hello! most of my writings remain on ao3, so find me there! otherwise, i keep this blog as back up if ao3 dies for any prolonged period or to post drabbles.
rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like).
i will not, in fact, be listen to the rules because my creative process is about as streamlined as an explosion.
so hereâs the last thing i wrote, aka what i desperately jotted down after narrating the whole thing while driving. this is not a pattern of mine iâm happy with.
it also serves as a slight teaser for Teeth Donât Work Like That đ
and this is the last thing i drew: âšstripesâš
and also fire i guess. but that part has changed since. and unfortunately, this is the most recent picture i have of this drawing, and my sketchbook was left at home, where i am not currently. so. this will do.
Years after running away from home, Percy Jackson returns to Gotham, or well, BlĂŒdhaven, after much convincing from his boyfriend. hopefully he'll catch Dick in a good mood. â Dick Grayson is pretty sure he's hallucinating when his missing-supposedly-in-a-cult younger brother comes knocking after years of no contact. it wouldn't even be the first time he sees things, and the concussion from last night's patrol is definitely not helping him differentiate reality from fantasy. he's probably hallucinating. that would explain the frankly ridiculously massive dog sitting on his doormat. â or; Percy ran away from home after Bruce thoroughly failed to properly manage his grief over Jason (Todd)'s death. over five years later, (Jason) Grace convinces his boyfriend to give reconciliation a try, even if it's just to tie up loose ends.
Turns out reunions are bit more complicated than shoving the two concerned parties in a room together.
"incoming. keep B and Jay out of the house. further planning after first contact. act HUMAN."
Tim Drake was going to murder Dick. He had it all planned out to the last detail, and it would be grandiose. No one would find the body because there simply wouldn't be a body left to find. It would teach him to send cryptic ass messages with no context. He wasn't even answering his phone anymore! He just sent a metaphorical bomb in the group chat and turned off his phone, refusing to elaborate on the frankly alarming message. What did it mean? Why those words, in that order, at that moment? And what the hell is 'act human' even supposed to mean?
Did he manage to knock his head on something again, so soon after his concussion? It would make sense. It would make a lot of sense actually. It was also the kind of thing he would manage to do; overexertion ran in this family like a plague. Wasn't he still recovering from that, too? Tim might just tie him to a bed in the manor, screw Alfred's order of rest and relaxing environments. If he couldn't sit still, Tim would do it for him.
The manor was relatively empty already when Dick's message came through; all of them were spent from the last few days of tireless work, and the tension that weighed over the estate was almost unlivable. Too many things were happening all at once; Bruce was â as per usual â failing to communicate in a healthy way, Jason was on the brink of throwing all the progress they made in mending their relationships out of the window, and Dick was supposed to be resting after his most recent bout of head trauma, rendering him unable to play buffer.
And of course, just add oil to the fire, their rogues were playing hard to get after their latest breakout.
Most of everyone had, reasonably so, fled the premises soon after Dick got benched and ferried back to BlĂŒd. Steph and Cass had improvised themselves a sleepover, Jason had retreated to whatever safe-house he was living out of lately, and what was left of their Gotham-based allies were avoiding the Cave like their life depended on it.
That left Tim himself, who was practically immune to Bruce's specific brand of bullshit and worked around their absolute dumpster fire of a family like it was an everyday occurence; Damian, who predictably took to the toxic work environment like a fish to water â Tim wasn't going to be the one to snitch on him and his nightly escapades to the Bowery; the kid, as irritating as he was, deserved those breaks â and Duke, who was blessedly unbothered by all the infighting.
Tim was pretty sure he heard Duke make a joke about it the other day. He chose to believe it was a sleep deprivation induced hallucination, for his own peace of mind.
Alfred didn't count; after so many years, the old man was pretty much part of the furniture and had made no move whatsoever to diffuse the situation.
Thankfully though, Bruce was momentarily out of town to attend a Justice League meeting â or was it an appointment with a Wayne Enterprise investor? They so often overlapped or were used interchangeably, Tim couldn't tell from the top of his head which one it was â and thus couldn't put his foot in his mouth and worsen the situation through sheer cluelessness. The man may be a genius, but that intellect certainly didn't extend to interpersonal relationships.
All of that to say that the "conditions" listed in Dick's message were already met, leaving Tim with nothing better to do than to spiral over the eldest's half-assed cryptic text.
He had nothing to go off from, and not for lack of trying; he had checked âonce, twice, thrice, and been locked out of the system by an overworked Oracle â whether any of his trackers, civilian or otherwise, were on the move and got not results. His patrol car was still in its designated parking spot, his civilian bike hadn't moved an inch, and Nightwing's was still in its hiding place.
Nightwing's costume hadn't been taken out of its cache since Dick got benched, and the secondary weapon storage that he naively believed no one knew about had gone undisturbed.
There was nothing to refer to that Tim could use to confirm Dick's intentions beside his original ominous announcement and the updated ETA he must have sent as he was exiting BlĂŒdhaven. There were no further explanation, no GPS activity, no nothing.
Tim was going to give him a piece of his mind when he finally showed his face if it was the last thing he did.
Tim was pacing trenches in the manor's entrance when he heard the long awaited knock on the front door. He jumped to open it, almost slamming it into the wall with his furious enthusiasm.
[âŠ] there was absolutely no way she was letting go of Percy so easily. She didn't care that he was a demigod prophecied to decide the fate of the world. She didn't care about the danger their closeness was putting her in. She didn't care about what she should or shouldn't do, about her place as a mortal in a world where myths took life, about the Waynes and their ineffective investigation methods. She let him know as much, though not in as many words, and wound up exchanging phone numbers with Annabeth, who lived up to Rachel's first impression of her. Any friends of Percy was someone worth getting to know, but Annabeth had no need for this kind of word of recommendation. Rachel would have wanted her as a friend as a friend even if the situation had been different, and admittedly, she had been lacking in girlfriends since she lost touch with Piper. Especially ones who made no excuses for Wayne stupidity. Percy wasn't getting rid of her so easily this time around, [âŠ]
iâm finishing the part 4/5 of this work, aka the last one before the implied beginning of the TLH events, aka the last one before Percy goes missing. again.
just thought iâd share this little nugget of ironic writing before the time.
Rachel Elizabeth Dare first met Percy Jackson-Wayne when they were ten. two years later, he disappeared into the wind following Jason Todd-Wayneâs death. he reappears soon after in mysterious circumstances, always too far out of reach to bring back home, always with a bang.
this is an outsiderâs pov of the events leading up to Coming Home and how Rachel lived through them as a childhood friend of Percy, as a Clearsighted mortal then as the Oracle of Delphi.
four times Percy burst into her life. one time where someone else did.
[âŠ] there was absolutely no way she was letting go of Percy so easily. She didn't care that he was a demigod prophecied to decide the fate of the world. She didn't care about the danger their closeness was putting her in. She didn't care about what she should or shouldn't do, about her place as a mortal in a world where myths took life, about the Waynes and their ineffective investigation methods. She let him know as much, though not in as many words, and wound up exchanging phone numbers with Annabeth, who lived up to Rachel's first impression of her. Any friends of Percy was someone worth getting to know, but Annabeth had no need for this kind of word of recommendation. Rachel would have wanted her as a friend as a friend even if the situation had been different, and admittedly, she had been lacking in girlfriends since she lost touch with Piper. Especially ones who made no excuses for Wayne stupidity. Percy wasn't getting rid of her so easily this time around, [âŠ]
iâm finishing the part 4/5 of this work, aka the last one before the implied beginning of the TLH events, aka the last one before Percy goes missing. again.
just thought iâd share this little nugget of ironic writing before the time.
dc x pjo where Percy was adopted into the Wayne family at a rather young age (probably not long before he started getting send the country by the gods like some wannabe errand boy, and probably because his mom died in a tragic but completely mundane way. people die all the time, and contrary to popular belief, Sally Jackson is not, in fact, immune to death. she probably will make a great friend out of Persephone though. thatâs a problem for future Percy).
heâs taken in around the same time Jason is, probably because they helped each other while on the street (i lied; itâs because Jay saw himself in the little orphan boy with an absentee father who just lost his mom and adopted him on sight. Bruce couldnât have separated them even if he wanted to), but Jason is at least a few years older than him. the two of them are stupidly close, which means that when Jason dies it doesnât go over well. Percyâs not dealing with his grief well, Bruce is somehow dealing with his grief even worse that Percy is, everyone is sad and grieving and etcetera, so truly, no one foresees the way Percy would run away over it.
baby Percy is sad and grieving and he just lost his big brother and his dad wonât pull his head out of his ass about it so he goes back to the one other place where he knows he could get support, aka camp half-blood. he completely drops off the map and no matter how hard the bats may try over the years, they canât seem to find him. he just vanished, and eventually the searches come to an halt, because clearly Percy doesnât want to be found (they willfully ignore the fact that they are the best detectives in the world and that Percy is a teen with, to their knowledge, barely any training; Percyâs probably dead and none of them are ready to accept that possibility)
obviously, Percyâs missing-ness only adds oil to the fire when Jason gets back, and thus everything that happens with that is much worse and much angstier. he still reconciles with the family (eventually) but the grudge he holds against Bruce for losing Percy sticks and surpasses even the one he held against him for keeping the Joker alive. much angst. his siblings understand, to some level, (not really, most of them never even met Percy, they donât know him like he did, they donât understand his grief) and mostly let him be broody by himself. Bruce understands too, but heâs a self flagellating idiot who thinks he deserves this shitty relationships with his son as a punishment for his mistakes and doesnât do anything about it, never mind that itâs hurting Jason just as much as heâs hurting him.
ANYWAY
years later, after going through two wars, Percy lets himself be convinced by Jason (Grace (his boyfriend (he calls him by his last name because itâs weird even to him to be in a relationship with a guy who shares a name with his dead brother (if you donât like the ship get lost. this is my prompt and i do what i want)))) to try and reconcile with his family. heâs absolutely not ready (or willing) to deal with Bruce again so with the help of his friends he manages to track down Dickâs address and just. shows up.
Dick about has a heart attack when, as heâs riding off a concussion in his flat or something (i donât know, i feeled like giving him a concussion just now), his missing brother just shows up at his door with the biggest dog heâs ever seen (Mrs OâLeary is here to provide emotional support (service dog Mrs OâLeary?)) looking both sheepish and vastly uncomfortable
actually, the Bats would be severely freaked out by Percyâs reappearance for the single reason that, after whatâs probably almost a decade long absence, he shows up unknowingly looking like a mini Jason (white streaked black hair, green eyes and a frankly concerning amount of scars). and it canât be voluntary or a prank or a. conspiracy, because Percy clearly still believes Jason to be dead, and Jason is far too distressed by this shit show of a reunion (how hard can it be to not alienate a returning family member?? how is this entire family so profoundly stupid??) to be the one to have orchestrated it all
they would probably be suspicious of Percy too. not like assuming that he turned evil, but more like âwe had a family member we thought lost forever who returned out of the blue looking exactly like that and weâre too paranoid to not assume this is some sort patternâ
Percyâs suspicious behaviour is not helping his case whatsoever
neither is his lack of effort towards reconciliation
by raccoon_bubbles_killer (little old me!!!) on ao3
years after running away from home, Percy Jackson returns to Gotham, or well, BlĂŒdhaven, after much convincing from his boyfriend. hopefully he'll catch Dick in a good mood.
Dick Grayson is pretty sure he's hallucinating when his missing-supposedly-in-a-cult younger brother comes knocking after years of no contact. it wouldn't even be the first time he sees things, and the concussion from last night's patrol is definitely not helping him differentiate reality from fantasy. he's probably hallucinating. that would explain the frankly ridiculously massive dog sitting on his doormat.
or; Percy ran away from home after Bruce thoroughly failed to properly manage his grief over Jason (Todd)'s death. over five years later, (Jason) Grace convinces his boyfriend to give reconciliation a try, even if it's just to tie up loose ends.
John Constantine stalked away, muttering under his breath about Bats and their incompetence. He was heading for the main parking area where Jason still was, though he gave no indication of having noticed anyone elseâs presence. Rather, he seemed to be busy fussing over his bike, and for good reasons. As the rest of the brood got closer, following closely behind Constantine under the guise of keeping the unruly magician under their supervision, it became obvious that it was far more damaged than any one them could remember seeing it as of late. Something must have happened between then and now, and whatever that was, it wouldnât be anything that would help better Jasonâs typical sour mood. They collectively winced, though none of them did anything to stop the inevitable, when John kept on walking toward the crime lord with a baffling lack of fear.
âWell, look what crawled out of the grave!â he suddenly called out. Loudly. The Bats startled, half tempted to step in before it was too late, half tempted to look the other way. In the end, neither reaction would have been warranted as Jason only looked up from his beat up bike in confused annoyance and glared halfheartedly at John. There was no aggression in his demeanour, or at least, none that seemed targeted at Constantine.
âThe hell are you doing here, John?â he barked out irritably.
The magician approached with lazy confidence.
âThatâs also what Iâm trying to figure out, actually,â John snarked back. Jason looked past him only to see his family just standing there. He stared at him harshly, looking completely done.
âThey called you here?â
âObviously.â
âWhat for?â
âDidnât say.â
Jason huffed and rolled his eyes. He leant against his bike and stared dully at John, looking unimpressed. âWhat did they say?â
âSomething about missing kids and strange behaviours and creepy symbols drawn in chalk. Very stereotypical. Not very helpful.â There was a squawk of offence from Dick that they both ignored. âWhat about you?â
âA bunch of cultists trying to summon some duke of hell or another. Stopped them before they could start some kind of apocalypse. It was too late for the kids though.â
John grimaced but didnât comment. Instead, he nodded toward the rough looking motorbike. âAnd your ride?â
âWeâre gonna need a necromancer,â John Constantine announced, sounding defeated.
âArenât you one?â âNo. I do necromancy, sure. But that doesnât make me a necromancer. Thereâs a difference.â
Everyone exchanged glances, unconvinced, but not well versed in magical lexicon to challenge him on the semantics of necromancy and necromancer. âDo you know one then?â
Itâs Zatanna who answers, looking thoroughly irked. âNecromancers, true, naturalborn necromancers, are pretty rare. We might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack.â And just as everyone in the room deflated, taking Zatanna at her word, Constantine piped up once more.
âActually, there is one.â
Zatannaâs eyes snapped onto him as several emotions flashed through her face. Surprise, confusion, realization, doubt, and finally, she settled on the mistrust that was customary when dealing with John Constantine.
âThereâs only one known necromancer and they might as well be a myth with how little we actually know about them.â
âI mean yeah, heâs a secretive jerk, but I wouldnât call our guy a myth. Just associable and deeply paranoid. Kind of like Batsy over there.â He made a face as the words came out of his mouth. âActually, keeping the comparaisons with our resident fury might be for the best if we want to do business with the guy. He gets touchy about that and heâs nothing if not petty.â
âAnd how do you propose we get in touch with the Red Death?â âI could just call him,â Constantine shrugged.
At that Zatanna raised a brow. âYou have the Red Deathâs phone number?â
âObviously. I taught the guy.â
Before anyone could question that statement, he pulls his phone from his trench coat and calls his supposed student (for some reason Constantine has the guy on speed dial??). He goes to press the phone against his ear, but with one look from the bat he rolls his eyes and sets it on speaker instead.
âThe hell you want?â answers a gruff voice after a single ring. Batman visibly stiffens at that but Constantine doesnât acknowledge it if he even noticed.
âGeez, rude much kid?â âIâm serious, John. If this is a social call then get lost. I donât have the time.â âWell this is my lucky day then isnât it? We need you. Urgently.â
There was a pause. Then a sigh. And then a hesitant but resigned ââŠwhoâs âweâ?â
âThe Justice League. Congratulations kid, youâre going to space,â Constantine replies dryly.
âFucking hellâŠâ the necromancer mutters before hanging up.
Silence fell onto the room. âSo⊠where even are we supposed to meet you guys?â
âOh no. Weâre not going anywhere. Heâs coming up.â âHow?â âHe has his ways.â
*** * ***
Minutes later, none other than the Red Hood stalked into the room, heading straight for Constantine and completely ignoring Batman and his feeble attempt to grab him.
That night, Sally Jackson would go through with her plan. She rehearsed it. She reviewed it. She prepared for it. And most importantly, she knew that it would work.
She had done her research before doing anything else, the discreet visit to the library reviving the nostalgia she held for her failed academic career. Life hardly ever goes as it should, and her parentsâ sickness, as unfortunate as it was, kept her from pursuing higher education.
Maybe she would go back to school one day. For that to be a possibility, however, tonight had to be successful.
Books on botanic and natural poisons were surprisingly easy to access, though that might be due to how likely it was for someone to use that knowledge to plan a murder. Not impossible, of course, but the chances were slim enough for the knowledge she needed to be so readily available.
She read through the books that day, with her young son, Percy, looking through picture books by her side. Gabriel had wanted the apartment to himself that day, and she had jumped on the occasion to both complete the first step of her plan and get her baby away from that man.
Percy was five now. Most of his memories included the one she called a husband, and while she knew the risks, they would have been exposed to should she not have married Gabriel Ugliano, she could not help but regret her decision. She wanted Percy safe but was unwilling to pay that price, the price of a human monster getting to break her boy before the real monsters could even get a chance to try.
Sally married Gabriel Ugliano when Percy was two. Three years later, she was going to get rid of him. The only question left unanswered was how.
And the answer was foxglove.
Itâs a wonder how such a pretty flower can become a weapon once you know how to use it properly. It just so happened to also align perfectly with her current situation. The fact that someone thought of planting it in Central Park was only an added bonus, for it made her quest much easier.
All she had needed to do was ask one of the nature spirits where she could find the plant, and after explaining to the kind dryad that she was clearsighted and what she was going to use the flower for, they were more than willing to show her the way to a nearby patch of flowers that was littered with it.
After that, it was almost too easy. Gabriel didnât even question the bowl of chili she brought him, eating it faster than he could taste it. He returned the empty dish swiftly, leaving her with shaking hands and the usual chores.
*** * ***
Deep breaths, Sally. In, and out. She stared down at the steaming bowl of chili, not yet believing the reality of the moment. It was just like any other night, with Gabe watching sports far too loudly for anyone elseâs taste, and her cooking him a meal while Percy drew with his crayons at the counter.
Expect tonight she had almost ruined the recipe four times due to stress. Except tonight Percy favored his red crayons rather than his usual blue as if sensing that something was happening.
Tonight was real. The chili bowl was real. The page of paper filled with red crayons was real. And the powdered foxglove, all remains of which she flushed down the sink, had been far too real.
She glanced at her husband Gabe through the door. He was blissfully unaware of his faith, yelling at the ongoing football match with a pack of beer between his legs. Chips and other similarly unhealthy foods littered the coffee table. She still couldnât believe how his lifestyle made it so easy for her to build the narrative for his murder untimely death.
Tonight was the night.
*** * ***
She fed Percy his meal -a different one, that she kept as far as possible from the poisoned chili-, did the dishes, put her son to sleep, and promptly went to bed herself, bringing a book along.
There was no way she was getting any sleep that night.
Everything that came after that went fast. She walked out of the bedroom the next morning and called the emergency services when she âfoundâ her husband dead in his seat. Next thing she knew, they took his body away and hooked her up with a funeral home to organize funerals for the poor excuse of a man she married.
She went through everything, every piece of paperwork, every detail of his funeral, as quickly as possible. She was eager to put all of this behind her. Eager for a new start.
His family had come, and so had his friends. Sally would have preferred not to show up at all, but it would stain her image as the dutiful, mourning widow. So there she stood, all clad in black with her toddler by her sides, playing her role to perfection.
*** * ***
His mother had been the first to approach her.
Sally never liked the old lady, just like she had never liked, or Olympus forbids, loved her son. Her near-constant sneer and the dirty look she gave Percy every time the two of them stood in the same room never allowed Sally to warm up to the woman.
âThe first few years are the hardest,â were her surprisingly honest first words to her. âBut donât let it crush you like I did. For your sonâs sake.â
Without waiting for a reply, Mrs. Ugliano walked away, leaving Sally to process her words by herself. She carded her fingers through Percyâs hair, unsure what to do with her mother-in-lawâs sudden concern for her sonâs well-being.
It took her a moment, but eventually, Sally remembered that Gabe, in a way Mrs. Ugliano must have perceived as similar enough to her own story, also lost his father at a young age.
Guilt squirmed in her guts, calling her out for her lies.
Sally stood strong though, ignoring the weight of her sins to maintain the mask of grief she fabricated for herself to cement her tale.
*** * ***
The next thing on her list was to erase all traces of that man ever being in their lives. The memories might still haunt her -hopefully the same isnât true for Percy-, but destroying all physical evidence would help her breathe better.
It was not an easy task. His trash was everywhere, from the ground to the cupboard, without forgetting between the couchâs cushions, the furniture smelled at him, and the walls were stained by his smoking.
The longer she spent working on cleansing the apartment of his presence, the stronger she felt the urge to burn the whole thing down. And thatâs what she ended up doing, in a very much non-literal way. Thankfully for her and Percy, Gabriel had left them a hefty sum through both his personal savings and his life insurance, and as it turns out, moving out was easier than making the place liveable again.
Sally then reenrolled herself into school with what was left of that money, fully planning on getting a higher education to find a better-paying job to give her son all the chances she could. He deserved that much after Gabriel.
Her work schedule at the candy shop swiftly shifted from full-time to part-time, and with more time to spend with her son, a chance to finally pursue the education she had always wanted, and the absence of a husband in her life, her brand-new good mood quickly started to affect her job.
Her colleagues were the first to notice and were happy that things were finally looking up for her. The regulars were the next ones to do, commenting easily on her improved mood.
*** * ***
Mr. Fletcher was the kind of customer that made Sallyâs day. He was a gentleman, always took the time to talk with her and her colleagues when he wasnât in a rush, and regularly brought his dates to the shop, as if to show off the small business he visited on a weekly basis.
And most importantly, Mr. Fletcher gave her back her hope in humanity, if only for a moment, each time he walked into the shop with an order from the nearby orphanage. He was everything she would have looked for in a man but was also happily married to his husband.
What could you ask more than for a man to take the time out of his day to buy candies to the less fortunate?
It had been a while since she last saw him, what with the funerals when he walked into the shop. The bell cheerfully rang when the door opened, and Sally raised her eyes from her literature textbook to meet his eyes. She smiled when she recognized him.
âMr. Fletcher. How have you been doing?â she greeted him politely.
He paused, as if not expecting to see her there that day. âSally. Iâve been well. How about you? You seem⊠happier.â
She considered his odd choice of words for a moment. Had she really looked that noticeably miserable before Gabrielâs passing? Or maybe did she simply look better due to the good turn her life had finally taken? With the new flat and her debut in higher education, on top of her concealed crime, she supposed that could be it.
âI suppose I am,â she finally replied.
âWhatever it is, Iâm happy for you.â
âThank you.â There was a pause, during which neither of them knew what to say before Sally redirected the conversation. âSo! What would it be today?â
âRight!â
They moved along easily, the conversation taking a sweet focused turn as Sally helped him fill the dayâs order, and just as quickly as he had walked in, Mr. Fletcher was out of the door, bringing with him a bag heavy with candy.
Oblivious, Sally returned to her textbook, once again silently thanking her employer for their lenience which allowed her to study during her shifts.
Mr. Fletcher, however, walked away with more questions than he had previous to his visit to the candy shop. Thoughtfully, he wondered what happened to the source of the bruises he had observed on Sally during his previous visits. It might be worth an investigation.
*** * ***
It took a few more days for the other shoe to drop, and when it did, it was at the time and place she expected it the least.
She had just come home from a long shift, which had immediately followed the two classes she had in the morning, meeting and paying Percyâs babysitter in the doorway. Locking the door behind her, she kicked off her shoes and walked into the apartment, which was already well obscured by the night.
Blindly, she put her purse on the dining table before searching for the light switch. The place was still unfamiliar enough to her that she had to take a moment to search for it, feeling the wall with the tip of her fingers until she found it and the light came.
And where she had expected to turn and see only her purse on the empty table, she found instead her purse, Mr. Fletcher from the candy store, and two strangers sitting in her kitchen.
She paused, unsure of what to do in this situation, staring at the intruders and only taking her eyes off them for a fraction of a second, which she used to locate the knife block. She might appreciate her talks with her clientele while on the job, but the same wasnât true when she found them in her home at ungodly hours of the night.
âThatâs your idea of a potential recruit?â one of the strangers commented eventually, breaking the silence. They looked her up and down with a sneer on their face. âShe looks more like a single mother than anything else.â
There was a sigh.
âThatâs because she is a single mother, Paisley. Her son probably is sleeping in the next room,â Fletcher informed them, his tone so detached it seemed otherworldly, especially in their current predicament.
âThat begs the question, then; why are we here?â
Fletcher opened his mouth to answer this Paisley personâs question once more, but this time, Sally beats him to it.
âWhat is this?â she asks. Her tone is shaky, but firm, in a way she hopes indicates her willingness to resort to physical violence to defend her home.
All three of the intruders exchange a glance, and after a moment, the second stranger, who had yet to say a word, spoke up.
âAn assessment.â
âAn assessment for what?â
âPaisleyâ whistled in a totally not subtle way. âSheâs willing to hear us out. She either has as much potential as you said she had, or sheâs completely stupid.â Fletcher was however quiet to elbow them into silence.
He turned toward her and answered her question. âWe know you killed your husband, and-â
âI didnât though,â she replied automatically. The lie, nowadays so solidly implanted in her daily life, became as easy to speak as the truth. She knew it was false, but she repeated it often enough that it might as well have become her truth.
ââŠbut you did. You might have convinced the world otherwise, but we know. We recognize the signs.â
âAnd what might those be?â
âThe high concentration of cardiac glycosides in your late husbandâs system,â the third intruder immediately stated. âCommonly associated with foxglove poisoning,â he added as an afterthought.
âLetâs say itâs true,â she said, shifting closer to the knife bock discreetly. âHow would you even know that?â
âItâs written all over his charts at the morgue.â
âAnd let me guess. You guys went to check Gabeâs toxicology report just on the off chance that I might have murdered my husband. Is intuition all you need to investigate a widowed mother?â she asked the last question with a hint of sarcasm.
âNo,â came Fletcherâs answer. âBut a change in behavior does. You have to admit that your being so much happier after the facts were curious as of itself. And you started sporting fewer bruises after his passing.â
Had his marks on her skin been so visible?
She felt angry for a moment at the thought. The world saw. The world knew. And yet they let her suffer. They let her son, poor innocent Percy, suffer. They knew, and yet, they did nothing.
She took a more direct step toward the knife block, hoping that the outright hostility would make them leave. âWhat are you, the cops?â More venom than necessary slipped into the voice.
âQuite on the contrary,â Paisley said. âWeâre assassins. Hitmen. Professional killers. Whatever you want to call it.
ââŠwhat?â
Fletcher stood up and made a step in her direction. She took a step back as a reflex, despite his relaxed posture and hands stored deep in his pockets showing her how little of a threat he represented.
He spoke again, undisturbed by her reaction to his approach. âHow do you feel about a new job, Sally?â
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