There are desperate boundaries of loneliness worth crossing. Dead-end obstacle bi-fold closet door solitudes worth peeking through. Heart hammering interrupting confusion worth feeling. Sometimes the thin frosty light is the brightest smiling star reaching to hold hands from the dissipating distance of tenebrous oblivion, knowing the cosmos through long slender slits of angled louvred. Sometimes the soul washes itself in the epilogue of another thundering soul, scissoring the loins under a violating violent violet sky.

Janice hates Patricia. The young arrogant sadist teacher who abused and humiliated her. But she loves Patricia. The solid skin tight golden brown tan trapped brunette warrior who repented such abuses. But she also hates the treacherous Patricia who betrayed her own best friend and ended up abandoning her duties along with Garret. And now? In this moment? Janice loves Patricia. Janice wants to feel Patricia's inner written language tattooed into the bare vulva of her being. She wants that conversation. She also wants the conversation that they never had. Wants every bit of her abused and broken bent rusting realization. Patricia's complicated. She's horrible and beautiful and stern and vulnerable. A ghost worth resurrecting, like Terra Coal. Patricia is the curling glossy cardboard puzzle Janice wishes to fret over. In love with her paper cut pieces. And through the abstruse vermilion stains, she knows those pieces fit.

The Grand Ghost whispers profane words like silhouettes of dusty wall taxidermy to herself as she chops a cucumber into bits and pieces for the garden salad she's attempting to concoct with a small red handle tomato knife.

Her kitchen is built of bright black smooth cement countertops and black flamingo faucet spout sinks. Double oven silver stoves and instant button burning burners. Caliginous cabinetry. The backsplash is a pallid and hoary un-checkerboard of a two by six fucked up herringbone pattern. Somehow, the design looks like bones. Rectangles of an osteal shape.

Earthy spinach and celery and bits of onion layers mix with verdant peppers and tomatoes and olives. Lay like colourful corpses resting on black catafalque plates.

The mushrooms she'll chop up next are an aphrodisiac from the labs in the hospital. Janice picks one pimply fungus with her glossy sable nail polish fingers and places it into her mouth. Chews and swallows. Sighs to herself. They'll also be having crispy cast iron fried 3D printed plant based meat and twisty olive breads. The bread's a treat, more so than the blackened vodka that they'll be drinking in their hock wine glass protein shakes.

"You stupid bitch, Janice. What are you thinking? She betrayed Terra. She betrayed you. She is...Patricia. That bitch. That intoxicating vicious, damaged, drunken good time wrapped up in one desperate moment trapped in my youth. That fucking war. Oh my god...I can taste her...still. The flavour of her lips and loins are still in my mouth. Always. Fuck."

Whispers sounds of malediction at herself. Stops cutting the vegetables. Holds the countertop to balance her shudder. Looks up and watches a hologram screen above the sink. Her black wolf cut messy hair tickles the back of her neck as she tilts her head slightly further toward the images. Watches Patricia's hard physical curves work out. Closes her eyes at the thought of bathing in Patricia's sweet sweat. Watches the Ghost sit on her heels and jump up and back down over and over to the point of hurling into a garbage can. Still flushed and horny as she watches Patricia bury her face in black plastic within a red disposal bin. Witnesses Patricia's entire bent spandex ass from the surveillance position.

Sighs and feels that her loins are turning to juicy liquid in her panties by watching Patricia gag and vomit. The mushrooms are working.

Janice should be reading her daily reports about the progress of her Ghosts and their attempt to find hidden portals and any trace of David Leonard. Knows David's other first reality's an empty tomb. His armies aren't where they were. And since that idiot, Malice, broke contact with all of the other simulations, she can't easily know where those Leonard soldiers went. She has her ideas.

The Grand Ghost blurts out a cold laugh, "here."

She doesn't want the coded safe word information at the moment. She wants to watch Patricia do Patricia stuff. She also wants to do Patricia's stuff. Beds and chairs and tables and stairs. Watches like a forever open eyelid tower witnessing winter melt only to become winter. Will Patricia be chilly toward her? She did kill Garret. But Patricia seemed somewhat relieved within her expression of sadness, so maybe...

Footsteps.

Hears someone walk casually behind her. Turns with the curved tip red handle tomato knife still in her hand and points it toward a very skinny, black attire tank top blondish Pete.

"You should knock every so often, Peterick. Be like a beating heart underneath floorboards. Capeesh?"

"Yeah, sorry boss. I figured you'd want info and I get excited sometimes and forget."

"I know, Peterick. I know. It's ok. What's up in the world of espionage?"

"All our spies who we haven't heard from in a while have shown up. All decapitated. Body-less. We haven't touched them yet. I wanted to wait for your order on what to do. They're in the creepy basement of the old garden shack hidden within some dead elms by Chigurh Park. And the faces are all on one side of the doorway of a gutted mechanical room. So, yeah. We found another active portal."

"Fuck."

"What do you want to do?"

"High alert. I want lock down armour activated around the facility. Nobody goes anywhere unarmed. I also want a team to go through that portal to find out where it goes. And bring me the heads for burial."

Janice lowers her head, "we are ghosts waiting to be ghosts."

Pete repeats her words.

"That was a message, Peterick. David wants us to know that he can enter and exit into our world at any time from anywhere. But why? Why would he inform us about what's coming? David never revealed himself until the event was already in progress. Why leave severed heads? That seems much more in the spirit of Michael Leonard. Hmm."

"Maybe it's not David who's in charge?"

"Who then? Michael Leonard, as far I know, is dead. So is the Judith, at least according to Terra Coal. Could it be one of those cannibal revenants? A Marry Shelly monster named Algernon?"

"Maybe it's David. Maybe he's just changed things up a bit, boss."

"You're probably right, Pete. But I don't know."

Janice doesn't think a revenant could be the next Leonard general. They're too vicious to inspire true loyalty. No, David must be in control still. Unless...

"Is there anyone in our ranks who you don't trust, Pete? Did someone compromise our spies?"

"Sure. Commander Jeff. He's in charge of trying to make contact with the other simulations. He could easily be..."

"No, I trust Jeff with my life. There's a reason why he's in that position. Reaper, on the other side of that old coin..."

"No, Reaper's too drunk and needled up to be conscious enough for a betrayal or an invasion. How about Dr Riese?"

"Oh, you remembered his name this time, Peterick? Yes. Keep an eye on him. Keep an eye on Reaper as well. I'll talk to Jeff."

"There's one more thing you should know. We've found something in the other first reality. Another basement. A boiler room. Thirty black boxes."

"Oh fuck. Are they past their expiration? Do we still have time to destroy them?"

"Not without releasing whatever or whoever is in them. It's too late. We're thinking it's more revenants."

"That's what's in a black box, Peterick."

"Maybe not. Maybe there's another Judith in one of them."

"I'm beginning to hate this conversation. Why do you think that?"

"Every inscription on every black box we've come across has the words, "the soul is the prison of the body." Those have always been zombie Terra revenants. Two of them, two bigger boxes placed away from the others both have the inscription, "The living night is dissipated in the brightness of death." It's not something we've come across. Maybe it isn't just Judith. Maybe it's another Michael as well or another one of those fucked up David creatures. We don't know."

"Fuck! Ok. Shit. We can't just dismantle all the portals into that world. But we need to. Let me think about this, Pete. I'm going to sleep on it. In the meantime, I want that high alert. Inform Dr Riese we are officially at war. The general public doesn't need to know just yet. I don't want an entire city panicking in the streets. Capeesh?"

"Yes, boss...my Queen."

                           ~*~*~*~

Janice sits beside Patricia on a whitish soot couch with black welts and crevices and arm rest designs. They both hold plates of dinner and sip tipsy shakes. Janice's nervous in her chewing. They eat by the light of a hologram screen. She's been showing Patricia the Ghost feed from the other First Reality. The absence of Leonards. The black boxes. The possibility of what's to come.

Salty sweet musk. Janice sniffs the intoxication of Patricia's scent. The memory of all memories. Made sure Patricia didn't have time to shower before coming for supper. Wants to lick her sweaty wartime flavour.

"Look, Patricia. It comes down to this for me. What happened between us is complicated. But it's what I've been thinking about a lot. I can't get you out of my mind. As you are and as you were in that night we shared."

Janice uncrosses her legs. Wears a tight black tulip mini skirt and a very revealing tank top. Exposes her ribs and the round sides of her curling skeleton hand tattooed breasts. Her legs reveal the ink of witnessing eyes and wild biting teeth. Her bare feet have toe rings and osteal spine stem flowers. Wears a thin red anklet that brings depth to the black ringing tattoo it drapes upon.

"You killed him, Janice..."

"I saw him rape you. I should have done a lot worse than just kill him."

Patricia bows her face and with a four prong utensil, stabs a piece of un-meat and places it into her mouth. Chews and swallows. Slides her hand toward Janice. Grasps the Grand Ghost's wrist. Nods seemingly to herself. A single tear escapes her eye and rolls down her cheek.

"That one night, Janice. I've been thinking a lot about what we did, what you meant to me. You destroyed me and then put me back together, touch by touch, piece by piece. But then...nothing."

"I was confused and we were at war. Terra gave me and Rhie a different mission than everyone else. I wanted you to come with me, not him. Terra needed you to be with her for what was to come. And then...you weren't."

"We all lost it on her. Everyone except Lord. Garret wasn't himself and neither was I."

"Ah, yes. The rabid gas theory. There's no evidence..."

"No. I know. I don't know Janice. It was the madness of a crowd. Everyone thought they had loved ones in that Leonard concentration camp. We were all duped, except Terra. Maybe if you had been there, you might've stopped us."

"It's possible that I would have followed all of you out the door. The Leonards, especially Michael, were crafty motherfuckers. I do believe that everyone was gassed. Terra was obviously immune and maybe Lord as well. And Garret was never the same. My point in bringing this up is that I don't hate you for it. Even if there was no gas, Patricia, I can't hate you for it. I wasn't there. I probably would have followed you."

Janice places her plate on the cement floor and proceeds to hold Patricia's hand that grasps her wrist. Patricia begins crying, not in total sadness but perhaps relief. Janice feels Patricia's heart race. Brushes the brunette hair from her face. Wipes away tears. Places her hand softly upon Patricia's cheek. Touches her black lipstick lips onto Patricia's kissing place. Patricia's eyes widen and then close. They make a long passion of the first wet touch. Patricia drops her plate onto the floor and it smashes. The two Ghosts begin making out like the death of nostalgia.

They move closer to each other. Patricia lifts Janice's skirt and feels her soft fleshy backside curve. Janice tilts her head back and moans at the touch. Patricia takes the opportunity to bite and tear off Janice's tank top. Violently rips the garment off her torso. A rag of tethers fall to the Grand Ghost's waistline.

"Holy shit, Patricia!"

Finds the Grand Ghost's hard nipple with her nibbling sucking mouth. Hand slides upon the Grand Ghost's hairless loins. Janice's already slick and immediately moves her body to the pendulum of Patricia's strong fingers.

Janice smells Patricia through her pants. Scent molecules smell just like all those years ago. No dust of the present upon the past of this physical union.

"Oh Patricia. I feel like...at last...I'm home..."

~*~*~*~

Spooning. Darkness. Sticky warmth. Calm bodies that've spent the night exploring inner and outer fleshy workings. Contours and curves and tips and body oder. Everything smells like sex. Sheets are as drenched as the two Ghosts are satisfied but they still feel the need to find words to hold each other with.

"Oh, Patricia. Why the fuck didn't we come to this before now? So much time lost..."

"I'm here, now. I'm your's. You're mine. Now hold me. That's right. Place your leg between...yes. That's it. I can sleep like this. You're so soft. A perfect fit. Maybe I can finally sleep like I did that night so long ago."

Janice smiles of delight. Kisses the nape of Patricia's neck. Palm lingers upon Patricia's belly.

"I'm going to open up to you, lover of mine. Top secret. Something I promised not to tell anyone."

"It's ok. I understand if you can't tell me stuff. You're the Grand Ghost."

"Yeah, I usually tell Pete everything. You're higher up in the hierarchy of my personal life than anyone else now. I trust you. I have no choice but to trust you. I'm in love with you."

A moment of silence becomes the action of Patricia's hand squeezing Janice's leg caught between her thighs. Nose to nose, Patricia retorts.

"I think I've always known. Even when I was horrible to you. I was infatuated and was lashing out, maybe because I didn't understand my feelings. I wasn't supposed to be nice. I was taught by my dad to be brutal. And I chose to be brutal to you. Janice. I love you, too. Not just because you say it and I feel that I must return the sentiment or things will become awkward. Part of the history between us is so horrible that to go from that to this, how could I not love you?"

Janice squeezes Patricia's body. They make out again. Patricia holds the curve of Janice's ass. Leans over and grasps a petroleum bottle of slickness. Douses her hand. Fingers circle fleshy aperture. Fist penetrates Janice's prolapse anal cavity. Patricia's hand disappears inside.

"Before...I forget. Oh...I'm going to break that promise I made to someone...um...because you need to know this. Oh, god...rip me apart...You're going to have questions that I may or may not have...oh, fuck...punch harder...I may not have...I may...destroy my ass...Capeesh!"

Patricia rolls Janice onto her stomach. Pushes her forearm deeper and deeper. Bites Janice's ass cheek upon the tattoo of a thick lip fang mouth. Patricia's arm slides back and forth. Wet sloshing sounds. Janice touches belly bulge. Pulls hard on her own clit piercing. Wonders if Patricia's ever thought about genital needling. Feels Patricia's other hand, finger by finger, further widen her orifice.

"What did you have to tell me, lover?"

"Terra Coal...is alive."