Chapter Two: Two Boys from the Devil
The next day, in the middle of studying, another knock sounded at the door. Momma insisted on answering, but Molly could see through the crack in the door that it was Sherlock Holmes, back again.
"Can I speak with the Hooper siblings?"
"John! Some boy is here to talk to you."
Molly waited for her mother to call her over, eyes peering over her schoolbook. John stepped outside, face cross, and Momma closed the door. Molly didn't get to go outside, but in the brief moment before the door closed, her eyes connected with blue.
John returned hours later, grinning. He told her about Sherlock's house. He had a dog and two really nice parents. Molly listened with rapt attention.
Sherlock showed up a week later, asking the same question. "Can I speak with the Hooper siblings?"
Again, Momma sent out John and left Molly to clean the kitchen.
This was his routine for the next two years, always with the same question, and always watching her as the door closed.
Molly woke in the early morning to a knock at her window. Sherlock, John and Mary all stood on the rickety fire escape. The two boys breathed smoke from their cigarettes. She dragged herself from the warmth of her covers, grateful for the hundredth time that she wore conservative pajamas.
The air around her bed was freezing. Mary knocked again, hurrying her into her coat and gloves. She yanked the window up, hissing at the loud scrape of the metal. She glanced behind her before throwing a leg over, listening for her parents to wake or Toby to cry.
"Hurry up and get out here. You'll let the smoke in." John pulled her the rest of the way through.
"Shut up. You shouldn't even be smoking. It's disgusting." She ignored the sway of the fire escape and shoved the window nearly shut.
The space was small, forcing the four of them to huddle together. Molly smiled when John took the opportunity to wrap his arm around Mary, both of them blushing brightly.
"Molly, we're going to the mall later. Want to come?" The other girl spoke up. She nudged her boyfriend away with an elbow, staring at Molly expectantly.
"Oh, no, I'd hate to impose." Molly glanced down at her reindeer mittens, trying to hide her blush behind her morning frizz hair. "Besides, we've got exams coming up. Shouldn't we be studying?"
"Come on, Molly. They'll just hang all over each other if you're not there. Something about bringing baby sister along just cools them off." Sherlock crushed his cigarette beneath his boot, blue eyes watching her. "I'll be bored to death without you." He winked at her.
Molly's stomach squirmed. She hated when he called her John's baby sister. The term, no matter how endearing he meant it to sound, made her want to shout "I found you first!" Of course, she didn't, but the desire bubbled up in her every time he said the words.
"No, really. I've really been struggling in history. I better stay back and work on it." She turned away to look through the cool glass of the window. Toby was starting to wiggle in his toddler bed. "Thanks for the invite."
"I could tutor you."
She'd expected that offer from Mary, but it wasn't her voice that made her pause at the window frame. She looked behind her to find those cool eyes still on her, cupid bow lips tilted up in a smile. The combination knocked the breath from her.
"Ay, you trying to make a move on my sister?" John broke the moment, eyes darting between the two of them. "Absolutely not. She's off limits."
"Of course he wasn't, John. Besides, I can handle it myself." She hurriedly yanked the window up, muttering curses at the screeching metal. One day that noise would wake her parents up and she'd be in a world of trouble.
She came in just in time. Their talking had woken the child, and he was just about to let out his morning roar for cereal. She reached a hand out to hold his, placing one finger over her mouth in a silent shushing. She gestured towards the kitchen, watching his eyes light up. He grinned at her, nodding until his blond hair flopped over into his face.
"Do you need to go potty, Toby?"
He shook a no at her, but she steered him towards the bathroom anyway. He notoriously lied about potty time. She led him inside and helped him with his Pull-up.
"Don't look!" He pushed her out the door, face scrunched in a childlike determination. "Go, go, go!" She'd barely made it out when he slammed the door behind her.
She tip-toed to the kitchen, surprised that she still hadn't heard a peep from anyone else in the house. Two bowls of Count Chocula later, she heard tiny feet pattering down the hall.
"Ready!" He whispered, loudly.
"Count Chocula today, bud. We ran out of your peanut butter cereal." He pouted his bottom lip, but took his bowl anyway.
They were halfway through eating before the first few noises came from the back bedroom.
"No, baby, don't hold your spoon that way, you'll make a mess." She reached over and corrected the awkward angle Toby had his spoon, watching the hallway for sign of her mother.
Scooping the last of her cereal into her mouth quickly, she managed to swallow the last bit before Momma emerged, shuffling her bedraggled sleep-worn body into the light. Molly pulled her backpack from a chair and grabbed her history book, flipping through the pages before her mother could ask her to do anything.
"Did you feed my boy? You don't feed my boy, that's a mother's job." Momma pulled the half full bowl from Toby, who'd digressed to playing with his spoon on his nose. "Fetch me a drink."
Molly pushed her nose into her book and rolled her eyes. She pretended not to hear her mother's request. Instead, she read the same sentence three times while she listened to her mother grumble about making her own drink.
"What you got your head in a book for anyway? You think you're better'n all of us? Gonna go catch yourself a college education?" Momma laughed wryly, clunking a tall bottle of vodka onto the counter. "I got news for you, sweets. You ain't pretty enough to spread your legs, and you ain't smart enough to get a scholarship. Unless you got a rich Uncle hiding somewhere, you better give up those smart dreams of yours."
Momma threw back her head, taking a large gulp of the clear liquid sloshing in her glass. How odd, Molly thought. She usually at least filled the glass with orange juice in the mornings.
"Just Vodka today?"
"It was a hard night." Momma took another gulp, baring her teeth before turning back to her daughter. "Don't you dare judge me for it, either. You think I don't see you prancing around here acting like your better'n me?"
Molly lowered her eyes, trying to close out the oncoming storm. She'd heard this before.
"You always got your little books out all over the place. Always going on about college and whatnot? I got news for you, you ain't the only one around here that had big plans. I had big plans, and lookit me now. This where you want to end up? Quit while you're ahead." She refilled the vodka, grabbing the orange juice from the fridge this time. "And quit feeding my baby. That's a mother's job."
Molly bit her tongue. If she'd left it up to Momma to feed Toby, the poor boy would have starved to death years ago.
She studied for hours. She moved through her subjects slowly, testing and retesting her knowledge until she was certain she'd do fine on her exams. She'd done the same thing yesterday and she'd do the same thing tomorrow. After her initial outburst, Momma sat quietly on the couch, watching her soaps and occasionally mumbling at Molly to get control of Toby. Sometime in the afternoon she fell asleep, spilling her drink on the carpet.
She'd just closed her last book when the door burst open, John wandering in with Sherlock. She avoided the pair of them, putting her books away and picking up her papers. She hadn't had the chance to clean yet, so toys and bits of her mother's projects were strewn about the place. Molly hurried to slip the vodka back into the freezer, but she wasn't fast enough.
"Vodka for breakfast? Didn't peg you as the type." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her, leaning his chin on one hand while she finished putting away her school supplies.
"I'm not." Her cheeks burned red.
"Did a hurricane come through here?" He directed this question to John while he grimaced at a bit of juice spilled on the counter. Dishes were still piled in the sink.
Molly frowned, cocking her hip as she faced him. "Excuse me, but are you going to clean the place up?"
"It's not my house," he scoffed, flopping down on a kitchen chair. It screeched backward. Molly flinched at the noise and swung her head to her mother, who shifted on the couch but settled back into sleep.
"Don't make so much noise! Do you usually waltz into 'not your house' and start insulting people?"
He didn't pause before he answered. "Yes. All the time."
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms before she realized she was still in her pajamas. She hadn't even combed her hair yet. She blushed again and turned away, grabbing a rag to clean up her mother's spills.
He hummed behind her, a deep rattling sound that made her insides quiver. She'd just finished clearing off the orange stain when she heard a crash, a whistle. She spun around to see Sherlock standing innocently at the table, her bowl from the morning flipped over on the floor. She checked to make sure the noise hadn't disturbed her mother, who let out a loud snore.
"I'm not cleaning that up, asshat. Where's John? Isn't he supposed to be keeping you out of trouble?" She tossed him the dampened rag to wipe up the bit of milk.
"Just testing. He's getting ready for round two of snogging with Mary. You really should have come. It was the most boring third wheel experience I think I've ever engaged in."
"Oh, yeah. Really wish I could've gone to that." She rolled her eyes. "If I wanted to see John and Mary going at it, I'd just go back to our room when they think no one's home." He snickered, but didn't move to clean the mess he'd made.
He was still watching her, something studious in his gaze. She fidgeted, checking again that her Mom wasn't stirring. Toby was playing cars in front of the television, everyone hushed to accommodate the shadowed room. After a few minutes of silent standoff, she sighed and grabbed the dishrag to clean up. Once she conceded, he took the rag back from her and cleaned, picking up the bowl and dumping it in the overfilled sink.
"If a dog has been mistreated by its owner, the dog will react with fear even when it has done nothing wrong." He leaned in to whisper in her ear, his hand gripping hers. She remembered the first time he'd held her hand, and felt the same gentle squeeze of comfort. "You are not a dog. Don't act like one."
She stood absolutely still, sure she was imagining the brush of his lips against her ear, or the ghost of his breath over her skin. He kissed her cheek, a slight gesture of condolence that forced her eyes closed.
"Ay! What did I say about my sister? Keep your hands off."
"We were just having a bit of a heart to heart." He leaned away from her, dropping her hand, but keeping eye contact until she looked away.
Both of them turned to see John in a ridiculous Christmas sweater. He held out his hands, a grin on his face that made Molly giggle.
"What on earth is that?" She managed to calm her laughter before it grew too loud.
"Mary got it for me. She said it suited my shape. What do you think?"
"You look like a giant snowflake. Let's go, now. Mary will have my head if you're late again." Sherlock tossed the remark over his shoulder as he headed out the door.
"I don't know why she expects you to keep up with me. You're late more often than I am." John shrugged.
The two of them made their way out of the apartment, leaving Molly alone to process her speeding pulse. The spot on her cheek where his lips met her skin still tingled. His words repeated in her head, filling her with a mix of shame and relief. She didn't come out of her thoughts until Toby pulled at her pajama pants.
"Hungwee. Sissy, hung-WEEee."
"Shh. Sissy will get it. Be quiet, ok?" He nodded and put his finger to his lips.
Molly checked the fridge and found a carton of eggs, three bottles of orange juice, and a half empty jug of milk. Two slices of cheese sat in the dairy slot, and that was it.
She smiled at her brother, pulling out a slice of cheese. She found two slices of bread in the bread box and threw together a grilled cheese and a glass of milk, sitting him at the table with strict instructions to be careful. He nodded at her, mouth full of cheese poking out between snaggled teeth.
Her luck did not hold long enough for Toby to finish his sandwich. Her mother woke with a snort, sitting up rapidly.
"Your dad home yet?" Her voice was groggy, and her eyes sunken.
"Not yet, Momma. It's only two in the afternoon. He won't be home for a couple of hours."
"Fetch me a drink." Molly hurried, grabbing another glass and tossing together the juice and vodka. It was too early for the nightcap and they were out of her mother's other favorites.
She couldn't have hurried fast enough to keep Momma from smelling the food in the air. She should've just given it to him plain, but he wouldn't eat the bread if the cheese wasn't melted to it. Still, the thought occurred that she should have waited when Momma stood up, murder in her eyes.
"What did I tell you about feeding my baby? That's a mother's job, now. Take it away."
Molly shrank back, the glass in her hands trembling. "I can't, Momma. He was hungry."
"So? Take it away." Momma sidled next to Toby, kissing his grinning cheeks. She spoke in a cooing voice, "Mommy'll make her baby some num-nums." Molly's stomach sank.
"There's nothing else to make, Momma. If I take the sandwich away, we don't have anything else for him to eat."
"You used up the last of our food?" Momma threw her hands up, exasperated. "What about me? What about your Momma, girl? Am I supposed to starve?"
"I just didn't want to wake you, Momma. Toby was hungry and I didn't want to wake you." She cursed the tears springing to her eyes, cursed her retreating feet.
You're not a dog.
She certainly felt like one.
"Wake me? You'd rather me starve to death than wake me?" Her mother's voice was shrill, and Toby started crying from the table.
Molly backed against a corner of the counter, trying to wipe the tears away before Momma saw. She held the drink out, hoping the peace offering would throw the woman off her case. Her shoulders sagged with relief when the glass was taken from her hand.
She straightened back up when Momma poured the drink on the floor, watching her intently.
"Now you clean that up, and make me another." Molly nodded, moving forward to take the glass. At least she had ensured Toby got to finish his food. "Get off your high horse around here, thinking you can decide who eats and who don't. Thinking you can strut about with your books and your schooling and tell me how to do my job. You ain't the only one who had learning."
Molly listened to her mother rant while she cleaned and refilled the glass. She continued listening while she did the dishes and wiped down the counters. The tirade lasted until her father came home and Momma pranced with a happy grin to kiss him on the cheek.
"Where's John at, Nel?" He pushed her away, looking her in the eyes and sneering when he saw them glazed over.
"He's out." Molly spoke up from the kitchen, glad to finally be free from the grating force of her mother's disapproval.
"Where'd he go to? Back out with that Mary character?"
"Yeah. They went out with Sherlock to some kind of dinner, I think." She rounded the corner, smiling at her father's work-worn face.
"Why didn't you go? Didn't you want out of the house?"
"Well, you know. I had studying to do. Besides, uh, Momma was asleep." She said the last bit quietly, hoping Momma wouldn't hear.
"I didn't doze for more than two minutes! Don't exaggerate, dear." Momma waved off her lie from the couch, all her teeth showing in a bright grin. She motioned Molly over, dragging her down onto the sofa. "Now, come sit with Momma and watch some soaps. Daddy's gonna make us some supper."
Daddy sighed as he put his briefcase on the table and ruffled Toby's hair. "I'm not cooking, Nel. I just spent nine hours at an office taking work calls. You can get off the soaps long enough to—" Molly heard the refrigerator door open, and then Daddy sighed again. "Molly, want to go out and get some groceries?"
"Sure, Daddy." She hopped up, ignoring her mother's grasping arms, and hurried to take the keys. "What do we need?"
"Just something for tonight. We can't afford much. Pick out something easy to cook. Do you mind making supper tonight?"
Molly waited for her mother's "that's a mother's job" to issue from the couch, but was met with only silence. "Sure, I'll make supper."
"That's a good girl. Hurry back now."
She was almost out the door when Momma leapt up and gave her a wet kiss on the cheek. "Be safe now, dear! Don't steal none of your Daddy's money, now!" Momma chuckled like she'd made a great joke and sat back down, eyes glued to the television as if she'd not done a thing.
By the time Molly returned, she could hear the screams in the apartment hallway. Other tenants who were poking their heads out for a clearer show gave her piteous stares as she fumbled with her key.
"NEL, YOU CAN'T JUST ORDER CRAFTS OFFLINE. CREDIT CARDS AREN'T MAGIC!" Her father's voice boomed from inside, and she considered not going in at all.
Then she heard Toby wailing in the background, and she finished turning the key to step inside.
The two parents were face to face, both red and yelling. Toby sat in front of a pile of toy cars, big, blobby tears sliding down his cheeks. She dropped the groceries on the table and scooped him up, whispering, "it's ok" into his ear as she rushed back to their room and closed the door.
They fell asleep curled together against the noise, the soft tune of a music box in a windowsill playing over them like a lullaby. She'd have to thank Mrs Morstan tomorrow.
John didn't show up for two days.
When Molly had asked Mary at school on Monday morning if she'd seen John, the girl had given her a confused look and said she'd thought he'd gone home over the weekend. No one at school had heard from him or Sherlock since they were last seen at a weekend party Saturday night.
It wasn't until she was returning home that she found John, still in his Christmas sweater, grinning from ear to ear as he waited for her at their bus stop. Sherlock wasn't with him, but John insisted he'd be by later.
"What do you think Mom's going to do?" He walked with his hands behind his head, shoulders swinging in a swagger.
"I don't know that she even realized you were gone. She and Daddy have been at it pretty bad."
"That's nice to know. Hey, I'm inviting a couple of friends over. Do you think you can help me clean up before they get here?"
"Didn't you just hear me? You're bringing them to the trenches." She ground her jaw, holding back a long list of retorts.
"Ah, Momma won't do nothing in front of strangers. Besides, they'll be gone before Dad gets back." He shrugged off her worry, and she envied his confidence.
"John, I'm always the one picking up. Do it yourself." She had a lot of studying to do anyway, she didn't have time.
"One of them is Sherlock." He wiggled his eyebrows at her. She didn't respond. "Don't worry, you'll like the other guy. He invited us over to his place this weekend. He's got a nice place with a pool and everything. He gave me a ride today."
"Why didn't you have him take you home?"
John shifted uncomfortably before he faced her. "Well, I figured you missed me, Sis. Besides, couldn't explain to Mom why I wasn't at school, could I?"
"You're the worst, John." She entered the apartment code and waited for the gate to open. "But I did worry over you. And so did Mary. You better tell her you're home safe."
"Of course I will."
"And you better actually help me clean. I'm not your maid, I'm not going to be cleaning by myself so you don't get embarrassed in front of your friends."
They entered to a silent apartment, and Molly immediately went to check on Toby. He slept, still and warm, in his toddler bed. Momma was passed out in her usual spot on the couch. Molly set to work picking up the bits of paper and trash strewn about, occasionally barking orders at John to wipe down the table or sweep up the kitchen. By the time Momma woke up the house was clean.
Molly was relieved that she seemed to be in a particularly good mood, kissing both her and John on the cheek before she spooned out Saturday's leftovers.
A sharp knock against the door signaled their guests' arrival. John glanced nervously around the room before opening the door and inviting them in.
The moment she saw Sherlock, she remembered the feel of his hand in hers, his lips pressed against her cheek. She breathed in sharply and smiled at him. He turned his head away, hands stuffed in his pockets. Molly frowned but greeted the next guest.
He was handsome, in a fancy kind of way. His dark hair was slicked back and he had shiny shoes. Standing in the midst of Fred's furniture and Dollar Store decor, he looked impeccably sophisticated. Her face turned red when his eyes caught hers, a smile splitting his face.
"Well, hello there. What a beauty you are." He leaned over, coal black eyes connected to hers in his mock bow. He reached for her hand, kissing her fingers like a prince in a fairy tale. Molly found it all a bit ridiculous. "I'm James Moriarty. You can call me Jim." He winked at her and she laughed.
"Isn't all that hand kissing a bit corny?"
"Says the girl with pigtails and polka dot bows in her hair." Sherlock quipped, eyes narrowed at Jim.
Molly flushed, running her hands over the two braids she'd worn to school today. She hadn't thought much of it, at the time. Now the adorable braids felt childish and silly.
"I think they suit her." Jim only smiled dreamily back at her, eyebrows raised. "Like an innocent little mouse."
"Mice are hardly pretty. Or innocent. Your compliment doesn't make any sense."
"Oh, what a jealous little boyfriend you are."
Sherlock straightened, stepping away from her and crossing his arms. "She's my best friend's baby sister."
"Right." Of course, Molly thought, always just his best friend's baby sister. "Nice to meet you, Jim."
Jim winked at her again. He walked into the kitchen and helped himself to a glass of orange juice. Molly waited for Momma to stop him, to say something about her juice.
Instead, Molly watched with horror as her mother's eyes skimmed over Jim in obvious appreciation. The woman sauntered from the living room, swaying halfway, to stand beside him. Jim shot her a quirked eyebrow, but didn't move away as Momma leaned too close to fix her own drink.
"Want some?" Momma held out the vodka bottle to Jim.
Molly didn't get to find out his answer. The apartment door swung open, banging against the wall.
Her dad stepped through, and the three boys hurried off down the hall. Molly almost followed them, but something about her father's face made her stop. Daddy's face was red and his eyes were swollen. Something was wrong. He was eyeing the bottle in Momma's hand, anger passing in a storm cloud over his expression.
"Nel, we need to have a talk. Now, you've got to stop drinking. We can't afford it anymore."
"Now, dear, we've had this discussion before. I need the inspiration."
He dropped his briefcase by the door and began removing his tie, hands shaking. "Look, I don't care what you call it. I don't care if you think it's liquid gold. We can't afford it, and once your stock is gone it's gone for good."
"You can't tell me what I can and can't buy, Stephan. It's my money too! I get a say!"
"There is no money, Nel! Thanks to you, I lost my job!"
Molly's blood went cold.
He rounded on Momma, gripping her shoulders and shaking her until she spit out a retort. "Thanks to me? You can't blame me for losing your bullshit job, Stephan!"
Molly backed away from the pair, mouth hanging open. She picked up Toby and carried him, kicking and screaming, away from Daddy and into their room. She looked around for John or even Sherlock, her bottom lip quivering.
It was empty. The window was open. She was alone.
She curled into a ball and cried, listening to the argument raged. Toby patted her shoulders, asking her over and over again if she was ok. She didn't know how to tell him what had happened.
Daddy didn't have a job.
They didn't have any money.
What were they going to do?
"Listen to me, woman. Don't think I don't know what you do around here all day, buying art crap off the internet and bullying telemarketers all day. You've got to stop this nonsense. Get your head out of the clouds, because you're going to run us to the ground."
"You're the one who lost his job. You can't blame that on me! What'd you do? Get caught fucking Josie over the printers? Think I don't know about Josie? Think I don't know about all your late night phone calls?"
"Shut UP, Nel. Dammit, just shut the hell up!" Something glass crashed, followed by another and another. It took too long for her to realize what was happening.
Daddy was smashing Momma's bottles.
He thundered into her room, Momma hot on his tail.
"Give me Toby, Molly. I'm going. I'll be back in the morning. Just give me Toby. I've got to get out of this damned hell of a house."
"Daddy?" He yanked Toby from her arms, and the boy's cries stopped immediately. She stared at Momma's fiery face for a second and then grabbed her father's arm before he rushed from the room. "Take me with you."
"I'll be back tomorrow to pick up you and John. Get his ass back here, Molly. You hear me?"
Molly nodded, tears welling up in her eyes as she watched him run through the door. Momma followed him out, begging him to stay.
"We'll work on it, baby. We'll make it better. Come on, don't go. Don't take my baby. Don't take my Toby."
He shook her off, storming towards the door. Molly watched him until he disappeared down the hallway. Momma collapsed into sobs on the floor, screaming for him to come back until her voice was hoarse.
Molly stared at the door until Momma's breaths evened out into sleep. Then she turned and ran to her room, grabbing any bag she could find on the way.
John was waiting for her.
"He said he's coming back for us in the morning." She explained as quickly as she could. John's watery eyes brightened, and he started helping her toss stuff into bags.
They packed only the essentials. Clothes, toothbrushes, toothpaste. Molly was sure to pack some of Toby's warmest clothes. For the first time that she could remember, hope bloomed to life in her chest.
They were going to get out.
They were going to be free.
She could imagine it, had imagined it, a hundred times. Waking up without having to make Momma's "wake-me-up breakfast." Going to sleep without having to worry about covering her bruises at school. It was heaven. Heaven was just one tomorrow away.
"I'm going to go tell Mary goodbye." They'd stacked everything in between their room and their parents' room.
"Ok, but I doubt we're moving too far away. At least not at first."
"Just in case, you know." And then he disappeared out the window again.
She took the time to sneak into her parents' room and pack up her daddy's stuff. She took anything that looked remotely of value and stuffed it into the last bag, along with work shirts and work pants and all of his ties. By the time she finished the bag was bursting at the seams, but she held it together long enough to toss it onto the pile of luggage they'd already gathered.
John returned soon after and pulled Mary's music box from his pocket.
"She said we could have it, in case we didn't see her again." His voice was thick, and his eyes puffy from crying, but even she could see that he was ready.
He wound up the small knob on the bottom of the box and they listened to the tinkling music while they waited. Neither of them could sleep, so they sat out on the luggage.
Molly watched her mother's form crumpled by the door, the rise and fall of her chest the only sign that she was alive. She listened past the music of the box for the sound of a key in the lock or footsteps down the hall. Long after John began to snore, she listened and watched and waited.
She was still waiting as the sun shone through their bedroom doorway. Her alarm went off for school, and she still sat staring at the door.
After the fifth bleep of the alarm, she nudged John awake.
"Come on, John. We need to go to school."
"Can't we skip?"
"Not unless you want to fail. We've got exams today."
"Bugger exams. I don't care about exams."
"John, it's important. Don't you ever want to get out of here?"
"We are getting out of here."
"Just in case. Maybe he plans to check us out of school?" She didn't say just in case Daddy changes his mind. Just in case Daddy doesn't show. Just in case he leaves them behind. The fear had chipped away at her confidence with every passing hour of the night and morning.
"Hm. You're right." He stifled a yawn behind his hand. "Dad knew we had exams today, didn't he?"
She watched him disappear into the bathroom, and continued watching the door. She didn't want to miss it if it opened. She was still waiting on their pile of goods when her mother sat up, glaring around the room.
"What the hell are all those bags for? You planning on leavin' me too?"