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Chapter Text

Prologue

For one fleeting moment, everything was going exactly the way it was supposed to.

 

Her back against the wall, body pinned beneath hers, sharp edge of a knife pressed against the slender column of her throat  This was the end, and she couldn’t have written it better. 

 

Only, she couldn’t bring herself to meet her gaze, eyes fixed instead on her own knuckles, white from the strain of the grip she had on the knife’s handle, immobilized by the way her chest brushed her arm with each uneven rise and fall. 

 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. 

 

“Go on, then,” she enticed, voice low and velvety as her fingers wrapped around the blade, drawing it tighter against her throat. “What are you waiting for? This is your big moment, isn’t it?” She watched, mesmerized as the blade split her skin, merlot rivulets of blood trailing down her neck. 

 

“How are you not scared?” she managed to grit out, body thrumming with that vague, urgent need that she was dying to give into. Still, for whatever reason, she couldn’t move.

 

“Why would I be scared of you, hm? You can’t even look at me,” she hummed, shoulders shifting against the wall. She could practically feel her gaze tearing into her as she waited, hands still resting on the blade of the knife, a silent dare. “Come on, Victoria, there’s no reason to be bashful now!” 

 

She took a moment to steel herself before finally looking up, breath catching in her lungs. The flickering light of the candles shifted the amber of her irises to a shade closer to crimson, eyes heavy lidded, a small, smug smile tugging at her crooked mouth. She couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling that she was something other than human, a beautiful monster dripping in finely embroidered fabrics and someone else’s blood. She impatiently tapped her foot against her ankle, gaze never leaving hers. 

 

“Well?” 

 

And the knife slipped from Victoria’s fingers, clattering to the floor. Alice’s eyes flashed with amusement as she looked from the discarded knife to Victoria’s slowly retreating figure. “Oh, delightful. I knew you couldn’t do it!” 

 

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

 

“A bit late for that now, isn’t it?” she mused, voice dripping with faux sympathy, kneeling to retrieve the knife. As her deft fingers wrapped around the handle, there was a shift in the atmosphere, air humming with the faint sound of sputtering static, Victoria’s vision blurring. Her heart picked up speed in her chest, floor tilting below her feet as Alice took a step towards her, knife glinting in the dancing flames. She smiled at her almost sweetly, head tilting to the side, shadows distorting around her. When she spoke, her voice was fuzzy and crackling, but it was also the clearest thing Victoria had ever heard. 

 

“Run.” 

 

 

 

 

 

Before I'm Brought to Ash

 

There was a voice coming from the radio. This, on its own, was not unusual. Radios were notorious for broadcasting voices- that’s sort of their whole thing. What the voice was saying was also nothing of note. 

 

“You are not alone.” 

 

A sweet sentiment, really. Something a late night DJ might announce before playing a sappy lovesong. Under normal circumstances, this would be background noise and nothing more. But these were hardly normal circumstances- one only needed to briefly scan the room to understand that much. For one thing, there was the state of the walls- Alice had tried her best to keep the blood spattering to a minimum this go around, but alas, she’d always had a bit of a tendency to get carried away. Stranger than blood trailing down old cabin walls, than ravaged corpses strewn over plastic tarps, than blouses that surely needed replacing now (what a bother), was that this radio was dialed into a station that usually only picked up static. Despite this, the voice emanated, distorted and crackling though it might be. Only that final word cut through crisp and clean, trilling in a pleasant sing-songy cadence. 

 

“Y o u  a R e  n o-ot  aloooonnee!” 

 

And maybe that would be enough to send some other weaker person running. Or, at the very least, be enough to prompt them to make their way across the creaky cabin floor and unplug the machine. Instead, Alice rested her knife on the plastic tarp underfoot, smiling up at the radio politely- she had put a lot of work into obtaining this visit, and she wasn’t about to squander it with a bad attitude, even if the hairs along the back of her neck were standing on end. The pitfalls of being made of flesh. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t scared, the entity’s presence never failed to send a shiver down her spine, flooding her with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. The milk-stained pair of eyes staring dully up at her did nothing to ease this tension.

 

“Finally done ignoring me, hm?” she teased, courteously stepping over the body, trailing down a path of flickering candles as she made her way to the chair by the radio. She rested her chin on her palm, the relaxed posture of a girl gossiping on the phone with a long distance friend. In a way, wasn’t that exactly what this was? 

 

“Please, dear, you know I’ll always come back for you. You're my favorite little pet- just don’t let the others know I said that,” the demon laughed. Her voice was still distorted by a veneer of static, though she had at least managed to properly tune into the signal now, losing some of that jilted choppiness. Alice rolled her eyes, poking the radio with a crimson-tipped index finger.

 

“You’ve been dodging me for some time now, I was starting to grow worried. Especially seeing as I do so much for you,” she appealed, gesturing to the blood spattered room with the well-earned pride of an alley cat touting a mangled bird in its jaws. 

 

“Ha! Oh, ya never fail to make me laugh, darling. We both know you’ll take any old excuse to get your hands dirty. Don’t try putting the blame on me. Where’s the fun in that?” Alice pursed her lips, sparing a glance down at her blood-stained hands.

 

“You have a point!” Still, it did nothing to quell her annoyance. 

 

“So, what’s the news? What’s got ya barkin’ up my tree again?” 

 

“Maybe I just missed the sound of your voice. Is that so wrong?” Alice teased, figuring it didn’t hurt to butter her up a little. Her mistress wasn’t cruel in any of the obvious ways, but she knew she took pleasure in watching her struggle. Alice was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them. 

 

“Aw, Al, you sly little charmer, you. And here I thought you were a curious cat. C’mon, ya really not going to pick my brain about our new little friend?” Alice stiffened, lips pursing. Of course she knew. 

 

“Fiiine, fine, if you insist, I suppose we can talk about that sloppy little idiot,” she tsk-tsked, cutting a sly glance at the radio. “What do you know of our ‘little friend?’” She did really need more details- she could hardly allow someone else to hunt on her property. Two bodies found in the span of so many weeks- and big names, too. Whoever this killer might be, he wasn’t even trying to hide. Now, every officer in town was on edge, staring a little too closely at every passerby, noting anything even a hair out of the ordinary with narrowed eyes, their calloused hands resting on their silly batons. Annoying. The last thing she needed was to get caught because some other little show off needed attention. 

 

“I know that I don’t know them!” Rosie cheered, which was a bit of a nothing statement, but at least served to clear up some details. They weren’t one of hers. That was comforting, at least. 

“Anything else?” She was trying very hard not to sound impatient, brows skewering as she waited for a response. 

 

More static. 

 

Great. 

 

Something else snagged her attention- she had been assuming this new person was a man, just by the merit of, well, most people who kill people are men. But Rosie had specifically said ‘them’. Vague. 

 

“Is this person a man or a woman? Surely you can tell me that at least, can’t you, darling?” 

 

“I can tell you that I think the two of you would be very good friends. You already know that you have something in common!” 

Alice fought back a frown, idly sucking the blood off of one of her fingers as she contemplated her words. The coppery taste of it helped ground her. She knew that she was being purposefully unhelpful- not that she had been expecting much from this conversation anyway, but she had to start somewhere.

 

“Are they a local, or a transplant?” 

 

“This one seems to be a bit of a free spirit.” So, they travelled often. That was helpful, even though she had already suspected it. 

 

“Part of that flighty troupe of elitists that’s taken over Bourbon Street?” Both of the victims had been part of the cast and crew of the ridiculous movie that was being filmed downtown- if the killer took out the rest of them, then perhaps they could be friends after all. Those clowns were really screwing with her morning commute. 

 

“You already know the answer to that, don’t you, Al? You’ve always been such an astute little whippersnapper. You don’t need my help,” she oozed, and Alice felt her lips thin into a terse line. “I think this is good for you. Get out there! Go find them yourself. Make a friend that you don’t have to commit sacrificial murder to communicate with- though, you know I do love our little talks.” 

 

“We’ll have all of the time in the world to talk once I’m in hell, I suppose,” she mused, arching a brow at the radio. So, she had gained at least one sliver of knowledge: whoever this asshole was, they were part of the movie. And, based on Rosie’s insistence that she befriend them, it would almost certainly be someone she would despise. That hardly narrowed it down, but…it was a start, at least.

 

“We sure will!” she cheered, and Alice felt a familiar pressure against her shoulder, the weight of a hand that wasn’t really there, invisible fingers pressing against her flesh. She shuddered, eyes flickering shut, entire body flooded with pinpricks of static. The speakers gasped out one last distorted burble before the feeling evaporated. 

 

“uNTiiill nEXT tiime!” 

 

There was a sharp pop of relief, like water being cleared from an ear, and Alice finally relaxed, contemplating the corpse with a small smile. She hadn’t given her much, but she’d made meals out of less crumbs. It was time to get to work. 

 

. . .

 

Three Months Prior

 

The fifties were a peaceful era, a time of resettling after years of warfare and poverty (or whatever it was that normal people had been going through in the forties.) Men returning to reclaim their old factory line jobs from their wives, wives returning to pumping out babies and experimenting with tranquilizers, politicians doing boring political stuff like signing peace treaties and smuggling Nazis across the border to do more science experiments, but for the good guys this time. Whatever.  All that really mattered was that Hollywood was THRIVING, and so was Victoria Whitman. 

 

Everything about her was undeniably perfect- her mansion, nestled in the Hollywood hills, her spotless career lined with stellar roles and more themed merchandise than even the most dedicated fan could keep track of, her obedient inner circle of beautifully wilting starlets and filthy rich socialites. Everybody loved her. She truly couldn’t ask for more. 

 

She lived her life by a strict regimen, awaking every day at 5am, SHARP, no excuses. Feet on the ground immediately, no time to wallow under her warm comforter. The first thing she felt was plush carpet crushed underfoot. Deep indigo, of course- she’d never been one for blushing pastels. Her first hour was spent in solitude, even the servants ducking from view. This was her only true alone time (aside from the time spent sleeping, which hardly counted). She took advantage of it, reclining in her in her shiny kitchen, skimming over the newspaper as she sipped her first cup of coffee for the day- two spoonfulls of sugar, a dash of cinnamon, enough cream to color it a rich shade of caramel. She’d always had a sweet tooth. 

 

From there, back to her bedroom for wardrobe, hair, and makeup. Her stylist knew what she liked, but he still always asked her opinion, even when she snapped at him about it. She secretly appreciated that about him- she didn’t need her employees making assumptions about her. She liked feeling unpredictable, even if she was committed to her branding. She wanted to look sharp- tailored pantsuits, knife-edged eyeliner, cheeks and lips left bare aside from dabs of concealer to correct any discoloration. She may not have the soft, rounded beauty that her girls possessed, but she knew she was striking, and that was far more important in her line of work. She certainly always left an impression. 

 

After she was coiffed and curled and preened to perfection, it was on to the day’s activities- gathering her girls, making sure everyone got where they were supposed to, monitoring movie sets, managing managing managing. At night, her talk show (though it was the off season right now, so that gave her a bit of a break), and then she showed her face at whatever party or gathering was being hosted that night. It didn’t matter if she was tired- it would be uncouth not to at least pop by. The people needed her, and she needed them to keep needing her. It was an uphill battle, yet she persisted. That’s just show biz, baby. 

 

. . .

 

It was yet another idyllic, sun-kissed day when the executive head of her production company paid her a visit. This visit, of course, was planned- she would never entertain someone dropping by unannounced. She was a busy woman, after all. She had received his phone call a week prior, and had spent the morning setting the scene. Her girls in classy, perfectly tailored swimsuits, lounging about the pool, cocktails coordinated to match their pre-assigned color schemes held in perfectly manicured hands. Her mansion was a movie set, and she was the director. And this morning, everything looked perfect, except for one glaring error. Her mismatched eyes narrowed into slits as she made her way over to correct this mistake.

 

“Bellamy!” she scolded, swatting the back of his head. Bellamy was a man, but he was also one of her girls- being one of Victoria’s ‘girls’ was not really about being a girl at all. It was a title for a highly desirable career. As a job listing, it would read ‘Are you conventionally attractive, desperate, and willing to uproot your entire life? Do you contain even an iota of talent when it comes to acting or singing? Do you desire becoming set-dressing for a very successful star’s ginormous mansion? Well, pack your bags, sweetheart, you’re going to Hollywood!’ She found them at castings or stand-up gigs or beauty pageants, and swept them away. They devoted their lives to her (naturally, who wouldn’t?) and in exchange, they got a roof over their heads and a little help booking actual jobs. She had gained a bit of a reputation for having a good eye when it came to these things, and by now, nearly every casting director was eating directly from her hands. It felt good to be on top. 

 

“What did I do wrong?” Bellamy whined, turning to glare at her over his tanned shoulder. 

 

“I thought I’d paired you with Elaine,” she frowned, squatting down to his level to glare at him more efficiently, “Why are you alone?” He and Elaine made a striking couple, what with his raven hair and oil spill eyes and her striking platinum locks and petite figure. Sure, they might hate each other, but they’re actors- they could make it work for the public eye. And then, a few years down the line, they would have a tragic breakup, and they would sell MILLIONS of headlines about it. Romance and its foils were easy money. 

 

“Elaine is sick,” Bellamy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Again.” 

 

“I’m sorry, what?’” Victoria huffed, tossing her face up to the cloudless blue heavens. 

 

“She said she was-”

 

“No, no, let me get this straight. She’s too sick to SIT BY THE POOL and cuddle with an attractive man for an hour? What does she have? And if it’s anything less than fucking tuberculosis, she’s finding a new place to live.” 

 

Bellamy smirked, leaning back on his palms. “‘Throat sniffles,’ she said.” 

 

Victoria’s eye twitched. “Fucking… ‘throat sniffles?’ THROAT SNIFFLES? What. The. FUCK! Are THROAT SNIFFLES?” she snatched the mojito from his hand, throwing it across the patio with a muffled scream. Her girls were watching her with varied expressions- this was not an uncommon display. Some looked worried, some angry on her behalf, Bellamy looked like he was trying really hard not to laugh. “How does a throat even sniffle? That’s not a thing. Dumb bitch, couldn’t even make up something real. I hope she enjoys sleeping in, because when she wakes up…” Victoria took a deep inhale, steadying herself before fixing Bellamy with a charming grin. “Good news, Bellamy! You get a brand new girlfriend! I might even let you pick this time. Fucking ‘throat sniffles’...she was never going to make it in this industry, anyway.”

 

“Can my new girlfriend be Louise?” he asked, a bit flippantly. Ann was already shoving a new mint green mojito into his waiting hand, the other Anne frantically sweeping the broken glass from the deck. 

 

“Ew, no,” Victoria sniffed, shooting a glare at Louise, who immediately deflated, averting her gaze. “The two of you look like siblings- people will HATE that. Incest is only hot when royalty does it.”

 

Someone tapped her shoulder, and she shot a cool look back, finding Ann (or was it Anne? She could never tell them apart), watching her with wide eyes. “What do you want?”

 

“Bob’s here,” she squeaked nervously. Perfect. Just perfect. 

 

“Aaand, we’re rolling! Places, everyone,” she clapped, leaning closer to Ann(e), “Make yourself scarce, dear. Rich people don’t like seeing the help.” Ann(e) hiccupped nervously before darting away. She appraised the deck one last time, satisfied to find that everyone was where she wanted them to be (except for Fucking Elaine. Ugh.) She made her way to the cabana, gesturing Janet over. 

 

“Be a dear and go escort our guest to the patio?” she demanded, and Janet rolled her lovely eyes, propping a hand on her scarlet swathed hip. 

 

“Why does it always have to be me? What if I’d rather stay here with you for once, did you ever think about that?” 

 

“Always with the attitude,” Victoria chided fondly, glancing around the patio before reaching out to twirl her closer. What could she say? She’d always had a soft spot for the defiant ones. “Have I not been giving you enough attention lately, is that it?” she purred, and Janet pouted, brows lowering. 

 

“I was supposed to be FAMOUS by now, but all you’ve managed to do is land me a few nothing roles. I mean, Waitress Number Two, Victoria, REALLY? Do you want me to be a star, or do you want me to be your unpaid hostess?” 

 

Victoria frowned, pushing a stray hair behind Janet’s ear. Making her famous was a bit more of a challenge than expected. She was a knockout for sure, and by far the most talented of her lineup, but she was…unrefined. Difficult. And a bit pointier than the current look called for, which was hardly her fault. Personally, Victoria liked a woman with angular features (not that she was biased or anything). 

 

“You remind me of myself when I was first starting out. And look at me now!” she cheered, squeezing her shoulder. If looks could kill, Victoria would be a smoking pile of ash. “Aw, c’mon, don’t give me that look, Jan. You just have to keep climbing, baby, you’ll get there. And maybe learn to smile a bit more. Can you give me a smile?” The twisted grimace Janet gave her was nasty enough to rend skin from bone. Victoria pinched her cheek, grinning down at her. “We’ll work on it! Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll be famous in no time. And depending on how this meeting with Bob goes-”

 

“So he IS here to pitch a movie, hm?”

 

“Of course, why else would he be here? We were hardly going to play cards,” she scoffed, and Janet arched an elegant brow, crossing her golden arms over her chest, scowl melting away as she considered her. “So, I need you to be on your best behavior. Do what I say, smile that rare charming smile, and maybe, if everything goes well today, you’ll land a role that’s actually worthy of your talent,” another searching glance over the patio, but no one was watching them. Good. She grabbed her hips, leaning down to murmur close to her ear. “And maybe I could find a little extra time, just for you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She didn’t even have to see her face to know that she had her, she could feel the tension melting from her body under her hands. 

 

“Fine,” she relented, pulling away from her, “I’ll behave. But you’re making it up to me later.” And she grinned at her in a way that at least looked genuine, light dancing in her eyes, shoulders rolling back into place. 

 

“That’s what I like to hear!” Victoria cheered, lightly shoving her towards the door. “Now, go grab Bob. Let’s get this meeting over with!” 

 

Show time!

 

. . .

 

“I’m sorry, you want me to move where?” 

The meeting with Bob had been going swimmingly. He pitched his movie- a Film Noir ‘whodunit’ kinda pic about a small-town detective. Janet was an easy pitch for the femme-fatale- all of the things that made her hard to cast as a naive girl-next-door lent themselves easily to a more seductive role. Done. And everything was perfect! 

 

…Until he announced that they were going to be filming on location. 

 

“Not MOVING, Miss Whitman, cut the dramatics,” he scolded, and her jaw tensed. She hated being called ‘miss’. And being told what to do. And the four little silver hairs growing above Bob’s upper lip. Just looking at them pissed her off. “Just three to four months, you’ll be back in time for the next season of your show! And I know you love to travel.”

 

“New Orleans, Bob, really? You know I loathe the south.”

 

“But New Orleans is classy! Very French. You’ll love it!”

 

“I also loathe the French.” This was true, but admittedly, she was more put off by the wet heat of the south than she was the potential of encountering croissants (or whatever it was they had in New Orleans). Her hair was going to be a nightmare to maintain in that humidity. 

 

“C’mon, Miss Whitman, having your name tied to a film like this would be groundbreaking. It’s prime Oscar-bait. You haven’t been involved in anything this promising since-”

 

“Watch it!” she snapped, crossing her arms, “I’m still in my prime, Bob. Don’t make me out to be some washed-up has been.” 

 

“I know, I know,” he assured her, grinning easily, “Of course I know. Why else would I come to you?” he let out a low whistle as he skimmed the patio, swirling his gin and tonic with a thin straw. “You really have been killing it lately. Whatdya say we keep the ball rolling? Produce the biggest film of the year?” 

 

She cast a wary glance at Janet, who’s hands were folded under her chin, expression all gooey and pleading. “This could be my break out role. What’s a few months in the south?” she appealed, and Victoria pursed her lips, considering it. 

 

“I’d need something more private than a hotel room. A condo, at least. And…fuck! I have to bring my son, he’d die if I left him that long. I don’t trust anyone else to watch him.”

 

“Your…son?”

 

“YEAH! My son. Dusky?” when Bob still looked confused, she rolled her eyes, gesturing to the privacy fence marked with a very obvious, ‘Private Property: BEWARE OF DOG’ sign. 

 

“Your…dog? I mean, that should hardly be a problem. What is he, a chihuahua? Pomeranian?”

 

She felt the little vein in her forehead pulse. “What about me makes you think I would own a fucking chihuahua? He’s a Cane Corso, Bob, have some respect. For me, and for Dusky.” 

 

“A…Cane…Corso,” he strained, eyes bugging out of his head, “You want to bring a Cane Corso to a rental property?” 

 

“Uh, yeah, Bob. He’s very well trained. He only bites when he’s told to,” she snapped, the last sentence slipping out as a threatening growl. She wasn’t caving on this one. 

 

“We’ll make it happen!” he cheered, a bit warily. “Anything else?” 

 

“A/C. I need A/C. None of that ‘open a door and a window’ bullshit.”

 

“Got it,” he cheered, pushing to his feet. “Well, if that’s all-”

 

“I’m assuming legal will be by with the contracts by the end of the week?”

 

“By tomorrow,” he assured her. 

 

“Stunning,” she sighed, waving him away, “I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.”

 

“I’m sure you will.” 

 

After he was gone, she glanced back at Janet, who was practically wiggling with excitement. 

 

“YOU DID IT!” 

 

“No, darling, we did it,” she cheered, toasting her. “And the only con is that we have to go to New Orleans.” 

 

“I think it’ll be fun!”

 

“Totally.”

 

So, so much fun. 

 

Chapter Text

New Orleans was about as hellish as Victoria had expected it to be. Her first week there, it had rained nearly every day, which made her terribly homesick. It almost never rained in LA. She hated the way it stung against her skin, made her hair nearly unmanageable, sunk through the soles of her shoes so that her socks became a colder, shittier layer of skin. On top of that, the rental house they had set her up in was beyond old. There was a sprawling yellow spot of water damage in the ceiling that leaked little droplets of water in unrhythmic ‘plink-plinks’ throughout the night. She had to fight Dusky to make sure he didn’t lap up the rancid water from the puddles it created, and he was a very strong, very determined boy. Then, of course, there were also the murders- like all of that hadn’t been bad enough.

Victoria had tried really hard not to make a habit of murdering people. Really, she had! She was charming, and wealthy, and surrounded by enough support that she hardly needed to resort to bloodshed anymore. It had been a useful crutch when she was starting out, but she had gotten what she wanted out of it, and now, if anyone did dare to get in her way, she had guys who could take care of them for her (both legally and…not so legally). So imagine how shocked she was when she found herself covering up two separate murders within merely weeks of stepping foot out of Hollywood.

The first death hadn’t been her fault, but it was, unfortunately, her problem. After the first day of filming, she made her way to the hotel room Janet had been stashed away in, a bottle of wine and a bouquet in arm- a strictly professional ‘Congratulations on Your First Day of Filming!’ gift, naturally. She was standing outside her door, searching her pockets for the key, when she heard something interesting. The distinct sounds of an altercation floated through the thin wood, breaking glass followed by a dull thud-thud as someone tripped over themselves, accompanied by a voice she couldn’t place- masculine, gruff. She arched a bow, pressing her ear to the door curiously.

“Get the FUCK off of me!” Janet, clearly.

“Don’t you ever shut the fuck up, you dumb bitch?” The unidentified man. Victoria’s eye twitched with annoyance. Janet had always had a penchant for stirring up trouble, and clearly, this was a habit she had brought with her to New Orleans.

When she finally managed to get the door open, she found herself faced with an unpleasant scene. Two people struggled with one another on the floor beside the toppled coffee table, a man whose hair was slicked back with so much gel that it might deflect a bullet had his meaty hands wrapped around Janet’s throat as she stared up at Victoria with wide, bloodshot eyes. Fuck. This wasn’t the first lover’s quarrel of Janet’s that she had intercepted, but it was definitely the most violent.

“Hands off the merchandise, pal,” she snapped, setting the wine and the roses on the coffee table casually. “Don’t you know she has a movie to film? She can hardly be on camera with giant hand-shaped bruises on her neck!”

The man stiffened, hands going limp around Janet’s throat as he climbed to his feet, turning slowly to face her. He was a stranger, she noted, dressed in a pinstripe suit that looked a bit too expensive for him to be some petty thief, face chiseled and crudely lined, paling at her presence.

“Ay! You ain’t s’pose to be here!” he growled, reaching down to the holster on his belt. Victoria arched a brow, watching his face fall as he realized that the holster was empty. Lucky for her, but then, she’d always had amazing luck.

“I’m not ‘supposed’ to be anywhere, asshole, I do what I want,” she huffed haughtily, sparing another glance at Janet. She was still sprawled on the floor, eyes wide with panic, being completely useless. The man was glancing around the room with a kind of animal focus. “Now…who the fuck are you, and why are you strangling my client?”

“You’ve screwed with the wrong people, Miss Whitman.”

“Oh yeah? Let me guess, you’re working for the Lawsons? This is definitely an escalation from their little courtroom drama, but I know they’re still pretty sour about losing their wittle inheritance.”

The man laughed drily, brows lowering as he picked up a heavy looking vase, slowly making his way over to her. “The Lawsons are small fries compared to us, Miss Whitman. You got no idea what you’re in for, do you?” She pursed her lips, considering him. Big guy. But if he got close enough to her, she could slide the blade of her pocket knife between his ribs. From there, she’d have to improv- maybe knock him out, take him somewhere a bit more private to finish the job. She was a little rusty, but she felt pretty confident she could pull it off. “By the time we’re done with you-”

Everything happened in slow motion- Victoria’s ears rang violently in a way that made her momentarily worried that she had spontaneously gone deaf. Bright specks of red spattered her face and the (expensive) material of her blouse. The man’s body fell in a crumpled heap at her feet, revealing Janet standing behind him, tears streaming down her face, gun clutched in her hands.

“Dammit, Janet! Now I’ll never learn what they were going to do to me,” she pouted once her hearing returned. She kicked the body at her feet with a frown. “He was just getting to the good part. Your timing is TERRIBLE.”

“HE TRIED TO KILL ME!” she yelled, and Victoria slid a warning finger across her throat as she shushed her.

“You really should try to keep it down, honey. Or do you want to get caught?” It was unclear if Janet heard her. She collapsed to the floor, chest heaving, fingers knotting in her hair.

“I didn’t mean to do it! It was- it was SELF DEFENSE! He was going to- he tried to kill me, Vic! He was going to hurt you. I didn’t mean to- I didn’t think he would- it was self defense!”

Victoria sighed, shaking her head as she made her way over to her. She remembered her first kill (fondly, the way one might remember their first crush, or their first time trying lobster). She hadn’t reacted nearly as hysterically, but then, she had to remember- she was better than other people. It was hardly Janet’s fault that she had such little control over her emotions- it was something many people struggled with. She knelt in front of her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Janet- you only shot a man! It’s not like you slit his throat with a machete. You didn’t even have to get up close and personal! It’s hardly anything to freak out about.” When this didn’t seem to do the trick, she gestured to her spotless dress. “Look, you don’t have a single drop of blood on you.”

Janet froze, blinking up at her with a filmy, shell-shocked expression. “Aren’t you mad? Or…or…shouldn’t you be calling the police?”

“The POLICE? Psh, yeah right!” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Why would I call those bastards? No, Janet, I’m not…” she trailed off, scowling down at the blood on her shirt, “Okay, fine, I’m a bit annoyed. I was going to handle this in a much cleaner, much more concise way, but then you decided to jump in and do it yourself. And with the loudest weapon possible, too- surprised no one’s come knocking yet. But none of that matters!” she cheered, squeezing her shoulder. Janet’s gaze glazed over, jaw going slack, shoulders sagging. Victoria slapped her sharply, and she let out a sharp gasp.

“Wha-why-”

“No going into shock! We don’t have time right now!” she commanded as Janet rubbed her cheek sorely. “We need to clean this up, stat. I’m going to tell you what I need you to do, and you’re going to listen, and you’re going to do it, okay?”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Janet squeaked, burying her face in her hands again. “I don’t think I can do anything. I can’t do it. I can’t-”

“Baby,” Victoria softened her voice as she stroked Janet’s hair, not too dissimilarly from the way she soothed Dusky at the vet, “Do you know what will happen to a tiny little thing like you in prison? I don’t want that for you. Do you want that for you?”

“I didn’t mean to kill him, Vic, I didn’t mean to-”

“Yes, you did! You shot a man in the head- with a GUN!- while his back was turned. You can’t cry your way out of this one.” Which, of course, made Janet start sobbing uncontrollably. Ugh. Such a spoiled little starlet. “Look, I’m being really generous right now. I’m trying to clean up the mess that YOU made, but I’m going to need your help.” More sobbing. Great. Victoria was starting to grow wary- she’d never had patience for histrionics. “Well, what is it, Jan? Are you going to do your part? Or should I just leave you to sort this out on your own?” Which seemed to do the trick. With one last nasty wet gurgle, Janet’s sobs finally quieted. She blinked up at her helplessly, and Victoria studied the snaking black paths of mascara racing down her face with growing disgust.

“I’ll do my part,” she hiccupped, side of her hand stained charcoal as she rubbed the tears from her eyes, “Thank you, Vic.”

“Atta girl!” Victoria cheered, climbing to her feet to look for a notepad. Written instructions felt like a must right now. “There’s two people I need you to go fetch for me. The first one is Tony- big guy, bald, you’ve seen him. Go to him first, tell him that Victoria said there’s a ‘shark in the water.’ He’ll know what that means. After that, you’re going to go to Velvette, and you’re going to stay in her room for three-” Victoria frowned at the growing bloodstain on the white carpet, crossing her arms, “Scratch that, FOUR hours, and then you’re going to have her escort you back here. Are you following?”

“Velvette?” Janet mumbled numbly, fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve. At least she wasn’t crying.

“Our PR manager?” Vic snapped, “Keep up, Jan, damn.”

“Shark in the water…water…Where? Shark…”

“NO GOING INTO SHOCK!” Vic roared, slamming a cabinet with a loud BANG. Janet squeaked, cringing away from the noise.

“I’m not in shock! I’m fine!” she huffed, sounding much more like herself.

“That’s great,” Vic smirked, scrawling the instructions onto a legal pad. She passed the note to her, and she blinked down at it dully. “Now, get outta here so I can solve all of your problems.”

 

. . .

 

“Gonna have to replace the carpet,” Tony confirmed with a low whistle, hands jammed in his pockets. Getting rid of the body had been the easy part- plenty of swampland to sink a corpse into- maybe Louisiana wasn’t so bad after all. But the cleanup…well, that was going to be a hassle.

“Think we could replace it without the hotel staff noticing?” she mused, knowing the answer.

“Maybe if ya pay ‘em not to,” Tony confirmed. “I gotta bad feelin’ about this, V. The look of that guy…he looked crooked. Think he mighta been one of Marino’s, though what they’d be doin’ way out here, who can say.”

“You think he was a gangster?” she frowned, folding her arms over her chest, weighing his words, “That would explain the hair gel, I guess.”

“This isn’t funny, Vic. If the Marino’s are after you, it’s bad news bears. Jig’s up. Lights out. Cue credits. Over.”

“Please stop with the metaphors, Tony,” she huffed, lighting a cigarette as she knelt to glare at the bloodstain. “I’m not scared of those flamboyant Italians. What are they going to do, anyway? Sprinkle me with parmesan? HA!”

Tony sighed heavily. “The fuckin’ Marino’s, V, really? How many enemies do you have, anyway?”

Victoria made a big play of pretending to count on her fingers before giving up, shooting him a grin. “Ya don’t make it this far up without kickin’ a few beehives, Tony. I’ve been in the business for a long time. I don’t care.”

“Well, if you’re not worried…” he trailed off, pursing his lips at the faded patch of red on the carpet, obviously worried. “I can get my guys down here, we can replace the carpet in a day. Can the girl stay at your place? Or should we just work around her?”

“I’ll have her put up in a new room,” Vic sighed, surrounding herself in a hazy cloud of smoke. “Can’t imagine she’ll wanna stay in this one now.”

“Why do you think they were after her?”

Before Vic could answer, the door slammed open. “Didn’t I tell you not to hire this hot-headed bitch, Vic?” a familiar voice snapped. Victoria threw a grin over her shoulder, finding Velvette standing in the doorframe, a frazzled Janet in tow. “Fuck me, Vic. Firing a gun in a hotel room, really?” she continued as the door slammed shut behind them. She made her way over to one of the plush armchairs in the center of the room, lighting a cigarette. Janet swayed in place, eyes half-lidded, a dreamy almost-smile ghosting her lips. Velvette had apparently taken the time to clean her up, all of that garish makeup gone.

“Ya know, you really shouldn’t smoke in here,” Victoria teased as she toasted Velvette with her own half-gone cigarette.

“And YOU shouldn’t have let your little slut unload a firearm in here. I guess we’re breaking all of the rules, aren’t we?”

“Hey!” Janet protested softly, “Am I the slut?” Everyone ignored her.

“So, any ideas about the bastard’s motive?” Victoria asked the room, earning three equally blank expressions. It was Tony who answered, though he didn’t sound very confident.

“Probably aimin’ for ransom if I had to guess. Thought he could get a pretty penny for the famous broad.”

“Please, she’s hardly famous,” Victoria corrected, pausing when she saw the look on Janet’s face, “Yet! She’s hardly famous yet.” She made her way over to her, tilting her chin up with her index finger, assessing the damage to her neck. “Hardly any bruising, so that’s good at least,” she sighed, relieved, “You should be good to go back on set tomorrow.”

“That’s what I said!” Velvette interrupted, “But she thinks she gets to stay in bed. Poor thing is ‘traumatized’, apparently.” A little frown appeared between Victoria’s brows as she studied Janet, who was looking up at her pleadingly.

“I almost died?”

“You’re fine,” she assured her, squeezing her arm, “You can’t afford to stay in. This is your big break! Be traumatized once you get back to California.”

“But I-”

“Let’s talk about our story. We all need to get on the same page about what happened tonight, just in case this ever comes up.”

. . .

Before she headed out, Velvette gestured for Victoria to follow her, pausing outside the door. “That girl is a complete drama queen. You have to make sure she keeps her trap shut,” she whispered abruptly, never one for pleasantries.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Victoria assured her, leaning a shoulder against the wall before adding, “she listens to me.”

“She’s got a big mouth. If she doesn’t blab about the murder, then she’s definitely going to blab about your sex life,” Velvette shuddered, glaring at the door, “I deserve a fucking raise.” Victoria frowned. She really didn’t need people to know about her indiscretions with women- it was hard enough making it in this industry as a woman who preferred suits to dresses. Clearly, she and Janet needed to have a little chat (later, though. She doubted she would be able to retain any more information tonight).

“I’ll handle her. She’s not going to talk.”

“No, she’s not,” she agreed, accentuating her words with a sharp shake of a green bottle, “If she starts acting up again, give her one of these.” Victoria’s eyes lit up as she studied the label on the pill bottle.

“Tranquilizers?”

“Yeah, how else do you think I managed to get her to stop crying? My charming personality? Fuck off.”

“You’re a genius,” Vic chuckled, slipping the bottle into her pocket, “What would I do without you?”

“Rot in prison, probably,” she huffed, already walking away, “You’re welcome, by the way!”

Victoria watched her go, temples aching with the promise of an oncoming migraine. She had felt a millimeter of control slip from her grasp that night, and even if the ball was still in her court, there was something about that that unsettled her. She had put a lot of work into making sure things always went her way- she wasn’t about to let that change.

 

. . .

 

The second murder was obviously not a murder. It was a suicide. Even the police agreed that it was a suicide. Sure, Michael had been at the top of his career, and he had a loving wife and a brand new baby, and everyone who knew him adamantly insisted that he was the happiest he had ever been, but depression works in mysterious ways. It was really so tragic that he chose to end it all. And by dropping a toaster in the bathtub, of all things- he always had been so creative.

Fine, fine, it was a murder- Victoria had snuck in through his open window and…well, look. She couldn’t just LET him live, not when he was trying to snag her favorite little star right out from under her. She wasn’t blind. She’d seen the way he had been schmoozing up to Janet. And Janet was eating it up, giggling, twirling her hair- Victoria was starting to worry that maybe the tranquilizers had given her brain damage, because Michael? Really? And maybe she could have let that slide, but then he had to push things even further by trying to have her fired from her own talk show. It was insanity. Of course, he was so far below her that she would have just laughed it off, but…Bob seemed to have a soft spot for him. And there were talks about how she was notoriously ‘difficult to work with’ and maybe a wider audience would be able to connect with a more ‘masculine host.’ Preposterous. She couldn’t just let that happen. She wouldn’t just let that happen! So…she handled it.

When it was done, she sat on the edge of the tub, watching him thrash frantically in the water, eyes bulging out of his head, mesmerized by the dancing bolts of blue electricity sparking around him. She grinned as the light faded from his eyes, body going slack in the water. It felt good, but of course it did- she had regained a tiny sliver of control back over her life. Now, she could go back to focusing on the film, win Janet back into her clutches, and everything could just return to normal.

Or, at the very least, there’d be no more bloodshed during her stay in New Orleans. She’d see to that.

 

. . .

 

Alice made herself comfortable on the counter of the dress shop, perusing a pattern catalogue while Mimzy sewed. This was a common enough scene- anytime Alice was feeling particularly nosy, she paid the shop a visit. Mimzy was a busybody, always poking around the bars downtown, collecting friends the way one might collect stamps. If anyone were to know something, it would definitely be her.

“Did you read the news this morning? Just awful,” Mimzy hummed with the casual air of a woman gossiping about her work friends.

“Oh, yes! ‘Body Discovered in Bayou Identified!’ is a very ostentatious headline, hard to miss that! Though I will say, the victim being a gangster was quite the plot twist.” An annoying plot-twist that only served to further skew her idea of who this other killer was. The man had originally been suspected to be part of the movie’s crew, but if he was in the mob…well, that was a whole other can of worms.

“To die so young…and he was a handsome thing, too! I mean, I know he was in the mafia, but we all have our flaws,” she hissed, scowling down at her work when her grip slipped, needle jabbing through the material and pricking her finger, “What do you think he was doin’ way out here, anyway?”

“Who cares about that? I just want to know what kind of an idiot thought sinking a body in a few inches of mud was a good idea. And in the rainy season, too!” Alice chortled, folding the catalogue shut. “Surely even a fool would realize that would never hold.”

“I was thinking that too! I mean, not that I’d ever find myself needing to, but if I were going to dispose of a corpse…” she trailed off, dabbing the tip of her finger with an alcohol-soaked cotton swab, face skewering with thought.

“Go on, Mimzy!” Alice pressed, overwhelmingly amused by the idea of her friend trying to hide a body, “You just killed a man, his blood is on your hands, and you don’t want to get caught. What do you do next? And no pressure, but you’d best think fast, before the cops catch on or his body starts to decompose.”

Mimzy’s brows drew together, mouth pressing into a straight line. “I-uh-hmm? I guess I’d probably feed him to the gators?” Alice laughed, pulling her knees into her chest.

“I suppose that’s one way!”

“What would you do, hm? Since you know so much?” she retorted drily, and Alice hid her smile behind a limp hand, shoulder lifting with a coy shrug.

“Oh, I wouldn’t even know where to begin! Guess it’s good I’ll never have to worry about that!” she mused, voice dripping with sarcasm. Mimzy nodded as she surveyed her freshly bandaged wound, clearly checking out, and Alice decided it was time for a change in conversation. “Say, you ever get any of those Hollywood saps poking around here?”

Mimzy latched onto this immediately, eyes lighting up as she shifted closer to her, voice lowering conspiratorially. “Oh, Al, I know you despise them, but let me tell you…”

“Go on?” she teased, resting her chin on her folded hands.

“This one guy dropped in a few weeks ago looking to buy a dress for his boss, and he was SO dreamy!” she oozed, kicking her feet. “I mean, flawless skin, big dark eyes that you could just swim in. And his jawline? To die for!” A little frown appeared between Alice’s brows, because of course, her friend was hung up on some guy.

“I do adore you, but that’s not at all the kind of gossip I was looking for! Besides,” she scolded, grinning knowingly, “Aren’t you betrothed? Tsk-tsk, Mimzy! What would Gerald think?”

“Ach, what Gerald don’t know won’t hurt him,” she replied fondly. She did love that dull lump of a man. “Nothing wrong with a little window shopping, anyway.”

“I suppose, if that’s your thing.”

“Besides, I was thinkin’...” Mimzy started, and Alice felt the corners of her mouth twitching as they fought to pull down. She knew what was coming, and she was already tired.

“Uh oh!”

“Well, you ARE both in the entertainment biz. And I didn’t see a ring on his finger. Maybe his boss will like the dress, and he’ll stop back by, and I could jot down your number for him?”

“Absolutely NOT!” Alice laughed, shoving her shoulder, “I would rather die than lower myself to courting some lowlife Hollywood sleazeball. Nice try, though!” Since her engagement, Mimzy had become deadset on finding Alice a boyfriend- it wasn’t that she actually cared about her (lack of) romantic interests, it’s that she thought double dates would be fun. Alice knew Gerald well enough to know that that was objectively false. She’d tasted flour less bland than him.

“But, Al, think about it!”

“Thought about it. Still not interested!”

“You're both creative types, you’re both charmers, you’re both single-”

“You gathered all of this from one conversation with the man, hm?”

“C’mon, just think about it, won’t ya? Wouldn’t it be nice to be with someone who has something in common with you?”

Alice’s brows pulled together. It was eerily similar to what Rosie had said- ‘You already know that you have something in common!’ She knew she shouldn’t read too much into it, but…

“Did you happen to catch his name?”

“So you ARE interested!” she teased, bouncing her shoulders suggestively. “His name- get this- is Bellamy. Even his name is hot! Can you believe that?”

“Yes, Mimzy, that is certainly…something!”

Before they could continue down this path, Mimzy remembered a new bolt of fabric she bought from the travelling market, and darted to the back to find it. Alice breathed a sigh of relief once she was alone, letting her mask slip for a moment. This new interest in her love life grated at her more than she could ever let on. She knew, eventually, Mimzy would find something else to latch onto, but for the time being…it was growing tired. With a haggard frown, Alice slipped from the counter, making her way down the crowded aisle to the front of the store, deciding now was the perfect time to make herself scarce.

Before she could slip out, the bell above the door chimed, announcing a visitor. She ducked behind a rack of clothes, practiced smile sliding back into place as she eyed the woman curiously. She had short platinum hair, immaculately styled into ringlets, and was draped in a dress that looked like it cost roughly the same as the down-payment on a starter home. Her heavily-lined hazel eyes darted over the rows of dresses apathetically as she rested a manicured hand on her hip. She was obviously one of them. Alice had a last minute change of heart- maybe she would stick around a bit longer after all.

“Hello!” the woman called, marching down the aisles, “Is this store even open?” There was a sluggish quality about her movements, like the air around her had the density of jello. “Seriously, does anyone work here?” she slurred, and then she mumbled something indistinguishable as she tore one of the dresses from the rack, corners of her lips pulling down as she surveyed it.

“Hello there!” Alice cheered from behind her, stifling a laugh when she jumped, dress clattering to the ground in a bedazzled heap, “You called?”

The woman eyed her haughtily, taking a step back. “You work here?” She clearly wasn’t impressed by her reasonable sweater and slacks.

“If you say so!” she cheered vaguely, stepping closer to her. The woman swallowed, taking a step back. “How can I help you?”

“The customer service in this shop is terrible. Do you always take so long to greet guests? I don’t like waiting,” she sniffed dispassionately, and Alice stifled a laugh.

“How dreadful for you! I do believe we’re hiring. Perhaps you could apply, show us what good customer service looks like?” She tilted her head, surveying the way her eyes narrowed, the indignant upward tilt of her pointy chin. Alice had always been skilled at getting under people’s skin- a useful habit, especially in her field.

“Watch it, shop girl. Do you know who you’re dealing with?”

Alice scanned her head to foot, drawing a hand over her mouth in a mockery of deep thought. “Hmm…no! And I don’t believe I care.” Which did the trick. She watched color flood her face, hands clenching into fists at her side, and again, that slight sway to her stance.

“My boss is the most powerful woman in Hollywood!” she snapped nonsensically.

“I fail to see what that has to do with me. We’re not in Hollywood, sweetheart,” she simpered, the girl’s frustration so tangible she could almost taste it. She clearly wasn’t used to not getting her way.

“She’ll eat you alive,” she promised cooly, but there was a light tremor of rage buried just under the surface. Alice’s eyes lit up at this, grin widening.

“How charming! I can’t wait to watch her try.”

“Listen, you little-”

“Oh you!” Mimzy interrupted, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back, “Are you makin’ trouble again? Didn’t I tell you not to talk to the guests?” she chided, pushing in front of her to grin up at the woman cheerfully. “Mimzy, pleasure to meet ya!”

“Oh, so you’re the little seamstress Bellamy was talking about,” she sighed, accepting her offered hand as she shot a glare over her head at Alice, who offered her a small wave. “You need to get a better handle on your employee.”

Mimzy’s brows knitted together with momentary confusion before she laughed, understanding. “Oh, Alice? Alice doesn’t work here! She just haunts the place.”

“Whatever,” the woman replied, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly. “Look, Vic said you passed the test. She liked the gown Bellamy picked out, said you have obvious skill. She wants to offer you a job- and I wouldn’t turn my nose up at that, if I were you,” her last words were positively dripping with disdain as she eyed the shop. Mimzy either didn’t catch this obvious slight, or didn’t care.

“Wait, ‘Vic’? Like, Victoria Whitman ‘Vic’?” she burbled.

“Yeah, like I said, my boss is the most powerful woman in Hollywood,” she replied flatly, shooting another glare at Alice.

“Never heard of her,” Alice shrugged, receiving two absolutely flabbergasted looks. Of course, she knew exactly who she was, but she could never resist a good bit.

“Really? You’ve never seen, ‘It’s a Fine Life, I Guess?’ or ‘The Beagle Hawk,’? Two defining films of the 1940s? She starred in both of them?” the woman stammered, and Alice arched her brows, shrugging.

“You know, I’ve never particularly enjoyed films.”

“Okay, fine, then surely you’ve seen Evenings with Victoria Whitman? Her late night show? It airs like, every night?”

“Never heard of it!” she cheered, delighting in the frustrated sigh from the stranger.

“Just ignore her. Al doesn’t own a television,” Mimzy apologized fretfully, “Or get out much.” Alice smirked at this, shaking her head. “I’m definitely interested in the job, though! What is she looking for?”

“She’ll tell you herself,” the woman replied, sliding a card into her hand. “Tonight. Mind the dress code, or they’ll never let you in.”

“Ooh! I do love a costume party,” Mimzy chirped, skimming the details. Alice leaned over her shoulder, reading the carefully scripted words.

Corner of Park and Main
Attire: 1920s
Password: buckshot
9pm

“And you don’t get a plus one, so don’t get any funny ideas,” she added, eyes boring daggers through Alice.

“Oh, there’s no need to worry, dear. I’m not interested!”

“What was your name again?” Mimzy asked, smiling sweetly up at her.

“I never said, did I?” she blinked, looking momentarily lost before her face settled back into that perfect porcelain scowl, “I’m Janet.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Janet.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” she snipped a bit disjointedly, turning on her heel.

“Send ‘Vic’ our regards!” Alice called after her. She shot one last glare over her shoulder before the door clanged shut behind her, and Alice chuckled. “What a delightful girl!”

“What a bitch,” Mimzy chirped, still smiling at the card.

“Are you seriously considering working for that clown?”

Mimzy narrowed her eyes at Alice, tapping her foot contemplatively. “I don’t see any harm in seeing what she has to offer. A check’s a check. Besides, it does sound glamorous…” Perfect. This was exactly the in that Alice was looking for.

“Looks like we’re going to a Hollywood party,” she hummed, fingers trailing through a line of dangling material as she circled her. Mimzy grinned up at her triumphantly.

“Yeah we are!”

 

. . .

 

“I have to say, I was a little skeptical about the whole speakeasy schtick, but this IS fun,” Victoria mused, glancing around the gimmicky bar. Everyone was decked out in feathers and cheap rhinestones, and the walls were covered in vintage advertisements and magazine cutouts. It was an intimate venue and almost all of the guests consisted of the cast and crew of the movie, though that’s how it had been since they arrived. None of them tended to venture far from their safe little bubble. “I’ve never been a fan of jazz, but that guy sure can play the sax,” she added, gesturing to the stage. Janet cut a dazed look at the saxophone player, wine glass wavering in her hand.

“I wish he would stop playing. I have a terrible headache,” she mumbled before downing the contents of her glass. She reached for the bottle on the table, and Velvette arched a perfect brow.

“She probably shouldn’t be drinking, right, Vic?” she snapped, voice dripping with insinuation. Victoria frowned at her before catching on- maybe wine and secrets weren’t the best cocktail.

“She has a point! You do have a long day tomorrow. Can’t have you hungover on set,” she advised, plucking the glass from her hand. Janet just sighed, rolling her eyes.

“It’s wine, Vic, it’s not like I’m chugging shots of vodka.”

“But, Jan-”

“Let her cut loose a little. I can keep an eye on her,” Bellamy interjected, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. Janet shot him a grateful smile, reclaiming her glass with a smirk. Velvette cut Victoria a questioning look, and when she didn’t intervene, she climbed to her feet.

“Ugh, whatever. Suit yourself,” she huffed before stomping away.

“My hero,” Janet purred, and Bellamy beamed. Victoria narrowed her eyes at him, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t know that his new pretend girlfriend had shot a man, and thus, wasn’t someone who should be encouraged to ‘cut loose’ under any circumstances. Guess he’d have to find out the hard way.

“Hey look, it’s the little seamstress!” Bellamy cheered, waving at someone across the room. Victoria followed his gaze, sarcastic grin freezing on her face when she saw her. Even from a distance, she was something else. Swathed in rich crimson that floated effortlessly around her, draped over elegant shoulders that melted into a willowy waist. Her skin was a rich shade of gold, her soft face surrounded by a wild cloud of deep brown curls.

And she was staring right at her.

There was a piercing sort of physicality to her gaze, like a pin slipping through a beetle’s wing to fix it against a corkboard, steady and intentional. The corner of her mouth quirked into a knowing smirk before she turned all of that heavy attention to the woman next to her, and Victoria swallowed, turning to glare at Bellamy.

“That’s the seamstress? You could have mentioned that she was…” what, exactly? “I mean, I thought she was short?” When Bellamy just looked confused, she turned to Janet, faltering when she saw her face turning an alarming shade of tomato, eyes bugging out of her head.

“What is that bitch doing here?” she snarled, much to Vic’s confusion.

“Um, hello, weren’t you the one that handed her the invite?” Velvette had promised that the pills wouldn’t have any long term effects, but she was beginning to doubt that.

“I told her no plus ones! How did she even get in?” she was on her feet, staring down the other woman from across the room. Vic really wasn’t in the mood to break up a fight tonight.

“Why are you throwing a hissy fit?”

“Remember that girl I was telling you about? The one that was incredibly rude to me at the dress shop?” Janet prompted, and when Vic just stared at her blankly, she crossed her arms, shoulders tensing, “Do you ever listen to me?”

“Sorry, you know I zone out when you start going on, and on…” Clearly not the right thing to say. There was murder in Janet’s eyes. “But, yes! Of course I remember. What a bitch, right?”

“I’m going to go dance now,” she sighed before adding, “Deal with that girl. Or else.”

“Or else WHAT? What are you going to do, huh?” she called after her, watching as she was swallowed by the crowd. Fucking hell. Was she going to shoot her in the head, too? Victoria needed something stronger if she was going to have to put up with this.

“Hello, hello! I’m here, I made it,” a voice chirped from beside her. She scowled, turning to find herself face-to-face with a short, curvy blonde who was wearing a bit too much eyeshadow. She recognized her as being the one that the intense woman had been laughing with.

“That’s great!” she glanced around for the other one, disappointed to find that she had disappeared from her side. “Why are you talking to me?”

“You invited me here?” she quipped, extending a delicate hand, “I’m Mimzy? I sew things?”

“Oh!” Victoria exclaimed, dropping her face against her palms. Of course. “That makes so much sense! You are short, actually.” So the intense knock-out with black holes for eyes was the uninvited plus-one. She suddenly felt a lot more interested in taking Janet up on her demands. Maybe she wouldn’t mind dealing with her, after all.

“Well, there’s no need to be rude!” Mimzy huffed, claiming the seat beside her. She snapped her fingers at one of the waitresses and rattled off a drink order before turning back to her. “So, ya wanna do business with little old me? What are ya offering? And don’t say ‘street cred’, I’m gonna need a little more than that.”

A fast talker, but Victoria could deal with that. “I’m offering you money, duh,” she replied, brows pulling together incredulously, “Why the fuck would I pay you in street cred? Do you even know who I am? Please, Mimzy- it is Mimzy, right?- have some respect.”

From there, they entered into a quickfire back and forth. What Vic wanted was simple, really- the dress they had originally commissioned for the final scene of the film arrived two sizes too small and a shade of green that would look bad on anyone. It wouldn’t do. They just needed someone to match the original vision, recreate the illustrations that the designer had worked up, make something worthy of Janet’s innate star power. Sure, the turn around time for this little project was fast, but she couldn’t imagine it would be that difficult. The conversation probably would have gone really smoothly if she didn’t keep getting distracted by flashes of red flitting across the dancefloor.

“Who’s your friend?” she asked, cutting Mimzy off mid-sentence. She had finally found her in the crowd, and was keeping a careful eye on her, not willing to let her slip away again. She was talking to one of the cameramen, hands moving in wide, sweeping gestures. There was something magnetic about the way she moved, she was hard to look away from.

“Alice?” Mimzy hummed noncommittally.

Alice.

“She’s got potential. I could see her on the silver screen.”

“Ha! Oh, that’s good,” Mimzy chuckled, “You should go tell her that. I’m serious! Actually, let me go with you, I need to see this.”

“What? Is she shy or something?”

“Shy? Alice?” Mimzy snorted, “Hardly.” Vic was about to drop it, move the conversation back to the financials, but she was cut short when she saw that Janet had made her way over to the talking pair, fire dancing in her eyes. Shit.

“You know what?” she decided, climbing to her feet, “I’ll settle. Congratulations! I’ll pay you the ridiculous amount you’re demanding.” It really wasn’t much more than she was going to offer in the first place. Janet was jabbing an accusatory finger at Alice, face aflame as the other woman doubled over with laughter.

“Really? I mean, I’ll take it, I just didn’t think-”

“Yeah, whatever, just make it worth it,” Victoria sighed, marching towards the chaos.

“...did you even get in here?” Janet was ranting, wine sloshing over her hand as she gestured at her with her cup, “Your name wasn’t on the list! You didn’t get an invite. This isn’t the kind of party anyone can just wander into!”

“I suppose it was you that didn’t know who you were dealing with,” Alice chuckled, voice even and amused, “It appears I have more pull around here than you thought. You should really check your sources before you start dealing out tawdry threats.”

“Oh, please, I’m not scared of you. You're just some hick girl in a hand-me-down gown. When Vic gets her hands on you-”

Victoria smirked, eyes meeting Janet’s over Alice’s shoulder. “Ooh, trying to scare me with your little boss again? And what is she going to do, hm?” Alice pressed sarcastically. Janet froze, back straightening, mouth flattening into a line.

“She’ll…she’ll…”

“She’ll probably ask you to lay off the locals. And the wine,” Vic tsk-tsked, snatching the glass from her hand, “Seriously, kid, leave this nobody alone. What does she matter, anyway?”

“She’s not supposed to be here!” she snapped again, and Vic shoved her shoulder playfully.

“Perhaps it’s time for you to leave, Jan. It’s getting late, and you have to be up so early…” she side-eyed her, watching as she deflated. “Go get some rest. Let me handle our new little friend, hm? I’ll make sure she doesn’t bother you anymore.”

Her gaze flickered back to Alice as she spoke, breath catching in her throat. She was even more alluring up close, gold flecks catching light in her irises as she surveyed her. She barely even noticed Janet leaving.

“‘Our new little friend,’” she pondered, expression shifting into a decisive grin, “Alice,” she said, extending a hand, “Charmed, I’m sure.” Victoria accepted the offered hand, surprised by how small it was in hers despite their similarities in height, fine-boned wrists with slender pianist fingers, palm surprisingly rough with callouses. “Well? Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” she teased, and Victoria felt her face grow warm as she squared her shoulders, fixing her with a shark-like grin.

“Like you don’t know who I am,” she ribbed haughtily.

“The notorious ‘Vic’, I take it?” she chuckled, gaze trailing slowly from her head to her feet with a razor-edge scrutiny, like a scalpel slicing through layers of flesh to see everything hiding underneath. Victoria shifted uncomfortably, feeling thoroughly exposed under that stare. “Well, go on then. I was told you were going to 'eat me alive'. I’ve been waiting so patiently.” Fucking Janet.

“I’m sorry about Janet. She’s…” she trailed off, scowling.

“Abusing pharmaceuticals?”

“I was going to say ‘going through a lot’, but yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” Victoria laughed, eyeing this intuitive stranger curiously. “What gave it away?”

“I’m well acquainted with the side-effects of tranquilizers,” she said, smiling at a joke only she was in on.

“Weird brag, but own it, I guess,” she teased, eyes narrowing. Alice only smirked in response, sharp eyes darting around the room.

“Did you choose the location?”

“Yeah, I did! Pretty neat, right? I didn’t even know they still made places like this,” she boasted before adding, “We like going out a few nights a week, and I scout out new places to try. Keeps everyone’s spirits up while filming.”

“Doesn’t surprise me that you’d choose this sleazy little tourist trap,” Alice mused, a solid one-two punch to Vic’s ego, “As cheap and classless as the rest of your career, I’m sure.”

“Hey, ouch!” Maybe Janet had been right- this girl was a bitch. Unlike Janet, she knew how to handle people like her. “Watch it, sweetpea, I don’t tolerate bullshit.”

“Don’t lie to me, Victoria. I’ve met your little pet- I’ve seen what you’re willing to put up with,” she laughed, turning on her heel and walking away. After a moment, she glanced over her shoulder. “Well, aren’t you going to follow?”

Maybe it was a bad idea, but what could Vic say? Her curiosity was piqued. She followed.

 

. . .

 

The speakeasy was down a flight of stairs, tucked away in the basement of a shoddy little warehouse. Alice, despite her teasing, had been there enough times. Enough to know the bouncer, a few of the waitresses, the weary barkeep. Of course, everyone knew her wherever she went, so getting in was hardly an obstacle. Getting out, even less so. She led Victoria back up onto the street, shoulders square and head held high, not sparing another glance back to make sure she was following. She knew she was there, had seen that all too familiar look in her eyes- that squishy intrigue that meant that her prey was hooked. Of course, though, she wasn’t going to kill this one- not yet, anyway.

It was ‘our new little friend’ that had sold her. Having Rosie’s words thrown back at her twice in the same day was disconcerting, to say the least. And sure, there was every possibility that it was all coincidental, but one only needed to dabble with demons for so long before they started to realize that nothing was ever truly a coincidence. Still, this alone was not enough to prove anything. A lead, potentially, and nothing more.

Once they were back on street level, she shot another glance at Victoria, slowing down to match her pace. “Tell me, what do you think of our charming little city so far?” she mused, leading her to an abandoned restaurant patio and pulling out a chair for her at one of the tables. Privacy was good. She needed her to let her guard down if she were going to let something slip.

“‘Charming little city?’,” she huffed, folding herself into the chair, crossing her legs, elbows braced on the sharp metal armrests, “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Alice laughed as she climbed onto the table, letting her skirt fall around her legs as she crossed them beneath her.

“What’s the matter, Victoria? Not a fan of the rain?” she lured, chin resting on her palm as she appraised her.

“No! Who is?” she snapped, running a hand through her hair, lips pursing. “Fuck the rain, fuck these stupid old mold-filled buildings, and fuck the French. Someone offered me an ‘a-twah-fee’ the other day, and I was this close,” she pinched her index finger and thumb close together, mismatched eyes narrowing as Alice delightedly mouthed ‘etouffee’ to herself, “to calling it quits. This stupid movie better be worth it.”

“Oh, come on now! It’s a beautiful city. Lots of history. Though, I suppose you wouldn’t know that if you’ve spent all your time visiting tacky tourist traps.”

“Okay, well, where should I go, then? Enlighten me, Alice,” she replied flippantly, hand fumbling in her pocket for her lighter, “Which mold-filled building is going to win me over?”

“Are you asking me to play tour guide now?” she adjusted herself on the table, casting a look over the lamp-lit street, “I think I prefer you being clueless. I don’t need you clogging up the actually good spots with your crude little yes-men.” When she turned back to face her, she found that she was staring up at her with a mystified expression, hand covering the lower half of her face, eyes tracking her movements. She straightened when their eyes met, expression shifting back into stern arrogance, and Alice smirked, a silent ‘caught you.’

“Do you smoke?” she stammered, reaching into her pocket. “I mean, I’m going to either way, but it feels rude to not at least offer, right? Of course, I guess it would-”

“Only when I’ve been drinking,” she interrupted, leaning closer to her, delighting in the way her eyes widened at her proximity. “And I have,” she prompted after a beat.

“Oh, yeah, right,” Victoria stumbled, pulling a cigarette from the pack. Long, thin, no filter. A little daring spark glinted in her eye as she slipped the cigarette between the v of her index and middle fingers, lifting it to Alice’s level. Never breaking eye contact, Alice leaned forward, cigarette slipping between her teeth, lips nearly brushing the other woman’s fingers. She blushed, going very still, and Alice arched her brows at her waitingly. “I guess lighting it would probably help, right?” she mumbled after a beat, and Alice’s shoulders shook with laughter as she lifted her hand to shield the flame from the wind. The lighter clicked, fire dancing between them as Alice inhaled deeply. For a moment, she could see the appeal of Victoria Whitman, caught in her asymmetrical gaze, watching the way the flame cast color over the streaks of white in her ebony hair. She was eccentric and graphic and sharp, more of a concept than a human. But then she was pulling back from her as though she had burned her, head tilting to study the nearly empty street self-consciously.

“Maybe I could learn to see the appeal of New Orleans,” she mused disjointedly, and Alice pursed her lips, trying to hold in a laugh. Apparently, she wasn’t a hard person to win over.

“Say ‘etouffee’ again,” she prompted, lightly kicking her knee with the toe of her heel, “It was funny.”

“Don’t be a dick,” she scolded, glancing at her out of the corner of her eye. “You know, there’s something familiar about you. Your voice, I mean. I keep trying to place who it is you sound like…”

“Isn’t that fun?” she hummed, smile widening, “So you are a fan after all, hm?”

“What do you mean?”

“I think it’s more fun if you figure it out on your own,” Alice declared, hopping down from the table. She took another drag from the cigarette before offering it to Victoria. “Ask around. Talk to people who you don’t pay to talk to you for once!” Admittedly, there was something appealing about The Most Famous Woman in Hollywood learning that she had spent the night chatting with the most popular woman in the south-east directly from the lips of a fan. She hoped it would be a humbling experience, at least.

“You’re tricky,” she grinned smugly, “Don’t worry, though, I’ll figure you out.”

“Not unless I figure you out first!” she teased, rifling through her purse, “Say, did you ever bother actually trying the etouffee? Or any of the local cuisine, for that matter? Or were you too intimidated by all of the words you can’t pronounce?”

“I’m not INTIMIDATED,” she scoffed indignantly, “Why would I be intimidated by fucking crawfish?”

“So, no then?” Alice mocked, scribbling her address on a napkin.

“I’m a very busy woman, okay? I haven’t exactly had time to-”

“Excuses, excuses,” Alice interrupted, extending the napkin to her, “I’ll make you a deal."

"...Go on?" Victoria pressed, clearly intrigued.

"I’ll make you a local dish, better than anything any of the shoddy restaurants you’ve been frequenting can cook up.”

Victoria smiled at the address before glancing up again, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “And in exchange?”

“You’ll just have to stick around and find out, won’t you?” Alice lured, leaning against the back of the chair across from her. She couldn’t tell what meaning Victoria took from her words, but based on the pink flush spilling over her face, she knew it probably wasn’t what she had intended.

“And what? Do I just show up whenever?”

“You’ll know when to stop by,” she promised, turning on her heel, deciding now was the time to make her exit. “Until next time, Victoria!” she called over her shoulder.

“Wait!” she called after her, but Alice didn’t turn back. The trap was set. Whether she knew something, or was actually involved, Alice could sense that she was on the right track. Now, it was just a matter of getting her to talk- and based on how this night had gone, she had a feeling that wouldn’t be too hard.

Chapter Text

“Did you know that someone’s doing a production of ‘Waiting for Godot’ where Godot shows up at the end?” Vanessa- Alice’s haggard producer- mused, waving a well-creased letter at her without any conviction. She looked unimpressed, but then, Vanessa always looked unimpressed. Vanessa was what would happen if the word ‘ennui’ came to life and took the shape of a woman. Alice snagged the letter from her hand, skimming it over with a delighted smirk.

“How much do you think a swarm of live flies might cost?” she hummed, “They must have quite the budget. Do you suppose they replace them every show? Or did they task some poor tech with catching them all and putting them back in the pinata?”

“I doubt they’d be able to catch ALL of them. Place is probably swarming with maggots,” Vanessa shuddered, and Alice beamed, placing the letter on the meager ‘has potential’ pile. “Doesn’t Godot showing up kind of ruin the entire point of the show? Isn’t it supposed to be a metaphor for death or…something? I’ve never actually seen it, it sounds boring as hell, but…”

“I have seen it, and let me tell you…it would absolutely ruin it,” Alice giggled, reaching for another letter, “Bastardizing a theatre darling is precisely the kind of chaos I can get behind.”

“You should go. People love your reviews, for whatever reason.” Vanessa had given her plenty of feedback about how her reviews were ‘rude’, listing evidence such as ‘saying that the lead guitarist had all of the charm of a quivering, undercooked tuna is not constructive feedback!’ To her chagrin, people ate it up regardless.

“Perhaps I will,” she considered as she toyed with an envelope, slyly eying her producer. “You said you found something for me?”

“Yeah,” Vanessa sighed, an all-to familiar wrinkle puckering between her furrowed brows, “Do you really think provoking Victoria Whitman is the best idea?”

Alice chuckled, sliding the envelope across the floor. “Best in the legal sense? No! Best in regards to entertainment? Most definitely!"

“Al,” Vanessa groaned, pressing her forehead against the table, “We really don’t need any more legal trouble. Go watch the stupid play, why don’t ya?”

“But whatever will I talk about tonight?”

“I don’t know, the weather? The downtown music scene? Your neighbors? Anything other than the very rich woman who will definitely sue us to smithereens?”

“Boring, boring, and boring.”

“This is exactly why station management sent me here in the first place- it’s my job to tell you to stop pissing off the wrong people.”

“But it’s my job to piss off everyone! So…looks like we’re at a bit of an impasse,” Alice beamed, folding her hands beneath her chin, the perfect picture of innocence. Vanessa scowled at the swirling black granules in her coffee, refusing to acknowledge her. “C’mon, sunshine! It’s not a crime to talk about celebrities now, is it? Besides…I have a feeling that Miss Whitman will just be happy to know that anyone is still bothering to talk about her at all.”

“One: call me ‘sunshine’ again, and I will skewer you with this letter opener,” Vanessa deadpanned, gesturing at her sharply with the letter opener in question, “Two: I’m not so sure about that. Read over the source material, and then get back to me.”

“Gladly,” Alice simpered, snatching the dossier from her producer's hands. She skimmed over the first page, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, Vanessa, you have outdone yourself! This is too good.” Vanessa scowled, though she couldn’t hide a hint of a smile tugging at her lips as she resumed wearily sorting through fanmail.

“If anyone asks, I wasn’t involved.”

“I assure you- I’m happy to take all of the blame.”

. . .

 

Familiar jazzy piano music filtered through the tinny speakers of the radio set on Victoria’s kitchen counter, and she perked up immediately, sidling her book of crosswords to the side. “Show time, Dusky!” she cheered, patting his giant head. He responded with two lazy tail wags before curling up at her feet. Listening to Alice’s radio show had become a semi-regular part of her routine since she had learned who she was the week prior. It hadn’t taken much poking around after their talk to learn what her deal was- she hosted the most popular late night show in the south east, millions of people tuning in every night to listen to her talk about pop-culture and start fights with jaded politicians or whatever it was she might be doing that week. It felt strangely rewarding to learn that she was also a late night show host, like they were two sides of the same coin. And Victoria had to admit- she was entertaining.

“This is ‘Out of the Shadows’ and, as always, I’m your host, Alice Rousseau!” this was followed by a bright glissando before the piano faded into quiet background music. “How are we doing tonight? I hope I’m finding you all well. I, for one, am in an amazing mood. Would you like to know why?” a beat, silent aside from the scribbles of Victoria’s pen as she drew spirals in the margins of her crossword, “Because I made a new friend last week! I know, this isn’t shocking on its own. I’ve been told I’m very charismatic-”

“Please, you’re just loud!” someone called from the background, followed by a disappointed ‘womp-womp’ from the sound board.

“Ignore her, she’s only had four coffees today, so she’s grumpy.”

“Three, Al!”

“Anyway, as I was saying, I made a new friend. Perhaps this isn’t interesting on its own, buuutt…well, let’s just say, this friend is very famous.” Victoria perked up at this, kicking Dusky under the table. He groaned and flopped over to reveal his stomach, and she conceded, patting his tummy. He was starting to get a little chubby- she needed to cut out the table scraps. “I’m not one to brag, but- oh, who am I kidding, yes I am! I’m betting you’ve heard of her. Her name is Victoria Whitman!”

“Yeah it is, baby!” she cheered, “I told you- she wants me bad!” Dusky, of course, said nothing.

“Victoria Whitman is a very interesting woman, to say the least. I dare say, it’s impressive to make it as high up in the industry as she has, and as a woman no less. Hats off to her!”

“I am impressive! She noticed!”

“What’s less impressive is her obvious heavy reliance on the stars she surrounds herself with to stay afloat. Apparently, she maintains her fame by riding on the tail-coats of other, more talented individuals.”

“What?” her hand stilled on Dusky’s stomach as she pinned the radio with a look of wide-eyed disbelief.

“Now, now, this is all to be expected. Hollywood is a cut-throat place, or so I’ve heard, so it’s hardly a shock that Miss Whitman would turn into a cut-throat woman. I can almost even respect that.”

Better.

“What I can’t respect is someone using their wealth to intimidate and steal from a family in mourning.”

“Allegedly!”

“Yes, Vanessa, thank you…’allegedly’!”

Okay, what the fuck?

“She’s not actually doing this, right?” Victoria huffed, face growing hot, “Doesn’t she know who I am? Dusky- don’t whine at me, I’m not yelling at you. I’m sorry, sweetums- I’m going to sue this bitch for slander if she doesn’t watch it.”

“Take everything I’m about to say with a healthy grain of salt, but I’ve learned from an inside source that, apparently, our Victoria has been spending a decent amount of time in court over the last year. It all started when her- again, alleged- older, wealthier, lover passed away under mysterious circumstances. Oo, I know, fascinating right? And there’s more!”

“CRADDOCK WAS NOT MY LOVER! Why does everyone think- he was fucking OLD! Why would I sleep with an old man?”

“He’d conveniently written her into his will as his sole beneficiary shortly before his untimely death, despite having three kids of his own. This, of course-”

There was a loud ringing in Victoria’s ears, distorting Alice’s voice into high-pitched static as she stomped away from the table, pacing the length of her kitchen, hands in her hair. “Oooo, Alice Rousseau, you have NO IDEA what you’ve just gotten yourself into!” she huffed, raffling through a drawer frantically, letting out a small ‘Aha!’ when she found what she was looking for.

Elegant looping cursive scrawled across a half-rumpled napkin.

“...In completely unrelated news, I’m sure, have you heard about the body of that mafioso that was discovered last week? Of course you have! Now, I’m sure you know this, but-”

With a growl, Victoria unplugged the radio, plunging the room into silence. She kneeled in front of Dusky, gently grabbing him by the jowls so she could stare into his pitch-black irises. “Looks like it’s time to finally pay our friend a visit, what do you think?” Dusky licked her face, tail thumping against the legs of the chair he was still curled beside, and she giggled, falling back on her haunches. “Yes, you’re right- we won’t let her get away with this, will we? We’ll show her!”

There would be no more bloodshed while she was in New Orleans, but a little intimidation never hurt anyone. She folded the napkin and tucked it carefully into her wallet.

. . .

“CUT!” Janet roared, face aflame as she stomped out of frame.

“You don’t get to say that! Only I get that power!” the director called after her. When she didn’t respond, he turned to Victoria with an exasperated look, clearly searching for sympathy. “She doesn’t get to say that, right?” When Victoria only sighed, stirring her (weak) coffee with a toothpick, he huffed, gesturing helplessly after Janet’s disappearing figure. “Well? DO SOMETHING!”

Fine.

Victoria shoved the coffee into his floundering hand, fixing him with a cool glare. “Better coffee,” she said flatly.

“Huh?”

“Better. Coffee. I’ll be back in ten minutes, and somebody better be handing me a cup of coffee that doesn’t blow absolute shit the second I step foot on set. Got it?”

His eyes widened, jumpy blue vein twitching in his forehead. “If you can’t get your floozy to act right, I’ll replace her. There are a million girls who would be grateful to play that role, most of them prettier than your little pet project.” This was said with no real conviction, more of a whine than a threat, which only annoyed Victoria more. She crossed her arms, but let her expression soften into something almost cajoling.

“Have you ever considered that maybe…if your actors keep running away from set…you might be the problem?” she mused, brows lifting significantly as she waited for him to catch on. The set was, admittedly, a bit of a shit show. Janet and the asshole who was cast as the male lead did NOT get along (to put it lightly), and if one of them wasn’t stomping away, it was the other. This director was a spineless pushover who radiated negative authority, an absolute charisma vacuum with a megaphone and a clipboard, like all it took to be in charge was holding the right props. This was his sophomore film, and it showed. He glanced down at her hand as she squeezed his shoulder, jaw slack, an unappealing wet sheen to his mud-color eyes.

“That hysterical bitch-”

“See, that’s exactly my point! That’s not how a professional talks about their employees, now is it, Joseph? And I thought you wanted to play in the big leagues?”

“My name is-”

“I know you still have a lot to learn, so why don’t you stay nice and quiet, take some advice from a professional, hm?” he took a step back, paper cup bulging around his nervous grip, and she grinned, circling him slowly, “You let your actors run all over you, and then you complain about them like they’re old college pals. Bad news, Johnny: college is over! This is the real world. You’re an adult!” Jeremy was, judging by his receding hairline and four o’ clock shadow, at least forty years old, and clearly offended. Good. “So, stop whining and begging me to do your job for you. If you want to be in charge, take charge,” she paused, gaze flickering to the distant shape of Janet climbing into her trailer. She sighed, preparing to go after her and talk her down. Again.

“Okay, take charge, got it. I can do that! I can be-”

“Very good Jamie! And don’t forget…” she shot one last look at him over her shoulder, smirking at the eager anticipation on his face, “COFFEE!”

. . .

In an ideal world, Victoria would have rolled out of bed that morning and stomped directly over to that bold radio bastard’s house, made her swallow her words before the coffee had even finished brewing. Unfortunately, this, of course, was not an ideal world. She had shit to do. She always had shit to do. So, instead, here she was, sitting on the stiff couch in Janet’s trailer, watching her drag a brush through her already frizzy blonde curls, face contorted into a nasty scowl.

“He’s made us run that scene FIFTY TIMES this morning, Vic,” she huffed, slamming the comb onto the table. Victoria arched a brow, fighting back a smirk. “FIFTY! AT LEAST! How many times do I have to say ‘Looking for someone, stranger?’ in a coy tone before he accepts that MAYBE I’m not the FUCKING PROBLEM?” When Victoria didn’t respond, Janet’s gaze flicked up to meet hers in the mirror, face melting into a familiar pout. “Do you think I’m the problem?”

“Janet, Janet, Janet,” Victoria tsked, pushing to her feet so she could stand behind her, massaging her taut shoulders as she held her gaze in the glass, “You’re doing amazing, babe, of course you are. You know, out of everyone I’ve ever worked with- and don’t tell anyone else I said this- you’re by far the most talented. You’ve got that ‘it-factor’, you’re truly special.” It wasn’t a lie- when she wasn’t throwing tantrums or committing man-slaughter, she really was something else.

“Then what gives?” she huffed discontentedly. Vic searched for an angle- as much as she longed to throw James under the bus, she also wanted her freedom back. And getting her freedom back meant quashing some of the drama on set.

“Jared’s a perfectionist, that’s all! He has a very meticulous directing style. You know, if you want to actually make it in this industry-”

“Jack is a pathetic nobody who’s only other film is about overgrown toddlers betting on chicken races,” she scowled, pulling away from Victoria roughly, spinning in her chair to face her. “You know, Michael said he was going to book me a Hitchcock. Do you think you could pull that off?”

Fucking Michael. Victoria frowned, hands clenching unwittingly at her sides, a little spark of anger flashing behind her temples. “Michael couldn’t’ve booked a Hitchcock if his client was fucking Marilyn Monroe,” she snapped, and Janet smirked, lithe arms folded over her chest.

“He sounded pretty confident to me. You’re not the only one who sees potential in me, Vic. So, if you’re only capable of getting me roles in films directed by no-names…”

“This movie is a BIG DEAL!” she snapped, turning away from her. “You know, I’ve really stuck my neck out for you, Jan. You were nothing before you met me, and if you want to go back to that life, then by all means, be my guest,” she paused, glancing at her over her shoulder significantly, “You know, there are a million girls who would be grateful for that role.” Janet fought hard to hold onto her scowl, but there was a familiar softening around her eyes, a slight tension to her posture, so Vic kept pressing. “Do you think Michael would have been willing to step up the way I have? You know…if anyone else was your agent….” she paused for good measure, resting a hand on the back of her chair as she loomed over her, “you would be rotting in prison right now.”

Surprisingly, Janet didn’t deflate at this. Instead, she squared her shoulders, eyes darkening. “You don’t know what it feels like to have blood on your hands.”

Boy, did she! She almost laughed, but thankfully, she was able to hold it in.

“You’re fine, Jan, it was self-defense,” kind of, “nothing to feel guilty about.”

“I don’t know,” she mused, batting Victoria’s tie like it was a cat toy, “I heard he had a wife who really loved him,” she paused, looking up at her with intention, “and she’d just given birth to their son. It’s a shame, really. That poor baby growing up without a father…”

Victoria’s stomach dropped. She knew. She knew about Michael. How the fuck-

“Yeah, well, maybe if he didn’t want to get shot in the head, he shouldn’t have been breaking into innocent women’s hotel rooms and attempting to strangle them to death,” she snapped, hoping she didn’t sound flustered, “Besides, kids grow up without fathers all of the time. Builds character.”

Janet smirked, pushing to her feet, arms tangling around Victoria’s waist. “So, you’ll book me a Hitchcock, then?” she charmed, or rather, she blackmailed. Victoria frowned, gaze darting to the door.

“Not unless you can prove you’re actually capable of working with people,” she snapped, “You know, there’s only so much I can do. If you can’t make it through even one day of filming without pitching a hissy fit, nobody’s going to want you on their set, right?”

“Oh, I can do it. If everyone else would just stop being fucking stupid-”

“No, no, Jan! Don’t worry about everybody else, worry about yourself. I need you to be good for me, can you do that?” She needed this morning to be over with. She had somewhere to be.

Janet stood on her tiptoes, placing a gentle kiss on Victoria’s cheek before pinning her with a poisonous look. “Never threaten to replace me again, or I’ll talk,” she promised darkly, before tacking on a cheery “looks like you’re stuck with me now,” in a bright, bell-like voice that sent shivers down Victoria’s spine. “So, I’ll play nice.” And, like nothing had ever happened, she swayed out of the trailer, leaving Vic feeling dizzy and in over her head.

The kiss left a pink lipstick mark on her cheek. No matter how hard she scrubbed at it, she couldn’t seem to get it off.

. . .

Alice rounded the corner of her neighborhood- quaint, compact rows of shotgun style houses in a tight line, painted every color of the rainbow. The sky was growing dark, and neighbors were communing on their porches, gossiping voices floating down the lamp-lit street. She had a paper grocery bag tucked under one arm, face fixed in a charming grin, keeping her gaze averted from the neighbors- if she met someone’s eye, she would get pulled into the fold, spend the night yapping with half-strangers, which would normally be just fine. But not tonight. She had plans tonight.

Or rather, she’d had plans all day. They were just taking a bit longer to unfold than she’d expected. Annoying, but…well, she did love a challenge.

As she approached her own house- single shotgun, the exterior painted a deep maroon with black accents- she paused, assessing the silhouette tucked away in the darkest corner of the porch. She smiled to herself, genuinely this time, because how silly! She thought she was going to get the jump on her.

“I told you you would know when to come!” she called as she made her way up the steps, laughing when Victoria jumped, stumbling out of the shadows.

“You know, you have a lot of fucking nerve,” she hissed, jabbing a finger at her. She certainly didn’t waste time.

“So I’ve heard!” she cheered, weight shifting to one leg as she assessed her. There was a frazzled energy about her, hair slung in a messy bun, clothes wrinkled as though she had been sitting in them all day. Her blazer was thrown over her shoulder haphazardly, tie loosened around her throat, and there were obvious bags under her eyes. “I take it you caught the show last night?”

“You have no idea what you just started. I’ve already spoken with my lawyer. By the time I’m done with you-”

“Yes, yes, you’re very scary, I understand,” she hummed nonchalantly, thrusting the paper bag into her hands, “Be a dear and hold this for me, why don’t you?” Victoria blinked, face turning red, but she held the bag. Alice smiled, sliding her key into the lock, and gesturing her into her home. “After you.”

“You’re a fucking cunt,” she ranted, stepping into the house, “And bringing up that trial? Oooo, you have no idea what you’re in for!”

“You JUST said that!” Alice cheered, delighted by how this was playing out. “Besides, it’s public information, darling, anyone can access those files.”

“And insinuating that I murdered someone? You can’t just accuse someone of-”

“And when did I say anything about murder?” Alice mused smugly, pushing past her, making her way to the kitchen. “Pretty sure you’re the only one bringing that up! How interesting.”

Victoria’s gaze flickered around the house as she slowly trailed after her, jaw strained, grocery bag still clutched in her arms. Alice’s living room was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves showcasing a clashing array of collectibles and doo-dads and various animal bones collected over the years. The kitchen was a straight shot past it, cozy and warm, the only room left untouched during the renovation. It was Alice’s favorite room in the old house, stepping over the threshold always felt like stepping back in time.

“He died under ‘mysterious circumstances’. That’s what you said! Don’t act like you don’t know what you were implying,” Victoria floundered incredulously, fast on her heels, a hound barking up at a treed raccoon. “And where do you want me to set this?” she added, waggling the grocery bag furiously.

“I was only implying that your lover died under mysterious circumstances,” Alice quipped drily, making her way to the pot on the stove. It had been going all day, filling the house with a rich, hearty aroma. She gave Victoria a cunning grin over her shoulder, inclining her head to an empty place on the counter. “By the toaster.”

“He wasn’t my LOVER!” she roared, setting the bag obediently by the toaster before turning on her again. “He was an OLD MAN! Also, what are you cooking by the way, it smells amazing!” Her shoulder brushed hers as she leaned closer to stare down at the bubbling brown liquid in the pot, head tilting curiously.

“You lived with him for nearly a decade, the pair of you were spotted at multiple press events looking terribly cozy, and he reportedly gave you an allowance. Sounds like a lover to me,” her eyes sparkled mischievously as she glanced over at her, only mildly unsettled by her proximity. “Gumbo,” she added, “I told you that I would cook something authentic for you, didn’t I?”

“He was…well, ya know. A little…” she frowned uncomfortably, crossing her arms, “Is it seafood? I love seafood.”

“Yes! Good nose!” she cheered, “Crab, shrimp, and sausage, amongst other things.” Alice grabbed two bowls from the cabinet, plopping a healthy serving of rice into each before topping it with the stew. “And he was, what, exactly? Just a platonic sugar daddy?”

“Sure, you could say that. We were friends.”

“Be a dear and grab two glasses from the cabinet adjacent to the stove? No, right adjacent not left adjacent. Yes!” she cheered, setting the bowls down on the kitchen table. “Now, if you look in that bag you were toting around earlier, you’ll find a bottle of wine.”

“You’re really bossy,” she remarked like she was just now noticing, precariously balancing the wine bottle and the two glasses.

“And you’re such a good listener!” Alice chuckled, leaning back, palms pressing against the table behind her. For a moment, Victoria almost looked amiable, but then her expression darkened again.

“I’m still pissed at you.” She loomed over her, reaching around her to set the goods down on the table before turning the full force of her mismatched glare back on her, jabbing an accusatory finger at her chest. “You really should’ve kept your mouth shut. You have no idea what I’m capable of.” There was something about the way she was looking at her, a manic little glimmer of excitement underneath all that malice, like she had been waiting all day for this moment.

“Victoria Whitman, is that a threat?” Alice teased, eyes widening in a mockery of fear. “And whatever are you planning to do to me, hm? Go on, let’s hear it,” she grinned up at her, watching the color drain from her face, her fingers knotting in the collar of Alice’s blouse, jerking her closer.

“It’s not a threat, it’s a promise,” she growled, and it was so delightfully corny that Alice couldn’t help but laugh, a strangled guffaw tearing from the back of her throat, clearly jarring her new little foe. She was staring at her with a dazed, wide-eyed expression, hand still gripping her shirt, angry flush tinting her otherwise colorless face.

“Sorry, it’s just- oh, that’s good, actually! Do you make a habit of speaking in cliches?” she giggled, fingers wrapping around her wrist as she gazed steadily up at her, “Forgive me, I know this is disappointing, but you just don’t intimidate me, Whitman,” as she spoke, she pried her hand hand from her shirt, dropping it disdainfully. Victoria stiffened, staring at her as if she had just woken up and wasn’t quite sure where she was. “Keep trying though, I do love a good show.”

“You’re really fucking insufferable, I hope you know that,” she huffed, and Alice beamed, taking her place at the table.

“So I’ve been told!” she pushed one of the bowls towards Victoria, indicating it with a flick of her spoon, “Tell me what you think.”

“I think you’re really fucking insufferable,” she repeated, stirring the contents of the bowl with a pouty frown before taking a hesitant bite. Alice watched on in amusement as her eyes lit up, bowing her head as she scooped up a second bite.

“Still going to end me or whatever?” she teased, and Vic’s gaze snapped up to meet hers, eyes shining with an intense sincerity.

“Alice Rousseau, I’m going to make your life a living hell,” she promised gravely, “please invite me over for dinner every night.” Alice arched her brows, shoulders tilting coyly as she gathered her own bowl in her hands.

“I told you I was good!”

“Yeah, whatever, you’re a good cook. You’re still nothing but a small town radio host with a fanbase of demented old fucks who probably forget you exist as soon as your show is over.” She said all of this in an easy, good-natured tone, like she were discussing the weather.

“Oh, Victoria,” Alice tsked, eying her over her the rims of her glasses, “If you believe that’s true, then why are you even here?” She didn’t reply, brows lowering as she continued scarfing down the gumbo. Alice decided to change tact. “Do you really expect me to believe that an old millionaire gave a beautiful woman thousands of dollars, and all he wanted in exchange was friendship?” She didn’t really care about the nature of their relationship, but it was clearly a bit of a wound for Victoria, and she liked watching her flail. Her reaction surprised her though, spoon freezing on its journey to deliver more stew, the corner of her crooked mouth quirking up in an arrogant smirk.

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Alice nearly choked on her wine, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. Victoria leaned back in her seat, arms crossing over her chest as she surveyed her. Alice realized she needed to say something.

“Stop dodging the question.”

A bit blunter than her usual style, but it got the job done. Or at least, she thought it did, until Victoria chuckled, running a hand through her through her hair, striatrions of black and white falling messily around her angular face.

“Look at you- inviting me over for a homecooked meal, which you obviously spent a LOT of time on, pouring me wine, calling me beautiful…” it was annoying that she was somehow managing to gain the upper hand here. Alice kept digging for comebacks and coming up empty. “What is this, Alice? Be honest with me. Because it’s feeling less like an interrogation, and more and more like a-”

“The way you dance around every question is hardly doing you any favors. I’m starting to suspect you’re a coward as well as a fraud,” she cut in, placing her half-eaten bowl back on the table. The teasing grin dropped from Victoria’s face, jaw tensing. “Well?” Alice pressed, sensing she had regained some ground.

“Craddock was a queer. There! Is that what you wanted to hear?” she snapped, narrowing her eyes at her. “Craddock fucked the pool boy and then touted me around on his arm in public like a fancy new wristwatch. He was a raging homosexual, and I was his beard, and when he finally fucking kicked the bucket, I got a fancy house and a fat paycheck. The only thing it cost me was nearly a decade of everyone thinking that I was fine with sucking on dentures while I waited for the Viagra to kick in. It was humiliating, but I’m free now, and…fuck you, its not funny!” she snapped as Alice broke down into a roaring fit of laughter, burying her face in her hands. “He wanted to lavender marry me! And now his stupid adult children are riding my dick 24/7 because they think I murdered the old prick. Like time didn’t just do the job for me. And you’re over there, squawking about it on your stupid radio show when you don’t know the FIRST thing about what you’re talking about.”

“You poor little thing!” Alice gasped between laughs, wiping tears from her eyes, “That must have been so hard for you!”

“It wasn’t easy, but I managed.”

“Oh, Victoria,” she sighed, settling down, “You do have such a colorful way with words!” Victoria didn’t respond to this, just watched her with an expression she couldn’t read, some of that hardness melting from her assymetrical eyes. “He was only sixty-eight, by the way. You talk about him as if he were pushing ninety, but he was hardly older than you are now.”

“Woah, wait, fuck you!” she snapped heatedly, “I’m only forty one!”

“‘Only,’” Alice jeered, folding her hands innocently under her chin.

“Yes, only! I’m not old yet.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say.”

“I think I hate you, actually,” Victoria sighed before taking a long sip of her wine.

“I’m only bringing up age to point out that Craddock was a bit young to be a victim of time,” she said pointedly, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

“Right, well…sure, I guess. And?”

“And I heard you were spotted leaving his hotel room that night, were you not? Just moments before he was assumed to have passed?”

“What, are you like, obsessed with me or something?” she scoffed, swallowing another spoonful of stew, “What’s with everyone giving me the third degree today? I’m done talking about Craddock, and-” she cut herself off, eyes narrowing, “all of this bullshit.” How curious.

“What do you want to talk about, then?” she challenged, fixing her with a cat-like grin.

“Let’s talk about you, hm? What’s your deal? What do you do besides start fights and cook?”

“You pretty much summed it up, actually!” she cheered, “Well, and I do enjoy dancing on the weekends.” And murdering rude men. But that hardly seemed like polite dinner conversation.

“How long have you been in the entertainment biz?”

“Trying to figure out how old I am?” she teased, refreshing their glasses. “Still pouting about being compared to the elderly?”

“You’re somewhere in your thirties, I’m sure,” she mused, ignoring the last part, “You’ve got one of those faces, though. Hard to read.”

“And yours is like a large print book!”

“I’m better at hiding things than you’d think. I’m still an actress at heart,” she quipped defensively. Cute. She was completely unaware of herself.

“Are you done with this?” Alice asked, reaching for her empty bowl. It wasn’t a question that warranted a response. She made her way over to the sink, running water over the dirty dishes. There was still much to get done that night, and she had gotten about as much out of this interaction as she figured she could.

“What’s with all the bones?” Victoria mused, following after her. She leaned against the counter, gesturing to a bird skull poised between two tomato plants on the windowsill. “Did you…buy them somewhere? Or are you some kind of a closet freak that kills your neighbor’s pets?”

“Donations, mostly. Found some of them- already dead, of course. The process of cleaning all of the flesh and detritus from the bone is surprisingly relaxing. I suppose you can add that to the list of things I enjoy outside of work.” She didn’t really think about how it must sound as she spoke, words spilling out easily as she fell into the rhythm of scrubbing dishes and piling them onto the rack to dry. Victoria moved beside her, drying dishes with the towel she had laid out earlier, shoulder bumping against hers as they set to work. There was something almost pleasant about it.

“So, starting fights, cooking, and cleaning corpses?” she teased, “Oh, and dancing! How could I forget!” Alice arched a brow as she passed her the freshly cleaned ladle, not sure how to decipher the look of pure, unadulterated amusement on the other woman’s face. “And ‘donations’? So what, people just find roadkill and are like, ‘you know who would probably love this?’” This got a genuine chuckle from Alice.

“No, you idiot! People do this little thing here called ‘hunting.’ It’s where people- men, typically- go out into the woods and- get this- shoot animals with guns! I know, it sounds barbaric to put it that way, but…c’est la vie. Have to put food on the table somehow.”

“I know what hunting is, asshole,” she bantered, knocking her shoulder into hers playfully. She shot her a curious look out of the corner of her eye, appraising her thoughtfully. “Do you hunt?”

“Me? Hm,” Alice contemplated the question as she reached for the final item in the sink- the discarded kitchen knife she’d used to slice the vegetables for the stew. The sharp blade gleamed as she ran it under the water. “I suppose!”

“You ‘suppose’?” Victoria hummed, words brushing against her skin as she slid behind her. Alice stiffened at the change in tone, little hairs standing up along the back of her neck. “So what, you’re not sure? How does that work, exactly?” She rested her hands on Alice’s hips as she spoke, fingers splaying over her waist, voice going low and velvety. Alice froze, grip tightening around the handle of the knife.

“Are you trying to find out?” the words came out less punchy than intended, flooded with an unfamiliar feeling that pooled in her lower stomach.

“I want to find out everything about you that I can. There’s something different about you, Alice.” Whatever game she was playing, Alice decided that she wasn’t interested. The words paired with her proximity felt like an obvious threat. Without hesitation, she twirled, switching their positions so that Vic was pinned between her and the counter.

“I know what you are, Victoria Whitman, so don’t get any funny ideas,” she scolded, and Victoria’s eyes widened, color rushing to her face.

“Woah, wait, if I misread-” the mushy look of utter confusion on her face was enough to make Alice second guess herself. She glanced down at the knife in her hand, tip of the blade pressed against Victoria’s sternum, before glancing back up at her, brows knitting together.

“And what was it that you misread?” she hummed, fingers wrapping around Victoria’s wrist, keeping her pinned. There was something about the way her eyes fluttered shut, breath catching in her throat, that made her want to keep going. She slid the tip of the blade up along her torso, Victoria’s back arching along the movement, a low shaky sigh falling from her lips. It definitely wasn’t the reaction most people had when being threatened with a knife, and it stirred something unfamiliar in Alice, something hungry, heat coiling in her lower stomach. When she pressed the flat edge of the blade against the base of her throat, Victoria’s eyes flickered open, pupils dilated, a small hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“Nothing, you just…” her free hand pressed against Alice’s lower back, pushing her closer, and Alice’s eyes widened with surprise, “You’re kind of sending a lot of mixed signals,” she murmured.

“Says the woman who spent the better part of this evening throwing a tantrum! You’re a terribly rude house guest, by the way.”

“Right, and everyone knows that all good hostesses threaten their company with steak knives,” she replied sarcastically, fingers knotting in the material of Alice’s blouse when she pressed the knife harder against her throat. It was confusing enough to throw her off balance. She dropped the knife down onto the counter behind her, preparing to put some distance between them, but Victoria’s hands circled her hips, holding her in place. “Enough with the ambiguity. Tell me what you’re really after,” she demanded lowly, thumbs tracing circles against the hem of her skirt.

“Maybe I just like seeing you squirm,” Alice replied, grinning mirthfully up at her. Victoria, confusingly, smiled a sharp, cocky grin at this, hands roaming up her back, drawing her closer. It was more contact than Alice was used to, and her body responded in ways she wasn’t expecting, a shiver running down her spine, a hungry kind of need growing from somewhere deep within her. It wasn’t until Victoria’s forehead was pressed against hers, mouth centimeters from her own, that she understood. She placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back, elbow locking. She somehow mustered a smile as she met her mismatched gaze.

“I think it’s best that you leave now,” she said, knowing it was true, a part of her wishing it wasn’t. Victoria blinked, eyes widening with confusion before narrowing back into arrogant slits.

“Is that so?”

“Yes!” Alice said, stepping back, hoping her uneven breathing wasn’t obvious. For once, she didn’t follow. Instead, her shoulders deflated, brows knitting together with clear confusion. “You remember where the door is, I presume?”

“I-wait-what?” she stammered, “But you- what?”

“I don’t like repeating myself,” Alice said, not in an unfriendly tone.

“Okay, then. Suit yourself, I guess,” she huffed, a bit off kilter as she made her way from the kitchen. She paused again in the doorway, glancing back at her. “Thanks, for dinner, I guess.”

“Maybe you’re not such a good listener after all,” Alice tsked, and Victoria wilted, turning away from her again. Before the front door slammed shut behind her, Alice called after her one last, “Good night, Victoria!” She didn’t get a response, but she was strangely certain she’d be hearing from her again soon enough. She just wasn’t sure exactly what that meant yet.

. . .

That night, as Alice lay in bed on the verge of sleep, her radio crackled a familiar spray of static, ears popping in that familiar way they always did when she was present. She only said three words, and if it weren’t for the tension in her temples, she would have assumed that she’d dreamed them.

“Told ya so!”

It was all the confirmation she needed. Victoria Whitman was the one.

Chapter Text

Gritty river water plugged Victoria’s nostrils as she fought for air, back of her throat stinging, pressure building behind her eyes. She tried to push her way back up to the surface, but the man was too strong, his hold on the back of her neck apparently unbreakable. Faced with what she was certain was the end, she was surprised to find that, instead of a slideshow of memories, she was dealt with an overwhelming feeling of disappointment at how the headlines would read. Victoria Whitman: Drowned in the Mississippi River by a Nobody Who Smells Like Red Man Chewing Tobacco. Fucking pathetic. This couldn’t be it, right?

 

And by the grace of fuck, it wasn’t. After a small eternity spent huffing dirty water, he ripped her back onto the riverbank, a blurry shape looming over her as she coughed up lungfulls of muddy Mississippi. 

 

“Do you know why you’re here, Whitman?” he asked, voice distorted because, of course, her ears weren’t spared from the torrent. 

 

“A fan?” she wheezed, annoyed with the apparent lack of security on set. This loser had nabbed her the second she was alone in the parking lot, had secured a burlap sack over her head and thrown her in the backseat of a car that smelled like pine needles and aftershave. She studied him as her vision cleared, really seeing him for the first. His perfectly coiffed hair shone with wax, and the casual striped button down he was wearing clashed with the designer sunglasses concealing his eyes. Victoria was unimpressed by her assailant. “If you wanted an autograph, all you had to do was ask. I probably wouldn’t have done it, but-”

 

And she was being shoved back into the water again. She’d been expecting it this time, so it was a little more manageable- she’d even remembered to hold her breath before the dunking commenced. She felt pretty confident that he wasn’t going to kill her, mostly because now that she was able to form coherent thoughts, she was aware that waterboarding was a terribly inconvenient way to go about it. The longer she was under, though, the harder it became to hold onto logic. Her lungs were screaming at her, every cell in her body urging her to inhale, infinitesimal white specks dancing across the back of her eyelids. Just when she thought that she was going to pass out, she was lying on the bank again, dry heaving. 

 

“Do you recognize me?” he was kneeling in front of her, back to being just the vague shadowy outline of a man. 

 

“You know I can’t fucking see you, right?” she snapped, and when he placed a hand on the back of her neck again, she tensed and spat, “Don’t.” To her surprise, he listened. 

 

“You know, it’s a funny thing, Whitman- brother came out here lookin’ for you, and next thing we know, he’s dead in the woods,” he slipped the ridiculous glasses down his nose, eyes glinting like ice chips in his chiseled face, and it clicked. The dead mobster’s brother. Fuck. “You know anything about that?” 

 

“How the fuck would I know? A lot of people want to meet me, pal. Was I supposed to be keeping track of them all?” she was proud of how steady her voice was when her thoughts were mostly comprised of variations of the word ‘fuck’ over and over again. 

 

“People around you have a curious way of goin’ missin’, ya know? Maybe nobody else’s caught on just yet, but we have.” She pulled her knees into her chest, tracking his every movement as the stinging in her lungs slowly faded. 

 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“Sure ya don’t. Figured as much,” he tsk-tsked. She tensed as he reached into the pocket of his jacket, relaxing when he pulled out a photograph. He waved it in front of her face, and she narrowed her eyes, trying to make it out. “I’m gonna need you to think long and hard before you lie to me, Miss Whitman. Do you recognize this man?” She did, indeed, think long and hard. The man in the photograph was familiar to her- she’d never forget the face of one of her girls. The problem is that she knew where this one had ended up, and depending on what this mobster was after, telling him could be a death sentence. “Can’t place him? Need me to help jog your memory?” his hand was on the back of her neck again, and she was hit by a wave of fresh panic. 

 

“Angel!” she blurted, “Or at least, that’s what he was going by when I knew him. Doubt it’s his real name, but-” she felt his grip tighten on the back of her neck and winced, sucking in a deep breath. He chuckled cruelly before pulling back, nodding to himself. 

 

“Enlighten me: how’d ya know him?”

 

“Well, uh,” she cleared her throat, pushing damp strings of hair from her forehead, “He was singing at a nightclub I used to frequent. Good voice, not hard to look at, so I made him an offer. I had him under contract for a bit, but then…” 

 

“But then, what?” 

 

She’d sold him to a pimp (okay, it was a bit more complicated than that). Either way, she wasn’t about to tell him that. “He met someone,” she said easily, “and they fucked off together. So…maybe go find that guy, right?” she ended this with a laugh that definitely wasn’t nervous. The mafioso narrowed his eyes at her as he folded the photo back into his pocket. 

 

“You know, if things had gone better with Duck, maybe this woulda been the end of that conversation. He’d’ve asked you for a name, circled back to us, and we all could’ve parted on good terms, but…” he trailed off, clucking his tongue, bouncing his fingertips together thoughtfully, “Duck’s gone. That’s very inconvenient for me, Miss Whitman.” He looked at her as though he expected her to say something. When she just quirked an eyebrow, he clapped his hands, fingers knitting together as he fixed her with a cold grin. “So I plan on making it very inconvenient for you, too.” 

 

“Okay?” she sighed, gesturing impatiently for him to continue. She was ready to get home and take a hot shower. All she could think about was how much bacteria was coursing through that river, now dancing in her hair and coating her lungs probably. If she came down with pneumonia…

 

“Look, full disclosure, because I’m an honest man, Miss Whitman-” doubtful, - “When they found Duck’s body, I had every intention to come down here and take you out. Do it slow, one limb at a time, make sure you really felt it,” a disconnected sort of dream-like expression washed over his face as he spoke, and it chilled Vic to the bone. For a moment, she wondered if she really was about to die. But then he shook his head, attention snapping back to her. “But the don wants you alive- he don’t care about you, per se, but he wants Anthony. You follow?” 

 

Victoria blinked, face skewering with confusion. “Anthony?” The mafioso sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 

“‘Angel.’ Whatever ya wanna call him.” 

 

“Well, like I said, he’s not really-” aaand she was being dunked under water again. Fuck, he was fast. She thrashed and struggled, chest constricting as he pushed her lower. She couldn’t tell if he’d released her, or if she’d actually managed to wrestle out of his grip, but she was free suddenly, body still fighting before she could even register what was happening. His elbow swung into her forehead, but heightened adrenaline kept her moving, lurching forward in a blind, animal rage. She landed a blow, and then felt the impact of a truck slamming into her chest as he shoved her back, sending her sprawling to the ground again. When her vision cleared, she found him standing over her, sorely rubbing his jaw, a glint of true rage in his beady little eyes. 

 

“I’m tryin’ to be nice to you here, Miss Whitman, really, I am,” he growled, and she fought back an eyeroll. “You killed my brother-”

 

“Literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“Well, one of yous killed my brother, and I don’t really care about the specifics. You can’t bring Duck back, but you can track down Anthony. Maybe, I’ll even let you live if you do that for me. But if you don’t…” she waited for the final blow, annoyance growing with each fleeting second, “It’ll be someone you love first. And then another, and then another, until it’s just you left.” He didn’t know that there were only two people in this world she truly loved (herself, and Dusky), which felt like an advantage at least. She tried to look appropriately scared as she continued wringing water from her hair. “So,” he extended a hand down to help her up, and she glared at it incredulously, because really? “Two weeks, Miss Whitman, and then…well, like I said, I’m a man of my word.” 

 

“You got it,” she huffed, “I’ll return Angel to you in two weeks. Done. Easy.” 

 

“You’d better, Miss Whitman, if you know what’s good for you.” 

 

She’d just have to find a way to pry him away from Valentino first.

 

. . .

 

Velvette opened the door on the third knock, and she shoved past her, shaking water out of her hair as she stepped into the hotel room. “You’re not going to BELIEVE this shit!” 

 

“Nuh uh,” Velvette chided, shoving her shoulder, “I don’t know what happened. Frankly, I don’t care. You are NOT dirtying up my rooms. Shower,” she ordered, and then, “Now!”

 

Which was how she ended up recounting the events of the day to Velvette through the shower curtain as she perched on the sink, skimming a magazine and responding with increasingly stressed sighs. 

 

“I told you that that murder was going to bite you in the ass, but nobody ever listens to me,” Velvette huffed when she was finally done explaining. Victoria peeked her head through the curtain, meeting her sharp glare with a tentative grin. 

 

“A towel, maybe? And a robe, or…” 

 

“Ugh!” Velvette threw a towel over the railing, and then disappeared into another room, voice carrying. “I mean, a fucking mob hit Vic, are you actually kidding me?”

 

“I know! I know! It’s, um…” Victoria trailed off, brows knitting together, “Man, it’s really not good, huh?” 

 

“No, it’s not!” Velvette snapped, and then, “Here, this is too big for me, but it’ll probably fit you. Freakishly tall….” Victoria frowned as she accepted the dress, scrutinizing it like it was the one that insulted her. 

 

“I’m 5’9. That’s not freakish.” 

 

“Whatever. It won’t matter when the mob puts a bullet in your head anyway.” 

 

Victoria pulled the dress over her head, and then stepped out of the shower, fixing Velvette with a friendly grin. “Sooo…think you can get in touch with Valentino?” He was notoriously hard to find, always on the move, always changing his number, etc., etc. Velvette pursed her lips thoughtfully. 

 

“He’s not going to give him up, you do know that, right?” 

 

Right. Yeah.

 

“I can…I’ll talk him into it. He’ll understand, I’m sure! I mean, how hard can it be to find another twink, am I right?” 

 

“V,” Velvette sighed, frowning at her, “I think you just need to take one for the team and die.” Vic’s eyes went wide with a fragmented mixture of horror and fury, and Velvette held up her hands in surrender. “I’m kidding. Kind of. I’ll try to get in touch with him.” 

 

“Thank you.”

 

“But he’s going to say no.”

 

“So…we need a back up plan!” 

 

Velvette grabbed her wrist, tugging her back into the living room. “No, YOU need a backup plan. I need a vacation. And maybe a cocktail.”

 

“If you can help me wiggle out of this, I’ll buy you a whole fucking house in the Hamptons,” Victoria promised solemnly, “When I die, I want it to be cool, classy. I am NOT getting offed in some alley by a man that peddles breadsticks in his spare time.”

 

“‘Peddles breadsticks…’ you can’t just invent stereotypes, you know that right?”

 

“I can do whatever I want,” she spat, and then added, “Huffs hair gels? Is that better?” Velvette ignored this, dial tone flooding the room as she lifted the phone from the receiver.

 

“I’ll try tracking down Val, and you can use your last remaining brain cell to find another way to evade the mobsters.” 

 

“I should buy a gun,” she suggested, collapsing onto the stiff couch. Velvette looked at her with the air of a very tired single mother whose toddler had just discovered the question ‘why?’

 

“Not that, probably.”

 

“I’ll keep workshopping it!” 

 

. . .

 

Every number that had ever been connected to Valentino was either out of service, or now belonged to somebody else, so that was looking more and more like a dead end. Victoria did try coming up with other ways to get out this mess, but asking nicely wasn’t likely to get her anywhere, and apparently, changing your identity and moving to Costa Rica was harder than you’d think (at least, when your face is plastered on thousands of billboards, and boxes of cereal, and movie posters, and…). 

 

“Fine,” she declared, falling over on the couch dramatically, “I guess I’ll just die.” But she wasn’t happy about it. 

 

Velvette didn’t respond, she had at some point moved on to her other job- skimming over written interviews to make sure her clients looked okay in the final edit, scrawling notes in the margins with a fury. 

 

“Janet is impossible,” she scowled, slamming the copy onto the table, “You have terrible taste in people. Everyone you date sucks.” Victoria narrowed her eyes as she propped her elbow on the arm of the couch. 

 

“First of all, I’m not ‘dating’ anyone. Especially not Janet.”

 

“Okay, fine, everyone you fuck sucks. Is that better?” 

 

“You liked Valentino,” she said, and Velvette paused, turning the full force of her glare on her. 

 

“And who fucked that up?” 

 

“Bygones,” she tsked, collapsing again, staring up at the popcorn ceiling with pursed lips. “So, um, on the subject of bad taste…” 

 

“What now?” Velvette groaned, but she turned to fully face her, attention narrowing at the mention of drama. 

 

“You date women, right?” she mused, “I mean, you know how they are?”

 

“Vic, you realize you’re a woman too, right? What do you mean, ‘know how they are’?” 

 

“I mean…” she rolled over, meeting her gaze, “I mean, women are more complicated than men.”

 

“The ones you date are. Personally, I’ve never struggled.” 

 

“Okay, let me just-” she sat up, crossing her legs underneath her, locking in, “I can’t tell if this woman is flirting with me, or if she hates me.” Velvette looked at her skeptically, crossing her arms. 

 

“You do remember that the mob put a hit out on you, right?”

 

“Right, yeah, I’m still working on that. I’ll get to it eventually.” Velvette shook her head in dismay, eyes flickering up to the ceiling, projecting a silent prayer to the heavens. 

 

“Fine. I’ll bite. Tell me about this woman who probably hates you.”

 

“Okay, so-” Victoria launched into a retelling of events, with Velvette interjecting occasionally, saying things like, ‘that was definitely flirty, yes,’ or, ‘you know, maybe she just wants more friends?’ and then, ‘No, no. She hates you, actually.’ By the time Victoria got to the end, she was just as confused as she had been when she’d started. 

 

“You tried making a move on her, and she threatened you with a knife, V. I think it’s pretty clear that she’s not interested.”

 

“Okay, but consider this: she threatened me with a knife in a hot way.”

 

“Was it actually hot, or are you just fucked in the head?” Velvette snapped, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. This was the closest thing to a philosophical conversation the two had ever achieved. 

 

“It was hot. I’m perfect, so I definitely wasn’t misinterpreting.”

 

“I think I need to meet her before I can make any judgements. Do I know this woman?”

 

“Definitely not. She’s just some nobody with a radio show.” 

 

Velvette looked thoroughly suspicious now. “What’s her name?”

 

“Alice.”

 

“Alice…who?” she said dangerously. 

 

“Alice…Rousseau.” 

 

“Fuck, Vic! NO! Not her!” Velvette groaned, dropping her face into her hands. “You just love giving me more work to do, don’t you?”

 

“Wait, what? Why are you being like this? What’s her deal?”

 

“She’s a notorious career killer, Vic. She’s literally the reason why Richard Nixon didn’t get elected president in 1952.”

 

“You know I don’t care about politics, Vel,” she groaned, already bored. 

 

“Well, you SHOULD! If you’re going to try starting a relationship-”

 

“NOT a relationship. I don’t do relationships-”

 

“Fine, if you’re going to fuck Alice-”

 

“I don’t think-”

“LISTEN TO ME! I’m putting my foot down. NO!”

 

Victoria arched a brow, corner of her mouth quirking up arrogantly. “I’m sorry, who signs whose paychecks again? Who do you think you’re talking to, ‘putting your foot down’. Please.” 

 

“When she ruins your life- and she will, if you survive this whole mafia thing- I’m not helping you. That can be your first solo PR nightmare. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

 

“Fine!” 

 

“Also, you’ve obviously been famous too long. You’ve gotten delusional. You can’t just throw yourself at people like that. You have to work your way up to it. Most people go on at least a few dates before they bang.” 

 

“First of all-”

 

Their argument continued, death threats temporarily ignored as they debated the intricacies of dating (or, not dating), women. It had been a shit day, but Victoria was glad to not be alone at the end of it, even if she was probably going to get struck down by the mob in the near future. 

. . .

 

“It doesn’t matter who you are, kid. I can’t just let you on set without permission.” 

 

Alice was generally fairly patient, but she was reaching her limit. “I understand. Perhaps you should go get permission, then?” she attempted. Vanessa (who had greatly assisted in thinning her patience by insisting on tagging along), rested a hand on her arm. 

 

“Look, we’re just here to apologize, okay?” she said flatly, gesturing to the bouquet of lilies Alice was holding. Vanessa had wanted to bring yellow roses to symbolize friendship, but the market had been out. When Alice had landed on lilies, she had glared at her and snipped, ‘Al, those are funeral flowers. You can’t apologize with funeral flowers.’ Alice, who wasn’t intending on apologizing at all, had only smiled as she passed them to the cashier. 

 

“Doesn’t matter why you’re here. Unless I’ve been given explicit permission to let you on set-” 

 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” a cheery voice called. A man somewhere in his early sixties stepped out of one the trailers. He was thin as a cigarette, with a head of silver hair so full that Alice suspected it was a toupe, a thin reedy mustache across his upper lip. “Ain’t you that radio broad? Kent, stand down, let the ladies pass. What’s wrong with you?’ All of this in rapid fire succession. Alice beamed at Vanessa, who was too busy studying the man skeptically to notice. “Men these days,” the man continued as he gestured for them to follow, “have forgotten how to treat a lady. War ruined them.” At this, Vanessa did meet her gaze, corners of her mouth pulling into a taut grimace. 

 

“So we’re blaming it all on the war, then?” Alice quipped back, tone friendly as she assessed the set, searching for familiar faces. Mostly, she saw extras lounging around in costume, and frenzied assistants flitting about as they completed their various tasks. 

 

“Oh no, some of it’s definitely upbringing. Parents aren’t parenting the way they used to- America’s far too cushy now.”

 

“Because of the war?” 

 

“Because of the war,” he confirmed solemnly. He stopped walking, turning his full attention to her. “Bob, by the way. Executive producer and senior set director. Don’t believe I ever said.” Alice readjusted the bouquet in her arms, shaking his hand firmly. 

 

“Alice, but you already knew that apparently,” she teased, and then gestured to her cohort, “Vanessa.” 

 

“Her producer,,” Vanessa added, extending her hand and then scowling when he ignored it. Alice didn’t react, but she did make a mental note of the dismissal, a little tally mark under the ‘what an asshole’ column. 

 

“Who died?” he chuckled, plucking the lilies from her grasp, swiftly earning another tally mark. 

 

“Oh, no one! They’re for Victoria,” Alice cheered brightly. 

 

“An apology gift. The market was out of roses,” Vanessa quickly added. Bob’s flint colored gaze flicked between the two of them, and then he chuckled, gesturing for them to take a seat at a picnic table near the perimeter of the set. 

 

“There’s no need to apologize to Miss Whitman. That woman is a certified monster. Her behavior is incorrigible,” he tsked, lighting a cigar, “Mind if I smoke?” Alice ignored this empty courtesy.

 

“There’s no harm in building bridges, is there?” she mused, eying the lilies still gripped in his gnarled hand. He exhaled a massive puff of curling cigar smoke over the blooms, and she fought a grimace. “Vanessa and I were thinking that, perhaps, there was a PR opportunity here. People love Victoria, but more than that, they love drama.” 

 

“I’m all ears,” Bob grinned. Vanessa squared her chin, preparing to take the lead. 

 

“We were thinking it might be fun to have Victoria on- let her redeem herself. We could stage an argument,” Alice had informed her many times that the argument wouldn’t need to be staged, but she insisted that that was a bad strategy for convincing people, “And then we could promote the movie. Of course, there would be money to discuss, but…” 

 

Bob considered her as she spoke, nodding along before cutting her off with a sharp hand gesture. “Look, it’s a fun idea, really. It’s just,” he leaned his elbows on the table, voice lowering conspiratorially, “Not Whitman, okay? She’s about to be in an even more foul mood than she normally is. I don’t think we should be giving her platforms to discuss…anything, really. For a little while, at least.” 

 

Alice and Vanessa exchanged looks, uttering curious “Oh?”s in unison. 

 

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, okay? But only because it won’t be a secret for long.” Alice leaned forward, fingers lacing beneath her chin. 

 

“Well, color me intrigued. I do love a good secret.” 

 

Bob’s mouth thinned into a terse line under his pathetic mustache, but his eyes gleamed with greasy excitement. “We’re letting Miss Whitman go- the next season of her show will be the last.” Alice’s brows rose significantly- this was, indeed, news. From her limited interactions with Victoria, she couldn’t imagine it would be received gracefully. While she wanted to find this funny, a part of her was admittedly disappointed. 

 

“Wait, why?” Vanessa asked the question she was wondering as she rifled in her pocket for her dinky notepad.

 

“It’s simple, really. We’re in a new era: men don’t want to watch ill-behaved women in trousers bark about current events. That was all well and good in the forties, but now, we want to see women who,” his gaze notably drifted down Alice’s body as he spoke, and she stiffened, eyes darkening, “look, and act like women. They want good examples for their wives and daughters, women who don’t raise their voices, who are polite. Gentle. You understand.” 

 

As he spoke, Alice’s mind began to wander, the beginnings of a plan forming. It was crazy how perfectly everything was falling into place. She had never had someone hand her a noose and ask her to hang them with it before. “I’m certain I don’t. Or rather, I’ve never had any complaints.” The grin she gave him had its intended effect. He shrunk back, quickly glancing away. “When are you telling her?”

 

“This evening,” he coughed uncomfortably, and Alice’s grin widened, “That’s- it’s why I flew down.” Vanessa paused in her note taking, shooting Alice a look that she knew well. It was a look that said, ‘change the topic, for the love of god.’ Luckily, Bob did the job for her. “I will say, Miss Rousseau, you are an impressive creature.” 

 

‘Creature?’ Vanessa mouthed, and Alice shoved her shoulder. 

 

“What makes you say that?” 

 

“For a woman of your complexion to make it in the industry at any capacity is truly something. Of course, I’m sure radio helps, seeing as most people don’t know what you look like…” Her mood soured further, another little tally added to the column. 

 

“Yet you recognized me on sight. So I’m clearly not so anonymous after all, hm?” 

 

“Ya know what they say,” he guffawed, “‘Know thy enemy.’ And you did go out of your way to make an enemy of my production company when you so blatantly insulted my employee. It would be wise, I think, for someone...like you...to think before you speak.” The slow, deliberate delivery of 'like you' made the hairs on the back of Alice's neck stand on end. She tried to imagine what his screams would sound like, and the daydream soothed her enough to continue. 

 

“But I brought flowers, and clearly, you like them,” she chided, gesturing to the lilies, “So I take it all is forgiven?” He appraised her with a slow smile, gesturing at her with the bouquet. 

 

“Miss Rousseau, with a face like that, the flowers are just a bonus,” he rested a hand on top of hers, and she tensed, fighting the urge to push him away. She needed things to remain cordial for her plan to work. “Consider it water under the bridge.”

 

“We are still interested in doing a segment on the movie,” Vanessa butted in as Alice politely withdrew her hand. She was not interested in doing a segment for the movie, but she was grateful for the interjection. She and Bob exchanged a few pitches before landing on the one that felt the most feasible- an interview with the director. Straightforward enough. Alice had been hoping to talk to a few of the actors maybe- namely Janet- but Bob and Vanessa shot that down with matching vehemence. Eventually, Vanessa stood, making her way over to the director to try to arrange a date. Alice moved to follow her, but paused, fixing Bob with a curious glance. 

 

“How long are you planning on staying in town?”

 

“However long I gotta be to keep this ship sailing smoothly,” he declared, arching a brow, “Maybe you can show me around?”

 

“Doubtful!” she cheered, and he leaned back in his hair with a sad exhale of smoke.

 

“Then why are you asking?”

 

“Tell me,” she lured, corner of her mouth twitching with a knowing smirk, “Have you ever gone hunting?” 

 

. . .

 

Vanessa’s conversation with the director went on longer than anticipated. When Alice had popped over, he had been in the middle of a rant about how filming was delayed for the day because one of the leads had shown up to set wasted. Vanessa was scribbling notes as she nodded along- when Alice had peeked over her shoulder, she had almost laughed when she saw that one of the notes simply read, ‘talks too much.’ Another, earlier note read ‘bad mustache’ with a frowny face beside it. Impeccable. Seeing that she wasn’t really needed, she began drifting back to the line of trailers at the entrance of the set, arranging the next steps of her plan like colorful little building blocks. She was almost to the exit when a hand grabbed her shoulder. She glanced up to find herself face to face with the person she’d actually come here to see. 

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

“Victoria! I was beginning to think you were hiding from me,” she laughed. Victoria didn’t look happy to see her. She was more put together than she had appeared the other night, makeup unsmudged, hair carefully arranged into a sleek ponytail, but her face still bore the tell-tale signs of sleep deprivation. She dropped her cigarette to the ground, and stomped it out with the heel of her shoe, mismatched glare never faltering. 

 

“I’m having a bad day, Rousseau, so, whatever you’re after…” Alice held her hands up in surrender, offering her a reassuring grin. 

 

“Just here to apologize.” Victoria’s eyes widened disbelievingly, mouth skewering. 

 

“For?” 

 

“Station management received your very scary letter, and sent me to put out the fire before it started. So, on behalf of station management:” Alice paused here, clearing her throat, “I’m sorry that you’re apparently too sensitive to take constructive criticism. We will do our best, going forward, to only talk about you in a positive light, if we ever bother talking about you at all. Please, we beg, do not pursue legal action. We are but a small, independent endeavor, and cannot match your torrents of filthy Hollywood money.” Victoria appraised her with an almost bored expression, jamming her hands in her pockets. “So? Going to call off your dogs? Or should I tell station management to prepare for the worst?”

 

“I’m not going to sue you,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes.

 

“I knew that already, but thank you.” There was a fleeting spark of annoyance in Victoria’s eyes, and Alice thought that maybe she would give her something other than apathy. It extinguished quickly though, dissipating back into weighted exhaustion. 

 

 “Are we done here?” There was a fading green bruise peeking through the foundation on her forehead, just above her brow. 

 

“Have somewhere to be?” 

 

“Always,” she sighed, and then, “but I heard filming was delayed again. So…who knows?” 

 

“Why are you in such low spirits today?” Alice prodded. Surely, Bob hadn’t had time to break the news yet. She glanced over her shoulder to confirm he was still where she’d left him, eyes widening when Victoria roughly grabbed her shoulders, wrenching her forward.

 

“What would you do,” she blurted with a jarring amount of conviction, face bowing close to hers, “if you knew you were going to die in two weeks?” Her sudden proximity sent off warning bells in Alice’s head, but there was nothing threatening about the way she was staring at her, a sort of manic desperation dancing in her mismatched eyes. Caving, Alice gave the question the serious consideration it clearly deserved. 

 

“Do I know how it will happen?” she mused, and Victoria pulled back, appraising her thoughtfully. 

 

“Well…not exactly, but you have a pretty good idea.”

 

“Will it be painful?” Victoria winced, averting her gaze. 

 

“Yeah, it’s probably going to suck.” Alice stifled a giggle at how seriously this was delivered. 

 

“I would try every drug,” she said after a beat, “and for my final broadcast, I would go fully off script, and say a bunch of things that would normally get me fired. I’d also eat all of my favorite foods, maybe take a break from the drugs long enough to get my affairs in order…hm,” she mulled it over, squinting into the distance as she tried to think of other things she might want to try before the end, “two weeks is such an odd amount of time.”

 

“Would you travel?” she asked with a level of intensity that implied that Alice’s answer was the deciding factor in whether or not she was booking a flight that night.

 

“I like it here, so…no?” Alice chuckled, brows knitting together when the other woman deflated, face tilting towards the ground. She was usually the one confusing people, so being on the other side of it for once was a lot to process. 

 

“Got it,” she sighed, nodding, and then, “I’ve never been to Maine.”

 

“Do you want to go to Maine?” 

 

“I like lighthouses.” 

 

The pair stood in silence for a moment, just the noises of the active set rushing past them mixing with the constant hum of cicadas. There was a buzzing tension about Victoria, like she might take off running at any moment, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, eyes jumping around the set with a pointed disfocus. Alice was beginning to suspect that this was a cry for help. She was certain that learning about her imminent dismissal from her company wouldn’t help. It’s not as though she cared either way, but…

 

“Are you planning to die in two weeks?” 

 

“I’m not planning on it, no,” she snapped weakly, running a hand through her hair. When their eyes met, she looked so lost that Alice couldn’t help but feel a little pity for whatever version of a midlife crisis she was witnessing.

 

“Some friends and I are going out later tonight,” she started, studying her carefully, “You can join, if you’re up to it, of course.” 

 

“Oh?” Victoria immediately brightened, “Count me in.” Easy.  “Just know that if you threaten me with a knife again, I will sue. And I mean it this time,” she warned, and Alice chuckled, rolling her eyes. 

 

“Don’t be a baby. You’re alive, aren’t you?” Victoria considered her skeptically, hand forming a v on her chin as she lost herself in thought. Finally, she brightened again. 

 

“For now!” she cheered, punctuating her words with jazz hands, “Now, give me the details,” her hand pressed against Alice’s arm as she steered her back down the line of trailers, and Alice shook her head, allowing the intrusion with an unwitting grin as she rambled on, “Where are we going? Who’s going to be there? Is it more of a casual vibe, or are we talking fancy? Paint me a picture, I like being prepared.”

Chapter Text

The bar was everything that Alice had told her it would be- a quiet little establishment, tucked away on the corner of Canal Street, boasting a crooked sign rendered useless by a glaring lack of outdoor lighting. If she hadn’t been given such clear directions, she would have breezed right past it, hardly assuming it was open, much less worth visiting. She watched people as they entered- usually alone, still in their day clothes, faces bent down, shoulders heavy. Definitely not the kind of place she would usually patronize, but here she was. It took her a while to muster up the courage to actually go inside. She wasn’t sure why she was nervous- she was a movie star, for Christ’s sakes. A game night at a podunk bar with a few no names was hardly something she should be worried about. This mafia business was clearly fucking with her head. And the shit with Bob. 

 

Bob…

 

She groaned, pushing thoughts of Bob to the back of her mind. That was a problem for later Victoria. Present Victoria was pulling open the door, scanning this shadowy hole in the wall until she finally spotted her, tucked away in a corner booth with the seamstress and a stranger, clearly already in the middle of a round. She didn’t see her, caught up in the game. Victoria watched as she slapped her cards onto the table, face lighting with a triumphant grin as she held out her hand, fingers wrapping around the two shiny coins deposited into her palm by the other two possessively before she leaned back against the bench, content, gloating. Victoria’s stomach flip-flopped, and she fought the urge to duck wordlessly back out into the night. That was the coward’s way out, and Victoria Whitman wasn’t a coward. So, steeling her resolve, she squared her shoulders, and sauntered over to the bar. 

 

“Martini, dry,” she demanded before the bartender even had time to greet her, “Actually, fuck it, make it a double. I need it.” She did. The bartender looked up from her work, studying her with a squint that she knew all too well. She felt the little vein in her forehead pulse. “Hello?” 

 

“Don’t I know you?” she mused, setting the glass she was cleaning down on the bar top, “You been in here before?”

 

“Sure, whatever. I would like a dry martini. A double,” she attempted again. She couldn’t remember if a double martini was even a thing. The bartender continued scrutinizing her, thick fingers tapping the counter, face lighting up with recognition. “Fuck, here we go,” Vic mumbled to herself, jaw clenching.

 

“Ahh, yeah! I know who you are!” she cheered, “You’re the cereal box lady! Love your work. Well, actually, I don’t, it’s too sugary for me. But my son loves it!” Really? Victoria arched a brow, caught between offense and amusement. Of all of the projects she’d ever been involved with….

 

“Yup, that’s me. I’m the lady from the cereal box. So, I’ll take-”

 

“I heard you the first two times,” the bartender snapped, mood shifting on a dime, “Thinks because she’s got a cereal made after her, she can talk to people however she wants,” she mumbled to herself. Vic’s eyes bulged incredulously as she threw her hands up in the air, deciding that enough was enough.

 

“I’m also in movies, you know?” she snapped, “Resident Abel? Muscadines of Fury? The Sizeable Nap?” she rattled, and the bartender nodded along as she reached for a bottle of gin.

 

“Sure you are, sweetie. That’s great!” 

 

Oh, this bitch! “I host the most popular talk show on air! It’s on every weeknight?” Well, she HAD hosted the most popular talkshow…she was going to see to it that it remained that way. 

 

“Mhm.”

 

“Stop acting like you don’t know who I am!” 

 

“Yes, she’s very famous,” a mocking voice said from beside her, and Victoria jumped, shooting a wary glare at Alice before immediately faltering. She had changed from her earlier outfit into a silky button down paired with a chic vest that hugged the slender curves of her waist, her hair left free around her keen face. She leaned against the bar, smug smirk melting into a soft smile when their eyes met. “Hello! You sure took your time, didn’t you? We were placing bets on whether or not you were going to make it.” 

 

“And?” 

 

“Mimzy is going to be sorely disappointed. She owes me fifty cents.” So she’d bet that she would be here. Victoria wasn’t sure why that made her feel warm, but it did. “You were bragging about how famous you are, were you not? Don’t let me get in the way.”

 

“She’s a very famous cereal mascot, I’m sure,” the bartender dismissed, passing two martinis to Victoria. She stared at the drinks incredulously for a beat, and then shrugged, accepting her fate. At least she had alcohol now. 

 

“The most famous cereal mascot.” She deserved some credit, at least. Alice placed a hand on her forearm, directing her towards their booth. 

 

“Hm, no. Pretty sure that goes to Tony the Tiger,” she prodded, and Victoria nodded easily as though her presence alone wasn’t enough to set her on edge. 

 

“Of course, he’s a man-tiger! How the fuck am I supposed to compete with a man-tiger? If he had a late night show, I’d be fucked for sure.” The conversation with Bob was on repeat in her mind- too masculine, too old, too loud, too aggressive. She’d show him who was too loud and too aggressive. She didn’t realize how tightly she was clenching the glasses until Alice stopped, resting a hand on her arm. 

 

“You’re angry!” 

 

“Why do you sound so pleased about that?” she snapped, frowning when she pulled away, arm still tingling in the places her fingers had pressed. 

 

“Earlier, you seemed…” she made a vague waving gesture with her hand, brows knitting together, “but I see you got your spark back!” Victoria grimaced, recalling their earlier interaction. She had managed to catch a nap since then (in spite of the screaming bugs. Like this ‘city’ wasn’t awful enough), and had, against Velvette's wishes, purchased a gun. She knew that there was still a good chance that she was going to die in two weeks, but hey- at least she’d go out in a blaze. 

 

“I had a headache,” she said instead, “but yes, I’m angry. I got some annoying news earlier.” 

 

“So, you spoke with Bob, I take it?” She might as well have dropped an anvil from the ceiling. 

 

“One: How the FUCK did you know about that? Two: you know Bob?” 

Alice laughed, prying one of the glasses from her grasp. “I had the deep displeasure of meeting him earlier.”

 

“And he told you that he was going to…ugh. Of course, he told you,” he’d never known how to keep his trap shut around pretty women. “What a fucking loser.” She paused to take a sip of the martini, wrinkling her nose. She should have ordered a lemondrop. “What else did he tell you?” 

 

“Apparently, being a woman with vocal chords is going out of style. Other than that…well, I’m sure he said more, but I couldn’t hear him over that atrocious mustache.” 

 

“I HATE his mustache!” Victoria roared. They had reached the booth now. 

 

“You know Mimzy, of course,” Alice said, sliding into the booth and patting the empty space beside her.

 

“Hey boss,” Mimzy cheered, side of her glass clanging against hers. 

 

“The grouchy one is Vanessa,” she added, and the grouchy one nodded, gesturing vaguely with her glass. “Spades?” Alice mused, shuffling the deck. 

 

“You always want to play spades,” Mimzy groaned, face tilting towards the ceiling, “Can we start with Black Jack? Something simple?” 

 

“I like Spades,” Vanessa interjected, “Spades is good.” 

 

“Vic, looks like it’s up to you. What will it be?” Alice mused, mahogany eyes glinting as though she already knew the answer.

 

“I could go for a round of Spades.” 

 

“And there ya have it folks!” Alice cheered, dealing out cards, “Spades it is!” 

 

. . .

 

“What do you MEAN, Ruth Anne was stepping out on Willard? After everything he’s done for her? She’s never going to find that again,” Vic lamented, gin splashing the table as she gestured vigorously with her drink. It wouldn’t have mattered what game they’d decided on, because after a few rounds, the night had devolved into aimless gossip. Victoria had listened on for a while before getting caught up in the drama of the faceless strangers the others (mostly Mimzy) were rattling on about, and now she was thoroughly invested. 

 

“I KNOW! I tried to tell her that, believe me, but…I guess the heart wants what the heart wants,” Mimzy tsked, and Vanessa narrowed her eyes. 

 

“I don’t think she was thinking with her heart, Mimz,” she murmured drily, and Mimzy’s giggle turned into a hiccup. 

 

“I don’t think she was thinking much at all,” Alice interjected. She was still planted between Victoria and the wall, caught up in an intense looking game of solitaire. Her comments were sparse, delivered with the weary energy of someone who had heard this all before. 

 

“But what about the baby?” Victoria interjected, unable to move on, “Was it Willard’s, or…” 

 

“Well, you didn’t hear it from me,” Mimzy started, and the pair leaned closer. Victoria’s heart squeezed in her chest when Alice joined them, her shoulder brushing against hers. “But-”

 

“Little Josie bears a striking resemblance to Franklin!” she interrupted. 

 

“No!” Victoria gasped, “That bitch!” 

 

“Marriage is so beautiful,” Vanessa deadpanned, “Poor Willard, I guess.”

 

“Don’t mourn for Willard too hard! I heard he sabotages the cars he works on to keep people coming back to his shop,” Mimzy chuckled, shaking her head as she leaned back in the booth. 

 

“Well-” Victoria started, but Alice interrupted-

“That’s just good business!” 

 

Victoria looked at her in shock, hand covering her mouth. “That’s what I was going to say!” The table dissolved into laughter (except for Vanessa, who dropped her face into her hands melodramatically).

The conversation carried on from there. Mimzy clearly had no reservations about spilling other people’s dirty laundry, which was an aspect that made her both potentially useful and potentially dangerous, but overall amusing. Vic’s gaze occasionally wandered over to Alice’s game of solitaire as they spoke, trailing along her slender fingers as she made her moves, distracted by how quickly she seemed to fly through each game, candle light catching on the delicate gold rings adorning her hands. She found herself zoning out, caught up in the memory of her body pinning hers against the counter, the way the ice in her eyes had thawed into a heavy-lidded hunger, lips parting as she drew her closer, and- 

 

Her hand was on her arm again. Victoria blinked, face warming when she found her watching her with a knowing smirk. 

 

“Yes?” 

 

“Welcome back,” she teased, and Vic’s face grew even redder. “Do you mind if I…” she gestured, and Victoria blinked, and then jumped to her feet. 

 

“Right, yeah, of course,” she stammered, and Alice exhaled a soft chuckle, head shaking as she made her way past her. She watched as she traipsed past the bar, shoving her way out the door and into the night. 

 

“Think she’ll come back this time?” Vanessa asked flatly. 

 

“Wanna put money on it?” Mimzy grinned. Victoria’s brows knitted together with confusion. 

 

“You mean, she left? But she didn’t even say bye!”

 

“It’s a nasty habit,” Vanessa sighed, and Mimzy nodded sympathetically. 

 

“She does love an Irish Goodbye!” she tittered, and then, in response to whatever expression Victoria was making, she tacked on, “Or, she’s just smoking, and she’ll come back in eventually. Ya never know with her.” 

 

“I’m the one who drove her here, so she's probably just smoking,” Vanessa took a sip of her drink, glancing back at the door warily, “Unless she gets distracted by something.”  

 

“What do you mean, ‘distracted by something,’” Victoria snapped, “You don’t just invite people out, and then ditch them a couple of hours in without a word. That’s…that’s not how this works!” 

 

“One time, we went to a music festival out of state, and she ‘went to the bathroom.’ I found her three hours later in one of the tour buses attempting to barter for a player’s saxophone. She pretended like she didn’t know who I was,” Vanessa paused, staring off contemplatively, “We didn’t get along when I first got hired.” Victoria laughed, quickly disguising it as a cough when Vanessa scowled at her.

 

“Did she get the saxophone?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

“That’s Al!” Mimzy laughed fondly, “Always up to something.” It clicked then, why Alice made her feel so off balance. It wasn’t that she was difficult, it’s that she was the first person she’d ever met who seemed to be operating on the same level as her. It was jarring.  

 

“Has she always been such a…” Victoria searched for the right word, but nothing felt exactly right, “freak?” 

 

“Hey, watch it! She’s a sweetheart.”

 

“She has,” Vanessa said fondly, ignoring Mimzy, “She’s a liability.” 

 

“Speaking of liabilities-” Mimzy launched into another story, but Victoria couldn’t pull her attention away from the door, each chime making her heart race. After a while, she gave up, climbing to her feet.

 

“This was great, but-”

 

“Really, leaving already?” Mimzy asked, eyes widening, “But we didn’t even get any good Hollywood goss!”

 

“If you think a celebrity is on drugs, they are. If you think a celebrity isn’t on drugs, they are,” she said quickly, shrugging, “I think that about covers it.” 

 

“Even-”

 

“Yes, even them,” she said impatiently, gaze darting to the door again, “So, if that’s all-”

 

“Tell Al we said hi, if you see her,” Vanessa deadpanned.

 

And with that, she was off. 

 

. . .

 

Alice was leaning against the railing on the bar’s patio, overlooking the river, a cigarette dangling between her index and pointer fingers. 

“So you ARE still here, hm?” Vic teased, joining her.

 

“Of course, you followed me.” She tried to ignore the way her shoulder brushed hers as she inclined her head to look at her. 

 

“You’re not the only person who smokes, you know?” Vic chided, metal cold as it bit into her elbows. Alice arched a brow, passing the cigarette to her wordlessly. Moonlight bounced off the Mississippi, a muted gradient from yellow to black rippling with the current. “You know, it’s funny,” she started, desperate to break the silence. Alice’s head tilted, mouth softening into a smile without any of its usual edges, gentle in a way that made Victoria momentarily lose her train of thought. Realizing she needed to say something, she cleared her throat, forcing her gaze back to the Mississippi. “I got waterboarded in that river yesterday.” 

 

“What?” now Alice was staring at her at her as though she had grown a second head. Before Victoria could explain further, she burst into a bright peal of laughter, face tilting up to the stars. “You were…waterboarded?” 

 

“Fuck off, it’s not THAT funny,” she chuckled, freezing when Alice leaned into her, eyes shining with amusement. 

 

“Waterboarded one day, and fired the next,” she giggled, shaking her head, “What a life!” 

 

“What can I say, I try to keep it interesting,” Victoria sighed, taking another drag from the cigarette before passing it back to Alice. “I’m not fired, by the way.” She was, technically, fired, but much like the mafia situation, she was certain it wouldn’t stick. She always had a way of landing on her feet- and when she did land on her ass, she still had two legs. It was simply a matter of standing up again. 

 

“No? Manage to talk Bob out of it?” 

 

“Bob doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He’s just some idiot with money,” she snapped, glaring at the river. 

 

“I concur!”

 

They were silent again for a beat, and if it weren’t for her arm still pressed against hers, Victoria would have wondered if following her out was a mistake. She wasn’t used to this- standing quietly beside another person, no underlying pretenses, just the momentary brush of her fingers as the cigarette exchanged hands, seconds ticking down in the form of paper burning closer to the filter. 

 

“This was nice,” Victoria mumbled as she crushed the butt of the cigarette under her heel, “And you were barely even mean to me this time!” 

 

“When have I ever been mean to you?” she laughed, body shifting as she faced her. 

 

“Don’t play stupid.” One of her hands wandered idly to Alice’s waist as she spoke, figuring, fuck it, she was probably going to die soon anyways, why not go for it? Alice, to her delight (and confusion), didn’t pull away, chin squaring as her cat-like eyes narrowed into slits. 

 

“You’re not still sore about the broadcast are you? I thought we’d moved past that by now?” 

 

“You tried to stab me!” Victoria laughed disbelievingly, backing her against the railing. 

 

“I don’t recall you complaining,” Alice’s head tilted, gaze momentarily flashing to Victoria’s lips, and she could feel a slow blush creeping its way across her face. “You’re just mad that I kicked you out. Don’t lie.”

 

“So you were flirting with me, weren’t you?” she placed a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to hers, fixated on the way her eyes widened, “Don’t lie.” 

 

“And if I was?” And there it was. Victoria smirked, lowering her face to hers, hand on her waist drawing her closer. She felt the moment Alice froze, body going rigid, and bit back a sigh as she pulled away. 

 

“Fuck. I forgot that we’re in public,” she half-laughed, assuming this was the problem. She scanned the area, ensuring that they were still alone. It was surprisingly private and reassuringly dark- she thanked the bar owner for never investing in outdoor lighting. When she turned back to Alice, she found that she was watching her with an unreadable expression, teetering between amusement and something darker. 

 

“It’s not that,” she started, shifting uncomfortably. 

 

“What then? Never been with a woman?” it was the only other explanation she could conjure for the gymnastics she was being forced to perform (not that she was complaining, necessarily). Alice glanced away, propping an elbow on the railing behind her. 

 

“No.”

 

“Oh! Well, don’t worry about that,” Vic appealed gingerly, “It’s not that different from being with a man.” She paused, considering her own words skeptically, “Okay, it’s pretty different, actually. But we can take things slow, I’m patient.” 

 

“No you’re not,” she scoffed, eyes dancing with amusement, “You practically bit the poor bartender’s head off when she didn’t make your drink fast enough.” Victoria pursed her lips, accepting the blow. 

 

“Fine,” she admitted, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek as her hand cupped the side of her face, “but I’d be patient for you.” She ran her thumb over Alice’s lower lip as she spoke, and her eyes fluttered shut, breath warm against her skin as she exhaled. 

 

“And if I said I was inexperienced in all areas?” When her eyes flickered open again, they were two gleaming pits of fire, melting away at Victoria’s resolve. “Not just women?” she added, when she didn’t respond. Her meaning sunk in slowly. 

 

“Wait, you’ve never…” she didn’t believe it. Not when she was so…”Wait, why? How?!” Alice was laughing again, but Victoria was so utterly confused that she barely even registered it. 

 

“What do you mean, ‘how’?” 

 

“I mean,” her fingers traced idly down Alice’s side as she spoke, toying with the bottom of her vest, thoughts fogging over at the idea of slipping under the material, pressing into the soft skin underneath, “people are probably throwing themselves at you all of the time. So what’s the deal? No one meeting your standards?” 

 

“And you think you ‘meet my standards?’” she mocked, corner of her mouth knifing into a smirk, “I’ve just never really felt the need.” 

 

“But you do now?” it was meant to sound arrogant, but she was so baffled that it turned into an honest question. Alice’s mouth pressed into a line as she fought to hold back a laugh, hand covering hers, drawing it around to the small of her back as she pressed closer. The air felt tight in Victoria’s lungs. “How inexperienced are we talking here, exactly?” 

 

“Wow!” Alice tsked, shaking her head before leaning into her again, “Why are you still talking?” An excellent question. 

 

“Are you actually going to let me kiss you this time?”

 

“If it means you’ll be quiet,” she murmured, “then, sure.” 

 

Victoria bent down to her, smirking as she decided what she was going to do. The hand cupping her face slid around to the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair as she defied her expectations, passing over her mouth and instead placing a kiss at the base of her throat. She literally felt Alice’s breath catch, fingers knotting hungrily in her hair, holding her still as her mouth moved higher, trailing a line of kisses up the side of her neck. She was consumed by the smell of her- honeysuckle and something green, with an undercurrent of smoke. When she felt Alice’s hands press against her back, holding her against her, it took every ounce of self control not to sink her teeth into her skin, but she managed. She ghosted a final kiss against the corner of her mouth, face centering in front of hers, Alice so close that she morphed into a golden blur. Victoria hovered, mouth inches from hers, waiting. 

 

“So?” she exhaled. 

 

“You’re so annoying,” Alice mumbled, closing the distance. Victoria let out a short gasp as her mouth crashed against hers, shocked even though she’d been expecting it. The kiss certainly didn’t feel inexperienced. One of Alice’s hands slid up her back, coming to rest on the back of her neck, holding her still, mouth moving slowly against hers, withholding. Any attempts Victoria made to deepen the kiss were denied, and she found herself pinned in place, at her mercy, sighing shakily as Alice’s teeth sunk into her lower lip, desperate to feel her tongue slide against hers. 

 

Instead, she pulled back, head tilting as she surveyed her. “I see the appeal, I suppose.” Vic stammered, hands shoving in her pockets, completely unsure what to do with them now that she wasn’t holding her, mind swimming with a million conflicting feelings. But…

 

“Oh, you do, do you?” she teased. She saw the appeal! Victoria was pretty sure that meant that she won. Usually, from here, it was just a matter of finding a bed (or a sofa, or a table, or the backseat of a car…). She could sense that this was different though, that she needed to be careful. “Would you like to…” her conversation with Velvette played in her head as she considered her next words, a small divet forming between her brows, “grab dinner sometime this week?” 

 

Alice’s eyes lit up, hand covering her mouth, “Victoria Whitman, are you asking me on a date?” 

 

Victoria sputtered, heat rushing to her face as she held up her hands in surrender, “I-uh-hm- what?” she paused, assessing Alice’s reaction before continuing, confidence returning, “Yes. I’m asking you on a date.” Alice made a big show of thinking, head tilting to the side, face skewering. 

 

“Fine,” she finally declared, “but only because I’m desperate to see which restaurant you choose. I imagine it will be pretty amusing.” 

 

“When should we go?”

 

“I don’t know, Victoria, you’re the one making the plans. You tell me!” 

 

“Tomorrow?”

 

“Tomorrow! How terribly eager.”

 

I’m not-no! I just happen to be free tomorrow night.” 

 

“Sure, Victoria, whatever you say.” 

 

“Friday?” 

 

“I suppose I can be free Friday, but you better make it worthwhile.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry, I will.” 

 

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

. . .

 

Alice watched Victoria disappear down the street before reentering the bar, unable to fight the grin on her face. What could she say? She was funny. She’d never had someone fuss over her so ardently after having a knife pressed against their throat. There was something novel about it. She strolled over to the bartop, climbing onto one of the stools. 

 

“I told you that her reaction would be hilarious!” she cheered, sliding a dollar across the counter. “The two martinis in place of a double was a good touch. A bit absurdist, but believable.” Lenore stuffed the dollar into her pocket, shooting Alice a grin.

 

“If I’m bein’ honest, I misheard her,” she admitted with a shrug, “How’d you manage to befriend someone like that, anyway?” 

 

Alice shrugged, hand wandering idly to the side of her neck, pressing against the place her lips had brushed. “Bad luck, I suppose,” she murmured, smiling to herself as she hopped down from the stool, “Thanks for being a good sport. I needed a laugh tonight.” 

 

“Anything to put a smile on your face, Rousseau.”

 

“Oh, please, we both know you’re only using me for my money,” Alice retorted, and Lenore arched a brow, patting her pocket. 

 

“Caught me!” 

 

Alice waved her off with a grin, turning back to her friends. When they spotted her, Mimzy cheered as Vanessa glumly dropped a penny into her open palm, eyes narrowing at Alice. “Great, you’re back.” 

 

“What, did you think I would walk home?” she folded herself into the booth, crossing her legs, “You do remember that you drove me here, right?” 

 

“Like that’s ever stopped you!” 

 

“I see Victoria has left us,” Alice mused, gesturing to the empty seat beside her. 

 

“Surprised you didn’t run into her on the way out! Though, she did seem to be in a hurry,” Mimzy tsked, taking a sip of her drink (water, now, Alice noted. The night was drawing to a close). 

 

“Huh! Wonder where she was hurrying off to?” she smiled to herself, chin digging into her palm, thinking about hypothetical plans on hypothetical Fridays. She hoped that she took her somewhere tourist-trappy, overly priced and kitschy. Or somewhere that was glisteningly new and sparsely decorated, white tablecloths and pretentious menu items like ‘scallops topped with sea foam’, whatever that meant. 

 

“She actually wasn’t as bad as I thought she would be,” Vanessa hummed, and Mimzy scoffed. 

 

“You should try doing business with her! She had me running in circles. Talk about a migraine!”

 

“She certainly makes an impression!” Alice had a sneaking suspicion that Vanessa was right- she wasn’t as bad as one might think. She was worse. And she was planning to do everything in her power to find out if she was right. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, having a kindred spirit around. Maybe, she would even prove herself useful. “Alright, Vanessa, I’m calling it. Drive me home?” 

 

“Yeah, it’s past my bedtime.”

 

“You two are getting old and boring on me,” Mimzy sighed, sipping her water, “the night’s still young!”

 

“It’s a Tuesday, Mimz.” 

 

“Whatever!” 

 

. . .

 

Vanessa hummed along to the radio as she turned down the twisting backroads, Alice folded into the passenger seat, gaze fixed on the silhouettes of trees blurring past the window. She was thinking, against her better judgement, about how the night had played out, about entanglements and their complications, about kisses that probably shouldn’t have happened, and the implication of more to come. There were reasons she had avoided these things, though admittedly, the main one was the one she had stated earlier. A general lack of interest. So, what changed? 

 

A crackling wave of static from the radio caught her attention, face snapping forward. “Weird,” Vanessa hummed, fidgeting with the dial, “we shouldn’t be losing signal out here.” The song distorted in and out of focus, and Vanessa sighed, turning down the volume. “Silence it is!” 

 

“We could always tell ghost stories,” Alice suggested drily, eyes narrowing threateningly at the radio. Not here, she willed, not in front of my employee. 

 

“Do you actually believe in ghosts?” Vanessa asked, and Alice felt the corner of her mouth twitch. 

 

“No, of course not! When you die, you’re dead.” Like she didn’t know precisely what awaited her after death.

 

“How poetic.” 

 

The radio let out another burble of static, music blasting from the speakers, and Vanessa let out a small yelp, car jerking violently to the left. “What the fuck?” she hissed, reaching for the dial again. 

 

“doOn’T lOoOsSe ssSSight!” a familiar voice crackled, and then the car shook violently with impact. The brakes squealed, breath falling fast in Vanessa’s chest as she turned a panicked look on Alice, who was sitting silently, eyes wide, corners of her mouth drawn down. 

 

“I hit something,” Vanessa said, voice strangely calm. Alice nodded, dazed. 

 

“I’d say so, yes!” she agreed, watching as Vanessa shifted the car into park, turning on her brights. 

 

“I don’t want to look. I-” 

Alice nodded again, already climbing from the car. She wasn’t exactly nervous, but she was distinctly unsettled. And a smidge annoyed. Rosie was getting too bold- maybe they were due for another chat. She waltzed around to the front of the car, gaze landing on the culprit. 

 

Its body was so mangled that she almost couldn’t tell what it was, neck bent at an unnatural angle, fur matted with dry blood, worn away by decay in some places, revealing stripes of soft browning muscle underneath. One glassy brown eye stared up at her, vacant and cloudy in death. 

 

“Just a deer,” she called to Vanessa, planting her hands on her hips, “Was dead long before you hit it by the look of it.” 

 

“And my car?” Vanessa called, and she squinted, shrugging. 

 

“Looks fine, but in case you forgot, it is rather dark out here!” 

 

Vanessa sighed, walking over to stand beside her, pinching her nose. “Ugh, you could have warned me about the smell, Al.” Alice shrugged, watching as Vanessa inspected her car, nodding to herself. She shot one last look at the corpse, frowning. 

 

“Poor thing,” she mumbled, “Looks like it got hit by somebody else.” 

 

Alice arched a brow, folding her arms over her chest. “Maybe it should have been paying better attention.”

They climbed back into the car, driving on as though nothing had happened. It wasn’t so uncommon to see dead deer on back roads in these parts, but Alice couldn’t stop thinking about its eye, the way it had gleamed up at her, catching red from the headlights of Vanessa’s car. It awoke some resolve in her- she wasn’t going to let herself be distracted from her goals, no matter how far away they felt right now. She wouldn’t lose sight.

 

 

Chapter Text

WEDNESDAY 

 

 

Alice, 

 

I’m sure you know how bad shit has to be for me to be reaching out to you, of all people, so I’m going to keep this short. I need money to get back to town. Roughly $50, to be exact. I already know that I’ll owe you, so save the ink. You know I’m good for my word (even when it bites me in the ass, like I’m sure this will). 

 

Resigned,

Husk 

 

The letter had somehow gotten mixed in with the cartoonish mountain of fan mail that Vanessa was perpetually sorting. She’d placed it on Alice’s desk, adorned with a sticky note that said ‘important?’ which just about perfectly summarized Alice’s feelings towards the matter. She sipped her coffee, contemplating the letter neutrally. Whatever Husk had gotten himself tied up in now, it certainly wasn’t her business, but hearing from him after all of these years did pique her interest. $50 wasn’t exactly spare change either- if he was that desperate to get back to New Orleans, things out in LA must be going worse for him than she’d imagined. 

 

The unharmonious trill of her phone snapped her from her reverie. She reached for it automatically, assuming it was management calling to check in on her plans for the week. “Good morning, Miss Rousseau! Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time,” a familiar, grating voice oozed from the other line. Her jaw clenched as she forced on a smile, leaning back in her chair. 

 

“Bob! To what do I owe the pleasure?” she cheered, sipping her coffee, bitter as it burned down her throat.

 

“So, I was thinking… things have been going surprisingly smooth on set. Whitman’s meltdown wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be, and I figured, what the heck! Maybe I do deserve a vacation!” Alice arched a brow, gripping her coffee mug a bit tighter. 

 

“Oh? Going to take me up on my offer after all?” 

 

“A few days in nature sounds like exactly what the doctor ordered. And, if it’s as peaceful as you promised it would be-”

 

“Trust me, Bob,” she interjected, corner of her mouth tugging into a smirk, “it’ll be peaceful.”

 

“I could swing by the station to pick up the key tomorrow morning if you’ll be in, get it back to you first thing this Monday.”

 

“Heading down tomorrow, then?” she mused. The timeline was important. 

 

“Yeah, what’s a little four day weekend?” 

 

“Perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she cheered, slamming the phone back down on the receiver without a farewell. This conversation had heightened her mood significantly. She’d had little doubt that Bob would reach out eventually, but so soon? She needed to prepare!

 

Vanessa glanced up from the aforementioned mountain of fanmail as Alice poked her head through the door. The room was originally meant to be an employee lounge, but over time it had transformed into Vanessa’s designated workspace, and, more importantly, the room where the coffee maker resided. “Oh, thank god! I was starting to think you were going to make me go through all of this alone. If you-”

 

“Actually, I was just popping by to let you know that I’m headed out!” One of the piles toppled over, carefully stacked letters showering over the unsorted masses, and Alice grinned. “Looks like you’ve got a handle on things.”

 

“Of course,” Vanessa said through gritted teeth, already reassembling the pile, “I always do.” 

 

“Oh, and while you’re at it! That letter you left on my desk-” it was hard to tell if Vanessa was listening to her, her face a blank mask as she continued skimming over fanmail joylessly. “Will you write him back and tell him that I’ll wire over the money shortly?” She drew to a stop, eyes narrowing at her. 

 

“Since when am I your secretary? Do it yourself.” 

 

“Sorry, did you say something? I couldn’t hear you. I’m walking out the door!” 

 

“AL! I know you heard me, I’m not-” 

 

Alice continued down the hall, laughter trailing behind her. “You should really speak up, Vanessa, I’m so far away!” 

 

“ALICE! You can’t just-” 

 

“I’ll see you tonight!” she called before the front door slammed behind her. She knew that the letter would be sent before she got back, though there was a fifty/fifty chance that Vanessa would be giving her the silent treatment. It didn’t matter, though. There was bleach to buy, and knives to sharpen. She did love a last minute change of plans!

 

 

. . . 

 

THURSDAY AFTERNOON

 

 

“Have you ever shot a gun before?” Velvette and Vic were sitting in matching positions on the sofa, elbows resting on their thighs as they leaned forward, studying the pistol laid on the coffee table with a healthy dose of wariness, like it might jump up and start firing itself at any moment. 

 

“‘Have I ever shot a gun before,’ please!” Victoria scoffed, rolling her eyes. After a beat, her face fell, and she glared down at her clasped hands, “...No.” 

 

“Do you think maybe you should give it a go before you use it?” Velvette poked the backstrap with the tip of her finger, corners of her mouth pulling down as she quickly withdrew her hand. 

 

“What, should I shoot the lamp? Maybe put a few holes in the wall?” Vic lamented, shoulders straightening haughtily, “Oh, I know! I’ll just go out back and shoot the trees. My neighbors will LOVE that!” 

 

“Or just go to the shooting range?” Velvette snapped exasperatedly, “Fucking idiot.” 

 

“Wow! Language, Vel!” she scolded, and Velvette gave her a look that let her know that she was roughly five seconds away from being slapped. “It can’t be that hard. You put the bullets in the bullet place, and then you point it at the person you want to kill, and you squeeze the trigger. I wasn’t born yesterday.” 

 

“Why is Alice letting Bob use her cabin anyway? I thought you said that she didn’t like him?” These were good questions that Victoria didn’t have answers to, but at the end of the day-

 

“You don’t look a gift horse in the eye.”

 

“Pretty sure it’s ‘mouth’, Vic.”

 

“Yeah, that either,” she waved her hand dismissively, “What I’m saying is: Bob is going to be alone in the woods, miles from civilization, for an entire weekend. Sooo…” 

 

“You’re going to use him as target practice?” 

 

“Fuck yeah I am, baby!” 

 

Admittedly, it wasn’t her most well thought out plan, but Victoria was famously good at thinking on her feet, so she wasn’t worried. The hardest part was going to be tailing him out there without being noticed. After that, it should be smooth sailing. Just her, Bob, and a loaded pistol. And, with him out of the picture, her position as World’s Best Late Night Show Host would be secured. Even better than that, there would be nobody left above her, another rung opening on that never-ending ladder…

 

“Just picture it, Velvette. The production company would be MINE, there’d be no one left in my way. I could make whatever I wanted. I could finally make that killer shark movie I keep pitching.” Velvette was zoning out, eyes glazing over as she stared down at the gun. “And, of course, this would open doors for you, too! I mean, PR for me is cool, but think of the possibilities!” Admittedly, she had no idea what Velvette wanted. She was hoping maybe, now, she would tell her, but instead, she yawned, arms stretching above her head. 

 

“Shame for Bob to die just for you to get blasted by the mob in a week.” 

 

“Oh, I’m not worried about those greasers,” she scoffed, sufficiently hiding the fact that she was incredibly worried about those greasers, “I have a gun now! So, I’m like, pretty much unstoppable.” 

 

“A gun you don’t even know how to shoot.” 

 

“Fuck off, Vel! How hard can it be?” 

 

“I just think you should-” whatever Velvette thought, Vic would never learn, as she was interrupted by three sharp bangs at the door. 

 

“Vic, are you home?”

 

“Aw, fuck, it’s Janet,” she hissed, and then, with a stupid grin, “hide the gun!” 

 

Velvette clearly didn’t find that nearly as funny as she did, sighing wearily as she tucked the gun back in its holster, discreetly tucking it under a couch cushion. “What does she want?”

 

“She probably misses me or something,” Vic tsked, chin tilting up cockily, pushing off of the couch. Three more sharp raps at the door. 

 

“Seriously, Vic, let me in!” she called, sounding a great deal more irritable, “I saw your car in the lot, I know you’re-”

 

“Janet, baby, at least give me time to open the door,” Vic chided smoothly, gesturing her into the shoddy little living room. Janet peered around the space in a daze, bloodshot eyes blinking heavily as she stumbled to the couch. “Why the fuck is this bitch here?” she mumbled, pointing at Velvette. 

 

“Excuse me?” 

 

“She’s my PR agent, Jan,” Victoria explained, a little impatiently, “She’s helping me relate to the public?” 

 

Janet folded herself onto the side of the couch opposite Velvette, pulling her knees into her chest. “What happens in ten days, V?” she hummed disjointedly.

 

“...What?” Her words sent a shiver down Vic’s spine. Ten days…only ten days. How did Janet know about the clock ticking down the seconds until her inevitable death? 

 

“How many of those pills are you taking a day?” Velvette interrogated, “Vic, have you been monitoring her?” 

 

“Not as closely as I should have,” she admitted tersely. She relaxed slightly at Velvette’s inference- obviously, Janet was heavily under the influence. It was just a coincidence. 

 

“You’ll protect me, won’t you, Vic? When the birds come?” Victoria’s eyes narrowed with annoyance as she turned helplessly to Velvette. 

 

“She’s lost it.” 

 

“She’s HIGH!” she huffed, dropping her face into her hands, “And let me guess, it’s going to be MY job to babysit her while you go…” she trailed off, lips pursing.

 

“Would you mind?” 

 

“Of course I’d mind!”  

 

“He was such a handsome man,” Janet continued, resting her head on the armrest. She laughed softly to herself as her eyes fluttered shut, arms wrapping tightly around her torso. “Too bad he was so bad. But it’s okay, because you’re even worse,” she sing-songed, “They don’t know about you.” She started laughing again, and the sound of it bounced harshly around Victoria’s skull as she stared down at her, frowning. 

 

“C’mon, Jan,” she said finally, resting a hand on her shoulder, “Let’s get you to bed. You need to sleep this off.” 

 

“The bird versus the great white,” she buzzed, reaching out for Victoria, “What a silly goose, thinking he could win!” Victoria blinked down at her, pounding in her head growing louder as she wrapped her arms around her torso, aiding her to her feet. Janet leaned heavily against her, face tilting up towards hers with a groggy grin. “And you don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you?” Her words slurred together so thickly that it was hard to even make them out.  

 

“Do you?” she snapped back, guiding her down the hallway, “How many of those pills did you take? It’s a good thing you’re not working today.” 

 

Janet stopped in her tracks, arms tightening around her, blood-shot eyes growing wider with realization. “Am I a bad person, Victoria?” 

 

“What does it matter?” she shrugged, nudging her into her room, “You’re famous!” 

 

She giggled at this, letting Vic guide her into the bed, reaching up to cup her face as she pulled the comforter over her. “At least I’m not as bad as you.” Victoria stared down at her with a sinking pit in her stomach, noting the bags under her eyes, the way her hair hung limp and greasy around her hollow cheekbones. “You’re going to hell, Vic!” And then she started laughing again, the sound following Victoria as she all but sprinted from the room, scratchy, haunting. “Don’t let the bird poke out your eyes!” 

 

 

. . .

 

 

THURSDAY NIGHT

 

 

The melancholic baying of distant hounds was almost beautiful enough to make Alice forget about her distaste for dogs. She leaned against her passenger door, head tilting as she drank in the sound, forlorn and throaty, muted by the dense surrounding foliage. There was an almost musical quality to it, the tremorous longing of a predator calling after their prey. Only, in reality, they were calling back to their masters, boasting ‘it's over here! Look, I did it! Hey, hey, hey!” Probably with their tails wagging and their heads held high, waiting for pats. Pathetic. 

 

She began the arduous journey up the trail towards the cabin- she wasn’t going to park in the driveway, naturally. Only an idiot would so blatantly give themselves away. Her car was tucked away in a tree-laden alcove, about a mile south, at the head of the little hiking trail snaking off from the property. A useful beaten path cutting through the backwoods, private and well hidden. There wasn’t much she could thank her father for, but his dedication to hunting season made the list. (The only other items on said list were 1.) a decent taste in whiskey, which she inherited, and 2.) maintaining enough decorum to politely disappear). 

 

She stifled a laugh when she saw the second car in the driveway, parked neatly behind Bob’s ridiculous Cadillac. Of course she wouldn’t even try to hide. Maybe this level of audacity should make her lose respect for her complement, but she had to admit- it was incredibly funny. 

 

Alice paused on the steps up to the cabin, amusement amplifying when she heard the ruckus of an ongoing struggle within. 

 

“Oh, you slippery sonofabitch! GET BACK HERE! Why don’t you just-AH!” Something heavy thudded against the far wall.

 

“Whitman! Why don’t you just…put the gun down…and…we can talk! Yeah, we can talk!” 

 

Alice frowned. A gun, really? Well, that was disappointing. She was hoping for something more creative from Victoria. 

 

“Oh, so now you wanna talk?” Alice dared a peek through the doorframe, catching sight of Victoria, one hand on her hip, the other loosely gripping a pistol, pointed directly at Bob. He was crouched behind one of the dusty end tables as though antique driftwood were enough to stop a bullet, back turned to the door, “But I thought you wanted me to be quiet? What changed?” 

 

“No!” he squeaked, and then cleared his throat, “Yes, Victoria, I want to talk. Please! I know we can sort this out, find some common-”

 

“Oh, shove it, Robert. What was it you called me again…?” She gestured lazily with the gun as she spoke, giving it all of the weight of a tawdry stage prop.

 

“I respect you, Victoria, I think you’re a visionary, a-”

 

“Oh, right!” she twirled on her heel, arms flailing widely around her, sights locking on Bob again as she landed squarely in front of him. “Shrill and obnoxious. I can’t believe I forgot that!” Even from a distance, Alice caught the shining gleam of mania dancing in her mismatched eyes- it was clear that she was loving this little performance. 

 

“Please, I have a family, I have-”

 

Alice ducked through the doorframe, pressing herself against the far wall. The shadows were thick enough to conceal her as she inched her way into the corner. She hardly needed to be so cautious- she could have been dressed head to toe in neon yellow, and those two still wouldn’t have noticed.

 

“I don’t care what you have, Bob,” she yawned, pressing the barrel of the gun against his head, “I would ask if you had any last words, but…I think it’s probably better for all of us if you stayed quiet, hm?” 

 

Alice sighed, pushing out of the corner with a disapproving shake of her head. “Sorry to interrupt, but I really can’t allow you to shoot a gun in my cabin.” Victoria yelped, pistol clattering to the floor. Bob managed to wriggle free from her grasp, snagging the gun before she had time to recover from the shock of Alice’s presence. He dug the barrel into Vic’s stomach, her eyes bulging, face blanching with terror, but before she could move, he pulled the trigger, and- 

 

They all stared in blank confusion as the gun softly clicked, and nothing more. 

 

“The fucking SAFETY WAS ON?” he boomed, and Alice erupted into laughter as Victoria kicked him in the chest. Hard. He fell to the ground, a spray of scarlet jetting from his gasping mouth. 

 

“Yeah, just like I wanted it to be,” Victoria taunted, an undercurrent of uncertainty wavering in her voice. He began crawling away on his stomach, and Victoria’s gaze darted around the cabin uncertainly, searching. 

 

“Hm, it appears you’re unarmed,” Alice mused, waltzing up beside her, “Just what are you going to do now?” 

 

“What are you doing?” Victoria hissed, staring at her incredulously. 

 

“Oh, don’t mind me! I’m only here to observe,” she giggled, “Do carry on!” 

 

“Alice,” Victoria said very softly, a hint of concern in her voice as she gestured to Bob, “You do realize I’m in the middle of murdering someone, right?” 

 

“And failing miserably!” Alice confirmed brightly, “Unless your goal was to let him get away…” 

 

“Of course not, what do you-” Victoria glanced at the spot Bob had previously been lying, face growing red as she realized it was now empty. “ROBERT!” she scolded, taking off after him. He was so near the door of the cabin that, if Alice were capable of feeling empathy, perhaps she would have felt bad for him. As it were, watching him tumble to the cabin floor as Victoria body-slammed him was greatly amusing. Alice lounged back against the dinky cabinets of the shabby little kitchenette, head tilting as she watched the pair spar. It was obvious from the way Bob struggled that Victoria was stronger than she’d suspected- he wasn’t so old, after all, and by all means, appeared to be in good shape, yet he could hardly even manage to land a blow on her. He nearly managed to wriggle free, and Vic let out a heated growl, ripping the landline haphazardly from the wall. 

 

“Why won’t you DIE?” she huffed, wire tangling around his throat. Of course, he didn’t respond- talking was a difficult thing to manage when being strangled. 

 

Alice casually strolled across the room, leaning over Victoria’s shoulder as she pulled the noose tighter. She studied the way the fat of his neck bulged around the taut cord, his face a shade of red that was nearing on violet, eyes bulging, wet and glistening, veins of crimson blossoming over the white. 

 

“That wire is far too flimsy to actually kill him, you know?” she said helpfully. Victoria shot a poisonous glance over her shoulder, beads of sweat forming on her forehead, shoulders shaking from the effort- and it was clearly a great effort. “You’re really butchering this whole murder thing- no pun intended.” A great gurgling rattle echoed violently from somewhere deep in Bob’s chest as his eyes rolled back in his head, body going slack against the cabin floor as the fight in him finally gave way. “And he’s still alive,” Alice hummed smugly, electric, buzzing. She knelt beside Victoria, shoulder brushing hers, gaze tracing the bent curve of her neck as she bowed her head. She could practically feel the tension radiating from the tightly coiled muscles in her shoulders, the ache of a task unfinished. 

 

“How do I do it, then?” she said finally, voice gruff as she glared down at him, “If I can’t shoot him, and I’m not able to strangle him, what’s left?” And maybe it was a reward for her absurd dedication to respecting her ‘no guns in the house’ rule, or perhaps it was an act of pity. Maybe, it was simply the fact that Alice had never watched someone else stab a person before, a sort of morbid curiosity. Whatever it was, she found herself reaching into her own pocket, extending her blade out to her by the tip, the way a chef might pass a steak knife in a kitchen. 

 

“Perhaps with a knife?” she suggested coyly. 

 

Victoria’s gaze flickered between Alice and the knife, her face settling into a mask of heavy skepticism, mismatched eyes darkening. “What are you playing at, Rousseau?” 

 

“Me? Why, nothing!” she beamed, waving the knife at her insistently, “It just seems you need a little help.” 

 

“I had it all under control before you turned up,” she lamented, gaze narrowing on the handle of the blade contemplatively, “Was this a setup?” 

 

“I suppose, in a way,” Alice admitted, Cheshire grin gleaming, “Don’t worry, though- it’s not like I’ve gotten the police involved. I simply wanted to see what you would do. Confirm my own suspicions." 

 

For a moment, the silence was so thick between them that it felt like a living thing, a charged sort of tension washing over Alice in waves, a part of her certain that if Victoria did take her up on her offer, her fingertips brushing against the handle would be all the spark needed to ignite them, sending them both up in flames. Bob let out another gurgling breath, snapping her back to reality. 

 

“Do you need me to do the honors?” she lilted suggestively, and Victoria stepped closer to her, hand reaching out. She watched with bated breath as she took the knife into her hand, gaze steady as it held hers. 

 

“You know, Alice,” she murmured, her name slow in her mouth, like she was savoring each syllable, that bright flash of passion dancing in her eyes again, shoulders squaring as the tip of the knife pressed against the joint of Alice’s ribs, “You’ve caused me nothing but trouble since we met.” 

 

A soft laugh shook Alice’s shoulders as she took a step back, gaze never leaving hers as she took the lead, placing herself against the wall. She wondered, glibly, if Victoria realized that she was the one following her. “I will say, Victoria, maybe you’re the tiniest bit less predictable than I had thought.” She was acutely aware of the pressure of the tip of the knife pushing against her abdomen, a ravenous sort of tingle rushing over her from head to foot, thinking of the feeling of her mouth moving against the side of her neck, that last moment where she slipped her bottom lip between her teeth before she withdrew. 

 

"Is that so?"

 

“It is!" Alice confirmed, head tilting as she studied the baffled expression on her opponent's face, "For all the planning I did, I didn't take into account the possibility of you turning on me."  

 

. . .

 

Things had been spiraling out of control in Victoria’s life for too long, and finally, for one brilliant millisecond, she had regained the reins. Bob pleading on his knees, one squeeze of the trigger away from her goal. And then…fucking Alice showed up and ruined it all. 

 

For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what she wanted. Her lips brushing her fingertips as she inhaled a lungful of smoke from her cigarette, only for her next exhale to be her bashing her on air. Serving her dinner and then threatening her at knifepoint. Teasing her over cards, and then…

 

Mouth crashing against hers, distant, cold, controlling. 

 

And now, here she was, mocking her as she derailed all of her plans. And she didn’t even seem put off by the fact that she was witnessing a murder. ‘Confirm my own suspicions’, whatever the FUCK that meant. Victoria had had enough.

 

And, for one fleeting moment, everything was going exactly the way it was supposed to.

 

Her back against the wall, body pinned beneath hers, sharp edge of a knife pressed against the slender column of her throat  This was the end, and she couldn’t have written it better. 

 

Only, she couldn’t bring herself to meet her gaze, eyes fixed instead on her own knuckles, white from the strain of the grip she had on the knife’s handle, immobilized by the way her chest brushed her arm with each uneven rise and fall. 

 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. 

 

“Go on, then,” she enticed, voice low and velvety as her fingers wrapped around the blade, drawing it tighter against her throat. “What are you waiting for? This is your big moment, isn’t it?” She watched, mesmerized as the blade split her skin, merlot rivulets of blood trailing down her neck. 

 

“How are you not scared?” Vic managed to grit out, body thrumming with that familiar, echoing hunger that she was dying to give into. Still, for whatever reason, she couldn’t move.

 

“Why would I be scared of you, hm? You can’t even look at me,” she hummed, shoulders shifting against the wall. She could practically feel her gaze tearing into her as she waited, hands still resting on the blade of the knife, a silent dare. “Come on, Victoria, there’s no reason to be bashful now!” 

 

She took a moment to steel herself before finally looking up, breath catching in her lungs. The flickering light of the candles shifted the amber of her irises to a shade closer to crimson, eyes heavy lidded, a small, smug smile tugging at her crooked mouth. She couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling that she was something other than human, a beautiful monster dripping in finely embroidered fabrics and someone else’s blood. Alice impatiently tapped her foot against her ankle, gaze never leaving hers. 

 

“Well?” 

 

And the knife slipped from Victoria’s fingers, clattering to the floor. Alice’s eyes flashed with amusement as she looked from the discarded knife to Victoria’s slowly retreating figure. “Oh, delightful. I knew you couldn’t do it!” 

 

“I’m going to fucking kill you.”

 

“A bit late for that now, isn’t it?” she mused, voice dripping with faux sympathy as she knelt to retrieve the knife. As her deft fingers wrapped around the handle, there was a shift in the atmosphere, air humming with the faint sound of sputtering static, Victoria’s vision blurring. Her heart picked up speed, floor tilting beneath her feet as Alice took a step towards her, knife glinting in the dancing flames. She smiled at her almost sweetly, head tilting to the side, shadows distorting around her. When she spoke, her voice was fuzzy and crackling, but it was also the clearest thing Victoria had ever heard. 

 

“Run.” 

 

And fuck it, what else could she have done? Victoria ran. 

Chapter Text

“Alice Rousseau, you’re an angel.” 

 

Alice was surprised that Victoria had actually had the common sense to listen to her and run away. A bit disappointing, but, c’est la vie. She was sure that running after her would have been terribly fun, but she was too busy tidying up the mess she’d left for her to actually consider it. Bob had managed to push himself up on his elbows, his throat still red and swollen, a thick sort of daze distorting his features as he blinked heavily up at her. He’d called her an angel. What a joke.

 

“She was- Whitman tried to kill me!” he sputtered, like it was just then dawning on him. “That crazy fucking bitch. I knew she was a liability. Well, her show’s definitely not getting renewed now.” Absurd. All of it was absurd. Alice couldn’t help but laugh as she knelt in front of him.  

 

“You think I’m an angel?” she hummed, tip of the knife digging into the pad of her index finger, a scarlet prick of blood trickling down her palm. She watched in real time as it dawned on Bob that he wasn’t in the clear yet. Whatever it was he saw on Alice’s face clearly unsettled him, trembling as he slowly inched away from her, her grin growing wider. She did so adore this part- the slow understanding, the mounting panic that never quite gave way to acceptance, a buzzing tension only she could settle.  

 

 “Did you really think I was here to save you?” Her voice went scratchy with amusement, fizzling out into a disjointed fit of laughter. She delighted in the panicked way he glanced back at the door, mentally measuring the steps, like he still had a chance. 

 

“I have a family.” This appeal hadn’t worked on Victoria, and she had no earthly idea why he thought it might work on her. “You don’t have to do this.” 

 

“Oh, trust me, I’m well aware!” For a moment, Alice wasn’t human. She was sepia skin pulled taut over razor-sharp bones, carnivore teeth made for ripping through tendons. She was a movement that shadows swallowed in one’s periphery, a creaking floor in a house that was assumed to be empty. 

 

The radio crackled to life, sputtering a fractured spray of auditory static before settling into steady white noise. Alice spared a glance over her shoulder, eyes narrowing knowingly. When she turned back to Bob, she found him curled into a ball, hands covering his ears, eyes squeezing in slow, painful blinks. 

 

“You’re-” His voice wavered with panic now, one last shaky outcry before it all went dark, “Not human. You’re…wrong.”

 

“Look at you!” Alice congratulated, grip tightening on the handle of the knife as she readied herself, “Now you’re getting it!” 

 

. . .

 

Alice watched, floating over her own shoulder, as the blade sunk into the white belly of the deer. How old had she been that first time? Too young to be out so late, certainly. Four, maybe, or five? Her father’s hands guiding hers. Too young to understand that she was being punished, and so all she felt was a naive sense of pride as she sliced cleanly through the warm carcass of the deer, delight melting to apprehension when she saw the wide-eyed look of shock on her father’s face. It wasn’t an expression she had ever seen on him before- it was rare for his face to do anything other than scowl. At the time, she couldn’t pinpoint it, but she knew that look well enough now. 

 

‘Why aren’t you crying?’ he had snapped, her world narrowing to the sharp sting of his knuckles colliding with the side of her face. For once, not an act of rage, but something baser. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he’d continued, voice a snarl, but she didn’t cringe away- she knew, even then, that it only made things worse. Of course, this change in tone had been confusing at the time. From her point of view, it had been a rare good night between them, and while it was obvious that she must have done something wrong, she had no idea what it could have been. 

 

She understood now that the lesson in field dressing wasn’t meant to be informative, that it had been a misguided effort to break her. And it must have been unnerving, to watch her smile as the blood spattered her face. Tiny and helpless and wrong, humming along to a frequency only she could hear. Maybe there really was something wrong with her. Maybe there always had been. Whatever it was, she couldn’t help but see it as a good thing. 

 

. . . 

 

“I would say that was some of my best work. Wouldn’t you agree, dear?” Alice cheered, collapsing heavily into her chair by the old radio. She was tired and drenched in mud and swamp water, muscles aching- even broken down into parts, it wasn’t easy work, lugging around the body of a grown man. When Rosie didn’t answer, she eyed the radio impatiently, lips pursing. “And you had amazing timing as always. I’d say you really unsettled the poor bastard! He really seemed to hate the sound of static.” Still, nothing. Strange. She usually loved to brag about herself. 

 

Alice tucked her legs under her weight, eyes fluttering heavily shut, letting the soothing whoosh-sssshhh from the speakers wash over her. She realized that she had felt none of the tell-tale pressure in her skull, the trill of gooseflesh that usually let her know that her liege was present. Whatever had made the radio turn on, it hadn’t been her. She was alone, the rest was just dead air. 

. . .

The dreams had started the night of the failed murder attempt. They usually began with Victoria racing through the moonlit bayou, Alice quick on her heels, and ended with her doing something stupid, like tripping over a tree root (a death sentence). Or maybe a legion of alligators would emerge from the swamp and rip her to shreds, which was random, but hey- the subconscious is notoriously unpredictable. In one iteration, she had found herself back in Alice’s kitchen, watching as she finished preparing dinner. Only, this time, when she opened the pot to reveal what she had been cooking, Victoria found herself staring down at her own disembodied head. So, needless to say, she hadn’t been sleeping very well. 

 

In addition to this, there was another problem: she had no idea what had happened to Bob. Why the fuck had she run away like that? Victoria had never been a runner- she faced her fears head on. She was usually the one people were running from, for fuck’s sake! But, that look Alice had given her…well. Whatever had happened to Bob, she was certain it hadn’t been good. It had been over a week, and he still hadn’t returned to set, there had been no press leaks about him turning up half dead at a hospital, and the police never came to arrest her for her attempt on his life. So…

 

Victoria had taken up a new hobby. Kneeling in the bushes across the street from her little shotgun style home with a pair of binoculars, observing her as she went about her day. From a distance, of course, because even though what she had seen that night was almost definitely just an illusion, she wasn’t risking it. Whatever Alice was, she was going to get to the bottom of it. Her leading theories so far were: witch, bogey man (lady?), alien (not likely), cryptid? ‘Witch’ felt the most realistic, what with all of her herbs and animal bones, though even thinking about it felt ridiculous. She was probably just a regular woman, and Victoria had probably been suffering from a caffeine overdose. 

 

Still, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way the shadows writhed around her like they were alive, the way her eyes flashed crimson as she held her gaze, that thick veneer of static distorting Victoria’s vision. If it was real, then…it was really fucking cool, actually. And she wanted to know how she had done it, see if it was something she could also learn. 

 

So, she spent her days hiding away in the bushes and gathering intel, watching as she watered her plants, or plucked away at her piano, or sipped tea on her porch with one of her neighbors. All of it was surprisingly mundane. She kept hoping that maybe she would at least glitch or something, give Vic some indication that she hadn’t completely lost her mind. But, so far, she was giving her a whole lotta nothing.

 

“C’mon, Rousseau,” she urged as she watched Alice waltz airily out her front door. She looked nice today (not that it mattered), dressed casually as though she were just stepping out to run errands, her hair concealed under a ruby silk scarf, “This is boring. Gimme something good.” Alice paused at the end of the driveway, glancing around as though she could somehow feel Victoria’s gaze. To Vic’s horror, she looked directly at the spot she was hiding, amusement flashing in her eyes as Victoria dropped the binoculars, falling back on her haunches. 

 

Okay. How THE fuck did she do that? There was definitely something going on with her, and Vic was going to get to the bottom of it. She watched as she carried on her way, waiting until she disappeared around the bend before climbing to her feet, stretching out her sore leg muscles (she had been squatting for longer than she’d thought). She was just about to take off after her when a hand wrapped tightly around her arm, pulling her back into the foliage. 

 

“What the-” she wrestled out of her assailant’s grip, face paling when she saw who it was. “Ah, fuck,” she lamented, taking another step back from him, “I forgot about you.” 

 

Goose’s brows raised significantly as he studied her, hand reaching into the pocket of his blazer, reminding her that…shit…she’d left the stupid gun in the cabin. Wellp. There went that plan. “Your two weeks are up, Whitman,” he reminded her menacingly, withdrawing a blindfold (which was somehow worse than any weapon he could have been hiding), “Do you have what you promised me?” 

. . . 

“Husker! Long time no see, old pal!” Alice chimed brightly as she folded herself into the chair across from her old grunt. His hair had grown since she’d last seen him, flecks of salt dotting what had once been all pepper, and he had taken to wearing a close-cropped beard that admittedly suited him. He glared up at her, cold and steady.

 

“And you look exactly the same,” he sniped with a healthy air of suspicion. She couldn’t blame him for being cautious, considering how things had ended, but- 

 

“I did just lend you fifty dollars, you know. You could at least pretend to be grateful!” she teased, folding her sunglasses on the sturdy little patio table between them. “C’mon, why drive all the way here just to see me, and then waste all of our time together sulking?” 

 

“I’m not here for you,” he corrected harshly, and Alice smirked, “I just needed to get out of that hell hole. That’s all.” 

 

“I told you that LA wouldn’t be your scene. But, you’ve always been so obstinate…there was really no talking you out of it!” 

 

“LA WAS my scene,” he snapped, and Alice arched a contemplative brow. Curious. She’d assumed that he had bolted back here because of that embarrassing little scene at his last show. She’d had the newspaper article framed and hung in her office, right beside a photo of them taken a decade prior, a candid shot of the pair of them talking in her booth. She had just been starting out, and he had been one of the first people she’d interviewed- a local bar owner with a few tricks up his sleeve. 

 

“But you’re back here, hm? So something must have gone wrong,” she needled with a self-satisfied grin, “Tell me- was it the gambling or the booze that finally drove you away?” 

 

He levelled her with a somber glare, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You never learned to mind your goddamn business, Alice, that’s your problem.”

 

She beamed, holding her hands up in mocking surrender. “Guilty as charged!” He shook his head, some of the tension between them melting, but she knew it would never disappear completely. “So, I’m assuming you need somewhere to stay while you’re in town? That’s why you asked me out to lunch, right?” and then, because she just couldn’t stop herself, “Your cousin still not talking to you after that stunt you pulled at your family reunion?”

 

“That was ten years ago, Alice,” he snapped, which wasn’t a denial, “Also, I’m not asking you for shit. I know what you are. I’d have better luck with the damn loan sharks than I would being in debt to you again.” 

 

Alice’s lids lowered over her eyes as she appraised him, head tilting. “So, you have somewhere to stay, then?” 

 

She watched his shoulders deflate, head bowing as he scowled down at his folded hands. “...No.” 

 

“Good!” she cheered, “I have a proposal for you.”

 

“Nuh uh, Al, none of your bullshit-”

 

“Hear me out, why don’t you? It’s an easy offer- and you already owe me fifty dollars, anyhow.” She knew that coming up with that kind of money wouldn’t be easy for him, and besides, he’d already promised to pay her back. He truly was a man of his word (poor Husk, he never would learn how to play the game). 

 

“...I’ll listen. But don’t think that means anything.”

 

Alice cleared her throat as she shot a discreet look around the patio, content to find that nobody was paying attention to them. Still, she lowered her voice as she leaned into him. “You remember my little cabin, yes?”

 

“How could I forget?” 

 

“It could make a pretty cozy place for guest lodging. Private, well-maintained, unoccupied…” like she was dangling a mouse by its tail in front of a bored house cat. She could see the temptation flash in his eyes as he considered it, but…

 

“If you ignore the ghosts and the bloodstains, maybe.” He knew too much. 

 

“Please, you know I always clean up after myself,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “I’ll cut to the chase- someone’s been following me. I’d like them dealt with. Discreetly.” 

 

“Of course,” he spat, wall slamming down between them again, “I’ve got enough blood on my hands thanks to you, Alice. I’ll find a way to get you your damn money, but I’m not…” he trailed off, arms crossing sternly over his chest. His resistance didn’t deter her. She’d had a feeling he would be this way.

 

“Husker,” she scolded playfully, “You can blame me for your bloody hands all you want, but you can’t change what you’ve already done.” Her words had their intended effect- he sank lower in his seat, expression going blank, eyes two hollow windows into the past. She pressed on, sensing she nearly had him. “Besides, I’m not asking you for violence, necessarily. You can deal with them as you see fit. Perhaps all they need is a good scare. Or, perhaps…well. We both know what you’re capable of, don’t we?” 

 

Husk didn’t respond, the silence between them rife with tension that Alice chose to ignore. Instead, her mind wandered to the photos that had been left in her mailbox. Grainy black and white, clearly shot at a distance, obviously copies. Which meant the originals were still out there somewhere. And she wasn’t exactly thrilled by the notion of someone having such clear evidence of her recreational activities. The most annoying part was that she knew that it wasn’t Victoria who had taken them- she’d clearly heard the sound of her car pulling away before she’d dealt with Bob. Besides, it simply wasn’t her style. 

 

Speaking of. “One more thing: I’m also currently being stalked by Victoria Whitman.” This snapped Husk out of his reverie. He straightened, sputtering, nearly choking on his coffee.

 

“I’m sorry, Victoria Whitman? Like the movie star?” 

 

“The one and only!” Alice giggled, resting her chin on her palm, “Leave her be. She’s mine to deal with.” 

 

“You know what? Not going to ask,” Husk huffed, shaking his head, “Not my damn circus, not my damn monkey.” 

 

“So, do we have a deal?” Alice lured, extending her hand, “Fifty bucks and a roof over your head in exchange for my peace of mind?” 

 

“You really have a way of talking people into things,” he sighed, “But I’m not killing for you again.” 

 

“That’s fine! So long as that little pest is dealt with one way or another, I’m happy!” 

 

As his calloused hand slid into hers, he fixed her with the weary glare of a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “It’s a deal.” 

. . . 

Victoria was getting really fucking tired of her life being on the line, and she wasn’t about to run away again. She was a fighter, dammit- she hadn’t spent years earning a brown belt in Jiu Jitsu just to sprint away from every potential fight. 

 

Still, this Goose fella was strong. And angry. He had her in a vice grip, arms digging so tightly into her ribcage that she was worried he might snap her cleanly in half. She lashed out, elbow plowing deep into his side, and he let out a grunt, grip loosening enough for her to slip away. 

 

“What the FUCK is your problem?” she panted, bouncing from foot to foot, waiting for him to make his next move, “What do you want with that washed up little whore, anyway?” 

 

His knee collided with her stomach, bright sparks of pain clouding her vision as she stumbled forward, his hand gripping the back of her neck as he held her down. “Don’t worry about ‘why’, Whitman. Worry about what’s going to happen to you when the boss gets a hold of ya.” Everything went black as the rough material of the blindfold scraped against her cheeks, and she thrashed violently, teeth sinking into the meaty stretch of flesh between his pointer finger and thumb. 

 

“Oh, I’m not worried, wise guy,” she guffawed, her fist clipping his jaw as she turned on him. Adrenaline pumping, she was all pent-up rage and pure, unadulterated confidence. She threw herself at him, hands tangling around his throat, watching shock briefly flash across his features. “You’re the one that should be worried. You know…” he stumbled to the ground with a pained grunt as she kneed him in the groin. She picked up a large rock, raising it menacingly, “I’ve had about enough of you. What’dya say we end this, hm?” 

 

He moved in a flash, and Victoria stumbled back with a shaky gasp, everything disappearing except for the electrifying thrill of pain radiating from her torso. The rock slipped from her grip as her hands moved instinctively to apply pressure to the wound. She blinked dazedly down at the torrents of red blossoming between her fingertips, the flash of silver dancing in his hand. 

 

“A pocket knife?” she murmured, “Really?” 

 

“Looks like the jig’s up, Whitman. It’ll go better for you if you stop fighting- at least, it will at first,” he promised darkly, rounding on her. 

 

She latched onto those last remaining threads of adrenaline, forcing her face into an arrogant grin. “Sorry, cafone- that’s not my style.” And, with that, she sprinted, knowing he was fast on her heels. She was losing a lot of blood, and she needed to get somewhere fast. She had no idea where the nearest hospital was- besides, hospitals were a whole can of worms for famous people. And there was no way she could run all the way home from here. It was an insane gamble, jumping from the waiting blade of an enemy soldier straight into the belly of the beast, but…

 

Goose chased her up the steps, and she growled, boot colliding with his chest, sending him sprawling onto the pavement below. Tomorrow, gossiping neighbors would ask Alice about the two random white folks brawling on her front porch, but now, Victoria reached for her door handle, body going slack with relief when it twisted freely under her hand. Bold move, leaving her front door unlocked, but it seemed Victoria’s prayers were answered at least. She locked the door behind her, collapsing against the wood, feeling it shake against her as his fist collided with the surface. 

 

“You can’t hide forever, Whitman,” he growled. 

 

“Oh trust me, asshole, I don’t plan to,” she promised, words slurring. There was a crimson handprint smeared on the surface of the door where she’d braced herself. 

 

“Have it your way, Whitman. Somethin’ tells me you’re gonna regret it later,” he promised darkly. And, on that cheerful note, he was gone. The rest of her adrenaline fled with him. Victoria collapsed, Alice’s cozy little living room warping around her in shades of blurry mahogany before everything went black.

Chapter Text

Victoria wasn’t sure how long she had been out- one moment, she was down, the next, she was stumbling down an unfamiliar hallway, tossing open doors as she searched for a bathroom. Once she found it, she leaned heavily against the bathroom sink, holding a damp towel against her side, watching with mounting panic as the white morphed into pink.

 

“Fuck,” she hissed as she studied her reflection. He had really done a number on her. She could tell by the discoloration blossoming around her brow bone that she was going to have a nasty bruise. There were shallow scrapes along her forearms where her skin had snagged on brambles as she ran through the brush, and the wound on her side… 

 

Ugh. It just wouldn’t stop bleeding. 

 

As the influx of adrenaline slowly faded, she became aware of just how badly she was hurting, the sharp, insistent screaming of the knife wound fighting for attention with the aches in her ribs and the dull pounding in her head. But, she’d lived, bitch! So…take that, mafia. Victoria Whitman wins again! 

 

“Well, well, well! I was wondering how long it would take you to find the courage to actually show yourself!” Alice sing-songed from the hall. Victoria tensed, pressing the towel harder against her side, internally groaning. If Alice was some kind of a demon-creature-witch-thing hellbent on destroying her, then she had done an amazing job of making herself easy prey. She wasn’t exactly in mint condition at the moment. “Finally come to finish what you- hm?” Alice interrupted herself as she stepped into view of the mirror, mouth forming an ‘o’ as she took in her condition. 

 

“I’m leaving,” Victoria assured her, “I just- needed somewhere to go. And I happened to be nearby, so…” there was nothing she could really say to defend herself. She’d already been caught. 

 

“You’re bleeding,” she informed her, gaze tracing slowly from the towel to her face as Victoria turned to face her, bracing herself against the counter, “A lot.” She stalked over to her, and Victoria glanced down at the red-spattered floor tiles with an uncertain frown. 

 

“I was stabbed,” she explained flippantly. 

 

“Yes, I see. And just who did you piss off now?” 

 

“Alice,” Victoria chided, pinning her with a knowing smirk, “Don’t be jealous.” Alice actually giggled at this, the sound melting against Victoria’s bruised skin as she landed in front of her, head tilting. Victoria could feel the weight of her scrutiny as her gaze moved over her body. She shifted, edge of the counter digging into her lower back as she attempted to put more space between them.

 

“Weren’t you just getting waterboarded a few weeks ago?” 

 

“And it was by the same guy, if you can believe it!” Victoria cringed as Alice reached out to her, relaxing when she only placed a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to hers, forcing her to meet her gaze.

 

“I’d be more concerned if it wasn’t,” she hummed, thumb tracing over the fresh bruise above her eye. “It appears he really did a number on you!” 

 

“Yeah,” Victoria exhaled, words sticking in her throat. Alice pressed lightly against the bruise, and her eyes fluttered shut, heart racing unevenly in her chest. Why was she letting her do this? She felt absurdly like a cat toy, batted about in her methodical, perilous hands. 

 

“Well, go on,” she urged, gaze flickering down to the towel yet again, “Let’s see the damage!” 

 

“I’ve got it under control,” Victoria snapped. The idea of showing her the wound felt too weirdly vulnerable. Stripping in front of her would’ve felt less revealing than letting her see the still bleeding laceration. Maybe it’s because she knew the chances of Alice actually making a move on her were low, but the chances of her taking advantage of an opportunity to hurt her while she was down…

 

“So you would rather bleed out on my bathroom floor than let me help you, is that it?” she teased, weight shifting to one hip. 

 

“You know what? Yeah, actually, I would,” she snapped, and Alice rolled her eyes. 

 

“If that’s how it’s going to be-” she started to turn away from her, and Victoria scowled down at the towel, now more crimson than pink. She sighed as she let it fall to the floor. 

 

“Fine,” she relented. Alice beamed as she turned back to her. 

 

“Stay still,” she demanded, and Victoria held her breath as her cool fingers slid under the hem of her battered shirt, pushing the material out of the way, her touch clinical, restrained. She was utterly enraptured by the way Alice’s pupils dilated as she bent to study the wound. 

 

“More of a slash than a stab,” she declared, one hand resting on Vic’s side, holding her still as she assessed the injury. Victoria bit back a gasp, squirming as she ran her index finger over the angry line of disturbed flesh, “You’re going to need stitches.” Victoria was still holding her breath as she straightened, dark eyes boring steadily into hers as she idly slipped her finger into her mouth, Victoria’s blood staining her lips. It was then that she understood: whatever Alice was, she was definitely a freak. And, based on the tingles running up her thighs, Vic was, for whatever reason, deeply turned on by it.  

 

“Stitches, hm? So…” she cleared her throat, hoping her face wasn’t noticeably red, “Are ya going to drive me to the hospital?” 

 

Alice guffawed at this, leading her out of the room. “I don’t know what you’ve been up to, Victoria, but something tells me you don’t want this getting out to the press.” 

 

“I can pay for discretion,” she protested, and Alice shot her a pitying look. 

 

“Maybe in Hollywood, sweetheart, but certainly not here.” 

 

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” she scoffed weakly, head still spinning from the blood loss. She stumbled, and Alice reached out to steady her with a self-satisfied little ‘hmph.’ 

 

“Lay down on the couch,” she ordered, a mischievous gleam in her eye that Vic did not trust at all, “I can patch you up.” 

 

“...What?” Victoria felt a cold sweat break out on her forehead, “No, Alice, it’s fine, really, I don’t need-” 

 

“My, you really don’t trust me at all, do you?” she tittered, “I’m doing you a favor. Again, might I add! So…?”

 

Again? Whatever. Victoria was currently more concerned with…“Do you even know how?” 

 

“I have some experience,” she assured her without a trace of doubt in her voice. She guided Vic down onto the sofa, being surprisingly gentle with her, and she begrudgingly found herself relenting to her yet again. 

 

“Fine. Just…don’t fuck me up too bad.” Alice laughed as she disappeared down the hall. She could hear the sounds of her rummaging around in a drawer before she reappeared, needle and thread in hand. She eyed the needle skeptically, reflexively backing away from her, flinching as she disturbed the wound. 

 

“Is it safe to use a sewing needle for sutures?” 

 

“Lighter,” Alice demanded, ignoring her, “I know you have one, Victoria,” she made an impatient gesture with her waiting hand, and Victoria scowled at her, fishing her lighter from her pocket. 

 

She watched the fire flicker to life, Alice hovering the tip of the needle over the flame, hand steady, lips pursed. “See!” she declared when she was done, “No need to worry. It’s sterile.” 

 

“Wow,” Victoria said sarcastically, “That really puts me at ease. I feel great about this now.” 

 

“You’ll feel a lot better once you’re done hemorrhaging all over my furniture,” she tsked, “You owe me a new sofa by the way.” 

 

Victoria winced apologetically, corner of her mouth tugging into a smirk as she leaned against the arm of the couch, facing Alice. “I’m loaded. Tell me what you want, and it’s all yours, baby.” 

 

Alice rolled her eyes before leaning closer to her, an intense sort of focus in her gaze as she tugged at the hem of her shirt. 

 

“Ready?” Victoria swallowed, bracing herself. 

 

“Ready.” 

. . .

Alice’s hands moved deftly to the buttons of Victoria’s shirt, loosening them without thinking. It was simple: the shirt was an obstacle, and it needed to go. She thought nothing of it until Victoria’s fingers wrapped around her wrist, brows pulling together in a frazzled scrutiny, color washing over her face. 

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

“Attempting to stitch you up, if you’ll let me,” she reprimanded, very aware suddenly of her proximity, mismatched eyes glowering up at her through a thick fringe of lashes before her face melted into a charmingly stupid grin. 

 

“You could’ve at least bought me dinner first,” she teased, shirt sliding off her shoulders. “That’s all.” She let it fall to the floor, reclining, posture arrogant as she arched a brow at her. Alice’s gaze drifted over the taut muscles in her shoulders, past her collarbones, quickly skipping over her lacey black bra with a slight rush of embarrassment, landing finally on the true area of interest: the nasty gash on her side. She pressed a damp towel against the wound, and Victoria hissed, head falling back against the couch. Alice found herself studying the curve of her neck, mesmerized by the way the muscles flexed and contracted beneath her skin as she sucked in a sharp breath. 

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re terribly whiny?” Alice teased, pulling the towel away, sensing that she had cleaned away the blood the best that she could. “We haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet!” 

 

Victoria grimaced, face settling in a surly scowl. “You try-” she hissed as Alice sanitized the wound with alcohol, squirming underneath her, “Getting stabbed. See how you like it,” she continued through gritted teeth. 

 

“How do you think I learned to suture wounds?” she teased, threading the needle as Vic followed her movements with wide eyes, shoulders tense. “Relax,” Alice urged with a grin, “It’s not so bad. Stop being so dramatic!” 

 

“You’ve been stabbed?” 

 

Alice pressed a hand against her shoulder, pinning her against the couch as she leaned closer to the wound, pushing her glasses up her nose. “A few times!” And with that, she slid the needle into her skin. 

 

“Fuck!” Victoria all but shouted, instinctively trying to push her off of her. Alice was able to hold her down easily enough as she continued. “A count down would have been nice?”

 

“Lie still,” she scolded, “You’re acting like a baby!” 

 

“You’re-ohmygod-fuck you, Rousseau!” she sputtered incredulously, body so tense that she was shaking. Alice was deeply amused by the theatrics, a grin lighting her face as she continued working, stitches forming in a neat, even row. “What happened to Bob?” 

 

Now, it was Alice’s turn to tense. She paused in her work, staring up at her steadily. “Like I said, this is the second favor I’m doing for you,” she warned, warmth sapping from her voice. It was hard to ignore the exposed skin of her torso, surprisingly toned, her flesh ivory white and blemish free. Alice wasn’t a prude, but she also didn’t spend a lot of time wrestling half-clothed people into submission. Frankly, she wasn’t used to touch in general when it wasn’t accompanied by some kind of violence (unless tending to wounds counted as violence, and, based on Victoria’s reaction, perhaps it did). 

 

“Did you…” Victoria’s eyes shone with understanding, “You killed him, didn’t you?” 

 

“Like I said, I took care of it!” she dodged brightly, returning her attention to her work. She felt off-balance, tension shoving her hand forward faster than she had intended, needle brutally piercing her skin. Victoria let out a shaky breath, latching onto Alice’s sweater, fingers knotting desperately in the material. She was used to sharp gasps of pain from her victims, but she wasn’t used to the sound sinking hotly into her gut like hunger, wasn’t used to the person she was hurting pulling her closer. 

 

“Was that too rough?” Alice asked, her voice a gentle tease, surprisingly steady despite the internal struggle, “So sorry!” 

 

“Alice,” Victoria began, eyes flickering open, heavy-lidded and dazed, a slow smile spreading over her face, “you can be as rough with me as you want.” Alice felt her own eyes widen, her words coiling tightly inside of her, face growing warmer as she finished off the stitches. 

 

“Don’t ask for something you don’t actually want,” she warned, taking care not to jostle her again, “You could barely handle a little rubbing alcohol.” 

 

“I think you’d be surprised by what I can handle,” she teased. Alice repositioned herself, hand braced on her uninjured side as she worked at tying off the thread. She could feel the muscles in her stomach tensing beneath her touch as she pulled back, assessing her work. “So, you killed Bob?” 

 

“See, good as new!” she cheered, patting her side, attempting to pull away. Victoria snagged her arm, pulling her roughly back into her.

 

“Alice-”

 

 “Why don’t you go check the freezer and see for yourself?” she ordered flippantly. Victoria floundered, eyes shining with delight.

 

“He’s in the freezer?”

 

“Well, not all of him,” Alice shrugged. All of these open conversations about her own crimes were grating at her. Now, two people knew what she was… at least both of them had piles of dirty laundry all their own, she supposed. 

 

“Alice Rousseau, you ice cold little bitch!” she guffawed, pulling Alice down into her lap. Alice’s eyes narrowed- she didn’t enjoy being manhandled, but- “So, I take it that wasn’t your first kill, then? Not surprising, considering how quick you were to threaten me with a knife, really should have seen that coming, huh?” Her laugh was nice, and her excitement was strangely endearing (however morbid it might be), and maybe it wasn’t so bad, being close to her. “How many have you…I guess you’re probably not supposed to ask that, right? I mean, I’ve never actually met someone else who-”

 

“I’ve lost count!” Alice interrupted. A lie, but it was worth it to watch her mouth flop open, brows jumping into her hairline. 

 

“Lost count? That’s…” she grinned again, that charming, stupid grin, arms loose around Alice’s waist as she beamed up at her. “You’re insane!” 

 

It was Alice’s turn to laugh now, shifting in her lap as she let her head fall against her shoulder. She felt Victoria stiffen uncertainly, hands circling her waist, and she was suddenly hyperaware of how close her lips were to her bare skin, how easy it would be to just…

 

“You know…” Victoria began in a low, throaty voice, “We never got to go on that date.” 

 

“Please,” Alice exhaled, coming back to her senses. She attempted to wrestle away from her, but Vic’s hands were quick around her, holding her in place, “That was never going to happen!” 

 

“Such a shame,” she sighed, delivering a perfect portrayal of disappointment until the corner of her mouth hooked in a knowing smirk, fingertips wandering under the hem of Alice’s sweater, “I was really looking forward to seeing where things went.” Alice’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, little pinpricks dancing along her skin, holding her breath as her fingers traced soft lines up her sides.

 

“Things weren’t going anywhere,” she said, voice completely void of inflection as she pinned her with a glare, “Sorry to disappoint, but…” 

 

Victoria laughed, shifting under her, one leg dangling lazily over the side of the couch, Alice haphazardly balancing on the other. “Alice, Alice, Alice,” she chided as she released her hold on her waist, hand moving instead to grip her chin, not allowing her to look away from her stern gaze. “Admit it- hurting me kind of turned you, didn’t it?” Alice, never one to be perturbed, grinned, eyes narrowing quizzically. 

 

“While I do enjoy seeing you in pain-”

 

“Knew it!” 

 

“I fear you might be projecting,” she finished easily, sure that that would be the end of the conversation, because hadn’t she given her enough? But, Victoria, she was learning, was incredibly greedy. She raised the knee that was resting between Alice’s thighs, just enough to gently press against her, and Alice’s eyes widened.

 

“See,” Victoria continued conversationally, the hand that was still on her hip resting flat. If Alice wanted out of this, she could easily move away, but… “I thought maybe I was. But, I saw the way you were looking at me,” she pressed her knee against her again, more forcefully this time, and Alice let out a pent up sigh as a fresh ache jolted through her, using every ounce of her self-control to not give into it. 

 

“Haven’t I done enough for you? You’re terribly needy. Maybe I should have just let you bleed out in my bathroom after all,” Alice mocked, but she ground down against her leg again as she spoke, the throbbing between her thighs only growing stronger with the movement.

 

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not asking you to do anything for me,” Victoria assured her, voice dripping with arrogance as her hand slid around to the back of Alice’s head, fingers tangling in her hair, “Why don’t you let me repay you for all that you’ve done for me, hm?” she appealed, wrenching Alice down to her, gaze flickering from her eyes to her lips before darting back up again, “It’s only fair, right? What do you say?” 

 

“Well, I have done a lot for you…” Alice considered, carefully bracing her hands against the couch on either side of Victoria’s shoulders, watching as her eyes lit up, “I suppose I am owed something.” Victoria smiled, grip tightening in her hair, sending a jolt of hot pain through her body. “And if I were just using you…”

 

“Atta girl,” she murmured, Alice’s head tilting back obediently with another tug at her hair, a soft gasp slipping out before she could stop it as Victoria’s mouth pressed hungrily against her skin, knee pressing hard against her, her other hand exploring under her shirt with a fervor, running up along her sides, the planes of her back, along her ribs. It was too many new sensations at once, Alice’s brain fogging over, fingers forming claws against the arm of the couch. When Victoria’s mouth moved to hers, she wasn’t able to to take control the way she had to the first time, kissing her like she was starving, Victoria’s tongue moving in her mouth, ravenous, reckless. Without thinking, Alice grabbed Victoria’s wrist, pinning her arm roughly above her head, and she let out a sharp cry of pain, the sound echoing in Alice’s skull as she pulled back from her, heart racing in her chest. 

 

They both glanced down at her homespun stitches warily, that dizzy whirring in Alice’s mind slowly dying, breathing returning to normal. “They’re still intact,” she reassured her, proud of her own handiwork. 

 

“I got a little carried away,” she admitted, face flushing a captivating shade of peach as she painfully pulled herself into a sitting position. Alice courteously removed herself from her lap, knee caps brushing hers as she pulled her legs under her, “Might’ve over sold myself a bit there. I’m not in peak form right now.” 

 

Alice giggled, chin resting on her palm as she studied Victoria, the way her gaze shifted away from hers, overbloated confidence melting into a softer sort of bashfulness. “Well, you did nearly die earlier,” she reminded her. 

 

“Please, Al,” she scoffed, corner of her mouth tugging up in a crooked grin, “It’ll take a LOT more than some greaser with a pocket knife to take me out.” 

 

“A greaser with a pocket knife?” Alice giggled, delighted, “What a colorful little life you live!” 

 

She straightened, pinning Alice with a very somber look that felt so out of place with her mussed hair and general shirtless-ness that she couldn’t help but grin, sensing that whatever she was about to say was going to be entertaining.

 

 “Let me take you out!  For real this time, I really do owe you. Bob sucked, he’s needed to go for a long time,” she chuckled drily, leaning her elbows on her knees, “I’ll buy you whatever you want- and don’t think I’m exaggerating, because I’m not. It’ll be a good night, I swear, I’ll make all of this up to you and more.” 

 

“You do make a compelling case,” Alice chuckled. It was beyond overkill, a little desperate, a little whiny, but for whatever reason…”I suppose I could free up a night for you.” 

 

Victoria’s eyes shone, shoulders bouncing with excitement. “It’s a date!” she beamed, a bit breathlessly. 

 

“Don’t think this means you’re in the clear,” Alice warned, pinning her with a knowing grin, “you still owe me a new sofa.” 

 

Victoria guffawed at this, and then immediately winced, gripping her side. “Alice, I’ll buy you an entire damn furniture store if you ask me to. Fuck it, I’ll start a furniture empire, with locations in every major city, run every other furniture store out of business. I’ll hire the best carpenters in the country to create the designs, and start workshops where they can-”

 

“Sorry to interrupt, but I believe you’re getting a little sidetracked!” 

 

Victoria clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes flashing with embarrassment. “I just really love planning. Sorry.” 

 

Alice chuckled, gaze softening as she leaned forward, resting a hand on her knee. “Victoria?”

 

“Yes?” like all of her hopes and dreams were hanging in the balance, mismatched eyes wide, lips slightly parted. 

 

“I’m going to go find you a shirt, and then you’re going to find a way home, okay?” 

 

She blushed again, mouth thinning into a line as she nodded. “Yup. Uh. That’s- I- mhm!” 

 

“I’ll see you again soon enough, don’t worry.”

 

“Yeah, you will!” she cheered, and Alice shook her head as she climbed to her feet. “Also, uh, hey- can I use your phone?”

. . . 

The car ride with Velvette was tense, to say the least. She barely acknowledged Vic when she climbed into the car, gripping the steering wheel tightly, peeling off before she even had time to close the door all of the way.

 

“What gives?” Victoria snapped, letting out a pained yelp as Velvette cut the wheel, slinging her mercilessly back and forth like a ping pong ball. 

 

“Oh, fuck off, Vic,” she huffed.

 

“Did something…happen…?” Aside from the obvious something, which she didn’t even know about. 

 

“Oh, nothing much!” she cheered sarcastically, “Except that your little drug addict girlfriend has been missing from set all day, and when I went to check for her at your place-”

 

“I wasn’t there,” she sighed, dropping her face against the dashboard. Fucking Janet. What was she up to now? “Also, not my girlfriend. Also, also- she never would have tried drugs if you hadn’t forced them down her throat.” Velvette shot her a poisonous glare in the rearview, and she smirked, holding her hands up in surrender, “Don’t be mad at me, I’m just stating the facts!” 

 

“Do you know what day it is, Vic?”

 

“Two weeks,” Victoria conceded, frowning. The day of her imminent death (which she had, naturally, survived, because she was the fucking best). 

 

“Right! So I spend all day trying to find you, thinking you’re probably dead in a ditch somewhere, only to find out that you’ve been with Alice FUCKING Rousseau all afternoon. So, fuck me, I guess! A heads up would’ve been nice. You know, I really hate being worried, Vic.” 

 

 “Good news, though!” she cheered through gritted teeth, “I’m alive!”

 

“Fuck you!” she snapped, “I’m really glad you’re alive. Never do that to me again, or I promise, I will kill you myself.” 

 

“Noted.” 

 

“Now, get the hell out of my car,” she snapped, parking squarely in the driveway. 

 

Victoria grinned as she opened the door. “You’re the best Vel.”

 

“I know,” she snapped, “Now, move, before I run over you.” 

 

Victoria couldn’t stop smiling. So what, she’d been stabbed by a big scary mafioso who was definitely still lurking around, waiting for his opportunity to strike again? She was going on a date with Alice! And she knew for sure that she was into her this time- that kiss had left very little room for ambiguity. There was still a strong likelihood that she was some kind of evil supernatural force, but hey- if anything, that was a bonus. 

 

Something caught her eye as she unlocked her front door- a tiny package, wrapped with a little bow. Weird, but hey, she had a lot of fans. Only natural that some of them would figure out where she was staying. Once she was inside, she tugged at the ribbon, lid of the box sliding off, and paused when she saw the contents, head tilting in confusion. 

 

An emerald ring set in a delicate gold band, elegant strands of gold wire holding the stone in place. Her heart skipped a beat. She knew this ring, had bought it for her after her first gig- a background character in some sitcom, a waitress if she recalled correctly. She’d only had one line, and boy, was she PISSED about it. But, she had also been so excited, just to be on TV. Things had been easier back then. 

 

There was a piece of paper folded in the bottom of the box. She opened it, brows furrowing, a quiet rage building up inside of her. 

“Next week, it’ll be a finger. Give us Anthony, or else we’ll deliver her to you piece by piece. It’s really more fair this way, isn’t it, Whitman? An eye for an eye, some might say. Congratulations, looks like you’ve earned a little more time.

 

Clocks ticking, 

Goose”