Claire pulled her shoe up over her heel and then sat back upright on her cot, smiling down at her feet. She took a look around her room and sighed. She'd become so accustomed to this place that leaving seemed so strange. Still, would be nice to be home. The door to her room opened and there stood Agent Siskel, in her nice suit, her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
"You ready?" Agent Siskel asked. "You have no idea how ready I am," Claire said. Agent Siskel was holding a brown duffel bag filled with Claire's mixed belongings, and together with Claire, they walked out of the room and down the hall towards the front room. Once in the main hall, Agent Siskel handed the bag to Claire and, upon taking it from her grip, Claire looked up at Agent Siskel. "You don't worry you're making a huge mistake?" Claire asked. "Sometimes you have to take a risk in order to get great reward," Agent Siskel said. Claire smirked, gripped the handles of her bag tighter and walked past Agent Siskel and out into the afternoon Vegas sun. Her eyes took a moment to readjust, and then she stopped and took a long, deep breath and then headed for a payphone to call a taxi. First things first, she really needed to go home and take a long shower. Then she would get a good meal. And then? Then she'd get started on her plan. *** "I feel like I'm going to a wedding," Benny said, walking down the rows of seats, smoothing his hand over his suit, "why do we have to look nice? Why couldn't we just wear street clothes?" "Because I don't want to stand out," Allie replied, pushing him gently on the back, "now get going, I wanna sit down." "So instead we have to look like The Four Seasons?" Zoe asked, making Benny laugh. Allie was in a suit as well, while Zoe was wearing a slimming, form fitting black dress with her hair pulled back up into a messy bun. As they slid into the aisle to take their seats, Benny looked around and adjusted his tie. "This is ridiculous, we don't get even get popcorn or anything," he muttered. "What's this guys name again?" Zoe asked as they started to sit down, Allie between the two of them. "Jackson Strange," Allie and Benny said in unison, as Allie continued after with, "and no, before you ask, I don't know him and I've never seen him. Believe it or not, not all magicians know eachother." "You two knew eachother," Zoe said, causing Allie and Benny to exchange a look before looking back at her. "Listen, Sally Semantics, I wouldn't classify us as 'knowing' eachother, we're more like people who've met once or twice at a party," Benny replied, "and second of all..." he pointed at her, licked his lips and then sighed, shaking his head before adding, "...I got nothing. She's right." Just then, the house lights were brought down and the crowd in the theatre erupted into applause and cheers. Allie was, admittedly, surprised. She hadn't expected Jackson Strange to draw such a crowd much less receive such a reaction. The stage before them lit up, and out he walked. And much to Allie's further surprise, he wasn't what she expected him to look like either. She'd expected some kind of metal head looking young man, in ratty jeans and a beard, but instead, out walked a fairly clean shaven young man, dressed in a button down shirt and slacks, with a long black peacoat over his shoulders. Allie thought to herself if he was already this surprising...what else could he have in store for her? *** "This is amazing," Kristin said, sipping her coffee from her mug at Molly's kitchen table. Molly was standing at her counter, stirring creamer into her own mug, smiling at Kristin's kind words as Kristin continued, adding, "and he asked you to do this for him? Like...personally?" "I guess I made such a good impression on him when I built the second casino, that he wanted to utilize me again. Hey, I'm not gonna say no to another job," Molly said, shrugging, tapping her stirrer on the edge of her mug and saying, "besides, I like taking on projects that aren't houses or offices. Things I've never designed before. Gives me some kind of challenge." Kristin nodded, pushing some of her hair back behind her head and then sipping from her mug again. "Did he say what it's for?" she asked. "Just said it's a vault for the casino," Molly replied, shrugging, "assuming he's going to keep a mountain of money in it, like some sort of Egyptian Pharaoh. Frankly I don't really give a shit, so long as I get paid to make it. He can keep a solid car in it for all I care." "Do they make solid gold cars?" Kristin asked as Molly sat down and chuckled as she tossed her hair. "I don't know, but if they do I'll never afford one. I don't even know how well they'd drive, honestly," she replied, both girls laughing. Molly was happy. It was nice to have a friend who wasn't attached to some sort of illicit activity. She felt like she spent all of her time surrounded by people trying to either break the law or avoid getting caught by it. Kristin was different. Kristin was just...a person. An ordinary everyday person who worked a regular job as a showgirl at the casino. Nothing out of the ordinary, no wild and crazy schemes, just a lovely young woman Molly happened to back her own car into hers. "So, is designing this...like...difficult?" Kristin asked, setting the papers down on the table and leaning back in her chair. "Not really, no," Molly said, "in fact, because it doesn't have to follow certain structure code, I'm able to be pretty free with it. That isn't to say I'm gonna cut corners, I'm a professional, but it does allow me some wiggle room to play around with. Either way, it's a nice change of pace from what I'm usually asked to design. Don't get me wrong, I love making homes, but there's only so many different ways to do it, and after a while you get kind of...I don't know...depressed about building nice places you don't get to live in." Kristin giggled and sipped her coffee, then asked, "do you not like your house? Cause's it beautiful." "Oh, I do!" Molly remarked, looking around her kitchen, "I really do, I just...I don't know. Sometimes I think about what it might be like to have a totally different home. Live a totally different life. Be a totally different person, you know? I don't think that's that unusual, I think most people probably indulge in a little escapist fantasy now and then." Kristin nodded, still sipping, listening. Molly lifted her mug to her lips and took a long drink as well, their eyes connected. Yes, Molly liked having normal friends. She couldn't believe she'd waited so long to try it. *** "That was nothing but showboating," Benny said. The three of them, Benny, Allie and Zoe, were seated at the casino bar that evening after the show. Benny had his hand in a bowl of mixed snacks on the bartop, while Allie and Zoe sipped some non alcoholic drinks. Benny sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "Nothing but showboating and yet...everything he did was seamless," he continued, "you couldn't spot the trick even if he pointed it out to you. If there's a man capable of getting in and out of a place undetected, it's that guy, and it's a miracle he's decided to use his gifts for magic rather than robbing banks." Allie chuckled and pinched her straw, pulling it to her lips and taking a long drink. Afterwards she wiped her mouth on her sleeve and nodded. "He's definitely the guy to watch," Allie said, "now all we have to do is figure out how he does it." "Well a magician never reveals their secrets, yeah?" a voice said from behind, as Jackson Strange himself waltzed up and stood between Benny and Allie. He flashed her a smile, and for a moment, Allie had to remind herself that this wasn't someone she could flirt with - aside from the fact she had a boyfriend - and instead was someone she was attempting to mimick creatively. Jackson ordered a drink, then scooped a handful of snacks from the bowl and dropped them in his mouth; he continued, "but, I'll let you in on a little secret, since you're all in the business of magic yourselves. Most people do not realize what is done as stage illusions and what is not until emergency measures have to be taken to end the escape routine entirely. You dig into the history of escapes and people have died, more often than any other line of magic work. That's why we have to be so careful." "Fascinating," Benny said flatly, picking up his ginger ale and taking a long drink as he rolled his eyes. "Well, I feel like that if you know even the tiniest bit about magic, then escapology loses it's appeal faster than almost any other kind of magic. That's why the necessity for belief is so crucial, because once you realize that the hinges, screws, chains, handcuffs, bars, water tank, wooden frame, and giant blade, are entirely fake, always, and 100%, you just lose your appreciation of the whole thing. Not to talk shit about my own work, but escapology, at this level of performance, is just magic for people who pay no attention to magic, and won't think about it after they watch it. But that's the beauty of it. You have people willing to believe what they're seeing, with no real thought given to it. That's what makes it work. If you can get them to believe it, you're golden." Aliie nodded, listening intently. "So, how does one go about then, say, escaping a transparent box, like you're going to do soon?" Benny asked, "cause you're suspended in mid air, with everyone capable of seeing you from all angles. What's the trick to that?" "Again," Jackson said, finally getting his drink from the bartender and leaving her a tip, winking as he did, "the illusion of accessibility. It's all about misdirection. If you tell someone something is a transparent box, they're going to believe it when they see it, regardless of how you escape it. Suspending myself above them gives me ample room to be just far enough away to do things they can't make out exactly. People are so quick to call things their eyes can't make sense of 'impossibilities'. How many times have shooting stars been called UFO's, or balls of light called Ghosts? People want to believe in the unbelievable. I just give them that service, at a price of course." Jackson then patted Allie and Benny on the back and nodded. "See ya around, kids," he said, before turning and walking off, drink in hand. "Wow," Allie said, as they watched him leave, "what a perfectly pretentious piece of work." "He called us kids," Benny said softly, "I'm like 4 years older than him." "So," Zoe asked, finally chiming in, "how do we do what he does, but on a larger scale?" "That," Allie said, turning and grinning at her, "is the million dollar question." *** Agent Siskel was standing in her kitchen, staring at her fridge. She couldn't decide if she wanted to cook dinner or order dinner. She sighed and closed the fridge after pulling a soda from it, popping the top and taking a long swig. She'd done what she'd set out to do, so why did she feel so lousy? Probably because of Agent Tropper. He was understanding enough, but the level of combativeness during their last interaction had thrown her for somewhat of a loop. She'd never had him be that blunt and angry with her. But...but this was her investigation and she was going to do what she had to close it out. Suddenly she heard a knock at her front door and glanced in that direction, before checking the watch on her wrist. It was almost 10pm, who could possibly be coming to visit her at this time of night? She walked to the door, reached out for the knob, hesitated momentarily, then bit her lip and yanked the door open. Standing there, surprise surprise, was Agent Tropper, in a sweater and some jeans. "I was just thinking about you," Siskel said. "Funny, maybe I'm a Tulpa," Tropper remarked, making her laugh as she stepped aside, allowing him entrance; once inside the living room, he turned and scratched the back of his head, looking at her as he said, "listen...I wanna apologize for the other day. I didn't...I guess I just didn't understand what you might be thinking, but you've been right about everything else so far and so I should have just trusted your instincts." "I appreciate that," Siskel said, taking another sip. "I saw that Claire's been released," Tropper said softly, "any idea where she went?" "Not at the moment, but she knows she's under the eye of the law," Siskel said, "she knows I'll track her down personally if she fails to follow through with our deal. Likely she's going to take care of some personal business first, and I don't blame her. Being locked up kind of puts a halt on your life. But after that...I'd imagine she's gonna go right for Allie." "And what makes you think she won't help her instead?" Tropper asked. A pause filled the room. "I guess it all comes down to how much Claire values her freedom," Siskel replied, "and right now, I think she values it quite a bit. But I suppose we'll just have to wait and see." *** Rachel St. Sebastian pulled up in her driveway and parked. It'd been such a long day. She'd had to go get new embalming supplies, grocery shopping, getting her mail. She was happy to finally be home and put her feet up and relax. She figured she'd make herself a nice cup of hot chocolate and put on some classical music and just lay on the couch for a bit before making something to eat. She locked her car, then headed up the walkway to the front door. As she entered the home, she set all her bags down, then turned the light on and screamed. Sitting in her recliner, drinking a beer, was Claire. "What the fuck are you doing here?" Rachel asked. "It's nice to see you too," Claire replied, smiling smarmily. "How did you-" "I was let out for good behavior." "You KILLED people and stuffed them into walls. I don't think there's any kind of good behavior that could rectify that line of action," Rachel said as Claire stood up and walked towards her. Rachel backed against the door and stared as Claire reached past her and locked the door, then put one palm against it, while the other hand grabbed Rachel's chin and forced her to look in her eyes. "Well somebody in there thought I deserved a second chance," Claire said quietly, "and I'm not going to waste it." With that, she pressed her lips against Rachel's, taking her by surprise, before reaching over to the wall with her other hand and shutting off the lights.
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"That's...uncanny," Peter Lorde said, sitting across from Jenny in his office. He looked down at his phone, then back up at Jenny and shook his head, "just fucking uncanny. Really spooky. What made you decide on this?"
"I don't know," Jenny said, shrugging, "if you were given the chance to change your face, wouldn't you pick something appealing?" "I...I guess I can understand that," Peter said, putting his phone down and opening her file, clearing his throat and saying, "so you think you can go back to work? I'm not gonna put you on duty for any of the big animals, don't worry, you won't have to be around tigers anymore. I want you to feel comfortable and safe, all things considered." "I don't mind," Jenny said. "Jenny, your face was ripped apart," Peter said, looking confused, "and you're not scared of tigers?" "Allie was mauled, and she isn't scared," Jenny said. "You're not Allie," Peter said sternly, and Jenny shrugged, smiling. *** Molly was sitting at her kitchen table, drinking tea as Zoe stood at the stove, making pancakes. Molly shifted some papers in front of her - various blueprints and outlines for the vault - and sighed as she reached up and scratched her forehead. Zoe walked over to the table and sat down while she waited for her pancakes to cook a little more, watching Molly look over the papers. "Are you okay?" Zoe asked. "I'm stressed," Molly said, "I...I feel like there's pressure mounting on all sides of me and there's no relief. I've got Tony breathing down my neck to make something that only he could access, but then I've got Allie watching me like a hawk to ensure we have access to it. Eventually one has to give, right?" "Wouldn't know," Zoe said, "I don't have anyone putting pressure on me at all." Molly smirked and gathered her things, putting them into her attache case just as a knock came at the front door. Zoe walked past Molly and out into the hallway, opening the front door only to find Effie there on the porch, who smiled upon seeing her. "Why...why are you-" Zoe started. "Can I come in at least?" Effie asked, just as Molly scooted past them. "See you later, Zoe. Hello Effie," she said politely, heading towards her car. With Molly out of the house, Effie indeed made her way into the house, following Zoe back into the kitchen, where she went back to the stove and continued to make her pancakes as Effie sat at the table. After a minute or so of awkward silence, Zoe gave Effie a mug of coffee, which she thanked her for after taking a sip. After another minute or so of silence, Zoe finally turned away from the stove and faced Effie. "I guess I should apologize for being so..." Zoe started, but trailed off. "Avoidant?" Effie asked, making Zoe groan and Effie laughed as she added, "hey, no apology necessary, alright? I understand things get in the way. I was more worried than anything else that maybe I'd done something to upset you or something, and-" "No, it...it wasn't you. After that whole thing with my parents, I just...I guess I've had a hard time separating who I am from who I should be, and that's been very tough on me. I know I shouldn't still be worrying about it, but...it's hard when you try to ignore something your whole life only to have it finally bubble to the surface, you know, and I...I guess in a way, avoiding you, rude as it was, was my way of acknowledging my feelings in regards to it all." "Do you wanna break up?" Effie asked, and Zoe looked at her, eyes wide. "No! No no no! Oh my god, no," Zoe said, walking from the stove to Effie and reaching out, touching her face, "never ever! No, I just...I needed some distance in order to gain some clarity, you know? I'm...I'm not the kind of person who's capable of just jumping into things headfirst and figuring it all out as I go. I'm not Allie." This made Effie laugh loudly, which made Zoe feel better. Zoe ran her hand down Effie's face and blushed. "You've shown me who I am more than anyone else ever could've, and I'm so grateful and I love you," Zoe whispered, "I'm sorry that I've been distant." "You never have to apologize," Effie said, grabbing her hips and pulling her down into her lap in the chair, "I might not understand sometimes, but I'm more than willing to listen." Effie pressed her lips against Zoe's and kissed her. Zoe's pancakes wound up burning. *** "Why's it so...big?" Benny asked, standing over a small table, staring down at Molly's drafts. "I don't know," Molly said, standing beside him, smoothing out the paper with one hand, "I really want the answer to that myself. Because it's much too large for what he's planning on keeping inside it. It's just meant to hold money, so the dimensions really don't make much sense to me either. I was wondering that myself." "Well, regardless of the answer, the size actually benefits us," Benny said. Molly looked back across the room towards Allie, who was smoking a cigarette near a window so she could exhale out of it. Molly then looked back at Benny and lowered her voice. "How did she convince you?" Molly asked, almost whispering. "...well," Benny said, "let's just say that I'm not the biggest fan of Tony myself. Guy really ripped me off. Broke a very expensive contract, bought me out, screwing me out of a lot of money. An eye for an eye and all that. My girlfriend used to be a waitress at Card Shark at one point, while she was going back to school for a degree, it was supplemental income, and from the stuff she told me about how he treated his other stars, I can't say that I'm willing to forgive him anytime soon. Seems Allie is the only one who's managed to come out remotely unscathed." "I wouldn't say that," Molly mumbled, just as Allie finally joined them, hands on her hips. "So," she said, "how about it Benny boy?" Benny stood back upright, arching his back, popping his spine and exhaling. He stretched again, then started to pace. "You guys ever hear of someone named Jackson Strange?" he asked, and after a moment of Molly and Allie both slowly shaking their heads, Benny chuckled and continued, "alright, well, Mr. Strange is like us, he's a magician. Now, Allie probably knows this, but I'm willing to bet you aren't as versed in the various types of magicians, Molly, so let me regale you with what we're categorized as. Allie here is your classic illusionist. Plays to large venues at a distance on a theatre. I'm more of a sleight of hand kinda guy myself. Up close, capable and willing to trick people with everyday objects, never having them suspect it's not real. But this guy...Jackson Strange...he's a mixture of a lot of stuff but he's essentially an escapologist. Sort of a...a modern day Houdini if you will. He's one of those guys who does big grandiose events, often in public spaces, and is far more concerned with the showmanship than the art of it all." Molly, chewing on her nails, shook her head, confused. "What the hell does this have to do with anything?" she asked. "You sure you're not a Monologue Magician?" Allie asked, making Benny playfully hit her in the arm, the both of them laughing. "Mr. Strange, as it turns out, is gearing up for a new performance very soon," Benny said, "a performance in which he gets himself out of a clear plastic box suspended from the air. So, if there's only one way into the box, how does he get out of it? That's where we come to our issue. If there's only one way into the vault, how do we get out of it?" Allie and Molly exchanged a look, and then glanced back at Benny, who put his hands on their shoulders and grinned. "Ladies, we're goin' to a magic show," he said. *** After her meeting with Benny and Molly, Allie headed back to the casino, ready to crash in her loft, knowing Nick would be off work soon. She parked in the usual spot, then headed into the casino, and took the elevator up to her floor, the floor where all the suits were where those who chose to lived if they worked there. She reached inside her jacket pocket for her suite key, when she looked up and saw someone standing near her door. "Hello?" Allie asked, and then put her hands to her mouth in shock, "...Jenny?" "Hi Allie," Jenny said, smiling. "Jesus this is creepy," Allie remarked, her voice low now, "you look...just like me. It's like having a doppleganger. Do you...do you wanna come in? Have something to drink or-" "I can't, I have to go to work in a bit," Jenny said, "I just wanted to stop by and talk." Allie nodded, opened the suite door and, together with Jenny, headed inside. Jenny shut the door behind her and watched as Allie pulled her coat off, tossed it on the couch and then headed into the kitchenette, where she yanked open the fridge, reached inside and pulled out a ginger beer. She twisted the cap off and took a long drink. "You're not drinking alcohol at all anymore?" Jenny asked. "Haven't been for a while. This has been a good substitute. So...you look like...me," Allie said. "Does that bother you?" Jenny asked, leaning on the counter. "Surprisingly no," Allie replied, "they say immitation is the sincerest form of flattery and you don't get better immitation than this, so." Jenny laughed as Allie drank more of her beer. Jenny pulled her hair back into a ponytail and exhaled. "I was worried it'd freak you out," she said quietly. "After the year I've had, I don't think anything you do could freak me out, I promise you that," Allie remarked, "barring perhaps waking up to you stealing my organs." "I'll try to restrain myself," Jenny said, leaning on the counter, "...actually...the real reason I wanted to come by and show you what they managed to do was because I wanted to thank you." "For getting you mangled? You're on sick puppy," Allie remarked. "Well," Jenny continued, smirking, "yes and no. I never really felt like I was a person. I never really identified with my...well...my identity. I always had trouble figuring out who I was, what it was I liked, what I genuinely believed. I always felt like an alien or something pretending to be a human woman. But now I...I get to pick what I look like, and start over like a fresh slate. It's kind of...freeing, in a way." Allie admitted, to herself at least internally, that this was by far the strangest turn of events she couldn't have seen coming from this situation. She had accidentally pushed Jenny into a tiger pit, getting her mauled and leaving her needing intense facial reconstruction. And now here she was...thanking her? "Well, you're...welcome?" Allie asked, ending on an inflection, which made Jenny blush and run her hands through her own hair anxiously. "I guess I just wanted you to know that not everything you do results in bad outcomes," Jenny said quietly, looking up shyly, catching Allie's eyes, adding, "sometimes, probably more often than not, you create more good in the world than bad. I know you've been having a hard year, from what little Nick has told me, and so I...I just thought someone ought to tell you that you're not as bad as you might perceive yourself to be." Allie wanted to cry. Had this come from Zoe it would've been nice but somewhat hollow since she was so close to the situation, and had this come from Molly it would've been an almost outright lie since she knew how uncomfortable Molly was with everything. But to come from Jenny...that really threw her for an entire loop. That caused her to really believe it, because Jenny...well, Jenny had no reason to lie. Allie watched as Jenny stood up straight and headed for the front door, excusing herself for work, before she rushed around and hugged her from behind, pressing her face into Jenny's back. Jenny, taken somewhat by surprised, blushed and patted Allie's hands. "thank you," Allie whispered. "Don't mention it," Jenny replied. *** "What are you doing?" Agent Tropper asked, plopping a few papers stapled together onto Agent Siskel's desk. She looked at the papers, then looked up at him and furrowed her brow. She grabbed the papers and looked at them, then sighed and leaned back, brushing her bangs from her eyes. "Figured this would come up," she said. "You're asking for Claire to be released?" Agent Tropper asked, "Seriously? And you didn't even ask how I might feel about this? Why would you want her on the outside again? Has she not proven herself a public health hazard to you yet, or do you need more evidence? Maybe some more bodies hidden in walls?" "Claire is the best tool we have at our disposal," Agent Siskel said, folding her arms, "we have a direct line to Allie here and we're not utilizing it. We let her out...we give ourselves options. We know the two are chummy. We know Meers has come to visit her. We know she helped Meers get the tomb back. After what Nicole gave us, yeah, we have a lot of evidence, but we need something more than just papers and numbers. We need something concrete. Something far more substantial." Agent Tropper began pacing back and forth, rubbing his hands over his face. "...so...so you're going to let a woman, a woman who, might I reiterate, stuffed numerous bodies in the walls of an abandoned apartment building, back into the general public all because she might...might...lead us to a magician?" Agent Tropper asked, and Agent Siskel shrugged; he threw his arms up in annoyance, but knew he couldn't undo what she'd set in motion. Finally he pulled a chair from a nearby desk over to the opposite side of hers and seated himself. "You think I'm nuts," Agent Siskel said. "I never said that." "You don't really have to," Agent Siskel said, "but Becca...if this goes south...I don't know that I can pull you out of that fire. You're gonna have to live with the consequences of this decision. I just...I hope you're aware of that." "I'm well aware, Roger," Agent Siskel said, "and rest assured, you won't be held remotely accountable for my actions. But she's not just a tool, she's not just a killer, she's not just a criminal or a cult leader. Claire Driscoll is the one thing we really really need right now." "Which is?" Agent Tropper asked, raising an eyebrow as Agent Siskel finished drinking from her water bottle and grinned, capping it. "She's a weapon," she replied. *** She knew this wasn't her route now. She knew that she no longer had to check this area. But Jenny still felt strangely pulled towards Domino's cage, and as she strolled up to the industrial fence atop its enclosure and looked down at the beautiful white tiger pacing in the dark of night, sniffing for this and that, she couldn't help but feel a tremendous sense of...cumraderie. She and Allie had both been mauled by this tiger. She and Allie looked almost identical now. Jenny stood there, barely illuminated by the one singular overhead light that filled the area, and she smiled. She was sure of one thing, and that was that she was finally more sure of who she was than she had ever been before. Who knew what getting mauled by a tiger could do for your sense of self worth. Claire Driscoll was seated on a bus, staring out the window as it sped down the freeway. She had a pair of headphones pulled tight over her ears, and nervously chewed her gum as she watched the landscape pass by at an exhilarating speed. Suddenly she felt the seat beside her shift, and glanced beside her just to see an older woman, probably mid 60s, seating herself and opening a small bag of crackers. The woman smiled at Claire, and Claire smiled politely back, then tugged one of her headphone cups off the ear facing the woman.
"Where are you going?" the woman asked. "Vegas," Claire said. "I was just out of town visiting my daughter," the woman said, smiling as she applied some peanut butter from a small tupperware onto a cracker and handed it to Claire, who happily took it; the woman ate one herself, then continued, "why are you going to Vegas? You look a little young to be traveling alone." "I'm 16," Claire said, nodding as she chewed, "I'm running away." "Running away from your family? Why?" Claire thought about that for a moment, and shook her head slowly. "Because sometimes that's what you have to do," she said, shrugging. "Do you have any other family? Anywhere to stay?" the woman asked, and Claire shook her head; the woman, her eyes so sad, her voice so low and shaky, followed up with, "...then how do you plan on being okay? You're just a child." "I'll be okay," Claire said, shrugging, taking another cracker, "I know how to survive." And that was the most Claire would ever divulge to someone about her past. Not even to her followers, not to the agents, nobody else would ever know about her past. Even now, telling her origins back to Agent Siskel, she didn't explain her childhood. Just her life after coming to Vegas. As Claire looked back out the window, at the empty desert beside the vehicle, she couldn't help but smirk. She'd look back on this day eventually with humor, knowing that she could've probably gone with that woman, been adopted and had a normal life But as Allie Meers also knew all too well, what fun was there in normality? *** Rachel St. Sebastian liked working with the dead. She found some sort of odd serenity in putting makeup on young beautiful dead women, but if there was one thing she liked more than that, it was applying makeup to living girls. Especially when she got to sit in their lap to do it, like she was doing just now. Claire was seated in a chair in front of Rachel's vanity, as Rachel, cigarette limply hanging from her coral painted lips, painted Claire's face with her makeup, applying eyeliner and mild blush. After a bit, Rachel pulled away and held Claire's face between her hands, admiring her work. "You have a fabulous jawline," Rachel said. "That's kind of a terrifying thing to be told by a mortician," Claire said, the both of them laughing. "Well," Rachel said, piercing her cigarette between two fingers and taking a long drag before tapping it on the edge of the ashtray on the table behind her, "a leader has to look good, and it's my job to make that happen. Charisma only gets you so far." Claire had had the compound opened for 3 months now, and had appointed Rachel her right hand man, something Rachel took a lot of pride in. Thusfar, recruitment had gone well. Turns out the ideas Claire had were ideas many others could easily believe in, and, as Rachel had told her, she was charismatic. And to think when she'd first arrived here in Vegas she had nothing to her name, and now she owned property. Course, a lot of that was thanks to the generosity of Rachel St. Sebastian. Rachel and Claire had met because Claire had been in the need of ether for her mental pains, and after meeting Rachel at small get together and finding out she was a mortician and knowing she'd have access to it, had swiftly hit her up about it. Rachel, definitely curious, agreed, and here they were now. Claire had been taking ether to help ease her poor mental health for a while now. She often used it to bring herself down from uncontrollable highs, or rise herself up from seemingly desperate lows. Regardless, she loved it, and Rachel kept her up to date with an endless supply. Partly out of sheer curiosity, and partly out of love, because much as she'd never admit it, Rachel was hopelessly addicted to Claire. Rachel had even put up a good chunk of the funds needed in order to purchase the compound, because she was that dedicated to what Claire believed in, and promised her. As she pulled away from Claire's face, chewing her thumbnail and admiring her work, she could feel her breath catch in her chest from looking at Claire's face under her soft bedroom lighting. "What is it? Are you done?" Claire asked. But Rachel didn't answer her, she just stared at Claire's brisk green eyes and felt herself lost within them. She wanted to put her cigarette down and lean in, push her fingers into Claire's deep orange hair and press her lips to hers. She wanted to tell Claire that they should leave the compound, just have a life somewhere far away from all of this. Just the two of them. She wanted all this...but she knew she could never ask. Suddenly she felt her cigarette ash onto her bare thigh and she winced. "Yeah," she said, "I'm done." *** Origins. Was is it about origins that drive people crazy. They always need a beginning to the story, Claire thought. Always had to have a starting point. Could never be dropped right in the middle of something. Infuriating, she thought, not just the need for closure but also the need for starters. So whenever anyone asked where Claire came from, she reached into her neverending bag of bullshit and pulled just one of her many varied origin stories for them. Sometimes she came from a wealthy family who neglected her for their work. Sometimes she came from a middle class family who had more than one child and decided she was the useless one. Sometimes she came from a poor family, and was so pressured to succeed that she couldn't handle the stress and instead fled. And sometimes she came from a perfectly normal family, with loving parents, and just needed to do something for herself. And the thing is, no matter what story she told them, they all bought it. Because she was just that good a liar. So Claire lied about where she came from, just as she had to that older woman on the bus on her way out here. And she'd continue to lie to anyone who would listen, except for Rachel St. Sebastian and, surprisingly, Allie Meers. Anytime Allie came and asked for advice, or they just chatted, Claire found herself being surprisingly open and honest with her. Perhaps she felt like they were kindred souls of some sort, both so charismatic they couldn't help but have people follow them blindly, even without wanting them to. And the thing was, Claire had read a lot about Allie, and she herself had never given a true origin story. She'd also always made things up in every interview, and Claire admired that. Here they were, two women desperate to escape their past and create a future, a future from which they could control everything around them. Except that was the thing Claire Driscoll was wrong about. Allie didn't want control like she did. Allie just wanted to be ignored outside of her work, and at this point, hell, she'd settle for being ignored entirely. Claire used others to get what she wanted, and Allie did what she did to protect those she cared about. They had their similarities, but they weren't the same. *** Rachel stood in the middle of the empty apartment, nervously smoking a cigarette, her leg shaking furiously, tapping her heel on the old hardwood floor. Claire was sitting on the one singular chair she'd brought in and was staring at the black bag lying between them, covering a body. Rachel knew she should say something, but what does one say in a situation such as this? "Why?" Rachel finally asked, glancing at Claire, her eyes watering. "Because they...they wouldn't listen to me," Claire mumbled, "they wouldn't listen, no matter what I told them, and they had to see it for themselves. See what I was saying. I had to prove to them it was all real." Claire, at this point, had been off her medication for weeks, and while Rachel had been concerned, she'd never once considered she might do something like this. She just didn't seem like she had the capacity for murder within her. Rachel nodded, took a long drag from her cigarette and looked back down at the black bag, shaking her head slowly. "You're a mortician, you can do something," Claire said, "A paupers grave or something. Nobody would ask questions." "They didn't have family, it's true," Rachel replied, "that will make disposing of them infinitely easier." What the actual fuck was she saying? She couldn't even believe the words coming from her lips. But...she looked back over at Claire, crying and burying her face in her hands, and she felt this almost innate need to protect her. To do whatever it took to keep her safe and free. Rachel put her cigarette out and walked across the room, kneeling in front of the chair and putting her hands on Claire's knees, catching her off guard. Claire looked up, their eyes meeting and Rachel smiled warmly to ease her fear. She reached up and petted Claire's face with her palm. "It'll be okay," she said, "We'll take care of it, okay? That's...that's what we do. We take care of it." Claire nodded, turning her head and pushing her cheek into Rachel's palm, making Rachel's heartbeat quicken. Rachel wanted so bad, again, to just kiss her. To prove to her that she'd do whatever it took to keep her safe. To hold her and save her from this cruel world that seemed so determined to destroy women, or make women destroy themselves. But she didn't do any of that. She just looked into Claire's eyes, patted her face and repeated herself. "We take care of it," she whispered. And take care of it she did. First she embalmed them, right there in the apartment, to ensure the stink didn't tip anyone off, and then together they put them in the wall. And then when it happened again, they did it again. And it continued to repeat, until Rachel finally couldn't take it anymore, and though she continued to help, after it was over, she'd go home and she'd sit at her kitchen table and she'd drink coffee and just stare at the wall. What the hell did she get herself involved in? She'd listened to Claire because she'd sounded so sure about the answers to eternally unanswerable questions, and now here she was just killing people who didn't understand her. She wasn't a martyr. She was a monster. And Rachel St. Sebastian loved her more than anything in the world. *** "Nobody else has come," Claire said into the phone, sitting on the other side of the plexiglass window; she took a long inhale and then followed up with, "unsurprisingly, given what I did. I don't think anyone will ever want anything to do with me again. Except maybe you...you came." "Of course I came," Rachel said, sitting there in her hawaiian shirt, the top two buttons undone and the necklace Claire had given her for her birthday dangling between her collarbones, she added, "you know I'd always come. How are they treating you?" "I mean, it could be worse," Claire said, "I'm being given nicer treatment than one would expect. How are you doing?" Rachel stared through the window for a long minute, just looking into Claire's eyes, and finally exhaled. "I'm scared," she finally said. "I'm scared too," Claire replied, "this whole situation is-" "No, not of the situation, of you," Rachel said, catching Claire by surprise; Rachel continued, no longer looking her in the face, smirking out of sheer uncomfortableness as she spoke, "you terrify me. You send chills through me. I...I didn't know you were willing to do these sorts of things, and now that you have...and involved me in them...I feel so...gross. Like you used me. And I wanted you to like me so much that I let you." "I'd never just use you, Rachel," Claire said, sounding the most sincere Rachel had ever heard, "Never ever. You're the...the only person I've ever really trusted in my whole life. You're everything. I hated bringing you into that mess, but you were the only one who'd ever been there for me, and I-" "How can I believe that? I don't know anything about your past. You won't even tell me the truth, Claire. You could have rich parents who could spring you from this in a matter of seconds, and I'd never know. So how do I know I'm the only one who's ever been there for you?" Claire took a long deep breath, leaned back and lowered her voice. "...I never told you because you never asked," she said softly, "but if you want to know...if that's what it would take..." Rachel's eyes widened in sheer surprise. She hadn't expected Claire to genuinely offer up her origins, and she was right. Rachel had never asked. She'd just...sort of listened to all the variations Claire had come up with and known they were all bullshit, but she'd never broached the subject herself, likely out of sheer respect for Claire's privacy. But they were far past the point of privacy now. "...you don't have to tell me," Rachel said, smiling, "the mere fact you were willing to proves what we have is real." Claire smiled back and nodded slowly. Rachel put her hand on the plexiglass window, as did Claire, and they smiled at one another. No more words had to be said. They were in this to the bitter end together. But that didn't mean Rachel was entirely thrilled about it. There's a big gap between admiration and obligation. The day Claire was arrested, Rachel was watching it on the TV, standing in her mortuary backroom, smoking. She couldn't believe her eyes. It was over. It was all over. Claire would maybe get the help she needed, and she knew Claire wouldn't turn Rachel over, so she had nothing to fear for herself. Amazing how love and fear go hand in hand sometimes. Rachel now finally understood all those articles she read while waiting for embalmings to be finished about women trapped in toxic relationships. Still...she couldn't help but feel responsible. But hell, for the moment, for this one brief moment of respite... ...she felt relief. *** "So," Claire said, "you wanted to know what brought me here, how I did it, all that, and I feel as though I've thoroughly provided that information now. You intend to do anything with it, or?" "I think you can help me," Agent Siskel said, "Claire..." Claire and Agent Siskel locked eyes, and Agent Siskel smirked. "...how would you like to be out of here?" "You need to get up," Olivia said, slapping Benny on the face lightly from the opposite side of the bed, and Benny groaned, pulling the covers up over him.
"No I don't, I'm an adult, I don't have to do anything I don't want to," he said, half asleep. But this protest didn't last long, because soon enough, Olivia was out of bed and pulled the whole bedding off him and tossed it into a bundle on the floor. Benny figured there was no arguing with a girl like Olivia, so he relented and dragged himself out of bed. Benny showered, they cooked breakfast together and then Benny got dressed. He kissed Olivia goodbye, knowing she'd be off to work as well, and then headed to his usual spot in downtown Vegas, for his daily street magic show. Yes, Benny Harrison had been doing street magic in Vegas for god knows how long, but what he didn't expect was that Allie Meers was keeping a keen eye on him today, and not because she thought he was particularly talented - though she did - but because she figured if anyone knew how to really pull off an illusion of grandeur, without the benefits of distance from an audience and on a stage with props, it was a street magician. *** "Good morning Claire," Agent Siskel said, plopping a box down on the table of their usual meeting room. Claire leaned forward and pushed the flimsy lid open just a tad, peaking inside and smirking. "Donuts? Really? Is it my birthday?" Claire asked as Agent Siskel smiled and pulled her coat off, hanging it on the back of her chair and taking a seat across from her; Claire furrowed her brow and asked, "...where's your partner?" "He's dealing with some paperwork," Agent Siskel said, "so I figured it'd be a girls day." "Are we gonna get pedicures?" Claire asked, and Agent Siskel genuinely laughed. Claire then opened the box again and reached inside, pulling out a sprinkle covered cream filled donut and taking a bite of it, moaning at the sugar high rushing to her head now. "Claire," Agent Siskel said, "...I need your help. Usually I wouldn't ask like this, but...I have something that I just cannot crack on my own, and I need an experts advice. I'm willing to believe you're not a bad person, inherently. That a lot of what you did was a direct result of being off medication. That the mere fact that you sought medication is proof enough that you don't like what you are when you're off it, and want to be a better person. But I need to know...how do you get people to do whatever you want?" Claire leaned back in her chair and continued chewing, and once she was half finished, she set her donut down on the little sheet it'd come wrapped in on the table and sighed. "...I've already told you...you promised people things you can't give them," Claire said. "I know that, and I...I know that that's a real honest answer, but how did you do it so thoroughly, where they never question when they're finally getting what they want? How did you get them to be so loyal?" Agent Siskel asked, and Claire cocked her head, her red curls bouncing lightly. "Well," Claire said, clearing her throat, "and perhaps this is different for everyone but...people want to be lead. Oh sure, you have those outliers who are true independents, and those folks who claim they want to be individuals, but the gods honest truth comes down to the incontrovertible fact that really people want to be told what to do. They want to not have to be repsonsible for their lives or decisions or actions. Take religion, for example, okay?" Claire leaned forward and cupped her hands, Agent Siskel now fully engrossed as Claire continued. "I mean, religion offers people the most ridiculous shit you can imagine, shit you can't even prove, and yet people follow it blindly," Claire said, "yet I'm out here offering people tangible rewards. Attainable things. Things that they could theoretically be given if they follow me. Things I actually fully intended to eventually give them. But religious ferver? That's a whole different story altogether, man. You can't convince those people that they won't be eternally rewarded because they're so desperate to think their lives mean something in the grand scheme of the universe that they're willing to completely overlook or outright ignore glaring plot holes and logic gaps all at the hope, not guarantee, HOPE, that they'll eventually be given what they want, and not even when they're ALIVE." Agent Siskel nodded. Claire made some excellent points. Claire leaned back in her chair, picked the remainder of her donut back up and finished it, then spoke again. "So," Claire said, mouthful of donut, "how hard is it to get people to be loyal to you? Not very. It's just that you have to be skilled enough to get them to believe it. Charisma's a hell of a drug, Agent Siskel." *** "Good show," Allie said, approaching Benny as the crowd on the street dispersed and Benny grinned upon seeing her. "Hey!" he said, "been a while! Saw your new billboard, looks spiffy." "Yeah, things aren't...things aren't bad, career wise," Allie said, "can't say the same for my personal life." "Eh, personal life is overrated," Benny said as he began to collect the money people had put in the top hat by his feet; while he stood there and counted, Benny said, "so what brings you down to my humble venue?" "Actually," Allie said, crossing her arms, "I...need your help." Benny looked up and smirked. "Is that right?" A little bit later, Allie and Benny found themselves at a little diner nearby, Allie buying him lunch, and Benny interested at her supposed proposal. While he bit into his enormous burger, Allie sipping on a milkshake, Benny couldn't help but wonder what could possibly bring a talented powerhouse like Allie Meers to ask a street magician for help. "So," Benny said, wiping his mouth on a napkin, "...what's the rub?" "Look, I wouldn't be asking this if we hadn't worked together before," Allie said, stirring her milkshake with her straw, "but the thing is...you don't do magic at a distance. You work up close and personal. There's no...screen between you and your audience. Therefore, I must conceded...you're more talented than I am." "I'm not more talented, Allie, there's varying degrees of talent, and I just happen to excel at a form that you don't, simple as that. No reason to put yourself down." Allie smiled and nodded. Benny had always been such a nice guy, and she felt bad about dragging him into her mess, but she desperately needed help. "Well, flattery aside," Allie said, the both of them laughing as she continued, "I...I need advice. I need to know how you convince people something in front of their eyes isn't real." "Well," Benny said, "one of the keys to doing magic in general, as I'm sure you're well aware, is misdirection, but there's also the fact that you have to convince them that what they're seeing is real and hopefully well before you pull off the illusion, because that faith in its reality will carry them through the obviousness that it isn't. I'm doing just that, but at a much closer scale to their eyes. Become their friend, not someone doing a trick. The trick is secondary in my situation. I'm there having a conversation, I just happen to be doing magic." Allie nodded, sipping some more of her milkshake as Benny shook his scruffy oak brown hair and rubbed his hand over his light stubble. "So...you're saying I have to befriend whoever it is that I'm conversing with in order to get them to trust me enough to not question the unreality of the trick?" Allie asked, and Benny snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Bingo." "...I suck at making friends," Allie said, causing Benny to laugh. *** "Were you popular when you were a kid?" Agent Siskel asked, sipping her cup of coffee she'd brought for herself, the other cup sitting in front of Claire. "Not particularly," Claire said, "which is why it was so challenging to hone my skills at getting people to trust me. But if you try hard enough at something, for a long enough period of time, and you care enough about it...eventually you'll master it. Why do you ask?" "Because you strike me as a very popular person," Agent Siskel said. "You're just saying that cause I led a cult," Claire said, making Agent Siskel chuckle and nod. "Fair," Agent Siskel said, "but you mentioned charisma being a hell of a drug. How does one develop charisma without being popular?" "That's an excellent question, and I wish I had an equally excellent answer for you," Claire said, leaning back and picking her own cup up, taking a long drink from it before sighing and adding, "the truth is, while you can learn to lie, and learn to make people like you because being fake isn't hard...you can't learn to be charismatic. That's something you either have or don't. I didn't know I was charismatic until I came to lead. But it's not something I'd wish on anyone. Being charismatic is...awful. It leads you to believe that you're better than others, that you can get away with anything, and it's...it's dangerous." Agent Siskel nodded, listening. She hadn't heard Claire be this thoughtful or open about her ideas about identity before, and she could see now, being back on medication provided by the state while she was incarcerated, what an intelligent and interesting woman she actually was when she was stable. "...trust me, being charismatic is what ruined me," Claire said, sighing, "that isn't to say I'm not a bad person, because I am, admittedly. I won't deny that. I also won't say that I'm not a bad person when I'm on medication. If you're a bad person, you're a bad person, regardless of your medicated state. Sure, medication keeps me more or less off the path of being bad, but only because I'm stuck in this prison. If I were not here...I couldn't guarantee that, even on medication, I wouldn't be bad. I'm not saying I'd continue to go around murdering, but...I'm certainly not an angel." "Nobody is," Agent Siskel said, shrugging, "that's the most damaging thing that media has really done to our psyche and our viewpoints about morality. It's convinced us that there's just good and evil. Cops vs robbers. Cowboys vs Indians. In reality, there's no one perfectly good or bad side, everything is gray. Sometimes people do bad things for good reasons, and sometimes people do bad things...because they're bad people. It just varies. Did you do a bad thing? Yes. Do you feel remorseful for it? Certainly seems so. But that doesn't make you evil. In fact, I'd be willing to say that the mere fact you feel remorse is proof positive that you're not evil. Evil people don't feel remorse. They feel pride in their evilness." Claire nodded, listening carefully as she took another long drink from her coffee cup, then reached back into the box and pulled out a bear claw and took a big bite of it, chewing momentarily before swallowing and speaking again. "And what if you're wrong?" Claire asked. "What do you mean?" Agent Siskel said. "What if someone convinced you they were doing things for the right reasons, but in reality they were just evil," Claire said, "what would you feel then, Agent Siskel?" Agent Siskel leaned back in her chair and exhaled, thinking. "...I guess then I'd have to reevaluate how I judge people," she said, "but I like to think I'm pretty good at gauging folks." "Well, you seem to know me well enough to know I like donuts," Claire said, mouthful of bear claw. "Please, everyone likes donuts. An affinity to pastries isn't a character trait," Agent Siskel said, both of them laughing. *** Molly opened her front door, only to find Benny and Allie on her porch. Molly sighed, rolled her eyes and stepped aside, allowing them to enter. As they entered, Benny, hands in his coat pockets, whistled as he turned around in the living room and admired her home. Allie took Molly by the arm and tugged her a little ways into the kitchen, lowering her voice. "Who is this guy?" Molly asked, and Allie glanced over her shoulder at Benny, still taking in Molly's domicile. "He's someone I did magic with on and off for a bit," Allie said, "you're gonna use him to help build Tony's vault. Nobody but us is gonna know he's involved." "And why am I gonna use him?" Molly asked. "Because he's an expert at up close magic," Allie said, "and right now, we need that. Because we're gonna build a backdoor into it." Molly nodded slowly, unsure of what exactly it was Allie was planning, but she smiled and walked back to the living room, extending her hand. "Hi there, I'm Molly," she said. *** If there was one thing Agent Siskel had never expected Claire Discroll to be, it was honest. She'd dealt with so many people in her line of work who'd lied to her face, who'd sworn up and down that they were telling the truth, who stuck to their guns regardless of the mountain of evidence to the contrary...she was expecting that with Claire, and for a while, Claire also did that. But now, having spent a bit of one on one time with her, she could see that Claire was speaking openly and honestly with her, giving her the information she really needed and wanted, and some she didn't even realize she could use. "So, if I might ask something a bit personal," Agent Siskel said. "I'm a Scorpio," Claire replied, making Agent Siskel laugh. "No, uh...not...not that," Agent Siskel said, tapping at the lid of her coffee cup, "no, um...what makes someone become a cult leader? Because you have to understand, I've dealt primarily with blue collar criminals or outright murderers. But you're nuanced. You're something unique to my line of work. I guess I'm just curious how a seemingly otherwise normal woman like yourself becomes entrenched in something like this." Claire sighed and sat back in her chair, folding her arms as she looked down at the table. "...as cliche as it sounds, it all goes back to my parents," Claire said, "not to be a trope, but maybe had they treated me a little differently, I wouldn't have acted out the way I had, and I wouldn't be here right now. But I suppose when people control your every move, it only makes sense that you'd want to eventually usurp them and have that control for yourself, even over others." "...so...what happened? How'd this all get started?" Agent Siskel, and Claire smiled. "I made my bed one morning," Claire said, and Agent Siskel got a confused look on her face as Claire divulged her origins. |
ABOUT
Allie Meers is what she dreamed of being since she was a little girl...a successful Vegas magician. The only problem now is she can't make all her problems disappear; Allie grapples with her strained relationship, crippling addictions and FBI agents on her tail, all while trying to stay at the top of her career. Archives
December 2023
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