Mafia The Third: The Seaside Town of Aifam Cove

[RielCZ]

The sound of bustling commotion woke the mid-twenty-something. "Odd," he remarked. Usually, his alarm set for ten would prompt his mattress withdrawal, and only after repeated hits of the snooze button... at least on the weekends. On weekdays, he'd wake at 7:30 to tend to Barbra and get ready before work. His place of employment, "Sport and Board" -- of which he was assistant to the manager -- was only three blocks from his house, and he could easily take Barbra with him whenever she wanted to come along (which was most days).

Rilen Forsythe, a lifelong resident of the mainland, lived in a tiny house near the city's downtown, a region featuring a mix of residential and business facilities. Even after reimbursing Lora for the expenses of the speedboat and weaponry, there was enough of Miko's money left over to go, several times, to "someplace warm"; he'd spent it on his own home -- albeit with a mortgage -- instead. (Bills could sometimes get overwhelming, but they weren't the worst things he'd ever encountered...)

And though the house was small, the yard was large enough for whatever flowers and vegetables he chose to grow. It was summer, now, and he'd occasionally place Barbra beside his other plants and let them converse or do whatever they'd do; his most wonderful talking flower had grown into quite the magnificent plant over the past six months -- he'd already transplanted her into a larger pot once -- and Rilen feared he might one day have to plant her in the garden. But, thankfully, that day wasn't today.

Earlier, Rilen had attended a university further south, studying Engineering. Long story short, he got bored and flunked out. A few months after returning to the mainland, however, Rilen thought about resuming his studies and finishing the last couple of years in his Bachelors degree. His old engineering and boarder-friend Dale -- one of his several wealthy acquaintances -- had even offered Rilen a loan. Rilen scouted out colleges in his area, but stopped his search -- at least temporarily -- when he came across an ad for Prettyboy College. 

Also, it was while attending that university further south Rilen realized he had a talent for sand-boarding. It was a most excellent sport. In Aifam Cove, six months prior, he'd tried transferring his skills over to snowboarding. He... wasn't the greatest at it, but wasn't terrible. After Aifam Cove, however... he decided to give up trying snowboarding altogether. It brought back too many terrible memories...

Groggily, he gazed at the picture of Miko hanging crookedly on the wall, not too far from the pedestal where he kept Barbra. OK, bittersweet memories... but he still chose not to continue snowboarding. 

Once summer rolled around, he decided to take up surfing; he managed to get an already on sale board at staff discount. Score for Rilen! He practiced whenever he had the chance to get out to the Netwah Sea, and was gradually improving.

Regardless...

First on today's agenda: scouting out the source of that commotion. Quickly getting dressed and tending to Barbra -- she loved him and always danced as he watered her -- Rilen grabbed his plant and walked briskly outside to follow the noise.

Whatever was happening down there, a huge number of people were part of it. He walked a bit closer. There were clearly cameras and... someone on their knees cheering?

Holy crimony! A floating doughnut? Rilen grinned. So that's what it was! The annual July Carnival Parade! He couldn't believe he'd forgotten... he must have just been too wrapped up in life as of late. "Hmm, Barbra?" he asked his plant in a hushed tone. "What say we go closer and see the parade?"

***

In her large home in suburbia, Lora had just watered her coleus. It came to look a lot healthier over the past several months... She supposed water and care were all it needed. Rilen had been right, tending to plants did help one relax.

She sat down on her couch and turned on the TV. Hmm, the July Parade was on... Rilen was probably there. Barbra, too.

But that plant didn't like her, she sensed that vibe from it... It made inviting her brother over to dinner awkward. She used to tease that plant, say to it, "I'm going to put you in my soup," but she mellowed after a while.

Regardless, Lora would still have Rilen and Barbra over from time to time. Actually, she'd have to set up another dinner, soon... She had recently made friends with a young woman named Jenny who worked as a florist, and Lora decided she would to try to set Jenny up with her brother. (Jenny was also studying Psychology... or was it English? It didn't matter, but Lora hoped the former... She swore there was still something wrong with Rilen, what with his stories of talking plants and resurrections and invisible bracelets.) 

Lora grinned at the thought of playing matchmaker, just like her old hairdresser back in Aifam used to... She'd yet to find another person who could make her hair look as good as that guy could. Also, she'd heard he'd died. She missed him. She missed a lot of people. She missed Aifam in general. Lora had only lived there -- actually lived there -- for a year and a half, and though the winter was cold the people were always so warm and friendly...

Except for the people who apparently were only warm and friendly while keeping up some kind of facade, but she didn't want to think about that anymore. She'd just place unfounded blame and end up hating the whole town... She couldn't do that; it was nothing if not idealized.

Lora refocused her attention back on the television. On the screen, a calliope just went by. Her mouth a neutral line, she found her remote and began flipping through channels; sure, she liked parades, but there were other things to watch.

She glanced across her living room at the cello she swore she'd one day learn before turning back towards her flat-panel.

Certainly there were things more mentally stimulating than a parade.

Ooh, like what celebrities deserved some good ridicule!

Lora grinned and settled into her couch.

***

Rilen returned from the parade. It had been pretty good this year. His favorite part, as always, was the calliope. And then the giant inflatable surfer. That dude was cool. 

He set Barbra down and started preparing a light brunch -- he swore he had some leftover turkey slices in the fridge and could make himself a sandwich -- but the ringing of his phone thwarted his mealtime, at least for now. "I'll get you yet," he said accusingly to the turkey slices -- for some reason the name "Webster" came to mind at this but he wasn't sure why -- before closing the 1980's fridge door. 

The boarder picked up his phone. "Hey," he said casually to whomever was at the other end of the line. "Rilen here."

"Hey, Rilen, guess what?"

Dale. Miracles! It had been a while since he'd last talked to Dale... Rilen supposed it was when he'd told his engineer friend he'd stopped actively seeking out colleges. Rilen shuddered at the thought of Prettyboy and Bardsley. "What, Dale?"

"I'm flying north next Friday for a business meeting! It shouldn't take too long, and then we can spend the weekend partying!"

Rilen grinned. "Sounds great!"

"Actually, I was thinking we could go for a weekend trip up to that tourist trap across the Netwah. Aifam Cove, right?"

Rilen's heart skipped and he started to sweat. Oh, 'Woo. "Er... Aifam Cove?"

"Yeah, I'll rent a speedboat. We can be there in a few hours. It'll be you, me, and that plant of yours against the beachfront world."

The boarder wasn't sure entirely how to respond. "Er... I don't know."

"Come on!" Dale pleaded. "There's surfing, babes... a special at the Stallion Inn. I called ahead -- some guy named Nicholas or something promised me one. He was in a good mood, said he was getting married." Rilen, who could tell Dale was grinning with self-satisfaction, remained silent, unable to formulate a response to his friend's proposal. Dale sensed this and continued; "I know you used to go there in your youth, but it's really changed! I heard about this one new feature... Every week, over the loudspeaker, some guy reads segments of a book written by this lunatic named Richem..."

The corners of Rilen's mouth twitched into a weak smile. "Alright. We'll see, Dale."

"That's the spirit! See you in town next week!" Dale said excitedly.

Would anyone in Aifam even remember him at this point? He had only been there for two weeks... And with his new surfboard in hand, he'd definitely blend into the tourists. But then there was Barbra... He supposed the citizens would certainly remember her. But maybe they wouldn't... maybe they'd just find Rilen another plant-toting fool. (He briefly thought about not bringing Barbra at all, but cast that thought out of his head.)

After all, Rilen had left Aifam practically as he came; something of a nobody. Rilen straightened. Hmm... No, not a nobody. He had helped the resistance... That nun, that trench coat girl, the vet assistant, the Dylans kid. He gazed down at the ghostly bracelet he still wore; it was interesting to test who could see it and who couldn't. Anyway, yeah; that guy. 

He thought about going just to show up and surprise everyone, see how the resistance was faring.  How the town was faring. 

Maybe.

Maybe.

Maybe.

He'd think things through and discuss everything with Barbra later.

"Rilen?" Dale asked.

Rilen snapped out of his reverie. "Oh, yeah?"

"Pretty long pause, there. I'll see you next week."

"Yeah, sure."

"Take care of yourself, man."

"Will do, you too. Bye," Rilen finished as he hung up the phone.

One day he'd go back to Aifam. Maybe not next week, but one day. One day... One day, the mafia would be ousted and everything would be as it should be.

Rilen smiled.

One day.

But to-day was the weekend!

Rilen smiled wider.

SPOILER: Click to show

In a post comparing/contrasting my Round 0 one... Rilen's life is different - better, even - after returning from Aifam. It's not ideal, but he has a job, a house, his mind, and Barbra. Things will work out for him.

Then he takes Barbra to a parade. Ooh, floating doughnuts!

***

A bit of insight into Lora's character is revealed. She's sad the deaths occurred and misses Aifam in general... but doesn't want to think about the people too much or she'll start pointing fingers and hating them.

She also plans to set Rilen up with a new friend of hers who is a florist.

***

Rilen gets a call from an old buddy asking if he wants to go up to Aifam Cove the following weekend. After some deliberation, Rilen decides maybe he can handle going back. See how the resistance and the town are faring... 

But it's the weekend now, and will push Aifam Cove out of his head for a little while longer.

SPOILER: Click to show

Another part I tried to fit in but couldn't; I suppose I consider it non-canon.

Rilen's reasoning for going back to school, which he explained to Dale, was this: "To paraphrase a common phrase... Give a man a bunch of money, he can buy a bunch of things he needs. Give a man the means to make a bunch of money to buy a bunch of things, he can... do stuff and then gloat he has an Engineering degree. I don't know, at least I'm not going into English."

SPOILER: Click to show

((Thanks for the game, everyone. This was very enjoyable, to see the story and characters grow and evolve... I really liked being part of it and I'm so doing Mafia IV in some shape or form.  Until next time!))

[Stal]

And whatever did happen to Mr Stal?

His ghost never appeared, his presence just faded away.

But he was there. Mr Stal was colder now that he lacked the heat of a body. And as always calculating and unobtrusive. Observant.

And when the time came and he had seen everything he needed to, he floated out of town. He visited friends. Associates. Partners. People who would be interested in his death, and people who would love to take over his business.

And people who would love to help others pay the price for their arrogance.

Had they only left well enough alone, left him alone, he could have lived alongside them.

But now Mr Stal was coming back to town. And not many hours behind him, flocking in a few days at a time, his crew would arrive.

And when they did, real revenge could be served.

Mr Stal set foot on Stalberry Road and let himself manifest. He grinned devilishly.

"Honey, I'm home."

[Mostly Harmless (flufflepuff)]

((This is partially a collaboration between myself, Rosalie Dylas (Maddy) and Pixie where their respective characters appear. This post is also a monster so hold onto your hats guys stuff is about to get real in here. I'm not joking. Be careful ;3 ))

Endre scribbled on his reports furiously, numbers flying through his head and his fingers. As he worked, he cursed the mafia for forcing him to let a stray 10 turn into 100, which was almost as painful for him as it was for an English teacher making a spelling error on purpose.

His eyes and hands traveled down the page, and, once it'd reached its end, he flipped the page over and continued to analyze the given report and "correct" the numbers.

He sighed, concentrating double to focus on what was right and what was wrong. His wife was definitely in the wrong--he blamed her entirely. It'd been six months at least since he'd had a good night's sleep--the pistol under his pillow made sleeping a very taxing and lumpy business. It'd been six months since they had split the beds apart. He often rolled over onto the floor, having not yet accustomed to sleeping alone.

Six months since he saw his little girl last. He recalled the last thing he'd said, "Why can't you stay little forever?" he'd teased, spinning her around. Famous last words.

Endre gritted his teeth and crossed out a stray 34. The current of life was dragging him farther and farther out to sea, where he would eventually grow too tired to float, and drown. It was all her fault!

Endre recoiled and stared at the paper once more. This report had already been....no. He'd already gone over this--it had been from the previous quarter, he realized with horror, looking at the date.

No wonder the sequence of numbers had looked vaguely familiar.

Alma pushed open the door of Aifam Accounting. She made sure to push on the door just enough to make a noise soft enough so as not to disturb her husband but loud enough for him to hear her subconsciously. "Endre?"

"Mmm?" he grunted, erasing his work on a computer.

It was the same as the past several days. He knew what she was going to say. "I brought your favorite. But it's duck this time."

That got his attention. Duck? Endre raised his head and looked into her face.

There she was. The woman he'd married years ago, the woman who laughed and swam with him, who'd gotten him to swim for the first time...

She had bags under her eyes. Her sad, brown eyes. Why?

Endre stared. Who was this woman? He squinted. There was the Alma with whom he'd laughed. He blinked. There was the Alma who murdered people--for....for him...He rubbed his eyes. There was the Alma who always tried her best.

"Alma...."

She interrupted him, with the same words she'd said to him for several days. "I know you get cranky when you're hungry, and I couldn't help but notice that when you work so hard, you often forget to ea--"

"Alma!" A tiny thrill jolted through her system at the...authoritative and yet sweet way he'd called her name. "Yes?" she asked timidly.

"Did you bring your lunch, too?"

Alma blinked. "Yes....why?" Her heart raced. Surely he'd never ask her to...

"Good. It's noisy out here." The faintest hint of a smirk snuck itself onto the side of Endre's mouth. "Let's talk and eat our lunch in my office."

Alma felt another shiver run through her. She knew her husband better than anyone, and she knew that this request wasn't just a request--it was a command, and one she was more than happy to follow, at that. She hadn't been this excited since Bardsley's unofficial house party--it must have been stressful, because she ended up throwing up quite often the next morning, and even woke up next to a...

Those days were over. "Yes." She smiled at him with a smile that had been forgotten for years. "Yes, let's." Alma reached over to take his hand, but Endre grabbed hers first. It would definitely take more time to understand his enigma of a wife, Endre thought.

He wasn't going anywhere, though. He had time, he thought again, as he and Alma headed into his office, where the blinds were immediately closed and a sign hung on the door.

A pistol lay dormant and forgotten at the bottom of a cubicle drawer.

-------

Alma lolled her head out of the office chair and bolted upright. How long had it been since she and Endre had...eaten...

She scooped the remains of the plastic containers and bottles of water and tossed them in the trash. "Endre...?" She shook him. Poor thing always got drowsy after duck, she mused. He barely moved. "You're still on your break...but I've got some business to take care of." She paused, admiring the slightly wrinkled curves of his eyelids. Poor fellow needed to sleep. She smiled and planted a kiss on his forehead. "I'll see you later tonight," she whispered, then fled out the door.

Alma tightened her thin translucent scarf around her neck while racing down sidestreets and through alleyways. "Are you there?" she whispered, her heart pounding madly. She scanned the refuse and debris in the alleyway for any sign of--

Luscious locks.

"Professor?" she whispered, stepping closer. Indeed, it was a very annoyed Professor Bardsley, looking only slightly cross. "You're late," he said, and led her out of the alleyway. "Let's go." The two stepped out of the alleyway and down Little Drive. "Have you brought your husband's pistol?" Bardsley asked in his classically silky voice. Alma felt herself growing metaphorically drowsy. "No. But I have a weapon that will do the job cleanly." She pointed to her neck. The professor nodded, satisfied.

Without another word, Alma kicked open the door of Scoops a Daisy and gracefully strode in, her scarf taut between her hands, followed closely by a well-armed Professor Bardsley.

"Good afternoon, Miss," Bardsley purred. The server froze mid-scoop. "Wh....what would you like?" she squeaked. Alma looked at her. She was practically a stick, and couldn't have been older than 17. Bardsley chuckled. "Come now, you've been living here long enough. And if you don't know, then you must find out...the hard way." He cocked the pistol and raised an eyebrow at how much the girl trembled at the sound. "Please...what is it you want?" she practically hiccupped.

Alma gripped the scarf tighter. "We keep you safe." she said in a voice flat and even.

"And you...help us keep it that way," Bardsley finished with a dazzling, toothy smile. "What's your name, child?"

"Rowena." She squeaked again, eyes wide as saucers.

"Wouldn't you think that you're due for protection right about now?"

"I....I...."

"Wouldn't you?"

Rowena squeaked again, dropping the scoop and handing the Professor a wad of Shinies.

"Hm, a bit low for this month, but I suppose it'll do." Bardsley nodded and pocketed the money. Alma placed her scarf on the counter. "Don't forget next time. It'll be easier." Rowena nodded.

The bell of Scoops a Daisy gave a mournful chime as the two mafiosos exited. "Ah!" Alma stopped suddenly just as the professor sheathed his weapon. "Yes?"

"I left my scarf in there." Alma blinked and looked down at Professor Bardsley's shoes.

"You're joking. You can't go back in there!" he protested. "There might be reinforcements."

Alma thought fast. "It was Lynna's." she lied.

Bardsley sighed. He would never fully understand the connection between her and her family. "Go get it. I'll keep watch." "Thank you," she replied, and bounded back in.

Alma slowed her steps as she noticed fearful tears streaming down Rowena's face. Silently, Alma reached into her pocket, and Rowena instinctively recoiled.

The girl blinked in complete and utter surprise when Alma placed several Shinies on the counter and grabbed her scarf. "It's not everything," she whispered, "but it should keep the business going. Just...don't forget." Alma grabbed her scarf and wound it round her neck. "It'll be easier if you remember." Rowena nodded, her eyes shining. "Thank you..."

The words barely escaped her mouth before Alma slipped out of the door.

"Is that everyone, then?" "Yes, that's everyone for this season." Alma looked down at a chart she'd made, having pulled it out of her bag.

"Well then." He nodded.

"Professor Bardsley." "Ms. Mathers."

Alma narrowed her eyes. "Mrs. Fitzgibbon," she corrected. Bardsley nearly choked back a snort. How fascinating. "He's going to leave eventually, you know. Why hold onto the reminder?"

Alma looked down at his shoes once more. "My name is Mrs. Fitzgibbon."

Professor Bardsley sighed. "Mrs. Fitzgibbon," he said curtly.

"Professor Bardsley."

The two parted ways.

------

Due to years of practice, Alma had no problem changing into and out of her swimsuit. And it was with the same speed and flowing agility that she flew down the streets, her skirt billowing, checking her watch and fearing Time, its grip tighter than an eel's.
Just as she was about to sink her feet into Sirensong Beach, a ghost flew by, almost aimlessly.
“Lili,” she breathed, almost without realizing it. Alma stopped, her shoes creating friction as she gracelessly stopped running. It’d been too long since she’d even thought of her old friend--had she been asleep? No, that was impossible. Perhaps.

Lili glanced up from her travels, and was alarmed to find herself right beside Alma. Alma, who had been her assistant and companion during her years in Aifam, and who had turned on her in grief when Lili couldn’t keep the masquerade anymore. She looked up at Alma, who had lost so much and had just found a friend again. The vivid memory of the scarf pulling tight around her throat, the pain of Alma strangling her to death, ripped through her ghostly form. She held back the agony and the overwhelming impulse to cry out, not wanting to scare away Alma before they had the meaningful conversation she was suddenly ready for. Lili lifted her chin skyward and pressed folded hands between her collarbones, as if she was praying.

There was only silence as the redheads exchanged their glances, Alma’s eyes drifting to evidence of a white gown... and a bright red ribbon. There was silence, as the sun lit up the two of them, one translucent, one opaque. “Look,” Alma felt her voice creak through her parched throat. “I’ve made a terrible mistake, but I did try to fix it...but the notes were gone…”

Lili shook her head when she heard of her friend’s folly. “Alma, I’m ashes swirling in the ocean. You can’t undo that.” Lili had recently wandered, where she had been ignored and heard of stories surrounding her mysteries. It felt strange to converse with one of the living after being adjusted to them running away in terror from her. Alma had sought her out instead of turning her away, and Lili’s emotions were jumbled.The two had been the best of friends before the Mafias invaded Aifam and destroyed both women in one way or another. She thought nervously of Alma sneaking around trying to get the notes and the danger that would have brought. Death was a shattering experience that she did not wish it upon her. There was no point in dreaming over whether she would have liked to come back or not, but Alma still had the rest of her life ahead of her. “That was dangerous, Alma.”

“How else was I going to help? I didn’t know you were….you were…” despite her attempts, the woman could not say the word “cremated.” She hastily looked away, out towards the sea. Lili was out there, somewhere, never to be revived. “In a way, you’re part of what’s living, too.” Alma’s words reverberated in her chest. The ocean itself was alive, and Lili had fully merged with it, but here she was, alive in front of her, too! Alma smiled at her--it was a half-formed, lopsided smile, but it was nonetheless a smile. The smile quickly faded as a question tickled her mind, namely: “why did she come back here?” To haunt you, of course. was the thought that quickly answered.

Lili thought about her ashes intermingling with the aquatic life. She was saddened to hear that Alma had not been to her final ceremony. Perhaps, she thought, she had been and was suppressing it. At the moment, Alma appeared to be worried and simultaneously lost in thought. Almost as if she’d read her mind, Lili floated closer in alarm.

“No, I haven’t came here with anything resembling purpose. I’m a wanderer.” She held out a hand as if to dissuade any false ideas from Alma’s mind. “You should be aware, the years that I’ve known you have been quite enjoyable compared to the rest of my troubled life. Aifam was never really my place, but it wasn’t just the teddy bears that made it bearable.” The ghost looked Alma straight in the eye. “This forsaken place is no good for you. We need to get you out of here.”

Not just the teddy bears? Alma instinctively stepped back, almost as if unwilling to comprehend the sheer compassion of her friend.

Lili saw Alma dressed in her cover up, a scarf wrapped loose around her neck. With the realization, a sudden jolt of pain punctuated her thoughts. She visibly winced, and glanced fearfully at Alma. She couldn’t be hurt anymore by her since she was already dead, at least not physically hurt. She already had her turn murdering Lili, but others were in danger as long as she remained a Mafioso. Alma was compassionate, but in her fear she committed terrible acts.

Alma noticed Lili recoiling in pain and stepped closer. “Are you quite all right…?” The notion that Lili was in pain, disturbed, because of her--Alma was torn between running away and trying to fix it in whatever way she could--Lili, however, regained her composure and continued to speak.

“Yes. Somewhat. This happens all the time. Just promise me you won’t...” Lili choked, shifting in midair, “you won’t kill anyone else with that, or anything. No one else needs to die, Alma. No one else needs to be hurt. I don’t want to hurt you. I love you, and I am tormented by you, all the same.”

Alma jerked back, almost as if she only just realized that she was wearing a scarf in Lili’s presence. She yanked it off of her neck, but held it in her hand. With that though, The image had become closer to the morbid scene of that day. Not to mention promising not to kill? That would essentially put everyone she knew who was alive (and dead!) in danger! Alma frantically grasped for a response, but looking at the scarf, only one person came to mind. “Lynna...this one’s hers. I’d never use it for something like that. I won’t do that to anyone before he’s ready again.”

Lili flickered at both the news and the promise. “You’ve found her?” Lili had wondered about Lynna from time to time since her death, but she hadn’t found any concrete information about Alma’s child in her travels.

“Sort of.” Alma looked again at the ocean. The ocean that had taken her friend, her daughter, the ocean she could never bring herself to hate. She looked back at Lili. Was Alma her ocean? The woman had taken everything away from her and yet floated back to Aifam and talked with her. Lili was something else. “She found me when I was...unconscious.” Yes. That was a good word to use for that state.

“Unconscious?” Lili asked, tilting her head with puzzlement and worry. She wondered what her friend had been through and if it was an assault on the body or mind that brought her unconsciousness. Something felt concealed with reluctance of the word. She tried to delve deeper and reveal the secrets with a concerned glance.

Alma looked again at the ocean and was reminded of not only her shift starting soon, but of her daughter’s intervention. Had Lynna not been in that place at that time…. “She saved me from…” No, Lili didn’t need to know the exact details. The poor girl would be heartbroken. “Myself.” That was definitely true.

“She’s alive--” Wait a second. The words spun through her like alarm bells chiming in her head. She knew Alma was unstable, and comforting her had been Lili’s role in life. What had happened to her when she was gone that had made her a danger to herself? The implications of it, what despair may have culminated in, sent her shuddering. “Wait, why do you say, ‘from yourself?’” The wisp raised an eyebrow.

“I was in trouble. And no, she’s not alive.”

It was partly a noncommittal answer, but somehow Lili gleaned part of her meaning, her fears confirmed. The other half was the foreseeable tragedy of a deceased child. The woman had known great loss, and committed horrid acts which would consume the heart of any empathetic being.

“That’s terrible,” Lili gasped, darting to give Alma a light hug. There was no corporeal sensation and it was a struggle not to pass through her friend. “Still, being a ghost makes her no less of a person.”

Alma thought of the playdates Lynna had with Lenore. They were both still children and acted as such, except when each shared their respective type of wisdom. Lynna especially was a peculiar sort, because she said things so nonchalantly. She was still a child. “That’s true,” Alma conceded.

Nearly the first thing Lynna had said to Alma regarding her death was how free she was. “You know…” Alma smiled that shaky half-smile again as the image of her daughter’s face, still alive, flashed through her mind. “You can swim anywhere you like. You’re free.”

“I’m free and I’m lost,” Lili responded, searching for an emotional tether to any place. “I don’t know where I will go from here. Listen… take this ribbon, from me to you.”

She undid the bow from her neck with unsteady hands. It draped red over the translucence of her palms. The ribbon came to her when she had died and the strangers of the living knew her by it. Underneath, the grotesque ring of bruising was visible in her spectral form. No one had seen her wounds in their full form before, not even herself. It was nauseating. With Alma’s handiwork unveiled, she floated close by her side. Lili wrapped the strand precisely around her friend’s right wrist.

“I’ll tie it onto you and you will know I am here, even if I’m far away. The others won’t see it, it’s as ghostly as I am. It’s between you and me. If you can’t get out of here, this is a sign to hold on. This is a sign of remembrance. I feel will have to move on someday from this world for good. I don’t know when that time will come. It could be a millennia of wandering, or I’ll disappear tomorrow if epiphany strikes.You have a friend, Alma. You are capable of so much, so be mindful. I don’t when know the next time I see you will be.”

"Lili...." Alma instinctively reached for her friend. "Take care," Lili closed her eyes and she faded into the afternoon light. She would wander again, on a quest for self and belonging, a quest of repentance and acceptance. Perhaps there would be ghosts like her in the afterworld, or she would find a rare place among the living. She could foresee that Aifam would be freed before her spirit would, though she was not an oracle. She was a woman who could see ghosts and a woman who became one. It shouldn’t have happened, but the past could not be rewritten. All the sweet memories and bitter regrets would linger with her, sending her restlessly across the world. Someday, there would be peace for her and everyone. As irrational as it was, she had to have hope.

Lili’s bare neck glinted in the sunlight, unbound. "Thank you." Alma looked at the translucent red ribbon around her wrist and smiled. It was a pained, lopsided, remorseful smile....

Alma saw her friend no more.

----------
Alma took a deep breath, filling her nostrils, her mind, her soul with the salt water air, and the peace that came with it. Climbing up onto her perch, she shed her outer clothes, leaving her in nothing but a slim white swimsuit. The beach looked nothing like the old Rocky Road ice cream style she'd seen six months ago. The snow had long since melted away, and the beach was practically stuffed with people, mostly tourists. The ones she watched most closely, though, were people in the water.

In all of their different colored swimsuits, she noted, they looked like several different types of fish from different schools. So harmonious and yet they were all going in different directions. In other words, there was nothing more beautiful in existence. And so she watched, keeping tabs on those who'd stayed underwater, but she never worried too much. Hardly anything happened on Sirensong Beach, anyway. And yet so many lives were in her hands...

Alma straightened at a sound she knew all too well. A mother called for her child. Although the name was unclear, the tone was unmistakable. Alma recalled, a few seconds before, a child just a little older than Lynna, disappearing under the surface.

Alma grabbed a flotation ring and climbed down her perch, speeding across the beach as she heard a stifled yelp of the child who'd just barely surfaced to call for help. It was a boy--a helpless little boy...No, she did not have time to let emotions get the better of her.

The woman dove under the water, adrenaline shooting through her veins as she shot through the water, yet she remained calm. At ease. As though she truly belonged in the water. Her eyes burned with the salt and the blurriness of the underwater shapes, but she at last saw a brown tuft of hair attached to a petite silhouette. Without hesitation, she dragged him to shore, while her arms screamed for rest and her lungs seared from lack of air.

At last, she broke the water's surface, along with the child. She gently laid him on the sand where he remained motionless. Alma gasped and simply stood there for about a second or two, thinking of both her children...

She wasn't going to lose this one.

The woman put both of her palms together and pressed against his chest several times. A small crowd had already formed over her, as if she was being surrounded by the tongues of a sea anemone. "I've got you..." Alma gritted her teeth and pressed harder a few more times.

The boy coughed and spluttered, spouting seawater and crying.

Feeling her heart's dam burst with compassion for this boy, Alma held him close, rubbing his back, just as his mother burst through the crowd like a hysterical clownfish. "Mommy's got you," Alma murmured, and only just noticed his real mother shoving her way through the crowd. She blushed and nodded, handing the child back to his mother. "He'll be okay," she panted, her eyes filling with tears.

"Thank you so much...I had no idea....it was my fault, he almost--! He was right behind me!"

"We all make those kinds of mistakes," Alma reassured the tourist. "I should know."

----------

The streetlamps were faithfully lit, their lights stretched to spread themselves out as far as they could.

Alma bathed under the light with nearly every step she took, but didn't dare look up towards it. Her mind was too muddled, too exhausted, to actually comprehend where she was going. So she relied on muscle memory to take her home.

But oddly enough, the road she was on didn't look much like home. She did live right by the beach, after all. This looked a lot brighter and friendlier and...

Alma looked up. Oh. She shook her head. It was the TV station she'd nearly walked past, and a shooting star in the sky right next to it--

Alma blinked. No, that wasn't a shooting star. It was...Christopher! And he wasn’t floating that high up, either. After seeing him pass by without a word so many times in the past six months, she knew that, just like Lili, she needed to talk to him, as tired as she was.

“Christopher…” her voice faltered yet again as tears threatened to choke her. Regardless, Alma boldly strode up to his floating ghost form. He did say he hated her, but surely that diminished? Alma felt that the only way to get through to him would be to tease him as if they’d connected a lot over the past six months.

"What do you think you're doing up there? You could fall!" She teased, knowing he was perfectly safe in his position so close to the tower and the ground. Christopher turned and stared blankly at her, causing a chill to rip through her body.

"Listen, son, I...." Alma blushed and covered her mouth with one hand before lowering it. No, no, it was only an expression. It meant nothing. Not really. Alma quickly said the first thing that came to mind before those eyes bored any more into her soul. "Lynna could use someone to play with. And, well, if you're not that busy....I mean, the other little girl she used to play with just left and....I can't stand to see her alone."

She looked up unabashedly at the light, blinding her to the ghost in front of her. "No one should be alone." She held out a hand to him. "I....I understand if you don't want to be around. But let me tell you this." She took a few steps, bathing herself in more of the streetlights's glow. " I'll do what I can to protect you from down here." Alma's heart pounded at her words. The last time she'd vowed to protect someone, The plan had backfired and split her family apart.

It wouldn't happen again. Alma nodded fiercely. "I promise."

Christopher was overwhelmed—Dakota had stayed with him, but all the while he’d felt something nag at his brain…and here she was. She looked so frail in the light. "Mo- Alma..."

Alma’s heart jolted with a sudden warmth at his almost calling her his mother. “I dont hate you... not really...” He finally got out. “I’m sorry I said that...” His face flushed in shame as the memory flooded back over him. She must really hate him now oh ‘Woo, she definitely didn’twanttoseehimnopenopenope… “I’m...going to leave now..." He knew precisely what she was going to say—“Go away Christopher, I hate you,” but he didn’t think he could handle those kinds of words. He made sure to slink into the shadows where she couldn’t see him anymore.

Alma was so stunned she just stood there for a second, but took a few more steps where he was rapidly fading. “Wait!” she called out.

Christopher emerged from the shadows, his eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. What could she possibly be stopping him for?

He stopped. Alma cleared her throat. “You have every right to hate me. I'm....not what I used to be yes, but you have your cousin, too. You two need each other. It's the same with my family, so—“ Alma quickly covered her mouth. It was entirely inappropriate for her to almost say that. "Y...you don't need to apologize for anything."

Christopher didn’t seem to notice and shook his head. "R-r-ight...” He was directly defying a confirmed mafia member oh ‘Woo what was he doing… “R-r-right.. I... I’m still sorry..m-" Alma stared with nothing less than pity: the boy looked downright terrified. Her mind was filled with nothing but compassion, affection, pity…”Oh, Christopher,” she murmured, forgetting he was dead and feebly trying to embrace the lad.

Christopher was astonished, but he tried to hug her back. _{”I love you…”} he whispered, barely audibly.

A memory surged through Alma at those words—Christopher crying just after his death, and then watching the fish, something he could never do while he lived…emotion flooded through her at the memory. “I love you, too.” She clung tighter to the intangible ghost, forgetting the “no tears” pact she’d made with herself.

Christopher looked up at her and felt a slight sting as her tears slowly dripped through him. "D-d-do you really... d-d-o you really…?" His own eyes started welling up. Alma moved to dry them but once more seemed to forget his intangibility.

"Of course. You don't know what I've sacrificed just to keep you from that devil woman..." she trailed off and saw his lovely grey eyes, sad and sweet and searching.

Christopher nearly drew back in surprise. "Why would you do that? Please, don't do that for me. I'm not worth it!" He asserted.

Alma had seen this indignant kind of rage before—a semi-tantrum that emerged from misunderstandings with children. She knew how to deal with it—gently, of course. "Because I saw you first. You seemed troubled and lonesome. My daughter had died, but I didn't know it.” She wiped away another tear. "I had no one. You made me strong by listening and watching the fish with me."

“But…I’m not strong! And…I’m sorry about your daughter.” Alma nodded. “Christopher, it's your choice. I can't baby you forever not that I've had the chance to, but you can decide whether or not you actually want to leave." It was the same thing she’d told Lili but under entirely different circumstances. Christopher needed to leave, though. He needed to be safe.

"I don't know how to leave! And I... I don't want to. Aren't you going to leave? That’s what she did...my...my..she left... that’s what mothers do they lie and they leave."

"Don't you see? To save my family, I can't leave. Anywhere.” The ferocity of his words struck her, and she gasped. “I’ve lied to her, haven’t I…” She should have wept, she should have fallen, but no, there was only so much emotion the woman could take. She settled for staring out at the ocean.

Christopher shook his head, correcting his mental error. Not Nelly, not Nelly.... "Alma, you're Alma, you're Alma, you're Alma, and you would never leave, and you would never, ever—right?” The boy’s sobbing intensified and his little shoulders heaved as he phased only partway through her.

Alma raised her eyebrows but then a serene smile spread across her face. “That's right. I'd never leave you," she declared, making a motion as if to stroke his hair.

Christopher looked up at her again, his grey eyes red and tearstained. "Promise? Pinkie swear?"

Alma responded by holding out her pinkie. She knew full well that these were the most sacred of vows to children. She would never leave him. They’d be in the same town. She’d protect him as she’d failed to protect Lynna—no, she could still be protected too.

For several seconds, their pinkies joined, creating a bluish aura around the living and dead fingers. A chill shot through Alma’s arm but she held on until the sensation stopped.

Christopher rubbed his pinkie but didn’t comment on how it felt. "Mom- Alma, its ok... I've done bad things too, really bad things. We can... we can be bad people together."

Alma was dumbfounded.

The sun completely disappeared over the horizon. Alma bit her lip. She didn't want to be late again. "You've met my daughter, haven't you?" "No," he murmured.

"Come with me, then."

Living and dead, the two walked and floated to an isolated field. As if on cue, a head of wispy, floating hair popped up out of a bush, the girl attached to it curious and playful. She saw Christopher and her eyes grew wide as she and Pillowface approached him, closer, closer, and she was so close to touching him with one of her floating tendrils of hair.

"Lynna, this is Christopher," Alma tried to help. "We've met," she replied, scrutinizing him. Christopher gulped and his eyes darted. "What is she even doing?" he whispered to Alma. The latter laughed and sighed, shrugging in mock defeat. "Some days I don't even know."

At last, Lynna's face was merely an inch away from Christopher's. She raised a hand as if to strike him, and he flinched--but no, he only felt the lightest of taps on his shoulder.

"You're it."

"I...wait, I'm too old for....!" Christopher resignedly chased her through the sky as she zoomed into people's houses and blended in with the sky when she pleased, her fish trailing after her.

Alma watched the two shooting stars chasing one another. It hadn't been much different from when Lenore had joined them, and yet, there was all the difference in the world. So wrapped up in this was Alma that she barely heard Christopher laugh as the fish nipped him affectionately and the girl exclaimed how much slower he was than Lenore. Her mother had worried about Lynna being heartbroken with Lenore's sudden departure, but the beautiful picture in front of her set those worries at ease.

Life wasn't perfect, but the way the current was going, with Endre, Lili, her job, her Lynna, her Christopher...it seemed that the waves were only running their course.

And if she got tired, she could just let the current carry her. There were plenty of fish to help along the way.

SPOILER: Click to show

Endre screws up, sees Alma for the "first time in six months", and they begin to reconcile.

Alma and Professor Bardsley scare the living daylights out of a Scoops a Daisy worker but Alma helps her out a little bit.

Alma and Lili converse when the former is on the way to work and both find peace...sort of.

Lifeguard duty is ironic and meaningful. Hoorah.

Christopher has a woobie moment with Alma and then plays with a little girl.

SPOILER: Click to show

Fluffle wiped her ghostly brow and wagged her tail in circles. This sign was sure to be a hit! The pony had always had an eye for design.

A can of paint lay half-empty on the floor. Fluffle did her best to scoop the handle into her mouth, but due to the weight, phased through a little.

The sign read: NOW INFESTATION-FREE! right below another sign WELCOME TO THE OTHER FLUFFY BAKERY, both in hoof-code. Fluffle stepped back to admire her handiwork. The pony was proud of her "artistic expression," namely that every hoof-mark dripped a little bit in different places, but it remained legible all the same.

She turned to Mick, who was just floating by, but sounded as if he'd been violently disturbed. “What – what just happened?” Fluffle recoiled and looked at her signs again. Hmm, yes, that Y did look more like a P...

“…We’ve never done a time warp before.” Fluffle's ears shot up. Her designs had more power than she realized! According to Mick...

THEY COULD EVEN WARP TIME.

Nuzzling him to shake him out of whatever crazy state he was in, Fluffle tore down her magical writings. She'd have to figure out how to dilute the sheer power of marshmallow fluff when she was alone.

The poor metaphysical parolee was still muttering and holding his head.

Fluffle folded the posterboards into quarters. Yep. Definitely when she was alone, and no earlier. For now, there were muffins to make.

SPOILER: Click to show

THIS GAME IS SO MUCH FUN AAAAA THANK YOU GUYS FOR ANOTHER AWESOME MAFIA I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE NEXT ONE 8DDDDD

THE END.

[Liou]

SPOILER: Click to show

If you'd like to read with music
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XBtSHoflrVY

Not much had changed for the Aifam Moviehouse. Its mafia-sponsored repairs had definitely improved it, but considering its original design, it would have been impossible to make it any worse. Life was not bad at all for Cinna Ma. Despite the strange selection of videos provided by Mr. Richem, the cinema got more than its fill of customers, and Cinna felt quite contented as she got ready for another day at work, applying her nail varnish.

Cinna should never have let her guard down.

A cold gust of wind blew through her bathroom, making her shriek. The window was not even open. A cavernous voice echoed:

"Fool! With that oufit... YOU SHOULD HAVE USED INDIGO!"

Her open nail varnish bottle flew off its shelf with a loud -smack-, splashing turquoise blue all over the mirror.

The Stylomancer flipped his hair and waved his beribboned staff threateningly at her. "I've got my eye on you, missy!" The glitter on his body shone so sharply that it seemed to glare at her. With a whirl of his designer cloak, he disappeared, leaving a cursing Cinna to clean the sticky mess.

The ethereal presence of Leopold Endicott continued his circuit around various houses of Aifam Cove. He paid particular attention to the homes of anyone who had been spotted interacting with mafiosi. He browsed shamelessly through people's personal possessions, not forgetting to criticise what had gone out of fashion. He needed practice on that particular day, because aside from his duties to the resistance, he had big plans.

After focusing his mind carefully to check for signs of Mrs Constinopolis' presence, Leo floated into the last bathroom on his route, very quietly. He had avoided that one so far, as a visceral fear seized him whenever he approached it. This time, however, he would conquer it.

The man in the bathroom had spread shaving cream over his face and was preparing to shave, eyes focused on the steamy mirror. Leo inched closer, his mind filled with memories of the sound of his pounding heart.

"Will this shave be as close as the one you gave me?" he suddenly whispered into the man's ear, making him start.

Not content with this jump scare, Leo proceeded to twirl around Nathan, fixing his hair with a few rapid swipes of his ghostly fingers. He prodded all of Nathan's clothes, dropping brief, snappy comments. "This is cute. That is SO last-year! Oh, that one's a good match. And this is just rumpled. Look good for your waifu, mate!"

Leo darted out. The scene had lasted less than a minute, but he already felt so much lighter, so exhilarated that he wanted to laugh. He was floating at least a foot higher above the ground. He could already feel the mark of his murder fading away from his throat.

He waltzed happily down the streets. Ever since he had made the conscious decision to leave his body behind, Leo had felt at ease in his new form. He had not watched the scattering of his ashes. The transition had been nearly seamless. Floating through solid obstacles couldn't feel more natural to him, and he had developed even better control over his substance through prayer, meditation, and disco dancing.

Like Sister Lucille, he had discovered that his ghostly fists could still pack a punch worthy of his criminal days. He had developed a high resistance to salt and was studying possession, in a constant arms race with Mrs Constinopolis. The skirmishes with the mafia were always fun.
Although not the most dexterous ghost in Aifam, he was one of the best at fighting, and definitely the most stylish. Keeping the same outfit for eternity? Leo couldn't even fathom the notion. His clothes and accessories were infinitely customisable.

He drifted past his house without stopping. He had gladly left it in the Church of 'Woo's ownership, to protect it from official mafia acquisition. After all his equipment had been rescued, the salon had been let to a passing hairdresser for the tourist season. Leo had burst in there a few times to entertain the customers, but he didn't feel like he belonged in there anymore. The new style was just not the same, especially compared with the pictures of Leo's award-winning works, which had been left on the walls as a tribute. He was quite content swooping down on unsuspecting people in their bathrooms to give them surprise hairstyles.

During his visits to the Channel 24 studio, Leo had silently witnessed Cheryl and Pratchett's treatment of Hermia. It seemed quite reasonable to him, but one day, he had visited the reporter. Without a word of introduction, he had told her everything that could be put in his obituary. It needed to be written, and he had made a promise to her at the cinema, after all. He didn't mention the mafia's takeover at all. In fact, he chattered and laughed with Hermia as he would have spoken to any townsperson. After that, he had returned to his normal resistance activities.

The sparkling ghost reached the last and most important part of his routine, the shower where the entire town's fate was decided every morning. He took a deep, symbolic breath, switched his outfit to something more appropriate, and dived right in.

"Traviiis! Good morning honeeey!"

It was crucial for the well-being of every Aifam Cover that Travis's skin remain soft and smooth. The inhabitants may not understand it, but Leo did, and he kept a tight watch on it. His ghostly hands were not only good at punching, but also at massaging.
The shower water wouldn't dare become too hot or too cold for the star, not on Leo's watch. He had made it his duty to double-check all of the body washes, shampoos and cosmetics used by Travis. He gasped at the labels on some bottles and tossed them out of the window without regret. "That evil concoction could have made you all dry and crackly, darling! Oh, and you missed a patch, right here."

Carlos would then follow Travis during the rest of his morning routine. Of course, it was always an added bonus when his antics managed to distract Travis from his announcements, giving the townspeople a brief respite. It wasn't only for fun, you know.

Although he felt sympathy for several of the mafiosi, especially after witnessing Juan and Mrs Juan's terrifying reaction to their surprise party, Leo would always root for the townspeople. Even when all he could give was a few words of encouragement. Who better than a ghost could show that one should never give up? He made sure to teach the younger recruits how to go around town unseen -for Woo's sake, those young'uns had no idea how to hide, as if they'd never run into the cops- and he made sure that Cheryl Lewis always had the best 'do in town for her reports. It felt incredible to be able to share, to transmit all his experience to living people.

He certainly looked forward to the Devon-Lukas wedding crashing party. He hoped it would be as good as Juan's house party, good 'Woo!
He had sneaked into the famous mafia party once everyone was too drunk to notice him, and he was so glad not to have missed it. His control over his tangibility had been lower back then, and he had unfortunately caused some drinks to spill over a pair of rock solid thighs. What a shame. What was he thinking of? Oh right, the resistance's plans for the wedding. Yeah. That would be great.



The resistance lost and gained ground, the balance of power swung back and forth in Aifam Cove. More and more town-aligned ghosts found peace. As time passed and things changed, Leo became less aware of the town's situation. He was content to drift and share people's happiness wherever he could witness it, never straying too far from the Church of 'Woo. He would lose track of time for periods of indefinite length. It wasn't sleep per se. He would be brought back to reality days or even weeks later, awoken by an important event or by a simple trigger. A pair of lovers reuniting, someone speaking about him in his salon, justice to fight for, a party with good ol' resistance members, someone in need of comforting, someone using the wrong makeup for their complexion...

There came a day when time and space slowed around him, the noises faded and distorted, and the town took a more vaporous texture, like that place between two worlds. It was a warm day. The wind and clouds seemed gentler, and the slow, peaceful breath of the sea filled the air like a great beast's. Was time stopping, then? He didn't mind. It was a nice place to stop. The town was full of happiness, and he had seen so much of it. He had painted many smiles. He was so tired.

Rays of pure light beckoned him, far above the town and the sea. The pathway was clear, but would it be easy?

A shape flew over him, straight towards the light. A Weewoo. He followed it, light-headed and serene. Behind him, the church made a beautiful starting point. His motorbike remained on the roof, gleaming under the sun.

The smells of various foods drifted towards him from the center of Aifam. He ignored the town hall and whichever power ruled it at the moment. Clouds of glitter swirled behind him, leaving a trail that lengthened with every step he took. The pavement began to shine as more light poured into the street. Faint echoes of happy chatter rose from the salon and clothing store where so many people had found beauty. Ghosts of plants kept growing and crawling out of the flower shop, forming glittering arabesques on the cobblestone. Their blossoms fell in a shower of petals over the pale silhouettes of lovers who had met there.

Then Leo's path went through an unbelievably dirty house. His aura of glitter and petals wrapped protectively around him. Without sparing a look for the mess, he went straight towards the one console in which he could sense the thrum of life. Very carefully, he leaned down and dipped his face into the machine and its circuits. The Stylomancer smiled down at his protege, who was finally where he belonged.

He stood up before the virtual world could become too vivid for his eyes. One box caught his attention. It was as dirty as the rest, but seemed to have been treated with more care. Leo lifted the lid to uncover a greasy, much-loved silver controller. He brushed his fingers over it; when he removed his hand, ghostly vapors followed it, taking the shape of the controller. A souvenir from Winnie. He placed it in his breast pocket and went on his way.

The scenery was becoming wilder. He floated through the Stallion's stables. He could have sworn that the horses saw him. They had been minding their business, but they looked up and nodded as he passed. The sound of the sea became louder. He couldn't tell which was his own breath and which was the ocean's.

Next came a patch of forest and a rush of cool, dewy, pine-scented air that made his eyes widen. He broke into a run. In a clearing full of dappled silver light, a group of teddy bears invited him for tea. He nodded politely, but declined. The thrush-thrush of his steps on the leafy ground melted into the other noises of the forest. He was quite sure that he could hear another large creature running, but he only caught a few glimpses of its dark silhouette between the trees.

At last, he broke between the last few trees and back onto the beach, in the light. Its beams had filled the sky right above the sea. He ran his fingers through his hair, which was blowing freely in the seaside air without any fear of the elements. He spotted a few fish beneath the waves. They looked inviting, but he had no intention of going downstairs. The light kept growing. He walked towards it. A giant ghost crab was waving at him from the beach. Soon, there was no more land, no more sea, no more sky. Only light. He glanced back at the roofs of Aifam. It had been wonderful. It was difficult to leave. Especially alone, like in Lili's fears.

But Leo was never alone.

He reached out behind him with one open hand. Immediately, warm, slender fingers linked with his and Hal's arms wrapped around him. They embraced and started to walk in a half-hug, laughing.

"You're finally ready to go?" asked Leo. The question was addressed to Hal, but also to himself.

"Ready when you are," Hal replied with his dimpled smile and bright eyes. "Thank you for bringing me here. It's such a beautiful place."

The warm light flooded them as they rose higher and higher, still holding hands. A flock of Weewoos suddenly flew around them in a cloud of soft feathers.

They were on their way home.

SPOILER: Click to show

Leo keeps working for the resistance and patrols Aifam Cove as a Style Police.

He bursts into people's bathrooms, visiting Cinna Ma and Nathan Lukas, among others.

He went to Hermia for a friendly chat about his obituary, despite mafia tensions.

He enjoys his role as "Carlos" and works as Travis's self-appointed shower helper.

He retains very happy memories from Juan's mysterious house party.

When things calm down in Aifam (nobody knows exactly when ), Leo moves on, scattering glitter all over town.
Bye bye Leo.

SPOILER: Click to show

Thank you all. That was amazing, wondertastico fantabulous. You rock. I love you. <3 Thank you for bearing with all my sillies. ;w;

[Birdy]

It was the same.

It was always the same.

It may start different, but it always ended the same.


Sometimes it started on the beach.

“Oh, Piper, no. You’re not going anywhere...”


Sometimes it started in a dimly-lit alley.

“There’s our mark…”


Sometimes it started at the edge of a cliff.

“Stop! Stop it, please! I’m innocent—someone tell them I’m innocent! Gavin or—or anyone!”


But it always ended the same.


“I-I… I'm sorry... I'm sorry for whatever I did. I really am…”

In a coat-closet, in a church.

“You don't have to do this. You don't have to k-k-ill me. You can just s-s-top. You don't have to kill anyone… You can just stop!”

Watching a child beg for his life.


She isn’t always silent.

Sometimes she does shout, call for help.

But she’s always too late.


Sometimes she’s the one holding the knife.

This was one of those times.

“Just... please don't make it hurt too bad, okay?”



“Ms. Smith,”

The voice – accompanied by a hand on her arm – jarred her back to reality.

Through her slowly-clearing vision, she gradually became aware of the ragged, shallow breathing – of the feeling that she was choking, suffocating. Of her racing heart. Of how she was curled up into a ball, with her legs clutched close, and trembling… and of the tears.

The man in the chair beside her spoke softly.

“Another flashback?”

She nodded.

“Another death?”

More nodding.

“His?”

Her face began to contort, and she hid in in her legs. Her shoulders began to shake soon afterward.


Out of all the deaths she’d caused that week, his death had affected her the most.

Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought the Abominable Aifam (or anyone for that matter) would suggest they kill a blind teenage boy.

But they had, and they did.


***


Four months prior… (Early March)


Looking back, Hermia had to admit she’d managed to keep it together for much longer than she’d thought she’d be able to. Even long after that house party at Juan’s Bardsley’s. (She had no idea someone could turn those colours or make those sorts of sounds, but Bardsley had proved it possible. )

She might have been able to keep up the illusion, too, had it not been for one Travis Richem.

He hadn’t meant to cause a mental breakdown, but… he did. Snapped her mind like a twig.

It had started out innocently enough (if the word “innocently” can be applied to such a situation) – he’d simply been narrating in detail the death of Mortimer Gunderson to Charlotte Hermia so she could put it in the memoir she was writing about him.

If he had only stopped there, then perhaps things would have continued on as normal.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he brought up him.

His “brother”, Markus.

Or, more specifically, Travis wanted the details of his death.

(“Did he cry? I bet he cried. He always was a crybaby, even when he was kicking puppies.”)

Hermia tried to ignore him. She did. But no matter how hard she tried to tune him out, his voice kept breaking though.

All the while she talked, she could feel it. Something inside, slowly splintering.

Finally, its limit was reached, and all the things she’d been denying – all the deaths, her involvement with them, everything – seemed to happen at the same time.

To say it was overwhelming would be a gross understatement.

As whatever emotional filtration system she had left crumbled, there was much shouting, many tears, and Hermia wasn’t happy either.

She didn’t remember how long she’d screamed at them all, as everything she’d kept bottled up over the past two months came out. (Some tried to reason with her, but quickly found that to be impossible once she started throwing things at them. )

After her tirade, she had ended up just cocooning – curling up in a ball and refusing to talk to anyone. (How and when she made it back to the Stallion Inn after that, she didn’t remember or particularly care.)

She apologized for her outburst the next time they met – giving some excuse about residual stress getting to be too much and overwhelming her – and they accepted it, and no more was said. (Whether or not because they believed it or because they simply did not want to risk another meltdown was up for debate. )


Things stayed fairly smooth after that, for the most part, and the incident was never brought up.

In fact, Hermia might have been able to convince herself that it had just been stress – that there was no deeper, underlying cause – if he hadn’t moved into town.

She ignored the signs, at first – told herself that she was fine, that she’d get through this, that it was just a rough spot. But ultimately, she finally had to admit it.

She needed help.

And so, she sought out the one she’d ignored since the day he’d moved to town: Doctor Berger Archambault.

The therapist.


She hadn’t said much the first couple of times… just vague things that could happen to anyone. But then, finally, it had come to a head, and she admitted everything. For the first time, she told someone from “the outside” everything that had happened during that dark, dark week in early January.

When she was done, she was surprised at how calm she was. She hadn’t known how she’d feel, but she certainly hadn’t expected to feel calm.

(Or, well, “calm” as in “not breaking down in hysterics”. )

She was nervous, certainly. She’d just admitted to being an accomplice for murders after all.

Finally, the doctor looked up from the notes he’d started writing as she spoke.

“Can you come in tomorrow?” he’d simply asked. “Same time?”

Hermia blinked. “Um...I…guess…?” she’d managed.

“Good,” he replied, clicking the pen closed and tossing it onto his desk. Then, he smiled. “See you then.”


And so it had begun.


***


(Present Day)


The residual panic had finally stopped. Hermia still sat with her legs close and face buried, but at least the shaking had finally stopped.

Doctor Archambault watched her thoughtfully.

“Why don’t we continue tomorrow?” he said softly.

Hermia simply nodded, and slowly, stiffly got to her feet.

And then, after a few mumbled words of goodbye, she left.


The doctor stayed in his office late that day. And once again, he found himself reviewing Ms. Smith’s profile.

He sighed and rubbed his temples. She’d been showing such improvement, such promise… But then…

Doctor Archambault scowled.

Then he’d shown up…


***


Two months prior… (Early May)


It had been just after one of her therapy sessions. She’d been just about to leave, when he walked into the lobby. She froze when she saw him, and all the colour drained from her face.

“Hermia,” he’d said. “It really is you… My little girl, all grown up…”

She’d barely been able to speak.

“D…dad…?” she managed to croak. Then, she began to shake her head, and backed away.

“N-no…” she said weakly. “No, y— you’re dead…”

His brow furrowed.

“Dead?” he echoed. “Hermia, what are you talking about?”

“No!” she nearly shouted. “You- you died! T-there was a- a c-car accident, the policeman came…” her voice trailed off.

Her father had simply stood there, dumbfounded.

“You died,” Hermia repeated, voice cracking. “Y-you were just there one day, and— and gone the next…” her breathing was coming in short gasps now. “You…” she squeaked, “Y-you…”

She could feel it, inside. The same feeling she’d felt before, the last time she’d completely cracked. And now, it was happening again, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
She was trembling, she could feel it. And—tears? …Another attack, then.

“You…” she managed once more, before finally breaking down completely.

“YOU LEFT!” she shouted, drawing the attention of everyone within earshot. “You… you just left us! WHY? What did I do?” she was sobbing now.

“Hermia,”

A new voice on the scene – the deep, reassuring voice of Doctor Archambault.

Hermia didn’t object as he gently began to lead her back towards his office. (Even if she’d wanted to she couldn’t – she wasn’t able to speak, even, for the sobs and gasps for breath. )

Her father had started to follow, but was stopped by a glare from the doctor.

“You’ve done quite enough,” he said, voice leaving no room for argument. “Stay there until I return.”

He’d managed to get Hermia safely into his office, and through the sobs and gasps, managed to decipher the story.

Her father had never died, as she’d claimed for so long. Rather, he’d abandoned her and her mother, taking all their money with him. They’d had to sell most everything just to pay the bills and loans he’d accumulated in his endeavor to create his own small business. (Granted, it had been… moderately successful, but nowhere near enough to make ends meet. ) Unable to accept that he’d simply just…left them, for no good reason, Hermia, in her mind, had made herself believe that he had, instead, died. And once that illusion had been shattered…

It meant that all those who had died because of her truly did die for nothing.

She’d claimed she’d joined the mafia for her family – to help earn money, to pay for bills and funeral expenses and loans… for debts too great to pay otherwise.

When her father had shown up, it had exposed all that for the lies they were.

And it had broken her.


In a sad, twisted way… it had, perhaps, ultimately been for the better. To cling to such a delusion, especially when it caused one to eventually kill… Perchance it was for the best it had been shattered.


This breakdown had hurt worse than the last. The last one had been more the result of stress building up, coupled with underlying feelings of guilt.

This one… this one had proved she was no more than a delusional, murderous, child-killing scumbag.


But what hurt even more was when she realized why he’d shown up after all these years. Why now, instead of earlier. Why now.

Because she had power, now. Power, and the opportunity to make lots of money.

Because she was in the Mafia, and had influence.


She’d screamed at him a lot after that. Years of hurt and suppressed memories were bubbling up, and she would not ignore them.

When he realized that there was nothing he could say or do to get into her good graces, he left – again.

She didn’t care – good riddance, as far as she was concerned.


After that, though… the improvement stopped.

They’d been at a stand-still ever since.

It was as if she’d simply given up hope of ever getting better...


***


(Present Day)


Hermia Smith lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

She wasn’t getting better.

She wasn’t improving anymore.

So why did she still bother going?

She gave a shaky sigh and closed her eyes.

She didn’t know.

Ever since her father had… returned… she’d felt so empty…

(Well, after the initial feelings such as rage, betrayal, horror, and remorse, of course. )

Doctor Archambault had suggested she take walks, to help clear her head, and simply to get her outside some. She’d tried taking his advice, but… she’d found her walks had begun to lead her towards the cliffs more times than she cared to acknowledge, so she’d stopped.

And now… she didn’t know.

She didn’t know how long she could keep this up… the same thing, day after day…

It was maddening.

All she saw when she thought about the future was the same thing, every day, for ‘Woo knew how long.

Grey, dark, dreary…

Hopeless.

She kept telling herself it’s what she deserved. That she’d brought it upon herself, so she had no right to complain.

As these thoughts swirled murkily around her mind, something cut through the silence.

Her phone.

She frowned and opened her eyes, glancing at the annoyingly-cheerful tune.

But if it was that ringtone, then the person on the other end must be…

She reached for the phone, and after a moment’s more hesitation, answered.

“Hello?” she gave the uncertain greeting.

“Hey, heeeeey!” came the chipper voice from the other end. “How’s my favourite reporter?”

She couldn’t believe it – even after hearing that ringtone.

“Theo…?”

“Nah, I’m actually an alien lifeform that took over his body and is using his vocal cords to my own advantage. How are you?”

Typical Theo. Inane one second, completely serious the next.

“I’m… okay,” Hermia said, choosing her words carefully. “I mean, I’ve been better, I guess, but.”

She didn’t feel the need to tell him the truth.

“Good, good,” he said. “Say, listen,” he added, “You got room for another staff member on that paper of yours?” he asked.

Hermia blinked. Did he seriously want to transfer someone here?

“I… I’m not sure,” Hermia managed, mind whirling with everything that could go wrong with this idea.

“Aw, c’mon,” he pleaded. “They won’t cause any trouble, they’ll listen to everything you say, they’re housetrained, and I promise not to harass the other staff too much…”

Hermia blinked as his words soaked in.

“You…?” she asked. “You want to join—but why?”

“I got laid off a few weeks ago,” he admitted. “So I was hoping my favourite reporter – who happens to be my favourite – might be able to find some work for me in her grossly over-staffed production.”

Hermia didn’t know what to say. But then, she did.

“I… yes. I think I can find some room for you on the payroll,” she said.

“WOOHOO!” came the joyous whoop from the other end of the line, causing Hermia to yank the phone away before suffering any more hearing loss. “I’ll be up later this week to see about a place to stay,” he told her.

“That sounds gre—” she suddenly stopped, mind whirling with just what exactly her old boss was getting himself into.

“Theo… wait.” She closed her eyes. “I… you can’t. You can’t come. There’s– there’s no opening.”

“But you just said—”

“I know what I said,” Hermia said weakly, “but… you can’t come… Please, just… just stay away – far, far away.”

“Why? Hermia, is something wrong? What happened?”

“Please,” she whispered. “Just promise you won’t come…”

“Hermia,” he said, voice now serious and laced with worry, “What happened?”

She hadn’t wanted to tell him. But somehow, as it is always wont to do… the truth came out.

She ended up admitting everything to him – the mafias, her involvement with them, and yes – even the murders , and everything else.

“I guess you must hate me now,” she said softly, after it was over. She swiped at her eyes with her free hand. “It’s okay, everyone else does…”

“Hermia,” he said gently, voice holding no condemnation, “I know. I’ve known for a while now.”

“W-what?” She frowned. “Then why did you-?”

“Act innocent?” He chuckled. “I didn’t want you to know I knew – not yet.”

“But how did you…?”

“College students are not known for their abstinence form social media,” he told her. “After things started heating up, students from Prettyboy College were more than happy to share details.”

She gave a rueful smile. Ah, the lovely social media spreading rumours like wildfire…

“I guess you’re still coming, then?”

“Absolutely. It’s about time I see what’s so special about this ‘Aifam Cove’ you were always harping on about.”

“It’s… different now,” she admitted. “But… it still has some of the same charm.”

“Heh, maybe it’s for the better I won’t have the ‘old version’ to compare it to,” he said. “Anyway, I’ve gotta get going – lots of packing left, you know – but listen: take care of yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” Hermia agreed. “I’ll try.”

“Great. See you in a few days, then?”

“See you,” she agreed.

She stayed on the line until she heard the faint click on the other end. She held the phone for a while after that, thinking about what had occurred.

Things were going to start changing soon, whether she was prepared or not.

She could only hope she could withstand it.


***

Dawn.

A lone figure stood at the top of the cliffs overlooking Sirensong Beach.

A slight breeze blew, bringing with it the sharp smell of salty water. The cries of the seagulls broke through the early morning stillness.

But still she stood there, soaking it all in.

If she used her imagination, she could almost make it seem as if the wind were beckoning her closer to the edge of the cliffs, past the guardrail…

For once, she obliged.

She approached the edge, and looked over.

She saw rocks and sand far below.

She looked up, and saw the sunrise.

The breeze blew again from behind, as if trying to push her forwards.

She did not move.

“You might as well stop. You aren’t going to win,” she said to it. “I won’t let you. If only one of us is going to be victorious, it’ll be me.”

The breeze vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

She turned and walked from the cliffs, the rising sun warming her back.

It was going to be a long journey, she knew. A long, uphill battle. She might not win them all, but she’d win the war. She would not give in. She’d fight for as long as she had the strength, and then, when it ran out, she’d wait ‘til it returned and then fight some more.

It wouldn’t be easy – she knew that. She’d need help sometimes – perhaps more often than she’d want to admit. She’d have to learn to listen when others offered to help, instead of insisting she was fine, and could handle it. That she had it all together.

She’d stop being silent. She’d be more open. Silence was not golden, no matter what they said.

It would be hard, but she could do it.

And so it was, that with the start of this new day, for the first time since this nightmare had begun so many months ago, Hermia Smith looked at her future…



…and felt hopeful.

SPOILER: Click to show

Hermia is in therapy! She has flashbacks! She is TRAUMATIZED BY THINGS! 8D

---

Four months before present day, in early March, Travis snaps Hermia's sanity like a twig! There is much shouting and throwing of things.

Hermia finally convinces herself she needs therapy. So she seeks out the therapist who oh-so-conveniently moved to town recently.

---

Back in the present day, Hermia returns to the Stallion Inn, and the good doctor Archambault muses over Hermia's profile. She remembers how much progress she was making before HE showed up...

---

In the past again, namely two months before present day (AKA, early May), Hermia's not-as-dead-as-she'd-been-telling-everyone father shows up.

Hermia has another breakdown as a result.

It's revealed he's actually a colossal jerk who just up and left her and her mom, and is only now returning because his sweet little girl has power and money. How thoughtful of him!

She is broken and defeated upon the realization that everyone who died did so because she was delusional, and seems to give up all hope.

---

Back in the present, Hermia is in her room, being all angsty and stuff.

Then her phone rings.

It's her old boss, Theo - he wants a job!

He initially gets one, then Hermia takes it back. She doesn't want in in this mafioso-ruled town.

Upon being pressured slightly, Hermia admits everything.

Theo reveals he knew all that already. And he's still coming.

Hermia realizes that change is coming too, and worries if she'll be able to withstand it.

---

Hermia stands on the cliffs at sunrise, musing over things.

She vows to fight. To win. To defeat the darkness inside. She'll ask for help when she needs it. She'll stop being silent. She'll do whatever it takes.

And for the first time in a long time...


...she feels hopeful.

SPOILER: Click to show

Ohmigoodness, SO MANY WORDS. So sorry for such a long post. @________@;

But anyway, AHHHHHHHHHH, this has been an AWESOME experience, thank-you so much everyone! <3 Never woulda thought that in my first-ever game of Mafia, I'd actually BE mafia - let alone a double-agent. XD;

...Speaking of which, I offer my sincerest apologies to my fellow mafiosos for being a dirty sneaky rotten cowardly little traitor. And for hardly ever talking on the chats. And for killing Piper. And for anything else I'm forgetting. 8D

I also apologize to all the townsfolk I condemned and helped kill. No hard feelings, though, right? 8D;

_Right...?