Musical men/beds/rooms/you know what I mean.

It's moving day and someone with a death wish woke me up at six this morning. On a Saturday. When it was only twelve degrees, foggy and rainy outside. Without tea being ready or anything so I shrugged into jeans and a hoodie and went all the way downstairs and woke up Dalton and Duncan but Duncan swore and didn't get up so I shrugged and crawled in with and twenty minutes later Lochlan is plucking me out of the warmth and comfort and asking me very sweetly if I can put on the teapot before he skins me alive. Duncan laughs and tells him I make a good hot water bottle and Lochlan agrees and asks him if he'll very kindly get a move on because we have a very busy day.

The very busy day took precisely sixty-six minutes with this many full-size men moving four rooms of furniture and we were done and three of them went to McDonalds and got breakfast for everyone and I've since had five invitations to 'go back to bed' because I'm still sleepy and they wouldn't let me do all that much except the stupid nitpicky things like plug in lamps and reset clocks and remake beds.

Dalton and Duncan kind of love their new space though. More room for them both and they're close anyway as brothers plus they have a separate entrance and a kitchen now so it will mean more independence and privacy though they both promise to still be upstairs most of the time. They both claim they'll be homesick otherwise.

And Sam finally had to show his face to the rest of the world. He hasn't had any more to drink since that night. He hasn't said why he drank that night and he hasn't expressed any interest in God, leaving the house or joining us at the table for any meals yet either. He did however, express profound gratefulness for the return to the main part of the house from the apartment, saying that it feels good to leave the memories behind (I think I know what he means now) and start over, and that he wondered if he should throw a little room-warming party.

Not with Bridget, Loch said, and pulled me in against him.

Sam chuckled but his face didn't share the sound at all.

I'm going to bake a cake and we'll have a house-rearranging party tonight. Part of being a collective is being flexible enough to shift things around as required, and this was definitely required. It brings Sam out of the past and closer to the people who can help him most, and it puts more space between the Poet and the Poem.

I hope they don't mind helping with the laundry as much as Sam did, because it's perpetual.

In lieu of my soul, I'll take theirs.

It's food poisoning and I'm an enabler.

Sam needed a little more time. Yesterday's annihilation notwithstanding, he's not ready to face the world. He's not even ready to face the house and so I've been running interference for him, being his guard dog/nursemaid/bent ear/best friend/imaginary lover and he's said we're going to need a few more grenades to forget these days too as he smiles a bit shyly and reveals a little more of his old self.

I called him in 'sick' to church for a week or two, if he needs a second. We'll see. He probably will, the way he is acting and talking and thinking.

He isn't being Sam. That scares me.

Late at night he asks me not to go. To stay and just talk to him. This weekend we're moving him up to the main level. Duncan and Dalton are going to take over the big apartment downstairs and Sam will take Dalton's room in the front wing on this level so that he's closer, not closed off.

He hasn't let go of me. He's been frighteningly close and closely frightening and I still don't know what set him off.

You did, he says as he smooths my hair back from my forehead as we lie in the dark staring at each other, itemizing faults, cataloguing errors, registering gratefulness that at least we're not as bad off as each other. He landed a perfect sweet goodnight kiss on my philtrum before leaving his whole face there, falling asleep breathing against my skin, hands shaking slightly, heart still pounding ever so slightly, memories still blown to kingdom come.

What does it mean? I had asked him over dinner. I still don't know. Eight year olds aren't very good at symbolism, or conjuncture, for that matter. They're even worse at reading between the lines. Easily distracted borderline grounded mermaids aren't much better.

You'll see. When the time comes. 

What if I miss it? 

You won't. It won't be a lightning bolt, Bridget, more like a slow tide. We'll all know it when we see it. Like a fog of realization coming over us at once and then everything will be okay. Get some sleep. Are you warm enough?

I can't, Sam. I need to go upstairs. 

Maybe just for an hour? Stay until I'm asleep. Please, Bridget. 

I throw my arms around him and settle in. He's so comfortable it's as if I have died here and when I open my eyes next it's daylight and I've missed breakfast and a chance to redeem myself at all but there's not a thing I can do about it now. His face. He looks so happy.

Loch does not look so happy.

Great. Just what I need. Another one. 

(The one thing I've never pointed out is when it comes to the memory thief, I am eight.)

By the time I heard the sound it was too late and it was raining broken glass all around me, black cinders fluttering among the shards almost in slow motion and I looked up to see former windows, now framed in flames. I am transfixed by fire, always, but in this moment Lochlan is nowhere to be found.

The memory thief runs toward me, his face blackened, tie shredded, it's awkward knot loosened and askew. His formerly white shirt is almost grey now with soot and he throws his arms around me as he runs past, pulling me up off my feet, against his chest tightly. I put my arms around his neck and watch the fire get smaller as we get further away from it. Everything around us gets darker but he keeps running as hard as he can. I can feel his heart pounding through his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps and he squeezes me so hard against him that it hurts.

When the fire is a memory of its own he begins to slow and then finally he stops and collapses to the pavement, spilling us both to the road, holding my head in his hand against his shoulder to keep from cracking it open against the ground.

What did you do? I scramble away from him and to my feet, fists tightly curled and walk back twenty feet to watch the flames as they eat everything they touch, including everything I held so dear that I depended on him to protect and keep until a time came when I could relive everything again without it hurting so much.

We're going to reinvent ourselves, Bridget. We're going to start over. No more dusty file cabinets and locked drawers. No more thieves and interlopers. No more substitutions. No more waiting. I burned it all down. 

He sits up, elbows on his knees, pulling off his tie and tossing it to one side. He starts to laugh. I should have done this years ago.

You didn't ask me, Sam!

You would have said no. 

All of that belonged to me. That whole block.

That whole city, you mean. Just wait. The whole thing is wired to go up but I've got it on a time delay. For safety. 

I didn't ask you to do this. 

It was too dangerous to leave it any longer. Someone was going to get hurt.

Who was going to get hurt?

You. Or maybe me. Maybe all of us.

So you destroyed it?

Yes.

And then you got drunk.

Yes.

Why?

This is a huge step but we need to make it now and we need to do it together.

What do you mean?

Just as I ask the question a deafening rumble begins and the ground starts to shake and then an explosion levels my world.

When I next open my eyes I'm lying on the ground on my back. It's daylight and everything is covered with a thick layer of ashes. I can't breathe or hear anything except for an incessant ringing and there's nothing for miles in any direction.  I sit up and Sam is grinning from ear to ear beside me.

It's too late now, isn't it? I ask him.

WHAT? He yells. I CAN'T HEAR YOU. I THINK I MADE THE RIGHT DECISION THOUGH. I THINK THINGS ARE GOING TO BE A LOT EASIER NOW FOR BOTH OF US.

Full frontal disappointment.

Corey sent a huge flower basket this morning by way of apology for his bullheadishness. Looking back I was still ladylike and didn't stoop to his level as much as I probably could have, probably saved only because I am usually loathe to interrupt once the boys get going. I called to thank him right away, I mean this basket could barely fit through the door. I thought we would have to open both. It's got silk butterflies pinned everywhere and has roses just spilling out of it. I've never seen anything so lovely.

The note said,

Mrs. K. I am an ass but the observations hold true. I still love you as you made me famous and I could retire at 40. Don't wreck my friends and we'll call it even if you promise to visit me in the home when I'm 90 and maybe then concede to give me a spongebath. 

Love, 

Corey. 

PS. Loch you love me bitch admit it. 

I don't know how he got the flower shop to write all that but money can buy the most interesting things.

Really, you deserve it. You have put up with a lot. 

And you, not living here, don't know the half of it. 

Sorry, Bridge.

Apologies like this are accepted! I can be bought with flowers. 

Good to know. 

Come for dinner Saturday. Be on your best. It will be cheaper. 

Noted. I'll bring potato salad. 

No, just bring you. 

Okay. 

***

Sam fell asleep last night with every window open downstairs and the heat from the rest of the house sucked down the steps and outside. I went down in five layers to trace the source of the freezing cold and it was like Zathura when I opened the door only instead of seeing outer space it was Hoth. I called out to him and immediately went around closing doors and windows and telling him he really had to learn to batten down the hatches at night because this was one habit of Jake's he didn't need to fall into, especially living at ground level and then I made it to the bedroom door and he's-

Oops.

Still sleeping.

Buck naked. Face up. Half on the bed. Half not except that something is wrong because Sam isn't messy or forgetful or a free sleeper like this and I grab a blanket from the couch in the living room and go back and throw it over him and sit down and yell his name in his face and he stirs so slowly for a brief moment I think he's dead and I lose my mind.

Literally lose it. As in full and utter breakdown right there. Fireworks and demolition from the top of my head to the bottom of my heart and he opens his eyes and it takes a lot of work and then I realize where I've seen that kind of whiskey effort to get out of a blackout before.

Oh, Sam. I thought you were dead but you're just stupid. 

Hard to believe behind his back they call him 'The Mountain'.

And I guess that's why they call it the blues
Time on my hands could be time spent with you
Laughing like children, living like lovers
Rolling like thunder under the covers
And I guess that's why they call it the blues

It seemed like a normal, albeit very tired Tuesday morning. I'm washing endless dishes at the sink. PJ and Ben are sharing the newspaper at the island. Lochlan is trying fix something on my macbook. Sam and Duncan are talking about the weekend. August is stretched out on the couch by the fire, eyes closed. Dalton isn't up yet. Quietish. Elton's on the stereo. My choice.

John comes in from running errands, including taking the children up to school because it's pouring. All hands on deck, he calls and everybody groans but gets up. That means he wants everyone to help do one single trip bringing things inside. It turns a lot of work into a two-minute job.

The second everyone is out of the kitchen he locks the french doors behind them and grabs me in a dance. A very elaborate tango through the kitchen. Just me, John and Elton while he sings the song. I am surprised and thrilled. I love dancing. I love Elton. I love John when he's in these kinds of moods. He spins me past the glass doors while everyone stands there and stares, my arms high above my head and brings me back in, swaying me back and forth in his arms, smiling down at me. He ends the song with me back where I started at the sink and he heads across to unlock the door but before he lets anyone back in, he blocks them.

She needs more fun. More good days. More HAPPY. Got it?

They nod. Loch walks in and pretends to throw a nasty uppercut and John pretends to hit him back but then takes him into his arms and takes him for a waltz around the kitchen too. I turn up the music and we all watch and soon they are all begging for turns and my eyes start to sting just a little because it's so much fun to watch them getting along so well.

Dalton finally appeared and had no idea what was going on but thankfully was a really good sport and got the last dance of the morning.

This can be cult rule #1. Forget the sex parties. I want breakfast dancing.

Teflon Jesus and the pull in every direction except away. Also, Cor, we still hate yer fucken guts. (<--that part was not me, that's Loch).

Hardly three weeks have gone by and Dalton got the call to go back out on the road. I heard him talking on the phone late last night. He's not much of a door-closer and I was in the library so I got an earful. He was quick to convince them he wasn't interested and I went to bed at ease.

Until Corey showed up this morning to try and turn his screws a little more tightly. Dalton doesn't like to be bugged so I didn't mind running interference.

He just got home. He's already given his answer, Corey. 

Ohh. Here comes the microqueen with her decision. No boys off the point. The cult is closed for business, is it? He smirks at me. Asshole. 

We're a cult now? 

Bridget, this is the first and only cult revolving around a woman that I've seen. I'd say there's some quality issues involved with that but yeah, it's a fucking cult. You've got your sex parties, your built-in preachers, your decades of brainwashing, your faithful followers, and your closed-off property. A little recruiting, a lot of rules, no strangers, no peeking, and at the top of the heap is your little fucked-up self. 

Oh my God, Corey, you're so jealous. Stop it. I'm flattered but you're not my type. 

Because my dick would have stuck right out the back of your fucking head, midget. 

Enough, Corey. Dalton isn't in the mood for one of our fights. Corey and I never got along, precisely for this reason. He wants to be here and I have no patience for his egotude.

Sorry, Dalt. I just don't get what it is that keeps you all here. 

Exactly what you listed. Sex parties and decades of brainwashing. Dalton is deadpan and I giggle.

Corey rolls his eyes.

If you change your mind about coming out it would probably be good for you to stay away from Mrs. Koresh here. I think Jake taught her everything he knew and she just picked up the torch after he offed himself. You know why he did that, right? It's because you fuck anything that breathes, Bridget. 

Except you. 

ZING. Love you, Babe. See ya later. 

I hope not. 

Christ, who let him in? Duncan strolls in and I point at his brother.

Dalt! 

I didn't think he'd be that big of an ass. 

It's Monday. Of course he is. All of the weekend hope is gone. It'll be back around Thursday. They laugh but I'm crushed. We are a fucking cult.

I'm not too crushed though. I'm so glad I can keep Dalton home for the summer and away from that crap.

The movie by myself.

Lochlan broke his shiny new rule first thing this morning when we went to the theatre to see Warcraft (Sunday is a good time to see a movie because hardly any one goes and Ben doesn't get harassed at all) and at the last minute I bought a ticket to see a different movie.

I don't actually play video games much (you have been left behind) so I got myself a ticket to see Me Before You.

Which was not a funny, sad romantic comedy chick flick like what I thought it would be, even having read the controversy in the paper, knowing the main character wanted to off himself because he felt his life was not worth living. It sounded a little heavy. It sounded perfect, because let's face it. I like my life a little heavy.

I left the theater unable to breathe. Only because it was a real kick in the arse. A punch in the face. Live boldly indeed. Their relationship was neither trite nor predictable, the story was neither cheesy nor hokey and it was well worth the thought parade and the unhappy ending. I loved it, I loved that it made me think and I loved that it made me smile and cry at the same goddamned time. It's far far deeper than you would expect and way less fluffy than it probably should have been been and very very good. It should almost be required watching, in this day and age with our grand debates on euthanasia and perhaps on how to compromise in relationships too.

I think I had a better time than the boys did (their reviews of Warcraft were the following: Awesome! So cool! and Amazing!) and I'm also a full-fledged card-carrying grownup because I've been to a movie alone.

I didn't get mugged or anything. I ate a whole popcorn without having to share, which may have been a bad idea. I didn't eat anything else yet this weekend because I am still full from it but yeah, good movie.

Really, really good. And so very sad. But so very good.

Rule.

Two days later and everyone remains disappointed in me, Claus is 'deeply saddened' and the majority blame Ben for that one time when he said he really really liked watching me fuck other people.

He. wasn't. even. there.

He's also really mad at me, for the record. Mostly because once again the back of my skull features a really large human bite imprint that really fucking hurts when I touch it and my hips show a set of bruises in the exact shape and size of Caleb's fingertips. Neither Ben nor Lochlan ever leave a mark, but with Caleb it's a hallmark and nothing has changed.

And two days later I have apologized to no one. I am a package deal and it's a difficult package. Comes with a ghost or two and a fucked up feral freak of a girl and I make no bones about it. They all know up front what to expect so don't be surprised when what you see is exactly what you get.

And Ben falls off the wagon two, three times a year. I fell off it for the first time ever and it took a bite out of my head and told me it loved me, fucked my heart out and shoved me back across the driveway into loving arms. Seems to me I'm doing pretty good.

Is that what you call it? Pretty good? Jake has that disapproving smile on his face as he steps into the light in the garage. The smile that means he still wants to be polite but can't stand to be, either. 

Can you look after Cole for me? 

I always do. He isn't easy though. 

I know but thank you. I appreciate it. 

For how long?

Eternity. 

Bridget-

That's the deal. Or until I get there. Then I will take over and you can be done. Soon, okay? 

I turn to leave and smash right into Lochlan, who has added horrified to his tired, pissed-off, fed-up expression. Bridget, what in the hell do you mean by that-

Nothing. I'm just trying to placate him, that's all.

What do you mean by soon?

Nothing, I just meant until I'm dead. 

You said soon. That means shortly.

Loch, I don't-

That's enough. This ends right here. 

He took my hand and kissed the back of it and said I stray no further than the length of his arm for the rest of my life and if that was a problem, well then too fucking bad. My first thought was easy and my second thought was really freaking dirty and awful but I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Or..

Uh...

Indemnity.

Mama, ain't the blood just proof I'm human?
Mama, ain't the wound just retribution?
Well Mama, ain't the scar like a vision of grace?

I found Cole, in the fog, in the rain, in the waves crashing against the cliffs, in the concrete room where I keep my memories of him, in the mannerisms of his older brother, so much like him and yet nothing like him now because his heart beats an unsteady rhythm like the rain did just yesterday. Just for me. Just long enough for me to find purchase on the wet earth and then I was sent home in the dark to make my penance proper because as the Devil said it serves no purpose any more to use the living to visit the dead.

He didn't mean himself. He meant August because for as much as I can find Cole in Caleb I can find Jacob in August but this entry today isn't about Jacob and it isn't even about Cole. It's about a six month break that ended yesterday with a crash against the shore that signaled a truce of sorts. I offered my body and he offered a ghost. I took all of my fear and anger and put it on him and he took it and wore it and wept from it and let it eat him alive and let it wear on him and finish him off and then he let them devour him whole with their rage and let their fists connect with him and their words strike him down and he rode on through the dangerous night with me in his arms and he promised things would be better and I wouldn't have to hate him anymore and we won't have to be enemies and he said he was trying to protect me too and he was trying to fix things and all men are selfish if you give them the chance, Bridge, not even one of us is different and in the morning things looked better. The sun came up and I could catch my breath. He slept uneasily beside me, that uneven beat still thrumming through what was left of the night, a song no one knows anymore because it's unfamiliar, words we've never heard and I realized I don't hate him anymore. The only difference is like everything he doesn't do anything halfway. It's all or nothing, every time. That's what makes this so difficult for him, is that he is forced to be the bad guy, the ghostkeeper, the past.

I still don't see a future, I tell him over cheese toast.

Look harder. It's there. You weren't taught to be short-sighted, he says, and he drains the rest of the coffee in his cup, kisses my cheek and leaves the room.

"It takes a man to make a devil." -Henry Beecher.

I want you to know
All is blacked out but continues to grow
I need you to see
Nothing can change unless you believe
I won't let it go
I'll stick to the plan
We're deep in the throes

I won't let it go
I'll fight til the end
And then you will know

Who will save you now?
Who will save you now?
Tell the world I'll survive
Who will save you now?
Who will save you now?

Alone with this vision
Alone with this sound
Alone in my dreams
I carry around

I will not take from you and you will not owe
I will protect you from the fire below
It's not in my mind
It's here at my side
Go tell the world that I'm still alive

This morning every breath washes over me in panic. Every step feels like it's weighed in concrete and every breeze across my skin is raw. I can't find a way to distract myself or soothe myself from this feeling. Nothing is working. Sam isn't home, August and PJ are both out. Loch and Ben are both working and I'm supposed to call Christian or Danny if I need anything and instead I'm climbing the walls. Duncan and Dalton are both home and asleep and I don't dare wake up either one with a psychic crisis because Dalton will suggest we do something constructive and Duncan will suggest something destructive and I don't want to do either of those. I know a surefire way to calm myself but he is evil and forbidden and maybe exactly what I need right this minute because I can't breathe and all I want is Cole. Sometimes it's nice when the grief can hurt just a little bit less. Sometimes it's nice when you can still touch a ghost long gone.