Thanks again to everyone who's stuck with the story. I know things are, well…angsty, but there is a plan: a method to the madness.
About the title: The town's not gonna get taken over by cannibalistic ravens or anything like that, although that idea has been tempting at times : ) It's more of a symbolic thing that has to do with where the characters are now and my long-term plan for where they will be.
Now, time to catch up with a few of the MIA memorial-goers...
####
She couldn't imagine any fancy-schmancy runway in Paris that could beat this. The lead model strutted down the carpeted aisle in a glittery get-up that could rival Erica Kane.'s wardrobe, both in style and in size. Although she'd probably do best not to let her gal pal in on that last thought. This model - with her hair dolled up in the latest pink and purple zebra stripes -insisted on being the first out because she was,of course, the oldest. A mini-diva wouldn't be denied her moment in the limelight, though. Straightening her topsy-turvy orange curls and batting the eyes coated in a shade of blue that might've originated in the land of Oz, she showed proudly that she had inherited her grandmother's flare for the outrageous. Said grandma would just call it an appreciation for the glamorous, however. The models' charming escort rocked down the runway with a little dance number that was gonna break a million hearts someday, and maybe a few on the playground now. She was proud to say her hair-dressing prowess hadn't totally flown the coop yet. She'd been the genius – or the culprit – behind all the amazing displays today, including the boy's slicked-up spikes. She'd had to give that one a few creative adjustments, but he had insisted. Just, as she suspected, his daddy would have at that age. She let out a startled yelp when an especially enthusiastic dance move went a bit off-kilter and sent the little move-maker, spikes and all, plowing into his big cousin.
Opal waited with hand on her mouth for the inevitable munchkin showdown, but Jenny simply harrumphed an exasperated "Trevor!" and returned to her posing, with a hair toss for good measure. Someone had gotten their little fingers on old videos of the queen diva herself.
Peppering the room with whistles and hollers, Opal clapped heartily. She'd give the little ones this, especially today. When the babysitting talk had started, she gladly offered her services. No payments. A familiar face. She'd even faked a cough. Just not feeling up to par. Any excuse. She could only admit to herself the real reason for her offer. Her Opal Special brand of comfort worked with kids. Otherwise, it was either a humorous nod or a head-shaking nuisance at weddings, bachelorette parties, and the occasional holiday disaster.
Solemn silence especially, she couldn't do. She always felt terribly out of place at sad events. Normally, being the bright feather in the cap fit her. But in that deep quiet, the feather always floated away. Useless. She'd learned that lesson the hard way many, many years ago. On days like today, those years were like yesterday.
That's why she had left her other charges to their quiet corners. But as the star trio of Emma, Jenny, and Trevor scattered and prepared for their next show, Opal braced herself and approached the first corner.
"We can gussy you up too, sweetie. I'll betcha that extra dress I've got'll—"
Kathy shook her head, watching the other children leave. "No thanks."
Opal tousled the girl's hair, which proved difficult since she'd cut it so short. "What's the matter? Too old for a Glamorama Special?"
Kathy studied her hands. "It's not that. It's just –" she shrugged, trailing off.
"I know today's tough, sweetie." Opal sat down beside her granddaughter. "I'm just trying to remind you that despite everything, the world can still be a happy place." She wrinkled her nose. "That didn't sound too corny, did it?"
Kathy offered up her first smile. It was beautiful in its crooked way, and Opal didn't see it nearly enough for her liking. "No, Glamma. Actually, I think it's really helping Jenny. She acts like losing her sister doesn't bother her, but I know it does. Last night, she was saying Rissa's name in her sleep."
Opal's heart broke even more at that. Her eyes moved to the final figure in the room: the one hunched over a piece of paper. "How is AJ doing?"
In the land of crazy questions, that one took the cake. Just a year ago, in one day he'd lost his mother, his aunt…and his father. Opal wished she could say she still knew that little boy with the wide innocent eyes and the mop top. Sadly, she couldn't.
Kathy sighed. "He hasn't said anything to anyone since he's been here. I tried to look at his picture, though. I thought I'd tell him it was good. Something, you know? But he just snatched it right out of my hand before I could see it and gave me this look –"
The smile had disappeared, and the all-too familiar look perennially gracing her granddaughter's features had returned.
"Everyone who loves that little boy will help him through this," Opal said, struggling a bit to believe her own words. She put her hand over the knuckles that had captivated Kathy's attention. "Sweetie, is something else bothering you?"
The girl relaxed at the soft touch. She lifted her eyes.
The quiet was doing its darnedest again. Opal's mouth dried as her granddaughter's opened just slightly.
When the squeaking of the front door broke the silence, she couldn't deny that she was a bit relieved..
Caleb Courtlandt materialized in the hallway, in his trademark plaid that normally would have created quite a different reaction in her other than the current uneasiness.
'Don't do this today,' she thought as she saw David Hayward by his side.
But then again, wasn't today, of all days, the perfect day to execute their plan?
####
The kiss, equally as tender as the cheek stroke, turned long and languid. With deliberate slowness, she pulled away from her lover.
Fingertips brushed her lips before trekking to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "That was –"
She grinned wickedly, lifting an eyebrow. "Mind-blowing? Amazing? World-rocking, or at least -"
The finger moved back to her lips. This time, to silence her. "Right." Two blue eyes, inches from her own, misted. "I don't regret anything."
Her grin settled into a smile as her hand glided down a damp body. Satisfied by the intermingling sigh and groan when her fingers rested, she leaned over and whispered a final sweet-nothing into her lover's ear: "I think you might."
Bianca drew back from the confused woman. It was time to dispense with the pleasantries, pleasant as they might be. "You have a key to his office, right? I know you're just a secretary, but the guy's given you access, I'm sure. The sweet, doe-eyed types always get access."
"Wha-what?"
"I'll take that as a yes," she said, studying her nails even as the sheets rustled.
Her companion wouldn't get up. It wouldn't be proper, after all. Besides, she couldn't think of a more fitting place to conduct negotiations.
"I'm sure you're aware of your boss' alleged…activities," she continued. "Maybe you're involved, maybe you're not." She shrugged. "That part doesn't really matter to me."
"And what does matter to you?"
Ah, finally, a dialogue again. She didn't want to have to go all Shakespearean monologue here.
"The truth matters." This time she did meet those eyes, which still didn't possess the fire she wanted or needed. "It's all that matters," she finished.
"Really? Where was your precious truth an hour ago? A day ago? A few weeks ago when I first saw you again and thought –" She cut herself off. "Was it always about this? My job? My access?"
The last word dripped with an emotion she'd become intimately familiar with. She dsmissed it with one shake of the head and bit her lip to suppress, or bring forth, the smirk. "No, that wasn't all. You have picked up some nice –" Her eyes slowly trekked the body still covered in its paper-thin sheet of virtue – "tricks along the way."
The flinch wouldn't quite bring the satisfaction she was aiming for.
"What happened to you?" Still, no anger. No fire. Damnit, why wouldn't she just - "What happened to that girl that wanted to kick the stars?"
"Life happened, Sarah." No snappy comeback. No witty retort. Just the automated response. The truth. "Just life."
Confusion, hurt, disappointment passed the face across from her, and a hint of something that by God wouldn't have its say.
"I want you to take this –" Bianca reached over to the dresser drawer and pulled out the small device. "I want you to put it underneath his desk. Maybe I won't get a top-secret meeting, but I'll get a nice bit of boasting at some point, I'm sure. Guys like him, their arrogance always gets them in the end. "
"I won't –"
"But you will, I think." She took a now-cold hand in her own, pulling it towards her as it tried to move away. She caressed that tiny spot just above the thumb – a weak spot, she knew – until it yielded. She placed the surveillance device on Sarah's open palm, then she moved her finger to a dark corner of the room, punctuated only by a faint red light. "If you'/re worried about handling surveillance equipment, don't be. I can teach you. I have some experience in the matter."
The hand stiffened beneath her. "You recorded us?"
"Yes, I'm afraid it's a weakness of mine." She paused the perfected amount of time before offering her innocent observation. "It really would be quite unfortunate if a certain bright prospective Congressman had a tarnish put on his family-values platform." She still had to drive the point home. Close the deal. "I'd say finding the great young hope's wife in a compromising – to say the least – position with another woman might be good for, oh, at least fifteen minutes of newsbytes. But that's all it takes, right?" She tapped her chin with a fingernail. "Although it might be more than fifteen, though. We really did put on quite a show."
No tears. No proclamations of hatred. Just closing fingers. She had her answer, but, once again, the satisfaction wouldn't come.
This time, Sarah did remove herself from the tangle of sheets. Bianca watched as she quietly put on her clothes, picked up her purse, and slipped the bug inside it.
She turned to Bianca "I don't respect my boss. He's a louse, and I was counting the days until I could stop working for him." She crossed her arms over her heart. "I would've done it anyway, if you had asked. I would've done it for someone I…loved. But that someone doesn't exist anymore." And with that, she made a move for the door.
No. She didn't get the last say. Bianca pushed down and clamped the useless things that wanted to take control of her. Instead, in the steadiest voice, she got the final word. "By the way, when you're performing your wifely duties tonight, don't think of me. Get through it some other way, but you won't use me to do it. I would advise, however, taking a shower beforehand. To remove any reminders."
The door closed not with a clatter or a bang, but with a soft click She stared at the camera's eye watching her. Lifting the blanket, she removed the things clouding her vision and her thoughts with one fierce swipe. Schooling every muscle in her face, she lowered the blanket and gave the spying eye one impressive Kane glare. She'd learned she was quite natural at it.
Especially in business. Picking up the nearby phone, she hesitated at the blinking icon flashing on the screen. Against her better judgment, she tapped the screen, revealing the message from two hours earlier:
"Please come with us. You need this. –K."
When her shaking finger missed the delete button, she cursed before jabbing the button forcefully. The screen went blank.
The equally forceful exhale helped still her hand, but it couldn't quite do the same for her mind. She filled the empty space with her own message: the testament to her control.
"Brooke, I have an in. We'll get what we need soon." She pressed 'Send' and turned the phone off. It would remain off for the rest of the day.
With minimal effort, she dressed. That part, at least, had gotten easier. She carefully positioned herself, grasped the steel bars, and did not shiver at their chill. Truthfully, she didn't feel it. Nor did she react when her leg knocked against the dresser. As she maneuvered into the seat of the wheelchair, the familiar numbness settled. She felt nothing.
Nothing at all.
####
She smiled, placing the bottle of black mole sauce amidst the corn. The stuff was always his weakness. He'd joked once that he missed it more than toilet paper during their stint in that especially remote African village. The corn assured his life would continue, and the sauce would help it stay picante. And he wouldn't need the requisite water to protect him, because she knew he could hand those evil spirits their…backside all on his own, with a grin to boot.
Cara stepped back and evaluated her handiwork. They'd preferred the simplicity of the ofrendas to the elaborate and ornate traditional memorials of their faith. When they were in DWB, they'd tried to make one, however small and rudimentary, for as many patients as they could. It was her duty – her honor - to find out those little things that mattered: those details that would fill the tiny altars with the unique essence of the memorialized.
She'd hated the funeral, with all of its overblown ceremony and ritual, although she had neither the heart nor the courage to tell her mother that it was something her brother would have never wanted. That's why she couldn't go today. More formality, more wooden ornaments drowning in dark colors. She would acknowledge the day that overshadowed a hundred field surgeries in her own way.
Uttering a silent prayer, she put the finishing touch on the altar's centerpiece. The tiny flame burned bright.
"I love you, Griff. Always."
She raised her head and tuned out the shouts and the ever-constant loudness that characterized the place where she'd tried to revalidate the oaths she'd taken as a doctor. By treating the individuals who most challenged them, maybe she could remind herself that those professional and personal promises still mattered.
The approaching commotion outside her door made the tuning out impossible. Reluctantly leaving her brother, Cara raced into the prison's corridor. Two of the guards separated. The third she pushed aside, revealing the bloodied man on the stretcher.
A part of her knew it was inevitable, and a part could even appreciate the sick irony of facing it today. Her greatest challenge.
JR Chandler.