The fractures split. The six who do not involve themselves with the murder are left in the motel room. The news is still on, rerunning the stories it began two hours ago. With a sunsets so early, their understanding of night is as loose as their understanding of death.

Lydia and Barry do not stick around. Of course, Fallon is a mess. She needs to get out, Leo decides, and so Leo asks Clare and Nico to keep an eye on Ambrose while they wait for Audrey's return. She might not truly be gone. Audrey haunts Ambrose's corpse more than any other part of town, after all.

Then, it is just Clare and Nico and a corpse. Arguably three corpses, arguably none. Maybe two ghosts, perhaps three animated vessels for some other vile thing. Of course, there are a dozen crows cawing outside.

Clare wishes they had internet, or a library. It must not be night, since she is fairly certain crows are not nocturnal.

Somewhere out there, Kaia is helping orchestrate a murder. The other group didn't seem like the kind to wait until tomorrow. Vengeance is not the answer. The impulse Clare understands perfectly well, but if there is a Hell and they are somehow not trapped there, Clare is not keen on propelling themselves there faster.

"You like her," Nico calls out to Clare, back pressed against the doorframe of the bathroom to keep an eye on Ambrose. "Kaia."

Clare closes the curtains. The room doesn't materially get darker, but Nico mourns the potential of starlight. It is a cloudy, windy evening, but the clouds at least were grey. The sky above them was not a reflection of the universe above them, the infinite cold and unflinching endless nothing.

Is that what Clare had expected death would be before this?

"You thought you loved her, didn't you?"

Clare looks at them, "I didn't know her. I mean, I don't know her."

"Are you surprised she wants the pastor dead?" Nico asks. "I'm not."

Clare pulls their hair off their neck, slick with sweat. They try their best to tie it with the fraying elastic she has wrapped around their wrist.

"Maybe I'm an idiot, but I'm trying not to buying into the eye for an eye policy," Nico says.

"You think they are right?" Clare asks, looking over at them.

Nico pulls themselves off the ground. This close to Ambrose, in such close proximity, the smell is too strong. Maybe he's burning inside again, with what feels like a warmer, smokier room. Nico goes over to the bowl and grabs potpourri.

"I think they all think they are finding an easy solution," Nico points out. The potpourri is rough against his fingers. Dried petals and leaves. Dead things to mask dead things. "I mean, I think killing someone physically is surprisingly easy. Nobody needs to tell me how fragile life is. But... well I just think about his family finding him and never knowing why he was murdered."

Some part of Nico hopes Kai has solace from the order of it all. Somehow, accidentally, there was a peanut at Christmas dinner. Nico happened to have lost their epipen. Even senseless, wasted life has some cognitive order of events. And from the research they know Clare and Kaia have been conducting, Nico knows Clare must agree.

"Just, what about who finds him?" Clare's voice is quiet. "Someone will have to do it."

And maybe someone's son will write a blog post about that as well. Clare should have just messaged the young man the truth about Kaia's death.

Nico shivers at the thought. Their body feels tight, their throat especially, and even more so their fingers. The imprint of Kai's grip on Nico's flesh, this far beyond the grave.

Nico squeezes the potpourri tighter. They bring it into the bathroom and sprinkle some of it on Ambrose, as if that will make a difference.

A fragment piece grazes Ambrose's nose. His eyes still in his face for the first time in thirteen days. And his nose twitches.

~~~

Ajay was the one who divided up responsibilities. They were spread thin, the five of them. First, they all went to the forest, the spot where Ajay and Este had waited for Jayce to return after they killed them. They dig up the gun they had buried there, having had no use for it once Jayce did not come back. There, Eva and Audrey remain to wait for the pastor. The other three stake out the church.

It's early on a Saturday evening. Having lived in the church long enough, they know the pastor's patterns. Some Saturday nights, he goes to the church for an hour or two, eating dinner and preparing for the Saturday service. Hopefully, this night is one such fateful evening.

There are no cars in the parking lot. It's no matter, since he will be there in the earliest hours of Sunday morning. Likely alone, although none of them can be sure now that Sunday school is running once more. It is Kaia's job to stake out the place. She can whistle loudly, certainly better than Ajay. If anyone approaches the church other than the pastor, she is supposed to run up to one of the stain glass windows and get the others attention.

For now, she circles the building in wait. Maybe she can feel good about herself, knowing she won't be the one to put the barrel of the gun against the pastor's chest. Although, Kaia is sure she would give him a quick death. Este is the kind to wait it out, as far as Kaia can tell. Este would wrap their hands around the pastors neck and squeezes, leaving bruises if his body lived long enough to get them. Kaia would hit him with a brick just to end it all.

Only once does she stop moving. The view outside is familiar. Lower, lying against the wall, is a small window. It's broken open, carefully kicked and cared for by Ajay. One of the few leading into the basement. She knows that Ajay, Nico, and Leo all crawled out of it and fled into the streets weeks ago. She knows Ajay and Este used the same window to return to the pews this evening, to lie in wait. Simultaneously, Kaia cannot imagine fitting through such a small space herself. Really, it's hard to picture her with the desperation she felt crawling out of the dirt. She struggles to see herself in the pews, annoyed with Eva for asking her why she came to Canada, desperate to find Rory and so damn cold.

She sticks her head inside the dark room.

Inside, she makes out the shadows of the bins. The cots are gone, likely shoved back into storage. The homeless shelter that operates in here doesn't seem to continue on Saturday nights. After all, the children must come in there on Sunday morning, and the horror! Think of the children, sitting in a room where drug users and the laid off lie before. What if the poverty was contagious! What if God saw infidels in the church?

There are twenty-one hours difference between Vancouver and her home. She knows that number better than any other. She can't remember the date she died even if she saw it this morning, or the date she met Rory. She has no idea how many days it has been since she died, how many since she met Clare, the real and true version of her. Kaia doesn't know how many times she's joined Nico for a game of tag, or how many boxes of KD she's eaten here. She could live and die and live again and she would know that number. Twenty-one hours between her and her family. Right now, she's in a different time from Vancouver, but the centre of Canada is all flat and empty, and she doesn't remember what the difference is between here and Canada.

Somewhere, her parents might be awake. Maybe they attended church on Sunday morning, since for them it is the thirteenth of November already. Maybe they are mourning her, without knowing she died. Mourning the straight daughter they wished they had, one they could bring into the house of God.

In this basement, there is no trace of Kaia. No evidence she ever whispered to Fallon late in the evening, or helped Barry cooked dinner with reluctance. The house of God has been put back in order.

Kaia pulls up from the window and continues to circle the building.

~~~

After Lydia debriefs Barry while the others are headed out, he refuses to participate in the group's nonsense. Picking a side would involve picking people, and just as much as he would never pick a single one of them, none of them would ever pick him. Unfortunately, when he leaves Lydia follows him. Well, she walks alongside him, in the quiet. It's barely a step up from Eva's presence. He'd rather converse with Ambrose bugs in his skin and all.

There isn't much to do in the evening. Lydia has change, and she enters a crappy looking store that would be a front for organized crime if Chelster were interesting enough to have mod bosses. The electric sign, half the letters out, buzzes above Barry's head. He worries about the static in the air again.

When Lydia leaves, she gestures for Barry to join her at a bench. The wood is rotting. At least it is dry. Certainly, it doesn't feel that way when Barry sits down. Cold and wet are such similar sensations to the body. He checks his jeans just in case there is somehow water, or if his flesh has turned to liquid from just under his nose.

Not quite literally. His lips can move. He's sure because Lydia passes him a plastic fork and opens up the box.

Poutine doesn't smell all that good, and this looks even worse. Barry stabs a fork in any way, taking a bite. The grave is thick in his mouth, even though the cheese curds don't squeak.

"Why didn't you join them?" Lydia asks, not letting her eyes rest on Barry too long.

They shrug, "you mean, the murderers? Too much effort."

Lydia's cheeks are red. Maybe it's the cold, or the heat of their snack, or maybe it's him. Maybe Barry wants it to be him.

"Murderer is a loaded word if you're just too lazy to kill somebody."

She looks up at him. Half-lidded, she looks mysterious, inviting. The old Lydia Darcy was just as manipulative as Barry, and both of them had grown immune to the others charms. Maybe the woman across from Barry is too, but she's not got the same smooth and hesitating fingers, nor the same wide doe eyes. Barry tries not to imagine her touch.

But then in the quiet, he hears the sign buzzing overhead and he shivers.

"Killing one person if enough for my conscious," Barry points out.

Lydia smirks, "same here."

When she lifts the fork to her mouth, she takes her time biting the fry. Slowly, she pulls it out of her lips, aware of Barry's eyes on her.

She can hear his breath. He can hear the electricity in the air above them. Maybe it's not the electric sign at all.

"Lydia," his voice is low, his eyes dark. "You can't keep doing this to me."

She reaches a hand across the table and grabs his. Lydia pulls him in close. Not because she feels like she is supposed to do it, or because he wants her too, but because she wants to do it. Somewhere, between the cigarettes and the liquor and the dancing in the bush and humming while cooking, she found out what she didn't like. And there is only one thing she's ruled out.

Barry Lament. Arrogant, bragging, possessive, and cold Barry Lament. The Barry Lament who she never trusts, who manipulates everyone he means and throws away everyone else. Fuck, he makes her feel alive again. In the little she remembers of her old life, nothing did that. Not opera. Maybe not even her album. He did.

"I want to play games with you," she tells him. "I want you to trick me, to tell me you don't like me, to tell me you're crazy for me. I want you."

Maybe Barry could manipulate this Lydia. He always has. She's fun. There is no fulfillment in this life. Never needing to sleep but always tired. A persisting hunger that doesn't increase after starving for days. Any interaction with this version of her would leave him wanting. Consuming more of her won't satiate Barry, ever.

But maybe he doesn't have to devour others for his own gain.

"Loving you is too heartbreaking," Barry admits, a whisper. "You're not her. I know it. Even if you wear her skin. And some part of me will always want her."

Lydia nods, "I think I'll always want her too."

He squeezes her hand. Lydia stands up from the table, ripping him in closer to her. Their foreheads pressed together, their lips inches apart. Barry quivers beneath her.

When her lips brush his, he feels static, and he throws himself into her for a kiss.

~~~

It's not fucking fair, bringing Fallon into this. Leo is sure of it. With each footstep, he tries to rationalize the decision. Currently, Fallon is rambling. At first, she was too quiet when they left the motel. The air is cold, and Fallon thin, and he was worried if she didn't get some weight too her she'd blow away in the wind.

It started with a whistle, a tune to a song that hasn't been on the radio since he was last alive. Fallon laughed. It reminded her of car rides with her father when she was little. She's so much smaller than him, only two years younger, but they died a decade apart. Nearly to the day, actually. At least she joined in, singing the melody as Leo tapped the rhythm of the guitar on his pant leg.

The weather has cleared her soul. Not Leo's, she thinks. They are going to the last place she found him. The night he fled, and everyone went looking for him in waves. Fallon isn't sure she truly got to him that night, that she discovered him. Certainly, she discovered his body, or whatever proxy of his body stands next to her now. Leo hasn't been the same, and he isn't now.

When she is sad, she likes distractions. So she starts telling him a story about meeting Corrin, not far from him. Then suddenly, it is all spilling out, because she can never stop talking. She's buzzing there, remembering Corrin, arms moving too much, teeth chattering, and face bright.

The factory where Leo died is near the outskirts of town. Fallon stops outside it, hoping to sit on the curb once more. When she sits on the cold ground, freezing her bottom despite her long coat covering it, Leo doesn't join her.

"What?" she furrows her brow, looking up at him.

There is no easy way to say it.

"I need you to trust me," Leo says. "Just like I'm trusting you."

Fallon's eyes feel dry from the wind.

Really, Leo isn't trusting her. He is trusting everyone else. Leo knows Clare will say no, knows she is strong enough to fight him, and he doesn't want to fight her. Fallon is weak, perhaps. He doesn't trust her to drag him out. Nico would have been know better, but Leo trusts that Nico would never let him do it. If Nico knew what Leo was giving up, what Leo thinks about in while under cold showers, while walking through cold nights. If Nico knew that Leo is afraid of fire now, but doesn't mind the blaze he feels when Nico's shoulder presses up against his in the tight motel room they share.

It's not fair, that Leo must be the first. Well, besides Ambrose of course. Counting Clare hardly seems fair, since she knew

At least Leo trusts that Fallon will pick him up.

Fallon might not think of herself as clever, but she knows what Leo is going to ask. She watches him stare at the factory behind her. The longing in his eyes. She shakes her head.

"Please," she whispers.

"I need to be in there for at least a minute," he tells her. "Clare was in for seconds. Drag me out when I'm halfway to looking like Ambrose."

She stands up. Fallon grabs his arms, ignores how he flinches as her hands are on his burns, even through all their thick coats.

"No," she blinks. "Sorry, no."

"If you don't drag me out, then I'll end up like him," Leo nearly whimpers. He must know what death looks like, must look into her face and say goodbye. Maybe death looks like Miku. Hopefully it doesn't look like the pastor. Perhaps death is not quite human, but shaped like a question. And he just needs to touch it, hold it, and some sort of sense will come of this all. "You have to pick me up, Fallon."

Fallon pushes into Leo, hugging him tightly.

He never thought someone would show him such kindness. The most cynical of people say they die alone. Even Leo, chasing a serial killer in a warehouse, didn't. He hasn't had an episode since then, but even in his episodes he's not alone. He's with Miku. And now he is with Fallon.

She grips him tightly her voice the quietest whisper. Colder than the wind, "okay."

~~~

Crawling out of the bowels of the church was more difficult this time. Este doesn't remember the stairs feeling so long, nor the slipperiness of the bannister under their hand. Each step creaks under their weight. Ajay led the way, and waits for them at the top, only having called Este up after scouring every hiding places.

He didn't need to, but he checked under every pew. Of course he looked at the office and the top of the belltower. He stayed at the top for a second to long, feeling the wind whip throough his face. With so many windows, the church rattles from the wind. He is worried the force is so strong it will break the stained glass. This is the kind of whipping wind which blows over people as they walk. It's colder than snow.

Ajay is a Canadian; he's built for the snow. Nor for tornadoes, which are much more prevalent closer to the border. There is nothing in Chelster. Not even wind. Not even names to give dead girls found on the sides of highways.

When Este is beside him, he nods. They stand for a second. Ajay finds him wandering to a pew, where he waited and listened to the pastor during a service. He feels watched now, in a way he didn't when Audrey was there in the room, eyes trained on the back of his head. He turns around and looks up at the section where the Church choir sings. He isn't expecting to see Audrey or the pastor, but Ambrose, staring back at him.

With Ajay checking the pews, Este checks the gun. There are bullets inside. Still. They haven't evaporated in the last ten minutes. It shouldn't bother her, the way it didn't when she was waiting to kill Jayce. Este is vengeance. She is fire and burning. And she is the ugliest beautiful there ever was. She is dead and vile and a thief of life, stealing from the gods who are supposed to pin men down after they are buried, and stealing it from Jayce after he buried her. Men should fucking fear Este. They should cower and cry and scream her name.

And right now it is quiet. And she feels cold, without Ajay beside her.

Kaia is depending on Este to do this. Kaia is beautiful, not in the same tragically ugly way Este is beautiful. She is homely, lovely, sweet, and funny. Este doesn't get to be. She is beautiful the way jellyfish are, and snow leopards and poisonous frogs in tropical forests warmer than she will ever be again. Este is a venomous snake. Somewhere in here, there might be an apple they left behind, if the pastor didn't clear out them from the fridge when they left. It is probably rotten.

Este would offer it to him if she knew it was there.

"I don't..." Este, looking over at Ajay.

He looks at them, strong jaw, certain eyes, even in the darkness of the church.

Tears streak down her face, "am I ugly enough yet?"

"What?" Ajay asks, standing up.

"Am I finally ugly enough that men will not touch me?" she asks, sniffing. "Am I finally underdesirable enough? Or will men continue to fuck me now?"

Ajay darts into the aisle, moving closer to Este, "give me the gun."

"Do you think I'm ugly?"

"Give me the fucking gun," he doesn't shout at her. He commands, like an army man.

Este holds out the gun. He takes it, checking the chambers.

"I don't think there is an ugliness possible to deter despicable men," Ajay scowls, mutters more to himself then her. "Go."

"What?" she wipes away a tear, quickly, embarrassed it even happened.

"I'm killing the pastor," Ajay tells her.

Este shakes her head. He's always been too handsome. He can't become ugly.

A powerful man is a threat. A charming man is even more dangerous. This is why. Here Este is, in a church, ready to give what's left of her to a man. She crosses her arms over her chest.

"Have you ever killed someone before?"

"I was in the Air Force."

"Have you ever fucking killed someone before?" Este asks, giving herself a swear just this once, maybe for the last time.

Since the answer is no, Ajay doesn't tell her. Instead, he holds up the gun. This is where he brought them. He and Ambrose finding a box of bloody earrings. Ambrose telling Ajay the code, getting him to unlock it. Him digging up corpses for Audrey, helping Este run from the body. Este is the only one who just asked him to witness, who didn't request he partake. But he's already done so many terrible things. He's uglier than her, by the distance from here to Toronto. The distance to New Zealand.

"Just go," he says.

Este turns her head. She starts to walk away, but halfway to the long descent down into the church basement she spins on her heels and steps next to Ajay. She puts one hand on his shoulder to lean in and whisper.

"You want me to think you're ugly, Chandra? Fucking show me."

~~~

There wasn't another weapon, so Eva plays with her lighter rather than a gun. This is boring out here. She thought it might be more entertaining, watching Audrey bury their hands in the dirt and sniff it. Of course, Eva would have been better equipped for a stealth mission. She's good at sneaking in and out. Behind Este's shoulder, in all of their plots, Eva has lied in wait.

Of course, now Eva gets to tackle the priest and hear his final words. Este didn't trust Audrey to the task alone but placed Eva by her side. Not Kaia. The thought sends needles up Eva's spine. She's not the kind of girl you trust with dynamite unless you are expecting a premature explosion. That was her fucking life.

Eva cannot wait to sick her teeth into the pastor. If only like a baby and a teething ring. At this rate, she's going to bite Audrey.

She's been digging through each holes, measuring their depth on the sleeve of her coat, scrawling in pen on the cheap fabric. It doesn't keep her warm. The trees shield the wind from her, but as a consequence, they howl. Maybe it's the laughter of a bonfire far away, maybe it's natural, or maybe it's ghosts floating through the forest. It's hard to imagine fog in the wind, but here it is. It's not so thick that she can't see Eva, or that she would mistake it for the smoke, the smell of it clinging in the air.

Audrey sniffs the dirt in a hole. It's hers, she thinks, from the coppery hair at the bottom of it. Deeper ones for those who died long ago. The grave that Kaylee called from is fresher, scorch marks on the base of the tree near it. Audrey doesn't remember a fire. She'lll have to watch the pastors grave a while, maybe for days.

Originally, it was soil on the ground. It's the same thing that spills from her body, that fills Ambrose's esophagus and that cakes the lining of his lungs and his windpipe. Now, it is stale, powdery. Digging through it would be difficult. It's hard for Audrey to imagine the trees sucking up water from such dry ground, or worms crawling such a thick, dense earth.

She keeps counting.

Peering at Audrey, who thumbs a pocket knife and pierces the tip of her pinkie finger, watching blood pouring into the dirt, looking at it as it trickles from red to thick black sludge, Eva shivers. That stuff might be Ambrose too. Of course it's in her. She would like that it was in Ambrose if she thought he'd enjoy it. Maybe he would. He liked the crawling things, the coffins and the decomposing, but he also liked the heavens and the angels and the stained glass windows of the church, and the echoes of songs sung by people who had come for miles to show their love for something higher than them.

Fuck, she misses him. The semi-alive version.

Eva digs into the pocket of her coat and pulls out her plan to break into her mother's house. Doing it would just be for the thrill now. Maybe she could kill her mother, like Este is doing to the pastor as they speak. Of all people, Eva's mother would fucking deserve it. Eva's not a little girl anymore. She doesn't have to sneak around in shame. Este didn't bring her to the church. She sent her to the forest with a madwoman, weaponless, to bludgeon the pastor until he is dead a second fucking time.

Her thumb presses into the sharp metal of the spark wheel. The flame ignites, and Eva burns the sheets.

"Put that out," Audrey snaps. "We need to smell the air when he comes back. You're polluting the research."

"Air's already polluted," Eva snaps back. "A province with nothing but oil sands and truck stops to better places will do that."

Audrey rolls their eyes. They move on to the next grave, sticking their hand into it to measure its depth. There is barely any imprint on the earth at all. They about to mark their sleeve anyway, just to keep track, but then they freeze.

Their head pops up, spinning around. This is the spot Kaylee died. There are already thirteen graves on her sleeve, and this is the fourteenth. Audrey turns her head to the scorch marks.

"Someone else isn't dead anymore," Audrey swallows.

~~~~~

Me? Going to cry? Yes. As usual, unedited, but I finished writing this book today so holy wow. Chapter 34 will be the end haha. But also, this chapter makes me so happy. Solid banger after banger after banger. Any predictions for the next few moments? I cannot wait to hear what you have to say about it!