The wind picked up speed with stronger gusts whipping the veil from the bride’s head. Gasps stolen by another strong gust. The dull roar tearing the flower arrangements from their vases and scattering them like litter. The strong breeze shaking the cotton wood leaves from their branches. Wedding guests scampered around the rows of seats, heading in the direction of the open field.  Several ladies stopped to cover their gaping mouths, as their husbands tugged them away from the ceremony. The force of air grabbed the brides carefully arrange locks, tossed them up above her head then whipped the strands across her face. The bride no longer appeared happy, even though only moments before she had said, “I do,” with the man of her dreams. Another gust hit the people and trees that bordered them on one side. The trees trembled as they lost a branch or two. The snapping and popping trees jolted the remaining persons to head to the field. Lindsey stumbled through the thick grasses, as it tangled around her boots and skirt. Fearing falling she paused in her haste. Glancing around something caught the corner of her eye. As if in slow motion, the bridal bouquet flew through the air while its owner, stumbled. Arms flailing into the air wildly. The groom reaching and grabbing his wife as they tried for footing. Their jerky steps took them out. Their bodies madly slamming the ground. At their landing, the air calmed, only a tickling breeze remained. A screeching wail split the silence. The bride no longer graceful nor the epitome of beauty thrashed on the ground. Her gown hiding her husband beneath the train. Springing into action, Lindsey rushed towards the newlyweds. A garbled sound emitted from under the dress. The poor man sounded as if he were drowning. Maybe he was, considering the liquid green mass streaked across the white cloth. Stepping closer Lindsey offered her hand to May, the teary bride, her sister. “Hold still, May. Frank is trussed up in there.” May stopped moving around and studied the lump covered by the train. A boot wiggle in the manure, the ooze seeping into the leg of his tuxedo. “Oh no!” May moaned. Slowly lifting the gown, uncovering her manure smeared husband May cried louder. “May, please stop crying,” Frank pleaded, remorse thickened his voice. Noticing others gathering around the disaster, Lindsey looked at the faces. Recognizing most, she motioned for the bride's closest friends nearer to help their dear friend. A man held out a hand to Frank. “Come on 'cuz, let's get you up out of this mess.” The bridesmaids helped the bride from atop the groom. The poor man’s tuxedo was badly wrinkled and covered in the fresh, smelly cow manure. “Must say this is the worst mess I've helped you out of yet. Steady there, Frank. Are you hurt?” Frank steadied himself by leaning heavily on the man. His leg giving out, he stumbled nearly taking both men down. “Whoa there, your leg?” The man asked. “Yeah, twisted a bit when I slipped in the crap.” “Oh, Frank,” May reached her husband and kissed his cheek. Taking that moment to usher the guests away from the embarrassing scene, Lindsay gathered the people and stated they could head on down to the community hall for refreshments while the bride and groom cleaned up. “Tucker, can you bring the quad over with the trailer to get May and Frank?” May asked the best man. The calm, warm air balmy. The sun shone clear and bright. No signs of the wind remained; peacefulness surrounded them. Shaking her head remorsefully, Lindsey turned to May and Frank. Checking with her sister she decided May was okay physically. Emotionally, tears were understandable. A droplet washed some manure from her pale cheek. This was turning out to be quite the wedding on their parents' ranch. One to remember, most likely the worst part would be spoken of at future family gatherings for years to come. Glancing at the stranger steadying her new brother-in-law she found him watching her. The gaze penetrating through thick, long lashes. Looking away she realized it was only the four of them left in the field. The newlyweds spoke quietly, their heads bowed, foreheads touching. The man appeared uncomfortable, being too close he shifted slightly away, as far as he could while keeping his shoulder still for Frank's green smeared hand His blue eyes met hers as mirth filled hers. Knowing the situation was not humorous she could not stop the snort giggle escape past rosy lips. A dark brow raised as a second giggle escaped, as his nose wrinkled. Covering her face in the crock of her arm knowing her hands were dirty, the giggles followed in a muffled stream. The more the laughing flowed out the higher his brows raised. Noticing the attractive curve to his mouth the laughter slowed. He no longer looked so uncomfortable, but his appeal grew. Flushing brightly, Lindsey lowered her gaze to stare blankly at a large cow patty near her toe. “Lindsey, why are you laughing? This isn't funny. We haven't even had the wedding photos taken.” Meeting the hurt expression May carried, guilt filled her chest. “I know. The day is so crazy. I thought of the name that Dad came up with for our ranch when we were kids and couldn't help relating today to its name. The Laughingstock ranch, and how the craziness of today fits. I'm sorry. You know I find humour in the oddest places.” “You're right.” Her gaze travelled the front of the once white wedding dress. “I am so disappointed about our clothes.” “Why don't we head to the house and get cleaned up. Maybe then a solution can be found,” the handsome man suggested. “Andrew is right, dearest. I don't want to continue to smell like this any longer.” Frank looped his arm through his wife’s and held Andrew’s shoulder with the other. Watching the three slowly walk towards Tucker as he drove the quad across the field to meet them, Lindsey wondered on so many things. The day was completely insane. Hoping with all her heart the rest of the day would play out smoothly. Maybe a dance or two with his handsomeness to add topping on the cake, Lindsey followed. Weddings were supposed to be spoken of, this one sure would be.


        For the fifth time this week, Jasmine saw the little girl propped up in her bed looking out the window of Whitebridge County Hospital.  This part of the Whisper Valley train line was unique because it loops around in a way to give passengers a discernible view inside some of Whitebridge County Hospital. Not only was Jasmine able to identify the girl’s shoulder-length dark curls and olive skin, very much like her own, she saw the girl wave. Could she see Jasmine smile and wave back at her?  Jasmine swore she could see the girl’s bright but heartbreaking smile. She was in the hospital, so Jasmine was sure the girl was anxious and sad. Jasmine guessed that the child was seven or eight years old. Being in the hospital is scary enough for an adult, but for a child it is overwhelming.               Jasmine felt a genuine connection to the little girl and worried about what was wrong with her that she had been in the hospital for at least a week. She knew all too well that hospitals liked to release patients as quickly as possible. When Jasmine’s dad had heart bypass surgery, he was only in the hospital for three days, and when she broke her leg a couple of years ago, they didn’t even keep her overnight. So, when a patient was kept for at least five days, there had to be something seriously wrong. Jasmine remembered when she was seven, she’d been hospitalized for a ruptured appendix and later developed sepsis which required her to stay in the hospital for 13 days. It was the first time she came face to face with her own mortality, something a child shouldn’t have to do. There was a nice nurse that helped her through it though.               Although Jasmine had never spoken to the girl, she almost felt as though she knew her. She realized that was ridiculous. How could she know someone she’d never met nor spoken to? Still, Jasmine sensed a familiarity between her and the girl. Was that real, or was Jasmine’s yearning for a child of her own getting to her? At 32, Jasmine was concerned that her biological clock was ticking, and so far she hadn’t met a man with whom she wanted to have a long-term relationship , let alone marry and start a family with. Sure, she could get pregnant through a sperm bank, but that wasn’t her thing. She truly wanted it all—to continue to be a respected English professor at the University where she worked and to be a successful author,  but also a wife and mother.               Jasmine decided that if the girl was still in the hospital window on Monday that she would visit her after work. Being somewhat familiar with what seven- and eight-year-old girls liked because of her two nieces, Jasmine went shopping over the weekend. She envisioned her girl being imaginative and creative, as she was as a child, so she wanted to purchase gifts to encourage those things. Jasmine’s nieces, like her when she was little, loved their dolls and dollhouses.  She bought a lunchbox style dollhouse, that the child could play with in or out of the hospital. It was quite impressive with its wood printed flooring and wallpaper with a cloudlike pattern in blue, pink, lavender, and peach pastels. Jasmine would enjoy having some of the furniture, such as the sleigh bed and standing “brass” floor lamp, in her home if they were the right size. Jasmine also purchased two female dolls, one White and the other Black, which would fit in the dollhouse perfectly.               On Monday, on Jasmine’s way home, she disembarked the train at the Diamond Grove stop and walked to the Whitebridge County hospital holding a large gift bag with pastel pink polka dots, stuffed with tissue paper, and adorned with a bow. Jasmine knew that the woman at the information desk wouldn’t divulge any information about a child, so she greeted the friendly middle-aged woman with a smile and proceeded to the elevator like she knew where she was going. Based on her calculations, the little girl was on the fifth floor, east side, third window from the left, probably room 508. When she approached that room though, she noticed an attractive old woman with curly winter white hair cut into a stylish hairdo propped up on her pillows dozing. Jasmine did a double take. My God, she looks like my grandmother, but Grandmom is alive and well in her home. I just talked to her last night. She was doing great. Did she have a heart attack, and nobody told me? Jasmine panicked, but when she looked at the name posted next to the doorway, she saw the last name was Sanderson, not her name Cook.  Figuring she miscalculated the room the girl was in, Jasmine continued to the two rooms on the right and left of the room she’d just observed. In two rooms, she saw an elderly man, in another a middle-aged and elderly woman, and further down the hall two middle-aged men.               A slender no nonsense nurse approached her. “Mam, are you looking for someone?”               “My coworker asked me to drop off this gift to her niece. I thought she was in room 508, but there’s an elderly woman in there, so I started looking in the other rooms around 508.”               The nurse looked puzzled. “This is the cardiac ward. There are no children here. She would be in pediatric ward, the 4 th and 5th floors of the B wing. Take the walkway over there and follow the signs. You’ll eventually end up on the west side of the hospital,” said the nurse and hurried away.               Now, Jasmine was the one who was perplexed. She’d always prided herself on having a keen sense of direction and could always figure out what was east and west. How can I be so wrong? Maybe she is on the 5th floor on the west side of the hospital, but that doesn’t make sense. The west side wouldn’t face the train tracks. When Jasmine got there, she nonchalantly glanced in some rooms on each side of the fifth floor. Sure enough, none of the windows had a view of the train station or tracks as far as she could tell.               Jasmine approached the handsome thirty something man at the nurse’s station. On his nametag was the name Bryan Sanderson. Was he related to the woman in 508 in the east building? “Good evening, Mr. Sanderson. I’m having a bit of a problem here. Maybe you can help me?”               “I’ll try,” he said with a charming smile.               “I have a gift to deliver for my coworker’s niece. She told me that her niece was on the fifth floor of the east building, but I found out that’s the cardiac ward. The floor nurse told me there weren’t any children there. “ What’s the little girl’s name?” Bryan said as he moved towards the computer.               “That’s the thing. I can’t remember her name. I feel terrible about that. My friend did tell me her niece had a view of the train tracks.  Do any of these rooms in the children’s ward have a view of the train station or tracks?” “Definitely not. Only the east side has that view. My mom was a pediatric nurse at this hospital before the children’s wing was over here. I remember her telling me stories about how children were housed on the fifth floor of the east building and, on one side, the kids could see the train station. Conductors would blow the whistle when they went past the hospital. The kids loved it.” “When was that?” “She started here in 1990 or maybe it was 91.” Along with a dazzling smile, he has the most alluring blue eyes. “My mom worked here until 2013. She’s been Director of Pediatrics at Children’s Hospital in the city ever since. Why don’t you call your friend and at least get the niece’s name,” said Bryan as he started entering information in the computer. Jasmine could see that Bryan was getting impatient with her. She had to contact his mom. Something very weird is going on. Maybe this guy’s mom could shed light on what’s going on. “I suppose that’s what I need to do. By the way, do you have a grandmother or aunt on the cardiac floor?       “Nope. Why do you ask? “          "When I went to the room, I thought my friend’s niece was in over in the east building, I noticed the name Sanderson next to the doorway.”               “Unless I have a relative I don’t know about, nobody related to me is in the cardiac area.” Did his eyes just twinkle? Bryan looked up from the computer briefly. “Good luck. Once you find out your friend’s niece’s name, come back. I’ll be glad to assist you.” “Thanks. By the way, what’s your mom’s name? I have another friend who’s a nurse at Children’s Hospital. I’ll ask her if she knows your mom.” Jasmine had no such friend, but the lie might enable her to get in touch with Bryan’s mother. “It’s Miriam Sanderson,” said Bryan and continued typing. “See you later.” While Jasmine waited for the next train to take her home, she called Children’s Hospital and obtained Miriam’s office phone number and called it.  Since it was already 6:00, Jasmine didn’t expect anyone to pick up, so she was surprised when Miriam did. Jasmine explained that she was a Social Science major at Coventry University. “I’m doing a report on the importance of stimuli when children are in the hospital. Could I call you over the weekend to ask you a few questions?” “I’m sorry, I'm really busy this weekend, but I’m done working and am waiting for my husband to pick me up. He won’t be here for another 20 minutes. We could talk now if you’d like.” “That would be great! Thank you so much. Would you be able to tell me about when pediatrics was in the east building and how kids would watch the trains? Did that have a positive effect on them? “Oh my. It sure did. There was one little girl I’ll never forget. She was on the 5 th floor around 2001 or 2002 when pediatrics used to be on the 4th and 5th floors of the east building. The poor little thing had a ruptured appendix which cause her to acquire sepsis. It was really touch and go for a few days. By the time she was released from the hospital, she’d been here two weeks.” Jasmine couldn’t believe what she was hearing. It sounded like the girl Miriam was describing was her. Unexpectedly, Jasmine remembered details of her interminable hospital stay when she was seven. Once she started to feel better, she was really bored. When she didn’t have visitors or wasn’t reading or coloring, she’d watch the trains to pass the time. The sound of the whistle was really soothing and the sight of all the train cars moving past her window was really kind of hypnotic. She wondered where are all those people were going—to work, to their grandparents in another town, or on vacation? The stories Jasmine made up about them kept her busy for what seemed like hours. “What did the patient look like?” “I can see her right now. She was the cutest little thing. The child had beautiful shoulder-length dark curls that her mother would brush for her every day when she came in. I’d say she had olive skin, but it had a bit of a pallor since she was so sick. Despite feeling poorly, she always managed to smile at the nurses and to say please and thank you. Such a sweet little girl. Whenever I was in her room, I’d spend some additional time with her, giving her an extra cup of juice, putting a cool damp cloth on her forehead, talking to her…” Jasmine’s heart was pounding. She took a couple deep breaths. “Do you remember her name?” “Jasmine. I remember that because it was such a pretty name. I can’t recall her last name though. It was at least 15 years ago when she was here, but she made an impression on me. Aside from being so sweet, she absolutely loved the trains. She could see them from her window. When she was so sick, I’d make up little stories about the people on the trains. Then, when she started to feel better, we’d tell each other stories about them.” “Mrs. Sanderson. I believe that little girl was me. Thank you so much for taking such good care of me. “That little girl I saw looking out the hospital window was me too, but that doesn’t make any sense. How can the current me and the child me both exist in this time and place?

Jasmine felt her entire body tremble. Was the elderly woman who looked like Grandmom me too? Is this real or am I hallucinating? “Jasmine, are you still there?” “Sorry. Yes, I’m here, but I’m suddenly feeling a bit nauseous. I don’t think my lunch agreed with me,” Jasmine fibbed. “I’m sorry to hear that, dear. Please call me again. Maybe we could meet for lunch sometime. I could answer more of your questions for your paper. Besides, I’d love to see you all grown up if that’s alright with you.” “That would be lovely, Mrs. Sanderson. Thanks again for your help,” said Jasmine and placed her phone in her handbag. I think I need to go back to the hospital. I want to meet the woman in room 508 in the east building.


David tapped on the door with the back of his hand. Doorbells were so impersonal. They also left fingerprints For a moment he wasn’t sure if anyone had heard. He inspected his ID tag briefly. He considered knocking again and toyed with the idea of moving on. Then inside, he noticed a shape shifting in and out of focus through the textured glass of the door panel. David straightened himself and put on his most sincere smile. The door cautiously opened an inch or two. A pair of horn-rimmed spectacles attached to the face of a woman with long hair the colour of curb side snow peered around the doorframe. She wasn’t as old as he’d expected. Or at least he didn’t think she was. There were the deep etchings of age, certainly, but they seemed somehow out of place, without the porcelain transparency of ageing skin. Her face was pointed, not sagging, sharp even, with a prominent chin. And her eyes. David made a point of paying attention to eyes: they were often the first warning sign. In his experience with the elderly, age seemed to fog eyes and make their owners peer out as if looking through a frosted window. But hers were, deep brilliant green. It reminded him of someone, but he couldn't place who. He continued with expertly learned poise. “ Good afternoon-“ started David, “I’m from –“ “Max?” Said the woman. David paused for a second. He didn’t like being interrupted, especially by an old woman who should know better. A careful observer, skilled at these sorts of things would have seen a flash of anger dart across his face, quick and transitory as the shadow of a dragonfly crossing a tranquil pond. “Sorry, Madam, I’m here on behalf of Open Broadband. We hear you’re having trouble with your connection.” She looked at him and blinked briefly. David checked his clipboard. Had he got her details correct? That was the trouble with the dark web: you couldn’t trust anyone. “It’s Mrs Higginson, isn’t it?” It actually said ‘Miss’ on his notes. She didn’t correct him. Her eyes appeared to change focus slightly. “Of course. Silly me. I know why you’re here. Yes that’s it. ” “May I come in?” “Yes, yes.” She opened the door fully and he strolled across the threshold.  Just like that. “Your router…er, your telephone line. Could you show me-?” “In the living room.” She said, kindly, and indicated a door on the right. He briefly looked at his surroundings before he went in. The house was even bigger on the inside than he had expected. It had quite an old fashioned, crumpled feel to it, though, he noted, it was well looked after. Unlike many of those he visited, this one obviously still had the wherewithal to clean and tidy. Even a place as big as this. Something to bear in mind, he thought. She opened a door and indicated he should go through. He went in and turned round to tell her she didn’t need to wait for him only to discover she had already gone. He paused and looked around. The room was fairly light, the furnishings weren’t modern, but didn’t feel old fashioned. There were a few pictures on the wall, all of a woman – women? -- in various locations, in decades, some long gone. Her mother, maybe even grandmother some of them, they all had that striking face though the photos portrayed them in colour, black and white and sepia. Ancient monuments that he recognised from various aspirational lifestyle magazines stood in the background, and a myriad of what appeared to be manservants or butlers, by their appearance and demeanour. No partner though, which said a lot about the relationship her parents --grandparents? – must have had “What you want?” The deep male voice would have been enough to visibly startle David several years ago, but today’s David was one of considerable experience. He turned with an expectant smile on his face. David was nothing if not charming. “Hi, I’m David. You must be –“ In the beat of the hyphen David deconstructed the person in front of him: ·        thin build ·        Tall ·        Grey, cropped, balding. ·        Smartly dressed, loose fit, old suit. ·        Accent: Polish? Romanian? ·        Age: difficult. Possibly sixties. ·        Eyes…unusual. ·        No wedding ring Miss Higginson was single, with no dependents. The accent ruled out siblings or offspring. Without marriage the surname ruled out extended family from Eastern Europe. David played it safe. “-neighbour?” The man stared at David. “Get out.” It sounded strangely unlike a threat, David thought. Not even an instruction. David smiled even harder and was about to reply when his pocket buzzed. He took out his mobile. The girl from the previous evening. Samantha? -Are we still on for later? x.  He quickly rapped off a reply. -Wouldn’t miss it for the world. :) Which was mostly true. Not bad looking, he supposed. Not much in the conversation stakes, but he could save money if he found a free bed for the night in this new town. The text had also given him valuable thinking time. “Caleb!”  Miss Higginson’s voice was stern, unforgiving.

“Leave Max alone.” Caleb continued to stare at David, a look that David could not discern on his face. David noticed how Caleb’s eyes never quite seemed to focus on him as if he was struggling to see through an alcoholic stupor. “Caleb. Now.”

Caleb didn’t move. “Do you want dinner or not?” Caleb turned sluggishly to look at her. His eyes seemed to focus for just a split second. David was good at reading faces and the previously unfathomable features of Caleb, in a matter of milliseconds, went through three distinct stages: hatred, resolve, defeat. Miss Higginson, for her part, remained as hard, cold and unmoved as an anvil. Caleb turned and left. Miss Higginson turned to David. In the process her face shifted to one of friendly welcoming. “It’s chicken tonight, Max. Your favourite.” David paused for a second. Was she offering him… well, Max, dinner? This was an unfamiliar situation. Not to mention a possibly hazardous: it was unwise to spend any more time than he needed here.  But it would guarantee him a few undisturbed minutes while she was in the kitchen. And he never turned down a free lunch. “Sounds lovely” He said. She smiled once more and left the room. He hadn’t even needed to explain he couldn’t find her router. He counted to five under his breath. His smile melted away and he went looking around the room. He liked to challenge himself by seeing if he could spot exactly the right spot straightaway. After so many years, it helped keep the job interesting. An old darkwood bureau seemed to call to him. Second drawer from the top, he thought; high enough to avoid too much bending, but not the most frequently accessed. He opened it. And frowned. Some important documents, but not enough on their own. He rummaged around, his fingers doing much of the searching. There was the familiar feel of a passport. He took his phone out and snapped the ID page before returning it to the drawer and continuing. His fingers hit a plastic card. He fished it out. A driving licence. With Caleb’s photo on it. It bore the flag of Poland in one corner and he understood none of the writing, but one thing that struck him was that nothing on it said ‘Caleb’ or a name that could conceivably be its origin. Why the hell did she have his driving licence anyway? There was a date on it, presumably his date of birth, but it made him a lot younger than he looked. A hard life had evidently aged him. The photo showed a slightly threatening, stocky face that did not seem a warm home for a smile to reside. The old man who had told him to leave was wiry, gaunt even, and the threat in the eyes had been replaced by a muddled apathy. He looked again in the drawer. This time he found an ID badge in English. It had that same photo of a Polish bruiser, but the name was now easily identifiable: Pawel. He checked the driving licence. That name appeared nowhere on there. The ID was around fifteen years old: it bore the previous incarnation of the British Gas logo on it. David found it unlikely that it was legitimate. He liked to think of himself as an expert on these things. David heard a floorboard just beyond the door creak. He calmly replaced the items and shut the drawer purposefully; if you do something as if you’re meant to be doing it, everyone seems to think it’s your business. “Max? Are you coming through or not?” The smell hit him a second later. The warm, greasy embrace of roast potatoes first. Chicken. Butter. Bacon, crisp, with just an edge of charcoal. A subtle kiss of sage, thyme, rosemary. His phone buzzed in his pocket again - When & where? “Er yes, sorry.” -8? Ladies choice. Miss Higginson had left the room already. The home was big (how did she manage to keep it clean?) but he could follow his nose.

He went through a long corridor, rooms leading off, and through a pale wooden door at the end. The table was laid for what appeared to be a meal excessive for two. A chicken, whole, skin shimmering and golden, flecked with charred herbs and stuffed with half a singed lemon. A bowl of roast potatoes stood honour guard next to it, the deep brown ridges leading to fluffed ochre sides. Fresh garden, peas glistened with butter and interspersed with blackened, crisp small chunks of bacon. Carrots, parsnips and onion roasted to the point where their skins had turned to darker hue. “Oh please don’t stand on account of me, dear.” David slipped without thinking into his seat. She stood over him and purposefully spooned the peas onto his plate steam still rising from them. He could see a small amount of melting butter between creeping down the shoulders of the newly-formed green mound. This was followed by four potatoes carefully plucked from the bowl, delicately thunking on the porcelain and a generous helping of the charred vegetables in their caramel glow. She picked up the knife and began to slice the chicken. It’s skin made a soft, satisfying crack as the knife broke through, clear juice rolling down the blade.

It was then that he noticed Caleb through the arch of the doorway. He was staring intently at the feast, on edge like a semi-trained dog that been told to sit while a squirrel played in the distance. “ I hope you’re not thinking about taking any of this” She said without looking from her work. There was not a gram of affection in her voice. “Done the floors.” He said. Indeed, there was a dripping mop in his hand. “And the washing?” She inquired with the air of primary school headmistress. He nodded. She stopped and for the first time looked at him. “Very well. Here.” He half shuffled, half stumbled towards her and stood right next to David. Only then did he notice, how emaciated he looked. He stood in front of her swaying slightly. “Very well.” She said. She cut a thin slice of the meat, thin enough that you could almost see the light through it and placed it carefully on a small side plate. This was followed by a piece of potato. And half a carrot.  He paused. Looked at David for a second with eyes that conveyed a message he couldn’t quite read. Then he got down on his knees, there was no chair, and using his hands, nibbled slowly on the chicken, eyes closed. The tiny serving of potato and carrot followed in similar fashion. It must have taken him a full five minutes to consume what David could have easily done in two mouthfuls. With little ceremony she popped a sliver of chicken in his mouth. He waited. “What?” He looked at her. “That’s it for now.” For a moment he continued to stare at her. Then, as if his eyes could not bear looking into a bright light any longer, he bowed his head. He stood up, the effort almost seemed beyond him. Caleb looked once more at David. Then left. David’s gaze lingered on the door as it closed behind Caleb. When he turned back, Miss Higginson had already sat down and there was a glass of white wine next to his plate with condensation around the bowl. “Please.” She motioned. David had learned long ago that the best way to handle an awkward situation was to pretend it wasn’t happening, so he politely picked up his knife and fork and put a piece of chicken in his mouth. The world seemed to fall away. For the briefest of moments he was in his grandmother’s small kitchen: the light blue cupboards fronted by red gingham curtains, the worktops freckled grey plastic covered fibreboard, the tiles with poorly painted fruit and vegetable bowls. His grandmother’s face was smiling as she turned to slide him his plate and he tucked into his special weekend treat: leftover chicken and stuffing sandwiches in thick white crusty bread. He realised he would do anything to stay in that moment forever. Then he was back in the dining room. But for the first time in his adult life he felt … full. His phone buzzed -Hello ?x He paused for a second. The phone seemed out of place. For a moment he couldn’t remember what it was for. “Max? Phone away please.” “Sorry.” He continued to eat. Every mouthful was a tragedy because it had to end, but he lightened his mood with the wine: clean, crisp, citrus. The second glass made him more conversational. “You keep this house very clean.” He ventured. “Thank you. But cleaning’s not my thing. Man’s work, if you ask me.” “So-?“ “ Caleb, yes. Cooking’s really my gift. You know what they say about the way to a man’s heart.” She winked at him. “Still. He’s getting on a bit. I’ll have to replace him soon.” She smiled at him. Too soon his plate was empty. She looked at him. “Tell you what, Max. You clear away these dishes and wash up and I’ll get you some dessert.” David didn’t easily do the washing up for himself, let alone for … but he did want dessert. “Sure.” He said. In the kitchen he would have noticed that all the cupboards had a combination lock, but his mind was somewhere else. He was sure he was supposed to be doing something. When he came back, the dessert was somehow waiting for him. It was smaller than he’d hoped: chocolate fudge cake. After one taste he realised that if he could make that the last thing that ever passed his lips, he would. “Right. Well, I’d better…” “Really, Max?” She smiled at him again. He was sure that there was something- “But your room’s all ready.” Mrs Higginson continued. “And there’s breakfast tomorrow.” Breakfast? “And if you could see your way to doing one or two things for me as well..” “Well, I really should be…” Breakfast. “Where…where’s the room?” “Where it’s always been, Max: upstairs first on the left.” She smiled… sweetly? Of course it was. David wandered out and ambled upstairs, though he wasn’t sure why. He went into the first room on the left and closed the door behind him Miss Higginson heard the door upstairs click and then behind her another one open. She sighed and turned. Caleb was in the doorway again, looking almost hurt. “ Oh don’t take it personally Caleb.” Some softness entered her voice for the first time. “You all have to be replaced some time.” Upstairs, David lay on an old single bed, a slight smile smeared loosely on his face. Some part of his brain echoed in the background, a shout just out of earshot. His phone buzzed. In the stupor of semi sleep, he looked at the screen. -Are you OK, David? X But for Max, the words carried as much meaning as overheard whispers in a foreign country. He switched it off.  Max slowly drifted into sleep. And he dreamed of the next meal.


 Trapped! Simon Rafferty was dressed like he always did when on a job. He wore jeans, a Netflix T-Shirt, a pair of white running shoes and his sunglasses. If it was cool outside, then the leather jacket came on.

He was available four times of the year once per season. As he had told his boss: “Use me wisely.” And the organization had done just that. He was one of the best in the business — if not the best — and on this bright sunny September afternoon, he was going to take care of business.

The building was in the retirement block. It looked like someone wanted an old person out of the way. The names and faces didn’t matter; they were memorized and then quickly forgotten. He had found the building easy enough access was a little harder. There were cameras everywhere. The ruse as posing as a delivery man had gone the way of the dodo bird. There were a thousand different ways to gain access to a ‘secure’ building. After all, when you were the best in the business, there was always a way of getting the job done. It had been simple to get in. The manager was standing there pontificating about the present political situation and Simon had simply pressed a number on the panel. It took about three-seconds and then the door was opened. He really didn’t look at the manager squarely in the eye. He just shuffled past everyone that was sitting in the lounge area entrance and half-smiled. The two elevators were up on the seventh and eight floors respectively.

He didn’t feel like waiting and simply veered left towards the stairs. He climbed the stairs to the third floor and then proceeded to exit onto the main floor. The numbers zipped by and Simon realized that he had taken the set of stairs that was furthest from the desired location. It didn’t matter the end was going to be the same. According to the instructions the person of target was going to be home. Simon felt for the envelope and reassured that it was still there. One of the rookies had dropped the envelope and had been caught. The boys in the organization had laughed long and hard at that one. Of course, the stool pigeon had to be taken care just in case and before he started to flap. The apartment was 311 and he stopped. The man always took a deep breath before delivering the bad news. It was like being the grim reaper minus the dark hoodie, scythe and evil glare. The knock on the door was sharp and precise. It was a reflexion of how he did business. Lorne Johnson opened the door. He was in his eighties, frail, with a wisp of white hair, and a mouth that didn’t properly line up. His arms were full of brown spots and bruises. To make matters worse, the old dog was in shorts revealing very knobby knees. “Can I help you?” “Special delivery for Lorne Johnson.” There was nothing wrong with being polite. “Hang on, I’ll give you something for your troubles.” “That’s okay, enjoy.” Simon handed him the envelope. The old guy nodded and the blue eyes were alert for the last time. Simon could have taken the stairs but wasn’t sure were they led to. So he sauntered over to the elevator and pressed the button. The door opened and he went inside. He pressed G for ground and the door closed slowly. It was an older building and he guessed that the elevators were the originals. It buckled a bit and he smiled and then it stopped. He was unaware that the power had gone out in the building and the entire block. “Are you kidding me?” It was stuck between the third and second floor. The elevator hung in the balance like a cat hanging on by a thread over a steep precipice. He jammed on the emergency button but nothing happened. It wasn’t moving. “Okay, this cannot be happening.” But it was actually occurring in real time. There was no phone to use and he looked at his cell and it had gone dead. He wanted to pound on the door but it was not a good idea because there was no need to attract attention. If the old codger had opened the envelope by this point, then that part of the mission had been completed.

Now if he could only get the hell out of the damn elevator. The manager had gone back to his apartment waiting for someone to knock on the door. He was sitting in the chair watching some game show and promptly snoring the rest of his shift away. When the lights went out, he woke up and snarled. “Okay, don’t panic. You are Simon Rafferty, a professional, able to deal with any situation, any circumstance. You have survived all types of deadly situations. You have been behind enemy lines and managed to live and tell about it. In fact, they gave you a medal for it.” He smiled and wiped the sweat off of his brow. “I’ll be home for supper.” Carl stood in the main lobby and waited for the Hydro people to show up. Beverly Johnson arrived to look in on her father, but rarely on a Wednesday. The scout that had surveyed the scene could never have anticipated this. The middle-aged woman had driven down the street and realized that the power was gone. She couldn’t take any of the elevators, so she walked up the stairs.

Unlike Simon, she went up the right ones arriving at apartment 311 quicker. She knocked on the door and listened for a sound. There was nothing and she figured he was sleeping. Her father was partially deaf and he didn’t always hear a good rap on the door. She had own key anyway. She slipped inside and the place was clean. A woman came in twice a week to clean and look after him. Gladys, the cleaning lady, was a godsend. She not only cleaned for Lorne, but made sure that he took his meds, listened to him tell his long-winded stories and generally cared about the old guy with a pure heart of gold. The woman always went well beyond her duties. “Your father is just an old sweetie,” she had told Beverly many times. Beverly walked in and felt that there was something wrong.

“Father? Dad, are you here?” She walked up to the chair and knew by the limp arm that he was gone. She figured it was a heart attack but when she saw the envelope and the purple powder inside, it was obviously not a medical condition. Beverly had been a nurse in the trauma/emergency room of a major hospital for years. The cardinal rule was not to panic. “Okay, dad never went to get his mail.” The last time he had done that the pool old guy had fallen and broken a hip. That was six years ago and she usually picked it up on the days that she visited. Gladys grabbed the rest of the time. She didn’t disturb anything and reached for her phone.

“Hello, yes, this is Beverly Johnson and I am here visiting my father. He is deceased. I have a bad feeling that he was murdered. I am going to call the police and please do not disturb him until they arrive because you might destroy the evidence.” She said all this as she walked down the stairs.

Beverly found the building manager standing in the lobby. “Hey, Bev, how are you?” “Horrible. Dad is gone.” “Oh, I am so sorry. Was it his heart?” “No, he was murdered. Look, I have called paramedics and the police. They will be here shortly, hopefully.” “Okay.” Carl figured that the elevator was stuck between the third and second floor. “The Hydro people called and will be here soon. I better call the elevator people.” He checked his cell phone and doubted they would get there since it was already past three in the afternoon. He opened the office door and then one of the tenants poked their head inside. “There is someone stuck on the elevator.” Carl smiled because it would get the elevator people to the building very quickly. “Hello, yeah, it’s Carl. How did you know?” They laughed. “Anyway, the power went out and someone was in the elevator. They are stuck in the elevator you know the one you fixed last month? Yeah, we are in dire need of new elevators but the owner is cheap. Okay, you’ll be here in about ten minutes. Thanks, see you then.” Carl closed the office door and now it was a waiting game. “Okay, who is stuck in the elevator?” Five minutes later, the paramedics, the police, the Hydro people and the elevator repair person all arrived at once.

“It’s circus time.” Beverly stood there trying to retain her composure. “Okay, paramedics and police go to apartment 311. You have a key don’t you?” Carl smiled at her. “Yes, I do.” Beverly smiled back. “Great. The elevator is stuck between the third and second floor.” He looked at the elevator repairman. “We have figured out the source of the power failure and it should be fixed in like ten minutes.” “As soon as it is fixed the elevator will start moving.” “Did you figure out who is stuck in it?” “No, I called out but there was no response.” Stan the elevator man smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “How long have they been stuck in there?” “Not really sure, I was busy with something else.” Meanwhile, in apartment 311 the police saw the envelope with the purple powder and nodded their heads. “I have to make a phone call.” The police officer made the call and smiled. “Okay, I need to look at the surveillance camera.” They raced down the stairs and the manager shrugged his shoulders. “It should work even on generator power.” When the power went out the generator went on and produced an adequate amount of power. They started watching the camera tape and saw Simon. “That’s him, the guy we call the Purple Powder Assassin. Where did he go?” “He didn’t go out the door because he’s not on the camera.” Ernie, the elevator guy popped his head into the office. “Okay, there is a male stuck in the elevator.” “That’s him,” Officer Harris was so excited that he nearly bit his tongue. “You think so?” “Absolutely, one hundred per cent yes that is him.” “Do not fix that elevator right away. We have a major assassin trapped. The proper authorities will arrive.” He got on his radio and made a very urgent call. “Should we evacuate the building?” Carl was concerned for his tenants. Some of them had drifted down the stairs while others just staying in their respective apartments. “No, I don’t want anyone to panic. Besides, the guy isn’t going anywhere in these old style elevators. There is nowhere to go.” It was a few minutes later when the SWAT team arrived and the building was surrounded.

The power went back on. A couple of minutes later, Ernie pressed a button and the elevator started up. It moved down to the second and then the ground floor. Simon walked into the arms of the Authorities. “Simon Rafferty you are arrested on assassin and terrorist charges.” “And for killing my father.” She kicked him in the groin and everyone laughed.


Lin woke up one early ´morn, and saw the sun hit the window with a glowing glare. A brilliant tone of light from the spheres above. And this glare, this very gaze, the eye from the window was a silly salute to the dawn. A poetic heritage this Midsummer day. Lin turned around in bed, still sleepy. Still not wanting the day to chase her to yet another work. No, she was not a workaholic. As a matter of fact her work at Samhall, a state-owned company, was a place for handicapped people. Handicapped both physically and mentally. But the sun gave no care of sickness or of disease. Lin turned around yet in another clumsy manner. Her body did not want to go to work. Very well. But the sun sneaked behind the curtain and made her feel the relief of light itself, as she saw the twinkling rainbow drips on the dew from the window. Glittering all over the place. Colours of the radiant sun that talked about the new day´s beginning. Oh how she wished she could explain what a sun could do. It gave summer a new fresh start. A season with its own values. No, she was certainly not a workaholic at Samhall, although she could handle all paperwork with a shift hand. And that was just about it. She stretched out like a cat. Legs between sheets. Sheets that became whiter from the hitting light of the sun… Finally she got up. Took a shower. Brushed her teeth. Rituals of the dawn. Rituals as old as that. Rituals that were so common she paid no notice of them anylonger. But the sun was determined to wake her up, it was stubborn about getting the new day into order and balance. The balancing point of the solstice. She slowly got her sleepy mind to think it over. The balancing point made a cross on heaven. Four different point on the spheres above that made Midsummer´s feast a ritual when queens had to make friends with the thralls during the Viking era. And the thrall women could make love with the king so that nine months later brave warriors were born into all families. Although odd enogh, Lin hated war, but still liked to drink a cup of vodka. The cup for an old tradition. Also she hated to dance like the frogs. Cause frogs, when kissed at the nights of Midsummer could turn out to be princes. Oh how she hated the very idea of meeting some handsome young prince , who would give her – of his status? A highborn boy would give her – what the heck? ! Silly tradition just because of solstice´s balancing order of the sun´s wheel on heaven. Grrr, no more f-cks to give! No more love if warriors of the clan came to kill her best friends. Grrr. The sun´s wheel of heaven! Such a silly joke! Herring and vodka! Silly, nothing else than silly. But? How about getting dressed for work. Samhall here she comes. Clad in colours of the rainbow… She took the bus. The sun rose higher, hitting the buildings with its glare. Its one eye touched upon the whole city to make everybody wake up. And lots of them did. Children were not at school. Some people still went to work. Lin one among them. At work her spiritual friend had already arrived. Now he sat down at the desk, in front of piled up paperwork. He was on a strike of his own, as usual. The dawn had no reason to let out his spirit if it was about work. He thought the job mean. He refused to do the work. He asked Lin if they could go out to smoke a cigarette or two. They did so. Sat down on two garden-chairs. Sat there gazing up at the sun. The company was gonna give them a Midsummer´s plate of herring that day, because they could be worth it. And handing over a present for the workers vacation. Something Lin did not need. Anyhow. Lin had no Midsummer feelings. Did not know how to have them. Had been a bit lonely in her youth. Not knowing two many people. So she said to herself that because of that tradition of drinking the hell out of themselves, she could not care less. Did not like to drink anymore. Herring she could eat. Nice food. At dinner time the catering firm came around with the workers plate of food. Coffee and cake afterwards. They sat indoors. The sun smiled through the windows in that huge hall. Lin could pretend it was their own Viking hall. Loads of space. And the same kind of tradition with jokes about sex. Viking tradition, see. And that lonely lovely spirit of sacrifice to the nature. Must be from a heathen tradition. In her dream-world Lin saw horses hanging from the tree of Mankind. The pigs slaughtered to give food to the highest god, Oden. Oden must have been connected to the highest spirit, although Balder was more Christ-like and kind and mild. He was to become Man´s sacrifice because of death. The nature mourned his funeral. Where was his spirit now? Inside the sun? Sun smiling gently, harsh but gently. Like a touch from the high worlds of folklore. How about it, Lin? But Lin had began to ride her inner stream of consciousness, like riding on the thread of weaving web of the nornes. Those Female spirit who cared about Mankind´s destiny. Weaving a web of life. And like death could tear apart the web of future if they did not pay tribute to the gods. That meant that the web of death needed to sacrifice animals. Or Jesus Christ? Or Oden himself? Or Balder? Lin took a piece of herring in to her mouth. Chewed on it. Drank some lemonade. Had her coffee afterwards. Her friend of spirit was sort of nagging with a work-mate. Was sort of in love with Lin. And she had told him about the wheel of the sun. And about her poetry. That the highest god, Oden, wanted men to become warriors and tradesmen, and gave the duty of spirit to the priestess. She had to know about the ceremony of Midsummer. Although it was silly. She wanted to escape it. Wanted to go with another fresh start. From where? The new cross of a new solstice beginning? A new Messias? Where from? Where to? And as the sun stood high on the middle of heaven´s round each corner of the wheel shaped a cross. The cross of the solstice circle. Circling round and round in eternal dance from the past in to the future. The web of life was shaped by the sun, the planets and the moon. And as the herring on Lin´s plate was uneaten but still fresh she thought that everything was now back to order. The full circle should end in another cycle of six months. Midsummer was in opposition to Christmas day. Two points of the sun´s wheel. Only a priestess of the Vikings was allowed by Oden to wake up the spirit of – secrets? As the hall finished their plates and coffee and their cakes the music began. Traditional Swedish songs. Folklore that began to fall into distrust because they were thought of being too commercial nowadays. Lin smiled. Commercial? As the sun would care about it? But then again, the tradesmen of the Vikings had been on routes all over Europe. Where the tradition of Midsummer came from had to do with the sun. And the sun was all over the planet to bring light, love and unity. The one and only. Weaving weaving weaving the web of rays...over and over again! And at a second thought Lin came back to an old conclusion. She did care about the heathen tradition. And had heard that Jesus Christ was taking on the burden of the four solstices...Maybe, perhaps...and then the son was webbed into the sun...


Ellie took a deep breath; she knew what she needed to do. She was way past nervous, her mind and emotions numbed whilst every cell in her body vibrated with an intensity that bordered on painful. Her limbs did not feel like they belonged to her and every movement required conscious effort. Oh, not now, struck by a sudden urge to vomit, she leaned against the wall of the tunnel, pressing her head against the cool brickwork. The change of focus brought unexpected resolution and, oblivious to the looks and shouts from her astonished team-mates, she turned and faced back towards the changing room. At the age of twenty-five Ellie Brighton was about to live the moment she had been working towards for as long as she could remember. She was captaining the England women's national football team as they played in the World Cup final. This was her destiny. Ellie told people she was lucky to have always known her destiny. She had never had to suffer indecision or uncertainty, never had to consider options or wrestle with potentially pivotal life choices. She had even been spared the bittersweet agonies that she had witnessed her contemporaries succumb to. As they practised falling in and out of love, testing boundaries and breaking rules, Ellie practised only within the painted white lines, carefully sidestepping so much as a yellow card.

It was impossible to pinpoint when her future had become apparent. Maybe from the moment she was able to walk, or perhaps when she first kicked a ball. Not for her dolls, jigsaws, colouring books, or any of the diversions offered to other children. Ellie had footballs, goal posts and subscriptions to football magazines. Her evenings and weekends were consumed with training and matches. There was no time for other activities, but as the years went on her friends became more distant and the invitations less frequent. That was ok, she needed to focus and there was no place for distractions. Nobody was surprised when Ellie excelled at football, she put in the work and it was in the blood. Dad had been a promising player, later blaming his early transition into parenthood with its onslaught of responsibilities for his missed opportunities. But he was able to channel his frustrated abilities and abandoned dreams into his firstborn, Ellie’s brother Kane, ten years her senior, and her hero. Kane was a true football natural, destined for great sporting achievements. Dad could see that Kane was going to live the life that he had been forced to forgo. Setting the template for Ellie’s experience years later, Kane was brought up to be a soccer star. Whilst he was blessed with at least as much footballing talent as Ellie, Kane was not blessed with her amenable personality and desire to please. For him, the process of being moulded into the vision his dad had already created for himself was a source of tension, a constriction causing an ever-increasing pressure within. Lacking the skills or the opportunity to recognise and name his building distress, Kane took the only option available to him and developed alternative outlets. At the age of four years he started urinating behind his bed, he didn’t know why, and was unable to explain himself to his furious parents. His dad could barely look at him as they trained that evening. There followed a series of protest behaviours over the years, each as hopeless as the last. Fighting at school was written off as youthful energy, unwillingness to complete homework accepted as part of a focus on a footballing career, and isolating from friends created more space for what was really important. Infrequent interjections from school suggesting that there may be an issue requiring address were side-lined. Dad knew what he was doing. But the tension continued to intensify and, as Kane grew older, the range of available outlet options became wider and more detrimental. His early escapes into self-harm were quickly detected and met with such scornful disgust that he stopped immediately. Or so dad thought. But Ellie knew he hadn’t stopped. She adored her big brother and football for her was a way to be close to him. She might have only just started school but she knew enough to understand that Kane hadn’t stopped the damage, he had just become more creative and skilful at hiding it. Time did little to ease the frequency and fervency with which Ellie constructed a version of reality in which she had been able to share her childlike insight, to raise the alarm and prevent the tragedy. She carried burden of that knowledge, heavy and blunt, excruciating to the point of nauseating, through the remainder of her shattered childhood and into her fraudulently successful adulthood. She had become Kane’s substitute, and she provided dad with the vicarious football career he craved. Fuelled by the heat from her burden, which never abated no matter how hard she worked or how much she achieved, Ellie did what Kane could not. But now, standing here, about to lead her team into the most important game of their careers, the most important moment of their lives, Ellie experienced a new sensation. The boulder-like burden lightened and rose upward within her. It expanded within her chest giving rise to a feeling that she had never before associated with playing football, suddenly she was filled with doubt. There was no uncertainty about her ability, that was not in question. Rather, Ellie had seemingly selected this, the most poignant moment in her career, her life, to lose her belief. What was she doing? How had she ended up here? The noise from the stands faded, her teammates drifted from her awareness and Ellie was five years old standing beside her beloved brother’s bed. Kane wouldn’t answer her and she couldn’t wake him up. The confusion and rage, two decades stored, seared through her. Then came the grief and, with it, an unforeseen clarity. Kane hadn’t wanted the life that had been so precisely prescribed for him, and neither did she. Unable to truly free himself, Kane had escaped the only way he knew how. Unquestioningly, grounded by the weight of her innocent guilt, Ellie had taken his place. But it wasn’t Kane’s place and now it wasn’t hers. She had trained all her life for this moment, and now she walked away from the pitch and towards a different future.


DO NOT DRIVE INTO SMOKE. The yellowed road sign was already a dwindling speck in his side mirror, hardly worth devoting any extra energy on, but Bryan couldn’t shake the nasty thought that a sign like that was just the sort of unimpeachable non-action that authorities like to take in a crisis. Notably, he didn’t put much thought into the actual substance of the warning. Wispy gray clouds of smoke rolled somewhere ahead, their exact distance impossible to judge against the resolutely flat landscape. Besides, driving into the smoke didn’t seem like such a bad idea today. Once Bryan hit the turnpike, he clicked on cruise control and dialed up the radio, content to watch the world with unseeing eyes as it hurtled past him for a while. He was an awkward, praying mantis of a young man and he hunched over the steering wheel in a nervy tangle of spindly limbs. Driving home was always like this, but this trip was worse. He hummed tunelessly, his insectoid mouth drawn tight and pale. Bryan tapped at the controls, coaxing an extra ounce of speed out of his tired blue sedan. Kansas, of course, was burning. He couldn’t be sure exactly where the wildfire started, stewing on what he would tell his parents and what he could avoid rather than taking in the scenery. Dimly at first, sleepily, like reaching for a step that was never there, he began to register the vast expanse of charred grass that stretched in all directions. Huge sweeps had burned down to their roots and multiple steady streams of smoke on the horizon promised more to come. The damage was haphazard and illogical, as if the fire had been particularly fickle, tearing down the plain in one direction before peeling off in another, leaving heavy marks in the earth like a brand on the hide of a giant cow. He rarely drove past the flames themselves, but when he did, he found that they were surprisingly small. What the blaze lacked in stage presence, it made up for in persistence, meticulously carving away the countryside. Bryan too, was persistent. Bryan drove several more minutes without passing another car, let alone someone trying to stem the wildfires’ advance. He passed a small town and then a dribbling creek, both ugly. Squat rope fences staking out property lines were the only evidence that someone cared about the fire’s spread. Cattle gathered on the riverbank and brayed in disapproval. Once distant smoke plumes now flanked either side of the highway. The air was gritty with debris that stuck to Bryan’s windshield and the sun refracted harsh and red through the muck. He bumped up his cruising speed again, vaguely hoping to outrun the disaster. His car shuddered with effort, its loyalty having never been tested like this. Visibility continued to deteriorate. The world outside his car was dark and hazy; Bryan leaned forward staring hard at the glass, willing it to clarity. The murkiness was so complete that he startled whenever he passed close enough to an object to actually make it out, a sudden, indistinct lump jutting out of the smog. Mania soon gave way to panic and he stabbed at the controls as if he was a jockey reining in a headstrong steed. Bryan jerked the wheel back and forth, not always sure if he was avoiding obstacles or seeking them out. There were no signs advising what to do in the event you had already driven into the smoke, or at least none that he could make out. A flickering light meandered through the smoky dark. After another chaotic mile, Bryan could see it was a scraggly tree that had caught fire, an ominous lighthouse. If the blazing tree was his lighthouse, then the old barn some two hundred yards behind it was his anchor, and he wheeled toward it, hardly slowing. The barn was old-fashioned, wooden with red peeling paint and broad doors flung wide. It seemed to have been converted into a chapel later in life, with a quaint silver bell hanging from its peak. Someone had dug a narrow ditch around the barn and piled mounds of dirt in a meager defensive perimeter. The unstable light of the burning tree mixed with a fluorescent glow from inside the chapel in an eerie mixed message. Altogether, the spot was a perfect venue for an outdoor wedding that you hope no one will attend. For Bryan, exhausted and wavering, it would have to be good enough. Outside the chapel, he finally made use of the brakes, leaving his car wherever it happened to stop. The rustic building only had a few patches of unburnt grass by way of a parking lot and the hellish sky suggested courtesy had lost some of its importance anyway. Smoke hung heavy in the air, choking and sweet. Bryan followed the lights and entered the barn. The interior consisted of a single, large room, sparsely furnished with a handful of wooden pews and a long-faded rug that trailed its way from the entrance to the altar. A weathered stone man with a full beard and a distressed countenance stood off to the side, as if having just finished his sermon. Long mirrors were propped slantwise against the walls, brightening the room but also making it appear small and cluttered. An out of place rocking chair creaked rhythmically, propelled by the only other living soul present that night. The woman was composed, serene even, wearing a prim, church-going dress and a white Sunday hat. She wielded two arms-length knitting needles, which she used to add to the coarse blanket covering her lap with expert speed. When she spoke, she did not look up from her work, though Bryan had the impression that she could have done such a thing if she wanted. “Private residence.” Her needles clacked together with each upswing, keeping time while Bryan hesitated. Smack. He took a couple steps onto the carpet and answered too loudly, trying for confidence but overshooting into defiance. Smack. “The fire’s out of control. I can’t drive in all that smoke.” She didn’t miss a beat with her needles. “Lots of places to stop driving.” “Less than you might think.” The woman looked up from her work, though her hands never broke rhythm. Her green eyes were hard and she pursed her lips, not afraid to let Bryan know she was sizing him up. “Well, where are you trying to go? And don’t lie to me, I’ll know.” Bryan licked his lips. This wasn’t like getting pulled over by some small-town cruiser, he couldn’t just swat the question away with some banality about driving home for the holiday. Her knitting needles beat on. “Just trying to get someplace else,” he said. She laughed and there was no doubt it was at his expense. “Well, you can get there from most anywhere. But it’s easier here, so maybe you were right to stop. I’ll warn you though, coming back isn’t so easy if you don’t like what you find.” She explained the process to him with dispassionate precision. Close the broad chapel doors and walk around the alter three times, touching the stone saint each time. Turn and walk down the aisle. Walk, don’t run. Open the doors and arrive, someplace else. Simple really. Bryan listened and nodded, all the while walking closer to the altar. He knew he should do something, rev up his car and never look back, at least ask a question. He looked to the statue, as if it might take on the responsibility for him, but the stone man did not speak. A tiny, unnamable worry tugged at the edges of his mind. After a moment he realized the problem. The loathsome thwacking had stopped. He spun away from the altar to confirm what he already knew. The woman was gone, the chapel doors shut. Like a sleepwalker, Bryan started his slow march around the altar. Each circuit was more deliberate than the last, automatic lest he make the mistake of thinking about this any longer. He pressed three fingers to the statue’s brow and focused on the cool, unyielding surface. On the third round he felt for a moment that he could hear the woman’s needles churning and his heart rose, certain that upon seeing his resolve, she must have returned to talk him out of it. But the woman was not there and the only sound was his own footsteps and the moment passed. Bryan walked down the aisle, remembering that he should not run. He wondered if he would falter when the moment came, if he would pause at the broad chapel doors and reconsider. Would his hands shake? But a door is just a door, even when it goes someplace else, and Bryan had already flung them open by the time he realized it was time to make a choice. The Kansas fires burned for three more days. Muted and delayed, an official response did eventually arrive, though in retrospect it probably made only a modest difference. Lengthy passages of scorched grassland alongside the turnpike bore witness to what had happened. Cattle wandered through devastated pastures, nosing at green remnants poking out from the soot. The converted barn was smoke-streaked but no worse for wear, perhaps due to its improvised fortifications, though the tree had long since burned away. Soft music tumbled out the open doors of the chapel, welcoming visitors that never arrived. A blue sedan was parked on what was left of the front lawn, an improbable oasis.


You love being the center of attention. You love being adored by the rest. You’re kind and sweet and caring and your personality is what makes people want to be around you. You’re also smart, you know your stuff, people want to work with you, people enjoy hearing your ideas and seeing you get so excited over future projects. They love your smile. They love your face. They love your body. You love that. You know your smile is a radiance of good energy, people like your company, they like your aura. Your face seems to be molded by goddesses of beauty, carved with delicate features and lovely touches that bring a sense of pleasure admiring you. Your body is to be a temple which only those worthies get to see, but to you, few are worthy enough, you play hard to get, they love that. You know they do. You are walking perfection, no one can hate you because if they do you have a whole army willing to kill at your command to make sure that all that negativity is not a foot around you and your glorifying presence. You love all these feelings people have for you, yet you hate every single one of them. You are very good at putting up masks and layers to create a persona. You don’t hate being a beauty standard, you hate that people remark it over and over to you. You hate the obnoxious comments of how perfect you are. You are annoyed by the people who can’t take a hint. It’s a good thing I look after you though. It’s a good thing I got to know you first. I wouldn’t want you to hate me. Trust me, darling, you are going to love me. Because I know how to listen. I know all about patience, I’m waiting for the right moment for us to meet, for you to realize I’m the man you been waiting for all these years. You won’t have to tell me about yourself if you don’t feel ready, curiosity won’t kill me, I already know you. All of you. I know you struggle with your body image so much because even though the rest wish they could hold you and feel you, I know you squeeze a non-existent fat around your stomach, your toned legs, your arms. Everywhere. I wish I was there to assure your beauty. I wish I could whisper in your ear the things you need to hear. I know you have daddy issues, he would come and leave your life as he pleased, only to fuck your mom when he couldn’t find himself a whore, and then by dawn, he was gone. Which left you to have a little brother you adore with all your life. You are good with children. You will be a great mother to our children. Don’t worry I won’t judge you when you tell me about your abortion of last year that almost cause you to kill yourself as the father wouldn’t even be around for the procedure. You still think about him, but you won’t for long, when you meet me, I’ll be the only man you think about. Does your mother know about the student-teacher relationship? I do. I hope you tell me about it, I’m a simple man, I want there to be a trust between us, for us to share our darkest secrets to one another, I won’t forbid you to have guy friends but if you don’t feel comfortable with my friends they are out of my contacts by the next hour. I want you to feel good. I want you to feel like you can do anything you want and feel confident enough to tell me. I despise liars, I despise secrets. Don’t make me despise you. I know we haven’t met but I love you. I know you will love me just as much. I will treat you right, I will cook for you, take you out on the best dates, go wherever you want to go, anything. You will feel as if you are some princess around me. You and I are just meant for each other. I like to think I’m the complete package, at least to what you need. I know at first you won’t think that way, knowing you (is it clear I know you very well) you’re going to put up many challenges, darling I’m up for them, in fact, if you gave in so easily I will be… disappointed. I want your wedding speech about me to talk about how I fought for you, about how much of a good man I am. I want you to say that I’m patient, caring, understanding, intelligent, hard-working, amazing, everything you wanted in a man. I want to be the kind of man who makes you want to share the spotlight you get, to show me off just as much as I’ll show you off. I will be the one to make you love yourself, I know you cry yourself to sleep, almost every night you have a session, you are embarrassed to shower because you see all of you, without any layers of clothing nor a single drop of makeup to cover your eye bags. You dig your nails on parts of your skin you know you will be able to cover easily. I’ve seen them though. I sometimes just want to hold out to your hands and give you a hug. It breaks my heart to see you hurting yourself, why are you doing this to yourself? With me, that will stop. All your scars and insecurities and issues and problems and hatred and tears and sadness, everything will disappear with me. I’m your salvation. We will meet very soon, I told you what I’m willing to do for you, and slowly I will gain your love. I will be prepared for anything and everything. I am always watching over you through the screen.


Mary-Ann could not believe her luck in finding a three-bedroom apartment with the utilities included!  Now all she had to do was convince her two best friends - to move into the three-bedroom apartment. They all made a pact to go to the same university.  She could have moved into an on-campus dorm - but she wants to know about the feeling of independence and freedom - from her parents. "Kate, Steve, please, please!!!" Mary-Ann pleads with her two friends to share the three-bedroom apartment. Kate pipes up and says, "I want the room with the second-best amount of closet space!" Mary-Ann giggles and agrees - that she can have the room with the second-best amount of space. Steve is standing in the hallway - thinking hard about moving in or not. Mary-Ann turns to Steve, sensing that he is not one hundred percent on board yet.  "Steve, I know you wanted the dorm experience - but having our very own space to ourselves - how can you pass this up!?!" Steve finally gives his answer, "Alright -alright, you guys, let's do this!" The apartment has furnishings, so they only need a few oversized items and some essentials. They each run to their rooms of choice and begin the process of making it their own.  Adding their signature touches.  After getting the apartment set up after a long day, they order from the local Pizza place called "The Campus Slice." The order arrives - they are hungry and ordered enough for an army.  "Lots of leftovers for tomorrow!" Steve chimes in with a smile. Steve is like an old shoe - he acts like a 30-year-old man rather than an 18-year-old. And Mary-Ann and Kate are like his two younger sisters - he wishes he had growing up. On the first day of classes, the three of them wish to meet up for lunch, but it would be impossible with their class schedules!  "No worries - we will meet up for some leftovers for supper tonight!" Mary-Ann says as she hurries off to her first class of the day. They each run off in opposite directions to start their journeys. As time passes, Mary-Ann, Kate and Steve - are preoccupied with their studies and barely see each other. Except for the odd supper together and on-campus gatherings.  Mary-Ann is so focused and into her studies, she begins - to rely on things she sees as - giving her a leg up.  The things she sees as - lots and lots of coffee. Steve and Kate seem to be managing well with their course load. Mary-Ann is envious of how well - Steve and Kate are doing - the two of them were the same way throughout high school "organized and steady."

One day Mary-Ann oversleeps and misses a whole day of classes.  It does not faze her - she rolls over and sleeps the day away. This behaviour becomes a habit - but Mary-Ann manages to hold onto her academic year by - borrowing her class-mates notes and following her Doctor's orders of medication regiment and lots of coffee - to get her over the hurdle. Somehow, someway, she gets by, then one afternoon, her professor takes her aside to ask her if things are alright with her and if she needs any guidance. "No, I am excellent - Professor Ryan - if you are wondering about the term paper - I will have it done by the deadline," Mary-Ann goes on to tell him that sometimes her Lupus flares up, and she needs to take the odd day to rest. Professor Ryan - tells her to take an extra week if she feels she needs it. Mary-Ann has suffered from Lupus since she was 15 years of age - she tells her professor. Steve and Kate are waiting for Mary-Ann when she gets back to the apartment.  The aroma of freshly baked lasagna and garlic bread fills the apartment. "What's all this?" Mary-Ann cannot believe they went through all this trouble to cook a "real" Home Cooked meal. "Mary-Ann, Steve and I feel a bit guilty for not checking in with you as often as we should have and wanted to catch up with you!"

"We also want to know if your Lupus is under control - we both know how taxing it was for you in high school," Steve chimes in with a caring and inquiring tone. "Guys - guys, like I told Professor Ryan, I am fine and sometimes - I require the odd day to rest." Steve and Kate rush over to Mary-Ann and give her a huge. They all sit down at the table to enjoy the meal, and you would think things were back to how they were before the start of university - but Mary-Ann knows differently. It is the mid-way point in the university year, and Mary-Ann's parents decide to make a special visit. "Hey - guys, my parents are coming up for a short visit - you know to check our digs and to drop off a care package!" Steve and Kate - do a "Happy Dance" cause they know her parents will include them in the care package. "When are they arriving?" both Steve and Kate ask eagerly. The day after tomorrow, the 20 th . Mary-Ann hopes it will be a quick visit! The day arrives, and Mary-Ann's parents have brought enough "care package goodies" to last the three of them for a while. After everyone is up to speed with campus life and progress, Kate and Steve decide to step out for a few hours - to give Mary-Ann time to spend with her parents - Margret and Tim. "Honey, how are you feeling - are the pills working - since the adjustment in the dosage?" Mary-Ann's mother, Margret, gets right to the point. "Mom - I think they need to be adjusted a little - I am a bit more tired than normal." Her father states, "Doctor Fin did say this change may cause some drowsiness or sleep disturbances." Margret puts her arms around Mary-Ann, "Don't worry, honey, your father and I will get you sorted out - with Doctor Fin."

Her parents no sooner arrived, and they were leaving - saying their goodbyes.  Mary-Ann had a long conversation with her Doctor. He explained how her medication for Depression and Anxiety would be changed - the usual drill, what to expect with side effects, and how long they usually last. When she picks up the new prescription, Mary-Ann asked if Doctor Fin could include all of this information.  Mary-Ann's parents question her again before they finally leave, "Are you sure you want to continue with this lie of having "lupus" instead of letting people know you have a "mental illness?" Mary-Ann tells her parents, "Yes, Mom and Dad, I cannot let this get out - it could hurt my ongoing scholarship or worse!"

Mary-Ann has left for morning classes - but Steve and Kate do not have classes until the afternoon. Both of them are still in their pyjamas lounging around until their first afternoon classes. "Steve do you have any extra notepad paper and pens - I need to pick some up this week," Kate asks Steve as she goes through the desk in the living room.  Steve replies, "No, but I think Mary-Ann just picked a whole bunch of stuff up the other day - when she went to the pharmacy - I am sure she wouldn't mind if you borrowed a few things."

Kate pauses for a moment - and agrees with Steve - she will reimburse her tonight. Kate pushes the door to Mary-Ann's room open and immediately sees the shopping bag full of school supplies. She reaches into the bag and takes out a notepad and a few writing pens. Kate starts to write Mary-Ann a note letting her know about borrowing the notepad and pens. As Kate leaves the room, she stops to place the message on her bedside table and notices a prescription. It catches her eye because the prescription is for Zoloft and Wellbutrin.  Kate is in shock, and her mind starts racing how Mary-Ann can handle university - when she is dealing with - Lupus and now a mental illness! In the evening, Kate has decided to make a nice meal to discuss some things with Mary-Ann - she is very concerned about her well-being. "Wow, it smells great, Kate!" Steve yells from his bedroom. Mary-Ann seconds that, "Yes, Kate, it smells wonderful and cannot believe you made dessert as well!" The oven's timer goes off, and dinner is ready! Everyone sits down to supper. As Mary-Ann gets up to clear the dishes, Kate says, "Mary-Ann sit, sit, let's have dessert and some coffee. I need to talk to you about something." Mary-Ann and Steve look at Kate, both surprised at how serious her tone and body language appear. "I hope I am not in trouble!" Mary-Ann says jokingly - while looking in Steve's direction. "Of course not!" Kate says quickly - trying to reassure her. I happened to be in your bedroom this morning - I was looking for a notepad and some pens - Steve mentioned that you had just bought some and probably wouldn't mind if I borrowed some." Mary-Ann looks at her with a grin and says, "No, silly, I have always told if you need anything, just check in my desk - you know that!" Kate looks down for a minute, then says, "Well - I did borrow a notepad and some pens, but as I was leaving your bedroom, I happened to see a prescription, a prescription for antidepressants."  Steve finally looks up from his large piece of black forest cake in shock.  "Mary-Ann, please don't be mad at me, but Steve and I, we care about you and want to be there for you if you need us for anything!"

"Kate is right; she and I care about you and know having lupus has held you back a little, but you are strong and have not let it stop you from anything!" Steve rushes over and hugs Mary-Ann so tight she thinks she may stop breathing.  Mary-Ann gestures for both of them to sit down on the sofa. "I have a confession to make…I have never had Lupus or suffered from it." Kate and Steve are sitting on the sofa and look confused and lost. "Wait a minute - you mean that you lied about having lupus all through high school?" Kate asks in disbelief. "Now the reason why I lied about having lupus was to cover up the real truth - I have… a mental illness," tears start to stream down Mary-Ann's face slowly.  Kate rushes over to Mary-Ann and grabs her by the shoulders, "You, listen here, my friend I love you like the sister I never had - and if you think this realization/truth - changes the way Steve and I feel about you - this could not be further from the truth!"


Off the Rails This can’t be right can it? He paused at the streetlight and there it was across the street. It was like the first time he had seen it. He had never actually stepped inside the building, it was just forever there, like one of those places that needed to be there otherwise the whole city would cease to exist. If someone had asked him about the train station in his town, he would say, Of course, we have one! I don’t know If anyone uses it though. It was one of those structures where the phrase ‘Back-in-the-Day’ comes into play, but most people his age assumed it was a fairly empty building. You know one of those buildings with stereotypes plastered on every wall, dogmatically blinding the eyes of people who now wonder why young people are so easily insulted these days.

But as Nique stood across the street looking at the entrance to the train station he was utterly abashed at all these people. He looked around as if a billboard was going to suddenly pop into existence explaining this influx of people wanting to come to this shitty little town. Nique crossed the street and scanned the doorways wondering which was the Entrance and which was the Exit. They were clearly marked but everyone else, it seems, had agreed that these were simply suggestions. He approached one of the doorways and became acutely aware of the space he was taking up in this universe. Somehow this multitude of beings has mastered the art of bending, twisting, and rotating their various body shapes, without actually looking at how they were avoiding one another. He eventually stepped forward and wormed his way in through one of the openings. He was sure that he had bumped at least three people but no one seemed to care. A whole new world opened up to him in the blink of an eye. He moved off to the side, out of traffic, and couldn’t help but look up. His senses were betraying him, the height and length of this building was ridiculous. He couldn’t help but think this is how a companion feels stepping into the Tardis for the first time. He pictured the outside of the building in his mind and sizes began to match but the building seemed so indistinct in his memory. It was obvious that they had done some major updates to the inside of the building because it definitely didn’t match the outside. There was some wear and tear of course it wasn’t like it was brand new but the number of arteries shooting off from this main hub was a little dizzying. There were mini shops everywhere as well, as if someone grabbed a bunch of food trucks and market stalls, and smashed them together side-by-side. All the different signage was an assault on the eyes but informative nonetheless. If you had the urge to eat tacos, buy an umbrella or pickup a used book then they could all be satisfied here. In the middle of each wall sat a giant clock face that he assumed had the same time as the numbers on his watch, told him it was 1:00pm, so he went to grab a coffee at one of the many choices available to him. Why Franks’s Coffee was better than Earl’s Coffee across the way he might never know but that was where he was headed. The burly, man that Nique guessed was Frank came to the counter, “What can I get ya stranger?” Nique played along thinking it would be funny, “How about a cup of the black stuff?” Frank didn’t seem amused as he handed him a Full paper cup and pointed toward the side where all the coffee accouterments were stacked.

He ripped open some sugar packs, and an image of Frank and Earl materialized in his head. The two men making their way to the middle of the station… traveling patrons suddenly frozen as the two of them come face to face… an empty coffee cup rolls and tumbles between them as a train whistles in the distance… Suddenly they break out into an argument over why bamboo coffee filters are superior to bleached paper filters and chaos breaks out! Creamers spill, crumpled sugar packs get tossed, stir sticks get broken a real Hatfield and McCoys situation of the Dark bean persuasion! He took a moment to look around, and once he saw it he grabbed a seat next to a broken Soda machine on the East side of the station. The tables and chairs were bolted to the floor and made out of a rubber coated steel mesh, probably easy to clean he thought. He cleared off a table, tossing some empty food boxes in the bin and picking up a crumpled bag that was on the ground, and after a quick last check to make sure there was nothing on the seat he sat down, relaxed, and enjoyed his coffee. He looked at the clock again and again, had to look at his watch, Ok, 1:05… still lots of time he told himself and the lockers were right across from him so he waited patiently. Why was he here in the first place? Well, his curiosity had got the better of him earlier in the day as he was Reddit looking for NSFW posts. He came across one that was titled    r/NoQuestionsAsked and clicked on it. It read as follows: Want to make a quick Grand and happen to be in the area of Brooktown Station then follow these instructions with no questions asked. At 1:30pm there will be a black duffel bag in locker 1350 on the West side of the station. I will leave a key in a bag crumpled on the floor next to the Out-of-order soda machine on the east side. Take the bag from the locker and find a seat on the South side of the station. Put the duffel bag on the ground by your feet and wait. Someone will join you after some time leave a book on the table for you with the money in it and leave with the duffel bag, wait another ten minutes, and then leave. Once again no questions asked. Luckily his phone had a bad habit of taking screenshots with the slightest move, and as he swapped hands to refresh the page it did just that. And once the page had refreshed the post was no longer there. Whoever posted it took it down very quickly assuming that was enough time for someone to take it seriously and follow through. That someone was him. He could use a grand, who couldn’t? the only thing he was worried about was whether or not he was the only one who read it. The station wasn’t far away so why not? What’s the worse that could happen? So here he was. He pulled the key out of the bag, pocketed it, and tossed the bag in the bin. At this moment, he suddenly looked around and became a little wary of the others that were sitting near him. Should he have left the table after getting the key? What if someone else came looking for it. He tried to put the thought out of his mind cause he had never been in a fight in his life, in fact he barely had an aggressive feeling about anything. What the hell would he have done if someone confronted him? He bolted upright at this thought and probably looked like a man possessed as he looked around at others to see if someone was looking at him. He calmed himself. Once again he realized that nobody was paying any attention to anything here. It made sense, this was a fantastic place to have a shady plan. People made it a point to not draw attention to themselves. It was close enough to the time and nobody had come by to drop anything off, I wonder if someone already took it? Nique walked over to the lockers trying his best to not look suspicious, that plan, of course, made him look especially suspicious.

He located the locker and slid the key in, he looked around to see if anyone had noticed the sound but the din inside the station was deafening he could have dropped a bomb in there and no one would have noticed. Sure enough, a large black duffel bag was shoved in there and as he pulled it out he could feel that it wasn’t one large thing, it was a group of things inside the bag. All angular, like boxes maybe, individual items in boxes he thought. Once it came clear of the locker door its full weight suddenly brought his arm towards to the ground. He pulled up last minute so that it wouldn’t crash into the tiled floor, but it definitely wrenched his shoulder. He rotated his arm a little realizing he was going to pay for that tomorrow. A sign at the top of the locker said ‘When finished, place the key inside the locker and close the door.’ So he did and made his way to the south side of the station. The weight was manageable once you knew how heavy it was.

So after leaving the Hatfield and McCoy area, he moved on to Battle of the Kawaii Monsters as a couple of shops on the south side both sported anime-styled, figurines in their windows. How could these places make any money? He thought as both places seemed like they were selling the exact same thing. Then once again the number of people moving about this building answered that for him. It wasn’t about aiming for the target audience it was about having the stock available on any given day.

Nique found a table, put the bag on the ground near his feet and began scanning the crowd to see if he would notice the person coming for the “pickup”. If it wasn’t clear by now, Nique had quickly considered himself quite the little heist mastermind. Daniel Ocean would have been proud he thought to himself, I could totally have given Rusty a run for his money. “Hey Steve! How are you?! Man you look great!” A woman slipped into the seat across from him so quickly his body jerked involuntarily at her appearance. He looked around half expecting to see a door from another dimension right beside them with a sign that read “Shady Person Dimension” written across it. “Wow, how long has it been?” He voice suddenly brought him back to the table. “I mean Highschool right? We had Mrs, Stevenson’s English class together! Oh man, do you remember Tanya’s grad party? She was so pissed at her parents for going away on her big day that she invited everyone and fuckin destroyed the house! Haha!” Nique was not only stunned at her sudden appearance but she was also quite striking! She was talking so quickly and matter-of-factly that he didn’t want it to end. In fact, he found himself scanning his memory to see if she was actually in his English class. Then as quickly as she appeared her tone changed, “Oh, and thanks for this.” She said pulling out a worn copy of the Orient Express and placing it on the table between them. He noticed the hundred dollar bills tucked neatly throughout its pages and picked up quickly shoving it in his inner jacket pocket. She stood up and already had the duffel bag looped over her shoulder, Nique looked down to see that he didn’t even notice when she had picked it up. She looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Nique, things aren’t always what they seem. People aren’t born to do bad things, they learn them like anything else. What one person has the stomach for another may not. So don’t think twice about this day, go home, hop online, and forget this ever happened. You have a quick grand now with no questions asked go live your life.” She turned and melted into the crowd of people at the station. Everything happened so fast he realized he didn’t even say a word the whole time she was there. Her last words made his stomach turn as he replayed them in his head, How did she know my name?

He got up and left the train station as quickly as he could, his anxiety skyrocketing as he stumbled through the Exit. He looked back at the building and it looked even more alien to him than before. He was suddenly scared to wake up the next day, how many others were involved? What should I do? What would you do? The End.