Maja took the roast out of the oven and set the baking pan down on a wooden board in the middle of the table. The aroma of roasted meat instantly filled the dining room. She picked up a large carving fork and began slicing the meat, while Dino watched her hands intently from the other side of the table.

"It looks amazing, Maja," Dino said, reaching for the bottle on the sideboard behind him. "I brought this red. I think it’ll pair well."

"Thanks, Dino. You always remember to bring something nice," she replied, keeping her eyes fixed on the meat.

She placed the first slice onto Dino’s plate, then a second onto Antonio’s, who was sitting at the head of the table. Antonio remained silent. His hands were resting in his lap, beneath the edge of the table, as he stared motionlessly at the plate in front of him.

"Antonio?" Maja called out to him. "Are you okay? You’ve been so distant all day."

Antonio slowly raised his eyes. First, he looked at her—at her clean face and her hair pulled back into a ponytail—and then he shifted his gaze to his brother sitting opposite her.

"I’m fine," he said, his voice completely flat, without a single inflection. "Just tired from work. It’s nothing."

"See, that’s your problem," Dino cut in, already chewing on his first bite. "My friend, you need to slow down. Life is passing you by, and you’re buried in those papers. Look at yourself, you’re too pale. You need to get out more, be among people."

"I will get out," Antonio replied, picking up his knife and fork. "Soon."

Maja sat down in her place, facing Dino. She poured herself some water, then reached for the wine bottle. She filled Dino’s glass halfway, then her own.

"Would you like some, Antonio?" she asked, holding the bottle over his glass.

"No, thank you. I’m sticking to water tonight."

"Your loss, you don’t know what you’re missing," Dino said, raising his glass toward his brother. "To that, man. Cheers to our health."

Antonio raised his glass of water. Glass clinked against glass, the sound echoing brief and sharp in the quiet room. He took a small sip of the cold water and set the glass back on the table, exactly where it had been before, making sure it aligned perfectly to the millimeter with the edge of his plate.

The dinner went on slowly, filled with Dino’s story about his car trouble and a mechanic who tried to rip him off for parts. Maja listened to him intently, nodding occasionally and smiling at him. Antonio chewed the tough meat in silence, watching how Maja followed Dino’s every hand gesture.

When she reached toward the middle of the table for the salad bowl, she extended her arm straight out. The space between Dino’s plate and his glass was narrow, and as she pulled the bowl back, her index finger lingered against his forearm for a second. Dino didn’t pull his arm away. Instead, he kept talking, though the rhythm of his sentence slowed down for just a brief moment—just enough to catch her touch before he finished his thought and laughed.

Antonio watched it all without blinking. He knew about them. He knew about her made-up nights out with friends, and about all those evenings when she would come home late with cheap excuses. Everything was as clear as day.

"Maja, pass me some more bread, please," Dino said.

Maja picked up the bread basket and handed it to him across the table, their fingers brushing once again. This time, they didn’t even bother to hide it from him. Dino took a slice of bread and began wiping the sauce off his plate.

"This is honestly superb," he said, leaning back in his chair with satisfaction. "Maja, you’re a wonder."

Maja blushed slightly, then stood up and carried the empty salad bowl into the kitchen. She returned, sat back down, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, while Dino raised his glass toward Antonio once more.

"Man, compliments to the chef for this dinner. We should do this more often."

Antonio slowly placed both hands on the table, palms down and fingers spread wide across the white tablecloth. The smile completely vanished from his face as he shifted his gaze from Dino to Maja.

"We should, but this is your last one," Antonio said.

Dino lowered his glass, the red wine swirling slightly inside it, and looked at his brother in confusion, then at Maja.

"What do you mean, last one?" he asked.

Maja stared at Antonio; her hand froze in her lap as she held the napkin.

"Antonio, what are you talking about?" she asked.

Antonio didn't answer right away. He slowly reached into the pocket of his blazer, which was hanging on the back of his chair, pulled out a small black pistol, and laid it on the table, right next to his glass of water.

Maja caught her breath sharply through her teeth, while Dino went completely rigid.

"Because tonight, you are both going to die," he said. His voice was entirely calm, without any rise in tone. "You are getting exactly what you deserve."

"Antonio, please..." Maja whispered, as a first tear rolled down her cheek, but she was too paralyzed by fear to wipe it away.

"You will go down as an unfaithful wife, killed by her lover because she wanted to leave him," he said coldly, then turned to Dino. "And you... You, brother, will be remembered as a piece of trash to the whole world—the man who stole his own brother's wife, and a monster who ended up killing her." And me? I had to kill you because you attacked me right after her. I’ll be the victim who acted in self-defense."

Dino's breathing was shallow and rapid, his hands clenched into fists on the table. He looked at the gun, then into Antonio’s cold eyes.

"Antonio, you’re crazy, I..." He gathered his strength, pressed his hands against the table, and tried to lunge to his feet.

He remained half-crouched, his palms pressed hard against the edge of the table. His eyes were wide, locked onto the barrel of the gun, which was now raised to the level of his chest. Antonio’s elbow rested on the table, his hand steady and still.

"Sit back down, Dino," Antonio said.

Dino lowered himself back into his chair, slowly, inch by inch. He didn’t take his eyes off Antonio’s finger, which was resting along the trigger.

"Antonio, calm down," Dino hissed through his teeth. His voice was deep and strained. "Put that away. I’m your brother. Let’s talk."

Antonio tilted his head slightly.

"We are talking, Dino. Tonight we talk about your car, about your mechanic, about your wine. Now it’s my turn."

Maja covered her mouth with both hands. A short, muffled sound, like a sob, escaped her throat, and she tried to swallow it down. She looked at Dino, then back at the gun.

"Antonio, please..." she spoke from behind her palms. "You’ve got it wrong... it’s not what you think. Do you really believe that..."

"Don't, Maja," Antonio cut her off, without turning his head toward her. He kept his eyes on his brother. "Don’t waste words on lies that you can’t even finish. I know everything. I told you."

Dino slowly spread his hands flat on the tablecloth.

"Alright," he said, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. "You caught us. We messed up, we're idiots, do whatever you want to me. Hit me, break me, but put the gun away, please. We can handle this like civilized men."

"Like civilized men?" Antonio repeated, a barely noticeable, cold smile appearing on his face for a split second. "You want us to handle this like civilized men? You’re sitting at my table, Dino. You’re eating my food, raising a toast to me. And what are you doing behind my back the whole time? Sleeping with my wife. Is that your idea of 'civilized'?"

Maja dropped her hands from her face. The skin around her eyes was red, and her lips were trembling. She stared at Antonio, trying to catch his eye, but his gaze remained fixed on Dino.

"Antonio, please," she said, gasping for air. "If I have to, I’ll leave. I’ll pack up tonight, I’ll go, you’ll never have to look at me again. Just... please, put the gun down."

"You’re not going anywhere, Maja," he said in a flat voice. "I told you how things stand. Tonight, you both die."

"You can’t kill your own brother, are you insane?!" Dino suddenly raised his voice, anger briefly overtaking his fear. His shoulders tensed. "The same mother gave birth to us, we grew up together, Antonio! We're blood!"

"You're the one who forgot that," Antonio replied. "Now it's too late."

Silence fell over the dining room. Dino’s breathing was heavy and shallow. Maja stared at the gun, then at her husband, gripping the edge of the table as if she were about to collapse from her chair.

Antonio slowly shifted the barrel of the gun, pointing toward the large carving knife that lay next to the empty baking pan in the middle of the table.

"Actually... You know what, Dino..." he spoke, his voice sounding almost relaxed. "Maybe it isn't entirely too late. Maybe there is a way out for you. It all depends on how badly you truly want to live."

Dino looked toward the knife. The blade caught the reflection of the light.

"What does that mean?" he managed to say.

"Take the knife, Dino," Antonio said. He didn’t raise his voice. "Take it and cut her arm. Make a gash. Prove to me that your life matters more to you than hers, and maybe I’ll let you walk out that door alive."

Maja’s breath caught. She flinched backward, pressing her back against the spine of her chair.

"Antonio, no! Dino, don't, please!" she cried out, clutching her hands to her chest as tears streamed down her face. "Antonio, don’t do this..."

Dino didn’t look at her. His forehead was completely drenched in sweat. His fingers slowly began to move toward the middle of the table. Toward the wooden handle of the knife.

"Dino..." she pleaded, her voice a mix of a scream and disbelief. She watched his fingers close around the handle. "Dino, please, don't. You love me... you said you loved me..."

"I'm sorry, Maja," he spoke, his voice completely twisted by terror. "I have to. I want to live."

He leaned over the table. The blade passed right next to the water pitcher. Maja tried to pull her arm back, but it was useless. She had nowhere to go.

The tip of the knife touched her forearm. Dino pressed down. His hand was shaking, but he dragged a cut several centimeters long. The skin tore open, and thick, red blood instantly began to drip onto the tablecloth.

Maja let out a sharp, guttural cry. She clamped her left hand over the wound.

"It’s done," Dino gasped, breathing loudly through his nose. He dropped the knife onto the table. "I did what you asked, Antonio, now let me go."

Antonio didn’t move. He lowered his eyes to the bloodstain, then shifted his gaze back to his brother.

"That was just a scratch, Dino. That isn’t proof that you want to live. That’s proof that you are a coward."

Maja breathed rapidly, keeping her fingers pressed tight over her forearm. Blood seeped between her fingers. Through her tears, she shot Dino a look full of pure rage.

"You piece of trash!" she screamed, her voice trembling. "You sold me out in a second. You talked me into all of this, and now you’re carving me up just to save your own skin. You coward!"

"Shut up, Maja!" Dino shouted, his lower lip trembling. His face was red with fury and panic. "You came to me on your own, I didn’t force you into anything! You were the one constantly talking about how bored you were with him! Antonio, she’s lying! I just..."

"Enough," Antonio cut them off. He didn’t raise his voice, but they both went silent instantly. "I don’t care. Dino, the knife is still on the table."

Dino looked down at the wooden handle.

"Antonio, please..." he whispered, his hand now visibly shaking. "Don't. I did what you asked. Let me go."

"I told you how things stand, Dino," Antonio continued. He slowly raised the gun and aimed the barrel straight at his forehead. "Stab her again. Properly this time. In the stomach."

"Antonio, no!" Maja shrieked. She tried to get up from her chair, but her hand slipped, knocking over her wine glass. The liquid spilled across the table. "Dino, don't!"

"Dino, the clock is ticking," Antonio said, his finger on the trigger tightening slightly. "Choose. Her stomach or your head. Now."

Dino closed his eyes for a second. He let out a short, broken sob, and then pure, primal fear for his own skin completely overrode everything else. He grabbed the knife from the table once more. He stepped out from behind his chair, bypassed the corner of the table, and leaned over Maja.

"I’m sorry..." he muttered through his teeth, his voice no longer sounding human.

He lunged and drove the blade deep into her abdomen.

The knife remained buried in her blouse. Slowly, he pulled his fingers away from the handle. He took one step back. His shoes squeaked quietly on the hardwood floor.

Maja didn’t scream. She only let out a long, shallow gasp, as if she had run out of air. She slid off the chair and collapsed onto the floor.

Dino stared at his sticky palms, his body shaking uncontrollably.

"Antonio..." he managed to say. His voice was raspy, barely audible. "It’s over. Let me out."

"Brother, please..." he took another step back. "Let me go. Please."

"You’re not going anywhere, Dino," Antonio replied.

On the floor, Maja let out a low, wheezing sound. The fingers of her right hand twitched once, scratching against the hardwood floor, and then went limp. Her breathing was growing shallower.

"You’re crazy..." Dino whispered. "You’re a psychopath."

"I am," Antonio said. He slowly lowered the gun by a few centimeters, aiming straight at the center of Dino’s chest. "From the moment I found out about the two of you, I’ve been fantasizing about this night."

"What more do you want from me, Antonio?" Dino managed to bring out, his voice cracked with terror.

"Slow down, Dino, what’s the rush? Haste makes waste, and tonight, I can’t afford even the slightest mistake."

"Stop it..." Dino shouted, unable to take the pressure any longer. "I’ve had enough of your sick games."

Antonio just watched him coldly.

"Come over here and hit me."

Dino stared frantically at his brother's face, then at the barrel of the gun.

"What?" he stammered.

"Hit me," Antonio repeated. "With your fist. In the face. I want you to hit me. I know you want to."

"Antonio, are you out of your mind... I’m not going to hit you..." Dino started shaking his head side to side, looking for an exit.

Antonio raised the gun a bit higher.

"Dino, if you don’t hit me, I will shoot you in the head this very second. Choose. Hit me or die right now."

Dino’s breathing was fast and ragged. Pure fear for his life forced his fingers to curl into a tight fist. He stepped forward, swung, and struck Antonio right on the left side of his face.

The sound of the impact was sharp. Antonio’s head jerked to the right, and blood instantly began to flow from his split lip. He slowly turned his head back, straightened up, and looked at his brother again.

"That was weak, Dino," he said, wiping the blood from his lip. "Again. In the right eye. Hit me again. Now."

Dino was sobbing. He swung again, harder this time, and caught him in the right eye. The skin above Antonio’s eyebrow split open immediately.

In that instant, Antonio clenched his fist and struck back. The blow landed flush on Dino’s jaw, and then he swung once more, hitting his nose. There was a dull crunch of cartilage. Dino stumbled backward, a thick stream of blood spurting from his nose.

Antonio slowly raised the gun and aimed straight at his chest.

"Stand right there," he said, his voice flat and muffled.

Clutching his broken nose, Dino stared in terror at the barrel of the gun. He took two steps back, right into the open space between the table and the wall.

"Antonio, don't, please..." he gasped, his voice breaking.

Antonio pulled the trigger. He fired two quick shots. The first bullet missed Dino and embedded itself in the wall behind him, leaving a deep hole. The second bullet went straight through his chest.

He hit the wall with his back and slowly slid down onto the hardwood floor. His head slumped to the side, his eyes remaining wide open, staring at the leg of the table. He didn’t move again.

A dead silence fell over the dining room, and the smell of gunpowder began to spread through the space. Antonio lowered his hand, the gun hanging by his side. He looked at Dino, then at Maja.

He pulled his phone from his pants pocket and dialed emergency services.

"Help..." he spoke into the receiver, sounding distraught. "My wife... He attacked me too... I’m bleeding... Quickly, please..."

He cut the call and set the phone down on the table.

He walked over to Maja’s body and carefully removed the knife, using a napkin to avoid leaving fingerprints. To alter the scene and simulate an attack, he inflicted several wounds upon himself through his clothing, enduring the sharp pain before dropping the weapon. He then dragged himself a short distance away and knocked over a chair to complete the appearance of a violent struggle.

From outside, sirens began to wail. Blue lights started flashing across the walls and the ceiling of the room.

He stretched out on the floor and closed his eyes.

The front door burst open under the impact, and several police officers rushed into the dining room.

Antonio remained motionless as the authorities entered. The show was ready to begin.

I'm in such pain.

The forest knows my name.

A pain belonging to a person

whose mind is a forest.

A pain belonging to a human

whose mind, if it exists,

is a forest.

I'm in such pain.

If it feels mine, it should be mine.

I hate the way “mine” sounds.

The path to my heart is what I hate the most.

The path fears Myself.

You are the one attempting it.

A forest won’t need to hide me.

Hands are Red. Keep them warm.

The grass will turn Red soon.

I caught the word.

You sent it; I kissed it goodbye.

And a person will flee before a minute passes.

My mind is a forest.

And the way out will take longer

than sixty seconds feel like.

And me, Myself, will remain untouched.

My hands Red.

The grass Red.

The hair turned black.

Hide behind a tree

before the forest turns Red.

The blood of a person will decide

the fate of the forest.

A reputation of a tree.

My hands will rise,

and I will surrender

to the forest of my mind.

I'm in such pain.

I only ever dreamt of dancing in the forest.

With you.

I only hoped for running into the tree,

and finding you beside me.

I’m sorry that I am late,

but the forest doesn’t wait.

My thoughts are worse

than my actions will ever be.

Your hands covered in Red.

My hair in black.

Be careful of the path to my heart.

If you trip over, try again.

If we trip, we will continue dancing.

Dodge the trees.

Cover the tears.

My actions will decide for my thoughts,

and my thoughts will be stuck

in the forest in which we danced.

Your hands turned Red.

Follow the path.

A patch to my mind, perhaps.

Maybe you are a patch to my heart.

But until then,

dance with me in the flame.

My mind will cover us both

in a color named Red.

Hear the birds sleeping.

You don’t hear the owl closing in.

It moves slow,

silent,

like a predator.

But it doesn’t hunt you.

The flames will burn down the forest.

The thoughts will linger.

The flames will burn down the actions.

Our hands are covered in Red.

I’m in such pain,

a pain ruthlessly described in songs of hate.

A pain known by people close to me.

A pain which will remember yesterday.

Dance with me until we fall,

until the leaves turn Red.

Dance.

Even the owl looks away.

The owl will hear us dancing

before we hear a chirp from its children.

The owl knows the trees.

It watches us dance into them.

It’s ruthless.

It won’t hurt us

unless.

Let the black take us.

Let the Red watch itself turn to brown.

Dance with me.

My pain will become yours.

I’m in such pain.

Dance anyway.

You can’t bear to imagine a world without me,

while I live off the pain.

Just curious as to what some of you experienced with a psychic/medium? Did they predict some things correctly? Did they bring some stuff up about you that they had no business ever knowing or finding out? Not looking for people to get into debates in the comments, just looking for people first hand experience.

"Come in, Dan," Emma said.

"Hi Emma, what can I do for you?"

"As you might know, I recently got promoted to a branch manager, which came with this beautiful office."

"It is really nice."

"Thank you. But it means the basement office is empty. Management would like to move you there. It's not bad. I've actually enjoyed working there."

"But I really like my office, Emma, and the basement…"

"It's non-negotiable."

I rubbed my face.

"Sorry, my hands are tied. Please have it done by the end of the day." She glanced at the clock. "Also, keep the back room closed."

I got up and slowly walked to my office. It wasn't as pretty as Emma's, but it still had windows and sunlight, and it was mine, but what could I do? I packed up my things and headed down.

The basement was cold concrete, with bright fluorescent lights. A long hall led to the office. My steps echoed in the silence. A water cooler stood in the hall, but there was no coffee machine. I sighed and unlocked the door. 

The lights flickered. They seemed even brighter inside. The room was in the back. I put my stuff down and turned on my computer. A loud whoosh sounded from the back room like a bunch of computers turning on at once. We kept old servers in rooms like these, but why would they turn on now? 

I knew Emma had told me not to open it, but who cared? She moved me to this shithole. I walked to it and opened the door. The room was dark, but in the back, blue electric current glowed. I turned on the light. 

On the ground lay a strange gray blob, buzzing with blue electricity. Its whole body seemed to move with each volt, as if it breathed through it. The zaps got louder. They sounded like someone saying my name. I grabbed the door frame tightly. The thing expanded and deflated, and a blue wave of electricity ran along the ground, shocking me.

"Fuck!" I yelled. 

The thing moved around again, ready to fire. I turned and bolted to Emma's office.

She took a deep breath as she saw my frightened face.

"There's a, there's a thing."

"Did you open the door?"

"No. Yes. I…"

Her face went blank. She glanced at the clock.

"Dan, calm down."

"We need to call someone."

"No." She furrowed her brows. "There will be no calling."

"But it zapped me, it…"

"Listen to yourself. You're being ridiculous. Come, I'll go with you and show you it's nothing."

"No, I'm not going back there."

"Do you want to lose your job?"

"What?"

"You're getting fired if you don't listen."

"But I need this job."

"Then just come down, Dan. I'll show you it's okay. If it's not, we'll call someone."

We walked down the stairs. I still couldn't believe we were doing this. Emma seemed worried too. She kept looking over her shoulder and checking her phone. I thought we'd turn around, but she kept walking until we stood before the basement office.

She grabbed the door handle, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

"See? Nothing is going on."

She stopped and looked at the open back room.

"You opened it. It wasn't supposed to be awake yet. Not until..."

A loud electric zap sounded. The whole room turned blue for a second. I put my hand in front of my face. Emma's body lay on the ground, face down. The gray smudge moved across the floor, leaving a slime trail. As it rose and fell, its crackling formed into words, Emma's words. It climbed onto her, and a wet tearing echoed through the room.

I shut the door, ran out of the building, and called the police. They arrived shortly after. I took them to the basement, but I couldn't make myself open the door. One of the police officers had to do it. 

My heart beat against my ribs as he grabbed the handle, but the room inside was spotless. Only a faint smell of burnt meat hung in the air. The back room door was closed, and Emma sat at the table, fiddling with her hair.

"What seems to be the problem, officers?"

My fingers went numb.

"We're sorry, Ma'am. We received a distress call from your employee, but it seems everything's okay."

"We're awfully sorry. Dan has been under a lot of stress. Take the day off, Dan. If there are any costs for your troubles, officers, just invoice the company."

"No problem, Ma'am."

That day I went home feeling like a shell of myself. I couldn't remember driving home, and I didn't even change my clothes before bed. 

The next day I woke up in a haze. I didn't know whether to believe what I'd seen, and I still needed the money. I got back in my car and drove to work.

My heart pounded as I opened the building's door, but everything seemed the same. My breathing eased as I passed the office halls, but then I heard it – Emma.

"Come in, Dan," her voice crackled with static.

Le soleil de Miami n’était pas un ami ; c’était un projecteur industriel braqué sur les erreurs de la veille. Pour Chloé, l’erreur mesurait un mètre quatre-vingt-cinq, portait des costumes en lin beige et s’appelait Christian. Après dix-huit mois d’une relation toxique à base de scènes de jalousie hystériques et de textos d’excuses envoyés à quatre heures du matin, Chloé avait enfin cliqué sur « Bloquer le contact ».

Pour fêter cette libération, sa meilleure amie Barbie avait décrété l’état d’urgence festive. Barbie avait l’habitude des crises : en tant qu'assistante personnelle de la méga-star hollywoodienne Tiffany Vance, sa vie consistait à gérer des caprices de calibre international. Trouver une table VIP au Lapis, la boîte la plus sélect de South Beach, un vendredi soir, était un jeu d’enfant comparé à sa tâche de l’après-midi : dégoter de l’eau minérale bénie par un chaman péruvien pour les exigences de sa patronne.

À deux heures du matin, sous les néons roses et la basse sismique du club, Chloé se sentait revivre. Elle portait sa propre création, une veste de haute couture en soie brute qu’elle espérait utiliser pour lancer sa marque de mode éco-responsable. C’est là que Mateo était apparu.

Mateo avait le teint cuivré des hommes qui passent leur vie sur des yachts, des yeux sombres et un sourire qui promettait exactement le genre d’ennuis dont Chloé avait besoin pour oublier Christian. Il prétendait être « importateur de vélos vintage ». À Miami, cela signifiait généralement qu’il transférait des fonds suspects entre les îles Caïmans et le Venezuela, mais après trois margaritas au piment, Chloé s'en fichait éperdument.

— C'est trop bruyant ici, avait murmuré Mateo à l'oreille de Chloé, son souffle chaud faisant frissonner la jeune femme. J'ai un excellent rhum ambré chez moi. Juste un private after party. Avec ton amie, bien sûr.

Barbie avait haussé les sourcils, mais l'adrénaline de la nuit l'avait emporté. Vingt minutes plus tard, les deux filles se retrouvaient dans le salon de Mateo. Le « petit studio » s'est avéré être un appartement miteux de Little Havana qui sentait le cigare rassis et les croquettes pour chat, encombré de cadres de bicyclettes rouillés. L'ambiance n'était pas tout à fait celle d'un penthouse de luxe, mais le rhum était bon, et Mateo était diaboliquement drôle.

La tragédie choisit cet instant précis, entre deux éclats de rire, pour défoncer la porte.

Le battant en bois vola en éclats. Un colosse d’au moins deux mètres fit irruption dans la pièce. Le plus absurde — et à Miami, l’absurde est une seconde nature — était son accoutrement : il portait un short de bain hawaïen et un masque de plongée rose fluo avec un tuba qui oscillait grotesquement au-dessus de sa tête. Dans ses mains gantées, il tenait un fusil de chasse au canon scié.

Chloé et Barbie se figèrent, leurs verres suspendus en l'air.

— Oh, merde, dit Mateo.

BOUM.

La détonation fut assourdissante dans le petit espace. Le recul du fusil projeta le tueur en arrière, ses fesses percutant un guidon de vélo dans un fracas métallique. Mateo, lui, fut stoppé net dans son élan vital. Il s'effondra sur son canapé en skaï, la poitrine transformée en un paysage abstrait et sanglant. Une éclaboussure écarlate vint maculer la veste en soie blanche de Chloé.

Le tueur au masque rose se redressa péniblement, jurant en s'essuyant les yeux à travers la vitre en plastique de son masque. Il baissa les yeux vers le corps, puis, tournant la tête, il aperçut enfin les deux filles pétrifiées sur leurs tabourets de bar.

Pendant trois secondes interminables, le silence fut total, uniquement troublé par le bourdonnement des tympans des jeunes femmes. Le tueur cligna des yeux derrière son masque de plongée. Il n’était visiblement pas préparé à trouver des témoins, encore moins deux filles en tenue de soirée qui le fixaient avec des yeux ronds comme des soucoupes.

— Putain de bordel de merde, grogna le colosse d’une voix de baryton.

Paniqué, il tenta de faire demi-tour, mais son pied gauche s'entrava dans une rallonge électrique. Il s'étala de tout son long sur le linoléum, perdant son fusil, avant de se relever à toute vitesse, de ramasser son arme et de s'enfuir en boitant lourdement dans le couloir de l'immeuble.

— On s'en va, souffla Barbie, sa voix n'étant plus qu'un sifflement aigu. On s'en va TOUT DE SUITE.

La paranoïa de Floride s'installa instantanément. Appeler la police ? À Miami, témoigner dans une affaire de règlement de comptes signifiait passer les cinq prochaines années à regarder sous sa voiture avant de tourner la clé de contact. De plus, Barbie savait que si le nom de sa patronne, Tiffany Vance, était associé de près ou de loin à un meurtre sanglant à Little Havana, sa carrière d'assistante serait terminée avant le lever du soleil.

Elles nettoyèrent frénétiquement leurs visages dans la salle de bain, évitant de regarder le canapé, et s’enfuirent par l’escalier de secours. De retour dans l’appartement de Chloé, elles lavèrent la veste en soie à grands coups de détachant, jurant sur la Bible, sur le dictionnaire et sur le dernier sac Chanel de ne jamais souffler un mot de cette nuit à quiconque.

Le problème, c’est que le tueur au masque rose — qui s’appelait Gus et souffrait d’une myopie sévère aggravée par la buée de son équipement de plongée — était terrorisé à l’idée d’avoir laissé des témoins. Gus travaillait pour Preston Boyd, un promoteur immobilier véreux aux dents si blanches qu’elles brillaient dans le noir. Boyd voulait éliminer Mateo parce que ce dernier le faisait chanter avec une clé USB contenant des preuves de corruption massive : Boyd avait soudoyé le conseil municipal pour obtenir l'autorisation de raser une réserve de lamantins afin d'y construire des condominiums de luxe.

— Tu as laissé deux filles en vie ? hurla Boyd le lendemain matin dans son bureau climatisé, en frappant le sol avec un club de golf en or. Trouve-les, Gus. Ou je te donne à bouffer aux requins du canal.

Le destin, qui a un sens de l'humour particulièrement tordu en Floride, décida d'accélérer les choses. Ignorant tout de la clé USB que Mateo avait discrètement glissée dans la doublure de la veste de Chloé pendant qu'elles avaient le dos tourné en boîte, Chloé décida de se débarrasser de ce vêtement maudit. Elle fit don de la veste à une vente aux enchères de charité pour la protection de la faune marine, organisée... par Tiffany Vance.

La star de cinéma, trouvant la veste « d’un chic post-apocalyptique absolu » à cause d'une ombre résiduelle que le détachant n'avait pas réussi à effacer, décida de la porter pour l'avant-première mondiale de son nouveau film éco-catastrophe à South Beach.

Lorsque Barbie vit sa patronne débarquer dans la loge VIP du tapis rouge vêtue de la veste de Chloé, elle manqua de s'évanouir. Le pire restait à venir : dans la foule des photographes, Barbie repéra une silhouette familière de deux mètres de haut. Gus le tueur était là, déguisé de façon grotesque avec une perruque afro blonde et des lunettes de soleil géantes, cherchant désespérément à identifier les deux filles de l'appartement.

— Barbie, la doublure... murmura Chloé, qui venait de la rejoindre en urgence derrière les barrières de sécurité. J'ai touché la veste avant qu'elle ne l'enfile. Il y a un truc rectangulaire et dur cousu à l'intérieur. Mateo a caché quelque chose dedans.

L’avant-première vira au chaos burlesque. Comprenant que la veste était une bombe à retardement, Barbie profita d'une crise d'hystérie de Tiffany Vance (qui hurlait parce que ses glaçons n'étaient pas parfaitement cubiques) pour s'emparer du vêtement pendant que la star était aux toilettes. Barbie attrapa la veste, Chloé attrapa le sac de Barbie, et les deux filles s'enfuirent par la sortie des artistes, poursuivies par Gus qui venait de les reconnaître, et par Tiffany Vance en peignoir léopard qui hurlait au vol de garde-robe.

La traque se déplaça jusqu'aux docks, où Preston Boyd attendait son homme de main à bord de son hydroglisseur de luxe ultra-rapide. Dans la confusion de la nuit tropicale, Chloé et Barbie sautèrent à bord d'un bateau de location pour échapper à Gus, mais Boyd, fou de rage à l'idée de perdre ses secrets, prit lui-même les commandes de son hydroglisseur pour leur couper la route.

La course-poursuite finale s'enfonça dans les eaux noires et saumâtres des Everglades, sous un orage dantesque. L'hydroglisseur de Boyd, propulsé par un moteur d'avion de chasse, rattrapa facilement les filles. Gus, debout à l'avant, le masque de plongée rose de nouveau vissé sur le visage pour se protéger de la pluie battante, épaula son fusil de chasse.

— Rends les papiers, petite ! hurla Boyd dans le mégaphone.

Chloé, fouillant frénétiquement la doublure de la veste de soie, finit par déchirer le tissu et en extirpa la clé USB.

— Tu veux ça, espèce d'assassin de lamantins ? cria-t-elle en brandissant le morceau de plastique.

Gus pressa la détente. Mais sa myopie, combinée aux éclairs de l'orage et aux vibrations de l'hydroglisseur, faussa complètement son tir. Le coup de canon scié rata les filles de trois mètres et vint percuter de plein fouet le réservoir de carburant de leur propre hydroglisseur.

L'explosion fut magnifique. Une boule de feu orange illumina les mangroves. L'hydroglisseur de Boyd fut pulvérisé, éjectant le promoteur et son tueur géant directement dans les eaux marécageuses.

Chloé et Barbie, saines et sauves sur leur embarcation, coupèrent le moteur pour observer le désastre. À la lueur des flammes qui flottaient sur l'eau, elles virent Preston Boyd et Gus s'accrocher désespérément à une racine de palétuvier. Juste en face d'eux, fendant l'eau avec la régularité d'un sous-marin, deux yeux jaunes et une immense mâchoire écailleuse venaient d'apparaître. C'était "Old Snaggletooth", l'alligator de quatre mètres bien connu des gardes-chasses de la région, qui n'avait pas l'habitude qu'on lui livre son dîner directement à domicile dans un emballage rose fluo.

Le lendemain, la clé USB était sur le bureau du FBI. Preston Boyd survécut à l'alligator, mais y laissa sa prothèse de hanche en titane et sa liberté, finissant sa carrière derrière les barreaux pour fraude et tentative de meurtre. Tiffany Vance fit la couverture de People en affirmant que sa veste en soie avait été le « catalyseur spirituel » du démantèlement d’un réseau de criminels anti-écologiques.

Quant à Chloé, elle utilisa sa notoriété soudaine pour lancer sa nouvelle collection : une ligne de maillots de bain pastel, entièrement doublés en Kevlar pare-balles. À Miami, la sécurité n'exclut pas le style.

AITAH for roasting my classmate about his life?

Reddit, I really need your opinion. This happened along time ago probably late March. This happened during my english class. We had a debate whether plastic is beneficial for the whole world. We disagreed while the opposite team agreed cuz that's what a debate means. Here's a thing in my team of 4 including me, we all were close and had each other's number. We also were used to debating since primary school and we really wanted to win. So we spent the entire week planning on our speech and arguments.

Everything went well. We had notes printed, practiced debating and had a meeting the day before it all happened, which was Tuesday. But on the same day, a boy from the lower class approached me with my classmates and started to talk bad about my dad. I just told him that if cared so much about my dad, he should worry about his dad since he has a history of complicated marriages (this part is important). The guy backed off and my classmates were clapping. I didn't care I was just pissed off.

On the day of the debate, me and friend who I'll call J arrived early since we had extra curriculum but D and L (my friends) didn't come so we got nervous but eventually they came 20 minutes before school started. English was second period so we had to go to our first period which was language. It was an hour but since half of the students went to do something stupid (I hate them), our teacher assigned us to do a debate . I was in the winning side when M(a classmate) told me that the boy that pissed me off yesterday did so because they wanted to read my notes which was behind me. I didn't care. I just nodded and continued the debate.

Then, it was english. My team was first so we set the ables and we finally started to debate. At first,we thought we were gonna win considering we have more points, more arguments and were prepared. But then my english thought it was a great idea to have the class vote. I knew from there that we were so gonna lose because the proposition team were more popular . It was 9:10 (we fucking lost) . I was pissed . This wasn't the first time this has happened. The opposite team were grinning and laughing. I even heard someone there say that we stood no chance against them.

Then, members from the opposite team started to give a handshake to us. At first , I ignored it. Then, I saw him let's call him A. We were close last year as we were in the same class, same sport and sat beside each other. I also thought he was hot (I'm not gay I just think he's hot). But he told his friend that he's gonna be the matured person and wanted to give me his hand. ISTG I was livid and wanted to sit them at my desk but it was too little too late (Laufey). I saw his hand. Then, I smacked his hand away and started cussing him out saying that nobody liked him, he wasn't smart enough to be here, he can just oof himself and his parents are disappointed for having a son like him ( It wasn't exactly like this but it was just the ones that "hurt" him and also added cuss words to the roasts) . Then, he sat at his desk both hands on his face and he was crying. Real tears. His eyes were red by the time I apologized (only 5 minutes had passed) .

Soon, the entire class found out. Half of the class didn't care enough as he was okay but the other half were pissed like a volcano is gonna erupt. His friends,my clasmates, started talking bad about me loudly. I didn't show a ounce of emotion. I deserved it but it wasn't their ridiculous comments that had hurt me but what I told him and what happened to him. After that, the situation has stopped and no one talked about it and overtime I grew closer to all my classmates by a lot except A. I still remember not having anyone to support me except J, D and L.

I'm still not talking to A. Whether he forgave me or he still hates me, I'm not talking. I hurt someone worse than death itself. There's a saying in my language. It means that a burn in our skin can be painful but only lasts for some time but the words that come out from our mouth ,especially if it's bad, can hurt their feelings and they will never forget it .

So tell me, AITAH?

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS!

Also I'm writing this now because i wanna talk to him desperately but I don't know if I was right or wrong considering he wanted to troll me. Also, from that moment on, I've changed a lot as a person. I'm not saying any cuss words every day and I knew what to say next. Besides that, my temper has gotten better.

My female friend invited me to do some laundry at a laundromat together, I accepted and we ride there together. Getting out of the car I hear some dude barking at this woman like 3 stores away who is ignoring him. Just yelling like “Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!” In an almost monotone yell.

Noticing the strange behavior I decided to keep an eye on the guy, but making sure to not seem like I wanted any conflict. Plus we had to walk near him to get to the laundromat. He notices me as we’re walking and he starts walking between cars staring me down muttering to himself.

He’s like 5’10-5’11ish black guy maybe like 170lbs wearing not like dirty clothes but they also didn’t look very clean. Also he did seemingly have some muscles. Like skinny guy muscles tho. I’m a 220lb 5’11 white guy covered in tattoos who is definitely not unfamiliar with confrontation.

I was absolutely gonna ignore him until I noticed him following us. Im with a woman that doesn’t do well with confrontation and has also been a victim to violence in the past so she’s my main concern in this moment.

So I looked back at him and just asked “you good bro?” And his response was “I fucked your mom!” Shocked and quite confused I said “what?” And he repeats “I fucked your mom, what are you gonna do about it?” I asked him “what, you just out here trying to start shit with strangers?”

He starts just cursing at me and telling me to come do something. Called me a pussy and a bitch and I gave it right back to him. Told him to “fuck around and find out if you really want. Otherwise fuck off.” This guy was a little hard to read but he also didn’t come right up to me so I was confident he was all talk.

My friend is trying to pull me in the laundromat door but this dude is still slowly approaching us, flexing his arms and talking the most random shit talk I’ve personally ever heard. It was like someone who obviously doesn’t know you talking shit over the internet to try and hurt your feelings, except in real life. Very bizarre. So I stood in the doorway to make sure he couldn’t get to her.

But I knew that if I swing on this guy I could easily go back to jail. Jail sucks, so no thanks. But I also had no idea if he was on drugs, having a mental episode, etc. because of his unpredictable behavior and wasn’t gonna give him a chance to rush me or possibly hurt my friend.

He talks some more shit but seemingly gives up. And started to walk away. I called him a bitch one last time and shut the door. We proceeded to start our laundry and wanted to go outside to smoke. My friend was pretty rattled still so she asked me to go out first. I walk out, look all around, don’t see the guy anywhere. I assumed he was high on something and off to terrorize other strangers for no good reason.

Fast forward like an hour, we’re sitting in my friends car when she goes “oh shit there he is again” I look back and one of the most shocking things happened… the SUV that I initially saw the dude hanging out in front of and yelling at the woman and the same SUV that the dude lurked around to follow us WAS ACTUALLY HIS SUV.

Couldn’t tell you what brand of car it was but it looked fairly new and nice. He starts pulling clothes out of the back seat, throws them over his shoulder and walks into planet fitness calm as a cucumber. I was dumbfounded. I could have sworn this was just some crazy homeless person having an episode. Not some guy trying to start fights as a pre workout lol.

Still trying to figure out what I did to make him so mad. And how he just snapped out of it so easily. Definitely buying some pepper spray just in case I deal with that type of drama again tho.

We met on a matrimonial site and liked each other. We began sharing personal thoughts and stories about our lives, and we also met in person. Things were going well until finances became an issue. I'm not financially stable, and she earns twice as much as I do. Her father holds a senior government position, so she told me I needed to do something to meet her expectations before she could tell him about me.

I started focusing on work projects and external pitches, and things began to improve a little. But I became busy and couldn’t give her enough time. Sometimes she would argue with me about it, but she was always the one who called me and tried to resolve things. She stood by me, often told me I was a good person, and said she wanted to marry me.

For the past two weeks, she hasn’t been answering my calls and has been replying coldly. She said she was busy with work, but she was talking to someone else all the time. While I was working hard, she was dating someone else. Yesterday, she blocked me on Instagram and posted a profile picture of herself holding someone else’s hand.

My FIL is such an asshole.

Context: Last 6 months I've been lifting and did an (accidental) bulk after 10 years of an on/off restricive ED. I'm now trying to lose fat in a healthy way.
I have had so many problems with him nitpicking everything I do and literally picking on me for 2 years. Everything I do.
I'm cooking? "You should make it like this". I'm cleaning? "You should clean it this way". I'm meal planning? "You don't need all that protein". I got bed ridden from an illness for about a month? "So you haven't worked out in almost a month, you're not trying. Have you seen yourself lately?".

What happened tonight: He KNOWS I have a restrictive ED history. But tonight he said "Have you seen yourself lately? You haven't been going to the gym; you don't even need all of that protein because you're not using it". Mind you, this week I JUST got back into the gym after my illness, so I've been back to meal planning again. I'm only aiming for 115g of protein now instead of my bodyweight in protein since I'm not bulking anymore...which, while it still above normal intake, is a good intake for weight loss while lifting to preserve muscle on a WOMAN.

What I've tried: I ALWAYS tell him that muscle gain and weight loss is different for WOMEN. We have a monthly cycle which preserves more water weight at times, or makes us bloat other times, or makes us ravenous/crave like a man could never imagine. It is SO much harder for us to both gain muscle and lose fat - of course I have to be meticulous and do things differently than he does. But he's a narcissist and thinks his way is the only way because he can't see outside of his own self or educate himself on other people.

YES I need all that protein.
YES I need to lift when losing fat.
YES I allow myself a treat here and there because I'm a human.
YES I need to weight my food out because it's different for women and we can't just eat whatever we want and lose weight, especially when we are SHORT (dramatic because I'm angry, I know)

I'm literally crying in my room because a grown as man bullies me when I'm finally trying to be healthy. It's almost weekly. I have until January for us to move out. His comments made me almost slip back into that unhealthy restrictive mindset but I am trying so hard to power through those thoughts and keeping my eye on the prize - the healthy prize.

Just a vent I guess more than anything.

My roommate asked if we could talk last night and i immediately started trying to remember if id left something gross in the fridge.

Apparently shes been uncomfortable with how many guys ive been having over. She said she wasnt judging she just wanted a heads up instead of finding someone she didnt know in the kitchen before work.

Which is fair, except i haven't been seeing anyone.

I asked who she meant and she said shed seen three different guys leaving in the morning over the last few weeks.

All my brother.

He works about ten minutes from here but lives almost an hour away, so sometimes he sleeps on the couch after a late shift. Id told her he would occasionally stay over. They just havent really spent time around each other.

He had long hair and a beard until his girlfriend broke up with him. Then he shaved his head, regretted it, shaved the beard too. He's also been wearing glasses lately because his contacts are bothering him.

We were eating Chinese when she brought this up. I was folding the ad from my fortune cookie into a tiny square while she explained that she didnt want to have to put a bra on every time she went to get water.

I genuinely thought shed seen someone coming out of another apartment until she said "the bald one was nice though, he offered to take my trash down."

Thats when I figured it out.

I told her it was my brother and she said "okay but what about the other two?"

I said no, all of them. Same person.

She thought i was messing around with her. Actually got a little annoyed and said she was trying to have a normal conversation with me.

So i showed her his Instagram. She scrolled through a few pictures, zoomed in on one, then just put my phone down.

Apparently shed already told her best friend that i was having a "messy phase" and she wasnt sure how to bring it up. Meanwhile my brother has been eating cereal in our kitchen and going to work.

She apologized and we laughed about it, but then she admitted shed thought one of them was cute.

Obviously i asked which one.

She said it didnt matter now and started packing up the leftovers. Ive asked twice since and shes getting annoyed with me, but i feel like i deserve to know.

Ok everyone listen, used to like waking up early.

I’d make coffee, sit by the window, and enjoy the twenty quiet minutes before the day started. That was my ritual. It felt like the one part of my life that still belonged only to me.

Then the changes started.

The first one was small. I woke up and the dishes were already done. I live alone. I had left a plate and a mug in the sink the night before. I remembered doing it. But in the morning the sink was empty and the dish rack was full. Everything was dry. Everything was in the exact places I would have put them.

I told myself I must have cleaned up half-asleep and forgotten. It happens.

Two days later I woke up to a made bed. I never make the bed. I hate the feeling of tight sheets. But the corners were perfect, military-neat, the way my mother used to do it when I was a kid. There was even a slight crease down the middle of the duvet, something I have never once done in my adult life.

That morning I stood in the doorway of my bedroom for a long time, staring at the bed like it had betrayed me.

Then the notes began.

Not the dramatic kind. Just short, practical ones left on the kitchen counter in my own handwriting.

Coffee’s already ground. Use the darker roast today.

Your blue shirt is cleaner than the gray one. Wear that.

You should text Sarah back. She’s been waiting.

I don’t have a friend named Sarah. I checked my phone. There was a conversation thread with someone named Sarah that went back six weeks. Friendly, warm, slightly flirtatious on her end. I had apparently replied to every message in a tone that sounded like me but a little smoother, a little more confident. The last message from her was from the night before: “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

I had never seen this woman in my life.

I called my sister. She answered on the second ring and immediately said, “Hey, did you and Sarah finally meet up? She seems really good for you.”

I told her I didn’t know any Sarah. There was a long pause.

“Okay… you’ve been talking about her for almost two months. You showed me pictures. You said she has that little scar above her left eyebrow and she makes you laugh more than anyone has in years. Are you feeling okay?”

I hung up.

That night I stayed awake as long as I could. I made a mess on purpose. Left clothes on the floor. Left the bed unmade. Left a half-eaten sandwich on the counter. I sat in the living room with every light on and watched the clock.

I must have dozed off around 3 a.m.

When I opened my eyes it was 6:12. The clothes were folded and put away. The bed was made. The sandwich was gone. There was a new note on the counter.

You need rest. I cleaned up so you wouldn’t stress. Also, Sarah is coming over at 7. Be nice. She’s nervous.

I spent the entire day in a kind of cold panic. I deleted the Sarah conversation. It reappeared an hour later with three new messages I had supposedly sent that morning while I was in the shower. The messages were charming. Thoughtful. Better than anything I would have written.

At 7 p.m. the doorbell rang.

She was real. Pretty in a quiet way. Scar above the left eyebrow, exactly as my sister had described. She hugged me like we already knew each other. She brought takeout from a place I “always order from.” She talked about things we had supposedly done together— a long walk in the park last month, a bad movie we’d both hated, the night I walked her home because she was scared of the dark.

I sat there and nodded and smiled and felt like I was watching someone else wear my face.

When she left she kissed me on the cheek and said, “I like this version of you better when you’re not so tired. Get some sleep, okay?”

I locked the door behind her and stood in the hallway for a long time.

That night I tried again. I stayed up. I drank coffee. I kept the lights on. I even set alarms every twenty minutes.

I still fell asleep.

In the morning the apartment was cleaner than I had left it. There was a new note.

You’re fighting too hard. It’s starting to show. People notice when you’re not yourself.

I looked in the mirror. Something about my face was slightly off. Not dramatically. Just… smoother. The tired lines around my eyes were softer. My posture looked better. I looked like a version of myself that had been getting more sleep and making better choices.

I looked like someone people would prefer.

Over the next week it accelerated.

My coworkers started commenting on how much more focused I’d become. My sister told me she was proud of me for “finally getting my life together.” Old friends I hadn’t spoken to in years reached out, referencing conversations I had never had. My bank account had a few hundred dollars more in it than it should have. A project at work that I had been behind on was suddenly finished and well-received. My name was on the email chain as the person who had stayed late to complete it.

I checked the timestamps. The work had been done between 2:14 a.m. and 4:47 a.m. while I was unconscious.

Last night I tried something different. I wrote a note of my own and left it on the counter before I forced myself to sleep.

Stop. This is my life. Stay out of it.

This morning the note was gone. In its place was a longer one, still in my handwriting, but neater.

You’re exhausted. You’re lonely. You’re not doing a very good job of living this life. I’m just helping. The more you fight, the more people will notice something is wrong with you. And eventually they’ll stop preferring the old version. They already almost have.

I looked around the apartment. Everything was perfect. The kind of perfect that feels like a hotel room staged for a photograph. There was a second coffee mug in the sink, still warm. The blue shirt was laid out on the bed. My phone had a calendar reminder for dinner with Sarah tonight.

I am writing this from the bathroom floor because it’s the only place that still feels like it belongs to me. I can hear the apartment settling the way it does when someone else is moving around in it, even though I am alone.

I am terrified of falling asleep again.

Because every morning I wake up a little less like the person who went to bed, and a little more like the person everyone else already likes better.

And I’m starting to forget which one of us is supposed to be writing this.

It was after The Ledge that he really began to enjoy the grind. The hike. The Plow. The geography was both scenic and demanding. Winding trail with elevation changes, switchbacks and contrasting portions of trail with cool shade and hot sun. It was the part of the day where he readily daydreamed of aspirations gone by. He let the role playing and daydreams of his prepubescent self take over on this part of the trail. When he wanted nothing more in life than to be a soldier. Specifically a soldier in combat. Against? Well anyone would do. More often than not he simply referred in his mind to "the enemy" since that was the language used so often by the actors in all the war movies he had watched over the years. "The enemy is sly, stealthy and hell bent on victory" he said to himself. "Well the enemy did not count on me. They are sly. So am I. They dont even know I am behind them. HeHeHeHeHe." He always responded this way. You know... to his own statement. Bit of a cliche but screw it. It was HIS daydream! Today, his armed defence of hearth and home against the bastard enemy did not last very long. Maybe 1 or 1.5 kilometers. He was getting a little fatigued. Both from exertion and excess ingestion of cannabis perhaps? "More than likely" he thought. Not a good move that. Whatever. He was used to a little fatigue from these outings. Nothing to worry about. But he vowed that he had eaten the last gummy of his day and probably night.

His mind was turning to matters of a more serious, adult, visceral and frankly, relevant nature. To him anyway. He was an avowed "sufferer" of what he had heard called "Oppositional Defiance Syndrome". He took it serious motherfucker. All forms of authority are to be scrutinized, doubted and when judged to be lacking, outright defied. I mean within limits of course. Lol. But it was really no laughing matter. "Fucking canapes eating, wine spritzer drinking motherfuckers who set this system up for their primary benefit knew what the fuck they were doing" he thought. The whole ODS infrastructure of his noodle nest had to be tempered for the need of a job. He was anarchical sure. But fuck man. He saw the people who lived on the street. While he had a lot of compassion and tolerance for them, and often interacted with the more familiar ones, he did not want to join their ranks. Sooooo some fucking times, he had to play nice with his "superiors". It was maddening. To be drip fed the economic means to survive in a system he despised and, in fact, advocated against. He didnt win any popularity contests amongst peers and colleagues alike that's for sure. The whole revolutionary stance he had elaborately constructed in his mind was only viable if there was a critical mass of people willing to sacrifice the material comforts offered up piecemeal by the fucktards in charge and, this is key, that mass of people acted in concert with one another and, another key, their actions coincided with a timely and critical weakness in the armor of the goddamn system itself. "But hey. Ya never know. Amirite?" he asked. Of a toad he inadvertently chased off the trail into the leaf litter just beginning to form on the forest floor.

You see folks. You might think you know of what those benign looking forest promenaders are thinking about as they stroll merrily through the green. Chances are you dont know diddly. He still had a distaste that at one time, he would have swallowed the kool aid. He would have praised country and flag incessantly. Been a "pillar" of his fucking tasteless, colorless, valueless, and ultimately, morally vacuous, capitalist worshipping, wife swapping, prescription pill taking, lets be obedient to all people in "power" of our goddamn dog and pony show fucking society. "That was hard to get out in one thought" he thought. Today all he could really say/think about it is the two words he used to shut down any argument in which he had quickly determined that arguing further was pointless. "Fucking nope!" he bellowed. "Not ganna do it. Sorry ma. Sorry pa." he said. That program has no passion. No chutzpah. No fucking edible fueled full squad baseball games played by one imaginative stoned dude in the middle of the woods using only the fruits of one of the most common trees in his region. Annnnnddddd the free flowing capitalist, product innovative, easily available and market driven force that is TH fucking C. If that program aint got that. "It aint got me" he said. And he laughed down the trail for a full five minutes. The day was getting longer. But his high did not seem to be getting any shorter. He was loving it.

He was approaching the point at which he should probably decide on a spot to hunker down. If he continued for another 5 minutes or so he would be further down this trail than he had been before. At least this season. It was twilight. That magical time they call the "Golden Hour". Where it is neither dark nor light and was the purveyor of some of the most serene and life affirming and calming moments in a hiker's day, life, career. It was sublime. And it didnt last that long. About well...an hour. "Fucking dimwit" he croaked. "Thats maybe why they call it that?" He was able to laugh still. Good sign. Since he was still jovial and fairly reenergized he decided he would find a spot on the other side of the "Highway" and park himself somewhere he had never parked before. The highway was, in fact, simply a county road but he called it the highway for reasons unknown to even himself. He had plenty of calories left in his bag. Decent allotment of H2O left. And a couple of energy drinks. Key provision those for this kind of recreation in his humble opinion. Calories? Probably 2700 to 3200 left in his bag. The only time he gave a shit about the calories to energy expended ratio was when he was doing this kind of thing. He wanted to stop soon. And kind of freshen up. He had sweat, dried, sweat again, dried again probably a full 3 or 4 cycles today. Lots of water. No pee. Pure sweat as moisture purge and temperature control. He probably smelled bad. Like a dumpster diver? No probably not. Not like garbage. "Probably smell like a line cook with a checkered past" he thought silently. That one hit home. He smiled nonetheless. For he had cooked his way through school. And continued to cook after graduation and the addition of those initials at the tail end of his illustrious name. LOL. It was fun. Cooking. The people were crazy. Characters all. He fit right in. And learning to cook. Actually cook. Well it had rewards he had not expected when he took his first job to make ends meet as a starving post secondary student. "Line cook with a checkered past" he repeated to himself. Thats a good one. For yes indeed it checked out. "Probably smell like Wile E Coyote in heat on a bender trying to find the best way to enter Mexico illegally and snag that fucking arrogant but admittedly cerebrally gifted roaddrunner once and for fucking all" he thought. And with that he laughed loud and long. He did not know how ironic and pretty much unfunny that little joke was going to be in a couple of hours. He didnt know a lot of things he thought he did that night. But he didnt know that then. At that moment. All he thought at that moment was that, sometimes, he was a pretty funny motherfucker. And yes, he currently smelled pretty bad.

Previously:

One secret threatens to change everything for the Shawcrosses, while Michael's attempts to right his wrongs leave someone heartbroken. As Kylie and Maureen grow closer, fresh questions emerge about the crash, Jamie fights for his life, and a drunken Nicola makes a startling discovery.

Episode 11 Preview:

As recent events cause more questions than answers, the feud between the Jenkins and Slaters publicly boil over. Elsewhere Gaz does a runner in his family's hour of need, while the drift in Eddie and Paula's marriage grows bigger. And a heartbroken Mitchell hits self destruct.

14/01/1999 | Thursday

———

06:13AM. Mitchell's Flat. Flat 34, Marlas Flats, Marlas Estate.

———

The sun is still not long rising and the sky is only starting to get light. A light and pale grey-ish blue hue breaking through the dawn sky. As Marlas Estate only starts waking up.

In his living room, Mitchell is sitting on his black leather three seater sofa in his living room, wrecked. He's slouched forward, holding onto a big bottle of Smirnoff Vodka, that's almost empty. There are empty beer cans crunched and thrown all over the place. He's drinking his sorrows away.

Drinking last night away. Drinking Michael away. Out of sight, out of mind.

Tears have dried on his cheeks and made them sticky. His eyes have gone red from so much crying. His hair is messy. And his head is all over the place.

Music quietly plays from his TV, not that he's paying much attention to it.

Mitchell: "Fucking...fuck" he mutters to himself

Mitchell: "Prick" he mutters. Referring to Michael.

———

07:19AM. Number 33. Jenkins Residence. Marlas Estate.

———

The streets are damp and cold with the January bite and morning dew. The sun is high and shining bright orange rays across cars and houses. Birdsong in the background, as well as city sounds.

Outside number 33 is parked two police cars, and Barry's white van. The front door of the house is still wide open, officers walking in and out with clipboards, taking note of the scene.

Inside the living room, it's still a bombsite. The only change from last night is that the sofa's have been turned the right way 'round. Nicola's sat on one of them with Officer Thomas Hopkins. The young officer often seen assisting DCI Catrin Channing.

No sign of her though. Barry's pacing the living room while three other officers scan and search the house. Gaz is still at the hospital, looking after Tasha and Oscar. The three of them waiting on Jamie, on edge. After his situation last night...

Nicola: "How many more times have I gotta tell ya!? The door was wide open! Practically off it's hinges when I walked in! The place was trashed. Exactly like what ya see now" she says, still slightly slurring her words. Not completely sober after last night.

Officer Thomas Hopkins: "And are you sure you didn't—"

Barry: "Oh for fuck's sake! Aren't ya listening? She said the keys weren't in 'er bag when she got 'ere!"

He says in frustration, pacing in front of the window.

Thomas nods and doesn't bother standing up for himself, and reads over what he's already jotted down in his notepad.

Officer Thomas Hopkins: "And you didn't see anyone or anything suspicious at the Victoria Arms beforehand?"

Nicola rolls her eyes

Nicola: "No! I can't rememba alright!? I was off me 'ed! Me- our son's lying in a coma and he's getting worse. I needed—"

Barry: "To get shitfaced. Innit Nic?" He digs at her.

She shoots him a look

Nicola: "A distraction. Something to...clear me 'ed"

Officer Thomas Hopkins scribbles in his notebook and nods "no", while reading what he's written.

Barry sees

Barry: "Well? What is it? What's wrong?"

Officer Thomas Hopkins: "Well...with what little information you gave me, I'm afraid there's not much to go on"

Barry and Nicola look at each other and then at Thomas

Barry: "You're having a laugh"

Officer Thomas Hopkins: "Well, you didn't hear or see anything suspicious in the last day or two. And you have no recollection of seeing or meeting anybody suspicious at the pub last night, Nicola. So, really, all I've written is the state of the house and what you both remember of last night. And frankly, it's very little to go on"

Nicola: "Oh for fuck's sake" she mutters and grits her teeth

———

07:26AM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

Downstairs in the pub, the curtains are still drawn and stools are still turned face down on tables. Its still dark inside. Lights are off and the fridges behind the bar are humming quietly.

Paula comes down from upstairs, and steps out of the staff only door leading to the upstairs flat and steps behind the bar. She's in her beige dressing gown and slippers. Hair is undone and face clean of makeup.

She picks up a small glass from the above head rack and presses it against a bottle of Whiskey in the optics display, and watches the clear-brown liquid fill the glass.

She sighs before lifting it to her mouth and downing it in one. It burns her throat but she does it again. She's about to lift the glass to the optics display for the third time but then the staff only door behind her opens. And Eddie steps out.

Eddie: "Watcha doing? Its first thing"

Paula: "Getting ready to open up" she says quietly without looking back at him.

Eddie: "You feeling okay?" He asks quietly, holding the door open, still.

Paula: "Absolutely perfect, Ed" she says, before downing a third shot.

Eddie sighs and let's the door shut and steps fully into the bar.

Eddie: "What is it?" He sighs

Paula slams the glass on the bar and walks out from behind the bar into the main floor

Paula: "Nothing" she says, taking stools off the tables

Eddie sighs

Eddie: "Paula..."

Paula: "Eddie"

Eddie: "Let me open up. Go on. Go grab another hour"

Paula: "No, I'm alright"

Eddie: "Come on love. You—"

Paula snaps: "Eddie im fine. Just- Just go get dressed will you?" She says, still preparing the pub.

Eddie just looks at her

Eddie: "What's gotten into you?"

Paula: "Oh nothing Eddie! I'm just trying to open up"

Eddie: "And it takes shots of Whiskey to do that does it?"

Paula: "Honestly, yes. It takes shots of anything just to face the day"

Eddie's eyes flicker around the room, like he can't believe he heard what he just did

Eddie: "Is...is life really that bad?"

Paula doesn't say anything. Just carries on preparing the pub

Eddie: "Paula?"

No reply

Eddie: "Paula? Paula fuck's sake I'm talking to you!"

She looks up and snaps

Paula: "Oh you know what Ed!? You fucking open up then! I'm gunna get some air"

She storms off upstairs to throw some clothes on before heading out. Leaving Eddie reeling about what his– their life, is.

———

07:37AM. Number 33. The Jenkins Residence.

———

Nicola and Officer Thomas Hopkins are still dat on the sofa, and Barry is just standing there, trying to contain his anger.

Two older looking officers walk through the hallway and past the open living room doorway, and out the front door. Heading to one of the police cars.

Barry: "Oh d'you know what!? You lot just can't be arsed to pull your finger out and do your jobs can ya!? No wonder so much shit goes on 'round 'ere!"

Officer Thomas Hopkins: "Barry—"

An officer comes down upstairs with a clipboard and peeks his head through the living room doorway

Officer: "Tom"

Thomas turns to the other officer

Officer: "A word" he nods his head towards the hall

Officer Thomas Hopkins: "Excuse me" he days to Barry and Nicola

He gets up and steps into the hallway privately with the other officer. A more mature, stockily built middle aged man.

Officer: "We've taken notes of all of the visible damage and vandalism. They gave you much to go on?" He asks, referring to Barry and Nicola

Officer Thomas Hopkins: "No. Barely anything. She was shitfaced and he was at the hospital" he whispers back.

Officer: "Mm. Well, i doubt they're going to press charges. They've got no clue and I think they've got bigger fish to fry by the looks of things"

Officer Thomas Hopkins: "So, what? You think we should just leave it?"

Officer: "Well, you said so yourself. They haven't given you much to go on. Until they do, there is nothing more we can do than report what we see and what they've told us. We've done our bit"

The officer says before heading out to the other police car.

Meanwhile, in the living room,

Barry: "It's them fucking Slater lot. Those slappers 'cross the road. I know it is"

Nicola nods

Thomas Hopkins stands in the door frame

Officer Thomas Hopkins: "Right, that's all we can do for now. If—"

Nicola: "What!?"

Barry: "Figured" he mutters

Officer Thomas Hopkins: "If you have any other information or if anything comes up, come down to the station and update your statements. And we'll do more with the information you give us. But for now—"

Nicola: "For now this is it yeah?"

Thomas nods yes

Nicola tuts

Barry: "Oh go on, just fuck off" he tells Thomas

Thomas nods and leaves. Gladly getting out of their sight. He gets in the passenger side of the other police car and the two cars pull out of the street, and drive off.

Barry: "Fucking useless them lot"

Nicola: "I know"

He turns to her

Barry: "Was it worth it? Was a piss-up worth this?"

Nicola stands up and snaps

Nicola: "Oh dont start Bar. I needed a drink okay? This isn't my fault, you can't blame me for this!"

Across the street, Julie, Jenna, Danielle and Gavin are seen leaving their house. Walking out the front door. Seen, by Barry.

Barry: "No, but I know who I can blame" he mutters to Nicola under his breath, looking out the window to the Slaters

———

07:43AM. Outside Number 27. The Slater Residence.

———

As Damielle, Gavin, Jenna and Julie leave their house, Julie closes the door behind them and they start making their way down the small driveway where their burgervan used to stand.

They're chatting about Julie's parents (their grandparents), and her younger sister Georgina, potentially coming down to visit.

Jenna: "Well, what did they say?"

Julie: "She weren't happy when I told her over the phone. So..."

Danielle: "Think they're gunna pop down here?"

Julie sighs: "Don't know. If they don't, I know Gina will"

Gavin: "Like i said the other day mum, maybe more pairs of hands will do us all some good. God knows we can do with some help"

Julie nods in defeat. The silence is then immediately cut by—

Barry: "OI!" He screams across the street while storming out of the front door, with Nicola in tow.

On the end of the street, Paula turns the corner from the direction of the pub and sets foot on the street, right on queue, about to witness a battle in the middle of the street

Danielle: "Oh for fuck's sake" she whispers

The Slaters reach the pavement at the bottom of their driveway with Barry and Nicola.

Barry and Nicola storm right up to them and they're all face to face, Gavin steps in front of his mum and sisters and holds his hands up

Gavin: "Woah woah woah there lard-arse, what's your problem?"

Barry: "You fucking done over our gaff 'aven't ya!?"

The Slaters look behind the Jenkins at their house and see the carnage through their living room window

Danielle: "Looks the same to me" she shrugs in sarcasm

Nicola: "Think this is funny do ya?" She steps closer to Danielle

Danielle: "I do, yeah. Hilarious"

Nicola: "I'll fucking show you 'funny'" she reaches to grab Danielle's hair but Julie steps forward and–

SLAP!

Julie's right hand leaves a red handprint on Nicola's left cheek and sends her head spinning.

Julie: "Don't you EVER! Think of touching one of my kids again. It'll be the last time you do. And as for your shit-hole of a house, we wouldn't dare step foot in it. Might catch something"

Gavin: "'Might'?" He giggles

Jenna steps in then;

Jenna: "But hypocritical of you, no? Burning down our burgervan and then—"

Barry: "We didn't touch your fucking rust bucket!"

Nicola: "Darling if we were to do that we would've made you watch. We'd have done it with a fucking smile"

Gavin: "Well then who did, ey?"

Barry: "Someone doing a community service, mate"

Gavin: "Same people who trashed your house you mean?"

—

Across the road, Paula's watching, in amusement. When a heavy hand lands on her left shoulder and she spins on her heel

Paula: "Fuck!" She gasps

She turns and sees Tony standing there in his black leather jacket and a smile on his face

Tony: "Entertaining isn't it?" He chuckles

Paula: "Jesus. You scared the shit outta me"

Tony: "Ah sorry 'bout that, Princess" he winks, and apologises. While the Jenkins and Slaters scream havoc in the background across the street.

She smirks back

———

07:52AM. Number 41. Maureen's Home.

———

Inside her living room, Kylie's lying on the sofa under a thick blanket nursing a piping hot cup of tea Maureen just made and handed her. Maureen is sitting in the opposite armchair. They're talking about last night.

Kylie: "Oh Maur, I really enjoyed those few drinks we 'ad last night. I needed them" she laughs

Maureen: "Oh of course love. Glad to see you out and about for a bit"

Kylie goes to open her mouth but then the sound of screaming from a brutal argument from down the street finds its way into Maureen's living room at the end of the street.

Kylie and Maureen's heads turn to the window

Maureen: "The fuck is going on out there?" She mutters as she puts her cup down on the coffee table, before standing up and walking over to the window.

Kylie also jumps up, quicker than Maureen, and practically runs to the window. As soon as she pulls back the net curtains, Maureen is standing right behind her, and they both peer out to the other end of the street and eavesdrop in on the public argument.

Maureen: "That fucking lot" she whispers

Kylie stares. At Nicola. At Barry. At Gaz's parents.

At the other end of the street;

—

Julie: "Well it's funny since you lot turned up there's been fuck all but grief!"

Nicola: "You ain't blaming shit on us, darling! No fucking way!"

Barry: "Oh you lot! You think you're so high and mighty don't ya! Look at you all, nothing but a bunch 'o slags!"

The Slaters laugh

Danielle: "Look who's talking! Look at your wife!"

Gavin: "Mutton dressed as lamb!"

Barry sees red and snaps

Barry: "YOU FUCKING WHAT!? YOU LITTLE—"

Barry lunges for Gavin and grabs him by the collar of his jacket

Everyone jumps in to try to pull them apart, except for Nicola. Who watches with a sly smirk, proud of her husband.

Across the street, the physical fight grabs Paula and Tony's attention and their heads turn.

Paula: "Fucking Hell" she whispers

Tony: "Like wild animals" he smirks

At Maureen's living room;

—

Maureen: "Ah shit!" She whispers under her breath, before running to her door and yanking it open.

As soon as she pulls the door she starts legging it down the street towards the chaos. As fast as she can for someone in their late 60s. She legs it past Tony and Paula who are both standing nearby, just watching.

Maureen: "Thanks for helping!" She sarcastically shouts at Paula and Tony as she runs past them.

She finally reaches the fight and joins in, in separating Gavin and Barry

Its absolute chaos, everybody's shouting over each other

Maureen finally reaches them and joins in.

Maureen: "Heyheyhey!! Stop-stop! Stop it!" She screams as she manages to worm her way in between Barry and Gavin and help pull Barry off Gavin's collar.

Maureen: "Look at yourselves! Just look, at yourselves!" She screams at everyone. But mainly to Barry and Nicola

Maureen turns to them both; "Your son is in a coma, half dead, and look at you! Scrapping like schoolkids in the playground!"

Nicola: "Who rattled your chain grandma!?"

Julie: "Oi!"

—

At the window, Kylie watches this all unfold

Back at the street;

—

Maureen: "You've got kids! The lotta ya! Kids who need ya!" She screams between them all

She turns to Barry and Nicola; "Your son is lying in a hospital bed and you're rioting like a bunch 'o nutters! What's wrong with ya!?"

Barry: "They were asking for it. They trashed our house!"

Julie: "We've got enough on our plates you stupid twat! We wouldn't bother riling you up. You think we want this!?"

Nicola: "Well we dont know! You're a bunch of psychos!"

Jenna: "We are!?"

It looks like its about to kick off again but Maureen stands her ground

Maureen: "Haven't you got a young lad that needs you both?" She asks Barry and Nicola

They both listen to her and then stare at the Slaters. And they stare back. Face to face. Force to force.

Eventually, Barry puts his hand on Nicola's arm

Barry: "Come on Nic. They ain't worth it"

He starts to pull her away gently

Nicola: "You stay well away from us" she points her finger in Julie's face

Julie: "With fucking pleasure sweetheart"

And with that, Nicola and Barry slowly walk off. Retreating, to Barry's van. As soon as the van drives off, that's when people finally start speaking again.

Danielle: "Fucking nut jobs. The lotta them" she says to everyone

Gavin and Jenna nod in agreement

Maureen turns to Gavin: "You alright sweetheart?" She asks softly putting a hand on his shoulder

Gavin: "Yeah in alright thanks Maur" he nods and smiles

Julie: "Cheers for stepping in Maur, love"

Maureen: "Yeah, yeah of course. Anytime Jule"

———

1:12PM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

Behind the counter, Michael is serving a young father, with a baby in a baby back carrier. The dad looks to be in his mid 20s, he looks tired. But happy.

He's buying the usual of what a young father would buy, baby stuff, some food, whatever.

Michael: "Here we are mate. That's thirteen twenty eight please" he says to the young dad, handing over a white plastic bag of his shopping.

The young dad quietly thanks Michael with a small smile before heading out the door.

Over at the fridges, where she's stocking up drinks, Yvonne quietly watched the friendly exchange between the two men.

The bell jingles and the shop falls into silence again

Yvonne: "What did you think?" She asks Michael from the other end of the room

Michael: "Think of what?"

Yvonne: "That bloke, with the baby. You think he looked happy?"

Michael: "Don't know" he says, pursing his lips with a small unknowing smile

A beat of silence

Yvonne: "Would– would you like to be a dad one day?"

Michael's head snaps up and his eyes pop open

Yvonne: "No I- I dont- I dont mean like, now" she awkwardly laughs

Yvonne: "I mean one day. Would you- would you like a kid?"

Michael giggles under his breath: "Don't know Von, love. They're hard work. Not to mention expensive. And we're not exactly rolling in dosh are we?"

Yvonne nods in agreement and sighs, not one hundred percent happy with his answer though

Yvonne: "You think you would be a good dad?"

Michael: "Hmm, maybe. Probably yeah" he nods in thought

A small quick smile falls on her lips and she sighs, more pleased.

She then picks up two empty crates and a small empty box, and carries them to the back store room. As she does—

DINGALING

The door opens and bell rings

Its Mitchell. He's beyond hammered.

Michael looks up from the counter and as soon as he sees Mitchell, he looks down towards the stock room where Yvonne just entered and then back to Mitchell.

Michael: "What the fuck do you want?" He whispers

Mitchell: "Just popping into my local shop to grab a few things. That alright with you Mr family man?" He barely manages to say

Michael looks him up and down and is disgusted by what he sees

Michael: "Jesus Mitchell. Fucking Hell" he whispers

Mitchell: "What? What!? Don't like what you see eh!? Makes a change dont it?" He screams as he leans forward against the counter

Michael: "Shh keep your voice down will ya!?"

Mitchell: "Why? Don't want your wife finding out do we? Oooh someone's been naughty. 'Aven't they? Ey? Yeah. Not so smart now are you?" He mumbles. And hiccups.

The sound of heels gets louder and louder, both Michael and Mitchell’s heads turn towards the stock room, and Yvonne walks out and immediately spots the state of Mitchell

Yvonne: "Jesus. Bit early ain't it Mitchell?" She laughs

Mitchell: "Oh! Hello Yvonne!" He says before a big hiccup

Mitchell: "How're you today?" He asks in a very polite and sarcastic tone

Yvonne: "Uh- fine thank you. Better than you it seems" she says, picking up more empty crates and boxes, logging them to the stock room

Mitchell: "Yeah. You might be right about that!" He shouts to Yvonne who's in the stock room

Michael: "Stop it" he whispers to Mitchell, before Yvonne steps back out of the stock room

Yvonne: "Yeah Mitchell? Why's that?" She asks, walking back to the fridges

Mitchell: "Call it...boy trouble" he says, looking back and fourth between them both

Yvonne: "Blimey. Any boy who causes you to hit the bottle this early ain't worth it, laddy" she says, picking up the final crate before taking it to the stock room

Mitchell: "Yeah! You're probably right! What do you think i should do!? What would you do Yvonne!?"

He asks her as she walks back out and up to the two men at the counter

Yvonne: "Hmm, if I were you Mitchell. A young, attractive, good looking lad, I'd go out and get some. Bet you could get anybody anywhere with looks like yours ey? Don't you think so Mike, love?"

She asks Michael.

Michael's caught off guard and stutters

Michael: "Uh- i- uh-"

Mitchell: "Well Michael? Your wife asked you a question" he stares at him dead in the eye

Michael: "Mhm. Yeah. Yeah of course" he smiles and nods

Mitchell giggles and Yvonne awkwardly smiles before heading off to organise a shelf

Michael waits before Yvonne is across the room before he asks: "What can I get you?" He asks quietly

Mitchell: "Hmm, you know what Mikey boy? Nothing. Gunna take your loving wife's advice and go out. Go out and get some. Gunna shag my troubles away" he says with a massive cocky smirk on his drunken face

He turns around and shouts to Yvonne across the room: "Hey Yvonne!"

She looks up at him

Mitchell: "Gunna take your advice and go out and get some!"

Yvonne: "Attaboy!" She laughs

Mitchell laughs and waves his hand before heading towards the door. He opens it, and before slipping out, he looks back at Michael who's behind the counter, and athletic at him. Before leaving.

Yvonne: "God. Poor kid"

Michael: "Yeah" he mutters, still looking at the door

———

1:49PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room.

———

Barry and Tasha quietly walk down the hallway towards Jamie's room, exhausted. Exhausted of fighting, waiting, exhausted of being exhausted. They're just done.

They slowly open Jamie's door and walk in. The room looks the same as always. No more machinery than usual, but no less either.

Apart from Jamie, Tasha and Oscar are the only ones to be seen. Both sitting on the sofa beside the window, eating junk food and whispering.

As the door opens and Barry and Nicola walk in, the kids stop.

Nicola: "Alright kids?" She asks them quietly,

They both nod yes

Barry: "Where's your brother?"

Tasha: "Don't know"

Oscar shrugs

Nicola and Barry look at each other

Barry: "What you mean you dont know?"

Tasha: "Uh, we mean we dont know" she rolls her eyes

Nicola: "Oi. Watch it"

Barry: "When did you last see him?"

Tasha: "Not long after you left early this morning dad"

Oscar: "He said something about being 'done waiting around' and told us to behave and sit tight before leaving"

Tasha: "Haven't seen him since"

Nicola: "Fuck sake Gaz" she whispers and palms her forehead

Tasha: "Why did you have to go home so early this morning anyway dad?"

Oscar: "Yeah. What was the hurry?"

Barry: "Some little twats broken in and trashed the place. Proper"

Tasha and Oscar's eyes widen and they look at each other

Tasha: "You know who it was?"

Barry nods no

Nicola: "Its alright though. We tidied some of it up before we got here"

Barry sits down in the other chair beside Nicola and Jamie's bed, holding each other's hand. Waiting. Hoping.

———

3:29PM. Marlas Police Station.

———

In DCI Catrin Channing's office, it's small, tidy and professional. Its a perfect square room, with a window directly in the middle of one wall, and on the opposite, a door with a window on each side that look out into the hallway.

In the center of the room is her dark wooden desk with a computer, desk lamp and some files, on the right wall is a huge tall bookshelf with filing cabinets, and on the left wall is a huge cork board that takes up most of the wall, and two floor lamps on either side, directly facing it. Lighting it all up.

On the corkboard, is accounts and details of the events that have recently taken place. For starters, the crash. Eyewitness accounts, coordinates, details about the car, a timeline of the night, health records and such. Then the Slaters burgervan, and eyewitness statements of that, details of the wreck and more. And then this morning, the details and accounts of the vandalism at number 33.

And though not many things are currently adding up, one thing is; Jamie Mitchell is certainly NOT innocent. All of the evidence and statements of that night are pointing towards him.

DCI Channing is holding a to-go cup of tea and pacing the corkboard. Cogwheels spinning in her head. When—

KNOCK KNOCK

Channing: "Come in!"

Officer Thomas Hopkins walks in with this morning's reports from the vandalism.

Officer Hopkins: "Got the uh, reports and details from the vandalism at number thirty three" he holds a file out to her

Channing: "Thank you" she takes it with her free hand before dropping it onto her desk

Officer Thomas Hopkins quickly scans the evidence board and whistles low.

Officer Hopkins: "How's it looking? Getting somewhere?"

Channing: "Gotta say, its not looking too good for Jamie. Kelly's, Katie's and Mitchell's statements of the crash all state that he purposefully swerved but with no seeming reason as to why. Not only that, he instigated the joyride, stole the jaguar, hotwired it, drove under the influence, and was recklessly driving with multiple lives at risk.

And the others are guilty of; joyriding and underage drinking. Or Kelly Slater is guilty of that charge at least"

It seems things aren't looking well for Jamie. Whether he survives or not.

Officer Hopkins: "Poor kids"

Channing turns to him: 'Poor Jamie"

———

5:25PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room.

———

Nobody's moved from where they've been sat all day. Hopes and energy are low. Tasha and Oscar are quietly bickering about something in the corner of the room.

Nicola: "Kids pleeease! Me head's bangin'" she groans, rubbing her head

Barry: "Well maybe if you didn't run off to get smashed last night"

She glares at him and before she can say anything, the door opens and a senior doctor walks in holding a clipboard and a look on his face

Barry and Nicola immediately stand up and Tasha and Oscar manage to pause their bickering

Barry: "What is it Doc? Is he gunna be ok?"

Nicola: "Did you find out why he keeps fitting?"

Sr Dr: "Actually, yes. I have some results here. And I'm going to be straightforward, they're not looking as good as we'd hoped"

Barry and Nicola's stomach's both drop

Nicola: "Why?"

Barry: "What is it?"

Sr Dr: "Is your son epileptic?"

Barry shrugs

Nicola: "Whats that?"

Sr Dr: "Has he ever had seizures- or 'fits' before?"

Barry: "No"

Sr Dr: "Okay. Well, we were able to establish that Jamie's seizure yesterday and the other day, were both brought on by a lack of oxygen being emitted to his brain, and that's due to his left lung having a rupture, and his spine being fractured"

Barry and Nicola both nod, and for once, they're actually listening to someone

The Doctor continues: "Because of his left lung being ruptured and the high risk of internal bleeding, we're going to need to operate on him as soon as. With your permission"

Nicola: "Of course"

Barry: "Yeah of course. When are you thinking?"

Sr Dr: "Within the hour"

Barry: "Fuck..."

Nicola: "Shit..."

The Doctor nods in understanding.

Sr Dr: "I know. Its a shock. But believe me we are trying all we can to give your son the fighting chance he deserves. So, if you'd like to say anything to him now and give him your best wishes, because within the next half an hour at least, we're going to take him into theatre"

Nicola: "Oh God" she whispers under her hands

Barry: "The operation, how long will it take? Where is it?"

Sr Dr: "So it's a small incision, roughly up here, on the chest area" he points to his own chest

Sr Dr: "And the operation will roughly take five to six hours if all goes well"

Nicola: "If all goes well!? What you mean 'if all goes well'!?"

Sr Dr: "As I'm sure you both know, there is a very very small chance that your son...may not make it out of surgery. Considering his condition and the strain his body is under"

Barry: "You mean...he could?"

The doctor nods yes

Nicola falls into her chair and starts whimpering into her hands, Barry clasps his hands over his mouth and Tasha and Oscar both stand up and crouch beside Nicola. Comforting her.

Barry: "What are- what are the odds of his survival?"

The doctor clearly hesitates to say this;

Sr Dr: "Given his condition, it's about eighty, twenty. Eighty percent chance he makes it through, and twenty, that he doesn't"

Barry: "Ok, ok. Those are good odds Nic. Good odds" he reassures Nicola who doesn't seem to notice.

Sr Dr: "I know this is a lot to take in. But keep your hopes up. From what we've seen so far, your son is a fighter. He's not giving up too easily" a small smile escapes him. And it catches onto Barry's face.

Barry: "Cheers Doc" he nods to the doctor.

The Doctor leaves the room, off to prepare for the operation. While the Jenkins sit around Jamie, cherishing every moment with him like it might be the last

Nicola: "God, Gaz where the fuck are you?" She quietly cries into her hands

———

6:29PM. Maureen's Home. Number 41.

———

In Maureen's kitchen, Kylie and Maureen are both sat on the small kitchen table that's to the side of the room, eating dinner. Mashed potato and beans.

They're talking about the fight in the street earlier today and how Maureen played peacekeeper.

Kylie: "Seriously, didn't think you had it in you to step right in the middle like that" she giggles before putting a spoonful of beans in her mouth

Maureen: "Oi! Cheeky. I'm a good one to have in your corner during a fight, me"

Kylie: "I'll keep that in mind" she giggles

Maureen: "Living around here for long enough love, you learn how to handle yourself. Sooner or later"

Kylie nods.

Kylie: "Oh, by the way. I don't think I asked. But, when I got out the loo earlier I noticed you have another bedroom. Could I—"

Maureen: "Its junk" she cuts Kylie off

Kylie: "What?"

Maureen: "It's junk. The spare room. Absolutely full of junk it is love. Would've given it to you otherwise" she says before shovelling a spoonful of mashed potato in her mouth

Kylie's taken aback

Kylie: "Oh...oh...okay. Is that why it's locked then?"

Maureen looks up and is caught off guard

Maureen: "Mm. Yeah. Proper shit-hole it is. Don't want anyone accidentally wandering in there when they're looking for the loo or something do I?" She laughs

Kylie: "Yeah. Fair enough" she says, and plays it off with a small giggle.

She'd never seen Maureen that defensive before...

———

7:13PM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room.

———

The sky outside is a dark dark blue and the hospital hallways are calm and quieter than they have been all day. They always are this time of evening.

Julie is the only one left with Katie. Everybody else has gone home or to work a while ago.

Julie is tired, Katie too.

Katie: "Mum you can go. You've been here all day. I promise. I'm fine"

Julie: "I know you are love but i—"

Katie: "Nuh–uh" she holds her hand up

Katie: "Go home. I've got doctors and BP coming in every ten minutes anyway to check on me. I'm the shit around here" she jokes

A small exhausted giggle escapes Julie, who is slouched forward on the small sofa beside Katie's bed.

Katie: "Seriously mum. I'm fine. Go on. Fuck off. I've enjoyed everybody visiting today. But you've been here all day and I'm getting sick at the sight of ya" she smiles

Julie: "Little fucker" she smirks

Katie: "And plus, there's a really hot doctor that comes in every once in a while and I dont want my mummy cramping my style and making me look more helpless than I already do" she smiles with a giggle

Julie: "Well nice to see that you're getting your old self back" she smirks as she stands up and grabs her carrier bag

Katie: "You're gunna regret saying that when im screaming in your ear over some ridiculous shit one day soon"

Julie: "Yeah you're probably right" she smiles. Before leaning down and kissing her daughter on the forehead.

Julie: "Love you"

Katie: "Love you too"

Julie: "You call me if—"

Katie: "If I need anything, I know. You said" she laughs

Julie: "Okay okay I'm just making sure!" She laughs back, heading towards the door

Julie: "Night night sweetheart"

Katie: "Night, mum" she sighs with a smile before shutting her eyes

Julie smiles and closes the door softly, before heading down the hall.

—

7:21PM. Down the hall. Outside Jamie's Room.

—

Walking towards the elevators, Julie walks past the hallway that leads to Jamie's room. And at the vending machine getting a coffee is Nicola.

Who's eyes immediately land on Julie like a hawk.

Nicola: "Slater" she says quietly yet firmly

Julie turns and faces her

Julie: "Oh God what do you want now?"

Nicola: "My Jamie has not long gone into theatre, having an operation on his lung"

Julie's hard expression softens slightly

Julie: "Oh...I'm—"

Nicola: "If ANYTHING happens to my son, you better lock your door, before I'm the one that ends up torching your gaff. With your lot still inside"

Julie's soft expression slips away and is replaced with anger again

Julie: "You sick bitch" she whispers in anger

Nicola: "You dont even know it" she says in her face

———

8:39PM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

The pub is quiet tonight. Its one of those calm, quiet evenings where locals whisper in corners and murmur about local gossip.

Paula and Eddie both stand behind the bar doing the same old work. Cleaning glasses, wiping the bar, refilling optics. Almost in a robotic movement.

Jim is leaning face down on the bar, almost passed out. And there's an unspoken tension between Eddie and Paula that hasn't been resolved from this morning. They've been quiet all day. Which makes a quiet day at work so much harder to deal with.

Eddie looks up from wiping glass and turns to face Paula, she catches him and their eyes catch. She sighs and gives a very small smile. He repays it. He goes to speak but then—

SQUEEEAK

The main doors open and Tony slides in, like he owns the place.

Tony: "Evening Princess Paula"

Tony says with a grin as he makes his way to the bar

Paula: "Tony"

She replies with a smirk

There's a long silence between them both before Tony snaps out of it, and turns his head to Eddie.

Tony: "Evening Eddie"

Eddie: "Tony"

He replies, deadpan.

Tony and Paula grin at each other at Eddie's tone of voice

———

02:17AM. Mitchell's Flat. Flat 34, Marlas Flats, Marlas Estate.

———

BANG!

The front door to Mitchell's flat flies open and hits the wall so hard it almost shuts behind itself as Mitchell and some older looking guy in a suit come stumbling through.

Hands and lips all over each other in a drunken state.

Mitchell kicks the door shut behind him close with his foot, without removing his lips from this older man's face.

Their hands are all over each other's bodies. Messing up each other's hair, pulling their clothes off and throwing them on the living room floor.

They're both wrecked. Groaning and moaning.

Mitchell: "Oh Al...Al...?"

Albert: "It's Albie"

Mitchell: "Oh Albie!" He groans under his booze reeking breath as he yanks Albert's blazer off.

They both undress each other without thinking about zips or buttons, just yanking the clothes off and throwing them wherever.

They grab each other tight and both fall backwards onto the sofa and start kicking each other's shoes off.

Mitchell is laying on top of "Albie", who is unzipping his bottoms.

Mitchell pulls his lips away from "Albie's" and sits up and yanks his jacket off. As he throws it on the table, his phone slides out onto the glass coffee table to reveal that there's a missed call at 11:02PM from Michael.

But of course Mitchell wouldn't notice. He's stripping some older silver fox off in his living room. Distracting himself. From Michael. From heartbreak.

They both groan, hands all over each other, unaware of the world around them.

———

And that's Episode 11! Thank you for reading if you've made it this far and please let me know what you think. Episode 12 will be out shortly! ☺️

“Oh honey, you meant to get the pie. You know I made it from my grandmother's recipe. It's like a hundred years old. I mean, I know I asked you to get the cake for the kids. 

"But no. I need you to try the pie. Go back and grab a slice. 

"Hello, Aunt Carol! It's so good to see you. Yes, thank you. I did put this all together for cousin Sarah and Grandma Cindy. I know, I can't believe she's already turning one hundred and six as well. It's wonderful. And Sarah turning six, thank god we have at least two birthdays on the same day.

"Do you remember when it was mom's anniversary, too? Oh, it was wonderful when Daddy used to pay for everything.  

"You know, of course, Harry paid for it this year. I know it's not as good, but what do you think? I'm gonna let Harry decide how to use all of those paychecks himself? He doesn't need to start thinking he has a choice in these matters. I don't care whose name is on them, as far as this family goes, those checks are mine…” 

I looked across the alley behind the apartment I had bought Jennifer. I had to move my car out of the way for her whole big Italian family to fit back here. They're good people, blue collar. I doubt they see me as one of them.

It's nothing personal. They just can't seem to understand how I write short fiction all day and make enough to provide for one of their own. 

I understand their skepticism as well. I don't even follow any of the local sports teams. Yes, that includes the Eagles as well. I mean, no offense, but God forbid I don't write about a sports team the mayor can't spell the name of.

Either way, though, I bought into Jennifer's life and everything that came with it when I asked her to marry me. Sure, that came with a family who may not have graduated from community college. But at the same time, I always wanted a family like hers. That tight-knit group of people who really look out for each other. Besides, it's not like I'm anywhere near a perfect guy. And ever since the last of my family passed, Jennifer has been my home.

The longer I sat there on that plastic folding chair, the clearer it became: as far as Jennifer was concerned, I could just as well have been an ATM.

I looked at the card table surrounded by a swarm of pink Barbie princess outfits. They were jumping up and down like an infestation of pink piglets, squealing in that universal sound of children cheering when they get to have sweets they don't need. 

A candle was still smoking on top of the cake I picked up at Acme. It was mostly gone at this point other than two slices left. Next to them, the pie sat there untouched.

My fiancé's mom had cut out pieces to pass around to everyone. I didn't know if she meant to give me the piece of cake when I went up there. I thought I had the choice of cake or pie. But she was a little preoccupied with her ex-husband on speakerphone. 

I guess Jennifer picked up that angry streak from her mom, because damn do they sound exactly alike whenever they yell. 

“Go back and grab the pie I made for the party…” 

I looked down at the slice of cake on my paper plate, covering the picture of some pink cartoon and a white plastic fork stuck into the cake like someone claimed it as territory. 

Jennifer's grandmother was sitting next to us in her wheelchair wearing a tiara, and a Depends which should've been changed about an hour ago, while drool was sliding out of her mouth. 

I looked up at her and said, “Grandma Cindy, would you like some cake?”

She focused those drooping eyes of hers straight at me and said,

“I want to die.”

She then reached her shaking hand over to me and gripped my arm with a strength I don't think anyone would have guessed was still in her.

“What?” I asked.

Jennifer nudged me, “She said, Go get her the pie like I've been telling you! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I don't know how many times I have to tell you. Harry, the cake was for the children. I wanted you to have the pie I made with Grandma Cindy's recipe. You are completely ruining this entire party I put on, and all you've been good for is buying a cake…” 

I looked back at Jennifer's mom, still on the phone, held between her shoulder and ear, shouting, 

“And my daughter made this pie for you. But you can't even show up to what is probably going to be my own mother's last birthday on this earth, all because you're too busy buying whores to show off down the shore in front of all of your little boyfriends, and shoving those poor girls’ asses in everybody's face because you think you bought them for the night it makes them your property or some…” 

At the same time, Jennifer was yelling at me and talking to everyone else at the party about the one hundred year old pie recipe from her grandmother sitting next to us. 

I wanted cake. I didn't know I was going to end up with pie. But to be honest, I think I'm with Grandma Cindy on this one. 

“Oh, I'm sorry, Jennifer. Did you make the pie? I didn't know that you made the pie. This is really your party, isn't it? I mean, no it's not actually your birthday here, and despite you enjoying the idea of your grandmother being around, she could die right here and you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from making sure everyone knows you put this whole thing together. Well, good. I'm so glad that you got to make your pie and have your party.”

I shoved the cake into her lap, got up off the chair, walked over to my car, and drove away.

I'd come from school. I was standing on the sidewalk opposite our vinyl sided house. A big car was in our driveway. It was a Cadillac, the colour of cream. I didn't know who it belonged to. Who does it belong to, I wondered.

It was a hot, still day.

I felt the warm concrete sidewalk slabs through my sneakers’ worn soles. No birds chirped. The sky was cloudless.

I thought I could hear the sun buzzing like an old appliance.

I walked slowly towards the car.

Its windows were darkened. I put my hands on the driver's window and my face against my hands. I looked inside.

A man was inside.

He was reclined on the leather driver's seat.

The seat was red.

The whole inside of the car was red.

The man’s face was pale. His hair was grey. His hands were thick with veins. His eyes were closed. He looked dead. He was breathing, but his eyes were closed and he looked dead.

He opened his eyes.

He didn't look more alive with open eyes than he had with closed eyes, and I leapt backwards away from the car and screamed.

I hadn't screamed.

I stood.

A cloud had passed between me and the sun.

My throat was dry.

I tasted blood.

I saw dark blood running down the sides of the Cadillac's windows. The car was filled with blood. I was blood. It covered the man. I covered the man. He was rising through us. I was listening to the roar of a distant lawnmower. I stood silent, looking through the car's tinted window at the man, whose eyes were closed. He was sleeping. The grass was green. The lawn was neat. I walked inside the house.

My mother was in the kitchen.

She was drinking tea.

Her hands were shaking. The bottom of her teacup was clattering against the saucer she was holding in her other hand.

“There's a man,” I said, “in a car in the driveway.”

My mother opened her mouth to speak.

My father walked in.

My mother closed her mouth.

“That man is your uncle Larkin,” my father said, and my mother looked away. My father looked down at the floor. Ants were walking single file along the grout between the tiles.

I didn’t know either of my parents had a sibling.

“Will he—” I asked.

“No,” my mother said. “He won't come in,” said my father.

My mother set her empty cup and saucer on the kitchen counter, by the sink. The faucet reflected the sunlight. Blood dripped from it. I imagined blood dripping from the faucet into the kitchen sink. My mother's empty cup was full of blood. “I asked if I could play with my friends after I finish my homework,” I said.

“Asked whom?”

I hadn't meant to say it like that.

I felt warmth and shame. I had peed myself. The ants were still walking along the floor. “It's best you do not go out today,” my father said.

I showered.

I put on dry clothes.

My mother had finished mopping the floor when I came downstairs again. We ate dinner. We drank cranberry juice. I watched my parents scrape the meat off chicken bones with their teeth.

My parents drank red wine.

I drank milk.

I wondered if we would bring anything outside for my uncle Larkin, but nobody did. Even the dogs were inside. Even though it wasn't raining.

The sun went down.

I watched the Cadillac in the driveway from my upstairs bedroom window.

I watched it instead of going to sleep.

I couldn't sleep.

I had a fear of being dreamed.

I had a fear that if I slept something might wring me in its dream as if I was a rag used to clean blood from somewhere after a crime so I sat in my bedroom with the lights off looking at the Cadillac in the driveway from my upstairs bedroom window instead of going to sleep until the driver's side door opened and from my bedroom window I saw the driver's side door open.

The driver's side door opened.

It was one in the morning.

The car door opened, and Uncle Larkin stepped out into the moonlight. He moved like tree branches. The veins on his hands were golden. His hair looked like thick grey wires. He parted his lips and ate the moonlight, then walked away down the dimmed street.

The hour felt raw.

He was gone, but I kept watching.

The car was still as a coffin.

The points of starlight in the sky stretched into shimmering lines of spiderweb…

He returned before dawn, holding a small child by the hand.

I couldn't tell if the child was a boy or girl.

The child was younger than me.

They walked up the driveway to the car. He opened the back door.

I saw the long red leather back seat. He helped the child inside. He got in too. Then he shut the door. The car, the moonlight and everything was as it had been before.

There was stillness.

It was dawn.

The stillness was fake like plastic plants.

I was in my bedroom with the curtains closed and a pain in my stomach that felt like knots of jealousy, screaming and disgust.

In the morning, the car was gone. I brushed my teeth until my gums hurt. My mother was making breakfast. It was eggs and bacon. I watched the bacon sizzle in its own melted fat.

I wasn't hungry.

I ate.

Two police officers came by that afternoon.

They were very friendly.

They were asking my parents if they had seen anything unusual last night. I wanted to leave, but my father caught my hand. “What about you?” one of the officers asked. “You're old enough to answer for yourself. Aren't you, son?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I didn't see anything.”

My mother petted my hair.

“Good boy,” he said, and I felt myself of innocent blood.

In the dead of night. When fog prepares for morning. Trees hang their branches low. No one is there to see the miracle of light. No one shall be the one who knows the sensation of boredom under a tree. The one person who thinks about yesterday when tomorrow already hunts them. Boredom envelops the tree, where secrets lie in the air. Forgotten, written in words that were spoken. The fog rises, mixes the secrets into one. Just to spit them out.

A tornado.

A word stings and bleeds. A wound that can't be healed. Ask time, ask if it knows. The sensation of boredom. I'm sure time knows. Where light lingers just enough for us to notice. The fog rules over the air and coldness. And when the world asks, tell them only the fog and I will know.

Silence.

A whisper is not silence. A whisper is the movement of fog, which we mistake for a promise. And when the birds die, they will no longer sing to overthrow the fog. Boredom is the sensation of light striking through fog.

Some would call it the light at the end of the tunnel.

When time and I know that it's just the hope we get so we don't think to think. So we don't decide for fog, for light. I want to hope time forgets too. I hope we can change the direction of the world now. I want to learn how to think before time and the sun blink us away.

Hear the birds sing? In the faraway trees? Enjoy the sensation of melodies coming through. Before the fog takes them. Before light turns the notes into ash. And after you hear them, yell back at them. So they know to flee before they fall.

The fog rises; be prepared for the morning to come.

The fog rises; it rules every early light.

Just to slowly fade into the air.

And let light take over.

I kiss the fog goodbye,

wish the light luck.

And then the sun loses to fog.

At the end, in the dead of night, the fog rises.

Boredom and time forget why they were under the tree.

Hear the whispers?

Run.

When I was in grade 1, my class was about to start arts and crafts, and we were asked to pull out our scissors from our desks. This one girl couldn’t find her scissors in her desk, so the teacher made all the kids look in their desks to try and find these scissors.

I looked in my desk and I didn’t have them (which I already knew I didn’t have them because I didn’t steal them). I then poked my head up and told my teacher that “they ain’t in my desk” as I’m climbing back up from the floor to take a seat at my desk. And my teacher yelled “CHECK AGAIN!”. She then proceeds to tilt my desk and dump all my stuff out and onto the floor! I was baffled and I was trying so hard not to cry (I was 6 mind you).

She then proceeds to tilt about 5 other boys desks, randomly around the room, sending all their stuff/belongings all over the floor as well.

During the chaos of it all, where the 6 of us boys are frantically putting our stuff back in our desk that is all over the floor now. The EA (support staff) who was working with the special needs student at the back table in the corner of the classroom pipes up and says, “Oh sorry, are these they scissors that you are looking for” as she is holding them up for all of us to see.

Apparently the EA “grabbed them off a students desk” and “didn’t think they belonged to anyone”.

I’m about to turn 27 now and for whatever reason that moment has always stuck with me and it pisses me off whenever I think about it.

I've never met an Aghori baba personally, but I remember going to a religious gathering with my family and a few aunties. It was organised by some babas, and honestly, the whole experience felt pretty strange to me.

I believe in God and respect everyone's beliefs, but there were people claiming that God had entered their bodies. They were behaving differently, and people around them were actually believing it and asking questions about their personal problems.

I was just standing there thinking, how can someone be so sure that God has entered another person's body? And what surprised me even more was how easily people were convinced.

I'm not judging anyone's faith, but I personally found it really hard to believe. Even today, I remember how confused I was.

Has anyone here experienced something similar? Do you think these things are real, or is it more about people's beliefs and emotions?

Rupert was one of the laziest people known to man. This was a fact that he was either too aware of or too ignorant of, because in the 29 years and 11 months anyone had known him, he never changed and never wanted to change. He was content to do as little with his life as he could, and he was proud of it.

Rupert, without a hint of humor or irony, decided his 30th birthday would also be his retirement party. Retirement from any work whatsoever. His plan, in his words, was to “not have to worry about the usual 9-to-5 lifestyle, seek out options, settle down.” Their father, in his late 60s and still working, scoffed.
“Your whole goddamn life has been settling down. What do you think part 2 has to offer? Honestly, Rupert, when are you going to cut the crap?” After hearing that, Dad was uninvited to the birthday party.

In reality, Rupert didn’t have a 9-to-5 lifestyle. It was more of a 10-to-4 lifestyle. None of his jobs ever lasted more than 2 years, provided he chose to go to work at all. See, Rupert suffered from the three Nesses. Laziness, tardiness, deceitfulness. He would often show up late, take an ungodly amount of time in the bathroom, and add 10 minutes to the start and end of his lunch hour, and those were just his greatest hits. His favorite ways of getting out of work made use of his cat-like reflexes and his ninja-style ability to sneak out of something he dreaded doing.
These were just jobs that he got fired from.

The truth is it wasn’t always entirely his fault. You see, his job life was incredibly unlucky. His first job was at a video rental… before it closed down; his second job, an all-you-can-eat buffet, which also closed down. Photography film store, phased out. Bathroom attendant, replaced by a robot. Professional circus freak, no longer exists.
He was so unlucky with employment that he saw it as a sign from God that 30 years old was time enough to spend golfing and enjoying his “twilight years.”

His only viable source of income was sports betting, something he did modestly well in, but not enough to stay afloat as he foolishly idealized. Even the house he lived in was bought and paid for by his parents on his 21st. They foolishly thought that if they got him a house, it would give him enough independence where he could get a career going without the stress of paying rent and causing him to move back in with them. 9 years later, it had the opposite effect. While he didn’t move back in with his parents, he never really garnered a so-called career to speak of; the job he was currently quitting had been paying him high school teenager rates since he started there. So he wanted to retire from all that and, after all those tiny wins on the bets, he finally decided to spend it on his party.

Gerald was a people-pleaser. Gerald had no problems getting up and commuting, helping his fellow man, bending over backwards to get everything he felt like he’d earned in life. He had a job, a girlfriend, a car, his own house, everything he ever wanted, thanks to good old-fashioned hard work. His only flaw was that he was Rupert’s brother, and Rupert was about to turn 30. Gerald didn’t resent Rupert for his laid-back way of life; in fact, it was almost nonexistent in the eyes of Gerald. See, Gerald spent his whole life pleasing their parents, pleasing his bosses, pleasing everyone; he couldn’t possibly object to anything Rupert asked for. Could he? Not sweet Rupert. Sweet, stupid Rupert.
So when his brother’s birthday came up, Gerald had to get him the perfect present.

“Are your eyes still closed?” Gerald beamed as he nudged his brother through the front doorway of Rupert’s house.
“Yes. Of course.” Rupert replied with his hands covering his eyes.
Gerald continued to shepherd Rupert over to the corner left side of his already gigantic porch. Next to the doorway was a huge thing covered in a sheet.
“Ok open them!” Gerald instructed. As Rupert took his hands away, Gerald pulled the sheet off it. It was an old antique rocking chair; nothing like any rocking chair that Rupert had seen before. The wood resembled bone appendages; its color was somewhere between cream and brown, and there was a cushion with little sloths patterned all over it, which added a shred of comfortability to an already tough sell.
“Oh my god! Gerald, I love this!” Rupert cried. “See, you understand what I was talking about. You get this whole thing I’m going for.”
“I got it from some antique store,” Gerald replied. “The second I saw it, I knew it was very… you.”
“Why, I can face it into the street. Watch people walking past! My own personal theater of live performance.”
“You do like to people-watch.” Gerald stated. Rupert approached it and looked underneath.
“It says Belphegor.” He examined. “I wonder what that means.”
“It’s probably one of those wacky names they give it.” Gerald surmised. “Like that Wayfair company with all those human names.”
Rupert was about to sit on it.
“Do you know anything about who owned it before me?”
“Yeah, the guy before you died in it… apparently.” Gerald laughed. Rupert immediately changed his mind and stood back up.
“Oh god. You did… clean it down before you brought it here, right?”
“…Sure.” Gerald lied.
“I don’t know, I still feel weird about it. Do you know if it was a valued… personal item in the family?”
“They said that the guy never had a joyous moment while he was in that chair.” Gerald stated rather bluntly. Rupert looked it up and down.
“Ah, screw it. It’s mine now. Hey Ron! Come outside and look what Gerald got me! In fact! Let’s bring the cake out here.”

After an hour Rupert finally sat on his present. Everyone followed him out onto the porch and sang happy birthday, including their mother, who was the most ecstatic.
As far as Rupert was concerned, this was the greatest gift he’d ever received.

The next day, Gerald got a rather strange call from his brother.
“Gerald! It’s Rupert… your brother.”
“Oh hey, Rupert. How’d you go with cleaning up last night?”
“Yeah. Yeah good. Listen, man, you’re gonna need to come over. I have a bit of an emergency.”
“Emergency? What is it? Did you lock yourself out of your house again?” Gerald laughed. Silence on the other end.
“Yeah… It’s probably best that you come over. I can’t explain over the phone. And if I could, you probably wouldn’t believe me.”

When he got there, he saw Rupert sitting in the rocking chair with a very sour look on his face.
“I see you’re really utilizing that thing, huh?” He laughed. Rupert didn’t seem to share that sentiment. In fact, Rupert looked very afraid.
“It’s the strangest thing!” He stated. “I can’t seem to get out of this chair. I haven’t been able to since yesterday.”
Gerald cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, when I sat in it yesterday, for the cake, I just couldn’t get back up. Of course, I thought it might’ve been because I had too many drinks, so I sent everyone home thinking I had dead legs. But now… I don’t know what it is.”
“You’ve been in this chair the whole night?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to say. I haven’t been able to get out of it. It feels like there’s some… thing holding me down and preventing me from getting up. Luckily, I had my phone on me. It was on like 2%, so I called you as soon as I could.”
“Ok, umm… just calm down and we’ll get you out of it… somehow.”
Gerald and Rupert then spent the next 20 minutes looking at Rupert’s predicament as if they were trying to lift a couch through a very narrow doorway. Gerald then attempted to lift Rupert out of this infernal prison.
“Wait, stop. You’re bending my spine. Wait… ARRRHGGGH!!!” Rupert screamed.
“What? What do you want me to do?”
“Just… let me go for a second! Let me go,” Rupert cried. Gerald released him from his grip. “There’s got to be an easy way of doing this.”
“Should I get the saw?”
“And accidentally cut my leg? What are you, out of your mind?”
“I don’t know. I…” Gerald trailed off.
“Just get the saw. Get the saw and maybe like a drill or something. Some kind of drill.”
Gerald then sawed his way into the chair. The saw wouldn’t cut through it. He tried the drill; it short-circuited and broke down. He tried the saw again, but the tool just broke apart under its own force.
“I don’t understand. How is this possible?” Gerald pondered.
“I think right now we need to abandon the question of why this is happening, and focus more on how I get out of it.”

Eventually, every single emergency service was called to Rupert’s house. While the police and firefighters needed a little convincing to get over there (Gerald tried to fight through the obvious laughter coming from the other side), the ambulance people were the only ones who took it seriously. Eventually, they all showed up not because they wanted to help Rupert with his problem, but more out of curiosity. They wanted to see this thing for themselves. The firefighters brought out their very sharp axe, causing Rupert to squirm in his seat over fear that one wrong swing and he could very well lose his manhood. After the axe didn’t take, the police tried ‘shooting’ him out, which also didn’t work for obvious reasons.
“Well, it’s certainly not physical.” An onlooking doctor explained. He was looking at the chair as if it were a rare ancient artifact. “He hasn’t fused here; he certainly hasn’t been nailed. In fact, by all accounts there should be no physical reason that he should be confined to this chair.”
“So what is it?” Gerald asked.
“I’m really not sure. Was it something you ate, Rupert? What have you been eating in the last 24 hours?”
“Party food.” Rupert replied bluntly. He was already fed up with his newfound affliction and Gerald could tell.
“What kind of party food. Any drugs?”
“Just party food.”
“Huh.” The doctor stood up.
“What ‘huh’? What are you saying, Doc?”
“I might need to run a few more tests. You mind if I take a saliva and a blood sample from you?”
“Sure, but if you want a urine sample, everyone will need to turn around.” Rupert said, followed by laughter from the crowd.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“Yesterday. In fact, I could go for something right now. Anyone want any pizza?”
Suddenly fifteen hands went up.
“Figures. If I’m going to be subjected to humiliation, I might as well be paying for it. Say, Gerald.”
“Yes, Rupert?” Gerald replied, leaning down by his side.
“Be a dear and order about six pizzas. One of everything.”
“Are you sure you can afford that, brother?”
“Yeah, for sure. While I was waiting for you, I bet on the Scavengers game.”
“Scavengers? They haven’t won a game all season.”
“I know. But something in me told me to bet on them. And since the last time I checked, they were up 15 points!”
A few murmurs rippled through the crowd. Half a dozen people then checked their phones.
“He’s right!” One of the cops claimed. More murmurs.
“The odds on that must’ve been through the roof.” Another said.
“I stand to win two grand. So yeah, Gerald, if you can get that and some garlic bread. Garlic bread, anybody? Yeah, garlic bread, ok.”
Gerald, feeling like he should’ve been doing more, just nodded and got up.
“Sure, brother. I’ll get right onto it.”
“Love you,” Rupert replied flatly.

Later, after the show was over and everyone went home, Gerald brought a few things out for Rupert onto the porch. A side table, a six-pack of beers, a pack of smokes, and a phone charger plugged into an extension cord that led into the house.
“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in the house?” Gerald asked, handing him a beer. “I don’t know if I like you being out here all night.”
“I was out here last night and was fine,” Rupert smirked. “Besides, it’s still warm out; I think it would be relaxing. I mean it’s not every day where you can just… not do anything, and get away with it.”
“Well, some people don’t have that luxury.” Gerald shrugged.
“Also, I need to write a grocery list of things I need you to get tomorrow.”
“You think you’ll still be here tomorrow?”
“I was this morning. Why wouldn’t I be again?”

Rupert was there the next day, and the day after that and the day after that. Eventually his parents came by. His mother said she was heartbroken that “My Rupert is in such a horrible state.” His father just laughed his ass off, saying it served him right.

Later that week, Gerald went over to Rupert’s with his groceries.
Doctor Johnson, the guy who ran his tests the other day, was there with him.
“Ahh, Gerald, right on time.” Rupert sang.
“I was just talking to the good doctor about this whole… what-have-you. He told me that ‘you might want to sit down for this ’; I was ready to smack him.”
“It’s the strangest thing.” Doctor Johnson shrugged. “His blood work came back fine. He doesn’t appear to have anything broken or dislocated. And he hasn’t been through any traumatic events recently.”
“Other than turning 30.” Rupert joked.
“You think this is all in his mind?” Gerald asked.
“That was my first guess, yes. See, there are certain types of catatonia from trauma. Some people are completely paralyzed; some people only get it from the waist down.”
“Doctor, you don’t understand. Gerald tried lifting me out of that chair, and it physically hurt me. Almost like my legs and spine were being moved in a way they shouldn’t.”
“Yeah, it was like he’s become one with the chair.” Gerald added.
“But that can’t be right. There must be some…” The doctor stroked his chin.
“Doc, I think we need to abandon the question of why this is happening and focus more on how we can get him out of it.” Gerald stated.
“My suggestion? Get a priest, or an exorcist. Have a good day, gentlemen.” Doctor Johnson then left.
“Rupert. What’s going on? I tried calling you about your groceries.”
“I must’ve slept in.”
“It’s 4 o’clock in the afternoon.”
“What do you want me to tell ya? I didn’t get any sleep last night.”
“Was it too cold? Damn it, Rupert. I knew this would happen.”
“No, no. It wasn’t cold. It’s just… you know. My ass hurts. My back hurts. And those DAMN KIDS ARE PLAYING THEIR LOUD MUSIC UP AND DOWN THE STREET!” Rupert yelled that last part, assuming that the kids in the neighborhood could hear him. “It’s that Donovan boy, I swear.”
“I can put you inside.”
“No, no, and watch television all day? I can do that on my phone. It’s not all bad, though.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t know; ever since I got stuck here, I’ve been having nothing but good luck. I’ve won $5000 in betting, I’m having all this fresh air I never thought I’d have, and the mailman hand-delivers my mail.”
“You won 5 grand this week?”
“Every single thing I bet on has won. At first I thought maybe it was just a coincidence. I mean, I’ve had big wins before, but not this consistent. And I used to do it with small stuff, like 1.5-to-1 odds. Now every risk I take pays off huge. I’m not even betting on the safe results anymore. Why do that when I can make more on the long shots?”
“Way to go, Rupert.” Gerald cheered, patting him on the shoulder. “See, if you had put this to good use in high school, you would’ve completed your grade 12.”
“I keep telling you. The school was terrified by my intelligence.”
“Ok buddy.” Gerald laughed. “Then look, I’ll make a few calls to get a priest…”
“Doctors. What do they know?” Rupert scoffed.
“Rupert, if this chair has something to do with this we-“
“The chair is fine. We don’t need some witch doctor-“
“Witch doctor? It’ll be a catholic priest-“
“And we don’t need them coming in and ruining what I have going here.”
Gerald looked at him.
“Oh I see what this is,” Gerald scoffed. “You’re worried that if a priest blesses the chair, then you’re going to lose your winning streak.”
“And so why ruin a good thing?”
“Rupert, you can’t be in a chair forever.”
“If it means winning so much money that I don’t have to work another day in my life, hell yeah I’m gonna stay in this chair.”
“At least let me bring you into the house.”
“Why are you obsessed with me going into the house? I love it out here.”
“You hate it out here.”
“I don’t… mind it out here.” Rupert compromised, trying to save face.
“Have it your way, brother.” Gerald sighed, handing Rupert his grocery bag. “But seriously, keep your phone on at all times. I was worried about you.”
“If I have any issues, I’ll let you know. Thanks for getting my sundries.”
“Anyway, I should really get back; otherwise Nicole is going to be wondering what’s happening.”
“I can’t believe you’re getting married.”
“Yeah, I’m still in awe of it myself.”
“I wonder how you’re going to get me there.” Rupert laughed. Gerald didn’t see the funny side.
“Don’t talk like that; you’ll be fine in no time.”
“No, it’s because I hate weddings. But while we’re on the subject of that. I really don’t see myself getting out of this chair anytime soon.”

Despite his apprehension, Rupert attended Gerald’s wedding, chair and all. Gerald did make one small change, however. He asked Rupert if he was happy to give up being the best man. Rupert agreed, believing that it would be a very odd thing to see, for all those involved, a man in a rocking chair making a toast.
After that, Rupert didn’t see his brother much for the next few weeks; he didn’t need to. He had the fresh air, all the food delivery that he could eat, and more money than he knew what to do with. He even made it on the news.

“We’re standing here live with Rupert Davis!” The female reporter said to her camera. “A man who, up until a few months ago, was able-bodied and penniless. But after sitting in this rocking chair. All that changed for him. Now, he’s a self-made millionaire, and he’s still not getting out of that chair. Now Rupert, tell us. How did this happen?”
“Well, Cynthia,” Rupert said smoothly. “It’s the darnedest thing. Can I say darn?”
“That’s probably the only thing you can say on Channel 6.” She smiled.
“So my brother Gerald. Hi Gerald.” He waved at Gerald in the crowd; Gerald waved back. “My brother, he bought me this rocking chair. And when I sat down, all of a sudden I just won everything. Sporting events, dog races, scratch and wins. I mean, I’d buy a lottery ticket but I feel like that wouldn’t be fair to everyone else.” He laughed; a real natural in front of the camera.
“Do you feel that winning all this money is the reason you haven’t left the chair? Are you worried you’re going to taint your luck should you get out of it?”
“See, I believe the chair is magic. I mean, I literally can’t get out of it, even if I wanted to.”
“Magic, really?” The reporter asked excitedly.
“Oh yeah, Cynthia. Most definitely.”
“So if you could get out of it, would you?”
“Well I talked to Gerald, and we figured that if the chair and the luck are related. If I get out of the chair, I might lose my winning streak. So, not a chance.”
“Fascinating.”
“Would you?” Rupert smiled.
“Probably not. Now I think the big question on everybody’s lips- certainly my lips- is… how do you go to the bathroom?”
Rupert laughed, followed by a moment of blushing.
“Yeah, we have a system for that.”
“Well, there you have it!” The reporter turned back to the camera and beamed. “This is Cynthia Allbright, Channel 6!”

After everyone had left, Gerald cracked open a beer with Rupert.
“You on TV. I never thought I’d see the day.” Gerald laughed.
“It’s exactly how I imagined it.” Rupert smiled. Gerald put the beer down.
“Listen, Rupert. I gotta talk to you. See… now that Nicole and I are married, we gotta figure out what we’re doing.”
“What are you trying to say, brother?” Rupert asked, looking slightly anxious.
“It means it… might not… be that easy to come over as much anymore.”
“What, you’re going to leave me?”
“No, no, I didn’t say that at all. I’m just saying that… perhaps you might want to consider a live-in housekeeper.”
“They’re not gonna understand my needs. They probably won’t even understand why I have the needs that I do.”
“Well, if you pay them enough, I’m sure-”
“I don’t want them; I want you. I want my brother. Tell you what. Why don’t you live here.”
“Yeah right.” Gerald scoffed.
“Why did you scoff? It’s a great idea!”
“No, I couldn’t do that to you.”
“Why not?”
“And use your bedroom? No way.”
“You can use the other bedroom if you like.”
“Ehh, I don’t know.”
“What if I buy you a house? Somewhere close by.”
“I can’t ask that of you.”
“Well, you’re not asking; I’m offering. Look, it’s either you move in here, or I get you a house. God knows I can afford it. Pick one, whatever option that will soothe your poor catholic guilt conscience, because I really don’t care.”
“… How big of a house. And Venetians, can we get Venetians?”
“Of course you pick that one. I’ve always said you were a bastard. But yes, I’m sure we can do that.”

And by late September, Rupert, who had accumulated up to 3 million dollars in bet wins, bought Gerald and Nicole a house that was one street over. He even paid Gerald $10,000 so he didn’t have to worry about making ends meet at work. After all, he had the money for it; so much so that the taxation department began questioning Rupert about how he would correctly file his new windfall. Not to mention the four betting websites accusing him of cheating; their claim was that he must have had some kind of insider information on the teams he bet on. They dropped the accusations when they found out he was a 30-year-old nobody confined to a rocking chair, but they still prohibited him from using their sites anyway. Only one website continued to do business with him and even made him a company sponsor; Rupert didn’t know whether they felt sorry for him or saw it as an excellent marketing strategy. “Luckiest Man on Earth’s official betting site!” As for the dog racing, he simply got his neighbor Harry to go down to the sports bar twice a week.
Things took a dark turn, though, as they so often do.
It was early October when Rupert was enjoying a crisp but not freezing night on his usual spot on the porch. His phone was on 1% battery, and as he reached for his charger, the extension cord snagged on one of the planks of wood on the floor. It jerked out of Rupert’s hand and fell to the ground—a couple of feet out of reach.
“Shit!” He hissed to himself. It wasn’t a great concern, though; he had his dinner and beverages all prepared ahead of time. He figured he could just wait it out until morning and ask the mailman to pass it over.

But then he heard it. A woman screaming her head off down the street. At first, Rupert was curious. Then he saw her limping, in a slow sprint, past his house.
“Come back here bitch!” A male voice, belonging to someone he couldn’t see, came from a distance. Then he saw the perpetrator's face—a dangerous-looking guy holding a hunting knife. Rupert did everything he could not to make a noise. But his stupid automatic porch light came on and shone directly onto the man.
“Who’s that?” He yelled out. Then he walked up to the garden path.
“Is it you, Rocking Chair?!” He screamed.
“No man, I don’t want any trouble. It’s… it’s an automatic light.” Rupert stammered out. The man walked up onto the porch.
“What the hell you looking at? I’ll kill you, close your eyes!” The man roared. Rupert did as he was told. The man leaned down next to Rupert, who, by this point, was shaking.
“What I do… is none of your FUCKING business. You hear me?! I oughta slice your throat right now.” With that, the man brought the blade up to Rupert’s face and lightly held it against his neck.
“Open your eyes.” Rupert didn’t have to; he already knew the blade was there, but he opened them anyway. “Did you hear what I said!”
Rupert nodded vigorously. The man looked at him.
“What are you, some kinda cripple?” He asked. Rupert nodded. The man took his knife away. “Understand something, cripple. Keep the porch light off at night. Because if I see a porch light on and I think you’re trying to incriminate me, I get scared. And if I'm scared, I don’t have to tell you how scared you’ll be.”
He turned and walked away before looking behind him.
“You didn’t see nothing.”

The next day, Gerald got a call from the police who told him about what happened.
“I want you to get me a gun. A big one. Like a shotgun. And security cameras all over the front yard.” Rupert rambled. He was still visibly shaken.
“You really want a gun?” Gerald asked.
“Yes. And we need extension cords longer than this sorry excuse. You know I could’ve died last night!”
“I know I can get a gun; I just… don’t know how I can get one for you specifically.”
“Take me down there; it should be fine. It’s this street, brother. It’s no longer safe outside.”
“So come inside!”
“No! I shouldn’t have to.”
Suddenly, one of the kids passed by the house.
“Hey, Mister Davis!” The kid called out. “You finally giving out candy this Halloween?”
“You go to hell!” Rupert roared.
“Ok so what we’re not going to do is curse at the children,” Gerald said condescendingly. “Especially after you said you wanted a gun.”
“Oh he doesn’t count. That Donovan kid is an asshole; he always says the most annoying things to me, like ‘Oh, how was your day?’ Screw him.”
Eventually, Gerald caved and got Rupert a double-barrel shotgun, right by his side.

Halloween came around. Although Rupert wasn’t prepared to blast away at kids (more so in case that crazy guy came back), he had foolishly assumed that having the shotgun by his side indicated that he was not handing out candy and that he meant it. This did little to deter the kids, since they thought it was part of whatever horror theme he was going for.
“Trick ‘r’ Treat.” A group of kids said in unison with their father in the background.
“No, I’m not doing Halloween, kids.” Rupert said bluntly. They all looked a little let down. A few of them walked away sadly.
“Yeah, nice going, Davis!” The father scowled.
“Get lost, Grant!” Rupert replied. “What, you think because I’m out here that I’m going to, just, give in? My condition is not your Halloween costume, pal!”
“What?” The dad asked.
“Oh just go away, alright?!”
Once most of the children cleared his porch there was another trick ‘r’ treater still standing on the steps and staring at Rupert intently. This one didn’t look like a kid. In fact, it didn’t look human at all. It was slouching and had what looked like a witch’s mask on: a long pointed nose, an ugly face, and great horns coming from its head.
“Nice costume,” Rupert said, admiring the realism. “Anyway, as I told the others, I’m not doing it.”
The figure just stared at him.
“You heard me! Get out of here! Get!” The figure walked away slowly and silently.

Later, Rupert wrote a sign that said, “No Trick ‘r’ Treaters. Please!” Naturally, a few kids wanted to defy the warning. Rupert learned this when a few 10-year-olds rolled up with no parental supervision.
“Trick ‘r’ Treat.” The head kid demanded, holding out his bag.
“Can’t you read?” Rupert sighed. “I’m not going to be tricking OR treating!”
“That’s not fair!” The kid stamped his foot.
“Fair? Who said life was fair?! I’ve been in this chair for months! Where’s my fairness?”
“You have to give us candy.” One of the other kids demanded, clearly unmoved by Rupert’s statement.
“I don’t have to give you shitttt. Where are your parents?” As Rupert looked out for any grown-ups that might’ve been standing from a distance behind them - as they usually do - these kids were quickly turning into an angry mob.
“That’s part of the rules!” The head honcho cried. “That’s the rules of Halloween! Now trick ‘r’ treat!”
“Rules? Look, some of you aren’t even wearing costumes! There is zero effort here!”
“That’s the rules of Halloween!” The kid repeated. “Now trick ‘r’ treat!”
“No trick ‘r’ treat!”
“TRICK ‘R’ TREAT!”
“NO TRICK ‘R’ TREAT!”
“Alright!” The head kid stepped back. “You asked for it, buddy. Men! Take position!”
“What are you doing?” Rupert asked, suddenly alarmed.
“Aim!” The kids pulled out eggs. “Fire!”
Dozens of eggs were catapulted in Rupert’s direction.
“Ah the shell cut me! Ow ow!” Rupert screamed as he was completely covered in broken shells and yolk.
“Trick ‘r’ treat, JERK!” The head kid scowled.
“Why you little…”
Rupert leaped out of his chair and tried to run after them, only for his legs to give out on him. He face-planted his garden path, while the kids laughed, threw him the finger, and ran away. Rupert turned around to look at the empty rocking chair, sitting vacantly on his porch. He was out of his chair. After months, he was no longer confined! He was free.
“How the-“ he began before stopping himself short; there was no time to ponder over the particulars at that moment. He had to go to Gerald’s house. He struggled to get up, legs stiff and back like jelly. As he straightened up, he moved his legs forward, left foot, right foot. He shuffled down the garden path and out into the street. He turned to walk down the busy suburban neighborhood, shifting past passing truck ‘r’ treaters who turned and either murmured to each other in disbelief or pointed and laughed.
“Got to get to Gerald. I’ve got to…” he muttered to himself.
“Cool Frankenstein walk, Mr. Davis.” The Donovan boy called out as he passed.
“Eat shit, Donovan!” Rupert hissed.
Rupert then turned the corner of the street. He was about to walk down it when he saw the crazy man who had attacked him weeks ago. Half a dozen police officers were holding the man down; one of them was tasing him over and over, doing little to deter him and only making him visibly angrier.

Rupert turned around and decided to go to the other corner of the street to get to Gerald’s house. Every nerve in his body gave him that fuzzy, electrical feeling inside him. Full-body pins and needles screamed out in every direction. He passed his house again before reaching the other corner. Everything in him told him to sit down and take it easy, but he had spent months sitting down and taking it easy. The time was now to move before whatever demonic thing in the world changed its mind. He moved down a couple houses, all the while thinking, “just another block, just another block.”

“Hey, look. He’s finally out of his chair. The guy who didn’t want to trick ‘r’ treat.” A voice came from one of the alleys. Out came the head trick ‘r’ treater that launched an egg attack on him. Only he didn’t have just four or five friends with him. Now there were almost a dozen kids behind him, all dressed in various Halloween costumes.
“He’s gonna tell on us.” One of them called out. Another one had a foam bat that, to a regular adult, wouldn’t pack a great wallop; but with Rupert’s condition, it could probably do more damage.
“Get him!” The ringleader ordered with a smirk. Suddenly, the kids ran after him, causing Rupert to turn back the way he came. His limping and shuffling turned into a kind of quick-paced hobble as he made his way back to his house. Angry children started gaining on him as the gap between them began closing. Then he tripped and fell, and they pounced on him; witches, vampires, ghosts and pirates all started kicking him and bringing the foam bat down onto his shaking body. He was only two houses away from his porch, so he began crawling away.
“Pick him up!” One of them cried. Four or five of them did their best to lift him like he was some unmanned island’s sacrificial animal ready to be put onto a spit roast. They brought him to his porch.
“Tie him to the chair!” The ringleader commanded with venom.
“No! No! Stop!!” Rupert cried out but was too exhausted to fight it. One of the kids dealt him a surprisingly powerful slug to the face.
“This will teach you.” Scowled the one who dealt the hit.
Suddenly, ropes surrounded him, wrapping around him and the rocking chair.
“Next time, be prepared.” The ringleader hissed. They all then ran off, leaving only the trace of a couple of distant giggles to signify they were there.
Luckily, these kids were no Boy Scouts, and their rope didn’t affect his ability to get his phone from his pocket. He found Gerald’s number and put it on speaker. It reached his voicemail.
“Gerald, they tied me up—these little shits in the neighborhood. But the most incredible thing happened. Come quick!”

Gerald had an early night, so he couldn’t get to his phone until the next day. When he heard the message, he rushed over to Rupert’s house.
“I smell like egg.” Rupert sulked.
“Jesus, what happened?” Gerald exclaimed, loosening the rope from Rupert’s chair.
“I got beat up by school children. I don’t want to talk about it. Listen, something happened last night. I got out!”
Gerald stopped untying the rope and leaned down beside Rupert.
“What are you saying, Rupert?”
“I got out!” He repeated, excitedly. “I actually got out of the chair! I… I don’t know how, I don’t know why. But I got up! I tried walking to your house, but I ran into the kids, and they brought me back and tied me up.”
“Rupert, that doesn’t make any sense. Why last night?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it was because it was Halloween.”
“Oh yeah, I heard about something like this.” Gerald replied. He pulled out his phone and searched for a video. He pulled up the video.
“All Hallow’s Eve, or Halloween as it’s known these days, grants any trapped spirit to freely roam the earth for just one night,” The narrator explained, followed by an animated graphic. “Not for long, though. Once the night is over, the spirit must return to its place of confinement.”
“That’s it!” Gerald exclaimed. “Obviously whatever is holding you captive just… left its post, and freed you from it.”
“I saw a funny-looking guy staring at me last night. Didn’t look human. Maybe that was it.” He tried moving out of the chair to no avail.
“Guess it came back.”
“Does that mean I’m going to have to wait a year to get out again?”
“You’re actually going to try to get out? What about all the money?”
“Gerald, what good is money when I can’t enjoy it because I’m stuck here? I miss doing things. Anything. I miss going out and seeing people. I miss sleeping in a bed. You see that soccer field there?”
Rupert pointed at the one directly across the street from his house.
“Yeah?”
“As long as I’ve been living here, I’ve never been on that field. I've seen a game or two. Since being in this chair, I’ve watched every game, just hoping one day I could walk across the street and enjoy it. Enjoy… life… I guess. I need to get out of this chair. Even if it takes a year.”
“We’re going to make this work, ok?” Gerald patted him on the shoulder.
“Take me inside. I’m going to be spending a lot more time there, I think.”
So Gerald got Harry, the neighbor, to help him lift the chair in. They put Rupert in the bath, hosed him down, dried him off, and placed him next to the window inside.

The months went by. Rupert started getting fat, lethargic, and slow. When he wasn’t watching the television from his window, he was getting Gerald to turn him around to look out the window… at the soccer field. It took Rupert a while to find a delivery driver willing to enter his house to deliver his food. Many were understandably worried for their safety, since it was a very unusual request. Gerald’s wife made him food until he finally found a regular delivery driver he could rely on. He even had a small birthday celebration with their parents, Gerald and Nicole. But he urged them to celebrate only his birthday, not the one-year anniversary of the incident.

8 months had passed since the last time Rupert had been out on the porch; he stayed in for Spring, but when it hit Summer, he knew he couldn’t spend those three months inside. It felt odd to be back in his usual spot after such a long absence.

Finally, Halloween approached, and Rupert was prepared. So much so that he would even casually point his shotgun at the punks who harassed him last year, with intent to fire, all the while he waited for Gerald, who promised he’d be there. He waited, and waited, and waited. Hours went by and still no sign of him. Eventually, Rupert decided he couldn’t wait any longer, so he held onto the arms of the chair and rocked it back so hard that it launched him out of the chair and onto the garden path. Because he’d been seated longer than the last Halloween, he couldn’t stand at all. This didn’t deter Rupert; even though he landed on the concrete pretty hard, he dead-crawled down the garden path anyway.
“Nice zombie crawl, Mister Davis!”
“Donovan, I swear to god.” He snapped.
Finally, he got out onto the curb. If he had waited for a passerby, then maybe someone could’ve called an ambulance. But he kept on crawling until he was in the middle of the road, ready to flag down an oncoming car. Suddenly, a car came out of nowhere and hit the brakes to a screech. A man got out.
“My God, what happened to you?” The man leaned down.
“Get an ambulance.” Rupert croaked as he attempted to get up
“Hold on there, let’s get you sitting down. Is this your house? It’s probably safer to get you in there, I think
The man then lifted him and brought him to the front porch.
“It’s locked.” The man said. “Do you have a key?”
“Pocket.”
“Hold on, let’s put you down on this chair.”
“Nooo!” Rupert cried out. It was too late. The ambulance arrived, and so did Gerald. But too much time had passed, and once again Rupert was trapped.

“Where were you?!” Rupert yelled.
“I’m sorry, brother. I had to finish work,” Gerald explained, shrugging. “What with the baby and all. It’s hard to juggle everything.”
“Then what good are you.” Rupert waved his hand.
“What did you just say?” Gerald demanded.
“You heard me!”
“Ok, that’s it!” Gerald yelled. “For the last year I’ve been running around, tending to your every whim, and this is the thanks I get?”
“I got you a house, Gerald.”
“You got me a house, not out of the kindness of your heart, but because you needed me. Out of your own selfishness.”
“How dare you say that to me, ‘this is the thanks I get.’ You live comfortably, don’t you? You’re not like me. Some kinda circus freak to marvel at on the news.”
“Well, why should I devote my life to taking care of my brother every second of the day? It was like this before the chair, and it’s definitely like it now.”
“BECAUSE IT’S YOUR FAULT I’M IN THIS CHAIR!”
“… No. You don’t-”
“It’s true. You got me this gift. You insisted that I sit in it. It was your idea.”
“That’s not fair,” Gerald said softly, shaking his head. “You can’t possibly blame me for this. You told me you liked it! Neither of us knew this was going to happen!“
“And yet, it did. And now I’m stuck here for another year. Thanks to you!”
“Well, if that’s the way you want to be, then fine, I’ll go.”
“Good, go!”
“Goodbye, Rupert.” Gerald walked away.
“Fine! See if I care. Matter fact! I hope I never get out of this chair! I hope I stay in this chair till the day I die! How about that!” The only response Rupert got was the sound of the cicadas.

And that’s exactly what he did. Seasons went by. Halloween had been and gone. Rupert’s spite had outgrown his muscle strength, so he got a live-in housekeeper to get him up and around every Halloween before eventually getting tired of it. Year after passing year, he remained seated. Rupert sat in his chair for Christmases, family holidays, his 35th birthday, his father’s funeral. Gerald decided that, to stop this friction, he would be the first to talk. He was flat-out ignored. The last time Rupert saw him was at his mother’s funeral. By then, Gerald had two kids going into kindergarten and a third on the way, but Rupert still ignored him. That was the last time they saw each other.

Years turned into decades, decades turned into forgotten memories. And by that point Rupert had forgotten what his life was like before the rocking chair. He watched all the kids in the neighborhood move out and start their own families. He watched houses change, and the soccer field he once revered was bulldozed, with an apartment building built on top of it. He didn’t live life; he existed in one. Now, in his early eighties, he was still sitting there… with a blanket wrapped around him. A couple of kids on bikes rode past his house and heard him shouting something.
“Gerald.” He bellowed out. “Gerald?! Where’s Gerald!”

Gerald had been dead for the last ten years.

What am I supposed to do with all this smoke?

My girlfriend told me if I didn't quit smoking, she was going to kick me out. Our house - her home. With just my “lucky” cigarette left, how could she expect me to simply throw it away?

I tried telling her, I'll stop smoking when you stop parking in the street. She told me she doesn't want the headlights shining into the windows on the house and wake me up after I fall asleep on the couch.

I don't fall asleep on the couch all the time. I mean, sometimes when I'm waiting up for her. It's been a little more often recently, but we both been picking up more shifts before the baby comes.

Ten years we both been smoking. That's how we met in the first place. High school sweethearts. High school degenerates. We sacrificed sitting in our broken homes for sitting in for a Saturday detention. From the moment we locked eyes, we knew we were each other's person.

Of course we waited til the afternoon after detention to make it official. But when we walked out of the bathroom together at the gas station next to the school. Something about the way she was adjusting her blouse just did it for me. The way she fidget with her top…I was hers, and she was mine, and I would do anything for her she'd ask.

That's when I bought a pack of Marlboro reds 100s. Flipped my lucky for the pack. She looked at me like I had two heads, and I told her, that's the one in the pack for when you got a bad day, and you just need something good to happen. That's why they call it a “lucky.”

She was always jealous of my smoke rings. But never gave me much grief for it. But if she had to quit for the baby, then we both had to quit for the baby. I promised her I would, so here I am, standing outside my doorstep looking for a match.

It was one more smoke for christ's sake! Is she really gonna get mad at me for at least finishing the pack? She said to throw it out, and I will… Right after this last one. Besides, it ain't like I'm the one with a uterus. Well, if I'm gonna smoke, then I'm going to at least try to enjoy it.

I usually smoke down to the filter, but I mean is one drag really the worst thing in the world? That's all it comes down to anyway, that last drag deep inhale of tar and smoke filling my throat and lungs like a flame winding its way through every orifice.

At that point, I can toss the rest of that “lucky” cigarette behind me and just move on with my life. I can watch the smoke drifting out of my mouth like the essence of everything my life has been for the past ten years.

I went inside, washed up, and figured I'd lay down on the couch until she got home.

What am I supposed to do with all this smoke?

I wasn't expecting that cigarette was gonna lead to a house fire. It was that new kind, with the new more flame retardant paper for the stick or whatever. Usually I'm smoking these things down til they're beat!

But here I am, trying to figure out what I'm going to tell my girlfriend. We have fire insurance, but there are things in that house that can't be replaced. Memories were made there. Even if I did quit, how was she gonna let me stay here with her?

The firefighters were putting it out. I got out pretty quickly. I thanked god I fell asleep on the couch. But it was three o'clock in the morning, and I never heard her come home.

I looked over to the street. Our car was sitting in that spot. I spun back around and saw a firefighter carrying out a limp body. They tried to revive her.

What am I supposed to do with all this smoke?

31M and my wife 33F
Married for three years, very minimal physical contact(once in 3-4 months)
I started watching online porn and chat with online girls(telegram - Philippines) to satisfy myself.
We had a baby , she found out that i have been doing this online things.
I apologized and begged to her for that
She hit me multiple times and threatened me (destroying my career and image in society)
She decided to leave me
luckily i got saved from a thing which i thought of doing it considering it as an end
Few weeks later she started distancing me and my daughter and she then accused me that i am a pervert and she cant let the baby (2 month old )near me
I lost myself in that accusation , i never did something bad to my baby
We got separated and i sought therapy
Now we re seeking divorce
I scared to even look at my baby

Between Love and Attachment

A friend once asked me, “What is the difference between love and attachment?”

Love is something gentle, something soft. A laugh, a smile, the feeling of a tremble inside your chest, a beautiful kind of nervousness, a gentle rise in temperature, as if you were breathing in fresh air.

Love is the sweetness of beginnings and an ending that leaves behind a beautiful taste. A feeling that is constant yet ever-renewing, flowing and light. It is calm when you are close, yet wild and intensely pleasurable when you are apart.

That is love.

As for attachment, it is storms and raging seas, crying and laughing, tears and joy, the trembling of a heart and its breaking, sadness, exhaustion, happiness, and longing.

You never know where all those bumps in the road come from, or how so many emotions can gather inside a single heart. And yet, through it all, you are content. You hold on to this choice.

Attachment.

Sara Cal 🥀✏️

Hi y'all, I'm back with another story from my time working at a very popular theme park in Florida. A magical rat planet of sorts. This situation was bizarre and happened when I worked in attractions. It was a late fall evening and it was dark out. We stayed open for extended hours. Occasionally, the park stayed open a few extra hours for shareholders or Rat Planet hotel and affiliated hotel guests. On that particular night, it was for hotel guests. Regular guests left at the normal closing time while hotel guests used their room keys to access after hour attractions, stores and restaurants. The fast pass machines were even set to only recognize Rat Planet and affiliated hotel keys.

Due to it being really slow, I was placed alone as Line Greeter. The stand-by line was closed via chain and only the fast pass and single rider lines remained open. A family approached me consisting of a Dad, mom, a small child and a very young infant in a stroller. The woman looked frantic as she approached and asked about a rider swap. A rider swap was a fast pass ticket given to a parent waiting with a young child or disabled person while the rest of their party entered the attraction. The swap allowed them to bypass a long wait once it was their time to ride. Before answering her, I politely asked to see their room key.

We were instructed to ask this as ONLY Rat Planet hotel guests were allowed to access anything after hours. The woman became instantly irate demanding to know what I was talking about. I explained to her that only hotel guests could access the ride and that I needed to see a hotel room key to verify before entry. The woman then turned red, started shaking in anger and started yelling. This all happened in a minute's time. I was taken aback and couldn't respond. Her husband just stared at us apprehensively, clinching the baby stroller extremely tight with one hand while holding the young child's hand with the other.

The little kid looked scared as she screamed about not understanding what I was talking about? Why did I need to see anything and why she couldn't just be let in? She was so unreasonably hostile and angry. I felt that something was wrong with her as the situation didn't require all that extraness. I remained calm and polite which made her more hostile. She screamed that they had obtained a fast pass earlier and she threw it at me. It was a thin piece of thermal paper that didn't go far and just floated down. The pass landed on the ground and we both just stared at it for a few seconds before she started yelling again about speaking to a manager. I called over the walkie talkie and a coordinator came out.

The woman told her I had been rude and disrespectful. This was false and her husband just looked down and remained quiet even when she looked at him for backup. My coordinator asked what I had done? She screamed that I wouldn't let them in and kept asking for verification. My coordinator explained I did what I was supposed to do and that she would need to produce her hotel room key before entrance. The woman angrily unzipped her bag and shoved a Rat Planet hotel key at my coordinator. I looked at the woman briefly and she became hostile again screaming that I was looking at her crazy. My coordinator told her I was just standing there and asked if she wanted to enter or not.

She went over, whispered aggressively to her husband before snatching the little kid and storming past me through the line. My coordinator had walked away by that point leaving me alone with the woman and then her husband who stood to the side refusing to make eye contact. Listen, I have a degree in psychology and can recognize "signs" of instability. It would be extremely unethical to diagnose someone not under my care. However, one doesn't need to be a professional to understand that something was seriously wrong. I couldn't be angry with her because she seemed unstable. Her infant was very young, too young in my opinion to be at a park but that's not my business. I thought maybe she was dealing with after birth hormonal imbalance. Her husband seemed defeated and her young child frightened. It was such a weird and uncomfortable situation.

Selected moments from NDE experiencers sharing what changed, what stayed with them, and how they see life differently afterward. Full episodes are linked in the video description.

10 NDE Experiencers Share What Changed Afterward

Previously

As another witness came forward with answers about that fateful night, Kylie and Maureen found themselves growing closer as secrets from their pasts emerged. Elsewhere, Michael made a dangerous mistake, while Yvonne's world was turned upside down.

Episode 10 Preview

One Slater faces a shocking truth. Kylie and Maureen's unlikely bond grows stronger. And as the Jenkins day goes from bad to worse, Nicola is left reeling by a devastating discovery.

13/1/1999 Wednesday

———

07:09AM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop

———

Upstairs in their flat above their corner shop, Yvonne Shawcross lays in bed slowly stirring awake.

Yvonne sighs and slowly sits up. Her dull light pink thigh length nighty flows around her body in the airy room. She gets up and slowly walks over to the dresser at the bottom of their bed where a small TV standa, as well as Michael's aftershaves, Yvonne's jewellery and perfume. That sort of stuff.

She opens the drawer, and looks at what's there.

Fuck it

She doesn't fancy making an impression today.

Today is...different. After last night...she feels different.

———

Downstairs. 07:11AM

———

In the actual shop, its quiet. A fridge full of drinks hums in the corner, a radio crackles quietly behind Michael, and the sound of life outside carries by.

But the noise around Michael is nothing to compare to the noise in his head. He sits there at the counter, feeling like the world's worst husband.

Guilt ridden. He cannot stop thinking about Mitchell. About Yvonne. About last night. About what he's done.

His face is withdrawn. Heavy with guilt and regret.

The fuck have I done? She doesn't deserve this

He sits there, hating himself. But...torn? His head is all over the place. Since he got back to the shop last night, he hasn't been the same. Yvonne even noticed

———

Upstairs. 07:12AM

———

Yvonne has thrown on some casual jeans, trainers, and a baggy jumper. The day looks like its going to need one.

She slouches over to the small bathroom off to the side of their room, turns the cold tap on the sink, and splashes her face. Forcing herself wide awake.

She walks over to the small black bin where she steps a little peddle down and the lid pops up. She's about to drop the tissue ball in the bin when a box catches her eye.

The pregnancy test...its still in there

Fuck. What if Michael seen it?

What if he hasn't?

She reaches down into the bin, picks the box out, checks that the positive test is till in there, it is, and she pockets the small box in her bra, under her dark purple thick jumper. It isnt noticeable. She drops the tissue in the bin, and heads downstairs.

She walks through their bedroom, out the door them through their open living and kitchen area, opens the flat door, and heads down the stairs.

At the bottom of the staircase, is narrow. A small space. Where on the other side of the door, is the shop. The business. And Michael.

She takes a deep breath, sighs. And opens the door—

———

Downstairs. 07:14AM

———

Michael looks up from the counter and immediately a smile jumps on his face. A fake one...

Michael: "Alright love?" He asks with a smile

Yvonne also has a smile on her face

Yvonne: "Yeah. Yeah good thanks. You uh...could've woke me, you know?"

Michael: "Eh. You looked peaceful. Didn't want to disturb you. Plus, wanted to just have some quiet time while opening up the shop" he smiles at her.

Yvonne smiles.

Yvonne: "Fair enough. You...you seem in good spirits this morning. You feeling better?"

Michael: "'Better'?"

Yvonne: "Yeah. Last night, when you got back from your drink with Eddie you– you seemed off. Quiet"

Michael's face faulters briefly but he quickly masks it.

Yvonne: "Did you fall out with him or something?"

Michael: "Oh i just...i was just tired. Couldn't wait to crawl into bed beside you"

He smiles at her sweetly.

Michael: "Come 'ere"

Yvonne walks right up to the counter with a small smile.

Michael leans in for a kiss and she kisses him.

They briefly kiss on the lips.

Michael: "I love you. You know that dont you?"

Yvonne: "Course I do, silly. Married me didn't you?"

She giggles

They both look at each other, smiling. It's almost peaceful. Then–

DINGALING

The bell above the door jingles as it opens and a cool biting breeze cuts in.

It's Maureen, pulling on her wheelie shopping trolley. Wearing her light blue coat and thick classes

Yvonne: "Morning Maureen"

Maureen: "Hiya Yvonne love"

Michael: "Alright Maur?"

Maureen: "Yeah, yeah. Yeah ta. Cor it's nippy out there"

Maureen and Michael start chit-chatting and Yvonne slips out the front door where Maureen just came in through

———

07:19AM. The Strip. Outside

———

The local shopping parade, also known as "The Strip" stands sprawled across this large concrete slabbed field in Marlas Estate. Home to the post office, corner shop, the hardware store, and the chemist. Every other shop on the strip is boarded up.

It's gotten colder since Yvonne got up. She pulls her arms around herself, fighting the cold, and walks around the side of the building where large green dumpster bins are. Massive ones.

She quickly looks around her, sees no-one, pulls out the pregnancy test box from her bra, looks at it, thinking, and then drops it in the bin and covers it with more rubbish. Properly disposing of it this time.

She walks away from it and then turns the corner, to the front of the shopping parade when she bumps into Sunita.

Yvonne: "SHIT!—"

Sunita: "Oh! Yvonne- im sorry! Didn't see you there"

Sunita giggles

Sunita: "You okay darling? How are you feeling? I was just coming in to buy some milk, and...well...to–"

Yvonne: "To check on me?"

Sunita nods

Yvonne: "I'm- I'm fine thank you Sunita"

Yvonne briefly says before trying to head inside, but Sunita purposefully steps in her way.

Sunita: "And what about your..." she nods at Yvonne's stomach

Yvonne glances around again, and pulls Sunita to the side of the building, where the bins are.

Yvonne whispers: "I...yeah. I'm pregnant"

Sunita gasps and Yvonne shooshes her

Sunita: "Sorry! Sorry!" She whispers

Sunita: "Does Michael know?"

Yvonne: "No. And it's staying that way. Or at least for now"

Sunita: "Why? If-...if you dont mind me asking..."

Yvonne: "Well because I...I dont know what im going to do"

Sunita: "Do you know what you want to do?"

Yvonne: "I think i know what I want to do..."

Sunita looks at her

Yvonne: "Abort it"

Sunita purses her lips and sighs through her nose.

Sunita: "Well...it is your choice after all. But are you sure you dont want to tell Michael about it? I mean you never know, he could be thrilled to be–"

Yvonne: "Sunita, please" Yvonne holds her hand up and stops Sunita talking

Sunita does

Yvonne: "I just...I need time to think. I have no idea what- what to expect"

Sunita nods in understanding.

Yvonne: "I hid the test in the bin back there"

Yvonne whispers as she tilts her head backwards to the bins

Sunita: "Well...whatever you decide, you know where I am if you need someone to talk to. Or anything. Okay?"

Yvonne sighs in relief

Yvonne: "Yeah...yeah. Thank you Sunita" she smiles.

Sunita: "Of course" she smiles back

—

Sunita and Yvonne both walk into the shop, where Maureen is getting served by Michael.

She bought the usual, milk, butter, newspapers, teabags, and a pack of Chesterfield Red...

Yvonne notices

Yvonne: "Didn't know you smoked them Maureen. Always thought you smoked bacci"

Maureen: "Oh- yeah- no i do. I just...its for a friend" she smiles at Yvonne

———

07:36AM. Maureen's Home. Number 41.

———

In the dated and lived-in living room, Kylie sits on the sofa- her current makeshift bed, and stares at the texts From Gaz that she hasn't answered. The texts asking where she is.

She sighs, and puts her phone down on the table.

As she does, the front door behind the sofa opens and Kylie jumps around.

Maureen walks in out from the cold, pulling her now full trolly.

Maureen: "It's okay Kylie, love. Just me"

Kylie sighs: "Yeah. I know" she says quietly

Maureen closed the door behind her and takes her coat off and hangs it up on the rack beside the door.

Maureen: "You dont need to be so on edge here. You're safe. You're fine"

Kylie: "I know. Just...don't know where I'm safe anymore"

A loud silence sits there and Kylie tries to cover it with humour

Kylie: "Dramatic. I know" she giggles quietly

Maureen pulls out the pack of fags that she bought from the shop

Maureen: "Here. Got these for you"

Kylie: "Aw cheers. You're a star"

Kylie says, reaching behind her and grabbing them from Maureen.

Maureen: "You want to get out of the house. Being couped up in here ain't gunna do you too much good. Even if it is where you feel safe. Some fresh air will do you well"

Kylie: "I'd rather not. Can't be arsed with avoiding everyone i know"

Maureen: "I know. But still. Come on, I'll take you to The Arms. Get a proper drink down you, calm your nerves a bit"

Kylie: "Drinking in public? I'm good. Thanks anyway"

Maureen sighs

Maureen: "Look, love. Your Nathan isn't gunna be round 'ere is he?" She asks rhetorically.

Kylie just looks up at her

Maureen: "Well?"

Kylie: "No. Prob'ly not" she mutters

Maureen: "Right" she sighs

Maureen: "Soon as I've put these away" She nods to the shopping

Maureen: "I'm getting you out the house. Even if it's for ten minutes"

Kylie nods, not having the energy to fight back anymore than she already has.

———

11:14AM. Mitchell's Flat. Flat 34, Marlas Flats, Marlas Estate

———

In the only tower block of flats on the estate, lives Mitchell Thomas. In flat 34. The tower is tall, standing intimidatingly at the end of one of the many streets on the estate. Looming over much of the estate.

The usual stereotypical working class council tower of flats.

At the top of the tower, you could see the entire estate from there. Everything. The Strip, the pub, the train tracks that partly go overhead of some of the estate, Maureen's, The Slaters, The Jenkins, and more.

Inside, Mitchell's flat isn't exactly what you might expect from a typical young lad who lives alone.

Its clean. Tidy. Modest. Almost nice. By Marlas Estate's standards anyway. Especially by the standards of the rest of the flats. This is probably one of the nicest looking flats in the whole estate alone. And it's not even too special. Its literally just tidy.

He was clearly brought up to be tidy.

Inside the small but bright and airy living room, a dark brown leather sofa sits beside a window that looks down to the street below, to where Michael had dropped him off last night. When...when it happened.

The second time they slept together.

The flat screen silver framed TV sits in the opposite corner of the room, opposite the sofa, blasting clubland hits of the 90s. He's cleaning the living room up, putting last night's Chinese takeout away, cleaning stains off the table.

Bopping his head to the loud music, clearly in a good mood. Glad about last night with Michael. Almost the exact opposite to what Michael feels about it.

Smiling, he texts Michael

Mitchell: To Michael: "Thx 4 last nite. Loved it :P"

He smiles and giggles to himself before clicking "send".

Sent.

———

11:16AM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

Around the side of the Strip, Michael leans against the wall where the bins are and smokes a cig. Hiding from Yvonne. He promised he'd given up.

He takes a puff and his phone vibrates in his pocket. He takes it out and sees the text from Mitchell. Rolls his eyes and sighs to himself.

He pockets his phone, ignoring the message, not needing a reminder. And heads back inside

After flicking the fag, he walks back inside to the shop.

———

12:58PM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room.

———

Katie is propped up in her hospital bed, looking considerably better than she did the last time anyone thought she might never wake up. Jenna sits beside her, while Gavin occupies a chair near the window. Julie is fussing with something on the bedside table.

There's a knock at the open door.

Before anyone can answer, Danielle appears, carefully helping Kelly through the doorway. Kelly is on crutches, moving slowly and with a look of tremendous concentration, as though every step is an argument she's determined to win.

Julie: "Oh, for God's sake"

Kelly: "Hello to you an' all"

Katie's face lights up.

Katie: "Kelly!"

Kelly: "Alright, you?"

Katie: "Look at the state of ya!"

Kelly: "You're no oil painting yourself!"

They both laugh. It's the first proper, uncomplicated laugh anyone's heard in the room for a while.

Katie: "Come 'ere!"

Kelly: "I'm tryin', ain't I?"

Kelly attempts to make her way over to the bed. Danielle keeps a firm hand on her arm, guiding her around the chair.

Danielle: "Steady. Mind the table"

Kelly: "I can see the bloody table"

Gavin snorts. Jenna smiles to herself.

Julie, however, is less amused.

Julie: "Danielle, what were you thinking?"

Danielle: "Here we go"

Julie: "She's supposed to be resting!"

Kelly: "I'm standin' right here, Mum"

Julie: "Yes, and you're supposed to be doing as little of that as possible!"

Kelly: "I've been sat on my arse for days!"

Julie: "And you can carry on sitting on it for a few more!"

Danielle: "I did try telling her that"

Julie turns on her.

Julie: "And yet here she is!"

Danielle: "Because she wouldn't shut up about wanting to see Katie! Honestly mum I've had it all morning. Katie this, Katie that, 'when are we going, why aren't we going, am I sure she's awake, am I sure she's alright'. I said no to her about six times. By the seventh, I thought it'd be easier to bring her here than listen to her going on about it for another hour"

Kelly: "Well that's a load of bollocks"

Danielle: "Is it?"

Katie is laughing again, shaking her head against the pillow.

Katie: "Oh, God. I've missed this"

The words soften the room for a moment.

Kelly looks at her properly now. Past the laughter, past the teasing, taking in the hospital bed, the tiredness in Katie's face and the fact that she's actually here, awake and talking.

Katie does the same with Kelly. The crutches. The stiffness in her movements. The bruising that hasn't quite faded.

Their smiles become smaller, more sincere.

Kelly: "You look better than I thought you would"

Katie: "Cheers"

Kelly: "I mean it. You had everyone worried"

Katie: "Sorry bout that"

Kelly: "Don't be daft. Cant help being an attention seeker can you?" She teases

Katie reaches for her hand. Kelly takes it, leaning carefully against the side of the bed.

Katie: "I'm glad you're alright"

Kelly: "Me too"

They squeeze each other's hands.

Julie watches them, her irritation with Danielle temporarily forgotten. Jenna looks away, giving them the privacy of pretending not to be moved. Gavin clears his throat and shifts in his chair.

Gavin: "Right. Anyone want a cup of tea, or are we all going to start crying?"

Jenna: "You can make yourself useful and get us one"

Gavin: "I'm your brother, not a slave"

Jenna: "You're a pair of legs"

Gavin: "Charming, that"

Danielle: "I'll come with you. Before they find another job for me"

Danielle and Gavin leave the room, bickering quietly about whether the hospital tea is worth drinking. Julie pulls a chair closer to the bed.

Kelly eases herself into it, arranging her crutches beside her

Katie: "So. What d'you remember?"

Kelly's expression changes slightly.

Kelly: "Not much at first. Bits an' pieces. The road. The music. Jamie driving like a maniac"

Jenna: "Kelly—"

Kelly: "What? He was. You weren't in the car"

Jenna lets it go.

Kelly: "I remember him screaming something. Then he just... swerved. Straight across. No warning, nothin'. One minute we're going along, next minute he's turning the car like he was trying to get out of the way of something"

Katie: "Yeah"

Kelly looks at her.

Kelly: "You remember that?"

Katie: "I remember...he gasped. Like something was there. Then he swerved. I thought he was going to hit something, or that something was coming towards us"

Kelly: "That's what I thought"

Neither speaks for a moment.

Katie: "Why did he do it?"

Kelly shakes her head.

Kelly: "Don't know"

Katie: "He didn't lose control, did he? I mean, it didn't feel like that. He swerved on purpose"

Kelly: "That's exactly what I've been thinking"

Jenna: "You don't know that for certain"

Kelly: "We were both in the car, Jenna"

Jenna: "I know, I'm just saying, you were in an accident. You were hurt. Things happen quickly. You might not have seen everything"

Kelly: "I know what I saw"

Jenna falls quiet.

Julie looks between the two girls, concerned by how quickly their recollections have brought them back to the crash.

Julie "Alright. That's enough of that for now. You can talk about it another time"

Katie: "I'm alright, Mum"

Julie: "I know you are" she smiles

For a moment, they sit together in silence. Not particularly comfortable silence, but the sort that comes from knowing someone else remembers the same thing you do.

Then Katie's expression brightens a little.

Katie: "Anyway. What's been going on out there?"

Julie glances at Jenna

Katie: "What?"

Katie: "What? I've been stuck in here for God knows how long. I want to know what's happening. Has the usual drama kicked off yet, or have you lot managed to behave yourselves for five minutes?"

Julie: "Oh, you know what it's like out there" she waves it off

Katie: "That's not an answer"

Jenna: "Nothing you need to worry about" she quickly replies. Almost defensively

Katie looks at her.

Katie: "That's even less of an answer"

Kelly shifts in her chair.

Kelly: "Well, there is one thing—"

Jenna: "Kelly"

Kelly stops.

Katie looks from one to the other.

Katie: "What?"

Kelly: "Nothin'"

Katie: "Don't do that"

Kelly: "Do what?"

Katie: "That. When everyone's got something to say and suddenly nobody wants to say it"

Julie: "Katie, love, you've had a lot to deal with—"

Katie: "Mum, I'm not made of glass"

Julie: "Nobody said you were"

Katie: "Then tell me what's happened! I'm not stupid. Something has"

Jenna shoots Kelly a warning look. Kelly ignores it.

Kelly: "Someone's burnt the burgervan down"

Katie stares at her.

Katie: "What?"

Kelly: "The catering trailer. It's gone. Burnt right to the ground"

Julie: "Kelly!"

Kelly: "What? She asked!"

Jenna: "We were going to tell you when you were feeling a bit better"

Katie: "When I was feeling a bit better? You're telling me our burgervan has been burnt down, and nobody thought to mention it?"

Julie: "Darling, we didn't want to upset you"

Katie: "Upset me? It's our fucking livelihood, Mum!"

Her voice is suddenly so loud that Julie instinctively reaches for her arm.

Julie: "Katie, please. Keep your voice down"

Katie: "Don't tell me to keep my voice down! We've lost everything! Everything we've worked for, and I'm lying in a hospital bed while some fucking bastard gets away with it!

Julie: "We haven't lost everything"

Katie: "Oh, haven't we? What's left, then? Tell me! What have we got left?"

Julie struggles to find an answer that won't make things worse.

Jenna: "We'll sort something out'

Katie: "With what money Jen? We're skint! We're on our arse. Fuck all to our name"

Julie: "We'll manage"

Katie: "How?!"

Her voice cracks on the word. The anger is still there, but underneath it is the sheer helplessness of being trapped in a hospital bed while her life outside falls apart.

Jenna: "See what you've done?"

Kelly: "I'm sorry"

Katie turns to her

Katie: "What for?" You didn't burn it down, did you?"

Kelly: "Well no"

Katie swallows, staring at the blanket across her legs.

Katie: "Who did it?"

Jenna: "We don't know for certain"

Katie: "But you've got an idea"

Kelly: "We think it could be Jamie's lot. His family"

Katie seethes in rage and disbelief

Julie: "Listen to me. I know you're angry. You've every right to be angry. But you've only just come round, love. You've been through enough already"

Katie looks away, her jaw clenched.

Julie: "We're here. All of us. We're going to deal with it together, alright? Whatever's happened to the van, whatever comes next, you're not on your own. We'll bounce back together. We always do"

Kelly: "And it's not like we've got no money coming in is it? Jen and Dani are both still working, so..."

At that, Jenna masks the look on her face and the fact that she indeed doesn't have a job anymore. And plays along for everyone's peace of mind

Katie says nothing.

Julie gently smooths the blanket near her daughter's hand.

Julie: "Please, darling. Just breathe"

For a few seconds, Katie seems incapable of doing anything else but stare at the wall. Then, slowly, she draws a breath. Another. The fury hasn't disappeared, but she's no longer trying to fight the entire world from her hospital bed.

Kelly reaches for her hand again.

This time, Katie lets her take it.

The room settles. Jenna sits back down. Julie remains beside Katie, her hand resting reassuringly on the bed.

Then—

KNOCK, KNOCK

Everyone turns towards the door.

A woman in a light grey suit appears in the doorway, flashing a polite smile as she looks around the room.

It's DCI Channing.

Channing: "Well. I'm glad to see you've got a full house, Katie. I was hoping to chat to you directly but seeing how you and Kelly are both here, mind if i talk to you both?"

That question is more of a statement rather than asking for permission, as DCI Channing steps into the room and sits amongst everybody anyway. Already pulling out her notepad and pen.

———

2:14PM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

Tucked around the corner behind the bar, Paula is leaning against the wall, on the phone. Blocking one ear from the noise of the pub, and the other pressed against the phone's earpiece.

She's on the phone to her sister, Rebecca, who's living up north in the cotswolds. Away from city life and in the tranquility of nature and village charm.

Paula: "No- No I'm alright. Just...stressed that's all"

Rebecca: "You sure?"

Paula: "Yeah"

Rebecca: "You sure? Because I could always come down there for a few–"

Paula: "No-no sis you're fine. Honestly"

Rebecca: "Paula i really–"

Paula: "Beck, really. You dont need to. I just needed to...unload on someone is all"

Rebecca: "Mm. Well you know my door is always wide open for you, baby sis, alright?"

Paula: "I'll hold you to that" she half jokes.

Eddie peeks his head around the corner and whispers to Paula;

Eddie: "Paula, love can I have a hand?"

Before disappearing to the bar again

Paula: "Right. Better head off sis. Eddie needs me"

Rebecca: "Cor i dunno why you signed up for that lifestyle I don't"

Paula: "You and me both" she giggles

Paula: "Aleight then, tata"

Rebecca: "Bye"

Paula hangs the phone up on the wall and walks over to the bar.

As Paula steps into the bar with Eddie, he nods to some punters who are waiting at the bar. Along with Tony, standing at the front with a grin and a gold tooth showing.

Tony: "Alright, pretty?"

Paula grins but keeps her cool.

Paula: "What can I do you for, Tony?"

———

2:16PM. St Anne's Hospital. Katie's Room.

———

The door to Katie's room barely finishes closing behind DCI Catrin Channing before everybody starts talking about her.

Katie: "Jesus i thought she'd never leave"

Danielle: "Same"

Jenna: "S'pose she is just doing her job guys" she tries to remind everyone

Gavin: "Fat lot of good she's doing. We still have no idea who burnt the burgervan down or why Jamie swerved"

Jenna nods in defeat

A comfortable silence sits there, everybody taking a breather after a questioning session that felt like it went on for a full 24 hours.

Jenna's the first to speak up

Jenna: "Right, im heading off home and Kelly, I'm taking you with me. I dont want to hear a word about it"

Kelly: "Fine" She mutters under her breath

Danielle: "You know what, I'll come with you actually. Don't mind do you mum? Katie?"

Julie and Katie both say no in unison.

Gavin: "I won't be far behind, now"

Jenna: "Alright then" she mutters as she helps Kelly up out of her seat.

———

2:19PM. St Anne's Hospital. Jamie's Room.

———

Jamie's room is dark, and quiet as usual, except for the occasional rhythmic beeping coming from many of the wiring, tubes and machines surrounding him like Christmas decorations.

Nicola and Barry both sleep in chairs beside his bed, while Gaz stands barely awake, leaning against the hospital window. Staring at his brother who's being kept alive by machines.

Tasha and Oscar are both sleeping top and tail on the small, two-seater sofa underneath the window beside Gaz.

His eyes are drifting close, then a familiar figure walking past the window that looks into the hallway suddenly jolts his eyes open wide. Its DCI Channing.

He suddenly pushes himself off the windowsill and strides to the door, yanks it open and steps out into the hallway.

———

Hospital Hallway

———

Gaz: "Oi" He shouts down to Catrin

She turns

Channing: "Oh, Gaz. Hi"

Hey completely ignores her introduction and walks towards her like she owes him something.

Gaz: "You here to arrest those slappers that put my brother in a coma then or what?"

Channing: "Mr Jenkins–"

Gaz: "Oh drop the bullshit. Why hasn't anyone been arrested yet? My brother wouldn't have put himself in—"

Channing cuts him off: "Gaz, your brother was the one driving the car. And I have three witnesses– the three people in the car with your brother, say that he purposefully swerved but they dont know why"

Gaz: "They're lying" he immediately says

Channing carries on: "That tells me that there was a reason he swerved. Perhaps to avoid something or maybe someone. If anything, your brother, and the others, will be charged for driving under the influence, reckless driving and underage drinking. Charges nonetheless but nothing as major as you'd expect"

Gaz: "And what about that burgervan that burnt down the other day? You think that was me? Eh?"

Channing goes to speak but Gaz cuts her off again

Gaz: "You lot are shit at your job. Don't do nothing but get up in people's faces and then do fuck all when it comes to it"

Channing: "Gaz—"

BEEP beep. BEEP beep.

Cuts through the silence that's left, and rings through the hallway. Its ringing from Jamie's room.

Within seconds nurses and doctors leg it into Jamie's room and Barry, Nicola and the kids can be heard screaming. Its chaos.

Gaz leaves Catrin and runs back towards Jamie's room. As he reaches the door, they fly open and Barry, Nicola, Tasha and Oscar are being pushed out by doctors.

Gaz: "Mum! Mum! Dad! What- what's going on what is it!?"

Nicola: "WHAT'S HE DOING!? WHAT–"

Barry: "Help him for fuck's sake help him!!"

Tasha: "DAD!"

Oscar: "Gaz it's Jamie! He's shaking!"

A skinny, older and tired looking Doctor with balding hair and a dark grey beard and black glasses speaks up over the chaos to Barry, Nicola and Gaz.

Dr: "Please step away! We're trying everything we can! Stay here!"

Hey says directly to them before heading inside Jamie's room and closing them out, leaving them looking in.

Nicola cries into Barry's arms

Nicola: "What if he doesn't make it Ba? What if–"

Barry: "Shh he'll be fine Nic" he whispers to her

They both hold onto each other like their lives depend on it, or in this case, their son's.

Gaz stands behind them, staring into the void. In disbelief of what his life has come to.

———

3:44PM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

Its a bleak, dull drizzle outside. Concrete slabs darkened with rain, the air thick with damp mist. And a calm breeze floats around.

Inside the pub though, is warm and alive. Considerably busy.

Punters sit around the pub in chairs, at tables, in booths, and at the bar. While a group of young lads play darts over in the corner. The usual scene.

Maureen walks in, with Kylie in tow.

Maureen turns to Kylie and says quietly; "You go grab yourself a seat in the corner by the window over there and I'll get the drinks in. What you having?"

Kylie: "G&T please Maur" she says, scanning the room

Maureen: "I'll make that a double"

Kylie: "Cheers" she quietly says, before heading off to the small booth in the front corner of the room, near the window.

Maureen walks over to the bar, where on one side, Eddie is chatting to Jim, and on the other side, Paula to Tony.

Eddie sees her, and walks up to her

Eddie: "Alright Maureen love? Usual is it?"

Maureen: "Yeah, ta Ed. And a double G&T too please"

Eddie: "Alrighty" he says under his breath, getting the double G&T and pint of Carling ready.

While Eddie prepares the drinks, Maureen spots Paula and Tony chatting on the other side of the double sided bar.

Maureen: "Don't know how your Paula can be so chappy with that Tony" she mutters to Eddie quietly.

Eddie: "Eh, you and me both Maureen. Just company though innit?"

Maureen: "Would rather have sod all to talk to" she jokes

Eddie giggles: "Right, that's four pound eighty please sweetheart"

Maureen: "Here we are" she drops the exact cost in his palm and takes the drinks off the bar

Eddie: "Enjoy, love" he says to her as she starts heading off

Maureen: "Cheers Ed!" She shouts back without taking her eyes off the drinks.

She reaches the small booth in the corner of the room and places the drinks down in front of Kylie, before sitting opposite her, shielding her from the rest of the room.

Maureen: "Here we are love. See? Don't you feel better, being out already?"

Kylie: "Mm. S'pose" she mutters

Maureen takes a sip of her pint and looks at Kylie over the rim of her glass. And sees her looking down into her G&T like its the only thing worth looking at.

Maureen: "What is it love?"

Kylie: "Nothing" she mutters

Maureen: "Oh Kylie for fuck's sake come on girl. Get your chin up, come on! What happened to that gobby lass I saw sleeping rough in a bus shelter not that long ago?"

Kylie: "I'm sorry. I know. Think I'm just tired"

Maureen: "We all get tired. But we never show it" she says taking another sip.

Maureen nods to Paula and Eddie behind the bar

Maureen: "You think those two aren't tired? Imagine what it's like being them. Running a pub on top of a marriage. Neither is easy"

Kylie looks, and listens

Then Maureen nods to Jim

Maureen: "Then him. Jim. He's in here all day everyday. Think he would be if he had anything better to do? That's gotta be tiring, just drinking your life away"

Kylie nods and sighs

Maureen: "My point is, love. Is that you won't get anywhere if you dont try. Even if it means faking a smile. Its hard, but when you pretend for long enough you actually start to trick yourself into thinking you're fine"

Kylie: "Speaking from experience?" She teases, before taking a sip of her drink

Maureen: "Exactly" she smiles. Before taking a sip of her drink too.

———

4:17PM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

Behind the counter, Yvonne and Michael both are. Yvonne's looking in the books, checking over orders that are due. Michael is standing behind her, staring at her. Thinking. Reeling.

The silence is almost peaceful until the bell above the door jingles and Sunita walks in. Michael and Yvonne both look up.

Michael: "Ah Sunita! How are you?"

Sunita: "Oh im good thank you Michael! I'm good. Just came to get Arun's pouch of tobacco and some kitchen Roll. I tell you, one of these days the tobacco will catch to him. Then who'll be sorry?"

Sunita jokes, grabbing some kitchen roll off a nearby shelf

Yvonne: "It's always us women isn't it Nita?" She grins

Sunita: "It is Yvonne, yes. Its a husband we want. Not someone to babysit" she jokes, heading back towards the counter

The three of them share a quick familiar giggle

Before anyone else can say anything, Michael's phone starts ringing. The nostalgic Nokia ringtone cuts through the silence and Michael picks up his phone, and sees who's calling. Mitchell.

His stomach drops and his heart pounds hard once in his chest.

Michael: "I'm just...gunna take this" he says to the women politely, heading to the corner of the shop.

While Michael walks to the far back end of the shpp, Sunita takes this moment to talk to Yvonne about the pregnancy.

Sunita: "I take it you haven't told him?" She whispers

Yvonne nods no

Over at the corner at the shop, Michael is on the phone to Mitchell

Michael: "What have I told you? Stop calling me!" He whispers firmly under his breath.

Back at the counter,

Sunita: "I think you should sweetheart–"

Yvonne: "Look, sunita, no offence but it's got fuck all to do with you, okay?" She quietly snaps, not for Michael to hear

Sunita looks down and Yvonne immediately regrets it.

Yvonne: "I'm sorry. I'm scared" she whispers

Sunita: "I know you are. And you know I'm always around if you need me. Okay?" She says in a hushed tone

Yvonne nods "Thank you"

Sunita smiles and nods

Then, Michael starts approaching them.again and the two women quickly act normal and composed themselves, like they weren't just whispering seconds ago.

Yvonne: "Who was that?" She asks Michael

Michael: "What?" He asks. Mind elsewhere

Yvonne: "On the phone"

Michael: "Oh- uh...some scam caller" he lies.

———

5:53PM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

Its darker outside now, and quieter inside the pub. But still relatively full. Vengaboys plays from the jukebox. People still jotted about.

And in the same booth as they were earlier, sits Kylie and Maureen. Both more relaxed now. A few drinks in.

Kylie is in stitches from something Maureen said.

Kylie: "My God! You dirty bitch" she cries in laughter

Maureen: "I'm telling you love. Don't knock it till you try it" she takes a sip from her fourth pint

Kylie: "I'd rather not" she laughs

Kylie: "That drink's gone right through me, I'm nipping to the ladies"

Maureen: "Alright"

Kylie gets up and walks towards the ladies, still giggling about what Maureen said.

Across the room, the front doors squeak wide open as Nicola comes stumbling in. Reeking of booze and cheep perfume, already wrecked.

She's dressed like a hooker

A few heads turn but no-one says anything. They've all been there.

Nicola: "What!? What you all gawking at!?"

Nobody speaks, and she stumbles up to the bar, passing Tony, who side eyes her.

Eddie goes up to her and before he even speaks, he's met with spit in the face from Nicola's intense talking

Nicola: "Double Vodka"

Eddie: "Haven't you had enough love?"

Nicola: "Don't you 'love' me! Gimme a drink"

Eddie sighs and starts pouring

Tony: "I'll get this" he says. Slapping a tenner on the bar.

Tony: "Keep the change"

Eddie swipes it

Nicola turns to Tony and leans her hip on the bar, trying to look sexy. Its not working.

Nicola: "Thanks sexy. Hoping to get a 'Special' thank you for that?" She winks at him

Tony: "You look miserable, and you know what they say"

Nicola: "'Kiss my arse'?" She sarcastically guesses.

Tony: "'Misery loves company'" he taps the stool beside him and she takes it, slapping her handbag down on the bar. The metal zip and buckles clanking. Contents poking out of her bag.

Lipstick, loose change, fags, a black marker, cheap deodorant, and keys. Probably to the house.

Tony: "What happened to you then?" He asks, nonchalantly taking a swig from his neat whiskey.

As Nicola drunkenly explains her and Jamie's situation to Tony, Kylie steps out of the ladies toilets and immediately clocks Nicola at the bar.

At the booth, Maureen takes a sip from her pint and sees Kylie standing at the ladies toilet's door, flashing wide eyes to Maureen and then nodding her head over to Nicola and Tony at the bar.

Maureen follows her gaze and clocks it.

Maureen: "Back door" she mouths inaudibly and points behind Kylie.

Kylie nods and slips out the back door, while Maureen downs the rest of her pint like a savage, and leaves through the front door as normal. Meeting Kylie around the side of the pub, to sneak away together.

Back at the bar, Tony and Nicola start chatting away. A conversation that's bound to end up with someone getting hurt.

———

8:47PM. The Strip. Shawcross General Shop.

———

Its quiet. Michael is behind the counter and Yvonne is sweeeping the floor. Looking rather tired.

Michael notices.

Michael: "Go on. You can go up love"

Yvonne: "No, I'm okay"

Michael: "Yvonne please. For me. Go relax. Have a bath or something"

Yvonne sighs and leans the sweeping brush against the wall. Not bothering to argue. Not tonight.

Yvonne: "Okay. Night" she plants a quick kiss on his lips before heading upstairs

Michael: "Night love"

The door to the flat upstairs closes behind Yvonne. And literally four seconds later, the main door to the shop opens and the bell above it jingles.

Its Mitchell.

Michael feels his teeth gritting

Michael: "What are you doing here? What do you want?" He asks under his breath

Mitchell walks up to the counter: "I'm confused"

Michael: "'Confused'? About what? What part of 'Leave me alone' do you not understand?"

Mitchell: "But last night we—"

Michael: "last night we made a massive mistake Mitchell. A fucking huge one. And it can't happen again. Do you hear me?"

Mitchell: "Well it wasn't a mistake for me"

Michael: "Well it was for me. Okay? From now on, you stay away from me unless you come in here to buy something. Delete my number"

Mitchell: "You're being a bit dramatic dont you think?" He scoffs

Michael: "I've betrayed my marriage you stupid fool! No. Im not being dramatic. Buy something or get out" he says quietly

Mitchell: "But—"

Michael: "But nothing. Mitchell. Whatever it was that we had, it's done. Over. It never should've happened in the first place"

Boom. That landed like a brick on Mitchell's heart.

Mitchell scoffs in disbelief and just walks out. In anger. Hurt.

Michael stands behind the counter, choosing his marriage over a "fling".

———

9:39PM. The Victoria Arms Pub.

———

In the ladies, Nicola fusses with her hair in the mirror. Pushing strands to where they look best. Eventually, she winks at her reflection, and steps back out into the main bar room.

As she gets to the bar, she sees no sign of Tony, who was sitting there only five minutes ago.

Nicola: "Where's um..." she points to the stool

Eddie: "Tony?"

Nicola: "Yeah. Tony"

Eddie: "Said he was off home, love. Hadn't you better be too?"

Nicola fights back the urge to scream in Eddie's face, but deep down knows he's right. She looks around the room.

Nicola: "Yeah. Right sad dump, this place is anyway" she mutters under her breath, slinging her open handbag over her arm, before trying to stride out.

As she leaves, Jim and Eddie look at each other and giggle and sigh

———

9:58PM. Number 33. Marlas Estate.

———

It's cold and dark out now. Orange clows Emirates from streetlamps and dogs bark in the diatance.

Nicola's heels click clack on the slabbed pavement, leading up to the house. She almost trips twice but catches herself.

As she gets closer to number 33 she reaches into her handbag without stopping, searching for her house keys. No sign. She reaches the gate of the small front garden and looks up, to see the door wide open, and the whole house in complete darkness.

She slowly walks up to the house

Nicola: "Boys!? Barry!?"

As she steps right in the front hall, its trashed. Like, a bombsite.

Wallpaper scraped and ripped off the walls, furniture smashed and thrown about, glass broken all over the floor.

Nicola: "What the fuck?" She whispers to herself

She walks into the living room to see its in the same state. The sofas are turned upside down with the cushions ripped and feathers strewn everywhere. The TV has a big smash right in the middle of the screen. The entire house has been turned upside down.

This was a job. They've been turned over. The entire house has been turned upside down. A right trash.

A warning? A message? Or revenge?

———

That's episode 10! Thank you for reading. Episode 11 will be out soon! Tell me what you think!☺️