this monster gonna take??? who fuckin knows