[ xxxi. the twilight zone ]

➸➸➸

IT WAS ANOTHER FULL day before John B. was released from St. Olives Hospital, but in those pivotal twenty-four hours, much had changed within the dynamic of the pogues' overall group. The first change, understandably, was that the group of four had grown to a group of five. Willa was, more or less, a friend for life now.

She was, however, also grounded, which meant that if Willa snuck out of the Deveraux mansion again to join her new friends in their treasure hunt schemes, she would, as her mother had said it, "be a dead woman".

And yet, even with the very real threat against her life, she still snuck out again that very next morning after coming home from the hospital herself, which led to the next drastic change over the course of one day: Willa was now currently taking shelter at the Chateau. She was free to treat the Routledge household as her own, which she mostly did as she was now the only one living in it. Because, yes, John B. no longer lived at the Chateau which led to the biggest and final change of all: John B. was currently being fostered by the Cameron family.

Willa still did not know what Sarah Cameron had said to her father that night at the hospital, but clearly, it had been enough to win Ward over. Before the sun had even fully risen that next day Ward was inducting a fourth child into his household, and he did it all with the brightest smile.

Anything for his little princess.

Bullshit.

There had to be more to Ward Cameron's motives. Willa just had not figured it out yet. The gears in her head were still turning around that puzzle.

And so, as a result of all the ensuing mayhem, in the course of only twenty-four hours, Willa and John B. had essentially switched lives. Now she really was a pogue, slumming it down on the far end of the Cut, and he was really a kook, living the high life on the vast, luscious hills of the Figure Eight.

This realization—and acceptance—of their new reality had nearly made JJ vomit. Nearly. Because though it had hurt him to see his brother pulled so far away, he was now having more than enough fun teasing a newly lower-class Willa with every chance that he got; a feat that was proven rather easy considering Willa spent most of the day cleaning up all of JJ's messes within the Chateau—all the while still fighting for a single piece of normalcy to bring to the home that every teenager seemed to find themselves living in at one point or another.

Yet even as Willa tried her darndest to keep the Chateau in order, it was already beginning to suffocate her. It was supposed to be a safe space, yet she could not look around the open living room without seeing those two gunmen nearly tear the house apart in search of a compass. Every time she lingered on a creaking floorboard, a faraway part of her suddenly held her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"So, you're living in Tannyhill. With Sarah Cameron."

Kiara Carrera's sudden and deadpan voice ripped Willa from her thoughts, and she lifted her tired head up from her dazed gaze upon the cracked tabletop. Kiara placed a cup of water in front of Willa, ever the so-perfect waitress of The Wreck, but the latter knew she was only doing so in part to remain on her father's good side. Like Willa's own parents, Kiara's had been furious, too, over her choice to flee the Midsummer ball and never once look back.

"Look, the only reason I'm living there is that her dad is keeping me out of DCS," John B. insisted from where he sat at the table next to Willa's own. Though he was less than a foot from her, she could not bear to look too closely, too long at him. Every time she did a piece within her ached, like a dull knife slowly being pulled clean from a deep wound. "And it's way better than foster care, which, by the way, is where I was about to go if Ward didn't—"

"Do you have a membership to the clubs now?" Pope snorted, cutting him off. He was sitting next to Willa, sending the Routledge boy a familiar crude stare that she could not bring herself to give him.

"You bet he does," JJ chimed in from behind the duo. He suddenly reached in between them and snatched Willa's cup of water up, taking a sip and claiming it as his own before she could breathe a breath of protest. "He took kook bait's."

Willa flipped him off with a battered finger, both bruised and cut from a week of past mayhem. She was not wearing any rings today, though. She couldn't. It hurt her hands too much.

JJ was the only one who continued to wear a smile as the four teenagers looked at John B. Kiara was glowering as she stood over him. "You promised," She said, her voice heavy with disappointment. "You said you weren't with her."

Down at the table, John B. was silent beneath Kiara's stern gaze. "Just own it, bro. She got you," JJ piped in with a shrug, clearly not helping. None of them were going to dig John B. out of this hole. He had betrayed the pogues—even if he had not meant to hurt them.

Willa did not throw out any words in his defense either. For the first time, she held her tongue and let John B. handle this battle on his own. Still, he struggled against the weight of so many forbearing stares, and it hurt her to watch him, nonetheless. Several times he opened his mouth to speak, to try and point Kiara, JJ, and Pope back to reason, but whatever he was trying to say was not forming as he, perhaps, wanted it to. It was only when he finally turned to sneak a peek at Willa, the Deveraux princess unmoving, painfully unforgiving in a retrospect all her own, did his words effectively and finally falter.

She hated meeting his gaze from a table away then, aching hickory and agonized sage burning against forgotten embers, but she did not look away. She wondered how much he truly remembered from that night in St. Olives. Did he remember any of it? Did he understand her hesitation? Her stand-offness that could not be so honestly, so boldly, disguised as anger? Did he even notice it? Or was he too mesmerized now by the halo upon Sarah Cameron's golden head?

"Look, if you want to hang out with her, that's fine," Kiara huffed. "But I'm letting you know now that I'm not doing anything with Sarah."

John B.'s attention abruptly snapped away from Willa and back to Kiara at her little jab. "Do you see her here?" He countered bitterly. "No, she isn't. Okay. A little focus would be fantastic, Kie."

"And what does that look like?" Willa challenged quietly, but not weakly. It was the first time she had spoken to him all morning. She wondered if he had realized that, too. "What are we doing here?"

"We've got the map, right?" John B. reminded her—reminded them all. He quickly pulled the large map of Kildare's historic Tannyhill Plantation from his backpack that lay discarded at his feet. Sarah Cameron had taken it from her father's study the night of Midsummers, and it was still in its wrapping as if it had been framed. Now, splayed upon the table, it was old and wrinkly, as all maps of the island seemed to be, but the contents displayed within the Parcel 9 were still clear enough to read.

Well, for everyone except JJ. From over John B.'s shoulder, he was still frowning at the piece of paper and scratched absentmindedly at his left eyebrow which was still scabbing over from his brawl against Rafe and Kelce. "It's all out of whack 'cause the guy was ganja'd when he drew it," He commented.

"It's because the coast has changed, JJ."

"Oh . . ."

Pope rolled his eyes at his friend's cluelessness, but then said, "So we just have to look for landmarks that haven't changed."

John B. nodded his agreement. "What about the old forts?" He offered.

It was a good place to start, and Kiara was first to find their best and quickest option, already untying her apron from around her waist. "Battery Jasper," She said aloud, pointing to the written remnants of a once bold drawing of a military fort. No one argued her statement and within minutes the five teenagers had quickly abandoned The Wreck restaurant and were heading far south into the Cut.

➸➸➸

ALMOST UNSURPRISINGLY, THE OLD Battery Jasper Fort did little to ultimately help the treasure-hunting teens. Though it had pointed them in a clearer direction, they had been forced to turn back to the map, nonetheless. With no other forts to turn to, all of them located in the wrong spots, rather they soon found their long-sought-for answers upon the edge of a short stone wall stuck firmly on the outskirts of a swampy subdivision.

However, the old and near-decaying Cut neighborhood that the teenagers now found themselves looking upon left little to be desired. From the front seat of the Twinkie, John B. groaned and shifted the Volkswagen into park. "Not the Crain house . . ."

Willa's own stomach somersaulted at the sight that befell her as she hauled open the back door of the van and clambered out. It was midday and her skin felt clammy, even as the sun was shadowed by the clouds. Her discomfort did not come from the humid summer, no, but rather from the presence of the massive house that loomed before her, its odd angles and crevices sending shadows striking out eerily, as if desperate to reach her.

Welcome to the twilight zone, she mused to herself.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Willa asked, looking hesitantly at Pope who still held tightly to the map.

The Crain house was a place of nightmares. She had grown up hearing stories about the dark and evil residence, and the horrors that had befallen it behind closed curtains and locked doors. Even she had never dared to step foot within its boundaries out of fear of the damned curses that might trap her, of the rotten hands that might grab her. The Crain house was worse than haunted. From what she had heard it was Hell itself.

"This is it," Pope confirmed with a gulp.

"You've got to be kidding me," Kiara groaned.

"This is worst-case scenario," JJ concluded. His bright blue eyes were wide as he scanned the copper-colored rooftops of the rickety old house as if expecting a demon or devil to be perched upon the highest peak.

"Why'd it have to be here . . . of all places?" Pope wondered aloud.

"I heard that Mrs. Crain buried her husband's head on the property," JJ revealed. His words sent a chill down Willa's spine. She had heard that story, too. Many, many times.

"So," Willa exhaled a timid breath and looked around at her friends that had gathered. No one seemed eager to approach the stone wall, the seeming barricade between the living and the dead. "Who's going in first?"

Not a single soul was inclined to take the first step, and the teens ended up pulling sticks to decide their fate. JJ, to his utter horror, pulled the short end and was tasked with leading the way. Willa followed close in his shadow as one by one, they scaled over the short stone wall and toppled over into the knee-high grass that awaited on the other side.

Most of the vast property was covered in shadow. Much had to do with the size of the house; however, the abundance of overgrown shrubbery helped to add to the heavy darkness that encompassed the area. Though the air was hot, Willa now felt a chill across her bare arms, and she crossed them tightly over her chest as she focused on stepping where the Maybank boy stepped as if one false move might be the end of everything.

Yet JJ was not the most effective leader when he, too, was scared. Even as he tried not to be, his jumpiness was evident with every turn. Upon every statue that rose out of the grass, Willa had to quickly grab his arm to keep him from sending a fist directly into the stone.

"Careful," Willa chided him. "They might not hit back, but they'll still win the fight."

Slowly, JJ unclenched his fists and Willa lowered her hands again. "I swear that one's eyes moved," He insisted.

"Please, don't say that."

"Do you not feel like something's watching you?"

"Shut up, JJ. You're freaking me out."

"Well, they're freaking me out!"

"Guys, stop," Kiara pleaded, coming up in between Willa and JJ to separate them. "And keep it down. You guys know whose house this is, right?"

"Oh, yeah," JJ confirmed, while at the same time, Willa piped in, "Of course, we do." What she did not say was that one would have to have grown up under a rock to not know whose house that was. Even tourons had heard the legends.

The trio continued walking at a slower pace now through the overgrown yard, allowing Pope and John B. to catch up. "Honestly, I don't really believe the stories of this place," The latter admitted.

JJ frowned at his best friend's comment, and then glanced over his shoulder to the following group. "What stories have you heard?" He asked no one in particular. He was willing to hear each and every one of them.

"The one where she killed her husband with an axe and that she's been holed up ever since," Kiara supplied.

"I heard that one, too," Willa said with a nod. "I also heard the one about the missing Callahan girl from the 80s. How she went 'missing'," she put dramatic air quotes around the word, "after Mrs. Crain fired her the night Mr. Crain was killed."

JJ whipped to look at her now. "You think Mrs. Crain killed her, too?"

"Her body was never found. This is the last place she was seen alive," Willa replied, just as earnestly with concern for the story. "That can't be a coincidence."

"What if they were buried together?"

"Who says they were even buried?"

"You know," Kiara drawled ominously, looking between the nervous Maybank boy and the rattled Deveraux daughter. "Sometimes, when driving down this road at night, you can supposedly see them just over the wall. Two shadows peeking out from between the cracks in the stone . . ." Her tone shifted then, lightening, watching them take the bait. "And behind them . . . you can even see Mrs. Crain in the window," She chimed with a googly wave of her hands. "Waah!"

"Kie, that's not funny, 'cause it's all true," JJ protested firmly. Beside him, Willa was still tensed. "I swear to God, guys, this is all real. I knew Hollis."

"Wait . . ." Pope froze abruptly, mid-step through a tall brush, and wheeled to face JJ. "You knew Hollis Crain?"

"Yeah, dude. She was my babysitter. She told me all about it," JJ informed. "Told me the truth . . . about her mother and what happened in this house."

Willa crossed her arms over her chest at his daunting whisper, her hands locking around her elbows as she dared a glance toward the Crain house. All the grayish curtains were pulled tight, and the yard was clearly empty aside from their group. Yet the gooseflesh upon her skin did not die, did not ease its tension. She could not shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching them, watching her.

She really hated this place.

To take her mind away from the physical weight of the house's presence, Willa asked, "What happened, J?"

"Well, kook bait, as a kid, she heard all the stories that her mother killed her father, and how she was a murderer and all . . . Hollis didn't believe it. Until that night."

"What night?" John B. inquired.

"It all came back to her," JJ said, his eyes flickering towards his best friend. "When Hollis was six-years-old, she heard her parents arguing downstairs. So, she goes downstairs to see her mom washing her hands in a sink . . . full of blood." He seemed to pause a moment for emphasis, but none of the other teenagers seemed to bow beneath his dramatics—not yet. "Her mother just says she cut her finger," He finally continued. "The next morning, she says her father and her split up. But then, Hollis noticed something. Her mother going into the parlor constantly, in and out, and in and out with plastic bags. Weeks pass and Hollis decides to use the outhouse. And as she's using it, she looks down, and there, in the outhouse, is her father's head looking straight back at her."

The Routledge boy scoffed loudly, entirely unbelieving of such a murder story. "God, you are so full of shit."

"Dude, I swear to God, man!"

"Did she call the police?" Pope demanded. Willa was unsure she had ever seen the boy so concerned. He was entirely enthralled, despite the obvious tremor in his own voice.

"She didn't have time," JJ explained. "It was—" He cut himself off abruptly as John B., who was clearly done with the conversation, suddenly wheeled away from the gathered group and attempted to approach the house on his own. "Whoa!" JJ exclaimed, grabbing his friend, and skidding to a halt. "Are you sure you want to do this, John B.? She's an axe murderer. You've got a cast on."

At the mention of the cast, Willa looked down at John B.'s encased and brittle arm. Already, she was growing accustomed to the sight of his mangled body, broken in more ways than one. A part of her was fearful that a merely broken wrist might not be the worst injury John B. was going to face on their journey for the gold.

"I don't give a shit if she's an axe murderer, okay?" John B. retorted. "I've got nothing to lose, right? Are you coming or what?"

JJ hesitated. Pope and Kiara did, too. They were all looking at the silent Crain house now as if one of them expected the front door to magically swing open. But they would never be that lucky. Or, perhaps, unlucky. No matter, their group had made it this far. They could not turn back now.

Willa swallowed tightly and dared to break the silence. "Lead the way," She said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Willa sensed John B. send her a quiet and concerned look; as if he did not like her expression or the tensed hostility that rested just beneath her words. But another moment passed then, and he otherwise did not say anything. Silently and tensed, the group of five soon continued on through the overgrown yard that surrounded the Crain house. Little by little, they scoured the grass, searching for signs that pointed back to Denmark's letter that John B. had recovered from past archives. No matter, the water they so desperately sought was nowhere to be found on the outskirts of the property.

It was John B. who finally and ultimately dared to move closer, into the shadows of the awnings that rusted along the rickety roofs. He led them right up to the nearest back edge of the house and brushed away some more overgrown shrubbery, revealing a tiny entrance to a decaying basement.

As John B. went to pull the latch on the wooden door free, Pope made a quiet noise of discomfort. "John B., this isn't a good idea," He protested.

"It's the only place we haven't looked. We'll be fast."

John B. carefully pulled the rotten door back, but little could be done to silence the creak of such old hinges. Beyond the doorway, there was little light to guide them. Little warning at all for any potential trap or monster that lay in the wake for them.

JJ dared one step over the dirt threshold and then mocked a salute. "It was nice knowing you all," He said, and then disappeared into the dark.

With bated breath, Kiara and Pope followed him. Willa stepped up next after them, but before she could duck her head under a low-hanging plank, John B. placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. She could not help the instant recoil as she stepped back from his warm and gentle touch, and her guilt at such a sudden reaction only grew in magnitude at the obvious hurt which flashed within the Routledge boy's dark eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked her. His voice was so quiet, as to not be overheard by the others.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Willa returned. But she said it too quickly. Too choked. She wished she could blame the tightness of her throat on the dust and the dirt around him, but the suffocation came from within, from the hurt and the longing, and the betrayal, and the confusion that neither of them deserved, but could not quite overcome just yet.

"Willa, if—"

"I'm fine, John B.," Willa insisted, firmer this time. Louder, too, so that they now could be heard by the others. "Come on. We shouldn't waste any more time here than we already have."

She did not wait for him to attempt to argue or protest, and instead let herself become swallowed by the shadows as she dropped down into the basement. Automatically, she reached for the tiny flashlight in her back pocket and lifted it high to examine her surroundings. It was as one would expect an old and forgotten basement to look. Half of the wooden floor was torn up, leaving patches of open dirt, and the ceiling was cracked with mold. Old furniture and toys littered the far side of the basement, nearest to the stairs, and on the other side, there was a multitude of different yard tools and machinery that, by the dust that gathered upon them, looked as if they had not been touched in years. There was even a strange and musty smell to the air as if not a single thing in this entire space had been moved in over a decade. Everything within this tiny space felt stiff. Cold. Lifeless.

"Down came Mrs. Crain and cut off all our heads . . ." JJ sang, eerily and mocking of a nursery rhyme. Though she knew he was only doing it in an attempt to calm his own nerves, his voice and his lyrics were enough to heighten hers tenfold.

"Can you stop?" Pope groaned.

JJ ignored him, and continued on, pushing further into the basement, "Up came the sun and dried up all the blood . . ."

"JJ, shut up," Willa snapped.

"Next thing you know and kook bait's next to go . . ."

"JJ!" She threw her flashlight at him and did not stop to think how much it might actually hurt until it had already soared across the room and nailed him.

"Ow, what the hell?!" JJ stumbled around and clutched at his shoulder. "You hit my arm!"

"Next time it'll be your head!" She huffed, stomping over to him to recollect the fallen flashlight. Thankful that the bulb had not shattered, she promptly shined the light in his eyes. "Stop singing that song!"

He dodged the beam of light and smirked down at her. "It was a good song, wasn't it?"

Willa shoved at him, and JJ would have been quick to retaliate if it were not for John B. stepping between them. "Will you both shut up?" He demanded. "Stay on task."

"On task," Kiara scoffed, from somewhere behind them, causing all three heads to turn in her direction. She put her hands on her hips and shrugged at their surroundings. "Do you see any water here, John B.? It's another dead end."

A mosquito buzzed in Willa's ear, and she batted it away. "This was a terrible idea," She said in agreement. "Let's get out and here and take another look at the map."

JJ reached a hand above their heads and ran his fingertips along a rusted pipe. "There's not even water on these," He pointed out. "Not a dropamino."

"Know why we didn't find it?" Kiara huffed. "Because of bad karma."

John B. rolled his eyes. "Oh, God," He muttered under his breath. "Here we go."

At his bitter attitude, the Carrera girl instantly wheeled on him and got right in his face, pointing a stern finger in his chest. "You know, we had a good thing going," She growled. "And then you decide to rope in Barbie, and now the trail's gone dry. Coincidence? Probably not."

"This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you about Sarah," John B. argued. "What the hell's the deal with you two?"

"Nothing," Kiara bit back.

"Nothing?" John B. mocked. His expression twisted into a sneer. "Is it because you have a little crush on me? Is that the problem?"

Kiara promptly slapped him in the face.

Though her jaw dipped slightly at the sound of contact made, Willa was not at all phased by the revelation of the Routledge boy's sudden statement. She had no mind for Kiara's romantic feelings. In fact, it almost made her feel better. She was not the only one who had been hurt by John B., and as a result, would not be the only one to hurt him back.

So, rather than step in, rather than chide the girl who was slowly but surely becoming her best friend once again, Willa merely pursed her lips, nodded to herself in the shadows of the tense room, and thought: As she fucking should.

However, the other two boys in the basement were not so quiet in their exclamations. "Oh, shit!" JJ gasped. "That echoed."

Kiara's teeth were gritted together as she spoke her frustration, bold and true. "Stop treating me like I'm some girl that's obsessed with you instead of your best friend who's actually trying to look out for you."

It was as if John B. had not even heard her. Instead, he simply asked, anger flushing beneath the redness of the fresh slap. "Did you, uh, just hit me?"

Kiara lifted a proud hand, and though Willa could not see the angle of her palm from where she stood, her defense was clear enough. "Skeeter," She insisted.

John B. scoffed dryly. "Skeeter?" He repeated.

"Yeah, you see it?"

"Yeah."

And then John B. promptly slapped Kiara in the face.

The air shifted then. No longer were the other onlooking teenagers so relaxed as they watched the argument between the two bickering friends unfold.

"Okay . . ." Pope hesitated and took a careful step forward, prepared to stop anything further from escalating. Ever the peacekeeper, that boy.

But elsewhere Willa Deveraux was already seeing red.

A hand ghosted her bicep, but she was too quick as she stormed across the shadowy basement. Behind her, JJ yelped, "Watch it, John B., she's got a flashlight!"

Willa immediately knew that should have just thrown it like she had done with JJ, because before she could even lift her hand and come to Kiara's aid, Pope had intercepted her path and placed both hands on Willa's shoulders, holding her back. "That's enough, guys! Knock it off!"

"Pope, if you don't get your hands off of me—"

Pope pushed her back, listening but not listening to her command, all at once. His force had not been enough to hurt her, not in the sense that John B. had done to Kiara, but enough to effectively make some distance between her and the growing fight. As she fell back into the only other boy behind her, Pope pointed a finger over her shoulder and ordered, "JJ, take her."

"Kind of busy, man," He insisted. "Think I just walked into a storm of skeeters!"

Willa felt a pinch against her own arm and immediately batted away another mosquito that had turned on her. Ducking away from JJ, who truly did appear to have awoken a nest of mosquitos, she inched back toward the exit. The fight truly and thankfully forgotten—John B. and Kiara now almost playfully hitting each other—Willa just simply wanted to get out of that basement.

"Why are there so many mosquitoes in here?" Pope muttered. He was waving a storm above his own head.

"Dude, I know, seriously," JJ exclaimed. "Tiny vampire bats, just leave me alone!" He lifted his head and looked around almost pleadingly. "Can we leave? I'm already itchin' to leave. Hah, get it, kook bait?"

Willa stared across at him with a deadpan expression. "Come here, J," She beckoned coyly. "I think there's one on your forehead."

"Really?" He stepped closer.

"No." But she smacked him, anyway.

"Okay, you're going to pay for that one."

As JJ moved to launch at her, she threw her arms up, ready to block his advance, but before he could even take a step, he was abruptly tripping on a wooden plank that Pope had simultaneously pulled out from beneath his feet. JJ wheeled around to his friend with a frown. "What the hell, Pope?" He demanded.

Pope did not answer any of them and instead was on his hands and knees, pulling away a series of wooden planks from the floor. John B., with a hand suspended over Kiara's head, froze. "Pope, what are you doing?" He questioned.

"You need to be quiet!" Kiara reminded him. "Mrs. Crain's probably right upstairs."

"Then help me move this!" Pope ushered back, but there was no anger, no frustration in his tone. He sounded almost excited, like a hunt about to reach its end, and the prize was so very near.

In an instant, the quiet laughter from the other teens died, and they hurried to help Pope clear the rest of the way. Quickly, the group of five pulled the wooden planks back from the floor and quietly set them aside, moving silently but swiftly. It was only once there was finally a rounded gap in the ground that Pope pointed down, encouraging all his friends to take a look into the newfound depths.

Willa held her breath as she shined her light into the darkness, and a ripple of water reflected back to her.

Pope exhaled a quiet and proud breath. "Well, well, well," He murmured.

"That was a good dad joke," John B. praised softly. Yet he was not even remotely laughing at the Heyward boy's comment. Instead, he was staring down at the newly discovered scene in awe.

No longer were Willa, Kiara, JJ, Pope, and John B. down looking at rotten wooden planks beneath their feet, but rather at hardened and purposeful stone. An untouched well filled deeply with water peered back up at the young treasure hunters from several feet below the earth.

"They built this part of the house right over it," Kiara gasped.

Willa lowered down into a crouch and suspended her weight back, hoping to lean closer to the hole and examine where even her flashlight could not dare reach. "Do you think they even knew this was here?" She wondered.

JJ crouched down beside her. "This has got to be where Mrs. Crain hid the bodies," He confidently insisted.

Both Willa and Kiara rolled their eyes but did not otherwise even try to argue with the Maybank boy. It was a lost cause.

"So," Pope proclaimed as he dusted his hands off on his pants. "We found water. Now what?"

All at once, four pairs of eyes turned to look at their treasure-hunting leader, but he was already looking down at one specific face, for she was kneeling closest to him. Unabatedly Willa Deveraux held John B.'s excited gaze. For a single moment in time, any pain and tension were forgotten. Instead, there was only hope.

Not for them together. But for the Routledge boy alone.

"We're going to need a really big rope."

~~~~~~~~~~

guess who's back?

it's only fair i show up right before the end of the year, right?

i don't even know what to say, and no author's note will make sense. so, in short, life has been hectic in the several months that i have put this story on hold, but i am happy to say that willa deveraux is back! i missed my girl so much.

in my time away, i hope you all have been doing well. none of your comments have gone unseen nor unnoticed. i so very much appreciate all of the consistent support this story has received. it means the world to me, though i likely don't deserve it. but i am going to do all that i can to ensure you all enjoy this story every bit of the way.

so, how are you? what are you thinking? i absolutely would not blame you if you had to reread this entire story because i did. but by god did it make me fall back in love all over again. i think this might be the work that i am most proud of. i love the complexity and the journey of this character so much, and i hope you do too.

again, thank you all for showing willa and the pogues and this story so much love. i cannot wait to continue writing it, and getting back into the seasons ahead. we'll get there, i promise. but for now, let's talk about what's happening!! how do we think willa's going to handle the future in store?! it's going to be crazy!!!! let me know what you all are thinking!!!

again, sending you all my love. stay safe and well.

--B.