#sometimes i have to follow a thought down a good four to five largely unrelated concepts before i get to

[spiralling-spires]

i have a mysterious incredibly vivid memory of my mom saying... something to me in the parking lot of this one specific shopping center, sort of in the middle back of the lot but a bit to the side, and I was getting out of the back right seat of the car. I am reminded of it every time I go to that parking lot and am getting out of the right seats of any car. what was being said? i have no bloody clue

[crystalessenceswrites]

Shadows- Chapter Five

Shadows

A modern monster AU Pairings: Din Djarin x fem!reader Rating: T (at the moment- subject to change) Warnings: Swearing Summary: Crypto- concealed; secret. You have always lived your life in the shadows; after all, you’re one of the creatures who go bump in the night. He has sworn his life to a creed that aims to protect the world from monsters like you.

[Masterlist] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six] Cross-posted to AO3

Din’s head is spinning and he’s certain it’s not from the blow Qin landed earlier. Half-bloods? Cryptos? Slayers who hunt them? How had his people not stumbled upon this before now? Generations of Mandalorian warriors had fought and given their lives to protect humans from the monsters lurking in dark corners, yet there was a whole system they had missed. A whole kind of people they had not known were possible.

That would explain why he had such trouble determining what (Y/N) was. If she was a half-blood it would make sense she appeared more human than the typical monster masquerading as such. That did not make her human though. She was still one of them. Din could not let himself forget that.

Silently he watches her finish up with the burning body. It seems routine to her. She’s also well prepared, the thistles and the gas, not to mention armed to the teeth. Following their previous encounters, the last thing Din was expecting her to be carrying was a firearm. Yet she’d managed to stun a vampire with one shot. She knew what she was doing. If there were more slayers half as skilled as her how had they gone under the radar all this time?

And why hadn’t she tried to kill him?

It kept playing over and over again in his mind. That night at the dive bar her companion was more than hostile. She had sounded more than willing to get rid of him. But (Y/N) defused it. Both opportunities she’d had to kill him, she’d ignored. Instead, she had explained herself, given him insight into what she was. She wanted him to understand her. More than once she had compared what they both did- claimed they were both protecting humans. Could he believe that? Could he believe her? Believe someone who wasn’t human?

She looks up at him, eyes soft despite the fact she has a vampire’s body burning to ash at her feet. Deadly and yet she looks so normal in that moment. “Do you…uh, need any of him to take back?”

The confusion must be plain as day on his face as the corner of her lips quirk up.

“We have to bring something back as proof of death,” she explains, “I take it you guys don’t need that?”

“No.”

That explains all her supplies then. It also goes to show how organized this group is, tracking their kills, bounties, and all under the radar of his people. Din tries to ignore how impressed he is by it all.

The innate weakness vampires hold to fire means their bodies breakdown to ash considerably quicker and at lower temperature than a human body. It’s not long till Qin is just a pile of dust on the warehouse floor. He watches in mild curiosity as the slayer collects some of the ashes into a spare jar before scattering the rest with her boot. The bloodsucker would not be bothering anyone again.

(Y/N) shifts from foot to foot, watching him closely. “So…all good?”

They shouldn’t be. He should not be letting her leave a third time- it went against every bit of training they’d drilled into him- but she stepped in to help him. He couldn’t kill her after she’d done that. Or after all she had told him. That would make him just as much a monster.

Her shoulders relax as he nods. For a moment it looks like there’s another question hanging on the tip of her tongue, but she decides against it. She shoots him a small smile as she walks away, disappearing back into the darkness of the warehouse.

Din wonders what the fuck he’s doing as he lets her go.

.

Even after a quick stop at the covert infirmary on his way back Din still finds himself plagued by the events of the day. He kicks himself for letting her walk away, but the thought of killing her is almost revolting. Was it because he knew that some part, no matter how small, of her was human? Because she had helped him? Or because it was her?

Excited squeals pull him from his spiraling thoughts the moment he opens the front door. In seconds the wide-eyed ball of four-year-old energy has barreled up to him, chubby hands clinging to his pant leg for dear life.

“Hey, kid. Good to see you too.”

Din gets a toothy smile in return before he runs back off again to return to what looks like coloring at the dining table with Kuiil.

“He has grown very attached to you, these last few months.”

Din cannot disagree with Kuiil, the kid was quick to latch onto him when he returned home from his hunts and often would not go to bed at night unless he was there to say goodnight.

“Will you take him as your foundling?” The old man has been asking him that since the day he brought the young child back to the covert.

“We’re still looking for his family. There must be people out there who miss him.”

Kuiil continues to watch the child, a soft hum falling from underneath his thick beard. Din can see the wheels turning in the old man’s mind. He always had an air of wisdom about him, an air that led one to believe that deep down Kuiil did hold all the answers, if only he could uncover them. Even Armorer came to the man for advice. While he was not a Mandalorian, he was a friend of the covert and had been with them for several years now. He often helped look after the kid when Din was out hunting, and he wasn’t in class in the other foundlings.

“Maybe so, but he is here now, in your care. You have a choice to make, now or in the future. But you still must make one.”

Din agrees with a sigh, collapsing into the seat next to the kid, watching his grubby hands drag crayons across his coloring book.

“How was the hunt?”

“It was a success.”

“But?” Not only wise, but he was a perceptive old man.

“The slayer appeared again.”

“And I take it she left this encounter alive again?”

Din nods, his face solemn as Kuiil continues to help the child with his coloring.

“Did you learn anything new?”

He had almost learned more than he wanted to. “She claims to be a half-blood.”

“Half-human? Is that why you could not harm her?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“She has shaken you- you don’t know what to do with this new information.” The old man speaks as if it is an already known fact. Din would be remiss to say he was wrong. Knowing this now, he sees her both as a monster and a human, both someone he is sworn to destroy and sworn to protect by his creed.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“That she is half-human or that you are conflicted?”

Din scoffs, “both.”

“They have existed here as long as we have, among us in the most cases. It should not be a surprise that we have crossed paths before,” Kuiil shrugs, “the situation of her birth probably gives her advantages in her work.”

If she could blend in with both sides it would allow her to keep a lower profile. He could not even determine what species she was, that was proof enough she did not struggle to blend in with humans. She wore her mask well.

“As for your creed… that is another decision you’ll have to make for yourself.”

Kuiil’s wise words rattle around in his skull as he watches the kid totter around in the garden, arms outstretched as he chases another frog around. If their running track record meant anything he would run into her again, and he would have to make a choice. He just wished the right answer would make itself known before then.

“Ba!”

Din cannot help but smile at the proud kid as he runs up, the frog in his hold out on display. He was a quick little bugger, that was for sure. “Well look at that, little hunter in training.”

“Ya!” The little one waves his hands around happily, grin spread across his chubby cheeks.

It amazes him how quickly the kid had bounced back after everything he had been through. There were days it did not even cross Din’s mind that he’d rescued the child from the monsters who kidnapped him. He was happy, got along with all the other children in the covert and did well in his classes, even with his limited verbal skills. Well adjusted, is what the doctor had said.

“Ba!” The kid reaches up, grabby hands flailing.

“Alright, alright,” Din hoists the boy up, “should we get something to eat? Besides frogs?”

“Patu!”

.

“And here I thought you hated vampire jobs.”

Kannan looks almost smug as he watches you finish up exchanging paperwork for the reward on your most recent kill. Rolling your eyes, you stuff the check into your bag, “wasn’t like I had much of a choice with the lists today.”

“True.”

“So, did you need something, or did you just stick around to tease me?”

Kannan scoffs, “well I was gonna ask if you wanted to catch up over food but if that’s the attitude you’re going to take…”

“Where’s your apprentice today?” The teen was attached to Kannan’s hip these days, eager to get out in the field.

“He’s got his studies today, why?”

“Then food sounds like a great idea.” It had been sometime since you’d had a real chance to catch up with your old friend. He took his roles as Ezra’s mentor seriously, so he was rather booked up these days.

Kannan shoots you a satisfied grin, “the diner on 4th?”

Your stomach nearly growls at the thought. “Please.”

.

“I have to agree with Kira. You are a magnet for Mandalorians- or at least this one.”

You sigh, scrubbing a hand down your face. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

Kannan chuckles, “since when has the universe needed a reason to screw us over?”

“You’ve got a point… I just can’t get over the odds. Three times in completely unrelated spots.” It was a large city and of all the people in the world you had to keep running into.

“There hasn’t been anyone else in the office who’s run into him. Are you sure he’s not tracking you?”

“This time I stumbled onto him, there’s no way he could have orchestrated that when I picked up the job this morning.” He obviously had not been planning on your arrival. You’d spooked him good.

Kannan shakes his head, “well you are simultaneously the unluckiest and luckiest person I know. You’ve gotten away three times now.”

You preferred to think it was due more to your skills and sharp tongue than luck, but the luck certainly was not hurting.

“It still worries me he knows your face. Even if he hasn’t been tracking you up till now it doesn’t mean he won’t try in the future.”

He had a point, but nothing about your interactions with Mando up till now would you lead you to believe he would. “I’m keeping my eye out for anything suspicious. If he does try, I’ll know. Hopefully, the fact that I know what he looks like deters him from trying.”

“We can hope.”

“I also think I figured out why we haven’t been able to find his local source in the community.”

Kannan’s eyebrows shoot up, “and how did you figure that out?”

“He asked me why I hadn’t killed him yet. Mentioned something about how my job was to deal with nuisances, so therefore I must have to kill him to get him out of the way,” you explain, “there’s no way he’s working with a crypto if that’s what he thinks slayers do. After the Fett debacle everyone around here knows we can’t do a damn thing about the Mandalorians.”

“That does sound like he’s either got old, secondhand information or his informant is messing with him. But I can’t imagine if he managed to get a full blood to help him, they’d yank him around like that,” Kannan strokes his goatee, face drawn together, “yet he’s been spot on with all his kills. He tracked down someone you pulled the bounty for before you’d even gotten there.”

“Could he be working with another hunter or have another Mandalorian partner? Someone who manages surveillance while he does the hunting?”

“It would seem the only other likely answer. Have you told Boss all this yet?”

You shake your head, “no, I don’t want to get ahead of myself… and I’m not sure what kind of reaction I’ll get once he knows I’ve crossed paths with the Mando again…”

“You haven’t told him?” Kannan goes wide-eyed, “Miss. By-The-Book not reporting a run in with a hunter?”

“Sue me for being worried about the perception of it all!”

“Chill, I’m not going to rat you out, (Y/N). I just want you to make sure you’re going to be okay. That you’re thinking this through.”

“I am thinking it through, Kannan. And if something important comes from it I’ll report it to Boss, but for now I’d rather keep this to myself.”

Kannan nods, “I trust your judgement. My lips are sealed.”

“Okay, enough about me and my drama! Tell me how things have been going for you and Hera lately!”

[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 9: Ch 3

Previous

Summary: Syco and the unnamed Space Explorer question their choices.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

Their arm springs towards me. My sword goes right through them. The book I had let go of several moments ago, the one I could not read, shakes. The unknown figure before me grunts as their hand begins to shake as well. A jerk later, and the book goes flying towards them. They catch it. Quickly, I realize they are a known figure. He is Sakhra’s brother. Ex-brother? I am thousands of light-years away from that desert planet, so why is he here? Does it have to do with Sakhra’s reasoning for not coming with us? I hope he’s okay and that his brothers and sisters do not cross paths with Syco anytime soon because when you are desperate you no longer care. I should do something about that. He trusts me. I should end it before the boulder hits the ground, but it's my stupid humanity that stops me from doing so. Emotions help you see, but it also keeps you from doing anything of substance. I am not strong enough, Ojos. I am sorry.

Two sets of eyes, who now have eye bags underneath them, seemingly stab me. Then, look down at the now open book. It’s not even a minute before their eyes finish scanning through it. Closing it, Sakhra’s ex-brother opens up with, “Another unrelated one, but not completely useless.” 

He slides the book in his sleeve before scanning around the circular wall of books around us and turning back around to the opening behind him. I opened my mouth as he looked both ways, watching out for any guards that may be around, so I could press for answers. Just like then, his steps are precise, gentle. It’s an excuse. I do not want him to stop. I want to know where he is going. I want to know what interested him in coming here. I want to know if I am making the right choice. 

A broad-shouldered figure causes the stairs in front of me and the column my four-eyed leader is hiding behind to creak as he walks down it. He waves his flashlight across the hallway. It passes through me, and not too long after, he does as well. Turning the corner, the once cultist heads up the stairs. I do as well. When landing on the second floor, he goes right into scanning the books that have been carelessly scattered all over the walkway. Three of them are balancing on the handrail. Soon I am leaning over them as the cloaked figure proceeds onwards. Right when I am about to lose sight of him, I also scan. A million books. There have to be at least a million books on the first floor alone. Even if Shiitakee tried to validate Saamuki's theory, one that is “going to change everything”, we would not come close to finishing the first floor. A month and we would barely make it halfway. I wonder how Saamuki is doing. By now, Shiitakee is back on the ship drooling and snoring, waiting for us to come back after just flipping through three books, but he is not useless. Apparently, not. I do not know much about him. He’s known Syco for a long time, years, yet Syco trusts me more than him. Why? Unlike Commander Knox, Shiitakee has not proven himself to be untrustworthy. He has not snitched on us peeking in on The Commander being on life support. Maybe there is more to his whining. I hope this all is not another convoluted plan for Syco to see just how small his inner circle has become. Shiitakee is with our unconscious bodies, after all. I stretch and yawn as he becomes interested in a book with torn and stained pages. 

He is pressing his hands and sliding them across a dead-end by the time I stop trying to reason my realizations. There is a third floor. I saw it from down there. So, why is there a dead-end? His middle and index fingers glide across it, collecting dust and causing a spider to skitter away. He flicks away the grey spot on his fingers and leans closer to the trail he made. The figure, now triumphant, has to move behind a large stack of books when footsteps close in. I think I hear him cuss. Another broad figure, though this one is slender, comes this way with a flashlight. Pointed on the wall, he spots my companion’s handiwork. He steps towards it, squinting. "Hm." He waves his flashlight around. The universe works in mysterious ways, it seems. If I am being honest, I have to say I love it sometimes. Most of the time, I hate it. Now? Well, I am not sure. His watch blinks green. It vibrates with a soft buzz. He leaves and leaves my relieved, cloaked companion to wander back to the wall and fiddle around some more with it until a click is heard. A chunk of the door slides inwards to the left. Somehow the room beyond looked darker than outer space. As soon as he steps inside, the door begins to slide back into place. I follow, going through half of the closing door. Another click. The door shuts, locking us in darkness. Then, locking us with an illuminated staircase thanks to the flashlight he pulled out of his sleeve. I wonder what else is up his sleeve. 

Against the winding staircase are two brick walls. Among them are paintings. Dust makes it hard to see who or what is painted. It’s not like they’re important to the mission, but one of them catches my eye. Five scratches, a claw, tore through the face of a well-dressed man with a scowl and a balding head. I touch the torn cotton page, press against it, and I, thankfully, find out the deed was done much time ago, but this means its cause is lost to time. I do hope it stays that way. I do not want to confront its cause anytime soon. Although, the universe has an odd way of connecting me with people I would not ever think I would be in the presence of. 

I certainly would not have imagined being in the presence of that. This floor is just like the others. Books had been mindlessly placed wherever on nearly every crook and cranny. Although, besides being a lot smaller than its predecessors, this one has the added bonus of having a statue of a caped figure pointing towards the window. The statue has a faceless mask. Rounding it, as my companion mutters about his plea to find what he is looking for while shuffling through book after book, I see that same symbol that was all over that town square, a circle with a dot inside, directly plastered at the center of the statue’s cape. I step back and grip the handrail. Turns out I am not the only one discontent because he too is not any better at finding out what he is looking for. Pacing back and forth, he mumbles something. He nearly trips on a book while doing so, which he kicks away. Eventually, he squeezes the bridge of his nose with his index and thumb, using the hand of the arm I stabbed days ago. Then, proceeds to groan but is cut short by the opening of another entrance. All four of his eyes widened. He throws himself behind one of the many stacks of books. 

A secret door slides inwards from the statue's podium in the corner of my eye. A striking figure with a faceless mask and a cape appears in its doorway. My eyes dart back and forth from this newly arrived figure to the statue. Both are one and the same. 

The figure bends down and seizes the book my companion had just kicked off the ground. They turn to me. One minute into this figure’s arrival and I am already getting a bad feeling about them. They turn and stride towards me. Their cape trails behind them. I really thought they could see me. I should know by now it would be impossible because I trust Saamuki, but it is just the vibe I get from them that causes me to think so irrationally. Of course, they do not notice me even as they step next to me. Upon gripping the handrail with one hand and throwing the book to the first floor with the other, which fell with a deafening slam, I find out why the library is the way that it is. Swatting the side of the cape with the newly freed hand, they groan while lowering their head. Their voice is deep, but there is a bit of femininity to it. “Those insolent imbeciles.” Tightening their grip on the handrail, I hear friction. I think I hear a crack. Maybe the wood beneath their terrifyingly big hand split. I am not sure. I am too weary to check.

Raising their head up, but with hunched shoulders now, they continue, “At least I have this place, the only place left in the universe where I can finally be alone and away from those bastards.”

Magically, a parchment appears in their free now glowing golden hand. With a deep inhale, they then proceed to write down the reason for their annoyance. It goes as follows: “It would be ignorant of me—a failure of my due diligence—to dismiss my duty within the council. Therefore, I understand each of us is in charge of distinct positions. However, at times, our positions must blend into one another as those occurrences involve imprecise issues. (This should be common sense to the others by now. Apparently, not. I presume they do it on purpose.) I seek out fallacies, although it is nonsensical to say such as it is an obligation. I was born to feel this way. Refer to ‘On the Creation: Between Mortal and God’, edition five if confused, or dare I say, forgotten. My duty, in the summary of chapter eleven of the previously mentioned book, is to provide reasoning and logic to the Lords of the Universe.”

I froze. I can not make a sound, and I for sure can not do anything with this information. Right here. Right in front of me stands the point of this all. Before I barked, and now I can not bite. The Lords of the Universe are the executives of the universe and commanders of Watchers. They are the reason why Syco dehumanized me. Most importantly they have my people. Their cape and the vibe they gave me make sense now. Supposedly, I am to confront them soon enough. I want to do something, anything but run away. I can not, though. I could touch them, and they can not touch me, I hope. My computerized sword would not do much good. One blast and I would just be teleported back to the ship, thousands of light-years away. It is useless, so I have to remind myself to remain silent. My companion tries to do just that as they raise their head from the small wall of books. Because the Lord is still facing away, they proceed to get up and move towards the secret door we came out of. He is quiet as per usual. The Lord continues to scribble down on their parchment, but they stop once he reaches where the door should be. 

“Ah, the famous knife-wielder I have heard so much about.” He freezes. The Lord, turning to him, has the parchment fade away with the fading of their glow. “And before you ask, yes, I did know you have been here since I stepped foot on this floor. I did not react until now because you were of no danger to me. You still are not. You as well, human.” I pull both my dagger and staff out. The Lord lifts their hand. Continuing, “There is no need to become barbaric. I plan to let the both of you go after a brief interrogation.”

[incorrectsdkquotes]

Happy 500 posts!

As promised, here’s the relatively short-ish fanfic I promised. It’s not my best since I’m used to 5000+ words in multi-chapter fics instead of 1,545 words in a one shot, but I think it’s okay. Written largely while listening to the Achievement Hunter song Good At Being Bad (this fits everyone so well, why didn’t I think of it before?)

Here’s the fic, enjoy! ^_^

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you,” Yuya sighed. She’d been talking to the police officer for the past twenty minutes and that was twenty minutes she could have used earning more money. Yeah, technically she was paid a flat wage per hour but as a waitress she made her tips by talking and interacting with people. It was annoying that she was missing that for something the officer knew she wasn’t going to help them with. “Sometimes they come in here, sometimes they don’t.” She leveled the officer with a Look. “Sometimes the police come in here, sometimes the Five Stars do. I just serve the customers.”

The officer frowned. “Well, if you see any member of the Four Emperors—any member—it’s your civic duty to inform the police. They’re wanted criminals, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard the spiel,” Yuya said. Finally, the officer left. Yuya sighed and looked over her shoulder towards the counter with the register on it. “They’re gone, you can come out now.”

Like a clown car one by one the members of the infamous Four Emperors gang came out of hiding. Yuya was mostly just impressed that they’d managed to hide Bontenmaru’s large frame. And that the others had kept their bickering to a fairly quiet level this time.

“Thanks Yuya-chan,” Akari said with a wave of her hand. The other patrons of the restaurant were used to these antics by now. “You’re a life saver.”

Bontenmaru scratched his head and sat down heavily in his usual seat at their usual table. “The police seem…enthusiastic this time.”

Yuya’s eye twitched. Enthusiastic? That was one hell of an understatement. There’d been sirens sounding all over the city and there’d been at least two cop cars parked outside her restaurant for the past few hours. That wasn’t including any undercover vehicles that were surely around. “What did you do?!” she practically screeched. She really, really didn’t need this kind of police scrutiny in her life.

The one reason she tolerated Kyo and his stupid friends coming around instead of handing them over for any bounties was that she appreciated their ethics. By and large the Four Emperors and Kyo especially didn’t really have ‘ethics’ or ‘morals’ but there were some things they just didn’t do—they killed and stole but they never dragged in civilians or unrelated people into their stupid schemes. They’d kill rival gangs or anyone who challenged them with a laugh and a smile on their face but they at least had some restraint. Sort of. Kind of.

“It’s not as bad as you’re thinking, Yuya-san,” Akira said with a calm smile on his face. Yuya supposed he was trying to go for reassuring—considering she just spent the last twenty minutes getting chewed out by the police on the dangers of harboring known criminals she wasn’t feeling very reassured.

It didn’t help that through this whole exchange Hotaru had been carefully stroking a chinchilla he had for some reason. Like usual the man was off in his own head, his eyes only coming into focus to ask Yuya for a cup of tea. Like lemmings the others followed suit, pretending like this was just like any other day.

To them it probably was. Yuya, on the other hand, could feel her blood pressure rising.

“No one is getting anything until you tell me what happened!” she snapped. “And where the hell is Kyo in all this mess?”

The Four Emperors exchanged glances, shrugged, and began to explain.

~.~

The day started out pretty ordinary. A coffee run.

“Why are we getting coffee for your brother?” Akari griped, sighing heavily in boredom. She played idly on her phone while they waited in line at the local coffee shop. They were less likely to kick them out than one of the bigger named businesses and by now they knew the baristas by name.

Hotaru snorted and smirked. “I said Shinrei asked me to get coffee for the Five Stars. I didn’t say I was going to actually bring it to him.”

Bontenmaru raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t he give you the company card for the coffee?” His only answer was another smirk. He shrugged. “I’m fine with coffee paid for by the Mibu. They can certainly afford it.”

“I’m just surprised Shinrei actually thought you’d do what he asked,” Akira smirked, his hand like usual raised to his chin.

“He’s optimistic.”

~.~

Yuya gave them a flat look. “And where was Kyo?”

~.~

After grabbing coffee the Four made their way across the city towards their ‘hideout,’ an old arcade building that had been gutted out and filled with various odds and ends picked out at garage sales and the occasional curb drop.

Kyo was just waking up. Akira, who’d won the game of rock-paper-scissors for who could bring Kyo his coffee, swept over to the most revered man of the gang, and presented him with his straight black coffee.

“Courtesy of the Mibu,” Bontenmaru announced, waving the company card around in his hand. Kyo’s smirk is savage—like the others, he holds no particularly fond feelings for the Mibu. At the very least he enjoys inconveniencing them as much as the others do.

With nothing better to do that day and with a Mibu company credit card at their disposal they unanimously decide to see how far they can go before the thing’s finally cancelled. At about noon Hotaru received a phone call.

“I ask one thing of you. Just one thing.”

“Oh. Shinrei.” Hotaru answered like he doesn’t have caller ID.

“Why can’t you just do as you’re told?!”

“Because I don’t like you,” he answered, promptly hanging up the phone.

“Shinrei called,” he announced.

“So we gathered,” Bontenmaru said dryly. He turned to Kyo. “Well? What now?”

Kyo grinned. “Now we do what we want.”

~.~

Yuya groaned. She wasn’t sure what she expected, really.

“After that it got kind of…chaotic,” Akira said diplomatically.

A fire truck drove by outside, sirens blaring with an ambulance following shortly after.

“Clearly.”

~.~

As these things tend to do, news of the Four Emperors moving around the city spread quickly, attracting the kind of attention that they normally tried to avoid—or at the very least, not actively seek out.

“Come out, Emperors!” Bikara shouted from across the alley. “You have nowhere to run!”

“Who the fuck would be running from you?” Akari shouted back from behind cover. She and the others were sat leaning against a makeshift barricade of a rusted out old truck that Bon had managed to move around to fit all four of them. Kyo, having been called out by Nobunaga himself, had already moved on with his fight. His followers weren’t worried, though. Kyo wouldn’t lose against anyone.

“Should we just wait until Shindara gets here?” Akira asked, bored. This standoff would have been a lot more fun—or at least interesting—if anyone involved was actually interested in fighting seriously. As it was, there was just a lot of throwing around of insults, rocks, bottles, and anything else they could get their hands on. Makora had joined Bikara and it was unclear if he was trying to help the man or just annoy the Emperors. He, at least, had better aim than Bikara so there was at least that element of danger there. Other than that, this whole thing was boring. Santera had been taken out earlier by Akari telling her to go home and Basara was around somewhere which was annoying to deal with.

“Screw that,” Akari declared. “Hotaru, gimme one of your lighters.” Hotaru did so without complaint and instead seemed content with protecting the chinchilla in his arms from the occasional projectile from a hidden Basara. Akari lit the end of a piece of cloth she found and threw a Molotov cocktail over the truck towards Bikara. Like she thought Basara couldn’t help but attack the projectile, causing the bottle to break and fire to spread throughout the alley. “Let’s just go, Kyo’s not coming back and I don’t want to be here if Kyo’s not here.”

“I second that,” Akira agreed. Bontenmaru sighed and drug Hotaru to his feet so they could make their escape. Hotaru wouldn’t have left if he hadn’t, he didn’t have nearly the same concern about fire that everyone else had.

“Hotaru, where the hell did you get a chinchilla from?”

“What?”

~.~

Yuya sighed in despair. “Should I expect the Twelve Gods to come around, then? Is that what’s happening now?” She kind of wished Tora was around right now instead of off visiting family. He at least would have overreacted with her about this whole thing, even if he would have found it cool and probably would have wanted to join in on the chaos.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Akari dismissed easily.

“Considering the police presence outside I’d say they wouldn’t bother trying to show their faces around here,” Akira said.

Well, that was something.

The bell above the door rang as Shinrei burst through the door, throwing a look of barely concealed fury and irritation at the Emperors.

“You!” he shouted.

Yuya groaned. She just hoped they took this fight outside before any more of her patrons were scared off.

[jo2ukes]

self care is writing 3h drabbles at work!!!!!! (timeskip spoilers sort of)

“Felix!” Ingrid shouts above the clash of steel. Her eyes dart to his left, and he steps to his right, dodging an axe coming down on him. She smirks in a very Ingrid way before letting concern take over her face again. Concern was the expression she wore most often, which was so different from their days as children.

 “I’ve got it from here,” she says, “I should be able to push them back. You move on ahead—Sylvain is getting overwhelmed.”

He nods, throwing her a quick look of gratitude, before continuing to cut a path forward. Sylvain wasn’t joking in his letters when he said the Empire was determined to fell House Gautier. There were a handful of them, nobles, that clung steadfastly to their vows of fealty to the Prince. It came as no surprise to anyone that Gautier, Fraldarius and Galatea were among the few.

 Apparently, it came as no surprise to the Empire either.

 In the short years after Edelgarde had declared her war, the attacks on each of their Houses had been unrelenting and only mounted as other Kingdom Houses fell under the pressure. It seemed stupid, risking their lives like this for a beast who was presumed dead. Felix knew he wasn’t, of course. He couldn’t be. Odd as it sounded, it was one of the only things keeping him clinging to hope. Keeping all of them clinging to hope.

 “You’re late,” Sylvain calls, cutting into his thoughts. “I almost thought you’d forgotten about me,” he winks. His demeanor is calm, contrasting with the wild swings of his lance.

 “Shut up,” Felix groans, but he can’t hide the smile creeping at the corner of his lips. “I could hardly forget about someone as obnoxious as yourself.”

 They’d all been separated in the chaos at the Monastery. It took months for the dust to settle and for correspondence to reach anyone, but all of their classmates were alive. Dimitri being the only one in question at this point. Well, Dimitri and the professor…

 Felix grits his teeth, shutting off his thoughts. No point in dwelling on the professor now. There’s been no word from or of the professor for the past four years. Or has it been five? No matter. The only thing of importance is the task at hand.

 His attention turns to his blade, dancing in circles around Sylvain’s more or less stationary position from horseback. The two of them work well together, and the numbers around them start to dwindle. Those from the Empire who are left standing quickly realize their best course of action is to flee back to their Empress and die another day. In his academy days, Felix might have chased them. It’s not victory if it’s not absolute, he used to think. Now he knows, sometimes living for the next battle is victory enough.

 And so, he lets the Empire scum run, turning his attention back to Sylvain, but keeping his eyes trained on the distance, should their enemies decide to regroup and ambush them while their guard is down. Ingrid has rejoined the group as well, dismounted from her Pegasus, and is listening intently to Sylvain’s conversation with the merchant troupe they were protecting. Though running supply lines between Gautier, Fraldarius and Galatea is dangerous, there are still a handful of caravans loyal to the Kingdom and willing to make the journey. If their lines are cut off, there’s no telling how much longer any of the Houses could stand on their own. Luckily, among Kingdom territories, merchants are largely seen as neutral parties, so the only real threat comes from Empire troops.

 “—And of course, we appreciate House Fraldarius’ assistance in securing our safety as well,” the merchant’s voice interrupts Felix’s thoughts and Felix pulls his gaze away from the tree line.  The merchant bows deeply, gratitude etched into his face.

 “Think nothing of it,” Felix says, giving a curt nod in response. “Without the support of the merchants we are—“

 “Vile dogs!” A voice calls from behind them. An Empire solider has returned. Alone. Foolish.

 Wordlessly, Felix unsheathes his blade, intending to make quick work of the straggler before anything else can be done. From the corner of his eye, he sees movement from the tree line, but his only option is to follow through with his initial attack.   A flash of blonde hair and Ingrid is at his side, knocking away the volley of arrows raining down on them. A flash of red hair, and Sylvain is heading for the tree line, archers fleeing from his javelin attacks, Gautier soldiers following behind to prevent their escape.

It all happens in a flash, Sylvain turns to give them a thumbs up and a wink, opens his mouth to say something stupid, but only lets out a gurgle. An arrow has lodged itself in his neck.

 With a roar, Ingrid takes off after the archer she believes responsible. Without thinking, Felix rushes forward, catching Sylvain in his arms. Sylvain tries to speak again but Felix hushes him, laying him on the ground and resting his head in his lap. He doesn’t know much about medicine or healing, and it was unfortunate they were caught without anyone with expertise in either subject.

 “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m going to take care of you,” Felix says firmly, though his hands shake more with each passing moment. Sylvain is already pale. “This is going to hurt,” he winces, placing his hands firmly on the arrow shaft in Sylvain’s neck. It didn’t go all the way through, which could potentially be a good sign- again, he didn’t know much. “Sorry,” he mutters, before taking a breath and snapping the length of the shaft off. Sylvain cries out- not a sound Felix hears often, nor cares to hear. Instead, he busies himself with more shushing and uses his teeth to rip off a part of his own robe before wrapping it as gently as possible around Sylvain’s wound and the small hint of arrow still poking through.

 Ingrid runs back, out of breath.

 “The last of them are gone,” she pants. “How is he?” She kneels and takes Sylvain’s hand in her own, biting her lip as she assesses the damage. “Sylvain, you need to stay awake,” she pats his cheeks gently, getting him to flutter his eyes and at least maintain consciousness.

 “There’s nothing else we can do for him here,” Felix says, “We need to get him back to House Gautier as quickly as possible.”

“I’ll fly him,” Ingrid nods, helping Felix pull Sylvain to his feet. “See if that merchant has any salve he can spare, I’m sure Gautier’s supplies are running low. Meet us back there. I’ll see you soon.”

----

  “He’s been asleep most of the day,” Ingrid says, standing from her chair by Sylvain’s bed. “He chats a bit when he’s awake, you know Sylvain,” she laughs lightly, mostly to hide her concern. “Thank the goddess we were there,” she adds after a pause.

 “Only an idiot would go charging off like that” Felix mutters, crossing his arms.

 “Well, you know Sylvain,” she offers a smile, and gently squeezes his arm. “I should change his bandages before you take the next shift.”

 “Get some rest,” Felix says, shaking his head “I’ll watch over him from here.”

 Ingrid yawns and softly offers thanks before making her way out of Sylvain’s room. There is a stillness that settles over the room, the fire crackling softly, and it’s almost peaceful. Sylvain’s breath still sounds pained, but his condition has certainly improved over the past couple of days. The fact that he’s been awake and talking with Ingrid was a better sign still.

 Felix busies himself with bandage preparation. The clean bandages are kept in a basket at the foot of Sylvain’s bed, along with a jar of salve. Which went directly on the wound, not on the bandage, Ingrid’s voice reminds him in his head. She knew more than basic field dressings, though her knowledge was almost as limited as Felix’s. She’d studied a bit back in the academy, helping out professor Manuela when she had a moment. She always claimed, even though she would have to give up the battlefield for the sake of her family, healing knowledge may still come in handy.

 “There was a change in the guard, huh?” Sylvain’s voice is scratchy, yet somehow still possesses it’s lilting quality. Felix turns to stare at his friend for a moment, an abundance of emotions swelling up in his chest. Most of them were confusing or foreign, but the one he was most easily able to identify was rage. Always a safe emotion to fall back on. His decision to settle on rage must have played across his face, because Sylvain’s expression fell ever so slightly. Felix ignored him and put the bandages on the bedside table before turning back to retrieve the salve. He poured some into a small bowl, pursing his lips.

“You’re mad,” Sylvain observes.

 “What were you thinking, charging in by yourself like that?”

 “Well, I wasn’t, really,” Sylvain shrugs, wincing slightly. “I’m an idiot, or so I hear,” he winks.

 “Now isn’t the time for any of your stupid jokes,” Felix scoffs. “You could very well be dead, you know.” He turns back to Sylvain.

 “Aw, come on, I’ve been close to death loads of times. It’s gonna take more than a handful of Empire cronies to put me out of my misery, you know that. In fact,—”

 “—Listen to me, Sylvain,” Felix interrupts, slamming the bowl of salve down on the table by the bed. “You could be dead. You’ve never been this close to death before.”

 “It’s a war, you’re going to lose people—“

 “—not you. I’m not going to lose you, do you understand?”

 Sylvain falls silent for the first time. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times, a slight blush settling into his cheeks. Felix moves to pick up the bandages from the table, continuing his lecture.

 “Ingrid was beside herself, carrying you back here like that, all full of arrows. You’re not invincible and it’s time to start acting like it. It matters if you die. Not because you have a Crest, or because you have more people to flirt with. Ingrid needs you here. I need you here.”  He motions for Sylvain to sit up.

 “Careful, Felix. You’re coming dangerously close to showing emotion.”

 “Teasing the person that has the power to make your neck wound very much worse as opposed to very much better isn’t the wisest of ideas.”

 Sylvain smirks in response, holding relatively still while Felix applies salve and fresh bandages. His neck already does look much better. It’s probably only a matter of time before he’s on his feet again, which is just as well. There’s plenty to be done. Not to mention their class reunion looms. It seems a silly thing now, going back to the ruins of the monastery to fulfill a childish pact, but a promise is a promise. Seeing classmates after so long would be a pleasant note in an otherwise torturous period. And an ally is always an ally. Coordinating their movements and their plans to take back the Kingdom would be that much easier after reuniting.

 He finishes re-wrapping Sylvain’s neck, his eyes lingering on his friend’s face. The two of them had seen such sadness, but Sylvain wore it well. He almost looked as though he hadn’t aged a day since their time at the academy. His eyes were still full of light and he was always smiling- almost as though he had no idea a war was going on at all. He catches himself staring, and drops his eyes to the floor.

 “Hey,” Sylvain says, catching one of Felix’s hands in his own and giving it a gentle squeeze. Felix looks up. “Thanks,” he says, “for everything.”

 Things may look hopeless, but if they had each other, maybe there was some possibility things would still turn out okay in the end.

 Wordlessly, Felix squeezes Sylvain’s hand in return.

[dreadhaus-literature]

{Character Study} Diederich Frost

I have been reading a lot of research books lately, trying to hone my talent into something useable, and trying to get my head in the right space to write again. One of those books is, “Write Characters Your Readers Won’t Forget” by Stant Litore; another highly rated/recommended writing tool from Amazon, and that book comes with exercises! So we’re going to take a first pass at them with a newly created OC.

I won’t say it’s been a while since I’ve created characters, because it hasn’t been, but any practice is good practice, right? Right.

The book interested me simply because I want to write good characters--which I know is a stupid thing to say, lmao, as an author that’s like half my goddamn job. But that’s why I want to be good at it! And practice makes perfect.

This will be on-going, since there’s an entire booklet full of exercises, so I’ll just reblog and add to the post as I read. P:

The character I’ve decided to use is from my first group of 10 drabbles from my Shots in the Dark collection.

#10, Diederich, who will be henceforth known by his full name--

Diederich Karsten Frost

Exercise One - Write down your character’s critical ingredient, that one defining strength that everyone will know them for. If you don’t know yet, make it up.

Well I don’t know yet, because I only wrote about Diederich once and it was for like half a page--so we’re going to make it up.

Diederich’s defining strength is that he is unrelenting.

Exercise Two - Take another look at your character’s one great strength. How might that same strength set them up for disaster? Brainstorm a little.

Oh ho, this is surprisingly easy. I don’t know Diederich very well yet but what I do know about him is that he’s a ruthless businessman, has the money to show for it, because he’s unrelenting, unyielding, a mountain in the face of a hurricane--but where that strength will fail him? When he has to bend for love, for the one in his life who means the most. He’s a man used to getting what and who he wants, so when he’s told no...

It’s going to be difficult for all parties involved.

Water can eventually wear down rock but it takes centuries, and that’s the kind of patience I imagine Diederich’s lover will have to have if they want to gain any ground with this man. He’s going to be difficult to get to bend and similar to ice he’s likely to shatter into something sharp rather than give to the will of others.

Diederich’s strength makes him severe, which is not always a good thing, especially outside the boardroom.

Exercise Three - “What is the worst thing you could possibly do to your character?” It’s a great question to ask when you’re wanting to learn about what your character is made of, so ask that question now, with a bit of a twist.

“What is the worst thing you could possibly do to your character, that they would be least equipped to handle? Brainstorm that.

And once you’ve crafted their greatest tragedy, ask the next question: How can this character use their one great strength to help them meet the problem head-on?

When I first wrote Diederich he was just supposed to be a flash!OC for an Obsessives drabble set. He existed to fill a void, of a slightly deluded narcissist who was left reeling from rejection/abandonment, so taking that into consideration...I’m going to say the worst thing I could possibly do to Diederich is to take that desired love away.

His drabble opened and closed with him seeking the love he’d only held briefly and how it was sending him spiraling to lose it. Diederich is a controlling person; he isn’t going to know how to deal with the free will of his lover and what that means for him. He can’t 100% control love or the object of his desire and that fear becomes realized as soon as she’s gone. It’s going to cripple him in multiple ways; he feels he’s failed, an emotion he absolutely cannot deal with, and the abandonment, the loss, is a wound to his massive pride. It’s going to consume him like rot, until he can’t stand it marring his otherwise perfect life. He’s ill-equipped to sit with failure.

In short? He won’t be able to stand it. It’ll drive him insane.

But, it happens to work out perfectly: his one great strength, his unrelenting personality won’t allow him to quit, to rest, until he’s found his love and righted his world on it’s axis. Diederich can’t be, won’t be stopped.

No matter what.

Exercise Four - Write a 1-2 paragraph, unique character entrance scene. Try to make it impactful!

The illumination coming off the five star hotel shimmered as it split the night, parting shadows like the red sea to make way for one undeniably important man. The crowd on the sidewalk seemed to follow suit, halting in their steps to make room for broad shoulders near stretching the seams of finely tailored cloth as the occupant of the expensive towncar placed first one, then two polished dress shoes on the sidewalk. As he straightened up, onlookers hesitant to pass by were struck by an impressive stature attributed to fine breeding that could only come from living within the upper echelon of society for centuries.

Eyes so blue they were nearly ice white sliced cleanly straight ahead, no sideways glance because it was apparent this man had no time nor care to know who was around. The driver standing by the open door could possibly double for security but it was hard to imagine a man so tall, so statuesque truly needed it; his presence not only exuded importance but malice, so that small children might actually scurry out of his way. The sharp clack of dress shoes heralded his long strides, drawing one’s attention up from pressed slacks to the length of a wool-lined trench, buttoned against a no doubt trim and toned middle. Large hands were cradled in the softest Italian leather and when he reached up to his breast pocket for a single crisp $100 bill to hand to the doorman, all those onlookers could see were the cut of cheekbones that could no doubt make fast work of a piece of glass. This man had enviable bone structure; Old World in that his cheeks were square and his chin slightly pointed, angled to bring attention to a jawline that went on for days. His nose had only the faintest of a curve to it, right at the tip, so that when he was staring down at some unfortunate soul they’d only be forced to follow that curve right back up to those unforgivingly cold eyes. Complimentary to his pale eyes and skin, his blond hair was a silvery flaxen in shade and in cut the sides were shaved but the top left long and slicked back--akin to a shark’s white fin just barely breaking the surface of moonless ocean waves.

Anyone who didn’t know Diederich Frost was always left wanting to after laying eyes on him for the first time.

Exercise Five - Now, write a new entry scene for the same character, but if in the first attempt you used dialogue, now do the entry with no dialogue. And if in the first attempt you didn’t use dialogue, do it almost entirely through dialogue this time.

...Goddamnit.

I FELT REALLY GOOD ABOUT THE FIRST ONE BECAUSE I CAN WRITE ME SOME DESCRIPTION. But how the fuck am I gonna make this man’s entrance with DIALOGUE.

Goddamnit.

“Mr. Frost is on his way up,” came the understandably frantic voice of the aforementioned Mr. Frost’s assistant. The young man was desperate to make a good impression on the owner of this prestigious company and though fresh-faced and college enrolled, Sacha felt he was up to the task. He hoped, anyway.

���W-What should I do?” Unlike Sacha, who had been Mr. Frost’s assistant for the past six months, this new hire, Norbert, was struggling. Sacha thought it would be a miracle if the shorter brunette made it through the end of the week.

“Fix your tie,” Sacha hissed, his back to the elevator as he prepared Mr. Frost’s cup of coffee. “Stand up straight, don’t stare and don’t you dare call Mr. Frost by his first name again.”

Norbert flushed strawberry, pudgy fingers pushing the wrinkles from his tie. “It w-was an accident!”

“Yes well your firing won’t be if it happens again.” Sacha dropped the statement with the same finality he set the square cup of coffee on it’s saucer, steaming hot and waiting for Mr. Frost like the rest of his obedient staff. Sacha set the saucer on the top of his desk, facing the elevator as the car made it’s way up, announcing their arriving boss with each click of the lighted panel above the doors. Sacha spot out of the corner of his mouth, hands clasped behind his back, still facing the elevator. “Mr. Frost has a full day of meetings ahead, Norbert, so I’ll handle his refreshments and meals while you’ll take care of...?”

“His dry cleaning, getting his car washed, and picking up his tailored suits from Mr. Favero.” Norbert was proud to keep his usual anxious stammer from his voice but Sacha didn’t even seem to notice--and if he did, he didn’t care to remark on it.

The small victory was quickly forgotten when the gleaming elevator doors opened and Mr. Diederich Frost stepped out onto his office floor. The entire building was his company, but this top floor was reserved for the illustrious owner and his assistants, giving him plenty of room to work undisturbed.

“Good morning, Mr. Frost.” Sacha spoke first, almost eagerly, and Norbert had to quietly admire how easy it seemed to be for Sacha to speak to Diederich. Norbert sometimes forgot his own name when those ice blue eyes stared him down.

“G-Good morning,” Norbert had all but lost ground from his earlier feat of not stammering. He cleared his throat, knowing it wouldn’t help.

Their boss, Diederich Frost, was a statuesque man of impeccable breeding and class, born with a silver spoon in his mouth but he did the polishing himself. There was no resting on laurels for Diederich; ambition lined his already swollen pockets until there were rumors he could buy their country and have enough left over to still maintain his $500 a month haircuts. Normally, Norbert would think that was an exorbitant amount of money to spend on a haircut but Diederich’s silvery blond hair turned heads just as often as the rest of him did. Whether it was his flaxen hair, his sharp cheekbones, or his deeply accented voice, Diederich Frost was the man to know. Norbert just didn’t think he could get the sentence, “I know Diederich Frost,” out of his mouth without his blood pressure dropping.

“Messages.” Diederich’s voice was like an anvil, dropping period where others would hang questions marks, but Sacha didn’t miss a beat.

“Your brother called, he’s still insisting you come out for the weekend,” Sacha recited the messages by memory, even as he gave Norbert a pointed look to pick up Mr. Frost’s coffee and follow them into his expensive, lavish office. “Your aunt’s birthday is tomorrow and I confirmed the delivery of her favorite flowers as always, and lastly Mr. Price called for the fifth time, still looking to sell.”

Norbert took a steadying, albeit quick breath as he hurried to place Mr. Frost’s coffee on his desk, just in time for his boss to sit down in his desk chair and nail him to the floor with those icy eyes. Diederich didn’t say a word, merely met Norbert’s gaze evenly, giving the shorter male plenty of time to see Diederich’s expensive three-piece blue suit was a direct compliment to pale porcelain skin. It was also just long enough to see Diederich’s eyes narrow because Norbert had been staring. The male cleared his throat again and backed up to stand beside Sacha, who was giving him a pointed side-ways stare.

Diederich didn’t thank Sacha for his hard work or excellent delivery but that wasn’t unusual either. Earning a thanks from this hard-working perfectionist took far more impressive feats than simple recitation. Norbert had yet to receive a single one.

“My first meeting is in--”

“Thirty minutes, sir.” Sacha supplied before Diederich could outright ask. The older male simply nodded and took a small drink from his coffee.

“Then get my brother on the line.” Diederich directed to Sacha, before sparing Norbert another glance, disapproval darkening harsh features until it was akin to staring into the eye of a hurricane. “...And straighten your tie, son.”

Norbert was far more likely to hang himself with it in the employee bathroom.

BOY IDK IF THAT WAS WHAT THE EXERCISE MEANT BUT I SURE HOPE SO. Literally don’t know how to write only dialogue, that’s just not...idk, a mix of dialogue/description is fine with me? That’s about as dialogue-centric as my writing ever gets, I find it’s so important (at least for me) to add in little snippets of description, like sprinkling salt. just call me Salt Bae.

Exercise Six - Write the same entry a third time, but this time, change the setting and the situation. Try taking your character out of their comfort zone or put them somewhere they’re unlikely to be.

The joyous, loud cries of children at play announced Birthday Party! long before anyone could lay eyes on the balloons and banners that decorated the park’s picnic area. It was a large, usually populated public park but today was entirely off-limits to the general public, bought for a full 24 hours by the Frost family to celebrate little Alexandra Frost’s seventh birthday. Children of all ages ran and skipped, frolicked and played amongst the playground equipment and bounce houses, while adults sipped alcohol, ate finger foods, and escaped the waning Summer sun inside air-conditioned tents.

No expense was spared for the little princess of the Frost family, niece to none other than Diederich Frost, who had made quite a name for himself on the international business scene. The infamously ruthless billionaire was of course present, dressed in what to him was likely casual; pressed slacks and a designer sweater, but he still stood out in the crowd. He didn’t appear to belong at a children’s party; he was all hard, cold lines and nowhere was that more noticeable than standing beside his younger brother, who was a father of two. Diederich had no children and thus had not been softened by fatherhood; he was all business, all the time, and if one were to pay close attention the majority of the children steered clear of the long-legged Uncle to Alexandra. The birthday girl in question adored her Uncle but why wouldn’t she? He showered her with expensive gifts and she had nothing to fear from ice blue eyes and the hard line of his jaw. Diederich had never been cross with her a day in his life, but the list of people he wasn’t cross with could be counted on a person’s left hand. Diederich looked as mean as he was; high-cut cheekbones, a harsh line to his mouth, and silvery blond hair kept slicked back did everything to add to the air of crackling menace that surrounded the man heads and shoulders taller than most. He was a storm cloud, a single bolt of lightning one doesn’t see until it’s too late and you’re left singed from the contact you didn’t expect amongst the chorus of, “Happy birthday dear Alexandra, happy birthday to you!”

I’ll admit, imagining Diederich at a kid’s birthday party tickled me. He’s shaping up to be such a Type-A, no-nonsense asshole it’s hilarious to imagine him surrounded by balloons and shouting kiddos. He reminds me of the quote from Angela in the Office.

“I wouldn’t mind a pair of well-behaved boys.”

That’s about all I have time for tonight, but I will say, I’ve never really thought about character entrances very much before beginning to read this book. They liken to being out on a first date; it’s your reader’s first impression of your character and you want them hooked right away. Why should they give a damn about your character? You have to make them see what’s so special about them, sort of like...selling your character, I guess?

...I went from a date situation to human trafficking but whatever.

THE POINT IS. I am now realizing that the way characters are introduced is actually pretty important. I mean that was the majority of the exercises tonight, writing and then re-writing the entry scene to see how many different ways I could introduce you to Diederich. Even out of his element he still has to be himself, after all, and that right there is why I think this is important--you’re essentially creating a person, and people have to be adaptable. If your characters are so one-sided they can only exist in a very specific box...then they’re not very good characters.

All in all, I’m pretty pleased with the work I did tonight. I took a character that was interesting to me and actually made something of him. He’s around, now. I hear his voice and I can see him, and that’s pretty rad.

Looking forward to picking this back up soon and seeing what else Mr. Frost has to say~

[segadores-y-soldados]

Thoughts on leadership and teamwork

While I’m on this train of thought... I’ve lived in situations of “large groups of unrelated, working people who are constantly around each other 24/7 in relatively remote locations” for extended periods of time (month-long chunks to “multiple months in a row”).    By “large groups of unrelated, working people” I do not mean “I lived in a house with 6 other housemates” or “I shared a bedroom with three roommates for a year.”  I’m not talking about that.  I’m talk about a group of people who are not family, who barely know each other, who come together explicitly for work-purposes - groups of people anywhere from 20 - 150+ people all living together for several weeks at a time.  More under the cut (including how I think these things apply to Overwatch)

These were not military situations.  However, they were frequently run with military-type scheduling, discipline, and organization in mind, aka, “set wake up and sleep times,” “standardized individual and gorup schedules,” “regulated group meals,” “regulated group chores,” “certain expected protocols, manners, and behaviors,” etc. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, multiple weeks at a time.  For those of you who HAVE NOT experienced this, imagine whatever dorm situations you’ve been in, and apply it to all hours of the day, the same 20 - 150+ people, only instead of classes, you’re working with these people constantly.  You are around each other all the time.  There are expected and routine things you must do - work, shared group chores, eating meals together, getting a standard sleep pattern real fast, etc.  You do not have the ability or means to go more than a mile outside of this area.   (Please note that these were situations that every person involved willingly put themselves in.  There was no coersion or pressure involved.) There are a few things you learn REAL FAST in these situations: 1) You MUST learn to find your own space.  Whether that’s “mental only” (e.g. listening to personal music, reading a book, playing a portable video game) or actually physical (e.g. going on walks, going to a different part of the physical location, finding a physical niche to hang out in, etc), you absolutely learn to take those breaks for yourself.  You have to, especially if you’re working in these situations for multiple months on end.   The people who do not do this, or who do not learn this lesson fast enough, absolutely suffer emotional breakdowns, or lash out at other people, or get extremely bitter and/or homesick really, really fast.   The people who DO manage to learn this are able to pull it off, but usually for more than a few months at a time.  Someone I once worked under put it like this: “When you’re in these situations, you can reasonably do up to a month withtout problems.  You can maybe reach two consecutive months with only some minor, temporary stress by the end.” “After two months, though, you start mentally breaking down.  Very rarely have I seen someone come out of 3+ months unscathed.”  I, personally, have not gone beyond 4 months of these situations.  I cannot speak for how active duty members handle this, but they probably have stronger or more flexible personalities than me.   2) You learn really, really fast which conversations are acceptable to which people, who you can trust “sensitive” topics to, which “authority figures” you can count on or turn to when under stress, etc.  You learn which leaders will “lead you best in x situation,” and which leaders will “lead you best in y situation,” and it is entirely possible to be able to value and critique both leaders for their pros and cons (maybe not directly to their faces, but internally and among trusted friends, you feel comfortable assessing these).  Saying these things is different from calling either leader “a bad person” - rather, you, the follower or worker, are recognizing that certain situations call for one over the other, and vice-versa.  More than likely, if these two leaders work together often, they probably already know their strengths and weaknesses.  In terms of Overwatch, it is very telling that all “four” leaders of the Strike team - Jack, Ana, Gabriel, and Reinhardt - have different styles of leadership set for specific parts of the Uprising game mode.  Each one of them relies on the others to help balance out their weaknesses with the others’ strengths.   Moreover, it does not imply that any one of them “is better or worse” at leadership than the others.  Simply that they are different.  I’ve seen lots of people argue that Jack being gruffer or “stricter” than Gabriel in the Uprising game mode is “a bad thing.”  Let me tell you, from someone who has worked under joint-leadership situations where someone had to be “the strict one” and another person had to be “the laid back one,” there are many, many situations where you need both.  There are many, many “bad managers out there” who “try too hard to be friends with their workers/employees” and then struggle to actually have the authority to lead when stressful situations hit.  Sometimes, you need that “gruff, strict leader” to actually organize and push you through the hardest situations.  And sometimes, you want someone who is calmer and more relaxed.  It depends a lot.   And, as someone who has BEEN in one of those positions of leadership, there are many, many times where being “too friendly” will get you burned real fast.  This applies to both Jack and Gabriel.   It is absolutely 100% important to be friendly, open, and available to your workers/employees/subordinates/students/whoever you are leading, but this is not always the same thing as “being friends with them.”  Especially when you are in a strict or harsh working environment.   Flexibility meshed with discipline is important.  There’s a reason why so many philosophies and teaching ideologies stress the significance of “flow” or “flowing like water.”  Water can be free and liquid-smooth and fast, but it can also be forceful and powerful.  It is important to be open to change, but also important to be strong when things are struggling to stay afloat.   3) You learn to accept your chores and your duties.  Sometimes these are negotiable.  Sometimes they are not.  Regardless, you learn to be a team player or you struggle.  Lots of people can tell you about the importance of team coordination in the actual game of Overwatch, but it’s important to recognize that this applies to many real world situations too.  This is different than giving up your indivdiual traits or personality aspects.  Let me repeat that.  Being a team player does NOT mean rolling over and accepting everything thrown at you.  Being a team player DOES mean accepting a modicum of shared responsibility and duty in a group situation.  Again, 3 does not negate 1.  Number 1 is number 1 for a reason.  But 3 is still important.  If you throw a fit over every little thing asked of you, people will learn a few things about you: you’re emotionally a brat, you’re probably incapable of working well with others, you’re probably out of the possibilities of a “real job” with this group for the rest of your life.  

4) This might be the one that “gets people to argue back against me,” but I consider it an important part of this discussion.  You learn extremely fast what IS and what is NOT abusive, manipulative, whiny, demeaning, or coersive behavior, ideas, or conversations.  So let me be explicitly clear: Banter, jokes, sarcasm, witty remarks, or even teasing are NONE of those things.   To put this in Overwatch terms, the conversations that the “three commanders” (Jack, Gabriel, and Ana) have at the start of the Uprising comic, fall into the latter category of “banter, jokes, sarcasm, witty remarks, and teasing.”  These people have been friends for decades and I respect Blizzard and the Overwatch writers for actually portraying that fairly well for a short comic.   This also extends to all the conversations and dialogue found among all seven characters (The four Strike team members and the three Commanders) in the Uprising game mode.  I have yet to hear a single line of dialogue that strikes me as being “abusive, manipulative, whiny, demeaning, or coersive” in the actual game.  At most, Torbjörn has a few “you can’t trust Omnics” lines that are quickly and quietly reprimanded by Reinhardt or Lena.  There are times when he acts gruff with Lena, but she quickly teases him back, showing that a lot of it is in good fun, even though they are under a very stressful situation.   Pre-Fall (as in, before “the conspiracy” infiltrates it) Overwatch fits a lot of these ideas as a “functioning, healthy, well-structured, well-managed, happy” organization.  Even in Uprising (which arguably post-conspiracy-infiltration) Overwatch still manages to stay afloat thanks to the multiple, cohesive styles of leadership being balanced here.  But we do start to see some of the cracks in the seams.  We start to see how the pressure is affecting the “foundation” of Overwatch - the original five members of the Strike Team - causing them to make hard, morally and ethically-difficult decisions (e.g. sending Blackwatch agents out to the field even under suspension, sending Overwatch teams into a hostile situation against orders, defying global powers and governments for “the greater good,” etc).  We see small sparks fly in among the different leaders - Ana wants to push for more aggressive intervention, Gabriel “gathering intel” but then “bowing out” of the decision-making process, Jack listening to multiple perspectives before he comes to a conclusion, Reinhardt quickly “shutting down” Torbjörn’s “opinion” on Omnics, etc.   It is entirely possible for Overwatch to have recovered from these cracks and chips under better circumstances.  But with the added struggles of Petras and the UN bearing down on them, plus the increased “internal aggression” from the conspiracy “working against them from the inside,” Overwatch begins to fall apart.  Losing “a critical member of the leadership balance” (Ana) leaves a weakness that she normally would’ve filled.  I’ve been in situations - especially the “24/7 living-working” situations I’ve described above - where things rapidly deteriorate.  We’re not even talking months - we’re talking days to weeks in these circumstances.  The combination of “constantly being together,” “increased emotional and mental stress,” “increased hard and difficult work,” “lack of space,” and “constant struggle to balance your own personal emotions and ideas with the rest of the team’s” is a brutal one, even in situations as small as my own.  It is the tip of the iceberg compared to something as “global” and “international” as Overwatch.  

[loxare]

Harm

Chapter 3 - Running for Home and Red Giraffes

Two weeks after releasing himself from the hospital (a day before his actual release) and Red Hood was back on patrol. Well, running late on patrol. He would have been at the warehouse an hour ago, but he kept stopping to look over his shoulder. For reasons completely unrelated to Nightwing showing up in Bludhaven. Plus, his usual route normally took him past a bunch of street cameras, so he had to go around those. Also for unrelated reasons.

Sometimes, Jason wondered if he was lying to himself too much. Probably not.

He was about three blocks away and twenty minutes late for the meeting of the major crime bosses in Bludhaven when he saw something at street level, so he grappled down for a better look.

A kid, around twelve, carrying a stuffed backpack that was way too big for him. From the state of his clothes, he wasn't a street kid. Too nice, and more importantly, clean. And from the furious tears on his face, he wasn't going to a sleep over.

And behind the kid, some guy with a knife. Clearly, he was going to take the kid's backpack. Which was just asking for the Red Hood to jump from the roof onto his shoulders. Which is good because that's what happened.

The kid jumped at the crash, whirling around with a taser in his hand. Well, at least he was prepared. Jason raised his hands in mock surrender. “Good job with the taser kid. Guess I didn't need to stop this crap stain after all.” He hefted the man under his boot up, looking him up and down. The man didn't look like a druggie. “Jeez dude. You look half starved. Here,” he pressed a voucher into the clearly-homeless guy's hand. “There's a hot dog vendor on Fifth and Blue. Give him that, he'll punch it and give you a hot dog.” The voucher was good for ten hot dogs, prepaid by Red Hood. He had half a dozen in his belt that he gave to various people when they looked like they needed food.

As the guy clutched the voucher like a lifeline, Jason turned to the kid, who had his taser dangling by his side as he looked at Jason with some sort of awe. “You're Red Hood.”

Jason nodded, not taking off his helmet just yet. “Come on. Let's get off the streets before someone decides you still look like a target. What's your name by the way? And do you have any allergies?”

“Um. Anthony Santana, and no, not really. I mean, the cold gives me hives sometimes, but that's it.”

“Come on, Anthony, let's see if Min Yu Eatery is still open.” The Eatery was Jason's favourite. It was as close to homemade as he could find in Bludhaven, clean, affordable, and the owner liked him. Partly because he was a good customer, partly because he had gotten her kid out of some trouble with a gang or three. By the time they got there, the place had closed, but Min saw him through the window and opened up. “Missed me by five minutes Hood! You're lucky the stove is still lit or you'd have to eat cold leftovers!”

“Min, you know I'd eat anything you made, hot, cold or otherwise.” Jason gestured to Anthony. “Min, this is Anthony. He's running away from home and needs a good meal before he leaves. Anthony, this is Min Yu, purveyor of delicious food and wielder of a large spoon. Do not make her mad.”

Min waved the aforementioned spoon threateningly. “And don't you forget it. Shame on you Hood, for ever thinking I'd serve you something cold. Now go sit down. Food will be out when it comes.”

Jason pulled off his helmet as he slid into the booth. Anthony cautiously slid in beside him. After a moment, he asked, “So how did you know I was running away?”

Grabbing a pair of chopsticks and laying them on his napkin, Jason answered, “The massive backpack mostly. And your clothes are a bit too clean for you to be living on the streets.” Anthony nodded like that made sense. Which it probably did. By now, most of the kids in Bludhaven knew he had lived on the streets when he was younger, so he knew what he was talking about.

“Are...” Anthony hesitated, “are you going to make me go back?”

Jason pulled a face. “Not if you don't want to. But I would like to know why you're running away and if you have somewhere to go. Don't tell me if you don't want, but if I don't know you're safe, it's going to keep me up at night.” Min came by with tea, and both of them thanked her profusely.

“You're up all night anyways,” Anthony said flippantly, then turned red with embarrassment. “I mean, aren't you? With the crime fighting and the roof... swinging... and...” He trailed off as Jason started laughing.

“Yes, I guess I am up all night. Fine then, it'll keep me up all day.” Jason lifted the lid of the tea pot to check if it was ready. Nope. Another minute. “Do you want me to start guessing? Because I will.” No visible bruises, but that didn't mean much while the kid was wearing a coat and scarf. However, the way that he had never flinched when Jason touched him, and how he had just followed him to an unknown location spoke volumes. So it wasn't abuse or bullies driving this kid out of his house.

Anthony wrinkled his nose. “It's... a lot of things changed at my house, and... first it was the baby, and then we moved, and the new school and I don't know anyone yet and...” He sighed, fiddling with his chopsticks. “I miss Gotham.”

Jason raised an eyebrow while he poured tea in both of their cups. “Filing that under, 'thing's I never thought I'd hear, ever.' Baby brother or sister?”  

“Sister. Her name is Carina. And I get that babies need attention, a lot of attention, I've known that since Mom got pregnant, but...” He trailed off when Min brought the food. Jason got egg foo yung with rice and mixed veggies, Anthony got a steamed fish with similar sides.

“You're lonely.” Min declared as she refilled the tea pot with hot water. At Jason's questioning glance, she smiled smugly. “The acoustics in here are amazing. All sound eventually ends up in the kitchen. That's the best way to catch dine and dashers. And you,” she turned to Anthony, “do you have a destination in mind?”

Anthony nodded and hastily swallowed his food. “Yes. My aunt's house. She lives in Gotham. I thought that I could just live with her and go to school in Gotham and visit my parents on weekends or something.”

“Well, you're prepared.” Jason shifted over so Min could sit down with her soup.

She nodded, bringing some noodles to her mouth. “Always a good quality.”

Pulling out his phone, Jason asked, “So, where do you live?” Anthony gave him an address, and Jason grabbed a napkin from the holder, jotting down a few numbers. “It's up to you whether you stay or go, but if you need some friends, call these people. They all live nearby, they're good kids, and four of them play baseball.” He gestured to the Gotham Knights patch on Anthony's backpack.

Anthony grabbed the paper and read down the list. “I think Sylvia Summers is in my Math class.”

“So go say hi.” Min tapped the paper with a finger. “Say hi to all your classmates. Get into an argument over whether the Knights or the Sabers are better, find a common interest. The friends are there.”

“Have you found the RedKids website yet?” When Anthony shook his head, Jason reached over and wrote the website on it. “Start up a thread on there. Last I checked, most of the kids were local.”

“So,” Anthony fiddled with his chopsticks as he studied the napkin, “you don't think I should run away.”

Jason sighed and sat back. “It's up to you kid. Who knows, moving in with your aunt could be the best idea ever. Or, you'd be even lonelier because you miss your parents. But it took courage and planning to pack your bag and walk out the door. Maybe you should use some of that to make Bludhaven work for you.”

Anthony nodded. He spent the rest of the meal thinking through his options while Jason and Min talked about food ideas. Two weeks later, Marcus texted Jason a selfie of him, Sylvia and Anthony at the field kids used for baseball.

“Your name is Chaperon Coquelicot?”

The kid squirmed under Jason's flat stare. “Yeah. Totally.”

Jason sighed. “Ok, that loosely, very loosely, translates as red hood.” Though how the kid knew that coquelicot was a shade of red based on the common word for a French poppy was... actually, it was probably a quick Google search. “So what's your real name? And no bad French this time.”

He sighed. “Tumelo Thompson. Friends call me Mel.”

Was that an invitation for Jason to call him Mel, or...? “Awesome. So, what'd you call me here for? Your text was super vague.” Vague enough that Red Hood had suspected another Armani Thug trap. He'd surveilled the whole block for half an hour before he'd come down to talk.

“It's two things really. First, I wanna join the Red Kids. Not the website, I already have a username and quite a few casings,” the website used “casings” as in “bullet casings” as a point system. It was weird, kids were weird, moving on, “the real one, where they go around doing what you do.”

“Gonna stop you there kid.” Jason held up his hand. Making sure his most serious expression was on his face, he put his hand on the kids shoulder and leaned down so their faces were level. “I'm going to say this once, only once, and I want you to respect it. The 'real' Red Kids are not operating with my approval. I definitely do not want them out there, and I am doing everything I can to stop them. Do not join them. Do not let your friends join them. Ok?”

Hesitantly, the kid nodded. “Fine.” Jason wasn't convinced, at all, but he would let it go for now. But if he saw Mel with one of those leather jackets, he was going to lecture him so hard. Still, he leaned back and motioned for the kid to continue. With a huff, Mel did. “The second thing is a bit tricky and really illegal.”

Jason just raised an eyebrow and gestured at himself. He was wearing two hand guns, a sniper rifle, and he had a rocket launcher in his duffel bag. Before Mel's text, he'd been going to go blow up a warehouse full of cell phones. Harmless sounding, but the phones had small explosives in them. These were outbound, heading to Bialya, enough for ten thousand people. Dial a master number, and when the person picks up, the explosive goes off with just enough charge to blow off their head. But it was fine. The shipment wasn't leaving until tomorrow.

“Right. I forgot. Anyways, I need you to break into Bludhaven 65's evidence lockup and get a stuffed hippo that may or may not be evidence in a gruesome murder.”

“Ok, I'm going to need the story on that one. I'll do it, but I'd like to know why.”

Mel sighed. “The hippo is my neighbour's. He's six, and his mom and dad just died, and his best friend got taken just because it got one drop of blood on it. He needs Giraffe, um, that's the hippo's name, to sleep.”

A hippo named Giraffe. Cool. “Can do. I just need to make one quick stop on the way. Well, two stops. Text you when I have it.” With a smile and a wave, he pulled his helmet back on and jumped off the building.

The good news was, the cellphone warehouse was on the way to the 65th precinct. Goodbye murder phones, hello explosion. After this, he should probably donate some drug money to the firemen. Or he would, if he wasn't incredibly sure it would go to gold bathtubs instead of red trucks. The firemen were almost as corrupt as the cops, which was weird to think about. Maybe he should just buy equipment and donate that.

Hm. It just occurred to him that he used an explosion to prevent many smaller explosions. He really needed to find someone to share the irony of that with. Not the kids. With his luck, they would interpret it as bombs being on the table for all their unapproved vigilante-ing.

The 65th precinct was one of the not-terrible ones. The kind of corrupt that would let an assault charge go for the right price, but a murderer would have to pay a much higher price. Luckily, the neighbourhood was bad enough that most of the murderers here couldn't afford that price, so justice got done after a fashion.

His second stop was his safe house. Not the one in the mob building. After he hadn't shown up for a month, his landlady, a nice Italian grandmother with a quick trigger finger and a mean marinara, had gotten worried and broke down the door. Long story short, they no longer believed his cover about being a writer and it had taken him a week to track down all his favourite weapons. He had left a nice gift basket for his land lady in apology though.

No, this one was the top floor of a condemned apartment building. He'd bought out the building from the state under an alias and was having the whole thing renovated. The top was done, which wasn't at all how the contractor had wanted to do the reno, but Jason, or rather his alias Mark Lee, had insisted. At least he'd gotten a relatively honest contractor. And the lower floors were up next.

Anyways. Future plans. For now, this particular safe house had uniforms. Cop uniforms, and a bunch of real badges he'd doctored so they had his picture instead of the cops he's stolen them from. He dressed quickly and left.

Landing on the rooftop of the precinct was easy. There were cameras, sure, but they weren't set up very well. Three were pointed at the exact same spot and one was staring at the moon. Plus, they weren't covering the rooftop access door. He picked the lock and slipped in.

Red Hood stood for a moment enjoying the warmth. The cop uniform had short sleeves and wasn't very warm. Then, he made his way towards the evidence locker.

In his uniform, with his hat covering his hair and face, no one looked twice at him. It took some doing to find evidence, but luckily, most police stations followed the same general layout. Also luckily, the 65th didn't have anyone guarding the door. Sure, there was an electronic lock that was impossible to break into without a key card and access code, but with that kind of security, they may as well leave the door wide open.

Totally impossible, as long as the person breaking in didn't know about the design flaw. Which Red Hood did. So. Pulling off the side panel, he grabbed the green wire and stuck it into the card reader. There was a fizz and a small puff of smoke, and the door popped open.

With a smile, Red Hood strolled in and grabbed the log book from the wall. The murder was fairly recent, so... There! One stuffed animal, on Shelf 43a. He grabbed the hippo, small enough to fit in his pocket, and left the way he came.

Once back in his safe house, he took the hippo out and sighed. One drop of blood Mel? The hippo was covered in it from mid-belly down. With a sigh, Jason went to his bathroom and pulled out Jason's version of Alfred's homemade blood remover. It was a surprisingly necessary item in Jason's childhood. Still, it took a good half hour of scrubbing before Giraffe got back to his old, grey colour.

An hour later, Jason was swinging home, Mel and his neighbour Cahyo waving goodbye.

AN: And we’re back! By the by, Min’s Eatery is a reference to Jason Todd: The Not-So-Outlaw, which is good and you should read it.

Someone was wondering about the time line. This is that one time after Cass comes back from being evil, Steph is alive and Bruce isn’t dead yet. In the comics, it was a pretty short time. In this story, it is going to be as long as I want it to be.

[anavoliselenu]

freedom chapter 10

The speed boat was racing through the water and cutting the waves in half. The motion was quite peaceful and almost lulled me to sleep.

Amun was skilled at many things, including piloting various forms of machinery. He had become rather handy; I think I might keep him around. Selena hated me for it, but I didn't care. As long as she was safe.

She was currently snuggled up to me on the comfortable bedding of the boat. My arm was over her shoulders, and we both looked out over the ocean as our speed increased. It didn't seem to be bothering her stomach at all. I was thankful. Vomiting would ruin the romantic and peaceful atmosphere I was trying to create.

We had arrived in Spain only yesterday, and she was already asking me to take her everywhere. She would get tired out before the fun really even started. I was trying to pace our vacation. We were on our way to the private island, which would be our homestead for the next four days. I had to get away with her. I needed it.

I actually didn't mind being on vacation with the family. It had been a long time, and it was necessary to leave Chicago for sanity's sake. This was the perfect place for an escape. I grinned to myself as I thought about their faces this morning when they woke up. Selena and I had prevented them from falling asleep with our late night shouting. They could laugh at me all they wanted for not getting blowjobs, but there was no denying the fact that I knew how to fuck my wife… really well.

But as much as I wanted to enjoy my honeymoon, I still had to remember that this was also a trip for business. That would come later.

For now, I was happy holding my wife close to me.

"Where are we going?" Selena asked over the roar of the engine.

"To our own private getaway," I said vaguely.

"I don't know what that means." Her brow crinkled. I started to smooth the lines out with my thumb.

"You'll know when we get there. Not too much further."

We had already been riding for about an hour, and we would soon begin to see the small landmass I had purchased from a wealthy businessman last week. He was looking to get rid of it, being on his deathbed and all. I offered him cash, and it was a pretty penny, but worth it. Carlisle had his own island, now so did I. Selena would freak if she knew I bought it for her as yet another wedding gift. I'd tell her later, after she'd enjoyed it too much to get upset.

Amun kept his eyes on the horizon, not moving and barely blinking. I sometimes thought he was a robot. Selena hated the guy with a passion. I just laughed at her protests.

My bicep was still sore as hell, but I could care less. I had been through worse. The far more serious issue was that of Selena's safety, hence the new guards. She didn't know it yet, but when we got back home, the house would be outfitted with more security. I wasn't taking any chances. After Mangicavallo's threat and the grocery store incident—two unrelated occurrences that put her in danger—I was more paranoid than ever. And on top of that, I now had a baby to think about.

I shook my head, casting my eyes down behind my sunglasses at Selena's stomach. She liked to wear things that concealed her belly. Today's was another flowing sundress, a dark green color. But when I took off her clothes at night, before we start rolling under the sheets, I could see just how big she was getting. We were only on month three, and she was starting to look like she'd swallowed a small basketball. I didn't know if that was normal or not, but we had a doctor's appointment scheduled for when we return to Chicago.

I think she thought that I didn't like seeing the evidence of her pregnancy. On some level, she was right. I realized that it was mine, and that the baby would be coming soon, but I wasn't ready. I wouldn't be a good father. Everyone seemed to disagree, but I knew it deep in my soul. I still couldn't wrap my mind around a baby right now.

I hated to admit it, but I needed to talk with my father. He would have wise words at a time like this. Unfortunately, he was helping orphans in Indonesia or giving out water in the Amazon. I wasn't really sure where they were.

"Sir," Amun called my attention, "we're almost there."

"I see that." I sat up. "Take us around to the south side. That's where the house is."

"Yes, sir."

"The south side of what?" Selena placed her sunglasses in her hair. "Are we going over there to that island?"

"Yes," I answered truthfully. "That's where we're staying for a couple of days."

"Oh, wow. It's beautiful." She tried to stand up, but I held her down.

"Selena, you're going to fall right over the boat and I don't wish to jump in after you."

"I sometimes forget."

I looked to my left where Francis was scowling at me from his traveling carrier. He hated to be in that thing, but it was necessary. Like Selena, he seemed to be overly clumsy and tripped over his own feet, even on a leash. Plus, I didn't think it wise to have a dog free on a speedboat.

He turned his head away from me in a way to say, We're not speaking.

I chuckled.

"Why did we bring him again?" I asked Selena.

"Because we can't leave him there. Emmett will feed him chicken all day. I don't trust them with my dog."

"He seems to get better treatment than I do."

"Don't be jealous." She ran her hand over my thigh. "You're still my number one guy."

"Good to know."

"I wonder what they're doing now?"

"Alice has plans. Lots of plans. Her itinerary looked extensive."

"Well, I'm glad we got away." Selena kissed my cheek. I felt tingles all over my body. My sex drive was incredibly active nowadays. I didn't know what that was about, but I tried not to question it.

Amun started to slow the boat as we rounded the island. It was small, smaller than Carlisle's, but I wasn't as rich as him. I ground my teeth at that as we continued to circle. Plush trees climbed up the hills and the white sand looked pleasurably hot.

"Is that our house?" Selena pointed to a mansion sitting amongst the foliage. It was Spanish in architecture and had massive bay windows that jutted out over the hills.

"It sure is. There's a smaller hut-type thing on the beach, if you prefer."

Selena's mouth hung open for a second. "You planned all of this?"

"I always do." I held her close.

We were off of the boat about ten minutes later. Amun helped Selena up, while I dealt with Francis. He was still mad at me, but shook off his anger when I let him free. He didn't know what he was steeping on and kept picking up his paws to examine them.

"It's called sand." I bent down and picked some up, letting it slip through my fingers. "See. It doesn't hurt."

He circled me, his stubby feet making small indentions in the sand. Once Francis decided that it was okay to walk on, he trotted next to me as I trailed Amun and Selena towards the Jeep that would take us up to the house.

Francis hopped up into the seat and went to Selena. I followed in after him and shut the door.

Amun took off, driving carefully over the crude road. All the windows were down so the warm, salty sea air flowed through the car. I could feel my hair becoming more of a mess the faster he went. Selena's somehow stayed beautiful and in place. I just watched her the rest of the way.

We stopped in the cobblestone driveway, and a short Spanish lady came out of greet us. She was in a modest maid uniform, so I assumed she was the housekeeper.

"Welcome, Mr. Bieber. We're so happy to have you," she said in her thick accent." My name is Angel."

"Podemos hablar en español si así lo prefiere." I told her that we can talk in Spanish if she preferred it. She shook her head.

"That's quite all right. I need to practice my English."

I took Selena's hand. "This is my wife."

"Oh, it's so nice to meet you." Angel hugged Selena and pinched her cheeks. She started talking fairly quickly in Spanish.

I laughed, "She says you're not fat enough to be pregnant. It's her goal to make you gain five pounds while we're here."

"Did you tell her I was pregnant?" Selena frowned.

"It's not that hard to see." I pointed to her stomach. At least, I could tell.

"Alec already thinks I'm fat."

I growled under my breath. "Don't listen to him. He's just trying to get you mad."

Selena had been pretty good controlling her emotions so far, but I could tell that if I didn't change the subject she would start crying.

The housekeeper could tell as well. "And you have a doggie? He's so cute. What's his name?"

"Francis." Selena's spirits picked up a little. "We had to bring him along. I didn't feel right leaving him."

"Your maternal instinct is strong." She smiled.

I didn't bother introducing Amun to Angel. He was unimportant to her. All she needed to know was that he'd be around. She didn't ask.

She took us on a tour of the house. Well, half of the house. Selena was too tired to continue after we reached the second floor. Maybe I shouldn't have bought something so extravagant, but it was my nature. I couldn't help spoiling her. I asked Angel to keep the fact that I had purchased this island to herself. I didn't want Selena knowing just yet.

I saw other staff members who stayed hidden when we passed. They were neither seen nor heard by Selena. When a large pan of chicken paella appeared on the table outside where we were sitting, she questioned me.

"Who made this?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I did?" I chuckled.

"Justin, be serious."

"I'm hurt." I pouted playfully.

"Did you hire more cooks?"

"Yes, I did." I started to spoon some food onto her plate.

"You have to stop doing that."

"Did you expect me to let you slave away in a kitchen all day?"

"Well, no, but it's not like we need five course meals every day. I can make small stuff for us."

"Selena, just accept that you have problems being taken care of. It's a chronic issue that probably won't ever go away, and I've resolved myself of the fact that I'm going to be fighting you on this for the rest of our lives." I poured myself a glass of wine. I gave Selena orange juice.

"I do not have a problem. You have the problem, mister." Selena took a bite of food. Her face turned into one I only saw during sex. She liked it. Then she corrected herself. Now she hated it.

"Just eat the food and enjoy your time off." I ordered.

"I feel awkward with people taking care of me."

"Are you going to go on some feminist bullshit rant about being independent and feeling useless?" I leaned back in my chair, waiting for her barrage of argumentative words.

"I don't rant and it's not feminist bullshit," she argued, popping a piece of chicken into her mouth. "I like being independent. If I were a man, I would be praised for that fact."

"Well, you're not a man and you need to accept that your husband makes a lot more money than you do. Therefore, he has the right to buy you things and treat you to things and take you places you otherwise wouldn't be able to experience."

"Why? Because I can't afford them?" She glared.

"Precisely."

"I could buy anything you buy me with my own money."

"That ring on your finger cost a million dollars. I don't think you'll ever have that much." I smugly started to eat.

She leaned in and whispered, "A million dollars? But it looks so simple."

"Yes, Selena. I splurged on you," I joked. Little did she know this island cost about one hundred times that much, and it was in her name.

"Now I feel uncomfortable," she said, looking down at her ring. "What if I lose it? You have to take it back."

"Oh, come on. Don't get like that. It's just facts, Selena. I make more money. I can do things for you. You shouldn't shy away from that."

"But now what can I give you?" She shrugged. "I obviously can't buy you anything."

I really wanted to shy away from saying something cheesy like, You give me everything I need just by loving me. Even though it was true.

"I have never asked anything from you," I placed my hand on top of hers, "because I don't need anything material from you."

"I could say the same thing. Just… love me." She exhaled. "That's all I need."

I nodded. "I'm still buying you things. I care for you. That doesn't mean you have to depend on me. There's a difference."

Selena couldn't help but smile and she nodded as well. "I know. I just… feel weird. Charlie makes fun of me all the time now because I have so much money. What if it's changing me?"

"It should. Money changes people. Most of the time for the better," I stated.

She rolled her eyes. "People with money say that."

"Then why don't people without it run for public office or interview for corporate positions?"

"Because they don't…" She thought for a second.

"Have money or the education. It's a fact," I finished her sentence. "It all comes down to money. I know that makes me a dick, but it's the way of the world."

"So, if I was poor, then you wouldn't love me?"

"You're not poor, though. The question is invalid."

"If," she repeated.

"If you were poor, then I would pay for you not to be. Then I would love you."

"That doesn't make sense."

"It does to me."

"I was basically poor when you met me."

"Yes," I agreed. "But then you let me take care of you and now look at everything you have." I spread out my arms.

"If we ever get divorced, I'm taking everything you own." She clanked her glass with mine.

"Why would you say something like that?" I laughed. "You're ridiculous. We will never get divorced and if we did, I will scrap to the death for my money."

She shrugged sneakily. "Why are we fighting on our honeymoon?"

"That wasn't a fight."

"Argument then."

"You started it."

Selena smiled again. I lived for that smile.

Our opposing views on money were why we rarely brought it up. Selena thought I should be giving my wealth to charities or some shit like that. I did… for the tax breaks. And I dropped money into poor musicians' instrument cases when I walked by on the streets. That counted.

After our lunch, I asked her what she wanted to do. We decided on a walk around the island to explore. We took Francis, who now enjoyed playing in the sand. He jumped from side to side, trying to capture it between his paws. Selena enjoyed watching him.

"We have a week on the island. Don't tire yourself out!" I shouted to her when she waded into the ocean. The water was up to her knees.

"Don't you want to come in?" she called back to me.

"I'm not dressed for it." I looked down at my jeans.

I could almost see the roll of her eyes behind her sunglasses. "You can push them up."

"They created swim trunks for a reason, Selena. I'm not ruining a good pair of pants."

"Suit yourself." She swayed in the blue water and ran her hands across the surface. "It's so clear. I can see straight to the bottom."

"Selena, come out of there. You're going too far!"

"Come in here and get me."

"Don't tempt me, woman!" I roared. "Get out. We can come back later. I don't want you out here in all this sun."

Selena began to pick up her feet and moved towards the shore. I let out a sigh of relief.

"You know, Charlie is my father." She started to wring her dress to get some of the water out. "I don't need another one."

"I have two people to care for at the moment that are very fragile. Please, indulge me in my worrying." I handed her back the sandals she was wearing.

"I'm not a porcelain doll."

"Yes, you are." I wrapped my arms around her. "You're my porcelain doll."

She giggled, "You're being incredibly sweet and overly attentive lately. Should I be concerned?"

"I'm just enjoying myself… immensely," I replied when she placed her lips on my throat. "It's been a long time since we've had sex on a beach. Maybe we can…"

"Oh, Justin. Stop teasing me." She kissed my Adam's apple. "As much as I would love for you to take me right here, right now, we can't."

"And why not?" My fingers dug into her hips.

"Because I'm hungry," Selena whispered.

"Hungry? We just ate."

"Well, I can't help that. Your son is insatiable. He's always pestering me for more food."

"My son?"

"It has to be a boy. Girls don't eat like this." She took my hand and aggressively started to pull me up the beach, towards the house. Francis followed dutifully.

Selena had a good time watching the cooking staff make her authentic Spanish dishes. She was in awe of the regional cuisine and took notes on how to recreate certain things so that she could duplicate them when we got home. Selena started to eat and moan all at the same time, like she had never experienced food before. It was erotic and oddly strange at the same time. I just watched. I had already eaten too much for the day, but she kept inhaling.

As the afternoon passed, my fingers started to itch in aggravation from being away from my phone for so long. I had turned it off when we arrived in Spain and left it back at the villa in Barcelona when I brought Selena to the island. I didn't want anything distracting me. I had been neglecting my wife as of late, and I planned to remedy that on this vacation. That didn't mean I could just forget about my work, though.

Bieber Inc. never shut down, so everyone was still working. My hope was that the place could run smoothly without me there. This was a trial run, but I didn't expect things to end well. Mario would probably have a head of gray hair by the time I got back. It was made worse by the fact that Jane was away as well. She helped that place function like a well oiled machine. I hadn't checked the stock markets, or watched the news, or even checked my emails since being here. I had a bad feeling about all of that.

I asked Selena what she wanted to do as the day went on. Pregnancy was taking a toll on her, and she became slightly sluggish after dinner. I didn't want to tax her, so we just lied in bed and talked. We hadn't done that in a long time. But talking could only hold our attention for so long.

Not surprisingly, the night arrived and sex became the main topic of conversation. I slid into her slick folds and took my time, making her feel just how much she meant to me. Last night was for fucking, but tonight was for love making.

After we were sweaty and perfectly high from endorphins, Selena laid her head on my chest. She clung to my naked body.

"I like pregnant sex," I admitted. "You're far dirtier."

"I don't know what's wrong with me." She buried her face into my side, embarrassed. "I'm insatiable."

"I hear that's supposed to happen."

"When will it stop? You must be exhausted."

"Not yet," I chuckled. "I don't think I'll ever tire from you." I kissed the top of her head.

Selena's fingers splayed out across my chest, playing the hair there. She liked to do that after sex. I didn't know why.

We stayed quiet for a couple of minutes. Our limbs stayed connected, skin against skin as we controlled our breathing.

"I think I need to go back to Forks in a couple of weeks," Selena stated calmly.

"What? Why?" I asked.

"I need to see Charlie and tell him… about the baby."

"You can't do that over the phone?"

"No. I've had too many important conversations with him over the phone in the past few months. I need to do this in person. I want to go alone."

"I knew you were going to say that." I rubbed my forehead in frustration.

"It won't be for long, just two days at the most. I need to get to know my step-mother and her children and I want to do something nice for Charlie."

"Like what?"

"I was thinking about… buying him a new house," she said skeptically. "He had to mortgage his so that I could go to school and then I went to jail and all that so…"

There was a jab of pain in my stomach when she said that. I hated talking about her time in prison.

"You want to buy him a house?"

She nodded, biting her lip. "I still feel guilty for putting him through all that. And now he has two new kids that need rooms and I know the house is falling apart. He probably doesn't have enough money to fix it up like he wants."

"What kind of house were you thinking?"

"There's this property on the lake he fishes at that's been up for sale for a while. I checked. I could get it for him and a boat and a fishing shed or something. I think he would enjoy that."

I smirked. "So what you're saying is, since you have the money, you would like to care for him?"

She bit my nipple gently. "Shut up."

"I'm just making sure I have it straight, because I recall having this same conversation not twelve hours ago."

"Well, yes. I guess you're right. Since I have the means, I want to make him happy and give him things."

"Now do you see my point?" I ran my hand along her neck, up to cup her face. "We're in the same boat."

Selena nodded, but didn't meet my eyes. "Would it be okay if I got him a house?"

"You don't ever have to ask me." I kissed her. "What's mine is yours."

"I'm sure it would raise a few questions if a couple hundred thousand dollars just disappeared."

"True."

"I'll go next month and tell him about the baby. When I'm sure…" She stopped herself.

"Sure of what?"

Selena shook her head. "Nothing. I forgot what I was going to say."

"You're lying," I accused.

She bit her lip. "They say that after your first trimester is over, you have less of a chance of losing the baby." Her voice was so quiet, I almost didn't hear it.

I exhaled through my nose. "Is that what you're worried about?"

"I just don't think I could tell Charlie and then explain something like that to him if I lost it."

I smelled the salt of her tears and could feel the wetness on my chest. Selena was the only woman I couldn't bear to see cry. Any other, I didn't give a fuck.

"Selena, I promise you that nothing will happen to you or this baby. This won't be like the last time."

She didn't look up at me. "You can't be sure of that."

"Yes, I can. We're doing everything we're supposed to and you're healthy. Nothing is going to happen. Last time… that was a mess. We didn't know what to do and things weren't safe for you to have a baby. It wasn't meant to happen then."

"I just get so scared sometimes. I think that I'm going to wake up from this dream and everything's going to be gone." She was sniffling pretty badly and used the end of the sheet to dry her tears.

"I wish there was something I could say to make you stop crying."

"Just don't leave me." Selena's arms clutched to my middle.

An hour later, she was sleeping heavily. I think today had been a little too much for her. Tomorrow would be more relaxing. I would make sure of it.

I continued to hold her, but sleep evaded me. Even on vacation, I couldn't shut my mind off. I had a million things that I was either worrying about or trying to forget. My head was always a mess.

I ran my hand over Selena's stomach. She didn't stir, so I rubbed in circles.

As much as I tried to put up a front and pretend like I wanted this baby, I didn't. The truth would hurt Selena so I never said anything, but I found it extremely hard to be connected with this thing growing inside of her on a close level. Sure, I loved the baby because it made Selena ecstatic, but I didn't feel for this baby as a father should. I tried, I really tried. I read the books and memorized the latest pregnancy articles so that I knew what was going on, but I'm not sure what I was trying to accomplish. I didn't want a child. Not yet. She did, though.

I kept my mouth shut because she was happy. I guess I could learn to love the baby, but as of now, I didn't really find any joy in the fact that six months from now I would be a father. It didn't make me smile or think about the future. I couldn't see myself bouncing a girl on my knee or wiping dirt off of a little boy's face. It didn't appeal to me in the slightest. What was I going to do? Was I supposed to feel some kind of joy from this?

The hours passed in bed and I still didn't feel like sleeping.

Sometime in the early morning, Francis started to scratch on our door. I didn't want to let him in, but when he started to whine, I got up. He hurried up to the bed and just looked at me, a plea to get on. I lifted him onto the sheets and he snuggled up to Selena. She put her arm around him, and they both looked incredibly peaceful.

I stretched my muscles, feeling the slight twinge in my back that I hadn't felt in weeks. I had resumed the rigorous workout schedule that I used to have when I was younger. I started right before we left Chicago to come here. Running. Fencing. Swimming. And lots of weights. I had a wide range of activities to work each part of my body, and I needed to get back in shape. I was disappointed in myself for slipping so far.

Thinking of working out just made me feel antsy. I rotated my sore shoulder and went into the bathroom. The injury from the grocery store was just a flesh wound, and the doctor used three stitches to bind it together, but it still needed cleaning. I used rubbing alcohol and just poured it over my shoulder, letting the excess drip into the sink. It stung, but I ground my teeth together. I taped a small piece of gauze over the lesion and stared at myself in the mirror.

With all that had been going on in the past couple of months, I had totally forgotten about time. My birthday was in a mere three weeks. I would be thirty. I didn't know how I felt about that. I always thought I would have accomplished more by then.

"You're one big fuck up, Justin," I told myself.

I went back into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of disregarded boxers. I opened the door and walked into the hallway. It was eerily quiet and all the lights were off. The wait staff was probably lightly sleeping in their own rooms, waiting to jump at the sound of my voice. As it should be.

I went downstairs, into the workout room that was located on the bottom floor. I found a simple pull-up bar and gripped it tightly. The first lift hurt my shoulder greatly, but I pushed the pain out of my mind and went again.

An hour later, I had completed a grueling set. Fifty with two hands. Fifty more with my left, then my right. Fifty more with both again. My arms shook when I sat on the bench, and I wiped a thin sheen of sweat from my brow.

There was a knock on the door. I raised my head to see Selena standing there in my white button shirt and nothing else. Her hair was matted and wild. Her eyes clear. It was incredibly sexy.

"What are you doing down here?" I asked.

"Came to find you."

"I didn't feel like sleeping."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just working out my shoulder."

"The phone was ringing in our room a second ago. I didn't get it in time to answer," Selena said.

I stood up and briskly walked out of the room, taking Selena's hand on the way. Only one person had this house number, and he was instructed to only call in emergencies.

I went back into our room. I jumped over the bed and Francis towards the nightstand. My foot bounced as I held the phone up to my ear and dialed.

"Is everything alright?" Selena climbed onto the sheets. Her hands glided over my shoulders, onto my chest.

"It should be," I lied.

The phone rang and Emmett immediately picked up. "Finally, I've been calling your cellphone for ten minutes."

"I left it there and turned it off. What do you want?"

"We have to push the plans up to this week. It's the only time we can do it."

"What? Why? I'm not leaving if things aren't ready."

"We don't have a choice, Justin. They're moving the box again. I won't know where until it's too late. It's now or never. Get back here."

He hung up the phone and I dropped my head.

"What's going on? Did someone get hurt?" Selena asked worriedly.

"No." I groaned and hung up the phon., "Our plans have changed."

"Your work plans?"

I nodded. "This isn't how I wanted our vacation to go."

"It's okay." She rubbed my back. "I don't mind."

"But you should." I pulled at my hair. "I just wanted to give you a couple days off and we can't even have time for that."

Selena's lips kissed my spine. "Maybe I could stay here and when you're done, you can come back."

"I'm not leaving you here alone." I turned my head towards hers. "But maybe we can come back later. Is that something you'd like to do?"

"This is nice, but I don't really need to be on a private island to have a vacation. I'm fine with anything."

"Why are you so fucking accommodating? I want you to scream at me and call me names for ruining our honeymoon."

"You didn't. You have things that need to be taken care of. I understand. I always understand."

"I hate this," I muttered to myself, getting up from the bed.

"It's fine, Justin." She followed, taking my hand. "Don't worry about it. We're still in this amazing country and together. That's what matters the most."

"You're too fucking good to me." I kissed her strongly.

An hour later, we had packed one bag with a few things. I was planning on coming back to the island after all this shit was over, so I didn't need to bring everything. Francis was repacked into his crate, which he hated. Selena fell back asleep on the boat. I drove this time. Amun sat and watched the waters. It was early morning and pitch black at first, but as we neared Barcelona, the bright lights illuminated the sky.

I carried Selena towards the car and put her into the backseat where she could stretch out. I—once again—drove up the hills of the city. The gates of the villa creaked open, and a housekeeper was there to open the door.

"Good morning, Senor Bieber," he said. "Welcome back."

"There is nothing good about this morning," I snapped and carried Selena into the house. I placed her in our room. She sunk deep into the sheets, and Francis resumed his place at her side.

I shut the door quietly and ran into Emmett's massive chest when I turned around. "There you are." He snickered.

I pushed him roughly. "You couldn't have handled this yourself? You interrupted what might have possibly been the best vacation I've ever had. I hate you."

"Bro, you told me to contact you if anything was to come up. I did that. Don't get your thong in a bunch."

"Thongs don't bunch," I growled and pushed past him, going into the large office down the hall.

Alec and Jasper were waiting for us, looking tired.

"I don't know why we always have to work," Alec complained. "I can't even sleep anymore."

"You're young. You'll survive," I grunted.

Until the sun rose, we worked. We planned and made sure everything was in order. This was no small undertaking, but not impossible. It just took detailed preparation.

Sometime in the morning, there was a knock.

"I'm bringing in food," Selena said giddily, with a giant tray of assorted breakfast things.

Jasper hopped up to help her. "Selena, why are you carrying this?"

"It's not that heavy." She pouted when he took it away. She then looked around the room. Evidence of our work was everywhere. Coffee cups were littered on the table, papers, floor plans, and city records scattered the empty seats around us. We all looked like shit.

Alec, Jasper, and Emmett started to devour the food. I kept my head bent in work.

"You need to eat, Justin." Selena snaked her arms around my back. I quickly moved the papers in front of me so that she couldn't see.

"I'm not that hungry."

"It doesn't matter. Your body needs food."

"I'll eat later," I said dejectedly. "I promise."

She sighed. "What are you working on?"

"Nothing important," I answered, dryly smiling.

Selena wasn't easily deceived and sneakily weaved her arm around mine, sliding the papers from under it. I didn't bother hiding it anymore and just rolled my eyes, taking a long gulp of coffee.

"You're robbing a bank!" she shouted.

"Shhhhh," Emmett hushed her. "And not just a bank. It's a vault."

"A vault?" Her eyes were growing wider by the second.

"It's a vault with safety deposit boxes. Holds some very valuable items." I took the files from her. "It's nothing you need to concern yourself with."

Selena bit her lip and shuffled her feet. "Is it dangerous?"

"It's easy," I scoffed.

"We go in, get what we need, and leave," Alec assured her. "There aren't even that many guards."

"Yeah, but there security system is topnotch," Jasper groaned. "All these floor plans are great, but we're not going to be able to get in if we don't know what's around each corner."

They seemed to have forgotten that Selena was standing there.

"We're not supreme bank robbers by any means, so we have to make sure this is all going to go smoothly," Emmett said. "I don't like the odds, though. Too many things could go wrong."

"You know, I used to work at a bank when I was in high school." Selena shrugged. "I could help."

"Absolutely not." I shook my head. "Go downstairs to the pool or something. You shouldn't be in here."

"Justin, you need someone to go in there and see what the security system is like. I could pretend I needed to purchase a safety deposit box. Then they'd have to take me into the vault," she said quickly.

"No." I stood up.

"That's not a bad idea." Jasper tapped his chin.

"No!"

"It is a good thought. None of us can get anywhere near the bank until we actually rob the place. We need to know exactly where the box is so we don't waste time."

"No!"

"Justin, I can do it. It's easy. You said so yourself." Selena's hands rested on my face. "I'll just go in and pretend I'm a customer. They won't even know."

"Why can't Rosalie or Alice do it?" I challenged.

"Because I want to." Selena almost stomped her foot.

"After everything that happened at the grocery store and…"

"Amun can come with me. We'll be safe."

I had the final decision, but was ultimately out ruled when it came to a vote. I thought at least Alec would be on my side. I was wrong.

An hour later, I was sitting on a park bench across the street from the bank. I watched Selena and Amum walk in, and the waiting began. She was using her diamond ring as collateral, with some bogus story about how she needed it stored in the bank. She looked very hot in a dark blue dress and pumps that automatically made her sexier. I had to stay focused.

I leaned back, trying to look as casual as possible, but my heart was about to jump out of my chest.

Emmett and Jasper were walking Francis around the park, but always kept a close eye on the entrance. Alec was sitting on a fountain down the street, watching the police. We always had to watch the police.

It was a hot day out, but not scorching. The cars passed by without any indication that I might be up to no good. People talked on their cellphones rapidly in Spanish, but didn't even care that I was loitering. I looked like any tourist or nonthreatening man who just needed a little break. I pulled out one of Alice's guidebooks, pretending to read it.

Our plan was fairly simple, and if executed correctly, could be done without anyone being the wiser. We get in, get the box, get out, and go home.

Barcelona First National was the oldest bank in the city. It was set up before the turn of the century, before both World Wars. It was long lasting and well trusted. Diplomats kept their documents locked up. Princes kept their jewels inside plush containers. From the outside, the stone structure looked fairly normal. Nothing special. There were offices on top and the important items were in the basement. A robbery had never occurred. Or at least, never been documented.

The good thing about security systems, though, is that they're only good until someone learns how to break them. They're always breakable. Nothing is impenetrable. To top it off, Barcelona First National hadn't updated their system in a year. Next week, it would be too late. The locks and security codes would be replaced with newer models. This had to be done now. Tonight.

The phone in my pocket started to ring. I picked up.

"You're wife is so badass," Emmett chuckled.

"That's why I married her."

"Have you ever noticed that you worry too much?"

"That's not my fault. Did everyone forget that she was in a hostage situation just three days ago? She shouldn't even be on this trip."

"Selena's fine. She's not going to let anything get her down."

"I could have used a little more support when I told her no. You're supposed to have my back."

"She made valid points. We needed someone to go in there."

"Not her. I'm about to have a coronary."

"Calm down, Eddie. She'll be fine. You need to be worried about how long it's going to take before someone catches on that their box is missing."

"From what I know, he only checks it once a year."

"Right. But he's moving it soon. I don't know where. He'll figure out it's gone then or when the bank finds out first thing in the morning. And he'll be coming for you."

"I hope he does. That's the plan. If I have it, he'll be under my thumb. Not just him, but the whole family. They didn't head my warning so they'll face my wrath."

"Oh. Scary Justin is not a good side for you."

"Just keep an eye out for anything suspicious." I hung up.

Like I said, the Bieber men weren't bank robbers by any stretch of the imagination, but we were smart. This could be done, and it could be done well.

I tapped my foot and started counting each time I hit the pavement. By the time I reached one thousand, I was starting to sweat. Two thousand, my face began to twitch. Three thousand, I was about to go into the bank for another rescue attempt. I had been out here forever.

3, 134...

3, 135…

3, 136…

3, 137…

Selena stepped out of the bank and put on her sunglasses. Amun opened the backseat car door of the black Maybach for her and then scooted in himself. They took off, down the street, without once looking my way.

I casually stood up and sauntered around the corner. La Sagrada Familia was grand and intimidating from about a mile away. Throngs of people chattered in their tour groups on the way towards the famous church. I blended in with the crowds and followed the sea.

Once I reached the alley where our car was parked, I slipped out and continued at a slow pace. Alec, Jasper, and Emmett were already waiting. Francis was in the front seat, his paws on the dash, taking a guarding posture.

By the time we got home, I was more panicky than before. I raced inside to find Selena. She was sitting in the family room, drinking a tall glass of lemonade. Rose, Alice, and Jane were sitting around as well. I assumed Selena was recounting her story.

"How did it go? Did they guess anything? What did they say?" I fell to my knees in front of her. "Are you okay?"

"Justin, calm down. It was easy." Selena ran her hand through my hair. "Nothing happened."

"Tell us everything." Emmett flopped down on the opposite couch.

"Well, I just asked for someone who could help me protect something discreetly and they kind of turned their nose up at me until I told them my story."

"You used your engagement ring?" Alice asked in awe.

Selena nodded. "They could tell it was worth a lot, so they ushered me into the back and I had to sit in this room for a long time to wait. Then some guy came in and asked me all kinds of question about my ring and why I wanted to stored there."

"Were they suspicious?" Alec leaned forward.

"I don't think so. Why would they be? They didn't know me."

"You used the alias I gave you, right?" I asked.

"Yup. Countess Anne. It was really easy after that. They took me on a tour of the facilities and what I could expect." She dug through her purse and pulled out what looked like a solid gold key. "I have box 1097."

"Wow." Rose took it and inspected it with eager eyes.

"They wouldn't really let me leave unless I left my ring and I didn't want them to get doubtful." Selena looked to me, almost in sympathy. "I had to write a pretty big check for the deposit."

I had already set up a few accounts with alias for both Selena and I around the world, just in case we ever needed to hide again. It was simple to pull money from one account for something like this.

"That's alright. We'll get it back," I guaranteed her. "The bank account isn't connected to us anyway."

"What was the security like?" Jasper asked.

"Do you have those pictures you were using?"

Alec ran upstairs and came back a couple seconds later with what Selena was talking about.

"It's an old building and the government deemed it an important landmark back in the 70's, so the security can't be too lavish. No lasers, or automated voice activations. They can't put any of that in because they would have to redo the whole structure of the building." She laid the pictures out on the coffee table. "There's three floors that they put the vaults on. The security deposit boxes are on the second."

"We thought they were in the basement," I said.

"They were. Until last year. They had too many so they moved them into the larger vault." Selena pointed to a picture. "It's really big and they organize them by the year starting with 1921."

"How do we get in?" Jasper asked.

"There's a system of keypad locks that change every morning at seven so if you go in tonight, you should be able to use the ones that I got." Selena pulled out a piece of paper from her bag. "It's only the codes to the first two, but it should help, right?"

We all looked at the paper as if it were some rare artifact, not knowing what to say.

"What? Did I do something wrong?"

"No. How did you get those?" Alec sputtered.

"I just watched when the man put in the codes. I think he was more interested in my boobs than anything else." She shrugged.

That snapped me out of it. "What's his name?"

"No. You're not going to kill him." Jane rolled her eyes. "Go on, Selena."

"So there's five key pads, but this is only for a last resort. I think it would be easier to go from above."

"What do you mean?"

"This takes too long." Selena shook her head. "There's an alarm that trips if you go in and you're not out within five minutes. Plus, how are you planning on getting into the bank in the first place?"

"We were going to just bust a window." Jasper raised his eyebrows.

"Men are so crude," Alice tsked. "Why don't you just use the air conditioning ducts like they do in movies?"

"I was going to suggest something like that." Selena smiled. "The offices upstairs are for accountants and secretaries. They have a mail chute that goes through all three floors. Alec is probably the only one who could fit in there, but it's big enough for really large boxes."

We all looked to him.

"I'm not crawling into some stupid mail chute." He crossed his arms. "I'm not that small."

"You just have to fit your shoulders through and then suck in." Emmett patted his shoulder. "You can do it."

"I refuse."

"You'll do what I tell you to do," I shot at him.

He shut up.

Selena traced her finger over a floor plan. "It goes right down, past the vault, but at least you'll be on the second floor. That's all I can help you with."

"Where's the box specifically?" I asked.

"Box 404 is up front. I don't think you can break into that one by itself and take the contents. You might have to take the whole box out and just bring it with you. They looked really sturdy."

"We can do that." I licked my lips in anticipation for the hunt.

"There are guards everywhere at night. That's what the man told me, but you can easily just get rid of them. And video cameras. Lots of cameras. They're everywhere."

"We planned for that much at least."

"That's all I got." Selena put her hands in her lap.

"Your first time out. Good stuff, kid." Emmett left the room and petted her on the head like a dog. She pushed him away.

After everyone went off to do their own thing, it was just Selena and me.

"Did I do well?" she asked.

"You did amazingly. I'm very impressed." I kissed her softly. "But you're not doing that ever again."

The rest of the day went with us planning. Alec, Jasper, Emmett, and I stayed holed up in the upstairs office. We only left to use the restroom. I didn't eat anything, but food was provided almost every hour. I didn't know what Selena was doing, but I told her to sleep. She needed to rest.

The bank closed at five. We were leaving here and ten. It should be quiet enough by then to get our job done. Alec was the one who had to do all the hard work. He had to shimmy down the chute and get into the vault. Then he had to retrieve what we needed and get the hell out. I hoped he was strong enough to climb back up because there wasn't any way for us to help him. He was nervous.

Jasper, Emmett, and I had to deal with guards and security cameras. It was a hefty undertaking.

Selena forced us to stop during dinner. She pulled us all out of the room and shouted at Alec for putting up an argument. She later blamed the outburst on hormones. The cooks made us hamburgers and thick cut French fries. Just like I liked 'em. We were able to relax slightly.

All too soon, it was time for us to leave. Selena became increasingly clingy. She didn't want to let go of my hand and after our hug and kiss goodbye, she started crying profusely. Once again, hormones were blamed.

"Selena, I'll be back. I promise," I chuckled.

"No, you can't go. I won't let you." She cried into my shirt, staining the black fabric. "It's too dangerous."

"It's just a bank, Selena."

"You could get caught."

"Come on. This is getting ridiculous." Rose started to pull her off of me. "Get some sense about you, woman."

"Okay," Selena conceded. "Come back to me, Justin."

"Always with the dramatics?"

"They aren't dramatics when you're pregnant," Alice informed me. "Have fun!"

I got into the car, and Emmett roared out of the driveway.

Once we got to the bank, we sat at just surveyed the area. Very few cars passed since the business district of the city had long been closed.

"I don't think I can do this." Alec began to breathe heavily. "I'm not ready."

"Justin once broke into the records building in our high school and changed our grades. He had to climb up five stories and then jumped from a tree to the roof. This is a cinch." Emmett laughed.

"No, I can't." He hyperventilated.

I pinched the bridge of my nose in annoyance. "Let's get serious about this, you guys. No screw ups."

"There's like a five prevent chance that we'll get out of this without being caught."

Alec began to look sick.

"Alec, if you throw up in this car, I'll slit your throat." I glared at him. "And Jasper, stop scaring the boy. We're doing this. Everyone, out of the car!"

They did as I said, and we were standing in the street, down a dark alley.

"You good?" I asked Alec who was bent over, hands on his knees.

He nodded. "Just give me a sec."

"All you have to do is break into the offices and climb over to the bank. You can get in from upstairs and then go down the chute. Simple."

"Well, once you're on the second floor, the real fun begins," Emmett teased him. "Don't screw up." He left to deal with guards.

"Don't listen to him." I hunched down close to Alec. "You can do this."

"Yeah… If I don't make it… tell Jane I love her."

I rolled my eyes. "You've been hanging out with Selena too much. The drama is not necessary."

He grinned. "I expect a big birthday gift."

"Just go."I pushed him down the alley, and he escaped into a dark corner.

Jasper and I kept to the shadows and slunk along the far walls of the bank. Emmett had his chloroform cloth to disable the guards. He could be stealthy when he wanted to be. They should have all fallen by now, making my job a hell of a lot easier.

Once we were on the opposite street, we remerged as regular people who were just out for a night time stroll. There was a club on the corner that was bumping loud music and seemed to be the hotspot. A lot of people were outside, smoking. Jasper and I blended well.

We found the sewer grate in a deserted part of the street.

"I can't believe we're doing this." Jasper helped me lift the heavy iron covering off. We rolled it to the side.

I placed myself in the hole and started to descend on the ladder. Jasper pointed a flashlight down to guide me.

"Hurry up, Justin."

"Leave me alone. I haven't done this is a long time." I dropped down, my feet making splashy noise as I landed in dirty water. I almost threw up right there. The smell was horrible. I breathed through my mouth.

Jasper followed and landed next to me.

"This is so gross." I tried not to look down. "I'm going to be scrubbing myself for the next year."

"You can have Selena in the shower with you. She'll make you forget all about it." He chuckled.

"Shut up."

"You two were so loud the other night. I thought the house was going to fall down."

"You were all the way down the hall."

"Exactly."

I smirked to myself in the dark.

We waded through the water, which only came up to our ankles, but it was still disgusting. Good thing I wore shitty shoes.

"There it is." Jasper pointed his flashlight.

"Hold it still." I dug into my belt and pulled out the large garden sheers. I easily cut through the pedestrian lock on the box and it swung open. "People are so stupid. Why wouldn't they get a better lock for this thing?"

"Because no one thinks anyone is going to wade through sewers to cut the electricity off for the entire street."

"There's a first time for everything." I clipped the head set onto my ear. "Are you ready?"

"Yes. Go. Do it now," Alec replied.

I pulled out the wires and plugs from the box. There were sparks and small noises of protest as everything came lose.

I could immediately tell that I had accomplished my goal. The loud thumping music from the club cut off and the street lights were suddenly gone.

"You have maybe five minutes," I told Alec. "Hurry up. We'll be at the car."

"Got it."

"Question. If we cut off the electricity, then why can't he just break in? The alarms won't go off."

"They have their own generator," I said. "But that's just for the alarm, not the cameras or lights."

"Damn them. Always trying to make our lives difficult."

We started to climb back up and I peeked out of the hole to see what was going on. It was pure chaos on the street. Without lights, people didn't seem to know what to do. I quickly hopped out. Jasper was after me within seconds. We rolled the covering back on and went into the alley.

We stripped out of our dirty, soiled clothes. Even our boxers. We put them into a trash bag and then redressed in spare jeans and shirts that we'd brought.

"Now we just have to wait." I leaned against the car.

Emmett came around the corner a second later. "The kid is going to get us thrown in jail."

"Shut the fuck up!" Alec growled in our ears. "I'm at the vault. I'm in."

"Did you put in the codes Selena gave us?"

"Yeah. They were the same ones. I don't need the others. The box is up front. Number 404, right?"

"Yes, and 1097. Don't you forget Selena's ring or you might as well not come back. I mean it," I said harshly.

"Okay, okay."

He knew what to do and how to use the tools we gave him.

We paced around the car. I checked my watch every five seconds. The minutes were dwindling, but I had faith in him. He could do this.

"Get in the car!" Alec screamed. "I'm almost out!"

I took the front seat and turned on the ignition, ready to leave at a moment's notice.

There was a lot of commotion from an alarm that was blaring loudly from the bank.

"Damn it," Jasper snarled. "He set something off."

Alec rounded the corner, carrying five cumbersome boxes in his arms. He looked flushed and disoriented. He threw himself into the car, and I took off before he closed the door. I peeled onto the street, which was still dark, but we passed a utilities truck that was on its way to fix the electricity problem, no doubt.

"Sweet!" Emmett raised his hands above his head. "We did it."

I didn't know how the police system worked here, but I was surprised to see no cars on their way to check out the alarm.

Alec was huffing in the backseat. "I'm never doing that again."

"How did you do?" Jasper asked.

"I got stuck… twice. My ass is too big."

We laughed at that and kept driving. I took several back roads and weaved through the city, just in case we were being followed. I found an empty parking lot for what looked like a grocery store and pulled over.

Alec nearly fell out of the car and proceeded to throw up on the street. He was sputtering and coughing up God knew what. His nerves had finally gotten the best of him. When he was done, he leaned on the back wheel. Emmett handed him a beer.

"Okay, let's get these bitches open." Jasper clapped his hands together and placed the boxes onto the trunk.

I used the garden sheers again and popped the locks. I had to use a crowbar to pry the first one open. It held Selena's ring. I placed it in my pocket.

"Why did you get all these?" Emmett asked Alec, who was drinking.

"I just pulled random ones. They'll have to track down each owner and tell them. It's less suspicious that way. They won't know we were targeting a certain box."

"Smart…" I muttered and popped opened the rest of the boxes. I think there were jewels and some precious pictures of someone who would never see those items again. I was more interested in the third box.

"Giuseppe Mangicavallo put this in storage in 1962. He's moved it from Paris to Geneva to Rome to London and finally here. Now it's mine." I was almost giddy as I opened the box.

We all looked inside and started to pull things out. It was fuller than the others. I found some stocks and bonds that looked like they were purchased in 1924 from a communications company. They were probably worth millions now. I would burn them later. There was an expensive looking necklace that held a large teardrop diamond and several other luxurious items.

"Aha." I dug deeper and pulled out a series of papers, which looked liked a series of documents that pertained to a pipeline that was built through the Congo in 1960.

That year was big for oil in Africa. Everyone thought that there were reserves in the southern part of the continent. Unfortunately, the data was wrong and there wasn't ever any oil there to begin with, but that didn't stop people from trying to get it. Large corporations spent millions to build plants and refineries.

Villages were destroyed because of greedy fuckers, who thought they had the right to roll people over for resources. Not only that, but whole ecosystems were changed because of their digging. Giuseppe Mangicavallo was one of those greedy fuckers. He and his partners killed families and left children orphaned just for oil that he never found. I put the estimated total at somewhere around a thousand people. All of this was of course, covered up… until now.

He had hidden away his records and all the things pertaining to his mistreatment. Rightfully so. It was almost laughable because he and his family were now all about stopping genocide in Africa. They donated money, made trips, spoke at lavish dinners to gain contributions. It was all a front. They knew it. I knew it. They could care less about Africa. It was all for the public perception.

The youngest son was running for office this year for a seat in the state Senate. If he wanted to win and me to shut up, they would have to answer to me. We came all the way across an ocean for a few documents, but it was worth it.

"Does that prove anything?" Jasper asked me.

I nodded. It was more than enough to have Mangicavallo bending to my will. I was once again, the King of Chicago.

SELENA POV

"There is no easy walk to freedom anywhere, and many of us will have to pass through the valley of the shadow of death, again and again, before we reach the mountain top of our desires."-Nelson Mandela

All things Twilight related belong to Stephanie Meyer

I started to separate the whites and colors monotonously in our laundry room. It felt good to be home, but the chores were hell. Colors into one pile, whites into the machine. Boring.

We had returned from Spain three days ago, and after resting up, it was now time to get back to life. Two weeks away was beautiful, though. After the robbery, things just went smoothly. We didn't have to worry about crimes or business and focused on losing ourselves in Spanish splendor.

The security people from the bank called and informed me of my "missing ring". It wasn't that hard to cry because of my hormones, so I put on a show over the phone. I threatened to sue, and even got Justin to yell at them for a couple of minutes. Then we put the entire incident out of our minds. I didn't know what was in the safety deposit box that he stole, and I didn't ask. When it came to this, the less I knew the better.

After a couple days of rest, I was back to being normal Selena. The one who did chores and went to work. I did have to sleep for a full twenty-four hours, though. I think it was that long. I wasn't really sure between the jetlag and my exhaustion. Justin, unfortunately, didn't get a chance to sleep. He went right back to work and already looked worn out. It was as if our vacation hadn't happened at all.

I high hiss sounded from behind me, and I turned around quickly.

"Holy shit!" I screeched. "Alec!"

Valentino was slithering along on the floor. He was unthreatening, and most of the time I forgot about him, but he still snuck up on me. Alec said he had missed us while we were away. He slunk over to me and rubbed his head on my leg.

"Oh, sorry, Selena." Alec came in and lifted him up. "I'm cleaning out his cage. I forgot he was in here."

"You can't do that." I stomped my foot. "When the baby gets here, that thing can't come inside. I mean it."

"I know; I'll be more careful." He wrapped Valentino around his neck and arms, carrying him out.

Ten minutes later, Alec was back.

"Selena, I can't find my gray sweatshirt." He came into the laundry room with no shirt. "You know the one I'm talking about?"

"The one with the blue stripes or the white?"

"The white. Where is it?" He went through the clothesbaskets. "I know I left it here somewhere."

"I don't know. I haven't washed it yet, but if you cleaned your room once every month, you might be able to find something."

"Jane loves that thing," he thought out loud. "I wanted to wear it for our lunch date today."

Odds were: she had it, but I didn't tell him that.

"It'll turn up," I told him. "Here, wear this." I handed him something else.

"Alright, fine." He pulled it over his head.

"Are you ready for summer classes?" I asked.

"No, but I'll go because you're making me."

"You have to catch up. You're already behind from missing a full semester."

The regular school calendar had ended, but Alec needed to still be in school. Justin and I were forcing him to take a few classes over the summer. He didn't like that very much. It wasn't like he had a choice in the matter.

"I hate school." He crossed his arms, leaning against the dryer.

"School is good for you."

"I still hate it." Alec checked his watch. "Shit, I gotta go."

"Have fun."

He kissed my cheek and then bounded out of the door. "Bye, Selena."

"Bye."

I continued to sort clothes.

Whites…

Colors…

Whites…

Colors…

Finally, I was done after another half an hour of meticulously going through everything. We had packed a lot for Spain and brought back even more. Surprisingly, they had good maternity clothes over there. I took full advantage of that and bought two suitcases full of stuff.

I was growing bigger every day. My stomach kept protruding out, but I could usually hide it if I wanted. Soon, I knew that wouldn't be the case. My boobs were like cantaloupes and usually felt sore for most of the day, but the pain was beginning to fade. I figured everything was supposed to hurt at this point.

I had my twelve week check up in a couple of days, so I would be able to see how I was progressing. That excited me. This was really going to happen. My baby would be here in a couple months' time, and I couldn't stop smiling about it. Rose said it was a glow. I never understood it until now.

Could this really be possible? I never thought I could be happy like this. I had an amazing husband, a nice job, a good family, and a baby on the way. Of course, we had problems—more so than normal people—but they were just small obstacles. I didn't know what I was expecting, but when I left Forks five years ago, I didn't really think I would end up here. It wasn't a possibility.

I exhaled in happiness and turned on the washer. I watched the clothes tangle together for a minute before adding detergent. I shook the empty bottle when I was done.

"I think I'm going to have to get some of this," I said to myself.

Since we needed more detergent, I figured it was time for a full restocking.

Justin had a very specific list of things that he used for bathroom essentials; from soap to conditioner to body wash. I didn't mind using whatever, but he usually forbade anything with preservatives or artificial coloring from even being in the house.

All our things were hypoallergenic, extra soothing, deep cleansing, super moisturizing, and extremely vitamin enriched. His razors had to be vacuum-sealed and untouched. Detergent had to be made with natural ingredients and couldn't smell of anything. Cleanliness was the key, not scent. He would throw a fit if his toothbrushes weren't packed with care, and God help everyone if his shampoo wasn't perfect. The shampoo had to be right.

He didn't trust stores to carry most of the stuff he needed, so we ordered everything straight from the supplier.

It was kind of strange at first to call the headquarters of Dove or Gillette and ask for certain products, but they assured me it was okay. Now, it was like second nature to me. Every month or so, I would call with a long list of things with specific instructions, and the next day, a large box would arrive on our doorstep. Justin would unpack it and stack the things neatly in the bathroom, always with a happy smile.

We had a standing order, so it didn't take long for me to make the call, and I was assured that I would have my package tomorrow, rain or shine.

It was only ten in the morning, and I felt accomplished already. I didn't have work tonight, so I could stay in and cook instead of going out for dinner. I enjoyed days like this, when I had some time to myself to do what I wanted. It might seem strange, but I took pride cooking and organizing my rather large home. It made me feel useful. It wasn't like I could spend millions of dollars importing and exporting illegal things out of the county like Justin did. That was his high; this was mine.

I sat at the table and thought about what to do next. My answer nudged me under the table, and I felt a wet tongue lick my shin.

"Ew, gross. Francis, stop that." I bent down and lifted him up, setting him on my lap. He was getting pretty big, evident from the meals he engulfed every day.

I loved Francis so much it was ridiculous. I don't know how I became so attached to an animal, but I couldn't help it. I never had pets growing up, so maybe I was making up for that now. He was my companion. Maybe it would be the same thing with the baby?

"Do you want to go for a walk?" I asked, rubbing him behind the ears. His tongue lolled to the side. "It's a nice day out."

Half an hour later, Francis was collared, and I was in more suitable clothes for working out. The mid-May air was only slightly hot as Francis and I trotted down the street at a leisurely place. The doctor said I should exercise normally throughout the pregnancy, so this usually sufficed. I would walk Francis to the park all the way at the end of our subdivision, and then back again. All in all, it was about a mile and a half.

I took a deep breath and loved the feel of fresh air in my lungs. I didn't feel stifled at all, even though Amun was literally five feet behind me. He always was.

The house across the street from ours "mysteriously" went up for sale before we left for Spain. When we returned, the family had moved out. The next day, Amun and his security crew moved in. Justin didn't have an answer when I questioned him. More suspicious things seemed to happen as well around the house.

I could have sworn that I walked up to the front door after getting the mail one day and saw a video camera. It was gone when I looked that night.

Amun and I had an understanding. He left me alone, and I wouldn't kill him. He could be as close as he wanted. He just couldn't talk or be aggressively imposing. Most of the time, just like Valentino, I forgot he was there.

Francis jumped around the park for a couple of minutes when we reached it. I sat down on the grass and sipped from my water bottle. It was peaceful, and since the kids were out of school, they ran around the playground with carefree attitudes. They loved Francis and thought he was the coolest thing ever. He enjoyed the attention and didn't snap or frighten them. He was a good dog.

One of the mothers, Julia, came over to talk to me. "Hi, Selena."

"Hi, nice to see you again."

"You, too." She sat back down.

Julia was a nice lady, about my age, maybe older. Her husband was a pilot and spent a lot of time flying, but they had a little girl who was really cute. I liked talking to her because she didn't seem scared of me like most people in the neighborhood were. It was all because of Justin, of course.

"How are you doing today?" she asked, pointing to my stomach.

"Good. No more morning sickness, I don't think. At least, it hasn't happened in a couple of days."

"Oh, that's the worst." She scrunched her face up. "I couldn't stand morning sickness."

"It gets pretty bad and freaks Justin out."

"You two haven't made an announcement yet?"

"No, we're waiting until I tell my dad. He would die if he saw it on the national news or something."

I never realized my pregnancy would be so much of a hot topic, but it certainly was in Chicago. The photographers and press wanted a conformation. Obviously, anyone could see that I was pregnant, but Justin and I hadn't confirmed anything yet. We would have to soon. Even national gossip sites had articles about me sometimes. I found it absurd, but Justin told me it was to be expected.

As Alice had said, I was the first to get pregnant from the younger generation of Cullens. That was a big deal.

"You're looking really healthy," Julia commented.

"Thanks." I patted my stomach. "He eats so much."

"That's pretty normal. I gained forty pounds."

"Oh," My eyes grew, "I don't think I can gain that much. I would feel so…"

"Uncomfortable? Yeah, it's a curse." She giggled.

A couple of minutes later, I called Francis over and put the leash on him. It was time to go home. The kids didn't like that very much, but I needed a nap. I assured them that he would be back tomorrow.

When we reached our street, I saw a large truck backing into Victor and Victoria's driveway. It looked extremely suspicious, and my mind told me that something was up. I rarely saw either of them home. I'm not sure what they did, but I didn't like them one bit.

Victoria was coming out to get her morning paper when I passed. "Hello, Selena." She smiled. Justin had told me about her advances on him. He found them annoying. I wanted to kill her.

"Hi." I waved.

Amun made his presence known. Victoria eyed him awkwardly.

"So, I haven't seen you around," I said.

"I know. We've been really busy." She sighed. "Victor is in and out of the Middle East almost every week and I have to jet off to New York all the time. It's a hassle, but we make it work."

"What does he do again?"

"He's… a reporter." Her pause only furthered my mistrust.

I had a strong feeling that he was a weapons dealer. No, I knew he was. No one else believed me. Justin said he was clean, and Alec told me that they would know if he was up to something by now. But I know what I saw.

One night, something woke me up. I looked out of the window to see what it was and saw men unloading guns in his backyard. Justin was working that night, so I couldn't tell him until the morning, when all the evidence was gone.

"How is Justin?" she asked, batting her lashes.

"He's fine," I snapped.

"It's been so long since we've seen you and Justin together. Since… Carry and Barry's party, I believe it was."

"Yeah, probably."

"They're moving, by the way."

"Really?" That was news to me.

"Yes. He's being transferred to New York. We're having a going away party for them in a couple of weeks. I'll send you an invite."

"Sure." I wasn't sure Justin would like that, but we could show up for a couple of minutes and make nice.

"I think it's time to go, Mrs. Bieber," Amun whispered.

"And who might you be?" Victoria held out her hand for him to shake. He didn't.

"I'm a family friend. We just moved in across the street."

"I've known Amun since high school." I patted his extremely large shoulder. He was so tall I almost had to stand on my tiptoes.

"That's nice." She wasn't buying any of it, but I wasn't falling for her weak lies either.

The truck I had seen earlier opened and men started to carrying in large, pinewood boxes. They were foreign with dark skin and black hair. They almost looked like Amun. Just lankier. There were about five of them.

"Are you moving?" I asked, peeking around her to get a better look.

"No, just new furniture." She smiled falsely.

"From Pakistan?"

"What now?"

"From Pakistan, your furniture." I pointed to a box. "The stamp says 'Pakistan' on it."

"It's a rug." Victoria nodded.

Do you think I'm stupid?

We stared each other down for a second before Victor sauntered over, dressed in a nicely pressed suit. His low ponytail was the most disgusting thing about him, but I also hated his eyes. They were kind, but deceiving.

"Selena, so nice to see you again." He looked too happy to be talking to me.

"You too." I purposefully put my hand out. It might have been overly formal, but I needed a handshake. He gave me one.

His palms were rough, but still soft at the same time. I felt the callous on his skin that came from years of handling guns. There was a small burn on the underside of his hand that I could feel with my pinkie, and when I slid mine out of his, I brushed against more burns on his fingers. His hands were almost identical to Justin's. I should know since they had been up and down my body countless times in the past couple of years.

Reporter, my ass!

Victor didn't ask about Amun, so we made small talk about the weather and the baby. They didn't seem interested at all. I watched out of the corner of my eye as the men kept unloading boxes from the truck. If they really were weapons dealers then they were stupid to be doing things in the daylight, although, I wasn't really sure it mattered. No one around here would notice anything suspicious. Victoria's "new furniture" lie would have sufficed.

I left them both after our cordial goodbyes. Amun made sure I was settled inside the house before he went back across the street. He told me to just leave the neighbors alone and let them keep their secrets.

"It's not your job to prove their doing anything illegal," he said. "Let Mr. Bieber handle that."

Once he was gone, I defied him completely.

"How am I supposed to raise children if we're living next door to arms dealers?" I muttered to myself, grabbing Justin's binoculars off of the top shelf in his closet. I brought a chair over to the far window on the other side of our bedroom and plopped down.

I could see right into their backyard and a good portion of their house through the large windows. The curtains were open, and I spotted Victoria's red hair as she walked up the stairs.

This is how my obsession began.

I sat in front of that window all day. I didn't even leave to use the bathroom until the absolute last second. I didn't want to miss anything. Like I thought, I saw guns in the upstairs office cabinet when Victor went in to get a glass of wine. I counted six, maybe seven, and they were all military grade. No reporter I knew needed something like that. I brought out Justin's camera and took pictures. I wasn't crazy, and I was going to prove it.

I popped popcorn ate it because of my intense craving for something salty. I watched them like they were on display. I didn't really know what time it was, but smelled Justin's cologne as he entered our room at the end of the day, maybe sometime around five.

"What are you doing?" Justin came over and kissed my shoulder. "Spying on our neighbors, love?"

"Justin, I swear to God, those two aren't right." I was sure I looked insane with the camera on the tripod and a bowl of popcorn in my lap.

"Selena, leave them alone. So what if they're weapons dealers?" He began getting undressed after a long day at work.

"So what?" I followed him to the closet. "I don't like it. They're sneaky people and you need to talk to them."

"I'm not talking to them. They could be saying the same thing about us." He smirked.

"But they're bad people, Justin."

"Oh, Selena. You're so cute in your innocence." He kissed me.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone has their secrets." He went into the bathroom. I followed hot on his heels. "The McKluskies down the street are selling meth from their basement, and Mr. Ropert is having sex with his fourteen year old lawn boy. It's possibly not concessional. I'm not sure yet."

"What? How are you so calm about this?"

"Because I don't judge. That's probably the only nice thing I do for this world. I'm the worst there is, and people give me a chance."

"But you do judge… everyone. All the time."

"You know what I mean. If people don't want me to know something, I either dig for answers or let it go. Victor and Victoria don't interest me."

"Bullshit! If they're arms dealers then they're taking business from you. It could be millions, Justin."

I knew that would get him. He stopped from leaving the room and spun around, taking the binoculars from me. He rushed to the window.

"I have pictures," I said and hung over his shoulder to see out of the window. "They got a shipment of something in from Pakistan this morning. I saw it while I was walking."

"Selena, you can't get involved in this," Justin scolded. "If something is going on, Alec and I will handle it."

"But I want to help. I'm the one who figured it out."

"It's too dangerous. Just let me talk to them. Maybe we can invite ourselves over for a dinner or something."

I remembered what Victoria told me on my walk. "They're having a party for Carry and Barry in a couple of weeks."

Justin groaned, "Do we have to go to that?"

"Yes."

"Where the hell are they?" His head wiped around, the binoculars still attached to his face, trying to find them in the house.

"They've been home all day."

"Oh," Justin exhaled.

"What? What's happening?" I took the binoculars from him.

I found Victor and Victoria in the upstairs bathroom. It looked like they were shouting, but the window was closed, so I couldn't hear. They were both red in the face, their arms flailing around.

I gasped when Victor slapped Victoria across the face. She stumbled backwards, and then regained herself, slapping him back… harder. He slapped her again. By this time, Justin had pulled out his own binoculars and sat a chair next to mine.

"What are they doing?" I asked in shock.

"Fighting, obviously." He exclaimed when Victor shoved Victoria into a wall. "Get her!"

"Should we report them? He might be hurting her."

"No, leave them alone. I don't think this is a real fight."

"What do you mean?"

"This is a fight… of passion. I can tell."

Justin was right. Once Victor and Victoria were tired of slapping each other, they collided in a fiery kiss. Clothes started coming off after a couple of seconds, and he lifted her up onto the sink. Justin and I had to lean forward so we could see. This was probably illegal, but it was just too good to look away.

"This feels wrong," I said, watching them more closely.

"I know. Like a car crash."

Victor was now completely naked, and I almost covered my eyes when he dropped his boxers, but didn't. He was hung… very nicely. It seemed like no one could rival Justin, though. Victor had a lot of girth, but he wasn't the longest I had seen. He was already erect, and curved to the right at an angle that looked painful.

"Hmmmm. I never figured," Justin said to himself.

"What is going on?"

Victoria removed her clothes as well, making me feel slightly inadequate. Her body was tight in all the right places. Not overly muscular, but long and lean. Her breasts were perky.

"Fake," Justin commented.

"How can you tell?"

"It's a gift." He shrugged. "They're the exact same size. Women always have one breast bigger than the other. Plus, you can see the scar tissue in her cleavage."

I inspected my chest.

"Your right one is bigger." He said without looking. "Your boobs are very nice with the pregnancy. I like them."

I didn't know if he was right about Victoria's supposedly fake breasts or if he was just trying to make me feel better, but I smiled a little.

What was surprising was the humongous bush growing in between her legs. It was just a red jungle down there. Victor seemed to like it, though. He placed her on the counter and lowered his head, licking with his tongue.

"He's doing it all wrong." Justin sighed. "God, man. Save some of your dignity. This is embarrassing."

"I can't believe we're watching this." I was somewhat giddy.

"It's live porn." He laughed. "Is this what you've been taking pictures of all day? You naughty girl, you."

"No, I promise. They weren't fucking when I was watching."

Victor had stopped with foreplay and moved Victoria to the tub. He bent her over the side and entered her roughly. She yelled out in pleasure and arched her back like a cat in heat. This gave us a perfect view of… everything. They were quick with their movements.

He wrapped her long red hair around his hand and pulled her head back so that she was arched even more. She was screaming. That much I could tell.

"I don't think we should watch anymore."

"We have to see them finish. I want to see her cum face. I bet it's hilariously disgusting."

You could tell when she was done because her whole face went lopsided. It was like she was having a stroke and started to shake uncontrollably. Her lips tilted to the side, and her eyes fluttered as if she was having a seizure. It was very unattractive.

"I hope I don't look like that," I said.

"Trust me, you have a beautiful cum face." Justin's lips kissed my neck. "Beautiful, indeed."

"Okay, we have to stop." I pulled the binoculars from my face and pushed away from the window. "We're going to confessional on Sunday."

"Uh-huh. Whatever you say." Justin had yet to move.

I had to drag him to dinner. We ended up ordering pizza since I slacked all day.

"So, Selena, when do you go to Forks?" Alec asked me at the table. Jane was joining us today, and I was surprised he even noticed me with her in the room.

"Um, at the end of the week." I swallowed a large bite I didn't mean to take. "It's just for two days."

Justin grunted his disapproval. He didn't like the fact that I was going without him, but I begged him to stay at home. Amun and two other security people were coming with me, so I would be safe.

"Are you excited to see your father?" Jane asked.

"Yes, but a little nervous. I have to tell him about the baby."

"He'll be happy. This is his first grandchild. His only biological one ever," Justin said.

"True."

"I just don't think we connect like we used to." I sighed. "He's disappointed me for so many reasons."

The conversation was bringing the table down, so we changed topics.

The rest of the week passed incredibly quickly.

I was getting more and more nervous about my impending trip to Forks, but didn't think about it much. I just needed to make sure Charlie was okay. I had purchased his house on the lake and planned on giving it to him when I got there. He would protest, but he would take it in the end. I would make sure of that.

Justin and I kept a close eye on our neighbors. I think we were hoping they would have sex again, but they didn't. Victor left the next day for a trip somewhere. I went over with a piece of their mail, which I had received the week before, but "forgot" about. When I invited them to dinner, she said that he was in Turkey and she was leaving for Texas soon. I didn't know how they had any sort of relationship with the amount of traveling they did.

The days went as usual. We readjusted ourselves back to normal after vacation, and I went back to work. Nothing exciting happened, but I did realize that Justin started working more at nights. He would come home with blood on his clothes, but I never asked why.

By the time Friday got here, I was more than ready to go. Justin was breathing down my neck about safety and about to have an aneurysm. Every morning, we had a fight about whether he should come with me or not. It took both Alec and me usually an hour to calm him down enough so he could go to work.

Thankfully, he wouldn't be sitting at home worrying all weekend. He had a big presentation to give to the board of city directors or something like that. I wasn't quite sure, but Jane said it was important. He would be spending most of his time on that when I was gone. She promised to keep him busy.

Bright and early Friday morning, I woke up and hopped in the shower. I found myself in an excited mood to see Charlie again. When I called and told him I was coming for a visit, he seemed excited; even more so when I said Justin wasn't going to accompany me. I thought I heard him scream for joy right before I hung the phone up.

"I want you to call me every couple of hours," Justin said as we sat down for breakfast. I would be leaving for the airport right around the same time as him.

"I know."

"And don't leave Amun's side the entire time."

"I know."

"God, this is so stressful. Maybe I should go with you." He sighed. "I think that's best."

"Justin, that's ridiculous," I almost screamed. "Let me go visit Charlie alone."

"I know, I'm being overprotective again, but I worry so much."

"Yes, you do, and you're going to end up killing yourself over me." I put my hand over his on the table. "Please, just stay calm. I'll call and everything will be fine. What do you think might happen?"

"I'm not exactly sure. I really do try to let you live a life, but I create things in my mind. You know me." He shrugged.

When it came time to leave, I was the one who had an emotional breakdown. I didn't know what had come over me, but I turned into a sniffling, crying mess. Justin and I rarely spent time apart, never more than a day that I can remember in the past couple of years. Now, I would be away from him for a whole weekend. I was trying not to be clingy, but what if he was right? What if something bad happened? I wouldn't know what to do.

"Selena, I have to go." Justin chuckled, trying to pry me off of him at the front door. "The car will be here to pick you up in five minutes, but I have a meeting that I'm already late for."

"Come with me," I begged.

"This is just outrageous." Alec stood to the side, shaking his head.

"I thought we went through this. You wanted to go alone and talk to your father." Justin held me at arm's length. "You'll be fine and be right back home in two days."

I nodded. "This baby is messing with my mind, Justin. I don't know how to act anymore."

"I know." He kissed my forehead. My lips were already chapped from our intense goodbye kisses, and if we started again, we might not stop. "I'll see you on Sunday, okay?"

"Okay. Bye" I kept my hands to myself as he started walking into the garage. He waved to me once more before speeding out of the driveway.

"You are an absolute mess," Alec said. "These mood swings are going to be the death of us."

"I can't control myself." I wanted to shout. "I hate this."

"Maybe it'll pass," he replied hopefully.

"I don't think so."

"God, help me." He threw his hands up in the air and went back inside.

I sat, Francis in my lap, until William knocked on the door. Amun put my single bag into the trunk of the black town car, and then waited for me to get in. I was still crying even when hugging Alec goodbye.

"I left some dishes in the freezer for you and Justin." I told him. "They have instructions so make sure you read them."

"I will, Selena."

"And stop feeding Francis chicken. He's getting fat and it's not healthy." I sniffled.

"I will, Selena."

"Keep Valentino outside and clean up your bathroom. It'd better be done by the time I get back."

"I will, Selena."

"I think I'm forgetting something."

He hugged me tightly. "Just get out of here. Have fun and tell Charlie I said 'hi'."

"Okay." I nodded.

Amun helped me into the car and then sat up front. Alec held Francis and they both waved to me goodbye.

"What is wrong with me?" I blew my nose.

"I believe they're called hormones, ma'am," William said from up front.

"If only I could wake up in seven months and have the baby then."

"You would miss the experience." He smiled in the rearview mirror.

"I guess you're right."

Forty-five minutes later, we had arrived at the private airfield outside of Chicago. I was taking the jet, since Justin thought it would be faster, and I wouldn't have to deal with an actual airport.

I was dressed in dark jeans and a simple blouse with black boots that had a heel on them. It was raining a little, so I put on my favorite navy jacket.

"There are reporters outside of the gate, Mrs. Bieber. Photographers, as well. Is that okay?"

"There's not much we can do about it, can we?"

"No, ma'am. Sorry." He got out of the car.

Before I could reach the handle of the door, Amun was there to open it for me. He stayed close as we walked towards the whirling plane. I saw the photographers who were shouting, trying to get my attention. I just kept my head down. I knew what the headlines would read in the morning: Selena Bieber takes off for Unknown Destination or They Cullens fly separately to Avoid Being Seen Together. All the gossip sites loved us.

I was situated in my seat a couple of minutes later and sank into the soft leather.

"Would you like something to drink?" Amun asked me.

"Just water, please."

He left to retrieve it and came back a second later. "I'll be up front if you need anything."

"Thanks."

I pulled out my phone and decided to call Charlie. He had taken the day off so that he could spend time with me when I got in. He picked up on the first ring.

"Hey, kid. Where are you?"

"I just boarded the plane. We won't be leaving for another ten minutes, but I thought I'd call to let you know I'm on the way."

"We're all so excited to have you home. It's been too long."

"I know, Dad. I can't want to get there. How's Anna?"

"She's crazily trying to clean up. She gets so nervous when we have company. You're staying here, right?"

"No, I thought I'd stay at The Lodge," I said. That was the only hotel we had in Forks and he didn't have enough room.

"Really? I could have Bobby sleep on the couch. You can have his room."

"No, that's okay. I wouldn't want to put anybody out."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, we'll work it out."

"Alright, if you say so. When should I pick you up?"

"Actually, I have a car waiting for me."

"Oh, fancy. At SeaTac?"

"No, at the airfield near Port Angeles." I hung my head because I knew he was going to say something about this.

"The airfield?"

"Yeah."

"Only small planes coming from SeaTac land there. There aren't any scheduled for today. I checked."

"And private planes."

"Who has one of those?" he scoffed.

"I do, Dad. I'm taking the jet to Forks."

There was silence for a couple of seconds before he cleared his throat. "Wow, Bells. That's… impressive."

"I know. Justin just thought…"

Charlie groaned. "I don't want to hear about Justin right now. What time are you getting here?" His voice turned acidic and harsh.

"Around noon," I replied.

"Okay, I'll see you at the house then."

He hung up.

I sighed and rested my head on the back of the seat. I didn't know if Charlie had a problem with my wealth, but it obviously made him very uncomfortable. Every time I called, he would make fun of me and say hurtful things, although, I doubt he realized the affect it had on me. He said I had changed. I didn't think so. I just wanted us to connect again like we used to. That might not be a possibility anymore, though.

I texted Justin one last time before we took off, and I was asleep soon after.

It felt like I had just closed my eyes before someone was shaking me awake.

"Mrs. Bieber, we've arrived," Amun said in my ear.

"No," I moaned.

"You can sleep in the car, if you'd like, but we need to exit the plane."

I opened my eyes and couldn't really see anything. I did feel a large hand take mine and guide me out of the seat. He began pulling me, and I plopped down the stairs of the plane before getting into a waiting car.

"Well, that was fast," I muttered, still trying to wake up.

"I haven't had the change to survey the area. I needed to get you under cover as soon as possible," Amun replied.

"This is Washington. The only thing you have to worry about is icy roads and trailer parks." I rolled my eyes. "But I do love it."

"It's better to be safe than sorry." He gave the new driver instructions. How Amun knew where Charlie's house was, I didn't know. He just had that kind of information logged into his brain.

"Can we turn off the air off, please?" I asked, snuggling into my jacket. "It's really cold in here."

The rain was coming down hard outside. It was only May, which meant it was still pretty chilly in Washington. I was freezing. A shiver ran down my spine, and I shuddered.

"Is that better, Mrs. Bieber?" The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror.

"Yes, thank you."

I called Justin and assured him that I had landed safely. The first thing he did was sigh in relief and then started asking me a barrage of questions about the flight. If I was safe? If I had my seatbelt on the entire time? If Amun was doing his job? I didn't bother answering half of them.

After we hung up with each other, I looked out of the window at the passing landscape. I couldn't help but smile. The rocky coasts and thick pine trees brought back a lot of good memories. Once we reached town, I was surprised at how much it had stayed the same. I was glad it hadn't changed much. It wouldn't be home without the same greasy diner smell and hardworking residents.

I started making a list in my head of what Charlie and I could do. Maybe we could go on his boat and fish. He always liked that, and I enjoyed it on occasion. Or maybe we could have a bonfire on the beach. There was so much I wanted to do while I was home.

We soon pulled onto Charlie's street. The houses hadn't changed, and the same families had been living in them since I was a little girl. I saw kids on their lawns, playing with their toys, and men working on their old, vintage cars. It felt… natural.

"We're here," Amun said and got out of the front seat to open my door.

I got out of the car and took a deep breath of air.

"I'll get everything set up at the hotel and then be back for you in about an hour. Is that okay?" he asked.

I nodded.

"I'll leave someone across the street in case you need anything, but I wanted to give you a chance to talk to your father alone without someone hovering."

I grinned. "Finally. You get what I'm saying."

"Just following orders, Mrs. Bieber."

"I know," I sighed. "And thank you. I guess I do feel a lot safer with you."

"That's the goal."

I started to walk up the cement path that led to Charlie's front porch. The house stood proud and wasn't anything overly grand, but it had been my home for such a long time. It almost brought a tear to my eye just thinking about it.

"Hey, kid. What are you doing out there in the rain?" Charlie's gruff voice asked. He was leaning against the doorjamb with a devilish smirk on his face. I was so wrapped up in my surroundings that I hadn't even noticed him.

"Hi, Dad." I almost tripped running towards him, but he caught me. I took a deep sniff, and he smelled like he always did: peppermint, leather, and beer. It might sound like a gross combination, but it was calming to me.

"It's so good to have you home." He swung me from side to side.

"It's good to be here."

He finally set me down and looked at me. "You seem so much older."

"You just saw me like two months ago."

"At your wedding, yeah, I remember." He rolled his eyes. "Come in."

I stepped over the threshold and looked around. The old, drab furniture was replaced with bright colored sofas, and light green paint covered the walls. It was a mixture of old and new. Charlie and Anna. I liked it a lot.

"This is… different," I said.

"I know. She likes to change things around and mess with colors." Charlie blushed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"It's cute." I saw the row of pictures lined up on the fireplace mantle. One of my wedding photos with my father was front and center. "Where is everyone?"

"Anna went grocery shopping, and the kids have camp during the summer. They'll be back later tonight."

"I didn't really have a chance to talk to them at the wedding."

"Yeah, Beth thinks you're the coolest thing on two legs." He chuckled. "Can I take your jacket?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure." I wasn't thinking clearly and just pulled off my coat, putting it on the back of a chair. As soon as I removed it, I felt a blast of frigid air all over my body.

I didn't realize he was staring at me for a least a minute. I tried to turn around, but it was too late.

"Selena… it seems like you're… pregnant," Charlie sputtered.

"Shit," I whispered to myself and then raised my voice so he could hear. "Uh, yeah. This wasn't how I wanted to do this, but I came here to tell you… I'm pregnant."

He scowled a little, and his stout mustache wiggled. His signs were easy to read. He wasn't happy.

"Well, congratulations, I guess." He left me in the hallway and went into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator door open and the familiar pop of a beer can being opened.

I took my time following him, and then just stood there, waiting for him to speak.

"How many months are you?" he asked when he came up for air after chugging a good amount of beer.

"Three and a half," I said. "I found out after the wedding."

"So… you weren't married before… that happened?"

"No." I shook my head. "I got pregnant before."

"God, Selena." He groaned and hit his head against a cabinet door. "You couldn't just call me?"

"I thought you might want to hear it in person. It is a pretty big deal."

"I knew I shouldn't have sent you away to that big city," he said quietly.

"Dad, you don't have to be happy about it, but I just wanted to come and see you. I thought we might be able to go fishing or-"

He spun around and cut me off. "Why did you have to go and ruin everything, Selena?"

"What?"

"You ruined your life. I didn't send you to Chicago so you could fall in love with the first boy who smiled at you. You were supposed to be somebody and do something with your life."

I was kind of stunned and didn't know what to say at first. "Why would you say that? I think I have made something of my life."

"Do you know what people say about you around town?" He didn't wait for a response. "They think you just left us all behind and changed into some kind of… celebrity."

"I didn't realize I had a contract to stay here and be the town's mascot." I was steadily getting angrier.

"I was so happy when you called and told me you were coming. I thought that maybe I might be able to talk some sense into you and get you away from that… man you married." He said the sentence with venom and disdain. It was rare to see Charlie in such a mood, but it did happen. I remembered his rage in high school when I screwed up, and he wasn't above yelling to get his point across. I didn't want my homecoming to be like this.

"He's not just some man. He's my husband, Dad. His name is Justin."

"I know what his name is!" Charlie, ironically, pulled a hand through his hair. "I was counting on you to make it in life, Selena. I wanted you to get out of this town and be somebody."

"I'm confused. I did exactly what you said and now you're mad at me?" I hadn't moved from my spot.

"He trapped you, Selena. Why can't you see that?"

"I'm not some young girl who doesn't know what's going on. Justin isn't trying to trick me into anything. I married him with a clear head and knowing full well what my life would become. You just weren't ready for it."

"You're right. You know why? Because I hadn't spoken to you in two years. You were running around with him in some country and left me behind."

"I thought about you every day, Dad."

"Well, that doesn't matter now." He shook his head. "I thought that I could talk you out of marrying him and that didn't work. Then I told myself that you'd come to your senses and see how bad he is for you and get a divorce. I was holding onto that, but now, you're having his child. You'll always be connected to him."

I gaped for a couple of seconds. "If I knew my pregnancy would cause such a reaction, I wouldn't have come at all."

"Maybe you shouldn't have. I want the old Selena back." Charlie's eyes were so full of love that it was hard to get mad at him, but I was.

"I'm the same Selena."

"No, you're not," he insisted. "I don't know this woman. She travels on private jets and gets made up in designer clothes and has a mansion in the suburbs. What happened to the girl who wore plaid all the time and couldn't even look at shoes with heels, let alone walk in them?"

"She grew up, Dad. That's what you're supposed to do when you go to college," I said slowly.

"I don't like what you've become and no one else around here does either."

"I don't care what everyone else says! Dad, I'm a good person. I haven't changed that much, and even though I dress better or have a big house, doesn't mean I'm any different. But so what if I am? Aren't I supposed to change?"

"Not like this. He's changed you," Charlie snarled.

I stumbled backwards a little before I caught myself. "Mom was right."

"What are you talking about?"

"All those years, she said you were trying to hold her back and keep her in this town. I always thought she was making stuff up, but now I see she was right the whole time. You want me to be here with you so I can take care of you. You want me to be one of the hundreds of girls who graduate from that fucking high school down the street and don't go anywhere."

"That's not what I'm saying, Selena."

"Yes, it is. You wanted me to marry Mike Newton and have three kids by now so you two could be fishing buddies. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Mike. Now he was a good man." Charlie raised his eyebrows, daring me to argue any further.

"No, Dad! I didn't want Mike. I wanted to go to Chicago and live. That's what I did. It might not have been by your standards, but I'm happy. I really am. I love my husband and my life. I'm sorry if you don't like it."

"That man is a monster," he yelled. "He doesn't love you, Selena. He just wants a sweet girl to hold his hand at events and to pretend with."

"You think what we have is pretend? I wouldn't have gone to jail for him if I didn't believe in us."

"And that's another thing: why were you so sacrificing? What has that family ever done for you?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you, Dad." I scowled. "I came here because I wanted to have a good weekend and tell you about your grandchild. If you can't be happy for me, then maybe I should leave."

"You probably should." Charlie turned away from me.

"Um, is everything alright?" Anna shuffled into the kitchen, unaware of the crossfire she had just entered. She looked naturally pretty with her shoulder length, ashy blonde hair. Nothing like Renee, but I think that's what Charlie wanted. She smiled at me softly.

"Hi, Anna." I wiped my cheeks free of tears. "I think I'm going to go to The Lodge. My dad needs to cool off."

"I don't need to cool off, Selena," Charlie grunted. "I'm not changing my mind on this."

Anna's brow crinkled. "What happened?" She put the bags on the counter. "We were all so excited you were coming."

I sobbed a little. "I told him I was pregnant and he blew up at me."

"Charlie! How could you do that?" she scolded. "Congratulations, Selena."

"I will not congratulate her. She's being stupid and can't see how he's trapping her."

"Justin is a fine man," Anna argued. "He might be a little… rough around the edges, but he's good to her. We've talked about this, Charlie."

"Everyone thinks you're some kind of whore, Selena," he said to me. "You were supposed to be a role model. Now all these girls want to go off to the big city and find a rich mobster to marry."

"I can't believe you're saying this to me right now," I cried and was suddenly transported back to high school when I stood in this same kitchen, crying over something far less significant. I couldn't even remember what it was now, but the feelings were still the same.

"Charlie, your daughter is not a whore." Anna went over to him. "How could you say that?"

"I didn't mean to say that." He ran a hand through his hair again. "But you're embarrassing us, Selena."

I wanted to apologize, but I didn't know what for. I couldn't even speak. The temperature in the house suddenly dropped by at least a thousand degrees. It was suddenly teeth shatteringly cold.

"You don't mean that," Anna said. "Please, stop being so rude."

"I have a lot to get off my chest, and it's been building for years. I'm sorry if I'm being harsh, but I love you too much to let your life spiral down the drain." He sighed and moved closer to me. I backed away.

"You've changed just as much as me. I have never been so hurt in my life." I angrily swept the tears from my face. "I shouldn't have come."

"I'm trying to help you, Selena."

"You are making me feel horrible and I don't need this right now. I've already lost one baby; I'm not doing it again." I turned away from him.

"Wh- what?" Charlie stuttered. "What did you just say?"

"Forget about it," I whispered.

The door opened. "Mom! I forgot my lunch for camp. I have to run back after I eat here. Is that okay?"

A boy waltzed into the kitchen with a bright smile. He looked just like Anna. Bobby was her son from her first marriage, but Charlie loved him all the same. That's what he told me, at least. I was beginning to question his love for anything at the moment.

"Oh, hey, Selena!" He hugged my tightly. He was only ten years old, but almost as tall as me. "I couldn't wait for you to get here. How are Justin and Alec and Francis?"

"Um, they're good." I tried to hide the fact that I was crying. "It's nice to see you too."

"Bobby, go upstairs. I'll bring you something," Anna said sternly.

"Okay, Mom, but I have to leave in half an hour." He looked at us strangely, but didn't say anything and left.

"I think I'm going to go back home," I said to them. "It's obvious that I made a mistake coming here."

"Selena, don't do that. We'll get this sorted out. Charlie is happy that you're here. He's just having trouble coping with everything."

"Coping with what? This should be a happy time." Maybe I was just too optimistic. Could things really ever go back to how they were? If this trip was any indication then no, they couldn't.

"Selena, I'm sorry for saying those things, but it hasn't been easy on me. I had to watch you go to jail, and then you just disappeared. Now you're back, married, and pregnant with a child I don't want you to have. What am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know, Dad. I just don't know." I felt a sharp pain in my back and leaned over. "I think I'm going to go and wait for my car in the family room."

"Please stay. At least until tomorrow. I'm sure once Charlie calms down, he'll be better." Anna patted my back.

"Okay, I'll stay until tomorrow." I nodded with a smile. I couldn't look at him, though.

"Good." Anna sighed. "I'll take you to The Lodge if you want."

"No, that's okay. My car should be here in a couple of minutes. I'm going to sit on the couch." I sniffled my way into the other room.

Bobby was on the sofa, swinging his legs and watching cartoons. I sat next to him.

"Sorry about all of that," I said.

"It's okay. Grownups fight." He shrugged. "Are you hungry? My mom could make you a sandwich."

"No, I'm okay." I breathed heavily. The temperature was lowering… a lot. I almost couldn't breathe. My lungs seized up.

"Are you feeling alright? You look kind of sick."

"Yeah, I'm fine." I tried to sit up, but a prickly pain radiated from my side. I hunched over in pain.

"Mom!" Bobby shouted and ran out of the room.

There was a shuffling of feet, and then hands were on my face. "Selena, are you okay?" Charlie's voice said in my ear.

"Get away from me." I pushed his hands away. "Leave me alone."

"Oh, my God, Charlie she's burning up," Anna squeaked.

"Selena, can you hear me?" my father asked.

"Call Justin, please." Another pain, this time sharper, cut through my side. I could feel a cold sweat break out all over my body in response.

"I'm not calling him. I have to take you to the hospital."

"No, you don't care anyway. Just call Justin," I cried. "Please, just call him!"

My teeth chattered loudly, and my vision went hazy. I was suddenly so sick, but I couldn't figure out why. My mind just kept racing with possibilities, coming up short at every turn since I could no longer think clearly.

"Call him." My body shook from the tears as pain erupted in every limb.

"Selena, I can take care of you." Charlie insisted.

I vaguely noticed Anna rush over and grab my cell phone out of my jacket pocket, rushing through the list of contacts until she found the one she was searching for. I didn't ever hear the conversation, though, because it all went black after that.

I had some of my worst experiences in hospitals, getting bones reset or getting casts molded. But hospitals always gave me comfort, because I knew I would get fixed. It probably only made sense to me, but I found a strange sense of familiarity in the pristine halls of a hospital.

As my body started to awaken, I could immediately tell that I was in one.

The air smelled too clean. The sheets underneath my body weren't overly comfortable, but not scratchy either. I could feel how they were tucked with care around me and almost fell back asleep. The beep of a machine was far off in the distance, and I counted each chime. Thankfully, nothing hurt anymore, and my temperature was back to normal. I didn't feel the pull of an IV line under my skin, either, so that was good.

When I took a sniff of the air, I smelled faded cologne. It wasn't powerful at all; maybe I was the only one who could even detect it since it was my favorite.

I heard the soft tapping of a shoe on tiled floor and felt my body tingle all over. Not in lust, but in heated anticipation for when I opened my eyes. I knew who it was already.

Expensive Italian leather makes a very distinct sound.

I opened one eye and saw Justin sitting in a chair by the window in the small hospital room. He was dressed in a suit, telling me that he had flown from work. I'm sure his conversation with whoever told him to get on a plane was rather heated. It was dark outside, so I had probably been sleeping for a while.

Justin had his glasses on, shaking his head as he muttered to himself. He didn't look happy at all. I could feel the anger rolling off of him even from across the room. I watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose with force and sighed in frustration.

His phone rang. He checked it, but didn't bother picking up.

I shifted in bed, letting him know I was awake.

Justin's head snapped to my direction, and he was near my bed in a flash. "Selena, thank God." He ran a hand over my forehead, moving the hair away.

"How long have I been asleep?" I asked, my voice thick with disuse and dryness.

"About six hours. I just got here." He sat on my bed and sighed. This time in relief. "I've never prayed so much in my entire life."

"Really?" I chuckled humorlessly.

Justin nodded with a stern face. "I can't ever keep you safe, can I?"

"I don't know what happened." I tried to sit up, but found that I needed his help to do so.

"I'll tell you what happened. Your father stressed you out and drove you crazy. He's an asshole."

"You heard about our fight?"

"Yes. He and I had a very intense shouting match down the hall. I almost got arrested…twice!"

"He said a lot of bad things, but I don't think he meant them. I hope he didn't."

"Your father has some major issues that I don't care to get into right now. He's a jealous jackass who can't stand to see you happy."

"I'm sure that's not the case, Justin. You're being a little harsh."

He scoffed angrily, "You're in a hospital bed and he's out there bitching at me for ruining you or whatever lies he's spewing."

"He said you've changed me."

I could tell that Justin wanted to say something, but he let me continue.

"He thinks I'm supposed to be some kind of role model for the girls around here, and I let him down. I'm the town's embarrassing secret." I could feel the tears well up again, but didn't let them fall.

"That's not true, Selena." Justin pulled his chair to my side and sat down, taking my hand. "You don't owe these people anything."

"I don't think I've changed that much, do you?"

"No, of course not. You've just grown up into a woman," he assured me.

"He doesn't want me to have the baby. He doesn't want me to be married to you. I've disappointed him so much."

Justin's jaw clenched and a growl grumbled in his chest. "He had no right to say those things to you."

"Is he here?" I asked.

"I think so, somewhere. I threatened to kick him out if he didn't get away from your room."

"Am I okay? Is the baby all right?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't talked to the doctor yet. Anna said that everything was okay, though. I was trying to get in to see you, so I wasn't paying much attention."

"God, I never should have come here." I rubbed my face.

"I hate this town, by the way."

"Why? What happened?"

"You took the jet, so I had to fly public," he answered in revulsion. "Then I rented a car and had to drive here. I got lost like, four times and ended up on some fucking mountain. I ran the only fucking stoplight in this place. I almost hit two different deer, and I swear I saw Bigfoot in the parking lot. I didn't know where the hell I was."

We both had a laugh at his expense, but then sobered up quickly.

"Thank you for coming." I squeezed his hand.

"Where else would I be?" He kissed my knuckles. "I rushed out of a meeting with some very important people. I told them to fuck themselves when they demanded I stay."

"Really?"

He nodded. "I was going crazy on the flight. I just prayed that you and the baby were okay."

Our moment was interrupted by a knock at the door. The last person I wanted to see at this moment stuck his head in.

"Um, hi." Charlie cleared his throat.

"Get out," Justin commanded. "I can't look at you right now."

"I have a right to see my daughter."

"Not if she doesn't want to see you." Justin stood up. "Get out!"

"Look…" He moved closer to me.

I thought Justin was going to explode. He walked to the other side of the bed so quickly I had to do a double take. "Get away from my wife. You've already caused enough damage."

"I don't have to listen to you." Charlie glared at him. "I'm trying to help her."

"By calling her an embarrassment? You have no right to even look at her right now. You put her in the hospital."

"Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be at some fancy charity benefit or getting arrested?"

"You don't know a thing about me." Justin shook his head in disgust. "I don't really care for you, but you're Selena's father and unfortunately, I'm stuck with you until you're dead."

"You're crossing a line, boy."

"Get away from Selena," Justin instructed, his voice rattling with anger. He was trying to hold it together with his fists clenched at his side.

"Dad, we'll leave in the morning. You don't have to stay here," I said remorsefully.

"See what you've done," Justin roared. "You're upsetting her with your stupid comments…"

"She's my daughter. I know what's best for her," Charlie cut in.

"She's my wife, and she's carrying my child. If you can't deal with that then you need to make a quick decision. Either you're her father and stick by her, or you get out of our lives altogether. I won't have you causing her added stress."

"How could you say that to me?" Charlie's mouth stayed open in shock before he stuttered, "I love her."

"Then treat her like it and stop your tirade against me, because I'm not going anywhere. Trust me, I'll move her so far away she'll forget all about you and this stupid town."

"Selena, don't you see what he's doing? He's trying to push us even further apart. This is what I'm talking about," he said to me.

"No, Dad, this is all you. I wanted to come here and have a good weekend, but you ruined it." I forced myself not to cry again.

"Try me again and you won't ever see your grandchild." Justin was so close to Charlie at this point, their noses were almost touching, "You'll live a very sad life Charles Swan."

A doctor poked his head in. "Excuse me, am I interrupting anything?"

None of us replied.

Dr. Gerandy had been here ever since I could remember. He treated my broken bones and gave me painkillers when my clumsiness caused horrible bruises in high school.

"Hi." I waved at him.

"It's so good to have you back, Selena." He beamed, not really noticing the tension in the room.

"I'll be gone in the morning. It was just a quick visit. This is my husband," I introduced them.

"Of course. We all know about Justin." He shook his hand.

Charlie leaned up against the wall, grumbling, while Justin came back to sit in his chair.

"I should be able to discharge you by tomorrow. I want to keep you for observation overnight," the good doctor said, flipping papers on his clipboard.

"What happened?" Justin asked. "Is she all right?"

"Wait." I stopped him from speaking. "Charlie, I'd like you to leave, please."

"What?" He pushed off the wall. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Charlie, I'm sorry; I can't have you in here if she doesn't want you." Dr. Gerandy smiled tightly. "You'll have to leave."

"It's okay. I have Justin," I said. My father looked like he had been stabbed. He backed out of the room, shaking his head.

"Um, well, back to you," Dr. Gerandy continued. "I have a few questions."

"Okay."

"Have you been traveling recently?"

"Yes," I nodded, "I just got back from Spain a week ago."

"And did you have any pork?" he asked, writing on the clipboard.

"I think so. Probably," I replied, looking at Justin for help.

"I believe she did. Why? Is that bad? The books didn't say she couldn't have any."

"No, usually it's fine, but… I believe you have an infection."

"An infection?" My voice cracked.

"Yes. It's called toxoplasmosis. Anyone can get it, both men and women, but we don't see a lot of it in this country anymore," he said confidently, although I knew there was more. His face didn't look assuring.

"She got it from pork?" Justin rubbed his forehead. I think I might have seen a bead of sweat.

"Probably, or fruit. That's another common way to contract it if it hasn't been washed correctly. Usually the symptoms are flu-like, and it can be fatal if not treated, but like I said, we don't really see it here in the States. Most healthy people recover from the virus on their own, without medicine, but since you're pregnant, we needed to treat it aggressively."

"But… we're okay, right?" I asked worriedly.

Dr. Gerandy exhaled, pulling up a chair of his own. "I don't want to worry you unnecessarily, but any infection contracted during pregnancy is dangerous. Thankfully, we caught it quickly. We'll just have to watch you closely. You weren't completely asymptomatic, so we needed to treat it with a course of antibiotics."

"Is it safe for her to take antibiotics?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"So, I'm going to be fine." I smiled. "There's nothing wrong if I just take the medicine?"

"You are fine, but the babies might not be. Chance of passing it to the babies is fifteen percent in first trimester, thirty percent in the second, and sixty in the third. You, of course, fall into the second category. The chance that it could be potentially fatal to the babies is slim."

I felt like I was going to pass out, but I had to keep breathing, so I could hear what he had to say.

"Fatal?" Justin blinked a couple of times, letting the information sink in.

"Yes, but I don't think that will be the case here. It should be fine. I just had to warn you."

"What exactly might happen to the baby?" Justin asked.

"Uh, a long list of things, but it's not that different than if a woman got a cold or the chicken pox during pregnancy. There's always a risk."

"You didn't answer my question," my husband snapped. His hold on my hand was tight, but comforting.

"Well, the most common cases include blindness, hearing loss, brain functionality problems, asthma, and muscle weakness. The further into your pregnancy, the higher the risk is that the babies contract it and have complications from it. Complications might range from mild to severe. They can be anything from a rash to something more complicated, like cerebral palsy or epilepsy."

I let out a gust of air, and my brain shut down completely.

No! Not again. This can't be happening again…

Justin looked sick. I bet I looked the same, and I couldn't really breathe.

"Please, don't worry." Dr. Gerandy patted my knee.

"What if it's too late for the baby?" My voice was weak.

"The ultrasound was perfect, but you'll still need an amniocentesis to be sure they didn't contract the disease. When you reach week eighteen, we'll screen the amniotic fluid to check the babies' DNA to make sure neither of them contracted the disease. If one were to contract the disease, you would then need to speak to a genetic counselor, because the disease becomes a congenital one. The baby would also need a full screening at birth and antibiotics for a full year of its life afterward to prevent any of the birth defects that can happen. It's pretty intense. As of now, though, it looks like all is well with your babies." He smiled at me.

"Babies?" Justin's head swiveled around.

"Yes." Dr. Gerandy nodded, and then his smile faltered. "The nurse hasn't talked to you yet?"

I shook my head.

"Oh, well then… congratulations. You're having twins. We noticed that your HcG levels were elevated when we did your blood work, and an ultrasound confirmed that you are, in fact, having twins. Around week thirteen, we can be sure."

I coughed air into my lungs, and my brain started working again. This time in hyperspeed. I wasn't sure if I heard him correctly, but from Justin's reaction, I think I did. He looked downright unhealthy. The blood in his face was gone. His skin turned paler than I had ever seen and his eyes were as big as saucers. He leaned back in his chair with a huff.

"Twins… As in two?" I asked, my voice weak.

The doctor nodded. "Welcome to the fickle world of pregnancy. Do twins run in your family?"

"No," I answered.

Justin's mouth just hung open. He looked like a zombie.

"Well, these things just happen." Dr. Gerandy stood up. "I'll let you two talk, and then you need some rest, Selena."

"Thank you."

"It's good to have you back. Try to visit us more often. And congratulations again." He grinned and left the room.

My mood went from depressed to elated in a second flat. My cheeks hurt from the smiling, and I wanted to giggle. Justin had yet to move or even inhale.

I bit my lip and let him sit for at least ten minutes before I squeezed his hand. He jerked back to life.

"What?" he gasped.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Just taken by surprise, that's all. Are you okay?"

"I'm ecstatic." I beamed. "I'm having two babies."

"I heard. I'm not as… euphoric as you, but I just need to think about it all and rationalize it in my head."

I nodded. "I understand. But you're not mad, right?"

"Of course not, Selena." He sat up. "If this can make you smile that big, then I'm happy as well."

"Really?"

"More than anything." I think he was lying. I couldn't be sure, but Justin hugged me and pulled me gently towards him. "We'll have to readjust our lives… again. I thought I was used to the thought of one baby."

"I think we're ready." I clung to him.

He chuckled, "Let's hope so, Selena."

[davidaolson]

The past is a place of reference, not a place of residence. ~Roy T. Bennett

With the sale of the family Summer Estate in Central Wisconsin in March of 2018, the second to last vestige of my childhood goes the way of the final Dodo bird clubbed over the head by a sailor for food. Death. Extinction. The last vestige is my childhood home, a red brick bungalow still housing my Mother. It is the saving grace connecting me to my personal history. A place I can visit and feel connected to a youth characterized by reckless stupidity, a youth experiencing more joy than any one person deserves.

This travel blog will be different than most I have written. It is an amalgamation of experiences occurring in chunks as small as one day up through a maximum of two weeks occurring over 45 years compressed into a single offering. It is the story of yesteryear, a memory filled yesteryear with my last memory painted a few yesterdays ago. I am trekking deep down memory lane living mostly in the time before mobile phone, the land before internet, the world before nearly every human was connected by six degrees of separation.

This blog is longer than most and possibly too long to keep the average person’s attention. I am ok with that. I wrote it for myself as both a celebration of 45 years and a cathartic experience to release my pain into the collective consciousness so to begin the healing process.

I had a rudimentary plan for the farewell blog one that saw me deep dive into a sea of memories, study all the offerings, then surface with those carrying the weight of ages for sharing. It did not work out that way. I fell into labyrinthian memory corridors without Ariadne to guide me back stumbling my way through a memory fog bumping into remembrances I had completely forgotten existed, people whose faces I hadn’t thought about in decades who may no longer be breathing.

The vignettes contained herein are those that allowed me to see them giving me comfort during a challenging time. They chose me. Each is both an anchor grounding me in my youth and a springboard into my unknown future. The two may appear to be conflicting, anchoring and springing, but they are harmonious dualities, complementary. This duality is not good balanced with evil as in the Western tradition but the harmony of Mother and Father, yin and yang. To maintain the harmony of my subconscious, I laid them out in the same sequence they spoke to my soul.

Many remembrances echoed from the depths of forgotten time during the drive from my home in Chicago the Friday before my last ever visit. I foresee no reason to ever return. Long solo drives are enjoyable. I set the cruise control a nickel over the posted speed, slide into the right lane, settle into a mantra of sunflower seed, preferably David & Sons brand, eating…pop a handful into my mouth, crack individual shells and eat the seed, spit the saliva drenched shells into an empty soda bottle. Repeat.

It is a meditative process where my mind wanders only interrupted when a thought I want to explore further is spoken into Siri for a note. Most of the time, the notes are garbled, sometimes too much to be of later use. Or a song reaches through the speaker and grabs my attention but I always fall back into my sunflower seed rhythm where my mind, uncluttered, senses the echoes before they become full-fledged remembrances.

The drive is 250 miles and takes four hours, three and a half if you push it, four and a half when taken leisurely. My dad had the ability to stretch it into a solid eight hours. Granted, the speed limit was 55 in those days, a number he held tightly. Eight hours inside a van full of camping gear, six restless kids, a dog or two, and not a lick of air conditioning to abate the August heat.

We always left just before dawn. The first stop was a mile away for coffee and donuts. The next stop 90 miles later for a restaurant breakfast at the Clock Tower in Rockford followed by another 120 miles and lunch in the horror show known as the Wisconsin Dells. Then 25 miles up highway 13 to friendship for yet another cup of coffee, at which time the passengers were ready to stage a violent revolution, before the final 19 miles to the land.

Some events echoed clear as the day they happened and I was able to write with assuredness as if I was taking notes from a film reel playing in real-time. Others were apparitions, shadows steeped in thick fog allowing near blind glimpses leaving a trail of unresolved emotion I tripped over skinning my soul.

I am not sure if any vignette is my singular experience, a fusion of various experiences, or recitations of other’s experiences that sublimated into my mind taking up residence as my own first-person stories. My understanding of reality rises and falls with the color of the sun, waxes and wanes with the phases of the dark moon, fluctuates with the intonation of the voices carried in the wind. Their essence remains if not the exact facts. Facts don’t speak whole truths anyway. Statistics are facts and most of them are used to support damn lies. There are still other incidents so hidden by the mists of time, if I don’t receive the help of others to clear the clouds, they may never again illuminate my personal history. I weep for those losses.

And so it goes…

The End is Nigh

At 4:41 pm CST on Sunday, 04 March 2018, the siblings, siblings-in-law, and the grandchildren received a group text telling us the sale closing on the cottage was imminent and our help was needed to ready the house for the buyer. My first tear fell the next day during a flurry of texts planning a final visit to clear out the home, gut the fish and leave it for dead, slip a thin, sharp knife in the soft underbelly of my youth ripping forty-five years from stem to stern scraping the vitality of youth to be tossed in a pile of decomposing offal. I am officially old.

When Mom informed us last Fall it was being sold, I was indifferent. I had not been there for five years and that last time was only for one night on the way back from a mountain biking trip a couple hours further North. I did not want to drive the remaining four hours home to Chicago and I was with a hot lass. Drive home in the dark or spend the night in a wooded forest cabin with the hot babe? It was an easy decision. It was a decision that made itself. As for future trips, well, none were anywhere on my horizon. I have come to enjoy international travel and prefer to spend my leisure time immersed in unfamiliar cultures that bombarded the senses and obliterate my understanding of reality.

The Summer Estate had become the dying limb on a tree, a drain on the financial health of my mother. Better to sever the limb than allow it to siphon off resources needed elsewhere. Since my dad passed, it had become too much for her to maintain. She valiantly held on to it for 10 years thanks in large part to my brother-in-law who helped her open and close it year after year. Looking back, I have to say he is somewhat a hero.

We dubbed the upcoming event a reunion, a euphemism keeping the pain at bay for as long as possible. The first stage of grief is denial. The euphemism helped me deny the coming loss for a couple of weeks. The actual reunion/cleaning day was filled with stories, multiple trips to the dump, laughter, photographs, and a tribute. It is amazing how pain can be dissipated when it is countered with love.

What can we throw away?

Lunch

Cleaning the Main Quarters

Paul Bunyan

Boat is Frozen

Cleaning the Shed

Worky, worky

The Fire Pit

The Fire Pit & Home Made Benches

HUH???

Dousing the Flames

The Address

Herstory/History/Gender Fluidstory/Gender Neutralstory

The land, a small heavily wooded pine and oak copse within scent range of the freshwater lake, was purchased in the Winter of 1973. It was young and vibrant then but, like us, it aged not so gracefully. Today, there are fewer trees in the area. A blight took many of the oaks. Pine trees were removed to build the house and by others purchasing lots on either side of ours. What felt like a forest now feels closer to a suburban subdivision.

It was bought at the behest of my dad’s best friend, Bob, who had his own plot a short traipse through the tick-infested woods. I didn’t know it at the time but Bob, the consummate outdoorsman and storyteller, was destined to become a second father figure to me. After my father died, Bob’s stories unwound from the reel of his mind while we fished the Canadian wilderness brought my dad back to life. He repeated the same stories endlessly yet I never grew tired of hearing the tales.

I grew to love Bob, was distraught when his children didn’t tell us he passed in 2017 until months after he was laid to rest and then it felt like an afterthought. I would surely have made the 500-mile round trip to pay my last respects and immerse in communal grief which disperses the pain so no one person has to carry the entire burden. Instead, I cried alone, bore the loss alone. One only gets so many fathers in life, for some the count is none. I was lucky to have had two.

I was 12 when the land was purchased, immersed in little league baseball as were my brothers. The Vietnam conflict was still littering bodies of both sides over the lush jungle landscape pockmarked by unrelenting bombs dropped from heaven. I can’t recall if my father and I had already had the disagreement we never resolved about the moral corruptness characterizing America’s role in the fiasco. We existed at opposite ends of the political spectrum. Even in my 50s, when most people seem to have long ago navigated toward conservatism, I have not budged an inch toward the center. To be so would make me feel complicit with the evil perpetrated by our lying government. The war never directly influenced our lives. We kids were simply excited to know we would vacation in Wisconsin where we could fish and swim.

In the beginning, we tented. We built a compound, the Olson compound. Three tents set up in u-shape, a sleeping tent on the left with eight double bunked cots and thick cotton, brown sleeping bags. The storage tent lived in the center with the portapotty. The final tent, the screen tent for eating insect free to the right. A canopy connected all three tents ensuring we could walk between them and keep dry during the rains. One just had to avoid the rivulets falling between the gaps. Every night before bedtime, the tent was sprayed with Raid to kill off the creepy crawlies.

One late night, we heard scraping at the cooler in the food tent. We peeked out with a flashlight and saw a skunk trying but failing to pry open the cooler. We immediately turned off our light and quieted into to bed for fear of startling the skunk and suffering uplifted tail umbrage. Another time, a brother who will remain nameless…for now, jumped up on a cooler and screamed when a tiny mouse ran through the screen tent.

The worst tent vacation ever occurred the year it rained every day for the entirety of our two-week vacation only clearing up after we broke camp and started driving home. During sunny weather, the sleeping bags were hung to dry every day on lines stretched between the trees. Sleeping bags absorb body moisture. Two weeks of rain meant the bags never dried. We were forced to sleep in increasing dampness the entire vacation. The lodge, too far for us city folk to walk, had 25¢ showers along with ice cream, soda pop, a pool table where quarters near the slot reserved the next game, and pinball machines on the lower level. It was a nice place to hang out during the rains.

I love tenting. In the old days, they were massive canvas beasts. Heavy. They required many aluminum poles fitted together, anchor ropes without which the structure would collapse, were cumbersome and required multiple people to erect. Consequently, we only enjoyed ‘The Land’ for a couple of weeks each year with those two weeks squeezed between the end of baseball season and the beginning of football season. Then came the luxury of the camper. The camper rolled in during the Spring, was taken away to storage, per the property owners association rules, in the Fall. The relative ease of a camper increased our time spent at the land.

The ultimate abode was a small, prefab house was brought in two halves on flatbed trucks and slapped together. The back half was two bedrooms and a bathroom, the front half a combination kitchen and living room. Ever the builder, my dad soon added a deck. Years later he removed the deck and built a new one with a large screened in porch. I loved the porch. It allowed me to sit outside on those nights too rainy for the campfire. The patter of rain while reading is comforting. Also with the house came TV. It always felt blasphemous to have the contraption spoiling the wilderness.

Having a house meant visits increased significantly for all of us. Being older with our own vehicles to travel as did the allure of the lower than Illinois drinking age. Wisconsin allowed 18-year-olds to purchase alcohol, the same age as military service. I always thought it hypocritical that one is believed adult enough at 18 to die for the country in a war but too immature to consume alcohol. I should not be too surprised. 18-year-olds drinking can’t put nearly as much money into the silk-lined jock straps of politicians as does the kickbacks they get from the war machine.

There were many party weekends in Wisconsin where the music played from early morning until well into the night. Somewhere there is a music video we created with dancing. People were on the porch and on the roof. I would love to see it again. The music continued for years…until some people wheeled in their own camper next door and complained that we were too loud for their younguns. It did not matter to them that their kids were running around screaming while many of us tried to sleep in the morning.

Ironically, as the years wore on, I slept in the house less and less often. It was too crowded, too noisy. And I enjoyed sleeping outdoors. Instead of the house, I popped up a tent with the opening directly looking toward the fire pit. My tents were the much lighter nylon versions, stand-alone with a screen roof for ventilation that could be set up by a single person in less than ten minutes and in the dark. My preferred bed was a comfortable Thermarest mattress and a down-filled sleeping bag. I slept well in the cool of those nights.

The Memory Vignettes

I wish I had chronicled the decades bounded by ownership of ‘The Land’ become ‘Summer Estate’ allowing me to read back and relive the many life-enhancing, some life-defining moments experienced on that 1/2 acre. Alas, my drive to write had not yet kindled into the raging fire it is today which sees me scribbling every morning. There are some moments that emoted into my mind leading up to the weekend and while we, as a family, emptied the house. They surfaced like bubbles when my mind was fixated on the road heading home forcing me to stop before the memory dissipated or call out to Siri to capture fragments. A few times tears rolled down my cheek. Still, I catch myself tearing up for memories lost.

He knew that forgetfulness was the most painful death. ~Jaume Cabré

The Sacred Bonfire

The indigenous peoples (is it right to call them Native Americans being they thrived on these lands long before they were dubbed America by European invaders?) made/make use a sweat lodge in purification ceremonies to prepare for divine intervention and God’s blessings. It is one of the seven sacred rituals of the Lakota people, a spiritual experience reconnecting participants with their oneness, with the universe, with nature.

Similarly, we had nightly bonfires…weather permitting. The quest to build a raging pyre with a single match was a skill a few of us mastered. It meant spending significant time with the hatchet splitting pine logs into slender, tender splinters. These are set in the middle on top of a loosely crumbled wad of dry newspaper. Next, a slightly larger, mini-teepee of thicker pine slices is built around the flimsy strips forming a chimney which, when the fire starts, pulls in oxygen from below to feed the flame. When the fire is strong enough larger, quartered pine logs are added and finally, the dense oak logs which burn hotter and longer ensuring an outstanding fire for many hours requiring minimal care and feeding.  The other methods, a blow torch, a cup of white gas, were easier but much less satisfying.

We shared hours upon hours, hours galore in a lodge made of smoke, smoke keeping the raging mosquitoes at bay, buzzing vampires, seeking to hold a rave with our blood as the centerpiece of the revelry. Our blood, their sacred communion. We shared hours drinking under legal age, shooting the shit frequently until sunrise. The faces changed repeatedly over the years. Some visiting once, others regularly featured. A few now flash before my eyes, most are obscured by the mists of time. My soul weeps for those I have forgotten.

Bonfires were a time, a rare time in my life where I felt an intimate connection with people. I never wanted the nights to end and would hold on tightly to those moments fending off sleep as long as possible. I think I feared the isolation I would inevitably return to with the dousing of the flames. Dark of night, shadow descending upon my soul. I would stay awake with the anyone not ready for bed. Stayed awake until the sun rose and the birds burst into a conflagration of song, a chorus of mostly sopranos with some altos, the occasional tenor, the rare croaking baritone of a heron seeking an early breakfast, a cacophonous symphony lasting less than an hour then finally to bed once the sun shot its orange wad over the horizon.

I realize, now, the bonfire time evolved into a sacred ritual, a spiritual experience connecting me with the universe, with nature, with people. If I could reside in any one moment of my Wisconsin history, it would be fire time. Better yet, string them all together into one long film reel where I could jump in and live them over and over again.

Oh, what have they done to my song, ma?

The end of night ritual was for the boys to drain the weasel one final time directly into the fire. The logic was we were dousing it so it would not spread while we slept and start a forest fire. As Yogi says, “Only you can prevent forest fires.” The reality. We enjoyed the sound made when our streaming piss hit the white-hot embers.

On this trip, my son and my brother stayed at the house the Friday before the cleaning, braved the cold and slept in the cottage. Had I not already paid for a non-refundable hotel, I would have joined them. They built a fire which burned deep into the night and through our reunion time the following day. Our final act before climbing into our vehicles and driving away was to douse the flame…with snow. It made the same sound as pissing the flame into submission.

The Pissing Tree

When you are male, the world is not only your oyster, it is also your bathroom. Every tree, every nook, every cranny, every dying fire is a potential place to discreetly, if possible, obvious if necessary, let the dachshund out for a walk. We have the anatomy to take advantage of zipper fly clothing allowing the one-eyed snake to stick it’s head out and spit anywhere and everywhere without exposing the rest of the anatomy to prying eyes or, worse, biting insects. The more talented are able to write their name in the snow. My willy was once attacked by a mosquito. Shaft sting, not head probing. It was painful, mainly itchy requiring lots of hand time in the pants to relieve the irritation. There is an unwritten rule with men. Shaking it more than three times means you’re playing with it. There was a party in my pants. It’s not an experience I want to repeat.

When you live in tents and there are eight of you and half are little girls there tends to be a line for the portapotty. Worse, the portapotty is not tied to plumbing so must be manually emptied when full. It is a stinky job so it is advantageous to drain the vein in places other than the portapotty. What better place than the outdoors?

Outside the tents, a few yards into the woods, there was a natural clearing and a small tree, perhaps it was a deer bed during the fifty weeks we were not at the land. There was enough bramble ensuring we could not be seen from the road during the brightest part of the day nor from the screen windows in the tents. It was not too far that it was scary to walk into the woods at night for that final piss before crawling into the sleeping bag.

We all, the three boys and our dad, migrated to the exact same spot multiple times each day. It wasn’t planned more evolution along a common path. At the end of two weeks, The piss smell became daunting. The grasses had yellowed and the tree was wilting. It, the oak, never recovered and we returned to a standing cadaver the following year. On the plus side, it was fuel to feed our nightly bonfires.

Skinny Dipping

Before the house years, showers were only available at the lodge. If you were male a shower came in at $0.25. For the womenfolk, it was upwards of $5. The showers operated on a timer with incremental time added per quarter. Us dudes could get two showers in for that twenty-five cents while the girls carried in a bucket full of quarters.

But the lodge closed around 5 pm necessitating a shower before dinner or going to bed nasty sweaty. And as we aged and our bodies physically matured, a day of playing hard in the heat, we worked up enough sweat to fill that quarter bucket to overflowing. We boys were as rank as a half-eaten deer on the side of the road a week after it had been run over by a vehicle. The insect riddled, decaying deer smelled like perfume compared to teenagers.

What to do?

Take advantage of the freshwater lake, obviously. After dark, we would run down to the lake, out onto the small pier, disrobe and skinny dip in the pitch of night, skinny dip with a bar of biodegradable Ivory soap to clean ourselves without upsetting the fishies we would be catching the next days. An added benefit to Ivory soap is it floats so we could throw it to the next body and without fear of losing it in the depths.

In the early years, the only light was thirty yards away, a back porch light attached to the lucky sods who owned the house butting right up to the water. The light was just bright enough to see what we were doing but not so bright that our birthrights were readily visible. Then the house was sold, the new owner put a streetlamp style light right at the water’s edge. It was bright, a sun on a giant corn stalk. Glaringly white. Intrusive. Still, we swam at night so as not to stink and for potential viewing pleasure.

Our skinny dipping, sometimes, was co-ed, so the new light promised advantages for a boy with raging hormones. This was pre-internet so porn was not ubiquitously available on the yet to be invented mobile phones. The only time we saw hooters was when one of our friends happened upon an old Playboy or Penthouse and were kind enough to share.

My sisters had some hot teenage girlfriends. Even the not so hot friends had shapely girl parts. So, I was hoping, we boys were hoping while swimming sans clothing our eyes would enjoy a flesh feast.  This was in the pre-pube shaving days so it was unlikely we would have seen much more than a black beaver patch glistening in the moonlight. Still, we played tricks like throwing the soap just out of reach and a little high so a girl might get caught up in the moment and reach exposing some forbidden skin. Perhaps, one would climb out of the lake ‘Birth of Venus’ like and their long hair would slip exposing boobage. Nothing. Not a once. The girls were much to smart for the boys. Girls are much smarter than boys.

To my teenage frustration, I never did see side boob or a perky nipple or, the holy grail, the furry little kitty. God knows I tried. The only clams I fondled were of the non-bearded variety laying just beneath the sand filtering small organisms and algae from the water. Those I threw along the surface of the water watching them skip with the aplomb of a smooth rock.

Losing The V-Card

The romantic in me would love to say I lost my virginity on a Wisconsin beach by the light of a full moon with an incredibly hot babe as we lay legs immersed in the gently rolling waves, that I busted-a-nut in a wild country girl with the leg strength to crush a mechanical bull in one of those honky-tonk saloons and emerged from my boyhood chrysalis into a fully fledged man. But it would not stand up in a court of truth. Fantasy? Yes. Reality? Not even close. Well, I did come close once and only once. Sigh. Double sigh.

She was either a year-round local or a Summer girl spending the months between the end and start of school at her parent’s lake home. I forget which. Their multi-story home was built on a lot with direct access to water. We had to walk a couple of blocks from our place to see the lake. My mom had a dread fear of people drowning so wanted ample distance to ensure safety. Little did she know we frequented the lake unsupervised many a time.

Her family had motorcycles that we rode, illegally, in a large depression across highway 13. She and I were on the same bike. Me pretending to be in control despite rarely being on a motorcycle while she sat behind with arms around my waist, a setup causing me to tingle in the loins. These were the days I was still immortal. Helmets were not mandatory riding attire as they became when I eventually purchased my own street bike decades later. We went down once. The rear time slid sideways in the loose sand on a decline and we eased down our legs still wrapped around the bike.

The depression in which we were riding was clear-cut in the forest that was in the process of being dredged later to be filled with river water eventually becoming the bottom of Lake Arrowhead where decades later I took my son fishing for the ubiquitous bluegill. The lake homes surrounding Arrowhead tend to be larger than those built around our Lake Camelot, also a manmade lake, with the whole area feeling more upscale. But those homes came much later.

Her name was Karen. My friends, Bob’s kids, year-round residents, referred to her as Karen QF. The QF standing for Quick Fuck which, I was told, meant she was quick to fuck not too fucking quick to catch for a fuck nor having jackhammer hips making the act of fucking literally quick. She may truly have been quick to fuck but I wasn’t quick enough to fuck…her. I waited one day too long to make my move only to be thwarted by nature’s cycles. My little man didn’t take a dip into the pink.

She was a brunette, a long-haired brunette with brown eyes. Perhaps the frustration with not hitting a home run is why I am still attracted to brunettes tending toward raven black above all other hair colors. Though, the blues and purples and pinks are alluring. It may be that I never recovered from the strikeout and am still trying to make up for the one that got away by knocking as many as possible out of the park (hitting for sixes for cricket fans). Or, maybe the adage blonds have more fun is poppycock and it is the ravens that are ‘funner’ to play with. Whatever the case…I struck out….yet again.

One Is The Loneliest Number

As deep as I can see into the sootied waters of my past, I see a person more comfortable being alone or with a one or two others than in a group. A person craving human connection but keeping everyone at arm’s length for reasons I still don’t fully fathom. This was definitely a truth in my twenties. It may reach back further but time has yellowed many of those movies either from the effects of an aging brain or my soul protecting itself from needless pain.

These days, I get great satisfaction from alone time and seek it out with increasing hunger. Back in the day, it seems to be the natural outcome of me not being particularly socially adept or a foundational arrogance preventing me from seeing my own faults digging moats none dare cross. Perhaps, I did not realize I needed to change my ways to make connections or there are some reasons not yet dredged from my psyche. Most likely, a combination of many.

I was in my late twenties, a gorgeous evening. Of course, there was a fire with lots of drinking and talking and drinking. Family friends outnumbered family members which was often the case. I was mostly listening to conversations waiting for an opening to shine my brilliance before retreating back into my head. Or I was mesmerized by the ghosts floating up from the dancing flames becoming lost in my own thoughts, ensconced in a world no one, not even my then wife, was able to penetrate to any meaningful depth. Again the dichotomy…wanting to know and be fully known yet walling off anyone seeking understanding.

Years later I was dating a woman who shone a light on this same predilection. We were having a conversation over dinner and I remarked that I was pretty much an open book for the world to see. She stopped midmovement from putting a fork full of kimchee into her mouth and said, “Seriously? Almost all I know about you is surface. You never let me inside.” I stared back trying to hide my grinding teeth, my tell in times of stress. It wasn’t long after she decided seeing me was not worth her time. This tiger was unable to change its spots. I have since wondered if I subconsciously kept her at bay or there was simply nothing below the surface worth knowing. Was as shallow as the Platte River, a mile wide but only an inch deep?

Some of us went for a late night swim. Afterward, all but one returned to the house and the bonfire. The one being me.

I stretched out on the wooden pier listening to the night voices, insects, the purr of waves against the shore, watching the waning Moon against a blanket of stars. Millions of stars and solitary Moon, a celestial body without the ability to generate light so cursed to reflect the essence of Sun, a satellite revolving around Earth yet never touching her. A being in isolation.

My guard dropped allowing a crack for emotion to enter and implode. I felt the pain of isolation. Loneliness gnawed with the ferocity of the walleye beneath the black water clamping sharp teeth into unwitting prey sucked into a gullet where acids attacked and slowly dissolved the body. I pulled out my pocket knife. I always carried a knife. I carved the letters O-N-E into the pier weeping all the while. It was my code for one is the loneliest number I will ever be. A cry for help? Maybe.

Eventually, I went back to the house. I had been there for at least an hour and I don’t think anyone noticed. Did anyone even care? I can’t say. That is a question requiring vulnerability. I lacked the courage to be vulnerable. So, I grabbed a drink, never being a beer drinker it was probably a whiskey and seven-up, and pulled up a chair by the fire. I watched everyone, talking, laughing. I remember wondering if I was cursed to be Moon forever isolated from the stars and Earth.

Buried Kegs, Panty Hats, & Stinkweeds

The big Summer weekend at the land was Frolic Weekend in August. We usually planned an event spanning the weekend plus a day or so at either end. Driving home to Chicago on a Sunday evening meant heavy traffic especially at the toll booths which were still insatiable mouths feeding on quarters. The lodge hosted a party with music, beer, more beer, brats, beer, grilled corn, volleyball tournaments, ski shows, and beer. They had a penchant for selling alcohol to minors then washing their hands when those same minors were ticketed by the PoPo resulting in a return trip for a court date with parents. I always thought the two were in collusion. Money to the lodge from beer sales. Money to the city in fines.

A few of us guys went up early. The WAGS (wives and girlfriends) followed a couple of days later. My brother and a brother-in-law bought a keg and buried it in the sand to keep it cold. Only the tapper stuck above ground. There was cold beer at the fire, cold beer at lunch, cold beer at breakfast. The beer was cold until the keg was tapped out a day or so later. So, I’m told.  It was likely they purchased a second but I don’t clearly recall. If I was betting man, I would wager on yes.

The second night, the girls came up well after dark. When they arrived, we were seated around the fire drinking, cooked halfway to roasted by the flames and toasted by the alcohol. The brother and BIL were wearing women’s underwear, their women’s underwear on their heads. This was a day or two into their stinkweed contest so what greeted their girls was two stinky dudes wearing panty hats. Funny and repulsive at the same time.

Why stinky? The two of them, for some reason I will never grasp, decided they would have a contest to see who could go the most days without a shower or swimming or washing of any type. Day one, not a big deal. Day two, erm, they were given more than their normal share of personal space. By the third or fourth day, we couldn’t get near either of them and, I imagine, their ripeness offended their own nostrils. My brother caved at the behest of his girlfriend. The BIL won. He was officially the stinkiest of the stinkweeds.

Fishing & Other Animal Stories

Wisconsin stories would not be complete without animal stories. Animals, primarily scaly fish, were a huge (yuge) reason we boys were excited to visit The Land. For me the priority was fishing followed by swimming, I think. If not in the early years then soon thereafter as I grew increasingly fishing obsessed.

Hook, Line, & Sinker

Fishing. Ahh, fishing. We are a fishing family because of my dad’s friend Bob. The same Bob who talked my dad into buying the plot in Wisconsin. The same Bob who felt like a second father. Bob taught my dad to fish when he invited him on annual trips to Boulder Junction for Muskie and the Boundary Waters for monster pike. The love of fishing has moved through the generations. We are all connected by a proverbial stringer.

I remember hot days standing in the shallows casting toward a sunken tree for bass while everyone else splashed around. I remember setting overnight lines and running to the pier in the morning to see if we caught bullhead and, if so, were they still alive since they typically swallowed the hook deep into their stomachs. I remember fighting mosquitoes in the night while we fished for bullhead and were surprised by the rare walleye sometimes big enough to legally eat. I remember the sheer joy of catching tiny bluegill after tiny bluegill for hours on end. I remember fishing in the sticks with my brothers, a place near the start of the lake where the feeding river flooded a woodland drowning the trees leaving them naked carcasses and prime habitat for bass. It felt like we had traveled into pre-history. We became spooked when a few large Blue Heron took to air from dead branches looking like Pterodactyls on the wing hunting meat. I remember standing in the water fishing by the upper spillway later emerging with leeches on my legs that I scraped off with the knife always in my pocket. There are three fishing memories larger than all the others combined. They involve Pumpkinseeds, a Largemouth Bass, and a shit load of crappie.

Nine Inch Pumpkinseeds

My daughters were probably three and four when this memory was created. I had taken the two of them for a long weekend in Wisconsin for some Daddy-Daughter time. I was recently divorced and wanted to make sure they had ample daddy time now that I was not seeing them on a daily basis. The weekend necessarily included fishing time. I bought them each identical Orca reel fishing poles from Sportmart which were very easy for little ones to manage and inexpensive.

The weekend was overcast with intermittent rains meaning most of the time we were stuck in the house. We took advantage of a lull in the weather and walked down to the lake. Each of the girls wanted to carry the tub of worms. Rather than have a battle, I gave each their own worm to carry, a worm they petted as they walk. As was her norm, the younger said her knees hurt and she wanted to be carried.

I was already carrying the fishing poles, the worms, and a Mountain Dew so there was no space for her plus I wanted her to kick the habit of always whining until someone caved and picked her up.  At the time, she was frustrated because her hair was not very long. It was then I dreamed up a solution to both problems. I told her the more she walked the longer and faster her hair would grow. Her eyes lit up. And, by corollary, I told her if she walked backward it would get shorter. The plot worked and anytime she asked to be carried, I reminded her of walking and hair length. Carrying her soon ceased to be an issue.

They each caught a few small bluegills, the first fish of their young lives. Every fish caught inched the smile on their faces wider. Then we hit a slow patch and the girls began to lose interest. Suddenly, Sammy’s bobber was pulled deep, unlike the tittering from the smaller fish nibbled at the bait, and the pole was ripped out of her hands and pulled under water. I saw it flashing in the weeds and thrust my hand in to pull it out. I let her reel it in and she landed a Pumpkinseed. They are an aggressive member of the bluegill family with a shiny orange belly patch showing like a bursting sunrise. It measured nine inches from lips to tail. While dehooking and measuring, Stephanie also had a strong hit. She had a tighter grip on the fishing pole so there wasn’t a repeat of a pole in the water. She, too, landed a nine-inch Pumpkinseed.

The rain started so we packed up and headed back to the house. I carried everything to hurry them along in case the drizzle became a downpour. They walked with their faces up, mouths open catching raindrops while laughing hysterically.

A Not So Lucky Largemouth Bass

A few years later, I was fishing with all three kids. The girls and I were on the same pier they caught the Pumpkinseeds but Brian decided he would fish from the pier on our beachhead. He was highly coordinated so was already able to cast with ease and accuracy. It was difficult trying to manage all of them at once and attend to the inevitable snags, hook baiting, and removal of hooks set deep in the fish internals.

He called saying he was snagged and needed help. I looked over and saw the fishing tip bouncing with ferocity and immediately knew he had a substantially larger fish than the bluebill and perch we were landing. I ran over to the pier by which time he had walked off the pier and was standing on the shore. The monofilament, a 10-pound test, was stretched across the pier and the fish was still dancing. How the wood slats did not cut the line I will never know. I took him back onto the pier and helped him land his first Largemouth Bass.  I would normally throw the fish back into the water for future growth. But, it was the legal length and the kids wanted to eat it so I cleaned it and cooked it for a dinner.

If I was to hazard a guess at the same time he landed the fish, fishing set its hook deep into his soul. He has been an avid angler since that day.

A Shit Load of Crappie

Fast forward a decade. My son and I are fishing at the spillway. The spillway is a concrete structure funneling water from the upper to the lower lake. There is a constant flow of aerated water through the deep channel spilling into the lake. The depth varies from ten feet in the channel and becomes shallows once outside the concrete walls and the direct influence of the water flow. Thus the area has a variety of environments attracting many types of fish. It is a prime fishing spot.

Over a couple of nights, crappie were actively hitting on white plastic tubes. Other colors attracted a few but white was the primary color triggering their attack instinct. Once we mastered the proper technique, waiting until the second hit in a short sequence to set the hook, we would pull in one every few casts.

One evening, we headed out before dusk loaded up with bug dope to keep the skeeters off so we could fish in peace and carried an ample supply of sunflower seeds. We had a small tackle box of plastics with extra whites knowing white was the color of the day but included other colors just in case. Fish can be finicky and it pays to be prepared. I don’t know if there was some magic in the way the stars aligned or we just lucked into an aggressive school of hungry crappie. They hit like psychos for at least two hours. We were catching fish on most every cast. By the time the frenzy quelled, we had caught over 180 between the two of us. It was the most insane fishing experience of my life.

White Tails

There were White-Tailed Deer galore which we loved seeing…mostly. We were fishermen, not hunters, though big game hunting in Africa was a parttime fantasy of my youth along with being Tarzan swinging through the trees. We never participated in the annual Deer Hunt, the religion most common in Central Wisconsin. If you don’t hunt, the high priests will not allow you to be a congregant of the Most Holy Church of the White-Tailed Deer. Although, the will serve you venison communion hoping to make you a convert.

When I was older and driving on my own from the Dells to the house just after sunset, I counted 40 deer over a 40 mile stretch in the ditches along the road. And those were just the ones I saw. I can’t imagine how many were lurking just beyond the reach of the high beams. Each was a potential weapon of mass destruction if it was spooked and took flight across the road at precisely the moment I was cruising by. Wham! Bam! Thank You, Ma’am. Wham…car slams into the animal. Bam…extensive damage and likely totaling the vehicle. Thank You, Ma’am, for crashing through my window and crushing me into the seat so I didn’t fly through the window.

Ant Wars

It was a party weekend. We were in our twenties, upper for me. ‘Back when I was in Nam‘ Steve who was younger than me and never a pincushion for bullets fired by the Viet Cong from Soviet weapons but liked to use the tag was bored as was blonde Andrea, pronounced On Drea who had an unusually high voice and was not afraid of insects. It was a sunny morning, too late to still be snoozing in a tent heated by the sun, too early to be two-fisting beers around the campfire. What to do before the action begins?

Wisconsin is home to a plethora of insect life the worst being the vicious mosquitoes swarming in any bit of shade to butterflies flitting between flowers on the sloping side of the earthen damn separating Lake Camelot from Lake Sherwood. Steve was watching some ants he found and placed in the dished underside of a white frisbee. This intrigued Andrea and they watched together.

One of them thought it would be interesting to add other insects to the mix. The two of them found another ant species and placed them in the same frisbee. The two species each threatened by their other’s pheromones and emboldened by their own fought to the death. It was a microcosm of almost every self-important politician’s wet dream sending youth to die in a senseless war.

Turtling in Lake Sherwood

Lake Sherwood, the lower lake from ours was continually filled by the spillway. Think of a spillway as a drain in a sink where excess water falls into the pipes and those pipes emptied into a lower lake on the other side of an earthen damn. The waters were lower in elevation, protected from the wind by thick stands of pine trees and walls of land descending from the road beyond the trees to the lake level. These waters were shielded from the wind, tended to be placid, conditions conducive to rafts of weeds forming along the shore. A semi-secure haven for small fish, frogs, and turtles.

We saw the turtles while fishing. Sometimes they were sunning on a dead tree branch. If you cast near them, hey would quickly slide into the lake with nary a splash. Mostly, we saw tiny turtle heads, black with yellow lines, poking above the water their shell a shadow hovering just below the surface intimating a chimerical flying saucer. Something you think you see but are never quite sure it’s real or it’s size. They were too far from shore to reach with our short nets.

On a sunny afternoon, some of us boys dragged a boat over the dam and launched it into Lake Sherwood with the idea of catching a few. What to do with them after? Young boys tend not to think that far into the future.

Our tactic was to row toward a head and, if it didn’t dive outside our reach, throw the net over the top. It was a tactic catching naught but weeds, weeds we had to clean out of the net. Mostly, the turtle dove well before we were within reach.

Through trial and error, we learned if you looked straight at the turtle it dove early. If they did not see you staring at them, they lingered until we were closer. We revised our strategy to approach at an angle and to monitor them from the corner of our eyes. The better proximity allowed us to realize when threatened the turtles did not dive forward in the direction they were facing but moved backward, quickly turn around and swam down toward the bottom for safety.

But they were still too far to catch. We fastened the net to a pole. We then thrust the net into the water targeting behind and below the turtles. Using this final stratagem, we pulled a good dozen from the lake. We brought them back to our tent compound where they were kept in a large bin with enough water to cover them but not enough they could escape. A day or two later, we released them back into the lake.

I only ever remember turtling the one time. I don’t know why we never went again. Maybe because dragging a rowboat up the damn was difficult requiring a few of us to push and pull. I guess, the difficulty outweighed the fun.

Tweeties

There was a season in my life, I was into all things feathered including bird watching. I had binoculars, a spotting scope, and a recording of a screech owl. I would take early jaunts around sunrise when every bird ever born seemed to be singing in a grand chorus and sunset when they stopped hunting and went to roost until dawn. Each new bird spotted sent tingles down my spine and a tick mark in my birding book.

I used the screech owl recording a few times. I set up a tape recorder near a tree on the land and hit play. I would describe the sound as a staccato burst or a trill or a tremolo. Each segment lasted a few seconds. Had I not known who was making the call, I would not be able to identify if it was from a bird, insects, or some animal hidden from my view.

When you are prey, it behooves you to know when a predator is lurking. If not, talons are much more likely to pierce your body and your final vision is a hooked beak tearing at your innards. The birds knew the call meant danger. The forest sentinels, Blue Jays and others, flew in to spot the owl and attempt to shoo it into another territory. They ignored me and I was able to add a couple new entries to my growing list.

Being a bird fan, I collected feathers. My preference is to see a plume flutter from the sky and catch it before it touches Earth. But that has yet to happen. I found them occasionally and only rarely could identify the species. I still kept them for their delicate beauty. A couple of times, I found the plucked remains scattered after a predator feasted. This was how I collected the yellow-tipped tail feathers of a cedar waxwing discovered near it’s bloodied skull.

The surest way to find feathers is to monitor the sides of higher speed roads for those losing their lives to cars and trucks. I once found a deceased Turkey Vulture and took the entire wing. Driving North on Highway 13 with my daughter, I found the intact remains of a Grey Catbird. It was on the other side of the road forcing me to make a U-turn. It was freshly dead without stench or oozing liquids, not even blood marred the otherwise splendid grey body. I wanted a few feathers but my daughter wanted to bring it home and keep it as a pet. So, it made the trip back to Chicago with us sometimes in her young hands, other times in a plastic Ziploc bag. A couple of days later, body fluids were oozing into the bag and it received a proper burial behind the garage.

Crawdaddies

Fishing at night near our pier, we carried flashlights so we could bait the hooks and remove the bullhead without having their spiny fins stick us. Those fins were as sharp as needles requiring care when grabbing them or a towel in which to wrap them. The towels grew to stink like hell and were eventually trashed. They were strong fish and wiggling bodies could stick a spine deep.

With the flashlights, we discovered crawdads scouring beneath the pier and near the shore for morsels to fill their bellies. Crawdads also known as crayfish or crawfish, look like miniature freshwater lobsters down to the segmented tail used for explosive backward movement and pincer claws to grab food and feed themselves. They easily fit into the palm of our hands. Of course, we deemed them a must to catch them. Why? The same reason people take arduous hikes in the desert or climb mountains. Because they’re there.

The pincers can cut human skin so catching them requires care. The technique we devised was to slowly move the hand into the water behind the critter, place the index finger onto the carapace and press it into the sand. It seems their eyesight was very poor and they may react more to changes in water pressure than seeing our hands. Thus immobilized, thumb and middle finger picked it up. We were safe from the pincers which, limited by the exoskeleton, could not reach us. It didn’t stop them from trying and their claws flailed in the air. We tossed them into a bucket with their brethren. Once they were cooked and eaten with butter. I wasn’t there that time.

Other Notables & Wish To Have Seen

For a short while, there was a herd of captive Bison near the intersection of Hwy 13 and Hwy 73. I stopped to marvel whenever I drove by. They are massive animals, an anchor to the American past, the sacred beast of the plains Indians. Once almost hunted to extinction, they are making a comeback in pockets across the plains. I have long longed for a Buffalo blanket for cold nights in bed or lying in front of a fireplace. I never did find out if the owner of this small herd sold them.

In recent years, wolves and black bears made their way into Central Wisconsin. The one verified Wolf sighting I know of involved a collision between a Harley rider and a wolf on a country road late at night. Neither survived. Kind of ironic that a one percenter killed another one percenter. Black Bear are spotted North of Wisconsin Rapids usually by garbage dumps. One man’s trash another’s treasure. We never saw any down our way. Just knowing both large predators existed a stone’s throw from our vacation lot excited me.

On my final trip to the land, I saw a couple of early migration, sandhill cranes sporting russet caps reminding me that I was and will always be a ginger no matter if my hair blooms white. They were standing on the side of the road, perhaps a mating pair. Quite a few Hawks were perched in trees and on the wing. Seven to ten deer were in various states of decay in the ditches along the road. Wisconsin DNR no longer collects the deer when killed by vehicles. They scrape them from the road and toss them into the ditch where Nature will perform final absolution and let her many children purify the bones. It’s the same process I wish for my bones to be liberated from my body, my soul forgiven for the untold sins of humanity committed against Earth. The dead deer felt apropos to the theme of our final weekend.

Jaws

No history of the land would be complete without the Jaws story. Jaws the movie came out in the summer of 1975. Quite frankly, it was terrifying to all of us but none more so than middle brother. As was our tradition, we were at ‘The Land’ in August so the movie was very fresh in our minds. We were playing in a rubber raft near the pier. Every so often, we would purposely tip the raft causing us to fall into the water then start yelling Jaws, Jaws. The fearful brother swam to shore with the speed, if not the flair, of seven gold medal winner Mark Spitz. We tormented him with ‘Jaws’ for most of the trip.

The Final Curtain – So long, Farewell, Goodbye

Dad’s Closed Face Reel and Cork Pole

When all was said and done, the mementos spared the fire or excused a trip to the dump were stuffed into cars along with a lot of sentimental junk that will either gather dust in attics or be given to charity. I took nothing, wanted nothing. Not even one of my dad’s earliest fishing reels and the poles bearing the scars of fish fins and the hard edges of boats. The only mementos I hold sacred are the memories.

We all gathered around the fire pit for pictures, dad was present in a large photo and in our hearts. We sat on the benches we made from the scraps when the first deck was ripped out for the newer, grander, porch. There was the Dan/Diane love seat and the two larger benches we angled in the middle to ensure proximity to the fire from every seat. The three benches are at least twenty years old and still solid as the day we made them despite never cozying up indoors during the cold and wet seasons. I expect the next owner, not knowing their history, will either burn or consign to the trash heap. Come to think of it, those are the souvenirs I would have liked to bring home. I would like to have replicated the sacred bonfire in my backyard using a cast iron fire pit.

Mom brought some of my father’s ashes in a vial for a closing ceremony. She spread some on the land itself in close proximity to the deck stairs. We then walked en masse to the beach, four generations interconnected by blood or marriage, with the photo of my dad held high. The pier where I carved the word ‘one’ is no longer there having been removed by the bureaucrats from the property owners association for some bullshit, legalistic reason.

The rest of the ashes were scattered in the lake with mom almost falling into the water. We laughed some more. Took a bunch of group photos then headed back to our cars and the drive home. I expected pain during the ashes ceremonies, the resurrected pain of loss but it never came. I don’t handle people leaving my life very well. Being there with family dissipated the pain in a jovial atmosphere.

Mom & Dad

The Originals

All of Us – Color Fading

The Fischers

The Son-In-Laws

The WInstons

Campfire Stylized

Ashes on The Land

Marching to the Lake

Ashes in the Lake

Ashes in the Lake After Almost Falling In

The First Family – Feels Like Sepia

They say catharsis with the rapid release of negative emotions is liberating. Not for me, not this time. I drove back to Chicago feeling bound and ball gagged by my internal dominatrix lashing my soul with a leather strop.

Afterword

If any of you out there in reader-land were among the hundreds that visited the Olson Summer Estate, I would love to hear your reminisces in the comments section…

Don’t You Forget About Me by Simple Minds Hey, hey, hey, hey Ooh woh

Won’t you come see about me? I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby

Tell me your troubles and doubts Giving me everything inside and out and Love’s strange so real in the dark Think of the tender things that we were working on

Slow change may pull us apart When the light gets into your heart, baby

Don’t you, forget about me Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t Don’t you, forget about me Will you stand above me?

Look my way, never love me Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling Down, down, down

Will you recognize me? Call my name or walk on by Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling Down, down, down, down

Hey, hey, hey, hey Ooh woh

Don’t you try and pretend It’s my feeling we’ll win in the end I won’t harm you or touch your defenses Vanity and security

Don’t you forget about me I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby Going to take you apart I’ll put us back together at heart, baby

Don’t you, forget about me Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t Don’t you, forget about me As you walk on by

Will you call my name? As you walk on by Will you call my name? When you walk away Or will you walk away?

Will you walk on by? Come on, call my name Will you call my name?

I say (Lala la la lala la la) Will you call my name? As you walk on by

My Childhood Was Auctioned off To The Only Bidder The past is a place of reference, not a place of residence. ~Roy T. Bennett With the sale of the family Summer Estate in Central Wisconsin in March of 2018, the second to last vestige of my childhood goes the way of the final Dodo bird clubbed over the head by a sailor for food.