"Oh no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no. That's a lie. That's a stupid, shit-filled lie and you know it. Where is he? Where the hell is he?" Maureen knew she sounded crazy, but she felt like screaming. Collins? Dead? Not true, not true in a million years.

"Listen, I don't know who you are, but if you knew Collins at all, you would know that he died a while ago. It…it was in the paper, and—"

"How did he die? How the hell!" Roger was trying to drag April away now, but she was standing firm, looking at Maureen with a mixture of sadness and curiosity.

"He…he killed himself. Because he had HIV. I'm sorry if this is the way you find out." What? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Suicide? No, not Collins, that was April, that was April! Not Collins, not Collins, oh please god, not Collins! Maureen suddenly realized that she was hyperventilating and the group of four was moving down the street. She didn't follow them. She didn't want to talk to those cold versions of her friends. But oh my god, what this what she thought it was? Maureen turned and strode off down the path, heading for the place she hoped might help her understand something, anything, about this hell.

Rabbitholerabbitholerabbitholerabbitholerabbitholerabbitholerabbithole

The loft loomed high over Maureen as she rushed towards it, grimacing at how clean it looked. The whole thing had been washed and buffed, most likely. It was disgusting.

The inside was even worse. Shiny metal steps, no graffiti, and—she wrinkled her nose—pine-scented. She took some pleasure in making loud clanging noises as she ascended the stairs, but even being loud wasn't enough now. She needed to know what was going on, and now.

The door, also disgustingly clean, loomed in front of her. Luckily, her key to the loft seemed to have traveled with her into this nightmare, and she unlocked the door, grimacing at the smooth, easy turn of the key. The door slid back to reveal the loft. Maureen gasped and leaned against the doorframe.

The loft had been transformed into some uptown, hoity-toity place. Its floors were wall-to-wall carpeting, and the walls themselves were a gentle beige color. The furniture was tasteful and new-looking, with the unnatural sheen of unused items. The lights were bright and cold, streaming from strange new fixtures on the walls and the ceiling. Haunting classical music floated throughout the loft. And across from Maureen, sitting at a desk, bent over his work with intense concentration, was Benny, wearing the same strange, sensible clothes as Mark. Maureen felt sick. This wasn't the loft. This was a bohemian's Twilight Zone.

"Mark, did you get my Claritin?" Benny said, not looking up from his writings (he was scribbling wildly with a pen on some thick, creamy paper). Maureen took tentative steps forward, her heart thudding. When there was no reply, Benny looked up. His expression was surprised, but not alarmed. Benny never got really worked up unless the situation was code red.

"Who're you? If you're one of Mimi's friends from before, she's not giving handouts, so you're out of luck there. And if you're a friend of April's, she's not here and Mark hates it when you people drop by, so I'd leave if I were you."

"Benny…can you honestly tell me you've never seen before in your life? That you don't know me or recognize me whatsoever?" Maureen still felt like this was one colossal joke. But the horror of the new loft was driving the reality of the problem home nicely.

"Um…yes, I'm sorry, but yes. Why do you ask?" Same old unruffled Benny, she thought with a rueful mental smile. At least that hadn't changed. But then a stab of fear flashed through her, and she trembling sank into one of the shiny beige chairs. The weird new Mark and Mimi and Roger hadn't listened, but maybe Benny would.

"Benny, I don't know if I'm losing my mind or what, but somehow none of you know who I am."

"Should we?"

"As far as I know, we've all known each since at least high school. And Benny…April said Collins was dead." Benny's face stiffened, but the expression hardly changed.

"He is. Now I'm starting to get a little freaked out, so if you have a reason to be here, show it to me now and I won't call the cops." Maureen was panicked. He wouldn't, would he? But as Benny's eyes darted towards the phone on his left, Maureen knew she better talk, and talk fast.

"Ok, uh, Benny, before I tell you why I'm here, it would help if you could just explain who all of you are, you know, what you're doing and everything, and what you guys did to end up like this. Get it?"

"Why should I—"

"Please." Maureen's desperation must have shown through, because Benny heaved a sighed and began talking.

"Mark, Roger, and Collins met in high school. Roger and Collins moved here when they graduated, but Mark went to Brown, where we were roommates." But I stopped him from going to Brown, Maureen realized. He stayed because of me, because I begged him to and because I told him we should move to NYC with Roger and Collins. Maureen felt a churning in her stomach that had nothing to do with the seaweed salad she had eaten earlier at the Life.

"We all lived here for a while, after Mark and I graduated, before Roger met April. They were really happy, and because Mark got so depressed at seeing them he went to the Catscratch and brought Mimi home. Then they all got in with the smack, and that hasn't changed. Only Mark buys the needles, so they won't risk anything." Maureen's head was spinning. She grabbed onto one fact and focused on it, trying to escape everything she was hearing.

"How can Mark buy the needles? He's broke."

"Uh, no. Mark got into the law business after college. He's a state prosecutor now. Money started coming from that, and he bought the building. Now he can do pretty much whatever he fucking wants. Even cheat on Mimi with his weird new partner from a couple months ago, Joanne something…" Benny furrowed his brow as he searched his brain for a last name, not noticing the look of absolute shock on Maureen's face.

Pookie? Mark was cheating on Mimi with…oh my god, this is even more fucked up than I realized. Maureen knew that she might start hyperventilating from fear if she didn't keep talking.

"How did Collins die?" Benny looked down and squeezed his pen harder in his fist.

"He got HIV from some guy, we don't know who. No one really knew what to say to him or how to help, and I guess it just got to be too much. I…he was a great man." Maureen felt her throat close up. Oh god…

"Benny, what about you? How can you be so calm about this? I mean…" She trailed off, waiting for his answer. He shrugged.

"It's easier than trying to change things. Mark's long past help, and he sort of controls the rest of us. I mean, without him we wouldn't have the loft or food or heat or anything. I mean, I might…but they wouldn't. They depend on him. I guess he changed in college, and that's why I don't leave him He was such an easy-going guy at first, but then the competitive part of college and school wore him down. He's just like he is now. Nothing I can do. And as for what I do…I write. Plays, novels, a couple editorials. I'm not surprised you don't know about them; they haven't gone beneath 42nd Street." Maureen gritted her teeth. Same old unfeeling Benny, she thought again. But her insides were churning still, and she felt like throwing up. Shakily, she got to her feet.

"Um, thanks, I guess. I gotta go." And before Benny could speak, she raced out of the apartment.