#Virginia Chapman | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

universitypenguin · 1 year ago

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Summary: Princess conducts interviews with witnesses in Fredericksburg to learn more about the disappearance of Li Wei and Zoe Chapman. Meanwhile, Lloyd confronts Tate Corbin about what he saw the night Julia went missing, but the answers only lead to more questions.

Word Count: 5,064

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Author’s Note: I’d like to dedicate this chapter to @nomadstucky. Without her, I never would’ve been able to dig my way out of this latest writing slump. Her feedback was critical to getting this chapter moving in the right direction when I was going off the rails creatively. Thank you so much!

Warnings: Allusions to domestic violence, discussion of murder and other criminal behavior. Minor use of foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.

Chapter XXIII

The cabins were in good repair. Seeing them in person disrupted the mental image you’d formed of the Chapman Bible Camp. It wasn’t the neglected place of crumbling disrepair you’d imagined it to be. Words like charming and neat came to mind, rather than decrepit and gloomy. The cottages were arranged around an ellipse shaped quad in uniform fashion, like spokes on a wheel. Their vibrant colors were reminiscent of the famous bathing boxes at Brighton Beach. Each one was painted a different shade of the rainbow and trimmed in a contrasting hue. The yellow cabin had purple trim, the green cabin fuchsia pink, and so on.

Instead of the Adirondack style commonly found in rural Virginia, the cabins boasted steep, angled roofs and front-facing gables adorned with whimsical gingerbread bargeboards. The whole aesthetic was so unabashedly Queen Anne that the cabins could’ve blended in with the homes on San Francisco’s famous Postcard Row. They seemed both too sophisticated and too cute for these primitive woods.

After her husband passed away, Mrs. Chapman had sold the bible camp. It was now in the hands of a musician who’d turned the tabernacle into a concert hall and rented out the cabins on Airbnb. Zach was fetching the keys from the owner while you waited on the porch of the converted tabernacle.

Standing here, you wondered if this visit was a fool’s errand. This morning Lloyd had called to tell you he’d be leaving the search party this afternoon to cover Roth’s interview with Tate Corbin. After hanging up, you’d itched for something productive to do. The abduction had injected a fresh sense of urgency into the investigation, but you’d agreed to keep your distance from Harmony because Lloyd was worried that Shun Nguyen would return to familiar surroundings. It was a reasonable assumption, one you didn’t have a counter argument for.

Still, you’d itched with a need to do something, so you’d turned to the mystery surrounding Li Wei and Zoe Chapman. Now that you were actually here you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d drifted off course. The place to look for fresh leads was forty miles north of here, yet this was where you’d come.

What breakthroughs did you expect to generate digging into a case that was almost twenty-five years old? You were about as far from a lead as Pluto was from the sun.

Gravel crunched as Zach came up the walk behind you.

“I got the keys,” he said.

“The place looks better than I expected. More charm, less gloom.”

“Like a fucking rainbow in the woods,” Zach said, inserting the key in the lock.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s creepy, though.”

“Creepy?” you asked.

“The place feels off. Too pretty for its history, like Gettysburg without a war memorial.”

- - - - -

Zach went to explore the camp and forest while you waited in the concert hall for your witnesses. Twenty minutes later, the first of two former employees arrived.

Mrs. Koep was a petite fair-skinned woman with thin lips and a broad face. She wore a white button down with a silk scarf draped around her neck and carried a pink Michael Kors purse. Her handshake was firm when she introduced herself as the camp’s former groundskeeper. Right behind her, the other ex-employee Mrs. Brittenridge entered the hall. Mrs. Brittenridge was the opposite of Mrs. Koep. The former administrative assistant and camp nurse was tall and thin. In contrast to Mrs. Koep’s carefully coiffed appearance, Mrs. Brittenridge wore a plaid button down with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, straight leg jeans, and scuffed suede boots. Her dark brown hair, worn in a shaggy bob, gleamed with red highlights that complimented her olive complexion.

If they hadn’t introduced themselves, you’d have figured Mrs. Brittenridge for the groundskeeper and Mrs. Koep for the nurse. You sat down together in the pews. The two women took the second row while you sat in the first, angling yourself to face them.

“Thank you for coming,” you said.

“Of course,” Mrs. Brittenridge replied.

“Why did you want to meet us here?” Mrs. Koep asked.

“My colleague, Zach, is exploring the grounds, and I thought the familiar setting might help jog your memories.”

Mrs. Koep’s chin lifted. “My memory is just fine.”

Mrs. Brittenridge shot the blonde woman a tired side-eye, but didn’t comment.

“Rolling Stone magazine said your law firm is investigating the murders in Harmony,” Mrs. Koep said. “Is that true?”

“I’m afraid I can’t comment about ongoing cases.”

She scowled.

“We’re glad someone’s looking into Li Wei and Zoe’s disappearance again, and we’re happy to help anyway we can,” Mrs. Brittenridge said.

“I was hoping you could fill in some blanks surrounding Li Wei’s disappearance. What was she doing just before she disappeared?”

Mrs. Koep answered first. “She was supposed to take the campers on a nature hike before lunch, but never showed up. I learned she was missing when Mr. Chapman came to the potting shed and asked if I’d seen her.”

“The last time I saw her was that morning,” Mrs. Brittenridge said. “She came into the office to fill up her water bottle.”

“What time was that?” you asked.

“Eight-thirty,” Mrs. Brittenridge said.

You turned to the other woman. “And you, Mrs. Koep?”

“I caught a glimpse of her around nine. She was heading into the woods.”

“And Zoe?”

They debated whether Zoe had been with Li Wei that morning or not, but neither one could say for sure. With some more questioning the women decided their last official sighting of the little girl had been on Friday afternoon.

“What about Li Wei’s personal life?” you asked.

Mrs. Koep scoffed. “Non-existent. Her social life fell off a cliff after Zoe was born - some people even compared her to Boo Radley.”

By the icy glare she shot at Mrs. Brittenridge, you could guess who ‘some people’ had been.

“Betty, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You were right, though! She was a recluse! She was bored and lonely. All of her friends had gone off to college and left her behind.”

“She had Zoe, and her parents. You were there for her, too,” Mrs. Brittenridge said.

“It wasn’t enough,” Mrs. Koep said, wringing her hands. “Her mother should’ve pushed her to date, to get out and socialize. She practically was Boo Radley in the end.”

Mrs. Brittenridge sighed. An uncomfortable silence settled, and you waited to see if they’d continue. When they didn’t you pivoted to the main line of questioning you hoped this visit would shed light on.

“Who was Zoe’s father?”

Mrs. Brittenridge stiffened. Beside her, Mrs. Koep’s expression transformed from distraught to frosty. Neither of them answered. You retreated to a less aggressive position, realizing the delicacy of the subject called for coaxing, not pushing.

“Mrs. Koep, you worked here the longest. Since 1982, if the records are correct. Were you close with Li Wei?”

“Yes. She used to follow me around everywhere, always wanting to play in the dirt when I was planting flowers. I had kids who were a few years older than her, so I didn’t mind.”

“Did she ever confide in you about Zoe’s father?”

“Li Wei was a quiet girl,” Mrs. Koep said.

“She was quieter after she had Zoe,” Mrs. Brittenridge interjected.

You weren’t getting any useful information from the direct approach. Despite their obvious dislike of one another, the women were working in concert to dodge your questions.

A strategic retreat was in order.

“Do you have any theories about what happened to Li Wei and Zoe?”

Mrs. Brittenridge lowered her gaze, but Mrs. Koep offered a theory immediately. “I always assumed it was an accident of some kind. There’s a lot of abandoned mining shafts in the area.”

Mrs. Brittenridge’s lips compressed into a flat line.

You smiled at the former groundskeeper. “Mrs. Koep, would you mind taking my colleague, Zack, around? It would be nice to get the perspective of someone who knows the area.”

“Of course.”

“Mrs. Brittenridge, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to see where the administrative building was.”

“There’s not much to see. The new owners tore it down.”

“Any familiar spots would be great,” you said.

You led them out of the tabernacle and Mrs. Koep headed east to where Zach was inspecting the tree line, while Mrs. Brittenridge turned west. She walked to a picnic table hidden behind a grove of trees and sat down on one side. You took the place opposite her.

“This is where I used to take my breaks.”

“It’s a pleasant spot.”

“It’s private. You wanted to get me alone, so go ahead. Ask,” Mrs. Brittenridge invited.

“Do you know who Zoe’s father was?”

“No. Li Wei and I were friendly, but we didn’t have a relationship where she’d be comfortable sharing such personal information.”

“Would Mrs. Koep know?”

“Maybe. Betty was like an aunt to her. I always assumed she’d confided in her, but I’m not sure.”

“How long did you and Betty work together?”

“Seven years.”

“Were you full or part time at the camp?”

“Full time, May through August. I was a school nurse at Monroe High.”

“Li Wei graduated from Monroe, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“What was she like as a student?”

Mrs. Brittenridge considered the question before answering. “She was very smart, especially in English and exceptional in art. She wasn’t the most outgoing person, but always had friends.”

“You’d say she was well liked?”

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Brittenridge said. “She wasn't exactly shy, just reserved. The kind who thought before speaking.”

“Was she much of a partier?”

“Not in high school.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And after?”

“Sometimes when you’ve led a sheltered life, a little freedom goes to your head.”

“Got it. One more question. Why don’t you and Betty get along?”

“I had a cell phone in 1992.”

“Mmmhhh.”

“You’re too young to understand, aren’t you?”

“Probably.”

“Back in the early nineties, only drug dealers had cell phones, or at least that’s what people thought. I had one, which immediately roused her suspicions. To add insult to injury, I set up a website for the camp in 1996, then persuaded the Chapmans to put in a computer station so the kids could email their parents instead of writing letters. You’d have thought I suggested we convert to Satanism.”

You ran through your follow up questions and then walked Mrs. Brittenridge to her car, thanking her again for coming.

Then you headed down the curving path, around the oval lawn, past the cabins, to the garden shed. Zach was waiting outside.

“How’d the tour go?” you asked.

“I don’t think she likes me,” he said.

“Welcome to the club.”

Zach smirked. “Oh? Your charm met its kryptonite?”

You sneered at him, ignored his silent laughter, and stepped over the threshold into the plywood floored shed. The only source of light was a rectangular skylight on the roof.

Mrs. Koep was standing on the far side of the shed with her back to you. Her hands rested on a high table constructed from two-by-fours and MDF board. She stared at the garden tools that hung from the pegboard behind the table. Despite her chic clothing, she looked far more at home in this spartan surrounding with its crude furnishings than she had in the concert hall.

“I missed this place,” Mrs. Koep said, breaking the silence. “It’s weird to miss somewhere that smells like manure and gasoline, but I did.”

Mrs. Koep turned around and leaned against the table, crossing her arms over her chest. It was time for the confrontation.

“You knew Li Wei better than anyone,” you said.

“I like to think so.”

“Do you really believe she and Zoe fell into an abandoned mining shaft?”

“No, I don’t. But that’s what I want to believe, so I do.”

“Is it easier that way?” you asked.

“Being in denial for twenty years isn’t easy, it’s a survival mechanism.”

“What exactly were you in denial about, Mrs. Koep?”

It was stuffy and warm in the shed, but she rubbed her arms as if trying to generate heat.

“At first, you let yourself believe something irrational. Then… when reality breaks through the facade… you make yourself believe it because you can’t accept the truth.”

“You know something about Li Wei’s disappearance that you’re not telling me.”

“You’re very blunt for someone so young.”

“Thank you.”

“I wish I’d been that way when I was twenty-five. It would’ve spared me a divorce.”

This time you didn’t respond, just nodded.

“Li Wei didn’t give me the name of Zoe’s father. She said he was from up North - I think she meant D.C. - and that he’d been in a fraternity. They weren’t in a relationship or anything like that. Zoe was the product of a one night stand.”

“Did he know about Zoe?”

“I’m not sure but I think she would’ve told him. Whatever the case was, he wasn't in the picture. Li Wei was dating someone else.”

Excitement surged in your blood. That hadn’t been in the file. “Really? When did she start seeing him?”

Mrs. Koep squeezed her arms, gripping them until her knuckles turned white.

“Some time in March.”

“Why didn’t you tell the police?”

“Because I was afraid her parents wouldn’t approve. I didn’t want to start any trouble for her.”

You nodded. “And you’re sure the relationship began in March?”

“Pretty sure. I always came up early to start on the flower beds. He drove a motorcycle - not a Harley, it was a sporty thing, like the one Tom Cruise rode in Top Gun. I saw it parked in front of her cottage a few times.”

“Did you ever see her boyfriend?”

“A couple times, from a distance,” Mrs. Koep said.

“Can you describe him?”

“Caucasian, early twenties, with dark blond hair. I guess he was about six feet tall, give or take. He looked a bit like David Beckham.”

“You spoke to her about him?”

Mrs. Koep nodded. “I warned her that if I’d seen her sneaking around with him it was only a matter of time before one of her parents caught on.”

“What did she say?”

“She told me it hadn’t been serious and that they’d broken up.”

You swiped open your phone and pulled up an image of Julia Xiarong.

“Have you seen this woman before?”

She studied the photo carefully. “I don’t think so. Who is she?”

“She was related to Li Wei. A friend of hers said she’d been looking into her family history in 2002 and uncovered records of an adopted cousin.”

“How did she know they were cousins?”

“There was a family mystery about her uncle. He fought in the Chinese Civil War and fled to Taiwan in the 1940s. No one ever heard from him again. She found his death certificate and learned that he’d had a daughter who died in childbirth, which led her to Li Wei’s adoption records.”

“Was there proof Li Wei was related to her?” Mrs. Koep asked.

“If you mean a DNA test, I don’t believe so. Her friend said she came to Fredericksburg in March 2002 and tried to get in touch with Mrs. Chapman. I don’t know if they connected or not.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if they did,” Mrs. Koep said. “Mrs. Chapman had Alzheimers. She’d lost everything but her long-term memories by the end of 2001. Her sister came up from Arizona to take care of her. She stayed on for a year until it was time to move Mrs. Chapman into a memory care unit, then sold the camp.”

“Is it possible she met with Mrs. Chapman’s sister?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you have a number for the sister?” you asked.

“In my address book. I’ll send it to you.”

“Thank you.”

Mrs. Koep squinted at Julia’s picture. “She’s dead isn’t she?”

You cringed internally, realizing your mistake. Detective Roth was going to have your head.

“I do recognize her. She was in the Rolling Stone article.” Mrs. Koep’s eyes narrowed. “You found Li Wei and Zoe’s bodies, didn’t you?”

“I can’t share any information about the investigation.”

You braced yourself for her to unsheathe her claws, but instead of lashing out, she opened her tiny pink purse and handed you a card. It was an old-fashioned calling card with her name, phone numbers and email address.

“When you can release their bodies, please call me. They deserve a proper funeral.”

“That’s very thoughtful. Especially after all this time.”

“It’s the only thing left. I can’t do anything else for them now.”

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I’m sure talking about this wasn’t easy.”

“I wish I could’ve been more helpful,” she said.

“On the contrary. You were very helpful.”

Mrs. Koep looked confused. When you didn’t elaborate, she sighed. “Alright then. Is that everything?”

“Yes. Zach can walk you to your car.”

You watched from the doorway of the shed as the pair walked down the ellipse shaped path towards the tabernacle and the parking lot beyond it. When they were far enough away, you took out your phone and dialed Annabeth Greene.

She answered on the fourth ring.

“Hey, how’s it going? Have you made any progress on your case? The one with the cousins?”

“That’s why I’m calling. Do you remember running Li Wei and Julia’s DNA samples?”

“Of course I do. It’s the most interesting thing I’ve cracked in months.”

“What about Zoe’s?”

“The little girl?” Annabeth asked.

“Yeah.”

“I thought I already sent you an analysis of her DNA.”

“You did, but I was wondering if there would be any way to identify her father?”

Annabeth sucked in a long breath. “Ugh. Look, I can try, but I’m not optimistic. A lot of genetic libraries have closed the loop holes that allowed us to use ancestry DNA to identify suspects for law enforcement.”

“I’m not law enforcement.”

“You’re as bad as Lloyd.”

“Can you do it?”

“If I loosen my definition of ethics,” Annabeth said.

“You’re the best. I owe you.”

“Uh-uh. Lloyd owes me. It’s going to be something good, too. Expensive. You tell him that.”

“Will do.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In a semi-private alcove within the vast common room of Fairfax Fields Assisted Living facility, Lloyd faced down his prime suspect. Tate Corbin didn’t look eighty-three. His face was wrinkled but his posture was impeccable. Also, he seemed to be made of Teflon, because nothing stuck to him. It wasn’t charm that formed the protective coating that resisted Lloyd’s best interrogation tactics. Just the opposite - the Teflon shield surrounding Corbin was constructed of impertinence.

None of his usual tricks were working, and that pissed Lloyd off. He was good at two things in the interrogation room: getting a rise out of someone and building a sense of despair that made them unravel. Corbin was immune to both tactics.

First, there was no getting a rise out of Corbin. The man existed in a perpetual state of annoyance; the only dependent variable was the subject of his ire. Second, Lloyd didn’t have any actual evidence and therefore wasn’t equipped to build a sense of despair.

He wished he’d brought you along. If he had, he probably wouldn’t be sitting here listening to Corbin monologue about his various hatreds. Mr. Corbin hated scarlet macaws, because his neighbor had one and it wouldn’t shut up. He hated New Jersey and their subpar roads that were always under construction.

Trying to forge a connection, Lloyd empathized with that sentiment and inadvertently triggered a cascade of grievances.

The architecture of FedEx Field was hideous and the Washington Commanders had been on the downhill slide ever since they’d let Kirk Cousins sign with the Vikings. Tate claimed to despise Roger Goodell, Jerry Jones, and the entire NFL organization. And he loathed the football commentators on TV, too. They didn’t know shit about football. He preferred to watch the games on mute these days. Lloyd really, really didn’t want to agree with Tate Corbin… but he was right about a lot of things, especially the Commanders letting Kirk Cousins go. However, he wisely kept his agreement to himself and sat back, waiting for Corbin to run out of steam.

There was a rant against the commissioner of baseball, which didn’t have enough context for Lloyd to figure out whether Corbin hated the office or the individual who currently occupied it. Without a segue, the topic shifted to how social media addictions were the younger generation’s smoking. As much as he hated social media, Tate also had plenty to say about the mass media, and he didn’t hesitate to bend Lloyd’s ear about it.

Tate had been talking for almost ten minutes straight before Lloyd found an opening to put the conversation back on track.

“I hate dogwood trees,” Corbin said.

“You had a disagreement with Shun Nguyen about a dogwood tree, didn’t you?”

“Eh?”

“Dogwood trees,” Lloyd repeated, louder.

Corbin turned up the volume on his hearing aides. “Yeah, I did. That damn tree was growing over the fence and he wouldn’t trim it! Claimed he didn’t have the time!”

“We need to talk about his girlfriend’s death.”

Tate turned his head. His eyes shifted to the window. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t offer a comment.

“I’m here to talk about Julia’s death and the missing women,” Lloyd said.

“Always back to that, huh?”

“The investigation has been re-opened.”

“It’s old news. What’s there to talk about?” Corbin asked.

“You were convinced that Shun Nguyen killed Julia, is that right?”

“Damn right. They were always scrapping. I told her straight out that he’d kill her someday, but she didn’t listen.”

“Were you familiar with any of Dr. Nguyen’s other victims?”

Tate’s initial chattiness had waned. He shrugged. “The whole town heard about them. Heck, most of the country did.”

“Tell me about it.”

Mr. Corbin ran his tongue around his teeth. An expression of disgust, like he’d just bitten into something rotten, flashed across his features. The silence lengthened between them and Lloyd decided to prod.

“Did you know Stacey Moore?”

“Her grandfather and I golfed at the same course. We never played together or anything, but we’d see each other at the bar sometimes. I suppose you already know Maya Sutton interned for my accountant.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’ve done your homework. Everything I’ve told you was in the files, so you tell me - what’s the point of this? What are you getting at?”

Lloyd uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

“In 2002 you claimed you saw a man walking across Nguyen's lawn on the night Julia went missing. I think you were lying.”

Tate straightened, his scowl darkening. “Lying about what?”

“You didn’t see a man. You made it up.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To throw the police off your scent.”

Realization dawned, and then Tate chuckled. “You think I’m the killer?”

“You hated Shun and Julia.”

“And the others?”

“You’re not much of a people person, Mr. Corbin. That can be very frustrating. You couldn’t join them, you couldn’t beat them, so what does that leave? You kill them.”

“That’s pretty twisted logic,” Tate said.

“Six women are still missing and we have the bodies of three others, so yeah. The whole thing is pretty twisted.”

“I’m not much of a people person, Mr. Hansen, but I’m not a killer.”

“Can you prove that?”

Tate snorted. “Actually, I can. You see, you’re not the first person to accuse me.”

Lloyd raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Peter Shaw, a reporter out of D.C. - obnoxious bastard.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“He tried to accuse me of being the killer in a story for some hipster magazine ten years ago. The editor called before they ran the story, trying to verify the facts.”

“What facts?”

“About my whereabouts during the times those other women went missing. Stacey Moore was the first, in June of ‘99. A few months later Maya Sutton disappeared. The next summer it happened again. Two more victims.”

“Do you remember their names?” Lloyd asked.

“Peyton Quirk and Kayla Ballesta.”

“They disappeared in the summer, too?”

Lloyd knew the answers to the questions he was asking, but he wanted to see if Tate did.

“Peyton disappeared in July and Kayla went missing during the first week of September.”

Lloyd pretended to make a note on his pad.

Tate continued down the list. “He took Lucy Lund in May 2001. Stephanie Young went missing in September.”

“You’re very familiar with the case, Mr. Corbin.”

“Of course I am. I was at Nguyen’s trial every single day, both times. Which is why I was able to track down the tickets and photos from my summer vacations in 1999 and 2001. There are three ex-merchant marines, guys I served with in the sixties, who can vouch for me. We’ve done a biennial fishing trip in Maine for the last thirty years.”

“Their names?” Lloyd asked.

He took them down, along with the phone numbers the old man rattled off from memory.

“You’re grasping at straws if you think I’m your guy,” Corbin said.

Lloyd had a sinking feeling he’d just grasped at said straws and they’d slid through his fingers. He clicked his pen and sat back, studying Tate carefully.

His body language was open and relaxed. He didn’t seem rattled by Lloyd’s prodding, which made him think the man was being honest. Of course he would check with the merchant marines to be certain but Lloyd suspected his alibi would check out. It was a shame Peter Shaw didn’t share information from his unpublished articles, because it would’ve saved Lloyd a trip.

“I didn’t lie, you know. I saw someone walking across Nguyen’s yard that night,” Tate said.

Lloyd noticed the way Tate’s left hand shifted to cover his right wrist when he said ‘someone.’

It was a subtle gesture of self-protection, the kind of thing you or Zach would be able to discern the meaning of. He couldn’t read the emotions on Tate’s face. Discomfort? Fear? Or was he gloating over some withheld piece of information? Being caught out of his depth was irritating. Lloyd switched tactics, dropping the confrontational strategy.

Corbin had a propensity to interject whenever he felt something was being misconstrued, so Lloyd phrased his next words as a statement instead of a question.

“You saw someone that night and recognized them.”

“No, I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t recognize them for sure. Not at the time.”

“But later, you figured out who it was,” Lloyd said.

“It was just a guess.”

“A name?”

Mr. Corbin adjusted the leg of his trousers, smoothing out a crease. “Guess isn’t really the appropriate word. Maybe you’d call it a… hypothesis?”

Lloyd wanted to grab Tate by the collar of his polo shirt and shake the answer out of him. Instead, he smiled, trying to school his features into a neutral expression.

“About a month afterwards, I had an epiphany, of sorts and the puzzle pieces just snapped together. There was a neighbor boy. He was college age but still lived with his parents. A big, strapping kid, just like the figure I saw.”

“Why do you think it was him?” Lloyd asked.

“I woke up that night because their dog was barking. I got up to see what was going on, but by the time I reached the window the dog had shut up.”

“Which house did these neighbors live in?”

“The one adjacent to Nguyen’s property.”

“Left or right?”

“Right,” Tate said.

Lloyd jotted down a note. “Anything else?”

“Like I said, I wasn’t sure if it was the kid or not. But he fit the general description of the person I’d seen, and that dog didn’t bark much. I figure that’s why the dog started barking - he’d smelled his owner.”

“Was he coming or going from the house?”

“Assuming it was him, he would’ve been returning to his house.”

“By cutting through Nguyen’s yard?”

“His parents had a security camera pointed at the front door,” Tate said. “I asked his father about their setup after things went down. I was thinking of getting myself a security system and he told me they only had the one camera for the front door.”

“And?” Lloyd prompted.

“Given the camera at the front door, he would’ve had to sneak in through the back. Nguyen’s yard wasn’t fenced. The easiest path would have been to cut through Nguyen’s front yard, go around the back of their house, and jump the fence into the next yard.”

“You never mentioned this to the police,” Lloyd said.

“Dealing with ‘em left a bad taste in my mouth. They’re idiots, the whole lot. Look at who they’ve got locked up now! One of their own evidence clerks! While I happen to think they’ve got the wrong man, I'm sure glad that fellow is off the streets.”

“Yeah?”

Corbin’s face scrunched. “With Leo McKenzie in the slammer Harmony’s DUI rate is about to go into free fall, if you catch my drift.”

“You didn’t think it mattered if you said anything or not.”

Tate grunted in acknowledgement.

“You seem to have this whole case figured out,” Lloyd said.

That earned him a smile. The old man leaned in, lowering his voice. “Want to know what else I think?”

Lloyd mimicked the posture, inclining his head.

“I’ve got a theory about why they never found any remains.”

“Really?”

“Copper Ridge Quarry.”

“I’m not familiar,” Lloyd said.

“It’s an abandoned mine, closed down in the 60s. Toxic waste. Acidic runoff. That’s where the bodies went.”

This interview was burning up more leads than it was generating. Perhaps he didn’t need to check out Corbin’s alibi after all, Lloyd realized. Tate definitely wasn’t their guy. The coroner’s findings on Julia and Li Wei pointed towards the other end of the pH spectrum, away from acid.

Even so, he played along, raising an eyebrow. “Acid.”

“It’s so strong it’s off the pH scale, into the negative numbers.”

“Interesting.”

“It’s more than interesting. Acid dissolves everything. No bodies, no evidence. Take my word for it - look into Copper Ridge Quarry and you’ll find your killer.”

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Next - Chapter XXIV

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#the princess and the lawyer #series: the princess and the lawyer #the princess & the lawyer #series: the princess & the lawyer #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #lloyd hansen fanfic #lloyd hansen fic #lloyd hansen fanfiction #lloyd hansen au #chris evans character au #chris evans character fanfiction #chris evans character x reader #the grey man fanfiction #the grey man fanfic #the grey man fic

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brokehorrorfan · 2 months ago

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Clay McLeod Chapman (Ghost Eaters, What Kind of Mother) will publish Wake Up and Open Your Eyes in hardcover, e-book, and audio book on January 7 via Quirk Books.

Drawing comparisons to The Last of Us and When Evil Lurks, the 384-page social horror novel follows a family on the run from a demonic possession epidemic that spreads through media.

Noah Fairchild has been losing his formerly polite Southern parents to far-right cable news for years, so when his mother leaves him a voicemail warning him that the "Great Reawakening" is here, he assumes it’s related to one of the many conspiracy theories she believes in. But when his own phone calls go unanswered, Noah makes the long drive from Brooklyn to Richmond, Virginia. There, he discovers his childhood home in shambles, a fridge full of spoiled food, and his parents locked in a terrifying trance-like state in front of the TV. Panicked, Noah attempts to snap them out of it and get medical help. Then Noah’s mother brutally attacks him. But Noah isn’t the only person to be attacked by a loved one. Families across the country are tearing each other apart-–literally-–as people succumb to a form of possession that gets worse the more time they spend watching particular channels, using certain apps, or visiting certain websites. In Noah’s Richmond-based family, only he and his young nephew Marcus are unaffected. Together, they must race back to the safe haven of Brooklyn–-but can they make it before they fall prey to the violent hordes? This ambitious, searing novel from "one of horror's modern masters" holds a mirror to our divided nation, and will shake readers to the core.

Pre-order Wake Up and Open Your Eyes by Clay McLeod Chapman.

#wake up and open your eyes #clay mcleod chapman #the last of us #when evil lurks #horror #tlou #quirk books #book #gift #horror books #horror novel #ghost eaters #possession #demonic possession

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manyfandomocs · 5 months ago

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Descendants OC Masterlist (K-Z)

(A-J)

Name: Kirsti Bjorgman (daughter of Anna and Kristoff)

Fic: The First Time In Forever

Love Interest: Ben & Mal

FC: Molly Quinn

Name: Landon Lahr (son of the Cowardly Lion)

Fic: No One Mourns The Wicked

Love Interest: Lonnie

FC: Drew Ray Tanner

Name: Lilliana Taylor (daughter of the Good Witch of the North)

Fic: No One Mourns The Wicked

Love Interest: Mal & Evie

FC: Maia Mitchell

Name: Magnolia Andersdatter (daughter of Morgana)

Fic: Land and Sea

Love Interest: Harry Hook

FC: Laura Harrier

Name: Mavis Basile (daughter of Maleficent)

Fic: Evil Like Me

Love Interest: Ben & Uma

FC: Emma Dumont

Name: Nadia Thropp (daughter of the Wicked Witch of the East)

Fic: No One Mourns The Wicked

Love Interest: Uma

FC: Logan Browning

Name: Opal Baum (daughter of Princess Ozma)

Fic: No One Mourns The Wicked

Love Interest: Ben

FC: Abigail Cowen

Name: Orion Diggs (son of the Wizard)

Fic: No One Mourns The Wicked

Love Interest: Audrey & Chad

FC: Mike Faist

Name: Phoebe Perrault (daughter of Sleeping Beauty & Prince Phillip)

Fic: Once Upon A Dream

Love Interest: Uma

FC: Kiana Madeira

Name: Polly Pan (daughter of Peter Pan)

Fic: Second Star to the Right

Love Interest: Harry Hook & Uma

FC: Liana Liberato

Name: Ruby Fitzherbert (daughter of Rapunzel and Eugene)

Fic: One Step Forward, Three Steps Back

Love Interest: Chad, Evie

FC: Virginia Gardner

Name: Sally Sanderson (daughter of Sarah Sanderson)

Fic: Come Little Villains

Love Interest: Harry Hook, maybe Harry Hook & Uma

FC: Michelle Trachtenberg

Name: Serafina Stabbington Chapman (daughter of a Stabbington brother Merida)

Fic: Chase The Wind and Touch The Sky

Love Interest: Mal or Jay or OC

FC: Piper Curda

Name: Sigmund Smee (son of Smee)

Fic: A Pirate's Life For Me

Love Interest: Jay & Carlos

FC: Chase Stokes

Name: Stephen White (son of Snow White)

Fic: Foolish Thing of Mine

Love Interest: Poly Core Four

FC: Tom Holland

Name: Tatiana Chase (daughter of Tiana and Naveen)

Fic: Almost There

Love Interest: Harry Hook & Mal

FC: Keke Palmer

Name: Wrenley Darling (daughter of Wendy Darling)

Fic: Take Me To Neverland, Baby

Love Interest: Jay, Harry Hook (possibly Jay & Harry endgame)

FC: Mackenzie Foy

Name: Zinnia Hook (daughter of Captain Hook and Zarina)

Fic: Weightless

Love Interest: Ben or Evie or Uma

FC: Alexandra Shipp

#descendants oc #oc appreciation #masterlist

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sweet-caress-of-twilight · 1 year ago

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Going off of one of my previous reblogs, i attempted to make a list of where in the world every Disney Animated Canon movie takes place

Antarctica:

Pablo the Cold-Blooded Penguin (The Three Caballeros) (Pablo starts out living in the South Pole and then he goes to Chile, Peru, and Ecuador)

Africa

The Lion King

Tarzan

Asia

Aladdin is set in a mishmash of Middle Eastern countries. It was supposed to be in Iraq, but because of the Persian Gulf War, Disney said no, so it takes place in the fictional country of Agrabah, which is inspired by Baghdad in Iraq.

Raya and the Last Dragon is set in a mishmash of Southeast Asian countries, but takes the most inspiration from Vietnam

China: Mulan

India: The Jungle Book

Europe

England: The Wind in the Willows (The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad), Alice in Wonderland, Peter Pan, 101 Dalmatians, The Sword in the Stone, Robin Hood, Winnie the Pooh, The Great Mouse Detective

France: Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, The Aristocats, Beauty and the Beast, The Hunchback of Notre Dame

Germany: Snow White, Tangled

Greece: The Pastoral Symphony (Fantasia), Hercules

Italy: Pinocchio

Norway: Frozen (Arendelle is heavily inspired by Norway)

Russia: Peter and the Wolf (Make Mine Music)

Spain: Wish (Rosas is inspired by Spain and located off the Iberian Peninsula)

Turkey: Pomp and Circumstance (Fantasia 2000) is about Noah's Ark, and many people believe that the ark landed at Mount Ararat in present-day Turkey

Ukraine: Night on Bald Mountain/Ave Maria (Fantasia) (the real Bald Mountain is Mount Triglaf, near Kyiv in Ukraine)

Wales: The Black Cauldron

North America

Mexico:

Las Posadas

Mexico: Pátzcuaro, Veracruz and Acapulco

You Belong to My Heart/Donald's Surreal Reverie (all from The Three Caballeros)

United States:

Different towns in Massachusetts and California have claimed to be the Mudville that Casey at the Bat (Make Mine Music) takes place in, but the author of the original poem said it has no basis in fact.

The Legend of Johnny Appleseed (Melody Time) - the real Johnny Appleseed (real name John Chapman) planted apple trees in Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Ontario, and West Virginia

Lady and the Tramp could take place somewhere in New England

The Fox and the Hound looks like it takes place in Appalachia, so maybe Pennsylvania or Virginia

Home on the Range is somewhere in the Old West

Bolt takes place across America: starts out in California, the title character ends up in New York, visits Ohio, and is back to California by the end

Alaska: Brother Bear

California: Wreck it Ralph (Ralph Breaks the Internet reveals that Litwak's Arcade is in California), Big Hero 6

Florida: Dumbo

Hawaii: Lilo and Stitch

Louisiana: Blue Bayou (Make Mine Music), most of The Rescuers, The Princess and the Frog

Maine: Bambi (the forest was based on Maine and the animators traveled to Maine for reference)

New York: Johnny Fedora and Alice Blue Bonnet, The Whale Who Wanted to Sing at the Met (Make Mine Music) (the Metropolitan Opera is in NYC), Little Toot (Melody Time), The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad) (the real Sleepy Hollow is in New York), The Rescuers (the Rescue Aid Society headquarters is in NYC), Oliver and Company, Rhapsody in Blue (Fantasia 2000)

Texas: Pecos Bill (Melody Time)

Virginia: Pocahontas

Washington, DC: Atlantis: The Lost Empire (Milo works at the Smithsonian

Oceania

The Rescuers Down Under: Australia

Moana: Polynesia

Pangaea

The Rite of Spring (Fantasia)

Dinosaur

South America

Argentina: Pedro, El Gaucho Goofy (Saludos Amigos)

Bolivia: Lake Titicaca (Saludos Amigos)

Brazil: Aquarela do Brasil (Saludos Amigos), Baia (The Three Caballeros), Blame It on the Samba (Melody Time),

Chile: Pedro (Saludos Amigos) (The title character delivers the mail in the Andes, between Santiago, Chile, and Mendoza, Argentina), Pablo the Cold-Blooded Penguin (The Three Caballeros)

Colombia: Encanto

Ecuador: Pablo the Cold-Blooded Penguin (The Three Caballeros) (Pablo goes to the Galapagos Islands, which is an archipelago in Ecuador)

Peru: Lake Titicaca (Saludos Amigos) (the lake is at the border between Peru and Bolivia), Pablo the Cold-Blooded Penguin (The Three Caballeros), The Emperor's New Groove

Uruguay: The Flying Gauchito (The Three Caballeros)

Unknown/does not take place in our world

Any of the package film segments not mentioned here

The Little Mermaid seems like it takes place in the Mediterranean Sea, but it could also take place in the Caribbean, which would explain Sebastian's accent

Fantasia 2000: "Pines of Rome" is set in the Arctic, so it could be anywhere from Canada to Alaska to Finland to Russia

Most of Atlantis: the Lost Empire, since the city of Atlantis is completely made up

Treasure Planet

Chicken Little

Meet the Robinsons

Zootopia

Strange World

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astrangetorpedo · 9 months ago

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boygenius: “This is the time we finally get to be around each other – we’re gonna enjoy it”

As they release The Record, one of the year's most anticipated and acclaimed debut albums, we meet Phoebe Bridgers, Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker in New York City to discuss their unique creative bond

by Gemma Samways

Tonight, the room is playing host to the 36th annual Tibet House US Benefit. Curated by Philip Glass – and featuring Laurie Anderson, Arooj Aftab and Bernard Sumner and Tom Chapman of New Order – the line-up reads like a particularly A-list episode of Later with… Jools Holland. It soon transpires its staging is similarly chaotic, with the event running approximately an hour behind schedule and artists often walking onstage unannounced.

boygenius are one of the few acts to enjoy a proper introduction. Added to the bill just 24 hours ago, their first public appearance in almost half a decade has prompted a frenzied, last minute scramble for seats, with $35 tickets exchanging hands for ten times that amount. A day later, in a photo studio in the East Village following our shoot at Jane’s Carousel in Brooklyn, the trio admit to having felt a little freaked out in the build-up.

“I was really emotional because I’ve been obsessed with Nina Simone’s Carnegie Hall album of late,” Lucy Dacus confides, sat on the sofa, sandwiched between her bandmates. Julien Baker nods, confessing to having been “so stressed about doing my job that I couldn’t fully absorb that I was playing alongside living legends.” Meanwhile, Phoebe Bridgers was still semi-delirious with jetlag, having recently landed back in the US from Japan.

“Look at this photo,” she laughs, extending her phone to me. Taken pre-gig, it shows her passed out on the dressing room floor while Lucy smirks in the foreground. “With full make-up, I look like I’m in an open casket. And because Julien was playing piano, I was having Julien-fuelled dreams.”

Certainly there were no visible signs of unease as they stepped out onstage to play stripped-back versions of ‘Not Strong Enough’ and ‘Cool About It’ – taken from their long-awaited debut album The Record – for the first time. And despite the all-star bill, the supergroup proved one of the night’s biggest draws, eliciting excited whoops from an audience who had greeted every other performer with respectfully restrained applause. Ultimately, once they started playing, they enjoyed the experience.

Less gratifying was the discovery that a group of particularly intrusive fans had tracked down their hotel after the show. “They were like, ‘Don’t worry, you’re safe’,” Lucy shudders. “And it’s like, ‘No, we aren’t: how’d you find out where we are? That’s stalking. Don’t do this.

Phoebe continues: “I mean, interactions with fans can be really sweet, especially when it’s a show like Carnegie Hall which might’ve been hard to get tickets to. But often there’s this weird thing where the rudest people bubble to the top, and the poor kid who just wants their record signed is too nice to ask. And so, while I’m trying to escape the fucking full-grown man who just grabbed me, I’m ignoring the sweet kid.

It’s fair to say a certain level of hysteria has surrounded boygenius ever since their formation. Five years ago they were all ascendant stars of the alternative scene, with the Tennessee-born Baker and Richmond, Virginia-raised Dacus being the most established, with two acclaimed albums each. By the end of 2018, the trio were being breathlessly billed by Vogue as “the Infinity War of female-led indie-rock outfits,” while their self-titled EP received widespread praise.

Objectively, it’s a collaboration that made – and still makes – total sense. Despite outgrowing their respective DIY scenes, they had each retained a fiercely independent outlook and an emotional authenticity, and that struck a chord with similarly principled, serotonin-starved audiences. Just as tantalisingly, interviews and social media interactions revealed that they didn’t take themselves especially seriously and seemed keen to distance themselves from the pedestal that fans were so intent on putting them on.

“It’s probably refreshing that we’re not character artists,” Lucy says when asked to summarise the appeal of boygenius. “Because ultimately we’re talking to you now how we usually talk to each other. Even when I’m doing my own [solo] stuff, I present a curated version of myself – like, I pick one aspect of my character per album to share. But with this band it’s totally artless.”

It’s not hyperbolic to suggest that The Record is one of the most anticipated albums of the year. To some degree that demand can be explained by Baker and Dacus expanding their fanbases further off the back of their 2021 solo records Little Oblivions and Home Video. But the real responsibility for the band’s reach surely lies at the feet of Bridgers, whose second album was nothing short of a cultural phenomenon.

Unanimously agreed to be one of 2020’s standout records, Punisher propelled the Pasadena-raised artist into music’s A-list, resulting in four Grammy nominations, an offer to found her own label (Saddest Factory, home to MUNA) and invites to collaborate with household names like Paul McCartney, SZA, Lorde and The 1975. Just days after our interview Phoebe is named one of Time’s 2023 Women of the Year, alongside Cate Blanchett and Megan Rapinoe. This coming May she will open for Taylor Swift in Tennessee, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts and New Jersey.

Despite the difference in their public profiles, the power dynamic in boygenius appears impressively balanced. A friendship first and foremost, they’ve signed the contract by acquiring matching tattoos of a tooth and of a cluster of goblets, the latter inspired by the tarot card the three of cups.

“That’s based on the first tarot reading Julien ever got,” Lucy – the band’s resident tarot expert – recalls fondly. “We were all together and that’s the first card she pulled. Plus it’s three women partying. Friendship is the highest form of love and that felt like a sweet entry into that world.”

Having been raised in the world of evangelical Christianity, Julien was initially resistant to the idea of tarot. “When you started doing a reading, I got up and sat in the tour van by myself because I thought God was gonna steal my soul,” she explains, totally serious.

“Does God do that?!” Phoebe laughs, incredulous.

“Yes! In [the book of] Samuel! But then I was like, ‘Alright, I trust you guys. I guess you can guide me through this.’ That was a fear that you guys helped me dismantle. Because by watching you engage with it, I realised that this was a tool for self-interrogation, not for summoning the devil.”

Within the band, all decisions are made democratically and affectionate ribbings are a big part of their social currency. “Roasting each other is an act of love,” Julien reasons, to the others’ approval. “If your friends aren’t talking shit about you, I don’t think they care about you.”

With Phoebe based in Los Angeles, Lucy in Philadelphia and Julien in Memphis, they largely stay in touch via group chat and FaceTime – a support network they all clearly cherish. “I can text cold something horrible that happened to me and not feel the pressure to look at my phone for hours,” says Phoebe. “But when I do I’ll see a bunch of validation.”

Julien concurs: “It’s neat that we can confide in each other. Because sometimes my sense of imposter syndrome makes me not want to talk about how excited I am about this with friends who don’t work in music. I’m talking to them like, ‘You gotta get on a plane super early and carry all this heavy equipment, so it’s not all fun.’ And having people understand it’s a job and that I’m dedicated to it is very important. But equally, with y’all I get to be like, ‘Shit’s so fucking sick!’ Like, in this band I get to be the type of excited and thankful that lacks decorum, especially when there are so many talented people in my life where our roles could have been switched in an alternate timeline.”

The roots of boygenius were laid in 2016, when Julien and Lucy performed on the same bill in Washington, D.C., followed by Julien meeting Phoebe a month later. When a canny promoter booked all three to tour together in 2018, they decided to record a collaborative seven-inch, a creative experiment that proved so fruitful they emerged with their eponymous EP.

By all accounts, the story behind The Record is similarly stress-free. Phoebe kickstarted the creative process just a week after releasing Punisher, sending a demo of ‘Emily, I’m Sorry’ to Lucy and Julien with the words, “Can we be a band again?” From there, the floodgates opened, with all three uploading demos to a shared drive, followed by two in-person writing trips – one in Healdsburg, California in April 2021 and another in Malibu in August of the same year.

Though carefully scheduled due to their individual work commitments, Lucy describes these retreats as anything but regimented. “We didn’t intend to work that hard,” she insists. “If anything, the regimen would have included breaks and we didn’t allow ourselves those.” Julien expands, “We’d be like, ‘Okay, today is a chill day,” but then we could not stop thinking about the record. And it’s just nice to be around a bunch of people who are passionate about the exact same thing.”

After whittling down the demos from a pool of 25, the final 12 were recorded at Rick Rubin’s Shangri-La studio in January 2022, with the help of co-producer Catherine Marks (Wolf Alice, Foals, PJ Harvey). Lucy specifically cites Marks’ work with Manchester Orchestra as a motivating factor for them initially reaching out, and Phoebe enthuses about her hands-on approach. “She’s the kind of producer that immediately kicks off their shoes. Wait, I’m gonna text her and tell her we’re talking about her.” She takes a group selfie of them all grinning, flicking Vs, and hits send.

Other key contributors included engineer and producer Sarah Tudzin (Slowdive, Weyes Blood), plus Jay Som’s Melina Duterte on bass. Melina will also appear as part of Boygenius’ seven-strong touring line-up, set to be unveiled at Coachella in April. Given that their band name specifically mocks society’s tendency to unfairly exalt male creatives, the idea of boygenius assembling a largely female team for this album feels satisfyingly utopian. Today, they insist it was purely circumstantial.

“They are the best people we could think of,” says Lucy. “Some days I’m like, ten-year-old me would feel that this is very important. But also there are days where I’m like, we’re doing press right now and it’s completely uninteresting that we’re women. Why are we talking about this?”

“Plus, it’s not a given that if you work with women you’re not also working with a bunch of assholes,” Phoebe grins. “Fortunately, we picked a bunch of people who aren’t assholes.” Lucy laughs. “Women can be assholes: there’s your pull quote.”

Sonically, The Record is a much richer, more ambitious collection than anything boygenius have produced previously, taking in widescreen folk-rock (‘Not Strong Enough’) and low-slung punk (‘Satanist’, ‘$20’), campfire folk (‘Cool About It’, ‘Leonard Cohen’) and string-flecked dream-pop (‘Revolution 0’), plus a swooning a cappella piece shaped around a lush three-part harmony (‘Without You Without Them’).

Though written by Lucy, Phoebe can take full credit for unearthing the latter. “I was like, ‘I want a song that’s like ‘Blue Velvet’.’ And Lucy’s like, ‘Oh… Actually I might have a song…’ And I’m like, ‘What the fuck are you talking about?!’”

“It was a washing the dishes song.” Lucy protests, smiling. “There’s, like, this whole category of songs that I don’t show people. And I didn’t think of that as a ‘me’ song because it doesn’t sound like what I do, you know? But Phoebe was like, ‘We have to do it.’ Plus, I like that it kind of picks up where we left off with ‘Ketchum, ID’ [from their 2018 EP]. So I’m glad you made us do that.”

This process of mutual encouragement is integral to the band. They’re the first to admit they’re one another’s fiercest supporters, to the extent they accidentally plagiarise each other on a regular basis. “I totally wrote ‘Garden Song’ the other day,” Julien tells Phoebe, who cheerfully bats back. “‘Revolution 0’ is basically me ripping off ‘Good News.’”

Jokes aside, all three songwriters boast instantly recognisable styles, as demonstrated by the triumvirate of singles with which they announced The Record. ‘Emily, I’m Sorry’ is quintessential Phoebe Bridgers, a slice of folky introspection that wouldn’t sound out of place on Punisher, while ‘True Blue’ showcases the quietly anthemic indie-rock that Lucy has made her calling card. Meanwhile, the buoyant ‘$20’ sees former hardcore kid Julien leaning into her love of riffing.

With most structures initially emanating from one particular songwriter, it does beg the question, what makes a track right for the band rather than remaining a solo endeavour? According to Phoebe, she relies on a type of benign Spidey-Sense. “I always know when I’m writing a boygenius song. Even with ‘Me And My Dog’ I was like, ‘I don’t think this is a solo record song.’”

Lucy is more specific. “A lot of times I’ll write a song for us in a different frame of mind, so you can be harmonising with me and saying something that’s still true for you. I don’t want to make either of you sing lyrics that don’t resonate with you.”

“I really struggle with that,” Phoebe says. “So much of my music is directly my point of view and so specific.”

“Totally,” Lucy nods, “I feel like on a lot of your songs we’re supporting…”

“…like a chorus in a Greek play,” replies Julien, finishing Lucy’s thought. “We’re not a part of the action: we’re standing behind, commenting on or observing it. But these songs only exist because we made The Record. They’re an article of the endeavour rather than a pre-planned thing.”

Lucy takes the final word on the subject. “These aren’t solo songs that we donated to each other: we had to be together to make it.”

Lyrically, The Record treads a tightrope between deadpan humour and quiet devastation. The opening line of ‘We’re In Love’ sees Lucy resolutely opting for the latter, singing, “You could absolutely break my heart / That’s how I know that we’re in love.” ‘Leonard Cohen’ falls firmly into the former camp, delivering a frontrunner for lyric of the year in: “Leonard Cohen once said there’s a crack in everything / That’s how the light gets in / And I am not an old man having an existential crisis / In a Buddhist monastery / Writing horny poetry / But I agree.”

“I think my songs have a theme of being known and feeling present,” Lucy reflects. “Because I don’t feel that at all points in my life, I’m expressing my gratitude for that.” Phoebe sees her contributions as aspirational; evidence of the very process of self-improvement. “Each of the songs I contributed have a vibe of me trying my absolute hardest to not float ten inches above my body at all times. And you guys have helped me with that, so it makes sense that it would make the album.”

‘Not Strong Enough’ is perhaps their most collaborative song: a patchwork of ideas in which each band member takes a verse, as Julien jokes, “boyband-style”. Musically, it’s also the album’s most uplifting moment, its bright melody providing a smokescreen for lyrics exploring panic attacks and low self-esteem. When I point out the deception, Phoebe laughs. “You know the meme of the pink house and the black house next to each other, where it’s like one is the music and the other is the lyrics? That’s literally a couple miles from where we recorded our album. We’ve been talking about taking a photo in front of it for years.”

After an hour in their company, it’s not difficult to see why boygenius are inspiring such levels of adoration. A tight-knit gang of smart, talented, young songwriters, they’re the sort of band I wish had existed when I was growing up, even if I am battling to resist the urge to cast them as role models. After all, why should the men of rock be lauded for chaos while women have to be figures of unimpeachable virtue? When I mention the double standard, Lucy rolls her eyes.

“I remember when Phoebe did that Playboy article [in 2020]. People were texting me like, ‘I thought she was a role model for young girls?’ And I was like, 1. You can pose in Playboy and be a role model, and 2. When exactly did she sign up for that?”

“It is tight to me that you got texts and I did not,” Phoebe smiles. “I want to be scary. Like, as women or as queer people, we’re taught that anger is not useful and that forgiveness is the highest form of enlightenment. But I don’t think so. I think that I’ve spent a lot of my life trying to make everybody in a room feel ok when I don’t feel ok. It’s great to have boundaries. And as a band we’re all really good at protecting each other.”

Staying loyal to their DIY roots, boygenius are ultimately motivated by creating a community and enjoying the process of a shared endeavour. “Writing songs for this band is the opposite of saving your darlings for yourself,” Julien explains. “I want to bring the best possible offering to the band because it’s my favourite thing. It feels good to give the songs away.”

“Seriously, we have been looking forward to this time together for years,” says Phoebe. “This is the time we finally get to be around each other so we’re gonna enjoy it.”

(x) 4/5/23

#don’t mind me i just live in fear that these interviews will be taken offline djsjskdjs #boygenuis #julien baker #lucy dacus #phoebe bridgers #interview #archival #april 2023

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sjsmith56 · 9 months ago

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Trouble, Chapter 7 - Eyes of the Father

Summary: Bucky sends a letter to Lacey via her publisher. Soon after, he is caught.

Length: 5.2 K

Characters: Bucky, Steve

Warnings: Lots of violence

Author notes: The events in this chapter happen from about a month prior to the action in Captain America: Civil War movie up to the flight to Siberia. I have tried to minimize using dialogue from the movie but that is easier said than done so have paraphrased many segments or substituted my own dialogue. There are also some segments spoken in Romanian and Russian. They are in bold case.

<<Chapter 6

✉️ 🏍️

One month previous, Bucharest.

"Iacob!" called the truck driver. "What are you looking at? These boxes won't shift themselves!"

Bucky pulled his attention back to the boxes in the truck and picked up several of them, stacking them on a dolly. He pushed the dolly into the book store while trying to figure out how a poster with Lacey's picture on it could be on full display in the book store window. There had been no time to read the blurb that went with the picture except for the name identifying her as L.C. Chapman. The driver followed him with his clipboard and together he and the book store manager went over the boxes. Satisfied at the count the manager signed the paper on the clipboard and the truck driver ordered Bucky to take the dolly back to the truck.

"You're distracted today," said the driver in Romanian as they both got into the cab of the truck. "I've never seen you this way. We have eight more stops this morning. Get your head on straight, Iacob."

Bucky nodded. "Sorry," he said. "I'll do better."

As the driver went on to their next delivery Bucky thought over the name. L.C. Chapman. Did she get married? Perhaps she chose a new pen name to keep her identity secret, especially if the Russians were still after her. Part of him still worried that he shouldn't have left her but he knew if he stayed the CIA or FBI would eventually catch him, or worse yet, HYDRA would. After work he would go to the book store and have a better look at the display, perhaps buy the book. Throughout the rest of the work day he kept his thoughts away from Lacey and just did the heavy lifting he was hired for. When the truck driver returned to his depot he handed Bucky his time slip and told him to go get paid. It was in cash, which was exactly how he wanted it.

As he jumped on the streetcar that would take him near the bookstore he kept his head down out of habit. His stop came up and he stepped off, walking towards the business, stopping to look closer at the poster now that he had the time to do it. The poster was in Romanian but at the bottom it did say they had English language copies for sale. He stepped inside and looked intently at the book display picking up one of the English copies. He looked at the author information page and was pleasantly relieved that nothing indicated she had married. It did say she suffered from agoraphobia and lived in rural Iowa. He went back to the front of the book and read the summary, smiling that the plot referred to Virginia Woolf. Then he looked at the dedication page and was startled to see the following:

To my brother Tom. I miss you all the time.

To B. Thank you for the inspiration.

L.C.C. June 2015

He smiled and pulled out some of his cash, paying for the book and walking to the market with it in his arm. Waving at some of the vendors who knew him as a regular he stopped and picked up some vegetables, putting them into the string bag he always carried in his jacket pocket. He heard his name and turned to see the fish vendor. He had a fresh catch in so Bucky picked out a trout and paid for it. The vendor said his name again and handed him something, a picture of himself.

"My daughter was practicing her photography and she took this of you," said the vendor. "I apologize she didn't ask your permission first. Here, it is yours."

Bucky looked at it and nodded his thanks. He thought of asking about any negatives but decided against it. He had a good relationship with the fish vendor and didn't want to sour it over a negative that would likely be in the bottom of a box. Before leaving the market he checked his surroundings, ever on the alert for anyone watching him. Then he took a roundabout way back to the small flat that had been home for the past year and a half. It was still dreary in many ways but it was clean, dry, and so far no one had come looking for him. After preparing and eating his dinner he laid back on the mattress and started reading Lacey's new book. As he read it he remembered something and stopped reading, putting her picture inside the page to mark his spot. He pulled out a journal type book from under the mattress and put a colour coded sticky note on the edge of the page, marking it as a memory from a certain time in his life. It was a memory of him buying Orlando: A Biography at a college campus bookstore with a senior coed on his arm. Her name was ... Edna, and they had a pretty intense physical relationship for the two weeks it lasted. Then he said something critical about the book and she took offence, telling him she didn't want to see him again. He finished writing the memory down and closed the journal.

He had several such journals, full of scattered memories, kept in a backpack that he hid under the floorboards of the apartment. It had been one of the first things he made in that dingy apartment, a hiding place for those precious memory books. The idea for it had come from the hiding place in Lacey's grandfather's house, the one the flash drive had been hidden in. Picking up Lacey's book he kept reading until almost midnight then reluctantly put it away. Stripping down to his boxers and undershirt he laid back on the mattress under the thin blanket and thought of Lacey again, hoping she was alright. Gradually, he fell asleep.

For the next few days he showed up at the truck depot, getting hired on for the day to do all the heavy lifting, receiving his cash wages at the end of the shift and heading out to the market to pick up food to eat. Then after eating he would lay on the mattress and either read Lacey's book or write down more memories that rose through the still cloudy recesses of his mind. When he finished the book after the third day he looked at it.

"Good work, Lacey," he said out loud, smiling. "I hope this one is more successful."

On an impulse he tore a sheet of paper out of one of his journals and wrote her a letter.

Dear Lacey,

I had the surprise of my life when I saw a huge poster of your face in a bookstore window. I returned there after finishing work and bought your new book. Thank you for the dedication but I really did nothing except read some Virginia Woolf in 1941. You incorporated her writings into your story in a way that was brilliant. You persevered and you succeeded. I'm so proud of you.

Obviously, I can't tell you where I am as I am still living under the radar. Every day I find an odd job that pays cash. It's enough to keep me in food, and books. In the centre of the city there is this beautiful market, full of fresh vegetables, fruits and anything else that one needs. They all know me there and keep the best produce for me, knowing that I appreciate it. Of course, I help out there from time to time, as well.

Nights are different. I stay home and read, or write down the memories that keep appearing in my mind. There is no rhyme or reason to them so I have taken to colour coding them with sticky tabs. Red is for war memories, blue is for before the war memories, yellow is for everything else except for sexual or erotic memories, which are purple. The latter often show up at the strangest times but I won't go into that other than to say the memory of our encounter won't ever have to be written down for me to remember.

I still think of that night we spent together. Making love with you was special and I will never forget how you looked when we were giving each other pleasure. There hasn't been anyone since and I'm not looking. I don't expect you to wait for me as I think I made it clear that we likely wouldn't see each other again. If you have a chance for love with a good man take it, run with it, and live it. I want you to be happy.

This seems like the right time to end this letter. I hope you are able to enjoy some success with your new book. I hope you find someone worthy of your love. I hope you are happy. I hope you don't forget me because I will never forget you.

Bucky

Before he could change his mind he put the picture with it inside an envelope and wrote her name in care of the publisher on it. Pulling his clothes on he ran to the small corner store and bought enough stamps for the letter to go to the United States. Then he posted it, tapping the mailbox with his hand before heading back to his quiet and lonely flat.

Three weeks later Bucky went to the market early as it was Saturday, he wasn't working, and it would be busy. As he picked up some plums something didn't feel right, and he looked around wondering why it felt like someone was watching him. Walking away from the fruit vendor he stood for a moment, still feeling exposed and looked up to see a man in the newspaper kiosk staring at him. The man definitely looked spooked and as Bucky approached him the man ran out of the kiosk. On the counter of the small booth was a newspaper with a blaring headline that Bucky stared at, not believing what he was reading. It was his picture and it said he had bombed a UN meeting in Vienna killing 12 people, including King T'Chaka of Wakanda, and injuring 70. He dropped it and backed away, trying not to hyperventilate. Taking his usual roundabout route he made his way to the flat only to find someone inside it. The man, whose back was to him, turned around and Bucky took a sharp intake of breath when he saw it was Steve. He was looking through one of his memory books.

Steve asked if Bucky remembered him. Bucky replied that he had read about him in a museum but Steve wasn't buying it, knowing that Bucky knew exactly who he was and why he was there. Thinking it had to do with the newspaper headline Bucky said he wasn't there and wasn't responsible for anything like that. But Steve was insistent that the people coming for him wouldn't believe him and were ready to kill him.

"Can't say I blame them," replied Bucky. "Knowing what I've done in the past it's a smart move."

He listened to the sound of heavy boots on the roof above him and started turning towards the door. Steve moved at the same time, trying to convince Bucky not to fight.

"I have no choice," replied Bucky, resigned to what was about to happen. "If I don't, they'll kill me for sure."

"You pulled me out of the river and left me on the riverbank," said Steve desperately, as Bucky pulled the glove off of his metal hand. "Why did you do that?"

Bucky shrugged not wanting to admit that it may have been an impulse because he wasn't sure if he had really remembered who Steve was at that time. Steve wasn't buying it but before he could say anything more the GS9 task force started their attack and threw flash bombs inside the room. Almost as if no time had passed from when they last fought together the two men coordinated their response to the attack and neutralized the bombs. As two armed men jumped into the room from the windows Bucky hit one, knocking him across the room to land at the other wall. After Steve dealt with the other he yelled at Bucky to not kill anyone. In response he knocked Steve over, punched the floor next to his head and glared at the man who had been his friend.

"I wasn't planning to," he said grimly, then reached into the hole in the floor and brought out his backpack from its hiding place.

Stuffing his remaining books into it he tossed it out the window onto the roof of the building next door. As more of the task force entered firing away Bucky fought them off and entered the stairwell. Steve watched Bucky methodically fight off attacker after attacker working his way down the stairwell until he had no choice but to jump only to break his fall by reaching out with his metal hand and grabbing the stair railing. Hauling himself onto that floor he ran down the hallway and out the opening at the end jumping onto the roof of the next building, rolling, and grabbing his backpack immediately.

Out of nowhere a man dressed completely in black attacked Bucky and they fought desperately against each other. Steve jumped to the roof while alerting Sam to their location. A police helicopter approached and fired at them until Sam was able to divert it. Bucky continued running across the roof, jumping off down to the ground, followed by the man in black then Steve. From there Bucky jumped down an opening into an underground roadway, running as fast as the cars were being driven. It seemed like every police car in the area was following him as he ran. Steve was able to commandeer one putting himself ahead of the others. He became aware the man in black had attached himself to his car and tried to shake him but the man didn't let go until he saw Sam approach and leaped into the air, grabbing Sam's feet. Bucky was able to take control of a motorcycle and raced through the tunnel until he came upon a row of police cars blocking his way. Switching to the opposite lanes he weaved through oncoming traffic until the man in black succeeded in jumping on him. They fought on the bike and Bucky was able to temporarily shake him off but he succeeded in catching Bucky again and both men went down, rolling hard against the pavement. Before the man in black could attack Bucky, Steve intervened and the three men faced off against each other as they were surrounded by police cars as the armed officers in them came out training their weapons on the three. Sam was forced down by Colonel Rhodes in his War Machine suit and all four men in the pursuit put their hands up in surrender. Then the man in black deactivated the suit he was wearing, removed his head covering, and revealed his identity, Prince T'Challa of Wakanda.

Bucky didn't resist, allowing himself to be cuffed and transported to a location where he was secured into a reinforced pod that restrained all of his limbs. They took everything from his pockets, even the crucifix that Eleni gave him, worried that he could use it as a weapon. The pod was loaded into an armoured truck where Bucky was accompanied by four armed guards. He never spoke on the trip to Germany, to the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre, but when they unloaded him in Berlin he saw Steve, Prince T'Challa and another man, who he recognized as the one who had searched for him in Canada, exit a police van. Steve made eye contact with him, not looking happy at how Bucky had been restrained but the former Winter Soldier was resigned to his fate. He had eluded the authorities for two years but deep in his heart he knew eventually he would be caught. At least he was alive and for that he had to thank Steve.

As he sat in the pod a man with glasses came in, introducing himself as Dr. Broussard, a UN appointed psychiatrist who was to assess him. There was something not right about Broussard, especially when he began asking Bucky questions. For the most part Bucky ignored the man until suddenly the power went out and Dr. Broussard took a book out of his briefcase that brought up the metallic taste of fear into Bucky's mouth. He recognized it as the red book that his Russian HYDRA handler had used and it contained the activation words that would bring out the Winter Soldier.

"No," he whispered, as the man began to recite the activation words that would activate the Winter Soldier, then he began yelling at the man to stop.

The man kept saying the words and Bucky began screaming as he tried to break out of the restraints wanting to stop the man from saying the words. He broke the restraints and kept punching the glass on the pod, desperately trying to break free before the man finished the last word but he was too late. As he felt his own personality sink down deep into blackness, the personality of the Winter Soldier stepped forth when he finally broke through the door of the pod.

"Soldier?" asked the man in Russian as Bucky rose from the floor.

"Ready to comply," replied the Winter Soldier, also in Russian, his face impassive.

"Mission report," said the man, switching to English. "Tell me about December 16, 1991."

The Soldier made his report and waited for his next orders. The man told him to hide and wait for Captain America to arrive, then stop him from following. Broussard laid on the floor pretending to be injured. Steve and Sam arrived within moments to the sight of the destroyed pod. Looking at the bodies of the guards on the floor Steve knew the psychiatrist had used the activation words, just like Lacey had warned him. The man sneered at Steve when he was hauled up from the floor, saying he wanted to see an empire fall. Suddenly behind him Steve heard the sounds of Sam being attacked. Turning he saw Bucky in the persona of the Winter Soldier picking Sam up and throwing him across the room. Advancing towards the Soldier the two men fought, punching each other as the Soldier forced him backwards to the elevator door where he pushed Steve through, making him fall to the bottom of the shaft. As Sam and Steve regained their senses the fake psychiatrist escaped while the Soldier made his way to the main floor atrium where anyone who tried to stop him was brutally beaten back.

T'Challa fought him and even he was thrown to the floor as the Soldier went up the stairs towards the roof. A helicopter strapped into a set of secure locks was unclipped by the Soldier, then he opened the door to the cockpit and started it up. As the aircraft began to rise into the air Steve burst through the door to the roof and approached the helicopter, grabbing its landing skids and forcing it down. Increasing the thrust to take off forced Steve to hold on to a welded steel frame on the edge of the building. With all of his strength Steve held it with one hand and braced his feet while grasping on to one of the skids with the other hand. Unable to take off the Soldier grimly directed the helicopter towards Steve, attempting to kill him with the rotors. Steve avoided injury by dropping and the rotors were destroyed when they hit the roof, grounding the helicopter. As Steve rose to look inside the cockpit a titanium fist came through the glass and fastened itself around his throat with the determined face of the Soldier trying to complete his mission glaring at him the whole time. Leaning into the destroyed helicopter Steve was able to force it off the building and into a canal beside the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre. The impact jarred loose the Soldier's hand and Steve watched as the Soldier was knocked unconscious. Reaching inside, he unstrapped Bucky and swam underwater with him to rise to the surface in a different location.

When Bucky came to he felt terrible. His head rang like a bell but when he moved he found his titanium arm clamped in a large industrial vise. Looking around he realized he was inside an abandoned warehouse and wondered if HYDRA had succeeded in getting their hands on him. The black man who he recognized earlier called out to Steve and they both came into the space where Bucky was confined. He murmured Steve's name and his friend looked at him carefully wondering out loud if he was still the soldier.

Bucky told Steve his mother's name was Sarah, then grinned when he recounted the memory of Steve filling his shoes with folded pieces of newspapers in a desperate attempt to appear taller. It brought a smile from Steve's face, as it was something that wouldn't be in a museum. It was a memory only they shared. Sam, wasn't quite convinced but took Steve's word for it that the Soldier was gone, for now. It got serious when Bucky looked anxiously at Steve and asked what happened. By the look on Steve's face Bucky realized that the activation code had been used on him to bring out the Winter Soldier.

"The words are still there inside my head," agonized Bucky. "Anyone could say them and I would have no choice but to obey."

Steve asked about the doctor who had activated him but Bucky had no idea who he was. Steve chastised him which Bucky remembered him doing growing up when he thought Bucky was trying to pass the buck. Bucky tried to remember then it came to him.

"Siberia," he stated. "He asked about Siberia, when I was kept there."

He felt almost sick as he remembered what was in Siberia and he told the two men there were more Winter Soldiers, more dangerous than him, kept in a cold storage facility, waiting for the day when they could be awakened and unleashed on the world. Steve released him from the clamp of the vice and Bucky told them everything he remembered about the other Winter Soldiers, comprised of a highly trained Russian death squad. Sam, who Steve had finally introduced properly, realized they were unlikely to get anyone to believe them about the others. But he and Steve knew they were going to need some help. As Steve and Bucky listened Sam made a couple of phone calls. Help was on the way.

After laying low overnight they found an older Volkswagen Beetle and Steve hot wired it, to the amusement of the other two. Steve drove them to an underpass where a government issued vehicle waited for them and he got out of the Volkswagen. A blond lady exited the other vehicle and opened the trunk, revealing Sam's Falcon suit and Captain America's gear.

"That's Sharon Carter," said Sam, sitting in the front seat. "She's related to Peggy Carter. You knew her, right?"

"Yeah," replied Bucky. "She wouldn't give me the time of day. Only had eyes for Steve. Can you move the seat up?"

Sam glanced back. "Not happening," he replied bluntly.

Bucky reluctantly moved to the other side of the back seat. He wasn't sure he liked this guy, Sam. Steve and Sharon kept talking and he suddenly pulled her towards him, kissing her tenderly. Then they pulled apart and Steve began taking the gear out of the trunk. He looked back at Sam and Bucky who both just smiled and nodded their approval at him. From there they drove to an airport parking structure, going up to where a large white van was parked. Steve pulled up next to it and an older man, identified as Clint, got out of the driver's seat. He looked sharply at Bucky but Steve shook his head slightly and Clint said nothing to him. A young woman, Wanda, came out of the passenger seat then Clint opened the back of the van revealing a stranger to all except Sam. The stranger sleepily sat up and saw Steve, coming forward and shaking his hand eagerly before he saw Sam. They greeted each other and Bucky figured they knew each other. At that moment an announcement in German was broadcast across the airport. Bucky listened and turned to them.

"They're ordering the evacuation of the airport," he translated.

"Get ready," ordered Steve.

Shortly after they were at the tarmac where a helicopter arranged by Clint waited for them. Steve ran to it but was intercepted by two men in metal flying suits, Iron Man and War Machine, realized Bucky, remembering them from HYDRA briefings, as he watched from the terminal with Sam. As Black Panther, a red headed woman, and a kid in a spider costume also appeared Steve explained that it was the psychiatrist who triggered Bucky. He tried to tell them about the super soldiers still in Russia but they weren't going to listen and he knew it would come to a fight. In his comms Sam told Steve where the quinjet was and the battle lines were drawn. Bucky stayed with Sam in the terminal but the kid in the spider costume kept them busy, surprising Bucky with his strength when they briefly fought one on one. Eventually everyone squared off against each other outside and Sam realized that a sacrifice had to be made, making it known to the others on their comms. The goal was to get Steve and Bucky to the quinjet. Everyone else was expendable. Clint agreed with Sam and they changed their tactics, resulting in Steve and Bucky making it to the hangar where they were confronted by Natasha, the red headed woman, who looked vaguely familiar to Bucky. Like Clint she also looked sharply at him.

"Promise you'll tell him," she said to Steve. "Promise, or I won't help you."

"I promise," said Steve. "I'll tell him everything."

She aimed her taser weapon at them then shifted it to hit an approaching Black Panther repeatedly and disable him long enough for Steve and Bucky to get into the quinjet and get it started. T'Challa tried to grasp hold of the landing gear but they were able to take off and he fell to the ground. Steve set the course and turned on the autopilot before looking steadily at Bucky.

"What was she talking about?" demanded Bucky. "What do you have to tell me?"

"There's no easy way to tell you any of it," said Steve, "so I'll start with a name. Lacey Williams or as she is known now, Lacey Chapman."

Bucky looked pointedly at Steve. "How do you know about her?" he asked anxiously. "Is she alright? Did the Russians...?"

"She's alright," said Steve, putting his hands out to calm Bucky. "She lives on Clint's farm with his family. Her and her son."

Bucky said nothing at first but as he realized Steve mentioned a son he looked stunned. "Her son?" he asked. "When did she have a baby?"

"About nine months after you left her," said Steve. "He's your son, eight months old, has your blue eyes and looks just like you."

"No, that's not possible," protested Bucky. "She was on a pill. I'm sterile from all the shit HYDRA pumped into me."

"Not as sterile as you think," said Steve. "It must have worn off because she found me a month after you left and asked for our protection to keep her and the baby secret from the CIA and HYDRA. She lived with us in Stark Tower until we were attacked there. Long story. Clint's family lives on a farm that doesn't legally exist. He offered her his protection and she took him up on it. I was with her when Tommy was born."

"Tommy?" repeated Bucky, still not completely convinced.

"She named him Thomas James, after her murdered brother and you," replied Steve. "I'm the one who called him Tommy. As soon as he was born I knew he was your son."

Steve reached inside his uniform and pulled out a flip phone. He opened the photo gallery and brought up a small photograph of Lacey and Tommy from a couple of weeks previous. Then he handed it to Bucky. The dark haired man sat back, peering at small pictures of a baby who had his eyes and the blond woman who found herself pregnant after he left her. Flipping through the gallery of pictures he looked at all the images Steve had taken of the baby from the day he was born to the most recent. He handed the phone back to Steve looking at him steadily.

"I have to make this right," he said. "As soon as we get that doctor you have to take me to the States so I can make it right with her."

"It's not the 1940s anymore, Buck," replied Steve. "She made the choice to have the baby, to keep it and to raise it herself. She wants you to get right for yourself first. Get the arm replaced, get the activation words out of your head, and get treatment for all the torture you suffered. I think she's right on this one. She's a strong woman and she'll wait for you."

"That's not how we were brought up," replied Bucky, raising his voice. "You know that. How can I leave her on her own while she raises my son?"

"She's a successful novelist," replied Steve, "and she has more money than you or I have. She'll be okay, I promise. She wants you to be well before you're together again. I'm pretty sure she wants a future with you, if you want the same."

Bucky sat there, contemplating everything then looked at Steve with resignation on his face. "Alright," he declared. "We get the doctor and then we find someone who can take this thing off. I'll go for treatment. Once I'm better, I'll see if she still wants me."

"Do you want her?" pressed Steve, trying to gauge how Bucky felt about her.

"Yeah," he replied after a pause. "If I had met her before the war I would have married her. She's the one."

Steve grinned and patted Bucky on the shoulder. When Lacey had first told him about being with Bucky he had been concerned that she was just a one-night stand but Bucky's admission that she was the one gladdened him. Not only for Bucky's sake but for Lacey's. She was worth the commitment and he would do all that he could to make sure they were reunited.

Chapter 8>>

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #sam wilson #steve rogers #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #bucharest

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