Hi all, love and lurk this sub, throwaway account created for this post. This is a doozy, so if you make it through this, I thank you. If it's too much for you, I'd love to get your thoughts on just the last paragraph, "THE LAST STRAW."
My husband and I have been together for four years now, and ever since we got engaged two years ago, things have gone south with my JNMIL. Some examples: the day I started planning my wedding and sharing my to-do list with her, all excited to plan with her, she called me naysaying "sweetie you can't do this on your own, you should get a wedding planner" (meanwhile my husband and I ended up planning it all in three months); she designed a wedding invitation for us, which I didn't like, and she was butthurt about it for months (not even giving me the option to redesign it or considering what I would like); we were planning our wedding to be either in Dec or May so my BIL, who was in grad school, could make it, and she pushed for May so that SHE wouldn't be cold; when I said that I'd rather not have a May wedding because I wanted to wear a poofy, heavy wedding dress, she said "well why don't you wear a lighter style?"; when I was shopping for wedding dresses and sending her photos to get her opinion, she had told me there was one that she loved, and then she went and told my then-fiance "I didn't really think it looked good on her," making me wonder why she lied to me (just seemed like a mean girl thing to do...; and when I finally chose my wedding dress, she was mad that I didn't send her a photo, making the whole thing all about herself, not even being happy that I found the dress of my dreams; she was also disparaging about my culture's traditions and cuisine in many ways throughout the process. For example, after my bridal shower, she told my then-fiance "I wish they'd play music that WE like," regarding the cultural music that we play (instead of trying to get to know my background and appreciating where I come from, of course). Because of all that she had done during our wedding planning process, I became quiet in my relationship with her (after attempting many times to explain to her all that she had done to upset me, which maddened her, because she is not used to talking things out), so I became less close with her. Right before our wedding, she called me saying "I don't know what's going on between us, I'm sorry, I just want you guys to be happy," which led me to just forgive and forget. After our wedding, however, many friends came up to me and said she was sulking during our reception and she was making dirty faces at our ceremony while she was under the arc with us.
Fast-forward a couple of years. We had a baby in November, and everyone was at our house for Thanksgiving, five days after I gave birth. I had noticed that she was soaking frozen chicken in water, and I made a comment that we shouldn't do that for the frozen turkey for the holiday, because it creates bacteria. Her response: "I've been doing it this way for 40 years." I calmly showed her the USDA page and other sources online that say you shouldn't wash poultry, and I repeated it a few times over the span of 1-2 days in response to her going over how she was going to prepare our meal, especially because I was breastfeeding and I wanted to be mindful of infection. Several times of her repeating that she was going to soak the turkey in water, I sternly said, "please don't do that, it's not safe," and it turned into a screaming match, including her saying "I'm done. You do it!!!!" It was horrific and embarrassing, and you'd think that she'd have some patience and understanding with a first-time mom who just gave birth a few days prior. Again, she came upstairs, gave me an empty apology while I was breastfeeding, and we moved on.
The entire time that she was staying with us in November, there were a number of comments made, all WITHIN A MONTH OF ME GIVING BIRTH. 1- how are you possibly going to handle work and motherhood at the same time? 2- rolling her eyes regarding me breastfeeding (she exclusively did formula with her kids) 3- whenever it was time to feed our baby, she suggested she bottle-feed him, and I'd reply, "no thank you, if you do that, I have to pump, and it's a lot of extra steps, so I'd rather just directly breastfeed for the convenience and the bonding factors," and she'd just repeat this suggestion over and over again, which was so frustrating because she was essentially ignoring my explanations. 4- making comments about how I'm feeding our baby too much (he's a healthy percentile, she just wants to criticize). ETC.
Fast-forward to this past April. My husband and I are flying with our baby for the first time and are extremely nervous. We are spending 4 days with his family and four days with my family. Of course, there are comments made, this time about my parents, but I let it slide. Comments include "I didn't like that your mom brought over rice for Passover," meanwhile, they don't even keep the rules of Passover. Something else was that JNMIL spent an entire day cooking my BIL's girlfriend's cuisine and learning about it, but she has never once done that with my cuisine (she is French, I am Iranian - husband says JNMIL is quite xenophobic), and in fact once threw out a plate of my mom's home-cooked food right in front of her at a family gathering. She also had her phone on loud on facetime during a family gathering, and I asked her to please lower it because someone was giving a speech, and she was horribly offended. Another time, she was taking my car to go grocery shopping, and I casually said "drive safe!" and she was offended by this comment and went to vent to my husband. Just insane, irrational behavior coming from her, even from my well wishes.
THE LAST STRAW: two weeks prior to us staying at their home, I asked JNMIL if my friend who lives close by can come visit. She said no bc her sister and BIL were visiting that day, and she wanted family time. I said, "okay maybe I'll just go get dinner with her or go for a walk, when are they coming over and I'll schedule that around them," and this was highly offensive to her apparently? She called me saying how "aggravated she was" and then totally gaslighting me and saying "it's fine! she can come!" Acting like I was crazy for thinking it wasn't fine with her... I was highly confused because she just sent me a series of texts saying how it's not fine, but now I'm realizing that she just didn't want me to take our baby away from her house so my friend could meet him and she was switching her story up last-minute. Okay whatever. The day comes for my friend to visit. JNMIL had made a coconut cheesecake and before my friend arrived, I said "hey, can friend have a slice, it was so good?!" She replies, "no it's already packed up and in the garage." I reply "oh I can go get it." She replies, "there are only a few slices left and I'd like to save that for my boys." I reply, " well I didn't have my slice earlier today, can she have mine?" She yells "NO" and storms upstairs. I say to FIL "okay can we serve her some coffee and tea? She's driving an hour to come see us after a 12-hour-long workday," and he goes "yeah of course." I say "great! she's spending so much time to come see us and I just want to make her feel welcome." BIL goes upstairs to JNMIL and tells her that I was implying that she is not being hospitable. She comes back downstairs and sits in the dining room with BIL and starts venting to my husband about me, saying how I was saying how inhospitable she was being (which she was, and no I wasn't) and "how dare she say we are inhospitable, there is not a more welcoming home than ours" (while providing absolutely no food or snacks to my friend and not doing anything to make me feel like my friend is welcome in her home), while BIL starts saying that "if she wanted to make her friend feel welcome, don't put that on us, OP should have gone to get snacks for her friend herself." Husband says that I was working all day long and that I didn't have time, and that it's not a big deal to serve my friend some snacks and coffee, as it's common courtesy. It turns into a whole 45-minute vent session about me to my husband. I'm in shock, especially because MIL and BIL are saying contradictory things and I don't even know how to start to defend myself. MIL's other issues come out now as well, all bottled up and nothing I had heard before, so I'm in even more shock. She talks about how she was in the hospital for a day and she didn't get a text or call from me (husband defends me saying that I didn't want to bother her while she was there, and that I was asking him how she was doing nonstop). MIL also says "why is she working while you are here at our house, I thought we were family" and husband says "she already took off four days last week to be with us and with her family, she can't take off anymore" and instead of appreciate how I'm trying to balance family time, breastfeeding, and working, she goes on and on about how "she was off for two days with us and for four days with her parents, I thought we were family, why didn't take take off today and tomorrow to be with us," and by this point, my husband is speechless at how petty she is being, and my friend is 5 minutes away, so to save him from this, I enter the dining room, boob in baby's mouth, and I calmly say "what's going on?" Silence from MIL and BIL, because IT'S SO EASY TO TALK BEHIND SOMEONE'S BACK AND IT TAKES COURAGE TO APPROACH SOMEONE F2F, WHICH NEITHER OF THEM HAVE. I ask a few more times, and BIL says "I just think it's rude that you put it on us to welcome your friend, if you wanted to give her food, you should've gone to get it yourself," and I say "okay what else?" MIL gives a disgusted look and yells "what do you mean what else?" and I said, "I just heard you trash-talk me to husband for 45 minutes, so what else is on your mind?" And she YELLS "that's it, what do you mean?" and she storms upstairs like a child after giving me an incredulous, disgusted look. I'm shaking from crying, and at this point, my friend enters the house (FIL let her in) and is a lovely, friendly, happy face, but I'm crying so hard from how much trash I just heard said about me (later on, MIL says she stormed upstairs because she didn't want to talk in front of my friend, but now in hindsight, I realize that if that was the case, she could've just calmly said that and asked to continue talking later instead of throwing a temper tantrum). I apologize to my friend that this is what she walked into and that we didn't have anything for her, so can I please take her out to dinner. She says "of course," and we leave with husband while I'm crying. Once I return, JNMIL comes to me and gives me an empty "I'm sorry, can we start over?" and I'm way too soft, so after saying "I mean everything I heard you say was really hurtful, but yeah we can do that," and she replies "I think the problem is that I just don't feel a connection with you," and I should have said, "that's not an excuse for trash-talking someone like that based on absolutely nothing," and she starts to victimize herself. I want none of it and she's not understanding me, so I just let it go, in hope of enjoying our last day on vacation with family. I tell her "okay, we can start over," and that's it. BIL pretends nothing ever happened and goes about his business like a child, not even acknowledging the shit he just stirred between his mom and SIL for absolutely no reason (he is 26). I have forgiven her for this, but I won't forget how she treated me and my friend. In addition, I don't appreciate the awkward position she put my husband in, trash-talking his wife and mother of his child, while I was within earshot, and making him defend me, and for such an unnecessary thing, too.
A week after returning home, husband gets a call from JNMIL and FIL about how they are worried that my parents are going to become the "primary grandparents." Husband says "WTF are you talking about?" In-laws are absolutely insane. All my parents have done is include them and prioritize them in events, group chats, everything. He convinces them that my parents admire, love, and respect them, and that they are just making up stories in their heads with no evidence. I overhear this conversation and I can't believe my ears. It turns out, in-laws are paranoid due to the fact that we are planning to move to the tristate area, where both my parents and in-laws live. In-laws had been planning to retire where we currently live for the past 20 years. So now they are scrapping their plans for this, not because they want to be close to us, but because they don't want my parents to be the "primary grandparents." They are incredibly paranoid, jealous, and rude. What's more is that FIL lied about a hot job offer he received in the city that husband and I currently live, in order to guilt us into staying here.
Fast-forward to now, two months after this phone call. I didn't hear from either JNMIL or FIL or BIL on my first ever mother's day. No text or call. Baby is 6.5 months, and I haven't received a single message this whole time about how I'm doing. I've been back to work for 2.5 months, and they haven't asked me how I'm handling work and motherhood, or if I need anything. I guess my question is, should I reach out? Should I just walk away? I've vented to my husband enough about them, and he is fully in agreement with me regarding their behavior and mean words. He says that this is just how they are and they won't change. They are incredibly antisocial, passive-aggressive, narcissistic, cynical, and negative. Ever since I've given birth, it's been pure vitriol and discouragement, rather than empathy and support. They are in their late 60s, so I don't know if they will ever change their ways.
I know this has been so much. I really needed to vent here. However, any words of advice would be appreciated. If there's anything you see that I've done wrong, please point it out, too.

My husband of nine years won’t prioritize to spend time with me and won’t learn how to do things around the house or contribute because he is tired from work.
My husband and I have been on different shifts myself 0630-1900 3-4 days a week just recently changed to 0700-1300 m-f.
My husband has stayed on 3-11pm for the last six years dispite us agreeing only staying in this position for only two years to climb the ladder for supervisor experience. (He has a masters degree but no work experience)
It has he was supposed to be looking for work for 4 years now and he hasn’t switched jobs. I sent him job positions and he won’t apply for them. In four years he has applied for seven jobs. Most of which has been in the last two months. He is exhausted when he gets home and doesn’t want to spend time with me. He says he is never home because of work, they call him on the days he has off. And at all hours of the night. His job is abusing him and we knew this four years ago but he won’t leave . He is given the most and hardest tasks. He has been promised a day shift for four years then rip it away at the last minuet. After the first time wanted him to leave the department but he won’t leave. So they just string hm along and he keeps believing them. The employees call him at four am ( I get up at five am ) because they think it’s funny. His employees who are my friends tell me because I work in the same building because I got him his first job when he got his visa to work here when we got married. He says he is tired of constantly getting rejected from job applications.
On the weekends he won’t come out hiking, kayaking, out to the movies, go to a hotel our work had paid foinsted wanted to sleep on a overlarge dog cot in his office. Go on vacation to Arizona with me and my family, the only vacation we have been on was to the Netherlands because his family paid fo everything. He won’t participate in yard maintance, refinancing the house, picking out a car for himself when his died. Replacing the laundry room flooring, car maintance, resealing the deck, replacing the broken windows. Fix the wiring in the house , helping our daughter with her homework, changing out light fixtures , fixing our daughters ceiling. Fixing things in the house filing paperwork with the HOA , sending birthday cards and holiday gifts. Taking our daughter to muy tai and BJJ and working out with me.
The only thing he wants to do together is just eat junk food in bed and watch Netflix, go to the grocery store together on the weekend(which I hate) and do the laundry which I also find silly as this is the time for us to be together laundry should be done on the weekdays! he doesn’t want to do them in the morning on before work because he won’t be able to play with his Internet friends before work. And won’t be able to play between loads. I wouldn’t be so upset if he didn’t leave my workclothes in the dryer, wet for days because his clothes are done and he wants to play with his internet friends, and o have to wash the sheets and take over sorting folding and putting things away. He just this year started taking our daughter to the orthodontist appointments and dropping her off at school as the busses were all canceled this yea and I was dropping our daughter off an hour and a half early.
This is not the first time he has refused to do important things that has harshly affected our household he didn’t change over his EU drivers license until we were canceled from our car and renters insurance because he didn’t want to drive in the US and one car was good enough but insurance had two adult drivers and tboth of my cars and they didn’t believe us that he wasn’t driving. We also almost didn’t get our house we live in now because he wanted to think about th putting a deposit down on our house to place a hold on a great house in a time where there were no houses on the market and had to move in the next two months because they were selling our building and we would have been homeless. He says he misunderstood the situation and that he didn’t realize that things were so dire because he is from the Netherlands .
I started buying my own gifts about three years ago for birthdays-special occasions because it’s better than being chronically disappointed and upset over .but then he gets upset that I bought my own gifts so I put him in charge of Mother’s Day which happened to fall on my birthday which was an absolute disaster. After the birthday disaster, I told him we have a year to make improvements or I am done, and filing for divorce. My self esteem and self confidence have taken a huge hit. I used the saddle break horses and build cabins. Scuba dive under frozen lakes and go fishing , and campingin the Alaskan wilderness; now I feel totally worthless,unloved, rejected.I told him he is so out of touch with what is going on in this household that if he doesn’t put in the effort now I will not continue to be in a relationship with a man that treats me this way.
Since we had our conversation he is going on walks with me on the weekends with the dog(1-3 miles) and actually bought the bicycle I asked to buy back in fall so we can spend time together, and he watched some Mandolorian with me.
And yes I am angry and I have my work to do but he still hasn’t even looked for a different job let alone outside our company I don’t know how to encourage him to do the things he needs to do without being hateful at this point. In the meantime I am getting myself a therapist but hit my side hustles and start saving up just incase I need to get divorced or celebrate our tenth anniversary.
Any insight or recommendations would be extremely helpful thank you.

Kelly wanted to drive that evening. We went to a music festival in Pittsburgh and were well on our way back to Buffalo. After we were around Westfield, New York Kelly began to act differently. When we drove the route two days earlier nothing came up, but she just seemed on edge all the sudden.
“Is there anything on your mind?” I asked her.
She looked at me and peaked a grin then responded, “Paul, it’s nothing, you don’t want to hear it.”
“Come on! Tell Me.” I shot back.
“My parents would drive my sister and I on this highway everytime we went to see my Grandparents.”
“So?” I interrupted her.
With a face that said she was being more serious, she looked at me. Then she looked back to the road and said, “My dad was driving us home one night back when I was fourteen. He told us something that I’m just remembering.”
There was a pause of silence as Kelly began to reveal more. “My dad told us that the local Erie tribe believed in an ‘evil spirit’ that would roam the woods by these roads. Also specifically he said to never stop around here.”
Afterwards I turned on the radio which made Kelly more calm. Our conversation then started to drift to Kurt Cobain as our favorite Nirvana song “Come As You Are” started playing. The song put us in a good mood. Then I started looking out the window towards the woods to the right of us. A sensation that there was something staring at us began to grow. That’s when I heard Kelly let out a whimper. Quickly I looked at her. She pointed out the highway closed up ahead with a detour. This was odd as.the highway was open just a few days earlier. Kelly also mentioned that her car was low on gas, but she was thinking about whether she’d be able to make it to the next town.
Her statement startled me and I asked if she seriously believed the story her dad told her. This offended her. After I explained if we got stuck with no gas we’d be more vulnerable, Kelly agreed to go to town.
We were driving through a small town in a mostly rural area. There were many fields and woods, although it soon became clear we were no closer to a gas station. Kelly began to get anxious. The low gas light came on, the idea that we’d have to pull over was becoming a reality.
An argument began between the two of us. Things were not going well. We had driven for some time while arguing before realizing we were now lost on some backroad. Soon dense trees surrounded us on both sides, and then we saw it, there was something on the road. We stopped. Kelly turned on the bright lights of the car and we saw what looked like a body in the middle of the road. We sat there for a few seconds just processing what was happening. Kelly locked the car before I could mutter anything.
Unlocking the car was my first instinct. In a panicked voice Kelly said, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m responding to the situation,” I declared as I got out of the car. Kelly kept her brights on as I approached what was in the road. Upon closer inspection it became clear it wasn’t a human body. It was a decapitated pig carcass in what looked like white silk clothing. The feeling that things were extremely messed up washed over me. Then I heard what sounded like a loud buzzing. Coming from the woods about a hundred feet away.
Even though Kelly began to honk her car’s horn I fell into a trance from the buzzing. Whatever was creating the sound began to get closer, a slender black silhouette with a wingspan of many feet began to fly towards me. Whatever this was almost managed to reach me, but not before Kelly hit it with the car. The sound of the thump that the car made with the silhouette's torso broke my trance. Kelly yelled to get in the car, I was somewhat dazed, but I still responded to her command.
Several cracks ran through the windshield of the car and there was obvious damage to the bumper. We only had a few more miles worth of gas, but we drove anyway. The woods extended some ways, but eventually we came across a large soybean field and we concluded there must be a house nearby. The car began to make sounds and was shaking. We’d have to leave our car if we wanted to continue further.
It was silent between us, until we came to a complete stop and the engine was off.
“Do you think it’s still behind us?” I gravely asked.
“I don’t know, but it’s probably not safe to sit here.” Kelly said as she turned on the hazard lights. She continued, “If we leave this on it’ll draw attention to the car.”
We had some basic equipment in the back that I grabbed. This included a flashlight, as well as a backpack containing such items as a first aid kit and some fire starting supplies I had leftover from a camping trip. We started walking down the road quickly. When we heard the buzzing, that walk turned into a run. It was bright enough from the moon that we were able to spot a black silhouette hovering above the treeline a long distance away. Both of us were fairly quick on our feet and the field was about to end, but still there was no house in sight. The silhouette had just reached the car and was beginning to come towards us.
“We’re gonna have to run through the field.” Kelly confessed what we both knew. We made a sharp turn into the soybean farm and hunched over to conceal ourselves. Kelly was in front as I kept checking behind us. The field was quite wide and it felt like I was running for a long time. At some point we heard the buzzing again.
Subsequently Kelly let out a hopeful whisper, “There’s a house nearby!” I looked to see a modern farmhouse just up ahead. The buzzing was getting louder however. By the time we made it to the front door, we started pounding and screaming our lungs out for help. A shadow of what looked like a massive bat circled us on the ground. That’s when a light on the top floor finally turned on. Waiting around wasn’t an option however, so we ran to the back yard underneath a trailer.
Lying there seemed to be our only option. While underneath I wanted to tell Kelly that I was sorry for not listening to her, but I was silent for our safety. The entity touched onto the ground by our trailer, we could see the sophisticated pattern on its wings. It had two feather-like extrusions from its face, and between them a thin trunk-like organ that curled up. The buzzing was loud enough that we had to cup our ears. Just as the winged entity began to walk towards us we saw the flash and heard the first gunshot. This led the entity to fly away.
For a few moments we waited until the buzzing was gone completely. That’s when we heard a warm older voice, “The both of you should come inside before it comes back.”
We got up and followed the man into his back door which led directly to his kitchen. My shirt had some residue on it, and it was sticky. The man hastily got me a new shirt. Once we got seated I could now more clearly see the white beard and hair that the man had. He seemed somewhat weathered. If he were a little bigger he could pass off as Santa, but he was too thin for that.
He said if anyone wanted coffee he was gonna make some. He put his rifle against the wall. He was extremely calm considering the situation. That’s when he walked to the phone and called the sheriff. We explained to the man about our car. Through the conversation it was clear the man was named Sameul and he was the owner of the soybean field. Then we heard something we’d never heard before, “Yeah Chuck you wouldn’t believe it, the EnCropia almost got them.”
After Sameul hung up the phone I asked him, “‘EnCropia,’ is that what that thing is called?”
“Unfortunately yes, it’s been here for generations, it’s most of the reason we can’t have livestock in these parts.” He finished brewing the coffee and began pouring himself a glass. He quickly gestured if we wanted a cup. Kelly wanted some so I accepted as well. He then continued, “It’s odd that it’s interacting with people again. I’m assuming you two were stopped in the middle of the street.”
“Yeah, how’d you know? We-” Kelly began to say but was cut off.
“That’s what it does, it tries to play tricks on you,” he stated.
Sameul introduced us to his wife Matilda, she seemed pleasant, and took a sincere tone when talking to us about our experience. We began talking about how university professors used to visit their town and talk to them about the sightings. Samuel said he talked to one professor who told him the official name they had for the entity. He continued to talk about how nothing was done. He was mid sentence about to reveal more details when the power went out. It happened suddenly and scared us.
What made matters worse was that one of the windows in the other room got broken by a stone. Samuel grabbed his rifle and he instructed Matilda to grab hers. In the dark we could hear the buzzing. Samuel walked to the broken window and began to fire his gun. Matilda instructed us to follow her outside. There was a building that was made of cement. The buzzing persisted as we waited there, with more shots being fired we hunkered down.
Cold is how it felt at first, again it was dark, but Matilda had her gun pointed at the door. We began to hear the screaming, it was Sameul. He did not sound well. The buzzing sounded like it was getting closer. We could see out one window, when we thought it was over we saw the lights and heard the sirens.
Chuck had called in reinforcements. When this became clear the buzzing faded away. We were in the middle of the lawn. Some officers told Matilda to come with them, while Chuck had us follow him to his car. While we followed Chuck we heard shrieks from Matilda. I still had the backpack on, as I never took it off. Chuck told us they found the car and that he was gonna take us back to the station with him for our safety.
Driving in what seemed like a safe vehicle was the only thing comforting about the situation.
“EnCropia’s is intelligent. You two should have just followed the detour.” He sternly announced.
“The highway was closed-.” I tried to say.
“-Yeah, guess what caused that.” Chuck cut me off.
Kelly wanted to know what happened to Sameul by asking. Before Chuck could respond however, he slammed on the breaks. The EnCropia was in the middle of the road. He prepared his weapon, the entity flew over and picked up the front of the car with its massive human-like appendages, while its tentacle licked the windshield. Its buzzing was almost ear damagingly loud. Chuck tried to slam on the acceleration, but we were held in place. Chuck called in for backup, but the EnCropia was very strong and managed to flip completely over.
Unfortunately I was in the back and my door didn’t open from the inside. However Kelly managed to crawl out of her door. Chuck was dazed or even possibly unconscious. Kelly then got up and tried to open my door. In this process the The EnCropia grabbed her.
“Come for me!” Kelly screamed over the buzzing. I then watched the entity fly off with her as the buzzing faded. Suddenly I heard Chuck. He sounded somewhat concussed. It wouldn’t take long for more officers to arrive.
Ambulances were called for the both of us, I didn’t need to go to the hospital, however Chuck wasn’t as lucky. I drove with a captain on the force. We drove a few miles more. That’s when I saw it. Not too far a large silhouette flew into the woods. I told Chuck’s second in command I was going to vomit. He asked if it could wait. I told him it could not wait. He stopped the car on the side of the road. As soon as both of my feet were on the pavement I broke into a full sprint. I was quick, and although the trees were thin and spaced out, it was dark enough that I disappeared. I still had my back pack which had a flashlight. I turned it on after about a mile.
The woods were becoming more dense. Soon it became clear I was lost. I now didn’t know which direction to go. I debated retracing my steps, but that’s when I saw it, it was an entrance to a cave underneath a large tree. I walked towards the entrance to it with my flashlight. I wasn’t sure how to interpret what I saw at first. It was slimy, football shaped shapes that moved.
As I explored the cave further I discovered a host of equipment made from trash and what looked like other loose wood. These looked like they assisted in turning the sticky residue from the massive larvae into silk. And that silk into clothing. That’s when I heard the whisper, “Paul, is that you?”
It was Kelly, she was beneath some of the larvae. I managed to pull her out. She then told Sameul was also there. He was unconscious, but we managed to drag him out as well. Kelly explained to me that the larvae belonged to the EnCropia. We dragged Sameul some distance from the cave, before I made the decision to go in with lighter fluid and set the larvae ablaze. When I got done pouring all the fluid however we could hear the buzzing once again. The entity was nearby. Kelly began to scream after, but I decided to light the fluid regardless.
Larvae began to cook from the flames. This angered the entity and it flew into the cave. Kelly and I dragged Samuel out in the opposite direction. Luckily after a little bit of time we saw flashlights. They had already put together a search party. Samuel was in rough shape and was sent to the hospital, but Kelly was physically fine, but emotionally not as much.
At the police station we were finally safe. We were told Sameul and Chuck were stable. By this point the sun was starting to rise. A few hours passed until some federal agents interviewed us. They wanted to know everything. Kelly’s mom came and picked us up. It was silent on the car ride home. After we arrived back Kelly and I talked and agreed to part ways.
About two decades have passed since this occurred. I’m married now to a different woman, and I have children. I haven’t had contact with Kelly since. I still have nightmares about what I saw and what I experienced. Now I always warn my kids about that part of I-90.

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Hi. I'm located in US, NC if that matters. I was in an at fault accident in Oct, 2022 and my insurance sent me to a specific body shop. I got my car back in Jan, after paying my $500 deductible and $1,400 in rental car fees after the 30 days my insurance covered. The head unit (screen for backup camera, radio, etc) was not fixed, along with some alignment and steering issues. They let me drive my car for about a week until they could get an appointment with the Subaru dealership to fix the screen and they said they would fix the other things. Said it would be a couple of days. At this point they picked up the rental car fees. March, I get my car back. The AC isn't working. The AC was working when I dropped it off... Took it to a 3rd party inspector, a multitude of things were wrong. Rusted weld points, no coolant in the car, the radiator hose wasn't attached (WTF?!?). I was put in contact with the regional VP, sent to one of their "good" locations. Assured everything is double and triple checked and my car is ready today. I pick it up, looks good, make it 2 miles and get the indication it is overheating. Pull over and call the guy and he had it towed to the Subaru dealership and they are taking it from there. At this point I want to wash my hands of it and get paid out for the car. Do I have any legal recourse? I will be contacting the inspector for advice as well as my insurance (USAA) to make them aware. Any other actions I can take?

Transmission
by Brian Martinez
Let me start my story by telling you something about me, the most important thing, in fact: I find things, and I fix them. That’s who I am. If you don’t know that, you don’t know me.
I’m a second-generation auto mechanic, born-and-bred. I’ve been repairing cars since before Ford Pintos were blowing up, when cars were made of steel and Route 66 wasn’t just something for the cartoons. These days I’m fortunate enough to own a shop downtown between two of those chain coffee places. It’s small, sure, but it has a reputation for saving cars so far-gone no one else will even touch ‘em. So if you live in the area, and you’ve ever been stuck with the sourest of lemons, or maybe your kid drove your minivan into the pool, we just might have crossed paths, you and I.
That reputation is what led to me getting a phone call from a guy I’d never met, saying he had something that might interest me. His name was Burt and he’d apparently just purchased a piece of property that sat unowned for the better part of twenty years. I knew of the area he was talking about. It’s out in the hills, where there isn’t much to look at. Most of the land there went to weed years ago; acres and acres of old woods and burnt-down barns just waiting for nobody in particular to see the value in them. And, well, it seems Burt was that nobody in particular.
I honestly didn’t know what Burt’s purchase had to do with me, and told him just that, figuring he must have had the wrong number. But the next words out of his mouth told me he knew exactly who he was talking to.
Apparently when old Burt started walking around his new property, digging around in the dirt, so to speak, he made an interesting discovery. So interesting, in fact, that it got me to grab my keys, hop in my truck, and drive up into the hills without so much as a pause to wash my hands.
Some things, you see, don’t wait for a man to look presentable.
As I drove up into the hills to meet Burt, I started to think about my father and the drives he used to take me on. He liked to get a feel for whichever car he was working on, and those drives, they always ended with a detour into the hills. ‘Nothing tests a vehicle like elevation,’ he used to say, and I have to admit, I still agree with that statement. All those long inclines, sharp turns and fast descents- not to mention the occasional slam on the brakes- really put a car through its paces.
Dad knew a thing or two about cars, even if he knew nothing about how to raise a family.
Other than maybe a slight fear of commitment, the main thing I got from my father was a passion for restoring old cars in my spare time. It’s a hobby of mine, and I do it in the garage at my house. I’m especially a sucker for rare cars, and the rarer the better. That little hobby of mine, more so than my day business, was why I ended up driving out to the middle of nowhere with dirty hands and a head full of ideas.
The road up was just as long and winding as I remembered. I almost missed the entrance for the property, a hidden driveway marked with little more than a broken mailbox and a rotting signpost. The private road got smaller and smaller by the minute until I swore the trees were going to swallow me whole and spit the bones back out.
When I finally reached what could pass for a clearing, a guy with a face like a junkyard dog was waiting for me next to the newest, cleanest Ford pick-up I’d seen outside of a dealership. He introduced himself to me as Eddie, an associate of old Burt. I told him I’d been expecting to meet Burt himself, but Eddie explained that Burt didn’t like to meet new people, and rarely came out in the cold weather. It was a bit raw, I had to admit, so I dropped the whole thing and let Eddie get down to the business at hand.
We left our cars behind and Eddie led me into the woods, where the walking was slow-going on account of the overgrowth of vines and dead branches. I’m not one to spook easily, but the more we walked the creepier those woods got, until I was fairly sure Eddie was going to use that French Mastiff face of his to tear my throat out. But just when I was thinking about turning back and saying screw it to the whole thing, I caught sight of what we’d come for.
The very first car I saw was a white, 1974 Pontiac Trans-Am. It was missing its door and tires, and it was buried under a layer of dead vines, but the body shape was unmistakable. Under the rust I could even see what was left of the telltale Firebird emblazoned across its hood in blue.
I couldn’t believe a car like that was just sitting out in the middle of the woods, waiting for anyone to come along and find it. As I got closer, though, I saw just how bad the condition of the car was. The insides were rotted out from rain and mold, and the floor was so eaten up by rust it was ready to fall out.
Before my brain could process the loss of such a beautiful machine, I caught sight of another car. This one was a Datsun 210 with a tree growing right through the hole where its trunk used to be. Wet leaves and newspaper filled the back seat, and the dashboard was an abandoned nest that crawled with leggy insects.
Old Burt hadn’t been pulling my leg: those woods were a graveyard for abandoned cars. From what I could tell, about three acres of woods were absolutely littered with the corpses of old autos. Some were in pieces, most were covered in dead leaves and rust and all the other things that happen when anything is left outside for years and years, but they were there. The sight of so many classic cars in one place, virtually unknown to anyone, both excited and saddened me.
For close to an hour I walked around random piles of tires and glass to stare at rusted-out Range Rovers and Jeeps with their headlights hanging out like popped eyeballs. Finally, like I’d woken up from a spell, I asked Eddie what Burt expected from me. And that’s when he told me the strangest, most interesting offer he could have told me in that moment.
He said if I could make every, single one of those cars disappear in three day’s time, at no cost to old Burt, I could keep them.
The words nearly knocked me off my feet. I’d have to call in every favor to every salvage yard and tow truck operator I knew, but it was possible. Still, nearly all of the cars I’d seen were beyond repair, even for a guy like me. At most I saw some parts that could be salvaged. Maybe a few of the newer, less damaged ones could be saved. I knew a few guys in my circle who might be interested, and I figured if I played my cards right I could make a few bucks out of the deal to boot- or at least land a good trade or two. Still, there weren’t any cars that I was interested in for myself.
Until, at the edge of the property, tucked away in a spot I’d nearly overlooked, I saw it. It was as if I’d been drawn there. Like I was meant to find it.
The car was familiar-looking, yet like nothing I’d ever seen. Cross a Chevelle Malibu Classic SE with the modern retro feel of the ‘97 Plymouth Prowler, add the large rear spoiler and flared wheel arches of a ‘99 Nissan Skyline GT-R, and you still won’t come close. It looked like something one of the big three manufacturers had made and yet I’d never seen or heard of its like ever before. It had no logos, no hood ornament, no identification of any kind. I practically ran around to the back of it to look for a name, a logo, something to identify it, tripping over hidden rocks and broken glass to do it.
But there was nothing. Nothing to betray the make and mark of the strange car in front of me. I even asked Eddie if he knew what it was. He only shrugged, clearly wanting to wrap up our little outdoor meeting. I half-heartedly agreed. It was later than I’d realized. Between the dwindling sun and the discovery I’d made, I’d started to get a chill I couldn’t shake. I had a bad tooth I’d been neglecting, and even that was starting to hurt from the cold.
So I agreed to Burt’s deal. I shook Eddie’s hand on it and got out of there, giving one last glance at the strange car in the woods on the way out.
The next day, after making more phone calls than a politician on election night, a swarm of flatbeds, wheel-lifts and salvage trucks descended on those woods. For two days they scooped out every piece of metal and glass in the place, while I oversaw the operation like a choir conductor from hell. I directed trucks this way and cutting crews that way. They snipped and cut and tore out every dead tree standing in the way so the truck crews could do the rest. I even got in there myself with the old chainsaw when it was needed.
It was an exhausting two days, but I managed to keep my word to Burt and clear every abandoned car off his property with about an hour to spare. Some of the cars went to the junkyard, others to various garages I’d made arrangements with.
I was dead on my feet by the time I got home. I was ready for a shower and a bed, in what order I wasn’t sure. And yet a crackle of energy went through me when I saw what had been dropped off in my garage.
My mystery car. Without the shadows of the woods hiding it, I could see it had been painted silver before the rust took over. It had been a fast sucker once, like a bullet to a werewolf’s chest. That had been a long time ago, and yet I sensed there was still some life in the old girl. I wanted so badly to start digging around under the hood, to see what I could find out, but my legs were ready to collapse and my eyes could barely focus. Intending to wake up early and hit the garage, I stumbled off to bed.
You know that feeling you get when you realize someone’s been talking to you for the past minute, thinking you’ve been listening, and you only just figured it out?
That’s the feeling I woke up to.
I sat straight up like a vampire rising from his coffin. My bedroom was still dark, which meant it was the middle of the night. In my half-sleep I tried to make out the clock on my nightstand but couldn’t read the numbers, so I fumbled for my glasses and shoved them on. It was just past two in the morning: way too early, even for me. No way was I getting up, strange feeling or no.
I was about to take my glasses off and lay back down when I heard the reason I’d woken up.
Whispering.
A man was in my room, whispering in the dark. I lunged across my bed and turned on the lamp, nearly knocking it over. I didn’t have a weapon, but if I could see the intruder I could do something about it. I spun back, back to the whispering, to see who it was, to shout at them or jump on them, whatever I had to do to save my life from the psycho in my bedroom.
But the room was empty. Just me and a pounding heart.
I was so confused, I jumped out of bed and tore around the room, making sure no one was hiding, but I didn’t find anyone. I was alone.
Then I heard it again, and I knew: the whispers were coming from down the hall.
With bare feet I followed it, trying to make out what it was saying, but it was too low to understand. I grabbed a knife as I passed through the kitchen and held it in front of me with sweat beading on my face despite how cold I kept the house.
I followed the whispering to the garage. The overhead light flickered on, lighting up the strange car in my garage. In my half-sleep, half-terror I’d nearly forgotten about it. But there it was, like a bear hibernating in its cave, waiting for the end of winter. It felt alive somehow. Not dead, just asleep and dreaming.
And it was whispering.
I knew how crazy that sounded, how crazy that was, but I swallowed hard and approached the car, knife first. The blade shook in front of me. The whispering got louder the closer I got, and yet I still couldn’t understand the words it was saying. Was someone hiding inside the car? Had I inherited a homeless man when I’d had it towed to my house? If so I had to get him out of there. Get him help, sure, make sure he had a place to sleep, but he couldn’t stay in my garage, whispering through the night. No way.
With my free hand I yanked on the driver’s side door. It didn’t open. Rusted shut. I slowly walked around to the passenger side and yanked again. It opened.
The whispering was louder now, louder but not clearer, like an old television tuned between channels, like a frequency not being picked up, like a…
Like a radio.
The whispers were coming from the radio. I laughed under my breath, realizing how ridiculous I’d been. But then I remembered there was no way the radio could be working. The car wasn’t turned on. If it even had a battery under the hood, it was probably little more than a square pile of rust and battery acid.
I clutched the kitchen knife tight, and with the other hand I slowly reached out to turn the volume knob. I needed to know if the whispers were coming from the radio, and if they were, I needed to know what they were saying. My temple throbbed as the whispers grew louder and louder, louder and louder, louder and-
The moment my finger touched the knob, the whispers stopped.
I felt like I was going crazy. I looked around the inside of the car, noting the strong smell of mildew and animal with a tinge of rotten leather. Other than my own breath echoing back at me, it was silent.
No whispers. No nothing.
I went back to bed, but I barely slept.
The next day was the day I usually took off from the shop, which was a relief since I woke up almost as tired as when I’d gone to bed. As I ate my breakfast, the night before still sat fresh in my mind. But the more I went over it, the more I thought it had been a bad dream, brought on by exhaustion and an imagination run wild. I had to admit the mystery car sitting in my garage had gotten my mind racing faster than a Formula 1.
I’m the kind of guy who likes a simple explanation, something I can touch and feel and, yes, fix, so I started to think that I could have picked up some kind of rogue radio transmission from a trucker, or even a passing plane. The police scanner I owned in my younger days had certainly picked up its share of random broadcasts, and when it comes to working on junkers I’ve learned to expect the unexpected.
After I’d eaten my breakfast and downed my coffee I got right to work on the car. I wanted to clear the air of whatever had happened, and I was dying to see what that baby had going on under the hood. The mystery of who the hell had made the thing was still heavy on me.
But the enigma only deepened the more I looked. Under all that rust and dirt and oil I couldn’t find one damn mark that told me who’d made the car. I almost wanted to say it was a custom build, but the work was too precise, the system too well-planned out to be an after-market job.
I worked on it all day, so wrapped up in it I forgot to eat lunch. I ate dinner like a raccoon digging through a dumpster. Then I worked on it some more.
I was just crawling into bed when I heard it again.
The whispering.
This time I ignored it, hoping it would go away on its own. But it didn’t stop. Not until I got up, walked across my house, went into the garage, and touched the radio. Then, it stopped.
I decided right then and there not to go to the shop the next day. There was just too much work to be done.
I’d been working on the car for four days straight before I got it started up. Four days of stripping and cleaning and rebuilding. Four nights of whispering. I was even starting to hear it during the day, but low, barely audible, like a television playing somewhere in the house.
After I got the engine started, the first thing I did was pull my code reader down from my tool wall and hook it up to the dashboard input. I’d been pleasantly surprised to find an input on the car, even though I was fairly certain it had been built after '96. To my shock the screen filled up with a bunch of random trouble codes I’d never seen before, then went blank. I tried to get it powered up again but apparently the connection had completely overloaded the device.
I’d had the reader for years and it had never given me a problem. I put it down and got back to the car, deciding to stick to the old-fashioned way and get a feel for what was wrong with it. Just like dad used to do.
With my foot on the gas I revved the engine good. It sounded better than I’d expected, like a beast waking up from deep sleep. But there was also something rattling around under the hood, something loose knocking around inside the carburetor or possibly even the manifold.
I tried a few options, opening up this and that, until I narrowed it down to something completely unexpected: the transmission.
With considerable force I managed to open up the transmission, and sure enough I found something inside. Something dark and red. I pulled it out and studied it under the light. It looked like a small rock covered in old transmission fluid. How it got in there I didn’t have a clue. But I decided to clean it off and get a better look at it, in case it pointed to a bigger problem. As I walked it to the slop sink, I noticed the whispering, usually a dull static during the day, had started to grow louder. I could almost make out individual words now. But I ignored it and ran the small rock under the faucet, watching the dark red fluid swirl down the drain.
That was when I discovered something I wasn’t prepared for. The thing in my hand wasn’t a rock- it was a tooth.
A human tooth.
The whispers had grown so loud I could barely hear myself think, barely feel the disgust rising in the pit of my stomach. With the whispers practically shouting in my ear I dropped the tooth and it bounced and clattered inside the sink, coming to a rest near the edge of the drain.
The whispers grew quiet again. A dull roar tickling at the back of my skull. I stared at it, the tooth in the sink, the impossible tooth from the impossible car. I had the urge to throw it out. To get it out of my house and never see it again. But I didn’t do that. I couldn’t tell you why not.
Maybe because that meant touching it again.
Maybe something else.
Feeling like I should give the car a rest, I worked on getting my code reader working again, otherwise I’d have to run to the store and buy a new one. I changed out the batteries and gave it a good, solid whack. A few seconds later I was happy to see the screen turn on. I thought I’d have to do a factory reset to use it again but I was surprised to find it worked perfectly fine. Not only that, the trouble codes it had read off the car were still stored in its memory.
There were pages and pages of codes like I’d never seen in my life, more than I think are even in the tool’s programming. In fact I couldn’t find a single one of them anywhere in the manual. I figured they were probably just random numbers, and yet there was something strange about them, like they had a pattern to them. I dusted off my old computer and typed in the problem codes, figuring if I could get a better look at them I might be able to figure out their meaning. If not, I could at least print them out and show them to somebody who could.
After twenty minutes I’d barely made a dent in typing up all the codes. I gave up on the idea that I could copy them all. I pushed away from my computer and stood up, rubbing my eyes from the strain. Between the glare of the old screen and the noise in my ears, my head was killing me. It all felt so pointless. So inconsequential.
Just before I shut the computer down, I happened to glance one last time at the screen. And when I did, I noticed something that made my skin go cold.
The codes. The pattern. The numbers and letters and spaces between them. They were starting to form a face. A human face, with two eyes and a screaming-
I shut the computer down as fast as I could, then unplugged it to be safe. Then I marched to the garage and disconnected the radio, practically ripping it out of the car.
The whispers stopped.
The house was quiet.
But not for long.
For three days I told myself to get rid of that car, tow it out of my garage and dump it somewhere no one could find it. Maybe even drench it in gasoline and light a match. For three days I ignored the whispers and the doorbell and the phone calls from my shop asking when I was coming back. For three days I buried my head under the hood and worked and worked and worked.
On the fourth day, when the whispers from the radio had grown louder than my own thoughts, louder but still unclear, without words I could understand, I lost it. I threw my wrench at the tool wall, knocking down chisels and socket wrenches and a dozen other tools clattering to the ground. I pounded on my ears, cursing them, willing them to go deaf and stop hearing the whispers.
But they didn’t stop hearing. And the whispers didn’t stop. So I decided. I decided that if I couldn’t stop hearing them, I at least needed to know what they were saying.
I went back to the slop sink. The tooth was still there, perched near the edge of the drain. I’d prayed for it to slip down and wash away on its own but there it was, round and sharp and real as ever. So I picked it up, and the whispers grew louder. Clearer. But still not clear enough to hear. Not enough to make out what the radio was saying. To understand what it wanted from me. It was like a broken antenna, only tuning in half the frequency.
The garage was a mess. I was a mess. Rancid grease stains everywhere. A hole in my tool wall where the wrench had struck it, the ground littered with hammers and screwdrivers and …
Pliers.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed the pliers from the ground, shoved it onto my mouth, got a good hold of my bad tooth, and ripped it out. It was easier than I expected, but it still hurt, and it bled a lot. But I didn’t hesitate. I pushed the tooth I’d found in the transmission into its place.
The moment I did, it was as if everything came into focus. As if the radio was inside my skull. No, as if my skull was the radio, and I was the antenna. I could hear the transmission clear as day now, a man’s voice inside my head.
Whispering to me.
Telling me where to find the rest of him.
I told you all of this, not because I expect you to believe me, but because I’m about to walk out my door and do something I might not come back from. And if that’s the case, if I don’t return today or any other day from this thing I need to do, I want people to know why.
Because I find things. I find things and fix them. If you don’t know that, you don’t know me.

Hello, looking for a car detail shop. Looking to clean the inside and outside of my car but do not want like to use those drive thru washes. Preferably around 280. Any recs?! Thanks!

Obligatory on mobile so probably shit formatting.
So there I was, right? Lying facedown on the couch, feeling bored and restless. So I’m like y’know what, it’s a nice day. Let’s go for a long walk. So we get in the car and I drive over to the local baseball field. We wander around for a while before moving on to the nearby bike path. It was really warm and sunny, but the pavement wasn’t too hot so we kept at it for a while.
Eventually we turn around and make our way back to the car. We drive home and I hop in the shower, pup sprawls out on the couch. After my shower, my mom calls so I pace around my apartment while talking to her. I glance at my couch and notice there’s a long string all over the middle seat’s headrest.
I thought what you’re probably thinking “naughty dog managed to sneak something home from the walk”. I go to pick it up and it’s… sticky? I’m momentarily confused before the smell hits me. It’s bubblegum. All over the headrest. GROSS. I go get my couch cleaning stuff and shampoo the hell out of the area.
I go wash my hands and make myself some dinner, thinking that’s the end of it. But no, there’s more. After dinner, I’m feeling sleepy so I lay down on the couch. All I could smell was bubblegum. My dog was asleep on the headrest above me, so I glanced at his paw dangling over the side and I realized his paw pads looked lumpy. I touched it. Sticky.
Mf tracked the gum in on one of his paws. It’s lodged in there good and he wouldn’t let me anywhere near with the scissors. So I start Googling. I found that apparently olive oil will break down the stickiness of gum pretty well. I’m like sweet, I have that!
So I pour some olive oil into a mug, fill another mug with water, and grab some paper towels. I get my dog into the kitchen and set down the mugs. He’s immediately interested in the oil but I take his paw and dunk it in. He hates it and tries to pull away while trying to push his nose down into the mug to lap at it. I moved his paw to the water mug and he took the opportunity to start gulping down oil.
Immediately he starts hacking up a lung. I start panicking. I don’t know what olive oil can do to a dog. I patted his back until he stopped coughing. Then I spot a tick crawling on his back.
I used the oily paper towel still in my hand to grab it and I Zoidberg’d down the hall to the toilet. I tried shaking it into the bowl, but it was stuck to the paper towel. I’m getting more stressed. I shook it super hard and the tick goes flying into the bowl and starts climbing up the side. I flushed the toilet but the little shit wouldn’t go down. I’m screeching, my dog is barking, my neighbors are probably plotting my murder. I flushed again and I thought it went down so I rush back to my dog.
I found he had moved to the living room and was alternating between licking his paw, and licking the carpet. I grab his dumb idiot ass and haul him into the bathroom and start the tub.
WHY didn’t I do this in the tub to begin with? Who knows. I’m not good under pressure. I don’t know who thought I could manage being an unsupervised adult and let me live alone.
I got my pup into the bath and he managed to escape twice before I could lather up his paw. We were both pretty miserable. I managed to get some of the gum off while fighting the urge to throw up. The smell of bubble gum… Eugh. Always hated it.
I let him out and he ran straight for a pillow I’d set down on my pc chair before all this. He tries to grab it to start humping (he likes cloth items A LOT). I pull him away and start drying his paws but it wasn’t doing much. So I gave up and sat down on the couch in defeat.
Now I have to pee and I’m too afraid the tick is lurking in the bowl, biding it’s time until it can bite my cooch. I can still smell gum.
TLDR: took dog for a long walk, came back with gum on his paw. Tried to get it off but I’m a dumbass and caused absolute mayhem instead. Also there’s probably a vengeful tick in my toilet. Probably gonna wake up to a shit slip n slide curtesy of my doggo.
ETA: Dog tax

My therapist didn’t schedule my appointment correctly. I have been ready to tell her about some family stuff that had gone down the last few weeks, but then this scheduling issue happened. Like I took off of work.
I usually would just let this slide and be a doormat, but I confronted over text receipts about her not scheduling the appointment correctly.
I was really upset, angry, and annoyed which I rarely let out of me.
And then, I got in my car and I wasn’t any of those emotions.
I giggled about it and made jokes in my head about it (I have dark humor anyway). And then I got food and a car wash.
As I was driving, I was like that’s like the first time in a really long time that I let something go and not ruminating. I am getting older I am respecting my boundaries and ultimately insanely low contact with fam.
So I don’t know, it feels like progress?

Sometimes when you look into the mirror, the mirror looks back.
William Bailey's forehead shattered the mirror like a sledgehammer. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the feeling that he was falling through the mirror. Sub-cranial hematoma, a concussion, maybe even a cracked skull--that had to be the reason for the strange feeling. The mirror was mounted on the wall just to the right of the bar, four feet tall by about three feet wide. As consciousness slipped away, common sense and his strong belief in the rational world told him that he couldn't fall through the mirror. He must have bounced his head off the wall and be falling toward the floor.
It seemed like just a second or two before William's eyes popped open. He lay on his back, on the hard wood floor of Fausto's, with Johnny Davis towering over him. Big Johnny probably wanted to finish him off, maybe kill him, and finally end their twenty-year-old feud. Either Big Johnny Davis and the ceiling lights above him were spinning, or William's head was spinning, but either way something wasn't right.
He raised his head and looked to his left, toward the bar. Except the bar wasn't there. Instead, he was staring at the bathrooms. That didn't make sense. It must be his brain that had gotten spun around. William turned his head and peered over his size-ten wingtips at the busted mirror. The wooden frame and most of the glass still clung to the wall, the rest sat broken on the ground. The bar had to be on his left. He looked again, and still saw the bathrooms. A brain bruise, maybe some fluid pressure building up might be the cause of it.
"Get up!" Big Johnny Davis said.
William looked up at him. Johnny stood behind him, just beyond his shoulders. Perfect place for him to stomp my head into the plank floor. Except Johnny Davis was holding out his hand.
"Come on, we've got to get out of here."
Davis looked scared. It was the first time William Bailey could ever remember Johnny Davis looking scared. William had always been scared of Big Johnny, but Big Johnny wasn't scared of anything or anyone.
Police sirens wailed in the distance.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder. William craned his neck to look where Johnny was looking, saw he was staring at the front door like a man terrified something bad was going to come through it. Big Johnny looked down at him again and pumped his hand. "Come on, get up. They'll be here any second."
"Who?" William asked. "Who'll be--" But before he finished, Big Johnny Davis reached down, grabbed him by both arms, and jerked him to his feet.
As he was dragged toward the door by the only man in town who truly hated him, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door. He had to have a concussion, probably severe; that had to be it, because the letters on the sign were backward. It said TUO.
As Johnny Davis pulled him out the door, William heard tires skid on the pavement.
"Where's your car?" Johnny asked.
William twisted away from the big man's grip, then turned to his left. "In the alley." He started to run, still not sure exactly what he was running from.
Behind him, Big John shouted, "The alley's over here."
William kept running but turned his head back toward Johnny. "I know where the alley--"
Something hit him across the midsection and toppled him to the ground. He got his hands up just in time to break his fall and managed to keep his head from slamming into the sidewalk. When he looked up he saw a shopping cart tumbled onto its side.
Once again, William found himself lying flat on his back, this time amid the spilled contents of the cart. It had been filled with junk: paper bags full of dirty clothes, canned food, bags of potato chips, a diamond shaped, orange road sign, and other trash that looked like it had been collected from back alley garbage bins.
The homeless man who'd been pushing the cart was scrawny, and wafer thin. His skin was the color of old shoe leather, and he wore a long gray beard, tangled and matted with food and bits of filth. He was sprawled on the ground next to his cart, half sitting up, staring at William with his bright blue eyes.
Car doors slammed, men shouted.
"You better get going," the homeless man said, as he cocked his head. "The police after you?"
Police!
Before William could assure the old man that the police weren't after him--he was a respected businessman and family man--someone behind him grabbed him under both arms and pulled him to his feet. William turned and found himself staring into the face of Johnny Davis. "The alley's that way," Johnny said, pointing to the other side of Fausto's. With one hand gripping William's jacket, Johnny dashed across the front of the bar toward the alley. The alley--right there, plain as day--on the other side of Fausto's, right where it shouldn't be, where it couldn't be. William had been here a thousand times. As you stepped out of the bar, the alley was on the left, Brockton's Ace Hardware on the right. Now everything was mixed up and in the wrong place.
Johnny Davis turned down the alley, dragging William behind him. After just a few steps, a spotlight flashed in front of them.
"Stop!" a voice commanded. "Get on the ground."
William couldn't see because Johnny was in his way. "Who's that yelling?" he asked.
Big Johnny stopped and William plowed into his back.
"Get on the ground," the voice boomed again.
William poked his head out from behind Johnny Davis's back. The blinding white light was in his face. He couldn't see a thing.
POP! POP! POP!
Gunshots.
Big Johnny sagged, then crashed to his knees. Instinctively, William bent forward and grabbed hold of Johnny. "What's the matter?"
More pops.
Johnny's big hand reached out and shoved William back toward the street. "Back door," he wheezed, then plunged forward onto his face.
William stood alone. Behind the white spotlight he saw blue police lights flashing. He was totally exposed.
POP! POP!
He saw flashes--little yellow spurts of flame--as something tugged at his jacket.
William had said "back door." What back door? Fausto's had a back door, but it didn't lead anywhere except to the open space behind the building used for trash and deliveries. Twenty feet of asphalt between the bar and the back of the building on the next block. William had parked his car at the end of the alley, but the police cars--or whatever they were--had the alley blocked off. The building behind Fausto's also had an alley that ran alongside it, but the owner had closed it off to keep the bums out. He'd put up a gate, padlocked it, and topped it with razor wire. It was a dead end.
Two more pops. Dead end or not it was better than standing here and getting shot. William turned and ran. He burst through the front door of Fausto's, dashed through the bar, past the shattered mirror, hit the back door at a dead run, and was outside behind the bar within seconds.
He could see the tail end of his car sticking out from the corner of the building, but with the cops blocking the alley, his car was useless to him. William glanced across the open space to the alley that ran next to the other building. The gate, the padlock, the razor wire--all still in place. To his right an overflowing garbage dumpster sat beside the back of Fausto's, jammed against the fire ladder.
The fire ladder.
An iron ladder bolted to the cinderblock wall.
William looked up. The top of the ladder was lost in shadow, but he knew it went up two stories to the roof. Last summer, when the toilet had stopped up, he'd come out back to take a leak and had stood behind the dumpster, peeing against the wall like a kid, one hand draped over the bottom rung of the ladder.
He slipped behind the dumpster. The smell made him gag. The bottom of the ladder was four feet from the ground. William reached up as high as he could, grabbed hold of the third rung, then hauled himself up.
Through the partially open back door came the sounds of heavy feet pounding on the hard wood floor of the bar.
Halfway up the ladder, he was exhausted--and scared. Shaking, he white-knuckled the ladder. Being more than ten feet off the ground terrified him. He needed a break, just a second or two to catch his breath. There was enough moonlight so he could see into one of the second story windows. Inside, junk was piled everywhere. Old barstools, a busted jukebox, furniture stacked almost to the ceiling. Years ago, old man Fausto lived on the second floor, but Jake, who'd bought the place from the old man and had decided to keep the name, used it for storage.
Below him, William heard the back door thrown open so hard it banged against the wall. He scrambled up until he reached the top of the ladder, then hoisted himself over the edge of the roof. Down on the ground a voice shouted, "There he is, up there."
Another gunshot. What the hell was going on?
The unmistakable sound of feet--fast feet, in shape feet, boot shod feet--scurrying up the ladder. Standing on the tar and pebble roof, William glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, shocked he was even thinking of such a thing. A five gallon plastic bucket was all there was. It stood upright, filled with rainwater. He picked it up and peered over the edge. A uniformed policeman was three quarters of the way up the ladder. Two more cops were right behind him.
William looked at the heavy bucket in his hands, thought about just dumping the water onto them but knew it wouldn't stop them. There was only one way to stop them, and that was to knock them off the ladder. He thought about warning them, maybe trying to scare them away. But they were cops. You couldn't scare them away.
So why had they shot Johnny Davis, and why were they shooting at him?
The first officer looked up and saw William staring down at him with the bucket in his hands. Their eyes locked for just a second and the cop stopped. In those eyes that stared back at him, William saw an almost maniacal determination that sent a shiver down his spine. The officer held his grip on the ladder with his right hand while his left dropped to the pistol resting in his gleaming leather holster. In one smooth motion he drew his gun and raised it toward William.
William Bailey tossed the bucket down the ladder. A shot rang out an instant before the heavy bucket thudded into the cop's head. Like a gruesome traffic accident happening before his eyes, William couldn't help but watch as the policeman fell, taking his two partners down with him. The last thing William saw before he turned away was a jumbled heap of black uniforms resting on the concrete below the ladder.
* * *
Hiding in the shadow of a telephone booth, thinking. Home. He had to get home. Had to get back to Marge and the kids. Maybe somehow he could explain what had happened. Vincent, his attorney, he would know what to do--maybe--but he was a civil lawyer not a criminal attorney. He wrote contracts and did personal injury on the side; he didn't get people out of jail who'd killed a cop by dropping a bucket of water on his head and knocking him and his buddies off the side of a building.
As the cab he'd been waiting for pulled up, William stepped out from the dark and climbed into the back seat.
The driver turned around. "Where to?"
William pulled the door shut. "Uptown. 1721 Audubon Court."
"Fare's gonna be about fifteen dollars. After dark, I gotta have the money up front."
"What?"
"Company policy." The cabbie shrugged. "A lot of drivers been getting stiffed."
William opened his wallet, pulled out a twenty and handed it across the seat. The driver took it and almost slipped it into his cash box, then took a second look at the bill. His face tightened. "What the hell is this?"
"Huh?"
With the bill stretched between his hands, the cabbie stared at it for a second then looked up at William. "You're either the dumbest counterfeiter who ever lived or you've been had."
"What you are talking about?"
The driver faced the bill toward William but didn't hand it back to him. "It's printed backwards."
William looked at the twenty-dollar bill in the man's hand. It looked like--it was--an almost brand new bill, nothing wrong with it as far as he could tell.
"Get out of my cab," the driver said.
William didn't know what the man was talking about but knew he didn't want to get out. This cab was his only way home. He reached for the twenty. "If you don't like that one I've got another--"
The driver pulled his hands away. "I ain't giving this back. I got to turn it in to the police." He dropped one hand behind his seat back, then came up clutching a pistol, an old German Luger by the looks of it, the muzzle aimed straight at William's face. "In fact, I bet they give me a reward if I bring you in with it."
William jerked the door handle and rolled out into the street. He sprang to his feet and ran, the driver's yells just background noise. Has everyone gone crazy or is it just me?
Home. He had to get home.
* * *
Rain. Driving, relentless rain. William was just two blocks from Fausto's. In two hours, that's as far as he'd gotten--one block an hour. Police cars prowled the neighborhood, shinning spotlights into every nook and cranny, lighting up every shadow. Everyone in Fausto's knew his name. He'd been going there three or four nights a week after work for years. The cabbie had his address. William had given it to him when he told the hack driver where to drop him.
Ten o'clock at night, with nowhere to go and no way to get there, William sat behind the closed Goodwill store, under an overhang that barely kept the rain off of him.
Huddled in the dark, head sunk between his knees, he hadn't heard anyone approach.
"You don't look so good."
Startled, William looked up, prepared to run again. It was the homeless man he'd knocked over outside the bar. The one with the shopping cart and the leathery skin. William relaxed a little. "Excuse me?"
The man pushed his cart closer. "You're not supposed to be here."
William looked around. "Why not?"
The old man grinned, half his teeth gone.
William found it nearly impossible to tell his age. The guy could be forty and maybe had lived a hard life, or perhaps he was a well-preserved seventy, pickled by a lifetime of booze. William waved him off, expecting a plea for money. "I can't help you."
The old man stopped just a few feet away. "Everything's out of place isn't it?" He had a strange lilting voice. Almost like an accent.
And he was right. Everything was out of place--from Johnny Davis to the cab driver--everything was wrong.
Strapped to the back of the old man's shopping cart was a plastic sign about the size of a loaf of bread. William recognized the sign, the words, the colors, the logo of a local supermarket chain, all were familiar to him, but the letters were backward, unreadable.
Rainwater ran down William's face. He pointed to the sign. "Why's it written like that?"
The old man looked at the sign then back at William. "Like what?" he said, then shuffled away behind his basket.
* * *
The rain came down even harder. William slouched in a darkened doorway across the street from Fausto's. Nothing made sense. Everything was messed up, backward, out of whack. Almost like this wasn't his home, like he was a stranger seeing it for the first time.
But that was crazy. He'd grown up here, gone to Brother Martin High School, dated Jenny Underhill who went to Cabrini, lost her to Johnny Davis, then got her back only to lose her again the first year of college to some kid who drove a Mustang. Two years later William married Marge at Saint Luke's. They had two kids.
This town was his home. He recognized it. He knew the people here, Big Johnny and Zeke, the bartender at Fausto's. But things were different, little things. John Davis for one. In trying to help him, the big man had gotten himself killed. That wasn't John Davis--at least not the one William Bailey had known since seventh grade. Everything looked the same but wasn't. Nothing was quite right.
But they knew him--or someone like him.
A strange sensation crept over him that made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Maybe he didn't belong here. Maybe everything wasn't as it appeared. Maybe this wasn't his home. But if that were true, then whose home was it? Another thought, even scarier seeped through his brain. If he was here, who was there--at his home?
Crazy.
William dropped his head into his hands. Just considering such nonsense was a waste of time. Yet, here he was scanning the street, thinking of going back inside Fausto's, back to that mirror.
Not much time to think about it. The bar closed at three AM and it was already two-thirty. When he'd left--run for his life with Big Johnny--most of the mirror was still in the frame hanging on the wall.
Something about that damned mirror.
But Fausto's was dangerous, so a couple of hours ago William had found another mirror. In the men's room of a twenty-four hour gas station. The Chevron on North Rampart.
He had approached it cautiously, afraid he was going mad. As he peered over the sink into the mirror, he saw what he always saw, his own reflection. Holding up his left hand, he looked at the image in the mirror, at the watch strapped to his wrist. He noticed that the man in the mirror wore his watch on his right hand. Just the opposite.
William stood in the gas station bathroom for twenty minutes before he worked up his nerve. Finally, he took a deep breath, leaned back, then slammed his forehead into the dirt-streaked mirror. The glass shattered and cut his head. Blood dribbled off the tip of his nose into the sink. His reflection stared out at him from the other side of the mirror, blood running down his face, too.
I have gone crazy!
So the gas station hadn't worked out. Ducking police cruisers, William had wandered the streets, his head reeling. What was he doing?
On the sidewalk, he found a sopping wet magazine that the wind had blown up against the side of a newspaper machine. The cover caught his eye. He picked it up. It was printed backwards, the letters reversed, words running right to left. The spine was on the right. As he flipped through the pages, he couldn't read a thing. Then William had an idea.
In the bathroom of an all night restaurant he held the wet magazine up to the mirror. Perfect. The reflected image was normal, spine on the left, words running left to right, all the letters printed correctly. He could read it clearly. But what did it mean?
Then he drove his head into that mirror. The glass cracked. Someone walked in, a skinny waiter wearing an apron. He stood gawking as William leaned over the sink with tears of pain filling his eyes.
The waiter looked at the broken mirror, then jabbed a finger at William's bloody forehead. "What the hell are you doing?"
"An accident," he mumbled, pressing his fingers against the fresh cut.
The waiter turned. "I'm calling the cops."
William Bailey ran.
Now he was huddled in the rain staring at Fausto's across the street. Because he had nowhere else to go.
He stood and walked toward Fausto's. When he was halfway across the street, a police car glided around the corner, headlights reflecting off the wet pavement. The cops in no hurry, just cruising. William forced himself to keep walking, not to run. One foot in front of the other. In the downpour, odds were that the cops wouldn't even recognize him.
But they did recognize him.
The police car slid to a stop as its high beams clicked on and its blue strobe lights started popping. Both front doors flew open.
Like a sinner seeking the sanctuary of a church, William ran straight for Fausto's door. As he burst inside, Zeke looked up from behind the bar. "William! What the hell are you doing here?"
He ignored the bartender, running right past him, eyes focused on the broken mirror and its busted frame hanging on the wall.
Zeke again, "The cops been looking all over for you. Say you killed two officers and--"
Behind him the front door banged against the wall. "Police!" a voice behind him commanded. "Stop."
But William didn't stop. He kept running--running straight for the mirror. Reflected in its fragmented pieces he saw two uniformed police officers behind him, heard their boots pounding on the wooden floor. Just ten feet separated him from the mirror. At full speed he took two strides then dove. He stretched his arms out overhead and tucked his chin into his chest as his feet left the floor.
He felt one hand hit wall and the other strike broken glass. Then his head hit. More glass cracked, more skin split.
Darkness.
* * *
William's eyes popped open. He was staring at the ceiling. Rough voices, even rougher hands. They rolled him over onto his stomach and jerked his arms behind his back. He felt cold steel on his wrists and heard the metallic ratcheting as the handcuffs tightened and bit into his skin.
He tilted his head up and rested his chin against the floor. Blood poured down the side of his face; he watched it pool on the floor then seep between the wooden planks. By rolling his eyes up he could just see the empty spot on the wall where the mirror had hung. Lying on the floor, three feet from his head, was the broken frame and the rest of the glass.
The two cops grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet, sending waves of pain through his shoulders and wrists. As they spun him toward the door, one of the officers said, "You're under arrest."
"Why?" William asked.
The officer pressed his face into William's. "Murdering your family for starters."
"My...my family." William felt his stomach cinch and his bowels turn to ice. A thought he'd had earlier in the night echoed inside his head. If he was here, who was there--at his home.
As the cops dragged him across the floor, William glanced up and saw the rusted metal sign nailed above the door.
OUT.
He was home.

I’m not sure how stupid this question is, but my head lights got ruined by a pretty amateur detailer. He’s family, very close family and pretty young. He wants to make a living detailing cars and as far as the insides(and usually the outsides)go he does a good enough job for me to support him.
Recently he asked if he could wash my car while I was visiting my sister. I said yes, but told him that he doesn’t need to wash it every time he sees me.
After a little longer than usual he can’t into the house almost in tears. He really is just a kid. But he said something along the lines of “Uncle OP, I think I did something wrong when I was trying to clean the dead bugs off your headlights.” I said it was okay. How wrong could it be. He took me outside and there was a lot of wax on the headlight. I asked why he waxed the headlight. He said he was learning from some YouTube videos. I didn’t want to yell or get upset. I get it. Honest mistake. He meant well. It’s not like I drive a new Mercedes. I said we would go get one of this headlight repair kits. We did. I’m not sure if it made it worse but it definitely didn’t make it better.
So my question is, can I just buy the plastic lenses for the headlights? I’ve tried almost everything that I’ve been suggested. Down to very carefully using a razor blade to clean them. I spray them with goof they become perfectly clear. But as soon as it dries you’re back to square one with the entire headlight being impossible to see through. They’re very dim driving at night. It just suck.
So like I said. My question is, can I just buy the plastic lenses for the lights as opposed to the whole light assembly? Or is the whole light assembly my only option?
Thanks for take the time to read this.
ETA: it’s a 2008 Volkswagen Touareg.

My name is Alice, and my best friend for the past 9 years is Carol, we’ve have been friends since middle school when we were both 10, she was by all rites my sister, I was an only child, and she filled the void of not having any brothers or sisters of my own. We would spend most days together at my house, she was one of five siblings, her parents managed, but struggled to keep up with all the bills, so her spending nights at my house were frequent, I’m talking about 20 to 30 times a year. My parents treated her like a daughter, my mom would even spend time in private talks with her and without me, like mother, daughter talks. Of course, me and my mom had the same type of relationship, but Carol’s mom was too busy to have these kinds of talks with her, so my mom was the mother figure to her. Carol was part of our family, and we all respected each other. When she would spend those nights with me, my dad would always drive her home the next day. When my dad would take her home, he always returned 30 minutes later, but she only lived 5 minutes away, He would always walk in with a half-drunk Slurpee when he returned. I never really thought much about it then, life went on as normal. When she would spend those nights at my house for sleepovers, my mom would look in on us maybe once a night if at all, but my dad would check in 3 to 4 times and always say something or try to join in our conversations.
Fast forward 8 years, we just graduated high school, at the end of summer I was heading off to college in another state, she was going to remain in our little town and go to the state university about 20 miles away. We live in a small town 10 miles from a large city, but our town has only about 10,000 people, just enough for 2 elementaries and 1 high school so everyone knows everyone. Carol some how always had money, but she didn’t have a job, I had money from a part-time job and my parents both had great jobs, my mom was a RN for a large hospital in the city and my dad was a partner of a law firm he started right out of college and had build himself up as the top law firm in the city. He did a lot of charitable work and was on several committees helping small businesses. I could ask for anything, but they gave me just what I needed, like a car and paying for my college, the rest I tried to earn for myself. One day Carol drives up in a used car and I asked where it came from, she replied that her uncle gave it to her as a gift for her graduation. I had never heard about this uncle, she said that he was around, but didn’t get along with the rest of her family so she never spoke of him. Carol was a beautiful girl with long black hair, she hadn’t cut it since before we met, it hung down her back all the way to her butt, she always kept it in a ponytail, you could always tell it was her even from the back because it was unique. I am a pretty good-looking girl, I have no problem finding dates or boyfriends, Carol on the other hand, never once had a boyfriend, not because they didn’t ask, she would always turn them down, saying she wasn’t ready to get tied down to any guy.
One day my mother took me out to lunch and told me that she suspected my dad is having an affair, she said she looked over the bank statements, he was taking money from their accounts weekly, between 500 to 800 dollars each Friday and never had anything to show from it. She said that she may hire a PI to help her get to the bottom of it. I said let me investigate it first, I was going to college for journalism, this would be great practice for me, my dream job was to become an investigative reporter. She said okay, I have the summer, then when I left for college, if I hadn’t found anything she would hire a PI and I agreed. We finished our lunch and told her not to say anything to dad, because it would be harder to catch him if he thought she may know anything, she agreed, this would be our secret.
I told Carol about the situation, she said that she couldn’t believe my dad would ever cheat on his family, she said that both my mom and I were crazy. But said she would help me, she said that she wanted to prove he was doing nothing wrong, but she would keep an open mind. That Saturday I followed my dad as he left the house and he ended up at the library, I walked in and I saw him in the law section reading and he was alone, I walked out and sat in my car for 4 and a half hours. He drove to a restaurant, I could see him from the parking lot as he sat alone, he had a slice of pie and a soda. He left there and just took a walk to the local park, I stayed out of sight, he just sat on a park bench and pulled his phone out, texting someone for the next 30 minutes. He got up and walked back to his car and drove home. I kept driving to kill 30 minutes before returning home, I had found nothing and was disappointed with myself, but happy for my mom. I told Carol what I seen but all she said was I told you your dad’s not a cheater. I looked at her and said this was only day one and who was he texting for 30 minutes. She said maybe another lawyer. I knew she was right, I was grasping at straws, but something didn’t feel right, I was going to continue the investigation.
The following Saturday I had to work, Carol said she would follow him and take notes as to what he was doing and report back to me later that night. I thanked her, I told her she didn’t need to get involved, but she said she felt like she owed it to our family, because of all the years being treated like a daughter. That night Carol and I met up at a coffee shop and she said she followed him to a mall and he went into a bunch of stores but never bought anything, she said he was alone the entire trip other than when he went to the food court and sat with another couple, but it appeared he sat there because no other tables were open, he just sat and ate without saying anything to the couple. I thanked her and we just had a normal evening and went to see a movie. The next Saturday came up and I followed him again and he did exactly the same as I watched him two weeks ago right down to the pie and texting in the park. Carol was just too easily willing to give up, but I wasn’t done yet. She said I was wasting my time that could be better spent studying for college to get a head start. I found this very strange, she never cared about my studies while we were in school why now.
I told her I had to work on the following Saturday, she said she would watch him again. I started to get a gut feeling something was off. I took that day off and I followed them both to the mall. I put on a hoodie that I borrowed by a guy friend, I kept the hood on as I watch and videoed them from my phone as my dad and Carol walked the mall hand in hand, stopping at stores as he bought her clothes, shoes, and they even stopped into a jewelry store and looked at rings together, I had it all on tape. When they left, I continued to follow as they took my dad’s car to a motel, and I saw him get the key from the office and signal her to join him. They both walked into the room. As I was waiting, I was livid, how could my best friend do this to our family. 3 hours later they emerge from the room, he returns the key, then they drive back to the mall, and they say their goodbyes with a long kiss. He drove home and Carol called me as she was still sitting in the mall parking lot to tell me, she watched him all day, but he just walked the mall like her previous investigation, but I knew the truth. I didn’t say anything and thanked her for all her time.
I needed to find out when it started and I just knew it was on her phone, so I went to her house and was immediately told she was in her room. I walked in to see her reading a book, I said I just met these two amazing guys, they wanted to meet up at a new under 21 dance club. She was reluctant to go, but I pleaded with her, she said she had to wash her hair and get ready. This is what I was hoping for, as soon as I heard the shower, I opened her phone messenger and started typing in my dad’s phone number, the name Michael showed up, my dad’s name is Tony. I open the texts and there are thousands of them going back to when she was just 15 years old, the first text was her thanking him for her new phone. I forwarded the entire chat to my home PC and it took 20 minutes. There were so many, I closed her phone just in time for her to re-enter the room. We went to the dance club, I said I didn’t see them, they never existed so of course I didn’t see them, so we left after about an hour. Went to get a bite to eat and drove her home.
That night I spent it going through all of the text starting from the first one and documenting them all. There were talks about how much she enjoyed sharing a Slurpee with him before he dropped her off from our sleepovers. And the car that he bought her, not the uncle as she told me, my freaking dad bought her a car. I even had proof when they had sex for the first time, when she was 16. It also was a bunch of thank yous, for paying for her car insurance and the money my dad had given her weekly, that’s why she always had money. I put this on a thumb drive along with the edited video I had taken during the day. I made 6 copies of the thumb drives, I placed them into envelopes and on the outside it was typed LAWYER IS A CHILD MOLESTER. Inside I had typed a cover sheet stating that a prominent lawyer in the city, was a child molester and the proof was in the thumb drive included.
I had one bit of revenge for my best friend, I asked her out for dinner at the restaurant I worked at, she agreed, I set the table up where her back was facing the kitchen, I went to get our dinner or she thought, when I returned I was so quiet, I walked up as she was writing a text to my dad. I took her hair as I had done many times before, she slammed her phone down on the table face down. And I said how nice it looked today, pulled out the freshly sharpened knife and a final how nice it looked, I lopped it off as she sat there, I walked next to our table as she was grabbing the back of her head, I dropped the ponytail on the ground as I stared into her eyes. She immediately tried to pick up her hair as if she could glue it back on or something, I said this is what you get for having an affair with my dad.
I had sent the thumb drives to the city mayor, the DA’s office, The police department, The local news station one to her parents and one I gave to my mother. When Carol got home the reporters were already camped out on her front lawn. When I returned home, we had news crews and cameras staking out our house also, along with 3 police cars, I watched my dad being taken out of the house wearing handcuffs. He was arrested and will lose everything. I was consoling my mom, when we got a call from CNN looking for a statement, I declined, but was told this was going to get aired tonight, so this was our chance to make a statement, but we still declined. I turned on the TV and my dad was everywhere, every station local news and network news stations. He was on the front page of our local newspaper and the city newspaper. His story was even in the New York post.
Mom and I took a long vacation and disappeared for the next month and let things calm down. When we returned my dad had moved all his clothes out of the house, now he lives in a rundown apartment trying to find a lawyer that will work for him. Carol was kicked out of her family’s home due to the disgrace she brought onto her family, Carol left our town due to shame. Nobody that I know knows where she went or what happened to her, I guess the police must know because she will have to testify against my father at some point. We are still in the thick of things, but I have put college off for the near future to help my mom as this works through the courts and as she files for divorce. We are going to family counseling and trying to piece our lives back together. My dad faces so many charges starting with child molestation because of the text when the first sexual encounter was, he is also facing charges for manipulation of a minor for sexual purposes, and other charges stemming from his affair. He is looking at a possible 10 years of incarceration. I have no feeling for either of them, they manipulated me and my mom for years, they can both rot in hell for all they did to us.

My name is Evaline and my sister who is vital to this as well is named Vivian and we are twins aged twenty-three. Yesterday we went on a graveyard investigation, and I don't think we came back alone.
We pulled up to the graveyard In Vivians beat up red bug. She shut off the car and looked over to me.
“I have a weird feeling, Evaline, are you sure you want to do this?” asked Vivian.
“Oh yeah everyone keeps telling me about this place!” I exclaimed.
As we exited the car and walked up to the property Vivian turned on the ghost box (A tool used for communicating with ghosts by scanning through radio frequencies and white noise).
The ghost box said one word very abruptly “STOP.”
We looked at each other with puzzled faces.
“Do you not want us here?” asked Vivian.
“STOP.’ Came through the ghost box again.
“Uh color me crazy but I think we should still go in.” I said.
Vivian looked at me for a moment and then agreed we heard one final “STOP.” as we entered and then it was dead silent for 15 minutes.
We were walking around when my sister Vivian stopped and looked at a specific tree. This tree is twisted looking literally it has two parts to it that twist together to make sort of an arch way.
“A woman is over there.” Vivian whispered and pointed towards the tree (Vivian Is a medium by the way)
“Well let’s go check It out.” I enthusiastically said.
As we reached the tree the ghost box said the name “ANNIE.”
Vivian Greeted Annie and asked her why she was there.
But I was more Interested In trying to find Annie’s headstone.
“Hey, ask her for her last name!” I shouted over to Vivian who gave me a thumbs up.
I walked further away scanning all the different headstones with my flashlight. Some of these guys are really old, like 17th century old.
“Maybe that’s why it’s so haunted.” I thought to myself.
As I looked up to scan the next headstone, I saw a figure of a man standing by a headstone. “Holy shit where'd he come from?” I thought “Hey Vivian do you see hi-” I cut off because when I pointed back to where I saw him no one was there.
“Okaayyy.” I said in a hushed tone “I’m just going to go walk over there and see what the headstone says.” I made my way over to the headstone.
“Oh no way Vivian come over here, look who I found!” I shouted
“What’s up, what'd you find?” Vivian asked excitedly.
She looked down as I shined my flashlight on the fading stone the words “Annie Forester Beloved Mother and Wife” were shown.
“ME.” Said the ghost box We both looked at each other. We normally don’t get very intelligent responses so this was a big deal.
“What happened to you Annie?” I asked “HUNG.”
“Oh Jesus, that took a dark turn.” I said
“Evaline, stop it.” Vivan shouted, "Can you tell us why?” she asked,
“WITCH.”
“Oh she must have been a part of the old witch hunts that happened all through England and Ireland.” Vivian said
“Yeah but why are you still here Annie?” I asked Nothing happened for a good five minutes before the response
“TO PROTECT” came through.
“Protect what Annie?” I asked another few minutes pass by before the ghost box says “THE LAND”
“Huh that's awfully sweet of you do you make sure the living are safe?” Asked Vivian
“YES” the ghost box replied almost Immediately
“LEAVE” It says.
“Why do you want us to leave?” I asked
“Yeah what's wrong Annie?” Asked Vivian
“HIM”
“Who is him?” Asked Vivian
“PLEASE GO”
Those were the last words the ghost box said for another twenty minutes
“Maybe we should go, it's been a while and we haven't gotten anything else.” Said Vivian
I Looked around the graveyard I had a bad feeling
“Yeah lets get outta here this place is starting to creep me out.” I said as I stood and shook myself off trying to get rid of the odd energy.
We packed up all of our things and headed to the entrance. We said a prayer so nothing negative would follow us and threw our bags in the trunk. As I opened the door I slumped down In the passenger seat.
“Phew.” I breathed
“We got some pretty good stuff from Annie. I just wanna know who the mysterious him is.” Giggled Vivian
The drive home was uneventful but I couldn’t shake that odd energy from my body.
“Hey Viv do you feel weird or is that just a me thing?” I asked looking over at Vivian
“Mmm yeah ever since we left I felt odd, hopefully it's just our nerves.” Vivian said with a warm smile. But something was hidden behind the warmth of her smile : fear.
We pulled up to the house and unloaded our bags onto the kitchen table. It's become sort of a ritual at this point, every time we finish an investigation we unpack and load in all the recordings to listen to with high quality noise canceling headphones. We also order some kind of takeout tonight's meal of champions was Chinese food my favorite.
I stirred together my orange chicken and rice as I pawed through the recordings settling on the third one when Annie mentions “HIM”. The recording fills my ears as I intently listen.
“LEAVE.” Says the ghost box
“Why do you want us to leave?” you can hear us asking
“HIM” the ghost box says
“Who is him?” Vivian’s voice says
I listen closely as silence fills the space
“I'm Him.” A deep voice says not over the voice box but right next to the recorder.
I screamed and jumped out of my seat throwing the headphones on the ground.
“What what what!” Says Vivian
“Oh hell no, that sounded like satan.” I said laughing In disbelief
I rewinded the recording so Vivian could hear it. I saw her face turn into a huge grin.
“Now this is solid stuff we have to go back there!” Exclaimed Vivian
“Yeah I'm down but you're reviewing the tapes next time that voice is creepy.” I said with a smile
“Deal!” Said Vivian as she stuck her hand out for a hand shake. I took it and shook hands.
“I'm gonna get ready for bed Viv goodnight!” I yelled as I walked away
“Goodnight!” yelled Vivian
I stepped into the poorly lit bathroom and turned on the shower
“That voice is seriously creepy.” I muttered to myself as I took out my High ponytail and let my dark brown curls bounce down to my shoulders. My hair always did look nice with my pale skin
“Thanks to you mom.” I said looking up at the ceiling
I stepped into the shower and started washing my hair when I heard something fall.
I opened the shower curtain to see the culprit my cat Leo
“Oh Leo you're going to be the death of me.” I puffed out closing the shower curtain again
Another crash comes from outside the shower curtain
“Leo Get ou-” I ripped open the curtain to find the toilet paper holder in the sink
I stared dumbfounded as to how my small cat could have body builder lifted the toilet paper holder into the sink.
“VIIIIVIAN” I screamed
Heavy footsteps pound down the hallway but no Vivian
“Vivian?” I called
Pounding assaulted the walls to the point they were vibrating as the footsteps continued
“VIVIAN” I endlessly scream for what seems like hours until the door bursts open and the walls stop pounding immediately
“Are you okay, what's wrong, what's going on?” Exclaimed Vivian with a very worried look.
“You didn't hear me screaming for you?” I sobbed
“No, I just now heard you and came in. What happened?” asked Vivian
I told her all of the events that had just occurred she looked towards the sink and back to me with a confused face
“The toilet paper holder isn't in the sink Evaline.” She said pointing towards the sink which was in fact empty
“What no I swear it was!” I exclaimed
“I believe you Evaline you never cry it's just odd try and get some sleep okay maybe you're really tired? Cooed Vivian
“Yeah maybe” I said
I finished my shower without any problems and climbed into bed.Covering myself with the plushy blanket I let sleep take me over.
“Evaline wake up!” Vivian yell whispered as she shook me awake
“What's going on?” I groggily asked and then I heard it pounding on the walls but it was everywhere The walls were all slightly shaking
“Is this what happened in the bathroom?” Vivian asked me
“Yeah pretty much just not as loud.” I said standing up I'm gonna go check it out stay her Vivian
“You're that white girl that dies in the horror movie.” Vivian said with a smirk
I shook my head and stepped out into the hallway. Literally all of the walls seemed to be buzzing with the pounding. I made my way past the family portraits and got to the back door slowly putting my hand on the door knob and twisting it till I quickly pulled it open and the pounding stopped. I Looked around the dark backyard and I noticed something: the figure of a man standing by our fence. I looked closer trying to get a better look it was definitely a man.
I turned around to grab the bat sitting on our porch.
“Hey buddy you better beat it!” I yelled, turning back with bat in arm to see he was gone.
“Weird.” I thought and went back inside the house. I closed the back door and turned to walk back to Vivian when I saw the shadowy man standing right in front of me.
“AH-” I started to scream but the air seemed to be sucked from my lungs and the only thing that came out was a small peep.
“I don’t like you creatures.” The man said in a voice I can’t even begin to describe. It wasn't human.
“But still you exist to only displease me.” He went on
“Who are you?” I stammered
“You wouldn't know the word but you gave a soul hope tonight which made her free of me so now I need another soul in return for the one you greedily took.” The man like thing said
“Annie?” I asked shakily
He made an odd gurgling crunching noise reminiscent of a laugh but sounded more like a garbage disposal.
“Obviously” he replied
“Now you're going to replace that soul.” He said calmly
“Evaline?” Vivian placed her hand on my shoulder
“Evaline Are you there helloooo?” Vivan said snapping her fingers in front of my eyes
“Yeah sorry Viv I just was thinking.” I replied
Now i'm writing this to you hoping someone out there knows what this thing is and how to get rid of it before I become the next soul to be taken by HIM.

 How do I explain that I stood in the back of the mortuary while my family huddled and cried over a flag draped metal box. That my protector lay inside there, broken forever. That reporters mobbed the guy in the dress blues, walking into the viewing. That I had no idea what to do, or how to feel. That when I finally walked down that aisle toward the casket, the whole room held their breath and watched as I shook and tried to hold myself together. I laid a single, white-gloved hand on that metal box and lost my shit, in front of all my family. I don't know exactly how long I was up there. everything went away and I went back into my own memories... 

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I currently drive a 2015 CTS (Performance trim) in very good / excellent condition. Honestly, I love this car and wasn’t really considering trading it in…until a CT6 caught my eye.
The Car Available
Would this be a good deal / decent buy?
The decision seems to be:

• keep what I have indefinitely
  
• trade up for this 2019 CT6 (or similar - there’s one in CO, one in NV, and one in TX for about the same price)
  
• save/wait for a better deal on a 2020 CT6 next year (ideally a higher trim)
  

My buying criteria is very specific (outlined below) so the options I’ve given myself are narrow and seeing as they stopped making these cars, next year may be the last chance to get one at a decent price, w/ decent mileage.
My criteria: - 2019+ - White exterior - Tan interior - 3.6L engine (because I trust it…idk about the 3.0TT) - ~40k or less - 30-40k miles
Do y’all think I’ll be able to find a 2020 meeting these criteria next year? Should I jump on one of these 2019s? Or, is there another caoption I should consider?
TIA

CABIN ROAD is the gateway to paradise. But why does this feel like a path to hell? I smash into a tall pine tree that stands in the middle of the otherwise straight gravel road. I've gone around it hundreds of times before. But now, my fingers are firmly gripped on the steering wheel, disregarding all my commands. Have I become paralyzed? A potato is wobbling on the dashboard, having obviously leaped out of the potato crates in the back seat. Jack gets out and strides to the front bumper. His lips press into a thin line as he appraises the destruction and cost of fixing it. Nothing should hold him back from swearing. But he maintains his composure, anger simmering just beneath the surface. The memory of thirty years of marriage fills my mind. I question whether this man has drugged me. A fleeting thought that he might have crashed the car surfaces, but it seems too much of a stretch. I take a deep breath and try to clear my head. In the rear-view mirror, Jack gets an axe from the trunk. He comes and gazes at me from my window, his eyes looking heavy and weary—like two precious pearls inside their oyster-like shells. I straighten and open the window: “Thank goodness it wasn't worse.” “I'll chop it down.” “That’s a pretty big tree, Jack.” Jack blinks several times. “I do have a chainsaw...” “Yes.” I wonder what stories this tree has witnessed during its lifetime. Will we see the marks of our journey on its rings? There’s always something that gets squeezed in tighter, begging to be unraveled. “I'll drive you to the cabin and grab the chainsaw,” Jack says. “Prepare some coffee while I'm gone.” Our short passage to the cabin around the bend is like shifting through the fog of memory. I'm in the kitchen. My fingers clench around the coffee tin can and spoon. Bewilderment engulfs my brain. I spot Jack with his saw. He slips around the corner, the curve of his bottom visible through his tight work trousers. I feel anxious about the crash. Did I deliberately hit the tree? The measuring spoon slips from my hand. It drops onto the floor along with the tin can. I clean up the mess. Could someone drive into a tree on purpose? Accidents do happen after all. It's fascinating to see him take on this role of being so chivalrous. Far away from his academic duties. As the chainsaw outside whines, I scroll through social media on my phone. People arguing about something or other makes me tired. I pick up a copy of Science magazine from the coffee table and scan through an article titled “Quantum Communication Across Interstellar Space,” authored by Jack. As usual, the details go right over my head. I like to amuse myself with the idea that it speaks about communicating with individuals who have passed away. Billy's message pops up. He asks for money for a fishing trip with his buddies somewhere in Lapland. I am more than happy to support him since he’s enlisting in the army soon in July. My big boy. I tell him about the car crash, and he gives me advice about a car repair store. Jack comes back earlier than expected. He plops into his seat, sweat beading on his forehead and the smell of resin emanating from him. He seems disappointed. I pour coffee to the brim. “Did the saw get stuck?” Jack shakes his head and adds sugar to his mug. “It got shattered under the tree. I stumbled...” Silence descends slowly, like dust. “My helmet cracked.” “Do you want me to buy new parts when I go to the store?” “No need.” “But there's pruning and cutting to do first.” Jack takes a bite out of a cinnamon bun. “I can sharpen the axe.” “Ask the neighbors for help, that's what they're for. You can also mow the lawn while I'm away.” “The grass is already short— it'll die off.” “You don't want ticks taking over! Think about your mother's joint pain. She would roll in her grave if—” “Cremated?’ “Yes!” My answer is like a flyswatter, leaving no room for further discussion or quantum physics. Jack is busy chewing on the bun. His regular coffee breaks, which have become part of his daily routine in his sixties, have honed impressive jowls. We enjoy our coffee and stare at the lake. Calm as a mirror. I have a feeling Jack will soon suggest fishing. As I gather my things to leave, I call to him: “Don't hurt yourself. Should I bring more buns?” “I was thinking of skipping the sugar and wheat...” I simply smile in reply. “Can you refuel the car?” Jack asks. I'm already off. The door slams shut in the middle of his sentence, but Jack knows better than to expect a response. I jump into the driver's seat and immediately notice forgotten potato baskets in the back seat, but my mind drifts away before I can do anything about it. As I pass by our old well, I remember that we need to discuss connecting the cabin to a new water source. No matter what it costs, it needs to be done. Why should I agree to be responsible for our running water anymore? I collide with something hard. Airbags abruptly inflate around me, disorienting me as my vision blurs. Struggling to escape from the tangled mess of seatbelts and inflatable bags, it feels like I'm an old person trying to climb out of a bouncy castle. My gaze rests on the scene before me, but my thoughts can't understand it. I have plowed into a tree stump. The tree stretches over the ditch. Nearby the chainsaw lies crushed. The cutting chain is nowhere to be found. I get back in the car. Should I phone Jack for an urgent call? Inhaling slowly helps me stay calm. Why didn’t he mention the tree stump? Someone taps on my window I jump and my neck stiffens up. I reach for the window switch. “I should have told you about...” Jack says. “The stump?” “Didn't you see the tree on the ground?” “I'm sorry. I was daydreaming.” “Great galaxy, Hazel! You're burning through our last savings as if money grew on trees!” Jack is being truly authentic with me. I stare back at him like some big-eyed exotic species from Madagascar that I can't identify in all this chaos. Jack opens the door and starts to put the cushion back in its place. We turn on the engine, giving the accelerator a test ride. “Let's go to a repair shop. I'm sure our insurance will cover this,” Jack suggests. “We can say that we had an accident with a reindeer.” “You're supposed to report it to the police or game warden if you hit an animal,” I reply. Jack pauses for a moment. He then reverses and drives forward again, but when he looks into the rear-view mirror, he slams on the brakes. “I have a better plan.” He retrieves an orange towing strap from the trunk, a burst of determination on his face. He connects the stump and the tow hook. “Get ready. We’re going to take a quantum leap here.” We buckle our seat belts with a single click as we prepare for the inevitable disaster. We had already made so many mistakes together, starting with raising our children—though sometimes failing was just part of parenting. Jack revs up the engine. A sudden lurch forward, then Jack howls in pain as the stump smashes through the rear window, clambering through the seats and lodging itself onto the gearbox, trapping Jack's hand. He veers off toward the ditch. The Milky Way spins around us, potatoes fly in the air and suddenly, all is quiet. We find ourselves upside down—surrounded by earthy potatoes and broken glass. I try to break the silence: “I just remembered: Billy's friend can repair cars at the vocational school much cheaper.” Jack looks so pale, his face almost white. I guess he’s contemplating the next step. Through the cracked windshield, I see the chainsaw chain lying in the ditch. How did it come to be rusting away? Maybe everything will go back to normal if we sit here and wait. It feels almost as if we are flying in outer space, my nerves slowly calming down. But then a sudden stillness strikes that is anything but soothing. “Jack, I’m feeling a bit dizzy…” No answer. “Jack...” I snap open my eyes and the scene in front of me has changed drastically. It’s like I’ve been sucked into some kind of surreal void. I hear a tapping noise on the window. An apology and then a loud thud; a huge rock has been hurled through the glass. A stench of strong aftershave ferments around me. A burly arm reaches across to release the seatbelt. An elderly man growls something crude, nothing like Jack's usual scout-like words. My eyes close as I'm being cradled away, and visions of Jack's mathematics and symbols flicker around in my mind. Is the soul truly free when there is no force of gravity to pull us down? I don't know who my savior is, but I can sense his worry as his face reddens. He is in military garb. I come to as I feel my head thudding against the rubble. Instantly, I yearn to run away, contemplating that perhaps this experience is only a dream, and I'm back in the cabin chamber, tucked securely underneath a cosy blanket. A blanket that grants me the power to perform heroic acts like disappearing in a puff of smoke. “Are you okay?” he speaks in a familiar voice. Fingers brush over my clothes, picking out pieces of glass. My pocket contains an odd bulge—a potato? Suddenly, everything clicks: an aged Billy, wearing a major's rank insignia. How could he have achieved that rank so fast? “Son, what are you doing on this tree ring?” Billy peers at me from across the way, accompanied by a mysterious female figure. “We came to check on how you're doing,” Billy says. “Do you remember what happened?” I raise my head and look around. There's nobody in the driver's seat of the car. “Where is Jack?” I manage. Billy furrows his brows like a detective would when weighing evidence. An image of the classic TV show Columbo flashes through my mind—he could lull suspects into a false sense of security before dropping the hammer of his sharp intellect on their inconsistencies. But I'm not hiding anything here. Though why are modern shows so bad? That's another mystery entirely. “Mom, what were you doing out here? The road is an absolute disaster zone, with the car smashed up in the ditch.” My thoughts swim haphazardly as Billy reads something from my expression, then casts his eyes towards his new girlfriend for assistance. I try to get up but it hurts too much. Instead, I reach into my pocket and feel a sandy-sharp potato there. Maybe I can still wash it off. “I’m fine,” I reply. “I need to get back to plowing the field... baking buns for Jack... buying a chainsaw...” The darkness returns and I feel my body shiver. I'm in the car, traveling down bumps I've known for quite some time. Soon, I’m settled inside the cabin's living room on the couch. The coffee maker is gurgling in the corner of the room. Billy is on a call with a doctor about how to deal with grief and coping alone; it seems someone had died while cutting down a tree last year. He gets furious and threatens to take away the keys from the person he's talking to. It might be a good idea; many people have too many keys that they don't use anyway. My head is spinning with thoughts about Jack's absence. Where did he go? Someone runs water over potatoes while a pot clatters on the stovetop. My temper rises as I wait for Jack's return. I won't stay here by myself without an explanation from him. I call out for Jack until there's no sound left but my coughing voice. I crave sausage soup, and I know I must go to the store. As I try to move forward, I am wading through tar. They guide me to the coffee table. According to Jack, time runs faster the more hunched your back becomes. Let it be and let us sit here, motionless, gazing at the tips of our shoes. Surely, time has slowed down in this moment. Billy reaches out and takes my hand. A handsome, greying gentleman. His girlfriend also places her hand on top of the pile. Her name is Ewa. A beautiful name, something familiar about her. But did I hear her calling me mother? In the yard, a squirrel hops with a cone in its mouth. It freezes and stares at me. I avert my gaze. My hands suddenly look wrinkled. I summon the inner strength that I've been striving to find for an eternity: “Do we have to leave now?” Billy exchanges glances with Ewa and then looks outside. “You don't have to walk this path alone, Mother.” We finish our coffee without saying another word. The wind sweeps across the lake. A pair of swans take flight, and a duet of gentle honks echo across the water. A shivering cold envelops me. Billy and Ewa take me to the car. The potatoes can wait. The sun blazes brightly above us as we travel the cabin road; shapeless clouds dot the horizon and suddenly I sense a presence—as if someone is waving to me. I surrender. I believe I will be warmly welcomed.

"Okay," Sookie called out. "That's a wrap!"
A ragged cheer went up from the cast and crew. Deacon walked around, clapping his hands and cheering loudly, making sure everyone else was cheering, too. Sookie walked over to her chair and sank into it, her feet throbbing in time to the cheering people around her. She smiled at anyone who caught her eye and just relaxed.
This was the end of a grueling, forty-five day shooting schedule that had been supposed to be ten hour days, but had ended up being more like thirteen to eighteen hour days for her. They weren't done filming the season. Far from it, in fact. But these were the worst shots, and the cast and crew involved had all agreed to push through hard until it was done. After this, they had about two more months of shooting on a more normal schedule, and then editing could begin.
Deacon, despite his enthusiasm for the end of the push, had not had to attend most of the shots they got, and had instead, been spending 'quality' time with a couple of local groupies and the White Lady. Sookie didn't begrudge him this, of course. She worried a little about the amount of booger sugar going up his nose at times, but his agent had repeatedly assured her that he was using far more often during shoots than during his off time.
Besides, it was only fitting that the star of the show should enjoy the fruits of his fame. Sookie herself had picked up a bisexual couple a week or two ago, when they had a shoot end 'early' (at nine PM) and the next's day's shoot wasn't scheduled to begin until eight AM. She had left set almost immediately and headed to a local gay bar, where someone had recognized her from her OnlyFans days and insisted upon introducing his boyfriend.
She sighed, remembering the sensation of two well-endowed men thrusting into her, and how she'd simply melted when the one behind her leaned forward and around to kiss the other. Bi men were soooo hawt...
She promised herself she'd try to find another bisexual 'gay' couple, now that she had the time.
Deacon had finally got everyone sufficiently enthusiastic -which was a credit to his charisma, really, as everybody was exhausted- and came over to sit next to her in his own chair.
"I am so ready for a couple weeks off," he said.
"It's one week," Sookie reminded him. "And then you need to be ready for the fight scenes. Have you been working with your choreographer?"
"I haven't really had the time..." Deacon whined, causing Sookie to sigh.
"Deek," she said, sitting up in her chair and turning to face him. "You haven't needed to be on set for the past two weeks. You've been coming to, in your own words, 'help keep morale up'. And while I do appreciate your efforts in that regards, it is far more important for you to be ready to shoot your fight scenes in a week. I'm serious here. You need to get with your choreographer and get your moves nailed down tight. We don't have time to push those shoots back any further."
Deacon held up his hands in surrender. "I'll be down at the dojo tomorrow, I swear."
"Tomorrow morning," Sookie insisted.
"Tomorrow morning," Deacon agreed. "In fact, I'm going to get the playbook and go over it tonight, to try to get a head start."
Sookie smiled and patted him on the knee as she rose. She didn't want to be here anymore. The PAs and crew could finish cleaning everything up so the teardown crews could get started tomorrow.
She found her personal assistant and instructed her to make sure everyone knew to do their own breakdowns, then left. Filming on set had certain advantages, including the fact that she was within walking distance of her hotel.
The security guard that Julie had insisted she maintain since that incident a few years ago with the psycho stan peeled herself off the wall she'd been holding up and fell into step behind her. Sookie wouldn't have minded so much, except Julie had carefully picked married, monogamous men and women to fill her security schedule with, to avoid any 'conflicts of interest'.
This gal, Linda Gottlieb, was probably the worst of all. She had a girlfriend and a boyfriend, and yet refused to sleep with anyone else. On top of that, she was as slender as Sookie, flat chested (which Sookie found to be a major turn on) and hard as a rock, with veiny arms and shoulders and even a few visible on her belly.
Sookie was a woman of many tastes, but skinny girls with visible veins and no tits were one of her more notable favorites, and so Linda's categorical refusal to so much as let Sookie slip a hand down her pants was grating.
Linda wasn't wearing a uniform. She wore a tight tank top and a loose flannel with the sleeves rolled up and the front unbuttoned over a pair of blue jeans and hiking boots. Sookie knew she had a gun on her somewhere, but couldn't speculate as to where.
Well, that's not true. Sookie imagined the handle sticking of her ass, riding up between the cheeks of that ass that all flat-chested women seemed to have that was categorically unfair to better-if-still-modestly endowed women like Sookie. She slowed down to get a peek at it.
"Looking at my ass again?" Linda asked.
"Yes," Sookie said. "I was wondering if you keep your gun there. The handle could fit between those cheeks and nobody would be the wiser."
Linda laughed and lifted her flannel to show a handgun tucked into her belt on her hip. "Sorry to disappoint," she said. "But I kinda need to keep it where I could easily get at it."
Sookie sighed, her pleasant illusion ruined.
They turned left out of the studio gates and walked up the road. Despite the presence of the studio, this was kind of a rough area, so Sookie appreciated having some security as she made the walk. Not that she couldn't handle herself, but she'd learned the hard way that being taken by surprise left her as vulnerable as anyone.
They hadn't gotten more than a half a block before a ragged looking man approached them, reeking of booze and shit. His clothes were filthy and torn and he had a scraggly beard that ranged from a centimeter to three inches long, seemingly at random.
"Spare a dollar?" he asked.
"No," Linda said, stepping forward to catch his attention so Sookie could slip past.
"S'just a dollar, lady. I'll lick your pussy for it!" The man leered at Linda, who didn't blink or flinch, but rather gave him a hard shove back.
"Don't you fucking crowd me, talking shit like that," she said menacingly, taking another step forward to keep him off balance.
"Be respectful," she added with force. The man looked like he wanted to argue, but something in the way she looked or held herself made it clear to him that Linda was not to be trifled with. He stepped back until his back was to the wall of the building behind him and watched as Linda turned and caught back up to Sookie, who was watching the whole thing over her shoulder.
"Fucking Dykes!" the man shouted. "Suck my dick!"
"You'd think that at least one of them would figure out that being aggressive like that doesn't work," Sookie mused.
"It doesn't work on you or me, but that's because we know we could take his head off if he tried to get violent," Linda said. "Most women aren't fighters. They'll give him cash just to get him to stop harassing them."
"Fair enough," Sookie said.
This was a common occurrence. Almost every time Sookie walked to her hotel, at least one homeless person would try to panhandle her. Sometimes, if she had any cash, she'd give them some. Once in a blue moon, one would engender enough sympathy for a good payout, a hundred bucks or so. But most of the time, they struck her as entitled ruffians, living on the street thanks to their own bad decisions and trying to get by on other people's labor.
She knew that was an old-fashioned mindset. She knew a lot of these people would, if they got clean of whatever they were using, sort out their lives and take care of business. She knew that the DCM Group even had a charitable arm who straight up gave condos and large sums of money to many homeless people, who immediately used that gift to get back on their feet. She knew the stats, too.
But this particular area seemed to attract the sort of homeless people whom right-wing motards used as an archetype for all homeless people. Twice, someone from the crew had been assaulted, causing Sookie to declare that she and the stunt coordinator were the only ones allowed to walk to and from the studio.
"I wonder if they're actually even homeless," Linda said, her thoughts echoing Sookie's.
"Me too," Sookie said. "I mean, it's a very poor neighborhood, adjacent to a place where very wealthy people work. There's no rule that says you have to be homeless to panhandle."
Linda nodded. Sookie wondered idly if she'd been following her own logic, or seeking out a belief that made her feel better about judging the people here. She wasn't sure which, really.
The area they moved through got progressively nicer as they continued. They turned the last corner, with three blocks still to go when Sookie saw the next one.
This one was older. he only had about a week's worth of beard on his face, though Sookie could see that it was mostly gray. He wore similar clothes to the other one, the once-vibrant colors having long since faded towards a muted gray tone. His clothes, however, looked cleaner and the holes had all been neatly stitched. As they drew close, Sookie could read his sign.
Please help Leave a dollar or take a resume Will work for food
Sure enough, he had a stack of resumes weighted down with a rock next to him. Sookie stopped, intrigued and bent down to retrieve one. She handed the man a folded ten dollar bill at the same time. A reward for creativity in his panhandling, she thought.
She looked at it. The man had a pair of enlistments in the Marine Corps at the top of his work experience. It was back in the early 2000s, and it mentioned Helmand Province, which Sookie recalled had been at the center of a lot of the fighting in Afghanistan.
The next few lines were security companies, starting with a high-end competitor to the Group, and then a long sequence of construction and day-labor work, ending on his current work, which was "Self Employed - Private Investigations". Below that, he had a string of qualifications, including armed security, close protection and bail enforcement.
"This is actually quite a good resume," Sookie told him. She glanced up at the top to get his name, Richard Nixon.
"Richard Nixon?" Sookie asked. "Like the president?"
Richard nodded. "I'll work," he said hopefully. "I can swing a hammer and do plumbing. I'll do a full day's work for lunch and dinner, or a hundred bucks, whichever you prefer."
Sookie handed the resume to Linda, who looked down at it.
"Ain't much different than mine," she said. "Oorah."
"Oorah," Richard muttered back, seemingly on pure instinct.
"So why are you out here, Richard?" Sookie asked. "Your resume says you're self-employed as a private eye."
Richard shrugged. Sookie noted the redness and swelling of his nose. "Work's been scarce," he said. "Been getting fewer jobs for the last few years. Fewer jobs means less money, less money means losing my office, not being able to afford nice clothes, which leads to fewer jobs."
Sookie looked a question at Linda, who shrugged. "We're always looking for investigators. It can be hard to recruit former cops, and those we do are often old enough not to stay on for more than a few years before retiring."
Sookie smiled and nodded, turning back to Richard. "You want an interview?"
"Hell yeah," he said with some enthusiasm. "As long as they don't mind me looking a little rough around the edges."
"Where do you live?" Sookie asked. Richard gestured around. "Lost my apartment last month," he said. Sookie pursed her lips and then nodded and held out a hand to him.
"Come on, Richard. I'm Sookie, and this is Linda. I'll make you a deal. I'll get you a nice outfit to wear and arrange an interview at the LA office tomorrow. I'll put you up on my couch for the night, too. That way, you can shower and shave and look presentable for it. What do you think?"
Richard took her hand and let her help him up. "Are you serious?" he asked. Sookie nodded.
"Holy crap, thank you, lady. Sookie, I mean. Thank you." His eyes began to get watery. "I don't... I don't even know what to say. That would be amazing."
Sookie smiled, her heart wrenching for the guy. She knew he had a drinking problem, but she also remembered all those people the Group's charities helped. Get someone on their feet, and there was a good chance they'd stay there.
"Do you have stuff to get?"
"I uh... I have a storage shed. It's paid up through the end of the year," he said. "My stuff is safe there, I just need to go get my toiletries."
"Don't worry about that," Sookie said, stepping to the edge of the sidewalk and waiting for the traffic to clear enough to cross the road. "We can stop by a drug store, too."
----
Sookie and Linda took Richard shopping and got him everything he needed. Which wasn't much, really. Sookie had a spare toothbrush, razors, shaving cream and cologne at her hotel room. It was all stuff she kept on hand to be the best slut she could be, and make her dishes du jour feel welcome. They bought him deodorant and an electric beard trimmer, and decided to take a pit stop at a hair and nails salon next to the pharmacy.
The girls there had cooed and gooed over Sookie and Linda helping this man out, and refused to accept any money for the trim he got. Unfortunately, they weren't set up to shave a man (all of the other clients inside were women), but Richard protested that he was perfectly capable of shaving himself, so it all worked out.
The next stop was, at Sookie's insistence, one of the ultra-high-end men's clothing stores near her hotel. Linda had protested that simply taking a car to Walmart would be good enough, but Sookie would have none of that.
"Linda, it's been over six years since I've seen a person in Walmart that I'd be willing to give a handy to. It's been even longer since I've seen any clothing there that looked like it didn't come from Walmart, especially the suits. We're not going to Walmart."
As a result, Richard got fitted for a custom-tailored suit and outfitted with a tie that was a pleasant, deep blue, bespeckled with tiny, gold-embroidered Marine Corps logos. He seemed pleased with it, and had to keep wiping his eyes as he repeatedly and profusely thanked her.
When all was done, they finally went to the hotel. Sookie had a full suite on the top floor. It wasn't the biggest suite, but it was close, with two spare bedrooms, a living room and a full kitchen, in addition to a balcony that afforded her a great view of the city (so long as the smog wasn't too bad) and a private elevator to the rooftop pool.
Linda took her usual spot at the door to await her relief for the evening while Sookie showed Richard the large bathroom and made sure he had everything he needed. While he showered and shaved, she decided to review the script.
She walked over to the safe in the living room and carefully punched in her combination on the keypad.
The scripts for The Legend of Jimmy were like solid gold. Every studio out there wanted to get their hands on one, to steal ideas from. Every fan wanted to get one, just for the thrill of knowing what was going to happen next. During the second season's filming, they'd had multiple scripts stolen and leaked, and Sookie had learned to crack down on that. As a result, she was the only one who ever had a full set of scripts for any given season. She kept them safely under lock and key at all times.
She pulled out her working copy, which was different from the 'archive' copy she also kept in the safe. The working copy had all of her handwritten notes on it. She closed the safe back up and locked it, then sat down at the table and flipped open to the scenes they would be filming after the break. Using a red pen, she made notes for herself, things to remember during shooting, like camera angles and notes on the VFX.
She heard the shower turn off, but she was engrossed in her work when the door opened.
"Thanks again," Richard said, causing her to look up. He had a towel around his waist, but Sookie noted that he had a lean torso, with some muscle still there, despite a rough life. Clean shaven now, he looked much better. He'd never get a gig as a model, but he was handsome enough in his own way. Sookie smiled at him.
"You don't have to keep thanking me," she said. "I'm happy to help."
She closed her script and stood, walking it over to the safe. Obscuring her hands with her body, she punched in the code again and placed the script inside. She hadn't yet closed the door when she heard Richard mutter "Oh shit."
She turned to look and froze. He'd turned back towards the bathroom, and then dropped his towel by accident. He was currently in the process of picking it up, affording Sookie a great view of his ass and what might well have been considered a third leg hanging from between the other two.
It came almost to his knees.
A flush of heat went through her, washing away all thoughts of largess and generosity, and kindling a very selfish desire. She heard the spattering on the hardwood floor where she crouched as her usual over-the-top wetness kicked into high gear and soaked through her pants in seconds. She could feel herself throbbing as she eyed Richard's enormous member.
Her disguise slipped and the horns erupted from her head, her tail curled up painfully inside her pants and her skin turned red, with large patches of scales. Operating purely on instinct, she magicked up a veil of mundanity. She didn't want Richard to freak out, and this would keep him from registering her appearance as anything out of the ordinary.
He retrieved his towel and made to wrap it back around his waist, but Sookie shot to her feet and spun, already ripping her shirt off.
"Wait," she said. Richard froze, then turned to look at her over one shoulder. She tossed her shirt on the couch and peeled off her pants. She wasn't wearing any underwear or bra, of course. She never did.
"I just thought of a way you could thank me," she purred, taking a languid step forward. Richard reacted immediately to the sight of her naked, turning, his hog's leg stiffening and rising from its vertical hang slightly.
"Are you, uh... I mean... I'm not..." Richard stammered. Sookie stepped closer to him and put her hands on his shoulder, then ran them down his chest.
"I am damn sure I want to do this, if that's what you're asking," she said, her hands reaching lower as she stepped close enough to press her breasts into his ribs. She took hold of him and felt him grow almost immediately rock hard as he gasped.
"Wow," he said. "This is... This is like something from a porno with a bad script..." he said.
"Uh huh," Sookie said. "And we're about to do the fun parts of it." She pressed her lips into his, and then squealed in delight as he grabbed her by the ass and hoisted her up.
"Where?" he asked into her mouth.
"Pussy, mouth and ass," she replied. She felt the heat rush through his cheeks.
"I meant where in this room," he said.
"I don't fucking care," Sookie responded, lining his huge cock up with her most convenient hole and squirming down onto it with a loud gasp.
"In the bedroom!" Linda shouted. "Please, for the love of god, in the bedroom!"
----
Sookie awoke the next morning and rolled over to see if Richard was up for a little wake-and-shake. Her hands slapped the empty bed and she pouted.
"Richard?" she called, a wonderful aroma meeting her nose as she did. "Are you making coffee already? I'll fall in love with you, or deepthroat you, your choice, if you are!"
He didn't answer.
She opened her eyes and saw that his new suit was missing. An empty hanger was hooked to the coathanger next to the closet. She climbed out of bed, frowning, and walked out into the living room.
It was empty. She could smell the coffee even stronger, and she walked into the kitchen to find the coffee pot full and a business card sitting next to it. She picked it up and peered at it with sleep-bleary eyes.
"Eric Stephens, Private Investigations, Corporate Espionage, Bail Bonds, Security Consultation," she read out loud. There was a QR code on it, so she picked up her phone from where it had been flung to the floor last night and scanned it. While the page loaded, she glanced in the bathroom to see Richard's old clothes still piled there.
She glanced at her phone to see a very clean-shaven and well-dressed Richard smiling at the camera at the top of a very tastefully designed web page. She scrolled through it for a moment, confused. This was clearly him, but why had he given her a fake name? She supposed he could have had this nice website built back when he was still working enough to afford it, but... It seemed off. It didn't fit. Sookie didn't get it.
That was, until she looked to her own pile of clothes by the safe and saw the door still hanging open. With a gasp, she rushed over only to find the safe empty. Both of her scripts were gone!
"Shit!" she shouted.
The door opened and a large, muscular man dressed like a lawyer rushed in, a gun in hand.
"Miss Ohma, is everything all right?" he asked after scanning the room and peering through the open doors.
"No," Sookie wailed. "I just got my scripts stolen!"
"The gentleman who left this morning?" her guard asked. She nodded. "I'm so sorry, Miss Ohma. I would have stopped him if I knew."
"No, you did fine," Sookie said as her eyes filled with frustrated tears. "You're used to men heading out in the morning. Usually they do it after I wake up and we can get another good fuck in, but still... You didn't do anything wrong."
"He left a note," the guard said. "I saw it taped to the inside of the door." Sookie looked over and saw a folded piece of paper taped there. She stalked over and ripped it down, sniffling angrily and wiping at her eyes to read it.

 Dear Sookie, Last night was probably the best night I've had in my life. It's certainly the best night I can remember. If you ever want to do it again, just let me know. I left you a card by the coffee machine, and there's a full pot for you, as well. If you don't ever want to see me again, well, I guess I understand. I'm sorry to have left the way I did, but I'm a man of my word, and my client was willing to pay a lot of money for that script. I hope this doesn't hurt you too much. For what it's worth, I'm sorry if I upset you. Wishing you all the best, Eric 

Sookie crumbled up the paper and angrily threw it across the room.
"Motherfucker!" she shouted. The guard winced, but said nothing.
"He scammed me," Sookie said. "Got a nice new suit out of me, seduced me with that redwood growing between his legs and then ran off with my fucking scripts!"
She let her claws form and dug them into her thighs, carving bloody furrows that healed almost as fast as she made them. The guard started and rushed over.
"Ma'am, please," he said. "I'm not supposed to let you hurt yourself."
Sookie let him pull her hands up to her chest. She leaned into him for a moment. "You're married, aren't you?" she said.
"Uh, no," he said. Sookie turned her head to regard him. She didn't recognize him. "What's your name?"
"Devin, Ma'am," he said. "Devin Iglesias. This is my first shift on your detail."
"Who put you on this shift?"
"Uhh, Missus Williams. She said I'd enjoy this detail, and I agreed. I'm a huge fan of your show, Miss Ohma."
"Are you gay?" Sookie asked. Devin blinked. "Uh, no, Ma'am."
Sookie smiled. "I need you to do two things," she said.
"The second, and most important thing, I need you to call the office and ask for any information they have on a private investigator named Eric Stephens who works out of LA."
Devin nodded. "Yes, ma'am. And the first thing?"
Sookie smiled wider. "I need you to find out the real reason why Inanna thought you'd enjoy this posting."

Hi everyone! I've been doing a lot of self-reflection trying to figure out my true core type and wing, and I would greatly appreciate perspectives from others. I have filled out an Enneagram questionnaire and included my own thought process at the end. Thank you so much in advance!
Questionnaire:
1. What drives you in life?
You know, that is a challenging question because it varies depending on the situation that I'm in! When I'm in the public eye / around other people, and especially around those that I want to impress / like me, I am driven by this urge to live up to a positive image - that of a person who is 'at the top', successful, hard-working, and financially independent. I'm actually a bit ashamed to admit this about myself, because I don't want to be seen as selfish / a show off, but deep down, I love outside praise and admiration.
However, when alone, or around people who I don't care about impressing, it's very different! That urge to live up to an image seems to disappear, and instead, I just sit around, mostly self-reflecting and introspecting. Confusing, I know....
2. What do you look for?
Another challenging question. Once again, I do look for positive outside recognition. I do try to gain success in a positive, modest, ethical way (no cheating, bragging, cutting corners, or being dishonest for me). But, I do still want recognition.
This by itself, however, is not satisfying for me. I also am looking to do something that is personally meaningful - something in which I can help society. It's part of why I'm looking at careers in education and politics. For example, I might be attracted to the prestige of getting a cushy six-figure job at a big law firm or IT company or whatever. But if I don't have any meaning, it'll feel shallow for me.
Ideally, I look for both prestige AND meaning, if that's possible.
3. What do you hope to accomplish in your life?
See my above answer - ideally, something in which I can gain positive recognition while also contributing positively to humanity. Something that satisfies my competitive urges while still allowing me to be ethical and living with purpose.
4. What do you hope to avoid doing or being?
Lazy (or at least, being seen as lazy! That would be horrifying for me, especially around someone I like)
Unethical / dishonest / "slimy"
Selfish
Unfair / biased
"Fake" or shallow
5. What values are important to you?
Integrity, courage, authenticity, fairness, independence, hard work.
6. What are your biggest fears (not including phobias)? Why?
Being "exposed". If other people saw me as someone who was lazy, had a low-wage job, didn't "have it all together", had no car, couldn't take care of himself or his family, etc., that would be absolutely terrifying to me. Also, being seen as selfish, unfair, corrupt.
7. How do you want others to see you?
A winner, hardworking, virtuous, bold, authentic, and a positive contributor to humanity.
8. How do you see yourself?
Authentic, emotional, self-aware, principled.
9. What makes you feel your best?
Being strong and independent - in all forms (physically, financially, etc.) and others seeing it, and knowing that I'm being true to myself and with a sense of purpose.
10. What makes you feel your worst?
Being (or feeling like I'm being) unethical, being shunned / negative reputation, feeling weak, empty/shallow/ passionless.
11. Describe how you feel each of:
a) Anger: All throughout my body. Kind of just washes over me like a wave, then I feel like a volcano that is liable to explode at any moment.
b) Shame: Oh goodness, I feel shame very deeply. I'm ashamed to feel shame! So I try to just make sure I don't ever need to feel it in the first place, and I do that by trying to be a good and morally upstanding person.
c) Anxiety: In my head and body. Generally just becoming nervous, shaking, talking faster, etc.
12. Describe how you respond to each of:
a) Stress: I've never been good under stress. I tend to feel extremely pressured, and if pushed too far, I've been known to lash out at other people / get very emotional.
b) Unexpected change: It depends on what the change is. If positive, I usually will have no issue with it, and if negative, I don't take it well and will get angry.
c) Conflict: I don't enjoy conflict, but I will also never allow myself to be on the defensive if I'm being 'attacked' - I will always respond offensively and forcefully.
13. What is your overall outlook on life and humanity?
Life isn't fair - some get dealt a worse hand than others. Do the best you can with the hand you've got, and never be anything other than yourself. You can do whatever you want. Live with passion. Humanity has issues, but a better world is possible. Be a moral, courageous person. Stand for justice. Be good.
My personal thoughts:
I think I've narrowed by core type to either 3w4, or 4w3 (although I am open to other types!). The morality / desire to be fair seems to be aspects of the 4 integration to 1, and the feeling of emotions / anger / intensity that I have is indicative of 4. However, when I get down in the dumps, I start getting hopeless, letting myself go and just "giving up" on things, which seems to be aspects of the 3 disintegrating to 9. The drive to be successful, competitive nature, and need to gain positive recognition is more indicative of 3, as well. Finally, my public persona and private persona are so different - in public I'm driven to succeed, like a 3, but when alone, I'm more introspective and deep and moody, like a 4. So, this is where my confusion lies.

So recently I was driving my 2017 Volkswagen Jetta with the turbo and the EPC light and check engine light came on and the car started shaking. The shaking wasn't really violent but was enough to let me know that I need to pull over. For some reason after turning the car off and back on the EPC light goes away and I can continue to drive it as normal. This has happened twice randomly. I've tried to replicate it as others have mentioned by driving it more aggressively over 4,000 RPM but I still can't get it to come back on.
Few things to note my vehicle has 112,000 miles. Recently I drove about 40 hours in three days cause I had to take an emergency trip halfway across the country. When I got back I had the car detailed and I ask for the guy if you could also detail my engine bay but what I didn't know was that he was going to use a pressure washer. I've looked it up online and it seems to be a controversial issue over whether you should clean your engine bay with water or not. Mind y'all I also drove the car for about 2 to 3 weeks after he pressure washed it and nothing happened.
I suppose I'm asking if him using water on my engine bay could cause the EPC light to come on or did it just happen to come on cause I know jetta's have this problem frequently.

Hey everyone i live in the suburbs of IL and the closest touch free self service car wash is 35 min away, I’m having hard time justifying the drive and the time spent in total just to wash my car, i live in an apartment complex so washing it myself is also no option, but my car is brand new and I’m really worried about getting scratches from machine washes.
Funny enough even the closest hand wash detail place is 25 min away for almost 30 bucks just for exterior wash.
I’m just wondering what would you guys do in this situation, bite the bullet and drive every week or two to clean it headache free or use the machine washes in your area?

"Dick." "Huh? What, are we there?" "We've been here for six hours, man, we just haven't seen the car yet, and you haven't seen shit because you keep falling asleep." "Gimme a break, man, I was driving all night to get here." The two criminals were seated in a non-descript car, parked nearby the entrance to the main parking lot at Mt. Loyal University, charged with the details of a specific vehicle set to arrive at some point. The two were only armed with camera equipment, but it was enough to ID at a distance and that's what they were being paid to do. "Look, if this chick's as dangerous as they say, it'll help to be ready when she shows up. Try some of the coffee, they shouldn't be too cold." Dick looked at the two big cups from the morning hours before they showed up. "Dale, that stuff's probably frozen by now, let's just go get some fresh stuff." "We can't leave, idiot!" barked Dale, fitting of his canine species. They both were dogs, Dale a chihuahua and Dick a St. Bernard, with personalities to match. "Look, I'll go get some at that place down the block, come back here, and we can throw that stuff out." "Well then, go, come on, hurry up and get back, I don't want you sitting on a bench and falling asleep again." "I'm going, don't yell at me, man." Dick replied softly. "I'm NOT YELLING!" Dale yelled as the larger of the two got out of the car with another huge yawn to head off on his mission. The actual task they were seeing to was admittedly a dull one, but Dale liked to be alert at all times, especially when dealing with contract killers. About five minutes later, Dick had returned with two coffees, Dale opening the door for him. "Thanks. They had that hazelnut stuff you like, so I-" "Wait wait wait, hold that thought, I think that's our ticket." said the chihuahua, pointing a finger at the gate. Indeed, a white Oz Harper was pulling in and turning their way to find a spot. Dale squawked 'Hide!' and pulled the seat lock, falling backwards with it quickly. Dick just watched the car go by and head up towards the front of the building. "GOL-332, I think that's our guy, Dale." the larger dog said, slurping at his coffee loudly. The smaller one's head popped up to check before easing his seat back up. "Of course it is, I knew this was the gate to trust." he declared, pulling out a cellphone to speed-dial a number. "What are we gonna do now, D?" "Shh, lemme make this call in peace for a second... hey, it's us, the ones you called for recon? ...yeah, no, we stuck to the timeframe you gave us, the target's been confirmed at that college we parked at." Dick was starting to fall asleep in his seat again, so Dale smacked at him while completing the phonecall. "Gotcha.. yes, gotcha, you won't be needing anything else? Alright then, it was a pleasure doing business with you, and we'll just be on our way once our payment is secu- what??" The voice over the tiny microphone spoke in stern volumes, Dale glaring wide-eyed at the device like he wanted to bite a chunk out of it. He managed to inhale and hold it before responding tightly. "I understand, we will get a room and meet with you after the hit. Thank you very much for this opportunity." He beeped off the phone, calmly unclipped his seat belt, vacated the car, and then began to attack the right side of it in a psychotic frenzy, all manner of expletive spraying as hornets do from a disturbed nest. Dick watched him for a bit as he gradually slowed his raging melee with their car and got back inside of it. "We gotta go shack up in a hotel for the night, we're not getting paid until they kill this chick." "Hey, oh boy, a hotel, that'll have a bed for sure." He began to hand the chihuahua his coffee before giving a bit too much gas and causing a second furious explosion, this time in the car. The badly-secured lid had sluiced open and had went mostly all over Dale, staining his undershirt dark brown. Dick looked at him and raised his eyebrows high enough to expose his eyes at last. "Oh no, I'm real sorry about that, we can get the duffel bag out and take it-" Dale held up his paw. "Dick, shut up and let's just... take it to get washed somewhere, real quick. I like this shirt, this is my lucky shirt." "Okay, Dale." and he started up the car and turned off down the main street, looking like he'd be smacked around and scolded by the smaller man. Dale looked sidelong at him for a bit before looking forward quietly. "You're mad." "Dick, I ain't mad, I'm just cranky." "No, you're mad, you say that when you're mad." "What're you, my freakin' therapist? Get over into that one there and let's get this thing washed and dried, I'm gonna need it to keep from KILLING you, right in the face. "Dale, I'm really sorry." They parked and they got out. "Just finish your coffee, man, I gotta go use the bathroom and change out."
Tom was in a late afternoon haze of beer buzz, boredom, and bitterness. Something about the verbal skirmish with the snow leopard had really got on his nerves, and he still wanted to give her a piece of his mind. There was a bit of time left, and he felt like he could be risking at least one more smoke, so he went out the back door into the loading alley and lit up there, largely free of company for the moment, but it was then that one of the black cars from before slowly pulled into sight ahead, blocking off the alley's exit. "Shit.." he whispered, knowing better than to turn around as the sound of crunching rock on tires signalled he was being boxed in. He circled on the spot casually, eyes swallowing his surroundings to make sure there was no one else around in case he had to attack and escape. The two guys that got out had matching casual wear and a bully's confidence as they came his way. Two more door-shutting sounds behind him now, sending that tingle of adrenaline pre-game thru his body. Taking a deep inhale to martial his guts and nicotine, Tom came to a stop and looked to the guys in front of him as he exhaled, flicking the cigarette away. They were certainly taller up close. "Larry, Curly, good to see you, something I can help you two with?" he asked brazenly, getting two accosted looks in response. "How's he supposed to know that? He knows my name, man, how does he know that?" said the wiry one of the pair. Tom's throat tightened; one of their names actually WAS Larry, apparently. "He's calling us stooges, man, you know?" said the other, more standard-shaped one. "We got a smartass here, don't we?" came a voice from behind, followed by a hard shove that almost sent him onto the ground. "Hey!" Tom barked, stepping back to take all four of them in. They all had a kind of standard goon panache, and one of them had a shoulder holster slightly visible. The only animal folk in their number was a fox, shock-white and wearing the worst air of superiority among them, along with the tattoos and pink-red eyes. Tom made a mental note to attack this one first if he had to, but wisely switched gears. "Look guys, I think we got off on the wrong foot here, see... I'm a traveling salesman, and I got these dynamite blindfolds I'm peddling. You four want to line for a demonstration, I could oblige you a discount too!" he said, winking an eye. One of them chuckled off to the right, but Larry had apparently had enough, pulling an H17 into view, and putting the barrel inbetween Tom's eyes. He swallowed hard, carefully putting his hands up and standing his mental ground. "Yeah, talk that shit now, huh? Think you're all funny, man, I'll put you in the fucking GROUND, I don't give a fuck!" snarled this Larry.The fox put a clawed hand firmly on the guys' arm and caught his eye coldly. "Stow that piece, and calm down before you get us all popped, dig?" he said in a sibilant tone. Larry was still looking at Tom, glaring back at him, but obeyed and hung up the gun. The leader took point now, nodding for the raccoon to lower his arms. "I'll just... keep them up, if it's all the same, mutual trust eh?" said Tom, giving a weak smile. "Fair enough." answered the vulpine boss, "Now, my friend here seems to think you were scoping us earlier." "At the traffic light back there? No no, I just saw these nice Golgo Tundras going thru town, all sleek and white-- thought someone was putting on a concert or something. Honest curiosity, that was it." It wasn't necessarily a lie either. The tall fox looked him over a bit, his sharp eyes looking lower. "Got anything in your pockets?" "...I do." Tom carefully produced his wad of bills from one pocket and a pack of Mazzerucci Royals in the other. He really hoped they wouldn't stick their hand in the jacket pocket, for a few reasons at that. "See, I was just out doing laundry, there's no-- hey, dammit!" Larry had snatched the items up, and Tom moved his hands in protest, only to be frozen solid by the clawed fingers of the one in charge. "Mutual trust, right?" he said, smiling with sharp teeth. The bothered canine grimaced and tried to look helpless while they counted up his stolen cash, wishing he'd had enough magic stored up for a bolt of half-power lightning; they would probably survive, but with scars to remember. A sizable chunk of money was missing when it was handed back, and that was it. Tom looked up at the leader briefly, who was already biting onto one of the cigarettes. "I like Royals, consider it part of the toll here for wastin' our precious time with your peeking." and he felt his own pockets briefly before looking up again, "No lighter?" Tom lit his smokes on his own, so he just shrugged and produced his unfolded pockets. The four of them seemed to have had their fun and left, but the fox stayed a second to lean in close as his men returned to the cars. One particularly sharp claw came to rest gently just above Tom's left eyebrow. "Now, make a healthy choice, and stay the fuck out of sight for a couple days, okay? You and I see each other again, well--" He slowly dragged the sharp point across Tom's forehead, blood dripping down freely, making him wince a bit. "--You're gonna need one of those fancy blindfolds for when we execute you, since you uh... seem to be out of smokes too. Arrivederci, bambino~" he said, parting ways. "Yeah yeah, au revoir, Simone." Tom grunted, waiting until they'd disembarked before he snarled and kicked a nearby paint bucket across the alley like a soccer ball. "What the fuck is your DEAL, Canada?! I thought this was supposed to be a nice place!" he yelled. From somewhere in the barkyards of a nearby neighborhood, someone shouted in response. "I AM TRYING TO WORK OVER HERE!", it said. "SHUT UP!!" growled Tom, wiping at the blood on his face.
The raccoon was sitting in a miserable distemper while the dryer was finishing his clothes. 'I ought to just spin the wheel again and find someplace else, this town is becoming dangerous.' he thought, halfway thru another drink. He stopped suddenly at the sound of the door jingling, hurrying to move one of his towels over the opened can. A pair of dogs came in, talking in low voices, and Tom minded his own business, having had enough of strangers for one week. They seemed to mind their own business, so it was business as usual. One of them disappeared into the bathroom for a bit, coming out wearing a different shirt, and they proceeded to wash a single shirt. Tom had been on the streets for as long as he could remember, and had seen a furtive load of laundry or two, so lacking any other concrete plans, he got up and pretended to go check his clothes while pointing an ear their way. "...told you to keep it down, ya idiot." the smaller one hissed. "You worry too much, Dale, we're just there to drive anyone who needs it to safety after they corner that lady and tie her up." Already, this was sounding bad, but the raccoon kept incognito for the moment. "Yeah, well that's why they're calling in this extra muscle, this snow leopard's supposed to be a real killer born, y'know? Kinda like you and being so slow and clueless." Dick shrugged and lapped at his coffee again. "I'm just as my momma made me, Dale." "Yeah, well thank goodness she died before seeing this life of crime you've somehow clung to, she'd have died of shame otherwise." snapped the chihuahua, loading quarters into the machine. "Oh Dale, don't say that, she's already mad at me up in Heaven as it is." His partner scoffed and closed the hatch. "Look, I only yell because you never had no friends or family to steer you straight growing up, and I've told you, I'm your big brother! I gotta make sure you're learning and growing up better, yeah?" Dick nodded happily. "I love my big brother." Dale's face was a bit pinker at the cheeks, but he avoided eye contact for now. "Yeah, hey, y'know, it's... nice to be appreciated. Now, take a seat, will ya? Bad enough we're missing out on the fun work over at that construction site up the way, now I gotta hope this stain comes out." he muttered as they headed to one of the plastic benches. Tom was left with a great deal of trepidation: had he just made brief enemies with a trained killer somehow, or was any of this even true? He hurried to pound the rest of his beer, almost getting foam out of his nose in the bargain, bagged up his completed laundry, and left the place without a trace. He was halfway to the Door when he saw some day laborers around a truck by the gas station of his plaza. Once the clothing was carefull scooted into a distant, safe dimensional hideaway around the corner, he sauntered over to them, pretending to throw some trash away. "I don't mean to bother you guys, but do you know which way the big construction site is, just down this road here?"
Kari had been sitting in the parking lot of the campus for about ten minutes, watching the fracas of newspeople and police nearby and really feeling cheated of a decent day of schoolwork. The day was shot for sure, with the media frenzy still stirred up by people posting misinformation online, and news crew remaining on the scene for interviews with the friends or close ones of those involved. Kari looked over at her bag, containing the completed assignment, and felt supremely cheated as she started the car and looked over her shoulder. A bedraggled human face looked back immediately and she shouted in surprise. It was only then she realized it was from outside the car. Some drifter, bedraggled and carrying a backpack that was as weatherworn as it could be, was standing in the middle of the parking lot, looking past her car, then back at her. Something about it felt like the right thing to do, so she got out of the car and approached him. The man began to back away, muttering something. "No no, easy, I'm not gonna hurt you or waste your time, I wanted to ask if you'd seen anything weird recently." At first, the guy said nothing and continued mumbling something, but he paused on a dime and turned to her slowly before taking a huge inhale of her presence. The snow leopard stepped back, looking affronted. "Hey, what the hell?!" she snapped, "I just wanted a damn answer." The homeless man locked eyes with her, speaking very plainly. "He will lead you thru the door, and to places beyond here or there, and I will show you the other side! The OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR!" he said in a rising tone before wandering off incoherently, pulling the backpack into his arms and talking placatingly to it in tender whispers. Kari just got back in her car and looked confusingly at her steering wheel, like it would turn into a giant pretzel or something next. 'There's a lot of weirdos in town today, and that can usually mean something's up.' she thought, going from experience, 'The only problem is for who.. and why?" She rolled the window down and closed her eyes, feeling kind of cooped up for some reason "Excuse me?" "AAA!!" Kari's body moved defensively towards the sound, only to find some kid about 6 sandwiched up on himself to avoid the attack. "Hi? sorry there, kiddo, what did you need, are you lost?" she managed, still oddly on edge. "I'm um, here... this, uh, I got my... there's a letter for, here, there's a letter I got to give you. I have to go." he managed, handing a folded paper to her before hurrying back to a small bike and riding away. Kari almost threw it away, eager to put today behind her, but she groaned and unfolded it for reading. "We know who you are, come alone to the location marked at this address at this time only, make this easier on yourself." An address followed and the feline predator smiled with murderous glee, slowly tearing the letter in half. "Know who I am, do they?" she growled, her grin almost too high, "I sure hope they know what I can do." Before she turned the car around to head home, she carefully pocketed the two pieces of paper. "...dammit, why'd I do that."