where will you be waking up tomorrow morning?

Vincent put a hand over his heart and struck a wounded expression. “Mrs. Rogers, are you accusing me of spiking my ingredients with drugs? I would never!” He didn’t usually, anyway. Sometimes a little hallucinogens in people’s tea gave them a more mystical experience but he didn’t do that too much. 

He dropped his hand when she batted at one of his decorations hard enough to break a piece off, which he caught before it hid the ground. “Careful with the decorations, please.” He said it mildly, though had a feeling she was going to require all of his patience. Sure enough, given the next few sentences out of her mouth. Vincent wondered if she even realised the myriad of ways she’d just insulted him. “I don’t think we could ever pass as related, unfortunately, and no track marks.” His parents still lived in this town, after all, and he was the only Chinese psychic around. Vincent didn’t want word getting back to them and there being unnecessary worry all from a show he was putting on. “Of course I can speak Mandarin, you racist bitch. Maybe I should tell Stephen’s parents about the striking resemblance between you and Bailey Rose’s daughter.” He said it in Mandarin, with a smile on his face, since there was no way she was going to understand him. He decided he was going to do what she asked, to some degree, if only so he could have unprecedented access to the Rogers household. That would give him a wealth of information, he was sure, and he couldn’t pass it up. “How much will you pay me for this unprecedented and unusual use of my skills?” Vincent leaned back and watched her, lacing his fingers over his knee as he waited. 

“Lots of guyliner, then. And maybe watch some of re-runs of Beverly Hills 90210 or something to get those tear ducts going. I want full pop punk princess gone satanic.” Daisy didn’t look more or less amused when he spoke to her in another tongue, mostly because she had asked but also because for all she knew, he could’ve been calling her a fat old hag and she’d be none-the-wiser for praising him for dissing her.

Daisy leaned back, folding her arms as she paced the short length of the table. What a hideous shop, she mused as she flicked a knick-knack and set it swinging in a pendulum. “How much are you asking for? Mind you, I have two kids. I won’t be extorted but I have money. I have favors too, but you don’t look like the sort to dabble in the favors I deal.”

It was a bit of a surprise to see Mrs. Rogers at his booth. Vincent knew she didn’t really believe in his “powers” and, sure enough, she wasn’t really here for his usual services but wanted something from him nonetheless. It was hardly surprising. “Sage can be found at a grocery store. In spite of it’s mystical properties, it’s also commonly used in cooking, especially around this time of year.” He maintained his friendly tone, smiling a little and leaning back in his chair. “I very rarely do house calls but it’s possible to persuade me. As for a fake possession, it’s not usually in my repertoire. I’d be hesitant anyway since it might tempt fate, if you’ll excuse the saying. Faking it might draw attention to your house and attract actual bad energy or a malevolent presence.” Vincent didn’t really believe in any of that, but he certainly talked and acted like he did. 

“I know that. I want it from you to increase the chances of it being mixed in with psychedelics. Nothing like hallucinations to get into the holiday spirit.”

Daisy frowned at a crystal mobile, swatting at a gem with enough distaste that had she not been married to Stephen for 15 years, she might’ve been afraid of the 7 of bad luck it was bound to give her. She stopped to loom over his station, face serious. “I’ll take beezlebub in my house right now. My siblings are unfortunately occupied so Satan is the next best thing to terrify Stephen’s parents. The kids don’t cut it quite anymore, seeing as how Noah had grown up to be exactly the little coward we all thought he’d be. My own parents have seen their fair share of dirty mongrels so if you could amp up the guyliner a little bit and add some track marks, I think we can pass you off as a distant, twice-removed cousin I just found after plundering the depths of Muddy Waters for a new hedge trimmer. Can you speak asian? I think that’ll help.”

It was a bit of a slow day for readings, though that always tended to happen when the weather got colder. Vincent had still set up his booth, he usually kept it up until the weather got really bad, and had a space heater inside as well as comfortable chairs so there wasn’t much of an excuse, other than people being busy. Usually patient and hopeful since it still wasn’t too late in the day, he’d put on a pot of tea, had some incense going, and had settled in his lawn chair out front to wait. He really sold the Eastern mysticism vibe, with various beads, crystals and different knick knacks hanging from very parts of the booth, tarot decks neatly laid out, crystal ball in full view. He wasn’t wearing robes today (though he definitely did sometimes) but had gone full bore with the make up, smokey eyes and bits of red and purple colour in his hair. His clothes were mostly black today but the rows of silver buttons lining the shoulders especially stood out as well as the fingerless gloves. Heeled boots crossed at the ankle, he waited until someone approached and smiled at them. “I’ll give you a special deal; two readings for the price of one. You can obviously pick your method, or two different methods. I can’t guarantee you’ll like what you hear, the universe isn’t always fair that way, but I can make sure you still have fun. What do you think?” Exuberance and friendliness always seemed to help draw people in, at least at first. He could retreat into the wise mystic when they got the readings underway. 

Daisy put a hand up immediately once she entered the tent, frowning at the gaudy velveteen and crystal baubles. “I don’t want any of your sales or tarot cards or knick-knacks or your crystal balls,” she said, exasperated. “I just want some sage. My house is full of evil spirits, specifically ones called in-laws and I need to detoxify my house of any sensibilities to discourage them from returning next year. Do you do house calls? How good are you at faking demon possession?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll keep that in mind,” Derek said solemnly, taking the money and grocery list as if they contained the nuclear codes to the country. He pocketed the money and glanced down at what he still had to gather, comparing to the list to what he could see in the cart.

Beaming at her last threat, he dropped a hand on Noah’s head and ruffled the kid’s hair, reminding himself that the bespectacled one was the friendlier of the two. “I’ll protect them with my life,” he promised, raising his voice to be heard as she departed.

Derek’s eyes widened the moment she agreed, fully prepared to have been dismissed with nothing but a scathing look. His smile could’ve lit a room, and he instantly stepped forward to take charge of her cart. He completely forgot about the twenty by the time she said tip, nodding instead to indicate that he was listening and not fantasizing wildly about learning poker from the ruthless Mrs. Rogers. 

“Yes, ma’am. Looking forward to it.” Turning his attention to the twins, he held out two fists for them to bump. “Did you hear that? I’m coming over dinner.” Only one of them seemed excited about it, but Derek wasn’t discouraged. He turned back to Daisy, expression keen. “Do you have a grocery list?”

Alright, maybe he was a cuter than she initially thought. A breath of fresh air after all the crusty old bags who thought dark and broody was always in fashion. Daisy knew there was a reason why she always preferred them younger and untarnished by the grubby hands of life. The way her eyes slunk down the lines of Derek’s body left no room for guessing what she was thinking as she extracted her wallet and a grocery list from her bag.

“Everything should be on this list. Remember, buy organic if you can find it and gluten-free is the best. We only drink 2% milk and for no reason, should there be any junk food.” After handing him the list, she extracted a wad of bills from her wallet to cover the groceries. 

Derek couldn’t help but brighten at her question, having gotten the tone and attitude enough from his own mother to find it familiar rather than hostile. It didn’t hurt that he’d spent most of his teenage years disrupting conversations between the two women conveniently after basketball practice in the hopes of catching his English teacher’s eye. Not to mention the fact that he almost fist-fought Bobby Warhurst for the right to mow the Rogers’ lawn.

“No, ma’am, I thought I might take a different direction in life,” Derek said, trying to be as honest as possible. He could and would lie if he had to, but he preferred to avoid the uncomfortable blanket of doom that would hang over his head for months. Eager to steer the conversation elsewhere, he pulled a face at the mention of a psycho. “Do you mean the killer? I heard about that on the news. Sounds like he was targeting some real scumbags, though.” He flashed a grin, trying to inject some levity into the situation. “Least you know you and Mr. Rogers are safe, right?”

Daisy gave Derek a look at the mention of ‘Mr. Rogers’ despite being confident that his shiny golden beams would deflect it with cheer. Her husband was a gumby of a man, the reminder of how tragically Halloween night had ended for her was sorely unappreciated and she hadn’t been talking about the fire. Fucking Bailey.

Everyday she woke with the silent hope that the Hand of God would come and release her from her prison of cowardly men, if not only to chimera some balls onto their bodies or whatever the hell he did. What was the use of having a man playing God if he wasn’t going to make men better?

“I suppose down is a direction,” she told him, blatantly ignoring the rest of his cheery babble. The babies were getting restless beside her, Noah having taken to stashing snack packs of cheese dip and crackers into his pockets while Nicky was trying to blend in with another family in hope of finding a better brother. 

Heaving a sigh at the scatter of her hellions, Daisy let go of her shopping cart and looked expectantly to Derek. “Finish my shopping and you can have the twenty and come over for supper. Do it and keep my boys in line and we can talk about what we can do about a tip.”

Derek bobbed his head, surprised but pleased that she seemed to remember his father. It’d only been six years since his parents had left Muddy Waters, and it was nice to know that they hadn’t been forgotten. “Yes, ma’am. He’s in Chicago now.” That wasn’t exactly a lie, considering his father was locked up in the city.

“Well if you change your mind about the babysitting, I’m available. Actually, if you wouldn’t mind putting the word out, I’m looking for a part-time job.” Derek rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Guess I should’ve locked that down before I made the big move.”

How could she forget Father Roman? The man had been the singular reason why she’d attended church every Sunday at all if only to ensure that his wife was somewhere she could still find her. Kia Roman was responsible for Daisy’s ferocity at the poker table, her desire to win increasing with every cup size through middle school until high school where they finally played an all-in hand that resulted in hands going all in somewhere none of them ever talked about again.

Daisy folded her arms, exasperated by the intrusion of thoughts that clambered to the forefront of her mind at a second evaluation of Derek’s features. He’d grown up well, physically. Though, Daisy couldn’t say much about his lack of foresight and presumed that he’d taken after his father, who, aside from his pretty face, had hardly blipped her radar.

“What happened to priesthood?” Daisy asked, cutting right past the humble, yes-ma’am bullshit. “Don’t tell me you came back to Muddy Waters to try and reintroduce us to God. We’ve already got a psycho for that.”

Derek laughed at the exchange, charmed by the twins in spite of their mother’s passive racism. He could always chalk it up to the sensibilities of a different generation, which made the pettiness easier to swallow. He grinned and shook his head at the money, dismissing it with his hands held up. 

“It’s not mine, ma’am. But if you are looking for a babysitter, twenty dollars is exactly how much I charge for two hours.” He extended his fist for one of the boys to bump, who promptly answered with a shared smile. “So, you know, I could take the money and the kids.”

“They’re twelve, they don’t need a babysitter.” Daisy didn’t like this boy’s apple-pie charm and  radiant, bronzed skin. God knew what she’d do if he rubbed off on the twins. The poor boys already had to share genes with Stephen, they didn’t need a sunny disposition and a good attitude too. 

“But mom,” Noah whined, tilting his head so far back that she was afraid the weight of his bobble-head would topple him over. 

“But what?” Daisy snapped, which drew Nicky out from her other side, the two of them flanking her like needy cats. She rolled her eyes and looked at Derek, sizing him up like a cut of meat. Recognition flickered over her features as she narrowed her eyes at him critically. 

“Aren’t you the pastor’s son?”

Derek hesitated, his brain instantly comprehending the implication of her words, while the part of him that wanted to see the best in people struggled to grasp it. He glanced down at the children instead, offering them a grin and crouching down to hold the bill out to one of the boys. “Have your mom buy you something good, alright?” He grinned as one of them tentatively reached out before snatching the twenty the rest of the way as if he was afraid Derek would change his mind. 

Daisy watched the exchange with passive interest before plucking the twenty from Nicky’s tiny little fingers The chintzy little rascal loved his money. Something about grandeur delusions of making it out of Muddy Waters with his embarrassing grade point average. If they went broke and had to choose, it was definitely Noah going to college. 

“Honey, don’t take money from strangers. That’s how you end up in the back of unmarked vans,” Daisy chided. Nicky stared up at his mom and then at the man before deciding to switch places with Noah and push him forward. The other twin was far more chipper, his coke-bottle glasses making him look more like a cartoon than a boy., 

“Are we going to put him in our van, mom?” Noah asked, looking up at Derek with shiny eyes. 

Daisy frowned at both of them before pushing them behind her knees and thrust the money back towards Derek. “You either take the money or you take the kids and I promise you, you don’t want the kids.”

John knew she was right, which was an odd thought for him to have when conversing with Daisy, but it was true. Being a parent was about sacrifices, about giving things up for the better of your child’s well being, and as much as he knew that it was what any decent parent would do, he couldn’t bring himself to stomach the idea of actually doing it. He couldn’t quite swallow the pill of coming to terms with his sons rebellion and self destruction, he couldn’t face it because despite the number of years that passed he still found himself pulling at ties to his history, to when everything was fine.

It’s easier to pretend and barely skate through life then to face it and push the whole house of cards down. John knew that once he faced the problems in his life, everything that was holding on by strings would collapse, and he selfishly knew that wasn’t something he could handle, something he wasn’t ready for. “I appreciate you talking with me.” He said, not defensively but almost dismissively, seceding to the conversation as he started collecting his papers. “But I just noticed how late it’s getting… and I really should be heading home. I do wish you luck with your daughter, though. If anything happens and you need any help, legal front or otherwise, don’t hesitate to call me.”

Daisy accepted his dismissal without complaint. She knew she had a point because she always did, histrionics and exaggerations aside. Just because she liked a little drama, didn’t mean she wasn’t self-aware. 

“Thank you, John. I’ll certainly keep you in mind. The offer goes both ways, you know,” she shimmied her shoulders while cupping her coffee in both hands for a sip. “Everyone needs a mother’s touch every now and again.”

Even after ten years, Quikmart’s selection of produce continued to be abysmal, an observation made obvious as Derek picked balefully through a display of bruised apples. He didn’t think he’d miss Chicago so soon and over something so innocuous as fruit, but it was hard not to feel a little dismal in your hometown with no home. Tamping down on the flicker of discomfort, he turned to move on to the register when the crunch of something under his foot caught his attention. Crouching down to pick up a crumpled twenty, he jumped back up to jog after a pair of shoes that disappeared into the cereal section.

“Hey, I think this might be yours,” Derek said, bouncing to a stop and extending the bill.

“Oh no, that was for you,” Daisy replied, barely turning back to face him.With her two little demons in tow, the last thing she wanted was to have conflict over what she had thought was a good deed. Nicky and  Noah reared their heads, looking like the twins from The Shining as they batted their large, bulbous eyes and stared at the man in a way that had been clearly adopted from their very white parents.

“The Quickmart has seen a lot of robberies lately. Call it loss prevention.”

“Do you fault the other person’s logic every time you dislike it? Blaming the other person for being bad at arguments is an excellent way to get out of them, after all.” Cal gave her a cool look at the suggestion of taking his shirt off. Normally, he’d jump at that opportunity but not in this context. “You don’t deserve that, love, or else I would.” 

He noted the wine bottle she grabbed, clearly intent on leaving. “Best to go drown them in bored housewife bottles of wine, then. Don’t let me keep you.” His tone was fairly venomous and he glared at her parting shot. “Such a shame both your sense of sight and smell have gone at the same time, but that’s the tragedy of age.” He’d had about enough of her and grabbed a bottle of rum for himself before stalking off to go find better, more appreciative company. 

The bottom dropped out of Bailey’s stomach at the expression that crossed Daisy’s face, as brief as it was. He scrambled up to follow her, even if he had nothing else to say, nothing he could deny; he was a coward, because the thought of making her unhappy was only bearable if he didn’t have the chance to.

“Deedee–” Bailey stepped forward but didn’t stop her, gritting his teeth as he dropped his gaze to the jacket already starting to smoke on the grass. Looking up at the rest of building, he shot one last look at Daisy before heading back towards the fire.

John shook his head with a deep sigh, a hand going to his face. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it before, what parent wouldn’t? Watching his son disintegrate into a drug-addled zombie was hard, not doing anything was worse, but he’d learned the first time that Alex had gotten put away that having him under lock and key was the absolute worst. His mind got better, his body, but he got mean. Alex wasn’t the same kid he used to be anymore, he was angry and bitter, and the less John did to help him stay free the further away he ended up getting.

“Considering the conversation I’m sure you know how hard it is to lose your kid, to not be able to see them.” He said carefully, slowly, as if he was almost too tired to really finish the thought. “If he gets put away again I’m not going to get him back. Physically, yes, he’ll get out, but he’s irreconcilable, he won’t let go of it if I did something like that to him.”

Daisy could understand the turmoil, she really could, but she also lived hard by the rule of doing what was necessary to get the job done and a living kid was better than a dead kid. God forbid that any of her children touched the garbage that was flooding the streets of Muddy Waters but she wasn’t afraid of the consequences of taking drastic steps. She’d taken enough to know what would happen.

“Kids are supposed to hate their parents. Nicky’s already got that homicidal gleam in his eye every time I tell him to clean his room. All I can hope for is that he’ll get Stephen first when he finally snaps,” she said, without humor. “All joking aside, John, sometimes you have to make sacrifices. That’s what being a parent is about.”

Bailey released his grip with difficulty, belatedly realizing how tightly he’d been holding on to her. His heart swelled at the flicker of hope, wondering for a moment what life could be like if everything was different. But he tamped down on the thread unraveling within him, unwilling to let himself picture a life in which running away was the solution. He couldn’t leave the town. Not Jack or Quinn or even the bloodbath that was his feud with the Sheriff’s Office; this was his home.

“I can’t make you happy.” Bailey’s voice was a croak as he struggled to keep a composure that was crumbling along with the building behind them. He sat up, hand gentle on her elbow as he dropped his gaze. “I can’t fix this for you, Deedee. You’ll resent that life. You’ll resent me.”

Hurt flickered across Daisy’s face like a flame before it solidified into something hard and cold. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Bailey never did have the gall to take what he wanted the way she did. Rising up from her perch on his lap, Daisy filled the empty void with ice the way she always had. 

“You’re right. Twelve years and you haven’t learned a single thing.” Wiggling her shoulders out of the old leather jacket, Daisy deposited it into a heap in the grass where the flames could lick at its old, tattered edges. “You’re still a coward, Bailey Rose.”