I set up Wendy and her brother on the pull out couch, not feeling right about putting them in anyone's room. Michael is silent the whole time, but looks like a strung out meth addict. For all I know he is a strung out meth addict. I lumber over to the fridge and rummage around for some beer and find a six-pack of Coors Light and when I get to my room I toss them onto my bed. I see Hannah in her corner and gently pick her up, plucking a few chords. I set her down and pop open a beer; guzzling it down in record timing I pick Hannah up again and fool around with some more chords. It turns out sounding like a lullaby and I frown, grabbing another beer. Two down. I grab another. Three down.

Everything is blurry when I next pick up Hannah and when I play her, she sounds angry. Good. I feel the skin on my fingers rip; the strings embedding themselves into barely healed wounds. Good. I'm panting and playing and the room is spinning but that's okay it's just the alcohol and I play faster and faster until a string snaps.

Wendy

I wake up with a jolt, and almost bash my forehead against Mike's nose when I sit up, "Huh?"

"There's a lot of noise coming from Peter's room," Mike whispers, "Well, there was. I don't know if I should check on him or not."

I shake my head, banishing the last of my grogginess, "I think maybe I should. He doesn't necessarily like you."

"And what? He likes you?" Mike asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Shut up," I stand up, "And we're just friends. He's my English report buddy."

"Uh-huh, riiiiiiight," Mike says, "Fine. You can go in, but I'll be listening for a scream if you need help."

"Of course," I mutter, rolling my eyes and walking down the hall to Peter's room. It's oddly quiet, and smells like beer. I take a deep breath before knocking on the door, "Peter?"

There's a muffled moaning sound and then the door flies open, and a haggard Peter fills the doorway, "Hello, Darling."

"Peter? Are you okay?" I ask, "Mike said he hear noises coming from you."

"I'm fine," Peter hiccoughs, "Peachy keen, Maybelline."

I frown and go on my toes to peer over his shoulder into his room. He doesn't stop me, only stiffens when I gasp. There's blood on the bed sheets, beer cans thrown haphazardly around the room and even more horrifying is the mass of splinters and frets on the ground. Hannah looks completely obliterated, and my throat thickens. I squirm my way into his room through the space between Peter and the doorframe, and kneel beside the mass of what used to be Hannah. I gently grab a piece of the wood that used to be Peter's guitar and marvel at the effort it would have taken to obliterate the guitar to reduce it to such a dreadful state. Upon closer inspection there's flecks of blood on many of the splinters, and the strings are covered with a slick coating of blood.

"Oh Peter," I sigh, looking up to see him swaying next to me, "Why did you do this?"

"I don't know," he collapses onto the ground next to me, curling up in a ball and putting his head on my thigh, "I want to not feel anything anymore."

"I know, but Peter…" I sigh, hugging his shoulders. He squirms away and reaches over to grab a pack of cigarettes, and I snatch them away from him.

"Hey!" Peter yelps, "Those are mine!"

"Peter, no. You're not going to poison yourself any further tonight, I forbid it."

"You can't stop me," Peter sneers and makes a pathetic attempt for the cigarette box.

"Peter," I sigh and shove him up onto his bed, "Time for sleep, okay?"

"No," he grumbles, but still curls into a fetal-like position and stares at me, "I'm not sleeping."

"Hmm-hmm," I sit on the edge of his bed and block the images of him and Cass that rush into my mind,

"Why don't you just rest your eyes then?"

"Hannah…" He trails off into incoherent sounds as his eyes droop and his body relaxes. Soon enough his breathing evens out and I get up off the edge of the bed and sigh at the mess around the room. I stretch and quietly walk out of the room looking at the stove clock as I walk past. Huh. It's around five in the morning. Mike is snoring on the pullout couch; I pat his head before hunting down cleaning supplies for the mess in Peter's room.

I manage to find paper towels, Lysol wipes, broom, and plastic bags. I throw the cleaning supplies into a bag and go back to Peter's room to clean up a bit. Peter is fast asleep in his bed, snoring softly. I sigh and sit down on the floor and get to picking up the pieces of Hannah and placing them into the plastic bag and leaving the bag at the foot of Peter's bed. As quietly as I can, I start throwing the beer cans into another bag and I know I should be disgusted by the amount of cans there are but it just kind of breaks my heart. I take the opportunity to grab Peter's cigarettes and drown them in water in the kitchen sink and throw them in the garbage too. The clock on the stove reads six am and suddenly I'm too exhausted to even stand.

I wake up to the sound of male laughter and the banging of fists on a table and the smell of what's most likely microwaveable food. I frown at the floor that is much closer to my face than I ever expected and sigh before standing up and wobbling towards the noise I hear. I have to pinch myself to believe I'm not dreaming when I see Peter and Mike sitting across the table from each other and are laughing empty plates in front of them.

"Good morning…afternoon," Peter grins up at me, not a shadow of what he was last night showing, "I gotta say though, you do choose rather peculiar places to sleep."

"Oh—hey sis," Mike turns and smiles at me, "Nice of you to join us."

"Uh," I pull up a chair next to Mike and lean against him, "You two aren't dead? No injuries? No satanic ritualistic killings?"

"While I may have admitted to you before the secret of my identity, I am not one who dwells in the dark arts, Darling—not you, Michael—or satanic rituals."

"Sh, you sound too smart."

Peter goes quiet for a moment before raking a hand through his hair and squaring us both with a look, "I am not protecting John or forgiving you, Michael."

Mike nods, "I understand."

"So how do I help," Peter asks, "Because I have no idea how to deal with the law, unless I'm in trouble then I know how to shut up and just piss everyone off."

"First things first, you should probably come to a meeting with our lawyer this afternoon…in two hours. Holy shit. Okay, we need to get ready."

"Who is this lawyer?" Peter asks, piling the plates on the table and standing, "And Wendy I'd like to speak to you...without Mike," he glances at Mike, as if remembering his presence, "If that's okay."

Mike shrugs and I frown at Peter who gives the slightest inclination of his head towards the kitchen and I follow, hearing Mike make his way back to the pull out couch and tuning up the volume on the TV. Peter drops the plates in the dishwasher and leans against the counter, closing his eyes for a moment. I frown but scoot myself up onto the counter so that my feet are dangling far from the ground and patiently wait for him to piece his thoughts together. He looks up at me and I cock my head to the side. What?

Then he's kissing me.