Their shoes made a regular muted beat on the floor as Adonis, Sam, and Aspen walked down the last bit of road to Briarcliff’s town center. At its center waited: the town hall, an outdoor podium set up on its steps, and a full crowd. Two weeks had passed since everything had gone down. Two weeks since bodies were discovered, truths were carefully crafted for the police swarming the valley, news reporters wondered how everything had gone down and published stories that constantly tried to one-up each other, two weeks since Aspen’s story had been released as self-defense. In the two weeks, Sam and Adonis listened to everything Aspen had to say, the confusing tangle of feelings she felt after murdering someone who she had loved for so long, but the same person being the epicenter of all of the fear and abuse she had suffered through for years. Families were reunited, children found their parents, and Adonis and Sam and Aspen oversaw everything, growing closer together with every step of the process. And now, as the impromptu group-leaders of Briarcliff, they prepared to deliver a speech for the town. They neared the end of the alley, the ending of the street signaling the beginning of beginning of being observed by every set of eyes in the town and quite possibly a collection of cameras. “Wait,” Adonis said. He placed a hand on Aspen and Sam’s shoulders and drew them in for a group hug. He flashed a little mischievous grin. “We got this, right?” “Yeah. Of course,” Aspen smiled a bit back. She breathed deeply. Two weeks was not very long, but carefully she was trying to start forgiving herself for what she had done. And what exactly have I done? Aspen’s mind rushed back in, in a regular checklist fashion, to remind herself of everything wrong with her actions: First I told everyone to not kill anyone, then I became a massive hypocrite, and now I’m a murderer and on top of that, it was my husband I killed, and of course I haven’t even told his family because how exactly am I supposed to tell his relatives I accidentally murdered him in a fit of rage after he almost choked me to death. He wasn’t good but maybe…maybe if I had controlled myself he could have gone to therapy or jail or something and still be alive- Loud clapping cut through her thoughts. Oh, we’re already here. Adonis extended his hand, offering Aspen help up the short steps. The trio walked up to the podium and waved to the town politely clapping before them. Adonis took the head at the podium first, with Aspen and Sam waiting behind him. The town waited expectantly. Adonis cleared his throat, unsure how to gracefully begin. So, he just said: “Hello Briarcliff, my name is Adonis Mirkwood and I am a specialty detective from Private Hiring. Behind me is Sampson Woodlark,” Sam waved, “my associate, and also Lady Aspen-Fauna. And to be frank, Sir Jefferson Odin has died. He was a tyrant, and he had big dreams of converting people to whatever you want to call his ‘leading,’ but he had a poor temperament and was unfit to lead. Unfortunately, he had a very challenging family life that went unrecognized, which led to his otherwise inexcusable behavior. We all send our deepest and most heartfelt sentiments and prayers to all the families, children, and people affected by Odin’s deranged actions. All three of us have also been targets of his cruelty, and we understand your pain. For this reason, Odin Manor is being renamed to Briarcliff Manor, and will be open four days a week from now on to any Briarcliff citizen who wants to take tours of the grounds, walk through any of Miss Aspen’s lovely gardens, or seek out mental or financial support. While Sam, Aspen and I are not planning on being the long-term leaders of Briarcliff, so long as there are no justified objections, we plan on joint-leading together temporarily. All of the police forces in the area, as well as Briarcliff’s mayor, are in custody and being questioned to make sure there are no more conspirators on Odin’s side.” Adonis sighed, weary of speaking. “With all of that being said, is there anyone here who would like to debate us for a spot of leadership?” He waited for an appropriate pause, then finished, “Alright! Thank you Briarcliff for being so open and patient. Sam is going to take the mic for a moment, and then Aspen will wrap us up,” Adonis smiled and stepped down. Another round of polite clapping sounded from the crowd as Sam prepped. “Hey, I’m Sampson. To add on to what Adonis said earlier, the net of people who are going to help Briarcliff recover has a few more important people to it. Just to name a few, Francis (last name), Cassie (last name), and Taylor (last name) are three more people who are going to be working closely with us, so if you have any problems you can also go to them. We are planning on having a semi-formal dinner party at the manor, next Friday at 7:00 PM. Everyone from town is invited, and it will just be a chance to meet all of us if you haven’t already. “Oh, also, Adonis and I are officially retiring from the detective business. I think we both have enough investigative work to last three lifetimes, and we want to focus all our energy on Briarcliff. Thanks!” Adonis held in a laugh as some people hidden in the crowd cheered unnecessarily loudly at Sam’s last announcement; some of his now-ex coworkers were still lagging around in town. Finally Aspen took her spot. She did not have any pressing or essential information to speak about like she thought Sam and Adonis both had, but she hoped that the speech she crafted would help alleviate some of the emotional storm swirling in her mind. She breathed deeply, trying to quell her shakiness. “Hey, Briarcliff. Some of you may know me, but to those who don’t, I’m Aspen-Fauna. I was Jefferson’s wife. Before I say anymore, I just want to personally apologize for his actions. I never was a part of any of his plans, and in the past two years or so, he has hidden me from the world and his world from me. I truly had no idea what was going on, and I am so terribly sorry that I did not pick up on it sooner and try to stop him. He was good when I first met him many years ago, but my negligence to his emotional health is what I believe led to the catastrophe, and I simply cannot emphasize enough how sorry I am to all of you.” She swallowed and paused here to make sure she wasn’t going to incriminate herself. She wasn’t going to lie about how Odin died, but legally, Adonis and Sam very strongly suggested sticking to only parts of the truth. “To tell the truth, Odin…used to hurt me. He trapped me in that manor, where I had no freedom, and there were many times I got cuts and bruises when he beat me. But the person I want to talk about today is not myself, but a boy named Finlay. Finlay was 15 years old, he had two younger siblings, and he was forced into Odin’s guard system. He carefully resisted Odin with lots of calculation for almost two years, and we recently found out he had been working on an uprising secretly. He was one of Odin’s victims. On the night we escaped the manor, he was a guard who caused a distraction and then took the blame for letting us get away. That same night, he was beheaded, and his body was tossed into the forest. Later, Sam and Adonis recovered it when we were working on breaking out the children. “Later this week, we are going to have a honorary memorial for him, for displaying such bravery and integrity at such a young age. Finlay was very brave, and to his younger siblings somewhere in the crowd, I hope you know you officially have the coolest big brother ever,” Aspen tried to finish on a lighter note, but her throat choked and lost a bit of the intended cheer. Feeling slightly self conscious, she bowed her head and backed away from the podium. The crowd hesitated, but their clapping and excitement grew slowly in approval of Finlay’s actions and recognition of them. They stepped away from the podium, down from the stage, retreating all the way back to the manor. Adonis rested his arm on Aspens’ shoulders as the triumvirate crested the hill, sighing to dispel all the collected anxiety his body held. His eyes wandered to her cheekbone and the strands of hair that played on it, stirred by the wind. He looked away again, pulled back his arm, to spin around and take in the mountains afar. The valley was beautiful, as always. The lake shimmered peacefully, content to play around with the weak wintry sun and fingers of fog on its dancing surface. It was midmorning, and the sun warmed Adonis’ back without making it uncomfortably hot. A steady woosh was white noise coming from the pine forest around the manor; their heavy boughs creaked and undulated gently as nippy breezes flowed by. Cotton-white clouds sought to catch the attention of some cloud-dreamers stuck on the ground, but the sapphire sky and the occasional bird chirp and the steady, calming whoosh that circulated through the valley from the verdant evergreens made it hard to keep stable focus on the far-off clouds. “Whatcha looking at, Adonis?” Sam cut through his reverie. “Ah…nothing,” he murmured. He flicked himself back around and thought he saw Aspen glance away; had she been admiring the simplistic beauty of the day too? He studied her for a moment longer, noting a rosy flush on her blooming across her cheeks and delicate nose bridge. This hill is pretty steep, isn’t it? They carefully cracked open the doors of the manor, this great big mausoleum that was theirs. Or at least, it would be all of theirs after Adonis and Sam managed to negotiate with second- and third-cousins’ lawyers who suddenly appeared after “Sir Odin’s most unfortunate death” and truly “…send their deepest regards, and will keep the family in their prayers.” “Well…that sucked,” Adonis said. They turned to each other. After a beat, Aspen added, “Yeah sorry, kinda sucked that my husband was a mass murderer.” “Ah! I meant the public speaking, but that too, I guess.” For a moment, they just stared at each other, not really sure what to do. “You guess?” Aspen asked, in utter disbelief. Sam loosed a snort, and they all couldn’t stop laughing. Aspen and Adonis laughed until they thought they were going to puke from laughing so hard, their mirth echoing off the stone pillars. “Well, you two have fun, and please try not to go insane,” Sam threw his phone onto the couch then grabbed his backpack he had packed and left right next to the door. He needed to vanish into the woods for a few days; the hush of the pines, the wilderness, the peaceful air was a tantalizing feast he couldn’t resist consuming anymore. Grinning and shaking his head at the giggling mess that was Aspen and Adonis (they were now piled on each other on the floor, unable to contain themselves), Sam squeezed his brow with his thumb and forefinger, then called, “Goodbye, you idiots. I’ll see you in a few days, okay?” Adonis giggled, and Sam took that as goodbye. The crispness of the air emboldened him. A deep breath unsettled his chest, and he rolled his neck. Then he was gone; the promise of complete lonesomeness in the trees teased him, the spiny pine-needles and fluffy edges of fern-leaves cooed their taunts with hushed whispers. Sam smiled with deep satisfaction, the kind of half-there smile that fills your belly with a golden elixir, warming you from your head to your toes and back again.

My God, she is beautiful, Adonis’ mind whispered as his eyes drunk in every detail of her appearance. Her golden curtain of hair swayed with every burst of laughter that escaped her throat, her smile with shining teeth could enchant gods and goddesses alike to her will, her eyes. Their green blue, the dark, long lashes that framed them, the speckles of freckles that sprinkled all across her cheekbones- His heart squeezed as her green irises met his. For once, he didn’t look away. “What?” Aspen whispered, grinning. “Nothing…nothing,” Adonis said, still watching her. “C’mere, I have an idea,” she announced suddenly, hopping up from the floor and holding out her hand to him. She led him up the flights of stairs, stopping once so they could grab a pile of blankets, up to a trapdoor cut into the ceiling. Adonis lept, catching the old-fashioned iron ring embedded into the wood to open the door, revealing a ladder. He clambered on top and reached back to pull Aspen through. They were on the roof of the manor. They kicked an area clear of snow and laid down a blanket. Adonis watched Aspen as she wrapped herself in another, and distantly he heard her call him over to sit with her. Come on, let’s watch the clouds together, she said. She pointed out clusters, adding funny backstories to each of the shapes she illustrated. “Aspen,” he said when her conversation lulled. “Yes?” she asked. Propping himself up on his elbow, he cupped one side of her face. “May I kiss you, Aspen?” he whispered. Her lips parted, her cheeks flushed. And she nodded, meeting his lips halfway with controlled enthusiasm. Time slowed. Butterflies flittered teasingly all inside of Adonis and Aspen. He gently pulled away to kiss her forehead. The clouds, artistic in shape and stoic in face, took no notice of the pair below. The sky turned, the clouds’ rippled edges tinged orange and stars scattered across the velvety blue of the eastern half of sky; but the blush-peach clouds didn’t notice them when the pair laughed at inconsequential jokes, nor when they stopped kissing or talking and just smiled, contentedly staring at each other. But the pair knew. Adonis and Aspen-Fauna knew and noticed and remembered.

Epilogue: Part II Aspen scrambled up the hill again, the hill at the back of the manor, the hill that blocked the once-beautiful valley that used to be her garden, the hill that she and Adonis and Sam and many others had traversed in order to escape from the manor that one night. That one night. The night she, Aspen-Fauna, had murdered her husband. She tried to shake away the thought. Clutched in her fists, she carried a small wooden box with a swan and a numeral, “II,” engraved into the wood grain. Now at the top of the hill, she breathed deep and let the wind toy with the ends of her hair, staring into the dead valley. It used to have flowers and benches and water fountains. It used to have a hundred kid-prisoners and a sea of tents and campfires. And now it was just dead. She turned left, deeper into the forest, drumming a beat on the box with her fingertips to match her monotonous steps. She stepped over gnarled roots with lichen creeping up the mottled wood, ducked underneath low branches and rocky outcrops, and around soft drifts of white snow that sparkled ominously in the grey light filtering from the dense clouds overhead. Feathery ferns shivered in her wake. Finally, a cluster of boulders presented itself before her, a stack of rocks so precariously piled on one another it was hard to believe they were naturally placed. She climbed onto the peak of the tallest rock remembering how she found it: while walking around one afternoon with Jefferson, exploring to learn this area they, as newlyweds, had just moved to, stumbled upon it and had to stop so Aspen could sketch it into the little book she used to always carry with her. She smiled sadly, bittersweet, a single tear trailing down her cheek to her chin. She spun slowly, admiring the view of the forest from the rocky precipice. A wintry owl swooped a distance away, hooting softly. And that brown flash, down there; was that blur a startled deer sprinting away? Finishing the spin, her attention returned to the reddish box in her hands. Her knuckles gently stroked each bump and groove. Slowly she popped the silver clasp open and lifted the small lid. A breeze lifted, the eddies playing with her hair-tips again. She stuck her arms straight out and overturned the box. Fine dark grey powder drifted away, swirling and dispersing itself quickly into the air, the trees, the forest, the ground. Her brain was silent, foggy. She couldn’t really think for some reason, like she had drifted away too, detaching from her body to watch in third-person. It scared her. Maybe I’m becoming crazy. No. She was simply mourning. Mourning the loss of a murderer. A murderer missing a murderer. Because that’s what you are. A murderer. And a cheater. A fake. Sighing, Aspen plopped onto the rock. The box slipped from her grip and noisily skittered over the edge. She didn’t retrieve it right away, and she thought she might just have leave it there for all eternity before she summoned the strength to get it. The rock wavered in front of her. Am I about to pass out? she wondered as her chest started shaking and the mind-drifting persisted. Reaching up, she touched her cheeks and, surprised, realized she was crying. Tears were making her vision wiggle, distort, bob. Then she broke. The forest rang with her misery. Her confusion. Her loud sobs that refused to stop. She cried, helpless, alone, and still not herself, still not convinced if it was really herself crying so passionately on top of this rockpile, this forest, this mountain. She curled into a ball, rocking as if she could calm herself somehow, stop this pain that stabbed her in the chest again and again just like she had done to Jefferson. Her love, her husband, her forever. A highschool sweetheart that lasted. Her prince. Her everything for so, so many years. Gone. Because of her. A torrent of emotions hit her, slammed her with vicious fury, and bowed down before it, accepting every inch of pain she felt. She deserved it. She was a murderer, a lowlife, a liar, a cheat. She screamed and tore at her face, her hair. She fought herself, her own worst enemy. MURDERER. Had she been crying for five minutes or five years? Who knows? She didn’t. The world couldn’t, because nothing in the world made any sense. How did I get here? Why does his ghost haunt me so? she thought miserably over the roar of the battle her mind fought. The fog was lifting slightly, she was returning to her body, and she wished she wasn’t now because now it hurt more. She lifted her eyes from her fetal position and looked around again, certain that the forest had curdled and died from the disgustingness of her rage and sadness and deep, deep, confusion. But it still stood. The colors were vibrant too. The evergreen trees verdant. The clouds foreboding grey. The ferns and scrub brush, half-dead in winter, still holding onto bits of green. Detritus an earthy brown. Sage-green lichen creeping up on the slate rock beneath her. And, somewhere out there, freckles of grey from the box she had overturned onto the forest.

In a whisper, soft and gentle and nothing like the torrent of violence she had screamed at the earth seconds ago, Aspen breathed, “Goodbye, Jefferson.”