BELLA KINLEY IS many things.

Ellie's neighbor.  One of her best friends.  She would remain a confidant even at their worst,  which is a time they haven't even come close to experiencing.   They wear matching friendship bracelets and laugh at bad movies together,  fall asleep on Ellie's couch and wake up laughing when one of them inevitably falls off.

Yes, Bella Kinley is many things.  What has blossomed between them is a friendship seemingly without any bumps or cracks,  which must be why having a gun pointed at her seems to blow her backwards in surprise.   Her shriek makes Ellie jolt from survival mode and back into reality,  eyes widening as she fully comprehends what just happened.

"Oh my God Bella I'm so sorry oh my God!"  Ellie's flurry of apologies comes out sounding like one long word as she fumbles uselessly with the arm not currently occupied by a cat,  phone dropping from her shoulder the moment her head lifts.   Sir Purrington seems to grumble out his meow while kicking at her side,  snagging her shirt and making it exponentially harder to hold on.

She looks like a circus.  Luckily for her pride Bella doesn't laugh,  but that's probably due to still having a gun aimed her way.

Sheepishly Ellie moves her weapon away from the redhead,  straining her hand around long strands of fur in order to flip the safety back on.   "I am so sorry.  I didn't know you'd be there!"

"You're fine."   Bella manages,  voice barely above a squeak before she clears her throat. "You're fine,  Els.  I, um,  I was just getting back from the station.  Didn't mean to scare you."

Scare is an understatement.   Her heart still feels like it has missed the cue eight different times,  breath trembling despite how she tries to control it.  Even so,  none of that is Bella's fault.   "Don't worry about it,"   she assures.   "I'm just...jumpy,  that's all.   Last night was a lot."

"Yeah.  Tara told me about what happened,  and I-I'm really glad you're okay."   With a shaky smile Bella nods her head towards Sir Purrington,  a fond look finding her features.    "He doesn't look too thrilled,  though.   Are you taking him to a shooting range or something?"

"He's old enough to learn,  but I wouldn't trust him with a gun.   His claws are lethal enough."

Thankfully for Ellie's new fear of a restraining order Bella laughs,  slowly pushing away from the wall as though testing how jumpy Ellie will become.  "If he stays that grumpy,  he won't need either.   He's looking like a deadly little guy."

He was almost a dead little guy,  but Ellie won't say that.  Enough people are involved without risking dragging one more further down.  An unspoken cloud of death has formed over the heads of her family to the majority of her closest friends.  She can't add one more to that list.

“So what's wrong?”

But today has decided she's God’s favorite court jester.

“Nothing,”  Ellie starts, ready to try redirecting Bella from concern before realizing she's already blown that cover.  People with nothing wrong don't open their doors with a gun in one hand and a cat in the other.   “I mean…you know,  family things.”

“Family things as in, your family came here after they heard you were in trouble?”   Bella asks,  raising a brow.   “Els, it's okay.  You can talk to me.  I know I’m not as involved in this shit as you are,  but I don't want you guys to go through it alone.”

If it weren't for her current struggle to keep Sir Purrington from fleeing back to the perceived safety of their apartment,  Ellie thinks she'd burst into tears.  Bella has always been sweet,  kinder than words can convey in a way that serves justice.  Not running away while she still can may make her stranger than most,  but that's fine.  Maybe,  if she plays her cards right,  she can keep Bella at an arm's length without isolating her entirely.

“I got a call.”  Ellie reveals,  keeping herself braced for the inevitable questioning.  When it doesn't come she glances up from the floor,  finding Bella's eyes locked upon the phone by her feet.

She never hung up.

Bella's leaning down before the world's most irritated cat lets Ellie interfere,  grabbing the sparkly pink case like it hasn't become a symbol of death.

Ellie sees the following scene flash before her eyes.

If Bella answers that phone,  if she makes herself known to whoever has revived this menagerie of corpses to take more home,  she could easily become more of a target.  If she takes this chance all because Ellie opened her door at the wrong time,  she could find herself in the same position Cici Cooper was in over two decades ago.  Pushed from her window after being pierced through the heart,  found dead for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.  It all boils down to a coffin at the end of the day.

Or, it would.

Ellie won't let that happen.

She doesn't get the chance to ask herself what the hell she's doing before she's dropping her gun with a loud clatter,  only briefly thanking her lucky stars for the safety being on before slapping the phone out of Bella's hand.

“Ellie, what the fu-”

“Bee,”  she interjects, choosing to ignore Sir Purrington’s meow of clear contempt as she shifts his weight across both arms.  Her gun is up for grabs on the floor,  her phone now facedown a little ways past the apartment door,  her cat is annoyed and she's on the verge of freaking out more than she already planned on doing.  Still,  she's gotta be calm.  “I’m not gonna have you risking your life now.  You're not in this as much as I am,  and I don't want you to be.”

Bella’s features soften into an expression Ellie can't describe.  There's nothing clear in how her shoulders seem to sink under the request,  no little popup to assign feelings to the face of someone who wants to help, who may be able to help,  but shouldn't.   There's no way to keep her from interfering entirely,  but God does Ellie want to try.  Too many have already died.

Her eyes must be pleading enough to win her over because it doesn't take long for Bella to sigh,  a sound that sounds like a strange mix of defeat and acceptance.  “Tara was right,  then.”

“About what?”

“You get all self-sacrificial when you're worried.  She called it cute.”

Ellie doesn't need a mirror to see the shock on her face.  She partially wishes she could press her face into Sir Purrington’s hair without being rude now,  find a way disguise her blush while she maintains what little is left of her dignity.  It feels like everyone and their cat knows about this little crush these days.  At least she actually told Bella-

Not the time.   It's a little too easy for her thoughts to wander to the safe place that is Tara Carpenter when everything else seems to be falling apart,  a trait that’s as humbling as much as it is entirely invasive.  Especially when she’s trying to survive.

“I’m looking out for you.”  Ellie says,  not acknowledging any further details. “I know it sounds dumb,  but-”

“It doesn't sound dumb.”  Bella cuts in.   “I know you've been through a lot.  You wanna make sure I’m safe,  I get that.”

It's all Ellie ever wants.  That's what the world seems to find funny about the people around her; they're magnificent targets for pain.  She can't entertain the idea of protecting them without envisioning a world without them for fuel.   She can see it still,  Bella picking up that phone without hesitance,  pinning herself to a board of intended victims much like how Ellie knows Mindy will create one of suspects.  Having someone close without being afraid for their safety has been both new and welcome after the nights of bloodshed to ringing in mornings tinted with shades of red.  She hasn't found a feeling like this since she was a little girl.

With what's happening around her now,  maybe this is the world telling her she was never meant to.

"I do,"  she says,  choosing that over I would do anything to know at least one person is okay.  "I do.  It's not worth them getting closer to you.   I wouldn't-  I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened."

Sympathy warms Bella's face in a way that makes Ellie feel more and more like what she is.  Being a victim of this,  of some legacy she never asked to join,  has gotten her nothing but sympathy.  A small sort of her wants to chew at the sore spot of unnecessary apologies and get-well-soon cards like a dog biting at a wounded paw,  but she won't.

Everyone means well.  At the end of the day,  everyone means well.

Even if that sympathy hurts worse than the initial cut ever did.

"I get it." Bella's voice is soft with an understanding that Ellie almost wishes to bottle up,  a whisp of a confession hidden in three little words.  Taylor Swift was right,  Ellie thinks, we all get some kind of haunted.

And God knows ghosts hate being spoken of.

"Thank you,"  is what she can offer in response.  Not everything needs a story.  "I swear,  Bels,  you'll be left out of this as much as you can be.  I want you to be safe.  I wouldn't have even come back here if I didn't have to get my things."

In truth she wouldn't have come back here if she knew Bella would be coming home.  It seems dangerous now,  placing a potential target on her friend through the simple act of standing here,  but it's something she's loath to say now.  Sometimes the truth is ugly and mangled.  Sometimes it can be reduced to a little white lie.

Bella's expression pinches in confusion.   "What do you need?"

"My overnight bag.  I-"

"Hang on."

Before Ellie can ask what Bella plans on doing her friend is pushing past her,  marching into the open apartment like Ellie didn't just bolt out on the phone with a potential serial killer.  Sir Purrington meows again as she makes to bolt after Bella,  suddenly nauseated by the sight of red hair disappearing around the corner.  Whatever part of I want you to be safe was missed,  Ellie will need to reiterate it.

"Bella!"  She calls,  stepping over the threshold despite how her brain screams to stop.   "Bella,  it's not worth it!"

Silence.

It nearly makes Ellie sick as she ventures further into the living room,  bouncing Sir Purrington like a baby in her arms.  "Bella!"

Finally,  freaking finally,  Bella emerges from Ellie's room with the bright baby pink bag in hand.  Her smile is sheepishly apologetic,  like she didn't just give Ellie-Marie a heart attack,  but she looks too proud for Ellie to begin scolding her the way she would like to.  

"I figured you wouldn't wanna come back in here,"  Bella begins,  setting it on the floor in front of Ellie,   "so I got it for you."

In a move that was straight out of a horror movie,  though there's not much to do about that now besides maybe contact a hospital about her pounding heart.  A shaky smile crosses Ellie's lips before she shifts her cat's weight once more,  nudging the bag with her foot.  She can kick this down the stairs,  probably.  If she gets Clicky the Camera out first.

"D'you need help?"  Bella asks,  eyes darting between the bag and Ellie-Marie's currently-occupied arms. 

"Maybe a little."

A soft,  sad look washes over her friend's features before she motions towards Sir Purrington.  “Where are you taking him?”

“I…don't actually know.”  Ellie admits,  the waver behind her voice not as hidden as she wishes it was.  “I wanna take him somewhere safe,  but everyone's kinda in the middle of this.”

“I'm not.”

It's an unspoken offer,  this,  and Ellie knows to take it without pressing further.

“Are you sure?”

She's never been good at that.

Bella's smile grows a little sad at the question.  “You once asked me to take care of him if something happens to you.  Nothing will,”  this she is hasty to add,  almost like she can will it into existence by throwing it in like seasoning,  “but until you're back to having zero death threats over your head,  I can look after him.  I'll keep him safe.”

One of the few promises easy to believe.  Ellie knows she can trust Bella with her most treasured companion,  even if she hates to ask it of her,  and she knows Sir Purrington will be less upset at the change of pace with Bella around.  Pressing a kiss to his furry little head Ellie whispers a soft goodbye, handing him over to Bella before she can change her mind and ditch the state altogether.

It's a tempting thought.

Yet as she follows Bella out the door and clicks it shut behind her,  Ellie knows she can't run now.

She shifts her bag over her shoulder and picks both her gun and phone up from the floor,  focusing on counting each breath as she makes up her mind.

The only way out is through.

"BABY, I LOVE you,  but you have got to pick up your goddamn phone."

Ellie hasn't gotten two seconds since opening the car door before Rory is rightfully scolding her.   She'd noticed the six missed calls in the lobby,  rebooting her phone where she knew she could count on witnesses.   The screen,  by some miracle of God or poor building construction,  hadn't cracked,  but she'd successfully rattled the shit out of the battery.

"In my defense-"

"Let me finish."   Rory instructs,  holding one finger up.  Despite how she's very clearly wearing thin on her patience- which Ellie admittedly cannot blame her for-  she waits until Ellie has completely climbed into the car with her gun and bag in tow.  From where she peers over her shades Ellie can spot her concern,   forehead creased in a way never spotted on THE Rory Hicks.   "The only reason I didn't go up there myself is because I know you've got yourself a gun collection going on and I was not risking getting shot in this outfit."

Ellie feels an unlikely grin tug at her lips at the comment.   She knows it's not the truth.  Rory is less vain than she lets on,  and while Ellie can't piece it together entirely,  she doesn't doubt the worry in Rory's eyes.

Neither of them want a repeat of last year.

"I'm sorry,"  Ellie starts,  and the fact that Rory doesn't cut her off says her sudden guilt is unsettlingly warranted.    "I got freaked out.  Bella was up there,  though-she took Sir Purrington.  She was looking out for me."

It's a conscious effort to leave out her own phone call.  Rory isn't stupid,  but she is nearly too loyal for her own good.  Ellie doesn't doubt that she'd dial the number back and make her own vengeful promises.

She can't have that.

"I didn't mean to stress you out,  'Ry."

The apology is sincere enough for Rory to let out a half-annoyed,  half-exaggerated sigh,  leaning back in the driver's seat after twisting the key in the ignition.  "Consider yourself forgiven."

A smile of relief brightens Ellie's features as she leans to the side,  nudging Rory's shoulder lightly.   She's not exactly in high spirits herself,  but Rory never lets on when she's worried.   Not like this.    "Of course I am,"   she starts,  forcing her voice to be confident in a way that always makes Rory proud.   "I'm your bestest friend,  right?"

Although she scoffs Rory doesn't deny it,  rolling her eyes as she pulls the car into reverse.   "You're adorable and too good at getting in trouble.   Like a cute little housecat."

"I'm taking that as a compliment!"

"Of course you are."  Despite the fact that she has shades on,  Ellie knows her eyes are rolling in the way that she always does when she's aiming to be sarcastic.   Jokes on her;  Ellie has been around long enough to know that her signs of affection only display themselves to be annoyed.   There's a light quality to them that always lets Ellie feel safe enough to push ahead,  a complimentary feist to her bubbly personality.

Leaning back in her seat Ellie clicks her phone on once more,  not expecting the notification she's already gotten in this short span.

momther: Meet us at the house ASAP.

Mom doesn't text.  Their messages are typically four-to-five words every other day,  if that.  To top it all off,  she never abbreviates.  She's always,  in her words,  eloquent.  Ellie has to ask if it's okay to come over to the penthouse,  and while she's never been told no,  she's never felt like Mom needed  (or really wanted)  her over there.

Nothing like a few murders to pull a family together.

"Hey,  Rory?"  Ellie asks,  still looking at the text.   Rory makes a small sound of acknowledgement,  seemingly already past how Ellie had worried her before.  Too bad she's gonna have to do it again.

"What is it,  gumdrop?"   Rory asks when the silence grows past fifteen Mississippi's,  one perfectly shaped brow arching over her shades.

"Do you think we could take a detour?"