What a mistake.

Add it to the list, Jasper, you complete fool.

It had been an uncharacteristic compulsion that set him on a course towards Tam's place in Canoga Park. He'd had to see her. A need, not a want. He'd convinced himself on the way there that his decision was driven by logic. Tam was the prime suspect in his stepsister's murder. Of course, it was a natural conclusion that he'd want to speak to her.

It was reasonable. Rational. But he'd bungled it, nonetheless, letting emotion stomp all over logic. Nothing he'd said had been what he'd needed to say. He spoke in fits and starts, forcing her to fill in the gaps and guess at what he was getting at when he himself lacked the wherewithal to form coherent sentences.

The worse thing about their exchange was that he'd pressed her to pony up everything she knew when Jasper was the one who was withholding things. Sordid things. It was cruel for him to expect more of her than he did of himself.

And yet he had.

Rage washed over him like he was standing under a waterfall. It soaked him through to the bone. There were so many reasons for this rage and not so many places for him to direct it at. One of the people he loved most had been stolen away from him forever. She had kept things from him, and those things may have led to her death. He needed to figure a way to make this right.

No. That was another dumb idea. There was no making it right unless the dead could be raised.

Now, he'd gone to Tam for answers he suspected she didn't have and demanded them of her anyways. The friction between them could scrub a lasagna pan clean. It wasn't what he wanted but it was always the outcome when he was around her. She'd misunderstood him from the beginning, and he was incapable of changing that trajectory. Now she was involved in Goldie's death. Somehow. Now they both misunderstood each other. All he wanted was to reach common ground and he'd failed to achieve it.

Here he was, storming out of her building, worse off for his efforts. He'd probably scared the crap out of her. Maybe she deserved it. Goldie had called her. She'd gone to Goldie's place, and now Goldie was dead. One action led to the other or it didn't.

Jasper's grandfather used to say life comes at you fast, but right now, Jasper's life moved like one of those dreams he had every now and then where one minute he was lying on the beach and the next he was commandeering an icebreaker in an arctic pass. It made sense in the dream and no sense in waking reality. Disjointed, confusing, but still happening as though it was in real time. Time continued when you wanted it to stop so you could catch your breath. Or reverse it a day. He wanted to control it, to make it move like one foot being put in front of the other, steady and predictable; at whatever pace he chose.

He should never have come here to see Tam, but also, he should turn around and go back in and see her again. It made dream sense but not actual sense. No doubt she wouldn't open the door for him if he knocked on it now. And so, he told her—that dream version of Tam with whom he could speak to with no consequences and no tension—what he needed to say as he climbed into his car and made his way home.

I called you a liar when we met and I stand by that, but Goldie lied to you too. Right from the day you were hired. You had no idea what you'd gotten yourself involved in, Tam Martin.

Dream Tam listened. She wanted to hear what unexpected drama she'd lied her way into.

The deal—the Wanton Cosmetics deal for Lucre. What if I told you there was more to it than shiny lipstick and glittery eyeshadow? Would you believe me?

Dream Tam believed him. But the real Tam—he had no idea how to tell her.

The car ride ended before he could resolve this dilemma. As he pulled into the driveway, a flash of white from his front porch caught his eye. White t-shirt. A woman placing something next to the flowerpot with a half dead plant Goldie had given him and that he kept forgetting to water. He opened the car door and froze. Curly black hair with blond tips. Gold lips.

Dream time returned. Dream time where a dead Goldie stood alive on his stoop and it was normal. Alive Goldie, dead Goldie. In a dream, you could have both versions. And then the dream ended. Jasper breathed in. Realization. Reality.

She wasn't Goldie. Didn't even look like Goldie. This woman was a few years older with a longer nose, thinner lips, lighter complexion, curvier hips.

But her hair...Goldie's cut. Her makeup... Goldie's makeup. This woman was a Goldie Girl then, imitating her idol with a discount store façade. He clenched his fists and stomped towards her.

Rage like a waterfall.

She made as if she didn't see him, stepping off his porch, walking towards the street, and then... hand to heart. "Oh wow, I didn't realize you'd come home."

Of course, she'd realized it. He'd pulled up next to the house, cut his engine, opened, and slammed closed the driver's side door, all within twenty feet of her.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" No attempt at pleasantries. If this Goldie stan got her impression of him from his stepsister's EpiGolds, she was going to be shocked at his ability to be entirely disenchanting.

The woman with Goldie's hair recoiled. "I'm so sorry. You've had a terrible loss. Knowing how much pain you're in, I wanted to leave you a... a care package of sorts."

"I don't take gifts from fans."

"It's a care package, not a gift."

"What's the difference?"

"And you do take gifts. In EpiGold 43, a fan sent you cologne. You opened it and remarked that it reminded you of a camping trip. Goldie laughed and said you'd never been camping in all your life."

Jasper narrowed his eyes. She was a true stan, all right. Not that it mattered now, but Goldie had been wrong. During one of Paul's short lived come to Jesus moments wherein he realized what a shit father he was, he'd chaperoned Jasper's cub scout trip to Camp Trask. Jasper was eight and all he remembered about it was getting stung by a bee and his father flirting with his friend Trey's mom.

"I don't accept gifts or care packages anymore." He stepped onto his porch and reached for the shoebox size package, carefully done up in a golden velvet bow, then handed it to her. "No offense. This isn't personal, it's just that most people who would figure out where my private residence is located and then actually go there the day after my stepsister died and leave an unmarked package for me, well, they're usually batshit crazy. And I swore off batshit crazy somewhere around EpiGold 62. You understand."

The woman's mouth gaped open. She understood. "You used to be a lot less mean."

"And my stepsister used to be a lot less dead. Shit happens, Goldie Girl."

The woman looked to the side, her eyes filling with tears. "I only wanted to ease your suffering. Provide a bit of comfort."

"You're not my type. Again, no offence."

Now her cheeks reddened to match her eyes. "That's not what I meant."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not accepting anything you have to offer. Take your care package and get out of here."

She scowled, but backed away from him. "Goldie would be so disappointed to see her brother treating a well-meaning fan this way."

Snow melting on mountaintops in late spring. Water cascading off a cliff. Rage with few places to direct it.

He moved towards her. "You think you knew her, is that it? Because you watched every EpiGold? Because you read every interview she gave. Got your hair cut like her. Same dye job. Convinced yourself you love everything she loved? Goddamn you sycophantic stans, you're all the fucking same."

He expected her to flinch, but she stood in front of him as he loomed near, gold lips pressed into a tight line. "What about you? You want to believe you knew her too but let me guess... she kept things from you and now you're so pissed off about it, you're about to assault an innocent person over it."

"I'm not going to assault you. But really, are you innocent?" His words already sounded deflated. None of this was fair. Goldie dying, not being able to account for his past mistakes, and now this stranger—a stranger with an advantage over him. She'd watching him interact with Goldie for years while he'd had no way of knowing she existed before today. This was one of the problems with fame: almost everyone knew you, while in comparison, you knew almost no one.

The woman clutched her failed offering to her chest. "What would I be guilty of?"

"Trespassing, for one."

"Leaving something on your porch isn't trespassing."

"You still being on my property after I told you to leave is."

A scowl settled on her lips, like she couldn't believe she had to put up with such foolishness. "It's such a waste of energy to be mad at me. Why don't you take it out on your sister's killer?"

"If I knew who they were, I fucking would."

"I guess there's something about you that's the same as on all the EpiGolds," she said. "You love using that word. Fuck. And now I realize that makes you either unoriginal or angry. Maybe both. What a disappointment." Placing the box on Jasper's lawn, she turned around.

"Hey, don't leave that here. I told you, I don't want it."

She kept walking, curly hair bouncing with each step. "I don't want it either." At the curb, she turned around one last time. "By the way, if you haven't figured out who killed Goldie, you're the last person on the planet to fit the pieces together. Well, maybe you and those worthless cops. See you on the Internet, Jasper."

He stared after her until she'd walked to the end of his block and turned the corner.

In the moments following her departure, Jasper returned to dream time. His phone in his hand. Threads about Goldie and her mysterious, or possibly not so mysterious death, infiltrating his brain. A red box with its velvet gold ribbon tied around it on his lawn, then resting on the console table in his entryway. The front door closed and locked behind him.

His phone with its accusations and tributes and filtered truths placed back in his pocket. A golden bow undone.

Jasper took a deep breath to clear his head before opening the box.

____

Any guesses as to what's in that box? I would love to know what you think!