Archive of Our Own

Each crack of bones was more horrible to audibly witness than the last. Limbs twisted into positions they should never be in, bones twisting and cracking awfully inside the shell of flesh as Madeline crashed against the railings for what felt like the hundredth time, almost falling off the stairs fully more than once.

If she wasn't dead yet, it was safe to say that she had to be in horrible pain, as showcased by her earth shattering screams. Possibly the worst part, though, was when they fully stopped, replaced by weak sounds of pain and eventually reduced to gurgling.

Finally, her body slammed against the banister four more times until she rolled down the stairs, neck making direct contact with a step with a drawn out crack, and landing on the hard marble floor, limbs twisted impossibly, sticking out in directions they were not supposed to be in.

There was silence, for how long she could not tell. Minutes, days, perhaps weeks. She felt too weak to scream. She couldn't see the full damage from the top, but alone the shock of her action was enough to freeze her in place. When she finally found it in her to bring out words, all she could do was repeat "Oh my god." and "What do we do?" again and again as she descended the stairs, more graceful and less painful than her former friend.

She had planned to kill Madeline, and she had been sure that she would do it. But that was imagination. Theory. Actually doing it, witnessing it, that was something else. Another sensation. Worse.

She didn't feel the relief that she had promised herself, she didn't feel any better about herself or her life. She felt sick. Sick to her stomach. The image of Madeline lying motionless on the floor, leg attached the wrong way around, spine mangled, hair falling completely wrong in comparison to her torso made her want to gag.

"Uh, I don't know! Check her pulse, is she breathing?"

Ernest, ever the helpful one, announced his presence. She'd almost forgotten he was there too. And what a stupid thing to say. He'd seen the fall. Could he not see the damage? His interruption had drawn her attention enough to prevent her spilling out her guts though, focusing instead on showing him all the ways she could no longer possibly be alive.

She asked once more, "What do we do?", just in case this idiot, who asked if a person with a snapped neck still had a pulse, had any plan. Yes, Helen was the one with intention to kill in the first place, but she had expected it to be different. Planned. Predictable. She'd planned for Narconol and a car crash, not for a tumble down the stairs. She'd planned for burying her somewhere after a stab to the chest in the middle of the night, not a broken neck.

She'd planned for accomplishment and satisfaction. Not fear.

She felt a wave of dizziness wash over her with sudden force, world swimming around her in a pool of fading light, bringing her almost down to the floor. She caught her footing in the last second, though now feeling a harsh pain run through her head.

Ernest was stupid enough to suggest one of their earlier plans of simply running away, before he drifted off into a panic. One of the two had to stay rational, so Helen slapped him across the face. Their plans no longer worked, they'd gone off-script.

"Ow, stop doing that! That hurts more than you think!"

Both sat down on the couch.

"Sorry. You panicked so I panicked. But no one should panic here. We talked about killing her before. This is my plan— better than my plan! I mean this actually looks like an accident! And with a lot less effort."

Helen could feel herself spiral down dangerously into somewhere. There were weak attempts of conviction, of a mind trying to remain calm and hold onto all sanity it had left. The only thing wrong with this situation was that Madeline had died differently than planned. Yes, that was the only problem.

This was just a small inconvenience that required further plans. This was exactly what she wanted. This was the promise she'd made to herself. This was perfect.

"Now, after I go, you call the police and tell them that you were in here..." Her eyes assessed the room, landing on a book. "..reading, when you heard a terrible scream. (ah.) And you turned, just in time to see Madeline, fall down the stairs."

She could get away from the crime scene, use Ernest in a way that would make Madeline proud were she alive, and then have him change their identities and drive them somewhere safe where she'd either stay with him, or leave for good.

She'd still have to decide that, after all, she'd really only wanted him back to return some of the pain to Madeline. And she hadn't even cared. All for nothing.

"Why are you leaving?!"

..

Was he serious—?

"I think it may raise a little bit of suspicion, if they find your ex-fiancé here, with your current wife dead!"

"Right right, you're right."

Of course she was. God, he was a real airhead sometimes.

"You can do it, Ernest. Be. Strong."

She knew he'd need some reassurance if she wanted him to follow her words without question. He was that sort of man.

"Just wait for the police. As soon as they arrive, they'll assume that she fell. Then the coroner will take her, and you come to my hotel!"

She'd never actually told him where the hotel was located.

Maybe she could just leave him behind to deal with this mess and run away on her own.

Alone.

The thing she least liked to be.

But she'd get a murder case off her shoulders.

"But don't call! Cause if you call, then the police will come as well."

He shook her arm. She ignored him. Something tugged far at her mind, a smile creeping up her lips.

"But if you don't, it will be perfect, Ernest. Everything is perfect, Ernest!"

She could feel a laughing fit come on from out of nowhere, trying to believe that this was alright. He shook her further.

“Everything is perfect!” Helen hummed a tone, swinging her legs about.

She was more trying to convince herself than she was actually sure. This was perfect. This was a plan. This was fine, just fine. Everything was fine. Everything would be.

Ernest had stopped shaking her, but he wasn’t singing along. He knew the tone.

“Why aren’t you la-laing with me, Ernest?” She asked, accusatory.

“Helen!”

She tensed, muscles turning to ice under her skin.

It couldn’t be.

It didn’t make sense.

She’d seen her. She’d pushed her. She saw her snapped neck, she saw the bones threatening to stick out and break skin.

How could she—

Helen did not want to turn around. She didn’t want to know what she would see. She feared it. But her body betrayed her.

Madeline was—

She was.. Fine?

She looked pretty regular, the one thing amiss was that—she almost gagged again—neck, making it apparent that her head was turned exactly 360 degrees too far. But beside that, Madeline walked, she talked, and complained, just as always, to Ernest. She needed a doctor.

Just then, another crack emitted from Madeline and her head and neck folded onto her chest.

“Stop staring, help me!”

Madeline flailed with her arms, then attempted to lift her head back up, but she had to hold it upright for it to remain, otherwise falling limply back down.

She was too stunned for any sort of movement.

Helen blinked heavily, and suddenly, they sat in her own car, Ernest behind the steering wheel, Madeline in the passenger seat, herself alone in the back.

She looked around in confusion, the space having simply integrated before her.

“..what?”

"Huh?" Ernest asked, eyes fixed on the road. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No, I— when did we get here?”

“Uh, five minutes ago? You had Ernest drag me in here because you could only take teeny tiny steps in your high heels and had to shuffle behind us.” Madeline chimed in with clear annoyance directed at her. Helen did not recall ever making her way to her car, or even just moving out of the large entry hall.

The whole car shook, Helen more violently than the other two.

Some conversation that she herself began—by reminding them that this was stupid, and that people would ask questions—occurred, but she wasn’t quite present within the moment, feeling off. Something swirled in her stomach, something in her mind telling her that something was wrong. And of course it was. Madeline sat there, neck snapped, and still moving. But there was something more.

Another heavy blink, and suddenly they stood in a hospital room, Madeline prepped on the room’s exam bed, a thin scarf around her neck and exposed bone.

Ernest paced by her side, waiting presumably for the doctor. Helen looked around. She’d just been in a car, and now—

A doctor entered, ready for his task of examining Madeline. Helen shook her head. She didn’t know what just happened, but there were more important things right now, even though she herself would have liked to just leave Madeline in the room and run to somewhere. Ever the coward, Mad would say.

The commotion and confusion must be messing with her perception of time.

She stilled as the doctor listened to her heartbeat, then stopped. He listened to his own. Helen rose an eyebrow. He once more placed the stethoscope on her chest, and on his own again, looking dangerously pale.

He laughed a kind of nervous huff, stammered something about Madeline missing something, and before they knew it, he hit the floor. Madeline passed out as well. Ernest panicked again, because of course he did.

Two down. Helen threw the blanket back over Madeline, taking a second without her whining to breathe and try(and fail) to compose herself and comprehend anything that was happening.

Another second later, they stood in a hallway, arguing about a parking lot, Madeline gone and vanished. Helen felt a dizziness envelop her at the constant change of scenery. Something was really wrong, and she simply could not understand what was happening.

Her mind tried filling in the gaps, but the harder she tried to think, the quicker everything seemed to fade and blur. Time felt out of order, too quick, holes within the timeline and her memory. Did she take drugs she didn't know about?

Ernest must have noticed her discomfort, asking her about it.

One more blink, and they stood in the morgue.

Helen was beginning to lose orientation. Somehow they almost appeared in place after place. Fluorescent white lights hit her face, before fading into a softer darkness.

Now, she stood in the middle of the doorway of Madeline’s mansion, at gunpoint, her jacket-like fabric in her hand. She gasped.

Then, her hand swung forward with a shovel, and she strangely felt much lighter around the stomach. One look down revealed a gaping hole right in her middle, blood surrounding it but not dripping or flowing.

Helen wanted to scream, but the scenery changed again before she had the chance to.

Everything was drenched in darkness, a cool breeze passed her face and Ernest plummeted down a balcony into the void-like depths. This time Helen screeched, and so did Madeline.

She didn't understand anything anymore. So much had happened, and out of nowhere Ernest was now falling to his assured death.

She could see the terror in his eyes as he fell, further and further into darkness. The same rose in her.

“Helen!”

His voice called out, distant, fading again. Then Madeline’s voice, carrying the same tone.

“Helen!” It echoed. “Helen!"

Madeline's tone sounded concerned, and she could not exactly tell where it was coming from. Not from Madeline beside her, the motions of her mouth didn't match up. It droned from somewhere, shaking at something within her.

"Helen?!”

Her eyes snap open, balcony and darkness gone, all replaced instead by a warm toned room, a bedroom, by the looks. She can feel sweat trickle down her neck as she takes this second to try and process a single thing of what happened just now. A voice cuts through her thoughts.

“Helen? Are you okay?"

Madeline’s voice, soft and sweet like that of the girl she used to know thirty years ago, holding a genuine concern. It no longer makes her feel terror, or rage, but something else and new. Something warm.

Helen focuses her attention. A bedroom, yes. Pillows and blankets beneath her body. Warmth at her side.

Familiar warmth.

Helen turns, and there she sees it. A worried face that looks at her with the most beautiful blue eyes she’s ever seen, shining like sapphires in the morning sun. Blonde hair, tumbling messy, but elegantly at the same time down two bare shoulders.

The face shifts slightly in expression when she looks over.

Madeline is in the same bed with her, dressed in only a top with thin straps keeping it on her shoulders and a pair of soft shorts.

“Mad?”

There's no anger left in her sleep filled voice. Neither is it within her at all. It all seems to have faded and seeped from her, and in reality, she can no longer properly remember why she was angry at all.

If anything, perhaps she feels relief, figuring that everything had been just a horrible, horrible dream. Madeline is fine. She is fine. They hadn’t fallen apart. There was no potion. Madeline and her live together, as something she does not quite dare name in her dream dazed state, but wishes upon, believes in. She doesn't know how long she’s been dreaming, but if this is the reality she wakes to, she doesn't care.

She doesn't care that right now she could not remember what was real and what wasn't, any world in which she woke up next to Madeline alone, without any other man in the picture was perfect enough.

Her and her Mad together, released from hatred she does not understand.

“Hel.”

Her voice is soft and sweet like honey, no traces of the Madeline she pushed down the stairs. Madeline sat up on her side of the bed and is now inching closer to her, a warm hand on her shoulder grounding her comfortably. Another wipes over her cheek, which she now realises to be wet.

“Were you having a nightmare? You were tossing and turning like crazy, and then I looked over and you were crying.”

She asks her in the same tone that makes Helen melt into her, this sensation and the sheets beneath her. Her concern is so genuine, such a pure thing to hear come out of her mouth. It's nice to hear words other than insults for once in a while.

“..yeah. I was.”

Helen focuses her attention on her surroundings. A clock on the wall, ticking in actual seconds, sounds of a busy street somewhere down below, wind coming in through a window and brushing gently over her. This is what peace feels like. Just sounds of a casual morning in the city, only with her, and Madeline, the worst of their problems an argument over who loved the other more.

An arm reaches over her, to the nightstand and picks up the glasses that sit on it, carefully placing them on Helen's face.

She looks at Madeline, properly this time, with gratitude. She can spot all her features, their state sharp and round at the same time, ones that just need to shift into a smile and Helen will fall into ease, head first. Helen can tell that Madeline has more questions about her dream. She doesn't necessarily want to relive the experience by telling it, but just one look at the face that hides concern so well is enough to change her mind.

"It was really weird. There was so much going on, and I didn't understand anything, but for the main part, I dreamt that I—"

Her breath hitches. She can't bring herself to say the words out loud, they lodge themselves inside her throat refusing to move further. It was a dream, and yet, she feels the words heavy on her tongue, holding a weight they shouldn't.

"That I.."

"You pushed me down the stairs?"

Helen's pulled from her memories and into the moment. She stares up at Madeline, surprise etched into her own face.

"How did you—?"

Madeline's face shifts, calm, contemplating, yet slightly on edge. Her  hand drifts to pick imaginary lint off Helen's shoulder.

"I think.. I had the same..dream. Just, from the other perspective. Was Ernest there? You know, that guy you were together with five years ago?"

The memory stings when it comes back. She can remember that this was a topic they usually distanced from intensely, having promised to focus on their future rather than their messed up past.

Ernest, yes, she can remember. She had been with him for a good year when Madeline came in between and— well. It ended.

Eventually, Madeline had given in to her own truth and apologised like her life depended on it, which, for a good second perhaps it had, and both of them forgave once more too easily, swearing they would never hurt eachother like that again, and perhaps, men had to stay out of their lives.

It wasn't long until that turned into a romance of its own, Madeline and Helen realising and confessing that they'd never been after any of the boys, but eachother instead.

It looks as though Madeline was currently remembering the same thing.

"He was, yes. And also this woman.. Viola, I think."

"Same for me. That's kind of cool, but also creepy. You know, us, sharing a dream. I didn't know that was a thing really."

Silence falls over them, and Helen can tell that Madeline's considering something else deeply. She doesn't speak right away, which worries Helen. She sits up properly next to her, tilting her head to the side.

Madeline takes the hint, voice low.

"I felt death, for a few seconds. I'm not sure, but I think I even felt the pain. I felt every fracture, and my bones digging into my flesh and— and I saw everything turn and run by quickly, and then— it was all black and cold."

It wavers, and Helen's hand instinctively reaches to cover the other's, urging—or, rather allowing her not to go on. Madeline does, anyway.

"I still feel cold."

Something in Helen's stomach turns. Her hand reaches for the beautiful face across her, forcing its gaze back upon herself.

"Hey, it's okay. You're here, and you're with me. You're alive, and so am I. You're okay."

Madeline looks at her with a deep sadness she barely recognises. There is more behind it, but she simply cannot read into it. Helen is sure that something passed through her mind, something she discloses from her knowledge.

"Yes, yes you're right. We're here, and we'll be together forever. Right, we will be, won't we, Helen?"

The desperation in her words feels like a twisting knife in Helen's ribs, though its origin remains a mystery to her. Of course they'd be together. They made a promise, long ago, and Helen is not one to easily back down on such things. She was also not planning to murder Madeline any time soon.

Her voice, saying those exact things seems to calm Madeline to some levels, and Helen feels relief within her when the blonde smiles gently at her.

Helen's hand brushes over her cheek, then moves below her jaw and down to her shoulder, the other hand doing the same.

She doesn't know why it takes a moment of compelling herself and a deep breath, as well as some courage, but she places a gentle kiss on her cheek, something she is sure she's done thousands of times.

And yet, a tingle runs through her like it was the first time again. She supposed that with Madeline, everything could feel as beautiful as the first time no matter how often it happened.

Madeline goes one step further, prying Helen's face from her cheek to relocate it. This time, pink lands on pink, lips on lips.

Helen hums, surprised, Madeline shushing her gently. The tingles are more intense this time, first like a sort of numbness within her body, then prickling up and turning into a sparking. If firework had a sensation, Helen was sure this would be it. It feels like both of them had needed this for a long time, like their bodies had craved it for ages but never received it.

Perhaps it is the whole situation that creates this feeling, as Helen knows she has memories of being together, doing this before.

But it feels so new, refreshing.

They eventually part, Madeline's eyes fluttering open with the same sadness locking in them and apparently not moving any time soon.

"I'm sorry."

"For what? We're together, right?"

In a way, an actual honest question disguised as sarcasm. It crosses her mind that she doesn't remember many times she shared with Madeline here, in this world far apart from dreams. Before she can ponder further, Madeline replies.

"Of course we are! I just— uh, didn't want to seem intrusive, or something. I mean, you just woke up." Madeline's eyes travel over her, before they drop.

"I should make us some breakfast."

Without another word, Madeline stands up from the bed, which returns to its original shape where it dipped before, now feeling cold and empty. She is out of the room, and Helen is left with her thoughts.

Her dream messes with her, and Madeline is acting strange. She can't blame her, though, she just dreamt of being murdered by an equally shocked Helen that she thought loved her.

She shakes her head and sits up, taking in the full room. Pictures of them on a far wall, a huge poster of Madeline—of course, what else would clad their walls?— a vanity, obviously Madeline's is stood under a window.

She doesn't know why she scrutinizes the room with an intensity as if it were a new setting, it isn't.

Her feet touch the cold wooden floor underneath the bed. The motion is grounding, and lets her sigh out the last bit of stress she carries.

Here, she is safe. Living in her and Madeline's cozy apartment, a bestselling author with her actress—

Helen's gaze falls on her hand, and she exhales once more.

Her actress wife. The same who is currently standing somewhere outside the door, walking the floors while humming a lovely tune.

Her voice carries through the rooms with an ease, like it was meant to do just this and nothing else. Helen recognises the tune. It's old, and while she doesn't doubt that Madeline knows it, though being well before her time, she figures it must have appeared in any of the movies she's recently watched.

Old Vera Lynn's voice drifts around in her mind, singing along with the woman in the kitchen, and Helen feels tempted to do the same.

We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when, But I know we'll meet again, some sunny day.

The tune is familiar in a bittersweet sort of way, and for some reason, it resonates with Helen. She finally decides to stand from the bed, drifting over to the closet. Inside is nothing unexpected. An assembly of Madeline's wardrobe, mainly with only a few pieces she claims to be hers in-between them.

She picks out a simple sweater and some jeans too go along with it. On further thought, it's actually Madeline's clothes she's wearing, but it doesn't matter quite as much as it may have once. They're together now, and partners are known to steal the other's clothes from time to time.

She drifts down the hallway and into the living room and kitchen area, seating herself in one of the chairs and watching Madeline's moving figure with strange intrigue. It feels weird, but comfortable to see her in an environment like this, doing things for herself instead of letting others take her job.

She slides from cabinet to cabinet with ease, picking up something, putting it back down. Arranging something on a plate, gliding over to the fridge. It's all very natural gestures, and yet Helen can't help smiling at it. Her Mad, actually putting in effort.

Helen stems a hand under her head, and now begins to feel weird. Something about her hand isn't right. She looks at it for a second, then properly looks at it. At any potential cuts. Any dry skin. Her fingers. The air around them seems to shift.

One, two, three, four, five, Six—

A tray drops on the table before her, and Helen looks up.

Madeline looks at her with contentment and something that gets buried a second later.

"Hungry?"

Helen shakes the feeling she believes to be sleep off her and nods gratefully.

The two of them sit, indulging in both the food and conversation. Madeline shares stories of her most recent movie, words of how Helen's newest book is going slip out of her mouth before her mind even properly has a chance to think them up.

While Madeline talks, Helen has the chance to properly take her in. She looks beautiful as ever, in that special way only she ever did. Her hair falls perfectly over her shoulders, her eyes look right into hers and proudly present their beautiful blue colour to her. It's easy to get lost in all of her, that much had always been true, for everyone that ever met her.

Their plates empty gradually, yet their talk goes on and on. They've been with eachother for such a long time, and yet there were always stories still to be told. They laugh together as one, content and safe, fall into a known rhythm.

Only when they're cleaning up is it that a comfortable silence falls over them. Helen sets her mind on taking a long shower as to wash off any remains of sleep that cling to her, and to feel fresh and ready for the day.

Luckily she has no meetings or anything like it today, so she has all the time in the world. Before she can step in, however, she hears a voice that sounds remotely like Madeline's call for her, the ground shaking slightly a second later.

Helen wraps a towel around herself and steps out of the bathroom, peaking her head into the living room area.

"What was that? That shaking?"

Madeline looks at her with confusion for just a second, before her eyes grow wide.

"Oh, I don't know, that's why I called for you! Probably just a neighbour, but I thought it was an earth quake. We both know I can be a bit dramatic at times!"

Helen squints at her. She chuckles. Madeline isn't usually the type to admit to overreactions, but Helen lets it go for now.

"Everything's fine, you just have a shower and relax. I'm sure it was nothing serious."

Helen's head inclines, gazes at the floor for any further tremors and nods eventually.

*

She steps back out a good hour later, feeling refreshed and clean. By now, Madeline should be at the movie set already, Helen is sure of it. She throws on her clothes and walks into the living room, where sure enough, the blonde still lounges on their couch.

"Mad, what are you still doing here? I thought you had work today?"

"Oh no, not today. Today's my day off, remember?" She grins with a certainty, though there's that unidentifiable something sitting at the edges of it.

Helen believes, only because she has to believe, that Madeline is honest. Something just nags at her, but she pushes it down.

Madeline gets up and walks over to her, reaching for her hands and holding them gently.

"You know, I thought we could do something nice today. Go out to eat, or something. Spend the day."

The idea is appealing. Maybe it isn't actually Madeline's day off, but if she's taken it to spend more time with her—

Helen looks back down at the ring.

Wife, damn it. Why did she keep forgetting that?

To spend time with her wife, which, frankly is quite endearing, though Helen worries that the filming team won't take it quite as well, perhaps it wasn't too bad.

As is, she can't deny Madeline. She's come to the conclusion long before they even admitted any sort of mutual feeling.

So she caves, and agrees, to which Madeline happily smiles and pulls her into a hug.

She steps back, studies Helen's face for just a second, and places a kiss on the lips that look like they are desperately in need for one.

Slow, tentative. Almost like trying it for the first time, unsure of all boundaries crossed and discovering a new feeling.

Helen's chest buzzes pleasantly, and she melts. A few seconds later it's difficult to tell where the one woman ends and the other starts.

A few breaths pass between them as they separate, comfortable, soft. It's the comfort both of them have always longed for and were more than happy to receive from the one before them.

"Well then, come on, let's go have lunch!"

Helen steps back slightly, huffing. "Lunch? Mad, we've just had break—" Her eyes fall on the living room window, through which she can see the sun hang up in the sky, "—fast.."

Had she really showered for that long? By the time she'd stepped in, the sun was barely peaking over New York's skyline, now it's nearly past the midpoint of the sky.

"Oh. It's that late already?"

"Exactly, already, so let's get going! Come on, come on!"

Madeline drags Helen by the arm, both giggling away.

*

The food lingers pleasantly as a weight in her stomach. She sighs and lets herself sink further into the soft backrest of the restaurant chair, eyes closing.

She savours the memory in her mind, Madeline commenting on the food's quality, "That was really good. I haven't eaten better in my life."

Helen cracks open one eye. "Excuse me, not even when I made dinner last night, and the day before?" The corners of her mouth tug slightly upward. Madeline struggles to come up with an answer, so Helen chuckles to ease any tension and opens her eyes fully. "Joking."

Madeline sighs. Helen's gaze falls on the wall, where a round, golden clock hangs. It looks abstract, and the numbers on it don't exactly seem to make sense. They go further than twelve, and even further than twenty four. Blonde curls appear in her vision and she looks away.

"So.. Mind if I took you to another place? I've got a really good idea where to." Madeline looks giddy, more than Helen saw her since her wedding proposal. Her smile reaches her eyes, which crinkle—Helen would never tell her they did, she’d start worrying about wrinkles forming and stop—her hands bunch up the tablecloth and shift it around between her fingers.

Having Madeline take you out always comes with a list of risks. She’ll make you pay, take you scavenging for hours or rewatch the show you once hated and now only pretend that you do, because watching how it brings her joy brings you joy.

Helen is reckless when it comes to Madeline induced risks, however, so all she does is incline her head to have her going on. She doesn’t, just places an amount of money down on the table and drags Helen by her arm. Helen now worries fondly.

The restaurant and people in it speed past them, and before she knows it, she’s in a cab, Madeline next to her, technically bouncing on her seat with excitement. Helen can’t keep her eyes off her when she looks like that. All excited, fidgeting with anything she can get her hands on and watching traffic speed by with enjoyment.

When she beams like that, it’s like she stands on the wooden platform in a college auditorium, like she stands on a glistening stage under shining lights and beams into the face of applause that comes her way after a performance well done. A smile like it, but different in such a way only Helen ever gets to see. In a way only she can tell apart from the feigned copy of politeness and act.

It’s soft, and sweet, and warm and so unguarded as for once, the world isn’t watching and there’s no one to perform for. With Helen she's just her, just Mad.

Helen hadn't paid attention to the location Madeline had told the driver, or when she’d even told him, for that matter. It isn’t all that important to her either, because she trusts Madeline with her full heart (which she often knew to turn out an inconveniencing mistake, but didn't mind to ever stop her from).

Their driver offers to turn on the radio, and Madeline doesn't even take a second to consider the option before her hand reaches over.

She presses the radio's button, and familiar tunes begin to stream out. Freddy Mercury.

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

Madeline changes the channel. Frank Sinatra.

Wake up, snap up to reality—

Madeline frowns and presses the button again. Abba.

I have a dream—

Madeline turns off the radio. Helen raises a brow at her. Madeline turns back, smile plastered onto her face. This time, it's the one she wears on stage, that subtle shift Helen alone knows.

"Maybe not. I think I'm not actually all that in the mood for music." Helen feels a swirling in her stomach, then the road shakes, taking her mind off the topic.

*

They drive, and it's a while before metal structures turn to air, concrete to grass and blinking lights to green wooden scenery.

They are way out of the city, somewhere not even in the suburbs, just nature with a singular road leading them on and ahead. Eventually they come to a stop in the middle of a bright nowhere, and the two women get out of the car. Helen is glad she didn't decide to wear any of her proper high heels but elegant flats instead, as Madeline leads her up tiny hills and through uneven ground. The blonde herself seemed not to have thought through her own decision, struggling more with the paper thin heels digging into the ground, yet, she does not complain. Helen wonders why.

Once they're halfway up a hill, something striped catches Helen's eye, and she stops for just a second. That second is enough for Madeline—who is walking close enough behind Helen to still guide her, but not lead the way—to bump into Helen's back, paying attention only to her feet to take careful steps, and losing her balance.

Helen looks back at the collision, just in the right second to see a terror in Madeline's eyes before she sways, and ultimately tumbles backward, where she was now suddenly rolling down the hill. Purple flashes before Helen's eyes, then a blonde head of hair, a staircase. The flashes are forgotten as quickly as they arrive.

"Madeline!" She calls, and hastily makes her way down as fast as she can. Madeline's rolling form comes to a stop just as Helen reaches the bottom. It stills for a second, before it contorts with laughter. Helen, being Madeline's best friend before her wife, laughs, even harder than her, before asking if she is alright.

Madeline's laughter tells her it's alright for her to find enjoyment in her misfortune, even as embarrassment creeps red up her neck and on her face. Helen, in companionship, gathers all her former acting skills and feigns a trip over thin air, hurting her tailbone more than she wished when she falls. Madeline's laughter grows in strength, and the embarrassment turns into the ache that comes with a laughing fit. Helen revels in the feeling of making her more comfortable and lets her own laughter grow.

Helen stands, less graceful than she attempts, and holds out her hands for the actress to take, Madeline does, her pull however is so strong that it sends Helen straight back down, on Madeline's stomach, this time. Their laughter is barely containable at this point, when Helen tries again, with more success this time. She guides Madeline all the way up the hill, careful to keep her upright.

Their laughter has essentially died down to fond smiles when they finally reach the top. Now it's Helen's turn to be surprised. The sight she'd seen before turned out to be a picnic blanket placed neatly under a beautiful willow tree, with a basket and everything.

"Madeline— I mean, how? We were together the whole time!" Her gaze drifts over to the woman who is busy supporting her weight before finally getting fully on top and standing triumphantly as though she's just climbed Mount Everest itself.

"Oh, you know that I've got people. They helped me organize this little something." Madeline smiles, genuine, warm.

She's the first to move over and sit down, patting the space beside her, an invitation. Helen accepts it gladly and lets herself drop next to the golden blonde, her tailbone and back protesting. The next second a glass is secured in her hand, a fancy one, at that, and Madeline pulls out a dark bottle with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Helen eyes it, then her, the bottle again and leans back with a smile, "Madeline Ashton and public drinking? I can't believe it. Pinch me, I'm dreaming.

"You call this public?" She gestures, out and far, indeed not a soul around. "No one will know, and you've got to have some fun in life." It's not that Helen was protesting in the first place, because she wasn't. But she caves in too easily, as always.

They clink crystalline glass on crystalline glass once dark red liquid fills them, and sip deliciously, Madeline making sure to save every last drop. Helen feels her cheeks heat up, she knows that Madeline licks her lips with purpose. She laughs when she notices Helen, flushed and staring anywhere else.

They sit, half in silence, half in conversation, birds chirping always pleasantly all around. Madeline's hand tests herself on top of Helen's, only on one finger, then further until it covers it. Eyes meet with certainty, drift back on the city painted far away on top of a light blue canvas. Helen looks further, blinks, squints.

"Hey, you see that?" Madeline's smile falters and drifts to Helen's view.

"See what..?" Helen points with the glass in her hand.

"It kind of looks.. I don't know. The city looks like it lacks detail." Madeline huffs a chuckle.

"It would. Details kind of fade when you go further away. That's like.. the whole thing."

"Yeah but, I mean, it kind of looks like it's.. blending together, you know? And, it looks pretty small from here. Like there's something missing." Madeline leans forward, eyes fixed on Helen.

"That also happens when you get far away from something. Besides, in New York everything sorta blurs together. It's one big thing and you can't say where one building starts and the other ends. Like, I'm sure I'd blend into the background if I ran all the way over there." Her hand points far out into the fields of green surrounding them for miles. "I'll show you." She stands and walks to the hills edge. She shoots a look over her shoulder, a familiar grin, and suddenly she rolls back down the hill.

Helen crawls over in an instant, and sees how Madeline laughs with true enjoyment. She comes to a halt. "This is actually ridiculously fun!" She presses out between giggles, and now Helen gets an idea. The lightbulb is practically visible as it turns on, now, Helen rolls as well. "Carefulll!" She calls in a singing tone, and before Madeline can react, she collides with Helen's rolling form harshly. She's not hurt enough not to laugh, and both set eachother off again.

After a short while, Madeline recalls her initial goal and slips off her shoes, pressing them into Helen's hand. She stares, confused.

"You just watch how I'll blur into the background." Without hearing Helen begin a question, she runs, becoming smaller in the distance. Helen lets her run, curious how long she could go with her stamina, even as a dance professional. She shrinks and shrinks, and truly, the edges do begin to blur. Madeline supports herself with her hands stemmed on her knees, turns back and waves grandly.

"See?" Her voice calls, faint through distance but meaning that she was actually yelling. Helen can just about make out that she turns around, and in a split second decides to run after. She isn't far from Madeline when she tackles her, sending them toward the floor, Helen turning Madeline to land cushioned on top.

The sun begins to set when they let themselves drop on the couch back home, having taken everything back home with them. Madeline doesn't even complain about any possible green stains, Helen has no energy to pay her aching back mind.

Madeline falls into her side naturally, and remains there for a second. They fit together like puzzle pieces. Madeline’s head on Helens shoulder, Helen’s arm on Madeline’s shoulders and her hand on her arm, Madeline’s half front pressed into Helen’s side. Helen wishes eternity to be gracious and let the moment remain for all of its duration.

Of course, it doesn’t last, but just the few seconds longer wash comfort over Helen.

“Hey Hel?” She hums, noncommittal. “I feel like I don’t tell you enough that I love you.” Both seem surprised at the ease with which the words glide off her tongue for no apparent reason. There’s truth in them, however.

“But you tell me all the time. I mean with everything you do for me." Moments when she curls up to her, when they share stories, when she buys the book instead of the necklace.

"Well.. I guess I just wanted to say it again. I love you, Hel." Madeline's tone holds question; demand in it. Expectation, hope. It's sweet, really.

"I love you, Mad." Like warmth to cold hands, relaxation to a sore spot. Putting Madeline back at ease, apparently, her words sink into place and gather meaning. Helen's eyes watch as the sky reflects in display case glass, and she drags Madeline to get a better look out on their balcony.

A warm summer breeze grazes against her skin and settles under it. The sky shines, wanting to be seen, to be noticed. Golden skies blur with red clouds, eventually the two colours swirl and mix in a beautiful combination of light. The redhead and golden blonde watch as it shifts and shapes, glistens and bathes the city in a wonderful evening glow, aware of the fact that it is easy to draw a parallel between the sky and two women in love that shine bright under its surface.

Madeline stares with fondness as she leans on the balcony's edge, mind beginning to drift somewhere else.

"You know, I really loved partaking in this fantasy with you."

"What?"

Her eyes widen a fraction and she turns her gaze upon Helen. Her face falls, sudden, mortified. The reason, Helen cannot spot.

"Helen?"

She calls, as though they are far apart. Her eyes begin to search hers frantically and with a sense of urgency, darting around her face. They drop, snap back up, realise.

"What is it?"

"Helen!" Unease grips her.

"Madeline??"

The blonde darts forward, and Helen sees her reach for her waist. She expects to feel her touch in contact with her own body, but she doesn't feel anything. No touch, no more summer breeze.

Helen looks down and watches, appalled, how her own body begins to fade away, Madeline's hands passing right through her sides.

"What—?!"

"No, no, Helen! Please!" Madeline's voice sounds desperate, tears brimming in her eyes. Helen tries to reach for her face, but her hands cannot get ahold of anything solid. The blonde stares up, doesn't feel. Helen can tell. Madeline tries to latch onto anything, to grab Helen, reach for her. She fails.

"No!" she sobs, "Helen! Please, don't—!"

Everything grows black.

Helen awoke to darkness. Somewhere far away, sirens faded into focus, a voice accompanying it.

A person leaned over her, shaking her. When her eyes slightly adjusted to the darkness, she could make out Ernest, sitting over her, shaking her awake by the shoulders.

His hair was dishevelled, tie loose, face worried.

"Oh god, you're awake! I thought I lost both of you! Come on, come on, we need to go! Do you hear me, Helen?"

The redhead blinked disoriented, a pain coursing through her head. A ringing sounded harshly in her ear, and she tightly shut her eyes.

"Helen, we have to leave! Go, go!"

A panic emitted from him. Helen could no longer follow along to anything. Ernest stood up in a hurry, rushing off to somewhere.

Helen carefully sat up, trying to adjust her eyes further to the darkness enveloping her. Her eyes fell on a thing on the floor first, and her breath hitched.

No.

Oh god no.

Anything but that.

Please.

Before her lay Madeline, limp, motionless at the bottom of the stairs. Limbs twisted. She hadn't moved an inch.

Her hair still fell over her chest, her leg was the wrong way around, her spine shattered.

No no no.

It couldn't be.

Not like this.

Not her.

It wasn’t real. What even was real anymore?

A harsh smell of copper forced itself into her airways, and Helen felt her mouth producing too much saliva too quickly. She tried to pinch herself—even slap herself across the face, but she didn't wake as hoped.

“Ernest, what happened?”

Helen stumbled to her feet, having trouble to comprehend anything with the spinning world around her blurring more than just the edges.

“You pushed Madeline down the stairs after your cat fight, she fell, broke her neck and you passed out. Apparently someone heard and now the police is on their way, so come on, we need to run away together, we don't have time!”

Cold terror settled between her ribs.

Before she knew it the two of them sat in Helen’s car, Ernest driving, Helen dazed in the passenger seat.

Madeline Ashton was dead. She was dead, and would never return again. Screens would be empty without her. Rooms would miss sound and light without her.

Silence dragged on for too long, the sound of the car passing along the road the only thing to fill the quiet. No one remembered for how long they had been driving down dark and empty streets. Each time Ernest heard a siren flare up, he’d swerve into a darker part of the street, turn off the car and wait until the sound faded.

They hadn’t spoken a word since they’d gotten in the car. Both of them were still in too much shock to process anything.

Helen was grateful that Ernest had taken lead in driving. Had she herself sat behind the wheel, she was sure that they would have quickly made acquaintances with walls and ditches.

Oh god, they hadn’t even hidden Madeline. What if there was still evidence left on her? What if she had somehow managed to reveal Helen in her last seconds of life?

They had planned to pack her up and leave her somewhere in the same ditch Helen would have crashed into. Instead they just left her lying there, on the cold marble floor, rotting away all alone.

Not that Helen would have been able to even touch her cold, dead, twisted skin without throwing up, but they’d left her.

Perhaps it was for the better. Helen couldn’t understand why, but she was no longer angry at her. She was no longer happy about the idea of killing—

About the idea of having killed Madeline.

She’d get an actual funeral. She’d get an actual grave. She’d not fall victim to nature taking her in immediately and swallowing her for no one to find.

Helen felt distant.

Thoughts consumed her too much for presence. The killing, death, her body, twisted and wrong, her hallucination of a happy outcome.

The world felt too large and too small at the same time.

Too large, Helen sinking down and losing herself in its vastness, too small, crushing her slowly, dragging the air from her lungs.

She no longer cared for seducing Ernest. If she could, she would have burned her dress that now felt like it exposed too much. She wanted to cover up every bit of her and never wear anything else ever again.

She didn't want him. She wanted—

Something. Someone else. Maybe she wanted the deceased, in her normal, natural state.

Anything but this.

Another hour of driving through the darkness went by in silence. Helen couldn't bear it anymore.

"Where are we going, Ernest?"

"I don't know. Away. Far away where they won't find us. As long as we just drive away from there we'll be alright."

They drove on for another hour until the light of a dingy motel sign illuminated the street.

Ernest sighed, almost in relief, and took the exit to get to it.

Helen didn't feel too comfortable with this idea. The place was in the middle of a dark nowhere, possibly surrounded by fields or forests.

Ernest wasn't the kind of presence you felt safe enough in such a place with.

He was the type of man that threw you to the attackers as an offering instead of protecting the two of you.

Still, she was too tired and out of it to argue with him, getting out of the car and following him to the building.

"Did you even bring your money?"

"I've got my credit card. That should be enough for now."

He locked the car and opened the door, ushering her in first.

At the front desk sat an old brittle lady, looking herself like she was about to fall asleep any second. She jumped up at their presence.

"Oh! Hello, dears. Room for two?"

"Yes, please."

"That's ninety dollars then, dear."

He slid his card along the machine, and she took a key of the wall, handing it over to them.

"Just head outside where you came in and up the stairs to your right."

The two of them thanked her and headed the way she'd instructed them to go.

Helen couldn't tell what it was, but she felt that something was about to happen, something she didn't see herself enjoying too much.

The night's cold air hit them once more, Helen especially with her barely covered chest.

They headed up the stairs, and Ernest unlocked the door of their room way too quickly. He headed inside first, looking for a light switch somewhere.

The light illuminated lime green walls paired with dark brown furniture. One large king sized bed, a small dresser, stood on the opposite wall beneath a mirror, on the left, the bathroom door, in the corner, a tiny table with a singular chair. For the night it would be enough, she supposed.

Ernest shut the door behind them, sighed, and hugged Helen from the back.

"I can't believe we did it. We got rid of her, and now—I mean, we're free!"

Helen's mind suddenly regained all rationality it had lost over the past decade, now that running away was no longer a fantasy, but instead a reality they'd need to learn to live with.

"Ernest, this.. It's wrong. We're leaving behind everything. Our names, your job, you'll have to find something new. And me? I— What are we gonna do?"

His face buried itself into her hair.

"This is your plan, Helen. We'll come up with something. It doesn't matter right now." Ernest's head lay on her shoulder, breath on her neck causing the hairs to stand up. He turned her around, and he pulled her in for a kiss. She didn't refuse him right away, but was the first to pull away. Her face remained close to his, her own eyes pleading for an answer that could make her forget.

"Ernest, we have nothing right now. All your things, your job, any income— we've left it all."

He looked at her with a look she'd never seen pre-Madeline. It didn't suit him.

"None of that matters right now, don't you see, Helen? We're here together. You chose me again, so I'll choose you, and I'll choose to leave everything behind."

That did it. Something in her chest unwhirled, replaced with an expectation. Helen's hands secured themselves roughly in his hair, mouths crashing into eachother.

Ernest's hands wrapped tighter around her waist, moving from time to time, not quite sure where to go.

Helen took the first step of parting her lips, he mirrored her. They stumbled backward in unison, landing on top of the soft mattress, Helen maneuvered on top.

They only shortly broke apart through the fall, immediately back to eachother's lips.

Ernest's hand searched for the zipper of her dress the second she reestablished contact.

He was an easy man.

Helen's hands went to find the buttons of his shirt, undoing the tie that stood in her way of doing so. It didn't take long until she was able to move his shirt out of her way. He himself struggled more. Helen helped him find the zipper, lips still on his, breaking only slightly to take breaths.

Fabrics slipped and were quickly forgotten in corners of the room.

Helen took control, something she had learned over her time with the potion. Her confidence had grown, and it wasn't like Ernest ever was much one for taking the lead. He wasn't cut out for it, and Helen found comfort in control she held.

At some point the two of them switched in position, rolling further into the middle of the bed, Helen still the leading force. She didn't want to admit it, but she wasn't really enjoying the actual act. Apparently a lot of fantasies were more enjoyable than the practice. The most exciting thing was the power she felt that she held while her hands guided him.

She'd had sex with him before, when their relationship had not yet been hijacked by Madeline. Somehow it seemed that he'd gotten worse at it over time.

Then again, that was ten years ago, she couldn't remember all the details. Perhaps back then she was more blinded by the idea of him.

Now it just felt.. Well, unpleasant, or unnecessary. He was better at the whole kissing thing, and Helen mostly took liberty to take the lead. It looked as though Madeline was actually right when she'd said that the bottom half didn't work quite so well anymore.

For god's sake, she had to stop thinking about her. She'd just murdered her, stolen back her husband and was actively sleeping with the same right in this moment to forget about her and get rid of her own guilt.

But she couldn't help but wish to have her back. To think back to her dream, and wish that it was her.

The idea of Madeline was the only thing worth enough to keep her going.

She could pretend that things were different. The only question was, for how long?

She couldn't erase the woman's image from her mind throughout the entirety of their session. First it was just simple things, her hair, her eyes, but soon the image of her took over every part of her mind.

A tear spilled.

Ernest snored soundly on the bed next to her. He had been asleep for a good half an hour. Meanwhile Helen had not closed an eye since the second the lights were turned off.

The one thing she wanted to run away with Ernest for was no longer a good reason.

She had to think of her oldest enemy just to somehow get through sleeping with Ernest, and the second she remembered that it was him she was now stuck with, no more pleasure remained.

Helen had been staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours.

The blanket felt rough against her bare skin.

Hearing him next to her agitated her, and she debated pressing a pillow into his mouth and lodging it in his throat. But other thoughts haunted her.

She killed her.

She killed her, and pretended that she was still alive, with her.

But she'd never come back.

And it was her fault.

She would never see her again, alive and well.

Emptiness suddenly crashed into her. Emptiness and disgust. She snuck away from under the sheets and into the bathroom, where she slid down against the door.

Reality hit her once more, throat closing up with tears. She had to stifle a few sobs to not wake Ernest across the paper thin wall. That was the last thing she wanted. Helen considered that if she were to shower, she could get the sensation of his touch off her, and maybe her tears would go under in the water.

She pushed herself back up, inspecting the tiny corner that called itself shower. Her hand reached for the tab, turning the water on. It was scorching hot, but she hoped that the heat was enough to burn his touch of her skin.

She stepped in, and soon enough, her skin turned red with irritation. She wouldn't have cared if it wasn't slowly staring to get immensely uncomfortable, and she turned the heat back down to icy temperatures instead.

They'd left with absolutely nothing. No new clothes, no bathroom utensils, not even any shampoo or anything of the likes. Instead, she reached for the soap on the sink, using it as a substitute in hopes to feel somewhat cleaner.

Her throat had closed up, her nose began to run. Helen felt the tears like fire in comparison to the ice cold water as they ran down her cheeks. It was difficult to keep herself from making any noise while also struggling to breathe through her nose, having to use her mouth instead.

Once or twice she had to cover her mouth with a hand just so she wouldn't cry out.

This was her new life, and not in the slightest how she'd hoped.

Perhaps it wouldn't be for her reaction if her mind hadn't plagued her with imaginations of a Madeline that lay awake beside her in the bed, hugging her, talking to her, kissing her if she were alive, if they'd never cared much for Ernest.

Maybe she could have lived with it all if she hadn't fainted, if she'd stayed in the moment and made attempts to focus further on planning and keeping ahold of the anger she no longer felt.

Because her mind had reminded her of one thing in the most cruel and painful way possible.

She was in love with Madeline. She always had been. She didn't care for Ernest. Not anymore.

Another wave rushed through her and Helen bent over with the sheer force of the sob that tried to escape her. Tears blurred her vision, and she could feel a headache come on from the strength it took to keep quiet.

She should have thought this through. She should have gotten actual help. She should have never returned. There were many things she should and shouldn't have done, and she could imagine Madeline only agreeing, reminding her that, obviously, she shouldn't have, and that her guilt wasn't validated.

Helen knew it wasn't.

*

She lay back down in bed, dressed only with what she wore beneath her dress. It was the only thing she possessed right now, and the dress itself was too uncomfortable for bed.

Not that her current get up wasn't staring to get uncomfortable, but it was less irritation than a whole dress, and more appropriate than wearing no clothes at all.

She purposely lay down as far from Ernest as she could, staring further holes in the same spot on the ceiling. Sleep never gently dove her into its realm. She drifted in and out of consciousness, her mind's ear filled by Madeline's screams and the image of her terrified face the last thing she saw.

That would be her last memory of Madeline while she was alive, forever. The last thing to go by to identify her features. Her scream the last thing to remember her voice.

She would never be able to bring herself to watch her movies ever again. She had no right to.

She'd killed the person on the screen, and even if it meant a new chance at remembering what her face looked like or what her voice sounded like uttering gentle words, she did not deserve that tone from her.

Helen was glad that at least Ernest had had the decency to slip his boxers back on earlier when he shuffled closer. She debated for an honest second if she should just roll a little bit further and sleep on the floor tonight. But her back, aching for a soft  surface denied her.

First thing tomorrow, they'd submit an application to change their names, Ernest said. She'd have to think of a name to pick. Whatever she'd decide on, she made it clear to herself that she would not share a surname with Ernest. If she could, she would have rather dumped him. But right now, she still needed him.

The tv that hung in the corner blurred into background noise, just like the chatter from fellow guests around them did in the breakfast hall. Helen and Ernest were hurrying. By the nasty look the lady had given them in the morning, they could tell, cheeks red, that they were heard yesterday.

Then, like an alarm that refused to be turned off, "Yesterday evening, actress Madeline Ashton has been found dead in her home, at the  foot of her stairs, with several broken bones and harsh injuries. Evidence leads to believe that Ashton has taken a deadly tumble down the stairs. Whether or whether not this was a simple fall, or a murder, however, is yet to be discovered. Ashton's spouse has not been found anywhere near the premises, and has been missing since yesterday afternoon."

That was enough. They looked at eachother, Helen stood, and stormed out of the room.

Trees rushed by in the distance, mist set over them like a hazy cloud that revealed nothing of what lay behind, only vague outlines and a bright surrounding.

And just like the fog, silence settled over the entire area, the surrounding forest, the street and even the car's interior.

Helen sat, once more, in the passenger seat, thoughts far adrift in a world that tried to consume her with all its force. Neither her, or Ernest exchanged any words. The most they had spoken was this morning—when they woke up with a great distance between their bodies, Ernest on the floor—or later when they had gone to change their names.

Neither of them had thought of the fact that it would take longer than just five quick minutes, and both had forgotten the background check. While not having committed any crimes before, Ernest and Helen had made the great decision to run without hiding Madeline, which did now most likely raise suspicion due to her husband being nowhere to be found as said, and now requesting a name change.

While not knowing wether they'd be able to go through with it, both knew that perhaps it would have been better if only Helen had made the request, seeing as not many knew of her and Madeline's relation.

There was one point in their ride back in which Ernest tried initiating conversation, though ultimately remaining silent as he could sense that Helen was not fully present beside him and listening only half heartedly.

Her dress clung too tight. She was happy to throw it and burn it the second she got 'home' to pick up what she needed.

They were returning to collect whatever was essential to them, Helen having convinced him that they did need a few things, and then they'd run off, somewhere far where no one would ever look for them again.

Ernest could have pretend that he’d been out on a business trip, and only returned home now, but there was no alibi, and quite frankly, he wasn't much of an actor, either.

The second the hotel door closed behind her, Helen let herself drop against it. Tiredness washed over her with force, and all she wanted was to crawl into her bedsheets and disappear forever. Her limbs felt weak. She’d never properly slept the last night, only receiving fragments of it. Not enough to refresh her.

She pushed herself away from the wood, dress slipping off first thing. She threw it into a far corner and instead slipped into a sweatshirt and soft pants. Helen took the travel bag she possessed, and threw most things of her’s inside.

Clothes that were enough for a week; she’d have to repeat them, not knowing for how long they’d be without proper housing; her notebook and charger, phone, bathroom utensils.

A tiny plush mouse stared at her from beneath a pillow. It looked so sad, which it never did before. She couldn’t take it with her. She couldn’t. It was a gift from Madeline. She’d said it reminded her of Helen, because she was always so ‘mousy’. She’d hugged it tight each day since it had been given to her, even in the ment—

The health spa.

She deserved nothing of Madeline’s. Not her forgiveness, not her voice, not the mouse. But she couldn’t just leave it. It looked at her like it knew, and like it forgave.

A murderer did not deserve forgiveness.

She left the room and gathered the rest of her things.

When she was done, Helen let herself collapse on her bed, face buried in the blanket. The darkness enveloped her gently, and she felt a tug at her consciousness. Helen ignored it, and before she knew it, she slipped under.

A lack of light spread around and through her, thoughts were drowned out and time skipped by.

“Helen.”

“Helen.”

“Helen!”

Helen awoke to a deafeningly loud knocking. She scanned the area around her, disoriented.

The hands on the clock showed six past eleven. She'd slept in for ten minutes without even realising. Helen stemmed herself up with much effort. She could guess who was at her door, abusing the wood like there was no tomorrow.

She slipped her sleeping pills into her bag, acknowledging that she'd need them if she ever wanted to sleep properly again.

She stood, and the head of a tiny grey being peeked from her bag curiously, gladly. Something told her she had to bring it. That feeling towered over the guilt and certainty of not deserving it. She couldn't leave that part of Madeline behind.

She opened the door to a still disheveled Ernest, in different clothes this time.

"Oh thank god. I thought you'd never answer. Come on. Are you ready? Got everything?"

She wasn't ready. She would never be ready for this. Not after everything. Not even before everything. This was a path that had backfired immensely. Helen nodded.

"Ernest.." Her voice died the second she spoke. "I'm scared."

"So am I. But we don't have to be. We have eachother."

He didn't get it. She wasn't scared of running away. Or, well, she was, but it wasn’t her point.

She was scared. Scared of the person she'd become without Madeline. Scared of her absence. That, much more than getting caught and serving the time they deserved.

"Helen," he took her by the hands. She nearly flinched. "Don't worry. We have a plan."

Do we?

"We'll run away, far far away, and we'll build a new life. I'll get someone to change our passports, our driver's license—everything. I know people, they won't question. They've done it with age for Madeline—" This time, Helen did flinch, "—before to make her feel younger, they'll do names too."

That was no reassurance. She didn't care. For all she cared they could lock them up, kill them— didn't matter. Even that wouldn't bring justice to her. If they could change official documents but couldn't bring her back, she didn't give a damn.

*

Helen lost track of hours and amounts of times they stopped at gas stations to either use them for their intended purpose or just to get snacks.

Buildings, cities, states passed by, and no sign of Ernest wanting to stop. They'd driven on and on, through so many places, and yet Helen still felt like they didn't move at all.

After what must have been at least five hours, Helen excused herself in a parking lot with one of those disgusting public toilets into the back seat of the car, claiming she was tired and needed a bit more of a lay down. She had to insist that just reclining the seat wouldn't do the same trick. That, and she didn't want him to get any stupid ideas.

Alright, fine, maybe she also wanted to get as far away from him as she could without being hopelessly abandoned in the middle of a highway. Big deal.

Helen sat behind her original seat and flung her legs onto the other two backseats, head leaning against the window. It shook and rattled behind her, but she was sadly certain that this time, it wasn't her being shaken awake out of a horrible dream.

A woman could wish, though.

The seat belt wanted to cut her throat, she was certain. But if she were to be entirely honest, she would have let it. What did it matter, anyway? If she died from a seatbelt that slit her throat—

Images of a twisted neck cut her mind off. She instantly felt incredibly sick down to her stomach, guts turning and rearranging in ways they weren't supposed to. It took a lot of controlled breathing for her to calm back down enough that she could keep her contents inside. Ernest, of course, noticed nothing.

Helen tried lying comfortable against the window, which unsurprisingly, ended unsuccessful. Still, she could feel herself slip, and soon she was under again.

A kind of sleep that felt like it was just a blink, leaving you no less exhausted.

A yell echoes through the hollow of Helen's head and leaks somewhere into her heart, tearing out a piece and leaving it to rot.

Helen woke to darkness and cold. Her head rattled violently, something pressed against her throat, sounds of cars passed her by.

Out the window opposite her, she could faintly see traces of a highway, and to the right sat Ernest, his hands clamped as tightly to the wheel as though it had tried to escape from him. "How long did I sleep..?" Her head felt heavy on her neck, sleep still called for her to give in.

"It's been about four hours." Helen blinked.

"You're still driving?! By now we have to be in Utah, or something!"

"Well, you were sleeping. What was I gonna do, put you on the steering wheel and hope for the best? Besides, we have to get far away. And I mean, far."

"Ernest, when will we stop?" Her voice sounded weak, leaving her to feel embarrassed. She was drained already, and they'd barely begun their new hell of life.

He blinked into his rearview mirror, at her, for just a split second. Helen shrank. "Helen, far means something like the other end of the country. As long as it's away, it's good."

But his eyes were tired. His hands trembled on the wheel enough for Helen to see. By the way he tilted them, she could see that his legs were starting to cramp up. She sighed and dove head first into an argument she knew she could win. She was right, eventually being able to convince Ernest of at least stopping somewhere and taking a break.

The two pushed down the backseat's head rests into the trunk, creating a somewhat comfortable lying space. The baggage in the trunk was moved to the front seats as not to be crushed, the two taking the pillows they'd brought and lying down on the leather.  Helen wished they were further apart.

In the night, Helen dreamt of darkness. Darkness, a scream, sound of cracks. Thunder rolling overhead, shining light on all that was supposed to be veiled. Hands latch on to her arms and pull at her, asking, 'why? Why??' When Helen awoke in cold sweat, Ernest still slept beside her, darkness was still an all surrounding force.

They've been driving for a week. On, always on, relying less on sleep, on. Helen had started to carefully take over for Ernest sometimes, hands steady enough to drive in a straight line. Her mind still wandered from time to time, causing slight swerving, which woke a sleeping Ernest.

The two of them had been relying on gas-station-bought snacks and fast food from drive ins. Helen craved something real, something normal. And even with him having married a multi-millionaire, she didn't know how long that money would last without him working.

*

Her funeral was that morning. Helen couldn't stop herself from watching the celebrity live feed she knew Madeline wanted at her funeral, to feel as important as the queen herself. Helen had argued that, 'Mad, you won't feel anything when you're dead,' which she now wished she could take back.

It sickened her. It was an open casket funeral, another of her wishes. Helen didn't want to look. But the camera didn't grant her any less guilt than she knew she deserved, panning right over it.

They'd twisted her head back in place, but even under layers of makeup, the scars of twisted skin were lingering. Deep they went, revealing just how brutal her fall had been. It wasn't visible to any other eye, but Helen saw shadows of her own hands against Madeline's chest where she'd pushed her.

Her legs were back in proportion, covered up with a black mourning dress. Even her spine seemed back in somewhat proper shape.

Madeline smiled. To anyone else it would have looked peaceful. Helen didn't know this expression. It made her even sicker. Her face was unnaturally make upped, her skin tone off. Too bright, too yellow. Her head of hair had lost its glow and was now more of a shimmering greyish colour.

The twists around her neck made themselves more prominent, until the whole image of Madeline, twisted, broken, dead lay before Helen's eyes. She dropped the phone, scurrying to pick it back up. Nothing, Madeline looked as wrong as before. It was uncanny. Helen couldn't bear the sight anymore.

*

She was trying not to picture his body's weight on her still, but the thought was intrusive. Wouldn't leave her. She still felt his chest press to hers, his hands at her side, air from whispers scraping against her ear. He was lying beside her for ten minutes already at least, and still, the discomfort of him wanted to remain.

She felt bad. He honestly thought she loved him. She hated that she let him believe. And she felt bad about her own feelings. It wasn't like she was denying him her kiss, her touch, their intimacy, and he was doing it anyway. No, she let him. Initiated it, even. But the more it happened, the less she began to want it. To like it.

His phantom weight was a burden, not a comfort after. He didn't even seem to care for her, after. Her back ached from the hard seat surface. She felt awful.

His hand lingered too close to her. His breaths, still awake, were screeching static in her ears.

She stared at the car ceiling.

"That was surprisingly nice." He looked over to her. She didn't move her eyes away, or even utter a reply. When she still didn't reply after multiple attempts, Ernest shut his mouth.

Helen stared without blinking, eyes glazed over. Her mind was elsewhere, she herself not being sure where exactly that was. She didn't know how much time passed before Ernest slept in.

She felt so lost and out of place in the parking lot, far off somewhere in the middle of fields, lying bare underneath a makeshift blanket of coats.

She eventually snapped back into her body, when once more everything came crashing down. Especially today was persistent. They specifically had to have sex on the day of her funeral. A funeral she'd watched from afar, one she'd promised to be at thirty years ago, one of which she was the cause.

She didn't think Ernest even felt shame. God, he really was horrible the more she thought about it. Finally deciding that sleep would not be a possibility without her sleeping pills, she began rummaging for just those. It took a good five minutes until she finally found them. She had to swallow them dry, they had no more water for the day left in the plastic bottles.

It stuck to her tongue for just a second, and Helen thought she might gag. She stared back up at the car ceiling, and darkness ripped her away.

Her eyes open slowly. They blink in the sunlight, before they realise—they're seeing sunlight. Shining on a bright white ceiling. She feels soft beneath her, and for once, she's incredibly awake.

She sits up, and her eyes fall on a huddled up figure in a far corner. A figure that is transparent, fading even. It notices a shift and lifts its head.

Madeline stares at her with wide eyes. Helen stares back. The blonde springs up and kneels at the side of the bed. "Helen! Oh my god, you're back!"

Helen raises an eyebrow. Madeline is panicked. Terrified. She grabs onto Helen's hand as tightly as she can, and a hard shiver, cold like stone, spreads through her body and into her bones.

"—Awake! I meant you're awake! Not— not back, I mean you weren't gone or.. anything.."

No, she's dreaming. There's no other way this could be. She watched the funeral, saw her, looked at her, and now she's right back to torment her dreams. No no, she isn't. This isn't her fault. It's her conscience.

She’s dreaming, her mind would never let her let go of this, it would go on torturing her for eternity. She needs to—

"Okay fine, I won't lie. But Helen, please, whatever you do, you can't wake up!" Helen's brow raises further. Dreams don't let you know that you aren't awake. They often turn and try to gaslight you, or tell you that you aren't supposed to know. Which, is in fairness what Madeline did before. But she's retracting her lie. Helen can't deal with this, with the pain of seeing her.

Her pulse rushes. Madeline is dead. Madeline is dead, and hates her, and is pleading for her not to wake up.

She's terrified. Guilt comes back like a boomerang and secures itself in her heart. She can't look at Madeline further.

"I need you to listen to me, Helen. Whatever you do, please try to stay asleep, you hear me? Don't. Wake. Up."

Helen almost drops her hand, but she can't. Madeline is asking something of her, and she isn't mad, and she isn't dead. She's alive, terrified and begging for her life.

"Promise me."

"You aren't real. This isn't— I can't stay." Words hide from her. She doesn't know how to process this, and her attempt at waking up is denied. Damn sleeping pills.

"Helen!" A hand at her arm, freezing.

"Jesus, Mad, you're stone cold!"

"I'm dead." That catches her attention, curiosity and presentiment a swirling mess in her stomach. "Which is why I need to talk to you, and I need you to listen to me. Please. Grant a dead woman this one wish. Don't wake up."

Helen shivers, from the cold, her genuine tone or that certain look only she ever had, she couldn't say. She can't take this from her, too. "I took sleeping pills. Won't be waking up any time soon." Is all she can utter. Madeline nods, like relief softens her edges.

The blonde before her regains her colour slowly, transparency fading. She seems to notice, too, and sighs.

"So.. How do I frame this.." She begins and lets go of Helen. Surprisingly, the latter feels colder, now. Madeline looks so real, as she gets up and paces circles, a genuine look of contemplation on her face. "Helen," She pauses, faces her, "I disappear when you're gone."

"That's what dreams tend to do."

"But I'm not— I'm here, Helen. I'm still dead, except that I'm not, but I am because I started fading when you were gone. I was, really. You were fading, and then you were gone, and then I was starting to fade too, but slower. You were waking up, and I was about to go— I don't know where. Somewhere dark. I was almost fully gone, just now."

Helen scoffs at her own conscience. It just had to make her feel worse than she already did about everything.

"Hey, listen, I'm not trying to make you feel worse, I already forgive you for pushing me."

They reminder makes her pull into herself.

"This is just cruel." she whispers to her own self, trying to get through to it and stop her dream.

"Would you rather that I tell you that I won't ever forgive you? That I remind you of it endlessly? Is that less cruel? Or is it because you think you're dreaming me up? I'm not a dream, Helen, which is hard to believe but for a second you have to!"

"Then how do you know what I'm thinking?"

"Because you're keeping me alive with—and I'm trapped in—your mind! I'm still here because you're thinking about me, and I fade when you aren't. but look at me. Properly look at me. I know that you know every detail, and if you want to check, go ahead, all here. But could a dream do this?"

Madeline touches her arm, cold, shiver inducing.

"Could a dream do that?" Her hand on her shoulder. Helen feels. Her hand on her face, Helen feels every tiny motion her fingers make. Her eyes water.

Madeline notices and shrinks back.

"Are— are you crying?"

"How. How could this.. Please. I'm still mourning, even if I don't have the right. Don't torture me further. Mad, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't— How can you even forgive me? I'm just—" She chokes up. Madeline watches her arm flicker in the corner of her eye.

"No no no, Helen, come on. I just forgive you, everything's alright!"

"You're not.. It's not—! What are you playing at?" Madeline, who had just planned to dive into a hug, stops, steps back.

"What do you want? What— I mean, what exactly is the plan here, then? Keeping me in my mind forever? Making me feel worse? Living out this— This fantasy and pretend that none of that ever happened?"

Madeline looks hurt. Helen feels regret, but won't take back her words. "We can't just pretend that this is real."

The blonde sits next to her, keeps her distance, holds her silence for a few seconds. "No, we can't. And that's not what I want." She sighs, deep, tired. Helen doesn't dare look over.

"And I don't want to trap you here, either. I know you've got a life."

"You call that a life?"

"The point," she inhales sharply, "Helen, is that I haven't. My life is literally in your hands, again. And.." Her voice takes a turn. It's scared. "I'm not ready to let go." Silence passes between them. The truth is, neither is ready. It's debatable who this death hits— or apparently would hit harder. The full loss.

"Then what do you want me to do, Madeline?"

"I know that we can't say that things are fine. And while you can't bring me back to life, and I don't want to hold you hostage here, I want to ask you to show up, in the night. Don't let me fade yet."

Helen was already exhausted, however. Thinking about her during the daytime was hard enough, but to come here, night after night and live out a fantasy that could no longer be true was worse. However, knowing, or, well, believing for now, that Madeline was here and a part of her still existed, she couldn't let her disappear yet.

"I know what you're thinking—"

"I know that you do."

"But while we can't even pretend that this is real, we can still try to enjoy this world, Everything's possible here."

"You mean like, that you're real?"

"That we're real."

We. Not her, not this.

"With we, you mean.."

Her look is enough to confirm any suspicions. Helen hates that she wants to agree. She doesn't. She really— They didn't—

Unless.. But there was an issue. Well, many really, but, "Mad, I'm with Ernest, now. I mean I can't—"

"Can't you do this for me, Helen? We can let everything behind us. Forget everything. Be here, and now. You've stolen him from me, and before him I've stolen everyone from you. Just this once, let me steal you."

Helen debates. Long, silent. She knows that dream could never replace reality. But she needs it to. She agrees with a heavy heart, at least for the day. The two spend the day awkwardly holding conversation, never quite enough at ease.

*

"Your funeral was today, did you know?"

"Unfortunately. My senses are still bound to my body" 

Both are settled on the floor, backs to the bedside. The sun hasn't drifted an inch from its original morning position, as there is no need to pretend that time passes normally, and this is what bathes the whole room in the prettiest of colours. Their shoulders nearly touch, and maybe, if Madeline scooted just a little closer and stayed there, maybe she could warm up.

"I can feel it all, and it's.. It's.." Her hand searches for anything to grab onto, Helen notices that it's, ironically, restless. The redhead offers her hand to hold, Madeline takes the invitations to hold it, tap on it, squeeze it tight once. Her shiver, still as ice cold as before, begins to bother Helen less.

"It's cold, so cold, and crammy, the dress is so scratchy, there's a bit of dirt falling through the hinges and trickling on my arm and—" Madeline doesn't realise that her free hand travels to her collarbone, her neck, and brushes skin— She gasps, sudden, horrified and her hand draws back hastily.

She stands in one swift motion. So does Helen, holding her by freezing arms so she wouldn't run off to wherever.

"Oh my god I'm dead, Hel."

Her voice is small and incredulous. "I'm dead..!"

Eyes like sapphires begin to water, which causes their emerald counterparts to do the same.

Helen decides in a split second and pulls Madeline fully into her arms, for once feeling that the slightest degree of warmth radiates from the body infront of her.

*

Eventually, Helen begins to fade, and both know what it means. This time, they accept it.

"Promise me that I'll see you again. Tomorrow. You won't let me disappear?"

Helen promises with the feeling of a weight on her chest, and fully fades away in Madeline's embrace.

She held onto the seatbelt so tight that her knuckles turned white, and she thought that the belt was about to rip in her grasp.

Ernest swerved, left, right, left, right, anything to avoid the earlier police car catching on. They'd been at their daily drive-through when a cop pulled up behind them in the lane, and Ernest was certain that they'd seen him. He was out of the area faster than Helen could thank the worker, and drove down each exit to 'lose them', which he'd completed since they had left the lane.

Two weeks of driving and hiding had him more on edge than ever. He startled at every single thing, sped up at just the sight of a blue light, parked the car in dark allies overnight.

Meanwhile Helen became more and more worn out with each day. She was so tired of living in a car for two straight weeks that she was on a constant verge of crying. They'd use public toilets, eat food they'd never made by themselves, hadn't showered in all that time (not that Helen needed it with the potion, still, just to feel cleaner it helped, and Ernest certainly needed one), and while it was nice to pretend with the Madeline in her head, each morning she woke up feeling worse and worse than the day before. They were always on the move.

Ernest and her had grown less and less passionate, too, which would not have been a problem, if that meant they no longer slept together or kissed at all. Yet they did. They were simply close to a limit that inched nearer each day, causing a lack of feeling. Helen had even stopped faking her reactions, not having the energy to. She couldn't bother to think of what Ernest might think of that fact, that he could feel like he was doing something wrong. All the while she was the one sort of cheating on him.

She lived so much in her dreams that it never felt like she'd slept. If it weren't for the potion, her eyebags would probably sink into her skull by now. She was never quite awake, not in reality, where it mattered. It came to a point where Ernest forbade her from touching the steering wheel.

Worst of all, her sleeping pills had run out, and she was starting to wonder if antidepressants would have to join the prescription.

That night she lay wide awake, as did Ernest. Multiple police cars had made their rounds for multiple hours, the sirens and light never fully seemed to fade away. Neither Helen or Ernest closed an eye, that night. It was too cold to sleep, anyway.

Another siren wailed up, and Helen instinctively cuddled up to the man beside her, trying to hide using him as cover. He didn't get that, of course, enclosing her in his arms, trying to stay as low as possible.

Helen's and Madeline's fantasy was far from what they wanted it to be. Helen's tiredness, not in general, but of her current life, was leaking into dream worlds, and soon there was little sunshine and rainbows left in a world made only for them. Madeline understood that they could no longer pretend, go on the way they did. Madeline used to greet Helen with a hug, and they'd talk like both of them were real people. Now, her and Helen's talks turned deep, Helen on about the horrifying life of being on the run, Madeline about her past, because her present exists only with Helen alone.

It was a surprise to Helen how every night she returned to the same exact dream, as if Madeline had genuinely latched herself onto Helen's soul and was now taking up most of it.

The women are sitting in the middle of a clearing, deep green trees surrounding them left and right while birds chirp somewhere far away. Sun glistens over their faces, warm and sweet, as a river flows and drips in the surrounding area. They sat side by side for multiple minutes without uttering a single word, only listening to a though up landscape.

Helen's mind drifts, to her weeks, her fears, to Mad; Her earthly form. Her mind flashes back to that night, thunder rumbling and singing a song of despair in company with Madeline's voice. She thinks of her fall, what she looked like after—

"Please, don't think about it." She looks over to the woman beside her, who now sits in shape of her broken earthly counterpart, gazing absently into the distance. "If you think about it you make it real here." Helen sees her eyes glaze over, and tries to think of anything else.

A butterfly lands on her hand, wings shimmering colourfully in the sun, but when she tries to get a closer look, its image fades away.

Bright sunlight enclosed Helen as she passed down a street empty enough for nobody to spot her. Technically seen, no one was looking for her in particular. It wasn't like she knew anyone that actually cared enough about her to report her missing. Ernest was the one who was known as 'Ashton's husband' that mysteriously went missing after the death of his wife. Still, it was always good to be careful.

She walked down the streets until she found her destination of desire; the pharmacy that advertised itself largely stood like a beacon of hope before her. She entered, hood around her head pulled tighter, sunglasses being shoved right back up until the frame touched the curve of her brow.

The pharmacist greeted her with a warm smile. "How may I help you, Ma'am?"

"Hello," Her voice sounded higher, whether that was from nervosity or an intentional choice to change her voice, even Helen wasn't sure, "I was hoping to get some sleep medication? Preferably one that," she paused for a second, testing the words on her tongue before they spilled, "Reduces dreams." Guilt simply seeped from her. If Madeline ever found out, well. She didn't even want to take a guess at her reaction.

Truth still had a way to wrap its vines around her skin and drag her down until she understood. Going there, seeing her, it was a tiring experience that burned her out from the inside.

The woman behind the counter suggested a name and slipped a box from behind her over the table. "I'll just have to see some ID."

Her heart stopped. ID. Fuck. Not only did she not have it on her, she was indirectly being searched for murder charges, had a medically not very appealing background and had released a book, thrown a book party with the greatest glow up know to humanity and disappeared right after, never to be seen again. To think about it, Helen probably didn't even look like her ID picture after the potion, anymore. ShitShitShit.

Her stomach churned. She had to come up with something, quick. Her eyes drifted to the furthest shelf and looked for any name.

"Actually, I just realized, I also need some.. Ick— Ixe—" Jesus Christ, who the hell was coming up with these names? She managed to bring out a sound that remotely sounded like it could have anything to do with medicine and hoped that whatever word she'd just given from her wasn't an insult in another language.

"Of course, right away." She began to walk off, but turned, "I'm really sorry."

Now Helen worried what the hell condition she just told this woman she had. But it didn't matter, she needed to be quick. Helen reached for the box on the table and stormed out of the building, back to the ally her and Ernest had parked in. Her pulse rushed deafeningly in her ears as she discarded the glasses and threw down her hood, hiding in the car's back foot room.

Ernest, who before had been busy eating store bought yoghurt almost dropped his cup with surprise.

"Helen, what the—"

"We need new IDs. New identities— everything. I just stole from a pharmacy."

He turned around in his seat, glancing first back, then down to spot her. There she lay, pressed into the gap as much as was possible, cradling a box of sleeping medication. She wasn't looking at him; if she had, he might have been able to discern that lack of sleep wasn't her only reason for the pills.

He would have scoffed at her position if he didn't currently feel like hiding himself, aware of the depth of their situation.

"And we need to get out of town before we get a reputation." He sighed before he spoke again,"Sit up, I'll bring us to the right people."

*

They paused at a highway restaurant mid-way, sun already setting. The sky glowed golden overhead of them, and Helen had second thoughts with the pills. Madeline basically seemed to call for her from another world entirely. But Helen let her speak into voicemail tonight.

She knew that this was simply a matter of nature rather than a dead blonde with narcissism issues rearranging the sky for her murderous lover, still, the thought was somewhat sweet. She swallowed her pills, and after a few minutes, the world grew dark, soft around rough edges. Her night remained black.

A voice calls, but she does not answer. The longer she ignores it, the more it fades into static and finally to silence. Helen sleeps well through the night.

*

Helen was awake, in reality, properly the first time in two whole weeks. She was focused, determined. Feeling depressed, of course, not even nightly Madeline visits could fix that. Her death still lingered. It didn't matter whether or whether not a fragment of Madeline was still alive in her mind, the rest of her was dead. Helen was starting to grow sure that really, all of her was.

She was too much in shock of her own actions, what her own hands had done, and so she had been dreaming up, for a week straight, that by some unexplicable possibility a fragment of Madeline's soul had clung to Helen's unconscious form in a desperate attempt to keep part of her alive. That's what she was sure of, now.

It sounded ridiculous, really, when she ran it over in her mind. The idea of a youth potion must have set other impossible ideas into her head. 

Helen shook off any off her thoughts as her hands ran over the rough surface of her flat key, the motion soothing enough to momentarily ground her mind and body. They had driven to New York as to get new identities, essentially, so that they could change their IDs, passports etc. Ernest was out doing whatever needed to be done for such an (illegal) process, and quite frankly, Helen didn't want to be even more involved in this.

She'd decided to instead take the opportunity to continue life, just for a second, in a real housing space. Her old home. The one that had seen her in every state, whether angry, sad, peaceful or crazy broken.

It'd seen Bobby, Kevin, hell, even Scott, Ernest and, well, Mad. Her more than anyone. Her, too, in every state. Before it, during it, even after when she'd start pleading and begging Helen to forgive her, using any other words than sorry. She knew she never needed to, she was well aware of how depended Helen was on her. She knew that no matter what she'd done, Helen wouldn't even speak a word and would always crawl back, because honestly, who else was there to return to?

The flat had outlived every one of them, was what she thought, before remembering with a sting that Ernest was very well still in her life. To be fair, not exactly still, rather yet again.

This was where she realised that she honestly didn't really want him in this space again. Even more honestly, she just wanted to be fully alone. See not a soul, keep to herself, pull into herself and be her own company. The thought did confuse her too, as usually she couldn't stand being alone.

She figured that her current company that she has been stuck skin to skin—sometimes literally—with was the cause, or simply not exactly the kind if person she wanted to be around at the moment.

Maybe she'd tell him to go spend the night in a hotel, or let him fall asleep in the car—Helen recalled that he didn't really have a home of his own, as that was currently considered a possible crime scene.

In all honesty, she hadn't even payed attention if there was any inspection in the case whatsoever. Surely they were at least looking for Ernest, whether he was a suspect however, she had no idea. She didn't even want to know.

But as Madeline's spouse, there had to be some speculation as to where he was.

In a way, it was astonishing how each of Helen's thoughts would eventually tie back to one single memory.

Madeline.

So, she tried not thinking at all. She'd been stood infront of her door for atleast five minutes now anyway, and the feeling of the key's teeth being dragged over her skin let her focus again. She slid the metal piece into its rightful place in the lock and turned.

She had to do two whole turn arounds for the door to click, and—

Right. The door always jammed on the first try. Looks like her landlord still hadn't made the effort to fix it. It had gotten to a point where there were indentations in her floorboards by how the door dragged along it. She smiled. God, this was just like coming home.

Well, how it was meant to be. She pushed the door with a little more force, but it still didn't budge. She placed her whole body's weight against the door, and pushed. This time, the door dragged open, painfully over her floorboards. Now, though, she didn't mind.

Her own smell hit her, and she almost teared up. It was weird, when you came back into your own home after a much too long while, and noticed just what scent your home actually had. She'd been in it for so long to a point where she wasn't even sure that it had a signature smell, yet here it was, hitting her as years of her life coming rushing back.

Even the size of it all didn't bother her anymore. As long as it was bigger than a car's interior, she was happy.

Helen pushed herself against the pine wood door with all her might and closed it from the inside. One day she'd have to fix it, but now wasn't the time.

She let it all affect her for a second longer, before she walked over to her tiny couch and let herself sink into its soft fabric. The redhead let it swallow her up, the space already sunken in where she usually sat. It was her special place, essentially, as all the other, lesser used cushions were harder to the touch and so, less comfortable. This was where she often sat down to write her stories, or empty out a wine bottle if it was one of the worse days. She could really do with that right now.

Her eyes inspected the whole room, still just as she had left it before her journey. She didn't know what to expect, but the wall with her and Madeline's pictures hadn't magically restored itself after she'd taken it down. To a certain extent she was glad that guilt wasn't the first thing greeting her at home, nevertheless she was still thinking about it, so really, what would it have mattered?

Helen took her sweet time to get used to her place again, watching how light filtered off her walls and dipped everything into a nice warm colour. She let the feeling of warmth sink in as she walked through the rooms, and settled on her bed. It used to be their bed, but that fact she ignored. Maybe she could convince him to sleep on the couch.

It took another week for their new identities to be ready and in form, just in time for police to discover pictures of Helen and Madeline at the latter's mansion and got the great idea to visit the woman whose face was registered in the pictures.

Helen was drinking up the rest of her coffee when they knocked on the door. She looked to Ernest, who was in the middle of slurping out the milk of his cereal bowl and to the door.

Helen stood, tentatively, sneaking her way over to the door of her flat, looking out of the peephole. The word 'Police' was the first thing that stood out and anchored her to the floor. She grew pale.

Ernest joined her at the front, looking out the door himself. Helen's appearance shifted on to his features, and he dragged Helen backward, slowly.

"We need to get out."  He whispered. The woman nodded slowly.

"Fire exit."

She choked out under her breath. They snuck to a window at the far end of the apartment, opened it up and stepped out onto the stairs outside, closing the window behind them. Soon they were into her car, and back on the road.

The withdrawal of Helen's dreams was beginning to feel like that of a drug. At first it was no problem, refreshing even, but it was beginning to nag at her to the point where she could no longer ignore the pull.

She'd awoken with that gray stuffed mouse near her more than once, even though she'd always stuffed it back inside her bag the night before. This time, as Ernest had finally agreed on going into a hotel, she awoke in the night with it right on top of her in the bed.

Helen couldn't do this anymore. She slept back in without any help of pills and let herself dream.

The apartment is dark, cold seeps into her. The light has gone and only the light of the moon glistens over her.

Helen opens her eyes to what usually was their own little paradise and now feels deeply empty. It's silent, a clock ticking overtaking any sort of sound.

She looks around and finds herself alone. Madeline isn't in the same room, she can't even hear her as she would usually. She stands, and looks around in every little corner to find the reason she came here, so far unsuccessful. That's when she spots a flicker on the balcony.

Her gaze floats over, and barely visible, a shape sits on a chair, looking far out into the distance. It's only barely an outline by now, hard to look at.

Helen tiptoes over and opens the door; the figure starts.

"Where have you been?!" She yells, shooting up from her seat. "You promise me forever, and then you just leave one day and never come back?!" She steps closer, Helen barely makes it out by the way the air shifts around her. "Sleeping pills that reduce dreams.. just say that you want me fully dead already! What were you thinking?? You can't just let me die like that!"

Helen steps back, Madeline follows.

"Do you think this is up for you to decide?? This is my life we're talking about, and you shouldn't have any control over it!"

Helen tries to find her voice. "Well, but I do. And I don't want to. I don't want to do this anymore, Mad, I just can't. I need a few nights where I can rest. I don't want to carry responsibility over your life, especially after you've already died!"

Madeline shrinks back.

"Helen— that—" Her voice is small. Too small. It's manipulation.

"Please—"

And Helen falls for it. She stops breathing and slings her arms around the other, who slowly begins regaining colour and shape.

"Just a little longer, Hel. Just let me live a little longer."

Her sweet, pleading, breathy voice immediately dips the redhead back into naivety.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Mad. I don't know what I was thinking."

"Me either. I mean, you wouldn't just let me die, that would basically mean that you've killed me twice."

Helen plunges further. She hugs her tighter and Madeline knows with a heavy soul that her words are doing exactly what she wants them to.

She's wrapping Helen in a guilt that will help her selfish cause. For the first time in her 'life', she feels guilty about it. But Madeline is only fighting her own absence.

"Don't let me die."

She pulls back and kisses Helen, who stumbles back. Her skin buzzes with guilt and surprise, so much so that she doesn't notice Madeline steering her to the bedroom.

Madeline's hand slips, down and to her waistband. Helen breaks them apart.

"Mad—" her voice is too hoarse for her taste, "we can't, it isn't real."

"You've never cared about that before."

Helen folds when Madeline dives back into her with her cold dead lips.

After a month Helen still didn't have her life figured out. She felt terrible without Madeline, with Madeline, during day and during dream. It wasn't helping that she was slowly forgetting Madeline's face, her dream reflecting just that. She was losing detail. Madeline had asked her to rewatch one of her movies so she could refresh the image, but Helen refused. The dreams were bad enough.

She felt held back from life, and living in hotels still didn't gain as much appeal as a real home might have.

They had their new IDs, now that Helen, too, was actively on the run; she'd gotten back into writing, especially about guilt and grieving, and attempted to get a new job. Helen Sharp still posted cut outs from texts she wrote, and continued writing a new book as a ghost, bodily form left somewhere no one knew, while a new name lived her life.

She never identified that name with herself, not really. It was but a role she had to play.

Helen and Ernest were also located in Paris now, making failing attempts at learning the language well enough for life.

He called it romantic, she didn't really care anymore. The whole 'spread me like bree' thing had lost its appeal long ago.

She knew the day would come eventually, though she really wasn't prepared for it. Helen was tired of living the way they lived, though knowing there wasn't a whole lot they could actually do about it.

Still, she told him, and things were beginning to go south. She delved them right into an argument that boiled over and brought up every emotion of anger and irritation that had been building during their time together.

"Listen, Helen, I don't enjoy being on a hitlist either, okay? But may I remind You that I wasn't the one that pushed her in the first place? What do you expect me to do?"

"I don't know, Ernest! I know there isn't really anything we can do here, but we need to find something! Something new! An alternative to this— this—"

She bit her teeth together, gesturing wildly around her.

"Say it." He demanded, stepping forward.

"This hell! Let's face it, this isn't how we imagined any of this. We don't always fit together, fuck, even most of the time, not anymore atleast, and it's becoming obvious."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, we can stop pretending. We're not compatible anymore. I feel it, and I'm sure that you can too." I've fallen out of love. "But we still need eachother," I need you. "and we're in this together, so we need to figure out something, something more—"

"And by we, you mean me? I've done so much for us already and what have you done so far? Stolen medications and gotten us into this situation? I mean for god's sake Helen, this was you plan!"

"Well why would you follow the plan of a clinically insane woman?!" The words slipped from her tongue quicker than her mind caught up.

Ernest's face shifted into a question, then into disgust or something that looked like it, and Helen clasped her hands over her mouth. He stepped back, and something else—fear?—creeped up his face. The same she was beginning to feel.

"No, no no, Ernest, don't—don't look at me like that. No, that's just what they said! I thought you understood me, I mean, what else did you think the 'health spa' was? I mean, I'm not actually—I'm not crazy. They—they just didn't understand me. That's just what they called me, what they said to me, I,"

She was desperately trying to find any explanation, to justify herself and her actions.

"I'm not in— not insane! I'm just… hurt! And I was in a very bad place back then, I— I'm just a victim here! The victim!"

She didn't know what she was saying anymore. Anything to keep him near, to stop him leaving, even if she wanted to vomit all these words out of reach for no one to hear.

"I mean, Madeline, she.. She has been so, so so horrible to me, okay? She said so many  wrong and questionable things, and just.. Threw me over the edge and.. This— this isn't my fault." It is. "Nonono, no. I would have never done that if.. If she hadn't treated me like— And I mean, you've known her, you were her husband. You know how horrible she could be, how she treated other people.. It's all her fault!"

Her words were falling on deaf ears, she knew. The longer she talked on the further he stepped away, and she no longer meant anything she said.

"it's not my fault," she whispered to herself, not believing her words, "I'm not insane, okay? I'm just in pain, and I acted without thinking and now were in this situation— This isn't my fault. This is all her fault!"

She looked up, and the steps Ernest took backward were getting larger and larger, until he turned around fully, shooting her one last distasteful look. Her heart sank farther than she thought it could.

"Please..! Believe me, Ernest..!" Ernest walked on. He paused at their hotel room door.

"You two really are alike."

"No, wait! I— I need you! I didn't want any of this to happen, I.. You have to believe me! Ernest look at me. Look at me, and believe me..!"

The door slammed shut behind him.

"I'm not INSANE!" She yelled, but he did not return. Helen collapsed on the carpet, whispering the repetition to herself. Finally, she pleaded,

"Come back.."

*

Ernest did not return to their hotel room that night. Helen lay wide awake long enough to confirm this. She let the tears run freely over her face, though no sound came from her. She had lost all energy for it.

Her eyes fell shut from exhaustion.

Something is wrong with Madeline, Helen has a feeling. She can't quite pinpoint it, but there's simply.. something. She isn't halfway through her greeting before the other speaks.

"Dorothy Smith. That's what they call you now?"

"That was the first thing that came to mind."

"Doesn't fit you. Belle's better."

What usually would have been a compliment sounded rather flat now.

"I picked it because—"

"I know. Don't have to tell me."

Uncomfortable silence lingers in the air which seems to hold its breath.

"Madeline, I was wondering something."

A subtle nod signals for her to continue.

"Why are we living in an apartment? You've always wanted to live in a mansion. And how come that you did all of those wonderful things for me when I first 'Woke up' here? Also, why—" her eyes fall on the hand that still carries a wedding ring.

"Why are we together—married even, although in reality you could never stand me?"

"I think you know the answer for that last one."

A clock that never moved ticked loudly through the room.

"..And, the rest..?"

"Well, this is a literal dream. Thought I might as well make it yours. I don't have a whole lot left to dream for."

Tears sting once more in Helen's eyes, and she tries to blink them away. Of course Madeline would have to be this way just when her actual life had collapsed.

"Do you have to do this?"

"What, remind you that I'm dead? Because you pushed me down the stairs?"

Now that cold grip on her heart returns. It's been waiting for its comeback, and Helen wants to tear it apart to shreds.
 

"You know how terrible I still feel about that, and I've apologized a million times. I know that isn't enough, but come on Mad," her voice shakes," what do you want me to do? I can't reverse time!"

"I know. But if you hadn't done it, we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place."

"Why are you suddenly so Mad at me??"

She turns harshly, her eyes sharper and edges in her face cutting at Helen.

"You're the victim, here? You're the victim in this situation?? Are you the one that died? Are you the one that took the fall, and is now bound to her best friend's memory and forced to live in it? Are you?"

"I didn't want to push you I— the second I did it I was regretting it immediately, you can read my thoughts, can't you see how much of this guilt I carry?"

"Then why did you do it?"

"Because I hated you!"

Madeline steps back.

"You hated me?"

"Of course I did, Madeline! You ruined my life! You ruined everything, every love I ever had, my boyfriends, my fiancé, you were the cause that I got locked up in a mental hospital for, for four years, where I was considered clinically insane! And I still am, I had to break out of that place to ever get out of there at all. You've done so many things wrong, and you're trying to tell me that you have no fault?"

"I'm not saying I have no fault, but I'm saying that you're no angel either. Remember that time your parents threw a party and invited our whole year except for me, and you did nothing about it? Or those times when you would talk bad about me behind me back? Or hey, what about those times where you would drop my most embarrassing facts in my friend groups? I've had my reasons."

"Yeah, well, so did I. I actually used to be scared of you, you know?"

"Of me? Please, the way you acted in return was anything but scared."

"I just never let on."

Madeline notices that, once again, her arms are beginning to flicker and fade in pale light.

"Okay, so, we've both had our faults. But I'm sorry, and I forgive you, so can we leave this behind us?"

"This isn't as easy as you think! Do you think I don't know what you want? You're still just as selfish as you used to be. You're using me so that you can stay alive for 'just a little longer, Hel, Oh, just a little longer,' but nothing's ever long enough for you. This is never going to have an end, and it doesn't make me feel any better, no, in fact, it just makes all of this worse."

She began pacing halfway through her speech and refuses to meet Madeline's eyes.

"You trap me in here."

"I'm trapping you?" She sounded almost as though she was in disbelief.

"You won't let me move on from this matter. You shape this box like a heart and expect me not to call it a prison? You tell me that, 'you love me and you always have,' and make me feel even guiltier for all I've done? Expect me to live a life? My life has been nothing but a wreck for over a month, now I've lost Ernest as my only hope at a future. I can't move on, because you're still here, and seeing you fills me with all this guilt that pulls me down and— this is all just guilt!"

"I've told you before, I'm not trying to make you feel guil—"

"You're just guilt."

"Hel—"

"And I need to move on."

Two hands that are freezing and colder than ever grab her. She recoils, and her theory folds in on herself. Madeline studies her, intensely, analysing every single feature and twitch of eyebrows.

Helen can't help but do the same, and every memory comes back at once. Details of her face shift back to where they're supposed to be, and Helen can't help but think how beautiful she really is. She actually seems concerned, or something of the likes.

"Hel."

Her voice is clear, sad.

"I'm sorry." She kisses Helen, and for a second, the latter thinks she won't let her go. Still, she lets it happen, and whines at the loss of contact.

"I didn't realize how bad this affects you. I mean, no, I did. But I didn't acknowledge it."

She studies her again, and Helen sees a dangerous decision brewing in her eyes.

"I think you're right." She steps back, and Helen reaches. "You need to move on. And so do I."

She smiles, and loses her colour slowly.

"No!"

"I'm scared, Helen." She chuckles through forming tears. "But with you here, it won't be so bad."

Helen runs to her and holds her tight, but the fading does not stop.

"No, Mad, not like this! Don't—"

She cuts her off with a gentle kiss.

"I love you, Hel." Her voice shakes and tremors, but she pushes through. "Don't forget me."

She pulls back and smiles, and Helen can't do anything but hug her tighter and sob into her shoulder.

"Goodbye, Helen."

"Mad!"

Madeline closes her eyes and disappears. Helen falls through where she was stood before and crashes into the floor. Her sobs echo through the walls for hours.

Helen Sharp was stood on train tracks. She was in the middle of a field, somewhere in the middle of France, and stood firmly on iron tracks waiting, patient, for the tunnel infront of her to light up. She glanced down at her watch. Her salvation should arrive in approximately three minutes. That was alright, Helen could wait three minutes. She'd already waited this long for things to get better.

Hope soon came in shape of a distant horn. For the first time in days, Helen smiled. Then finally, two small lights came around the curve of the tunnel.

The lights came closer, and closer, until Helen saw nothing but light anymore. She closed her eyes and a train horn filled her ears.

Notes:                                                          

This isn't over.

Get up.

Survive this, for me.

Helen's eyes snap open and she stumbles suddenly, falls, and lands on a grass pillow. The train rushes past her with a hair's distance, the wind of it built up into a fist that hits her right in the face and messes with her hair.

Helen is rolled onto her back where she lies still for a second, face to face with the summer sky. Air forces itself from her lungs in shaky breaths that parallels the trains horn as it rushes past her, long and quick.

Then, it's gone, and the surrounding is filled with fragile silence, broken only by the breaths Helen releases from her chest.