Ambrose doesn't think anyone will be home. Just to be safe, he and Clare keep their hoods up when they walk toward his house. His face is recognizable, especially on his own street, and she implied that people might recognize her. He is thankful that over Kraft Dinner last night, they all sort of chatted about their names and professions. Icebreakers aren't the kind of thing Ambrose has ever paid attention to now.

Then again, he's never had one between dead people.

They cut through a neighbour's backyard. Ambrose recognizes the run-down truck in the driveway which belongs to a bitter man in the early stages of dementia. His family couldn't afford a carer, not that the curmudgeon would let one in any way. Ambrose's mother would pray for all the neighbours at the dinner table. Their food was always cold.

Clare lets Ambrose guide him. The others might not trust him out here, but Clare knows a lot about threat assessment. He doesn't seem dangerous, or even malicious. Maybe he's autistic, but otherwise, his behaviour doesn't seem like something that needs to be pathologized. He makes little eye contact or far too much. He knows things so deeply and is surprised that others don't. He would make a good Watson to her Sherlock.

Although, Watson is not all that intelligent. Ambrose seems anything but dumb.

"What did you do before this all?" she asks him once they are in the confines of the forest.

He shrugs, "I was a law student."

"What kind of law?" she asks.

Ambrose wasn't sure. He was a year into law school and was at the point where he should've had it figured out, "I was summering at a law firm in town. We were doing criminal law."

There are few people in town but a lot of lawyers. Tort lawyers have advertisements on benches and one of the only two billboards in the two streets that pretend to be a downtown core. Lots of people are injured in the factories and out in the oil sands or while working for loggers even farther north. Otherwise, there are usually two of everything. Two family law firms so that couples can be represented by different lawyers. Two commercial law firms. Four criminal law firms though, since there are more e-bikes than buses on account of all the drunk driving.

"You've got a good eye then," she smiles at him.

Ambrose shrugs. Clare seems interesting. She's a cop and she doesn't seem to be put off by the fact that he was helping a defence attorney. Ambrose hopes Ajay decides to let them in on the secret.

Soon enough, they get to the grounds, and they begin to scour. Neither of them are sure what they are looking for, but both of them think they will know when they find it.

~~~

Leo and Ajay walk to the police station. Despite Chelster housing no more than eighty thousand residents, the town is sprawling. Leo decides he should talk to Ambrose about getting them all bus passes, or some sort of fund system so they can move around more easily. It's only going to get colder as the winter months drag in. He is only vaguely aware it is September.

Out here, the trees are drearier. Leaves don't turn bright orange. They are dull and yellow, or the colour of the rust that is on most of the cars around here. Leo was only tangentially moving through Chelster when he died. He doesn't know much about the place which he haunts.

"What can you tell me about Chelster?" he asks Ajay.

Ajay wrings his hands. The wind is so violent and he can feel his skin peeling. He buries them in his pockets, looking down. "There isn't much to know. There are a few factories but most are shut down. Lots of people come through trucking or live here while commuting out to oil rigs or even a few bigger cities in the south. You're RCMP, so where are you usually stationed?"

"Out here, I guess," Leo says. "I grew up out in BC, in Victoria. We immigrated when I was about six. Anyway, I did my training in Regina, but I was stationed out in Yellowknife. We came down here trailing a guy."

Ajay nods. Most people who live in Chelster don't go all that far. People out here might drive down into the Great Plains, above the border, but most people won't go farther than a province in either direction. If Ajay weren't in the military, he might never have left this place.

It's been three years since he died. His heart is beating in his chest. His parents are almost certainly still here, but his sister might be gone. It's no use worrying about that now. They need to figure out their plan.

They get to the police station shortly after, and they walk in the door. The same constable they first met is stationed behind glass again. In their ride to the Church, Leo asked him his name. He's Constable Andersen, brought in as a rookie to replace Constable Canosa after her murder. He didn't press for details because Clare was there.

"How can we help you?" Constable Andersen asks. He furrows his brow. "Is Constable Canosa with you?"

"She's helping the others make lunch back at the church," Ajay smiles. He elbows Leo with a wicked grin. "We wanted to see if you had any progress or needed some help."

Leo looks at Ajay and his bright eyes. He's better at this than Leo, certainly. Leo clears his throat, "yeah. People are starting to get settled in, but restless down there. We're more than happy to come in for interviews."

"We're still working out some kinks," Constable Andersen looks at them both, speaking too quickly. "I can get Constable Campbell out for you guys. He's heading the investigation."

Ajay tries to think. He's not a police officer, but all of this feels strange. Though Leo is part of the RCMP and not a local police officer, he agrees. Most towns out in the west that are this big often need RCMP staff to help keep them running since municipal budgets are low. Besides that, it's been an entire workday since they talked to the officers about their arrival. No one has been around to interview them, and with the opportunity presented, they turn it down. Ajay wonders exactly what kinks they are working out. Are they talking to the mayor? To the RCMP? To Ottawa and the national defence? He recognized Clare. Why doesn't he want to check if she's really alive or just some doppelganger cousin?

"It might be nice to have a nurse or doctor sent out to us in the interim," Leo continues. "We don't know what happened, but all of us were buried underground. I know I could use some ointment for my burns."

Ajay only then realizes that Leo didn't have those burns the last time he remembers being alive.

The constable behind the desks nods, "yes, of course. We just don't want to cause some huge scandal. We're currently trying to liaise with some police to bring them in for help on an internal investigation. It's just complicated since we don't want a media circus descending on you all, and we definitely don't want to send the town into a panic with word spreading that a bunch of people have risen from the dead."

He doesn't meet Leo's eyes, only looking at Ajay. The constable is lying, Leo realizes. Andersen can't bare to look at him.

It's not a lie. It's the burns. Leo swallows, trying to flatten his jaw.

"Yeah, absolutely no worries," Ajay grins. "Just, you can imagine how restless the others are getting. We don't have really any proper food, and we're still all dirty. Maybe you could try to get us those motels? I know I'd love a nice shower."

Constable Andersen seems to relax a bit, "yeah, we'll see what we can do. I don't imagine the pastor appreciates telling his whole congregation that the basement's flooded. No bell tower or basement for them must be annoying."

Ajay doesn't breathe, but then he chuckles.

Leo notices it.

"Well then, officer, we will be out of your hair," Ajay smiles. "You'll know where to find us."

The pair head out. Leo isn't sure it's appropriate to ask Ajay what just happened. His hesitation, the twitch Ajay's eye made, all of it, might have nothing to do with their current predicament. Lots of people have feelings about churches. Besides, he shouldn't bother Ajay. It's clear he makes people afraid.

~~~

The church isn't near downtown, but it isn't isolated. There are houses around it where people live, there is a school and a park. After going to a corner store and buying a lighter, Eva decided to stop by the park. The grass is thin and browning, and wet from early morning due. The playground equipment creaks when Eva throws herself up onto the monkey bars. She hangs upside down and smokes a cigarette.

Nico's shoes are wet. They're lucky they were even buried in their shoes at all. They weren't wearing any when they were sitting next to Kye. With every passing hour, the memory goes more distant. Nice isn't right there anymore. For them, it happened about three days ago, and it feels just like that, even if the time since has been warped and distorted.

Fallon decides to sit on a swing. She propels herself forward and backwards. Her copper hair whips behind her, light and wild in the wind. It blows onto her lips and she doesn't even mind it too much. Feeling cold is better than feeling sad for herself in the basement. It isn't what Corrin would want for Fallon. If she can't have Corrin, she can have what Corrin would wish for her.

"Thanks, Eva," Fallon smiles, slowing down. "It's nice out here."

Nico looks up. Their curly hair weighs down and they have to tuck it out of their eyes. They need a damn shower and not simply washing their hair in the sink of a kitchen without shampoo. They need a hair bonnet, and a washing machine, and they need Kye.

Eva blows smoke from her mouth. She grins.

Nico finds their mouth smiling against their better judgement of the situation. The park is sort of nice. Being sad and scared isn't going to make their experience better. Kye isn't here. Nico is though. Nico is standing despite everything, so Nico decides they can be better, despite everything.

"So, we need a plan to get money," Eva nods. "If my smoking kills me all over again, fine by me, but I need to pay for it."

Fallon shrugs, "you die of cancer?"

"Drugs, probably," Eva pulls herself upright so she is sitting on top of the monkey bars. It feels much higher than it actually is.

"Right," Fallon remembers.

Nico thinks back to that night. They were just eating Christmas dinner with loved ones. It hadn't been something Nico thought all too much about. The library might have had some information on their death. They could've choked on some food, or maybe part of the house exploded. Nico isn't sure.

"Do you think we would have scars?" Nico asks.

Eva shrugs.

Fallon can't help herself. She has to know. She throws her coat on to the ground standing up from the swing. She rolls up her sleeves, looking to see if that is how she did it. There's a new scar on her arm. It's a line by her elbow. There's another on the underside of her arm. They aren't from her. If she looks closely, which she hadn't before, there is one on her wrist.

Fallon lifts up her shirt. Her stomach has three marks. There is one below her shoulder too. Lines thin, no longer than her pinkie finger. None of them seem to be in vital places.

"Those are new?" Nico asks, swallowing.

She nods at them.

Eva groans. Cigarette finally burning out, she jumps down from the monkey bars, "we're supposed to be the group who isn't investigating. Cool it."

Fallon puts her shirt down. She shrugs on her coat, not looking at either of them. It seems she didn't end her life. Most likely, she didn't even propose. Someone did this to her, and a part of her burns with wanting to know why now, even if she didn't an hour ago.

The tension is too much for Nico. They pick themselves up off the ground and walk over to Fallon, wet shoes and all. They tap her shoulder and she turns to look.

"Tag," Nico says.

They dart away and Fallon laughs. She stares at them for just a second. Eva shrugs. Fallon runs after them.

~~~

They are finally alone. Barry and Lydia, together. She sits on the bed opposite Barry. They only look at her for the briefest of moments. She is not someone who is easy to look at. Lydia has always been someone who speaks so clearly. It was part of her music, her ability to tell people how she feels in fewer words than some and more words than others. It's through her gaze she tells them the most, and Barry has been listening so closely to her. They may not have been in the orchestra, but they were at her opera house so much that they can feel her rhythms. They worked there too, as did hundreds of others, but it was her opera house just as much as Barry was hers. He is little else besides her metronome.

So, Barry can tell that she is anxious.

They get up. Barry crosses out of the room and moves into the kitchen.

Lydia stands too, peering after them. There is something in the way they step. It's the way Barry walks away from her. They aren't someone which her parents would ever tolerate. She's never been allowed to take risks. From thousands of kilometres away her throat was in her father's fists. Lydia cannot rationalize how she would ever get to a place to disobey him enough to produce an album.

Barry seems to be where it begins.

"How did you meet her?" she asks. "The Lydia I don't remember, I mean."

They get to the sink in the kitchen, hearing her call. As Barry washes their hands, they smile.

"I was a custodian at the opera house," Barry leans back.

She can barely hear him over the rushing water. She walks into the doorway, just poking her head inside.

"I offered her lunch," Barry lets her in on their game. More than they should, because the Lydia they remember would see through them if they didn't. "The old Lydia, as you explained her. My sister had snuck a note into my lunch that day. She was ten, so I guess she's almost our age now. Anyway, Lydia thought the note was cute. She didn't have other siblings when she was little. I mean, my sister was fourteen years younger than me, so I could relate. I was going to throw out the note because she loved to draw on anything, including my walls, but you, well she, kept it. Lydia didn't say why, but I already thought she was beautiful and then mysterious?"

"You were a goner," Lydia smiles.

Barry looks back, "I was."

It feels like her, but it also feels like a story she'd hear from a grandfather with a wasting memory. It feels like ancient history, like something that was destined and Barry had lived every second of that life. She is the one with the memory loss here.

She knows Barry. She knows she knows them.

"The others think you are creepy, you know," Lydia steps in closer.

They dry their hands on a dishcloth and throw it on the counter, "it's never mattered much to me what people think of me."

"You don't care about my opinion?"

"You aren't people, Lydia," he finally looks at her. "Do you think I'm creepy?"

She swallows, "yes."

"Still brutally honest," he laughs.

"Well, I only felt that way because I didn't know who you were," Lydia insists. "Picture this from my perspective. I wake up in a forest, buried partial underground, and some man I don't know is claiming that I'm dead, and also is undeniably in love with you."

"I never told you that," Barry smirks.

She rolls her eyes, "everyone can tell."

"I wasn't hiding it," they shrug.

Barry shoves their hands in their pockets. The gesture of it all, Lydia recognizes. The smug satisfaction. Someone she trusts but she also knows is dangerous. A threat to everyone but her. They are correct too, and maybe that's what Lydia sees best. Barry never told her how they used to know each other. From his complaining, she's gathered they were from Toronto, where her Opera House was, but Lydia still could have assumed they were friends.

Something more fated than a casual connection. Something transcending death.

"Well, learn to hide it better," she smiles. "Otherwise, I'm not going to get cozy with Este."

"If that is what you want," he grins back.

Lydia turns around to hide her blush. She wants anything but that.

~~~

The library in Chelster has made no updates since Audrey died. There are no more than six computers, all thick and slow. It doesn't bother Audrey since as far as she knows, The Beholder doesn't have a digital archive. They leave Kaia and Este with a list of names to search for within online obituaries and news sites. The library has free pens. They are supposed to pay for the paper in the printer, but Audrey doubts anyone will notice their theft. In the meantime, Audrey heads down to the archives.

Kaia and Este pour through the information.

Beloved brother and son, Ambrose David Burke, 23, passed away on June 11, 2014.

There are no details about his death on his obituary page so Este skims it. Otherwise, there are articles. It seems Ambrose's brother, the driver of the car Ambrose died in, has recently been released from prison. Just a day before they returned.

Odd, she thinks.

Kaia finds an obituary for Barry, which mentions Lydia. They were in love, apparently, according to the record she has in front of her. There's no cause of death listed. Lydia's obituary is linked in his. There are hundreds of comments on hers from adoring fans. She died of a stroke the same year Barry passed.

There's an obituary for Audrey too, whose death is described as a tragic accident and nothing more. Este clicks and clicks through each article, information rocketing by her. Leo died in a fire while pursuing a criminal who is still at large, as of the article. Eva's cause of death isn't listed. Clare was killed by a kid who plead not guilty, a stupid move when accused of killing a cop. Ajay was hit in a drive-by, a fact that doesn't surprise her based on the number of drunk drivers in their community. Nico died from an allergic reaction. Fallon was murdered by a few users who confused her for a dealer, who wasn't caught. They took a plea bargain. If they hadn't her death was so recent that her killers might still be on trial.

Este crosses off each person, saving herself for last since she knows she's going to spend the most time dedicated to her own murder. As she goes down, she realizes Kaia is still stuck on her name. So, Este leans back, just slightly, to get a look at Kaia's computer screen. It's just photos, so Este goes back to digging into her death.

Her obituary is from last year, but she disappeared in 2014. There is a missing persons social media page dedicated to finding her. There haven't been updates in years. The most recent link is to when Jayce had her declared legally dead, something that requires seven years to pass. His social media has pictures of the blonde woman, now his wife. Married two days after her death was official. Classy.

Kaylee Wood-Rodwell.

Beside Este, Kaia is looking at her own social media. It wasn't one she used very often, just every six or so months she'd post a photo when something interested her. She hasn't found an obituary. There isn't anything at all indicating anyone knows she is lost or gone. No missing persons case. No questions about her whereabouts.

Her account has even uploaded photos since her death. Like clockwork, every six months. The kinds of things she used to like. There's a picture of a lake she's never visited, a still of popcorn and a ticket to a horror movie released years last year. There's a DM from her younger brother asking if she's okay, and a follow-up message from her account. She says she's fine, but she just needs space.

Two thoughts occur to her simultaneously. The first, however unlikely, is that she has amnesia from a moment she's forgotten. Lydia has memory loss too. However, the other thought is more powerful.

"I think I've found what I need," Kaia stands.

Este nods, "let's go check the records."

They head downstairs, where Audrey has been elbow-deep in copies of The Beholder. The tips of their fingers are stained with the cheap ink of the newspaper. The archives are just as Audrey remembers them, complete with the broken tap access that requires a librarian to access them. Audrey wouldn't mind asking, but from all their research they know how much a paper trail matters.

It matters.

Audrey died in an accident. There were loose wires left on the stage at the chess competition that they last remembered. Audrey, apparently, got caught in several loose wires on stage and slipped off the side and hit the ground. The medical person on sight to treat her head injury might have rolled her over, according to some reports. She might have died due to their negligence, and the negligence of the safety manager who set up the cables. Charges weren't laid.

The disappointing news is that Audrey lost the chess match.

Este and Kaia arrive next to them.

"Whose deaths don't we know about?"

"Mine," the two women say in unison. They both look at each other.

Kaia sighs, "there's no record of my death anywhere. Someone is pretending to be me online."

Now, Este wished she had looked more closely. Kaia's business is hers, just like Este's is.

"Year and month," Audrey walks down the hall toward the files from the last ten years.

"July 2019," Kaia calls out. "The first week."

Audrey digs through the files. As they do, Este feels her nose crinkle. It smells musty down here. The room must not be sealed well against the weather. The light above the table is bright but the rest of the lights are off and the room is dim. The paper might be growing mould. Este breathes out slowly through her mouth.

"Here's May through August of that year," Audrey grunts, lugging it over a box. "The paper comes out only on Sundays. People get their news online now."

Este's face crunches in on itself. She forces herself down the same hall and drags out a box labelled January through April of the year she disappeared. Audrey and Kaia dig through her box while Este files through hers.

Nothing else seems interesting. No body of hers seems to have been found. Her hand finds her neck. How tight would he have held? How long?

She squeezes her own neck, feels her own throat close. She can go tighter. She can fight harder.

The week Audrey disappeared, there is a sketch of Kaia, on the third page of the newspaper. Her body was found near the truck stop, just inside the town border. It doesn't have details on her injuries, but there is no name attached to her face. Asking for information.

Audrey looks up at Kaia.

Kaia is Māori, but Audrey wouldn't know it unless she spoke. A sketch in black and white on grey paper, only described as tan, you might think she was Indigenous to Canada. Indigenous women aren't the kind of women people go searching for.

"I was murdered," Kaia looks at the paper. It wasn't described as a hit-and-run. It wasn't described much at all. The flash of anger she felt.

Was it at Rory?

"Yeah, so was I," Este says.

She looks up. Her eyes burn. The papers in the damp room would somehow go up in smoke. Kaia meets her gaze and nods.

"We'll get those sons of bitches," Este tells her. "They'll know worse than death."

~~~~~

It looks like I might write more than just a single chapter and dip this time. No joke, I'm committed to the bit of this book. Like, 25K in, ideally would like 40K more, which actually feels like less. We are in the thick of things. Also, thanks for rereading. I had to go back and read the whole thing over again before I started writing the last chapter. I'm committed to it being the last.

Now that we are in the thick of it, what was the most interesting point this chapter? What directions do you want things to head?