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"Hey, Wizard!"

The West Side

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a part of "Hey, Wizard!", by ViceVersus.

The true 'face' of Cedar Springs. Pleasant parks, oak-lined boulevards, family-owned corner stores, and modest ranch-style homes make up this middle class utopia.

RolePlayGateway holds sovereignty over The West Side, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

332 readers have been here.

Setting

The true 'face' of Cedar Springs. Pleasant parks, oak-lined boulevards, family-owned corner stores, and modest ranch-style homes make up this middle class utopia.
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The West Side

The true 'face' of Cedar Springs. Pleasant parks, oak-lined boulevards, family-owned corner stores, and modest ranch-style homes make up this middle class utopia.

Minimap

The West Side is a part of Cedar Springs, Washington.

3 Places in The West Side:


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Luke stared down at the dead man, and thought he could use a bigger smile.

Having finished draining and embalming the body, Luke was for the most part finished here. All that remained now was to move the body back upstairs. It was just the smile that worried him. He didn't want to make it too large, for the sake of the family .. but dimly, in the back of his mind, Luke maintained that humans were the only creatures who had reason to smile. Luke couldn't remember the last time he had smiled of his own volition.

Ben Arlowe, forty-four years old. Died of a heart attack at his daughter's softball game. Luke didn't even need to check the sheets anymore. The body told as much of a story as the loved ones did. The funeral was in just two days. The man's death had been sudden, and all the arrangements done fairly last-minute.

Hiding death, making it look pretty. Brushing away flaws, tucking stiff corners into a smile. That's really what his job was. Having faced death innumerous times in the past, this new career did not sway him. Maybe it was because he was already dead, because he had passed that trial.

.. or maybe it was because he really needed the blood.

Not like he could handle a normal 9 to 5 anyways. It was almost better, this way. He never slept, so constantly being on-call did nothing to ruin his schedule. His weeks were full of sudden body removals and death calls, not to mention wakes and vigils. During normal office hours, he could be found upstairs fighting his way through stacks of paperwork. Floral arrangements and locating pastors also chipped at his agenda, and -- of course -- that first sad, somber meeting with clients.

Humans were such curious, delicate creatures. Luke dealt with them when they were in their barest state of sensitivity, when they needed the most comfort. That morning, Ben Arlowe's widow had paced aimlessly, the son looked rather lost, and the daughter would not meet his eye. Truly a sobering sight. Luke had done his best to assure them, but the human heart is a fragile, fickle thing.

The routine was otherwise dull enough to calm his inner sociopath. Oh, there were times he'd give anytyhing to burn his black suits and wear color for a day -- but such was the duplicity of his nature.

Still smelling of formaldahyde, Luke finished up and ducked his head quietly from the embalment room. Things were silent upstairs, a bit too silent for his tastes. Luke knew he wasn't the only one in the office today -- a living man named Alec who had a last name and a family must have been somewhere around. The vampire padded up the thick, carpeted stairs and into the main receiving room.

"Alec?"

The stiff scent of human fear met his nostrils. Luke heard the low murmur of the radio from behind the closed office door. He stepped up, and rapped his knuckles against the lattice-work glass. "Is everything alright?"

"Luke? Luke!" Alec's voice was thin, strained with fear. "Come in here a second."

Luke obliged, and found Alex flushed red with worry, flushed red with blood and standing behind his cluttered desk with his arms stuffed tightly over his chest. The vampire wore an expression of polite puzzlement and closed the door behind him, even as he struggled not to wrinkle his nose against that awful stench of fear.

"Listen." The man with a last name and a family commandered, pointing a finger at the coffin-shapred radio.

Alec twisted the gravestone, and the volume rose. It was a high, cold voice that came to Luke's ears. A voice he never thought he'd hear again.

"It's on every station, Luke. Every single station. All over the internet, too. Something's going on, even just downtown." Alex turned another gravestone, this time changing the channels to demonstrate his point. "Sarah just called and left a message. She's at the mall with her friends -- she said that men came. She said men came to the mall, and have kept everyone there and are making threats -- "

Something snapped in Luke's mind, like a green light switching on, giving him permission to be himself. He stood a little straighter, and the vampire's eyes glittered softly. This may have been the first time Alec saw his business partner as anything but 'human'. Luke did not bother explaining himself.

"Go home. Now." Luke ordered. He crossed to the radio, and twisted the gravestone so that there was a click, and no more Thaddeus Farcry. "Be with your family. They will not hurt Sarah, Alec."

"But -- "

"They will be looking for me soon, for better or for worse." Luke patted his thigh, checking for his keys. "Besides, they don't want to cause injuries. Not yet, anyways. They want the takeover to be as painless, and as quick as possible."

"What .. Luke! Wait!"

The vampire paused with his hand on the doorknob once more. He turned, and saw the man with a last name and a family staring at him, bewildered. Humans got so lost, so easily.

"What's going on?"

"Dark things." Luke pulled the door open, and stepped though. "Very dark things .. "

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The ride over to Wedgewood was, in short, awkward as hell.

"Honestly, Jordan?" Sylvia sneered as they came to a respectable halt at the four-way stop on Bloom and North Clark. "If the Death Eaters come shit-storming after us, are you gonna, say, use your turn signal? Maybe -- I don't know, stop for a yellow? You're acting like you're on your damn learner's permit!"

"Sylvie .. " Jordan glanced both ways before pulling out slowly. "If we floor it to Wedgewood, how many Wizards do you think will be on our tail? Droves. Droves of them. If you haven't noticed, I'm trying to drive like we belong out here -- not like we're fleeing for our lives."

"Who -- who says droves?" Sylvia shook her head. She glanced back at the Wizard, who had mostly kept his comments to himself for the duration of the trip. "Do you say droves, Mr. Chuckles?" She nudged his chest with her foot, the cutting board resting comfortably in her lap. "Do you?"

Mr. Chuckles responded with something vague and dreamy, most of his words lost to severe blunt-force-trauma. Jordan gave a sigh.

" .. For the hundredth time, would you please put your seatbelt on?"

Sylvia responded eloquently with a middle finger.

Jordan's grip tightened on the wheel. A few miles passed. He spared a mournful glance at his Klondike bar wrapper, tossed into the passenger seat.

What would you do for a --

-- "JORDANOMIGAWDLOOKOUT!"

Sylvia's screech came out in one high-pitched, high speed missile. Jordan yanked his gaze back to the road. Nothing -- but then a blur in his rearview --

-- a logging truck from Ramble with a full load barreled past them, cargo leaning treacherously. The backdraft sending even their hefty F-250 wavering. Jordan fought for control -- he swerved, swore, and came to a shuddering halt in the gravel. He smelled smoke. What --

-- Sylvia gave a choked sort of gasp, the sudden stop leaving her tangled up in the backseat. She sat up, pushed her bangs out of her eyes just in time to see the semi rattling along at a terrifying pace.

The truck careened back and forth at eighty-plus miles an hour, uppermost logs not used to this deadly rhythm. There were at least four short-bed pickups dogging each of the trailer's moves -- Jordan didn't have to squint to see what was going on. Clear as day, he saw the figures in the back crouching against highway speeds. He saw pointy blue hats, and he saw fireballs. The Wizards were chasing the logger, and his load had caught fire. That's where the smoke smell had come from. Burning cedar.

Dust mixed with ash still rolled past them, reminding Jordan of the trailer's incredible mass. The driver must have been in some sort of panic, but there was no way he could outrun or outmaneuver those smaller trucks. Loggers often took these back roads to avoid weigh stations, stacking their payloads way over the legal limit. This meant --

"Oh my God." Jordan paled. " Oh my God. They can't -- that's gotta be 90-thousand tons of .. "

Sylvia whimpered as the truck made too sharp a turn. The pickups darted away, already sensing the danger -- the trailer began to jackknife. There was no chance for correction, not at that speed, not with that much weight. In horrifying slow motion, the fetters gave out, and with a heart-stopping crash -- the semi rolled. It rolled, and it rolled, and it rolled.

The logs snapped like toothpicks, tumbling off the carrier in a savage free-for-all. The rig itself buckled and skittered along the cement, sending sparks. Jordan closed his eyes.

"No .. "

When he dared to open them again, the pavement was covered in splintered cedar. He could make out the truck's dark underbelly through the haze; one wheel spun, almost lazily. Death, for the driver, would have been immediate. The pickups veered away. Their job was done. The smoke rose, the fire picked up -- they left the carnage to smolder.

Sylvia fumbled for her seat belt.

Click.

At the sound of latch meeting buckle, Jordan pulled back onto the road. Both lanes were completely blocked, so he turned at the first sidestreet he could find -- about two-hundred yards from the spill. A promotional billboard for Zombpocalypse leered down at them as they passed, demanding in harsh red letters: MAKE PEACE WITH YOUR GOD!

Neither he, nor Sylvia said anything for a while.

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"Wait," Sylvia's nose crinkled as she tried to work out what had just been said, "Nikki's a Wizard? So you mean -- she's part of .. of them?"

Despite the age difference, Nicole Trawley and Sylvia Renar had been close friends since both girls went to cheer camp in the summer of 2004. In the six years since then, the two formed one of those devil-may-care bonds complete with sleepovers spent gossiping viciously over anyone slightly overweight or slightly different, lots of re-touched facebook photos edited with things like -- "bffs 4 life!" in curly bright letters, and various failed attempts to snare Boys Of Outrageous Behinds (or BOOBs as they, giggling, liked to call them) into that elusive, desired trap of love.

All of that was gone, now. Nicole was a Wizard, and had betrayed her best friend.

Everyone watched Sylvia, now, with a measured amount of sympathy. Even Jordan, who had been victim to both the girls' late-night sleepover scheming, looked up from his driving and glanced into the rearview. Sylvia was staring down at her lap, twisting her hands around the handle of the cutting board. Logan almost reached out to put an arm around the girl.

"Listen, Sylvia -- "

And then Sylvia's head snapped up. Her curls sparked with electricity, and her teeth were clenched. Logan retracted his hand rather quickly.

"That .. fugly little hugslut!"

"Oh, dear," Jordan returned his eyes to the road.

"I will rip out every single fake-chestnut hair on that skank's head! Do you know what she said to Sally Carman once, in seventh grade?"

"I couldn't even begin to care."

"She said my curls were fake. She said that. About me!" Sylvia seized a handful of her hair, her curly-twirly locks, leaned over in her seat and practically stuffed them up Logan's nose as she screeched -- "DO THESE LOOK FAKE TO YOU?"

"Nohmygodthosearesoreal!"

"Fuck that skank-ass bitch. I am not kidding," Sylvia made claws with her hands, and Logan (who, to his credit, thought he was doing pretty well so far) leaned away and into a sleeping, slightly bleeding Mr. Chuckles, "because you know what she did almost a week after that? She got a fucking perm! Trying to be like me! Not to mention she got all pissed when I didn't say how gorgeous it was."

Sylvia paused. She heaved in a few breaths of air.

"Because it wasn't!"

"-- yeah, I got that Sylvie."

"It wasn't gorgeous."

"Right."

"And then when Lacey Miedema -- "

The rules for dealing with a wound-up Sylvia were keep engagement at a minimum, and just nod along so that she doesn't think you're ignoring her. God and all his Saint's help you if she thought she was ignoring you. For now, however, Sylvia had a Logan and a Sheri trapped with her in the backseat. The burden of pretending to care was on them -- so long as Jordan kept nodding vaguely once in a while, he could tune her out.

And so Jordan glanced to the side and nudged Dawn in the leg with his free hand.

"Hey. You're not a Wizard too, are you?"

He let a few beats pass; sometimes his humor was a hit and miss. Jordan continued.

"Look, we'll find your dad. Don't worry. He's probably beating the crap out of those Wizards with his bagpipes, anyways," Jordan grinned, and when he grinned you believed everything was going to be alright, "and then maybe we'll find mine humming Aerosmith kicking equipment up at the station trying to figure out what went wrong."

What Jordan wouldn't give to hear -- "fly high with double-yewwwwww sky! coming from the truck's radio right now ..

" -- but then even though she made it her facebook status, she said it didn't matter! And I was like -- you're such a poser! Everyone can tell it was you! I mean, who the fuck cares about the photo in the first place, but noooooo! She had to make a huge deal about it, all because she knew that Daniel liked me more than he liked her! And that was always one thing she could never really grasp, never wrap her stupid little mind around. I -- "

Sylvia, apparently, wasn't done. Her voice rose and like a roller-coaster of thrilling scorn, ripping along a track of disgust and pent-up hatred.

"-- and then when Logan asked Kimberly to the Winter Formal, everything was suddenly --"

"Woah, woah, wait, what? Hang on, stop, back up -- red light, hold the phone!" Logan flailed his arms a bit. He leaned up off of Mr. Chuckles and stared, "when did I get involved with this?"

Jordan, despite the seriousness of their current predicament, snorted into a fist.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Sylvia's rant had been knocked off track. She sat hair frizzed and fingers still clawing imaginary throats in the air, and she just gave Logan a look, "are you telling me you had no idea she's been stalking you since middle school, just like every other female specimen in the tri-county area?"

"Wow, really?"

Sylvia made a final, general all-around sound of frustration at the matter, grabbed for her cutting board, and turned away to stare out the window past a rather amused and smiling Sheri.

In a way, Jordan was glad that Sylvia had decided to fly off the handle. It covered anyone asking him questions about why he had chosen all the back roads to get to Dawn's house instead of taking the usual interstate. Logan in particular would have wanted to take that particular route, if only for the Zombpocalypse poster on the 8th street billboards -- but the last thing Jordan wanted to do was go anywhere near the scene of the wreck.

And so when things finally settled down, they were about five minutes from Dawn's house. Jordan turned onto Clark Drive, and couldn't help noticing smoke rising from over the first hill.

This was dark and coiling smoke, the sort of smoke that came from things that weren't supposed to be burning. Jordan knew this from summer weekends full of 'experimental bonfires' and he couldn't shake the grim, nagging feeling that he was going to be learning a lot about fire in the next dew days.

Jordan observed the speed limit of 25 miles-per-hour, and the truck crawled along closer to whatever the hell it was waiting for them over the next rise.

It wasn't pretty.

Dawn's house sat at the end of a cul-de-sac and had always, to Jordan's overactive imagination, seemed alive. Its doors and windows stared smugly -- surrounded by arms of wide brick that wrapped low and laced its iron-work fingers as the gate at the end of the drive. Now as they crested the hill, Jordan hated the fact that he saw the house this way because it made the unfolding scene all the more horrific.

The 'fingers' were broken, half of them cast to the side and mangled. Up the hill, past 'rounded shoulders' the old house no longer had eyes, and the 'mouth' of its door was blown open, lips stained with soot.

But it was still standing, mostly. The fact that the foyer and west wing had held their ground spoke volumes of the skill of the initial builders -- the house had been built back when people actually knew how to lay brick. It was the roof that was causing problems -- even from this distance all they could see were patches, bare bits of latticework here and there; the rest had collapsed in on itself, probably crashing down onto the first floor or even the basement.

Here, too, was where the fire found its hold. There was a sinister glow from the eastern part of the house -- a glow that quickly turned to thick, black, twisting smoke whisked away into cheerful white clouds by a pleasant southwest wind.

Jordan felt his eyes watering and his nose stinging. He didn't glance at Dawn as he brought the truck to a stop not ten feet away from the mangled front gate -- but when his eyes saw that the Keating crest had been tossed away like a used tissue, he knew he had to say something.

"Dawn --"

But the girl had already flown out of the truck, slamming the door with a passion behind her. Jordan saw her red hair flying behind her as she made to sprint past the gate, up the hill and towards what had once been her home.

"No!"

What was she going to do? Jordan had abandoned the truck before he could rationalize what they were attempting. This is idiotic. We're running towards a burning house. The fumes alone could kill us in there. I can feel the heat from here. Oh my God. I can feel the heat.

And indeed he could. Jordan was dimly aware of people scrambling out of the truck behind him, but all he saw was Dawn. All he saw was Dawn, charging up her driveway against the silhouette of --

-- she didn't stop, even when the fire seared his face, made him blink through the smoke and confusion. With abandon he made one final charge and managed to catch Dawn around the middle, swinging her to a stop mere feet before she could reach her front walk.

He could feel her fighting him, but he just held onto her tight. If this were an embrace or just an attempt to stop her from plunging into the house and getting killed, Jordan wasn't sure. The tears were rolling freely down his cheeks by now as he half-carried, half-dragged the girl -- though in retrospect, that might have just been a reaction to the acrid, bitter, biting smoke.

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#, as written by Script
Dawn grinned along with Sylvia's rant all through the drive -- of the people in the car, Dawn was possibly the only one not intimidated by the girl. Perhaps that was something to do with a shared state of 'alpha-female'; clearly the two girls were the bosses in this car. Jordan might be deciding where they drove, but that wasn't much compared to what an idle -- perhaps slightly grating word -- from Sylvia or Dawn could provoke. Sylvia and Dawn could take out wizards, they could certainly take inconvenient complaining or resisting male friends down a peg.

In time, however, Sylvia's ranting faded into the background, and the redheads thoughts returned to her father. He'd be alright, of course. He and Annabel. He'd probably have a nice pile of wizards waiting for them when they got there, and he'd meet them on the drive with that wild smile of his, that made it oh-so-obvious that he'd been up to no good. The smile that made his beard curl just like that, and always made Dawn laugh, no matter the situation.

"Hey. You're not a Wizard too, are you?"

Dawn looked up with a blink at Jordan's touch, glancing over at her friend with a slightly distant expression for a few moments before registering what he'd said. The girl chuckled quietly, a single 'heh' and a smile. Hit and miss indeed. But that was alright, because Jordan kept going, and (probably without knowing it, entirely) said just what Dawn needed to hear. At the bagpipes comment Dawn laughed -- a proper laugh, this time, and punched the grinning idiot on the arm.

"I know, don't worry. I'm fine. He'll be fine. I mean, you're alive, and you're a wuss, right?" she teased, returning the grin.

Dawn settled back into listening to Sylvia's little rant, occasionally snickering - none the more so than at her comments regarding Logan.

"Are you telling me you had no idea she's been stalking you since middle school, just like every other female specimen in the tri-county area?"

"Wow, really?"


"Yes, really." Dawn interjected with a smirk, glancing over her shoulder at the boy. "This morning, at the smoothie shack?" This morning? It felt like last month... "Didn't you notice that crowd of gawking nitwits gathered around you, with Nikki Charmeena-balls-of-fire-whatever at their head?" The redhead turned back around, chuckling. "You really are just a pretty face, aren't you? Nothing beneath those curls but bone and air..."

Thinking back on the happenings at the mall, Dawn didn't notice the smoke that Jordan spotted until they topped the rise.

At first, she didn't quite believe it. Maybe she wouldn't let herself believe it -- but for the first few seconds, as they approached the burning ruin that was her home, it didn't register in Dawn's mind that this was her home at all. She stared all the same; a burning building drew the eye after all, and it was only as the truck pulled up outside the gate that she realised just what she was seeing meant.

Flashbacks went through the girl's head of days spent running through the house's gardens, and hallways, playing games of hide-and-seek with her father. Her mother sitting by the fireplace at christmas, one of the rare occasions when the woman came to visit. Dawn sat under the tree opening presents as a little girl, giggling madly as toys and clothes came out of their wrapping. She remembered sitting on the front porch - the one she now saw splintered, charred, with remnants of the door frame scattered over it - on warm summers days with Jordan and her other friends, exchanging stories and licking ice creams, the warmth of the sun on their faces.

The only warmth on Dawn's face now was from the fire, as it vaguely dawned on her that she was running. Moving up the driveway, vague whispers of "No" and incoherent prayers passing her lips without thought. She remembered when she'd first come outside on her seventeenth birthday to find her bike waiting on the drive, her father standing beside it proudly, that smile of proud mischief on his face.

That smile, the one that made his beard curl just like that.

"Oh God no..." Her own voice, again, cutting through the crackling of the fire and bouncing around her head a dozen times over. Where was he? He'd have escaped the fire, of course -- he probably dodged a fireball, and it hit the house, and he had to get out. But what if he was in there? Dawn didn't even feel the heat any more, not consciously anyway. She had to get inside, to get inside and find him, and save the memories -- the box of memories.

Another flashback, her mother smiling down at a still young Dawn as she slid a shoebox into a cabinet. "There! Now it's all safe, for when you miss something in it, or when we want to remember all the best times..."

A time capsule for themselves, not for the future, with photos and keepsakes stowed away within. They'd been put away to keep them safe. But now what? They were probably ashes...

"No!"

Jordan's cry was distant, another world. She wasn't stopping now. Every semblance of the hardened and fiery Dawn was gone now, tears running freely. Her home was burning. Her father nowhere to be seen -- nowhere with that knowing smile, that mischievous grin. The one that made his beard curl just like that...

Then his arm was around her middle, and she was being pulled back. No! "Let go of me!" she screamed, her voice broken through sobs and coughing from the smoke, her face blackened by smoke and wet with tears "No... I've got to find him!" she cried, punching her hands into her friend, over and over, pounding at his arms and chest even as his arms wrapped fully around her and pulled her back, away from the heat and the smoke. Dawn's protests, kicks and punches became steadily weaker as she was pulled away from the house front, until they stopped entirely, and the redhead collapsed into wracking sobs, leaning into Jordan and burying her face in his shoulder.

It was all gone. Everything -- all the memories, the little corners and nooks that nobody but she knew about, the hidey holes where she stowed herself away as a child during hide and seek. The knowing smile when her father found her, that made his beard curl up just like that...

"Oh God Jordan.. it's... it's gone, he's gone, where is he? He should be here, they can't have..." Dawn's voice was cracked and stammering. It just went to show that no matter how hard your outer shell, no matter the prowling, vengeful person you were when you were in your element, some things were beyond shells. This was a world where confidence and strength of will meant very little to the people about to burn your face off, and all the shouting in the world couldn't save a life.

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Dawn half-collapsed, and Jordan was quick to bend with her. This left his knees smarting on the pavement while Dawn folded into him. She wasn't making sense anymore. Her words had just turned into a tumbled series of vowels all swelling together from the shock. Jordan wrapped his arms tighter around the girl, feeling the wetness of her tears against his neck and smelling the strawberries and smoke in her hair.

The house still burned as freely as ever, and even though they were a 'safe' distance away from the blaze its heat was unforgiving. Jordan wiped sweat from his forehead before it could drip into his eyes. He knelt there with Dawn for what must have been ten minutes; thankful she wasn't hitting him anymore. From the base of the driveway, Logan looked on.

Not that he really saw them. Logan was the picture of emptiness. He stood eyes hooded, fists jammed in his pockets, jaw set. Something coppery filled his mouth; he spat to the side. Blood, from chewing the inside of his lip too hard and not noticing. His entire body felt numb.

’Make Peace With Your God!’

Strange. Even though he had been in the mall when the crisis broke, even though he had watched Nikki -- sorry, Charmena casting fire with her own hands, even though he had lived out an escape scene straight from the Bourne films .. Logan realized it was only in this moment that everything clicked, that everything felt real. Wizards were taking over the world. Funny, right? No one was laughing now.

In contrast to Logan, Sylvia couldn’t seem to stand still. She tried pacing one way, then another – hands snarled in her curls, eyes red and puffy. The girl’s expression was drawn somewhere between horror and disbelief. She had to move! But where? Back to the truck? Over to where Jordan and Dawn?

Sheri stood even further back behind the kids. Her mind was somewhere else completely – thinking perhaps about a fiancé who was a volunteer firefighter, or a mother who lived on the East Side. Her gaze trailed from the flaming house to the crest of a hill where only blue sky could be seen. Perhaps she was wondering what was beyond that hill.

None of them could have known that the Keating’s backyard (once so richly manicured, full of luscious green) was now crisscrossed with swathes of charred black from low-flying fireballs as though a child had angrily taken up a black crayon on paper.

None of them could have known that there were four bodies of four very dead Wizards crumpled here and there like lawn ornaments -- Wizards who had discovered that fire magic was not very good for deflecting bullets.

None of them could have known that a fifth body was not wearing a robe and a hat.

Mr. Keating had made his final stand in the garden about a stone’s throw from the house itself. Flowers had withered from the heat, stone from marble statues was blasted away. Andrew’s body lay half submerged in the fountain, as though he had crawled there in a panic once being lit up like a stuck pig. None of them could have known this, which was almost for the better. The smell of burning flesh would have made them sick.

They couldn’t have known, but somehow they did. Dawn, Sheri, Jordan, Sylvia – even Logan. They knew, but didn’t see. They didn’t want to see.

“Jordan,” Sheri spoke up, now, loud enough to be heard over the roaring and hissing of the fire. “We have to go.”

At these words, Logan was jerked from his trance, Sylvia turned her head blearily, and Jordan gave a small little frown.

“Not every house on the block got burned like this,” the woman kept talking. “And from what you said happened at your house, I can already paint a picture for you. The Wizards came here looking for Dawn’s mother, like they did looking for your mother. Whoever these people are, they’re tying up loose ends and the last thing we need is to give them a sitting set of hostages. We have to go.”

Jordan breathed in, breathed out. It seemed such a simple thing to do, but nothing was simple anymore.

“She’s right. They – we’re not safe here,” oh, shit. His voice was shaking; he had just realized that his own house was probably now in a similar state of disrepair. “We could head up to Ramble. Maybe bog down at Logan’s house. I doubt the Wizards know where that is.”

Sylvia unstuck her throat.

“Are you stupid? Ramble is made up of solid trees,” she tugged at her hair, harder. “Trees that .. “ her voice cracked at the memory of the logging truck, “ .. that burn.”

"What do you want to do, then?" Jordan yelled, and he immediately regretted it. He still had Dawn in his arms. He quieted. "Dawn. Look. Sheri has a point. I don't know how safe it is being here right now. But .. w-what do you want us to do?"

"Guys!"

It was Logan's voice croaking, now -- his first words in the last half hour. He had wandered back down to the truck (maybe more eager to leave than the others) and seemed to be charging back up the driveway towards them.

"Mr. Chuckles is gone!"

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Dawn didn't really hear much of the conversation that was going on between the others. Her sobbing had quieted to heavy breathing, the occasional tear still rolled down her cheek, but something was passing. A second shell; tougher than the last. It was one thing to make a shell to not care about high school, another thing entirely to be able to keep your head in a situation like this. Dawn remained buried in Jordan's arms - thoughts in a tangled mess, not knowing what to do, think or say - until his shout at Sylvie snapped her back to the present.

For the first time, Dawn noticed the heat of the blaze, the sweat and faint charring on her face, the crackling and splintering of the house's wood. She registered what was happening -- the words passing between her friends; Jordan comforting her, holding her. She loved him to pieces in that moment, for not trying to say anything, for not trying to 'make things better', for just... being there. Dawn didn't need to be patronised. It was when she caught her name that she fully tuned into what was being said.

"Dawn. Look. Sheri has a point. I don't know how safe it is being here right now. But .. w-what do you want us to do?"

The redhead lifted her head from Jordan's shoulder, hair dangling limply down over her eyes before she tentatively brushed it aside. Face wet with a mixture of sweat and tears, Dawn inhaled deeply -- a mistake, because that immediately inspired a brief coughing fit from the smoke -- before replying.

"Jordan, I..." she whispered, lifting a hand up to rest on his arm, "I need to... I need to see him."

There was no way that Dawn could walk away from her home without finding her father's body. Only then would the sense of finality fully settle over her. Only then would she be able to accept it, accept that the man with the jolly smile and the air of utter invincibility about him could be dead.

Breathing in again, Dawn closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself fully, drawing in on herself and suppressing the desire to burst out in tears again. "I'm going around the back... there might be another way in from there that's less dangerous." she said quietly, probably audible only to Jordan. He'd have to explain to the others. With a forced, fleeting smile, Dawn pulled away from her friend's embrace and stood, glancing at the others briefly as she walked backwards a few steps. With a sense of determined stubbornness, Dawn turned away and strode around to the side of the house.

Her hands clenched and unclenched as she walked, and her breathing was ragged. She squinted her eyes against the smoke, and raised her hand as if to ward off the heat as she passed close to the side of the house. Her expensive boots crunched in the gravel of the pathway leading to the back yard. Dawn was alone when she first emerged out onto the scene, and her breath caught in her throat.

The wizards were the first thing she saw, crumpled bodies with bloody holes torn in their chests, blue hats comically skewed on the floor. Dawn paced further into the garden, passing close to one of the men's bodies. His eyes stared lifelessly at the sky, but Dawn recognised him as... their dentist. The dentist was a wizard. Jesus...

If Dawn was planning on musing on the oddness of that combination of professions, the sight of her father quickly dismissed them. She froze in mid-step, eyes locking onto the figure in the fountain; his characteristic red hair just visible. Anabelle lay helplessly on the grass a few feet away. Hesitantly, nervously, Dawn moved forwards. Her legs shook, and tears once more found their way to her face. Kneeling by the side of the fountain, Dawn extended a hand to gently lift that of her father's from where it dangled out, clutching it tightly.

"Dad..." she whispered to the air, blinking the wetness in her eyes away. "I'm sorry..." What for? Dawn didn't really know. "Mum would be proud... you took those bastards with you..." a heavy sob cut her words off, but Dawn suppressed it again, suppressed the tears. She couldn't collapse into a teary wreck. Not now. Not in the middle of all this...

Mourn the dead when you know that you won't be one of them soon. But she couldn't leave him like this, either.

Jordan watched on from the entrance to the garden, hesitant about joining Dawn at Andrew's side. There were some moments to be shared, and others that were... well, not.

Carefully, Dawn reached into the fountain to hook her hands under her father's body. She half-lifted, half-dragged him towards her, straining at the man's greater weight as she pulled him from the water and onto the grass. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks, but by this point she seemed unaware of them. They weren't her tears any more. At this point, Jordan stepped forwards and made his presence known.

"Dawn, can I... help?"

Dawn looked up in surprise. She hadn't noticed him follow her. Wordlessly she nodded, and her friend joined her. Dawn hooked her hands under Andrew's arms, and Jordan lifted his legs, and together they carried his body away from the wizards to the top of the picturesque garden, where they lay him gently on his back. Dawn knelt down and rested his arms on his chest, folded.

"Goodbye, dad..." she whispered, kissing her father gently on the forehead before pulling away. Her tears had faded, and her breathing was calmer. She would mourn later. Grieving would not keep her -- and more importantly, in her eyes -- her friends alive through the rest of this shit. The redhead stepped away from Andrew, and with a nod to Jordan they began to make their way back to the side of the house, but something caught her eye, and she paused.

Dawn turned and took a few steps back, reaching down and closing one hand around Anabelle. She lifted the weapon, testing its weight. Half full, she judged. There were more shells in the shed, though.

A few minutes later, Dawn re-emerged from the little wooden shed with her handbag bluging full. She'd discarded most of her things, makeup, and other unnecessary accoutrements. Instead, she now had a nice few boxes of shotgun shells. The redhead looked up to Jordan and cocked Anabelle on her shoulder, taking a deep breath.

"C'mon." she said, smiling faintly. "Mr. Chuckles has a head start on us."

And back around to the front of the house she strode, leaving Jordan somewhat dismayed.

Dawn with a shotgun. Dear god...

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Jordan's mind buzzed with the events of the day and the past half-hour. He jerked himself back to an alert state, just in time to see Dawn stroll past him with a shotgun over her shoulder. How long had he been standing there, thoughts churning? Two years? Three -- maybe more?

He commanded himself to move, and lurched after her. She had a head start on him, back down the driveway to where the truck and the others were waiting. Moments before, she had flown up towards the burning house with wild abandon, crazy with fear and grief. But now, she walked with purpose, every step slapping onto the pavement, and Jordan couldn't help but give a wry grin. Dawn with a shotgun? Dear God.

When they came back down the hill, Sheri, Logan, and Sylvia were spread out far from each other. Logan was venturing on the lawn towards one of the other houses on the street, Sylvia was off the road and in a ditch, eyeing the fields beyond, and Sheri had started peering down the long street down which they had came. They were presumably looking for Mr. Chuckles. Jordan couldn't explain why this flooded him with anxiety, but it did.

"HEY!" he roared. Their heads turned. "Get back here -- we have to go!"

Sylvia thrust an arm behind her, pointing to the field. She opened her mouth to argue, but Jordan didn't give her the chance.

"Forget the Wizard!" he shouted. He saw her eyes flash, and her jaw clench into a scowl. She stalked towards him, fists balled.

"You're gonna let him get away?" her voice was sharp and scornful.

"There's no time. Get in the truck, we're going to Logan's!" Jordan glanced over to his best friend, who was drawing closer as well. A wordless thank you; you're welcome passed between the friends.

When he turned forward again, he found himself face-to-face with his sister, a quivering exclamation mark with frizzy hair.

"You want to go Ramblewood?" she challenged, digging into the last word with a swooping, mocking tone.

"I know about the trees!" Jordan tried to place both hands on his sister's shoulders, in a calming gesture, but she windmilled her arms, knocking them off of her. "But -- hey! If Sheri is right about Mr. Keating -- " he felt hot with guilt, mentioning Dawn's father, " -- or about mom, then the Wizards should have no reason to go to Logan's house."

"Except that we'll be hiding there!" Sylvia snarled, hands on her hips, torso jutting forward aggressively.

Jordan gave a shout of frustration. "Would you just listen to me instead of -- "

"Oookay, Jordy, I didn't realize youuu were -- "

A sharp slam cut through the air.

Sylvia screamed, hiding her face. Jordan whirled, bracing himself, throwing a protective arm out in front of his sister. Sheri waved to them from the inside of the truck, having just slammed the door pointedly behind her.

The Renars returned to planet Earth, and glanced at each other sorrowfully.

"Sorry," Sylvia whispered.

"It's okay," Jordan grunted, and meant it. He dropped his arm back to his side.

Logan swallowed, his tongue rasping dryly against the top of this throat. "Uhh, we got paintball, airsoft guns at my house. Food. Vehicles. Might not be a bad place to lay low."

"Yeah," Jordan cleared his throat, awkwardly. "I guess .. yeah."

Jordan dug in his pocket for his keys, and didn't find them. He glanced to his right, and saw that he had left them in the truck's ignition. The Renar youth exhaled slowly.

Behind them, the remains of Dawn's house gave a horrifying groan. Flames still licked greedily at the brick. Some wooden framework on the inside gave out, collapsing in on itself. Smoke plumes tripled in size, and a shower of orange sparks billowed upwards.

Jordan felt a rush of shame for his pithy argument with Sylvia. While they were in the middle of a sibling spat, Dawn stood next to them all, her entire world crashing around her. Maybe she didn't want to leave, just yet. After all, this would probably be the last time she'd see the house standing. Everything had already changed around them but this? This was something different.

There was no way for him to scrub the image of the Keatings' backyard from his eyes. Jordan couldn't imagine what Dawn was feeling at this moment. He licked his lips, feeling the gnawing desire to know where his parents were. Maybe it was good that they were going to Logan's house next, to check things out. It was only fair, right?

Jordan reached out, brushing the skin of Dawn's arm with his fingertips, a platonic gesture to let her know that he was there, but needed her attention.

"Ready?" he asked, softly.

Ready? It seemed such a stunted, useless word. Ready? As though they were late for class, or about to be late for dinner. But there were no other words to sum up what they were feeling. Jordan forced himself to look at Dawn, to take all of her in. They were all in it together. Smoke, ashe, fire, this was part of their world, now. Wizards were part of their world.

Ready. It was the best he could come up with, and it would have to do.

There was no other option.

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Sylvia and Jordan's arguing washed over Dawn, she barely heard a word of it, lost to her own thoughts. The image of her father in the garden was seared in the back of her mind. Her heart felt like it was buried in the pit of her stomach and tied in knots. But she was in control. She had to stay in control. For now. There would be time for breaking down later. It would just get herself and her friends killed now.

She was jarred back to reality by Jordan's touch. The conversations she'd been hearing but not processing rushed through her mind in a flash.

"Ready." Dawn repeated simply. Her voice was hard and carefully controlled, but there was an edge to it that betrayed the emotions that were contained behind it. "We shouldn't waste time." Unspoken was the reason -- she didn't want Logan to come home to a scene like the one she had been greeted by.

She started towards the truck, then abruptly paused. "Did Mr... the wizard know we were considering going there?" she asked. "Because he's going to go back to whoever's in charge and tell them, if he did. If we're targets. We won't be able to stay there."