#I want to experience my stomach dropping as Neil opens the window for the first time again

[puckspoetry]

oh what I would give to watch Dead Poets Society for the first time again…

[passivenovember]

mama said to smile while I still have teeth.

(or) Post Starcourt, a very different Billy Hargrove gets his wisdom teeth removed.

--

In a moment of weakness and textbook junior year assholery, Steve gets his stomach ripped out and fed to him for suggesting that Billy could take the bus.

And it’s not without reason.

Hopper and Joyce have work. And Robin would ask too many questions--why the shaved head, why the ratty black hoodie and sweatpants, why the perpetual vow of silence--and the only one of the kids that has their permit is Dustin.

But Max behaves as if none of that matters. Looks at Steve as if he set the house on fire himself.

“Or you could take him.” She sneers. Like that’s somehow a good idea. “You have a car.”

“Billy wouldn’t get in a car with me even if you paid him.” 

Steve doesn’t say he’d rather face a barrel of Demodogs one handed than be left alone with Billy. Would rather lick black slime off his own dick than feel those silent, cool blue eyes pouring like ice water down the ridges of his skin.

Steve wants to say it. Doesn’t. When Max starts crying. “His legs don’t work as good anymore.”

“Billy gave me a concussion.”

“He’s got gas money.” She says, voice winding tight with desperation. 

And Steve despises the painful, weeping grip of her fingers when they close around his forearm. Hates that she cares so much for someone who could never care for her.

“I know it’s not much.” Max swallows thickly. “I know he used to be a piece of shit, but he’s--”

“Different.” Steve says heavily, scrubbing at his forehead. “I know.”

--

Billy slides into the passenger seat with a thermos in one hand and a cranberry muffin in the other and Steve isn’t used to it, the way his body seems to have deflated. Limbs cut from marianette strings, hanging limp as if gravity hasn’t quite learned what to do with them. 

Billy places the muffin and the thermos on the dashboard between them, and.

Steve expects something.

A thank you, which could come later. A hello, which should come now.

Billy nods at the dashboard.

Steve jots into action. “Oh. These aren’t for you?”

Billy grunts, reaching to pass the goodies over as if Steve were incapable of doing it himself. The thermos is warm in Steve’s hand. Sturdy. 

“Coffee?” He asks, jerking with surprise when Billy mutters; “Hazelnut.” In a voice as soft as feather down. 

Steve waits for Billy to say something else, but. 

Billy doesn’t. He just turns and peers out the passenger side window, into the gentle swell of rain that’s started to fall.

“Thanks. Thank you.” Steve says. He starts the car. Lets it warm, and. 

Tries not to feel like this is the first time their bodies have had to reacquaint themselves with one another. 

Tries not to marvel at how beautiful silvery thin lines can be. Running from the shell of an ear and disappearing, quick, into the hood nestled around broad shoulders. 

Steve rubs his hands together, tearing his eyes away. “First time at the dentist?”

And Billy doesn’t say anything. 

Never says anything, anymore, but. That doesn’t stop the conversation from feeling communal. Shared.

“I got my wisdom teeth out when I was fourteen.” Steve peers through the windshield. It’s raining harder now. “Don’t remember much about the whole thing. Mom says I tried to stop the aquarium fish from drowning. And that I had to be double belted on the way home--”

“Will it hurt?” Billy turns to look at him, and. His eyes are welling up. Cheeks and nose red, as if stung by October winds. 

Billy whispers, “I wanted Max to come but she had school.” 

His hand is covered by the sleeve of his hoodie, fabric scrubbing rough at the stubble along his jaw. “Did they hurt you?” Billy asks, and.

Steve doesn’t like the way he says it. 

Like there really is something to be afraid of, at the core of it all. Like no one has ever considered the possibility.

“It’s not so bad.” Steve’s heart gives a painful, gripping thud. “You get a free ice pack out of the deal and decent high from the silly gas, if you’re lucky.”

Billy nods. “We’re gonna be late.”

Which. “Yeah, sorry.” 

“It’s alright.”

“We’ll get you there lickety-split.” Steve pulls out of the driveway, fingers gripping the wheel when Billy places the still-warm muffin in his lap.

--

He sticks around for the procedure just to stop Billy from looking like he’s being dropped at his first day of kindergarten. The waiting room is bright. Warm and colorful, plush couches stocked full of overstuffed pillows. All within throwing distance of machine labeled free coffee :)

Not a bad dig, all things considered, but.

Billy says Steve doesn’t have to wait around. Doesn’t even have to come back at all. The nurse calls his name and Billy stands, shoulders lined with tension, before turning to whisper, “I’ll take the bus back to Neil’s.”

And Steve knows. Gets it. 

The universe running a test. An experiment that will prove whether Steve’s really got a heart under all that chest hair. 

Steve lifts his Highlights magazine. “I’m good.”

“Really?”

“Dude, It’s pouring outside,” Steve says, shaking his hair out for good measure. “I’ll just wait. In case you’re too high to function.”

Billy looks like he wants to say something else, so. Steve gives his full attention. Plans on the preverbal thank you that’ll probably never come, but. The nurse calls that name again. 

Billy Hargrove.

And Billy turns to go, hands tangled in the sleeves of his hoodie. 

--

His cheeks are swollen, like. 

A chipmunk. 

Stuffed full of little cotton pads that could be acorns. That are acorns, Billy insists, when the nurse brings Steve back to the operation room. He’s parked on the dentist bench. Curled into a ball with a thumb in his mouth when Steve rounds the corner. 

“Steve,” Billy says thickly. “They took my teeth out but I have acorns.” He reaches across the space between them, fingers grasping Steve’s wrist tightly.

Too tight, but. 

Steve can’t bring himself to care when the nurse says, “Billy, take your thumb out of you mouth.”

And Billy says. “I need to suck on something cold.” He pulls Steve right up to the edge of the bench, sitting with a serious glint in his eye. “Our acorns will be good for winter, right?”

He sways, nearly falling off the leather table, so.

Steve grasps his shoulder. Puts him back in place. “Probably? I don’t think acorns go bad.”

“We gotta make sure, ‘cause I don’t want you to starve.” Billy slurs, dropping to dead weigh when the nurse gets an arm underneath him and asks Steve to get the kid on his feet. 

Billy lands somewhere against Steve’s ribs, swaying dramatically as bright red drool slides over his chin. 

The nurse swears under her breath, going at it with a towel. 

Billy swats her hand away. He staggers as Steve thanks the nurse and leads them into the waiting room. 

“You’re so pretty, Stever.” Billy reaches out again, fingertips poking Steve’s eyelid. “Can’t starve for the winter. Gotta get pretty boys their acorns--”

“Stop poking me--”

“Acorn soup.” Billy sings. “Acorn pie and casserole and lollipops covered in sugar.”

Steve manages to get the doors open with zero help from Billy, chuckling as warm, soft palms circle around his shoulder blades. 

They’re hugging. 

In the rain. 

At the dentist’s office.

Steve hugs back, squawking when Billy’s nose brushes against his heartbeat. “C’mon, dude, we gotta--”

“Will you carry me, Stever?”

“No.” Steve says, manhandling Billy from his chest to his ribcage, determined to make it across the lot in one piece. “You’re solid muscle, there’s no way I could carry you.”

Billy makes a noise, pretty pink lips forming a pout when Steve looks over at him. 

“I got all the acorns ready for winter and you can’t carry me to the car?” Billy grumbles, leaning against the side of the Beamer while Steve gets his key into the lock. 

Steve untangles himself from the arms that fold around his waist. “Billy--”

“You smell like grass.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, like sweet grass.” Billy cackles, doubling over at his own joke, and. Pulling Steve down with him. “Sweet ass, right?”

“You’re insane.” Steve whispers, somehow out of breath from. The hands on his neck. He let’s Billy pet through his hair and then Steve yanks on the door handle, opening it, like, “Alright. Get in.”

Billy has more blood on his face. “Wanna sit with you.”

“We will.”

“Can I lay on your chest?”

Steve’s face hurts from smiling. “You won’t fit.”

“I could!” Billy whimpers, jerking away from Steve as he tries to get the blood off his chin. “I could be like a kitty cat--”

“Would you just--” Steve gets his hands on him, wiping at Billy’s mouth with his thumb. “Hold still, alright?”

“Alright.” Billy kisses Steve’s finger. Chaste and quick, gone before either really know what’s happening. Those blue eyes pull Steve in, drink him down. “How come you’re so pretty?” Billy asks. 

And. “Dunno,” Steve says, sounding just as out of breath as he feels. Like they’ve been running laps, and. 

Steve thinks maybe they have.

All around Hawkins. Through the years. Past each other. 

Billy holds still under the weight of ten fingers before frowning. Sticking his little swollen lip out. “Can we go home now?”

Steve backs away, gripping the edge of the door. “Sure.”

“Not to Neil’s,” Billy mutters to himself, leaning into the leather seat when Steve gets his limbs folded into the car. He cranes his head, eyes huge and watery. “Can I hang out with you?”

Steve moves to close the door. “Sure.”

Billy stops him. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, Billy.”

“Then why are you trying to close the door?” Billy demands, peering through narrowed eyes. 

Steve chuckles at that, squeezing the fingers that curl into the palm of his hand. “We gotta close the door so we can drive the car back to my house.”

Billy yanks his hand away. “Your house.” He says, as if tasting the words on his tongue.

Steve nods. “Do you want to go to my house?”

“Do you have macaroni and cheese?”

“Yeah, I can.” Steve wills himself to stop smiling. “I can make some after you take a nap.”

Billy stops the door from closing again. “I’ll be cold if I try to sleep.” 

And he says it like.

No one’s ever believed him. Billy speaks with an anchor in his voice, the weight of it pulling Steve in. Forward, until he understands. 

Steve grips the edge of the door. 

Nods. Let’s Billy know that there are ways around it. 

Billy’s crying, and. Steve doesn’t want to see him cry anymore. Every again. They’ve been through too much. He takes Billy’s hand and squeezes tight, smiling softly when cool blue eyes peer up at him. 

“Then we can eat macaroni and watch T.V.--”

“We can?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “And when you’re ready to go home I’ll take you. Keep you safe.”

He moves to close the door, chucking when a firm, sure hand holds it in place. 

Billy stares at him. “What if I never wanna go home again?”

Steve thinks about it, tapping his knuckles on the hood of the car. He shrugs. “Guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Billy says.

This time, when the door is closed, Steve runs to the other side. Not wanting to miss a single moment.

[micahrodney]

Thread; Chapter 4 - Through The Looking Glass

The following is a commission for Matthew Caveat Zealot.   The morning of the memorial service was especially bitter and cold.  A slight drizzle had started which threatened to turn into lake-effect snow at a moment's notice. Kevin made his kids pack up everything just in case they couldn't make it back to the hotel, and the trunk had a fully stocked emergency kit. It was something of a Brown family tradition to prepare for the worst, but this quality had been more pronounced since the accident.  

“How's this?” Neil asked, fiddling with the knot on his tie.  

“I don't suppose you'd consider a clip-on?” Travis teased, moving in to correct the full-hearted but half-studied attempt at a Windsor knot.  

“Can't tie a tie, little bro,” Dawn said, waggling a mock judgmental finger. “They aren't teaching you anything at that school.”  

“You're just upset that I'm not in the psych ward,” Neil shot back, running a comb through his hair while Travis fiddled with his tie.  

“Injustice of the century,” she smirked.  

Kevin, Kim, and Rocky were already downstairs eating the continental breakfast and no doubt having “adult” conversation.  Travis was still in the kid's group but only by virtue of sharing a room with Neil.  Dawn had been dressed since 7 AM, but only because Kim woke her up by loudly dropping her make-up kit on the bathroom floor a half-hour prior.  

She looked quite nice in a simple black dress with matching leggings, though Neil wondered what their mother would have said about the heeled boots that she wore with them.  Combined with her unique hair coloration, the whole effect was very “Bride of Frankenstein”.  But then Dawn had always been avant-garde in her fashion sense.  

Travis was wearing a chocolate brown suit with a charcoal tie.  It didn't quite match but then Travis didn't own much in the way of suits.  Not that Neil could talk, he had only ever owned the black suit that his father bought for him for the funeral three years prior. Wearing it to every memorial service since probably did not help the mounting anxiety and grief.  It was as though a bubble was forming in the pit of his stomach that threatened to consume him the moment he let his guard down.  There was the choking sensation followed by the slight urge to vomit.

“There you go.  Dad will be proud,” Travis announced, completing the adjustment to Neil's tie.  

“Cool. Can you tell him I did it?” Neil joked, his stand-by for keeping the nerves in check.  

“If you think he'll believe it,” Travis replied with a weak chuckle.  

A moment followed, where the three youngest Brown children sat in uncomfortable silence. They knew what happened next and each was dealing with it in their own way.  Dawn was aloof as she always was, but she wasn't drowning her senses in her electronics. There was a stillness to her mind that was a precursor to the waves of emotion that would inevitably hit her around the halfway point of the service.  She had notably forgone mascara today, the easier to pretend she wasn't crying.  

Travis felt compelled to “big brother” more, and Neil's clumsiness with his tie was a perfect opportunity to let him express that.  He wanted to reclaim some of the control he felt he had lost in his life after their mother's death.  This was especially potent considering his past addictions. Travis had been balancing on a tightrope across a chasm of chaos for so long, and this day was the hardest one of the year for him.  

Neil was unsure how Kim was coping.  She was the oldest, he was the youngest and their age gap meant she had been out of the house for most of his life.  He had gained a portrait of his older sister in the family meetings and stories from Travis and their father.  Still, it was fascinating how incomplete these recountings were.  Humans were complicated but at least when you lived with somebody for a time you got to understand how they behaved. Without this context, everything else in their life was as shrouded in mystery as if they were a stranger, and carefully curated stories never did them justice. Sometimes it baffled him how little he really knew about somebody so close to him.  

As for Neil, jokes, pointed asides, flippancy: these were his allies.  It was not that he was going to try and avoid feeling sad.  The pain would come and he would fully experience it, making no attempt to hide his tears when the time came.  He just didn't want to cross the bridge yet. Things had to go according to a schedule.  If he could contain the emotion, then he was in control of his emotions.  Perhaps he and Travis were not so different.  

“So,” Travis said, breaking the silence.  “Breakfast?”

---

Saint Mary's was Colleen Brown's church as a child.  It was just a few blocks from the river and had a rich history to it, about which Colleen could recite paragraphs at a moment's notice.  It was founded in 1850 and much of the original foundation was still intact.  While clearly weathered, the chapel was remarkably beautiful.  

The centerpiece was, as always, Christ the Redeemer upon the cross just above the dais.  He was flanked by John the Baptist and St. Peter.  Further out on the walls adjacent to the stage were the Virgin Mother on the left and Joseph carrying a depiction of the baby Jesus on the right.  As far as Catholic churches went, it was a fairly humble affair.  There was just something inherently wholesome about the building which Neil found comforting.  

The only people in attendance at this quiet ceremony were the Brown family, Rocky, and a couple of Colleen's friends about whom Neil knew very little.  All in all, there were roughly ten people including the priest.  

Father Dwight McMahon was a person who Neil had come to know, at least somewhat. He was a family friend long before he took to the cloth.  Their mother had described him as an “inspiring young man”, though how they had initially met was unclear.  However both Kevin and Colleen had taken a liking to the young man as though he were a foster son, and he had often attended any family occasion of note, at least for the past six years. It seemed only right that he, having joined the clergy around the time Colleen passed away, preside over the ceremony.  

“Let us pray,” the Father began, as was his custom.  

The attending lowered their heads respectfully and clasped their hands together.  

��Most Holy and Gracious God.  We meet before your sight this day in remembrance of your daughter Colleen Angelica Brown, who departed three years ago.  We seek your guidance and comfort as we honor her memory and uphold the traditions of her family.  We thank you for your blessings and tender mercy, for surely you are the light and the way.  In humble gratitude, we pray.  May our lives please you, oh Lord.  Into your embrace, we offer ourselves. For what lies on the journey ahead, God only knows.  Amen.”  

Dawn swallowed hard. Travis's head was lowered.  Their father could barely keep his eyes open.  Kim was already openly weeping, and leaning on Rocky for support.  As for Neil, he just felt empty.  There was a pit where his heart should be.  It was the same as every year.  A horrible reminder of what he had lost.  Neil forced himself to look up at the Reverend, to try and connect with the man who had begun reading off the life story of his mother.

He let out an audible gasp, perhaps mistaken as a sob for how Travis put a consoling arm around him.  But it was not grief that overcame Neil, but terror.

McMahon had been wearing the standard black cassock, but now stood draped in off-color robes with a wide-brimmed hood.  In that instant, the nightmares he had forgotten about came screaming back into his mind.  The deep pit, the darkness, the pool of suffering, and the frozen temple in which gathered a black mass of robed skeletal figures.  

“We all want to go home,” McMahon said, his voice now hollow and raspy. “We can never go home.”  

“We just want to go home,” came a pale imitation of Dawn's voice from behind him.  

“End our suffering,” Travis uttered, his bony hand now clasping itself around the back of Neil's neck.  

Neil wanted to scream.  He wanted to react in some manner, but it was as though every joint in his body had locked up.  

“This is a nightmare,” Neil said to himself.  “I've fallen asleep and this is sleep paralysis. That's all it is.”  

Hail began to pelt against the windows of the chapel. A ferocious wind burst open the doors, wood crashing into brick with a loud crack.  

“You cannot go home,” came a stern and familiar voice.  “Because your home no longer exists.”  

At once, Neil stood up, suddenly free of the grasp of terror that had consumed him. He turned to the figure who now stood in the doorway; purple translucent lines containing a field of glowing stars.

“Rem,” he choked.  “Is that you?”  

“It is us,” Rem replied simply.  “The thread of this one is broken, difficult to follow.  But we have finally found you.  You must come with us. The Dreamer awaits.”

“Go where?” Neil asked, still processing the new reality. “I'm in the middle of my mother's memorial.”

“Are you?  You are here. Your body's location is ultimately irrelevant for our purposes,” Rem explained.  

“Am I... asleep?” Neil asked, desperate for more information.  

“Approximately,” Rem replied, his voice growing sterner.  “There are complications to that term, but it is perhaps the closest understanding you will grasp. At first.”  

“Go home,” the phantom priest bellowed.

“Want home!” screamed the nightmare Dawn.  

“Your thread is broken,” Rem explained again.  “But you still exist. Were you any different, you would be as they.  Lost in time and space, a shadow of your former self.”  

The shades moved closer to Rem, their movements foul mimicry. It was as though they were marionettes with a few cut strings.  

“Home!”

“Home!”

“We want to go home!”

Rem raised his hand.  “Your homes are no more.  You return to the Dreamer now.”

With a wave, the chapel and all of its inhabitants vanished.  The fabric of reality melted away, revealing a field of stars in which the two now floated. The great planet on which Neil had spent several eventful hours in the prior dreams was directly beneath them, as was the iridescent star.  

“You have seen this world as it once was.  I will show you what has become of those who once dwelt upon it.  Soon, you will understand, Neil Brown,” Rem announced.  

Without warning, Rem placed his hand on Neil's forehead, covering his eyes in bright pulsing light from the stars within.  His retinas burned, his head throbbed, and soon he felt nothing as the light overtook him.  

---

Neil shook himself awake and leaned forward, gasping in shock as the sleep paralysis wore off.  The dream had been especially vivid, and utterly horrible. But at last, it was over and Neil was in the safety of...

“Where the hell am I?” He exclaimed.

The young man was surrounded by stars, safely observed through translucent panes held in place by a silvery steel framework.  He had been lying on one of several identical beds, though he appeared to be the only occupant, each raised high off the ground the better to appreciate the cosmic light show.  The air was crisp and manufactured, the low hum of some alien technology thrummed somewhere beneath him.  

This was not a dream.  

“You are awake, Binder,” came Rem's rigid voice from just behind.  

Neil turned to greet the figure once more, though he noticed that his would-be savior was now wearing a silvery robe which seemed far more opaque than the rest of him. His footsteps were a musical chime on the metallic floor.

“What is this place?”  Neil asked, repeating his concern now that a supposedly sympathetic ear was present.

“We refer to it as The Cradle,” Rem explained. “Throne of the Dreamer and safe haven for the Somni.”

Neil tilted his head slightly.  “I mean... could you start from the beginning?”  

“Nox will give you a more thorough explanation.  I am to take this one to her,” Rem replied.  “Please accompany me.”  

Rem gestured towards the center of the room, where a railed circular platform hovered a foot or two off the ground.  Just above it was a tunnel through the ceiling which went up quite a ways.  The lift could hold perhaps three of these Somni at once, but Neil barely took up a tenth of the space.  

With a slight jolt, the lift began to rise.  Neil almost lost his footing at the sudden momentum but was able to steady himself.  After the initial shock, the rise was smooth and swift, rocketing the two of them up several hundred feet. The lift tunnel was illuminated by pure white rings of the light in even intervals.  The effect was almost hypnotic, not that Neil felt any desire to sleep.  

The lift finally reached its destination, placing the two of them on the rear wall of – there was no other term for it – a space station. The room was massive, at least ten times the circumference of the galactic dormitory they had just departed.  The silvery steel framework branched out around the room creating a dome-like structure, offering a mostly unobstructed view of the cosmos.  At ground level, a variety of holographic panels were erected, forming a semi-circle opposite the lift.  Indecipherable glyphs relayed incomprehensible data at lightning speed, observed by a host of these Somni.  

In the dead center of the room was one particularly large well-like structure, above which hovered a glowing cerulean orb, bound up in crisscrossing threads of white light.  At varying intersections of the impossibly dense thread were tiny golden spheres. A horrible sense of deja vu overtook Neil as he beheld the gentle turning of this web.

“You behold the Threads of Fate,” said Nox, moving out from behind one of the holographic terminals on Neils' left.  

She was adorned in a cerulean robe with golden pauldrons.  There was a royal aura about her, and given the uniform attire of all the other Somni in attendance, it was clear that she was the one in charge.  

“I,” Neil began, but words failed him.  So much was happening so quickly. He had no idea where he was, what he was doing there, and what his family must be going through with him suddenly gone.  

“This must be quite troubling for you,” Nox offered, grasping his shoulder in a comforting yet strangely hollow grip.  It was as though he was being touched by a ghost.  

“This is just so confusing,” Neil explained.  

“Perhaps we should start from the beginning then,” Nox said.

She gestured to Rem who busied himself at the central well.  With a few flourishes from him, the scene changed, and the cerulean gem in the center took on the appearance of a planet.  

“Millions of years ago,” Nox began. “We Somni lived as you do.  Mortals upon the blessed planet of Somnus. Ours was a paradise, and from our bountiful came a wealth of technology and hoarded knowledge.  In time, we began to become aware of not only the existence of other planets throughout the universe which sustained life but entire planes of reality apart from our own.”

The planet's image changed slowly, with a number of the continents now covered in sheets of ice, while others succumbed to wildfires and volcanic eruptions.  

“However this knowledge came at a terrible price.  We suffered calamity after calamity, which we later discovered to be deliberate attempts to destroy us.  The Somni had grown too powerful, and we were becoming a threat.”

“A threat to who?” Neil asked.  

The image shifted once more, a black cloud now consuming the entire planet.  

“We came to call it Kosmaro: the Nightmare.  It is an entity as old as time itself, in constant combat with the Dreamer.  One creates, the other destroys. As the final catastrophe rent our world asunder, the Dreamer reached out to a select few of us and granted us with these forms.”

Nox gestured to the room at large. Neil only noticed then that several of the Somni had gathered round to witness this retelling, starry gazes twinkling gently in the dim light.  

“So,” Neil interjected delicately.  “Why am I here?”

Nox let out an approving noise; a musical hum exhaled from her like a sigh.  “For you are a Binder.”

“I've heard that term a lot lately,” Neil replied. “But I have no idea what it is.”  

Nox turned her attention back to the well.  “It comes down to the Threads of Fate. The history of our universe is one full of opportunity and choice. Yet several events are preordained and must occur according to the whim of the Dreamer.  Their dream, their plan.  Yet the incidental day-to-day interactions upon which new realities may come to exist are immaterial to them.  No matter how many threads are created, all will eventually converge upon a Crossroad.”

Nox pointed to the bright golden stars floating around the threads.  Neil could now notice in greater clarity that thousands of these strands all seemed to converge around every one of these points.  

“This is a multiverse then,” Neil offered.  

“This one is familiar with the theory,” Rem said almost approvingly, before returning to his usual stoicism. “Though their kind has barely begun to scratch the surface of the implications.”  

“With a Binder in their midst, perhaps they will learn more,” Nox chastised. She then elaborated.  “You see, Neil.  Kosmaro has been attacking these Crossroads.  And when a Crossroad is destroyed...”

With a wave of her sleeved arm, a single golden star flickered out of existence.  The white strands that connected to it floated about aimlessly for a moment, connecting to nothing and seemingly adrift in the void. Another wave and a second Crossroad vanished.  Now those few threads which had been connected at both points faded from existence.  

Neil swallowed hard, as he remembered the desperate cries of those phantoms.

We want to go home.  

And what had Rem said?

You can't.  

“My family,” Neil sputtered.  “Are they dead?”

Rem, frank as ever, immediately responded.  “A few thousand variations of this one's family have been lost to the phenomena, but they number among several quintillion lives.  It is of little consequence one way or the other as far as you are concerned.”  

“Rem,” Nox warned, her tone approaching annoyed while still retaining its ethereal quality. “The thread from which you originate has not been lost. However, it and many other adjacent threads remain in jeopardy. It is fortunate that we discovered you when we did.”

The image above the well zoomed in on a small section of the web, Two Crossroads were now enlarged, with the threads between them more easily distinguishable.  What Neil had once taken for a few hundred were in fact several thousand.

“Binders are Somni who are able to traverse the Threads of Fate to repair the damage done.  Kosmaro is as old as time itself, and thus the strain on our universe is an inevitable part of it.  Some day in the future, Kosmaro shall, eventually, win the battle.  But Binders do their part to delay that unhappy hour as long as possible,” Nox explained.  

One of the golden lights dimmed into a dull grey, and the threads were once again floating about in tatters, loosely connected to the other.  It looked like a badly frayed knot.  

“And to do that, Binders must enter these Crossroads and set the actions right.  Things must play out according to the will of the Dreamer. If they are successful,” Nox touched the dimmed Crossroad once more and its light returned, setting the strands right again.  “Balance is restored.”  

Neil was doing all he could to keep his head straight.  In summary, there was a multiverse full of temporal weak points, and these strange alien beings were saying he was one of a select few capable of repairing it.  

“How?” Neil spluttered out finally.  “How am I supposed to fix those? I've never seen anything like this before.”

“It is better to show you rather than tell you,” Nox said.  “But for now, you should return to the world from whence you came.  Rem shall be in contact with you, and will come for you when the time is right.”

“Rem?” Neil asked nervously.  The stern specter had not done much in their brief interactions to inspire a sense of camaraderie in him.  “Can't it be you?”

��Nox is the Voice of the Dreamer.  She has matters well beyond the scope of managing this one,” Rem sighed.  “I shall serve as overseer and – if the need arises – protector.”  

“Take heart, Neil,” Nox said soothingly.  “It is a long road you have ahead of you, but we shall be your allies every step of the way.”  

With a popping sound, all the lights on the station dimmed.  The room slipped away to darkness, and Neil Brown felt himself falling once more into nothingness.

[dumpsterd1va]

okay you know this video with the French guys and the kitten in the road? my heads been doing this thing lately where everything i see lately is andreil so uh... have this little fic based on that lmfao im so sorry

curiosity and the cat

Andrew Minyard had grown up learning to appreciate quiet spaces. The bleachers during 3rd period. The back shelves of the library. The park at 1 AM. He was never truly alone but it was enough to pretend that nothing else existed except him, the ground beneath his feet, and the sky above his head.

It wasn’t until he got his first car that he understood true solitude. Four walls, four wheels, two arms, two legs, a tank of gas that would take him anywhere, and endless stretches of road. He’d run the tank dry and then do it all over again. It didn’t matter if it was rush hour or the dead of night. Everyone else existed in their own metal cocoons, at a distance and irrelevant to him, and he existed in a space that was fully his. All his. If threads of promises unkept weren’t holding him back, Andrew sometimes thought he could go and never come back, living in his car and driving circles around the country until the inevitable.

He always came back though, to the makeshift home he and the only two people he permitted to call him family had made for themselves in Columbia, but when sleep refused him, he would drive for miles and miles on empty roads towards an empty head. The hour and destination didn’t matter, only the feeling of the road churning beneath his tires and the smooth leather of the steering wheel gliding against his palms.

For Andrew taking a long drive to nowhere was like getting a haircut or drinking a tall glass of water on a summer day, so it was no surprise that he found himself on a forested highway just after dawn, letting the frigid morning breeze tangle in his hair.

No, the surprise wasn’t the drive nor the time nor the place.

It was the kitten.

There was nothing notable about the beginning, but then again beginnings are never terribly interesting. It began with the neon glow of 4:36 stabbing his eyes through the dark, a low throb in the back of his head, a parched throat, sweat dripping down his back and pooling uncomfortably just above where his hips connected to the mattress. His sweaty clothes, his matted hair, and the damp sheets clung to him like old memories. He was shivering.

So he drove.

He drove and he kept driving, down abandoned freeways and up windy mountain roads. He stopped for a cigarette at the peak of one, leaning back on the hood of his car and watching the muted pinks of the waking sun struggle against the pitch of night.

The storm inside him stilled.

The drive back home wasn’t as lonely as the drive out, but by that time Andrew didn’t need the silence anymore. He zipped past cars, weaving in and out of the lanes, ignoring the belated honks and indignant faces reflected in his rear view mirror.

He was coming up behind a motorcycle now, but he didn’t bother to pass it. Passing a motorcycle always felt like issuing a challenge and it was one Andrew didn’t have the energy to follow up on.

Which was why he was on autopilot, windows rolled down, radio humming low, going at least 20 miles slower than normal when it happened.

The facts didn’t make themselves immediately apparent. A small lump illuminated by the haze of his headlights, a flash of orange, an impossibly tiny face. Andrew only had just enough time to process what he had seen when he pulled over to the shoulder with a jerk of the wheel that probably would’ve earned him another honk if there had been more people on the road.

He was already flinging his door open and jumping out before he could even think when he noticed someone running towards him. The motorcyclist ahead of him had parked too and was sprinting at impossible speeds towards and now past Andrew. He could hear the helmet rattling against their skull as they hurtled towards the tiny orange speck on the road.

Another car was speeding towards them, but the motorcyclist either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Slamming his door shut and running up the road, Andrew held his hand up in front of him, gesturing for the car to slow down before it killed them. Miraculously there was no honking, only a curious gaze at the strange scene unfolding on the highway at just past six in the morning.

The motorcyclist remained ignorant of Andrew saving their lives, crouching on the ground and scooping the kitten up, cooing sweet nothings.

“How’d you get here little one?” The voice that escaped the helmet was a warm tenor and just a bit hoarse. The motorcyclist was walking towards the shoulder now. “Ah, p’tit loulou, you couldn’t have gotten here on your own. Where are you from?”

For a brief moment, Andrew basked in that jittery butterflies in your stomach feeling of standing in the middle of a road before trailing behind the motorcyclist who was still making embarrassing noises at the cat.

As he got closer, Andrew actually heard something that echoed his own train of thought, “Who would fucking leave a kitten in the middle of the road?” The helmet was bowed down now, gloved hands scratching the kitten’s head. “Some asshole abandoned you… when you’re this tiny.” A defeated sigh. “I’d take you but Sir doesn’t take kindly to strange cats and I don’t wanna upset her, but I can’t just leave you here.”

“Stop whining and give me the damn cat.” The motorcyclist seemed to register his presence for the first time and that’s when Andrew realized he’d said that out loud.

“Really? You’ll take it?” The voice had brightened considerably and even through the tinted glass of the helmet, Andrew could see a smile.

Andrew shrugged and rubbed the kitten’s head right between the ears, its large eyes staring up at him as he did so. “Just another stray.”

“Thank you,” the motorcyclist said as the kitten transferred between their hands. “You take in stray cats often?”

“Not cats.”

Hands finally free, the motorcyclist ripped off the helmet and rested it against their side. “Oh, so dogs then?”

Andrew drank in the sweaty red hair that stuck up from the motorcyclist’s head like an explosion, the frigid blue eyes that were so clear they looked like glass, the elegant nose, the strong eyebrows, the thin lips, the freckled cheeks. All things that would have made a classic beauty, had it not been for a trail of thin scars and burn marks criss crossing through those striking features that revealed a life not easily lived. They took that face from classic to once in a lifetime.

“People.”

A quirked eyebrow. A relaxed smirk. “Is that so? I’m glad you have experience then.”

Andrew didn’t miss the sarcasm dripping from their voice like molasses. “Whatever I’m taking the cat.”

Hands raised in surrender. Eyes amused. “Hey, it—” A cursory glance. “Sorry, she’s all yours. You’re gonna want to get her checked out at the vet first though. Ringworm in kittens can be deadly. And super contagious.”

Andrew’s grip on the kitten must’ve tightened because she mewled with some discomfort. He loosened his hands and stroked her behind her ears.

“Hey,” the voice was softer now, velvet smooth. Blue eyes peered down at him through thick lashes. “I can help you make a drop in appointment. I just can’t risk possibly exposing my own cat to diseases. I’m probably already going to have to burn this whole outfit.” Taking in the worn jeans and the flaking leather jacket, Andrew didn’t think that’d be such a bad idea.

He said as much and earned himself an eye roll. “Sure, criticize the guy who’s trying to help you out.” Said guy rubbed a finger against the kitten’s face. “Be glad you’re so cute or I’d never go through all this trouble.”

Andrew had to agree.

Pulling an ancient phone out of his equally ancient pants pocket, Andrew’s second unexpected companion for the day pressed a few buttons before putting the phone to his ear. After a few rings he said, “Hi, I’d like to bring in a kitten I just found.” A beat of silence. “Not sure. Yeah.” His fingers idly stroked the kitten’s back. “Yes, I can be there in an hour. Tell the doctor it’s Neil Josten. Yep, thanks so much. Bye.”

Strapping his helmet back on, Neil said to Andrew, “Just follow me, I’ll take you to the clinic I take Sir to.”

They strode along the shoulder until they reached Andrew’s car. “Fine, but don’t pull any trick shit, I’m in a car remember?”

“From the way you were driving, I think you need to remind yourself first.”

Unlocking his car, Andrew sighed. Motorcyclists and their attitudes. “Hold this.” He handed over the kitten to Neil before yanking his sweatshirt off. He wrapped his hands in the hoodie before taking her back and swaddling her in it until only her face was showing.

“Oh, you’ll make a great cat mom.”

“Shut up.”

“Should I get you a baby on board sticker?”

“I will leave you and the disease carrier on the street to rot if you don’t quit it.”

An easy grin was hidden behind the helmet but Andrew managed to see it regardless. He chose to ignore it and instead clambered over the driver’s seat, setting the kitten on the ground on the passenger’s side. He slid the seat all the way up and found a few more discarded jackets for padding to prevent the kitten from sliding around. She was still gazing up at him with those huge eyes, but didn’t seem unhappy with the arrangement.

Giving her one last head scratch, he muttered. “If you even think about peeing or pooping or puking in here, I will toss you out the window.”

When he was satisfied, he turned back to Neil and said, “Lead the way.”

Neil’s expression was unreadable on the account of the helmet but the gentle tone of his voice was unmistakable when he murmured just loud enough for Andrew to hear, “I’m glad it was you.”

He walked off without another word and straddled his motorcycle, leaving Andrew to climb back into his car a little dazed.

Beginnings are boring. Monotone, colorless, unoriginal. But it only takes one change in routine, one chance encounter, to make a beginning move towards a different starting line. A new norm. It’s that shift between the old and the new when things really start to get interesting.

And on that particular morning, Andrew had not one but two surprises.

The kitten.

And Neil.

[alias-b]

Without The Lights~ Billy Hargrove x OC Camille Harper

Chapter 3: I Think We're Alone Now

A/N: Listen, I wrote this chapter and really fell in love with these two. Developing friendship ahoy. Warning for mentions of past rape, abortion, and //sigh// we meet Neil and he’s gross so also light antisemitism & homophobia from him.

  Camille pulled up to a smaller house the next day, parking behind Billy’s Camaro out front. She climbed a few stone steps and knocked three times, backpack clutched over one shoulder. The redhead from the other day pulled open the door and Camille smiled.

  “Hi, I’m-”

  “Camille. I’m Max.” She’d nodded. “You’re popular, the kids in my grade talk.”

  “Right, you’re in Mike’s group.”

  “Thought I was,” the younger girl shrugged and stepped back to let her in. “Billy! A girl!” She echoed.

  “Give me a damn minute, Max!” He’d bellowed at the other end of the house.

  “Like Hawkins so far?”

  “It’s not so bad, I guess.” Max tucked hair behind her ear. “What’s up with Mike and them? You know his sister, right?”

  “We don’t hang out like we used to.”

  “It’s like one moment you’re friends, the next, they start acting all weird and secretive.”

  “Hate to break it to you, that’s been my entire high school experience.” Camille offered a sobered grin and cocked her head. Mike and his friends were acting off as well. She’d definitely missed something. “Give it time. People come to their senses. Not always.”

  “Got that right.”

  “Hey,” Billy came around the corner, buttoning up a shirt that was half tucked and leaving the top three open.

  “Thought the girl last night was your project partner, that’s what you told Neil.” Max relished the awkward beat that followed.

  “You met my stepsister. Mad Max. She was just leaving. Beat it.” He pressed his teeth, eyebrows lifting because he couldn’t say much else with high school royalty in front of him. “Goodbye, Max.”

  “Whatever,” she picked up her skateboard and left out the door.

  “Nice to meet you, Max.”

  “Same here.” The door shut and Camille lifted her lips.

  “I like her.”

  “Take her.” Billy was colder, rubbing his head.

  “So...what girl? I’m not naive, I know you’re making rounds. The ladies love to gush about you.”

  “Not all good things, I’m sure. But, that’s part of the appeal.” Billy shifted, hands on his hips before he gestured. “Drop your bag wherever. Take your shoes off or don’t. I could care less.”

  “Still get the tour?” She set her backpack on the couch.

  “Shithole living room. Ugly kitchen. Garage.” Billy gestured. “My least favorite place: the family dining room.” She followed him down the hall. “Bathroom. Basement. No secret attic. No pool. Dad and Susan… Closet. Max. And me. Not much to it.” He opened his bedroom. A small space that was intimately his. Smelled warm like his cologne. “I skimmed more of the book.”

  “Main character’s name?”

  “Hester.” He set his hands out. “Do I get my medal now?”

  “Mmm, the bare minimum. Only way to my heart.” She entered the space. “Love the posters. Classy.” Bands and scantily clad women. Her eyes drew to a stereo smashed in the corner and kicked off to the side. “What happened there?” Billy almost lied but she was so soft about it like she already knew.

  “I failed the chemistry quiz and fucked up a math test.” He was matter a fact. “Dad found out. He always does. Likes to keep tabs.” Camille clasped her hands with the slightest nod.

  “And your head the other day.”

  “His important lessons in respect usually go over it. Not always. Aim gets better with age.” Billy was hard and sarcastic, opening his window to light a smoke.

  “And this has been going on a long time.”

  “Does it matter?” His eyes lowered. She didn’t hesitate.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s an asshole. Most parents are.” Billy picked up the book and set his cigarette in an ashtray upon the windowsill. “I didn’t like it. The ending.”

  “You actually read it?” She chuckled but sobered when he met her eyes. “Why specifically?”

  “All that shit and planning to run away only for the poor fucker to just die in her arms. Felt like a waste. Pissed me off."

  "Think so?"

  "And this chick didn’t really spit in anyone’s face for the hell she went through. That shit just seemed unfair.” He shrugged and Camille was amused again. Billy offered it and lingered when she closed the distance to take it. Fingers brushed and the book dropped. Instead his head lowered to touch hers. Camille inhaled and he didn’t try to kiss her. It was peculiar, the way he closed his eyes and breathed her in. His usual manner of seduction went over her. Every single time. Not sure if it was by force or not. Billy had to know now. He’d be lying if it didn’t jar him to bits. Foreheads touched and his lips opened. “I want you.” Shivers sparked out from her spine to cover her body in heat. His husky voice reverberated and Camille had to come up for air before she drowned in him.

  “Typical bad boy. Huh? You bat your pretty eyes and drag slowly on smoke. It usually works on us.”

  “You’re all perfect posture and angels singing. When was the last time you relaxed? Let those angels scream it out for a few beats?” He was so fucking close and she didn't leave his space.

  “Been awhile.”

  “I can fix that.” His head tilted. He was so certain too.

  “You only want me now because I’m teen royalty to you and our school. Pretty Knight on a conquest. Have to claim the queen. It’s your favorite brand, I can tell. You can’t get enough.”

  “What does any of it matter?” Billy read her with ease. “Not like we both don’t have flings. I know about you, Harper.”

  “I know… I can’t.” Her whisper sent him reeling back, head lifting. “Year ago, maybe. I can’t do relationships. Even flings. I don't do sex. Not right now.” Those blue eyes flickered at her face. “And Billy, if you must know, I don’t ever date boys from my own school. Personal Queen Bee Code. They should have told you that about me. Rival schools are fair game.” Rejection was an old friend but not from his romantic pursuits. “I was all about your shit a year before. Things change. It’s me. I’m...complicated.” He realized all at once that her angels never sang. Neither did his.

  ��I’m not?” He hitched a quick breath.

  “No, you absolutely are. But, that isn’t the problem here. Color yourself surprised.”

  “First time in my life I’ve heard that.” Not being the problem.

  “Look, Billy, I can be a friend. But, that’s all I got in me right now. If that isn’t okay with you...tough. It’s not you or what they say at school. I’m just not in a place to be that with you or anyone at the moment.” She frowned, hands running her stomach before they crossed.

  “I can get used to tough.” He relented. “I don’t know how to be a friend.”

  “Maybe not.” Her head cocked, eyes lifting to his again. “But, what a time to be alive and try it though.” She could have left right at that moment. Yet, she didn't.

  “What exactly do they say about me at school?”

  “Steve has a lot to say. Might want to back down there.” She peered aside.

  “Still waiting to see this mighty King Steve I hear about. Harrington turned bitch but there’s something there.”

  “Will bringing out the worst in someone else make you feel better?” She asked when he returned to finish the end of his smoke. Camille read him to filth. “Fight Steve. Fuck me. High school’s a game. You’re a great player. I knew that quickly.” Billy’s eyes snapped to her again. “Look. You don’t have to tell me what goes on in this house. But, if you...or Max…need a place to get away once in awhile. Lots of school projects to come, I’m sure… I have absent parents and room to spare. Consider it an act of friendship since you’re new to that.”

  “Care about Max already?”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “We’re not close.” Billy was tense.

  “Hawkins in a small place. Guess you have time to work on that.” Her judgment set him on edge. “She’ll get older. Start seeing more. Might be nice to have someone standing with or between her and an angry stepfather.”

  “Not like I had that.” He shot back, standing taller. Felt too personal to say that. Guess they're passed it already.

  “Might feel good to give it to someone else. Not to say it's obligatory. Basic kindness. But, what do I know? I’m the rich bitch. Ever notice we’re the first to go in scary movies? Shitty thing too. Bitches and sluts. Your brand. Easy to be rid of. We all move on.” Camille dropped her arms. “C’mere.” Her hand extended and Billy raised an eyebrow. “Just, trust me. We’re trying something. No funny ideas or I walk.”

  “What happened to your perfect student wrath?”

  “Fuck it, it’ll take two seconds to write the paper. Just...” She waited until he observed her and took her hand. A slow, sparking beat pulsed between them. Skin slid against skin. Billy let her lead him to the bed and was surprised when she got atop the covers on her back and tugged him to get in next to her.

  “And this is…?”

  “Two possible friends. Two complicated fuck-ups with angels that wail. Just...enjoying each other’s company. Nothing sexual. Can you manage that?”

  “Not sure anymore,” he mumbled, eyes on the ceiling. “This isn’t like foreplay to you, is it?”

  “In your dreams, beach boy,” she laughed, hand slipping from his so she could adjust and clasp her fingers upon her stomach. Hair splayed around their crowns while they relaxed, she turned her head and peered at him. Something about this all amused her.

  “What?” He caught her expression.

  “Last year, before the whole mess...I was so absorbed in my own shit. Blinded. I don’t know, it’s like I’m awake for the first time in my life.” Camille blinked at him. “Does that make sense?”

  “No. Not at all,” he was laughing and she followed. Billy fiddled with the tiny silver pendant around his neck on a long chain. She’d not seen him without it. “All I see is red still.”

  “Gotta get out, enjoy the night sky for once.” Camille sighed, eyes back on the ceiling. “Saint Christopher. Your necklace.”

  “Yeah.” Billy was near silent, hesitating. “Was my mom’s. All I have of hers.”

  “No pictures?”

  “Not anymore, dad made sure.” Billy cleared his throat. Debated it.

  “What happened to her?”

  “They fought. Got bad. Got worse. One day, she just...didn’t come back… She didn’t come back for me.” His tone grew thick at the correction.

  “I’m sorry, Billy.” Camille offered slowly.

  “Maybe I’ll wake up another day.” He gave a bitter laugh.

  “I hope that you do.” It was cruel. How soft she was against him. “Saint Christopher. Martyr. Protector of travelers, right?”

  “Think so. Guess she liked all that shit. Even made it my middle name.”

  “William Christopher Hargrove.” She mused. “Not terrible. My middle name sounds like some hippie shit.”

  “Hate my fucking first name.” Billy smirked, distant. “Now you have to tell me your hippie ass middle name.”

  “Sage.” Camille rolled her eyes when he laughed at her. “Shut up. It’s worse because my mother’s name is Rosemary.” His laughter hitched again, hand touching his lips. “Sage was my grandmother’s name. She also picked Rosemary. Real funny.”

  “Fucking is actually,” he quieted himself and gave a lengthy sigh. “Never done this before. Whatever it is,” Billy observed then. Camille chewed on her bottom lip, gaze flickering before she gave a shrug.

  “Kinda like it.” She turned again. His advances were small candles compared to the fireworks she set off. Like it was nothing. “What’s California like?”

  “Better,” he was frank. “The air. The beach. The food.”

  “Truly the beach boy type. Hard to picture.”

  “Long, long time ago,” his fingers drummed along his stomach. “Don’t fuck my image here.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it but, you have to do one thing.”

  “What’s that?” He peered over.

  “Say, cowabunga dude, in your best surfer accent,” she gave a bright smile that resonated before he was laughing again. They pushed at each other when her hand touched the warm skin of his arm. It stayed there.

  “You’re something else, Camille.” It was the first he’d really offered her name in that velvet tone. “You know that?”

  “I get that a lot these days. Queen Bee changing up the hive. School can’t stand it. Can’t read me anymore. I don’t want them to either.” She admitted.

  “Drives you mad that I’m skimming the pages, huh?”

  “If you say so.” She changed the subject. “I’ve never been to the ocean or seen a real beach. I’d like to. My parents were never ones for trips. Not with me, at least. I barely really left Hawkins… Never left the state for sure. You...You ever feel like everyone around you is lying most days? Like something isn’t just off, it was missing the whole time and you didn’t see it.”

  “What would they hide from you?”

  “That’s it, I have no idea. Nothing ever happens in Hawkins. Not until last year.” Camille huffed and shook her head. “So, tell me about your fake project partner last night?”

  “Jealous?”

  “Skipping the question much?” She rolled over and crossed her arms to lean on them so she could meet his eyes. “Friends talk about girls and boys.”

  “I am not your damn girlfriend.”

  “Not with that attitude.” She teased. “Come on, who?”

  “Tammy Foreman.”

  “Oh? She’s pretty. We did gymnastics together the last two years. Great routines but she never could stick the landing.”

  “She did last night.” Billy chuckled when she smacked his arm. “What? That was on you.”

  “I know that. Ass.” Camille rolled her eyes, disbelieving that this was her day. Pillow talk with the new keg king.

  “So, did that shithead really write you a nasty letter?”

  “Tommy? Oh, yeah, he wanted me bad. I’ll let you read it next time you’re at my place. It’s certainly...something to behold.”

  “Already a next time?” Billy mused, blue eyes alight at her.

  “Easy,” she turned to fall against her back again.

  “What’s your dad hiding in that attic?” He wondered aloud.

  “Hell if I knew.”

  “Ever thought of picking the lock?”

  “He’ll kill me,” Camille joked. “Yes. A lot though.”

  “I could pick it.” Came the offer. “Friends or whatever.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she shook her head. Billy looked at her face again when she was distracted. This was almost too intimate and they barely touched. “Have anymore dates coming up?”

  “Like to play things as I go.”

  “Ah. Sure… Smooth keg king, always lands the girl.” Not always.

  “Took time to perfect the method. Timing and all.”

  “Hm, method. I’m sure that did take careful practice. Alright, I'll bite. Tell me about your first time.” Camille turned her neck and studied his profile. The slight twitch of his lips didn’t quite reach his eyes. Billy shifted around to see her after a beat, lips curling further with more amusement.

  “I told you about Tammy. So, you first, Harpy.” His brow quirked. "In detail."

  “Not fair.”

  “Hm, is it? Have to give to get, sweetheart.” He earned a long sigh before Camille propped her arm up to rest her chin there. Billy wasn’t letting down so she caved.

  “I was fifteen.” She huffed, eyes rolling when triumph crossed his expression, causing him to twist and mirror her position. Blue eyes direct, he gave a nod so she continued. “He was not.”

  “What? Seventeen? Eighteen? Catch the attention of a senior?” Billy watched her exhale again before she mumbled. “Huh?”

  “He was twenty.” She saw him sober up at that. “College boy in a frat. Gorgeous. Charming. He had a method too. Met him at a new years party. He was visiting the family for winter break. Well off family. I was a friend of his little sister at the time, she moved for college in New York. No one knew about us though and I...I loved it. He told me I was beautiful and mature for my age. Turns out there’s another word for what he was. We were together for months.” Dark brows twitched up and she gave a sort of half smile, sparkling eyes lowered to his chest.

  “Shit.” Was the only sentiment Billy could offer but it resonated even still.

  “A big pile of it, yeah. We kissed at that party and...I kept seeing him. He’d invite me to big college parties and show me off to his friends. We’d go upstairs and...admittedly, he was okay with his hands. Quick everywhere else.” Camille smiled again with a scoff. “After the first time, he said...tell me you love me. And I did. I realize now that he never really said it back. He just wanted me to validate that he’d taken something of mine. That it would always belong to him somehow and I couldn’t take it back... And that wasn’t the half of it.”

  “How’d it end?” He almost took that back when her eyes snapped up to his again.

  “I...I asked him to use a condom and he spun that bullshit, ‘oh babygirl, it just doesn’t feel as good’ crap every single time. ‘Oh babygirl, it won’t fit. Don’t you trust me?’ Excuses. But, I was stupid and I was so mature and dating a college boy. Real badass. Until, something changed and...I was late. I knew instantly. I fucking knew. He reeled back so fast, I thought he might get whiplash. And I made the choice for us...to take care of it. I never asked for money. All I wanted was a ride. Just...support. I was terrified and too fucking young.”

  “He go with you?” Billy knew the answer.

  “I never saw him again. I wish I’d told him to eat shit at least. Left that in a lengthy voicemail later. But, I was so scared and upset...I started walking. I looked like shit and...ruined my shoes after a good thirty minutes. So, I’m determined and a car pulls up along side me. Barbara Holland pokes her head out and asks if I’m okay. You know her story by now.”

  “Yeah. Wheeler’s missing friend.”

  “They were both my friends once until I decided I wanted to be popular and dropped them. Was a real bitch and here Barb was...she just got her permit. I didn’t even have mine. So, I get in and I just...cried. I’ve never cried like that. Not in my life. She doesn’t say much of anything, just nodded occasionally and drove me to the clinic. Walked in and sat there. Waited till it was done. Drove me home...this girl that had every right to let me walk was there for me. So, I get out. Say thank you. Barb gets out...knowing when we get back to school that nothing is really going to change. We drifted…”

  Billy watched her trace a line into his blanket. A melancholy washed over her skin. Camille went on in an even tone.

  “…She came around the car and hugged me so tight. I wish every day that I’d said something more. But, I didn’t. She took my secret with her and I felt it linger in the air at school but we never...acknowledged it. Just slight nods in passing. You’re actually the first person I’ve told since Barb.” Camille stopped to sniffle and blinked several times to still anything else. “My parents can never know. No one can.” They locked eyes and she waited for him to share. Billy fell against his back, arm behind his head.

  “I was fifteen too. She was the most popular girl in our school and she was also the girlfriend of our school’s star quarterback. Both seniors. Older than me. He was a real dick. You know the type.”

  “I do.” Camille smirked when he did before he looked at the ceiling.

  “They were hot and cold. Drama and all, always breaking up. So, she decides she wants to make him jealous and sets her eyes on me for the first time. Hargrove trash. Ate that shit up. We’re at this party and she’s never paid me any mind. Always stuck her nose up. Prissy thing. But, I don’t know, something changed. She’s handing me drink after drink. Smiling. Next thing, we’re upstairs and she’s tugging my pants open. Gets into my lap and starts bouncing like a wild animal. I was fucking wasted, I didn’t try to push her off. She bragged about it after and I sucked up the attention from that. All these girls wanted me. Word got around quick, which she wanted too.”

  “Of course, she did. So, it worked?”

  “Too well. Quarterback and his band of merry assholes dragged me to the field and beat the living shit out of me. I laughed in his face the entire time about it too. I already had her. I was hot shit now. Fight got worse and I managed one good kick. Snapped his knee cap like a twig. Bye bye dick scholarship. Couldn’t even blame me for it. She got what she wanted. A fucking place next to his hospital bed. Dad started plans to move after that. Moved me schools first but, fuck, it’s all red. It never stopped, it just got worse.”

  “Billy, she...” Camille searched for the words. “Got you drunk...and forced you to…”

  “Yeah.” He admitted, swallowing a hard lump in his throat. "Was a real clingy bitch. Half my size and left bruises all over me. Smacked me awake when I closed my eyes because I was shit hammered. Not even sure I got off fully. And I laughed in that fucker's face like it was my idea."

  “That’s awful.”

  “I consider myself lucky.” Billy shrugged. “Put a rubber on me first.” He smiled again, all that Hargrove charm fluttering back. It grew infectious and she followed, falling back next to him. Billy didn’t want to see it that way. So, he reframed. It was just easier.

  “How can that many shitty people gravitate toward us at once?”

  “Hell if I knew.”

  “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Hm?”

  “I don’t feel like working on the paper today.” She whispered. He chuckled at that.

  “Couldn’t tell.” Billy paused. Remembered. “Head still bothering you?”

  “Little.” Came her confession. Camille sighed and tipped her head toward his shoulder. Billy fell silent and she didn’t mind. This moment was unlike anything he’d experienced before. Deliberate and lacking in forced bullshit. Nice. Peaceful. Almost too easy. He realized the terrifying reality that he’d made a friend in Hawkins. Like he'd fallen into a trap she set. Not a challenge or fling. Not fully. Didn't lessen how bad he wanted to have her. They didn’t speak until the pull of sleep threatened. For the first time, the world seemed a little less red.

** ** **

  Max flipped her skateboard and caught it with ease when their mother’s car pulled up. Susan smiled and grabbed a bag of groceries from the back seat.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “With your friends again?”

  “Yeah, Billy had a girl over for some project.” Max shrugged and reached for the second bag to help her mother in the house.

  “A girl?” Susan cleared her throat while she unpacked the food into the fridge. She knew what that usually meant. “Are they still here?”

  “Not sure, her backpack is still here but, his door’s open.” Max wandered down the hall and stopped in her tracks. Her stepbrother was breathing softly, wheezing tiny snores while the Harper girl lie burrowed in his side. Both clothed and atop the covers. Her head pressed to his bicep. “Weird...” Susan crept behind Max to see and smiled at the unexpected scene.

  “Come on, we’ll let them rest. I’ll start dinner before Neil gets home.” Susan whispered and left the door a few inches open before she ushered Max off. An hour or so later, the scent of food roused Billy as a hand shook his shoulder.

  “The fuck, Max?” He jerked to see her standing over him. She shrunk back when he rubbed his eyes. “Hell’re you in my room?” Sleep covered his voice.

  “Neil’s almost home and dinner’s ready. Might want to wake your girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my fucking-” Billy realized Camille was sound asleep next to him. “Shit. Harpy, rise and shine.” He gave her arm a pat and she moaned. “Scram, Max. Stay out of my damn room. Don't make me say it again.” He pointed so she rolled her eyes, leaving.

  “Billy? What are we… Hell, we fell asleep.”

  “Paper isn’t magically done, is it?” He got up to stretch and she followed, joining him at the mirror to fix her hair into place.

  “I should get going. We’ll work on it in study hall. Easy.” She put her shoes on and noticed Billy peeking outside. Neil wasn’t around yet.

  “C’mon.” He cocked his head so she followed.

  “Billy, who’s your friend?” Susan was readily waiting with a bright smile and Billy exhaled, annoyed in an instant. As if he’d been caught doing something actually dirty. Camille came to her.

  “Camille Harper, we share a few classes. Sorry, I stayed here late.” The teen reached out to shake her hand.

  “No, it’s nice to see Billy in...good company. Would your parents let you stay for dinner?”

  “Christ, Susan, she’s-”

  “You both haven’t eaten yet.”

  “I couldn’t impose.” Camille smiled sweeter.

  “Nonsense, we have more than enough. Meatloaf night.” Susan shook her head.

  “Yippee.” Billy muttered to himself and both women ignored him. Max had that smug look on her face so he narrowed his eyes to glare until she moved to set the table.

  “Ah, sure, I’d like that. Thank you. May I use your phone to call my parents, Mrs. Hargrove?”

  “Of course, and call me Susan.” She pointed. Camille went around Billy, eyes locking so she could go check in at home.

  “Why did you do that?” Billy hissed.

  “Your father is coming home.” Susan whispered, wiping down the counter. “Might be nice to have another person...a sweet girl, sitting at the table during the conversation.” She was protecting him. Drawing it out before Neil could tear into him tonight. How the fuck could he see it that way? All it did was give Neil more fuel to burn him with. Billy set his jaw and Camille returned.

  “May I help with anything?” She was cut off by the door opening. Billy shrunk behind her. For the first time, she saw his eyes change. Neil Hargrove stepped in with a steely expression.

  “You’re early,” Susan smiled and let him kiss her cheek. “How was work?”

  “Fine,” he spotted Camille, “and who is this?”

  “She’s-”

  “I was asking Billy.” He cut over his wife. Eyes glued to his son. Magnifying glasses held over burning ants.

  “Camille. We have a paper due.” Billy’s gaze hit the floor so Camille stood taller and marched up to Neil with purpose.

  “Camille Harper, Billy and I are classmates.” She reached out and he seemed surprised but shook her hand.

  “Firm grip, you could teach my son something.” He remarked.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Susan came between them to set the dish on the table. Neil turned on a sort of routine. Father and provider with company around.

  “Allow me.” He held out a chair for Camille before Billy could take it, forcing his son to sit by her so Neil could put himself near him at the head of the table. Max sat across from them with Susan at the other head.

  “Have you always lived in Hawkins?” Susan scooped up plates.

  “Thank you...and yes. All my life.” Camille shifted in her seat and eyed Billy. “Billy tells me you moved from California, must have been beautiful.” She took a bite. “This is delicious.”

  “You’re sweet.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” Max added. Billy caught his father’s eyes and sat straight.

  “Thank you, Susan.” He was quiet.

  “Where do you live, Camille?” Neil cut into his food and Billy barely touched his plate. Like he had to force it.

  “Loch Nora.” Camille met his eyes and didn’t let down.

  “They give out the full size candy bars at Halloween.” Max added and Camille smirked at her.

  “You should see the houses at Christmas time. Everyone drives down to see them and we hand out hot chocolates and cider. My family decorates but we’re Jewish so it’s more for the parties.”

  “Jews,” Neil scoffed; gave a tight smile. “Huh. That’s nice.” Billy cleared his throat when Camille’s eyes drew wider.

  “Neil.” Susan cut in, careful as she could.

  “And your parents, what do they do?” He peered at Billy and took a bite of food.

  “My father is a scientist up at Hawkins lab. Mom is a fashion designer.” She replied, sipping water. “Harper Sixx.”

  “Your mother is Rosemary Harper?” Susan cut in and Camille nodded. “Her stuff is lovely, I wore one of her blouses on our first date. Didn’t I, Neil?”

  “Sure did.” His eyes were on his plate now.

  “She’ll be excited to hear that. She did more high fashion and runway when she first began. Celebrities and all. But, she wanted to start seeing her stuff on all women. Think she’s happier with that.” Camille sat back and peered at Max. “I’m jealous, I see you skateboarding all the time around school. I was on one once and broke my arm when I was ten.”

  “I rode into a thorn bush a few years back and got stuck,” Max smiled this time, relaxing.

  “So, what project are you two working on? A paper?” Neil spoke over Max before she could go on. “Can’t write one yourself, Billy?”

  “It’s a collaborative thing for class, two minds equals more ideas.” Camille cut in and felt Billy nudge her thigh under the table. “Large book report but, I’m optimistic, we picked a good one.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Scarlet Letter,” Billy prodded at a piece of meat.

  “Little advanced for you.”

  “Billy actually finished the novel before I did.” Camille gripped her knife and fork on the table. Billy’s leg touched her own again in warning.

  “Sometimes I forget you can read anything outside of Playboy. Or was it Playgirl?” Neil pointed at Billy with his knife and laughed at his own joke, he nudged his son’s shoulder until he forced a tight grin. Eyes watery. Camille felt herself tremble. That headache pounded and then it released completely when a photo jerked from the wall to crash into the floor. Neil whipped around and cursed, standing. “Piece of shit,” he mumbled, going to shut the window beyond it. “Damn wind blew it off the wall.” Camille was dazed and Billy jerked to force a napkin against her nose.

  “Jesus, Harpy. Again?” He pulled her to focus and her hand covered his. Eyes locked, pupils dilated. She felt his fingers shake.

  “Are you okay, dear?” Susan offered another napkin. Max was silent and wide eyed.

  “Yes, sorry, I have this thing. I get them easily. Pardon me.” She held the paper and quirked her brow to save Billy more embarrassment.

  “Yeah,” Billy pulled her to her feet and guided her off. Didn’t think too much of it. Camille shot one last look at Neil and wished that photo crashed into his head. They shut the bathroom door. “Can’t keep doing this, yeah?”

  “Nosebleeds are a Camille Harper special,” she joked, angling her face up. “Your stepmom seemed nice.”

  “She chose him.” Billy was tense. "Just fucking makes it worse when she tries to help." Trembling. Susan tried to defuse the tension. Tried.

  “Sometimes you don’t know a person until they’re already drowning you.” She whispered. He wet a rag and without asking, moved the tissue to wipe her nose. Camille let him, eyes flickering over his while he stared at her lips and edged the rag over them. His thumb came up to trace them before she ran her tongue there. Oh, did he fucking want her.

  “Better?” She watched him nod. “I should go.” Billy was silent again, eyes on his feet before he sniffled and nodded once more. “Walk me out?” She went first and clasped her hands. “Mrs. Hargrove, dinner was great but my parents will want me home. Thank you.”

  “Come over anytime, hon.”

  “Yes. Bye, Max. I’ll see you around.”

  “Sure,” Max lifted her lips.

  “Mr. Hargrove, thank you for having me in your house.” She pushed her hand out with a hard look and dared him to refuse. Tightly, he shook it. They’re all better than you, you son of a bitch. Billy watched this girl stand up to his father without fear, challenging him somehow. It was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

  “Maybe my son’s grades will go up with you...around him.”

  “Credit would be all his.” She smiled her sweetest smile and picked up her backpack. “Billy.” The teen peered at his dad, watched him fume, and purposefully crossed in front to follow Camille out. “My house for next time? Yes, I said next time, keep the excitement down.” She offered, earning a silent scoff of agreement. Hands shifted and she pulled a pen from her backpack, grabbing for his hand to write her number along his wrist. “Need anything, call. Now you.”

  “Forgot your book inside,” he remarked, inking his number into her arm next.

  “Ah, get it to me tomorrow.” Camille lingered when his hand didn’t release her wrist. Slowly, she came up and didn’t kiss him. She did something far worse. Arms slipped around his shoulders, shifting his hair aside when she hugged him. Brief. Not long enough. Nothing else could be done or said. “Take care, I’ll see you at school. I liked it...the talking and all. Felt needed.” He lifted his hands but she slipped away too quick. “Goodnight, Billy.” Camille turned and he watched her get into her car to drive off. One friend. In fucking Hawkins. Didn't seem too bad.

** ** **

  Camille observed Steve at lunch the next day, seated two tables away from Nancy. Sighing, she approached Nancy first while she packed up to go.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi.” Nancy looked ashamed. “Steve told me I said some stuff to you at the party. I don’t really remember it. But, I’m sorry.”

  “Nance-”

  “No, it was gross. I tossed that in your face.”

  “We all say shitty things,” Camille shrugged, “are you and Steve done?”

  “I’m not sure anymore. Maybe.” She watched her friend sit. Friend. “Last year...I think it messed me up. I love Steve, I do, but...”

  “You’re not in love with him?”

  “I thought I was. It’s not fair. I care about him and I hurt him because I couldn't....” Nancy sighed. “A lot happened and it changed me.”

  “What really happened to Barb, Nancy?” Camille pushed the words out and her lip trembled. “I missed something and it’s eating you.”

  “I’m going to make it right.” Nancy got up in a hurry to go.

  “Nancy,” Camille stood in a huff. But, she was gone. Annoyed, she marched over to Steve and plopped down, appetite gone. “You know something.”

  “About what?”

  “Barb, last year, all of it. You know."

   "Cam-"

  "You've been my friend as long as Nancy has. Two rich kids with absent parents make perfect wingmen. And you're lying to my face, Steve. Why are you and Nancy lying? Does Jonathan know too? That why they’re acting weird?” Camille watched Steve frown, sympathetic to her anger. “She’s dead. Isn’t she? She’s not coming back, what happened to my friend?” Camille smacked the table and above her, the light fizzled, crackling before glass broke and rained down. Gasps echoed. She and Steve jumped under the table to avoid sparks. Every light followed and teachers began to usher kids out in the chaos.

  “You’re bleeding.” Steve grabbed Camille’s shoulder and her head just burned beyond any belief.

  “Ah,” she pushed from him and slid away to go. Lights erupted all over. Students cried out while the power blew. Camille was racing down the hallway when the fire alarm went off then cut. She fussed with her locker and grew enraged when it didn’t budge. “Piece of shit!” She gave one pound and it jerked open. Breathing heavily, she stuffed items in her bag and whipped around as a hand grabbed her shoulder.

  “What’s the matter, Queen Bee? Get scared?”

  “Fuck off, Tommy.” She hissed, pushing him hard to go.

  “Hey, you bitch,” he grabbed her arm and jerked. Camille felt her body lose control. She dodged under his arm and spun once, leg gliding out to kick him in the head. Tommy lost his footing when his nose busted, dropping. Fists up, she blinked and stared down at her hands. “My nose, what the fuck, you stupid slut!” Camille looked up to see Billy Hargrove stunned at the end of the hallway. He took one confused step, eyes unblinking. Behind him, students raced out the doors as teachers ushered them. Frantic, Camille turned and sprinted the other direction. He caught up with her once she got out the back door.

  “What the fuck was that Karate Kid shit?” He snatched for her wrist.

  “Not now, Billy, I have to go home.” She was crying, bloodying her sleeve to wipe her nose. Camille pushed at him to let go and he tossed his hands out.

  “Camille! The fuck?” He yelled but she was already getting into her car to speed away. She didn’t get pulled over by some miracle.

  “Mom!” She echoed to her house once inside. “Mama!” Camille dropped her bag and fell to her knees on the stairs. Sobs ripped from her while her head burned. Hands grasped her shoulders.

  “Milly, what’s happened?” Her housekeeper shook her, gasping when she saw her bloodied nose.

  “I don’t know! I don’t know! It hurts,” she wailed, inconsolable. "Make it stop!" Edna heaved her up the steps and got her into the guest room. Camille’s sob subsided when pills were shoved into her hands.

  “Drink up, there we go. You need to rest, I’ll call your parents.” Edna cleaned her face and helped her undress. “Lie down there. Good. Go to sleep, Camille.”

  “But-”

  “Sink.” The harsh tone caught Camille, frosting her spine.

  “What...did you say?” She fell back in a daze.

  “I said, sleep, honey.” Edna watched the pills work quick and shuffled down the hallway after locking the door. She picked up the phone to dial.

  “Harper.”

  “Sir, she’s getting worse. It’s happening again. Same as when she was younger.” There was a beat and sigh.

  “I’ll be home in twenty.”

** ** **

  “Power goes nuts, half day is nice.” Steve remarked, leaning against his car while students dispersed and Heather nodded next to him.

  “I called Camille’s house, her mother said she was sick. I’ll grab her homework tomorrow if they don’t cancel it.” They stopped talking when Billy Hargrove marched up, poking Steve in the shoulder.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  “Man, not now. Any other day but, I’m not in the mood for you today, got it?”

  “What the fuck happened to her? Harper?”

  “She gets dizzy, I don’t know. She doesn’t talk about it. The hell do you care?” Steve turned with Heather. I don't, Billy almost said. Sick curiosity was ending him. “Go away, Hargrove. Bad enough I have to deal with you in gym.” Billy pushed past him to go to his car.

  “Max, get in now!” He raged so she scrambled. Billy slammed the door and sped off, too many questions rang. Better to just toss them aside and see all in red.

[ssilverstreak]

Red Shuck

Black Shuck (Part 1) Green Shuck (Part 2) Red Shuck (Part 3, final, You Are Here)

Third and final part of the Shuck and Neil story.

“This is bad.  This is very, very bad,” Neil muttered under his breath as he paced back and forth.  It had taken nearly an hour to calm down Old Magnus and send him back into town.  As soon as Old Magnus had rounded the corner, Neil rushed inside the church to the phone, then to his suitcase to dig out the book of numbers he had been given on completion of his training to call in case he needed help, then back to the phone.

           The man on the other end had been very sorry, but they would only be able to send one exorcist, and it would take at least two weeks, if not more, to get someone up there.  They were simply too backed up to send any more, or anyone any sooner.

           Neil had bitten his lower lip bloody to keep from yelling at the man, thanked him and confirmed the church’s address and his name, and then slammed the phone down on the receiver so hard that a small crack developed on the side near the seam.

           He then proceeded to storm outside, where Black Shuck joined him and silently watched as the priest began the time-honored tradition of everyone who knew they were royally screwed: panicking.

           “I just wanted to do good and help people!  And less than a day after I get here I’m having to deal with a stupid ghost who wants to kill me and everyone else!  This is what I get for trying to be a good person! Death!  I get death!  Painful, scary death!”

           Neil wasn’t sure how long the ghost let him pace and babble, the icy air of fall in Maine searing his lungs and adding to the cold terror in his stomach, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes before he turned around to start back down the path he was beginning to wear into the grass and ran into something solid and icy cold.  He grunted slightly, half-draped across the ghost’s back, then sucked in air that had been knocked out of his lungs and straightened.  Slowly, he met Black Shuck’s dry gaze, then closed his eyes.

           “Okay.  I get it.  Panicking isn’t going to help.”

           A cold nudge against his shoulder, and then the ghost stepped away.  Neil took a deep breath to calm himself, then opened his eyes and met eerie green ones.

           “So.  I’m on my own in this.”

           Black Shuck rolled its eyes, then shoved its head into Neil’s stomach hard enough to almost knock him over, then stilled while Neil clutched at lank, icy fur to keep his balance.

           “Okay, I get it.  We’re on our own in this.”

           A single wag of a ragged tail, then Black Shuck stepped back and met Neil’s eyes, tilting its head to one side.

           Neil swallowed at the silent question.  “We’re going to do everything we can to beat this thing.” He winced and rubbed at the back of his neck.  “And probably going to die in the process…”

           Black Shuck rolled its eyes.

           “Fine, I’m probably going to die in the process. Look, I have a funeral to arrange, Old Magnus refused to put it off, but during that time we’ll also fortify the church. I don’t know if it’s strong enough to go inside now-“ Black Shuck nodded its head, and Neil winced, “-… great. I’ll see if I can do people’s homes in the town, too, but I may not get enough supplies.  I’ll need Father Basil’s books, if we do enough it may not stop that thing, but it could slow it down.  Then we’ll try to take it out.”

           The ghost nodded again, and Neil forced a shaky smile.  Honestly, he was terrified, but having a plan, and someone on his side-even if they were dead-helped keep the fear at bay for the moment.

           He could break down later.  For now, they had planning to do.

*******

           The first thing Neil did, after checking the books again, was buy all the salt he could get his hands on at the grocers.

           His reading suggested that the coarser, the better, mostly because it was less likely to be blown away by wind, but at this point he was working with what he had, and what he had was three one-pound containers of fine salt.

           Neil knew that wouldn’t be enough to surround the church, much less fortify any of the homes in town, but quick experimenting with Black Shuck proved that he didn’t need a circle completely around the building.  The ghost had demonstrated quite well that trying to enter the church through a wall was like Neil walking face-first into a closed door.  The ghost had been able to stretch a paw through the open church doors, although had quickly snatched it back and shook it, ears pinned and tail tucked.  From the way the dark paw had become smoky and indistinct at the edges for those few seconds it had been inside, and Black Shuck’s reaction, it was clear that the experience was painful for the spirit.

           After Neil laid a line of salt just inside the entrance, and Black Shuck tried again, it was as if the ghost was coming up against another wall.  Satisfied, Neil had put down salt barriers on the floor at all of the church entrances and windows.

           Unfortunately, the only other preparation he was able to do had been to dig out the sage and holy water packed with Father Basil’s exorcist books, and try to memorize some of the prayers inside.  The rest of his time was taken up organizing Young Magnus’s funeral, which Old Magnus still refused to put off, despite Neil asking three more times.

           The town was too small to have a funeral home.  That meant that the funeral would be held in the church itself, which entailed not only a top to bottom cleaning of the dusty place, but organizing with Old Magnus in regards to the service.  Neil had, of course, been taught the basic rites for performing at a funeral, but learning those was a far cry from actually organizing one.  So, it was only a few short days of harried preparation for both a murderous ghost and a funeral that would likely be attended by the entire town, all while growing steadily more paranoid and uneasy at the lack of appearances or attacks by said ghost.

           What could go wrong?

*******

           The day of the funeral dawned cold and gray, the stones of the church washed out and dingy in the diffuse light, the stained glass drained of color.  Lightning flashed between clouds that threatened rain, but weren’t delivering yet.

           At this point, Neil probably should have taken it as a sign.

           But no, he was too busy putting last minute touches around the church, including redoing the salt line at the main entrance further into the church so that it would be out of reach of the rain, so much so that he nearly forgot to eat.

           Well, he did forget to eat, up until he swayed and nearly fell over while sweeping fallen leaves off of the back steps where the coffin would be carried out later.  If not for Black Shuck suddenly appearing and catching him against a broad, icy side, he would have ended up having dying grass for breakfast.  The ghost gave him an unamused look before pointedly using his head to shove Neil towards the door.

           “Alright, alright, I’ll go eat,” Neil said, rolling his eyes before muttering under his breath about mother hens.

           He refused to admit that the ghost had been right, as the first group of people started arriving only moments after he stuffed the last bite of cheese sandwich in his mouth and rushed to make sure that the flowers were properly arranged on the coffin and the tables to either side.

           Neil spent the next hour greeting people, doing his best to provide comfort about someone he barely knew, and at one point serving as a living tissue when Young Magnus’s girlfriend, Elizabeth, needed a shoulder to cry on.  During this time, thunder quaked and began to rattle the stained-glass windows, coming more frequently as the scuffed old pews filled.  Eventually, once Old Magnus confirmed that everyone had arrived, Neil was able to close the church doors against the dropping temperature.

           It took some time, but finally everyone was seated, and Neil took his place at the pulpit.  He bought himself a little time to calm his nerves by adjusting the stack of papers before him and deliberately breathing deep and slow.

           Okay.  He could do this.

           “In every celebration for the dead, the Church attaches great importance to the reading of the word of-“

           KRAKOOM!

           Every person in the building jumped.  Several screamed in shock, not all of them women.  Neil’s breath caught in his throat, and his blood ran cold.

           The church doors had burst wide open, smoking gashes on the wood that heavily resembled claw marks where lightning struck.

           More screams, now, as people turned around and spotted what had Neil frozen in terror.

           The ghost loomed in the church entryway, hackles nearly brushing the doorjamb.  Pale fangs flashed in the watery autumn light streaming in around it, and glowing red eyes cast a bloody pall over the assembled town as it took one deliberate step inside.

           ‘The salt!  Why isn’t the salt-‘

           Neil’s stomach roiled with nausea as he spotted the white line scattered and broken and indistinct from the multiple people walking inside.

           He hadn’t thought to redo the salt line again after everyone arrived.

           And now that murderous creature was free to come inside.  In the midst of Neil’s terror, he knew now why it had been so quiet the past few days.  The accursed spirit had been biding its time, waiting for this.

           And now, the entire town was gathered in one place, and the ghost had no shortage of victims, like a fox that had broken in with the chickens.

           Another step, unnaturally sharp claws digging into and ripping the old rug underfoot.

           Another.

           The ghost was inside now, and those bared fangs were a cruel, mocking grin.  It knew it had them cornered.  There was only one hallway to the back, only a few people could fit through it at a time, and the rest would be trapped out here with that monster. The ghost was savoring the moment, steps slow and silent and sure, and all with that mocking, snarling grin.

           Panic erupted through the crowd, people dashing for the only exit not blocked by certain death, the crush of multiple people all trying to fit into a narrow hallway at once effectively stoppering their escape.  The ghost’s grin only widened.

           Sobbing broke Neil out of his frozen daze.  Not daring to turn his head, he flicked his eyes over to see Ronan, the baker, clutching little Brynn to him.  The big man was turned so that his back was to the ghost, and his daughter was crying in terror into his chest.

           Neil’s heart squeezed.

           No.  He couldn’t let this thing kill everyone, not without at least trying to slow it down, maybe buy some time for more people to escape.

           Moving slowly, he slipped his hand into his robes, watching the slowly advancing ghost carefully. He frowned slightly, eyebrows furrowing. It looked… odd.  The edges were slightly indistinct, almost…

           He gasped as he realized what he was seeing.  It was the same thing that had happened when Shuck had shoved his paw inside the church to prove a point, only on a larger scale.

           The ghost may be powerful enough to enter the church, but that didn’t mean that the holy ground wasn’t still hurting it.

           Maybe, just maybe…

           Finally, his hand closed around the three things he had hidden in his robe.  Slowly, he pulled out the vial of holy water, the bundle of sage, and the lighter.  The flame caught and flared after a few flicks of his thumb, and he shakily lit one end of the sage bundle.

           Unfortunately, the fire also caught the ghost’s attention, and the ever-present snarl became less mocking as it shifted to fury.

           Neil was trembling, he knew he was, and he couldn’t keep his voice steady, and he really, really hoped that he remembered the prayer he had memorized correctly, even as he stepped out from behind the pulpit and thrust the sage before him like the world’s most pathetic shield.  “Spirit of our God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Most Holy Trinity, Immaculate Virgin Mary, angels, archangels, and saints of heaven, descend upon me. Please purify me, Lord, mold me, fill me with yourself, use me.”

           The ghost’s attention was completely on him now.  On the one hand, it was buying time for more people to cram down the hallway towards the back exit of the church.  On the other, the ghost’s attention was completely on him.

           Neil was certain by now that he was going to die, but if he could just buy enough time to let everyone else escape…

           “Banish all the forces of evil from me, destroy them, vanish them, so that I can be healthy and do good deeds.”

           The ghost parted its teeth, flinching back slightly as a draft drew the sage smoke closer.  It was a little more indistinct around the edges, but still terrifyingly solid as those eyes burned bright as the world’s heart blood that thrummed in the core, and just as deadly.

           Neil was just opening his mouth to continue the prayer when the ghost crouched, preparing to leap.

           A black figure, massive but smaller than the giant, menacing one, landed on the ghost’s back, teeth flashing down into the back of its neck.

           Neil had seen dogs fight before.  This was more or less the same, except scaled up ten times and far more terrifying.

           His eyes went wide as Shuck’s teeth clashed against those of the larger ghost, green eyes burning as fiercely as red.  The pews had been nailed to the floor, but that seemed to make little difference as the two massive dogs rolled together, smashing through them or just ripping them up and shoving them aside.  The terrible snarls of the larger ghost were joined by the crashing and cracking of breaking wood, and several people screamed in terror or pain as flying shrapnel struck them.  Even more terrifying was how small his friend was compared to the other ghost, and that Shuck was already even more indistinct around the edges than the other ghost.  Neil’s throat grew tight as he realized what the ghost was doing.

           Shuck was buying him time to finish the exorcism.

           He couldn’t waste this chance.  His voice was squeaky with terror, his throat not wanting to loosen and work and grant him his voice back, but he managed to continue the prayer, each word hard-fought against fear that wanted to close his throat and seize his tongue into silence.

           Neil had to dive backwards as the whirling ball of flashing fangs and ragged fur rolled past.  People who were crammed against the walls screamed as the fighting ghosts drew close, and Neil’s breath caught as the smaller one planted his paws and heaved, stopping their progress mere inches from the huddled humans at the cost of the larger setting its teeth into his neck and flinging him like a rag doll back into the middle of the room.  Shuck began to pick himself back up, only to go down as the larger ghost slammed into him, and the fighting began anew.

His stomach dropped and worry-borne nausea hit him as he registered that both ghosts were growing more indistinct.  He palmed the vial of holy water and just prayed he could get a good shot at the right one once the prayer was complete.

           Neil continued to chant the prayer, dashing across and trailing the burning sage so that the smoke hovered in the air.  Seconds later, the fighting ghosts rolled through, making them both jerk and spasm and their edges grow steadily more frayed.

           ‘Forgive me, Shuck,’ Neil thought, then took a deep breath and finished the last lines.  “-to leave here forever, and to be consigned into the everlasting hell, where they will be bound by Saint Michael the archangel, Saint Gabriel, Saint Raphael, our guardian angels, and where they will be crushed under the heel of the Immaculate Virgin Mary. Amen.”

           The larger ghost ripped Shuck down off its neck and pinned him to the church floor with a massive paw, jaws widening to deal the final blow-

           Then gagged and jerked back as the open vial of holy water hit the back of its throat, coating it.

           The ghost heaved and writhed, clawing at its own mouth as it rolled and bucked.  It snarled, which shaded into a scream that had Neil slapping his hands over his ears. Glowing red eyes, burning with hatred, locked on Neil.  Jerkily, the ghost slowly rolled and got to its feet, holy water dribbling out from its open lower maw.  Neil swallowed, gripped the crucifix hanging around his neck tightly, and began to back away.

           There was no need.  The ghost managed a single step, then convulsed.  It gagged again, then gave one last piercing scream as it burst into black mist, which quickly burned away.

           Relief made Neil’s knees suddenly go weak, and he collapsed to sit on the torn-up floor.  Shakily, he looked around, noting almost hysterically that only one pew at the very front had survived the fight.

           And then he registered the still black form still laying on the floor, edges frayed like an old sweater and a broken pew visible through him.

           “Shuck!” Panicked, Neil scrambled to his feet and rushed to his friend. Weakly, the tip of the ragged tail twitched, and even as he watched, Shuck grew transparent enough that he could see the floor’s woodgrain through him.

           The church’s holy ground was still acting on the ghost, and he was too far gone to get himself out.

           Grunting, Neil wrapped his arms around that big barrel chest and hauled, wincing as his back popped.  “You’re a ghost, how are you so heavy?” he hissed under his breath, even as the ghost only moved a half foot or so across the floor.  Registering for the first time in several minutes, he looked up to find those who hadn’t managed to get out staring at him.

           “What are you looking at?  He just saved all of us, get over here and help me!” Neil didn’t care that he was snapping, and he felt he could probably be forgiven, considering the situation.

           As a one, all of the watching people crowded back and away, to a one watching the still ghost with marked distrust.

           Neil swallowed down disgust and bile and pulled again, his back screaming in pain as he slowly hauled Shuck back to the open church doors.  Out, out, he had to get him out before he was destroyed as well.

           A dozen feet from the door, Neil’s arms suddenly slipped right through Shuck and he fell backwards.  Wincing, he sat up, and nearly sobbed at how transparent the ghost was.  By now he was on the long rug Neil had set out to soak up water in case it started raining, so experimentally Neil stood and pulled on the end.  At seeing Shuck move with the rug, he grunted and pulled with all his might, dragging the ghost the rest of the way out of the church doors.

           Neil ignored the first fat drops of rain, staring at the ghost.  Please, please let this not be too little, too late.

           Shuck weakly looked up, gave a single wag of his tail as he buried his nose in Neil’s stomach.  The ghost gave a long sigh of what seemed like relief, then closed his eyes and faded away.

********

           It had been three months since the fight in the church.

           “You sure you want to be leaving?  We would really appreciate you sticking around,” Old Magnus said as Neil grunted and shoved at the top of his suitcase, then finally resorted to sitting on it to get it to close enough to snap the latches shut.

           “I can do more good as an exorcist.  I’m lucky to have been accepted for training,” Neil repeated what he had told the congregation during his final Mass.  “Father Greene is a good man, I’ve met him before.  He’ll take good care of all of you.”

           “Well, if it’s what you want.” The old man shuffled nervously, leaning heavier on his cane, then cleared his throat.  “I never thanked you.  For getting rid of that thing.  It didn’t bring back my son, but…”

           Neil gave a single nod, then a tight smile.  “I understand.  If you don’t mind, I’d like to take one last walk around the grounds.  Say goodbye and all that.”

           Old Magnus nodded, gave Neil one last strained smile, and turned to limp off.  Neil made no offer of help.

           Neil took a deep breath, picked up his suitcase, then headed down the hall and out the back door of the church, into the cemetery.  Winter had fully set in, snow softening the lines of the stone church and the headstones that stretched out before him, still fresh and untouched from the snowfall the night before.  He didn’t linger, and only glanced around before heading straight for the copse of trees and underbrush in the far corner.  Once there, he set his suitcase down and began to work his way in.

           It took a bit to get through, and he ended up with more than a little snow on his robes, but soon he was standing in front of that lonely wooden grave marker.  He swallowed to clear his throat, then spoke aloud.

           “You’re sure this is what you want?”

           Shuck faded into view, sitting beside the wooden cross.  The ghost gave a single nod and a slow wag of his tail.  Neil knew the ghost’s answer already, Shuck had made it quite clear that he had no desire to stay in a town that no longer trusted him, and frankly, Neil couldn’t blame him.

           Carefully, Neil lifted the collar from the cross, unbuckled the end, and wrapped it twice around his left wrist before awkwardly rebuckling it one-handed.

           Once he had smoothed his sleeve back down to cover it, Shuck stood and stepped forward to shove his cold head into Neil’s chest, tail wagging furiously.  Laughing softly, he hugged the huge head and ruffled the ghost’s ears.

           “Come on.  We’ll miss our ride if we take too long.”

           This time, when he stepped out of the trees and picked his suitcase up, the ghost fell into step on his left side.  Neil allowed his free hand to fall to the back of the ghost’s neck, burying into chill fur and giving a gentle scratch.

           They could both do more good this way.

[ravenvsfox]

67: “My clothes look really good on you.” Neil/Andrew? Pretty please? 🙏🏻

It’s sickly hot on the day they’re supposed to play their first match of the season, a late summer heat that peels the cold morning away and sweats people out of their layers.

Neil’s mostly used to discomfort, so he puts his head down and gets on the bus. The rest of the foxes complain dramatically and threaten to strip until Wymack blasts the air conditioning and cuffs a few heads.

Everyone zips their sweaters off and ties their hair up, starting the laborious process of nest-making for the duration of the 9 hour drive to Cleveland. Every time Neil looks Andrew is aloof and pristine, like the sun isn’t any better at getting under his armour than anyone else. 

If you’re looking properly, you can see sweat turning the ends of his hair up and darkening his temples. It’s a strange indignity that Andrew wears like a calculated choice.

Nicky presses his icy water bottle into the base of Neil’s neck, and he gasps, clutching for the source.

“He lives!” Nicky says. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes.”

“We’ve been on the bus for thirty seconds,” Neil snaps.

“Thirty seconds too long,” Nicky laughs, leaning over the back of his seat so his arms dangle over Neil’s lap. “You wanna come talk strategy with Kev?”

Neil meets Nicky’s bright eyes, overly conscious of Andrew at his back, mussed by the temperature. He feels buttery nostalgia for the three hours they spent talking on the way to Baltimore, teeth pulling his lip in the empty bus, opening doors and considering it a win when Andrew didn’t close them.

“We’ve been pouring over stats for two weeks,” Neil tells Nicky, purposefully looking out the window to avoid his gaze. “We’re walking in ready.”

“Ahh, you’d think that. But apparently we have ‘blind spots’ that need seeing to. So says her majesty.” Nicky smirks, nodding at Kevin over his shoulder.

“Is he vice captain?”

“No,” Nicky says, mouth already curling in satisfaction.

“Then tell him to fuck off.”

“With pleasure, Neil Josten,” Nicky says, overly dramatic, winking back at him as he wanders to Kevin’s seat.

“Are you finally sick of it?” Andrew asks, and Neil lets himself enjoy the thrum of satisfaction he gets whenever Andrew initiates things. He turns all the way around in his seat.

“Of exy? No. Of kevin, yes.”

Andrew’s cool eyes trip over the foxes and windows and coughing AC units, landing on Neil and settling. Neil feels a yank in his gut like someone caught him by the waist while he was running full speed.

“Give me your bag.”

The feeling ebbs in a distracted sort of way, and Neil frowns. “Why?”

Andrew looks away, eyelashes light and fine on his cheekbones when he blinks. Neil knows from experience that another five minutes of heat would have curled Andrew’s hair and flushed his cheeks and neck.

He wants to see that. Like if he could take Andrew off the bus and kiss him in the thick heat, it would fix the feeling in his stomach.

“I want something,” Andrew says simply.

Neil rolls his eyes, but stands anyway. “That’s new.” He sways with the bus as he wrestles his duffel bag from the overhead compartment, dropping it on the seat next to Andrew.

Andrew unzips the top halfway and peels back Neil’s meticulously packed layers. The bus nearly topples him, so he settles back in and watches Andrew work, charmed.

He seems to find what he’s looking for, and Neil sees a flash of black fabric and the blur of Andrew rising out of his seat and into the aisle.

“Where are you going?”

Andrew slides him an unimpressed look and walks to the bathroom installed in the back of the bus. Neil watches him go, wondering wildly if he’s supposed to follow him.

He glances back along the groove of the aisle and finds Kevin ignoring Aaron and Nicky to glare at him. Beyond him, Matt’s grinning at Dan as she talks one of the newcomers through a play, and Allison’s curled up with a sleep mask and Renee’s shoulder.

He sits back against the sun-hot window and lets the jerky motion of the road keep him alert. He looks back towards the closed bathroom door and forward again, curiosity shivering over him.

Andrew emerges a second later, and Neil’s mouth goes cottony dry.

He’s put on Neil’s shirt. It’s the one that goes high enough to cover the scars framing Neil’s collarbones when he’s wearing it, but it leaves his arms open. It was part of this layered ensemble that Andrew bought him over the summer, but he almost only wears it to sleep because it shows the thatched burns on his ribcage. It’s breezy and comfortable and it’s not the first time Andrew’s stolen it.

But he doesn’t usually wear it where people can see, with his sweaty hair pushed halfway back and his arms pink from the sun he caught on the roof yesterday.

He sweeps back into his seat and pulls one knee up to his chest, and Neil watches the orchestration of his muscles matching up and tensing.

Andrew’s finger enters his field of view, too close to focus on. “Get that look off your face.”

“Get my shirt off, then,” Neil says before he can clap a filter on it. Andrew splays his arm all over his lounging knee, and Neil can see a pale triangle of skin under his arm, which shouldn’t mean anything to him. It shouldn’t.

“I didn’t pack for 100 degrees,” Andrew says, voice mild.

“Good,” Neil blurts.“My clothes look really good on you.” He swallows, and Andrew blinks at him, a bored predator.

“That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard, Neil!” Nicky hollers from four seats up. Neil’s mouth pinches with annoyance. “I’ve fucked guys, and that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No one wants to hear that,” Aaron says, putting in earbuds and shoving over to the far end of his seat.

“I thought it was relevant context,” Nicky argues, and Kevin smacks him in the back of the head.

The front of the bus devolves into chaotic conversation, and Neil looks back at Andrew.

“I was serious.”

“I know you were.” This would be where he took a drag from his cigarette, if this was their rooftop. This would be where he kisses him. Neil watches him with that secret in his mouth, and when Andrew looks back, he can tell he’s thinking the same thing.

“It will not be a regular occurrence,” Andrew says. “Your wardrobe is barely fit for one person.”

“Right.” Neil smiles right behind his teeth, where it doesn’t show on his face. “I’m willing to take the hit.”

Andrew regards him over the seat back. “Aren’t you always?”

Neil leans in and drags his eyes deliberately over the column of Andrew’s neck on the way to his face. “I want to kiss you.”

Andrew tilts his head. “I can’t help you.”

Neil takes this without complaint, but he stays folded over the back of the seat. “This is enough,” he says, a foot between them, Andrew’s broad shoulders holding his shirt taut across them.

“Shouldn’t you be obsessing over the court by now?” Andrew asks, cleanly sidestepping Neil’s attention.

“It is a court,” Neil says, smiling. “It’ll still be there in nine hours.”

“And yet you drag us along three times a day to get your fix.”

“No one asks you to come.”

Andrew gives him a look and Neil huffs, looking at the ceiling like it’ll stop the thrill from showing on his face.

“But I’m glad you do.”

“You’re in a sharing mood today,” Andrew says, like he’s commenting on an unfortunate traffic jam.

Neil reaches out to finger the collar of his shirt, and he feels a hollow jerk go through Andrew when his knuckles brush his neck. “It must be the heat.”

[newssplashy]

HOUSTON — In an era in which privileged individuals search constantly for the next experience to obsess over and post about on social media, space truly remains the final frontier, a luxury that only the 1 percent of the 1 percent can afford.

Now a company called Axiom Space is giving those with piles of money and an adventuresome spirit something new to lust after:

The prospect of an eight-day trip to space that is plush, if not entirely comfortable, and with a bit of the luster of NASA as well.

Circumambulating his gray carpeted office on a recent Wednesday, Mike Suffredini — NASA veteran, Houston native, and the chief executive of Axiom Space — stopped in front of a cardboard compartment about as big as a telephone booth.

“It’s no New York hotel room,” he said with a shrug, as if apologizing for its size.

“It pretty much is, actually!” said Gabrielle Rein, Axiom’s marketing director.

“It” was an early mock-up of a cabin for a commercial space station, among the first of its kind, that Axiom is building: a mash-up of boutique hotel, adult space camp and NASA-grade research facility designed to hover approximately 250 miles above Earth.

Axiom hired Philippe Starck, the French designer who has lent panache to everything from high-end hotel rooms to mass-market baby monitors, to outfit the interior of its cabins.

Starck lined the walls with a padded, quilted, cream-colored, suede-like fabric and hundreds of tiny LED lights that glow in varying hues depending on the time of day and where the space station is floating in relation to Earth.

“My vision is to create a comfortable egg, friendly, where walls are so soft and in harmony with the movements of the human body in zero gravity,” Starck wrote in an email, calling his intended effect “a first approach to infinity. The traveler should physically and mentally feel his or her action of floating in the universe.”

Brace for the rise of the cosmos-scenti.

At the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, Suffredini spent 10 years managing the International Space Station, the hulking, 20-year-old research facility in low Earth orbit.

This gives him a certain edge over Branson and Jeff Bezos, the founder of Amazon, who is overseeing Blue Origin. (The majority of Axiom’s 60 employees also hail from NASA.) At least Suffredini thinks so.

“The guys who are doing Blue Origin and Virgin Galactic are going to the edge of space — they’re not going into orbit,” he said. “What they’re doing is a cool experience. It gives you about 15 minutes of microgravity, and you see the curvature of the Earth, but you don’t get the same experience that you get from viewing the Earth from above, and spending time reflecting, contemplating.”

And, naturally, posting to Instagram.

“There will be Wi-Fi,” Suffredini said. “Everybody will be online. They can make phone calls, sleep, look out the window.”

Maybe it will be so nice they’ll want to stay there.

The Starck-designed station is scheduled to open in 2022, but Axiom says they can start sending curious travelers into orbit as early as 2020. They’ll just have to make do with the comparatively rugged accommodations of the International Space Station, which is working with Axiom and other commercial space station outfits.

Axiom’s station can house eight passengers, including a professional astronaut. Each will pay $55 million for the adventure, which includes 15 weeks of training, much of it at the Johnson Space Center, a 10-minute drive from Axiom’s headquarters, and possibly a trip on one of Elon Musk’s SpaceX rockets. Three entities have signed up for on-the-ground training, which starts at $1 million, Suffredini said, though he declined to name them. The inaugural trip will be only $50 million: “It’s a bargain!”

“The lion’s share of the cost comes from the flight up and down,” he went on. “Rocket rides are expensive. You know people” — meaning competitors — “don’t know what they’re talking about if they’re quoting prices substantially less than what we’re stating.” (Aurora Station, a luxury space hotel being built by Orion Span, another Houston-based aerospace company, announced in April that it would charge $9.5 million per person for a 12-day trip, but did not mention the cost of the rocket ride there and back.)

Phil Larson, a former space policy adviser to President Barack Obama who also worked for SpaceX, doesn’t expect travel prices to drop drastically in the next few years. “These habitat and outpost companies are great, but we need to solve the launch cost and transportation problem,” Larson said. “It’s like the biggest elephant in the room nobody talks about.”

The barriers to entry, beyond cost? Being 21 or older — there’s no age cap — and passing a medical exam, before the rest of training begins, as well as “The Right Stuff"-like tests of mind and mettle, like a spin in a human centrifuge (even the YouTube videos are hard to stomach). “Not only do you experience the Gs, you get put into a can that’s really — I mean, if you’re going to be a little claustrophobic, this is where you’re going to feel it,” Suffredini said. “About half the people that fly get sick for the first two or three days. Going with us for eight days gives you a chance to get over that. If you don’t get sick, you have all this time!”

Axiom guests will be required to wear a NASA-grade spacesuit for the rocket ride to and from the station. (Features include a fiberglass torso and a drink tube. Also, a diaper.) Years after Pierre Cardin, Paco Rabanne and Andre Courrèges envisioned space-age fashion, Axiom is in talks with a high-end European fashion house it declined to name about designing leisure suits for travelers once they dock. “They will be tailored to each person and can be customized with their own logo, if they want,” Rein said. “It’s a very special keepsake and part of their luxury experience.”

To understand the grand scale of Axiom’s plans, it helps to know that astronauts have, thus far, largely been roughing it up there. The Johnson Space Center contains a life-size mock-up of the ISS, whose drab, beige interior is lined with drab, gray handholds to tether down things and people, necessary given the lack of gravity. A tour guide quaintly referred to the onboard bathroom as a “potty.” There are no showers.

“The few folks that have gone to orbit as tourists, it wasn’t really a luxurious experience, it was kind of like camping," Suffredini said. The Axiom station will still have handholds, but thanks to Starck (whom Suffredini hadn’t heard of before Axiom’s branding consultant suggested they hire him) they will be plated in gold or wrapped in buttery leather, like the steering wheel of a Mercedes.

Axiom’s private cabins will have screens for Netflixing and chilling — there’s not a lot to do up there, although going outside to do a spacewalk is a possibility — and there will be a great, glass-walled cupola to gather with travelers and take in a more panoramic view of Earth, perhaps with an adult beverage.

“Wine and cocktails work well,” said Michael Baine, Axiom’s chief engineer. “Beer and carbonated beverages do not. You don’t have the gravity to separate the carbon dioxide in your stomach so it causes a lot of bloating.”

You’ll want to pack deodorant. “There’s a hygiene compartment where you do kind of a sponge bath,” Suffredini said.

Fond of folksy sayings (he referred to wine as “fruit of the vine”) and thorough explanations, Suffredini, who is 59, retired from NASA in 2015 with the intent of starting a commercial space venture. Soon after leaving, he became the president of the commercial space division of the engineering firm Stinger Ghaffarian Technologies, and in 2016, began Axiom, which has raised more than $10 million in funding so far.

“We’ve met their engineers, we’ve seen their plans, we hired domain experts that grilled them and did a deeper dive,” said Lisa Rich, a founder of Hemisphere Ventures and an early Axiom investor. “Everything came up with ‘This is a big go sign, we’ve got to get in on this.'”

“At the Johnson Space Center, when Mike walks down the hall, they’re all practically saluting him,” Rich said. “He’s a legend in his own right.”

Suffredini’s professional life has revolved around space. “I was like everybody who watched Neil Armstrong walk on the moon and decided that NASA was cool and wanted to work there,” he said. While he’s overseen many missions, he hasn’t been in orbit and has no plans to see Axiom for himself. (“We’d have to work out who’s going to cover my cost,” he demurred, when asked.)

Still, Suffredini sees Axiom as a necessary step in continuing scientific research and development in space, which he believes is crucial to the survival of our species. Axiom may cater to rich thrill seekers, but he insists he is an idealist. “If you just go visit and come back, you’re not pioneering,” he said. “You’ve got to pioneer.”

Pioneers include countries who have yet to send someone to space, material-science researchers, and biologists trying to understand how the body adapts outside Earth’s atmosphere. Also, maybe, Tupperware.

“They’re interested in working with us,” Suffredini said, “testing different types of containers, seeing how you can cook in them in a sort of clean way. But with this idea, this grand idea that we have, comes cleaning dishes and cleaning a microwave, and who wants to do that? Pretty soon we’re going to be flying a butler with every crew.”

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

SHEILA MARIKAR © 2018 The New York Times

via NewsSplashy - Latest Nigerian News Online

[newssplashy]

HOUSTON — In an era in which privileged individuals search constantly for the next experience to obsess over and post about on social media, space truly remains the final frontier, a luxury that only the 1 percent of the 1 percent can afford.

Now a company called Axiom Space is giving those with piles of money and an adventuresome spirit something new to lust after:

The prospect of an eight-day trip to space that is plush, if not entirely comfortable, and with a bit of the luster of NASA as well.

Circumambulating his gray carpeted office on a recent Wednesday, Mike Suffredini — NASA veteran, Houston native, and the chief executive of Axiom Space — stopped in front of a cardboard compartment about as big as a telephone booth.

“It’s no New York hotel room,” he said with a shrug, as if apologizing for its size.

“It pretty much is, actually!” said Gabrielle Rein, Axiom’s marketing director.

“It” was an early mock-up of a cabin for a commercial space station, among the first of its kind, that Axiom is building: a mash-up of boutique hotel, adult space camp and NASA-grade research facility designed to hover approximately 250 miles above Earth.

Axiom hired Philippe Starck, the French designer who has lent panache to everything from high-end hotel rooms to mass-market baby monitors, to outfit the interior of its cabins.

Starck lined the walls with a padded, quilted, cream-colored, suede-like fabric and hundreds of tiny LED lights that glow in varying hues depending on the time of day and where the space station is floating in relation to Earth.

“My vision is to create a comfortable egg, friendly, where walls are so soft and in harmony with the movements of the human body in zero gravity,” Starck wrote in an email, calling his intended effect “a first approach to infinity. The traveler should physically and mentally feel his or her action of floating in the universe.”

Brace for the rise of the cosmos-scenti.

At the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, Suffredini spent 10 years managing the International Space Station, the hulking, 20-year-old research facility in low Earth orbit.

This gives him a certain edge over Branson and Jeff Bezos, the founder of Amazon, who is overseeing Blue Origin. (The majority of Axiom’s 60 employees also hail from NASA.) At least Suffredini thinks so.

“The guys who are doing Blue Origin and Virgin Galactic are going to the edge of space — they’re not going into orbit,” he said. “What they’re doing is a cool experience. It gives you about 15 minutes of microgravity, and you see the curvature of the Earth, but you don’t get the same experience that you get from viewing the Earth from above, and spending time reflecting, contemplating.”

And, naturally, posting to Instagram.

“There will be Wi-Fi,” Suffredini said. “Everybody will be online. They can make phone calls, sleep, look out the window.”

Maybe it will be so nice they’ll want to stay there.

The Starck-designed station is scheduled to open in 2022, but Axiom says they can start sending curious travelers into orbit as early as 2020. They’ll just have to make do with the comparatively rugged accommodations of the International Space Station, which is working with Axiom and other commercial space station outfits.

Axiom’s station can house eight passengers, including a professional astronaut. Each will pay $55 million for the adventure, which includes 15 weeks of training, much of it at the Johnson Space Center, a 10-minute drive from Axiom’s headquarters, and possibly a trip on one of Elon Musk’s SpaceX rockets. Three entities have signed up for on-the-ground training, which starts at $1 million, Suffredini said, though he declined to name them. The inaugural trip will be only $50 million: “It’s a bargain!”

“The lion’s share of the cost comes from the flight up and down,” he went on. “Rocket rides are expensive. You know people” — meaning competitors — “don’t know what they’re talking about if they’re quoting prices substantially less than what we’re stating.” (Aurora Station, a luxury space hotel being built by Orion Span, another Houston-based aerospace company, announced in April that it would charge $9.5 million per person for a 12-day trip, but did not mention the cost of the rocket ride there and back.)

Phil Larson, a former space policy adviser to President Barack Obama who also worked for SpaceX, doesn’t expect travel prices to drop drastically in the next few years. “These habitat and outpost companies are great, but we need to solve the launch cost and transportation problem,” Larson said. “It’s like the biggest elephant in the room nobody talks about.”

The barriers to entry, beyond cost? Being 21 or older — there’s no age cap — and passing a medical exam, before the rest of training begins, as well as “The Right Stuff"-like tests of mind and mettle, like a spin in a human centrifuge (even the YouTube videos are hard to stomach). “Not only do you experience the Gs, you get put into a can that’s really — I mean, if you’re going to be a little claustrophobic, this is where you’re going to feel it,” Suffredini said. “About half the people that fly get sick for the first two or three days. Going with us for eight days gives you a chance to get over that. If you don’t get sick, you have all this time!”

Axiom guests will be required to wear a NASA-grade spacesuit for the rocket ride to and from the station. (Features include a fiberglass torso and a drink tube. Also, a diaper.) Years after Pierre Cardin, Paco Rabanne and Andre Courrèges envisioned space-age fashion, Axiom is in talks with a high-end European fashion house it declined to name about designing leisure suits for travelers once they dock. “They will be tailored to each person and can be customized with their own logo, if they want,” Rein said. “It’s a very special keepsake and part of their luxury experience.”

To understand the grand scale of Axiom’s plans, it helps to know that astronauts have, thus far, largely been roughing it up there. The Johnson Space Center contains a life-size mock-up of the ISS, whose drab, beige interior is lined with drab, gray handholds to tether down things and people, necessary given the lack of gravity. A tour guide quaintly referred to the onboard bathroom as a “potty.” There are no showers.

“The few folks that have gone to orbit as tourists, it wasn’t really a luxurious experience, it was kind of like camping," Suffredini said. The Axiom station will still have handholds, but thanks to Starck (whom Suffredini hadn’t heard of before Axiom’s branding consultant suggested they hire him) they will be plated in gold or wrapped in buttery leather, like the steering wheel of a Mercedes.

Axiom’s private cabins will have screens for Netflixing and chilling — there’s not a lot to do up there, although going outside to do a spacewalk is a possibility — and there will be a great, glass-walled cupola to gather with travelers and take in a more panoramic view of Earth, perhaps with an adult beverage.

“Wine and cocktails work well,” said Michael Baine, Axiom’s chief engineer. “Beer and carbonated beverages do not. You don’t have the gravity to separate the carbon dioxide in your stomach so it causes a lot of bloating.”

You’ll want to pack deodorant. “There’s a hygiene compartment where you do kind of a sponge bath,” Suffredini said.

Fond of folksy sayings (he referred to wine as “fruit of the vine”) and thorough explanations, Suffredini, who is 59, retired from NASA in 2015 with the intent of starting a commercial space venture. Soon after leaving, he became the president of the commercial space division of the engineering firm Stinger Ghaffarian Technologies, and in 2016, began Axiom, which has raised more than $10 million in funding so far.

“We’ve met their engineers, we’ve seen their plans, we hired domain experts that grilled them and did a deeper dive,” said Lisa Rich, a founder of Hemisphere Ventures and an early Axiom investor. “Everything came up with ‘This is a big go sign, we’ve got to get in on this.'”

“At the Johnson Space Center, when Mike walks down the hall, they’re all practically saluting him,” Rich said. “He’s a legend in his own right.”

Suffredini’s professional life has revolved around space. “I was like everybody who watched Neil Armstrong walk on the moon and decided that NASA was cool and wanted to work there,” he said. While he’s overseen many missions, he hasn’t been in orbit and has no plans to see Axiom for himself. (“We’d have to work out who’s going to cover my cost,” he demurred, when asked.)

Still, Suffredini sees Axiom as a necessary step in continuing scientific research and development in space, which he believes is crucial to the survival of our species. Axiom may cater to rich thrill seekers, but he insists he is an idealist. “If you just go visit and come back, you’re not pioneering,” he said. “You’ve got to pioneer.”

Pioneers include countries who have yet to send someone to space, material-science researchers, and biologists trying to understand how the body adapts outside Earth’s atmosphere. Also, maybe, Tupperware.

“They’re interested in working with us,” Suffredini said, “testing different types of containers, seeing how you can cook in them in a sort of clean way. But with this idea, this grand idea that we have, comes cleaning dishes and cleaning a microwave, and who wants to do that? Pretty soon we’re going to be flying a butler with every crew.”

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

SHEILA MARIKAR © 2018 The New York Times

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