Perdition

not joking when I say kid illusionist!MC was a menace, their parents had to literally explain to them why what they did was wrong.

“Fuck you, Lenoard,” she said, sleep still caught in her throat. “Let me go back, I was dreaming about Bell.”

“Do yourself a favor and keep my daughter’s name out your mouth,” Leonard said amiably. “And come down to the station, please.”

She sighed. “What’s in it for me?”

“Two big Starbucks drinks with your name on ‘em. And a five hour energy,” he said, chuckling deeply.

Sarah Beth took a deep breath, put the phone down, then exhaled as she looked at the clock. She wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep before she had to wake up. He had known that. Fucking dick.

“You’re a fucking dick,” she said, then stood up, startling Beck from his feline slumber as she went to search for yesterday’s pants.

“Lady called off!” he said, feigning shock. “And I don’t trust anyone else to write about this but you.” 

She grinned at the faint praise. Halfway through a hoodie, she said, “You better be paying me on Lady’s step, then.” 

“Aye aye, captain,” he said dryly. “See you in twenty.”

“Sir yes sir, oorah.” She hung up and grabbed her keys from the bedside table, idly scritching Beck’s head as she stepped into her crocs.

“Bye bye,” she said, bending down to kiss the top of his furry, black head. He rubbed into her chin, following her off of the bed and out of the room as she went to collect Ray. He cried as she picked him up, swaddling the 18 month old tight in his blankets after a quick diaper change.

She replaced his pacifier after a harried search, and shushed him back to a blissful silence as she locked the door of her apartment behind her. She rushed down the stairs carefully, kissing Ray’s head whenever he got a little fussy at being awake this early.

In no time, he was asleep in his car seat, and she was starting the engine. They rolled out of Main Street Apartments’ newly paved driveway, and headed towards her ex-husband’s house.

Arturo wouldn’t like having to look after his son a few hours more than he’s used to without warning, but if the job was as important as Leonard made it sound, he would have to suck it up. He wasted most of his day anyway. That, and she had to keep up appearances. 

Sarah Beth could not let Leonard find out that she had a kid.

4:42 A.M.

Sarah Beth blinked sleepily as she stepped into the office, letting the door bang closed behind her.

Two coffees and a five hour energy was sitting pretty on the front desk, beads of condensation sliding down the plastic cups and onto the cardboard cup holder.

“He spoke true,” she murmured, stepping up to the cups and popping one of the straws out of its paper container and into her mouth, crane necking it into the drink.

It tasted good. Seven-dollars-too-expensive good. But still, not worth waking up this early, especially after taking Dante to his Dad. She grabbed the drinks, walking back through the small office’s cubicles to the only office with a light on. The sun hadn’t even risen.

She shoed the door open, and prepared her best glare.

Leonard’s office was impeccable, dust free and teak everywhere it could be. In the middle of his desk sat an ancient, coffee brown typewriter, perfectly maintained, yet still obviously heavily used. Behind it, looming totemically, was Lenoard. A tall man with a skinny face, laugh lines creased his cheeks as he stared down at Sarah Beth.

He was not smiling now. 

"Your twenty minutes late." He squinted at her.

"Hair care day," she lied. "Hair comes first." Her hair was tightly pulled into a bun on top of her head. “So what’s the big deal?” Sarah Beth asked, breathing in the fresh pine sent of Lenoard’s office.

He held up one narrow finger to silence her, then used it to gingerly press the play a voicemail on his mobile phone.

It was a young lady's voice. Bell's voice. "Hi daddy! Just wanted to call and tell you about what happened at tea tonight. Kim told me about something that happened at the police station, I don't know if you've heard about it? They arrested the guy, or I guess girl who kidnapped Kyle, she was pretending to be a man, and might have killed him! Kim said she worked for Kyle for over a year! Here's the craziest part-"

Her voice cut off abruptly as Leonard ended the recording.

“Okay, and?” She asked, placing the two coffees on his desk as she cracked the cap of the five hour energy and downed it.

“Perpetrator escaped,” he said.

“How?”

He leaned in, meaningfully. “No one knows. I made some calls, they’re going to send me the camera footage. Officer Newcastle is swinging by, soon as he can.”

“Okay, so, some girl is conning a rich guy on city council. Does it Mulan style, but then gets arrested for his kidnapping slash possible murder. Then she goes and pulls a Houdini, leaving all the cops--Jesus Len, you’re right, this is a good story. We the first ones on this? The Sun ain’t on it yet?”

“Nope. Thank God Bell has dates with Young and Pretty at the station.”

“Shit.” Sarah Beth moved the coffee on the floor, pulling a small laptop from her purse as she spoke. “Shit, okay. We need that footage.”

“Yep.”

“And we need that--whoever was there when she disappeared, get them on the line for an interview, Len.”

“On it,” and he was.

“Fuck, is Juice on for newscast today? We need her.”

“Her day off. Danny’s today,” he said, phone pinned to his head as he dialed a number.

“Call Juice. Need her. Only her,” she said, attention pouring the word processor.

“Yes, I’ll hold.” Then, to her, “I’ll call Juice next.”

Sarah Beth handed him her phone. “You’ve got two hands, don’t you?” 

5:25 A.M.

5:25 A.M. 

And Parker still hadn’t shown up.

The five fluttered to a six on the dark desk, the clock face lit only by the bright, orange light of a monitor. Instrumental hip hop filled the room, resonating quietly from expensive speakers set throughout the room.

5:26 A.M.

The phrase, burning the midnight oil, came to mind. Although it was incorrect. Burning tomorrow’s midnight oil was more like it.

The clock shuttered to 5:27.

5:27 was a tricky time. The 27 was the sticker, really. It was just too late in the hour. Consider a healthy 5:03.

At 5:03, you could look at your shitty custom Linux clock UI and say to yourself, hey, I can go to bed in a little bit, and it’ll still count as going to bed at 5:00. Even though you know you’re not going to, it still feels better. Even a 5:13 was manageable; it took a little more convincing, but it was manageable.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, 5:48 was workable too. You could say you were going to bed at 6:00, just stop whatever you’re doing at 6:00 and be done with it. 5:58 was even better.

But 5:27? There was just no hope. You just had to find something to do for the next while. You could not just call it a night at night at 5:30. That just felt wrong to Lena.

Or was it Levi?

They stopped to consider. Then, as they did whenever this issue occurred, they asked the group chat. They were generally amusing, and happened to be good at turning a 27 into a 58.

Levi smirked. Maybe they had a bit of a crush? It would not be the first time. Others had been kicked for simping too hard.

== User ‘ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has joined ‘#a)(witch)(needs)(some)(help’. 4 user(s) present. 2 witch(es) lurking. ==

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yo witches

1815: Hiya

Jeru111: sup bispi

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i need some help

Jeru111: then i do believe you’re in the right channel!

1815: falling behind on your IT homework again or something? :3

Ainsel: What is it with the overlap of witches and software developers?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: woah hi n00bie

Jeru111: @ainsel; something something trans girl socks

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: ^

1815: ^

Ainsel: ^

1815: Whatchu need help with bi

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: don’t know who i am right now

Ainsel: Like 

Ainsel: metaphysically

Ainsel: ………….?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no like. Name wise

Jeru111: so, yes

Ainsel: Oh. I don’t know your name, I’m new here. All I know is that you host

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: who invited u ainsel

Ainsel: D4NT3

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: dante’s tight

1815: virgil disagrees

Jeru111: they passed the entrance exam pretty well

Jeru111: i didn’t fuck with the form this time because they seemed like they actually wanted to learn

Ainsel: I do

Jeru111: brownnoser!

Anisel: I mean. Sure

Ainsel: A witch wants some help, doesn’t she?

Ainsel: she might get some shit on her nose in the process

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: lol

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: here for making me l0l you get your first symb

Ainsel: what?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: nobod

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: cmon guys n0b0dy told her?

Ainsel: ???

Jeru111: numbers/symbols in name = rank in server basically

Jeru111: more leety name means u been here longer. More trusted/chanOP

Ainsel: Oh. so bispiritual (Did i get that right) has a ton cause they host the server

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yeah (yes)

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: and you can trade them. I have a ton so it doesn’t matter 4 me but 

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: “/givesymb Ainsel 1” to do it if someone said something rlly funny

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: or helped you out

Ainsel: like Kandi bracelets 

Jeru111: xactly

== User ‘ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has changed their nick to ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ gifted user ‘Ainsel’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

Jeru111: Use it wisley!

1815: Use it wisley!

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has returned. ==

U53 17 W1513Y: Use it wisley! <3

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has awayed. ==

Jeru111: best bot ever written

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: fuck you all i should have never given the rat bot perms

== User ‘Jeru111’ gifted user ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has returned. ==

U53 17 W1513Y: Use it wisley! <3

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has awayed. ==

Ainsel: lmfao

1815: just fix the typo silly

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: never 

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i only fix the programming errors not typos #efficient

== User ‘Ainsel’ has changed their nick to “4insel’. ==

Jeru111: nice

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: w00t!

1815: gratz!! :D 

4insel: Thanks everyone

4insel: you said you needed help though @bispiritual  

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yes with finding my name rn

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: it’s one of three and i can’t figure it out

1815: I can help

1815 was one of the oldest members of the group. Lena… No, Levi--. Loux shifted in the chair as they stared at the name. They were always helpful, and were almost always the first one to respond to Loux when they posted.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: how ?

1815: we’ll have an example discussion. I’ll gage which you are by that

Their smile widened as their hands flew across the keyboard, typing quickly, then tapped enter.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: okay. i’m game :)

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: let’s me and you DM.

The clock read 5:59 A.M. Loux didn’t see it.

6:00 A.M.

It was Thursday morning, and there was a baby in his house.

Arturo had come to this realization moments after he’d been woken up by screaming. He’d been rushing into his study with a loaded pistol, when he saw that there was a baby in the crib, crying his little heart out.

It helped, he supposed, that it was his baby. Little Ray was all grown up it seemed, and had learned to walk the fifty minutes to his daddy’s house all by himself. That, or his Mami had decided (once again) that she wasn’t good enough to be Ray’s Mother, and had dumped all the responsibility on Arturo.

“That’s silly,” Arturo told Ray as he expertly changed him out of his diaper and pajamas. “Mami’s a great mother.” Ray giggled as his Dad kissed him, blowing a raspberry on his forehead. “She’s a horrible wife though,” he said seriously.

And so the morning passed as it usually would, the two watching baby T.V. and eating baby oatmeal as the sun crept through the curtains and played on the plastic baby furniture. Ray played with a set of wooden cars on the carpet as Arturo put the finishing touches on the model he was painting.

Arturo was an only child, so Ray happily reaped the undivided spoils of his abuelita’s generosity, filling his house with toys for him and his son alike. The two were almost perfect mirrors of each other, spilling away hours with intermittent feasting (these signaled to Ray with the word ‘bite’ said in a proffering tone) and playing.

He only found the note when he went outside with Ray to batch prime a new set of models. It was clearly written in Sarah Beth’s looping cursive, barely legible to Arturo. He let Ray chase a ball in his backyard as he puzzled it out.

Arturo,

Sorry. Work called. Big deal. I’ll pay you back, I promise.

P.S.

I PROMISE. Thank you.

Love you and Ray,

S.B.J.

He looked at their son, laughing as he chased a bird in the back lawn. “Sarah Beth Jackson,” he whispered, eyes watering. “That job is going to kill you.”

6:01 A.M.

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has joined ‘#direct)(message)(hub)(’. 15 user(s) present. 32 witch(es) lurking. ==

Lena liked to imagine this channel as a park. Many people talking, but talking quietly in the same place, with birds and dogs and squirrels lazing about. The IRC client she had written herself for the coven had no direct messaging feature built in. Instead, there was a command to have only one person see a message.

Every community, even if it was three people, had drama. Lena’s cybercoven had proven no different. This system of DM had made for a quick and easy to the skinhead wiccan that had snuck in last month

Lena was the only one who had access to them, and even then, she had programmed an hour timer into the command, so she’d actually have to think about the issue instead of just peeking into a person’s private life for no reason.

She’d found that these people trusted her, for better or for worse. She was working hard at becoming the best server owner she could, and took it seriously. She still had time for the bants, though. Speaking of…

Lena laughed, then closed her eyes, vibing to the music for a moment as she typed out her next response. 

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: so how do we do this?

1815: well lets see. What are your options?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: lena/levi/loux

1815: .

1815: loux?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yea

1815: how is that

1815: like how is that even pronounced?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: loo

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: like the guy from ringworld

1815: man’s in my dm’s Louis Woo posting

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: look i was an impressionable youth and my gma had niven on her bookshelf what can i say

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i had no choice

1815: tbh he’s pretty trans

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: transed by a 80 y/o sifi author trying desperately to write about spaceships, so sad

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: also no. he’s really not

1815: bullshit have you even ringed a world b4?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: okay fair. no. but i have Started the book many times, and that man is a womanizer

1815: okay so that’s like saying zuko is an asshole cause you watched the first episode 

1815: he’s got to have his character arc man

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: does somebody Womanize loui woo?????

1815: r.a.f.o. ;3

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: FU 3:

1815: anyway i just have never seen that name before with an x

1815: y cant you be a normal nonbinary and be like. Stone

1815: Oliver

1815: Branch

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: moss

1815: river, you get it

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: Many such cases

1815: Many such cases!

Loux read the words, thinking deeply for a moment before closing their eyes and humming quietly. They looked inside of their center, or at least tried to do something that felt like that, and…

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: short answer; because that’s not me

1815: long answeR?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: uh

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i’m not nb i’m genderqueer and not really even that. I think I might be two spirit

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: which is like this native american thing. I don’t know much about it but my grandma keeps saying that’s what i am

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: but in my soul i feel like there’s three selves that make up ME

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: like

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: the divine trinity

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: male/female/neither[other]

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: and one of them usually wins out. that’s who i end up feeling like that day

1815: interesting

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: but today it’s just. all

1815: are they alters?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no, not really. all me 

1815: okay well do you want my opinion

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: sure

1815: i think their may be a fourth you. Or maybe a secret, always you you

1815: an amalg of all the options that’s just…

1815: un nameable. truer than true

She didn’t know. Maybe 1815 was right? That threw a spanner in his identity.

But a spanner can be a useful tool, when it’s a spanner you need.

1815 had sent another message, and Levi realized he’d been staring at the screen for a few minutes now.

He realized the question was rather blunt and personal, but… He felt rather blunt and personal right now.

1815: you okay?

1815: i didn’t chris angel genderfreak you did i

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no, but i think you might be on to something

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: who are you?

Lena clapped a hand against her forehead.

1815: just a big bird on her journey to find real magic

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: big bird?

1815: 1815

1815: IBIS

Lena smiled.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: duh :facepalm:

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: well. thanks for the gender workshop, big bird

1815: anytime my human gender protege

1815: with a 4 letter name that starts with L

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: well fairs fair tell me yours (if you wanna)

1815: nah i’m a secretive bird

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: can a bro buy a vowel? 

1815: okay, sure :) but it’ll cost you

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: only fair

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has changed their nick to ‘B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_’. ==

== User ‘B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_’ gifted user ‘1815’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

1815: there’s an o. in the middle

**B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_ cherishes the letter O, holding it close to their chest.**

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: thanks

== User ‘1814’ has changed their nick to ‘1815!’. ==

1815!: np, thank u! was fun talkin

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: t’was

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: ttyl?

1815!: sure /me smiles

1815!: oop

**1815! smiles.**

**B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_ smiles.**

Over the comfy cacophony of her music, she heard a knock at the front door. She rolled away from her desk and to the door, swinging it open and running down the living room stairs and across the hard wood floor of the foyer.

She swung it open, and standing before her was…

Her grandmother.

6:32 A.M.

Jones sat outside the White Picket Trench with his guitar, strumming away at a chord progression that had entered his left hand in his 20’s, and had never left. Playing always came as easy as breathing, sometimes easier, but he’d made certain sacrifices for his age.

Dropping the last two strings from most chords made them fall a little flat, but it sounded better than if he tried to play them with his gnarled pinky and failed. Instead, his stub finger held them still, muting them. His hand had long relearned a G chord with this new technique, but his ear knew the difference.

Just as his body knew the difference between subtle changes in temperature, you could just tell when someone flubs one of the notes in a chord. He’d told himself that anyone walking by likely wouldn’t care, but he cared, and he was sure if the old man was here, he’d be chiding him for his improper play.

“Well, it pays the bills, pops.” His whisper was eaten by the wind, and he knew no one would get close enough to actually listen. Anyone who saw his lips moving assumed he was singing, and he was, in a way. The wind took his words, and returned another’s, intermixed with the melody that blew gently past his ear.

“And what bills are those? Ain’t no gas bill for living on the street, you worthless chud.”

He chuckled, eyes still closed. He may be a lonely dick, but his old man did one thing right: he put the music in his son.

Guitar was the only instrument Jones had fallen in love with, but he had flirted with many more. Piano would still call his heart at times, and when he felt the ache, the library on Beachwood had an old grand piano that Janice at the front desk would let him play some mornings, if it wasn’t too busy. 

It was an old, out of tune piece of crap, but it made a nice match with him.

He finished the song, as much as any song is ever finished, and looked up at the sun. It was pretty late by now. He wondered what was keeping Lena from opening? She’d been late before, but always had good excuses. She was a good girl, and he didn’t mind waiting.

He strummed the intro to another meandering improvisation, letting it fill his mind. It wandered, making its way through the many stories it told itself when it wasn’t in direct communication with him, as it was now. The young man he’d met yesterday morning, he’d asked him about his Father.

Was it a coincidence that he was in the wind this morning? He supposed he’d been thinking about the old man… Mother had been haunted by the lack of explanation, and it had hurt Jones, but… If the voices he heard were really their spirit visiting him, shouldn’t he ask?

He’d never thought to. His Father’s visits were brief, and always insulting. He supposed that was in character, but there was always a part of himself that whispered that the voice in his head was just that: a construction of his mind.

He settled further into the song, and began seeking the voice of his father. 

6:48 A.M.

“Mornin, Grandma.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Lena.”

“Yes, ma’am. Can I take that?”

“Please do. It’s awful airish out there, but I know you got the temp high in here.”

“Guilty.”

“You didn’t sleep a wink, did you?”

“No, ma’am. Homework.”

“I said no bullshit, Levi.”

“How do you do that?”

“A-do what, child?”

“Nothing, sorry. How the hell did you get up here?”

“I back pocket drove, quick trip.”

“G-ma, we talked about this, that is not safe.”

“I’ve been doing it since I was younger than your mother was when she had you, boy.”

“And how did she die, huh?”

“I only go with good drivers. Only good people stop for an old lady on the side of the road, and good people are good drivers.”

“I guess. I’m glad you’re here safe though. How’s Rod?”

“You know him. Man was born to be hung.”

“Uh…”

“Not like that, foul child.”

“Thank god.”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose…”

“Shush!”

“Aw, let an old woman live, girlie.”

“Fine. Live, but do it when I’m out of the house. Oh shit, speaking of…”

“You late again? Stupid child.”

“Fuck you too, Gramma!”

“You got the bedroom set up for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Phone, wallet, keys?”

“Yeah.”

“Grammy kiss?”

“Uhh, no.”

“C’mere. Love you, baby.”

“Love you--Ah!”

“Ow! What was that for?”

“There was a-a bug on you! Big fucking thing. Wow.”

“Oh, yes. Cicada.”

“The hell are you doing with a cicada on your shawl, woman?”

“You would know, if you had awakened yet.”

“Grandma, we talked about this.”

“Some are late bloomers, that is all that I’m saying…”

“Sure. Show me some proof, someday, and I’ll think about it.”

“Think about this:”

“Oh, Jesus, here we go.”

“Hush. Everyone, every being, every object, works on its own form of life force. Some-”

“Some forms interpret it in different ways but at the core they are all the same, yes Gramma I know, I have to go!”

“Fine. One last hug. It is good seeing you, Loux.”

“Seriously, what is up with that? Don’t smile at me like that, you mischievous bitch!”

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

The door clicked closed, and Levi’s grandmother locked it. She smiled to herself, and picked up the dead cicada from the floor of his living room. 

He’s a good kid. Just needs some time.

A late bloomer.

7:16 A.M.

Jones was so far deep inside of the song that he didn’t notice as Lena strolled past him to unlock the door.

She stopped, looking down at him as he sang silent words. She stopped with the door half open, then leaned on the glass door, watching him, rapt, for longer than she had ever before.

It was beautiful, an ongoing, always evolving fugue that looped around itself in a thick, multi tonal stream of music. His fingers sped up and down the fret board, resting only briefly when they did at all. Eventually, she had to step inside, leaving him to his mantra. 

He spent hours in the song, searching for his father’s voice in the wind.

7:22 A.M. 

The sun had fully risen. The mountain drank up the blood-red light. 

For the second time that day, Parker died.

7:23 A.M.

Sam yawned. The sun had just risen over the horizon, and was spilling into her little sliver of the collections office. She thought about taking a break to go smoke, just so she could feel the cold February air heat up in the presence of the sun.

 While she was out there, she could call Parker, and ask how his job search was going. Then maybe ask him if he wanted to grab a bite to eat with her and Jack later tonight. She wondered how it went with Levi. He was definitely a character, but so was Parker, at times. They would be good for each other, and she knew that Levi was in a tight spot right now…

Stopping with her hand halfway to the bag that held her pack of cigarettes, she realized she’d quit smoking two years ago.

When would it finally stick? She’d put down her last cigarette in June, 2020.

God, but she could use one right now. 

The need came on her less and less, but when it did, it was strong, and lingered for a long time. She would need to replace that urge with something else when she got home. Usually alcohol worked as a substitute, or some mindless video game… But Jack had let Danny borrow the PS4. Damn.

And then her phone began to ring. Not her desk phone, but her personal phone. It was an unknown number.

She sighed deeply, crossed her legs, and picked it up.

It seemed the universe had already decided; today was just going to be one of those days.

“Hello, how may I help you?”

“Hi, is this, Sameera Daylily?” The woman’s voice was low, almost sultry as she spoke.

“Yes, this is her speaking, you can call me Sam.”

“Hello, Sam.” Her voice remained level as she spoke. “This is Investigator Horne of the FBI speaking. Would you be available to answer a few questions today?”

Oh, fuck.

8:01 A.M.

“Give me the headline, Sarah Beth.”

“FBI foiled by conwoman kidnapper, escapes containment, local police bewildered.” Sarah Beth tapped her favorite pen against her lip as she leaned back, letting the words breathe in the space between her and Leonard.

He sat across from her, in the same positions they had been in for hours. Finishing the last bite of the bagel Bell had brought them, he likewise chewed the words. Then he shook his head.

“Too… Saturday morning cartoon. Foiled? Too wordy,” he said.

His phone began to ring, and he stared down at the name on the receiver angrily. 

“Bell’s mother. Christ,” he rubbed the bridge of his nose, then picked up the phone.“Keep working at it,” he grunted, then shooed Sarah Beth out of his office as he took the call.

She stood staring out at the absolute chaos that had overtaken the larger office. Marco ran copies of the release forms between the two interviewees, both sitting patiently in the waiting room while Bell finished up their last minute make up.

Sarah Beth crossed the room to where a small refreshments table had been set up, grabbing one of the muffins Bell had brought from the bakery she worked at. She stared at the small woman rush between her make-up station and the guests as she bit into the cran-blueberry muffin.

“I had no idea you did that,” she called out to Bell, who was packing away her kit.

“Huh?” The young girl looked up at Sarah Beth through a sheath of kinked black hair, flashing a brief but beautiful smile. “Oh, yeah.” She giggled quietly, then stepped close to her, whispering. “You like those? I made them myself.”

“Wow,” Sarah Beth said dumbly as she looked down at the muffin. Then, panicking, she took another bite. “Itfs fo goog!” she said through the mouthful.

“They’re my favorite too!” She had the good grace not to disgustedly walk away. “But makeup is my passion. I’m going to school for it,” she explained. “You’re Sarah, right?”

“Sarah Beth,” she said after a large swallow. “And you’re Bell?” Like I don’t know.

“Yup! I’m Mr. Grant’s daughter. He said he needed some help up here, and I figured--What’s a coffee and bagel run? He caught me just after the morning rush, so I-”

She was interrupted by Marco, tapping Sarah Beth’s shoulder.

“Eh, sorry, SB?” He looked pleadingly at her, nodding to the two waiting guests. The camera’s and lights had been set up, and the first interviewee had been sat down in the middle of the frame. She was an older woman, hair just starting to gray, but it was obvious she had been beautiful. 

The second guest was Young and Pretty herself, the woman who worked the police department’s front desk. Sarah Beth thought her name might have been Kim. Apparently she went for tea with Bell. She momentarily filled with jealousy, then shook her head.

“Right,” she said, looking at Bell regretfully. “Sorry.”

Bell shook her head, hair cascading down in perfect rows. “S’okay. You’re a busy woman. Go kill it,” she said, smiling broadly.

Sarah Beth couldn’t help smiling back at her. She turned to the guest, looking briefly at Marco to give her the all okay. He nodded from behind a mountain of sound and visual equipment, giving her a thumbs up for good measure.

“You said your name was Investigator Horne?” Sarah Beth nodded to the older woman, who looked directly into the camera without being asked.

The woman was fiddling with a small wooden block, some insectoid design partially carved out of a blond, hard, wood. “Yes. Can we make this quick, please?”

“Of course, ma’am. I’d just like to ask you a few questions. How did Kyle Montgomery know this Natalie Dempsey?”

“Well…” The older woman nodded once, her voice low.

8:46 A.M.

Officer Odom had already sweat through his thin, blue button up. He threw on his police jacket, figuring that would hide the sweat stains and cut a nice figure. He stared into his small office’s bathroom mirror. He smelled and looked fine, and not at all like he’d been hungover and barely awake forty five minutes ago.

He’d been woken up by the boss. The press fucks were asking for a clip. The Chief of Police needed to put a good spin on this bitch escaping arrest. 

This was going to suck, but it’d be over soon. Maybe five minutes. “Fine”, he said to himself. “Do your worst, universe. I’m gonna be on T.V..”

He stepped out of his office, and glided through the station like he was in a dream. He stopped by Kim’s desk, and nearly began hitting on her before he even looked. That was right. She’d been taken by the fucking press.

He took his buck-tooth grin and James Dean lean off of Kim’s desk, and walked through the front door, a faint smile melting to his serious-business face he used when talking to criminals or the victims of criminals.

The cameras. The fucking cameras were already set up, staring at him, eating his face and making him news. It disgusted him. He walked with his head down, bald spot showing he was sure, like he had some serious shit to say. He supposed he did. 

Finally, he made it to the wooden lectern someone had placed in front of the Old Hill Rock. He looked down at the script that had been placed in front of him, and couldn’t help but laugh. He already felt like a puppet, did he really need a reminder that there was a hand so far up his ass he could taste the dirt under its nails?

He recovered from the mistake, clearing his throat. Looking out across the crowd, he picked one camera, and stuck to it. There was a beautifully tall woman behind it, and she did the sign of the cross across her chest as he settled on their camera.

Making girlie’s days, left and right, yessiree.

He cleared his mind and his throat, then began to speak.

“I think I speak for the entire Police Department, when I say…”

9:30 A.M.

“We asked Investigator Aubrey Horne, who arrested Natalie Dempsey, how did Kyle Montgomery know this Natalie Dempsey?”

Sarah Beth watched the older FBI agent’s face fill the screen as her words came out of the speakers. They had barely finished up the recording in time for the 9:30 news slot, and it was a bit sloppy, but they would be the first ones reporting on it. 

They had even captured the chief of police giving an official statement. Sure, they weren’t the only ones recording it, but they had gotten the head start. The town millionaire was missing, and the person who did it had escaped from the police department while an experienced FBI agent was watching over her.

It was fucking insane. It was amazing. It was perfect. It was…

“Oh, shit,” she moaned. It was about the time when Artuto usually woke up. She checked her phone, and yup, three missed calls. 

And a fourth one incoming. She stepped outside of the studio, then answered, instantly apologizing. “Arturo, I’m so sorry-”

“Is this you on T.V.?” He was speaking quickly, voice garbled through the phone.

“Uhh, no,” she said. “It’s Juice.”

“Duh!” He said, and she could hear the program in the background of the call. “It’s you though, I can tell your style, just by the way it’s put together.”

She smiled. 

“I mean wow,” he kept on, praising her, almost out of breath. Then, finally. “You did a great job, Sarah Beth.”

“Thank you, Arturo. We made the C.O.P. pretty mad, but we got it first. Thanks for looking after Ray.”

“Ay, no issue. Was my day anyway. Good stuff though. Tell them you need a goddamn raise. I don’t know what time you got here, but it’s too damn early for any decent person to be awake. And you’re decent people, Sarah Beth.”

She laughed musically, though not to her own ears if you’d’ve asked her. “Thanks, Art. I’ll see you soon.”

They both hung up at the same time. 

Sarah Beth looked up at the cold, blue sky, and smiled into the sun.

“Fuck you, Lenoard,” she said, sleep still caught in her throat. “Let me go back, I was dreaming about Bell.”

“Do yourself a favor and keep my daughter’s name out your mouth,” Leonard said amiably. “And come down to the station, please.”

She sighed. “What’s in it for me?”

“Two big Starbucks drinks with your name on ‘em. And a five hour energy,” he said, chuckling deeply.

Sarah Beth took a deep breath, put the phone down, then exhaled as she looked at the clock. She wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep before she had to wake up. He had known that. Fucking dick.

“You’re a fucking dick,” she said, then stood up, startling Beck from his feline slumber as she went to search for yesterday’s pants.

“Lady called off!” he said, feigning shock. “And I don’t trust anyone else to write about this but you.” 

She grinned at the faint praise. Halfway through a hoodie, she said, “You better be paying me on Lady’s step, then.” 

“Aye aye, captain,” he said dryly. “See you in twenty.”

“Sir yes sir, oorah.” She hung up and grabbed her keys from the bedside table, idly scritching Beck’s head as she stepped into her crocs.

“Bye bye,” she said, bending down to kiss the top of his furry, black head. He rubbed into her chin, following her off of the bed and out of the room as she went to collect Ray. He cried as she picked him up, swaddling the 18 month old tight in his blankets after a quick diaper change.

She replaced his pacifier after a harried search, and shushed him back to a blissful silence as she locked the door of her apartment behind her. She rushed down the stairs carefully, kissing Ray’s head whenever he got a little fussy at being awake this early.

In no time, he was asleep in his car seat, and she was starting the engine. They rolled out of Main Street Apartments’ newly paved driveway, and headed towards her ex-husband’s house.

Arturo wouldn’t like having to look after his son a few hours more than he’s used to without warning, but if the job was as important as Leonard made it sound, he would have to suck it up. He wasted most of his day anyway. That, and she had to keep up appearances. 

Sarah Beth could not let Leonard find out that she had a kid.

4:42 A.M.

Sarah Beth blinked sleepily as she stepped into the office, letting the door bang closed behind her.

Two coffees and a five hour energy was sitting pretty on the front desk, beads of condensation sliding down the plastic cups and onto the cardboard cup holder.

“He spoke true,” she murmured, stepping up to the cups and popping one of the straws out of its paper container and into her mouth, crane necking it into the drink.

It tasted good. Seven-dollars-too-expensive good. But still, not worth waking up this early, especially after taking Dante to his Dad. She grabbed the drinks, walking back through the small office’s cubicles to the only office with a light on. The sun hadn’t even risen.

She shoed the door open, and prepared her best glare.

Leonard’s office was impeccable, dust free and teak everywhere it could be. In the middle of his desk sat an ancient, coffee brown typewriter, perfectly maintained, yet still obviously heavily used. Behind it, looming totemically, was Lenoard. A tall man with a skinny face, laugh lines creased his cheeks as he stared down at Sarah Beth.

He was not smiling now. 

"Your twenty minutes late." He squinted at her.

"Hair care day," she lied. "Hair comes first." Her hair was tightly pulled into a bun on top of her head. “So what’s the big deal?” Sarah Beth asked, breathing in the fresh pine sent of Lenoard’s office.

He held up one narrow finger to silence her, then used it to gingerly press the play a voicemail on his mobile phone.

It was a young lady's voice. Bell's voice. "Hi daddy! Just wanted to call and tell you about what happened at tea tonight. Kim told me about something that happened at the police station, I don't know if you've heard about it? They arrested the guy, or I guess girl who kidnapped Kyle, she was pretending to be a man, and might have killed him! Kim said she worked for Kyle for over a year! Here's the craziest part-"

Her voice cut off abruptly as Leonard ended the recording.

“Okay, and?” She asked, placing the two coffees on his desk as she cracked the cap of the five hour energy and downed it.

“Perpetrator escaped,” he said.

“How?”

He leaned in, meaningfully. “No one knows. I made some calls, they’re going to send me the camera footage. Officer Newcastle is swinging by, soon as he can.”

“Okay, so, some girl is conning a rich guy on city council. Does it Mulan style, but then gets arrested for his kidnapping slash possible murder. Then she goes and pulls a Houdini, leaving all the cops--Jesus Len, you’re right, this is a good story. We the first ones on this? The Sun ain’t on it yet?”

“Nope. Thank God Bell has dates with Young and Pretty at the station.”

“Shit.” Sarah Beth moved the coffee on the floor, pulling a small laptop from her purse as she spoke. “Shit, okay. We need that footage.”

“Yep.”

“And we need that--whoever was there when she disappeared, get them on the line for an interview, Len.”

“On it,” and he was.

“Fuck, is Juice on for newscast today? We need her.”

“Her day off. Danny’s today,” he said, phone pinned to his head as he dialed a number.

“Call Juice. Need her. Only her,” she said, attention pouring the word processor.

“Yes, I’ll hold.” Then, to her, “I’ll call Juice next.”

Sarah Beth handed him her phone. “You’ve got two hands, don’t you?” 

5:25 A.M.

5:25 A.M. 

And Parker still hadn’t shown up.

The five fluttered to a six on the dark desk, the clock face lit only by the bright, orange light of a monitor. Instrumental hip hop filled the room, resonating quietly from expensive speakers set throughout the room.

5:26 A.M.

The phrase, burning the midnight oil, came to mind. Although it was incorrect. Burning tomorrow’s midnight oil was more like it.

The clock shuttered to 5:27.

5:27 was a tricky time. The 27 was the sticker, really. It was just too late in the hour. Consider a healthy 5:03.

At 5:03, you could look at your shitty custom Linux clock UI and say to yourself, hey, I can go to bed in a little bit, and it’ll still count as going to bed at 5:00. Even though you know you’re not going to, it still feels better. Even a 5:13 was manageable; it took a little more convincing, but it was manageable.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, 5:48 was workable too. You could say you were going to bed at 6:00, just stop whatever you’re doing at 6:00 and be done with it. 5:58 was even better.

But 5:27? There was just no hope. You just had to find something to do for the next while. You could not just call it a night at night at 5:30. That just felt wrong to Lena.

Or was it Levi?

They stopped to consider. Then, as they did whenever this issue occurred, they asked the group chat. They were generally amusing, and happened to be good at turning a 27 into a 58.

Levi smirked. Maybe they had a bit of a crush? It would not be the first time. Others had been kicked for simping too hard.

== User ‘ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has joined ‘#a)(witch)(needs)(some)(help’. 4 user(s) present. 2 witch(es) lurking. ==

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yo witches

1815: Hiya

Jeru111: sup bispi

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i need some help

Jeru111: then i do believe you’re in the right channel!

1815: falling behind on your IT homework again or something? :3

Ainsel: What is it with the overlap of witches and software developers?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: woah hi n00bie

Jeru111: @ainsel; something something trans girl socks

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: ^

1815: ^

Ainsel: ^

1815: Whatchu need help with bi

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: don’t know who i am right now

Ainsel: Like 

Ainsel: metaphysically

Ainsel: ………….?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no like. Name wise

Jeru111: so, yes

Ainsel: Oh. I don’t know your name, I’m new here. All I know is that you host

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: who invited u ainsel

Ainsel: D4NT3

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: dante’s tight

1815: virgil disagrees

Jeru111: they passed the entrance exam pretty well

Jeru111: i didn’t fuck with the form this time because they seemed like they actually wanted to learn

Ainsel: I do

Jeru111: brownnoser!

Anisel: I mean. Sure

Ainsel: A witch wants some help, doesn’t she?

Ainsel: she might get some shit on her nose in the process

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: lol

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: here for making me l0l you get your first symb

Ainsel: what?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: nobod

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: cmon guys n0b0dy told her?

Ainsel: ???

Jeru111: numbers/symbols in name = rank in server basically

Jeru111: more leety name means u been here longer. More trusted/chanOP

Ainsel: Oh. so bispiritual (Did i get that right) has a ton cause they host the server

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yeah (yes)

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: and you can trade them. I have a ton so it doesn’t matter 4 me but 

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: “/givesymb Ainsel 1” to do it if someone said something rlly funny

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: or helped you out

Ainsel: like Kandi bracelets 

Jeru111: xactly

== User ‘ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has changed their nick to ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ gifted user ‘Ainsel’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

Jeru111: Use it wisley!

1815: Use it wisley!

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has returned. ==

U53 17 W1513Y: Use it wisley! <3

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has awayed. ==

Jeru111: best bot ever written

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: fuck you all i should have never given the rat bot perms

== User ‘Jeru111’ gifted user ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has returned. ==

U53 17 W1513Y: Use it wisley! <3

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has awayed. ==

Ainsel: lmfao

1815: just fix the typo silly

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: never 

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i only fix the programming errors not typos #efficient

== User ‘Ainsel’ has changed their nick to “4insel’. ==

Jeru111: nice

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: w00t!

1815: gratz!! :D 

4insel: Thanks everyone

4insel: you said you needed help though @bispiritual  

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yes with finding my name rn

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: it’s one of three and i can’t figure it out

1815: I can help

1815 was one of the oldest members of the group. Lena… No, Levi--. Loux shifted in the chair as they stared at the name. They were always helpful, and were almost always the first one to respond to Loux when they posted.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: how ?

1815: we’ll have an example discussion. I’ll gage which you are by that

Their smile widened as their hands flew across the keyboard, typing quickly, then tapped enter.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: okay. i’m game :)

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: let’s me and you DM.

The clock read 5:59 A.M. Loux didn’t see it.

6:00 A.M.

It was Thursday morning, and there was a baby in his house.

Arturo had come to this realization moments after he’d been woken up by screaming. He’d been rushing into his study with a loaded pistol, when he saw that there was a baby in the crib, crying his little heart out.

It helped, he supposed, that it was his baby. Little Ray was all grown up it seemed, and had learned to walk the fifty minutes to his daddy’s house all by himself. That, or his Mami had decided (once again) that she wasn’t good enough to be Ray’s Mother, and had dumped all the responsibility on Arturo.

“That’s silly,” Arturo told Ray as he expertly changed him out of his diaper and pajamas. “Mami’s a great mother.” Ray giggled as his Dad kissed him, blowing a raspberry on his forehead. “She’s a horrible wife though,” he said seriously.

And so the morning passed as it usually would, the two watching baby T.V. and eating baby oatmeal as the sun crept through the curtains and played on the plastic baby furniture. Ray played with a set of wooden cars on the carpet as Arturo put the finishing touches on the model he was painting.

Arturo was an only child, so Ray happily reaped the undivided spoils of his abuelita’s generosity, filling his house with toys for him and his son alike. The two were almost perfect mirrors of each other, spilling away hours with intermittent feasting (these signaled to Ray with the word ‘bite’ said in a proffering tone) and playing.

He only found the note when he went outside with Ray to batch prime a new set of models. It was clearly written in Sarah Beth’s looping cursive, barely legible to Arturo. He let Ray chase a ball in his backyard as he puzzled it out.

Arturo,

Sorry. Work called. Big deal. I’ll pay you back, I promise.

P.S.

I PROMISE. Thank you.

Love you and Ray,

S.B.J.

He looked at their son, laughing as he chased a bird in the back lawn. “Sarah Beth Jackson,” he whispered, eyes watering. “That job is going to kill you.”

6:01 A.M.

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has joined ‘#direct)(message)(hub)(’. 15 user(s) present. 32 witch(es) lurking. ==

Lena liked to imagine this channel as a park. Many people talking, but talking quietly in the same place, with birds and dogs and squirrels lazing about. The IRC client she had written herself for the coven had no direct messaging feature built in. Instead, there was a command to have only one person see a message.

Every community, even if it was three people, had drama. Lena’s cybercoven had proven no different. This system of DM had made for a quick and easy to the skinhead wiccan that had snuck in last month

Lena was the only one who had access to them, and even then, she had programmed an hour timer into the command, so she’d actually have to think about the issue instead of just peeking into a person’s private life for no reason.

She’d found that these people trusted her, for better or for worse. She was working hard at becoming the best server owner she could, and took it seriously. She still had time for the bants, though. Speaking of…

Lena laughed, then closed her eyes, vibing to the music for a moment as she typed out her next response. 

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: so how do we do this?

1815: well lets see. What are your options?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: lena/levi/loux

1815: .

1815: loux?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yea

1815: how is that

1815: like how is that even pronounced?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: loo

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: like the guy from ringworld

1815: man’s in my dm’s Louis Woo posting

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: look i was an impressionable youth and my gma had niven on her bookshelf what can i say

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i had no choice

1815: tbh he’s pretty trans

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: transed by a 80 y/o sifi author trying desperately to write about spaceships, so sad

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: also no. he’s really not

1815: bullshit have you even ringed a world b4?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: okay fair. no. but i have Started the book many times, and that man is a womanizer

1815: okay so that’s like saying zuko is an asshole cause you watched the first episode 

1815: he’s got to have his character arc man

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: does somebody Womanize loui woo?????

1815: r.a.f.o. ;3

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: FU 3:

1815: anyway i just have never seen that name before with an x

1815: y cant you be a normal nonbinary and be like. Stone

1815: Oliver

1815: Branch

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: moss

1815: river, you get it

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: Many such cases

1815: Many such cases!

Loux read the words, thinking deeply for a moment before closing their eyes and humming quietly. They looked inside of their center, or at least tried to do something that felt like that, and…

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: short answer; because that’s not me

1815: long answeR?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: uh

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i’m not nb i’m genderqueer and not really even that. I think I might be two spirit

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: which is like this native american thing. I don’t know much about it but my grandma keeps saying that’s what i am

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: but in my soul i feel like there’s three selves that make up ME

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: like

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: the divine trinity

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: male/female/neither[other]

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: and one of them usually wins out. that’s who i end up feeling like that day

1815: interesting

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: but today it’s just. all

1815: are they alters?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no, not really. all me 

1815: okay well do you want my opinion

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: sure

1815: i think their may be a fourth you. Or maybe a secret, always you you

1815: an amalg of all the options that’s just…

1815: un nameable. truer than true

She didn’t know. Maybe 1815 was right? That threw a spanner in his identity.

But a spanner can be a useful tool, when it’s a spanner you need.

1815 had sent another message, and Levi realized he’d been staring at the screen for a few minutes now.

He realized the question was rather blunt and personal, but… He felt rather blunt and personal right now.

1815: you okay?

1815: i didn’t chris angel genderfreak you did i

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no, but i think you might be on to something

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: who are you?

Lena clapped a hand against her forehead.

1815: just a big bird on her journey to find real magic

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: big bird?

1815: 1815

1815: IBIS

Lena smiled.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: duh :facepalm:

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: well. thanks for the gender workshop, big bird

1815: anytime my human gender protege

1815: with a 4 letter name that starts with L

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: well fairs fair tell me yours (if you wanna)

1815: nah i’m a secretive bird

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: can a bro buy a vowel? 

1815: okay, sure :) but it’ll cost you

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: only fair

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has changed their nick to ‘B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_’. ==

== User ‘B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_’ gifted user ‘1815’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

1815: there’s an o. in the middle

**B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_ cherishes the letter O, holding it close to their chest.**

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: thanks

== User ‘1814’ has changed their nick to ‘1815!’. ==

1815!: np, thank u! was fun talkin

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: t’was

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: ttyl?

1815!: sure /me smiles

1815!: oop

**1815! smiles.**

**B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_ smiles.**

Over the comfy cacophony of her music, she heard a knock at the front door. She rolled away from her desk and to the door, swinging it open and running down the living room stairs and across the hard wood floor of the foyer.

She swung it open, and standing before her was…

Her grandmother.

6:32 A.M.

Jones sat outside the White Picket Trench with his guitar, strumming away at a chord progression that had entered his left hand in his 20’s, and had never left. Playing always came as easy as breathing, sometimes easier, but he’d made certain sacrifices for his age.

Dropping the last two strings from most chords made them fall a little flat, but it sounded better than if he tried to play them with his gnarled pinky and failed. Instead, his stub finger held them still, muting them. His hand had long relearned a G chord with this new technique, but his ear knew the difference.

Just as his body knew the difference between subtle changes in temperature, you could just tell when someone flubs one of the notes in a chord. He’d told himself that anyone walking by likely wouldn’t care, but he cared, and he was sure if the old man was here, he’d be chiding him for his improper play.

“Well, it pays the bills, pops.” His whisper was eaten by the wind, and he knew no one would get close enough to actually listen. Anyone who saw his lips moving assumed he was singing, and he was, in a way. The wind took his words, and returned another’s, intermixed with the melody that blew gently past his ear.

“And what bills are those? Ain’t no gas bill for living on the street, you worthless chud.”

He chuckled, eyes still closed. He may be a lonely dick, but his old man did one thing right: he put the music in his son.

Guitar was the only instrument Jones had fallen in love with, but he had flirted with many more. Piano would still call his heart at times, and when he felt the ache, the library on Beachwood had an old grand piano that Janice at the front desk would let him play some mornings, if it wasn’t too busy. 

It was an old, out of tune piece of crap, but it made a nice match with him.

He finished the song, as much as any song is ever finished, and looked up at the sun. It was pretty late by now. He wondered what was keeping Lena from opening? She’d been late before, but always had good excuses. She was a good girl, and he didn’t mind waiting.

He strummed the intro to another meandering improvisation, letting it fill his mind. It wandered, making its way through the many stories it told itself when it wasn’t in direct communication with him, as it was now. The young man he’d met yesterday morning, he’d asked him about his Father.

Was it a coincidence that he was in the wind this morning? He supposed he’d been thinking about the old man… Mother had been haunted by the lack of explanation, and it had hurt Jones, but… If the voices he heard were really their spirit visiting him, shouldn’t he ask?

He’d never thought to. His Father’s visits were brief, and always insulting. He supposed that was in character, but there was always a part of himself that whispered that the voice in his head was just that: a construction of his mind.

He settled further into the song, and began seeking the voice of his father. 

6:48 A.M.

“Mornin, Grandma.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Lena.”

“Yes, ma’am. Can I take that?”

“Please do. It’s awful airish out there, but I know you got the temp high in here.”

“Guilty.”

“You didn’t sleep a wink, did you?”

“No, ma’am. Homework.”

“I said no bullshit, Levi.”

“How do you do that?”

“A-do what, child?”

“Nothing, sorry. How the hell did you get up here?”

“I back pocket drove, quick trip.”

“G-ma, we talked about this, that is not safe.”

“I’ve been doing it since I was younger than your mother was when she had you, boy.”

“And how did she die, huh?”

“I only go with good drivers. Only good people stop for an old lady on the side of the road, and good people are good drivers.”

“I guess. I’m glad you’re here safe though. How’s Rod?”

“You know him. Man was born to be hung.”

“Uh…”

“Not like that, foul child.”

“Thank god.”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose…”

“Shush!”

“Aw, let an old woman live, girlie.”

“Fine. Live, but do it when I’m out of the house. Oh shit, speaking of…”

“You late again? Stupid child.”

“Fuck you too, Gramma!”

“You got the bedroom set up for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Phone, wallet, keys?”

“Yeah.”

“Grammy kiss?”

“Uhh, no.”

“C’mere. Love you, baby.”

“Love you--Ah!”

“Ow! What was that for?”

“There was a-a bug on you! Big fucking thing. Wow.”

“Oh, yes. Cicada.”

“The hell are you doing with a cicada on your shawl, woman?”

“You would know, if you had awakened yet.”

“Grandma, we talked about this.”

“Some are late bloomers, that is all that I’m saying…”

“Sure. Show me some proof, someday, and I’ll think about it.”

“Think about this:”

“Oh, Jesus, here we go.”

“Hush. Everyone, every being, every object, works on its own form of life force. Some-”

“Some forms interpret it in different ways but at the core they are all the same, yes Gramma I know, I have to go!”

“Fine. One last hug. It is good seeing you, Loux.”

“Seriously, what is up with that? Don’t smile at me like that, you mischievous bitch!”

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

The door clicked closed, and Levi’s grandmother locked it. She smiled to herself, and picked up the dead cicada from the floor of his living room. 

He’s a good kid. Just needs some time.

A late bloomer.

7:16 A.M.

Jones was so far deep inside of the song that he didn’t notice as Lena strolled past him to unlock the door.

She stopped, looking down at him as he sang silent words. She stopped with the door half open, then leaned on the glass door, watching him, rapt, for longer than she had ever before.

It was beautiful, an ongoing, always evolving fugue that looped around itself in a thick, multi tonal stream of music. His fingers sped up and down the fret board, resting only briefly when they did at all. Eventually, she had to step inside, leaving him to his mantra. 

He spent hours in the song, searching for his father’s voice in the wind.

7:22 A.M. 

The sun had fully risen. The mountain drank up the blood-red light. 

For the second time that day, Parker died.

7:23 A.M.

Sam yawned. The sun had just risen over the horizon, and was spilling into her little sliver of the collections office. She thought about taking a break to go smoke, just so she could feel the cold February air heat up in the presence of the sun.

 While she was out there, she could call Parker, and ask how his job search was going. Then maybe ask him if he wanted to grab a bite to eat with her and Jack later tonight. She wondered how it went with Levi. He was definitely a character, but so was Parker, at times. They would be good for each other, and she knew that Levi was in a tight spot right now…

Stopping with her hand halfway to the bag that held her pack of cigarettes, she realized she’d quit smoking two years ago.

When would it finally stick? She’d put down her last cigarette in June, 2020.

God, but she could use one right now. 

The need came on her less and less, but when it did, it was strong, and lingered for a long time. She would need to replace that urge with something else when she got home. Usually alcohol worked as a substitute, or some mindless video game… But Jack had let Danny borrow the PS4. Damn.

And then her phone began to ring. Not her desk phone, but her personal phone. It was an unknown number.

She sighed deeply, crossed her legs, and picked it up.

It seemed the universe had already decided; today was just going to be one of those days.

“Hello, how may I help you?”

“Hi, is this, Sameera Daylily?” The woman’s voice was low, almost sultry as she spoke.

“Yes, this is her speaking, you can call me Sam.”

“Hello, Sam.” Her voice remained level as she spoke. “This is Investigator Horne of the FBI speaking. Would you be available to answer a few questions today?”

Oh, fuck.

8:01 A.M.

“Give me the headline, Sarah Beth.”

“FBI foiled by conwoman kidnapper, escapes containment, local police bewildered.” Sarah Beth tapped her favorite pen against her lip as she leaned back, letting the words breathe in the space between her and Leonard.

He sat across from her, in the same positions they had been in for hours. Finishing the last bite of the bagel Bell had brought them, he likewise chewed the words. Then he shook his head.

“Too… Saturday morning cartoon. Foiled? Too wordy,” he said.

His phone began to ring, and he stared down at the name on the receiver angrily. 

“Bell’s mother. Christ,” he rubbed the bridge of his nose, then picked up the phone.“Keep working at it,” he grunted, then shooed Sarah Beth out of his office as he took the call.

She stood staring out at the absolute chaos that had overtaken the larger office. Marco ran copies of the release forms between the two interviewees, both sitting patiently in the waiting room while Bell finished up their last minute make up.

Sarah Beth crossed the room to where a small refreshments table had been set up, grabbing one of the muffins Bell had brought from the bakery she worked at. She stared at the small woman rush between her make-up station and the guests as she bit into the cran-blueberry muffin.

“I had no idea you did that,” she called out to Bell, who was packing away her kit.

“Huh?” The young girl looked up at Sarah Beth through a sheath of kinked black hair, flashing a brief but beautiful smile. “Oh, yeah.” She giggled quietly, then stepped close to her, whispering. “You like those? I made them myself.”

“Wow,” Sarah Beth said dumbly as she looked down at the muffin. Then, panicking, she took another bite. “Itfs fo goog!” she said through the mouthful.

“They’re my favorite too!” She had the good grace not to disgustedly walk away. “But makeup is my passion. I’m going to school for it,” she explained. “You’re Sarah, right?”

“Sarah Beth,” she said after a large swallow. “And you’re Bell?” Like I don’t know.

“Yup! I’m Mr. Grant’s daughter. He said he needed some help up here, and I figured--What’s a coffee and bagel run? He caught me just after the morning rush, so I-”

She was interrupted by Marco, tapping Sarah Beth’s shoulder.

“Eh, sorry, SB?” He looked pleadingly at her, nodding to the two waiting guests. The camera’s and lights had been set up, and the first interviewee had been sat down in the middle of the frame. She was an older woman, hair just starting to gray, but it was obvious she had been beautiful. 

The second guest was Young and Pretty herself, the woman who worked the police department’s front desk. Sarah Beth thought her name might have been Kim. Apparently she went for tea with Bell. She momentarily filled with jealousy, then shook her head.

“Right,” she said, looking at Bell regretfully. “Sorry.”

Bell shook her head, hair cascading down in perfect rows. “S’okay. You’re a busy woman. Go kill it,” she said, smiling broadly.

Sarah Beth couldn’t help smiling back at her. She turned to the guest, looking briefly at Marco to give her the all okay. He nodded from behind a mountain of sound and visual equipment, giving her a thumbs up for good measure.

“You said your name was Investigator Horne?” Sarah Beth nodded to the older woman, who looked directly into the camera without being asked.

The woman was fiddling with a small wooden block, some insectoid design partially carved out of a blond, hard, wood. “Yes. Can we make this quick, please?”

“Of course, ma’am. I’d just like to ask you a few questions. How did Kyle Montgomery know this Natalie Dempsey?”

“Well…” The older woman nodded once, her voice low.

8:46 A.M.

Officer Odom had already sweat through his thin, blue button up. He threw on his police jacket, figuring that would hide the sweat stains and cut a nice figure. He stared into his small office’s bathroom mirror. He smelled and looked fine, and not at all like he’d been hungover and barely awake forty five minutes ago.

He’d been woken up by the boss. The press fucks were asking for a clip. The Chief of Police needed to put a good spin on this bitch escaping arrest. 

This was going to suck, but it’d be over soon. Maybe five minutes. “Fine”, he said to himself. “Do your worst, universe. I’m gonna be on T.V..”

He stepped out of his office, and glided through the station like he was in a dream. He stopped by Kim’s desk, and nearly began hitting on her before he even looked. That was right. She’d been taken by the fucking press.

He took his buck-tooth grin and James Dean lean off of Kim’s desk, and walked through the front door, a faint smile melting to his serious-business face he used when talking to criminals or the victims of criminals.

The cameras. The fucking cameras were already set up, staring at him, eating his face and making him news. It disgusted him. He walked with his head down, bald spot showing he was sure, like he had some serious shit to say. He supposed he did. 

Finally, he made it to the wooden lectern someone had placed in front of the Old Hill Rock. He looked down at the script that had been placed in front of him, and couldn’t help but laugh. He already felt like a puppet, did he really need a reminder that there was a hand so far up his ass he could taste the dirt under its nails?

He recovered from the mistake, clearing his throat. Looking out across the crowd, he picked one camera, and stuck to it. There was a beautifully tall woman behind it, and she did the sign of the cross across her chest as he settled on their camera.

Making girlie’s days, left and right, yessiree.

He cleared his mind and his throat, then began to speak.

“I think I speak for the entire Police Department, when I say…”

9:30 A.M.

“We asked Investigator Aubrey Horne, who arrested Natalie Dempsey, how did Kyle Montgomery know this Natalie Dempsey?”

Sarah Beth watched the older FBI agent’s face fill the screen as her words came out of the speakers. They had barely finished up the recording in time for the 9:30 news slot, and it was a bit sloppy, but they would be the first ones reporting on it. 

They had even captured the chief of police giving an official statement. Sure, they weren’t the only ones recording it, but they had gotten the head start. The town millionaire was missing, and the person who did it had escaped from the police department while an experienced FBI agent was watching over her.

It was fucking insane. It was amazing. It was perfect. It was…

“Oh, shit,” she moaned. It was about the time when Artuto usually woke up. She checked her phone, and yup, three missed calls. 

And a fourth one incoming. She stepped outside of the studio, then answered, instantly apologizing. “Arturo, I’m so sorry-”

“Is this you on T.V.?” He was speaking quickly, voice garbled through the phone.

“Uhh, no,” she said. “It’s Juice.”

“Duh!” He said, and she could hear the program in the background of the call. “It’s you though, I can tell your style, just by the way it’s put together.”

She smiled. 

“I mean wow,” he kept on, praising her, almost out of breath. Then, finally. “You did a great job, Sarah Beth.”

“Thank you, Arturo. We made the C.O.P. pretty mad, but we got it first. Thanks for looking after Ray.”

“Ay, no issue. Was my day anyway. Good stuff though. Tell them you need a goddamn raise. I don’t know what time you got here, but it’s too damn early for any decent person to be awake. And you’re decent people, Sarah Beth.”

She laughed musically, though not to her own ears if you’d’ve asked her. “Thanks, Art. I’ll see you soon.”

They both hung up at the same time. 

Sarah Beth looked up at the cold, blue sky, and smiled into the sun.

“Fuck you, Lenoard,” she said, sleep still caught in her throat. “Let me go back, I was dreaming about Bell.”

“Do yourself a favor and keep my daughter’s name out your mouth,” Leonard said amiably. “And come down to the station, please.”

She sighed. “What’s in it for me?”

“Two big Starbucks drinks with your name on ‘em. And a five hour energy,” he said, chuckling deeply.

Sarah Beth took a deep breath, put the phone down, then exhaled as she looked at the clock. She wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep before she had to wake up. He had known that. Fucking dick.

“You’re a fucking dick,” she said, then stood up, startling Beck from his feline slumber as she went to search for yesterday’s pants.

“Lady called off!” he said, feigning shock. “And I don’t trust anyone else to write about this but you.” 

She grinned at the faint praise. Halfway through a hoodie, she said, “You better be paying me on Lady’s step, then.” 

“Aye aye, captain,” he said dryly. “See you in twenty.”

“Sir yes sir, oorah.” She hung up and grabbed her keys from the bedside table, idly scritching Beck’s head as she stepped into her crocs.

“Bye bye,” she said, bending down to kiss the top of his furry, black head. He rubbed into her chin, following her off of the bed and out of the room as she went to collect Ray. He cried as she picked him up, swaddling the 18 month old tight in his blankets after a quick diaper change.

She replaced his pacifier after a harried search, and shushed him back to a blissful silence as she locked the door of her apartment behind her. She rushed down the stairs carefully, kissing Ray’s head whenever he got a little fussy at being awake this early.

In no time, he was asleep in his car seat, and she was starting the engine. They rolled out of Main Street Apartments’ newly paved driveway, and headed towards her ex-husband’s house.

Arturo wouldn’t like having to look after his son a few hours more than he’s used to without warning, but if the job was as important as Leonard made it sound, he would have to suck it up. He wasted most of his day anyway. That, and she had to keep up appearances. 

Sarah Beth could not let Leonard find out that she had a kid.

4:42 A.M.

Sarah Beth blinked sleepily as she stepped into the office, letting the door bang closed behind her.

Two coffees and a five hour energy was sitting pretty on the front desk, beads of condensation sliding down the plastic cups and onto the cardboard cup holder.

“He spoke true,” she murmured, stepping up to the cups and popping one of the straws out of its paper container and into her mouth, crane necking it into the drink.

It tasted good. Seven-dollars-too-expensive good. But still, not worth waking up this early, especially after taking Dante to his Dad. She grabbed the drinks, walking back through the small office’s cubicles to the only office with a light on. The sun hadn’t even risen.

She shoed the door open, and prepared her best glare.

Leonard’s office was impeccable, dust free and teak everywhere it could be. In the middle of his desk sat an ancient, coffee brown typewriter, perfectly maintained, yet still obviously heavily used. Behind it, looming totemically, was Lenoard. A tall man with a skinny face, laugh lines creased his cheeks as he stared down at Sarah Beth.

He was not smiling now. 

"Your twenty minutes late." He squinted at her.

"Hair care day," she lied. "Hair comes first." Her hair was tightly pulled into a bun on top of her head. “So what’s the big deal?” Sarah Beth asked, breathing in the fresh pine sent of Lenoard’s office.

He held up one narrow finger to silence her, then used it to gingerly press the play a voicemail on his mobile phone.

It was a young lady's voice. Bell's voice. "Hi daddy! Just wanted to call and tell you about what happened at tea tonight. Kim told me about something that happened at the police station, I don't know if you've heard about it? They arrested the guy, or I guess girl who kidnapped Kyle, she was pretending to be a man, and might have killed him! Kim said she worked for Kyle for over a year! Here's the craziest part-"

Her voice cut off abruptly as Leonard ended the recording.

“Okay, and?” She asked, placing the two coffees on his desk as she cracked the cap of the five hour energy and downed it.

“Perpetrator escaped,” he said.

“How?”

He leaned in, meaningfully. “No one knows. I made some calls, they’re going to send me the camera footage. Officer Newcastle is swinging by, soon as he can.”

“Okay, so, some girl is conning a rich guy on city council. Does it Mulan style, but then gets arrested for his kidnapping slash possible murder. Then she goes and pulls a Houdini, leaving all the cops--Jesus Len, you’re right, this is a good story. We the first ones on this? The Sun ain’t on it yet?”

“Nope. Thank God Bell has dates with Young and Pretty at the station.”

“Shit.” Sarah Beth moved the coffee on the floor, pulling a small laptop from her purse as she spoke. “Shit, okay. We need that footage.”

“Yep.”

“And we need that--whoever was there when she disappeared, get them on the line for an interview, Len.”

“On it,” and he was.

“Fuck, is Juice on for newscast today? We need her.”

“Her day off. Danny’s today,” he said, phone pinned to his head as he dialed a number.

“Call Juice. Need her. Only her,” she said, attention pouring the word processor.

“Yes, I’ll hold.” Then, to her, “I’ll call Juice next.”

Sarah Beth handed him her phone. “You’ve got two hands, don’t you?” 

5:25 A.M.

5:25 A.M. 

And Parker still hadn’t shown up.

The five fluttered to a six on the dark desk, the clock face lit only by the bright, orange light of a monitor. Instrumental hip hop filled the room, resonating quietly from expensive speakers set throughout the room.

5:26 A.M.

The phrase, burning the midnight oil, came to mind. Although it was incorrect. Burning tomorrow’s midnight oil was more like it.

The clock shuttered to 5:27.

5:27 was a tricky time. The 27 was the sticker, really. It was just too late in the hour. Consider a healthy 5:03.

At 5:03, you could look at your shitty custom Linux clock UI and say to yourself, hey, I can go to bed in a little bit, and it’ll still count as going to bed at 5:00. Even though you know you’re not going to, it still feels better. Even a 5:13 was manageable; it took a little more convincing, but it was manageable.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, 5:48 was workable too. You could say you were going to bed at 6:00, just stop whatever you’re doing at 6:00 and be done with it. 5:58 was even better.

But 5:27? There was just no hope. You just had to find something to do for the next while. You could not just call it a night at night at 5:30. That just felt wrong to Lena.

Or was it Levi?

They stopped to consider. Then, as they did whenever this issue occurred, they asked the group chat. They were generally amusing, and happened to be good at turning a 27 into a 58.

Levi smirked. Maybe they had a bit of a crush? It would not be the first time. Others had been kicked for simping too hard.

== User ‘ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has joined ‘#a)(witch)(needs)(some)(help’. 4 user(s) present. 2 witch(es) lurking. ==

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yo witches

1815: Hiya

Jeru111: sup bispi

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i need some help

Jeru111: then i do believe you’re in the right channel!

1815: falling behind on your IT homework again or something? :3

Ainsel: What is it with the overlap of witches and software developers?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: woah hi n00bie

Jeru111: @ainsel; something something trans girl socks

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: ^

1815: ^

Ainsel: ^

1815: Whatchu need help with bi

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: don’t know who i am right now

Ainsel: Like 

Ainsel: metaphysically

Ainsel: ………….?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no like. Name wise

Jeru111: so, yes

Ainsel: Oh. I don’t know your name, I’m new here. All I know is that you host

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: who invited u ainsel

Ainsel: D4NT3

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: dante’s tight

1815: virgil disagrees

Jeru111: they passed the entrance exam pretty well

Jeru111: i didn’t fuck with the form this time because they seemed like they actually wanted to learn

Ainsel: I do

Jeru111: brownnoser!

Anisel: I mean. Sure

Ainsel: A witch wants some help, doesn’t she?

Ainsel: she might get some shit on her nose in the process

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: lol

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: here for making me l0l you get your first symb

Ainsel: what?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: nobod

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: cmon guys n0b0dy told her?

Ainsel: ???

Jeru111: numbers/symbols in name = rank in server basically

Jeru111: more leety name means u been here longer. More trusted/chanOP

Ainsel: Oh. so bispiritual (Did i get that right) has a ton cause they host the server

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yeah (yes)

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: and you can trade them. I have a ton so it doesn’t matter 4 me but 

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: “/givesymb Ainsel 1” to do it if someone said something rlly funny

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: or helped you out

Ainsel: like Kandi bracelets 

Jeru111: xactly

== User ‘ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has changed their nick to ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ gifted user ‘Ainsel’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

Jeru111: Use it wisley!

1815: Use it wisley!

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has returned. ==

U53 17 W1513Y: Use it wisley! <3

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has awayed. ==

Jeru111: best bot ever written

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: fuck you all i should have never given the rat bot perms

== User ‘Jeru111’ gifted user ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has returned. ==

U53 17 W1513Y: Use it wisley! <3

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has awayed. ==

Ainsel: lmfao

1815: just fix the typo silly

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: never 

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i only fix the programming errors not typos #efficient

== User ‘Ainsel’ has changed their nick to “4insel’. ==

Jeru111: nice

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: w00t!

1815: gratz!! :D 

4insel: Thanks everyone

4insel: you said you needed help though @bispiritual  

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yes with finding my name rn

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: it’s one of three and i can’t figure it out

1815: I can help

1815 was one of the oldest members of the group. Lena… No, Levi--. Loux shifted in the chair as they stared at the name. They were always helpful, and were almost always the first one to respond to Loux when they posted.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: how ?

1815: we’ll have an example discussion. I’ll gage which you are by that

Their smile widened as their hands flew across the keyboard, typing quickly, then tapped enter.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: okay. i’m game :)

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: let’s me and you DM.

The clock read 5:59 A.M. Loux didn’t see it.

6:00 A.M.

It was Thursday morning, and there was a baby in his house.

Arturo had come to this realization moments after he’d been woken up by screaming. He’d been rushing into his study with a loaded pistol, when he saw that there was a baby in the crib, crying his little heart out.

It helped, he supposed, that it was his baby. Little Ray was all grown up it seemed, and had learned to walk the fifty minutes to his daddy’s house all by himself. That, or his Mami had decided (once again) that she wasn’t good enough to be Ray’s Mother, and had dumped all the responsibility on Arturo.

“That’s silly,” Arturo told Ray as he expertly changed him out of his diaper and pajamas. “Mami’s a great mother.” Ray giggled as his Dad kissed him, blowing a raspberry on his forehead. “She’s a horrible wife though,” he said seriously.

And so the morning passed as it usually would, the two watching baby T.V. and eating baby oatmeal as the sun crept through the curtains and played on the plastic baby furniture. Ray played with a set of wooden cars on the carpet as Arturo put the finishing touches on the model he was painting.

Arturo was an only child, so Ray happily reaped the undivided spoils of his abuelita’s generosity, filling his house with toys for him and his son alike. The two were almost perfect mirrors of each other, spilling away hours with intermittent feasting (these signaled to Ray with the word ‘bite’ said in a proffering tone) and playing.

He only found the note when he went outside with Ray to batch prime a new set of models. It was clearly written in Sarah Beth’s looping cursive, barely legible to Arturo. He let Ray chase a ball in his backyard as he puzzled it out.

Arturo,

Sorry. Work called. Big deal. I’ll pay you back, I promise.

P.S.

I PROMISE. Thank you.

Love you and Ray,

S.B.J.

He looked at their son, laughing as he chased a bird in the back lawn. “Sarah Beth Jackson,” he whispered, eyes watering. “That job is going to kill you.”

6:01 A.M.

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has joined ‘#direct)(message)(hub)(’. 15 user(s) present. 32 witch(es) lurking. ==

Lena liked to imagine this channel as a park. Many people talking, but talking quietly in the same place, with birds and dogs and squirrels lazing about. The IRC client she had written herself for the coven had no direct messaging feature built in. Instead, there was a command to have only one person see a message.

Every community, even if it was three people, had drama. Lena’s cybercoven had proven no different. This system of DM had made for a quick and easy to the skinhead wiccan that had snuck in last month

Lena was the only one who had access to them, and even then, she had programmed an hour timer into the command, so she’d actually have to think about the issue instead of just peeking into a person’s private life for no reason.

She’d found that these people trusted her, for better or for worse. She was working hard at becoming the best server owner she could, and took it seriously. She still had time for the bants, though. Speaking of…

Lena laughed, then closed her eyes, vibing to the music for a moment as she typed out her next response. 

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: so how do we do this?

1815: well lets see. What are your options?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: lena/levi/loux

1815: .

1815: loux?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yea

1815: how is that

1815: like how is that even pronounced?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: loo

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: like the guy from ringworld

1815: man’s in my dm’s Louis Woo posting

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: look i was an impressionable youth and my gma had niven on her bookshelf what can i say

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i had no choice

1815: tbh he’s pretty trans

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: transed by a 80 y/o sifi author trying desperately to write about spaceships, so sad

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: also no. he’s really not

1815: bullshit have you even ringed a world b4?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: okay fair. no. but i have Started the book many times, and that man is a womanizer

1815: okay so that’s like saying zuko is an asshole cause you watched the first episode 

1815: he’s got to have his character arc man

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: does somebody Womanize loui woo?????

1815: r.a.f.o. ;3

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: FU 3:

1815: anyway i just have never seen that name before with an x

1815: y cant you be a normal nonbinary and be like. Stone

1815: Oliver

1815: Branch

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: moss

1815: river, you get it

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: Many such cases

1815: Many such cases!

Loux read the words, thinking deeply for a moment before closing their eyes and humming quietly. They looked inside of their center, or at least tried to do something that felt like that, and…

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: short answer; because that’s not me

1815: long answeR?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: uh

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i’m not nb i’m genderqueer and not really even that. I think I might be two spirit

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: which is like this native american thing. I don’t know much about it but my grandma keeps saying that’s what i am

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: but in my soul i feel like there’s three selves that make up ME

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: like

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: the divine trinity

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: male/female/neither[other]

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: and one of them usually wins out. that’s who i end up feeling like that day

1815: interesting

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: but today it’s just. all

1815: are they alters?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no, not really. all me 

1815: okay well do you want my opinion

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: sure

1815: i think their may be a fourth you. Or maybe a secret, always you you

1815: an amalg of all the options that’s just…

1815: un nameable. truer than true

She didn’t know. Maybe 1815 was right? That threw a spanner in his identity.

But a spanner can be a useful tool, when it’s a spanner you need.

1815 had sent another message, and Levi realized he’d been staring at the screen for a few minutes now.

He realized the question was rather blunt and personal, but… He felt rather blunt and personal right now.

1815: you okay?

1815: i didn’t chris angel genderfreak you did i

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no, but i think you might be on to something

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: who are you?

Lena clapped a hand against her forehead.

1815: just a big bird on her journey to find real magic

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: big bird?

1815: 1815

1815: IBIS

Lena smiled.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: duh :facepalm:

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: well. thanks for the gender workshop, big bird

1815: anytime my human gender protege

1815: with a 4 letter name that starts with L

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: well fairs fair tell me yours (if you wanna)

1815: nah i’m a secretive bird

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: can a bro buy a vowel? 

1815: okay, sure :) but it’ll cost you

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: only fair

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has changed their nick to ‘B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_’. ==

== User ‘B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_’ gifted user ‘1815’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

1815: there’s an o. in the middle

**B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_ cherishes the letter O, holding it close to their chest.**

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: thanks

== User ‘1814’ has changed their nick to ‘1815!’. ==

1815!: np, thank u! was fun talkin

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: t’was

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: ttyl?

1815!: sure /me smiles

1815!: oop

**1815! smiles.**

**B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_ smiles.**

Over the comfy cacophony of her music, she heard a knock at the front door. She rolled away from her desk and to the door, swinging it open and running down the living room stairs and across the hard wood floor of the foyer.

She swung it open, and standing before her was…

Her grandmother.

6:32 A.M.

Jones sat outside the White Picket Trench with his guitar, strumming away at a chord progression that had entered his left hand in his 20’s, and had never left. Playing always came as easy as breathing, sometimes easier, but he’d made certain sacrifices for his age.

Dropping the last two strings from most chords made them fall a little flat, but it sounded better than if he tried to play them with his gnarled pinky and failed. Instead, his stub finger held them still, muting them. His hand had long relearned a G chord with this new technique, but his ear knew the difference.

Just as his body knew the difference between subtle changes in temperature, you could just tell when someone flubs one of the notes in a chord. He’d told himself that anyone walking by likely wouldn’t care, but he cared, and he was sure if the old man was here, he’d be chiding him for his improper play.

“Well, it pays the bills, pops.” His whisper was eaten by the wind, and he knew no one would get close enough to actually listen. Anyone who saw his lips moving assumed he was singing, and he was, in a way. The wind took his words, and returned another’s, intermixed with the melody that blew gently past his ear.

“And what bills are those? Ain’t no gas bill for living on the street, you worthless chud.”

He chuckled, eyes still closed. He may be a lonely dick, but his old man did one thing right: he put the music in his son.

Guitar was the only instrument Jones had fallen in love with, but he had flirted with many more. Piano would still call his heart at times, and when he felt the ache, the library on Beachwood had an old grand piano that Janice at the front desk would let him play some mornings, if it wasn’t too busy. 

It was an old, out of tune piece of crap, but it made a nice match with him.

He finished the song, as much as any song is ever finished, and looked up at the sun. It was pretty late by now. He wondered what was keeping Lena from opening? She’d been late before, but always had good excuses. She was a good girl, and he didn’t mind waiting.

He strummed the intro to another meandering improvisation, letting it fill his mind. It wandered, making its way through the many stories it told itself when it wasn’t in direct communication with him, as it was now. The young man he’d met yesterday morning, he’d asked him about his Father.

Was it a coincidence that he was in the wind this morning? He supposed he’d been thinking about the old man… Mother had been haunted by the lack of explanation, and it had hurt Jones, but… If the voices he heard were really their spirit visiting him, shouldn’t he ask?

He’d never thought to. His Father’s visits were brief, and always insulting. He supposed that was in character, but there was always a part of himself that whispered that the voice in his head was just that: a construction of his mind.

He settled further into the song, and began seeking the voice of his father. 

6:48 A.M.

“Mornin, Grandma.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Lena.”

“Yes, ma’am. Can I take that?”

“Please do. It’s awful airish out there, but I know you got the temp high in here.”

“Guilty.”

“You didn’t sleep a wink, did you?”

“No, ma’am. Homework.”

“I said no bullshit, Levi.”

“How do you do that?”

“A-do what, child?”

“Nothing, sorry. How the hell did you get up here?”

“I back pocket drove, quick trip.”

“G-ma, we talked about this, that is not safe.”

“I’ve been doing it since I was younger than your mother was when she had you, boy.”

“And how did she die, huh?”

“I only go with good drivers. Only good people stop for an old lady on the side of the road, and good people are good drivers.”

“I guess. I’m glad you’re here safe though. How’s Rod?”

“You know him. Man was born to be hung.”

“Uh…”

“Not like that, foul child.”

“Thank god.”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose…”

“Shush!”

“Aw, let an old woman live, girlie.”

“Fine. Live, but do it when I’m out of the house. Oh shit, speaking of…”

“You late again? Stupid child.”

“Fuck you too, Gramma!”

“You got the bedroom set up for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Phone, wallet, keys?”

“Yeah.”

“Grammy kiss?”

“Uhh, no.”

“C’mere. Love you, baby.”

“Love you--Ah!”

“Ow! What was that for?”

“There was a-a bug on you! Big fucking thing. Wow.”

“Oh, yes. Cicada.”

“The hell are you doing with a cicada on your shawl, woman?”

“You would know, if you had awakened yet.”

“Grandma, we talked about this.”

“Some are late bloomers, that is all that I’m saying…”

“Sure. Show me some proof, someday, and I’ll think about it.”

“Think about this:”

“Oh, Jesus, here we go.”

“Hush. Everyone, every being, every object, works on its own form of life force. Some-”

“Some forms interpret it in different ways but at the core they are all the same, yes Gramma I know, I have to go!”

“Fine. One last hug. It is good seeing you, Loux.”

“Seriously, what is up with that? Don’t smile at me like that, you mischievous bitch!”

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

The door clicked closed, and Levi’s grandmother locked it. She smiled to herself, and picked up the dead cicada from the floor of his living room. 

He’s a good kid. Just needs some time.

A late bloomer.

7:16 A.M.

Jones was so far deep inside of the song that he didn’t notice as Lena strolled past him to unlock the door.

She stopped, looking down at him as he sang silent words. She stopped with the door half open, then leaned on the glass door, watching him, rapt, for longer than she had ever before.

It was beautiful, an ongoing, always evolving fugue that looped around itself in a thick, multi tonal stream of music. His fingers sped up and down the fret board, resting only briefly when they did at all. Eventually, she had to step inside, leaving him to his mantra. 

He spent hours in the song, searching for his father’s voice in the wind.

7:22 A.M. 

The sun had fully risen. The mountain drank up the blood-red light. 

For the second time that day, Parker died.

7:23 A.M.

Sam yawned. The sun had just risen over the horizon, and was spilling into her little sliver of the collections office. She thought about taking a break to go smoke, just so she could feel the cold February air heat up in the presence of the sun.

 While she was out there, she could call Parker, and ask how his job search was going. Then maybe ask him if he wanted to grab a bite to eat with her and Jack later tonight. She wondered how it went with Levi. He was definitely a character, but so was Parker, at times. They would be good for each other, and she knew that Levi was in a tight spot right now…

Stopping with her hand halfway to the bag that held her pack of cigarettes, she realized she’d quit smoking two years ago.

When would it finally stick? She’d put down her last cigarette in June, 2020.

God, but she could use one right now. 

The need came on her less and less, but when it did, it was strong, and lingered for a long time. She would need to replace that urge with something else when she got home. Usually alcohol worked as a substitute, or some mindless video game… But Jack had let Danny borrow the PS4. Damn.

And then her phone began to ring. Not her desk phone, but her personal phone. It was an unknown number.

She sighed deeply, crossed her legs, and picked it up.

It seemed the universe had already decided; today was just going to be one of those days.

“Hello, how may I help you?”

“Hi, is this, Sameera Daylily?” The woman’s voice was low, almost sultry as she spoke.

“Yes, this is her speaking, you can call me Sam.”

“Hello, Sam.” Her voice remained level as she spoke. “This is Investigator Horne of the FBI speaking. Would you be available to answer a few questions today?”

Oh, fuck.

8:01 A.M.

“Give me the headline, Sarah Beth.”

“FBI foiled by conwoman kidnapper, escapes containment, local police bewildered.” Sarah Beth tapped her favorite pen against her lip as she leaned back, letting the words breathe in the space between her and Leonard.

He sat across from her, in the same positions they had been in for hours. Finishing the last bite of the bagel Bell had brought them, he likewise chewed the words. Then he shook his head.

“Too… Saturday morning cartoon. Foiled? Too wordy,” he said.

His phone began to ring, and he stared down at the name on the receiver angrily. 

“Bell’s mother. Christ,” he rubbed the bridge of his nose, then picked up the phone.“Keep working at it,” he grunted, then shooed Sarah Beth out of his office as he took the call.

She stood staring out at the absolute chaos that had overtaken the larger office. Marco ran copies of the release forms between the two interviewees, both sitting patiently in the waiting room while Bell finished up their last minute make up.

Sarah Beth crossed the room to where a small refreshments table had been set up, grabbing one of the muffins Bell had brought from the bakery she worked at. She stared at the small woman rush between her make-up station and the guests as she bit into the cran-blueberry muffin.

“I had no idea you did that,” she called out to Bell, who was packing away her kit.

“Huh?” The young girl looked up at Sarah Beth through a sheath of kinked black hair, flashing a brief but beautiful smile. “Oh, yeah.” She giggled quietly, then stepped close to her, whispering. “You like those? I made them myself.”

“Wow,” Sarah Beth said dumbly as she looked down at the muffin. Then, panicking, she took another bite. “Itfs fo goog!” she said through the mouthful.

“They’re my favorite too!” She had the good grace not to disgustedly walk away. “But makeup is my passion. I’m going to school for it,” she explained. “You’re Sarah, right?”

“Sarah Beth,” she said after a large swallow. “And you’re Bell?” Like I don’t know.

“Yup! I’m Mr. Grant’s daughter. He said he needed some help up here, and I figured--What’s a coffee and bagel run? He caught me just after the morning rush, so I-”

She was interrupted by Marco, tapping Sarah Beth’s shoulder.

“Eh, sorry, SB?” He looked pleadingly at her, nodding to the two waiting guests. The camera’s and lights had been set up, and the first interviewee had been sat down in the middle of the frame. She was an older woman, hair just starting to gray, but it was obvious she had been beautiful. 

The second guest was Young and Pretty herself, the woman who worked the police department’s front desk. Sarah Beth thought her name might have been Kim. Apparently she went for tea with Bell. She momentarily filled with jealousy, then shook her head.

“Right,” she said, looking at Bell regretfully. “Sorry.”

Bell shook her head, hair cascading down in perfect rows. “S’okay. You’re a busy woman. Go kill it,” she said, smiling broadly.

Sarah Beth couldn’t help smiling back at her. She turned to the guest, looking briefly at Marco to give her the all okay. He nodded from behind a mountain of sound and visual equipment, giving her a thumbs up for good measure.

“You said your name was Investigator Horne?” Sarah Beth nodded to the older woman, who looked directly into the camera without being asked.

The woman was fiddling with a small wooden block, some insectoid design partially carved out of a blond, hard, wood. “Yes. Can we make this quick, please?”

“Of course, ma’am. I’d just like to ask you a few questions. How did Kyle Montgomery know this Natalie Dempsey?”

“Well…” The older woman nodded once, her voice low.

8:46 A.M.

Officer Odom had already sweat through his thin, blue button up. He threw on his police jacket, figuring that would hide the sweat stains and cut a nice figure. He stared into his small office’s bathroom mirror. He smelled and looked fine, and not at all like he’d been hungover and barely awake forty five minutes ago.

He’d been woken up by the boss. The press fucks were asking for a clip. The Chief of Police needed to put a good spin on this bitch escaping arrest. 

This was going to suck, but it’d be over soon. Maybe five minutes. “Fine”, he said to himself. “Do your worst, universe. I’m gonna be on T.V..”

He stepped out of his office, and glided through the station like he was in a dream. He stopped by Kim’s desk, and nearly began hitting on her before he even looked. That was right. She’d been taken by the fucking press.

He took his buck-tooth grin and James Dean lean off of Kim’s desk, and walked through the front door, a faint smile melting to his serious-business face he used when talking to criminals or the victims of criminals.

The cameras. The fucking cameras were already set up, staring at him, eating his face and making him news. It disgusted him. He walked with his head down, bald spot showing he was sure, like he had some serious shit to say. He supposed he did. 

Finally, he made it to the wooden lectern someone had placed in front of the Old Hill Rock. He looked down at the script that had been placed in front of him, and couldn’t help but laugh. He already felt like a puppet, did he really need a reminder that there was a hand so far up his ass he could taste the dirt under its nails?

He recovered from the mistake, clearing his throat. Looking out across the crowd, he picked one camera, and stuck to it. There was a beautifully tall woman behind it, and she did the sign of the cross across her chest as he settled on their camera.

Making girlie’s days, left and right, yessiree.

He cleared his mind and his throat, then began to speak.

“I think I speak for the entire Police Department, when I say…”

9:30 A.M.

“We asked Investigator Aubrey Horne, who arrested Natalie Dempsey, how did Kyle Montgomery know this Natalie Dempsey?”

Sarah Beth watched the older FBI agent’s face fill the screen as her words came out of the speakers. They had barely finished up the recording in time for the 9:30 news slot, and it was a bit sloppy, but they would be the first ones reporting on it. 

They had even captured the chief of police giving an official statement. Sure, they weren’t the only ones recording it, but they had gotten the head start. The town millionaire was missing, and the person who did it had escaped from the police department while an experienced FBI agent was watching over her.

It was fucking insane. It was amazing. It was perfect. It was…

“Oh, shit,” she moaned. It was about the time when Artuto usually woke up. She checked her phone, and yup, three missed calls. 

And a fourth one incoming. She stepped outside of the studio, then answered, instantly apologizing. “Arturo, I’m so sorry-”

“Is this you on T.V.?” He was speaking quickly, voice garbled through the phone.

“Uhh, no,” she said. “It’s Juice.”

“Duh!” He said, and she could hear the program in the background of the call. “It’s you though, I can tell your style, just by the way it’s put together.”

She smiled. 

“I mean wow,” he kept on, praising her, almost out of breath. Then, finally. “You did a great job, Sarah Beth.”

“Thank you, Arturo. We made the C.O.P. pretty mad, but we got it first. Thanks for looking after Ray.”

“Ay, no issue. Was my day anyway. Good stuff though. Tell them you need a goddamn raise. I don’t know what time you got here, but it’s too damn early for any decent person to be awake. And you’re decent people, Sarah Beth.”

She laughed musically, though not to her own ears if you’d’ve asked her. “Thanks, Art. I’ll see you soon.”

They both hung up at the same time. 

Sarah Beth looked up at the cold, blue sky, and smiled into the sun.

“Fuck you, Lenoard,” she said, sleep still caught in her throat. “Let me go back, I was dreaming about Bell.”

“Do yourself a favor and keep my daughter’s name out your mouth,” Leonard said amiably. “And come down to the station, please.”

She sighed. “What’s in it for me?”

“Two big Starbucks drinks with your name on ‘em. And a five hour energy,” he said, chuckling deeply.

Sarah Beth took a deep breath, put the phone down, then exhaled as she looked at the clock. She wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep before she had to wake up. He had known that. Fucking dick.

“You’re a fucking dick,” she said, then stood up, startling Beck from his feline slumber as she went to search for yesterday’s pants.

“Lady called off!” he said, feigning shock. “And I don’t trust anyone else to write about this but you.” 

She grinned at the faint praise. Halfway through a hoodie, she said, “You better be paying me on Lady’s step, then.” 

“Aye aye, captain,” he said dryly. “See you in twenty.”

“Sir yes sir, oorah.” She hung up and grabbed her keys from the bedside table, idly scritching Beck’s head as she stepped into her crocs.

“Bye bye,” she said, bending down to kiss the top of his furry, black head. He rubbed into her chin, following her off of the bed and out of the room as she went to collect Ray. He cried as she picked him up, swaddling the 18 month old tight in his blankets after a quick diaper change.

She replaced his pacifier after a harried search, and shushed him back to a blissful silence as she locked the door of her apartment behind her. She rushed down the stairs carefully, kissing Ray’s head whenever he got a little fussy at being awake this early.

In no time, he was asleep in his car seat, and she was starting the engine. They rolled out of Main Street Apartments’ newly paved driveway, and headed towards her ex-husband’s house.

Arturo wouldn’t like having to look after his son a few hours more than he’s used to without warning, but if the job was as important as Leonard made it sound, he would have to suck it up. He wasted most of his day anyway. That, and she had to keep up appearances. 

Sarah Beth could not let Leonard find out that she had a kid.

4:42 A.M.

Sarah Beth blinked sleepily as she stepped into the office, letting the door bang closed behind her.

Two coffees and a five hour energy was sitting pretty on the front desk, beads of condensation sliding down the plastic cups and onto the cardboard cup holder.

“He spoke true,” she murmured, stepping up to the cups and popping one of the straws out of its paper container and into her mouth, crane necking it into the drink.

It tasted good. Seven-dollars-too-expensive good. But still, not worth waking up this early, especially after taking Dante to his Dad. She grabbed the drinks, walking back through the small office’s cubicles to the only office with a light on. The sun hadn’t even risen.

She shoed the door open, and prepared her best glare.

Leonard’s office was impeccable, dust free and teak everywhere it could be. In the middle of his desk sat an ancient, coffee brown typewriter, perfectly maintained, yet still obviously heavily used. Behind it, looming totemically, was Lenoard. A tall man with a skinny face, laugh lines creased his cheeks as he stared down at Sarah Beth.

He was not smiling now. 

"Your twenty minutes late." He squinted at her.

"Hair care day," she lied. "Hair comes first." Her hair was tightly pulled into a bun on top of her head. “So what’s the big deal?” Sarah Beth asked, breathing in the fresh pine sent of Lenoard’s office.

He held up one narrow finger to silence her, then used it to gingerly press the play a voicemail on his mobile phone.

It was a young lady's voice. Bell's voice. "Hi daddy! Just wanted to call and tell you about what happened at tea tonight. Kim told me about something that happened at the police station, I don't know if you've heard about it? They arrested the guy, or I guess girl who kidnapped Kyle, she was pretending to be a man, and might have killed him! Kim said she worked for Kyle for over a year! Here's the craziest part-"

Her voice cut off abruptly as Leonard ended the recording.

“Okay, and?” She asked, placing the two coffees on his desk as she cracked the cap of the five hour energy and downed it.

“Perpetrator escaped,” he said.

“How?”

He leaned in, meaningfully. “No one knows. I made some calls, they’re going to send me the camera footage. Officer Newcastle is swinging by, soon as he can.”

“Okay, so, some girl is conning a rich guy on city council. Does it Mulan style, but then gets arrested for his kidnapping slash possible murder. Then she goes and pulls a Houdini, leaving all the cops--Jesus Len, you’re right, this is a good story. We the first ones on this? The Sun ain’t on it yet?”

“Nope. Thank God Bell has dates with Young and Pretty at the station.”

“Shit.” Sarah Beth moved the coffee on the floor, pulling a small laptop from her purse as she spoke. “Shit, okay. We need that footage.”

“Yep.”

“And we need that--whoever was there when she disappeared, get them on the line for an interview, Len.”

“On it,” and he was.

“Fuck, is Juice on for newscast today? We need her.”

“Her day off. Danny’s today,” he said, phone pinned to his head as he dialed a number.

“Call Juice. Need her. Only her,” she said, attention pouring the word processor.

“Yes, I’ll hold.” Then, to her, “I’ll call Juice next.”

Sarah Beth handed him her phone. “You’ve got two hands, don’t you?” 

5:25 A.M.

5:25 A.M. 

And Parker still hadn’t shown up.

The five fluttered to a six on the dark desk, the clock face lit only by the bright, orange light of a monitor. Instrumental hip hop filled the room, resonating quietly from expensive speakers set throughout the room.

5:26 A.M.

The phrase, burning the midnight oil, came to mind. Although it was incorrect. Burning tomorrow’s midnight oil was more like it.

The clock shuttered to 5:27.

5:27 was a tricky time. The 27 was the sticker, really. It was just too late in the hour. Consider a healthy 5:03.

At 5:03, you could look at your shitty custom Linux clock UI and say to yourself, hey, I can go to bed in a little bit, and it’ll still count as going to bed at 5:00. Even though you know you’re not going to, it still feels better. Even a 5:13 was manageable; it took a little more convincing, but it was manageable.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, 5:48 was workable too. You could say you were going to bed at 6:00, just stop whatever you’re doing at 6:00 and be done with it. 5:58 was even better.

But 5:27? There was just no hope. You just had to find something to do for the next while. You could not just call it a night at night at 5:30. That just felt wrong to Lena.

Or was it Levi?

They stopped to consider. Then, as they did whenever this issue occurred, they asked the group chat. They were generally amusing, and happened to be good at turning a 27 into a 58.

Levi smirked. Maybe they had a bit of a crush? It would not be the first time. Others had been kicked for simping too hard.

== User ‘ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has joined ‘#a)(witch)(needs)(some)(help’. 4 user(s) present. 2 witch(es) lurking. ==

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yo witches

1815: Hiya

Jeru111: sup bispi

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i need some help

Jeru111: then i do believe you’re in the right channel!

1815: falling behind on your IT homework again or something? :3

Ainsel: What is it with the overlap of witches and software developers?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: woah hi n00bie

Jeru111: @ainsel; something something trans girl socks

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: ^

1815: ^

Ainsel: ^

1815: Whatchu need help with bi

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: don’t know who i am right now

Ainsel: Like 

Ainsel: metaphysically

Ainsel: ………….?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no like. Name wise

Jeru111: so, yes

Ainsel: Oh. I don’t know your name, I’m new here. All I know is that you host

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: who invited u ainsel

Ainsel: D4NT3

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: dante’s tight

1815: virgil disagrees

Jeru111: they passed the entrance exam pretty well

Jeru111: i didn’t fuck with the form this time because they seemed like they actually wanted to learn

Ainsel: I do

Jeru111: brownnoser!

Anisel: I mean. Sure

Ainsel: A witch wants some help, doesn’t she?

Ainsel: she might get some shit on her nose in the process

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: lol

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: here for making me l0l you get your first symb

Ainsel: what?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: nobod

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: cmon guys n0b0dy told her?

Ainsel: ???

Jeru111: numbers/symbols in name = rank in server basically

Jeru111: more leety name means u been here longer. More trusted/chanOP

Ainsel: Oh. so bispiritual (Did i get that right) has a ton cause they host the server

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yeah (yes)

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: and you can trade them. I have a ton so it doesn’t matter 4 me but 

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: “/givesymb Ainsel 1” to do it if someone said something rlly funny

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: or helped you out

Ainsel: like Kandi bracelets 

Jeru111: xactly

== User ‘ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has changed their nick to ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ gifted user ‘Ainsel’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

Jeru111: Use it wisley!

1815: Use it wisley!

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has returned. ==

U53 17 W1513Y: Use it wisley! <3

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has awayed. ==

Jeru111: best bot ever written

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: fuck you all i should have never given the rat bot perms

== User ‘Jeru111’ gifted user ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has returned. ==

U53 17 W1513Y: Use it wisley! <3

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has awayed. ==

Ainsel: lmfao

1815: just fix the typo silly

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: never 

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i only fix the programming errors not typos #efficient

== User ‘Ainsel’ has changed their nick to “4insel’. ==

Jeru111: nice

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: w00t!

1815: gratz!! :D 

4insel: Thanks everyone

4insel: you said you needed help though @bispiritual  

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yes with finding my name rn

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: it’s one of three and i can’t figure it out

1815: I can help

1815 was one of the oldest members of the group. Lena… No, Levi--. Loux shifted in the chair as they stared at the name. They were always helpful, and were almost always the first one to respond to Loux when they posted.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: how ?

1815: we’ll have an example discussion. I’ll gage which you are by that

Their smile widened as their hands flew across the keyboard, typing quickly, then tapped enter.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: okay. i’m game :)

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: let’s me and you DM.

The clock read 5:59 A.M. Loux didn’t see it.

6:00 A.M.

It was Thursday morning, and there was a baby in his house.

Arturo had come to this realization moments after he’d been woken up by screaming. He’d been rushing into his study with a loaded pistol, when he saw that there was a baby in the crib, crying his little heart out.

It helped, he supposed, that it was his baby. Little Ray was all grown up it seemed, and had learned to walk the fifty minutes to his daddy’s house all by himself. That, or his Mami had decided (once again) that she wasn’t good enough to be Ray’s Mother, and had dumped all the responsibility on Arturo.

“That’s silly,” Arturo told Ray as he expertly changed him out of his diaper and pajamas. “Mami’s a great mother.” Ray giggled as his Dad kissed him, blowing a raspberry on his forehead. “She’s a horrible wife though,” he said seriously.

And so the morning passed as it usually would, the two watching baby T.V. and eating baby oatmeal as the sun crept through the curtains and played on the plastic baby furniture. Ray played with a set of wooden cars on the carpet as Arturo put the finishing touches on the model he was painting.

Arturo was an only child, so Ray happily reaped the undivided spoils of his abuelita’s generosity, filling his house with toys for him and his son alike. The two were almost perfect mirrors of each other, spilling away hours with intermittent feasting (these signaled to Ray with the word ‘bite’ said in a proffering tone) and playing.

He only found the note when he went outside with Ray to batch prime a new set of models. It was clearly written in Sarah Beth’s looping cursive, barely legible to Arturo. He let Ray chase a ball in his backyard as he puzzled it out.

Arturo,

Sorry. Work called. Big deal. I’ll pay you back, I promise.

P.S.

I PROMISE. Thank you.

Love you and Ray,

S.B.J.

He looked at their son, laughing as he chased a bird in the back lawn. “Sarah Beth Jackson,” he whispered, eyes watering. “That job is going to kill you.”

6:01 A.M.

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has joined ‘#direct)(message)(hub)(’. 15 user(s) present. 32 witch(es) lurking. ==

Lena liked to imagine this channel as a park. Many people talking, but talking quietly in the same place, with birds and dogs and squirrels lazing about. The IRC client she had written herself for the coven had no direct messaging feature built in. Instead, there was a command to have only one person see a message.

Every community, even if it was three people, had drama. Lena’s cybercoven had proven no different. This system of DM had made for a quick and easy to the skinhead wiccan that had snuck in last month

Lena was the only one who had access to them, and even then, she had programmed an hour timer into the command, so she’d actually have to think about the issue instead of just peeking into a person’s private life for no reason.

She’d found that these people trusted her, for better or for worse. She was working hard at becoming the best server owner she could, and took it seriously. She still had time for the bants, though. Speaking of…

Lena laughed, then closed her eyes, vibing to the music for a moment as she typed out her next response. 

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: so how do we do this?

1815: well lets see. What are your options?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: lena/levi/loux

1815: .

1815: loux?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yea

1815: how is that

1815: like how is that even pronounced?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: loo

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: like the guy from ringworld

1815: man’s in my dm’s Louis Woo posting

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: look i was an impressionable youth and my gma had niven on her bookshelf what can i say

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i had no choice

1815: tbh he’s pretty trans

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: transed by a 80 y/o sifi author trying desperately to write about spaceships, so sad

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: also no. he’s really not

1815: bullshit have you even ringed a world b4?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: okay fair. no. but i have Started the book many times, and that man is a womanizer

1815: okay so that’s like saying zuko is an asshole cause you watched the first episode 

1815: he’s got to have his character arc man

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: does somebody Womanize loui woo?????

1815: r.a.f.o. ;3

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: FU 3:

1815: anyway i just have never seen that name before with an x

1815: y cant you be a normal nonbinary and be like. Stone

1815: Oliver

1815: Branch

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: moss

1815: river, you get it

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: Many such cases

1815: Many such cases!

Loux read the words, thinking deeply for a moment before closing their eyes and humming quietly. They looked inside of their center, or at least tried to do something that felt like that, and…

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: short answer; because that’s not me

1815: long answeR?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: uh

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i’m not nb i’m genderqueer and not really even that. I think I might be two spirit

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: which is like this native american thing. I don’t know much about it but my grandma keeps saying that’s what i am

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: but in my soul i feel like there’s three selves that make up ME

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: like

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: the divine trinity

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: male/female/neither[other]

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: and one of them usually wins out. that’s who i end up feeling like that day

1815: interesting

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: but today it’s just. all

1815: are they alters?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no, not really. all me 

1815: okay well do you want my opinion

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: sure

1815: i think their may be a fourth you. Or maybe a secret, always you you

1815: an amalg of all the options that’s just…

1815: un nameable. truer than true

She didn’t know. Maybe 1815 was right? That threw a spanner in his identity.

But a spanner can be a useful tool, when it’s a spanner you need.

1815 had sent another message, and Levi realized he’d been staring at the screen for a few minutes now.

He realized the question was rather blunt and personal, but… He felt rather blunt and personal right now.

1815: you okay?

1815: i didn’t chris angel genderfreak you did i

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no, but i think you might be on to something

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: who are you?

Lena clapped a hand against her forehead.

1815: just a big bird on her journey to find real magic

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: big bird?

1815: 1815

1815: IBIS

Lena smiled.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: duh :facepalm:

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: well. thanks for the gender workshop, big bird

1815: anytime my human gender protege

1815: with a 4 letter name that starts with L

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: well fairs fair tell me yours (if you wanna)

1815: nah i’m a secretive bird

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: can a bro buy a vowel? 

1815: okay, sure :) but it’ll cost you

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: only fair

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has changed their nick to ‘B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_’. ==

== User ‘B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_’ gifted user ‘1815’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

1815: there’s an o. in the middle

**B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_ cherishes the letter O, holding it close to their chest.**

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: thanks

== User ‘1814’ has changed their nick to ‘1815!’. ==

1815!: np, thank u! was fun talkin

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: t’was

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: ttyl?

1815!: sure /me smiles

1815!: oop

**1815! smiles.**

**B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_ smiles.**

Over the comfy cacophony of her music, she heard a knock at the front door. She rolled away from her desk and to the door, swinging it open and running down the living room stairs and across the hard wood floor of the foyer.

She swung it open, and standing before her was…

Her grandmother.

6:32 A.M.

Jones sat outside the White Picket Trench with his guitar, strumming away at a chord progression that had entered his left hand in his 20’s, and had never left. Playing always came as easy as breathing, sometimes easier, but he’d made certain sacrifices for his age.

Dropping the last two strings from most chords made them fall a little flat, but it sounded better than if he tried to play them with his gnarled pinky and failed. Instead, his stub finger held them still, muting them. His hand had long relearned a G chord with this new technique, but his ear knew the difference.

Just as his body knew the difference between subtle changes in temperature, you could just tell when someone flubs one of the notes in a chord. He’d told himself that anyone walking by likely wouldn’t care, but he cared, and he was sure if the old man was here, he’d be chiding him for his improper play.

“Well, it pays the bills, pops.” His whisper was eaten by the wind, and he knew no one would get close enough to actually listen. Anyone who saw his lips moving assumed he was singing, and he was, in a way. The wind took his words, and returned another’s, intermixed with the melody that blew gently past his ear.

“And what bills are those? Ain’t no gas bill for living on the street, you worthless chud.”

He chuckled, eyes still closed. He may be a lonely dick, but his old man did one thing right: he put the music in his son.

Guitar was the only instrument Jones had fallen in love with, but he had flirted with many more. Piano would still call his heart at times, and when he felt the ache, the library on Beachwood had an old grand piano that Janice at the front desk would let him play some mornings, if it wasn’t too busy. 

It was an old, out of tune piece of crap, but it made a nice match with him.

He finished the song, as much as any song is ever finished, and looked up at the sun. It was pretty late by now. He wondered what was keeping Lena from opening? She’d been late before, but always had good excuses. She was a good girl, and he didn’t mind waiting.

He strummed the intro to another meandering improvisation, letting it fill his mind. It wandered, making its way through the many stories it told itself when it wasn’t in direct communication with him, as it was now. The young man he’d met yesterday morning, he’d asked him about his Father.

Was it a coincidence that he was in the wind this morning? He supposed he’d been thinking about the old man… Mother had been haunted by the lack of explanation, and it had hurt Jones, but… If the voices he heard were really their spirit visiting him, shouldn’t he ask?

He’d never thought to. His Father’s visits were brief, and always insulting. He supposed that was in character, but there was always a part of himself that whispered that the voice in his head was just that: a construction of his mind.

He settled further into the song, and began seeking the voice of his father. 

6:48 A.M.

“Mornin, Grandma.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Lena.”

“Yes, ma’am. Can I take that?”

“Please do. It’s awful airish out there, but I know you got the temp high in here.”

“Guilty.”

“You didn’t sleep a wink, did you?”

“No, ma’am. Homework.”

“I said no bullshit, Levi.”

“How do you do that?”

“A-do what, child?”

“Nothing, sorry. How the hell did you get up here?”

“I back pocket drove, quick trip.”

“G-ma, we talked about this, that is not safe.”

“I’ve been doing it since I was younger than your mother was when she had you, boy.”

“And how did she die, huh?”

“I only go with good drivers. Only good people stop for an old lady on the side of the road, and good people are good drivers.”

“I guess. I’m glad you’re here safe though. How’s Rod?”

“You know him. Man was born to be hung.”

“Uh…”

“Not like that, foul child.”

“Thank god.”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose…”

“Shush!”

“Aw, let an old woman live, girlie.”

“Fine. Live, but do it when I’m out of the house. Oh shit, speaking of…”

“You late again? Stupid child.”

“Fuck you too, Gramma!”

“You got the bedroom set up for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Phone, wallet, keys?”

“Yeah.”

“Grammy kiss?”

“Uhh, no.”

“C’mere. Love you, baby.”

“Love you--Ah!”

“Ow! What was that for?”

“There was a-a bug on you! Big fucking thing. Wow.”

“Oh, yes. Cicada.”

“The hell are you doing with a cicada on your shawl, woman?”

“You would know, if you had awakened yet.”

“Grandma, we talked about this.”

“Some are late bloomers, that is all that I’m saying…”

“Sure. Show me some proof, someday, and I’ll think about it.”

“Think about this:”

“Oh, Jesus, here we go.”

“Hush. Everyone, every being, every object, works on its own form of life force. Some-”

“Some forms interpret it in different ways but at the core they are all the same, yes Gramma I know, I have to go!”

“Fine. One last hug. It is good seeing you, Loux.”

“Seriously, what is up with that? Don’t smile at me like that, you mischievous bitch!”

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

The door clicked closed, and Levi’s grandmother locked it. She smiled to herself, and picked up the dead cicada from the floor of his living room. 

He’s a good kid. Just needs some time.

A late bloomer.

7:16 A.M.

Jones was so far deep inside of the song that he didn’t notice as Lena strolled past him to unlock the door.

She stopped, looking down at him as he sang silent words. She stopped with the door half open, then leaned on the glass door, watching him, rapt, for longer than she had ever before.

It was beautiful, an ongoing, always evolving fugue that looped around itself in a thick, multi tonal stream of music. His fingers sped up and down the fret board, resting only briefly when they did at all. Eventually, she had to step inside, leaving him to his mantra. 

He spent hours in the song, searching for his father’s voice in the wind.

7:22 A.M. 

The sun had fully risen. The mountain drank up the blood-red light. 

For the second time that day, Parker died.

7:23 A.M.

Sam yawned. The sun had just risen over the horizon, and was spilling into her little sliver of the collections office. She thought about taking a break to go smoke, just so she could feel the cold February air heat up in the presence of the sun.

 While she was out there, she could call Parker, and ask how his job search was going. Then maybe ask him if he wanted to grab a bite to eat with her and Jack later tonight. She wondered how it went with Levi. He was definitely a character, but so was Parker, at times. They would be good for each other, and she knew that Levi was in a tight spot right now…

Stopping with her hand halfway to the bag that held her pack of cigarettes, she realized she’d quit smoking two years ago.

When would it finally stick? She’d put down her last cigarette in June, 2020.

God, but she could use one right now. 

The need came on her less and less, but when it did, it was strong, and lingered for a long time. She would need to replace that urge with something else when she got home. Usually alcohol worked as a substitute, or some mindless video game… But Jack had let Danny borrow the PS4. Damn.

And then her phone began to ring. Not her desk phone, but her personal phone. It was an unknown number.

She sighed deeply, crossed her legs, and picked it up.

It seemed the universe had already decided; today was just going to be one of those days.

“Hello, how may I help you?”

“Hi, is this, Sameera Daylily?” The woman’s voice was low, almost sultry as she spoke.

“Yes, this is her speaking, you can call me Sam.”

“Hello, Sam.” Her voice remained level as she spoke. “This is Investigator Horne of the FBI speaking. Would you be available to answer a few questions today?”

Oh, fuck.

8:01 A.M.

“Give me the headline, Sarah Beth.”

“FBI foiled by conwoman kidnapper, escapes containment, local police bewildered.” Sarah Beth tapped her favorite pen against her lip as she leaned back, letting the words breathe in the space between her and Leonard.

He sat across from her, in the same positions they had been in for hours. Finishing the last bite of the bagel Bell had brought them, he likewise chewed the words. Then he shook his head.

“Too… Saturday morning cartoon. Foiled? Too wordy,” he said.

His phone began to ring, and he stared down at the name on the receiver angrily. 

“Bell’s mother. Christ,” he rubbed the bridge of his nose, then picked up the phone.“Keep working at it,” he grunted, then shooed Sarah Beth out of his office as he took the call.

She stood staring out at the absolute chaos that had overtaken the larger office. Marco ran copies of the release forms between the two interviewees, both sitting patiently in the waiting room while Bell finished up their last minute make up.

Sarah Beth crossed the room to where a small refreshments table had been set up, grabbing one of the muffins Bell had brought from the bakery she worked at. She stared at the small woman rush between her make-up station and the guests as she bit into the cran-blueberry muffin.

“I had no idea you did that,” she called out to Bell, who was packing away her kit.

“Huh?” The young girl looked up at Sarah Beth through a sheath of kinked black hair, flashing a brief but beautiful smile. “Oh, yeah.” She giggled quietly, then stepped close to her, whispering. “You like those? I made them myself.”

“Wow,” Sarah Beth said dumbly as she looked down at the muffin. Then, panicking, she took another bite. “Itfs fo goog!” she said through the mouthful.

“They’re my favorite too!” She had the good grace not to disgustedly walk away. “But makeup is my passion. I’m going to school for it,” she explained. “You’re Sarah, right?”

“Sarah Beth,” she said after a large swallow. “And you’re Bell?” Like I don’t know.

“Yup! I’m Mr. Grant’s daughter. He said he needed some help up here, and I figured--What’s a coffee and bagel run? He caught me just after the morning rush, so I-”

She was interrupted by Marco, tapping Sarah Beth’s shoulder.

“Eh, sorry, SB?” He looked pleadingly at her, nodding to the two waiting guests. The camera’s and lights had been set up, and the first interviewee had been sat down in the middle of the frame. She was an older woman, hair just starting to gray, but it was obvious she had been beautiful. 

The second guest was Young and Pretty herself, the woman who worked the police department’s front desk. Sarah Beth thought her name might have been Kim. Apparently she went for tea with Bell. She momentarily filled with jealousy, then shook her head.

“Right,” she said, looking at Bell regretfully. “Sorry.”

Bell shook her head, hair cascading down in perfect rows. “S’okay. You’re a busy woman. Go kill it,” she said, smiling broadly.

Sarah Beth couldn’t help smiling back at her. She turned to the guest, looking briefly at Marco to give her the all okay. He nodded from behind a mountain of sound and visual equipment, giving her a thumbs up for good measure.

“You said your name was Investigator Horne?” Sarah Beth nodded to the older woman, who looked directly into the camera without being asked.

The woman was fiddling with a small wooden block, some insectoid design partially carved out of a blond, hard, wood. “Yes. Can we make this quick, please?”

“Of course, ma’am. I’d just like to ask you a few questions. How did Kyle Montgomery know this Natalie Dempsey?”

“Well…” The older woman nodded once, her voice low.

8:46 A.M.

Officer Odom had already sweat through his thin, blue button up. He threw on his police jacket, figuring that would hide the sweat stains and cut a nice figure. He stared into his small office’s bathroom mirror. He smelled and looked fine, and not at all like he’d been hungover and barely awake forty five minutes ago.

He’d been woken up by the boss. The press fucks were asking for a clip. The Chief of Police needed to put a good spin on this bitch escaping arrest. 

This was going to suck, but it’d be over soon. Maybe five minutes. “Fine”, he said to himself. “Do your worst, universe. I’m gonna be on T.V..”

He stepped out of his office, and glided through the station like he was in a dream. He stopped by Kim’s desk, and nearly began hitting on her before he even looked. That was right. She’d been taken by the fucking press.

He took his buck-tooth grin and James Dean lean off of Kim’s desk, and walked through the front door, a faint smile melting to his serious-business face he used when talking to criminals or the victims of criminals.

The cameras. The fucking cameras were already set up, staring at him, eating his face and making him news. It disgusted him. He walked with his head down, bald spot showing he was sure, like he had some serious shit to say. He supposed he did. 

Finally, he made it to the wooden lectern someone had placed in front of the Old Hill Rock. He looked down at the script that had been placed in front of him, and couldn’t help but laugh. He already felt like a puppet, did he really need a reminder that there was a hand so far up his ass he could taste the dirt under its nails?

He recovered from the mistake, clearing his throat. Looking out across the crowd, he picked one camera, and stuck to it. There was a beautifully tall woman behind it, and she did the sign of the cross across her chest as he settled on their camera.

Making girlie’s days, left and right, yessiree.

He cleared his mind and his throat, then began to speak.

“I think I speak for the entire Police Department, when I say…”

9:30 A.M.

“We asked Investigator Aubrey Horne, who arrested Natalie Dempsey, how did Kyle Montgomery know this Natalie Dempsey?”

Sarah Beth watched the older FBI agent’s face fill the screen as her words came out of the speakers. They had barely finished up the recording in time for the 9:30 news slot, and it was a bit sloppy, but they would be the first ones reporting on it. 

They had even captured the chief of police giving an official statement. Sure, they weren’t the only ones recording it, but they had gotten the head start. The town millionaire was missing, and the person who did it had escaped from the police department while an experienced FBI agent was watching over her.

It was fucking insane. It was amazing. It was perfect. It was…

“Oh, shit,” she moaned. It was about the time when Artuto usually woke up. She checked her phone, and yup, three missed calls. 

And a fourth one incoming. She stepped outside of the studio, then answered, instantly apologizing. “Arturo, I’m so sorry-”

“Is this you on T.V.?” He was speaking quickly, voice garbled through the phone.

“Uhh, no,” she said. “It’s Juice.”

“Duh!” He said, and she could hear the program in the background of the call. “It’s you though, I can tell your style, just by the way it’s put together.”

She smiled. 

“I mean wow,” he kept on, praising her, almost out of breath. Then, finally. “You did a great job, Sarah Beth.”

“Thank you, Arturo. We made the C.O.P. pretty mad, but we got it first. Thanks for looking after Ray.”

“Ay, no issue. Was my day anyway. Good stuff though. Tell them you need a goddamn raise. I don’t know what time you got here, but it’s too damn early for any decent person to be awake. And you’re decent people, Sarah Beth.”

She laughed musically, though not to her own ears if you’d’ve asked her. “Thanks, Art. I’ll see you soon.”

They both hung up at the same time. 

Sarah Beth looked up at the cold, blue sky, and smiled into the sun.

“Fuck you, Lenoard,” she said, sleep still caught in her throat. “Let me go back, I was dreaming about Bell.”

“Do yourself a favor and keep my daughter’s name out your mouth,” Leonard said amiably. “And come down to the station, please.”

She sighed. “What’s in it for me?”

“Two big Starbucks drinks with your name on ‘em. And a five hour energy,” he said, chuckling deeply.

Sarah Beth took a deep breath, put the phone down, then exhaled as she looked at the clock. She wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep before she had to wake up. He had known that. Fucking dick.

“You’re a fucking dick,” she said, then stood up, startling Beck from his feline slumber as she went to search for yesterday’s pants.

“Lady called off!” he said, feigning shock. “And I don’t trust anyone else to write about this but you.” 

She grinned at the faint praise. Halfway through a hoodie, she said, “You better be paying me on Lady’s step, then.” 

“Aye aye, captain,” he said dryly. “See you in twenty.”

“Sir yes sir, oorah.” She hung up and grabbed her keys from the bedside table, idly scritching Beck’s head as she stepped into her crocs.

“Bye bye,” she said, bending down to kiss the top of his furry, black head. He rubbed into her chin, following her off of the bed and out of the room as she went to collect Ray. He cried as she picked him up, swaddling the 18 month old tight in his blankets after a quick diaper change.

She replaced his pacifier after a harried search, and shushed him back to a blissful silence as she locked the door of her apartment behind her. She rushed down the stairs carefully, kissing Ray’s head whenever he got a little fussy at being awake this early.

In no time, he was asleep in his car seat, and she was starting the engine. They rolled out of Main Street Apartments’ newly paved driveway, and headed towards her ex-husband’s house.

Arturo wouldn’t like having to look after his son a few hours more than he’s used to without warning, but if the job was as important as Leonard made it sound, he would have to suck it up. He wasted most of his day anyway. That, and she had to keep up appearances. 

Sarah Beth could not let Leonard find out that she had a kid.

4:42 A.M.

Sarah Beth blinked sleepily as she stepped into the office, letting the door bang closed behind her.

Two coffees and a five hour energy was sitting pretty on the front desk, beads of condensation sliding down the plastic cups and onto the cardboard cup holder.

“He spoke true,” she murmured, stepping up to the cups and popping one of the straws out of its paper container and into her mouth, crane necking it into the drink.

It tasted good. Seven-dollars-too-expensive good. But still, not worth waking up this early, especially after taking Dante to his Dad. She grabbed the drinks, walking back through the small office’s cubicles to the only office with a light on. The sun hadn’t even risen.

She shoed the door open, and prepared her best glare.

Leonard’s office was impeccable, dust free and teak everywhere it could be. In the middle of his desk sat an ancient, coffee brown typewriter, perfectly maintained, yet still obviously heavily used. Behind it, looming totemically, was Lenoard. A tall man with a skinny face, laugh lines creased his cheeks as he stared down at Sarah Beth.

He was not smiling now. 

"Your twenty minutes late." He squinted at her.

"Hair care day," she lied. "Hair comes first." Her hair was tightly pulled into a bun on top of her head. “So what’s the big deal?” Sarah Beth asked, breathing in the fresh pine sent of Lenoard’s office.

He held up one narrow finger to silence her, then used it to gingerly press the play a voicemail on his mobile phone.

It was a young lady's voice. Bell's voice. "Hi daddy! Just wanted to call and tell you about what happened at tea tonight. Kim told me about something that happened at the police station, I don't know if you've heard about it? They arrested the guy, or I guess girl who kidnapped Kyle, she was pretending to be a man, and might have killed him! Kim said she worked for Kyle for over a year! Here's the craziest part-"

Her voice cut off abruptly as Leonard ended the recording.

“Okay, and?” She asked, placing the two coffees on his desk as she cracked the cap of the five hour energy and downed it.

“Perpetrator escaped,” he said.

“How?”

He leaned in, meaningfully. “No one knows. I made some calls, they’re going to send me the camera footage. Officer Newcastle is swinging by, soon as he can.”

“Okay, so, some girl is conning a rich guy on city council. Does it Mulan style, but then gets arrested for his kidnapping slash possible murder. Then she goes and pulls a Houdini, leaving all the cops--Jesus Len, you’re right, this is a good story. We the first ones on this? The Sun ain’t on it yet?”

“Nope. Thank God Bell has dates with Young and Pretty at the station.”

“Shit.” Sarah Beth moved the coffee on the floor, pulling a small laptop from her purse as she spoke. “Shit, okay. We need that footage.”

“Yep.”

“And we need that--whoever was there when she disappeared, get them on the line for an interview, Len.”

“On it,” and he was.

“Fuck, is Juice on for newscast today? We need her.”

“Her day off. Danny’s today,” he said, phone pinned to his head as he dialed a number.

“Call Juice. Need her. Only her,” she said, attention pouring the word processor.

“Yes, I’ll hold.” Then, to her, “I’ll call Juice next.”

Sarah Beth handed him her phone. “You’ve got two hands, don’t you?” 

5:25 A.M.

5:25 A.M. 

And Parker still hadn’t shown up.

The five fluttered to a six on the dark desk, the clock face lit only by the bright, orange light of a monitor. Instrumental hip hop filled the room, resonating quietly from expensive speakers set throughout the room.

5:26 A.M.

The phrase, burning the midnight oil, came to mind. Although it was incorrect. Burning tomorrow’s midnight oil was more like it.

The clock shuttered to 5:27.

5:27 was a tricky time. The 27 was the sticker, really. It was just too late in the hour. Consider a healthy 5:03.

At 5:03, you could look at your shitty custom Linux clock UI and say to yourself, hey, I can go to bed in a little bit, and it’ll still count as going to bed at 5:00. Even though you know you’re not going to, it still feels better. Even a 5:13 was manageable; it took a little more convincing, but it was manageable.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, 5:48 was workable too. You could say you were going to bed at 6:00, just stop whatever you’re doing at 6:00 and be done with it. 5:58 was even better.

But 5:27? There was just no hope. You just had to find something to do for the next while. You could not just call it a night at night at 5:30. That just felt wrong to Lena.

Or was it Levi?

They stopped to consider. Then, as they did whenever this issue occurred, they asked the group chat. They were generally amusing, and happened to be good at turning a 27 into a 58.

Levi smirked. Maybe they had a bit of a crush? It would not be the first time. Others had been kicked for simping too hard.

== User ‘ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has joined ‘#a)(witch)(needs)(some)(help’. 4 user(s) present. 2 witch(es) lurking. ==

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yo witches

1815: Hiya

Jeru111: sup bispi

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i need some help

Jeru111: then i do believe you’re in the right channel!

1815: falling behind on your IT homework again or something? :3

Ainsel: What is it with the overlap of witches and software developers?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: woah hi n00bie

Jeru111: @ainsel; something something trans girl socks

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: ^

1815: ^

Ainsel: ^

1815: Whatchu need help with bi

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: don’t know who i am right now

Ainsel: Like 

Ainsel: metaphysically

Ainsel: ………….?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no like. Name wise

Jeru111: so, yes

Ainsel: Oh. I don’t know your name, I’m new here. All I know is that you host

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: who invited u ainsel

Ainsel: D4NT3

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: dante’s tight

1815: virgil disagrees

Jeru111: they passed the entrance exam pretty well

Jeru111: i didn’t fuck with the form this time because they seemed like they actually wanted to learn

Ainsel: I do

Jeru111: brownnoser!

Anisel: I mean. Sure

Ainsel: A witch wants some help, doesn’t she?

Ainsel: she might get some shit on her nose in the process

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: lol

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: here for making me l0l you get your first symb

Ainsel: what?

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: nobod

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: cmon guys n0b0dy told her?

Ainsel: ???

Jeru111: numbers/symbols in name = rank in server basically

Jeru111: more leety name means u been here longer. More trusted/chanOP

Ainsel: Oh. so bispiritual (Did i get that right) has a ton cause they host the server

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yeah (yes)

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: and you can trade them. I have a ton so it doesn’t matter 4 me but 

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: “/givesymb Ainsel 1” to do it if someone said something rlly funny

ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: or helped you out

Ainsel: like Kandi bracelets 

Jeru111: xactly

== User ‘ß][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has changed their nick to ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ gifted user ‘Ainsel’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

Jeru111: Use it wisley!

1815: Use it wisley!

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has returned. ==

U53 17 W1513Y: Use it wisley! <3

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has awayed. ==

Jeru111: best bot ever written

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: fuck you all i should have never given the rat bot perms

== User ‘Jeru111’ gifted user ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has returned. ==

U53 17 W1513Y: Use it wisley! <3

== User ‘U53 17 W1513Y’ has awayed. ==

Ainsel: lmfao

1815: just fix the typo silly

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: never 

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i only fix the programming errors not typos #efficient

== User ‘Ainsel’ has changed their nick to “4insel’. ==

Jeru111: nice

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: w00t!

1815: gratz!! :D 

4insel: Thanks everyone

4insel: you said you needed help though @bispiritual  

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yes with finding my name rn

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: it’s one of three and i can’t figure it out

1815: I can help

1815 was one of the oldest members of the group. Lena… No, Levi--. Loux shifted in the chair as they stared at the name. They were always helpful, and were almost always the first one to respond to Loux when they posted.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: how ?

1815: we’ll have an example discussion. I’ll gage which you are by that

Their smile widened as their hands flew across the keyboard, typing quickly, then tapped enter.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: okay. i’m game :)

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: let’s me and you DM.

The clock read 5:59 A.M. Loux didn’t see it.

6:00 A.M.

It was Thursday morning, and there was a baby in his house.

Arturo had come to this realization moments after he’d been woken up by screaming. He’d been rushing into his study with a loaded pistol, when he saw that there was a baby in the crib, crying his little heart out.

It helped, he supposed, that it was his baby. Little Ray was all grown up it seemed, and had learned to walk the fifty minutes to his daddy’s house all by himself. That, or his Mami had decided (once again) that she wasn’t good enough to be Ray’s Mother, and had dumped all the responsibility on Arturo.

“That’s silly,” Arturo told Ray as he expertly changed him out of his diaper and pajamas. “Mami’s a great mother.” Ray giggled as his Dad kissed him, blowing a raspberry on his forehead. “She’s a horrible wife though,” he said seriously.

And so the morning passed as it usually would, the two watching baby T.V. and eating baby oatmeal as the sun crept through the curtains and played on the plastic baby furniture. Ray played with a set of wooden cars on the carpet as Arturo put the finishing touches on the model he was painting.

Arturo was an only child, so Ray happily reaped the undivided spoils of his abuelita’s generosity, filling his house with toys for him and his son alike. The two were almost perfect mirrors of each other, spilling away hours with intermittent feasting (these signaled to Ray with the word ‘bite’ said in a proffering tone) and playing.

He only found the note when he went outside with Ray to batch prime a new set of models. It was clearly written in Sarah Beth’s looping cursive, barely legible to Arturo. He let Ray chase a ball in his backyard as he puzzled it out.

Arturo,

Sorry. Work called. Big deal. I’ll pay you back, I promise.

P.S.

I PROMISE. Thank you.

Love you and Ray,

S.B.J.

He looked at their son, laughing as he chased a bird in the back lawn. “Sarah Beth Jackson,” he whispered, eyes watering. “That job is going to kill you.”

6:01 A.M.

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has joined ‘#direct)(message)(hub)(’. 15 user(s) present. 32 witch(es) lurking. ==

Lena liked to imagine this channel as a park. Many people talking, but talking quietly in the same place, with birds and dogs and squirrels lazing about. The IRC client she had written herself for the coven had no direct messaging feature built in. Instead, there was a command to have only one person see a message.

Every community, even if it was three people, had drama. Lena’s cybercoven had proven no different. This system of DM had made for a quick and easy to the skinhead wiccan that had snuck in last month

Lena was the only one who had access to them, and even then, she had programmed an hour timer into the command, so she’d actually have to think about the issue instead of just peeking into a person’s private life for no reason.

She’d found that these people trusted her, for better or for worse. She was working hard at becoming the best server owner she could, and took it seriously. She still had time for the bants, though. Speaking of…

Lena laughed, then closed her eyes, vibing to the music for a moment as she typed out her next response. 

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: so how do we do this?

1815: well lets see. What are your options?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: lena/levi/loux

1815: .

1815: loux?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: yea

1815: how is that

1815: like how is that even pronounced?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: loo

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: like the guy from ringworld

1815: man’s in my dm’s Louis Woo posting

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: look i was an impressionable youth and my gma had niven on her bookshelf what can i say

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i had no choice

1815: tbh he’s pretty trans

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: transed by a 80 y/o sifi author trying desperately to write about spaceships, so sad

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: also no. he’s really not

1815: bullshit have you even ringed a world b4?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: okay fair. no. but i have Started the book many times, and that man is a womanizer

1815: okay so that’s like saying zuko is an asshole cause you watched the first episode 

1815: he’s got to have his character arc man

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: does somebody Womanize loui woo?????

1815: r.a.f.o. ;3

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: FU 3:

1815: anyway i just have never seen that name before with an x

1815: y cant you be a normal nonbinary and be like. Stone

1815: Oliver

1815: Branch

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: moss

1815: river, you get it

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: Many such cases

1815: Many such cases!

Loux read the words, thinking deeply for a moment before closing their eyes and humming quietly. They looked inside of their center, or at least tried to do something that felt like that, and…

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: short answer; because that’s not me

1815: long answeR?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: uh

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: i’m not nb i’m genderqueer and not really even that. I think I might be two spirit

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: which is like this native american thing. I don’t know much about it but my grandma keeps saying that’s what i am

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: but in my soul i feel like there’s three selves that make up ME

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: like

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: the divine trinity

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: male/female/neither[other]

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: and one of them usually wins out. that’s who i end up feeling like that day

1815: interesting

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: but today it’s just. all

1815: are they alters?

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no, not really. all me 

1815: okay well do you want my opinion

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: sure

1815: i think their may be a fourth you. Or maybe a secret, always you you

1815: an amalg of all the options that’s just…

1815: un nameable. truer than true

She didn’t know. Maybe 1815 was right? That threw a spanner in his identity.

But a spanner can be a useful tool, when it’s a spanner you need.

1815 had sent another message, and Levi realized he’d been staring at the screen for a few minutes now.

He realized the question was rather blunt and personal, but… He felt rather blunt and personal right now.

1815: you okay?

1815: i didn’t chris angel genderfreak you did i

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: no, but i think you might be on to something

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: who are you?

Lena clapped a hand against her forehead.

1815: just a big bird on her journey to find real magic

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: big bird?

1815: 1815

1815: IBIS

Lena smiled.

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: duh :facepalm:

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: well. thanks for the gender workshop, big bird

1815: anytime my human gender protege

1815: with a 4 letter name that starts with L

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: well fairs fair tell me yours (if you wanna)

1815: nah i’m a secretive bird

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: can a bro buy a vowel? 

1815: okay, sure :) but it’ll cost you

B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_: only fair

== User ‘B][---$|o][Я][7|_|4|_’ has changed their nick to ‘B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_’. ==

== User ‘B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_’ gifted user ‘1815’ one symbol. Use it wisley! ==

1815: there’s an o. in the middle

**B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_ cherishes the letter O, holding it close to their chest.**

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: thanks

== User ‘1814’ has changed their nick to ‘1815!’. ==

1815!: np, thank u! was fun talkin

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: t’was

B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_: ttyl?

1815!: sure /me smiles

1815!: oop

**1815! smiles.**

**B][---$|o][R][7|_|4|_ smiles.**

Over the comfy cacophony of her music, she heard a knock at the front door. She rolled away from her desk and to the door, swinging it open and running down the living room stairs and across the hard wood floor of the foyer.

She swung it open, and standing before her was…

Her grandmother.

6:32 A.M.

Jones sat outside the White Picket Trench with his guitar, strumming away at a chord progression that had entered his left hand in his 20’s, and had never left. Playing always came as easy as breathing, sometimes easier, but he’d made certain sacrifices for his age.

Dropping the last two strings from most chords made them fall a little flat, but it sounded better than if he tried to play them with his gnarled pinky and failed. Instead, his stub finger held them still, muting them. His hand had long relearned a G chord with this new technique, but his ear knew the difference.

Just as his body knew the difference between subtle changes in temperature, you could just tell when someone flubs one of the notes in a chord. He’d told himself that anyone walking by likely wouldn’t care, but he cared, and he was sure if the old man was here, he’d be chiding him for his improper play.

“Well, it pays the bills, pops.” His whisper was eaten by the wind, and he knew no one would get close enough to actually listen. Anyone who saw his lips moving assumed he was singing, and he was, in a way. The wind took his words, and returned another’s, intermixed with the melody that blew gently past his ear.

“And what bills are those? Ain’t no gas bill for living on the street, you worthless chud.”

He chuckled, eyes still closed. He may be a lonely dick, but his old man did one thing right: he put the music in his son.

Guitar was the only instrument Jones had fallen in love with, but he had flirted with many more. Piano would still call his heart at times, and when he felt the ache, the library on Beachwood had an old grand piano that Janice at the front desk would let him play some mornings, if it wasn’t too busy. 

It was an old, out of tune piece of crap, but it made a nice match with him.

He finished the song, as much as any song is ever finished, and looked up at the sun. It was pretty late by now. He wondered what was keeping Lena from opening? She’d been late before, but always had good excuses. She was a good girl, and he didn’t mind waiting.

He strummed the intro to another meandering improvisation, letting it fill his mind. It wandered, making its way through the many stories it told itself when it wasn’t in direct communication with him, as it was now. The young man he’d met yesterday morning, he’d asked him about his Father.

Was it a coincidence that he was in the wind this morning? He supposed he’d been thinking about the old man… Mother had been haunted by the lack of explanation, and it had hurt Jones, but… If the voices he heard were really their spirit visiting him, shouldn’t he ask?

He’d never thought to. His Father’s visits were brief, and always insulting. He supposed that was in character, but there was always a part of himself that whispered that the voice in his head was just that: a construction of his mind.

He settled further into the song, and began seeking the voice of his father. 

6:48 A.M.

“Mornin, Grandma.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Lena.”

“Yes, ma’am. Can I take that?”

“Please do. It’s awful airish out there, but I know you got the temp high in here.”

“Guilty.”

“You didn’t sleep a wink, did you?”

“No, ma’am. Homework.”

“I said no bullshit, Levi.”

“How do you do that?”

“A-do what, child?”

“Nothing, sorry. How the hell did you get up here?”

“I back pocket drove, quick trip.”

“G-ma, we talked about this, that is not safe.”

“I’ve been doing it since I was younger than your mother was when she had you, boy.”

“And how did she die, huh?”

“I only go with good drivers. Only good people stop for an old lady on the side of the road, and good people are good drivers.”

“I guess. I’m glad you’re here safe though. How’s Rod?”

“You know him. Man was born to be hung.”

“Uh…”

“Not like that, foul child.”

“Thank god.”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose…”

“Shush!”

“Aw, let an old woman live, girlie.”

“Fine. Live, but do it when I’m out of the house. Oh shit, speaking of…”

“You late again? Stupid child.”

“Fuck you too, Gramma!”

“You got the bedroom set up for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Phone, wallet, keys?”

“Yeah.”

“Grammy kiss?”

“Uhh, no.”

“C’mere. Love you, baby.”

“Love you--Ah!”

“Ow! What was that for?”

“There was a-a bug on you! Big fucking thing. Wow.”

“Oh, yes. Cicada.”

“The hell are you doing with a cicada on your shawl, woman?”

“You would know, if you had awakened yet.”

“Grandma, we talked about this.”

“Some are late bloomers, that is all that I’m saying…”

“Sure. Show me some proof, someday, and I’ll think about it.”

“Think about this:”

“Oh, Jesus, here we go.”

“Hush. Everyone, every being, every object, works on its own form of life force. Some-”

“Some forms interpret it in different ways but at the core they are all the same, yes Gramma I know, I have to go!”

“Fine. One last hug. It is good seeing you, Loux.”

“Seriously, what is up with that? Don’t smile at me like that, you mischievous bitch!”

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

The door clicked closed, and Levi’s grandmother locked it. She smiled to herself, and picked up the dead cicada from the floor of his living room. 

He’s a good kid. Just needs some time.

A late bloomer.

7:16 A.M.

Jones was so far deep inside of the song that he didn’t notice as Lena strolled past him to unlock the door.

She stopped, looking down at him as he sang silent words. She stopped with the door half open, then leaned on the glass door, watching him, rapt, for longer than she had ever before.

It was beautiful, an ongoing, always evolving fugue that looped around itself in a thick, multi tonal stream of music. His fingers sped up and down the fret board, resting only briefly when they did at all. Eventually, she had to step inside, leaving him to his mantra. 

He spent hours in the song, searching for his father’s voice in the wind.

7:22 A.M. 

The sun had fully risen. The mountain drank up the blood-red light. 

For the second time that day, Parker died.

7:23 A.M.

Sam yawned. The sun had just risen over the horizon, and was spilling into her little sliver of the collections office. She thought about taking a break to go smoke, just so she could feel the cold February air heat up in the presence of the sun.

 While she was out there, she could call Parker, and ask how his job search was going. Then maybe ask him if he wanted to grab a bite to eat with her and Jack later tonight. She wondered how it went with Levi. He was definitely a character, but so was Parker, at times. They would be good for each other, and she knew that Levi was in a tight spot right now…

Stopping with her hand halfway to the bag that held her pack of cigarettes, she realized she’d quit smoking two years ago.

When would it finally stick? She’d put down her last cigarette in June, 2020.

God, but she could use one right now. 

The need came on her less and less, but when it did, it was strong, and lingered for a long time. She would need to replace that urge with something else when she got home. Usually alcohol worked as a substitute, or some mindless video game… But Jack had let Danny borrow the PS4. Damn.

And then her phone began to ring. Not her desk phone, but her personal phone. It was an unknown number.

She sighed deeply, crossed her legs, and picked it up.

It seemed the universe had already decided; today was just going to be one of those days.

“Hello, how may I help you?”

“Hi, is this, Sameera Daylily?” The woman’s voice was low, almost sultry as she spoke.

“Yes, this is her speaking, you can call me Sam.”

“Hello, Sam.” Her voice remained level as she spoke. “This is Investigator Horne of the FBI speaking. Would you be available to answer a few questions today?”

Oh, fuck.

8:01 A.M.

“Give me the headline, Sarah Beth.”

“FBI foiled by conwoman kidnapper, escapes containment, local police bewildered.” Sarah Beth tapped her favorite pen against her lip as she leaned back, letting the words breathe in the space between her and Leonard.

He sat across from her, in the same positions they had been in for hours. Finishing the last bite of the bagel Bell had brought them, he likewise chewed the words. Then he shook his head.

“Too… Saturday morning cartoon. Foiled? Too wordy,” he said.

His phone began to ring, and he stared down at the name on the receiver angrily. 

“Bell’s mother. Christ,” he rubbed the bridge of his nose, then picked up the phone.“Keep working at it,” he grunted, then shooed Sarah Beth out of his office as he took the call.

She stood staring out at the absolute chaos that had overtaken the larger office. Marco ran copies of the release forms between the two interviewees, both sitting patiently in the waiting room while Bell finished up their last minute make up.

Sarah Beth crossed the room to where a small refreshments table had been set up, grabbing one of the muffins Bell had brought from the bakery she worked at. She stared at the small woman rush between her make-up station and the guests as she bit into the cran-blueberry muffin.

“I had no idea you did that,” she called out to Bell, who was packing away her kit.

“Huh?” The young girl looked up at Sarah Beth through a sheath of kinked black hair, flashing a brief but beautiful smile. “Oh, yeah.” She giggled quietly, then stepped close to her, whispering. “You like those? I made them myself.”

“Wow,” Sarah Beth said dumbly as she looked down at the muffin. Then, panicking, she took another bite. “Itfs fo goog!” she said through the mouthful.

“They’re my favorite too!” She had the good grace not to disgustedly walk away. “But makeup is my passion. I’m going to school for it,” she explained. “You’re Sarah, right?”

“Sarah Beth,” she said after a large swallow. “And you’re Bell?” Like I don’t know.

“Yup! I’m Mr. Grant’s daughter. He said he needed some help up here, and I figured--What’s a coffee and bagel run? He caught me just after the morning rush, so I-”

She was interrupted by Marco, tapping Sarah Beth’s shoulder.

“Eh, sorry, SB?” He looked pleadingly at her, nodding to the two waiting guests. The camera’s and lights had been set up, and the first interviewee had been sat down in the middle of the frame. She was an older woman, hair just starting to gray, but it was obvious she had been beautiful. 

The second guest was Young and Pretty herself, the woman who worked the police department’s front desk. Sarah Beth thought her name might have been Kim. Apparently she went for tea with Bell. She momentarily filled with jealousy, then shook her head.

“Right,” she said, looking at Bell regretfully. “Sorry.”

Bell shook her head, hair cascading down in perfect rows. “S’okay. You’re a busy woman. Go kill it,” she said, smiling broadly.

Sarah Beth couldn’t help smiling back at her. She turned to the guest, looking briefly at Marco to give her the all okay. He nodded from behind a mountain of sound and visual equipment, giving her a thumbs up for good measure.

“You said your name was Investigator Horne?” Sarah Beth nodded to the older woman, who looked directly into the camera without being asked.

The woman was fiddling with a small wooden block, some insectoid design partially carved out of a blond, hard, wood. “Yes. Can we make this quick, please?”

“Of course, ma’am. I’d just like to ask you a few questions. How did Kyle Montgomery know this Natalie Dempsey?”

“Well…” The older woman nodded once, her voice low.

8:46 A.M.

Officer Odom had already sweat through his thin, blue button up. He threw on his police jacket, figuring that would hide the sweat stains and cut a nice figure. He stared into his small office’s bathroom mirror. He smelled and looked fine, and not at all like he’d been hungover and barely awake forty five minutes ago.

He’d been woken up by the boss. The press fucks were asking for a clip. The Chief of Police needed to put a good spin on this bitch escaping arrest. 

This was going to suck, but it’d be over soon. Maybe five minutes. “Fine”, he said to himself. “Do your worst, universe. I’m gonna be on T.V..”

He stepped out of his office, and glided through the station like he was in a dream. He stopped by Kim’s desk, and nearly began hitting on her before he even looked. That was right. She’d been taken by the fucking press.

He took his buck-tooth grin and James Dean lean off of Kim’s desk, and walked through the front door, a faint smile melting to his serious-business face he used when talking to criminals or the victims of criminals.

The cameras. The fucking cameras were already set up, staring at him, eating his face and making him news. It disgusted him. He walked with his head down, bald spot showing he was sure, like he had some serious shit to say. He supposed he did. 

Finally, he made it to the wooden lectern someone had placed in front of the Old Hill Rock. He looked down at the script that had been placed in front of him, and couldn’t help but laugh. He already felt like a puppet, did he really need a reminder that there was a hand so far up his ass he could taste the dirt under its nails?

He recovered from the mistake, clearing his throat. Looking out across the crowd, he picked one camera, and stuck to it. There was a beautifully tall woman behind it, and she did the sign of the cross across her chest as he settled on their camera.

Making girlie’s days, left and right, yessiree.

He cleared his mind and his throat, then began to speak.

“I think I speak for the entire Police Department, when I say…”

9:30 A.M.

“We asked Investigator Aubrey Horne, who arrested Natalie Dempsey, how did Kyle Montgomery know this Natalie Dempsey?”

Sarah Beth watched the older FBI agent’s face fill the screen as her words came out of the speakers. They had barely finished up the recording in time for the 9:30 news slot, and it was a bit sloppy, but they would be the first ones reporting on it. 

They had even captured the chief of police giving an official statement. Sure, they weren’t the only ones recording it, but they had gotten the head start. The town millionaire was missing, and the person who did it had escaped from the police department while an experienced FBI agent was watching over her.

It was fucking insane. It was amazing. It was perfect. It was…

“Oh, shit,” she moaned. It was about the time when Artuto usually woke up. She checked her phone, and yup, three missed calls. 

And a fourth one incoming. She stepped outside of the studio, then answered, instantly apologizing. “Arturo, I’m so sorry-”

“Is this you on T.V.?” He was speaking quickly, voice garbled through the phone.

“Uhh, no,” she said. “It’s Juice.”

“Duh!” He said, and she could hear the program in the background of the call. “It’s you though, I can tell your style, just by the way it’s put together.”

She smiled. 

“I mean wow,” he kept on, praising her, almost out of breath. Then, finally. “You did a great job, Sarah Beth.”

“Thank you, Arturo. We made the C.O.P. pretty mad, but we got it first. Thanks for looking after Ray.”

“Ay, no issue. Was my day anyway. Good stuff though. Tell them you need a goddamn raise. I don’t know what time you got here, but it’s too damn early for any decent person to be awake. And you’re decent people, Sarah Beth.”

She laughed musically, though not to her own ears if you’d’ve asked her. “Thanks, Art. I’ll see you soon.”

They both hung up at the same time. 

Sarah Beth looked up at the cold, blue sky, and smiled into the sun.