Ambrose still lies on the floor of the bathroom on the twelfth afternoon of November. The sun sets early, and so Eva is making quick work with the golden light leaking in through the window. She wipes his face with a damp cloth, cold against his still burning skin. Eva leans back on her knees to bring her cigarette up to her lips and take a drag. No one will know, since Ambrose still smells like smoke.

With a comb, she brushes through his hair. In the past week, she has managed his hair more than her own. He always looked put together. Maybe he had some stubble on the rare occasion, but Ambrose was a law student and looked like it. She has a rats nest, but he has moss growing in his hair. The others who watch over him, including Clare, Leo and Ajay, aren't as gentle with his skin.

Audrey certainly is not. She lies in the bathtub, legs hanging over the side and back pressed into the acrylic bathtub. Audrey has taken to counting all of the tiles on the ceiling. In days, she has not left. She has not slept either. Every night, she stirs, inching around just to see if whoever is watching Ambrose has succumb to sleep. No one has, but the longer this goes on, the more they will let their guards' slip.

The others are silly. Ajay would not cut open Ambrose, not even the smallest cut to see if mud seeped from the wound rather than blood. No one else will keep the gunk that they scoop from his insides, always appearing more and more even though he has not eaten or drank in nearly two weeks. No one else will reach into his chest, crack open his ribs, and grab hold of his heart to see if it is beating. He exhales, but never does he breathe in. His eyes have not stopped darting back and forth.

"We made another friend today," Eva whispers to Ambrose, leaning in close to his ear to speak the words. "That's got to more than either of us had together. Maybe even combined."

Ambrose doesn't answer. Of course, he doesn't. Eva sighs and stubs out her cigarette, half burned. She lies down on the linoleum floor next to him, staring up at the yellowing ceiling. Her fingers crawl on the ground until they find his, squeezing tightly to kill whatever thin wriggles in his skin. She turns her head to look over at him.

"I think you'd like them Ro," she shuffles her body in so their shoulders touch. "I really do. Even though they aren't dead."

Inside the bathtub, Audrey plugs her ears. Eva's raspy voice is so grating.

Eva cackles, "I once called you a necrophiliac, but look at me now?"

She turns her head. Despite the cold, her greasy hair sticks to the sweat on the back of her neck. She hopes he is alive, if only because they haven't moved him. Were he dead, it would be so cruel to leave him here. Eva would steal a coffin for him. She once dug up a body for fun by his side. And she would bury him, for his sake.

Eva leans forward and kisses his temple quickly.

~~~

No snow has fallen in days, no rain either, and so the plans for a snow shoveling business have been curbed. It's cold outside, dipping below zero most mornings and only barely scratching its way to above freezing when the sun is at its highest. Already, the sun sets early. Fallon tries to move quickly as she tapes posters to the polls, advertising the service she and Nico are hoping to do.

Rich people don't enjoy walking their dogs in the cold. They've already had one person call this week, and they are going to be walking the dog twice a week. Twenty dollars is more than nothing.

"I need more tape," Fallon whispers.

Este sighs, ripping off some more tape. They pass the long strip to Fallon, who presses it up on to the pole as well. Este shoves their hands back in their pockets. Their fingers feel sticky from the ends of the tape. Eva was supposed to pitch the next, and allegedly final, heist this evening, but Ambrose is still not awake.

This is too easy. Este prefers to plot.

"Has..." Fallon trails off as she wanders. "Did Ajay mention anything more about an apartment?"

Este tries not to laugh. Ajay shouldn't have told anyone he would handle it. The idea is ridiculous. Certainly it would be cheaper than the hotel, which might be lost tonight if Kaia doesn't make enough in tips, but the twelve of them will never cram themselves into an apartment for cheaper. They don't need to sleep, it's just a luxury. They might as well roam the streets.

"Not giving up, are you?" Este asks.

Fallon starts walking again, toward the next pole, "on what?"

"Why are we doing this?" Este's face drops. "We don't need food, or sleep. If it weren't this cold, we wouldn't need a motel at all. The twelve of us could shove ourselves into a single motel room and we'd save more money."

Este's fingers feel stickier.

Fallon hurries her legs, ignoring the pins in her skin from the cold air. There is no choice. All the days are the same, and without sleep so are the nights. Without food, there is no marketed difference between each day and night. If they give up fighting for work, there is no hope of ever living normal lives. Or of living, at the end of the day. If she thinks about it too long, Fallon will curl up in a bed and will never get out of it again. She will feel the black inky bottom of despair again. She cannot let that happen.

It is better to be cold than idle, wandering the streets with chapped hands from the whipping wind and a thirst on her tongue.

"What would you have us do?" she doesn't look at Este.

In the aftermath of Jayce's death, Este had not considered what there was for them to do. He is dead, firmly, solidly. Now what is left of Este? Without the house or the money or the man, what remains? Something with Ajay, who sits next to her as the sunrises after spending the night with Ambrose. Something with Lydia, who smiles with her over bottles of wine, as they both talk about the men they loved without saying their names. Glares spared at Audrey while Este makes food with Kaia. The only connections Este has to this place now are with corpses.

"Get closure and move on?" Este asks.

Having lived here so long, Fallon knows where her apartment with Corrin is. The location is only a ten minute walk. She hasn't gone since the first night.

Fuck it.

She leaves Este and jogs there. Her lungs burn, lips burning as she heaves in frigid breath after breath. The papers slip from her fingers, posters scattering in the wind, but there was only a dozen or so left. Maybe one more. Fallon doesn't give a damn.

The light on the porch of her old apartment building is yellow. Fallon basks in the glow, looking up at the bright light. She won't get back to the motel until much later, and won't feel something even this warm for at least another two hours. She pulls her sleeves down over her fingers. She presses the presses the buzzer for her apartment, number thirteen.

Nothing happens. Fallon presses it again. The speaker clicks on.

"Hello."

There she is. Corrin again. Fallon feels her throat close in. She should let Corrin go. Here, now, should be her closure. And yet she cannot speak.

Corrin is haunting Fallon.

"Hello?" Corrin asks again.

Fallon curls a bit, a pain spreading into her stomach. She doesn't want to scream.

She coughs a bit, lowering her voice before she speaks back to Corrin, "my metronome."

Then, Fallon sprints away.

~~~

Clare presses the palms of their hands into the table in front of them. The stack of papers, stapled together by a lovely librarian who thankfully didn't read the pages, looks thinner on the table. It's everything Clare could put together over the last two weeks, their final stretch of research.

"Staff discount," Kaia whispers, sliding into the side of the booth across from Clare.

She takes a chip and brings it to her lips. They are soggy today and not nearly salty enough. As always, she feels the same flash of anger. Kaia tries to avoid staying at the shift any longer than she must, but the sun is setting and Clare's cheeks are pink despite the thick scarf they had wrapped around their face and the toque which has caused Clare's hair to fill with static.

"Here's everything," Clare pushes the pages across to Kaia.

Kaia doesn't look at the pages, but up at Clare, "what did you figure out?"

"I would've gotten more if I trusted my cop friends to help," Clare begins. "I mean, I could have asked, but if they did kill me and they thought I was investigating deaths again... well, I figured this was better. I even considered sending someone to the morgue to see if your information was in a personal printed file. We've largely gone digital, especially with Jane Doe cases since there's a national registry. It's pretty accessible online though, for people who are trying to find love ones, and there were only fifteen from Chelster and the surrounding area. Two after you, timeline wise, which isn't great since you died about two years ago."

Kaia doesn't interrupt. She shakes out some ketchup, dipping her fries in it. Her nose crinkles, too sweet, but she smiles at Clare.

Across from her, Clare leans in. She grabs a fry too, biting into it. Finally, she swallows.

"Kaia-"

"I'm sure," the words rush out of her mouth. She drops the fry in her hand onto the table and grabs Clare's. Kaia pulls Clare in closer. "I promise. It's not an act or anything. Alright?"

Clare's thumb brushes over Kaia's knuckles. Kaia pinches her knees together, blinking twice quickly.

"Okay," Clare mentions. "Rory and Liam have been together online since two weeks after you died. Within six months, the Reids had moved out of town. Rory and Liam had gotten a place together out in BC by then. As far as I can tell, they've been keeping a low profile. Liam's a logger. He's in photos with friends out at bars. They tag the others but not him. I'm guessing he doesn't want people knowing he's drinking and untags himself, but for whatever damn reason still poses for the photos."

"RORY!"

Someone yells it again, somewhere deep in Kaia's memory. A voice fill with hatred and rage. Not Kaia's voice though. A man's.

Clare stiffens, fidgeting, "there's something else too."

"What?" Kaia asks.

Clare looks over at her, "you weren't... the person who found you dead a few years ago died in the spring. His son wrote a blog post about you. How he wasn't the same after he found you strangled."

Kaia's throat tightens. She can't breathe.

"I'm guessing..." Clare closes her eyes. "Well, I thought you died of blunt force trauma. And you did. But you were also strangled.

Clare digs into their pocket and pulls out the cheap eyeshadow pallet Eva let her borrow. One hand still clings to Kaia, knuckles whiter than the snow which hasn't come again. Kaia clings too. Clare pulls out the pocket. She reaches forward, and tucks hair behind Kaia's ear. She passes the mirror.

There, just behind her ear, faint especially in the yellow diner lights, are red marks in the skin.

"You need to be alive to bruise," Clare says. "I think... well I don't know, but it seems they strangled you, and hit you over the head to finish the job."

"THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"

She hears him yell it again.

"FINISH IT!"

Kaia leans forward, holding onto Clare tightly.

Somewhere out there, her sweet Rory is maybe only alive in the same way Kaia is. Halfway.

"I..." Clare swallows. "I think it would be nice of you to tell the son who you are. I think it would help him. Maybe he could tell your family too, since they don't know."

Kaia bites down on her lip, and then she nods.

~~~

Perhaps Barry has reached new depths of low. This morning, he had to debase himself to begging Eva for money. And of course, she still said no. So, for the better part of the last few hours, Barry has been wandering through Chelster, looking for flowers in the gardens planted by the city. At this time of year, there is nothing beautiful left alive. He resorted to wildflowers.

Then, he walked to where she is buried. He'd remember it anywhere. His head buzzes when he gets close. Knowing what happened to Ambrose, he cannot properly stand on it. From a distance, he stares at her grave and his. Separated by six feet of dirt. Barry wonders if he was even buried here. How little he has cared about his death before now.

His sister must be so devastated. Provided life has been better to her than him, she is twenty now. The same age Lydia was when she died.

He puts the flowers on the ground. As he does, he hums her music.

Once the sun begins to set, Barry turns to go. The distance is quite a way from where he is now. As he walks back, he catches a glimpse of yellow police tape. Barry stops.

He inches to the side, peering through the tombstones to get a better peak. The yellow tape surrounds once spot. Barry moves over walking closer. Eventually, he can see the yellow tape surrounding a tarp placed over a tombstone. The name on it reads Audrey Deetz.

Barry lets out a low whistle. When he walks away, he rolls his eyes. Fucking again.

~~~

While Lydia didn't need someone to help her on a toiletry run, she doesn't complain that Ajay has come along. He carries both bags, which makes her wonder why she went to do it at all. The motel is bleak, unfortunately, especially with Ambrose's body clogging up one of the bathrooms. New shampoo, fragrant, smelling of watermelon and apples might solve it. Lydia bought potpourri, and deodorants, and spray for the air to try to rid his smell.

Ajay breathes in the fresh air. Sure, he doesn't need to sleep, but he's fucking tired. He, Clare, and Leo have agreed that always one of them needs to be in the motel with Ambrose, if not in front of his body. Eva is feral, but no one wants to risk the danger Audrey poses. Carrying heavy bags is a needed break.

"You know," Lydia swallows, glancing at Ajay. "I was afraid of doctors before I died."

Ajay glances at her. He furrows his brow, and then snorts, "really?"

"Yeah," Lydia says. She swallows. "I had headaches before I died. An eye twitch too. If I'd gone to the doctor's maybe I wouldn't have had a stroke."

Ajay never knows who to expect from her, and certainly not this now. All the way there, she asked him to tell her stories about before his death. He shared them. Growing up in Chelster in a town mostly comprised of White people, they had more in common then he thought they would. Even ten years apart, they went to the same high school, frequented the same locations for lunch even if the restaurants inside them rotated whenever a new idiot was foolish enough to try to start a business in a ghost town. They danced around the same spots where there were bushers, had clandestine kisses at the same times of year under the same clouds.

Lydia Darcy is never who he expects her to be.

"You can't know that," Ajay says.

Lydia nods, "yeah."

She hasn't visited Ambrose. A few of them have now. Nico, Este, Kaia, and Barry have all poked their heads through the doorway while Ajay worked. Este would whisper to him and invite him out later. Barry cited morbid curiosity, and Kaia didn't linger either. Of course, Nico offered Ajay tea all night and tried to keep Ajay company but ended up falling asleep. Only Fallon and Lydia have not seen Ambrose this way.

He assumed they were both afraid of death. Maybe Lydia was afraid of him.

"Doctors aren't so scary," Ajay offers. "We're like the rest of you, you know."

"Dead?" Lydia laughs.

Ajay shrugs. He's not dead. He's not.

They keep walking. The wind rustles the plastic bags at Ajay's side. Garbage blows through the empty streets. It's so grey, it's hard to tell exactly at which point the sun sets, but the streetlights are on and it is getting colder.

"Este's playing dumb," Lydia tells him.

"What?" Ajay asks, playing dumb.

"You can tell from the way she stiffens when you enter a room," Lydia tells him. "She's really good at pointedly not looking at you. And Este isn't the kind to be passive towards people she dislikes. The way she ignores Eva is kind of violent. She's not like that with you."

Ajay shakes his head at Lydia and her wide eyes. He bumps into the side of her, and she is so small she stumbles a bit too much. When she catches herself, both of them hold back giggles.

"I don't think I should take advice I love from you, Mrs. Lament."

Lydia snorts out a laugh, the ugliest sound she has ever made.

~~~

She hasn't said anything to him. Este. Not a word has crossed her lips about what she did to her husband, and Nico knows it. Of course, they know no details. Maybe it would be on the news now. Nico would dare risk watching it if they weren't sitting on the bed while Leo microwaves a bowl of popcorn. They have a cable television show that is in its sixth season. It didn't exist when Leo was alive, and Nico doesn't even like it.

Leo sits next to Nico with his back against the headboard. He doesn't listen to the show, but to the bathroom to listen for any violent intrusions from Audrey. After all this time, maybe she won't do something. His fingers are slippery, yellowed from the buttery popcorn. Something is stuck between Leo's teeth. He isn't good at shaking away feelings, at ignoring things that are wrong.

"Hey, Leo," Nico looks over at Leo.

His head swivels, pointedly looking at the television, "what?"

Nico swallows the thought of Este, "you think Audrey's going to do something?"

Leo shrugs, "a bit."

There's no use worrying Nico about it. They are siloing responsibilities. Ajay is medical. Leo is threat management. Clare is investigations, taking over after Audrey's dive. Nico's responsibility is emotional regulation, and so Leo needs to contain himself for Nico. He can't look at Nico too long, or sit next to them while watching shows that Leo likes. He cannot relax, cannot let himself dare to wonder if Nico is awake in the bed next to his. With Ajay up and watching Ambrose at night, Leo sleeps alone. Sometimes, he talks to Clare, who only sleeps half the time. Sometimes, he turns down Nico, who offers to keep Leo company.

"I should tell you," Nico tries not to wince. "Audrey has been dissecting her body still. Or she was, until she's been stuck in the bathroom. I think we should get rid of it before she gives up on Ambrose."

One secret out. One to go. At least. Nico cannot innumerate every secret of theirs. Fallon is depressed. Kaia and Clare are definitely in love and possibly in denial. Este murdered a man, likely with Eva's help since she has more money now and Jayce Rodwell was robbed before his death.

There is a knock at the motel door.

Leo hurries up, leaving Nico colder on the bed. He opens the door. A police officer is on the other side.

"Corporal Sang-Wook," the man says. "Mind if I come in."

Leo's heart races. He swallows, opening the door wider. Nico stares at the officer on the bed, legs curled into their chest. The officer nods at him.

"Is Aircraftsman Chandra here?"

Leo shakes his head. That question is easy. He feels his skin cool, closes in on the information that he is content to let the officer know. It's easy enough. Don't think or look or in any way allude to the bathroom.

"How can I help you, officer?"

The man shrugs, "we're sorry for the delay in your case. We had to call in some out of town folk for the past month, violent stomach bug caught the precinct."

Leo doesn't acknowledge the comment.

"We'd appreciate a list of all the people you've been in contact with," the officer continues. "Now that we are well and able to devote our resources."

Nico creeps up on the bed.

"We've lost touch with most of them," they try not to squeak. "Nico Merrell."

"Lost touch?" the officer glances at Nico for a second, before looking back at Leo. "As I understand it, you are renting three rooms in this motel. Just for the two of you?"

Leo's heart beats in his chest. He and Clare talked about the boys' club they were not a part of. Leo is a queer Japanese man, and RCMP, and the police are good, but there is a chill in his spine. Miko stands in the open doorway behind the officer, crying.

"You can check the other rooms," Leo tells them. "When we left the church, we began less cohesive as a group. I'm not sure that anyone sleeps in any of the other rooms."

All true. All true.

"Ajay definitely doesn't sleep here," Nico agrees, being honest.

"The names I can give you are easy enough," Leo decides on a few, armed in his pocket. "Clare Canosa, Lydia Darcy. We've also got Kaia Jones."

People the officers already know about, and Kaia, a Jane Doe. Maybe she'll be upset later, but she's not a Canadian citizen. It won't be as easy for the cops to get access to her information. Besides, there are several ways to spell Kaia and Jones is generic enough. A name like Fallon Evergreen is too specific.

The cop pulls out a phone. The picture on the screen is blurry, black and white, but both Nico and Leo know the scarf in the photo is red.

"We have reason to believe Ester Rodwell is alive."

"Who?" Nico asks, looking over at Leo.

No Ester Rodwell. Este Del Castillo, perhaps.

"We just aren't sure if she was ever dead to begin with," the officer says. He taps the man next to him. "Is that Corporal Chandra?"

Yes, it certainly is. Even with a blurry face, there is no one else that it could easily be.

"It's hard to make out," Leo says.

The officer puts the phone in his pocket. He grabs a business card a hands it to Leo. And Leo takes it.

"If you figure out a list of names, or see Rodwell or Chandra, do get in touch," the man says. Then, he pauses for a second, holding out a finger. "Audrey Deetz as well."

Leo nods. He sees the man out. The door closes, and Leo rests his forehead against the wood.

~~~~~

Did I edit this one either? No, absolutely not. I just read that originally i had written stabled instead of stapled and that struck fear into my heart unlike any god has ever before. But, I wrote two papers today, so I'm just happy I even scrolled through this to add a note. But, we on track to finish it. Dear God, we are.

I'm already working on chapter 30, but CHAPTER 29. Man, y'all have a thing coming.