***
                  

HE RESURFACES IN his own body with a gasp.

            Air comes crashing back into his lungs, and he's suddenly aware of his own body like a tumor, of something to be shed or cut off, something heavy and malignant. He's aware of the blood in his veins and his shifting organs, and the thud-thud of blood rushing to his head. He's aware of the sheer physicality of it all.

            Things come back to him in fragments, in pieces he can't parse through. A boy, a sister, a magician and him. A house that wasn't a house. He can't remember his own name.

            "Don't open your eyes," says someone, a voice he vaguely recognizes. "You look cuter this way."

            He opens his eyes.

            "Wow, rude."

            The face hovering over his head looks like an angel's.

            "Miss my face?" says the angel, only now, he's aware that it's not really an angel, but a boy.

            He starts remembering names, people, places. He starts remembering where he is and who he is. The knowledge comes back to him reluctantly, interlocking like pieces in a puzzle.

            "You're Francis," he says. "And I'm James—"

            "—Bishop Hadley. Yes, we know. You have a big name and a big ego and blah, blah, blah, sit up."

            Hadley sits up. He doesn't recall ever lying down before going into—he can't remember where he went either. 

            "Man, you look like shit," says Francis. "Cute, but still like shit."

            "Shut up," says another voice, from behind Francis. "He just woke up. Let him breathe."

            It's Victoria. They're the only three people in the room. David, Hassan, Shani, Benji, Jeanne—he can't see any of them.

            "Where'd everybody go?" Hadley asks. "There were a lot more people here."

            "They left," Vic says. "One person going in is enough, but two? It's bound to spin some heads."

            Hadley has no idea what she's saying, but she looks pretty when she talks, so he nods, pretending to understand whatever she's just said.

            "Where did I go, exactly?" he asks Vic.

            It's Francis who answers. "Dave took you into limbo. That's what he calls it. Limbo." Francis snorts. "I call it the void. Because there's nothing in there."

            Hadley looks down at his hands. They're shaking. He clenches his fists.

            "There were a lot of things in there," says Hadley. "Not nothing."

            "Really?" Vic asks. "What'd you see in there?"

            "I saw shit. I don't know. I saw myself, I think? No. Yes. Absolutely, yes, I saw myself. And, uh, my parents, too. And Philippa and—" Hadley looks up from his hands. "Give me my phone, now."

            Vic and Francis suddenly become unimportant. He's only thinking of Philippa, Philippa in gore, Philippa and her ruined and crimson shirt, Philippa, Philippa, Philippa—

            "Isn't it in your pocket?"

            "No. Shit. I don't know," he says. "My phone. I need it. Where's my phone?"

            "Chill," Francis says. "What do you need your phone for?

            "For Philippa." His voice goes up a few octaves. "Where's my phone?"

             Vic and Francis exchange a glance.

            "Listen, we don't know where your phone is and," Francis says, putting a hand on Hadley's chest, "you might want to calm down. You just woke up from—"

            "Stop touching me," says Hadley, smacking Francis's hand away. "I'm leaving."

            He pushes himself off the couch and he heads for the door, not looking back, thinking only of Philippa.

            Francis starts after him. "Hey, wait—"

            Hadley shuts the door before Francis can finish.

             Outside, the sun is low on Chinatown's skyline, casting longer shadows and giving everything an orange tint. There are more people than there were before Hadley went in there, people who are milling about on the streets, old ladies with earmuffs and grocery bags and old men pushing trolleys around and Hadley is hit with such a keen sense of vertigo he feels like he could throw up on the curb, right then and there.

            But he doesn't. He squares his shoulders and half-jogs to his car, ignoring the queasy feeling that builds up in his stomach with every step. By the time he reaches his car, he's sure he's going to hurl up the pepperoni pizza from earlier today.

            He unlocks the door of his car. His hands are so pale, they seem to glow.

            His phone's inside, right on the dashboard. He clambers into his seat, slams his car door shut, and dials in Philippa's number.

            A group of kids pass by the front of his car, laughing and pushing each other. They're young—no more than eleven or twelve—and for some reason, the way they interact with each other makes his heart ache. He misses Gregory. Morgan. Sebastian. He hates being alone, in his car, fresh from a dream where he saw shit that didn't make sense and shivering and not just because of the cold.

            Because of fear. Because of panic. Talk about a delayed reaction. Where was all this anxiety back in limbo?

            "Hello?" Philippa says. Hadley can hear music coming from her end. "James? What do you want?"

            She sounds just like she sounded in Hadley's dream. She sounds like herself.

            "Are you alright? Where are you?" Hadley asks.

            "What?"

            "Are you safe? Are you—" he remembers blood spilling out of her neck, like some sort of macabre waterfall—"hurt? Is everything alright with you?"

            Philippa goes silent for a second. Hadley can hear laughter and several voices. They sound like they're speaking gibberish.

            "James," Philippa says, "I'm fine."

            Hadley breathes a sigh of relief.

            "Did you seriously call me to ask me if I was alright?"

            "Yes," Hadley says.

            "Oh. That's—" Philippa makes a sound—something between a sigh and a 'huh.' "That's nice of you. Are you alright?"

            "Yes," says Hadley. "I think so."

            Another second of silence. Hadley can't remember the last time they had a conversation on the phone. Hell, he can't quite remember the last time he'd had a full conversation with Philippa, and judging by the silence, Philippa's probably thinking the same thing.

            "Mom asked about you," Philippa says. "She asked me if I knew where you went. She called me, just a while back."

            Hadley's heart drops to his stomach. "I forgot about her. What did you tell her?"

            "I told her you were with me."

            "Oh," Hadley says. He makes a sound—something between a sigh and a 'huh.' "That's nice of you."

            Silence, again.

            "I should get going," says Philippa, somewhat awkwardly.

            "Alright. Okay." Hadley scratches his chin. "Take care."

            "You too," Philippa says. She adds, hurriedly, "I love you."

            It takes him a full three minutes to process what she's just said. It takes him another three minutes to pull the phone away from his right ear. He stares at his phone, like if he stares hard enough, his phone will confess to him that he was just hearing things, that no way in hell Philippa would've said that, so carelessly, at such a random time.

            But he heard it. As clear as crystal. I love you.

            What does it say about Hadley, that he can't think of a reply?

            Someone knocks on his window and he nearly jumps out of his seat.

            It's David.

            He's half-smiling when Hadley sees him, hand pressed against the passenger seat window.

            Get out, David mouths.

            Hadley gets out and is nearly knocked off his feet by something large, something furry, something—

            "Billy!" David yells, his voice brimming with laughter. "No!"

            Billy's a dog. A very big, very furry, very loving dog. Billy rubs his body all over Hadley's shins and David makes half-hearted attempts at reigning in his dog's affections.

            "You have a dog," says Hadley.

            "I have a dog," says David. "Did you forget about my dog? I'm disappointed in you."

            "I'm sorry I forgot about your dog."

            Billy barks at Hadley. He resists the urge to bark back.

            "I think I had something to say," says Hadley, "but your dog just—well. You have a really nice dog."

            "Thank you. Hear that, Billy? He thinks you're a nice dog."

            "He looks like you," says Hadley. "Your dog, I mean."

            "Are we seriously going to have a conversation about my dog?"

            "If you want to," says Hadley.

            "I do want to. Hell, I'd love to. But—" David sighs, seemingly deflating—"why'd you leave?"

            "I didn't leave. I had to make some calls."

            Billy trots over to David, who absentmindedly scratches the back of Billy's ears.

            "Who'd you call?" David asks.

            "My sister."

            "Ah," says David. Billy licks David's hands, and Hadley would be lying if he said that he didn't find that mildly disgusting. "Why'd you call her?"

            "What is this? An interrogation?"

            "No. It's a Q & A session. Listen, if you don't wanna tell me something, you don't have to. But, everything you tell me is something that helps me. The more questions you answer, the better." David bends his knees a little, and scratches Billy's chin. "So, why'd you call her?"

            Hadley gives him a half-truth. "I wanted to know if she was fine."

            "Because of what happened in limbo? It's funny. I never saw her. How come you did? What'd you see?"

            Don't trust anyone.

            "I didn't see anything. I just saw her," says Hadley, glancing down at pavement.

            David smiles at him, his teeth gleaming in the dying sunlight. "You know, you're a real bad liar."

            Hadley smiles back. "I don't care."

            "You sure do love making things hard for yourself, don't you?" David straightens his knees. "Your decisions, man. Just remember, you're eventually going to have to pay me."

            "If I live."

            "Which you will, don't worry. I'll make sure of it."

            "Well," says Hadley, leaning back on his car, "what now?"

            "You can drive off and come back in a few days when I call you or—" David crosses his arms, smiles, and leans right into Hadley's personal space—"I can watch you drool over Victoria and try and talk with her."

            "What? What makes you think I like her?"

            "Because I was just like you. And I'm not blind. I saw the way you looked at her," says David. "Don't worry. You're just her type. Awkward, a little stupid, and easy on the eyes."

            "You just implied that you were all of the above."

            "I mean, I am easy on the eyes, but the other two? Not so much." David leans out of Hadley's personal space. "There's a reason why we broke up."

            "Uh-huh. I think I'd rather talk to her when you aren't around."

            "Sure." David raises his eyebrows. "Do you want her number?"

            "Yes. No. I mean, no. I'd rather get her number by myself."

            "Right, right. So, you're not going to stay?"

            "No. I'm going to leave. I'm going to come back. And I'm going to ask you questions."

            "You can't think of any questions now?"

            "I have to think it over."

            David blinks at Hadley. Billy paws at Hadley's knees for attention. He pets Billy's furry head with hesitance.

            "So, lemme get this straight," says David, half-laughing. "You can ask questions, but I can't?"

            "No."

            David's half-laugh breaks into a full one. He punches Hadley's shoulder, lightly. "Weird-ass white boy."

            Billy yips in agreement.

            "Well, so long. I have to head back to Molly. You have somewhere to head back to, I'm sure. Where's the necklace I gave you, by the way?"

            Hadley's hand instinctively goes to his throat. "I must've forgotten it."

            David's expressions shifts from mild amusement to something unreadable. Then, it shifts back again. "Right. Take care." His voice sounds cold.

            And with that, he turns his back on Hadley, and walks away.

***

            Morgan sends Hadley pictures of her hotel room in Venice, of pictures of herself, of the god-forsaken straw hat, of the Doge's Palace with some tacky outdated dog meme edited in, of the frozen wonderland that Venice transforms into come winter.

            Sebastian sends pictures of him posing with some waitress from Hooter's. He does send other pictures, of course, but there's more pictures of him making hideous faces along with his two little sisters than there are pictures of the Swiss Alps or the charming little town he's currently in.

            Gregory, predictably, sends the least pictures out of anyone else. He sends pictures of gothic churches, random houses, and—for some reason—his shoes. Hadley thinks it might be some art thing. Maybe he's not supposed to be looking at Gregory's shoes, but at the ground beneath the shoes? Maybe it symbolises change or some shit. Maybe it all ties into Heraclitus's fundamental belief of how the universe is ultimately changeable. Maybe Gregory just really likes taking pictures of shoes.

            Hadley doesn't send any pictures. What's he supposed to take pictures of anyway? The icicles that form on the windowpanes of buildings in the city? The dead pigeon he found outside, on his balcony one night? The shadow things he sees in the corner of his eye every five minutes that go away once he turns his head to look at them? The shadow at Philippa's throat that he saw, once, at dinner?

            He's not sure what he does half the time, really. He watches the members of his family with a new sense of detachment. Philippa doesn't mention her impromptu declaration of love, and Hadley doesn't see the need to bring it up. It was naïve of him to assign any importance to something said so carelessly over the phone. Naïve of him to think that three words ever meant anything in the grand scheme of sibling relations.

            His mother doesn't quite scare him as she used to. She still stirs uneasy feelings in Hadley—he doesn't think she'll ever stop making him sick—but there's a new facet to this fear. Hadley doesn't quite know how to explain it. There's something strange in seeing the body of his mother rotten and rotting, dead and dying, then watching her as she shakes her fist at him, as she threatens him.

            I could touch you, Hadley thinks, and you'd crumble.

            His father is still the same. Never there. Never here. Hadley searches his father's face for something, for proof that they're related. But no—Hadley's his mother's boy, through and through. A genetic miracle.

            He feels untethered from reality. The longer he spends awake the more his life feels like a dream. It's too normal. It's hard to reconcile this reality—this reality with all of its awkward dinners and awkward sisters and screaming mothers and distant friends—with the reality Hadley'd seen, the one with dead parents and ghosts that shouldn't have existed, where everything was topsy-turvy.  

            Everything goes by in such a haze that he's not sure what he's waiting for. He writes down a list of questions he'll ask David (How'd you know I was cursed, What do you plan on doing, Do you know what you're doing, What are you hiding, How alike are we, What's Victoria's number, What's your last name, How are you going to break my curse, I know nothing about you or your friends some help would go a long way) if David ever calls.

            That's what's keeping him together. The promise that this'll be over. That whatever's happening can be stopped. That he's going to stop hearing things in the dead of the night and start panicking because it sounds suspiciously like someone or something. David's pendant sits at the bottom of his drawer. He can't wear it. Not with the image of Philippa pulling it out of the bloody cavity in her throat coming by whenever he so much as thinks of the pendant.

            He can't decide whether he trusts David or not.

            A day passes. Two days. Three days. Hadley takes to jogging out in the early mornings to calm his nerves.

            David calls on the fourth day.

            Hadley's in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to get shit-faced with a can of cheap beer when David calls.

            "'Ello?" he answers, not looking at the name displayed. "Who's this?"

            "James? Hadley? It's me! Are you doing anything?"

            Hadley holds up the can of beer to the light, watches light bounce off the metal. "No."

            "Excellent! Amazing! Do you think you could show up right now?" The excitement in David's voice makes Hadley cringe.

            He puts the can of beer to his forehead. "Yeah. Sure. Why the fuck not."

            "Alright, you know the drill. How fast do you think you can make it?"

            "Ehh. Give me ten minutes."

            "Perfect. See you there!"

            David hangs up. Hadley stares at the beer can in his hand. He chugs the rest of the beer in one go, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and takes a glance down at himself. There isn't anything wrong with his outfit. All he needs is a pair of pants.

            After he rectifies the lack of pants on his body, his mind goes over the list of questions he's going to ask. Only, he can't think of anything.

            He'll improvise. Plans are for the sober, and Hadley's not entirely sober.

            So, with a hand full of his car keys, and a mind full of empty, James Bishop Hadley makes his way to the garage.

***

a/n: don't drink and drive, kids

also... can u tell I stopped givin a fuck again jhgk

expect another update this week ! love u all loads !!! smooch!!! Unless you're not the type for smooches so here's like. A hug. And if you don't like hugs I guess a wave? If you hate any type of human interaction at all then just know im sending good vibes your way!