Security
You worry too much!
Even if anyone comes backstage,
They'll just want our autographs.
I know being famous doesn't mean we're safe,
But it does mean people care.
You can relax, Mar.
When Marie finds Callie, she is going to give her the scolding of her life.
Marie takes a shaky breath and gets off the train. Callie never came to their planned weekend in Calamari County, worrying both their parents (not her. Marie isn't worried). And she hasn't picked up the phone or replied to a text message, not since that See you soon on Friday. Because she forgot to charge her phone.
She does not run to their apartment. She walks, very quickly, but she does not run. Or jog, even. She just walks. Because she isn't worried, Callie is fine, just... just... when she finds Cal, she is going to give that squid a lecture.
For the first time ever, the bus is quiet. It settles into Marie's mind like nerves, and she looks around. Everywhere, inklings are looking at their phones; a few jellies are clustered together in the back, whispering. It's like news of Callie's disappearance already—
No. Not her disappearance. Callie hasn't disappeared. She's been busy, there's some new interesting gossip or meme or trend she hasn't caught. That's it. Marie shifts from foot to foot and wishes there was room to bounce between squid and kid a few times, but that's rude to do on a bus anyway. And her tentacles are tied out of the way. She just...
There's no reason for her nerves to be shaking like this, Callie is fine.
Or maybe she isn't. Forgetting everything, when Marie's feet hit the pavement she runs like a roller's at her heels through the streets, to their apartment. She bounds up the stairs because the elevator's too slow, and stops by slamming into the door, digging in one pocket for her key. If Callie is asleep, that's sure to wake her up. It's Sunday. She shouldn't have any work to do.
When Marie shoves open the door and walks in, the living room is deserted. Lights are off, Cal's jacket on the hook, a single pink pillow lying on the couch where it's been for at least a week. She can see most of the kitchen from here, but looks in just to be sure, and Callie isn't sitting at the table with her phone or anything, the only light is from the windows, the only movement a bird on the windowsill. Exactly as she left everything Friday.
Bathroom is open and Marie's make-up still on the counter; Callie always puts it away. Callie's bedroom door is cracked; Marie pushes it open. Nothing. Her bed is made, the floor clean, her sunglass collection untouched.
Marie's hearts stutter. She already called their agent, who'd heard nothing; Callie's manager, yesterday, told her Callie'd headed straight home after filming on Friday.
So where is she?
Crusty Sean knew they were in Calamari County this weekend, if he'd seen Callie he would've already called her. Drown still doesn't know who they are, and besides, Callie wouldn't talk to him. Does she have any new friends? Friends Marie hasn't met yet?
It hurts to think so, but Marie has to think so.
Okay, Marie. Think. About... Callie was feeding Octavio. Marie finished their new outpost, but Octavio was still stuck in his snowglobe in the old place, and Marie knows Cal was a bit nervous about leaving him for the weekend. She probably left him a pile of food. Marie can—if the containers are still there, Marie will have a new last-place-sighted. She can... maybe...
Marie flings open the apartment door so hard it hits the wall and slams closed behind her, but Marie doesn't care if her neighbors complain. She has someplace to be. A part of her brain is screaming that she should take the bus, but there's ten minutes before it next stops here and the time it'd take for her to run there will be shorter than waiting and riding if she takes shortcuts she's always told Callie not to take.
Maybe nothing shady happens before noon on a Sunday, because she runs into no one. She flings herself at the drain by the shell of the old news station and squids through, reforms and—
Shards of broken glass gleam at her feet, catching the sunlight and making rainbows. Marie freezes, her eyes on the ground.
She doesn't want to look up.
She doesn't...
She does anyway.
Her hearts stutter in her chest as she stares at the remains of DJ Octavio's prison.
Callie would have fed him before she left.
Callie would have called her if there was agent work to do.
Callie isn't here.
Neither is Octavio.
Marie can't move. She can't breathe. Her hearts pound all out of rhythm, fast and slow and disjointed.
Is she dying?
Marie sinks to the ground, on her hands and knees, then curls up there, shaking her eyes blurred with tears and her breath fast and she can't breathe she can't breathe oh cod oh cod she's dying.
Marie squeezes her eyes shut, rolls off the grate—she has enough sense to roll away from the broken glass, at least, but rocks and grass dig into her back and she's dying. She's dying.
She's not dying. Right? She's not. This must be a—a panic attack. Like what Callie...she's supposed to, she's calmed Callie down, she's...
Oh, cod, Callie.
Callie.
Marie is alone.