Episode 12: The Graft and the Glamour—Or, Using Anti-Particles to Indicate the Presence of Particles

The first thing Rory did, and it wasn't something she wanted to do but something she needed to do, was un-transform. She felt stupid doing it, and although she knew she was healing faster in uniform (at least, that's how she thought it worked,) she couldn't go anywhere to get help while she was still in uniform.

Now with less obstructive clothing, she pulled her shirt up to examine the wound better. She whimpered as the angle wringed the wound, and she clamped her mouth closed to suppress the moan of pain that wanted to come out and would definitely draw unwanted attention. Hesitantly, she brought her fingers over it, hissing at the sting. She was only a little relieved as she felt the deep groove carved out just under her ribs—man, any higher and those very ribs would have been splinters and this would have been way, way worse.

It was obviously a freaking bullet wound, though.

She went to the Walmart. She was just glad that she had worn a dark hoodie stealthing her way out of the house (as if Celene wasn't suspicious enough!), because she was able to take off her shirt underneath and tie it around the wound to stunt the bleeding, and the wet spot on the side of the hoodie wasn't obviously red. Bad situation, though. Bad bad.

Her eyes got a little watery in the checkout because the first thing she wanted to do was go to her friends, or her Mama, have a cry about it, but.

She couldn't.

She scrubbed the thing out ineffectively with alcohol pads in the Walmart restroom and wrapped it with gauze. Then she went home.

As she crept in the window, Celene was already waiting for her, her tail flicking anxiously. "These 'nighttime strolls' aren't good for you, you know. You've been out all night! Missing this much sleep is obviously taking a toll on you and—Aurora?" The cat stopped, moon-luminous eyes caught on the spot where she was holding her side. She stood. "What's wrong? Why are you limping like that?"

"Shhh." Rory passed a hand over her head, using the one not covered in blood. "I got it handled, little cat." That was a damn lie.

Quietly as she could, Rory made her way to the bathroom with her bag of already opened medical paraphernalia. A Walmart bathroom wasn't exactly the ideal place to patch yourself up, and she needed to get this in a more managed way until she had the chance to look for a treatment guide online. She knew she had peroxide around here somewhere.

The bathroom light filtered muggy yellow down on her, making it hard to distinguish what was pus and what was peroxide foam, but she had to get this cleaned.

"Is that a bullet hole?!"

Rory jumped about three feet in the air, looking up in horror to see Mama standing in the bathroom doorway. Rapidly, she peered from Mama's wide eyes back to the wound, but she was just too tired and too panicked to come up with any good excuses. "Uh!"

Her mama bustled in the door. She wrenched the hem of the hoodie away from her and up, exposing the wound where it was red and oozing. "Aurora Grace, what in God's name have you been doing?! My baby." She inhaled sharply, eyes wild, and Rory hated that she was making Mama scared like this; this is exactly what she'd been trying to avoid. "We need to get you to the hospital!"

Rory's eyes widened. "No, Mama! It's fine! I got it patched up!" If she took her to the hospital, the other girls were going to start asking questions, even more so if she happened to run into Mallory while she was there.

Her mama stopped and leaned back. Her face was hard, her normally jovial rounded cheeks doing nothing to distract from her scrutiny. "And where the hell did you get a bullet wound? Who's shooting at you?" She pursed her lips, and Rory couldn't tell whether they were trembling from anger or from the threat of tears. Oh, lord, she wasn't trying to make her mama cry. Stiffly, she said, "Have you been getting mixed up with those gangbangers that have been causing a ruckus in town?"

Rory's heart stopped, not only because she was sort of hurt her mama could even think she would fall into that crap, but more so because of, in a way, how right on the mark that guess was. She may not have been running for that gang, but they were the ones that had shot her. "Mama!" She shot back indignantly. "You know I wouldn't ever do things like that! Don't you know?"

"I don't want to think you were," Mama said coldly. Reaching over, she poured some peroxide on a cotton ball and reached back for the hoodie. "Let me see it."

She dabbed at the gouge while Rory closed her jaw tightly, holding back the tears that stabbed her eyes. She couldn't believe it. Did Mama actually think she was the kind of girl who got involved in that stuff? Then again, she was, wasn't she? For different reasons.

"You were obviously out for some kind of reason," Mama said lowly. "Traipsing about in the middle of the night. I know I taught you better than that! And right now? I told you how dangerous it is to be out alone. What am I supposed to think, Aurora?"

Rory sniffed, keeping her gaze firmly locked on the shower. She scrunched her brow up and her lip wobbled; she felt like a little kid. She almost wanted to tell her: that she was out there saving people, about Tyrell, running around with those dangerous guys in the name of justice like she never would have done. But no, she couldn't tell her that. Either thing. "Mama, I swear, I would never do stuff like that! I just went out for a run and I ran into these guys wandering around. I ran away, but they must not have like me being out there because they shot at me." She bit her lip. "I didn't want to scare anybody, so I tried to fix it up myself." True, and not true. God, please forgive me for telling another lie tonight.

Her Mama said, "Well you sure as hell scared me."

Rory pursed her lips. What else was she supposed to say?

After a moment, her mama gave a long sigh. "Girl, what were you thinking? You are so lucky this was just a graze. You can't be wandering the streets at night! What would I have done, if they found my little girl on the sidewalk in the morning?" Mama took her shoulders, squeezing gently. "I couldn't bare that."

She was actually crying now; Rory could hear it, even though she couldn't look at her. She was crying too. She reached up, scrubbing the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of the bloody jacket. Lord, she hoped she didn't have blood on her face.

As she finally made herself look back, stomach feeling like one big stone, she saw Mama shaking her head. "This is getting ridiculous," Mama grumbled, leaning on the sink counter. "First they come out firing guns in the middle of the night, lurking on the corners. Now, they're shooting at people for walking like we owe 'em something?" She shook her head. "Huh-uh. Not today. Not my little girl. First thing in the morning, we're going to the police station."

"Mama," Rory protested.

"I don't want to hear it," Mama said. "Enough is enough of this mess."

They finished patching her up, the atmosphere hurt and ugly. She was physically and emotionally exhausted by the time she dragged herself back to her room, her eyes sore with tears.

Celene descended on her like a heat-seeking missile.

"Aurora? Aurora, what happened? I heard you and your mother arguing—"

She couldn't do it. Sniffing sharply, the tears came bubbling up with the vengeance, and she crashed painfully onto her mattress, burying her face into Celene's fuzzy side. She hiccupped softly, way, way too tired of carrying all this, it just wasn't stopping. She was scared, and in pain, and it just had to come out.

Celene stiffened under her assault. Slowly, the cat sat back down, letting Rory cry on her like a baby. "A-alright. Well then. It's—it's okay, Aurora. I don't know what's wrong, but, whenever you're ready to talk about it, I'll be right here. It's okay. Just...just let it out. I'll be here."

Rory's head ached.


Mama was a woman of her word, and the next morning, a Saturday, Rory was marched down to the station. Dread coiled in her stomach like some alive kind of beast. Not a snake. Too small. Maybe like the old kind of pithos-serpents.

Mama screamed at the officers inside. "They've been creeping into this city like every other group of killers has, and what they hell are you doing about it? For all I seen you people driving through our neighborhoods, you sure don't seem to be doing much—"

The man at the front desk sighed, looking bored. His expression made Rory recoil all on its own, and then the guy spoke. "Ma'am," he started, the ranks of cops in the pens behind him staring up front at the spectacle. "We're doing the best we can. We have people looking into this, and maybe if your kid didn't want trouble, she shouldn't have been running the streets at night."

Mama bristled, and she bristled, hearing the same implication her mama had made the previous night. At least she sounded like she cared, though. "That's it?" Mama screamed, her voice reaching an octave Rory had rarely heard. "These people are out there shooting at our children, and all you can tell me is you shouldn't have been walking?"

The guy furrowed his heavy brow. "Look, I don't know what you expect us to do. You might think there's some sort of magic button we can press to make all the thugs in this city pull out, but there's not. These sorts of things take time." The man set down his coffee, leaning forward. His pudgy fingers squeezed together looked like a pack of hotdogs. "We have maneuvers in place, but if we try to move too quickly, it's just going to get more people killed. These kinds of folks lash out when they feel like they're being threatened. We can't just burst into their active zones guns blazing like everybody seems to want these vigilantes to do that are running around." The man's mustache twitched. "All I can tell you is to stay out of the streets at night." The guy gave her a nod, but if he thought that some acknowledgement was going to make her think he cared now, he was wrong.

Especially after that rather pointed mark he hadn't known he was making at her. She was trying to help people—anonymously, it minimized risk! It wasn't like she was waltzing in there in broad daylight whilst there were people out and about.

They left the station, her mama steaming, and Rory feeling slightly guilty with the knowledge that she had gone out to knowingly put herself in danger. Towards Mama, though, not that jerk.

The most frustrating part was that she knew they did have plans going. Like Tyrell—plants in the gang that would help to sus out their secrets. They sure don't mind putting them in danger. Reluctantly, she understood the strategy, but she also understood that they were just not doing enough. That's why she was out there in the first place.

"Unbelievable." Mama shook her head as she marched them both back down the street. "By the way, you're grounded."

Rory shot her a look. She waited to pull that out until now?! "Mama, no, come on, it's summer! I learned my lesson."

"Until August," she continued.

Aw, what? That was nearly a month!

Mama held up a finger. "You can be out during the day, but you have to be back to the house by five."

Five? Rory's stomach sunk. "Narma doesn't get out of her internship til' five."

Her mama's face softened. "Then she can come over to our house sometimes. But you have to ask first. This is to keep you safe."

Man. This was going to make things so much harder! Something else occurred to her. "Carmen's party," she said, and Mama looked at her, unimpressed. "It's the last week before August. Narma was making me a dress and everything! She's worked so hard. Come on, Mama; it's at Carmen's house."

Mama sighed hard. "Fine. But that's it! No other exceptions, I mean it girl. You got to prove I can trust you again. Your social life is not more important than your life life, no matter what you think."

Rory sighed. "Yes, Mama."

She supposed she should have seen this coming. This was just adding salt to the finger-width gouge in her side, which still ached. Not to mention that Mama wasn't going to be the only one on her tail after this mess.

She peered behind them, where a little orange face peered from around the corner of a nearby alley. If she had thought Celene was going to find out what she'd been up to without throwing a full-on conniption, well, she'd been wrong.


"Eyy," Narma gave a small cheer, beginning to clap as Mallory rose from the hospital bed. The other girl flipped her off.

"Yeah yeah, the incredible achievement of climbing out of bed. You'll need to register me for the Olympics immediately."

The girl had been stuck up in the room about three days longer than anticipated. Apparently, the splinters had nicked one of her intestines, and they ended up having to go back in pretty quickly to repair the tear. Mallory hadn't been happy about it at all—with how reckless the girl was consistently, it wasn't a surprise she'd been walking around with part of her intestine hanging open.

Luckily, they'd been able to go and in and seal the tear up without too much trouble, so Narma didn't feel too bad about teasing her about it.

Mallory stretched, wincing as the stretch reached her middle. "So, are we heading over to Rory's now?"

Carmen pointed to the chair firmly as Mallory tried to head for the door. "Huh-uh. You're getting wheeled out of here, you. Nice try."

Mallory groaned, but didn't try to put up any additional fuss before sitting in the wheelchair. "Eh, fine. I suppose I can let you guys wait on me a little bit longer. Just try not to look too awestruck in front of the residents; shit's embarrassing."

Narma thought she secretly enjoyed the attention. Knowing what she knew about the girl, she had probably been brushed off a lot.

"I'll try to restrain my enthusiasm," Carmen said dryly.

"Yeah," Narma snickered. "That's where we're headed. I need to grab pictures of you guys in your dresses before the party."

Carmen led them to the car, a decided drag in her step. "I can't believe it's almost time already—just a few hours! I'm lucky that my father let me come out to get you this morning, honestly; he'd rather I had been orchestrating this from the moment I woke up."

Narma could see the bags under the girl's eyes. This had to be a lot of pressure, and she knew Carmen had a history of performance anxiety, to say the least. Man, had the concert really only been a few months ago?

At least she was talking about it, though. That was progress.

She said, "I knew that these stupid parties were a huge production, but I had no idea how many arrangements would have to be made. It's been a pain trying to get everything all arranged."

Mallory grunted. "I still think it's pretty crazy that you are putting on a big fancy party like that while you're in high school. That's some Gatsby shit right there. If there's not at least two chandeliers and a car in the pool, I'm going to be sorely disappointed."

"It's all for the business anyways," Carmen sighed. "Maybe I would be more excited about it if it were for something I cared about at all."

Mallory ooohed indulgently.

They took Mallory down to the lower floors, where she eventually had had enough and left the wheelchair before she ever got out on the curb.

"Thanks again, by the way," Carmen sighed, peering over to her as she climbed into the Lexus's driver's side seat. Man, Narma really needed to learn how to drive. "I really appreciate you making us all dresses. I know that had to be a ton of work."

She shrugged. "Hey, as I said, I had a project due anyway. Gave me something to focus on."

Besides...everything else.

For instance, this was far from the first time they'd made the collective trek to Rory's house in the past few weeks. What was up with that?

Not that she had a problem with hanging out at Rory's house, but Rory was still acting weird! It hadn't stopped since the last time she noticed. She said her mom had grounded her for going out at night, but somehow she didn't think that was the whole story. A month seemed like a long time for such a punishment, and Celene had been on her heels every time she and Rory had spoken since then. Today, it was more because she needed a fitting and Rory's mom was more willing to fill her house with kids than her own parents were, but still. It was bizarre.

If that weren't enough to worry about, she still had yet to hear anything good from Manuel, and it had been weeks. She was beginning to believe that spark had been destined to die out before it went anywhere.

So, the internship was at least something else to do.

She was proud of the way the dresses had come out. They were so different from her usual style, they were almost unrecognizable. She had tried to keep a running theme between them, though. She thought the girls were going to be surprised.


Rory jumped up as she heard the girl's commotion at the door. "Back here!" Rory called.

A sort of contentedness set into her when the bustling of a bunch of teenagers filled up the hall, and then (almost) all of her friends were there. "I come baring fantastic dresses," Narma called out, cheers being called out behind her. Rory held open the door as they shuffled in. It had really been a minute since they were last able to chill without some kind of crisis happening.

"This is going to be great," she said, and she could breathe.

The gouge in her side was almost healed, but she could tell the thing was going to scar. She had hoped that magic powers would have found some kind of way around that, but apparently not. She was just hoping and wishing and praying that Narma's dress hadn't had any crazy alterations since the fitting

Celene sat loafed in the window, her tail flipping back and forth as she watched them. Celene had insisted on coming with her everywhere since the whole incident. Rory knew on some level she had been going back on the promise she had made to her during the whole pithos incident—that she wouldn't let her be excluded—but she also knew she had been doing it for little cat's protection. Apparently, she had really done it, though—once she had finally gotten around to an explanation, Celene had been almost cold with her. She hoped she had just scared her, though. She didn't know how to fix 'mad,' especially when she knew darn well she was going to be doing this thing for the foreseeable future, whether Mama approved or not. There was too much at stake.

...was she being selfish about this?

Rory had to physically snap herself out of the hole she was dragging herself into. She shook her head, and when she opened her eyes, she jumped to see Narma standing right in front of her. The other girl raised her pierced brow. "You good?"

Rory blinked. "yeah, yeah, no, I'm fine." Putting a hand around her, Rory led Narma into the other room. "Alright. Let's see those dresses!"

Narma booted up the camera as Rory emerged from behind the partition. Carmen and Mallory gave a whoooo, and Narma gave herself a little clap as she lowered the camera. "Heeey," she called out as Rory smoothed the dress out, the bright colors standing out against her dark skin.

"Okay," Rory said, "this is so not what I was expecting."

"Damn, it's almost like I know what I'm doing."

It came out just as she intended, though, of all of them, she had worried about the fit on Rory the least. The dress had a maxi, body-con fit, which in and of itself was a bit outside of Narma's signature. She usually went with the more fit-and-flare and boxy styles typical of traditional Indian styles, but for this particular project, she had tried to go for styles that felt more organic to her "clients." Maybe that's because the dresses were for people she knew? Ah, regardless, it looked great.

She had never worked with tie-dye before, but the vertical crimping in yellow-orange along the length complimented Rory's slender figure. The girl was fit, so there wasn't a lot of work needed to make her look good. Rory turned, examining herself in the mirror. "Dang. Okay, I see you." After a minute her brow furrowed. "Hey, aren't these the colors of my uniform?"

Narma blinked. That...hadn't been a conscious choice, but duh, that must have been exactly where she got the scheme from. "I was trying to use the planets as inspiration. I must have gone in that direction subconsciously."

She had taken an ombre affect as a thread throughout all of the collection, and the dress's golden striped bursts that seemed to flow from the marigold color to the vibrant orange was really bringing out the golden in Rory's skin, even at the top, where the short sleeved overlayer burst in buttery golden. "The fit is perfect," Rory shrugged.

"Nice," Narma checked a little check off on her list. She already knew her own fit. "Now if only the two of you go just as well."

"I promise to make it as difficult as possible," said Mallory dryly.

"I wouldn't expect any less. Picture time."

They used Rory's partition as a background. In the end, the pictures looked pretty good, despite the dim lighting. "Nice."

"Make sure to credit us as your models," Rory winked, coming out of her appropriately muse-like pose.

Narma snorted. "Just don't wait up for your paychecks."

Carmen's dress would have been a little closer to Narma's usual silhouettes, except that the upper chest and arms where entirely shear. The dress was emblazoned with flowers, mostly in the cool gray color that, as a matter of fact, did also correspond to Carmen's uniform accents. How had she not noticed that? Even so, she didn't regret her design choices—the other jewel-tone flowers which were mixed in with the more frequent gray brought a pop of color to the dress, which for the most part was a nude tone close to Carmen's skin. Just like the other, the tan transitioned to that same cool gray as it neared the bottom of the dress.

The fit also looked pretty good, though she wasn't surprised it was easier to fit girls with trimmer proportions like Rory and Carmen. Mallory and her own more generous figures had required more precision, though she had had plenty of time to tweak her own. "Looks good," she said. Her eyes drifted to the hem, which was skirting dangerously close to the floor. "May need to take up that hem a bit, though. I thought we might."

"This is really pretty," Carmen murmured looking over the dress. She eyed the hem skeptically as well as she watched Narma move in to mark the alterations. She raised an eyebrow. "How tall do you think I am?"

Narma made a non-committal noise, placing the pins where she needed them. "Eh, you know. 6'5. 6'8."

Carmen rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on now. I'm only, like 5'9."

Rory whistled. "Dang!"

"It's not that tall!" Carmen threw her hands up.

"Face it, Carmen. You're just going to have to accept your fate as ambassador to the clouds. The echelon of pure legs. The Patron Saint of towering over shrimpy girls. Guide us, oh wise one," Mallory quipped, slumped by the window and petting a reluctantly grateful looking Celene.

"Sorry, I can't offer you any advice," Carmen said wryly. "I'm not your patron saint."

"Oh, snap!" Rory laughed.

"I've been betrayed," said Mallory.

"God, when was the last time anyone said 'oh snap?'" Narma finished the pins. "Okay, take that off and I'll bring up the hem before the party."

"I say what I want," Rory said.

When Mallory pulled her own dress out of the bag, Narma could see the apprehension on her normally dead-pan face. "Oh, shit. Narma, this is a dress. Like, a dress dress."

"Yes, that was kind of the point," Narma said. "Do you not like it?" She'd seemed okay with it when they were talking over the basic concept before, but it occurred to her then that Mallory may not have totally understood what she was proposing. Fashion was...not exactly the girl's strong suit.

Mallory shook her head shortly as the tail of the dress slipped out to fall to the floor. "It's not that I don't like it, it's just...a bit outside my comfort zone. Not my usual style, you know? I guess I was...I don't know what I was expecting."

"Try it on," Carmen nudged her shoulder, and Mallory moved for the partition.

"Going," Mallory said absently.

She took the picture of Carmen's dress against the partition as Mallory changed on the other side. It looked good on film. She thought the colors translated well enough from the references of the planets she had used, and hey, maybe that's why the color schemes were similar to their uniforms. She knew there was a reason she had been drawn to using violet shades in the ombre of her own dress; she guessed she knew where that had come from now.

Rory stood beside her, looking very, very nice in her dress. Good job, myself. She looked over at her. "It's nice to have us all together like this," Rory said quietly, leaning on her shoulder.

Narma leaned her head back, a warm affection permeating her chest cavity. "We hang out all the time," she countered softly.

"Yeah," said Rory, "but there's been so much going on. It's nice to just have...a night, you know?"

Narma furrowed her brows, turning towards Rory more directly. "What's up with you lately?"

Rory blinked at her, eyes brightening as though she were coming out of a daze. Just as quickly, though, she resumed her place at Narma's shoulder. "Just tired," she said. "I miss you guys sometimes."

Aw. The statement hurt a little bit, though. She'd been having to spend so much more time at the internship now, sewing and making copies and sitting in on demonstrations, it felt like she hardly saw everyone sometimes even though she knew that wasn't true. "We miss you too," she murmured.

Rory, specifically. Not to mention everyone else.

She peered over to Carmen and perhaps a bit louder than strictly necessary she called out, "Speaking of 'we,' did the girls end up saying they could come?"

Carmen's big ole' doe eyes turned mischievous, and matching her exaggerated volume, she said, "Oh yeah, Sylvia said they're going to be there no problem."

Behind the curtain, there was an audible fumble and a muffled exclamation of fuck.

Carmen leaned back against the wall. "They might be a little later than us, though. Gwen's got a summer class to teach before they can come by. They're bringing their own dresses, of course."

Celene had been oddly quiet, though she seemed to be taking an unexpected interest in the fitting with how pointedly she seemed to be scrutinizing their cloths. "Hm. These dresses..." Celene pipped up eventually from the window.

"What is it?" Carmen prompted from where she had taken a spot by the window (still standing, no offense Celene but it was possible Carmen was even more aware of the cat hair in here than Narma was.)

Celene squinted her slit eyes, placing a paw forward consideringly. "The design of these dresses reminds me of something, but I'm not sure what. Maybe something from the past?"

Narma peered around to the other girls. "Am I getting critiqued by a cat?"

Celene puffed up, which was a little bit hilarious. "I'm not just a cat, you know," she said. "But that's not what I mean! I'm referring to your past lives."

"Wait, what's happening?" Mallory called from behind the partition.

Narma tried to process that. "So, you're saying I stole these designs from the past?" Positive point, in that that was one more tick in the 'hey, reincarnation is real,' box, but also a little disheartening if these weren't original. What the fuck?

Celene blinked. "Well, no, I'm not necessarily saying you didn't create these designs. I'm just wondering if you may have been subconsciously recreating designs you made in your previous incarnation."

Carmen raised a hand. "That's pretty cool, actually. Have you been remembering anything more from back then, then? I know the last time I remembered anything was when we fought Elpis and Pandorana, when we remembered our planet's names? It would be good if we could find out more."

Narma slowly shook her head. She supposed it didn't count as being referential if she were merely referencing herself. Damn, she wished she knew, now. "No. Not that I can remember."

It would be good, though. She thought back to Rory's question at camp: why were they here, on this planet? There had to be a reason. It was just going to have to remain a mystery, she guessed, until she could get her memories to cooperate.

"Okay, this...this feels weird."

They turned back to the partition, where Mallory was emerging.

The dress itself was relatively simple. In the front, it was actually the shortest of any of them, the high of the high-low hitting just above her knees (Mallory didn't seem like a ball gown kind of girl.) It was a v-neck empire in navy, but like the others, its color gradiated to a warm tan near the bottom at ankle-length. The color scheme had been pulled from her planet, but the palette reminded Narma of the sky at dusk while she was working on it. She was hoping the navy shade wouldn't clash with Mallory's hair by being too similar, and indeed it did not.

And also.

"I am a fucking artist," Narma said firmly as Mallory swished the ends around noncommittally.

"I have no idea what to do with a skirt," Mallory said, letting the material flap out around her.

"You wear it," said Narma. "Seriously, though, that suits you really well." After a moment of consideration, she added, "You can throw a jacket over it, if that would be more comfortable."

Which it might. She'd had the measurements, but she hadn't realized how much of a chest Mallory actually had. She was always so layered up. Girl was well-endowed, though, damn. The part of Narma that preferred to create a more modest silhouette was giving herself a side-eye, like, really? Even so, if she didn't kind-of-maybe-potentially still have a boyfriend, she might be giving Mallory a second look. Hm.

"You do look great," Rory threw in.

"Yeah, seriously," Carmen nodded.

"I need to shave my damn legs," Mallory grumbled. She looked up. "Can I wear boots with this?"

"What do you mean by 'boots?'" Carmen said suspiciously.

"I have a shoe suggestion, actually." Narma went into the duffel she'd brought with her that housed her own shoes and other camera equipment. She pulled out the monstrosities that she had had in the back of her closet for a while, but she'd never found the occasion for.

"What the hell are those?" Mallory came towards her, but she sounded marginally more excited. She took the boots, tan and faux-leather (she was a Hindu with standards, after all,) the cut-outs giving the impression of straps. "What kind of Xena, warrior-princess..." she trailed off, grabbing up her socks again to pull the boots on.

"I noticed we were the same size," Narma folded her arms smugly as Mallory tugged on the boots, "and I thought those might be to your liking."

"These are atrocious," Mallory said. "I can work with these."

In the end, it was only the hem on Carmen's dress and the length of the straps on Mallory's that needed adjusting. She could bang that out in like an hour.

"You're a life saver," Carmen sighed as they made their way back out to the car. "Now, I just have to finalize the decorations, oversee the food coming in—oh, damn, there was that woman who cancelled I needed to update the seating arrangement for..."

"Whoa, whoa, okay girl, you're good," Narma whistled, ushering Carmen out Rory's front door. "You got this. Give us like, three hours, and we'll be out there to help."

Rory fiddled with the hem of her replaced t-shirt. "Man, it sucks that we can't just head over now. All that stuff you've got to do has got to be easier with more people."

Carmen gave a soft, pained noise. Wryly, she said, "Yes, unfortunately my father thinks a bunch of teenagers being around for preparations might get in the way."

Mallory spoke from behind them, returned to her trench as quickly as she had been able. "You should remind him that you're a teenager too, sometimes. Graffiti 'ASS' on the wall or something, really go wild. That'll teach 'em."

Carmen gave her a reprimanding look. "Yes, I'm absolutely going to do that."

"Good," Mallory said as Carmen headed out the door. "There she goes," she said, "going off to war to spare the rest of us." She saluted halfheartedly, apparently uncommitted to the bit. She lowered her hand, looked between them as Narma shut the door. "So. What are we going to do for three hours?"

Narma snorted. "I have to sew." She shook the camera. "And I have to get these pictures printed to drop off at work."

Mallory pointed at her "Fair."

"You get to help." She handed her the dresses.

"Ok. Wait. What?"


Erin moved through the front door, holding it open with her hip as she let the little girl come through. "You have your lunch?" She shut the door once she'd moved through, carefully locking it behind her. She hadn't gotten around to installing a security system, and so she always made sure to lock up when she left the house. Thiers wasn't the best neighborhood, only what she could afford as an engineering student, so she knew she had to keep everything secure.

Emma picked at her hair pins. "Yeah." She pulled her backpack on over her tiny shoulders, and Erin adjusted it more snugly.

They had a little time before getting to school, so she thought she'd pick up breakfast for them on the way. Moving to the car, she watched Emma move around to the other side to get in the passenger's seat. She opened the driver's side, and a burst of summer humidity rolled out in waves. She called over, "Let's give it a minute Em, it's a little too hot in there."

She leaned in, turning the air on and pulling down the shade.

On the other side, she heard Emma gasp. "Puppy!"

Cute. Erin leaned back out of the car, the AC blasting. "Do you see a puppy, sweetheart?"

As she stood up, confusion fell over her when she didn't immediately see Emma standing on the other side of the car. Turning, she only had a second to comprehend that Emma was no longer by the car, but heading towards the road, where a dog was running along the other side.

She didn't see the car barreling down the road, chasing after it.

The car didn't see her either.

The scream leapt out of her, body paralyzed with horror. "EMMA—"


Erin jolted upward at her desk in the back labs. Adrenaline coursed through her body like some sort of horrible venom, shaking her limbs. Once her vision came into focus and the white walls of the private lab came into focus before her, she groaned and plunked her head into her arms.

She'd had a horrible, horrible night.

Maybe it was because they were getting so close. That had to be it. She hadn't had these nightmares in years; having them resurface now only served as a grim reminder of what she was working towards.

But God, she needed to sleep.

But here was not the place. Any minute now, one of the other researchers was going to bust in and start questioning after her health. Questioning of any kind was the last thing she needed.

Her Benefactor would have said she was reluctant to accept help because she was allowing her own psyche to punish her into motivation. Erin didn't know about that, or wasn't willing to hear the psychoanalysis out of her own mouth, thank you very much, but she was a scientist, not a psychologist.

She emerged from her cave to mingle with the others, asking after the improvements they had made that revealed how little she had been listening to their explanations earlier in the day, and they looked nervous.

She managed to drag herself through the rest of her work, and in the last few minutes of the day one of the interns shuffled her way into the room with a bag over her shoulder. Peering behind, she saw it was the Indian girl with the silver hair—Narma, she remembered. It would have been difficult to forget that introduction after she had so hideously thrown it into awkwardness. She was surprised the girl even came back. "Hello again," she called, her voice echoing through the room. Even her echo sounded tired.

The girl hesitated as she came in: she heard the door open, and then take a minute to close. After a moment, though, the girl approached her at the desk with a packet of paper clipped images. "Hello again, Professor Mooringer," she piped. She sounded in good enough spirits, and Erin turned to look at her.

Narma handed her the packet. "I got the photos of the pieces in the collection," she said, handing them over. "Are the photos good enough, or will you guys need the originals?" She rubbed at her arm. "They need some, ah, slight alterations, but I wanted to make sure and get these to you before the deadline."

Erin took the photos. Unclipping them, she flipped through the designs, recalling the sketches Narma had given her. They seemed to have turned out rather well: the girls, probably her friends, seemed to be fairly well-fitted for the garments, and from the proposal the girl had given her, it seemed she had been able to construct them as intended. "They look good," she said finally, wishing she had something more constructive to say other than to debate the garments' performance at extreme temperatures, which she doubted was the point. "The coordinator should be getting back with you in a week or so for your critique. She probably will want to see them at that time, but for now, I'm sure she'll be fine with the photos."

She looked a bit disappointed (see, this is why she wouldn't have recommended herself as representative for the department, but her work ethic had her pinned,) but accepted the explanation. "Oh. Well, thanks."

Erin felt a stab of empathy at not being able to be more engaged, and she lifted the photos consideringly. "I'll add them to your folder right away, so she can see them," she said, and Narma nodded with a bit more assurance before heading out.

Taking on these extra projects was getting to be a bit of an excessive load. At this point the job that paid her wages was more or less an extra project. Finding the artifact was all that mattered. She could feel the time getting closer, and her future self emphasized the importance of getting this done as quickly as possible. Not that she didn't want that herself. She hated the thought of Emma being alone and scared and dead for longer than she had to be simply because she hadn't worked hard enough. Her fingers dug into her scalp. What kind of mother would she be?

Still, out of pure necessity she found herself bringing her files back and forth to whatever task she happened to be working on at the time. Her work lives were bleeding into one another. What a terrifying thought.

As she fired up the monitors, her Benefactor answered the signal with the promptness she always did, and she began to work. She still needed to leave notes on the students' projects (which she'd almost forgotten) so she could turn them in to Angela in the morning, so those files were open. At the same time, she combed through the records of students at Garfield High School with extreme prejudice, looking for any factors which might eliminate potential suspects.

"Are you serious?" Her future self scoffed. "You have to know one of these things is more important than the other, Erin. You're wasting time."

"I have responsibilities," she snapped. "Do you want our daughter to be without a place to sleep when we see her again?"

It was a low blow, and she knew that her future self wasn't buying it for a second. They both knew that Erin's priorities were just as skewed towards Emma. The only reason she wasn't dropping everything else was that she hated the thought of Emma seeing what a wreck she'd become in her absence. She had to keep things going. If she let herself slip, it would only be a matter of time before she fell apart entirely.

She combed meticulousness through the files—it was hard to know what might eliminate a particular student from the pool, except eliminating kids whose recorded weights didn't seem to lend to the body types of the figures she'd seen in the recordings. Of course, who knew how accurate the figures in these files were anyways? This was turning out to be a much more difficult endeavor than she had initially imagined, even with her future self shouting suggestions from behind her based on what she knew.

She flipped between one file and the next, the student projects all but abandoned for extended periods of time, splayed on the table, flipping through them to add notes occasionally in a weak attempt to keep her divided attention productive.

Then seemingly out of nowhere, her future self made a noise from her observational space in the screen. "Wait a moment, go back."

Startled, Erin flipped back a page of names, one she hadn't even flipped in a while with a raised eyebrow. "Can you even see the names from there?"

"Not the names," the Benefactor groused, then breathlessly amended, "the photographs."

Taken aback, Erin moved back to the file she had just flipped closed, leaning the flap up slightly to let her other self see. "These are just student projects from the internship program. I didn't realize you were interested in design."

"Let me see those."

Her Benefactor's voice had fallen hush, after pausing a long moment Erin rose from the desk, taking the photos with her. Removing the paper clip again, she flashed the dress photos back to her partner, flipping between them.

"Jesus, the luck—Erin, that's them."

The photos stilled in her hand. "What?"

"That's. Them." Her crow's feet crinkled in concentration as she studied the photos. "I'm sure of it. The models in the pictures are them."

Erin turned the photos back around to examine them. These—these were that girl's file from earlier. Narma.

Disbelief sinking in, she moved back to the file with a sneaking suspicion she already knew what she was going to find. She flipped back to the copy of Narma's limited resume the project had demanded. Scanning, her finger found the 'education' subhead.

Garfield High School.

Erin's hands smacked down on the table, the photos crinkled between them. This whole time, she'd been right there, they were right there. The girls in the photos looked so young, posing exaggeratedly for the camera expressions care-free. Just kids. Jesus, but wait a minute—

Heart jumping, she turned the photos over to their reverse sides.

She couldn't help the little scream that bubbled up from her chest.

Model credits.

Narma Anand

Rory West

Carmen Rodriguez

Mallory Dunbar