DISCLAIMER: All rights reserved to Hasbro/Sony Wonder, 1985 - 2013.

NOTE: This contains portions of the Kaddish, the Jewish prayer of mourning. I tried to use it as appropriately as possible. Also, apologies for any cultural appropriation, translation failings, or anything else one might find insensitive. This chapter is 17+, as is the rest of my work.

Showtime, Synergy…

Pizzazz

A sea of indifferent faces regarded me from all sides of this suffocating room, waiting for me to speak. My gaze flicked again to where the urn sat alone, surrounded by buckets of donated flowers from people and companies I knew didn't really care about Eric at all; they were all simply playing the 'good businessman' charade by paying respects that never existed. Posers, I snorted, and faced the audience again. Not once in this storied career of mine had I ever had a problem performing for the public, and I wasn't about to start now.

"I'm not gonna lie to you," I said, leaning to rest my elbows on the edge of the little podium. "Eric was not a nice guy. He cheated, he embezzled, he lied, he stole. Turned out towards the end he was violent, mentally ill, and a danger to society too." My eyes closed. I focused on the rhythm of my breathing, pictured myself hovering outside my body so it could finish this task uninterrupted by emotion.

"But never in all the time I knew him did Eric try to conceal the way he was. He was proud of every dirty underhanded achievement, every minion he stepped on on his way to the top. He was outspoken to his enemies, and cold to those close to him. Eric never questioned himself, never doubted his abilities for a second. I guess that was really part of the problem and not the solution." Tears were starting to sting my eyes. Not gonna happen, I ordered the tears, swallowing hard. But nice try. I drew myself up and tried again.

"All the same, it was Eric's hard work that gave my band the push we needed to make it on our own," I admitted. "It was Eric's determination that got our songs on the radio and got us top billing in the best venues in town. He and I, we had a kind of...understanding, y'know? I didn't like him, he didn't like me - "

(PizzazzIstillloveyougoddamnitdiditforyouALLFORYOUP HYLLIS)

"But we got each other's vibe. Both of us wanted the same things in life."

For some reason I paused then, I guess because the pain inside was making me feel drunk. Hungover, stupid, puking-on-everything dead-ass drunk. A few of the faces in the people-sea became recognizable at the rate of a popcorn maker on full blast; Jerrica Benton and her lapdog, all the Holo-brats except the drummer who just birthed her litter, that slut Harrison, the idiot movie mogul Sands, the goddamn Stingers - Jesus Christ, was that Zanthos I saw lurking in the back row? All these people who blatantly hated Eric had dared to show up for his last party. Or maybe they all wanted to witness the spectacle of his killer being forced to give her victim's own eulogy. God, I felt sick. Keep going. Don't you back down, Gabor, not now, not ever.

"Yeah, okay, so I had to take his life from him! So what?" I announced, literally turning up my nose at the disgusted murmurs that arose from the audience. "Listen, people,all my charges have been dropped, okay? It's called justifiable homicide. I did what I had to do to keep someone who wasn't a danger to society alive and well. And I'll tell you something else!"

The room was really buzzing now. I could see Stormer beginning to stand up from her front row seat, and Roxy too. "Shut up!" The shriek erupted out of me like a solar flare. "Everyone shut up and sit down right now."

The silence was deafening.

Then it very slowly occurred to me that I hadn't said a word aloud. I'd just been standing here. Saying nothing. Feeling fuckin' insane and damn sure acting the part like a pro. Maybe I was becoming a pro, who knew.

Big, dumb eyes were gaping at me from every angle, judging me, waiting with that bated breath for Pizzazz's big meltdown, but I refused to give them the performance they all craved. "I will not have all of you walking away from here today remembering Eric Raymond only as a murderous psychopath. I want everyone in this room to hear me when I say that Eric was the hardest working man in the music business. Never once did he apologize for anything he did or to anyone he hurt, but for such an asshole, Eric was honest in the ways he went about being one." I sucked in a breath. "And his efforts didn't go to waste."

Roxy was at my side, Jetta appearing on the other. Both of them gently took me by the elbows and removed me from the podium, which was probably for the best. My self had joined again with my body, rendering any attempts to struggle utterly useless. I was led out of the funeral home and into the parking lot, where the death-black limousine waited to escort us away.

"'Zazz?" Jetta said after a period of stony, engine-rumbled silence. She and Stormer were fidgeting at each other, each woman wordlessly daring the other to speak next. Jetta lost and turned back to me. "You're...you're positively sure you're up to doing this, now?"

I blinked, willing the haze of grief to leave me alone and let me think. Eric's urn glinted at me from the safety of Roxy's lap; slowly, I reached over and took it from her, cradling it in my arms. My eyes closed and I turned away.

"Don't ever question me," I said to the window.

Both my hands cradled the strangely heavy urn, the rest of me having long since turned to cold, numb stone. Kinda ironic or something, I guess, being given the responsibility for the remains of the body I made lifeless. Roxy and Stormer quietly stood at either side of me; I was well aware of Clash and Jetta bringing up the rear while I sighed, staring out at the ocean.

"So I guess this is it, Eric," I said to the heavy metallic object. "End of the line. Nothin' left to say, but, y'know, sorry and all." Roxy helped me balance the urn with one hand while I wiped a tear with the other. My hand returned. "Thanks for...I don't know, making us rich. Well, I was already rich, all my girls here, thanks for makin' them rich...and stuff."

The harp's whine rose in pitch, the building wind urging it on. "Okay, and since you can't hear me and stuff, you know, okay, I did, y'know, sort of care about you. You know. I felt the same. I did. In my own way."

A gust of sharp salty wind assaulted my body, whipping my trenchcoat around my legs and torso; I sighed and held the urn close to my chest, my muscles quivering. "All right, fuck it then. Fuck it, I'll say it." A few stray tears splattered onto the little container. "I don't care. You still dumb enough to think I care? You know I'll fuckin' say it." My voice dropped, low and conspiratorial. "I did love you, Eric Raymond, once upon a time. I did. I loved your money-grubbing, law-breaking, stupid-grudge-holdin' ass. And I know you loved me back, in your own sick way." I breathed in deep and looked out at the roiling Pacific. "Ah, Christ, I wish this had never happened."

I blinked at the water, contemplating. From behind me:

"I'm not supposed to say this, guys, it's the part of the Rabbi. There's supposed to be a congregation! And I'm a chick here, I've never so much as touched the Torah, not to mention, I mean, oh, he's in an urn! It's unnatural, I-I can't do it!"

"Oh, c'mon, then, Constance, we can be your congregation! It's the thought that counts, just give ol' Raymond a wee bit of closure."

"I..."

"Come on, Clash, you can spill it all out in Confession later, just do it before 'Zazz starts to - "

"You freakin' moron, Roxy, that's Catholicism - "

"Will you all please just stop!" That was Stormer, of course. "Please, Clash, what does it matter? Do it in English if you have to, just please...we have to put him to rest somehow. Please?"

"But that's - !" I heard Clash sigh, and knew she'd relented. "Fine, just..." Her voice died off into a whisper.

I felt Roxy give my forearm an encouraging pat. While turning to all four of my best friends, my true family, I spotted my father a few feet away, his expression stoic. He nodded at me; I then nodded at my girls. All four nodded back; Jetta joined hands with Clash, who closed her eyes.

"May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified..."

"Amen," said Jetta and Stormer in unison. I held the urn out while Stormer and Roxy gingerly pried the lid off in one movement.

"In the world that He created as He willed."

There was a great, unearthly wailing sound as the wind sliced through the strings of the harp; I was briefly blinded by a green flash of my own hair, and fought to keep it pushed aside. Clash's voice was soothing, her words flowing together into a mantra.

"Glorified and sanctified be G-d's great name throughout the world which He has created according to His will. May He establish His kingdom in your lifetime and during your days, and within the life of the entire House of Israel, speedily and soon."

"Amen," I joined in, carefully untwisting the tie on the little plastic bag and prying the plastic open, exposing the ashes to the elements.

"May His great name be blessed forever and to all eternity."

Eerie silence, except for the tormented wail of that damned harp. Clash's voice struggled above the sound.

"Blessed and praised, glorified and exalted, extolled and honored, adored and lauded be the name of the Holy One, blessed be He, beyond all the blessings and hymns, praises and consolations that are ever spoken in the world."

"Amen."

With Stormer holding one side, Roxy holding the other, myself balancing the middle, all three of us in unison launched Eric's remains over the cliff. I watched, feeling almost serene, as the breeze took hold of the ashes and scattered them freely into the sea spray.

"May there be abundant peace from heaven, and life, for us and for all Israel."

"Amen," said everyone around me. I sighed.

"And off he goes," I murmured to the ocean. "Happy scamming, Eric. Weasel some dough out of those senior citizens for me and save me a seat beside you wherever you end up, okay?"

There was a moment of peace then; even the harp quieted. Then:

"He who creates peace in His celestial heights, may he create peace for us and for all Israel."

"Amen," everyone quietly repeated, and then there was nothing but faint sounds of waves crashing upon the bluffs. After a while I could hear politely retreating footsteps from behind my turned back. The procession had apparently gotten bored and now wanted to go on home to their own little death-free lives. I fucking envied them like you wouldn't believe.

"Nice job," I eventually told Clash, who blushed a bit.

"Thanks. Daddy did actually used to read to me from the Torah sometimes when I was little. He wasn't supposed to, but Daddy does a lot of stuff he's not supposed to." She grinned then, the grin fading when I didn't return it. My own father was approaching.

"I'm quite proud of you, Phyllis," he said, his voice gravelly. "You've done well here." Then he bent a little closer and thrust a thin package into my hand. "I have arranged it so that you can take some time off for a while, down at a very exclusive resort near Montego Bay where you'll be taken excellent care of. Your flight leaves at seven A.M. tomorrow."

"Thank you Daddy," I said dutifully, even though I knew damn well what the mystery in his voice meant, and turned away from him as he told the other Misfits he was returning to the office. Total business as usual. My eyes fixed on the bottom of the empty urn.

"Hey," Roxy finally said to me. "You wanna go down to The Scene, get a bite to eat?"

"The Scene?"

"Yeah. The Scene."

Memories of the early gigs slowly came back to me: playing to drunken creeps shouting for our tits (just like Eric'd taunted me about) and later, of crashing Stormer's shows (cause hey, in those days if she wasn't playing with the Misfits, she wasn't gonna play, period). I just kind of gave a mirthless little laugh. I couldn't so much as crack a damn smile. "Are you serious? We haven't been there all together in frickin' ages."

Roxy, who'd now stepped into my line of vision, shrugged at me. "I dunno. We don't have to. You're the boss."

I'm the boss. That sounded good to me. That sounded right for once.

"Yeah," I said to her after awhile. I replaced the urn's lid. "Let's go. I think I'm hungry."

Riot

"Such a tragedy this is," Minx cooed, pulling her black trench coat closer to her body to block out the ocean chill. "Poor American boy. So misunderstood by society."

"Oh, so now that he's deceased, he's in your favor again?" My Rapture smirked, a gentle taunt ripe in her voice. "How very twisted of you, Ingrid."

"It wasn't his fault," Minx replied, sniffing. "Americans keep mental illness so stigmatized; it's no wonder he never recovered."

"Silly, slutty necrophile," Rapture giggled under her breath, and Minx scoffed loudly, her brown eyes blazing. "Spoken like a true heuchler, darling Phoebe."

The other set of brown eyes rolled in disdain. "Whatever."

My head throbbed with a dull, insistent pain. "Ladies, please. The matter is laid to rest now," I soothed as I turned them both away from the precipice. "Let it remain that way, ja?"

The limousine was waiting for us, just behind that overtly familiar pink and gold Chevrolet. An unusually cold and violent wind whipped itself up and across the cliffs, prompting the harp to scream and my soul to ache again for the tropics. Minx and Rapture huddled together before my form as I opened the car door and ushered them both inside. Five dark, diminutive figures drifted towards their car, their collective auras visibly weighing them down. My focus sharpened on the leader of their pack, whose aura was the heaviest of all. Fascinating...she'd become an entirely different woman now, one whose scars screamed for all to feast upon. She carried it quite well for someone who quite obviously had not wallowed in the filth of life until now. Yes, very intriguing, and indeed a tragedy. I could not keep myself from drinking in her presence as the other Misfits tried coaxing her inside the car.

So what next? I asked myself as I watched the spectacle, feeling very crass for housing such a thought at such a crucial moment and feeling very much out-of-order with the fates that guided me. What of our futures? I turned to the cliff briefly so that Minx and Rapture would not hear my sigh. Our masterpiece was finished, flawless as always...but still homeless. None of the label offers had pleased me enough for me to grace them with the commercial rights to our talents, and so the Stingers remained free agents. Financially, we were secure again, maybe secure enough to distribute the record domestically, but an international release? That would cost another fortune. Yes, I thought as Pizzazz turned to me across the way, the use of another's fortune would obviously be ideal.

"Riot?" Rapture said sweetly from inside the vehicle. "Aren't you coming?"

I did not answer; the green-tressed Amazon had paralyzed me with a piercing glare, as if she could see my very thoughts. I met that gaze evenly, yet inside she still prompted a sensation in me akin to fear. How unsettling.

No, I decided, bestowing upon her a respectful nod of acknowledgment. To work my way inside her darkened world and coax from her the keys to her flourishing rebuilt empire would be simple, painfully so - and in a good way - but that was too far to go, even with Phyllis Gabor, who was now sneering at me as she finally ducked inside her limousine and closed the door. She did possess our keys, but there were far more humane methods with which to extract them. Ms. Gabor did not deserve to be broken any more than she already was in the process, and if I tried to break her in now, I might find her to still be armed and dangerous. The thought almost made me smile. Almost.

"Come on, Riot, let's go!" Minx was demanding. "Please, I cannot take being here one more second. I need a good shopping spree and a night on the town!"

"We both do," Rapture supplicated. I closed my eyes and chose to voice this particular sigh.

"All right," I said, bending to slide inside the cabin. Both girls fixed me with blatant glaring pouts as I shut the door behind me.

"Oh, come now, dear ones, don't be like that. Look, I'll make it up to you." I reached for the intercom console. "Rodeo Drive, please, driver. And do make sure you make an entrance. Call ahead for additional security if you must."

"Yes sir."

And with that the vintage Rolls purred to life and slid its way out and away from the funeral procession before any other cars could do the same. "There," I said, satisfied. "A few thousand surrendered to our good friends at Neiman Marcus should do the trick. Perhaps an excursion to Tiffany & Co. I will spare you no expense, meine kostbaren Göttinnen, ja?"

I had hoped to make her smile with the native language, but my dear Minx was nevertheless fidgeting in her seat with tears quite apparent in her eyes. Rapture was massaging her upper thigh.

"Oh, I am showing emotion, Rory, I know, forgive me. I simply cannot bear to think about it any more. It is too much," she volunteered, and turned to watch the sea. Her tears continued to leave tiny wet trails down that perfect face of porcelain; my heart ached for her.

"It is all too much to take," she said, a hitch in her voice. Immediately I shifted across the cabin to sit beside her and took her hand.

"Listen to me, Ingrid. It is over now, all over, laid to rest. Ingrid. He is at rest."

The porcelain face crumpled with unexpected grief and shock as I spoke; even Phoebe appeared overwhelmed, and I admit, I was quite surprised. It was not as if Eric Raymond deserved to be grieved over in such a manner; indeed, in any manner, but that was irrelevant at this time. I did not panic; I knew exactly what to do. Very calmly I lay my hands upon them both.

"Ingrid. Phoebe. Listen to me, to your Rory. Listen to my voice. Let it soothe you...do this for me, yes, for Rory. Listen to my voice..."

Jerrica

It was over. All over; still, I kept my eyes glued to the Misfits while they all huddled around Eric Raymond's now empty urn and made their way up to their waiting limousine. The wind harp sang and thrummed while most of the funeral-goers looked on woefully, and the whole time, I kept glancing over my shoulder as if I were expecting Eric himself to offer me false consolation for his own passing. Maybe that was what I wanted, just to be able to let go of this aging and now irrelevant grudge. I just couldn't believe it. God, I couldn't believe he was actually...dead.

"Hard to digest, isn't it?" Rio said to me, and I jumped. Had I spoken aloud? I didn't think I had. "Why did you want to come here today, anyways? Considering the history..."

I chewed hard on my lower lip and ordered myself not to shed tears for this monster. "I don't know. I must be insane, more insane than he was." A sigh left me. "I guess I just wanted to show him up one last time. If the tables were turned, I doubt he'd have had the guts to show his face at my funeral."

Rio shuddered, tightly shutting his eyes. "God, please don't say things like that to me, Jer. Too many times, it's been too close."

"Sorry," I told him, even though I wasn't.

He took my hand, and we stood there for a few minutes longer until a bit of common sense gradually took charge again. Both of us knew Shana and Kimber were still waiting at the top of the hill with the car. I for one had never been so eager to see that garish pink and gold former Chevy, and the second I climbed into its backseat those tears overwhelmed me. Kimber and Shana slid in after me, while Rio thrust his arm through the tiny window to rub my elbow. "I don't know why," I kept saying. "I don't know why I'm wasting grief on him."

"That's okay, Jerrica." Shana gave my arm a sympathetic pat. "Your grief doesn't know any better. It can't be helped."

Rio started the engine, and no one said anything else for the rest of our drive home.

Hours later, long after dark, my eyes ached from all the tears I'd forced myself to spill. The mansion was bathed in an eerie hush of empty mourning. I hadn't moved from the edge of my bed since coming home; I'd only shed my funeral garb as if the fabric itself were diseased and lay down to wallow in depraved and miserable solitude. Ashley at one point had come up to bring me a cup of tea, accompanied by Kimber, who gently assaulted me with a stream of nagging inquiries as to how I was doing as if I would be able to answer her. Silly girl, I thought, and noticed my pillow was cold and drenched. I heard another knock on my bedroom door.

"Sweetheart?"

My husband.

"It's open," I told him in a dry croak. The tea still sat untouched on my nightstand.

The hush of the mansion rushed in to swallow the room as Rio quietly opened the door and shut it behind him. My eyes followed his movements as he circled the bed, replaced the old cup of tea with a fresh steaming one, removed his shoes, and lay down beside me. The numbness inside me tingled away just a little when his arm slipped around my waist and pulled my limp body against his strength.

"How is Deirdre?"

"She's doing fine; Mrs. Bailey said she came back from her doctor's appointment early this afternoon. Krissie and Ashley took her out to see a movie - "

"Did they take their bodyguards?!"

"Jerrica, of course they did! Of course they did. Lie back down," he said. "Martin dropped Ba Nee off so she could go with them too. She's spending the night."

"Oh." I blinked. "Okay."

Rio nuzzled my ear. "Don't worry. The worst is over now," he said to me, his breath low and warm on my neck. Involuntarily I offered a shiver and a gentle sigh. "Yeah, so you say," I said. "Rio, how did it come to this?"

A light touch of his lips on my earlobe. "I don't know, Jerrica, it just did. Shit happens."

"Oh, please don't curse," I groaned. "And I'm serious, what - what happened to our lives? When did everything become so surreal, so sick and profane? Was it Jem? Was it my fault? Tell me the truth, Rio, once and for all."

I knew he was tempted to say yes. Of course it was Jem, of course it was my doing. No one would have bothered to sabotage my wedding if I hadn't turned myself into someone else years ago. No one would have sullied my reputation if I hadn't formed my own force of nature with a band no one could beat. No one would have gone after me or anyone I loved had I not kept so many festering secrets...but I never would have kept anything a secret had my father not kept his, the worst secret a person could possibly keep. And he wouldn't have kept his had my mom not left his side the way she had. It was all out of anyone's hands. Shit happened.

"It's all over now," Rio said again, holding me tight. "It's all in the past. We all did the best we could under those circumstances."

I kept silent, organizing my thoughts to coherency. Then I told him I was sorry. And I meant it.

"Why?"

"For Jem. For Riot. For Eric." A fresh sob hitched in my throat; I swallowed it as Rio sympathetically kissed me on the neck. "For everything." I wondered as more tears flowed anew if I'd ever stop apologizing for the choices I'd made, and also wondered why those kisses were traveling now across my collarbone as I was rolled over onto my back, letting Rio taste my misery.

"Oh, so now my pain is an aphrodisiac?" I asked him, smiling as he shed his shirt. Rio smiled back, saying nothing, and instead lay his hands on me with such searing affection I could not resist him. What little I wore was now giving way under his touch.

He told me he loved me moments later as I lay there shuddering from his gentle ministrations, and for once I took it to heart. Warmth overwhelmed me, flooded me inside, making me whole and taking the numbness with it. He always did that; he always knew exactly what I needed to make me whole again. "Love you...more..." I managed through clenched teeth as the room grew darker, shrouding us in an aura of peace as I felt his bare skin against mine. Comfort. My body opened to welcome his, the warmth centered and pulsed with new life, and then all that had gone dark in the world suddenly burst open, becoming blinding white heat. Scorching purity. Sounds danced and clenched in my throat as we melted together, letting our minds and hearts be cleansed, and I clung to him awash with relief. He sighed to me, spoke the words again, and sank down beside me to sleep.

Now the silence was welcoming, and I let myself smile in the darkness. All that was left behind in the wake of the past was the two of us. That was it. That was all that had ever mattered. That was all we would ever need to survive.

Pizzazz

"Phyl?"

Warm, ambient sunlight tried to pry its gentle way underneath her eyelids; meanwhile, her warm, considerably less gentle manager-with-benefits tried to prod the curve of her rump so that the rest of her responded in kind. A groan rumbled in her throat.

"Leave me alone, Eric. I'm tired."

"Awww." Prod, prod, rub. "Poor little thing. I was too much for you, wasn't I?"

Pizzazz reached behind her, tugged the pillow out from under his head and promptly whacked him with it. "You are disgusting," she said and curled back into a ball. "You know that? All you ever wanna do now is fuck."

"I'm only a man, Pizzazz."

"No, you're a pig."

"Well, yes, that too, I suppose - but my dear, you can't blame a man - "

"A pig."

Eric sighed. "A man, for wanting all the best in life."

"Like hell I can't. I can blame you for anything I want; you're an easy target that way, Eric, I'll give you that."

Unsettled, Pizzazz inched her way towards the edge of the down-soft mattress, as far away from him as she could get, and tried not to let him hear her sigh. The mattress began to cave in on itself gradually the closer Eric shifted to meet her body. His lips brushed against her ear; her eyes closed as lust heated her inside. The early tropical sun blinded her.

"I'll tell you what," he purred. "You and I, we're gonna go out today and make a special appearance. We're gonna shake the hands of each and every crusty senior citizen vacationing on this tub, give our public image a very charitable boost. And while I'm on that subject..." Another nibble at the neck. "Give me enough time to wheel and deal during the captain's banquet and I just might be able to land us - land you - a hefty dose of corporate sponsorship. What do you say to that, eh, darling? A series of Pepsi commercials here, a sparkling Benetton ad there...think of it, Pizzazz, a massive world tour with an absolutely unlimited budget. We could hire the best songwriters in the business and propel all your records to multi-platinum status. Think of the star power you'll have. Think of how fast yours would eclipse Jem's."

"I am nothing but star power, Eric dear, and besides, what kind of corporate whore do you take me for anyway?"

"Mmmm, little do you know, I think nothing of the sort. You are my lover, dear Phyllis, not just my client. Yes...my star client." His hands were on her everywhere. "You are going to be the most famous woman in the world - screw Lerner, screw Luna Dark, screw Jem, screw every one of them."

I bet you would, too, she thought, wanting to grin and hurl at the same time. God, it was so fucking white in here, you'd think the Bahama Cruise Lines would have a bit more money to throw around for some decent interior decorators. White everywhere. I need my damn sunglasses.

So saying, Pizzazz rolled herself away from her manager and sat up, blinking, ignoring Eric's lustful groan of protest. The light absolutely poured in through the windows, illuminating everything it touched, reflecting off of objects it shouldn't have. Pizzazz squinted and rummaged about in the drawer next to her, retrieved the sunglasses, slid them on with extreme caution. Something was wrong. Definitely. She took in her surroundings very, very slowly. Eric was moaning for pity.

"Aw, Phyl, where are you going? I thought we were just getting started, baby."

She rose to her feet, held her hands out in front of her. They were stained with burnt gunpowder. She sniffed them. The death smelled real but she did not cry.

And now the room had shifted its shape; the floor underneath her no longer rolled back and forth with the gentle rhythm of the sea, the portholes had widened into large, luxurious patio doors that offered her a bright glittering jewel of a shoreline. Now she understood. She turned to Eric, but he was not in bed. In an instant his arms were snaking around her waist possessively.

"We're going to make history, you and I," he was purring in between gentle neck bites. "You and I are going to rule the world together and make the careers of the Holograms as dead as disco."

But the ocean before her was expanding, Eric's needs were overpowering, his words filled her with bile, and Pizzazz erupted in a moment of violent clarity.

"You moron," she shrieked, slapping at him with an open palm; Eric recoiled. "Don't you get it yet?! Don't you understand?! It is not 1986 and we are not on the Bahama Queen!" She whirled on him fiercely. "It's 1990 and guess what? Your dumb ass is dead, okay, dead! What's more, I killed you! Why? Because your dumb dead ass went crazy and started trying to kill people, namely 'Jem'. And you know what? Don't fucking lie to me. Don't fucking stand there telling me I'm your only one when you've always, always been obsessed with that idiot tramp Jerrica. Don't," Pizzazz growled when his mouth opened to voice protest. "I'm not stupid, Raymond. We made you plenty of money, shitloads of money! You were one of the most powerful execs in the biz! There was no good reason for you to chase after Starlight Music other than her. Okay? You had it all but you, you greedy son of a bitch, you just had to have more. Including me. And I am nobody's fucking trophy mistress. Not Sean Harrison's, not fucking Riot's, and sure as Hell not yours. Yeah. We were a good team, Eric, but there is no 'U' in team and you never got that so it doesn't matter, it's dead and gone and so are you. Okay? So just...just stop trying to fuck me, and - and telling me all that 'love' bullshit, cause it isn't real, not anymore, and I'm fucking tired. I need to sleep. I need to..." She trailed off, closing her eyes and sitting down right there on the floor. "Fuck, I just need to escape."

Her eyes stayed closed and Eric, for once, stayed silent, until silence and loneliness were all Phyllis had left. Then she felt him, literally felt him touch her shoulder. She gasped.

"This is escape, Phyl," he said to her with a ridiculous tenderness. "This is our last chance."

Pizzazz sucked back an angry sob and stared at her knees. "This isn't real, Eric. You aren't real. I shouldn't be talking to you."

"Probably not," he conceded with a smirk in his tone, and lay his arm across her shoulders. "But this is the only way that I can talk to you."

I can feel that, she marveled, he's really touching me...this is crazy, maybe I really do belong in this place. She could hear the surf lapping up sand beyond the glass. "Raymond," she said slowly, "whatever it is you gotta tell me, you better tell me now. Cause it's already too late."

He slid his palm under her chin and lifted it, as he would a small child. "It's never too late," Eric stated, and kissed her hard, just like the old days. Her eyes closed again and Pizzazz could have sworn she was actually floating above the floor. Wow. He could have sucked all the oxygen clean out of her lungs and she woulda let him, how hot was that? Still, though...

"Wait," she breathed, pulling away from his mouth. "Eric, wait a sec. What about...what about her?"

"What about her?"

"I mean, why? Why go insane like that over your boss's dumb blonde daughter, huh, when you and me always had our thing? Did you ever, like, mean all the stuff you said? Or was I nothing but a cheap fuck for you?"

Eric's familiar smirk now resembled more of a smile. Maybe a real one. "I'm a man of my word, Phyllis. I never bluff."

"Yeah, okay."

The smile ate the smirk alive. "Never," he quipped, and she suddenly missed him so deeply it pierced her right through. "Listen, you...you shouldn't worry anymore. About what you had to do, Phyllis. You obviously didn't have any choice."

"Not like you left me any," she retorted.

"Touché." His hand brushed a frayed strand of silken green away from her face. "I'm serious. I was too far gone in that body to be helped and now I'll take responsibility for my own...actions. You, Phyllis darling, need to go on and live your life at the top without me."

Pizzazz glanced at her hands again and noticed they were now clean, powder free. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, will do, Eric."

"Promise me. Promise you're going to do that for me."

She licked her lips and nodded. "Solid."

He seemed pleased by that, all leers and grins like the old Eric Raymond. "Oh, and one more thing, Pizzazz."

"Yeah? What's that, Raymond?"

"Come here for a moment," he said, gently nudging her closer to him while the white light enveloped them both. "I really don't have long to stay..."

I smiled...and then he was gone.

Of course I sat up and looked around, like you do when you're sure it was all real and whatever you dreamed of should still be there, but he wasn't. I blinked and gazed all around me, everywhere. He was gone. And everything was still white.

Stormer

So for like, three days, I've been looking through this folder. We'd all known that since Eric...died...the cops had been trying to locate any trace of his next of kin. They came up empty. Neither parent living, no siblings, no aunts or uncles. Nothing. That's why the Gabor's lawyers had to arrange for all five of us to be executrices of what was left of Eric's estate. And I'd thought it really sad, to have no family to turn to, no one to care for or know they cared for you. The poor bastard. Literally. I didn't really have to imagine, you know, how it felt and all - although Craig had taken on all the dirty responsibilities after Mom and Dad's accident and had felt it necessary to be the buffer for my struggles ever since - I couldn't imagine not having anyone. I couldn't fathom that kind of desperation he'd obviously lived on, and it made me cry every time I tried, so I'd stopped trying.

Anyway, once the cops did stumble on a lead, it was like, staggering. Good thing Harvey (I still had a problem calling him that instead of Mr. Gabor even though he'd explicitly told me to) thought to send Pizzazz away, put her in the care of one of those hoity-toity psychologist friends of his down in the tropics, cause she was in no condition to hear any of this. Heck, Roxy and I hadn't even believed them and insisted, like the morons we apparently were, to go through all those old files ourselves and prove them wrong. We had to; the truth they were feeding us was just too creepy. So with all the self-righteousness we could muster, all four of us went and slogged through mind-numbing legal document after legal document from World Studios, from the Starlight corporation, and all the child welfare agencies in between, tracing our way back through time.

And of course, humbled, we'd landed on the same conclusion that the cops did. Since we'd demanded to verify it for ourselves, it was now up to us, or me, really, to break the news to the Bentons. It killed me, it really did, but I thought it was only fair. Sitting here now in the waiting room of Jerrica's office, I was starting to think I should have booked a room right next to Pizzazz. I was insane, this was so none of my business. Yet here I sat, nauseous as anything, trying to patch together some kind of way to break this gently.

"Yeah, right," I whispered to the thick manila folder my lap. The big, important-looking phone on Joanie's desk shrilled to life; the secretary snatched it up and whispered something into the receiver with a short nod and a glance at me.

"Jerrica's ready to see you now, Ms. Phillips."

"Thank you," I replied meekly. "I'll let myself in."

She went back to her work, and I reached for the doorknob. Both Kimber and Jerrica shot me a startled glance when I came in, even though they were expecting me. Even though I'd been a guest in their house! I guess I couldn't really blame them, though, all things considered.

"Have a seat, Stormer."

I did so. Both of them kind of stared at me, like they knew already. I don't know, though, maybe I was hallucinating. We'd all survived being dragged through hell the past few days; everyone was obviously still on edge. Duh, Mary. And you're about to make it so much worse.

"How are you holding up?" Jerrica asked me as she sank into her office chair. I faked a smile. "Fine, fine. It's fine. We're getting through together." Pause. "How about you?"

Jerrica graced me with a faked smile of her own, cool and smoothly calculated. "One day at a time, we do the same." She nodded at my lap, her smile waning. "What's in the folder?"

Oh, man, I said to myself, heart fluttering in panic. Here we go.

I handed it over to her with one hand behind my back, fingers crossed. "Okay, well, you know me, you guys. I hate to make a bad situation worse, y'know? Those are just a few of the documents the police had us look at..." I trailed off as Jerrica began to rifle through the folder. "They were public record, so...uh, anyway. Here's the thing. Uh, so they'd been, like, trying to find Eric's next of kin, to notify 'em or whatever, and they couldn't find anybody. Like, at all." God, I hated how my speech went all Valley whenever my nerves got the best of me. "I know his father - I think his name was Dan? - died in like '82, '83, and his mother died kind of soon after Eric placed her in a group home. He had no brothers or sisters, no living aunts or uncles, and no friends, unless you count his clients and former business contacts."

"You almost have to feel bad for the guy," Kimber murmured, peering over her sister's shoulder to read. Jerrica said nothing as her blue eyes darted back and forth across the fading print. She didn't have to; that frown spoke volumes. "That's unsettling; there's a Daniel Raymond listed in here as Father's 'consultant'."

Kimber rolled her eyes. "Oh, gee. Wonder who that could have been."

Jerrica wordlessly murmured in agreement. "This bank statement says that Daniel 'helped' Father take out a loan in 1972 to start Starlight Music, which he co-signed! And then another one, a home loan, in '74, but that was in Father's name only. Oh, I'm sure that had absolutely nothing to do with Eric being hired, or being given half of the company in that will, no, nothing at all." She rolled her eyes; her fingers flipped back a few pages, then forward, then back again. "Our poor father. So much debt...I knew he'd made a lot of sacrifices for us, but this is something else entirely. How did I not know all this until now?" Her eyes scanned faster. "These accounts go back to the 1940's...back to the founding CEO of World Studios, which...oh, wow. Which was Daniel's father, John Raymond."

"Eric's grandfather, yeah. Huge narcissistic jerk, too," I said, feeling sour. "Eric learned from the best. This guy ran his empire like he was untouchable, treated everyone under him like minions, probably his son and grandson most of all. Evaded his taxes, screwed around on his wife left and right, and was really good at keeping all of it under wraps, even after Howard Sands' father acquired the company once the tax thing blew up. Anyway, one of the officers down at the station even told me that his father was a security guard for World during the early forties, and he...well, he saw some really crazy stuff."

Suddenly Jerrica's posture was absurdly rigid and perfect. "Oh? Like what?"

And before I could lose my courage I blurted: "That officer's great uncle told him once that he'd found a girl in labor locked in this shed towards the back of the studio's lot. Told him he could tell she was dying when he got a look at her. She said her name was Marianne, that she'd been 'working for' Raymond, and before she died she told him she wanted to name the baby, uh, Jacqui. After that famous forties actress Jacqui Andrews, you know? And it wasn't the kind of thing someone ever forgot."

Kimber's jaw fell open. Jerrica simply withered into her chair.

"Stormer, can you be sure of this? It's - it's only a personal account and it could be an exaggeration, that man could be lying - "

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and reached across the desk to show her the last packet from the folder. Jerrica's eyes widened as she read aloud. "From a U.S. Children's Bureau agent...doesn't even say the agent's name. It's addressed to John." She paused, reading further:

'Mr. Raymond,

You will be pleased to know that this matter has been resolved. We do regret to inform you that "M" did not survive, though the child did. She was brought immediately to Cedars and given a clean bill of health; the child is now a ward of the state of California. For your convenience we have provided all the documentation for your records. Discretion has been our highest priority in this matter; we thank you again for your kind donation.'"

Jerrica looked up. "How vile! He bribed his way out of his own mess!"

"Sis?" interrupted Kimber warily, "correct me if I'm crazy, but didn't Mom once say her mother's name was, uh, Mary Ann or something?"

Quietly I took the folder from Jerrica's shaking hands and pored through its contents until I found the certificate and the many yellowed placement forms. I handed one piece of proof to Jerrica and the others to Kimber, who went ashen white as she read the first form.

"Ohmigod," she said, flipping back and forth through the papers. "Ohmigod, Jerrica, these are all Mom's. They're the forms from all her foster homes, and her name certificate. He was keeping track of her, look!"

"And this is Marianne's death certificate." Jerrica groaned softly. "It just says 'Jane Doe'...but it also says she was about sixteen, had blue eyes and blond hair. The cause of death was childbirth complications. That she died in World Studios around midnight on - oh, God."

"On Mom's birthday!" Kimber finished for her in an awed whisper. "Ohmigod, Jerrica, Marianne really was our grandmother!" Her wide eyes darted towards the blonde, who held her head in her hands.

"And we, dear sister, seem to be Eric Raymond's only living blood relatives," Jerrica declared miserably. "His first cousins."

"Oh, God, disgusting!" Kimber shrank back against the window. "And you had that thing for him when Daddy hired him to Starlight Music...and then he...!"

My stomach totally dropped at that look on Jerrica's face. "Yeah," I rushed on, "So since there is a blood relation, the lawyers said you have the option to be co-executrices along with all us Misfits and to choose to claim a sliver of Eric's estate, which is mostly just more responsibilities and not money. But seriously, it's just like, formality, I mean, you don't have to, I mean..."

"Good Lord, Stormer, do people already know about this?!"

"What? No!" I lied, staring Jerrica right in the eye. I was so going to Hell when I died. "Oh, God, no, no. No, Mr. Gabor's lawyers do cause they're the ones that did most of the research once the cops couldn't find any family, but this is confidential information. I only know because, y'know, the executrice thing and all. I mean we - Clash and Jetta and Roxy and me - were goin' through all the files, yeah, but..." I swallowed hard. "But I'm the one who found this. And I just thought that...that you should find out from a friend and - and not from anyone else."

"Well, we appreciate it, Mar," Kimber said softly after a long, long pause. "Really."

"Yes, we do," added a ghost-pale Jerrica, who appeared to be just on the verge of losing every lunch she'd ever eaten. I swallowed my anxiety, tried to think about the tropical paradise that waited for me once this was done, and met Jerrica's eyes. Her sunken, haunted eyes. I'd have been lying if I said I wasn't worried about up and leaving her alone with this knowledge and the memories.

"I'm guessing you don't want to have any part of this."

"You'd be guessing correctly," Jerrica told me flat out. I nodded.

"Yeah. There's not much to it anymore that Harvey - that Mr. Gabor's law team hasn't already seen to." I stole a glance at my Rolex; my time here was up. "Look, I'm really sorry and all, but I'm afraid I gotta go." I stood to emphasize this and reached to embrace Kimber. "I got a plane to catch."

"It's okay, Mar," she said in my ear, "you do what you gotta do."

"Thanks, Kim. I'll, uh, you know, I'll be in touch, we'll get the album out and stuff," I stammered, and broke free to turn away.

"Stormer? Wait."

I paused and turned to Jerrica, who was advancing on me with actual tears in her eyes. That startled the hell out of me, but not as much as her sudden embrace did. I gaped at Kimber over the blonde's shoulder; all she did was shrug at me. Some help she was.

"Thank you," was all Jerrica was capable of saying in English anymore, apparently, cause she kept saying it over and over again. Least, that was all I could make out through all those choked-on tears. I did what I could and gingerly patted her on the back.

"You could probably call me Mary now," I offered, and God help us all, the woman actually laughed. She really, truly did, and then Kimber did too, and all I could think was here we come, Pizzazz, all three of us, save us all a straitjacket! But Jerrica Benton backed away then and brushed the tears from her eyes, smiling; some of the color was returning to her face. I decided it was not so much a total loss of sanity than an invitation to smile back.

"And I will," she told me. "That's a promise."

Wow. I didn't think I'd ever seen anyone bounce from one emotional extreme to another so seamlessly, except for maybe Pizzazz. "It's...it's just freeing to hear the truth, all of it. You are a true friend to us and you just keep proving it." Her smile could have blinded me. "Please don't ever forget that."

"Yeah, okay." I felt my smile go a little crooked from all this unabashed friendship-and-good-will stuff, and reached backwards for the doorknob. "I won't. And, uh, you're welcome...and stuff."

I was out that door so fast I outran the first sounds of Kimber's tears joining Jerrica's. I didn't even look behind me to see the rattled look on Joanie's face as she stood to see what was going on; I just pushed my way into the empty elevator and jabbed at the button as the doors slowly, slowly closed off my view. And thank God, cause when they did, I damn near cried myself.

But I didn't. I stood still as the lift descended, stepped out coolly into the parking garage when it stopped, slid into the safety of my car.

"I did the right thing," I said to the rear view mirror. "I did the right thing."

I kept telling myself this all the way to LAX. I figured if you lied to yourself enough, you'd start believing it eventually. What a great way to start off the new year.

TBC