Keaton

It’s hard to really pinpoint a moment where a situation gets away from you. You could have everything perfectly under control, have the world at your fingertips, have not a care in the world. And then in one moment, one random event, or one random person, comes along and everything goes to hell.

I don’t know where to begin. So I’m just going to start with this: We decided to hunt for Keaton. And we found him.

Mind you, it took time. Finding one man in this state is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles; it’s not like Massachusetts down here. We’ve scoured every public place a person might hole up in, every bar, every club, everywhere.

We finally got word that he was stationed in some office building in D.C. Not the FBI building, otherwise, I wouldn't even attempt it; even we're not crazy enough to go right into the FBI building. We went in the middle of the day, but for some reason, when we arrived, there was no one in the building.

Looking back, I suppose it was set up for us that way. Either by Keaton, or…well, you’ll see.

Wren was the one who decided to split up. I didn’t think it’d be too good an idea, but it was the middle of the day and there were people outside walking around. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

“Just chill, I’ll be in touch,” he told me as he pushed the button for the elevator.

“Get back to me in one piece,” was all I said. He just winked as the doors slid closed.

Having gone through Conaghan's warehouse twice and the red building once, all by myself, the loneliness shouldn't have bothered me as much. The hard fact was, though, that after a couple of months down in Maryland I had gotten used to having people consistently in my daily life again. That was my biggest mistake. I was alone again. And my nerves were acting up.

I searched two floors before I finally found him. It was pure happenstance; I had checked an office that really was nothing but a room filled with tables stacked together and looked down at the window. So many people were passing by, but none of them even acknowledged the building. It was like it didn't exist-

“Detective Strahm. So nice to see you again.”

I hadn't even heard him come in. I turned and there he was, sitting on one of the tables, arms folded, looking amused.

“Leslie,” I greeted. “Been a while.”

“Almost a year,” he said. I remembered why I hated that accent. God, Virginia has an annoying accent. “Before your disappearance, the last time we met, I believe, was the night you were suspended.”

“Yeah. If I recall, I gave you a pretty nice shiner on your eye.”

“You and your temperment. That's exactly what's landed you in this predicament in the first place.”

“That right? And here I thought it was the body in my garage that landed me in this trouble.”

He scoffed and slid off the table, keeping one hand palm-down on the surface. Spoiler alert: this was a bad idea.

“I commend you for finally showing up. Not many fugitives choose to deliver themselves to their captors so easily.”

“So does that mean you'll let Celeste and Violet go if I give myself in?”

“In honesty?” He sneered. “Probably not. They know too much themselves.”

“Well, I can understand that you might think that.” And as I spoke, my hand reached for my gun. “But see, the problem is-”

"Problem is, it's not just them you need to worry about."

Wren picked that moment to step out from the shadows behind him. Never thought I'd be happy to have him show up so much as I did then. Keaton, judging by the look on his face as Wren walked past, did not look so happy. Pale, stupified, urgent. Those were all that I saw on his face.

"You," he hissed.

Wren grinned. "Me."

It happened so fast I couldn't react. Next thing I knew there was a thunk and a scream and Keaton was brought to his knees as Wren slammed a knife onto and through his hand, pinning it to the table. He looked up at us, his fast contorted in pain and anger.

"This is your solution, Strahm?" he growled at me. "You're that desperate you'd bring him in-"

"Woah, woah." Wren slapped him and grabbed his face. "I didn't say you could talk. Did I say you could talk? No, I didn't. No talking."

Keaton fell silent.

"Thank you." Wren then started walking around him, the way an interrogator might do to a suspect. "That's one thing I never did like about you feds; bunch of chatty Cathys, always yip yip yip yip yip." Here he made his hand into a puppet and made a speaking gesture. "You'd think they'd teach you at the academy to keep your mouths shut."

That shut Keaton up. Wren then stopped to examine the impaled hand.

"Mmm, tsk tsk...you might want to get that looked at, brother," he said, then laughed.

This was the Wren I had been afraid would surface. And once he surfaced, unless someone calmed him down, only two people or less would be walking out of here.

"Wren-"

He held up his hand to silence me. He was the one calling the shots now; all I could do was watch and intervene if possible, which I'm not saying it was.

"Now," he said, still pacing, "here's my problem. My problem is with a bunch of sissy pissy government boys that come down on hard working citizens, making them fear for their lives, detaining them, arresting them, torturing them, and then killing them...all over some guy in a cheap suit that pulls the pedo card. Really shows where the priorities lie in this government."

"We're protecting people," Keaton snarled, trying to ignore the numbing pain in his impaled hand. "From maniacs like you-"

"Oh, believe that, if it helps you sleep at night, but don't try to pass it off as truth. You're not a hero, Leslie, you're not a good guy. You're just like me; an off-the-boat psycho who gets off on hurting people-"

"Wren-"

"Now, what I don't get, is why you're trying to pass it off here. McLachlan's not here, and neither is her friend. No one here but me and Zeke. So why are you trying to sound like the good guy when we all know otherwise?"

"You are the killers. Both of you."

"Well, that's not very nice, is it? I mean, yeah, I've had some fun in my time, but I wouldn't hold that against me. And Zeke, calling Zeke a killer is like calling George Bush the best president of the last decade. It's just not accurate. Admit it, you're only after him because he found out what you and Fisky and all your other golden boys are up to-"

"He killed an upstanding citizen in cold blood-"

"He killed a momma's boy who was so emotionally empty inside that he thought he could worship an alien and think it was Christ Risen. Al Conaghan raped and murdered a few teens and tore apart someone we both knew and liked. Only reason the guy wasn't in jail in the first place was because your precious judicial system kept letting him off the hook. Now who's fucking fault was that? You know if you had just kept him behind bars, we probably could have avoided a lot of trouble."

Keaton said nothing.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You could care less about ole' Al Conaghan, what's his death to you? Just another loose end tied up.”

“Wren, enough-”

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough. Whaddya think, Zee, should we send him back to Fisk in a box? A tiny box?”

I was about to argue when my phone decided to go off. Leaving them for just a minute, I walked off a brief distance to answer. It had to be Celeste or Violet or one of them, though why they were calling now, I didn’t know. Of course, I also didn’t know Cynthia had just tried to kill everyone.

“I’m busy.”

“Ze…Cy…ia…atta…”

“Celeste? You’re breaking up.”

“G…b…h…hu…”

“Celeste? Hey!”

I tapped my phone, but all I heard was static. I hung up to call her back when I had a bit of a flashback; when my walkie spazzed out that night in the warehouse.

No…no, no, not now. Definitely not now.

I went back to the other two. “We gotta leave.”

“In a minute.” Wren didn’t take his eyes off Keaton. “Now, let’s talk.”

“Wren.”

“Not now. I wanna ask some questions about-”

“Wren!”

“What? What? What is it?” He turned to me, face impatient, but that impatience seemed to leave when he saw how panicked I must have looked.

All I had to say was, “He’s here.” And he knew who I meant immediately.

“Oh, well, lovely!” He turned back to our agent friend, not panicking like me, almost delighted. “You ever seen the Slender Man in person before? Neither have I. Whaddya say we invite him over?”

Though he didn't say anything, or even move a muscle, I could tell he knew what that meant. Slender Man showing up was bad news all around. Not something he'd want to deal with. He silently shook his head.

“No?” Wren then took off Keaton’s shoe and sock from one foot. “Then why don’t you answer a couple questions of mine, huh?”

I pulled out my gun and turned my back to keep my attention on our surroundings. In my head I measured how much time approximately we had. Not much, but we might still make it out, so long as Wren hurried up.

“Where’s Fisk?”

“I don’t know-”

SNAP!

I heard him howl as Wren broke his first toe. I tried not to look.

“Where's Fisk?”

“I don't know,” growled Keaton under his breath. “He finds us, we never go to him.”

“Where was the last place you saw him?”

“Somewhere in Michigan.”

“Why was he there?”

“How the fuck would I know, I had my own job-”

SNAP! Second toe was cracked. Another howl.

“Tsk tsk, no need to get snippy with me.” Wren sounded mixed between amused and bored. I didn't know which worried me most. Still don't. “Alright, so, can't tell us about Top Dog. Fine. So tell me, why are you after runners?”

Keaton was panting by this point, but not giving in. Gotta hand the feds credit where its due, they're trained by the best. Then again, Wren wasn't an ordinary member of society either.

“That's classified informa-”

SNAP! He didn't yell this time, he did his best to keep it in, but when I finally turned his face was obviously one of pain.

“Better hurry this up, Leslie, 'cause I'm running out of toes.” Again, Wren showed no care to what he was doing. “Why does Fisk care whether or not people see Slender Man?”

“He doesn't...” Keaton glared at me. “But you already know why, don't you, Strahm?”

I would have replied. I would have. But then I got that feeling. That age-old paranoid feeling that I remembered all too well from the warehouse. Time was up.

“We're leaving.”

“But I'm not done-”

I didn't even let him whine. I didn't want to hear it. I just grabbed him by the scruff and hauled him out, leaving Keaton sitting against a table, hand pinned there by a knife, with three of his toes broken and a large bruise on his face. If the situation weren't so dire I'd have laughed at the sight.

“Hey!” he screamed. “Aren't you forgetting someone?!”

“You got yourself into that mess, get yourself out,” I said. I imagine I sounded pretty exasperated. I didn't care. Slender Man wasn't going to finish him. I just knew it.

We didn't see him that day. Or at least, I didn't. I don't know what Wren saw, if he saw anything. I didn't care. Any less chances I have to run into him, the better.

Hours later, we had Wren's car pulled into an alleyway while I loaded a few supplies in the back while he argued with me.

“Why am I leaving?” he asked me.

“Because you jammed a knife through a federal agent's hand and broke three of his toes, Wren.”

“Yeah? So? Let's be honest, this is not the worst thing I've ever done.”

“Do you not realize Fisk is going to bring everything he has after you?” I threw his duffel bag at him. “They're scared of you. Good reason, too.”

“Good! Let them be! It's about time we started scaring them back!”

“No. You're gonna get out of town, you're gonna lay low. You're gonna keep moving. And you're not going to cause any more grief to them.”

“What about you?” There was a tone in his voice, as if he was starting to suspect he was going to be making the trip alone.

He was right. “I'm gonna stick around. Just a little while longer.”

“What, I'm going to leave you down here to take them on by yourself?”

“Fisk doesn't scare me. Besides, we've got bigger fish to fry.” I finally stopped and turned to him. “Listen. Find Mary. Quick. Whatever she knows, we need. I'm counting on you for this.”

He sighed and shrugged. He didn't like it, but he didn't have to.

“You got it, Zee. Just be careful.”

“Always am.”

He got in the car, started the engine, stopped, then opened the door and poked his head out.

“Be careful about Keaton, Zee,” he warned me. “The guy's a psycho. I've already told you that, but today showed me he really is on my level. Guy never once showed fear. Psychos never do.”

“He showed pain.”

“'Course he showed pain. His hand got turned into a pin cushion and his little piggies got porked. Psychos aren't supermen, Zeke, it hurts like hell when someone cuts their skin just like it would a regular person. But just 'cause he feels the pain doesn't mean he's afraid of it. And that's the part you've got to remember.”

And he didn't waste any more words. He just got in that car and he took off. He's safe now, last I heard he was in New Jersey, looking for Mary. Getting closer, he said, though it could still be a while.

Meanwhile, while we were out, Cynthia Delmont decided to pay her parents a visit and almost turned Celeste and Violet into two of the latest corpses. Hence the phone call I received. The Delmonts are gone now, so there are just five of us still in the place. Makes my job a little easier.

I'm trying not to let my mind linger on it for too long. That's one thing I learned during last fall on my adventures. I'm just trying to get through the days.

Celeste just got a package in the mail. Should be posting about it soon.

Happy birthday to me.

Post up tonight.

My life isn't exactly one of fairy tales and ponies, and especially not one of happiness.

But you guys knew that already.

It's been very hard for me to feel like a regular person, what with my hating humanity and everything in it. Lizzie was always ever the only person I could tolerate for long periods of time, and whenever I was with her, I felt...well, normal. Happy, even. Looking back on it, the carnival was the last time I felt like that. And since she's been gone, I haven't been able to replicate that.

Until, surprisingly, the other night.

I had gone out to check on Celeste, who had been away from the room for longer than she probably should have. I found her at the beach looking out at the sky, listening to her music. I think she knew I was there, but she didn't acknowledge me. Not at first.

The night sky on the beach is beautiful. Like I said before, maybe once upon a time Lizzie and I could have come down here, and whenever I look up at those stars more and more I think this would have been the place for the two of us to have made some kind of a life together. When you lay back on the sand and look up, all you see are stars and all you hear are waves. You feel like you can tumble right out of the world, into the sky. Which isn't too bad a thought sometimes.

She suddenly pulled her earplugs out and let the music play out over the speakers, which brought a smile to my lips at how goofy it was. And she laughed...really laughed. It had been so long since I had heard a laugh that was not bitter, not forced, not compressed due to the situation we were in. A genuine laugh.

A wave crashed, and brushed against the hem of the dress she was wearing, causing her to freak a bit, which in turn caused me to laugh. She pouted- her little chipmunk face pout, as Wren called it- and then she did something I didn't expect; she took my hands, and she led me into a dance.

Dancing on that beach...never thought I'd ever see myself doing anything like that, but there I was, actually enjoying it. I guided her, spinning her around, occasionally stopping to let her spin to her own delight. She was amusing to watch, spinning and skipping among the waves, and in the right glare of the moonlight she looked almost like Lizzie; shorter, but just as full of life, and just as beautiful.

Now, before your little minds go places, don't. Nothing like your dirty thoughts happened. But for one moment, I felt happy. As if the life I was leading was not so full of sorrow and rage.

If only every moment could be like that.

"How much longer are we stuck here for?"

"Until we don't need to be."

Wren groaned. I tried to ignore it. It was all I could do to keep from tearing the room apart by the realization that I had been reduced from hunting for clues to baby-sitting.

"I don't know why you're bitching, you agreed to come down here."

"I agreed to help you keep an eye on things, not move boxes and spend hours in a car with you, the Runaway Picasso, and Pukey the Chipmunk. Three hours a drive with two women is no picnic."

"Why?"

"Because women talk about things that even I don't care enough to hear-"

"No, I mean, why chipmunk? She doesn't look like a chipmunk."

"Yeah she does. When she puffs her face and gets all annoyed and stuff, she looks like a chipmunk. You never noticed?"

"Can't say I have, no."

She is a tiny little thing, though. Red head, glasses, and very short; she comes up to about my chest, and up to Wren's stomach. She's got a fire in her eyes, though; haven't seen a girl this vivacious since Lizzie, and that's a plus. And yeah, when she does that face, I GUESS she looks like a chipmunk. Again, I never really noticed.

"I'm bored, Zee. Seriously, there's nothing to do in this dump."

"Really? Because right now, it looks like you're playing Call of Duty and shit-talking eight-year-olds."

"I'm thirty-eight and seven with a gunship in my pocket," he grinned at me and then reached for the mic. "Hey, Junior, it's a video game, calm down before you shoot your pants."

"And it's not so bad here. We're right next to the beach. It's nice."

"Yeah, well, the humidity seems to disagree with you."

I ignored him. Humid weather aside, it was nice down here. Plenty of places to go for walks, to clear my head. Not so much worry for my own safety, at least, not where we are. Given that things could go south at a moment's notice, I don't let my guard down. But maybe in another life, I could have come down here with Lizzie, had a vacation spot, maybe even have lived here. Maybe I would have still met Celeste. Who knows? Definitely not me.

"Daw, rage quit kids end the game, how fucking typical." He shook his head, got up to turn the X-Box off, then turned back to me. "Alright, back to reality, focus focus. We've got a proxy and two agents that we need to deal with. Where do we start?"

"We don't start anywhere. We're not hunting, Wren, we're lookouts. We're keeping Celeste out of trouble, not starting our own."

"You mean to tell me we've got three potential enemies within walking distance that we can easily dispatch of, and we're not going to do anything?"

"Every one we kill just brings another one in. Our killing Practical Cat is just going to have some other proxy get brought in."

"But this ain't some normal proxy. You've read the account. He wants this girl for himself. He's a complete psycho that's using Slender Man's name to do his own work."

"And you'd know the workings of a psychopath?"

He just gave me a look. Stupid question.

"Look, Wren, we let the proxy come to us. We don't go looking for him. He'll show up if he wants to. He doesn't need an invitation."

"Keaton does."

I said nothing. Keaton wasn't someone I wanted to talk about, much less someone I wanted to think about taking out. Though it made sense to.

"Listen, you said it yourself. Agents stopped getting freebies. He hasn't pulled out yet. That's on his head."

"So we kill him off?"

"Why not? Let's ice the bastard! Be honest, you've always hated the son of a bitch. I could never stand him worth a damn. So what's the problem?"

"Slender Man may not realize when he loses a proxy, but Fisk knows when he's lost an agent. He loses Keaton, he's gonna come after us hard."

"Like he hasn't already?"

"He's been playing easy. You know he has."

"Has he?" Wren leaned across the table. "Look, Mistress Van Gogh's been listening to police scanners on her phone. I've been listening in-"

"Wait, what?"

"I dunno, some stupid phone application, she can listen to scanners on her phone."

"...Who the fuck's idea was that?"

"Hey, the hillbillies need to find out about the new world order somehow. Anyway, I've been listening in. Fisk's been getting a lot of flak from his superiors in regards to you shooting two of his guys in Indiana and leaving a third in a closet in Ohio. They're starting to wonder if he's the right guy for the job. That, and the shortage of volunteers to come and get you, he's running thin. He's not playing easy, he's running on empty."

Interesting to hear, and not what I had expected. Fisk had been doing pretty well in all other aspects of his job, unfortunately enough, and I didn't think one little setback would make them question him. Was I really that big a priority to them?

"Keaton's not pulling out because he's just like Practical Cat. Psycho's work for themselves, the fuck they care about orders for? That's the danger in employing them. Yeah, they're efficient killers, but they can't take orders worth a damn."

"Just like you, then."

"Exactly. See, this is why you keep me around. I know this shit, man. You and me, we'd be unstoppable."

"I'm not discussing this right now-"

And then, things got even worse.

The door slammed open. Both of us pulled our pistols out and aimed it at what we thought was an agent or a proxy but in reality was a pregnant British girl and two middle-aged companions, one male, one female. Ava Conquest and the Delmonts. They looked at the both of us wide-eyed.

"...Thanks for the welcome, Zeke?" Ava said.

Wren and I exchanged looks. Suddenly, the door to the master bedroom, where Celeste had been fliddling on her computer, flew open, and a tiny blur of red hair and sickly pale skin rushed past us.

"Ava's heeeeeeere!" the blur screeched. "Ava's here, Ava's here, Ava's here!"

She rushed over and quickly hugged Ava. I groaned.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I said.

"And suddenly we've become Three Adults and a Baby," Wren sighed. "As if this vacation could not get worse."

So, yeah. As if I didn't have enough to worry about, a knocked-up British librarian and her two associates decide to show up and give me more things.

Super.

In Memory...

One year.

One year since that mass break-out from prison.

One year since Conaghan retreated into the warehouse.

One year since I went in after him and discovered the most terrifying creature imaginable.

And one year since Lizzie was taken from me.

I never got to go to the funeral. Did I ever tell you guys that? At that time, I was more concerned with keeping myself alive and out of Slender Man's sight. I regret it now. I wonder who went. The chief, obviously, and a few of her friends and probably the entire department, for that matter. But not her father. Not Eric. And certainly not me.

And here I am, in Maryland, trying to figure out a solution, but going nowhere fast. I need her. She was the brains. She always knew what to do. Now she's away from all this and I'm stuck trying to pick up the pieces.

It's almost poetic...

Next chance I get, I'm going to visit her grave. Maybe find some closure.

'Til then, I'm still here, I'm still alive. I guess that counts for something.

Celeste will update sometime this week...maybe even tonight. Who knows.

...

I love you, Lizzie.

I miss you so much.

Hopefully I'll see you soon.

Bringing in Help

Before I go into what happened after, I should finish up my arrival in the hospital room.

We sat in silence for a few moments. She knew what I wanted to ask, and I knew she was going to resist, but I had to see for myself. Not just to judge the damage, but needed to see the proof that things had really escalated this far.

“Let me see,” I said.

She shook her head.

“Celeste,” I said again, “let me see.”

“No.”

Violet interrupted in order to give Celeste back her rosary, but it didn't make me lose my resolve. I had to see it for myself. She was in pain, I realized that, but I just had to see.

She saw that I wasn't going to give in.

“Zeke, don't make me,” she begged, and I think that made me soften a bit, hearing how tired she sounded, how defeated.

“I'm sorry.” And I was. But the sooner I saw it, the sooner I could get to work.

She finally showed me, and when she did I made sure to be as gentle as I could be with her. But there it was, that large fucking scar on the back of her neck, his mark like a god damn target sign. I cursed under my breath as I touched it as gently as I could.

Not gentle enough. She screamed and pushed her face into the pillow. Violet gave me that look that Lizzie used to give me whenever I had screwed up big time, so I put my hand on her back to try and comfort her. I dunno if it worked or not. I like to think it did.

Then I went into the interrogation. What happened, how she was attacked, was there anyone else involved, that sort of deal. What she gave me was what I already knew, but double-checking always helped. Practical Cat was by himself, as far as we knew, and he was strong enough to at least take control over her long enough to do...whatever he wanted. No one really knew what else he had done. I certainly was okay not knowing.

This was a big job. Not only was I going against Practical Cat, but Keaton and whomever else the FBI had sent out here were still around. Sorry, folks, but if I'm really gonna do this, I need to call help.

I went outside to make the call; I didn't want them hearing it. He picked up on the second ring.

“Welcome to Movie Phone,” he answered with.

“Wren, I need you down in Maryland for a little while.”

“Oooh, we going cat hunting?”

“Just keeping an eye on things for now.”

“Aw, that's no fun.”

“Wren-”

“Alright, well, I'm in Philly right now, gimme a couple hours, and I'll be right down. Meet you at the hospital?”

“I'll be here. See you then.”

During those couple of hours I decided to take a walk around town and see what there was. During my walks, I was able to deduce two things: one, nothing of importance ever seemed to happen here, and two, none of the people seemed to emulate suspicion like the people in Indiana did. None of them looked at me funny or treated me differently; if anything, they treated me as just another speck among the many specks of town. If there was a cult in America that worshiped Slender Man, it had not reached this town; of which I was particularly grateful for.

After a cup of coffee and a bagel, I went back to the hospital to wait. Wren finally arrived about forty minutes after that, and hopped out of the car acting as if he was right on time instead of a half an hour late. He looked perky and chipper given the situation, which would have been odd for anyone who didn't know him. Wren never lost his cool, ever. He was always calm, cool, and in control of himself.

“Alright, so where's the patient, doctor?” was the first thing out of his mouth.

I led him inside, keeping an eye on him and wondering how I was possibly going to explain this one to Celeste, who absolutely hated his guts. He's not exactly Mr. Popular these days, even by me, who knows him. But hey, this was desperate times. And even though the proxies wouldn't be scared off by him, the FBI would be a little weary before touching this one.

“What were you doing in Philadelphia?” I decided to ask him.

“Working on that favor you asked of me.”

“Any luck?”

He sighed. “She was there for three weeks in March, then took off. I don't think she went far, though. She leaves a bit of a trail wherever she goes, Philly's just the third town since we split ways. I think she wants to be found, Zee.”

“Well, hopefully we won't keep her waiting too long.”

We were outside her door when I told him to wait outside; knowing Celeste, I wanted her to hear it from me before he just waltzed in. He didn't complain, just shrugged and leaned against the wall. At least he's not the kind of guy to bombard you with protests when you tell him to do/don't do something.

When I went inside, Celeste and Violet were still inside and they both looked up at me as I closed the door behind me. I have no idea why- maybe it was Ava's warning, maybe it was these two girls' personalities, or maybe it was a disturbance in the force that is my life- but I was very, very nervous as I told her that I had called in someone to help me out.

She knew without me even telling her who it was.

“No.”

“Celeste-”

“No.”

“It's just for a little while, until you're better-”

“No!”

“Really, Zeke? Really?” Violet's look on her face was one of absolute loathing. It was a losing battle, for sure, but me being me, I wasn't going to step down, and her being her, neither was she.

"Zeke," Celeste glared at me and for a fleeting moment I felt like I was back in grade school. "He is a CRIMINAL. I don't know what he did, and I don't CARE what he did, he is not being around me."

"I understand you don't like him, but he's the only help I have right now. He's a SWAT officer-"

"EX-SWAT, I would hope."

"Yes, ex, but still SWAT, and that training doesn't go away. And right now, that's good enough for me. Look, I don't trust him, not completely, but I need the help, Celeste."

She wasn't budging, and I knew it was going to take some time. And then Wren decided to step in and make everything worse.

“Yo, can I come in now, because the nurse is giving me weird looks-”

“Get out of my room!”

“Woooah, easy there, chica, I'm just here on Zeke's invite-”

“GET OUT!”

“Will you get him out of here, Zeke, please?”

“Will everyone just calm down!”

“Why are we even yelling? I didn't do anything yet.”

“She doesn't want you in here, asshole!”

“Yeah, and I can think of a hundred better places to be in than a hospital in some tumbleweed town in the middle of nowhere, but seeing as how she's been fucked up by a social retard controlled by a medieval woodcut come to life, it looks to me as though you could use all the help you can get-”

“WILL SOMEBODY GET HIM OUT OF HE-OW!”

She suddenly clasped the back of her neck as smalls drops of blood hit her pillowcase. In all the commotion, her stitches has ripped open, and right then she was doing her damnedest not to break down and cry right in front of us. Violet held her and tried to calm her down while I forefully shoved Wren out the door and called for the doctor, while inwardly cursing up a storm and keeping myself from strangling all of them.

Needless to say, things have not been going very well.

Maryland Hospital

Drove down to Maryland the other day. If you're unaware of why, or you just don't follow what's going on in the world, well, that's your prerogative, but basically what happened was Ms. McLachlan decided she was going to try and take on her proxy problem head-on.

Obviously it didn't work out, otherwise I wouldn't be down here.

She's alive, but she's in bad shape. Broken toe, dislocated shoulder, defensive wounds on her wrist, and a hell of a lot of blood on the outside that should be on the inside. That, and an operator symbol on the back of her neck that her proxy carved into her skin. That's one part of Wren's story accounted for, though I wouldn't call that good news.

Maybe you saw the fight we had before she left. Maybe you didn't. Maybe you don't care. Regardless, here I am, and I'll stick around for a little while until she gets better. Not permanent, but long enough.

Maryland, Jesus, it's almost as bad as Indiana, but at least it's not overrun with cultists...as far as I know. Everyone seemed decent enough, less conspicuous than the people at Damien's workplace were. I went up to the receptionist's desk and asked for Celeste's room.

“Are you family?” she asked me.

“Close enough,” I replied. Hey, I baby the girl enough, don't I?

“Third floor, room 42. I'll take you.”

I turned around and was face to face with a brown-haired, brown-eyed, and very pissed off girl behind me, speaking to her but looking right at me. She looked a very artsy type, stick-thin, very frail-looking, not too formidable at a glance, yet still looked very, very capable of pulling a gun on someone who disagreed with her. This, I hastily deduced, must be Violet.

The attendant opened her mouth to protest but we had already left her behind. I hurried my pace, half to get there as quickly as I could, half to try and avoid this girl that was giving me a death glare. For as sickly as she looked, though, she knew how to keep up.

“So, are you him?” she asked me.

“Are you going to hit me if I say yes?” Should I be afraid of a little girl? No. Was I at least weary? Given the last post, yeah, just a little bit.

“Maybe.”

“Then I'll wait to answer that until after I've seen her.”

She didn't agree with that one bit, but she put up with it. Her friend was my only concern at that point.

I don't know what I was expecting when I went through that door. Maybe I was expecting an empty room with no one but her, maybe I was expecting that maniac standing over her with a blade, ready to finish the job. Or maybe I should have expected her parents to be in there with her. In any case, I didn't, so that's what surprised me when I stepped through the door and saw her father and her step-mother in the room, with her laying in the bed, partially awake and looking as though she had been hit by a semi.

She looked at me as I came in and looked around the room, and I don't know if she knew who I was immediately, or if she had no clue until I opened my mouth and she heard how bad my voice sounded. Or maybe her being half-conscious kept her from guessing. At least she had the sense to keep quiet while I encountered her parents for the first time.

“Who are you?” her father asked me.

“Detective Riley, I'm recently transferred.” Go with what you know, and they already knew my name because of Keaton. “I'm here to ask Ms. McLachlan a few questions about the other night.”

“The police were already here,” her step-mother retorted, and as she said it she eyed me suspiciously. I'm pretty sure she didn't buy my story one bit, but I kept it cool.

“I'm just doing a follow-up, ma'am,” I answered. “Procedure, you understand.”

I wasn't sure if they'd buy that. Celeste was, for the most part, a pretty smart girl, and I'm assuming she got her brains from one of her parents, and it was most likely the one she spent all her time with. Then again, he did marry the She-Devil, so maybe not. I just braced myself.

“I see...” her father looked at her daughter, who thankfully still had the sense to be quiet and not give me away. “Do you want us to leave?”

“It would be best if you did. You can come back once I'm finished, however.”

“And why is she here?” Angel nodded coldly towards Violet, who looked like she was shrinking under her gaze but nonetheless didn't move from her spot.

“I invited her to help fill in certain gaps of the story,” I explained, which I think surprised Violet as much as it surprised the other woman. “And also to get her account of where she's been for the last few months.”

I told them to give us half an hour, forty-five minutes top. At this point, I think her father finally accepted my story, because he said his good-bye to his daughter and walked out, nodding to me as he left. Angel, however, seemed a bit more resistant to leaving, as she stopped as soon as she was up to me.

“You should do something about that cold,” she said.

“Already am, ma'am,” I assured her. She gave me another cold stare before she walked out, Violet closing the door behind her.

I went over and sat at the chair and looked right at Celeste. For months now I had been commenting on this girl's adventures and occasionally we would exchange some heated words, but now here she was right in front of me, albeit a lot of bruises. It felt weird seeing her in person after all that, like an internet friend that you finally meet after a long time of correspondence. You're not exactly sure what to say, what the first words should be, so finally you just talk about what you know, what's familiar.

For me, it was, “What did I tell you monkies about jumping on the bed?”

For her, it was, “Go to Hell, Strahm.”

Simple enough. Enough to make me smile a real smile for once. Which I appreciated.