Prodigal daughter.

I am squinty and achey today with a whopping hell of a hangover. PJ made me another goddamned drink for breakfast saying it would help but I just teetered away from the table wondering what it would feel like to be sober again someday, if it ever happens again. At this rate it will be sometime in the new year.

2017, I'm coming for you.

At least, I think I am.

I walked right into Sam, and in spite of the fresh booze infusion he put his arms around me and I pointed out we were ten days into the tenth year without Jake and this is a milestone of a different sort. This one really screams MOVE ALONG NOW or stop being paralyzed by his memories, stop playing house (or at least bed) with his best friend and pull your bootstraps up already, Pigalet.

Fuck that. Imma wallow instead. In the mud. Like a piglet. Jake would be so proud. I've done so much with my life. I conquered a whole house full, a whole army full of men who all wondered if they would be the one at some point or another and in the end I made sure a lot of them knew precisely how much trouble I would be. I remained mired in a disaster from a long time ago and I'm still the cause of every bit of strife in my world. I'm still attempting to take on fully half of a bottle of alcohol to save Lochlan/prevent a worser disaster only to end up a disaster in my own right and I still couldn't fight off the Devil with a wooden spoon.

I just need to get rid of this headache. Sam tells me to go crash in his room where it's quiet and since he's going to be back in less than a couple hours he'll bring us some fancy coffee and that, coupled with the nap, will help.

But I am drunk and inappropriate and totally fucking shameless so I crack a joke about something else helping more, since I'll be already drunk and in his bed and he blushes like he's never blushed before and gives me a quick kiss on the forehead before he's gone.

He didn't say no, though, so there's that.

Never going to dry out. Never going to change.

I got it. Lochlan gets to his feet unsteadily from where he sat in the dark thinking, in the garage. A bottle of Glenfiddich keeping him warm in the damp. Rain beats steadily against the windows high up in the door and both ghosts watch him silently from their corners.

Got what? Caleb says from the door, light spilling into the room suddenly from the lamps in the driveway.

A trade for you. I have a trade for you. I'll keep the money if you give me something in return. 

Interesting logic. 

You know what I mean! He's wasted on indecision and pressure. I'm just wasted because I'm small and I've been sitting on the cold floor for three hours sharing the bottle with him while he sorted this out.

What do you want, Lochlan? 

Lochlan staggers forward and stands up very straight. Bridget's soul, he says with a deep bow that almost sends him face-first into the cement. He corrects himself and I am stunned into paralysis.

So you will keep the money if I give you her soul. What do I get out of this arrangement? Caleb is still smiling but I'm too plastered to feel the dread that I should with a look like that.

Whatever the fuck you want, Lochlan says and tilts the bottle vertically into his mouth. It's empty and he lets it slam into the floor, shattering into a million sharp tiny stars.

Caleb smiles generously. If we shake on it, it's a done deal. He holds out his hand but Lochlan walks right past him, out the door, weaving in a slalom course, uninterested in making anything permanent today. It's an idea, one he will most likely regret and thus they aren't technically allowed to agree to anything unless sober. Consent and all that. New rules I wish we had had in the eighties when everything went wrong.

Trying to trick him isn't nice, I scowl at Caleb, trying to be tough because now we're alone and I can't fend for myself like this.

Better run along and put your boy to bed. The point's a dangerous place when you're halfwitted. I'll see you to the door.

Nice, Diabhal.

Indeed, Neamhchiontach. 

Solid scold.

Lochlan got right down in my face, one hand wrapped around my upper arm, the other cupping my chin as he rubbed his thumb across my bottom lip, trying to wipe away the kiss he saw. Caleb doesn't care who sees him touch me.

My knees caved in from the gesture and he held me up.

Too close, Peanut.

(He said the same thing after I stepped into the circle he had drawn in the sand while practicing and a torch knicked my ponytail, singeing the end black. He cut my hair with his pocket knife so no one would ever be the wiser and told me, Too close, Peanut. That's why I draw the line.)

I know. That's why you draw the line.

You're not the one who crossed it. He was. His fingers flex against my skin, tightening without conscious effort and it feels bruisy and tight. He loosens his hold when he sees my face.

Lochlan is newly minted today. The freshest millionaire on the point, because the Devil put his money where his mouth is. And I'm not sure where the money keeps coming from when he said he gave me everything but it just kept coming after he admitted he didn't but he let me play with one tiny fraction of what he actually has and more just keeps rolling in.

We didn't agree to a thing and he went and did it anyway.

But you're not supposed to talk about that and so let's just say conflict is at the forefront today because money makes you feel different, once it's yours. Especially when you never had any before (like we didn't) and then suddenly you do (like we do now). It makes you dream up a list of things you suddenly need. It reminds you of things you want. There's a weird kind of pressure to make it work all the while you expect the weight to lift and it doesn't. It singes the ends of your hair with its expectations and it always feels too close. Too close and you need to leave the line, because you won't trust anyone anymore, least of all yourself.

Right here.

My heartbeat pounds in my skull as he steps closer. He holds my face up to his, cupped in his hands.

Neamhchiontach. Forgive me but this is taking longer than I thought. I want to start to rebuild your trust in me but Lochlan is guarding your heart so closely these days I can't even think about you and he's on my back. So I'm working on his trust first and once I have that under control I can work on you. 

He started off so well before slipping back into devilspeak that I almost believed him. But then he throws in words like control and working on me rather than with me or with us, even and that's how I know he is lying.

This is confirmed within seconds by his smile as he gazes at me. I'm the only one who's even instantly gratified anymore. I swing back against his hold and smile in return and he kisses me.

This is why I never miss Cole, truth be told.

When the only way out is through.

They are talking. That's all. Everything is being put on the table this time, with no lies, no embellishments and no deceit. They're going to work through what they both want from each other and then what they want from me. There's shouting sometimes but no violence. No weapons. No Bridget either. I will be privy to conversations later, whereas right now I am out in the cold.

Well, not exactly in the cold. I'm nice and cozy-warm watching movies with the others all weekend, tucked under PJ's arm. Lochlan checks in every little while or so and appeared briefly today to take me to lunch, but otherwise maybe they're getting somewhere.

Or not.

Don't get your hopes up, he told me anyway.

They're not. 

We got the grifter right but the mark and the shill were mixed up.

Watch them carefully. 

Batman tells me what I already know as I pick glass out of the rain today on the beach. It's harder to see. It's my very own I Spy book. It's a puzzle I will never finish.

I think Lochlan and Caleb have come to some kind of agreement, I think Lochlan is ready to forgive Caleb or at least let him make more concrete amends, I think he's ready to hear the confession and mete out the punishment as he has always wanted to but no one would let him. I think they're getting old. I think Lochlan sees what he didn't really want to see before, which is a genuine and heartfelt attempt on Caleb's behalf to fix this. To fix everything he broke, only Lochlan is hard-headed and stubborn to a fault, and wouldn't listen until Caleb forced him to listen, at the point of a gun. I think we're getting somewhere finally. I think things might be okay.

Of course, it's a good day, so maybe it's all just sleight of hand and maybe it's an illusion and maybe I'm still on drugs and maybe devils don't change their spots and grifters don't give up their games.

This makes me the mark.

“A ship is safe in harbor, but that's not what ships are for.” ~ William G.T. Shedd

(I know you best.)

When I woke up this morning, Ben was lying beside me, turned to face me, smoothing my hair out of my eyes. Smiling that quiet little content smile that he has.

Our boy hit the ground running today, he says. We might have to tie him up to get him through the rest of the day. 

I sit up and Ben explains that Lochlan got up early and went to see Caleb to probably tell him to fuck off. That vague threats parlayed through Bridget weren't going to be acceptable under any circumstances. Enough already.

You went with him? 

No, he whispered all this at me before he even left. 

Did anyone go with him?

Not to my knowledge. 

Ben! Did he come back? Has anyone checked on Caleb? Jesus! You know better! I jump out of bed.

He's an adult and so is Caleb. If they were going to kill each other they could have done it ten times over. Let them sort out their issues with each other by going to the ground a few times. Maybe they can get it out of their systems. 

Someone gets really hurt every time they do this. 

Yeah, but who are you running to save? 

Caleb's bigger-

Yes, and he's the one who somehow holds back and takes the hit. He hasn't hurt Lochlan yet. So I don't worry anymore.

What if he does? You assume a lot but maybe he's waiting for the perfect time. You weren't there when he had his gun out-

Bridget, he's not going to do anything. 

He has a GUN-

Okay, let's go. Because running into a volatile situation when you know things are tenuous is the best plan you and I have ever had. 

No, that was getting married. I'm pulling on yesterday's clothes as fast as I can while I try to be sweet to Benjamin on the fly but he's decided he waited too long. That or opening my eyes just incites fear all by itself these days.

We run to the Boathouse, falling up the stairs to find-

Wait for it-

Caleb and Lochlan enjoying a whiskey out front, leaning against the railing, side by side, watching the sea while they have a quiet conversation. 

The look on both their faces right before the surprise registers at our rush to get to them is victory. Yes, both their faces. Which I see right away and Ben doesn't see at all. 

It's Remembrance Day weekend and I'm going to see the Trews but otherwise I'm going to sit on the front porch in the rain, drinking hot chocolate and eating lentil sprouts and garlic-stuffed olives.

The fun part about the sprouts are that I can stuff my face with a whole package without blinking. August was like 'spread a thin layer on your sandwich like this' and I grabbed a volleyball-sized chunk instead and it was so delicious I closed my eyes as I ate my sandwich. Usually my eyes are wide open so I can appreciate my sandwich. I love sandwiches. You don't know how much I love sandwiches. They're like cake but so much more complex, and also salty and really filling so who has room left for cake anyway?

So if the sprouts are bad for me please do not tell me today. You can tell me tomorrow but not today.

Tangible reality.

You seem more concerned with tattoos than current events, Neamhchiontach. 

He isn't happy at all. Firstly for the surprisingly stark and visible tattoo on my hand, and secondly because he's right. I am more concerned with tattoos than with the state of the world because the world is a terrible place full of bullshit and assholes and I've made my Utopia in spite of it. My American boys gave up their birthrights years ago and became Canadian because of me and we're safe and happy and completely fucking ignorant and I'm pretty sure the Devil is the only one who would have that any other way.

(I don't plan to talk about Outside-World News. I'm busy living Lord of the Flies right here, thanks. We have our own pecking order, our own politics and that's enough to handle on a daily basis. I'm happier without newspapers ninety-nine percent of the time and the one percent I stray from that I always end up regretting sooner rather than later.)

They're my souvenirs, I remind him. I'm not sentimental, truth be told. I don't keep things, per se. Just people. Just thoughts. Just memories all locked up in the zoo inside my head. Sometimes they break loose and go on a rampage. Otherwise I feed and water them, give them toys and let people see them, for a price. Sometimes they eat me alive.

Let me see. He wandered in briefly at the beginning, while Mark drew outlines the other day and got caught up on news but didn't come back after that. He hasn't seen me.

I'm not dressed for-

Let me see, Neamhchiontach. 

I regard him for several minutes without breaking his gaze. I'm in a dress and tights. Combat boots. Sweater. I struggle out of the sweater, letting it drop to the floor and then unbutton the dress, finally letting it fall to the ground too. Tights and underwear remain on. I turn around and wait.

Oh my God. This is beautiful. 

I look at the floor and then lift my arms so he can see what happens when I do a Jesus Christ pose.

I don't believe it. He sees it. Everyone's name has a place. Every last one, scripted into the feathers. Invisible until I raise my arms and then they're horizontal and clearly readable.

My name..

Right there with the rest. 

Bridget-

I drop my arms, turn back around and shrug back into my dress, buttoning it haphazardly, balling up my sweater in my arms, tears of..I don't even know what stinging my eyes. Happy now? I snap at him.

Hey Bridge, I-  Ben walks into the kitchen and stops halfway through his question. Everything okay? 

He wanted to see it. 

And?

He's seen it.

Ben watches us both and kisses the top of my head, telling me he'll be in the driveway if I need him. Caleb nods to him as he passes and then resumes his stare.

I didn't know. 

Right, well, you would have seen it eventually anyway. 

I'm sorry for my tone. I'm a bit on edge since Lochlan has decided to make me wait indefinitely for his decision. 

I think you should probably stop waiting. 

Have you talked to him? 

Many times. 

And? 

I think he should bleed you dry, personally but he wants to take the high road. 

Lochlan and his ridiculous integrity. 

Integrity is never ridiculous unless you don't have any, Diabhal. I say it quietly, cringing slightly. He doesn't like being reminded.

Tell him to come see me when he gets home, then. If he thinks I'm going to languish while he ignores the offer he's mistaken. 

He won't come to you. 

Then I will come to him.

Of course the Roman Numeral for one hundred is C but I have no room left. (Literally or figuratively.)

Mark was back over the weekend. We treat him to comfortable space while he guests around town but mostly he comes to work on me. Last July I got him to tattoo a huge filigree X on my stomach and this week I spent most of my time lying on that tattoo while he worked on my wings. Long overdue wings. He did a beautiful job. They cap my shoulders and extend down my arms around and under other tattoos right to my elbows and make their place behind the cameo on my back and all the lyrics.

I feel complete now. Never thought I would but I also never thought I would be finished.

For funsies he also tattooed LOCH across the knuckles of my left hand. I wanted to forever but I wasn't sure I wanted to be that out-there, since I can hide this entire suit under the right clothing and have a long history of covering everything with makeup for special occasions because I get tired of the stares.

This is out there. It's on my hand. Mark did a beautiful set of very feminine lettering and I love it. I love the wings too. I sat for nine hours total, bringing me to a total of one hundred hours even. So I'm done and I'm beautiful. Finally.