Sunday.
The water is cold now. Elsa can vaguely see her reflection under the beads of steam running down the mirror. She's trying. She's trying to get in the shower stall. But she's stuck.
The shirt she wore is folded and sitting on the closed toilet seat and her sweatpants are still at her ankles. She's been looking at herself, checking over her naked body. There's not a single mark on her skin that can link her to the siren. The naked eye cannot see how Elsa's body has been changed . It feels so fragile but it is there, a translucent film that coats Elsa where a woman has touched her. It's almost like she's covered in fingerprints. Hers. No matter how much Elsa stares she cannot see them. Even still she feels them. She can smell Anna. It would be so easy for her to just wash off and for pieces of herself to follow. She shuts off the taps. The drain gurgles as the water she's wasted disappears.
Instead of washing Anna off, Elsa tucks her away. Finally picking up the sweatpants, she makes sure to stash them and her tee on the far back top shelf of her closet. She does her hair over the sink, spot-washing the bits that were affected by her bashing. Once satisfied she laces her white hair up into a braided crown. It's Sunday morning, after all, she might have not had any sleep but she still has to wake up the house to get to church.
The pews fill up. That won't ever change. The old stone walls of the Cathedral echo. The chatter bounces off of them. Elsa is quiet as she hears the hot topic rear itself amongst the parishioners. It's mentioned only in hushed tones. With a coating of Anna on her skin, Elsa feels the hate so much more profoundly . Through the years she has grown numb to the sermon her Priest offers. He marks the grand opening of the Unknown with it. It strikes her differently when it isn't only about the desire in her stomach. Now, it's about the siren with the giddy words and godly voice.
Elsa's skin is still buzzing. It won't shut up about the night she had. It's the only thing keeping her awake as she sits next to her husband and daughters. She gives in to the weight of her eyes and rests her head on a familiar spot of her husband's padded shoulders. His church blazer is smooth. Looking for comfort in the familiarity, Elsa runs her cheek along the fabric. Craig reaches over and covers her hand with his. With lidded eyes, Elsa watches him. He is nodding along to the words of the sermon. Elsa knows them by heart, they were branded into her when she was a child. The message hasn't changed. She looks over to her own dutiful daughters and, for the first time, wonders how it marks them.
Monday.
Elsa's schedule is off. Her mind spins as she reflects on the previous week. When she thinks back to last Monday, she cannot remember where she was sitting at the HOA meeting. Or even who had hosted it. The memory itself is blurry, its edges fade as Anna's call over takes the moment. Elsa can't find her cell phone. Knowing its spot was replaced with the feel of Anna's hand in hers, Elsa doesn't dare dip into that memory.
Elsa lets her instinct take over, tapping into the part of her that is strict, balanced, and organized. It is her week to host the Homeowners Association. She prepares food and drinks in abundance for the two dozen women she will have in her home. Her family is well-trained. The girls hide in their room until bedtime. There are no objections when Elsa finishes singing their songs. She leaves the room before they are asleep. She kisses Craig at the door and he heads off to make himself scarce. The women don't ring the bell or knock, they make themselves at home as Elsa ensures there's always a bottle of wine open.
"I heard there were lineups to get in." It's just like the sermon. Had they already spent fifty Mondays talking about the Unknown?
"They are going to come in droves." The fear is exaggerated. The women force themselves to shudder.
"The bookstore across the street put rainbows on everything." Elsa is glad to be busy picking up the dirty china and offering pastries. She has not been called upon to talk.
"We got a few of them good though," That grabs Elsa's attention. She had assumed she was the only one to get egged. She had preferred it to be her over any of the sweet eyes and welcoming smiles she'd received. It irks her to think they assaulted any other bar patrons.
"It's not enough." Whatever idle chatter settles down to listen to the Head of the Association. Holding their attention, Chairwoman Petra continues, "We need to make them uncomfortable."
"What do you suggest?" Her left hand volleys.
"Well, if the bookstore can be so brazen to reject us with their flags, we need to do the same. We need to remind our community of our family values. I say we bring back the bell." Elsa has no control over the scoff that creeps up her throat.
"What is it, Elsa? You've been quiet as of late," Petra presses. Elsa has always been an important piece of her tirades. She is the right hand. The one that collects all the data for the Chairwoman.
"Before the bar, we spent a lot of resources petitioning to get the church to stop ringing that bell," Elsa says. She tries not to be obvious. She hides her disdain.
"We can admit to our missteps. It might be a nuisance but it's for the good of the many. Motion to remind those degenerates what our neighborhood is all about. Who will second?" No one speaks. Petra pierces Elsa. It was not the Chairwoman's car used in the attack at the Unknown but Elsa sees the windows roll down. Petra had been in the passenger seat. Her jaw still stings from the hit. Petra means to make Elsa feel small. She strides towards Elsa. Like a giant, she towers over her and plucks the freshly poured glass of wine out of Elsa's hand.
"I second," Elsa relents. The women around them add their votes. They have no weight to them after Elsa seals the motion. But the contempt builds up. It's bubbly but also cold.
The front door opens and Craig joins in with a handful of other husbands. They rarely attend this affair. Elsa tries to take comfort in his presence. She has to serve her new guests first. She observes the women greet their men and sees the fake affection. Elsa gets a dose of it as Craig pulls her down on his lap. It's something he would never do without an audience.
"You were out late Saturday," Craig says in a hushed tone.
"Yes," Elsa responds.
"Did you finally get it out of your system?" His wet lips graze her ear. Elsa's stomach tenses right where he's holding her.
"What do you mean?" She asks as the call plays in her mind, this time like a warning. It's so weak now. It doesn't ease her.
"Was it liberating?" Elsa tries to pull away but Craig strengthens his hold. His fingers dip under her shirt. They have a light touch. It's playful. Elsa notices there are jealous eyes on her. Petra's included. Craig continues to whisper into her ear. "The Unknown, Elsa? Come on. I know exactly what you were up to the other night."
"I…" Elsa looks over her shoulder. She doesn't understand. There's levity in Craig's voice, but he is firm. Why would he do this in front of everyone?
"Next time I'll have to join. We can go together." He slurs this time. Elsa is flushed . Her breathing is uneven. He begins to sway her hips. She feels his excitement harden against her back. She has to force a smile for the onlookers.
"I haven't egged anyone since before I passed the bar exam," he says this for the entire room to hear. The men whoop and the women laugh. They exchange cheers as they clink their glasses together. It's only Petra and Elsa who remain unmoved.
"Oh yeah," Elsa tries to focus on her relief, but what she truly feels is guilt. Not about the siren. "I don't know if liberating is the right word," she tells her husband. She is overcome with a strange feeling. Perhaps she was actually inside that van, attacking herself out on the street.
"So you are hooked ? It feels good, doesn't it? To let those freaks have it?" There's such pride exuding from Craig. His touch isn't a show. He likes the idea of Elsa being filled with hatred.
"Us guys should try it," he says.
Tuesday.
7 days, or 168 hours do not change much for Elsa. She is different. She feels different and she thinks differently . But her life is still the same. It does not revolve around her. She is a mother and she is a wife. That has not changed. But it is especially hard to swallow when the fights are ever redundant. Every Tuesday it's the same thing.
"B, You committed to dance. That means being on time, wearing the appropriate clothes, and applying yourself. I cannot keep having this same conversation with you every time." Elsa's anger is buried deep in her stomach, but the frustration bleeds out.
"This leotard is not appropriate," the eight-year-old counters. She's getting better at striking back. "I'm half naked out there."
"You're a child. No one is looking at your body." B's lanky arms are protectively wrapped around her front. Elsa's gut is begging her to slam her fist into her legs. She's tired. She wants to be the one throwing a tantrum.
"It's dance, mom. The whole point is people looking at my body!" B is a child, free to scream while Elsa forces herself to remain calm.
"B. Drop it and get on the floor. I do not want to have your father resolve this for us again." It's over. A trigger Elsa loathes to pull in her arguments with B. Her eldest gives up like she does every week. She does as told and walks into a group of her peers. She must be getting older. The uniform is starting to fit small. Elsa hates herself on dance days.
Wednesday.
Elsa's surprised that when she pushes at the heavy metal doors to the Unknown, they open. It's late morning but the bar is operational. Elsa has finally convinced herself to find her phone. She hears the siren before she even sees her. Anna isn't alone. She is on the stage, with her legs kicked over the edge. At her feet, crossed-legged on the floor, sit several people of different ages. They are rapt in attention as Anna uses her hands to talk. The doors are loud as they shut. Most everyone turns their head to see who has entered the Unknown. Anna loses her words to make space for a smile. She puts up a palm to greet Elsa. Elsa has nothing to offer her but a small nod. The singer is working. She gives herself back to her small audience.
"Elsa, right?" Elsa is still watching Anna when Nokk bangs on the bar. Her shoulders jump.
"Ah. I know exactly what you're here for." They say while shaking their head. They walk off behind the bar and around the corner, returning with a plastic bag in their hand.
"I found this in my bed. Yours right?" Nokk says. The pleasantries are over. Their top lip has a curl to it. They offer up Elsa's things. It hangs between the two, rocking slightly, as Elsa absorbs what Nokk implied.
"Oh, yes. I'm sorry." Elsa says. She grabs at the bag. Nokk pulls it back. "I wasn't aware that, um–"
"Well, now you know," the bar owner says through their teeth. They relent and let Elsa take back her things.
"I apologize." Elsa folds the bag into her chest. She's sweating as bitter eyes bear down on her. She wants to run. The fear feels so out of place paired with her dancing heart; it is elated to be so close to Anna again.
"Listen HOA goon, you're welcome to come in the bar whenever you want, whenever you need. That's what it's here for." Elsa nods knows Nokk means this although Elsa regrets ever coming back. To cement that line of thinking Nokk adds, "But my home is off limits, you hear?"
"Yes, thank you," Elsa says with her head down. She's ready to leave. But she doesn't manage to do so without looking back at the stage.
It seems Elsa's blouse did not make it into the plastic bag. Anna is wearing it unbuttoned and over a red tank like the one Elsa had pulled off of her. Yes, the yoke stain did not wash out, but Anna seems to have remedied that with yellow tie-dye. The fun burst of colour suits the crowd. The group she's talking to is made up of parents and their children. Elsa has never seen kids as vibrant as the ones at Anna's feet. She is used to seeing her girls in the dull green of their uniforms. There is something so unmistakably free about these kids. They are at peace as they listen to Anna offer them a bit of hope.
There are queer children here. It would be easier to just leave now, but Elsa's guilty conscience nags her. She turns back to the bar owner. "Nokk. About the HOA. They aren't done yet. They are poised to come back at you all, hard."
"Thanks for the warning, Elsa, but I don't care." Elsa wonders if it's her transgression Nokk so disinterested. She knows she has to push it. The HOA knows nothing about this. She'd hate to let children get stuck in the crossfire.
"But they're escalating," Elsa tries.
"I know. They always do." Nokk's chest is puffed out. They have no inkling of fear. "Don't worry your pretty little head over it. I promise you, Elsa, our flag will always fly . If you aren't too afraid of yourself, you can let your friends know that."
Nokk's words show Elsa the door.
Thursday.
"Mom, I can't hold it." The five-year-old is on the verge of tears. Elsa has to swat at her little arms to keep her from grabbing at her crotch. They hustle down the street. Every business they approach has a brand new sign on their door. No Public Restrooms. Elsa knows she could go into any shop and not be turned away. The signage is not meant for them. The HOA has reached the street and is building their attack on the Unknown. They mean to only expel the queers. Her neighbours might not know it, but Elsa does. They hate her too.
" Just a little longer," Elsa coos as she picks up the pace. There's a pride flag taking in the wind half a block down. It's always urgent with Gale, Elsa hopes they will make it to the bookstore.
"What's this all about," B asks. She's old enough now to notice things. Wiser too, as she senses something is off. Elsa lets the question hang and picks up the pace.
The door chimes as the family enters the store. There's a large display shelf in front and centre of the shop. It's called Show Your Pride. The assortment of rainbows and colours distracts Gale. "Can we use your washroom?" B calls out to the storekeeper. He motions towards the hall.
"Gale, honey, focus." Elsa takes a board book out of her hand and tries to guide her away from the display. B, too, is entranced by a variety of flags. Her eyes bounce between all the titles. Elsa gives her a poke. "Take your sister, please."
"But mom, I want to look around," B whines.
"We aren't buying anything." B knows the straight line Elsa's mouth pulls. There will be no objections. She slouches her shoulders and catches up with Gale. Elsa makes eye contact with the storekeeper. She receives not an ounce of friendliness. He has not forgotten that Elsa canvassed this shop with an HOA petition against the new gay bar.
Elsa lets out a sigh, pacing as she waits for her daughters. The door chimes again. She pays it no mind until a familiar voice calls out her name. "Elsa," the sweet siren says. It wasn't too long ago that Anna was saying Elsa's name in a hundred different ways but this one is new. She's smiling, happy to run into the other night's tryst.
"Hi," Elsa says. Her body floats her over to the singer. She's off to the side pushing pins into a poster board. There's a stack of papers in her hands keeping Elsa from doing something silly. Like offering a handshake or maybe even, yanking the siren into her lips.
"Wow, twice in one week. How lucky." Anna bounces on her toes. Her nerves keep her talking. "It's cool to see you here. We have to support all our local businesses. I hear the blacklist is growing by the minute."
"Mom," B interrupts. She's by the front door holding Gale's hand. "We're ready."
Elsa barely hears her kid. Her heart is beating in her temples, muffling everything around her.
"Mom?" B prods again. Anna's raised eyebrows are as expectant as B's tone.
"I thought you were picking something out," Elsa answers. When her eldest smiles, Elsa has a brain cell left to wonder when the last time she saw B's joy crack open so wide.
"Cool," B says and dives into the shelves.
"You're a mom," Anna states. She doesn't look bothered or repulsed. Elsa lets out a breath. Her mind is feeding her so many lines, things she can say to get out of this exchange, and others that might get her closer to the siren .
"Yes," that's a start. "I thought this body would have given it away." Elsa motions to her hips. The depreciating comment is quite common amoungst Elsa's friends. Elsa wants to pat herself on the back. She's started a banter she knows how to navigate. But Anna turns red. She's the one that steps in closer.
"Your body was busy telling me too many other things," Elsa sucks in a quick deep breath, her chest rises. It's audible. Anna chuckles at the animated response. She wanted to transport Elsa back into her bed.
"Mom? Mom?!" She registers B but her body is busy melting a little. "Mom, can I have your card?" Elsa shoves her purse over in B's direction. The kid squeals, she can barely hold the bag with the half dozen or so books in her arms. The dance Gale does when B shows her their mother's wallet, takes Anna's attention. Elsa is thankful for the reprieve. She needs a moment to collect herself.
"I'm sorry about the other night." She feels she owes Anna these words. "I didn't mean to push myself into yours and Nokk's–."
"Whoa," Anna is quick to interject. "No, no, no. I'm the one that should be sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into it. That's its own complicated mess. It has nothing to do with you." Anna slows down a bit to lower her voice. She talks out of the corner of her mouth. "I mean the whole sleeping together in our apartment thing was a bad idea but, yeah, it's complicated. Nokk and I aren't together anymore. But we sunk all our money into the bar and we have these big ideas about the community centre and the safe space. We've put everything we have into it. Some of it is exceeding all expectations and some of it just fizzled out along the way."
It's Anna's turn to be a bit of a mess. Elsa hates that she doesn't hate what she's hearing. Nokk's threat had quieted the call, not all the way, never. Elsa can feel it now. It's been making its way inside of her, finding a spot in her chest. The call is becoming part of the rhythm of her heartbeat. It is going fast.
"I'm glad you picked up your things. I put my number in your phone." Anna mentions. Her eyebrows bounce.
"I know," Elsa answers.
Gale is running the aisles now. B is a few steps away examining the siren with interest. Elsa's time has run out. She wants to let the singer know she's stared at the contact card for hours. Writing and rewriting all the things she wants to say. But instead, she says. "I have to go."
Friday.
B is enjoying the world of her new book. Elsa has noticed her kid is sadder these days. Her smile is a needed reminder of what her eldest's happiness can look like. B is losing the fat on her cheeks and is getting long and awkward. She's aged out of cute. People don't find her mere existence charming anymore. Eight is the age when children have to push to earn a morsel of adoration that was once given freely . Elsa remembers the feeling. The other side of it is puberty.
Elsa watches the clock. B has been so engaged by her book that Elsa lets the hour turn. The church bell tolls. It's back to ringing every hour on the hour. Elsa lets the time go and watches her daughter flip her page. She waits for a line in the book to make B smile.
Gale, however , is miserable. While the two sisters usually get along just fine, the three-year age gap is becoming glaring. Gale is whining as she vies for her sister's attention. She is not above rolling atop B. And even attempts to pry each finger off of her hold on her book. Elsa has made a mistake by not keeping her girls busy. That's when the fights start. She's missed her appointment. Elsa decides to seize this day. She puts off the rest of her schedule. Gale practically floats with excitement when she sees Elsa holding their swim bag.
"You can read in the car," Elsa says to convince B. She relents, perhaps feeling as nostalgic as Elsa does. B packs a bag and after a small argument gets into the backseat instead of up beside her mother. B skips joining them in the family change room.
Elsa is out on the pool deck rubbing a thick layer of sunscreen over Gale. She straps her youngest into her life jacket. She doesn't register the kid in the corner of her eye in the swim trucks and man-bun as hers. B jumps into the pool without a top on. Elsa's face flushes red. She waits crouched at the edge of the pool for B to come up for air.
"What are you doing?" She asks through her teeth. She isn't looking at B, her eyes are scanning the patrons. It's their neighbour pool, if Elsa doesn't know someone by name, she at least knows their face.
"Swimming," B deadpans.
"Don't," Elsa says with a pointed finger hovering above her lip. There are a few members of the HOA taking in the sun, their kids splashing around on their own. It's no one who is too active in the group.
"Cannonball!" Gale yells as she runs past her mother and takes a leap off the pool deck. Her tiny body makes a large splash. Elsa flinches and B ducks under the surface. She has to follow her youngest into the pool. Elsa encircles Gale and B takes the chance to swim into the deep end. She's greeted there by some boys her age. They get lost in play. Elsa lets it happen and refocuses on her youngest. Gale pulls away every time Elsa tries to help steer her inside the pool. She's brave without Elsa. Her lifejacket is more of a comfort than her mother.
Elsa tries to balance keeping a watchful while not getting in the way of their fun. Even at arm's length, she feels powerless. Both unwanted and of little use. She wants time to just stop, to freeze this moment. Yet, she's outgrown the part of motherhood where she has control over her children. The time has flown by. They are older, different, and ever-changing. All the while, Elsa has stayed stagnant. She is as solid as their church with an eagle-eye view of her entire neighbourhood. It looms over the pool, casting a shadow over Elsa.
It is hard to reconcile how mundane Elsa's days are with how time moves. It's true, day in and day out, Elsa's minutes are all accounted for, and scheduled on her phone. She can live this life with her eyes closed. Has she reached a point, thirteen years of marriage and eight into motherhood, where she is being left behind? Her children continue to grow but she is stuck on repeat. She has less left in her to fight it. Today, she allows Gale to be bold, and B to make choices more freely .
For years she's been overcome, but this week she's felt it more than ever. It is born of her hatred. She can picture herself egging the Unknown as vividly as she can picture her eight-year-old self. She's always hated the girl who, not daring to look up, counted the tiles of the girl's change room floor. She still hates the girl who always avoided some unknown punishment. Can that be why she heard Anna's call? Is she finally someone that can handle the consequences? Or is she now, too much like her former self, that the self-hatred has followed her into the present?
It hurts to feel the protective stone veneer she's coated herself with crack. The fresh skin underneath is raw. She's exposed. She forgot that although not wanted, the Unknown is part of the neighbourhood. The women from the HOA are leaning into one another with cupped hands over their mouths. Elsa lets that happen too.
Gale skips off to run through the splash park. B continues to stretch out her smile with her peers. Two happy kids should be more than enough. Elsa is not sure she wants things to change at all. She sinks deeper into the water somewhere between her two kids. There's nothing for her to do other than keep a watchful eye. It doesn't feel wrong but it doesn't feel right either. The view is precious either way.
Elsa hates to want for more.
Saturday.
"I haven't seen you all week," Craig says as he puts his hand out in front of Elsa. She wraps her fingers around his wrists and starts working on the buttons of his cuff. When she's done with the second arm, her husband doesn't step back. She's seated at the edge of the bed and he's between her legs. He raises an eyebrow at her. Elsa starts at the top button, right at his neck. Her touch is ritualistic, one of the few stolen moments where they come together to connect.
"You've been busy," he adds. Elsa continues down. He likes her to run her hands over his taut stomach. She does so after pulling his button-up off his shoulders.
"Not more so than any other week," Elsa says.
"I'm pissed at you, Elsa." Her husband is usually abrupt but he never disrupts her feathered touch. Elsa cocks her head at him.
"What's wrong?" Elsa tries to soften him by pulling at his hips. He jerks forward and cracks a bit of a smile. But he doubles down.
"I ran into Petra. She says you took the girls to the pool and Brooke wasn't wearing a top. She was tumbling around with a bunch of boys. How did you let that happen?" Elsa's neck tilts back. Craig towers over Elsa.
"B," Elsa chooses to correct him, "was having a hard day. Neither of us had it in us to fight."
"I can tell you're exhausted, love." Craig accentuates the term of endearment by cupping Elsa's cheek. She knows to lean in. "Why else would you go to the bookstore down the street instead of the mall? It's hard to pull off a boycott when you have too much on your plate. But we can't let things slide with Brooke." At that, Craig pushes himself away from his wife. Continuing to undress, he walks into the closet. His voice carries as he goes on. "I had to take five books away from her."
Elsa gulps. She doesn't know what to say or do. She saw B's eager fingers hovering over the bookstore's front display. But the covers seemed vague enough. Elsa had not paid close enough attention and poured it all into the siren instead. If she had been at the helm she could have guided B without involving her father. That is one of Elsa's roles. To blow out the pilot light before Craig has to dose the fire. Elsa is constantly guiding her girls to avoid testing her husband.
"It's fine. We had a nice moment. We lit a fire in the pit out back. It's been a while." He says this so wistfully as if it is something he enjoyed as much as the kids had their swim day.
"You burned her books?" Elsa tries to make herself as big as Craig. She gets up and joins her husband in the closet. He's stripped down out of his suit and is pulling on a pair of black slacks. He doesn't seem to mind her hard voice.
"Of course not. But she needed the warning. It was Petra's advice." Elsa feels her husband's implication. Petra has something to divulge to him. He continues moving around the closet, thumbing out all his dark clothing.
"Craig, that's insane." His cool demeanour is a farce. He is barely holding back his anger.
"Don't tell me how to parent my daughter. Especially when it's you who's dropping the ball. There's no way I'm letting our kid be on the receiving end of any ridicule." Her manages to smile, and his thick eyebrows soften. He is zipping up a hoodie and tucking the white drawstring under his chin.
"You take too much on," he adds while grabbing a t-shirt. He hands it to Elsa. The doorbell rings as it lands in her hands. She knows the feeling of this cheap blended material.
"That's the sitter," Craig says, eyeing Elsa's shirt from the Unknown. The only reason he would go through her things is if he is following a lead. Elsa wants to keep herself together but she's coming apart even faster now.
"It's late," Elsa says. Their babysitter is Petra's oldest daughter. The latest they usually keep the teen is midnight. Elsa just heard the faint sound of the bell toll half an hour ago.
"Yeah, but we need a night out. You need to reset." Craig says. "Put that on. Dress in black. Something you can move in. We're gonna have some fun." He lands a kiss on her hair as he brushes past her. Elsa allows herself a minute to breathe before doing as told.
Elsa walks into the night. The winds are restless. Craig, Petra, and her husband, Stan, are waiting for her at the stoop. They are in dress to code. Elsa has thrown a cardigan over her t-shirt. She holds the top of it closed with a fist and pulls it over her lips as if protecting herself from the cool breeze.
"What are we up to?" she's hesitant to ask. Craig wraps his arm around her shoulder. He bares his weight down as he points her in the right direction.
"A late-night stroll," he answers.
"What a lovely night to take in our little piece of the world," Petra says. Stan leads the way, leaving his wife a step behind him. The chatter is taboo. It's mainly about how the moon is hiding from them and complaints over the lawns and gardens that aren't kept up to standards.
"We've been far too distracted. Seems like we've let people get lazy around here." Petra jabs. Elsa keeps quiet. They walk the neighbourhood, avoiding the main drag, and head straight for the church. Once they are at it's lawn, the couples disperse. Craig and Stan head over to the edge of the building and meddle through the gardens. When they rejoin their wives, they each have a large landscaping boulder in their hands. Craig is tossing one roughly twice the size of his closed fist between his hands.
"Let's keep going," Petra says. Elsa continues to follow. They stick to alleyways. Most of the stores are closed . They each shine a low light on the pavement. Petra has space to hang off her husband. Elsa watches their backs as she tries to keep her pace slow.
"What's going on?" she asks her husband. Craig's energy does not match Stan's, who is light on his feet and taking in the night. He's pent up and doesn't answer her.
With every step they take the quiet of the night fades. There's a booming noise coming out of the large brick building at the end of the street. The music becomes clearer the closer they get to the Unknown. Up ahead, Petra and Stan walk past the bar and turn into the street. Elsa lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. When Elsa takes the corner, she sees the couple crossing the street. Petra has a finger pointed at the Pride flag that hangs high over the bookstore's entrance.
There isn't anyone out on the sidewalk. It's nothing like it was the week prior. Elsa can feel the energy of the bar. There aren't any fewer people but they are being careful to avoid any attacks. Elsa tries not to let her eyes linger. She hustles to the crosswalk but Craig grabs at her forearm. He pulls her to the front of the Unknown. The door is shut, and there's a glowing light coming out through the edges. The historic building has a large bay window, it's blacked out to keep the bar scene hidden away. The art painted over the glass has to belong to the siren. The lines of colour move with a cadence matching her voice. It's as beautiful as the display the bookstore put out.
Craig places the large rock in Elsa's hand.
"Throw it," Craig spits into her ear. He props up her elbow and eggs her on. She hears the choice he gives her. She has to decide who to hate. Will she hate his wife and the mother of his children, or the child she buried under the rubble of her current life?
"Go for it," Craig demands. She winds back her arm.
The bell tolls.
Sunday.
The rock falls at Elsa's feet.
Craig shoves his wife out of the way. He throws his boulder. On contact, the painted mural collapses into itself.
"Run!" Petra shrieks as she rounds up behind them. The couple is moving fast. Their laughter does nothing to slow them down. The door to the Unknown lets out its light, behind it are yells and cries. Craig is not touching Elsa but his hold on her feels tight. He takes off into the alleyway. She follows.