Chapter 24, Part 1: Destiny is a Motherf*cker

CALEB

“Are you here with an update?” After nearly a year, Bob Pancakes had entered the acceptance phase of his grief. His question wasn’t hopeful; it was perfunctory.  

“I’m here on a hunch,” Caleb told the sim truthfully, “And with an apology. I think we’ve been—well, I’ll speak for myself. I’ve been ignoring Eliza’s death because she was the least interesting. She wasn’t a celebrity like Johnny or part of an influential community like the victims from my jurisdiction. But I was wrong to do that. And I have a feeling if I can make sense of what happened to her, it’ll give you some closure and help the other victims.” 

If Bob took offense to Caleb’s characterization of Eliza as “boring,” he didn’t show it. The sim opened the door a little wider, “Why don’t you come in?” 

Immediately Caleb regretted that he had never visited the house. It told one hell of a story. While the fixtures and appliances screamed “average suburban home,” the furniture was inexplicably expensive. There were plenty of family photos, but not too long after their son was born, Eliza disappeared.

“She hated having her picture taken after a while.” Bob wrung his hands, “She didn’t like how she looked. And there wasn’t anything I could tell her that would change that.”

Caleb nodded. “Did she have anywhere for herself? An office? Somewhere she might’ve kept a journal or planner?”

“Her knitting room,” Bob replied. He led Caleb out to a small shed, packed to the gills with yarn and needles and the most exquisitely detailed dolls Caleb had ever seen. 

“She made Yarney dolls,” he gasped.

Bob smiled, clearly proud. “That was how we could afford the house and the furniture. She sold them on Plopsy. Everyone loved them and paid crazy amounts of money for them. I always encouraged her to own up to it, but she liked being mysterious. She said it gave the products more value.”

“She was right,” Caleb ran his hand over Red Yarney’s intricate stitching work. “Speculation in the Yarney community is an activity in and of itself. But they should know it was her now,” he turned back to Bob, “If you want that, of course.”

“I do.” He gazed around the room wistfully, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Slowly and methodically, Caleb started going through everything. He pulled out half-finished knitting projects, holiday cards, and a toddler’s drawing of a turkey using their handprint. In the bottom corner, Eliza wrote her son’s name and the date he gave it to her.

It was sad seeing her whole life frozen in time, and Caleb couldn’t help but think about his own parents. Anastasia Barrister did not have a sentimental bone in her body. She chucked their childhood things with abandon while his father was a hoarder in denial. Caleb had always preferred his mother’s approach. Keeping things seemed to be Vladislaus’s own unique brand of manipulation—here, I’ve failed you, but look at how I weep over your first toddler bed. 

Now, though, he wondered if all parents were perhaps a little overly sentimental, a bit “balls crazy,” as Titania put it. Carefully, he tucked the drawing away and moved on.

Finally, he found what he came for. Printed in neat script on a cardboard box:

The Journals of Eliza Pancakes

VLAD

The crop whooshed through the air and landed squarely between his ribs. Vlad suppressed a shiver, something like heat radiating out from the spot. A telltale tingle began at the base of his spine, and he had to grit his teeth against it. “Fuck.”

“Again?” Alice asked, tapping the crop just under his chin. He savored the burn, leaning into it.

“Please.”

“Alright, not so fast,” she teased as she plucked at his straps, “You don’t call the shots. On your knees.”

“Am I not already on my knees?” 

“Don’t sass me,” she replied, trying to hide her giggle, “On the floor on your knees. This is very serious.”

“Well, if it’s serious,” Vlad gave her a solemn look as he lowered himself to the ground, “Then who am I to disobey you?”

She couldn’t contain her laugh. He’d been disobeying her all week under the threat of serious retribution. And he had to admit, he was quite enjoying his punishment.

Alice tugged on the handcuffs as she pressed the crop against his neck. “Too tight?” 

“Is that a joke? William once cut off both my hands during an argument over a horse. You and your handcuffs could hardly hurt me.”

“Vladislaus.”

“No. They are not,” he assured her, “Proceed.”

She ran the crop over his skin again but hesitated. Immediately, Vlad lowered his arms. 

“What’s wrong? Are you alright? Do you want to stop?”

“No…I…” Alice made a face, “I don’t actually know what to do next. I talked a big game, and I looked up a lot of stuff on the internet, but honestly, I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Or do you mean ‘pie’?” 

“Oh,” her eyes widened, “Yeah! Pie. I thought that was only for you. I’m calling ‘pie.’” She pulled the key out of her bra and unlocked his handcuffs.

“I’m sorry,” she grimaced. 

“Sorry? Whatever for?”

“I ruined it. This is totally your kink, and I thought this would be my kink, too—I do like being bossy—but it’s not. We’re supposed to be having fun, and now…” she trailed off, the grimace still planted firmly on her face.

“And now,” Vlad continued, “We are still having fun.” 

“We are?”

“Yes,” he bit back a laugh at her doubtful expression, “Listen to that; what do you hear?”

Alice took a deep breath and let her head fall back. “Oh, sweet llamas, it’s silence.”

“Yes, silence.” He leaned forward and lifted her leg, gripping her thigh. “Hard-earned silence. The kind that comes at the cost of bribing Latimer with my signed, limited edition Of Tea and Treachery print.” It was the boxing championship, and now that he’d reconnected with his old friends, Latimer wanted to start the celebration early, not take Gwendolyn on a field trip outside of the house.

“You love that print.”

“I do,” Vlad traced his tongue further up her thigh, “Now, we have two more hours of this silence, and occult help me, Alice; one or both of us is going to come.” 

She shivered and inched back on the bed, “Okay, you’re right. I’m relaxed. I’m focused. I’m—wait!” She grabbed his hair, tugging until he looked up at her. “That was your favorite print, and I had to cut all of Gwendolyn’s sandwiches into the shape of pirate ships, or she wouldn’t go to the museum. We can’t waste this on regular sex. We have to be loud or roleplay or something. Talk dirty to me.”

“You and I wake up in an alternate universe. Gwendolyn is a teenager; she has her driver’s license. Movieflix still has a commercial-free subscription for $9.99. Latimer lives in a cottage down the road, and your entire job is drinking nectar and being in charge of something vague yet terrifying.” 

“Oh, that is good,” she thrust her hips forward. “That is…shit…are you gonna bite me?”

Goosebumps broke out across his skin. Vlad closed his eyes and tried to collect himself. Did she have any idea of the level of temptation those words presented? He dreamed of her plasma. Only the horrifying vision of her bleeding out on the bed kept him from sinking his teeth into her vein. With effort, he pressed a chaste kiss to her inner thigh. “Bite you? No. Eat you? Yes.” 

He was well on his way to keeping his promise when he heard the front door open, followed by the cheerful call of “Father.” Panic had him on his feet in seconds. 

“What the hell? Are you ok?” Alice jumped up, ready to follow him.  

“Doorbell,” he said, desperate to keep her in the room. “I just heard someone knocking.”

“I didn’t hear—”

“Don’t worry,” Vlad shouted over his shoulder as he ran. “I’ll get it!”