"MAYBE he'll take me to the hospital or something and I can call you from there—"

Charlie closed his phone with a snap.

"It ends after that," he said with a bit of a frown.

"Jesus," Betty said. "And these types of messages are normal?"

"Well," Charlie shrugged, not looking as sheepish as she would have expected. "I mean, yeah, she calls me sometimes when she's in trouble and the messages always sound horrible, but like I said last night, when she tells me she'll call, she usually does. And she usually… doesn't end her messages like that."

Betty thought there were more pressing worries in the message than the ending itself, but could not find it in herself to snarkily comment. She still had a bitter taste in her mouth from having been forced to listen to Andromeda Harrison's grating voice again for the first time in a decade.

"No chance the guy is taking care of her either, huh?"

He scratched his cheek where light stubble dusted the surface. He looked more his age this morning, even with the curly bedhead and the wrinkled shirt you'd expect from a teenage boy. The lines on his face were all a bit deeper and noticeable in broad daylight and the old spot scars he had lining his jaw aged him somehow. He said he had slept in a motel down the street from Betty's apartment, but she wouldn't be surprised if he had crashed in the backseat of his Buick instead.

"I'd certainly be surprised," he said diplomatically.

Betty sighed. Bad taste in men— how dreadfully unsurprising of the woman. "Fine, fine, let's go. Molly said she's up already."

He brightened at that and even she couldn't resist her own lip curling upward at the expression. She had to admit, something about Charlie could be comforting. Even now, she was a little surprised at how familiar he felt after all these years, how easy it was.

Cuban was his choice of breakfast, to-go, his scalding espresso and melted Cubano scarfed down within the time it took for him to pull out from the parking lot in a feat both impressive and disgusting. He had enough decency to pay for Betty's modest orange juice and poached eggs and she had enough decency to take her morning smoke outside the restaurant while he was ordering so he wouldn't be tempted to bum. The lady working the counter had glared at her for some reason when she had walked in, but was all smiles when Charlie began smiling and talking sweetly in Spanish, which seemed about par for the course.

His car was old and falling apart on the outside, somewhat less-so on the inside. The seats were worn and well-loved, rich brown leather that smelled of smoke and limes, strangely enough. It was neat up-front for the most part, save for the hundreds of receipts tucked into the passenger side and the half-deflated volleyball dying around her ankles. She couldn't remember if he ever mentioned playing it and similarly surprising, a crucifix hung around his rearview mirror, which was only odd since she never thought him religious.

He had never been particularly interesting, in Betty's opinion, nor dangerous, and it was always those absences about him that made her think he would have been a good Michael's kid.

Nosy, maybe.

("What's wrong, Bird?"

She was tracing tattoos on her thighs, the ones just peeking out from beneath her skirt; she only barely grazed the one he had done, his ugly moth that he had put too much effort into. She didn't even look up at his words.)

Pathetic, surely.

("Hey." Her eyes could be rather bewitching, he noticed. Beer-bottle green. Dark and jaded and intense, framed with spidery, clumpy black lashes and smudged liner that was just so Andy. "You're okay."

He smiled. She put her pale hand on his tawny cheek. Her skin barely grazed his own. It was, after all, a gesture only for him. "I'm okay," he repeated. The port-wine stain on her face looked like blood.

She arched a too-thin eyebrow and then smiled, pulling her hand back and giving him a light one-two tap on the cheek that made him laugh. "Good. Now, c'mon, let's get out of here.")

"Cut that out."

"Huh? Cut what out?"

"That. The trip down your memory lane I'm taking here."

("C'mon, you can tell me," Andy said rather smugly. "I know you don't like him— I can sense it with my witchy powers." She wiggled her fingers after this much to his amusement. "You want to talk shit sooo bad."

"I'm an innocent soul," he said. "I choose peace."

"Oh, I see. You hate him," she laughed; once, twice, a witch's cackle both times, and then she laughed a little more and unraveled herself from Charlie, standing up with that grin on her face like a cat who fell into the cream. "Charlie, Charlie, Charlie… who would have thought?")

"Oh, sorry," Charlie murmured, straightening up. "'ve got a lot on my mind."

The feeling of warmth seeped away slowly, dulling to a soft throb and Betty exhaled as the memories that didn't belong to her faded. It felt, dimly, like someone was letting go of her hand. "Yeah, I know. Don't keep it on mine too, please."

He made a soft sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh and glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "It was a nice memory of yours, by the way, with your dad."

She inhaled through her teeth. "Yeah, well. The anniversary is in two weeks, so…" And so she didn't know. The thought had been nice when she had it; to visit that memory, live through it all over again just for another moment with him, for that feeling of contentment that she had back then.

But it was somehow worse now.

"I'm sorry," he said.

He probably meant it, but all she could do was peer out the window and say, "That's a hell of a power."

He let the statement sit in the air and breathed out, "Yeah."

And then after he had made a series of turns, he said, "You don't live with your sister?"

"Only way we can be friends," Betty snorted. "You?"

"I live alone," he smiled.

"Right. You know that's not what I meant, but whatever," she said, rolling her eyes. She was pretty sure he was an only child anyway, or some form of foster kid or orphan, the background typically expected of someone from St. Raphael's which were a typically sad lot. "Anyways, I can't even believe you remembered she existed." She was sure she had only mentioned Molly once or twice to Charlie back when they were students. Annoying little sisters didn't tend to come up naturally in teenage Betty's conversations.

He laughed a little. Lightly.

"Think of who you're talking to, Bets," he raised an eyebrow at her when she glanced over. "Couldn't forget if I wanted to."

("Cute bracelet," Charlie said. He was rubbing his palms rather tenderly, both of them swollen, red and blistered, while still managing to hold the cigarette rather deftly between his fingers. Betty politely averted her eyes from the wounds. They had been sitting there for a few minutes and she had let him aimlessly chat and bum smokes off her while she listened and occasionally made a comment. Just like last time they had met up, really.

"It's not mine," she said, looking at the flowery acrylic charms in ugly pastels hanging from her wrist, rattling them mirthlessly. "My sister gave it to me over break. She's using her weird little mind powers or whatever to try and see if she can see where I am with it, which won't work. She can barely tell if I'm standing outside our house."

"D'aww, that's sweet though," he said, "You don't see many mutant siblings running around, least of all looking after one another..."

He trailed off as he looked away. Betty followed his line of sight to where a lanky, dark-haired person seemed to be casually waiting at the end of the arching stone passageway and she sighed.

"That'll be Les. Alright, I'm off, Bets. Catch 'ya later," he said, not even waiting for her to say goodbye before he was standing up and stomping out his cigarette and running off to catch up with his friend already walking away. He turned back to wave and shout, "Thanks for the cigs!"

Then both were gone and out of sight. She couldn't even be mad. She was, unfortunately, used to Charlie Castillo leaving her behind.)

Molly leaned into Betty conspiratorially. "He's cute. Is he into redheads?"

"Redheads; sure, flirts; no," Betty said dryly to which her sister rolled her eyes.

Molly Summers had opened her door practically bouncing on her heels, great big hair bouncing along with her, smiling so wide that her gap tooth was competing for attention with her curls. When the first thing Charlie had said upon laying eyes on her was, "Why, Bets, you never told me your sister was a supermodel," then Betty knew that she was in for a long day.

Her sister was short and stout, freckled and friendly, and a great deal prettier than her, she could admit. She had lived with this reality for the past twenty-two years, anyway. At the very least, she could tell that Charlie was just being Charlie.

"Y'know, Betty never mentioned you when we were kids," Molly said after having made paltry introductions and waiting pointedly for her nosy roommate to leave the room. She looked positively delighted to have company and was flitting back and forth about the lounge, occasionally fluffing up her hair or adjusting her outfit.

"Ouch," he said, not looking very hurt at all. "Well, I'm not surprised. We weren't all that close even at our closest."

"Close enough for you to ask her to ask me to help you out though?" Molly looked between the two of them with interest and Betty rolled her eyes. The phone-call they had had where Betty had explained as best as she could had been very long-winded in nature. "Sorry, I'm just curious is all. I've never even met someone from one of the Trinity besides Betty, obviously. Never got the chance to go there myself."

"'Close enough' is a good way to say it," he smiled. "Nostalgia might have something to do with it too."

Betty barked out a laugh. "You're probably the only one who thinks of our days back then as anything but shitty. Trust me, Molls, like I said, it's good you were never enrolled."

Charlie ignored her as if she hadn't even said anything and spoke to Molly, "So, how's all this work? You look into a crystal ball or something?" He plucked out a butterscotch candy from the coffee table offerings. "I am, of course, very grateful for your help in the first place."

"Let's see how helpful I am first before you thank me. Like Betty, my ability is a bit… limited." Molly tugged on her hair nervously. "I can usually only see or find… or sense people I've already met is the thing."

Charlie's face dropped immediately. "But I thought—"

"I can sometimes, sometimes track down an object or someone if I have a picture of them or if I have something they own, but it's not very accurate," she winced. "I don't really do it often, so sometimes I'm wrong or it just doesn't work, I'm sorry… but I can still try and do it! I just thought I'd let you know."

When Charlie glanced over at Betty, she frowned and said half-defensively, "She didn't go to our shitty little schools so, obviously she's not the best at it. But I wouldn't have asked her if I thought she couldn't do it."

Molly sent a sideways grin at her, clearly wanting to say something cheeky but just managing not to. When she didn't, Betty returned the smile with some fondness. Molly could do it. Probably.

Looking suddenly awkward, Charlie shifted his weight, offering an out-of-place smile. "Alright, well, you're the best chance I've got and I trust Betty, so…"

"Great!" Molly interrupted, clearly ready to prove herself. "Do you have a picture of her?"

His eyebrows raised. "You're in luck, yeah. I don't usually keep pictures, but…" he took out his wallet from his jean pocket, square and brown and leather, and withdrew an old photo that was rubbed rough at the edges. Betty and Molly both leaned over to look at it, watching as he nudged the rest of his other few photos back into the slots they were falling out of.

This was young Charlie, hair shorter and nose unbroken in his old uniform. No jacket or blazer on as usual, tie loosened and button-up only half-tucked in. He was looking away from the camera, laughing at someone or something that couldn't be seen. Andromeda was beside him where he stood, crouching and leaning against his leg. She stared at the camera with a knowing smile.

The two of them must have been about thirteen or fourteen. Someone was walking in the background who couldn't be made out, blurred slightly in motion. Someone else was only halfway in frame, a side profile of crooked, chopped hair and long legs and perhaps even dark tattoos peeking out from beneath her skirt. The camera flash washed everything out, streaked too white and bright. The port-wine stain on Andromeda's face looked a bit like blood. It was kind of a shit picture, if Betty had to be honest.

Molly gingerly took the picture in her hands. "You were rather cute back then," she said lightly to him to which he grinned. She stared at the picture. Her eyes went pale blue, silvery and watery, like a dewdrop on a bluebell. A minute passed. Then she blinked. Her eyes flooded back to their normal sky and she was left worrying her lip. It hadn't worked. "Yeah, couldn't get a read… 'm still not good with people, sorry."

"What about the choker she has on in the picture? She's always worn that, even now. Could you track that?"

She looked up at him nervously, muttering a small, "I can try," and then looking back at the picture. Her eyes paled again, leaving Charlie to nervously fidget.

When she stopped this time, she smiled.

"I think I've got it."

Charlie opened the passenger door of his shitty little car for Molly with no lack of flourish and a murmured, "Milady," to which she had giggled and batted her eyelashes good-naturedly and Betty had made sure to drag her thumb across her throat when she made eye-contact with him before getting in. He only grinned, the bastard.

"Of course I'm in the back," she muttered.

"I mean, I am the one giving directions," Molly replied bemusedly, to which she ignored.

The first thing she laid eyes on in the backseats were a fallen pair of ugly velour velvet heels tucked under the passenger seat in front of her where real fear rose in her heart at the sight. "When was the last time these seats were cleaned?" she ventured, scrunching her face, far too afraid to look for any more signs of incriminating evidence.

Charlie laughed as he checked his rearview. "Don't worry, don't worry, I haven't been naughty," and then to Molly, "so, you said about a few hours' drive due east?"

"Something like that. It's not exact… but I'm feeling the thrumming from there. That's usually a good thing? It'll get more accurate as I move closer," Molly explained. "It's kind of hard to explain since you're not, like, in my mind."

He put his hands up and shook his head. "I don't need to understand, don't worry. I've met mutants with way more unexplainable powers than you," he said, almost fondly. "But, more seriously, is a day-trip really alright with you guys? I know it's a bit much to ask for," he said.

"Sure! Sounds fun to me. It's the weekend after all," Molly said brightly. "Besides, meeting another mutant? Can't pass on that. Betty told me a bit about y—"

"Yeah, I said what I said," Betty interrupted, dodging her sister trying to pinch her around her seat. "But no more Motown. I'd rather not feel a thousand years old."

"Fine, fine," he said without much complaint, popping open the middle compartment. "Seeing as how you are both graciously helping me, go ahead and pick one out."

"I see where all the money you saved on this car went," Betty muttered, leaning over with some interest at the offerings which almost spilled out. Some were considerably more beat up than others; Otis Redding and Marvin Gaye among them. Others were still in their cellophane. "There's no way you actually listen to all of these."

"I don't. But they're good to have."

"Mmm… any Britney?"

"Obviously," he said. "Should be in there somewhere. No Spice Girls though, sorry, Bets."

"Figures," she sighed watching her sister gleefully dig around for her choice. She leaned back in her seat. It was going to be a long ride.

When Charlie got onto the highway, Betty came to the unfortunate realization that she hadn't brought anything with her for the ride. A crossword puzzle or sudoku would have been nice. She glanced around the car for anything that could appeal to her at all. A few magazines and a cardboard box left slightly ajar were sitting to the left of her, tucked securely into the side and seat-belted in for some reason. She shuffled the magazines around with some interest before tilting her head.

"Any reason you have a cardboard box buckled in?"

"No."

Betty blinked, her hand nearly withdrawing from the box and pile. "Okay…" But when she tilted her head just-so, she could see the sheen of the plastic within and —she faced forward, her brows knitting.

Surely not. She peeked again, ever-so-slightly. No way. "What's in the box?"

He didn't answer.

"Charlie, don't tell me that's what I think it is."

"Alright," Charlie kept his eyes on the road. "I won't."

Molly turned in her seat, brows furrowed all of a sudden. "Wait, what's going on?"

"Charlie—"

"Yes, fine, it's Dion. It's Dion, okay? What? What more am I supposed to say?"

Betty's eyes nearly popped out of her head. God, she had thought so, but had hoped not.

"His ashes? You just have his ashes sitting here in a box in your backseat? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He glared at her in the rearview. "I couldn't just leave him alone! I had to bring him!"

"Why didn't you spread him somewhere then?!"

"By myself?" he said with earnest distress.

Molly looked between the two of them and then at the box, pursing her lips before gesturing towards the shabby little container that contained Dion. "Um, is that really someone you know?"

"Well, yes," Charlie said, then seemed to not be able to explain himself, narrowing his eyes as he pretended to concentrate to change lanes.

"This asshole has our old classmate in a box for some reason," Betty said, rubbing her temples. She couldn't reconcile the two images in her head. She hadn't even known Dion that well, but it felt very wrong and strange to have his remains sitting next to her so casually. "God, has he been sitting here for your entire drive up?"

"Yeah. Why not?" Charlie said, frowning. "He was a better passenger than you've been. Quiet, never asked for bathroom breaks, never complained about the music…"

"You are the most screwed-up person I know."

"I'm just saying— first off, he would have laughed," he said. "Secondly, I've been meaning to put him at rest, I just… figured I'd get Andy first. And then we could spread him in the ocean or something, I don't know. He seems like he would have liked the ocean. It would be a bit sad if it was just me. I wanted to call… well, it doesn't matter now."

That wasn't that much better. "I couldn't imagine her giving less of a shit about Dion," Betty said. She had really meant to say it to herself, but it had cut through the music awkwardly and the car suddenly filled with strange, stuffy tension. Charlie hadn't outwardly reacted to her words, which made her feel even worse. She hadn't said anything wrong. When she turned to look out the window, she saw Molly glaring at her though the passenger side-mirror as if she had committed some great social faux pas.

"I mean, I think I can understand it. The box, I mean. And waiting. It's not that weird. Was Dion a close friend of yours?" Molly asked.

"No, not really," Charlie said. "Maybe sometimes he was." He looked over at her and smiled. "But I remember him. Isn't that enough?"

Molly didn't seem to have an answer for that.

The apartment building they ended up at was located on the outskirts of the city's downtown area, slate gray and made of robust concrete. It was overcast when they arrived and not as late as they had expected, but the moon still peeked through the clouds and gave the evening an indigo tinge to it.

"Not the hospital," Betty said. "Good, right?"

Charlie didn't seem as relieved as she would have thought, but he did nod absentmindedly, distracted by his phone and what Betty guessed was Andromeda still not answering his calls.

Molly, however, was very much-so relieved. She had nudged Betty as they trailed behind Charlie and whispered, "I can't believe that worked." That was fair to say. As far as Betty knows, Molly had only ever tracked her lost luggage across a distance like this.

"Yeah, you did good," Betty smiled as they approached the gate.

"Real good! Can't believe I ever doubted you, Summers," Charlie said, suddenly snapping to it. "Dinner's on me after this, whatever you want."

Molly laughed coyly, "You're going to regret that."

The building itself wasn't even that run-down, though the gate with the buzz-in box hadn't even been hatched and in fact, easily opened when they pushed on it.

"Lucky," Molly had murmured. "'Wouldn't have even known where to buzz up."

She had guided them through the rest of the building, hands clutching the picture hesitantly, occasionally stopping to check where her mind was guiding her until they made their way to the fourth floor, unit 406. The plaque was shiny golden, the door red, a plain brown welcome mat just outside of it. Betty was now coming to the realization that she was going to see Andromeda again and debating whether or not she should take her long-needed smoke break downstairs.

"This should be it," Molly said, still somewhat in awe of herself. "What now?"

"I knock and she answers," Charlie said. "Or I knock and her boyfriend answers. That's usually how it goes down. Everything after that depends."

He knocked on the door rather briskly after that.

The three of them waited. No answer.

He knocked again.

No answer.

"Um, what happens if neither of them are home?" Molly asked.

Charlie tried the door knob and almost immediately the door gave and popped open a few inches, making both Betty and Molly jump in surprise. Unlocked.

"Hmm, that doesn't bode well," Charlie quipped. He hadn't fully opened the door, but his hand remained on the knob as all three of them waited for someone to come storming out, up-in-arms at the sudden intrusion.

"What are you doing?" Betty hissed when he didn't immediately let go or close the door. Her favor did not extend to helping him trespass into someone's property for the sake of Andromeda Harrison.

"I'm just going to take a look around," he said. "Sometimes she's not in the best shape."

"Is it really okay for you to just… walk in?" Molly said, brows knitting together.

"No—" Betty started.

"What if I got the address wrong? And this is just some random person's place you're walking into?" Molly said. "I don't think we'll be able to explain this."

He shrugged. He did not look perturbed. Betty understood why he had been sent to St. Raphael's all-too soon. "It'll be fine. I've done this before. Well, not this exactly, but don't worry. There's a way to explain everything. Just stay out here. Sometimes the guys she's with aren't exactly nice. I'll be right back."

And then before Betty or Molly could protest further, he had already walked in, the door hinging shut behind him.

"Don't you think he's been in there a while?" Molly asked. She leaned against the wall, twisting a curl around her finger as she looked at Betty.

Her sister was right, unfortunately. It had been eerily silent since Charlie had walked in. No talking, no yelling, no laughing or crying. He had called out Andromeda's name once, twice as he had entered and now, nothing.

Unease, that thick and heady tension, had knotted her insides, left her mouth dry and the palms of her hands clammy. Fuck, she thought. What was he doing?

It should have only taken him a few minutes, maybe even less then to do whatever he thought he was doing. There was not another soul in sight on the fourth floor but it didn't make her feel better.

"Yeah, you're right," she said reluctantly, each word dragged from her mouth. Surprise, surprise, she was beginning to regret agreeing to help.

She looked at Molly and while moving towards the door herself said, "You stay out here while I go get him."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Yeah, next thing you know you'll up and disappear too. We aren't in some horror movie. Just open the door and call out and if he doesn't respond, we'll leave and... y'know." Betty didn't know what y'know meant, but other than that her sister had made yet another good point which was dreadful happening so soon after her first one.

"Okay," she conceded, and then the two of them wordlessly approached the door even as Betty's left hand twitched and trembled. She could really do with a smoke right about now.

She sucked the breath in through her teeth and carefully opened the door and pushed forward.

It swung wide open.

And there, in her line of sight, much to her relief, was Charlie.

But there was something wrong.

Charlie was standing still.

He was standing in the middle of the room. In front of the entryway that Betty found herself in, a kitchen in front of him, a living room behind.

For some reason, this scared Betty, because she had forgotten much about Charlie Castillo, but she had never known him to stand still for anything or anyone.

"Charlie?" She took a few steps forward.

His eyes flicked to hers instantly and fear struck Betty's heart. More than when her dad died, more than when her power manifested, more than when her fingers were blown off, more than any of that, and she seized up where she stood, unable to move or breathe. The door had softly shut behind them.

"Don't," he said, and he said it so gravely, so awfully, a tone unlike anything she'd ever heard before. "Don't move. Don't touch anything."

She paused. Molly was silent beside her, but she had pressed herself into Betty's back, had clutched her arm like she had done when they were kids, standing in the doorway of their parents' room during a thunderstorm, afraid. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," he said. And then after a moment, "I thought it was paint."

She had no idea what he was talking about.

He looked back to where he had been staring beforehand. It was a yellow wall landline, the receiver hanging off the hook.

"Charlie? Where's Andy? Is she here?"

"In the bathroom."

She sighed. Good—

"She's dead."

Her stomach dropped.

There was this great big pause, like someone had dragged a dead cat into the center of the room and all anyone could do was stare at it in silence.

"But you just said…"

He did not look at her or elaborate.

Her hands trembled. Molly's nails were digging into the flesh of her arm. Her first thought was, poor Charlie.

It had been an overdose then, or alcohol poisoning maybe. Some terrible accident.

Her second thought was more rational.

No, no, he was probably mistaken. It was more likely she was very ill. Maybe there was more time.

"Charlie," she said slowly. "We need to call 911. Right now. We need to call for help, for an ambulance. Molly, call. Maybe I should see—"

"No," he said, like he was a thousand miles away. "She's dead."

She swallowed. Molly was struggling to take her phone out of her purse with shaky hands and fingers in Betty's peripheral.

"The police then."

He looked back at her. And then, horribly, she could almost see it. His eyes were glazed over again. How beautifully ordinary his eyes were that she had never noticed or cared to notice, that warm brown like honeyed amber or roasted chestnuts. She could see the reflection of red in them.

When she took a step forward, the red crystallized and fractured, like a thousand ruby fractals reflecting off of the glinting edge of bleeding topaz.

"Don't," he said again, softly, numbly.

Betty shook her head.

There. He had blinked and for a moment, she had seen it; the memory there.

The bathroom was white, but it had been splattered with red paint.

Red, red, red. Red on white. Red on the tiles, on the walls, on the mirror and the lights.

Bathmat soaked. Dripping from the shower curtain. Bathtub…

Andy was in the bathtub.

The port-wine stain on her face looked like blood.

Everything looked like blood.

Oh.

It was all blood.

"Sorry," Charlie said, but the word had come out flat. "I said she's dead."

Betty felt frozen then, caught in her own power, almost. For a moment, she just stood there. And the world fell away, to white noise and blurry shapes and colors.

"Oh my god," she whispered. "Molly, hang up."

"What? No-!"

Betty snatched the phone from her hands and snapped it shut, feeling a gross feeling of panic and nausea crawl up her throat as she came to her senses. She would have thrown up if she could and instead swallowed down the bile in her mouth.

Okay.

Okay.

"Charlie," she said again and Jesus, did she hate his name. "What do we do?"

But he was still standing there.

"Charlie!" His head snapped back to look at her, eyes wide and brown like she'd never seen them before.

"I don't know," he said simply and dumbly, which was unlike him. "She was… something about this isn't… I just thought it was paint."

She started shaking her head. "No, no, you can't not know," she spat. "What are we going to do? I can't be here. My sister can't be here. We're three mutants within fifty feet of a goddamn dead body that's been fucking slaughtered— do you have any idea the fucking shitshow waiting for us?"

"What the fuck am I supposed to do about that?" he suddenly snarled, rounding on her so fast that she flinched backwards in her own surprise. "Do you think I thought she'd be dead when I showed up?"

He said the word, dead, like it wasn't real. But it was real. It could have only been more real to Betty had she went and checked the bathroom herself, but for now the image of Andromeda Harrison—

Oh, she was really going to throw up.

"I don't care. Figure it out."

She didn't know how long the two of them stood there, staring at each other, blood rushing in her ears. She couldn't think. Her body was trembling.

Charlie looked at the yellow landline again.

He breathed in. Breathed out.

"Greer," he said. "Greer will know what to do."

The name flickered in her mind. Tall, pale, dark eyes— no, not eyes. Dark glasses, glasses of pitch and tar always.

A shiver ran through her before she could stop it. Greer Feuerbach. She remembered him.

"Okay," Betty said, as softly as she could. "Call him."

Slowly, so, so, slowly, Charlie took the phone out of his pocket. Dialed with shaking fingers. Brought the phone to his ear.

And it rang.

And it rang.

And finally.

Hoarsely, he said, "Hey. It's Charlie. I need help."

And then Betty forgot what came next.

She would forget what came before it, too.

Betty smiled at Oliver when she clocked in, though half-heartedly, since her back was killing her and her fingers were bitching at her just as much which usually meant it was going to storm. He smiled back and her awful diner shift began just as it always did.

She was falling half-asleep when a snot-nosed little kid dropped their orange juice on the floor and splattered everywhere, causing their older sibling to laugh right in their face and say, "Haha! Butterfingers!"

And for some reason that woke her up because it reminded her of curly-haired, golden-hearted Charlie Castillo and, well, that was strange because she hadn't thought of or seen Charlie Castillo in years.