#my bill writings

[b-afterhours]

AOS Neon: Sinner's Paradise (oneshot)

SUMMARY: ‘90s. It’s the aftermath. Jaded, Bill and Alma navigate their new lives as they try to drag themselves out of the dark debacherous trenches they had once ensnared themselves in. It’s easy to forget their evils when a silver lining introduces itself into their lives but can they create a less hedonistic life that would be just as satisfying?

WARNINGS: adult content, mature readers only.

Author's Note: one of two oneshots to fill in some gaps before we saw their ending. Enjoy! sidenote: currently updating the masterlist to this full series but most are already linked at this time!

March 1995

A little over a month before their late April wedding, the family was in the office of their Seattle home during the evening. Bill sat on the armrest of the brown leather couch, looking over one of Alma’s event planners, one of many planners she owned. Alma stood before a large paper calendar hung on the wall, chewing on the end of a marker in thought. She had accidentally booked a show during the week they’d be in Vegas. Both the shop and the club would be closed to the public so that friends and family could join them.

Using his pinky finger as a guide, he read through what she had jotted down in the planner and paused at a specific date block.

“Put them here,” he stood up, grabbed the marker Alma held, and scribbled them on a date. “Second act. We’ll ask them to cut a song or two. Headliner will just go on a little later.”

“Yeah, okay.” Alma agreed, pushing her large-frame glasses up the bridge of her nose. 

“Better to reschedule than cancel.” He softly massaged the nape of her neck with his free hand, but only briefly. With the same hand, he quickly flipped to May, making sure she hadn’t scheduled anything over their honeymoon on the Amalfi Coast, but she color-blocked the row with a red marker. 

Alma noticed Bill checking the time on the big vintage wall clock. He had a phone meeting with Bianca. They often spoke on the phone, but twice a week they talked business. 

“Thanks for helping me.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “Tell Bianca I said hi.” 

He pulled her in and grabbed her ass while kissing her again with more passion. They would be making love later, hoping to get pregnant. They started in December, just as she had promised him. So far, they haven’t been successful. They weren’t trying to stress so much about it and rather enjoy themselves. Yet, there was still a little nagging, disappointed voice in the back of their consciousness. Wondering why creating Echo, though not planned, just seemed to happen so easily. Without even a thought, no less.

Alma gently pushed him away, with a lustful, knowing twinkle in her gaze. “Echo,” she turned to her. “Are you done working over there?” 

Echo had been sitting at the head of the large office desk, scribbling on loose sheets of paper, mimicking her parents at work.

“Almost.” She said, making them chuckle.

“Oh, c’mon on, E’. Let’s get ready for bed. Say nighties to Daddy. And I’ll meet you later, Daddy.” she said with a cheeky wink.

Echo slid out of the big office chair, stumbling a bit, but ran into her father's embrace, and off they went, leaving him to his second job on the other coast. 

The phone call lasted nearly an hour; half of it only pertaining to Trigger Finger, until they began speaking about their personal affairs. 

“The street the record shop sits on is having a spring block party. All the other businesses put stuff out on the sidewalks. It’s basically a little festival.” 

“What are you doing? Live music, I guess?”

“Yeah.” He said adjusting a crooked frame on the opposite wall from the desk. 

While sitting at the desk, he had been staring at it for a while and finally decided to straighten it out. Alma had created the gallery wall in the office using frames and wall decor she’d found at yard sales, thrift stores, or things within the boxes she shipped from Strathburg. Amid the ceramic jackalope head, small framed prints, and mirrors, there were personal effects included in the montage as well. A few concert photos and some artistic shots Alma had taken of Echo were on display. 

One photo showed Bill and Alma as teens; Bill leaned against a post with one foot flat against it, a cigarette between his fingers, while Alma stood in front of him. In the photo, their heads were turned toward the camera. Bill had a slight scowl on his face, while Alma wore a sweet smile. Despite the fact that the photographer had obviously called for their attention, neither could remember who had taken the photo. They were at a football game, though they never sat on the bleachers to watch, but rather hung out behind them with others who also came just to have something to do on a Friday night. Nearby was the rosary Alma's father, Antonio, had given her, filled with some of her sibling's ashes. She hadn’t known what to do with it for a while until Ulyssa, with her crafty ways, suggested displaying it inside a shadowbox.

“But we have this narrow alleyway that separates us from the main set of buildings,” he continued, walking past an antique armoire that housed Alma’s cameras behind glass cabinet doors. He took a seat at the desk once the frame was no longer a bother. “We hired a muralist to paint an image of Echo on the wall. This gel print in neon pink and yellow that Alma made for me a few years ago for Valentine’s.” 

“Oh, yes! I’ve seen that on the mantel at the penthouse during Thanksgiving.” 

“Yeah! I brought it back this way. It’s the last thing we're doing to the building. Once we had the marquee up in front of the entrance, I kinda found more to do.” He chuckled. 

“That looks fantastic! I saw the photo of you and Alma in front of it in that local magazine she mailed to me. Offbeat?

“Oh, the grand reopening article.” He leaned back in his seat.

“You said like two things in it, but I enjoyed what Alma said. About community building and such. She’s pretty natural with that.” 

“Well, she’s more familiar with the guy who wrote it, so.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” She playfully dismissed. “So. Are you ready to get married next month?” 

“Are you ready for Vegas?” 

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” She exclaimed. “I’m betting my luck as soon as I land. I’m shopping for my outfits later this week! I’m gonna be sparkling like a damn disco ball honey.” She laughed. “Lorenzo is excited with him being twenty-one and all, but of course, Giancarlo has been fussing because he’s not eighteen yet.” 

Bill chuckled. “Yeah, I know. When I told him the wedding date, he asked if I could wait another year until he was.” 

“He did not!” Bianca said, appalled, that her son would even ask such a thing. “That boy, I swear!” 

“Ah, he’s just saying what any kid his age would say.” 

“Still! As if you two haven’t waited long enough. I’m glad it has been a short engagement, even.” 

“Ah, yeah. Me too. I’m happy Alma suggested Vegas.” He said, scribbling on a sheet of paper Echo had been scribbling on herself. However, he did notice some kind of attempt to spell her name. 

“Might as well just do the drive-thru marriage there. I heard they do that too!” She laughed. 

“Quick question, do you know what kind of dress Alma picked out?” He softly muttered so that his voice wouldn’t carry out the office.

“Why in the hell do you think I’d tell you that?” She laughed.

There was a tone on the phone indicating he had another call. He glanced at the clock; it was too late to receive calls at his home at this hour unless he was expecting them. 

“Uhm, I have another call coming in, B’.”

“Okay. I gotta go back down to the floor.” She said as she was in the club loft speaking to him. “Send my hello to Alma, honey. I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Later.” He said quickly, putting the pen down and hitting the blinking call-waiting button. “Hello?”

“Hey, uh, it’s Gustaf.” 

“What’s up? Someone needs bail money.” He joked, but there was no laughter on the other end. The silence felt unusually unsettling. “W-what is it?” 

“Uhm…” He sighed. “I know, you couldn’t give a fuck, but you should know. Dad’s gone.” 

Bill sat stunned, and the way his heart sank conflicted with his true feelings. After having a short moment to process, all he could muster out was, “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

He could feel himself becoming angry, making him sick to his stomach. “What the hell do you want me to say? He’s, he’s been—” He paused. What he wanted to say was that he’d been dead to him the day he left Strathburg.

“Yeah, okay. I understand. I know he was awful, but—”

“There is no, but.” 

“Yeah, okay. Shit,” he loudly exhaled. “I’m sorry, brother. We left you behind a lot; you were too little to deal with that alone. After mom, he changed.” 

Emotion overwhelmed Bill suddenly as tears fought to escape his eyes. “Yeah, well. That’s that, right? C-could I call you later?” 

“Sure. Sure, yeah.” 

The frame he fixed had gone crooked again, and Bill didn’t know how long he had been blankly staring at it. He hated the feelings of grief that were running through him over his abusive father. He couldn’t give a shit, yet the loss felt great. He was now an orphan in the world, and as much as that felt isolating it just felt—strange. Getting up from his seat, he poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bar cart, and then something possessed him to grab the shoebox of photos Gustaf had given him on his very last visit to his hometown. Which he had never opened since receiving it.

From the closet he took the items back to the desk, he took a big swig of the drink and then ripped the top off as if something would jump out of it. Inside, little cheap toys were accompanying the photos. Green toy soldiers, marbles, and jacks. He examined some of the cooler glass marbles at first and then set those aside. Picking up the handful of old photos, he flicked through a series of him as a little boy. He couldn’t recall his childhood well, but the feelings he was experiencing indicated that these were times before it all got so bad. 

It was one particular photo he reached that pained him. It twisted his stomach. Staring back at him was a little confused boy with a hollow look in his eyes. A little boy he knew was internally screaming for help. He sat back in his chair to collect himself for a moment and then laid that photo face down. He continued. Some of him and his older brothers were photographed on an orange couch with their mother. He may have been around four. Then one of him and his mother in a happy embrace. Those photos gave him great comfort; they felt like a warm hug. Maybe that’s what compelled him to look through the box. Not to reconcile with the death of his father, but because he wished he had his mother’s comfort.

He reached a few photos in which his father was in, but he just felt numb. Having his own child, he just couldn’t comprehend the abuse he had experienced. It never made sense then, and it especially didn’t make sense now. There were times he tried to understand. Until he realized he was just rationalizing his abuse into justification. Where there was none.

The last time he spoke to his father was on the phone a month after he found out he had a child of his own. He was drunk and alone, still hurt by the reveal, but he was also scared. Scared that he’d be just as bad, that it would bring out a monster in him that had risen within his father. Even drunk, he came to his senses, reminding himself and promising to whatever God existed out there that he would never be that. He shouted at him, telling him that he got it all without him. That he made something of himself. That he’d lay down dead before he ever put his daughter through what he had experienced. 

All his father said on the phone was a condescending, “Good for you, son.” 

“Fuck you!” He screamed, slamming the phone down before tossing the whole unit across the room. 

Alma spritzed herself with a soft, sweet vanilla marshmallow perfume before she began tiptoeing down the hallway in a skimpy baby doll négligée. She peered in, hoping to surprise him, but was taken aback. He sat at the desk with his shoulders bobbing and his head in his hands, crying. Everything hit him simultaneously: sadness, anger, relief, and even some happiness. However, he just couldn't deal with his conflicting emotions any other way. The last tears he would ever shed for that man.

“Bill?” Alma said softly, concerned.

“Fuck.” He choked out, pressing his palms into his eyes.

She quickly approached him, and he wrapped his arms around her while burying his face into her side like a child would. She could feel his tears seeping through the thin fabric of her négligée. Not daring to say a word, she rubbed his back to settle him while thinking the worst. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs to their full capacity, and slowly exhaled. 

“I need a smoke.” He sniffled, sitting back and searching for his pack in a desk drawer. 

Alma watched him, red-eyed and flush-faced, lighting it inside the office. A forbidden act, but Alma wouldn’t dare to reprimand him for it. He stood up and began heading out to the balcony. 

“I’ll wait for you,” she said, unsure of what he wanted of her. 

“Come.” He walked back, taking her hand. “I want you with me.” 

Anxiously picking at the hem of her négligée, Alma sat on a cushioned outdoor chair, while he stood leaning on the balcony railing, looking out toward the woods. He was muttering curse words under his breath while he puffed away. 

“Fucking son of a bitch.” He snarled, flicking his cigarette away as opposed to using the designated glass ashtray. 

“What…” she bit her lip when his head snapped in her direction. As if he remembered she was there all along. “Uhm.” 

He closed his eyes and did his best to soften his demeanor. She was sitting there looking pretty in the sheer black négligée, which he could see the hi-cut panties through. The vibe was all wrong, though. She just looked at him, deeply concerned. 

“He,” pausing, he put his hands on his hips and looked out at the yard again. “My dad’s dead.” He announced it flatly, without looking at her. 

“Oh my god,” she softly gasped. She didn’t have any good thoughts or sentiments for the man, but she knew Bill hated him with all of his guts. Rightfully so. In all honesty, she pictured him popping a bottle of champagne at the news of his passing. However, she knew there were more nuances to his complicated feelings all around. 

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“What, uhm, what can I do?”

“Nothing,” he sighed. “It’s just,” he said, spinning his pointer finger by the side of his head. “I just can’t fucking believe it. I want to be happy, and a part of me is, but��� I don’t know.” 

“Yeah,” she stood up and wrapped her arms around him, and he relaxed as much as he could into it. “I love you.” 

“It’s done.” He said, repeating the same sentiment he uttered about Craig when he lay lifeless before them. 

“It’s done, babe. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you ever had to go through that.” 

They held each other silently for a while before Alma led him back inside so they could relax and just put this moment behind them for good. 

Bill watched the skirt of the négligée swish across her bottom, reminding him of where the night was supposed to lead before that epic damper of a call he received. To her surprise, he spun Alma around and pulled her close. She had suspected they’d just go to bed, not wanting to push anything more on him tonight.

“Fuck, you look sexy in this.” He picked her up effortlessly onto his waist. 

“Do you still want to?” She asked, inspecting his eyes with a hand on his cheek. There was a deep sadness she wished she could take away.

“I do. I need you.”

…

Sinner’s Paradise

The following month, they landed in Sin City. Alma ran around the entire penthouse suite, her laughter echoing as she leaped onto the main bed. It was big and round, covered with a purple crushed velvet duvet with an abundance of similar-colored silk pillows. With a gleeful smile, she noticed the ceiling above the bed was mirrored, her image staring right back at her. After checking the loft space out, Bill descended the curved steps to join her.

“Hurry up!” Alma urged, taking her top off and baring her breasts. 

He laughed with delight, taking his off while making his way to join her. 

Later, they waited around the sitting area impatiently, freshly showered and wearing hotel robes. Alma had taken another pregnancy test, and they were waiting for the results. They had taken one before traveling, which results were negative. This one was only precautionary. She wanted to have some fun while in the desert city but needed to know just how much fun in case. Though she hoped for a miracle, she also hoped this would be her last hurrah before the sober nine months came.

“I’ll check it,” Bill patted her thigh before sitting up. It had to be more than enough time now.

He quickly flipped the test around that lay face down on the bathroom counter. He sighed, disappointed. Negative. He tossed the test in the trash; he would just tell her. When he exited the bathroom, she knew immediately by the look on his face.

“No?” 

“No.” 

“But we–we knew it would be, you know.” 

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Let’s open that champagne now.” 

They arrived in Las Vegas ahead of their guests, who were scheduled to trickle into town the following day. Echo would join them with Yolani and Ulyssa at noon, and though it was hard to leave their daughter behind, they trusted their chosen chaperones. Having two caregivers eased some of their nerves, even for Bill, who had always struggled with leaving her behind in the past. However, he took comfort in knowing that Alma was with her, so this time was different. Soon, they would be separated for much longer on another continent during their honeymoon, so they had to accustom themselves to her absence. 

They did a bit of sightseeing, walking the Fremont strip from end to end in the desert heat, then took a taxi back to the hotel to get ready for their dinner reservations. Bill watched, amused, as Alma hung dresses and other items she had brought into the closet of a spare bedroom. They were all pretty skimpy.

“You do remember your dad is coming too, right? Do you have anything—normal?” 

Alma turned to him and cracked a smile. "Yeah, yeah. Imagine if he saw me in this, though?" she chuckled, holding a corset top against her torso before hanging it up. "Or this," she added, pulling out the white bachelorette two-piece party dress. The tight skirt was made of sheer layers of fabric.

“I think he’d be upset with you and me. But are you wearing a bra with that?” He furrowed his brows. 

She flashed him a look of annoyance. “Bill. No.” 

“I don’t care how you wear it, but… I’m not going to be with you. It’s Vegas, Alma.” 

“What are you trying to say? That I’ll look like an escort?” He didn’t answer; instead, he continued tying the thin laces of his dress shoes. “Give me a break. I’m wearing the Versace Bondage dress you gifted me tonight. What the hell do you think people will think of you walking around with me in it?” 

He flashed his cheeky, dimple smile at her. “That I’m the luckiest man in the world.” 

Alma blushed, but then rolled her eyes when he chuckled smugly, knowing she expected him to give a more unsavory smart-ass reply.

After dinner, they found themselves on the casino floor of their hotel. Bill strolled her around, showing off how stunning she looked before they settled at the slot machines. He handed a fifty-dollar bill to a waitress, who left them drinks as they tried to hit big on a promising machine. Alma sat in his lap in a very relaxed manner, his hand resting between her thighs while he smoked a cigarillo. Together, they watched as the hundred-dollar bet in the machine slowly increased in small increments.

“Quit nickel and dime’ing it,” he said. “Just hit it.” He slapped the max bet button and met her annoyed glance. Suddenly, the machine began flashing lights and sounding out; they had won ten free spins. “See!” He kissed her shoulder.

They watched the machine spin for them, and it hit several times, bumping their overall total to closer to five hundred dollars. Alma hit the cash-out button and then took a big swig of her drink before standing up. 

“Let's go to the lounge now! I’ll buy!” 

They found themselves in a lounge bar, The Daisy, which had an art deco speakeasy atmosphere. They were there for a while, drinking and enjoying each other's company while a live jazz band played. It was a rarity they were ever really completely alone, and they found it quite nice. They discussed their honeymoon destination while a novelty dry ice drink fogged and bubbled before them. Excited about finally utilizing their money for a relaxing trip for once.

“You know it’ll be so much prettier than the pictures in the travel brochure. I’m excited about all the pasta.” And she really meant that, tired of the salads and carb’ restriction these past months. “We’re going to gain like 10 pounds.” She giggled. 

“I want to take a boat around. I saw that they rent them out there.” Alma side-eyed him playfully. “I wouldn’t go out so far we couldn’t see the shore. I don’t want to be that responsible.”

When they stood up from the round booth they had occupied, the liquor smacked them. Being experts, they composed themselves enough and went on to their scheduled nighttime limo ride to see the city and all its neon lights and glittering bulbs on the strip. It was lit up like a debaucherous, adult arcade slash circus.

Bill took photos of Alma, seated in the back of the limo with her smooth legs out, holding a glass of champagne. He passed his sunglasses to her to wear on the end of her button nose for the next few snapshots. The drinks kept flowing in the limo, and their behavior loosened even more. They made out, forgetting the city for a while. Then, as more champagne was being poured, Alma found herself out of the sunroof and then suddenly ducked back in when she felt him bury his head between her thighs. The action caused her to fall back on a seat, giggling with him. She playfully chastised him before going back through the sunroof and made room for him to squeeze through with her. Once he joined her, they kissed while the desert air blew their hair back, and then they cheered elated out to the packed pedestrian-filled strip, and they—being just as drunk—cheered back. 

The next morning, they struggled to wake up. The events after the limo, it was a bit of a blur, but there was evidence that they had gone back to the lounge to drink, as there was an ornate goblet in their room. Obviously, Alma had walked out with it, effectively stealing it. 

Bill was lying bare in bed beside Alma, while she only wore a pair of panties. They weren’t certain if they had sex, but there was an implication that they had attempted to at the very least. Bill’s lips were a bit sore as if Alma bit them while making out, which told them that’s all they did before passing out. There was no way he could have gotten it up with the hangover he was feeling. He wasn’t a hero; after a certain amount of drinks, it simply wasn’t going to happen.

“Shit,” Alma groaned, still feeling a lingering buzz. 

“What time is it?” Bill muttered into his pillow.

“I don’t know. Nine?” She said, stumbling her way to the bathroom. “Shit!” When she had pulled her panties down, they were spotted with blood.

“You okay?” He muttered from the bed, and when she told him she was, he closed his eyes.

She showered quickly, returned to his bedside in a robe, and began dialing Bianca. She was bringing her wedding dress from New York, but she also had tricks to combat an unwanted period. She and all the dancers usually had something up their sleeves when their time of the month became inconvenient for work. Luckily, she caught her just before she left for the airport. 

Bianca quickly listed the things she’d need. “Ibuprofen first. And if it starts for real, take vitamin C. That’ll kill it quicker. Uhm, and you know,” she said, hushed since her sons were close in wait. “You could use sponges.” But her sons overheard and shared a look of disgust. 

Alma’s face shared the same expression, miles away. “Ew, I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about my dress and dealing with this shit on top of that.” 

“Worried about what?” Bill muttered as he lay there with his eyes closed, half listening. 

“Ah, yeah. I understand. It’s gorgeous, by the way. The tailoring is perfect! I’ll take real good care of it while we travel.” 

“I’m worried it won’t fit. I haven’t tried it on since February.” 

“It will, honey. Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon!” 

“Okay. Safe travels.” 

“Worried about what?” Bill reiterated. 

“I started my period.” 

“For fuck's sake!” He grumbled.

If he hadn’t had his forearm draped across his eyes to block the searing sun shining through the decorative curtains, he’d have seen that she flipped him off. Instead, she pinched his nipple, and he sucked in air between his barred teeth while he rubbed the soreness away. 

He begrudgingly rose from the bed and sat on the edge with the sheet across his lap, scratching his head. He watched Alma dialing on the phone and put the receiver to her ear. 

“Go shower; you’ll feel better.” 

He studied her for a moment, sure he had upset her by misspeaking, but she seemed too preoccupied with the phone to react. She was worried about Echo and had called down to the front desk to check if any messages had come in while they were knocked out. There were two, both from just over an hour ago. One was from Yolani, informing her that they were at the gate, waiting to board, and the other was from her father, letting her know he'd arrived at his layover in Denver. They would converge in proximal time to the city.

Bill and Alma cuddled on the couch, watching the local news in the sunken sitting room, trying to nurse a hangover and get rid of a period. They were dressed, waiting around for their daughter, when Alma suggested that maybe they could wait in the lobby. Bill understood she was anxious, as was he, but he suggested that they wait there instead. Give their three-year-old a little independence and put some real trust in their friends, who so kindly took on caring and traveling with her.

There was a knock on the door, and Bill was the first one up to answer. He had been concealing his own anxiousness. As soon as he opened the door, Echo darted past his legs and straight into her mother's expectant arms. 

“Hey, baby!” Alma hugged her daughter tightly, while Bill thanked Yolani and Ulyssa as they came inside. “Was she good? You can be honest.”

Yolani lightly laughed. “Of course, she was good! We did some coloring sheets, and she took a nap.” 

“For real?” Bill asked because she seemed to hate sleeping on a plane. 

“Yeah!” Ulyssa co-signed. “She even got herself comfortable and everything. This room is nice!” She said, scanning the large suite. 

“Would you two like to take a look around?” Bill asked.

“Uhm, well, we kind of want to put our things up,” Yolani said, pointing at their luggage with her thumb by the door behind them. 

“Yeah, go ahead,” he said, walking them out and grabbing the luggage they had packed for Echo at home. 

“We’re probably going to check the strip out right after, so…” Ulyssa said while turning to her friend.

Alma smiled. “Yeah, have fun!” 

They left, but they could hear the sisters giddily laughing as they jogged down the corridor to their room a few floors down, which Bill had paid for. 

Soon, Alma’s father arrived with his wife Connie, and they all went to have lunch. Alma, of course, dressed appropriately in his presence, but he noticed both of them wore dark-tinted sunglasses and were drinking down their glasses of water washing down their greasy burgers. Antonio was looking at his granddaughter between them, eating fries with ketchup, which she licked off before eating, but was happy to see that she wore the basket earrings he had gifted. He learned they had taken her to get them pierced at a parlor after hours. A professional Ulyssa knew agreed to do it for a favor—free entry to any show she pleased. 

Antonio and Connie would care for Echo while his daughter and Bill enjoyed their respective bachelor and bachelorette parties that evening. After lunch, the elders were very much looking forward to relaxing a little and hitting the slots before duty. 

They wrapped up lunch and began walking back to the hotel room wing. Alma walked ahead, speaking amiably in Spanish with Connie, pointing at slot machines that seemed lucky. Bill held onto Echo and kept pace with Antonio as he walked with his cane. 

“What are you doing tonight?” Antonio asked, trying to create some small talk with his son-in-law. 

“For real?” Bill peered down at him. “Well, we're going to a luchador wrestling match and hitting up a high roller casino afterward. Then both our parties will converge to hang out.” 

“Lucha libre, huh? Hmm, I saw a few of those a long time ago in South Texas.” 

“Yeah? It’ll be my first time. I was hoping there would be a real boxing match to catch, but no.” 

“Your gentleman friends didn’t want to go to a gentlemen's club?” He ticked a bushy salt and pepper brow at him.

Bill cracked a smile. “Nah, it’s a bit redundant, don’t you think?” 

Antonio chuckled. “I suppose. Uhm,” he cleared his throat. “I heard about your—” 

“Oh yeah,” Bill interjected quickly, not wanting to hear any condolences for his father. “It’s fine. Thanks.” 

“Right. I get it. Uh, my father wasn’t good to me either.” He revealed, much to Bill’s surprise. “But, uhm, you know you’re marrying my daughter, so in that sense… for what it’s worth, right?” 

Bill nodded appreciatively, understanding what Antonio was trying to convey. He could tell Antonio was putting his pride aside to let him know that he saw him as a son and accepted him. However, in Bill’s cynical mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if the old man was simply settling. Perhaps Antonio, aware of his mortality, recognized that Bill was the only family Alma would have left.

…

Bianca arrived after, as well as others who were going to rooms and relaxing before joining in on the late-night festivities. Bill answered the door for her, and she told him to close his eyes, even if the dress was concealed in a white garment bag. Though he did notice there wasn’t much heft to it. Eventually, he was unceremoniously kicked out of the room, which he didn’t mind; he’d just find where Theo was.

Alma was before Bianca in two pieces of layered shapewear, while she carefully helped her step into the white dress. Echo was sitting on the bed, curiously watching on. After adjusting how the dress lay on her body, Bianca slowly zipped a short zipper at the hip. Alma sighed in relief that the dress fit perfectly.

“Oh my god! It looks better than the last fitting you had!” Bianca beamed. “And with the veil! You’re gonna look like a dream, baby!”

“Thank fuck. I literally just had the biggest burger I’ve ever had in my life for lunch. But fuck was it nice to eat that burger,” she giggled 

Bianca laughed. “Bill mentioned on the phone that you’d be out in the sauna twice a day.” 

“Not that much.” It was an exaggeration, but she was in it often, as well as running the treadmill in the evenings in their small gym in the basement. She tried working out with Bill, but after two days of it, she quit and stuck to the regime she created for herself. He wasn’t a great workout partner, as their fitness goals were completely different. 

“What do you think, Echo? Is it pretty?” Alma asked, turning toward her.

She gasped, placing her hand over her mouth dramatically. “Pretty Mama!” She giggled bashfully. 

“You love it?” 

“I love it!” She squealed. 

“You could wear this with just one shapewear, Alma,” Bianca said, pulling out the train to smooth out the fabric. “The alteration they made to it snatches you just right.”

Bianca carefully helped Alma out of the dress now that her worries had vanished. Alma took her on a little tour of the penthouse until they plopped down on the couch together after making themselves a cocktail. 

Bianca took a large sip of her drink and let out a loud, satisfied sigh. “You doing better since you called me?” 

“Eh, it’s a lighter flow. So that's something.” 

“Why…” she paused to sit up a little. “You know you don’t have to take the placebos in the birth control pack, right?” 

Alma rolled her eyes as she stated the obvious. “Yeah, B’. I know.” She looked at her daughter, guiding a hot-wheel truck along the marble floor. “We’re trying to have another baby.” She said it in a hushed tone. 

Bianca’s eyes widened. “Oh my god! That’s so great, Alma!” 

“It hasn’t happened, obviously. And not the month before or the month before that one.” She said hopelessly, crossing her arms.

“Don’t stress—don’t stress!” She gestured with her palm out. “It’ll happen. Since when, the beginning of the year?” 

“Since December.” 

“Christ.” Bianca rolled her eyes and slouched down on the cushion again. “Give yourself some grace, honey.” 

“Yeah, but you don’t see how disappointed Bill looks every time the tests come out negative. He’s so good at concealing his emotions, but never then?! He looks like someone kicked his fucking dog!” 

Bianca laughed. “That man is fucking ridiculous sometimes. He wants to mope when he’s getting unlimited pussy?” Alma laughed then. “Don’t worry about him, either, babe. Just keep doing what you do. Keep your legs up for a while after, or something, but it’ll happen.” She rubbed Alma’s shoulder. “Now. I gotta get ready for tonight, and so do you!” 

…

When Bill returned, he clapped his hands together and announced that everyone should take a nap. He and Alma were still combating their hangover from last night, and they had to go and do it all again. They took some Pepto-Bismol, an OTC pain reliever, and while lying in bed, he was trying to ask Echo what Alma’s wedding dress looked like. 

“Tell him it’s a secret,” Alma said, tapping the side of her pointer finger to her lips. 

“It’s secwet!” She snickered. 

“But we’re not supposed to have secrets, E’,” he said, kissing her cheek, before wrapping his arms around her tightly. “Is it at least white? 

Echo looked up at her mother while resting her head comfortably on her father's chest, her hazel eyes seeking permission to spill. “Mhmm and pretty!” she said, sharing all she was allowed to reveal.

After their much-needed nap, Bill was dressed in a black Prada button-down he layered a blazer over and was helping Echo put on her shoes. He was taking her down to Antonio’s room to save Alma from doing so in the outfit she was currently wearing. It was skimpy, and the chiffon fabric revealed the cheeky white panties underneath, but he appreciated that the top—while thin—was at least opaque. Alma was slipping on her heels, which featured fluffy feather details on the toe straps.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. His hand ran across her thigh and reached around to grip her butt cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” And then she said goodbye to her daughter, who was in his arms. “I’ll see you later.” 

“Remember,” he peered down at her before slipping on his sunglasses. “What happens in Vegas—” 

“Stays in Vegas—yeah, yeah,” she chuckled.

“Watch out with who you talk to tonight!” He playfully warned before closing the door.

“Watch out, mommy!” Echo parroted.

…

Alma’s bachelorette party found themselves in a high-rise VIP section above the dance floor of a large warehouse-style dance club. Lights of all kinds flashed and swept around them. They were sitting down, taking a break from the dance floor, and having more drinks served by smartly dressed personal waiters.

Bianca returned from the bathrooms with Queenie, both of them sniffing and rubbing their noses. Alma glanced at them knowingly. She knew what they went to do, but didn’t like how she wasn’t privy. She wondered about Bill then until Ulyssa nudged her excitedly when the DJ dropped a good hit. She tapped glasses with her, which created a domino effect of tapping glasses, and the women cheered excitedly. 

The drinks were flowing so heavily that Yolani was finally convinced to hit the dance floor by Ash. Yolani typically liked to dance, but the floor was so packed with mashed bodies that it was a bit daunting. Ulyssa excitedly followed suit, bringing Jennifer along. Which left Alma with Bianca and Queenie in their section. 

“So?” Alma turned to them knowingly.

Bianca rolled her eyes. “It’s Vegas, babe.”

“Yes. But why leave me out? And where did it come from?” 

Queenie scratched her head uncomfortably and sat back, sipping on her drink, to let Bianca explain and distance herself from potential drama. 

“That fucker.” Bianca muttered, shaking her head. This wasn’t her responsibility; it should have been the man she was set to marry who explained. “We didn’t mean to leave you out on purpose! Bill and I know the owner of one of the strip clubs here. It's a courtesy for people like him and me to check in.”

“Yeah. Like Atlantic City.” Alma said knowing Bill has had to call in there before. Alma always felt it to be a bit dramatic; it felt like politics that should belong in cartoonish mob movies only. 

“Exactly. Anyway, we’re good with the guy. And well, he knows Bill is here to get married, and so he threw in some party favors. Theo picked up.” 

Alma consumed the rest of her drink and picked up another she had in wait. 

“Well,” she sighed. “I don’t know why Bill didn’t say anything to me?” 

“Maybe… he forgot?” Queenie shrugged. 

“Really?” Alma tilted her head doubtfully. “Fuck it. Pass me the bag, I’m going to the bathroom.” 

Alma stepped out of that stall with more vigor and liveliness than she’s had in such a long time. A very long time. To say she didn’t miss it would be a lie. In fact, there were times out with friends from Seattle where she almost suggested they score somewhere to have an even better time than they were already having, but they just preferred their weed. After all, it was cheaper. Ulyssa, who wasn’t so shy about dabbling, didn’t prefer it, so for years until now she was SOL. 

While Alma danced her way through the dance floor to get back to the VIP section, she encountered her old friend, who had been running late. 

“Carla!” She hollered, waving a hand in the air. “Over here!” 

“Oh my god!” She hollered, carefully running over in her modest heels and embracing her old friend. “This is wild!” She was wide-eyed, scoping the scene as gel-colored lights, doing figure eights, swept across them. 

Alma led her to VIP, where Bianca sat talking to a young guy until she dismissed him when they approached. Carla and Bianca were quickly introduced, and the three sat together, speaking. 

“Yes!” Bianca pointed at Carla with a long red fingernail. “I read that one! Alma’s been slowly getting me to read the novels she does! So damn steamy!” She gushed.

Carla laughed. “Alma used to sneak them to me when we were kids! Growing up, I was kept on such a tight leash, but she showed me a different world. I left for Houston after college and met my husband there! He’s a firefighter, a lieutenant, actually.” 

“Kids?” 

“Yeah, four!” 

“Four!” Bianca exclaimed incredulously. “Those books must have taught you a thing or two!” She teased, making Carla bashfully giggle.

“Aw, that’s all you, though, Carla!” Alma smiled, appreciating her previous sentiment towards her.

“Maybe I was a little inspired. But oh my god, Alma! You’re getting married to Bill! He was so in love with you when we were kids, my god!” She playfully rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out. 

“Was that obvious even then? Why the hell couldn’t I see it?” 

“Because you loved him too much to believe it, probably!” 

“Miss Carla,” Bianca let out an exhausted sigh. “You wouldn’t believe how they were when I first met them.” 

“Oh god,” Alma grumbled. “That’s so long ago.” 

“Let’s just say, thank heavens, that’s over. And cheers to them getting married, finally.”

…

The bachelor party had left the Lucha Libre match and headed up several floors of another casino to play with the high rollers. They were all laughing and recalling the absurd wrestling moves they saw. While Bill didn’t have high expectations, he was glad that it was very entertaining for everyone, even him. 

“That table was supposed to break when he landed on it from the ring, and it didn’t!” Scotty laughed. 

“Did you see how he got thrown off, though?” Darby laughed.

“Honestly, it would have killed me!” Scotty replied, which made Bill laugh. 

The men slightly split while on the casino floor, checking out the playing tables to feel out where they felt lucky. Bill rounded a table and met Darby, who motioned for him to follow.

“Hey, uhm, Jenny and I really appreciate the wedding gift from you and Alma. It was incredibly generous. I wanted to give you this myself.” He reached into the inner pocket of his blazer and produced crisp five hundred dollar bills.

“No, no,” Bill said, pushing his hand away. “I mean, thanks, of course, but I can’t take that.” Not only would he not accept it, but he and Alma had explicitly stated on the wedding invitations that gifts were not expected of their guests and that their presence alone was more than enough.

“Dude, it’s no big deal, really. It’s for you.”

“I know, but—it doesn’t feel right taking it, Darb’. I’m your boss. Don’t give your fucking boss money; that’s bullshit.” Darby stood there perplexed for a moment, but he did have a point. Why pay the guy who’s paying him? “I appreciate it. I really do.”

“Right, right.” Darby nodded. “Jenny is going to wonder why I still have it, though.”

“Gamble it.” He raised his brows.

A devious grin spread across his face. “Shit. Yeah, over there,” he nodded his head toward a roulette table.

Theo’s path converged with theirs as they approached the roulette table, where Darby bet all the money.

“Bet on black,” said Bill. 

“Always,” said Theo. 

They watched the ball spin rapidly until it began losing momentum. They anxiously watched the ball in the roulette bump and stutter as it circled the wheel. Indelicately, it landed on black, twenty-four. 

“NO shit!” Darby exclaimed. 

“Is that what you chose?” Theo said in disbelief. 

“Actually, you know, I wouldn’t mind accepting your gift after all.” Bill laughed, patting his shoulder. 

Bill split off again and found his friend Scotty at a blackjack table, coolly smoking a cigarette and checking cards under his palm. 

“I’m going to hop on the next one,” Bill said, sipping on a glass of whiskey he acquired. 

“Hell yeah,” he said, tucking a lock of hair that escaped the tousled slick back style he was sporting back behind his ear. “The table’s hot, brother.” 

…

At the nightclub, the bachelorette party was on the dance floor together. Alma danced behind Ulyssa as a buffer because too many random men kept trying to dance with her, which she didn’t appreciate. Alma experienced the same, but she could handle it better than her friend. Either by dancing away or just looking at them like they were crazy. 

The crowd of bodies swayed them a bit, and they were now underneath the high-rise DJ booth. The beats were thumping, the bass rattling their bodies, and deafeningly loud, but they were too buzzed or high to care. A few couples over, she spotted Bianca dancing between two guys, and she laughed while spinning out of a stranger's grip on her hips. It was when she noticed she was dancing alone, as Ulyssa and Yolani held each other's hands over their heads and danced together. Looking around, she couldn’t spot anyone else from her party, but it was also difficult to tell with the gyrating crowd and electric lights. She swayed her body through a group of people wielding glow sticks and decided maybe it was time for a break. Dancing through the crowd, she had to squeeze through, making less than savory contact with others. It was just unavoidable. She felt a hand on her hip, which she brushed away and continued.

A loud puff sounded from the synthetic fog cannons, which made people pause long enough for her to gain some more paces closer to the VIP booth. Again, she felt a hand on her hip and felt it travel up her waist, seemingly trying to snake high enough to touch her breast. She pulled it away until she felt another hand take a full greedy grab of her ass cheek. Her brows furrowed at the complete audacity. 

“Hey!” She quickly whipped her head back. “Chill the fuck out!” She yelled loudly.

Bill stood there mischievously grinning as he peered down at her. She wasn’t expecting to see him until later. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her under the bouncing green laser lights. They swayed together for a moment to the beat of the music, with his hands rubbing on her bottom. When she turned to lead their way off the dance floor, he held onto her waist to remain flush to feel her bottom bump and rub against his crotch. The DJ switched tracks to a remix of Love My Way by The Psychedelic Furs and Bill followed the sways of her hips as she danced them off the floor. 

He closed his eyes and a memory came to mind of Alma in a bare-wall New York City apartment they lived in. Wearing a tight tank top and panties with slouchy socks, and a cigarette between her fingers, dancing to the same song in front of the record player. Just enjoying the melody and the moment while he watched contently. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked as they ascended the stairs to the VIP booth. 

“Where the fuck did you get this cowboy hat?” He asked, plucking it off her head and placing it on his.

Quickly, he ordered drinks and sat down next to Alma, admiring her frosty white eyeshadow under the club lights. Now that he wasn’t standing, she took the opportunity to take the hat back while throwing her legs over his lap. 

“Where’d you get that?” He asked again, rubbing his nose. 

“Some old cowboy.” 

“Let me see it again.” He motioned for it. He checked inside the hat for the brand, noticing how well-crafted it was. “Alma…” he peered at her knowingly. “Did you steal this?” He laughed. 

She laughed, taking it back to put it on her head like a crown. “Who said I stole it?” 

“That’s fucking expensive!” He laughed harder. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked again once they settled their laughter a bit.

“Ah, well—some of us weren’t doing too hot, so we bailed.” He winked, taking their drinks from a waiter. 

“How much?” 

“Hmm?” He hummed, sipping his whiskey. 

“How much did you lose?” 

He tutted with offense. “I won some. Started losing it, so I had to call it.” 

“Sure,” Alma smirked. 

He reached over to touch the bridal sash, emblazoned with cursive text on it that said, Bride To Be. The bachelorette party bestowed it upon her before they took the night. He smiled just before kissing her fruity cocktail-tasting lips. 

The wedding party all trickled back to the VIP booth and unanimously decided that they would head back to the hotel to decompress while enjoying a nightcap together, where they were originally supposed to reconvene. 

“I’ll see you back in the room,” Bill said, wrapping his arms around to lift her off her feet for a kiss. “Don’t steal any more shit!” He laughed. 

The girls left together after gathering their personal effects. Unfortunately, they still had to walk to their limo, which felt like an eternity on sore, raw, blistering feet. 

“Shit,” Carla hissed. “I gotta pee so bad!” 

Alma looked at her friend and told the rest to go on, while she accompanied Carla to the nearest toilet they could find. Bianca had discreetly slipped a baggie into her palm in passing, and off they went.

“Sorry,” Carla said once they entered a bathroom inside a cocktail lounge. “You have so many kids, you can’t hold it anymore! My feet kill too.” 

“Mine too. Are you having fun?” 

“Oh my god! Yeah! I was so excited to come because you’ve always known how to have fun!” She laughed while entering a stall, while Alma took the next available a few stalls down. 

While given the opportunity, she took a few bumps mounted inside an acrylic French almond nail on her pinky, snorting them between toilet flushes. Initially, she lightly groaned at the sting of it before it turned into a moan of satisfaction when she felt its effect. They left the bathroom, trying to hustle out the establishment before they were badgered by bartenders. Only paying customers could use the bathrooms, but Alma lied, saying they would order once they got out.

Alma gently pulled Carla’s hand, urging her to pick up the pace. An older, well-dressed gentleman held the door open for a brunette with chunky highlights, letting her through before stepping aside to let the two women exit. Alma squinted in recognition, unsure at first, until the woman, who had been smiling brightly, suddenly turned her head towards Alma. Her expression fell, replaced by a look of absolute disgust and contempt.

“You’re fucking kidding me?!”

“Fuck!” Alma said with wide eyes full of disbelief as her blood ran cold. 

“Oh yeah,” Blondie, who was no longer blonde, nodded her head. “Bet you thought you’d never see me again, did you, you fucking cunt!?” 

“Hey!” Carla said, appalled. “What’s your problem?” 

“It’s okay, Carla,” Alma said, putting her hand up to back her away.

“Oh, Carla,” Blondie mocked with a pout. “Do you know how much of a fucking bitch your friend is?” She glanced at the bridal sash she was wearing with a look of disgust. “You’re marrying him, aren't you? Aww, he finally chose you.” she mocked. “Jesus fucking Christ.” She sneered, her disdain palpable. 

“Blondie—”

“Shut the fuck up! Hope you two both rot in hell!” She spat on the ground between them and took the gentleman’s arm, who was just as shocked and confused about her sudden outburst. “Tell Bill—that small cock motherfucker—that he can go fuck himself!” 

Alma stood there, biting her tongue so hard she could taste blood. She was seething with the urge to yell at her back, but at the same time, it felt deserved. What could she say to a woman she had presumed dead for years now? That was all she could deduce, considering she was an accomplice to her boyfriend Craig's murder. While there was faint relief in knowing she was still breathing, the fact that she was responsible for Blondie’s life as an escort in Vegas left a bitter taste. She was a cunt, once upon a time. 

“Alma, what the hell was that?” Carla asked when they swiftly exited the lounge.

“Uhm,” she thickly swallowed the acrid cocaine drip. “It’s nothing, Carla.” She sighed. 

“Did Bill date her or something? She’s nuts!” 

Alma’s eyes cut at her friend. “Yeah…” she rolled her eyes. “They sorta dated.” She wanted to spit on the ground herself, stating that. “She’s always been fucking crazy.” 

“Well, it’s nothing, right?” she asked, noticing her friend's discomfort.

“This was a long time ago.” 

“Mm, okay. I just can’t believe she called you the C-word, I could never.” Carla shook her head in disbelief. 

“Cunt?” Alma giggled incredulously. “Could this stay between us? If-if Bianca hears about this, she’ll personally kick her ass so…” 

“Oh yeah. Yeah, I won’t say a word. Not even to Bill, I’m your friend first.” 

“Ah, thanks.” Alma smiled, putting an arm around her friend's shoulders. “But don’t worry, I’ll tell him myself.” 

…

In the suite, the men were all bantering, sipping on glasses of whiskey. Bill lit a cigarette and comfortably slouched on the couch while he watched Darby take a key bump from a baggie covered in red puckered lip prints. 

“Next?” He asked, holding the bag and a key out to him.

“Nah, I’m okay, for now.” He glanced at the hotel door, anxiously waiting for his fiancée and wondering if she and the girls would come like they said they would. “Remember to put it up before the girls get here.” 

“Oh, I will.” Darby raised his brows. “Jenny’s not into this shit.” He chuckled.

The girls all arrived at the penthouse suite shortly, kicking their heels off sore feet by the door, and went on to the ensuite bar, where Queenie began to pour shots of tequila. Alma lagged behind a bit, and Bill noticed how she was dragging her feet to join them. 

“Everything alright?” He peered down at her. 

“I need to talk to you.” She whispered, peering up at him with a serious look on her face. 

Fuck, he thought. He licked his lips, rubbing his palms on the sides of his trousers as he looked at everyone preoccupied and chatting at their nightcap party. 

He took a deep breath. “Okay, come.” He nudged his head towards the spare room, where they could close the door and have some privacy. She tossed the cowboy hat off on the bed rather harshly, which didn’t ease him for what was to come. He gently closed the door behind him and prepared himself. “Okay. I should have told you.” 

“What?” 

“I mean, I kind of tried with the—what happens in Vegas bullshit, you know. But I should have been more upfront.” 

Alma rolled her eyes. “I don’t give a fuck about the coke.” 

“Oh?” He said, taken aback. “So?” 

“I saw Blondie.” He stood before her with an incomprehensible expression. “Veronica.” 

“Yeah! Yeah, I know who you’re talking about, A’. But what the fuck?!” he said in disbelief. “I thought—well, I mean no, I guess that makes sense…” he pensively rubbed his forehead with his fingers.

“They trafficked her…” She said he had told her his theories on what could have happened to her during a late night hanging out in their private sitting room. They were the cause of her disappearance, but they didn’t know what depraved act the Russo's committed to make that happen. 

Bill frowned. “Mhmm. But Alma, we couldn’t have known that. Don’t take that shit to heart, love. At-At least she is not, you know.” He uncomfortably scratched his head, looking away in thought. 

While he used the word “we,” it was really Alma who had asked him to get rid of her. She wasn’t well at the time—they were both strung out on coke and whatever else they could get their hands on. However, he did listen to her, so he wasn’t completely without fault. What happened with Craig was definitive, but they always silently wondered if that wasn’t their only body. 

“Right, sure.” She frowned. 

“Fuck. Did she say anything to you? Did Bianca see her?” 

“No. Just Carla. But uhm, she wasn’t happy to see me, obviously. You can imagine what she said.” 

“What did she say?” He placed his hands on his hips, demanding to know.

“You’ll just get pissed off.” 

“Just tell me.” 

Alma sighed, rolling her eyes. “She said that you can go fuck yourself,” Bill dismissively shrugged at the insult. “And that we can both rot in hell.” She recounted matter of fact. “That you had a small dick.” 

“That fucking liar!” he scoffed.

“And called me a cunt!” 

“What the fuck? She called you a—that?!” His nostrils flared, getting angry like she knew he would. 

“Well, Bill, I mean, could you blame her?” She shrugged. 

“Yes.” 

“That’s not the point. But yeah. Just wanted you to know.” 

“Are you okay?” He asked carefully. “I mean, that sucks that you ran into her.”  

“Yeah…” She rubbed her forehead, feeling her irritation rising. “What a fucking bitch! A cunt!” Finally, she let out the frustration she’d been holding in. “She of all people has to show up during my bachelorette party? And that’s your fucking mess! Not mine!” She inhaled deeply, then began giggling incredulously. “Okay. Yeah. I’m better now.”

“You didn’t say shit to her when you saw her?” He tilted his head with surprise. Alma shook her head. “Well. A first for everything, then.” He rubbed his nose and sniffled. 

“You should have told me about the situation,” she said now, referencing how he acquired cocaine. 

“Yeah… but that’s technically my mess,” he lightly joked. “I figured if Bianca kinda brought it around you instead of me then…” 

“You thought I’d get mad?” 

“I don’t know—Yeah, a little. I wasn’t sure. I guess I should have said something.” The cocaine was causing him to ramble.

“Just this time. It stays in Vegas, right?” 

“Yeah! Of course. You’ve done some?” Alma nodded. “Want to do some more?” 

He cut two fat lines on the sink counter in the adjoining bathroom, while she quickly changed her tampon on the toilet nearby. He passed her a rolled one hundred dollar bill and held her curled hair back for her to snort half a line in one nostril and the last half in the other. Bill repeated the action and picked up residue on the pad of his middle finger to rub on his gums. They could feel their hearts thumping in their chests and relished in the hit of pure energy coursing through them. 

“God damn,” Alma gasped, pinching her nose.

With two fingers under her chin, he tilted her head back, checking to see if she had any visible residue on her button nose. Suddenly, his knee pushed between hers, locking her in place against the sink counter when their lips met. While they made out, Alma could feel her lips and tongue going numb in some places. He kissed down her salty neck, and she watched him do so while peering in the mirror behind her. It had been years since they had done this together, and they’d be fooling themselves by denying how much they liked it. Not to mention how sexy it made them feel. 

They settled themselves as best they could from their sudden impassioned impulsivity. When they emerged from the room to join the party, they didn’t bother to apologize or explain why they stowed away. No one dared even to ask; they just continued as if their presence hadn’t been missed at all. 

While floating around the party, Alma ran into different conversations. One was between Ulyssa and Scotty when she was replenishing her mixed drink. Ulyssa had earned her degree, but her career field pivoted. She was working for a small label searching for talent. A job she enjoyed because she was able to travel to a lot of popular music hubs in the nation. Up until a few weeks ago, she was in Atlanta.

“Yeah, a guy from your label came to us,” Scotty said. The band he managed was recently signed, so he was still on a high note from the success of it. “But you know, Atlantic seemed like the way to go.” 

“More money,” Ulyssa lightly giggled. 

“Oh!” He raised his brows. “Callin’ us sellouts?” 

“I mean,” she shrugged playfully. “I’m just kidding, I get it! That’s fucking awesome!” 

“Hey!?” Ash suddenly exclaimed. “Where the fuck is Matt?” 

Darby’s head peered down from the loft. “Fucker missed his flight!” He laughed. 

Ash facepalmed at the news. “Not surprising.”

Bill had always wondered if Ash and Matt had something going on, but as he got to know them, it became clear that their relationship was strictly platonic—they behaved more like siblings. Matt was really everyone's dopey little brother. Darby came down the stairs with Jenny on his arm.

“He’ll be here sometime tomorrow,” Darby informed. “He’ll miss breakfast, though. But uhm, I’m taking Jenny to bed, but I’ll be back.” He winked. 

“I think…” Carla spoke up where she sat next to Alma on the couch. “I’ll head out too. I gotta find my husband; he’s been on the slots too long for my liking.” She lightly giggled. “It was good to see you, Billy.” She leaned forward to say as he sat on the other side of her friend. He smiled appreciatively at her until Scotty butted in. 

“It was good to see you too, Carla.” He winked while chewing on a toothpick and leaning forward on a table. 

“You know,” she pointed at him. “I remember you.” 

“You do?” He straightened up, intrigued. 

“Yeah. Still obnoxious.” She teased.

“You sure about leaving? I’d like it if you stayed and talked to me like that some more.” 

Bill pinched the bridge and tried to stifle his laughter. “Shut up—she’s married, dude. Goodnight, Carla.” He said with a nod.

“Oh shit. I’m sorry I didn’t know,” Scotty said apologetically to her. “I’m a dog, but not that kind of dog.” 

“Whatever,” Carla playfully rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you at breakfast,” she winked. 

She kissed Alma goodbye on the cheek and joined Darby and Jenny who offered to walk her out. They weren’t the first to leave, though. Yolani had already excused herself after two drinks. Bill and Alma barely caught her goodbye as they left the room. Yolani wasn’t one for long parties. If it were up to her, she would have gone to her room right after the nightclub. As a nurse, she cherished downtime and sleep.

Alma remained seated next to Bill in the sunken living area. Since the squares left, they felt more free to openly chop lines on a coffee table photobook about desert flora. Bianca took on the task of dividing lines neatly and evenly.

“Where the hell did you say they went?” Bianca asked Bill as he sipped his drink. 

“I don’t know.” 

“They went to the match with us and then said they were going to walk the strip,” Scotty spoke up for his friend.

“Hmm.” She was worried about her sons. “There is not much for Gian to do, though.” She wondered out loud. 

Bill and Scotty shared a knowing look and smirked while Bianca was occupied. Gian showed them his fake ID. They guffawed loudly when the fake claimed that this Brooklyn boy was from the cornfields of Iowa and that he was twenty-five. He didn’t look like a teen boy very much anymore, but he didn’t look twenty-five at all. Giancarlo claimed his mustache helped him look older, but the men laughed again because it wasn’t all too impressive. 

“Ah, we’re just messing, G’.” Bill digressed when he saw his young friend's face fall. 

“We believe in you tonight, buddy!” Scotty said, patting him on the shoulder. 

Typically, Bill would report Giancarlo’s indiscretions to Bianca on principle, but he was a young man now. Mommy didn’t need to know everything. 

“They said they’d meet back here, so,” Bill gestured to her, working the lines on the book. 

“I’m done, punk!” She said to his impatience before doing a line and passing the book around. 

She chopped up lines for everyone there, but only Ulyssa declined. However, she did consider it when Theo unknowingly passed the book to her. While they were chatting, a heavy rap on the door made every one pause. 

“I’ll check it out,” Theo said, straightening his back and broadening his shoulders. 

Bill quickly palmed the coke bag and the rolled-up bill lying on the coffee table. Darby walked in; he changed out of his button-down into a plain white tee. 

“Christ!” he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at them. “You should see the paranoid look in your eyes right now!” 

They all laughed and continued on with the party. Heavily chatting and laughing, with some light karaoke between Ulyssa and Ash. Queenie poured heavier drinks, and Alma cut more lines with a cigarette pressed between her lips. Theo requested a ballad to sing, which surprised the friends who knew him well, as he was fairly introverted and reserved. When he began singing in a smooth baritone, it gave everyone pause, captivated by how effortlessly he nailed every note of the song. When he finished, he was met with their shocked, silent stares. 

“Sheesh, if it was bad, just say that.” He dismissively swatted a hand at them. 

“Theodore!” Bianca exclaimed. 

“Where the fuck did that come from?” Bill said in disbelief. 

“Okay, okay,” Theo bashfully rebuffed. “Once upon a time… I used to be a choir boy.” He shrugged.

“That was incredible!” Ulyssa said, clapping her hands, which prompted the party to follow suit, as it was more than well deserved.

When the boys inevitably arrived, "Shimmy Shimmy Ya" by Ol’ Dirty Bastard was playing on the stereo, and it felt as though they had missed out on something based on how everyone was acting. Their safe arrival, however, only marked the end of the party. People began to trickle out one by one. Bianca and the boys were the last to leave, and Alma's eyes grew heavy, having gone without any substances to keep her going. 

After seeing Bianca and her boys out, Bill stumbled his way to bed. Scotty kept pointing out the “fuck mirror” above the bed, laughing to himself every time. Bill disrobed down to his boxer briefs as he made his way there. His shirt had been half unbuttoned through the night when undoing the rest before tossing it toward the living area. When it landed, he heard a faint whine from the direction it had fallen, prompting him to turn his head. He didn’t notice anything at first, but after taking a few more steps, he saw a foot with metallic blue painted toenails peeking out from behind the couch.

“The fuck?” He said, slowly approaching, and there lay Ulyssa, passed out with his shirt concealing half her face between couches. 

She was breathing fine, but he nudged her foot with his in case, and she recoiled from his touch. 

“What?” Alma muttered against her pillow when she heard him lightly laughing. 

“‘Lyssa is fucking passed out over here,” he said, scratching his lower belly. 

“I thought she left?” She asked, sitting up. 

To have better access, he began pushing the couch away from her. “Well, she has a twin who left way before,” he stated sarcastically. “If she did some blow, she wouldn’t be like this right now.” This was true; she was going drink for drink with people so high they weren’t feeling the effects of it. 

“That’s how I want to be right now.” 

She watched as Bill pulled her by the ankles, but he paused when he noticed her skirt riding up too far, revealing the bottom end of a red dragon tail tattoo on the side of her thigh. He could only assume the rest of the image continued up the side of her torso. Instead, he pulled her up by the wrists, sitting her up slightly to wrap an arm around her, and lifted her into his arms, carrying her to the spare room to lay her down for the night. When he returned to bed, Bill checked the digital clock before lying down—4:12 AM. He groaned, shaking his head before nuzzling it into Alma’s chest, only covered by a shirt.

…

When they woke up, just barely in time, their heads were pounding, and the after-party anxiety began to set in. Alma shuffled to the spare room to check on Ulyssa, but the bed was empty. All that remained was a note saying she’d meet them at breakfast. 

They sluggishly made it to their reservation, where Antonio and Connie were already sipping coffee, with Echo sitting between them in a bubbly mood scribbling on a paper children's menu with a waxy purple crayon. When she spotted her parents, she let out a joyful screech. While they were delighted to see her, the sound was piercing, ricocheting in their skulls.

“Just you two?” Antonio smirked, setting his mug down.

“Uhm, probably,” Alma adjusted her sunglasses on her stuffy nose and then sighed. “How was Echo?” 

“Good.” He said, looking down at her with a smile on his face. “She really likes to dance, doesn’t she?” He said recalling her having him rewind to some needle drop on a children’s movie to listen to over and over. “And your party?”

The couple before him looked so visibly miserable; it was amusing to him, but also he thought they could at least sit up a little. When the waitress poured them a cup of coffee, they both took a sip of the black water without a care for it scorching their tongues. 

“Fun.” Alma nodded; she wasn’t up for many words. 

“Too much fun. Uhm,” he cleared his raspy throat as he scratched his stubbly neck. “I think we’re getting too old to recover like we used to,” Bill chuckled, but there wasn’t any energy behind it. 

Soon the party came to join, but they all looked lethargic at the table. All, except Bianca, dressed with a face of sleek makeup and high hair that would survive a hurricane. This was Antonio’s first time meeting any of them. Finally, faces to names he had only ever heard on the phone before him as they all greeted him respectfully before taking a seat. They had a gaggle of interesting-looking friends, to say the least. 

“I am so sorry,” Ulyssa put a hand to her mouth, embarrassed after everyone put their orders in. “That’s like the second time you’ve had to carry me.” 

“The third,” Bill said, holding three digits up. 

“What?”

“Our housewarming party.” 

“I thought I just passed out in the den by myself.” She was horrified. 

“No. It’s fine. It happens.” He shrugged. 

Yolani cut in to say how much she enjoyed their shared hotel room all by herself last night and thanked him and Alma again for it. People were cross-talking while they enjoyed their food, which was helping everyone soothe their hangovers. 

“I heard you two had a baby?” Bianca asked the Darbys. They had known each other for a long time, but it was nice to finally meet and speak in person, especially with Darby himself.

“Yeah!” Jenny said happily. “She’s seven months now.” 

“It’s our first trip without her. I kind of wish we brought her, but she’s too little, I think. Family is taking care of her and our cat, Garbo.” He chuckled. 

“What’s her name?” 

“Zowie,” Darby and Jennifer said together. 

“So precious!” 

“Thanks,” Darby said before taking a sip of his coffee. “Your sons, uh, are very polite! Bill talks about Giancarlo every now and again. We’re excited for him to come later in the summer to work with us.” 

"Oh, trust me, he’s excited too. Do me a favor. Give him the bullshit grunt work so he doesn’t start getting ideas about moving to Seattle, would you?” She winked.

Echo slid from her seat, under the table, stepping over people's feet to crawl into her father’s lap. He was in the middle of eating his omelet, but he paused to help her up. 

“Hi, GiGi!” Echo lightly snickered at Giancarlo.

“Hi, Miss Echo.” He lightly waved from across the table. 

Bill glanced over towards Bianca, who was now speaking amiably with Antonio and making him chuckle bashfully. “What did you do last night?” 

“Uhm,” he peered over at his preoccupied mother cautiously. “Walked around some. Got into a club,” he whispered with a smirk. “It was fun. Lots of cute girls here,” he said with flushed cheeks.

“Don’t forget to tell Mr. Skarsgård that you yaked in a bush before we came back to the hotel, though.” Lorenzo teasingly nudged his little brother, which he sneered at him before the embarrassment settled in.

“Don’t mix your drinks, you know. Uhm, after we wrap up here, could you stick around? Alma and I wanted to talk to you.” 

“Sure,” Gian nodded. “Of course.” He said with certainty. 

“Okay, cool.” His attention shifted to Echo, who was picking at his omelet, and offered him a bite. He ate from her hand before kissing the top of her head.

…

Alma was holding her daughter as she discussed the plans for the day with her father. She intended to go to the spa to relax and recharge before the big day ahead. The ladies were also invited to join if they wished. Otherwise, it was a free day for everyone to enjoy as they pleased.

“She’s staying with Yolani tonight after our dinner,” she informed her father of Echo’s arrangement. 

“Well, Connie and I will have her while you’re at the spa. We can watch her then too.” 

“Apá, go do something fun for yourself.” 

“That’s fun for me,” he argued. 

Meanwhile, Bill finished smoking a cigarette, stomped it out, and fist-bumped Darby and Scotty before dismissing himself while they discussed gathering a group later to shop the promenade. 

Bill walked through the casino and spotted Giancarlo sitting on a bench by the lounge, sipping on orange juice from a foam to-go cup. He tiredly exhaled loudly, taking a seat next to him. 

“So, pretty girls, huh?” He asked, peering over his sunglasses while slumping in his seat.

Gian lightly laughed. “Yeah! Older too.” 

Bill laughed. “Well, no shit! So what? Blondes? Brunettes? Redheads?”

“I don’t think I’m in a position to be so picky. But—Brunettes.” 

“Good choice.” Bill nodded, resting his finger-laced hands over his waist.

“I got a number last night.”

“Did you?” Bill raised an eyebrow at him. Gian rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal smudged ink-written digits on his flexed bicep. “Jesus Christ!” Bill laughed. “Well… you’ll have to wait a year to call her, though.”

“Whatever!” Gian laughed.

Suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder, causing him to turn his head, only to hear a pleasant, girlish laugh coming from the opposite direction. Alma had faked him out, and he fell for it.

“Did you ask him?” she inquired, looking down at Bill, who was beginning to sit up.

“I was waiting on you,” he replied, wrapping his arm around her waist. “Alma and I wanted to ask if you’d be our ring bearer.”

Gian looked at them with surprise. “For real?” 

“Yeah for real!” Alma giggled. “So would you?” 

“Yeah!” He brightly grinned. “Of course, Miss Alma.” He stood up to hug her, thanking her. While in wait, he was worried that they were going to tell him that his visit to Seattle would no longer be happening. 

“It was always going to be you,” she said, squeezing his hand appreciatively. It still felt strange that she now had to look up at him. Whenever Bill spoke about him, she still pictured a little boy that he no longer was.

“We just wanted to ask you in person.” Bill stood up from his seat. 

“Thank you, Bill,” he put his hand out to shake, but Bill pulled his hand so that they could embrace instead. 

…

“Bianca is quite funny,” Antonio said with a chuckle. “She called me, babe, at breakfast. I don’t think Connie liked that too much.” 

Alma lightly giggled. “That’s just how she talks. Babe, sweetie, honey. I think it rubbed off on Bill a little. If I ever hear him say ‘cosette’, he’s gone too far.”

“Mm. And the guy with the panther tattoo on his neck?” 

“Darby?” 

“Yes, he dresses like I did in the 60s. He’s nice and your friend with the short hair too.” 

“Ulyssa.” 

“Mhmm. She’s Echo’s godmother?” 

“She is. And your friend Bianca, too.” She lightly joked. 

“Echo has two?”

“Yeah. She, uh, Ulyssa was there when Echo was born, but since Bianca and Bill are close, we just agreed that they would both be the godmother. Two is better, no?”

“I think so,” he lightly smiled. “So, you ready for tomorrow?” Antonio asked his daughter, who was shaking dabs of hot sauce into her shrimp cocktail. 

They were at a Mexican restaurant off the strip together. Alma was about seventy-five percent back to normal; a good night's rest was needed to get to one hundred percent. After lunch, she and Bill enjoyed a couple’s massage before splitting up to separate spa areas, each enjoying some time to themselves. Bianca, Ulyssa, and Yolani joined Alma at the spa, and they chatted a bit before eventually falling silent. Everyone wanted a chance to decompress and unwind, undisturbed.

She smiled. “Are you?” 

“Mhmm. I’m happy you invited me,” he joked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Really? You might have a point, though.” 

“Oh?” He raised his brows. 

“Bill brought up eloping in New Orleans at first. But uhm, I know you walking me down an aisle one day was something important to you.”

Antonio appreciated her thoughtfulness. “But Vegas, mija?” 

“You know, we like to have fun,” she smirked. “Entertainment work has been our life, so it’s nice to be on the other end. I book and attend shows constantly. But—I know you’re aware of what Bill does for work in New York.” Antonio paused and put his flauta down before he could take a bite. “You didn’t think Bill would tell me he told you?” She tilted her head, amused.

“If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Why didn’t you say anything? I’ll be honest, he didn’t tell me that he did for a few months.” 

“Well, I wanted you to tell me yourself. But also, that’s between you two. He’s going to be your husband tomorrow, but you have a daughter together. You bought a house together. You work together.” 

“We’re basically married already.” She stated for him. 

“Yes. So of course you have to listen to him. You do what he does.” 

Alma put her fork down, looking displeased. “Apá, yeah, I listen, but that’s because he listens to me too. We respect each other. It’s not like the old ways.” 

“No.” He sighed. “You two have never been with the old ways, anyway.” He digressed. “He takes care of you. Because of Echo, it helped me see him differently than what I thought of him.” He admitted. “He takes care of both of you. That’s all I wanted for you because I’m old. I don’t know how long—” 

“Oh god,” Alma looked away. “You’re going to be an old, old man. I don’t like it when you talk like that. Bill’s dad passed, and I just think about,” she lowered her gaze, shaking the thought of her own father’s inevitable passing out of her head. 

“Okay, okay. I shouldn’t be talking like that after something like that has happened. Doesn’t matter who the man was.” 

“I get sad for him. For Bill. It’s just complicated for him, you know.” She mournfully sighed. “He’ll be okay, though.” 

Antonio just listened; it was rare for her to share anything about Bill this way with him. She usually only spoke with clear facts whenever he had questions about him. They both did this—preserving and protecting each other by sharing just enough but not too much with anyone inquiring about them when the other wasn’t present.

“Uhm,” he cleared his throat. “Are his brothers coming for the wedding?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “He’s probably with them now having dinner. They’re actually both doing pretty well right now. Well, despite, you know.” 

“Mhmm. That’s good.”

Alma popped a shrimp in her mouth. “Gustaf got a better job, and Alex kind of cut his bullshit. He’s been with his lady now for like eight months! That’s a miracle.” She laughed. “They have two kids together. The oldest boy is eleven, and the youngest is seven. So they’ve known each other for a long time.” 

“But they’ve never been together before now?” Antonio took a sip of his beer, trying to understand. 

“No,” she laughed. “Only been together for however long it takes him to make two kids.” 

“Alma!” Antonio scoffed, surprised she’d make a dirty joke in front of him. 

“Sorry,” she said bashfully, loudly biting onto a tortilla chip. 

… 

In a nice steakhouse, the brothers sat together in a booth. The place was dim, but a pendant light above their table forced the tall men to slouch a bit in their seats so they could talk without the fixture obscuring the top halves of their faces. They kept the conversation light, sharing funny life anecdotes. Bill became a topic of discussion, and he mostly talked about the record shop, as it was the focus of his work these days.

“Well, I wasn’t there because if I was, it would have been a different story,” he said. “But the band was trying to set the fucking drum kit on fire.”

“Some gimmick,” Gustaf said, following along. 

“Gimmick my ass! The whole place would have burned down! Security kicked them out, and Alma called every venue in Seattle and warned them.” 

“Ooooh, blacklisted,” Alex said. 

“Yeah. They can play in fucking Tacoma,” he laughed. “There’s always something though, some bad, some not so bad, some bad but kinda funny. Between the shop and the club, but that's what it is, so.” 

Alex checked his wristwatch and scratched his head with pursed lips. Bill and Gustaf shared a curious look. 

“You have somewhere to be?” Bill asked. 

“Jodie wants me to call her and the boys before they go to bed, their time.” 

“Oh.” Hearing his brother speak like that was strange. He was so serious about it, too, like he really gave a shit for once. 

“Or is she making sure you’re not doing what you’re not supposed to be doing?” Gustaf quipped. 

“Don’t you think Lorna might want a call from you too?” Alex narrowed his eyes at his brother.

Gustaf wagged a disapproving finger at his brother. “Yeah, sure. She can put Tate on the phone so he can say hi to you.” 

Bill deeply inhaled, rolling his eyes under closed lids. “I thought you two were over this?” He said, glancing between both of them and becoming aware they were just being terribly petty because they could. 

They both digressed and apologized to their little brother to keep the peace. 

“But actually, I do have to call Lorna.” 

“Right now?” Bill clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Call them when we’re done. I’ll get on the phone and vouch for you two. If they don’t believe me, Alma will.”

“You’re lucky your girl doesn’t get jealous!” Alex said, taking a bite of his steak. 

“Eh, she does sometimes. But she doesn’t keep me on fucking leash like your ladies do.” 

His brothers both scoffed, clearly offended, but it was true. Jodie had her reasons for expecting a call, but Lorna was just as paranoid because of Alex, whose behavior had created a complex that strained her relationship with his brother, Gustaf, at times.

“So, I don’t give a fuck but,” Bill took a deep breath. “Where did you put him?” He asked once dinner had wound down.

Gustaf scratched his head. “His ashes are in a box, you know. I just—I just put him up in the attic. So–” 

“Hmm,” Bill nodded, satisfied with that. “That’s all.”

“He was tough as balls,” Alex said. “I think, uh, he’s a source for a lot of our issues, honestly. Women issues,” he pointed at himself. “Alcohol issues,” he pointed at Gustaf. “And,” he pointed at Bill. “I don’t know. Cryptic douchebag issues.”

“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll take that more than women's issues.” 

“I think we’ve all had issues with women,” Bill said honestly. “But that’s on account of us literally being motherless fucks.” 

“Well, that’s certainly a way to put it,” said Gustaf, facetiously. 

“Even with tomorrow’s wife?” asked Alex.

“Mhmm.” Bill nodded with puckered lips. “Let’s just say she put up with a lot from me.” 

“Well, I hear that. Congrats, brother,” Alex raised his beer glass. 

“Congrats,” Gustaf said, raising his glass of water. “You got a good one, brother.” 

 …

Alma was alone in the penthouse suite, lying in bed with a thriller novel for a change. Carla had handed it to her in passing after she left the spa; it was part of their two-woman book club. Echo was with her grandfather, and at his insistence, Alma didn’t mind. He didn’t see Echo often, so it was best that she stayed another night with him and Connie. Before being left alone, Ulyssa had been with her, watching a rerun of The Real World on MTV and chatting a bit. 

“So he’s not coming?” Ulyssa asked, a bit anxious over seeing Gregory. They hadn’t worked out and with her new career, she called it quits, not wanting to be in a long-distance partnership when things had already been wavering. Instead, they agreed to remain friends, but she could tell he wasn’t so keen on the idea. 

“Nope. He did RSVP, but when he came to drop off some posters last week, he told Bill he wouldn’t be able to make it.” She said, biting into a juicy chocolate-covered strawberry. They were sharing a platter of them that had been gifted by Theo.

“He's so damn flakey!” 

Alma lightly chuckled. “He still asks about you. But I heard through Darby that he’s dating a girl at the print shop he works at…” She looked over at Ulyssa carefully, she looked a little hurt but at least it didn’t come off as devastated.

“Well,” Ulyssa tutted. “He should quit trying to call me then!” 

The telephone on the nightstand rang, and she laid her book down to crawl to the other side of the big round bed to answer. 

“You up?”

Alma smiled. “Booty calling me?” 

Bill laughed. “Hey, uh, I forgot my toothbrush.” 

She rolled her eyes. “You did that on purpose,” she giggled. 

“I swear I didn’t!”

They had agreed to spend the night before their wedding apart. Bill arranged to stay in his brother Gustaf’s double bedroom. Although not particularly traditional, they chose to see each other for the first time at the altar. However, it made Bill terribly nervous. As the day approached, the more his emotions played with him. Seeing Alma in her bridal gown for the first time in front of everyone, he wasn’t sure how he would react, and he didn’t want to show his emotions in front of so many people.

“Just go in the spare room and close the door. I’ll be in and out.” 

Bill was rummaging around the room while she waited for him to leave. It suddenly felt kind of silly to spend the night separately. There was a light rap on the door, causing Alma to turn to it while sitting on the spare bed. 

“I got it.” His voice was slightly muffled speaking from the other side of the closed door. 

“Okay.” She stood up, approached the door, and had to stop herself from turning the handle. “Goodnight.”

She laid her hand flat against the door, and it felt as though she could sense his energy through the wood. 

“Kind of wild, huh?” He spoke after a pause. “We’re getting married.” He heard Alma’s light giggle from the other side of the door. “Are you ready?” 

“Are you?” She quipped back. 

“Yeah,” he smiled. 

“Yeah, me too. Who knew we’d be here after meeting in shitty detention?” 

“Mhmm. It’s not the first time I noticed you, though. It was just the first opportunity I had to talk to you without your bitchy little friends around.” He heard Alma laugh a bit louder. “We had that class together. Your hair was long, and then one day you walked in, and it was hacked off.” 

“That was terrible.” She grimaced, remembering how bad of a job she did. 

“I was shocked. It was so, so long. I wanted to ask why you did that, but I was too shy.” He chuckled, recalling how long it was and how she would gather it to one side to give her neck some air while picking at split ends. “Also, I wasn’t too sure if you were like your friends, either. You’re not, by the way.” 

“You were new, so I noticed you the first week of school. But I would have noticed you regardless because you were also so much taller than everyone, even when you walked with a slouch. I dressed like such a nerd back then, and you looked so cool.”

Bill turned and pressed his broad shoulders against the door before sliding down to take a seat on the floor. Alma could sense his movements and did the same. 

“I guess I was a little cool.” He playfully bragged. “Uhm, we haven’t really had any time to ourselves since we got here. But, um, yesterday? When you ran into—you know. Are you sure you’re okay? I hate that—that happened.” 

“I guess?” She scratched her head uncomfortably. “She… I feel bad.” 

“Well, if you didn’t, there’d be something wrong with you.” 

“Thinking of her still makes me angry.” She admitted as she could feel herself becoming irritated. 

Bill picked at the inner seam of his joggers, feeling a bit uncomfortable himself. “Mm. I was an asshole. I should have never used her to push you away like I did. It was shitty. I wonder… how we even had an open relationship.” 

“We could hardly do that right.” Alma quipped.

“It literally pisses me off even thinking of doing that now.” He shook his head to shake the thought of it. “You’re mine.” 

Alma smiled. “I am.” 

“And also, sorry for being an asshole because your period started. Didn’t mean to—” 

“Eh, it’s whatever.” She sighed. “I love Echo. Maybe—well, I mean, I’m an only child?” 

Bill frowned and crossed his arms, uncomfortable with what she seemed to imply—that they would only have one child. He didn’t like that she was accepting defeat so quickly. He could be a little better about his reactions, he thought, it wasn’t helping her optimism. His disappointment didn’t lie with her but rather with himself. 

“But did you like being one?” He asked rhetorically because he knew of the deep loneliness she experienced because of it. 

“No.” She answered after a long pause.

“Well then… there’s your answer.” He chewed on his lip for a moment and begrudgingly stood up to go. “I love you.” He pressed his forehead against the door. 

“You’re leaving already?” She said, standing up herself. 

“Well, it’s kinda late. Don’t you need to get up super early?” 

“Yeah…” she lamented. “Do you still think it’ll be fun?” 

He raised a brow, confused over what she was asking. “Do I still think—what?” 

“Sex.” 

He tilted his head, still perplexed, as his brows pulled together. “Sex?” 

“Yeah. Do you still think it’ll be as good as having sex in sin?” 

A smirk crept across his face when he heard the door unlock. They hadn’t been intimate since they arrived, having been so busy with friends or family, or being drunk or too hungover and everything in between. 

“Are you inviting me in?” He asked, wanting to be certain despite his hand on the handle already.

“Bill. If you don’t open the fucking door.” 

She jumped back when the door immediately flew open, and before she knew it, he was tackling her into the soft bed, making her yelp before she giggled with elation. 

…

The Wedding Day

Bianca was meeting Alma that morning, bringing the bridal dress with her. Her hair was in large rollers, and she wore a baby pink velour tracksuit with matching furry slippers. Alma had given her a spare key to the room the night before, but Bianca still knocked—several times. After a loud sigh, she fished the key out of her bra and opened the door to let herself in.

“Alma? Wake up, babe!” She announced when she entered. 

Rounding the corner, she could see Alma lying on her side in the large round bed with her bare back facing her. She paused. Something didn’t feel right, which caused her to look more closely. 

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” She groaned as she quickly turned around. 

She noticed Bill on the other side of Alma, lying on his stomach with his bare ass to the world. He stirred and turned his head, and his eyes went wide, seeing Bianca in the room. 

“Shit!”

“Huh?” Alma woke up looking at him bleary-eyed. 

“I’ll wait outside. My god!” She said disgusted, stomping away. 

“Oh my god!” Alma exclaimed in horror, having been caught because they overslept. “Damn it!” 

“She’ll be okay,” Bill chuckled as he got up to search for his discarded clothes. He kissed her goodbye just before she stepped into the shower. “I’ll see you later.” 

She smiled, feeling butterflies in her belly suddenly taking flight. “I love you.” 

Bill met Bianca in the hallway, where she was waiting impatiently. She shook her head, disapproving of the smug smirk on his face.

“Sorry.” 

“You weren’t supposed to be in there.” She raised her brow. 

“No. But,” he shrugged. “What’d you see? My ass?” He laughed. 

“It’s not funny!” She laughed. “Your ass probably gave me the evil eye, for all I know! Evil—Evil ass!” They both cracked up. “Okay, okay. You go get ready, honey.” 

“Alright,” he said, looking at the garment bag in her hands. 

“I’m not going to show you,” she said, shooing him away before he could think to ask. 

…

Chewing on a piece of nicotine gum, Bill sat on the spare bed he was meant to sleep in, half-dressed. He wore long black socks, a stark white dress shirt, and white boxer briefs. His perfectly pressed trousers still hung in the closet where he had left them. He was concerned about putting them on too soon and wrinkling them.

“Yeah. I think it sounds alright.” Gustaf said, handing back a sheet of notebook paper. 

“Alright?” 

“Well, it’s not me you’re writing to, is it? It’s good!” He assured. “From the heart.” 

Bill just nodded and nervously folded the paper closed. Gustaf noticed his little brother sighing deeply while he checked the time and watched him rise from his seat to his soft leather toiletry bag for a comb and some hair products.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Gustaf asked while digging in his duffle bag for a pair of long black socks. 

“Hmm?”

“Being in love?” He turned to his anxious brother with a smirk before sitting on the edge of his bed.

Bill resisted the urge to roll his eyes, instead side-eyeing his brother skeptically. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to get at. His brother was married, but not to a woman Bill thought one would want to fall in love with—especially knowing she’d been with their oldest brother. However, Bill wasn’t much better, considering he slept with his hippie girlfriend. Still, Gustaf was married, and there was something he knew that Bill would only understand in a matter of hours.

“Well—of course.” He muttered. 

“You don’t have to play so cool all the time.” He lightly teased. “If you want to be like that, then your letter will make you look lame then!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He groaned as his nerves bubbled up. 

… 

Echo had finally joined her mother while she was having her makeup done by a professional. Alma was sitting in a chair wearing a black fluffy robe and chatting with her father, who had brought lattes for everyone from the café in the lobby. All the while, a photographer was capturing the preparations. Their lens was focused on Bianca, who was helping by curling the little girl’s hair. Echo kept turning her head to watch her mother’s transformation, causing Bianca to pull the hot tool away several times to avoid burning her.

“Let’s turn the chair, yeah?” Bianca suggested, poking her button nose. “So you can watch your mommy turn into a princess just like you?” 

Echo smiled bashfully. “Mama! Mama!” She said once she was facing her. 

“Yeah, baby?” Alma peeked over at her, creaking one eye open. 

“Can I? Have some?” She asked while the makeup artist bounced a power brush on Alma’s face. 

“Oh, here we go,” Antonio lightly chuckled. 

Alma and the makeup artist exchanged a wink before she picked up an unused makeup brush and approached the little girl. The women in the room gasped in awe as the soft brush swept across her cheeks, and she naturally blushed at all the praise.

“I’m going to check on Connie and get ready, mija,” Antonio told his daughter as he got up from the couch with the help of his cane, letting out a low achy groan. “You look pretty,” he said, kissing the top of his grown daughter’s head. “You hardly need it, though,” he added, pointing at the makeup kit beside her. “Here, for you,” he said, pulling a thin, square box from his tan bomber jacket. 

Alma opened the box to reveal a pair of diamond earrings with teardrop pearls dangling elegantly. She was speechless—they were beautiful—but conflicted. Her father had already insisted on paying for both her wedding dress and Echo’s, and now he had spent even more on these earrings. It felt like too much, and she wasn’t sure how to express her mixed emotions.

“Don’t mention it,” Antonio said, easily reading his daughter's thoughts from her expression. “Just say you like them.” 

Alma gave him a small appreciative smile. “They’re gorgeous.” She stood up to hug him tightly. 

Before leaving, he gave his daughter another box that housed two small button pearl earrings for Echo to wear, just as pretty.

“Bye-bye, Bwello,” Echo said, doing her best to pronounce “Abuelo,” as she waved at him.

“No, see you later, mija!” he told her with a wink. "Bye" felt too definitive of a farewell for him.

“See later!” She giggled. 

“Later, Mistah Lucio,” Bianca winked at him, causing him to discreetly raise an abashed brow at his daughter, who responded with a smirk.

Ulyssa arrived shortly, still half-done herself, with her short mod haircut perfectly texturized, but she needed to deliver the Juliet cap she had made for Echo to go with her outfit. Alma’s hair was being sprayed with hairspray when she entered. It was slicked from the middle part into a low, sleek, intricate bun. The stylist was working on laying down the baby hairs in their natural growth pattern, creating soft leave-out curls by Alma's temples.

“Oh my god, Alma!” Ulyssa said with a hand to her mouth. “You’re getting married, bitch!” She laughed. “You look so gorgeous!”

Alma bashfully laughed. “Thanks, ‘Lys.” 

“And you too, pretty girlie!” She pointed at Echo. 

“Look my blush!” She said excitedly as she touched her cheeks. 

“I love it! I’ve brought you something,” Ulyssa said, presenting the lace cap. “Do you like it? Your Aunt Bianca will help you with it.” She handed it over, as Bianca was already working on pinning Echo’s hair. Alma reminded Echo to say thank you to Aunt Ulyssa, which she did.

Ulyssa spotted the wedding dress hung high in waiting. “It’s so pretty, Alma!” She complimented.

“I’m about to put it on. Do you want to stay to see?” 

“Oh, I want to, but I have to finish getting ready. I’ll see how it’s meant to be seen—next to Bill.” She winked. 

“Right, right,” Alma blushed. “Later.”

…

Bill was adjusting his suit in the full-length mirror, stepping back to assess it while shaking his arms out. He then pulled the sleeves of his button-down shirt to add silver love knot cufflinks. A light knock on the door prompted Gustaf to rise and answer, while Bill nervously nitpicked his suit.

“Oh! Hi, I’m Bianca.” She greeted him. 

“Papa!” Echo said happily.

Bill quickly turned and saw his daughter running toward him with her arms outstretched, giddily. She was wearing white stockings and a white dress. A bright smile spread across Bill’s face as he caught her and lifted her into his arms.

“You’re beautiful, baby! Look at you,” he lightly tickled her side, kissing her cheek. “You missed me?”

Echo laughed. “A little.” 

“A little? You’re so honest sometimes it hurts,” he lightly laughed. “You had fun with your grandpa then?” 

Echo nodded; she did indeed; he hardly had rules. “So handsome, Papa!” She said, placing her hands on his high cheeks. 

“You think?”

Bianca stood back to give them space while Gustaf dismissed himself to look for Alex, whom he suspected was wasting time on casino slots below. Bill turned his head, remembering that there was another presence with them. 

“This is the best you’ve ever looked!” Bianca lightly teased. “No, really honey, you look so nice in white!” She said, taking note of the suit jacket he wore. 

“Yeah? It feels a little hard to get used to,” he said, gently sitting Echo on the bed. “Do I look like a butler?” 

“No,” Bianca shook her head as she laughed. “No tie?” 

“I have one, should I put it on? I did at first but–”

“No, no,” she interrupted before he went on an anxious tangent. “Wear it how you want to. Trust me, you look great. I wouldn’t lie; you know me. Uhm, Alma wants to see you.” 

Bill licked his lips, nervously smoothing his slicked hair down. “Right now? Is–is everything okay?” 

“Yeah! You already saw her this morning. What’s stopping you?” 

He put a hand on his hip. “She’s not like, changing her mind or something?” 

“Don’t be silly, Billy!” She laughed. 

“Alright. Uhm, are you going back to your room?” 

“After I leave Echo with her grandpa. Why?” 

He reached into his pocket and handed her the wedding bands. “Just hold on to these for Gian. Alma’s band is her mother’s, so it can’t be lost.”

"Got it, don’t worry. I’ll give it to him at the chapel, then.” 

She examined the precious metals in her palm. Alma’s gold band was engraved with simple, delicate florals, while Bill’s softly hammered platinum ring was thick and much heavier. He watched as she tucked the rings inside her bra and then patted her chest.

“Really?”

“It’s the safest place they could be,” she winked. “Now go.”  

… 

The door to the suite creaked open slowly and ominously, making Alma’s heart race as she waited for Bill to step in. Although she wished he would come through the door with the same eagerness he had shown when he opened the bedroom door last night, she knew he was nervous and anxious. However, she was too. So instead of revealing herself at the altar, she decided they could have this private moment together one last time before they wed.

Bill took a hesitant step into the room, his heart thumping hard against his chest as he rounded the corner. He peeked briefly before straightening his back as he took a deep breath before proceeding. She stood by the window, her back facing toward him—her bare back. The dress was sleek, with no frills or fluff, chic and elegant against her curves. The square neckline was held up by thin straps, and the smooth white fabric hugged her bodice before it cascaded down. A high slit exposed one of her smooth legs as the rest of the fabric lay in a long train behind her. All of this underneath a veil compassing her, just as long.

She turned her head to meet his gaze, and he suddenly stepped back, clutching his chest, completely enamored. She was breathtaking. Alma thought the same of him, looking dapper, tall, and clean in his white suit jacket and slicked hair. 

Their eyes finally met after scanning each other up and down in stunned awe. Big smiles were on both their faces before they began giggling uncontrollably. Completely tickled that soon they were to be husband and wife. That this was really true. 

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he said, lightly touching the fabric of the veil that kissed her shoulder. 

“You look so handsome!” She slipped her hand under the veil, noticing he was having trouble figuring out where to place his hand, and gently held it. “Is it what you imagined?”

He looked her up and down again. “It’s better than what I imagined, honestly.” He chuckled. “So much better. I want to kiss you.” He looked at her plump lips, tastefully covered in soft nude pink lipstick. 

“Not yet.” She said in a hushed tone. She wanted him to remove the veil for the first time at the altar. 

He nodded. “Let’s go, then. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

…

Their ceremony at the chapel was straightforward and prompt. There wasn’t an Elvis impersonator—though the absurdity would have cost extra—but a smartly dressed minister officiated. They chose not to have a bridal or groom party, as deciding whom to include was too difficult. Only three people had specific roles in the ceremony: Antonio, who walked Alma down the aisle; Giancarlo, who delivered the wedding bands; and Echo, who scattered white rose petals along the walkway. Despite running out of petals halfway through, she completed the task and even took the liberty to bow before everyone, earning amused snickers from the guests with her charming gesture.

So they stood before their guests and family. Some friends, like Marcy, Marco, Julia, Simion, and Marina, had arrived early in the morning, as well as Lewis and his wife Helen, both nicely tanned. All guests had been asked to wear black to the ceremony, as explicitly stated on the black wedding invitations they issued. For Bill and Alma, it was rare to deviate from their usual preference for dark colors, especially white. This time, they took the opportunity to stand out in a sea of onyx.

They repeated the stereotypical vows after the minister as they exchanged rings. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part… 

The minister announced their official bond and quickly stepped aside, allowing the couple to kiss as husband and wife. Bill lifted the veil from Alma’s face, taking in her beauty fully for the first time. He smiled brightly at her—so stunning—and gently cupped her face in his hands, kissing her deeply. His arms wrapped around her body, pulling her closer, while she hooked an arm around his broad shoulders. He turned and dipped her, their lips remained connected—a move they had practiced at home and executed flawlessly. 

After signing the marriage certificate, they began giggling again, still in disbelief. As if they were just a part of some elaborate delusional prank. But it was real and now official. 

Many pictures were taken at the end of the ceremony outside the chapel steps, including shots with family, friends, individuals, and the minister. As they were finishing up the last few photos, their car arrived to take them to the venue—a Tuscan-inspired tavern restaurant that, while a charming eatery by day, was available for private events.

They made their way to Bill’s dream car—a 1965 Mustang Fastback coupe, all black with chrome details. It looked as though it had driven straight off the magazine page he’d pinned to the thin walls of his childhood home, right next to a photo of Raquel Welch in a bikini. The driver stepped out, clad in a clean mechanic’s shirt, which struck Bill as unusual attire for a chauffeur. Alma glanced up at him, biting back a smirk.

“Congrats,” the driver said, handing Bill the keys to the vehicle. “And congrats on getting married.” 

“What?” He looked down at Alma with surprise. “What the fuck?” 

Alma laughed, delighted by his astonished reaction. Happy that he was genuinely shocked. She took his hand, guiding him to the car so that they could get inside it. Bill admired the black leather interior and its intricate details with wide-eyed appreciation, looking like a child lost in wonder. It was even better in person than the mediocre photos Alma received in the mail.

“Do you like it? It’s my wedding gift to you.” 

“Are you for real? How?” 

“My old house money.” Her childhood home was bulldozed, and now a parking lot took over the space for the strip mall. As if it never existed. 

“Right, but–” 

“Darby. I asked for his help to find this.” She explained. Darby knew old cars and where to help with the search and knew what was fair. “We were able to call around and found this in Reno. And it’ll be shipped to Seattle.”

“Holy shit…” he said, sitting back in his seat in disbelief. “It’s mine. For real?” 

“For real!” She laughed. 

He reached over to kiss her deeply again. This time it was a bit more sexually charged. Making out in the Mustang he now owned. In his dream car with his dream girl. They broke apart, but their foreheads remain linked. 

“I want to eat your pussy so fucking bad right now.” He said, pecking her lips while she giggled. “Right here, I don’t give a fuck. You’re my wife now.” 

“Let’s take it for a ride first and… see where we end up.” She winked.

…

After their reception dinner in the intimate, candlelit venue with stone walls, they had a bouquet toss on the outdoor patio, which Ulyssa ended up catching, making Bill laugh. Afterward, some of the men from the party joined Bill outside, wanting a tour of the Mustang. Bill took a puff of his cigarette and thanked Darby for helping Alma. 

“Yeah, man anytime.” He said, lighting his cigarette. “I’ll admit I was getting nervous, thinking I wouldn’t find anything through my connections. We’ve been searching since, uh, October,” he said with uncertainty. “Yeah! October. It looks damn good.” He said, fist-bumping his boss. “That weekend I asked off in February, I was in Reno test-driving it”

“Hey, brother, could I get one?” Scotty said, straightening up after peering into the car through the rolled-down window. “The ‘Stang is sick, by the way.” 

“I’m gonna see what the old boss is up to,” Darby said, dismissing himself.

Standing at the altar in the chapel, Bill scanned the guests and noticed Scotty sporting a black eye. He gave his friend a curious look, pointing at his own eye in silent question. Scotty, seated in one of the pews, simply signaled with a gesture that he'd explain later. 

“Care to explain now?” He asked, passing him a cigarette. 

“Let me light this, and I will,” Scotty said, pulling out a matchbook from his back pocket—a wedding favor with Bill and Alma’s names around an anatomical heart and the wedding date underneath. After taking a deep drag and exhaling the smoke, he continued, “Someone punched me.”

“Yeah, no fucking shit!”

“I didn’t start it, man. I was out with everyone on the strip but Ash and I–” 

Bill plucked his cigarette from his lips. “You and Ash?” He raised a brow at him.

“It’s nothing like that. She’s cute, but I got something going on with Kiara. That’s another thing completely. Anyway, we got separated, so we were weaving around the crowds to try to catch up, and she bumped into some Texas-sized asshole! Like bulls ride him kinda shit, right?” He animatedly gestured. “And well, he got real agro about it, and I-I’m not going to repeat what he said,” he shook his head, taking another deep drag, still pissed.

What the man uttered was reprehensible, but coming from a hick town, it wasn’t the first time he’d heard ugly words about someone’s color, unfortunately. He’d fought about it as a young punk then and continued into his young adulthood confronting skinheads at underground shows. With his daughter being half-black, he didn’t hesitate to push the man back harshly when he heard those remarks directed at Ash.

“It’s not something that should be coming out of anyone’s fucking mouth.” He spit on the ground with disgust. “But yeah, Ash tried to pull me back, and in doing so—I got clocked. Didn’t mean to look like shit at your wedding, man. Sorry.”

“Nah, fuck that guy. You get him a few times at least?” Bill asked, stomping his cigarette out. 

“Yeah, dude. I kicked him in the chest, and we ran off,” he laughed. 

“And what’s going on with Kiara? You two got back together?” 

Scotty took a deep breath, looking a bit put out. “Well, no.” He scratched his neck, clearly debating whether he wanted to share. “You know, I hear it’s rude to announce stuff at other people’s weddings, so—”

“You’re not announcing shit. You’re just talking to me.” 

“Well, then, Kiara is pregnant. It’s mine before you think to ask.” 

Bill raised his hands defensively. “Get out of my head.”

“Shithead,” he said playfully, stomping his cigarette out. “Yeah… we’re having a boy.” 

“Oh! So this isn’t a new thing?” 

“No, she’s almost 6 months pregnant, yeah. She didn’t want to tell me, though. She just threw the 12-week ultrasound picture at me one day. Can you believe that shit?” 

“Kinda,” he quickly muttered. “You nervous?” Bill genuinely asked. 

“Fuck yeah,” he sighed. “I don’t think—well, you know, we have a kid, but it’s been seven years since then. But when I saw the ultrasound picture, I physically felt my dick shrink! I don’t think there’ll be a time when I’m not wanting to shit a brick.” 

They began making their way back inside, like the others who had gone before them. “Yeah, I guess, I get that.” 

“You know, being guys, we don’t know what that’s like. Your girl is pregnant, and there’s not much you can do but watch. Then sometimes, when she’s having a rough day, you, like, feel guilty for doing that to them.” He glanced at his friend, who seemed visibly uncomfortable. “Ah, damn, man. I shouldn’t be unloading all this on you, not right after you just got married.” He patted his friend's shoulder. 

 “I’m just—just listening.” Bill scratched his jaw.

“Alright. Well, what’s next, the garter toss?” 

“Hell no.” Bill laughed. “I don’t want any of you guys with that shit.” 

…

Bill stayed back to take in the memorial table Alma had arranged with their wedding planner. It was beautifully decorated with ornate frames, bouquets, and twinkling lights. Among the framed photos was one of Alma’s mother as a young woman, standing before a rose garden. Another featured his own mother, her long hippie hair cascading around her shoulders, wearing round-frame sunglasses, and leaning against a car with a cigarette between her fingers. The last was a portrait of Myrna from her vaudeville days.

He turned his head at Alma’s loud guffaw, which cut through the music playing at a mellow volume. She was by the back patio, sharing a cigarette with his brothers. It looked like Alex had managed to get a laugh out of her. Bill scanned the room, taking in their eclectic mix of friends and family. His eyes settled on Echo, on her tiptoes and poking a finger into the wedding cake for a taste before darting across the room with a white bunny stuffed animal clutched under her arm to fist bump Matt.

“Is that Miss Myrna?” A voice said from behind him. It was Giancarlo, coming back from the bathroom. 

“Uh, yeah.” Bill nodded. 

“Wow. She was pretty.” He was a little boy then but remembered how she applied blue shadow to her wrinkly lids and red rouge to her jowly cheeks in a clownlike fashion. “I remember she made me and Lorenzo call her Mama.” 

Bill laughed. “Yeah. She made me call her that too. Funny lady, huh.” 

“Very. And this,” he pointed. “Your mother?” Bill nodded in reply. “She was a hippy!” 

“Yeah, kinda.” He scratched his ear uncomfortably. 

Gian glanced over at Bill and recognized he was maybe being a bother. “Uhm, I heard Alma was waiting on you. For the dance?” 

“Oh?”

“You dance?” Gian playfully teased. 

“I might surprise you. I just kinda get shy,” he admitted to him. “I don’t like to do it in front of everyone. At least sober.” 

“Oh right! The second Christmas dinner you ever came to!” Gian pointed out, recalling the memory of Bill, wine-drunk, dancing with his very Italian family. 

“That’s not a great point of reference.” He grimaced. 

Before the dance began, Bill discovered that guests had the opportunity to make toasts, with one stipulation—they had to wear the cowboy hat Alma had stolen. In reality, the couple mostly got roasted, and Alma cringed at times, especially knowing her father was in the audience hearing things she’d never admit to him. Despite the playful jabs, each speech ended on a favorable note. The wedding planner crouched beside the couple, who were sitting so close that Alma was nearly in his lap. The planner checked in to confirm their chosen song for their dance and then hurried off to inform the DJ.

“Uhm,” Bill sat up. “One sec’ before you do,” Bill said after the planner. Alma glanced at him curiously. She worried that maybe he was too nervous to do it at all. “I just want to say something,” he said, rubbing Alma’s thigh under the table reassuringly before he stood up. 

Straightening his back, he cleared his throat, prompting the room to fall silent. Echo, sitting between Yolani and Ulyssa, waved at him, and Scotty raised his cowboy hat, playfully suggesting he wear it. Bill shook his head with an amused smirk, then crossed his wrists in front of him and took a deep breath. He didn’t need the note he had written, tucked away in the inner pocket of his suit jacket—he remembered every word by heart.

He had opened his mouth to speak, but the planner had quickly come over to give him a mic. He took it and suddenly felt awkward. The room wasn’t so big that his voice wouldn’t carry well, but now he was stuck with it. 

“Uhm, okay.” He licked his lips. “Hey, everyone. Thank you for being here with us tonight. I just wanted to take an opportunity to speak some words to my wife,” he glanced down and smiled at her. 

She looked nervous, having no idea what he was about to say in his speech. She felt a pang of regret for not writing one herself. When they discussed their vows, they opted for simplicity, agreeing that they had already expressed everything they needed to say to each other. 

“Um, growing up, I didn’t know where or even who I’d be,” he began. “I never really had the best outlook for myself. I didn’t dream. I just was focused on surviving. I wasn’t dealt a promising hand. When I met Alma, it changed me in a way I just could not accept at the time. I didn’t see myself in the best light then, nor did I think I deserved to be in the presence of her light.” 

He felt Alma take his hand that hung by his side, and by that small comforting gesture, his rapidly beating heart settled. “But being around her showed me how I could be different. That dreams were real and didn’t have to remain dreams. And that those dreams could also become so much more.” He paused for a beat, feeling he might have said the word “dreams” too many times. “She made me feel good about myself; she made me feel like a man. She would come into my life every time I needed her most. And when she wasn’t, I would search for her in any way I could—a letter, a note, a bobby pin left behind, the scent of amber and vanilla, the melodies of songs I associated with her, and through my words to anyone who would listen to me talk about her.” He cleared his throat, feeling a lump form as he had gone a little off-script. “Uhm, it has taken us some time to get here; we’re both stubborn to a fault. As everyone in their speeches pointed out, which frankly just sounded like whiny bitching.” He said, earning a chuckle from everyone. “But I’m glad it’s finally come. I can’t believe how I could be so lucky. If today means that my luck has run out, that’s fine because it means everything was worth it in the end.”

He turned his gaze directly to Alma. Her eyes were glassy, clearly struggling to hold back tears. “Alma,” he said, his voice soft but full of conviction. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.” They shared a deep understanding, gazing. To everyone, it might have sounded like the sappy words of a husband in love, but to them, it was profoundly true. “I love you. You’ve given me more of everything you are, than most could do in a lifetime. You’ve shown me who I could be, and you inspire me to always be better. Until my last breath, my love.” 

“Hear, hear!” His brother Alex could be heard over the applause. 

Alma rapidly blinked, her lip quivering as she fought back tears. Bill squeezed her hand before guiding her to her feet to share a kiss. She was shocked he would be so brave to express what he had in front of others. Given his aversion to having people pry into his life, it meant a great deal to her that he would open up so candidly. By revealing a side of himself he usually reserved for her alone, Bill allowed their guests a glimpse of the man she had fallen in love with. Vulnerability didn’t come easy to him, but that he let the wall fall showed just how much of a man he truly was. 

With his hand behind his back holding hers, Bill guided Alma to the outdoor patio. The DJ cued the music perfectly as it began right as they situated themselves. Choosing a song for their first dance had been a long and frustrating process. The task had begun to irritate them, but they ultimately settled on a song. However, Bill would listen to it and just didn’t think it was right. Secretly, he kept searching.

He was home with Echo, who he had just put to bed for the night, while Alma was busy supervising a neofolk show at the record shop. At the top of the mezzanine, he pulled a few records from the shelf at random. After discarding a few due to their genres being ill-fitting, he was left with two. He listened to the first record, but was unsatisfied with any of the songs, while he had been flicking through some self-therapy book Alma checked out of the library. 

He laid it down exactly how she had it on a side table in the den and went to change records. Bored through half of the record, he made space to do push-ups while the TV played the nightly news on mute. As he transitioned to sit-ups, he noticed the needle nearing the center of the record. A soft melody of guitar notes and a tambourine began to sound from the speakers when he got up to take the record off. He paused, listening to the lyrics. Although the song had a slower tempo, the lyrics were just right.

Alma came home that night as he was watching a movie. He paused the film and listened as she entered through the side door leading from the breezeway. She sighed loudly, kicking off her Doc Martens and dropping her tote on the bench in the mudroom. She made her way toward the den, to take the secret private room to the bedroom for a shorter trip. 

“Oh,” she said, shaking out her sweaty hair from the tight ponytail she had it in. 

Hey,” he greeted after she leaned down to kiss him while he lounged on the sectional.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to take a quick shower.” 

“Wait.” He said, catching her hand before she walked off. “I found the song we’re going to dance to at the reception.” 

“I thought we already picked one?” 

“No. It’s good; don't get me wrong, but it’s not it,” he said, getting up to play the record he left on the turntable.

She saw the cover for it right by. Just a yellow pop art banana on a white background. The Velvet Underground and Nico. It was an old record from her collection that she had shipped from Strathburg. Seeing where he had placed the needle, she knew the exact song that would play before it touched the grooves. I’ll Be Your Mirror. 

[noodles-and-tea]

Continuation of this

[dr-rato]

THE FEELS Inspired by this scene in the Journal, which has not left my mind since i first read it:

Specifically, this part!

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Gravity Falls was strange, and the townsfolk even stranger, it seemed.

The twins had been unceremoniously dropped off on the side of the dusty road, the roar of the bus engine fading away as the driver wordlessly drove off without fanfare. The poor man had almost seemed close to tears ever since they had entered the thresholds of this seemingly innocuous town, all too eager to speed off and away while leaving the two children coughing and wheezing in its dust.

It had not even been a full minute since their lackluster drop-off before they became well acquainted with the oddly sociable and irritatingly chatty inhabitants of Gravity Falls. A single conversation with a pair of boisterous policemen already told them all they needed to know about the history of the town, as well as the whereabouts of their Great Uncle Ford.

"The Mystery Shack," the townsfolk had called it. It seemed as though their distant uncle had earned himself somewhat of a reputation amongst the locals. He was the town cryptid; the ever elusive mad scientist that lived in the outskirts of town in this so called "Mystery Shack". No one really knew who he really was; but everyone knew exactly who he was.

So, when the twins found themselves stood hand in hand in front of the rickety old shack, they hadn't really known what to expect when door had swung open with a deafening slam.

He was a strange man, their Great Uncle Ford. He seemed nothing like the cackling looney lab-coated madman they had imagined from what meager hushed information the townsfolk had offered them. It seemed as though the tales of a scientist gone mad that experimented on stray children that wandered into his spooky "Mystery Shack" was but a cruel rumor.

He mostly just seemed unhealthy, to be honest. His sickly, pale frame utterly drowned in the thick red woolen sweater that practically seemed to hang off of his lanky body like a second flap of skin. It made him look almost child-like, like a kid trying on their parents clothes; which somewhat diluted the intimidating effects of his looming height.

Although, the townsfolk's apparent fear of their Great Uncle Ford seemed to have some merit.

For one, Grunkle Ford really didn't seem all too human. He wasn't inhumane, per se; just, not entirely himself, if that made any sense. Looking at him was like looking at an incomplete puzzle; or looking at someone who you remember all your life wearing a hat, suddenly coming to work one day without one, and it takes a little too long for you to remember what is missing.

It was like Grunkle Ford had lost pieces of himself. Somewhere, to someone. His eyes seemed... almost empty. They were a little too dull and a little too opaque, lacking the lively shine of life everyone else seemed to have.

Another thing was that Grunkle Ford wasn't entirely alone. There was... someone else. The twins couldn't exactly pinpoint where, but they could feel its stare, whatever or whoever it was. They could almost feel its stare, a non-existent eye trailing a weird prickling sensation across their skin. The twins recalled the words of one of the townsfolk, a tall bestacled man with haunted blind eyes; although unseeing they could have sworn his gaze never seemed to leave them, as all he said was:

"Don't catch IT staring at you"

The twins had an odd feeling that IT was looking at them right now.

They didn't even notice when the pale bony hand of Grunkle Ford suddenly reached into their personal space, barely registering his words at all, much less the extra fingers that adorned each of his rough, worn palms.

They didn't take the hand.

If the twins had thought the outside of the shack looked decrepit, the inside seemed somehow even worse.

Every inch of exposed wall, ceiling or floor were utterly covered by sprawling symbols, summoning circles, and indecipherable words that seemed to be in an entirely different language than any the twins knew. They overlapped and tangled into one another into big, messy, red splotches of clustered nothings.

There were notes, diagrams on ripped pieces of aged looking paper scattered everywhere, with hardly any room for post-it notes squeezed wherever there was room. Lit and unlit candles were placed absolutely everywhere; either hidden in the dark corners or openly stood in the middle of the floor; sometimes in a circle, sometimes not. The melted fallen wax had coagulated into a hard white mess onto the floor; the smell of cheap vanilla scented candles intermingling with the smell of halloween fake blood (and Dipper was convince there had to be some real blood there, too) to create a sour concoction that stung their noses unpleasantly.

The shack was sparsely furnished with rarely any furniture at all. Not even a couch, the tables and chairs simply pushed to the walls to make more space for the endlessly swirling symbols and pentagrams. The twins were hesitant of stepping on any of the summoning circles, carefully sidestepping the candles and walking over the line of the pentagrams.

The attic, where they would be residing, was not much better.

Maybe they did end up in a mad scientist's house, after all.

[ayanathedork]

my beautiful friend who has all the drawing ideas to keep me going <3

[ckret2]

who wants a prism break?

So, the Theraprism! The Theraprism sucks, right?

This is like, a good day.

The Theraprism clearly sucks.

Have a one shot of Bill escaping Theraprism with the most desperate escape plan imaginable: reincarnation.

(Warning for, as you might expect, psychiatric hospital abuse.)

####

There are fates worse than death. Like boredom, for instance!

####

Everything was black and numb and silent and cold so so cold but no he could only call it cold if he felt cold and Bill didn't feel coldness there was just the absence of a feeling the absence of heat the absence of light the absence of sound the absence of touch the absence of air.

The absence of everything.

Bill had loved a void once—a micro black hole. Every time they touched it slowly killed him, spaghettified his limbs, drained his energy. His energy was so vast that she never claimed a drop of a drop of a drop of his reserves—but it still hurt like nothing else to be crushed and stretched and ripped and consumed by her event horizon. The pain was wonderful. Being shredded was ecstasy.

This void was the opposite of her. 

He couldn't even feel anything when he tried to scream—without air, he couldn't feel his vocal plates vibrate. He couldn't feel his hands, his face, his eye; he tried to bite himself just to feel something and he couldn't feel his mouth, he tried to rip open his wounds and couldn't find them; why couldn't he see his own light, why couldn't he see his blood, where had he gone, was he gone—

Reality returned like a light bulb being switched on.

The first thing he registered was a shrill sound on the verge of inaudibility; and then the pain in his eye, his sides, his wounds; and then the dull gray light, the hard floor under his knees, the antiseptic stench in the air conditioning.

He stopped screaming. The shrill sound stopped.

"Energetic as always, are we?"

Bill blinked blearily at the Orb of Healing Light hovering before him. He croaked, "I'll regurgitate you."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that." A glowing translucent clipboard manifested in front of the Orb. "Well, you've gone through this enough times to know the drill! Do you need a moment to recover, or—?"

"No no, I'm fine, I'm fine." Bill slumped forward, trembling hands on the floor, waiting for the vertigo to pass. "I'm fine. Do your thing." He'd rather get the post-Solitary Wellness Void reorientation interview over with.

"Perfect. What's your name?"

"I'm ol' Vinegar Pete."

"No clowning, please."

He sighed loudly. "Bill Cipher."

"Good. Where are you?"

He considered saying hell, but decided he'd used up all the clowning he could risk for one day. He didn't want to go back in. "The Theraprism. Ward 333."

"Very good. When are you?"

"I was gonna ask you," Bill groaned. "How long was I in the hole this time? A million years? Ten million?"

The Orb checked its notes. "Eight minutes."

"Wh—no, no I know that time moves slower out in reality than in the prism. I'm not asking how much time passed in reality, I'm asking how much time passed here."

"Eight minutes," the Orb repeated. "Outside the Theraprism, one third of one second passed."

Bill groaned again and flopped flat on the floor.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Why are any of us here?" Bill asked the gray linoleum tiles. "Usually because some dumb beast tripped into the booby trap that sets off its reproductive process. How's your species work, you pop outta nebulas, right—?"

"I meant, coming out of the Solitary Wellness Void."

"Oh." Bill tried to remember what his infraction had been this time. "Because I failed to escape."

"Because you tried to escape."

If he'd succeeded, they never could have punished him. "Sure."

"Good, you seem oriented to your surroundings. Let's get you to the nurse and then back to your cell." The nurse? What did he need a nurse for?

He only realized then that he must have succeeded in reopening his wounds in the SWV: the never-quite-healed crack across his exoskeleton was wider, the edges chipped and bent. It hurt. His eye socket hurt too; he tasted blood. With the way his whole body usually ached after leaving the void, he hadn't even noticed.

Through the crack in his exoskeleton, his edges had frayed into fine golden threads. The sight of silvery blood on his hands made him nauseous; he hastily looked away and reminded himself it was only his own. 

####

As Bill wearily followed behind the Orb and two security guards followed behind him, he had to periodically turn to hover sideways to streamline himself. These days he was so weak that he could feel the air resistance pushing back against him when he floated; with his wound reopened, he felt like the air pressure could snap his exoskeleton along the crack and break him in half.

"You're not Emmy," Bill said. "You're, uh..."

"A-AOX4."

"Oxyyy," Bill said weakly. "Heyyy. S'been a while. Usually I get a personal welcome back from the void, why didn't Emmy show? Don't tell me it doesn't see me as a threat anymore!" He'd be offended if it didn't. D-SM5 was the closest thing he had to a nemesis these days. Even if he couldn't beat it, he wanted to think he still irritated the daylights out of it.

"Director SM5 couldn't make it. It's overseeing the preparations for Paingoreous's reincarnation."

"That's today? Good riddance." Paingoreous had started getting sanctimonious the past few hundred group therapy sessions—don't you have any compassion for your victims and it's possible to live a happy life without slaughtering all your enemies first and maybe I should ask for permission before I vivisect my friends' faces—passive, self-defeatist crap like that. Vivisecting your friends and seeing who complained was how you found out who your lame friends were! Now that the wet blanket was leaving, the rest of them could get back to spending their sessions reminiscing about the glory days and trying to set the donuts on fire when the therapist was distracted.

"Yes," A-AOX4 said pointedly, "it is good he gets to leave to go become a productive member of reality. We're all so happy that he's rehabilitated enough to earn a new chance at life." (Bill rolled his eye. A-AOX4 ignored it.) "Wouldn't you like a chance to rejoin reality, Bill?"

More than anything. He'd been in this crystallized brain's perpetual dreamscape for what felt like both a thousand years and a single day—time never passing, an eternal inescapable moment. He'd tried to break out, sneak out, or bargain his way out more times than he could count; sometimes he was locked in the SWV as punishment; and sometimes the staff gently stopped him, confiscated his supplies, and chastised him for the effort—and the reminder that he was as powerless as a child was worse than the void. He'd gone delirious from the boredom, hallucinating screams and burning faces as his mind struggled to stimulate itself (and he'd been medicated for it). He'd so despaired of escaping that he'd looked for a way to burn up the remains of his energy and vanish for good (and he'd been medicated for it). He ached with the need to see the stars again.

But not enough to sell his soul for it. If he took the staff's route—let them break him down, sandblast off his rough edges, erase everything that made him him, and finally physically transform him into some alien creature—then whatever left the Theraprism would no longer be Bill Cipher.

"What, and force you guys to find a new 'unique case'? I wouldn't do that to you! I know how much you love me," Bill said. "Besides, why would I go through all that just so I can reincarnate as a sentient snowflake, or Mi-Go antennae lice, or..."

"A butterfly," A-AOX4 cut in, an edge of impatience creeping into its tone. "Paingoreous has chosen to reincarnate as a butterfly. We all think that's a very productive way to channel his desire to digest his own skin."

"Unless it's one of those blood-drinking butterflies, lame." Bill scoffed. "Wait—hold on, you said butterfly? Like an Earth butterfly?"

They were, of course, not actually speaking an Earth language, but an interdimensional pidgin that borrowed words and grammar from dozens of worlds. When around the Orbs of Healing Light that held half the staff positions, Bill tended to speak a dialect of the pidgin that used flashes of light for 40% of its vocabulary. It was perfectly possible that the word Bill knew as "butterfly" was also used for some alien creature, but—

"Yes, an Earth butterfly. A Vanessa atalanta, to be precise."

Aw, boo. Not even a cool butterfly. "He's reincarnating on Earth?"

"Yes. Many of our patients reincarnate on Earth. As long as you're careful about which region and century you reincarnate into, it's at the top of our recommended list of Goldilocks zones."

There was another phrase that Bill recognized, but this time he was sure his definition was not A-AOX4's definition. "Whaaat do Goldilocks zones have to do with reincarnation."

"You didn't pay attention to the orientation session on our outpatient reincarnation program, did you."

"What! I didn't get an orientation session!" said Bill, who probably didn't remember any such session because he didn't pay attention to it.

"Well—we rank millions of planets and their dimensional parallels based on their potential to help patients reintegrate into reality. We do try to set our patients up for success," A-AOX4 said. "To qualify as a Goldilocks zone, a planet has to meet the Theraprism's rigorous list of criteria: its lifeforms, cultures, laws of physics, and position in interdimensional society must all be conducive to a patient's continued recovery. We want to ensure that our patients' new lives are neither so difficult as to retraumatize them, nor so easy as to let them coast by avoiding continued personal growth, but right in the middle, so that they're emotionally and spiritually challenged without being overwhelmed. The Goldilocks zone: a perfect compromise between two extremes."

"Yeah, sure, sounds great." Bill could feel his eye glazing over in disinterest. Fight it, Cipher.

"Do you miss Earth?"

Bill tilted to glance askance at A-AOX4, and was surprised to see it had turned to focus a spotlight on him. Oh—it thought it had finally found a carrot to dangle in front of him. That was a popular strategy here: they figured out what a patient wanted most, and then used it to coax them into good behavior and "rehabilitation"—better still if they could attach a sense of urgency to it. Don't you want to see your descendants again before the last of them dies out? Don't you want to see your homeworld before its sun swallows it? Don't you want to reconcile with your god before the heat death of your universe?

But Bill had no universe, no homeworld, no family; no lovers or friends or gods that hadn't betrayed him and left him to rot here; and he'd remained smugly steadfast in refusing to give D-SM5 and its minions anything else it could use to get under his chitin. He was proud that he was too broken for even the famed Theraprism to fix him.

A-AOX4 probably thought it had finally found an opening. It might be useful to let it keep thinking that.

"You kidding me? Earth? Pfff! I don't miss that overgrown asteroid one bit!" He waved off the suggestion, and winced when the gesture tugged wrong at his reopened wound. "But hey, you don't study a world for millions of years without finding a few things about it to like. The music's pretty good. And the movies and literature, though if you ask me, they peaked between the first two World Wars. I like trees, evolution did a great job with trees. And humans really went off with the architecture. The pyramids? 10 out of 10. And some of the locals aren't bad, I've got a few exes from Earth."

"Do you? How many exes?"

"Living? Just a hundred forty or fifty," Bill said dismissively. "Earthlings just have those pretty eyes, you know? I'm a sucker for a pretty eye! But outside of that, no, there's nothing on Earth for me."

"I see," A-AOX4 said lightly, and dropped the conversation.

Hook, line, and sinker.

####

The original definition of a "Goldilocks zone" came from astrobiology. The Goldilocks zone was the ring of space around a star in which an orbiting planet could support liquid water and thus water-based life: not too close to the star and too hot, not too far and too cold, but just right. Earth, for instance, orbited Sol in its Goldilocks zone.

It was from this definition that other, more metaphorical definitions of Goldilocks zones emerged. Such as the Theraprism's: a world that was neither too stressful nor too boring for a newly brainwashed—sorry, "cured"—patient. And apparently Earth was in that Goldilocks zone, too.

Which was very interesting to Bill—because in their search for a new home, the Henchmaniacs had come up with their own definition of a Goldilocks zone. For them, it was a dimension close enough to the Nightmare Realm with a thin enough barrier that they could easily punch through it, but not so close and so thin that puncturing the barrier would pop it like a balloon and cause the dimension to immediately prolapse into the Nightmare Realm—which was a problem they'd had before. More than once. They needed a dimension they could easily cut a hole into, but control it, so they could slowly pump the Nightmare Realm's contents in. A barrier neither too vulnerable nor too strong, but just right.

And wouldn't you know it—but Earth happened to be in that Goldilocks zone too. Right next to a point in the dimensional membrane so thin, the Nightmare Realm could almost stretch through and kiss it.

####

Since Bill Cipher was infamously known as the last survivor of a trillion-years-extinct species, and had until recently been capable of instantly repairing himself, there were no medical records on how his anatomy worked. It didn't help that at some point eons ago he'd somehow managed to graft a 3D exoskeleton to his 2D anatomy without breaking his own physics, meaning no one had seen his true body in recorded history. Bill knew how he worked, but refused to offer any hints. So the Theraprism staff had to guess at Bill's medical treatment.

But Bill was still made of energy, and even weakened he could eventually self-repair. So whenever his injury was exacerbated, the nurse tended to just patch up his exoskeleton to keep it stable enough to send him back to his room.

On top of his mysterious anatomy, the staff had no idea how to medicate his physiology. They knew he could be medicated—Bill's personal substance (ab)use experiments were notorious far outside the Nightmare Realm—but they had to treat him like a newly-discovered form of life in figuring out what affected him, how it affected him, and how much it took. He'd been on and off hundreds of drugs as they tried to chemically stabilize a mind for which they had no idea what baseline stability looked like. D-SM5 had told him that between the enormous doses needed to impact his energy-based physiology and the vast variety of drugs he'd been through, Bill's medication regimen was the most expensive in the Theraprism. He took some pride in that.

He had very few things to take pride in anymore. He clung to what meager victories he could.

If Bill got his way, he wouldn't be medicated at all. None of the substances they wanted him on were what he'd call recreational. (Although for a while he had gotten away with not telling the docs that one of his antipsychotics had given him a side-effect of kaleidoscopic hallucinations.) Plus there was the fact that he'd heard rumors that quite a few pharmaceutical execs were good pals with a certain director—not that Bill would name names, of course!—that's his motto, Don't Slander Maliciou5ly!

But when he resisted taking his meds, they could send in the guards to pin him down so a nurse could inject a sedative so strong he wouldn't remember anything that happened for the next few hours to months (hard to tell) until they started tapering it off... and although he'd rather die than admit it, after losing that fight five or six times, even he had to admit to himself it was a lot less scary to just take their rotten drugs. Better to go through his days with his mind dulled and hazy than blacked out altogether.

To retain what little pride he had left, he'd reached a compromise with his jailers.

When the nurse had finished attaching the reinforcing splints around Bill's injury, they grabbed a medication measurement cup, filled it halfway with syrupy eye drops, and double-checked Bill's chart as they dropped thirteen different pills (plus a fourteenth pill for a painkiller) in the cup.

As Bill redressed, he eyed the unappetizing cocktail of antidepressants, antipsychotics, mood stabilizers, and things he'd forgotten the purpose of but that probably weren't doing whatever the doctors hoped and definitely weren't doing anything Bill liked. "My straw?"

"Right, right." The nurse handed over one of the wide-diameter disposable white straws they kept on hand for patients who struggled to drink (or, in Bill's case, patients they struggled to get to drink).

Only a tiny fragment of Bill was actually locked up in the Theraprism—like pinching the glowing lure of an anglerfish in a trap while the rest of the fish thrashed outside—and because most of Bill's vast energy was elsewhere, he was nearly powerless. But he still had enough energy to heat up a finger, twist the straw around it, and hold it there until it had melted into a new shape.

The nurse sighed. "Do you have to do that every time? You ruin more straws than you get right."

Imperiously, Bill said, "Leave me to my whimsy." He tugged off the straw when it had cooled down to examine the corkscrew shape he'd made. The wall was a little flattened in one place, but he could pinch it back open. "See? It's perfect!" Cheerfully ignoring the nurse, he stuck the straw in his cup and slurped down his pills like tapioca balls. He tried not to remember what was in them.

A-AOX4 had left Bill with the nurse, but the two mall cops with medical kinks known as Bill's personal guards were still waiting nearby. The nurse's office was next door to the cafeteria—for ease of patients picking up their medications at meal times—in an anteroom that was connected to the rest of the ward by a set of locked double doors. A couple of guards were stationed near those doors at all times, and generally the guards assigned to Bill hung around with them while Bill was in the cafeteria or nurse's office. Bill floated up to them, regarding them with the disinterest of a king ignoring the servants he expected to open doors for him, and continued to ignore them as they escorted him back to his cell, one in front and one behind, while he sipped on his drugged cocktail.

The Dimensional Tyrant Ward was already one of the most heavily-guarded wards in the Theraprism; but to reach the maximum security cells, a patient had to pass several increasingly heavy security checkpoints with increasingly impenetrable security doors. The final door was warded against all magic, unhackable, unbreakable, and so airtight that even without his exoskeleton there was no gap Bill's 2D form could slide through. The doors to each cell—outfitted with tiny one-way mirror portholes, no latches or hinges on the inside—were a little less heavy duty, but packed with just as many failsafes. The Dimensional Tyrant Ward's max security hall had the most advanced security architecture of any psychiatric facility in the multiverse.

Bill had made a trillion year career of trying to break his way through a door nobody wanted him to go through. He could think of seven different ways to get through the doors. Sooner or later he'd find a way out of this place altogether.

A few of the doors had modifications: this one with a metal slab over the porthole to protect passersby from the occupant's petrifying gaze, that one with extra soundproofed padding coating the door. Bill was almost insulted his own door didn't warrant any special modifications.

His favorite door was The Beast's. A comfortingly yellow triangular sign on the door displayed a black symbol of a steak. Red signs above and below read "CAUTION! FEED UNSEASONED MEAT ONLY." "NO SUGAR ALLOWED." The Beast's heavy snuffing was audible through the door; his hot, sickly sweet breath seeped through the slot in the door that had been installed to deliver his food.

Bill's escorts automatically drifted to the far side of the hall to avoid The Beast. Bill, whose first medication was already starting to kick in, zigzagged lazily back and forth across the hall, heedless of how close he came to The Beast's cell.

Bill had never seen this door opened once in all his time incarcerated, and the dust settled on the additional chains and padlocks stretched across the door showed just how long it had been since the last incident. But some of the patients who'd been here longer than Bill still couldn't bring themselves to speak of the last time he'd escaped. Elder eldritch gods shuddered and gibbered nervously at the mention of his name. 

Bill tilted over to try to peer through the food slot at The Beast. A quivering, sickly blue eye stared back at him. Honestly, Bill thought The Beast was adorable.

Outside Bill's door, the guards waited for Bill to finish his medicine, hand over his cup and straw, and open his mouth and lift his eye out of the way so they could check and make sure he'd swallowed them.

And then he was left in his cell.

####

A perfect cube of uniform dull grey tiles supernaturally lit by a uniform dull grey glow, no light source, no shadows; in a max security room in the Maximum Security Wellness Center, patients weren't even trusted around light fixtures. The staff had removed everything Bill had used thus far to commit violence or attempt escape, plus a few more things as punishments for various infractions: journal, paint, pens, books, magazines, puppets (he missed those the most), even the furniture. He'd never earned the privilege of a TV or radio. By now, all he was permitted were black, red, yellow, and blue dry erase markers to draw on his walls—and the red and blue had gone dry; the "Be a TRY-angle!" poster they'd replaced whenever Bill left the room until he gave up and stopped tearing it down; and the clothes on his back. He'd gradually gotten himself banned from every extracurricular and recreational activity the Dimensional Tyrant Ward offered. Whenever he was fresh out of the SWV, when his restrictions were highest, his schedule consisted of mandatory individual therapy, mandatory group therapy, med checks, and the cafeteria.

He spent the vast majority of his time in his cell, sitting curled up alone, day after night after day, barely moving, barely talking, barely eating, waiting for nothing at all.

####

The seamless door swung open and admitted an Orb of Healing Light.

Bill blinked blearily up at the Orb. It was hard to tell how slowly time passed here, but he was sure it couldn't have been more than a couple hours since he'd been returned to his cell: that was when his medications made his mind the foggiest. "Emmyyy. Where ya been? Didn't see you when I came out of the Solitary Dullness Void. Nice of you to, uh..." A second ago he'd had a clever quip about how D-SM5 had clearly dropped by because it missed Bill, but he'd forgotten how to word it.

"Well, I'm here now. I'm flattered you missed me, Mr. Cipher."

Bill blinked heavily. "You turned that around on me," he griped. "Not fair." Ugh, the room was spinning. He flopped on his back.

"A-AOX4 tells me you showed an interest earlier in our outpatient reincarnation program," D-SM5 said. "Since it looks like your schedule is light these days, I thought you might be interested in attending Paingoreous's reincarnation?"

It took him a moment to process the offer. "Really? That's something people can attend?" What was the catch?

"We usually only extend the offer to the departing patient's friends, and—exemplary patients. But... I thought you might benefit from watching the process for yourself. It may encourage you to take a little more interest in your future."

For it to push a possible lead so fast, it really was desperate to find some leverage they could use on Bill. It probably thought of this as a rare opportunity—a patient from Ward 333 wasn't ready for reincarnation every day.

"Wow. I sure am encouraged," Bill said. "You have no idea just how encouraged I am."

####

If an unambitious office building and a utilitarian hospital reluctantly got married out of a vague sense of heteronormative social obligation, had a depressed child, and the fae spirited it away to replace it with an even more depressed changeling child, the child's small intestines would look a lot like the Theraprism's interior hallways: it was windowless, it was labyrinthine, it was beige, and it was grey, and it didn't even care anymore. Monotonous commercial high-traffic carpet alternated with monotonous commercial high-traffic linoleum. The fluorescent lights buzzed just enough to be annoying, but not quite enough that you'd feel justified in snapping and screaming "I've had it!" as you swung a pleather-seated metal chair at the light fixture.

Even though Bill had been languishing in the Theraprism for hours and/or millennia (Bill couldn't tell; he couldn't feel the passage of time), he hardly knew his way around the Dimensional Tyrant Ward, much less the rest of the facility. As D-SM5 led Bill (and six guards) out of Ward 333 and into a lower security zone, he looked for any scant identifiable landmarks and tried to memorize which turns they took by coding the lefts and rights and ups and downs into a mnemonic word. The walk helped wake him from his medication stupor; but his mind never quite felt fully on.

Bill had only briefly glimpsed the Theraprism's reincarnation unit during intake, just one of many rooms he'd been whisked past as he was dragged to Ward 333 screaming and cursing the Axolotl's name. Entering the unit now, it looked like an occult sacrificial altar carved from marble that had been modeled after a 23rd century starship's teleportation platform, contained in a room that looked like a magic planetarium: glowing stars hovered around the dome of the ceiling. Against the back wall in pale pink marble was carved an impossibly long axolotl, swimming in a figure 8 so its vapid smile almost caught the tip of its ribbonlike tail. Bill glowered at it. Backstabber.

He, D-SM5, and the other observers who'd already arrived were in a connected observation room with an enormous, thick window and a sealed door. Next to the window was a large computer console encased in the same marble as the reincarnation altar. That probably controlled the process.

The audience consisted of three aliens who looked a little like Paingoreous might have with his face unpeeled, a few patients and staff Bill recognized, more he didn't, and Jessica with the shining spherical head and the thirteen fingers. Oh boy. If he'd known Jessica would be here he would have tried to polish. Bill straightened his bow tie and smoothed his rumpled orange jumpsuit.

Paingoreous himself was already in the next room, standing on the altar. At the sight of Bill, his exposed facial muscles twitched, as though trying to widen his eyes even though their eyelids were already long gone. "Bill? What are you doing here?"

D-SM5 answered before Bill could blurt out a witty retort. "I invited Mr. Cipher. I thought he would benefit from seeing what he can look forward to once he's improved. I hope you don't mind."

Paingoreous's face immediately smoothed out. "Yes—of course, director, if you say so. I remember how difficult it was in the early days. I'm happy to help my fellow patients in any way I can." Suck up. A dry note entered his voice, "Especially a more troubled patient."

Bill took one of the folding chairs lined up in front of the window and shot back, "I'm about to have one less trouble! Byyye!" (Did Jessica think that was funny? Sometimes she did. He snuck a sideways glance to see if she was laughing. Oh, right—she didn't have a face.)

Paingoreous didn't dignify him with a response. Too good for the likes of Bill, no doubt. Paingoreous wasn't obligated to answer anybody—except the staff, of course.

Bill had never met the real Paingoreous. By the time Bill was committed, the monotony, medication, and mandatory therapy were already well on their way to killing whoever Paing had once been. No way the offensively bland sap leaving now was the same one who'd come in with his face skinned and muscles pinned open.

A technician was already turning on the computer console, running through a whole list of checks as the machine booted up. A hum filled the room as the altar began to softly glow. To all appearances Bill was facing forward, slitted pupil aimed straight at Paingoreous; but his anatomy was built for watching things out of the corner of his eye and his real attention was focused on the reincarnation technician. "So how's reincarnation work in this dump?" Bill asked D-SM5. "I didn't get the orientation."

"Yes you did," D-SM5 said. "I was there."

"Oh yeah? Well, I don't remember seeing you."

D-SM5 sighed. "First, Paingoreous's memories of his current life must be erased, to give him the best fresh start possible and to comply with Earth's soul sanitization regulations."

"Seems like a big waste of time. His head's already empty enough."

One of the Paing-ish aliens a couple seats over shot Bill a dirty look. "That's my son in there."

"Not for much longer, he isn't."

"Be respectful," D-SM5 said warningly.

Bill ignored it. "So once you've scrubbed his brain clean, what then?"

"Then, we reincarnate him. We've already carefully selected his destination and species; except for special circumstances, we generally don't customize the patient's body further, as the program is already set up to divinely design the body most well-suited to the soul about to inhabit it."

"If these bodies are so perfect, why customize them at all?"

"We wouldn't want, say, a recovering pyromaniac to be reborn with pyrokinesis." (Bill felt unfairly targeted.) "Once his species and destination are entered into the program, off he'll go to start his new life as an egg."

"An egg?! Sheesh, wasn't going through childhood once bad enough? I assume his childhood was bad, anyway! Nobody with competent parents ends up like him."

The Paing-ish alien beside Bill bolted out of their seat and lurched aggressively toward Bill. (Ha. Too easy.) The next alien over tugged them back by the arm. Bill was sure he heard a whispered, "Careful, do you know who that..." 

D-SM5 said, "One more crack like that and you're going back to your cell."

"Fiiine. Why can't he skip straight to being a butterfly, though?" What he really wanted to find out was how to skip straight to adulthood.

"For starters, because spontaneous generation has been heavily restricted on Earth since the 15th century, and banned completely outside of special circumstances since the 19th century."

Spontaneous generation. The creation of fully formed life from unliving matter: maggots that emerged from flesh, geese that emerged from barnacles, snakes and crocodiles that wriggled out of the mud of the Nile. He'd always planned to legalize it again when he took over. So if the only reason the Theraprism couldn't do it was because it was banned, then they must have the technology for it, right?

Bill tuned D-SM5 out as it prattled on about the mental health benefits of restarting life and beginner's mind and boring therapeutic psychobabble, and ignored the flashing lights and divine music as Paingoreous's memory, personality, and identity were all wiped clean. He was only interested in what the reincarnation technician was doing. (Although when Bill briefly glanced at Paingoreous, his shape seemed somehow uncertain, as though his molecules had only just walked into the room and promptly forgotten what they'd come in for or who they were supposed to be. Ready to be reshaped into something else.)

The technician opened up the primary reincarnation program, checked a box confirming that the patient's previous incarnation had been erased, and began setting up the specifications for his next incarnation. Choosing the reincarnation world was easy enough: under the drop down menu, the "Goldilocks zone" worlds were sorted first. Earth was sixth on the list. Choosing a dimension was just as easy.

However, choosing the location and time period looked more complicated; rather than searching through a handy list of continents or geological epochs, the technician checked Paingoreous's patient file and typed a couple of long strings of numbers into the blanks for the coordinates and time. They didn't look like any date system or coordinate system Bill was familiar with. How the heck would he work with that?

And selecting the species, to Bill's horror, meant scrolling down a menu ordered by how frequently a species had been selected for reincarnation at this facility. That was insane! The Theraprism always discharged patients as unambitious species where one member was nearly incapable of making a meaningful impact on the local biosphere—anything useful like an octopus or a goat would be buried amongst the literal billions of species that had received zero reincarnations. Couldn't you just start typing the species's name to jump down to—? But no, the Theraprism's keyboard didn't have characters to type human loan words. The technician seemed to be scrolling manually.

That was fine! That was fine. Whatever Bill left as, he wouldn't be it for very long. He wasn't shopping for a makeover; just for an escape pod.

The technician located Vanessa atalanta (147 prior reincarnations) and kept moving, tabbing past a dizzying array of options—sex, size, coloration, visual clarity, caterpillar spine distribution, a whole list of health conditions and mutations the technician skipped—and every box she tabbed past automatically filled in with the word "DEFAULT". How many boxes could be filled in with defaults?

Bill leaned toward D-SM5. "So do you chuck these suckers out anywhere random on the planet or what?"

"Of course not," it said promptly. "What a thought! We take a deep interest in our discharged patients' well-being. We never leave where they spend their next lives at the whim of the computer's randomized decision." 

But they could leave it up to the computer. Still watching sideways as the technician scrolled past an "advanced settings" button without touching it (was that where the spontaneous generation option was hidden?), Bill asked, "Do youalways choose for the patient, or can the patient make requests?"

Dryly, D-SM5 said, "Unless you make some enormous progress, I doubt you'd get clearance to reincarnate anywhere near that town you terrorized, if that's what you're wondering."

"What! Who said I want to visit that crummy valley! All those mountains and trees? Ugh! No, do you know what kind of place I like? The Greater Cairo metropolitan area. Dry! Sandy! Flat!" said Bill, who detested flat landscapes with all his heart. "Covered in pyramids! Sometimes with my face on them! Plus there's the Nile! I love the Nile! I love being in the Nile! I'd spend all my time in the Nile if I could! I've had some loser ex-friends say that living your whole life in the Nile is an unhealthy coping mechanism to avoid addressing problems in your life, but if you ask me they're just jealous of how amazing my life is—"

"Ready for reincarnation," the technician said. "Proceed?"

D-SM5 left its seat, hovering closer to the glass to catch Paingoreous's attention. "Are you ready?"

"Sure," said Paingoreous, who clearly wasn't certain what he was claiming to be ready for.

"Proceed," D-SM5 said. Bill fell silent, paying close attention to how the technician began the reincarnation process.

She clicked a button that said "EXECUTE" (gruesome), clicked through a couple more confirmation screens, and then the faint background hum grew to a rumble and the magical stars glowed brighter. "Ten seconds," she said. "Nine... eight... seven..."

"Hey!" Bill shouted through the glass. "Friendly tip for Earth! Humans love when you fly into their eyeballs! You should do that!"

D-SM5 rounded on Bill, glowing furiously at him. (Maybe it was Bill's imagination, but he thought Jessica looked amused. Worth it.)

The soon-to-be caterpillar formerly known as Paingoreous stared in confusion at Bill. "Okay," he said—and then there was a bright flash of light.

He let out an awful wail of pure soul-rending agony.

When the light faded, he was gone.

The observation room had fallen perfectly silent.

"That's fine," D-SM5 said. "That's—that's normal."

####

Every once in a while, the Theraprism got something right. It was one of the few big government-sponsored "respectable" institutions that didn't make a fuss about how Bill ate. They just let him go to the cafeteria, strip down, unpeel his exoskeleton, and hang out with the photosynthesizers for half an hour or so in the corner under the grow lights. No gasps of horror or screams of outrage—not from the staff anyway; some of the patients took a bit to get used to it when they were new. It was a refreshing change.

On the other hand, even though they were willing to turn a couple lights high enough to melt most mortals' eyeballs when Bill was feeding, he never left feeling truly energized. The grow lights were designed for species with leaves and solar panels; they weren't designed to fuel up a god made of energy. A few bright lightbulbs didn't measure up to raw starlight.

He figured there wasn't any point in complaining. As much as he hated feeling like a gas tank trying to burn a dust mote for fuel, he knew that they knew that long before he even reached 1% of his usual power, he'd be strong enough to vaporize the Theraprism with the snap of a finger.

When he'd had his daily dose of light, he folded shut, redressed, and drifted over to the actual food for dessert. He grabbed a bottle of an allegedly "lemon" nigh-flavorless clear soda—this would do—and hovered toward the exit.

The cafeteria monitor stationed in the door elbowed her way in front of Bill. "Ahem."

"What?"

"You know the rules. No food outside the cafeteria."

"What! This isn't food, it's a soda. Beverages aren't food, everyone knows that." The monitor didn't budge. Bill tried whining. "C'mooon, I got injured in the void today. Look at this!" He gestured demonstratively at his splints. "Look how much pain I'm in!"

The Solitary Wellness Void made this cafeteria monitor uncomfortable. She'd never said so directly, but she tended to turn a blind eye when patients who'd just come out of the SWV were more aggressive than usual or tried to sneak extra desserts. One time when Bill had come out of a week in the SWV, she'd wordlessly slipped him a couple of packets of low-sodium fear sauce, a condiment usually distributed exclusively to the obligate phobophages in the ward. "Besides, it's my birthday! I'm a birthday triangle! You wouldn't deny a birthday triangle a soda, right?"

"Is it really your birthday?"

"Heck if I know. It could be. I don't know it isn't."

She was trying not to smile. "Fine. Just one time. Don't let anyone catch you with it and finish it before you're back in your cell."

"You got it, toots." Bill glided past her.

He slipped from the cafeteria into the nurse's office before his guards could catch sight of his illicit drink. "Hey, bartender! I'm here for my nightcap."

The nurse prepared Bill's evening battery of drugs. He bent his straw into a fun zigzag—honestly it was really more of a sad N shape—slurped down half the eyedrops, and opened his soda to refill his cup.

The nurse looked over at the hiss of the cap opening. "Hey! Hey—"

"It's just soda!" Bill protested. "The cafeteria monitor said it was fine! Besides, what's a little soda gonna do? Nullify all seven of my antipsychotics before I reach my cell?" (Bill had overheard the nurse grumbling to a colleague about the amount of antipsychotics he was on. They thought it was utterly excessive, considering that they'd had no evidence the drugs were doing anything but making him more erratic—which was something, because Bill had seen patients near drooling catatonia from their meds without any of the nurses questioning their current dosage. Conversely, the docs thought Bill's odd biology meant they needed to give him more if they wanted any hope of impacting him.) "Come on. It's not even caffeinated!"

The nurse took the soda bottle to check the ingredient list, then relented. "Fine. I suppose it won't do any harm."

"You're a peach." Bill topped off his cup, poured the rest of the soda over his eye, crushed the bottle, and consumed it too.

"The plastic probably isn't good for you, though."

"I like the way it melts in the back of my throat."

As he drank his medicated soda and got escorted back to his cell, he lazily drifted back and forth in the hall as far as the guards would let him go, dawdling more than usual—he knew they hated it when he dawdled, but they knew he hated spending one second more in his cell than necessary and grudgingly put up with a little lollygagging to keep the peace. But their tolerance ran out in the max security hall as Bill slowed down even further near The Beast's cell. The guard behind Bill pushed him. "Hurry up." 

"Hey!" Bill wobbled off path and stumbled into the wall, spilling some of his drink. "What's your problem!"

"You stopped moving."

"I did not! I'm just taking my time! Enjoying the weather out here."

"Well, take less time."

"Ugh, fine. Didn't realize you had plans I'm keeping you from." Bill rolled his eye and kept moving.

"Hold it!"

Bill froze. He turned around. The guard was pointing at a streak of clear fluid that had spilled from Bill's cup and rolled down the door. His bones frosted over.

"You dropped a pill," the guard said.

Bill's gaze focused on the circular soap-green tablet on the floor. "Are you kidding?! Aren't the other twelve enough?"

"No exceptions, Cipher."

"You don't expect me to eat it off the floor!"

"Do you want to go all the way back to the nurse's office for another?"

Bill groaned in frustration. "Fine!" He snatched it up, wiped it off on the guard's sleeve, and popped it in his mouth. The guard raised a fist; Bill bared his fangs; and after a tense moment, the guard backed down first. The Theraprism had taken nearly every other power from Bill, but it couldn't take his teeth—and though he knew the guards would win any fight, Bill could make it hurt.

They returned him to his room; Bill handed over his cup; they checked to make sure his cup was empty, inspected his mouth, and locked him in.

He hoped they wouldn't notice that half his pills had stuck in the zig-zag bend of the opaque white straw.

He hoped they wouldn't notice The Beast's tongue thrusting through his food slot to lap up the spilled soda that was running down his door and over the bright red "NO SUGAR ALLOWED" sign.

His entire plan hinged on it.

####

Bill was drawing on the wall with his scant art supplies when he felt reality ripple around him, like the wave in a still pool when someone new quietly slides into the water. He looked up from his work. It was happening.

There were several thuds; then a crash; and then the peal of a prison alarm piercing the air. The alarm melted into shrill dolphin-like laughter, and then the frenetic staccato of a hyper speed dance song that threatened to fracture Bill's internal organs. He shuddered as the sound tore at his wound like freezing ice crystals expanding a crack in a boulder.

But he rose into the air and turned to face the door, ready.

Just in time for the door to vanish. The Theraprism melted away like mist in the sunlight—and oh, the sunlight was glorious. The wide open sky pulsed maddening colors so vivid that the faraway rainbows looked monotone in comparison; the land consisted of rolling hills of candy-coated tongues and stomachs and muscles, the paws of enormous buried corpses thrusting up into the sky, the crevasses between burial mounds running with artificially-flavored saliva. It was Bill's kind of place. He wished he had time to hang around.

Before him, orange fur matted with a fine dust of powdery sugar, wild eyes contracted to pinpricks, stood The Beast.

"You did it, you beautiful monster!" Bill shrieked with laughter. "I knew you'd come through!"

The Beast rumbled, "Em deerf evah uoy."

"You're welcome! You can return the favor later! Me, I have somewhere to be." While The Beast was asserting his personal reality on top of the Theraprism's idea of reality, none of the Theraprism's walls or doors existed. Bill wasn't sure exactly how far The Beast's radius of influence extended, except that it was at least far enough to get him out of the maximum security hall—but he had to move now, before the guards rallied to sedate The Beast. Bill slipped a finger into the band of his ankle bracelet and found that under the influence of The Beast's physics, the stiff plastic stretched like a warm rubber band. He tugged it off and tossed it aside. "Seeya, pal!"

But The Beast held up a paw, blocking Bill before he could zip off. "Noob ym tpecca," The Beast said. "Hself ym emusnoc."

"Oooh. Woww." Bill looked at The Beast's candy paw. "Oh, man. Generous offer! You have no idea how tempting it is to take a taste, but I've really gotta get somewhere, and I've gotta be at least sober enough to pull that off..."

"Emusnoc," The Beast insisted. "Hsur ragus eht fo ssendam gnilims citatsce eht ni em nioj. Rehtegot srorroh letsap dna serusaelp kcis hcus wonk lliw ew. Evarg lufituaeb ym ni em htiw tor."

Bill stared again at the paw. The tip of his tongue slipped out beneath his eye to lick hungrily at his waterline. When was the last time he'd been on something that felt good? "Oh, what the heck!" He took The Beast's paw. "I can do this buzzed! How much damage can one little lick do, anyway?"

####

The guard heaved open the maximum security hall's door. The floor was covered in tacky pools of neon candy and removed ankle monitors. "It's just like we feared," the guard shouted into a walkie-talkie, glancing quickly through each cell door's window. "Every single max security patient escaped under The Beast's reality-altering field."

The guard stopped at the sight of neon yellow and orange, peering through the window at the triangle flopped flat on the ground and surrounded by powdery pink sugar.

"Well," the guard said, "all of them except Cipher."

Through the walkie-talkie, D-SM5 tiredly said, "He licked the paw, didn't he."

"Looks like it, boss."

D-SM5 groaned. "All right! Positive thinking! That's the second biggest threat in the ward already accounted for! Silver lining to Mr. Cipher's substance use issues. Assist in securing the others."

####

The good news was that The Beast seemed happy to frolic randomly around the Theraprism rather than head toward the exit, forcing the other escapees to follow along to remain under his reality-altering protection rather than get stranded in small rooms and locked-down halls. The bad news was that his meandering route let him pick up more and more revelers. After an hour, only a third of the max security patients had been re-captured and dragged back to their cells, and twice as many medium security patients had joined the riot. 

A-AOX4 was on hand in the maximum security hall to supervise as the guards brought in super-powered escapees. Most of them came back loopy on either The Beast's toxins or on the sedative that had been injected to keep them calm. A-AOX4 was checking them for awareness of their surroundings—name, where are you, when are you, why are you here—as each one was locked back in their cell.

And each time it passed by Bill's cell, it glanced in, concerned.

Bill had been almost pleasant when he'd come out of the Solitary Wellness Void—maybe after all those sessions in isolation he was finally ready to be more of a team player. And D-SM5 had said that he'd been unusually well-behaved and attentive during the reincarnation. A-AOX4 had hoped their most surly patient was finally opening up. It would be a shame if this incident with The Beast resulted in his new progress backsliding.

Plus, it took a heavy dose of anything to impact Bill at all, much less knock him out cold. He'd already had to go to the nurse earlier today; what if he needed medical attention?

So after locking up the latest subdued prisoner, A-AOX4 said to one of the guards, "Take over monitoring incoming patients. I'm checking on Cipher."

It unlocked the door and hovered into the room. "Cipher?"

No response. He was plastered flat to the floor.

"Bill?" It floated lower to check his condition. 

He was paper.

Paper meticulously colored in with yellow marker and folded into a triangle; scraps of paper colored black, carefully torn into hand and feet shapes, and shoved in the sleeves and pants of his prison uniform.

A-AOX4 lifted up the paper. On the other side was Bill's "Be a TRY-angle!" poster. He'd written across it, "IS THIS TRYING HARD ENOUGH FOR YOU?"

It turned toward the door—and discovered Bill had filled the wall with a drawing of himself making an obscene gesture, with a word bubble that read, "GIVE MY REGARDS TO THE AX! And tell Jessica I said bye xoxo"

It zoomed out into the hallway and grabbed its walkie-talkie. "Director SM5! Cipher's escaped his cell! He left a decoy! He's not with The Beast, we don't know where he is!"

There was a moment of dead air. And then the director growled, "I think I have an idea."

####

Trying to keep his giggles as quiet as possible, Bill looped through the Theraprism's halls, drifting between The Beast's rolling fields of hard candy corpses and the Theraprism's rigid monotone halls. What had he been worried about! Getting hopped up on astralplanar sugar before escaping his cell had been a great idea! It gave him instant shortcuts through half the walls! And he could handle a little buzz like this! He was totally in control of his actions and knew exactly what he—

How long had he been flying the wrong direction? He turned around. Wow was he high, he could barely focus on anything but all the colors. He wondered if The Beast's toxins had any weird interactions with his meds.

He was lucky The Beast had decided to dawdle around the Dimensional Tyrants Ward: here at the far end of the Theraprism, there were no signs of crisis beyond the sealed doors indicating the facility was under lockdown—and once he was outside a high security ward, there were plenty of cracks, gaps, and vents that Bill was thin enough to slide through. He hadn't even seen a guard since he'd left his cell. By the time he reached the reincarnation room, The Beast's landscape was fading out and the sugar crash headache was fading in, but the facility was still on lockdown and no one seemed to be looking for Bill. He slipped beneath the locked door and powered up the console to the reincarnation machine.

He skipped straight to the reincarnation program and checked the box that said, yes, the patient's brain had been washed. He paused when a warning pop-up blocked the screen. The technician hadn't gotten a pop-up. He had to read over the two-sentence warning three times before he understood what he was looking at. The soul sanitization routine hadn't been run recently, was he sure the patient's memory was erased—ugh, yes. He irritably clicked the confirmation and hoped that would be the last of it.

Bill quickly selected Earth and dimension 46'\; he tabbed past the coordinates and date, and they both automatically filled in "DEFAULT." D-SM5 had said the computer would make a "random" decision if you didn't plug in a time and place, but the staff didn't know Earth like Bill did. If he left the time and place up to the whims of fate, then something as weird as a trillion-year-old alien chaos god escaping a criminal insane asylum to spontaneously generate as a fully grown mortal would be sucked straight into the weirdest place and time on Earth. Gravity Falls: August, 2012. Weirdmageddon. He was willing to bet his life on it.

He was betting his life on it.

After that, with any luck, he'd be able to shed his new body like any other puppet and return to his castle in the sky. If for some reason he couldn't get out of it, he'd only need to pull a couple of magic tricks outside a normal mortal's capabilities to catch his past self's attention, find a way to prove his identity—heck, with any luck, they'd be seeing through each other's eyes and that would instantly confirm it—warn his past self about the Pines' treachery, prevent his own death, save Weirdmageddon, restructure the universe in his image, and rule his new party paradise as god-king for all eternity. Easy.

He scrolled down the list of available creatures, looking for something that would be easy to reach the Fearamid and prove his intelligence with—something with vocal cords that could speak eye-bat would be useful, it'd save him a lot of trouble if he could just shout at his sentinels in their own language and startle them into listening—but, to his surprise, the first useful species he found was humans, down amongst the species that had received a single-digit number of reincarnations from the Theraprism. Really, humans? They allowed that?

Over the blaring alarm, a voice made an announcement. He completely tuned it out—and only realized a moment after it ended that he'd heard his own name. They knew he'd escaped.

Bill didn't have time to search for anything better. He selected humanity.

He tabbed past dozens of features he could choose from for his body—default default default default—who cared what the body peed out of, he wasn't keeping the thing long enough to fill its bladder! He clicked open the advanced settings—there, spontaneous generation! He hoped this thing wouldn't drop him on the sidewalk as a baby, but usually when a human suddenly popped into existence, it was an adult sculpted from clay or something, right? He'd be fine! He checked the box for spontaneous generation.

He got another error message. He groaned. He wasn't sober enough for this.

Something about spontaneous generation being banned on Earth after 1859, is he willing to assume the liability if the patient generates after—yeah sure whatever, he clicked yes. Another pop-up prompted him for the digital signature of the person assuming liability. He typed in D-SM5's name.

As soon as he clicked enter, another error message popped up. "What!!"

He flinched at the sound of a muffled pneumatic hiss. Outside, somebody had unlocked the doors to this hallway. The alarm was still blaring; the Theraprism wasn't coming off lockdown. That meant whoever had unlocked the hall was coming for him.

"Focusss." He skimmed the new warning. Something about humans being on a list of species for which spontaneous generation was restricted—what loser had written a law about that! Who cared if a fully-formed, brand-new human popped out of thin air in the middle of town! What about Bill's wants?! He checked another box YES HE'S SURE HE WANTS TO SPONTANEOUSLY GENERATE A HUMAN YOU MONSTER and pounded enter.

Another pop-up. It wanted to know on which god's authority the spontaneous generation had been authorized.

Bill froze. Why did it need to know. Would it check? A machine that could reincarnate a soul was probably also a machine that could shoot off a prayer. Or was Bill supposed to have some kind of divine authorization code? Which gods were even allowed to authorize that kind of thing? He didn't know which stupid legislative body had made this stupid law or what their stupid definition of a god was! Gods weren't even real, they were just stupid, arrogant, stuck-up jerks who were powerful enough to trick people into thinking they were important! Like Bill! What name were they looking for?!

He heard voices in the hallway. He darted over to the door, slid his fingers through the seams around the doorframe to crush the latching mechanism so it couldn't be opened, and darted back. That wouldn't hold them long; he knew from experience that the guards could bust down the doors in these low security wings without much difficulty.

"Bill Cipher!" That was D-SM5. It had come personally? In any other circumstance, he'd be flattered. "Open up immediately!"

"Has that ever worked?" A god, a god, a god... his eye caught on the bas relief at the back of the next room. If there was any god this place would accept orders from... The guards were ramming the door; the bending metal groaned. He typed "THE AXOLOTL" and hit enter.

The button grayed out but the pop-up didn't go away. The screen froze. "What." Bill tried clicking again. The cursor turned into one of those little spinning balls that meant the computer was quietly having a stroke. "No no no no—"

D-SM5 hollered, "You know what the consequences will be if you don't—"

"I'm not listeniiing to yooou!"

"You're only going to hurt yourse—"

Dropping his voice to a demonic boom to drown out the director, Bill recited, "'I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house I was one of the few guests who had actually been invited! People were not—" There was a shriek of tearing metal, and then a bright glow behind Bill as D-SM5 peered through the gap in the door. Bill started talking faster, "'Were not invited they went there they got into automobiles which bore them out to Long Island and somehow—'"

The pop-up disappeared. The cursor returned to normal. The box next to spontaneous generation was checked. Bill stared for a split second, then quickly closed out the advanced settings, scrolled to the bottom of the page, and hit "EXECUTE."

Someone blasted the door out of its frame; based on the blinding glow that accompanied the blast, Bill suspected that wasn't one of the guards, but D-SM5 itself. He frantically clicked through the next two confirmations, flung a couple of folding chairs toward D-SM5 and its thugs, and dove beneath the door to the next room. Ten seconds.

"Cancel the reincarnation!" D-SM5 snapped.

A guard ran to the console. (What if they saw where Bill had gone? They could probably guess the planet, but would the computer keep records of his destination, what his new body looked like—) "I don't see a cancel! I don't think—"

"Then get him off the altar!"

Five seconds. Please spawn as an adult and not a baby, please spawn as an adult and not a baby, please— Bill hadn't broken the door between the observation room and the altar; the guards easily unlocked it. "No no no—!"

"Don't let him esc—!"

Three seconds. An impossibly bright light shone down on Bill. He reflexively peeled open his exoskeleton to accept it. LIGHT—oh, he felt even more alive than the time he'd stolen a bottle of stimulants from the nurse station, ground them up, and snorted them off Mrs. Mirrorcube's back. His eye widened, taking in as much free energy as he could—and then he focused his gaze through the window on the console, focusing the infinite light into a laser powerful enough to instantly melt through the window and explode the computer. The guards fell back, trying to shield their tender mortal flesh from the fury of Bill's fire. Enjoy the blisters.

D-SM5 bellowed, "Bill Cipher, you mo—!"

"CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, SUCKA!" He could feel his body ripping apart, cracking open at the wound. It hurt, but not the hurt of dying; it was the euphoric hurt of spaghettification, of being infinitely sucked beyond a beautiful event horizon. Bill's triumphant cackle filled the air—

—and then the room was silent and dark, and Bill was gone.

####

(If you're new here: I posted this as a one shot because I think we could all use a little Bill escaping from Theraprism, yeah? However it's ALSO part of my ongoing Bill-stuck-in-a-human-body fic I'm currently editing for TBOB compatibility. So, if you enjoyed this and want to see where post-reincarnation Bill goes, check out the fic!! And if you DON'T want to read the rest of the fic, I hope you enjoyed the one shot and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

If you do check out the main fic be forewarned it's only 100% TBOB compatible up to chapter 6. After that it is, bizarrely, 98% TBOB compatible, because somehow I accidentally wrote a fic that lines up with the book so well that I'm legit worried people could use TBOB to work out fic spoilers. But I still need to edit the remaining 2%.

If you're NOT new here: hey gang this is the new chapter 6!!! I finished editing this chapter about fifteen minutes before post time so it's not as polished as my usual chapters, but I hope it didn't read that way. Anyway, I look forward to hearing what y'all think!)

[blabberoo]

Uuhg i was so tired today 😞 i want to do some quick sketches to relieve pain of having ideas stuck in my mind and can't recreate them because of work

(Just stuff related to this comic)

[misteria247]

I'm realizing that Stan is actually incredibly smart. Like in a Ford kind of way to some extent.

Like yes Stan's street smart and life smart but he's also got the smarts that Ford's praised for. Because he had rebuilt the portal and figured out his brother's notes and equations.

Like do you know how hard math is on Ford and Fiddleford's level of expertise??? How complicated and delicate it is????? Especially the kind that brings portals to life???? And Stan figured it out. Had taught himself to read and comprehend these difficult things. Difficult things that requires college degrees in science and mathematics.

And Stan did this on an incomplete high school grade level of academics.

That's fucking nuts. Sure it took 30 years but he learned it. By himself, can you imagine how frustrated he got, teaching himself Ford's educational level??? Using his mechanical skills of fixing his car to be up to par to Fiddleford's impressive craftsmanship????

And I can just see how Ford and Fiddleford react post apocalypse. Ford doing equations and science stuff and talking while Fiddleford listens and gives his input when Stan pipes up unintentionally and puts his hat into the ring. And it's mathematically sound?? And these two men are just blown away cuz what the actual hell?? Ford's immediately questioning Stan, wanting to hear his thoughts while Fiddleford watches impressed and Stan's mortified and a bit overwhelmed. Or Fiddleford working on something and Ford's watching him when Stan points out a better way to make a part work and Fidds is like omg thank you Stanley??? And Ford's looking at his little brother dumbfounded and itching to bomb him with questions and whatnot.

Stan never knows peace afterwards.

[zovie9638]

Hello, just dropping this here, see you next week,

Next part

[b-afterhours]

Avenue of Sins: Neon

A Sequel to Avenue of Sins

SUMMARY: ‘90s. It’s the aftermath. Jaded, Bill and Alma navigate their new lives as they try to drag themselves out of the dark debacherous trenches they had once ensnared themselves in. It’s easy to forget their evils when a silver lining introduces itself into their lives but can they create a less hedonistic life that would be just as satisfying?

WARNINGS: adult content, mature readers only.

Author's note: Again, thank you all so much for reading! This is the conclusion of AOS. It's another long chapter to enjoy. I plan to have one shot posted soon that'll show some parts I was unable to fit within the main story. Thanks again. Lots of love x

Epilogue

Summer 1994

Ulyssa was back in Seattle for the summer after being away in New York for school. She was sitting on top of the cash wrap counter at Sheisty Sound Records, finger-weaving a friendship bracelet on pink dye-stained digits for Ash, who was pricing CDs next to her. 

“Who’s playing on the speakers?” A young man asked out loud. 

The women both turned towards him. He was a wiry, nerdy-looking guy, holding onto an easy-listening record. They informed him of the band playing in unison and giggled. 

“They’re playing here in two months,” Ulyssa informed with a polite smile. 

"Sold out show," Ash winked at him, pressing the trigger of the pricing gun pointed at him.

The door chimes sounded, and in came Alma, looking a bit flustered, but she put on a smile for them when they greeted her. She was in a tight cap-sleeve shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans cinched with a black designer belt. 

“Hey!” She said, approaching them after swerving around a customer. “Your hair looks so good, ‘Lys!” She complimented her pink shaggy pixie cut.

“Doesn’t it!” Ash said in agreement.

“E’ is going to be so obsessed when she sees it! Uhm,” Alma placed her hands on her hips and took on a more serious tone. “Did the light fixture guy come by with a delivery this morning?” 

Sheisty Sound had been going through various repairs and upgrades since the beginning of the year under the new ownership. Once Lewis gave Bill the keys a week before he and his family left for New York for the holidays, they began drawing up a timeline. 

~~~

It was a chilly, drizzly day in November when Bill met Lewis on a Sunday after hours. He had his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket and pulled the fabric tighter against his body while he walked to the store. He showed up alone, of course. Alma and the baby stayed home, waiting anxiously for him. It was a big day for them, but as far as they knew, Lewis still hadn’t any idea his employee was in a relationship with the gentleman purchaser from New York.

Bill knocked on the store door, but through the glass, he saw Lewis seemingly doing one last private walk-through of his beloved record shop. Once Lewis unlocked the door for Bill, they greeted each other with a handshake and began congratulating and thanking each other. Walking through the shop together, Lewis asked what his plans were for the shop now that he had full reign. Of course, Bill and Alma wanted to upgrade areas of the shop and venue and add little personal touches without losing the charm of the place the locals loved so much. 

“I’ll have to pay a visit once things are settled,” Lewis said while they stood in the office. 

“For sure,” Bill nodded. “We would love that.” Bill noticed a slight shift in Lewis when he uttered the plural, ‘we’. “Um, so after today, Cancun?” He quickly asked to cover his mistake.

“Yup. My wife Helen and I fly there in a week. The whole family will be there for the holidays this year.” He smiled. “And you?” 

“I’m going to New York, where it won’t be as warm.” Bill chuckled. 

“With your family?” 

“Mhmm. My partner and daughter.” He adjusted the brim of his black baseball cap, feeling a little awkward. 

“You know,” Lewis paused and crossed his wrists behind his back. “I have an employee here who is going to New York for the holidays too.” 

“Uh huh,” Bill licked his lips. He wanted to smirk, having realized they were caught, but he refrained. “And she has a kid about my daughter's age too?” He said for Lewis before he could disingenuously question. Lewis stood there, looking up at him for an explanation. “We should have told you.” 

“Well isn’t that something… I wasn’t too happy to learn about it, frankly. I was rather upset about being deceived.”

“I’m sorry about that.” He said just to placate him, he was hardly sorry at all. “How long have you known?” 

“Since Darby’s wedding.” 

Bill tilted his head, surprised by that. Lewis had known for months and held on to the fact until now. 

“Were we obvious?” 

“No. I’m a bit impressed by your acting.” He had to admit. 

“Could I ask how, then?” 

Lewis sighed. “As I left the wedding, I ran into Gregory in the parking lot. I think he was getting stoned in his van, but he mentioned your coupling in conversation. I guess by accident?”

He knew it would be someone from the record shop who would blow their cover, but he never suspected it would be Gregory. He kept to himself so much that Bill could hardly read him. Even Alma couldn’t pin him down at times. What Bill could sometimes sense was that Gregory didn't care for him at all. Ulyssa let it slip that he was a strip club owner, and he felt validated in his suspicions about him. Whether he told by accident or meant to sabotage was still surprising. 

“I see.” Bill leaned on the office door frame, crossing his arms. “We should have been upfront. We felt that it would have been a conflict of interest, you know. And I really wanted this to go through.” 

“It almost didn’t,” Lewis revealed. “I told you I was upset. My wife and I went home, and she had to hear me gripe about it. I was so close to calling Sam Goody and letting them have at this place, but my wife talked some sense into me.” 

Helen could tell Lewis was more upset at the thought of being officially detached from the family record store. It was hard to hand over, and the deceit began to make him second guess. She couldn't have that; she was so close to her dream retirement. Besides, business was business at the end of the day. It just so happened that the handsome buyer from New York knew when to hold and play his hand better than most. 

“It was Sam Goody that I was up against?” Bill chuckled in disbelief. 

“It was! But they wouldn’t have honored anything I’ve said. Unlike you?” He raised a skeptical brow at Bill.

“I’m not firing anyone.” He assured.

“Not even Gregory?” Lewis chuckled. 

“Nah,” he chuckled. “He’s getting a dollar raise along with everyone else. Darby is staying as the general manager and will be on salary at the start of the year.” 

When he and Darby went on their lunch meeting at a country club his family was members of, Bill laid out his plans for his role at the store. They negotiated a bit about his yearly salary, but once everything was square between them, they ended up enjoying an evening out. A late one they didn’t expect to have, which caused both their respective partners to be a bit upset because neither could get a hold of either of them. Alma wouldn’t have been upset, but it was the fact that Darby’s wife called her worried and made it a problem. It was as if they were two boys, and Darby was out with the bad kid. The men arrived at their respective dwellings, three sheets to the wind, via cab. 

“Oh! Good deal,” said Lewis. “Well, looks like you know what you're doing. I mean, I kinda figured that myself over our email correspondences. But it’s good you have Alma. You know, when she had the baby, she took off for a bit but promised to return. She kept my books in order better than Darby, and I was close to making him visit her to make sure she would come back, but luckily she turned up on her own. So—you two meet in New York?” 

Bill scratched the back of his neck. “No, we’ve known each other for a long time now.” 

“Ah, yeah. She’s definitely someone you’d want to keep by your side for sure. Smart.”

Lewis passed a large ring of labeled keys to Bill, and they shook hands, completing their deal. They promised to keep in touch, and now Bill was alone inside the record shop he now owned. He called Alma from the store telephone he now owned, and now she was on her way to meet him. He was busy matching keys to locks around the place when she walked in with Echo through the front door, which he didn’t bother to lock. Both of them came in happily, skipping towards him, together in their family business.

~~~

“Yeah, I told the guy to put them backstage,” Ash informed Alma. She had been such a good asset to her since they switched roles, always on top of things, and very organized, which Alma appreciated. 

“Oh good, thanks.” The door chimes sounded once again, which caused Alma to turn her head towards it. 

Ulyssa noticed Alma glare at Bill when he entered, and he gave it right back to her. Scowling under his brow, displeased. 

“Uhm, I’m going to go check on that,” she quickly said and began walking away even quicker. 

Bill promptly greeted the employees as politely as he could, but he still looked tense. He was dressed in a long-sleeved black tee and well-fitting jeans, but this summer he was sporting a buzz cut. It was late at night when he did it impulsively, bored and stoned in the apartment, while Alma was out with friends. 

He hadn’t established a proper barber in Seattle yet and just got rid of it. He was lying in bed in the dark when she arrived, undressing and speaking to him, completely unaware. It wasn’t until she was out of the shower she climbed into bed with him, leaning over for a kiss, that she paused. In the dark, she could sense something wasn’t right with him. 

“What happened?” 

“What?” 

She startled him slightly when she swiftly climbed over and straddled him to turn his bedside lamp on. She gasped when she saw what he had done. 

“It’s hair. It’ll grow out.” He said, feeling a little embarrassed about it now that his high was gone. Alma ran her hands through the short hair, which Bill thought felt quite nice, and smiled. 

“I don’t hate it.” She leaned down and kissed the top of his shorn head. 

Ulyssa watched Bill briskly catch up to Alma weaving between record tables, but she shrugged him off when he grabbed her arm. 

“What the fuck A’? I wasn’t done talking to you.” Bill could be overheard saying to her. He hooked his finger in one of her belt loops to keep her from straying away.

“I was fucking done. I told you. I told you I paid for the delivery already. You can’t just write checks out like it’s nothing without me knowing. Now I have to—” 

That was all that Ulyssa was able to overhear as they walked away to the stage area. 

“What’s up?” Ash asked her, noticing her worry. 

“Oh,” Ulyssa lightly shrugged. “They’ve been arguing a lot,” she grimaced. 

“Oh. Yeah,” Ash said, unbothered as she dismissively waved her hand. “But like, you know it’s not for real, right?” 

“What do you mean?” Ulyssa asked, noticing a coy look on Ash’s face. 

“It’s like foreplay for them.” Ash laughed when Ulyssa got red in the face. “You know they’re some freaks!” 

“Oh yeah, these are nice,” Bill said, crouched down backstage looking through the boxes, poking at the contents with the tip of a pocket knife to make sure nothing was broken during transit. “These are better than what we have at the club.” 

“And apparently, they don’t get as hot as the stage lights we have now,” Alma informed.

They had been following the timeline they had written and were still on schedule. Luckily, part of the deal Bill made with Lewis involved having the roof fixed on his part before everything became official. A big project they were able to avoid.

So they started with the next dire situation. The bathrooms. It was on top of their list, underlined multiple times. They were gutted first thing, as they looked and smelled like the embodiment of hell. Bill and Alma knew it wouldn’t be realistic, believing they wouldn’t be defaced at all, so once they were back open for business, the record crew had a graffiti party. Tagging the newly painted walls with magic markers and drippy paint pens. Matt happily took the opportunity to draw the first dick in the men’s stall. 

So far after that, the stage had been reinforced, the threat of possibly caving in was gone, and the old dusty, cigarette-smelling stage curtain had been replaced. Once the new light fixtures were up, they could finally transition to fixing the main shop by giving it a few tweaks here and there. First with the office until they could finally focus on the outside. Adding a large neon theater-style marquee.

Bill straightened up. “Before you slammed the fucking car door in my face,” he smirked. “I was trying to tell you that the realtor called.” 

“About the house? Is everything fine?” She said worried. 

“Yeah. He called to tell me we can pick up the keys tomorrow.” He let out a strained groan, caught off guard when she jumped into his arms excitedly, but then he smiled.

…

Closer to the beginning of the year, Bill was alone in the apartment when the realtor unexpectedly called. He was packing for a short visit to New York but had taken a break to check his email. There wasn’t anything in his inbox to note except a stupid chain email from Giancarlo. He had replied to him: Don’t send me this shit.

He got up to grab a pickle spear from a jar in the fridge and began walking back to the room to resume his packing when the phone rang. He groaned and rolled his eyes as he turned his tracks to answer. 

“Mm,” he said, still chewing. “Hello?” 

“Mr. Skarsgård?” 

“Mhmm.” He swallowed. 

“Hey, it’s Chase.” 

“Oh,” he cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“I was hoping you and Miss Lucio wouldn’t happen to be busy today. I’m at a showing, but my client rescheduled. However, if you’ve got the time, I’m happy to show you all this home. It’s a bit out of the city, though. I know Miss Lucio wanted to remain within city limits, but…���

“How far is it?” 

“About a thirty, forty-minute drive from the city.” Without traffic, he finished in his head. “I really think you should take a look.” 

Bill quickly pulled a charcoal hoodie over the white tank he wore and left the loose-fitting pants he had on. After tying his Vans shoes, he was out the door and in the Jeep, taking another glance at the address he had written down and the directions Chase had given him. 

He decided to see the home on his own. Alma had taken Echo to the record shop that day, and with the property being out of the way, he wanted to check if it was even worth bringing them along later. It felt that they had seen so many houses at this point that the search just started to feel more like a job rather than a pleasant daydream. It was taking much too long to move out of the small, cramped apartment they were living in. After Bill found a note on the front door complaining about the noise from their unit, the itch to leave worsened.

As he left the city, the landscape became veridian and dense with tall mossy trees. He turned on a winding road, and he could see homes through the breaks the long driveways provided. They were rather large homes, but they all seemed to look newly built and felt too boring. Bill and Alma wanted something with some history, with leftover character they could build on. 

He slowed down to check the address and search for the road he was told to turn left at, and saw it just ahead. Just a bit later, he arrived, taking the long driveway and parking right underneath a breezeway connecting the four-car garage and the house. The style of it looked different from the home; it was an addition. The home stood tall and wide. He took note of the large windows and the surrounding acreage. There were neighbors on this road, but the tree cover fencing the property provided privacy that you couldn’t get in intercity Seattle. 

He put his black cap on, exited the Jeep, and looked at the foundational brick skirting of the home as he walked down the length of the driveway and continued up the top of the arching drive to meet Chase at the front door. He had on his megawatt smile when he shook Bill’s hand. 

“Hope it wasn’t too hard to find.” 

“Nah,” Bill said, looking at the home while anxiously jingling the car keys in the palm of his half-fisted hand. “This is quite big. How many rooms are there?” 

“Just come on and look for yourself.” He said, nudging his head for him to follow.

After going through the vestibule, it opened up to the living room. It had large, vaulted ceilings with tall windows, and a fireplace, and there was a mezzanine with a library at the top. Chase was grateful that his client looked genuinely surprised as his eyes scanned the room. He quickly learned he couldn’t help his clients settle on a property, in fact, they were a bit dismissive when he tried. He found Bill and his partner quite picky. Always bickering about the most inane aspects. Sometimes they even offended him because some things they hated he secretly loved. 

“And Miss Lucio?” Chase inquired. 

His eyes flicked down at him. “At work,” he sighed. “I just came to see if it was worth dragging her out here for.” He said honestly, maybe too honest for Chase. “She really does want to live in the city—but.” 

“You know what? Why don’t you have a look around yourself? I’ll be in the den if you have questions about anything.” 

“There’s a den too?” Bill asked intrigued. 

Bill took a look around and was pleased with what he was seeing. It was hitting all the needs and wants he felt Alma had, too. It had five bedrooms and the appropriate amount of bathrooms. The dining room was stereotypical, but it was nothing to complain about. The large kitchen, with an island and breakfast nook, impressed him. He was in the primary bedroom, checking out the hardwood floors and the large walk-in closet, when he noticed a narrow entryway tucked in a corner. At first, he assumed it to be a randomly placed powder room, but as he turned the rounded corner, he discovered a small sitting area. Windows were facing the backyard, and there was a small metal fireplace right out of the 70s. Bill found it a bit bizarre and out of place but fascinating at the same time. 

In the room, there was a narrow, encased staircase leading down, and he discovered the den where Chase was sitting with crossed legs reading an old issue of Vogue on a couch. 

“I see you found the private sitting area!” He stood up, smoothing his salmon-colored button-down. “You could always make it into an office too.” 

“Right. Pretty cool thing to find.” Bill glanced out the window to the backyard and noticed the large porch and the stone walkway to the garden. 

“Check this out, though.” Chase walked over to a tall, standing bookshelf and slid it back into place, acting as a secret door to the room above. 

“Oh, sick!” 

“Right! Have you checked out the basement yet? It’s been redone by the previous owners. It’s like having an apartment below you.” 

“Yeah. That’s really nice too.” Bill said, turning towards him. “Why are the owners selling this place?” He wondered. 

“The gentleman of the home is relocating for work. He works in oil and gas. And no, no one has died here either.” He said because some way or another either he or Alma would jokingly ask. While it was a valid question, Chase found their gallows humor a bit tasteless. “The house was built in ‘68. There’s a really great Montessori preschool opening in town, and there’s a grocery store ten minutes away.” 

Bill nodded. “Uhm. How long are you here for?” 

“You’re my last showing here. I have another one to go to.” 

“Could you do me a favor?” He asked, smiling at the man, knowing he’d get his way from him. 

…

Alma was surprised to see Bill suddenly enter the office, jiggling the car keys again, while she was on a call. It wasn’t time for her to get off the clock, so to speak. She didn’t have to punch her time card anymore and made her schedule, but she wasn’t expecting to see him for a couple of hours to get picked up.

Echo was asleep in her mother’s arms while she spoke on the phone while soothingly swiveling in the office chair. He gently picked their daughter up, and Alma smiled at him as she stretched her arm out. She pushed the sleeves of her oversized knit sweater up her forearms, which she wore over a long maxi dress and heeled boots.

When Alma finished her call, she found Bill sitting on the edge of the stage watching his daughter run around happily after rising in his arms. When she saw him at first, she could tell he was eager to tell her something but refrained, seeing she was busy. She worried that he had come to tell her he changed his flight and that he would be leaving earlier than expected. Bill scooped up Echo in his arms and closed the space far quicker to reach Alma. They kissed, and he took her hand, leading them out of the shop. 

“What’s going on, babe?”

“Chase called about a house.”

He could feel Alma taking several glances at him as he drove further and further away from Seattle. They had just driven over a truss bridge, and you could see a cascade of waterfalls further up the river. The area was gorgeous, almost out of a fairy tale, but Alma didn’t leave small country-suburban life in Missouri for another. Bill knew this. 

“Look. Just be open-minded. It’s not that far. You can see the city skyline from the second floor of the house.” 

“You’ve already been there?” 

“I wanted to make sure it wasn’t bullshit before bringing you out here.” 

Alma smiled, looking at him knowingly. “You like it.”

“Yeah, but,” he muttered, scratching his studded ear. “Only if you do.” 

They arrived, and Alma tilted her head back to take in the whole house. It was rather big but very pretty. It had Victorian elements, but it wasn’t so ornate but rather tastefully modernized. 

“It looks haunted.” She stated. 

Bill turned to her, with an annoyed glint in his eyes. “Well—then we fit right in.” 

Alma scoffed with amusement, and then he opened the door with the key he convinced Chase to leave with him. Only if Bill promised to leave it behind under a rock on the porch. He didn’t believe his clients to be potential squatters, but he found them unusual. The first time he met Alma, she wore a button on her jean jacket that read, EAT ME. However, with their budget, he was willing to just overlook their liberal personalities. 

When they entered, Alma bit her lip to keep her grin at bay; she was already excited by the living room.

“I’ll leave Echo with you,” he said, putting her down on her feet. “I gotta check some other stuff out, but just take a look.” 

“Well… okay.” She said, watching him stalk away, continuing to jiggle the car keys in his palm as he did. 

While the realtor was away, he was going to take advantage of taking a look at the working parts of the house that owners and realtors like to embellish to conceal how badly they were operating in reality. It would give Alma space to see the home without his opinions; he wanted her to make her own mind up. To genuinely fall in love with it and envision their family in it.

Alma and Echo walked hand in hand around the stage-furnished home, picturing what she would do to the spaces. She was already thinking of what color house paint she’d choose when going down the long driveway. She liked it the moment she saw it. However, she wasn’t going to let Bill have that satisfaction yet. 

After checking out a room, she could envision having an office. They were in the room that would more than likely be Echos’, and she was elated about all the room she’d have to herself. A Jack and Jill bathroom was adjoining a room of equal size, and she imagined this was where her siblings' nursery would belong.

Bill and Alma decided after their first year of ownership of the shop, they would try for another. When things would be less hectic, and they settled somewhere permanently. He finally asked in earnest the week between Christmas and New Year's one night snuggled warmly under a thick duvet in bed.

“Do you want another baby?” His hand drifted to her belly, resting above her womb. “Just tell me, and I’ll do it.” He said softly. 

“I want to give you another one.” She said, snuggling her body to become more flush against his. “I know… I know you’d want it to happen sooner, but we’re going to be so busy this coming year.” 

Bill sighed, but she was right. He wanted it now, but the timing couldn’t be less than ideal. “Okay,” he digressed. 

Alma put a hand on his high cheek when she turned her head to search his eyes. He looked disappointed yet understanding. 

“This time next year. We can try. I promise.” 

When she found the primary bedroom, her heart fluttered. This felt like the place. She could briefly see Bill in the backyard through the large windows that faced it. He was walking back from a small shed close to the edge of the tree line. In the distance was Seattle's skyline, and if it wasn’t for the rain clouds further out, she’d probably be able to see Mt. Rainier too. 

She was admiring the walk-in closet when she started hearing random toilet flushes throughout the house. While they walked through the house, the lights were intermittently flickering, he was checking the breaker box in the basement. Then she could hear the keys again and his footsteps falling on the hardwood herringbone-floor hallway. When the ensuite toilet was flushed, she met Bill in the bedroom. Echo was walking about it on her own. It made Bill smile. 

“It’s pretty. Do you like it because of all the windows?” She asked because he always enjoyed natural light; he felt it always made any space bigger. 

“Well, that's one reason.” 

“What were you doing in the shed out there?” She pointed.

“It’s not a shed. It’s a sauna.” 

“Really?” She said with surprise.

“Yeah. Do you like it?” 

“Hmm,” she turned to look out the window with her hands on her hips in thought. “Do you like it, Echo?” Hearing her name called, she approached her mother and hugged the side of her leg. “Do you want to live here?” 

“Just tell mommy you like it, E’.” Bill chuckled. The house was for her as well, but he didn’t want a major decision to ride on the preference of a two-year-old. 

“I like! I like it!” She squealed, making her parents laugh, but then she started running towards the walk-in closet.

“Wait, Echo,” Bill said, going after her.

“It’s just the closet.” 

“No! There are stairs in there. Hey, hey.” He caught up to her and took her hand while they stood in the private sitting area. 

“Whoa!” Alma said, surprised by the hidden discovery. 

Bill showed her how the stairs led to the den and the secret door, which hid the room. She looked rather impressed with it. It was a cool feature. A place only they knew about, and they liked sharing secrets. 

“So?” Bill asked impatiently. 

“It’s private, like you wanted. Lots of rooms. I love the laundry room in the basement,” and she really meant love. She was tired of taking trips to the laundromat. “The mezzanine library is cool. The kitchen—”

“The kitchen is fucking tight!” 

Alma giggled. “Yeah. Yeah! Let’s put in an offer. This is it!” 

“Thank fuck!” Bill said, relieved, pulling her in to kiss her. “Because I put in an offer before I left to come get you.” 

…

Bill was in New York on a three-day trip the day after they found their home. He made up some story about why he had to go, as they had only left just a few weeks ago for the holidays. It wasn’t a complete fib; he would be at Trigger Finger working, but he was there to personally pick up Alma’s engagement ring. 

While there on the holidays, he visited his jeweler, Kaan, sitting with him in his private body-guarded office looking at loose precious jewels together. 

“What about emeralds?” 

“Mm,” Kaan twisted his lip. “Emerald is pretty, yes. The stone, though. Too soft for engagement ring.” He spoke in his slightly broken English.

Bill sat stumped for a moment. He wanted something different to give her than a solitaire diamond ring. 

“Diamonds. Diamonds are what the ladies want.” Kaan said, but it didn’t seem to sway his particular client. “You want different. We can do a braided band.” He suggested. “We can do anything custom for the band. I have examples.” He said, using his stiff belly to push away from his desk and grab a portfolio book from a shelf. 

Bill flicked through for a bit as Kaan left him with a security guard to assist an apprentice. Everything he saw was gorgeous and admirable, but there wasn’t anything that spoke to him. Nothing that he could picture Alma with. Until he reached a random tab near the back of the portfolio, flicking the rest of the sheet-protected pages away just to feel like he actually looked through it all. He quickly closed it and pushed it away on the desk in frustration. However, right when he did so, a glimpse of an image caught his eye. He reached for the portfolio and searched for the photo he saw. 

“Anything?” Kaan asked, taking his jeweler's glasses off. 

“Something like this.” Bill tapped the photo.

“You and me.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Toi et moi. That’s the style. We do diamond, offset, pear shape. You like green. We do green sapphire. Emerald cut, that’s better. Tougher stone. I’ll show you what I have.” 

He had Giancarlo accompanying him when he went to pick it up, as they were going to have dinner at a rooftop restaurant for the good marks he’s been getting in school lately. They were chatting as they walked there.

“Maybe I could come to work at the record shop in the summer?” Giancarlo gathered the courage to ask. 

“Yeah. But maybe not this summer, maybe next summer. If your mom allows it. And I’m not going to ask her for you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He grumbled as they entered the store.

Giancarlo had never been to a jewelry store like this before. He had to give up his navy Adidas track jacket to security, same with Bill handing off his coat before they were patted down to enter the owner's office. 

“Now run me your shoes too.” A guard pointed at Gian’s new Reebok sneakers. 

Gian’s eyes widened when he froze a bit until the guard began snickering. He had caught a whiff of his nervousness and poked at it. Bill chuckled at his young friend's trepidation and patted his shoulder reassuringly. 

“Watch out, he’s got a mean uppercut.” Bill winked. 

While Giancarlo continued to work out and had grown to 6ft now—which he liked to brag about having surpassed his big brother in height—he was a self-admitted lover, not a fighter. 

“I know Miss Alma loves you, but doesn’t it make you nervous to finally ask?” The young boy asked Bill while they sat and waited on the ring.

“To marry me? Eh, well, she kind of already knows.” He said, fiddling with his wristwatch.

“You asked her already?” Gian asked, surprised.

“Mm, sorta.” 

“Isn’t it bad luck to propose without a ring?” 

“Where’d you hear that from?” Bill glanced over at Gian when he didn’t respond right away. “Your mom?” He internally rolled his eyes. Bianca and her superstitions, he thought.

“I’ve actually heard that too,” a big security guard in the room said. 

Bill looked at him over his shoulder and frowned with annoyance, but the man just shrugged. 

“Sorry, for the waiting,” Kaan said, hobbling over to his desk. 

He opened the velvet jewelry box gracefully and gently placed it in front of Bill on the desk. It was shiny, polished, and perfect. The ring. Bill sat there with his hand on his chin, admiring it, picturing Alma wearing it, and then he became pleased with himself. 

“Fuckin’ shit, Mr. Skarsgård!” Gian exclaimed. “Two rocks!” 

…

Even after acquiring the keys, it still took a full month to officially move into their new home. They moved in all the basics, filling only the rooms that would be immediately occupied. It was Echo’s room that Alma fixed up completely. With cute fluffy pastel bedding and ballerina slipper pink painted walls speckled with flower motifs. She had space for all her toys, a play kitchen set, and a reading nook. To say she was elated would be an understatement. However, for the little girl in a big new home, she was hesitant to sleep alone.

It was a speech her father had given her about being brave while her mother hung up frames in the living room that she finally decided to give her bedroom a try. Bill and Alma fully expected her to come running to their room at some point in the night, but when they woke up without her in bed, they were shocked. Shocked them enough to immediately get out of bed to make sure she was still in hers. She was cozy with her stuffed animals lined on the foot of her bed as if she put them in charge to keep guard of her. What they didn’t know was that she did try. While their rooms were fairly close, the journey down the long, soft-lit hallway to her parents' room proved too daunting, so she ran back to the safety of her bed. 

It was a Sunday evening, and Echo had slept nearly a full week in her room. The parents were upstairs on the mezzanine, arranging their little library to accommodate a stereo system. Down below, Echo watched a movie, with popcorn unavoidably littered around the living area. Still, she sat content in her big girl underwear with her little legs crossed and wearing sunglasses, which she insisted upon.

Bill paused to make sure she was still fine and then sat on a cushioned bench, looking out the window and towards the skies. There were thick, dark clouds billowing into their little cove. 

“They keep asking to open every other gig,” she said, complaining of a local band as she wired a speaker she had between her legs. “Even for that hip-hop troupe when it’s not the vibe. I just can’t.” 

“Yeah, they suck. Their drummer is good, though.” 

“He is! He needs to ditch them.” Suddenly, a bright flash of lightning flickered, causing her to pause. 

“It’s storming tonight,” Bill playfully sang in a daunting tone with raised brows. 

The downpour was pelting down on the home, sideways, front ways, and back ways. Luckily, it seemed like the thunder and lightning had passed them by. Bill and Alma made sultry love that night while the rain cascaded down the windows, and the heavy rainfall lulled them to bed quickly after. 

A loud crash of glass and a piercing, blood-curdling shriek was heard through the house. Alma was in a sleepy stupor when Bill leaped up from his sleep and jumped over her lying body. She saw him running out of the room in his boxer briefs as she tried to find her short silk nightgown to cover her naked body. 

In seconds, she ran down the oddly chilly hallway to Echo’s room in a panic, as she could hear her frightful cries over the torrential rainstorm. A faint thought was in the back of her mind. Should she have brought the gun?

“Mama!” Echo screamed in terror.

“Do not come in here!” Bill commanded, and she stopped dead in her tracks at the threshold. “There’s glass all over the floor.” 

Alma’s eyes darted around the room, assessing what had happened the best she could with her poor eyesight. There was a big, beautiful tree just outside the window, but the high, erratic winds had caused a branch to snap and burst through the bedroom window. 

“Is she okay?!” Her barefoot rose to take a step forward but stopped when a flash of lightning illuminated the jagged shards of glass scattered along the floor. 

Bill's heart strained trying to assess the bleeding cut on Echo’s cheek. He was shielding Alma’s view of it, but the branch was still banging against the house, and the wind was blowing cold mist into the room. He had to do something about it. 

“Bill?! Is she okay?” Alma cried. 

“Stay there.” He said picking Echo up, and that was when Alma saw crimson covering the side of her face. Her eyes widened in horror, her heart racing so hard, seeing her little baby in such a state. “Check her. I have to find something to cover the window.” He said, passing their terrified child into Alma’s trembling arms. 

Alma, having experienced an accident involving her daughter, suddenly retreated into herself and pulled out the more focused and level-headed version of herself. She placed her hand on Echo’s head, trying to soothe her as she swiftly took her to the ensuite bathroom. She sat her on the large double sink counter, stripped her of her bloody nightgown, and left her in her underwear.

“It’s okay, baby,” Alma said, wetting down a washcloth and putting it to the cut on her daughter's beautiful face. “That was scary, huh?” She softly said. “You’re okay, though.” She blotted the blood and tears from her face and could see that the cut wasn’t as bad as it looked. 

The banging of a hammer down the corridor accompanied the sound of thunderclaps. Bill had run to the basement for slabs of broken-down moving boxes to temporarily cover the window. He’d deal with the repair first thing in the morning. 

When he joined them in the ensuite bathroom and saw Echo standing up on the sink counter and Alma pointing at her reflection.

“See. Just an ouchie.” She said, trying to settle her as she sniffled and hiccuped. 

Bill swallowed hard, seeing the collar of the child's nightgown covered in blood. The sight of it was grimly unsettling. He approached them and held Echo’s face in one hand to examine the cut on her cheek. It looked more like a clean, precise scrape now that she was cleaned up. Anger rose in his chest, seeing how close the rogue shard of glass came to her hazel eye. Alma could sense what he thought when she saw his nostrils flare and his lips going in a hard line. It was a scary close hit. Thankfully, the graze wouldn’t scar, it would just fade away.

“I’m calling someone in the morning to cut the tree down.” He kissed the top of his daughter's head, sealing the promise. “I’ll go make her a bottle.” 

Alma nodded, but as he walked away, she saw tracks of smeared blood on the white marble tile. She followed them and saw that they came from Bill’s bloody heel.

“You’re bleeding.” She announced flatly.

“Huh?” He turned his head towards her, perplexed, until he followed her gaze down to his bare feet. He huffed in annoyance. He never even felt it happen. 

“Sit down.” She instructed, passing along Echo and a band-aid.

He sat on the edge of the tub, holding onto his daughter as tightly as she did him. It was difficult to pull her away enough to apply the bandage to her face, especially because she would flinch when he got close. 

“It’s fine. You’re brave, remember?” Echo solemnly nodded and then allowed him to patch the cut. “I’m sorry that happened.” 

When Alma returned, he noticed her trembling hands when she passed the warm bottle of milk to their daughter. There was a bit of a faraway look in her eyes while he watched her wet down a clean washcloth to help mend his foot. He knew where her fears were taking her. They had been having trouble sleeping in their new home, too. It seemed like the change of environment was conjuring new terrors upon the old ones that plagued them at night. For a good while they came seldomly, however, they only lay dormant. 

“Just do it,” Bill said, seeing her hesitate with the rubbing alcohol. He sucked air between his teeth while she apologized. “Is it bad?” 

“Mm.” She bit her lip. “You nicked it pretty good.” 

He raised his ankle to rest on his knee to examine the inner side of his heel. “It’ll be fine.” He said, taking the bandage she was holding to stick it on. “Thanks, love.” 

“Yeah.” Alma nodded as she rose from the floor to put all the supplies away. Bill caught her free hand before she walked away and grabbed the wet washcloth to help her clean the smears of blood on her neck and chest, but when he tried to apply it to her delicate skin, she flinched. 

“I can do it,” she said, holding his hand back, making him frown. 

“Hey.” He said softly. “Wherever you are… Come back. Everything is okay. She’s okay.” He nudged his head down at their child. “It’s only us, here.” 

Alma took a deep, shaky breath and then allowed him to help as she stared off. She didn’t speak for the rest of the night. They cuddled their daughter extra tight in their bed that night. 

The next day, Alma seemed back to normal spirits. She woke up and began scrubbing the blood from the bath and hallway with peroxide before carefully sweeping up the shards of glass. Bill called a window repairman and Zeph, who owned a small landscaping business when he wasn’t moonlighting as a security guard. 

Bill had nixed the illegal bar, stating he didn’t want to run into issues so early into his ownership, so instead he spoke to The Wayward Sons and asked if they’d stay on as security. Big Rod agreed as long as they were reimbursed for securing licenses. He didn’t have a problem with doing so, and they shook hands.  

Zeph came straight away, but the window repairman Bill had to bribe to start his services at his home first thing, as the storm had damaged quite a few homes in the area. So he learned. Alma gathered all the bedding, she shook off and piled in the hall to drop them in the laundry chute on the way to check on her daughter from atop the mezzanine. Alma looked out the library window and saw Bill outside, one arm across his chest and the other holding a cigarette as he watched one of Zeph’s workers rev up a long pole saw. 

The noise startled Echo, where she occupied herself with toys in a playpen. She might have been okay without being in it, but it was a big home, and after last night they didn’t need any more incidents. 

“I’m right here, baby,” Alma said, walking the long landing and descending the stairs. “Do you want to watch the men working? Daddy is outside too.” 

“Papa,” Echo said happily. 

Bill and Zeph were speaking and pointing at the overgrown shrubs in the archway garden when they approached. They had the same stature, but Zeph was double Bill’s width. 

“So sorry about what happened last night,” said Zeph after greeting Alma with a fist bump. “Glad to see little E’ is doing okay, though.”

“Thanks for coming straight away,” Alma said appreciatively. “I hope all was well in your home last night.” She knew he had children of his own as well.

“By god it was, ma’am. Thank you.” And off Zeph went to join his workers. 

The family stood watching the tree slowly being dismantled piece by piece. Alma had tried to convince Bill to just have a few precarious branches trimmed off, but he didn’t want to hear it. His only reply to her was, “Fuck that tree.”

Bill was holding Echo and gently kissed her injured cheek. “Say bye-bye tree!” He told her as he waved at it. 

“Bye-bye tree!” She giggled, flapping her little hand. 

…

After that eventful night in their home, things settled again. They were surprised that Echo only slept in their bed just one more night—mostly at their behest—and then decided on her own to sleep in her bedroom again like the brave little girl she was. Two weekends later, they arranged for her to stay the weekend with ‘Lani, the babysitter. Echo had been missing her. Yolani had been busy at her nursing residency but had finally gotten the time to spend with Echo, whom she also missed. When they dropped her off, Echo quickly kicked off her shoes and hardly said goodbye to either of her parents. She didn’t even care when they mentioned they had brought ice cream and sundae toppings for them to enjoy, but she made sure they left it behind. 

They arrived home with a bag of a few missing ingredients needed to make a romantic dinner in, but they were dismissed by the doorway along with their clothes. 

He had Alma bent over their king-sized bed while he vigorously thrust into her from behind. They had started in the living room, his head buried between her legs, but when Alma was close to orgasming, he stopped and led them to the den. While in the den, she sucked him off before he finally dipped himself inside her, mostly still while they tongue kissed. He gave her some long, slow, deep thrusts, but then he did the same, much to her frustration, and led her to the private sitting area. She rode him sensually on the loveseat, grinding down on him while he needily sucked on her tits. She was close to a climax finally when he abruptly pulled her up and held her tightly. The sudden disconnection made her gasp in surprise. 

“The fuck?” She was exasperated, her heart beating hard in her chest. 

He looked at her deviously, giving no explanation, and instead led her to their bedroom, where he had her now. Thrusting deep inside her without mercy. She was so close again. Moaning loudly with hands gripping the expensive bedsheets. As her hand went to her clit to help him usher in the orgasm she was desperately seeking, Bill grabbed her hand and pinned it behind her back instead. 

“Oh, fuck!” She said, finding the restraint so seductive, she offered her other hand. 

Bill held on to her wrists with one hand as he continued to plow into her from behind, and he grunted deeply, getting lost in it. She was dripping and so tight and warm around his cock. His eyes fluttered closed, almost succumbing to the feeling, until he miraculously came to his senses. 

“Are you gonna cum,” he asked, peering down at her from where he stood. 

“Fuck yes!” She groaned into the mattress. “Make me cum, baby. Please!” 

Bill swallowed hard as his heart pounded in his chest and his dick, but he willed himself to cease his thrusts.

“No! No, what!?” Alma turned to look at him, where he stood with a sheen of sweat covering his body as he held his hard, engorged cock flat against his muscled stomach while he breathed shallowly. “Babe, you look like you’re going to bust. What are you doing?”

“No, no.” He raggedly breathed. “Later.” 

“Later? I was so—we were so close?” She tried to reach out to him, but he rebuffed it. 

“You’re gonna cum when I want you to,” he said, holding her face with one hand, effectively puckering her lips, which he kissed. “We’re gonna start dinner.” He announced going to the closet and pulling on some silk onyx boxers. “Just wear this.” He said, passing Alma her short black silk kimono. She stayed there a moment after he left the room, dumbfounded, but so incredibly hot for his domineering attitude. 

In the kitchen, Alma was incorporating seasonings together for a dressing for the chopped salad, while Bill prepared the branzino they had bought from Pike’s Market the day before. While music played lightly, they were speaking about incoming deliveries to both the house and the shop, and other little decorative odds and ends they wanted to do with the house. However, in the back of their minds was the ache in their loins nagging at them, which they ignored. Their hunger from their empty bellies was taking over, but the signals were continually crossing.

Bill put the salad away in the fridge and foil-wrapped the herb-covered fish and asparagus when Alma brought paint swatches from the office. They were nearly in agreement with how they wanted to paint the exterior. Their room was recently painted a sun-dried tomato red, and they could finally move on from that.

“Why don’t we do this black for the trim?” He pointed at the pitch-black swatch as he stood behind her looking at samples she laid on the kitchen island. 

When Chase, the Realtor, dropped in some weeks ago to see how the family was settling in, Bill revealed the swatches of potential house paint. All dark, nearly black hues. Chase put a hand to his lips to conceal the ghastly gasp from escaping past his lips, but Bill noticed, and he lightly chuckled at him.

“Mhmm.” Alma licked her lips. They were standing so close again that the sexual tension was reverberating between them. “And uhm, this black for the rest has some green undertones to it, so it’ll contrast. Do you still like—” Her words caught in her throat when she felt his long fingers curl into her. Her eyes rolled back as he gripped her with his arm, pinning her flush against his chest. 

“I can’t get enough of you,” he moaned into her neck as he peppered it with hard-pressed kisses. “You’re still so fucking wet.” She whimpered in pleasure as his fingers felt the inside of her warmth. “You want to cum so badly, don’t you?” 

“Don’t you want to fuck your cum into me already?” She said, taking hold of his cock as blood rushed to it, the cool silk fabric did nothing to restrain it and felt hot in her palm.

Bill mockingly chuckled at her attempt to tease him enough to get her way. He abruptly removed his fingers from inside her and then smacked her hand away from his cock. He washed his hands with a smug smirk on his face. 

“You’re fucking disgusting,” Alma sneered. 

Bill just laughed at her attitude as she walked away to gather some things upstairs. 

“If you’re not back in less than ten minutes, I know what you’re doing up there!” He hollered in reference to their growing vibrator collection, and he heard her laughter drift his way. The thought did cross her mind.

Together they walked out to the back porch. Bill went to the grill, and Alma went out by the garden, laying out a blanket for later in the evening to enjoy the clear night sky. At least they hoped it’d be. 

Closing the lid on the propane grill, he glanced over at Alma, her bare round ass fully on display as she bent over to pick out the wooden weed box and a bottle of wine from a wicker basket for them to enjoy in the sauna. The glistening of the wetness slicking her thighs was not missed by him either. He pulled off his boxers and jogged to her as she made her way to the sauna. He offered to hold the items in her hand, while at the same time discreetly pulling the sash of her kimono from its loose knot. He began running to the sauna when she suddenly found herself naked. Reflexively, she tried to cover herself. Until she realized there wasn’t a need for modesty in their private haven. Alma pounded on the sauna door with the side of her fist, while Bill could be heard laughing from the inside. 

“Fine, then,” she relented. “I have the lighter. Enjoy the shitty wine.” 

The door cracked open then. “Just pass the lighter through.” 

Alma responded by pushing the door closed on him. He was surprised by the force of it, but then he finally opened the door with a mischievous grin on his face, to which Alma shook her head amused. They shared the wine, drinking it straight from the bottle, and enjoyed a fat joint. 

“We should try hotboxing this one day,” Bill said, scanning the apt size of the sauna as he passed the joint back to her.

“I’d just pass out.” 

“Whatever shit you were smoking just does that to you, love. This stuff from Darby’s uncle is a hybrid. More up, not down.” 

“Darby’s uncle? What are you talking about?” 

“Eh,” Bill scratched his sweaty neck. He misspoke. “Uh yeah. Harold. He’s got other businesses. You can’t be wealthy like they are without being a little crooked.” 

“And what does that mean?” She raised her brow, passing back the joint. 

“He just mentioned these farms in Northern California. He’s got his hands in it.” He gestured.

“Weed farms.” She deduced.

“Mhmm.” He took a deep drag, a plume of thick smoke left his lips, which he inhaled back into his lungs. “I’ll be right back.” He stood up and removed the white towel he had across his lap. 

“Where are you going?” She lightly pouted, but she was still curious about the farms. 

“I gotta check the fish.” He winked.

His return took a bit longer than expected, but Alma sat in wait with low eyes, comfortably hugging bent legs. He informed her that the food was done, and she suggested they finish off the joint. He flashed a goofy smile and happily took the joint she was holding out to him. 

Reaching over him, she grabbed the bottle of wine for a sip, her ass in the air trying to entice him, much to his amusement. After putting it back, she remained very close to him. Kissing his damp shoulder, prompting him to put his arm around her. He felt her hand slide down his relaxed abs, but he stopped her before she could remove the towel from his lap. She furrowed her brows and frowned. Tilting her chin with his hand, their low-lidded eyes met, full of desire. Both rosy-cheeked, glowing with dew, they began feverishly making out in the haze of steam and smoke in the sauna. 

When he felt Alma trying to straddle his lap, he gently pushed her back to lie on the bench. He passed the joint he was still holding and began tracing along the side of her pussy. It was tantalizing with how he took his time kissing her inner thighs. His long pointer finger gently swiped up her slit and traced the strip of hair at the top, and then went back down again, pressing lightly on her entrance. It made her heart thump hard in her chest. With the joint between her lips, she tossed her head back when he firmly put his whole mouth on her swollen pussy. His tongue pressed into her entrance, sucking and lapping like a parched man finally taking a drink of water. He rose, pressing his face against her soft thigh.

“Do you want to come?” He gave her a puppy dog gaze from under his brow, and she eagerly nodded. He took her hand to help her stand up, while he slouched a bit in his seat, spreading his legs wide, yet the white towel never left his lap. The gaze he kept on her intensified and then flicked down to his right leg. “Do it yourself.” Alma hesitated for a moment; she wanted him to make her cum. “Hurry. Before I change my fucking mind.”

Alma bit her lip, feeling the fire blaze in her core, and straddled his right thigh. Bill leaned forward to kiss her sweetly and then coaxed her to start grinding on him. She rutted against him but gently, which made Bill smirk. 

“I know you’re not shy, babe.” He chuckled. 

It caused her to giggle because, no, she wasn’t. She was trying to behave a little more submissively to match his dominant behavior. However, she was behaving just how he wanted her to be this whole time, frustrated and eager. Finally, she placed her hands at the top of his thigh for leverage and began grinding down harder. He took one last hit of the joint before laying the stub on the wooden box, then leaned back and spread his arms across the top bench to enjoy the display. Enjoying the look of her dewy body and how her arms pushed her tits out. He reached around her head to pull the scrunchy holding the low, loose bun she had and watched as her long brown hair fell and stuck against her. 

Her eyes fluttered closed as she was catching a satisfying rhythm for herself. He bit his lip when her shallow breaths quickened. Though they were covered in perspiration, he could feel her wetness and heat spreading across his skin as she rode his thigh. 

“There you go.” He encouraged pinching one of her nipples and rolling it between his fingers. 

Her movements were causing the towel he wore to slip, and she could see his pink hooded tip rising just above the edge of it. Bill noticed her intense, hungry gaze on it, and his breathing picked up as he tried to not give in to his carnal desires. She was getting off from just a glimpse of it. He wanted her on his cock just as much as she did, but he concealed himself once again. Holding his erection down with one hand, while the other hand on her hip assisted her deep rutting thrusts against him. She let out a sharp gasp and threw her head back. 

“Please don’t stop me.” She begged. 

“Squirt for me.” 

“I need your cock for that.” 

His jaw clenched and chest tightened, disappointed that he was giving in. He stopped her movements, causing her to whine loudly. She watched as he swiftly tore his towel away, finally revealing his blushing, hard cock. 

“Sit on it, right now.” His chest visibly rose as she did so. Agonizingly slow, too, because she wanted to tease him for what he had been putting her through. When he bottomed out, they both let out a strained moan from the reconnection. “Don’t fucking move.” He demanded. 

He placed his thumb on her overly sensitive clit, and she threw her head back again as he rebuilt upon her ruined orgasm. He could feel her pulsing all around him, getting tighter, hotter than a furnace, and he felt doomed. The high was adding an extra intense layer to it all. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” Bill groaned. “Are you going to come for me?” 

“Yes,” she squeaked out. “K-keep going. Please!” She cried out. All the tension she felt from the previous denial built upon itself, and then it imploded. A flood erupted out of her and onto him. The release was dizzying, making her ears ring from the intensity, while her hips involuntarily jolted. Bill sat in awe, covered in her wetness, feeling everything while buried inside her. 

“Fuck me!” He conceded. 

Alma began to thrust her hips into his eagerly with his help. “Give me your cum, baby.” She said, running her hands through his short hair. 

“I’ll give it to you.” He said through clenched teeth.

“Give it to me deep.” She moaned. 

A few short thrusts later, he let out a loud, deep moan from his whole being. “Ah, fuck me! Don’t stop.” He smacked her ass before gripping it and assisting her thrusts.

Alma was surprised, she was sure that was it. As their bodies rocked against each other, she could see a look of bewilderment in his eyes until he shut them tight. His cock was sensitive; she could sense that. Suddenly, he held on to her tightly as he stood up, unsatisfied with her work as her legs were wobbly from her climax. He laid her down on the bench and plunged back between her legs. He was still rock hard. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bill muttered as he rocked his hips into hers. “Baby… I’m going to cum again.” 

Again? She briefly thought until the feeling of another orgasm overrode it. She pulled at him, hands gliding on wet skin, to hold him close as she hit another crescendo. Hollering in the sauna so loud it was a blessing they were secluded. Their lips met as she began falling from the peak. 

“Cum on me.” She breathily said in his ear. 

He leaned back, ready to let go, and pulled out, stroking his cock before her. A guttural scream came from deep within him when he released pearlescent ropes glazed her torso and pussy. His jaw was slack, admiring her covered in his essence and running her fingers through it to have a taste. 

“You made a mess,” she giggled. “Are you breathing?” 

Bill cracked a bashful smile and then sat, trying to catch his breath in the stuffy sauna. Bill had his head tilted back with his eyes closed while Alma kissed along his jaw and throat as he processed what happened to him. Edging for half the day, he had done alone, in the penthouse, but never once did he deny himself this long to the point his balls felt heavy, though. If he was ready, he was ready. Today was the day he actually tried to push through but failed. Even on Alma’s birthday the year prior, he was too weak to hold off. However, what he didn’t expect was to release twice. That hadn’t ever happened to him. Maybe the weed contributed to it, he wondered.

“Felt good, didn’t it?” 

“Hmm.” 

“Finally getting to cum.” She whispered against his hot skin. “I felt what you did.” She said, as if she had uncovered a secret he wasn’t ready to reveal. She could feel his cum dripping out of her, while also covered in it. 

…

They enjoyed their lukewarm dinner as they finally filled their hungry bellies appreciatively. After a quick intimate shower, they were half-dressed in the backyard again. Alma was wearing a thong and an oversized band shirt, and Bill was in his usual boxer briefs. There were two, three-wick candles lit next to them, providing a romantic glow, and the lightning bugs shone on the edge of the property. They even spotted a white bunny rabbit hop along before disappearing into the brush. While enjoying a bowl of chopped fruits and cheeses with accompanying gummy fruit candies, a piece of mango fell between Alma’s crossed legs. Bill bent over, burying his face in her lap, and ate it off the blanket they sat on, making her laugh. 

Alma was talking about her upcoming plans of decorating their home, and he happily listened. It felt nice that they could make such permanent decisions. When they lived together in New York, they never bothered with decor, knowing their stay would be temporary. They moved somewhere new every year. 

However, he could recall a night in which Alma stayed the night with him in his home in Strathburg. She had been dancing on his spring-broken bed, and he playfully tackled her down and cuddled right after. She asked him what his future home would look like. He gave a generic answer at first, and listened to her talk about having a dog and describe rooms that seemed inspired by Barbie's dream homes. That’s when he finally decided to share how he wanted a big backyard and a dog, too. A Doberman Pinscher, to be exact. He also added that he wanted a nice kitchen but, most importantly, a full pantry. 

“We need to get outdoor furniture for the office balcony,” she pointed. The office was in the opposite wing of the house. When Bill first took a look around, he assumed that was where their room would be until he found the secret sitting room in their bedroom. “But the gallery wall I want to put in there, you can help me with that. Is there something you want to do to the house?” 

“Mm. We should take one of our family portraits and get it painted to put over the fireplace in the living room. Like five feet tall.” He laughed. 

“Do you want it to come with spooky cobwebs pre-applied, too?” She laughed with him. “Be serious!”

“Maybe after I’m done with the stuff at the shop, I can really think about it.” He smiled.

“You’ve done such a good job with it so far,” she praised.

“Well, I have hel—”

“Help.” She interjected. “Take the credit for once,” she giggled, shaking her head. “You work hard, you know. All those nights.” 

Bill nodded and leaned back on his hands, admiring their home from where he sat, feeling a bit small under it for a change. “It’s a big home. Almost. Too big.” 

Alma laughed. “You chose it!” 

“You did too!” He playfully defended.

“Yeah. But you knew, I’d like it. You always seem to know.” She kissed his cheek and looked at their home before them under the star-studded night. Thinking of the humble Missouri homes they grew up in compared to now. 

Bill’s hand crept towards the edge of the blanket they sat on, and underneath, he gripped the velvet ring box he had hidden there when he had gone to check the food on the grill. He looked at her, taking in the moment of her, completely unaware. She knew this would happen, just not exactly when. He felt himself becoming nervous. He had been in possession of the ring for a few months now, trying to find a good moment to ask for her hand. He nearly asked her on her birthday, but he didn’t deem it fair for the proposal to overshadow her day.

There was also the fact that he was unsure of what to say. He figured outside the obvious; he’d just speak from whatever came to heart. He wasn’t so good at these things, but for her, he’d try. 

“What are we going to do tomorrow?” She giggled, feeling like they had done so much on their first night alone at their house. “Maybe we could check out the woods behind us.”

“Hmm. Maybe you can tell me what tomorrow will be like if you say yes.” 

“Say what?” She turned to him, perplexed. 

She thought her heart stopped for a moment until she gasped. Taking in the sight of him holding onto an opened jewelry box with the most beautiful and unique ring glittered before her, illuminated by the candlelight. Her eyes were wide when she looked at him in wait and back at the ring.

“Really!?” She gasped. “Wait, I-I should stand up!” 

“Okay,” he chuckled, and then got on one knee before her. “Okay,” he inhaled deeply, looking up at her with nerves swimming in his belly. “Alma?” 

“Yeah!” She smiled. 

“Will you marry me?” 

“Yeah! Yes!” She leaned down to kiss him deeply, and then she giggled, tickled by it all. She knew they’d be married someday when he had told her as much at the springs, but she hadn’t any idea of when he’d officially ask. He really did catch her by surprise. 

Bill laughed happily as he stood up and embraced her. “I love you.” 

“I know! I know it!” Happy tears welled up in her eyes as she giggled. “I love you!” 

“Let me—let me put it on you,” he said, taking a step back and taking the ring out of the box, which he let fall on the blanket. 

He carefully slid the jewelry on her ring finger, and it looked like it belonged there all this time. 

“It’s fucking beautiful, Billy! Two!?”

“I felt like you deserved more than one gem.” 

“And this one?” She pointed. 

“Green sapphire.” 

She smiled, looking up to gaze into his eyes. “Green. Like your eyes.” 

“Mhmm.” He flashed a dimpled smile. “It’s forever for me.” He said seriously. “Until,” he paused, feeling a swell of emotion suddenly fill him. “Until I’m no longer breathing. I promise. I don’t want to live this life without you with me all the way.”

She smiled wistfully, placing her left hand on his high cheek. “Until I’m no longer breathing. I promise.” She repeated and they sealed it with a kiss. 

“Unless…” Bill side-eyed her once they settled on the blanket again, lying down this time. 

“Unless what?” 

“Unless you divorce me one day,” he laughed.

“Don’t ruin the moment. I wouldn’t!” She laughed with him. 

“I know you wouldn’t but say you did. Could I like, booty call you sometimes?” 

She shook her head, amused. “Seriously?” She raised her brows at him. “Yeah. You can booty call me.” 

And together they laughed loudly under the clear night sky. The stars tonight seemed dim now that Alma had two shining right on her hand. 

…

Fall 1997

The family was in New York City as Echo would attend first grade at a highly competitive private school. Today was the first day of school. Bill was up before everyone, everyone except his son, whom he found lying awake contently in his crib. Luxe looked a lot like his mother, with wavy chestnut hair and a soft tan complexion, but he had his eyes. Exactly like them. Big, curious, green eyes.

He loved his boy so dearly, but there was a time when the thought of having a son terrified him. Worried that the generational curses, which his brother seemed to claim loomed over them, would continue with him. However, he had to remind himself that he was very much Alma’s child too. That he would grow to be better because of her, just like he had. 

After changing him and making a bottle, he held onto him while starting the coffee pot. Upstairs, he could hear Alma’s feet patter quickly to the bathroom, hearing her cough, making him grimace sympathetically. He reached into a tea jar and produced a mint leaf blend to make a cup for her.

“You’ll be okay by yourself, huh, Lucky?” He said, kissing the top of his head before laying him in a baby bouncer in the living room. 

“Da-da.” He giggled contently, making his father smile. 

He appeared at Echo’s doorway and lightly knocked the frame. She lay in bed with her eyes closed with a small smile on her face, quite obviously pretending to be asleep. She wasn’t all too thrilled to be going to school in New York. Not only that, but she loved Seattle and the school she attended there with her friends and favorite granola teacher. Her parents explained to her that they just wanted her to have the best education, but that fell on deaf ears for an almost six-year-old. She didn’t care; her home was in Seattle.

“Echo?” Bill said, approaching the side of her bed and taking a seat. “Echo.” He tickled her side, and she began to lightly giggle, much to her dismay. “I knew you were pretending,” he chuckled. “You gotta get up. It’s the first day of school.” 

She lifted the covers over her face and whined. “I’m tired.” 

“C’mon,” he said, pulling the covers away. “You have to get up, honey.” 

“Where’s Mama?” 

“I have to go wake her up, but I’m here with you. She’ll be down to help you once you start getting ready.” 

Echo sighed, but she accepted her father's kiss on the cheek and then begrudgingly made her way to the bathroom. Bill bit his lip, amused by her attitude, and made his way back upstairs. 

Alma was in bed, sitting against the headboard, looking a bit clammy as she drank a bottle of water when he entered. 

“Echo is up.” He said, sitting next to her and handing her the mug of tea he made. “You okay?” He asked, putting his hand on her damp forehead before running his fingers through her scalp. 

“Yeah,” she sighed, sounding a bit defeated before taking a sip. “I’ll be fine. Who’s up.” 

“Everyone except Vida. For now.” He smiled. 

How he loved his little, loud baby daughter. She gave them hell, but they loved her so much for it. Though she couldn’t talk much, her expressions let you know just what she was thinking. Half the time, it looked like she was cursing you out, which they found amusing. She looked a lot like Echo did as a baby, with light hair but with deep brown doe eyes. She could also be very sweet, but it was her brother who was the charmer of the two. However, that was just how the twins operated, he was the cute distraction for her to pick your pockets.

“Spoke too soon.” Alma giggled when they could hear her loud cries down below. 

“V’ is awake!” Echo hollered as if they didn’t know, but she liked to be helpful. 

“Lay down for a little bit,” he yawned, patting Alma’s thigh before kissing her. “It’s still early as fuck.”

She glanced at the clock, it was hardly 6 am. She lightly groaned while she settled back down into the bed. 

“I hear you, baby! Everyone heard you!” She could hear Bill playfully say below to their disgruntled daughter. Suddenly, she stopped and began giggling loudly seeing her father, which made Alma smile. 

Echo crept up the winding wrought iron staircase with her school uniform. “Mama?” 

She turned and sat up and gestured for her to climb into bed. Echo smiled brightly and jumped in. “Good morning, baby,” she said, peppering kisses on her daughter's cheek, making her snicker. “Are you excited about going to your new school today?” Echo's face fell, making Alma feel bad. “What is it?” She asked, tucking a piece of her caramel brown hair behind her ear affectionately. 

“I don’t know anyone.” 

“But you will. You’ll make friends, baby. Is that all?” 

“It’s smelly here.” 

Alma laughed. “Well—yeah. I’m sorry, I can’t do anything about that.” 

“Echo?” Bill hollered down below when he was unable to find her. 

“She’s up here!” Alma replied to his relief. He wouldn’t put it past her if she left the penthouse just because she didn’t want to go to school. “You want some cuddles? And then I can help you get ready.” 

Echo nodded happily and embraced her mother, soaking in all the love and comfort she provided. Shortly, Echo began getting dressed upstairs while Alma went downstairs to check on the other children. Both of them were in their bouncer and smiled at her happily babbling. They could speak well enough for a year and a half, but they often felt comfortable in their strange twin language. 

Echo was brushing her hair in her parent's closet before her father came to get dressed. Besides looking through her mother's vanity, she loved to look through her mother's clothing in the closet. So many pieces, from designer to vintage. In all classifications of fabrics. She helped pick out some pieces while shopping with her father searching for a dress, and he’d ask her valued opinion. She liked those days because it meant she could pick something out for herself too.

“Do you want some help?” He asked her while she sat on the bed trying to put on her white stockings.

“Mm,” she scrunched her eyes in thought. “I’ll wait for mommy.”

“Hm, okay.” He said, even if it was hard to leave her to struggle. Lately, she wanted to do most things without her parent's help. 

“Look how pretty you look!” Alma said to Echo’s reflection in the bathroom mirror before them after fixing her hair into a single french braid. “You look like such a big girl.” She could feel a lump form in her throat, suddenly feeling sentimental. When she started kindergarten, she cried in the car after dropping her off. Today, it just made it more apparent that she wasn’t a baby anymore. It didn’t help that she was also an inch or two taller than most of her peers. “Do you like it?” She asked, brushing her bangs down. 

Echo nodded and appreciatively ran her hands along her neat braid. Alma led her into the closet and pulled two tops out. They were similar black long-sleeve turtleneck shirts, but one had a cutout in the chest. She would pair them with a tight over-the-knee pencil skirt, sheer black pantyhose, and comfortable pumps. Bill found them in there when he went to grab a turtleneck for himself. He was only in dress pants and a black tank. He smirked when he heard Echo suggest the top with the cutout. It was what he would pick too, but it reinforced that fact that one day she’d want to dress the same, and he had to be okay with it within reason. 

“Could I wear some of your perfume too, Mama?” He heard Echo ask.

“Mm. Just a spritz, okay? But which one?” 

He announced that breakfast was ready before leaving them upstairs. While tucking in his shirt, he saw Vida, who was supposed to be secured in her bouncer, running toward the kitchen and sighed. He waited a moment and caught her in his arms when she came running past on chubby legs, giggling mischievously. He buried his face in her neck, blowing raspberries, which made her shriek delightfully while he placed her in the high chair. 

“Stay seated, okay?” He looked at her pointedly, and she just flashed him a drooly smile as she nibbled on her fingers. “I didn’t forget about you, Lucky.” He said, getting him out of the chair swing to join his sister at the table. That’s when he noticed a cookie lying underneath him, apparently Vida had broken out to dig in the pantry to give him. 

After they ate breakfast as a family, it was time to leave. The college-aged nanny had arrived with her book bag and a big travel mug full of coffee. She would watch the twins while the parents and their eldest child left.

“We’ll be back around, uh, 1:00?” Bill told her while rocking his son in his arms. Alma asked for him, and he gently put him on his feet, where he bumbled over to his siblings. “Maybe make it two. After our appointment, we’ll be having lunch.”

Alma was helping Echo put her backpack on. A backpack her father Antonio sent the money for, to gift his granddaughter. She told Vida and Luxe to hug their big sister before they left.

“Say I love you, Echo.” She tried to encourage them, and they did the best they could with their babbling speech. Both Vida and Luxe addressed their big sister as Coco.

“Coco, Coco!” Luxe made kissy faces at his big sister, and she leaned down to let him kiss her cheek. 

“So sweet of you, Luxe!” Alma giggled, seeing Echo wipe slobber from her cheek. Luckily, Echo had learned to love him just the same as she loved her little sister and giggled when he hugged her tightly again. He was always a very affectionate little boy. 

Bill helped Alma put on her coat while she watched the babies pulling at Echo’s backpack curiously. Emotion welled up within her again, and then she felt sick. Her mouth watered, causing her to thickly swallow it back. She took in a shaky breath after saying goodbye to the other children and the nanny, and off they went. 

Echo watched her father turn the volume dial down on the radio and listened to her parents discuss where to park when they approached the school. 

“You see?” Alma pointed at the building, and when she glanced back at her, she did a double take. “Are you wearing my lip gloss?” 

“What?” Bill said, trying to peer at his daughter through the rearview mirror. She was indeed wearing a thick application of pink glittery gloss on her lips. 

“Hand it over,” Alma said with her palm out. “You have to ask first, baby. You know that.” 

Echo frowned and begrudgingly pulled the tube from her uniform skirt pocket. Bill glanced at it when Alma put it in her purse and shook his head disapprovingly. Before they approached the front door of the building, Alma dabbed off some of the gloss with her hand so that it looked like she wore a more tasteful chapstick. 

Together, they joined the other families, escorting their respective children into the building. Bill looked around and noticed some heavy-duty-looking SUVs politicians would usually be chauffeured in, and wondered who his daughter would be going to school with. 

While heading to the classroom, Echo noticed that her father was no longer next to her, and she turned her head to look for him.

“I’ll be right behind you, baby!” He lightly hollered and stayed behind to talk to the principal. 

Echo met her teacher, Ms. Hartford, who had a sweet, enthusiastic attitude as she greeted her students. Alma helped her daughter look for her cubby and assisted with taking her coat and backpack. She expected Echo to run off to join her classmates mingling on the brightly colored carpet where they were enjoying mini donuts. However, she was hesitant and stayed close.

“E’,” Alma crouched down to her level. “Go say hi to everyone. They all look nice.” 

She glanced over with trepidation in her eyes. “Where is Papa?” 

“He’ll be here. He won’t leave without saying goodbye, you know that. Okay?” 

Just a few paces away, a thin, honey-blonde, well-put-together woman was reassuring her son similarly. Echo hugged her mother tightly and mustered the courage to join the others, and soon after the little boy did too. 

The women nodded at each other, greeting each other with a friendly smile. 

“Uhm, I’m Carmen,” the woman said, putting her hand out for a friendly shake. 

“Alma,” she smiled politely, shaking her hand. “First day of school, right?” 

“Oh, yeah. Joseph is my little boy. He can be a bit nervous.” It was an understatement. It seemed like her boy was terrified of everything, which frustrated his father a lot. 

“He seems sweet. Echo is my little girl. Maybe they can be friends. She’s always been friendly. It’s just that she was going to school out of state, so it’s all new again for her.” 

Bill was speaking with the principal, whom he mutually knew through a Trigger Finger patron, a brother of his who worked for the state. How weird he felt speaking amiably with a school administrator when, while he was in school, he’d daydream of spitting in their faces. In fact, he still did sometimes. 

“Uhm, sorry,” said Principal Everton, looking rather regretful and nervous. “I have to address this. Would you excuse me?” 

Bill nodded and watched him walk towards the entrance. There were several private police, and then his stomach sank. Joey Russo stood there, greeting the principal. He was currently on bail and facing a massive RICO court case. When Bill and Alma heard the news, they were conflicted at first, wondering if anything could come back on them. They settled, knowing nothing could, and celebrated over Joey Russo’s misfortune. 

He turned on his heel, his coattails splaying with how urgently he headed towards Echo’s classroom, walking past a New York State representative he recognized. He entered the classroom and spotted his daughter talking to a little shy boy while they ate mini chocolate donuts with the other schoolchildren. The teacher cheerily greeted him, and he gave her a hard-lined smile, introducing himself. Finally, he spotted his wife when a group of parents broke apart and noticed her speaking to another mother. It wasn’t until he noticed her ice-blue eyes that he internally groaned in irritation. He recognized her, Carmen, Joey’s wife. 

This can’t be fucking happening. He thought to himself. When the little boy who Echo was speaking to ran back to her, clinging to her leg, he just didn’t know what the hell to do. He tried to think of what his brother once said—that the kids are innocent under the sins of their parents. His only move was to get Alma out of the school building without noticing what was going on, but he knew it would be for naught. 

He approached Alma and pulled her a bit away from Carmen while distracted by her son. “Uhm, we should probably start heading out, love.” He flashed his wristwatch to her for the time. 

“Oh. Yeah, we should.” She called Echo over for them to say goodbye. 

“I love you, baby. Have a good day.” She said to her and laughed a little when she affectionately nuzzled her face into her belly. 

Bill crouched down to her level. “You look so pretty today, honey.” He lightly poked her nose before pinching her cheek. “I love you. Be brave, remember?” 

Echo nodded, hugging him. “Can you make spaghetti for dinner?” 

Bill chuckled. “Yeah, that sounds good! With garlic bread, right?” 

“Mhmm!” Her eyes lit up, happily. “I love you, Papa. I love you, Mama.” And off she went and joined the class confidently. 

Bill took Alma’s hand, noticing her blinking rapidly to keep her tears at bay, and led them out of the school.

“What’s going on?” Alma asked, noticing some commotion just off to the side of the entrance, but Bill remained quiet, looking straight forward.

“But I should be able to see my boy!” Someone in the middle of the gang of people harshly demanded. 

“Yes, yes. And that’s perfectly fine, but without the security, Mr. Russo.” Principal Everton tried to reason. 

Alma’s heart sank hearing the name, but when they rounded the corner, she caught a glimpse of Joey Russo in her daughter’s school. She paused, stunned, but Bill tugged her arm. 

“Keep walking.” 

“Bill! It's. W-we can’t.” She stuttered as panic rose in her chest. 

“Not here. Keep walking.” 

“Bill, she cannot go here!” She said once they reached their car. “Fuck! I’m so—I’m so fucking stupid!” She looked up to the sky with glassy eyes. 

The idea of Echo attending a swanky private school was all hers, and now she cursed her line of optimistic thinking. However, this school wasn’t their first option. Bill was partly to blame for this situation because, at their preferred school, the dean was a woman he had a short-lived tryst with when Alma had moved away to Seattle. To say Alma was pissed when he revealed that to her would be an understatement. She asked if he could get over it, to which he replied that he was over it, but that it was just too weird. He deeply regretted that now. He could have dealt with weird because now the situation they were in was just plain fucked up.

“Do not say that! You’re not,” he said, opening the passenger door. “We couldn’t have known.”

She glanced at the opened car door and back at him, appalled that he was really trying to leave their daughter behind. “Bill, no! We need to get her out. We’ll,” she paused, feeling herself getting sick again. “No!” She shook her head. 

“Get in the car, Alma.”

“Are you fucking crazy?!” 

“We’re not doing this outside the fucking school. Get in!” 

Alma ran a hand through her hair, stressed, but did as he said. He looked back at the school as he rounded the car. When he entered, Alma was pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to will the tears falling from her cheeks away, but it was futile. Even justified to cry from the situation, she couldn’t stop the tears. She had too before she became hysterical and inconsolable, though. She could feel it building to that point. 

“They knew!” She said trying to figure out how this could happen. “They know who she is!” 

“Alma… I don’t think so.” He sighed. “You, you were speaking to his wife in there.” 

“What!? No, no! No, we have to get her out right now!” 

“We’re not doing that.” 

“What are you talking about?!” She sobbed, feeling helpless. 

“She is going to this fucking school, Alma!” He huffed, and then he did his best to settle himself. He shouldn’t be making Alma upset in her state. “Look at me.” He said, unsuccessfully trying to take the edge off his voice, but she refused to look at him. 

“I can’t believe you, right now!” 

“Listen to me, then. We are not taking her out of this school.” He stressed. “We are not fucking scared of them. Do you hear me?” 

Alma bit her quivering lip as tears ran down her face. “BUT I AM!” She cried, turning to him and clutching onto her chest. “I’m so fucking scared. I just want to go home!” Home, a thousand miles away from there.

Bill had to look away for a moment. “I know.” He turned to her. “I know, baby, but you can’t show them that. Taking Echo out today and going back to Seattle will just prove—” he sneered, disgusted at the thought of tucking tail. “The school year will come and go. It’s nothing.”

“I don’t know, Bill.” She sniffled, wiping at her cheeks. “I want to believe that-that,” she sighed, feeling defeated. 

“If we take Echo out today, what will she think? We tell her all the time to be brave and,” he quickly cleared his throat when he felt it tighten. “And if she sees us backing out like this—if those motherfuckers see us. I can’t. I won’t do it. I fucking refuse.” 

Alma remained silent, trying to compose herself. “Oh, god, this is such bullshit!” She groaned, agitated as tears slipped from her eyes.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, tilting his head to peer out for her gaze.

Alma closed her eyes and then finally looked at him. “I do. I trust you.” 

“Remember, Joey is going to federal fucking prison. I know this is upsetting, and this is—this is fucking crazy. But Echo will be okay. He can’t move an inch without the police being right on his ass. She’ll be okay.” He willed. “I promise.” 

“Okay... Fuck him, though.” She sniffled.

“Yeah. Fuck him.” He leaned over to put an arm around her. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn’t be doing that.” He kissed her.

“It’s fine. We were just surprised—caught off guard.” 

“No. You’re pregnant, Alma. That was ugly of me.” He said, affectionately rubbing her small, round belly. She was four months pregnant. “I’m sorry,” he said again, leaning over and kissing the top of her belly. “Are you okay?”

Alma lightly frowned. “No, but… I trust you.” 

“Okay,” he nodded, he would accept that. “Now. I’m going to start the car, and we’re going straight to the OB appointment, okay?” 

She let him start the car but placed her hand on top of his while trying to turn the gear in drive. He took a deep, shaky breath, his anxiousness and stress wanting to spill over, but he felt he needed to be strong at the moment and composed himself. “Baby… I don’t want to leave her, either. But we have to. Trust me, please.” He pleaded. 

“Okay, okay.” She nodded and then allowed him to proceed. 

While driving past the school building, they kept their eyes on it until they no longer could. They were silent for a moment and then accepted that this was just what it was going to be. Bill reached for her hand to hold tightly and kissed the back of it several times. 

“What do you think the baby will be?” He asked, trying to bring back some levity. 

Alma cracked a small smile. “Hmm. I don’t know. I’m okay with whatever.” 

“I just need them to double-check there’s only one in there again.” He said, making them both laugh. Their first ultrasound proved as much, but still, a second confirmation would be nice. 

Soon the school year would be over without incident. Echo had learned so much and thrived in the city and learned to love living there. Joey Russo and some other unfortunates were implicated and sentenced to prison. The court proceedings were televised, and they watched it every day like a telenovela. However, the conclusion was a bit disappointing, they felt the sentence was a mere slap on the wrist for what he really deserved. 

Ultimately, they returned to Seattle with one extra newborn in tow. Back in their home, where the rain fell on their children, giggling and running around the back garden. Grass stuck to their legs and mud covered their bare feet while chasing their Doberman, Reaper. Alma introduced their small baby to the rain, welcoming them home, and then joined the others. Bill put an arm around her with a content, dimpled smile on his face, and they stood together, letting the soft rain wash their sins away.

FIN

[doctorsiren]

give this angle another tri

[katblaze]

my contribution to the gravity falls revival

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[mint-fixates]

I want to make an AU where Bill was never evil but his personality is still the same outside of that so the Pines twins show up to stay with their Great Uncle Stanford and he introduces them to his husband who's just. A funky little chaotic triangle creature from another dimension. He gives them deer teeth as welcome presents and both he and Ford (who is extremely accustomed to his weirdness after 30 years together) act like that's a Perfectly Normal Thing to Do. Dipper is LOSING it, Mabel is LOVING it (she makes a necklace and earrings out of them)

[ckret2]

Chapter 51 of human Bill Cipher is once more the Mystery Shack's prisoner: Dipper and Mabel try to figure out what the Axolotl's poem means; Dipper gets the hang of astral projection; and... whatever's going on up there happens.

####

Ford and Dipper came back into the shack through the gift shop; Ford didn't want to risk crossing paths with Bill. While Dipper went into the house, Ford went down—returning to the safety of his subterranean study.

Once Ford had put on the old black trench coat he'd worn during his multiversal travels and gotten comfortable at his desk, he pulled out Journal 5 to document the events of the last few days. In a cheap ballpoint pen, he wrote, I've lost my #1 Grunkle pen (and favorite coat) to the waters of Lake Gravity Falls. And then, deciding this didn't adequately express his feelings, he drew a small frown. That coat had served him well for decades, and he'd really liked that pen. It did write excellently, and it had reminded him of his gniece and gnephew.

He spent three pages documenting the eclipse—what happened, what readings he'd taken, what he and Dipper observed—and then another four pages talking about Bill. What he'd told them, why Ford had dismissed it; his claims about a trans-dimensional axolotl distorting gravity with its migration; the statue, the rescue, the breakdown.

The act of writing always helped Ford clarify his thoughts and untangle mysteries; it wasn't until he was writing that he realized the limbs Bill had said he couldn't feel were the ones that had broken off the statue.

He listed the rules of the chess variants he could remember Bill inventing. He drew Bill huddled in front of the board, grim, tear-streaked, exhausted; and then scratched out his face, embarrassed at the thought of immortalizing such a raw moment for his private viewing.

He wrote, There's still a slim possibility that the entire "eclipse," start to finish, was Bill's masterfully-orchestrated scheme to make us pity and trust him; but it's unlikely. Although Bill is fiendish enough, he isn't currently powerful enough, and his lies certainly aren't elaborate enough. If he could pull off such a byzantine ruse, then he could just as easily escape—and if he can escape, why hasn't he? Bill may be insane, but he's never been THAT irrational.

And so, even as twisted as Bill's idea of "friendship" is... for the very first time, I'm convinced that he was telling the truth all along when he said he wants me as his friend. It's not an act. He risked his life to save someone who's an active threat to him.

And at the end of it all—though I'm grateful to be alive in spite of my own stubbornness—do I like him any better for it?

Ford leaned back and shut his eyes, sifting through the inner tumult of anger and old hurt that defined most of his memories of Bill, looking to see if anything had changed.

There was a sore, tender spot in his emotions, a place beginning to rot with remorse; when he prodded at those emotions, he found that it was shame over his own harsh conduct of the last couple of days. But he was only ashamed of how cruelly he'd acted; he wasn't ashamed that Bill was the one he'd done it to.

Outside of that tender spot—regret over his own behavior—nothing else had changed.

No. I still hate him. I'm grateful to be alive, but I hate him. He hasn't undone anything he did to my family and me, and he never will. Forgiveness can't be purchased with favors.

I'm only relieved at the certainty of it. Bill has committed an act that can't possibly be a lie. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's shown me the truth; and the truth is he'd rather see me alive than dead. Whatever other lies he may tell, I can hold on to that fact.

Bill's miserable eyes peered out at Ford between the scribbles he'd drawn across his face. It was truly a pity that Ford had to hate him. Pity that Bill hadn't been somebody better. He could have been better.

Ford couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed that he'd filled four pages talking about the monster he'd already wasted so many more on. Bill had been right about him: You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. The only thing Bill didn't understand was that hatred and obsession weren't mutually incompatible.

####

"Hey, Dipper," Mabel said, unfolding the living room sofa bed. 

"Hey, Mabel," Dipper said, passing through living room on his way to the stairs. He climbed up to the attic.

He came back down from the attic. "Mabel. Why's Bill asleep in your bed."

"He really needed a nap," Mabel said.

"Okay but why on your bed?"

Mabel pouted. "Dipper, do you realize he's never slept on a real bed? Ever?"

Dipper tried to imagine sleeping on a couple couch cushions on the floor every night. "Yeah, okay, that does kinda suck." Even if it was Bill's own fault he wouldn't sleep in the living room.

By unspoken mutual agreement, having a Bill in the bedroom followed the same law as finding a centipede in the bathroom. The law was "that's the centipede's bathroom now." So once the folding bed was set up, they sat on it to serve as their hang-out spot for the evening and caught each other up on what they'd done the last couple of days.

After Dipper & Co. had left, Grenda had come over to take advantage of the low gravity to retrieve the kite that had been stuck in a tree near the Mystery Shack since last summer (it was, tragically, too tattered to salvage), and then they'd gone over to Candy's house to photograph each other performing feats of impossible strength. (Mabel would be sending some pictures to their parents to confuse them, and adding the rest to her summer scrapbook.) She'd spent the next day breaking the trampoline world record until Soos came outside and said gravity was probably too low for it to be safe to be up in the air anymore, if Bill's warnings about being off the ground when gravity hit zero were true; at which point Mabel had hung around inside air-swimming until she suddenly slammed against the ceiling, and then the ground. She was fine. She just had a couple of bruises. She showed Dipper her bruises.

In return, Dipper told Mabel about how their quest had gone: the checks for micro-rips, Bill's increasingly frantic warnings, the lake—

("You got to see a bajillion magical axolotls and I didn't?!")

—the cliff, the Axolotl, Dipper's near-death experience, and what he now knew about his out-of-body dreams.

"Seriously?" Mabel hissed, eyes bugging out. "And he had us looking up lucid dreaming books! What a jerk!"

"I know! He could have just ignored the whole thing, we didn't even think it was anything but dreams."

"And I'd thought he was being so helpful, too! Like he was really trying to make up for giving you 'nightmares'!" Mabel laughed in disbelief and flopped down on the flimsy mattress. "All that because he just didn't want us to know how it was really his fault? Biiill, ugh."

His fault. Dipper hesitated, wondering whether he should tell Mabel what Bill had said about Mabel's Fault; then decided against it. Bill had probably been telling the truth when he'd said he only wanted all the credit for Weirdmageddon.

But—Dipper did tell her about Bill saving their lives. He would have felt like a liar if he hadn't—like he was trying to trick his sister into thinking Bill was worse than he already was. He hoped Ford wouldn't mind; but how could he not tell Mabel?

"He could have just let you die and didn't?" Mabel turned that over in her head, processing this sudden shift in Bill's behavior. "Wow. I'm impressed."

He also told her about their previous encounter with the Axolotl. Considering the other lies Bill had told recently, anything he said about them meeting the Axolotl was dubious at best; but Dipper could remember the Axolotl, so maybe some of it was true, even if Bill had twisted as much as he could. ("The Axolotl said hi, by the way." "Aww. Tell him hi back!" "Yeah, I... don't know how to do that.")

Dipper laid out his journal between them on the folding bed, and Mabel read over the couplet a few times. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches from within birch trees'..."

"It's got to be talking about Bill," Dipper said. "Equilateral triangles have three sixty-degree angles. I just don't know why the Axolotl wanted to talk to us about him."

Mabel frowned at the lines. "I think... I remember meeting him too," she said.

"You do?"

"Kinda. Like in a dream," she said. "We were in some kind of futury space race car. And he had a really comfortable beanbag chair."

"Yes! I remembered the beanbag chair, too!" And he hadn't mentioned it in his journal. "This is great! Talking about it must... must cause us to remember, somehow. Maybe since the universe where we met the Axolotl doesn't exist anymore, our memories of it are... detached or something? Psychically floating around between dimensions until we try to remember them?" He took in Mabel's skeptical frown and shrugged. "I don't know!"

She scrunched up her face. "Ugh. Last summer's first-grader time travel was complicated enough. This is like college-level time travel. Maybe we can ask Bill how it works?"

She said it so easily, like she thought it was actually a good idea. Right after she'd heard about the lucid dreaming thing, too. "I don't think he'd help." Dipper lowered his voice. "He really didn't want Grunkle Ford and me to find out about the Axolotl—and he kept telling me not to think about what the Axolotl told me. He's trying to cover something up."

"Oo-oo-ooh." Voice dropped to a whisper, Mabel said, "Do you think it's some kind of Space Axolotl conspiracy?"

"It could be," Dipper said. "All I know is he was trying to tell us something important about Bill. Some kind of prophecy, or... maybe a warning...?"

He trailed off. Mabel had stopped listening to Dipper. She was rereading the couplet Dipper had written, moving her lips like she was murmuring under her breath—but whatever she was saying, it was much longer than the couplet Dipper had written down. Distractedly, she said, "Do you have a pen?"

"Yeah, here." Dipper quickly handed over the pen he kept in his vest.

Mabel clicked it, went to the bottom of the page, and wrote: A different form, a different time.

Dipper sucked in a sharp breath as the words snapped into place in his mind. "That's it! That was the last line! What else do you remember?"

"That's it," Mabel said. "It was free form poetry with a bunch of rhyme pairs."

"I don't think free form poetry rhymes."

"Pbbbt." Mabel blew a raspberry and shoved Dipper's face. "Whatever! You know what I mean." She pointed at the last line. "Do you think the poem's about why Bill's here? He time traveled to the Mystery Shack in a new body..."

"Exactly! Bill must be back here for a reason. He's got all those powers—or, used to, anyway—and he knows more about the multiverse than anybody on Earth... Maybe there's some kind of big threat coming, and Bill's the only one who can stop it, and—and the Axolotl wanted us to know...?"

"I like the sound of that," Mabel said. "That'd basically make him a hero, right?"

Dipper grimaced. "I mean. I guess? But we're talking about Bill. If he does help us stop a threat, it'd be like if a serial killer picked up a hitchhiker and killed him, and then it turned out the hitchhiker was an even worse serial killer."

"That still sounds kinda heroic to me."

"Pfff, okay." He looked at his journal. "But... what is he here to do?"

Mabel considered what they'd already written. "Maybe we can use him to spy on our enemies through birch trees!"

"Thaaat's probably not it."

"No, I think I'm on to something. I can feel it."

There was a lot of empty space between his couplet and Mabel's line. "There's more we're missing, though. Maybe the rest of the poem describes the threat? Or what we need to get Bill to do?"

"I can't remember anything else, though."

"Me neither."

They stared at the page together, waiting for something to come to their blank minds. Mabel looked at the fish tank. "Hey, Primrose! Do you know anything?"

The pet axolotl in the tank ignored her serenely.

Dipper said, "'Primrose'?"

"Yeah, last summer Grunkle Stan said her name is Freakface, but I thought she deserved a cuter name. She's primrose color!"

"Ford says he originally named him Nikola."

Mabel gasped. "Nikki..."

Dipper twisted around to look at the axolotl. "Do you know anything? Do you... get messages from the Axolotl's heralds, or anything...?"

Nikola slowly opened his mouth, and slowly closed it.

Mabel said, "Hey. The Axolotl's one of those dimension-crossy time-travely guys, right? He probably wouldn't have given us a prophecy in the wrong timeline and then made us forget it unless he knew we'd remember it in time in the rightdimension!"

"I guess," Dipper said uncertainly.

"So we don't need to worry about it! We'll remember it when we need to."

"Unless this timeline's going to branch, and the only one where we survive is the one where we put all our effort into trying to remembering—"

"Shhh!" Mabel put a finger over Dipper's mouth. "Uh-uh. No college time travel. We'll be fine!"

Dipper pushed her over. "Okay, but we should at least try a little to remember what the Axolotl told us."

"What if we work on it separately?" Mabel propped herself up on an elbow. "Instead of just sitting around thinking about it. And whenever we remember a line, we can tell each other and see if it makes anything click."

"That might be faster," Dipper said, stroking his chin. "We're already remembering different lines."

"Yeah! And that lucid dreaming book said something about focusing on a problem before you sleep so you can figure it out in your dreams! We can just work on it in our sleep and we'll remember it all in no time!"

Dipper laughed. "What? No way, I think lucid dreaming is just one of those made up pop psychology things. I didn't get it to work at all." Either it didn't work or Bill had deliberately recommended a terrible book.

"I did! I can remember like... eighty percent more dreams. And I can tell when I'm dreaming a lot more often!"

"Huh." Or, maybe Dipper just wasn't doing it right. "Maybe I need to start over from step one. Do you know where the book we were using went?"

"Over here!" Mabel had set a couple library books on the end table next to the sofa bed; she pulled out the second one, which had a glittery pink bookmark with a cat on it stuck two-thirds of the way through. "Just don't lose my bookmark."

"Thanks." He'd reread the first step before bed. "We should probably be getting ready for bed anyway, huh?"

"Seriously?! It's barely bedtime!" And when the adults weren't watching, official bedtime was an hour and a half before Actual Bedtime.

"I'm exhausted. I just hiked up and down a mountain and faced down death."

Mabel pointed at Nikola. "You faced down a big salamander."

"Close enough."

They went upstairs, brushed their teeth, went to their bedroom...

And stopped in the door. Bill was still asleep. "Oh. Right," Dipper said.

He was curled into a ball on his left side, facing the wall, covered with only the zodiac blanket and his borrowed/stolen top hat sitting on the side of his head. He didn't use a pillow; he'd pushed Mabel's pillows and dolls behind himself to form a squishy makeshift fortress.

"Please don't wake him up," Mabel whispered. (She'd already set up the folding bed for herself; she'd clearly planned on this.) "He's had a really really hard time the last couple of days, and I think he needs as much sleep in a real bed as he can get, and it's just for one night, and I'm sure he'd rather sleep than do anything evil—"

"He said something, didn't he?"

Mabel paused. "Yeah. I think seeing his body really messed him up."

Dipper sighed. "We were trying to keep him away from it." He didn't want Mabel to think they'd forced him to stare his own death in the face. "But he did that... eye thing and looked through the trees, and..."

Mabel nodded.

Well. Dipper couldn't kick him out now. For Mabel's sake.

As children, occasionally when they got hotel rooms with a bed too few, their parents would stick them in one bed with a barrier of pillows in between them. At age thirteen and without two crabby parents trying to get them to just go to bed after a long plane flight, they unanimously vetoed that plan. Dipper decided against asking Stan if he could sleep in Ford's unoccupied bed, both because he suspected Stan would just go upstairs and drag Bill out of the room and because he didn't want Stan to think he was scared of Bill. He wasn't scared of Bill. Not anymore. He could handle one measly night in the same room as him. Anyway, somebody had to make sure he wasn't unsupervised in their bedroom all night, right?

Dipper and Mabel quietly set a floor mirror and old lamp next to Mabel's bed, draped a sheet between them, taped on a pink poster that said "WARNING! TRIANGLE ZONE!" and was covered in stickers of triangular objects, and decided Dipper was adequately shielded. If Bill did get up during the night, he'd probably trip through the sheet and wake half the house before he got anywhere near Dipper.

Dipper went to sleep with a baseball bat in his hands.

####

"Okay," Bill said, hands on his sides, "what am I looking at here?"

The feral band members of Sev'ral Timez turned toward Bill, eyes reflecting in the dim light. They were squatting around Bill's petrified corpse like a pack of apes examining a sleek black monolith.

"Hey girl," Creggy G. said.

"Hey," Bill said. He looked down at himself. His onyx black feet hovered over the ground and the yellow glow from his exoskeleton illuminated the clearing. "Lemme cut to the chase, is this gonna turn into a raunchy dream? My corporeal love life is about as cold and dry as Antarctica, I keep hoping one of my dreams will get a little hotter and wetter—"

"Nah, G," Deep Chris said. "Mr. Bratsman got us fixed."

"Aw."

"We're here to pay you reverence for freeing our minds from the chains of the conventional," Greggy C said, gesturing to Bill's corpse. Leggy P was kneeling and bowing to it and Chubby Z was posing for it. "We want to help free you like you tried to help free humanity."

Bill's eye narrowed. He tapped a finger against the edge of one brick as he considered this offer. Finally, skeptically, he said, "Fine. I'll bite. Why should I think you can help me?"

"Because we can give you the understanding your heart's been missing, girl. You're just like us," Chubby Z said. "A horror never meant to exist, born of a dream to construct the perfect golden idol, forced to dwell within an unnaturally-fabricated human shell."

Bill tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm with you so far."

"We want you to join us," Deep Chris said. "Cavort with us in the silvan night, G. Shun the harsh light of the spotlight for the healing salve of moonbeams. We'll get drunk on the sweet fermented summer berries, uncaring of how the brambles prick our flesh. We'll dance in a frenzy of ecstasy and only sleep when the morning sun lifts the dew from the flowers and the sweat from our skin. It'll be straight Dionysian, boo."

"We can kiss the hot trees," Creggy G said.

Bill grabbed his shoulder. "Oh, you're the human that keeps making out with birch trees! I knew your face was familiar!" He paused. "So... are there any eligible ones around here?"

"Sure, girl, just downstream."

"If I'd known, I would've polished myself first."

"Say you'll join us, Bill girl," Deep Chris said. The band crowded around Bill to either side, posing around him—the backup dancers for the star singer. "You'd be one of us."

"We're already exactly the same," Creggy G said, holding up a mirror so that it reflected his and Bill's faces beside each other. In Bill's human face were two empty white eyes with pinprick pupils and pale blue irises, exactly the same as the eyes of the Sev'ral Timez boys.

He sat up with a gasp, hands flying to his face. There were still green boughs at the edges of his dreaming vision, blending into the wooden boards of the Mystery Shack's attic. Before sleep had fully fled his mind, he seized up the zodiac blanket draped over his body and stared into his embroidered eye.

The eye stared back at him. Through it, he could see his horrified sleepy face, and his normal slitted yellow eyes. His connection to the blanket's eye disappeared as he finished waking up.

He heaved a sigh of relief and flopped back down. He'd been lucid, but he hadn't been in control of that dream. He still needed practice.

He rolled toward the light of the window, groped around beneath it until he found his journal, grabbed up his crayons, and flipped pages blearily until he found the first blank one. He started writing down his dream, pausing only briefly as he tried to figure out how to translate "Sev'ral Timez" before settling on a sufficiently goofy way to misspell "several times" in Plaintext.

He made it halfway down the page before he stopped. Hold on. This wasn't his beautiful journal. These were not his beautiful crayons. He checked the cover and grimaced in displeasure when he saw a pine tree rather than a hand. Dipper's journal. Bill ripped out the page, ate it, and set the journal and Mabel's crayons back on the table  under the bedroom window.

"What was that," Dipper asked, "some kind of Morse code?"

Bill yelped and twisted around. Dipper's soul was hovering above Mabel's headboard, watching over Bill's shoulder.

"Hey! Back, foul ghost!" Bill snatched up Mabel's pillow and swung it at Dipper.

"Ow—Hey! How did you hit me, I'm in the mindscape—"

"I said back!" Bill swung again, chasing Dipper off the bed. "Back into your fleshy tomb!" He climbed off the bed, stumbled into Dipper and Mabel's trap, tripped through the sheet and probably woke up half the house.

He yanked the sheet off and flung the pillow at Dipper by its corner. "Now get back in your body, go to sleep, and leave me alone."

"I don't know how to get back in it. I just wait until it happens by itself," Dipper said, floating irritably over his sleeping body, arms crossed. "Why do you think I just wander around every time I have this dream?" He paused. "Right—it's not a dream, is it."

Bill sighed heavily. "Try putting your body on like..." He almost said like an exoskeleton, remembered his audience, and amended himself: "Like it's clothing. I usually start with the hands. Just like putting on gloves!"

Dipper looked at the cold fingers wrapped tightly around the baseball bat. "How do I put hands on like gloves? There's no opening or—"

"Just try it, would you?" Bill sat tiredly on the edge of Mabel's bed.

Dipper shot him an irritated look, but pressed his ghostly hands against his fleshly ones, passing through the skin until one set of fingers rested inside the other. A fingertip twitched. 

Bill gestured with one hand, continue. "Now the sleeves."

"I know how to get dressed." Dipper laid down in his body, forearm into forearm, shoulder into shoulder—until he was wholly back inside. He sat up, awake. "Huh."

"There, see?" Bill said. "And if you want to take it back off, just do the same thing in reverse. Like degloving your body from your soul!"

"Did you have to phrase it like that?" Still, Dipper tried it, peeling out of his body from the fingertips up. He left his body sitting upright as he hovered over it.

Bill chuckled tiredly. "Lookit your face, staring at nothing. Stupid looking."

"Shut up." He slid back into his body, more quickly now that he knew what he was doing.

"Great," Bill said. "Now that you know how to get back in your body, never do that again." He flopped back onto Mabel's bed and rolled over to face the wall. "It's a pain in my base having you wander around all night."

"Then you should've thought of that before you ripped my soul out of my body," Dipper grumbled. "Can you reattach me to my body?"

"Sure, easy." He lifted a hand to point down at his regrettably human form. "Not like this, though. Wanna help reattach me to my body?"

"Never in a million years."

"Then come back in a million years. There's nothing I can do for you until then." Bill dragged Mabel's zodiac blanket back over himself. "So sorry. Go to sleep. Leave me alone."

Dipper bet Bill could do it and was only saying he couldn't to try to trick Dipper into helping him. But he lay back down—clutching his bat again—and shut his eyes.

After a moment, Bill asked, "Where's Mabel? Sleepover?"

"Sofa bed in the living room."

"Right."

And then there was silence.

Several minutes passed. Dipper nearly fell back asleep. He heard Bill climbing out of bed and creeping across the room; but the footsteps didn't approach Dipper's bed, so he didn't open his eyes.

A few minutes after that, Dipper heard him come back, walking more heavily. He cracked open an eye to see what Bill was up to.

He was carrying Mabel, who was still asleep; his arms were trembling from her weight, but even at that Dipper hadn't known Bill was that strong. With a quiet grunt, he set her on her bed, then haphazardly tossed her sheet and zodiac blanket over her. He picked up his top hat from the bed and put it on; and then he wandered off, footsteps quiet as a ghost, and Dipper heard the creak of the door as he left the bedroom.

That was a lot nicer than Dipper had expected from Bill. Maybe he did care about Mabel in his own way.

Mabel rolled over and latched on to one of her dolls. Dipper shut his eye and fell back asleep.

####

(My favorite part of writing this was Bill dreaming about Sev'ral Timez saying the most absurdly flowery things imaginable. Anyway, let me know what y'all think about this week's chapter! And reminder that I MIGHT skip next week or the week after because the next couple chapters need heavier editing than usual.)

[macksartblock]

So I actually forgot to draw anything yesterday for my birthday bc I rewatched Catching Fire so uhhh

Unfinished small dads and fathers I wish to shove off a building