Twilight brought a strange feeling of calm on the evening of Jericho's liberation.

It began as a whisper, and spread from street to street, field to field. All of the town's inhabitants felt it, though most did not dare to breathe out loud what they were thinking. Feeling. Hoping.

The stillness in the air was fragile. Like a beach after a storm, the atmosphere was one of restless peace. They had survived the worst, it seemed, but their hold on each moment was so tenuous, it seemed much too early to celebrate. All the people who had lived through the ASA occupation, the threat from New Bern, and the new world they had faced after the bombs knew that all they could do now was breathe in the stillness.

The last rays of sun were stretching low across the sky as Stanley Richmond and Mimi Clark stood on the hilltop. The sky behind her was alight with a brilliant wash of crimson and violet, but Stanley could only stare into her face. The breeze blew dandelion wisps around them and her eyes were blurred with tears, but Mimi could only smile at him as she took his hand.

Gray Anderson leaned back in his chair, surveying his office with a satisfied sigh. After reclaiming the flag pole, he'd enlisted Jimmy, Bill, and Emily to help him tidy the mess Beck's men had left in town hall. He knew the rebuilding they had ahead of them would require their tireless efforts, but for now, he was pleased with the tiny bit of order they had restored in the world. He turned as he heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” he said, surprised to see Gail Green hesitating in the doorway.

He hastily pulled his feet down from the desk. She didn't seem to notice at all. She came inside, a small smile on her face as she looked around the room.

“Looks almost like nothing ever happened from here, doesn't it?” she asked softly.

He considered her words for a moment before answering quietly, “Almost.”

Her hand brushed across a picture frame on the desk. Somehow, he hadn't had the heart to remove it. “He'd be proud,” she said.

He nodded silently.

In the darkness of his jail cell, Dale Turner sat with his head in his hands. He almost didn't hear the footsteps approaching – they were lighter than the guards' – but he knew it was her even before she came into focus amidst the hazy light streaming through the bars.

“Everything's going to be alright!” She slipped her hands between the bars, resting them lightly on top of his, as was their custom. Her fingers were warm against his, almost as though her excitement were radiating through them.

Her words didn't make sense. Nothing had been alright for some time, but she seemed so sure and jubilant, he could only sputter, “How?”

She leaned her head against the cool iron, whispering quickly of the events that had transpired that day as the townspeople had defied Beck for the last time. He caught her excitement as quickly as he'd recognized her footsteps. As she finished, he bent down to kiss her fingers through the bars which still separated them.

“You know, there's only one thing left to do,” she said, entwining what she could of his hands in her own. He raised his eyebrows. “We have to get you out of here.”

The yellow and green flag fluttered in the breeze, silhouetted against the sunset. On the street below, Eric Green and Mary Bailey stood, staring up at the snake and the strong, defiant words. 'Don't Tread On Me.'

Every breath he'd taken since he'd seen that flag flying above all the destruction had felt wonderful to Eric. Not since his father's death had he felt his presence so closely as he did today. Not since before the bombs had he felt such hopeful anticipation for the days to come. He felt her hand on his shoulder, and wrapped his arm around her, feeling the safety he always felt with her by his side. She leaned her head against his shoulder and he felt her sigh against him.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

She leaned in silence for a few moments before answering quietly, “I just feel bad.”

He pulled his head away to raise his eyebrows. “I just feel bad that she didn't get to see this,” Mary said.

He said nothing, but held her hand in his. He was thinking the same thing.

As Heather Lisinski stepped out the side entrance of Town Hall, she wasn't looking at the sky. She didn't even notice the restless feeling that had infected the rest of the town. Her mind was on other things and she felt a queasy, uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She almost didn't notice Emily Sullivan, until her friend stepped into her path, nearly bumping into her.

“Heather! Escaped from the Major's clutches, I see,” said Emily, surveying her fellow schoolteacher.

Heather froze momentarily and stared, her eyes wide, but she managed to let out a laugh as she absently tucked her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, good thing I took that job, I guess. Earned some brownie points in case of arrest.”

If Emily's first words had surprised her, Emily's reaction at her own words really shocked her. Emily's whole face broke out in a grin, and she quickly seized Heather in a hug that left her gasping for air.

“I'm so glad! I wouldn't want anything to happen to my best friend!” Emily exclaimed.

Another day, Heather might have been moved by this display of affection. She'd felt like she'd been alone, coping with her experiences by herself, since she'd come back from New Bern. Today she had other matters occupying her mind. “I'm glad too,” she said. After a moment's hesitation, she asked with a pained expression, “Where's Jake?”

Emily was still smiling as she exclaimed brightly, “I have no idea!”

They stood in silence another moment before Emily added, “I guess maybe I should find out.” After grabbing Heather in another bone-crunching hug, she spun around and flounced away.

Heather rubbed her side as she watched the blond retreat. The feeling in the pit of her stomach was worse than ever.

On the hilltop, in the presence of their loved ones, Stanley and Mimi were locked in a tight embrace. Over three days, each had seen their world nearly come to an end. Now, they were ecstatic to be holding everything they had left in their arms. When they pulled apart, when their kiss ended, they stood facing each other, their hands interlocked in the space between them.

“I love you,” breathed Stanley.

“I love you,” echoed Mimi. “Whatever happens, whatever comes and whatever goes.”

Both turned to look down at the mound of earth in which they'd laid his sister to rest. Fresh tears stung Mimi's cheeks. “It isn't fair you're not here,” she said. “And I will always regret what happened.”

Stanley slipped an arm across her shoulders, speaking, though he had a lump in his throat. “I'll always miss you, and wish you were with us. Wish I'd seen you live your life the way you wanted to. But I'm so proud of you. You lived up to our family legacy, and showed me you were capable of so much more than I ever expected from you. I love you.”

“Thank you,” signed Mimi. Each signed their last goodbye, and with their arms linked, they began to walk down the hill.

Stanley could hear her sniffling beside him. It went against all her training, he knew, to lose control like this, but they had both abandoned their training a lot these past few months. “Hey, Mimi, I know it's hard,” he began. “I hate this too. But she died to protect something greater than herself. It's what she wanted, what we are all born to do.”

“I should have protected her, and I should have protected the secret. That was my job,” said Mimi.

“She loved you too, you know, and we are all in this together. For better or worse.” He grinned through his own tears.

“I guess...I guess we have to carry on with the mission, without her. Make sure she didn't die for nothing,” said Mimi.

He nodded, stopping. She stopped too. He put a hand to her cheek, and wiped a stray tear with his thumb. “She's left us a legacy now. It's up to us to carry on, keep doing what we do. Together.”

She smiled. “We will. Together.”

The solemnity of the moment was broken suddenly by Emily Sullivan's voice, calling across the field. “Stanley! Mimi! Isn't it a wonderful night?”

They both looked over at her, wondering how she had gotten this close with neither of them noticing. Mimi shook her head. Her reflexes had been off ever since the surgery. Stanley was slightly annoyed that his ruminations on his family secret and the woman who had agreed, once again, to stick by him, had been interrupted. He merely nodded at Emily. “Not bad, I guess.”

Emily had been grinning as she ambled through the grasses, but as she looked at the couple standing in a defensive pose, awe-inspiring despite her arm in a sling and his dirt-smudged shirt, her face fell.

“Have you seen Jake?” she asked in a barely civil tone, folding her arms across her chest.

“Can't say I have,” countered Stanley, wanting to get back to check on the barn, and to get back to staring at the woman he'd almost lost instead of the girl who'd once thrown a mud pie at him on the playground.

Mimi shook her head again, hoping the blond would take the hint and take off. Her mind was already racing through strategies and next steps she would take on her mission, and she couldn't wait to be alone with her love again.

Emily scowled. “No one has.” With that, she turned and stormed away.

The couple watched her go with matching looks of puzzlement, before turning and shrugging to each other.

“Now where were we?” asked Stanley.

“Going back to work. Together,” said Mimi. An intense look passed between them. He smiled and gave a nod of his head. She raised her eyebrows and stepped closer to him.

They linked arms, and walked together down the path and into the sunset.

Eric and Mary were silhouetted now as they stood, their arms entwined, in the waning light. They were silent, alternately looking up and turning, catching glimpses of each other. He was thinking how beautiful her hair looked as it caught the last shimmers of copper light. She was thinking of how close she'd come to losing him - again - and how glad she felt that she wasn't going home without him. These thoughts flew out of their heads as they heard a shout nearby.

“They're gone!”

They turned to see the speaker, an ASA soldier, sprawled in the doorway of Town Hall. He was covered in a strange, slimy green substance and his shoelaces seemed to be tied together. Since there was no one else around, he addressed the couple standing on the lawn.

“Those kids! I let the girl in, again, to visit her boyfriend in jail, and next thing I know, she's stolen my keys, let him out, and they're both running down the hall!”

Eric and Mary raised their eyebrows in surprise, and as Mary tried to hide a grin, Eric spoke quickly. “How'd she get the keys away?”

The soldier was struggling to stand up, his feet still stuck together. “I don't know. She offered me a piece of homemade fudge, and we were talking, she set off a firecracker, and she was gone.”

It was Eric's turn to hide a grin and Mary spoke up. “And you didn't try to stop them?”

“I did try,” he said, a beleaguered expression on his face. “She'd tied my shoelaces together. And I tried to run anyway, but someone had covered the floor in this stuff.” He rubbed his hand across his knee, and held it up. The green liquid dripped off it. He gave it a sniff. “Laundry soap. Meadow fresh.”

At this, Mary and Eric burst into laughter. “Meadow fresh,” repeated Eric, laughing more at the soldier's look of dismay. “Look!” exclaimed Mary, grabbing his arm.

All three of them craned their necks to look up at the roof. Hanging down from above, flapping in the wind, was what seemed to be a golf shirt – the baby blue of the J&R uniform. Emblazoned across the makeshift flag, in bright green, were the letters “DD”.

“What's DD?” asked the soldier.

“You haven't heard of them?” asked Eric. “How long have you been here?”

Mary, still smiling, leaned against him. “It's nice to know some things still haven't changed,” she murmured.

He leaned his forehead against hers, grinning, but he became serious again.

“You're thinking about her?” Mary asked.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “It's just too bad she missed this.”

Mary sighed against him, but then leaned back to shake her head. “I know, but we should just be glad she's safe. And the baby.”

He took her hand in his. “True,” he agreed.

“What do you say we go check on them now?” she asked.

He nodded. “We have a lot to tell them.”

With one more glance up at the flag, they hastily walked across the street and vanished. The soldier continued to look at the golf shirt hanging from the roof. “DD?” he asked himself.

Gray stood to look out the window. “I can't believe this town is still standing. After all it's been through.”

Gail came to stand beside him, surveying the street below too. “We've got a lot to be thankful for.”

He nodded. “I wish I'd come home sooner. I had no idea.”

“Hey,” she patted his arm, letting her hand rest there for a moment longer than either of them expected. “What matters is that you came. When we needed you.”

He turned to look at her. She looked up at him, a smile in those familiar eyes of hers. He felt a strange sensation within him, as though, for the first time since coming back to this bizarre place that had been his town, something was right. He quickly looked out the window again. “I really love our town. I'd do anything I could to protect what we have here.”

“I know,” she said. “And so would I.”

He glanced at her again. “I know,” he whispered. He reached with a trembling hand and laid the heel of his palm against her cheek. Staring up at him, she reached her hand up and held it against his, steadying his whole arm with her touch.

“So what do you want to do now?” Jimmy asked, turning to his friend.

Bill sighed. Jimmy was always looking to him. The two deputies were walking up Main Street. They waved as Eric and Mary dashed by them, breathlessly returning the wave but not stopping to chat.

“On their way back to domestic bliss, I guess,” said Bill with a chuckle.

“Hey, think you're ever going to, you know...” Jimmy asked, nudging Bill.

“Me?” asked Bill incredulously.

“I'm just saying, things are finally calming down, there's food and light, and tv. Maybe you're going to start thinking about settling down soon.”

Bill laughed at his friend's earnest suggestions. “Nah, this lone wolf's not ready to settle yet. Not when I've got so many -”

He nearly bumped into Heather as she was exiting the pharmacy. “Oh, excuse me,” she sputtered, quickly shoving the paper bag in her hand behind her back as Jimmy beamed, “Hi Heather!”

“Checked out the pharmacy's grand re-opening, huh?” asked Bill with a suave smile. “Any good deals?”

“Yeah. I mean, it's good to see we have toothpaste again. For now,” she said with a giggle, her cheeks turning pink.

“Yeah,” said Bill, suddenly uncomfortable and not sure what to say next. He glanced at Jimmy, who was still smiling like a jack o' lantern. “Well, I guess we'll see you around, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Heather quietly.

Jimmy waved and Bill gave a nod before they continued walking up Main Street.

Finding herself finally alone, Heather let out a deep breath. She began walking, waiting until she had turned onto a side street before she looked down at the bag she'd gotten from the pharmacy. The thought of the pregnancy test inside it was only one of many thoughts swirling around in her head, making her dizzy. The one that seemed to be dominating, repeating over and over, was one sentence, one wish.

As she paused in the doorway of her house, she looked down her street. She wasn't thinking about the last swatches of orange and red she could see in the sky, through the houses, or the emptiness of the street now that the army had gone. Clutching the paper bag in one hand and the door frame in her other, she thought to herself, I wish I'd been more careful.

An Unexpected Blessing

Or, The Day the Town Stood Still

Jake Green was mysteriously absent from town during those first few weeks after we were liberated from Beck and his ASA troops. For a guy so involved in every little conversation, crisis, and domestic squabble in town, it was a little weird that he would let himself miss out on all the fun. Jimmy was pretty worried, asking me every day if we should gather up the rangers and go searching for him, but I didn't sweat about it. Jake would come back when he was good and ready, I assured my best friend. Jimmy still looked nervous whenever he brought up Jake, but he always listened to me when I told him Jake was probably somewhere nearby, waiting 'til his cuts and bruises healed. He wouldn't want to let anyone in town see him before that. Jake's a good guy, but he's always been a little into his looks.

 What I told Jimmy was true. What I didn't tell Jimmy was that I had an inkling as to where our sheriff had scampered off to. He was still at the hunting cabin, just outside of town. Recuperating. I know because Hawkins was out there too, standing guard the whole time. I saw his wife coming back and forth from that direction out of town, and it would be just like Hawkins to set up a twenty-four-hour guard on a fugitive who was no longer wanted. Hawkins is a good cop, we were lucky to have him, but he goes overboard sometimes. All that time in St. Louis I think. I once saw him shoot at a squirrel that surprised him in his backyard.

 So I have no doubt that's where they both were, out at the Greens' hunting cabin, biding their time. That's why, when Jake came back into town after three weeks, he was in for a bigger shock than the rest of us, who'd had a week already to adjust to the big news the mayor sprung on us. It shocked everyone of course, but it was especially hard on Jake, since it hit so close to home for him.

 It was two weeks after the liberation that Gray Anderson and Gail Green stood outside town hall and announced to the crowd gathered on the lawn that they intended to be married. The gasps heard across Main Street were louder than when Gracie Leigh's murder was first discovered, when New Bern's war crimes were first denounced, and when Beck declared the town to be in open insurrection combined. There had been rumours, of course, in the preceding two weeks. Jimmy Taylor had observed Gray whistling as he walked the halls at work, April Green remarked to herself one evening that her mother-in-law had a new bounce in her step, and numerous reports of the pair appearing together in public, holding hands in some accounts, began to surface, coming from a range of reliable witnesses. From Sean Henthorn to Harry Carmichael, Trish Merrick to Kenchy Dhuwalia, everyone knew something was going on. Still, this knowledge did not prepare the town for the news Gray Anderson divulged that day in front of town hall.

 I was there the day Jake stumbled back into town, a little dazed and confused but with a face no longer marked by questionable interrogation methods. Jimmy was the one who broke the news to him. I think it's safe to say Jake Green never heard anything so shocking in his whole life. He turned white and stammered, "Gray? Anderson? Marrying Gail Green? As in, my mother? Gail - Green - my mother?"

 "Yeah," said Jimmy with an affable smile. "We all thought it was kind of weird at first too, but they say they're happy. I've never seen Gray so excited, about every little thing that goes on. Love just changes everything, doesn't it?"

 "Love?" Jake croaked. "That's what you think - what about Mom? What does she say about all this? She can't have decided to -"

 "Your mom's the one who invited the whole town to come to the wedding."

 At these words, Jake ran a hand over his face, nearly shaking with an effort to contain his chagrin.

 Jimmy noticed this, and attempted a consolatory tone. "And she's really excited about it, I hear. She's got your sister-in-law planning a menu, and the Richmonds helping with transportation, and Eric's on security detail -"

 "Eric?" gasped Jake with a fresh look of horror. "He's going along with this?"

 Jimmy cleared his throat, looking down and smudging the dirt on the ground with his foot as he talked. "Well, he isn't really in a position to judge, after the way your mom was so accepting and supportive of his choices. And I guess he felt he owed Gray, considering how the mayor helped him out when he wanted to get married..."

 "That wasn't the same thing!" growled Jake. "That was - we're supposed to look out for Mom. No matter how helpful Gray's been in securing Eric's happy home life. I can't believe he let this happen! I'm gone for two weeks, and he lets something like this slip by!"

 "Jake, calm down..." Jimmy tried to say, even though it would obviously be of no use. Jake was seething, and his look of wild disconcertment was transforming to a more dangerous look of determination.

 "Well, I'm not going to let it slip by! There's still time to fix this, and he is going to help, if he values his reputation in this town at all!"

 "Actually, I'm not sure Eric's really worried about that anymore -" Jimmy began, but Jake was already storming away.

 Evidently, Jake did not succeed in convincing his brother to help stop their mother's wedding, nor did he manage to make his mother see reason or follow through with the threats he made to his stepfather-to-be. The day of the wedding, Jake Green stood lurking in the back of the church, leaning against a wall, his arms folded across his chest and his expression sullen.

 Other than the dark shadow in the back of the church, it was a magical wedding. The bride walked down the aisle with her younger son's arm in hers. The groom stood at the front of the church, distinguished in his best suit, but it was really his beaming face that stood out, as he lit up at the sight of his intended.

 The church was packed with townspeople, sitting close together, but all were hushed as the couple exchanged vows they'd penned themselves, some people tearing up at the message about finding comfort in difficult times and seeing the silver lining in a dense, dark fog. Gray spoke about his hope for the future with his new wife and her family. Gail spoke about the love for their town that had brought them together to begin with. The church broke out in applause when Reverend Young pronounced them husband and wife and Gray dipped Gail for a kiss. Only those in the back of the church heard the loud sound of disgust coming from the corner.

 As the happy couple processed out of the church, the jubilant guests quickly pressed behind them, and Jake was completely swallowed up in the swell of the crowd. As the gathering spilled out onto the street outside, Jake found himself riding a wave of people. He scowled and crossed his arms as he was jostled on either side.

 The crowd clapped as the door opened and the wedding party - the bride's son, daughters-in-law, and grandchild, and the groom's deputy and head engineer, filed out into the streaming sunlight. As the beaming couple stepped over the threshold, streams of white cascaded down on either side of them, forming an archway and twisting in the summer breeze. The audience who had gathered exclaimed and clapped harder. Gray Anderson's eyes had gone wide, and in the second it took him to realize that it was toilet paper descending from the roof, he became infuriated.

 "Oh, they've just taken it too far!" he growled, looking around wildly for the culprits. "On our wedding day! Our wedding day!"

 Smiling, Gail patted his arm. The crowd seemed oblivious to what was happening around and above them, but Gray continued to seethe. "I can't believe it. Today of all days! I thought my security detail was supposed to keep them away."

 The bride's smile turned apologetic. "Well, I invited them."

 "You invited them?" he sputtered, flabbergasted, as cheerful well-wishers pushed in on either side of them, reaching to shake their hands.

 Gail shrugged. "I used to babysit Dale, and Skylar is your best friend's daughter."

 "But..." Gray trailed off helplessly. "The Devil's Duo. At our wedding. I should have known something like this would happen..."

 Gail pressed a quick kiss to her new husband's cheek. "Look around. No one else is upset. They think it's part of the wedding." She gave a soft chuckle.

 Indeed, the friends and townspeople were still exclaiming over the outdoor decorations, and Gray's new family was pressing in around him. Eric shook his hand heartily, April and Mary hugged their mother-in-law, and Gray couldn't help but smile as he took his new step-grandchild from Trish. The baby was watching the streaming toilet paper with big eyes, and Gray chuckled at her expression. He really didn't have any reason to complain on this day, even if the Devil's Duo had indeed decided to leave their mark on the blessed event and most important day of his life. He waved at the crowd of revelers, handed the baby to April, and wrapped his arm around Gail as they walked, in the midst of their family, towards the car that would take the newlyweds away. There was only one member of the Green family who did not join in this joyful procession, as he was standing across the yard, leaning against the church wall, his hands in his pockets and a grimace on his face.

 Jake continued to scowl as his mother and her husband, and his brother and his wives, talked and laughed their way to the car. His stony expression only broke into a chuckle when Gray Anderson let out a yelp, discovering that in addition to paper flowers and a 'Just Married' sign, his car was now adorned with the letters DD, spelled out in shaving cream across the rear window.

 Jake did not seem to warm up to the idea of his new family, or new family member rather, in the weeks that followed the wedding. He was often observed around town, distractedly going about his duties as sheriff, often skulking around the streets at all hours, his hands in his pockets, muttering to himself.

 The few times he came into the office, he couldn't seem to pay attention to the reports Jimmy made or the paperwork I pointed out to him. We could never quite catch what he was mumbling about, but Jimmy thought maybe he'd heard the words 'father' and 'betrayal'.

 I got to observe Jake and his dark mood first hand when we went on a patrol together one day. It was a beautiful summer day, without a cloud in the sky, but anyone who saw Jake's grim expression would guess he lived in a world dominated by gray clouds. Jimmy was always going on about being sensitive to people's feelings, so I tried to get him to talk about whatever was making him so gloomy.

 As we stepped into Gracie's Market, I asked, "Is it bothering you, to have to share you mother with yet another family member?"

 Jake just grunted as we stepped through the crowd, in time to see Dale and Skylar laughing from behind the counter as Fred Ogden jumped from one foot to another, singing "I'm a little teapot, short and stout..."

 Jake did not even seem particularly interested as I lectured the Devil's Duo about the kinds of fees they could exact for their goods and services. He merely handed the red faced Fred the pound of oats he had been trying to earn, and let out a world weary sigh.

 Crossing Twelfth Street, I suggested, "It always takes some adjustment time when something changes. And we've had a lot of changes over the past year, haven't we? Maybe you should go easier on yourself."

 Jake walked with his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet as he kicked at the dirt. Consequently, I was the only one who noticed the two figures, their arms full of what seemed like machine parts, flit around the side of the pharmacy and into the alley as we approached. They were fast, but I caught a flash of dark hair, and after four years as the equipment manager for the Jericho Marauders' football team, I'd know those shoulders anywhere.

 "Stanley and Mimi!" I said. "Again!" I'd been trying to warn my boss for weeks that there was something suspicious about our long time friend and the strange woman he was living with, the way I'd see them turn up in odd places in town, and the way they'd dash away as fast as they could. I knew there was a sinister secret, a deeper story going on, but Jake only glanced up from the ground with an air of indifference.

 "They were just here! They're up to something, I swear!"

 Jake merely mumbled something that sounded like, "He's up to something," and continued to kick at the dirt.

 Investigating reports of an incident at the school, which turned out to be kids playing with the sprinkler system, I said, "Maybe you should talk to Eric. Work your way through it together. You've known each other your whole lives. He's your brother! You can talk to him."

 Jake shook his head gloomily. "He doesn't have anything but nice things to say about it," he muttered.

 "Well, you don't know that for sure," I countered. "Why don't you talk to him? You're going over tonight, right? For that barbecue your mother invited you to?"

 Jake scowled, though it had been common knowledge in the office, ever since Gail had stopped by to casually invite him to join the whole family for a barbecue out at the ranch. Jimmy and I suspected she'd invited him in front of us so there were witnesses who could urge him to go. Now, he gave a non-committal shrug.

 "Well, it's not like you have to - oh, hi Heather," I said, as I nearly bumped into Heather on her way into the office we were leaving. "How's it going?"

 "Oh, I'm - good. I am good," she stammered, though she didn't really look too 'good' as she struggled with a pile of papers. Her face was flushed and she was glancing back and forth between myself and Jake.

 Jake remained silent, as though lost in thought, while I offered, "Do you need any help with those?"

 Heather's face took on a wistful look for a moment, but she rearranged it quickly. "I don't need anyone's help." I was a little taken aback by her emphatic tone, but she quickly softened her face. "Thanks anyway."

 "Don't mention it," I said as she continued with her pile of paper. I looked back at Jake. Jake was staring at a row of lockers. I tried to cover my shock at his sedateness. I'd never known Jake Green to be able to resist jumping to someone's aid and playing the hero, at least the Jake Green of the past year and a half. Now, he only glanced forlornly at the damsel-not-in-distress' retreating figure.

 "So, that barbecue," I said awkwardly, swinging my hands together. It was an awkward moment.

 Jake obviously didn't want to go, but I convinced him to get in the cruiser without much protest. As I drove, I pointed to things outside the windows. The group of children playing in the street. The fields of ripening wheat, swaying in the breeze. The newly repaved roads. Jake barely acknowledged any of it as we drove out to the Greens' ranch, or the commune as it was more often referred to in town.

 Most people who went out to the commune in those days remarked that it had hanging over it a happy, infectious spirit that left them feeling lighthearted after their visit. As we got out of the car and went around to the backyard, where Gail and Gray were setting up a table for an outdoor feast, I couldn't help but feel it, but I also noticed that Jake seemed immune. He ignored his new stepfather's greetings, nodded a curt hello to his mother, and skulked around the chair where Trish sat, rocking the baby, to sink into his own folding chair.

 I followed him, exchanging more pleasant greetings with Gray, Gail, and unfortunately, Trish, who it seemed was smiling and staring at me just a little too much for a married woman. I didn't blame the poor kid, though. I knew she must get a little homesick for the big city, where she came from. She must have still been getting used to ranch life with its 'early to bed, early to rise' ethos, not to mention the sounds and oh-so fragrant smells. I politely nodded and smiled back, before quickly turning to the mayor and his wife.

 "So, enjoying married life?" I asked.

 Gail and Gray turned to smile at each other. I could hear Jake shifting in his chair beside me, no doubt crossing his arms and looking away in disgust.

 "It's been lovely. Lemonade?" asked Gail, sitting down and reaching for the glass pitcher.

 I nodded graciously, and Gray silently offered his assistance. She passed the pitcher to him, and he poured a glass for me, and then one for her.

 "I just never thought I could be so happy," he sighed, as he poured himself a glass. "And so lucky. To find love," he grinned at Gail, and then reached for the baby, pulling her onto his lap. "To be a part of this wonderful town. This wonderful family."

 He smiled at Jake then, and we all turned to watch as Jake looked determinedly over at the house. I didn't expect him to say anything, so I was surprised when he said, "Where's Eric?"

 "Oh, he's getting the food with the girls. They should all be down here in a moment," said Gail, sipping her lemonade.

 As if on cue, we could hear laughter come from the side of the house, and I turned to see Eric, April and Mary making their way over to the table, April and Mary carrying bowls of salad and laughing about something, Eric balancing a huge tray of barbecued meat as he walked behind them. Everyone but Jake smiled as the trio approached.

 Naturally, I got up to offer my assistance. "Bill, good to see you. Will you be joining us?" April asked, flashing her eyes at me and smiling invitingly.

 "You're welcome to. We've got plenty to go around," added Mary, briefly touching my arm.

 "Well, it all smells great," I said affably, to a round of giggles from them. Since Eric was standing behind them and screwing his face up with effort to balance his tray, I thought it best to step around them and help him.

 It was only a few more steps to the table, and we set the plate down in the middle, to excited exclamations from everyone (except Jake). I took my seat again, and soon everyone was sitting in the chairs around the table, pouring glasses of lemonade and getting ready to eat.

 "So how are things in town, Bill?" asked Eric, pulling his chair closer to the table.

 I glanced at Jake. He was my boss after all. He was studying his plate very intently. "They're good. Everyone's enjoying their ASA free existence. How are things going for you guys?"

 Eric shrugged with a small smile. "Can't complain." His wives broke out in chuckles again.

 "No, we really can't. We've had wonderful weather," said April. She smiled at Mary.

 "Business is great," added Mary, returning the smile before turning to her step-father-in-law. "And Ruby is getting so big so fast. Have you ever seen such a beautiful baby?"

 Baby Ruby took this opportunity to let out a giggle and the entire table (except Jake) laughed themselves. Her proud step-grandfather bounced her on his knee and she giggled again.

 April reached across Eric to pat Mary's arm. "Yours is going to be just as beautiful. And oh! Tell them, about what happened today!"

 Mary grinned. "We felt the first kick!"

 Around the table, everyone exclaimed, offered excited predictions on everything about the next baby Green, from whether it would be a girl or boy to whether it would have Eric's eyes or Mary's hair. Eric chuckled at his stepfather's predictions that Ruby and the baby would be troublemaking deputy mayor's children, just like their father and uncle before them. They both looked at Jake, who flashed them a murderous look before putting his lemonade glass to his mouth.

 Eric turned back to Gray, reminding him that if the baby was indeed a girl, he'd be expected to attend some tea parties at the commune pretty soon. I laughed along with everyone else, though declined an offer to feel the baby's kicking, and sipped my lemonade, thinking that my plan to get Jake to work through his issues with Eric wasn't going swimmingly. Eric was adjusting pretty well to his mother's new marriage, and to the new father figure in his life. He was really being downright helpful, helping arrange the wedding and inviting Gray into his family's life. Of course, it wasn't very surprising Eric was being supportive of this marriage. There was a time Gray helped him out a lot...

To be continued

 When Worlds Collide

Or, While You Were Having Your Existential Crisis...

It had all started a few weeks after the bombs. Eric Green found himself caught between two worlds, and the two worlds were about to collide. I think Eric was one of the last people in town to see this eclipse coming, though by rights he should have been the first.

The worlds I'm talking about were the ones revolving around April Green and Mary Bailey. One a feisty medical professional, one a spunky business owner, both women any guy in town would be glad to orbit, but I'll never know how Eric ended up circling either of them. I guess love works in mysterious ways. And in the case of April, Mary, and Eric Green, it worked in unexpected ways.

Just before that first Thanksgiving after the bombs, everything seemed headed towards combustion - on level with the Big Bang - in their universe. Seems each had finally gotten fed up with the fact that their love had another love, and neither was willing to be strung along any further. Mary confronted Eric one morning, tearfully telling him that if he wanted her, he'd better figure out what he was going to do about it, and April cornered him that afternoon to inform him shakily that she was pregnant, and he'd better decide if he was really committed for the long haul. Despairing at the choice he had to make, Eric looked to the grand tradition of the American man and decided to go out to the woods to be alone with his thoughts.

The morning Eric left on his quest, he set out with a heavy but determined heart. He could be seen walking from Bailey's that morning, a backpack strapped to his shoulders, a sombre expression on his face as he trudged away. Mary could be seen standing in the doorway, watching him go with an equally sombre look. I was on patrol with Jimmy that day, and we actually witnessed April approaching Bailey's, walking steadily and resolutely as she crossed the street. The bar-owner's face froze in shock as she saw the doctor approaching.

"Uh, should we...intervene?" Jimmy asked nervously.

I shook my head as April crossed the sidewalk and stopped in front of the tavern.

"But, what if -" Jimmy shifted uncomfortably.

"This is between them," I said, but I was holding my breath for a second too.

We both exhaled loudly when April merely began talking, quickly and not too hysterically. Mary's eyes were wide at first, but after a few minutes, she actually stepped to the door and held it open. April went inside, Mary following her, and we stared on in apprehension.

Jimmy was all for waiting around and checking up on them if we didn't see any signs of life in a few hours, but I thought we had more important things to do, like patrolling the town and sorting out the Chinese food that had just dropped. We left, and just as I predicted, both April Green and Mary Bailey were seen around town the next day, and the day after that, both looking to be in fine health. In fact, even stranger, they were seen in each other's company, and didn't seem to be on the verge of any violence or ill mannered behaviour. This certainly had the town in a bit of a frenzy of gossip, but nothing compared to what was to come.

Of course, the person who would be most surprised was Eric Green. He had made quick tracks to the woods where he had hunted with his father in his youth, and once he was well surrounded by trees, he found himself a log and sat down to begin his thinking.

By the first night, he was cold. His coat no longer seemed as sturdy as he'd thought when the winds whistled through him, but he still hadn't figured out what to do. By the second night, he was hungry. His stomach twisted in knots and his Power Bar supply was gone, but he still didn't know what to do. The third night it rained. He lay on the rotting log, holding a thin plastic sheet over his head and wishing he could sleep, or make up his mind.

The next morning, he woke to find that he'd rolled off the log and landed on the ground. One side of him was covered in mud. All of his belongings were soaked and a November wind was chilling him to the bone. He still didn't know what he would do, give up on the new love he had with Mary or leave April - whom he still cared for deeply - to raise a child alone. But the cold, the rain, and the mud were not helping him see a solution. He decided to go back to town. He could still ponder his problem in his office, and at least it was dry.

He trudged soggily into his office at town hall, and just had time to change into a spare shirt when Jimmy rushed in.

"Eric! You're back! We didn't know where you were!"

Eric began to panic at Jimmy's urgent tone. "What happened? Did something happen to the baby? Or April?"

"No, you have to go to Bailey's."

"Did something happen to Mary?"

Jimmy shook his head, but couldn't help stammering, "Well, something happened alright. They're all okay...we think. But you should go."

"They? Both of them?" squeaked Eric. Jimmy nodded.

Eric ran the whole way to Bailey's tavern, and before he could race up the stairs to the apartment, the door at the top opened. His jaw nearly hit the floor as he beheld the sight.

April and Mary stood, their arms linked, looking down at him.

"Eric. We heard you were back," said April.

Eric merely sputtered. He wondered briefly how long he'd been in the woods. He instinctively clutched at his face. His beard didn't seem to have grown exponentially.

"Well, don't just stand there. Come on up. We have some things to discuss," said Mary.

With that, the two of them spun around and retreated into the apartment. Eric stood frozen to the spot for a long moment.

April. And Mary. Standing together. Saying 'we'. What had happened while he was gone? Had he come back to a parallel universe? What did they want to 'discuss'? He considered the possibility it was some kind of trap. He heard their voices calling him again, and felt his feet begin to climb the stairs, despite his mind protesting the entire way up. He continued through the door and into the apartment, willed forward by his legs that seemed to have taken on a mind of their own. He came into the living room, that had once seemed so comfortable, but now just left him with a sense of foreboding. They had seated themselves on the couch, side by side. Mary patted the arm chair, and April smiled. "Have a seat."

Eric gulped, but stepped forward.

The both watched him as he sat slowly in the chair. Clearing his throat, he looked up at them, raising his eyebrows and trying not to betray the extreme uneasiness churning his insides.

They glanced at each other, and Mary began. "Eric, after you left, April came over here."

He nodded slowly, noting that neither of them had any signs of lasting injuries and wondering where this was going.

"We had an interesting discussion," she continued.

"Very interesting," laughed April. Eric swallowed hard.

Mary had been very apprehensive as she'd stood in the doorway, watching the redhead approaching her with determination. Thoughts of April, and of April's condition, had been gnawing at her for some time, and it was with great trepidation that she shakily invited the other woman inside when April announced she had come 'to talk'. With one last glance at the outside world, she shut the door and followed her guest into the bar.

April had been determined when she made her march up to the tavern door - determined to stare her husband's mistress in the face, determined to stand her ground with dignity as she spoke the things she had been going over in her head for hours. She was thrown when the bartender faced her, not with hostility, but another look on her face, and she tried to remain determined as she accepted the invitation she hadn't expected and went inside.

Mary had offered April a drink, chiding herself a second too late for forgetting that April couldn't indulge in any of her latest batch of home brew. She scrambled around behind the bar instead, trying to find something to offer the doctor, who remained standing, staring at her the entire time. As she pondered her meagre selection of beverages, she wondered vaguely how easy it would be for a medical professional to slip her a lethal dose of something without her even noticing. She finally offered tea, setting out two cups when the woman on the other side of the bar didn't respond.

April silently followed her to the booth, ignoring the tea but taking a seat on the bench. She had been watching the bartender the entire time, rushing around behind the bar, a flustered look on her face, and she had tried to hold onto the steady, determined anger she'd felt when she'd first set her eyes on Bailey's tavern that morning. It almost made her more angry, when she realized watching Mary was making her feel something else. She forced herself not to acknowledge what it was, exactly, that she could see in that look on the other woman's face, and forced herself not to acknowledge where she recognized it from. As April sat, not touching her tea, she peered up at Mary. Mary sat, slowly, on the other side of the booth. She didn't touch her tea either.

Mary waited in silence, sitting at the other side of the table, watching her lover's wife, waiting for the barrage she had been expecting since she first invited her inside. April merely stared back, and each moment seemed to stretch into eternity. Mary fiddled with the cross around her neck, the ring on her finger, and the cup of tea in front of her, but continued to meet April's gaze. Finally, she broke under the crushing silence, and before she could stop herself, she started speaking.

April had been surprised as she watched the other woman squirm in her seat. She had half expected herself to get some kind of shameful but delicious pleasure out of watching Mary feel the heat under her gaze. She hadn't expected it to be as painful as it was, and it annoyed her. She also hadn't expected Mary to speak first, and she really hadn't expected the words that came pouring out of the bartender's mouth. From the moment she'd found out about Eric's affair, she'd pictured this moment and she'd imagined the other woman laying claim to him would be indignant, defensive. She hadn't expected an apology.

Mary knew it was useless, to apologize for falling for him, because she loved him still. She knew it was useless to tell April how it had eaten at her, knowing the position this would all one day put the baby in. She knew, from her own experience, how useless those kind of remorseful words were. Yet she couldn't seem to stop herself, even as her own eyes teared up in a massively undignified display, even as April's eyes began to tear up too, despite the doctor's obvious attempts to remain unswayed. Though Mary tried to stop the tears from sliding down her cheeks and though April tried to set her chin in angry defiance, the words kept coming.

April watched the bartender through her own blurry eyes, furious for all the things she was bringing up and even more furious that it was getting to her too. This was supposed to have been her chance to let out all the things that had been bothering her and watch Eric's other woman take the full impact. This was not nearly as satisfying, and she suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to make it stop. "Shut up!" she had shouted, her voice suddenly ringing through the tavern for the first time. "Just shut up!"

Mary had paused mid-pleading-sentence as April stood to her feet, glaring down at the red-eyed bar owner. She stayed silent over the next few minutes, though tears continued to glisten on her cheeks, as the doctor let loose with her own words. April, it seems, couldn't stop herself either once she got started. Out came all her built up anger, out came all her hurt and betrayal, all directed mercilessly down upon the seated woman. As Mary met the stinging words with silence, it made April angrier, and she pushed and pushed, until Mary's eyes were finally flashing with something besides tears. "You think I wanted this?" she shot up at April, getting to her feet. "Think this was how I wanted everything to turn out?"

Both women stood, faced off across the booth, their hands in fists at their sides, their tear-stained faces twisted in fury. "You can hate me all you want, but that won't change anything!" Mary shouted.

"I know! And I don't!" April shouted back.

"And I can apologize 'til the cows come home, but it's not all my fault!" continued Mary.

"It isn't your fault!" shot back April.

Each was calming down just a little, taking deep breaths, as it suddenly dawned on them exactly whose fault it really was.

A short time later, another sound was filling the tavern: the sound of darts whistling through the air, smacking into the dart board occasionally, but more often into the wall. Stranger than that were the sounds of April and Mary shouting, cheering, each time the darts made contact with a surface, and stranger still, they were even laughing. This puzzling turnaround had begun with April's and Mary's realizations that the true object of their anger was not actually present. The dart board bore the brunt of their wrath that night.

"You know, one time, he got all excited about going to see this musical in Denver, and then he fell asleep in the theatre! And snored!" shouted April, flinging a dart. It hit the wall at an angle. "Everyone was staring!"

Mary grimaced. "God, that must have been embarrassing!" She quickly retrieved a handful of darts herself. "One time, he promised to throw my laundry in the washer since I had to go to work, and he put a red sock in with the whites! I don't own any whites any more!"

"Was that one of his 'Cat in the Hat' socks?" asked April.

Mary nodded, throwing another dart. "I hated those socks!" shouted April, tossing her own dart. They both stopped to stare at the board. Both darts had hit near the centre this time.

"Nice," said Mary, in a quieter voice.

"Good game," said April, holding up a hand. Mary lightly high-fived her, and they both continued to look over at the dart board, breathing slowly.

"It's not fair," April whispered. "I wish we could both win."

Mary nodded solemnly. "I wish we could too."

That night, over another pot of tea, April and Mary talked long into the wee hours of the morning. They were exchanging life stories by the second pot. April described the summers she spent out at her grandparents' farm and the flute recital where she'd momentarily forgotten her solo's opening. Mary spoke about the twirly slide at the park down the street from her childhood home, and the broken arm she'd gotten on the one and only ski trip she'd gotten to go on in elementary school. By the third pot, they were revealing their inner feelings. April spoke of her overwhelming fears about bringing a child into the strange new world, and of being left alone and friendless. Mary sympathized, and explained how her own childhood abandonment had continued to haunt her into her adult life. Each acknowledged the strange feeling that it seemed like they'd known each other a lot longer than they really had, and both agreed again that they would hate to see the other lose.

Eric could tell a change had come over them as he watched them those three days later, sitting on the couch like old schoolmates, but he felt very wary indeed. "Interesting conversation?" he asked nervously, watching April and Mary stare back at him.

April threw a smile over at Mary. "We've come to a decision," she said.

Grinning at April before turning back to Eric, Mary nodded. "We thought it would be best to compromise." At Eric's blank stare, she continued, "You know, figure out a way we could both win."

"Exactly," added April. "Make this a win-win for all three of us."

"You mean four," amended Mary, a small smile playing on her lips.

Eric shifted in his arm chair, looking worried. "What do you mean, all of us?"

Mary leaned forward in her seat. "Well, Eric, turns out April and I get along really well. Or could get along, we think, so it would be a shame for anyone to be put out, when we could just...share."

Eric glanced slowly from her to April, who nodded, adding, "It just seemed fair. Like shared custody."

"And, the times we're living in," continued Mary, "It just makes good business sense."

Eric blinked a few times, finally narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "What do you mean, like shared custody? I get to live with one of you one week and one...the other?"

Mary laughed. "No."

At Eric's nervous questioning look, she said, "We're all going to live here."

Eric sputtered, looking back and forth between the women in front of him, only able to force out one word. "Huh?"

"And we even have a schedule!" said April.

"Live here?" croaked Eric. "All of us?"

Mary gave him a solicitous look. "Well, do you really expect us to live with you half the time and alone the other half? That wouldn't make sense."

"And this does?" he stammered.

April nodded emphatically. "It does. We can combine forces. Share chores."

Eric sat back in his chair, shaking his head, apparently in shock. "Share chores," he muttered bemusedly. "My wife and my girlfriend and me and a kid?"

They exchanged a smile. "Yes," said April. "And, well, we think Mary needs to be more equal." Mary nodded.

Eric wore a dazed look. "What?"

"You two are going to get married."

Eric looked down at his hands and back up at the smiling women sitting on the couch. He shook his head, but the image didn't change. They both watched him as though worried he was the one losing it. "Um, April," he finally said. "I'm still married to you."

"And you're going to stay married to her," cut in Mary.

"Yes. Trust me, I'm not doing the single parent thing," said April.

"But -" Eric began, looking back and forth in confusion. "How can I be married...to you...and you..."

April nodded, a smile crossing her features. Mary raised an eyebrow.

"But that's bigamy!" Eric protested.

"Yeah. We think it's a good solution," said Mary.

"If we don't mind it, why should you?" April asked pointedly.

Though they hadn't faltered once as they sat together and faced him, Eric was still incredulous. "You're actually both okay with this?" he asked, staring intently at each of them in turn. "You both actually want this?"

Mary nodded. "You never told me April was so good at playing pool. Or such a good listener. You know, I don't get why you think she doesn't understand you. She's very understanding."

He looked from her to April, who spoke up. "You never told me Mary was so much fun. Of course, you never really told me about Mary."

Eric squirmed as they both looked at him, but April just grinned. "You should have introduced us ages ago!" Eric squirmed some more as the women smiled at each other.

"Point is, Eric," Mary said, becoming serious. "We don't want to let whatever happened between you and me, and her and you, and well, everything, stop us from having a good life. These days, you've just gotta take whatever good comes up. And we think this'll be good."

As the women he loved continued to smile at him, Eric only managed to protest, "But you do realize it's illegal in Kansas?"

"Have you talked to the governor lately, Eric?" April laughed and exchanged a smile with Mary, before turning back to Eric and putting on a serious look of her own. "Now, I'm sure you're concerned about sleeping arrangements, but don't be. We've worked that all out."

"Yup," nodded Mary. "You'll see it's all settled. Well, nearly. You work late on Tuesdays, right Eric?"

April and Mary both leaned over, looking down at a big piece of paper he hadn't noticed spread out on the table. He was reluctant to steal a look at it himself. April, however, had pulled out a pencil and was holding it over the already detailed scribblings. "I'll keep Tuesdays," she said, thinking for a moment and looking up at Mary. "Do you really want Wednesday, though? That's a long day for you. I can trade you for Thursday or Saturday." She looked over at Eric then. "We're alternating Sundays," she explained.

"Do I get a night off?" he asked faintly.

"Why would you need one?" April asked, rolling her eyes.

Mary seemed not to have heard, as she was studying the paper. "Yeah, Wednesdays do leave me pretty tired by the end of the shift. Maybe Thursday? Oh, but you sometimes have to do on-call midweek, right?"

April gave a casual shrug. "When am I not on call? Kenchy's a little more reliable these days, but... It'll be fine."

Eric shifted in his seat. "You guys really seem to have this...planned out."

April grinned. "Mary's got some really great ideas for how to decorate the nursery too." Mary nodded.

Eric looked dazed again. "Nursery? Where are you going to put all this? Where are we putting everyone?"

April giggled. "Well, the schedule will go on the fridge," she said calmly.

Eric continued to look like a deer in the headlights. "Oh, we already moved April's stuff into the guest room," said Mary finally, seeming just a little amused at his confusion.

April seemed to share her amusement, but kindly explained. "There's two bedrooms. We each get one, and you...alternate."

"And the baby can sleep in April's room. It'll be the safest arrangement anyway, the way things have been going this year," added Mary.

"Though, Mary has offered to look after the baby when we want some time to ourselves," said April, reaching across the space between the couch and the armchair to run a hand up and down Eric's arm and smile suggestively.

Eric found himself smiling back at her, but then he glanced quickly over at Mary, who merely nodded. "It's going to be so much fun!" she exclaimed. "Having a baby around here!"

April smiled. "Well, eventually, I'm sure we'll have more than one!" She grinned at Mary.

Eric remained speechless. Mary flashed him a smile and raised an eyebrow.

He finally recovered to say, "More than one? Around here? Mary, you said you didn't have room for a new couch!"

Mary waved a hand dismissively. "We'll figure it out, when the time comes. Right now, we have other things to plan."

April nodded, suddenly businesslike. "So, it's Monday night," she said, patting Eric on the chest. "Mary's turn."

Eric stood in slow motion, staring as each of them smiled at him in turn. "But, oh, one more thing..." April said. He sat again.

"Eric, you need to ask Mary. To marry you," instructed April. At his look of confusion, she continued. "Go ahead. You have my blessing." She nudged Mary to stand, and stood herself. "I'll go in the other room, if that will help..."

Eric let out a breath, looking back and forth between them, suddenly very nervous again.

April glanced at Mary, giving her a sympathetic smile. "Hopefully he won't mix up his pronouns this time." She laughed. "Good luck you two!"

Eric stood again, glancing at her. As she began to cross the room, he shook his head. "Nah, I guess I'll have to - have to get used to this."

He stepped towards Mary, tentatively taking one of her hands in his, kneeling down on one knee and feeling both pairs of eyes on him. He could feel his palms sweating, but he held on and looked up at her. "Will you marry me?" he asked.

She seemed nearly bursting as she answered casually, "Yeah." A small laugh escaped her lips as she pulled him to his feet and pulled him into a kiss. He was lost momentarily in her embrace, but a second later, she was out of his arms and squealing along with April, who had bounded over to pull her into a hug. He stood there in shock for a moment until they each loosened an arm to pull him towards them. He allowed himself to be engulfed by them, to enjoy the odd feeling of wrapping his arms around both the women he loved. He nearly choked though as they enthusiastically squeezed him.

"We're getting married! And we're having a baby!" Mary exclaimed, unable to contain her mirth.

"We?" he managed.

"We three," grinned April, unable to stop beaming as they stepped back for air. She glanced over at Mary and a silent conversation seemed to quickly take place between them. They each nodded, businesslike, and turned back to Eric.

"Now, Eric, it's my turn tonight, but we have a few things to talk about still, so why don't you go on ahead?" said Mary. "I'll be in in a little while."

"And for goodness' sake, take a shower!" chided April, hands on her hips.

Mary nodded, wrinkling her nose at Eric's dismayed look, and mouthed "Thank you" as she turned to April. They giggled, and Eric watched as they stepped back over to the couch.

"So, April, you're going to help me pick out dresses, right? I just love how you co-ordinated your office," Mary was saying as they sat down. "We'll have to find a good one for you. Something classy, that says 'wife of the groom'."

"Of course! And we should ask Gail. She's an amazing seamstress," said April, pulling out another piece of paper and beginning to write on it. "I'll go see her tomorrow, explain things. Set it all up."

"Right," nodded Mary, looking slightly nervous for the first time.

"Don't worry," said April, patting Mary's arm. "She's gonna love you as much as I do!"

Mary smiled again. "I hope so!"

In the hallway, Eric made a strangled noise. Before either of his loves could turn and give him any more instructions, he retreated into the bathroom for his shower.

The wedding took place on a beautiful fall day, and while modestly attended, it was the talk of the town. Those who did cram into the room in town hall reported that it was simple, yet elegant. The town was abuzz when they heard that Gray Anderson, in his second official act as mayor, agreed to preside, perhaps as a way of extending an olive branch to the Green family, who, to the further shock of the townspeople, were all in attendance and smiling proudly in the front row. Though the details of these unorthodox nuptials caused excitement, once everyone saw the blessed couple, and their one attendant, the groom's first wife, standing at the front of the room with them, they could only remark on how happy they looked. The bride was radiant as she walked down the aisle, her stunning dress and the late fall flowers she wore in her hair no match for her smile as she looked at her groom. In fact, all in attendance agreed that the beautiful sight of the bride was matched only by the wife-of-the-groom, who stood by her side, in an equally stunning dress, exchanging a radiant smile of her own with her friend and soon-to-be-sister-wife as she took the bouquet from her, and then turned to watch the groom utter the vows she had helped him practice the day before. The groom as well seemed to be positively glowing as he took his bride's hand, and though he wore a somewhat dazed look as he grinned through her vows, he managed to keep all his pronouns straight when his turn came.

I'd received an invite from the former mayor, and so I got to witness the event from the second row. I couldn't quite decide what to think. Sure, the beauty of the moment got to me, and it's not like I was the only one in the room who got a little choked up, but being a lone wolf, I couldn't help but feel a little nervous as I watched Eric take Mary's arm, and then April's as the three of them processed out of the room. Sure, he seemed to have some guys in town jealous, with those two beautiful women on either side of him, but he'd also just vowed to stick with both of them, in sickness and health, til death do they part. Just one marriage vow is a commitment, but Eric Green was doubly bound. So, while I clapped along with everyone else, I wasn't quite so envious. Still, I couldn't help but be happy for them, when I saw the looks on their faces, and I don't think anyone in the room wasn't won over, though I could see Jake smirking and coughing a few times. He did always have a knack for seeing the humour in every situation his brother got himself into.

Regardless of Jake's amusement and my completely non-envious appreciation, I think we both had a good time at the reception. In fact, a good time was had by all. Thanks to Gray's first act as mayor, there was a lot of freeze-dried fish to go around, and in a pleasantly surprising show of camaraderie, Jericho's former and present mayors both offered toasts. I laughed along with everyone else, and enjoyed the dancing and fun that followed, though I eventually had to tell Gail I wasn't in a dancing mood, after a few spins around the dance floor. It had seemed like such a strange idea, but by the end of the evening, as April hugged Mary and sent the newlyweds out the door, it seemed like the most normal thing in the world for the rest of the room to join her in wishing them well.

I excused myself from dancing with Skylar Stevens, who had finally worn me down after insinuating herself into my conversations all night, to catch up to Gray, who was leaning against a wall, a glass in hand and a smile on his face as he watched them go. "Did you ever think you'd see anything so bizarre?" I asked. "So absurd?"

"Two months ago, I'd say never," he said with a chuckle. "Now...nothing surprises me."

The trio of Greens adapted to their new domestic bliss with surprising ease. April and Mary found that they had more in common than they ever realized, and wondered why they hadn't been friends before. Eric adjusted to his newly organized and scheduled happiness, and found himself working hard to make his wives happy.

Life continued to be difficult as that first winter approached, and the food supplies dwindled in town, but April, Mary, and Eric banded together, protecting their family, and they found that the set of skills each of them possessed complemented nicely with the others.

They lived quite happily in the apartment over Bailey's those first few weeks, but one day, when April and Mary began renovations as they planned for the baby's arrival, they began to wonder if two bedrooms would really be enough for their burgeoning family.

"I'm not sure. It was pretty crowded when just my dad and I lived here," said Mary, stepping back from the wall she'd just sanded.

April nodded, wiping sawdust from her face. "Maybe we should just move."

At the family meeting they held that night, they informed Eric of their plans to move out to the Green family ranch.

And so it was that the Green trio moved their belongings and eventually, their business, out to the six hundred acre property on the outskirts of town. They set up an office for April, with all of her medical equipment they'd transfered from the med centre, and they set up the still they'd brought from the bar so that Mary could continue her work too.

Their clients followed them, and soon the Green commune, as it affectionately became known, was the preferred place to go for both medical needs and alcohol consumption. They renovated the barn to house their practice, and expanded it as the business grew. Mary taught April the ins and outs of working the still, and eventually they began manufacturing other goods to complement the roaring alcoholic beverages trade. They began to send Eric to gather herbs and plants in the early spring, and from them they made home remedies, natural dyes, soaps and deodorizers along with antiseptic. April's knowledge of science and chemistry proved helpful in the process of trial and error, and soon everyone was after Green products, even after J&R breezed into town.

April taught Mary to help her with patients, and after a lifetime of listening to bar patrons' life experiences and woeful tales, Mary was a natural at talking patients through difficult situations. They worked well together, and patients often reported feeling an atmosphere of support and positive feeling when they went away from the commune. April trained Mary to be a midwife, and they'd both cheerfully describe to Eric over dinner each night the progress that the baby was making in each stage of development.

Eric meanwhile, continued to help out in town, checking in on situations that arose and pitching in when refugees threatened to storm the food-lock up or fake marines tried to con the town out of supplies, but his main concern was helping out whatever way he could at his new home. It was sometimes exhausting, keeping up with his talented wives, but each day he wondered to himself how he had gotten so lucky.

One beautiful morning, on the very last day of May, April stopped suddenly in the middle of the kitchen floor, halfway to the breakfast table, to exclaim "The baby's coming!"

After taking a second for Eric to calm down, the three of them made their way to the room they'd specially prepared in the small clinic that had served so many clients before them. April shouted instructions in between contractions, Eric dutifully held her hand and kept from exclaiming himself, and Mary kept up a steady stream of encouraging words as she followed April's training and instructions.

As the afternoon sun shone lazily on the little commune, Ruby Green made her entrance into the world.

April would remember feeling a burst of joy and relief and pain and protectiveness all at once, Eric would remember crying as he saw his first born baby wiggle for the first time, and Mary would remember the sensation of holding the brand new life in her hands, and the moment she put the baby in April's arms. As the three of them lounged on the porch a few evenings later, during one of Ruby's brief sleeps, they finally had a chance to discuss it among themselves. The first birth in their family had been beautiful, and they had survived it.

Not long after, the Green commune added an Alternate Birthing Centre to the list of services provided.

If you're still with us and haven't guessed...

Happy April Fool's Day!

From Penny and Marzee (Who else?)

This wild journey into Bill's world will be continued...

Hitting the Mother lode
 
Or, Love in the Time of the Hudson River Virus
 

 
 
 
The Alternate Birthing Centre at the Green commune had already seen its fair share of business by the time Heather Lisinski sought out its services, but I think it's safe to say it had never seen anything like the events that would soon unfold.
 
A few weeks after the ASA cleared out, a few weeks after Heather spent the evening in her bathroom, staring at the little pink plus on the wand in her sink, she stepped into the main waiting room at the Green commune clinic, a look of trepidation on her face.
 
Trish Merrick sat behind the reception desk, sorting through papers and, every now and then, rocking the cradle nearby with her foot. She smiled up at the newcomer. "Welcome! Name please?"
 
Heather glanced around the waiting room. There were only two other clients there today, Lorraine Carmichael and a man she recognized only by sight. She cleared her throat. "Heather Lisinski."
 
"And is the purpose of your visit medical or retail?"
 
Heather breathed out slowly. "Medical."
 
"Fill these forms out please, and someone will be with you shortly."
 
Heather thanked her and sat in one of the chairs. She was finished quickly, the 'forms' being a single sheet of photocopy paper, though printed on both sides. She wondered vaguely where they had gotten the paper, having not signed up with J&R, but she'd also heard rumours that DD had been supplying a lot of people in the area with the fruits of their evening ransacking the offices in town hall after the liberation.
 
From her seat, she had a clear view of the baby in the cradle, making funny little noises as Trish rocked her absently. Heather willed herself not to let her eyes tear up.
 
"Heather!" She looked up to see Mary standing in the doorway. "Good to see you!"
 
Heather shook herself out of her reverie and stood up. "Good to see you too," she said shakily, following Mary down the hallway.
 
"How've you been? I feel like we haven't seen you in forever," Mary said as she offered Heather a seat in the small exam room.
 
"I - yeah, no, I've been...good," said Heather distractedly. "I haven't seen you in...you look...good. When are you due?"
 
"Another four months," said Mary, smiling and putting a hand self-consciously to her growing abdomen. "Are you okay?" she asked, for Heather's eyes had suddenly gotten suspiciously shiny.
 
"I - no - I'm..." Heather shifted uncomfortably in her chair, just as April swept into the room.
 
"Heather! Hi! Good to see you! You should come out sometime to visit, we haven't seen you in so long..." April trailed off as she too caught the look on Heather's face. She glanced quickly at Mary, and a look passed briefly between them. They both looked back at their patient before Heather could wonder what they were now silently communicating.
 
April seemed to think it best to proceed in a professional manner. "So, Heather, why'd you come in to see us today?"
 
Heather had been to the Green clinic once since its inception, to check out a finger she'd slammed in the photocopier at Town Hall, but this medical complaint would be much harder to make.
 
"I'm uh...well, I'm..." She floundered as she looked helplessly at her two concerned observers.
 
"It's okay," said April gently.
 
"Would you like a moment?" offered Mary.
 
"No, I..." Heather looked around the room as if searching for an escape, though she knew she needed to be there in this moment.
 
"A cup of tea?" asked April.
 
"Vodka?" asked Mary.
 
Heather felt her eyes welling up and cursed herself as she strained out, "I can't!"
 
April surveyed her with a calm but careful concern, and Mary reached to hand her a tissue, which she grudgingly accepted.
 
Heather stared at each of their faces, feeling the warring parts of herself give in as she finally had a chance to talk to someone who cared. "I'm pregnant."
 
Their matching expressions betrayed how taken aback they were, but they quickly composed themselves. "How long have you known?" asked April, in a kindly voice. Heather burst into tears.
 
Mary quickly pulled the other chair in the room up beside her, offering more tissues and a shoulder to cry on, while April leaned against the exam table so that she was right in front of Heather, offering comforting words and patting her arm.
 
After they had consoled her for a few minutes, April asked softly, "Does the father know?"
 
This produced fresh tears from Heather. April and Mary exchanged a worried look but turned quickly back to their patient and friend.
 
"He's - I can't - I don't know..."
 
"It's alright, you don't have to tell him, and you don't have to tell us anything, unless you want to," said April.
 
"It's not that," said Heather mournfully once she had recovered her speech. "I - oh, you're going to think I'm such a...such a..."
 
"Heather, we will not think any differently of you!" said April. "You can tell us anything, and we will be here for you."
 
Heather took a deep breath. "I don't know who the father is."
 
There was a silence in the room for a few seconds. Mary quickly broke it, saying "Okay. That's okay. You know, you wouldn't be the first. It happens."
 
April nodded. "It does. Heather, you would not be the first woman to sleep with two different men. And look at us. We're not exactly going to judge anyone."
 
Heather tried to smile at their attempts to console her, but she couldn't help but feel a little bitter as she did look at them. Their situation was in no way like hers. "It's worse," she whispered.
 
"Oh?" asked April. Mary raised her eyebrows.
 
Heather could barely face either of them as they continued to look at her with their concerned expressions. She absently brushed her hair back and said in a flat tone, "There are more than two."
 
They stared at her in silence. "There are six possibilities," she admitted a long moment later.
 
After April and Mary swallowed their shock and forced themselves to appear entirely supportive and not at all flabbergasted, after Heather dissolved into another round of tears, this time accompanied by noisy sobs, and after Mary put an arm around her and April took one of her hands in both of her own, Heather began to tell the story.
 
"The bombs changed so much, for so many people, and for me, they made me want to live my life to the fullest, every chance I got. You know, that first night, after Jake drove the bus back to town..."
 
April and Mary would discuss later the faraway look they almost thought they saw flash across her face at this moment, but Heather quickly continued on with her story. "That night, I thought about all the things I'd never done. Everything I'd never experienced. There were so many things..."
 
They nodded along. It wasn't as though anyone would disagree with that. "Then when I went to New Bern, and saw how bad everything was, I thought for sure, 'I could die here'." At the look of sympathy on their faces, she grimaced. "It was just how things were, there. Like living on the edge of the end of the world, all the time. And there were still so many things I'd never done."
 
They nodded. She swallowed. "I stayed with my friend, Ted, when I was there. We grew up together. Ran around the neighbourhood in our underwear one year, pretending to be superheroes. We were four," she clarified. April smiled gently, and Mary chuckled softly.
 
"Ted was a good friend. He was there for me. Safe. Someone I could count on," she said. "He asked me out once, in junior high, but we laughed it off and managed to stay friends."
 
They were silent as she continued. "I've been careful all my life. After the bombs, I started taking chances. Trying things. And still, I lay awake at night, thinking of everything I might never get to do."
 
She took a trembling breath, glancing at each of her confidantes before speaking. "See, before I went to New Bern, I'd never been...I was a virgin."
 
They said nothing, but nodded, encouraging her to go on.
 
"There I was, facing possible starvation or freezing to death, or war, disease, occupation, and I was thinking 'Damnit, I'll die a virgin'." She shook her head at the apparent irony.
 
"My third night there, I decided to take a chance. What did I have to lose?"
 
"So, Ted...?" asked April.
 
"He was a good friend," said Heather ruefully.
 
"Was it...?" asked Mary.
 
Heather shrugged. "Nothing earth-shattering," she said. She looked on the verge of tears again. "And now I don't even know where he is, they say he disappeared after the war, and I won't be able to even tell him this and I'm all alone!" She sobbed again.
 
April squeezed her hand. "That is not true. You are not all alone. You have friends. And you have us."
 
"Yes, you do," said Mary.
 
Heather continued to sob.
 
"Look, we're all in this together," said April. "Mary's due soon, we've got Ruby, and Trish is pregnant now too."
 
"We can all be moms together!" said Mary.
 
Seeing their solicitous looks, Heather tried to smile back at them, but she couldn't help thinking to herself that it would not be for her like it was for them. They had each other, a family around them always. Much as they might offer their advice, she would be doing it alone.
 
"And anyway," continued Mary, "You don't have to do this alone. There's a father out there who can help."
 
"If you want him to," added April.
 
"But I don't know..."
 
"Right," said April quickly. "Well, how about we get some basic blood work and do some tests, and you can tell us about the...rest? If you want."
 
Heather nodded her consent, blew her nose, and asked for a glass of water. She felt much too drained to continue telling her story, and so she stayed nearly silent as April conducted her exam, only speaking to answer questions or thank Mary who kept leaving and reappearing with water, more tissues, a book for expectant mothers and a jar of complimentary lotion from the Green commune supplies.
 
April and Mary talked a lot, April giving medical advice and recounting her own feelings of fear and isolation when she first found out she was pregnant, Mary trying to make her laugh with funny stories and explaining that they were training Trish to be a midwife too.
 
"We'll be there for yours, though, don't worry. You'll get the experts," said April.
 
Suddenly, Trish stuck her head in the door. "Sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Samarin is here and seems to have broken his leg, and Kenchy's here, asking for another batch. I told him you'd have to talk to him first." She smiled apologetically at Heather, and looked to April and Mary.
 
"He broke his leg?" asked April.
 
"Wife says he fell off the tractor or something. He's bleeding all over the place." Trish looked a little green in the face.
 
"And Kenchy...again?" asked Mary. Trish nodded.
 
"Okay, we've got to get those, is it alright if Trish finishes taking your history?" asked April.
 
Heather nodded, and after April finished explaining to Trish how to fill out the forms they hadn't gotten to, both April and Mary retreated quickly.
 
Heather sat quietly after they were gone. She had felt too drained to tell the rest of her story earlier, but now she wished they hadn't left. They were such good listeners. She peered at the young woman perched awkwardly on the chair across from her. Trish carefully perused the forms.
 
"Any infections or illnesses recently?" asked Trish.
 
Heather shook her head.
 
"Any history of drug use or excessive alcohol consumption?"
 
Heather bit her lip. "Usually, no," she answered after a prolonged pause. Trish looked up from the questions. Heather considered her. The story was on the tip of her tongue and Trish was not one of her friends, nor a trusted doctor or midwife. But, she was, Heather reminded herself, hardly in a position to judge and she didn't really know anyone in town anyway.
 
"I had this one night," Heather started, a little surprised at herself. She paused for a second, aware of Trish's careful observation of her, and continued. "Back in New Bern, when things were bad. I ended up at a bar there one night, Smoky Jim's, with one of my friends. We were both pretty depressed. He was telling me about how he'd just figured out he loved someone, really loved her, before he left town. He couldn't stop thinking about her, and worrying about her, and he was afraid he'd never see her again."
 
"I knew how he felt. I had someone I...someone I missed back home too. And New Bern those days, may as well have been Timbuktu, it seemed so far from home. We stayed at the bar that night, for so long, and we drank more and more, and talked again and again about how much we missed home. We finally left the bar, after it closed, and stumbled off together. I didn't make it all the way home."
 
"You mean...?" asked Trish.
 
"We were both so messed up, thinking about how we'd never get home to the people we loved. He even said her name...it was pretty bad. Next morning, we barely remembered, but we felt awful none the less. You know, I thought we could stay friends, but things have been really weird, and I've barely even talked to Stanley since."
 
"Stanley?" Trish's eyes had gone wide. "Stanley Richmond?"
 
Heather sighed. Of course, he had to be one of the only people in town Trish did know by name.
 
"Yes," she said through gritted teeth. "But you can't tell anyone, alright? I'm not sure this baby's his, and I really don't think I can go telling him about it. I've been kind of keeping my distance."
 
"Oh, I understand," said Trish. "And I don't blame you. That woman, his wife - Mimi. She kind of scares me."
 
"Well, she's..." Heather intended to say something nice. She had truthfully not thought a lot about Mimi before, but the more she thought about it now, the more she understood Trish's apprehension.
 
"I mean, he's nice enough," continued Trish. "But her..there's just something weird about her. I don't know, but I think she's hiding something."
 
Before Heather could join in her suspicions, there was a loud shouting on the other side of the door. Trish glanced at her quickly, and went over to open the door. In the hallway, Mary stood, with a hand pressed to her belly, and April, standing nearby, was beaming excitedly. She noticed Trish looking out, and waved her over. "The baby's kicking! For the first time!"
 
Heather couldn't help but watch from her chair as Trish went over to join them. She let out a deep breath again. She would never have thought she'd be so envious of a set of polygamous sister wives, much as she respected her friends, but they looked so happy. And they weren't alone. They wouldn't sit up at night running over a million possibilities of everything that could go wrong, and have no one to explain their sleepless night to in the morning. She got up, gathered her belongings, and stepped out of the exam room.
 
"Oh my God! This feels really weird," Mary was saying, grinning the whole time, and April was saying "I know! Didn't I tell you, it's amazing!"
 
"I'm just gonna head out," Heather interrupted. They protested, saying she could stay and finish their discussion, and offering to let her feel the baby's kicking. Heather declined quickly, promising to come back for another appointment in two weeks, and made a beeline out of the Green commune clinic.
 
Her mind was reeling the whole way back to town, and her stomach was growling. She couldn't believe how extremely ravenous she'd been ever since this whole pregnancy thing began. It was like she was eating enough to feed a whole army, or at least a football team. It was food ration day, and she figured she may as well brave the lineup in the afternoon, since it was usually shorter than the evening rush anyway. She parked Charlotte in the alley by the pharmacy and carefully slammed the door behind her.
 
Before she made it to the end of the alley, a figure suddenly swooped in front of her, blocking her path to the street. For a moment, she was alarmed at the person towering over her, though she told herself a moment later that it was silly. It was just Mimi Clark.
 
"Heather Lisinski."
 
Mimi folded her arms, business-like, and Heather wondered why she felt so uneasy. "Hi, Mimi," she said in a shaky voice. She attempted a smile that Mimi did not return.
 
"Word is, you're pregnant." Mimi continued to stare steadily.
 
"Where did you hear that?" Heather exclaimed indignantly. "Does patient privilege mean nothing to them? I cannot believe -"
 
"I didn't hear it from the polygamists," said Mimi. "I just have my ways."
 
Heather looked up at her for a few moments before steadying her voice to say, "Alright."
 
She thought she saw a trace of an emotion she couldn't name flash across Mimi's face, but Mimi's voice was calm and cool as she said, "So. No father at the doctor's appointment. He around?"
 
Heather didn't have time to sort out the mixture of emotions running through her mind. Outrage at the invasion of privacy, regret at the whole situation, guilt and an instinctive uneasiness she felt as she saw Mimi contemplating the Rolex watch she wore on her wrist. Mimi had cut right to the heart of the matter. She decided to do the same. "I don't know who he is! I swear."
 
Mimi nodded. "But you have guesses."
 
Someone else might have feigned ignorance, made a joke, or asserted themselves at the insult, but Heather understood exactly the unspoken question Mimi was sending in her direction. There was something menacing about the IRS agent's stance, her intense gaze, and the way she was now turning a pen over in her fingers, but Heather sensed underneath it a vulnerability. Partly to assuage her and partly to ensure her own safe passage out of the alley, Heather decided to exaggerate her certainty.
 
"I'm pretty sure who it is."
 
Mimi raised her eyebrows.
 
"And it's no one you know," Heather said emphatically. The taller woman seemed to regard this dubiously. Heather sighed, and the words came tumbling out of her mouth.
 
"After I was left for dead on the road and the army picked me up, I woke up at Camp Liberty. It was a tough time in my life. I knew then, how close I'd come to being killed, and I felt like I had no one in the world. I met this guy there, one night. He was good looking, charming, he had the nicest smile, and well, he was nice to me. Which might be a funny reason, but, it seemed to me at that point that there weren't many people left who would take the time to be nice to me. He told me he was shipping out in the morning, and he didn't know if he'd come back from his mission alive. It was like it was his last certain night on Earth. I probably shouldn't have lost my head so easily, but you know how it is, when you're on the verge and suddenly you just throw everything you've ever been taught away?"
 
Surprisingly, Mimi nodded, her face solemn.
 
"And the next morning, he was gone," Heather said simply. "I have no idea where. I never saw him again. I didn't even get his first name. Just his last name. Chavez."
 
"Chavez?" asked Mimi quietly.
 
"Yeah," said Heather, with an almost sarcastic laugh. She scrutinized the accountant for a moment, but if Mimi recognized the name at all, she did not let it show on her face.
 
"So, that's who I think it is. That's what you can spread around town if you want. Heather got pregnant with some mysterious guy and he doesn't have a first name," Heather finished sarcastically.
 
"I don't spread information," said Mimi in a low voice.
 
Heather nodded, and they were silent for a moment. "So...how is Stanley?" asked Heather. Mimi's eyes flashed and Heather quickly added "I mean, how are you guys coping? I imagine it must be really tough. Bonnie was...well, I'm really sorry."
 
She seemed to have struck a chord with the IRS agent. Mimi lost her careful composure for a second, and her eyes grew suspiciously brilliant. She cleared her throat. "Yeah, well." She shrugged, and without another word, turned and strode across the alley. Heather thought maybe she could see her swiping furiously at her face as she turned the corner and vanished, but it was hard to say, it happened so quickly.
 
Heather felt an unexpected surge of pity added to the tornado of feelings she was already experiencing. She felt so overwhelmed as she stepped out of the alley and into the sun, she wondered if she was walking in a straight line. She nearly smacked into someone on the sidewalk.
 
"Heather!" It was Emily Sullivan. Again. Why did she keep popping up out of nowhere?
 
"Hi Emily," she said glumly, and she kept walking. Emily fell into step beside her.
 
"What's the matter Heather?" asked Emily. "You look like someone ran over your dog."
 
Heather laughed feebly, though she was sure it wasn't a joke.
 
"Come on, you can tell me. I'm your best friend," Emily said. She looked over at her. "I care about you, and you can tell me anything. I promise."
 
Heather hadn't considered telling Emily Sullivan anything in a long time, but with all her feelings bursting just below the surface, she was having trouble holding back today. Emily really had been a friend to her, for three years, and they'd shared some difficult secrets before. She still had three to tell, and she felt that if she didn't tell them, she would explode. She looked down as she walked. "I slept with Bill."
 
Now, I have to take a moment to interject here, to explain so you don't think I'm a jerk. I've known Heather Lisinski ever since she first moved to Jericho, three years before the bombs. I always thought she was cute, in an unassuming, wholesome kind of way, and I've always known she had a bit of a thing for me, so I tried not to encourage her too much. Nice girl like her, didn't need to get mixed up with a lone wolf like me. The bombs changed things, for her and for me, and I hope you'll remember that when you read the next part. I really was happy to see Heather when she came back from Cheyenne, and, well, it was a dark and lonely time in both of our lives. Hopefully you can't blame us for reaching to a mutual friend for a little bit of comfort in all that.
 
"Bill? Seriously?" asked Emily. "You? and Bill?"
 
I must also add that Emily Sullivan and I had a thing once. Seventh grade. We ate lunch together for a week, but it didn't work out. Emily took it harder than me, and poor kid, I think it's always stayed with her, in the back of her mind.
 
"Yeah," said Heather, a hint of despair in her voice. As they passed town hall, they stepped around an irate Gray Anderson, who was standing by his car. The door was open, and balloons cascaded out from the interior. "Look what they did! Filled my car with balloons! Who does that?"
 
Emily giggled briefly at DD's latest efforts, but Heather couldn't bring herself to do more than smile weakly. "So, Heather, you were saying," Emily said, in as encouraging a voice as she could manage. "You and...Bill."
 
Heather sighed. "Yes. It was after I got back from Cheyenne, okay? I was in a tough place then, seeing what a wreck the town had become while I was gone, and what the war had done to all of you. And no one seemed to care..." She trailed off, glancing nervously at Emily, but decided to say what she felt, "No one seemed to care I'd come back."
 
Emily attempted to protest, but Heather cut her off. "I was working in the office, with my new job, and feeling awful, reading those reports about New Bern. Bill came in, it was the first time I'd seen him since I got back. He seemed happy to see me, we talked, and I felt like someone really cared, for once. And, we talked about how we both felt, about the ASA and the direction the town was taking, and how nervous it was making us. And I couldn't help but feel like he was lonely too. Feeling a little like no one noticed he was there either. And I know how that feels, and I couldn't just stand there and..."
 
"So you had a quickie in the broom closet, huh?" asked Emily.
 
"Actually...the Major's office," said Heather sheepishly.
 
Emily showed signs of laughter, but wisely managed to control herself. Heather, on the other hand, looked utterly dejected. "I mean, I know it probably wasn't a good idea, a quickie with an old friend..."
 
Emily seemed to have broken out in an encouraging smile, and she patted Heather's arm with enthusiasm. "Oh, Heather, I think it's wonderful! Wonderful, wonderful!"
 
Heather gave her a strange look. "Well, it wasn't quite wonderful, if you know what I mean..."
 
She glanced quickly at her friend. "Not that it was bad," she added.
 
A change came over Emily's features. She was no longer grinning, but considering Heather with narrowed eyes. "I'd assume so. Heather, how could you be so stupid?"
 
Heather blinked. "What?" she struggled to say.
 
"Of all the idiotic things I've heard of..." scowled Emily. "Did you ever stop and think maybe there'd be consequences? Or did you even think?"
 
Heather wasn't really sure what was happening, other than, she was getting angry herself now. "Excuse me?"
 
"I guess you wouldn't think of anything going wrong. Nothing ever does go wrong for you. It must be nice to live your life."
 
The words stung, and Heather was seething. Though part of her knew it was stupid, an overwhelming part of her just wanted to show Emily how wrong she was. "You think my life's perfect? You want it? I'm pregnant! And I'm alone! And I have no idea what I'm going to do! So there, you know. Happy?" Angry tears glistened on her cheeks.
 
"Not at all," said Emily in a quiet voice. She pouted, and turned onto a side street. Heather kept walking, kicking angrily at the pebbles on the sidewalk.
 
She had planned to line up for food rations, but she could see Jimmy Taylor approaching with his family. Now, Jimmy is one of my best friends, but even I know his cheery attitude can sometimes be hard to take on a really bad day. She walked right past the market, and found herself standing outside the building that had once been the Cyberjolt cafe. The sign had been painted over to read "Dr. Love." A piece of paper in the window informed her that the doctor was in. Heather smirked. When she'd left the commune, Kenchy had been lolling in the reception area, apparently having been turned down in his request for another batch of special brew. As she glanced over at Jimmy's approaching family, she ducked into the Cyberjolt.
 
Kenchy was indeed sitting behind the high counter in the main room of the cafe. He looked up at the new arrival, blinking in the hazy light. "Ms Lisinski. Hello."
 
"Hi," she said.
 
He peered at her in silence and she said nothing. "Can I get you anything? In need of my services? Looking to find love in the post-apocalyptic world?"
 
Heather couldn't help but laugh softly at the irony. "No. I really don't."
 
"Would you like to have a seat then?" he asked, gesturing at the row of stools leftover from the days the cafe served lattes.
 
Heather obliged, and sat, leaning her arms on the counter. Kenchy sat opposite her, in his chair behind the counter, and seeing the weary slump of her shoulders, slid a bottle of juice towards her. "Only thing I could get from those teenage rascals," he said apologetically. "And they're keeping a tight lock on the alcohol over at that commune."
 
"This is great, thanks," said Heather quickly, opening the juice and taking a sip. She stared at the counter as she drank. "Kenchy, did you ever do something that went against what you believed when it came to someone in a position of authority?"
 
Kenchy didn't answer, but the dark look that crossed his features seemed to speak volumes.
 
Heather traced a finger along the counter top. "You know how I worked for Beck? Before he went crazy?"
 
Kenchy raised his eyebrows.
 
"I mean, before he joined the church of the Terrestrial Mentalists," she clarified. "Well, he was always really nice to me. I sometimes got the feeling he liked me, you know. I didn't like to think about it too much, since he was my boss and I really wasn't interested, but it was always there in the back of my mind. What he wanted. I could feel it, when he looked at me, giving me assignments or taking a stack of photocopies from me." She continued to look down at the grainy counter, but couldn't help but feel relaxed in the doctor's presence, and for some reason, felt safe enough to tell her most troubling story.
 
"I used it," she said ruefully. "To help out a friend."
 
"Used what?" asked Kenchy softly.
 
"The thing Beck wanted from me," she said. "I didn't really want him, but I knew he wanted me, so I used it. All to help out a friend."
 
Kenchy waited for her to keep talking.
 
"I had a friend, who needed my help. Needed a way to get into Beck's office. There was information there that they needed to see, for the protection of our town."
 
Jake and Hawkins had indeed enlisted Heather's help. They'd caught wind of the fact Beck had information on all the movers and shakers in town. Hawkins had been highly suspicious and insisted they needed a way to check Beck's office, to see if he really had all their addresses and phone numbers in his big book. Heather had been convinced to help out. It was for the greater good, after all, and Jake would never know just how persuasive he could really be. Of course, Jake and Hawkins had never expected Heather's diversion to go as far as it had, and neither had she, but one thing had led to another and...
 
"One night, I came into the office after hours. I convinced him to follow me, to the closet. Gave him what he'd wanted, ever since we first met."
 
"I see," said Kenchy after a moment. "And your friend?"
 
"Got what he wanted, too. So I guess everyone's happy," she said bitterly.
 
"But you're not," said Kenchy.
 
"I made my own decision," said Heather, staring angrily down at her juice bottle.
 
"Alright, so you made one decision. You still have your life ahead of you. Lots of opportunity to be happy," said Kenchy eventually, switching to his clinical voice. "Can I get you anything? Another juice? A free session? I could find you someone to make you happy."
 
Heather looked up at him, annoyed. "I don't need you to find me anyone."
 
Kenchy was taken aback. "I didn't mean to - it's just what I do. There's someone for everyone, just not everyone's found their someone yet."
 
"I don't need anyone to find me a someone," said Heather, and she turned and fled the cafe.
 
She could feel the tears spilling down her face as she walked, blinding her as she passed the shops, but she didn't stop to wipe them. She felt as though she'd been on a roller coaster all day, and really, for weeks, months before this. And it would continue, for the next few months, and then years, and she didn't see an end in sight. And Kenchy, and all the others, seemed to think she would be concerned with finding someone to love. As if that was her problem.
 
She turned down another side street to avoid Skylar and Dale, the Devil's Duo themselves, as she saw them racing down the street, pulling a little wagon full of couch cushions behind them. She came to a run-down little store front, and sunk down on the front stoop. She put her head in her hands and sobbed.
 
"What seems to be the trouble, ma'am?" came a voice behind her. "Thinking too much about the aliens?"
 
She spun around. Old Oliver was standing in the doorway, talking to her from behind the battered screen door. She glanced up at the rickety sign overhead. She'd forgotten that this was where he'd set up his church.
 
"No, not aliens. Just people," she sighed, wiping at her face.
 
"Oh, it's people giving you trouble," he said. "You can always leave them all behind and join us. The Terrestrial Mentalists are a different kind of people, you'll find."
 
Heather couldn't help but smile through her tears at the well intentioned offer. "It's really just one person, you know."
 
Oliver gave a sage nod.
 
"Ever been in love?" she asked him after a moment.
 
"I love my congregation. And the rutabaga, of course," he said.
 
Heather tried not to giggle at the Terrestrial Mentalist's affection for the sacred object of his church. "You're lucky then. I always thought love would be straight forward. You fall in love with someone, if they love you back, you get together and are happy."
 
She picked at a sliver of wood on the stoop. "I made a mistake, I guess. There was this man, and I didn't know at first, but now I know, I loved him. And I thought maybe he might love me back. He seemed interested, at least. But so much happened, and it never seemed to work out for us. Then one day, he asked me for a favour. What I ended up doing, wasn't really good. It was bad, for both of us. But we went back, to his hunting cabin, and we were there for each other, tried to get past what I'd done, what he'd gotten me to do. We had one amazing night. Well, not really a whole night. He had to take off, something happened out at a farm." She wasn't really thinking about the horrors that had occurred out at Richmond ranch later that night. Her mind was on that time spent at the cabin. The feel of his skin under her fingertips, his mouth on her neck, his hands on her...She shook her head, as if to shake away the memories. "It doesn't matter anymore. Every time I see him now, he gives me this guilty look, and mumbles something. In fact, that's all I hear about him anymore, from anyone. How he walks around mumbling to himself. He's not thinking about me at all."
 
"I'm sorry," said Oliver through the screen. "Would you like a rutabaga to take home?"
 
Heather made a sound of frustration, though she quickly assured Oliver that while flattered, she just didn't have anywhere to properly display an object of importance like the rutabaga. She quickly retreated down the street, trying to ignore the tears running down her face.
 
Unfortunately, Heather Lisinski's second visit to the Alternate Birthing Centre was also accompanied by tears. As Heather sat on the exam table, she repeated the entire story and made use of the box of tissues they'd set out ahead of time. As April prepared the ultrasound machine, Mary stood by Heather's side for support, and Trish stood in the doorway observing, they listened, reacted, and consoled. They discussed the possibilities of each of the six possible fathers, and what Heather might choose to reveal to them, but Heather shot down any advice they tried to give her.
 
They kept up the chatter during the procedure, Heather suspected as a way to put her at ease, but suddenly, April went silent, staring at the screen. The others all looked over at her. April's face had gone white.
 
"What is it?" asked Heather. Mary had been holding her hand, but she let go as she quickly went over to look at the image that April was staring at. Her own eyes went wide, and she hurriedly whispered something to April, who glanced at Heather and whispered something back.
 
"Trish, come look at this," she said then, through clenched teeth. Trish looked nervous as she approached, but dutifully took her place beside her sister wives. She looked for a moment before she too registered an expression of shock. "Is that...?" All three of them turned to look at Heather, who was becoming frantic.
 
"What?" she asked. "Am I giving birth to a penguin or something? What are you all whispering about?"
 
April stepped towards her, her professional expression now gracing her face. "Heather, have we talked about the possibility of multiples?"
 
Heather was flustered. "What, like twins?"
 
Mary came to stand beside her again and gripped her hand supportively. "Triplets?" asked Heather.
 
Trish gave her a sympathetic look.
 
"Someone say something!" demanded Heather.
 
April turned the screen towards Heather and pulled it as close to the exam table as it could go. "Heather," she began in a slow, deliberate tone. "Your ultrasound is showing six separate fetuses."
 
"What?" asked Heather, looking from one commiserating face to another.
 
April smiled bracingly. "You're going to be a mother. To six babies."
 
"Well," sputtered Heather, breathlessly and in a high pitched voice. "I'm not going to be alone at all then."
 
"Heather? You okay?" asked Mary, as Heather continued to hyperventilate.
 
"Ever," added Heather. The room was starting to swim.
 
"Heather? Can I get you anything?" asked April.
 
Heather shook her head, nodded, let out a strange, choked sounding laugh, and leaned back on the exam table. The room slid out of focus and went dark.
 
News of Heather's pregnancy spread through Jericho like wildfire. Everyone had heard, soon after her first appointment, that there were several possible fathers, and it was a popular subject of discussion. Neighbours and friends would debate the most likely lucky man as they worked in the fields, stood in line at market, or waited outside town hall for another meeting. There were many seemingly wild theories. Many who had seen the way the Major interacted with his favourite liaison suspected they'd liaisoned a little more privately after hours. The old favourite was Jake, and the way he continued to keep to himself and scowl as he walked around town fueled the suspicions. A few people whispered that maybe Stanley and Heather had some kind of mistake between them, but most who had suggested that theory one day retracted it the next, a vaguely frightened look on their faces. A lot of people were overheard to be saying "It's Bill's, for sure," but I can't vouch for how many. And then, people knew Heather had been in New Bern and Cheyenne, both places filled with strange men, so there were infinite possibilities.
 
Heather bore the gossip bravely, marching around town as though she didn't realize people were whispering about her at all, and ignoring the stares her soon enormous mid section was earning whenever she entered a public space. After word got around that her uterus was actually housing six babies, father or fathers unknown, she seemed to grow even more fiercely resolute.
 
The possible fathers, for their part, were not unaware of the situation. Jake was reportedly sighted standing outside her door on several different nights, Beck was rumoured to have approached her in the middle of Spruce Lane once, only to retreat amidst her shouts that she needed no one, and I myself made a discreet offer to do right by the poor girl, but of course, she refused. I've got to hand it to her. Even though she started to show signs it was all getting to her, she kept fighting to show she could do it herself, right up to the fateful day.
 
It was in the middle of the night, in the middle of winter, that Heather drove herself out to the Alternate Birthing Centre and banged on the door. A drowsy Eric answered, and Heather gasped that her contractions were coming two minutes apart.
 
Eric was a little stunned, but he'd seen the process twice already. He rang a cowbell and quickly the entire commune mobilized. Eric helped Heather into the birthing room, and April and Mary swooped in and took over from there.
 
At dawn's first light, the first screams of the first baby filled the air. A few hours later, all six babies were wrapped in blankets and being passed back and forth between their mother and her attendants.
 
An exhausted looking Trish came out to the waiting room finally to announce to the crowd that had gathered there that the three boys, three girls, and mother were all healthy and resting.
 
"You should rest too, dear," said Gail, patting Trish on the arm and eyeing her daughter-in-law's noticeably pregnant middle. Trish sat down between Gail and Gray, who had arrived an hour earlier.
 
"How's Heather?" asked Jake. He had been pacing nervously, and held a wilting bouquet of flowers in one hand.
 
"Tired. Happy," said Trish.
 
"What's she going to name them?" asked Beck, who was seated across from the mayor and his wife, a rutabaga with a ribbon on it balanced on his lap.
 
"She hasn't got that far yet," laughed Trish.
 
"Can we see her?" I asked. I had come, as soon as I heard. Even though I knew she didn't think she needed me to marry her, I thought I'd at least offer a blessing to the babies.
 
Eric came into the room then, a baby in his arms and a toddler at his ankles. "Apparently, she doesn't want to see anyone," he announced. "Oh, hi Mom, hi Gray. Just took Ruby and Violet in to meet their...cousins."
 
Gray eagerly reached for his step-grandchildren, and was soon holding them both on his knee. Jake scowled, and turned to glare at Eric. "Your kids get to see her, but we don't?"
 
Eric shrugged. "Sorry, it's what the patient requested. April says it's really important we put our patients' choices first."
 
Gray bestowed a kindly look on his stepson. "Jake, you'll have to understand that Heather's in a vulnerable place right now. She's probably experiencing a lot of emotions, and you'll just have to accept that she's got more baggage with you." He grinned down at Ruby, who had just pinched his nose, and jiggled baby Violet with his other arm.
 
Jake scoffed, and muttered something that sounded like "Unbelievable."
 
"Well," said Beck, who had seemed to be off in his own world during this discussion, "If she doesn't want to see me, I think I'll leave this here. Tell her I wish her a happy journey on the road of understanding." He handed the rutabaga to Trish, made an odd sort of bow, and left.
 
"Yeah, same with me," I added quickly. Though I had no rutabaga to offer, I thought the least I could do was respect her wishes.
 
Jake was harder to convince. "What are you still doing here, then?" he asked his mother and stepfather.
 
"Well, we're here to offer support. He's the mayor, after all," said Gail.
 
"And we're the grandparents," added Gray.
 
"You are not the -" Jake sputtered, but was apparently so annoyed he couldn't finish the sentence.
 
"I'm supposed to pass on the message that Heather is very grateful for all your good wishes, but she just can't deal with any drama right now. So be sensitive," cut in Eric.
 
Jake turned angrily to his brother. "I'm sensitive."
 
"Of course you are, sweetheart," said Gail, standing up and taking charge of the situation. "Come on, let's go check out your kitchen, Eric. I'm sure everyone could do with some food. We'll whip something up. Gray, honey?" Gray stood up, and Gail took baby Violet from him. He swung Ruby in the air and she giggled. Eric and Trish moved to follow them too.
 
Gail turned to look at her eldest son. "Coming, sweetie?"
 
Jake looked down at his bouquet. "No. I'll do what she wants. Give her space." He dumped the flowers unceremoniously on one of the waiting room chairs and walked out the front door.
 
My cruiser was stuck in the snow bank. Beck was already helping me dig it out, and when Jake saw us, he silently and sullenly came over to help. As we worked, none of us said a word about our reasons for being there, or what had come to pass inside.
 
And so three of the possible fathers managed to keep an awkward situation from getting downright painful on the day of the Lisinski sextuplets' birth. There was, however, one other candidate who wasn't present that day. He wisely kept his distance, and read about the birth in the Jericho Record that came out the next day.
 
"Heather Lisinski gives birth to six healthy babies," read Stanley Richmond under his breath. He held the crumpled piece of paper close to his face and read it over in the dim light streaming through the barn roof. "Three boys: George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson." He chuckled. "Three girls: Abigail Dolly, Betsy Ross, Liberty Bell." He smiled, and peered at the picture again, though it gave him no clue as to the identity of the Lisinski six. It was just a picture of the clinic, with Eric Green's hand stretched towards the camera. Still, he looked again, imagining the people who were inside the building, refusing to be photographed.
 
"Stanley, I've got it!" came her breathless voice. He hastily crumpled the page and shoved it into the pig's trough. It disappeared under the mushy liquid. He hunched over in his seat on the wooden crate, pretending he'd been thinking about something.
 
He turned to see her making her way quickly across the hay strewn floor. She held a disk gingerly in one of her hands. "Had to knock out a soldier, but I left him alive. And, he never saw me coming."
 
"You are terrifying," he said with a grin. She grabbed his chin in her other hand, and leaned down to kiss him.
 
"That's why you love me, isn't it?" she asked as she pulled away from him.
 
"Nah, I like your gentle, good nature," he said with a swagger, pulling her down towards him again. She laughed, and wrapped her arms around his neck as she straddled him.
 
"We'll keep that between us," she whispered against his cheek.
 
He grinned and slid his hands across her lower back. "Yeah. Like everything else."
 
She laughed, a sultry laugh that made his ears tingle. "So what've you come up with, Einstein?"
 
Still holding her with one hand, he reached for the notebook on the floor beside him. "Figured it out, an hour ago. I was only off by a decimal point earlier." He held the notebook in between them, and their heads touched as they looked down.
 
"You're a genius!" she whispered.
 
"Yeah," he smirked, kissing her nose. "That's why you love me."
 
And, just as it had been for the past year, ever since that strange day that had first brought them together, they felt that with everything swirling around them constantly, the tiny maneuvers and huge secrets, they could be truly themselves, with nothing more between them.
 
I guess you're probably wondering just why it is that Mimi was so frightening, or how Stanley was a genius. Or how these two ever found each other in the midst of the quagmire around them. To answer that, we'll have to go back, to the beginning...

Operation: Square Dance Tango

Or, The Lady Wore Black and the Farmer Wore Plaid 

Mimi Clark came to Jericho on a mission.

Her cover was perfect. IRS agent from DC. No one questioned the IRS part. It was boring but vaguely threatening. The DC part was plausible, and so obvious, no one ever made the connection she dreaded them making.

She'd had years of training and experience, and she expected this mission to be like any other. Two things happened to throw her off completely. The second was the fact that the bombs went off the day after she arrived in Jericho, but the first occurred on her arrival.

Stanley Richmond was unlike any mark she'd ever been sent to investigate. She wasn't sure why. There seemed, on the surface, to be nothing remarkable about him at all. She could hardly believe he was the dangerous force she'd been anticipating as she went over the briefs she'd been given in the plane's bathroom. His laid back, fun-loving persona threw her off. It was surprising how well he had constructed his cover. Most surprising to her, she was forced to admit as she lay awake in her room at the bed and breakfast, was how she didn't want to believe it was a cover.

His effect on her was something she'd never experienced before. Never, in all her years on the job, had she ever found herself reacting with so little of her trademark calm collectedness. Sure, she was still a woman, but she was a professional, first and foremost. Something about this seemingly simple, good natured farmer made her want to throw it all away and give in to desires she'd buried for so long she barely recognized them. And strangest of all, something about him made her want to believe he was what he seemed, despite everything she knew from her training and her information.

Still, the bombs had gone off on her second day in Jericho. Her mission was more imperative now than ever, and had to come first and foremost. She continued to play her part convincingly, publicly clinging to her role and principles as a government employee, pretending grief, horror, and shock at the destruction of her hometown, and most importantly, continuing to get closer to Stanley Richmond with dogged determination.

She couldn't tell if he was catching on to her or not, he played his part with such equal ease. He continued to send her irritated glares when she showed up on his property, agreed grudgingly to host her when she claimed to have been evicted from the bed and breakfast, and found ways to subvert her investigation with seemingly innocent obstacles and objections. This was as she expected. She'd dealt with more formidable foes in the past. The part that was unexpected was the look he'd get on his face sometimes, or the way he'd accidentally brush against her as they navigated the small house that contained them. She wondered if it was all for an effect, if he somehow caught onto those tiny weaknesses that were surfacing from within her, or if he was merely experiencing some weakness of his own.

As she kept up her cover by day and performed her tasks by night, she felt that they were joined together in some bizarre dance, testing and provoking each other silently while teasing and disparaging each other out loud. One night she searched the entire kitchen, certain the clues she needed to find would be hidden amidst the silverware, pots and pans, and stale crackers. Her exhaustive search turned up nothing, and the next morning, when he questioned her, she was almost certain that under the joking response he gave to her quick story about reorganizing the 'triangle', he knew exactly the game they were both playing.

Most frustrating of all, she was certain the barn held the key to her mission, but she couldn't get near it. He was always hovering around there during the day, and when he wasn't, his sister was there to suggest disgusting chores for their guest to perform. By night, the few times she skulked her way out of the house and across the yard, she'd find the barn empty, and her searches only turned up dead mice and rotting pig slop. As she lay in her bed for a few hours at the end of each unproductive night, she would despair at the failure her life had become, but sometimes, she'd also catch herself anticipating sitting across from the farmer at the breakfast table. Each time, supremely annoyed with herself, she would roll over and begin to go through the facts of the case for the millionth time.

Stanley Richmond had been entrusted with a mission.

His parents had left him their legacy when they died, one they had been preparing him for his entire life.

His earliest memories involved watching his parents in the lab, his father working out complicated problems on the chalkboard that folded into the wall, his mother mixing chemical compounds on the table that collapsed easily under the trapdoor. He'd learned early on how to distinguish the strange visitors his parents sometimes received from the well meaning small town friends and neighbours who would invite his father to go hunting or plead with his mother to enter one of her delicious recipes in the fundraising bake-off. Usually the strange visitors had funny accents, business suits, or small cars, but the most common trait they seemed to share was an invisible quality - they seemed like they could be anybody. His parents would meet with them, in the house or in the barn, and Stanley would play the dutiful son and occupy himself with the tire swing or his bicycle.

As he got older, he managed to eavesdrop on the meetings a few times, and what he heard assuaged a deep seated fear he'd held for a long time. He'd worried that his parents might be working for the bad guys, but one day, as they rapidly debated something with an old colleague, he could hear the truth in their passionate words: they truly wanted to invent things that would help to better their world.

At eight years old, he confronted them with what he had heard. They were only mildly surprised; they had truthfully expected him to catch on quickly, he was such a smart child. He sat up late with his parents that night, discussing the family business. He learned it went back many generations, and that it would one day be his responsibility to take over the lab, inventing and creating things most ordinary people would never dream of, all with the purpose of helping their society. His parents promised him it would all be his, and encouraged him to make them proud, but most of all, they warned him of the need for secrecy. There were others out there who would like nothing more to get their hands on the Richmond creations and use them to do harm to others. Stanley nodded solemnly at all of this, and gave his parents his word that he would protect the secret always.

He learned quickly, and did his part to fit into the image his parents had created, that was so vital to the survival of their work. He continued to work on the farm, play with his friends, and even learned to limit himself in science class, getting C's, so that no one would ever become suspicious of the vastly superior intellect he had inherited.

When he was eighteen, he kept up the facade, going along with the story that his parents were killed in a car accident, though he privately mourned their death at the hands of an enemy he knew was lurking in the shadows. Though he wished he could just take off and travel the country, seeking out vengeance for his parents' deaths, he kept his vow to them. He inherited two legacies.

Besides their secret lab in the barn, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond left behind an adored daughter. Stanley had held her when she was born and his parents had explained to him that they hoped he would understand the sacrifice they were asking of him. He was the first born, and would have to carry on with the family business, but Bonnie was so much younger, innocent, and could be raised in blissful ignorance. While it wasn't fair to their first born child, they couldn't resist the opportunity to protect at least one child from the life they had been forced into long ago. Stanley had insisted that he wouldn't have it any other way. He adored his baby sister as much as they did.

His resolve, both to carry on in their name and continue protecting Bonnie, was only strengthened in the aftermath of their deaths. He knew how close Bonnie had come to being killed by the world they'd all been protecting her from, and he made a silent vow, as he stood over her hospital bed, that he would never again let her get hurt by their family legacy. So it was that Bonnie Richmond grew up a healthy, well adjusted and reasonably happy farm girl, knowing everything about animals and small town life, and nothing about the greater picture that her parents had contributed to and died serving.

When Mimi Clark first arrived on the farm, Stanley knew to be suspicious. Bonnie instinctively loathed her, but Stanley's apprehension ran much deeper. He knew he had no choice but to play along with her games, despite the way she kept getting ever closer to the truth he'd worked so hard to hide. It was his only chance to protect both legacies. At least, that was how he rationalized it to himself as he lay awake at night, trying to get her out of his head.

If he had really been smart, a genius as his parents had put it, he would have found a way to get rid of her right away. She was dangerous, and getting even more dangerous the more time she spent near him. He should have taken her out, quickly and quietly. It wasn't as if he didn't have the resources. But, he would tell himself again as he lay in the dark, she probably had the resources too. If she got to him first, there would be no one between her and the people she worked for, and Bonnie and the legacy. He had no choice but to keep up the charade, pretending to be annoyed when she bumped into him in the hallway or raided his laundry basket when her clothes began to run out. No choice.

He considered it once. Cutting her off at the pass, before she could do his family any harm. He contemplated the shelf of bottles, hidden behind the cow's trough, one morning during his chores. His hand closed over a small red bottle. Jerichonium Number Twelve, his mother's special invention. A poison that would affect the drinker instantly, unless the drinker had been immunized with a small amount prior to the exposure. His mother had immunized him when he was nine. Thinking of her, of his father, of the daughter they had so loved and the burden they had entrusted him with, he poured a few drops from the bottle into the pail of milk.

She had been seated at the table, eating from a box of dry cereal, when he had first gone out, and she hadn't seen him looking at her. Now, she was eating the cereal in a bowl. It was too easy. He played the usual game, trading insults and pretending to flirt, and she played along. Before he knew it, he had poured the milk into her bowl. Keeping his face perfectly blank, he watched her put her spoon back into the bowl.

She was not to be trusted, and could destroy everything, but he felt an overwhelming desire to dash over and knock the bowl out of her hands. He felt two sides at war within him. He nearly screamed out loud as she put the spoon to her lips, but just as he was about to make a move, she spat it out.

They were back to their game in the next moment, her exclaiming her disgust and him pretending to be slightly amused as he took the bowl himself, and he was glad that his many years of hiding helped him, in this moment, to hide the relief he felt.

The morning that changed everything began as most mornings did. He sleepily went about his chores, having forced himself to stay awake through much of the night, straining to hear the extremely faint sounds of her night time searching. He milked the cows, fed the chickens, and swept up before turning to his most important task of each morning. He pulled the third rope against the south wall, and watched the trap door open and the metal platform began rising from underneath the floor.

Before he knew what was happening, she was swooping down from her hiding place in the hayloft. Her face was triumphant as she stepped forward, staring at the rising box. He stepped forward quickly, trying to get in between them.

"You!" was all he could manage, but he held his ground, drawing himself up as tall as he could in front of her.

"I knew the only way to find it was to wait for you to show me," she said, smiling covertly, It infuriated him, but also stirred another emotion in him, one that he pushed away as quickly as he could.

"You're from the East, aren't you?" he asked.

"What if I am?" she asked, raising one eyebrow.

"I knew it!" he said, his expression a mixture of fury and disgust.

"Well, look who you're working for!" she countered. "It wasn't our side that nuked the country."

"I'm not working for anyone," he said. "And how do I know that?"

"I was sent here to find the other bomb. The missing bomb," she said, glancing pointedly over his shoulder.

"Why, so you could deliver it to its rightful owners?" he asked. "Last person who came here for that purpose was disposed of."

"So I could get it away from the West," she said, her eyes aglow with indignation. "I've been trying to stop them for months."

"Yeah? How's that going?" he asked, almost pleased that he could make her eyes flash so angrily.

"Until now, not good!" she said.

"So what, you're going to kill me?" he asked. "You don't know what I've done. I've been protecting this forever. When they came to get it, to collect the order, I kept them away."

"Why should I believe you?" she asked. "I've heard stories like that before."

"Fine. Then kill me instead," he said. "I bet you can't do it."

If possible, she looked even more angered. "I've taken down bigger and stronger players with just a sharpie pen and my own wits. I could kill you this second and walk away."

"Yeah, I'd like to see that," he sputtered. "Why don't you get out your sharpie now and teach me a -"

"Shut up!" she said then, grabbing his face and pulling him towards her. The rest of his words died on his lips as they connected with hers. They kissed, hungrily and passionately. Her training and experience flew out of her mind as she desperately ran her hands up his shirt and deepened the kiss. Worries about his legacies flitted from his head as he leaned into her, breathing her in holding her tighter.

Bonnie Richmond had been annoyed with the intrusive IRS agent, ever since she had first met her, and even more when she was informed that she would be expected to share a living space with her.

Her irritation grew the day she came home to find the annoying house guest's laundry strewn around the kitchen, along with her brother's. Mimi couldn't be trusted to get any chore, even putting away clothes, right. The fury she felt towards the DC refugee reached a fever pitch in the next moment, as Bonnie opened the door and caught sight of Mimi, under the sheets and on top of her brother. She ran from the house, retreating as fast as she could from the shattering world her home was becoming.

"She doesn't know anything?" whispered Mimi a few minutes later, as Stanley climbed back in beside her.

Stanley shook his head, turning on his side to look at her. "My parents thought they could raise one normal, happy kid, away from it all."

She sighed and leaned her head against his chest. "Do you ever wish you didn't know?"

He thought silently, wrapping his arm around her, before answering, "No. I'm glad I could take over for my parents. They were good people. Geniuses, and they wanted to share their gifts, for the good of humanity." His brow was furrowed, and she listened silently. "Getting involved with the top secret government organization was a mistake. And the bomb was the biggest mistake of all. They knew they couldn't go back in time and stop themselves from making it, but they thought we could keep it out of the wrong hands."

She shifted over and placed a kiss on his shoulder. "It's tiring after a while, isn't it? Always having to hide who you are?"

He turned and brushed his mouth against hers in a soft kiss. "It is. But I think it'll be better now."

She raised an eyebrow at him, an inviting grin on her face.

 With a grin of his own, he rolled over her and pressed his mouth down on hers.

A Tangled Web

Or, Doctor Love, Make Me a Match

Stanley Richmond and Mimi Clark weren't the only odd couple to find each other back in those early days after the bombs.  People all over town and the surrounding countryside were discovering love in the strangest of places, most notably the former Cyberjolt Café.  Romance was a cottage industry and Kenchy Dhuwalia gained quite the reputation as a maker of matches.

It was a crisp fall day a few months before the arrival of the Lisinski Six when Jake Green, having failed the previous evening at both convincing their mother that they should 'join forces' and at making it through dinner with his own mother and stepfather without giving himself a headache from clenching his teeth for two hours straight, found himself standing outside Dr. Love's Outpatient Plastic Surgery Centre, Dating Service, and Juice Bar.  He wasn't looking for plastic surgery (his sisters-in-law had convinced him that his few permanent scars earned at the hands of Major Beck and his goons were rakish and gave him a certain outlaw quality) or a date, just a sympathetic ear.  With Mary out at the Green Commune and Bailey's shuttered, there wasn't a watering hole in town any longer and Jake had taken to hanging out at Dr. Love's where he enjoyed both the Razz-Apple Surprise and commiserating about life with Kenchy.

"Outta my way!" Emily Sullivan screeched, almost taking Jake out as she flung the door open, heedless of his presence on the other side.  She paused for a second, hands on hips, glaring.  "You, you, you!" she shrieked, shoving past him.  "You jerk!"

"Morning Emily," he replied neutrally after her retreating form.  Emily's only response was a hand gesture that left no doubt as to her feelings toward Jake.  "Always a pleasure," he muttered to himself, entering the storefront.  "See I'm still in the doghouse," he greeted Kenchy, letting the door swing shut behind him. 

According to the official tally kept by Mrs. Crenshaw, the elementary school secretary, Jake and Emily had broken up fifty three times in twenty one years, though Jake maintained that the number was more like forty eight while Emily claimed sixty one.  Whatever the true statistic, there was a general consensus that their last break up - be it number forty eight, fifty three or sixty one - was final.  Emily wasn't of a mind to forgive Jake for disappearing for three weeks without running it by her first or for (as it was rumoured) proposing marriage to her best friend, especially having last asked her to marry him approximately eighteen hours before break up number forty two (thirty four by his count, thirty seven by Mrs. Crenshaw's) and Jake, though he didn't say much publicly, seemed to have enough drama in his life, what with openly despising his mother's new husband and being refused approximately every other week by Jericho's favourite mother-to-be.

"I don't think it's you..." Kenchy informed his friend, a puzzled frown marring his features.  The doctor was standing next to giant black marker board which had formerly advertised the Cyberjolt's specials and now bore mostly illegible notes about the romantic matches he was currently shepherding, circles, arrows and question marks connecting the currently uncoupled.  There was a red mark on his right cheek that was shaped suspiciously like Emily's hand.  "We were discussing sports..." Kenchy continued, dazed, "And then she hit me."

"Sports?" Jake questioned, his forehead wrinkling.  He was pretty sure he knew all of Emily's buttons, but he wouldn't have counted that as one of them.

"She came in and I said 'good morning'," Kenchy recounted.  "She was in a good mood, laughing.  She gave me a kiss on the cheek, squeezed - uh, squeezed my arm," he admitted, shooting Jake an embarrassed look.

"We're broken up," Jake reminded, "And we're not getting back together.  If you're interested...."  He paused for a moment, considering his words.  "Well, all I can say is good luck."

Kenchy allowed a distracted nod, still staring out the glass door after Emily, now out of sight.  "Yeah, well, I suppose I need it, huh?"  He shook his head to clear it, rubbing his injured cheek.  He glanced at Jake.  "I could try and find you -"

"I'm not lookin' for a date," Jake barked, cutting him off.

"I just mean, if things don't work out with ... you know...with, uh, Miss...." Kenchy trailed off, clearing his throat nervously.  He knew from previous experience that this was a sore subject with his friend.  "Well, anyway," he declared forcing a chipper note.  "The offer stands.  Free of charge, even."

Jake's jaw clenched automatically.  "I'm not lookin' for a date," he repeated.  "And, if you're thinkin' of dating Emily, just be careful," he advised, blatantly changing the subject.  "My advice: avoid actual conversation, though I didn't know sports was such a touchy subject.  Used to just be the weather, politics, religion, grades, music and Keanu Reeves."  Kenchy's eyebrows rose.  "Don't ask," Jake grumbled.

"She brought it up!" Kenchy complained, for once easily diverted from his newfound calling as a yenta. He shrugged helplessly.  "She - she squeezed my arm, made a comment about my - my athletic build and asked if I played soccer or cricket.  I admitted that I'd played badminton as a teenager and she completely changed!  Like someone threw a switch!  Slapped me and stormed out!"

"I - I really don't know what to tell you," Jake replied.  "Uh, you got any of that Razz-Apple Surprise?"

"Sure, coming right up," Kenchy agreed, moving around behind the café's counter.

Meanwhile, Jake wandered over to the marker board, attracted by the riot of fluorescent scribblings.  "So, business is good?" he asked, cocking his head toward the board.  "You seem to be hard at work."

"Business is okay," Kenchy agreed, walking toward Jake, a glass of juice in each hand, "But that's just one client.  Real tough nut to crack," he admitted, handing Jake a glass and then taking a sip from his own.

"One client?" Jake repeated, gawking at the board.

"Well, one client and twenty, twenty five potential matches," Kenchy conceded, staring at his detailed diagram.  "He's rejected them all."

"Who is it?" Jake asked, for once curious about something not related to Gray Anderson or Heather Lisinski. 

"Bill.  Deputy Bill," Kenchy muttered, completely ignoring (I must point out) matchmaker/client privilege.  I must also point out that I was neither a willing nor a paying client.  Rather, Kenchy had gotten it into his head to do me a favour after I'd helped out with crowd control at his store one day when word had gotten out that he'd gotten his hands on a shipment of Botox through the Devil's Duo and half the women in Jericho had descended upon the shop at once.  The fact of the matter is, I didn't have to do much, really, just tell Darcy Hawkins that she had beautiful bone structure and that I for one didn't know why in the world she would want to inject Botulinum toxin into her face, but still Kenchy insisted that he had to pay me back even though I kept reminding him that I'm a lone wolf.

"Really?  Bill?" Jake seemed stunned by the news.  "You know, he's really kind of a.... loner.  A confirmed bachelor."

"Everyone needs and wants love, Jake," Kenchy countered, "And I'm going to find it for Bill."

"Okay, sure."  Jake screwed up his face, thinking hard as he studied the marker board.  Absently, he took a sip of his Razz-Apple Surprise, choking on it, so that Kenchy was forced to clap him on the back.  "How - how 'bout Margaret Peterson?" he sputtered in suggestion.

"MP, right there," Kenchy said, pointing to a pair of pink initials which had been lined out in lavender.  "According to Bill, Margaret is a real ball breaker.  His words."  (I did say that.  I went out with Margaret for a month or so my rookie year on the force.  She was one of those women who started planning the wedding on the third date, if you know what I mean.)

"Rachel Spenser?" Jake offered next.

"She's got a kid.  Bill says he doesn't want an instant family."  (Actually, Rachel's kid was a complete brat though she was a nice enough girl, and I hadn't wanted to dissuade Kenchy from trying to find her someone else.)

"Stephanie Lancaster?"

"Just a little young for him, don't you think?"  (Way too young.  I provided the police escort to the med centre for her parents the night she was born for Pete's sake.)

They continued like that for a half hour, debating all the women on the board and a number who weren't.  Kenchy remained unsatisfied and became more and more out of sorts as they argued the possibilities.  "It's here.  I know it's here," he grumbled, glaring at the now even more complicated diagram on the marker board.

"We've gone through every female in town," Jake reminded.  "Twice.  I don't know, Kenchy, this one may be too much.  I don't think it's gonna happen."

"I already failed once," Kenchy argued.  "But that was Beck, and he's insane and nobody likes him.  The Terrestrial Mentalists can have him, no loss.  But people like Bill."

"In that annoying, Cousin Oliver kind of way," Jake agreed.  Poor Jake.  He always did resort to making fun of others when he was feeling bad about himself.

Kenchy didn't get the reference but he laughed anyway - distractedly - and took a step closer to the board.  "We'll just have to go through it again," he decided.  "A third time, and then a fourth if necessary.  The match is here," he declared, tapping the board with one finger.  "The match is here."

"You say so," Jake muttered, finishing off his juice.  "But this just looks like a mess to me," he said shaking his head.

"It's here, Jake!" Kenchy declared, an air of determination coming over him.  He stared at the board again then, letting out a frustrated growl, threw the remains of his juice at it, obliterating the brightly coloured and intricate diagram.  "We start over, consider everyone.  'Cause there's a match here."

Keanu Reeves was not harmed in the writing of this chapter.  We would never do that to Keanu!

Cousin Oliver is a reference to an infamous plot device utilized in the last season of The Brady Bunch.

Parts of this chapter were inspired by an early version of the Jericho Pilot script. If you've read it, it will be hard to miss at least one of the references!

Lastly, there is a homage to a scene in a favourite movie of Marzee's.  Can you guess?

A Woman of Independent Means

Or, Necessity and the Mother of Invention

Heather Lisinski was a wonderful mother. Everyone in town said so, in fact, everyone in town claimed they'd known she would be all along. She adjusted quickly to the six babies, and soon after they came home from the Alternate Birthing Centre, she went back to work in her garage, bringing them with her every day.

Motherhood did not keep Heather from holding onto her fierce independence. She accepted gratefully the casseroles people put on her porch and the play-dates her friends at the commune tried to arrange out at their ranch, but for the most part, she took care of her family all by herself. Even more amazingly, she continued to work wonders in her shop, fixing everything that came her way, from radios and sophisticated communication devices to washing machines, from alarm clocks to tractors. She tended to her children and her machine repairs and engines, running back and forth around the garage, and delighted in the peace and quiet, with no one there trying to tell her what to do.

It impressed everyone, but it also concerned her friends. April, Mary and Trish often discussed their worries, after dinner as Eric did the dishes or rocked Ruby and Violet to sleep. They wondered what they could do to provide further assistance, without breaking the doctor-counselor-receptionist-patient privilege necessary to their practice. Surely at least one of the candidate fathers could be convinced to help shoulder the burden of six children, but how to convince Heather to accept such paternal interference? On one of her weekly visits, Gail overheard her daughters-in-law, who had elected to do the dishes that night while Gail and Gray played with their grandchildren and Eric cleaned mushed peas off the floor. Gail had asserted that it was only Heather herself who could make her decisions, and that they should respect the ones she'd made. Privately, though, she'd resolved to go check in on the new mother herself.

This was how Gail came to be standing in Heather's workshop, surrounded by the various car seats and bouncy chairs that Heather had arranged in a semicircle. "So they're sleeping better now?" Gail asked.

"Oh, way better," Heather said, putting her screwdriver down on the table in the centre of the room. She had taken apart an engine of some kind, and the high wooden table was scattered with tiny parts. "They're all really good about it. Even Betsy sleeps through the night now." She smiled affectionately at her noisiest offspring. "And she fusses less during the day."

Gail nodded, surveying the babies with a grandmotherly air. "And how about you?"

"Me?" asked Heather, concentrating on attaching a wire. "I'm fine."

Gail recognized that stubborn look of independence, so she was careful with her next question. "Are you sure?"

Heather looked slightly frustrated, but continued with her task. "Never better. Having a great time. John Adams, careful!" She picked a bottle off the ground and put it back on the car seat tray, only for it to be promptly knocked down again by a little fist. Gail reached to pick it up, but Heather got there first.

"You know, the girls sent you some things," said Gail, holding up the bag she'd been entrusted to deliver. "Stuff Violet's outgrown now."

"Won't Trish need it all soon?" asked Heather, wiping spittle off little Georgie's chin.

"No, they've got it into their heads to start making clothes. They've got this big batch of green dye. Something about it being easier to dress them all the same," chuckled Gail, though she'd actually been impressed with her daughters-in-law and their latest enterprise. "I guess you wouldn't want to dress these little ones the same. Wouldn't want to mix them up."

"Oh, I'd never mix them up," laughed Heather. "Kids are like cars. They've all got their own distinct personality. I feel like I already know them all so well. Johnny hates it when I leave the room for a second, but Georgie hates it when any of the other babies are out of sight. Abby loves peekaboo, but Betsy gets scared when I jump out at her. TJ always falls asleep when he hears me using power tools. And Libby, she watches everything I do in here. Look at her." She motioned to the bouncy seat where the blond baby was indeed staring at them with big eyes. "I wouldn't trade this time with them for anything in the world."

Gail smiled. "I know, dear. Exactly what you mean." Heather smiled back, and turned back to her tinkering with the engine, which Gail noticed now, baby Libby was indeed watching with rapt interest. Gail turned back to look at the younger woman, so hard at work. "Maybe you should take some time off from your work, then. You can still spend time with them, just let someone else do some of this mechanical repair work."

Heather shook her head, holding up two screws to compare them in the light. "I've got to keep at it. Keep contributing to the town. We're on our own here and we need all the help we can get."

Gail considered this for a moment, and considered her next words carefully. "Sweetheart, it's not that we aren't all very grateful to you. And it's not that we don't admire everything you're doing. I, for one, am very proud of you. The way you've stepped up to this challenge, taken such good care of these babies, and the way you're always ready to help everyone else. But I think maybe it's time you let everyone else help you too."

"I don't need anyone else," Heather said quickly.

"But you don't need to do it all yourself," said Gail gently. "You have friends who care about you, people who love you, and you're not the only one responsible for these little ones -"

"Oh, did he tell you to come here, say that?" asked Heather, for the first time showing irritation.

Gail ceased smiling and fixed her with a kind, but firm look that meant business. "I did not come here as Jake's mother, Heather, or as a grandmother. I came here as the mayor's wife. It's important to me to take care of things in our town, and to take care of the people in it. You are an important member of our community, we value everything you do for us, and I wish you could accept letting someone else do something for you."

Heather shook her head throughout this speech, looking down at her work and pretending not to be taking the older woman's words seriously. "Heather," said Gail firmly. Heather turned to look at her, but her expression showed she was clearly just humouring Gail. "I also came here as your friend." Heather's eyes softened for a moment, but she continued to regard the older woman with wariness. "I want to make sure you're doing what's right for you, and for your children. What's going to make you all happy and healthy. Staying in here by yourself, it's not going to be good for you, or them, in the long term. You need to get out, take breaks, get to enjoy yourself a little. For all of your sakes. When was the last time you even went for a walk?"

"I..." Heather trailed off. The answer was obvious.

"Trying to do this all by yourself, it's brave honey, but you can't even go for a walk if you've got to take six babies around with you."

"Well, that's the problem then, isn't it?" asked Heather defensively. "I can't fit them all in a double stroller."

"Heather," said Gail, attempting a soothing voice again. "I'm just saying, let us help you. Let someone watch them, and you go for a walk, or let someone help you take them for a walk. Things would be so much easier, if you let someone help."

An unspoken understanding seemed to pass between them, and Heather shook her head. "I don't need anyone! I can do it myself, and I will." With that, she stormed over to the small supply closet in the corner of the garage and began rummaging around noisily.

Johnny and Betsy both began to cry loudly. Gail scooped one up in each arm and swayed from side to side, shaking her head at the dismal failure of her mission.

The next day was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and a gentle breeze kissed the faces of the inhabitants of Jericho. Many people went out for a walk that day, and so many people stopped to stare when they saw Heather Lisinski passing by.

Heather took no notice of them at all, of course. She'd gotten quite used to people staring. She merely enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her face, smiled as she pointed out the sights to her children, and laughed at the looks on their faces as they took in their surroundings.

I was on a patrol that morning, so I was one of the many who bore witness to the debut of Heather's latest invention. At first, I was taken aback, as it was like nothing I'd ever seen before, and amazed that she could walk around so easily, but if anyone could design something like that and make it work, it was Heather. Jimmy stopped and stood in place, looking across the street at the Lisinski family. "I didn't know they made those...for more than one," he whispered.

"Usually, they don't," I answered, unable to keep the amazement out of my own voice. Heather had fashioned herself a baby carrier, just like the kind I'd seen Eric carrying each of his successive children in at town events, only unlike that knapsack, this one was designed to seat six. Somehow, Heather's knapsack had six rotating seats, suspended around her like a ferris wheel, so that she could get to each child if she needed to. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would never think such a thing could work, but Heather had designed it so well, she could easily support it as she walked, turning to look around and wave to friends and acquaintances.

She waved as she passed, and one of the babies, the little girl with the darkest hair, squawked loudly as Jimmy and I waved back. As she continued on her way, I couldn't help staring after them. Jimmy did the same. "Heather sure comes up with some strange things in that workshop, doesn't she?" he mused.

I nodded as Jimmy continued to talk about Heather's mysterious shop, and how no one had ever been allowed behind the counter. I agreed with him out loud, that it certainly was intriguing, but I was remembering another mysterious workshop that was even harder to penetrate. I didn't know exactly what it housed at the time, but I'd had a suspicion it was something a lot bigger than some childcare devices. I had to keep that one a secret from Jimmy, so I stayed quiet, but my mind was going back to another warm day, out at the Richmond farm...

Misdirection Mambo

Or, The Spy Who Loved Me

I'd been suspicious of what was going on out at the Richmond Ranch for a while. After the bombs, I was, naturally, more in-tune with the world around me, on heightened alert, so I started noticing things other people dismissed. I'd been friends with Stanley Richmond since we were kids, but when it's your job to investigate crimes, it's your job not to rule out any of the suspects. I started noticing things, especially after the bombs, and especially after that Mimi Clark showed up in town, out of the blue. I noticed how protective Stanley was of that barn. He'd pretend we were buddies, laughing and joking, but he always found an excuse to keep me from going anywhere near it. And the way he always had a reason why he had to stay there, no matter what was going on in town. And the way he watched her. There was something going on between them, and I was sure it wasn't anything as innocent as the romantic hijinks Jimmy would suggest if I brought it up.

I pondered it for a while, sorting out the details in my head, before I made my move. It was my duty to protect our town, to find out what was going on, regardless of any loyalty to my friend or danger to myself. I drew up a warrant to search the property, knowing I would have to execute it on my own. There was no need to bring Jimmy into a possibly deadly situation. He's a good friend and he's good at small town policing, stuff like helping lost kids find their parents at the grocery store or warning neighbours to stop fighting over property disputes, but he's not cut out to handle delicate investigations that the whole future of our country could depend on. Plus, there's his wife, Margaret. She'd kill me if anything happened to him while he was with me. So, I told him I was going to deliver a parking ticket, and I drove out to the Richmonds' alone.

It was a breezy fall day, and so unseasonably warm, I could feel my shirt clinging to my back. Things were quiet when I got there. There weren't any animals running around, Bonnie wasn't sulking on the porch with her non-functioning Blackberry, and Stanley didn't come out to greet me. I couldn't even see his truck. I decided to knock on the front door, just to keep things kosher, before going over to the barn.

I knocked twice, feeling just a little thrill of anticipation as no one came to the door. I'd been imagining the contents of that barn for many nights, and it seemed almost too simple that I was about to get into it, free of obstacles, but I started to step back. I was almost off the porch when I heard the front door sliding open. I looked back.

Mimi Clark stood in the doorway. I wasn't sure why, but the sight of her threw me. I'd only ever seen her in a snappy business suit. That day, the heat must have been getting to her too. She was wearing the tailored pants still, but she'd lost her jacket. Only a thin-strapped, low cut, lacy top clung to her torso, and I could see beads of sweat where it dipped down between... "Can I help you?" she asked.

I took a step closer to her, though I felt my stomach doing a flipflop. "Yes, ma'am. I'm here on official sheriff's department business."

Before, she'd been standing with her arms crossed, but now she let them fall loosely to her sides, lifting one hand to fan herself. "Is that so?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "What seems to be the trouble, deputy..."

"Kohler," I said, as business-like as I could. "I'm here to execute a search warrant."

"Search warrant?" she asked with a low chuckle, still fanning herself.

"Is Stanley home?" I asked, leaning to try to see past her, into the house.

She leaned too, blocking my view and looking right into my eyes. I swallowed. "He's out," she said. "You'll have to make do with me."

I fumbled with the paper in my hands. "Well, I'm going to have to search the barn. I think you'll see that everything's in order, in there." I pressed it into her hands, and she let her fingers brush against my hand before she pulled the search warrant away, holding it behind her back. My eyes followed it until I couldn't see it anymore, and I was left contemplating the curve of her side.

"Deputy Kohler, would you like to come inside?" she asked, and I quickly looked back up at her eyes. Her eyebrows were raised, her lips gently parted.

I glanced around quickly, feeling her eyes on me the whole time. "I think I'd better get to work," I said quickly.

She tilted her head. "What's your hurry, Deputy?"

I shifted my feet on the porch. "I've got to get out there, before..."

"Stanley won't be back any time soon," she said soothingly. "It's just us. Don't worry."

"I - I'm not worried," I said, trying to take a step back. "I just need to look in the barn, and then I can be on my way."

"What's so interesting about that barn?" she said with a giggle. She leaned towards me.

I stood up to my full height. "I'm just doing my job, ma'am."

She giggled again, patting a hand on my chest as if to steady herself. I hoped she didn't notice my sharp intake of breath. "And you do such a great job, protecting the town. You work hard. Why don't you take a break?" She took my hand in one of hers. "It's so hot outside. Aren't you hot?"

I could indeed feel the sweat dripping down the back of my neck, but I tried to stay professional. "I - just a little."

She nodded, gripping my hand tighter in both of hers. "Why don't you come in for some lemonade? Or some Tang?"

I wanted to resist, but she was just so persuasive, tugging my arm, letting out a sultry laugh, and I figured it might be a good idea to capitalize on this situation. I mean, after all, it would probably be my only chance to get her alone, and maybe I could get some information out of her, while her guard was down. As I followed her down the hall and into the kitchen, she literally let her hair down, pulling it out of the tightly wound knot and shaking it loose. I looked around the kitchen quickly. Nothing seemed much different from my other visits to the Richmonds'. My thoughts were distracted when the jazzy sounds of a trombone filled the air.

I spun around. She was standing over an old record player. "You don't mind a little music, do you?" she asked, her hand caressing the sides of the phonograph.

"No, it's...good," I said, watching her stand up to her full height. I'd only met Mimi Clark a few times before, and in fact, we'd never actually been formally introduced. I knew she was an attractive lady, but I'd never taken time to really consider her. I'm not sure why, I just always felt an instinct in the back of my mind that it would be better not to spend a lot of time thinking about Mimi Clark. Now, it was impossible not to look at her, and she filled my thoughts so that I could barely remember why I'd come in the first place. Her legs went on forever and those designer trousers clung in all the right places. She moved her hips like she knew they had the power to drive me wild, and she laid her hand on her heaving chest so casually, as if she didn't know I was imagining my own hand against her moist skin. I tried to remember again if I had come there for any reason other than to take in the delicious sight of Mimi Clark. The barn...the warrant.

"So Mimi, you've been living here for a while now," I sputtered out, as she came towards me, moving gently to the music, her eyes locked on mine. "Ever seen anything unusual?"

"Unusual, how?" she asked, now so close I could smell her sweet, hot breath.

"Anything that seems off. Could even be little things. Or instincts, even. You know, women especially can usually tell a lot based on instincts." I could hear my heart beat pounding in my head as she leaned to whisper in my ear.

"I think you're right." Her breath made my neck tingle. "And you wanna know what my instinct is telling me about you?"

I let out a breath as I felt her hands touching my chest, sliding up to my shoulders, and I barely stammered out "What?"

She held onto my shoulders, looking me up and down. "You're a good guy. You just want to help people. I can feel it. You know how sometimes you can just feel something?" She chuckled, leaning against me, and I definitely felt something. I backed up, hitting the wall. Mrs. Richmond's collection of spoons rattled overhead. "That's why you became a deputy, isn't it?" she breathed.

"I wanted a job where I could work for the town and I failed a fire drill once in high school. I ducked and covered instead of evacuating. I - I panicked," I choked out, "and the fire chief wouldn't hire me after that." Her face was inches from mine, her eyes boring into me, and I wondered if actual steam was issuing from my ears. She laughed again, and licked her lips. "That's sooooo interesting," she crooned.

The feel of her smooth curves pressed up against me was dizzying, but I was reminded of my duty to the town. I tried to extract myself, sandwiched as I was between her and the cheerful yellow wallpaper. She tried to lean closer to me; I stumbled sideways, inadvertently pulling her along with me. She regained her balance first, even though I looked down and noticed she was wearing a set of killer high heels. She steadied me, one hand gripping my arm and another touching the small of my back. "Careful, there," she cautioned breathily.

She was smiling, and holding me in a strange sort of dip, and I was looking back into those eyes that went as deep as oceans, and I thought to myself that careful was long past. The barn, I reminded myself again. The barn. I stood up, and her hand dropped from the small of my back, slowly, but not without grazing as it fell. "I want to know if you know about anything interesting. Going on. In this house." I tried to fix her with my sternest look. She was smiling, her eyes flashing, her freckled skin heaving up and down.

"I can think of one thing," she whispered, and for a split second, I could see what she was going to do before she moved. I was powerless to stop her. She surged forward, enveloping me with her body, in one swift movement, and quickly and forcefully claiming my mouth in one white hot, blinding kiss.

She left me gasping when she finally pulled away, and all I could do was gape at her in shock. She kept her eyes directly, provocatively locked with mine, her lips formed a small smile, and one eyebrow cocked expertly in a question. Hadn't I expected this all along? Didn't I know, from the moment I stepped inside, that she was too hot to handle, but I'd try to anyway? What was I still standing around for?

She'd lit a fire in me, a hungry beast within was howling that it could almost taste her, and she was running her hands up my chest again, but the part of me that had sworn to do my duty, for the good of the town, still managed to squeak out a protest. "But, I'm on the job!"

She gave a small shrug, a low laugh, and whispered, "So am I."

"What?" I stammered.

She pounced then, encircling my shoulders with her arms, wrapping her legs around me, and descending on my mouth in a kiss that made the first one seem like a seventh grade game of spin the bottle. I staggered back a step or two with the full force of her, but I held on and kissed her back. The barn, the warrant, the town, and my oath disappeared and everything in the world was Mimi Clark.

 The Government Contractor Who Came to Tea

Or, Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, (Plural) Marriage

 I never regretted that one afternoon of passion with Mimi Clark. Not even when I found that notebook, years later, decoded it, and discovered her true reason for keeping me away from the barn. So, she wasn't passionate about me, she was passionate about her mission. A lone wolf like me can understand that kind of thing. And I wouldn't be the only one Mimi would go to great lengths to keep out of the Richmonds' barn. Most people instinctively figured out that it was in their own best interest to stay away, but there will always be those who snoop where they shouldn't be snooping.

Trish Merrick was a fresh faced kid when she came to Jericho. She had a job title, a cause, and a bunch of dreams about helping to fix the mess her country had become a few short months earlier. Eager to serve the greater good, she attacked each of the tasks assigned her with gusto, even when they were such thankless jobs as filing tax forms for reluctant landowners or processing medical clinic orders. It was with this same due diligence that Trish set out for the Richmond farm, armed with old records and new policies, all on J&R issued letterhead.

The facts of the case were simple, or so she had been briefed. A family farmer owing thousands to the government in back taxes, freedom from prosecution to be promised in exchange for compliance with a few inconsequential conditions, a friendly overture from a new kind of national leader. Trish knew nothing of any deeper implications behind John Goetz's instructions, nor did she recognize the knowing look he would get as she repeated the information back to him, confirming it herself. She truly thought, when she stepped out of her car, that she was about to perform a service for the Richmond family.

She had been grinning when Mimi Clark first met her halfway between the barn and the house, but at Mimi's curt greeting, Trish felt a slightly less giddy surge of apprehension, for reasons unknown to her. She explained quite brightly the purposes of her visit. Mimi kept her arms folded throughout, nodding at opportune moments, fixing Trish with a penetrating stare that would have stopped less perky relief workers dead in their tracks. As it was, Trish felt slightly less confident as she finished explaining that she would need to inspect the property and take inventory of its contents. As she glanced pointedly at the barn, she thought she saw a dark look steal over the taller woman's face, but the next thing she knew, Mimi was smiling at her.

"Trish. Does J&R really need to waste their time bothering with farms in the middle of nowhere?" Her tone of voice and expression reminded Trish of an indulgent adult asking a child to explain a finger painting.

"J&R values a thorough approach," said Trish confidently, though she was losing confidence in her new position every day. "All claims must be investigated."

"Investigated?" asked Mimi with a light chuckle. "Now why would you want to take time investigating a decent, hard-working farmer like my Stanley when there are a bunch of polygamists flaunting their lifestyle, just on the other side of town, at this very moment?"

"Polygamists?" asked Trish. The information was new to her.

"Sister wives, one husband to share amongst them. They've got a commune and everything. I'm sure they cheat on their taxes, and they've got the mayor in their pocket, somehow." Mimi gave a strange laugh, uncrossing her arms. "And you want to investigate a law abiding farmer, when there are illegal plural marriages corrupting our new country right under your nose."

Trish assured her that she did not indeed want to aid in the spread of a corrupting influence like plural marriage. She promised to look into it, and hastily retreated to her car.

She made a quick investigation in town before she went out to the Green commune herself. Having never encountered polygamy before, she wanted to be certain of what she was getting herself into. She was surprised to learn that the polygamists in question were not only tolerated in Jericho, but it seemed they were well liked. Many people raved about the alcohol available for purchase there, or the superior medical treatment you just couldn't get from a drunken plastic surgeon operating out of a former internet cafe. Many were protective of the Greens, though most laughed when they heard that Trish planned on going out there to confront Eric Green.

"I wouldn't worry too much about Eric," they had chortled. "It's the wives you've got to watch out for."

Trish gathered a similar response from so many people, she was indeed slightly nervous when she first pulled up to the Green commune and stepped out of the car. Steeling herself as she looked around, she felt temporarily relieved that no wives seemed to be around. She could see a man walking around the property, pushing a baby stroller, his beard glinting red in the sunlight. Eric Green, she decided. He matched all the descriptions she'd been given. Reminding herself of her dedication to the cause, Trish took a deep breath and approached him.

"Eric Green?" she asked when she was a few feet away and he looked over at her. He nodded and looked at her questioningly.

"Trish Merrick," she replied automatically reaching out a hand, which he reluctantly shook. "And who's that?" she asked, pointing at the baby in the stroller, sleeping despite the sunlight streaming over her tiny features.

"Ruby," he beamed.

"She's beautiful," said Trish.

"She's got her mother's hair," he said with a grin.

"You're very lucky," said Trish.

"We just found out we have another on the way," said Eric. "They think it'll be a girl too. They guessed Ruby right. Mom thought she'd be a boy. She's deferring to their judgment this time."

Trish giggled and continued to converse with Eric. The more she talked with him, the more she realized that he was not an awful, brainwashed dictator, nor a manipulative self-proclaiming prophet. He was an ordinary guy, raising a family and trying to make things go together. He had such a nice smile, she couldn't help but think, and her heart positively melted as he leaned over his baby, tickling her toes. She tried to remember, for a moment, why she had been so nervous to come out here.

It's the wives you've got to watch out for.

Trish looked up at the house, and as if on cue, she noticed two pairs of eyes watching out the window. She glanced back at Eric, who made no notice, as he was telling a funny story.

"So I told the girls to stay inside and I'd go scare away the ghost, or the escaped criminal or whatever, but Mary came too, said she'd back me up, and we went outside. Turns out it was just a cat that got stuck under the old wash tub out here. Mary laughed so hard when she told April and the baby later, apparently I had a look on my face. I guess she tells it better than I do. Mary's a really good story teller."

"Uh huh," said Trish distractedly, for the faces had disappeared from the window. She wondered where they were.

"She'd say, it's a good thing April was busy with the baby, or she might have tried to go out and adopt that cat too. April always wants to save every stray, even the animals," he chuckled. "I think if she wasn't busy saving all the people who come out here, she'd have a whole menagerie of rescued animals. I guess maybe that'll be her next expansion to the business."

"Yeah," said Trish faintly, for the front door had opened, and the wives were standing in the doorway, both staring directly at her.

Ruby interrupted her father's story, letting out a cry. "I guess we'd better get back to our walk," said Eric. "If you need anything, you can go on up to the house. My wives'll take care of you."

Trish tried to smile at that, but his words left her feeling unnerved. As she assured him that it had been nice to meet him, grinned at the baby once more, and watched them go, she forced herself to turn back to the house. She felt a jolt.

The redhead and the brunette had linked arms and were walking towards her, their strides matched. Trish took a deep breath. She had traveled through dangerous zones, left behind comfort and safety to work where she was really needed, and she had done it all knowing she would have to be brave. And what were two small town women compared with the soldiers, survivalists, and mercenaries she'd run across? Especially small town women who were, by most accounts, good health care providers and funny storytellers? None-the-less, as she watched them approach, Trish found herself quaking in her J&R issued tennis shoes.

When they reached her, Trish barely trusted herself to speak. "Mrs. Green?" she squeaked out, not certain which of them she was addressing.

"I'm Mary," said the brunette, reaching out her hand. Trish very reluctantly shook it.

"And it's Dr. Green, but you can call me April," said the redhead, also offering a hand.

They both smiled at her, but Trish was once again filled with apprehension. "I - well, I came out here to speak with your husband, well, with all of you, about -"

"We did see you speaking with him," said April calmly.

"Well, naturally, when I first heard about -" Trish faltered.

"Would you like to come inside?" asked Mary. She motioned to the house.

Trish did not want to follow them inside, but they were both being so friendly, so polite, she felt she couldn't refuse. She joined them as they walked back over to the house, and followed them through the door, looking around the entire time, suddenly insatiably curious as to how a polygamist's home would differ from others. It didn't seem out of the ordinary, once they stepped inside the living room. In fact, it was especially homey.

Mary breezed past them and into the kitchen as April offered Trish a seat on the couch. "I - uh- like what you've done with the place," she said, sinking into the surprisingly comfortable couch. April smiled and gave a nod of thanks.

"She's a decorating genius," said Mary as she came back into the room with a tray. "She picked out all the colours."

Trish made a show of looking around and admiring them. April and Mary both seated themselves in the chairs opposite the couch. "Tea?" Mary asked, placing a cup in front of their guest. "We can offer you some of our home brew too if you'd like. We just can't have any. I'm pregnant."

Trish accepted the cup of tea and nodded. "Right, your husband told me. Your first?"

Mary and April both smiled. "My first, but our second," Mary answered. "I think you met Ruby?"

Trish nodded as she sipped her tea. "Yes. She's beautiful."

April and Mary both smiled again. "We think this one's a girl too," said April.

"Medical instinct?" asked Trish.

April laughed. "I guess. There's no real way to know, of course, but doesn't she just look like she's carrying a girl?"

Trish didn't really think so, considering Mary was barely showing, but she thought it best to agree under the circumstances.

"Eric's dad, you know," continued April. "He wished for granddaughters. We think he might be getting his wish, two times."

Both women now had solemn looks on their faces. Trish remembered now, what she had been briefed about when she first arrived in town. She hadn't connected the polygamists to the Mayor Green who had been killed, but now she understood. "I'm so sorry," she said, leaning forward and trying to impress upon her hosts the earnestness of her words. "About your...father-in-law."

April and Mary nodded, reaching for their own teacups. "Thank you," said April.

"It's been hard," acknowledged Mary. "Hardest on him really." They were both silent for a second, and Trish contemplated the man she'd met outside with the nice smile.

April cleared her throat finally, and leaned forward. "So Trish. Tell us about yourself."

Trish was slightly taken aback, but as they continued to sip tea, offer her cookies, and smile kindly, she found herself surprisingly at ease. She launched into her story: her childhood as an army brat, her father's death when she was twelve, her brief stint at a performing arts high school, her decision to major in social science, and her later decision to major in political science. Her internship in Bangladesh, the live-in boyfriend who broke her heart at age twenty-four, the interview for the dream job that she'd bombed, and then her subsequent employment at J&R. How it had changed from something to do while she figured out her next move to her reason for being after the bombs. April and Mary listened carefully and sympathetically, laughing at the funny parts, sighing over the setbacks, tearing up at the tragedies, and interjecting questions about Trish's family history, spiritual beliefs, child-rearing philosophies, and politics. Once she had finished, and they had gone through a pot of herbal tea, they cut to the chase.

"We asked you to come in because we saw you with Eric," said April. "And we think he likes you."

Trish wasn't sure what to say. Before she could muster an answer, Mary asked her pointedly, "Do you like him?"

Trish blinked. How did one answer that question when asked by a man's two wives? "You can tell us if you do. We've both been there," said April with a chuckle. For the first time since the conversation had gotten so awkward, Trish let herself laugh a little too.

"The point is, Trish, we like you," said Mary. April nodded in agreement. "So would you like to know what we're proposing?"

Trish slowly nodded, and leaned forward in her seat.

When Eric came inside a half an hour later, holding Ruby against his shoulder, he was surprised to see April, Mary, and Trish seated around the coffee table, pouring over a big piece of paper, talking and laughing amongst themselves like old friends.

"Oh, Eric! Come on in!" called Mary when she saw him. They all looked over at him, knowing grins on their faces, as he made his way across the living room. He wondered if he should be feeling nervous.

"Have a seat! We have something we'd like to discuss with you," said April, taking Ruby from him and smiling.

Eric took a seat. They were all smiling at him, and he looked from one to another, wondering who would speak first. Finally, he said, "So what's the news? You're not having twins, are you?" he directed at Mary. The last time they'd sat him down, it was to tell him he'd be a father again.

"No, she's not," laughed April. "But how would you like to have a third wife?"

He looked from her to Mary to Trish, who smiled shyly. "Third wife?" he repeated slowly.

"We've been discussing it, and we think she'd make a great addition," said Mary.

"We could do with someone to help out around here, since we've got so much to do, what with my patients and Mary's customers, and you're busy these days looking after Ruby, and with the baby on the way, you don't have as much time to go gathering herbs in the woods anymore, so we'll need some help. Plus it would be nice, to have her around. She's great!" April smiled kindly at Trish.

"She is. And Eric, we're pretty sure you'll feel the same way," said Mary with a grin.

Eric smiled too, looking around at them. He really was lucky, the thought to himself, and he had a feeling he wouldn't have much say in the matter anyway, so he may as well just accept everything life was offering him. "I think so too," he said, offering Trish a grin.

Trish adjusted well to her new life, and before long, became as part of the commune, and of Jericho, as any native townsperson. By the time Jake Green came to visit the commune clinic, on the six month anniversary of his mother's marriage, it was as though she'd always been there.

"Reason for your visit?" she asked, barely looking up from her desk in the waiting room. "Medical or retail?" She was rocking Violet's cradle with her foot, and trying to keep an eye on Ruby, who was toddling around under her desk.

"Personal," said Jake.

Trish looked up at her brother-in-law. "Oh, hi Jake. How are you?"

"Fine. Look, I came to see -"

"I'm sorry, Jake, she doesn't want to see you." Trish stopped what she was doing, and looked up at him sympathetically.

Jake said nothing, and set his face in a stony expression.

"Would you like to stay for lunch? Eric's out gathering winterberries, but April and Mary'll be taking a break soon."

He shook his head. "Nah, I should get back to work. Tell her I stopped in again, okay?"

Trish nodded, looking down quickly. "Ruby, where did you get that?" She grabbed the broken cellphone from the toddler's hands. "Kids are so weird," she chuckled.

"Yeah," said Jake, who had been walking away, but stopped to watch his nieces. "How are they? The babies?"

"They're great. Almost ready to go home," said Trish carefully.

Jake nodded. "Well, say hi for me. To everyone."

With that, he trudged out of the clinic, muttering to himself about getting back to work and life turning out all wrong.

"Gentle with the baby, Ruby," cautioned Trish, looking back to watch her brother-in-law go, feeling guilty that she couldn't commiserate with his world view. Her life had turned out strangely, but it wasn't all wrong at all.

  Our title comes from the old counting game used by young girls to evalute potential future boyfriends. It was also used as a book title by Alice Munro (Though hers did not include the 'plural' addition).  

Desperate Measures

Or, Something is Rotten in the State of Kansas 

It was an open secret in Jericho, back in those early days after the bombs and after Beck's reign of error, that our sheriff was, in a word, distracted. Jake Green really only had two interests - the burgeoning with motherhood Heather Lisinski and Gray Anderson, his father's usurper - but still he occasionally tried to do his job, and he was pretty tight with Robert Hawkins, going so far as to consult with the always vigilant deputy at home whenever he was on one of his many administrative leaves. Rob Hawkins was a good cop but he had a bad habit of discharging his weapon first and asking questions later.

One particularly crisp and bright autumn day found Jake pounding on the Hawkins' door, desperate for a sympathetic ear. (This was, it should be noted, a different autumn day from the one on which Jake visited Kenchy Dhuwalia in search of a sympathetic ear.) While the day was particularly bright and crisp, it had also been a bad one for Jake and it was barely noon. Mrs. Mayor - there were a lot of us who couldn't bring ourselves to call her Mrs. Anderson even when we remembered her new name, and Mrs. Mayor was a compromise that worked for everyone. Certainly, if she'd ever wanted to run against her husband - the second one - she would have won in a landslide. Gail Green Anderson was revered in Jericho and she was more than qualified to govern the town.

Anyway, Mrs. Mayor had radioed into the sheriff's station that particularly crisp and bright autumn morning from the Green commune with the news that baby Violet had arrived overnight. She'd asked me to run over to the house to let Jake know and asked me, if I would, to please try and get him to come out to the ranch to meet his new niece. I agreed of course. Mrs. Mayor was hard to turn down after all, and it was nice to be the bearer of some good news for once. Besides, most days it was one of my unofficial duties to roust our sheriff out of bed. He had a lot of late nights back then, always seemed to have a glass of that Razz-Apple Surprise in hand, if you know what I mean.

Following his marriage, Gray Anderson had moved into the Green home with his bride and Jake had moved out. Unfortunately, housing was at a premium back then, and so Jake had only been able to move twenty feet off his mother's back porch and into the detached garage. It was somewhat of a symbolic gesture as Jake still used the bathroom and kitchen in the house, but his mother and step-father supported his choice, reminding us all that he needed his independence. His sisters-in-law had descended one day, hanging cheerful curtains on the windows and placing squishy throw pillows on the lawn chairs and army cot Jake had pulled down from the rafters. Their touches were nice and brightened the garage up, but it was still a bit Spartan. However, Johnston Green's workbench in the corner was left untouched, a shrine to a father Jake refused to forget.

"Well, hello, Jake," Allison Hawkins smiled, throwing open her front door. "Do something for ya?" she practically purred.

"Uh, yeah," he acknowledged distractedly. "Is - uh - is your father home? We were gonna meet about - uh, ya know - official sheriff business."

"Of course," she demurred, taking a step back and gesturing grandly for him to enter. "Do come in."

They made it three steps into the house before Darcy appeared out of nowhere. "Jake!" she declared, wrapping her arm around his. "Oh, this is a nice surprise!"

"Mother!" Allison protested, glaring. Quickly, she latched onto Jake's other arm, tugging on it.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" Darcy inquired, ignoring her daughter's peeved expression. "A glass of water? Cup of coffee? Juice? I know how you like that Razz-Apple Surprise."

"He's here to see Daddy," Allison insisted, yanking Jake towards the dining room.

Darcy, though, maintained her vise-like grip on his arm. "Well, really, Allison, where are your manners? He can still have something to drink." She offered Jake a warm smile, adding, "Or anything else he wants." Glancing at the door, her smile faltered slightly. "Deputy Bill isn't with you today?"

 "Uh, no," Jake answered, "Not today, sorry." Darcy let go of his arm then, and he rubbed the spot where he was sure a bruise was forming as he allowed Allison to lead him to the dining room where her father sat at the table, cleaning his gun.

One of his many guns. One of the nearly three hundred guns he would strip down and clean each and every time he was on administrative leave. His family was used to the routine and they worked around him, bringing another firearms case up from the basement every ninety minutes or so, and keeping him well supplied with caffeine and protein bars so he didn't ever have to stop working. He could go like that for three, four days straight. A bit extreme to be sure, but that was the kind of cop Robert Hawkins was.

Three days before, on a rather muggy Indian summer day, Hawkins had been on patrol at the weekly downtown farmers market and swap meet when he'd shot out the tire on Mrs. Herbert's wheelbarrow. Mrs. Herbert, who had been pushing the wheelbarrow at the time, immediately became hysterical, weeping and wailing about how she'd almost been gunned down in the middle of Main Street and how The Powers That Be in Jericho had it in for her. She'd never really forgiven Gray for not defending her farm from the New Berniacs. I had tried to calm her down, tried to explain that Hawkins was a crack shot and if he'd wanted to shoot her, he would have shot her and not her wheelbarrow. Meanwhile, Hawkins had argued that her wheelbarrow was suspicious and had obviously been tagged by gang bangers. (In actuality, Mrs. Herbert's grandsons had decorated the wheelbarrow a few months earlier for the parade celebrating both the Fourth of July and the ASA army's departure from Jericho.) None of this had comforted Mrs. Herbert, though I think if Hawkins had just let me handle things, I could have smoothed it all over. As it was, there was no getting him out of the suspension, even after Jake ran and got Heather to come patch the tire. We had the wheelbarrow working as good as new in fifteen minutes but the damage was done, so to speak, and Hawkins had ended up on a week's administrative leave.

"Sheriff," Hawkins greeted, looking up from his task for a split second. "I hear congratulations are in order."

Jake frowned in confusion. "Congratulations? For what?" he demanded. I should probably explain that after we'd made the requisite social call out to the Green commune to gawk at the baby and slap Eric on the back, Jake had had me drop him off at Heather's. He'd been even more distracted than usual on the drive back to town, not saying a word but obviously engaged in some internal debate. It was obvious to me that even though it had only been four days since he'd last proposed, he intended to try again. But for the eleventh time Heather had turned him down.

"Heard you're an uncle again," Hawkins answered, pushing the cleaning rod through the barrel of a revolver.

"Oh. Yeah," Jake muttered, "Right."

"So, boy or girl? What'd they name it?" Darcy asked, presenting Jake with a glass of Razz-Apple Surprise.

"Uh, girl. Violet," he replied before taking a sip of his juice. "I think that's what Mary said," he added, mumbling into his glass.

Glaring at her mother, Allison forced her way between Darcy and Jake. "Violet Green," she cooed at Jake. "That's such a pretty name, don't you think?"

"Sure," he shrugged. "But, you know, Hawkins, we need to talk." Jake glanced at the two women and then back at his suspended deputy. "About a ... sensitive matter."

Hawkins acknowledged this with a single nod as he placed the gun he'd finished cleaning in its storage case, extracting the next one. "Dee, Allison, if you would ..." he commanded.

 Immediately, the Hawkins women's faces fell, but they did as instructed, shuffling away to seat themselves on the couch in the living room. I always felt a little bit sorry for Darcy and Allison. It was obvious that they craved Hawkins' attention and affection - were desperate for it, actually. And, the more he withheld it, the more they sought the notice of others. Me, Jake on occasion, even Jimmy. Apparently any man with a badge would do, though I do believe that they genuinely liked me. Darcy and I had some great conversations over the years, and Allison really was a sweet kid.

"Now Jake, I know you're opposed, but I think we really need to discuss bringing the DD in," Hawkins continued, not giving Jake time to raise his 'sensitive matter'. "Last week they saran wrapped all the toilet seats in town hall!"

"Yeah, but no real harm done," Jake argued. "Well, except to Gray," he smirked. I've always thought that Jake was in on that little DD prank. For one thing, Jake had already been in the office when I'd arrived that morning and I hadn't had to go drag him out of bed per usual. Plus, he'd been in a good mood and Dale had been there too, hanging out in the sheriff's station though there really had been no reason for him to be, except of course that it unnerved Gray any time Dale or Skylar were in the building. That morning was no exception and he'd immediately cancelled his daily public safety briefing and hightailed it upstairs to his office, snagging a two week old copy of The Jericho Record off Jimmy's desk as he retreated. I'd seen both Jake and Dale snickering behind their hands, and it wasn't five minutes later that we heard the outraged roar coming from the mayor's private bathroom on the second floor.

"Well, what about the Oreo incident?" Hawkins grumbled. He was using a toothbrush to scrub out the inside of his gun's cylinder and he redoubled his efforts. "First time since the bombs we get honest to goodness Oreos in town and the Devil's Duo stays up all night scraping out the crème filling and replacing it with toothpaste!" he complained. "I'm telling you, Jake, one day it's toothpaste in your Oreos and the next it's Ex-Lax brownies."

"They gave everybody who got one of the toothpaste cookies a free snack pack," Jake reminded. "They were just having a little fun. Anything that gets Gray's goat seems perfectly legal to me," he insisted, making a face.

"We can't let dangerous pranksters run amok just because it annoys your stepfather," Hawkins retorted.

 "He's not my stepfather," Jake ground out, his eyes narrowing. "He's - he's my mother's illegitimate husband. A pretender to the - the office of mayor. And besides, we need the DD. They can get things nobody else can, but not if they're in jail. They're good kids," he insisted, "They're not Sean Henthorn, and I'm not lockin' them up."

 Sean Henthorn was a sad and complicated case. He'd been locked up after the incident with Mitch Cafferty and the Greens' stolen horses and he'd just never been released. Hawkins wouldn't allow it, and then with the discovery that he didn't seem to have parents - Mrs. Crenshaw remembered his mother registering him for kindergarten but after a fairly thorough canvass of the town it was determined that no one had actually seen either of them since sometime around Sean's third grade year - there was no one to advocate on his behalf. And so, he was left to languish in holding cell number two. By six months in, about all he did was eat, sleep and hum "Rubber Duckie" to himself, but still we held him. I always felt kind of bad about what happened to poor Sean, but you learned to pick your battles with Hawkins.

 "You just leave Sean to me," Hawkins returned. "Another month or two, and I'll break that punk," he assured. "And, you know, it wouldn't take nearly as much to straighten out the DD."

"We're not arresting Dale and Skylar," Jake countered. "We need them to get things."

 "What? That juice you're addicted to?" Hawkins snorted, rolling his eyes. "Ever wonder what the 'Surprise' is, Jake?" (I have to say that Hawkins had a point. The Devil's Duo had the exclusive distribution contract for Razz-Apple Surprise for northwestern Kansas, Jake was their biggest customer, and the 'Surprise' ingredient was pretty much a state secret.)

 Jake, however, ignored the aspersion cast at what was nearly his one and only comfort in life and continued to press his case. Mindful of Hawkins' dependents sitting not twenty feet away, he took a seat across the table from the other man and leaned over towards him, dropping his voice low. "The DD can get things," he repeated, "Diapers. Formula. Things we're gonna need."

"Things we're gonna need?" Hawkins echoed, one eyebrow raised. "Those aren't things I need," he reminded, "And unless Miss Lisinski has finally accepted your proposal...."

"Well, she hasn't," Jake muttered, "But she will. She has to. And - and, I'm still - it's still my responsibility to help her."

"It might not be," Hawkins reminded, wiping the loosened fouling and solvent off the gun's frame with a rag. "Might be Beck."

 "Of course it's me! It has to be me!" Jake insisted, his tone indignant. "It - it can't be him! That would be a complete nightmare," he declared, shuddering at the thought. "She's - Heather - my - she's - six babies," he managed to get out in one mangled tangle of words. "Six! But don't spread that around," Jake requested quietly. "My mother, she took me aside this morning after we saw the baby and - and she told me about Heather, but it was in strictest confidence, so...."

In perfect synchronization, Darcy and Allison leapt to their feet, scurrying towards the table. "Oh, Jake, sweetheart, that's old news," Darcy clucked sympathetically.

 "Yeah, everyone in town knows about Heather's Half Dozen," Allison added, moving to stand next to his chair, opposite her mother. They both squeezed his arms sympathetically. "We just assumed you knew."

 Eyes wide, Jake looked back and forth between the two women who smiled at him encouragingly. Making a rather high-pitched, strangled noise he leaned forward, letting his head drop on the table with a thunk, shaking it and thus earning a glare from Hawkins over some splattered solvent. "Jake's worried about Miss Lisinski's mental state," he informed his wife and daughter as he inspected a cleaning patch, determining that the gun's barrel was not yet clean. "Because she was defrocked by Beck," he explained, clearly bored with the entire topic. "Voluntarily, but still -"

"Deflowered," Darcy interjected. She fought a grin, saying, "Rob, I think you mean deflowered. Defrocked is what happens to priests. Deflowered is for -"

 "But that wasn't Major Beck," Allison protested. "Everyone knows that Heather, you know, uh... hit one out of the park with some guy in New Bern."

Jake raised his head. "What?" he croaked.

"You know, got a home run. A dinger," Allison clarified.

"But... New Bern?" Jake questioned, his voice cracking softly. "Ted? Russell? Mike? God, no, not Constantino."

"Well, that would explain why she won't marry you," Hawkins offered, "If the man who killed your father is a potential father for her baby - babies."

Groaning, Jake threw himself back down on the table.

 "Well, Ted sounds right," Allison said, patting Jake gently on the back. "The second guy, no one knows who exactly it was. But not Constantino. He was a friend, someone her own age, or close. They got drunk one night and one thing led to another...."

"... only drinks the occasional light beer..." Jake mumbled against the tablecloth, his breath dampening the material. In the next instance, he sat boldly upright. "Wait a minute! The second guy?"

"Yep. There were two in New Bern, one at the army camp," Allison explained cheerfully. "Sounds like he gave her the old 'off to war tomorrow so this might be my last night on earth' line," she added, rolling her eyes. "Then back in Jericho, there was Deputy Bill -"

 "Bill!!!" Jake screeched.

 (I must take this opportunity to state for the record that I have always regretted that Jake learned of my interlude with Heather in this manner.)

 "Yes, Deputy Bill," Allison repeated. The teen and her mother then sighed dramatically in unison, Allison murmuring, "Lucky duck," before completing, "Then the major, and then of course you, Jake."

 "Oh, Jake, honey, you don't look so good," Darcy frowned. She cupped the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair, which earned her a murderous glare from her daughter and which she blithely ignored. "Why don't you drink some of your juice," she urged, rubbing the back of his neck. "That'll make you feel better."

Dutifully, Jake complied with her instruction, though his hand shook some as he raised his glass to his lips. Meanwhile, Allison stepped behind him, shoving an elbow into her mother's ribs to force her to move over so that she could massage Jake's shoulders. "But - but - but Heather was so sweet and pure and innocent," he declared, sitting up in his chair and slamming his now empty glass down on the table. "I don't understand."

"What's to understand?" Allison asked. "It was the end of the world, and a girl's gotta live sometime. What did you think she was going to do? Wait for you forever? She went to New Bern, she didn't join a convent, and it is the twenty first century after all." Groaning piteously, Jake slumped in his seat.

 "You know..." Darcy began, moving a chair next to Jake's and reaching for his hand. "Heather might have slept with a bunch of guys before you -"

"Five," Hawkins supplied, not bothering to look up as he inspected the gun he'd been cleaning. "It was five guys."

 "Thank you, Robert," Darcy muttered, shaking her head. Returning her attention to Jake, she offered the younger man a smile. "But, Jake... she hasn't been with anyone else since you."

 "Yeah!" Allison confirmed enthusiastically. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders, resting her head against his. "Got a taste of something she liked! Not gonna settle for second best anymore!"

 "Exactly," Darcy agreed, beaming brightly at her daughter.

Unnerved - though it was hard to say what bothered him more, the suddenly hungry and proprietary look on Allison's face, or her mother's approving smile - Jake gaped as he glanced between the two women. "Heather won't marry me, and Gray Anderson keeps trying to give me fatherly advice and to teach Ruby to call him 'Grandpa', and Mary and April and Trish make jokes about Gray having tea parties with all his granddaughters in a few years, and - and - and yesterday I got up early - was gonna get an early start on the day - and - and - and when I went to get coffee they were in the kitchen, kissing - kissing! - and - and - and - he called her 'Snookums'!"

 The words spilled out of him in a rush and he started to sniffle. The Hawkinses were convinced he was about to cry. "My Dad should be having tea parties with his granddaughters, not - not - not that jerk!" Jake proclaimed, his red rimmed eyes giving him a helpless but smoldering look that pulled deep sighs from the two women.

"There, there," Darcy comforted, patting his arm while Allison's arm tightened around him.

 Hawkins, though, was unimpressed by this display of namby-pamby emotion. "Buck up there, bucko," he advised grumpily. "The good news is, Beck didn't defrock or deflower Heather, and he doesn't have our phone numbers or our addresses in his little black book." Hawkins made a face at the thought. "She did what she had to do, and so did we," he insisted. "Besides, you know what? This is good," he continued, not pausing for a breath - or in his gun cleaning - for even a second. "If there are six possible baby daddies -"

"Babies' daddies," his wife corrected with a smile.

 "Okay, babies' daddies. If there are six of you, then there's only a one in six chance you're the father of any one of them, right? And a one in thirty six chance you're the father of all of 'em. That's like - like - well, a really small percent."

 "Two point seven, infinitely repeating seven percent," Sam Hawkins offered from the living room floor where he sat cross-legged at the coffee table, colouring.

 Okay, now I need to pause for a moment and address the literary critics who will one day read this memoir and undoubtedly gnash their teeth over the fact that I didn't bother to mention previously that Sam Hawkins was sitting in the living room, colouring. There is a good, simple explanation for this, and it isn't that I just forgot. The good and simple reason for not mentioning Sam Hawkins' presence is that he was always at the coffee table, colouring, and frankly the kid was a little creepy. Whenever I was there, I tried to ignore him. Except when he got hungry. He was extra creepy when he got hungry, talking in this low, 'I'm-in-desperate-need-of-an-exorcism' voice. When I was there, if Darcy offered me a couple of cookies, I always split them with Sam.

The Hawkinses didn't seem to notice their son's creepiness, but for some reason they did keep him inside and away from people most of the time. He claimed to enjoy playing football, and he drew pictures of himself playing football, but I knew the family for five years before I ever saw him outside. It was at the Labor Day picnic, and the whole family was in attendance. Darcy had left Sam alone - she was off with the Commune Moms, cooing over their latest additions (Hunter and Kelly, if I'm not mistaken) - and he was wandering about staring at the picnickers and the booths offering hamburgers, hot dogs, deep fried twinkies, cotton candy, and all manner of carnival-type delicacies. "I'm hungry!" Sam had shouted to no one in particular, drawing stares from all around. "I'm hungry!" he shrieked again. In the end, I blew fifty bucks just to shut the kid up. Creepy, I tell you.

"Thanks, Sam," Hawkins smiled at his son. "Two point seven seven. That's almost zero. And, Miss Lisinski can make her own choices, Jake," he informed his boss, "So until she decides she wants to marry you, we need to be worrying about other things. Town security. Darcy, Allison, if you would," he said, waving them away from the table. "Though, Allie," he amended quickly, "Go get my list for me first, would you, baby girl? And, take this back to the basement," he requested, patting a gun case.

The Hawkins females both stood up, each taking one more opportunity to touch Jake as they did. "Jake, honey, I'll get you some more juice," Darcy promised as Allison heaved the heavy metal suitcase off the table.

 Jake grunted in response. Hawkins continued to work, in a steady rhythm, and Sam continued to colour with a beady stare of concentration, though I'm certain he was aware of every movement in the room. Allison trudged back into the room, but gave a smile as she brushed past Jake's slumped form, to the cabinet against the wall, and retrieved a notebook from the drawer. She came to stand between the men, holding the notebook against the edge of the table, running her fingers along the pages as she pushed it towards Jake's elbow.

 Jake glanced at it with little interest. All of us in the sheriff's department had seen it before: Hawkins' master collection of notes about town security. Detailed and precise, the scribblings were none the less nearly impossible to understand, for anyone except Hawkins himself, and his note taker.

 "Read us the most recent list, baby," said Hawkins, barely glancing up.

 Allison was his note taker. The Hawkins kids were home schooled, since Hawkins didn't trust the Jericho school system. He had only ever met one of the high school teachers - he'd once confided to me that he thought her somewhat dangerously unbalanced - and the only grade school teacher he'd ever heard recommended had quit her job, claiming her mechanical repairs were more vital to the survival of the town. I don't know what kind of superior education Allison and Sam were getting at home, but I do know Hawkins claimed his daughter's involvement in his work was valuable real world experience. Whether Allison understood how valuable seemed questionable, as she began reading from the notes she'd taken earlier in a bored tone of voice.

"Item number one: Possible rabid canine."

 Jake, momentarily pulled out of his anguished haze, kept the vague amusement off his face and turned to look at Hawkins. "Sorry, rabid what?"

Hawkins paid no attention to Jake's expression, used to the younger man being slow to catch up to him. "There've been reports of a mangy dog running around on the outskirts of town. It comes out of nowhere, and runs away when approached. I'm concerned about the infectious disease risk."

"How do you know it's even got -" Jake began.

"I've seen it," Hawkins continued. "I don't like the look of it. And besides the risk it might infect some of the children or foolish adults who might approach it, it's got me nervous in another way. It's got a collar."

"Isn't that supposed to be a good thing?" asked Jake. "Doesn't that mean it has an owner?"

 Hawkins shook his head, methodically stowing one hand gun in its case and reaching for another. "No. You see Jake, it's not the collar itself that worries me. It's the logo on the collar. It looks familiar. Like that of a certain group of mercenaries we know."

 "Ravenwood?" questioned Jake, suddenly slightly more involved in the conversation at the mention of his second greatest enemy. A moment later, he relaxed, the amusement returning to his face. "A Ravenwood collar? So what? Ravenwood's gone. We don't have to worry about them anymore."

"You sure about that Jake?" asked Hawkins in a calm voice. "Ravenwood is a sophisticated enemy. We don't really know what they're capable of. How can we know this dog, this collar, does not have some elaborate device designed to send information back to Cheyenne?"

 Jake just shook his head doubtfully. His mind was already wandering to that dog he'd once owned. The one his father had bought for him. His father, the rightful mayor of Jericho...

 "Jake, you have to think outside the box when you're facing an enemy like this one," Hawkins continued, sending his naive boss a pitying look. "We can't afford to turn into bleeding hearts every time some puppy scampers up and -"

"I've seen that puppy!" came Darcy's voice as she reappeared, quickly placing another glass of Razz-Apple Surprise at Jake's elbow and whispering "There you go, sheriff," in a breathy voice. Turning back to her husband, she folded her arms. "It was adorable!"

Hawkins smirked without looking up. "That may be, but that doesn't mean we should -"

 "He has the cutest little ears, and tail!" Darcy continued, oblivious to her husband's cool affect. "Robert, I don't see why you're so worried about such a cute little thing like that puppy!"

 Hawkins looked mildly irritated for a moment, but merely turned the gun over in his hand, inspecting the other side. "Dee, we don't know what that thing is capable of. What we need to do is -"

"Robert," said Darcy with a chuckle, waving a hand at his ridiculousness and smiling at Jake, ignoring the fact that the sheriff didn't share in her amusement. "What that puppy needs is someone to take of him."

"I wasn't thinking about what the puppy needs," said Hawkins in a low voice, but Darcy appeared to be thinking.

"I know!" she exclaimed. "Deputy Bill! He's just the man for the job."

Allison glanced up, a dreamy expression replacing the look of utter boredom on her face. "That's actually a good idea, Mom. Deputy Bill..." she trailed off, smiling, then glancing at the men seated at the table, continued. "He's got a heart of gold, you know."

 "And a firm hand," said Darcy with a giggle. Allison giggled too. "I'm sure he could tame that wild puppy," Darcy finished, nodding her head triumphantly.

Hawkins didn't giggle. "I don't know about that," he said doubtfully.

Jake sighed, evidently already longing to wrap up the dog discussion and return to his own pet topics. "Look, Hawkins, it's probably just a stray. We've had those around before. We'll just tell people to tell their kids not to do something stupid, like try to tame it. Not like you have to worry about your family going near it, right? You have that - that - de-capitator - de-lousifier -"

 "Verminator 5000," supplied Sam in a low monotone. He didn't look up from his colouring.

 "Right," said Hawkins, with a dreamy smile of his own.

 Jimmy had first told me about Hawkins' security system, the Verminator 5000, in an awed voice, the day after his family had attended a barbecue at the Hawkinses'. He'd seen the box, while looking through the shed with Hawkins, and it had been hidden in the back, behind a croquet set, but Hawkins had apparently beamed with pride as he'd explained its functions to Jimmy. Jimmy seemed more impressed with the croquet set when he told me later, but his description of the Verminator stuck with me. It was a high tech, outdoor, motion sensing security device, and Hawkins proudly explained that before the bombs they had been banned in every state but Texas. I'd heard of them before, in a briefing at work once, and if Hawkins weren't such a dedicated cop, I guess I would have been a little nervous. Let's just say I was glad kids seemed to naturally understand, somehow, that they shouldn't chase baseballs into the Hawkins' yard.

 "Yeah, I guess that baby will work its magic, won't it?" continued Hawkins, looking up from his work for once to stare off dreamily into space.

 "I guess," said Jake with a shrug, ignoring Darcy and Allison's sympathetic tilting of their heads in his direction.

"But, you should be worried," said Hawkins, switching back to business. "Especially since you've got family. And they don't have a Verminator 5000."

 Jake's eyes momentarily flashed. "Didn't you listen to anything I said earlier? No matter how many times I ask, she always -"

"Not her," said Hawkins dismissively. "Those people you live with, and those other people you visit every week. The ones with the little kids running around. You'd think you'd be worried about their safety, with this possible rabid canine prowling the countryside."

Jake shook his head, slowly catching up. "A dog would run away from Gray, and Ruby can't even walk yet..."

 "Well, you'd better hope none of them come down with rabies," said Hawkins. "And that brings me to item two." He motioned to Allison, who glanced down at the notebook with a scowl.

"Item two," she rattled off. "Lax security at the Green commune."

Jake raised his eyebrows at his most dedicated deputy and merely waited for him to explain. "I don't think it's adequately protected from intruders and thieves," said Hawkins.

 Jake began to say something, but Hawkins continued. "Now, I know you're going to say, their security is up to them and it's not a town matter, but seeing as they're now supplying the town with the majority of medicinal and non medicinal natural products, I think it would be in all of our best interests to convince them to better protect their assets."

"I don't know," Jake shrugged. "You really think they're -"

"They're sitting ducks, Jake," Hawkins answered. "Other day, I tested it out. Snuck right around the building, got in the back way, right into the store room with no trouble at all. Your sister-in-law found me, and she offered me a drink!"

 Jake chuckled in spite of himself. "So? They do that to everyone." It was true, and though Hawkins didn't admit it to Jake here, he had stayed half an hour at the commune, sipping his complimentary beverage and trading stories with the Greens and their regular customers. Of course, he told himself he was gathering information, and now, sitting at home with Jake, he was putting his observations into an argument.

 "Look, Jake, I've heard the rumours about why they're so happy over there. Why everyone is so happy. They say there's something in the air, or maybe it's in the water. Or the tea." He sent a pointed look over at Jake, who seemed rather oblivious, giving Hawkins a blank look in return.

Hawkins shrugged his shoulders. "Not that I think there's anything wrong with it, nothing I won't be willing to look the other way for. But I've heard other rumours. About New Bern."

"What about New Bern?" asked Jake, irritation flashing over his face as he suddenly pondered Ted and Mysterious Guy Number Two with contempt.

Hawkins decided he needed to be blunt. "They're drug fiends."

Jake shook his head. Darcy and Allison chuckled nervously. Hawkins gritted his teeth. "Don't you ever wonder how they made it through the winter and then the occupation in such good spirits? What was going through their minds when they took on the ASA?" The other people in the room shrugged, though Sam looked up to meet his father's gaze and gave a small nod.

 Poor Hawkins really was nervous about the New Bern drug rumours. He'd never admit it to anyone, but he'd shown me a picture Sam drew once, of a bunch of zombies marching in a zombie formation, with red eyes and tattered football uniforms. The title "New Bern" was scrawled across the top in red crayon, and Hawkins whispered that this was a dream he had some nights, and he didn't know how Sam could have drawn it so well. He seemed more creeped out about the zombie drug fiends from New Bern, so I, of course, didn't mention how creepy it was that Sam could draw other people's nightmares as though he'd seen them himself.

 "Jake, I don't want to think about it," he continued. "But it's my job to think about all the possibilities. What do you think would happen, if they all marched up to the commune, like zombies, looking for a fix? I doubt they'd be happy to hold hands and sing Kumbaya."

"I've never heard them sing Kumbaya at the commune," shrugged Jake.

"Point is, they need to be better prepared," said Hawkins with a tone of finality. "And they're your family, so you have to convince them."

"I don't know. I'm pretty sure they have some kind of security system already," said Jake slowly. "Not the Verminator 5000, but I'm sure they'd do okay. Besides, it's all just a rumour anyway. New Bern is not hooked on drugs. And my brother and his wives aren't either. They're just...really happy. Everyone is, at the commune."

 "Wish I knew their secret," sighed Darcy, leaning her elbows on the table between Jake and Hawkins, sinking her chin into her hands, and leaning just a little bit more in Jake's direction. Jake didn't even shrink back as he sometimes did, at the close proximity of another human being. He was staring at his knuckles.

"I've heard they know lots of secrets," piped up Allison, glancing appraisingly down at Jake. "They might be able to help you, with your other problem."

 "My other problem?" asked Jake warily. "What, with -"

"Who knows, maybe they can give you some special tea!" said Allison, with growing excitement. "My dad was right. Everyone says there's just something in the water. But I think they really mean there's something in the tea. Maybe it could help you with your...romantic problems."

"Love potion?" Jake snickered. Allison nodded, unabashed, and raised her eyebrows. "Maybe they could give you some, and you could ask her in for a cup of tea sometime -"

"Only in fairy tales," Jake smirked. "Stories with fairies and talking donkeys."

 "Well, you never know," said Allison with a small giggle, recovering herself. "And if that doesn't work, you could always climb up her balcony. You know, serenade her. It would be so romantic." She clutched her hands together and sighed.

Jake glowered. "She lives in a bungalow," he said through gritted teeth.

"So, you're going to talk to your family," Hawkins cut in, before Jake could bemoan his impossible dream some more. "Suggest to them that they might want a plan of action, in case New Bern ever hears the same rumours I've heard. And since we're clear on that, item three." He motioned to Allison again.

Allison glanced down at the page. "Item three: recent talks with New Bern."

Jake shifted warily in his seat. "What about them?"

Hawkins gave a wry smile as he prepared to brief his boss. "Since you were in the bathroom most of the meeting, I thought I should tell you how the talks broke down after you left."

Jake sighed, and hung his head. Earlier the week before, just before Hawkins' incident with the wheelbarrow and subsequent administrative leave, all of us deputies and a few other town representatives, along with the mayor, had attended the most recent of talks with Constantino and his representatives. We'd been trying, ever since we'd been left on our own again, to establish some sort of new treaty with New Bern. So far, it had amounted to a basic 'You fish on your side, I fish on mine, and nobody fishes in the middle,' idea, which would really have been good if we hadn't all been afraid of the rad levels at Bass Lake and could get everyone to agree to even discuss other, more important details. We were still finding it hard, I'm afraid, to get over the fact that they had invaded our sandbox like the big schoolyard bullies they were, and they were still upset about the fact that we wouldn't hand over our lunch money. The meeting that Hawkins was describing to Jake on this crisp autumn day had been the seventh meeting so far to end with both sides storming out.

"Let me guess, Gray and Constantino couldn't agree on terms again," said Jake.

Hawkins nodded. "Your step - ah, the mayor was really floundering. He could have used his stepsons' support. He could use all the support he can get, frankly."

Jake gave a grimace that had just the hint of smug satisfaction behind it. "I don't help Gray."

"For the sake of the town, Jake," said Hawkins.

"Well, I'm glad he's not bowing down to Constantino, anyway. Least he's doing something right. What happened to end the meeting this time?" Jake looked up in interest, in spite of himself.

Hawkins sighed. "Meeting went downhill when Constantino said he wanted to put in a clause about a pound of flesh."

 "Huh?" asked Jake.

"In case someone breaks the treaty," continued Hawkins. "An actual pound of flesh. Freaked everyone out when he made it clear he didn't mean it in a metaphorical sense. Gray was offended and had to take a coffee break."

 Jake shook his head. "Coffee break. You know, my dad would've handled Constantino so much better."

"I don't care who handles him, Jake. I think we need to have a better plan. You know how the tensions rise, every time we sit down across the table from each other. Just how well prepared are we, should New Bern attack us again?" Hawkins looked up from the hand gun he was lovingly cradling and let his question hang dramatically in the air.

"New Bern won't get Jericho," came a low, even tone. Everyone turned quickly, startled at the unnerving monotone delivered in the child's voice. Sam sat, calmly looking around at his family members and Jake, a brightly coloured piece of origami clutched tightly in his stubby little fingers. Darcy, Allison, and Hawkins relaxed and smiled.

"That what it says in your cootie catcher, Sam?" asked Darcy in a voice dripping in affection for her youngest child. She looked around, as if to invite the others in the room to enthuse over her little artist too, especially as she flashed a grin in Jake's direction.

I'm not a superstitious guy, but that cootie catcher always bothered me. Probably just because it was made by the creepy housebound child himself, but there was something really bizarre about the way the whole family seemed to look to the folded, inanimate fortune teller in awe. I'd first encountered it one time when Hawkins was cleaning his guns throughout my report and Darcy was retrieving a batch of freshly baked cookies in the kitchen. Allison and Sam had pounced at the momentary lull in my work meeting with their father, offering to tell me my fortune. I can still remember Sam grinning that evil little grin of his and Allison running her hand along my sleeve and telling me how accurate the cootie catcher had been in predicting the future of the first boy to ask her out in Jericho.

"It said Sean would disappear," she had whispered. "And a few days after our first date...he did!"

Though she wasn't entirely correct, as I had laid eyes on the ill fated boy since then, the sense of reverence the entire family seemed to have for the cootie catcher unnerved me. Jake, on the other hand, looked over at Sam along with the rest of the Hawkinses, an expression of mild curiosity on his face, as the boy lifted the red corner of the paper, and read out the inscription.

 "It says here, 'Jericho will not be defeated until New Bern Woods comes to Spruce Lane.'"

The Hawkinses were quiet, apparently contemplating the meaning of the strange prophecy. Jake, however, chuckled in spite of himself. Allison and Darcy looked on in hopeful eagerness as they hadn't seen him appear so cheerful throughout the meeting. "New Bern Woods?" Jake asked, the amusement clear in his voice. "Trees? Walking down Main Street? What are they going to do, provide shade for people gathered outside Town Hall?" Jake chuckled again, slapping his leg. "Trees. Come to Spruce Lane. Hawkins, you do have one imaginative kid there."

 The look Sam Hawkins was sending in Jake's direction would have made me gulp nervously but Jake didn't seem to notice, sipping enthusiastically at the glass of Razz Apple Surprise. "So, Hawkins, got any other town security threats that are as imminent as that one?"

 Hawkins gave Jake an appraising glance, but resumed his work and motioned at Allison again. "Yes, Jake. Allie, item four."

"Item four," sighed Allison. "UFO risk."

 Jake began to chuckle again, but he relented for a moment at the frightening expression Hawkins was sending his way. "There've been reports that the Terrestrial Mentalists have been painting strange symbols on their roof. Apparently to attract aliens to land there."

Jake struggled to regain his angst ridden composure. "I don't know. Haven't we always said, they're a little weird but as long as they do what they do and don't bother anyone else, we're cool with it?"

"That's just the thing, Jake," said Hawkins. "I'm worried about how the rest of the town might react. They've had to deal with threats from New Bern, the ASA, Ravenwood. What do you think they'll do if they hear aliens might be invading too?"

Jake scoffed. "It's not like the aliens are actually going to invade."

 "True," said Hawkins. "But let me tell you a little story. Back in St. Louis, this one Halloween night, I was on duty when I got a ten-four on a ruckus at the Gateway Arch. Turns out, the whole place was full of people claiming they'd seen three red lights hovering in a circle, for ten minutes, before disappearing."

Allison twirled a lock of her hair as she quickly interjected, "Aliens invading at Gateway Arch. Talk about Manifest Destiny!" As her joke hovered in the air and no one laughed, she looked back down at her notebook with a grimace.

 Jake looked somewhat skeptical but watched his tone as he asked "So what was it?"

Hawkins shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Weather balloon, reflected car lights, kids playing a prank. Point is, the people were convinced it was a UFO. Took a long time to calm that crowd down, and twenty of us to keep the peace. I don't want another Gateway Arch here. Don't know where we'd get the manpower for the crowd control we might need, if people were to panic. With just you, me, Jimmy and Bill."

Jake sat silently for a moment, as if contemplating the short staff at the sheriff's department. Usually, we tried not to let our small numbers bring us down, since we seemed to make it through most emergencies intact, but once in a while Hawkins, remembering fondly the protective environment and cheerful camaraderie of his old squad in St. Louis, would bring it up.

Seeing he had made his point, Hawkins nodded to Allison again. "Speaking of lack of resources, Allie?"

"Item five," droned Allison, stopping to give a loud, dramatic sigh that was ignored by those around her. "Class A Fire risk."

"Fire?" asked Jake, his eyebrows raised.

"Jimmy's house," said Hawkins in a businesslike tone. "We were over there for a barbecue last week, and I saw that Jimmy was using a Super Deluxe Turbo Grill, size large. No fire prevention equipment in sight! And his house is built in a wooded area."

At Jake's questioning look, Darcy smiled helpfully. "He planted two trees in the backyard last year."

"And Woody and Sally built a fort out of scraps of wood," added Allison, clutching the notebook against her chest as she grinned at Jake again.

Hawkins gave her a nod, and her smile grew, but he looked down at the gun he was polishing again and her bored expression returned as he spoke. "Now, I wouldn't normally think it was our job to talk about fire regulations, but since all the fire fighters seem to have vanished from the area, and since our force is so...lacking in manpower, I figure we could do with some fire prevention instead."

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, we can put Jimmy on it next week. He can come up with a fire safety message for the next town meeting."

Hawkins nodded, seemingly glad it had taken so little to convince Jake to take his advice on at least one of his concerns. "And that brings me to my next item," he said, motioning again at Allison, who sighed even more dramatically but dutifully read it out.

"Item six: Possible theft ring."

 Hawkins leaned forward in his seat, reaching for the case at the far end of the table. Darcy helpfully retrieved the one he had just pushed aside and lugged it out of the room. After holding Jake in suspense for a few moments, (in fact, Jake was about to open his mouth to speak), Hawkins launched into his description of the next threat.

"I'm noticing a disturbing trend of petty thefts across town," he said in a grave voice. "I'm thinking it might be an idea to put together a stake out."

 "A trend? How come I haven't heard of it?" asked Jake, wondering briefly how he managed to be sheriff yet so woefully uninformed of all the dangers blossoming around him.

 "The other deputies don't think these are serious crimes," sighed Hawkins. "So they've left them out of official reports. But I believe no crime is too small, especially when I start seeing a troubling pattern."

 Jimmy and I had tried to tell Hawkins we didn't think the following examples were crimes worth investigating, they were just typical goings on in a small town. However, Hawkins, being the experienced big city cop, insisted on looking into them, so we let him go about his job. Who were we to stand in the way of a seasoned veteran?

"First of all, a rutabaga was stolen from the back porch of the Terrestrial Mentalists' house of worship," said Hawkins.

 "A rutabaga?" asked Jake, thinking of how revered the humble tuber was for Heather's fifth guy and his church, and just slightly pleased to hear one had been taken. "What did they do when they found out?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too gleeful.

 "They took it as a sign of course," sighed Hawkins. "Something about the second coming of...whoever it is they think is coming for them. But I think it's a sign of mischief of the worst kind."

"I don't know," said Jake doubtfully. "Vegetable theft isn't really high on the list of crimes you can -"

"It's the significance of it, Jake," said Hawkins, giving him a withering look. "It may be a vegetable to you and me, but to them, it's a religious symbol. Taken right off the back porch of their religious institution. Now, I hesitate to call it a hate crime, but in St. Louis, we took our diversity training very seriously."

 "Hate crime?" asked Jake, fighting the urge to laugh this time as Hawkins' face was getting a familiar zealous expression.

 "But then I started hearing about more thefts. So I started to put the pieces together. The second reported theft involved a cake, baked by one Emily Sullivan."

Jake raised his eyebrows, not daring to speak as he swallowed a chuckle. Allison, from her place at her father's side, and Darcy, who had sidled back into the room, narrowed their eyes slightly at the mention of Jake's former girlfriend. Hawkins paid no attention to any of them, and continued with his tale. "Miss Sullivan told me she'd been working on perfecting her baking skills, making a cake last week. A few days later, she checked the pantry and it was gone. Strange, isn't it?"

Jake nodded, unable to keep the smirk off his face this time. "Yeah. I'd say maybe someone ate it, but then, Emily baked it, so that would be strange."

Allison and Darcy erupted in a cacophony of giggles, silencing themselves a moment later as Hawkins cleared his throat. "I did suggest to Miss Sullivan that the cake in question might have been eaten. She didn't think so. And she seemed very shaken up about it, but she answered my questions bravely. At first." He looked thoughtful for a moment.

"At first?" asked Jake warily.

 Hawkins frowned. "Well, until I suggested maybe it had simply gone bad, over the three days since she'd baked it and went back to check on it, in the pantry where she left it. Perhaps a well meaning friend or relative had thrown it out, and it wasn't stolen."

 "And Emily..." supplied Jake, trying once again not to show amusement at the misfortune of someone else. Especially since that someone else was lifting a particularly large rifle onto the table.

"Turned into a holy terror," said Hawkins ruefully, laying the rifle sideways. "Started shrieking and screaming at me, suggesting a number of people to arrest. Everyone from Kenchy Dhuwalia to Reverend Young could be responsible, apparently."

 At the look of utter annoyance on Hawkins' face, Jake kept himself from snickering. Allison and Darcy both made a show of rolling their eyes.

 Jake sighed, pushing aside his now empty juice glass and contemplating the table. "So, rutabagas - actually, a single rutabaga - and Emily's cake. Hardly qualifies as a theft ring, does it?"

 Hawkins shook his head. "There's one more, Jake. Another suspicious theft. The mayor has lost a handkerchief."

"Which handkerchief?" asked Jake quickly.

"One he was given by your - his wife," answered Hawkins. "The mayor's most frantic at having lost it."

"I think I know the one," mumbled Jake, continuing to stare at the table top. "It was a gift. From my father. To my mother. Should never have been given to Gray." He traced his thumb along the surface of the table, and though he said nothing out loud, it was obvious he was thinking to himself about how the handkerchief wasn't meant for Gray. Just like the Green house. The mayor's office. His mother's gifts. Both Green granddaughters. Not meant for Gray. That handkerchief was not meant for him to wipe his bald head with it. Jake glowered as he thought, and muttered some words under his breath. He became aware, in the next moment, of four pairs of eyes on him.

 "I don't know anything about it being stolen," he said quickly. Darcy nodded sympathetically. Allison gave him a knowing smile. Sam coloured.

Hawkins continued to work. Jake shifted in his chair, folding his arms. "So where do you even think you can hold a stakeout, Hawkins?"

"Well, I was going to start outside Town Hall. Then the Terrestrial Mentalists' church. Then the Pines." Smiling, laying the rifle back into the case, he snapped the case shut. "Anywhere I need to, in order to see that justice is served."

"You do remember we're a little short staffed?" asked Jake, his eyebrows raised.

"Right," said Hawkins after a moment of silence. "You...Jimmy...Bill..."

"We're expecting you in on Monday," said Jake. "Jimmy says he misses those talks you have when you take coffee breaks, and you know no one can unstick the fourth drawer in the filing cabinet like you can."

Hawkins was silent at Jake's words. The rest of his family, for once, seemed to be taking a cue from him.

"Well, it's been a good meeting but I think I've got to get back to the office," said Jake, pushing back his chair and standing up. "Thanks for the juice, Darcy. See you on Monday, Hawkins."

Jake gave a curt nod towards the room in general, and let himself out, already contemplating his next proposal and lamenting irritably the lack of balconies on most houses in Jericho.

Sam continued to colour. Darcy went to grab another case from the basement. Allison sighed longingly over the heart and initials she'd drawn in the corner of her notebook. Hawkins banged his fist on the table, thinking of the state of his career since he had left the big city.

Contained within this chapter, you will find homages to the movie Over the Hedge, the song "The Lake Song" (it's from 1954), the 1930's spiritual song "Kumbaya" (which gained popularity in the folk-loving '60's), the beloved Sesame Street tune "Rubber Duckie" (which became a surprising mainstream hit in 1970), and to a certain famous playwright whose works are public domain.  Ol' Bill is in there a lot.  See if you can spot 'em all.

High Noon Paso Doble

Or, A Bad Moon Rises

 
 
The torrid love affair between Stanley Richmond and Mimi Clark progressed as all such love affairs do - quickly. By the eve of Stanley's departure for New Bern, they knew they loved each other. Neither had ever expected to find the real deal - Stanley had always known his work would be an obstacle to meeting anyone and Mimi had begun to wonder if such a thing even existed - but neither questioned it. They just threw themselves into it with full force, trusting what they had with each other amidst the chaos that pervaded their lives.
 
They had made a decision to continue their work, and to help each other balance all of the secrets. They came to another decision together, and the night before Stanley left, they sat Bonnie down in the living room.
 
Bonnie was at first sullen as she anticipated a lecture, or worse, some kind of mushy announcement, but she grew solemn as the story of her family was recounted to her. At first, she seemed too stunned to say anything when Stanley finished, but she soon gave voice to many questions, which he answered truthfully.

"But why do you have to go? Why are you going now?" she asked Stanley.

He considered his baby sister carefully before answering. "I need to go, to keep up my part in our town. And it's the right thing to do. I never thought I could leave before, but now that you know, and now that I have Mimi here, I know I can leave the farm in good hands. I know you'll make me proud."
 
Bonnie felt a strange solidarity with Mimi the next day as they both watched Stanley drive away, tears in their eyes. Armed with her new knowledge of Mimi's identity, she could have imagined that Mimi's display of emotion was part of the act, but something told her it was more, part of the Mimi she was finally getting to know. Over the next few weeks, she learned more about her brother's new love, as Mimi told her stories about her life on the job, and taught her a few things out at the privacy of the ranch. Not only did Mimi show her some of the skills she'd picked up over her years of stealth operations and fending off enemies, she gave her advice about life, love, sex, and goal setting. Bonnie began to open up about her own thoughts. About how she'd always felt a strange longing to know more about her past, that a part of herself was missing. About the feelings of hope she'd begun to notice, as though she were on the verge of something, in the midst of the dark times that had begun after the bombs. For the first time, Bonnie felt that rare and extraordinary connection of true friendship that few of us are lucky enough to experience.
 
So it was that when Stanley returned from New Bern, he found himself in the midst of a closely knit little family, united by their cause and with no secrets between them. It was a freedom and a security he'd never known before. It was a grounded feeling Mimi had never felt. It was a sense of belonging Bonnie had been missing. So it was, that in the middle of trials and tribulations, a time when fire was raining down on Jericho, the Richmond family found themselves facing happiness.
 
As with all such happiness, it was not to last. The ASA came to stop the war between the towns, and with them blew in the winds of change. No one in town could read better the current in these winds than Mimi, and they made her very uneasy.
 
"They're here for a reason," she said one night as the family, sitting around their living room, feverishly discussed the sudden ASA presence in Jericho. "The West would never come to rebuild a backwater place like this right away, unless they wanted something. They've got to be here for the bomb."
 
"If they know it's here, why don't they just come out here and get it? For that matter, why wouldn't they just send someone like you? One of your counterparts? Why the company, and the army?" asked Stanley.
 
"That's not how they work, always," she mused. "One of my...counterparts will be along soon, I expect. But first they'll send in the facade, lull the town into a false sense of security while they figure out what move to make next. So they must not know exactly where it is yet...or they're after more than one thing..."
 
"So what should we do? Think we should move it?" he asked doubtfully. He'd considered it plenty of times, but move it to where? He'd always decided it was best to hide it at home, where he knew the lay of the land. If protecting it came down to a fight, he wanted home court advantage.
 
"No, it's too late for that," she said. "I need to do some recon. I'm going to get a job."
 
"With J&R?" asked Bonnie.
 
Mimi nodded, resolutely. "That's the best plan, for now. And for now, we've all got to stay alert. Keep an eye on everything going on."
 
Stanley and Bonnie agreed and pledged their resolution to be vigilant.
 
It was easy enough for Mimi to infiltrate J&R. Trish Merrick, still vaguely threatened by the presence of the farmer's girlfriend and distracted by dreams of her own upcoming wedding, was more than happy to recommend Mimi (if only to get away from the other woman as fast as possible). She got a job on the ground floor, and in no time, had the offices bugged and had copied information out into the notebook she carried everywhere.
 
"Wouldn't it be better to copy the files onto a drive?" asked Bonnie one evening as Mimi listened to a high tech recording device that was connected to her watch and transcribed the information into her notebook.
 
Mimi shook her head. "It's better not to leave an electronic trail. I've got all the secrets I've ever uncovered written down in here and no one's ever going to be able to hack it, copy it, or send it a virus. Even if someone gets their hands on it, they'd have to decipher the code, but the chances anyone'll get it are pretty low. They'd have to get through me first." The women exchanged a grin.
 
Bonnie smiled as her almost sister-in-law continued to concentrate on her work. She had her own news to break, and she was a little worried about how they would react. She decided to just say it casually. "I'm going to go to Cheyenne."
 
Mimi looked up at her, her eyes dead serious, pulling the headphones out of her ears. Stanley, who had been leafing through a textbook on the couch, looked over at her too. "You're going?"
 
"I'm going to get a job. They need people. I'm going to see what's out there." She looked between them, but they were both silent. She continued with the speech she'd practiced. "I know you're going to say it's dangerous, I know you're going to want me to stay. But this is something I need to do, I can feel it, somehow. You've taught me, now you have to trust me. I can do this."
 
After an eternity of staring at her, Mimi finally nodded. "It will be dangerous." Bonnie nodded, waiting for her to continue. "So you'd better let me teach you some more moves. And tell you about things to look out for. Oh, I'm going to make you a list." Mimi nodded emphatically, but her eyes were getting shiny. "And I'm sure I'll still be worried sick about you, so you'd better make sure you come back here."
 
Bonnie let out a small giggle. Coming from Mimi, she knew what all of that meant. She looked nervously to her brother. He appeared to be wrestling with something. He spoke eventually, slowly, as if he had to make certain of each word. "I thought I could raise you, protect you, keep all of this from touching you. But I was wrong. You need to make your mark on the world, just like we did and still do. You can feel it like I can, something just tells you that you need to do this. I know how that is. So I'm proud of you. And I bet I won't be good at saying goodbye, watching you go, so you'll have to cut me some slack."
 
She nodded, solemnly, but she couldn't stay solemn for long. Her brother was giving her a teasing look, and they both broke out in laughter, because it was easier, she suspected, than expressing the other things they were feeling.
 
"And we have some news too, though nothing as earth shattering as yours," said Mimi, reaching for Stanley's hand. She glanced at him.
 
"We're getting married!" he said.
 
Bonnie raised her eyebrows in surprise, even though she'd seen it coming for a while, and with a laugh, she bounded across the floor to envelope them both in a hug. The three of them laughed and giggled and didn't break apart for several moments.
 
Bonnie prepared hastily over the next few days, trying to quell any fears that came up with the same resolution she'd had when she first made the decision. She was ready to do this, excited even, to be finally contributing something, after so many years of not knowing, not understanding her purpose in this world. Now, she was armed with the truth, with the lessons and advice, and most importantly, the love of her family. She was going to make them proud, and to find out just what she could do, and that was enough to keep her going, every time she'd pause while sitting in her parents' old bedroom, tracing her hands over her grandmother's quilt, or standing on the edge of the field where she'd played as a child, watching the birds scattering at her approach and disappearing into the brightness of the afternoon.
 
For their part, Stanley and Mimi were trying to put on brave faces too. She'd catch them sometimes, looking at her when they thought she wasn't looking, a strange mixture of emotions on their faces, and she'd end up assuring them, even though it was she was who going out into the great unknown. Usually they would try to recover in the moment too. Stanley would mention gruffly that he had to check on the cows, or Mimi would shake it off and offer to teach her another choke hold. Sometimes Bonnie would assure them that it would be fine, that in no time she'd be back, with adventure stories of her own, and ready to help plan the wedding. Most times, however, she'd pretend she didn't notice their momentary lapses in certainty.
 
One night soon before Bonnie's departure, she sat on the porch and stared out at the sunset that was sweeping across the land. She'd seen such a sight many times before, but tonight she couldn't keep her eyes from it. It seemed to stretch forever, encompassing the whole world, for sure. She felt she could stare at it forever, now that she was about to leave this place. Stanley leaned against the porch railing beside her, and she suddenly felt she could look at him forever too.
 
"Did you ever wish you could've gone back and done something different?" she asked.
 
He shook his head. "Never."
 
"You never felt like there could have been something else out there? Something besides a life of danger, hard work, and raising a kid?"
 
"I wouldn't have it any other way," he grinned.
 
She smiled back at him. "Me neither."
 
He looked at her in silence for a few moments, but she could see all he was thinking on his face. "I always knew you'd make me proud," he said huskily. "Just make sure you do what makes you happy too, okay?"
 
She nodded, and she felt herself being overcome. It didn't really matter; he was losing his brave face too. She reached out her arms, as she had so often, since she was a little girl, and he pulled her close to him. They pulled apart after a long moment, and he was blinking, looking everywhere but at her. "Now, I've got to go check on that compound in the barn. It's supposed to oscillate at five hundred degrees Kelvin," he mumbled.
 
Bonnie couldn't help but smile after him as he retreated. She stared at the sunset again, hugging her arms around her. The back door opened, and Mimi came out on the porch, pulling on a sweater and sitting on the swing. Bonnie silently went over and sat beside her.
 
"He's going to be fine," said Mimi, looking over at the barn.
 
"Oh, I'm not worried," smiled Bonnie. "I think, between the two of you, you'll manage."
 
"But it won't be the same, without you, you know," said Mimi.
 
Bonnie nodded. "I'll be back, though."
 
Mimi let out a small laugh, but she was beginning to get emotional too. "I know. You know what to do. I know you'll handle yourself just fine."
 
"I've been taught well," said Bonnie, nudging her.
 
Mimi was looking out now, a solemn look on her face. "You know, I've never had a real friend before, Bonnie. Girls are usually scared of me."
 
"Weird," said Bonnie, turning to smile at her soon-to-be sister. "I've never had a friend like you either."
 
"Thanks," Mimi whispered. She put an arm around Bonnie, Bonnie leaned her head against her shoulder, and they watched the sunset.
 
Over in a dark room, in another part of town, someone else was sitting at a desk, not looking out at the sunset but down at a file folder in his hands.
 
"Well, well, well," said a low voice. "I knew I'd find you again."
 
"Sir," said a man in the doorway.
 
"What? Biff, I told you not to bother me!" said the seated man in aggravation.
 
"I'm sorry, sir," said the man named Biff, falling over himself to apologize.
 
"It's alright, Biff, I'm in a good mood tonight." The seated man did seem in a good mood. His lips curled into a smile Biff had never seen on his boss before.
 
"You don't mean..." began Biff. "You haven't found...her?"
 
The seated man nodded.
 
"That's great news, sir!" enthused Biff. "Should we go over there now and pay her a visit?"
 
"Calm down, Biff," said his boss. "We're not going to do anything of the sort. Not yet."
 
"But you've been waiting for so long -"
 
"And I can wait a little longer, Biff!" The man in the chair banged his fist on the desk. He leaned back in his seat. "I am a very patient man."
 
"Of course you are, sir," said Biff quickly.
 
"It's all about the timing, Biff. We've got to do this just right. I know her. We can't just go knock on her door. We've got to wait for her to come out and play."
 
"And then?" asked Biff.
 
The man smiled again. "And then I've got some catching up to do." He looked down at the papers spread on his desk and chuckled to himself.
 
The next day began like many others in the Richmond household, though the three family members lingered a little bit longer at the breakfast table, took a little longer to get ready to go in to town or out to the barn, and said goodbye just a little more slowly than usual, perhaps because they knew they wouldn't have many more mornings together.
 
The morning turned to afternoon, and still, the day seemed to be like any other, except for a few storm clouds on the horizon, which Bonnie pointed out to Stanley as they crossed the street in town, having been picking up a few more supplies for Bonnie's travels.
 
"We'll have to take in the animals. Check on the barn, secure the place," Stanley started to say, but Bonnie grabbed his arm.
 
"Look!" she exclaimed, a worried look on her face. The siblings stared across the street. Dale was being lead away in handcuffs, a defeated look on his face. Several menacing Ravenwood men flanked him on either side.
 
"I guess Dale egged the wrong car," suggested Stanley, but both he and Bonnie were wondering when Ravenwood had started cracking down on practical jokes and pranks.
 
"Something's wrong. And Mimi's been suspicious of them all along," said Stanley.
 
"Should I get her?" asked Bonnie.
 
"No, I'll check it out. As a concerned citizen," said Stanley, a determined look on his face. "Are you going to be -"
 
"I can look after the barn," said Bonnie significantly. The brother and sister looked at each other in silence for a moment, before Stanley patted her arm. "Good. I'll meet you back there. Soon."
 
Bonnie nodded. "Hurry!"
 
With a businesslike nod, each Richmond took off in a different direction, in pursuit of their individual missions.
 
Meanwhile, Mimi was having an ordinary afternoon in the office, pretending to be concerned with the intricacies of double-entry accounting. She sat at her desk, the file open in her hands. A shadow fell across the paper. She looked up quickly.
 
"Clark. We meet again." He stood over her, a sinister look on his face, a Ravenwood logo emblazoned on his chest.
 
Mimi was swiftly on her feet and on the other side of the desk. She peered at him, and knew him in a split second. "Goetz. It is a small world."
 
He raised his eyebrows. "Surprised to see me?"
 
She raised hers. "It's been a long time since Amarillo."
 
He chuckled, throwing his head back. "Yeah. It was a long time for me. Five weeks in hospital, and three reconstructive surgeries." He looked at her with a calculating expression. "And you probably thought you'd gotten rid of me for good."
 
She laughed herself. "I knew you'd be back some day. Creatures like you never die easy. You and cockroaches."
 
He gave a mock bow with his head. "Well, thank you, but I'll have to return the compliment."
 
She folded her arms, questioning. "Someone else might've thought you were dead, with that trick you pulled," he continued. "But I could see through it, impressive as it was."
 
"Oh yeah?" she challenged.
 
"I knew you were alive and kicking," he said, "When something disappeared from my possession, a week after the fire."
 
She said nothing, but continued to stare back at him.
 
"I was still in hospital, and I didn't even get a chance to start working on your code. But you know, mad as I was, to lose something I went through hell and beyond to get my hands on, I was still glad."
 
"Oh?" she asked.
 
"It meant you were still out there." She smiled as if in acknowledgement of his affections. "Meant I could pay you back."
 
"You really want to make that gamble again?" she asked.
 
They faced off in tense silence for a moment, before each suddenly lunged. They ended up stepping around, switching places, so that they were on opposite sides of the table. "Come on Clark, you really want to be like that?" panted Goetz.
 
"What, you prefer to catch up first?" asked Mimi.
 
Goetz gave an odd shrug. "Well, you said it, it has been a long time." He stepped sideways again, and so did she.
 
"So?" asked Mimi. "What's new?"
 
"Well, I got a puppy," he said, stepping out of her reach.
 
"How sweet," she said, edging towards him.
 
"But you got a family, didn't you Clark?" They both stopped and stood still. Mimi was momentarily frozen. "You did, didn't you?" he continued. "A cute little family."
 
"Keep them out of this," she said, stepping back as he advanced this time.
 
"Oh, I didn't come here to see them. My reunion's with you." He grinned.
 
Mimi struck a defensive stance. "Right. You know, I don't understand why you'd come back for more, but if you insist."
 
He shook his head, chuckling. "I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment."
 
Mimi sprung then, pinning him against the desk in one quick movement. He struggled, his face against the wood, choking out, "But Clark, I'd be careful if I had as much to lose as you do."
 
"Oh yeah?" she asked, pushing her knee against his back.
 
"In case you wanted to play, I sent a bunch of my men out to watch your little family. They're outside your little love nest right now."
 
Mimi hesitated for a second, and Goetz moved, throwing her arms off of him, spinning, and reversing their positions, shoving Mimi against the table and holding her arms behind her back. "You know what I want," he said.
 
She struggled. "Yeah?"
 
"Yeah," he sneered. "And I know you. So I don't think it's here."
 
She stayed silent, and stayed still against the table as he spoke.
 
"You used to keep it on you. But you've found somewhere else to hide it now, haven't you?" He twisted her arm. "You've found something you never thought you'd have, and you thought things would be different." He laughed. "You found yourself a home. And that's where you hid it." He leaned over, to whisper in her ear. "And guess what, Clark? I know where you live."
 
Her head against the table, Mimi made a face he couldn't see. "Then what are we doing here, John?"
 
She spun around, but he held on, still pinning her against the table, their faces inches apart. "I couldn't resist having a little private catch up time first. Mimi."
 
Using her strong abdominals and superior training, Mimi pushed against Goetz and pulled herself into a standing position. "And so, in this great plan of yours, what happens after I kill you?"
 
He reached a hand to her hair and ran a strand of it between his thumb and forefinger. "You're not going to kill me."
 
"Oh no?" she asked, moving forward, forcing him to move back.
 
"Because whether you get the best of me or I get the best of you here, my men are sitting in your front yard. And I know you. You're going to pick that little family of yours over taking me out."
 
"Who says I can't do both?" she asked, her eyes flashing.
 
He grinned, holding up a wrist. He had a plain, black wrist watch, with a blinking red light in the centre. "See this? Not as sophisticated as yours, I'm sure, but all I have to do is press one button and my men won't be sitting anymore. Bye bye family."
 
He twitched, but before he could raise his other hand to press the button, she'd grabbed it, twisting it behind him. For a second, he grunted and it seemed like she had the upper hand, but Goetz turned his other arm sideways, smashing it against the table. He held up his wrist with a glint in his eyes and a smile stretching across his features. The light wasn't blinking anymore.
 
"Nice, Clark," he said. "But I think even your reflexes won't be enough to get you there in time."
 
Mimi's eyes widened.
 
"So going to cut our meeting short, Clark, or -"
 
Goetz let out a groan as Mimi kneed him in the stomach. Quick as lightning, she held her Rolex to his neck, and with an electrical jolt, he fell to the ground. Mimi paused for one second as she saw him flop on the office floor, and then turned to run out the door.
 
As Bonnie drove the truck up the lane and stepped out into the yard, she noticed that the skies overhead had grown even more foreboding. The heavy gray swirls looked so close to the ground, they could fall and crush the summer crops, blowing in the wind that had whipped out of nowhere. Bonnie shivered and quickly went about the chores, shutting the animals safely in the barn, securing the outbuildings, and pulling the rocking chair from the porch inside.
 
Once inside, she dropped into the rocking chair in the living room. Absently rocking, she thought back to what she had witnessed in town. Why was Dale being led away in handcuffs and where had Skylar disappeared to? Ever since they'd first earned a nickname, Bonnie hadn't seen either one without the other in town. What was Ravenwood playing at, and what would Mimi think of it all? And where was Mimi?
 
Bonnie leaned forward in the rocking chair. What time was it anyway? A glance at the clock on the wall told her that it was still a little earlier than the time Mimi normally came home. The storm brewing outside had made it darker, had made her think it was later. That was all. She would have to stop letting herself get nervous so easily, if she was going to do everything she'd planned in Cheyenne.
 
She glanced at the window and saw the raindrops, beginning slowly and then suddenly falling in a steady rhythm. She jumped as her eye caught something flapping outside the window. She let out a breath as she remembered the loose shutter Stanley had put on his to-do list. Almost laughing at her own jumpiness, she got up and went into the kitchen. She planned on distracting herself, but instead found herself pacing around the room, unable to focus on anything as mundane as setting the table. She felt as though her senses were on heightened alert, and she was noticing in sharp detail everything, from her mother's stenciled breadbox on the counter, to Stanley's model airplane, still hanging in the corner twenty-one years after its creation, to the Farmer's Almanac calendar on the wall, to Mimi's knitting...
 
She froze. Mimi's latest knitting project was still on the small wooden bench in the corner of the room, but the blue yarn lay in a tangled heap, the needles haphazardly balanced. Mimi would never have left them that way, even if she'd been in a hurry when she deposited her knitting for the night. And Stanley wouldn't move it. He would never chance making her that mad...
 
Bonnie felt a sudden tightness in the pit of her stomach. Her skin was tingling, and the hair on the back of her neck was standing up, she was sure. Her eyes scanned the kitchen quickly as she stepped towards the bench, moving slowly and carefully, and she hoped, quietly. At the bench, she stood still, her feet against the kitchen floor, barely breathing as she waited for something to happen.
 
She felt it then - the faint vibration in the floor, and she looked around, trying to ascertain the direction it had come from. She knew it; she was not alone in the house. Her hand closed over the knitting needle, and she considered the direction in which she would make her move. She could see clearly to the front door, but she'd have to cross the living room, and anyone could jump out at her from around the corner. She wouldn't even have warning if someone was overhead, on the stairs, waiting to pounce. The back door at the other side of the kitchen was an escape route too, but where would she go? She considered going for the shotgun Stanley kept in the hall closet, but that would mean going through the living room. The barn. It was full of the inventions Stanley and her parents had perfected over the years, and no one knew the hiding places - except her and Stanley and Mimi. The back door then, and the barn.
 
She took a cautious step, and then another, but by her third, she was running. She crossed the kitchen, flung open the door, and was startled when a man in a black golf shirt appeared on the porch in front of her.
 
Letting out a yelp, she jumped back, out of his grasp, slammed the door, and locked it. She spun around to find another Ravenwood man right behind her. He stepped forward, his arms outstretched, and Bonnie panicked. There was no other direction to run but forward, so she ran and faced him head on. Bonnie couldn't hear the terrible scream he made as he slid to the ground, clutching at the knitting needle she'd stabbed him with. She kept running.
 
As she ran into the living room, two black blurs came at her from either side. She slammed into them with a thud, and as she felt arms grabbing her, she pulled, strained, and clawed with all her might. She tore away from them, and quickly crossed the rest of the living room, despairing that they were right behind her and worrying that more would be on the other side of this door too.
 
As she tore open the front door, a figure did indeed rush into the house, grabbing her by the upper arms and looking into her face.
 
"Bonnie! Bonnie, are you okay?" Bonnie froze, staring back at Mimi. Mimi's eyes were huge, her expression one of sheer panic, but as Bonnie looked at her, Mimi's eyes flitted quickly to something behind her. Bonnie felt the vibrations - someone was coming, about to be right behind her. Mimi unceremoniously pushed Bonnie aside, and as Bonnie spun around, she saw Mimi land a kick against one of the men's faces, knocking him to the ground. She quickly pushed the other man, who tripped and toppled right over his cohort. Mimi finished them off by zapping each of them with her watch, and they fell down, unconscious, in a heap.
 
Breathing hard, she turned to Bonnie. "Are you okay?" she asked frantically, rushing over and grabbing onto Bonnie again, a hold that was at once fiercely protective and comforting.
 
Bonnie only had a chance to nod, as Mimi was suddenly glancing behind her. "He's coming," she muttered as she looked out the window, but Bonnie couldn't see her face with her head turned. She turned back to Bonnie, holding onto her now as if for dear life and looking into her eyes as if what she were about to say was of utmost importance.
 
"You go and hide, okay? Get upstairs, and take care of yourself."
 
Bonnie nodded again, gravely. There was a look on Mimi's face, as if she wanted to say more, but she hurriedly shoved Bonnie towards the stairs, shouting "Go!" though Bonnie couldn't see.
 
Bonnie retreated up the stairs hastily, waiting several seconds in the hallway before turning, crouching, and crawling back to the landing. She peered down through the bars of the railing. She couldn't see Mimi anymore, and she wished earnestly for once that she could hear, only so that she could tell whether there were other signs of life in the house.
 
Bonnie stayed absolutely still, even when the front door burst open, and a man stepped over the threshold. A man she recognized as the leader of Ravenwood.
 
Goetz had stepped over one of his men on the porch, but he was still smiling to himself as he glanced around the living room. "Nice digs, Clark," he called in a sing song voice. "But I think you're losing your touch. That guy on the porch is still alive. Has family life turned you soft?"
 
He stepped around the two other bodies on the floor, shaking his head. "Come on, Clark, you're going to leave me hanging? I could just tear the place apart looking for your book, but that wouldn't be nearly as fun."
 
He picked up a candle holder from a table and pretended to be interested in studying it. "Clark, I'm surprised, I have to say. Never knew you to lead a guy on and refuse to follow through. Does our history mean nothing to you?"
 
He put the candle holder back down, and he lost his playful demeanor. "Look, Clark, I'm sorry it had to come to your family, but that's why we're not supposed to form attachments anyway. Didn't they teach you that in basic training? So quit crying about it, pick yourself up, get back out here and finish what we -"
 
A flurry of dark hair, business attire, and designer heels slammed into him and knocked him down. Mimi had taken a leap as he crossed the threshold from the living room to the kitchen, connecting both her feet with his midsection. He lay on the ground, holding his side and groaning, and she landed, staggering once to the side. Before she could aim another kick at his head, he crawled quickly to the the other side of the floor.
 
"You're not getting near my family," she spat.
 
She lunged towards him, but he rolled sideways and leapt up. "I've got to say, this is a side to you I've never seen, Clark," he goaded. "It's kind of hot."
 
He dodged as Mimi aimed another kick at his side. Her foot only caught him slightly, and he staggered a few steps away. "Yeah? I wonder if it'll be hot when I kill you!" She advanced towards him, her hands up in fists.
 
He pretended to step backward, but in a split second, he surged forward, tackling her to the ground. Mimi twisted as Goetz held her arms. "It's my turn. It's only fair," he grunted.
 
Mimi pulled her legs up to connect with his torso, throwing him off of her. She was on her feet again before he was. "Since when are you interested in playing fair?" she threw back at him.
 
His face twisted into a grin. "Touché." He whipped out a hand gun.
 
Mimi's eyes widened, and she had a second to dive behind the couch as Goetz open fired across the living room. Bullets bounced off the walls, shattered one of the windows, and dented the refrigerator. When it was finally silent again, Goetz stepped forward. "Sorry, Clark, but I couldn't let you one up me this time with your watch. I made sure to be prepared this time. And it's not like I ever played fair before. Can't a blame a guy, when it comes to keeping up with you -"
 
His speech was cut short as the gun was knocked out of his hand. He glanced down. The gun had clattered to the ground, a few feet away, with a small, thin blade spinning on the floor beside it. He glanced back at Mimi, who was holding one of her shoes in her hand.
 
"My point exactly," he smirked.
 
Mimi smiled herself, flicking her other foot upwards, catching the shoe in her hand, the retractable blade flipping out of the heel. It was his turn to dive sideways as she sent the second blade, spinning and whistling through the air, towards him.
 
"Come on, Goetz, giving up so easily?" she sneered, jumping up on the couch.
 
"On you? Never," he grinned, dashing forward.
 
She leapt from her perch on the back of the couch, and he was ready for her. They collided in the air and collapsed on the ground, an entangled mass of arms and legs, rolling, thudding, knees connecting painfully to diaphragms, shoulders being crushed under elbows.
 
"No more tricks up your sleeve?" panted Goetz as he got the upper hand, smacking Mimi's head against the floor.
 
Mimi saw stars and feigned defeat for a moment, before bringing an elbow up to smash him in the nose. He let out a shout, and she slid out from under him and jumped to her feet.
 
He had a hand to his face, and blood was dripping through his fingers as he staggered to his feet too. She took a dizzy step, still feeling the effects of her head against hardwood. Bellowing like an angry rhinoceros, he lunged, grabbing her arms in his and barreling both of them into a window. The window shattered and Mimi slid to the floor amidst the broken glass. Goetz staggered backwards, having been cut himself, though Mimi had taken the full impact.
 
He spat on the floor, and watched as his opponent struggled to pull herself into a sitting position, wincing and breathing carefully. "Wanna tell me where it is now, Clark?" he whispered. "Or do I have to wait til you're dead and then toss the place?"
 
Mimi let out a primal shout of her own now and tackled Goetz from the ground, grabbing him round the knees and toppling him over. He struggled to get up, and she crawled forward, pushing her knees into his chest. "Still think you're going to win?" she breathed. "Think third times the charm or something?"
 
He yelped as her knee ground into him, but he let out a strange chuckle a moment later. "What are you laughing at?" she spat.
 
"You've still got more to lose," he said with a familiar grin. He was looking over her shoulder.
 
She was sure it was a trick, but she heard a creak in the floor behind them. She turned her head sideways, and saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Goetz laughed, and she leaned an elbow into his neck as she turned to look. With a jolt, she recognized the Ravenwood man she'd left unconscious on the porch. He was standing in front of the door, looking at them, but he was headed towards the stairs.
 
In one swift motion, Mimi zapped Goetz with her watch, sprang to her feet, and charged at the other man.
 
Bonnie had been waiting at the top of the stairs all of this time, silently hoping and praying that whatever was happening downstairs, out of her sight, things were going in Mimi's favour. She had been contemplating going to the closet in the hallway to get the shotgun, but had been frozen to her spot on the floor, waiting for a sign of life. She was shocked when the first movement she saw was the front door opening, another man in Ravenwood black stepping inside, a malevolent look on his features. He could see her, she knew, and she knew she should do something, but in the moment, she could only stare back at him. He looked over at the living room, and Bonnie despaired at the smile on his face as he turned back to her, taking a step forward. What had he seen that would make him smile? Was she the last line of defence, between their secret and those who would use it to destroy everything? She felt a jolt of dread, considering the possibility that she was the only one left, but also a firm resolve. She turned, and dashed down the hallway, throwing open the closet door.
 
The gun was in fine working order, and she'd used it before, many times, when hunting. She'd never thought of the horror of using it against a person, but this was not a time to think of that either. She thought of Stanley, who'd been her whole family for so long, and Mimi, one of her first real friends, as she ran back down the hall.
 
When she got to the top of the stairs, she expected to see the man ready to attack, but instead, her heart leapt. Mimi, bloody and curiously barefoot but still very much alive, was finishing off the intruder, flinging him to the floor. He stayed there, not moving, and Mimi looked up the stairs, catching Bonnie's eye. A small smile passed over her, as if to say, "I'm okay, you?"
 
Bonnie nodded, returning the smile, wishing she could exclaim how relieved she was. She didn't get the chance. She couldn't hear the approach, so she only had a split second to see Goetz come up behind her sister-to-be. Mimi evidently heard him, because she spun around, but she had no time to dodge out of the way as he leveled the gun at her.
 
Bonnie was frozen in horror as she watched her friend falling, crumpling to the ground. Mimi didn't move, except when Goetz nudged her side with his foot. She rolled, her arm flopping limply beside her, her face suddenly still, but she didn't move again. Goetz smiled, first down at his old enemy, and then up the stairs.
 
Bonnie gritted her teeth and pulled the trigger. Goetz jumped back, a stunned look on his face, and Bonnie shot again. The object of her wrath looked wildly around, and quickly slipped out the front door as Bonnie fired again.
 
She rushed to Mimi's side then, frantically tugging on her arms, shouting her name, trying to force her awake again. Mimi stirred, and Bonnie leaned in as Mimi opened her eyes. Her breathing was ragged, her face was pale, and she grabbed Bonnie's hand in hers, frantically trying to get across a message. "He's going to - the barn," she wheezed. "He's going - for my - book."
 
Bonnie raised her eyebrows, wanting to say so much, but knowing there was no time.
 
"The - barn," insisted Mimi. Bonnie nodded, a firm look of resolution stealing over her.
 
"Careful," whispered Mimi, and she gave Bonnie a faint smile. She slid out of consciousness, and Bonnie carefully laid her head against the floor before running outside.
 
The sky had gone black and the rain was pelting down with full force, but Bonnie barely noticed as tears began to stream down her face too. She had never felt such rage, such anguish, and such certainty all at once.
 
The lawn was slippery, the grass turning to mud in the storm. Bonnie ran with even footsteps, her eyes scanning the darkness.
 
Halfway across the yard, she could see his silhouette, coming from the barn. He held an object triumphantly in his hand. Bonnie felt even more incensed as she tightened her hold on the shot gun.
 
Goetz was gleeful as he left the barn. Clark had hidden it just where he knew she would've thought no one would expect her to hide anything - amidst pig slops. He had anticipated this day for so long, but he'd never expected it to be this easy. He was still in pain from their encounter, but he'd won, he'd left her for dead this time, and the satisfaction was just as he'd dreamt it would be.
 
He didn't notice the figure standing in the darkness until she fired a shot at him. It hit him, in the leg, and he hopped sideways, letting out a shout that was lost in the roar of the storm. It hurt like hell, but it was just a flesh wound. Nothing like what Clark could dish out, if she were still breathing. He tried to get his bearings in the darkness, and finally caught sight of the girl still aiming at him.
 
He laughed, even though his sides hurt at the motion. "A kid? She sends a kid out after her?"
 
Bonnie couldn't tell what he was saying, with the rain falling in sheets and the angry tears still clouding her eyes, but she fired another shot.
 
Mimi awoke again at the sound of the gunshots, and she dragged herself, painfully, towards the door, but she couldn't muster the strength to stand up. Leaning against the front door, feeling her blood pouring over her hands and her tears wetting her face, she could only listen as the gunshots continued and then stopped. She could only hear the rain on the roof, and she closed her eyes in despair as the darkness overcame her again.
 
I knew something was wrong, that terrible afternoon. I don't know how to explain it, but something about the dark clouds on the horizon, the tingling in the air, gave me a horrible feeling. Then there was the strange business of Dale's arrest. I wanted to discuss it with Jake, because I knew something much more than freedom to play practical jokes was under threat, but I knew we would have to wait until later, when we weren't under the watchful eyes of Ravenwood or J&R. Stanley said he wanted to question Dale a little more, something about being a concerned citizen, so I offered to check on the farm for him, and to fill in his fiancé and sister.
 
I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off as I drove out there in the rain, but I still wasn't prepared for the sight that met my eyes when I came around the side of the house and into the yard. I ran forward.
 
Bonnie was lying on the grass, curled on her side, the rain plastering her hair to her face. I was beside her in a flash, kneeling in the mud, holding her in my arms and brushing her hair back.
 
She was alive, but I could tell she didn't have long. Her breathing was shallow, there were tear tracks down her cheeks, and the ground beneath her was stained with blood.
 
I could feel myself tearing up as her eyes fluttered open, and she asked "Deputy Kohler?"
 
I nodded, holding her tightly as she turned her face to the heavens. The rain continued to fall.
 
"Stay with me?" she whispered, looking up at me with gleaming eyes.
 
I'd known Bonnie her whole life, being friends with her brother, and while we all always thought of her as a kind of a kid sister, I'd known for a while that Bonnie Richmond had a bit of a crush on me. I'd always laughed it off, to myself of course, I'd never want to embarrass her. She was such a sweet kid. In this moment, as the life drained away from her, I couldn't help trying to comfort the poor kid.
 
"I'll be right here," I said. "I promise."
 
She let out a painful sigh, and another, and I continued to whisper whatever words of comfort I could, rocking her gently, leaning over to shield her face from the rain.
 
Her breathing grew more laborious, then it got gentler, slower, and I could feel that she was slipping away from me. "Tell..." she breathed faintly. I leaned closer. "Stanley...Mimi..." She struggled to lift her arm, but found she had no strength left to sign. Her fingers slowly twisted into a shape, but a second later, her hand relaxed, and went limp.
 
Her eyes were closed, her face was still, and I felt moved to give her one last comfort. I smoothed her hair off of her face one last time, kissed her forehead, and whispered, "Goodbye."
 
I knew she was gone then, and I looked up to the sky, with the wild desperation of anyone who holds life in their hands one minute and feels it slip away the next. The rain continued to pelt down on me, and on the beloved sister who would never laugh again, and all I could see as I looked up were the dark clouds raining down on us.
 
Not long after Bonnie's last breath, the rest of the town was plunged into chaos as everyone reacted to the horrible news and the knowledge that the murderer was still at large. Our friends sprang into action, rallying around Stanley and Mimi the best they could and seeking to deliver justice, though of course none of us knew how deep the conflict between Goetz and the little family ran. None of us would witness (and I would only read about it later), the scene that occurred in the small recovery room in the wee hours of the morning after Dr. Kenchy Dhuwalia performed the heroic operation that saved Mimi's life. There were only two present to witness.
 
Stanley perched on the edge of the hospital bed, one arm wrapped around Mimi, holding her to him.
 
"I never should have asked her to go out there. I never should have expected..." Mimi was crying.
 
"She did what she thought was right," said Stanley, and though there was sorrow etched deep into his features, he continued to rub her arm comfortingly.
 
"I should never have come here," she continued, sobbing into his chest. "I should have left you all alone. She could have just been a happy, normal kid, and you -"
 
"What? What would I do without you?" he asked. "I love you. Mimi. I love you."
 
"But Bonnie..."
 
"She loved you too. We both needed you in our family. And this doesn't change that. This is something that happened, to all of us." He nodded emphatically.
 
"But this is all wrong. I'm alive and she's gone. I'm so sorry," Mimi continued.
 
Stanley held her closer. "I'm sorry about it too. But you know she would do it again. I know she would. She wanted to protect our family, and our legacy, as much as you, or me."
 
"But what did she die for?" asked Mimi, her voice breaking in anguish. "He killed her, tore away a piece of us, and neither of us could stop him. He got my book. She died for nothing!"
 
"She didn't..." he said, his own voice breaking. "You - wait, he got your book?"
 
"Yes," she said. "And I'm stuck in the hospital this time, I'm not sure when I'll get to pay him back -"
 
"How did he get to your hiding spot?" he asked.
 
She was flustered. "I guess he searched the place and found it."
 
"But how did he know to look there?" he asked.
 
She shook her head, an expression of confusion on her features. "I don't know. He..."
 
"He only had a short time, you said. Before Bill got there, before Bonnie..."
 
"Yes."
 
"So how did he find the exact spot? That sliding shelf was built by my dad, and there are two dozen other more obvious hiding spots in the barn. I would think it would take him a while to find it, hidden as it is." Stanley shifted in his seat as he thought.
 
Mimi frowned. "It's almost as if he's been here before..."
 
She glanced at him as realization dawned on his face.
 
The scene that occurred in the field on the edge of town an hour later was witnessed by all of the rangers and a group of men from New Bern. Most remember it as being surreal, as Stanley walked up to Goetz and no one stopped him. The scene that occurred in another hospital room a few hours later was, once again, only witnessed by two.
 
Goetz lay in his hospital bed, hooked to an IV and several machines, watching the ceiling fan overhead. A shadow fell across the floor. He struggled to turn his head sideways, to glimpse the figure standing in the doorway, his arms folded.
 
Goetz smirked painfully. "You missed me."
 
"No I didn't," said Stanley, moving inside and shutting the door behind him. "I got you right where I wanted you."
 
Goetz raised his eyebrows. "So it's you, huh? You're the family man? I've got to say, I'm surprised. You're not Clark's type at all."
 
Stanley merely glowered at the man in the hospital bed.
 
"So, you're here to avenge her? I guess I should've seen it coming." He leaned his head against his pillow.
 
Stanley wordlessly stepped around the bed, picking up the pitcher of water from the tiny night side table, pouring himself a cup and taking a sip. He closed his eyes briefly as he drank.
 
Goetz watched in silence for a moment, trying not to lick his lips. "Think you could pour me a cup?"
 
Stanley raised his eyebrows. "You're asking me for a favour?"
 
Goetz laughed. "Sure, why not. I'm assuming you're going to kill me in a few minutes anyway, and it's not like I can get it myself. May as well be without a scratchy throat when you get me for your girlfriend's death."
 
Stanley nodded, as if this was only logical, poured a second cup, and held it up to the paralysed man's lips.
 
"So, this is sweet. Going to say anything more about Clark? Tell me she was the love of your life? Curse me for taking away everything?" Goetz looked steadily at his intruder.
 
"You did take away everything," said Stanley calmly. "More than you know."
 
Goetz looked as though he would make another taunting remark, but he remained silent as Stanley began to pace the tiny room again.
 
"Fourteen years ago, you came here for a different mission," Stanley said. "To steal an important discovery, and to dispose of the scientists who made that discovery. And the witnesses."
 
Goetz stared at him, his eyes suddenly wide.
 
"Only you screwed up. You stole the wrong formula, and you left a witness alive." Stanley stopped pacing to look him in the eye.
 
"The little girl..." Goetz whispered.
 
"And they left someone else behind. A son," finished Stanley.
 
Goetz gave a small, grave nod. "You."
 
Stanley nodded solemnly. "You killed my mother and father. And my baby sister. But guess what? You didn't get Mimi."
 
Goetz looked genuinely shocked. "Clark's alive?"
 
Stanley smiled. "She said to tell you third time's the charm. And I'll be taking this." He slipped a notebook out from under a pile of binders stacked on the chair by Goetz's bed.
 
Goetz shook his head in disbelief. "Give her my love, then."
 
Stanley said nothing, but walked towards the door.
 
"What, all that and you're not going to kill me?" shouted Goetz.
 
Stanley turned to look at him. "I already did," he said quietly, motioning over at the now empty cups of water. With one last nod goodbye, he stalked out of the room, tossing the empty vial of Jerichonium Number Twelve into a waste bin on his way out.
 
The well documented uproar in town reached a fever pitch when Beck found Goetz's body strung up at the edge of town in New Bern. He didn't question the cause of death - the victim had clearly been shot, and it looked like he'd put up a struggle. He even had a broken nose. It was clear that this was a political act, and Beck took swift action to bring order to the town.
 
Stanley and Mimi wouldn't get a quiet moment together until the day Mimi, finally able to walk from her room at the med centre, appeared at his side in the hideout. She said nothing at first, leaning her head against his shoulder.
 
"It was him," said Stanley. "My parents..."
 
Mimi's eyes widened. She held his hand in her own.
 
"He's gone now. It's over," said Stanley, staring straight ahead.
 
"Good," she whispered.
 
He leaned his head against hers for a moment, before whispering, "I got your book back."
 
Their eyes met and she smiled. They sat together in silence for a good many minutes before she spoke again.
 
"I hate what's happened to these innocent people, because of this mess."
 
"I know," said Stanley. "But the best way we can protect them is to make sure they never learn the truth. So we'll have to play our parts."
 
Mimi nodded. "It's just awful. That we can't do anything. Not even about Bonnie."
 
He was thoughtful for a moment. "We don't have to stay here. We can go take care of her."
 
Mimi considered it briefly herself. "We've faced off against real foes. What's an army major and some troops?"
 
He took her hand in his, and they stood, walking together towards the door, ready to take on their next task.
 
So it was that Stanley and Mimi found a way to continue with their work, and with their life, after the tragedy that tore their family apart. They stood on the hill the day they buried Bonnie, exchanged vows in front of the only people who really mattered to them, and renewed their promise, to those who had come before them and to each other, to continue their mission, for the good of the people the world over. Walking down the hill that evening, there was a sorrow between them that they knew they would carry always, but there was something else, a partnership, that they knew would keep them going through all the times ahead.
 

The Devil's Playground

Or, On the Origin of Prank 

The events of that day upon which Jericho was liberated from the ASA would stay with us for years to come. The feelings of that day, both the triumphant exhilaration and inexpressible loss, would inform how we lived our day to day lives, for better and worse.
 
The mood was a mixed one on the first anniversary of the liberation, a day we dubbed informally “Jericho Independence Day.” The whole town gathered in the square between Main Street and Spruce Lane for a moment of silence followed by a celebratory barbecue. No one knew quite how to act, how to express both our sadness at the losses we'd sustained before and after that fateful day, and our joy at being alive for another beautiful year. We looked to the leaders of our town to set the pace the first time.
 
Gray Anderson stood watching his beloved town's population turning their brave faces towards the front of town hall. He had been up late the night before, practicing his speech with Gail until it was just right. Gail had gone over the cue cards he'd written and then she'd helped him with the delivery, giving constructive feedback and demonstrating how she would express some parts herself. He was glad that she was by his side, facing the town that needed them just as much as they needed it.
 
His eyes swept across his family in the first row, Eric giving him an encouraging nod, his daughters-in-law smiling, his granddaughters dressed in the red and purple dresses Gail had made for the occasion, and Jake, who was studying the floor, evidently torn between his usual compunction to show his disdain for Gray in every way and his need to demonstrate a heroically brave composure for the rest of the townspeople through troubled times. Gray told himself, as Gail told him often, that it would only take time and that things would improve eventually, if he kept doing what he was doing with patience and a smile. He hoped that by presenting his best, most bracing and optimistic face to the town, it would be a start.
 
“My fellow citizens,” he began, hearing his voice echo across the silent crowd. “We gather here today in a spirit of -”
 
He was interrupted by the sound of a speaker squeaking loudly. Then -
 
“When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie – that's amore!”
 
Gray glanced around, furiously. He saw no visual sign of a disturbance, but the song was broadcasting into the crowd, which was now twittering. He scanned the audience. Some faces were bewildered, but some were now laughing. As the second line of the song drifted through the air, a great number joined in, singing aloud “THAT'S AMORE!”
 
Gray was fuming. “Those – those darn kids!” he shouted. “I told the guys to do a sweep of the area before everyone got here, to make sure this didn't happen.”
 
Jimmy stepped out from his post beside the building, raising his shoulders in a shrug. A few of the rangers went inside the building to see if they could locate the source of the music.
 
“There, there,” Gail was whispering beside her husband.
 
“Those kids!” repeated Gray. “Where did they come from?”
 
No one answered Gray's question, as they were too busy looking around, recovering from their shock, or singing along.
 
I myself pondered the question for a moment. I let it go as I dutifully went to perform a sweep of the building, but as I arrive at this moment in my most serious task of recollecting the harrowing journey of survival undertaken by us all in Jericho, I believe it is a perfect opportunity to reflect back on the journey of two of our most devilishly playful denizens.
 
Long before they began their reign as the Devil's Duo, the pair whose names would later become synonymous with smuggling necessities and showering laundry soap down onto unsuspecting jail guards experienced their humble beginnings as small-time pranksters in the hallowed training halls of all great pranksters: their elementary school.
 
In those days, the kindergarten class of Jericho elementary was led by one Mrs. Creecey. Mrs. Creecey had the particular talent of charming parents and colleagues, with her sweet-as-taffy voice, chirping about how much fun the children would have this year, and her conveniently misty-eyed expressions when she reminisced about years past and how it was to watch children grow up after guiding them through this fragile time in their inexperienced lives. Most children, in fact, also believed the sun itself shone from Mrs. Creecey's beaming smile when they first encountered her, the first friendly face they saw after a dangerous trek across an asphalt wasteland of pavement-smashing basketballs and snack-stealing giants.
 
Young, too-tightly-fitting-sneakers-clad Dale Turner would not be the first child to be smitten with a Mrs. Creecey first impression. Many youngsters before him had fallen victim. In fact, I myself had been a wide-eyed kindergartner at Jericho Elementary, and though I proudly clutched a Scooby-Doo lunch box like a talisman across my chest as I made my first blacktop march, I did not yet possess the shrewd instinct and knack for judging character that would later lead me to success as a police officer and town protector. My young heart melted and I breathed a sigh of relief, along with the rest of my classmates, as Mrs. Creecey sang about the days of the week.
 
On his first day, Dale Turner did too. Though his mind had been on his rumbling stomach and thoughts of the baloney-sandwich-containing lunch bag stowed in his new cubby during the playing of the national anthem and the recitation of the pledge of allegiance, he found his thoughts focused on the front of the room as Mrs. Creecey promised a wonderful year ahead, asked a few students about their summers, and introduced a puppet, a bright orange clownfish named Finley.
 
His fears of being trampled to death by a herd of fifth-graders or getting lost on his way to the bathroom dissipated as Mrs. Creecey gave them a tour of the school, waiting while everyone took a drink at the water fountain. His anxiety about wearing pants with a patch on the knee faded as he shared blocks with a classmate during playtime, under Mrs. Creecey's watchful instructions that everyone be treated fairly. The pit twisting at the bottom of his stomach, even after lunchtime and the baloney sandwiches, that he knew vaguely as a wish to be home with his mother, seemed to shrink as he listened to Mrs. Creecey reading Where the Wild Things Are. As he walked home from the bus stop with his mother at the end of the day, he chattered excitedly about the kindly matron awaiting him and the other young students at school the next day.
 
Dale would continue to praise Mrs. Creecey while holding his mother's hand on the walk home the next evening, but as the week continued and then came to a close, his excitement about his school day grew more subdued, his words of praise dealt out more and more stingily, until the Friday where he walked home quietly, only speaking to ask his mother if he could watch a movie before bedtime. By the end of the week, the truth had become apparent to the young boy. The puppet-wielding, softly-smiling Mrs. Creecey was a tyrant.
 
Dale couldn't tell his mother, as she asked him what he thought of school now that he'd survived a whole week of it. He had seen, in her eyes on the first day she'd picked him up at the bus stop, the same relief he had felt then. He had worried in the beginning, about leaving her alone as he ventured out into the world of education, and was glad that she knew he was alright, forging through the asphalt jungle every day. There was no need to worry her now. He didn't tell her how Mrs. Creecey made people sit still forever, and made it last even longer if someone complained or talked out of turn. He didn't mention that when walking down the halls, the entire class would have to retrace their footsteps if one person stepped out of the neat formation. Printing had to be done on the blue lines in their notebooks and not the red lines, words were read from left to right on a page, and flowers had to be drawn on the ground, and not in the sky, which your paper would always be until you drew a line across it to turn it into a world of both ground and sky. Of course, some of these things wouldn't seem so bad, on their own. When Dale's mother read to him, it was always from left to right. But she had never told Dale he must do it this way. Mrs. Creecey was always telling everyone what they must do, keeping her voice sugary sweet, but all the while, turning her smile into something that even the silliest, chirpiest students in the class could recognize as threatening.
 
Towards the end of the week, the students saw evidence that it was not just an idle threat. Those who didn't follow the rules were subject to losing their privileges at the water play table, losing their assigned toys, and being sent to the back of the line. The worst offenders were sent to the dreaded time-out chair, a lonely plastic seat in the corner, facing away from the fish tank. The worst part of this sentence, Dale surmised, was the public humiliation of being scolded in front of everyone else. “Explain why you would do this,” Mrs. Creecey would order. No matter what the offender said, Mrs. Creecey would answer “That was not necessary.” Then, he or she would take the slow and painful march across the carpet, past the paint easels, to the cold, hard chair of ignominy. Dale resolved, after watching a boy named Sean become the first trouble maker sentenced to the walk of disgrace, that he would never be caught doing anything to earn him such a punishment.
 
This was easy enough for young Dale, as he had learned early on, with the closely proximity of many of his neighbours in the trailer park providing key lessons, that the easiest way to avoid trouble is often keeping quiet and keeping your head down. Just as he said nothing when he saw Reg and Mike Berkely beating up the new boy from Rogue River behind the park office, he said nothing as he was told to get to the back of the line. He had only stumbled out of line because two of the other boys had pushed him, but Mrs. Creecey usually did not distinguish when it was one person's word against another. He kept quiet when Mrs. Creecey told him to sit on the bench along the wall in gym class because he'd worn sandals instead of gym shoes. He felt his greatest fear about to come true one day when Mrs. Creecey discovered that it was he who put his permission form for the trip to the museum into the garbage during lunchtime. “Explain why you would do this,” she said. He felt all eyes on him but only looked at hers, staring into his, with no trace of a smile. The last time he'd brought home a permission form, that one for a trip to the horse farm, his mother had been quiet. She'd left it on the counter for a whole week, and he'd noticed her sighing and reading it over during moments where she thought he wasn't looking. He'd hoped to avoid having another form on the counter for a week this time, but there was no good way to explain this. He stayed silent. He was not sent to the time-out chair, but he had to do his best not to flinch under Mrs. Creecey's sharp stare.
 
Dale was careful to avoid any more moments of undivided attention from the entire room, and he developed ways of avoiding Mrs. Creecey's shrewd, trouble-maker-detecting stares. He was the first to quiet as the class gathered at the carpet, so that he could not be sternly shushed, as some of the girls in the class nearly always were. He lined up quickly when the bell signalling the end of recess rang, and usually didn't even play very far from the door that the kindergartners used, in case he was so far away he missed hearing the bell. He drew flowers on the ground, pointed from left to right when he looked at books, and as he learned to print letters, he began them on the blue lines and not the red.
 
It all changed one day during a writing work period. For a week, Dale's mother had spent the block of time between his arrival home and her departure for work in the evenings helping him practice writing his last name. He had spelled it out only in upper case letters, but still, no one in his class had managed to get this far yet. It had taken all week, and many pieces of scrap paper, to get it right – the curving loop of the 'R' being the most difficult – but by that Friday morning, Dale had mastered it and was eager to incorporate this new, important step into his writer's workshop printing. Ten minutes into the work period, he had filled the half of his notebook page designated for writing with his own name, DALE TURNER, penciled in as many times as he could fit it onto the blue lines. Picturing the smile on his mother's face last night as she'd watched him write, he was contentedly drawing a picture, sprinkled abundantly with flowers, on the blank half of the page, above his name. He had managed to pick the best crayons, the ones that were still reasonably sharp and still encased in paper wrappers, out of the shared crayon basket at the middle of his table. Usually this was a difficult feat, as one of the obnoxious girls at the table usually grabbed for them first and he usually wound up with stubs, but today, his table mates were still practicing their first names, gripping fat red pencils with looks of determination, so that he even managed to find one of every colour in the rainbow.
 
He was reaching for the red crayon, planning to add polka dots to his mother's purple dress, when a hand shot out and closed around it. “Hey!” he protested, forgetting his usual silence in his irritation.
 
“I need the red,” said the boy beside him.
 
It was out of his reach, but Dale found his hand reaching all the same. “I need it. Give it back, Sean!”
 
“You have lots of others,” said Sean, smiling now that he had realized how much Dale wanted the one he had taken. Still smiling, he began to scribble across the blank half of his notebook page. Dale glanced at his paper.
 
“You're not even done! You're 'sposed to write 'til you run out of room and you only used two lines.”
 
“So?” said Sean.
 
“How come you have all the good crayons?” Deanna whined from across the table. The boys' discussion had drawn attention from the others. “I'm finished and I want some.”
 
“Take some out of the basket,” shrugged Dale, feeling his ears growing warm. He looked down at his collection. He was not going to give them up easily. He still hadn't added his own legs in, so that right now it looked as though his mother was holding hands with a floating balloon shaped like a boy.
 
“You took the only green!” protested Deanna. “And I want to draw a whole meadow.”
 
“Well, I am drawing a – hey!” Dale had begun to protest, but was cut short as Sean reached in front of him, grabbed the green crayon, and rolled it across the table. “That was mine!”
 
He realized his mistake as the words left his mouth. Sean and Deanna were smiling now and even Emma had looked up from her painstaking printing. “They are not yours,” said Deanna in an annoyingly superior tone. Her hand shot up in the air before Dale could say anything. “Mrs. Creecey!”
 
Mrs. Creecey seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Yes?”
 
“Dale's not sharing.”
 
Three pairs of mutinous eyes joined with one firm gaze from higher up. Dale tightened his grip on the purple crayon, but did not turn and glare at Sean as he wanted to. Not with Mrs. Creecey swelling up before him, about to issue a warning. 
 
“Dale? What -”
 
“I'm sharing,” he muttered quickly. Looking down, he reached his hands to the crayons. He pushed, not moving his eyes back up to meet Sean, Deanna, or Mrs. Creecey's gazes, instead watching the perfect, wrapped, sharp-edged crayons roll across the desk.
 
He continued looking down for a few moments, after Mrs. Creecey had left and his fellow students had gone back to printing. He stared at his name, admiring the curving edges of the 'D's, tracing his finger over the boxy angles of the 'E's. He lingered over the picture of himself and his mother, standing in a field of flowers, far away from lines and quiet time and crayon thieves and eagle-eyed teachers. He glanced then over at Sean's paper. Sean had gone back to tracing his first name with a pencil. Sean had had difficulty with making his 'N's face the right way since the beginning of the year. The red crayon lay abandoned, on the table, between them.
 
He wanted his mother's dress to have red polka dots. A fancy dress. One that would make her happy. Sean's tongue was sticking out a little bit, in the corner of his mouth, as he joined the diagonal line to the straight. Dale reached out and grabbed the red crayon.
 
“Hey!” It was Sean's turn to protest. He reached, but Dale held the crayon out in the air, away from Sean's grasping fingers. “I was using that!”
 
“No you weren't,” said Dale, leaning in his chair so that he could hold the crayon as far away from Sean as possible.
 
“Then I guess you aren't using this,” said Sean, quickly reaching for Dale's notebook. He began to pull it away, but Dale reached quickly for it, emitting a wordless shout of protest.
 
Both boys' fingers closed around either side of the top page. Their eyes narrowed and they pulled back.
 
Deanna and Emma looked up at the ripping sound.
 
Dale glanced quickly from the jagged picture of a balloon boy, holding onto a lonely arm, sticking out of Sean's fist, down to his notebook, and his mother, armless and polkadot-less, alone in the flowers.
 
He sprung, flinging his full weight at Sean. Both boys toppled to the ground, as did Sean's chair. Dale growled as he held onto Sean, rolling on the floor as the other boy fought back.
 
“DALE TURNER!”
 
It did not sound as cheerful as it looked on the page. Mrs. Creecey was shouting both their names and after shaking Sean a few more times and feeling his own head hit the chair leg, Dale rolled away and stood up.
 
Sean stood too, glaring at him.
 
Dale was afraid to look at Mrs. Creecey. Her voice was calm but dangerous. “Explain why you would do this.”
 
Dale glanced down at the torn notebook on his desk, and rage filled him once more. He burst into an explanation, beginning with Sean's offence and then describing his hard work printing his first and last name, feeling tears rising in his eyes.
 
Mrs. Creecey was not sympathetic. “That is a not a reason to hit someone else.”
 
Dale glanced wildly around, noticing that everyone else sat at their tables, mouths agape, pencils long forgotten. “But he ruined it, and I worked so hard!”
 
“I don't care what he did. That was not necessary.”
 
Dale looked down at the carpet as Mrs. Creevey pronounced his sentence. He tried not to cry as he began the slow march across the carpet, past the paint easels, adorned with paintings of fall leaves, to the orange plastic chair where he would endure his time-out. Sean followed, grumbling but accepting his fate. Dale looked down at his worn shoes until he heard his classmates go back to their quiet chattering that meant they were printing again. He stared at his hands and furiously blinked back his tears as he heard the scrapings of their chairs and their quick, chaotic footsteps, signalling their moving from one activity to another.
 
As he sat with his head bowed, listening to his classmates sing along with Finley the Fish, his hot anger melted away and was replaced with a cold simmering fury. It was so unfair, the way Mrs. Creecey jumped quickly to punishing anyone who didn't follow her rules, but never stopped to wonder at their perfect lettering. The notebook was still ripped and he had been punished. He glowered over at Sean, who was sitting in his own timeout chair nearby with a bored expression. He hazarded a glance at Mrs. Creecey, who was now praising Deanna for answering a question about honey bees. It was Mrs. Creecey who really made him angry. She would have to pay.
 
Dale remained quiet for the rest of the day, refusing to answer when Mrs. Creecey asked him if he thought about anything during his time out. She had let him go, and he thought for the rest of the day of ways he could seek revenge. It would have to be done in a sneaky way, so that he didn't get called out in front of the rest of the class. He would have to think carefully before he took action.
 
His mother's cheerful mood at the coming weekend – she had mornings off on Saturday and the whole day on Sunday – wasn't contagious as he walked home, brooding. He was planning.
 
He planned in his mind throughout the weekend, as he watched cartoons on Saturday morning, played tag with Rachel in the afternoon, and as he played on the swings on Sunday. As he crossed the asphalt on Monday morning, he was a boy on a mission.
 
Throughout the morning activities, Dale was a model student. He read the days of the week along with the rest of the class, joined in the singing as Finley taught them about sharing, and quietly chose a puzzle during play time. As he fit the pieces of Clifford the big red dog together, he stole furtive glances around the room, making sure that his plan would work.
 
The plan was finally put in motion as his class went outside for recess. Dale followed, scuffing his toes along the pavement like everyone else, and waited a few minutes once they'd reached the area of pavement where the kindergarten class played. Everyone else busily reached for the jump ropes, balls, and tricycles, but Dale stood watching. When it seemed like enough time had passed, he ran over to Mrs. Nystrom, who supervised their half of the yard.
 
“Why didn't you go when you were inside?” she asked.
 
“I didn't have to go then!” said Dale.
 
“You've been out here for a whole minute,” sighed the teacher, but as she surveyed him with the experienced eye of a primary teacher, she handed him a bathroom pass.
 
Dale hurried inside and bypassed the washrooms. Glancing quickly over his shoulder, making sure no adults or other witnesses were around, he ducked into his classroom.
 
He felt a tiny thrill at the forbidden nature of his actions, and hurried forwards. He only had a short time, and now that he was actually inside, a flutter of fear was mixing with his determination to carry out his plans. He hurried across the room, heading for the fish tank.
 
He stopped suddenly in his tracks when he heard a gasp. He turned to look in the direction of the chalk board. There, perched on a chair, affixing a large construction paper Y to the blackboard, was Skylar Stevens.
 
Her eyes instantly narrowed as she looked him up and down. He stepped back to look at the whole scene. Before the Y, Skylar had attached several other letters to the blackboard, letters she seemed to have gotten from other parts of the classroom. He recognized the P from the calendar, where it had formally been the third letter in “September.” The two pumpkins, each adorned with an “E,” had been a part of the new Halloween display board, still blank in anticipation of the black cats they were going to decorate that week in art. The “R” was reminiscent of the time they'd read about the Gingerbread Man and decorated their own, though they had taken those home last week. The “C,” he realized with a sudden twang of amusement, had been decorated by their classmate Carly, when everyone had first learned how to write their first names. Carly's had been the biggest, the most elaborately decorated, and she had gloated about it for a week. Before the jumble of letters, a cut-out word had been placed, one that Dale knew already as it usually preceded their teacher's name.
 
“Mrs.?” he asked.
 
Skylar spoke, for the first time. “It says Mrs. Creepy, dummy.”
 
She stepped down from her chair, but drew herself up to her full height. She was not taller than Dale, but still an intimidating height as she stepped closer, her eyes flashing beneath her pink rosebud hairband.
 
“You – you spelled Mrs. Creepy?” Dale stammered. “Up there?”
 
She nodded, and for the first time, broke into a small smile, as though she couldn't quite contain her satisfaction with her own ingenuity. “I asked my babysitter how to spell it.” She frowned again. “If you tell anyone, you'll be sorry!”
 
Dale took a step backward. “I won't tell anyone,” he mumbled. He looked down, but looked up at Skylar again.
 
He hadn't had many dealings with the purple-patent-leather-shoe-clad schemer since their introduction on the first day of school. The class had gone around the circle saying their names and something that they had done over the summer. Skylar had bragged about a trip to Aspen, Colorado, and a birthday party with pony rides. Since that day, he had observed her from a distance, showing off her fruit rollups at lunch time, telling everyone in the playhouse centre which members of the family they would have to be during playtime, and taking control of all the skipping ropes at recess, doling them out to her classmates after they gathered around her and made offers to be her best friend and take her on trips to Candyland and the Grand Canyon.
 
He had also noticed her, once in a while, getting in trouble in class, though she had never managed to land herself a time-out humiliation. Most often, she drew attention when she rolled her eyes and spoke in a tone his own mother would call “lippy.” Mrs. Creecey would tell her to watch her tone, but usually, Skylar would notice that all eyes were on her and she would become her usual smiling self, saying “sorry” and beaming at their teacher.
 
“Aren't you going to ask why I wrote it?” Dale stared back at her. He shook his head. He turned and made his way over to his target.
 
“Why?” she asked, following. He turned, shrugged, and turned back to the fish tank, looking up towards its lid.
 
Skylar stepped over and put a hand to the side of the fish tank, squeezing in so she was between the tank and the boy. “Hey, I asked why, dummy. Why don't you say something?”
 
Dale frowned but kept his gaze locked with hers. “You're mad at Mrs. Creecey too.”
 
Skylar's fierce gaze softened a little bit. “Oh.” She stepped aside, but continued watching him. He looked to the side of the fish tank, and retrieved a net. “Are you here to do something too?” she asked. “To teach her a lesson?”
 
Dale swallowed, looking down at the fish net in his hands. He had been determined before, but his determination had wavered when he'd been surprised by his fellow saboteur. Now, he felt his resolve returning. He nodded.
 
“You're going to need a chair to reach into that tank,” she said simply. He looked at her. She stepped over to the circle area, grabbed the chair that Mrs. Creecey used for story time, and pushed it towards him. Taking a moment to glance at her, he stepped onto it. Taking a breath, he lifted the lid of the fish tank.
 
Skylar's footsteps crossed the floor. She stopped in the doorway. “Don't you dare tell anyone it was me,” she said.
 
He shook his head quickly, and after a moment said “Don't you tell anyone what I did. Dummy.”
 
He thought he saw a fleeting smile cross her face as Skylar skipped out the door. He hurried to finish his own task, so that he could get back outside before recess was over.
 
As the bell rang for recess to end, a hoard of rosy cheeked and wind-blown children pushed through the doors and into the school building. The kindergarteners laughed and chattered as they were shepherded down their hallway and into their classroom, Mrs. Creecey bringing up the rear as she returned from the staffroom. In the mass of confusion as the jackets and toys were stowed on hooks and in cubbies, it was a few moments before anyone noticed the blackboard.
 
“What does it say?” asked Emma.
 
“Are we gonna do a new craft?” asked Scott.
 
Mrs. Creecey, for a moment, wore a look of shock, but quickly she swept it from her face. She was about to tell the students to never mind and take their seats on the carpet for sharing time, but was prevented by Matthew, who had been surveying the letters, asking “Does it say your name, Mrs. Creecey?”
 
Deanna shook her head with a suddenly triumphant giggle. “It says Creepy!”
 
The giggles were nervous at first but contagious and the group was laughing out loud. Mrs. Creecey, seeming to decide that the best course of action was to act as though there was nothing to look at, managed to harangue them over to the carpet, and though she smiled her usual smile as she picked up a class list to survey, she seemed a bit more frazzled than usual. Dale stole a quick glance across the carpet at Skylar. She was watching with an innocent looking smile. He looked down at the carpet and tried not to giggle himself.
 
Mrs. Creecey, deciding apparently that she couldn't stop the waves of giggles and whispers that continued to sweep across the circle, announced that they would spend the next period at the activity centres. Looking at her list, she began sending students to the different activities around the room. Dale walked carefully over to the alphabet centre when he was called, his legs suddenly feeling heavy, not matching his heart which had suddenly started racing. They would soon discover his sabotage.
 
Sure enough, moments after Austin, Katie, and Deanna had been sent to the water table, the room was filled with shrill squeals.
 
Katie was hopping backwards, waving her hands and sprinkling everything around her with water. Austin was grabbing at something in the water table and splashing the books on the shelf nearby. Deanna stood still but her voice sounded panicked. “The fish are in the water table!” she exclaimed.
 
Mrs. Creecey dashed over, as Austin tried to catch the goldfish in his hands, Katie shrieked some more, and the rest of the class stampeded over to get a look, Deanna shouting at them to get back and not hurt the fish.
 
Many of the class were squealing now as their beloved pets continued to swim around in the container where the students usually poured water in and out of buckets. There was a second round of panicked squeals when Taylor pointed to the fish tank, which was missing it's usual fish but not altogether empty.
 
“What's Finley doing in the fish tank?” cried Veronica.
 
“Swimming!” shouted Sean, clearly amused at the sight of the orange and black puppet, water logged and entangled in weeds.
 
Dale couldn't help himself. He let out a giggle. He turned sideways. Beside him, Skylar was also giggling. She was the only one besides him who hadn't rushed forwards to investigate the fish in their new water table habitat.
 
In the midst of the shrieking children and darting fish, Mrs. Creecey glanced over at the two children, standing apart from all the others, wearing matching, knowing smirks.
 
“You two,” she managed, reaching out an arm to block Sean from reaching into the water table. “Out in the hall.”
 
It was much worse than the time-out chair. The hallway walk of shame was horrible. Dale and Skylar refused to answer questions, but after playground supervisors and the teacher in charge of the recess glee club, where Skylar was supposed to have been, were consulted, the two young pranksters were given adjoining chairs in the hallway beside the principal's office. Here, Dale discovered, not only students from your own class, but any students walking by on their way to the library or gym, or students delivering attendance books and picking up forgotten lunches, could gawk at the wrong doers in the hot seats. And a worse consequence was yet to come. Parents were called.
 
Dale glanced repeatedly at Skylar, but she didn't return his gaze as they waited for their parents. He noticed she didn't look at her father either when he arrived, sweating through his dress shirt and gray jacket. He watched them leave too, Skylar's father marching and staring straight ahead, Skylar slinking along behind him and still avoiding looking at Dale. When his own mother arrived, dressed in her uniform and looking as nervous as if she herself had been sent to the principal's office, he wished he could disappear into a hole in the floor.
 
He sat through the meeting between his mother, his principal, his teacher, and himself, regretting that they were all there but not regretting his prank. In fact, to his greatest dismay, Mrs. Creecey had incorrectly identified those responsible for the pranks. Mrs. Creecey cited his strides in writing, and his focus on his printing notebook, believing him to be the one that used words as revenge and stuck the letters to the blackboard. Earlier, when she had questioned them both, he had found out that Skylar had recently been heard questioning Mrs. Creecey's fish-feeding schedule, wanting to know why she didn't get a turn until next month.
 
Skylar was now in charge of cleaning the fish tank every day. Dale sidled up to her during a busy activity period the next day, as she stood skimming the green algae off the top of the water, a dark scowl on her face.
 
“This is gross,” she muttered, before he could say anything. “I don't know why I ever wanted to feed them, if all they do is make their tank gross.”
 
“I have to clean the blackboard every day,” he offered.
 
“Like you could have spelled creepy,” she said disdainfully. “What kind of a prank is that anyway? Moving gross fish?”
 
“A really good one,” glowered Dale. “Better than yours. Putting up a word we can't read.”
 
“Don't talk to me,” said Skylar. “I don't want to talk to you. Stay away from me. Dummy.”
 
“You're a dummy,” countered Dale, but he made a hasty retreat. He hazarded one more glance in her direction, and felt a rush of savage pleasure at the look of disgust on her face as she held the fish net out in front of her, dripping with green water.
 
Dale and Skylar kept their distance after the fish and letters incident, each going their own separate road over the years. Dale practiced keeping his head down, choking back his feelings of resentment, and holding onto all the secret comings and goings he observed as he watched the people of Jericho. Skylar kept her secrets too, avoiding her father's angry gazes and acting on her frustrations in subtler, hidden movements. If you had asked either of them about the other, they might have told you they considered him or her an enemy of sorts, though it was an animosity that was mostly maintained from a distance. Each had a sense, or perhaps a vague memory, that the other was a worthy opponent, and not one you would wish to seek out in an actual battle of wits.
 
Along with their penchants for secrecy and the rebelliousness they kept brimming below their respective surfaces, each was developing a different level of self sufficiency, before and after the attacks that changed our world. Each sought to survive after the bombs, with the world that was left for them, and in those early days, they each tried to deny the pull that seemed to be developing between them. After all, they were worlds apart. They had nothing in common. A chance encounter that happened shortly after the fires ripped through the town and left the trailer park in ruins changed everything.
 
Dale was seated outside the church, contemplating all that was left for him in a world where now, both his family and his home were gone. His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Skylar, sneaking along the alleyway between the buildings across the street. The oddest thing about her appearance was the body she had draped over her shoulder. He stared for a moment, blinked, and reluctantly got up to get a closer look. He followed her quietly, taking care to use all his people watching skills, honed from spying on customers at Gracie's market.
 
As he got closer, he realized she was carrying a scarecrow. Straw poked out of the plaid sleeves and torn jeans. They both walked, making their way through the back alleys until they were at the edge of Spruce Lane. Skylar looked to her left and right, and darted out of the alley, across the street, and disappeared between Bailey's and Town Hall. Dale glanced back and forth, and followed.
 
When he caught up to Skylar, she was standing in the parking lot, the scarecrow dumped on the ground beside her. He glanced from her to the car she was now examining.
 
“What do you want, Dale?” she asked. Before he could express shock, she turned around. “I know you've been following me.”
 
“What are you doing?” he asked, deciding to refrain from any protests or pretending. He was suddenly becoming aware of a feeling that he knew her, that they knew each other, much better than they ought to, considering their inhabiting of such different social circles.
 
“That's Gray Anderson's car,” she said, pointing unnecessarily.
 
“Uh huh,” he said, wondering if she would continue.
 
“He made me give the town the rest of my gas. From my generator,” she said. “And he thinks he can tell me what to do. And he's annoying.”
 
“Yeah, so?” he asked.
 
She shrugged. “This is him.” She motioned at the scarecrow. At his look of confusion, she reached down and pulled the scarecrow into an upright position.
 
Dale noticed that, although it was like most other scarecrows in most respects, this one was distinguished by the Anderson Stevens Mining name tag he wore. Skylar had somehow altered the lettering to read “Mr. Boss.”
 
“So what are you doing with it?” he asked, pretending to be unimpressed. It was a childish characterization after all, though nothing had remotely seemed funny in the past few weeks and there was something about that scarecrow that inexplicably made him want to smile.
 
“Putting it on the roof,” she said.
 
He nodded, watching her for a moment as she proceeded to hoist it up in the air.
 
“You know,” he said casually. “It'd be funnier if it was driving his car. 'Stead of riding on it.”
 
She paused for a moment and frowned. “What's wrong with my plan?”
 
She was challenging him, her eyes taking on their full queen bee power glint, but he had known they were beyond Jericho High for weeks now. “Well, if it's driving the car, we'd know it's him. If it's riding on top, it might look like it's some kind of parade float.”
 
She considered for a moment, but then said irritably, “Well, then how do you expect me to get it into the car? It's locked. Gray's been hyper about thieves and crime and stuff since -”
 
“He's also driving a car with manual windows,” said Dale, pointing at the back seat. The rear passenger window was cracked open. Dale went around to it and reached his hand to the opening. He could just fit his hand in, but it was a tight squeeze for his arm. “He's probably not used to this kind of car, since his was probably way newer, but all those cars got wrecked by the EMP. My mom always had cars like this, though, and our windows always got stuck.” He glanced at her. “You've got smaller arms.”
 
She raised her eyebrows, and for the first time, she smiled at him, reluctantly.
 
Minutes later, Skylar crawled across the seats and unlocked the front door. They loaded the scarecrow into the driver's seat. Skylar added a finishing touch she'd found in the glove compartment: a spare tie Gray had stashed there.
 
Shutting the door and surveying their handiwork a few moments later, they made a hasty retreat down the alleyway. Having learned years ago to wait until they were safe, they didn't give in to their giggles until they were past the church again.
 
“Wish we could've seen his reaction, but it's best to not be there at the scene of the crime,” said Skylar with a laugh.
 
“I can see his reaction anyway,” said Dale with a laugh. “In my head, I can see it just fine. He'll probably want to start a posse.”
 
Skylar laughed harder at this. “Thank you,” she said, pausing for a moment to smile at him.
 
He gave her a nod, smiling but becoming slightly more serious.
 
“Well, if that's all then,” he began.
 
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
 
He raised his eyebrows.
 
“I heard about the trailer park,” she said. “What are you going to do?”
 
He shrugged, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable under her gaze. “I'll take care of myself.”
 
“We can ask someone to help,” she protested. “We can ask the mayor, and at the church, there's a -”
 
“I don't need them,” he said. “I'll be fine.”
 
She looked at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Okay,” she began. She took a tentative step away, but she stopped. “I found silly string,” she said.
 
“What?” he asked.
 
“The other day, I was looking for stuff we might need, and I found a box of Halloween stuff. There was silly string in it.” She shrugged. “Not much of a practical application, but we might find somewhere to use it.” She paused. “You could help me.”
 
“You want to silly-string Gray next?” he asked.
 
She shrugged again. “Maybe. If he does something to deserve it. Or maybe someone else.”
 
He looked at his now two-time co-conspirator, who seemed farther away from her purple Mary Janes than ever. “Are you joking?”
 
She smirked slightly. “Yes. Don't you miss it?”
 
“Joking?” he asked.
 
She nodded. “And everything. Everything we used to have is gone. School, parents, movies, magazines, phones. Silly string. But we're still here. Only sometimes, I think they,” she motioned vaguely in the direction of town hall, “forget that.”
 
“So you pranked Gray to remind him we're still here?” he asked.
 
“Among other things,” she said. “So what do you think? You going to help me?”
 
He thought for a moment longer. Of all the things that had happened since the bombs, this proposition seemed the strangest. Though he'd spent the rainstorm after the bombs in her house, he still would've said that the chance of Skylar Stevens voluntarily inviting him into the house without the threat of imminent radiation-poisoning doom would be less likely than a nuclear attack. Still, something about this moment in time felt more familiar, more inexplicably like home, than any other moment since the attacks.
 
“Okay,” he said with a nod.
 
“You can sleep on my couch,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet.
 
The growing partnership between Dale and Skylar, while at first seeming to take them by surprise, was also surprisingly unsurprising. Dale settled into her home like it was always intended to be his own and they quickly settled into a routine of survival chores and prank planning. The first can of silly string went towards a triumphant attack on Sean Henthorn. They blitz attacked him from either side of a park bench just as he took a bow following a skateboarding trick he was particularly proud of, in front of a crowd of teenage onlookers. The roars of laughter as Sean sputtered and swiped at the orange threads of foamy string echoed after the duo as they ran around the corner of the Cyberjolt Cafe. They discovered that a well executed prank, besides breaking up the monotony of post apocalyptic survival, also left their adrenaline pumping and their hearts pounding in the most exhilarating way. Windows were sprayed with shaving cream, cars were egged, and Gray Anderson's house was toilet papered more than once. Not satisfied with these old school pranks, they also experimented with other pranks. They managed to fix a diaper to Ida Silver's cat, they poured bubble bath into Emily Sullivan's hot tub, and they covered a Jericho Sheriff's department squad car with a fluffy area rug, attaching two old dinner plates to the front and perching a pair of antlers, which looked a lot like the ones Mr. Stevens used to have fixed to the wall in his den, on the roof.
 
They used the pranks to entertain themselves, but also fell back on them during times of distress. After Gracie's murder was discovered, the pranks stopped for a day. The next day, Sean Henthorn discovered his bicycle had been spray painted pink, with little plastic flower decals glued to the handlebars. The only meal Jonah Prowse received while in custody tasted strongly of cayenne pepper. While the newly arrived refugees sat shivering under blankets at Bailey's, they were suddenly treated to an extra loud rendition of “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” piping from the jukebox. Mary swore, through her giggles, that she had not seen that record in the jukebox before that day.
 
You might ask, where were the Jericho police force through this? Were we aware of these lawless antics, and why didn't we do anything about them? We were, of course, aware of our budding young prankster duo. Jimmy and I were indeed two of their first official victims, as we once arrived at the office to discover our chairs were covered in wet paint. Rather, we discovered the paint after Jimmy stood up for a bathroom break. The reason we didn't stop them? Frankly, there were more important things to worry about. I may have played dumb, when Gray fumed about their pranks and demanded we investigate more thoroughly, but I was always aware of their movements. I was also always aware of the sort of threat they posed, that is to say, not a big one. They were kids, making the most of the times they were living in. I'd step in if things got out of hand, and I was often there to step in with some advice or words of wisdom when they took things a little far, like when they set up that store and started extracting silly public performances from their customers rather than goods or when they used up valuable materials, like soap, just to cover windows in rude words. I didn't see malice in their actions as much as I saw two kids who were misunderstood, just trying to make their way in the world. I wasn't going to interfere with that, while we had people starving and freezing, and threatening to collapse law and order as we knew it. Some people, of course, thought that Dale and Skylar were out to do just that, collapse law and order, but many just saw them as a nuisance. Others saw them as entertainment.
 
In the early days, most folks didn't even acknowledge them until they found themselves in the midst of a prank. One particularly crisp fall day, the townspeople discovered that the screens of the now useless computers lining the Cyberjolt cafe had been pasted over with caricatures of several prominent persons in town.
 
Robert Hawkins had seen it as a deeply suspicious conspiracy. “Why am I holding a huge automatic weapon?” he asked.
 
“Actually, I think it's a water gun,” I'd said as we'd investigated.
 
“What do they know?” he asked.
 
“Well, it's not actually a secret -” I'd begun, but I'd been distracted by Gray's fuming. “What is this supposed to mean? Why don't I even have a body?”
 
Jimmy had looked over his shoulder. “I think you're Humpty-Dumpty, man,” he'd said.
 
Gray had given him a look of fury, as though it was Jimmy himself who had suggested the characterization. “Why is Jake a cowboy?”
 
“He's riding an ostrich,” pointed out Jimmy with a giggle.
 
Eric had seemed somewhat dismayed at the picture of him, collapsing under the weight of two wedding rings, but April and Mary had removed the drawings of themselves, claiming they were going to put them up on their fridge. They also saved the picture of Heather, floating on a pond with a trail of ducklings following her. Emily had giggled at hers and agreed that the shading was actually quite good, but she had had a change of mind when Jake had chuckled and said she looked badass riding the motorcycle in her beauty-queen tiara.
 
After the Green wives had taken their own caricatures and some of their friends for good measure, we scraped the rest away, and once again, Dale and Skylar's work was gone, but not forgotten. I laughed at the joke, and Gray fumed some more.
 
We were still yet to discover that Skylar and Dale were not just dabbling in child's play. Though they expressed themselves with joyfully childish tricks and schemes, they were observing things we weren't. In the beginning, it suited them just fine to go out and prank and then go home to their secluded nest of safety. There, they discussed the changing world, the movements of the adults who sighed at their jokes, and the events they could sense coming. Eventually, as all children must, they grew to realize their place in the community beyond their role as jokers. We would need them, in more ways than one.
 
The first time they decided to take action about something really serious, someone else took credit.
 
It was the day that the marines had marched into town and we had all celebrated, though Skylar and Dale had taken no notice. They had been, unbeknownst to most of us worrying about refugees and murderous survivalists, venturing outwards, exploring the countryside for opportunities to trade the goods they had obtained from all their business deals via nursery rhyme extortion. They had just come back from one of these trips when they heard the news of the marines' arrival, which they greeted with well-contained enthusiasm when I told them, continuing on their way out of town to a storage unit where they were keeping their combination of practical goods and practical joke materials.
 
The entrance to their hiding place we concealed, hidden behind some dilapidated-looking farm buildings, so it was that they were also well hidden as they sat, eating a picnic supper, on a blanket outside. This is how they came to observe the peculiar scene taking place across the field, where a trio of uniformed men were picking their way through the grasses. One slipped and fell, the others laughing, and Skylar let out a chuckle herself. “You'd think they'd never spent time in the outdoors, let alone gone through bootcamp,” she said. She raised her binoculars.
 
“Hey, look at that,” she whispered quickly to Dale, passing them over to him. Dale had been paying more attention to his chicken sandwich until this moment, but he raised the binoculars to see what Skylar had seen. “Why are they staking out that old shed? There's nothing in there, unless you want to stock up on dead flies.”
 
“Weird. You'd think Gray would be keeping them too busy listening to juke box tunes and drinking Commune's finest for them to sneak away.” Skylar watched as the men passed an object between them. “Do you think they did sneak away? And is that a radio?”
 
“Looks like it,” said Dale. “But why they'd be playing around with it out here, when they could probably salvage stuff in town...” He trailed off, suddenly wary of the fact that their own storage space, filled with several choice electronic scraps, was so nearby.
 
Skylar grabbed the binoculars and raised them again. “They don't even look like they're trying to get a signal!”
 
Dale nodded, narrowing his eyes. “More like hiding something.”
 
Dale and Skylar watched silently as the man who had tripped earlier carefully slipped inside the old shed, clutching the radio. The other two turned, glancing furtively around before making their way across the field again.
 
The duo glanced at each other. With a quick nod, they began to follow, using the skills they had honed in their weeks of sneaking up and down the back alleys of town in pursuit of pranking, to spy on the marines without being detected.
 
By the time they had reached the turnoff at the edge of Herbert's property, they had discovered something huge. After listening to the men joke about the jobs they had been doing last year, teaching high school Spanish and marketing household wares respectively, Skylar and Dale had turned to each other. “They're not who they say they are,” Skylar had whispered. Dale had given a quick, certain nod.
 
“What are we going to do?” Skylar breathed. “We should warn them, shouldn't we? The town?”
 
Dale had nodded, looking thoughtful. “I think we're going to have to use our haul from Bracebridge.”
 
They shared a sigh. “For the greater good,” said Skylar with a nod.
 
In town hall, a cheerful assembly of (unbeknownst to us optimistic town authorities) imposters was sharing a hearty meal with several prominent townspeople. Gray Anderson was standing, preparing to make a toast to follow Johnston Green's heartfelt words, when a noise interrupted from outside. Most people in the room jumped, as the exploding sounds resembled gunfire.
 
“Look out the window!” someone shouted. Bright sparks of red and yellow were showering down in formations and shapes.
 
The crowd was soon on its feet, spilling out onto the street to look up at the sky. Gray hurried to get outside, pushing past a few people to stare, bug-eyed, at the sky exploding with fiery blooms.
 
“What is this?” he exclaimed in a tense whisper as Jimmy struggled through the crowd to join him.
 
“Uh, fireworks?” said Jimmy, watching as some in the crowd began to cheer. Others were still looking unsure.
 
“Those kids again!” Gray seethed. “I'm never going to get a moment of peace again, am I? They'll always be there to steal the -”
 
“I think everyone thinks it's a part of the dinner” shrugged Jimmy, motioning around.
 
Marines and townspeople alike seemed to be relaxing. At least, more were standing still to look up at the sky rather than looking around to find a source of suspicion. Gray noticed quickly, and after taking a breath, pasted a smile on his face.
 
“Little something to remember us by,” he beamed, stepping forwards and spreading his arms in a gesture of hospitality.
 
Dale and Skylar were pressed up again the brick wall of Bailey's tavern. “Why are they cheering?” Skylar whispered frantically.
 
Dale was watching the scene, leaning as far as he could around the corner. He groaned. “Gray's saying he did it. As a gift.”
 
“Is he an idiot? He's going to get us all killed!” Skylar kicked at a pebble on the ground and swore. “Our whole stash too!”
 
Dale put a hand to her shoulder. They stood for a moment, listening to the sounds of the crowd's “oo”s and “ah”s.
 
“I guess we should do something else,” said Skylar after a moment.
 
“Yeah,” said Dale, thought both of them continued to watch their firework collection exploding overhead. “We'll have to warn them some other way.”
 
They looked at each other, and Skylar took Dale's hand as they straightened up. Before they could step out of the alleyway, two figures stepped into view. Jake and Stanley seemed to be involved in an intense conversation, and neither noticed the teenagers in the shadows.
 
“There's something not right. Just get everyone you can find to go search the area. Look for anyone with a radio,” Jake was saying.
 
Stanley nodded. “Okay. Let me go find Mimi and -”
 
“No, not Mimi,” groaned Jake. “Get the rangers. We need the people who are trained to do this stuff.”
 
Skylar wasn't sure she didn't see a funny look pass over Stanley's features, but he nodded quickly and Skylar blinked. The funny look was gone.
 
“Leave it to Gray to invite a bunch of scoundrels to dinner,” muttered Jake as he stalked off. Stanley watched him go, and then turned in the other direction, muttering something about heat-sensing binoculars.
 
Skylar and Dale waited for their footsteps to fade, not saying anything until the only sound was the firework show and its admirers. “Well, I guess we don't have to worry now,” shrugged Dale, with a dark look on his face. “People will listen to them.”
 
Skylar nodded, but a small smile crossed her features. “It's going to be okay,” she whispered to Dale. “We did our part.”
 
She reached for his hand and pulled him away from the wall. They still stood in the shadows, but they stepped onto the sidewalk. “No one noticed,” said Dale. “They just seemed to think the fireworks were beautiful.”
 
“They are beautiful,” said Skylar. She stopped and stood, facing him, still holding his hand in both of hers. “And at least we get to stay out of the way. Keep doing what we do.”
 
He nodded, and finally, a small smile crossed Dale's features too. “We're okay, right?”
 
She smiled too. She dropped his hand and they leaned towards each other.
 
Silhouetted against a backdrop of shimmering lights and unnoticed by the cheering townspeople and imposters, the young survivors shared a perfect kiss.
 
The duo continued to share private moments like the fiery kiss on Spruce Lane, moments that they stole in secret like the pranks they played and the goods they smuggled. No one else saw, but they each felt the cataclysmic changes rumbling under the surface of their lives.
 
What we continued to see was their handiwork, which continued to interrupt our daily lives as their partnership took shape. Though we had not seen their first conscious act of civic responsibility, we began to see their presence, more than we had before, in the things we learned they were capable of. Soon, we could see their name on these actions too.
 
Their name was a crucial contribution to the solidifying of their reputations as formidable pranksters. They were christened at the most public of events – the erecting of the first wind turbine.
 
The New Bern crew had arrived, bringing with them the first prototype designed by Heather and he who shall not be named. To most of us, this had signified new hope and we had gone about preparing for the first bursts of wind power in a variety of ways.
 
Hawkins had amassed all the battery chargers he could find, excitedly showing everyone the stack of police flashlights he had collected and talking about how nice it would be to have the traffic lights working again. “Just because it's the worst winter in decades doesn't mean we should get away with running a red, now does it?”
 
April and Mary had, with Gail's help, dusted off an old ultrasound machine and were eagerly anticipating their first glimpse of baby Ruby. Eric was promising to make hot chocolate with an old kettle they'd found.
 
Kenchy had borrowed the Bailey's juke box for the occasion, hoping to serenade his clients with a few inspiring tunes from the Beatles and Electric Light Orchestra.
 
Mimi had been seen skulking about Town Hall, claiming she was hoping to use the radio equipment to communicate with whatever was left of the IRS, in case they were ready for her to send in her paperwork.
 
Reverend Young prepared a short prayer of thanks that he volunteered to lead as the street lights were powered up for the first time. Gray, remembering how much everyone had enjoyed the last light show on Main Street, agreed enthusiastically. Outside the med center, as the wind turbine was raised and hooked up, Reverend Young turned his eyes to the heavens and offered thanks on behalf of the gathered crowd (even Oliver, who was sulking off to the side, unhappy that his request to make a speech to the aliens, on behalf of one of the town's other denominations, had been denied). As Reverend Young dramatically reminded the crowd that on the first day, God said “let there be light,” Russell flipped a switch. The lights strung overhead went on, but the audience was distracted by the near-deafening sound of music suddenly blaring ACDC through the crowd. Then, much brighter than the Christmas lights overhead, a projector was suddenly shining images onto the concrete wall of the med center.
 
Some people in the crowd were bopping along to “Highway to Hell,” but most were laughing at the old footage of the disastrous Jericho Fourth of July parade of 1992.
 
“Haha, Jericho's finest!” someone shouted, as the sheriff's department of the day (which was before my time) marched by in hobo clown costumes.
 
“I forgot about that,” mused Eric as an island-themed float, plastered with a huge banner reading “Stevens Mining Co,” appeared on the makeshift screen. “That's the year the float caught on – right.”
 
“Told them it was a bad idea to have a real campfire,” sighed Johnston with a chuckle. Though some of the refugees seemed worried as the flames light the cardboard trees in the scene from the past, the laughs from the seasoned townspeople who remembered the Jericho firefighters, dressed in ridiculous beauty queen wigs and tiaras, rushing to the scene and sprayed the float, and most of the gathered spectators, with foam, continued to laugh. As the events of the past played out on the screen in the present, all the people, young and old, roared with laughter.
 
Reverend Young, who had been trying in vain to return his audience's attention to their heavenly saviour, ducked as suddenly, buckets of foam flung at the real life crowd from different directions. Several people were exclaiming that it was indeed cappuccino foam, as Kenchy dashed down the street, a horrified look on his face, shouting that they'd promised they were only making two cups.
 
“Those kids!” exclaimed a horrified Gray, who had taken shelter under a binder.
 
Reverend Young spluttered and shouted over the music. “Those two are the devil's, they are! The devil's own. The Devil's duo!”
 
From the second floor staff lounge, Dale and Skylar sipped their cappuccinos and watched out the window. They turned to look at each other with raised eyebrows. Then they laughed.
 
Reverend Young probably didn't anticipate what he had started. None of us did. From then on, the two mysterious initials, DD, began appearing all over town. The pranksters we could no longer ignore began to leave their signature, in as many creative ways as they could.
 
It appeared in chalk on the sidewalk beside a silly-stringed house. In yellow on the wall when the refugee shelter's soap dispensers were all switched with bottles of mustard. It even grew up in a pattern of wildflowers, on Gray's lawn when the snow melted, after which he discovered that someone had posed a line of garden gnomes on his lawn, all standing at attention, apparently, for one strangely bald gnome.
 
It was a name that we all started to know, though we knew it to mean different things. For those of us in town hall, it meant an extra task. New Bern demanded a steeper price for the windmills than we had expected, and ten of our men went to stay in their town. Resources were stretched to a breaking point, and Gray would often fall asleep at the office, his head on the desk, papers strewn around and the whiteboard with the list of dwindling supplies right across from him. He was often heard to be grumbling that he could see the numbers in his sleep. One morning, he woke with a startle, to find himself staring at a whiteboard, emblazoned not with the list of food, fuel and miscellaneous supplies but a rather different list, beginning with items one and two, raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Gray frantically turned the whiteboard around, hoping they had only written on the back and preserved his list on the front. On the other side, though, all he saw were the two letters, DD. We were put on a lookout for the DD, amidst all the break-ins and fights, starving senior citizens and sickly children.
 
For some, it apparently became something more sinister. We were visited in the sheriff's department one day by Jeremy Simmons and his nephew Hank. Jeremy was ranting about how the letters “DD” had shown up in a crop-circle-like marking in his frost bitten field. Shortly after this discovery, he'd realized that someone had harnessed all of the livestock and tied them together, in an intricate series of knots. The horses had stomped around and caused considerable damage while it took them so long to untie the knots that the cows were late for milking time. I assured Simmons that we were aware of the pranking situation in town and that we did take it seriously, though we had quite a few pressing matters at the time and further, I suggested he try not to take it personally. He seemed to think it was part of a plot to extort supplies from him. I got a few other conspiratorial complaints from other farmers and deal-makers, saying the DD was using practical joking to force people to comply with their deals, though usually those people retracted their statements later. I had a bit of a hunch that it was true, but truth be told, I didn't see it as an entirely bad thing that the kids learn how to look out for themselves. We certainly didn't have time to see that this farmer was giving that shopkeeper the cut of produce he'd promised last month. If the DD needed to use their signature to remind people of what they were capable of every now and then, so be it.
 
Of course, the DD reminded people of something else too. One morning, during the time while we were waiting for the windmills and our men to come back, April and Mary were seen to be exiting Bailey's looking out of sorts. They were having a hushed conversation. April's brow was furrowed and Mary's eyes were red. They were intent upon their discussion, but paused when they saw a child's doll, perched on the railing in front of town hall. April, never able to resist rescuing anything, reached to pick it up and the pair was met with a shower of fluffy feathers floating down from the sky. Glancing up, April spotted the overturned bucket perched on the overhang. Mary was shaking her hair, sending feathers cascading to the ground. The sister-wives glanced at each other and burst into laughter. They continued to laugh as they batted at the feathers, shaking out their jackets. “Look at this.” April passed the baby doll to Mary, who glanced down at the letters emblazoned on the doll's sleeper. “DD,” she breathed. April smiled, her forehead smooth and her expression calm. “You know we're going to be okay,” she said. “Whatever comes along...whoever comes along.”
 
“Yeah, I know,” said Mary, smiling through her teary eyes this time.
 
The Green women walked on, carrying the baby doll, which would stay in their possession for a few years, until they would eventually return it to the pranksters.
 
The DD was not always greeted with the same amusement that the commune Greens would continue to show them, but over time, the town grew to depend on them, and the unique help they were able to bring to a difficult situation.
 
When the men came home and we realized we had to fight New Bern, we turned to the force the DD had been amassing for themselves. Following their own philosophy of greeting the dark times ahead with laughter, Dale and Skylar's co-operative farm had actually begun as an underground comedy club. Refugees, and a few other longtime residents, showed up at the DD's headquarters by invite only. If they could provide a funny story, or would consent to do something else to entertain the group, they were allowed to join the audience, sipping Razz-apple surprise and laughing. Dale and Skylar recounted some of their famous exploits and also perfected a standup routine about what it was like to be a young adult living the post-apocalyptic lifestyle in contemporary Kansas. (“Don't get me started on the cockroaches. The way they look at you, like they know they've got two-to-one chances of beating you to the end.”)
 
The DD wasn't sure they wanted to join the fight at first. They'd built their empire of pranks and supplies on their own, amidst adult authority figures who didn't understand their humour. At the eleventh hour, Johnston Green arrived at the headquarters to parlay with them. Most in town were certain, it came out in the gossip sessions that followed, that he had appealed to the hidden serious side of their natures, but sources close to the former mayor have suggested he spoke in their language, relating to them with a story about rubber mice and the town hall annual spring garden party E.G. Green used to throw. Skylar and Dale were better than their word, not only bringing people to the defense of the town, but standing at the front of the line themselves. Though to this day, their reputation as fearless pranksters far overshadows their conduct in our town's historical battles, my record would be incomplete if I didn't bring their fearless wartime actions during the New Bern battle and the occupation to light.
 
Indeed, not only did the DD prove themselves to understand the very serious threat of New Bern's invading armies, they continued to see the darker truths of the world around them as the rest of us more optimistic townspeople were breathing sighs of relief that the army was here to save us and we would be eating Oreos and sipping Redbull like nothing had happened. They continued their smuggling activities along with their pranks right under the noses of the ASA authorities. Perhaps it was their mischievous reputation, and the strategic pranks they pulled in those first weeks of Beck's regime, that led the army to believe them to be youthful vagrants rather than a serious threat. Not that even their more innocent acts of rebellion weren't ten times more daring than anything the rest of us were attempting at first.
 
The first batch of shampoo the J&R reps handed out in packages, in hopes to provide townspeople with some comfort, dyed everyone's hair blue. The government contractors were confused, but most of us knew who was responsible. The Greens had just begun making their natural shampoos at this point and soon had to deal with an inundation of customers.
 
The day of the president's visit on his whistle-stop tour, the soldiers assigned to town hall, in amidst of their frantic search for the missing walkie-talkie, were dismayed to discover that the name plate that had been affixed to the door of the sheriff's department office, formerly reading “Major Edward Beck” had been altered to now read “Major Edweird Buck-tooth.” We had to explain for quite some time that it was a misunderstanding, that our town was home to some spirited youth, not a conspiracy of anti-government rebels. They were grudgingly refusing to accept the point of view that it was refreshing to see youths who had held onto their sense of humour rather than become rabid survivalists who'd shoot you as soon as look at you, but at least when they found the walkie-talkie, they had to admit they didn't have much evidence to qualify the young people for an arrest warrant.
 
It was when they strung a pair of Goetz's boxer-briefs on the flagpole outside town hall that I was forced to go give them a warning, in an effort to placate Goetz, who was practically apoplectic with rage. I got a tip-off that they were at their storage facility at Herbert farm. I was shocked when I surprised them unloading the boxes of the Hudson River Virus vaccine. I was even more shocked to hear their plan for distributing it, though I really shouldn't have been.
 
That night, strange events occurred all over town. A goat that had somehow gotten into town hall rampaged through the offices, scattering files everywhere and chewing on the ear of one of Beck's men, who were all chasing it and swearing each time it jumped through their outstretched arms. Over at the temporary base where the troops were set up in tents, someone had gotten to the laundry and tied dozens of sets of fatigues together by the arms, wrapping them around and around the main administrative tent so that several men were given the task of untangling their uniforms with the most care and dignity that the A.S.A. Army uniform could receive under the circumstances. A team of soldiers was sent to stop a fire in one of the sheds at the abandoned Surrey farm, only to report with dismay later that they had found not a raging inferno but an old fog machine running off a portable generator.
 
Meanwhile, what didn't go reported was the lineup of townspeople quietly waiting for a dose of the Hudson River Virus Vaccine, gathered in the dark by Ayers road. Or the five others at other hidden locations around town. I think we knew then, that things were not as they seemed with this new government and that we were in for another fight. Just how much of one, we had yet to find out.
 
Dale and Skylar must have realized it too, because they dialled back their pranks. The practical jokes didn't stop, but they became more subtle. They stopped putting their initials onto every scene of their crimes, instead conducting a quieter campaign of mischief. Unfortunately, they had caught Goetz's attention.
 
Knowing what I now know about John Goetz, I can only surmise a few things about the sequence of events. A powerful enemy like Goetz probably didn't see the DD as a threat at first, but as their pranks began to distract him in his dogged determination to draw Agent Clark out of hiding, they probably began to annoy him. He would still likely have viewed them more like a buzzing mosquito than a hissing rattlesnake, but that changed with the boxer-brief flag. That he saw as a personal humiliation, and there was nothing Goetz hated more than being humiliated by someone of lesser status than himself. He became determined to silence the young pranksters, and in doing so, make an example for the rest of the town. He had to of course maintain a semblance of responsible leadership so as to not ruin his plans for Mimi Clark, so he sought the end of Skylar and Dale's pranking through a legal avenue: he ambushed their supply truck on its way back into town.
 
Dale was driving and Goetz arrested him on the spot. He got him on smuggling, rather than the more questionable charges Goetz considered linking to the theft of his personal intimates and any suggestions of personal libel he could claim in their public display. Dale was carted off to jail and nearly transported to the dreaded Loomer Ridge prison, thus beginning a chain of events that is perhaps the most well known chapter in our town's humble history – the Richmond-led revolt, the lockdown, and the official renunciation of our ties to the ASA.
 
Unfortunately, this is where the DD often disappear in many popular accounts of this important time period. Important as they were in the moments leading up to this changing of winds, their youthful rebellion and creative use of common practical jokes are details that are forgotten amidst the widespread panic of the townspeople, the unjust imprisonments, and the sweaty silhouette of Stanley Richmond's biceps as he defied Beck's regime and dug a grave. It would seem that by most of our accounts, the DD's voices were lost in time. I hope that my account provides a few details that may help to rectify this.
 
At the time, Skylar found her voice was lost in the roar of the panicked crowd. She had not been travelling with the smuggling convoy that day, as she had been scouting out the mine (recently commandeered by the ASA), gathering intel for future pranks. When she'd heard the news that her partner had been captured, she had run to anyone she could think of for help. For once, she would need the help of the adults whose authority she had so often contested. At first, she was overjoyed to learn that Jake and the rangers had stopped Dale's trip to Loomer Ridge, mid-voyage. His continued incarceration in the town hall jail cell, however, seemed to be forgotten by the adults who had scrambled to save him earlier.
 
“It's the best we can do,” Jake Green had growled at her, just as I rushed into the station to pass on the news that little Bonnie Richmond was dead.
 
“I don't know what I can do about that right now,” said a distracted Heather Lisinski as Skylar followed her to her car later that night.
 
“Can't you, I don't know, ask Beck? You have connections with him, right?” pleaded Skylar.
 
“No I don't!” Heather had said quickly, rounding on Skylar. “And you stay away from him too, got it?”
 
She had hurried away then, muttering something that sounded like “...way too young, but that's besides the point now...”
 
The poor kid was near tears when she cornered Jimmy and I as we left the med center the next morning. Usually I tried to keep a gentle but appropriately distant tone when talking with her, after that Green wedding where she'd been asking me to dance all night, but today I couldn't afford time to sugarcoat. “Sorry, Skylar, we've gotta get out and catch Goetz,” I said.
 
She started to protest again. I looked at her young, tear-stained face and remembered that moment only hours ago when I'd held Bonnie and seen the life leave her eyes. “I suggest you get yourself somewhere safe,” I said. “It wouldn't be good for you to get in Beck's way, or Goetz's.”
 
“Don't worry kiddo,” said Emily, giving Skylar an affectionate pat on the head as she walked by, stringing her gun over her shoulder. “It'll all be okay in the end. Cross my heart.”
 
Skylar looked from us to Eric and Jimmy, also racing by with their guns. “How bad is it out there?” she asked.
 
Emily glared at her as she got into the backseat of the car. “Ask someone who cares!”
 
Skylar was silent as she watched us drive towards our destiny, and for the next two days, she waited, visiting Dale in his cell, pretending she didn't know where we'd gone, and biding her time. She tried one last set of adults on the third day.
 
“I'm sorry sweetheart, but I think you'll just have to keep waiting for now,” said Gail.
 
“They're in hiding. They're not exactly in any position to make demands about prisoners,” said Mary.
 
“But there must be something you can do!” protested Skylar.
 
“They're not likely to listen to us either,” said April. “I don't know that there's much we can do, short of breaking him out ourselves. And well, with present conditions being as they are...” She shifted a sleeping Ruby from one arm to another. “I'm not exactly ready for a stealth operation.” She put her free hand on Skylar's shoulder. “Look, as soon as this blows over, we'll make sure Dale's set free. But right now, he's safe, and we need to go set up a safe house.”
 
“And I have to deliver a message,” said Mary, stepping to Skylar's other side. “But I promise, we'll make sure you're both okay as soon as we can.”
 
Skylar frowned, but nodded at this. She didn't put a lot of stock in promises, but at least they were claiming they cared. “Promise you'll take care of yourself til we get back?” asked April, raising her eyebrows.
 
Skylar frowned again, but the solicitous looks from the trio of Green women were enough to make the toughest orphan girl cave. “Yeah, fine.”
 
“Be careful,” said Gail, pressing a kiss to Skylar's forehead.
 
“Stay safe,” added Mary, pulling Skylar into a one-armed hug. “Oh, and feel free to use any of our stuff,” she said, motioning around the kitchen. “Food, supplies, anything you need.”
 
Skylar nodded her thanks and as the Green women left the ranch for a more secret location, she felt a sense of defeat. The feeling, she realized as she wandered around the Green ranch, idly searching for something to eat, was not unlike how she'd felt when the bombs first hit in September.
 
As she chewed on a piece of homemade fudge she'd found in a tin in the kitchen and sat in the ranch's living room, leafing through an old photo album Gail Green had kept of town events, she remembered the night, after the bombs, when she'd sat in her living room crying alone. How hopeless everything had seemed back then. How much had happened since then. There had been bad days but there had been laughter. There had been responsibility. And there had been one thing, more important than everything else.
 
With a dawning understand, she jumped up and brushed the crumbs off of her hands. She quickly searched the Greens' house for materials, planning as she went. She left the ranch fifteen minutes later. The photo album was still open to a page documenting the Jericho Elementary Founders day pageant of 1996. The picture most covered in fudge crumbs depicted a line of kindergartners dressed as farmers.
 
Dale had lost track of how long he had been waiting in the dark cell by the time Skylar was standing on the other side of the bars, her eyes glowing triumphantly, proclaiming that everything would be alright. If anyone else had shown up at the jail and told him so, he would have been doubtful, but it was her and he knew he would shortly taste freedom again. They ran quietly through the halls of the sheriff's department after she unlocked the door, making their way up the hidden staircase where we usually stored cleaning supplies, to the top level of the building.
 
“Here,” said Skylar, holding out the baby blue ASA golf shirt. “We only have a few minutes.” Her eyebrows were raised in a question mark. He understood the question. Did they dare put their name out there again, at this moment in time? Was there any point left?
 
He ran towards the far wall of the room. “I'll open the window.”
 
Their exit out of the building was as swift as her jailbreak, and they were several streets away as the soldier entrusted with guard duty stumbled out the front door and shouted at Mary and Eric Green, the only spectators present, about firecrackers and laundry soap.
 
They didn't speak again until they had made it several more blocks, and were standing in the alley near the church.
 
“Are you okay?” asked Skylar.
 
Dale nodded quickly. “You?”
 
She nodded breathlessly. He looked around. “What's happening with everyone else?”
 
“They're all – some of them are hiding – some of them are...burying people I think,” she spoke quickly. “Listen. The past few days have been scary.”
 
He nodded, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, lots of scary stuff going on, people getting arrested and killed and stuff.”
 
“Yeah,” she said, though that didn't seem to be what was on her mind. “The scariest thing was thinking you were gone.”
 
He stared back at her, waiting.
 
“I don't need anything else,” she said. “Don't need a salt mine, a store, our own personal army. I'm happy with you.”
 
“I'm happy with you too,” he said after a moment, a small smile forming on his lips.
 
“So whatever happens next...together, right?” she said.
 
He nodded. “I love you.”
 
“I know.” She gave him one teasing tilt of her head. “Love you too.”
 
And though the Devil's Duo's conversation, the long kiss that followed, and their walk home, hand in hand, happened quietly amidst the chaos of a town regaining its independence, their words that day would beat steadily through their lives, an undercurrent that they listened to in the days, weeks, and months that followed.
 
The DD were nowhere to be found in the crowd that sang along to the amorous serenade that interrupted our moment of silence on the first anniversary of the liberation, but their influence had never been clearer. Heather was smiling as her children's laughter rang out, and they reached their little hands for the bubbles that had begun to emanate from around the corner, floating over the heads of the audience members and glittering in the summer sun. Hawkins was muttering something under his breath, but Darcy was positively aglow, holding his arm in hers and singing along in his ear. The Greens had all dissolved into laughter, April, Mary and Trish swaying to the music with Violet, Scarlett, and Ruby on their hips, Jake not trying to disguise his amusement at Gray's discomfort, Eric chuckling and stepping up the stairs to stand on Gray's other side. “Want me to go find them?” he asked.
 
“No, what's the point? They'll be long gone,” sighed Gray. He turned back to the crowd. “May as well start the barbecue,” he shouted over the song. “Go on, everyone find your seats, enjoy.”
 
They didn't need to hear it a second time. Everyone was in a lighter mood now that they had shared a moment of surprise that didn't end in horror, as so many of our earlier shared surprises had. They began taking seats at the tables set up in the middle of the street, clustering in front of Bailey's where the barbecuing had begun, and dissolving into a hundred discussions of their own.
 
“Don't feel bad, honey,” Gail was saying as she and Gray descended from the porch, making their way over to the table that April and Trish had already staked out. “Look at our people. They're happy. That's what really counts, right?”
 
“I guess,” harrumphed Gray, a grudging look of acceptance finding its way onto his face.
 
“You can still give the toast, once everyone's sitting down,” said Gail. She pulled a set of cue cards from her purse. “I got this ready in case.”
 
Gray smiled. He really had the best wife in the world. “What would I do without you?” he asked.
 
“Here, I think Scarlett wants Grandpa to sing to her again,” said Eric, who had taken Scarlett from Mary moments ago. He passed the blond baby in the bright red dress to Gray, who nodded, an earnest look on his face as he prepared for one of his important grandfather tasks. “Sure I'll sing to you, Princess,” he cooed, sitting down between his other granddaughters and bouncing Scarlett on his knee. “Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more...”
 
Jake had been sitting at the table beside April, but as Gray's familiar chorus of “Hey Nonny Nonny” continued, he scowled, stood, and stalked off.
 
“Can't believe that he thinks that's a good song to sing to them. Does he want them to be jaded before they're even old enough to walk?” he muttered as he dodged between hungry townspeople.
 
“Jake! Lovely day, isn't it?” asked Emily, sidling up beside him. Jake's stormy demeanour didn't shift despite Emily's sunny expression. “You're not moping about Grandpa Gray again, are you?” she asked with a smile. “That's just silly.”
 
“You know what's silly?” he said, rounding on her. “He called her 'Princess'. Too bad he doesn't realize she's a Scarlett Green, not a Gray!”
 
“Well, excuse me for trying to have a normal conversation with you!” retorted Emily, her face clouding over furiously. “Excuse me for thinking maybe you'd want to have some company for once, instead of brooding endlessly on your own!”
 
“Some people are better off alone,” said Jake darkly. He turned and clomped past Stanley and Mimi, who had appeared out of nowhere and were balancing plates of burgers with perfect coordination.
 
Emily looked over at them. “What are you looking at?” she asked.
 
They said nothing, just shrugged and continued on their way. Emily stayed rooted to the spot, on the edge of the crowd. She couldn't help but worry that Jake was right, but she was annoyed that he had brought it up today. He seemed to have the knack of always saying the right thing to turn her day from a good one to a bad one.
 
Of course, Jake Green, it turns out, was not the only one with this power. Emily herself didn't realize it, and neither did almost anyone else. But maybe Jake should have. The day I realized it myself, I couldn't help thinking back to all the times we all should've seen it, and I started with the day Jake and Emily's relationship took a turn for the worse, right after the battle of New Bern...
 
 

 
The Allied States of Emily

or, The Good, the Bad, the Shifty

 
Emily was not enjoying the celebrations of the first anniversary of Jericho's liberation.
 
The day had started well enough, with the romantic song and the delicious food being cooked for everyone. She had been most delighted when Jake had stopped for some pleasant small talk.
 
She had even been glad when he'd shown his sensitive side, beginning to tell her about his inner feelings that just couldn't be hidden behind a roguish charm and lopsided smile. She had hoped that maybe, this time, she would finally be able to help him deal with his issues surrounding his fathers, original and step, now that he was finally confiding in her.
 
Then the tides had changed as rapidly as they had earlier when she'd thought fate was finally favouring them. He became angry, aggressive. He shouted at her about colours as if it was her fault his brother and sisters-in-law seemed so determined to let Gray handle their children. She couldn't fathom why he was staring her down with such malice, but it made her a little bit peeved, after all she had done for him.
 
Then Stanley and Mimi were standing there, blocking her way and staring at her like she was an alien. If only she were so lucky. If she was an alien, Oliver and Beck, two of the last eligible men in town, would be worshiping her. She had a sudden vision of herself dressed in silk robes, lounging on a satin couch high up on a pedestal, eating grapes and being fanned by the former major and current crackpot. She smirked. Then she remembered she wasn't an alien, so it was rather rude of Stanley and Mimi to suggest it. After she asked them why they were looking, they seemed to remember their manners, for they continued walking and Emily's eyes narrowed as they took their seats, the whole time touching each other on the arm, on the face, holding each other's hands. Did they have to rub it in, that they'd gotten lucky, when there were people around who hadn't?
 
Emily couldn't think of anything luckier than the idea of finding someone to share her life with. She had some strange thoughts sometimes, when she was alone, and she preferred to avoid the silences as much as possible. She found it easier when there was someone else to focus on. That was all she asked for. It was so unfair, that some people got lucky more than once while others didn't get any luck.
 
She caught a glimpse of Eric, going by with a handful of cups of juice, and scowled. Speaking of someone getting too lucky. What did Eric Green have that she didn't have? He wasn't such a catch. She was sometimes left wondering how he even landed one life partner, let alone three. She was just about to tell him so when he caught her off guard with a friendly smile.
 
“Having a good one, Emily?” he asked.
 
She remembered then, how kind Eric Green could sometimes be, and though he didn't always show this side, she figured it was best to encourage it when it came out. “I certainly am. Yourself?”
 
“Can't complain,” he said with a smile. “And I'm glad we were lucky enough to have such a nice day. I hoped it wouldn't rain, but can't control the weather right?”
 
Emily imagined herself suddenly, perched atop the roof of town hall, pouring over a large menu listing conditions from cloudy with a chance of thunder to breezy with a clear blue sky. She could see herself picking, pointing with a large conductor's baton, and waving her arms theatrically as the skies delivered whatever she had picked. Such a good chance to give back to the community. She could order a gentle rain shower the day after the horticultural team planted the flowers in the town hall plots. She could choose a sweltering hot day for the Fourth of July picnic, and a fluffy white Christmas.
 
She shook her head quickly as she realized Eric was talking about the DD-issued musical interlude from before. “Just glad Gray didn't take it too bad,” he was saying.
 
There he had to go, bringing up his own issues when she was trying to share a pleasant moment. Those Greens were all the same, obsessed with themselves and their own family, oblivious to everyone who didn't share their last name or their penchant for all things verdigris. She imagined, with a sudden pleasure, using her weather conducting baton to send a black storm cloud hovering over Eric's head, following him throughout his day, shooting out lightning at random moments. “Forget Gray,” she muttered.
 
Eric was looking at her, open-mouthed. “Well,” he said hastily. “Better go make sure the kids are being good.”
 
Emily gave an understanding nod, watching Eric go, somewhat wistfully. Why had he retreated from their conversation so quickly? Was it something she said?
 
I was nearby, chatting with Hawkins and Darcy at the moment, assuring Darcy I did indeed think her new bob haircut was stunning, when I saw Emily stalk by, ignoring Jimmy's “What do you think of the marinade? Not bad, huh?”
 
I knew my friend and fellow ranger was having a difficult time of it, but I was a little wary to approach her. Truth be told, ever since our brief “romance” in seventh grade, I'd tried to keep a healthy professional distance from her. She was always a good kid, when we were growing up, except for when that other side of her personality reared its head. Even then, I usually didn't blame her – I always thought she was just a bit more sensitive than the rest of us. But I knew it would be a mistake for me to get involved. She needed someone stable, someone who'd give her the attention a lone wolf like me never could. So I knew, the reason Emily was particularly out of sorts at that barbecue, but I was sure it wasn't the right time for me to intervene.
 
Emily Sullivan was lonely, and despite her network of friends, her carefully honed sense of independence, and her excellent command of a firearm (when she was in a good mood), she had realized that what she wanted was someone to share these things with, in that close, intimate way we do when we find someone special.
 
This realization had hit her smack in the face the night after the great battle with New Bern. Following her kiss with Jake right before the battle, an onslaught of memories – all the good times with Jake, the romantic evenings and happy mornings, and all the moments in between – had come rushing back. The death of his father put a damper on their reunion, for they both were to grieve Johnston Green deeply, but Emily made the decision that she would be there for Jake. The next night, as they leaned against each other on the back stoop of the Green house, she listened to his feelings (“I just can't believe he's gone for good”) and she vowed to herself to make things right this time. This time, she would be there for him and do everything she could to help him through these difficult moments. She would listen to his feelings (for she knew his turbulent waters ran deep) and she would share her thoughts with him, using them to cheer him up and give him a bit of hope as they moved forward through these desperate times. It got off to a great start, and she spent a few days providing Jake with a shoulder to cry on, baking cakes, and making offers to help his surprised family members as they moved forward too.
 
Things went sour after a week. Up to the end of the week, it had been going so well. She had moved into his house, they had been spending days attending meetings at town hall, trying to put things back together and figure out what to make of the ASA soldiers who had arrived in town, and most nights had been comfortable as they collapsed, exhausted, on the couch to recount their day. Then one fateful night, their time on the couch had been looking to progress to something more, but was cut short with a fight. Jake had protested (“All I said was I want you so bad! What's wrong with that?”) but Emily had come to a bitter realization. They were as dysfunctional as they'd ever been, their moods and wants never seemed to match, and if she stayed, no matter how much she wanted to stay, they'd only get in each other's way. In the midst of one of their biggest arguments ever, Emily packed her bags and left the house.
 
As Emily trudged back towards her house in the Pines, she went through in her mind all the offensive things Jake had done during their relationship. He was obsessed with his own feelings, but rarely asked about hers. He complained about her baking, no matter how hard she worked on perfecting it. He was preoccupied with Eric and his mother, blowing her off to go check on them. Those Greens. Ever since she was a kid, they'd been her friends, yet they always seemed to let her down in the end. She passed town hall, and Eric, who had been chatting outside with one of the new ASA administrators, noticed her and asked why she was dragging her suitcase behind her. She launched into an explanation, pointing out his brother's faults, though she wondered why he hadn't noticed them himself yet.
 
He nodded slowly throughout her explanation, looking almost as though he was afraid to say anything. Perhaps he did realize his brother was a jerk, but was just too tactful to intervene in his relationships. Finally, he said carefully, “Well, if you felt it was time to end it, I'm glad you did. It'll be good for both of you.”
 
“Really?” she asked, suddenly almost near tears at the sign that someone else cared. He nodded, and launched into a hesitant personal confession about how he had always thought maybe they weren't quite right for each other, but figured they had to figure it out for themselves in the end. She watched, wondering why she'd discounted his kindness and consideration before. Perhaps she'd been wrong. Perhaps not all the Greens were bad. Perhaps she'd just chosen the wrong one.
 
The next day saw Emily seated in the office of the Green commune. April and Mary sat side by side, in chairs behind the desk. They had passed her a glass of Razz-Apple surprise when she arrived, and they were sipping drinks of their own, April pausing now and then to give the cradle at her feet a gentle rock.
 
“So what've you heard about the new currency? They've been really tight-lipped every time I've gone down there to talk to them,” Mary said.
 
April nodded, and added, “And have you heard if they're sending more troops, or is this what we can expect?”
 
Emily wasn't interested in sharing information from her privileged position as one of the rangers (not that she was getting much in that department), but rather, relayed the same story she had given to Eric the previous night. They seemed dismayed at first, but they listened sympathetically, expressing their condolences for the end of the main romantic relationship in Emily's life.
 
Emily waved a hand dismissively. “It's okay. I've figured out a way I can still share my life with someone.”
 
“Did you ever think maybe you don't need someone, to have a good life?” asked April.
 
“Yeah, why do we have to focus on everyone getting matched up in some conventional relationship anyway?” asked Mary. “You know, you could be just as fulfilled, on your own, sharing your life with your friends and all the other people who appreciate you in this town. Any of us could.”
 
“Our conversations don't have to all revolve around men, or romance, or settling down, do they?” asked April.
 
“Like you're one to talk,” said Emily with a snort.
 
April raised her eyebrows. “True, we did both go the falling-in-love route.”
 
“But then again, we're not exactly a model of the conventional, are we?” asked Mary.
 
“Exactly,” said Emily. “That's why I'm here.”
 
The sister-wives paused for a moment, sharing a glance. “And what is it you want?” asked April, giving her a friendly smile that didn't quite meet her eyes.
 
“Well,” said Emily with a nervous smile. “I can't help but think you have a great set-up here. You both get the guy, at the end of every other day, but you also get to hold onto your independence the rest of the time.”
 
“Right,” said Mary, nodding but looking on expectantly.
 
“And well, I know I've been hung up on Jake for so long, but I've started to realize maybe you were the ones with the right idea. You backed the right horse, so to speak.” She glanced from the brunette to the redhead, hoping they'd catch on, though she wasn't sure they were the most able readers of subtlety.
 
It seemed that they did though, because something shifted in their demeanours. They shared another worried glance. “Emily, are you trying to say...?” asked April.
 
“I figured you could set us up, see if we click. Maybe if we do, I can join you all out here. I'd love to have a family and I'd pull my weight. I'm a great baker and I'll teach Ruby everything I know. I think you could really use another pair of hands, so you'd be winning too.” She let out a breath. She had tried to get her reasoning out there as quickly as possible.
 
Their faces were not as hopeful and excited as she had anticipated. “Em, what happened with us was kind of a unique scenario,” said Mary. “Eric and I fell in love. And before that, so did April and Eric. April didn't...recruit me to bake and babysit.”
 
“Well, how do you know we won't fall in love too?” asked Emily. She would prove herself, if they gave her a chance. “He's obviously interested in different types.” She sent a meaningful glance between them.
 
“It's not just that. We're happy the way we are. We're a great fit. That kind of thing, you can't plan for. It just kinda happens,” said April. “It's tricky when you adjust to someone new and we got lucky, it worked for us.”
 
Emily paused. She didn't want to sound rude, but what made them so much better than her? “You two get along. Why don't you think you'd get along with me? I'm as good as you.”
 
“You are as good as us, and we like having you for a friend,” said Mary with a careful smile. “It's just not the right fit.”
 
Emily nodded. Their words were negative, but she had an inexplicable feeling that things would work out, if she only kept trying. “Remember all the good times we had when we were kids, Mary?” she asked. “Remember that year we both played on the field hockey team?”
 
“Vividly,” said Mary, wincing as she remembered the spectacular black eye she'd gained one practice when she'd made a joke about the Jericho Marauders being unstoppable even in bad weather.
 
“And April, remember all the fun times you and I had when we were sisters-in-law?” said Emily. “Think of how much more fun it would be to be sister-wives!”
 
“We were never actually sisters-in-law,” said April, suddenly flashing back to her bachelorette party, where Emily had become upset about losing the “bad girl bingo” party game and ended up smushing the naughty-shaped cake on the floor. “But that doesn't matter. We're friends. What are labels?”
 
“A whole lot,” said Emily. “I'll take care of Eric. I'll take care of you. You're so kind and generous, you'll see reason, I'm sure.”
 
Ruby whimpered from her cradle on the floor, and April reached down to pick her up. Mary's expression seemed careful. “Look, Emily. It's going to be okay. I know things probably seem pretty bad right now, but you'll rise above this. You're one tough chick all on your own. You don't even need us.”
 
Emily swallowed. It was a bitter taste. She'd thought it had been bad being rejected by Jake so many times, but being rejected by Eric Green before he even knew she was interested? Rejected by women who'd been far less popular than her in high school, who couldn't even catch one whole man on their own and had to share? Her hands became fists and her face became a grimace.
 
My dear readers, I just wish to make a note here before the story continues. As this was a rather raw, painful moment in Emily Sullivan's life, she found herself using rather unsavoury language as she confronted the Green women over their rejection. While it is my intention to record details as accurately as possible to history, I will also keep in mind my responsibility to provide my contemporary world with a tome that is accessible to readers of all ages. In this effort, I may have slightly altered Emily's choice of words in the following exchange in the hopes of preserving the spirit of the dialogue without limiting the reach of this text to the more worldly of readers.
 
“I sure don't need a slatternly strumpet like you,” said Emily, practically spitting her words at Mary. “I wouldn't want to share a family with a fallacious floozy, even if you paid me.”
 
Mary was silent, though she narrowed her eyes. April couldn't stay quiet, though. “Excuse me?” she asked.
 
“But that's probably what you had to do, isn't it?” suggested Emily, rounding on the redhead. “How else did you convince Eric to stay with his hiemal harridan of a wife when he already found somewhere else to get his kicks?”
 
Mary was on her feet, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Careful what you say next,” she warned.
 
“Don't tell me what to do, Jezebel,” dismissed Emily. She kept her gaze on April, who had stowed Ruby in her cradle and pushed it a safe distance back, her expression of fury growing. “You disgust me more than her. What kind of a poor sucker moves in with her husband and his trollop?” She was practically shaking with rage, and the two pairs of infuriated eyes, boring into her from across the desk didn't deter her from continuing. “You should've been embarrassed, letting him hold onto you after he'd been with someone else. You're just pathetic.”
 
“Get out,” said Mary, stepping around the desk and gripping Emily firmly by the arm. April looked like she might spring to her aid, but Mary sent her a quick nod.
 
Emily scoffed. “What are you going to do? You're just a-”
 
“I know, some fancy word for skank,” said Mary humourlessly. “I don't care what you call me, you don't get to talk to her like that.” She began walking towards the door, pulling Emily with her. Emily couldn't believe how unfair it all was, how much she hated Eric's wives at this moment in time, and how strong the bartender's grip actually was.
 
“Come on April, that's all you're going to say?” asked Emily, glancing over her shoulder. “Not going to keep defending your half-wit husband and foolish family? Forget you all!”
 
They had reached the door and Emily tried to brace herself in the doorway. Mary leaned towards her and spoke in a low, warning tone. “Go, cool down, and think good and hard before you come back,” she said.
 
Emily was silent, staring at her friends. They looked so angry, and the baby had started to cry again. “Sorry things couldn't work out,” she said. She carefully walked away, wondering how her request to join the family could make them so angry, vaguely considering that perhaps Greens, whether by birth or marriage, tended to be hotheaded.
 
“Keep walking!” said Mary.
 
Eric passed a bewildered-looking Emily in the hallway. He looked towards his wives, both standing in the office doorway, looks of tension etched in their features. He had a strange feeling he'd arrived just after some kind of event, like when you awake just after a thunderstorm has passed. “What was that about?” he asked.
 
April and Mary glanced at each other. “Emily had a proposition,” said Mary.
 
“Wanted to ask if we'd consider adding another partner to our marriage,” said April.
 
A look of panic stole over Eric's face. “What did you tell her?”
 
April and Mary gave him the same withering look. “No, of course,” said Mary.
 
Relief washed over Eric's features. “Good. I can't imagine us needing anyone else at all. You two,” he looked back and forth between them, “you're all anyone could ever ask for.”
 
They both smiled, their rage dissipating now, but as he continued into the office to search for a spare ledger, they glanced at each other. A look passed between them as they considered Eric's words.
 
Emily, meanwhile, was despairing that her attempt at joining the Greens through a union with their second son had gone so horribly awry that now both his current wives were angry with her and she would be forced to think about her actions before returning. It had never been so much work, being with Jake. The commune was obviously just too much of a high-stress environment.
 
The next week, she met up with Jake outside town hall before her meeting with the J&R reps who were going to help her start up the school again. He smirked and said something about never seeing his sisters-in-law so good and worked up as they'd been when they recounted an odd visit she'd made them, and a few moments later, Emily was embracing him like they'd never been parted.
 
Emily's next attempt at attaching herself to Jake didn't go as she hoped, and neither did the next after that. After their spectacular breakup following the overthrow of the ASA in Jericho and Jake's mother's marriage to Gray, she worried she might actually never have someone to share her thoughts with.
 
“Why are you so worried about it anyway?” asked Heather one day, passing a soother to TJ as she sanded a side of the high chair she was assembling. “Having a man's not all it's cracked up to be. Sometimes, I think they're more trouble than they're worth.”
 
Emily glanced around at the collection of car seats and exersaucers, all containing happily babbling little Lisinskis. “Because when I'm on my own, I'm stuck thinking about things like whether or not the Richmonds' pigs could fly if I sewed them some wings.”
 
“They couldn't,” said Heather, concentrating on the screwdriver she was employing.
 
“See, I need someone to give me the tough answers,” said Emily. “Life is not the same without them.”
 
“You could make answers for yourself,” said Heather, her eyes on the blueprints she had drawn.
 
“I guess,” said Emily. She watched Libby, who was watching Heather's progress with eyes as wide as saucers. She wished she had someone, anyone, who would watch her movements with such keen interest. “You never have to be alone,” she pointed out.
 
“No,” said Heather, balancing an armful of dowels as she righted a set of stackable plastic rings that had fallen from Georgie's high chair. “But I don't have anyone giving me answers either. I figure things out for myself. And you know, it's not so bad.”
 
Emily grimaced as Betsy let out a particularly loud squawk. “Can't you get them to shut up? We're talking here.” She turned and glared at Abby, who had tossed a wooden block in her direction. “Got something to say to me, brat?”
 
Emily was asked not to return to Heather's workshop. She sat in her empty house in the Pines, pondering Heather's suggestion she take a good hard look at herself and wondering how her relationships, both romantic and with her girlfriends, seemed to have gone so wrong.
 
This was what she pondered again, the day of the first anniversary of Jericho's revolution. Everyone around her seemed to be able to sustain some kind of relationship, whether they were angst-ridden sheriffs with stepfather issues, completely opposite sister-wives, bumbling farmers and acerbic IRS agents or over-zealous cops with desperate housebound wives. These people blundered through their romances and family lives every day, unaware of these faults of theirs, yet she couldn't find someone to have simple conversations with.
 
“What's wrong with me, Bill?” she asked, coming up to me as the light began to wane. I sipped at my beer, hoping this wasn't going to lead to another awkward conversation like the one we'd had the month before. “I know you said you couldn't marry me, and I get that you're a lone wolf. But what about everyone else?”
 
“I don't know, Emily,” I said carefully. “I don't know if any of us does.”
 
“I asked everyone to marry me,” she said. “Every single guy I know, and even one married. Well, would have asked him, if his other wives didn't get in the way. There's just too many of them, you know? Too much competition.”
 
I gave a careful nod.
 
“I just don't know if my dreams will ever come true,” she said with a sigh, taking a seat and leaning her head in her hands.
 
“Pie?” asked Jimmy, arriving at our table with two pieces in front of him. “I know you love cherry.” I couldn't help but smile. “Thanks, buddy,” I said. “But I already had some.”
 
“Oh, okay,” said Jimmy with an affable smile. He looked from me to Emily. “How about you, Emily? Can I interest you in some cherry pie?”
 
“Sure, thanks,” she said with a glum expression. Jimmy pushed the piece of pie towards her and took a seat opposite us, quickly getting started with his own piece. He swallowed his first mouthful, and looked over at Emily. “Aren't you going to eat yours?” he asked, a kind smile on his features. “It's really good.”
 
A small smile formed on Emily's lips. “Okay,” she said quietly. She raised a forkful, looking over at him hesitantly. He gave her an encouraging smile.
 
She chewed thoughtfully. “It's really sweet,” she said. Jimmy nodded. “You're really sweet too,” she added.
 
He blushed. “I try,” he said. “Did you get a chance to check out the display they made in town hall yet?”
 
She shook her head.
 
“That's too bad,” he said. “There's a nice picture of you.”
 
Emily nearly choked on her pie. “I bet it's a crappy picture. I can find embarrassing displays on my own, you know.”
 
Jimmy was taken aback. I, on the other hand, had been watching this dialogue with curiosity, turning something over in my head that I had been wondering about for some time. I decided to try something. “Hey, Emily – I'm sure it's a good picture of you. Don't think any others exist.”
 
Her expression softened. “Thanks, Bill.”
 
Jimmy nodded earnestly, seemingly glad her bad mood had dissipated so quickly. I wondered for a moment if I should go through with it, but I opened my mouth again. “Of course, the picture of Gray – pretty bad.”
 
Her scowl was instant. “Hard to get a nice one of him. You'd probably get so much glare.”
 
I stifled a chuckle. Jimmy, on the other hand, was as bewildered as ever, but he tried to save the situation. “I think they made sure to pick good ones of everyone,” he said, placatingly.
 
Emily turned back to him. “I hope so. I want everyone to be happy. We're all in this together, right?”
 
Jimmy nodded. “That's how we get through everything the way we do, right? The more, the merrier.”
 
Emily chuckled softly. She passed him a napkin. “You have a bit of cherry on your chin.” She giggled as Jimmy wore a somewhat embarrassed look.
 
I stood to get myself a refill, watching as Emily asked “So Jimmy – what do you think it would be like if someone could control the weather, with a conductor's baton?”
 
“I think it'd be pretty awesome,” said Jimmy. “You could make sure it snowed for Christmas!”
 
I chuckled to myself. The thing I had long suspected seemed to be true. It wasn't the people around Emily, that sent her behaviour into such opposite swings of beautiful and beastly. It wasn't even some internal mechanism that none of us would ever be able to predict. It was something simple – two little words.
 
I considered whether I should tell anyone. That didn't seem fair. It was her business, as much as Jake's secret teddy bear in a cowboy hat, Heather's diary detailing a wild three months of living in the end of times, and the commune Greens' fridge schedule, were all their own private matters. I could try to discuss it with Emily herself, but what good would it do, when the words themselves would bring out the two different personalities? Who knew if the personalities were even aware of each other? Maybe she would continue hanging out with Jimmy. He'd be a good friend for her to have – as the most positive person I know, I couldn't think of anyone more likely to use the word “good” on a regular basis.
 
I was pleased to see that they were still sitting together when I came back with my beer refill. Glad too that they were still smiling. But even I hadn't anticipated what was coming.
 
“I'm so glad you agree!” Emily exclaimed, leaning across the table to give him a quick kiss. She turned to me. “Oh, Bill, so glad you're back! We have the best news – we're going to be married!”
 
“What?” I asked, looking over at Jimmy, who looked to be in just as much shock as I was.
 
“Uh...I didn't know that's what you meant,” he stammered. “I thought I was agreeing to-”
 
“Oh, this is the most wonderful thing ever!” said Emily. “I'm going to go tell Gray he has to officiate at another wedding!”
 
“Whose wedding?” asked Allison Hawkins, who had been passing by with a plate of chocolate chip cookies.
 
“Mine!” said Emily, an elated grin stretched across her face.
 
“Oooh who are you marrying?” asked Allison, momentarily tearing her eyes away from me to give Emily her undivided attention.
 
“Jimmy!” said Emily, gesturing at her intended before waltzing off.
 
As Allison smiled sweetly and offered me a cookie, Jimmy stood, bewilderment all over his face. “But – I'm already married,” he protested.
 
“I know the feeling,” said Eric, who had been passing by with three wine glasses full of orange juice. His sympathetic grimace disappeared as someone cleared their throat from behind him. He turned. His three wives were seated side by side at a nearby table. They did not look amused. “Of course, I couldn't be happier,” he said quickly. “Here you go, Sweetheart,” he passed April one of juices. “Honey,” he nodded at Mary, who smiled back at him. “And here's yours, Buttercup.” He handed the last to Trish. He looked back over at Jimmy. “Once you get over the shock, you'll love it.”
 
“Eric, I think the girls would love to go for a walk,” said April. She was holding Violet in her lap. Eric nodded, reaching for the toddler in the purple dress, scooping her up and depositing her in the middle of a little red wagon. “Come to Daddy, Ruby,” he said, picking up Ruby from where she had been standing, holding onto to Trish's knee. He put her into the wagon next, and finally reached for his youngest, who had been dozing in Mary's arms. Once he had three little girls safely seated in the wagon, their dresses making a pattern of purple between red, he said “Let's go for our walk, girls.” The little girls giggled as their father raised the handle of the wagon and began to pull it.
 
Their mothers smiled, waving as they left. “Adorable, aren't they?” asked Trish. Her sister-wives nodded.
 
“I wonder if Heather would mind building us a bigger wagon,” said April with a thoughtful look. Mary gave her a knowing smile. Trish raised her eyebrows.
 
I escaped quickly as they raised their orange juice in a toast. I walked through the crowd instead. The Hawkinses were eating cookies together, all wearing relaxed expressions, even Hawkins himself. Gray and Gail were offering Emily congratulations while a bemused Jake looked on. Heather was showing her babies how to play a clapping game, an advanced sort of Patty Cake, and they waved as their colourful friends rode by in their little wagon. At the edge of the crowd, the DD was sipping wine, calculating smirks on their faces. I grinned. It was a nice sight, to see that a year after so many bad things had happened, we were making the most of the good.