#touchofsolo

 Standing there there on the cliff edge Noah looked out at the soft blue ocean, the sounds of the sea permeating the air around him,  his mind willing the the adrenaline in his veins to go away.

This trip had not been a vacation–not by a long shot–with the reality of the fact he came to a stupid Island surrounded by fucking water setting in pretty quickly after he arrived. But what was funny was that wasn’t even the most difficult. No. Nestled between the beach dwelling and the constant rotation of people wanting to meet one of the “Original” Kalani pack line there were the old fading photographs hung against the peeling wallpaper. Each one with it’s own story attached to it. Like the one of him hair wild covered in mud, smiling proudly with his arm around his brother. His Great Aunt smiled when she told that one. It was the brother’s first time running the pack by themselves, and Noah’s heart warmed slightly at the thought of his father alongside his Uncle.

There was another one though that struck Noah. One of his father holding him as a small baby, both all smiles and laughter. It had an unfortunate crease down the middle, product of its transcontinental journey his Great-Aunt assured him. But funnily enough, Noah didn’t see it as a product of anything. Noah saw it as part of the picture, plain as day, the crease down the middle reflecting everything he didn’t know how to put into words.

Because this crease that separated the picture into two, it was a disconnect Noah could resonate with. It was an imperfect stain on an otherwise perfect picture. A perfect split to voice the fact that Noah had never exactly felt whole to begin with.

Because he wasn’t whole. All his life he had been half. He was half Hawaiian, He was half a werewolf. He was not gay… but he was also not straight. Everything it seemed was split down the middle, with Noah on the side trying to figure out how the pieces worked. Trying to figure out what was going to make him happy.

Because he wasn’t happy, that much was evident. No, Noah was scared. He had been scared about a lot of things, for a long time. And that fear, the fear of people leaving, the fear of people knowing he was different, the fear of giving into the wolf and losing what it meant to be human. They all had been chipping away little by little the person he wanted to be. Or rather the person he knew he should be. 

But maybe today was the day to reclaim himself?

He was here on a tropical island after all. He had spent countless hours learning what it had meant to be a Hawaiian Kalani and what being a werewolf had meant to his father. Maybe today was the day to start getting rid of some of these things he had been holding onto for so long. Things that he knew had ruined his relationship with Reza. 

Much like all the other houses on Harris Island the building across from her looked like a more tasteful version of what could only be described as a Barbie dream house. Stone clad turret and bay windows included. As buildings went it didn’t scream murder house. That title was still reserved by the one off dark score lane. With that thought still in the back of her mind she reached behind her to the space at the passenger seat behind her for her bag when a figure crossed her side of the car and she senses someone standing close on the sidewalk and twisted back round to see a woman’s face leaning towards the window and her hand coming up to wave with her fingers. Probably wondering what business she had creeping around outside near the Lexus and Mercedes models and staycation homes. Cassie gingerly reached over to wind the window down and smiled in what she hoped passed for a friendly ‘howdy there neighbor’ greeting.

“Hey,” she rolled the window down fully and looked out towards the other woman.

“I spoke to you online didn’t I?” Okay, not what she was expecting. The woman opposite was straight to the point. It was strange to be able to put a face to the name. She wasn’t exactly who she’d been expecting either. Professionally dressed in a suit that looked like it had been custom made to measure, her dark hair piled up and way from her face in an updo. If she knew it was a formal event she’d have ditched the jeans and blue button up for at least a nice blouse. “Exorcisms, right?”

“…That would be me,” Cassie waved sheepishly, “hi,” at the latter half of that conversation she raised her felt her eyebrow raise and cast a wary look around them in case it had been overheard but found the street mercifully empty.

“Hey, Erin, she greeted with another wave, “sorry I was running late. Thought I might miss you so this is great timing actually. Give me just a second,” Erin held up a finger while she fished her keys out from her purse, “and I’ll open the place out for you. Come on out,” she gestured for Cassie to follow her and turned her back towards the house.

Stepping outside of the car Cassie idled for a second and looked ahead at the house as Erin locked up her car and started up the small incline of her paved driveway and to a large stained glass oak door. Cassie swung the keys back and forth in nervous habit around her finger and watched the dinosaur pass by in a green plastic blur when something heavier and gold swung beside it and knocked into her index finger as she stopped to look at the new addition to her keyring collection. A small radio charm had been added at some point. Examining it with a small smile and a shake of her head she put the keys back into her pocket and moved to catch up with the other woman. As she passed the small well-manicured front yard the sprinklers flared to life beside her and she dodged to avoid her jeans catching any of the spray. With a last look out towards the rest of the empty street she crossed over to the porch.

“My deposition overran,” Erin explained in a harried, almost hassled fashion as Cassie caught up to her and ran the back of her hand across her forehead to push away the stray hairs, she was close to her mom’s age, maybe a few years younger, “but, that’s not what you came here for. So,” she let out an exhale and gestured for Cassie to enter the house first with her arm outstretched in an ‘after you’ gesture, “you want to come through and I can see what exactly we’re dealing with?”

From the outside it might have just looked like any other house on the stretch of road, but the interior was something else entirely. Across the other side of the doorway were several wards and symbols painted or etched into the frame. The room to her left was crammed with bookshelves lining every section of the room and every available space was crammed with varying tomes and volumes. They passed a few other sets of closed doors until Erin turned into what looked like a cross between a living room and a study. Books were stacked in piles on the coffee table in the centre of the room with various papers and opened texts scattered nearby.

“Come on in, please excuse the mess,” Erin took a seat on one of the armchairs, “I was looking some things out last night when we were talking. I thought at first you were talking about something like a possessed object or a Dybbuk Box scenario, but from what you said we’re looking at something else. They can’t bust out of jail like that and you’re not your standard possessed party so, we’ve got to think outside the box with this one.”

“Right. There’s uh, there’s nobody else in here, been trying to keep track but it’s not like I sleep a lot anyway so I’d notice if I had chunks of my life missing. Just me,” and my own stupidity, she mused to herself.

“Oh, sure-sure-sure. I picked up on that from outside. You wouldn’t have got past the door otherwise.” Erin didn’t elaborate and brushed it off to get up and look on the table for some papers. “Ok. Let me just “see what I got here” she trailed off as she sifted through the stacks of paper on the table and flipped over a few books to examine their titles before she sat it looked like she had a second thought and moved out to stand again, “you want coffee, tea, water, anything?”

“I’m good,” Cassie shook her head and took a seat on the couch nearby. “Thanks.”

“Ok,” Erin sat down again properly, adjusting the hem of her skirt as she got comfortable, “then we’ll just get straight to it. You said a mask did this?”

“Yeah, creepy Texas Chainsaw Massacre looking thing. Something that had the other guy like a puppet, ventriloquist dummy maybe. He was behind the wheel, but somebody else was calling the shots.” She went on to explain what had happened, going to the house, the mask the green light that seemed to curl around everything like a vine, minus a few details, but enough for Erin to get an idea. “I saw one other person get hijacked, but this isn’t like that. I’m not getting the eye stuff or--It’s these whispers every now and again, I know how that sounds, but like I said it’s just me in here. I’m not—there’s nobody else trying to duke it out. It’s like,” she started and stopped. She didn’t know how to phrase it, “It feels like somebody tied a thread,” she started over, “like I’m linked up to something. Every now and again somebody decides to start pulling at it, like it’s on fire a little” she mimed pulling a string on her wrist, “but it’s everywhere and it’s like I have to follow. It’s worse when I don’t, been trying to ignore it with  working out but it’s wearing off solution-wise. It’s not all the time otherwise I’d have already gone nuts, but I think it’s getting worse, feels like it’s getting worse,” she clamped a hand over the spot where it had burned that night, “felt lie somebody took a blowtorch to this thing.”

“what happened to the rest of it?” Erin pointed towards her tattoo and Cassie pulled the sleeve of her jacket back down towards her knuckles in reflex.

“I was only half done with it when it happened,” she admitted, “wasn’t on purpose.”

“It’s not your traditional case. I’ll give you that. And there’s no chance of getting the item that caused it?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Cassie admitted. “It’d be hard to get and I’d rather gnaw my own arm off than go back there, I’ve been doing my damnedest to avoid the place since. Can’t keep putting it off, this isn’t going to let me.”

“Ok,” Erin let out a long breath, “we can try some things out first, I’d have a better idea of what I’m dealing with if we had it, but for now I can try a few things first. See if any of them take till we get to that point. Sound good?”

“Okay,” Cassie nodded, “I just want it gone so whatever works you’ve got the greenlight. Go nuts.”

“There’s a risk with this stuff,” she warned. “Most of the time I’ve been able to do it without anybody getting hurt, but this is a new one and-”

“And what?”

“I know what I’m doing, Erin put up a hand in reassurance, “been doing this for decades now, but there’s always a risk. Sometimes there’s resistance and it takes things out on the host. Sometimes it doesn’t let go and it gets-but we’re not at that point yet and I’m fairly optimistic I can do this.”

“So,” on that confidence boosting note Cassie brushed her hands against the front of her jeans and changed the subject slightly, “how long have you been doing this kind of stuff for?” She glanced around them at the shelves upon shelves of tomes like the other room down the hall. She spied a few titles she had herself on one of the bottom shelves. The beginner stuff. She had a lot of catching up to do. A lifetime worth if this room was anything to go by.

“Used to be a family business of sorts,  Erin answered looking at again for a moment. “I grew up with it, used to go out with my parents soon as I turned eighteen, but I didn’t want to make it a full time occupation so I do this between everything else and it’s worked out well so far. Switched to law.”

“Does this kind of thing come in handy with that?” Cassie asked. 

“Not exactly, but it made some use out of all that Latin.”

“You said you picked up that there’s nobody else riding shotgun, can you see them? I know a few of you get this stuff, the seeing ghosts and whatever else is there, to varying degrees.”

“Me? No.” Erin shook her head, “no, I can’t see ghosts. I just get a sense for them. Picked it up along the way. It hasn’t let me down so far. It feels less personal that way. I don’t know if I’d do it otherwise. I’d still see them as people.” The room fell silent after that. After a few minutes Erin was the first to speak again as she overturned a book mid read and scribbled down a few notes. “Ok, I might have some things here, I have a few leads at least. I just need to make a few calls. Give me a few days. I can call you when I get something together,” Erin opened up a pen cap with her teeth and scrawled down her number on a scrap of paper and handed it to her, “and you can either come here or someplace you’d feel safer to do this. I’ll call you soon as I get something concrete.” 

“I forgot to ask how muc-” Erin stopped her.

“If you just want to get the supplies that will cover it.”

 Cassie handed over her number in return. It wasn’t a promise, but it was a start.“Thanks, for doing this.”

Her family is wealthy enough for them to have built a separate wing to their house in which she stays during those days, a small room and a separate bathroom which holds a bathtub with running water in which Rifka now bathes three times a day while praying for purity. She vaguely remembers that at the beginning, her mother had sometimes stayed with her, but now her mother is too old and so Rifka now faces the isolation on her own. Not even the teacher, whose visits so often form the highlight of her days, is allowed to visit her now. Three times a day her mother leaves a plate with food for her in front of the door that separates Rifka from the rest of her family (her very own dishes and cutlery, what a luxury, albeit one born from the fact that during those days the rest of her family don’t even deign to use the same dishes as she does). She remembers some of the women explaining in lowered voices that if you stopped eating for long enough, you could make the bleeding stop, and Rifka has tried that, but all that had resulted had been dizziness and an intense feeling of weakness, and so she had started to eat again. For what good is freedom if you don’t have the strength to use it?

That’s what she thinks of, freedom, when she spreads her legs and prays for the cloth to come out a spotless white this time. Twice a day the rabbi visits, and right after she hands over the cloth for him to inspect Rifka closes her eyes instead of letting them stray to the window that, with its view on a bustling Riga street usually offers so much distraction. The window has now been hammered shut, testament to her earlier (and successful) attempts at climbing out of it. 

Rifka reads voraciously during those days. She reads Goethe poems and Russian fairy tales, Madame Bovary and Dantons Tod. She reads the tanakh again and again and again and still finds a certainty inside herself that what she’s going through is wrong. 

And when, after hours of reading in dim light her eyes start to water, Rifka crawls into bed and thinks of Miriam. 

Miriam and how small her wrists look when she breaks a latke. 

Miriam and how the tip of her braid peaks out from under her shawl. 

Miriam and the first time they saw a giraffe and a zebra in pictures from the newly-opened zoo in Sankt-Peterburg, the first in the Russian Empire. The world around them is changing, has been changing for so long, yet they are not allowed to change along with it. Rifka had promised that they’d be going to Africa together one day and Miriam had laughed and had declared that sure, as long as she could take her husband and kids along. Rifka could have scolded her for that, how didn’t Miriam realize that she wasn’t helping herself by thinking this way, but instead she had been content to tell herself that this was simply her task now. To set Miriam free because Miriam can’t do so by herself.  

And then, after it’s all over and her second life has begun, after she has sought out Viktors and punished him for not even bothering to take into account any of her plans for what she’s been waiting for for so long, after she’s left Riga and is waiting in Jelgava, waiting for something she doesn’t quite know how to define yet in a house the keys to which she has stolen from her first victim during her first nightly expedition in Jelgava, Rifka sits on her bed and thinks of Miriam again. Miriam who is still stuck at home in Riga. She notices that she isn’t particularly keen on the idea of going back to Riga, even if it’s just for a short visit. At this point, her family probably presumes her dead, lying murdered in a ditch somewhere because that was what they had always seen coming, because they know His ways and the fate he has come upon those who defy him. 

And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes; and they shall know that I am the L--D, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them.

And Rifka realizes that if this is what great vengeance look like, a better version of herself, a powerful one, a free one, there is nothing in that vengeance to be afraid of, not now and possibly never again. Or maybe she’s always been right in hoping for something better and her family have been wrong all along. In any case, with the realization that whatever she has now is virtually free of consequence, something breaks down in her at that moment, an invisible barrier she’s built inside herself in between her hometown and herself in an attempt to escape it as quickly as possible. And the crumbling of the wall reveals another realization: She needs to get Miriam because otherwise she won’t be able to leave because the future has always been one for both of them. This is a promise she’s made and she’s not going to go back on it. 

The space around him was cool and damp, and for a moment, Daejun thought he was sinking, or floating, possibly both in some black, impenetrable wall of darkness. His body, or soul, whatever he was now, was being pressed into on all sides, head pounding hard enough to warp whatever vision he had left in strings of red and static black. Why did he feel pain if he was dead? And what the fuck caused it to ache like that?

Oh, right. He’d been shot there, if his final memory staring down the barrel of shotgun was enough to go by. Great. Would he be spending eternity with a migraine, or would it fade in time?

If this was death, he didn’t care for it. Where was Hell? Where was the brimstone and fire, the castles built of skulls? There wasn’t a single tortured person holding up a pillar heavy enough to break their back, unable to move out from under the weight yet unable to bear the pain. In fact, he couldn’t see much at all. Maybe this was a postmodern punishment, neither positive nor negative, and all his crimes had landed him immobile with no view forever, or some similar bullshit, but it felt too much like being alive for his comfort.

He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, and Satan himself hadn’t come to complain that Daejun was doing his job for him. The material around him felt an awful lot like dirt. The boys hadn’t said goodbye, or that they’d be watching over him from heaven, or something dumb like that. He sat here for how long and neither of them bothered? Did he have to wait for final curtain to see them again? It just didn’t add up. This wasn’t the pit- though perhaps it was a grave.

The alternative, his coming back to life, didn’t make a lot of sense either, because the one tried and true method of keeping an Erinyes down, cutting off the head, should be just as effective as blowing it clean off with bullets. But who was he to question that kind of thing? He was sturdier than he thought.

Now, not worse than his own fatality, but slightly more concerning, he was buried alive, which was, in his humble opinion, the worst possible way to be. He despised being here, among the must and the bugs. He needed to be out, to fill his lungs with fresh air again, to have the space to move his head without feeling ready to choke. Strange, he never thought if himself as claustrophobic, or minded close spaces before, but now that he was nearly immobile, it sent cold shivers down his back.

If he was truly stuck with no hope of liberation, how long would it take before all the air was gone, and he fell into nothing again?  He’d be trapped in a maddening cycle: asphyxiate, die, revive, asphyxiate, die, revive, asphyxiate, until... what? He saw no end to the repetition, only himself going slowly insane until the world ended, or someone dug him up. He didn’t even have a coffin.

Mouth tight, he maneuvered his arms, wiggling them as the firm soil shifted, making way for his arms. Immediately, he pulled his shirt collar up to cover his mouth and nose, keeping out any dust and debris when he made his escape.

It was ironic, his being here. How many times had he condemned someone else to this very fate? Upwards of twenty, certainly. He’d bring someone out into the woods, force them to dig their own grave, shoot them somewhere that’d take hours to bleed out from, and then fill in the hole, ignoring their shrill, pained squeals for help. Either they’d die of blood loss or lack of air, trapped like rats on a foundering ship. It was almost an MO for him back in Ashford River. Daejun was different from the worms he cast into mother nature’s destructive hands as punishment for laying hands on a wife or kid, or selling information to a rival mob, and there was no predator standing over his burial waiting for the noises to die down as Daejun used to.

But he was still here in the filth, same as them. Why the fuck wasn’t there a casket? Had someone stuck him down here without thought, or ceremony? Did they just leave him in a hole and throw mud on top of him? Was anything said over his bones? He still had all his teeth, and there was nothing in his mouth, so yeah, nobody did a fucking thing for him when he died. Typical. He clawed at the earth above him.

How far down here was he, anyways? It felt infinite, like the surface didn’t even exist anymore, and he was her, alone in the dark, restricted, and doomed to dig until his hands broke and the oxygen ran out.

He was going to have a serious conversation with Reed about respect when he’d crawled out of this stupid pit, assuming he made his escape that day. Really, they were friends, so why was Daejun down here, dumped without ceremony? The fact that he didn’t spoke volumes. A separate, more reasonable part of him state that if Reed wasn’t around to bury him, he might be right there in the earth by his side. However, the mousy cop wouldn’t be breaking out with Daejun, he’d be rotting worm food.

If Reed was murdered too, Daejun was going to kill him, the fucker.

Now grief was mingling with the chilly hold panic had on his spine, and he moved faster, thrashing blindly, shoveling little mounds to the side, stirring up so much loose debris that he could hardly breathe even through the shirt. Keeping on top was difficult, and he had to pause a few times to maneuver his body over the fallen piles. It was a slow struggle, and despite his efforts not to waste air, he was panting harshly, more from familiar spiderlegs of desperation spreading to his diaphragm than exertion.

Finally, after hours of sporadic work, his fingertips broke through the surface, flexing, twitching, nails torn and bleeding, but freedom from the cage was so close he could taste it. He shoved his entire hand through, then the other, fresh air blessing his heaving lungs. For a minute, he was still, squinting at the sudden shaft of light peeking down into his little personal hell, illuminating the floating dust particles like smoke in front of his face, then sat up before pulling his legs away.

Just like that, he was out. He was actually shaking from exhaustion. Before, life was so easy he’d been certain that emotions, like fear and joy, were lost to him, but now, having won over both the reaper and mother Earth, adrenaline combined with them both, along with hunger and thirst to course through his veins. He was alive. He was whole. Winning four million dollars in poker didn’t even touch how he was now.

Daejun rolled away from the cursed spot, finding his feet, trying to rise, but failing. Okay, so he needed a minute to rest. The stupid world looked pretty for now, at least, so he didn’t mind. The stars were fading as the sky glowed with pre-dawn warmth, angular trees jutting up into the horizon like needles. He was in a field that glinted with dew, and a hundred yards away was that ridiculous white building, the very house he’d come to check out a lifetime ago. So maybe Reed was off the hook. Obviously it was the Chimarias who’d buried him on their own property (how idiotic could they be?), meaning nobody had been around to collect his body. Still not okay, but more understandable. 

His skull pounded. He was mortal again, experiencing sensations! Clutching at his forehead and groaning, he examined he still-tender skin with a few fingers, feeling scar issue pull and catch, and when he pulled them back, they shiny and reddish, like it was still raw. If this stupid thing marked up his pretty face permanently, he was going to throw something.

He shouted at the house, at all of them, that impossibly enormous family, even if they were asleep far away and his voice was wheezy and gritty and the wind stole the breath right from his throat, it still tasted like victory. “I’m not fucking dead! You’d better try harder next time!”

He watched for signs of movement, and while all was quiet, he didn’t want to stay here a second longer. Still clumsy from inactivity, joints popping and pulling, Daejun walked along the property and down the dirt road, eventually reaching Dark Score Lane. It felt like years ago that he’d driven there with Reed.

Already, he was fatigued. Making his way across town covered in dirt and weak from six days underground sounded about as good as battery acid. Would an Uber agree to be paid upon arrival home? His phone was, surprisingly, still in his pocket, screen shattered, grains of sand smashed into both the headphone jack, charging port, and all the speakers, but it still responded to his touch, displaying 18% battery.

Instead of calling for a ride, he dialed Reed’s number. No answer. Daejun ignored the dread that threatened him and hung up, getting pissed instead. Wherever the yappy man was, whenever he showed his face, he was going to get an earful and maybe a pop on the nose.

“So what you’re saying Jan is that these little teeny tiny pixie things were what caused my fundraiser to fail?” Helen asked in a measured voice, smoothing a small wrinkle from her pants. It had taken an entire week to give out refunds, track down sold goods, and they still were dealing with the aftermath. But there was only one wrong left that Helen could right and she was determined to get to the bottom of it. 

“Pixies that are part of the Unseelie Court, so the violent version” Jan replied after a sip of coffee her eyes a bit downcast and rightfully so. 

Helen hadn’t known about Jan’s little side job until this debacle after all, and that was an offense the older woman did not take lightly. But Jan had her uses. She knew her way around things, and people, and for that Helen could see past the complete and utter betrayal of trust. Just this once.

“Right” Helen nodded not caring about the Unseelie or whatever court. All that mattered  to Helen was making sure this never ever happened again “Do we know why they did this?” She asked looking steadily at Jan again, almost willing the woman to look at her. But Jan new better.

“Not entirely,” Jan shook her head raven hair falling around her “though there’s still some more I might be able to glean from the one I was able to catch”

“Right.” It fell out of Helen’s mouth with a polite venom “So say whoever did this still out there what are the chances of them targeting functions like the bake sale again?” Helen could see the wheels in Jan’s mind moving as soon as the words left her mouth. She was fighting with herself, fighting over what she should tell her non-supernatural leader and what she should omit. But in the end Jan was as loyal as a well trained Labradoodle and Helen appreciated that.

“Well that depends really,” Jan started “I mean could it happen again from pixies? Probably not. But they could use other methods”

Sipping her coffee Helen gathered her thoughts. For a woman who prided herself on being in the know it was unsettling to find out that there was a whole other world right underneath her nose. But Helen would never let that show. “What other methods?” She asked politely over her coffee knowing she was opening a door that she might never be able to close again.

“Uh well, a lot of them,” Jan mumbled slightly taking a sip of her coffee “A lot that you might not know about”

Looking over at the other woman Helen smoothed another invisible wrinkle from her pants, face trained into it’s politely poised position. This was not how she envisioned her Sunday would go, and it was unnerving to say the least. But Helen was anything but a coward, and even though she didn’t understand much now there was already a new goal forming in the back of her mind. 

One more year. AJ kept reminding himself of this as he forced his way through the front doors of the school building. Stepping foot inside the building was like stepping into a mine field. AJ didn’t know which path was going to blow up under his feet or how long he had until he inevitably made a misstep; all he knew was that the mines were active and an explosion seemed inevitable. Still, AJ walked with confidence because the only thing worse would be to look paranoid like he was expecting something bad to happen. The portals in town had understandably left the entire school on edge. No one seemed to be able to focus on the teachers who were desperately trying to maintain some level of control over the situation. More so than a regular first day of school definitely. But ACHS had weathered its fair share of weird shit over the years. Give it a couple of weeks for this portal shit to cross over and the only thought crossing the student’s minds would be Homecoming.

The reminder that he was here alone wasn’t surprising to him. The summer had been a weird change in habit for AJ. Hanging out with people that wasn’t his mother or the passerby’s at the library. He wasn’t sure that he could have called any of them his friends, but he had found himself in quite a few situations with the Prom Squad that had given him more socialization and the closest thing to friendship AJ had seen in years. Maybe longer. It wasn’t like he was the most open of people even before his father’s warrant for arrest was issued. None of that mattered though, because most of them probably hated his guts again anyways. Blanche and him had basically brawled over the internet and Dustin definitely wasn’t braiding any friendship bracelets for the two of them anytime soon. And Quinn would probably be pissed at AJ because his boyfriend was. The summer had just been a reminder that he wasn’t cut out for those kinds of relationships. The only thing he could manage were allies. People that helped him achieve a goal. People that he could keep at arm’s length, or further if he was lucky. He had almost deluded himself into thinking that he could actually make some friends again. Obviously the first day of school was a great way to remind him that he was back to reality now.

“I was hoping those portals would do us all a favor and swallow a serial killer or two” Amanda’s bag smacked against AJ’s back as she glided by his seat in Physics. He rolled his eyes. Obviously she hadn’t found a heart on that mission trip she took over the summer. “When you wish upon a star, Amanda.” He smiled back at her, enjoying the groan that escaped her lips as she turned her back to him and began talking to her sister. They both served as reminders that the only person in the entire school who may not be pissed at him had to dislike him to keep the rest of her friends. As kids poured into the Physics class he became increasingly aware that administration had seemingly handpicked AJ’s old friend group to stick in the class with him out of the kindness of their hearts. He planted his forehead against the desk and wished that a portal would open in the classroom right now and swallow him whole.

An absent Blanche was assigned to be his lab partner for the year and AJ wondered if the absence had anything to do with the shit storm that seemed to be her life at the moment. He would have heard if anything bad had happened to her, he had put her name along with the rest of the Prom Squad in with the people at the ACPD that actually still liked him. If any of them were ever arrested or police officers responded to anything involving them he would have gotten a call. She probably didn’t come because of her broken leg and the portal currently residing in her garage. “Maybe they finally locked her in the loony bin.” Jeremy Briggs snickered and those surrounding him erupted into a hushed fit of giggles.

Getting ahold of all of the pills he needed by lunch had been more difficult than he had imagined. The school nurse kept a whole drawer filled with pills sent in by parents for their children’s prescriptions along with keeping enough bottles of ibuprofen to cause an elephant to overdose. Ibruprofen would do for the time being given the short notice. The easiest part was dropping the hint to the Principal that someone should search Jeremy’s locker. A forged note dropped on his desk during lunch and ten minutes security was stomping through the halls and AJ stopped in the middle of the hallway and leaned against a set of lockers, excited for the show. Jeremy hadn’t even gotten to his locker when security stopped him and asked him to open it up for them. Obviously Jeremy wasn’t worried about opening it up for them, and the shocked expression on his face when he opened it and thousands of pills poured from it all over the hallway floor was truly priceless. A grin spread across AJ’s face and he couldn’t himself but say something as security was escorting him towards the Principal’s office. “Fuck, dude. Maybe someone should be taking you to the loony bin. That shit’s dangerous.”

Jeremy got his revenge after school ended. The problem with his truck was that it stuck out from the rest of the cars in the student lot like a sore thumb. Everyone knew who it belonged to and AJ’s first clue that he had been waiting for him were the shattered windows. But even with AJ’s self-defense training and the strength he still wasn’t sure how to control there was no way he could have taken on the five guys that came after him. The first got him from behind, taking him by surprise with a fist to the back of the neck. It sent a shock down his entire spine and by the time he spun around to throw a punch there was another guy ramming into his side and tackling him to the ground. Soon he couldn’t tell how many were standing above him just that there were feet connecting to his ribs, his face, and his legs. There were arms holding his arms and legs down and he struggled against them but there were so many. He needed that super strength back. But that night in the forest he had only been fighting off one person, not multiple. “Don’t you ever fucking mess with me again.” He heard the voice close to his ear. Jeremy’s. Bad mistake. AJ threw his head forward and he heard it crack against the guy’s face and then AJ’s face was wet. Probably blood. The screaming was enough to satisfy and inspire AJ, and he was able to scratch and claw his way to freedom. An elbow into a stray foot, and a kick to someone’s knee cap let him use his strength to fight the rest of their hands off of him and soon he was pushing himself back up onto the ground and onto his fight. “Actually, I think that’s my line.”

AJ’s right eye was swollen shut, so he could only see the five guys through one blurry eye. But he could see that Jeremy Brigg’s nose still had a steady stream of blooding dripping from it. Probably broken. One of the guys was on the ground holding at his knee cap. AJ shifted his weight and a searing pain shot through his side. At least one of ribs was probably broken, maybe more. He could tell how pissed Jeremy was, and through the strangled voice as he pinched his nostrils together he began screaming, “You can’t take all of us asshole!” So AJ did the only thing he could do at the moment, he began laughing.

There was a portal in her house, and monsters kept slithering out of it. There was a portal in her house, and monsters kept slithering out of it. It didn’t take long after the blonde woman disappeared into the portal for Blanche to get on her feet and hide behind the car. The first thing was to open the garage door so those stupid bat things stopped flying straight into the door. The second, was to start taking pictures with her phone. Braced on the other side of the car, Blanche took pictures and posted the warning online.

Nothing had come through from that yet. Blanche had rushed back into the house, slammed the garage door, and locked it. There was no sign of Granny. There was no sign of Rebecca. She was on her own. Blanche rushed to stop the bleeding in her shoulder. It stopped eventually, but she was pretty sure

There was a portal in her house, and monsters kept slithering out of it. Blanche paced—with crutches—and tried calling her parents. The first few times her mom’s phone rang a couple times and it went to voicemail. The next few, it didn’t ring once before it went to voicemail. Too her frustration her dad’s phone was left on the counter.

Blanche did the responsible thing. She dragged a chair the best she could, propping herself on the counter so she could watch what few monsters slide out of the garage, and she called the hospital. Immediately, she started sobbing when she talked to them, talking to whoever her parents bosses were about the death of poor Great Grandma--- and how they needed the week off.

Apparently medical professionals shouldn’t take the week off, but it had worked.

Blanche paled as she watched a snake slither out of her garage and down the drive way. She could hear snarling and the like from the garage. Blanche blankly looked at the door, and thought of her aching shoulder and how her leg hurt like hell.

The smart, responsible thing to do would be to figure out some way to close the portal. To investigate and try to figure out what kind of monsters they were--- to figure out how to close the fucking portal to Hell in her garage.

She killed someone. She should figure out how to close it for the person that was killed because it was her fault.

Blanche, instead, felt the burning sensation in her throat that meant she was going to cry. She wasn’t equipped for this. She couldn’t do this—she wasn’t superman. Blanche curled up, watching another bat thing fly out of the garage and into the town, and she shook her head. She had no one that could help—She couldn’t even help herself, how was she supposed to help everyone else?

Blanche couldn’t just stop a portal. The only thing she had ever been good at was seeing ghosts, and she had never really even helped any of them until Rebecca had told her she could. She selfishly watched them float about…. And she couldn’t even really dwell on that because the throbbing in her shoulder and her leg were distracting her.

She didn’t realize she had snatched the bottle of wine off the counter until she ended up on the couch, content to just ignore the giant portal spewing monsters into town. She was useless. Just like in the exorcism. Just like usual.

Come to think of it, Blanche realized, she wasn’t useful anywhere. There was no magic in her, she could just see things everyone else couldn’t. Maybe she was hallucinating. And she caused someone to die. That blonde woman came in to save her, and she fell in because of it. If you added everything up, the results would be that she was just one giant fuck up who couldn’t do anything.