It was *almost* easy to be swept away by the sweetness when Jeff showed up. He waited outside a Town Car's open door, a bouquet of white roses resting on his forearm. Caroline digested the whole picture bit by bit to give herself time to process. Despite the lack of formal wear, she had flashbacks to her prom, which was not a memory she wanted to revisit. She made herself take the next step toward him while she squashed thoughts of her past. He looked absolutely dashing in his deep blue button-down shirt and black slacks, belted with an ornate silver buckle. She fidgeted with her purse strap - more stalling meant to prevent her from turning on her heel and running away screaming - and swallowed her anxiety to push forward the rest of the way. Jeff kissed her on the cheek and helped her into the car. Thoughts swarmed in Caroline’s head and she worried he could hear the dissonance as loudly as she could. “Did you hear me, Care?” The voice cut through the buzzing. She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them again, and turned to face him. “Sorry, I was just overwhelmed with how fancy this all is!” It was her hope that she effectively presented excitement, though what really lived inside was panic. It was like being trapped in a cage and not knowing when she’d get out. “Heh, yeah. I’ve had a long time to think about how I wanted to do this.” The compulsion to gulp and widen her eyes was powerful, but she resisted nonetheless. “It’s lovely, Jeff. Thank you.” When he smiled back at her, she knew her attempt at her own smile was successful. “So where are we going, anyway?” “Just a little steakhouse I know downtown. Is that okay? I can call and cancel the reservation if there’s somewhere else you’d rather go...” It seemed it was Jeff’s turn to panic. The kind consideration eased her own dread just slightly, along with the amusement at his eagerness to please her. “No, of course. That’s great. You went to all the trouble, I couldn’t possibly spoil it.” Once her heart was beating at a normal rate again, she turned toward the window to watch the buildings and the people striding along the sidewalks, and all the while she could feel Jeff’s gaze on her. They were seated near a window where they overlooked docks on the channel. Of *course* he pulled out her chair for her and ordered them a bottle of champagne. She wondered what the occasion was but by the time she thought she might ask, he was already talking to her about everything under the sun. As she surveyed the rest of the dining room, she noticed couples in various stages of their romances. Some clinking glasses or making moony eyes at one another and she tunes in and out of the conversation at her own table, noting that Jeff hopes to have a dog someday and he enjoys his job, though she can’t for the life of her remember what exactly he does. She does remember to occasionally smile and nod to show she’s listening but ultimately settles her eyes on her bubbling glass of champagne. A glittery sphere catches her attention. For a moment, she thought there was an image of her mother working in her old basement workshop. She blinked and it was a normal glass of champagne again, so she picked it up and took a long sip. The rest of the evening was both uneventful and surprising. When Jeff dropped her back home, instead of asking to come up, he kissed her mouth hard and said he couldn’t wait to do this again. He didn’t wait for her to return the kiss or say goodbye before sliding back into the Town Car and taking off. Instead of the post-date fantasizing in every romantic comedy in the history of ever, Caroline’s mind decided to fixate on her lack of fulfillment. Her experience lent her no helping hand in that department as she had no idea what to expect from such a sensation. Was satisfaction in a relationship supposed to feel like what she got from her banal position at work? Did it mean she wouldn’t question their connection? Jeff Williams was a sweet, classically chivalrous guy. He still sought answers for a more committed relationship, but Caroline deflected like an expert. After all, it *was* her job. She *wanted* to give him what he was asking for. But, couldn’t - it was like something was just out of her reach, but she had no idea what it was. Her mind was constantly running, searching for what that missing puzzle piece was. Her usual immersion in work became much more useful. Every moment spent in a spreadsheet daze was a moment she didn’t have to think about why Jeff wasn’t enough for her. Was it possible that she was the one that wasn’t enough? The romantic dates to various dinner locales continued for weeks. They ranged from mom and pop diners to elegant and classy joints she never dreamed she’d be able to afford. He always took care of the bill, though, so that was never a worry. She had to hand it to the old-fashioned guy, it was a massive load off her shoulders. The problem was that she wasn’t always present on their dinner dates. Her mind would drift to the ray of sunshine that graced her offices. In her mind, the woman glowed like an angel in the movies. That golden aura of light and glitter surrounded her. Sometimes, she even envisioned a halo. It seemed that Greta was there more often than not recently, but that didn’t bother Caroline one bit. She’d be sitting in her office doing her mindless duties and a glorious goddess would come by to shine her light with a dazzling smile and adorable wave. It melted Caroline into a puddle and she couldn’t put her finger on why. The heat started to ramp up nearer to summer. Caroline, being her usual modest self, continued to wear her professional outfits of tailored slacks and blouses covered with either a cardigan or complimentary blazer. While everyone else was getting relief by loosening up on their own levels of professionalism and indulging in noisy, disruptive fans of various sizes and shapes, she sat damp at her desk, plucking away at the tasks on her lists. Finally, a day came when she could no longer bear it. She pulled away her top layer - a light cardigan that cut at the waist. It almost gave the illusion of a womanly shape hiding under the clothing. Of course, she was going to reveal that for the lie it was and expose skin. The thought made her shudder, but she knew if she didn’t, she would pass out from the heat and get even less work done than she had since the start of the summer. The view outside got much more interesting as the sun beamed down on the city. People flocked to the beaches - it looked like thousands - though Caroline was not about to count. The scantily clad ladies traipsed through the sands, laid in the sun on beach towels, and dipped into the water at choreographed intervals. Sit, lotion, lay, flip, dip, repeat. A tapping of high heels pulled her from the reality show in the window. That sound only meant one thing. Greta was in the office and was about to grace Caroline with whatever magic the angel possessed that had her so mesmerized. The familiar face passed by the window, and unlike usual, stopped in the threshold of Caroline’s office. This was an odd change of pace and she became increasingly aware of the sweat in her palms. “Warm today, isn’t it.” It was more a statement than a question. Her eyes glanced away from Caroline’s eyes to inspect the rest of her. She noticed a difference. Caroline grew self-conscious suddenly and reached for one of her exposed shoulders. That seemed to draw even more of Greta’s attention. Caroline’s cheeks flushed. She cleared her throat. “It must be nice to get to play at the beach and dip into the cool waters when you need a break.” She drew her eyes away to look out the window once more. Greta stepped farther into the office to see the view. “So it seems. Will you be going to the beach to join in the fun?” “Oh! Definitely not! The beach isn’t really my thing.” “Where I come from, the beach is mostly reserved for the stoners and hippies. I’m more welcome in the resort and gym pools. I suppose it suits me better anyway. No dangerous sun to eat away at my skin.” She inspected her arms as if to look for sunspots. Of course, there weren’t any. She was perfect. Caroline finally noticed how close Greta was. She could smell her light perfume, sweet and floral. Perhaps it was her shampoo and conditioner. Her hair was perfect. And... *Oh, shit she was staring.* Greta didn’t seem to notice, so she looked down at her own hands. The force it took was unbelievable. What power did this woman hold over her? Why was Caroline so damn captivated? *Saved by the bell.* Caroline’s office phone rang. Greta excused herself to let her take the call. Caroline mouthed a ‘sorry’ and a smile was given in return. The next day, as Caroline left the office, Greta clacked her heels over. “Hey, Caroline.” She was slightly out of breath. “Afternoon, Miss Habernathy.” “Oh, you can just call me Greta.” “Right, Greta. Are you heading home, too?” Caroline placed the stamp she’d borrowed yet again from Janet on the reception counter. Janet smiled gratefully and took it to replace it in the drawer. “I’m not sure yet. I was actually wondering if you’re busy.” “Oh, uh. I don’t really have any plans, I guess. Why? What’s up?” “Would you like to get a drink with me? I was just thinking the bar at my hotel. It’s convenient and nice enough.” Caroline had to stop her eyes from widening with shock. “Erm, yeah. Cool, sure. That would be great.” Janet chose that moment to giggle quietly, but she was polite enough to cover it by clearing her throat. *What was her deal?* “Great, I’ll let you finish up here and meet you in the lobby downstairs. We can walk together.” Caroline’s first thought was a question about Greta walking any distance in those heels. “Okay, that sounds good. See you in a few minutes.” Greta walked in the direction of the stairwell and Caroline turned back to Janet. “Is there any mail I need to see before I go?” Janet had been hiding a grin throughout the whole exchange that happened in front of her, but as they spoke, it grew more and more evident. “There’s the package that has been sitting here for forever now, but I suppose if you haven’t needed it by now, it’s probably not urgent.” “Ah, right! Sorry about that, Janet. Really. Um, here. Let me take it and I’ll put it in my office so it doesn’t take up all your space.” “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’ll take it to your office for you. You go off and have fun with your new friend.” Caroline suspected the emphasis she put on “friend” was meant to imply something, but she let it go. “You are a godsend, Janet. Thank you!” She tapped the countertop and waved at Janet as she dashed off the elevator door. She tapped the button repeatedly as if that would somehow make it arrive faster. When it didn’t work, she opted for the stairs at a swift jog. In the lobby, Greta was making small talk with one of the doormen. She perked up and smiled when she noticed Caroline. She said her goodbyes to the gentleman and caught up with Caroline, slipping her arm around hers. It shot electricity up her arm and throughout her entire body. “That was Amos. He’s been working in this building for eleven years! And he’s been a doorman for even longer. Can you imagine?” Greta’s interest in this man that Caroline had failed to ever notice until now was refreshing. “I can’t. He must really love opening doors.” Greta cast a sideways glance at Caroline and gave her an amused smirk. “He really does like what he does, but I don’t think it is about opening doors.” The rest of their walk was full of banter as Greta pointed out things she’d learned since her arrival nearly a month ago. Caroline felt like a tourist in her own town, but grateful because she’d never gotten to know the place on her own. The experience made her feel more comfortable not only with the environment but also with Greta. It turned out that she was not a quiet woman. She loved to talk and every word she said was interesting. And she had a sense of humor. Quite a lovely one at that. She was amused by the smallest of things and she was not shy about sharing her angelic laughter. In a blink of an eye, they were at the bar and Greta ordered them sparkling wines. She hadn’t asked what Caroline drank before doing so, but she didn’t mind. They talked for hours and hours. Greta touched her a lot and talked with her hands. The eye contact was constant and thrilling. Her eyes were deep and full of magic. They sparkled whenever Greta spoke about things that interested her. Caroline’s mind wandered while Greta spoke. There had to be something wrong with her, right? She could not be as perfect as she seemed. Where’s the pain and darkness? Is she really just a being made of light? Of course she was.


Twenty-eight years ago, my life was swept up into a tornado. The winds came on almost without warning, blowing around everything in my predictable world. I knew it was coming. I had seen the forecast. But I had no idea how dramatic its impact would be. It was weeks away from the birth of my first child, but I thought I had it all under control. The baby’s room, painted a serene shade of yellow to accommodate any gender, was in perfect order. Stacks of newborn diapers and freshly washed baby clothes and blankets sat neatly folded on the dresser. We had researched all the newest gadgets, and my husband was already a pro at clicking the car seat into the car and opening and closing our top-rated designer stroller. Our family and friends were counting the days until they could come and meet the newest member of our family. I felt the winds of change start to blow as I said goodbye to my co-workers, leaving my office for the last time with a carload of baby gear and well wishes. The days that followed were spent preparing for the delivery, each day spinning me faster toward an unknown future. It was too late to run, or do anything to change the trajectory. Then the big day arrived. My son was born and the tornado that had been looming crashed into my cozy life, pulling me and my husband into its vortex. We twisted and twirled our way up, running too quickly to see what was happening on the outside. It was exciting and scary, joyful and chaotic, as we entered a ride that seemed to have no beginning and no end. We were sucked in further with each passing day. We whirled and bumped our way through the first month, a total blur of cuddles and diapers and sleepless nights, and then the first year. Sometimes it felt as if we were holding on, adjusting to the rapid changes in our lives. At other times we were spinning way too fast. Everything in our midst was spinning along with us, shifting and changing at a dizzying pace. At times, running us ragged. We would catch momentary glimpses of the world we left behind. Sometimes we could reach out and touch it. Other times it was nowhere to be seen. After a while, we adjusted to the constant turmoil, but with the birth of my daughter two years later, the tornado picked up speed, and the spinning chaos increased. We loved our little family but were constantly running in circles trying to maintain it - to keep things from spinning out of control. Occasionally, my husband would swirl past me, but then disappear again, off on his own journey -- usually at the first sound of a crying baby. As the years passed, we careened toward a big house with its jumbo mortgage, a utility vehicle with three rows, and a revolving door of school plays, dance recitals and music lessons. Our kids were the axis of the tornado, with us and every decision in our lives revolving around them. We raced through their childhood, and just barely made it through the twists and turns of adolescence. Then as our children reached their mid-teens, we sensed them trying to spin off on their own. It was gratifying yet unsettling, as they kept crashing back into us, rejoining the safety of the familiar before flying off again. Then, after years of preparations that didn’t even begin to make me feel ready, my son went off to college. The tornado slowed a bit. I could almost see the world around me, but not quite. His leaving was just a dry run. Two years later, my daughter left for college and the tornado sputtered and finally lost energy, dropping me into my large and now empty house. I felt calm and quiet for the first time in years, as the spinning stopped. The tornado had run out of gas, but it appears we all landed safely. I missed the constant turmoil, yet at the same time I felt drawn to the peacefulness of this clean, empty space. There was a distant sense of familiarity about my surroundings. I took a good look around me, and there was a man in the house, my husband. He was sitting in a chair, clutching the armrest and eyeing his surroundings cautiously. He looked wind-blown and disheveled, and I imagined that’s how I looked too. I didn’t really know this man, and it occurred to me that I could simply turn away from him, revel in the peacefulness and the stillness by myself. But the house already felt way too quiet, and he seemed as bewildered and confused as I did. Maybe we could figure out how to co-exist in this large space that seemed to echo with the sound of voices that were no longer there. We knew each other before the tornado arrived, but that felt like another lifetime. I turned to him, unsure what to say. It has been years since we had really talked, and I searched my memory for something. “Hi,” I said, my voice sounding small in the large space. He turned and looked at me for the first time, assessing my presence in this new reality. “Hi.” He scratched his head before adding, “Are you hungry?” I looked at my watch, and my stomach growled. “Yeah, I am. What should we do for dinner tonight?” The words felt foreign as they echoed in the empty room. He considered my question. “We can try that new Italian place downtown.” My answer came from someplace deep inside me, from some alternate reality. “Okay, want to head out a little early? Then we can try to catch a movie afterwards.” Wait, I thought. A movie? When was the last time I watched one of those on a big screen? Do I need to be home for anything? Do I have the time for this? And then I remembered, and my body relaxed. “Sure,” the man said, his voice lighter. And so, we began picking up the pieces, the remnants of the storm, and gradually returning to something vaguely resembling the life we had before. We were tired from our journey, and just a little bit bruised. But despite the tumult of the past 20 years, it had been a good run. Eight years have now passed since we dropped from the tornado, and on occasion the winds pick up again, and I feel the fear and exhilaration that come with an impending storm. The kids roll in with friends and boyfriends and sometimes a load of laundry, and the house is alive again, humming and spinning in joyful chaos, but it never lasts long enough. They return to their apartments and jobs, and their independent lives. I feel unsettled each time they leave, never quite able to re-adjust to the stillness. But for the most part, I’m glad to have my feet planted firmly on the ground knowing that, for better or for worse, the storm has run its course.


Damn! My car had hit a pothole, and now I am stuck in this hot, dry, and dusty little Karoo town until another tyre to fit my car could be located. I buy a cold drink and find a bench under a bedraggled excuse for a tree. I feel as bedraggled as the tree with me blouse sticking to my body and my hair hanging limply down my neck. As I try vainly to get the sand out of my shoes, I notice an old man who had been intensely watching me negotiate with the mechanic now limping his way to the bench to sit down beside me. I have no idea why cars can’t be standard; why we can’t have ‘one size fits all’, and why mechanics all over the world shake their heads while trying to rub car grease off their hands with a cloth that is full of grease. Everyone knows that the car is not going in for an operation, and that it can be fixed, but if you are a woman, the mechanic has a field day; the only sign language he knows is how to shake his head and wipe the oil off his hands, and the more he shakes his head and studies the oil on his hands, the more you are going to pay. I am so caught up in my own woes that I am barely aware of the man sitting beside me until a puff of smoke drifts past my nose. Cigarette smoke makes me nauseous, cigar smoke is even worse, but the aroma of this particular brand of pipe tobacco is not only welcome, it is intoxicating to my senses as it takes me back to a time when I was just a little girl over half a century ago. There had been a major polio scare in the city and schools had closed as children were at high risk. To keep me safe, my parents sent me off to my Uncle Chappie who farmed in the Karoo. Perhaps it is because of returning to this arid area that my nostalgia has slipped in. No, it is definitely this rich smell of pipe tobacco that I remember so well. My uncle usually had his pipe clenched between his yellowed teeth, even when it was not lit. I can’t remember when last I had seen someone smoke a pipe; perhaps that is why the comforting smell makes me look at the stranger who smiles at me; I quickly looked away before he can start a conversation. The aroma of blended tobacco takes me back to the little whitewashed rondavels with thatched roofs clustered around a courtyard. There was no electricity, no running water, and I loved it. I had my very own rondavel to sleep in, and a candle next to my bed. In the morning I would be up before sunrise, and along with Uncle Chappie, we would go down to the dam to brush our teeth. He would tell me how important it was to look after my teeth while I looked at his stained teeth that had worn away where his pipe sat. Those halcyon days were spent learning how to milk cows and herd the sheep to different pastures. I learned to herd the sheep to the trough to drink as they did not drink from running streams. The farm worker’s son taught me how to communicate with the animals. I named him Hop-a-long, and we developed such a close bond with each other and with the animals that all of my uncle’s animals were thriving under our care. I taught Hop-a-long to read, and he tried to teach me how to read spoor. He was an amazing tracker; he could tell the difference not only between the different types of animals (sheep, goat, or buck), but could even tell whether they were male or female. All I could discern was the difference between the spoor of cattle and of sheep. My favourite time of the day was in the evening. I would sit next to my uncle on the bench watching the stars appear while we waited for my aunt who was preparing dinner. The delicious aromas that came from the kitchen were succeeded by the smell of the pipe tobacco. Lighting the pipe was a ritual. The old tobacco would be knocked out on the heel of the boot, then a pipe cleaner would be found in a pocket somewhere; once it had been poked into the pipe a couple of times, it would once more disappear into a pocket. The tobacco box would be fetched, this was no ordinary box; it was small and rectangular with a picture of a boxer on the lid. I would hold the box and trace out the word ‘Chappie’ that had been engraved above a picture of a boxer whose legs seemed to be too skinny for his body. The tobacco was then pressed down into the pipe with a calloused thumb; only once it had been tamped to the correct degree was the pipe lit, and we would sit back and enjoy the cool evening breeze. Well those days were long gone, I am about to go and find some water to drink as the cold drink had done little to quench my thirst, when the man sitting next to me starts knocking the tobacco out on the heel of his shoe. I shake my head. I must be hallucinating, this heat has obviously caused me to dehydrate. The man still says nothing, he just puts a little wooden box down on the bench between us. I give the box a perfunctory glance, then I stop and stare; the picture of the boxer has faded away, but I can’t take my eyes off the word ‘Chappie’ which is still clearly discernible. I look at this man who is now beaming from ear to ear, and I can’t believe my eyes. “Hop-a-long, how did you recognise me?” I sign. He puts his pipe down to answer: “I could never forget the girl who taught me how to speak with my hands.”


Albert and I have been thinking, researching, and experimenting with the strange artifact in the laboratory. I am starting to feel tired of this place. We’re still stuck on the problem and while we've deciphered most of it, this particular part seems to be crucial in understanding the entire thing. Suddenly, an alarm goes off. “What is that?” I ask. I’ve never heard that alarm before-I didn’t even know we had one. “Ah, ignore it,” responds Albert in his characteristic way. “And that buzz?” “Don’t know. Ignore it.” I do and continue typing on my computer. After some time, the alarm stops for a moment and then goes off again. I wake up immediately. The clock on the wall marks 3:34 a.m. The transmitter is buzzing. I look at it, and though the brightness of the screen makes me squint, I can see it’s Albert who’s calling. He said he would not call unless something very important happened, so I snap to my senses right away. At this point, I am a bit distraught. “There’s no way,” I say in a half-asleep voice before picking up. “Yes?” “Bill, you gotta come right now.” “Do you have it now?” There is some silence. “I think I do.” When I enter the room, I find Albert at his desk, frantically alternating between his computer and his notebook. “Albert?” I exclaim. He doesn’t turn. “All the AIs have thrown similar results. Take a look.” “What are all those weird characters?” “I’m guessing they’re numbers... maybe.” “Numbers?” “Yeah, numbers.” “What if they’re dates?” “Yeah, that’s a possibility. We’ll have to wait.” “Did you feed the machines with them?” “I did, and maybe we’ll get an answer in a couple of hours.” He stands up and starts wandering around the room. “Oh my God, Bill. I can’t wait!” It’s very unusual to see him this excited. In fact, I have never seen him like this before. “I cannot believe humanity waited all this long to get this thing deciphered. Bill, do you get how fortunate we are? No one, absolutely no one has ever been able to figure this out.” *** The Lost Message, as it’s been referred to throughout the years, resembles a sleek, metallic slab. Its surface emits a subtle glow and displays an intricate language or code that lacks a clear structure or pattern. It has a unique texture; upon touch, you can feel an odd mixture of smoothness and subtle ridge. Its exact dimensions are 8.2 inches x 5.6 inches x 0.923 inches. It’s a very light object, weighing 0.356 pounds. It was discovered thousands of years ago by the first human beings to ever walk on this planet. Nevertheless, the exact date of its appearance and origins remain completely unknown. Throughout history, this object has been mentioned in the writings, books, and documents of the greatest philosophers and scientists. Furthermore, it has been depicted in cave paintings in various parts of the world. Yet, it remains uncertain whether there are multiple replicas or parts belonging to it. Despite extensive research and expeditions, no other similar objects or related pieces have been found. Hence, it is widely assumed that this enigmatic artifact, referred to by many cultures throughout history, is a single, one-of-a-kind object. Experts from diverse fields have tirelessly attempted to unravel its mysteries but to no avail. Entire schools have been dedicated to this peculiar artifact. The Romans, in particular, were consumed by their obsession with it. When the object fell into their territory, they became determined to learn more about its origins and significance. They allocated a substantial portion of their entire funding during a significant part of their reign to explore its secrets. Additionally, a considerable part of their budget was allocated to safeguarding it from potential theft. It was considered sacred to them. During the Inquisition, the Catholic Church tried everything to disappear this object, as rumors of its connection to the devil began to circulate. However, they were futile attempts since, even to this day, the object seems to be indestructible. In desperation, the Church decided to cast it away, placing it on one of the embarks heading to Asia, with the hope of removing it from Europe entirely. From that point on, the object wandered from place to place across the globe until it eventually found its way to the Americas. Here, it has become the focus of extensive research and examination in some of the largest universities and scientific institutions across the United States. *** “What if it is a message from God?” “Well, we’re about to find out.” “Aren’t you scared?” “Why would I be?” “What if it is something bad?” “Whatever it is we won’t back out now, Bill. It’s us who have discovered the last piece of the puzzle. It’s us, who will see the mysteries this thing holds before anyone else. I don’t care about anything else.” He finishes writing something down. “Come on, let’s get a coffee and clear our minds for a bit until it’s done.” *** Upon our return, a message has been produced, but it is not what we expected, but even after some analysis we could not find a failure or malfunction in the algorithms. “What if it’s not the real message?” “No, no, no. It is. It has to.” Albert’s mood is distressed. After a pause he continues, “It is. It didn’t throw gibberish. The message makes perfect sense, and, if you asked me, coming from this thing, I think it makes perfect sense.... And even if it wasn’t, what are we supposed to do now? Try to decode this shit from the beginning and flush thousands of years of research right down the toilet? Not happening. This is what it is, and we are the first to know. Period.” There is no doubt about what the message states because what Albert says is right; it didn’t produce a nonsense combination of letters. Everything is perfectly readable. How can that be a mistake? “What do we do now? Do I call the general director so he can contact the government and arrange the release?” Albert sighs. He looks tired, worried, and anxious.“Yes. Let everyone know about it.” *** The room has been properly set up for the occasion. Several lines of chairs are arranged in rows, distributed in two columns. The big screen at the front displays the company logo. The President, James K. Patterson, enters the room accompanied by other two men whom I presume are members of his Cabinet; they are then followed by other important people. The President seems happy, eager to know about what might be the unraveling of the biggest mystery in history. He greets Mark Tarasov, the CEO. They exchange a few words and then he is invited to have a seat in the first row of chairs, right at the front. More people start to fill the room. Albert and I are in the front, waiting for everybody to settle in so we can begin the disclosure. Everybody looks very happy and excited. I am nervous. Albert, on the other hand, looks calm, and thoughtful, with his eyes fixed straight ahead, and his hands behind his lower back. Mr. Tarasov begins with a brief speech and then indicates for us to continue with the information. Albert takes over. “Thank you, everyone, for gathering here today. At Athemis Corp we are incredibly proud of...” The room falls into complete silence, and eager smiles spread across the faces of the audience. "As you know, this is a collective effort of humanity. It doesn’t solely belong to us..." Some in the audience lean forward, their eyes wide with curiosity. “Einstein, one of the greatest geniuses the world has ever seen, he alone was able to...” Their faces animated with a mix of wonder and anticipation. “Thousands of years of relentless research, but now, finally...” Smiles adorn their lips, revealing a great sense of excitement. Their gaze shift between the two of us and the screen. "Before we proceed, I want to give you a heads-up that this might not unfold as we expected. We are already re-running another interaction, however..." You could notice the enthusiasm in their corporal language and facial expressions. Finally, a three-paragraph message is displayed on the screen. I could see the drastic change on their faces as the smiles begin to fade. Concentration turns into confusion, excitement into worry, and silence into mumbling and muttering as they start speaking to one another in clear uneasiness. As expected, there are lots of questions and comments on this. “Is this true? Why are we supposed to believe this?” “So it means it’s over?” “What if the machine is wrong?” “We are hundreds of years behind, how is that possible?” “What is the source of this then?” “Aren’t there any more pieces? What about on other planets?” “With all due respect, I think this is total bullshit, and I am going to wait until the second iteration confirms that.” “If it’s real, we’re doomed.” "Not everyone will be able to escape, and those who do will eventually die in space." “Do you guys have an idea of the panic this will cause in the public?” *** 5 years later. There is chaos. People doing riots. People attacking other people. Nothin’ matters now , you could hear them saying. I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like. We all are going to die anyways. Children crying. People committing suicide. Others praying. Others cursing heavily at God. Towns near special centers beholding hundreds of space shuttles taking off to space to never come back; saying goodbye to what was once their home. *** 2 months later. A massive spaceship approaches Earth. It’s so immense-half the size of Earth-that the blue color of the sky is replaced by the black-silver of the spaceship, and the daylight becomes dimmer. The colossal presence can be felt in the air as the wind suddenly surges in intensity. However, the spaceship remains floating in space, very close to the Exosphere. Whatever or whoever may come out of that spaceship will find only destruction and remnants of what was once a naive civilization that believed themselves to be advanced, but in reality were thousands of years behind and poorly prepared for what they should have been prepared for a long long time ago.


Sarah which colour would you prefer pink, blue, orange, red or white? the painter asked me. I said blue is my chose. I could still smell the fresh blue paint as if it was just yesterday. I had inherited a old, wooden and two storey house from my deceased grandmother in a small and beautiful countryside town name Dublin. I was dressed in my white gown admiring the old but beautful house. I went in the backyard and my eyes caught attention to the discovery of a lovely and small garden planted with carrots on soil bed. The vegetables looked ripe, colourful and tasty. I thought to myself today was my lucky day a garden with my favourite vegetable carrots planted. I was excited and happy. I love and enjoy eating carrots since as child growing up playing with dolls; my mother would cook the carrots mixed in chicken soup with other ingredients for me. When I was 6 years old, first introduce to carrot I hated it like any young child hates vegetables. My father had to trick me and play tube tube train to make me eat Broccile but when my mother told me that if I didn't eat carrot I would get blind. I ate the carrots because of fear of getting blind and I fell in love with it. When I was sick there was no better old trick like good bowl of soup with carrots that made me feel better. Chicken soup is my favourite food whether I am healthy or ill. The Monday morning when I woke up I could smell the fresh air without the pollution of vehicles and factory gases. I love the countryside so peaceful, beautiful, safe and quiet. If there one place leave on earth mother nature surely knows she can find her beauty is in the countryside. I couldn't hear noisy people and screaming cars or babies nor I didnt have to fear criminals. I am in love with countryside I will be happy and grateful living here I thought to myself. After drinking my tea, I went to the garden and watered the plants while I sang for them a slow and soft melody. After watering the plants I remove the unwanted weeds and did a little gardening. The carrots I saw standed firm in the soil it sounded like they were calling me to take a bit, yummy! I had an imaginery taste of the them in my mouth. I gived the carrots a kiss on there stems. Tuesday morning I got dressed in my yellow dress. I was heading to the supermarket to buy some goceries for my house then I couldn't find my wallet and soon realised it was lost. My wallet inside containing my bank account card, identification card and some cash was gone. These are my important documents. I was confused , stress and anger. I search every inch of the house and couldnt find my wallet. I didn't had no money to buy anything but atleast I had my garden with vegetables to survive till I found a solution. Wednesday morning I woke up and went to the garden with my basket to pick the carrots. I planned to make chicken soup my favourite because I had a pack of chicken wings and eggs in my refrigerator when I first moved in, which I bought. When I went to the garden all my beatiful carrots had disappear like magic. I wiped my eyes to see if I was seeing clearly in disbelieve. I was disappointed I thought to myself some wild animal or person stole them from my backyard. How would I survive now with all my carrots gone. Thousand of thoughts run through my head. I had no ingridents to cook I would starve for the day. Thursday morning I couldnt sleep because I was hungry as my belly was grumbling and groaning. I had to catch the thief that cause me to starve. While I peeked through my window there was the criminal hopping on four feet with thick white fur. It was rabbit. How could I miss that? Obviously it had to be a rabbit because rabbits love carrots. When he came and saw nomore rabbits she hopped back through the forest. While I decided to slowly follow her to see if by chance there was any piece of carrot leave for me to cook. As I hid behind the tree in the forest, the rabbit hopped into a hole. Inside I saw the mother feeding rabbit feeding her babies. I was impressed and happy even an animal mother knew the value of providing for your children. When I looked carefully the slight white colour peeking under bitten pieces of carrots caught my attention. What was this pink colour thing? I thoughed then when I remove the chewed pieces of carrots it was my wallet. I soon realised the day I was gardening is when my wallet dropped from my back pants pocket in the farm and rabbit had moved it. I was happy I found my wallet and that the mother was only trying to feed her children, so I put away the hatred of being straved. I collect my wallet and went to town. At a supermarket name Zappy I bought some groceries along with carrots for me and the rabbits. After I came back from the supermarket I went back into the forst and I carried the rabbits out of the hole back to my home. I decided to adopt the rabbits for there protection and let them live with me inside my house because I am sure they must feel cold, get wet or some wild animal would harm them. The mother even thought I am not an animal expert was looking at me like she was saying thank you and I promised them to buy and bring carrots for them every week because I didnt want them to starve or ruin anyone else garden. The rabbits and I will be happy living together for years. I named the mother Ashley, the children Joy and Mary. They are now my pets and I will love, care and protect them always.


Child 7673 was a problem, the biggest problem to plague the Nightmare Department of the Monsters Advocacy Bureau since its inception. 7673 was like no child anyone had ever seen. On the surface, she seemed like any other child; she slept in a bed, and she had nightmares; that much was obvious from her sleep charts. The problem with 7673? She wasn’t afraid of monsters. She just wasn’t intimidated by them. The Nightmare Department had exhausted almost all of its resources trying to scare this child. The threat level of the monster visiting her every night had increased with each visit to her bedroom, the hope being that the scarier the monster appeared, the more frightened she'd be. But all those efforts were in vain, and the Nightmare Department had only one option left; an option they had never used before. They were bringing in the scariest monster in the archives. Me. I’d like to start this tale by making one thing extremely clear. Child 7673 is an exception to every rule I’ve set for myself. I don't like children. That’s why I joined the Nightmare Department, so I could scare them. I wasn’t expecting to never be called in. They say I’m too scary for most kids--I could kill one, potentially. The MAB doesn’t need to be going around killing children, it’s bad publicity. I’m seven feet tall with carnivorous teeth and beady eyes. Even when I was small, I was the tallest monster for my age. My skin is rough, almost scaly, and jagged around my elbows. The lower level monsters nicknamed me “Dragon” because of them, after the mythological beast. Apparently, for this reason, I’m kept away from most children. Anyway, I was called once they realized that 7673 posed a problem. My boss summoned me into his office to brief me on the situation. His door was already open when I arrived, so I walked right in, trying to seem as casual as possible. He was sitting at his desk, doing paperwork. I stood in awkward silence for what felt like too long before I finally cleared my throat loudly. “Sir?” “Oh, I see you’ve finally arrived,” he said. “Please take a seat. We have so much to discuss.” “Do we? I’m pretty sure I know what my job entails.” “I didn’t call you in here to listen to you insult me. This is a serious case, so shape up. This kid is causing tons of trouble, and I am not happy about it.” “Everyone? What does that even mean? She’s just an annoying little kid.” “It seems like you don’t quite understand the utter propensity of this situation. Please, allow me to fill you in. You know, just as every monster here knows, that the connection between the monster world and the human world is a delicate one. Those humans let us scare their children only on their own moral guidelines," he said. After taking a sip of his drink, he continued, “Humans want their children to be mentally strong adults. They want them to learn how to deal with the scary things life has to offer and blah, blah, blah. The MAB also gets funding depending on how well we can scare these kids.” “Yeah, boss. I know all that.” I said. “I’m not clear on why this kid is different than the rest.” “This particular child has proved a big problem. If she isn’t stopped soon, the careers of some of the ‘higher-ups’ at the MAB could be in jeopardy. This is big stuff.” My first instinct was to laugh, although I contained myself. Some of the most important monsters at the MAB, fired over a human child. The irony was almost too much to handle. My boss was surely one of those people in jeopardy, or else he wouldn’t have mentioned it. My evil troll of a boss, gone for good. The thought was tantalizing, I must confess. But I still had my doubts about this job. Maybe part of it was laziness, but another part of me found it hard to believe I was the only monster qualified. “So you’re telling me I’m the only one that can do this job,” I said. “What about Gris? Those tentacles of his are scary as hell.” “Gris was one of our first tries,” the boss said. “His tentacles didn’t do a damn thing.” “You could send in Charma. That rat’s nest on her head would scare--” “How many times must I tell you? You have no choice. You are going to do this job. Nobody else. Understood?” “Yes, sir.” I walked out of his office feeling a bit defeated. I couldn’t help but wonder how well tonight would go. I wasn’t looking forward to it. But I had a duty, and was going to do it well. I would scare Child 7673 so bad that she'd scream for help, maybe even wet the bed. Monsters get extra participation points if the kid pees. What actually happened when I stepped into her bedroom, well, I wasn’t expecting it at all. But it helped me realize a few things. Ah, I can see it, you’re squirming in your seat now, wondering why 7673 is different. Patience. I’m getting there. The sky was a delightful pitch black the night I went to her neighborhood. Perfect monster weather. The MAB provided me with a sort of tracking device, so I’d be able to find it. Getting into the house was easy enough. I simply walked through the back door. Humans are quite stupid when it comes to locking houses at night. I passed another tiny human’s bedroom on the way to her's, her baby brother’s, as I presumed from the level one monster already under the crib. I finally reached her room last, her human name printed in bright pink letters across the door: C-A-S-S-A-N-D-R-A. So 7673’s name was Cassandra. This was the root of my downfall; where my affection first bloomed from my ice-cold heart. Because I’d never been out in the field before, I didn't know that human names were something monsters disregarded. I found myself thinking she had a cute name. That awful word actually ran through my mind. Cute. I’m ashamed. All was quiet as I entered the room. In the corner next to her closet was a small table with a tea set--stuffed animals sitting in chairs, ready to drink the imaginary tea. I finished surveying the room and turned toward her bed, slithered over to her sleeping form. This was where things were going to get tricky. My friends had told me there were many ways in which one could scare a child. Should I hide in the closet, and then jump out? Should I just stand and watch her until she woke up and saw me? I finally decided to use the growling-in-the-ear method. I think she thought I was the dog, because she simply put out her hand as if to say, No, Toto, I’m not in the mood . How annoying. The second method I used woke her up. I ran my fingers across her cheek in that creepy way. You know. I had just recently sharpened my fingernails into points, and I’m sure the sensation was less than comforting. She woke up with a start, her eyes searching the room before landing on my hulking form. I tried to snarl at her in the best way I could, allowing her to see my jagged teeth. I thought I had succeeded in scaring her when she sat straight up in bed and looked me dead in the eyes, her curls bouncing everywhere as her shadow was illuminated against the pink walls. Even in the dark, I could see her green eyes sparkle with determination as they locked with mine. She was a fierce little human, that much was obvious. She spoke in a squeaky but determined voice. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not afraid of monsters like you? Go away!” And then she slapped me. The amount of rage I felt in that moment was immense, but I internalized it. I know, I was proud, too. It was then that I saw a light come on from under the door. It was far off, probably a couple rooms down. It didn’t take a genius to know it was Cassandra’s parents. Now you’d think that with me being a huge, angry monster and her being a small girl, she’d be thankful to see that her mommy and daddy were coming. Think again. Cassandra went rigid in her bed. Tears welled in her eyes. Why was she crying now? From down the hall I could hear arguing, bitter words being thrown back and forth between two people. “I told you John! I told you not to come home drunk again! And what happens? You’re absolutely shitfaced! Do you think you’re setting a good example for the kids?” “I don’t give a damn about what you think, and I don’t give a damn about setting any examples! Now get back in bed, you bitch.” I was a bit shocked, but not much. I had heard about human couples fighting like this, about the unchecked consumption of alcohol and what it did to the body. It was then that I heard a sort of “umph” followed by a thud on the floor. “What the hell? What was that? Was that one of her stupid toys again? How many times do I have to tell her to clean up after herself, huh? I’m sick of having to watch out for her shit! Where is she? Is she in her room?” “John, don’t you dare go in there. She’s asleep. She didn’t do anything wrong. It was just an accident...John, please...don’t go in there. I’m begging you not to go in there.” The sound of scuffling could be heard through the door, as if the woman was trying to hold the man back. The man, John, shoved his wife into the wall as he moved past her. I found myself thinking about what Cassandra had said to me earlier, about not being afraid of monsters like me. It had never occurred to me that there could be more than one kind of monster. The realization hit me with such force, I wasn’t sure how to react. I found myself frozen in place, not sure what it was I was supposed to do. Should I protect this kid? That wasn’t what I had been sent here to do, but it felt wrong to leave her to fend for herself. None of this had been addressed in my training. I was still perplexed as to what action I should take when I felt a tiny hand grab my arm and yank me under the bed. The floor was covered in dust, with a pair of shoes and a tennis racket discarded in the corner. There was a spot on the floor amidst the dust particles where the wood was perfectly clean, though, like a small circular space that had been specially cleaned of dirt. I realized it was the spot where Cassandra crouched whenever she hid under her bed. How often did she hide here? Weren’t human children told that’s where the monsters like to lurk? Now, I could see Cassandra clearer, and I noticed bruises on her arms and legs. She had a scar across her temple, right at her hairline. I didn’t want to think about what could have given it to her. This whole situation felt wrong to me, on multiple different levels. For one, I’m not particularly good at hiding. I’m a six foot, intimidating monster. I’m the one kids hide from. Could this little girl be trying to protect me? I could feel her shaking next to me. She was scared, that’s for sure. She was afraid of her father more than she was afraid of me. I wasn't sure how to feel about that. Should I feel like a failure? Like I hadn’t done my job? I thought that was what my boss would say, and I was surprised to discover that I didn’t actually feel that way. I was mad, angrier than I’d ever felt in my life. I'd always been told that monsters and parents were on a spectrum, at opposite ends. The monsters scared the child, and the parents comforted them and loved them. Mommies and Daddies were not allowed to change that. They had no reason or permission to be the scary ones. Even monsters know that children don’t deserve that. Monsters and nightmares are a part of life for most children. Having a bad dream or seeing a scary monster is terrifying, but waking up and knowing that it wasn’t real and that the monsters have better things to do than scare you helps a kid realize how strong they really are inside. The bedroom door swung open then, knocking pictures off the wall. Cassandra’s father stormed in, yelling her name. As I peered out from my hiding spot, I could see his shoes were scuffed and untied. His legs moved aimlessly in no pattern, telling me he'd consumed so much alcohol he could hardly stand upright. More banging sounds ensued as the man flung open Cassandra’s closet, thinking she’d be in it. When he didn’t find her, he shouted to himself before making his way to his daughter’s desk. He picked up a small glass orb with small white flakes floating inside of it, and inspected it for a few seconds before throwing it against the floor. Shards of glass flew everywhere as the tiny globe shattered, the liquid from inside oozing into the carpet. I turned to see Cassandra curled up in a tight ball with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her face was pressed against the floor, and I could hear her sobbing. I had to do something soon. I couldn’t just stand by and watch Cassandra be scared by someone who wasn’t me, who wasn’t the right kind of monster. Her father, finally figuring out where we were hiding, stooped down with a certain amount of effort. He thrust an arm under the bed hoping, I assumed, to grab his daughter’s wrist and yank her out from her safe haven. In that moment I made my final decision. I found his hand and latched onto it. His palms were callused and rough. I was uneasy thinking about how capable they’d be of hurting Cassandra. I almost lost his grasp from how sweaty his fingers were. Stupid humans, always clenching their fists. It took the man a brief moment to register what he had caught, and I could tell he was confused once he realized it wasn’t a small wrist or anything close to human skin. Quickly slipping out of my grasp, he jumped back in a delayed surprise. He backed himself into the corner of Cassandra’s room against the wall as I slinked out from under the bed menacingly. I didn’t have to think about how terrifying I wanted to sound this time. All my anger towards this vile creature bubbled to the surface without me having to give it a second thought. It brings me great joy to remember his face as I stood up and towered over him, letting out a noise that vibrated throughout the room. It was a look of pure terror. His horrified expression helped me realize why other monsters think I’m the best at what I do. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cassandra peering out from under the bed. Her eyes were wide with a mix of fear and wonder. I don’t think she had ever seen anyone or anything overpower her father until that moment. Right then, that was when the ice that had encased my heart for so long finally cracked, and I realized for the first time what caring for someone felt like. I had disregarded everything my job stood for, and I was proud. I hadn’t scared the child like I had always been told I must do, I had protected her instead. Nobody was allowed to scare her but me. She was my responsibility. I was a real monster. I’m not going to relate the rest of that night’s events with you. Let’s just say that I decided to help my new friend Cassandra fight off her father. The problem didn’t resolve right away. It took months and a countless number of visits before I could convince Cassandra’s father that he didn’t want to mess with me. He got the message though. I don’t think he’ll be bothering anymore, and if he tries, I’ll be there to interfere. John had a hard time accepting being called an alcoholic and abuser to his face. I made sure to inform the boss that Cassandra would be my permanent assignment, and of course he agreed. That monster will do anything to keep his position at the MAB secure. I can’t give you a straight answer as to why I’ve developed such an attachment to this human child. I think it’s because I know that eventually, she’ll be too old for my protection. If I know humans at all, I know they are ignorant. I want to protect Cassandra for as long as I can, because I know this won’t be the last time her father drinks alcohol. I guess I just want her to know that there are good people, and monsters, out there too. I suppose my story about Child 7673 serves as a lesson for all you humans. I hope you understand why monsters like me are the ones who scare children, but I also hope you understand that we do it with love, because we care. They are just as much our responsibility as they are yours, and they should be scared in the nicest way possible. That’s what it means to be a monster.


( WARNING Themes of substance abuse, mental health, and death) A few feet from my chair he’s laying down, my sweet baby boy tucked in with the sheet to his chin. He was always a deep sleeper even as a baby. now the noise outside the the room is bustling but he doesn’t sway from his dreams. Jacob always seemed to have the best ones, he was a born dreamer. I gave birth in the early hours of the 15th, it was a difficult time, but he’d come out healthy. We told ourselves that there’d never be a Valentines Day gift to top this, and it was the truth. He seemed to us like angel come down to grace the house of Tom and Lena Walsh. There were a few things that convinced us. His love for the sky was one, he was always looking up, on camp outs you could always catch him stargazing. His ceiling was full of posters of constellations and diagrams of the solar system. There were days at the table where he’d orate to whoever would listen about the newest advancements in the field. We called him the professor for the longest time, we always thought he’d become one. His empathy and social heart convinced us of his angel hood too. There was never a day when Jacob wouldn’t volunteer to help another kid back up or drive a person home when he got his license. There were many times where I’d hear secondhand that he’s always been willing to loan his time in money to anyone in town. We’d never been evil people but the Love we had for Jacob far exceeded the rest, his being felt otherworldly, we rarely saw ourselves in him. School was a breeze for him, Elementary School, Middle, and High. It all seemed so easy for him. When college came he was set on astronomy, determined to teach it one day like we had always joked. And even though college ran tight on the wallet, we knew he’d do it , he was a dreamer bound for the stars there wasn’t a doubt he’d catch the flight. But then things changed, there was a party and then parties, he started drinking and rather hard. We never found out from him it only came about when he got into a fight at the school. He’d gotten into an argument with his best friend Troy, the two of them had applied together and they were thick as thieves. But one night at a party an argument broke out and after a few hits were shared he pushed him down the outside steps of their dorm. They gave him a strict warning, Jacob called ashamed. He plead and he sobbed, and he yelled. We sat and listened to him, believing it to just be growing pains, it felt like it would be the only one. And for a while it was. His grades came back, and his calls home were more regular, but then his roommate brought in a couple drinks one night for a fun night alone, Jacob decided to have a few too. And then he became lost completely. The descent was fast and chaotic. The school notified us he was going to be kicked out due to horrible academic performance. We called and screamed at him, but he turned his phone off and stayed silent. In most cases we acted more childlike than he ever did. He spent a few years in and out of rehab still living away from home. We offered to bring him back home but ceased asking after a few harsh rejections. It didn’t help our case when the handcuffs clamped down harder and harder on him at the mildest slip ups. It didn’t matter to us that he had been getting better it was all masked by our fears, and what became more and more clear was our lackluster ability as parents. We had gotten this far on luck and laziness; he was a golden child who did no wrong. But that wasn’t the truth we just hadn’t hit the wall like so many others did and usually so much earlier than us. There was never a challenge put up against our skills, there was never any time for us to struggle we were too busy raising a perfect child. But no child is perfect, no child is an angel. They’re humans, a lovingly imperfect one but we tossed our love to the side for restrictions and control. We betrayed his trust we lied to him, when he was getting better, we were always the doubtful ones. For those years we had a tumultuous relationship of offhanded comments and avoidance of one another. He was kicked out more times than were understandable whenever he visited, and he spent much of his twenties couch surfing. He would tell us of new jobs some real and some fake, but the same reactions were always given. So, what does a boy with such problems do, how could he even hope to get over them without any support system. Well, he couldn’t, and he didn’t. The messages went dead one day, the calls stopped coming in. Then we got nervous, we started acting like real parents again. Calls went out to everyone we knew that he knew, but no answers came up as to his location. Nobody seemed to know he just up and disappeared. The cops in his city and a missing persons bulletin was put out. Tom booked a flight while I was talking to the officer. We were at the airport when we finally got a call that they found him. Flying made me sick, it always had. I wasn’t built for the sky like Jacob was. Tom massaged my back and gave me tender support, but I had that feeling we were in for a earthquake. They didn’t give us much information besides the fact that he’d been to the hospital but was alive and well at a Rehab and Mental health Clinic. When the plane touched down the sickness didn’t leave, the driver couldn’t have gone fast enough if he was driving a rocket ship. We hit the front counter running from the Car. Leaning against the wall our message came through shallow breaths to the confused but understanding receptionist. She did a search and found Jacob, but he wasn’t in the rehab clinic, the woman directed us down to the psychiatric ward. It didn’t take us long to find him, he was laying on his bed, reading a book on astronomy of course. But when he turned and looked, he didn’t smile, or not genuinely at least. He just seemed to give a look of acknowledgment. He’d been sober for a long time it turned out. The doctor couldn't confirm how long from the blood work, but she trusted Jacob's statement that he had reached a year. At least for the time it wasn’t alcohol it was something else. From the nurses account he had been dropped off after an ER trip. A grounds keeper found him lying in the grass of a local park, peering at the sky. When he got closer, he saw Jacob’s wrists cut across and bleeding, Jacob didn’t resist he had lost most of his strength. He’d been missing for two weeks before he went through with it. His psychiatrist was a kind woman with a sweet drawl who put it calmly too us. She said he’d been planning it for weeks but only got up the courage a few days ago. She answered our questions for a while before it became too much. Tom and I walked outside and grabbed a seat out in the large courtyard. At the far edge of the courtyard spread out far and wide was a beautiful lake of striking blue. The color reminded me of Jacob’s eyes, their was an absence of waves just quiet movements of nature. Our hands were separated at the start, my eyes darted around the lake avoiding what I knew needed to happen. With the calm water swaying my nerves seemed to loosen and our hands crept to each other as we morphed into an embrace. My breaths came out ragged and he began to cry into my shoulder, we cried together husband and wife, Father and Mother, two pieces of a now fractured trinity. The hug turned into a talk, the whole thing a revelation to our failure. He was not a perfect child; he was our angel and a perfect miracle. But nothing perfect could come from such imperfect parents. It was unrealistic and we lived on a lie, he had been an easy kid. Many children are, but when the good times left and the stressed days started, we ceased being parents. We ignored, we doubted, and more often than not we were aggressive. Jacob went from total support to abandonment and doubt overnight. The Narcissism we had, his failures looked like a reflection on us, because they were. And in other cases, his normal teenage behavior was looked down upon senselessly. It took us longer than one bench conversation to figure everything out, but we gathered together are broken selves enough to face our son. Jacob still sat with that glassy look as we walked in. And that look stayed for most of the conversation, he was now in need of more help than just a simple “We’re sorry”, but it started with that. He came home with us reluctantly; he got a job at a machine shop apprenticing. We tried to step back as much as we could with our control, we slipped up here and there, but he was never afraid to correct us. We supported him as much as we could emotionally, and as the handcuffs loosened, our relationship started getting better. A few years back home he was able to get a new car, and pretty soon he was in college commuting, studying for a major in aeronautical engineering. Things were going great he was talking to a girl Rebecca who he’d known from school, and she seemed right for him, we thought it might be a fly by night relationship, but they had tons of fun together. not long-ago Tom started to have some mild complaints and regular checkups and appointments which raised some alarm. His doctor though assured it would just be tedious, he was a healthy man with a regular exercise routine and a steady diet, he would be fine they just needed to finish up the testing. So, Jacob drove him to most of the appointments when I was working, which grew their bond as they made their weekly outings. Things were going great. Then on a Friday two weeks ago Jacob called me a 10 ten to say he was going to a party with Troy. I wished him a good night and said “I love you” Tom called from the other side of the bed to say it too. Jacob laughed and said “I love you guys too” and hung up. Troy made me nervous, in college Jacob had been the loose cannon but Troy’s slide into addiction was ongoing. I tried to mention it to him that he was a dangerous man to hang around, but Jacob was ever the empathetic ear, and so when Troy texted him about a night out he said sure. That night Troy hid two single serving fireball bottles in his pocket on the drive in Jacob's car. He snuck off from the crowd when they said their greetings and procceded drink them in the guest bathroom, Looking around the first floor of the house he couldn’t find anybody, they’d all gone into the basement. It gave him time to raid the liquor cabinet, he took a bottle of wine and sat out on the porch in a hoody drinking on a cold April night. Jacob noticed that Troy wasn’t with the rest of them and after a brief search found him. He pushed back the sliding door and Troy turned Jacob grabbed the bottle out of his hand and began to restrain him. Troy fought back, he kicked and cursed drawing the crowd from down stairs. Jacob told the party he was taking Troy home. The party goers helped him get Troy into the passenger seat, and with a wave Jacob gave his final send off. They were coming to our house since Jacob figured it was the safest place for him in this state. Troy was belligerent the whole car ride, he cursed at Jacob and swore, all of it was ignored. But then as they were driving down a straightaway Troy began hitting Jacob lightly and then harder and harder eventually distracted Jacob turned his eyes off the road hiding from his sight a man pulling into his lane from across the road. Unaware the truck swung into the car flipping it off the road and into a ditch. The phone rang at 12, the cop knew us, it’s a small town. They told me about Jacob, he was unresponsive and in critical condition and Troy was left with a severe concussion and minor scrapes and bruises. I woke up Tom and we went to the hospital, on the drive his chest started to get tight we chalked it up to anxiety. We rushed up flights of stairs after directions from nurses and staff, we made our way to the room, the doctor greeted us with the news. Our son had died 2 minutes ago, right as we entered the front door. I turned to Tom and saw his face he started to collapse; his breathing started to delay I tried to call out to him through the fog but there wasn’t any use. I lay there on the tile floor the smell of antiseptic hanging in the air, as they took him and my son away. Life slams you down like dirty laundry when it wants too, healthy men aren’t supposed to have heart attacks. Young brilliant boys aren’t supposed to be crushed and compacted because of a kind gesture. I cursed them both for the past few days for leaving me, Jacob didn’t need to be so damn good, he didn’t need to give his life up to a selfish friend who threw his life to the pavement. “Why Jacob!” I wanted to scream at him now laying on a cold steel table. And then Tom fell, if you had only gone to the doctors sooner, and gotten that testing done months ago maybe we’d be together in the sorrow. There weren’t any signs!?, you didn’t have a feeling!?. But of course there hadn’t been, because death brings it’s presents without notification, sometimes there never is a sign it just swings down. But it left me, left me to deal with the many more years I have. There was a gun in the closet from Tom’s pheasant days, I came so close last night, but I just can’t. It’s not some image of god or any of the religious feelings they say inspire you, it’s them. I still hear their laughs and see their eyes within me they play on repeat, and right now I’m still looking at my son. Our plots are already picked out, and Tom as already been cremated. We’d never discussed what’d we do when we died, but I decided that when I saw them side by side. Nobody gets to see them like this except me, it’s too vulnerable and if I had gone before I know they’d wish the same. This will be my last moments with them. I get up from my chair and walk towards my baby boy. I see him now as I did then an angel. I see him in my mind on a pillowy field in a child’s run keeping step with his father. They walk along a soft path of light, father hoists son onto his shoulders as they walk out of view. I bend my head towards his forehead and plant a warm final kiss, his skin is cold but for a moment it felt warmer. I walk out of the room and out of the building, there will be a small funeral in a couple days, I have to reach out to Rebecca for somebody to hold, it’d be nice to keep in touch with her. There isn’t much immediate family left so I think it’s time I do some traveling. There are many places I’ve never seen, I’ll be excited to see them in the shapes of the clouds and the color of the sky. And I know that when the time is fit, they’ll be waiting for me, and we’ll start walking together.


The House of the Wolf I was but twenty and one when I came to the New World. We arrived to establish some trading missions further inland with the local tribespeople and through my encounters as a Steward I encountered a great deal of peoples. But none had stood out to me so much as the people of the Red River for whom we called the “Blue Eyes” on account of their physical appearance, which was by far the most distinct from all the rest. Now the reader should not trouble themselves in attempting to read more upon them for now they have already been either destroyed by conquest or plague like many other peoples I encountered. But for a time they had lived upon a river which gained its name from the clay that stirred beneath it. (Though others would claim it was from the blood that stained the rivers after a certain woman murdered her babe in its waters. But that is a tale for another time). It should be known there were others before us who sailed fourth up that very river but few men returned, and those who did spoke wild tales of men who shifted into animals and attacked them and their band. Others spoke of Pagan natives sacrificing Islemen to their Gods, and even further even spoke of wolves the size of bears that chased men of their senses. Wether these tales were true or not was irrelevant, as our Lord Sir Arthur Dayne wished to seek his riches with the people of the River anyways and brought a host of men to ensure it was done. After a day of sailing upriver we came upon the village we were met by an incursion of their warriors and elders in a show of force, as our presence in these lands has been noted for some time. One can only imagine they expected the worst of us as their womenfolk and children daughter shelter either in their thatch covered homes or in the trees beyond our vision. Once we pulled our ship ashore and unfurled our banner of the Golden Stagg and a akward silence befell upon us until we made the gesture that we meant them no harm and offered them gifts of Bread and Salt like we did with the other tribes we had encountered down there river. Now the reader should know there were 12 of us in all: 6 men at arms, 2 stewards (including myself) 3 sailors and one knight. The last one, Sir Arthur Dayne was true to his mission and made sure we acted on our best behavior to the point of making us kneel before their chieftain when we finally met him (an act the King would find repulsive but nesscary no less). Relations however warmed as the river men brought us to our village and we were allowed to take a closer look into their daily lives for whom we had interrupted, and after a while even the women and children approached us. Though they dared not come very close as we must have looked something like goblins to them but it was here I was able to write down their features. Now the Blue eyes were not like the other tribes we encountered along the coastline. Their skin was pale like snow and their eyes were blue like the water and they had Black hair as the raven whereas the Bearskins that we had encountered on the coastline had brown eyes and brown of hair and were more thin in appearance than their brethren in the inland (if we could even consider them brethren). Their people were also curious of us in turn and more particular the arms we carried and the clothes we wore. However, much to his annoyance many amongst them stayed away from Sir Dayne when he attempted to speak to the Blue eyes. In general speaking to them was difficult. I myself asked them many questions as was my duty as a Steward. I asked them about their Pagan Gods they might have worshiped, how they lived and most importantly, where could pelts be found so as we may have something to show for our efforts. However in return they just smiled and nodded in the sign that they had no idea what I was asking in the matter most natives of the continent generally did. However it should not be assumed that these were an ignorant people. For their survival in these frigid lands of the North was a testament to their knowledge of the land and their knowledge of primitive bronze working I could see from the hatchets their warriors held and some of their people even wore shoes and belts like ourselves. The Village itself was also a small wonder in itself. Unlike the villages of the bearskins we encountered these people had assembled their village in a circular pattern along the river, with the smallest of huts leading to the largest one in the center of the village. For a time we assumed that this building, (for it was much too robust to be considered just some hut) was the home of the Cheif. But We did not realize our folly until the Cheif himself refused to be even nearby it much less ourselves and even less Sir Dayne whose patience was growing thin with our hosts. For some reason or the other however me and my colleague were allowed to study the building for a time (perhaps it was because we were the only ones amongst our retinue who were unarmed) , and it’s likeness I shall describe: unlike the other buildings of this village (or this land in general) it was made of cut stone blocks held together with a sort of cement. A pair of wolves the size of men carved in stone guarded its entrance that was 2 oak wood doors and upon them were several drawings of men dressed as wolves fighting against Staggs in some sort of mythical hunt. I once assumed this was some sort of ancient story amongst their people. Little did I know at the time it was a grave omen. Day turned into night as the Blue eyes became more welcoming of our presence and welcomed us by their fires. I had learned little in the time I was there frustratingly but things however changed when all the village people began to go to the building and for once they did not protest our being there. They opened the oaken doors and we entered with all the rest to find it to be some sort of Hall with the center of the roof exposed so we could see above us like a beaming light the full moon shining. From there we sat down on some tattered hides as they began their ritual. Nothing of this kind was unusual about this as we’ve witnessed many peoples of these lands do so. They would begin to dance in the moonlight as they dawned wolf skins and chant as they did so in their language and this continued for some time. Then a band of children welcomed Sir Arthur Dayne himself to this ritual tugging at his hand and laughing in a friendly manner. Sir Dayne being a God fearing man did not want to participate in such a pagan ritual but he did not want to disappoint the children and so he continued much to the laughter of his own men in good cheer. Sir Dayne stood there a bit akward staring at the men dancing around them as they chanted louder and louder when suddenly they drew their knives and without honor began to stab at him to death where his armor that bore the sigil of the Stagg could not protect him. His men at arms at once descended upon a fury to save their Lord as people screamed and acted wickedly as they Howled and such and descended into a mad frenzy of their own biting and attacking us in the process. I myself almost lost my life as I ran for the door when suddenly a woman no older than twenty and two grabbed a rock and bludgeoned my arm before drawing her arm back to crash my head in. If it wasn’t for the timely encounter of a sailor who drew his knife and killed her I would have surely perished in that Stone cornered Hell. Others were not so fortunate, for our Lord Sir Dayne paid for insulting God with his life. For even though his men tried their best to save his life he was too far gone and they could not reach him in time when he fell to the floor with blood flowing from his neck. The only honor in his death was that he died as he lived: with sword in hand. The rest of us descended to the ship from the Hall with the Blue eyes chasing us the whole way. A few men fell along the way but there was no saving them for we could not spare the time. We reached the ship with the grace of God and pushed off the shoreline. A men at arms who under ordinary circumstances would be knighted for his heroism pushed the ship so that it may take off before he drew his sword to keep our pursuers at bay and the last we saw of him he went down fighting upon the shore. We then decided to end our journey and return to our homelands for we had been gone many months now and if there was ever a sign from God to leave it was that. And so I end my testimony of the lands beyond the Red River and the death of Sir Arthur Dayne. I can now confirm the rumors that were once put fourth are not true. There are no monsters beyond the River only men.


Dan was really regretting wearing a Santa hat to work. Most of his colleagues had smiled upon seeing it. Chief Collie had even complimented him on it, and she was a notorious grouch. Feeling adequately whimsical and jolly for the twenty-third of December, Dan slung his bag over the back of his chair at the desk he shared with his partner. “You know there’s a dress code, don’t you?” Detective Liu said without looking up from his computer. This reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, but put a damper on Dan’s good mood anyway. “I’m aware, yes. One that allows, on cold days, for a hat or beanie.” “That’s not a beanie.” Liu’s lips pursed when he glanced up to glare at him. Dan smiled sweetly. “It is, however, a hat.” He already knew what Liu would say next: that a Santa hat was not in the spirit of what the police dress code was referring to. Dan would respond with, well, that sucks, but a Santa hat still doesn’t technically break the rules. The two of them would then be sufficiently annoyed with each other to start their morning, like they did every day. Tony Liu was probably realizing the railroaded nature of this conversation at the same time. He narrowed his eyes, snorted with derision, and returned to his desktop. The projected conversation had not been had, and yet it had its effect nonetheless: the two of them were annoyed with each other, and they could start their morning. So, Dan was regretting wearing the hat. Liu’s gaze (usually delivered from an infuriating two inches above his own) had a preternatural ability to make someone feel exceptionally stupid. Police work around the holidays consisted largely of investigating robberies. Two had happened in Dan’s district just last night; understaffing guaranteed that one of them would be assigned to Liu and him. Sure enough, there it lay in his inbox. Liu hadn’t said anything about it, though he’d certainly already seen it. For all his pomp and pretense, he could be a stubborn ass sometimes. “Gripe about my hat all you want, but these interviews aren’t going to conduct themselves.” Dan tapped his pen to the side of his monitor. “I’m driving,” Liu gritted out. That was fine by Dan. # It was exhausting, being Liu’s partner, though not unproductive. Liu, though prickly, was efficient and thorough. He had the tact of a bulldozer, but Dan had the requisite charisma to pick up the pieces afterwards. “You didn’t have to insinuate that the robber was her son-in-law,” Dan pointed out when they climbed back into Liu’s car. “The robber is her son-in-law, Nuñez,” Liu replied, unaffected. “She was going to find out sooner or later.” Dan sighed and looked out the window. He agreed that the son-in-law was the best suspect, but it hurt him to think about family conflict around the holidays. He wished the world could live up to the harmony and goodwill that his childhood nostalgia implied. “You buy into the whole Christmas thing?” Liu asked, gesturing to the Santa hat. It had been tastefully discarded on the dashboard before they’d gone inside. “So do about three billion other people,” Dan pointed out. Stubborn, he put the hat back on. “You know what I mean.” Dan was not strictly Christian- “raised Catholic” was what he said when people asked, and that got his point across. But he still cherished his Christmastime memories: picking out a tree with his sisters, making tamales with his abuela, caroling around the neighborhood. Things were different now. He and his siblings were grown up. They couldn’t recreate the family Christmases of old: most of them had their own families to tend to. Dan wouldn’t even get to see his family this Christmas: he was working the twenty-fifth. It would make no sense to make the twelve-hour drive round trip just to see his parents for dinner and leave again. He had been trying to convince himself he wasn’t bothered by it. Finally, he said, “I guess I do, sure.” Liu, in the corner of Dan’s eye, executed a perfect hand-over-hand left turn. “You don’t?” Liu shrugs. “It was never that much of a thing for me.” “Oh.” That could mean any number of things, Dan thought, but he felt to ask for clarification would be to pry. “But it sounds nice, in concept.” Dan hadn’t been expecting that admission. He wasn’t sure how to respond. “It is,” is all he could manage. Liu’s distaste for things (eg. uniforms worn without ties, small dogs, being called by his first name at work, and Dan’s existence in general) tended to be quite unilateral. No exceptions or concessions would be made. Dan had been expecting him to be the same way about Christmas, and this surprised him. Maybe (only maybe) there was more to Liu than the dismissive autocrat Dan took him for. It would require further investigation. They drove the rest of the way to the station in cautious silence. Liu had been right: the son-in-law was the robber. Larcenist, technically. Dan didn’t enjoy arresting him. Detective Liu did it with vigor, as if he had been personally wronged by the crime. Both he and Dan had paused when they saw the perpetrator’s daughter, wide-eyed and afraid. “Call your wife,” Liu said brusquely and shoved the man towards the squad car waiting outside. He turned away, jaw set. “Took your sweet time,” Liu spat when Dan finally left the house. Was he insane? “She was barely four, we couldn’t just leave her.” “It’s not our job.” His voice dripped with something acidic. “It was twenty minutes, quit acting like I shot your dog.” “That’s not the point.” Eyes locked ahead, Liu turned the engine over with more force than necessary. “Then what is?” Dan turned to face him. “Tell me, Detective, what is the point, since you’re so much better at your job than I am?” “The point-” Liu, affronted, met his gaze- “is that you don’t take any of this seriously. It’s all a big joke to you. Oh, let’s wear a costume to work! Let’s play babysitter! It’s not like there are actual crimes happening right now that are our responsibility!” Dan opened his mouth, but Liu wasn’t finished. “You are so fucking embarrassing. I wish to God I didn’t have your dead weight to drag around.” The silence that followed was oppressive. Dan swallowed, trying to calm the furious tremor in his hands. “Well,” he said finally, “you can quit dragging me around, then.” He took one last look at Liu. The detective’s face was stone-solid. Dan tore his gaze away and climbed out of the car. Later, when Dan was washing his face before bed, he thought back on the argument. He hadn’t allowed himself to before; not on the cold, livid walk home, not while he sat at the kitchen table afterwards, staring at the wall. It only served to confirm everything he thought about Detective Liu. Stuck-up, frigid, and focused on all the wrong things. A miserable hermit. Dan rinsed the soap off with cold water, because he was getting angry about it again. Whatever. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and he wasn’t working, and he wouldn’t have to see Liu. # The next morning brought for Dan peace, merriness, and the Great British Bake Off. He was working up the nerve to attempt his own angel food cake- a doomed endeavor- when the doorbell rang. Dan frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Could it be, perhaps, that his parents had decided to make the drive up to Chicago after all? Had they even convinced his sisters to come, too? He muted the television and dared not to hope. Maybe it was another package, or a bouquet of flowers, or something to indicate he was being thought of, though in absentia. He opened the door to his apartment. It was no relative, postman, or caroller. Dan’s brain took a second to process. “... Liu?” he said, dumbstruck. “Hi. Dan.” Liu stood at the threshold wearing only a t-shirt and jeans, which was as casual as Dan had ever seen him. He looked apprehensive, but not in the critical way he usually was. Something about him felt off. Liu never called him by his first name. “How... can I help you?” “I- can I come in?” Liu asked, and Dan didn’t know how to say no. Normally, the two of them got on like a cat and a bathtub, and Dan was unprepared for the day the cat showed up in a swimsuit. “Sure,” he supposed. Liu walked in, taking in Dan’s apartment like it was a tourist attraction. His gaze, when Dan met it after shutting the door behind him, was vulnerable. “I think something happened to me. Maybe I fell or something.” Liu fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “You think? What does that mean?” “I... have a bruise.” Liu indicated to his temple. “And I can’t... I’m confused. I know who I am. I’m not crazy. But I can’t... remember anything else? I don’t know what I do for work, or who you are, or the password to my phone.” He held up his cell, which, as stated, was locked. “You’re the only person whose address I could find in my house. It was on an envelope or something. Could I maybe stay? For just a little bit?” Dan crossed his arms, trying to take in what he was being told. If this was an act, it was stone-cold and convincing. But Liu certainly wasn’t the type to pull practical jokes. “Sit down,” he said eventually. He checked Liu’s head, and there was indeed a nasty bump there. Dan had a little bit of medical knowledge: he checked Liu’s eyes, his nose, his breathing. Everything seemed normal, but he was no expert. “We should get you to a doctor.” Liu shook his head. “I don’t want to.” “This could be serious.” “I-” he looked on the edge of panic. “I will. But not yet. Please?” Dan stopped in front of the freezer, where he was en route to secure an ice pack. Liu had never, in their entire careers together, said please to him. He had to admit: despite the circumstances, it was a bit intoxicating. “Tomorrow, you will go to the doctor,” Dan decided, settling on a pack of frozen peas. “Today, you can stay here. Just today.” Liu- get this- smiled. “Thank you,” he said in a rush of breath, and Dan just about keeled over. Normal Liu said thank you even less than he said please. Dan applied the ice pack to the injury. “Hold this here. Are you hungry?” Later, Dan was cleaning up the last remnants of breakfast when he noticed Liu lolled to one side. Panic struck him. “Hey, hey, are you with me?” he said, already opening his phone to dial the paramedics. Liu’s eyes opened. “Yeah?” he replied. “I was just tired. I’m gonna take a nap, I think.” “Not a good idea,” Dan said grimly. “Not after a head injury.” “Oh.” Liu frowned. “I was... going to make some cookies. If you want to help.” Dan had not, in fact, been planning on making cookies, but it being Christmas Eve, it was the first brain-stimulating activity he could think of. He probably had the ingredients for it. Probably. “Oh. Sure.” Liu smiled, astonishing Dan for a second time. It was blinding. “My parents and I used to do that every Christmas.” “That’s good! That you’re remembering. And also that you made cookies,” Dan tried. It didn’t make sense, though. Liu had said Christmas was never “a thing” for him. Why would he lie? Just to keep anyone around him at arm’s length? And why wasn’t he with his parents now, if they all celebrated Christmas together. Maybe for the same reason as me, Dan thought with a grimace. Liu was not very good at baking, although it was hard to tell if that was him or the head trauma. There were only two of them, so Dan wanted to halve the recipe, but Liu kept forgetting and putting in the normal amounts so they just made a full batch. Dan wondered what the hell he was going to do with thirty-six sugar cookies. As he was adding the wet ingredients to the dry, Liu frowned. “My parents are dead,” he announced. Dan froze where he was setting the oven temperature. “Oh,” he replied, because what the hell do you say to that? “No, it was a long time ago.” Liu drummed his fingers on the counter thoughtfully. “Still sad. But at least I remember.” At eleven in the morning, Dan hadn’t expected that level of profundity. He nodded dumbly and started shaping the dough into balls. Well, it made sense that Liu didn’t want to talk about Christmas. Dan wondered reproachfully if his Santa hat shenanigans had been rubbing in what Liu lacked. Under Dan’s observation, Liu put the sheet pan in the oven with fighter-pilot concentration. “Do you want me to tell you about the things you don’t remember?” Dan asked once the timer had been set. “Or would you rather come to it on your own?” Liu shook his head. “I’d rather do it myself,” he replied. There’s the Detective Liu I know, Dan thought wryly. “Fair enough.” “Am I a... police officer?” Liu asked after a beat. “Close. Detective.” “Oh, good.” Liu grinned and squinted at Dan. “I’m going to remember how I know you, too. It’s just at the back of my brain.” “I know you are,” Dan replied, and he believed it. If there was anyone he knew who could mind-over-matter their way through a brain injury, it was certainly Tony Liu. Liu fished something out of his coat, which had been discarded over the arm of the sofa. A festive green envelope. “I was writing you a card,” he said simply, examining it. Dan failed to hide the shock on his expression. “You were ?” Liu handed him the envelope to see. On the back, sure enough, was his address, and inside, a card featuring a cheery cartoon reindeer. ‘Happy holidays!’ the card read. Opening it to the inside revealed that Liu had only gotten past the first two words: ‘ Detective Nuñez. ’ Very Liu-typical. No greeting, no first name, ended with an authoritative period. Well. Liu was planning on sending him a holiday card. Somewhere, pigs were flying. “That’s where you got my address,” Dan reasoned. Liu nodded. “And why I remembered I’m in the police, too. No other reason I’d be writing a detective.” Sharp as ever. Dan shook his head, impressed. “Not bad,” he admitted, more willing to stroke the ego of this newer, nicer Detective Liu. Liu still puffed up a little, self-satisfied. “I swear I remember you,” Liu said again, chewing his lip, looking into the middle distance as if the answer would be written on the seventies-chic wallpaper. “You will,” Dan promised. Liu rewarded him with a small, trusting smile, and Dan’s heart melted a little more. # This isn’t so bad, Dan mused to himself while he dried the dishes. Liu was washing, scrubbing the bowls with the same attention to detail that made him such an effective officer. And an annoying-as-hell coworker. All things considered, Liu was a pretty good houseguest. Meticulously clean and quiet. When he had his own condition to focus on, he spared less brain power on criticizing others. At least, that was Dan’s running theory. Plus, it was nice to not be alone on Christmas Eve. He felt like he was actually helping someone. The lack of water noises from beside him drew Dan out of his train of thought. Liu was staring intently at something on the corner of the counter, just out of eyeshot. When Dan moved to get a closer look, he caught the expression of consternation on Liu’s face. In his hands he held Dan’s wallet- no, not his wallet. His badge. Liu tore his gaze from the wallet and stared wide-eyed at Dan. Then back to the wallet. Then back to Dan. Pure horror on his face. “Oh, my God,” he whispered. If Dan was honest with himself, his vindictive side had secretly been waiting for this moment. “Do you remember?” “I’m- Nuñez, I’m- in your-” he looked down at himself- “dressed like- oh, my God - I’m so- oh, my God.” And honestly, maybe Liu was right to be embarrassed. He and Dan were not exactly on “care for each other when sick” terms. But the whole situation was so... ridiculous that Dan couldn’t contain himself. He laughed, hard. Liu instantly drew into himself, defensive. “I didn’t- I’ll-” “Liu, it’s fine , I’m not laughing at you,” Dan placated, tears in his eyes. “It’s just funny.” “What’s funny?” Liu demanded. “You’re so... I had no idea you could be so nice. ” “I’m sorry? ” “You’re nice! You’re really polite, and you-” Dan burst into another fit of giggles- “you were writing me a card, Liu! A Christmas card!” “I am perfectly nice-” “No! You’re a controlling, hypercritical asshole! Right up until the point when you get clocked in the dome, and then you start baking cookies!” “The cookies were your idea-” Dan held up a hand to stop him. “Fine, yes, fine. Just, can we- can we be cool? I’m sorry I was an ass about the Santa hat thing. You’re a good detective, Liu. Can we just work together?” “We do work together.” “You know what I mean.” Liu sighed. “Only if we never talk about this again.” Grinning, Dan extended a hand. “Deal.” Begrudgingly, Liu shook it. His hand was surprisingly warm. Dan wondered why that stood out to him. “If we’re going to actually work together,” Liu relented, “You should probably start calling me Tony.” Dan’s smile widened. “Then let me give you a ride home, Tony.”