I Want to Tell You Everything

Murder Girls is created, written, and produced by Eternal Teenager. Content warning, this episode contains panic attacks and anxiety disorders, seizure disorder and medical emergency, discussion of murder and violent death, grief and loss, ongoing themes related to death of family members, surveillance and stalking, breaking and entering, threats and intimidation, environmental crime and corporate malfeasance, references to trespassing on private property, exploitation of trauma for media and entertainment purposes, manipulation and gaslighting, references to past car accidents and traumatic brain injury, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, mentions of drug dealing, implied romantic and sexual relationships, family conflict and dysfunction, claustrophobic situations, and profanity throughout. Listener discretion is advised.

Previously on Murder Girls.

They've arrested Lily for Dylan.

Lily's not talking, and she has no alibi for the time of Dylan's death.

If Lily's protecting anyone, it's probably her dad. What were you two doing that's worse than murder?

We were in Holtwood, restricted area near the old paper mill. The originals aren't just messing with treaties in some courtroom in Olympia, okay? This Omnia deal is too big for them to lose now. Nothing can stop it.

So that's why she isn't talking. If she says anything, she and her dad are done.

Holt land, corporate waste, one dead air, that's not a protest story anymore.

That's a kill your witnesses kind of story.

We found something.

Something about Dylan, the wellness initiative.

He requested physical records from them.

But the logs show the files never made it to him. They got redirected.

Monday. Dylan leaves the Holt building around four heads straight to loose ends.

I follow him there, and then I get in his face. Have a seizure, and you save my life while he actually seemed concerned.

That's not the behavior of someone who's pure evil. It seemed like, it seemed like he recognized me. Like he was looking for me specifically, and that he had, he had found me.

The conversation below turned sharp. Even from here, we can read the body language. Raised arms, clenched fists, Thomas shouting, Amber shouting back.

Mags, this is Barb, and she saw something Monday night.

I was out, late. I saw this guy booking it from out of your little grove there, Amy. Too dark to get a look at his face, but he was tall, broad-shouldered. He had a very masculine, very powerful gait, like a tiger.

Barb, you're leaving out the cop car.

A few minutes later, a cruiser headed the opposite way down the main road.

Let's see what Barb saw.

There, a figure appears on screen. Moving fast toward Amy's trailer, Barb said she saw someone running, then a cop car heading the other way. Why were the cops there in the first place?

Oh my god, that wall is the worst.

Yeah, but it only goes off when something big walks past it. You know, like a person. Heavy footfalls, upstairs, careful, deliberate. Someone is inside, loose ends. Then I hear it, not the steps upstairs anymore, but Amy. Her breathing's gone ragged.

That Mags.

If I lose her now, none of it matters. Not Dylan, not the town, not the truth. Amy, Amy, I've got you. I've got you.

I've got you, baby. I've got you.

Murder Girls, episode nine. I want to tell you everything. Control. The illusion I've been in a committed relationship with since I was 12. I don't do impulse, even my spontaneity is scheduled. When I was a kid, Amy and I decided to wing it and bake cookies from scratch. She thought it was pure chaos. To this day, she still doesn't know I'd pre-measured everything into labeled Tupperware the night before. The only surprise was when the smoke alarm went off, because I'd planned for every variable except enthusiasm. People think control makes you safe. Maybe it does. Or maybe you survive one bad thing at 13 and spend a decade arranging your life so nothing can surprise you ever again. Then it turns out you can still be surprised. Again. Dee Dee used to say, luck's just preparation disguised as timing. She was right. Except sometimes there isn't time for timing. So no, I don't do impulse. But right now? Right now, I don't have time for a plan. Hi! Welcome to Loose Ends.

The fuck?

The guy standing in the shop looks like the runner up in a worst-case scenario contest for home invaders. Leather vest, tattoos from wrist to shoulder, beard big enough to house a family of sparrows. If, you know, he wouldn't just pull off their wings and eat them just for trying to live there. I had maybe three seconds to decide what to do. Run, lock the basement door, call 911. All smart options. All the options someone with a plan would choose. Instead, I'm doing something Didi used to say, when you don't know what you're doing, act like you do. Confidence is half the battle. The other half is hoping the person you're dealing with is more confused than you are. Oh my God, perfect timing. You're literally the first person to come in today, and I just got the most amazing shipment of, oh, sorry, I get way too enthusiastic. Are you looking for something specific? Wait, wait, wait, hold on, hold on. Let me guess. I am sensing some very strong postage stamp vibes. Is there a philatelist in the house? Am I readi ng the room right, my good sir? I'm not. Looking right, totally get it. Sometimes you just need to browse, feel the vibe, right? Yeah, yeah, I'm the same way. Honestly, my aunt who owned this place, she always said the objects find you, you know? Like you can't force a connection with a ceramic clown or Mexican Spider-Man or a lady. I'm not here to buy a vintage phonograph. And I get that message received, Mr. Grumpy. I feel like you're more of a tactile soul, likes textures and the tangible. Am I reading that right? Actually, something you can hold, something with weight and history, which is really the whole philosophy behind loose ends. If you stop to think about it, every object here has a story like that moose head over there. His name is Gerald. Well, I named him Gerald. I don't know what his original owners called him. But he came from an estate sale in Bellingham and apparently belonged to, if you can believe it, a state senator who, get him, Valentina.

No!

Huh, so that's what 50,000 volts looks like. Honestly, kind of anticlimactic. I was expecting more, I don't know, drama, but he just, oh wait, no, no, he's peeing. He's actually peeing in his pants. That is actually a thing. Yikes on bikes. And that's when I remember what all this spontaneity was for. Shit. Amy, post-ictal, that's the term. The phase after a seizure when the brain's rebooting and the person's somewhere between sleep and waking. Before I went upstairs, I'd gotten Amy onto her side, made sure her airway was clear, slid Deedee's horrible crocheted throw pillow, the one that says seize the day with a drunk looking octopus on it, under her head. She'd stopped convulsing, started breathing normally, and I'd made a choice. Leave her in the basement with a locked door between us and whoever was upstairs, or bring the threat down to her while she's vulnerable. Spontaneity The word people use when they haven't met consequences yet. I don't hate it. I just keep it on a leash. Spontaneity gets a bad rap.

People act like it's chaos with better branding, but sometimes it's just… trusting yourself faster than usual. Turns out a little unpredictability can keep the lights on, the shop standing, and your best friend breathing steady downstairs. Control is nice and neat. Spontaneity is just messy. I mean, this big angry dude just straight up peed his pants and can't get off the floor all thanks to Spontaneity. And you know, like 50,000 volts the manufacturer is admitting to. But yeah, sometimes… sometimes messy works.

Uh, where am I?

You fell asleep on the floor again, dude. Thought you gave that up when you were 12.

Dad?

Hey, you're all right.

You're all right, no worries. Okay. Wanna watch the game with your pops? Come on, have a seat, stranger, you got some time.

The Sonics? No, I know I'm dreaming.

Yep, last one. I saved it. You used to yell at the screen like you were the coach.

We lost them.

You know, you cried when they moved to OKC. At least we got one season of Durant, right?

Yeah, I blamed him for leaving.

He didn't leave, kiddo. The team did.

Yeah, well, doesn't feel that different, Jonathan.

Of course, later he did leave. Chased rings with Steph and Clay.

Yeah, yeah, but you just can't hate KD.

Nah, nah, nah, too smooth.

Yep, easy money sniper for life.

Things disappear, Ames. Doesn't mean you stop playing.

Nah, I'm throwing bricks, Dad. I'm screwing it all up.

Then stop carrying it all yourself. Let somebody else handle the ball once in a while.

Who?

You already know, Amethyst. Don't waste time pretending you don't.

Uh, Mags? I'm here.

Ugh, how long was I out?

The seizure lasted about 90 seconds. You've been post-ictal for maybe five minutes.

Feels longer. Whoa, wait, is that duct tape?

Duct tape is for duct work. Electrical tape is for restraining overly confident home invaders. It's thinner, easier to work with, and...

What is going on right now?

Oh, yeah, I had to restrain the biker with something.

The, uh, the whom?

The person upstairs who, uh, who came in. He's a biker, obviously, and unironically a biker.

Yep.

And he's unconscious, like, on the floor. Well, now he is, anyway, incapacitated. Oh, and he peed himself, so that's, uh, yeah. That's a whole situation we are going to have to deal with. Sorry in advance. Yes. Yeah.

Um, so, uh, how did that, how did that work?

Objectively, it was a pretty straightforward sequence. I initiated verbal misdirection, closed the distance under the pretense of customer service, and deployed Valentina at close range. He exhibited immediate neuromuscular incapacitation and, uh, involuntary mixturition.

Valentina?

My taser.

Your what?

My Russian taser. Marry me, Mags. Don't ever do that to me again.

What, have a seizure?

No, make me think I don't need you.

Um, I think this is the part where you kissed the girl, Mags.

Oh, ha ha ha. Yeah, no, but seriously, as my murder girl, my partner, that's, uh, that's how I, yeah, that's what I meant right there, then, uh, there. Yes, yeah.

Oh, oh, yeah, no, totally. I was also joking, then, uh, there, too.

Yup, yup, yup.

Big joke energy over here.

Right. Partner joke, classic joke, m'lady. In it?

Oh, boy.

We love a good bit.

We do. We do. Hey, so how are you feeling? Any nausea, headache?

Just the usual post-seizure, existential dread and muscle fatigue, you know, the classics.

OK, let me get you some water. And you need to eat something. Your blood sugar is probably low.

Mags, I'm fine.

You just had a tonic clonic seizure during a home invasion. You're not fine. You're recovering. Big difference.

OK, Dr. Park.

That's almost Dr. Park to you.

What do we do with our incontinent friend upstairs?

Call the cops? Let him go?

If we let him go, he reports back to whoever sent him. If we call the cops...

We have to explain Valentina and possibly the machine.

Let's at least check on him first. Go from there. I'll check his pockets. Huh.

I guess he couldn't find a bigger eagle for his belt buckle.

Huh. Honestly, if you're getting an eagle belt buckle, it seems weird to go small.

You know what? Valid.

What's this? What's this?

Okay. Generic Wellness Initiative Business Card.

There's, uh, no way. There's an address written on the back.

Yep. This address loosens the crime scene just in his pocket. What?

How do you not... Wow. That is like some zero-level shit right there. So Mrs. Healthy Amber Holt sent this dum-dum to... what? Scare us? Trash the place?

We need to call the police.

What? No.

No way.

Absolutely not.

Never.

Come on, man.

Negatory. I can't. I won't. I shan't. I shan't, Mags. Do you hear? I shan't not do it.

Think about it. If we report this, breaking and entering, criminal threatening, it puts heat on Amber. She sent this chuckle head, and we have the proof.

You really think Carter's gonna go after a Holt with a business card as evidence?

Maybe not, but it creates a record. It makes them look messy. And right now, we need them looking messy.

Ugh, fine, but we need to hide Valentina first.

Backroom?

No, too obvious. Put it in the box with all the haunted buttons.

Done, and we can hold on to this business card. Smart.

Ready to do this?

Yup. Hi, yes, I'd like to report a break-in at Loose End's Curiosity Shop on Cedar Street. Yes. Yes, that's right. Yes. They're still here, but they're incapacitated.

And here we go, round two with Avalon Falls finest. Last time Monroe hassled me, it was right out here, all puffed up authority and thinly veiled hostility. Now he gets to stroll up to our crime scene, where we've already done his job for him. Again, I can practically hear his jaw crunching from here.

Avalon Falls police. Anyone home?

In here, deputy.

Okay, you two. What are you up to now?

Deputies, thanks for coming.

You ladies okay?

Ladies, there it is. The White Knight Syndrome kicking in. He hates us, but we're women in distress, so his lizard brain short circuits.

We're fine. This man broke in. We subdued him.

Subdued him, right. Lucas, get the first aid kit from the car and call for an ambulance. Yes, sir. All right, walk me through what happened.

We were in the basement.

Doing what?

Working.

Inventory.

Doing an inventory?

Uh.

Inventory. In the basement. During business hours.

It's my shop. I can do inventory wherever, however, and whenever I want.

And we're not officially open yet. Her aunt just died, dude. Come on.

Easy. Easy. Just establishing timeline. And sorry about your aunt. She was... she was very nice.

Sure. Yes, she was nice. Agreed.

Okay. Go on.

He wants to be the hero so bad. Wants to solve this, take credit, prove we're not as smart as everyone says we are.

We heard someone upstairs. I came up to investigate. He was standing by the basement door. I assumed he was a customer. And? He slipped? Slipped.

Yeah, slipped.

And also, and of course hit his head.

Right. Okay. That too.

Hit his head? I'm not seeing any visible marks.

It was on that old cast iron iron.

Like he just ate it. Hard fail vid style.

Right.

Oh, and then all those Scottish paperweights fell on him. Yeah. You know, because he kind of spun after hitting his head. And tumble turned and just like hit that stuff or whatever. And then he just faucet himself up pretty good at that point.

Yeah. I don't know. Faucet?

Like jazz hands, but sexier.

Holy shit. Exactly.

And the tape?

We tied him up after he slipped.

For safety.

Oh, exactly.

And if you were paying attention, we used the right tape.

Electrical instead of duct.

I learned that today.

Did you try and revive him? Has he woken up? He could have a concussion. Sir? Sir? Can you hear me? Can you respond? Sir? Nothing. Wow. He is Torpid. Huh?

Ambulance is five minutes out.

Check him for ID. See if we know this guy.

Let's see. Okay. Got a driver's license. Name's Otis Crome. Address in Cedarbrook.

Crome?

His last name is Crome?

That can't be real.

Says so right here. Cool name.

Sounds like a cyberpunk porn star.

Or a clone that's illegal in like 47 states.

Otis Crome. For men who have a tattoo of their child, but not custody.

Dark dude. Wow.

He is really out cold. Sir? Otis? Mr. Crome?

Doesn't have anything else on him. He went number one in his pants.

Oh, yeah. Yeah. That happens.

I'll make a note.

Deputy Lucas. Younger, quieter, and tall. Really tall and also fit. Wait.

Deputy Lucas, could you please grab that box from the top shelf for me? I think it has some paperwork we might need.

Uh, sure. Yes. Yes, ma'am.

Mags has clocked it too. Tall, athletic, big hands. And look at that. Chemical irritation on his knuckles. Paint thinner will do that.

Thank you. You know, Deputy, you should rinse with soap and cold water first. Xylene pushes deeper if it's warm.

Uh, okay.

You sure you're both okay? No injuries?

We're fine.

You look pale. Lucas, maybe we should have the paramedics check them out too when they get here.

That's not necessary.

Ma'am, you just fought off a home invader. Adrenaline can mask injuries.

So can condescension and sexism.

Ma'am.

Dude, what did she just say? Oh, but also, and of course, I'm monitoring her condition.

She's a doctor.

Uh, well, okay.

And you don't know why he targeted this shop specifically?

Random crime? Avalon Falls is getting dangerous, right?

All these break-ins lately.

I watched Lucas' face for any reaction. Nothing. Either he's got a great poker face, or he's genuinely clueless that we might know something.

We're working on it.

Actually, deputies, can I ask you something?

Depends on the question, O'Connell.

Were you guys at the docks Monday night? We heard there was a lot of activity.

Yeah. Whole department was there, obviously.

Heard you even brought in Cedar Brook PD.

All hands.

Big scene. Whole department.

Whole department? Dude, you were doing that food run for like two hours.

Right. The food run.

Hey, everyone needs to eat, right?

You drew the short straw, huh?

What'd you get? Subway?

Uh, yeah, actually. Subway.

Makes sense. You don't have to eat a sub right away if you're busy.

Uh, sure.

Subway? For two hours?

What?

You bake in the bread yourself, Lucas? Huh?

Ha ha ha ha.

That's funny, because we were actually wondering if that's what you were doing. Had to go to Cedar Brook.

Cedar Brook's 24-hour.

Makes sense.

Cedar Brook. Yeah, that's one of the few 24-hour fast food places in the county.

Better bread, too.

How can you even tell?

Taste, Amy. Taste is how you can tell. Get out of here.

It's all the same. It's a fast food chain.

The whole point of fast food chains is consistency of product. Walk into a subway in Chicago, New York, Seoul, London, Timbuktu, wherever, and an Italian BMT is going to taste and look the same. If that isn't true, then, my god, what is?

Yes! This guy gets it. Okay, look, the Cedar Brook one definitely has better quality control.

Quality control? It's subway mags. It's assembly line sandwiches.

Which is exactly why quality control matters. When the product is standardized, variance indicates, oh my god, you're doing the doctor thing again.

You're trying to throw me off with hotness, and it's working, but no, no, I have to fight it. This is too important.

I'm being accurate, and you're just being a cryptid. No offense, babes.

Some offense.

You know, she's got a point about the consistency thing.

Whose side are you on, Monroe?

Should we go check on the ambulance?

No!

We're not done. So, was it really busy at the Cedarbrook location?

Uh, yeah. It was a little busy, and our order was large.

And how many sandos would that be, my good man?

Uh, like, 12?

Cookies?

No.

Monster.

Still, crazy food run. Am I right, SA.?

Yes. So it took a while, is what I'm saying.

Actually, it took two hours, is what you're saying.

Okay, okay, ladies. Can we get back to the break-in? All right. So Mr. Chrome breaks in. You subdue him. Anything else we should know?

We don't know why he was here. He didn't say anything before he, like, you know, slipped himself silly or whatever.

Right. The slipping. And what? He just peed himself? Like for kicks? Someone with a wicked belt buckle and cool name like his? Come on.

Hey, don't yuck someone's yum, dude.

It sometimes happens when you're knocked unconscious. As she mentioned, I am a doctor.

Go meet the paramedics. Get this guy loaded up.

Yes, sir.

Look, I don't like you two. Never have. You made the department look like fools when you were kids, and you're doing it again now.

Here it comes, the ego showing through the white knight costume.

But someone breaking into your shop? That's serious. And if you're in danger...

We can handle ourselves.

Clearly. But maybe, just maybe, let the professionals do their job.

Of course, Deputy. We'll leave everything to you. You're doing such a great job so far.

Paramedics!

Yep. He's right in there.

We're done here. For now. But if anything else happens, anything, you call us immediately. Got it?

Sure, champ.

Okay, sit.

I'm fine.

Amy, sit.

Happy?

Not until you drink some water and eat something. Dee Dee kept emergency snacks everywhere. There's got to be score. Granola bars from, shit, 2019. Yeah, nevermind.

Hand it over. I'll take my chances.

Oh, white chocolate fudge. Yes!

You really are a fucking raccoon.

Yup. She's watching me like I'm a patient, which I guess I am. Post-dictal Amy is not exactly peak performance Amy. My hands are still shaky. My head feels like it's wrapped in cotton, but Mags doesn't need to know all that. So, Lucas is on the take.

Yup, he's Tiger Man.

Fits the description.

Has chemical burns on his hands from paint thinner.

Was away from the crime scene at the Docs Monday night for two hours.

Because he was vandalizing your trailer, painting Leave It Alone, and obviously someone told him to do that. The same someone who... who told my attacker to say it.

Probably feeding them information about the investigation.

Which means anything we tell the police goes straight to them.

I guess we keep this to ourselves. And we watch him figure out who he's reporting to.

Speaking of watching, sit down.

I'm fine.

You had a seizure less than an hour ago. Sit down.

Mags.

If you're going to avoid doctors and hospitals, that means you're putting yourself in my care. And according to you, amethyst Emily O'Connell Esquire, I am a doctor. Which means you do what I say, so sit.

Oh, fine. If you're gonna be all bossy and make sense or whatever, I will let you take care of me. And just like that, the chaos settles. Monroe's gone, Lucas is exposed, the biker's on his way to the hospital, and Mags is taking care of me whether I like it or not.

Yeah.

Definitely don't hate it. We need to talk about Lily.

It's funny, Amy moves like the world's on fire, and she's the only one holding a bucket. Me, I build a fire map first, that's our rhythm. She burns, I plan. And somehow, it works. But right now, the fire's Lily Siaya, and I can already feel it catching. Amy.

She's in jail, Mags, for a murder she didn't commit, while we're sitting here eating stale granola bars.

You are eating the stale granola bars, Amy. And I know she is, but we can't just-

We have to do something.

I'm not saying we don't, I'm saying we need to be smart about it. Like I said before, saving Lily and solving Dylan's murder aren't the same thing. They might look the same, but-

If we solve Dylan's murder, Lily goes free.

Maybe. Or maybe we find out who actually killed Dylan and Lily still looks guilty because she had motive and opportunity and-

She didn't do it!

I know, but the cops need more than our belief.

Okay. So what do we do?

We figure out how to get Lily out without exposing the machine, or Daniel, or the trespassing video.

Oh, is that all?

The problem is the alibi. Daniel and Lily were on Holt Land filming corporate malfeasance. If they come forward with that, the originals destroy them and kill them somewhere down the line. So we can't use the video.

But without the video, there's no alibi.

Hmm. I mean, that's not actually correct.

How so?

This is how my brain works. Not what's seen, but what's missing. The outlines, the absences. Sometimes the only way to see the truth is to stare into the void. So the video isn't the alibi, right? It's just something proving where they were. Where they were is the actual alibi.

Right. But where they were is the problem here, no?

Not if we don't need to prove where they were.

What?

We don't need to prove where they were. We just need to prove where they weren't.

Negative space.

Yes. Yeah.

Nice.

If we can prove they couldn't have been at the docks when Dylan was killed, then it doesn't matter where they actually were. Right. It's how you diagnose an absence. You rule out everything else until the shape left behind is the answer.

Okay. Okay. So negative space. Oh man. If only we had some kind of super surveillance web that covered the entire county for over a decade.

Oh wait. Yep. The machine.

We need to find footage of them somewhere else during the murder window.

Or at least close enough to it that it's physically impossible for them to have gotten to the docks in time.

But how do we get that to the cops without revealing the machine?

That's a good question.

What if Daniel finds the footage himself?

What do you mean?

We find the camera. We tell Daniel where it is. He comes forward and says, Hey, I just remembered there's a security camera at this location, and that's where my daughter and I were during the time of the murder.

That could work. It's verifiable. The cops can check the footage themselves.

And it explains why he's coming forward now. He's been trying to respect Lily's wishes to stay out of it, but he can't let her sit in jail for something she didn't do.

And it's on Nisika land, so it makes sense that Daniel would know about their security system.

The Holtz might push back.

Let them. If the evidence clears her, Carter has to release her, otherwise it's a lawsuit waiting to happen.

Well, okay then, let's find that footage.

The machine is beautiful in its own weird surveillance state kind of way. Every time I go down those stairs, it feels like stepping into someone else's brain. Dee Dee built all of this, but I still don't understand any of it. Or why she did any of this. She mapped out an entire world, camera by camera, street by street, and then she died without leaving a manual. Half the feeds aren't even labeled. Some look halfway to nowhere. Forests, intersections, rooms and places, buildings, structures, liminal spaces, I don't even recognize. That's not even counting her hard drives and older records on file, disk, and even tape. Sometimes I think it's less a tool and more a mirror. I'm still not sure which of us it's reflecting. Okay, here we go. Dylan was killed between 1130 and 1145 p.m. Monday night. So we need footage of Daniel and Lily somewhere else during that window. Got one. Intersection of Eagle Creek Road and Forest Access Trail 7. Cameras mounted on a utility pole. That's pretty close to Holtwood, no?

Totally. I guess pull Monday night sometime between 1030 and midnight, preferably before 1130.

There!

1110 p.m. That's Daniel's truck.

And there's Lily getting out. They're heading into the woods.

Eagle Creek to the docks is...

At least 45 minutes, even speeding.

Dylan was killed around 1145. So if they're entering the woods at 1110...

There's no way they could have got to the docks in time. It's physically impossible.

Holy shit. We did it.

We did it. It's a rare thing. The moment the math lines up and the world makes sense again feels almost holy. Or maybe that's just relief pretending to be faith. Okay, that's step one. Now we need to deal with step two.

Which is what?

Amber Holt sent Otis Crome to threaten us, possibly to hurt us. We need to figure out what to do about that.

Yeah, I have some ideas about that. Amy, she sent someone to our shop to scare us, probably to hurt you, Mags. You want me to just what? Leave it alone?

Look, I get it. I know and we need to respond, but strategically, not.

Not in a way that makes things worse.

Any ideas?

We talked to Jake. He might be able to tell us what Amber's up to.

You think he'll talk to us about her?

Ah, come on, he loves us. But honestly, hard maybe. Yeah, like probably 50-50 on that one. But if not, you can kind of always count on him to just maybe slip up if we talk around the subject of Amber enough, you know? Yeah, he's so, so pretty, but he's so, so dumb.

Aw, Jake, our poor pretty goofball. Also, he seems like he's fraying a bit. You've seen him with all those texts he keeps getting, from the weird number, 1-5-7.

Yeah, probably Amber just being, you know, Amber. So we talked to Jake, tell him what happened, feel him out about everything. All right, let's go. We can speaker phone Daniel from the car.

Speaker phone, really?

Why not? This isn't TV Mags. We don't have to have every conversation in person just to feed the interpersonal drama of human interaction, okay?

Okay, okay. We can go over the Eagle Creek footage. Make sure he knows what to say to the cops.

And after that, we go see Jake at Ye Old Otter.

Hey, just take another minute, okay? You know, almost doctor's orders.

Uh, okay, okay. I'm just super stoked we can free Lily.

I know. I'm just... I don't want you to get hurt.

Hey, um, I won't. We won't. We're partners, remember?

Yeah, partners. There's this silence between us, a space shaped like that video from Seattle. She saw it years ago. I lived it. Neither of us wants to touch it, but it's still there, pulsing quietly like a bruise. I don't know if I'm protecting her by not asking, or if she's protecting me by not confessing. Either way, it keeps us orbiting, close enough to feel the pull, too far to burn.

Murder Girls for life, right?

Right.

Come on, let's go save Lily.

Didi left a map I don't know how to read, and Amy's the only person I trust to hold the compass. That's either fate or a terrible plan. But right now, it's all we've got.

We're parked at the Overlook near Sunset Shores. Far enough from town that no one's going to accidentally overhear this conversation. Close enough that we can get back fast if we need to.

Amy?

Hi Daniel, you're on speaker. Mags is here too.

Right. The other one.

Hello Daniel, nice to meet you.

Why are you calling?

We found something.

And it's good, really good. So you will like it because it's good?

You need to learn how to communicate information.

Sorry, sorry. There's a security camera at the intersection of Eagle Creek Road and Forest Access Trail 7 on Nisikaland.

The parking lot.

Yes. The thing is, there's footage from Monday night, 11, 10 p.m. You and Lily are on it.

You saw us.

We saw you entering the woods. That's all we saw. Which is true, technically. We saw them entering the woods. What they did in those woods, the Holtwood site, the weird SCPX files shit, the video that could tank the Omnia deal. That's their business, and we're not about to expose it.

The important part is the time stamp. 11, 10 p.m. Dylan was killed between 1130 and 1145 p.m. at the docks in Avalon Falls.

Huh. And it's at least 45 minutes from the creek to the docks.

Closer to an hour at night on those roads.

So even if we left immediately after the camera caught us...

You couldn't have gotten to the docks to murder Dylan.

This... this clears her.

It clears both of you.

Where... where did you find this?

Uh, we looked at some maps of cameras around the county, you know, like, parks and wreck stuff and whatever. Yeah. So that's how we did it. Yep. NBD. Uh, boy. Sure.

The thing is, we can't come forward with it ourselves.

Understood. You don't want to explain where you got the info.

Right. But you could be the one to do it.

And they'd check it themselves.

And it's verifiable.

Exactly.

Why didn't I come forward sooner? That's what they'll ask.

Because Lily asked you not to. She didn't want you getting involved, didn't want the originals using you to discredit the Tribal Council's legal challenges.

But you can't let your daughter sit in jail for something she didn't do. Your lawyer finally convinced you that protecting Lily is more important than Tribal politics.

That's believable. It's also mostly true.

The best lies usually are...

What about what we were actually doing out there?

The footage just shows you entering the woods. That's it. You don't have to explain where you were going or what you were doing.

Out for a family walk. Whatever.

Thank you. Both of you. I don't know how to...

You don't have to thank us. Just get Lily out of there.

And let us know how it goes.

I will. Listen. I didn't really care one way or the other, but all that bullshit people said about you both, it's not true.

We're just doing what's right.

Well, not everyone does. I'll be in touch.

For a second, we just sit there. The overlook spreads out in front of us while the ocean is a jade expanse to the left. Trees, water, mountains in the distance. It's beautiful in that Pacific Northwest way that makes you forget, just for a moment, that everything is complicated and messy and fucked up.

Lily's gonna be okay.

Yes, she is.

How are you feeling, really?

Mags.

You had a seizure two hours ago. You're exhausted, and we might have to face off against more bikers. If you need to rest, we can do this tomorrow.

The thing is, she's not wrong. I am exhausted. My head still feels like it's full of static. I know she worries. She hides it behind facts and timers and that almost Dr. Park voice, but it's there. The thing she doesn't get is, if I stop moving, the noise catches up. And I'm not ready for that yet. Yeah, I'm okay, I promise. And I want to do this now, while we have momentum.

Okay, so just walk up to the biker guarded dive bar in the middle of town and see how it goes. That's the plan?

Yep, that's the plan. We've got the hot hand today, Chica. No way this will fail.

That's a fundamentally flawed perspective.

The thing about fundamentally flawed perspectives is that sometimes they're the only thing you've got. And sometimes, just sometimes, they actually work. Mags calls it momentum. I call it survival instinct with better PR. Either way, we're driving straight into the next mess together.

The Sloppy Otter, three times in 24 hours. My parents would die, probably literally. Something's off though, the parking lot's too normal.

No bikers.

Maybe they only protect Amber, like follow her around?

Maybe.

Ha, back again, huh? I'm either blessed or cursed.

Maybe you're blursed?

Okay, okay, like five out of 10, relax.

Oh, come on, man.

Hey, hey, you want something? What can I get you?

Actually, we wanted to talk.

Again? About what?

Amber Holt sent someone to threaten us.

One of those bikers she ordered up.

We say it plain. No buildup, no soft edges. Sometimes the truth needs to hit like a brick through a windshield.

What? When?

This morning, dude named Otis Crome, big guy, broke into loose ends. Fuck!

That fucking... Are you okay? He didn't hurt you, did he? You're both okay? Fuck! What the fucking fuck?

We're fine. We handled it.

Jesus.

I didn't...

Fuck.

I'm... I'm sorry. Really, she... Amber didn't tell me she was going to do that.

But she usually tells you what she's up to?

Yeah. She tells me.

His phone keeps buzzing. I catch a glimpse, and it's the same number again. Same one as last night and earlier today. 157. Over and over. Whoever it is, they're not giving up.

Look. Look.

All right?

Amber's been planning this for a few weeks now. She's got dirt on everybody. Paperwork. Files or... or some shit. Whatever it is, it would fuck the big deal entirely.

And she's using it to blackmail them.

Yeah. Yeah. Blackmail. Negotiation. Whatever the fuck you want to call it. That secret meeting you little brats spied on this morning, that little parking lot show you saw, that was her playing her hand.

What does Amber want?

Oh, fuck. Why am I even fucking talking to you two? Holy shit. Amber wants a... a cut of the Omnia deal. She wants a no-contest divorce from Richard, and she wants to just walk away clean. Wire transfers, offshore accounts, all that shit.

Or what?

Minerva. She's Minerva's big exclusive.

Holy shit.

Yeah, that was the plan. That was the play. Except the fucking Holtz don't do deals. They don't forgive. They don't forget.

I mean, that's what everyone says, right?

Because it's fucking true.

They don't care what stands in their way.

Or who?

You think the Holtz killed Dylan.

What? You don't?

The words hang there, heavy as fog. For a second, I can almost see the shape of this whole thing, and it looks a lot like a grave.

Dylan was poking around in things he shouldn't have been. Asking questions, making noise, looking to derail something that was going to make powerful people a whole lot more powerful. And then suddenly he's dead at the docks? Come on.

You were close with him.

Look, no one's perfect, okay? Least of all me, for fuck's sake, right? But when you shook it all out, Dylan was, he was a good guy, trying to do the right thing. Look where it got him.

You're scared. You're scared of the Holtz?

Are you not?

Fucking motherfucking fuck!

Jake, who is 157?

Doesn't fucking matter. Point is, the Holtz know I'm involved. It was fine when it was just me sleeping above my pay grade. We kept it quiet enough. But now they know I know things.

Is that Amber?

It's not her.

Not Amber. Interesting. So who and why?

Look, I don't know what the Holtz are gonna do next. I haven't heard from Amber, and I've got a really bad fucking feeling about all of this.

Leave town, at least for a while.

With what money? And go where? This is all I've got. You two should be careful. Whatever Amber started, it's not over. The Holtz don't just let things go.

Neither do we.

That's what worries me.

Look, Jake, if you need help...

Nah, I'll be fine. I always am. You watch out for each other, okay?

Promise.

Daniel? Okay, yeah, we'll be right there. Lily's being released. Daniel's at the station right now.

Well, thanks to you two, I guess.

We admit to nothing.

Fucking Murder Girls. Holy shit. Great job.

Jake.

Hey, come on now. I'm good, okay? I'm good. Yeah. Yeah. Promise.

He's not good. We can all feel it. But there's nothing we can do right now except leave him standing there, phone buzzing with messages from someone he won't name, waiting for Amber to call him back. The door closes behind us, and the silence feels wrong. Jake's not built for this kind of storm. None of us are. But the waves are coming anyway, and for once, I don't know if we're swimming or sinking. The Avalon Falls Police Station, where certainty goes to fill out forms and learn patience. Out front, news vans, reporters, cameras of various sizes and shapes. That itching sound a small town makes when it thinks it's important.

Looks like they're turning Lily into a press package.

Daniel stands out front with folded arms. Eleanor Holt is nearby, composed and dangerous. Daniel is all steel, Eleanor's marble, pretty, polished, and heavier than she looks.

Ms. Siaya will be released momentarily. No statements from the department today. Further questions will be addressed at tomorrow's press availability.

Ms. Siaya, Lily, do you have a statement?

I was arrested without evidence. Held because I'm loud and inconvenient, not because I'm guilty. That ends today. And if the AFPD need a reminder, Nisikaland is not a shortcut to your case file.

We have verifiable video of where we were. My daughter is innocent. We're considering next steps, legal and otherwise.

Uh, okay, okay. That's all for now. Thank you.

Amy goes to the center like she always does, heat-seeking heart. I hang back. Somebody else is watching. Eleanor, a measured look. She steps away from the crowd toward the sidewalkway. There it is, the invitation.

You're enjoying this.

Lily being free?

Yeah.

I meant being right. Thank you for helping her.

We didn't do it for you.

I know.

You think I ran.

I don't think.

She broke my heart.

You used each other. The difference is she stopped.

The difference is I said goodbye. You left her with a ghost. Ten years without a word. The bruise with a name.

You want points for being present when it suits you?

I want you to stop pretending your sainthood covers your exits. You're not just her rescuer marguerite. Sometimes you're the reason she needs saving.

If you hurt her again, I won't be clever about it.

I don't plan to.

Plans. Cute.

She still smiles when she says your name.

That terrifies me.

Me too.

Then don't waste it.

She walks like a hult and talks like a human.

Tricky.

I head back to Amy and the CIAs.

Thank you. Both of you. You two are chaos. I like it.

We prefer precision mischief. You headed to the council office?

That's where we're headed. You keep your heads down.

Yeah, not gonna happen, Dad.

The CIAs leave. The crowd thins. The noise drains. Relief tries to land and can't find a chair.

You okay, Chica?

Define, okay.

Functional, mean, and pointing in the same direction. But hey, we did it.

Did what?

Solved something, dude. Lily's free. We figured it out, pieced it together, and it actually worked.

First time since Osprey Island.

First time since Osprey Island.

Dylan's murder is still-

Still unsolved. Yeah, I know, but we're getting there. I can feel it.

She's right. For the first time since I came back to Avalon Falls, something actually feels like it's moving forward instead of circling the drain.

Loose ends?

Back to the machine.

Back to the mess.

And maybe, if we're lucky, back to the truth.

The Good Kind Neither of us has slept since Tuesday morning. We're exhausted. But there's something nice about the exhaustion, the good kind, the kind that comes from actually doing something instead of just spinning your wheels and scrolling through Netflix with stage four choice paralysis. Okay, so machine deep dive tonight?

Yes, I'll order pizza. Actually, I don't know.

I'm kind of feeling subway right now for some reason.

Yeah, just fucking get inside and fucking cue up the fucking footage.

Love it.

Well, wait.

What is it?

There's something in the mailbox.

Plane manila envelope, neat block letters, no return address, Avalon Falls postmark, Monday.

It's addressed to me, not Dee Dee.

Who sends you mail here? You've been back, what, less than a week, Monday? That's-

The day Dylan was murdered and the day I got back to town. Open it. Out here?

Inside. Now.

It's light. Doesn't seem to be papers, though.

Is that-

So, it's a USB drive. Someone mailed me a mysterious USB drive. Yes. Yeah. Did you have that on your bingo card?

Black. Generic. The kind you can buy at any drugstore. But someone mailed it to Mags on Monday. The day Dylan died. Oh my god, this is so fucking rad right now.

There's no label. Nothing.

Plug it in.

Dude, what if it's malware?

Or-

Then we deal with it.

But we have to know. My hands are shaking. It's just a USB drive, but it feels heavier than it should. What's on it?

One file. Video.

File name?

Murder Girls.

Uh, is it- Is it just me that got chills? Yeah? Just me? Okay, okay. Sorry. I'm sorry. Let's please continue opening the scary, mysterious mystery file. Should we- Yes. Mags. Open it. Like, what? We're not going to open it? Like, how weird would that be at this point, friend?

Okay, okay. Here goes.

Holy fucking shit, that's Dylan.

Uh, okay. Hi. Yeah. Yeah, this is weird. I don't know if you'll ever see this. In a way, I hope you don't. That would mean I, well, doesn't matter, I guess. I know you probably don't trust me. I wouldn't either. Holt family, Omnia, all of it. But I found something about my family, about this town, about what really happened, what's really happening.

He looks scared, really scared.

I was going to tell you in person. I tried to tell you in person. But after what happened at loose ends, with Amy's seizure, well, I realized I needed a backup plan. I need to make sure this gets to you either way.

He mailed this after he came to the shop.

If you want to know everything, and I mean everything, bring Amy. I know she won't talk to me, probably won't even look at me. But she'll listen to you, Mags. And I need the both of you for this. Like, for this to even stand a chance. I know this is going to sound, well, it's going to sound fucking crazy. It sounds psychopathic. But, text me, and we can arrange to meet at the old ruined cabin, the one by the abandoned railway tunnel. You remember it from your old case, from a nervous book.

The cabin.

Yes, the page itself was also a clue.

I'll explain everything there. I'll show you everything there. You have to trust me, even though, well, even though that is probably impossible for either of you. Come alone, both of you. No one else can know. Not the cops, not your families, no one. If the wrong people find out what I know, I don't know what they'll do. And if the worst has happened, well, you can do what you like. But again, if I'm still breathing when you get this, please text me. You're my only hope. I'm trusting you with this. I don't have anyone else I can trust to help me. Not really. Not like you can. So if you're watching this, please meet me. I want to tell you everything.

Just watch in the sea breeze. It's always raining.