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Chapter Text

Mid 2003

Ding.

Twelve-year-old Helena holds just past her elbow with her fisted hand, enjoying the tense pull of her muscle a few seconds longer than the timer dictates.

Ding.

She relents and reaches for the timer, pressing the 'Next' button. She never let it ding more than twice. She had made this mistake only once when she was six. Helena liked to think she was the type of person who learned from her mistakes. She knew if the timer sounded thrice, there were consequences.

00h:28m:00s

The seconds begin to count down. Helena folds her exercise mat and returns it to its place. Everything has a place, even she has a place. She crosses the blue carpet to her wardrobe closet and applies two fingers to the pressure-sensitive door. It opens smoothly and reveals her outfit of the day. Her eyebrows raise, and the corner of her mouth curves. She does her best to press her lips tightly together. This dress meant an outing. She would be leaving the estate today.

"Health and Hygiene, Helena." A female voice sounds over the speaker in her ceiling. Helena's eyes squint in annoyance at this disembodied voice. She knew the order of things and didn't need reminding. Helena always peeked at her chosen outfit before cleansing. Her Nanny, Mr. Heilman, knew this and allowed it. She thinks of sounding back, that she wouldn't be senseless enough to dress without cleansing first, but decides against it. She didn't want 'The Bad Soap'. She proceeds to her en suite washroom. As she washes, she sings a Kier Hymn to help fight her excitement about her outing. Where are we going? How far? How long will I be gone? How many people might I see? Too much Cheer can lead to Frolic.

Lumon soap, Lumon 3-in-1 shampoo combo, Lumon floss and paste, and Lumon Original recipe skin salve to moisturize her face. She was told other kids her age had acne, and she could thank Kier for her clear skin. She does thank Kier as she applies the salve in her mirror. She finishes grooming with time to spare, clocking in at 00h:03m:46s. She taps 'Next' on her timer.

00h:09m:00s

Helena thought it a pity that the saved time didn't roll over to the 'Next' activity. Although she never mentioned this to anyone, because she couldn't think of what she would do with the extra time. Kier hates idle hands. She inhales deeply and breathes out slowly, reaching for the clothing hanging in the wardrobe, doing her best to enjoy each item of her wardrobe equally.

She again fights a smile from the corners of her lips as she slips on her pale yellow dress. She easily finds the zip without assistance, next panty hoes, then white mary-jane style shoes polished to perfection, purer than she knew she could ever be. For every mistake she has made, the stain lives on only in her. Lastly, a white headband that she places right behind her red fringe. She taps 'Next', clocking an extra four minutes. Helena takes her place, standing still, with her shoulders back, facing the door, and her hands at her side. As she waits, she fidgets with her dress, smoothing any wrinkles she may have caused in her haste.

Ding.

Helena remains still but flicks her eyes to the clock to see that she has waited for seven minutes. Her chamber door opens, and a middle-aged woman in a blue dress stands in the opening.

"Who are you?" Helena asks, her eyebrows raised in concern.

"I am Miss Shoemaker." The woman announces taking a step into Helena's room. Instinctively, Helena wants to step back, but she remains in her place.

"Shoemaker?" Helena smirks.

"Yes, a long, long time ago, when Kier was in the Ether factory, my family was making shoes, " the woman explains. Helena smiles; it was refreshing to have such an easily won explanation. She nods a silent 'thank you' to Kier for being named Eagan instead of Salve-maker.

"And who are you, Miss Shoemaker?" She asserts, watching the woman who inspects Helena's bed making. She would find no error there.

Without looking at her, the woman answers, "I'm your new Nanny."

"What?" Helena spins around to face Miss Shoemaker.

"I think you heard me clearly." Miss Shoemaker says as she finishes the examination of the room.

Helena's mind reels. She's only ever known one Nanny, Mr. Heilman. Before she was school-age and the tutors came, he was the one who taught her how to spell her name and hold a pencil.

"Where is Mr. Heilman?" Helena's voice cracks as she asks. Miss Shoemaker stands firmly beside her, looking down at the thin, pale-skinned girl.

"Do I hear Woe?" Miss Shoemaker warns. Helena searches the woman's eyes. They are distant as if she were looking through Helena entirely. Helena turns her body and plants her feet back in her place, mainly to conceal her discomfort from this woman she doesn't know. She drops her head, breathing in, then out, but a single tear betrays her, escaping her eye and sliding down her cheek.

"Is Mr. Heilman okay?" Helena tries to steady her voice and tame her tempers. She didn't want them tamed for her.

"He resigned." Miss Shoemaker says flatly, moving to stand in front of the child.

"Did, did he, was it something I did?" Helena stammers, her eyes darting back and forth, scanning her memory for a grievance she could have committed to cause him to quit. An eternity of silence follows the question until Helena lifts her head, locking her tear-filled eyes on her new Nanny's blank expression.

"Maybe." Miss Shoemaker says coldly. "Follow me." Miss Shoemaker turns her back to the girl, pauses for a beat, then begins walking. Helena, without question, follows her escort out of the bedchambers and down a long white hall. Next was breakfast.

Behind Miss Shoemaker's back, Helena secretly wipes her tears and chastises herself for giving into Woe. She tells herself that she shouldn't miss Mr. Heilman . He may have been the one to brush her hair before she was old enough to do so herself, but he was also the one who reported her waywardness to her father and personally delivered any approved disciplinary measures. After a tough week, sometimes she wasn't sure if Mr. Heilman even liked her, but he was the one who bandaged her up and snuck her non-Lumon chocolates on her birthdays. You don't sneak potential-career-ending chocolate for someone you don't like. What could she have done so wrong that he resigned? She hadn't incurred any infractions thus far this week. Last Tuesday, there was a brief scare when her tutoring was stopped and she was rushed to the Lumon nurse's office. It was explained to her that she had reached something called 'menarche' and was given a box of Lumon feminine hygiene products. The nurse said it was natural and there was nothing to be done. Sure, it was scary at first, but could Mr. Heilman have given into Dread and been unable to resume his duty of care? If that's the case, and Helena decides that it is, then he was weak and unworthy of the responsibility of her full-time care. When she comes to this conclusion, she and Miss Shoemaker reach the dining room.

Helena takes her seat at the long glass table and waits to be served her breakfast, the only breakfast: eggs. As she waits, she hears footsteps on the stairs, dress shoes, the slow, measured steps alert her that it must be her father. Helena stands to receive him, shoulders back, hands at her sides. He meets her eyes, and she offers a smile, but it isn't returned. He walks to the furthest end of the table, keeping his focus on her. Once he's stationary, she offers a slight bow as a greeting.

"Father." She acknowledges.

"A momentous day, " he says, a smile lighting his eyes. It's a flicker, but it's there, and Helena is sure she saw it.

"Is it?" She asks, wondering if this has anything to do with Miss Shoemaker.

"Sit, child." He moves his gaze from her to one of the two chairs at the table.

"Yes." She agrees and returns to her seat. As she does, Miss Shoemaker reappears with a tray, a boiled egg for Helena, and a crystal glass with three raw eggs for Jame. Helena nods, accepting that Miss Shoemaker already knows more about Helena's day than she knows herself. Helena never knew when to expect her father. He is a busy man, and his work is mysterious and important. She remembers once when she was eight, Mr. Heilman made the mistake of telling her in advance that her father would be joining her for a meal that day. He didn't specify which, and the uncertainty left her with an upset stomach for most of her morning tutoring. Her temper, Dread, had to be tamed to return her focus on her studies. When her father was informed of her temper imbalance, he chose not to show. That day, as she ate dinner alone, observed by Mr. Heilman , he told her that most kids sat down for a meal with their parents at least once a day. She laughed and told him his Malice was showing and that maybe he needed his tempers tamed. He laughed. Would Miss Shoemaker laugh?

Helena glances up occasionally as she cuts and prepares her egg for consumption. Her father stands, looming, and swirls the eggs in his glass, never removing his scrutinizing eye from her.

"Today, Helena, you will begin your Wintertide fellowship," Jame announces before a pause. He unnaturally smiles and gulps down the slimy eggs, finishing every drop before licking his lips satisfactorily. Helena squints in confusion and disgust but decidedly focuses on her less problematic egg. She eats a small piece, chewing for much longer than necessary as she silently prays for Wit to discern context clues, to understand her father. Ultimately, Wit helps her remain silent. Jame continues, "Your tutors have deemed you Wintertide material. The reports say that you have shown remarkable improvements with your test scores and most importantly, you have finally embodied all nine core principles." Helena nods, biting the inside of her lip. That word 'Finally' cuts her. She reminds herself of Kier's words, "We must be cut to heal." After this announcement, he sits in the only other chair at the far end of the table and pours himself coffee.

A tense quiet settles around them. She eats her egg. He sips his coffee. The clock on the wall ticks. Miss Shoemaker can be heard humming a Kier hymn. Jame grunts a small sound of disapproval, and Helena observes him. It's unclear if his displeasure is with the coffee or with her. She places down her utensils, offering her full attention.

"Father?" She studies his stoic face.

"What do you say to that, child?" He asks sternly.

Helena does everything in her power to keep her body still and not give him a juvenile shrug of the shoulders. She stares wide-eyed at her egg as if it might whisper something to her about what Wintertide means. The clock ticks. She has no practiced response since this is the first time she has heard of this Fellowship. However, she must quickly settle on a reply. "Praise Kier for making me worthy of such a fellowship." She shakes her head slightly, the words tasted wrong as they came out, and she's sure they couldn't have sounded sincere, but when she peeks at her father, he is placated.

"Admission to The Myrtle Eagan School for Girls is an honored and coveted position for young women all over the world who choose to serve Kier. I expect only outstanding reports." With this, he stands and places down his half-empty coffee mug. "May Kier guide your actions." Jame takes a few swift, unexpected steps towards his daughter, and Helena's entire body tenses. He stops directly behind where she is seated and leans over her. He whispers, "Do not sully the Eagan name."

Frozen in his shadow, she manages a meek, "Yes, Father." With that, his business here is done. He disappears down the stairs from which he emerged. Without realizing it, Helena holds her breath until his steps are out of earshot. She huffs, exasperated, blowing away the tension and the hundreds of unasked questions. She wanted to ask about Mr. Heilman, about Miss Shoemaker, or anything about what Wintertide expects of her. Helena knows that Jame Eagan is too important to stick around and tediously explain himself.

Chapter Text

The ride is long, far past Lumon. Helena is happy to see other houses. They are mind-boggingly miniscule, and she estimates that an entire row of them could fit inside her home. She struggles to imagine how families with multiple children fit in such tight spaces. She would have asked Mr. Heilman this, but not sour-faced Miss Shoemaker. Helena is too embarrassed to reveal her ignorance or any perceived weakness to this strange woman. Before Helena looks away, Miss Shoemaker reaches into her purse, an ugly purple thing. Miss Shoemaker produces a small packet of paper.

"Here is a list of expectations for your Wintertide Fellowship." Miss Shoemaker holds the papers out, and Helena snatches them. She had these all along? Why did she wait so long to give them to me? Does she want me to make a fool of myself? Helena looks her up and down, weary that Miss Shoemaker may have Malice in her. She furiously studies the printed material, then reads through a second time, slowly and thoroughly. Finally, she looks to Miss Shoemaker and chews the inside of her lip, brushing the edges of the paper with her fingers. If this woman were to be her Nanny, Helena would have to speak to her at some point.

"It says that the girls enrolled in Wintertide Fellowships often have sleeping quarters on the campus of Myrtle Eagan's School for Girls." Helena starts, tapping her finger on the relevant bullet point.

"Yes, they do. Three girls to a room. My roommates and I all graduated from our Wintertide Fellowships the same year. And believe it or not, I'm still friends with them to this day." Miss Shoemaker smiles with fond nostalgia.

"What!" Helena snaps. "You mean to tell me that you have gone to this school? You graduated from this program!"

"Yes." Miss Shoemaker says, all the warmth from her previous recollection, gone.

"When were you going to tell me this?" Helena gestures angrily to the papers.

"Hmm." Miss Shoemaker raises an eyebrow, opens a small red notebook, and scribbles a note. "I hear Woe again, Helena."

Helena inhales through her nose, pinching its bridge. "I am just saying…" She speaks slowly, but her anger sharpens the edges of her words. "It would have been NICE to know about your experience before I am dropped off ill-PREPARED." Her heated words are met with a blank expression from her Nanny, who makes another note.

"Malice." Miss Shoemaker tsks and shakes her head at Helena. "And they told me you were a balanced child."

"No! You're the one with Malice." Helena snarls.

"And yet, only one of us has a raised voice and red face." Miss Shoemaker says bored with the childish antics.

"I'm going to request a new Nanny." Helena raises her chin when she says this, attempting to feign confidence. "I will tell Father that you do not embody the nine principles."

"Oh?" Miss Shoemaker fights a smile.

"If you did, you would've had the Vision to share your experience, to guide me. But you are not Benevolent. When I tell father-"

"When?" Miss Shoemaker interrupts. "When will you speak with him next?"

Helena narrows her eyes at Miss Shoemaker's amused look. Of course, she didn't know. Of course, Miss Shoemaker did. The woman's smug face incenses Helena, so she looks out the window and folds her arms. They sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the hum of the vehicle. Eventually, Helena can manage a calm tone, "Under extreme circumstances, I can request a phone call with him. I could request a call, er, tomorrow, and I can tell him then."

"Do you think this is an extreme circumstance worth interrupting his workflow? Be honest, remember Probity." Helena simply glares and refuses to reply. So Miss Shoemaker continues, "Do you really want to call Jame Eagan, to tell him that the person he personally interviewed and whom Kier guided him to hire, is not the right choice? You would like to tell him that he is wrong?" Miss Shoemaker asks.

"Well, I wouldn't say it like that." Helena presses her head to the window.

"Is it really I who lacks the nine principles? Or did your Dread of being ill-prepared cause you to arrogantly accost me?" Miss Shoemaker says this with a laugh.

Helena sighs in defeat. "Just forget it."

"I will not. We will go to your first day of fellowship, you will be on your best behavior, and before bed tonight, your tempers will be tamed, Malice, Dread, and Woe." Miss Shoemaker asserts, noticing the child's back is fully turned to her with an air of defiance. She watches as Helena barely lifts her head, only to hit it against the window; she repeats this.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Miss Shoemaker looks down at the Wintertide paperwork on the seat between them and then at Helena's hand, which still holds them in place. Miss Shoemaker gently presses her hand over the top of the girl's. Helena is alarmed by the touch and turns to observe the alien interaction. The touch achieves Miss Shoemaker's desired result, stopping the child from banging her head. "Look at me, Helena." The girl looks up, and Miss Shoemaker is disappointed to see a fire in her dark pupils still. "I am not your enemy." Helena's eyebrow raises, and she smirks doubtfully. "I did complete my Wintertide Fellowship. I embody the nine principles, and I promise I have the Nimbleness, Verve, and Vision to guide you on the path of Kier. Today, you will learn Humility." Helena's eyes veer off, and Miss Shoemaker removes her hand from atop hers; it was clear she was uncomfortable with the physical contact. "I'm owed an apology."

"I apologize," Helena says with a barely masked eye roll. If her tempers were set for taming, there was little else she could be threatened with.

"Like you mean it." Miss Shoemaker insists.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

"Again. This time with some respect."

"Miss Shoemaker, I apologize." Helena concedes.

"Now," Miss Shoemaker smiles, pleased, "if you're ready to behave yourself, I will answer any questions you have about my time at Myrtle Eagan's School for Girls." Helena's wide-eyed curiosity returns to Miss Shoemaker, and she nods. "Good."

Signs have begun appearing on the highway counting down the remaining distance to the school. Helena's fixed to the window with anxious eyes. She is already convinced she will not bring glory to her Father with this fellowship and has decided that she's okay with it. From the way Miss Shoemaker explained Wintertide, these girls were chosen to participate out of hundreds of applicants around the world because they were not just zealous apostles of Kier who embody the nine principles, but they are brilliant, high-IQ, high-test-score individuals. These girls are the epitome of Vision and Wit and will help shape the future. Helena didn't think any of these things described her. In fact, she distinctly recalls overhearing two of her tutors discussing her when she was using the washroom, and one said, "How infelicitous that the progeny of a genius is so…average." They must have thought she wouldn't hear them through the door.

As they pull into the busy parking lot, Helena sits up straight, eyes wide. She has never seen so many girls her age in one place. She quickly notices that they are all wearing black skirts, white tops, and black shoes. Some had socks, some didn't. She looks at the printed papers. The girl in the papers, though slightly dated, wore something similar. "Miss Shoemaker, everyone is wearing a uniform."

"Yes." Miss Shoemaker barely looks.

"Will I get a uniform?" Helena asks.

"No. You're an Eagan." Miss Shoemaker laughs at the preposterous idea of Helena blending in.

"Oh." Helena laments. Oh no. She says to herself. Her yellow amongst the sea of black and white, she would be the odd one out. She feels Dread turn the pit of her stomach, but tries to ignore it. She sees another girl get out of a car, the girl hugs the adult escort with her, and Helena crinkles her nose in disgust. She would not be doing this with Miss Shoemaker. The girl's smile is a brilliant white as she enjoys the audacious display of public affection. Helena admires the girl's pretty golden brown curls and matching golden brown skin. She was pretty. Helena frantically looks to another girl, and another, so many of them were pretty. Am I pretty? She wonders for the first time in her life. She turns to Miss Shoemaker but decides this may not be something she wants an honest answer to.

The car stops, and Helena looks to Miss Shoemaker for her 'Next' instruction.

"You may get out. Wait by the car, and I will walk you over to meet the Head Mistress." Miss Shoemaker starts. Helena is out of the car in seconds. She drinks in the excited energy that fills the air around the school. She doesn't want to miss a thing. Cars pull in, and she discerns that some of these escorts are parents because she hears them being called Mom or Dad. They must not have very important jobs, Helena reasons. She witnesses more public affection, but this time it's girls greeting other girls with hugs. It seems they knew each other. Helena realizes her palms are sweating and she wipes them on her dress. She didn't know anyone here. Yet everyone here would know of her and still not know her at all. Miss Shoemaker's story of lasting friendship gave Helena a glimmer of hope. If she wasn't too dim-witted, some of these brainy girls might want to be her friend. Helena liked the idea of having a friend.

In a daze, Helena follows Miss Shoemaker to the sign reading "Myrtle Eagan's School for Girls," and there Miss Shoemaker engages in banter with the Head Mistress. Helena's wide eyes dart around until they find the girl with golden curls chatting with other girls in a circle. Perhaps she felt Helena's stare because the girl looks over, making direct eye contact with her. At first, Helena is surprised but forces a tight-lipped smile and a discreet waist-height wave. The girl's brilliant white smile is frozen on her face. She looks Helena up and down and returns to her conversation, notably not waving back.

"Helena?" Miss Shoemaker grabs the dainty girl's shoulders and thrusts her towards the Head Mistress. Suddenly, Helena finds herself face to face with an old woman with long gray hair and a professionally practiced smile.

"Hello Helena. I am your Head Mistress." The woman extends her hand, and when Helena politely shakes it, flashes of light startle her. Men with cameras. She tries to force a smile as the lights flash. Soon, this woman has her arm around Helena's shoulder. She has never met this woman, and yet she's hugging her? Half hugging? Whatever it was, Helena does not like it and shrinks under the attempted embrace. The woman whispers, "Smile to the Camera for Kier." Helena forces her best smile, peeking out the corner of her eye to see the woman doing the same. Although, admittedly, the Head Mistress was much more convincing. Several more photos are snapped. Then just as quickly as it happened, the Head Mistress has removed herself from Helena and is dismissing the photographers. Miss Shoemaker takes Helena by the hand and guides her away from the ambush photo-op.

"Now listen, Helena, I will return to get you at 4 PM." Miss Shoemaker starts.

"You're leaving me?" Helena is surprised.

"Yes, there is plenty of supervision here, medical staff, the Head Mistress is a loyal servant of Kier and knows your father. You will be just fine." Miss Shoemaker reassures her. Helena nods, looking around to pick the supervising adults from the crowd. Miss Shoemaker continues with a stern tone, "Helena. Attention. On me. Now." Helena's eyes lock onto Miss Shoemaker's. "Remember, you are to bring glory to the Eagan name. I know you're experiencing some discomfort because your tempers are imbalanced and I assure you, I promise you, that will be addressed later tonight. But now, I need you to do your best to control them while you're here. Say it with me: 'I walked into the cave of my own mind, and there I tamed them. Should you tame the tempers as I did mine,"at this point Helena joins in and they recite in unison,"then the world shall become but your appendage. It is this great and consecrated power that I hope to pass on to all of you, my children.'" Helena looks over her shoulder to see if anyone just witnessed that. No one had. Miss Shoemaker pinches Helena's chin and turns her attention back to her. "Behave yourself. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss Shoemaker." Helena says contritely with doe eyes. This satisfies Miss Shoemaker, who returns to the car where their driver waits. Once alone, Helena laughs. The widest smile she has allowed herself in some time spreads across her face, even showing her teeth. She lied. Earlier, when they were parking, she had already decided that if three of her tempers needed taming, she might as well make it four and Frolic. Frolic was the best one.

Ring

The school bell rings, and Helena follows the swarm of excited girls (potential friends?) towards the building's marked auditorium. She feels more confident with each stride. Yes, she was going to do SO. MUCH. FROLICKING.

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The girls file into the auditorium, a room with more chairs than Helena has ever seen in one space. Helena notices that there are no names on the chairs, no assignment, and the girls are free to choose a seat as they please. This seems chaotic and careless to her. Where is the order? Helena watches as girls begin pairing off, finding seats with their friends. As Helena makes her way down the aisle, she hears some girls whisper as she passes, and she assures herself that it could be about anything. Out of habit, to calm her nerves, Helena hums, "Chosen One Kier" to herself. As she scans the room for an open seat, she is surprised to see the girl with the golden curls waving. At first, she's unsure if it's for her, since she was snubbed before, but when she looks over her shoulder and back to the girl, she's certain the wave is for her. Helena fights a smile, having been too generous with hers earlier, and finds her way over to the row where the girl stands. When they have come face to face, squared in their posture, Helena is the first to break the silence. "Hi, uh, I'm-"

"Helena Eagan, " the girl says with her winning smile. Helena is fascinated. She's never heard her name said in such a pleasing way, like it was a song. Her name paired with a smile? It was not a command or a chastisement. It felt wrong somehow.

"Yes, that obvious, huh?" Helena blushes.

"Yes." Again, the girl looks Helena up and down; her yellow dress is not doing her any favors.

"And you? Who are you?" Helena asks, noticing the girls from the conversation circle are already seated in the row and now observing their interaction.

"I'm Natalie. Natalie Kalen." The girl with the curls answers with a sense of pride. Helena wasn't familiar with the family name Kalen, but by the way Natalie said it, she feels she should. "My family has been working alongside the Eagans to serve Kier for about four generations. It's rather serendipitous that we should meet like this."

"Yes. It's a pleasure to meet you." Helena smiles, extending her hand. She waits a few seconds longer than she expects before Natalie even notices her hand.

"Oh my god." Natalie laughs and looks at the other girls, then at Helena's fading smile. "Were you trying to shake hands?" Helena slowly returns her hand to her side. "What are we? Stuffy old businessmen?" Helena joins in the laughter, although hers is more from nerves.

"It's just nice to meet a faithful member of the Lumon family," Helena says in her defense. She blinks away her irritation. Just moments ago, Helena had witnessed numerous gratuitous public displays of affection. Why would her handshake be laughable? She looks further down the aisle, considering moving away from this embarrassing faux pas. Two of the seated girls mockingly parrot "the Lumon family" and laugh together. Helena turns to walk away but is stopped by Natalie's slender hand taking hold of hers. Helena remembers holding Mr. Heilman's hand while crossing the Lumon parking lot. He kept her safe from cars. She's struck with Woe at this memory and pauses to swallow the knot in her throat. Natalie's hand was much smaller and colder than Mr. Heilman's.

"Would you like to sit with us, Helena?" Natalie asks, singing her name with that brilliant smile. Why was this touch okay, but not her handshake? Everything is chaos today, Helena thinks as she clears her throat, successfully repressing her emotional flare. Helena nods and shrugs.

"Sure." Helena says coolly.

"Great." Natalie smiles again, releasing her hand and returning to their seats.

The assembly starts with all in attendance being invited to stand and sing a Kier hymn accompanied by a full band. The praises reverberate through the large room, overwhelming Helena with a strange feeling, a warm feeling, a feeling of connection. Normally, she sang these songs to herself, alone, in times of Dread or Woe. For the first time, she's accompanied by so many voices, she looks around, as so many of the pretty girls' faces take on a seriousness, a pride, and reverence. She's reminded of when she was much younger, when she felt that the employees of Lumon truly were her family. That sentiment was childish folly, but this feeling right now was truth. Standing here, voices raised in unison, praising Kier, Helena was sure all of these girls were her sisters.

Unfortunately, that was the highlight of the assembly. After everyone was seated, the girls were made to listen to several women, alumni, and current instructors drone on endlessly about the Wintertide Fellowship, what they got out of it, and what the girls should expect to achieve in their time at the school. The words Eagens, legacy, and 'the future', were repeated so often that Helena stopped counting. She was already bored.

Helena leans over to Natalie and whispers, "Can they just crawl back to their crypts and let us get on with Tiding our Winters?" Natalie hides a snicker behind her hand.

"You're funny, Helena. I wasn't expecting you to be funny." Natalie says before dutifully returning her attention to the current old lady on the stage.

Helena fights a smile, pressing her lips tightly together. No one had ever told her she was funny before. Maybe it was true. She sits with this new idea of herself.

Suddenly, a spotlight blasts down onto Helena. She squints and blocks the light with one hand. The woman on stage speaks through the microphone, "Helena, please stand." Helena hadn't been listening, but Natalie nudges her to stand. Helena stands drowsy and awkward. The woman continues her speech, "In the words of Kier himself: 'Come now, children of my industry, and know the children of my blood.' Girls, join me in the honor of welcoming Miss Helena Eagan." The applause increases, and even Natalie, who sits at her left, claps while looking up at her. Helena thinks maybe she fell asleep on a boring speech, and this is some nightmarish way her mind has chosen to jolt her awake. Unfortunately, she doesn't wake. This is her reality, so Helena forces a smile and straightens her posture. "This year, my dear students, we are blessed to have a direct descendant of The Chosen One in our midst. Kier's blood runs through her veins. Miss Helena Eagan will be attending seminars and work studies alongside you, working hand in hand. Let her presence serve as an inspiration for your Vision and a reminder of your Verve. Thank you, Helena." For a moment, Helena isn't sure whether to wave or bow. Something was expected of her, so she settles on both. She then abruptly takes her seat, and the spotlight lingers before flickering off. The woman's speech continues, and now several girls' heads have turned to look at Helena, as if the yellow dress hadn't caused enough whispers. Helena wants to melt into her chair but knows better than to slacken her posture while eyes are on her.

When most of the attention has worn off, Natalie leans near her and whispers.

"So, no pressure, huh?"

Helena struggles not to laugh at the absurdity, "Uh yeah, none. None at all."

Natalie tilts her head curiously, watching Helena practice breathing and calming herself. "You had no idea that was going to happen? Did you?" Helena shrugs and shakes her head, 'No.'

"I almost fell asleep," Helena admits. "Thanks for the nudge."

Natalie smiles widely. "It's my honor to nudge you whenever Kier calls for it."

Helena strangles a laugh, "Praise Kier."

The rest of the day was mostly uneventful except for when the girls were split into small groups and made to do team-building exercises, introducing themselves to their 'troupe of Wintertide sisters.' Natalie Kalen stuck by Helena's side, and Helena was grateful for it. At the end of the day, Helena filed a formal request with the Head Mistress for a uniform in her size. When Miss Shoemaker arrived to retrieve her, Helena was proud to present her with glowing reports from her instructors. None of the three reports mentioned her Frolic, which both confused and delighted Helena. This discrepancy would have sent Helena into a thought spiral, and she would have spent her evening trying to understand the line between Cheer and Frolic. Why were certain behaviours she exhibited at The Girl's school unnoticed, and even received as normal by Instructors? When those same actions, at home, would have been cause for a warning or a correction? Unfortunately for her, that internal conflict would have to wait, because tonight she needed all her strength to steel herself for taming.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

On the ride home, when they pass the Lumon building, Helena thinks about the neurobiologists and their brain studies. The work was mysterious and important, but she knew so little about the work being done. They make soap, good and bad, they package peanuts, they make computer chips, and they do brain studies. She has been told that she'll be taught more one day, and she'll understand when she's older. But Helena takes issue with a girl she just met yesterday, knowing more details about her family's company than she does.

Ring, ring.

Miss Shoemaker leans over, reaching for her purse and pulling out a ringing mobile phone. She answers. Helena can only hear Miss Shoemaker's side of the conversation. Helena watches her Nanny expectantly.

"Yes. Yes. Understood. Thank you." The call ends. Miss Shoemaker's icy stare gives Helena a chill, but she still waits, holding eye contact and maintaining the silence. "When we arrive, Mr. Eagan expects your prompt presence in the Library. No dawdling." Miss Shoemaker turns her attention away from Helena. Helena fidgets. They were already so close to home. Lumon was barely in sight of the rearview mirror. She finds the jagged cut piece of hair and twirls it as her thoughts race.

"Is this about the hair?" Helena asks.

"The hair?" Miss Shoemaker looks back at her, unaffected by the girl's flaring anxiety. Helena eyes the bag of hair, neatly set on top of her daily reports, in the center seat. "Oh, no, it's not." Helena nods and returns her focus to the window. She knew her daily reports were excellent. That was two days in a row. She thought he might be pleased. She waits a few moments, in an attempt not to sound desperate. Helena has found that adults were more inclined to answer questions if they were spaced out in intervals of seconds, minutes, and hours, depending on the topic. When she had multiple questions, she would sort them in her mind, by her estimated likelihood of them being answered, and save the least likely for last. Otherwise, the entire line of questioning could be shut down. Unfortunately, there isn't much time left for their ride.

"Has Father heard my reports from my Fellowship?" Helena asks, keeping her tone flat and her gaze fixed on some far-off point.

"Yesterday's." Miss Shoemaker answers.

"May I bring him today's when I meet him in the Library?" Helena asks, hoping the good reports might help her case against whatever she was being tried for. This time, Miss Shoemaker pauses. The estate is visible now at a distance. It was just a matter of parking before Helena would face an unknown fate in the Library. The car parks, and the engine stops. Helena bites the inside of her cheek. When Miss Shoemaker opens her car door, Helena realizes she may not get an answer. The driver opens Helena's door so that she may exit the car. She inhales, holding her breath as she steps out of the vehicle. Helena circles the back of the vehicle and starts toward the mansion's entrance, but Miss Shoemaker stands still, facing her, causing her to stop. Helena pushes her shoulders back. Miss Shoemaker doesn't speak, only holds out the blue envelope with Myrtle Eagan's School for Girls' logo, her reports. Helena finally exhales, and the corner of her lip curves to a smile. "Thank you."

.ssss.

The walk through the hallways to the Library feels somehow simultaneously eternal and impossibly quick. Helena stands still in front of the Library and waits for the large doors to sense her and open. When they do, she takes two steps in. She is greeted by the internally lit, glass, temperature-controlled case that preserves Kier's original writings. She's reminded of her irritating conversation with Natalie. Suddenly, a large man in a suit appears to her left.

"This way." The large man says, gesturing to where he came from. Helena nods meekly and turns to her left. The home Library was a sparse, stark white environment with few books. Kier's quote is embossed in white lettering on one of the walls, reminding all who enter: Be content in my words and dally not in the scholastic pursuits of lesser men. While the entrance to the Library was grand, it was a mostly vacuous space. In the center was the original text, to the right was every printed edition of the Appendices, and to the left was a desk for conducting business. The furthest left wall had a built-in shelf adorned by the grand busts of every Kier descendant to become Lumon CEOs. Helena thought the busts were creepy and rarely came in here.

Helena finds her father standing behind the desk with his back turned and arms folded behind him, looking out the window at the trees. She notices he holds something, maybe a paper, but she might find out soon enough. She takes her place on the opposite side of the desk. She plants her feet firmly in the carpet, rolls her shoulders back, and delicately runs a finger on the edge of the blue envelope. She dry swallows a nervous hiccup, which is uncomfortable, causing her to clear her throat. Unfortunately, the sound of her throat clearing makes Jame turn around with fury. As if she would have the audacity to clear her throat to get his attention. Her eyes widen at his swift movement and evident anger.

"Father?" Her voice is apologetic. He stands still with his unwavering fiery glare and twitching right eye.

"Fribble Miscreant!" Jame snarls through his clenched teeth.

Helena felt that saying anything more might set him off. So they stand together in the tense, impenetrable silence. After some time, Helena's nerves get the best of her. She steps forward, placing the blue envelope of her positive reports on the desk between them, and then steps back, bowing her head. Jame takes the bait, sliding the blue envelope over to his side of the desk. Helena peeks up and watches him lift the envelope to read. He can clearly see the school's logo, but he doesn't open the envelope to Helena's dismay. Instead, he opens the desk drawer and puts the envelope in the concealed paper shredder. He stares at her, and she stares at the desk as the metal of the machine whirrs, ripping the papers into hundreds of slivers. Helena is suddenly aware of her breathing and increased heart rate. Her nostrils flare as she struggles to calm herself.

Jame doesn't give her that chance. In only a few steps, he's beside her, towering over her frail frame. With a rolled-up newspaper, he delivers four fast swats to her backside. She drops her chin to her chest, in shame, and with her hair falling over her face, she allows a tear to escape.

"Father?" she pleads. She can hear her voice crack, and she prays silently for Kier to help her tame Woe.

Jame uncurls the newspaper and flips it open. The crinkling causes Helena to raise her gaze from the floor to observe him. He flips and refolds the paper before slamming it down on the desk. He takes in his own deep breaths before returning to her side. He points toward the ancestral busts, "Do you want your likeness to appear on this wall?" She genuinely did not. A tasteful commemorative painting, maybe. But not a bust. She didn't think in this moment that it would aid her to answer honestly, so she remains silent. "Myrtle Eagan made history as the first female CEO of Lumon. Under her stewardship, the company thrived. The town and all of Kier's children were blessed." He pauses, allowing time for that to sink in for Helena. Then he continues, "Lenora Eagan." Helena looks at the bust of her recently deceased aunt, with whom she had only ever shared a few frigid exchanges. "Though her reign was short, it was undeniable that Kier whispered through her. She restructured much of Lumon and residual profits from her Wiles bless us to this day. The people loved her and they commemorate her with the most beautiful lake in the world." He pauses again. "Step up, and observe this."

Jame taps his pointed index finger on the newspaper. Helena obeys. Directly in the center of the page is a picture of her with the Head Mistress from yesterday. It wasn't a great photo of her. Her mouth is open and slack. She leans forward, shaking the Head Mistress' hand as if it's the first time she's ever shaken hands. And worst of all, her eyes look blank and dull. The bold lettering reads: BILLIONAIRE'S DAUGHTER STEALS OPPORTUNITY FROM STEM STUDENTS.

Helena's eyebrows raise with concern. It was true that she had been startled by this abrupt meeting with the Head Mistress, but she knew explaining that would only be dismissed as an excuse. It didn't matter. What mattered was the result. Unfortunately for Helena, the result was this photo, which makes her look sloppy and stupid. "Is this what you want your legacy to be?"

"No, sir." She answers vehemently.

"Name the nine core principles." He commands.

"Vision, Verve, Wit, Cheer, Humility, Benevolence, Nimbleness, Probity and Wiles," Helena rotely recites.

"Now look at that photo and tell me which of these principles were you lacking?" Jame demands.

Helena looks at the photo with regret. An unexpected tear rolls down her nose and drips onto the newspaper. She's alarmed by it, and her eyes dart to her Father, hoping he didn't notice. If he had, he doesn't say. He simply stands there, with a fixed frown and angry eyebrows. Helena looks back at her shameful image in the paper. The open, slack mouth. "In this photo, I lacked Cheer." Helena answers. She knew trying to explain that she had actually smiled, once she realized there were cameras, would be deemed as another excuse. She must accept the truth. She hadn't recovered from the camera flash quickly enough. "And I lacked Nimbleness." She confesses.

"You lacked Verve for your opportunity at the School and failed to have the Vision or Wit to reason that photographers would commemorate such a momentous day." He adds bitterly.

Vision, Verve, Wit, Cheer, and Nimbleness. 5/9 Helena silently counts her grievances. "I apologize, Father. May Kier forgive me."

"Penance is required," Jame says, looking over his disappointing offspring. "Tomorrow you will attend Media Training at Lumon."

"Yes, Father." She nods. She had never had Media Training and isn't sure what it entails, but she was in no position to ask questions.

"And the next day, after your training, you will address these allegations by making a statement to the press." Jame continues. Helena's eyes widen, she has never been the one speaking when the cameras were rolling. This sounds daunting to her. "In that statement, you will announce the Helena Eagan Scholarship for Girls in STEM." He says this with indifference. Helena has never had her name on anything of importance. Before she can enjoy this detail, her Father adds, "And you will announce that you are giving up your spot in the Wintertide Fellowship to a girl who is worthy and deserving." At this final blow, Helena's eyes well with tears, blurring her vision. She looks to the ceiling, hoping they'll sink back into her eyes, but the threshold is surpassed, and tears slide from her eyes and down her cheeks in streams. She's lost control of herself, and Jame is infuriated. "Woe!" He growls before shouting, "Get her out of my sight!"

Through her tears, Helena returns her father's scornful glare. When the large man appears at her father's behest, Helena runs. She runs to the Library doors, approaching so fast that they delay in sensing her, and she flings one open manually. The large man briefly appears in her peripheral vision before she bursts from the room in a torrent of tears and dashes through the halls to the sanctuary of her bed chamber.

.ssss.

No one came after her. Helena was left alone to sob into her duvet until she fell asleep. When she wakes, her room is dark but without a clock, and having disrupted her schedule, she's lost track of time.

How had she so royally fucked up her chance at the Wintertide Fellowship? Now it's gone. Her opportunity for friendship? Gone. Her few hours of freedom? Gone. Just like Mr. Heilman, gone.

Had Kier left her? Was he also gone?

Chapter Text

The speaker in the ceiling crackles on abruptly playing bird sounds and harp music. These sounds rise gradually in volume to the point of waking Helena. She taps the timer, and the countdown begins a new day. She makes her bed, exercises, and showers with the Bad Soap. Her skin feels like it's burning from the inside as she dresses. Black shoes, a not-quite-polka-dot red dress, the dots were the Lumon drop repeated hundreds of times. The dress comes with a pair of dainty, mostly sheer red gloves. She tucks these in her dress pocket and takes her place, right on time.

Helena was exhausted from her outburst the previous day. She slept fitfully, tossing and turning to silence her hunger. She chastised herself for giving in to Woe and consequently missing her last meal of the day.

Two minutes pass, and the numbers on her timer turn red. Helena stands in her place, alarmed, as the numbers on the timer count further into the negative.

-00h:05m:21s

Miss Shoemaker doesn't appear. Helena begins to worry. Her father said she would be going to Lumon for Media Training. What if Miss Shoemaker overslept? If she makes me late to Lumon, I will ask Father to fire her. Helena thinks. Should she leave the room? Should she go looking for her? Helena exhales a ragged breath when she hears the angry mumbling voice of her Father on the other side of the door. She was relieved of one uncertainty and plagued with another. The door opens and Jame Eagan stands in the frame, looking in at the troublesome little girl.

"We will drive to Lumon together," Jame announces, walking off at the sentence's end. For a moment, Helena hesitates. She hadn't exactly been told to follow, but the menacing red numbers ticking away on her timer incentivised her haste. She scampers out of the room to catch up with her father and then remains, respectfully, two steps behind.

.ssss.

Helena sits in the front passenger seat as her father drives. She can't remember the last time they were in the car alone together. She studies his stony face. She missed the smiles of the Fellowship girls. Although the thought makes her sad, Helena cried all the tears she had last night. There was nothing left. She is confused that her father has yet to confront her about her dramatic emotional display. Instead, they drive in silence. The Lumon building comes into view, and the silence is broken by Helena's stomach growling loudly. She places her hand over her stomach, and her Father's unwanted attention turns to her momentarily. She smiles an apology, and he returns his eyes to the road. Her stomach growls again, and she closes her eyes. I shouldn't have run off. She laments.

"Where are the gloves?" Jame asks, noticing the hand on his child's stomach is bare.

"Pocket." She pats her dress pocket. "I thought I wouldn't need them for breakfast."

"This isn't breakfast." Jame says, eyes on the road. Helena nods and removes the sheer red gloves from her pocket, carefully slipping the fabric over her hands and fingers. The tiny elastic at the wrist of the gloves irritates her skin. It would be another hour at least before the effects of the soap will wear off. To her, the gloves seem pointless. They can't keep her hands warm. They just look old-fashioned. Jame glances over, assuring that she put the gloves on. Helena folds her hands in her lap when her task is complete.

When her stomach sounds again, Helena blushes, "Excuse me. Sorry."

"When we arrive at Lumon, I will walk you to your place. There we will part ways and you must wait for your escort." Jame explains generously. Helena nods, grateful for any insight about the day ahead. Was this Benevolence? First, he let her tantrum go unpunished. Now he was curtailing her uncertainty by offering answers to her many unasked questions. Helena feels undeserving of such kindness.

"Father." Helena starts. She waits for his eyes to land on her to discern whether she has permission to continue. She rushes her words, "Father, I apologize for my Woefulness. 'I am thankful to have been caught, my fall cut short by those with wizened hands. All I can be is sorry, and sorry is all that I am.'" She holds her breath, hoping her repentance was evident. Her father grunts indifference and keeps his eyes on the road. The silence returns, filling the space between them, which even at this proximity felt much further than an arm's length.

.ssss.

Entering Lumon beside her father, Helena is impressed by the reverence with which most employees greet him. Would she ever be like him? Admired?

Jame walks Helena to the sunken lobby sofas where she will wait for her escort. The escort arrives only seconds after Jame deposits her. Helena hadn't even had a chance to sit down yet. She's made to follow the woman, down a hall, up an elevator, through some doors, to her first appointment. Helena is pleasantly surprised when she's ushered into a room set up like a salon. She is informed that she will receive a haircut due to the incident at the Girl's school. Helena is shown two laminated photos of two haircut options. They were so similar that at first she thinks it is one of those games, where you spot the differences. Helena isn't thrilled about either option, but conditionally, she knows that objections are not welcome. She chose the haircut on the left. As the woman cuts her hair, Helena is given a small Lumon-branded package of peanuts. She's grateful and eats them gracelessly. Once the stylist finishes, Helena is allowed to look in the mirror. Her long red hair was now cut into a short bob. She suppresses a smile, reminded of her secret favorite movie, Pulp Fiction. Stray hairs are brushed off her, and she is made to stand and wait for her escort to return. As she waits, Helena watches the woman sweep the long, severed strands of her hair. It was almost comical to her that today's trash was yesterday's treasure. That poor crazy girl was willing to risk expulsion from a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for such a small piece, and now here was a bin full. She's not waiting long before her escort arrives and brings her back to the lobby. There she's told to stay again. A completely new escort would find and retrieve her soon. This time she sits.

Helena is kept waiting much longer than she expected, bored in the Lumon lobby. She starts snapping the thin elastic of her gloves against her wrist. Twenty-four minutes have passed since her escort left her here. For the first ten or fifteen minutes, Helena created a game in her mind, trying to count the employees entering, before they passed where she sat. If they passed, she could no longer count them. She plays this game with herself for a while, but unfailingly, she soon gets bored again. Her stomach thankfully had stopped growling and was now causing only a mild nauseous feeling. Helena slouches in her chair. Her father was long gone, no Nanny, and not a single one out of the hundreds of employees entering seemed to notice she was there. She allows herself to sit comfortably.

Suddenly, Helena's attention is piqued when she hears a familiar voice. She sits up and is stunned to see Mr. Heilman at the Front Desk laughing with the woman who sat behind it. She would have seen him enter and walk past her if she had still been counting. Before Helena realizes, she's standing and walking swiftly in his direction.

Helena had told herself over and over that she hated him for quitting. She would never forgive him for resigning without giving her a chance to atone. However, seeing him now, she can barely contain her smile.

"Mr. Heilman?" Helena says once she's near enough. Mr. Heilman turns around, still wearing the laugh he shared with the woman behind the desk. When his eyes meet Helena's, he looks confused, as if unable to place her. Or maybe confused that she was in this place?

The woman behind the desk stands. "Miss Eagan, please take your seat."

"It's okay," Helena reassures the woman. "We know each other."

"Oh?" Mr. Heilman fixes an awkward smile on his face. "Miss Eagan?"

Helena's eyebrows lower, and she shakes her head, "Why would you say it like that?"

The woman speaks up, "Miss Eagan, I really must insist that you take your seat."

Mr. Heilman puts out his hand for a shake. "It's very nice to meet you, Miss Eagan."

Helena steps back, aghast at the ridiculous handshake. She squints up at him, "Mr. Heilman, c'mon, I only got a haircut."

Mr. Heilman smiles, "And what a lovely haircut it is, Miss Eagan."

"Helly." Helena says with frustration. "Why are you calling me Miss Eagan?" Ever since she was a little girl, he called her Helly. He was the only one. He had only ever used her full name when she was in trouble.

A man in a black suit approaches, getting Mr. Heilman and Helena's attention.

"Mr. Heilman, proceed now to the severed floor." The suited man says firmly. Helena's heart drops at the mention of the word 'severed'.

"Mustn't be late." Mr. Heilman complies with a smile. He steps away from Helena, and the man in the black steps between them, obstructing their view of each other. The suited man and Mr. Heilman begin walking to the barrier of entrance. Helena follows. He doesn't recognize me? He doesn't know me? The security guard badges Mr. Heilman through the barrier. He turns around and waves a final goodbye to the curious little rich girl.

"It was very nice to meet you, Miss Eagan."

"Mr. Heilman?! It's Helly. It's me!" Helena calls after him. Mr. Heilman turns and goes on his way. Helena is stunned. The Mr. Heilman that brushed her teeth as a toddler and taught her to tie her shoes, The Mr. Heilman that greeted her with a smile and a cheerful 'Good Morning' every day, even her bad days, The Mr. Heilman that she knew…he wasn't just gone. He was never even real. He is an Innie.

"Miss Eagan." The woman from behind the desk is suddenly at Helena's side. "Please take your seat." Helena nods, slowly turning her body toward her designated place, but keeping her eyes fixed on where Mr. Heilman disappeared. The desk woman hovers at Helena's side when she finally takes her seat. "You shouldn't have done that. Speaking to Severed employees like that can make them very upset and disoriented." The woman scolds. Helena shakes her head 'no'. She feels betrayed, and with this freshly raw angst, she absolutely refuses to accept a lecture from 'the Front Desk lady'.

Helena snears, "I am the one who is upset and disoriented!"

The woman sighs, remembering that she's scolding the child of the new CEO and decides against any further reproach. That was someone else's job. She simply walks back to her desk, leaving Helena alone with her feelings and reeling with hundreds upon hundreds of new questions.

.ssss.

Next.

Helena is brought to a room where she is greeted by someone who recognizes her: her pediatrician. The doctor conducts a few tests, and she's given a clean bill of health.

Next.

In another room, Helena is seated in a chair almost like a dentist's chair. A man in a white coat greets her with a smile when he enters. He explains that he's there to prepare her for her Media Training. The man carefully presses small yellow stickers to her face. She doesn't ask, but he explains that the stickers are to help the facial recognition technology to pick up on the genuineness of her expression. He reminds her of Kier's teaching: Keep a merry humor ever in your heart.

"Do you know what that means?" He asks.

"To keep a merry humor…in my heart." She answers with a shrug.

He explains the signs of a genuine smile and hands her an index card-sized information sheet to study. It reads:

Fake smiles: Mouth is smiling, but eyes and cheeks are disengaged.

Genuine smiles: The smile ends gradually.

Fake smiles: The smile turns off suddenly.

Genuine smiles: Tend to be symmetrical.

Fake smiles: Tend to be asymmetrical.

He explains to her that humans can, for the most part, discern whether a smile is genuine with just their natural instincts. Then he emphasizes that the facial recognition technology is 200 times more sophisticated and accurate than the human eye. His openness has made Helena feel comfortable.

"So…I'm practicing smiling?" She asks with a raised eyebrow and an amused smirk.

"Yes," affirms the man. He leans closer to her and whispers, "The secret to a high score is in your eyes."

Helena confirms this detail on the index paper about 'disengaged eyes'.

"Thank you." She smiles at the man's generous hint. A new man arrives to retrieve and deliver her to the Media Department. As she rises from the chair to leave, the man in the white wishes her luck.

.ssss.

The Media Training room is dark. It's so dark that Helena can only see a short distance in front of her. She is left sitting on one side of an odd terminal. A large plexiglass panel separates the terminal into two identical halves. Currently, no one sat in the chair across from her. Helena wasn't afraid of the dark. She had tamed that Dread long ago. She traces the hand-shaped indents on the terminal in front of her with her index finger. She pressed her palms into the indents, testing if it was a button or some thermal or heat sensor to turn on the lights. No matter the pressure she applied, the effort is futile. She shrugs it off and begins counting in her head to make up for the absence of a timer.

The room is momentarily flooded with light when two people enter from the door behind her. Helena rapidly blinks, adjusting to the sudden light and the returned darkness.

She can see a male figure moving past her to the other side of the room. The other figure appears more feminine, and this person stands to the right of where Helena sits. The male figure sits on the opposite side of the terminal. Helena can hear the shuffling of papers but can't see more than the figures' outlines. When the man and the sounds have settled, and the three of them are in silence, Helena leans forward.

"Hello?" She asks, attempting to hide her annoyance. Why did no one ever speak to her like a normal person? Her greeting lingers unanswered.

Click.

Helena squints as the light from a projector strikes the wall. When her vision adjusts, she looks at the stoic faces of the unfamiliar man and woman, both wearing Lumon badges. She turns her attention to the projection on the wall. It displays a nearly room-sized image of Helena with the Head Mistress. Fuck. Helena thinks, hoping that what Natalie had told her about profanity is true.

Click.

The man has pressed the record button on a tape recorder secured to the terminal on his side.

"Initiating photography simulation."

Click.

Helena startles at the bright flashing light on the wall behind the man. First, it flashes in the upper right corner of the wall, then mid-left, then center. It rapidly fires flashes of light, each burst visually reducing the man to a silhouette.

"What?" She blinks, putting up a hand to shield her eyes.

"Gloves off. Hands flat on the table." The man speaks to her for the first time since entering the room. She cast her eyes down at the table and obeys, very slowly removing her gloves, thoughtfully setting them down.

"What is-" Helena begins to question, but the female figure shushes her.

"I'm bringing up the press statement for Miss Helena Eagan now." The man announces.

Click.

The plexiglass screen is illuminated with a long paragraph, obstructing Helena's limited view of the shadowy man.

"Read the statement." The man demands.

Helena squints. The flashing lights reflect off the illuminated plexiglass, making it difficult for her to see. As she struggles to focus, the woman beside her abruptly slaps a long flat wooden stick across Helena's knuckles.

"Ah!" Helena shouts, more from the surprise than the pain. She rubs her hands together.

"Palms flat on the table." The man firmly asserts. Helena does so. "Read the statement." The man repeats. Helena still squints, but desperately tries to focus on the words.

She starts slowly, "I, Helena Eagan, backed by Lumon and blessed by Kier-"

Slap.

The woman strikes Helena's hands again. Helena winces but presses her hands firmly into the table.

"Read it with a smile." The man corrects.

Helena looks at the stupid expression on her face in the newspaper photo on the wall and then forces a smile.

"I, Helena Eagan, backed by Lumon and blessed by Kier, am thrilled to announce the launch of the Helena Eagan Scholarship for Girls in STEM. Since Kier's founding of Lumon in 1865, my family has been dedicated to supporting and empowering young minds pursuing Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics. This scholarship will provide financial assistance and mentorship opportunities to promising female students.

Upon reflection, I now understand that my presence at The Myrtle Eagan School for Girls, inadvertently blocked a critical opportunity for a student of lesser means who had demonstrated exceptional talent, dedication, and Vision. I will be stepping aside from the opportunity, and pledge $30,000 to fund the Academic year of …." Helena is confused by the script's abrupt ending, but is grateful that the woman doesn't hit her.

Soon, the man speaks, without looking up from whatever he was looking down at, "The scans show your smile read as genuine only 8% of the time." At that, the woman slams down her stick and Helena breathes through her teeth. "To pass Media Training, you require a score of 70%. Read the statement again."

Helena tries not to furrow her eyebrows, remembering what the nice man in the white coat had told her about the eyes. She swallows a dry swallow before fixing on a smile and trying again, "I, Helena Eagan, backed by Lumon and blessed by Kier-"

.ssss.

Helena finally achieved a score of 76%. When the man read the number from his report, the flashing lights stopped, the screen powered down, her hideous photo disappeared from the wall, and a normal overhead light was switched on. At some point during training, she had cried a few of her yellow face stickers off. Unfortunately, her worry about how that might affect the technology's accuracy was reflected on her face for at least two read-throughs. There was no way for Helena to know exactly how much time it took for her to score out of the training. What she did know was that a numbness took over. The tension in her muscles, the bleeding of her knuckles, the hunger in her belly, all numbed to the point of nothingness. Now she stares blankly ahead at nothing. The man packs up his paperwork and leaves the room. The woman with the stick stays behind. The woman discards the stick by leaning it against the terminal and produces a first aid kit from a panel on the wall. Without words, she wipes the blood from the knuckles of Helena's left hand. Once cleaned, the woman lifts the girl's hand and gently slips on the red glove. Helena stares at her newly gloved fingers as the woman walks to her right side and tends to her other abrasions. Helena nods, finally understanding why her father insisted on gloves.

Chapter Text

When Helena emerges from the Media Department, the normally bustling building is quiet and dimly lit. She is brought through the main lobby and there she’s able to see it’s also dark outside.

 A man in a suit walks her past the sofas and towards the front doors, he explains, “Mr. Eagan has already left for the day. I will wait with you on the stairs for your car to arrive.” 

A black car pulls up and she walks down the stairs with the suited man. Her door is opened for her and she’s grateful for it because bending or moving her fingers is currently excruciating. Helena bends, pokes her head into the car, standing by the open door.

“Password?” She asks the driver. The driver looks in the rearview mirror at her.

“Pardon?” He asks.

“Password.” Helena says again. It was not uncommon for her to be left under the supervision of strangers. Mr. Heilman told her that when he wasn’t there, she should ask for a password. If the adult knows the password, she should be safe with them.

“Frank?” The driver says loudly. Helena shakes her head, that was not the password but when the suited man walks back over to the car, she realizes that it might be his name. 

“Is everything okay Miss Eagan?” Frank asks.

“ He doesn’t know the password.” Helena informs him.

“What password?” Frank shakes his head at the idea.

“ The password.” Helena says taking a step away from the open car door, realizing that Frank might not know the password either. She looks to the doors of Lumon, prepared to run in if she must. 

“This is your driver Miss Eagan. There is no password.” Frank says.

“No.” She takes another step away from the car. “I will not get into that car unless one of you know the password.” 

“We weren’t given a password.” Frank tries to reason.

“I’ll just be inside then.” Helena replies, taking a much larger step away from the suited man and towards the stairs. Despite her bloody knuckles, Helena believes she's safer inside the walls of Lumon. Nothing too bad could happen to her there. Lumon will always protect and provid e .

“Miss Eagan, will you please get in the car?” She can hear the thin veil of this man’s patience wearing away. All day today she was blindly herded around Lumon, room to room, like a little goat. But she isn't livestock. She's an Eagan. She's a billionaire's daughter and she wouldn't make it easy for these men to lead her to slaughter. “Do I need to call your carer?” Frank asks, removing his mobile phone from his pocket. 

“Yes. I think you should.” She challenges him. If they were kidnappers, they wouldn’t have her Nanny’s number. He presses on his screen and holds the phone to his ear. Helena is skeptical. 

“Yes,” He says to the phone. “I have Miss Eagan here. She’s refusing to get in the car and insisting we give her a password.” He listens and then takes a step toward her. Helena takes two steps back, but can see on the screen of the phone that the name reads: Miss J. Shoemaker. “Here.” He says, holding out the phone. Helena wasn’t willing to get within arms length of him.

“Speaker.” She insists. The man shakes his head but obliges, putting his phone on speaker. They stand in tense silence for a few seconds.

“Helena? Get in the car.” Miss Shoemaker’s voice eventually sounds over the phone.

“What color am I wearing today?” Helena tests if the voice is a recording or a fake.

“Red.” Miss Shoemaker snaps. She has a menacing undertone to her voice that Helena is quickly becoming familiar with.

“Well, what’s the password?” Helena asks. “Mr. Heilman said-”

“Helena!” Miss Shoemaker interrupts. “There is no password and there is no Mr. Heilman. Now get in the car and let the fine gentleman drive you home. Your dinner has already gone cold.” 

Helena can hear the woman is annoyed but she is too. She was alone, in the dark and this Nanny is ignoring safety protocols. Helena’s face falls, her eyes darken. What could she do? This was her Nanny now, approved by her father. If Helena continues to refuse, the situation could escalate to him. The likelihood of that turning out well for her, wasn't high. So despite her distrust, she must relent. 

“Fine!” She barks at the phone, marching around the man named Frank and getting into the car. The car door is slammed behind her and she can hear Frank as he walks off thanking Miss Shoemaker. The idling car begins to drive out of the Lumon parking lot. Is she safe? There was no Mr. Heilman. There is no password. The car does turn in the correct direction of the Eagan estate, still, Helena offers a silent prayer to Kier that no harm may come to her. The imaginary Mr. Heilman had warned her about things like kidnapping and ransom and disappearing. He said “Things like that happen all the time around people like you.” She had never been sure what he meant by ‘ like you’ . She watches out the window and wonders, “ If Miss Shoemaker is in on this, and I do go missing, how long will it take for Father to even notice I’m gone?”

.ssss.

Helena is returned home safely. As she eats her cold dinner, Miss Shoemaker lectures her for making the jobs harder for Lumon employees, like herself, the drivers, and somehow the front desk lady. Helena attempts to emphasize the importance of the safety protocol and passwords but Miss Shoemaker walks out of the room while Helena is mid-sentence. Helena finishes her plate and watches the door where Miss Shoemaker exited. Her thoughts, safety and feelings seemed of little interest to this woman. However, ignoring protocol could actually get her fired. Helena decides that tomorrow, if she isn't visited by her father at breakfast, then she will request a phone call with him.

Miss Shoemaker returns to the dining room with a large binder. She places it down on the table nearby Helena's empty plate. The girl can see that her name is on the binder but Miss Shoemaker opens it too quickly for her to read the full title. As Miss Shoemaker flips through the pages, Helena can make out that many of the papers are forms and SOPs. Snap . Helena flinches at the sound of the metal binder being snapped open. Miss Shoemaker removes two sheets of paper, slides the binder further to the other side of the table and places the two papers down beside Helena. 

“These are the official safety protocols for handling your transportation and outings.” Miss Shoemaker starts. “You will note there is no mention of passwords.” Helena's eyes narrow at Miss Shoemaker but her curiosity is piqued. Helena wipes her hands on the cloth napkin on her lap and picks up the paper, scanning them as quickly as she can. She knew that if Miss Shoemaker had brought them to her, they would only confirm what she was being told. Still, Helena is fascinated that these papers even exist. She glances at the binder. Is that an entire Binder of SOPs on how to deal with me ? Helena asks herself. Miss Shoemaker continues, “I personally have never met Mr. Heilman but I apologize to you on his behalf. Helena, he failed to follow protocols and recklessly created his own rules. I fear it may take weeks, even months, to understand the full scope of his negative impact on you.”

Helena flips over the two pages thinking on Miss Shoemaker's words. As expected, there was nothing in the papers suggesting a password. Helena is upset at a section of ‘example scenarios’. Prompts and scripted answers if ‘the child’ asks certain questions about destination or personal details. The staff are being trained to be evasive with her. Why? She wonders. Her eyes find this question on the page. 

If the child asks: Why

Example Responses: I understand you still have questions but you have all the information you are owed. You must deal with the uncertainty this brings you in the way that Kier would have wanted.

Helena closes her eyes and practices her breathing to fight her anger. When it subsides, she feels calm and grateful. Miss Shoemaker, according to Standard Operating Procedure, didn't have to show her this sheet of rules. She clearly didn't have to tell her anything. Helena notes this was her second act of Benevolence. “Thank you, Miss Shoemaker.” She says softly. She gently pushes the papers away signifying she is finished with them. Miss Shoemaker takes the papers and returns them to the binder. Helena watches her, thinking of the many ways Mr. Heilman has failed her. Might it be because of his severance? Maybe his brain doesn't work exactly right? Although he had always seemed like a smart person to her. 

“He was severed.” Helena offers Miss Shoemaker as an insight to his failings.  

“How do you know that?” Miss Shoemaker asks, holding the binder to her chest.

“I saw him today at Lumon.” Helena says. “He didn't recognize me.”

Miss Shoemaker nods, thinking about this revelation. Helena imagines Miss Shoemaker is mentally scanning her mind for conversation prompts. “Yes, all of the people who work in your home are severed now.” Miss Shoemaker declares. 

Helena does her best not to show her shock and to keep her face blank. “The launch of the chips was only announced three years ago. I don't understand why he wouldn't recognize me.”

Miss Shoemaker smiles at the girl's knowledge of Lumon history. “Yes, 3 years ago it was launched for a more global use throughout different branches of the company. The Severance chip has had to undergo many studies, trials, and stages of development before Lumon could make that announcement. For years, here in the town of Kier, Lumon was offering a significant payment for people interested and qualified for participation in the trials. If Mr. Heilman didn't recognize you, he may have been one of the first successful trials.” 

“What about Jim?” Helena asks.

“Jim?” Miss Shoemaker looks puzzled. Helena realizes her mistake and corrects it.

“Mr. Redford.” She corrects. He was the pool guy. He only visited the house to service the pool and unlike most of the cleaning, cooking, and landscaping staff, Mr. Redford spoke to Helena like a normal person. He even greeted her informally with ‘hey kid' and in exchange she got to call him Jim.

“He isn't full time. So it's doubtful he would be severed.” Miss Shoemaker answers, the corners of her mouth turning down. Helena could see that the window of tolerance was closing.

“What about you?” Helena asks. 

“Yes, including me.” Miss Shoemaker nods thoughtfully. “The spot healing is still a little sensitive.” She gestures vaguely to the back of her own head. 

A maid enters the dining room and gathers Helena's dinnerware. Helena watches, alarmed, seeing this woman, knowing she's severed and zombie-like. Helena and Miss Shoemaker wait until she's out of the room before resuming their conversation. 

“Head to your chambers now Helena and ready for bed.” Miss Shoemaker instructs as she turns to leave the room. Presumably to return that binder to it's hiding place. 

Helena stands and against all reason asks, “Why?”

Miss Shoemaker stops at the top of the stairs, and turns to face her. “So that I don't have to recall tedious conversations such as this.” Helena narrows her eyes at the insult. Miss Shoemaker begins her descent.

Helena grumbles under her breath, “I wish I could forget you!” 

Chapter Text

Today will be a good day. Helena smiles to herself, pleased to see that the Good Soap has returned. She expresses silent thanks to Kier when she finds her chosen outfit includes an opaque pair of white gloves. Of course she thought the gloves looked stupid but they wouldn’t look as bad as the deep bruising on her hands which revealed itself overnight. The purple and red would definitely stand out in photos, contrasting with her perfectly white collared dress, shoes, and socks. She wears the white gloves as she waits for Miss Shoemaker, even though she was sure she would be taking them off  shortly for breakfast. After her father’s admonishment, Helena wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. At breakfast, she ate her eggs, alone. She isn’t sure when she will see her father next but she decides against putting in a phone-call request. 

On the drive, Helena smiles out the window. She feels great, apart from her hands. Her skin felt fresh, not tight and searing like an inside-sunburn. She was actually excited about seeing the other girls at the Myrtle Eagan School. Miss Shoemaker told Helena that a group of the girls will stand behind her as she makes the announcement. Even if she wasn’t to speak with them, she is still thrilled to see them again. She is also pleasantly surprised with Miss Shoemaker sharing these details freely, saving Helena from a dreadful guessing game. 

“Do you remember your speech?” Miss Shoemaker asks.

Helena laughs, turning a limp-wristed-hand in Miss Shoemakers direction, to remind her of what the glove’s fabric hid. “I might not forget it for the rest of my life.”

“Good.”

“I’m not the severed one.” Helena laughs once more. The second laugh doesn’t seem to go well with Miss Shoemaker.

“Let’s practice it anyway.” Miss Shoemaker says, unfolding a piece of paper. Helena nods, puts on her smile and recites her speech as Miss Shoemaker follows along on the paper. Helena doesn’t have to think about it, the words just flow. After her Media Training yesterday, she realized she wasn’t practicing smiling, she was practicing Wiles. She was learning how to fool others into thinking she’s genuine. “Well done.” Miss Shoemaker compliments when Helena finishes. 

“Thank you.” Helena says proud of herself. She won't need to fake her smile at the press event. Today she is feeling Cheer.

“Here.” Miss Shoemaker says handing her the paper. Helena takes it, eyes quickly scanning the speech. Word for word, no changes, except at the end. Instead of an abrupt end, filling in that space is the name of the girl who will be receiving the $30,000 and taking her place. Helena nods, reminding herself that she hadn’t even known what a Wintertide Fellowship was last week. This girl was obviously more deserving than her for the opportunity. Helena is excited to finally have her name on something important, something to help people. This would be the beginning of her legacy! Not that horrid newspaper photo.

The ride continues and Miss Shoemaker hums a song. Helena can’t place the melody. She’s curious if an Innie could know or remember songs from their Outie life. As Miss Shoemaker looks out her carside window humming, Helena stares at the back of the woman’s head. There are no obvious signs of severing. All of her hair is there. Helena chews the inside of her lip and decides to take a gamble with Miss Shoemaker’s good mood.

“Can I see it?” Helena asks quietly.

“Excuse me?” Miss Shoemaker turns to her. The sudden direct eye-contact chills Helena but Miss Shoemaker still has a lightness about her.

“Can I, uh, see it?” Helena asks again. Miss Shoemaker seems confused. “The hole.” Helena clarifies, pointing at the woman’s head. Miss Shoemaker gasps.

“How obscenely macabre!” Aghast, Miss Shoemaker’s jaw drops. The corner of Helena’s mouth frowns, unsure how to clean this up. “How dare you ask me that!” Miss Shoemaker’s voice raises.

“Sorry. I, uh-” Helena tries to think quickly. “I’m fascinated by the work. That was the only reason.” 

“How about you fascinate yourself with your speech and bringing glory to Kier?!” Miss Shoemaker’s cheeks are red. From anger or embarrassment? Either way Helena didn't dare to ask another question. Helena shrinks in her seat and fixes her remorseful eyes on the paper with words she already knows. “Repulsive.” Miss Shoemaker tsks, shaking her head disapprovingly at Helena before turning away. 

Helena shrugs to herself, “ Fuck, it was worth a shot. ” She hopes Miss Shoemaker’s annoyance with her won’t last too long because Helena is still determined to make today a good one.

.ssss.

The announcement is delivered with immaculate precision and believable sincerity. Polite applause follows Helena's handshake with the very first recipient of The Helena Eagan Scholarship for Girls in STEM. Despite the awful pain Helena feels as the grateful girl squeezes her bruised hand, Helena doesn't allow her smile to fall. The cameras flash and in this lit auditorium, the bursts of light are significantly less jarring than in the dark training room. It all felt so easy by comparison. 

When Helena walks backstage, she watches as the girls who stood behind her disperse, heading to classes and regrouping with the friends she would never make. The Head Mistress puts a hand on Helena’s shoulder which captures her attention.

“Miss Eagan, today you brought glory to Kier and blessings to his children of industry.” The Head Mistress declares.

Helena is so high from adrenaline and Cheer that she can feel she's dangerously close to Frolic. The Head Mistress' kind words and gentle touch are nearly the thing to push her over that dangerous line of Cheer/Frolic. “Kier whispered through my father and guided my hand to bless my sisters at your wonderful school.” Helena replies with humility, passing the glory to those above her. 

At that, the Head Mistress leaves Helena and walks several feet away to converse with Miss Shoemaker. Once alone, with no one's eyes on her, Helena drops the act. Her eyebrows scrunch at the reignited pain and her mouth frowns.

“Helena?” A familiar voice calls. Helena swivels her head to see Natalie, in her uniform, approaching. Natalie stops in front of her and tilts her head with an apologetic smile and sympathetic eyes. “Helena you're sooo going to be missed here.” 

“Doubtful.” Helena laughs. She admits, “I will miss it here though.” 

“Your haircut is…nice.” Natalie observes. 

“Oh? Uh, than-”

“Your gloves are fucking weird though.” Natalie adds before Helena completes her Thank You. “Are you Minnie Mouse or something?” Natalie laughs. Helena looks at her hands unsure why white gloves would make her resemble a miniature mouse. 

“ What an odd thing to say .” Helena thinks. She shrugs it off and looks back to the smiling Natalie.

“Obviously I'm joking.” Natalie assures her. 

Helena nods, accepting this, still unsure of what could be so funny about mice. Helena decides to change the topic to something she does understand. “I would like to thank you, Natalie for the kindness you showed me during my few days here. I will make sure my father hears of your Benevolence.” 

“Oh?” Natalie flips her golden curls. “Well, then, I wanted to invite you to my birthday.” 

“Your birthday?” Helena squints, immediately back to a state of confusion. Why would she want an audience for her birthday? For moral support? Helena decides it doesn’t matter why she’s wanted there, she’s just happy to be wanted. She nods, “When is it?” 

“This weekend. Saturday.” Natalie says, glancing over at her actual friends who stand at a distance.

“When I get home, I will submit a Social Event Request with Father. Miss Shoemaker will contact your parent or guardian once we receive an answer.” Helena smiles. It was short notice but not completely unreasonable to think Jame Eagan might respond if Helena marks ‘Urgent’ on the form. 

“O-kay.” Natalie says slowly trying to figure out how much of what Helena is saying is a joke. Helena’s face is blank and hard to read. Natalie takes a pen from her small leather backpack and scribbles on a business card. She hands the card over to Helena who inspects it. On one side is contacts for a Dr. Kalen. The other side has the Lumon logo scribbled over by bubbly cursive lettering. “That’s my Dad’s card.” Natalie explains. “And that’s the day, address and time.” 

 “Thank you. That’s most of the necessary information.” 

Natalie looks Helena up and down and then over to her friends again. “I hope to see you there.”

“Me too.” Helena answers then crinkles her nose, “I mean, I hope to be there. Er…I guess, thanks for inviting me?” Helena shrugs. Before Natalie walks away she points at Helena.

“Your glove is bleeding.” Natalie’s eyes blink rapidly, only mildly alarmed.

“Oh. Right. I’m fine.” Helena laughs and puts her hands behind her back.

“Are you sure?” Natalie raises her eyebrows in question.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Helena repeats. 

“Right.” Natalie laughs at the confusing encounter with this awkward girl. “Bye.” She says and abruptly swans off. 

“Ok. Bye.” Helena responds much too late for Natalie to hear.

.ssss.

It's midday on the Eagan estate and Helena is alone outside. After the press event, Miss Shoemaker told Helena she had earned herself an hour of Unstructured Playtime. It has been months since she's been rewarded with free time. Mr. Heilman was stingy with it. Once home, Helena wasted no time retrieving her sketchbook and pencils, and heading outside to the second floor balcony to draw. The sun is warm on her skin and she enjoys the vast openness of the sky. Unlike her, it has no limits. She takes off her shoes and sits on the very edge of the balcony, slipping her thin legs through the banister railings. She dangles her bare feet freely beyond the bars as she sketches. 

Helena enjoyed sketching but wasn't often able to indulge in her creative exploration. Stiff and bruised hands won't hinder her. Drawing was the one thing that brought quiet. Helena treasures the quiet, when her brain shuts off and she becomes fully present in the moment. It's a small reprieve from the worries, principles, lists, tempers, questions, and expectations. When she was sketching she was focused only on what she could create and imagine. 

Once as Mr. Heilman was punishing her for ‘unsanctioned artistry’ during tutoring hours, he lectured that pursuing art was a waste of time. “ Art isn't suitable for an Eagan. Do you want to end up like Ambrose?” He reprimanded her. He often reminded her that there were already entire teams at Lumon who were classically trained and more artistically skilled than she would ever be. He encouraged her to find joy in her aptitude for languages because that was a practical skill. Didn't she want to be useful to the Worldwide Lumon family? She received this lecture more than once. Being caught doodling was an exception to her rule. She made this mistake much more than twice. Despite the discipline it was hard to deter her from sketching. 

This particular drawing is one she has been adding to, bit by bit, each time that she is rewarded with U.P. Helena admires her previous progress and then stares wistfully through the railing bars at the lush green and dark earth of the mountainscape. She allows her mind to wander. She imagines a version of herself, down there, amongst the trees, walking into the unknown. She imagines what she might see as she walks, the trees towering over her, filtering the sunlight through their leaves, covering her with a faint green hue. Her imaginary self, looks up at the trees and there she sees a squirrel. Helena smiles, looking down at the paper of her sketchbook and decides on adding the squirrel. 

.ssss.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

Helena folds up her sketchbook, seals her pencils in their Lumon branded tin, and silences the small egg timer. She gathers everything up, including her shoes and enters the house, ready to return each item and herself to their respective places. 

Ding.

Miss Shoemaker finds the girl in her room, inexplicably barefoot. 

“House shoes.” Miss Shoemaker gestures. Helena nods and finds her blue and green house shoes under her bed. She slips them on and returns her attention to the Nanny. Miss Shoemaker opens a notebook, turning pages before settling on one. “Please describe your Unstructured Playtime experience.” 

“I sat on the balcony and I, uh, drew a squirrel.” Helena answers. Miss Shoemaker writes this down. She closes the notebook and places a form on it's hard cover before handing it to Helena with a pen. “Answer the five question survey.” Miss Shoemaker instructs. Helena nods, taking the writing instruments and reads the questions carefully just in case anything has changed since the last time. The survey ranking was: Strongly disagree, Disagree, Somewhat disagree, Neutral, Somewhat agree, Agree, Strongly Agree

The questions were the same as always: 

• My Unstructured Playtime Experience enriched my day.

• To the best of my knowledge, Kier would approve of my choice activity.

• I found it easy to keep my tempers balanced during my choice activity.

• My choice activity helpled me embrace the nine core principles.

• I am excited to partake in more Unstructured Playtime.

Helena knew all the right answers and quickly circles them, Neutral, Somewhat agree, Agree, Agree, Neutral. She had made the mistake of strongly agreeing before. She had thought it would have shown her Verve/Enthusiasm for the experience. Instead she was lectured for showing impartiality and told she should do her best to enjoy her activities equally. Helena hands the survey back to Miss Shoemaker who observes it's correctness and then slips it into her notebook. 

“Follow me.” Miss Shoemaker says, turning, pausing, and then proceeding out of the room with Helena following closely behind. Miss Shoemaker leads her to the Lounge. Helena is surprised but does her best to hide it.

“Are we watching a film? Or an instructional video?” Helena asks, realizing after that the answer doesn’t matter. They were two things that she genuinely enjoyed equally. Not a single piece of media made it onto the Eagan estate without having first been heavily edited. The films often had jarring cuts, full parts missing, inserted claymation, and dubbed over lines. All media was made to honor Kier. 

“Sit here.” Miss Shoemaker gestures to a centered arm chair. Helena obeys. Miss Shoemaker continues, “Your Social Event request was approved.” Helena fights a smile. She marked the form ‘urgent’ but hadn't expected such a quick response. “There is much to prepare you for. To start, the Media team delivered this five minute thirty-six second film segment to help you envision the worst case scenario. I am to warn you that this selected scene has been unedited from it's original film version and may cause a flaring of tempers. You may experience feelings of Dread or Frolic. Please do your best to contain them and we can talk it through at the film's conclusion.” 

Helena nods, puts her hands palm down in her lap and tightens her posture, preparing to curtail any emoting. The film starts mid opening credits with the chaos of school children filing onto a school bus and a father surprising his children with his sudden appearance in the crowd. He explains he was fired from his job. The content warning was spot on. Helena finds herself mortified by the overstimulating Frolic. The smallest child runs at the father in a very concerning way, as if to attack? Instead, she is lifted into a hug. Suddenly several animals seem to have seized a home, chewing the potted plants, and terrorizing an old woman. The next scene Helena feels relief, a woman in a suit, conducts a business meeting of some kind. She seems capable and respected. The woman is called to the barnyard scene. The woman is rightfully horrified and Helena watches intently, doing her best not to outwardly show she’s feeling the exact same way. Inside the house a horse eats a cake, children jump on a sofa, and dance on a table to blaringly loud music. The woman pulls the plug and the film ends, white static fills the screen. Helena sits silently overwhelmed. Things like this happen? Surely not at Natalie’s home. She seemed so civilized. She is the daughter of a Lumon doctor! 

“Please remember, this is an example of the worst case scenario.” Miss Shoemaker reassures. Helena nods and exhales, that reminder really did calm her tempers. “I will now answer any questions you may have. There is a limit of ten questions, so please choose your words wisely.” 

Helena stares at the now blank screen, thinking over her many questions. “Why did that man and his children vandalize that nice woman’s home? Was it bad business dealings?”

“That. No.” Miss Shoemaker squints at the girl. “That man was the father of those children and the woman was the mother. The house was the home they share.” 

“Oh.” Helena’s eyes widen some. Sometimes she forgot that other people lived with mothers. She lets this settle in her mind, Natalie might also have a mother. “You didn’t answer the first part of my question.”

“The first part. You asked?”

“Why did they vandalize the home?” Helena repeats. It felt even more bizarre now she knew they might all live there together.

“I’m afraid you missed the point entirely.” Miss Shoemaker says frowning at Helena, which makes the girl fidget in her seat. “I’ll replay the clip. Please listen carefully.” Miss Shoemaker uses a remote and the two of them sit in silence for a brief moment listening to the mechanics of the machine rewinding the tape. Miss Shoemaker then presses play. Helena does her best not to be so distracted by the movement on every inch of the screen and narrows her focus on the man and his children. This time she gleans that what occurs at the home is an unsanctioned, undeserved party. Helena empathizes again with the woman/mother's outward expression of horror and she feels relief for her when she pulls the plug on the loud music. The screen again flashes white static. “How are you feeling?” Miss Shoemaker asks, observing Helena’s tense posture.

“I’m fine.” Helena answers.

“Any further questions?” Miss Shoemaker asks, folding her arms. Helena still had nine more but could see that Miss Shoemaker was not truly open to them. Still, if the questions are pre-approved Helena was going to use them.

“The vandalization of the house, was that a party for the undeserving boy?” Helena asks, hoping to confirm she understood the clip the second time.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Helena raises an eyebrow at the absurdity.

“It’s his birthday.” Miss Shoemaker replies. This answer confuses Helena further. She has to pause, consider this, and rearrange the priority of her remaining questions. Helena has never had a party for her birthday. The concept seems sacreligious. Each year on her birthday, Helena would meet in a Lumon conference room with her Father, Mr. Heilman and sometimes one or two of her tutors, to discuss her annual review. A packet of paper highlighted her successes and accomplishments and detailed her low points, personal failings and opportunities for improvement in the year to come. If there were more pros than cons in her review packet, which hadn’t happened for the past two years, Helena would be rewarded that evening after dinner with her choice of dessert from a small menu. 

Parties were events, Lumon events, with carefully planned spectacle. The only birthday that Helena knows to be observed by a celebration is Kier’s. There’s a parade through town, Lumon Choreography and Merriment march and perform, and Helena usually follows behind the Lumon float with a group of staff. She is no Kier, so she never expected celebration. Helena frowns at this thought. Natalie is smart and admittedly interesting, but she is no Kier either. 

“Why would Natalie have a party?” Helena asks.

“Please hold any questions not pertaining to the film.” Miss Shoemaker corrects.

“Ok. Um, then, I guess why are there horses? Is that a common custom?” Helena asks.

“No. This is not a common custom. This is a worst case scenario. The Petting Zoo is an example of entertainment that may be scheduled for an event like a birthday party.” Miss Shoemaker explains. 

5/9 questions done. Helena bites her lip choosing carefully. “Is the jumping and dancing common? I noticed the song was instructing them to jump.”

“The dancing may be. Jumping is normally frowned upon. And you must never treat the party Host’s furniture in such a disrespectful manner.” Miss Shoemaker says. Helena nods, relieved. She couldn’t imagine what it would have felt like to be surrounded by such chaotic movement. “Tomorrow you will have a Music Dance Experience to refamiliarize yourself with the activity.”

“And Father approves?” Helena asks, surprised. She can't remember the last time she had an MDE.

“Your Father encouraged it.” Miss Shoemaker confirms.“Two nights ago, my request to assist you with tempering your Woe was denied by your Father when he realized that you had never formally received Media Training. He felt that everything you were exposed to at the Girl's school may have been too much too soon.”

Helena stifles a laugh, thinking the opposite to be true, “ It was too little too late.” Still she is grateful for the pardoning and removes ‘delayed repercussions’ from her mental list of Later Worries. She adds the ‘Taming Request' to her growing list of Reasons I Hate Miss Shoemaker.

“He agreed that your lack of preparation was a failure on the team. So, we will follow the agreed upon steps to prepare you for this Social Event and hopefully you don't embarrass him again. All the adults attending will be from Lumon and they will know who you are. So you must know how to conduct yourself.” Miss Shoemaker adds.

“So, if there are barn animals present, what would be an appropriate response?” Helena asks. Miss Shoemaker squints at her. Helena knew she was pushing her luck but if Miss Shoemaker was meant to teach her how to conduct herself, why not just answer the question?

“Do you have any more questions pertaining to the film?” Miss Shoemaker says firmly. Helena thinks.

“How likely is it that the party at the Kalen’s will end up like that?” Helena asks.

“That’s not about the film.” Miss Shoemaker says sharply, but mercifully adds “Very unlikely.” She looks down her nose at the girl. “How are your tempers? Do they feel balanced?”

“Yes Miss Shoemaker.” Helena affirms. “What is the name of this film?”

“Mrs. Doubtfire.”

“Is that the mother's name?” Helena asks.

“No.” Miss Shoemaker says bored. “Any more film related questions or can we move on?” Helena had two questions remaining but can't think of anything else that might be helpful to ask. She eventually nods in agreement with Miss Shoemaker's desire to move on.

“Next you may ask two questions about the Kalen birthday party.” Miss Shoemaker says holding up two fingers.

“How many people will be there?” Helena asks, watching Miss Shoemaker put a finger down.

“Ten girls, two boys, six adult guests, and ten members of their household staff. Twenty-eight in total.” Miss Shoemaker reads off a paper. 

“Will you or father be there?” Helena asks.

“I cannot speak for Mr. Jame Eagan but I will not be in attendance. I will be there at drop-off and pick-up.” Miss Shoemaker answers.

“Why is Natalie being celebrated?” Helena repeats her earlier question.

“The question and answer portion has concluded.” Miss Shoemaker says coldly. Helena sighs, mad at herself for asking about Miss Shoemaker’s attendance instead of her truly burning question. Why is Natalie worth celebrating? “Now to your room while dinner is prepared. Practice the nine core principles in French, Spanish, and German until you're called for.”

Helena stands, “Thank you for the enlightening film.” She smiles at Miss Shoemaker before heading on her way. It really has been a good day.

Chapter Text

Friday Morning. 

Miss Shoemaker inspects the girl’s room. As usual, everything is in order and the bed is militantly made. She observes the child's posture and smiles to herself. Inwardly, she's pleased with her decision to tame Helena on her first day as her Nanny. Earnestly disciplining the girl was an immediately impactful display of power. Miss Shoemaker is confident that decision has positively influenced the girl's behavior and earned her the respect of both the child and her father. Now, she stands face to face with Helena who stares straight ahead with her shoulders back.

“You look refreshed. Did you sleep well?” Miss Shoemaker asks the child.

Helena nods, the corner of her mouth twitching a slight smile. “Yes, very well.”

“Good.” Miss Shoemaker is pleased. It was nearing the end of her first week and the well rested, neatly dressed, teen reflects well on her efficiency at the job. 

“Did you sleep well?” Helena asks with a smirk and a raised brow. Miss Shoemaker sighs. Of course, she didn't quite know because her Outie did the sleeping. Helena fights her smile by pressing her lips together.

“Severance humor?” Miss Shoemaker scoffs unamused. Yes, it was too soon to celebrate. It was a strong but small start. Clearly it will take more time and taming before Helena is guided back to Kier’s path. “Do you think you're funny Miss Eagan?” 

Helena's smile falls, hearing her full name used in the way Mr. Heilman did, as a warning or correction. Helena looks off to the side, recalling Natalie telling her that she is funny. She couldn't understand why Miss Shoemaker was so sensitive about the severance topic. It was her choice to sever! Helena decides it’s best not to test her Nanny’s patience so early in the day. 

She lies. “No Miss Shoemaker. Not particularly.” Miss Shoemaker stares her down until Helena drops her eyes to the floor submissively.

“Be mindful that your Wit not turn to Malice.” Miss Shoemaker warns the child before leading her out of the room.

.ssss.

Another lonely breakfast and quiet car ride to Lumon. Miss Shoemaker enters the building with Helena, and instructs her like a dog, to sit, stay, and wait by the green lobby sofas. Helena watches Miss Shoemaker smiling and chatting with the enigmatic lady at the front desk. She's annoyed to see how freely Miss Shoemaker speaks and moves, knowing that the Nanny will never behave that way with her.

Helena picks at the skin of her nail beds resisting the urge to pick the scabs on her knuckles. She wasn’t made to wear gloves today despite the prominence of red and purple bruising. There shouldn't be any photographers so it is unlikely anyone will notice or care. Her picking and waiting ends when a man in a suit appears. Once the man has Helena in tow, Miss Shoemaker makes her way to the exit. 

Helena is guided to a conference room where she's surprised to see two women and one man with Lumon badges. It was a bare room, so there were little to no context clues to help Helena guess what would be happening here. For a few moments, the adults stand at a distance, speaking softly amongst themselves. Helena stands where she was left, awkwardly rocking heel to toe. She hadn't been instructed to engage with the adults, and decides this must be a test of some kind. Loyalty? Patience? Humility? Whatever it was she was determined to pass. 

Eventually one of the two women breaks from their small huddle, and Helena watches as she heads her way. 

“Hello,” the woman puts out her hand for a shake, “I'm Carol D.” 

Helena exhales slowly through her nose. She would have to risk it. Saying ‘hello’ could either fail her test or lead her to success. She decides to force a smile and shake the woman's hand. One of her eyes involuntarily squints from the pain, “Hello, I'm Helena.” After two solid shakes, the woman releases Helena’s hand and takes a step back, observing her with a bright smile. Helena discerns that the smile is genuine. The information sheet had said a real smile engaged the eyes and Carol's were twinkling under the fluorescent lights. Unfortunately, it only last a few seconds before the smile twists to a look of concern.

“Oh.” Carol says. “I'm sorry.” She gestures to Helena's injured hand. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Helena stifles a laugh amused by the woman's nervous energy.

“Does it hurt?” Carol asks.

“Only if I think about it.” Helena says grinning. 

Carol laughs attempting to mask her confusion. “Okay? Would you join us for a game?”

“A game?” Helena’s eyebrows rise, that has to be the test. “What test- I mean, game. What game are you playing?” It hadn’t looked like they were doing much beyond standing around.

“We haven’t started yet.” Carol says, her smile has returned. “They told us we would be waiting for a fourth participant. We, well, we didn’t think it would be a child.”

“I’ll be 13 this year.” Helena defends herself. Carol D starts over to where the other adults stand and Helena follows. 

Carol D holds out both arms in presentation, “This is our fourth player, everyone.” Everyone is quiet, trying to make sense of Helena’s presence. Helena squirms uncomfortable with the attention. 

“How old are you?” The man asks.

“I’ll be 13 this year.” Helena repeats. This answer doesn’t seem to satiate the group’s skepticism. “Father says, Kier started working when he was only twelve years old.” This fact causes the man to smile. Helena continues, “He told me I have to wait an extra year because girls don’t mature as fast as boys.” 

The other woman tilts her head thoughtfully, “Is that true? Isn’t it the other way-” Carol D gives the woman a look which causes her to stop speaking. Helena’s eyes shift between the two women. Why wouldn’t it be true? Helena wonders. Would Father lie to me? What about Probity? Kier values honesty.  

“Will each of you grab a chair and form a circle in the center of the room?” Carol phrases her instruction as a question. The man and other woman go to retrieve their chairs. Helena looks up at Carol D who smiles down at her. Helena wonders, if Carol’s in charge of this activity, why would she ask her participants for cooperation instead of demanding it? And why didn’t she know to expect a child as the fourth participant? “On you go.” Carol says in a softer tone.

Helena brings her chair to where the others have set theirs. “Isn’t this more of a square? With just the four of us?” Helena observes. The man laughs at this and nods in agreement. Helena smiles. She wasn’t sure why but it was becoming apparent to her that when she simply spoke the truth, others found it humorous. Miss Shoemaker can go suck a lemon , she thinks. The more Helena tried her Wit, the more she caused Cheer. Maybe humor was a strength of hers? This thought makes her frown. Art and Humor, those are my talents? Great. I really might go down as the least impressive Eagan in history.

“We will be playing a series of games. These games are designed to helps us get to know one another, and to practice office-appropriate small talk.” Carol D announces. Helena looks around at the grown-ups, not really interested in getting to know any of them.

“Office-appropriate? Was I chosen for this because I told Fiona L that I could see her panty line?” The man asks. “Now, I have to learn ‘office-appropriate’ conversations?” 

“No.” Carol answers, losing her smile. Helena can see that the man seems annoyed and watches the expressions of the other women carefully. “We were chosen for a reason but not because of any problematic behaviors.”

“Problematic?” The man rolls his eyes.

“I don’t understand why they pulled me from my desk to play games. I have so much work to do.” The other woman speaks out of turn.

“What department are you even from?” The man asks.

“We were selected from different departments for this rare opportunity to bond across that departmental divide.” Carol says optimistically. 

The other woman speaks up. “I’m already behind. There has to be someone else who-”

Carol interrupts, “Sorry you were pulled from your work. Kier would appreciate your Verve.”

“Listen, if Fiona didn’t want people talking about her pantylines, she wouldn’t be wearing those tight skirts that show it off. She knows what she’s doing. She is the one who made it an office dialogue.”

“Please, we’re getting off topic.” Carol tries to assert. Helena notes a sense of apology in Carol’s voice, almost as if she were sorry to be the leader. “The sooner we start the games, the sooner we’ll be done and everyone can go back to work.”

“Maybe not everyone.” The man looks to Helena. 

Carol continues, “We will start by going around the circle-”

“Square.” The man interjects. Carol sighs, pausing to collect herself. The man winks at Helena. Helena raises an unsure eyebrow.

“I’ll start and we’ll go around clockwise. Share your name, job title, and one interesting fact about yourself.” Carol says forcing a cheerful tone. The man slouches in his chair and the other woman looks at her watch. Helena frowns, uncomfortable with the obvious disrespect they are showing Carol who seems so kind. “I’m Carol D. and I am a severed employee. I’m not sure exactly what my job title is but I know I work in the corporate archives division. One interesting fact about me is…before I moved to this town and found Kier in my heart, I was actually a concert flutist.” Helena’s mouth drops at this admission and Carol D wags a finger at her. Helena closes her mouth. Helena’s surprised someone would admit to having been a flutist. Kier taught that becoming a flutist was one of the worst outcomes if you gave into Frolic. “Minus ten points.” Carol says to Helena.

“Points?” Helena asks.

“Please try to enjoy each fact equally. It’s impolite to show such judgement in casual conversation.” Carol explains. “You have 90 points remaining.” Helena straightens up in her seat. She guessed there would be a test of some kind. She’s simultaneously relieved to have been right and plagued with a stomach ache for having already lost 10 points. 90 was barely an A and anything below an A could mean trouble.

“This is being evaluated?” The other woman asks.

“For some.” Carol answers, looking shyly at Helena.

“How many points do I have?” The man asks.

“None.” Carol says, subtly shaking her head.

“I want points. At least make this waste of time interesting, " the man says, folding his arms and sitting back in his chair.

“Fine.” Carol shrugs, “You can have points. You have 100 points.” 

The man smirks at Helena, “I’m winning.”

Carol D points to the other woman, “She’s got 120 points.”

“What? Why?” The man is upset by this.

“Because I am in charge of the points.” Carol says with a smile. Helena lets out a small laugh even though this gets her a scathing look from the man.

“Women.” The man scoffs.

“Minus 10 points for being a sexist prick.” Carol D says. Helena covers her mouth with one of her hands trying not to show her amusement. “Let’s get back to the game, shall we?” Carol gestures to the other woman who sits to her right.

“Hello, I’m Erika R. I’ve been with Lumon for 3 years now. I work for Sorting and Recycling. A fun fact about me is that I went to school to become an environmentalist lawyer. When I passed the bar, Lumon recruited me and I thought I would be working in a legal capacity but instead I remotely sort trash and recycling, all day, every day.” Helena squints, not sure if that’s a fun fact or a sad one. Surely a lawyer was better than a trash lady. Helena quickly remembers her expressions are being watched and she looks back to Carol with a blank and neutral face.

“Thank you Erika.” Carol says with a smile. 

“Hey ladies, I’m Henry W. I work in Imports and International Trade. And here's a fun fact: I don't need this training because I respect women, okay? You won't meet someone who respects women more than me. If Fiona said something, it's because she's in an unhappy marriage and seeing me everyday makes her think about all she's missing out on.” The man smiles smugly, and Helena notices both the women appear disgusted. Still, she keeps her expression neutral to avoid losing any more points.

“If Fiona hasn't reported you,” Erika says, “After this meeting I absolutely will.”

“Oh yeah? Go ahead and try it. Okay? I've been a Lumon employee for a decade. I know Jame Eagan. The Eagan’s are all about loyalty.” The man says red in the face. Helena keeps her eyes fixed on Carol, thinking maybe the confrontation is a test that she's meant to avoid reacting to. Helena feels fairly confident each of these people represented an untamed temper. Henry is Malice, Erika is Woe, Carol must be Dread because she is so reluctant to lead which means Helena would be Frolic. She nods to herself, convinced her Frolic is being tested. It was the only temper Miss Shoemaker has yet to help her tame. 

“Please!” Carol raises her voice. “I understand none of us chose to be here but can we please do our best to complete the assigned work without an altercation? I really don't want to fill out the paperwork.” 

“Fine.” Erika crosses her arms and legs and turns away from Henry. 

“Alright well, get it over with, kid. It's your turn.” Henry gestures to Helena. Suddenly all the attention is on Helena and she freezes. She hadn't been thinking about a fun fact because she was so concerned with figuring out what all of this was for. 

“Minus 10 points.” Carol says. Helena’s full attention locks onto Carol and her smile. It seemed less kind. 

“What do you mean? I haven't even said anything yet.” Helena tries to mask the desperation in her voice by speaking in a monotone. 

“The rules of the game say the conversation must maintain a natural flow. Long awkward silences like that one, just now, breaks that rule.” Carol clarifies. Helena looks over Carol wondering where these ‘rules’ are. 

“Well, I didn't know that Carol. Can I have my points back and try again?” Helena asks hopefully. A score of 80 was abysmal especially after scoring so low on her Media Training earlier that week. 

“Please continue.” Carol says avoiding the question. Helena sighs wondering to herself why she even liked Carol to start with. 

Helena fakes a smile, “Hi I'm Helena. I don't have a job yet, as you know. But I am a student, and schoolwork is kind of work.”

Henry laughs, “Nothing like it. The real world is going to hit you hard.” Helena doesn't drop her smile but her eyes shoot daggers at Henry. He claps his hands once, loudly in Helena's direction. “Bam! Right across that pretty little face of yours.” 

Helena looks back to Carol, “And an interesting fact about me?” Helena thinks, but not for too long. She didn't want to mention her embarrassing inclination towards art. She didn't want to say that she's an Eagan, they all probably knew, and it wasn’t her that was interesting, it was her family. She shrugs, “I got three fill-ins last year.”

“Thank you Helena. Minus 5 points.”

“Why?!” Helena's full eyes plead. 75 points? That score would not go unpunished. “Why?!” Helena asks again her voice cracking as she fights an emotional flare.

“Personal medical histories are not an appropriate topic of conversation.” Carol explains.

“How would I know that?” Helena insists. This wasn't fair. Why was life never fair?

“Helena, I hear that you're upset. But I didn't make the rules. Alright?” Carol says.

“Carol, your game sucks.” Helena says flatly. Carol's eyes widen at the girl's Malice. 

“Minus 10 points for-”

“Take all the points Carol!” Helena stands and points a finger. “ You did a poor job of explaining the rules of this stupid game. So it's your fault if I lose! You set me up!” 

“Little girl, kindly, do not point your finger at me.” Carol says with a smile.

“I'm not a little girl.” Helena says her hands balling to fists by her side.

“Maybe you should have a seat Helena?” Carol says calmly.

“For what? The games over.” Helena shouts.

“We have anoth-”

“Another rigged game? No thank you!” Helena marches off. Carol calls after her but Helena's anger leads her forward, stomping through the hall to an uncertain destination. 

.ssss.

The destination didn't stay uncertain for long. Helena found the nearest washrooms and locked herself in a stall to cry as quietly as she could. Her face is hot and red as the tears flow. She fell into Carol's trap and now she’s frightened of what the consequences will be. After only a few minutes, Helena is able to slow her breathing and calm herself. She washes her face in the sinks and then looks into the mirror. She points an angry finger at her reflection. “ You did this. Not Carol. You.” She is so angry with herself for losing the game and losing control that she can barely stand the sight of herself. She contemplates going back to the room but ultimately decides there isn't a point. A 'sorry' and compliance were not going to make the situation any better. Instead, Helena walks the hallways to burn off steam. She wanders, trying the elevators, which would open but not move to any floor without a badge. She keeps walking and tries the handles of some doors at random. Most are locked and only a few open to mostly empty rooms. Eventually, Helena is stopped by one of the Lumon security guards. When she spots the man, there is no doubt in her mind that he’s there to deliver her to a terrible fate. He escorts her out of the Lumon building and to a black car. When Helena gets in she's greeted by the stone-faced Miss Shoemaker.

For a while the drive is silent. Helena stares out the window imagining she's heading to a place she actually wants to be. Maybe a beach? Or a concert? Or a concert at the beach? Miss Shoemaker is the one to break the silence.

“As soon as I heard of your shameful behavior, I submitted a Disciplinary Action Request to your Father.” Miss Shoemaker informs the girl whom she was so foolishly proud of earlier that morning. “When we get in, as I wait for a response to that request, you and I will play the remaining games.”

“I do not want to play any games with you Miss Shoemaker.” Helena says raising her eyebrows for emphasis. In her mind, she starts listing off things she would rather do. Walk on hot coals, shovel horse shit, eat glass…

“It’s a mandatory activity for today. You don't have to enjoy it. You just have to get it done.” Miss Shoemaker says. “And after everything, if you're well enough, you will have the scheduled MDE.” 

“Music and dancing, after everything?” Helena shakes her head knowing the MDE won't be enjoyable if she's in pain. “It wouldn't be like this with Mr. Heilman.” She laments feeling woeful. “He would never have put in three Disciplinary Action Requests in one week. He would lecture me. He'd probably make me read Appendix passages about the dangers of Malice. But he would talk to me like a civilized person. He wouldn't do this to me.”

“Civilized?” Miss Shoemaker smirks. “Is it civilized to shout at a woman for doing her job? Or to run through the halls like a feral cat?” Helena closes her eyes, picturing herself as a feral cat clawing at Miss Shoemaker's face. “Like I said yesterday, Mr. Heilman failed you in many ways. I have been reviewing his Daily Log Reports and I agree that he was inconsistent with his discipline. Unlike him, I will use the tools provided by my employer to ease my toil and enhance my outcomes. I aim for thoroughness and efficiency.” 

“You're not efficient.” Helena snips, “You're just cruel.”

“Helena, the world is cruel.” Miss Shoemaker says dismissively. “That’s just a fact. It’s better you learn that at home while you're young. Instead of being shocked by that fact later in life.” Helena crosses her arms not buying this rebuttal. “Your Father hired me to help prepare you for that cruel world and I'm by the book because I care about you.” 

“You do NOT care about me. You said so yourself. Once you clock out you don't even know me. You care about your job. That's it!” Helena bitterly corrects her.

“Yes. I suppose that is more accurate. But you are the job.” Miss Shoemaker is amused by the girl's obstinance, knowing she will soon be snuffing the fury from those fiery eyes. She laughs, “You are a piece of work.” 

.ssss.

Miss Shoemaker finally explained to Helena that the games she was being made to play were in preparation for the birthday party. They were to help her become a more competent conversationalist. Helena felt that if her father or Miss Shoemaker ever allowed her to speak freely, they would know there wasn’t anything wrong with her conversation skills. Helena couldn't decide if playing the tedious games with Miss Shoemaker alone, was worse or better than if she had to deal with Carol, Erika and Henry. Midway through the final game, Miss Shoemaker received an answer to her Request. Helena wasn’t surprised to know that it was approved. When they finished the games, Miss Shoemaker wasted no time in taming Helena’s temper-Malice. Afterward, Miss Shoemaker left the girl in her room, allowing her some time to contain herself. There wasn’t much time for recovery before Helena was summoned for lunch. As she waits for her plate to be cleared, Helena can hear the far-off footsteps of her father. She slowly stands, straightening her posture, despite the fresh new flashes of pain it causes. 

Jame stands before his weak offspring and frowns down at her. She keeps her eyes fixed on his tie, shamefully avoiding eye contact. “Helena.” He acknowledges.

“Father.” She answers. 

“If this social event weren’t important for Lumon, your actions today would have excluded you from attendance.” Jame warns. Helena doesn’t respond and simply bows her head lower. She was undeserving of such leniency. “How are you feeling? Are your tempers balanced?”

“Yes Father.” She nods.

“Good. Keep them that way.” He says firmly. He looks at Miss Shoemaker, “Is everything prepared for the MDE?”

“Yes Mr. Eagan.” Miss Shoemaker says with a smile. “Helena?” Miss Shoemaker puts a hand on Helena’s shoulder and guides the girl to the Grand Hall. It was a wide open space meant for banquets, and as far as Helena knew, it was used for only a handful of celebrations throughout the year, including the New Year Ritual for Lumon Elites. Miss Shoemaker deposits Helena in the center of the big empty room, and walks purposefully to one of the far walls where the sound equipment is concealed. The music starts and Helena groans. There wasn’t anything she wanted less ( besides the Bad Soap ) than to have to move her body right now. Jame enters the room. 

“Father?” Helena is surprised. She squints in confusion, “Will you dance?” She couldn’t recall ever seeing him do so, but she wasn’t sure why he had followed them there.

“I’ll watch.” Jame says putting his hands in his pockets and planting his feet firmly on the parquet wood floor. His presence makes Helena nervous.

“Dance Helena.” Miss Shoemaker commands from the opposite side of the room. Helena looks between the two stoic adults on either side of the room. The music plays loudly and she closes her eyes, swallowing a knot that formed in her throat. 

I don’t want to. Helena thinks. She can’t say it aloud. She can’t say no. She has no choice. She takes in a deep breath and looks down at her feet, moving them in a two-step, side to side. She’s hesitant to lift her arms because of the pain all across her back. 

“Enthusiasm? Cheer? Nimbleness? I don’t see it, Helena. Do you Mr. Eagan?” Miss Shoemaker calls out over the music. Helena’s eyes dart to her father who looks on scornfully. She does her best to push through the pain and engage more of her body in the movement. She forces a smile, attempting to feign the three core principles Miss Shoemaker wants to see. She dances and wiggles alone, mostly in place, for the full four-minute length of the song. When it finishes, the room is silent. Helena is grateful to stop dancing. Her heart is pounding and breaths are shallow. Her gaze flickers nervously between the two adults on whose mercy she depends. “Again Mr. Eagan?” Miss Shoemaker asks Jame.

“No.” He clears his throat. “That will have to do.” He looks Helena up and down before walking out of the room. Helena can feel her face flush hot, as if she might cry again, but she’s not sure why. She takes in a few fast deep breaths and is able to calm herself before her Nanny approaches her.

“You may go to your bed chambers and write a minimum two-page essay on the importance of Nimbleness.” Miss Shoemaker says standing over the girl. Helena nods making very brief eye contact with Miss Shoemaker before bowing her head. Miss Shoemaker is pleased to see the child’s eyes are dull, empty. The spark of Malice has been extinguished for now.

Chapter Text

Saturday

A white blouse hangs in her wardrobe matched with a navy skirt and a green pair of trousers.

"Choose one." Miss Shoemaker's voice sounds over the speaker.

Helena doesn't hesitate to choose the trousers. It's the first time this week she had been offered something other than a skirt or dress. She wouldn't miss the chance. Helena dresses slowly, maintaining her timing despite the lingering pain from her taming. She thanks Kier for the Good Soap this morning, it soothed her welts and inflamed skin. The fabric of the blouse is soft and flowy, which doesn't irritate the skin beneath. A gracious choice from whoever selected the clothing. Likely Miss Shoemaker.

Hating Miss Shoemaker thus far, has only brought Helena pain and woe. So she decides to focus on the Nanny's small kindnesses. If she squinted hard enough they were there. Helena scraps the mental list of Reasons to Hate Miss Shoemaker and starts a new list, Acts of Benevolence.

1. Giving me the positive school reports to show Father

2. Sharing the SOP

3. The Good Soap

4. This loose-fitting blouse

Helena thinks that maybe one day, if the list grows longer, she could believe that Miss Shoemaker's care for her job really is the same as caring for her. Or whatever the Innie equivalent is to caring.

At the dining table, Helena sits stiffly. She frowns down at her crystal glass of raw eggs. Miss Shoemaker is amused by the girl's repugnance for the food.

"When you have finished your breakfast, we have more Party Prep to work on." Miss Shoemaker announces.

"Yay?" Helena says with a straight face. "Will we finally address what an appropriate response to barnyard animals would be?" She tries to mask her annoyance as intrigue.

"It is unlikely that there will be barn animals." Miss Shoemaker asserts.

"Unlikely but not impossible." Helena shrugs.

Miss Shoemaker sighs annoyed with the child's persistence. "In the event there are barn animals, keep a safe distance and do not engage unless personally asked and/or assisted by Dr. Kalen himself. Understood?" The child doesn't respond but Miss Shoemaker allows Helena time to think on it. "Now is that silliness out of your system?" Miss Shoemaker interrupts. Helena nods. "Good, now finish your eggs so we can get to work."

Helena lifts the crystal glass and swirls it like she sees her father do. The yellow yokes swish about the fluid. She takes the biggest sip she can manage, only one yoke makes it in. She grimaces as she swallows the gelatinous slime. She washes the flavor from her mouth with a few sips of milk. Helena knocks back the second yoke like a shot and gulps down her milk to remove any residual taste or stickiness. Why couldn't Kier have liked something normal for breakfast? Like waffles? She learned from one of her tutors that in some countries it was custom to eat rice with breakfast. She sighs thinking she would have loved living in that reality.

"When you're finished, join me in the sitting room." Miss Shoemaker says, getting up and leaving Helena alone at the table.

Once unsupervised, Helena is more liberal with her expression of disgust as she finishes the final egg. When her glass is collected, Helena finds her way to the sitting room. Miss Shoemaker has a series of colorful disks placed on the table and gestures for Helena to sit on the floor. Any bending brought her discomfort but Helena didn't dare protest.

"Show me your palm. Face up. Flat." Miss Shoemaker commands, holding up one of the disks. Helena blinks rapidly, nervous but obedient. When Miss Shoemaker places the disk on the girl's palm, she notices a flinch. "Are you alright?"

Helena's face twitches into a half smile that she quickly suppresses. "Yes, Miss Shoemaker."

She studies the plastic disc in her palm.

"Do you know what that is?" Miss Shoemaker asks. Helena shakes her head no, her eyes flick to the side and she counts the five disks still on the table. "These are visual aids to help train your eye. Each disc represents one of the six food groups and they vary in size to indicate appropriate portion sizes. Since food is provided at the event, you will be expected to partake. And as you will be unsupervised, this exercise will stop you from eating beyond the recommended amount and making yourself look like a glutton."

Helena fails at containing her smile. She's excited to try some foods outside of her regular diet. Foods that she gets to choose! Mr. Heilman usually packed her lunch, so no matter where they went, she wouldn't stray from Eagan-approved foods.

"The disk you're holding is the sweets portion." Miss Shoemaker explains. Helena is disappointed at how small it is. "There will be many temptations there. This portion is reserved for the birthday cake. Everyone in attendance will be required to partake of the cake. So do NOT waste this portion on anything else. It will be considered rude if you don't partake." Helena nods trying to remember the last time she ate cake. All she can remember is how much she loved it. Miss Shoemaker places a worksheet on the table. "You have an hour to memorize these portions. When I come back, I will collect the disks and paper and there will be a quiz. Understood?"

"Yes Miss Shoemaker." Helena nods moving closer to the the table for studying.

.ssss.

Helena had asked if she could wear a different pair of shoes. She didn't want to wear the white mary-janes that Natalie had told her were hideous. Unsurprisingly, she was denied.

The Kalen home isn't as large as the Eagan estate but it was much larger and more modern than the houses that Helena was used to seeing on the ride to Lumon. As the car parks in the driveway, Helena is relieved to see there are no kids running wildly in the yard, no loose animals, and the music can't be heard from outside. She knew Natalie's family had to be more civilized than that family in the 'Worst Case Scenario' movie clip. The driver walks Helena to the front door and she takes in a deep breath before ringing the bell. As they wait she looks at her palm, practicing the rhyme she made up to remember her appropriate portion sizes. The door opens and a tall black man in a polo shirt and sharply creased trousers answers the door. It takes a second for his eyes to travel down and settle on her. He smiles when they make eye contact and Helena is convinced by the brilliance of his smile that this man must be Natalie's father. The smile unsettles Helena. Her own father would never smile at her like this.

"Miss Helena Eagan?" Dr. Kalen asks, looking between the shy child and the stoic driver.

Helena swallows enough of her Dread to recite what she practiced in the car, "Yes. Thank you Dr. Kalen for inviting me to your home. Please accept this gift basket as a thank you for your hospitality from myself and my father." She makes a small gesture in the driver's direction. He steps forward and hands Dr. Kalen, a large gift basket topped with a pineapple dyed Lumon-blue.

"Oh, wow." Dr. Kalen laughs at the blue fruit and Helena realizes her breath is rapid. Dr. Kalen's frivolity alarmed her. She rarely encountered men who expressed Cheer so liberally. "Thank you Miss Eagan. May I call you Helena?"

"Yeah. I mean, of course." She nods.

"Helena, it's an honor to host a descendant of Kier in our home." Dr. Kalen says, smiling down. Helena breaths through her nose, failing to calm her nerves.

"This, uh, we…" Helena pauses, closes her eyes, breathes in deeply and then continues, "This is a birthday gift?" Helena's eyebrow raises in skepticism. She doesn't know what the gift is and has trouble believing that Natalie had scored high enough on her annual review for gifts to be warranted.

"How kind." Dr. Kalen says taking the gift bag from the driver. "Please, come on in. I'll call for Natalie." Dr. Kalen steps back allowing space for Helena to enter. She looks to the driver, then back to the car where Miss Shoemaker is. Once she enters she will be on her own. On my own. She repeats to herself. The thought stops her stomach churning. She smiles and enters the threshold to a few hours of freedom.

.ssss.

Natalie appears at the top of a stairway. She wears a pretty red dress and Helena's in awe of her beauty. It's the first time she's seen her not in the Myrtle School uniform. Helena catches her mouth gaping and closes it.

Natalie looks to her Father and then Helena.

"Helena, why are you so early?"

"Kier says: Punctuality is the politeness of kings and the soul of business." Helena answers with a smile. Dr. Kalen seems impressed by this but Natalie only stares blankly at her.

"Nat-baby, why don't you show Helena your room while the staff finish the setup and we wait for the rest of our guests?" Dr. Kalen says. Before Natalie answers her Father, Helena has already found her way up a few stairs, knowing this was a command and not a suggestion despite Dr. Kalen's pleasant tone.

Once she's reached Natalie, Dr. Kalen disappears from the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey." Helena says quietly, feeling excited and unwelcome. Natalie stares blankly at Helena for a few moments, suddenly reminded of how awkward she is.

"My room is this way." Natalie points and then leads the way.

.ssss.

Helena doesn't try to contain her smile once inside Natalie's room. It was like nowhere she's ever been. It was comparable in size to Helena's own room but there was much more visual stimulation. The walls were painted a lilac purple, there was a window with patterned curtains letting in streams of natural light. Helena had a window but it's opacity was never below 80% and made it impossible for her to see outside. She knew there was a button that could adjust the opacity and turn it down to fully transparent but where that button was and who controlled it were beyond her. Natalie's walls are decorated with stickers, polaroids of herself and two smiling girls that Helena recognizes from the Girl's School, and posters of celebrities, just like the kid's had in films. Helena didn't recognize any of the celebrities because she rarely encountered media that wasn't Lumon-edited and Kier-approved but she liked the look of Natalie's posters. The colors, the faces, all of it added a dynamic energy to the space. The room felt alive, warm. Not sterile.

Helena observes a small double-sided frame on Natalie's bedside table. On one side is Kier, and on the other is a blonde-haired man impaled and bloody on a cross. Helena squints in recollection until the name Jesus pops into her mind. She remembers learning about him during her World Religion studies. Her tutor told her it was important to learn about false teachings so that she could avoid falling for crafty propaganda. Beside this photo were loose bracelets and earrings, casually discarded, not in their place. Helena was adjusting to the idea that not everything here had a place.

Natalie looks through a rack of CDs before choosing one and placing the disc into the small stereo on top of her dresser drawers. Helena discerns by the items placed on and around the speakers that the stereo is always there. It is Natalie's. It wasn't just placed there today for a MDE. Natalie always had access to music. Helena feels her cheeks flush hot with jealousy. When the music comes on, it's obviously secular and unedited. The beat, the lyrics, everything was so lively. Helena tries to play it cool and bobs her head off beat.

"I'm still getting ready." Natalie finally says to Helena.

"Oh." Helena puts her hands in her trouser pockets. "Should I step outside of the room to give you privacy?"

Natalie laughs, "No. I'm just deciding on jewelry."

"You are?" Helena looks down at the earrings on the table. Natalie walks over and lifts them to her ears.

"I was thinking these, with that bracelet. But now I'm not sure. Because like, the bracelet is costumey and the earrings are more blingy."

"Blingy?" Helena shrugs lost.

"Yeah, you know, bling-bling." Natalie says twirling the earrings. Helena did not know and that explained nothing. "Help me pick." Natalie places a jewelry box on the bed and sits. She pats the comforter and smiles, inviting Helena to join her. Helena hesitates, analyzing the situation and calculating the likelihood that a girl her own age would be chosen to test her. She decides it's unlikely since thus far it has never been done. Helena carefully bends, slowly lowering herself onto the soft bed. She watches Natalie open the box and is dazzled by the display of necklaces, bracelets and earrings. They were colorful, yellows, reds, pinks, some were hearts and butterflies. Natalie lifts a pair of broken heart earrings. "These would look good with what you're wearing. Are your ears pierced?" She asks dropping them in Helena's hand before she can answer. "What do you think about these for me?" Natalie asks with a matching strawberry-charmed bracelet/earring set in hand. Helena feels her face get hot again. Why does Natalie get so many choices? I can't even pick the shoes I wear."Do you like them?" Natalie tilts her head confused by Helena's red cheeks and silence.

"What does it matter if I like them?" Helena snaps defensively. Her opinion was rarely ever considered so she's unsure why it would matter now.

"Gosh Helena! I am just trying to include you." Natalie says rolling her eyes. She pushes the box towards Helena and then starts adorning herself with the strawberry charms.

Helena stares down at the glitzy variety and then blinks her eyes closed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound, er, I don't know, like—" She pauses, truly unsure how she had sounded. She is overwhelmed, and she feels Malice bubbling to the surface, but she knows it isn't meant for Natalie. "I appreciate being included," Helena says honestly, looking at Natalie with apologetic eyes.

Natalie smiles, confused and uncomfortable with how deeply sad Helena's eyes are. "Yeah, okay. It's fine." She didn't want to make an Eagan cry in her room. She feels panicked at the idea and shoves the jewelry box closer to Helena who still hadn't touched it. "Just pick something you like. You can wear them while you're here." Natalie forces another smile and Helena studies it. It didn't engage her eyes.

"Pick something?" Helena asks looking down at the set Natalie had already placed in her hand. She holds them up in question. Are these the right choice?

"Are those the ones you like?" Natalie asks. "You can pick whatever."

"Oh." Helena actually reaches for a pair of butterfly earrings, one wing is blue, the other green. She holds them up for approval.

"Yeah! Those actually really compliment your outfit, and your eyes." Natalie says cheerfully. Helena finally smiles, proud of herself for a good choice, and the smile relieves Natalie. Natalie watches Helena flipping over the plastic card the earrings are clipped to. She notices the bruises. "Do you need help putting them on?"

"No. I can." Helena's fingers are stiff but she manages to remove the earrings from the plastic.

"Mirrors, there." Natalie points to a full-length mirror hanging on the back of a door. Helena slowly stands and makes her way over to the mirror. She looks at her reflection and then over to Natalie, who watches her.

"Are you sure this is okay? For me to-" Helena holds the earrings, that she chose, that weren't chosen for her.

"Yeah, of course. Trust me, I won't ever tell you to do something bad." Natalie smiles. Helena breathes a sigh of relief. She did trust her. Clearly, she was a well-behaved girl to have earned a party in her honor. Helena nods, in agreement with this thought, and puts the earrings into her bare ears. "They look beautiful on you Helena." Natalie says to Helena's reflection.

"Thank you." Helena crinkles her nose with an embarrassed smile. She noted the compliment was for the earrings, not for her, but the words still felt nice. She takes in a deep breath, looking over Natalie. "You look…amazing."

Natalie nods and spins, "I do." Helena watches as Natalie dances to the music from her stereo.

"I, I don't know if this is rude to ask, I apologize if it is, but-" Helena pauses waiting for permission to continue. Natalie stops dancing, full smile, to look at Helena. She takes the smile as permission to continue, "What was your score?"

"My score?" Natalie's eyebrows raise in question.

"Last year I got a three." Helena admits. The scale was 1-5, five being the highest. She had to at least score a four to be awarded a dessert. A three went un-rewarded but thankfully unpunished. Helena can see that Natalie's eyes are blank. She didn't know what she was talking about. "On your review?" Helena hints.

"Review?" Natalie shakes her head, not following.

"Nevermind." Helena laughs nervously.

"Ok." Natalie shrugs and smirks at Helena, the poor rich girl can't seem to go more than a minute without making things awkward. There's a knock on the bedroom door and Helena's face and posture straighten. Natalie laughs. "Relax, it's probably just my mom."

Helena's eyes widen, Fuck, I forgot about moms again.

"Open." Natalie calls to the door.

Helena's mouth drops open. Can Natalie deny access to her room? The door opens, and in walks a fair-skinned woman with blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Oh." The woman smiles. "I didn't know you already had company."

Natalie gestures, "Helena, my mom. Mom, Helena Eagan."

"Eagan? Oh, yes. I know. I saw you in the paper just the other day." The woman says.

Helena blushes. Not that horrid paper! "Not my finest moment." She swallows nervously, partly because the woman is so beautiful, partly because of the reminder of her failure, and partly because Natalie moves about the room as if her MOM wasn't even there. Why is she not standing at attention?

"Nonsense." the woman dismisses Helena's embarrassment. "You're a child. That paper was unfair to you."

"How gracious of you to say so." Helena smiles feeling a sense of relief, this woman doesn't think poorly of her. She extends her hand for a shake, "It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Kalen."

Mrs. Kalen is about to shake when she notices the purple bruising on the girls hand. She takes a hold of it, observing the damage. "Oh honey." Mrs. Kalen takes up Helena's other hand and notices the same marks. "Honey, what happened?" Mrs. Kalen asks with empathetic eyes. Helena is alarmed, the concerned eyes, the soft tone, honey? Why would Mrs. Kalen call her that?

"Uh," Helena shakes her head, unable to think of a lie. She's not even sure why her first inclination is to lie. She reminds herself of Probity and shrugs. "Father was less than impressed by that newspaper article." Unfortunately, this honesty fills Mrs. Kalen's face with Woe and the woman hurries from the room, calling after her husband. Helena looks to Natalie. "I've upset her?"

Natalie follows her mom out of the room, "Mom please don't make this a thing." Natalie returns to the doorway and points at the stereo. "Can you shut that off? We might as well go down now." Helena, grateful for a task she couldn't screw up, walks over to the stereo, finds the power button and powers the machine off. She returns to Natalie's side.

"Did I fuck this up already?" Helena asks Natalie quietly. Natalie shrugs.

"Dad will calm her down." Natalie says confidently. "Don't worry." With that, the two girls head back downstairs to the main living area, decorated with streamers and balloons with Natalie's face on them. Helena can't help but notice the hushed tone and tense body language between Dr. Kalen and his wife. Mrs. Kalen points in her direction a few times. The bell rings and Natalie is excited. "Friends." She scurries off to the door, leaving Helena alone. Dr. Kalen and Mrs. Kalen approach her in their daughter's absence. Helena puts her arms behind her back, eyes moving between the two adults now staring down at her.

"I'm sorry if I upset you Mrs. Kalen." Helena offers.

"You didn't, sweetie." Mrs. Kalen says, her voice buttery and smooth. "Can you show Dr. Kalen your hands?"

"You don't have to do that, Helena." Dr. Kalen inserts firmly. Because of his tone, Helena stays still and doesn't move her arms from behind her back. "How are you feeling, Helena?" He asks. Her eyes dart from his Dread to Mrs. Kalen's Woe and Helena feels her chest get tight.

"I'm peachy. Just fine, thank you." Helena says, forcing a smile.

"Good." Dr. Kalen nods and Helena feels some relief that she's answered correctly. Dr. Kalen turns to his wife, "She says she's fine. She's fine. Drop it." Dr. Kalen walks off. Mrs. Kalen stays beside Helena and gently places a hand on her shoulder, bending some to be eye to eye with her.

"Helena, I'm here. Okay? I'll find us a nice quiet space if you want to talk about it." Mrs. Kalen says. Helena squints confused, It? Talk about, what?Natalie and one of her friends return to the living room.

"You remember Helena." Natalie says to her friend.

"Oh my god, your hair. Did they cut it again since the press-thing at school?" The other girl asks.

"No." Helena answers.

"It's so much shorter. Do you love it? Do you hate it?" The girl asks. Helena sighs, overwhelmed again. Her mind races. She wasn't getting used to people asking her opinion, like it mattered. She couldn't understand why Mrs. Kalen wanted to talk to her. Adults usually avoided speaking to her unless absolutely necessary. Was she the only kid that got annual reviews? She was the only one with bruised hands. Why was everything so different? Why was she so different? Why did she suddenly feel like she couldn't breath?

.ssss.

Helena scarfs down a bag of sugary candies. She had just won a game called 'musical chairs'. At first, the other girls didn't seem too thrilled to be playing. Helena's determination to win overrode her pain receptors, and her enthusiasm for the game got the other girls to be more engaged. She was the last one sitting and smiling with abandon. Mrs. Kalen awarded her a small gift bag. It contained Lumon-branded chocolates, a bag of sugary candies that Helena had never seen before, and a stretchy plastic thing that the other girls explained to her was a 'choker necklace'. Helena didn't feel she was being watched by anyone here and decided she would eat the candies, not counting them towards her sweets portion, because if she brought them home, she knew they would be confiscated. Just as she finishes the bag, and almost as if on cue, she hears her Father in the distance. Helena finds the nearest bin and discards the evidence. She follows the sound of her father's mumble and the disconcerting female laughter that accompanies it.

Helena turns a corner to the foyer. There stands Mrs. Kalen, Dr. Kalen, her Father, and a woman with red hair similar to her own. The woman is laughing loudly, making the others obviously uncomfortable, yet she doesn't seem to care. Jame spots his daughter lurking and extends his arm with a smile.

"Ah, my Helly. There you are." Jame announces. The other adults look to find Helena. Helena forces a smile but her stomach flips with Dread. My Helly? He never called her that. Only Mr. Heilman.

Why is he here? Why would he call me that? She wonders. His smile was unlike any he normally gave her. Something about it felt dangerous. She does the only thing she knows to do, and approaches militantly, standing at attention, a safe distance away. "Father." Helena acknowledges, bowing her head.

"This is Helena?" The red-haired woman asks loudly.

"That's her." Jame says.

"Look at me child." The woman insists. Helena raises her gaze to meet with the woman's. The woman smiles and her eyes wrinkle at the corners. "I haven't seen you since you were an itty bitty thing. It looks like Kier is blessing your growth."

"Yes," Helena nods, "I am grateful for my blessings." Her eyes dart from adult to adult, assessing their moods. Her father's smile didn't mask the base level of irritation that he always had in her presence. Mrs. Kalen is the only other adult who seems annoyed but Helena isn't sure if that is because of her.

"This is Miss Harmony Cobel." Jame tells Helena. "She and Dr. Kalen are two of the greatest minds at Lumon."

"Oh Jame." Harmony laughs.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Helena extends her hand and the woman shakes.

"Strong handshake for a girl." Harmony smiles, impressed.

"I thought so too." Dr. Kalen adds. Helena isn't sure if this is meant as a good thing. "Very professional." Dr. Kalen clarifies. Helena smiles a tight-lipped smile at the compliment.

"I hope My Hellion has been behaving herself for you." Jame says to Dr. Kalen.

"She's been nothing but a delight." Mrs. Kalen tells Jame.

"Dad?" Natalie enters the foyer and the adults' attention now fix on her to Helena's relief.

"Natalie. Please come meet, the man, the myth, and the legend, Mr. Jame Eagan." Dr. Kalen says flashing his brilliant smile in Jame's direction. Natalie's face lights up to match her father's and she hastens her step to her father's side. She reaches out for a shake and Jame gently holds her hand, cupping his other hand overtop hers.

"It's an honor Mr. Eagan. Thank you for allowing Helena to attend my party." Natalie says in the most polite tone Helena has ever heard from her.

"Well, the Kalen's and Eagan's have been working alongside each other for centuries. It's a special bond to honor. When Helena asked, I couldn't say no." Jame says with a smirk. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you." Natalie laughs, flattered. Helena feels like she's watching a film. None of these people were real. Her father didn't speak like that. He didn't smile like that. Helena hadn't asked him anything, she submitted a request with a business card attached. He could say no. He almost always said no to her.

"I hope you have a chance to rub off on my daughter." Jame says, still holding the girl's hand. "I reviewed your reports from the Myrtle Eagan School for are outstanding. You've been blessed with a brilliant mind."

Helena blushes enviously, thinking back to her Father in the library shredding her own reports. He didn't even open them. But he reviewed Natalie's?

Jame continues,"If you keep on Kier's path as you are, I can foresee you holding a very special place in the Lumon family."

"Thank you." Dr. Kalen and Natalie say almost in unison, looking at Jame with reverence. He smiles down at them as he holds Natalie's hand as if bestowing blessings. Helena's nostrils flare and a knot forms in her throat. I hate her. She thinks, unsurprised by the sudden Malice. I hate her and I hate these stupid fucking earrings.

"Why don't you two go on and rejoin the other girls?" Mrs. Kalen smiles, attempting to break up the hero worship. She nods at Natalie and Helena offering them an out. Helena looks to her Father for permission and he moves his eyes to the side, subtly dismissing her. Helena doesn't wait for Natalie. She hurries away to the nearest washroom to vomit up her Dread and candies.

Chapter Text

2006

Monday

07:20PM

Put. Put. Put.

The car idles in the driveway. Sixteen-year-old Helena shifts the gear to park. She wouldn't be the one actually parking the car in the garage amongst all of the others. She gets out of the vehicle and her driver makes his way around the front of the car to take over.

"You're a natural." The driver says. Helena smiles at the compliment.

"Thank you. I've had a very patient teacher." She says, returning the compliment to the driver.

"I'll ask your father if we can work on parking. That's all you've got left before you can take the driver's test." The driver says as he gets into the driver's side, adjusting the seat for his much longer legs.

"Please let me know his reply." Helena says as she makes her way around the front of the vehicle heading toward the entrance of her home. The car pulls away and she walks up the stairs. She's tired from a long day of work at Lumon and ready for a relaxing soak in the tub. She presses the metal numbers on the keypad and the doors open. Each person who entered used a different code to track comings and goings. The first thing she does, once inside, is slip off her heels. Her job required a lot of standing and her arches felt every minute of it.

This past birthday was the first one in almost five years that Helena scored a 4/5 on her annual review. Turning sixteen came with a surprising amount of new privileges. Helena got more say in what her schedule was. She could choose between a handful of exercises in the morning and wasn't limited to the exercise mat. Every Sunday, she was given a menu to select her meals (excluding breakfast) for the upcoming week. She also had daily free time with a max of two hours not counting her lunch break at work. Despite all these newfound freedoms, Helena still had to answer to a Nanny.

It has been three tough years adjusting to life under the supervision of Miss Shoemaker. They have come to understand each other's limits and triggers. Helena knew what buttons not to press and which rules she could bend without punishment. She wasn't under the impression that Miss Shoemaker had grown to like her any better over time. If anything, Helena has come to accept that this woman would never like her, and didn't need to, because what they had was a 'working-relationship'. They only had to be civil with one another. Or more accurately, Helena needed to be civil with her.

Helena finds Miss Shoemaker in the sitting room. Helena stands at attention, hands behind her back.

"Miss Shoemaker." Helena acknowledges.

"How was work?" Miss Shoemaker asks, standing to face Helena.

"Fulfilling. Thank you for asking." Helena delivers the expected pleasantries. She points, "I'm going to run myself a bath before dinner. Is there anything you have for me before I do?" Sometimes Miss Shoemaker would have messages from her father or a random assignment that needed completing to keep Helena up to date with her tutoring.

"No. Enjoy your bath." Miss Shoemaker says. Helena smiles relieved. She was hoping the answer was 'no'. The less time she had to speak with Miss Shoemaker, the better. Miss Shoemaker doesn't sit but has a fixed smile and malevolent stare. Helena decides whatever that look was behind her Nanny's eyes, she wasn't going to let it become her problem. She bows slightly before excusing herself and starting down the hallways to her room. She's only a few steps into the hall, when she slows her pace realizing Miss Shoemaker is following her.

Helena steps to the side, back against the wall, "You can go ahead if you're trying to get somewhere." She gestures, graciously offering the right of way. Miss Shoemaker stands in front of Helena, hands on her hips. There's prolonged silence and uncomfortable eye contact until Helena relents and looks towards the floor. "Miss Shoemaker?" Helena asks quietly.

"Turn. Hands on the wall." Miss Shoemaker instructs. Helena frowns and her heart drops to her stomach. She's been caught. Obediently she turns and places her hands on the wall. Miss Shoemaker untucks the girl's blouse from the waist of her skirt and lifts the shirt up in back. Helena closes her eyes, embarrassed by the frisking. There tucked in the waistband of Helena's nylon stockings is a book. Contraband. "What do we have here?" Miss Shoemaker asks, pulling the book from its hiding place. Miss Shoemaker uses the contraband book to swat Helena's rear. Helena bites her lip. It didn't hurt. It was just humiliating. Helena's face is red with embarrassment when Miss Shoemaker roughly grabs her shoulder and spins her around to be face-to-face. "What is this?"

"A novel." Helena sighs.

"Kier said: Be content in my words-"

"-and dally not in the scholastic pursuits of lesser men.' I know. But here's the thing." Helena speaks quickly trying to dig herself out of an already deep grave. "This novel is not meant to be scholastic. It's just entertaining. That's all."

"You think you're clever don't you?" Miss Shoemaker says unamused.

Helena's eyebrows raise apologetically, "Maybe not clever. More so, Wily and Witty?"

Miss Shoemaker grips the girl's upper arm, and wags a finger in her face, "You will NOT pervert the Nine Core Principles to support your blatant disobedience and flagrant disregard of Kier's teachings."

"I'm sorry." Helena says, knowing there is nothing she can say to talk her way out of whatever comes next.

"Who gave this to you?" Miss Shoemaker asks.

"N-noone." Helena lies. "I found it."

"Don't lie to me Helena."

"I'm not. I swear to God." Helena says this and immediately regrets it. Miss Shoemaker's face has drained of color.

Miss Shoemaker's voice is nearly a whisper. "You mean Kier?"

"Of course, Kier. I didn't mean to-" Before Helena can correct herself, Miss Shoemaker shoves her a step further down the hall.

"Get to the Classroom. Now! Knees and elbows." Miss Shoemaker commands before walking off in the opposite direction.

Fuuuuuuck.Helena thinks as she drags her feet past her bedroom and down towards the Classroom. The Classroom, outside of normal tutoring hours, only meant one thing: Discipline. She feels sad that she will never get past chapter ten of the novel. She thought the book was small enough to conceal but she was wrong and now it is gone forever. Once in the Classroom, Helena lines her shoes against the wall to avoid any more troubles. She hadn't been told to undress so she doesn't. Fully clothed, she kneels on the floor, bending at the waist and resting her elbows and forearms on the floor in front of her. Miss Shoemaker couldn't get a D.A.R (Disciplinary Action Request) approved on such short notice. So Helena wasn't too worried about being 'in position' for taming. She assumes it's a power play, a way to humble Helena, and remind her of her lowliness, an exercise in submission. She exhales, deeply disappointed, cursing her past self for landing her in this position.

Miss Shoemaker returns and stands in front of Helena. Helena can only see Miss Shoemaker's square toed boots. The message is clear, Miss Shoemaker holds all the power. Helena is at her mercy.

"Pray." Miss Shoemaker commands.

"Chosen One Kier, tame in me the tempers four/ that I may serve thee evermore. Place in me the values nine/ that I may feel thy touch divine. Guide my actions that I stray not/ from the wisdom you have taught. I regret to have caused this world pain/ May thy mercy purify me and remove my stain." Helena recites. She chastises herself, How fucking stupid am I?

"Recite the Nine principles." Miss Shoemaker demands.

"Vision, Verve, Wit, Cheer, Humility, Benevolence, Nimbleness, Probity, and Wiles." Helena says with no hesitation.

"And which of these were you lacking when you chose to read a contreband book?" Miss Shoemaker asks. Helena thinks.

"Nimbleness." Helena starts, if she had been nimble she wouldn't have been caught. "Vision." She should have left the book at work. "Wit and Wiles." Helena finishes. 4/9 She counts her damage. Miss Shoemaker stamps her foot down so near Helena's hand that Helena curls her fingers into a fist.

"Probity?" Miss Shoemaker insists.

"Miss Shoemaker, I'm telling the truth." Helena's surprised to hear her voice crack. She is lying. The book was lent to her by her friend that worked with her in the Quality Assurance Filing Room. The two of them have been working together for almost two years and Helena isn't going to risk telling the truth. If she did, she could be moved to a different department or her friend could be fired.

"Who gave you this book?" Miss Shoemaker says through her teeth.

"I found it." Helena says sticking to her story.

"You found it?" Miss Shoemaker huffs losing her patience.

"Yes, I found it on the back of a toilet and I took it." Helena says, watching Miss Shoemaker's boots pace in front of her. The toilets were shared with three departments apart from her own. So this lie would make it much harder to narrow down a suspect.

"So, you took someone's property without their permission? You stole?" Miss Shoemaker asks with a hint of annoyance.

Fuck. Helena shakes her head. She was lying her way out of one trouble and into a different one. "Yes? I guess. I was going to return it when I was done reading it."

"You're lying." Miss Shoemaker says, standing in front of Helena and tapping her toe impatiently. "Helena, you're a terrible liar."

"I'm not. I'm telling the truth." Helena says.

"Have it your way. I was hoping you would be honest."

"I am."

"Get up." Miss Shoemaker instructs. Helena looks up at Miss Shoemaker before she lifts herself from her kneeling position on the floor. Once standing, she straightens her posture and clears her throat. "Remove your blouse." Miss Shoemaker commands. Helena nods and fully untucks the blouse before starting on the buttons.

"Did you fill out a D.A.R? Because you can't tame-"

"Child, you are not in the position to tell me what I can or cannot do." Miss Shoemaker cuts her off before she can protest further. "What I'm about to do doesn't require a D.A.R." Miss Shoemaker clarifies. Helena hesitantly removes her blouse revealing a white camisole. Miss Shoemaker takes the shirt from the girl, and drapes it neatly over the back of Helena's lone school chair. "Hold out your left arm."

Helena extends her arm until she realizes Miss Shoemaker's intent. Her eyes widen at the sight of an arm band that Miss Shoemaker holds in her hands. "No!" Helena backs away. "Miss Shoemaker, no!" She pleads.

"Don't you dare take another step backward." Miss Shoemaker says firmly.

"Please! I told you the truth!" Helena whimpers.

Miss Shoemaker tuts, shaking her head with disbelief. "We'll see if you're telling the truth." She steps forward and grabs the girl's left wrist, wrapping the band around Helena's upper arm, and securing it tightly.

Helena's Dread and Woe flare up and cause a premature torrent of tears. "Please! I am. I can do a lie detector now. I will pass!" She wasn't certain of that. However, it would take time for Miss Shoemaker to call Lumon, get a lie detector set up, drive Helena back to Lumon and hook her up for interrogation. Helena could use that time to convince herself of her lie. If she repeated it to herself enough, she would believe it, and if she believed it, she could convince the machine it is true. She begs, "Let me take the test now. Please. Don't do this."

"You may take the polygraph test tomorrow evening." Miss Shoemaker says.

"Please." Helena cries hopelessly, knowing there is no kindness or mercy in Miss Shoemaker to appeal to.

"Or maybe the next day. We'll see if you're more inclined to tell the truth then." Miss Shoemaker says as she presses her thumb onto the biometric fastener of the arm band. Now, it will only come off with her thumbprint.

"You are an insufferable woman." Helena snarls.

Miss Shoemaker smiles at Helena's wrath. She replies calmly, "You are an insufferable child."

Helena wipes her tears and pulls at the band. "It's too tight." She complains and pouts. Miss Shoemaker raises an eyebrow tired of the girl's antics. She grabs Helena's arm, examining the cuff-like band, ensuring it's secure but not too tight. She only makes a tiny adjustment.

"Now go to your room." Miss Shoemaker dismisses her. Helena furiously storms off, gone from Miss Shoemaker's sight for only a few seconds before she returns to the Classroom for her shoes, and storms off a second time.

The arm band is used to make her more inclined to honesty, Probity. Technically the device monitors Helena's movement, heart rate and body temperature. When it detects these factors have lowered to the point of sleep, the cuff emits a mild electric shock. The cuff, the zap, is meant to keep her awake. It has only been used once before and it was the worst experience Helena has ever endured. By the third day she was hallucinating terrible things because of the sleep deprivation. She had never been so frightened in her life. The morning after night four, Helena admitted to everything she was accused of whether it was true or not. It had to end. She would say anything to make it end. If her father or Miss Shoemaker didn't end it she was going to find a way to end herself. This type of sleep deprivation is considered an Enhanced Interrogation Technique not a punishment. That's why Miss Shoemaker didn't need a Disciplinary Action Request to implement it.

.ssss.

The next morning, Helena enters the Quality Assurance File Room. She's unsteady on her feet. As designed, the cuff kept her awake all night.

Tuesday

09:01AM

27 hours awake

"Morning Cynthia." Helena says to her co-worker. This is the woman who she's lying for. Cynthia snuck her books sometimes. For months they hadn't been caught. It was all Helena's fault for trying to take the book home. She wasn't going to risk Cynthia's job because of her clumsiness. Also, she liked Cynthia. Cynthia is ten years older, twenty-six, and helped train Helena when she got transferred to filing. It was just the two of them, amongst rows and rows of files, day in and day out for nearly two years, only interacting with others when the scientists or doctors come by to return or request a file. Cynthia talked to Helena like a normal person. They laughed together. They shared coffees and quiet lunches reading. If she told the truth, Cynthia would be fired. And whoever replaced her would likely be instructed to be evasive with Helena.

"Morning." Cynthia calls from around the corner in their tiny galley of a kitchenette. "Coffee?"

"God, yes." Helena says dragging herself to one of the two chairs in the stark white kitchen. Cynthia places a mug down in front of Helena. "Thank you."

"Fuck, Helena. You look like shit." Cynthia says as she takes a sip of her coffee.

"I feel like shit." Helena laughs.

"Did you sleep any?"

"Not a wink."

"You really gotta lay off the vodka sodas kid." Cynthia jokes.

"What can I say? I love to party." Helena yawns and drinks more coffee. Cynthia probably left Lumon every day and returned to her full life of actual friends, without thinking twice about the weird home-school-girl she works with. For Helena, her time working with Cynthia was often the happiest hours of her day.

.ssss.

03:00PM

33 hours awake

Helena is finding it harder to concentrate. She drags her finger along the document codes, two times, three times, re-reading, making sure she's getting it right. The numbers start to feel like they're jumping up and down the pages. When a 4 looks like an A, Helena takes a long blink. Too long of a blink.

Zap.

Helena jumps at the shock, accidentally dropping the file. Papers flutter to the floor. Fuck, Helena groans as she lowers down to the tiled floor to pick up the papers.

"Are you alright?" Cynthia asks as she kneels to help salvage the folder's contents.

"No workplace shall be repurposed for slumber." Helena quotes Kier. There's an aftershock that causes Helena's muscles to visibly spasm.

"Helena? Should I call a nurse?" Cynthia asks, disturbed at the sight. Helena stares into the woman's concerned eyes. She is kind. She is worth lying for.

"Please don't. I'm fine." Helena continues to gather the papers.

"Your hands are shaking." Cynthia touches Helena's hand to keep it still, stopping her busyness.

"It'll stop." Helena says, hoping to reassure her friend.

"Ok, well, maybe let's take a beat? Come sit in the kitchen, relax for a few?" Cynthia nods, hoping the teen will agree.

"I really shouldn't. I just need to keep moving." Helena returns to picking up and arranging the loose papers.

.ssss.

07:30PM

37 hours awake

The dinner smells delicious and Helena feels so hungry that her mouth waters. However she's so tired that thinking about lifting her arm, to lift the fork, to chew the food, feels like too much physical exertion. So she sits staring at her plate for some time. To her surprise, Jame Eagan has entered the room without her first sensing his footsteps. When she sees him in her peripheral vision, she quickly and clumsily stands. Her chair makes noise as it clatters away from the table. For a second she uses it to balance herself but then does her best to stand at attention.

"Father." Helena softly acknowledges. She can see he's angry just at the sight of her. His eyebrows are furrowed, his mouth turned down. As she casts her eyes down she notices that in his hand he holds the contraband book. She swallows nervously. He steps closer, towering over her. The faint smell of his cologne makes her feel dizzy.

"Probity. Tell me you understand it." Jame demands.

"Probity. Integrity and strong moral principles. Honesty." Helena answers keeping her eyes fixed to his chest. Jame lets that answer linger, deciding whether he accepts it or not. Helena fidgets with the seams of her skirt. She had to keep making small movements to keep the sensor from zapping.

After a long moment of silence, Jame asks, "Where did you get this book?"

"I found it." Helena answers. Again her response is followed by a long pause as Jame decides if he accepts her response. He looks at Miss Shoemaker.

"We must be cut to heal." He quotes Kier. "One more night." He concludes.

"No. No." Helena pleads softly, trying to mask her desperation. Unfortunately, her eyes said everything she wanted to hide. "Father please."

"You're not being noble by protecting them. You're being stupid." Jame says as he holds the book out to Helena. Helena stares at the book, then her father, and hesitantly takes it. He leaves her alone, muttering under his breath as he goes. 'Stupid girl' is all Helena can understand from it. Helena wobbles in her stance. She opens the book and blocks of text and dialogue are redacted. She flips to the final page and the entire thing is blacked out. She wants to cry but chokes it back. All that beautiful prose, gone.

.ssss.

The next morning is nearly impossible to keep in time with her daily routine. She fails miserably at the morning exercises but isn't reprimanded by Miss Shoemaker. When Miss Shoemaker enters the room, she actually gently smoothes some of Helena's sloppily brushed hair. If Helena didn't know this woman's contempt for her, the gesture could be perceived as tender. Miss Shoemaker takes a picture of the girl and sends it to Jame, unsure whether he would want her seen at Lumon looking as ragged as she does. While she waits for a response, Miss Shoemaker decides they should proceed as normal unless directed otherwise. She notices Helena looking above her head instead of down like she normally did. Helena's wild eyes move side to side.

"Helena?" Miss Shoemaker asks, trying to get the girl's eyes to settle on her own.

"Birds." Helena says.

"Birds?" Miss Shoemaker squints, confused.

"Could they be in the house?" Helena asks, again looking up at the ceiling beyond Miss Shoemaker.

"Who?" Miss Shoemaker asks.

"The birds?" Helena says.

"No." Miss Shoemaker shakes her head at the absurdity. "Let's get you to breakfast."

Wednesday

10:20AM

52 hours awake

Cynthia abandons her files and runs around the ceiling height shelving units to find Helena holding up a folder like a shield and screaming.

"Stay away! Get back!" Helena screams. Cynthia pauses but realizes that Helena is not looking at her when she yells this.

"Helena?" Cynthia approaches cautiously. "Helena, what do you see?"

"Woe! Malice!" Helena cries. Cynthia steps in front of the hysterical girl and places her hands on her shoulders.

"Look at me, Helena. Can you see me?" Cynthia asks. Helena's distressed face is fixated in the far off. Cynthia turns the girl's face to look straight at her. "Helena?" She snaps her fingers and finally gets the teen to focus on her face. "Helena, what do you see? Can you see me?" Helena's panicked breath slows and she nods, wiping at tears.

"They're gone. I can hear them but they're gone." Helena explains.

"I'm going to call for a nurse." Cynthia says.

"No." Helena cries.

"Stay focused on me, okay?" Cynthia heads to the emergency phone. Helena tries to focus on her friend but the further she gets the more Helena's vision blurs and her voice is distorted.

Who is she calling? Helena wonders for a moment. She's distracted by the reappearance of an apparition, a man's body with a goat's head, Malice. It lurks on the other side of the shelves, peeking menacingly through the files at her. She watches Malice so intently that she's surprised when a man in a suit suddenly grabs her. Cynthia is alarmed by the way the suited man handles the girl.

"Are you the nurse? I called for a nurse." Cynthia questions him. The suited man jabs a needle into Helena's arm and injects a clear fluid. "What's that? What is happening?" Cynthia watches the little light there was, leave Helena's eyes, as she slips out of consciousness. "What did you do?" Cynthia asks the man.

"Please step back Miss." The suited man says as he hoists the teen's limp body up and over his shoulder. He starts to leave the file room.

"Where are you taking her?" Cynthia asks.

"To get proper medical care." The man answers before leaving the room.

.ssss.

11:00AM

Helena is disoriented when she jolts awake. A chemical agent was used to wake her just as quickly as one had been used to put her out. She slowly comes into her skin, feeling present in her body, and realizes her arms are restrained. She's hooked up to a few machines. There's wires and beeping but thankfully no goat man.

"What's your name?" Miss Shoemaker's voice comes from a speaker somewhere in the room.

"Miss Shoemaker?" Helena's drowsy eyes struggle to focus.

"What's your name?" Miss Shoemaker asks again. Helena looks at the wires on her and realizes the machines she's hooked to are not monitoring her vitals. It's the lie detector. Finally. She feels a deep sense of relief.

"Helena Eagan." She answers. This will all be over soon.

.ssss.

Helena lied and she passed the polygraph. There was no apology for the pain, fear, and embarrassment she could have been spared if Miss Shoemaker had tested her the first night that she asked. She was brought home early and finally allowed to rest. Miss Shoemaker informed her that she would only wake her for dinner.

Chapter Text

Thursday

09:05AM

The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the file room. Helena is rested and excited to see Cynthia. 

“Good Morning.” Helena says with a genuine smile. She felt free to smile around Cynthia because Cynthia never seemed to mind it even when it was with full teeth. Cynthia often reciprocated the smile, but not this morning. Cynthia’s face is grave, and Helena attempts to adjust to the mood. “Everything okay?” Helena asks. Cynthia doesn’t speak. She gets up and pours a second coffee. Instinctively, Helena sits, and the coffee is placed in front of her. Cynthia sits. Helena drinks the coffee and waits for her next cue.

“I didn’t think you’d be here.” Cynthia starts. “Not after what happened yesterday.”

Helena smiles again, “I’m fine. I just needed some rest.”

“You were seeing shit. Like, hallucinating.” Cynthia says grimly.

“I’m sorry.” Helena offers. 

“You’re sorry?” Cynthia laughs incredulously. 

Helena is confused by the laugh and nods.“Yes, I’m sorry that you had to see me like that. And I’m sorry for disturbing the workflow.” 

“Helena, I’m worried.”

“Worried? I’m not dangerous. I’m not insane or anything. I was just,” Helena shrugs, “tired.” 

“Tired?” Cynthia repeats the ludicrous answer.

Helena bites her lip and buries frustration. Cynthia had never been cross with her before. Could she not forgive one outburst? “And you don’t have to worry about my work. I will go over everything I logged yesterday to verify my accuracy.” 

“Helena, I’m not worried about the work you did yesterday. I’m worried for you .” Cynthia says. 

Helena stares blankly. She wants to smile but fights it. Worrying was almost caring. “I’m fi-”

“Fine. You’re fine. You kept saying that. And you clearly were not. What was going on with your arm?” Cynthia points. “You kept grabbing at it. I’d hear you ‘ooch and ouch’ and you’d be grabbing your arm.”

Helena nods, unable to deny that. She looks away, thinking. Was there danger in being honest with Cynthia? No one had ever told her that she wasn’t meant to talk about her discipline, but no one had really ever cared to ask. There is no rule against it, but Helena is hesitant to share. She is embarrassed to be the ‘stupid girl’ who deserves such punishments. She wants to be better, and she wants people to think she is better. Especially Cynthia. The danger of being honest with Cynthia is that she might see Helena for who she truly is, the Failure-Eagan. 

“Can we, just…it's not…can we just reset? Can we forget it?”

Cynthia leans forward and speaks softly, “Helena, you can tell me. Even if it's bad.” 

Helena exhales slowly. She sips her coffee and stares into Cynthia's inquisitive eyes. She said she was worried for her. Helena can't think of a single other person on the planet who would worry for her. She's moved by this, while she doesn’t feel secure in it, she still feels like the sentiment is worth something. She decides to give Cynthia what she wants, the truth. “The book you lent me. I brought it home because I was enjoying it so much. I thought I might finish it overnight.” 

“Good?” Cynthia smirks, confused by the relevance.

“I got caught with it.” Helena explains.

“Caught? What do you mean? It's not like it’s pornography.” Cynthia says.

“Father is very strict about books and music and movies…and…” Helena laughs, “Everything. So, when I was asked who gave me the book,” Helena whispers, “I lied. I said I found it.” 

“Okay?” Cynthia nods hoping the connections will be made. 

“They didn't believe me. And so, the cuff was a punishment. It kept me awake until I was ready to tell the truth.” Helena's mouth curves at the corner into a half-smile. She still fooled them and that was a tiny victory. 

“What do you mean? Kept you awake?” Cynthia asks. Helena rolls up the quarter length sleeve of her crew neck shirt. She reveals where the arm band had been. An ointment covers the two small burn marks from where the band’s prongs delivered the repeated electrical shocks. “What the fuck is that?” Cynthia asks. 

“I was wearing a band here. It monitors my heart rate and movement to guess when I'm sleeping. So if I did doze, it zapped.” Helena admires the circular burns. 

“So each time I heard you, ooch, it was-” The horrifying pieces all fall in to place for Cynthia. “That's why you were shaking. That's why all your muscles tensed up like- I thought you were seizing. The electricity!” Cynthia covers her mouth, aghast. Her eyes move rapidly as she reviews the events of the past two days. “Two nights?!” She's horrified by the revelation.

Helena is uneasy. Cynthia's elevated tone confuses her. Was she cross with her again? She was being honest. “Yes. 53 hours. It was shorter this time.”

“This time? Shorter? That's two days. That's-” Cynthia shakes her head. She stands and starts pacing the narrow kitchen area.

“Are you okay?” Helena asks trying to understand the obvious upset from her friend.

“Helena, that's- Helena look at me.” Cynthia says, her voice cracking. Helena can see tears in Cynthia's eyes and she struggles to not be disgusted. “Helena, that's torture. That's actually torture. Like, it's psychological warfare used on prisoners of war and banned by the EU.” Cynthia can see that the teen is not grasping the weight of what she's saying. “Helena, this happened before?”

“Only once, yes. That time was worse. Less embarrassing because I didn't lose my mind in front of my co-worker, but it was still worse.” She laughs nervously and shrugs. 

“Who is doing this to you? Does your, does your Father know?” Cynthia asks.

“Father approves it.” Helena nods. “Did you say it's banned? The cuff, or-”

“Yes! It's illegal. Sleep deprivation. It's torture. It's beyond child abuse.” Cynthia's mind goes a mile a minute, racing back further than the past two days, and replaying different moments with Helena throughout the past year. “2 months ago, you came in, you were having trouble going up and down the ladder. Was that, was that due to another punishment?” 

Helena sighs and nods, feeling judged. “Look Cynthia, I'm a fuck up. I fuck up and then I pay for it. Actions, words, they have consequences. But I'm good at what I do here, aren't I? Apart from yesterday. Let's maybe focus on that?”

“I think. No, I think I have to call the police or child protective services.” Cynthia says with wide sad eyes. 

“What?” Helena squints at the ridiculous statement. 

“Who is ‘they’? Who was that man? You said ‘they’ did this to you. So other people know this is happening?” Cynthia rubs her hand over her own head, attempting to keep her mind from blowing.

“You can’t call the police.” Helena tells her friend.

“You asked me not to call the nurse either. So you know this is wrong? Don’t you?” Cynthia asks.

Helena shrugs and says flatly. “Calling the police would be wrong.” 

“I think I have to. I can't. I have to resign. I can't work for a man, for a company that thinks torturing kids, for reading, is okay. Morally, I can't.”

Helena is irritated. She only lied and went through all of that so that Cynthia could keep her job. Now she's throwing it in her face? She doesn't want it? She wants to leave her? “You're going to call the police? On Jame Eagan ? Can you maybe slow down and think about that for a second?” 

“I’m thinking of you, Helena.” Cynthia says.

“No.” Helena stands. “You’re thinking of the moral high ground. Why not think about yourself for a moment? Hm? Let’s think about how morally superior you'll feel when you quit your job and are homeless, and penniless.” 

“What?” Cynthia shakes her head confused by Helena's anger.

“You live in apartments, don't you? I remember you saying that.” Helena’s voice is flat but her eyebrows are raised and her eyes are intense.

“Yeah?”

“Lenora La-”

“Lenora Lakes Apartments. Why do you know tha-”

“Lenora Eagan Apartments.” Helena emphasizes. “And let me guess, unless you're willing to drive an hour out of town, you cash your Lumon checks and keep your savings at the credit union.”

“Yeah.”

“The Myrtle Eagan Credit Union.” 

“Helena?”

“If you make that call, you'll lose everything. They will take everything.” Helena says with a fierce look in her eye.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Me? No. I wouldn't. I'm just…” Helena shrugs, looking Cynthia up and down. “I'm worried for you . And maybe you should be too. How about you think about that before you put in any resignation or make any phone calls.” The eye contact is prolonged until Cynthia takes a step back. Helena watches her friend leave the kitchenette and return to the file room, out of sight. She looks down at Cynthia’s full and abandoned coffee mug and chews the inside of her lip in contemplation. Whether she meant it or not, this is the first time maybe in her whole life that she has intimidated someone.

.ssss.

Cynthia didn’t speak with Helena the rest of the day. The two of them focused on their work. Helena was pleased to find, when reviewing her work from the previous day, that she had only made one easily correctable error. She proudly announced to Cynthia that even when hallucinating, she was good at her job. Cynthia wasn’t amused and didn’t offer a compliment or congratulations. Helena was irritated by her friend’s mood and hoped for her sake that Cynthia would get over herself and tame her Woe.

.ssss.

Later that evening, in the Classroom, Helena sits at the only desk. A television plays a recorded lesson from one of her tutors and she dutifully takes notes. When the door to the Classroom opens before her lesson is through, she’s expecting to see Miss Shoemaker standing in the doorway. Instead it’s her father. Helena pauses the video with a small remote. She’s about to stand but Jame waves his hand for her to stay seated. She does. She watches him as he walks about the room as if searching for his words. Cynthia’s concerned voice pops in Helena’s head, “ That's actually torture…used on prisoners of war” . It felt like torture. But where is the line between discipline and torture? Helena isn't sure but she didn't want to think her Father would knowingly torture her. Is she his prisoner? If she is, how did she end up on the opposing side of her Father's war?

Jame finishes his inventory of the room and stands in front of the television where her lesson had been playing. “Last week you took a test.” He starts. Helena looks at her folded hands, unsure of what test he might mean. She hadn’t taken any for her classes, so it had to be one of the secret cryptic tests that she never saw coming. “You failed that test.” He finishes. 

No surprise there, Helena thinks to herself. 

“And although I have little hope that you will prevail against the odds, I must allow you to ascend to the next level.” Jame says looking down at her. He observes how slovenly she presents. Her red hair is pulled into a messy ponytail, and although she still wore her work clothes, they were now wrinkled from sitting inappropriately in her school chair. “Stand. Let me look at you.” He instructs and she obeys. He studies her, as if he had never really looked at her before. He slowly circles around her and then stands in front of her again. He rubs a finger on his chin, thinking. “Your mother was a beautiful woman.” Jame says. 

Helena's heart flutters. He never spoke of her mother. It was a nice thing to hear. 

“I'm revoking your two hours Free time this evening.” He says, killing the butterflies Helena had just felt. “You will use those two hours to learn about makeup and its application.” 

“Makeup?” Helena asks without raising her eyes. 

“Tomorrow you will be taken on your first date.” Jame announces.

“What?” Helena's eyes widen and she can't help but look her Father in the eyes to assess his seriousness, not that he ever joked with her. 

“This is your suitor. He passed the test that you failed.” He hands her a folded piece of paper. “Finish your tutoring. Then your makeup lessons.” He looks at his watch. “I have three gowns being delivered tonight. You and Miss Shoemaker will choose a gown.”

“A gown?” Helena opens the paper and reads it. 

Name: Kyle Dean 

Age:23

Net worth: 22 billion

“You will be accompanying him to a Charity gala. There will be cameras. His car will pick you up at Lumon 45 minutes after your shift tomorrow. Don't keep him waiting.” Jame warns. “Do you have any questions?” He asks impatiently. Helena nods, she has so many. “One.” Jame allows. 

Helena looks at the paper then her father. She shrugs, “Is he cute?” Jame’s eyes flash with fury and Helena flinches thinking he might strike her. He rarely did. Such menial tasks were delegated. 

He grunts, fighting his Malice. “Remember your training and may Kier guide you to glorify the Eagan name. Your performance will be reviewed Monday evening. Now get back to work.” He gives her one final warning glare before leaving her alone again. 

She stares down at the details on the paper. A date? What the fuck?

.ssss.

Friday

12:17PM

Helena sits at the kitchenette table watching Cynthia. Cynthia eats her lunch and reads a book, ignoring Helena as she has done for most of the day. Cynthia has never frozen Helena out like this before but the feeling was familiar and agonizing. Helena thinks about whether she should apologize. Maybe ‘sorry’ can make it better?The trouble is, she doesn't feel like she did anything wrong. She told the truth and she was right to warn her friend. Still, the silence is eating at her. She has to fix it somehow.

“Can you tell me how it ends?” Helena asks. Cynthia looks up from her book and at Helena as if suddenly reminded she's there. 

“I haven't finished.” Cynthia says touching the remaining pages of her novel. 

“I can see that.” Helena smiles. “I mean the one I was reading.”

“Oh. Well, they fall in love.” Cynthia looks off to the side as she remembers.

“I could see that coming.” Helena nods, happy to have her friend talking again.

“And then she dies.” Cynthia adds.

“What? How?” Helena sits up, perturbed by the outrageous plot.

“Car accident. Drunk driving.” Cynthia says.

“Fuck.” Helena says surprised. 

“It was really sad. But also his grief is kind of beautiful and his, like, acceptance of her being gone. There's this beautiful quote,” Cynthia closes her eyes as she recites. “ ‘The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive .’” 

“That is beautiful.” Helena smiles softly and sits with that bittersweet thought. Cynthia exhales slowly looking at the pensive teen and then returns to her book. Helena watches Cynthia's eyes move along the page. She leans forward over the table and whispers, “Will you bring me another?”

Cynthia closes her eyes and tightens her jaw. Helena sits back when she senses frustration. “Seriously Helena? How can you ask me that after what just happened?” 

“I won't bring it home this time. And we get paid today. I can pay you back for the one I lost.” Helena's eyebrows turn up in question.

“I don't think I could handle being the inciting cause for your torture.” Cynthia says.

“It's not. Can you stop calling it that?” Helena's face blushes.

“It is what it is. And I can't contribute.”

“It was my fault. I was too bold. Too arrogant. Too greedy. I learned my lesson. I'm not the kind of person to make the same mistake twice.” Helena assures her. 

“I will have to think about it.” Cynthia says with a look of remorse. Helena nods, trying to tamper her hope. That tone didn't sound promising . Cynthia returns her attention to the book again. Helena thinks about how boring it will be if Cynthia never brings her another novel. How could I have ruined such a special arrangement? She sighs and looks at the clock. 

“Do you have any advice for going on a first date?” Helena opens a new conversation. Cynthia’s face lights up and Helena is pleased to have finally won her full attention. “I'm kind of nervous.” She admits. 

“That's normal.” Cynthia smiles, “When’s the big day?” 

“Tonight.” 

“Oh wow! So exciting. Who is he? Or she? Where did you meet?” Cynthia asks.

Helena smiles wide, “His name is Kyle. And we haven't.” 

“What do you mean?” Cynthia laughs.

“I will meet him tonight.” Helena shrugs. “I'm going to wear the most beautiful gown. When we clock out, you'll have to come by my locker to see it.” 

“I will.” Cynthia agrees. “So it's a blind date? What do you know about him?” She asks, elbow on the table, leaning her face in her palm. 

“His name is Kyle.”

“You said that.”

“He's 23.”

“23?” Cynthia's smile falls.

“Yes. That's what Father told-”

“Uh-uh!” Cynthia interrupts loudly. She puts her hand up. “No.” She shakes her head. “Don't tell me anymore.” Cynthia closes her book.

“What's the-”

“Listen Helena, when I went home last night. I thought about what you said yesterday.” 

“I said a lot of things.” Helena shrugs.

“You were right. I can't afford to worry about you.”

Helena's face is hot with emotion, she forces a laugh, “I don't think I said that.” She wanted Cynthia to worry about her.

“Jobless, homeless, penniless.” Cynthia repeats, reminding Helena of her words. “I can't afford to start over. I moved here to Kier for my fresh start. This job is making that happen.”

“Good.” Helena smiles, “So you won't be resigning.” 

“I can't. And I thought about it, about how I can make this work, how I can have peace…and I think it might be best, if you, if maybe I knew less about you.” 

“Oh.” Helena presses her lips tightly together. She feels like she's been slapped. She's overwhelmed by a feeling of shame and regret.

“I have to ask you not to share things like that with me. I can't know them.” Cynthia insists. “I shouldn't know what's happening behind closed doors. It's not my business. Please don't make it my business. Please don't tell me any more personal things. Okay?” 

“Right. Of course. Makes sense.” Helena nods, feeling a knot form in her throat. She gets up from the table and casually returns to the file room fighting back her tears, taming her Woe.

.ssss.

When the work is done, the two walk to the locker room together. Helena breaks their hours-long silence and asks if Cynthia still wants to see the gown. 

Cynthia declines. She feels awful as she walks away from the girl and turns back to say, “Helena be safe, alright?”

Helena looks to her former-friend and says flatly, “Don't worry about it, Cynthia.”

Chapter Text

The sun is setting and the air is cold as Helena stands alone on the steps of the Lumon building. She wears an off-the-shoulder, white, knee-length-gown with bejeweled blue vine details that climb up and down the dress, making her look like an azule porcelain teacup. She is pleased with her gown choice and the off-the-shoulder fabric perfectly covers her fresh and healing burns. Her accessories were chosen for her: Blue heels which had a thinner more narrow heel than her work heels, dark sapphire and diamond earrings/bracelet set, and a satin clutch purse. She was surprised to find the clutch contains a mobile phone and a driver's license. She spent several minutes staring at the license, her photo, a photo she didn't remember taking, and an issue date that was a month prior. Is this real? Her driver said she still needed to take a test. Do I?Everything else on the license was real, her name, birthdate, address, weight, hair and eye color. The mobile phone was equally mysterious. It was a Motorola Rzr that flipped open. There were only two numbers under the contacts: Miss Shoemaker and a name she was completely unfamiliar with Mr. Beale.

A female Lumon employee exits the building and as they pass Helena on the stairs they stop.

"Oh, you look like a princess." The woman says smiling at her. By the woman's tone and expression, Helena determines this is a compliment.

"Thank you." Helena replies with a fake smile, unsure. Why a princess?No one had ever read her fairytales so romanticizing princesses was a foreign concept to her. The woman doesn't linger and heads to her own car after a long day of work, leaving Helena alone again.

Eventually, a black limousine turns into the Lumon parking lot, and Helena holds her breath as it slowly nears her. It pulls to the building's entrance, stopping in front of where Helena stands on the stairs. The driver gets out of the limo and with a gloved hand, he opens the door to the backseat. Helena finally breathes out and descends the final few stairs, leaving her perceived safety bubble of the Lumon building. She ducks her head and slides onto the leather U-shaped interior seating. The door is closed and Helena notices at the most center point of the U sits a man in a tuxedo. He looks at his mobile phone and texts, furiously mashing buttons. Helena observes his features, he was very fair, gelled blonde hair, blue eyes, and thin lips. The limo pulls away from Lumon and she watches out the window as she gets further and further from the building. The blonde man doesn't speak to her until he's done with his phone.

"Sorry about that. It was-" He stops mid-sentence and smiles at Helena. She fidgets with her clutch purse and returns a smile. "You're better looking than the photo they sent."

"Thank you." Helena squints at the kind-of compliment. She offers an excuse, "I don't photograph well."

"Let's hope that isn't the case. I am in the public eye constantly and the woman on my arm needs to be attractive." He says, looking her up and down. "It may have been an old photo because it looks like you've grown into your teeth." He seems pleased with this but Helena squints at him and with a closed mouth, she runs her tongue over her teeth, never having felt insecure about them before.

"I'm guessing you're Kyle. I didn't receive a photo." Helena says.

"Really? I was featured in Forbes magazine last month." He raises an eyebrow, seemingly annoyed at her ignorance.

"I don't read that." Helena replies.

"Yes, I'm Kyle Dean. It's nice to meet you Helena Eagan." Kyle puts his hand out palm up. Helena reaches for it to shake but when she places her hand in his, instead of the firm squeeze of a normal handshake, Kyle lifts her hand and lowers his head planting a gentle kiss on her knuckles. Helena gets goosebumps at the softness of his lips on her skin.

"Same." She clears her throat. "Nice to, er, meet you too, also."

"For such a rich girl, I never see you around. You don't network?" He notes.

"I'm just, very busy, with work." Helena nods, it wasn't false.

"My dad says I don't have to worry about taking over the company until two years before he retires. Which is no time soon. That's when he'll bring me in full time to shadow him. I'm surprised you're already shadowing your Pops. Hasn't he only been CEO for, what, six years?" Kyle asks with a wider smile.

"Oh. Uh, no. I don't shadow him. I work in one of our Filing Rooms. Father believes that every single person, even those in entry-level roles, contributes a necessary thread to the intricate tapestry of our success at Lumon." Helena says proudly.

"So what do you do? You just like, put files on a shelf all day?" Kyle asks.

"That's a reductive way of putting it. There's a bit more than that but…" Helena shrugs. She is annoyed by his condescension but doesn't feel comfortable correcting him.

"That sounds like it blows." Kyle laughs.

"I enjoy the work." Helena defends. Kyle continues to laugh, probably at her seriousness.

"What do you do for fun Helena?" Kyle asks.

"Fun?" Helena repeats, chewing the inside of her lip.

"Yeah, you know, fun?" Kyle nudges her with his elbow. "When you're not filing files in the file room. What do you enjoy?"

Helena thinks. She couldn't mention reading because it could lead to more questions and it might get back to her father that she's reading contraband on a regular basis.

"I like to draw when I have free time." She answers. Kyle laughs loudly and coughs as he does.

"Ok. Don't say that to anyone else, alright?" Kyle says trying to contain his laughter. Helena's face blushes. She knew art was a purposeless pursuit but it was something she enjoyed. The laughter didn't feel warranted. "Drawing makes you sound like a kid. Might as well say, coloring with your crayons."

Helena nods, accepting his advice. She isn't sure what she should say instead. "What do you do for fun?" She asks, looking nervously out the window, hoping she's allowed to ask questions and not just answer them.

"I love the beach. I surf." Kyle pauses waiting for her to be impressed. She locks in eye contact, and turns her body towards him, pleased that it's a free and open conversation. "I have surfed since I was a kid. And Dad's got a yacht I take out. I get some friends along. Dance." Kyle watches Helena's face for her reaction to his answer but she keeps her face emotionless. "You like yacht parties?"

"Maybe I will if you invite me to one of yours." Helena answers boldly. She didn't want to admit she's never been to a yacht party, or that she isn't sure if her father even owns a yacht. She's pleased to see him smile at this response. He slides closer to her on the leather seating.

"Maybe I will." He smirks looking down at her. She's nervous at the close proximity. She can smell his gel and expensive cologne. His eyes have an intensity she's unfamiliar with, it felt like a dare but she wasn't sure what kind. "Champagne?" He reaches for an iced bottle in the center of a tiny table.

"I, um, I'm sixteen." Helena reminds him, shaking her head.

"Right." He looks down at her and Helena feels maybe he's looking past her face and at the bodice of her gown. Or maybe down her gown? "You have to drink if you want to come for a yacht party. It's half the fun."

"Well, when I'm on the yacht I will. Since it's customary." Helena nods softly. "When in Rome."

"Rome, yeah, I got into some trouble in Rome."

"Legal?"

"No, no." He laughs again, "I just had too much fun."

"Ah, Frolic." Helena nods in understanding.

"Frolic?" Kyle is confused.

"Yes, it's gotten me in trouble before. 'The result of his gaiety would be a mess. A punishment, indeed a firing, feel all but inevitable.'" Helena smiles after quoting the book of Compliance. It's now Kyle's turn to stare blankly.

"Please tell me you're not some crazy-religious-Jesus-freak." Kyle says apprehensively as he sips a flute of champagne.

Helena laughs and shakes her head, "Definitely not a Jesus-anything."

"Good. Don't do shit like that. Quoting scriptures and whatever. Religious girls, they're so fucking uptight." Kyle says, reaching down and gently brushing his finger on the bare skin of Helena's leg, right below her barely exposed knee. She tenses at first and then the word 'uptight' bounces at the forefront of her brain. She tries to relax into it. It was an odd touch, no one touched her there, and no one touched her this gently. Maybe it's ok?

"So the charity, it's run by your family?" Helena ask.

"Wow, you really know nothing about me or my family?" Kyle sits back in shock.

"Sorry." Helena shrugs, looking down at her lap. It wasn't her fault that she had been given so little information but still she felt ashamed. When she peeks up at him, he's clearly offput.

"My family has a Charity for children with brain tumors. Because of my brother." Kyle explains.

"Oh, you have a brother?"

"Had a brother." Kyle says.

"Oh." Helena frowns. "Sorry." She says again.

"Lumon is making a pretty sizable donation tonight which you're presenting the check for." Kyle explains. This was news to Helena. "And as far as I know, my Pops is very interested in the research being done over there. So this whole thing." He wags his finger back and forth between them. "This is symbolic for some kind of partnership or sponsorship or something like that."

"Oh." Helena smiles at this. It is just business. She feels suddenly at ease. The idea of it being a real date made her nervous but a corporate partnership she could understand.

"Still, they're not our companies yet, right? So we can just have fun." Kyle says smiling as he pulls a flask-like bottle from inside his tux. Helena watches as he untucks his pocket square and pours a healthy amount of liquid from the flask onto the fabric. He holds it in front of her. "Ladies first."

"What is it?" She asks warily.

"It's not alcohol." Kyle laughs.

"Then what?" She looks between the sweet smelling pocket square and Kyle's smile.

"Ether. It's not Eagan OG. It's a home distilled kind, my boy hooked me up with a guy who is like a mad scientist. I get it straight from him." Kyle brags. Helena thinks. Kier met Imogen at an Ether factory. She decides to let Kier guide her actions. He wouldn't be afraid of ether. She nods confident in her decision and takes the pocket square from Kyle. He can see she's confused on what to do next. He explains, "Hold it over your nose and mouth. Then take deep breaths." Helena holds the fabric over her nose and mouth and the smell is intoxicatingly sweet. She breaths in with some hesitation and then hands the square back to Kyle. Kyle shakes his head. "No. Let me help you." He places a hand on the back of her neck, another place no one touched her. She shivers and before she regains her composure, the pocket square is firmly pressed over her nose and mouth. Naturally she tries to pull away but Kyle keeps her neck and face still. "Breath. Deep breaths." She studies his eyes for Malice. There is something wild in there but it isn't Malice. She takes in a deep breath and the sweet smell rushes up her nostrils causing a burning feeling. "Another." He says. She does and this inhale causes a feeling of whiplash, a dizzying feeling. Her eyes dart worryingly to Kyle. "There's more there. It's the good stuff. Give it a few more." He encourages. She does. She breathes in one, two, three more times and suddenly the effects hit her all at once. Her eyes close and she feels lightheaded. The cloth comes off her face and she melts into a euphoric flood. "Good, right?" Kyle says as he puts the newly damp pocket square over his own face. He huffs.

An exciting sensation permeates her being. Her limbs tingle with energy, the weight in her shoulders vanishes, and a profound calm quiets her thoughts. Even the limo's glide toward the unknown, once a source of Dread, now hums with a surprising optimism. A deep warmth embraces her. Kyle simultaneously coughs and bursts into laughter. Helena opens her eyes to see this man she doesn't know, a stranger with sparkling eyes, who unabashedly laughs enough to fill the vehicle. Helena feels the vibration of his laugh bounce around the space until it hits her heavily in the chest. She laughs so loudly that it sounds to her like it's coming from another person. She can't stop it, the sound tumbles out of her, a linked series of laughs, each one dragging the next from the depths of her lungs. Her cheeks hurt from laughing and her eyes tear up. "Why am I crying?" She asks mid laughs.

Kyle leans forward to force his vision to focus on Helena's hazel green eyes. He laughs and puts a hand on her knee, "I don't know!" With his free hand he wipes her tears, another thing no one ever did. The absurdity of this action makes Helena bend at the waist, her stomach tight from the belly laughs. With one hand she holds her stomach and the other she touches her heart, it's racing.

"Am I going to die?" She laughs.

"One day. One day we will all die." He laughs.

"My heart." She says with her hand flat on her chest.

"Let me feel." He reaches over. She removes her hand and Kyle presses his palm against her chest. "I feel it."

"It's fast."

"It's beautiful. You're beautiful." Kyle smiles with a dreamy look in his eye.

"Am I?" She laughs.

"Very." He says moving his hand to cup her breast over the bodice of her gown. She barely notices because she's overwhelmed by the sound of the word 'beautiful' and the merriness in her heart. "We're going to have so much fun tonight." Kyle says smiling.

She nods. "I like fun."

.ssss.

By the time Helena is standing on stage the effects of the ether have left her. She uses her practiced media smile and presents a large cardboard check to the man she now knows to be Kyle Dean's father, 6th richest man in the world. The cameras flash. She thanks Kier that she doesn't have to speak, just stand with the check until someone in the wings waves her to exit stage left.

Once out of the spotlight, she rejoins Kyle and sits at a table with him and some of his friends as a musical performance takes over the stage. They're all drinking, cocktails, champagne, wine. Helena has a Lumon seltzer water. Everyone knows each other. They all have jokes she doesn't understand. She feels terribly alone in this room full of people. Eventually, Kyle turns his attention to her and leans close to whisper in her ear.

"What's your problem?" He asks. Helena is surprised by the question because she didn't think she had a problem. "You aren't talking."

She speaks softly, "No one is talking to me. So…"

"So you're just gonna sit here like a mute?" Kyle asks annoyed. She's confused. She normally didn't speak unless first spoken to and no one had invited her into their conversation.

"What do you want me to say?" She asks. Kyle sighs and then abruptly stands.

"Excuse us a second." He announces to his friends and pulls the chair Helena sits in away from the table. Suddenly, the people at the table remember she's there, and she blushes, embarrassed that they may see her be reprimanded. "Helena?" Kyle offers his hand, his voice is calm but his eyes are wild. She takes his hand and stands. Once on her feet he pulls her away from the table. He keeps a hold of her hand, snaking through the crowd. Helena stares angrily at the back of Kyle's head as he tugs her along.

If he's about to scold me, I'm going to be seriously pissed off. Helena thinks. We just met. Who does he think he is? Still, she has to remind herself that he's her supervisor of the evening. He would be turning in a performance review to her Father, so she knows she has no choice but to comply.

He brings her through an 'employees only' door and into an empty hallway which is quiet and bright compared to the moody lighting of the event space. He drops her hand and she clasps it with her other, politely in front of herself. He stands before her and she stares at his chin stubble avoiding eye contact.

"Listen," Kyle starts with a soft empathetic tone, "I get it. It sucks being the only sober one." Helena raises her eyes to meet his, she squints, still unsure whether he would scold her or not. "Two years ago," He continues, "I got out of rehab. And that first party, being surrounded by my friends, all having a good time and then I'm the only one, it fucking sucked."

"I'm sorry if I gave off the impression that I'm not enjoying myself."

"Here. This will help you." Kyle takes out his pocket square and flask again.

"Should I be doing this?" She asks, watching him pour the ether.

"Did it make you feel good?" Kyle asks.

"Yes." Helena admits.

"Did you like that?" Kyle asks. Helena nods. "Well that's all that matters." Kyle assures her. He takes hold of her neck again and places the cloth over her face. As Helena inhales the sweet smell, she thinks about how impossible men are. Kyle wanted her giggling and talkative and her father wanted her silent and invisible. How is she ever meant to do the right thing when their expectations of her change so drastically?

.ssss.

At some point, Kyle told her it was time to leave. She remembers looking around and being skeptical because it seemed like the gala was still very much taking place. Now she finds herself, barefoot, in the back of the limo with Kyle. He texts on his phone and she sits in a haze. The high is coming down and she wonders why she can't always feel the way the ether made her feel. She rests her head back looking up at the sky roof. It's closed but she can still see the stars.

"Good news." Kyle announces with a smile. She flops her head in his direction. "You don't have a curfew. So I can keep you out as long as I want." She lifts her head so that the words sink in. She is exhausted. She thought their night was ending. Their appearance at the gala, symbolizing the corporate alliance, went well. That was their obligation. Why would he want to keep her out longer?

"Where are we going?" She asks, trying not to sound nervous or accusatory.

"My favorite place." Kyle smiles. This tells her nothing and she's annoyed.

"Where's that?" Helena asks.

"The Pacific Ocean." He answers.

"And Father's okay with that?"

"I was just texting with him." Kyle shrugs. This makes Helena angry. Her phone didn't have her father's number but Kyle could text him? And together they got to decide where she was going, without once considering her. This part didn't surprise her. She is used to being told and never asked.

"I suppose it's better than home." Helena shrugs trying to find the positive. It means her adventure continues and thus far it's been a fun adventure. A yawn escapes her. "Excuse me."

"Here." He pats the leather seat close to him. Helena understands the command and slides along the seating until she's near him. He puts an arm around her and she wilts under the feeling of being held. His fingers slide softly up and down her shoulder. "You're tired. You can rest on me."

"I was fin-" She starts to explain but he guides her head down to his chest, pressing her face against his heart. She can feel his heart beating against her cheek.

"Just get a little shut-eye. Rest." Kyle says. She can feel his breath in her hair. He's warm. She's warm. She relaxes into his embrace. His scent makes her almost as calm as the ether did. She closes her eyes.

The next thing she knows the limo is parked on an airport runway. It's loud and bright, but he holds her hand as they board the private plane. She grips his hand tightly. She is scared and feels so far from everything she knows.

The interior of the plane has a small seating area and a half wall separating the space from a room containing a queen-size bed.

"There's a robe in there." Kyle says pointing to a built-in wardrobe beside the bed. "Why don't you get comfortable and lie down?"

.ssss.

It's dark when Helena wakes to a kiss on her cheek.

"Good morning." Kyle says scooting nearer to her under the covers. She didn't remember him joining her in bed and his chest is bare. She still wore her robe and undergarments but she's nervous with this much exposed skin at this level of closeness.

"Good morning?" She squirms in place. The bed is so plush it feels like clouds hugging her body. It is much nicer than her firm twin mattress at home and to Helena that is a reason to call it a good morning. Everything else about the situation is disorienting. Why is this man close to her? And why is it still dark?

"Did you know you fight in your sleep?" Kyle says with a smile, his breath hot and heavy with alcohol.

"Fight? What do you mean?" Helena asks, trying to wiggle further away from him and closer to her edge of the bed.

"I don't know. You were telling someone 'No' over and over like you meant business." Kyle says. Helena raises her eyebrows trying to remember her dream but comes up with nothing. "I would have let you keep going but we've landed."

"Oh." Helena sits up in the bed, pulling at the robe to keep it closed.

"My staff will bring our things to the hotel room. Including your dress. I want you to put on the clothes I found for you."

"Clothes?"

"People party. People leave things. If it's a good party. Yeah." He laughs as he hops out of the bed. When Helena sees he wears only a pair of briefs, she fixes her eyes on the window of the plane. "I'll give you some privacy. Get dressed. You and I are going to the beach to watch the sunrise." He informs her. As he walks away she peeks over and sees his hairy back as he turns the corner around the room divider. She holds her robe tightly and closes her eyes, taking in deep breathes attempting to calm herself. She doesn't take too long because without a timer she couldn't be sure how much time she was allowed for each morning task.

Alone in the full-sized bathroom of the plane, she dresses in a long baggy T-shirt that stops mid-thigh. On the chest it reads "Save The Gorillas". Next there's a pair of shorts with a drawstring to tighten the much too large waist. It's just enough that they hold up on her slim frame. Helena holds her arms slightly away from her body, and twists her hips side to side, looking down and watching the movement of the baggy fabrics. She enjoys the free loose feeling. The shirt is a material she hardly ever encountered. Nothing felt stiff, or starched, or even ironed. Next, she uses some water to smooth down her hair but it's wild in places it never has been before. When she finishes grooming, she finds Kyle waiting for her on the sofa. He laughs at the sight of her.

"You look like a boy." He laughs. She doesn't find this funny. What happened to 'beautiful'?

"I have no shoes." She looks down at her bare feet.

"We'll be in the sand. You won't need them." Kyle reassures her. "You ready?"

Helena looks around the plane and then to Kyle. She isn't sure if she feels ready. She also isn't sure if it matters. She's here and she's playing her part and she can only hope she's doing it satisfactorily.

Chapter Text

The pink hue of the sun dances atop the water, splintering into hundreds of rays as the waves try to carry it to the shore. The vastness of the ocean astounds Helena. There is no end, no limit, just surging peaceful power. She stands in the damp sand, feeling it squish between her toes. She watches the tumultuous cascading waves furiously chase each other to the shore. By the time they lap at Helena's feet they have settled into a gentle whisper of water, gliding over the top of her feet, circling her ankles and then gently slipping back to the ocean. Helena related to the ocean. She has unknown depths and blustery feelings that race and wildly crash inside of her yet all that ever reaches her surface is a watery whisper of her true intent.

Helena doesn't realize she's smiling as she stands in the golden light of the sunrise. The salty ocean air wisps about her head and Helena pushes a few strands of her hair behind an ear. She looks over to Kyle who stands close beside her and when he feels her eyes on him he pulls his attention from the water.

"Thank you." Helena says.

"Thank me properly?" Kyle smirks. Helena isn't sure what he means and for a moment is caught up in the shades of yellow the sunrise has painted on his skin. She smiles and nods, agreeing that maybe her 'thank you' didn't fully express how she felt.

"I'm grateful for this. For you bringing me here to share this stunning view. I'm grateful for the ocean. I have this calm and Cheer in my heart, in my body. I can't remember ever feeling this way. Sincerely, I thank you." She reemphasizes.

"No. Thank me with your mouth." Kyle says. Helena squints at him, smiling in her confusion. She had just used her mouth to voice her thanks. What could he mean? She wonders. Suddenly, Kyle's hands are on both sides of her face, pulling her forward as he plants a kiss on her lips. He holds her there much longer than she felt a kiss should be.

"Ick!" Helena says when she feels Kyle's tongue attempt to part her lips. Kyle pulls his head away, lets go of Helena's face and then shoves her. She nearly loses her footing in the sand. She's horrified by the sudden rejection. Her eyebrows raise imploringly.

"What?" She asks.

"You seriously just said 'ick'?" Kyle's blue eyes seem dark now compared to the brilliance of the water.

"Your tongue." She says pressing her lips together.

"I'm a great kisser!" Kyle defends.

"Ok?" She shrugs. Why is he cross? She can't understand. "Maybe I'm not? I never-" She puts her hands out at her side.

"Oh." Kyle's smile returns. "Oh, I didn't realize. You, that was, that was your first kiss?" He laughs when Helena nods. "Okay, well, that changes things." He says stepping towards her. She feels all her muscles tighten for the first time in hours because she's unsure if he'll shove her again. She's relieved when his touch is soft and he pulls her forward, linking his arms around her, resting his hands on her lower back. The embrace felt like him trapping her against his body and for a second she wonders if all embraces are actually just gently disguised body traps. "I can teach you. You want to try again?" He asks. Helena shrugs. He takes that as an affirmative. "Okay. Just copy what I do, but do the opposite. If I go right, you go left, up, down. Get it?" He doesn't wait for her answer. After that simple and vague instruction, he leans down and locks his lips on hers. Helena does her best to match his movements and intensity. She didn't like the feeling of his tongue being in her mouth and she didn't like darting hers into his but he seemed to be really into it. That's how she knew she was doing something right. A few steamy minutes later, he finally separates his mouth from hers. Both of their breaths are fast and hot. "I want you so bad." He grins with that wild look in his eye. She smiles. She liked feeling wanted. "Let's go back to the room. I have some other things I can teach you."

Helena is having such a good time that she really doesn't want to learn anything. Dates shouldn't include lessons, should they? She doesn't feel 'no' is an option. Still in his hold, she looks to the waves then back to him with doe eyes. "Can we stay here a few minutes longer?"

"Sure." He says. He finally releases her from the hug and pulls his mobile phone from his pocket. He starts texting and Helena takes her moment of freedom to take a step further away from him, out of arm's reach. She inhales the sea air, realigning her heart with the rhythm of the waves and looks out at infinity. Lost in the serene waking of the beach, she doesn't immediately notice that Kyle's eyes are fixed on her. When she looks over his way, she catches him smiling at her. For no reason that Helena can guess, except that maybe he's actually happy to see her there. It was a nice feeling. Being seen and being wanted.

.ssss.

The hotel suite is like a highend modern apartment. It's filled with warm tones of blue and yellow. Large glass doors open up to a beachfront patio, making the waves just barely audible. Kyle leads her to the dining area where a small table with six chairs is covered by a large spread.

"Are you expecting guests?" Helena asks, tracking sand from her bare feet onto the tiled floor.

"No. I just thought you might be hungry." He says pushing her hair back and kissing right above her ear.

"All of this?" Helena looks at the display. She's never been offered this many breakfast options. There was no way she could eat all of this.

"Well, I didn't know what you'd like. Anyway, if you're not hungry now, maybe we can work up an appetite?" He says kissing her temple.

"Work?" Helena asks, partially listening and mostly fantasizing about the food. Is this a test? Should I choose the eggs to be on the safe side? She eyes the eggs as her hand hovers over an almond croissant. "I can have anything?"

"Anything you like. Maybe a little bit of everything." He hands her an empty plate to fill and she takes it hesitantly. Despite the verbal confirmation that it isn't a test, Helena still struggles to trust the situation. She smiles and shakes her head. She had no way to know if she would pass or fail until she acted. So she reaches for the almond croissant and puts it on her plate. Kyle starts piling things on his own plate and doesn't seem to monitor what she chooses. She is delighted at this freedom and takes strawberries, pineapples, a sausage link and a silver dollar pancake, which she drizzles heavily with syrup. "You want a coffee?" He asks holding up a pot.

"Yes please." She nods eagerly.

"Let me guess, lots of cream, lots of sugar?"

"Black. If that's okay." She smiles. Creamer was incentivized at Lumon. She has gotten used to black.

"Seriously? I don't even drink it black. I didn't even like coffee when I was sixteen." Kyle laughs as he pours the dark liquid into a mug. "I only just started drinking it, maybe two years ago when I was 21? To help with the hangovers."

"Oh." Helena thinks on this as she takes her seat and bites into the almond croissant. It's buttery and flaky and the almonds have a faintly sweet crunch. "I started drinking coffee a year before you, three years ago, when I officially started working at Lumon." Helena says proudly. "Thank you." She says before sipping the freshly poured coffee. This may be the best breakfast she's ever had.

.ssss.

Only fifteen minutes later, Helena is sitting on the sofa in the living room with Kyle. She leans back into the sofa cushions, hands on her stomach as she experiences an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling of fullness. Kyle sits close but they're not touching.

"I knew your age but I thought, I don't know, you'd be more experienced? I was at sixteen. Money makes reaching certain milestones a hell of a lot easier." Kyle says. He waits for her response but she has none. She scratches at her stomach through the T-shirts fabric. "If that was your first kiss, like you don't know anything, do you? For real, tell me what you actually know?"

"Know? About what?" Helena asks.

"The birds and the bees, baby." He laughs.

"The birds and the bees." Helena repeats flatly.

"You know…" He makes a crude gesture with his fingers.

"You mean sex?" Helena tilts her head. He nods. "Why would you call it that? Birds and bees are not sexually compatible. That doesn't make any sense. It should be flowers. Bees and flowers." She laughs.

"I didn't make it up. That's just what people say."

"People are strange." She says, scratching the back of her neck.

"You're strange." Kyle laughs. She squints at him and he touches her knee. "In the best way." He adds. "I can't figure you out, you got this mysterious vibe."

Helena smiles, "Mysterious and important?"

"Yeah." Kyle agrees. "That's why I'm not sure what to think about you. You act older. Like the way you carried yourself at the gala. Then you're clueless too."

"I'm not clueless." She says defensively.

"But you don't know about birds and bees." Kyle laughs and shakes his head. He pours ether into a cloth and huffs it. Helena frowns. He was clearly addicted to the stuff and she could understand why. The high felt so good. She'd love to feel that way all the time. She wonders as she watches him if maybe he's as lonely as she is? And if his feelings of sadness and inadequacy were as deep as hers and maybe that's why he couldn't go more than an hour or two without chemically induced levity? His laughter bursts into the room and she can't help but smile. Even without the ether, his unbridled joy felt easy to partake of. She scratches at her arm and when she looks at the skin she notices raised red bumps. "So tell me what you know. Have you ever seen a penis before?" He asks.

"Of course. In my Anatomy textbook, in Art History. Have you seen statues? They're almost always naked. I'm just grateful the ones of my ancestors are all clothed." She jokes.

"Do you want to see mine?" He asks. Helena's eyes widen and she decides it might be best to pretend she hadn't heard him. She itches at her arm again then her neck. When she looks back at him his eyes are intense. He leans close to her and puts a finger under her chin lifting her face. He doesn't kiss her but examines her neck. He lifts her arm and turns it over, looking at the red splotches forming on her skin. "What the fuck Helena? Are you allergic to something? You're breaking out!"

"Oh." She looks at the spot on her arm as she itches. She was uncomfortable but so much of her life was this way, just adjusting to one discomfort after the next, doing her best to muscle through with grace.

"Don't itch it. It'll make it worse." He says panicking. Helena is unsure if she should be more nervous. "Actually, shit. I don't know if it'll make it worse." He says standing. "I need to call emergency staff."

"No. I don't think so." She says clearing her throat and balling her hands into fists on her thighs, doing her best not to itch.

"I think I have to. Can you breathe? How does your throat feel?" He asks.

"Fine, just itchy." She answers.

"Do you have a food allergy?" He asks as he opens a closet door where he retrieves Helena's clutch purse.

"I'm not sure." She is getting more nervous seeing the concern in his eyes. Her diet was meticulously planned and she always chose from a set weekly menu. She never had a reason to know if she had a food allergy or not.

"Here." He shoves her purse at her. She takes it. "Call your dad! Or a dietitian? Somebody. I can't have a sixteen-year-old heiress dead in my hotel room."

Helena takes the phone from her purse and stares at the two numbers. She didn't want to call Miss Shoemaker. She was having too good a time. "I think I'll be okay." Helena clears her throat anxiously.

"If you don't call someone, I'm going to." He says with urgency. She sighs and presses the call button. It barely rings once.

"Helena!" Miss Shoemaker's instantly angry voice comes through the phone.

"Miss Shoemaker, am I-"

"Helena, where are you?!" Miss Shoemaker demands.

"Oh, um, I'm-" Helena looks at the coffee table and the stationery notepad with the hotel logo. She turns the notepad to read from it but as she does Kyle snatches the phone from her hand.

"Hello?" Kyle speaks quickly. "Mrs. Eagan? No. Okay… actually sorry, I don't care. Do you know if she has a food allergy? She's over here turning red and I need to know if I should call emergency staff… I don't know, uh, some fruit, a croissant, a pancake?" Kyle finally pauses to listen. "Oh, okay, that has to be what it was... Just a Benadryl? …Okay. That's a relief." Kyle hangs up the phone and hands it back to Helena. He then walks over to the hotel room phone and dials the front desk. "Yes, I need a Benadryl stat. My friend is having an allergic reaction. Okay." He hangs up that phone and then stands looking down at Helena annoyed. "How didn't you know that you have an almond allergy?" Helena shrugs and this only seems to further exasperate Kyle. She watches him storm off.

Alone Helena sneaks an itch of the hive on her neck. Her mobile phone vibrates and she can see it's Miss Shoemaker.

"Hello?" Helena answers.

"Where are you Helena? I've called you fifty times."

"Fifty?" Helena is surprised.

"Your Father has tried calling you." Miss Shoemaker informs her. Helena understands the gravity of the statement. If Jame Eagan himself, tried calling, it was serious.

"My phone was set to vibrate for the gala. I didn't know." Helena defends.

"Where ARE you?" Miss Shoemaker raises her voice impatiently. It didn't sound like any of this would bode well for Helena.

"I'm with Kyle. Father said it was okay. I'm at the Malibu Beach Inn." Helena feels her mind racing, trying to understand where she went wrong.

"Malibu? California? How did you get there?"

"Plane. I thought, Kyle told me that he spoke with Father and that Father approved." Helena now scratches at the hives with her nervous energy.

"Your Father was not contacted and neither of us knew where you were. How dare you leave the state without confirming with one of us?" Miss Shoemaker accuses.

"I thought- Kyle said-"

"Foolish child. I'm calling your Father to let him know where you are. You do NOT leave that hotel. Understood?" Miss Shoemaker commands.

"Miss Shoemaker, please tell Father I didn't know. I thought he-"

"And when I call back, I expect you to answer this phone!" Miss Shoemaker says.

"Yes Miss Shoemaker." Helena itches. "I'm sorry."

"You should be sorry. And you will be." Miss Shoemaker snears before hanging up. Helena sits with the phone in one hand, itching a bright red hive with her other hand. She wants to cry. Kyle deceived her! And she is going to pay for it. It isn't fair.

Kyle returns and holds out a glass of water and a pink pill.

"Here, take this." He says. She takes them from him and glares. Why was he pretending to be so kind if he was only going to set her up? Her stomach turns with Dread.

She swallows down the pill, hoping for some relief from the terrible itchiness. "Why did you tell me that Father text and said I didn't have a curfew and that coming here was okay?"

Kyle raises an eyebrow, irritated by her accusatory tone. "My father did say that."

Helena's mouth falls open. "I thought you meant my Father."

Kyle shrugs, "No. Why would I text your father?"

Helena covers her face with her hands. How could I have been so naive? She looks at her phone and checks the phone activity. There are many missed calls from Miss Shoemaker and one private number. That must be her Father. Maybe if I can explain the mix up he won't be cross with me? Helena selects the private number and presses the call button. She puts the phone to her ear only to hear an automated voice say "This number cannot be completed as dialed." There was no getting through to Jame. There was never a way to get through to him.

.ssss.

Helena doesn't take long to add Kyle to her mental list of People Who Are Cross with Me. After receiving a phone call from someone informing him that Lumon would be sending a plane to retrieve Helena, he cursed at her for being more trouble than she is worth. He left her alone in the room after that. Miss Shoemaker called Helena's Mobile and told her where she needed to be and when. The Lumon plane wouldn't arrive for about seven hours. Helena wastes some time alone in the room, touching things, flipping through the hotel pamphlets, and watching the end of a movie on the Hallmark Channel. She's bored quickly and decides she won't allow Dread or Woe to rob her of her remaining time away from home and unsupervised. She climbs over the patio railing, dropping into the sand and leaving the room. The sun is almost at its highest point, and the sand is much warmer but not yet uncomfortably hot. She takes her time strolling back to the shore, enjoying the soft, scratchy feeling of sand beneath her bare soles. The beach is alive with activity; people rest on towels in bathing suits, some lounge under cabanas with billowing white curtains, and a group of young shirtless men play frisbee. The sand is darker where it's wet, and this is where Helena sits with her legs stretched out in front of her. She enjoys the grounding feeling of the cool, damp earth beneath her, and the rhythm of the waves dissipates around her. Her borrowed shorts and undergarments are immediately soaked, but she doesn't care.

As she sits and watches the waves, she imagines them sweeping her up and floating her off somewhere where she might know peace. At some point, she sees Kyle. He's got a surfboard under his arm and he's talking to two women in bikinis. He doesn't look her way, and she suspects an invitation to a future yacht party is not in the cards for her. She doesn't fit into that world. She isn't sure she fits anywhere. Woe attempts to overcome her. She imagines the ocean as a medley of every lonely person's salty tears. Isolated in life and connected only by pain. She adds a few tears of her own and is easily lulled into a peaceful trance by the sounds of waves.

A child's scream startles Helena back to reality. Her eyes quickly find a girl, maybe eight or ten years of age, stomping in the water. Helena's confused because the girl who screamed is smiling.

"Dad!" The girl screams. From the corner of her eye, Helena watches a man run across the sand in the girl's direction. She's afraid for the girl. There will certainly be a direct impact. As expected, the girl shrieks when the man reaches her. He pulls her up by her arms, swinging her legs into the water. Will he throw her into the sea? To Helena's surprise, both the girl and the man laugh. "Dad, the waves!" The girl shouts, and the man pulls the girl up again, as if to avoid the spray of the waves. They're playing? Helena observes them with intense curiosity, the way the father lifts the girl away from the false threat of the waves to a false safety in his grasp. The girl laughs bright and loud, and the man doesn't seem annoyed or repulsed. The exchange distresses Helena, and she's not sure why.

"Hey." A female voice says, suddenly casting a shadow over Helena.

Helena squints, looking up at the stranger, and her eyes take a moment to adjust. It's the woman that the playful man had been sitting near before he ran to the child in the water. "Hello."

"Are you okay?" The woman asks. Helena shrugs and nods. "You were sitting here before we set up our umbrella, and I haven't seen you move once."

"I didn't think I was bothering anyone," Helena says, looking around at the busy beach.

"I've also caught you staring at my kid." The woman points to the laughing girl in the water, who now stomps in a circle around her father.

"I…" Helena shakes her head. "I don't think I was." She turns her head away from the woman.

"I was just wondering if you were okay. Your clothes are soaked." The woman points out.

Helena sighs and decides to stand. She brushes some sand off, but is so thoroughly covered that there isn't much point. "Fine. I'll go sit somewhere else."

"No, I didn't mean-" The woman points to her umbrella. "Are you here with anyone?"

"No," Helena says, annoyed with the interrogation. "What does it matter? I didn't think I needed permission to be on the beach." Helena kicks sand into the waves and then turns to walk away.

"Hey, wait-" The woman calls after her. Helena stops but doesn't turn to face her. "At least, before you wander off, maybe, can I offer you some sunscreen?"

Helena turns to face the woman. She looks hopeful. This is a kindness, and Helena isn't going to turn down a blessing from Kier. She nods meekly. "Ok." The woman smiles at her acceptance and guides her to the family umbrella. Helena feels nervous under the umbrella's shade as if she were a rat invading a fox den. Being close enough to see the cozy little details made them feel like real people instead of fantasy creatures that exist in a realm opposite to Helena's reality. Three pairs of sandals are tucked under three chairs, all side by side. A child's doll is discarded on the blanket. A novel is open and resting its pages on one of the chairs. Lumon water bottles rest in the built-in cup holders. These people are from her reality, and the reality is that they are having a better time in life than she is. Helena may have the blood of The Chosen One, but somehow these paupers' lives are richer. We must be cut to heal. Helena reminds herself. When she feels her cheeks get hot with emotion instead of the sun, she continues, Let not weakness live in thy veins. She stands straight and suffocates her Woe again. The woman pulls a sunscreen bottle from a woven bag and holds it out to the blank-faced teen. Helena holds her hand open for the woman to squirt the lotion in. "Thank you."

"I can't help myself. It irritates my husband, but somehow I'm everyone's mom. My friends, my kid's friends, strangers." The woman smiles. "SPF-45." The woman holds up the bottle.

Helena stares. It's not Lumon-made. She took a risk this morning with breakfast, and it cost her. Maybe the lotion could kill her? She smirks at the idea and rubs it on her face. A small amount of sand mixes with the lotion and scratches her skin. She rubs some on her arms, which already have the slight pink beginnings of a sunburn. She's grateful to this woman. She isn't sure what type of corrections she will face when she gets home, but whatever it is, a sunburn would only make it worse. The girl child briskly approaches and stops under the shade of the umbrella with laughter and heavy breath. Helena squirms at the girl's nearness, the girl's smile, the girl's fluid movements. No one in Helena's world moved like this. She wants to flee, especially when she notices the man making his way through the sand towards his family. "Uh, thanks," Helena says as she backs away.

"No, wait. You've got to get your legs." The woman says, holding out the bottle. Helena looks down at her pale legs and then at the fast-approaching man. She nods and opens her palm for more lotion. "Thank you." She says again to the woman before hurrying away, zig-zagging through the maze of umbrellas and beach blankets. When she finally stops, she turns to see that the man, now a tiny distant figure, has reached his tiny family, and there doesn't seem to be any commotion, no audible upset or visible signs of agitation. Helena catches her breath and then applies the lotion safely away from the Frolicking family.

.ssss.

Later in the day, Helena is denied access to the hotel dining area. She orders a sandwich she's never heard of, with ingredients she knows she's had before, to be delivered and charged to the room. She doesn't have a keycard to the suite, so she returns the way she escaped. She climbs up and over the patio railing, dropping back onto the cold tiles of Kyle's room. The doors are still open to the ocean breeze, and she slips in with it. Kyle's laughing loudly on the sofa with some woman. Maybe one of the women from the beach? She's unrecognizable to Helena with her clothes on. The woman must feel Helena's eyes on her because she looks away from Kyle and spots Helena by the doors. The woman screams. Helena startles at the sound. Kyle jumps up and turns to confront the danger. When his wild eyes find Helena, he frowns. She looks a mess, dirty and damp, hair frizzy and whipped by the wind.

Kyle smiles down at the woman. "It's okay. That's my little sister."

"Sister?" The woman asks.

"Yeah, she's staying in another room. Sis?" Kyle says, walking over to Helena. "What are you doing here?" He reaches her side, grips her upper arm in an unfriendly way, and guides her out of sight and earshot of the woman. Helena makes her face stony. She doesn't want to show him he's succeeding in his intimidation. "What the fuck Helena?" He demands.

"I ordered lunch," Helena says, pointing to where the dining area is. She wiggles her arm free from his hold.

"Are you sure you should do that after what happened this morning?" Kyle asks.

"It'll be fine. I'll be fine." Helena nods. "I'll be out of the way." She leaves his side to sit at the dining table and wait for the sound of the door. He glares at her for several moments, frustrated with her continued presence. She keeps her posture straight and eyes fixed on a far-off place.

"So fucking strange." He mumbles as he leaves her. She breathes more freely when he's gone from sight, and she can tell he's returned to the living room from the resumed sound of the woman's laugh. Helena closes her eyes, thinking about the kiss that morning. Her first kiss. It meant nothing to him. She meant nothing to him. It was just business. She knew this. So why was she feeling Woe? She wonders which deep-down part of her still thought she could be something to somebody.

Chapter Text

The Lumon plane isn't as lush as Kyle's. Miss Shoemaker brought Helena fresh clothes, and she was made to wash before leaving the hotel and boarding the plane. She didn't see Kyle before leaving. Maybe she would never see him again, and maybe none of this matters.

Miss Shoemaker's silent scowl makes Helena feel like she's twelve again. As they sit together for takeoff, Miss Shoemaker finally speaks and informs Helena that a Disciplinary Action Request has been submitted to tame her temper, Frolic. Helena doesn't verbally acknowledge this because it seems a given.

The plane ascends, and Miss Shoemaker keeps her eyes on the teen who looks out the window, watching the city shrink beneath them.

"Helena," Miss Shoemaker starts, hoping to grab the despondent teen's attention. "I'm disappointed in you." Helena only takes her attention from the window for a second to nod. "You seem unbothered by this."

"Respectfully, you're always disappointed in me," Helena says flatly.

"You should want to be better! To do better?"

Helena sighs and closes her eyes, "I try. I try every day, and I'm so tired."

"I think you're underestimating the seriousness of your errors." Miss Shoemaker says. "If I have to wake you up to your transgressions, I will." Helena watches Miss Shoemaker walk across the room. Under Kier's portrait are a series of drawers. From one of the drawers, Miss Shoemaker produces a ruler. She returns to stand in front of Helena. "Palms up." Helena presses her lips tightly together. She obeys, opening her palms. She thinks about the woman with the sunscreen and her expression of undeserved kindness. "Keep them up and recite the nine core principles." Miss Shoemaker gently taps the ruler on Helena's palm, lining up her aim.

"Vision." Helena starts.

SWAT. The ruler slaps her palms.

"Verve."

SWAT. The palms of the hands are the body part with the 4th most nerve endings, which is why this punishment was always so effective.

"Wit."

SWAT. She winces.

"Cheer."

SWAT.

"Humility." Helena says, closing her eyes, prepared for the impact. When it doesn't come, she peeks up at Miss Shoemaker, who seems off balance. "Benevolence." Helena continues.

"What, what is happening?" Miss Shoemaker asks, touching her own head with her free hand. Miss Shoemaker looks at the ruler in her other hand as if she's never seen a ruler, then down at Helena's reddening palms. They lock eyes, and Miss Shoemaker smiles in a way that she's never smiled at Helena before. "Are you Miss Helena Eagan? It's so nice to meet you."

"Miss Shoemaker? Are you…" Helena wrings her palms together, attempting to rub out the sting.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Eagan. This happened on the way to…or from? I don't think the chips have been tested at this altitude."

"You're the Outie?" Helena asks. Miss Shoemaker smiles again in such a warm way that it unsettles Helena. This was not the Miss Shoemaker she has come to know and hate.

"Yes. It was light out last time. And it was just me alone in this cabin. I was afraid until I saw the portrait of Kier." Miss Shoemaker points and then seems to remember the ruler in her other hand. "Did you need this?" Miss Shoemaker offers the ruler over to Helena.

"Personally, I don't think so." Helena takes the ruler and slips it between the cushions of the seats.

"If you direct me, I can return it where it came from."

"That's alright. I'd rather your Innie not find it," Helena says. Miss Shoemaker laughs, and Helena shakes her head, 'No.'

"Sorry, this is all so strange. Am I your personal assistant or something?" Miss Shoemaker asks, taking a seat beside Helena.

"Or something," Helena answers.

"What a privilege to serve Kier by assisting the children of his blood." Miss Shoemaker smiles and looks at Helena's calculating green eyes. Helena clears her throat.

"I believe Kier has blessed us with this unexpected opportunity to speak. It's important that you know, I have been deeply disappointed by your Innie's work." Helena says this, and the smile falls from Miss Shoemaker's face.

"Oh no. Miss Eagan, I'm so sorry. This job is a privilege and an honor. Have you expressed your displeasure with my Innie? Could we come up with an Action Plan to help correct my future course?" Miss Shoemaker asks.

"You seem like a nice woman, Miss Shoemaker." Helena lies. The version of Miss Shoemaker that she knew didn't seem to have a good side. It was hard to believe her Outie would be that much different.

"Please, Miss Eagan, call me Janice."

Helena smiles, J. Shoemaker. "Janice, I can tell you're a faithful servant of Kier. Which is commendable. I believe you are an industrious person who really believes in the work. What we have here is a compatibility issue. Your Innie and I would be happiest if you applied for a transfer. I'm certain Father can find a severed position that you're, or, she is more suited for." Helena says.

"I applied to work on the Eagan estate. I didn't know the role I would be assigned, but my housing is part of my employment benefits. My daughters and I live on the land. If I were to transfer, I may lose my home." Miss Shoemaker says earnestly, emphasizing the seriousness of Helena's proposal. Helena is surprised to hear that Miss Shoemaker has daughters.

"Jame Eagan is a Benevolent employer. I doubt he would remove a mother and her children from their home." Helena's career assassination attempt is momentarily derailed by her curiosity. "How many daughters do you have?"

"Promise not to tell my Innie?" Miss Shoemaker's smile returns. Helena nods. "Two, my youngest is fourteen, and my oldest is sixteen." Helena's eyebrows raise. A girl her age lived on her land? Just behind her home? Helena looks Miss Shoemaker over, wondering how merciless a mother she must be.

Helena squints skeptically, "Do you like them?"

Miss Shoemaker laughs, "Of course! I love them."

"Oh." Helena chews the inside of her lip, thinking this over. Miss Shoemaker's smile and tone seem genuine. Maybe she is a good person? I bring out the worst in people. She sits with this thought before asking, "Why?"

"Why what?" Miss Shoemaker asks back.

"Why do you love them?" Helena clarifies. Maybe it was something she was missing? Perhaps some insight might help her understand where she's going wrong.

"Because they're my daughters." Miss Shoemaker answers.

"So what?" Helena asks, annoyed by the cryptic response.

Miss Shoemaker is confused by the girl's confrontational tone. "You couldn't possibly want me to list all the things I love about them."

Helena sighs and decides to drop the line of questioning. "For someone who loves their daughters so much, you spend an exorbitant amount of time with me. Being unhappy, might I add. If you request a transfer, your next job may have better hours for you, your daughters, and your Innie."

"Please give me the chance to do better." Miss Shoemaker pleads earnestly. A single ironic laugh escapes Helena. "I can write a list of your grievances and my plan to correct the action. Then my Innie will know what to do."

"Your Innie doesn't receive constructive criticism well. She's impossible to speak to." Helena says, and Miss Shoemaker seems surprised by this. "Sunday, after your twenty-hour shift, when you finally get to go home and see your lovely-in-every-way daughters, that would be the ideal time to apply for a transfer." Helena offers, thinking that if she is lucky, which she never has been, she will only have to endure one last taming from the Innie before the Outie can do the right thing and request a transfer. She watches as Miss Shoemaker studies her. Helena tries to make her eyes kind to disguise her Malice.

"Miss Eagan, I don't know in what capacity I serve you. And I am sorry you have been displeased with my Innie's work. It may be best if I speak to your Father about these performance issues." Miss Shoemaker replies. She can see a fiery frustration flash in Helena's eyes.

"You're just as impossible as she is." Helena sneers. This makes Miss Shoemaker smile in a very familiar way.

"May I be frank?" Miss Shoemaker asks. Helena closes her eyes and shrugs. "I know we just met, but I know teenagers pretty well, having two of my own. It seems like what we have here is a personal issue. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but I know my annual review went well because I received a raise in pay. You don't seem keen for me to discuss my performance with your father. So, I deduce that you may have a personal issue with me."

"Fine. Yes, it's personal." Helena admits, rapidly losing faith in her ability to persuade Miss Shoemaker.

"I'm Humble and happy to pass your grievances on to my Innie. Like me, I'm certain she would like to have a positive working relationship with you." Miss Shoemaker says. Helena thinks of a new angle, maybe a shock factor.

Helena rolls up her sleeve to expose the healing burns. "This is one." When Miss Shoemaker's eyes widen in horror, Helena fights a smile.

"I think this needs cleaning. Where's the first aid kit?" Miss Shoemaker says, leaning closer to observe the circular marks.

"Your Innie did that," Helena says flatly.

"How?" Miss Shoemaker asks, as she stands and walks to a different space in the cabin to search. She returns with a first aid kit, only to see Helena standing. Helena rolls up the back of her crew-neck shirt.

"Your Innie did that." Helena points to her lower back and reveals one of her old raised criss-cross scars.

"Oh," Miss Shoemaker says with a sad look in her eyes. She opens the first aid kit. "Please sit and let me disinfect that arm for you." Helena sits, and Miss Shoemaker sits beside her, gently taking hold of the teen's arm and dabbing a medicated towelette on the burns. Helena winces again.

"I have more." Helena says, watching this tender version of Miss Shoemaker. Helena raises an eyebrow in challenge, "That's the type of person your Innie is. Is that the type of person you are?"

"Or something." Miss Shoemaker replays Helena's response. "I'm not your assistant, am I? I'm a Nanny." Miss Shoemaker can tell by Helena's glare that she has guessed correctly. "It makes sense. I've nannied in the past. I'm sorry if I've hurt you."

"If." Helena laughs.

"I have never raised a hand to my daughters. I was raised by stringent Catholic parents. And I'm piecing it together, but I think I understand the ruler now." Miss Shoemaker studies Helena's expression. Helena does her best to keep her face neutral. "In my Nanny jobs of the past, I worked closely with the parents and adhered to their parenting styles and choice of discipline. As a Nanny, it's not my job to interfere or impose my beliefs and practices on the child. Judging by the substantial raise Kier blessed me with this year, I must be performing my responsibilities to Mr. Jame Eagan's expectations."

"I might have that scar for the rest of my life." Helena says.

"Yes." Miss Shoemaker thinks of the criss-cross pattern on the girl's back and wonders about its origin. "We must be cut to heal." Miss Shoemaker quotes Kier. Miss Shoemaker puts a small circular Lumon bandage over one of the burns. "I know this isn't what you might want to hear, but the thought of that makes me proud."

"Proud?" Helena scoffs.

"I am trusted with the highest honor of caring for-"

"You don't care for me." Helena interrupts.

"-caring for the great-great-great-granddaughter of The Chosen One. I only came to know Kier later in life. So for someone like me, who has left a life of sin, it is a blessing to be trusted as your guide on Kier's path. I wouldn't choose this for my own children, but they're not His direct descendants. For an Eagan, the extreme correction makes sense based on your status and importance. In Catholicism, we are taught that the Devil, Satan, was a fallen angel. He was a son of God who rebelled and was cast out of heaven for it. Miss Eagan, I wouldn't want you to be cast into the pits of hell. If I cause the scar that keeps you from straying. I am happy to do it." Miss Shoemaker says as she applies the second bandage. She admires her handiwork and the teen's angry expression. "If it helps, you can look at it this way. The Appendix says, 'Stray not from Kier's path, lest you roil nature's wrath.' My Innie's wrath, so to speak, could be saving you."

Helena's face flushes red with her anger, incensed by Miss Shoemaker's arrogance. How can she think she's saving me? Helena rarely felt safe.

.ssss.

Miss Shoemaker blinks rapidly as the plane begins its descent, adjusting to her sudden consciousness. The last thing she remembers is standing over Helena and helping her understand the seriousness of her misdeeds. The cabin is dimly lit, but when she looks around, she spots the teen asleep, curled up on the sofa, knees tucked to her chest in the fetal position. Miss Shoemaker is angry. There is no harder pillow to sleep on than a guilty conscience. If Helena felt the guilt she should, she wouldn't be resting so peacefully. Miss Shoemaker gets up and walks to the drawers under the Kier portrait in search of the ruler. It's not there. This upsets her further. She takes a few swift steps over to the sleeping girl, ready to rattle her awake. She looks down at Helena, whose face is washed in the ghostly white of the night sky. She is serene and youthful. Miss Shoemaker reminds herself that the teen is a hellion and peace should not be had by a wanton sinner. She claps her hands loudly by Helena's ear, startling her awake. Helena's body jerks into an upright seated position, her feet on the floor. She's drowsy but aware enough to know she should keep her eyes down.

"What did you do?" Miss Shoemaker accuses.

"I, I don't know what you mean." Helena crosses her arms, rubbing the skin to warm up.

"I was just standing, and we were-"

"Your Outie was here. The chip stopped working when we reached a certain altitude." Helena explains, fighting a yawn. She puts her hands up, "I had nothing to do with that. How could I have?"

"You spoke with my Outie?" Miss Shoemaker asks.

"Yes, Janice, I did have that displeasure," Helena smirks. Miss Shoemaker's open palm meets Helena's cheek with a sharp slap, causing her face to turn with the impact. Helena waits a second before putting her fingers to her face to soothe the sting. "I'm telling Father." Helena says. Her face was off limits. It is a rule. She knows this is a rule because when she was nine, a tutor got fired for striking her in the face and causing a small bruise under her eye from his ring. Mr. Heilman was very cross with the tutor.

"You do NOT call me by my first name." Miss Shoemaker asserts.

"And you should not hit my face. Father will hear about it, and you will be fired. You and your Outie's daughters will be homeless." Helena hisses.

"Daughters?"

"Yes, Janice has two daughters, one is four-"

"SHUT UP!" Miss Shoemaker yells, pointing her finger at Helena's face. "Don't you say another word."

"One is fourteen and the other is my age." Helena smirks knowingly. Miss Shoemaker grabs the fabric of Helena's shirt, twisting it and pulling her up from the sofa.

"On your knees!" Miss Shoemaker commands, tugging Helena so that she tumbles forward. Helena catches her balance but lowers herself to the floor. Miss Shoemaker releases her shirt when the teen is on her knees. "Where is the ruler, child?"

"I don't know." Helena lies.

"Helena, NOW." Miss Shoemaker demands. Helena keeps her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes fixed on the floor. "I will make sure you regret not telling me." She says as she starts rummaging around the room.

"Enjoy your last night, Miss Shoemaker. Once Father knows what you did, this is it for you." Helena says matter-of-factly. Miss Shoemaker finds the ruler between the two cushions and reveals it to the kneeling Helena. Helena shrugs, "Janice must've put it there."

"Palms up."

Helena obeys.

"I can't recall where we left off-"

"Benevolence."

"We will start over." Miss Shoemaker says, lightly tapping the ruler in Helena's palms.

"You lack Benevolence." Helena says.

"And you lack Humility." Miss Shoemaker replies with a harsh SWAT of the ruler. "From the top."

"Vision."

.ssss.

Sunday came and went with no transfer request from Miss Shoemaker's Outie. To Helena's dismay, the Nanny also wasn't fired. Helena filed a complaint against Miss Shoemaker, but the email she got from her Father in response said that, because there was no physical evidence, no witness, and no admission, the claim could not be substantiated and thus is dismissed as malicious hearsay. Helena was brought to Lumon bright and early Sunday for a complete physical, gynecological exam, and tox screening. After the exams, she was brought home for taming. During her taming, Helena thought about her favorite movie, Pulp Fiction, and how the man and woman danced on their date. Their date ended disastrously, too. Maybe this is how it would always be, perhaps that's the lesson: Dates are short-lived fun that end in pain.

.ssss.

Monday

09:15 am

Helena is late for work. When she enters the Filing room, she sees Cynthia at a desk, organizing loose papers into a new, unlabeled folder. Cynthia stops what she's doing at the sight of Helena and rushes to her side.

"I was worried sick about you." Cynthia says, putting a hand on each of Helena's shoulders.

Helena laughs, "I thought you were going to stop doing that."

Cynthia nods, "I tried. But even when I was sitting with my boyfriend, I looked at him and thought, that man she's out with is practically the same age as us, and I just, really wanted to punch him in the dick." Helena laughs at the absurdity. Surprisingly, Cynthia wraps her in a hug. Helena grimaces over Cynthia's shoulder, her taming and the Bad Soap made the embrace more painful than enjoyable. Still, hugs are rare, so Helena breathes through it. Cynthia releases the teen from the hug, steps back, and searches Helena's eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy." Helena smirks.

"How was it? Were you safe?" Cynthia asks.

Helena looks up at the fluorescent lighting and thinks. She felt safest here in this building. In this room. With Cynthia. "It was fun until it wasn't. And I'm here, so I guess I made it through." She shrugs.

"I'm glad you had fun." Cynthia smiles.

"Our hotel suite opened right up to the beach, and it was-"

"Our?" Cynthia shakes her head and puts a finger up to shush Helena. "Shh. No. I can't know details."

"Ok." They allow an awkward silence to settle around them.

"Go grab a coffee." Cynthia smiles. Helena nods and walks around her maybe-friend. "There might be something else in there for you." Helena looks over her shoulder and raises a curious eyebrow. She turns the corner into the tiny kitchenette and walks to the coffee machine. Her heart flutters at the sight of a new novel. Not maybe. Definitely-friend.

.ssss.

Monday

09:15 pm

Helena is on time. Jame Eagan isn't a man of patience and should not be kept waiting. The grand library doors sense her and open. Before entering, she clears her throat nervously, takes a deep breath, and fully steps in. The doors close behind her, and she fidgets with the seams of her skirt. There is no man in a suit to direct her next step, so she decides to check for her father at the desk by the ancestral busts. He isn't there, but spread on the desk are three 4x6 photos and a thin stack of paperclipped papers.

She stands in place and at attention for two full minutes. She peeks over her shoulder back at the library doors. Her Father should be here any moment, but her curiosity was itching at her fingertips. She decides to sneak a peek and breaks from her rigid militant stance to slink closer to the desk. She doesn't dare touch the photos. Moving them, even the slightest turn, could make it obvious that she looked. She tilts her head and cranes her neck to see the photos at the right angle. The photos are from the Charity Gala. She suppresses a smile when she sees the pictures are good. She's smiling in all of them. Her gown looks amazing. She may have had to atone for going to California without permission, but based on these photos, she's sure her 'performance review' will go well. The stack of papers is face down on the desk, and she chooses to leave it as is. She returns to her place and stands at attention, expecting her Father to arrive soon.

Helena is waiting for a total of seven minutes before the doors to the library open behind her. She doesn't turn around, but she can hear her Father's footsteps and the presence of another set of dress shoes. Jame walks around the desk and immediately picks up the papers. He looks at them thoughtfully for several moments.

"Father." Helena acknowledges.

"How are you feeling?" Jame asks. Helena studies his face, hoping to discern the answer he wants.

"Well." Helena finally replies.

"And the Taming yesterday. Did it help?" Jame asks.

Helena looks off to the side. It's a difficult question. If she says that it helped, he could encourage another session. If she says it didn't help, he could encourage another session. "My tempers are balanced, and I had a fulfilling day of work." Helena offers, knowing this doesn't exactly answer the question. He is displeased with the indirectness.

"I approved the D.A.R. before I knew the results from the Doctors." He says.

Helena squints at this and then casts her eyes down to mask her anger. He approved a Taming before he knew I was well enough to endure one, she thinks. If he can do that, he doesn't care about my well-being. So why would he ask how I am feeling?

"It was very painful for me. Yet it was something I knew you could handle and grow from." Jame continues.

Painful for YOU? Helena bites down on her tongue.

"Are you better for it?" Jame asks.

"I am. I will be better, Father." Helena responds earnestly.

"Would you be surprised that some of the Doctor's tests came back inconclusive?" Jame asks.

"I suppose. Lumon doctors are the finest in the world." Helena answers pragmatically.

"Your tox screening came back negative for all illicit substances," Jame informs her.

She nods, "Of course."

James shakes his head, "You are not innocent. I know this smile." He lifts a photo that Helena observes, pretending it's the first time she's seen it. "This isn't a Media smile. This is an ether smile." Helena shakes her head 'no,' but he raises his hand to silence her. "Don't try to lie. I was told you huffed ether together." She bites down harder on her tongue until she tastes coppery, bitter blood. James asks, "It felt good, didn't it?" Helena doesn't feel honesty would serve her here, so she keeps quiet. "Don't ever do it again. It's unnatural and it's not what Kier meant when he said to 'Keep a merry humor ever in your heart.' I don't care if it's the 1st, 3rd, or 6th richest man in the world offering it to you. Ether can cause neurological impairments, gastrointestinal and respiratory issues."

"Yes, Father." Helena agrees, hoping this is the full extent of the scolding.

"The other tests said there were no signs of sexual violence but noted the hymen was not intact." He says, looking at a paper. Helena grimaces, uncomfortable with her father reviewing her gynecological results. "'The findings suggest either no sexual intercourse or consensual intercourse.'" He finishes reading and looks back at his blushing daughter. "I've spoken to Kyle. So I know the truth. But I want you to tell me. Were you deflowered?"

Her eyes widen and she stammers, "n-No. No." She vehemently shakes her head.

"Not by Kyle or anyone else?" Jame asks, staring down at her.

"No, Father," Helena answers, avoiding eye contact. Jame circles her, observing her posture, bowed head, and tense shoulders.

Eventually, he says, "I believe you. That's a relief to hear because there's an entire ceremony required after your first time, and it would have taken at least two days to properly prepare the other virgins."

Helena swallows nervously at the idea.

"Don't worry, it's all arranged for your 18th birthday," Jame informs her, and again she grimaces at the idea of ceremonial sex organized for her by her father or someone at Lumon. "If it happens before then, as it did for your Aunt Lenora, you must report the activity immediately so that you may atone and be purified for the ceremony."

"Is this ceremony mandatory?" Helena asks.

"Do you want Kier to bless the fruit of your loins?" Jame asks. Helena tilts her head doubtfully, again trying to avoid dangerous honesty. "Do you?"

"I guess?" Helena's shoulders rise, and she keeps them up to prevent a shrug from being completed. She knew anything beyond a resounding affirmative would be the wrong answer, and as expected, he frowns at her.

"I'll make certain that you're properly educated on the subject before the time comes," Jame assures her. He reviews the paper. "You know what you did wrong. Your fall was cut short by wisened hands, and you've repented for the transgressions."

"Yes, Father."

"That's settled then. Last matter of business, your press." He lifts the other photos from the desk, flips through them, sighs, and then hands them to Helena. She dutifully looks at the photos she's already seen. "The press from the Charity gala was overwhelmingly positive. Well done."

A smile snakes from one corner of Helena's mouth to the other. "Thank you." A commendation was unexpected and pleasing to hear. Jame nods, looking her over. He waves his hand, dismissing her. "Oh, ok." She nods and turns to go, startled by the suited man who has appeared beside her. "I'm just going- I don't need." She looks to her father, hoping he might call off the man, but Jame has taken a seat at the desk, and is moving on to his next point of business. His interest in her was over. She evades the suited man and hurries out of the library before he can physically escort her. Out of sight but maybe not completely out of mind. Maybe Cynthia wasn't the only one who was a little worried for me? She can't help but smile at the thought. Worry can mean Care, and Care can mean Love. She nods to herself, feeling confident one day she might earn that.

Chapter Text

2008

Monday

12:45 PM

"Forty-one." Helena says with a smile.

"Huh?" Cynthia looks up from her lunch and open book.

"Forty-one books. That's how many I've read since you started bringing them to me. Or, er, actually, since they started mysteriously appearing in the toilets for me to find." Helena jokes.

"You finished?" Cynthia closes her book to give the eighteen-year-old her full attention. "What was your quote takeaway?"

"There were so many good ones." Helena smiles and pretends to think. This was their routine whenever either of them finished a book. They would share their favorite quote from it, their takeaway. She already knew which one she wanted to share, but she liked having Cynthia's full attention.

When she was sixteen, Cynthia set some hard boundaries about what she felt comfortable hearing from Helena. Helena was to keep to pleasantries and to be vague on personal details. She could still joke, and share her opinions regarding neutral work-related things, or Cynthia's personal stories, like Cynthia's on/off again boyfriend, that Helena couldn't understand why she kept taking back. Helena could ask Cynthia any number of questions, and for the most part, Cynthia would answer. Helena found ways to use this limitless question allowance to ask vague questions to get advice on personal things she couldn't outrightly ask about. Cynthia didn't ask her questions except sometimes 'How are you?' to which Helena knew the correct answers to be 'Fine' or 'Peachy'. Some days she could sneak in an honest 'Been better' without Cynthia completely shutting down conversation for the day. They have fun, and Helena still considers Cynthia her best friend, though she would never tell her. She knows Cynthia has real friends from the stories she tells.

Helena flips through the book and rubs a finger across her chin, peeking at Cynthia. She wants to prolong the attention. Cynthia wants to hear from her, wants to know what she thinks, wants to know what rang true to her as she read. Helena knows the positive attention can only be held for so long. "It's a toss-up between two."

"Okay, let's hear them."

"Margo says, 'I've lived here for eighteen years and I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters.'" Helena recites. She watches her friend nod thoughtfully. Helena explains. "Because I've lived in Kier for eighteen years and it's the same."

"I thought you'd like the Margo character."

"She was bat shit crazy." Helena laughs. "If I ran away, there would be no clues. I would be-"

"Okay," Cynthia says with a no-shake and a sad smile. This was her way of politely telling Helena not to get personal.

"Ok." Helena nods and respects her friend's boundary.

"There might be a new book in the toilets later this week." Cynthia says before returning her attention to her lunch. Helena watches her, flipping the pages of her newly finished book with fondness. When Helena notices Cynthia opening her own novel, she becomes desperate to keep her engaged.

"Can I tell you the other quote?" Helena asks.

"Sure." Cynthia says, returning her attention to the teen. Helena's smile spreads and crinkles her nose. She loved Cynthia's eyes on her. Cynthia looked at her. Cynthia saw her.

Helena twists her lips to the side and raises her eyebrows apologetically. "It's a sad one."

"That's fine. Just don't explain it. Okay?" Cynthia compromises.

"Okay." Helena agrees. She looks deep into her friend's brown eyes and clears her throat before reciting the quote, "'Because no one thought she was a person, she had no one to really talk to.'"

Cynthia stares blankly. Not thoughtfully considering Helena's quote. Helena is worried she's upset her. After several moments of silence, Cynthia reaches over and takes the completed book from Helena's hands. Helena watches Cynthia put it in the purse on the back of her chair.

"Thank you." Helena speaks up, offering her genuine gratitude, hoping it might ease the awkwardness.

"Helena." Cynthia sighs and closes her eyes. "You know why it has to be this way."

"Of course." Helena nods, overcompensating with agreeableness. "Completely understood."

"It's safer for the both of us." Cynthia finally opens her eyes and looks into Helena's. A panicked energy swims around her hazel iris.

"I swear I didn't mean, I didn't mean anything by it. Just that it was a relatable, er, a quote that stood out to me, that's all." Helena shakes her head, internally chastising herself for pushing their delicate balance with the second quote. Cynthia can see the teen is spiraling in self-doubt and reaches over to touch Helena's hand. Helena swallows nervously at the touch and then looks to Cynthia to read her face; it's soft, not angry.

"Thank you for sharing. I'm glad you enjoyed it," Cynthia says slowly and calmly. With her free hand, she taps her cheek beside her nose. Helena nods at the indication, and together, they take a deep breath through their noses and then out through their mouths.

"Okay." Helena smirks and blushes, embarrassed for losing her cool so quickly. Cynthia lets go of the friendly handhold and sits back in her chair.

"Do you have a genre request for the next book?" Cynthia asks with a raised eyebrow. "I'll pass it on to the toilet fairies."

.ssss.

Wednesday

10:20 AM

Helena and Cynthia have just properly settled into their routines after sharing the first cup of coffee of the day.

"Your birthday is coming up." Helena says, looking down at the file in her hands. Rows of shelving separate her and Cynthia.

"Yes." Cynthia answers.

"Any plans?" Helena asks.

"Not really. Just having some friends over to mourn my twenties. I'll be twenty-nine." Cynthia says.

"I hope it's not weird, but I made something for you." Helena says, finding the correct place for the folder in her hand.

"Made something?" Cynthia asks from the other side of the room. "That's sweet, Helena."

"I'm just trying to figure out how to get it to you." Helena admits. It was nearly impossible to sneak anything past Miss Shoemaker, and if she got caught with a gift for Cynthia, Helena's certain their relationship would be questioned and jeopardized.

"Don't do anything risky." Cynthia warns. She can hear the teen sigh.

"You could request me to make an appearance at your event. Father might approve that, since you're such a faithful Lumon employee." Helena finds her friend amongst the shelves to read her response to the idea. "I likely won't be able to stay long but Lumon might send a gift basket and I can sneak what I made you in there."

"Helena, there's no event. It's just going to be about four people, dinner, and drinks. I doubt your father would approve you being dropped off at a twenty-nine-year-old's apartment to-" Cynthia stops, remembering Helena's first date experience a few years back. She sighs sadly, "Even if he did, my friends know who you are. And they're not the biggest Lumon fans."

"Oh." Helena nods, thinking about this. "How do they know me?"

"They're my friends. They know who I work for. And I mean, it's what you do with friends, you bullshit and complain about work."

Helena smiles widely, "Aw, you bullshit and complain about me?"

"Shut up. That's not what I meant." Cynthia says, pulling five folders from a shelf.

"Archives?" Helena asks, holding out her hand to receive the folders.

"I've got it." Cynthia replies, walking past the teen to their shared work desk.

"So your friends hate Lumon and by extension, me?" Helena asks.

"I wouldn't say that. It would just be strange. The man-who-owns-this-town's daughter just popping in?" Cynthia narrows her eyes, thinking of Helena in her space, thinking of Lumon in her home. It felt wrong. It felt unsafe. She knew that wasn't Helena's fault, the girl just wanted to go to a party like any teen. "Besides, technically, I'm your supervisor and fraternizing is unacceptable via the handbook."

"Good point." Helena nods, accepting this rejection. It was expected, so it doesn't hurt. "I'll find another way, " she says, returning to her work.

"Nothing unsafe!" Cynthia calls over the shelves. Cynthia is surprised by the opening of the door to the filing room. In walks an older woman in a pantsuit and a girl who must be near Helena's age. "Hello." Cynthia greets them with a smile of confusion. "May I help you?" This isn't how doctors or scientists requested forms. They would speak through a mic by a glass window, like at a bank. People didn't just walk in.

"Help me?" Helena steps out from the shelves and loses her smile at the sight of the intruders. She looks to her friend/supervisor who is forcing a smile and copies her, a united front.

The older woman speaks, "Hello. I'm Mrs. Painio from HR. This is Jessica F. Your new trainee." Helena looks at the new girl. She looks about her age and somehow familiar. The girl smiles and waves, but Helena doesn't wave back. We don't need a trainee. Helena fights a scowl.

"I didn't know we were expecting a new employee." Cynthia says with a forced smile.

"There were many graduates from this year's Wintertide Fellowship. Most departments are now privileged to serve Kier by introducing these young minds to hard work and industry." Mrs. Painio says. She looks at Helena for the first time and then back to Cynthia, "And isn't it nice to have an extra pair of hands to lighten the workload?"

"Yes, indeed it is." Cynthia nods in acceptance.

"At the end of day, five minutes before the end of the shift, I will return here to collect this form. It must be completed by you Cynthia, detailing her performance in the job role." Mrs. Painio says, handing over a paper. As Cynthia reads it, Mrs. Painio starts making her way out of the room.

"Thank you?" Cynthia says, as she watches the older woman leave with no formal goodbye. She looks at the new teenager in the room and, for a moment, wonders to herself how she ended up as a babysitter. "It's nice to meet you Jessica. I'm Cynthia, your new supervisor, I guess." Cynthia shakes the new girl's hand. Helena follows Cynthia's lead and steps closer to where the exchange is taking place. She extends her hand.

"I'm Hele-"

"Miss Helena Eagan." Jessica says, smiling as she shakes Helena's hand.

"Do we know each other?" Helena asks.

"No. Not officially. You may remember me from The Myrtle Eagan School for Girls." Jessica answers.

"Oh, the two days I attended? Everything was very memorable." Helena jokes.

"I would like to formally and officially apologize for cutting your hair." Jessica offers a head bow.

"Wow. That was you? I, look, it's alright. It grew back." Helena gestures to her much longer hair and Jessica laughs with relief.

"Thank you for your grace." Jessica says.

"You two know each other?" Cynthia asks.

"No." The girls answer in unison.

"Ok. Well, Helena, while I'm training Jessica, I need you to do your best to complete some of the items on my agenda. These two tasks, I'm putting a star next to them, are more important than any of the tasks on your personal agenda so I want you to prioritize that. After lunch, I'll check in on your progress." Cynthia hands her a checklist.

"No problem, boss." Helena says, taking the paper.

"Follow me Jessica." Cynthia says to the new hire. As they walk away, Helena squints her eyes, suspicious and jealous of the new girl walking off with her friend.

.ssss.

Lunch

12:05 PM

Helena sits alone at the kitchenette, carefully removing food items from her lunch bag. She completed one of the starred tasks from Cynthia's list, fairly confident in the quality of her work. She looks longingly at the cabinet over the microwave where she hides her book each day.

"You're catching on quickly." Cynthia says to Jessica as they enter the small kitchenette. There have only ever been two chairs at the table. Helena looks at the one empty chair, Cynthia's chair. Cynthia looks at the seated Helena and the empty chair and sighs. "I'll grab one of the chairs from the desk." Cynthia disappears back into the file room and Jessica sits in the chair that doesn't belong to her. Cynthia returns, rolling a desk chair to the now much too small table. "Do you like reading Jessica?"

"Yes." Jessica answers with a smile.

"At lunch, Helena and I have a routine where we-"

Helena interrupts, "We choose one of the nine core principles to reflect on while we rest." Cynthia tilts her head in question at Helena. The teen's face is expressionless and hard to read. "We choose a new one every day. Today is Probity," Helena lies.

"Praise Kier." Jessica nods.

Cynthia opens the mini-fridge and removes her lunch. "Have you got anything to eat?" She asks Jessica. The girl shakes her head 'no'.

"I didn't know I was coming here today. Otherwise, I would have been prepared." Jessica answers.

"There is a vending machine just outside the Filing room, down the hall. If you look left, you will see it immediately. It's right before the restrooms," Cynthia says. "Do you want me to show you?"

"No. I think I can find it. Thank you, Cynthia." Jessica stands and pushes in the chair before walking out of the room. When the filing room door closes, Helena and Cynthia look at each other. Helena stands and moves closer to her friend, her eyes intense.

Helena whispers, "You have to give her a bad report."

"What?" Cynthia's eyes widen, and she steps back, surprised.

"You have to give her a bad report." Helena repeats. "It's the only way to get rid of her."

"Get rid? Helena." Cynthia shakes her head. "She's catching on quickly and I'm not going to lie about that."

"You have to. They won't send her back if you do." Helena shrugs.

"She's eighteen. She just finished school and she's saving money to live on her own. This job is a huge opportunity for her. Some of us actually need our jobs." Cynthia says, taking a seat in her desk chair. Helena chooses to ignore the slight dig at her nepotism.

"She can't be here. She's going to ruin everything. She can get another job. " Helena runs her fingers through her red hair in frustration, unsure why Cynthia isn't understanding.

"It's not always that easy for some of us to just get another job. Our daddies don't own International Companies." Cynthia retorts.

Helena glares at her, thinking, Did they bond over their poorness? Why won't she listen to me? She knows me.

Cynthia continues, "I don't understand. Why would you want her to go? You finally get to be around someone your own age."

Helena sits in her chair and leans close to Cynthia again. She whispers, "She's a true believer."

Cynthia shakes her head, confused, "What do you mean?"

"She can't know I'm reading contraband." Helena says, shaking her head as her temper Dread spikes.

"Helena, she seems like a nice girl. I spent the morning with her, and I think you might like her. She grew up here in Kier, like you. She-"

"She's dangerous." Helena insists. They both hear the filing room door open and Helena returns to eating her chosen meal. "Trust me." She says to her friend before the interloper rejoins them.

"Fruit-leather." Jessica announces, holding up a Lumon-branded snack container. Helena only offers the girl a scowl.

"Someone has a sweet tooth." Cynthia smiles widely enough for the both of them.

.ssss.

06:20 PM

Mrs. Painio returned for Jessica and her report at the end of the shift. Now, Helena sits on the bench in the locker room while Cynthia retrieves her personal belongings.

"Cynthia?" Helena opens. Cynthia hums Mm-hm without turning to look at her. Helena looks over her shoulder, scans the room, and settles back on her friend. "Did you, did you do the right thing?"

"The right thing? You mean, was I honest?" Cynthia asks, closing her locker and jiggling her car keys before giving Helena her attention.

"You know what I mean." Helena says.

"Do you mean, did I do the right thing? Or did I do what you wanted? Because those were not the same things." Cynthia says, raising a judgmental eyebrow.

"Why?" Helena asks, her eyes desperate for understanding.

"Why didn't I sabotage a young woman's first job?"

Helena laughs, but a tear escapes her eye. "You know, you're one of the only people who listen to me. And now, when it matters, when I ask you to trust me. You don't. Why?"

"What if she's like you, Helena? What if there are people she answers to when she messes up? And I'm the one sending her home with a bad report? A false, bad report."

"Some sacrifices need to be made. For the greater good." Helena shrugs.

"Can you see the bigger picture? Lumon might be your whole world, but the rest of us live in the real world, where we don't get to be the main characters, and we're all just trying to make it through." Cynthia says.

"Sure, Lumon is my world. It's how I live, it's where I've been raised. It's what I know. Maybe it's all I know, but that's precisely why you should have trusted me on this." Helena asserts, standing and wiping away a final tear. Her Woe transferred to Malice.

"I'm sorry if you feel wronged, Helena. But for being honest and fair, I'm not sorry." Cynthia says. Helena glares at her friend's foolish pride.

"You will be." Helena puts her hands in her pockets and walks out of the locker room, leaving her only friend behind.

Chapter Text

2 weeks later

Wednesday

Helena is withdrawn and plagued by jealousy. She's disengaged from office banter with Cynthia and has stopped asking her questions. 'She must just think I'm being a bitch.' Helena thinks. Cynthia has become short with her, sharing only work tasks, instructions, occasional commendations, and mostly tension. Throughout these long, quiet days, Helena finds herself eavesdropping when she hears Cynthia divulging juicy details to Jessica. Despite her supervisory role, it doesn't seem like Cynthia has a boundary with Jessica like she does with Helena. Cynthia shows interest in Jessica, asking her questions about herself, her weekend, and her feelings. Jessica doesn't have to stop at a false 'Fine' or a practiced 'Peachy'. Jessica answers freely and Cynthia doesn't stop her. Helena has begun to accept that she fooled herself into believing there was ever any connection between Cynthia and herself. They were isolated. They existed in a vacuum. When there were no other options, maybe Helena was tolerable. Now with a choice of companions, it is not Helena whom Cynthia turned to.

To her dismay, Helena's ill-thought-out lie has forced the three of them into a new lunchtime routine. They spend a few minutes at the start of each lunch hour 'reflecting on a core principle'. Cynthia seemed nonchalant and unbothered by Helena's withdrawal. Worst of all, Helena hasn't been able to read. She sits silently, eating her lunch, staring enviously at Cynthia turning pages. Cynthia immediately resumed her normal lunchtime reading routine after their group reflections. Whenever she opened her book, the silent judgment in Jessica's eyes didn't go unnoticed by Helena.

Jessica's third Wednesday starts the same as the others. Cynthia reads the morning announcements to the two teens and then assigns them daily tasks. It's only an hour before lunch when the lights go out and a loud mechanical sound comes from the door. The filing room has no windows and is immersed in darkness. Helena, familiar enough with the space, finds her way to the shared desk. She doesn't want to misplace the folder she's working on.

"Holy shit!" Cynthia exclaims, alarmed. Her hand finds Helena's as she places her folder down. "Helena?"

"It's me." Helena softly confirms. She senses from the grip of Cynthia's hand that her friend is nervous. Helena is calm in the face of Dread. "It's okay."

"What the hell? Aren't there generators?" Cynthia asks.

"Yes." Helena releases Cynthia's hand and carefully plants her steps one in front of the other, arms extended in front of her until her palms meet the cold metal surface of the door. She tries the handle. It doesn't budge. It's locked.

"Helena?" Cynthia calls from the dark.

"This isn't a power outage." Helena announces. She finds her way back to the desk and fumbles to find Cynthia's hand, she does, and the two link fingers.

"What do you mean?" Cynthia laughs. "It must be-"

"We're locked in." Helena informs her.

"That sound was-"

"We're locked in for a reason." Helena warns her.

Cynthia ponders the cool metered way in which Helena delivers this fact. "Why do you thi-"

"Where is Jessica?" Helena asks.

"She went to the toilets." Cynthia answers.

"Did she say anything before she left?" Helena asks.

"Helena, this can't be Jessi-"

"This is Jessica! This is what I was warning you about." Helena snarls, frustrated by her friend's failure to trust. Cynthia pulls her hand out of the hold and Helena pouts at the retreat. They were not in this together as she would have hoped. She sighs and recalibrates her Woe. She speaks softly again, "It's okay. Hopefully it's me. Whatever it is. I can…" She clears her throat and feigns confidence, "I can handle it."

"What do you think happened? You think Jessica reported us? For what? To who? You think they're coming here?" Cynthia asks, still in disbelief.

"Cynthia, just deny. Deniability is your best strategy. No matter what they ask, you didn't see, hear, know or think anything. Okay?" Helena instructs, trying to prepare her friend.

The door opens and two men enter the dark room. Cynthia tries to hold Helena's hand again but Helena shakes it free and takes a step away from her. Now is not the time for sentimentality! Helena stands at attention just before the lights flicker back on.

"Stay where you are." One man says. The other briskly walks past them and into the kitchenette. Helena swallows a nervous hiccup.

"What's going on?" Cynthia asks the man. He puts his hand up to silence her. "Excuse me?" She isn't used to being silenced.

Helena shakes her head and whispers, "Cynthia." To encourage her to stop.

"Who are you? And what's going on?" Cynthia insists.

"We ask the questions here." The first man says. The second man can be heard from the kitchenette on a two-way radio alerting someone to a CODE: 610. The second man comes from the kitchenette with Helena's contraband book in hand. The book was hidden in the cabinet over the microwave. It has been unnoticed there since Jessica's arrival. "Whose book is this?"

Helena peeks over at Cynthia, whose eyes are wide. Cynthia vividly remembers the way the muscles in Helena's arm contracted, tightening as if the tendons in her arms were trying to suck the marrow from her bones. This was years ago, when Helena was sixteen but the image never left Cynthia.

"It's mine." Cynthia admits.

Helena closes her eyes, thinking, 'Deniability? What happened to listening to me?'

"We'll give you an opportunity to explain." The first man says. "Follow me." The man turns and heads towards the door.

"What's there to explain?" Cynthia asks, not budging from her spot. "I enjoy reading, so I brought a book. What's the big deal?"

"Follow me, Cynthia L." The man asserts.

"Where?" Cynthia asks. Helena flinches when the second man takes a few swift steps in Cynthia's direction and grabs her by the upper arm. "Hey! Get your hands off me!" Cynthia shouts. The man is unfazed and overpowers Cynthia, ushering her against her will out of the Filing Room. Cynthia's voice echoes in the hall, "Get off!" Helena stands still, frozen with fear for her friend's fate.

.ssss.

Helena retreats to the kitchenette and gulps down a carton of water. She stares knowingly at the now-open cabinet above the microwave. As the water cools her nerves, she hasn't settled on how much of this she is responsible for. Cynthia should have listened. If she had listened to Helena the first day, Jessica would have been gone. If she listened that first Friday, when they were alone, Helena had whispered that Cynthia should just take the book back, instead, Cynthia insisted that once Helena got used to having Jessica around, she would be more comfortable reading in her presence. The book would have been gone. If she listened just a few minutes ago and stuck to denial as Helena suggested, maybe she would still be here. Cynthia is gone. This is the loop where the guilt and blame find their way back to Helena. If she had never asked Cynthia to share her books, she would never have brought that book, and there would have been nothing to report. 'I'm the root cause. I'm the problem.' Helena internalizes this reality.

Helena returns to the file room and resumes her work. Work and Woe are the only certainties in her life. Helena works through lunch; neither Jessica nor Cynthia has returned. When she finishes her tasks, she finds Cynthia's task sheet. She decides to complete some of her work in case her friend comes back or in case she doesn't. The work must go on.

Helena finishes the workday alone. She lingers in the locker room for an unreasonably long time, hoping to catch Cynthia coming for her things. She eventually gives up because she is expected home by a specific time.

Once home, Helena finds Miss Shoemaker in the sitting room for the usual after-work check-in. Miss Shoemaker lectures her about her tardiness. She 'yes/no Miss Shoemaker's her way through the condescension. She's informed that the thirty-two minutes she was late will be taken from her allotted two hours of free time. Helena thinks of arguing that she was late because she did extra work today, but decides it isn't worth it.

When her dinner plate is cleared away, Helena moves her chair to leave the table, but stays seated when she sees a wait staff member return with a small crystal bowl. They place the bowl and silver spoon in front of her, and Helena is surprised to see a single scoop of chocolate ice cream. It isn't her birthday. She tries to make eye contact with the wait staff for an answer on why she's being served this, but they don't look at her and keep on their way. She stares at the ice cream scoop and then looks over her shoulder. Where is Miss Shoemaker? Her father? Is this a test? She decides it is, and she will sit here and watch the ice cream melt.

Ten minutes pass. The wait staff returns. They approach the table, but upon noticing the bowl is still full, they again leave the room. Helena is frustrated by this. Was she really going to have to sit here until the entire thing melted?

Two minutes pass. Miss Shoemaker enters the room, and Helena keeps her eyes fixed out the window at a far-off mountain peak, demonstrating her unwavering indifference toward the icy-sweet treat.

"Helena, what are you doing?" Miss Shoemaker laughs and shakes her head at the teen. Helena scowls at Miss Shoemaker's tone; she spoke as if Helena were behaving like a silly child. Helena takes her attention from the mountain to look at her nanny. "It's in the notes that you have a preference for chocolate ice cream. Is that incorrect?" Helena shakes her head 'no'. "Then why won't you eat?"

Helena studies Miss Shoemaker's face, but it doesn't help her glean any insight. To her, Miss Shoemaker always had a look of Malice. "What is it for?" Helena asks.

"For eating." Miss Shoemaker says, annoyed.

"Am I in trouble?" Helena asks.

"Should you be?" Miss Shoemaker raises an eyebrow. Helena huffs and looks down at the ice cream. Miss Shoemaker continues, "No child, you're not in trouble. Why would we be rewarding you if you were in trouble?" Helena's eyebrows raise in wonder at the word reward. Miss Shoemaker takes the silver spoon and places it in Helena's hand. "Now eat up, before it's soup."

Helena twirls the spoon in her hand, looks up at Miss Shoemaker's intensity, and then obeys. She skims a small portion of ice cream from the top of the scoop and eats it. She's being watched, so she does her best not to smile. Ice cream is rare and delicious. As she enjoys a second chocolatey taste, she can't help but wonder. "Why?" She asks Miss Shoemaker.

"Why, what, Helena?" Miss Shoemaker huffs. Helena eyes the ice cream, tastes the ice cream, and looks back at her Nanny, hoping her question is clear. "Why are you being rewarded?" Miss Shoemaker clarifies. Helena nods meekly. Miss Shoemaker continues, "Your father and I thought you deserved it, after what happened at work today."

Helena eats more ice cream, eyes wide with curiosity. They couldn't know that she completed her work tasks and some of Cynthia's. They didn't have cameras in the Filing room. If they had, she would have been caught years ago with a book. She remains silent.

"Cynthia L." Miss Shoemaker starts. Helena squints in disgust. She didn't like hearing her friend's name come from this hateful woman's mouth. "Your supervisor." Miss Shoemaker continues, "and Jessica F. both underwent polygraph tests after the contraband was found in the Filing room." Helena takes a much larger scoop of ice cream to help her keep her mouth shut. She wants to ask so many questions, but most importantly, she wants to know that Cynthia is ok. "Their accounts of events aligned and read as truth. Your name and character were exalted, and Kier blesses your loyalty with bounty and pleasure."

Helena makes sure to finish every drop of the ice cream before she chooses to speak again. "What did they say I did?"

"They both told us Cynthia L. was the owner of the contraband. She brought the book to tempt you, and you resisted that temptation for weeks. Your Father is very pleased with you."

"He is?"

"He's the one who told me to reward you. I thought this was a suitable reward." Miss Shoemaker looks over the pensive teen. "Are you grateful?"

"Yes, Miss Shoemaker. Thank you." Helena obliges. "Please pass my gratitude onto Father."

"I will." Miss Shoemaker says, turning to leave the room.

"Miss Shoemaker?" Helena stands from the table. The woman turns to look at her. "What will happen to Cynthia?"

"How should I know? I don't work at Lumon." Miss Shoemaker says matter-of-factly. She's annoyed by the empathy in Helena's eyes and the fear on her brow. Miss Shoemaker firmly states, "Whatever happens to her should match the severity of attempting to corrupt Kier's descendant, tainting His direct blood line." She sees Helena drop her head at this thought. "Don't you worry another second about that heretic! Let me know if you have trouble with that, and I will help you tame your Dread."

"Thank you, Miss Shoemaker. I can manage." Helena assures the Nanny and herself.

.ssss.

Thursday

09:30 AM

Cynthia had always arrived to the filing room first. Today, Helena is first and responsible for making the coffee. Once, a few years ago, Cynthia had told her the water-to-grounds ratio but Helena forgot. She took a wild guess this morning, and as a result, the coffee is extra strong. When the Filing room door opens, she rushes to see who has arrived. Helena fights a frown at the sight of Mrs. Painio from HR and Jessica F.

"Good Morning." Mrs. Painio says to Helena. Helena straightens her posture and offers a tight-lipped smile and a nod. "I know you're probably eager to get back to work. So I will be brief. Lumon is committed to maintaining a safe and respectful work environment for all employees. We take any reports of inappropriate behavior seriously, and we have been enlightened on the coercive behaviors exhibited by Ms. Cynthia L. Following a thorough investigation, the allegations were found to be true, and Lumon no longer employs Ms. Cynthia L." Mrs. Painio pauses when an audible gasp escapes Helena's lips. Helena presses her lips together and pushes her fingers onto her forehead. Last night she laid awake thinking about all the awful things that could be happening to Cynthia, and cried because it was all her fault. She thought Cynthia would be punished, not fired. "Miss Eagan?" Mrs. Painio inquires.

Helena silently prays for Kier's help to tame her Dread and Woe. She takes two fast, sharp breaths and exorcises her unwanted feelings with each exhale. When she returns her eyes to the older woman standing before her, Helena is pristinely stoic.

"What separates a flourishing department from one that falters is strong and faithful stewardship. Lumon will always protect and provide. In the interim, Ms. Jessica F. will assume the supervisory role and responsibilities." Mrs. Paino announces. Jessica smiles proudly, and Helena's mouth drops open.

Helena speaks slowly and softly, "I have worked in the Quality Assurance Filing Room for almost five years."

"Yes, under the misguidance of Ms. Cynthia L. Since her influence was insidiously corrosive, anything she taught you must be evaluated. We are considering an aggressive retraining program." Mrs. Painio informs her. "Your supervisor," Mrs. Painio gestures to Jessica, "-will inform you when in the next week, you will attend your retraining. Have a wonderful day, girls." Mrs. Painio says before waltzing out of the Filing room as if she hadn't just dropped a bomb on Helena's life.

.ssss.

Lunch

12:28 PM

After the girls reflect on the core principle, Wiles, Helena stares at the contents of her lunch. She is too upset to eat. She chastises herself internally, 'Cynthia will never sit across from me again. She won't share books, or laughs, or life advice. She is fired. Jobless. Just gone! All because of m-' Helena stops blaming herself and narrows her eyes at the true culprit, Jessica.

"You haven't touched your lunch." Jessica says, taking a bite of her homemade sandwich. Helena shrugs and pushes the Lumon lunch away from her. Jessica opens a small notebook and scribbles something. Helena squints at the book before it closes just in time to read the word 'eat'.

"What are you writing?" Helena asks. She watches as Jessica looks down at the book and considers her answer.

"I was told to evaluate your performance so that the retraining program can focus on fixing your deficits." Jessica answers honestly.

"My deficits?" Helena raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, it's alright. It's only to help you."

"Deficits?" Helena laughs.

"After what happened between us in school all those years ago, I'm thankful to Kier that I was blessed with redemption by saving you from a weak leader like Cynthia." Jessica says.

"You are evaluating my deficits?" Helena says with a wry smile.

"Miss Eagan, it's only to-"

"Write this down," Helena says. Jessica nods and opens her notebook, clicking her pen, prepared for diction. "Helena Eagan is deficient…" Helena says, watching Jessica copy down her words. "...in Verve. The enthusiasm she had for this job fucking died because of Jessica fucking F." Helena waits, but Jessica doesn't write this.

"Did I trigger your Malice?" Jessica asks.

"Save your stupid notes, because I'm quitting. I'm putting in for a transfer." Helena says, standing from the table.

"Why? You've been here for almost five years. If you give me a chance to adjust to my supervisory role, I promise I-"

"Jessica, I don't want to work here with you. Okay?" Helena starts making her way through the File room. Jessica pursues her and Helena doesn't slow her pace, "I don't want to do the File sorting thing, or the disappearing friends thing, or the thing where I worry about you trying to collect my lunch wrappers for your Kier altar. I quit." Helena storms out of the Filing room.

"You can't quit, Miss Eagan." Jessica calls after her. "You can't quit."

As Helena makes it further down the hallway, her head has time to cool. She realizes Jessica is right. Helena can't quit. She can only hope that the higher-ups or her father approve her transfer request. If it isn't approved, she can't exactly refuse to dress or get in the car that brings her to Lumon every day. If they want her here, they will get her here. It's the how part that worries her. She slows down when reality floods her mind. She will face consequences for this outburst. There was no way around that and no way of knowing what those will be. But if enduring it means she will never have to see Jessica F. again, it will have been worth it. Helena screams in her head, 'Fuck her!'

Chapter Text

Monday

22nd August 2011

The thick, dark pool of blood that would form around her head would complement the blooming white roses. The drop from this height would be risky. It wouldn't guarantee death, but it was still a pretty image in her mind. Helena lifts her arms out at her sides, as she has seen Kier do when he flies. Her bare feet are planted firmly on the roof's edge, and she closes her eyes enjoying the feeling of the wind gently blowing the satin fabric of her blouse. Her wispy ponytail sways softly tickling the back of her neck.

She read that the jumper feels peace in the final few moments of a deathly leap. She isn't sure she believes that because the only true source of that data would be someone who tried and failed, someone mentally unwell.

"Helena!" Miss Shoemaker shouts, frantic at the sight of the twenty-one-year-old on the roof. Helena doesn't startle at the shout. She looks over her shoulder through the open window at her soon-to-be former Nanny. "Helena, get back in here! Right this instance!" Miss Shoemaker emphatically slaps her hand down on the windowsill. Helena takes in a few deep breaths before putting her arms down.

"Yes, Miss Shoemaker." She says flatly. She smiles down at the rose bushes before turning and walking across the roof back to her bedroom window. As she ducks her head to enter, Miss Shoemaker grabs Helena and roughly pulls her inside. Helena acts quickly to catch her balance and land on her feet.

"What were you doing out there?!" Miss Shoemaker growls through her teeth as she examines the young woman for any obvious external harm. When she sees none, she releases Helena's arm from her grip. "Huh? What were you doing?"

Helena straightens her posture and answers, "I was taming Dread."

"Were you taming Dread? Or indulging Woe?" Miss Shoemaker counters, placing a hand on her own hip. Helena doesn't respond. She simply presses her lips together to avoid delivering a challenging remark. "If you kill yourself, on your last day under my care, I will find a way to resurrect you and kill you myself."

Helena fails to suppress a laugh. "Wow." She nods, "Just one of the many reasons you won't be missed, Miss Shoemaker."

Miss Shoemaker grips the young woman's face, squishing her cheeks together so that her lips pucker. "As hard as I worked all these years, I could never tame this tongue." Helena sticks her tongue out defiantly. Miss Shoemaker releases Helena's face and lightly pats her hand against the young woman's cheek. "Don't push it. I still have a few hours as your Nanny. We both know what I can accomplish in a few hours."

Helena lowers her eyes at the threat. She's twenty-one today and would rather avoid a humiliating punishment on her birthday. Miss Shoemaker has clearly reached her banter limit. "I'm sorry." She offers.

Miss Shoemaker nods her acceptance of the apology. "Get on your house shoes and follow me downstairs to the party." Helena starts obeying, walking over to the side of her bed. She pokes her foot around, attempting to find her slippers.

"Respectfully, I would rather have fallen from the roof than attend the party." Helena pouts.

"I'm in a good mood and I will not let you ruin it." Miss Shoemaker says, trying to convince herself. "Hurry up now." She demands. Helena picks up the pace, slips on her house shoes, and returns to standing at attention. Miss Shoemaker smiles at the mostly obedient, usually well-mannered young woman and is proud to have had a significant role in molding her.

.ssss.

Behind a wall panel in the downstairs foyer is a secret hallway. It opens for Miss Shoemaker. Helena observes the panel, intrigued by the mystery. She thought she had found most of the hiding spots on the Eagan estate. Miss Shoemaker doesn't wait for Helena to process that she's entering a new place in the home she's lived her entire life. Helena follows her inside the wall, down a stairwell, and through a twisting series of hallways with many doors.

"What is this place?" Helena asks.

"It's the servant's halls." Miss Shoemaker answers.

"Servants?"

"Well, what do you call someone who prepares and plates your eggs every morning?" Miss Shoemaker says not looking back or slowing her pace.

"Waitstaff?" Helena squints.

"I call her Angela." Miss Shoemaker says. "These people serve you, day in and day out, your entire life. Don't pretend you don't view them as servants."

"I-" Helena squints. She had never really thought about it. They do things for her that she wishes she were allowed to do for herself. They didn't speak to her, so she didn't speak to them. She knows they watch her and snitch on her. She mostly felt contempt for them. They are just a bunch of half-brained Innies."I guess you're right." Helena nods.

They can hear the people before they see them. Helena is led around a corner into an open archway to sudden uproarious applause. She looks around the Lumon-sterile room, which is decorated with colorful streamers and balloons. The people applauding are the Estate staff. A maid and a kitchen staffer step to the front of the crowd and hold up a banner that reads: Happy Retirement, Janice S.

Helena looks to Miss Shoemaker, who responds to the cheers with a large smile and a humble hand to her chest, over the place a heart might have been. A woman, the wait staff (Angela?), bursts from the crowd and wraps her arms around Miss Shoemaker.

"You're going to be so missed." The woman says.

"Aw, Angie. You will be too." Miss Shoemaker pats the back of the younger woman in the embrace. Helena watches unamused. Miss Shoemaker isn't a hugger, or so she's told Helena all these years.

"Actually, when you leave here today, you'll forget all about each other." Helena interjects. The women break their hug to look at her. Helena smirks. "Isn't that the beauty of severance?" As Helena expected, Angela walks away. Miss Shoemaker is visibly irritated with Helena.

"Every time you open your mouth, you upset someone." Miss Shoemaker scolds. "Keep quiet and let us celebrate."

"Great party. Glad I'm here." Helena says flatly, raising her eyebrow as Miss Shoemaker walks away. Helena sighs and looks behind her at the open archway, not sure she could find her way through the labyrinth back upstairs. She doesn't want to be here. She wants to be alone, taming her Dread. Her annual review is coming up later today, and it is the last one Miss Shoemaker contributed to. Last year she got a four out of five. Fours are the highest she ever scores. A four is ideal. But Helena can't shake the feeling that Miss Shoemaker won't miss this last opportunity to twist the knife.

.ssss.

Head tilted towards the ceiling, Helena imagines herself as a vine, clinging and climbing her way up the wall, through the floors, out the window, and back to the roof, where she wants to be.

"A toast!" Says a man that Helena recognizes as a gardener. He clinks his glass to get the attention of all those mingling around Miss Shoemaker's party.

Helena remembers an afternoon in the back garden, maybe ten years ago. She was being rewarded with Unstructured Playtime and chose to enjoy a walk around the estate grounds. When she met this gardener, he was on his hands and knees. He explained to her that he was 'weeding'. When she didn't go away and continued to watch, he explained to her how he could tell what was a plant and what was a weed. She proceeded to follow him around the garden, asking him questions about his work. Likely at his peak irritation with the nosy little rich girl, he stopped to tell her about a very peculiar vine. He said there is a type of orange vine that is parasitic. He explained that meant the orange vine lacks roots to take up water and nutrients. She was fascinated by the idea and listened intently to the knowledgeable man. He told her the orange vine attaches itself to another plant, a host plant, and it steals the host's resources. "It takes it all for itself and leaves the host plant sick and barely alive." He then said, "It's called 'The Daughter Vine'. Maybe you can guess why it's named that?" Even at age ten, Helena understood that the man she'd been enjoying her free time with was calling her a parasite.

Someone hands Helena a champagne flute with orange juice, bringing her mind back to the room. Helena sniffs the drink before she sips and is surprised by the carbonation. Her eyes widen.

"Mimosa, for the toast." The staffer says.

"Thank you." Helena smiles, remembering there are perks to being twenty-one.

"A toast to Miss Helena Eagan." Miss Shoemaker says, holding up a champagne flute. All eyes turn to Helena. She clears her throat and squirms, from invisible to object of scrutiny in an instant. She can tell by the way people have been carefully tiptoeing around her that she is invading these Innies' nepo-baby-employer-free space. She is an invasive species. "Helena, come up here beside me, please." Miss Shoemaker gestures where she wants her. Helena presses her lips together. She didn't want to obey, but her feet were already moving. Her feet plant her in the place designated by Miss Shoemaker, and she casts her eyes down at the tiled floor.

"After 9 years, a total of 46,570 hours," Miss Shoemaker says to the crowd of staff and extends her arm in presentation, "this is what I have to show for my hard work." The crowd laughs and Helena blushes. Miss Shoemaker continues, "I had the responsibility of stewarding Kier's descendant, and though my Outie may never know the privilege it was to serve the Eagan's in this capacity, I am proud of what I achieved in that time. They say it takes a village to rear a child. I certainly had that with all of you on the Eagan estate staff." There's an 'awe' from someone in the crowd. "Please give yourselves a round of applause." Everyone claps, congratulating themselves. Miss Shoemaker continues, "On those tough days, I knew I could count on so many members of this team, this family. Thank you. Thank you to Angela and Willy." Helena can see Angela and a man raise their glasses. "Thank you for making sure I always knew I had a hot coffee and a listening ear in the kitchen. Or any one of you, who gave me a pep talk outside the Classroom." Helena is infuriated by the thought of any of these people pepping Miss Shoemaker before she disciplined her. Helena's cheeks and nose flush red as she wrestles her Malice. Miss Shoemaker looks at the other side of the room, "Beautiful Rhoda and Lyle, thank you for those after-Taming massages. You made sure my rotator cuff stayed Nimble. I will miss those massages almost as much as I'll miss you!" There's more laughter.

Helena sighs. She watches Lyle and Rhoda lift their glasses. Helena's eyes dart around at the staff. She's not surprised by the realization that most of the people in this room dislike her. It seemed to be the truth in most rooms.

Miss Shoemaker smiles and holds her glass toward Helena. "Through the tantrums, the lies, and your irrational stubbornness, Helena, you were a constant challenge. Despite your best efforts to make my job hell, I loved working here. Thank you for making every day interesting." Miss Shoemaker finally sips her drink, and the crowd applauds again.

"To you Janice." Helena smirks, lifting her glass. "May your death be soon and agonizing, and may your daughters never know happiness." She sips her mimosa. "I jest." She shrugs. There's an uncomfortable silence from the staff as she and Miss Shoemaker share a bitter silent exchange using only their eyes.

"Everyone, that's Miss Helena Eagan for you." Miss Shoemaker laughs with the crowd. They're laughing at her.

Helena steps closer to Miss Shoemaker and whispers, "Have your party. Let me go."

Miss Shoemaker laughs and speaks loudly, "No. Sit and stay." Miss Shoemaker points to a table with chairs. Helena peeks out of the corner of her eye at their audience, unfortunately her humbling isn't complete. "On you go." Miss Shoemaker condescends with a fixed, menacing smile. Helena chews the inside of her lip and hangs her head. The clock on the wall dictates that Miss Shoemaker is still her keeper. Helena acquiesces, and when she sits, a few stray claps come from the crowd as if she were a pet performing a trick.

The party resumes around her – the bright, carefree laughter, the murmur of conversations, the brief press of hugs. 'Miss Shoemaker, the heartless bitch, the celebrated one. Even she has people, er Innie's at least, who care.' The thought felt like a fresh sting. 'It isn't fair.'Once again, she finds herself in a room full of people yet completely alone. Alone, humiliated, submissive, terrified, and twenty-one. She looks around the room at people who have watched her grow, none of them look at her, none of them see her, none of them know her. She tilts her head, a sardonic smile parts her lips. 'This is my birthday.' She realizes with detached amusement that this is the closest she may ever come to having a birthday celebration. 'Happy Birthday me.' She raises her glass to herself and downs the rest of her mimosa, the bubbly sweetness a stark contrast to the bitter hollowness inside.

.ssss.

The black car stops in front of the Lumon building. Helena looks beside her at Miss Shoemaker and smiles. 'This is the last time we'll be arriving here together. The last time I have to share a car with her.' It's a pleasant thought. Miss Shoemaker narrows her eyes at Helena, who she believes has been wearing a smile too long.

"Frolic?" Miss Shoemaker asks.

"Frolic, no." Helena shakes her head, "Just keeping a merry humor in my heart." She can see Miss Shoemaker is skeptical of the answer. "Once this meeting is over, we will never have to see each other again."

"I'll still work for Lumon. I simply won't be working in your home." Miss Shoemaker corrects.

"Praise Kier for that." Helena nods with a fixed smile.

"Yes, praise Kier." Miss Shoemaker huffs, flinging open her car door and leaving the vehicle. Helena waits and her car door is opened for her. She exits the vehicle, proud to walk up the entrance steps in a black pantsuit that she chose and patent leather kitten heels.

She hadn't fully tamed her Dread. There is still a chance Miss Shoemaker contributed detractors to bring down her annual review score. Despite the palpable terror, she felt an excited anxiousness to know what new privileges and freedoms she will be granted as an official adult.

Chapter Text

Helena and Miss Shoemaker enter one of the many Lumon conference rooms. A long table stretches down the center of the room, lined with twenty chairs on each side. At the center of the table is a pitcher of water. The five empty glasses set in front of five chairs raise an immediate red flag for Helena. As she takes her seat, she lists in her head: Father, Miss Shoemaker, my current supervisor, and me. 4. Who is the fifth?

Clive H. enters the room. "Good morning." He looks at his watch. "Oh, yes. It's still morning for another two minutes."

"Good morning." Miss Shoemaker says with a smile. Helena sighs at their exchange of false Cheer.

"Clive." Helena acknowledges the robust middle-aged man who is her supervisor. He is a polite man, but he always seems nervous around Helena, as if he doesn't know how to interact with women. She is the only woman in their department, but most of the others speak to her like she's a person.

"Helena." Clive says as he takes one of the seats on the opposite side of the table. He dabs his upper lip with a handkerchief. "These always make me a little nervous." He admits with a laugh.

"Why? It's not your review." Helena squints. This is the third year he has contributed to her Annual review. He's usually complimentary.

"Your father." Clive admits. "There are so many people in the company structure between him and me. I'm so far down that totem pole and in a few minutes I'll be sitting to his left."

"He is a great man." Miss Shoemaker agrees with Clive, "I'm sure Kier appreciates your Humility and Verve."

The door opens, and a large, mustachioed man walks in wearing a black suit and tie. The man doesn't speak when he enters and steps aside to allow Jame Eagan to enter the room. Helena, Clive, and Miss Shoemaker stand out of respect for him. Jame makes his way slowly to the head of the table and takes his seat. He makes a small gesture and everyone in the room knows to sit, including the large mystery man. Helena stares at the large man, the fifth person. Who is he? Why is he here? He stares back at Helena, asking his own silent questions.

"Good Morning, Mr. Eagan." Clive speaks out of turn. Everyone's cold eyes turn to him, and he smiles nervously. Jame grunts disapprovingly and ignores the clumsy man's greeting. The large, suited man takes out a small recording device and sets it on the table. Click.

Jame clears his throat and starts, "The time is twelve ten PM: Monday, the 22nd of August, year 2011. In the room we have myself, Jame Eagan, my progeny, Helena Eagan, her Lumon supervisor, Clive Houston, and her Nanny of nine years, Janice Shoemaker. We are gathered here today for the twenty-first Annual Performance Review of Helena Eagan. The review can take anywhere from two to six hours, depending on the number of atonements and approbations required. If the review will take longer than four hours, there will be a break for lunch, with the order taken in advance."

At this point, the large, nameless man opens a briefcase and removes two small papers with attached blue pens. From his seat, he distributes the two lunch menus to Clive and Miss Shoemaker. As they make their decisions, Helena stares out the window, guessing which of the two lunches her father has already chosen for her. The menus are handed back, and then the large man walks to the conference room doors. He opens them, and someone who must have been waiting takes the menus. They all sit in silence as they wait for the large man to return to his seat. When he does, Jame nods at him, approving his next move. The man removes five booklets from his briefcase and hands them to the five participants. Helena looks down at the booklet, and hers is the only one with a loose piece of white paper sticking out of it. She knows better than to open the packet before being instructed, so she places it on the table before her. She runs her finger over her name, hoping what's inside reflects well on her.

Jame continues, "We will begin by highlighting the key successes and accomplishments from the past year. Next, we will discuss the privileges and responsibilities that come with turning twenty-one. Following this, we will address any challenges or missteps in conduct or character. Lastly, we will pinpoint areas where Helena can develop and improve, and collaboratively establish strategies for achieving better results. We will begin by revealing Helena's overall score, as you know, the scoring is on a scale of one to five. One being the lowest. Helena, could you remove the white piece of paper from your Annual Review Manual and read the score aloud to us?"

"Yes, Father." Helena says. She holds her breath as she removes the white paper and reveals the number printed on it. Helena's mouth drops open and her eyes widen. A five? She is gobsmacked. She has never scored higher than a four. Fours were rewarded by a special birthday dessert after her dinner. Threes were unrewarded but also unpunished. Two was a guaranteed punishment. She has never scored a one and couldn't imagine what the consequences of that would be. A five? She closes her mouth and her heart flutters. She looks to Miss Shoemaker who smiles, to Clive, and then her stoic Father. His face didn't show it, but she thinks, He might be proud? She finally has earned a perfect score. She has dreamt about this day, but she could never have predicted how good it feels to see that curvy five in it's flat hat. Her eyes well with tears but she's not sure why because her spirit feels overwhelming Cheer.

"Helena." Jame says firmly. She startles at the tone. "Read the score aloud as instructed."

"Five out of five." Helena says, looking again to her serious Father and the unsettling smile of Miss Shoemaker. It was her last day, and Helena had never known Miss Shoemaker to show leniency or mercy. She raises her eyebrows in surprise and whispers to Miss Shoemaker, "I wasn't expecting this."

"I am always expecting that." Jame corrects her. Helena nods, acknowledging his high expectations of her.

"How does it feel, Helena?" Miss Shoemaker asks.

Helena shakes her head, trying to gather her thoughts. Her cheeks blush as she fights a smile. "I'm cheerful and thankful to Kier for blessing my efforts."

"Good." Miss Shoemaker agrees. "Now, turn the paper over." Helena does so and printed on the other side is a large three. "That is your actual score."

"What?" Helena asks softly, lost.

"Read the score aloud, Helena." Jame instructs.

"What-what do you mean?" Helena asks, her eyes darting from her Father to Miss Shoemaker. A knot forms in her throat, and her heart feels strangled.

"I'm sad to say, your score went down from last year. You have scored a three." Miss Shoemaker clarifies. Helena flips the paper back to the side of the five. "I wanted you to know how good it felt to get a five in hopes that that feeling will motivate you to try harder this year."

Helena blinks rapidly, trying to keep her Woe from pouring out. She tries to swallow the knot in her throat but fails. She looks to her Father, and her voice cracks, "May I be excused to the restroom?"

Jame is annoyed by the obvious tears in his daughter's eyes. Her tempers were so easily knocked off balance even now as an adult. He wasn't sure she would ever have control of them. "No." He answers. "We have much to get through. You can wait until the break."

Helena nods, "Thank you." She bows her head and closes her eyes, praying to Kier for the Nimbleness to bounce back from that emotional whiplash.

"Now read the score aloud for the recording." Jame instructs.

Helena clears her throat, meekly mumbles, "Three out of five."

.ssss.

The successes and triumphs portion of the meeting goes by quickly. Each year, a week before her Annual Review, Helena is required to complete a Self-Evaluation. She notes that none of the 'successes' she submitted for consideration made it onto this review. She isn't surprised by this. The Self-Evaluation always felt pointless because the only time something that she considered a 'win' was included was a year when she scored a two. It had been the only success listed. As her few highlights are discussed, Helena can't fully enjoy the praise. She feels embarrassed and stupid to have believed a five was something she was even capable of. Her woe only subsides when the meeting shifts to the privileges and responsibilities portion.

Helena is excited by the new privileges. She now has full access to her wardrobe and will be allowed to purchase items without pre-approval as long as the items are purchased from one of the seven Lumon-sanctioned apparel shops. She will be allowed to drive herself to and from work. If approved, she can drive and visit anywhere else in Kier within a six-mile radius of the Lumon building. Any driving request with less than two hours' advanced notice will automatically be denied. She will be moving rooms to a slightly larger room in the estate. This room will have a Queen-sized bed as opposed to the Twin she's had since childhood. In the brochure, the pictures make the room look luxurious. She's excited by the idea of having three floor-to-ceiling windows. She will receive access to a debit card linked to a bank account containing all the money she's earned since becoming an official Lumon employee. A small piece of paper is handed to her by the large man, and as she takes it from him, she notices a tattoo on his thumb that reads 'Frolic.' He didn't seem like the type of man that had trouble with that particular temper.

"That," the man says, "is the balance in your account. Any purchases over $500 must be pre-approved."

Helena nods. That seems reasonable to her. She looks at the balance on the paper and squints. She shakes her head 'no' and looks to her Father, who is visibly bored, and Miss Shoemaker, who seems expectant. Helena could tell what was expected was gratitude. Unfortunately, what she was feeling was confusion. She chews her lip, debating whether to open her mouth, and ultimately decides to speak up. "I'm sorry, but that number is incorrect."

"No, it isn't." The large man counters, "At your hourly rate, this is the amount you've earned since becoming an official Lumon employee."

"I've been working since I was 13. I know my hourly rate, and I'm not a waitress. This number would only account for two years of earnings. I have never had access to this account, so there should be six more years of untouched earnings there."

The man raises an eyebrow for the first time, showing some annoyance towards Helena. It's the first emoting she's seen him make. He speaks slowly, "I repeat, at your hourly rate, this is the amount you have earned since becoming an official Lumon employee."

Helena's eyes widen in disbelief. Who is this man, and how dare he gaslight me? She glances at her father's cold stare. "Father?" She addresses him, and Jame takes a long blink, irritated by her boldness. "Father, I know I have my weaknesses, but my strength lies in business. I understand the numbers, and I can tell when they're off. After eight years of dedicated work, it would be a disservice, a folly, even, for me to remain silent in this."

"While I appreciate your eye for numbers, there's another number you must be aware of," Jame says. Helena nods impatiently. "Nineteen, " he says and then finishes his glass of water. She waits for further explanation, but he has removed his eyes from her.

"Nineteen?" Helena asks.

The large man answers, " You were officially added to the Lumon payroll at age nineteen."

"That sounds like a clerical error that I should not be monetarily penalized for." Helena argues. She points her index finger down on the paper with the measly number. "I worked. I worked forty to fifty-hour weeks. After clocking out, I went home to do schoolwork. I deserve that compensation."

"Anything before age nineteen was your unpaid apprenticeship and complimentary Lumon training." The large man says matter-of-factly.

"No." Helena insists, "I deserve-" Suddenly Jame throws his empty water glass in her direction. It flies past her head and shatters against the wall behind her. Helena's shoulders curl in; she folds her hands in her lap and bows her head shamefully.

Jame wags a finger at her, "You deserve exactly what you get. You're an ungrateful child. Now, you will sit there, and you will keep silent. You will speak only when spoken to or otherwise directed. I don't want to hear another word. Not even one of your half-hearted 'sorries.' Do you think this number didn't go through me? Do you think I would have overlooked a clerical error?" Helena shakes her head no. "Because it sounded like you were questioning me, as your Father and as the CEO of this company. Is that what you were doing?" Helena shakes her head no. "I approved this number. Are you disagreeing with me?" Helena again shakes her head no. Jame looks to the large man, "Is that what it sounded like to you?"

"Indeed, Sir, it did." The large man answers. Jame rises from his seat in a huff. Helena flinches at the sudden movement and grips the arms of her chair, prepared to be struck. Jame's face is red, and his nostrils flare with anger.

"I call a ten-minute recess." Jame informs the room. "Someone help Helena balance her tempers before I return." He says before storming out of the conference room. Helena finally lifts her eyes from their downward gaze to read the rest of the room. Clive has sweat an obscene amount. Miss Shoemaker seems amused. The large man has his eyes fixed on Helena. A woman in a Lumon janitorial uniform enters the conference room and begins cleaning the broken glass. They sit silently for a few moments, except for the clinking of the glass pieces, until the large man speaks.

"Janice, it's your last day. I will defer to you. Do you want to help Helena?" The large man asks.

Miss Shoemaker laughs, "Oh, no. This is the perfect opportunity for you to properly introduce yourself."

"Thank you, " the man says before standing again. "Helena, I need you to follow me." Helena's dread-filled eyes look at Miss Shoemaker in question.

Miss Shoemaker pats Helena's knee. "I wouldn't make him wait, child." Helena sighs, exasperated. She's twenty-one. When would they stop treating her like a child?

"I am authorized to use reasonable force." The large man adds.

Helena stands against her will. Without a word, she follows the large, nameless man out of the conference room. Her Father's Malice triggered her obedience onto autopilot.

.ssss.

Everyone has returned to their seats in the conference room. Helena holds a white, cloth napkin to her split lip. After a swift backhanded slap to the mouth, she learned the large man is to be called Mr. Drummond. He explained to her that now she's an adult, she has outgrown a Nanny, and instead she will have assigned Handlers, and he is to be one of them. When she tasted the blood, she told him he might be fired; her face was off limits. He explained that he was only doing his job. As the napkin slowly turns red, Mr. Drummond sits almost smugly at Jame's side. The tape recorder whirs on, and Jame reads the time of resumption. Helena is forced to accept the reality that her Father doesn't care. He isn't the slightest bit concerned with how this Handler handled her. He ordered it.

Helena obeyed and remained silent for the rest of the meeting, only offering practiced apologies when they got to the Failures portion of the review. Once the meeting adjourned, Helena didn't waste time faking pleasantries. She didn't want to be near these people longer than she had to be.

It is already 06:30 PM by the time she makes it home to the Eagan estate. It's a mild consolation that she no longer has to check in with Miss Shoemaker upon arrival. She simply enters her home and can go about her business. The first stop she makes is to her old room to say goodbye to her childhood. The door is open, and she stands in the frame looking into the bare room. The empty space mirrors the feeling she has inside. She doesn't feel a fond nostalgia for the life she lived here. She has no fun memories of play or whimsy in this space. Sometimes it felt like a sanctuary, a brief respite from the crushing weight of everyday life, a hideaway for her and her Woe, but pain found her here too. It wasn't always safe.

She laughs to herself, remembering a time she thought she would die in this room. She was nine, and she was locked in for a full weekend. No one spoke over the speaker. No one came for her. No one brought her food. She drank water from the faucet of her en suite, she paced, she cried, she prayed. On day two, she wrote apology letters and slid them under the door, hoping someone might find them and revoke her death sentence. She learned later it wasn't a punishment at all. There was a mistake in scheduling. Mr. Heilman's outie had an unexpected death in his family and requested a long weekend for travel. The message was delivered to her father, but wasn't marked Urgent, so it got mixed in with a hundred other messages. Tuesday morning, Mr. Heilman returned to work and found her. She smiles, remembering how he held her. He scooped her up and held her close to his chest. He cradled her the entire ride to Lumon before the doctors took her away.

The bed, the timer, the exercise mat, and the side table are gone. She was never allowed to personalize the room with stickers or posters or hang any of her drawings. My drawings! Helena's Dread flares. My sketchbook? She rushes down the hall and turns a corner, finding her new room. It's so big by comparison. She lifts the side of the mattress. She normally kept her sketchbook under her mattress, but whoever moved it didn't mirror that in this new room. She pulls open the drawers to her two side tables, and there are quite a few things of interest in the drawers, including condoms, but she will have to inspect all of these things more carefully after she finds her sketchbook. She looks under the bed and sees nothing but her house slippers. She scans the room and spots the vanity/writing desk combo. She rushes to it and reaches for a drawer. She is startled when a mechanical sound comes from the desk and a mirror starts lifting from some concealed compartment. She must've hit something, unless it sensed her movements. Another new thing to figure out later. She opens the right side drawer, which is filled with makeup, brushes, applicators, and removers. The left side is a Lumon-branded notebook, some pens, and office supplies. She rifles around and finds her tin of drawing pencils. At the bottom of the drawer is a sketchbook, but Helena's heart drops. There is no wear and tear on the corners of the book's cover. It's brand new. She lifts it from the drawer and opens it, blank pages, nothing but blank pages. Helena's eyes well with tears. The times she spent alone doing her drawings were her childhood's best moments. Her sketchbook was the only real place she could express herself freely. She flings the new book at the mirror and it doesn't shatter. The book disappointingly bounces off the mirror and clunks onto the vanity. She locks eyes with her reflection, the furrowed brow, the Malice, the tears, the split lip. This is what twenty-one looks like? She hates what she sees. She hates who she sees.

.ssss.

Helena used her brand-new mobile phone to call Mr. Drummond. An interesting thing about having handlers was that they wouldn't always be around, watching and directing her every move. They would show up whenever, wherever. In many ways, they would still have the final say, and she would have to comply and be on guard around them. She will have the responsibility to submit her monthly expense reports to them, fill out and submit her own Social Event Requests to be approved or denied by them, and log her food diary to be analyzed by them. Still, it will be a relief not to have someone constantly physically looming over her.

Mr. Drummond answers her call and she demands to know whom to ask about the location of her old sketchbook. He tells her that it's been filed away in her personal archives. Locked away in some room, she had no access to. She emphasizes that she would like it back and he pacifies her, telling her, 'I'll see what I can do'. Before hanging up, Helena verbally requests a drive at nine PM. It was a little over two hours' advance notice so there was a good chance it could be approved. Mr. Drummond asks for a destination. He doesn't accept 'I don't know,' as an answer. Finally, Helena says, 'I'm twenty-one. I'm going to a bar. Send me a list of approved bars.' He again tells her he'll see what he can do and then abruptly ends the call. Helena smirks in the mirror, determined to enjoy her new freedoms and test her new limits. She opens the makeup drawer and prepares to refresh her face and mask her split lip. Maybe she could still find some Cheer on her birthday.

.ssss.

Her walk-in closet is filled with clothes, shoes, jewelry, and hats she has never seen before. Although spoiled for choice, it doesn't take long for Helena to find an outfit she feels confident in. She has never been to a bar before, so she doesn't know the dress code, but she remembers the bar scene from Pulp Fiction. She chooses a white button-up blouse, cufflinks, and black trousers. While she waits for an answer to her request, she strolls up and down the hallway, pushing open any door that will open for her. No one was around to tell her to stop or that she shouldn't or that she didn't belong in these spaces. Yet, she chooses not to enter any of them. She would explore another time when a Request wasn't on the line. She decides she will find these so-called Personal Archives that Mr. Drummond mentioned and she will get her sketchbook back.

Her request is approved, and she's given the option to choose one of three bars. Helena is in shock that the approval came through so quickly. She wasn't used to getting her way. When she's handed the car keys, she feels power surging from this little piece of metal that grants her freedom. The man who gave her the keys, programs the bar's address into her navigation. He informs her that it's the only approved location and she should return by midnight. If she goes anywhere besides the approved location, they will know. 'Freedom, or something like it.' Helena nods, accepting the man's warning.

.ssss.

The bar is loud. The music. The people. The smells. Everything is loud. She is overwhelmed, out of place, and overdressed. Most of the men wore jeans, some of the women too. Helena has difficulty reminding herself not to stare, fascinated by the shiny bare legs of a woman in the tiniest skirt she has ever seen. It would take three of the woman's skirt to make one of Helena's normal-length skirts. She stops staring when the woman winks at her. Helena squeezes through the fragrant crowd, bombarded by the smells, colognes, perfumes, aftershave, booze, and body odor. Lumon had a very specific scent. Her home has that same scent. Everything here is new, but she tries to tell herself it's not too much. It's different, but she's Nimble and Wily. She can handle this. She finds her way to a recently available stool by the bar. Some man stands with his back to her, talking with his friend, raising his voice in competition with the music. Helena places two fingers on the sticky menu in front of him and slides it over for herself. She reads the options. So much of the menu means nothing to her. Curacao? Bourbon? Mojito? None of these words meant anything to her. The bartender approaches her.

"Hey, what can I get ya?" He asks.

She smiles, amused by the casualness of it all. "A Gin & tonic, please."

"Comin' right up." The bartender says. Helena settled on that drink because of the word tonic. It was something she knew. When Lumon was first founded, they made salves, ether, and tonics. She guesses the tonic part of the drink may be healthy for her.

A few people dance, and she watches one couple curiously. She's fascinated by the way their legs intertwine, the rhythmic thrusts of their pelvises, the way they touch each other's arms and backs and faces. It's almost like they're simulating sex. People don't dance like that at Lumon parties. Helena has never danced like that. She's also never had sex like that. There is so much passion between the dancers as if they want to wear each other's skin.

She sips her Gin & tonic and continues watching people, different groups, different pairs. It is a nice change being the watcher and not the watched. This feeling doesn't last long. She feels a set of eyes on her from across the bar. It's a man. He wears a T-shirt and a smile. She is nervous when she makes eye contact with him. He starts moving through the crowd finding his way over to her. Now that he's standing before her, she can see he's wearing jeans and has piercings. This was not a Lumon man. She's breathes easy.

"Hello. I'm sorry I was staring. You're just so beautiful." He says, flashing his smile at her.

"Me?" Helena laughs.

"Yes. Please let me buy you a drink."

Helena looks at the ice in her glass. She shrugs,"Ok?" She was already feeling the effects of the alcohol. She hadn't eaten since the Lunch break during her review.

"What are you drinking?" He asks.

"I got a gin and tonic." Helena says, swirling the ice in the otherwise empty glass.

"Bartender", he calls to get the busy man's attention and then steps closer to Helena to stand right beside her barstool. "Do you want another?"

Her eyebrows raise apologetically, "No, God. It was awful."

He laughs at the empty glass, and his levity makes her feel safe to laugh too. "Okay, what do you want instead?" He holds up the menu so that they can both read from it. He was so near to her that his scent was the only thing she could process. He smelled like cedar wood. With the close proximity, she feels hot and is intrigued by his lips and dark brown eyes.

"What do you suggest?" She asks. He leans back a bit to observe her, and he pretends he's thinking.

"You seem like a sweet girl. Do you like sweet things?"

"Yes." She agrees.

"What about Vodka?" He asks.

"Honestly." She leans closer, to whisper/yell, only to him. "I don't know. I just turned twenty-one today."

He does a single clap and laughs, "Holy shit. Seriously?" She nods. "Happy birthday, beautiful!"

She laughs at his compliment. The last time someone told her 'happy birthday', she was eighteen, and it was her long-lost friend Cynthia. Even though they both knew it was going to be the strangest and worst birthday she ever had. "Thank you." She says.

"So you're here with your boyfriend?" He asks, biting his lip.

"No. No boyfriends." She shakes her head.

"Friends?" The man looks around.

"No, I don't have any friends." Helena says honestly.

He laughs at her surprising bluntness and then corrects himself, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "I don't believe that."

"Why would I lie?" She asks, annoyed to have her Probity questioned by a stranger. He notices her eyes darken, and he can see he's offended her.

"I'm sorry." The man says.

The bartender breaks the tension, and the man tells the bartender that Helena would like 'Sex on the Beach'. For a second, she's surprised until she looks down at the menu and can see that it is the actual name of a drink.

"I've never seen you around here. Did you just move to Kier?" The man asks.

"No. I just don't get out much." She answers honestly.

"You don't get out much, you don't have friends, and you're this beautiful? This is a tragedy." He says. She studies his face, his smile is consistent and fascinating but she is still unsure about his sincerity. "I'm Tyler." He says, putting a gentle hand on her back. She's shocked by the touch but enjoys that it's soft.

"Hel-" She twists her lips in thought, clears her throat and then continues, "I'm Helly." She says, smiling widely. It was probably best if he didn't know her name or if he didn't put two and two together and realize she's an Eagan. Right now, she was just her, just a young woman in a bar trying to have a happy birthday.

The bartender returns with Helena's drink and places it in front of her. It's colorful and adorned with fruit.

"Wow." She says, widening her eyes impressed by the display. She takes a sip from the tiny straw and her senses rush with the sweet, strong flavor of the beverage. "Mmm." She nods in approval. "Thank you."

"Helly?"

"Yeah?"

"It's your birthday. Do you want to have a good time?"

"Absolutely." She admits. He takes one of her hands and helps her down from the barstool. She carries her drink in the other hand, sipping it as she follows him through the hot hive of bodies in constant motion.

Chapter Text

Tyler guides Helena to a crowded table. He vaguely gestures over the group of young men and women in punk attire and introduces them as his friends. He introduces her as 'Helly' and she's instilled with a false sense of confidence. Right now, she's Helly, a 'beautiful' girl, ready for a good time. Not Helena, who got the confidence smacked out of her earlier that day. He pats her back.

"Guys, guys." He shouts to get the table's attention. "It's Helly's Twenty-first birthday!" The table of strangers whoop and clap. She laughs at the unexpected Cheer. Why would these people celebrate her? It doesn't make any sense but maybe thinking isn't something Helena really wants to do right now. "Birthday shots?" Tyler makes a twirl motion with his finger and there's more clapping and shouted 'yeahs'. Helena leans closer to whisper to Tyler again, this time he puts a hand on her lower back and pulls her against him. She doesn't mind it.

"I'm pretty sure I'm up to date on all my shots." She whispers.

He laughs, looking down into her eyes, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

She squints, then looks at his lips and how close she is to them. She smiles and shakes her head, "I don't know, I guess." A girl with black lipstick pulls the chair beside her out from the table.

"Helly, sit. We're doing shots!" The girl yells. Helena takes a seat and smiles politely as a greeting to all the new faces. "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks." Helena says.

"Where are your friends?" Asks a male from across the table.

"Dead I think?" Helena yells back. Several of the friends laugh at this, and Helena feels a swell of pride. These people don't know her. These people like her. Maybe that's the key. As long as she's not herself, she's likable. She feels Tyler's hand on her thigh and she turns her attention back to him. He smiles and studies her face, as if he really meant it when he called her beautiful. She remembers on her first date, when Kyle touched her like this. She sips her drink anxiously.

"Did you get in a fight?" He gestures to her lip.

"Something like that." She shrugs.

A waitstaff comes over to the table and places down a tray of tiny glasses with a yellow liquor. Everyone at the table chants, "Shots, shots, shots, shots." Each of them take a tiny glass and Helena copies.

"You swallow the whole thing at once. No sips." Tyler tells her. She nods, accepting the guidance. He raises his tiny glass, "To Helly!"

"Helly!" The group shouts and knocks back the tiny glasses. Helena does too and the liquor burns as it slides down her throat. She puckers her lips at the bitterness and the black lipstick girl nudges her and laughs.

"You'll like it by the third one." The girl assures Helena.

.ssss.

After the second shot and the 'Sex on the Beach', Helena feels like dancing. She asks Tyler to dance with her, but he says he's no good at it. The girl with the black lipstick jumps up and offers to dance with her instead. The girl takes her hand and leads Helena through the crowd. Helena undoes the top few buttons of her blouse. She feels warm all over. She's not sure if it's from the alcohol, or the bodies, the dancing, or the steam coming off the sweet and sweaty girl that sways around her like a hypnotic snake. Helena feels mesmerized by the girl's body and how it moves. The dancing starts to make her dizzy, and she leaves the girl on the dance floor and finds her way back to Tyler. She doesn't realize it, because she's never drank before, but she's drunk. She flops into her chair and leans onto him, touching his arm and whispering in his ear.

"It's hot in here." Helena tells him.

"You want to step outside with me? Get some air?" Tyler asks. She nods in an exaggerated manner. He laughs and helps her up from her seat.

The next thing she knows, she's outside. The cool air washes over her, and she closes her eyes, breathing in the smells of booze and cigarettes. It was repugnant and wonderfully new at the same time. When she opens her eyes she looks up at the night sky, dark, inky, and dazzling. She smiles at the vastness of space. This was one of those moments, one of those rare moments when she understood what it meant to be limitless.

She smiles at her companion Tyler. She leans her back against the cool brick of the building, partially for the cool feeling and mostly for balance; she feels wobbly.

"Helly?" Tyler asks, leaning his elbow onto the brick wall near her. She looks into his eyes. "Can I kiss you?" Helena smiles and nods. Tyler plants his lips on hers, and she tries to remember what Kyle taught her all those years ago. She pokes her tongue into his mouth, and he responds with an intensity, holding her hips and pulling her pelvis against his. She doesn't want him to stop and links her hands behind his neck, breathing his breath, tasting his mouth. They make out, tameless, and feral.

"Hey!" The bass in the voice scares both of them, and they turn to see Mr. Drummond. Helena pulls away from Tyler's hold, and he looks at her confused. He can see the fear in Helena's eyes.

"Helly, you know this guy?" He asks. Helena nods. "He the one who did that to your lip?" This she doesn't answer, she keeps her eyes focused on Drummond.

"It's not midnight. I-" She starts to defend herself. Tyler moves her behind him and stands between her and Drummond. Helena looks at the back of Tyler's head, confused. Was he protecting her? No one ever did that.

"How about you fuck off and leave her alone?" Tyler shouts at Drummond. Drummond takes a wide step in their direction, his solid frame towering over them. "You think it's okay to put your hands on a lady? You fucking pig?"

Drummond grabs Tyler's hair and smashes his head into the brick wall. He's knocked unconscious, and Helena watches in horror as dark blood streaks down the wall as he slides to the ground in a heap.

"Fuck! What the fuck?" She shouts.

"Get in my car." Drummond demands.

"No. I have my own car." She says looking down at Tyler's slumped body.

"It's already being driven home. You're drunk. Now get in my car before I put you in my car." He threatens.

Helena steps over Tyler's legs. "Is he okay?" She asks, her voice cracking with emotion.

Drumond doesn't answer. His scowl makes Helena hasten to his vehicle. She decides to keep pushing her luck and slides into the front passenger seat. Drummond doesn't say anything when he gets in the car. He turns the key and pulls away from the bar in a reckless fury.

"I didn't do anything wrong. Nothing explicitly against the rules. I went to my approved location and it's not even midnight. Why am I in trouble?" She asks.

"You're not, because I just saved you from trouble." He says without taking his eyes off the road.

"Saved me?" Her voice rises at the absurdity. He clearly suffered from the same mental affliction as Miss Shoemaker. In his mind, every action he took, no matter how cruel, was acceptable as long as it served Kier. She crosses her arms. "I was having fun."

"Frolic." He says, and she fixes her eyes on his tattoo.

They drive in silence for some time. When the Eagan estate is in view, Helena finally speaks up.

"What was your twenty-first birthday like?" She asks.

He parks and looks at the young woman, her lipstick smudged with dry blood and her alcohol-hazy eyes. For a second, he feels a twinge of guilt. He smiles, remembering his twenty-first birthday. It was a good day. Looking at her, he can see she has not had a good day. "It was debaucherous." He answers.

Helena nods impressed by his honesty. She opens her own car door and heads up the front steps, into the estate, back to her cage. As she storms and stumbles down the halls to her new room, she thinks, 'Today was a great day.' Miss Shoemaker is gone. Her room was upgraded. So many new privileges were unlocked. She drove. She drank. She danced. She laughed. She kissed. It may be her favorite birthday yet.

.ssss.

The next morning, Helena finds a glass of water and a pill on her nightstand. She inspects the pill. The sticky note on the glass reads: For the headache. She thinks for a second, 'What headache?' but is very quickly aware of the whooshing watery feeling in her brain and stomach. She takes the pill.

She starts her day with her choice exercise, a mild yoga routine, staying in the savasana position for much longer than necessary. She showers and dresses for work. She mixes a skirt and blouse she's never worn together before, simply because she has the power of choice now. As she does her makeup, she observes her lip. The mouth is considered the fastest-healing part of the body. The split is visible but quickly closing. She sighs, looking at the finished product in her mirror. She thinks of the blood. The blood on the white napkin. The blood from Tyler's head sliding down the wall. Much of last night was a blur, but she remembers Tyler's touch. His hungry lips and soft hands. He offered her his smile. He told her she was beautiful. He showed her a good time. He brought her merriment and she brought him pain. Pain or worse. They left him there, bleeding. She left him there. 'I'm a bad person.' She tells herself in the mirror.

"Forgive me for the harm I have caused this world. None may atone for my actions but me, and only in me shall their stain live on." She recites, hoping to be relieved of some guilt. "I am thankful to have been caught, my fall cut short by those with wizened hands. All I can be is sorry, and that is all that I am." She thinks of Drummond. He was the wizened hand that caught her. He wasn't with her, so she's unsure how he knew when to step in. Someone must have reported her. Someone was still watching her. Someone was always watching.

At breakfast, she drinks her eggs. It was the only meal she had no say in. Her behavior was the determining factor of how the eggs were prepared for her. It was this way ever since childhood. She didn't like them raw, and so when they didn't like her behavior, that's how the eggs were served. This is a type of Operant conditioning called an Aversive Stimulus. This is her 'naughty girl' breakfast.

As she struggles to swallow the second yoke, she hears the sound of dress shoes approaching. The steps are far apart and heavy. This isn't her father. She chooses not to stand and watches the stairs as the red hair of Mr. Drummond comes into view. He enters her dining space and somehow makes the expansive empty room feel cramped. She watches him, he takes a seat at the table without being invited, and gets comfortable before finally looking in her direction.

"Good Morning." His voice booms.

"Morning." She answers, not confirming it's 'goodness'.

"How are you feeling?" He asks.

"Well enough." She says flatly.

"You will not be attending work today." He informs her. She sighs and looks into the glass at the remaining yoke. He watches her stare and wonders what is going on in her head. "You are going to Lumon today for two Safety Training courses." Helena nods, accepting that whatever her misdeeds were yesterday caused her to lose some control over her schedule today. "Do you have any questions?" He asks.

Helena thinks and shrugs with indifference. "I suppose my supervisor has been informed of my absence."

"Of course." Drummond answers. His eyes narrow as he tries to understand her dispondency. "You don't have any questions about the courses?" He asks. She finally looks from her remaining egg to Drummond.

"How many?" She asks.

"Courses? Two." He answers.

"Questions." She says, wondering what his tolerance for her might be.

" I'll answer any questions you have, as long as they don't breach protocol or involve sensitive information." Drummond says. Helena squints, studying his face for signs of sincerity.

"Really?" She raises an eyebrow.

"Yes." Drummond answers.

"Ok." Helena nods, looking out the window, trying to grasp this. She could ask anything? As many questions as she had? She bites the inside of her cheek and decides to take it slow. It could be a trick or a test. She slurps down her final egg and shudders, it never got easier. She looks to the large man who watches her. "What type of Safety Training are the courses? Is it for the job? And will I be compensated for my time?"

"You will not be compensated for the time. The Safety Training doesn't pertain to your current position at Lumon. They are for your personal enrichment." He answers. Helena nods, annoyed but not surprised that she will not be paid. "First, you'll attend a course about Responsible Alcohol and Drug Awareness." He continues, and this does surprise her. It was rare for information to be offered so freely. "You'll have a break for lunch, and after that you will attend a course about Safe Sex Practices and Sexually Transmitted Diseases." His brow furrows when Helena laughs. "What's funny?"

"The last one feels a few years too late." She admits. This fact seems to make him uncomfortable, and she's surprised when Drummond breaks eye contact first. He looks down at the table. His face was soft, unlike the back of his hand yesterday. "Can I ask another question?"

"As many as you like." He answers with half a smile, meeting her eyes again.

"The man you assaulted last night. Is he okay?" She asks.

"His friends brought him to a hospital, and he suffered a very minor concussion. He is just fine." Drummond assures. She studies his strangely sympathetic eyes and nods, there was no way she would know if this was true. She decides to believe him.

After a long silence she's ready to challenge him. "Is it protocol to assault any person I might kiss?"

"No." Drummond answers. "I am authorized to use reasonable force when there's perceived danger."

"And during my review? What was the danger then?" Helena asks with raised eyebrows.

He looks at her healing lip, "I was following orders. When necessary, I won't hesitate to do so. It's not my place to question my orders only to follow them through." He watches as she nods again. Helena thinks about this. Even this man, this big intimidating man, has a place. He has orders. Does he also have consequences?

"Well, I hope it's not often necessary." Helena says.

.ssss.

In the Responsible Alcohol and Drug Awareness class, Helena learns about drinking on an empty stomach, maintaining proper hydration and the dangers of alcohol poisoning. She's told that at formal Lumon events her limit is two drinks. The illicit substances portion, the instructor spent the most time discussing Ether, cocaine, and marijuana. There are other drugs mentioned but these were the three the town statistics made her most likely to encounter. They are all prohibited and she is warned against ever trying them. The PowerPoint presentation has a full slide of the severe side effects and disturbing images of drug users zonked out of their mind. One of the overdose images Helena immediately recognizes as a still image from the movie 'Pulp Fiction'. She laughs upon seeing it and is immediately reprimanded for not taking the lesson seriously. Although threatened with a bad report if she doesn't 'Fix her face and focus up' Helena can't help but doubt any information coming from the instructor after that. The image is fake, it is fiction, a movie. How much else of what he said is fiction?

On break, Helena eats the lunch chosen for her, alone in an empty conference room. While alone, she takes out her mobile phone and tries to download Google. She heard the guys in her department mention it before. They say it like it's a verb. Google it. She knows it is a database of information. Maybe she could Google the true side effects of Ether. It was hard for her to believe it was so wrong, when all she remembers is how good it made her feel. When she presses download, a message pops up, asking her to confirm on a different device that she wants to complete the action. Her stomach flips with Dread. What other device? The screen reads 'Declined'. Someone, somewhere, is approving and declining her app downloads. She sighs, unsure if the attempt alone will cause her trouble. She doesn't have long to worry about this before Dread teams up with the temper Woe.

Helena is horrified and frozen still when she opens the door to her next course, Safe Sex Practices and Sexually Transmitted Diseases. The two instructors smile at her in the doorway when she hesitates to enter. She hoped to never see these people again, even though she couldn't escape the indelible images of them in her mind.

"Helena." The woman instructor speaks. "It's so nice to see you again." Helena shakes her head 'no' in disagreement. She takes a step backwards. "Hey now," the woman says calmly, "it's okay. Come on in. No funny business." Helena's eyes dart to the male instructor.

"Promise." He says with a smile. She has seen his face a hundred times in her nightmares but somehow this smile disturbs her most. The woman gently takes hold of Helena's hand, and the man takes hold of the other and they guide her step by step to her seat.

These two people took her virginity on her eighteenth birthday. Neither of them hurt her, in fact her body responded favorably to everything that they did during the mandatory ceremony. That night, they represented the Divine Female and the Divine Male spirits. They were to bring Kier's blessings to her body and the fruit of her loins. They took turns, they worked together, they took their time. It was mandatory. What could she do? Say she doesn't want Kier's blessings? It felt wrong and scary but sometimes pleasing. Helena could hear the other virgins, somewhere far-off, crying out. She didn't know what was happening to them because of her ceremony. Sometimes their screams wake her from sleep and she reminds herself it was years ago now. She tells herself they're probably okay. Like Tyler is okay, and Cynthia and Mr. Heilman. Now here these instructors stand, fully clothed, wearing their Lumon lapels, like normal employees ready to teach a course, like she could forget where their tongues have been.

"The PowerPoint presentation portion of the course should take approximately two hours with open questions and answers. There will be a brief fifteen minute break and the final part of the course will be a live demonstration of safe and proper practices." The man announces.

The woman laughs and winks, "No class participation necessary."

"Although questions are welcome at any point." The man adds.

Helena struggles to wrestle Dread and Woe but feels like she's losing. She balls her hands into fists under the table.

"Maybe we should start by introducing ourselves." The woman smiles.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later

Saturday

Her fiery red hair sways with the pull of gravity and the gentle breeze as she hangs backwards out of her second-story window. Her shoulders and back rest uncomfortably on the windowsill as she dangles her neck and head outside, looking at the world upside down. Unlike her old room, these windows didn't open to a rooftop. They opened to air, nothing, just a drop. She was further from the rose bushes now, and this made her imagined demise less poetic. If she were going to do it, she would do it right. She could be the one thing in life that she executed perfectly.

The first two weeks of her twenty-first year have been mostly mentally trying. She has regained many of the new privileges that were rescinded after her drunken night out. She has behaved well enough to incur only one punishment since her split lip, which is now fully healed. She knows for certain that there were at minimum six times Miss Shoemaker would have put in for a D.A.R. The punishment Mr. Drummond gave her wasn't even physical. She hasn't had a scratch, or a bruise, or a welt since her father's command on her birthday. She hated herself for it, but part of her missed the pain. Some deep-down part of her must have believed Miss Shoemaker when she equated the punishments to care. Instead of feeling free, Helena felt abandoned and ignored. Monday through Friday, she went to work with Clive and the others and felt lost. She felt like her current position at Lumon was a tidy place for her father to keep her stored away until he found a good use for her, and she wasn't sure that day would ever come.

The past two weeks, she has taken advantage of her privilege to travel around town within her approved boundaries and locations. As Helena explores and tries to blend with the normal population, she does her best to keep to herself. She is afraid. She avoids speaking to anyone for too long, because they might be watching. Interacting with her might bring another innocent person pain and trouble. It was better for these strangers, and for her father, if she stayed out of the way, invisible. Now, as the blood rushes to her head, she thinks about how little the world would change if she weren't in it. She only breaks from this fantasy when her mobile phone rings.

She slides back into the window, her head woozy from being suddenly upright. She crawls across the floor, to the edge of her bed where her mobile phone rings. It's Mr. Drummond. She answers, "Hello."

"Your request to visit the Imogene Cafe has been approved." Mr. Drummond informs her.

"Thank you." She says. She had expected this. She has been approved and has visited this particular Cafe five times already in the past two weeks. She is wondering when they might catch on that coffee drinking isn't the only thing she's doing there. The call abruptly ends. She assumes he didn't want to speak with her longer than he has to.

Helena stands and returns to the window, shutting down her daydreams for now.

.ssss.

The Imogene Cafe is old. It is a repurposed house, not like Helena's but like one of the small houses she passes on the way to Lumon. It is decorated like an old house with only sitting rooms, filled with antique lamps, chairs, and photographs. Each time she visits, she discovers something new about it. During her last visit, she discovered in one of the upstairs sitting rooms, on the door frame, preserved behind a piece of plexiglass, are lines that mark a child named Veda's height and age. The time before that she noticed on a high-up shelf, is a coffee pot similar to the one she and her father have at home, only this one has chipped paint and shows its age.

Helena orders a black coffee, which she doctors with cream and sugar. She has always drunk her coffee black because Lumon used to incentivise creamer. But she's not at Lumon, and she can do what she wants. Another thing she liked about the Cafe is that it serves its drinks in porcelain mugs with a painting of Imogene's likeness. It is always Kier, Kier, Kier. There were hardly any passages about Imogene. Helena thought her great-great-great-grandmother looked beautiful and strong in this painting. She takes her mug and heads upstairs for her nefarious purpose.

Upstairs, she scans the room for any potential spies. There's the usual old man, asleep, in a worn, patterned armchair, with a Kier's Chronicle resting on his belly. She walks over to the mantle of the old fireplace at the center of the room. It's lined from end to end with books. A note is taped along the edge of the mantle that says, Imogene's Library, Take One, Leave One. She discovered this on her second visit, when she had truly just come back for the coffee. Now, she has been coming back to visit these books. She smiles when she sees that the book she started, The Bell Jar, is still here. She takes it from the shelf and sits down on a loveseat by a drafty window. She settles in, sipping her coffee and finding the page where she left off. Thus far, her takeaway quote is: "I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo." Although she knew she would never have anyone to share that with.

"Look who it is." A voice sings. Helena jumps at the sound and stuffs the book between her and the cushion. Her eyes find the owner of the voice. Those bright eyes and matching smile. Helena could never forget her.

"Natalie?" Helena laughs, her nose crinkling in surprise.

"What's it been?" Natalie says with a bubbly excitement. Her voice makes the sleeping man stir. "Eight years?" Natalie steps closer and Helena shoves the book further into the cushion. She stands and extends her hand for a shake. "We're not old men yet, Helena." Natalie laughs, swatting Helena's hand away. Natalie places a hand on Helena's shoulder and kisses her cheek. Helena is confused by this greeting but also amused.

"What are you doing here?" Helena asks.

"Same as you, I think." Natalie says, holding up the mug in her hand. Helena can see it's some type of latte.

"Well great." Helena lies with a smile.

"I'd love to catch up." Natalie says. "Is someone sitting with you?"

"No. Just me and Lilith here." Helena gestures casually to the man who is snoring again.

"Okay." Natalie moves towards the loveseat and Helena bites her lip nervously. Partly because she doesn't want to get caught with contraband and mostly because when Natalie kissed her cheek, she smelled sweet like a blooming flower. Helena's not sure why that made her feel warm and tingly. They both sit and Helena watches Natalie's full pink lips meet the edge of the mug as she takes her first sips of the latte. She could never have forgotten Natalie but she had forgotten what it felt like to be so near such beauty. "That man's name is Lilith?"

"Oh, uh, I don't know." Helena laughs quietly. She speaks in an amused hushed tone, "I see him here most times. He's always sleeping."

Natalie tilts her head, "So why did you call him that?"

"That's just what I call him." Helena shrugs and looks at Natalie's blank eyes. She was clearly confused. Helena squirms in her seat not wanting to lose at this conversation so quickly. She explains, "One day I was here, he was sleeping as per usual and he suddenly woke up and pointed at me. He shouted, 'Lilith get my slippers' and then almost fell immediately back to sleep." Helena smirks recalling this.

"He must be a drunk." Natalie dismisses, taking another sip of her latte. Helena frowns at this and looks to the sleeping man. She feels defensive of him. She liked him. She wasn't sure why.

"I don't know, he seems nice." She shrugs but as soon as she says it, she feels ashamed. The man had spoken four words to her, a command, for someone probably long dead. She didn't like him. She liked being in the room with someone non-threatening. She liked not being alone. 'Pathetic.' She chastises herself and then sips her coffee.

"Anyway, tell me, what are you up to these days?" Natalie says putting a hand on Helena's knee to get her attention. Helena stares at the soft hand. Her eyebrows raise as she realizes, maybe it wasn't pain that she missed, it was touch. Natalie sighs. She remembers as a child thinking Helena was a bit strange but she forgot exactly how strange. She decides to bulldoze through the awkwardness, "I'm in my Senior year at Ganz."

"Oh, college." Helena smiles. "How is that?"

"It can be stressful. But also lots of fun." Natalie says. "What about you?"

"What are you studying?" Helena asks. Helena had lots of questions about college, dorms, and campus life. A few of her male co-workers had all been in a Fraternity together, and what they said about it rarely made any sense to her.

"Public Relations and Strategic Communications." Natalie answers proudly.

"Wow, those are high in demand skills at Lumon." Helena agrees.

"That's what I'm hoping. I'd love to be the one speaking to the media, and defending Lumon's reputation against those insane Whole Mind Collective people." Natalie says.

"I'd put you in front of a camera." Helena admits. Natalie laughs and squints. Helena fumbles, "Because you're good loo- I mean, a good talk, speaking, you're a good talker." Helena clears her throat horrified by the words that just came out of her mouth. She takes a long drink of her coffee attempting to wash away her embarrassment.

"Am I making you nervous?" Natalie asks plainly.

Helena laughs and nods, "No, course not." Natalie laughs at the obvious contradiction. "This isn't my first cup today. My mouth is moving faster than my brain." Helena clears her throat. "I think the role would suit you and I hope Kier blesses you on that path." She says more confidently.

"What about you? What are you up to?" Natalie asks.

Helena smiles widely, feigning Cheer, "Work work work." She thinks of Clive and fights a frown.

"Last I heard you worked in Quality Assurance?" Natalie inquires.

"You heard that?" Helena squints trying to understand how this is something she'd know.

"Oh yeah, I get all the Lumon hot-goss." Natalie jokes.

"Hot. Goss?" Helena repeats, hoping the words might mean something to her. They don't. Helena searches Natalie's face for clues but gives up and chooses to end the silence before it turns awkward again. "I was there for five years. The past three, I've been working with the Electronic Data Department. I'm a Data Transcriber. Which is to say, I look at papers and I type what I see on the papers into the online database. I'm uniquely qualified for the position because I can read." Helena says sarcastically. Natalie laughs at this and Helena smiles softly, remembering Natalie once said she was funny. She liked being laughed with instead of at.

"Sounds important." Natalie says.

"Honestly, the place would fall apart without me." She jokes, knowing she wouldn't be missed. Natalie's phone pings and she becomes occupied with the tiny screen. Helena observes Natalie, her shoulder length curls, the tiny crease of annoyance in between her brows, and her painted pink nails tapping away at the phone. Helena remembers Natalie's father's free smiles and Mrs. Kalen's kind and concerned blue eyes. She knows Natalie is the type of girl who would be missed. Mourners would leave flowers and teddies and posters with her pretty face, outside on the curb in front of her family home. Helena remembers the envy she felt for Natalie as a child and feels some regret for how long she harbored that resentment. It isn't Natalie's fault she is lovable. Some people just are.

"What are you doing later? Say 9PM?" Natalie asks, not looking up from her phone.

"It is Saturday." Helena raises her eyebrows. She smirks and shrugs, "So, probably counting all the electric sockets in my home for the 200th time?"

Natalie looks up from her mobile and stares blankly for a moment. Her laugh is delayed by whatever distressing thing distracted her on her phone. "Do you want to hang?"

"Hang?" Helena repeats.

"With me and like, a few of my college friends. This guy Ralph is hosting a board game night but that almost never means board games. It should be fun." Natalie says with a close-lipped smile. Helena looks over at Old man Lilith, an embodiment of her loneliness. She thinks about this invitation. Is it a trap? Is it a test to see if she learned from her training about Safe Alcohol consumption? Or is it possible Natalie is just being nice?

"That's a very kind offer. Can I get back to you with an answer?" Helena asks, knowing she has to get permission.

"Sure, let me get your number and I'll text you the deets." Natalie says.

"Right. Ok." Helena nods and hands over her phone. She doesn't know her number and didn't know how to find it. Natalie stares at the phone for a few moments before taking it, entering her own number, saving herself as a contact, and calling her own phone.

"Got it." Natalie hands the phone back. "Hopefully you can move the socket counting thing to Sunday." Natalie jokes and Helena allows herself to laugh.

.ssss.

When Helena finally finds a parking spot on campus, she sits for some time in the car, simply watching the street lamp flickering through her window. It's only 8:15PM. Natalie had told her 9PM and Helena remembers, all those years ago, when she was early to her last party, that she wasn't well received. She was made to leave early to allow for traffic, parking, and getting lost on campus. She studies the campus map she was given and identifies which parking lot she's in and how far she'll need to walk to get to the Frat house.

She doesn't get out of the car until 8:30PM knowing it won't take her more than a ten-minute walk if she doesn't get lost. She occasionally uses her phone screen to illuminate the map. Helena feels nervous as she starts to wander. It is getting dark, she's never been here before, and the campus is still buzzing with activity. Different pairs or groups, walking this way or that, some smoke under a street lamp, some sit together in the grass behind a perfectly good bench. She stops under a streetlamp to double-check her map and make certain she hasn't passed the building. She looks up, squinting at a few of the poorly lit building names and notices a man in trousers and a button-up heading in her direction. He's not Lumon. The way he walks is as if he has nowhere to be. Lumon men walked with power and purpose. He looks at his mobile phone, and the light from the screen illuminates his smile. She notices he's wearing a lanyard, and this brings her comfort. He must work here. When he gets close enough, she steps into the path in front of him. He stops and looks up from his phone curiously. They stand in awkward silence as Helena forgets she can speak first.

"Is everything okay?" The dark-haired man asks, looking side to side for perceived danger.

"Yes. Everything is okay." She says.

"Oookaay." He says, elongating his vowels with his confusion. He steps to the side, prepared to walk around her.

"Oh," She becomes nervous he might go, "Sorry, I'm lost. Can you help me?"

"Uh, sure." The man stops walking away, looks at his phone checking the time, and then looks at the lost young woman. He steps nearer to her but stops when he sees her apparent unease at his approach. He puts his hands in his pockets. "Where are you heading?"

She opens her text messages with the address and then hands the man her map and phone. He's surprised by this, fumbling with the young woman's things. Why would she just hand over everything? Especially her phone. This younger generation were so attached to their phones. He notices she folds her hands in front of herself, politely expecting directions. She's unusual.

"Uh, okay, let's see." He shakes his head and looks at the address. He doesn't need the map. He knows the campus like the back of his hand. "Ah." He says, "You took a wrong turn back there." Helena whips around to look at where she came from and where she went wrong. He observes her, something about her makes her seem much younger than his students. "You're going to head back up that hill and at the fork, you're going to turn left."

"Thank you." Helena smiles and looks at her items in his hand. He's confused that she doesn't ask for them, just stares until he holds them out, offering them back to her. "Thank you, Mister..." She cranes to read his lanyard, "Mr. Scout." She takes a step in the right direction but stops when she hears the man speak again.

"I'm going in that direction to get to my car. Not following you. Alright? Nothing weird." He shrugs. She nods, accepting this, and starts walking again. She can hear his dress shoes on the gravelly pavement behind her, and she's embarrassed to admit there is some comfort in being followed. She is always the shadow or the shadowed. This new way of navigating the world on her own is exciting but also frightening. There is so much she feels she doesn't know.

When they get to the fork in the sidewalk, they both stop and look at each other. He points, "You're going to walk straight down this path until you see a statue of the founder. His butt will point you in the direction of the Frat you're looking for."

She laughs, "His butt?"

"Yeah." He nods.

"Does it poke out, or? Is he bending over?" She asks.

"No." He shakes his head.

"How does it point?" She asks, tilting her head.

"No, it just, you're going in the opposite way of where he's looking. You're going behind his back." Mr. Scout clarifies.

"Right. Okay." She nods. "Thank you again." She heads her way, and he heads his.

Chapter Text

Helena holds a cold beer bottle in her hand. She has taken only a sip and hates the flavor, but it's what everyone is drinking. There wasn't a board game in sight. Natalie, being the social butterfly that she is, has introduced Helena to maybe three people before being pulled into other conversations or twirled in a dance. Helena is overdressed just like she was at the bar. She decides she's going to ask permission to own at least one pair of jeans. They weren't sold in any of the seven stores Lumon approves. Everyone wore jeans.

"Hey." says a guy with hair the same length as Helena's. He takes a seat beside her on the sunk-in-leather sofa.

"Hi." Helena shrugs. She wasn't having fun and she wasn't sure why. Everyone else seemed to be.

"Gavin." He introduces himself.

"Helly." She answers.

"What's your major?" Gavin asks.

"I don't have one." Helena replies. Her schooling was abruptly over a few years ago. One day in the classroom, Miss Shoemaker briefly showed her a piece of paper, explaining it was Helena's diploma, and informed Helena that she had taken and passed her last exam. School was over. No more learning.

"You haven't declared?" Gavin asks.

"No. I don't attend here, not this college or any college." Helena clarifies. She is becoming annoyed. This seemed to be the first thing anyone said to her here, 'Major, major, major.'

"Oh." Gavin is surprised and sips his beer. "How do you know Ralph?"

"I don't." Helena shrugs, having only met Ralph, the host of the party, for a few seconds. It was just long enough for him to laugh at her for being too formal when thanking him for extending her this invitation.

"You here with someone? A boyfriend?" Gavin asks.

"No. A friend." Helena answers, still not comfortable with the title 'friend' for Natalie. She scans the room trying to find Natalie's curls, or flawless skin, amongst all the bodies crammed into the space. "Do you know Natalie?"

"Natalie?" He laughs, "Everyone knows Natalie."

Helena raises her eyebrows and nods, "It seems that way."

Suddenly, the crowd of people makes a collective 'woo' sound. It startles Helena that they all know to do this at the same time. Gavin claps and shouts, "Yeah!" and Helena looks to where he and the crowd are looking. Natalie is wrapped in the arms of another young man who dips her back into a prolonged kiss, her hands grip at his shoulders. Helena feels her face get hot, but she's not sure what the feeling is. When the young man releases Natalie from the kiss to accept the cheers from the crowd, Natalie slaps him across the face. The crowd collectively gasps. Helena shoots up from her seat, discerning that Natalie is distressed, and Natalie pulls away from the man, shoving her way through the crowd, in the opposite direction from where Helena stands. Helena abandons her beer and tries to 'pardon' and 'excuse' her way through the strangers, but after being ignored, her sense of urgency causes her to push her way through, in a general direction, hoping she might intercept the fleeing Natalie. She catches sight of her, breaking from the crowd and rushing up the stairs. Helena follows.

When Helena reaches the top of the stairs, she hears a door slam. She looks between the two options and she sees that one, although closed, is slightly ajar. She decides the door that slammed must be the one that is securely shut. She approaches the door and knocks.

"Natalie?" She asks. She listens at the door, but she gets no response. "Natalie, I'm going to come in." She announces and again allows for an answer. She opens the door and enters what appears to be shared sleeping quarters. Natalie spins around to see who is entering. She makes eye contact with Helena, and her lip trembles. Helena is alarmed to see tears from the forever-smiling girl. Helena quickly closes the door behind her. "Are you okay?" She asks softly. Natalie wipes at her tears and forces a tight-lipped smile. "You don't have to." Helena shakes her head, recognizing that Natalie is wrestling Woe out of fear of her reaction. Helena puts her hands out by her side, palms forward, to show she's not a threat. "It's okay." She reassures Natalie. Natalie accepts this and allows her lip to tremble again. Helena thinks about the books she's read. When characters cry, other characters comfort them. She wasn't fully sure if this was something that people commonly practiced in real life, but she decides to try it. Helena thoughtfully reaches out and takes hold of Natalie's hand. Natalie squeezes Helena's hand in acceptance. "Are you okay?" She asks again, close enough to Natalie that she can smell the mixture of beer and flowers.

"I'll be fine." Natalie says, linking fingers with Helena.

"Who was that guy?" Helena asks.

"My ex." Natalie answers, "The idiot made a bet he could get me back. I was just being polite to him, and he-" Her lip trembles again and a few tears escape. Helena thinks before touching and uses her free hand to gently rub Natalie's arm, as she remembers Cynthia had done to her a few times.

"He's a fucking asshole." Helena says. Natalie smirks at the use of profanity, remembering Helena's aversion to it as kids.

"Yes, that's exactly why I broke up with him." Natalie agrees. She looks down at their linked fingers and then to Helena's concerned green eyes. "I shouldn't have left you alone like that. You don't know anyone. That was rude of me."

"It's, no, that's okay." Helena smiles softly.

Natalie sighs and swings their hands. "I guess we should get back down there."

"Or…" Helena squints with uncertainty, "...we could just leave?"

Natalie smirks and raises her eyebrows. "Leave?"

"Yeah. That guy sucks. Most of the people here suck. And the beer tastes like toilet water." Helena says. Natalie laughs at the brutal honesty.

"And where will we go?" Natalie asks, smiling and leaning closer to Helena.

Helena shrugs. She didn't have permission to be anywhere else, but as she looks into Natalie's blue eyes, she decides she's willing to risk punishment for her. "I don't know. We'll just see where the road takes us?" Helena smiles and bites her lip nervously.

"Ok." Natalie nods. Helena is shocked at the acceptance of her wild proposal.

.ssss.

What started as a romantic, daring, wild idea quickly turned to an awkward, confusing car ride. Helena drives them around aimlessly, at first enjoying the sound of Natalie singing along with the radio. She doesn't know the words, so whenever Natalie puts the invisible microphone in Helena's face, she stays silent and shakes her head. Eventually, Natalie gives up trying to engage her in this way. After staring out the dark window for a few songs, Natalie suggests to Helena that they go back to the Eagan estate because she doesn't want to go back to her dorms.

.ssss.

As Helena types in her code on the metal number keys, she looks at Natalie standing on the stairs beside her. Helena has never brought someone home before. She's never had a friend over. Her home has only ever been a place of spies and vipers, cold and dangerous. A place of punishment and longing. Not friendship. She's afraid for Natalie, as if something might change in her when she crosses the threshold. Helena holds her breath as she enters and watches Natalie enter the Eagan's home with a sense of awe. Helena waits, observing her for a few seconds before she relaxes. It's still Natalie.

"I can't believe I'm here, in the Eagan estate before my Dad." Natalie laughs.

"Your Dad? Dr. Kalen has been here." Helena squints. Maybe Natalie's father was as secretive as her own? "He's here at least once a year, for the New Year Ritual. All the Lumon Elites are."

"You must be mistaken. He's always with us on New Year's Eve." Natalie says.

"Yeah, that's not what I mean." Helena says, slipping off her shoes. "My room is this way." Helena starts to lead Natalie.

"You're not going to give me a tour?" Natalie asks.

"It's midnight." Helena shakes her head, "I don't think I sh- We should be roaming around the halls. Other people might be sleeping." She clears her throat nervously. She doesn't want to explain that she isn't supposed to move about her house freely, or that she's not allowed in certain rooms, or that by a specific time she's not to be seen. This new bedroom isn't being locked from the outside like her childhood room was. But for the most part, Helena has respected the boundaries and schedule she's kept her whole life.

"You're right." Natalie agrees, she didn't want to be the annoying tipsy girl who woke Jame Eagan from slumber. She follows Helena, but Helena doesn't turn on any lights as they go. Natalie pinches the fabric of Helena's shirt, allowing her to guide her through the darkness that Helena knows so well.

They reach her room, and again, Helena finds herself feeling nervous. She remembers how impressed she was by Natalie's room as a teen. Apart from the size, Helena isn't sure there's anything impressive about her new space. She opens the door.

"After you." She allows Natalie to enter first, and she flips on the lights. She puts her shoes against the wall and watches Natalie move about the room. Helena can't help but smile. She liked seeing Natalie in her space. It was like the time a butterfly flew in her window. It was bright, beautiful and brought color into the otherwise sterile environment. It was natural and moved unpredictably, fluttering and floating. There was nothing stringent or militant about it. It was a free thing. Until Miss Shoemaker killed it. Natalie turns to Helena with a wide smile and Helena feels herself blush.

"Looks like you just moved in." Natalie laughs. "I can almost hear an echo, it's so bare."

"Yes, I, well, I did just move in." She knew this wasn't the real reason and that, just like her last room, customization was probably prohibited.

"Can I put on some music?" Natalie asks.

"Uh, sure, just quietly?" Helena peeks towards the door.

"Is Jame's room nearby?" Natalie asks.

"I don't think so." Helena shrugs.

"You don't think?" Natalie tilts her head with a confused smile.

"I'll uh, get us something to sleep in." Helena starts walking to her closet.

"Wait, wait. Here." Natalie says, as she pulls a bottle of tequila that she took from the Frat party out of her purse. Helena eyes it as Natalie unscrews the top. She takes a swig directly from the bottle and then hands it to Helena. Helena again looks to her door, then the bottle, then Natalie's eager eyes. Helena takes a swig. "Good girl." Natalie says proudly. Helena squints skeptically and then heads to her closet.

Helena hands Natalie a pajama set identical to the one she has chosen for herself. It's simply a different shade of blue. Natalie examines the collared button-up silk shirt paired with matching shorts. Natalie sighs, thinking that even in her sleep, Helena is collared and confined.

"I'll change in there." Helena points to her closet. "You can change in here. And I just, I'll wait until you say it's okay to come out." She offers.

"You don't have to do that, Helena. We're both girls." Natalie laughs as she pulls her T-shirt over her head, revealing a burgundy lace bra. Helena closes her eyes to stop herself from staring. She inhales and exhales, then opens her eyes, keeping them fixed to the floor.

"I'll just look this way, for privacy." Helena points over her shoulder and then turns her back to Natalie, who laughs at her awkwardness. They both resume changing, and when Helena removes her top, Natalie covers her mouth to hide a gasp. Helena's smooth porcelain skin is striped with faint and fading scars up and down her back. Natalie remembers the tension between her parents after her 13th birthday party. At the time, she couldn't understand why they would argue about this weird girl's bruised knuckles. Helena slides into the shirt and works on the buttons. "I'm done. Are you?" Helena chews the inside of her lip before peeking over her shoulder.

Natalie forces a laugh, "I didn't say I was done!" Helena laughs away her unease. She also laughs at the sight of Natalie in her pajamas. Natalie steps nearer to her and offers her the tequila. Helena sips and keeps her smile. She doesn't try fighting it. She's not afraid of sharing it with Natalie. She's not worried about the line between Cheer and Frolic. "Where can I play music?"

"Oh." Helena laughs, "I don't know. I thought you had a way." Natalie looks around the room again, noting the lack. No speaker, or stereo, or television, or books, or art. She suddenly feels really sad, and no one should feel sad while drinking tequila.

"You got a pool?" Natalie asks, desperate to leave this room.

"Yeah." Helena walks to her windows and turns a knob to adjust the opacity. Natalie is impressed by the tech. "That's the outside pool. And downstairs there's an indoor pool. It's mainly a lane pool, but it's the one that I use most."

"Well, let's go to that one." Natalie says.

"I don't know-"

"Is someone sleeping in the pool, Helena?" Natalie jokes. Helena laughs at the absurdity.

"No." She says. Natalie raises her eyebrows suggestively. "Okay. Follow me, but be quiet." She takes hold of Natalie's hand and peeks out of her door, checking the coast is clear before leading her friend back into the dark halls.

.ssss.

Together, the young women sit in the dark, dangling their legs in the temperature-controlled water of the lane pool. They're both a little drunk. Natalie tells Helena all about her ex and why they broke up. She tells Helena that she should have known it was a doomed relationship since he wasn't a child of Kier. Helena was attentive, asking questions and making Natalie laugh with her commentary. She had learned from her last friend, Cynthia, that the less she shared about herself, the better. So far, that was holding up to be true.

Feet still in the water, Natalie lies back on the cool tiles of the pool room floor. Helena leans back, resting on her elbows and smiling down at Natalie. She can't help but think the way her loose golden curls fan out around her head makes it look like she's wearing a crown. Natalie looks back at Helena and her unusually toothy grin.

"Helena do you-" Natalie sits up again.

"What?" Helena asks, copying Natalie and pushing herself back to an upright position.

Natalie narrows her eyes at Helena, "Do you, like, like me?"

"Sure." Helena nods.

"Gosh, because I'm not into-" Natalie puts up her palm and shakes her head. "I don't like you."

"Oh." Helena says softly. She wasn't exactly surprised, but she was disappointed. She felt they were having a nice time.

"Not like that, anyway." Natalie clarifies.

"Like what? I don't understand." Helena shakes her head and laughs, swallowing the lump forming in her throat.

"I don't want to hurt your feelings, I just, it's better if we're friends." Natalie says urgently.

"Of course, friends." Helena's eyebrows scrunch down with confusion. "That's what I want too." She assures.

"Really? Because sometimes the way you look at me, is-"

"What?"

"Like, I don't know? You stare like I'm the prettiest girl you've ever seen." Natalie says.

"Well, you are." Helena admits and shrugs. "But don't let that go to your head. Remember, I don't get out much."

A silence follows this statement until Natalie judges its sincerity, and then they both laugh.

"Ok, that's a relief. You're not crushing on me?" Natalie's smile has returned and Helena feels relieved by it.

"Crushing? No. I don't think so? I don't think I've ever had a crush." Helena admits.

"Oh good. That's great. I mean, I want to keep hanging out and that would have made it really uncomfortable for me, if, ya know?"

"I wouldn't want that." Helena says.

"Friends?" Natalie asks. Helena smiles bashfully. She remembers all those years ago, she never got to answer this question.

"Friends." Helena confirms. Natalie throws her arms around Helena, pulling her into a hug. Helena nimbly responds and wraps her arms around her new friend.

.ssss.

Despite the alcohol making her lids heavy, Helena was too distracted by the warm body in her bed to drift asleep. She already felt like she was in a dream. Although she didn't sleep more than a few minutes at a time, she is somehow fully awake and hyper-alert before her alarm sounds. She watches the time tick down and silences the alarm one second before it triggers. Helena procures water and headache pills for Natalie in case she needs them when she wakes. Dull sunlight filters into the room through the 80% opaque windows, and as the day dawns, Helena gets increasingly nervous about getting caught. She was feeling brave last night, punishment be damned, but this morning she only felt Dread. Not wanting to leave the sleeping Natalie alone, she does her morning exercises on her mat. She showers quickly, brushes her hair and teeth, and dresses, checking her bed after each activity to verify the beauty is still sleeping. She made a few questionable decisions last night, but hopefully her autocorrection and compliance this morning would afford her some leniency. Now, Helena sits on the edge of her bed, staring at the whiteout windows, contemplating waking her friend. It was nearly time for breakfast, and she didn't want to be late.

Natalie's eyes flutter open, and she's disoriented by the strange bed she finds herself in. It only takes a few seconds before her eyes settle on Helena, whose tense back is turned to her. She observes the perfectly stiff posture, and Lumon blue shirt. For a second, she remembers the scarred skin hidden beneath the fabric, but she quickly dismisses the implications of that. She watches quietly as Helena stares at a window that she can't even see out of. Natalie gently rubs her index finger over the back of Helena's blue shirt. The touch startles Helena, which causes Natalie to retract her hand. When Helena turns to see Natalie, she offers her a tight smile, nothing like the free, toothy grins she had shared the night before.

"Good, you're awake." Helena says. "How do you feel?"

"Great, actually. This bed is so comfortable compared to the one in my dorm." Natalie answers.

"I've been thinking." Helena starts, "I should alert the kitchen staff that you will be joining me for breakfast. How do you take your eggs?"

"You know what? I could really go for a smoothie. There's this place near the campus that sells a smoothie called 'Hangover Cure'. It fucking works miracles." Natalie says, sitting up and taking a sip of the water on the nightstand by her side of the bed.

"If you know the ingredients, I can get the recipe to the kitchen and-"

"Let's just go. We can stop there before you drop me off at campus." Natalie says.

"Oh." Helena thinks about this. She knows the moment that they open her bedroom door, this freedom fantasy falls apart. She can't just get up and go. She needed a two-hour time frame to get the smoothie place, or any place approved. She chastises herself for not having the forethought to wake Natalie when the alarm would have sounded. She could have put in the request then. 'Who am I kidding?' She shakes her head. Once it was known she brought someone without clearance into the estate, she wasn't going anywhere.

Natalie looks at her phone and laughs, "Shit Helena. What time did you get up? You're dressed and everything, it's only 7:45 AM?"

"Breakfast is always at eight." Helena informs her, leaving out the fact that being late could mean forfeiting the meal entirely.

"Gosh, well, that place doesn't open until ten on Sundays." Natalie yawns. Helena watches Natalie's pink nails tap at the screen of her mobile phone. "I don't want to be more work for your kitchen staff. I'll be fine with whatever you're having for breakfast."

"I uh, I don't think you will." Helena laughs.

"Why? What are you having?" Natalie asks.

"Coffee." Helena says.

"Ok."

"Milk."

"Ok?"

"And likely three raw eggs." Helena says with apologetic eyes.

Natalie laughs, "Oh, the Kier Special."

"Yes." Helena nods.

"You like that?" Natalie says with a look of disgust.

"I don't think that matters." Helena shrugs. Natalie studies her friend's blank face to gauge her sincerity. Helena clears her throat, "But, if you get me the list of ingredients for the smoothie. I think I can request what you like."

The bedroom door opens suddenly. Helena jumps to her feet, quickly rounds the bed, and stands firmly at attention between Natalie and the now open door. Natalie is alarmed by all of the sudden movement.

"Mr. Drummond." Helena says softly. Natalie peeks around her to see the large man with a serious face and a silly mustache. "There was an altercation at the party." Helena speaks quickly, "And I thought it was safest to-"

"Not now, Helena." Mr. Drummond booms. Natalie's surprised that Helena immediately silences and bows her head almost shamefully. "Miss Natalie Kalen?" He says, looking past Helena. Natalie is hesitant to answer, based on Helena's unease and the stranger's size.

"Please, Mr. Drummond. This was all my idea." Helena interjects. He takes a step forward into the room, and Helena flinches at his nearness, her fingers flexing with tension. Natalie feels even more threatened by the man's presence. He knew her name, and Helena was clearly frightened of him.

"I said, Not. Now. Helena. We will discuss your choices later." He says, looking down at the fidgeting young woman. He notices she swallows nervously and drops her gaze in submission. "Miss Natalie Kalen?" He repeats, stepping around Helena to get a view of the young woman in the bed. Natalie pulls the blankets up to her chest protectively. "Mr. Eagan would like a word with you in the library."

"Me?" Helena asks.

"Not you, Helena!" Drummond says, through his teeth. He's annoyed and unsure how many times he would need to tell her to keep her mouth shut. He was trying to be nice about it.

"Me?" Natalie asks, her eyes wide in shock.

"Yes. You have fifteen minutes to ready yourself. I'll be outside the door to escort you to the meeting." Drummond says, stepping back towards the exit of the room. He looks at Helena, "You get yourself to breakfast." He instructs her. She nods without looking up from the floor.

Helena doesn't ease from this militant position until the bedroom door closes again. She swiftly turns her attention to Natalie, who sits with her mouth agape, trying to process everything that just happened. "I'm sorry." Helena says earnestly. "You should, you should get ready," She says. "Father doesn't take kindly to tardiness. You should really be there before him."

"Who was that? That man, he was, everything about that was terrifying." Natalie says, her eyes wide. Helena steps closer to her friend, pulling down the covers to encourage her to get up.

"That's just Mr. Drummond." Helena answers. She couldn't disagree that his stature and his permanently disgruntled face were intimidating, but he wasn't the scariest thing to Helena in this moment. "It's okay. You'll probably be fine." She tries to reassure her friend. However, her eyes fail to hide her worry.

"Probably?" Natalie asks.

Helena takes Natalie's hand and guides her out of bed. She points with her free hand, "Your clothes are folded on the sink in the bathroom. I put a fresh towel-"

"I can't shower and dress in fifteen minutes." Natalie laughs nervously.

"Oh." Helena shakes her head, unsure how to convince Natalie of the urgency of her readiness without frightening her. "Please, do whatever, whatever it is you need to do. Just don't take too long, alright?" She's pleased to see Natalie nod and begin heading to the en suite bathroom. "I need to report to the dining room." Helena says, taking Natalie's phone from the bed and walking over to her, placing it in her hand. "Keep an eye on your time. Please."

"You're leaving me?" Natalie asks.

"I have to. You heard him." Helena says but she can see Natalie is still afraid. "It's okay." She reassures. "Dr. Kalen is essential to Lumon. And you, you're important to him?" She asks.

Natalie narrows her eyes at the question. "To my Dad?"

"Yeah." Helena confirms.

"Yes, I'm important to my dad." Natalie shrugs at the absurd question.

"Good. That's your safeguard then." Helena smiles, feeling relief for her friend. "You shouldn't have anything to worry about." Helena touches Natalie's shoulder and offers a remorseful smile. "I'm really sorry about all this. I," She sighs, "I had fun last night." Natalie nods, forcing a smile with fear-filled eyes. "I have to go now." Helena says, leaving her friend's side, hoping that after today she will still be able to call her that. She hurries out of the room to avoid making things worse for herself.

Chapter Text

Helena was informed that after the meeting in the library, Natalie was brought back to campus by one of the Lumon drivers. After breakfast, she's told to expect a lesson in why there are security clearance rules for the estate, and why vetting and permissions are needed before bringing in an unknown. Before lunch, Helena receives two text messages, one of comfort and one of Dread. Natalie text to say she was back at her dorm safely and thanked her for 'hanging'. Mr. Drummond text that Helena should go to the Classroom and wait for her lesson.

Since her schooling has finished, the types of lessons she learned in the Classroom have been corrections, discipline or punishment. She hasn't been to the Classroom since before Miss Shoemaker's retirement. She hadn't received any further instruction, so once in the room, Helena chooses to sit at her desk. She stares into the far-off and tames her Dread, combating it with all the happy moments that brought her here: the smell of flowers, her new friend's smile in the blue pool light, the loud car singing on the dark roads, all of the soft touches, and their hug. These memories will satiate her soul for some time.

When the Classroom door opens, a man rolls in a medical machine. He doesn't speak to her. He leaves the room and returns carrying a black case. He uses her desk to unpack the equipment from the case, still not speaking to her, even though he stands directly in front of her. She observes the things he takes from the case. It's a piece of equipment she's unfamiliar with but she can see it's called the Beta-Woemeter. Helena knew that 'Beta' meant the tech or programming wasn't final. As it's being set up, she knows it's going to be tested on her. She knew other people signed consent forms to participate in testing and trials. Sometimes they were compensated. Helena would never expect that. Helena was never asked.

"Open your hands." The man speaks softly, finally looking at her. She offers him a polite smile and nod, obeying the stranger. He places two plastic egg-shaped things in her hand. She's grateful they don't buzz or zap, and closes her fingers around them. She looks to the man for further instruction. He walks over to the other machine and attaches a few wires to stickers. "Be still." He commands and Helena sits up straight. The man places a sticker on her arm, neck, and temple. He presses a few buttons on the machine and looks back and forth between it and a digital tablet. The man leaves Helena alone again.

Whatever the test, Helena assures herself that she can pass. She can trick the machine. She repeats internally, 'Keep calm. Straight face. Feel nothing.'

A few minutes pass before another man walks in. This one is taller and darker than the first. He also doesn't speak. He stands at the front of the Classroom and glares at Helena. She narrows her eyes at him, uncomfortable with his menacing, but she's careful not to allow her nervousness to tip her balance into Dread.

Next, Mr. Drummond enters. Helena breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth. She watches Mr. Drummond as he inspects the man and then her machines, verifying that everything is in order. She's afraid, but she focuses on her breath and keeps her heart rate steady.

"Helena," Mr. Drummond starts. Helena involuntarily shudders, the Classroom was too small for his voice. "Last night, you made a poor choice." She nods, accepting this, and watches as Drummond removes his suit jacket. "It's obvious that you fail to consider how seriously your actions affect other people." He unbuttons the sleeves of this white shirt and rolls them up. Helena bites the inside of her lip as Woe shows her ugly face. "Your claim of an altercation taking place between young Miss Kalen and another student at Ganz has been investigated and confirmed." Helena nods, looking at Mr. Drummond's large hands, hoping this news means he won't be using them on her. "While it was Nimble of you to remove Miss Kalen from a dangerous situation. You failed to have the Vision to anticipate the perilous situation you were creating. Bringing a person without security clearance into the estate could have put not only you in danger, but your Father, and any private Lumon records kept on the property." She sighs, feeling disappointed to think she was a danger to Lumon, the company she loved so much. "We can all thank Kier, it turned out as it did and that Miss Kalen is a loyal member of the Lumon family."

"Praise Kier." Helena adds sincerely.

"This is why we have protocol, procedures, checks and balances. To avoid situations like this." He continues. "Helena, do you know this man?" Helena looks to the angry man, then the angry Drummond and meekly shakes her head 'no'. "Introduce yourself." Drummond commands the man.

"Hi Miss Eagan. I'm Mr. Abrar. I have worked as the night security guard for this estate for fifteen years. My shifts are 8 PM to 8 AM. You're normally already home from work by the time I arrive, and you're eating breakfast at 8 AM when I leave. I see you every day, but I don't think we have ever spoken." Mr. Abrar says. Helena nods. It's not surprising to her that some man she's never met knows when she eats breakfast, when she gets home, and where she sleeps.

"Helena, your decision to bring Miss Kalen into the estate was a profound misjudgment. You demonstrated a severe lapse in discretion and responsibility. However, Mr. Abrar should have been immediately alerted by the door's activation of your entry code. He should have observed and intercepted the unauthorized presence in the foyer. So, while your actions directly facilitated a security breach. It was Mr. Abrar's responsibility to prevent such an intrusion. His failure to do so represents a critical dereliction of duty. Understand that actions bear consequences. Such failures demand atonement." Mr. Drummond informs them.

Blood flies from Mr. Abrar's nose when Mr. Drummond's fist plows into his face. Mr. Drummond leaves no chance for recovery, grabbing the other man by his clothing and delivering several body shots. Each punch the man yowls in pain. Helena watches, doing her best to stay balanced. 'Keep calm. Straight face. Feel nothing.' She reminds herself as she takes deep breaths. Everything moves so quickly, and Mr. Abrar is on the ground. Helena can't see him beyond her desk and she's grateful. The blood splatter on the wall was enough to turn her stomach. Mr. Drummond shows no signs of letting up. He pummels the man's body with Verve. When the punches continue but the man has stopped making noise, Helena feels a tear escape her eye. She quickly wipes it with the back of her hand and looks at the device in the room, unsure how to decipher its reading. She could only hope it didn't detect her Woe.

When the beating ends Mr. Drummond wipes the blood from his knuckles on a handkerchief he pulls from his suit jacket. This takes some time as there is quite a bit of blood. Helena can hear Mr. Abrar's ragged wet breaths, his blood sputtering from his lips with each labored exhale. With a clean conscience and clean hands, Mr. Drummond pulls the book of Compliance from the shelf on the wall. He turns to a page and slams it down in front of the rigid Helena. She startles out of her trance. Her face was wet from tears but emotionless and still, her eyes empty and distant. "Read." He taps the passage. He towers over her and waits.

Helena looks at the book and Drummond's thick finger pressed against the delicate page. She observes his 'Frolic' tattoo and then clears her throat. She reads, "A worker may suffer injurious pain or ghastly dehumanization, and no workspace is without its perils. But whatever your task, dear worker, see that you perform it with love. Endow in each swing of your axe or swipe of your pen the sum of your affections, that through me they may be purified and returned. No higher purpose may be found than this…" Drummond's bass filled voice joins her in reciting the last line.

"Nor any higher love." They say in unison.

Helena stares at the blood on the wall and reflects on the word love. She thinks she may never truly know what the word means. This was an act of love?

Mr. Drummond steps out of the Classroom and very quickly three people come in. Two of them, see to the bloodied body of the groaning man. One is the man from earlier. He puts the Beta-Woemeter into its case and removes the stickers from Helena's arm, face, and neck.

"You did really well." He says with a smile. Helena simply stares. Numb to his words and numb to the world.

.ssss.

Helena lay in bed, haunted, staring through the dark at her ceiling. The pillow beside her still smelled of Natalie's hair. As much as she would like to use that scent to remember her friend's peacefully sleeping visage, her thoughts are bombarded by the bloodied Mr. Abrar. 'It is my fault.' She tells herself. Her choices caused pain, but she's still not sure why it wasn't her pain. She thanked Kier a hundred times for saving her from the wrath of Drummond. She prayed fervently for forgiveness for the pain she has caused this world. None of the prayers worked to remove the vivid red of his blood from her mind.

The guilt keeps her from sleeping. At around 3 AM, she decides the only thing that might bring her comfort is her old sketchbook. She needs to flood her mind with happy memories to wash away the terror. Helena decides she must find it. If she gets caught in the search and punished, her Woe might feel balanced again. 'It is my fault.' She repeats. She deserves the pain.

Helena gets out of bed and chooses to leave her house shoes behind, remaining barefoot. The slippers have a rubber sole that sometimes slaps on the hard floors of the home. She wasn't afraid of being caught, but she wasn't aiming for it either. She opens her door and peeks into the hall. The halls are dark, and the house is quiet except for the gentle buzz of electricity, the ticking of a clock, and the sound of Helena's anxious breath.

In the two weeks since finding out about the Personal Archives, Helena has spent a lot of time thinking about the possible location. She remembers many years ago, when she was about to turn thirteen, Miss Shoemaker had broken protocol to prove to Helena that she hadn't broken protocol—the hypocrite. Helena remembers seeing her name on a binder of SOPs and forms. She remembers Miss Shoemaker bringing this binder from downstairs. Helena guesses that this must mean that the Archives are downstairs, somewhere in the labyrinth beyond the secret servants' door in the foyer.

Standing in the foyer, the pale light of the moon shines in through the large windows. She stares at the front door, picturing Natalie's awe. Natalie always treated Helena like a regular person, and it was the first time that she witnessed a look of reverence as if Natalie had stepped onto sacred land. This makes Helena sigh sadly. Excluding the Library with Kier's original writings, there was nothing sacred about this place. Helena saw it as hellish, not holy.

When she looks at the secret panel that camouflages the servants door, a feeling of Dread churns her stomach. She plants her bare feet on the cold tile and pulls her shoulders back in a militant manner. She is a woman on a mission. 'Dread will not stop me!' Helena encourages herself to be brave. Some part of her was still brave; that's the part she needs to conjure. She flexes her fingers at her side, hesitating. She knew going through that door would be entering a pit of vipers. None of the servants liked her, and she has no doubt that given the opportunity, they would tell on her to Drummond or worse, her Father. She presses the secret panel, and the concealed door opens. Helena holds her breath and takes a wide step into the forbidden space. 'Maybe I'm not brave? Maybe I just don't care what happens to me.' She thinks to herself. The corridor is dark with no obvious light switch. When she takes a careful step, she notices a light along the baseboard, shining white on the floor. Helena takes another step, and the light follows. This both encourages and distresses her. She wouldn't be wandering this unfamiliar place in the dark, but every step betrays her location.

The first door she finds is labeled Breakroom. The door opens to a darker, narrower hall, and she pauses, feeling fearful of the eerie void. She shakes her head and closes the door, deciding not to enter. If she must, she'll return here, but an unsettled energy tells her it's not a place she wants to be. She continues down the hallway and reads the labeled doors: Food Storage, Duplicates, Stationery and Supplies, and Lockers.

She tiptoes near a slightly ajar door. A blue light hums from the room. Helena presses her back to the wall and reads the label:Security Office. She hops backward, out of fear that the lighted baseboard will betray her. She thinks of running back to safety, but instead, she finds herself frozen in place. After several still moments in the dark, Helena realizes no one is coming for her. She listens to the silence. There are no sounds of movement. The blue hue from the room remained constant and unwavering. There were no changes, as would be the case if someone were walking or moving in front of the monitor screens. Could it be empty? She raises an eyebrow and then thinks of poor Mr. Abrar, whose shift this typically was. Had no one been called to fill this role? Was no one watching? She swallows her fear and scampers through the blue light, past the door, to the other side of the hall. She looks at the door and waits, still somewhat expecting someone to jump out and grab her. This doesn't happen. She closes her eyes and regulates her breathing, which has gotten loud. Keep calm. Straight face. Feel nothing. She repeats her mantra. This helps her put Dread in its place, and she's able to continue through the halls.

Team Building, Dining Hall, and Medical Bay. She stands in disbelief when she finds the door that reads: Eagan Archives. Could it really be this easy? She looks over her shoulder in the direction of the Security Office. For a second, she wonders if she's in a dream. The static darkness, the loud silence, the nothingness, and the no one. She can feel her heart pounding in her chest, and it brings her to reality. 'Fuck it, here goes nothing'. She says, trying the door handle. To her surprise, it opens. The room it opens to is mostly bare, and an embossed quote is illuminated on the wall, which casts quite a bit of light into the space. Helena silently reads the words, "History lives in us, whether we learn it or not." She's surprised to see that the Eagan being quoted is not Kier but her father. "Jame." She says aloud.

She knows little of her father. She knows he is revered and respected. She knows he is feared. She knows what his shoes sound like when he enters the room and can almost determine his mood by the gate of his steps. She knows he loves Lumon and not her. But is he a profound man? Is he a man whose words should be embossed on a wall? She stares at his name for some time before reminding herself of her quest.

In this room, the three walls she faces have two doors each. She turns to her left and moves clockwise in the space. The first door says her father's name, Jame Eagan and years 1970-1980, the next door is Jame Eagan 1980-1990, then Jame Eagan 1990-2000, and Jame Eagan 2000-Present. The last two doors bear her name, Helena Eagan Birth-2000, and Helena Eagan 2000-Present. She's fairly certain her sketchbook will be behind the final door, but her curiosity gets the best of her. Maybe she has a birth certificate? Maybe it has her mother's name? Maybe even a photo?

The door opens on the slightest touch of the handle, and Helena enters the pitch black room. She uses the flashlight feature on her mobile phone to see inside. The rows of shelves lined with boxes and folders remind her of her happy times in Quality Assurance Filing with Cynthia. Helena walks to the shelves lining the wall and shines the light on the labels. Age three files start at eye level. She puts her head back, looking up at the dark ceiling. Birth must be the very first file on the very top shelf. She moves her flashlight, scanning the room for a step ladder. There's nothing obviously left out. She walks about the room, and as she looks for a ladder, she can see that Age 8 has an entire row of VHS tapes, under Discipline and Corrections. She notices each age has similar sections: School, Health Charts, Social Events, Milestones, Experiments and Testing.

She finds a folded ladder tucked between two shelves and carries it back to Year One. She places her mobile phone face down on the floor so that the flashlight casts its light upwards. It's dim at best, and as careful as she tries to be, it's dark, and she doesn't know this ladder. She fumbles trying to open it and lock the legs. It makes a clicking sound which to her feels louder than a firework, and she looks at the door, prepared to be caught. She stays frozen in place until she realizes no one is coming. She climbs the ladder and reaches over her head for the very first folder on the very top shelf. It's thick. When she feels she has it securely in her hand, she makes her way down the ladder. She places the folder down and sits on the cold floor, criss-crossing her legs. She lifts the phone and opens the file. Her eyes widen, and she tilts her head, confronted by a photograph of herself as a newborn. She's bald, naked, and screaming. In the photo, baby Helena is on a white blanket beside a ruler. An adult hand is linked around her tiny ankles, extending baby Helena's legs for accurate measurements. She's never seen a photo of herself as a baby or a child. There were no framed photos of her around the estate. She finds a photocopy of a birth certificate with the mother's name redacted. A heavy weight settles on her heart, and she runs her index finger over the black line of mystery. The folder details her birth weight, length, and first week of life. One of the handwritten notes describes her as "a viable subject."

Helena returns the disappointing folder to its place. She steps down from the ladder and finds Age five. This is the first year she remembers having an Annual Review. She earned a Two and received severe punishment at the hands of Mr. Heilman. But at the end of the day, he had a soft spot for her and snuck her non-Lumon chocolates as a birthday treat. It was a small consolation but a welcomed kindness. She opens a folder, and again at the front of the folder is a picture of her at the corresponding age. In the photo, five-year-old Helena stands in a blue collared dress. She doesn't smile, and her eyes look up and to the left as if she's concerned about someone or something to the side of the camera. Her hair is done in two braids, one on each side of her head. A Mr. Heilman special. She smiles, remembering. She flips through the folder and finds a note signed off by Mr. Heilman. It reads, "Today, 22nd of August, I have performed the second Annual Loyalty test. The child was presented with the contraband chocolates, and It failed to display loyalty. It behaved piggishly and deceitfully. The child is not to be trusted." Helena's mind reels, and her face is hot with emotion. She always remembered his chocolates fondly. She had thought, even after the lectures and the discipline, he was choosing to be kind to her. She also didn't like the terms 'the child' and 'It'. What happened to My Helly? That's what he called me. She laments.

She returns this deeply upsetting folder to its place and continues to a different shelf. She opens a folder labeled Age Ten. In the photo, Helena is smiling and holding up a white paper with the large number 4 printed on it. She takes the photo from the folder and stuffs it in her pajama shirt pocket. She flips through the file and stops on a photocopied image of a sketch she gifted Mr. Heilman. She remembers presenting it to him and he smiled and pat her on the head. It was a drawing of him and her in a rowboat on Lenora Lake. It isn't bad for ten, she admires. Attached to the photocopy is another note penned by Mr. Heilman. Helena can't pull her eyes away from the final two sentences. He wrote: "The child has a remarkable propensity to deceive itself. It often relies on self-delusion. I have recommended psychological testing." Helena frowns. He wasn't wrong. She did deceive herself. She told herself countless lies every day, and she tried her best to believe those lies. The truth has always been that Mr. Heilman, the half-brained Innie, never cared for her. Helena wipes a sneaky tear from her cheek and returns the file to its place. He was right. She thinks to herself. If she weren't piggish and delusional, she wouldn't have entered this room, looking for more than what she came here for. She would have taken her sketchbook and gone.

Helena folds up the ladder, returning it to its place, hoping to erase any signs of her intrusion. She peeks out of the file room door, the main room lit by her father's words, is still empty. She exits door one and tries the handle of door two marked Helena Eagan 2000-Present. The door opens, and she decides not to peruse this room. It was hard enough living through it all. She didn't need to read about it too. She cuts directly to the right side of the room and flashes her phone light at the large and mostly empty shelves, finding the start of Age Twenty-one. Helena spots her sketchbook in a plastic bag, squished between a file and a box. She smiles, the book truly did contain the best of her memories. She doesn't need a ladder and easily pulls the plastic bag from the shelf. She removes her book from the bag, which is marked with a black marker, the date is her birthday, and it reads Helena's Art. The initials are JS. Miss Shoemaker filed this away, as if the false five wasn't enough, she had to confiscate the one thing Helena held dear, the final knife twist. Helena smiles nostalgically and touches her finger to the worn corners of the cover. She balls up the plastic bag and returns it to its place. She tries adjusting it, but now that it is empty, it doesn't hold shape. It would have to do. Helena turns off her mobile phone's flashlight and walks through the dark file room, hugging her sketchbook to her chest. She finds the door with ease and exits to the room with all the doors. There, illuminated by Jame Eagan's words, stands Drummond.

"What are you doing down here?" Mr. Drummond asks. He observes the young woman's bare feet and matching pajama set. It made her look younger than she was. "What have you got there?" Drummond asks, stepping toward Helena and holding out his hand. She takes a step backward and keeps the book pressed to her chest.

"This is mine." Helena says meekly. "Besides, it's incomplete. There are still empty pages, so it shouldn't be filed away." Mr. Drummond folds his arms and scowls. Helena's eyebrows raise in apology. "Please."

"And that? In your pocket?" Mr. Drummond points. Helena looks down at her shirt pocket, the photo sticks out just slightly, enough to have her caught. She twists her lips to the side and then uses one hand to take the photo from her pocket and hold it out to Mr. Drummond. He notices that she holds the sketchbook further behind her. He takes the photo and observes it. He nods, looking at the child in the photo's proud smile. "I had a sister." He says. "She looked like this as a kid." Helena eyes the exit door nervously but stays where she stands. "I watched my mother beat her to death." Helena's eyes widen at the revelation. "And when my father came home, I helped him bury her." Helena's face is frozen with shock. "I reported her Frolic to mother. My words, that's what killed her."

Helena shakes her head and pleads, "I'm sorry about your sister. But I learned my lesson. Actions have consequences. My actions affect other people. I get it. Please just let me take this and go."

"Before I took this job, as one of your handlers, I was warned about you. I was told you were willful, feckless, and witless. I was told the spirit of Kier has left you." Drummond continues.

"He hasn't." Helena defends herself. "He hasn't left me. I feel his spirit."

"I can see that." Drummond nods. "Since I've gained access to your Archives, I've been studying up on you."

Helena's eyebrows raise. Not creepy at all, she thinks.

"I have been looking for evidence to support those claims. Would you like to know my conclusion based on your history?" He gestures to the doors with her name on it. She thinks. She really didn't. After reading Mr. Heilman's notes on her, she felt that if she could avoid it, it might be best never to know another person's true thoughts on her ever again. She shrugs and drops her head, looking down at the floor. "I think you have been unfairly judged." Helena squints, trying to decipher the intent behind his words if they weren't to harm her. "I will never question Mr. Jame Eagan's decisions. And if I am required to do so, I will not hesitate to exact punishment. However, I did advocate for you."

"What?" Helena lifts her head and looks at him, confused.

"You displayed Nimbleness and Vision when removing Dr. Kalen's daughter from a situation where she was assaulted. Your Verve and Wiles led you to bring her somewhere safe." He says. She presses her lips together, this was not the truth, it wasn't entirely her idea, and she would never call this place safe. "Your Benevolence and Cheer showed Miss Kalen hospitality and kindness after such an ordeal. The only principle you lacked was the Wit to know better than to breach security. But you exercised Probity by telling the truth about your motives and the Humility to take the blame for your actions." He pauses, observing her look of expectancy. It was clear to him that she was waiting for the twist, the put down, the gut punch. He continues, "You may have broken a very serious rule but your exhibition of the Core Nine proves to me that Kier hasn't left you. I raised this point with Mr. Eagan and he said he trusted Kier to guide my hand on what the repercussions should be for your disobedience." Helena is surprised by the thought that he defended her to her Father. He finishes, "The wizened hands that catch you don't always have to be harsh. Not if it can be helped."

Helena nods in understanding, grateful for the pardon. "Thank you." Drummond steps aside, making a way for her to get to the exit. She starts to leave but turns to look back at him. "And thank you for this." She holds her book under her arm. He nods.

"If my sister had lived," Mr. Drummond starts slowly. It's too dark for her to see his sadness, and she has yet to see his face emote more than annoyance, but she can feel the heavy burden of guilt surrounding him. "I think she would have been like you."

Helena sighs, "It's probably best she didn't then. Sorry." At that, she takes her treasure and leaves the man alone with his grief.

Chapter Text

The approval to visit the Imogene Cafe has been pending for an hour and forty minutes. Helena felt reading a few chapters, sipping some sweet coffee, and listening to Old man Lilith snore in the cozy, retired house was just the kind of escape she needed. Since her rendezvous to the Archives, she hasn't been able to shake her Woe. She was doing her best to hide it, but since no one was constantly watching her, she wasn't sure who she was hiding it from. This morning alone at the table, she allowed herself to cry quietly as she ate her boiled egg. She sat in this chair when Mr. Heilman first tested her loyalty to Lumon, and she failed. She failed every year for the next six years. She cries because she's disappointed in herself. She would have known it was a test if she weren't a child with "a propensity to deceive itself". Wiping at her tears, Helena is further disappointed in herself for being dominated by Woe. 'Maybe they were right to warn Drummond that Kier has left me.' She thinks. 'Penance is required. We must be cut to heal.' She tells herself as her eyes catch a glint of light from the knife on the table. It's too dull a knife to do the trick, but the scissors in her desk might suffice. She smiles, pleased with the plan, and hurries to finish her breakfast so that she may return to her room.

.ssss.

With her index finger, Helena wipes the bright red blood from her thigh. She feels a sense of calm. She feels that Kier has accepted her act of penance and sincere repentance.

.ssss.

It's a sunny 73F. Helena wears pleated, belted shorts with a green polo tucked in. The shorts are long enough to hide her secret bandage. She enjoys solace in the woods as she waits for approval to drive to the Imogene Cafe. In the meantime, she aims to fill another page in her old sketchbook. Since her conscience is finally soothed, it's easy for her to get lost in creating art.

The sun is warm, the birds sing, and the occasional breeze rustles the gradually turning leaves of the tree overhead. Helena's back rests against the tree trunk, and she has taken her shoes off, wiggling her feet in the grass as she draws. Free of shame. Free of guilt. And for now, free of Woe.

"Helena! There you are."

Helena jumps out of her skin at Natalie's unexpected voice. Natalie is quick to spot. Her golden hair. Her bare legs and jean shorts. With some difficulty, Natalie traverses the terrain and makes her way down the hill to where Helena sits. Helena had been in a dreamy place of imagination, so it takes her until Natalie is very close to realize she isn't an apparition. Helena shuts her sketchbook.

"Natalie? What are you doing here? How- how are you here right now?" Helena asks, concerned.

Natalie smiles her brilliant smile down at the whimsical redhead. "I have been approved for security clearance." She announces, squatting down to meet her comforting blue eyes with Helena's hazel green stare of confusion. "So now, I can come and go whenever. I even got assigned my own code." She says proudly.

"Really?" Helena studies Natalie's face for deceit. "How?" Helena clears her throat.

"I asked." Natalie shrugs and drops down to sit beside Helena, their bare knees touching. "They told me you were somewhere in the back garden. But you're behind the garden. Beyond the wall. This is the wilderness."

"Barely." Helena fights an eye roll and a smile. She points, "You can still see the garden wall from here."

"Thank Kier! Because if you were any further, I would never have found you." Natalie says.

"All you did was ask?" Helena narrows her eyes. Nothing was ever that simple for her. How could it be for Natalie?

"What are you doing out here when you have a splendid mansion over there?"

"I come here when I want to be alone."

Natalie laughs, "Aren't you basically alone in there, too?"

"It's…different. It's better here." Helena chews her lip. She didn't want to explain that in the woods she felt connected, a part of something big. Inside the estate, she felt small and isolated.

"I don't know about better, but it's definitely dirtier."

"Yes, I filed a complaint to management about that." Helena says flatly. Natalie laughs and Helena smiles. She liked making her laugh.

"What were you drawing?" Natalie asks, gesturing to Helena's obvious sketchbook, the Lumon tin of drawing pencils is still open. "Can I see?" Helena shakes her head with a tight smile and a crinkled nose. No one had ever asked to see her drawings. She was sure they were all probably photocopied and clipped in an archived folder with some demeaning psychoanalysis. But no one had ever asked her to her face to see the inner workings of her mind.

"I don't know. You…" She clears her throat nervously and fidgets with the corners of the book. "...I don't think you'd get it." Helena starts packing away her pencils.

"Helena!" Natalie feigns offense, "Are you calling me stupid?"

"No. I-"

"Because only one of us is about to graduate from college."

"I didn't mean it like that. I-I don't know, it's personal. Private." Helena clarifies.

"Private? We're friends now." Natalie says, gently gripping Helena's knee and wiggling it. Helena tolerates the strange touch and deciphers that it's meant to be a comfort. "Friends share personal things like that."

"That hasn't been my experience." Helena says plainly.

"Well, maybe you've never had a real friend." Natalie challenges, raising her eyebrows.

"Maybe not." Helena shrugs.

"I'm real. You can trust me." Natalie reassures with a smile. Helena watches Natalie's eyelashes flutter. Her bright blue eyes are fixed on Helena's blank face of apprehension. Helena looks to her sketchbook, her friend's smile, the soft hand on her knee, and all she can think of are the birthday chocolates. This, too, could be a test. Would she be deluding herself to think Natalie could be genuinely interested? Would she be fooling herself to think Natalie can be trusted? "We are friends, aren't we?" Natalie asks. Helena nods, she had agreed. "And I shared a lot with you the other night."

"And I promised I wouldn't tell anyone."

"Well, if you want me to promise the same, I will." Natalie offers. Helena thinks about this and nods. "Okay." Natalie shrugs, "I promise."

"They're not even very good." Helena sighs, still hoping to dissuade the persistent Natalie.

"Come on." Natalie bumps her shoulder into Helena's, a nudge of encouragement, a tease.

"Fine." Helena relents. If she shares, she could be failing a test. But if she didn't share, would she be failing at friendship? Helena opens the sketchbook to the sketch she had just been working on. It depicts a baby goat screaming with its tongue out. The goat has the body of a human baby, tiny human baby hands balled into fists, and hooves for feet. The baby goat is held down by a larger, aged human hand. Helena was inspired by her own newborn photo. Just a helpless crying newborn, not being comforted or swaddled, but measured and judged as 'a viable subject'. "I haven't really gotten to the shading yet." She looks away from the art and to Natalie, whose face is horrified. Before Helena can catch herself, she's laughing out loud.

Natalie looks at her, a confused and upset expression on her face. "What?"

"They say art is supposed to evoke emotion. I-" She laughs and shakes her head. "I have never seen someone's reaction to my art before."

"Sorry." Natalie offers, trying to correct her face.

"No, no. Don't be. That's the exact feeling I hoped for."

"It's disturbing, Helena." Natalie says with an uneasy smile.

"Precisely, disturbed and uncomfortable." Helena smiles proudly.

"Why would you want someone to feel that?" Natalie asks.

Helena shrugs, not wanting to explain that it's how she feels most of the time. She continues, "I'm calling it, Kid of Malice." Helena closes the book, pleased with herself for producing a truly upsetting work of art and simultaneously discouraging her new friend from wanting to see more of her private sketches. The ping from Helena's Mobile breaks the uncomfortable silence. She checks her text and smiles widely. "Want to grab a coffee, friend?"

.ssss.

It's Friday and Helena had a terrible day at work. As soon as she gets her phone from her locker, she requests to visit a bar. It has a slim likelihood of approval because she is reasonably sure she will get privileges revoked for her bad behavior today. Her supervisor, Clive, gave her a Write-Up. The Write-Up, Helena imagines, will be received by Mr. Drummond the same way Miss Shoemaker would receive a bad report from a tutor. If her father hears of it, she will face consequences.

She is loathing herself now because she knows the entire situation could have been avoided if she had kept her mouth shut and simply apologized. Unfortunately for Helena, her Malice bucked and gnashed its teeth.

The day had started normally, but took a turn after lunch, when she was called into Clive's office. The newest member of their department, Josh, was also there. Clive began by stating that this was a mediation meeting. Helena could never have imagined what the mediation was needed for. She barely interacted with Josh. He's just finished his first quarter with them, and as far as she can recall, she only spoke to him when he asked questions about things his trainer should have already trained him on.

Apparently, Josh reported her to Clive for making inappropriate advances towards him. Josh sheepishly explained to Helena that he thought they could foster a positive work environment if she would stop certain behaviors, such as leaning over his desk when explaining something, bending at the waist to pick up anything from the ground, and offering to bring him coffee when she heads to the kitchenette.

At first, Helena laughed. She thought it must be a prank. The guys in this department loved pranking each other. One day, she came into work, and all the keys on her keyboard had been removed. All the letters were rearranged so that the x was where the a should be and the b was where the f should be. It was a prank by one of the guys. They normally left her out of the shenanigans, and she was grateful for that exclusion. However, neither Josh nor Clive laughed with her. Clive told her to take the meeting seriously. She couldn't. The thought that she was doing anything to try and make advances on wimpy little Josh was absurd. The two spineless men squeamishly tried to explain to her why her actions made Josh uncomfortable. But she officially lost her battle with Malice when Clive decided to demonstrate the proper way to bend in a skirt. She told them both to 'Fuck off.' That's when Clive dismissed Josh and told her that, because the attempt at mediation was a failure, he had to write her up.

Now Helena sits behind the steering wheel of 'her' car, staring out the windshield at the Eagan Estate. She's afraid. In Helena's eight years of work experience, this is the first time she has ever been written up. She doesn't know what to expect as a consequence. It was one thing to fail a test, or to have a lapse in judgment, or to have a blip of bad press. This is work. This is Lumon! A sin against Lumon is the highest offense.

One of the drivers stands a few feet away, waiting for her to park the car and allow him to drive it in the garage. She briefly makes eye contact with him. He doesn't smile. She wonders if he already knows that he's looking at a dead woman. Helena realizes in this moment that despite her fantasies about her own demise, she doesn't actually want to die. She only wants the pain to end. She knows that beyond the threshold of the Eagan home, through those doors, all that awaits her is pain.

Suddenly the car is moving. Helena looks at her hands turning the wheel and feels her foot pressing the gas as the car pulls away from the Estate at high speed. Dread has taken the wheel. Dread drives her towards the unknown.

.ssss.

The sun is setting, and the clouds are purple. Helena leans her back against the side of 'her' car, which is parked on the side of the road. She drove far outside her six-mile radius and reached a scant part of town where the land is flat and the buildings are so far apart that each one feels like passing the last building on Earth. She stopped because the quiet of the road brought a quiet to her mind. The quiet made reality hit her pretty hard. She had no plans, no destination, no idea of what to do next.

She looks at her phone when it buzzes for the tenth time. She's surprised to see that it's Natalie calling and not Mr. Drummond as it was the nine previous times. Helena watches as the sun dips behind the horizon, bringing deeper blues and darker violets to the sky. Helena isn't afraid of being alone. She isn't afraid of the dark. She's afraid of the nowhere. She's afraid of being lost. Where can I go from here? The phone has stopped buzzing and restarts. Natalie calls a second time. Helena sighs.

"Hello?" She answers.

"Helena, hey. Where are you?" Natalie asks.

"What do you mean?" Helena asks back. Why would Natalie think she was anywhere besides where she always is?

"I mean, I went by the Estate to pick you up and you're not there." Natalie laughs.

"I'm outside." Helena says.

"Like, in the wilderness again? Over the garden wall?"

"No. I'm outside the bubble." She says, looking down the long empty road.

"The bubble?" Natalie asks.

"Natalie." Helena jingles her car keys. "Where do you go when you've got nowhere to go?"

"I don't know, uh, home, probably."

"Where do you go when you want to feel safe?"

"Home?"

"Ok." Helena shakes her head. These were not helpful answers. "And if you can't go home?"

"Helena? What are you talking about? Can't go home? Is there some kind of trouble?"

"Why would you assume that?" Helena asks skeptically. Who has Natalie been speaking to?

"Because you're being cryptic as shit. Are you in trouble?" Natalie answers.

"I guess, no more trouble than usual." Helena sighs. Maybe she overreacted when she drove away. She can admit that to herself. It would have been just another punishment like any of the hundreds of others. She would have been fine. She would have lived.

"Well whatever it is, can't be all that bad." Natalie reassures.

"I'm just, over it."

"Over what?"

"Everything. All of it. Drummond, Clive, Kier, my father."

"Kier?" Natalie asks, shocked.

"I'm sick of being watched, and judged, and reprimanded. I'm over having every single little way I'm failing at life becoming some big humiliating, demeaning discussion. I'm sick of lectures and of men telling me what to do. I'm over it."

"Would you rather it be a woman?"

"No." Helena thinks of the cruel Miss Shoemaker, "Not unless the woman is me." A long pause follows this statement. Helena didn't believe Natalie would ever understand. Since they were kids, Natalie has been spoiled with choice, independence and a sense of self. Helena had only a vague idea of who she might be if she could be herself, if she wasn't Kier's descendant, Jame's progeny, Future of Lumon, and the Failure Eagan.

"Listen, I can hear you're going through something right now." Natalie says. Helena isn't sure why but she feels like she can hear annoyance in Natalie's tone. "And I would be a terrible friend if I let you go through it alone. So, how about you meet me at my dorm?"

"I don't know." Helena shakes her head 'no' for noone to see.

"C'mon. I'll have the Chardonnay chilled and you can tell me all about it."

"I don't know. It might not be safe." She would have to turn around. She would have to return to the bubble.

"Helena, would I ever tell you to do something unsafe?" Natalie laughs.

"I don't know."

"Don't you trust me?" Natalie asks. Helena thinks about this. She wanted to. "What are friends for?" Natalie adds. Helena isn't sure of the answer because Natalie had been right when she said Helena may never have had a real friend. Helena wants to believe that Natalie is trustworthy. It was nice to think someone might be on her side, might truly be offering a listening ear and a safe space. But then maybe she's fooling herself, as she's so prone to do. "Hello?" Natalie says after a much too long silence.

"Can I get back to you on that?" Helena asks with hesitancy. It wasn't the desired answer, she knew this.

"Wow Helena. I'm trying to be there for you. Honestly, you make it so hard to be your friend." Natalie huffs and ends the call. Helena hears the tone and looks at the now blank screen of her phone. She sits with Natalie's words, 'you make it so hard.' She accepts this blame. Whether it was a conscious choice on her part, or not, Helena knew she repelled people. She is a disappointing daughter, an impossible child, a difficult employee and a challenging friend. These truths only made Natalie's continued interest in her more suspicious.

Not a single car comes down the road, as Helena stands watching the sun setting. She contemplates the two directions. 'If Kier has left me,' she reasons, 'then I should leave Kier.'

Turning back doesn't mean she has to go home.

.ssss.

Natalie's dorm is in an all-girls building. Each room houses two girls, and every two rooms share a jack-and-jill bathroom. Helena's pleased and intrigued by the inviting space. It is much nicer than the Frat house they had visited. Natalie and her roommates' space is brightly colored and decorated with fairy lights and Polaroids. Natalie's bed has a lime green comforter, and the pillowcases are pink with a pattern of lime fruits. Helena was amused and fascinated by the idea of having pictures of fruit on pillowcases. To Natalie's chagrin, Helena pulled back the comforter to confirm that the sheets underneath matched the pillowcase. She laughed, and Natalie, as usual, was confused by her. Helena only ever had solid Lumon colors as bedclothes. She told Natalie she couldn't imagine the purpose of art on a pillowcase when you're asleep and unable to enjoy it.

For the full first glass of wine, Natalie indulged Helena's curiosity about college, dorms, and sharing a room with another girl. Natalie complained a little about her roommate who thankfully was out of the room for the evening. Moving on to the second glass of wine, Natalie has noticed Helena hasn't taken off her work heels. She also won't sit. She paces as if ready to leave at any moment.

Natalie hops onto her bed and pats the place beside her. Helena sighs, knowing what is expected of her. Natalie holds up the wine bottle and Helena looks at her empty cup. She is ready for a top up. Helena takes her seat on the bed beside Natalie, relaxing so that her back touches the wall and only her ankles and work heels hang over the edge of the bed. Natalie rewards her by filling her plastic wine tumbler. Helena rarely drank from plastic; it was glass at Lumon, crystal at home, and porcelain at the cafe. The lightweight, cheap material is another illuminating detail of how the rest of the world lives. "Thanks." Helena says, sipping the chilled wine.

"I can't believe all it took were some limes to make you smile." Natalie says, sitting beside her. Helena feels her heart flutter, intoxicated by the soft springtime fragrance of her friend. "Next time you're having a bad day, I'll just text you a picture of a lime, and maybe you won't get crazy ideas like running away."

Helena twists her lips to the side. She didn't like the word 'crazy'. Maybe she hadn't thoroughly thought it through, but she sensed danger, and instincts took over; she fled. She didn't think that was 'crazy'. "A lime. Or imagine a pomegranate?"

"A pomegranate! They might commit you to the psych ward for uncontrollable laughter." Natalie jokes and Helena chuckles. Natalie watches the worried redhead swirl the wine around in her cup. "So, are you ready to tell me what is going on in here?" Natalie pokes a finger on Helena's temple.

"You're a human." Helena says.

Natalie laughs, "Yes. Is this about to get philosophical?"

"No human is infallible." Helena continues and studies Natalie's face to see if she agrees. When Natalie nods, Helena continues, "So when you fuck up, Natalie, because you must sometimes."

"No one is perfect." Natalie agrees.

"What happens when you fuck up?" Helena asks.

"What do you mean?" Natalie narrows her eyes.

Helena recites, "None may atone for my actions but me and only in me…"

"...shall their stain live on." Natalie finishes the practiced phrase.

"I don't know how many times I've said that in my life." Helena adds, "But I'm only now understanding it's false."

"False? Helena, excuse me, but first you say you're sick of Kier and now you're saying the Compunction prayer is False?" Natalie says with concerned eyes.

"False for me." Helena clarifies. "Any mistake, any stain, it's never only in me. It's me, it's Lumon, it's Kier, it's Father, it's the Eagan legacy. Any tiny spill I make turns into an ecosystem-destroying oil spill."

"I imagine that's a heavy burden of responsibility." Natalie offers. Helena nods and sips the wine, searching her friend's eyes for sympathy but not quite finding it. "You shouldn't say you're sick of Kier. You're speaking like a heretic. We serve Kier, and he blesses us."

"I don't think he's blessing me." Helena admits. Natalie shrugs and pats Helena's thigh. Her blue work skirt is wrinkled from prolonged sitting, and her white blouse is tucked in the high waist of the skirt. Natalie can't help but wonder where she thought she was running away to, dressed like this.

"The actions of any of Kier's children, by blood or industry, can bring Him glory or reproach." Natalie explains, "You have the blood of The Chosen One, Helena. That's why your actions matter tenfold. Heavy is the head that wears the crown."

"The blood of The Chosen One is wasted on me. I wish they could hook me up to a machine and drain it from me, give it to someone else, like you, and just pump me full of ordinary blood." Helena says.

"That's not how blood works." Natalie rebutts.

"I fucking know that's not how blood works, Natalie!" Helena says, frustrated. She came here for understanding, for a listening ear, and so far hasn't found Natalie to be offering either. "I'm not an idiot. I may not be in college but I know how fucking blood works. That's not the point."

"I think you are underestimating your blessings." Natalie says. Helena gently pushes Natalie's hand off of her thigh. In this moment, it didn't feel kind or comforting.

"You didn't answer my question." Helena redirects. Natalie raises an eyebrow. "What happens when you fuck up?"

"I don't know, it depends."

"On what?" Helena challenges.

"The severity of the fuck up."

"Tell me."

"I don't know, I'll pray the Compunction prayer. I pray for Kier's grace and guidance to help me tame my tempers. If I affected others, I will apologize. If it's a less-than-ideal grade, I'll study harder." Natalie can see that Helena wants more from her. She pauses and thinks, "When I was little, I would get grounded or have certain things taken away."

"Like what?" Helena insists.

"Like, I don't know, no TV for a week." Natalie answers.

"What about hot water?" Helena asks.

"What?"

"Have you ever had hot water taken away?"

"I don't know what you mean." Natalie narrows her eyes at Helena.

"Before Kier, the ancient Greeks had a philosophy about four bodily humors. It was a flawed philosophy in many ways, but essentially, it was the Tempers that Kier later discovered. They treated humor imbalances with something called Therapeutic Hypothermia. They used cold showers and ice baths to shock the humors back into balance. They were also the first to invent cold-salves." Helena sips her wine and can see Natalie is confused. "When was the last time you had your hot water taken away?" Helena asks, and Natalie shakes her head. "Fine. When was your last ice bath?" Helena asks.

"We must be cut to heal." Natalie says, fighting a knot forming in her throat.

"No!" Helena shakes her head and laughs with fury, "No, do not give me that! Not unless you have had to sit in a tub of ice, having water poured over you until someone else determines that you've atoned, that you're sorry enough, that you've apologized correctly."

"Don't get angry with me, Helena. I'm only trying to help you." Natalie raises her voice.

"Are you?" Helena asks, finishing her wine in one big final gulp.

"I understand that you're unhappy with the life that you've been given. But you know what? Eventually, we all have to accept reality. You are a small but essential part of Kier's vision and of Lumon's future. You're the leader-in-waiting. One day, you'll have all the power. You will be the head of the company. You've just got to play by the rules until then." Natalie nods, agreeing with her own words.

"So in the meantime, I what? Turn myself over for whatever punishment they say fits the crime?" Helena asks incredulously.

"Kier tests his loyal ones. He doesn't test us beyond what we can bear. So whatever it is, whatever they've done to you before, it must've been what you needed to grow and learn from your transgressions." Natalie encourages.

"You don't get it. You-" Helena shakes her head and stands. She cast her eyes down and says flatly, "I was foolish to come here."

"Helena, I'm sorry you don't like what you're hearing, but I wouldn't be a real friend if I didn't tell you the truth." Natalie says.

"Thank you for the wine. I'm going to go." Helena places down the plastic tumbler and points to the door, indicating her exit. Natalie stands.

"Go...home?" Natalie raises her eyebrows and steps between Helena and the door.

"Just go." Helena says taking a step forward. Natalie takes a step back towards the door. Helena tilts her head and squints her eyes in confusion. "Are you blocking me?"

"Are you going home?" Natalie asks.

"I don't know." Helena says, taking another step forward. Natalie's back is pressed to the door. "Excuse me." Helena says.

"The best course of action is for you to go home before you make things worse for yourself." Natalie says.

"You don't know what is best for me." Helena snarls.

"Where else can you go?" Natalie laughs, "Think, Helena! Do you really think they don't know where you are right now?"

"Did you tell them?"

"You're a billionaire's daughter. Do you think they won't find you? They can track your phone. Your car, maybe. Your debit card can be frozen. They can put out a reward for your return so that other people will turn you in." Natalie informs her. "How far do you really think they'll let you go?" Natalie can see the fire in Helena's eyes extinguished by tears. Her eyes glaze, and she turns away from Natalie. "You only got this far because they let you get this far." Natalie adds. The words of Kier flash in Helena's mind, 'The surest way to tame a prisoner is to let him believe he's free.' Natalie was right. Helena only made it this far because they let her. They were giving her just enough rope to hang herself. Helena hyperventilates, her back is tense and her hands are balled into fists. Natalie takes a step closer, "Helena?"

Helena stomps her heeled foot on the floor and shouts at no one, "Aaah!" She's trapped, not just in this room, but in life. There is no way out except for making a very permanent choice. A choice she isn't ready for.

Natalie reaches out and places a gentle hand on Helena's back, and the tension is released. "Helena, listen. How about I go with you?" Natalie uses her hands to turn Helena around to face her. Helena doesn't resist. "Maybe it won't be so bad if I'm there too?" A tear escapes Helena's eye and she drops her chin in shame. Natalie softly wipes the tear staining the heiress' smooth porcelain cheek. Helena raises her eyes to meet her friends, no one wiped her tears, not since Kyle had that once. Her eyes fix on Natalie's lips, and she suddenly feels like kissing them. Her eyebrows raise in confusion at the thought and she takes a step away, out of Natalie's touch, away from her spellbinding. "I'll go with you."

"Are you sure?" Helena asks, wiping at her own tears.

"Of course." Natalie says, her brilliant smile returning to her face.

"Promise, whatever happens…" Helena clears her throat of the Dread bubbling to the surface, "Promise that whatever you see there, you'll still be my friend?" Helena squints doubtfully. Thus far, it has been her experience that once her less than desirable truths have been revealed, it's harder for people to be her friend.

"It won't change a thing. Promise." Natalie reassures with a tight smile and a nod. She reaches for Helena's hand.

Helena thinks about the proposal and tenderly links her fingers with hers. "Okay." She says, accepting her fate.

Chapter Text

Helena occasionally peers over to Natalie in the passenger seat. They've been on this road before, driving through the dark. This time, Helena feels more somber. Natalie seems unfazed, as if she hasn't grasped the seriousness of Helena's reality, or was it that she doesn't care? 'No, we're friends, so Natalie must care. Otherwise, why would she volunteer to leave the safety of her dorm to go back to the Eagan estate? It has to be care. Or is it morbid curiosity?' Helena argues internally with the part of herself that wants to believe and the part that knows better.

Once they pass the lights of the Lumon parking lot, Helena knows they have less than fifteen minutes of road left before they reach the estate. A few realities punch her in the gut. First, she is hungry. She hasn't eaten since lunch at work, and the adrenaline of running away likely kept her from feeling her hunger. She should have eaten something at Natalie's dorm. Now, she won't be fed until breakfast tomorrow. The other thing she realizes is that bringing Natalie is a big mistake. Sure, she has security clearance now, and maybe that means no security guards will be beaten because of this choice, but what is she expecting? Natalie offered a show of solidarity, but she didn't know what she was agreeing to walk into. She's never even had hot water taken away.

"Fuck." Helena says, hitting the steering wheel. "This was a mistake."

"What?" Natalie looks up from the mobile she's been casually texting with, the most nonchalant passenger on a ride to hell.

"I'm going to turn around."

"Turn around?" Natalie sits up, perturbed by the suggestion. "You've got to get home, Helena."

"I will. I just, I'm going to drop you at Lumon. Can you call a car or a driver? They can take you back to your dorm. I don't know what I was thinking, bringing you along." Helena shakes her head and starts turning the wheel. Natalie grips the wheel in the opposite direction, and the car dramatically swerves, scaring both young women. "What the fuck, Natalie!?" Helena shouts, finally regaining control of the vehicle.

"Oh my gosh, I didn't realize how much stronger I am than you." Natalie laughs nervously. "I thought you'd have some resistance."

"You could have killed us!" Helena snaps, briefly glancing at Natalie's toned, muscular arm before fixing her eyes back on the dark road.

"There's no point in turning around. I'm going to the Estate with you." Natalie insists.

"I shouldn't have dragged you into this. It's my mess." Helena says.

"Helena, you're not dragging me into anything. I volunteered."

"Yes, and I admire your valor, but it's not safe. It's better if I tur-"

"Helena! Do. Not. Turn this car around." Natalie commands. Helena's mouth falls open, shocked by the authoritative tone of her friend's voice. She peeks over to see Natalie's intense eyes. Disturbingly, in a flash, her wide smile returns. She speaks softly, "You don't have to worry about me. I will be just fine. Lumon will always protect and provide." Natalie reassures. Helena nods, agreeing and comforted by the rhetoric. She remembers Dr. Kalen's status protected Natalie last time. She remembers, as a child, how her own father held Natalie's hand and blessed her. Natalie will be just fine. Helena can't say the same for herself.

.ssss.

The two young women enter the Eagan Estate. Helena enters first with Natalie closely behind.

Natalie giggles quietly and whispers, "It's not booby trapped is it?" She jokes about the cautious way Helena tiptoes in the foyer. Her smile leaves her face when they are both swallowed by the shadow of Mr. Drummond. He suddenly stands before them, and Natalie thinks it's a marvel someone of such great stature can be that stealthy. "Oh. Mr. Drummond." Natalie says with Cheer. His eyes are fixed on the timid Helena, who stands at attention. "It's nice to see you again." Natalie offers. He shoots an icy glare at her before stepping towards Helena.

"I warned you." Drummond starts, "There is nothing I can do about direct orders." Helena nods, keeping her eyes cast down. There's a tense silence and Natalie waits for either Helena to speak up or for Drummond to say something further.

"I got Helena's side of the story about the Clive situation." Natalie interjects. Drummond's grimace and Helena's fearful eyes both settle on Natalie. Natalie smirks, pleased to be the center of attention, "Really, it's disgusting that he would even consider writing her up when she's the one being objectified. Isn't that right Helena?"

Drummond looks at Helena who flinches just from his gaze. She recovers from the flinch and straightens her posture with a bowed head. "I'm sorry." She speaks softly.

Drummond points, "I do not question or disobey orders. Helena, you get to the Classroom and wait for me there. I'm going to have a tête à tête with Natalie first." Helena quickly obeys and hurries to her place of torment without once looking back at the girl she tried to spare from all of this.

Natalie stands firmly when Mr. Drummond's large figure moves towards her. She hides her intimidation behind a practiced smile. He holds eye contact with her and despite the uncomfortable duration she doesn't look away.

"When I called you," Drummond confronts, "You said you didn't know where she was."

"I didn't." Natalie chirps. "After we spoke, I called her only twice." She emphasizes this fact, knowing Drummond had called about ten times. "She answered. I told her to come to me. She did. And then I convinced her to come home." Natalie smirks and puts a confident hand on her hip. "I have a unique position of trust and influence." She puts a hand to her heart, "As her friend." Drummond hums a 'Mm-hm' as he thinks about this. "She almost turned around on the road here. I corrected her course with my wizened hands."

"I would be interested in further discussing the details of your position of friendship. Might I escort you to the Library? I'll alert Mr. Eagan of our meeting if he cares to join." Mr. Drummond asks and waits for a response from the smiling young woman. She nods and he escorts her through the estate and to the grand library doors. "Please wait inside and don't touch anything." At that command, he can see her raise an eyebrow defiantly. "I'll see to Helena and will return either alone or with Mr. Eagan."

"Sounds good." She presses her lips together as her Cheer threatens to become Frolic. She watches as Mr. Drummond starts walking away. She calls out, "Oh, and-" He stops and turns to her. "The write-up really wasn't her fault. So take it easy on her?"

"That may be. But the running away, the unsanctioned travel, that was all her. There's no way around that." Drummond sighs.

"She was afraid." Natalie clarifies.

"The burnt child Dreads the fire." Drummond quotes. Natalie nods at the familiar words. "I think we want the same thing, you and I. Sometimes it's scary, and it's not always easy, but we want what's best for-"

"Lumon." Natalie answers. She's shocked to see Drummond's lips curve into a smile.

"That's right." He replies, pleasantly surprised by her agreeableness. "Excuse me." He gives Natalie a final nod of approval before walking away, down the hall, to carry out the unpleasant part of his job.

.ssss.

It takes the weekend for the swelling to subside, and then Monday and Tuesday for the marks to fade enough to cover with makeup. Wednesday, Helena returns to work, only to find that work has changed. Clive was transferred to a different department, and Josh was let go, since he was still in his probation period.

Bright and early at 9:30 AM, Mrs. Painio and another woman pushing a cart enter the office. The cart is covered in cling-wrapped dishes. Mrs. Painio approaches Helena with a smile. Helena remembers this woman, this intruder, who brought Jessica F to Quality Assurance. She doesn't smile back.

"Can you get the attention of the room, Helena?" Mrs. Painio asks. Helena nods and takes a ruler from her desk. She walks to the focal point of the expansive room, a large mounted clock and taps the ruler repeatedly against the wall. It takes only a few seconds before the chatter of the room has quieted down and the eyes of the Electronic Data Department are on Helena and Mrs. Painio. Helena looks to Mrs. Painio to say something now that she's done what was asked of her. "Hello, Electronic Data Department. I'm Mrs. Painio from HR. As you learned on Monday, your former supervisor and department head, Clive H, made a lateral move to serve Lumon and Kier in a new capacity. The sustained efficacy of any department necessitates the unwavering guidance of a steadfast and strong leader. Lumon is proud to announce Miss Helena Eagan as your new Department Head." Helena tries not to let the surprise show on her face. Department Head? She's never even been a supervisor. Now she'll be managing a department of twelve men? Her eyes dart around the room to the faces of her colleagues, and she observes a mixture of surprise and displeasure in response to the announcement. "To celebrate her ascension, you're all welcome to partake in this specially prepared Egg-bar." Mrs. Painio gestures to the other woman, who presents a platter of freshly unwrapped eggs. "Join me in congratulating Miss Eagan." Mrs. Painio raises her hands above her shoulder and claps so that the men can both see and hear her demonstration. It's slow, but they join in, one less-than-enthusiastic clap at a time.

With that, Mrs. Painio and the other woman leave. Helena laughs to herself, eyebrows raised in disbelief. Was this Mrs. Painio's job? To walk into rooms and drop bombs on people's lives? Shake up their entire departments?

Five of the twelve men congratulate Helena on the promotion as they partake of deviled eggs. Two of the guys, who had never before said an unkind word to her, decide today is the day to break that streak.

"You must be a talented girl, eh? How many times did you have to blow the boss before he gave you this promotion?" Guy One laughs.

"Dude, chill. The boss is her Dad." Guy Two reminds his friend with a nudge.

"My question still stands." Guy One says, taking a whole egg in his mouth.

"You're disgusting! I could report you to HR." She warns.

"Is that what happened to Clive?" Guy One challenges.

"I don't know what happened to Clive." She grumbles.

"What about Josh?" Guy One challenges. He raises his voice to involve others nearby, "It's weird timing, don't you guys think? Clive and Josh have a mediation meeting, and then suddenly they're both gone. And now Daddy's Little Girl gets a Big Girl job."

"So, did you want the Big Girl job?" Helena smirks.

"I deserve it." Guy One insists.

"Because you're a big girl?" Helena raises her eyebrows, amused by the question.

"I've been here longer, and I have been a team lead for years." Guy One says, patting his hand on his chest.

"Or Dennis. Dennis deserves it! Isn't that right Den?" Guy Two says, practically shouting across the office.

"Leave me out of this, please." Dennis calls from his cubicle.

"If you have complaints about staffing, take your concerns to HR." Helena feels a swell of pride in her chest. "And I won't tolerate any more abusive speech or baseless accusations. Consider that a verbal warning."

Guy One scoffs in disbelief.

Before her words can be challenged, Helena turns on her heels and retreats to her new office. Once alone, she catches her breath. Deep inhale. Slow exhale. When she's calmed, she admires the space that is now hers. It's tiny, bare, and windowless, but she can't help smiling even though the strain on her cheeks hurts the hidden bruises. If Father doesn't already know, he might be proud. She's excited about the idea of sharing good news with him. She has received her first promotion, to a management position.

.ssss.

Helena takes her lunch break in her new office. The guys of this department rarely included her, so she didn't think her presence would be missed. As she walked from the kitchenette with her food back through the office, one of the men tipped an imaginary hat to her and said, "Back to your tower, Princess?" She didn't exactly get the reference, but could tell by his tone it was mockery. She frowned at him and thought briefly about telling him to 'fuck off' because last time she said that to an annoying man, they disappeared. However, now she's in management and she knows there will be no leniency for bad behavior. As she contemplates a delayed response, the mocking man loses his bluster under her long, unblinking stare and fixed frown, and he apologizes. She nods and returns to her office.

As she eats her lunch, she looks at the empty photo frame, trying to remember who occupied it when this desk was Clive's. She's sure there was a picture, but if it was a spouse or children or pet, she couldn't recall. She tries to imagine who she might put in this frame. Maybe she could convince Natalie to take a picture with her, like the photos that hang in Natalie's dorm. Helena sighs. The last time she saw Natalie was last Friday night before she was ordered to the Classroom. She had text Natalie a selfie of her pre-makeup face that Sunday, and Natalie responded Monday with a sad face emoji. In addition to four stiff slaps, Helena had the Bad Soap until Monday, her driving privileges are revoked for the week, and it will be raw eggs at breakfast for the foreseeable future. Helena knew she deserved it and was sure Drummond had a say in lessening her sentence.

Helena text Drummond, "Did you know I was getting a promotion today?"

"Congratulations on your promotion." His response comes a few minutes later.

Helena smirks. This was neither a confirmation nor a denial. "Will I see Father today?"

"Unlikely." Drummond replies.

"If he has a spare moment, I would like to be the one to tell him about the promotion." Helena texts, twirling her desk chair side to side.

"I'll try and see what I can do." Drummond texts. Although it's only been a month since he took over, Helena has come to understand that when Drummond says 'I'll see,' it means a very slim likelihood. Still, she believes him when he says he'll try.

.ssss.

Later in the evening, Helena sits in the only dining chair at their long glass table. She stops eating when she hears her Father's footsteps. Drummond hadn't told her Jame would be joining her, or if she could tell him of her news. She smoothes the wrinkles of her skirt and stands at attention in time for his arrival at the top of the stairs.

"Father." She acknowledges him with a respectful bow of the head. He observes her but doesn't speak. "Will you eat?" She gestures to the table with her mostly finished plate.

"I already have." He answers. She learned a few years ago that their mealtimes and schedules were purposely staggered so that they didn't have to share the table, or cross paths, or spend any prolonged time together.

"Do you mind if I?" She asks permission to sit and continue her meal.

"You requested an audience?" Jame says, not granting that permission.

"Oh. Uh, I -" She suddenly feels embarrassed. Why did she request an audience? Why did she think her suspiciously coincidental and insignificant promotion would impress the CEO Jame Eagan? She regrets having text Drummond. Jame's scowl indicates he doesn't want to waste much time in this room with her. "I have news." She announces, swallowing a nervous hiccup. He doesn't respond. She waits for permission to continue, but instead is met with a lull as he stares in boredom. She shakes her head, hating herself for thinking that requesting his presence was a good idea. She casts her eyes down to the floor and speaks softly but quickly, "Kier has blessed my hard work and dedication with a promotion within Lumon's Electronic Data Department." She peeks up at Jame only to see he has turned from her completely and faces the windows. She actually feels more comfortable by him looking away. "I'm the Department Head now. And I'm grateful for my ascension." She finishes. She chews the inside of her cheek. He keeps his back to her and waits, permitting enough silence to pass so that he is certain she's done speaking.

"You were not blessed by Kier." Jame corrects her. The contempt in his voice is palatable. He turns, making direct eye contact to emphasize his conviction in this statement. Helena feels her face blush. If it wasn't Kier then who? Or is he saying I'm undeserving? "Was that all?" Jame asks. Helena nods, twisting one of her heeled toes on the floor, and linking her index fingers behind her back, feeling like a scolded child. Jame sighs his disappointment, and then demands, "Why aren't you wearing makeup?

"I was. To work, I did. I washed it off when I got home. My pores are-" she squints, and then shakes her head, wondering why she still hears her own voice. Shut up, Helena.

"When I must be in your presence, I expect you to be presentable. Your current appearance is unacceptable. As your father, to observe you in this condition-" He gestures to the bruised side of her face. "How could I be anything besides profoundly disappointed. This visible manifestation serves as a stark reminder of your imprudent actions. The fact that you consistently invite these misfortunes upon yourself causes me to question whether you will ever be worthy of sitting with me at my revolving."

"I'm sorry." Helena says, fighting the lump in her throat. This berating was another misfortune that she invited upon herself.

He grunts at the apology. "I'm convinced you behave this way, and you do things like this, to hurt me."

"I, I don't want to hurt you Father." She shakes her head, her eyebrows raised imploringly. In one moment, desperate for him to know how much she wants his favor. In the next moment, she feels a fiery flash of Malice, reminding her that she's the one with the bruised face. Drummond followed Jame's orders. She didn't want to hurt him but he could have ordered anything else besides one hard slap per temper. Before Malice can rear its horns, Woe takes over, reminding Helena that if she had behaved herself, there wouldn't have been cause for Jame to make such an order in the first place. "I'll be better."

"I've heard it before." Jame snears and abruptly heads to the stairs. Helena watches him go and waits until his footsteps are out of earshot before she breaks her militant stance. She returns to her seat and stares at the remaining food. She thinks about the drawing she did for Mr. Heilman, the two of them smiling in a rowboat. She thinks of the gentle way he brushed her hair. She thinks of him holding her hand, and she thinks about the word 'It'. That's when the white rose bushes pop in her mind, and the beautifully complementary red blood. She nods and resumes eating. Her spirit craves atonement and the skin on her thigh itches for it.

.ssss.

At around 1:30 AM Mr. Drummond enters Helena's room. He doesn't want to be here. He stands at the edge of her bed, hesitant to wake her from a peaceful slumber. He can see through the dark that the marks he caused are nearly gone and that pleases him.

"Helena." He says firmly, to which she startles awake, scrambles to the opposite side of the bed, and quickly stands despite her drowsy eyes. Drummond sighs. She is a skittish young woman, easily rattled and prepared for pain. She is afraid and she is right to be.

"Mr. Drummond?" She says. She's a little more awake. "What time is it?"

"It's 1:36 AM." He answers. She rubs a sleepy eye, nods, and then rolls her shoulders back to assume a correct posture. Drummond waits, but she doesn't ask any further questions. As he's been observing her, he has grown concerned by this lack of inquisitiveness and her willingness to submit to indignities. Jame, with help, has molded a docile daughter. Drummond isn't sure docility should be the dominant trait of Lumon's leader-in-waiting. He hasn't found a way to address this concern with Mr. Eagan yet. Drummond can see that as she waits on him, she tugs on the leg of her short pajama bottoms. He notices a fresh bandage on her thigh. "What happened to your leg?"

Helena nervously fingers the bandage and shrugs. She lies, "Shaving accident."

Drummond can see the bandage is long; it wasn't a nick from shaving. He grimaces. "I'm sorry to wake you at this hour, but I didn't receive your Father's instructions until midnight, and it took time to set up the conditions he requested." Again, he watches Helena nod. She raises no question. She doesn't protest about him barging into her room in the middle of the night.

Helena knows that whatever the 'conditions' are that her father's requested can't be good. Otherwise this confrontation could have waited until morning. She looks down at her bare feet and waits for Drummond to explain. All she can hope is that she won't have to miss any more work. Even if it was just a tiny little promotion in a nothing Department, she still aimed to do her best at it, with or without Kier's blessings.

"Follow me." Drummond commands. He watches her move around the bed and put on her house shoes, and again, she waits for his next move. He walks out of the room, and she follows, without being told where they're going or what's waiting for her when they get there. She is surprised when they enter the foyer and Drummond opens the secret wall panel that leads to the servants' halls. He can see she's surprised, but still she doesn't question. In the light of the foyer, he can see above the fresh bandage on her thigh is a similarly sized and healed dark pink scar. This is something he'll need to bring to the attention of her doctor or one of the Lumon psychiatrists. He proceeds into the servants' halls and can hear the rubber soles of her house shoes tap on the cement flooring. He guides her to a door labeled Wellness. Very much like the Archives door, this door opened to a room of choices. Upon entry, they face three walls, each with two doors. A Kier quote is lit and embossed on the wall: "Let not weakness live in thy veins."

Helena doesn't have much time to try and read the other door labels. Dread turns her stomach, and Mr. Drummond stops in front of two doors: Sauna and Cryotherapy. She squints and raises her eyebrows in question.

"Your Father said you needed a lesson in empathy." Drummond informs her.

"Empathy." She repeats and eyeballs the labels on the doors.

"Yes, after your audience this evening, he expressed extreme distress at your lack of empathy for him." Mr. Drummond explains. He pauses, allowing time for her to rebut this but she doesn't. "He said it's imperative you understand how uncomfortable excess exposure to you makes him."

"Excess exposure?" Helena folds her arms across her body. Simultaneously sad and pissed off. She taps her slippered foot on the floor as her irritation with the unknown grows.

"You will spend 9 minutes in each room. As you experience the discomfort, you must practice your empathy and think of your Father's discomfort."

"Sure." She huffs.

"Are you ready?" Drummond asks.

"Does that matter?" Helena narrows her eyes at him. They both knew it didn't. Helena approaches the two doors hesitantly. The thermometer of the Sauna reads 210°F (98°C). She looks over at the thermometer in the Cryotherapy room, and it reads -10°F (-23 °C). She's afraid but she knows it will do no good to cry. She'll need whatever hydration she has inside.

Drummond opens the Sauna door, and steam billows out. "On you go." Drummond says. She scowls at him but obediently enters the searing Sauna. Drummond secures the door behind her.

After the lesson in empathy, Drummond carries Helena's shivering body back to her room. The cold emanating from her, chills his chest through his button-up and undershirt. Drummond knows he will be plagued by the memory of her agonizing wail as he closed her in the Cryotherapy room. The sound haunts him as much as the empty look in her eyes. Once in her room, he carefully places her down on her feet, not letting go until he's sure of her balance. He can hear her teeth still chattering. Before he leaves her, he delivers a message as he was instructed, "Next time you think of requesting an audience, remember this feeling."

Chapter Text

One month later

Helena has received her first monthly review as Department Head. There has been a barely noticeable dip in productivity, and her bosses seem to believe that, once the Electronic Data team adjusts to her leadership, things will go back to normal. She promised her new bosses that things would be better than normal. Over the past month, as she reviewed old files and reports, she learned that Clive had barely ever met quota. Helena is confident she can motivate the team to meet and surpass any benchmark set by Clive. She was also told that she scored an Affections Index of 48. That is much higher than she anticipated. Her female boss made a point to commend her on keeping up with the managerial tasks despite not having received any proper training. Helena expressed her gratitude and was secretly ecstatic about the commendation.

Truthfully, she was finding the work easy and banal. Every day, she would breeze through her task lists before lunch, and it only took the last two hours of work to complete her daily reports. The hours in between were basically free time. She'd pace around the cubicles, like her Tutors did when she was taking exams, observing. If none of the Data Transcribers needed her, she would find herself back at her desk.

She was coming to understand why Kier hates Idleness. She found herself using this free time to be sneaky. The IT department had yet to update her office computer, so she had to use all of Clive's logins. She discovered that Clive's logins gave her unrestricted, unlimited access to the Internet. She has Google. She couldn't resist it. Were they monitoring her search history through Clive's login? She couldn't be sure, but there was no indication thus far that her computer or office is being watched.

The first thing she typed in the search bar was: Kier. If it were a test, it would be easy to lie about having good intentions, looking up her Great-great-great-grandfather. When she pressed enter, her Dread told her that some man in a suit was going to burst into the office and drag her away from the computer by her hair. But that didn't happen. Nothing happened. She's googled lots of things since: Torture vs Discipline, what is child abuse, what is consent, what is coerced consent, is ether harmful, Kyle Dean, Kyle Dean's wife, Kyle Dean affair, Jame Eagan, Jame Eagan wife.

The Jame Eagan wife search brought up an article with about twelve photos of different women photographed with Jame throughout the years. They all wore dresses or gowns as they got in/out of their vehicles, dodging the paparazzi. Blondes, brunettes, gingers. Everything in the article was speculation. So-and-so was seen with, rumored to be on vacation with, observed canoodling. What annoyed Helena most about the photos was not the women but his smile. Even if it was a Media smile or an Ether smile, Jame was smiling in most of the pictures. He can barely fake a smile for Helena.

That last search was Friday, but the tumultuous feelings kept Helena battling her Woe through Saturday morning. She is left wondering what it is about her that makes people so uncomfortable. She reflects on the ache she felt in her bones after the Cryotherapy. It was a marrow-penetrating pain. That's how, she is meant to believe, she makes her father feel when he has to see her. Deeply anguished. This thought depresses Helena. She wonders how many people feel the same way when they're forced to be around her. She has a mental list, which she started when she was eight years old, of People Whose Lives I've Ruined, and she adds her father to that list.

It's Saturday afternoon at the Imogene Cafe. Once she has her coffee mug in hand, Helena moseys around the old house on a scavenger hunt for something new. Each room is packed with character and clutter, and a few weeks back she started a game with herself. Each visit she must find one thing she hasn't seen before. She started a collage at home, in her prized sketchbook, sketching these random items into a non-sequitur conglomeration of art. Today, she found a tiny felt figure of a fox sitting atop a door frame. It makes her smile and she's won her private little game.

Now Helena sits in her favorite loveseat, alone. She's on her third book, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close. So far her quote takeaway was: "Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living." But she's only a few chapters in, and anything could happen between now and the end cover. She found herself feeling very connected to the main character, a lonely little boy who everyone else found odd. Helena puts her worries aside for some time, sips her coffee and slips into a different world as she reads.

.ssss.

Helena is two coffees, one chocolate chip cookie, and three chapters deep when she's brought back to her own uncomfortable reality.

"Hey there stranger." Natalie's voice sings. Helena startles. She had been too enthralled in the book to listen for anyone coming up to the second level of the Cafe. She was caught, cozy with contraband.

"Hi." Helena replies softly, her eyes deeply apologetic. At no fault of her own, she hadn't seen Natalie for about a month. Natalie didn't often reply to Helena's text, but Helena didn't think much of that, except that college must be very demanding. Natalie wastes no time in sauntering over to sit beside her. Helena closes the book in her lap, and Natalie smiles widely at Helena's sad eyes and then at the book.

"Whatcha got there?" Natalie asks, tugging the book from Helena's hands. Natalie reads the title and flips the book over to read the back synopsis. "Ew. Sounds sad." Natalie discards the book onto a badly damaged coffee table. "It's Saturday, Helena. Fuck this emo shit." Helena laughs nervously, unsure of how much Natalie cares about contraband. "Let's make some Cheer." Natalie suggests, sipping her latte.

"And how do you propose we do that?" Helena asks, distracted by the floral pattern on Natalie's short sundress, there was nothing Lumon about this dress. It is little things like this that confused her about Natalie and her beliefs.

"You and I are going to have an end-of-summer Pool Party." Natalie announces gleefully. Old Man Lilith lets out a loud snore at this.

"Sounds like you've got it all figured out." Helena smiles. "Your parents are okay with that?"

"No, the party is at your place." Natalie says, with an unwavering smile and very few blinks. Helena's stunned by her friend's seriousness. She didn't seem to be joking.

"Lumon is hosting a party?" Helena squints, trying to make sense of it.

"No, you, me, friends, booze, party." Natalie says matter-of-factly.

Helena laughs at the absurdity and then shakes her head, "Yeah, that's a 'no'. I'm not even going to bother asking if that would-"

"You don't have to." Natalie chirps, "Because I already have."

"What?" Helena nearly chokes on her sip of coffee.

"I asked last week." Natalie informs her. "I was told I had to plan and submit all the details. Aaannnd, it was contingent on you having a successful work week. So, I guess you were a good girl," She boops Helena's nose with her index finger, "Because I got the official 'yes', yesterday." Natalie says, flashing a text to Helena to read: "Your Request is Approved." Helena blinks, processing what she read and trying to make sense of the condescending boop. She usually likes when Natalie touches her. She didn't like this.

"And this is meant to take place?" Helena asks.

"Today."

"Today." Helena nods slowly. "I know I'm not always so quick with the uptake, so let me make sure I understand." Natalie nods with her smile plastered on. "You wanted to have a pool party, with your friends, because we both know they're not mine." Helena clarifies, "And you asked and got permission to throw that party at my home. Today. And you're only just now inviting me?" Helena narrows her eyes at Natalie's fixed expression. Natalie nods. A silence passes between them, both trying to understand what the other's problem is. Helena raises an eyebrow and speaks up, "I, uh, I think that's pretty fucked up."

"Fucked up?" Natalie laughs and slaps her hand on Helena's leg. "You won't think that when you've got a tequila sunrise in your hand instead of some sad book about a fake kid and his dead dad."

Helena's surprised to feel Malice bubble up. Natalie is meant to be her friend but she's left her out of a plan, told her what she's doing tonight, slapped her (playfully?) and dismissed her feelings. None of that says, Friend, to Helena. Helena raises both eyebrows in challenge, "What if I don't want to go?"

"It's at your house. You can't, NOT, go. Don't be ridiculous." Natalie laughs again.

"I'm not being ridiculous." Helena snaps.

"What are you getting pissy for?" Natalie asks, her eyebrows raised with concern.

"What if I tell Drummond, I don't want this party?" Helena counters.

"Helena, look, I don't know what to tell you. The party is happening. It's all signed off on and there are too many guests and employees counting on this to cancel at the last minute. Why are you so averse to fun?" Natalie asks, shaking her head disapprovingly at Helena.

"I am not averse to fun!" Helena says through her clenched teeth. Malice is winning the battle and her face is hot and red.

"You are." Natalie insists. "Otherwise you wouldn't be trying to cancel a party, so that you can sit here reading with some old drunk." Natalie says this, and lifts the discarded book from the table. Helena hears the shutter sound from Natalie's mobile.

"Why did you do that?" Helena asks, Malice has fled and Dread has her by the throat.

"Let's go shopping." Natalie sings, pivoting back to Cheer and smiles.

"Why did you-"

"Let's go shopping. We'll get you something nice for the party. And if you stop being such a bitch about not knowing about it sooner, then no one will ever see this photo." Natalie says with a tight smile, showing the photo of the book on her phone.

"Natalie?" Helena is shocked.

"What?" Natalie scoffs, "Don't look at me like that with those sad eyes. You're the one making this friendship difficult. You would think, your friend organizing a Pool party that you'll get all the cool points for, would Cheer you up, or bare minimum warrant a thank you?"

"Why are you being like this?" Helena asks quietly.

"Like what?"

"Like a controlling fucking asshole!" Helena says.

"Wow." Natalie's face is stoic. "Wow." She lifts her mobile and Helena's Dread jumps in her skin, and puts a hand on Natalie's, slowly pushing her phone down. Their eyes lock, Natalie's fierce and unmoving and Helena's pleading.

"Ok, fine." Helena acquiesces. "We'll go shopping."

"Good." Natalie's smile returns. "I already have three places approved in case we don't find what we want at the first one."

"Right." Helena nods. Of course Natalie already had places approved. She was prepared and expecting Helena to give in. Helena stares at her beautiful friend as she takes the final sips of her coffee. Clearly their friendship has taken a wrong turn somewhere, but Helena tells herself it's not so far off course that she can't fix it. This can be saved. We can be friends. Real friends.

.ssss.

As the sun sets, Helena is handed a Tequila Sunrise. Since Natalie's afternoon intervention, Helena has been wrestling and doing backflips inside her own mind. Natalie brought her to a store. Natalie told her what looked good on her. What colors made her eyes pop, and what colors clashed with her hair. Natalie told her which parts of her body she would want to show off and which she should want to hide. Natalie chose the sunglasses, shoes, clothes, and swimming costume. Natalie had a Lumon stylist show up at the Estate and do Helena's hair. Natalie made the decisions. Helena felt like a plaything, a doll, not a person. She drank when Natalie said she needed to 'pre-game', and she smiled when Natalie told her the first guests arrived.

At some point, Natalie finally shared an itinerary with Helena. This party was scheduled to last several hours. There were party zones sectioned off, and security guards swarmed the place. Internally, Helena is conflicted. She isn't sure how much of this she hates. The clothes are nice, the drink is tasty, but she is feeling robbed of agency. She tried to tell herself it wasn't a big deal and to remind herself that she should be used to this treatment, because it hadn't been that long since she was granted a say in her schedule or choice over her wardrobe. Unfortunately, this reminder backfired and actually made it more difficult to keep quiet while someone else, someone who is meant to be her friend, made these choices without once considering her.

Natalie smiles at her expectantly until Helena takes a sip of the drink she's been handed.

"It's going swell." Natalie says cheerfully. "You're doing great, Helena." She reassures.

Helena forces a smile and nods, "I hate this." She sips her drink.

"The drink?" Natalie asks, suddenly looking concerned about Helena's opinion.

"No, all of this." Helena gestures to the mingling strangers, the bartender, and the DJ.

"You hate fun?" Natalie tilts her head in question.

"No. Stop fucking saying that. I don't hate fun, and I'm not averse to it. I told you, and I thought I expressed rather clearly, that I am sick of being told-" Helena is interrupted by the sudden appearance of a pregnant woman. The woman's stomach protrudes from her tiny frame, and Helena fights a grimace. She didn't often encounter pregnant people. The stomach looked alien. She knew it was something she would have to do, eventually, because Eagan's can't be heirless, but it wasn't something she liked to think about.

"Hi, I'm Anna." The pregnant woman introduces herself. She doesn't look much older than Natalie, or herself if Helena were to guess.

"I'm Natalie. This is-"

"Helena." Anna says with a smile.

"Have we met?" Helena asks.

"No, we haven't had the pleasure, but I've seen you around." Anna says. Helena has trouble believing this because she doesn't 'get around' but she extends her hand for a shake regardless. The woman's hand is so dainty in the shake that Helena has to adjust her normal power grip.

"Well, now it's official. We've met." Helena offers the woman a smile.

"Anna?"

Helena loses her smile when she hears her Father's voice call out. Contrastly, Anna's smile grows wider as she turns to face the direction from which Jame is heard. The crowd instinctively parts for him, allowing Jame a clear pathway. Helena stiffens up, and Natalie puts a gentle hand on her bare shoulder.

Natalie whispers, "Just relax." Helena's heart races, remembering the panic she felt when her eyelids nearly froze shut. She wants to run.

Jame finally reaches them and stands beside Anna, dressed in white shorts and a patterned polo, the most informal clothing Helena's seen him wear in a while.

"Mr. Eagan." Natalie chirps.

"Father." Helena acknowledges.

Jame starts with a laugh and ends with a cough. The unfamiliar sound startles Helena enough to spill some of her drink. "Anna was curious about the party." He informs Natalie, looking at the glowing Anna as if he found a lost pet. He speaks pleasantly to her, "I see you've met Helena." Jame looks Helena up and down, judging. "Helena, you look nice." He says flatly. Helena sips her drink to keep her mouth shut. Something inside of her wants to lick the spill from the side of her glass gracelessly. I'm not an animal. She tells that part of herself. Her brain responds with another intrusive thought of herself pushing Jame into the pool so that he might learn empathy. She begs her brain to work for her and not against her. She begs Kier.

"Thank you." Natalie says to end the silence before it becomes awkward. "I was aiming for Twiggy meets Roman Holiday."

"It's a vision." Jame says, the corners of his mouth twitching to what might be a smile. Helena's Malice is triggered by the word 'It' because she couldn't know if he meant the style or her. To him, she was not a person. "This is why she needs a friend like you." Jame says to Natalie. Helena's eyes flash fire at Natalie, suddenly remembering the envy and resentment she held for so many years.

"That's so kind, Mr. Eagan." Natalie's voice drips with syrupy sweetness.

"Excuse me. I've got to-" Helena says, pointing over her shoulder in the direction of nowhere specific. Anywhere but here was fine with her. She needed to be far away from these fake smiles, and fake people, and fake conversations. It was all too uncanny and nightmarish.

"Helena?" Natalie asks when Helena takes a step backward and shakes her shoulder free from Natalie's grasp. "Don't go." Natalie laughs and links an arm around Helena's waist, pulling her back in place, and holding her gently but firmly where she's wanted. Helena hears Miss Shoemaker in her head, "No. Sit and stay." She hears Natalie's response to her, when she said she was sick of men telling her what to do, "Would you rather it be a woman?" Helena sighs and swallows a mixture of pride and bile. If she fought Natalie's affectionate-looking hold, Helena would seem out of line. She would be making a scene. She fixes her eyes on the colorful drink in her glass and accepts that she's not going anywhere. She's stuck. Natalie's not done toying with her. Helena must accept the reality that she is not a person and that she doesn't make the decisions. She obeys. She stays.

.ssss.

The party raged until the early morning hours. Fortunately, Jame had only made an appearance and didn't stay around for the rest of the party. For about an hour or two, Helena tried to avoid Natalie, but she quickly got blocked by security when she tried sneaking away to her room and was corralled back to the party zones, like a mouse in a maze. Helena half-heartedly mingled, reintroduced herself to people Natalie had already introduced her to, and got asked to dance by a few strangers, to which she obliged. Even as she danced, Malice moved her feet, not Cheer or Frolic. The last man she danced with smelled of ether, and she was bold enough to ask where he had gotten it. He told her that a few people were huffing behind the pool house and that he wasn't sure how they had snuck it in, because security at the door was very thorough. Helena didn't care how they got it in. She didn't even care if it was planted here to test her. She made her way through the crowd, to the back of the pool house, determined to fail. It was a party and she wanted to feel good. When she found the small group of suspiciously giggling people, they all froze up, caught in the act, as she had been earlier that day in the coffee shop. She smirked and raised an eyebrow, and as coolly as she could, asked if they had a gift for their host. They were relieved and offered her the ether freely. Everything felt so much better after that. The party was suddenly fun, the people were suddenly attractive, the air was warm, her body felt loose, and her mind finally felt quiet. Rules didn't matter, she doesn't matter, this party doesn't matter, friendship doesn't matter. All that mattered was the strong feeling of peace in her body, something she thought she'd never feel again. She wonders if this might be what love feels like .

.ssss.

Sunday Morning

As Helena approaches the dining table, she observes the additional chairs. For a moment, she thinks the clean-up staff must have mistakenly left the chairs behind, but every other trace of the previous night's festivities were gone. So she suspects there must be another reason. Could one of these chairs be for the mysterious Anna? Of all the strangers she encountered at the party, including the one guy who gave her his cellphone number, Anna was the face that visited her mind once she was alone in the darkness of her room. Apart from the pregnant belly, there was nothing particularly outstanding about Anna. She was a plain woman with a pretty smile. There were several incomparable beauties at the party that, once she had her hit of ether, Helena had the confidence to talk to. The thing that bugged Helena about Anna was that Anna was there at all. Anna introduced herself. Natalie introduced herself, and to Helena, that meant Natalie hadn't invited Anna. She was there, passed security, because of Jame. Her father's words replay in her mind: "Anna was curious about the party." She must have already been inside the estate. Helena didn't really care why Anna was in the estate or what she was doing with Jame. What irked her about Anna being in the home was that she was a secret, a secret woman in a secret room with a secret purpose. Helena didn't get to have secrets. If she flipped her hair part the wrong way, there was probably a full written report on it somewhere.

Helena eats her boiled eggs and is surprised when Angela, a member of the waitstaff, walks into the dining room and places a metal thermos on the table in front of one of the empty seats. Helena forces a questioning smile at Angela, who, as expected, doesn't respond and leaves the room. Helena continues eating, her eyes fixed on the mysterious beverage.

"Good Morning, Helena." Natalie says, appearing at the top of the stairs. Helena is surprised to see her and, without the ether, remembers all the negative feelings she is fostering for Natalie. Although she couldn't help but think Natalie looks adorable in her pajamas. Natalie swans over, stands behind Helena's chair, rests her chin on Helena's head, places a hand on each of Helena's shoulders, and squeezes her in some type of hug.

"Where did you come from?" Helena asks.

"Guest room." Natalie answers nonchalantly. She sits in the seat with the metal thermos and smiles. "Oh goody. It's the Miracle smoothie I told you about." She opens the lid and sips the contents. "Mmm." She rolls her eyes. "This might be better than the place near campus. You should try it." Natalie slides the thermos to Helena.

"Oh. Well," Helena says sarcastically, "only if it's what you want." Helena sips the smoothie and slides the thermos back to Natalie. It's actually delicious, and she's jealous that she has to finish her eggs. Helena keeps a blank face, "Tell me, Natalie, how do I feel about it?"

Natalie takes a long blink and speaks slowly, "I don't know, Helena. How do you feel about it?"

"I don't know. Are you sure you're done telling me what I like and who to talk to and what to drink and what to wear and where to stand and what to think?" Helena asks.

"Be fair. I never told you what to think, Helena." Natalie smirks and sips her smoothie. Helena glares, internally fighting the part of her that wants to throw her remaining boiled egg at Natalie's smug face. They sit in silence for some time only the sound of the clock on the wall and the clinking of Helena's cutlery. "I understand I upset you. And I'm prepared to make it up to you."

"What?" Helena asks taking a bite of food, not making sense of what Natalie has said.

"Even though the party was wildly successful, it's all over social media. You'll be the talk of the town because you looked amazing, thanks to me. And even though I know for a fact that you had fun, it is obvious you're upset with me. I could tell at the party when you started dodging me. So, I came up with a way to make it up to you." Natalie explains. Helena sips her coffee and observes Natalie to discern her sincerity. Helena couldn't think of a time when someone offered to 'make it up' to her.

"I'm listening." Helena shrugs.

After the two women have finished their breakfast, Natalie takes Helena's hand and guides her to the Media Lounge. They enter the room, and Natalie lets go of Helena's hand and prances to the large media center.

"Sit." Natalie says, and then smiles a bright smile, "Or don't. You decide." Helena crosses her arms, feeling patronized.

"Maybe I will, once I know why we're here." Helena says.

"We're going to watch a movie." Natalie says, finding the DVD case she was looking for. "Or not, if you don't want." Natalie laughs, catching herself sounding authoritative. She walks over to Helena, waving the DVD cover, "But I think you'll be interested in seeing this uncensored, unedited movie." Once close enough, she presents the DVD to Helena. Helena takes it, giving Natalie a stoic expression to show how unimpressed and annoyed she is that Natalie can so easily get access to a real movie. Natalie counters this with a fixed smile and fluttering eyelashes. When Helena looks down at the cover, her mouth drops open. 'Pulp Fiction'. She hadn't seen it since she was ten. She can't believe it.

"You got this approved?" Helena asks in disbelief.

"Yes. It took some convincing but I was president of the debate club in high school." Natalie brags. "So what do you say? Watch the movie and forgive me?" Helena really wants to watch the movie and yet another part of her feels like this isn't an apology. Somehow this feels like Natalie is rewarding her for behaving and performing the way she was meant to at the party. Helena didn't want a reward. She didn't want another person bossing her around. She wanted a friend. Did Natalie truly want to be a friend? If this isn't a loyalty test, it is easily one of the nicest things someone has done for her in years. "Oh." Natalie says, interrupting Helena's contemplation. Natalie steps closer to Helena so that their shoulders touch. She holds her phone out so that Helena can see her screen and accesses her photos. She pulls up the photo of the contraband book from the cafe. Helena bites the inside of her cheek, nervous that Natalie might blackmail her into doing what she wants again. To her surprise she watches Natalie's fingers touch the screen and delete the picture. Helena's lips turn to a faint smile.

"Thank you." Helena says quietly.

Natalie opens Helena's text thread and types, "I don't care if you read." She waits for Helena to read it, and then deletes, typing, "I know it's against your Fathers rules." Helena reads again, realizing Natalie isn't sending the texts so that there is no evidence of the discussion. "I shouldn't have used it against you."

"Then why did you?" Helena asks.

"Your cooperation was imperative to the party's success. I-" Natalie puts a hand on her chest for emphasis, "-had a lot on the line if it was a flop." Helena thinks on this and can see Natalie's blue eyes are sincere.

"In the future, remember Probity. If you had just said that, I would have understood. I would have been beside you, helping. Instead of …" She shakes her head at her own questionable actions. "That's what friends are for, right?" Helena offers a sweet tight lipped smile which Natalie outshines with her ear to ear grin.

"So we're doing this?" Natalie takes the DVD from Helena's hand and rattles the disc in its box.

"Yeah." Helena laughs amused by Natalie's eagerness. 'Maybe I overreacted?' She thinks to herself as she watches Natalie setting up the movie. 'Maybe I need to try and make it easier to be my friend?'

Chapter Text

2014

February

The snow on the untreated sidewalk crunches under twenty-three-year-old Helena's boots. The windows of the Imogene Cafe are boarded up. She saw this from a distance as she approached, but she was in disbelief until she saw it up close. The front door, which normally jingles a soft bell as it opens, is also boarded shut. A sign is posted that reads: "Imogene Cafe has been blessed with bounty. We will be closed for extensive remodeling and look forward to seeing our loyal patrons March 1st for our Grand Reopening. Praise Kier." Helena stands with her hands in her coat pockets, reading the sign a second and third time. Her eyes mist with tears, though she's not sure why.

"I know. Depressing isn't it?" A man on a bike says, coming to a stop where the snow hasn't been cleared from the sidewalk. He gets off the bike and walks it a few steps over the crunchy snow to stand beside her.

"It is." She admits to this handsome stranger. He wears a plaid newsboy cap which covers most of his dark hair, the hat's brim shadows his stormy grey eyes.

"I came here all the time to study back in my college days." He remembers fondly. She studies his face as he looks mournfully at the old house exterior. He sniffs, either sadly or because of the cold air which has turned his nose red. "They're going to rip the heart out." He shakes his head hopelessly, there was nothing to be done about it, and then looks to the pretty pale woman beside him.

"It was so kitschy. I hope they don't change too much." She offers with a frown, secretly happy to have someone to share, what she now understands is a sense of loss.

"Fucking Lumon." He spits.

"Excuse me?" She is surprised by the vitriol.

"They're soul killers." He explains.

"Lumon?"

"Are you new to this town?" He asks, pointing to the black Lumon droplet in the corner of the signage.

"No, I'm not." Helena says. She hadn't noticed the Lumon logo due to her initial shock but now she fixates on it.

"Then you should know. They're fucking vampires. Lumon buys everything and everyone, chews them up, and sucks their fucking souls out until they're blue and lifeless. That's what will happen to this place. Same as all the other places. Lifeless, heartless, corporate murder." He huffs and looks at her, waiting for her to match his disdain but her face remains blank and unreadable. "Are you gonna tell me you're unaffected? You're the sole survivor in this shit town? The one person who hasn't been victimized by Lumon?"

"No, I have." Helena agrees that her entire life has been affected by Lumon. This admission is uncomfortable for her and she didn't like the word 'victim' but it was a word she knew very much applied. Her cognitive dissonance triggers and reminds her that Lumon will always protect and provide.

"You been to Perkfection?" He asks, again she stares. "The coffee isn't as good but the atmosphere is on point."

"I haven't. Never heard of it." She shrugs. "Thank you for the suggestion." She knew she would have to get it approved.

"I'm heading there now. Would you like to join me?"

"I should probably just-" She stops speaking when her lip trembles. She didn't want coffee at her estate, brewed by a servant that dislikes her, sitting and sipping in silence, afraid of who might enter the room. She wanted her escape room, her safe space, this Cafe. "I have coffee at home." She finishes sadly.

"Cool, where's that?" The man smiles at her.

"Uh?" She narrows her eyes at his unexpected and perfect smile.

"Sorry, not in a creepy way. That was meant to be charming, but it came off creepy. Sorry, uh, can I? I'm gonna start over. Hi, I'm Sean." He extends his hand for a shake. Helena can't stop herself from smiling at the familiar and welcome gesture.

"I'm Helly." She shakes his hand.

"Helly, would you like to mourn the death of Imogene with me? Drown our sorrows in a coffee?"

"I would love to drown my sorrows." She says, exhaling a cloud of hot breath."But I'm not sure that I can."

"Who's stopping you?" He looks over her shoulder for an imaginary person and then around dramatically.

"I guess no one." She shrugs, hoping to detangle herself from the invisible strings that bind her.

"It's only a short walk from here." He gestures down the road. "And the coffee is my treat." Helena thinks about how much trouble she might be in, going to an unapproved location. She smiles and wipes a tear, hoping that if she's punished, her Woe might be tamed.

"Ok."

"Ok." Sean smiles and she notices his cheeks blush bashfully and not from the winter air. 'Am I making him nervous?' She wonders. She's not sure she's ever made someone blush the way she finds herself so often doing. 'What does that mean?' She suddenly wants to know everything about this stranger, his thoughts, his feelings, the cause of his deep-rooted hate of Lumon, and what his lips taste like.

.ssss.

Helena has taken off her winter coat and sits in a corner bench of the cafe Perkfection with Sean. The atmosphere was industrial, with exposed brick walls, natural wood tables, colorfully painted pipes, furniture made from found objects, and upcycled items being used as plant pots. It isn't the same, but Helena does find it cozy and visually interesting in it's own way. As they stood in line to order their coffees, which Sean paid for, he explained to her that the building was historically part of an old factory, abandoned by Lumon and reclaimed by the people.

Here, the coffee mugs don't have a pretty painting of her great-great-great-grandmother. All the mugs, she noticed, are different colors, shapes, and sizes. Helena is amused that a place would name itself a word so close to 'perfection' when everything inside is scraps and junk. But then maybe that was the joke?

Sean raises his coffee mug, "To Imogene."

She smiles at this honor of her forgotten ancestor, and clinks her mug to his, "To Imogene."

"Even in death, the Eagan's found a way to rob you, again, of your essence." Sean says, sipping his coffee. Helena can see in his eyes that he looks sad when he says this. She sips her coffee.

"Why do you say that?" Helena asks, leaning forward with curiosity.

"I thought you said you were from here? You know who Imogene is." He takes off his hat, revealing his short, loosely curly hair, and places the cap on her coat on the bench between them.

"Wife of Kier. Mother of Ambrose and Myrtle." Helena answers. Of course, she knew.

"Are you a believer?" He asks. Helena hesitates to answer, a hesitation that would warrant a slap if it were someone truly testing her faith.

"I grew up in, er, around it, and-" She sips her coffee because she knows she is a terrible liar.

"Yeah. Didn't we all?" He laughs. "But it sounds like you only know Imogene through Kier. Through the doctrine. Don't you think she was someone? Her own woman outside of being a wife and a mother?" Helena smiles at this thought. Her great-great-great-grandmother was someone outside of Kier. A woman in her own right. A whole person, not just titles, not just an Eagan. "Legend has it, she was the true trailblazer. She had a mind of her own before Kier crushed her spirit."

"I never hear anything about her." Helena admits.

"That's the way they want it." He sighs. "That's why she is kinda the face of the resistance." He lets out a laugh at her intensity. Her hazel eyes are wide and locked on him because every word he said was simultaneously terrifying and the best thing she's ever heard. He sips his coffee, her unwavering attention makes him blush.

"What, uh, what does the resistance do?" She asks.

He shakes his head, "Talk a lot of shit, litters the town with shitty anti-Lumon fliers, shouts into the void. Honestly, nothing." She's not sure why, but she's disappointed to hear this. "I know," He nods, "Depressing."

"Such is life. Endless toil, no reward." Helena sighs.

"C'mon, the coffee isn't that bad." He smirks. She surprises herself when she hears a laugh escape her. "And the company isn't that bad either." Now it's her turn to blush. He likes being in her company? She wonders how long that will last. She intends to enjoy every second of this attention.

.ssss.

Helena and Sean stand together by her car and witness a fresh flurry of snow. The flakes are slow and soft as they fall around them. Helena's insides are warm, from the coffee and the fuzzy confused feelings caused by Sean's smile.

"Maybe we can meet back here at Imogene's for the reopening?" Sean suggests, fiddling with the handlebars of his bike.

"So we can drown our sorrows some more?" Helena smirks.

"Yeah, or, I can give you my number and you can text me, whenever you have any other sorrows to drown?" Sean shrugs.

"Is it a twenty-four-hour hotline? Because I have quite a few sorrows." Helena jokes, offering him her phone. He takes it and types in his contact.

"I could tell." He laughs. "Can I call me? So that I have your number too?"

"Sure." She answers and squints. "What do you mean you could tell?"

"I just met you three hours ago and I've seen you cry twice." He admits. His phone rings and he smiles as her number appears on his screen.

"That's, wow. That's embarrassing." Helena blushes and hangs her head.

"Don't be embarrassed. We all have bad days." Sean offers.

Helena laughs, "Today is actually a good day."

"Well fuck." Sean matches her laughter and hands her phone back.

"I've been told I'm Woeful and prone to melodrama." She nods with a raised eyebrow.

"Should I be seeing a red flag right now?" He asks.

"Probably."

"Well, I've been told I'm colorblind." Sean jokes.

"By a doctor?" Helena laughs.

"No. If I'm honest, the sources on that one are questionable."

"You should probably get a second opinion." Helena fights her smile.

"Maybe you should too." Sean says.

"Maybe I will." Helena says, unlocking her vehicle. She didn't want to go, but he had some place to be, and she shouldn't have been where they were to begin with.

"Talk to you later, Helly. It was great meeting you." He hops on his bike and hopes to beat the worst of the storm before the roads are too icy and slippery again. Helena waves goodbye. She gets into her car, cranks on the engine, and watches him and his bike disappear around the corner. She smiles to herself, hoping she will see him again, hoping their prolonged conversation, her obvious display of Cheer, and her disobedience don't cause Sean to meet the same fate Tyler had all those years ago. Even if she doesn't hear from him again, she hopes he isn't cursed by having met her, and that she won't have to add him to her mental list of People Whose Lives I've Ruined.

.ssss.

Wednesday

Helena is at her desk, reading the news on her uncensored internet, when her mobile phone pings. It's a text alert from an unsaved number. She opens it immediately.

"Guess you've been sorrow-free this week because I haven't heard from you." The text reads. She smiles, knowing this must be Sean. She wasn't sure she would ever hear from him again.

"I lost your number." Helena replies. She twists her lips to the side knowing this sounds both ridiculous and impossible when he is the one who programmed it in her phone. She follows up with, "Sometimes, my phone just deletes things."

"Quick before this message self-destructs! Will you have dinner with me?" He text back.

Helena bites her lip trying to fight a smile, but remembers she's alone in her office and allows herself. She twirls in her chair and looks at her empty picture frame. She re-reads the text. This sounded like how dates start in her books. There's always a dinner. She types "I'd love to" and then deletes it. She sends, "Sure. Where and when? I'm working until 6:15 PM"

"I honestly thought you were gonna say no. So…(embarrassed emoji) give me an hour to come up with something?" He replies. Helena laughs to herself reading it and bites her thumb. She made him as nervous as he made her. She liked this feeling of shared anxiety.

"You have until 3:50PM otherwise I'll have to say no." She thinks about this before sending. She doesn't want to sound harsh but also worries that if she doesn't ask permission within the window of 2 hour advance notice she will be automatically denied.

"I'll think fast. Any kinda cuisine you hate?" He asks. She smiles widely at his consideration that she might have a preference. A mental list of Things I Hate comes to the forefront of her mind. The list is too long. She shakes it away to the back of her brain.

"No almonds or eggs," She replies, "Please." She adds.

"Geez, don't make it easy for me." Is his reply.

She loses her smile at this, unsure how to interpret it. Has she already made things difficult? She can't count how many times she's been told by Natalie that she makes it hard to be her friend. She types, "Sorry" but deletes it. She looks to her office door and thinks about Cynthia and the three questions she would ask her to indirectly get her advice on this. Helena stares at the phone. She doesn't want to say the wrong thing, and if she has already made it complicated, she doesn't want to make it worse, so she does what usually keeps her out of trouble. She says nothing. She puts her phone away and decides not to check it again until 3:50PM.

She returns her attention to the news article on her computer. "Mother and Toddler Missing." The picture is of a woman she recognizes, a woman she met once, named Anna. The toddler in the photo is a smiling hairless thing, flanked on each side by a smiling parent. The man in the photo is described as the husband who reported them missing. "Anna was curious about the party." "Anna was curious." "Curious." Helena knew her father hated curiosity and inquisitiveness. Was Anna too curious?

.ssss.

Helena perches on her windowsill, dangling her legs outside. She thought imagining herself, neck snapped, splayed on the pavement in an elegant, dance-like pose, might calm her. Her Cheer was dangerously heightened, and she felt it could easily boil over to Frolic if left unchecked. Since her room was moved away from the rose bushes, the 'jump ending' was less and less appealing. Her newest, most vivid fantasy involves ankle weights, sinking to the bottom of the pool, and staring up at the bubbles carrying her last breaths to the surface. However, the pool isn't available for daydreaming at the moment because it is being cleaned by Mr. Jim Redford today. As a child, she enjoyed chatting with Jim when he serviced the pool because he spoke to her informally like a regular person, he told her knock-knock jokes, and he didn't mind when she laughed. Also, she knows that because he is only part-time, he is one of the few estate employees who isn't severed. Unfortunately, since she turned eighteen, there has been something strange about the way he speaks to her and lears at her if she's in her swimming costume. She isn't sure if he was always this way, and she was too young and inexperienced to understand, but she is happy to let that mystery go unsolved. Now she avoids him, and that means today, she has to settle for the 'jump ending' fantasy. Tragically, this particular ideation isn't doing the trick anymore. The next ping on her phone could be Drummond or Natalie. She is waiting for approval from Drummond to attend dinner, and against her better judgment, she sent two photos of her outfit choices to Natalie. She often finds herself overdressed and out of place. It was a slight chance that Natalie might answer before Helena is allowed to leave, potentially helping her avoid a similar social faux pas.

Dread lurches her stomach when the phone finally pings. She puts a hand over her stomach, welcoming the feeling. She is far more comfortable with Dread than Frolic. She looks at her phone and the notification is a text from Natalie. Helena was perplexed by Natalie's texting habits. On one hand, Natalie almost always had her phone in hand, but Helena could go weeks without receiving a response from her. Then suddenly Natalie would be rapid fire texting, with the expectation that Helena would respond as quickly and there was no middle ground.

"Why get dressed up for dinner by yourself?" Natalie's text reads. Helena frowns, wishing Natalie had just picked outfit one or outfit two like she was asked.

Helena stares out at the snow covered mountain, she felt she had to be careful with what she reveals to Natalie. Natalie is currently her best friend, but Natalie, like Cynthia, has her own, less strange and less vexing, friends. Natalie was hired by Lumon fresh from her graduation. Jame barely let the ink dry on her diploma before she was signing a contract. Natalie was never straightforward with Helena about what her new Lumon job entails and this caused Helena to withdraw some. Although in the past, Natalie has proved to be loyal to Helena by keeping certain secrets, Helena feels hesitant to be honest with someone who is choosing to be evasive with her. If she says she's meeting someone for dinner, this could open herself up to an interrogation. Or worse, Drummond might find out.

"Can't a girl treat herself?" Helena replies.

"Better idea. I'm coming to pick you up." Natalie answers.

"Fuck." Helena says aloud, accidentally kicking her heel against the side of the house. She pulls her legs back in the window and shuts out the winter air. Her legs and feet were cold but she would never again experience cold like the Cryotherapy room and her increased tolerance felt something like a superpower. The superpower of endurance. "Fuck." Helena says again looking at the phone. Natalie had an annoying way of thinking she knew best. She has an annoying way of usurping plans and getting what she wants. She has to respond quickly. If Natalie text Drummond, her plan would likely get approved over Helena's request to have dinner at a restaurant. Helena hits her temple with her palm. "Think Helena." She encourages herself. She knew she was a terrible liar and pressure only made her worse. She texts, and lies,"I'm meeting someone from work." She pulls anxiously at the edges of her hair, hoping her lie is accepted without further questions. "It's not anyone you know." Helena text preemptively.

"I know a lot of people." Natalie replies.

"Which outfit?" Helena insists, trying to take control of the direction of the conversation.

"Depends, is it a business dinner or are you trying to seduce them? Because outfit 1 says, I heart Lumon, Praise Kier. Outfit 2 says, I heart Lumon and giving head." Natalie replies. Helena is shocked at the second suggestion. Helena had only been in that scenario once and she did not 'heart' it.

"Well thanks for nothing. Now I hate both outfits." Helena replies and then walks to her bed to take the clothes she's laid out and returns them to her closet. She'll have to pick something else. As she hangs up the second outfit, she's almost certain she's worn it to work before. There's no way it said what Natalie suggested. Helena finds a simple black dress to wear. Her phone buzzed again.

"Enjoy your date. Can't wait to hear all about it. Drinks, my place, Friday after work. No excuses." Natalie says. Helena is irritated by her friend's bossiness. This isn't an optional invitation.

"It's not a date. Just a dinner with a co-worker." Helena responds and tosses her phone on her bed. She holds her face and screams, silently, in her head. Drinks on Friday meant Natalie would get to the bottom of things. In the past, lapsing in Probity has only ever backfired on Helena. She tries to tell herself that with a day of buffer, she can concoct a convincing lie that is easy to keep track of.

Ping.

Helena sighs, Dread and Woe have teamed up and she struggles to rebalance her tempers. She breathes deep breaths as she retrieves her phone. The notification is from Drummond. Her request is finally approved.

Chapter Text

Pappa Dio's Italian restaurant

08:12PM

Helena as usual is early because Kier values punctuality. She stands off to the side of the hostess stand, as a family of four sits on a bench waiting for their table to be ready. She tries not to be obvious about her fascination with them. The family is made up of a young male child, a tiny female child, a woman and a man. The woman loosely holds the little girl on her lap and leans her own head back to rest on the man's shoulder. The little girl wiggles and moves as if completely unconcerned with her holder's comfort. The girl leans over the woman's arm, towards the older boy who covers and uncovers his face. "Peekaboo!" The boy exclaims, causing the girl to erupt in giggles. The adults seem completely unbothered by the children's antics and Helena folds her arms across her body uncomfortable with the freely Frolicking display.

Sean approaches the door and Helena can't stop herself from smiling. She fought her Frolic the entire drive here but loses herself to Cheer the moment he makes eye contact with her. He enters Papa Dio's, the brim of his hat and the broad shoulders of his coat are dusted in fresh snowflakes.

"Wow." Sean says a warm smile lighting up his eyes. "Helly, you are-" He laughs and shakes his head looking her over. Helena wears a simple black dress, a simple gold necklace with a diamond pendant and heels. She holds her long dress coat over her crossed forearms, nervous about the completion of his sentence. "You look like a million bucks." He says finally.

"Thank you." She blushes and looks away. He really seemed stunned by her and she wants to laugh. It is such an uncommon experience to have someone so happy to see her. In most cases, her presence was barely tolerated if she was observed at all. Her ability to be invisible was Miss Shoemaker and her father's favorite thing about her. He slips off his coat and hat. For a moment she's captivated by his gray eyes but then she notices he's wearing a simple button up, bowtie and jeans. Jeans! Helena feels overdressed and embarrassed again.

"I feel like I should take you to a Michelin Star restaurant." He says looking around at the interior of Papa Dio's. It is one of the nicer restaurants in town but it isn't as classy as Helly is. "Trouble is, I don't know any."

"I've never been here. I'm excited to try it." Helena offers.

"Allow me to check your coat?" Sean says, holding out his arm. Helena tilts her head confused and hands over her jacket.

"Check it for what?" Helena asks. Sean laughs not realizing that she's serious. She watches him walk over to a uniformed teen boy and hands over the coats in exchange for a ticket. Sean returns to her side, still admiring her. "What is he checking our coats for?"

"Oh no. You got something illegal in there?" Sean whispers out the side of his mouth.

"No. Of course not!" Helena's eyebrows raise and Sean laughs at the perceived seriousness.

"It's just a coat check." Sean assures.

"For what?" Helena asks again.

"If you don't want it checked, that's fine. I can get it back?" Sean says.

Helena puts up her hand, "No. No, it's okay." If this was customary then she didn't want to make it weird or herself more difficult. She reminds herself to be more reserved with her questions.

.ssss.

Sean catches Helena smiling at him as he eats. She was doing her best to eat slowly because the pasta dish she ordered was something she's never had before and it was the most delicious thing she's had in ages. She also couldn't wait to hear what he would say next. She is finding herself constantly surprised by the words that come out of his mouth. Nothing seemed rehearsed, and nothing sounded like Kier.

She's trying to keep to the Cynthia-method, asking questions, showing interest, and sharing as few vague personal details as possible. So far, she's learned that he likes music but can't play an instrument. He has an older sister who also lives in Kier and hates Lumon. Their mother died during the severance procedure leaving them alone with their dad who was already an alcoholic and only got worse after her passing. As a child he dreamt of being a lawyer, so that he could grow up and hold Lumon accountable for all the harm it has done to him, his family and countless others. Then he laughed about growing up and realizing how poor his family is and how much law school costs. So he went for community college and learned a trade. He earned a Bachelor's in Textiles and works for a small and struggling company refurbishing furniture. He said he didn't consider himself a creative type but there was something he enjoyed about restoring something tattered and aged to a new life of beauty and usefulness.

Helena decides, that Sean has a contrary spirit. He goes against everything she's taught to think is right. He makes her nervous and to calm her nerves she has drank an excessive amount of water and excused herself twice to pee and panic. She is having a great time and nothing about Sean feels wrong or threatening and that is what confuses her. He doesn't seem to operate by the Cynthia-rules of sociability. Sean keeps asking her questions and follow-up questions and looking at her with his stormy eyes fully interested in whatever answer she can muster.

"I could tell, that day outside of Imogene's, that you have an artist's soul." He says.

"What do you mean by that?" She asks. Her interest in art has always been diminished as silly and shameful.

"I could see in your eyes, that you feel things, like, deeply. And that's gotta come out some way." He says. "I'd love to see your sketches some day." She likes the way that he says this and the way that he looks at her like he sees something no one else sees, as if there is some beauty in her, something worthy left in her tired soul. "What inspires you, Helly? When you draw?" He asks. Helena's eyes grow wide and she blinks rapidly. Another new question. She calls upon her Nimbleness and Wit.

"No one has ever asked me that before." She admits. "So, I guess, I've never thought about it."

"Think about it now." He encourages as he takes a bite of garlic bread.

"I guess I draw things I see? But, how I see them. Which isn't always how they are. Or, I guess, sometimes I draw things that capture my feelings. It's either, I see something that makes me feel happy, and I want to keep that feeling, so I draw it. So I can access it, on those days when I really need to. Or I feel badly and exorcise those feelings onto the page, so they're not trapped inside of me." Helena explains and then shakes her head, feeling ridiculous for having said any of that aloud.

"Will you tell me about a happy one?" Sean asks kindly. Helena huffs. It was exhausting talking about herself while avoiding talking about herself. She actually feels a pang of sympathy for Natalie, who is the kind of person most people want to talk to. Helena can't imagine the pressure of being consistently interesting.

"I was working on a collage. I started it a few years back, it's a tribute, sort of, to the Imogene cafe. There were so many tiny, easily missed details, all around, every room and shelf. I would find a new detail, some little unique thing, each visit, and sketch it." She grimaces, every word she says she feels dumber.

"Well you have to share that one with me! I'd love to see if I noticed any of the same things." He says with genuine excitement. She feels the need to excuse herself rumbling in her guts.

"Well, the collage was nearly full. But if Lumon does as you're predicting, there will be a white void about this big," Helena holds up three fingers, "In the fourth quadrant of my page and the art will never be finished." Helena laments.

"That's sad but actually kind of perfect. It's What Was, all the things you captured, and What Will Be, when Lumon sterilizes it, a big white void." Sean nods. Helena smiles, it was rather depressingly poetic. It's almost like he understood her vision. Or her?

.ssss.

"Helly, I had a really fun night tonight." Sean says.

"Yeah, me too." Helena agrees.

"Do you think your phone will delete my number again? Because I would really like another opportunity to see you and get to know you better." Sean asks, stepping very deliberately to the side of her. Helena looks at his feet curious about the move. It is clear he's attempting to block her from something. Her eyes scan around his frame, no secretly lurking Lumon handler, no obvious security cameras. She studies his face curiously, the only thing she can guess is that he is blocking the wind-slanted snowfall from angling into her face.

He is sparing her from something as soft as a snowflake. 'Seriously? That can't be real.' She narrows her eyes in disbelief. She then fishes in her purse for a pen. "Can you write it on a piece of paper? I'll put it in my sketchbook and that way if it does get deleted, I'll still have it hidden away." She frowns at the thought that he wants to get to know her. 'If he does, will he still smile this way?' She shrugs doubtfully, handing him the pen and a scrap of paper.

"So, you were serious about the phone thing? I thought that was an excuse like, 'I was being polite and deleted your number the second you rode away on your stupid bike.'" Sean laughs.

"No. Unfortunately it's a thing that happens." She looks to her car, knowing she has exactly four minutes to leave here and to be home by the time she is expected. He hands her the paper and she smiles putting it in her purse. "Thank you." Helena waits, looking deeply into his eyes, imagining how the scene would play out in her books. The fluffy snow, the soft yellow light of the street lamp, the tall dark handsome man. She looks at his lips prepared for a kiss. Several quiet moments pass before he steps backwards.

"I'm that way." He gestures.

"Right." She says, her face blank to mask her confusion.

"Goodnight Helly." He tips his hat.

"Goodnight." She says, watching him take another step away. She sighs and unlocks her car, unsure where exactly she went wrong.

.ssss.

Friday

11:18 AM

Helena leans in the archway of the kitchenette, sipping her third coffee of the day, listening to the clacking of Data Transcriber's keyboards.

"New meds?" A male co-worker asks, standing beside her with a glass of water.

"Pardon?" Helena asks, looking up at the man, wondering why he would be telling her about his medication. She looks at the glass, expecting him to swallow a pill, but he doesn't.

"You've been smiling." He says. She narrows her eyes at him, realizing the implication is that she's taking a new medication, which makes her smile. She rolls her eyes.

"Same meds, Will." She raises an unamused eyebrow.

"Whatever it is," Will says, "I'm happy for you. So, ignore the rumors."

Helena sighs, losing her smile. "Thanks." She isn't surprised to hear that it has only been a day and there are already office rumors, just because she's been a little more cheerful than usual.

"Since you're in a good mood, if I told you my file might not be complete by the end of the day, would you-"

"Get back to work, Will." Helena shakes her head and walks to the front of the room. "Listen up, slackers." The men in their cubicles mostly give her their attention. "Seven of the Twelve of you have files that I'm expecting complete by end of day today. I won't name names, but you know who you are. It's also been brought to my attention that some of you boneheads are circulating another rumor about me. I don't want to hear it. Keep it amongst yourselves because I couldn't give a steaming hot shit. If I overhear you repeating the rumor, you will be written up. That's all." She concludes, turns in her heels, and heads to her office.

When she returns to her desk, she checks her mobile phone. There's a notification from the unsaved number she knows to be Sean. She opens the message, and it's a photo of him, with an exaggerated frown, standing in front of a group of construction workers loitering in front of the Imogene cafe. The photo puts the smile back on her face, and she peeks at the door, deciding she needs to be more careful with how often she wears this smile. She holds the phone sideways and hovers it in front of her empty picture frame, imagining a reality where Sean's face could occupy that space.

She texts him, "Sad story."

Sean, replies "Is it too soon to ask you out to drown your sorrows again? I'm trying to play it cool but I'm really not that cool. I can't stop thinking about you."

She types, "You seem pretty cool to me." But then deletes it.

"It's Friday. I'm sure we can find something to do in this dead town." His next text comes in.

She chews her lip and sighs regretfully, "Sorry. I have plans tonight with a friend."

"Lucky friend." He replies and she laughs. Helena is amused at the thought that Natalie is the one lucky for their friendship.

"Saturday?" Helena asks. Her heart races after sending it, afraid of rejection and also afraid of acceptance. If he says yes, where should they go? What will they do? And how will she get away with it? She frowns, reminded of her upcoming Natalie interrogation. She imagines if she and Natalie were born to different parents, in a different town, how they would be a different kind of friends, and she would be excited to tell Natalie everything about her date, or maybe they would have been on a date together. Unfortunately, they were blessed to be raised as children of Kier.

"Let's call it a date." Sean's reply appears on her screen. Helena smiles and twirls in her chair with excitement. She's never had a second date, and it will be with someone she likes, someone who has made her laugh and laughs at her jokes, someone who wants to know her, someone who thinks she's beautiful and not just because she 'grew into her teeth'.

"Let's form a plan." She replies practically, knowing that wherever they go, she will need approval. What else do people do on dates besides eat? Or sex? If she is honest with herself, she would welcome both activities. However, she knows there must be other customary things. She decides to Google 'Date Activities in Kier.'

She thinks about how in a few hours, she will be sitting across from Natalie attempting to avoid Probity by trying to swallow and choke on her own tongue. She wishes she could ask Natalie for advice freely. She knew Natalie was more experienced in this area, as she was in most things. Natalie has had boyfriends and exes, some of whom Helena's been introduced to. Natalie didn't care if Helena read, which meant she could be loose with the rules when she wanted. The trouble is Natalie is an enigma. Helena hasn't figured out which rules mattered to Natalie and which things she truly believed in. Helena reminds herself that her reading was used as leverage by Natalie. So, complete honesty may be off the table, but if she chooses her words carefully and reveals just the right details, perhaps Natalie will be supportive?

.ssss.

06:30PM

Helena is walking through the Lumon parking lot towards her vehicle when a car pulls up behind her and beeps twice. At the first beep, Helena is stunned like a deer in headlights. At the second beep, Helena can see the driver through the windshield, Natalie. Helena is surprised to see her. She knew she worked for Lumon, but since she wasn't sure what exactly she did, Helena forgot that while she was putting up with the shenanigans of the Electronic Data Department, Natalie was also somewhere in the building.

Helena walks to the driver's side window, and it rolls down, revealing Natalie's beautiful smile. "Natalie?"

"Why don't you say 'hello' or 'hey' like a normal person?" Natalie laughs.

"Hey." Helena says flatly.

"I'm sorry to do this, but I have to cancel our plans tonight. Something has come up and Lumon is flying me out to Norway." Natalie says.

"Norway? Wow." Helena laughs. "Sounds mysterious and important."

Natalie reaches her left arm out of her car window, her palm open flat. Helena looks out the corner of her eye at the distant Lumon building before accepting this invitation to touch. Helena places her palm on Natalie's, and Natalie wraps her fingers around, taking a tender hold of her hand. Again, Helena looks to the Lumon building as if the structure itself were watching her. "I'll pencil you in for next Friday, okay?"

"Sure thing." Helena fights a smile, relieved to escape an interrogation. "I know it's travel for work, but I hope you get out of the Lumon building while you're abroad." She genuinely hopes this for her friend. Helena, as a child and teen, has been to Norway, England, Zimbabwe, and Germany. She had been excited for the travel, the idea of seeing some place new, different people, different food, and cultures like her World Studies Tutors taught her.

Unfortunately, she didn't see much beyond the hotel suite and the inside of the respective Lumon branches. She was there to promote the image of the worldwide Lumon Family. Her father paraded her in front of cameras in her fancy dresses, and she stood silently beside him for his speeches. He smiled in her direction during these photo ops, and she remembers wishing they could stay in whichever country it was that made him like being around her. She was tamed in each of these countries by either Shoemaker or Heilman, because, as she learned, there were new ways to be disappointing in each new country. Despite that essential part of her life, she remembers Germany fondly because it was the only time she was asked to speak during an international press event. Mr. Heilman always praised her for her proficiency in languages. She practiced and was drilled in the hotel for hours, before flawlessly delivering a smile and the words "Die Arbeiter sind unsere Familie und Lumon wird sie immer beschützen und versorgen," which meant "The workers are our family and Lumon will always protect and provide". She had performed so well that she was rewarded: One hug upon request, administered by her Father. The stipulation was that it had to be requested during their trip, otherwise, it would be forfeited. She remembers how nervous she was at the idea and how she did her best to puke as quietly as possible in the hotel bathroom. She didn't want them to think she was ill and rescind the reward out of concern for Jame's health. She made the request the following morning in the suite by the long dining room table where they shared breakfast. Jame denied the request. She spent most of the morning chastising herself for choosing the wrong moment and putting him off. Then at one of the later press events, he turned to her suddenly and said, "Now." And for nine full seconds, as the cameras flashed, she was wrapped in his arms.

"My Norwegian is shit." Natalie laughs, "But there will be a translator, so I'm only 73% worried."

"You'll do great." Helena assures her friend. "The spirit of Kier will speak through you."

"Thanks, Helena. Have a good weekend. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Natalie says, putting her hand back on the steering wheel. "Next Friday! Remember. You're not off the hook." Natalie jokes.

"Farvel, Natalie." Helena bids her friend farewell in Norwegian. She steps safely away from the vehicle.

"Farvel, ha det bra." Natalie replies with a dazzling smile for the road. Helena watches her drive away.

Once in her vehicle, she turns on the engine and cranks up the heat. She pulls her phone from her pocket and text Sean, "My lucky friend changed her mind and is abruptly leaving the country so that she doesn't have to spend time with me. If you're still in America, I'm free this evening."

A response doesn't come in until she's almost home, and she reads the text as she drives, "Sounds like I'm the lucky friend. Second date?"

"Anytime after nine." Helena replies. Alone in the car, she doesn't bother to control her smile. She turns her radio up, blasting a song she doesn't know. She taps her fingers on the steering wheel, the liveliness of the music matching the excitement of her spirit.

Chapter Text

It's cold and dark in the parking lot outside the long, colorfully painted building. The parking lot is mostly vacant, very few patron cars are parked, and trash litters the patchy snow piles. Helena stands beside her car in her long jacket, practicing deep, regulating breaths. On her twenty-first birthday, she was overwhelmed by new sensations. Natalie's friendship has opened Helena's scope of the world. She is no longer afraid of dancing with strangers, or loud music, or the smell of liquor and cigarettes. Granted, she isn't the biggest fan of any of those things, but she is getting used to them. She isn't concerned about the drastically different atmosphere that awaits her inside the building, but she is afraid. On the drive here, Dread attached itself to Helena's throat, making each breath a struggle. Dread will not allow her to forget the last time she was out with a young man, it didn't end well for either of them. She tries to reassure herself that things will be different this time. She won't drink too much and she won't cause Drummond to assault anyone.

Her breathing exercise is interrupted by a group of three women laughing loudly as they walk hastily from their car to the building. It's freezing, but Helena observes that the young women don't wear coats or anything weather-appropriate. Short skirts, fishnet tights, jeans, and low-cut tops. Although she has learned a great deal from Natalie about fashion and clothing, Helena always feels overdressed, regardless of what she wears. She removes her coat and puts it in her car, shivering without it. Why did women do this? Helena wears ankle boots, black skinny-leg trousers, and the closest thing to a long-sleeved t-shirt that she owns.

She feels her phone buzz in her pocket and reads Sean's text, "Got us a lane." She sighs a cloud of breath, unsure what that means, and decides to head inside the building and wait for him where it's warm.

.ssss.

"Wow." Sean says when he sees Helena enter the building. She follows the voice with her eyes and smiles when she sees him. He pushes a hand through his hair, stunned by how hot she looks in her sleek black trousers. He imagines if he were a cartoon, his eyes would have popped from his head in the shape of hearts. He doesn't want to be a creep about it and shakes his head to break from this trance. He walks over to her. "Helly." He says with a smile as he reaches her side. She likes the way he says her name. She likes the way his eyes twinkle as he looks at her. "You look amazing."

"Thank you." She blushes. "You do too." She says, genuinely. He is dressed casually, wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a graphic design, paired with an open vest. He gives off an effortlessly cool vibe, a very loose non-Lumon-esque vibe. He looked like a man who never said the words "quota" or "synergy".

"Thanks, but I look like an underdeveloped clone of, like, six other guys in this place." He jokes as he leads her to a queue.

"No!" She laughs at the self-deprecation. "If you're a clone," she looks him up and down, "I'd say you're a pretty viable subject." She's pleased with herself when he laughs at this.

"Thanks, 1 out of 5 scientists agree. But seriously, I'm gonna havta do some research for better date places. I think you might be too good for any place in this shitty town." He says watching her look around.

"What is this place?" Helena asks.

"You've never been here?" He narrows his eyes in disbelief. She shakes her head 'no' with a shy smile. "I thought everyone who's grown up in Kier has been to at least one shitty birthday party here."

She shrugs, "You found the only person."

"You weren't kidding when you said you didn't get out much. I thought that was corporate speak for, I'm a busy busy Data Transcriber and I'm too busy to go out and have fun." Sean jokes. "But like, not even as a kid? Did your parents keep you locked up inside the house?"

"Most days." She says with a smirk. He again squints at her, not sure how seriously he should take what she just said.

"What size?" The teen girl behind the counter says. Helena looks to her and then notices behind the girl are shelves of colorful shoes. Helena looks down at Sean's feet, and the people nearby, and realizes the colorful shoes were not a style choice made by Sean.

Helena, panicked, whispers to Sean, "Is this a sport?"

"What?" Sean laughs. Helena then sees another counter where people are receiving brightly colored balls.

"Are we doing a sport?" Helena asks.

"Size?" The teen girl says a little louder. There's a small line behind Helena and Sean. Helena notices this and is anxious.

"Tell her your shoe size." Sean says, touching a hand to Helena's back to comfort her. He can see she's distressed but he's not sure why.

"Ok." Helena says. "8?" The teen girl responds quickly, unenthusiastically sliding a colorful pair of size eight shoes onto the counter. "Thank you." Helena says, taking them and being gently guided by Sean away from the counter to the next queue.

"Are you okay?" Sean asks as they walk to their place in line. Helena wrestles her Dread and wins when she looks to his considerate gray eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She says softly.

"Are you sure?" He asks.

She looks at the worn shoes in her hands and then at the wall of balls. "Are we participating in a sport?" She blushes embarrassed. Several sports included balls, she could name at most four, but she has never played a sport. She has only come in contact with a ball for team building and icebreakers. She's afraid to make a fool of herself in front of Sean.

"Oh. Uh, this is bowling. Have you never been bowling?" Sean asks. He can see her eyes are cast down in shame and he puts a hand on her upper arm. "Hey, it's okay. If you don't want to do this. We can go somewhere else."

"No I-" She shakes her head, still not lifting her eyes. She couldn't go somewhere else without getting the location approved. "I will try. I just, I hope I don't embarrass the team. I've never done bowling."

Sean smiles softly, "There is no team. And I think the whole point of bowling is to be embarrassed." She raises her head and looks at him skeptically. "I mean, everyone wears goofy shoes, rolls a ball and gets excited about 8-bit graphics telling them they did a good job. I've never been bowling with anyone who's good at it. There are people who treat it like a sport, but that's kind of embarrassing too. It's just something to do. But seriously, if you don't want to-"

"No, I will try." She nods with worried eyes not wanting the date to end because she made it weird.

He chooses a ball for himself and shows her the number printed on it. "The numbers on the ball, tell you how much it weighs. You'll probably do best with, this." He chooses a ball and hands it to her. She's surprised by the weight in her arms.

"We aren't throwing these?" She asks, eyes widening.

"No, we-" He points, "Look over there. You see those ladies?" Helena looks to where he points and sees the group of ladies who passed her in the parking lot. One walks up to a lane with a ball and then rolls it. The loud crash Helena had been trying to ignore, is coming from the ball hitting white pins. "We're lane 6."

.ssss.

All but two pins remain and Helena walks back to the table in her and Sean's lane.

"Wow Helly." Sean laughs. She squints an eye and smirks unevenly. "I know it's your first time, but like, you're really bad at this."

"I know!" She laughs and covers her face embarrassed. "They're going to ban me for bowling this badly." She sits beside him and sips her beer.

"I blame your parents. It's always the parents." He says.

"Did you have a shitty birthday here?" Helena asks.

"No. But I attended a shitty party of some jerk kid from my 3rd grade class." He recalls. Helena laughs.

"What was your shittiest birthday?" She asks.

"Shittiest? Oh, I don't think you're ready for that." Sean sips his own beer.

"Why?" Helena asks, leaning toward him with full interest.

"My father was an alcoholic. Things were often pretty grim." He admits.

"We're having a fun time. It's fine. You don't have to say. I shouldn't have asked such a personal question. I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. I just wouldn't want to upset you." Sean says, sipping his beer.

"There's little you could say that would shock me. I know grim." Helena informs him.

"You know grim? But you don't know bowling?" He laughs, watching her nod. "Who hurt you?"

"The list is long." She raises her eyebrows for emphasis and then points, "And it's your turn."

.ssss.

"So I was hiding under the stairs of our back porch, for, I don't know. No coat. No socks. It felt like hours. It got dark and eventually my sister came and told me Dad was blacked-out so it was safe to go back inside." Sean relays with a sad smile on his face.

"Did he wake? When you went inside?" Helena asks, fully invested.

"No. Usually once he drank himself into a black out, he would be down for 10, 12 hours." Sean explains. Helena smiles widely. This wasn't the typical reaction and Sean is confused.

"So you successfully escaped punishment?" Helena asks hopefully.

"Yes. Apart from my two gifts being smashed up." He confirms. Helena laughs and then gets up from her seat to take her turn on the lane. It's almost an immediate gutter ball. Sean watches her confused by her smile and hurt by her laugh. When she returns to the table to sip her second beer, he confronts her, "Why did you laugh?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to laugh." She says, pressing her lips together in a tight smile.

"You're smiling." He says, perplexed.

"You don't want me to?" She loses her smile quickly and the suddenly stoic expression that replaces it, disturbs Sean.

"I like when you smile." He says, and watches her face light back up with relief. "I just don't understand, which part of what I just told you, made you laugh?"

"Oh, well, I'm a sucker for a happy ending." She admits.

"Happy?" Sean laughs, "That was my shittiest birthday."

"Yes. Whilst it was no bowling party, you hid. He was going to beat you black and blue but you evaded it." She nods matter-of-factly, "That sounds like a happy ending to me."

"Fuck." Sean laughs, "I'm afraid to ask for your shittiest birthday if you thought that was happy."

"I guess, in my version, there was nowhere to hide." She shrugs. "But I'll spare you the details."

"Only if you don't want to talk about it. But I shared mine, and I'm here to hear yours." He tells her with sympathetic eyes. She studies his earnest face. She is constantly surprised by his contrary spirit. He said things and he really seemed to mean them.

"I don't know. People don't usually like my stories." She squints at the admission. From her experience, people liked her better the less they knew about her.

"People don't usually laugh at mine either."

"Sorry." She shakes her head shamefully hearing Miss Shoemaker's words echo in her head, 'Every time you open your mouth, you upset someone.'

"It's fine." Sean reassures her with a gentle pat on the back. He looks at their scores. He's winning by an obscene amount. "Do you want to reset?"

"The game? Or the conversation that I just made weird?" She asks, her eyebrows raised imploringly.

"You didn't make it weird. I meant the game. Now that you're warming to it, I want you to have a fair shot."

"Why? What happens when I lose?" Helena asks, momentarily concerned there may be humiliating consequences for failing.

"Oh, uh…" He looks at the scoreboard and smiles. He says boldly, "Sure. Let's raise the stakes. If you lose you have to kiss the winner." He waits to see if this line is successful and he is surprised to see it is. Helena smiles bashfully at the idea. "And if I win, I get to kiss you."

"Is this in the bowling rule book?" She says slyly.

"I think it's official, yes." He deadpan jokes.

"And, if I kiss you now, without winning, is that against the rules?" Helena asks, leaning towards him.

"No. That's actually, if you do, we're actually required to switch scores." He says smiling as she gets closer and closer until their lips meet. She pushes her puckered lips against his. He doesn't try to part her lips with his tongue or grip her face, his soft lips simply press tenderly against hers for a few moments before she pulls away and giggles. His grin spreads so wide that it barely fits his face. Sean taps a few buttons on the machine attached to their table and points at the screen. She looks up and can see that where it once said Sean it now says Helly and vice versa.

"You didn't say what I get when I win." Helena says with a hungry look in her eye.

"That's up to you, I guess." Sean says, smirking and looking her up and down. She gets up to take her third turn and rolls the ball down the lane. She looks over her shoulder at Sean with a smirk. She isn't worried to pass or fail, win or lose, because she knows and craves the consequences. As she walks back to the table, her ball continues hurtling down the lane, and she sits beside Sean just in time for them to watch her ball smash its first strike. They both jump up from their seats in surprise. He laughs and so she joins. She covers her mouth which is wide open with awe.

"You did it Helly!" He cheers, raising his hand for a high-five, which triggers her. He's alarmed to see her put up both hands to block her face. He puts his hand down and watches her lower hers, revealing curious hazel eyes, eyes that study him for understanding. "It's a high-five. You know, like when you do a good job?" He slowly lifts his hand, "And you slap my hand."

"Why?" Helena asks, realizing she's observed the girls at the nearby table practicing this strange slapping. She remembers seeing a few of her Data Transcribers doing this, and how it distressed her but she assumed it was just a way for them to release their innate male aggression. Her face is blank.

"You know what?" He laughs, "I don't know why." She smiles relieved to see he's laughing it off. He watches her smile return when the 8-bit animation appears on the screen, an animated bowling pin dances and tells her 'Perfect!' He wonders where this strange woman came from. Something about her feels slightly alien and unreal. He's intrigued, hoping it's not just an act and that the mystery of her will be worth unraveling.

Chapter Text

Four. That's how many kisses she shared with Sean before the date was through. He text her afterward and said what a good time he had with her, that she's a terrible bowler but a great listener. As a result, Helena finds herself smiling at random. She would remember a joke, or a way he looked at her, or his lips, and then she would wrestle away the smile they caused. Frolic. It's what killed Drummond's sister. She didn't want to get caught giving in to her temper by the Estate staff. They would report her to Drummond and she didn't want to know what his wizened hands might do.

Finished with breakfast, Helena takes a cup of coffee out on the balcony with her. The cold air instantly causes goosebumps to form on her skin. She doesn't mind. Nothing would ever compare to the stinging feeling, as if her blood cells were crystalizing, inside the Cryotherapy room. For the first time, she wonders why the room even exists. It has only been used on her once, but it must get enough use that it warrants having it permanently featured in the Wellness section. 'Are the Estate staff being sent there? Do they face consequences like I do? And if it's just their Innies, does it matter?' She wonders if Innies may only feel half the pain because they only have half of the brain. She wonders about the other doors in Wellness and what type of hell they are.

Her phone buzzes in her skirt pocket. The text is from Drummond and she opens it only to have her smile and spirit drained.

"All Saturday Outing Requests: Denied" his text reads.

Helena and Sean had talked about meeting up on Saturday, as was the original plan before her Friday night opened up. He wasn't sick of spending time with her, so she was going to be around as often as she could.'Of course! Having fun two days in a row is unacceptable.' She thinks, rolling her eyes. She sighs but quickly accepts this annoying reality and decides to text Sean that they need to postpone. Unfortunately, she notices his entire text thread is gone. She hadn't saved him in her contacts because she was afraid he would get deleted again, and thought the 'saving' was what alerted whoever is monitoring her phone activity. She heads back inside. This is precisely why she had him write it down.

Her phone buzzes again, and Drummond has text again. "I'll be there in five. Dress warm. We have an hour to prepare."

"Fuck." She says, irritated and fearful by the cryptic message. She looks up and sees the waitstaff, Angela, clearing the coffee pot and looking expectantly at her mug. Helena isn't ready to give up her coffee and holds the half-empty mug in Angela's direction. Angela hesitates at first, confused by Helena's raised eyebrows. Angela pours coffee in Helena's mug, and Helena smiles a tight smile. 'A silent command. And it worked!' She thinks, proud of herself. "Thank you, Angie." Helena says, sipping her coffee. She remembers Miss Shoemaker calling this particular staff member Angie. Angela flashes a glare at Helena, obviously irritated by the familiarity.

"It's my pleasure to serve you, Miss Eagan." Angela says, overcorrecting her irritation with a strained smile.

"Tell me Angie, when is the last time you had a Wellness session?" Helena asks. Angela's eyes widen.

"Have I not performed my duties to your satisfaction, Miss Eagan?" Angela asks.

Helena is surprised to see the older woman cast her eyes down. 'Out of respect for me? Or is it fear?' Helena wonders. She knew this Innie, in particular, had been close with Miss Shoemaker and encouraged her reign of terror. Helena was wary of all the Estate staff. She feared them. Did they fear her? And maybe they all feared the same punishments? Helena has never had to clear her own plate or set a table, but she's not sure how someone could do so unsatisfactorily. "Your performance is as expected." Helena says flatly. "I was just curious which of the six rooms you visited last."

Angela smiles faintly. Angela was 14 when she came to work and live on the Estate, and Helena was only two. She has watched her grow. Angela misses her dear friend Janice Shoemaker. She warmly regards the memory of Mr. Heilman. She remembers what a nosy, intrusive, entitled little brat of an Eagan, Helena has always been. Now she's digging around for information about Wellness? Angela had reservations about how lenient Mr. Drummond was proving to be. A confrontation like this would have never happened under Janice's watch. Angela raises one eyebrow and informs the child, "Non-disclosure policy forbids speaking of Wellness sessions and the Break Room."

Helena presses her lips together tightly, thinking about how Sean shared his shittiest birthday in hopes that she might share her own. A sort of quid pro quo. "The last room I visited was the Cryotherapy room." Helena discloses and waits, hoping this might open the conversation for Angela.

"I know." Angela says. Helena nods. She isn't surprised that this was known amongst the staff. "You really shouldn't be speaking to me about Wellness. You're breaking protocol."

Helena nods and bows her head, "Right. Of course." Helena sips her coffee, disappointed at this Innie's inability to engage in an everyday human conversation.

"Imagine if Miss Shoemaker were here. How would she react knowing you've just broken protocol? Willfully! After I forewarned you." Angela tsks and tutts, shaking her head disapprovingly. Helena narrows her eyes at the condescending woman. "I'm eager to know Mr. Drummond's response."

Malice flares in Helena, 'Why can't they talk to me like a person? Why do they still treat me like a child?' "Well, please, hurry and tell him at once." Helena mocks and purposefully lets go of her coffee mug. The mug drops to the floor, and the dark liquid spills all over the carpet between the two women. "Oh drats. Kier forgive me." Helena says sarcastically, locking eyes with the visibly pissed off servant. To Helena's surprise, Angela breaks the stare and kneels to retrieve the fallen vessel. With the woman at her feet, Helena looks down her nose at her. "I was trying to talk to you. Connect. Be kind. But you can't do any of that can you? Because you're not a person like me. You're just a fucking Innie." Angela stands with the empty mug and looks blankly at Helena, trying to hide her agitation at the flaring tempers. Once eye to eye, Helena feels a twinge of regret for the malicious action, it was mean of her to do that. But regret is not what she wants to feel. She wants to feel like she stood up for herself, so before guilt can latch itself to her conscience, Helena marches off to her room to prepare herself for whatever Saturday activity Drummond has planned.

.ssss.

Standing at attention in the foyer, Helena watches, from the corner of her eye, a maid Innie, dusting. The woman doesn't speak or acknowledge Helena's presence, which adds fuel to her festering Malice. The Innies always stop to acknowledge Jame when he enters a room by standing still at attention and waiting to either be granted permission to continue their tasks or to be dismissed from the room. They never acknowledge Helena. They just keep going about their business as if she is invisible, and yet they all know her business. She thinks back to her twenty-first birthday, how she sat and watched the Innies interact so casually, almost like real people with real friendships, but also somewhat like a dog standing and walking on its hind legs. Except there was nothing cute about them, they are dangerous spies who delighted in her pain. She watches the woman with contempt, wondering if she's the one who has to clean the coffee from the carpet or if Angela will do that herself.

Drummond enters the Eagan estate and is pleased to see the well-dressed young woman standing at attention.

"So nice to not be kept waiting." Drummond says. He opens the door wide and gestures, "After you."

.ssss.

Helena checks her phone a few times, although there was no buzz or ping, just hoping Sean will text. She didn't have time to get his number from her sketchbook because of the confrontation with Angela and the need to change quickly before Drummond's arrival. She hasn't asked where they're going. Unlike any of her previous keepers, she has become accustomed to Drummond freely sharing this information and trusted that he would in time. As Helena watches the Lumon building disappear behind them, she thinks about Mr. Heilman and Miss Shoemaker. They sat beside her in this car, from toddlerhood to adulthood, and yet both remained indifferent to her or worse, disdainful. Now they're working somewhere in the Lumon building, severed. She wonders if a study has been done on Innies and their tendency to cruelty. There must be something during the procedure that severs their humanity, fellow-feeling, and compassion.

"Can I recommend Wellness sessions for the Estate staff?" Helena asks tentatively.

"Indeed you can. You are their employer." Drummond answers.

Helena imagines Angela in the sauna, gasping for breath in the dense, sizzling air. But Angela's face in the fantasy changes to Miss Shoemaker's, and Helena frowns, knowing that's the only person she would want to experience that kind of pain.

"I want them to acknowledge me when I enter a room like they do Father. Since I am their employer. I'm not some little kid they can keep ignoring. I'm an Eagan." Helena says confidently, looking out the window, subconsciously averting her eyes from the intimidating man.

"Absolutely." Drummond does his version of a smile, pleased to hear Helena speaking with some semblance of authority. "I can make that happen. All Estate staff will be required to respectfully acknowledge your presence." Helena nods, pleased with this and pleased with herself.

Drummond flips through a stack of papers separating out a few sheets here and there. Helena's sure that must be the information relevant to her part in whatever they're doing today. She chews her lip in thought and eventually asks,"Do Innies feel pain?"

He laughs, "Oh yes. Yes, they do." She shivers at his cold amusement. She remembers Mr. Abrar's bloodied face and his groans as Drummond pummeled him.

"In the same way that we do?" She asks.

"That's an interesting question. The studies have shown they feel pain in very similar ways. But pain is an important tool for conditioning them. Makes them work harder, teaches them to love their work and to Praise Kier." Drummond informs her. He watches her weigh this thought in her mind against her own experiences of painful conditioning. He continues, "If someone needs corrections, do not hesitate to tell me. If you worry too much about their pain, you will be doing the Innies a disservice by denying them proper training."

"I understand." She says mildly, folding her hands in her lap and looking back out the window. Drummond is frustrated to see her bluster has been exhausted.

After several minutes of quiet, just the hum of the car on the road and the sifting of Drummond's papers, he breaks the silence. "With Mr. Eagan and Miss Kalen abroad-"

"Natalie."

"Yes."

"Please don't call her Miss Kalen. She's just Natalie." Helena asserts with some annoyance.

"While they are abroad, you are-"

"Are they…" The thought strikes her suddenly, "Are they abroad together?"

"As in, are they in the same country for the same Lumon work event? Yes." He answers plainly. Helena's face blushes red with jealousy. Why was Jame traveling with Natalie and not her? Why was he not anguished in Natalie's company? There's little time to stress about this because Drummond continues, "In their absence, you have the privilege to serve Kier by making a public appearance, as the Lumon representative at the 'Kier Winter Carnival'. You will be stationed at the Lumon booth for the times listed here," Drummond hands Helena a packet of paper. "The rest of the time you will spend visiting the booths of our subsidiaries to remind them of their allegiance, repute and loyalty."

Helena flips through the pages. There's a list of phrases she's expected to say. There's a few pages of blurbs on the subsidiaries, descriptions of their companies and their connection to Lumon. There's a detailed map of her travel paths throughout the carnival and a time-specific itinerary of the places she's expected to be. Dread jostles Helena's stomach when she reads of an event titled Blessing and Pardoning. The description explains that Helena, in place of Jame, will sit on a throne-like chair and children of Kier, both young and old, will queue to receive Kier's blessings through her touch or to confess their transgressions and beg for pardon or penance. "I don't feel, I don't feel prepared for this portion of 'Blessings and Pardoning'." She admits nervously.

"Stick to the script and Kier will speak through you." Drummond assures her.

"What if someone confesses something awful? Criminal?" Helena grimaces at the idea. 'Who am I to forgive sin? To pardon crime?'

"Just like any priest or priestess you are bound by the Seal of Confession. Allow Kier to guide your hand. If penance is required, you'll see there are three acceptable responses." Mr. Drummond explains. Helena flips to the page about penance. She's no priestess. There was nothing high, pure or holy about her. Twenty minutes ago, she spitefully spilled her coffee because she didn't get her way like a tantrum-throwing toddler. Now she had the innate power to bless Kier's children?

'Failure Eagan. Ordinary Eagan.' She chastises herself. "The people will be expecting Father. Will they even want a blessing from me?" She asks, shaking her head doubtfully. "They won't want to see me."

"Helena, none of the events are optional. I suggest you spend this time studying your replies, instead of whining." Drummond booms with a warning glare. Helena swallows a dry swallow and nods agreeably. She drops her head and fixes her attention on the packet of new information, her eyes scanning the pages in search of some confidence.

.ssss.

As a child, Helena remembers attending this Carnival twice. She recalls watching the kids her age walking by with brightly painted faces, she remembers their balloon animals, and her jealousy at their shameless smiles, and the way their guardians affectionately held their hands. The guardians waved to the laughing, screaming children as they rode the loud, bright rides. Helena has a hazy image, from a third-person perspective, of her child self on a merry-go-round. Except she doesn't remember the feeling of the horse, nor does she recall how her dress might have draped or bunched up, or what the circulating air might have felt like on her hair. She decides this is likely a childish fantasy that became so vivid it feels like a memory.

The kids today are behaving in much the same manner of Frolic. Even the adults eat colorful puffs of something called cotton candy. They cheer loudly when they win games at different booths. Helena is at her second booth of the day, and she's meant to smile here, but she's distressed by the lack of contact from Sean and the excess merriment surrounding her. In the last two years, being able to explore around town and being befriended by Natalie has gotten Helena more accustomed to seeing people Frolic. However, most of these people at the carnival are Kier's children. Should they not know the line between Cheer/Frolic?

At lunch break, the festivities continue, and Helena sits behind the third booth of the day, on a wobbly stool, just out of sight of the crowd. She's been given a Lumon lunch bag, and when she opens it to see the contents, she sighs. She looks over her shoulder, then at her watch, and itinerary, and decides to be a little naughty. She abandons her lunch on the stool and wanders into the sea of people, finding her way to a grumbling food truck. She stands inconspicuously in the queue. She's only two people away from the ordering window when her arm is gripped and she's pulled from her spot in line. She's not alarmed, although she has never met this man before, it's obvious he's Lumon. She doesn't resist as he tugs her back to her designated place. He releases her when they're both standing in front of the stool. She frowns down at the bag lunch.

"This Carnival food is dodgy. We can't have you getting a funny tummy before you've fulfilled all of your obligations." The man lectures.

"Thank you." She says flatly. The man doesn't budge. She takes her seat on the stool and rummages through her bag, and still the man stays standing nearby. She sighs, accepting that he's going to watch her eat the meal chosen for her.

.ssss.

Walking to the throne, Helena was handed Kier's nine-tailed flogger. She had personally never been at the handle end of it, but isn't surprised by its heft. The crowd applauded when she took hold of it. The four tempers, two men and women in masks, knelt, two on each side of the throne where Helena sat.

Blessing people, surprisingly, became Helena's favorite part of the day. At first, it was uncomfortable; some people approached her hesitantly, and they cried when she recited a blessing and touched her hand to their bowed heads. Many smiled as if just the sight of her were a blessing, and everyone thanked her.

The Pardoning and Penance were strange. She listened to strangers' confessions and commanded the sinners to recite the Compunction prayer. They would kiss her boots, and then she would tell them that Kier's mercy would lift the stain from their souls. They wept and thanked her, praising Kier, except for a few teenagers who would momentarily break the illusion, being less than impressed by Helena, and seemingly forced to confess by their parents.

The first time she called for penance was for a man who confessed he had cheated on his pregnant wife. Malice held out his palms to ceremoniously receive the flogger from Helena. She handed it over, and all four tempers rose from their kneeling positions, escorting the man into a nearby tent and privately exacting punishment. The next sinner Helena sent for penance was a woman who confessed she didn't like her boyfriend's dog and attempted to poison it. The dog lived, but the vet bills were expensive, and now the boyfriend is late on rent and facing eviction, but she isn't offering for him to move in with her because of the dog. The last sinner she sent was a father. He had forced his six-year-old to confess. Helena had spotted them in the queue when they were behind several others. She noticed how he gruffly held the child at the back of her neck, and how she kept her head down. By the time the child reached Helena, the girl was trembling and crying. The child confessed to a sin of Malice, but only detailed forgetting a household chore. Helena pardoned and blessed the child. She then called the father to the platform and told him that he lacked Verve for his child, Humility to admit his parenting failure and Nimbleness to assist the child with household responsibilities. She told him he was the sinner who must atone for his sins. The man prayed the Compunction prayer, kissed her boots, and still she sent him with the Tempers for taming.

The Blessings and Pardonings took two hours, and the line was cut short to the disgruntlement of some people who had queued. Now at the Lumon booth, Helena signs a few of the free coffee cozies for two middle-aged women. They thank her and whisper to each other as they walk away.

"We're having a shift change." The female Lumon volunteer tells Helena, "Miss Eagan, it was an honor working beside you today. You're doing brilliantly."

"Thank you." Helena offers the woman a smile. The other volunteers were doing all the real work and campaigning. Helena was there simply as a figurehead and mascot.

As the volunteers clear from the booth, Helena gets a notification on her mobile. She's anxious and pulls the phone from her pocket so quickly that she almost drops it. She catches it just in time. She smiles widely, recognizing the numbers she knows to be Sean's, and opens his text.

"Haven't heard from you. So I guess Saturday is a bust?"

She turns her back to the traffic passing in front of the booth, and looks around to see who is watching before she text him back, "I got called to a last minute work thing. I'll be here all day. I would have text earlier but my phone did that thing again and the work was urgent." She tries to explain.

"A work thing, on Saturday?" Is his reply. She frowns, looking over her shoulder at the Carnival goers and then back at the phone. She knew he hated Lumon, and so she told him she was a Data Transcriber, but not for what company. If he knew how she had just spent the last two hours, she could already imagine the look on his face. She had a swell of pride after the Blessings and Pardonings, because she knew she had helped other people feel good. Helena didn't think she had the power to bless or erase sin, but the people who bowed to her did, and she did have the power to momentarily ease their consciences or brighten their spirits. Now, the pride has morphed to shame. Sean harbored a disdain for her family and what they stood for. He would be appalled by the farce.

"Can we take a raincheck?" Helena asks. She chews her lip in anticipation.

"Of course. Don't work too hard." Sean replies.

Before she can stop it, a laugh escapes her lips. One of the volunteers witnesses it and smiles, but doesn't seem to be bothered. She allows herself to chuckle under her breath as she reads the text again. She shakes her head. 'Don't work too hard?' She fights her smile. She had never heard of such a thing. She hears Kier's words: "Rise up from your deathbed and sally forth, more perfect for the struggle." Service is devotion. Lumon is love. 'But maybe,' she thinks, 'there are other types of love? A type of love that you don't have to work so hard for? '

Chapter Text

09:30PM

Helena has been home an hour. She's washed away the Carnival smells, and relaxed her muscles by soaking in a warm lavender bath. She is exhausted from the day and is just finished dressing for bed when she receives a text from Drummond telling her to report to the Dining room. She's nervous and wonders if she'll have to answer for dropping her coffee. She slips on her house shoes and takes her time walking to the dining room, not too eager for a slap.

Drummond is waiting and she lowers her eyes, entering the room, and finding a place to stand at attention. Her eyes travel to the spot on the floor where she spilled her coffee but whichever servant cleaned it, had done such a great job that her stain really had been removed. She smirks at the irony.

"Helena." Mr. Drummond starts, "Your performance today was outstanding." She peeks up from the floor, to judge his sincerity and he nods, encouraging her to lift her head. She does. "Your industriousness, Nimbleness and Wiles, are to be commended and rewarded."

Helena squints, "Really?" She only did what was expected of her. Meeting expectations wasn't typically rewarded. In fact she could list 3 incidents that would have gotten a reprimand or punishment from Miss Shoemaker.

"Yes." Drummond affirms, "Your Father is abroad, but he has been sent a positive report and press images of your triumphant public appearance."

"Thank you, Mr. Drummond." She says. She presses her lips tightly together to fight a smile. It's hard to process how complementary Drummond is being when she was expecting at minimum a lecture.

"Step up to the table." Drummond instructs. She obeys and notices on the table what she immediately recognizes as the dessert menu. "Tonight and one day of your choosing next week, you will be rewarded with a dessert of your choice. You must choose them now."

Helena twists her lips to the side, thinking over the menu. She decides since she's in Drummond's favor, to be a little cheeky, and asks, "Might I forgo my dessert tonight for a late dinner?" Unlike lunch, dinner was not provided at the Carnival. By the time she arrived home, it was well past dinner hours, which normally means food is off the table until the next scheduled meal time. Drummond's eyebrows angle down and his nose crinkles with annoyance. 'Maybe I shouldn't have asked.' She chastises herself internally.

Drummond text on his phone and when he's done he looks to her. The Malice is gone from his face which helps Helena squash her Dread. "No you may not." Drummond answers. "You will have a late dinner and your reward dessert will be deferred to Sunday and whichever day you choose for next week." Helena's eyebrows raise. Mealtimes have never been adjusted to accommodate her before. It's always been, show up on time or don't eat. When she was younger it was worse, because her table manners were also being trained and poor manners could get the food taken away. Food is a privilege. Drummond continues, "It is late, and the dinner will be amended. It will be something light that your metabolism can handle before bed."

"Thank you." She says genuinely appreciative of this accommodation. Missing meals, the dull empty ache in the stomach were realities she just accepted. Drummond and Sean were making her wonder about alternate realities. Realities where the people are kinder, and the rule-keepers more forgiving, and the work isn't so hard, and the rewards are more frequent. A reality where Cheer is plenty and Woe is scarce.

.ssss.

Sunday

The walk was thirty minutes through the snow. Helena is shivering outside the small duplex-style home. She wrestles Dread as she stands on the doorstep. She lied about her destination. She is here with full knowledge of the risk she's taking for herself and the potential consequences if caught. But he doesn't know the danger he's inviting in when he opens the door to her. If he knew the risk, would he think she's worth it? She doubts this. Before Woe can pull her spirits down, she rings the doorbell. She's only waiting a few seconds when the door opens.

"Helly." His face lights up with a smile when he sees her, and she can't help but reciprocate.

"Hey." She says softly.

He steps outside, kissing her cheek. "You're freezing!"

"It's winter." She smirks and gestures to the snow.

"Let's get you inside to warm up. Do you not have heat in your car?" As he steps aside to allow her to enter his home, he looks at his driveway and the curb at the notable absence of her vehicle. "Where did you park?" He asks, following her inside.

Helena does one whole body shiver, exhaling the wintry air from her lungs and taking in this new warm environment. The first thing she notices is the strange texture of the ceiling, almost as if paint were dripping from it. Next, she notices the home has a similar aesthetic to Imogene's, old, lived-in, with charming trinkets scattered around.

"You can hang your coat right here in this coat closet." Sean kicks a pair of his boots from blocking the closet door and opens it. The hinges squeak. Helena removes her jacket, still in awe of the tiny house. She hands the coat to him. As he hangs it, he notices two things: it's designer and it's wet from melting snow. "Helly? Did you walk here?"

"Oh. Um, yes." She says with a face-wide smile that crinkles her nose.

"Why did you walk? From where? It's freezing outside." Sean says, concerned. He steps closer to her and rubs her arms, causing friction to warm her. She laughs at this strange touch but tries to fight her Cheer because she can hear he's alarmed.

"I parked by the Laundromat." She says plainly. The location was approved, but once she arrived, she could see why Drummond was so confused by the request. A laundromat, she learned thirty minutes ago, is a place to wash clothes. Drummond would know she wasn't truly visiting there, but Helena didn't want to worry about that. It was the closest business to Sean's house that she could reasonably walk. "This house is so quaint."

"Thanks? I think." He looks around. He knew quaint meant small. This is the best he could do right now. He watches her enter the space, walking about with her hands clasped in front of her, looking at his furniture like a museum exhibit. "Why the Laundromat?" Sean laughs in his confusion, "Is everything ok with your car?"

"I love this." She points to a highly stylized photo of a guitar.

"Is your car okay?" Sean repeats. It doesn't make sense to him why she is dodging the question.

"Oh, uh, yes. It is." She nods.

"Helly, that's like a 20-minute walk. What possessed you to park so far?" Sean asks. It should have only been 20 minutes, but the snowy sidewalks slowed her down.

Helena sighs. She just wants to have a good time. She didn't want to answer these questions. He always asks questions and follow-up questions. He shows interest in her like no one she's ever known, and she's hesitant about honestly answering him. "I don't want anyone to know I'm here."

"Anyone? Are you married or something? I don't do affairs." Sean says, putting his hands up, "I like a stress-free life. I don't want drama."

"Oh." She nods thoughtfully. "No affair, no spouse…but lots of drama, I'm afraid."

"Should I be seeing another red flag?" He asks.

"Probably?"

"Crazy ex?"

"No, I…Don't laugh, ok?" Helena prefaces. "I still live at home."

"Like, your parents' home?" Sean asks, unsure why he would have laughed.

"Yes." She answers, walking over to a shelf. It didn't hold books but hundreds of vinyl records. Music that has colored Sean's life. Music she has undoubtedly never heard.

"I thought you said your Dad was an abusive fuckwit like mine?" Sean persists.

"Also, yes." She bites her tongue, trying not to laugh at the term fuckwit. She points at the shelf. "Can we play one of these?"

"Sure." Sean says, walking over. "Pick one you like." He rubs his hand through his hair, trying to comprehend this new knowledge of her.

"Oh um. Maybe, just-" She looks at the overwhelming amount of potentially wrong choices. "Play your favorite." She counters with a smile.

"Alright." He agrees, walking over to the record player and placing the needle on the record already spinning in place. Music fills the room, and he is amused by how delighted she is at the sound. "Helly, if your Dad finds out you're here, I'm afraid to ask-"

She laughs and shrugs a shoulder. "He's out of the country on business. So it's unlikely. Just to be safe, in case he has his friends check up on me, I want to make sure my car is where I said it'd be. It's probably fine. He won't know I'm here." She lies. She had no way of knowing what information was being monitored on her phone. If her text messages were being read, they would know this exact address.

"He'd send someone looking for you? Seriously?" He asks, eyes wide with worry. She nods, and her eyebrows raise with despair. She has only been here seconds, and she's already upset him. Can she get the date back on track? She chews her lip and looks around the room for a topic of conversation that might distract him, an interesting diversion.

"It smells really good in here." Helena compliments.

"That's the soup." He acknowledges. "I wasn't going to try to pass it off as my own. My sister made it, Mom's recipe. She just dropped off sooo much for me, like Sheila, do you think I'm going to eat soup for every meal this week?" Helena laughs at this. "It was our favorite thing Mom used to make. I hope you'll like it." She follows him into a small galley kitchen with tired oak cabinets and watches as he removes bowls from them. "Sheila took over a lot of the Mom-stuff after Lumon murdered our actual mom." Helena nods, but disagrees. She knew he blamed Lumon for the death of his mother, but she died during the severance procedure that she chose to have. People die in surgeries sometimes. It is extreme in her mind to call all medical mishaps murder, but Helena didn't care to defend Lumon against his hurting heart. "I keep telling her, I'm grown. She doesn't have to keep taking care of me. She has a choice now, ya know?" Helena nods, watching him ladle soup into the bowls. "She got me out of there when-"

"She was nineteen and you were twelve." Helena interjects. He mentioned this at the bowling alley. Helena found almost everything he said fascinating and tried to commit all of it to memory. The few painful stories he shared with her that night, in her mind, all had a silver lining. They ended with hope and freedom and bowls of soup.

Sean hands her a bowl and spoon, and for the first time ever, Helena carries her own plate to the kitchen table. He sits across from her, and she smiles warmly. She can see beyond his smile that his gray eyes are still clouded with concern. She admires the faint stubble on his cheeks and chin, and then his perfect lips, hoping that she can make this less weird, so maybe he'll want to kiss her again.

"If you don't like it. I have a frozen pizza in there." He offers. Helena takes a spoonful of soup, the hot liquid warms her insides, and she smiles, closing her eyes blissfully at the buttery, flavorful broth.

"This is-" She looks at the colorful contents of the bowl and takes an eager second spoonful. "Thank you for sharing something so special with me." She says genuinely.

"It's soup." He laughs. Her face is soft and sweetly sincere. Sean is confused by her. She has an air of elegance that makes him feel like he needs to impress her, but then she gets wide-eyed excitement over greasy bowling alley pizza. Now he is serving her two-day-old soup, and she's got a look in her eye like he just gave her jewelry. Her responses to most things were just kind of off. Odd. He says dismissively, "It's just leftovers." Helena shakes her head but doesn't correct him. To her, it was more than soup. His sister loves him. The soup is his sister's care. The soup is comfort. It's the memory of their mother. It's love. She can taste it. He has no idea how starved for it she is, even if it is just leftovers. He has enough of it that he can share. He has enough that he told his sister he didn't need anymore. If anyone were ever to offer, Helena can't imagine asking them to love her less.

"She's an excellent cook." Helena adds.

"I thought you were out of, I mean, I had no idea you were still living under your Dad's roof. Dealing with that shit." Sean says. "Fuck, Helly. If you need somewhere to stay, I can talk to my sister. She's got a spare room. Are, are you saving up for a place?"

Helena laughs, "No no I…" She stops herself and decides to lie to soothe him. "Yes, I am saving up. So you don't have to worry about it. And, anyway, it's gotten a lot better recently."

"I have trouble believing that if you're having to lie about your whereabouts." Sean says.

"Trust me, it has." Helena's eyebrows raise.

"Does he still put his hands on you?" Sean asks. She thinks about this, and he doesn't like that she's got to think. "I know we just met last week, and it's not my business, but I care that you're safe."

"You do?" She asks curiously.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Why?" Sean asks incredulously, "Because you're a person, Helly. Because no one should treat anyone like that! Especially not someone they love."

She thinks, 'Because I'm a person,' she tilts her head to help the thought settle. She has learned that most of the people closest to her, throughout her life, Mr. Heilman, Miss Shoemaker, and her Father, have never seen her as a person. Even her best friend, Natalie, at times treated her more like a plaything or project. She didn't know how to make them see her. No one saw her. Yesterday's Carnival proved that over and over. The people there didn't see her, they saw an idol, they used her as a conduit for their blessings. She didn't matter to any of them. She isn't real. She takes a spoonful of soup.

"Has it happened recently?" Sean asks.

"Do you consider December of last year recent?" She smiles and lets out a laugh, surprised at the realization that it's been nearly three months since she's been physically disciplined. She would bet it's the longest duration probably in her entire life. If she had access to her Archives, it'd likely be verifiable. However, sneaking back down to the Archives was the reason she was last slapped.

"Yes, I do! It's February! That's only two months ago." Sean huffs. She notices that he twirls his spoon in his bowl. She has put him off his food.

"Almost three." She holds up three fingers to highlight the distinction. "I have a plan." She lies with a smile.

"If you ever need a safe place. I know you don't know me from Adam. But-"

"Who's Adam?"

He laughs, "Adam? It's a figure of speech. Regardless, if you need somewhere to be, if you need someone, I'm here. Even if you decide this isn't anything and you want just to be friends, I'm here."

"Thank you." She blushes as she smiles. "But I hope this is something."

It's Sean's turn to blush, "It's early days, but me too."

.ssss.

"It's a very impressive collection." Helena observes, standing beside Sean as he removes the record and returns it to its sleeve.

"Thanks. I got most of them from an estate sale. Sheila says that I'm a quote unquote Pretentious Fucktard for having a vinyl collection in 2014 when iPods exist." He chuckles. "Maybe it is."

"If it's something you love and it brings you joy. I don't see the harm in it." Helena shrugs. "So what if it's not what everyone else is doing? Fuck them." This is something she often had to remind herself of. She was frequently out of place and in spite of herself, yearned for acceptance.

"I find it impossible to believe that you don't have a favorite band or musical artist." He gently grazes her lower back with his hand as he moves past her and pulls a record from one of the shelves. "What about these guys?" He holds up an album and she twists side to side, admiring the art: A hand grips a bleeding red heart-shaped grenade. She shakes her head.

"They say not to judge a book by its cover but if you're allowed to judge records that way, then I like this one." She smiles.

"You're so cute it's unreal. Who are you?" He again moves behind her, "Excuse me." He whispers, rubbing against her as he passes. "I think you'll like it." She watches him gently lift the needle and place it down on the record. The energetic sound of electric guitars burst from the disk. Helena stifles a laugh when Sean pantomimes an air-guitar. Strumming and waving his head to the song. He sings with the record,"The subliminal mindfuck America." He smiles at her, embarrassed but enjoying himself, "C'mon Helly. Get ready, a perfect riff for a hair flip is coming up."

"A hair flip?"

"Yeah, like-" He bobs his head and then dramatically throws it forward and back. He laughs, "But ya know, with hair." He touches her flowing red hair. She nods and presses her lips together, understanding the assignment.

"When is the time?" She asks.

"Just feel it. Feel it and you choose the time." He says picking up his phantom guitar. He rocks to the song and she nods, focusing on the music, feeling it's fast vibration in her chest. Suddenly a drum solo hits, and Helena bobs her head, feeling it, feeling the beat, feeling free. After a few rhythmic bobs, she throws her head forward and then back. She laughs at the disorienting whiplash feeling. Sean cheers. "Fuck yeah, Helly!" The hair flip swept her body into motion and she finds herself dancing, hands in fists.

.ssss.

When the song ends, Helena collapses onto Sean's sofa, out of breath and laughing uncontrollably. He returns with two glasses of water and she accepts the drinking vessel.

"Thank you." She laughs, "I'm sorry." She apologizes for the third or fourth time for her Frolic.

"What are you sorry for?" He asks, sipping his water. She wipes a sneaky tear from her eye. She has never felt this type of merriment in her heart without Ether.

"I couldn't stop myself." She says, clearing her throat and still struggling to wrestle a smile.

"From what? Enjoying yourself?" He laughs at the absurdity.

"Too much, I suppose." She agrees and sips the water.

"Your laugh is great. Hearty. Like it comes from your whole chest." He says, admiring her flushed red cheeks and frizzy hair.

"Thank you." She says bashfully. "I don't know why you told me you couldn't play an instrument. That was the best invisible guitar performance I've ever seen." She says seriously, but can't keep a straight face and burst into another fit of laughs. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He says, pushing a strand of her messy hair behind her ear. The soft touch of his hand makes her spirit calm and her body quake involuntarily. He notices her hazel eyes focus on his lips, and accepts the invitation. "Helly, can I ki-" Before he can finish the question her lips are locked on his. She shifts her body to press against his and he carefully takes the beverage from her hand, not once breaking the sloppy liplock, to clumsily place the glass on the coffee table.

He tentatively puts his arms around her and she grips his shoulders encouraging him to hold her tighter. She wants him to taste how starved she is.

.ssss.

Helena lay on her back on the sofa, her panties tangled around her left ankle. She is in no rush to pull them back up. Light headed from ecstasy, she stays still trying to catch her breath. Sean sits at the end of the sofa, beside her, one hand on her bent knee.

"Best dessert I had in ages." He says with a grin. She covers her face which blushes with embarrassment and laughs. "I'll uh, get you a towel." He says. She watches him leave the room and she stares up at the oddly textured ceiling. She was the one starving but he did all the eating. He made her feel wanted and desirable. Briefly her mind flashes to her eighteenth birthday, those strangers left her feeling greedily consumed, devastatingly ravished and guiltily pleased. With Sean she felt only bliss. He returns with the towel and she pushes herself up with her elbows.

"I hope I didn't-" She looks at his sofa.

"I told you I majored in Textiles." He reminds her, "Don't worry about the sofa." She smiles and nods, discreetly tucking the towel between her legs. "Are you okay though?" He can see her euphoric glow has dissipated and the worry lines of her forehead have reappeared.

"Yes. Thank you." She says politely. She stands, and he admires her bare backside as she bends to retrieve her panties. He frowns at the visible scars on her thigh. He gently grips the meat of her thigh and she watches him rub a finger across her marks. She sighs shamefully. Drummond had noticed these marks and reported her to the Lumon psychologist. He later privately apologized and told her, he thought they would help her. Instead, for two weeks, they kept her in the Lumon psych ward, performing tests, heavily medicating her, and once performing electroshock therapy. She didn't speak to a therapist, but a person who claimed to be a therapist lectured her for a few hours everyday about her selfishness and Woe. This was back when she was twenty-one and she guesses it worked, because she hasn't cut herself since. She found other less obvious ways to release the pain. She freezes when Sean softly kisses the scar.

Sean smiles sadly, "I hope, if it gets bad again, you really do know that you can reach out." Helena narrows her eyes, studying his face, perplexed by his genuineness. "You don't deserve this pain." He says.

She scrunches her eyebrows down and her mind reels. 'I do deserve this pain! I deserve all of it! It's like Father said, I invite misfortune on myself.' Annoyed, she shakes her head and speaks softly, "You don't know me."

"That may be true," He admits, "But I know you don't deserve to hurt that way."

"Because I'm a person?" She asks, revealing her annoyance. "Are you suggesting that no one, no person, deserves pain?"

"No. I'm not. I can list several deserving people. Child molesters, abusive pricks, my dad, your Dad, Jame Eagan, any billionaire really, but especially him."Sean lists. He stops when he sees her press her fingers to her furrowed brow. "You're not on the list."

She frowns, knowing she is. Her father featured twice, and she's technically one of those billionaires. If Sean knew who she really was, he wouldn't be treating her so kindly. She would be on the list, deserving of pain. Helena's ears prick at the muffled sound she recognizes to be her phone ringing.

"Fuck." She sighs before swiftly walking to the coat closet to retrieve her phone from her coat pocket.

"Fuck, why? You don't even know who it is yet." Sean says.

"I have one friend and she's out of the country on business."

"I thought it was your Dad who is out of the country on business."

"They're both, both are." She notices the name on the phone is Mr. Drummond.

"Strange coincidence." Sean says amused. He stands when he sees her slipping on her coat. "Are you-?"

"I have to take this. I'm stepping outside." She says, pulling her coat closed and stepping out into the elements. "Mr. Drummond." She answers formally, hoping her Dread can't be heard in her voice.

"I want to give you a chance to explain why one might visit a Laundromat, without any dirty clothing, knowing there's an entire team of launderers at the estate." Mr. Drummond commands.

Helena shrugs for no one to see and then exhales a cloud of breath. "I'm visiting a friend."

"A friend." Drummond repeats.

"A friend from work." Helena lies.

"Praytell, why did you fail to disclose this information?" Drummond demands.

"Please, Mr. Drummond, does this have to be a whole thing?" She whines.

"There are rules and protocols for a reason. You have one hour to return to the estate. You will report to the Classroom. And if you answer my questions satisfactorily, I will spare your Father the knowledge of this waywardness." Drummond offers with an exhausted sigh.

She feels a knot in her throat. "Yes, Mr. Drummond." She submits. The call ends and she tilts her head back, looking up at the sky, willing away any tears that threaten to leak from her lids. She could still get through this unscathed if she played it right. Helena closes her eyes, takes in a cool deep breath and exhales, regulating her emotion before stepping back inside. "Sean." She says. He sits on the sofa where she left him.

"Is everything okay?" Sean asks.

"It was-" She shrugs a shoulder, deciding to save any lies for Drummond. "-one of Dad's friends."

"They really did check up on you then?"

"Yes."

"Should I be worried? Are you going to be okay?" Sean asks, standing and walking over to her. The corner of her mouth turns up a somber smile. She liked the idea of him worrying for her. Worry, care, love.

"I should be fine. I just have to get back, like," she looks at her watch, "now."

"You sure?" He asks earnestly.

"Yes. Thank you for such a delightful time." She says opening the door again.

"Hey, I'll drive you to your car. Just one second." He hurries to the closest to grab a peacoat.

"Maybe not, all the way? I can walk the rest of the way. I don't want to catch you up in any of this." She laughs uncertainly, "Drama-free, right?"

"Helly, this isn't drama." He says jingling the keys in his pocket and patting for his wallet.

"It's not?"

"No, it's tragedy." He says, gesturing for her to exit. She does and he locks up his home after them. "And there's a big difference between the two." He informs her. She raises a skeptical eyebrow and follows him to his car. His Benevolence exceeded that of anyone she has ever met. She hopes she can spare such a kind man from ever crossing paths with Drummond.

Chapter Text

Monday

08:45 AM

Helena sits in the back of the black car on the way to work. Yesterday, in the Classroom, Helena realized quickly that the room itself was an intimidation tactic. She was commanded to kneel and present her palms, a humbling position that Miss Shoemaker made sure she was very familiar with. Mr. Drummond paced in front of her with the ruler. He lightly tapped it in her palms as a warning. When he asked a question and she didn't deliver a convincing answer, he slapped it on the desk, causing her to flinch at the sound but he never actually hit her. Helena was able to lie her way through the interrogation and stuck to her story that she was visiting a male friend from work. Drummond's punishment for her lapse in Probity, is the loss of driving privileges for the week, and the forfeiture of both her reward desserts.

09:50 AM

She has finished the morning announcements and walks from the kitchenette with her second cup of coffee for the day. Her phone pings and she suppresses a smile when she sees Sean's unsaved number. She opens his message which reads: "Please update me. I just want to know you're okay." This causes her to lose her battle against her smile.

Once she gets to her office she removes her Lumon badge and snaps a selfie in front of her computer monitor. She double checks the image for any Lumon insignia before sending. Then she types, "Doing fine for a Monday at the office. Thanks for checking up on me." She thinks about this and then corrects the text to says, "checking in on me." Helena realizes there is a distinct difference. Staff, security, handlers, were constantly checking up on her, making sure she was doing what she was meant to, keeping in line, that she was where she was meant to be, knowing her place. But rarely did anyone check in to ask her how she is truly doing or feeling. There was no motive behind Sean's inquiry besides a sincere interest in her well-being. She sends her message and smiles at her empty picture frame. There might finally be someone in her life deserving of that space.

.ssss.

Tuesday

03:15 PM

Helena is at her desk, using her free time to research: Romantic gift ideas for him. After the soup and the cunnilingus, she felt Sean deserved a reward. She's settled on the idea of buying him an autographed guitar from one of his favorite bands but she's trying to talk herself out of it. The few guitars she has found online cost over $1,000 and she knew the rule is: Any purchase over $500 needs pre-approval. Now she stares at the screen, scheming. She is required to submit a monthly expense report. How can she justify this purchase to her handlers? She wonders, for the first time, how closely her monthly reports are actually being read. Maybe there's a way she can tweak the numbers and get away with it? Or maybe this pre-approval, like the Classroom, is a tactic used to keep her within their imaginary limits. Maybe no one would notice at all? She moves her mouse and clicks Checkout.

She fills out all the information and orders the gift to be delivered to Sean's address. When the purchase is complete, her stomach lurches with Dread at the sound of a phone notification. It's Drummond.

"Report to the conference room in ten." The text reads. She can't stop herself and vomits in the tiny trash bin by her desk. She frowns at her digested lunch. This didn't happen as often as it did when she was younger. She's gotten better at managing her nerves, taming her Dread and Woe. As a child, she remembers Mr. Heilman told her that the bile was the weakness that lives in her veins. That when it spews out of her it's because she allowed it to fester and grow to such excess that her body couldn't contain it. An external manifestation of her weakness. A reminder.

Although this was normally someone else's job, Helena doesn't want her office to smell of vomit, so she ties the trash and disposes of it in the larger kitchenette bin.

"Looks like we're on track for another melon party." Dennis says, approaching her. Dennis is one of her Team Leads, essentially her second in command, he answers to her, his team answers to him. To inspire the teams to meet and exceed quota, Helena pits them against each other, healthy competition. Only one team would be allowed to partake in the end of month celebrations. The past three months it has been Dennis' team. Of course, she was accused of bias and favoritism, which wasn't the case. Although Dennis was her favorite, because he was always respectful and kind, even when she was a Transcriber who answered to him.

"Still a few days left of the month. I wouldn't get too confident. The numbers are close." She encourages.

"How close?" Dennis asks.

She raises an eyebrow, "I won't say. That should keep you on your toes."

"Cruel." He says with a laugh. "You're a tyrant."

"Maybe." She says coyly. She uses a token to get a pack of Lumon-mints from the vending machine. She looks up at the clock as she takes a mint. "I've got a meeting in 5. You're the Captain in my stead. I expect to see an office when I come back."

"It will still be an office." He nods confidently.

"Max two fires." She jokes.

"Min?" He laughs.

"Max!" She points an authoritative finger before leaving the Electronic Data office.

.ssss.

When she enters the conference room, three men in suits who she recognizes as her other handlers sit to the left of Mr. Drummond and two woman she's never seen before sit to his left. They all stand when she enters. This is new to her, this is the type of acknowledgement her father receives. Helena can see the focal point of the room is a projector screen set up for a PowerPoint presentation. She feels her stomach turn again and casts her eyes down as she walks to the chair indicated by Drummond. She sits and everyone in attendance sits after her. She is the only one on her side of the table. Once in her seat, Helena raises her eyes, scans the group and then settles her eyes on Mr. Drummond. She clenches her jaw, 'Could he already know about the purchase? That would mean he knows Sean's home address. They could already have Sean. What else do they know about what I've done on the computer? Have they seen my search history? Will I lose Google? Google and Sean?'

Mr. Drummond sees her unease. Her obvious nerves make it difficult for him to envision her as the leader-in-waiting. He wanted her to walk with confidence, to enter a room and command it with her presence. But even with the provision of respectful acknowledgement from the staff, Helena still shuffled in the room like a mousey child. He understood much of this is learned, conditioned behavior. She was often treated as a little mouse, vermin, a nuisance. He hated to do it but he was realizing he would have to send her for more advanced levels of Media Training. She has only had the two lessons, in feigning a smile and in feigning regret. He knows she'll need one for feigning confidence, walking with purpose, commanding a room, and at least four others to break her from some less than desirable habits.

"Helena, thank you for being punctual and making the time to step away from your responsibilities as Department Head." Drummond starts, as if she had a choice in either of those things. She does a simple nod. "The team and I have discussed your unauthorized Sunday escapade." Again, Helena nods and swallows bile. "We considered the factors that contributed to your misbehavior. Chiefly, the absence of your best friend, Natalie as she's in Norway on official Lumon business. And principally, your significant lack of alternate companions." Helena suddenly and surprisingly laughs.

"Sorry." She covers her mouth and shakes her head, recovering from the outburst.

"May I ask what was funny?" One of the women speaks up.

Helena looks to Drummond for the okay to speak, he doesn't discourage it, and so she answers the woman. "He just said The Team discussed my lack of friends? And I just, got an image of all of you sitting around discussing what a recluse I am. As if it wasn't your own doing." She watches and the woman writes something in a notebook. When Helena looks back to Drummond his signature scowl has returned. She clears her throat and drops her eyes again.

Drummond continues, "Based on your history, interests, age, and urinalysis, the team has interviewed and hand-selected five qualified candidates for friendship."

"Wow." Helena says in disbelief as she nods agreeably.

"Each of your Handlers will present the prospective companion of their blessing. You will listen to all presentations, and hold any questions for the end. At the conclusion, you will choose two of the five. A dinner reservation has been made for the three of you, this evening, to acquaint yourselves." Drummond finishes, "The hope is to deter you from lapsing in Probity, and violating protocols."

Helena's cheeks blush at the mention of her rule-breaking. This humiliating meeting, she knew, was Drummond's warped attempt at Benevolence. All for her own good, of course. As much as she yearns to storm out, she obediently stays planted in her seat. Any one of her handlers had the authority to restrain her. A quiet sigh escapes her lips and she silently repeats her mantra: "Keep calm. Straight face. Feel nothing." It will take every ounce of her willpower to survive the sheer embarrassment threatening to consume her in this room. Softly, she concedes, "I understand Mr. Drummond."

.ssss.

Both of the women from the embarrassing conference, Helena learned, are in fact handlers. She memorized their faces. Maybe the next time she's in public, she'll spot them spying before they spot her. One of the women, named Miss Alcott, was waiting in the car when Helena got off work. She returned with her to the Eagan estate and, to Helena's dismay, readied her for the dinner, choosing her gown, zipping her into it, selecting the jewelry, and personally fixing Helena's hair into a tight ponytail. There was a point of contention when Helena sat at her vanity applying a fresh face of makeup, and Miss Alcott softly swatted Helena's hand when she reached for the wrong lipstick. Helena tried for it a second time and received a slightly stingier swat.

"Seriously?" Helena said, frustrated with the toddler-like treatment. Miss Alcott was serious, and her answer to this question was to turn Helena's face by her chin and personally apply the lipstick she had chosen. The familiar way this woman overrode Helena's autonomy reminded her so much of Miss Shoemaker that Helena defaulted to zero resistance. As the lipstick rubbed across her lips, Helena looked out the corner of her eye at the mirror. She hated that powerless girl for her silent submission. When Miss Alcott finished and released Helena's face, Helena was left frowning at the sad girl in her the mirror.

"You're lucky you look so pretty pouting." Miss Alcott said with a smile.

.ssss.

A reservation had been secured for Helena and her "hired-friends" for a restaurant on a building's 20th floor, offering panoramic views of the city below. As the car drew to a halt at the building's entrance, Helena anxiously toys with her jewelry. She's mainly nervous because she has no idea who she is about to meet. Her potential companions had been presented blindly—no names, no pictures, just stats, brief personal histories, and a quote detailing their "unique contribution to a friendship." The next most pressing concern is that these individuals were selected by 'her team,' guaranteeing they'd report back to the handlers. Is she supposed to have fun, or is she meant to be on her best behavior? And is feigning fun her best behavior? She is expected to enjoy herself, and embrace these new friends, yet she is mortified to be in this humiliating situation. If she's too solemn, they might report her. Too cheerful, and she could be accused of Frolic. The entire ride, Helena had been desperately searching for an impossible middle ground.

Once inside the building, Helena is directed by a uniformed employee on how to get to the restaurant. He offers an escort, and she declines, happy for a moment alone, not followed or led by an invisible leash. As she rides the elevator up, she fantasizes about not attending dinner. She imagines a different version of herself that can walk away and say 'no' to what she doesn't want. This other her isn't afraid of Drummond, ignores his calls, gets a taxi, and goes to Sean's house. She doesn't wait to be kissed. She isn't bashful. She takes control, a bolder Helena that does the fucking instead of constantly being fucked.

When the elevator door opens, she steps out as herself, disappointed and fearful. She tries to reassure herself that she is the best Helena, 'That other Helena wouldn't have survived childhood. Actions have consequences. That reckless Helena would have gotten herself and others killed.' She stands perfectly still, staring at the grand entrance of the restaurant, fighting the urge to flee. 'I am strong.' She thinks to herself, placing one foot forward and turning her body toward the inevitable, inescapable reality. 'I obey, sure,' She encourages herself, 'but obeying takes a kind of strength. It takes a fuck ton of self-control to keep my head down and my mouth shut. Running away is cowardly.' She tries to convince herself, 'I have Verve. I am strong enough to endure it. I have the Wit and Humility to know when my back is against the wall. I have the Vision to foresee the consequences and the Benevolence to consider the pain I could cause by rebelling.' Her memory flashes the bloody face of Mr. Abrar, Tyler's blood streaking down the wall, and the shouting of Cynthia as she was dragged from the Filing Room. She reaches the restaurant before she can finish the nine principles.

"Welcome, Miss Eagan."The smiling hostess says, "Your table is ready, and your party awaits." The gathered groups of waiting parties whisper amongst themselves, 'Eagan', 'Who', 'Helena', 'daughter'. They think they know her. No one does. "Allow me to escort you to the table?" the hostess asks with a slight bow. Helena nods.

"Yes, thank you." She replies. The hostess ushers her away from the crowd into the opulent dining room. A circular bar is in the center of the space. A large crystal chandelier hangs overhead. "Is this a Michelin Star restaurant?"

"Yes, ma'am. We were awarded our first star in 2002." The hostess informs. Live music is being played, and Helena is fascinated by the bassist. She presses her lips firmly together, suppressing a smile, thinking of the guitar she purchased earlier. She thinks about Sean, saying he should take her to a Michelin-starred restaurant, but that he doesn't know of any. She fantasizes about bringing him here, linking her arm in his, and being escorted to their table. She pictures him in his jeans and bow tie, then frowns, knowing he would be denied entry for being underdressed or not wearing the right shoes, suit jacket, or tie. She gathers that Michelin Stars care as much about their appearance as Lumon.

A chair is pulled out for her by the waiter, and the two hired-friends stand to acknowledge Helena respectfully. To her left, the chosen male companion, a blonde, his hair short and coiffed, donning a three-piece suit, smiles discreetly, and Helena feels comfortable returning this. However, her tiny smile vanishes when she looks to her right. The chosen female companion, standing there with hopeful eyes and a dazzling peach colored gown, is Jessica Fucking F.

"Good Evening."Helena forces the greeting through her shock. Nimbleness. Wiles. She needs to recover quickly. She extends her hand to the male-friend, "Thank you for coming."

"It was an honor to be chosen. I'm Kenary M."

Helena's face is blank when she looks at Jessica. She can't bring herself to extend her hand. "Jessica." She says flatly. Jessica laughs nervously and extends her hand instead. Helena's nostrils flare as she wrestles her Malice. She looks at the awkwardly lingering invitation to shake, allowing it to go unmet for too long. Jessica is persistent and doesn't retract. Reluctantly, Helena raises her arm and gives Jessica's hand a single shake, dropping it like a slimy worm. "Please, sit." Helena invites, fixing her eyes on the table and taking her seat. A waitstaff member pushes in her chair, and the two 'friends' wait several seconds until Helena is comfortably seated before they return to their chairs.

"You two already know each other?" Kenary asks.

"No." Helena answers.

At the same time, Jessica answers, "Yes. We go way back. We worked together briefly, and we both attended The Myrtle Eagan School for Girls."

"Oh," Kenary chuckles, looking concerned,"I thought we were all strangers here."

"We are." Helena agrees.

Kenary looks at Jessica, insecure about his lack of personal history with Helena, "From what I understood, the candidates would be chosen from a blind recruitment pool."

"Yes," Helena nods, "please rest assured that the presentation of all candidates was a fair and anonymous process. Had I not been blinded with a gun to my head, I might have made different choices." Helena says with a sardonic smile. She looks Jessica up and down, and Jessica laughs. Helena knows her Malice is already sprouting horns.

"It must've been Kier's spirit that guided you to choose me." Jessica adds. Helena glares and sips her water, trying to extinguish the growing fire inside her.

Out of the three female profiles presented, Helena chose Jessica. Was this a setup? Was it Kier? Was it Drummond? As the profiles were presented, Helena told herself that her handlers could coerce her into going to dinner, but they couldn't make her like these forced-friends. She made her mind over, to select people who might be capable of interesting conversation. The female profile she chose described the woman as the oldest of six siblings. That was a life experience so far from Helena's own that Helena thought hearing about it might be entertaining. The deciding factor that pushed that female profile above the others was the woman listed painting as one of her hobbies and pastimes. She thought they might have Art in common. Helena recalls her friend Cynthia telling her she and Jessica might get along. 'It isn't Jessica's fault she's here. It's mine.' She internally chastises herself and then asks,"I'd be interested to know what motivated either of you to apply for this…" 'Role? Position? Job? Are they being compensated to sit here and tolerate me?' Helena's face flushes red, embarrassed by her reality.

"Certainly. Who would you like to hear from first, Miss Eagan?" Kenary asks.

"Helena. For Kier's sake, please just, Helena." Helena huffs, already exhausted by the formal charade. "And just, whoever wants to speak, speak. This isn't a board meeting. We're having dinner. Just three people having dinner." She asserts. She can see both her companions smile uneasily and exchange looks with each other, agreeing on the tone Helena is attempting to set. Helena was so tangled in her whirlwind of emotions and flaring tempers that she hadn't realized they must be nervous. They're both true believers. Her handlers wouldn't have approved of anyone less. They're loyal Lumon family members. They see her like the people at the carnival did—an idol, the CEO's daughter, the Chosen One's blood descendant, their next leader. Helena laughs at the ridiculous thought that Jessica must think Kier, her God, hates her because Helena has only ever shown her scorn. "Is there a wine list?"Helena asks; if she's going to be polite to Jessica Fucking F, the snitch, and hair-snipping creep, then she will need substantial assistance.

.ssss.

The server thanks Kenary and Jessica for their orders and starts collecting their menus. Helena sips her wine, irritated at being passed over, and intercepts Jessica's menu.

"I would like to try this Chef's Special." She says, pointing at the menu item she decided on.

"Thank you, Miss Eagan." The server collects the menu, but Helena notices they didn't write her order in their small notepad.

"Excuse me, did you get that?" She seethes, her annoyance with the entire situation narrows in on the server.

"The chef and kitchen staff received your dietitian's selections for you."

"Have they already prepared the food?" Helena asks, raising an eyebrow in challenge, not surprised that her team is pulling the strings from afar.

"No ma'am. We'll only present the freshest food at the ideal temperature. Everything is made to order. Nothing is made in batches, even our house-made salad dressings. " The server answers.

"Well, tell your chef that I appreciate their consideration and accommodation, but that I have chosen one of your Chef specials." She forges a tight smile, and the server nods.

"Indeed. I will speak with the Chef on your behalf." The server says, excusing themselves.

Kenary resumes the conversation, "That's how I found Kier. My mom, at first when I told her I was taking the job at Lumon, and moving out here, she thought I was crazy. But I think all the hurtful things she said was just Dread. Fear of losing touch with her youngest son and the Woe of becoming an empty nester."

"So she doesn't take solace in the Nine?" Jessica asks. Kenary shakes his head 'no'. "That's so sad. I'm always heartbroken for those who don't know Kier. His spirit and the core nine could bring her so much peace."

Helena's phone pings and she opens a text from Drummond which reads: "Don't make this difficult."

Helena types furiously, "If I have to be here, in this restaurant you chose, with the friends you selected, in a gown I didn't pick, then I should at least get to order my own food." She hits send. Her text has been 'read' almost instantly, but there is no response. She bites the inside of her cheek and regrets talking back to Drummond. She looks up from her phone, scanning the room for handlers, for whoever is watching and whoever is reporting back.

"Fine." Drummond's text finally comes through and the temper Dread releases its hold on Helena. She smiles widely. Did she actually just get her way?

.ssss.

"Can't get you out of my head." Sean text. Helena smiles at his number, but is confused by the text. Was this a good thing? Or could he not stop thinking about her the way she never stopped thinking about Drummond and the Omniscient, omnipresent Them? Or was it the way Jessica can't seem to stop thinking about Kier? Anxious? Obsessive? Or positive? Because she couldn't stop thinking of him. Remembering his face between her thighs, him smiling across the table at her, his body moving to the music. She kept imagining him at this table with her, Jessica and Kenary. He wouldn't grin and bear this. He wouldn't tolerate the Kier-ness of it all. He'd say, 'Fuck the Eagan Empire. Eat the rich!' And then he'd rant about Lumon's impact on the environment and how all the seals are dying because of chemical waste.

Helena replies, "I hope they're happy thoughts." She returns her attention to the chatty companions she had tuned out. Jessica is speaking and Helena doesn't care to know what she's saying. She interrupts, "Are either of you dating?" Jessica's mouth drops open in offense. There is a brief but tense silence.

"I'm actually newly engaged." Kenary shares.

"Oh congratulations." Jessica cheerfully offers.

"Yeah." Helena agrees, sipping on her wine.

"My fiancee encouraged me to apply for this. But once your team informed me that I was selected, I called to tell her I wouldn't be home for dinner because I would be here with you,The enigmatic Helena Eagan, and if you can believe it, she got jealous." Kenary laughs as he says this.

"Oh dear, I hope you're not going home to a fight." Jessica smiles sympathetically.

"No, she's fairly even keel. Thank Kier for that." He says.

"Praise Kier." Jessica says.

"Shut up." Helena points at Jessica. She returns her attention to Kenary, "Tell us about that. How long did you date before you asked her to be your girlfriend?"

"Do you mean when I proposed?"

"No. I meant what I said. Start at the beginning." She instructs. "Please." She raises an eyebrow at the forced pleasantry, feeling the effects of the wine.

.ssss.

The waiter returns to their table and presents Kenary and Jessica with desserts. Helena tried to order a dessert but this is where Drummond drew the line. He text, reminding her that her lapse of Probity and disregard for Safety protocols had lost her her dessert privileges. When the waiter walks away, Helena sits up, her eyes fixed on their plates.

"What did you order?" She asks Kenary.

"I got the blackberry custard with creme and a semolina cookie. I'll be honest, I have no idea what semolina means." Kenary admits.

"Does it have almonds?"

"I don't think?"

"I'm eating half of it." She doesn't wait for a response and reaches over, grabbing his plate and sliding it to her. He looks shocked and laughs.

"It's an honor to share with you Helena." Kenary says.

"An honor, I bet." Helena shakes her head. Before she takes a forkful, she looks at the horrified Jessica. "And what have you ordered?"

"Frozen cherry marzipan, with like a sweet and sour jam gelee?" Jessica answers. After being told to 'shut up' Jessica only spoke when spoken to.

"Save me half." Helena commands with the point of her fork. "And if either of you want to spend time together again, you'll keep this to yourself." She threatens.

.ssss.

Before leaving the restaurant, Helena has an itchy red spot form on her arm. She asks the waiter about the desserts and learns Kenary's semolina cookie was baked using almond flour. By the time she reaches the Eagan Estate, she's got four or five itchy red hives that can't be hidden. She is quickly brought a Benadryl and then ordered to the Classroom. In the Classroom, Drummond and Miss Alcott review everything that she and her fake friends ordered at the restaurant. They give her a few chances to admit her foolish mistake. She doesn't. When she is directly asked if she ate Kenary's dessert, she denies it. Together, Mr. Drummond and Miss Alcott decide that Helena needs a lesson in Probity.

Chapter Text

Thursday

11:17 AM

Helena strolls around the Electronic Data Department, making her presence known.

"Still no coffee today?" Dennis asks when she stops by his cubicle. She squints at him. "You're scaring people. I don't think we've ever had to deal with an uncaffeinated Helena."

"You should be scared." Helena smirks. The truth was, her lesson in Probity involved a new torment. Similar to Bad Soap, she was treated to a Bad Mouthwash. As she was instructed to swish the liquid around in her mouth, she was lectured to reflect on this unpleasant feeling before she tried to lie again. The taste made her gag, but she knew better than to spit it out—the roof of her mouth, her tongue, gums, and inside of her cheeks burned. The effects were expected to last two hours after use. It burned during her struggle to drink her breakfast, during her silent ride to work, and her morning announcements. Finally, her mouth mostly felt normal, except for a numb tingling sensation in her lips, like she had been to the dentist. Before clocking in and reporting to her department, she stopped by Drummond's office and complained about the childish punishment. He calmly asked her if she would rather the adult punishment. To which she mumbled, 'No, thank you. Praise Kier.' Then hurried off to do her job. She had refrained from coffee so her mouth could recover.

"Here you are Boss." Will says, appearing beside them, holding out a Lumon coffee mug for her.

"Wow." Helena chuckles.

"I told you, they were starting to worry." Dennis says.

Helena takes the mug from Will, "Thank you." She brings it close to her face and then stops, "You didn't spit in this, did you?"

"I would never!" Will says.

"Ok, good." She sips the coffee.

"I did." Guy One says as he walks past.

"He didn't." Will insists.

"Dammit," She stares into the mug with uncertainty. "You guys joke too much."

"I swear he wasn't even in the kitchen when I was making this." Will says.

"You're a bunch of Frolic-aholics." She says loudly to any of the men working nearby. "I'll make my own coffee." She walks away from the cubicles.

In the kitchenette, she dumps the coffee made by Will and rinses the mug. As she pours herself fresh coffee, she feels her phone buzz in her blazer pocket. She retrieves it and the notification is a text from Sean that says, "Hey, we need to talk."

"I can step outside and call on my lunchbreak." She replies.

"I really need to talk to you face to face." He text. She smiles. She likes seeing his face, and it seems he likes looking at hers too. She thinks that he must have received her gift and wants to thank her in person.

"I'll stop by after work." She replies. She sips her coffee and swishes the liquid in her mouth, testing how much of the feeling has come back, nearly 100%. She didn't know how she would 'stop by after work' because nothing was ever that easy for her. Especially now that she has locked in the number one spot on the naughty list. They have given her the Bad mouthwash, raw eggs for breakfast, had her desserts taken away, and revoked her driving privileges. There was no way Drummond would approve any extracurricular activities. She anxiously bites at the skin of her nailbed. She is losing track of all the lessons she is meant to be learning.

"See you later." Sean's message reads. She isn't sure how, but she is determined to see him later.

06:14 PM

Helena lurks in the employee locker room, in her long dress coat, scissors in her pocket, feeling like a creep. She didn't need to be here anymore, because she has an office with a coat rack, but she's here with a plan. She's here for Jessica F.

As she waits, she fondly remembers sitting on these benches, laughing and chatting with Cynthia after a long day. Until Jessica F ruined everything. She watches Jessica enter with her head down, dragging her feet, tired from the day. Helena might've felt empathy for her if she didn't dislike her so much. Jessica opens her locker and Helena approaches from behind.

"Jessica." She says smoothly. Jessica turns, eye to eye with Helena. Helena can see up close that her eyes are tired and pink as if she cried recently.

"Helena?" Jessica says forlorn.

For a moment, Helena is irritated by Jessica's lack of smile. Jessica always wore a cheerful expression around her. Jessica always seemed grateful to be in Helena's presence. It was one of the main characteristics that made hating Jessica easier. This somber mood felt too relatable. Helena tilts her head, wondering, 'Was it my bad behavior at the restaurant? Is she disillusioned because her deity stole her dessert?' Helena hates herself for caring,"Are you okay?"

"Just fine. Thank you." Jessica says slowly. It's an obvious lie, one Helena doesn't want to explore further if she doesn't have to. "How may I be of service?"

Helena smiles as sweetly as she can. "I need your help."

"Anything." Jessica exhales. Her Verve is clearly missing.

It suddenly dawns on Helena that Jessica wants her approval probably as much as she wanted Jame's. This woman would do anything for her and Helena only felt disdain for her zeal. 'Like Father, like daughter.' She thinks. "I need you to drive me into town."

"Drive you?" Jessica is confused. She continues to move slowly, putting on her scarf and coat. "Forgive me, but isn't that someone's dedicated job? Don't you normally get picked up?"

"That's a lot of questions for someone who just said, Anything." Helena raises an annoyed eyebrow.

"Is this a loyalty test?" Jessica asks.

'Another question.' Helena struggles with her Malice. She is a powerless god. Here she is at the mercy of this worshipper. Jessica has all the freedom and power. Jessica has a car. Helena fingers the scissors in her pocket. "Yes, it is your second loyalty test."Helena nods. She watches Jessica turn away and stare, thinking, weighing her options and outcomes.

After a significant pause, Jessica finally says,"Then I refuse."

"What?" Helena's face flushes red.

"I will be loyal to Kier and I refuse to corrupt The Chosen One's child." Jessica states.

"Jessica, what the hell are you talking about? I'm asking for a ride! Corrupt what? How would you be corrupting me?" Helena is exasperated by Jessica's holier than thou art attitude.

"I don't know." Jessica answers.

"You wouldn't. You'd be helping me." Helena assures.

"But your driver? Wouldn't he-"

"I'm asking you."

"It's a test?" Jessica asks.

"Of loyalty. To me." Helena reconfirms.

"I don't know."

"As a friend, you should want to help me." Helena quotes the Appendix, "'And Kier will answer, 'I kept account of thee, whence thou refused to aid the least of my children, thou were refusing to aid me.'"

Jessica understands and finishes the passage, reciting, "'Therefore, I refuse to remove thy stain. Go away into eternal punishment.'"

Helena chews the inside of her cheek. She hadn't planned on threatening Jessica with 'eternal punishment'. She was prepared to do a little begging or bargaining. She was prepared to bribe her with a lock of her hair and brought the scissors. But she hadn't planned on making Jessica fear for her soul. Helena stands still, hands folded in front of her, allowing Jessica to ruminate.

"It will be a privilege and an honor. Forgive me for my lack of understanding." Jessica acquiesces. Helena smiles widely, pleased to see Jessica genuinely return the smile.

.ssss.

The car radio played Kier hymns the entire ride. Jessica sang along and looked at Helena as if hoping she'd be impressed by her voice? Or because she knew all the lyrics? Helena wasn't sure. She wasn't impressed. But she was getting what she wanted from Jessica so she simply forced a smile and hummed along.

When Jessica pulled over to the side of the empty road she was confused again. Instead of a thirty minute walk, this seemingly barren stretch of road cut Helena's walk in half. Helena had to reassure Jessica that this was the second part of the test. First was loyalty. Second was faith. Jessica needed to have faith that Helena knew exactly where she was and that she would be safe. It wasn't easy for Jessica and Helena saw this. Helena thanked Jessica for her devotion and offered her a blessing. She held Jessica's hands and prayed, calling upon Kier to show her his favor. Jessica sobbed and expressed her gratitude and Helena sat with her longer than she wanted. Helena waited until she felt Jessica was her normal level of hysterical, before getting out of the car. She stood on the side of the road and waited again until Jessica's car was out of sight and she was sure it wasn't coming back to tail her. Then she began her walk to Sean's.

.ssss.

07:09 PM

Sean opens his front door and invites her in. Once inside, he hugs her and she melts into his embrace. She felt small in his arms but not in the scary way that she felt small beside Drummond or in a room with her father. She felt small in a way she didn't understand but liked. When he leans back slightly to see her face, she fixes on his lips prepared for a kiss. He pecks her lips softly and she smiles at the tenderness but he frowns. His eyebrows lower and he removes himself from the embrace.

"What happened?" Sean asks. Helena, shakes her head, unsure by his suddenly confrontational tone.

"What do you mean?" She asks.

"Your cheek."He says, gesturing to the left side of her face.

"Oh." She shakes her head and thinks. Miss Alcott gave her a slap, and it didn't bruise but left her cheek slightly puffy where the index finger met her cheekbone. Drummond was pleased with delegating to Miss Alcott, and Helena was grateful for it too, because Drummond's hand felt like being slammed into a wall. He didn't want to hurt her, but he couldn't help his size and strength. He would almost knock her down with a single strike. So instead, he asked a different handler to handle it. Miss Alcott's hand was smaller, less severe, but unlike Drummond and more like Miss Shoemaker, Miss Alcott did want it to hurt. But still, Helena was grateful to Drummond knowing it could always be worse. She shrugs, "I deserved it."

"No." Sean protests, "He hit you?"

"You weren't there. I was being a real asshole." She laughs as she slips off her jacket. He helps her remove it. "He was trying to be kind. He set up a really nice dinner, hoping I'd have fun. But I don't know, it felt fake, so I was a bitch the entire time." She explains.

"So he tried some grand gesture and then was pissed that you didn't buy it and he put his fucking hands on you?" Sean clarifies. She can hear the malice in his voice and it makes her nervous.

"Something like that." She shrugs and steps further into the house.

"Helly, you didn't deserve that. That's not okay." Sean insists.

"Sure it is. I'm fine." She assures him with a smile. He shakes his head and looks her over. She's in her work clothes. "I told you, things have gotten a lot better. He didn't want to hit me," She says honestly, "But I left him no choice, really, he already took my car away for the week. So." She shrugs at the inevitability. She kept pushing and pushing. What did she think would happen?

"Wait, he took your car?" Sean asks, his outrage still not subsided.

"Just for the week." Helena nods.

"Helly, how the fuck did you get here?" Sean asks.

"Oh, I had a co-worker drop me off." She says, thinking of Jessica's glossy-eyed reverence.

"And how were you going to get back?"

Helena laughs loudly, "I guess I hadn't thought that far." She shrugs and laughs, shaking her head at her impulsivity. "You said it was best we talk in person, so-" She puts her arms out by her side, "Ta da. Here I am. I didn't think beyond that." She says, hit with the thought of the trouble she will be in when her Lumon driver tells Drummond she evaded him. She left the property without asking for permission or stating her destination. She stamps that Dread down and refocuses on Sean.

"Helly, how close are you to your goal?" Sean asks, stepping nearer to her.

"My goal?" Helena asks.

"Saving up? Getting out?" He emphasizes. Helena nods thoughtfully, having forgot that she lied about this goal. "Getting away from that dickhole! He hits you. He's controlling. He took your fucking car! You pay for that car?"

"Oh, me? Um, no." She shakes her head. She hadn't thought about it before. "I guess he gave it to me? Or lends it to me? He has a few cars. The one you've seen is the one I'm allowed to use."

"So you need to buy your own car." Sean says. Helena shrugs. "And money for a security deposit and the first month's rent for an apartment."

"I'll get there." She says, hoping to steer him away from this topic.

"This is- Helly, I got your gift." He says. She smiles widely, but stops, noticing that his face remains sad and exhausted.

She grimaces, "Did you like it?"

"Helly, I can't fucking accept that gift." He says, stressfully pushing a hand through his curly dark hair, and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Oh." She nods and lowers her head, accepting that she made a poor choice. "Sorry." She offers.

"That's an autographed guitar. That thing came with a goddamn certificate of authenticity!" He exclaims. "Why would you spend that money on me? When you need it to get away?"

"It's okay. It's not as urgent as you're thinking."

"Why not?"

"I can't just go. I-" She pauses to think carefully about her next words, "I have family responsibilities that make it difficult for me to, just, leave."

He sighs,"I guess, you know, I'm worried about you. So it feels urgent to me, but I guess I don't know the full extent, I don't know the whole story. So, I'm sorry for assuming it's as simple as getting up and going. Sheila stayed living with me and my Dad until she was old enough to legally have custody, but she could have left on her own at sixteen. She had a job and a friend's family that was offering a spare room. She stayed and put up with it to get me out. So, I'm sorry. Getting out is easier said than done. It can't be easy for you." He hugs her again, firmer against his chest and she feels his heart pounding. When he releases the hug, she can see his eyes are wet with contained tears. She smiles, warmed by the hug and thankful that the line of questioning is over.

"If you don't like the guitar, you should sell it. I can't take it back." She informs him, thinking about walking through the snow, toward the empty Laundromat parking lot, lugging a guitar case. She bites her lip, reminded of the unapproved amount of money she spent on it. She still wasn't sure how she would get away with it; she doubted she would be able to. Her disobedience today, her unsanctioned spending, the list of transgressions grew. She would have to atone. At some point, she will have to pay.

"No, I like it, Helly."

"Oh, good."

"It's amazing. It's actually why I wanted to talk in person, because it's expensive. Too expensive, for this early in our-ya know, whatever this might be."

"Too expensive? It's inappropriate?" Her eyebrows raise imploringly.

"It's…" He sighs at her worried look. He remembers that she didn't know about bowling, high-fives, Papa Dio's, or any of the music he played the last time they were together. He explains, "It's disproportionate to the time we've spent together. You don't spend this kind of money on someone until you like, really know them."

"Okay. Sorry. I didn't know. I don't really receive or give gifts very often. And in the past, I would usually just make something or draw something? But that didn't feel adult?" She says, feeling foolish. Her face blushes at another social fumbling. Over the past few years, being Natalie's friend, gifts on Natalie's birthday were compulsory, and Lumon approved. They were rarely personal, except for the bracelet she gave her last year. As soon as Helena saw it online, she knew she had to get it. She visited the jeweler, and the bracelet was even more beautiful in person. It was a 14-karat gold bangle with a Florentine design. To Helena it embodied Natalie's essence, golden like her hair and skin with intricate floral detailing, because to her, Natalie always smelled of springtime blossoms. Helena had to have the purchase approved. It was just over 3k. She has never seen Natalie wear the bracelet, but she remembers the warm hug she received when Natalie opened it and saw it for the first time. She said she loved it. 3 years, 3k. Maybe the price of friendship goes up with every vested year. She quickly calculates if each year is 1k then Sean's gift should have been no more than $20.

"A drawing would have been more appropriate at this stage." He agrees, smiling softly.

"I understand." She's disappointed in herself but pleased to see him smiling again.

"Big things like that, so early on, they can be seen as love-bombing." Sean adds.

"Love-bombing?" Helena laughs, "Sounds like the nicest kind of bomb."

"It's a manipulation. When someone showers you with affection, gifts, compliments, they overwhelm you with this showy display of love, so they can gain control." Sean explains.

"Oh. I wasn't trying to do that." She asserts.

"No, I see that." Sean agrees and gently rubs a hand on her arm. "That's why I had to talk to you face to face because you didn't seem the type. And I really like you."

Helena's heart flutters and she can't stop her smile, she speaks softly, "Good. I like you too."

"It's just not that level, like we're just starting to get to know each other. It's only been a week? Almost two? Love isn't-"

"No, no! Of course not." She interjects. "I would never expect that from you."

"What?" Sean narrows his eyes. "Love?"

"Right." Helena confirms, "You like me." 'Because you don't know me.' "You seem to care about me, which is so kind." 'If I said my name that'd change.' "That's more than plenty for me." She smiles sweetly, appreciative, and gently takes a hold of his hands.

"Helly."

"It's like you said, it's only been a week. I've spent 23 years trying and failing to get one man to love me. I would never expect that from you." She kisses him softly but he doesn't reciprocate. He's in shock. He searches her hazel eyes for a glint of dark humor but she's sincere. Her eyes aren't even sad, because this is a truth she has accepted. There are so many things he wants to say. He's angry. He's devastated. When he sees her mouth turn to a frown at his lack of reciprocation, he jolts from his shock, placing a hand on the back of her neck and pulling her into a deep, passionate kiss. He wants to absorb the sadness from her, he wants to kiss it away. He kisses her slapped cheek, he kisses her neck, she faintly whines and grips his shoulders. He isn't sure he can kiss the sadness away but he can tell she wants him to try.

.ssss.

Fully naked, laying on her back in Sean's bed, Helena looks at the guitar in its stand and thinks about how strange people are. An expensive gift was too much, but sex, sharing each other's bodies, being inside someone and altering their brain chemistry, that was okay.

Sean notices what she's staring at and sighs feeling satisfied but selfish. "I just realized that I didn't say thank you for the guitar. I just launched right into how you shouldn't have. And what you should be doing. I'm sorry. It really is the most thoughtful gift. Thank you, Helly."

"Price and timing matter. I've learned my lesson." She nods dutifully. "I'm glad you'll keep it." She lifts her wrist and looks at her watch, the only thing she managed to keep on.

"Can you stay for dinner? I'll cook." Sean asks.

"I might as well. It could be my last meal." She laughs at her predicament but he does not join her. She sits up, her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet on his carpeted floor, and surveys the room for her clothing. It was all peeled away and thrown about in their passion. Sex with Sean was unlike her previous experience and anything she was made to witness. They desired one another. She wanted him and he wanted her and even if it was just for that moment, it felt wonderful being wanted. As much as she enjoyed herself, this was going to take time for her to process. At one point, her mind tried playing tricks with her and she could hear the other virgins in the distance screaming. Helena focused on Sean's eyes and counted the seconds between his breaths, and this helped subside the flashback.

Sean props himself up in bed by one elbow and with his other hand, he runs his finger along her spine.

"What made all these little x's?" He asks.

"You know, my Father is a Kier Apostle." She sighs, "And you know how Kier tamed the tempers?"

"You mean with his-" his finger traces the lines of an x. "Flogger?!" He asks with outrage.

She's surprised to hear the sudden upset in his voice and looks over her shoulder at him, "Why would you say it like that? You told me your father used a belt on you. It's the same materials, different implementation."

"No!" He says emphatically. "That's significantly more sadistic! And I don't have any scars except this one, when the buckle slipped." He points to a scar on the side of his buttocks.

"Whatever. Welts are welts." Helena dismisses the distinction.

"Welts go away without marks in two to three days." Sean persists.

"Anyway, if a new welt crosses a welt that hasn't faded yet," She holds up her fingers, making an X shape. "The skin is already thin, so it can't raise anymore, and it splits. That's how you get, as you say, tiny x's."

"Shit." Sean says, suddenly sad again. Helena finds herself feeling annoyed, perceiving this as some type of judgment. She can hear her Father mumble 'Stupid girl' and shout 'Fibble miscreant' 'Fetid moppet'. The reality is, more misfortune awaits. She had no idea what would happen when she returns home later.

"They're mostly from childhood. That hasn't happened in years." She assures him, "Scars fade too. And like I told you, it's getting better." She shrugs, not believing herself.

"Fucking Eagans." Sean snarls.

"What?" She fully turns to see him, alarmed by the unexpected hostility.

"They're all fucking narcissists. Sitting in their glasshouse, on their piles of cash, pretending to be Gods. Not giving a fuck how their precious Kier is affecting real people, little girls." He kisses an x. "Breaking up families. Killing and exploiting good people. Fuck them. Fucking inbred sociopaths."

"Wow." Helena nods. She stands and begins to find her clothes to dress. She laughs at herself as she does, because, of course, she fucks the guy who hates her. Of course, she's deluded herself once again.

"What's the matter?" He sits up in bed.

"Nothing." She says, slipping on her bralette.

"Did I upset you? I'm sorry. You know how I feel about them. Maybe if the Eagans hadn't brainwashed your dad he wouldn't be such a piece of shit."

"And maybe your mom would still be alive?" She asks.

"Yeah." He agrees. "But they're a bunch of scammy, deceptive, fucks."

"Or maybe, Eagans aren't a monolith? And it's not fair to say they're all inbred murderers?" She raises an eyebrow in challenge.

"Or they are." He says, smiling at the absurdity of her suggestion.

"I should go." She says, slipping her panties on and grabbing her skirt.

"Go? You said you were going to stay for dinner. I'm confused." He says, standing and finding his boxers. "What about what I said upset you? I've said all that before."

"Maybe, I don't know, I was feeling good? And now you're spewing all this negativity and hate." She explains.

"Truth and hate," He corrects. "But I see your point. I'm sorry for harshing your vibe. Let's feel good." He steps closer to her, she wears her skirt and bralette, her shirt is still missing. He touches her lower back and pulls her closer to him, kissing her. She returns the kiss, touching her hand to his hairy bare chest. She knows Sean is right about some of it; she is a scammy, deceptive fuck. How might he feel if he knew he was sleeping with the enemy? She can feel him getting excited as they exchange hungry kisses. "I could go again, if you-" He starts to ask, and Helena nods, unzipping her skirt before he can finish his question. He grips her ass as he lifts her and lowers her back down onto the bed. As she wiggles her panties down, he kisses her neck and chest. She turns her head to the side, noticing the guitar again. It wasn't the right time, but it never would be. Helena accepts that Sean can never love her, but he will one day hate her. She feels him thrust inside her.

'He hates me.' She thinks, linking her hands behind his neck, throwing her head back, and relaxing into his rhythm.

.ssss.

After a satisfying but physically and emotionally exhausting visit with Sean, Helena had Sean drop her off at the Laundromat where he called her a taxi. They both had work in the morning. He kept insisting on staying with her until the taxi arrived so she could stay in the heat and safety of his car, instead of the winter cold darkness of the empty parking lot, but she refused. She told him that he and his car could not be seen anywhere near her for both of their safety. He didn't like it, but he kissed her and left, asking her to text and let him know that she was okay, and reminding her that if she needed a safe place, to call. The taxi brought her home.

As soon as she entered the foyer, she was lifted by her right arm and brusquely dragged toward the Classroom, her feet only touching the ground every two steps, before being lifted up again. She was tossed into the Classroom and nimbly landed on her feet, but yowled from a sharp pain in her shoulder. Mr. Drummond and Miss Alcott entered shortly after and lectured about her disregard for Probity and Safety Protocols. Leaving work to go to an unapproved location was her third offense. The second was sneaking a dessert she is allergic to and lying about it. The first was lying about visiting the Laundromat when she truly went to visit a 'friend'. They told her that all this dishonesty could have been a significant risk to herself. She was told her deliberate aversion to Probity was a sign she needed to be steered back onto Keir's path to realign herself with The Nine. She was told her Temper Malice was imbalanced and needed taming. The mention of taming struck her with Dread. She was afraid her arrogant boast about not having been tamed in years may have karmically shifted her out of Kier's favor. She was undoubtedly out of Drummond's favor. Would he order a taming? Would he do it himself? That was when she began apologizing, pleading for leniency.

Two of her three offenses were essentially the same. Helena liked to tell herself that she was the kind of person who didn't make the same mistake twice. As she apologized out loud, internally she thought, 'Maybe they aren't mistakes if the rules are bullshit.' Ultimately, she wasn't tamed, but when she learned her fate, she wished she had been.

Chapter Text

Friday

12:45 PM

31 hours 45 minutes awake

Helena finally arrives at the Electronic Data office after spending the first three hours of work in The Breakroom. She repeated the Compunction Prayer 570 times before the machine read her as sincerely sorry, and sufficiently broken. In addition to the Bad Soap, and Mouthwash, the loss of car and mobile phone privileges, for the first time in years, Helena is subjected to the Probity-inducing-armband. Last night, before leaving The Classroom, the shocking cuff was fastened on Helena’s upper left arm only to be unlocked by a handler's thumbprint. She has been awake since 5:30AM Thursday. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” Guy One asks. Several heads turn to see her as she enters. She’s visibly exhausted, and her right arm is in a sling. The man who dragged her to the Classroom accidentally pulled her arm from the socket. That was the sharp pain she felt. The on-call Lumon Doctor was swiftly able to pop it back in, but she was given a sling to support the arm and allow the injured tissue to heal.

“I don’t know.” She yawns. Her lessons in Probity left her little time to think of a lie about her appearance. “I tried that thing, what did you guys call it? MMA fighting?” She gestures to the sling. “Yeah, it didn’t go well.” She deadpan jokes.

“You look like you were hit by a bus.” Guy One says.

“Thanks. Just what every girl wants to hear.” She forces a smile, knowing her eyes are too tired to engage. She heads to her office to be alone and to get to work. Her phone was taken from her, and she was told she would get it back on Monday, depending on whether she truly repents. As her computer boots up, she looks at her empty picture frame and thinks of Sean. She had no way of telling him she was okay. But was she actually?

07:00 PM

37 hours awake

Helena is sitting on the floor with her bare feet pressed against the empty white wall. She touches a toe at a time to the wall, counting, keeping herself moving and alert to avoid being zapped. She startles when the door opens behind her. Her vision takes a few seconds to focus but she can see it's Natalie.

“Why are you in this room?” Natalie asks as she enters looking around at the tiny empty cube of a room. Everything is white, the twin bed, the walls, the floor. 

“Why are you in this room?” Helena asks back. Natalie's presence makes Helena irrationally angry. She feels lowly and beaten and now, in walks Natalie, who has never had hot water taken away, and is allowed to have boyfriends, and goes to Norway with Jame. Did she come to jeer? Did she come for the spectacle?

“They said I would find you down here. I had no idea there were lower levels to your home.”

“It's called a basement.” Helena says rocking to the side and maneuvering to stand without using her injured arm.

“Why are you in the basement?” Natalie asks.

“I'm a flight risk. Or a fall risk? There are no windows here.” Helena points at the solid walls.

“So, they're making you stay in this room instead of yours?” Natalie asks.

“This isn't a room. It's a cell.” Helena asserts. 

“For how long?” Natalie’s eyebrows raise with concern.

“Until they think I won't throw myself out a window, I guess.” Helena shrugs and winces from the pain of the gesture.

“Would you throw yourself out of a window?” Natalie smiles but her eyes are concerned. There's an uncomfortable pause. Helena doesn't answer and allows Natalie to infer.

“What do you want Natalie?” Helena persists. Natalie can hear the annoyance and takes a step closer to Helena. The room is small and now they're face-to-face.

“We were meant to get together at my place, if you remember. Then I heard you weren't feeling well, so I-”

“Oh, that's what you heard? I'm not feeling well?” Helena raises her voice.

“They warned me your Malice was imbalanced.” Natalie says, lowering her voice, hoping to deescalate.

“Oh, did they?” Helena laughs furiously. “What do you want Natalie?”

“Don’t get pissy with me. I came to see you. Why don't you sit down, and we can-”

Helena slams her good hand against the wall. She shouts, “Don't tell me what to do!”

“You need to calm down.” Natalie says taking a step backwards.

“Don't tell me what I need.” Helena shakes her head in disbelief at her friend's lack of understanding.

“I want to help you Helena.” Natalie says, tilting her head. “Will you let me do that?”

“How? How could you possibly help?” Helena now feels tears brimming her eyes. Her face is hot and the tears soothe her eyes’ dryness from being kept open for so many hours.

“Can we sit?” Natalie asks, taking a sideways step, closer to the bed but not getting closer to the crying rage-filled Helena.

“Go ahead and sit. Do whatever you want. You're used to that aren't you?” Helena waves her hand dismissively. Natalie takes a seat on the small firm bed. It wasn't even comparable to the luxe of the queen-size bed in Helena's actual room. 

“Can you please sit with me?” Natalie asks softly. Helena paces and Natalie watches as she struggles to wrestle her Woe and Malice. Helena shouts unintelligibly, slamming her open palm over and over against the wall. Natalie is frightened by the display and remains perfectly still, as if avoiding provoking an agitated animal. When the wall pounding stops, and the fierce redhead turns to her direction, Natalie regrets being closed in this room with her. Helena huffs, temporarily relieved of some anger, and flops onto the bed, sitting herself next to Natalie. Her jaw is clenched tight and she stares straight ahead wanting to freeze Natalie out but it's impossible. Helena inhales and exhales a deep regulating breath and Natalie's scent is intoxicating. When she finally looks at Natalie she can see her big blue eyes are worried. “What happened?”

“I lied. I told a few lies.” Helena admits.

“Probity.” Natalie nods, accepting the seriousness. “You lied to Mr. Drummond?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Doesn't he care for you?” Natalie asks. Helena sighs and considers the possibility that he might care for her. He has advocated for her, lessened punishments, and listened to her requests. He said he didn't want to hurt her and she believes him. She nods and smiles sadly, mentally adding him to the very short list of People Who Care for Me . Suddenly, Helena sits forward, gripping the edge of the bed, her teeth clenched, breathing through pain. Natalie is alarmed, “What? What is happening?” Just as suddenly as it happened, it's over, and Helena breaths deeply. “What the hell?” Natalie asks.

“This fucking thing. It's a shit piece of tech!” Helena snarls and holds out her left arm, she can't roll up her sleeve to show Natalie, but the shirt is tight and the shape of the armband is visible. “It's meant to keep me awake. To induce Probity. It shocks if it senses me sleeping.”

“You weren't slee-”

“Exactly! It's shit! I fucking breathe wrong or my heart beats wrong or whatever it is. I'm always wrong somehow.” Helena cries. Natalie gently rubs her hand on Helena's back, as it lifts and falls with sobs. 

“Maybe, if you're honest with me? Maybe I can smooth things over with Drummond and with your Father.” Natalie suggests.

“Is that why you're here?” Helena asks, wiping her face on the sleeve of her good arm. 

“I'm here because I'm your pal.” Natalie says, “I just want to help.” She continues to rub Helena's back with one hand, and comfortingly touches a hand to Helena's knee. She watches Helena's green eyes search hers for sincerity, and she does her best to convey it. “Why don't we go up to dinner together. And we'll talk, in your room, your actual room, after. Okay?” She asks the hesitant redhead.

“Ok.” Helena whispers. Honesty with Natalie was like dancing at the edge of a fire. Helena isn't sure how close she can get to the truth before things get dangerous. But if Natalie was willing to speak up on her behalf, Helena would at least try to illuminate some things.

. ssss .

38 hours awake 

As they sit at the table, Helena feels ravenous. She hasn't missed a meal but somehow she feels hungrier than she's ever been. This is a side effect of sleep deprivation, the body seeks more fuel and she's running on fumes.

Natalie is served something different to Helena and for the most part they sit in silence as they start their meals. Helena is doing her best to maintain some dignity, using her least dominant hand, with her diminished hand eye coordination, to very slowly bring the food to her mouth. Helena's surprised by Natalie suddenly standing. She watches her big fake smile light up her face and Helena looks over her shoulder to see what Natalie sees. Jame has appeared at the top of the stairs. He wears a smoking jacket, trousers, and his house slippers, same as Helena's, same as Kier's. 

“Mr. Eagan.” Natalie says with a slight bow of her head. She looks out the corner of her eye at Helena who hasn't budged from her seat. 

“Natalie.” He returns the greeting and takes a stand at the head of the table. Out of respect, Natalie waits for him to sit first, but he doesn't. He stands stiffly and glares down at his daughter who hasn't risen. “Helena?”

“Father.” She says, firmly planted in her chair. Natalie can feel the tension, she knows Helena is being disrespectful by not standing but her defiance is half-assed because she can't manage eye contact with Jame, and keeps her eyes fixed on the table. She certainly wasn't making Natalie's job any easier. How is she supposed to defend this?

“She's very tired.” Natalie tries.

“What a pity.” Jame says, taking his seat. Natalie sits after him. He looks at Helena, “What a shame.” There's silence. The shame cloaks Helena, it slips on snugly and fits comfortably. Too comfortably.

Zap.

Helena's eyes squint shut and her hands tighten into fists. Natalie is alarmed again but when she looks to Jame and sees that he's unaffected, taking a sip from the Scotch he's been presented with, Natalie does her best to mirror his indifference. 

Natalie feels her chest tighten from the tension. Somehow this is more nerve-wracking than debating dignitaries and lawyers. “Mr. Eagan, Helena says the tech is faulty. It goes off when-”

“My daughter lies, Natalie.” Jame speaks slowly, “Isn't that what this is all about?” 

“We are going to chat in her room after this.” Natalie answers. Helena squints at Natalie for the first time, wondering whose side she's on.

“No.” Jame says flatly. Both Helena and Natalie are surprised that Natalie's request is denied. Natalie isn't used to getting Nos. “She's to be kept downstairs until further notice.”

“Of course.” Natalie agrees, “We'll speak there.” 

“Why keep me at all?” Helena asks, leaning back, slouching in her chair. “If it's so grating to be near me. If I bring you nothing but shame. Why keep me here? Why not let me go? With the money I've earned, I could go. You would never have to see me again.”

“You can't walk away from an Empire, Helena.” Natalie smiles nervously.

“My daughter is ungrateful. She underestimates her blessings.” Jame says to Natalie.

“You underestimate me.” Helena says softly. “You don't trust me to make decisions for myself, for my body. You've stuck me in a meaningless job. Anyone who can read can do that job. I mean nothing to Lumon and I mean nothing to you. So why not let me go?”

“I made an investment and I am expecting to see a return.” He answers coldly.

“Where would you go Helena? You're next in line.” Natalie says, trying to hint at the fault in her friend's reasoning but there's a darkness in Helena's eyes, and with her frazzled hair, she looks like a feral creature. “You matter to Lumon. Lumon loves you.” Natalie tries to reassure. Helena's eyes finally rise from the table to meet Natalie’s. Natalie's alarmed by the Malice. 

‘Lumon loves me. But not Jame, not Natalie, not a single person who has ever known me. What good is it to be loved by a soulless thing?’ Helena yawns, “I can't keep going like this. Something has to change, Father.”

“You.” He says with a cough, “You have to change.” Helena's eyes widen at this. She is always trying to twist herself in knots to fit his expectations. Doesn't he see that? Jame points, “Now eat your dinner and shut your mouth. Or you'll be back downstairs without dinner.” 

“When will this stop?” Helena persists. Jame takes out his phone to text a handler. “When will you all stop treating me like a child and let me live?”

“When you stop acting like a child. We'll stop treating you like a child.” Jame says.

“There was nothing childish about what I was doing last night.” Helena raises her eyebrows in challenge. Jame’s face blushes red, his nostrils flare and he tosses his glass of Scotch at Helena. Her exhaustion makes her response delayed and she doesn't dodge in time. “Aaah.” She groans when the glass bounces off her injured shoulder. The liquid flies over her, the table, the floor, and the glass bounces down onto the carpet. “I shouldn't be punished for having a friend. You have friends. Natalie has friends.” Helena says, surprised to hear her voice crack.

“You wouldn't be punished if you went about things the proper way. There's an order. There are protocols. Your friend should be Lumon-approved.” 

“And who is approving your friends? Even if I followed protocols and filled out forms, you still decide whether I’m allowed to see him or not.”

“That's right. Because I make the decisions. You do not.” Jame says.

“I should decide for myself. I should choose who-”

“Woe is you! You say you have no choices? No life?” Jame raises his voice, “Your choices are what got you here. You have some power. You want that thing off your arm? Give us a name.” He waits. Helena's vision is blurry but she does her best to hold an intense stare, she keeps her lips firmly pressed together. “That's a choice.” He says calmly. “Another one of your many poor choices. The longer it takes you to understand that, the longer that band will be on your arm. You can return to Kier's path and realign with The Nine. Or you can continue on this path of self-destruction. And if that's what you choose, know that we will keep you alive long enough to horribly regret it.” He stands and both young women's posture shifts. Helena's eyes struggle to focus on him, his image blurring as he walks away. His footsteps vanish and the two women are alone again.

“What the hell, Helena?” Natalie pouts with teary eyes, frightened at how poorly the interaction went. She is frustrated by Helena's behavior. She is shocked by Mr. Eagan’s Malice. He was not the same man she shared espresso and pastries with in Norway. Natalie froze under the pressure. She froze and didn't intervene. She's embarrassed to admit it to herself. “Why did you say all that? I was going to try and deescalate. Smooth things over.” She gets no response from her blank-eyed friend. “You made it way worse.”

Helena's mind fixates on the words ‘ alive long enough’ . In all of her daydreams and ideations, she always imagined her Father's face at the news of her demise. Sometimes, she imagined him devastated, crying and holding her corpse like he never held her in life. Sometimes it was a quiet sense of relief and back to business as normal. Sometimes, it was anger, lashing out at all those who let this happen, everyone who failed her. But those were fantasies. Hearing him confirm, or imply, without hesitation that he could order her death, shifts something inside Helena. A cold darkness from the depth of her spirit depletes her heart and hollows her chest of any hope. 

.ssss.

There was nothing Natalie could do. The weekend went by with equal parts Woe, torment, and isolation. The armband was removed by Drummond on Sunday. 81 hours awake. The hallucinations had started and he couldn't bear watching her scream at ghosts. It was one thing if she screamed because of a true physical threat, but Drummond couldn't handle the thought of her own mind being her torturer.

Once the armband was removed, she was sent for a lie detector test and she was ready to talk. The band really did induce Probity. Drummond and the team learned her friend's name is Sean but they couldn't get a surname out of her. She claimed she didn't know it and the test said that was true. He doesn't work for Lumon but she claimed not to know his place of employment. This read as truth. The team member who monitored her phone activity made a rookie error and deleted the text that had Sean's address along with the text thread. When asked, Helena said she didn't know Sean's address and the test said that was true but Drummond knew it couldn't be. He knew she was able to trick the machine. Fortunately for her, Drummond found the entire weekend exhausting and decided it was enough interrogation for now. Since she wasn't being forthcoming, he would have to gather information in other ways. The final question was, ‘ If you are granted access to your room will you be a danger to yourself?’ She answered No and the test said she was truthful. Drummond could only hope in Kier that even if everything else was a lie that that was her one truth. She was returned to her room and woken only for her evening meal. 

Monday 

08:40 AM

Drummond smiles, seeing her ready for work, standing at attention, waiting for the car to be pulled around. Her coat isn't closed, it drapes over her shoulders, and she holds it shut with her left hand. She would be wearing the sling for another week or so. Her hair is pulled back into a tight, neat bun, done by the skillful Miss Alcott. And despite the heavy use of makeup to brighten the dark circles still under her eyes, Drummond is pleased to see her looking like herself, proper and presentable.

“You look well.” He says taking a stand beside her. She barely turns her head and moves her eyes to look up at him. She doesn't smile, she doesn't respond, she just glares. He knows her anger is being misdirected at him. He isn't against her, he's for her, and he knows he has told her that. He hopes she believes it. When the car pulls up, Helena's door is opened for her. She gets in and is annoyed to see Drummond getting in on the other side. His broad shoulders and thick frame take up most of the backseat, it is hard to ignore someone who takes up so much space. The car pulls away, heading towards Lumon. Drummond looks down at her, “Before clocking in, you will visit the gynecologist.”

“For God's sake.” She curses. Drummond chooses to ignore the use of God instead of Kier. 

“You confessed to having unprotected intercourse with someone unvetted, unsanctioned and untested. Thus necessitating you be tested for STDs and unwanted pregnancy. You will be given a choice between having an IUD inserted or starting birth control pills.” He informs her. 

“Party.” She says sarcastically. “Fucking fantastic way to start a Monday.” 

“Your mobile phone privileges will be reinstated upon your timely return from work.” Drummond says, hoping this may bring her Cheer. She doesn't respond and stares sadly out the window. He sighs. He knows she'll get over it but still he reminds her, “Be mindful of your Woe.”

“ ‘Keep a merry humor ever in your heart.’ ” She quotes Kier and forces a smile at him. He scowls at the insincerity and she turns away to the window again. 

Drummond exhales his frustration and thinks to himself, ‘ I try to spare her, protect her, save her from herself. But she's cross with me. Whoever this Sean is, he has done enough damage. I'll find him. So much unnecessary pain. He hurt her trust in me. I'll find him. ’ Drummond is determined, ‘ Sean will pay. ’

. ssss .

10:00 PM

Helena got her mobile phone returned at dinner but she chose not to turn it on in front of all her watchers. Laying in bed, she finally powers it on and is inundated with texts from Sean's number. 

“ Checking you got home safely and that everything is okay.” - Thursday 

“Kinda worried. Plz just let me know you're safe.” - Friday

“It’s cool if like the sex was bad and you don't want to see me ever again but please just let me know you are okay?” - Saturday 

“I don't know what to do. I'm here if you need me.” - Sunday

“Daily check in. Are you alive?” -Today 03:00PM

Helena smiles at the screen. This wasn't just worry. It was care. She adds Sean to the short mental list of People Who Care for Me and moves Drummond's name below it. She thinks about her reply, knowing it will be surveilled. “ I'm alive. ”

Sean's response comes almost instantly, “ OMG. I was losing my shit. Send a pic so I know it's you and that bastard doesn't have your phone.”  

Helena peeks over at her door. She was still being very carefully monitored but she wasn't sure if turning on her light would get someone’s attention. She decides to try a selfie with her flash on. She sits up in bed and smiles for the first photo. She frowns when she looks at the ghostly image on the screen. She tries again and doesn't smile. Now she just looks like a sad ghost. The third try she does a half smile and she thinks it's the best of the bunch. She reasons that he has seen her naked, so he has seen the ugliest parts of her. Who cares if the photo is bad? She sends it with a ghost emoji. 

“ I'm so glad you're alive. ” He says and she smiles widely. He follows up with, “ But are you okay?”

“ The worst of it is over. ” She answers and types, “ Thanks for checking on me. Now that you know I am fine, I need to tell you that I can't ever see you again. I will be at Perkfection cafe tomorrow after work and I really hope you are NOT there.”

“ Got it. Bye forever. ” Sean replies. Helena hopes he understands that she means the exact opposite and that her text is ambiguous enough to leave her some deniability when inevitably questioned about it.

“ Goodnight.” She sends.

“ Goodnight Helly. ” He replies. She bites her lip against her smile and scrolls back to the start of the messages, knowing she should sleep, but wanting to read his words again. He cares.

Chapter Text

Tuesday

07:05 PM

Helena’s request to visit Perkfection is approved. She hasn't earned her car privileges back so a Lumon-driver brings her. She sips tea as she sits in a corner alone, far away from any windows, out of sight. Her driver is meant to remain parked and waiting for her. She paced the cafe twice, looking for any familiar faces, in case a handler were lurking but she doesn't recognize anyone. She sips her tea and stares at her phone. Will he show ?

07:30 PM

Sean enters her field of vision and she stands, so that he'll spot her. She can't stop the nose crinkling smile that spreads across her face. She waves her hand discreetly down by her waist and finally his eyes settle on her. His face is warm with a smile and he approaches swiftly with notably no coffee mug. He loses his smile the closer he gets, noticing the sling. 

“Hey.” Helena says softly, hoping to earn back his smile. He gently hugs her non-injured side and kisses her softly. She grips the chest of his coat, hoping for a deeper, harder kiss, but he only gives her a few tender pecks. 

“Helly, what happened?” He asks stepping back from the hug.

“This?” She looks to her injured shoulder, "This was an accident.”

“An accident?” His gray eyes cloud with subtle sadness. She clears her throat anxious to lighten his mood.

“You should get a drink.” She says, thinking if they're seen together she could lie about his name and say she just met him getting coffee. He nods at the suggestion and puts down his messenger bag, and removes his coat and hat.

“Did you need anything?” He asks. She shakes her head No and he turns from her. She sits and waits for his return, watching the room for any shifty eyes. When he returns with his mug, he sits across from her, his face solemn. 

“It’s good to see you.” She says, suppressing her smile.

“I am really worried about you, Helly.”

“Sorry.” She nods, accepting that she's burdensome. “But thank you.” She speaks softly. 

“I think I can guess what kind of accident?” Sean says, frowning. She realizes she has caused him a temper imbalance, Dread and Woe.

“I'm sorry.” 

“For what?” He asks, shaking his head. 

“You're upset.” 

“Not with you, with this.” He gestures to her arm and she blushes with shame. She thinks about her Father's disgust at her bruised face.

“It must be unpleasant for you to see me like this. I can take it off.” She offers, shifting herself to do so. 

“Fuck no. Don't take it off. It's helping you isn't it? To heal or whatever?” He asks. She's confused that he seems almost more appalled at the suggestion.

“Yeah, I guess.” She answers. He stares into his mug, struggling against his Woe. “Would you rather I put my jacket back on?”

“No.” He says.

“I don't want to upset you further. I already have so much to apologize for.” She laughs uneasily.

“I'm upset seeing you in a sling but I'm not upset with you or the sling. I'm upset with the situation, with the Fuckwit that did that to you.” He explains, exasperated that he has to. 

“Ok.” She sits with his words, slowly accepting his pardon, relieved for it. “I wanted to apologize for not getting back to you sooner, over the weekend, and for any distress that may have brought you.” She clears her throat and raises her eyebrows apologetically.

“What happened?” He asks.

“My phone-” She thinks, and her eyes widen, receiving flashes of the pain caused by her lying, the burning in her mouth, her skin, her shoulder, the terrifying hallucinations. She fixes her eyes to the table and chooses Probity. “My phone was taken from me. I know that's pathetic. A punishment for a teenager.” She says, embarrassed.

“I thought that's what happened.” He sighs. “So uh, I don't know, I got so worried, I called Sheila. She didn't make me feel any better about what could be happening. I just, I couldn't do nothing. But I didn't know what to do. I don't know where you live, I don't know your last name. Or anything. So I,” He shrugs, “I got you something.” He shifts in his seat to retrieve his bag. She watches as he opens it. 

“Like a gift?” She asks. She can't remember the last time she received a gift, unless she counted Drummond allowing her to have her sketchbook back. She couldn't count the Pulp Fiction DVD, because soon after watching it with Natalie, the DVD was gone.

“Not really?” He says. 

She laughs, dismissing her silly thought and reminds herself, ‘ It will never be the right time.’ 

He continues, sliding a small red box across the table to her, “I guess it is, in the sense that, I don't want anything for it and I don't want it back.” She smiles, that did sound like a gift. “It could cause you trouble if you're not careful. But I needed you to have it. Even if you never use it.”

She didn't like the word ‘trouble’ but is too excited for a gift to think much about it. She turns the box to face her and reads, “Animal crackers?” 

“Open it.” Sean encourages. 

She opens the box, prepared to see crackers, but instead finds a small cellphone. She smiles through her confusion and lifts it, tapping her nails on the plastic back. “Is it a toy?”

“No it's just cheap.” He laughs at the question and she's grateful for the return of his smile. “It's a lifeline. A burner.”

“Burner?”

“Basically a disposable, untraceable phone. It has no contract, just the preloaded minutes and a set number of texts. But, this way you don't have to speak in code. Or have things deleted. It's just in case you need someone to help, someone you can call, even if that's not me. You at least have a way.” He explains. “I opened it already obviously. That box is just a cover. I put it on silent, and turned off any vibration so it won't give you away, if you're careful.” He emphasizes. “And I programmed my number, Sheila’s, and a DV shelter in Ganz.” 

“DV?”

“Domestic Violence?”

“Oh.”Her eyes widen at the suggestion.“Thank you.” She says, embarrassed.

“Helly, I know you said you think things are getting better. But this, this really seems like an escalation to me. And, Sheila, she tried to tell me, that you won't leave until you're ready to leave. And that I can't help someone who doesn't want help. But I think you're in danger.” Sean says. She studies his eyes, unsure if this is care or pity. She didn't want pity. “Will you at least talk to Sheila? If I call her and set up a dinner? We can go to hers.”

“I would very much like to meet Sheila.” Helena smiles and nods. She thinks, “I should have my car back on Thursday.” She laughs, “If I behave.” She powers on the smaller mobile phone and opens the contacts, looking at the three numbers he said he added. 

“What is your last name?” Sean asks. 

“Ea-” She catches herself, “Evens.” 

“Helly Evens.” He smiles.

“What about you?”

“Riggs. Sean Alexander Riggs.”

“Riggs.” She smiles, thinking how funny it is that he has kissed her bare skin and they didn't know each other's names. He still didn't know her name, and yet somehow, he knew her better than anyone.

“Kids at school started calling me SARs when that whole outbreak happened.” Sean laughs at the hurtful memory, and sips his coffee. 

“That's so mean.” She laughs.

“It is.” He smirks, “So why are you laughing?”

“You laughed first.” She defends still laughing.

“I was bullied at school.” He teases, “And you're laughing.”

“I was bullied at school too.” She chuckles, “Except I was home-schooled.” 

“Oh my God.” He laughs. “We need harder drinks than tea and coffee for this.”

. ssss .

Wednesday 

01:40 PM

Natalie studies her fingernails, twirls her curls, and taps her heels as she sits in the stiff blue chair at this empty desk. The waiting is testing her Malice. This meeting was called suddenly and should have started ten minutes ago. When the office door eventually opens, she looks at her watch. Mr. Drummond enters his office, and she keeps her eyes on her watch to emphasize her irritation with having been kept waiting.

“Thank you for your time today.” Drummond starts. He sits on the other side of his desk in the leather rolling chair. “I was finishing up a meeting with Mr. Eagan, and-” He shrugs; no further explanation is needed.

“Was Mr. Eagan trying to tell that joke? The one that is actually just a long, rambling story with no punchline?” Natalie asks. Drummond manages some version of a smile, which puts Natalie at ease. She smiles, “Nothing against Mr. Eagan, of course. It's the joke that isn't funny. And the originator of the joke.” 

“Indeed.” Drummond agrees and pulls a manila folder from his desk drawer. “I called this meeting because you promised information on Helena's unsanctioned dalliance, last Friday and the one before that.”

“Both of my attempts were thwarted by Mr. Eagan. He specifically requested that the board send me to Norway. And at the estate,” Natalie pauses, remembering her discomfort watching the two Eagans bear their horns, “It was made clear that I was not to interfere with the Probity Inducing methods already being implemented.” 

“When can we expect a follow-up on that?” Drummond asks. Natalie sighs and opens her mobile phone. She reviews her schedule.

“I can move some things around and try again for Friday.” Natalie says, typing in a reminder.

“The methods used this weekend were successful, but not as much as we hoped.” He opens the folder and hands her a piece of paper. “This is all the information we were able to get her to divulge.” 

Natalie takes the paper and reads over it: 

First name: Sean

Last name: unknown 

Age: unknown

Employment status: unknown 

Address: unknown

Faith/Religion: unknown

Vehicle make/model: unknown 

-owns a bike

-is not a pet owner

-engaged Miss Helena Eagan in unprotected sexual intercourse twice, and unprotected oral sex once

“It's only been two weeks. That's- She's-” Natalie's eyebrows raise in disbelief. 

“Irresponsible.” Drummond finishes the sentence. 

“That's one word for it. A nice word.” Natalie says, shaking her head and rereading all the unknowns.

“During the time we confiscated her phone, an image of this man was found. We are assuming this is Sean.” He removes a printed photo and hands it to Natalie. It's the photo of Sean, frowning in front of the construction workers by the Imogene cafe. Natalie studies it.

“He looks poor.” She pouts, “Could it be her money?”

“We have no way of knowing. We ran his image through our facial recognition databases, and the analysis, confirmed yesterday, yielded no matches. Meaning, she was honest when she disclosed that he is not a member of the Lumon family, nor does he work for any of our subsidiaries.” Drummond informs. 

“Oh no.” Natalie sits up at the profound implication. Natalie studies the picture, trying to understand what Helena sees that would cause her to make such risky decisions. 

“Mr. Eagan hasn't been made privy to this disconcerting information.” Drummond says. Natalie's eyebrows raise with concern. She is alarmed to know the aggression she witnessed at the Eagan's dinner could have been intensified by this knowledge. “As a team, we're hoping to curtail this. The urgency of getting information has increased by a tenfold.”

“I understand, Mr. Drummond.” Natalie nods, worried for Helena. Worried Sean is using her, and worried Mr. Eagan could find out. Natalie can't imagine things being worse than what she witnessed on Friday.

“If she isn't forthcoming with you, at the bare minimum, we expect you to emphasize the importance of her ceasing this reckless course of action.” Drummond says with a sigh, taking back the photo of Sean and briefly looking at it. That man isn't haunted by her screams. He didn't have to see the panic in her eyes when the apparitions attacked. But this man is the reason it happened. This man must pay. It takes everything in Drummond to fight his Malice and not crumble the photo. He slides the evidence back in the folder.

“Doesn't she know any one of these Lumon guys would jump through hoops and wrap themselves in all the necessary red tape, just to be considered a sex partner?” Natalie scoffs.

“She could be dating if that's a desire of hers. I know I provided the proper forms and you reviewed them with her.” Drummond agrees.

“She could have anyone. If you called my Dad in here, told him to divorce my mom because Helena has chosen him. As loyal as he is, as much as he loves Mom, he would.” Natalie laughs at the ludicrous thought.

“To be chosen by the Chosen Ones.” Drummond nods.

“It's like she doesn't understand the power she has. Maybe that is my angle. If she were more aware of her power, maybe she'd have more self-respect and wouldn't reduce herself to fucking a Poor.” Natalie says, flustered by the baffling behavior. “No offense, Drummond. I know you had humble beginnings, but you have ascended and received betterment. Kier blessed you.” She gestures to the folder, “Kier can't bless this guy. He's not one of his children.” 

“He could bring Kier's wrath upon her if we don't intervene.” Drummond says.

“I will do my best.” Natalie smiles and nods. “For Kier.”

“For Helena.” Drummond adds.

Natalie's smile grows, “For Lumon.”

. ssss .

Thursday 

12:05 PM

Helena sits in the HR office at Mrs. Painio’s desk. She furiously scribbles with her non-dominant hand on the Transfer Request form. Mrs. Painio sits quietly with her hands folded, and Helena occasionally scowls over at her. She knows Mrs. Painio has already text one of her handlers, and she is letting Helena fill out a form to pacify her.

12:10 PM

Mr. Drummond enters the office, making the space extremely claustrophobic. Helena hurries to finish her writing, unsure of his reaction to her emotional outburst. He calmly sits in the chair beside Helena, opposite Mrs. Painio, and for a few seconds he says nothing, simply looks at the poor penmanship on the transfer form.

“Helena, please explain your reason for this ingratitude.” Mr. Drummond says.

“You can read it here.” She holds up the form.

“I don't think anyone can read that.” Drummond says honestly.

“Hostile work environment.” Helena says, slapping the paper down on Mrs. Painio’s desk and sliding it over to her.

“You're the Department Head. Are you saying you don't have control of your team?” Drummond asks.

“I am not saying that. I'm a great leader. Far better than my predecessor. Since becoming Department Head, my team has met quota every quarter except two.” Helena defends.

“Then why would you want to leave a position you're excelling in?” Mrs. Painio chimes in.

“It's a Hostile. Work. Environment.” Helena puts emphasis on every word.

“Please explain.” Drummond says patiently. Helena nods. She looks between the two people in charge and takes a deep, regulating breath. They may look annoyed by her antics, but they are willing to listen.

“There's too many of them to report them all to HR for harassment. Half my team would be gone.” Helena explains. 

“How are they harassing you?” Mrs. Painio asks.

“I'm done with all the petty jabs, the misogyny, and the rumors.” Helena continues.

“Misogyny.” Drummond smirks, guessing she learned such a word from the despicable Sean fellow.

“The latest rumor is…” Helena blushes, embarrassed to have to repeat it. “They are saying that I'm in a sling from giving too many handies.” She quickly makes the gesture. Drummond looks away awkwardly. She continues, “I can get them to do their jobs, but I can't get them to respect me. I would like a transfer to a department with more diversity. Where I'm not the only woman.” Helena's eyes dart between the two, Mr. Drummond looks disappointed, and Mrs. Painio rifles through her filing cabinet. 

“Please write down the names of all employees you've heard repeating this rumor.” Mrs. Painio says, handing Helena a form. Helena nods, a smile twitches in the corner of her mouth, relieved to be taken seriously.

“I cannot guarantee a transfer, but we will investigate the claim, and personally, Helena, I'll see what I can do to better your work environment.” Drummond says, hoping this promise may be the thing that makes her forget why she was cross with him. 

“Thank you.” She nods confidently and flattens a smile. She takes the pen in her left hand and, this time more carefully writes the names of her harassers. She believes Drummond will genuinely try to accommodate her whenever he says he'll see what he can do. 

.ssss.

That evening, Helena got the approval to visit one of the three bars within the six-mile radius of Lumon. She drives herself and, on her burner phone, arranges for Sean to pick her up. She chose the bar because of its lively atmosphere, people, bodies, always in motion, hopefully making it easier to escape the watchful eyes of her handlers. Helena manages to sneak out the bathroom window into a back alley. She walks through the alley behind other businesses, through the dark stink of trash and slushy brown snow. She emerges onto a different street where she finds Sean is parked in the agreed-upon spot. She gets in the car and immediately leans over, locking lips with him. He returns the hungry kisses, his adrenaline pumping from the danger. He stops her only out of fear of being caught.

“We should go.” He says, his hot breath on her cheek.

“You're right.” She agrees, kissing his bottom lip before sitting back in the passenger seat. He pulls away from the curb, and as he drives, he peeks over at her. 

“What have you got there?” He asks, looking at the bag in Helena's hands.

“I know it's customary, when invited to dinner, to bring the host a gift. I purchased this bottle of the bar's finest wine.” Helena says, placing the bag on the floor in front of her seat. “It also helps with my cover story to have a purchase there.”

“The finest wine, huh?” Sean laughs, “Fancy.”

“Well, tasty, I hope.” Helena shrugs her good shoulder. 

They drive a bit further, checking regularly to make sure they are not being tailed. 

“I'm nervous.” She admits. “And excited, and-” She shakes her head, “My heart is going a mile a minute.” She could identify these feelings as her tempers Dread, and Frolic, but uncharacteristically, she doesn't feel shame expressing them to Sean.

“Like Bonnie and Clyde?” Sean says.

“Who?” Helena asks. Sean laughs, always surprised by the things she doesn't know. 

“They were a couple on the run.” Sean explains.

“A couple.” She smiles. “Is that what we are?”

“Oh. Uh, I mean, I'll be honest with you, Helly. Normally, I don't move this quickly. But everything with you seems on hyperspeed.” Sean says.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” Helena asks hesitantly.

“I’m not sure yet. It's just intense. I like you, intensely.” Sean raises an eyebrow, hoping he didn't sound too corny, although this was never a real risk with her, since it seemed she had little experience for comparison.

“Intensely. I like that word.” She says, biting her lip and touching his knee. 

Sean suddenly pulls the car over to the side of the dark road. There are no street lights, no houses. Helena's confused at first, but as soon as the car is put into park, Sean leans over to kiss her. She returns the kiss without hesitation. She kisses him, intensely.

“Sorry,” He says between kisses, “I just really needed to kiss you.”

"Don't be sorry. I want to," she breathes, drawing him back into a kiss. Their lips lock, tongues intertwining in a wild, uninhibited make-out session—the windows fog. Lost in the moment, Sean eases his seat back, and gently guides her over the center console, settling her onto his lap. She straddles him in her dress, leaning down to kiss him fiercely, her body pushing against his with a desperate rhythm. She half groans, half pleas, in her frustration. She reaches for the button of his jeans. "Help me," She whispers, fumbling awkwardly with her left hand.

“Are you sure?” He asks, reminded of her injury.

“I'm sure.” She consents. 

. ssss .

They arrive at Sheila's apartment community, and they hold hands as they climb two flights of stairs to reach her unit. Helena is so blissfully giddy that she doesn't feel nervous about meeting Sheila, the most important person in Sean's life. Sean knocks, and a shout comes from the other side of the door, ‘ One second.’

More than a few seconds pass, and finally the door opens. Sheila is shorter than Sean but still taller than Helena. She is thickly built, with stunning gray eyes just like her brother, and long, dark, loosely curly hair. She wears a smile when she opens the door. 

“I thought you got lost.” Sheila teases, “C'mon in.” She turns and enters the apartment, followed by the not-couple. “I nearly fell asleep on the sofa.” Helena is fascinated by the apartment. It's warm, it smells of a hot meal, and everything seems to be crammed all in one room. The kitchen lines one wall with a small, two-seater table, creating a divide. The sofa and chair face a tiny television, and a stereo sits on a shelf above the TV, with CD cases stacked around it. In the corner is a computer desk, featuring a large, clunky monitor and a rolling chair with pink threading. Photos and art clutter the walls, some framed, some tacked into the drywall. It's a lot for Helena to take in. She doesn't want to become overwhelmed, so she focuses her full attention on Sheila.

“I thank you for inviting me to your home.” Helena says, presenting the bottle of wine. 

Sheila walks over to her and looks at the bottle. Helena can smell cigarettes on Sheila. “How thoughtful.” Sheila laughs, taking the bottle from Helena, and looking to Sean, “You didn't tell her I don't drink?” Helena's eyes widen and her cheeks blush.

“She got it before I could.” Sean shrugs, slipping off Helena's coat and hanging it, with his, on a hook screwed into the wall.

“I purchased it presumptuously.” Helena apologizes, “I'm so sorry.”

“It's the thought that counts, kid. Relax.” Sheila smiles, and Helena nods, grateful for her effortless forgiveness.

“She said she asked for the finest bottle.” Sean says. Helena squints at him, feeling mocked by him for the first time. 

“Yeah, it looks finest.” Sheila agrees. “You want me to crack it open for you two?” 

“Sure.” Sean says. It's only a few steps to the kitchen, and Sheila is using a wine opener to decork the bottle.

“So how rich are you exactly?” Sheila asks. Helena winces at the crass question. “Don’t be embarrassed. I wouldn't be embarrassed if I was rich, shit.” Sheila hands the first glass of wine to Helena.

“I’m not rich.” Helena shakes her head.

“The designer coat, the fancy wine, the autographed guitar. C'mon, hey, it's okay. You're rich and I promise we won't eat you,” She laughs, "I've prepared a meatloaf, instead.” She hands Sean the second glass of wine.

“I'm not rich. My father is.” Helena clarifies. 

“How Lumon is he?” Sheila asks.

“Why would you assume-”

“You can't make any real money in this town unless you sell your fucking soul and firstborn to them. So if he's got money, he's got to be a Lumon-ite.” Sheila reasons.

“He, yes.” Helena admits, “My family is Lumon.” 

“Her Dad's a hardcore Kier Apostle.” Sean adds.

“Sorry to hear it. Fucking Eagans.” Sheila says with sympathy in her eyes.

Just like that, Helena’s Dread resurfaces. “May I use your restroom?” 

“It’s there.” Sheila points at one of the three doors in the room. 

Helena, places her wine down on the tiny table and disappears into the bathroom to wash her hands and clean herself off. She did her best in the car, but the fast-food napkins from Sean’s glove compartment did a poor job. The bathroom is tiny and dingy. The bathroom stalls at Imogene seemed like luxury compared to this. Helena looks in the mirror seeing only a ‘ Fucking Eagan. ’ She breathes and does her best to stamp out her Dread by lowering her expectations. She could not impress this woman. This woman already hates her, she just doesn’t know it. When Helena emerges, clean but not calm, Sheila is standing near the door.

“So,” Sheila starts, “Helly, right?”

“Yes, oh God, I'm so sorry. I didn't properly introduce myself. I've heard so much about you, I felt like I knew you.” She excuses her bad manners, steps near Sheila, and extends her hand for a shake.

“Helly is an unusual name.” Sheila says, firmly shaking Helena's hand. Helena doesn't know what to say to that, so she remains silent. “You're lucky you're real pretty with a name like that.” 

“Thank you?” Helena says, uncertainly. She lifts her glass and takes a nervous gulp of wine.

“Go on over there, you two, and make your plates. I'll use the computer chair.” Sheila instructs, waving her hands with some urgency for Helena to step toward the kitchen. 

They follow her command, and Sean stands beside the stove with Helena. He smiles at her, “If you liked her soup, you'll really love her meatloaf.” Helena holds her glass, and Sean looks at the sling. “I'll make the plate for you. You just tell me how much you'd like.”

She whispers to him, “Just a very small helping until I'm sure I like it. Please.”

“Helly, my brother says you had some kinda accident?” Sheila returns to her task of pushing the desk chair to the tiny kitchen table. Helena sips her wine and nods. “What's the name of your accident?” Sheila asks, standing in front of Helena, observing her sling. 

“The name?” Helena squints, confused.

“Yeah, we're all adults, we're all friends here, right? So who's the shit bag who did this to you?” Sheila asserts.

“It's her Dad. I told you that.” Sean says, placing a plate down, a small serving, meant for Helena. He returns to the stove.

“Oh, so is it an inheritance thing? That's why you're putting up with this? Because, goddamn, it doesn't look worth it, Helly.” Sheila says, shaking her head, looking over Helena.

“It's not an inheritance thing. I work. I have my own money.” Helena defends.

“So what, you're waiting for it to get worse? Or? What's keeping you there?” Sheila presses.

“He is. I've asked him to let me go. I've thought about leaving.” Helena admits. “I nearly tried once. But running only creates more trouble for me. He has ways to track me. He has friends.” She's embarrassed admitting her helplessness.

“Fuck him and fuck his friends.” Sheila spits.

“I only got as far away as I did because they let me.”

“These kinds of guys, they want you to believe the sun rises and sets on their ass, so that you think you got nowhere to go except crawling back to them for mercy. But Helly, they will never have mercy on you. Never. That's why you gotta get out. And when you're ready to make that move, remember, you got friends too, alright? You got somewhere to go.” Sheila encourages putting a hand on Helena's good shoulder.

“That's extremely kind of you.” Helena says. Sean sits with his plate, and Helena follows his lead. 

“Well, been there, done that. Hated it. Ya know?” Sheila says, fixing her own plate.

“I think you are so brave. Refusing to leave your brother despite the pain. You were younger than I am now, and you got both of you out of there, knowing you'd struggle, but that at least you would be safe. Maybe even happy. I think you're an incredible woman.” Helena says softly and sincerely.

“Really? Well, thank you. It was never an easy or glamorous life, but we had fun, didn't we, Sean?” Sheila agrees. 

“Yeah.” Sean nods.

“You can be brave too, Helly.” Sheila says.

“I,” Helena thinks about this, “whenever I step out of line, and try to stand up for myself, I'm never sure if it's bravery or I'm just crazy with nothing to lose.”

“Hey, maybe it's both.” Sheila suggests, “And that's okay. The way I see it, you gotta be a little crazy to cope in this fucked up world. If you're not a little crazy, you're probably part of the problem.”

“You haven't tried your meatloaf.” Sean nudges her.

“Yeah, that's a true test of bravery.” Sheila laughs. “Trying a stranger's meatloaf.” Helena smiles tightly and nods, understanding the test and determined to pass it. She isn't sure why, but for some reason, she wants this woman to think she is brave. Helena picks up the fork and dutifully cuts a small piece of the loaf. She delicately brings the meat to her face and closes her mouth around it. She chews and her eyebrows lower as she looks at the brown, indistinct oval-shaped meat on her plate in amazement. It was somehow even more flavorful than the soup. 

“I think that's her, ‘ I like it ’ face.” Sean laughs. 

“Oh, good.” Sheila smiles.

“This is delicious. Is it another one of your Mother's recipes?” Helena asks in awe.

“Another? Yeah, she had a notebook, a little cheap Lumon spiral notebook, and she wrote down all her recipes in there.” Sheila points in a general direction, but there was too much stimuli in this room for Helena to spot a notebook. “Along with a few school supply lists and a suicide note.”

“Oh? I thought you told me she died during the severance procedure.” Helena looks to Sean for confirmation.

“No, she did.” Sheila reaffirms. “But before that, she was depressed. Dad was bad to us, but he was worse to her. She stuck it out for us. She was taking that job at Lumon because it had a big sign-on bonus, incentive money. She thought that if she sold her soul it'd help us get away.” Sheila says sadly.

“Fucking soul killers.” Sean grumbles.

“I got my bravery from her.” Sheila smirks.

“And her laugh.” Sean adds.

Helena smiles at this thought of a motherly inheritance. She often wondered if she reminded Jame of her mother and maybe that is why he is so anguished in her presence. But maybe she acted like her too? Laughed like her?

“I found out later, that after she died, Lumon sent an apology letter, signed by Jame Eagan himself. And a payout, hush money, for our pain and suffering. Dad took it all of course, we never saw a dime. And guess what? The fucking check was less than what her sign-on check would have been had she lived.” Sheila informs.

“Scammers.” Sean agrees. Helena looks between the siblings, one angry, the other smiling but somber. Helena couldn’t say that, to her, it made sense they wouldn’t get the full incentive money. Their mother didn’t complete her end of the contract. She died, and she was far less useful to Lumon dead. The money Jame sent, was an act of Benevolence because Lumon will always protect and provide.

“Where's your mother in all this?” Sheila asks. Helena’s surprised at the question, not expecting the conversation to turn back to her so quickly.

“Uh, I’m not sure. I never knew her.” She answers, taking a bite of the meatloaf, hoping a full mouth will dissuade any more questions.

“Any other family? Anyone else who knows your Dad is an abusive asshole?” Sheila persists.

“My family-” Helena thinks of her Aunt Lenora and the few stilted times they spoke. She thinks of her Grandfather Pip, and remembers posing for a portrait, standing in a Lumon blue dress beside him as he sat stoically in a chair. Her father was nearest the chair and Aunt Lenora on the other side. She remembers how they all stood in silence for what felt like hours. She thinks about her Lumon family. “They’re all too afraid of him.” She answers honestly.

“That’s alright.” Sheila nods, “You’re not alone in this, okay? When you’re ready to make a move,” Sheila kindly touches Helena’s hand. “We’ve got you.” 

“Why? You don’t know me.” Helena asks.

“Women supporting women. Survivors supporting survivors. People being decent fucking humans to each other? I don’t know. It’s one of those.” Sheila says.

“Okay.” Helena says, laughing at the idea, tilting her head and trying to let the thought settle in her brain.

.ssss.

For the first time ever, Helena helps clear the table. She copies what she watched Sean do. She holds the plate with her left hand and with the right, attempts to scrape the plate into a trash can. The action is pointless because there was nothing left on her plate to scrape. She had eaten every morsel of her first and second helpings. As soon as Sean sees her trying to use her slinged arm, he intervenes. 

“What are you doing? Let me.” He takes the plate from her.

“I want to help.” She says, stepping closer to the sink and dropping the fork in the soapy water. 

“Not on your first visit.” Shelia says, and laughs, “Next time, maybe I'll ask you to pitch in with housework. But right now, you're a guest.” 

“Ok.” Helena nods, and watches Sean take his place in front of the sink. She watches him first rinse her plate in one side of the sink and then place it in the soapy water on the other side. She is interested in the process but doesn't want to make it weird, so she kisses his cheek, and steps away. As she does she spots a framed photo on the very busy wall. “Oh my. Is this you two as children?” She asks, leaning closer to observe the photo.

“Which one is that?” Sheila asks, pushing the computer chair across the room back to the desk. She looks to Helena and Helena points, but there are too many things on the wall to really indicate. “Take it off the wall. Show me.”

“Oh, okay.” Helena says, observing the frame and the wall and then sliding it off the single nail holding it up. She smiles down at the image in her hand, the little boy’s smile was undeniable. “That's definitely you, Sean.”

“Lemme see.” Sheila says. Helena turns the frame to Sheila. “Oh yeah! That's a good one. Yeah, that's us. I think Sean was nine there.”

“Which one?” Sean asks.

“With the bike.” Sheila clarifies. 

“When I met him, he was riding a bike.” Helena contributes the pointless detail. 

“At Imogene’s.” Sean adds. 

“Ah yeah, I love that old place.” Sheila relates.

“Lumon bought it. They've been renovating all month.” Sean tells her. “The Grand reopening is this Saturday, March 1st.” 

“Are you gonna go see what's left of the carcass once Lumon's done with it?” Sheila complains.

He looks at Helena, “We should go together.”

“Of course.” She agrees to the date. “I hope they didn't gut it like you say.” She looks back at the framed photo in her hand, it was full of color and character, just like Imogene's was.

“Can I see?” Sean asks, his hands sudsy from the dish soap. Helena steps toward Sean and holds the picture out so he can see it. 

“Of course, she's doing bunny ears on me.” Sean smirks and shakes his head. “And I was eight in this one.”

“Pretty sure you were nine. And let's be serious, if I didn't give you bunny ears would I really be doing my job as your big sister?” Sheila asks. 

“Bunny ears.” Helena smiles. The siblings laugh and Helena decides ‘bunny ears’ is some kind of joke that she wouldn't understand. She returns her eyes to the image. In the photo, a tiny Sean sits on his green bike. Sheila, with pink hair, stands beside him, one hand holding up two fingers behind his helmet. Sheila's other hand holds her brother's smaller hand securely onto the bike’s handlebars. They both wore imperfect smiles and colorful clothing. It is clear from this picture, that Sheila was always his teacher, his teaser, and protector. And the way that he smiled, it was obvious Sean was happy. They were hurt kids in a broken family, but they always had love.

.ssss.

After tidying the space that is the kitchen, Sheila shows Helena the spare room, a room she could occupy if she needs to leave her home in a hurry. It is cramped and filled with boxes. 

“It’s not the Hilton, but it’s safe.” Sheila tells her. Helena smiles and nods. It was mindboggling to her that an apartment that seemed so much smaller than Sean’s duplex had two bedrooms. 

“Thank you.” Helena says softly. The room is smaller than the isolation cell she was kept in over the weekend. She tries to imagine a version of herself existing in this space. A jobless Helena with a frozen debit card and a bounty on her head. It is not a vision she likes. She looks over her shoulder at the bathroom door where Sean disappeared to. She speaks softly to Sheila, “Taking me in would only bring calamity upon your home.” Helena admits regretfully. “And you seem like a really great family.”

“Really great? Well, that’s a first.” Sheila laughs, “Yeah, I tried to tell him you won’t leave until you’re ready. He wanted you to know, you got options. And now ya do.”

“You’re both so kind.” Helena says.

“He likes you.” Sheila says. Helena blushes bashfully. “If he thinks you’re a good egg, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.” Sheila nods and closes the door to the spare room, just as Sean reemerges in the all-in-one-room. “You got my number.” Helena takes a wide step sideways towards the front door. “I was worried you were a psycho when he told me about the guitar.”

“Sheila, don’t.” Sean rolls his eyes. 

Sheila doesn’t listen and continues, “It was that or you were so rich you don’t know what money means. And I thought that was the least likely option, but I was wrong. I’m happy it’s the latter and not the former.” Sheila nods. Sean has rambled to Helena about the out-of-touch rich who don’t know the cost of eggs or toilet tissue, and Helena doesn’t want to be lumped in with this group of people he hates. She wants to defend herself. She’s good with numbers, but she can’t claim she knows what money means. She doesn’t know the price of eggs. Lumon has their own chickens, and the eggs come from them. As far as Helena knows, eggs cost nothing unless they account for the labor costs of the Lumon chicken farmers and the expenses of keeping the livestock alive and healthy.

“My Father is very controlling, so I haven’t had much dating experience.” Helena squints as she admits another embarrassing truth. “So I learned, at this stage in our relationship-”

“Relationship?” Sheila raises her eyebrows teasingly.

“Friendship.” Helena quickly corrects, dropping her chin, “I learned that for this stage of friendship, the gift was inappropriate, and I apologized for the error.”

“Alright, hey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. All I’m saying is, I had my reservations about you before tonight. But you actually seem like a nice girl. Sheltered, a little skittish, but not a psycho.” Sheila says, tapping Helena’s chin, so she lifts her head. 

“That’s Sheila saying she likes you.” Sean clarifies, as he removes their coats from the hook on the wall.

“Oh. Thank you.” Helena laughs uncertainly. “I had a lovely time. Your cooking is phenomenal. And I apologize again for the inappropriate hostess gift.-”

“It's no problem.” Sheila dismisses, gently touching Helena's arm to soothe her persistent guilt.

“I hadn’t considered that your father’s alcoholism would have made you take a vow of sobriety. Gifts are clearly not something I’m good at.” Helena finishes her third apology. Sean drapes Helena’s jacket over her shoulders.

“Hey, you don’t need to apologize for that again. Let it go. Water off a duck's back.” Sheila smiles. Helena’s face is blank, and Sheila chuckles. She has seen that blank look twice already during dinner, and she knew Helena simply wasn't getting it.“It’s a saying. Water off a duck’s back, because uh-”

Sean explains, “Duck's feathers are waterproof. So the water just rolls off. Gone, doesn’t stick.” Helena nods, thinking about this philosophy. It is contrary to what she was told to be true. Any harm she has caused this world would live on as a stain in her, unless Kier grants her mercy. Helena is alarmed by the thought of mistakes washing away so easily. What type of lawless world would that be? A world of no accountability?

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.” Sheila assures.

“Thanks so much for everything Sheila.” Sean says, wrapping his older sister in a hug. Helena watches the affectionate display. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Sheila returns the sentiment. She steps out of the hug and then takes a step toward Helena. Helena stiffens her posture only for Sheila to hug her. “You take care of yourself.” She says while holding Helena in her embrace. Helena tentatively pats her good hand on Sheila’s back in response.

“Thank you again for your hospitality.” Helena offers. She pulls away from the hug, and she and Sean step out of the cramped apartment, back into the biting winter air. A warmth lingers within her, yet it's tangled with a knot of confusion. She thinks of her Aunt Lenora, Jame's older sister. Helena had never once seen them hug, never heard them say "I love you." Everything about the Eagans is the opposite of the Riggs—the cold to their warmth, their luxury to the Riggs's poverty. The Eagans carry the crushing guilt of sin, while the Riggs shed it, free and easy, like water off a duck's back. They are from two different worlds. He is inviting her into his, and she knows Sean would never be welcomed into hers.

Chapter Text

Friday

07:05 PM

Helena arrives at Natalie's Apartment building, hoping there is food. Her last meal was breakfast, and due to the timing, she will miss dinner at home. Helena didn't find out until the last hour of work that she would be working overtime. Natalie called to inform Helena that her presence was required at Natalie’s apartment immediately after work to prepare for an upcoming press event.

The apartments are modern, and Natalie's has large windows and a small balcony that overlooks the river. It was a beautiful view, with the occasional passing of boats and the twinkling of city lights on the water. So different from Sheila’s apartment, which overlooked cracked pavement and battered vehicles that had seen better days.

The inside furthered this divide in Helena's mind between the Haves and Have-nots. Natalie's living space is adorned with modern light fixtures, sleek cabinets, and shiny wooden floors, and the furnishings and artwork reflect Natalie's fashionable, feminine sophistication.  Upon her first visit, Helena was gripped tightly by the talons of her jealousy. She hated the way Natalie moved around her space, unwatched and unrestricted. It all made Helena feel like she is watching Natalie grow up without her. She visited her childhood bedroom, her messy shared dorm at Ganz, and now this stunning riverside apartment. While everything for Helena stayed the same, stagnant.

The expressiveness of this space initially sparked Helena's envy. Now, though, a profound sadness takes its place as she compares it to Sean's duplex and Sheila’s apartment. It wasn't about the size, or cleanliness, or missing luxuries. Sheila and Sean’s homes were living archives, messy with a lifetime of stories—the beautiful, the happy, the difficult, and true. All of their stories, interests, and personalities cluttered up their homes. Here, everything is so perfectly curated and so obviously staged. Although it's not as sterile and barren as Helena's room at the Eagan estate, it dawns on her that while Natalie might seem to have more freedoms, in her own way, she is also confined. Every item here has its assigned place. Perhaps Natalie does too. Forced to fit in a Lumon-shaped box. 

Even the framed Kalen family photo lacked the candid, rich story of who they are and what they mean to each other. The background of the photo is a draped white curtain, and Dr. and Mrs. Kalen stand on the left and right, each with a posed hand on the shoulder of their opposite-gendered child. Natalie and her brother stand in the middle, not touching, and smiling perfectly practiced smiles. Who are they? Helena thinks about the picture of Sean and his bike. The photo of the Kalen’s said style, affluence, and presentation. Now, Helena wonders, Was that always-smiling little girl actually happy?  

Natalie hands Helena a glass of wine. Helena sits, knees bent to the side, her stocking feet on the sofa. Natalie takes a seat beside her. Soft music plays, because, of course, Natalie has always had access to music whenever she wants it. Natalie smiles and lifts her glass, “We must stay Nimble for our preparation. So just one, to take the edge off from a long day at the office.”

“It has already been a long day.” Helena agrees, clinking her glass. She sips. “Do you have any snacks?”

Natalie laughs, “Helena, you can't just ask someone if they have snacks. What are you? Four?”

“No, I'm hungry.” Helena smirks.

“I'll grab some snacks. But for future reference, when you're at someone's house, you don't just ask for food. You wait for them to offer.” Natalie instructs, sipping her wine and then getting up from the sofa. Helena watches her toned and beautiful friend saunter back to her kitchen. 

“You weren't going to offer.” Helena challenges. 

“Why is this suddenly an assault on my hospitality?” Natalie asks, feigning offense.

“It's not. I just never see you eat. Protein shakes, smoothies, coffee, tea, wine. I figured that you live off of liquids, sunshine, and the blood of your enemies.” Helena jokes.

“I have no enemies.” Natalie says, pouring some popcorn into a large bowl. 

“Of course you don't.” Helena laughs as her mental list of People Who Hate Me flashes in her mind. It was an excessively long list, with her own name at the top. 

Natalie returns with the popcorn and hands the entire bowl to Helena, when she hears her phone ping. Natalie checks her phone and loses her smile. “Fuck.”

“Everything okay?” Helena asks, a popcorn falling from her hand and missing her mouth. 

“No.” Natalie says, visibly distressed. She grips the curls on her head and exhales in exasperation. 

“What's the problem?” Helena asks, placing down her wine and the bowl to give her friend her full attention.

“My parents are stopping by.” Natalie groans. Helena’s eyebrows raise, and she wonders if something has drastically changed between Natalie and her parents over the past few years. From what she could remember, Dr. and Mrs. Kalen seemed to like Natalie, or at least they responded favorably to her. Still, Helena understood the stark contrast between public appearances and private realities. 

“Is there something we should do?” Helena asks, looking around the stylish space, identifying at least five things she would need to hide if a handler were coming for her. “I can help.” She offers.

“No, there's not really anything you can do. My housewarming party was two months ago, but I didn't get everything on my registry because some people thought they knew my taste better than me and went off the list. So now Mom is insisting on bringing the rest of the stuff. Like, it's 8 PM on a Friday. What the fuck do I need potato peelers for?” Natalie rolls her eyes and sips her wine. 

Helena thinks about everything she just heard as she watches Natalie text with attitude. Helena recaps, ‘There was a party two months ago that I wasn't invited to. There were gifts? And Natalie's Mom is bringing more gifts? And that is what we're angry about?’ Helena sips her drink in confusion.

“They're three minutes away because they had a date night downtown.” Natalie scoffs.

“Okay?” Helena squints with uncertainty. 

“I’m sorry about this. I'll get rid of them quickly. We have a lot of work to do.” Natalie says, jabbing a finger in Helena's side. Helena feels Dread puffing itself up inside of her. Parents make her nervous.

. ssss .

Buzz .

The door buzzes to Natalie's apartment. Natalie is prepared, waiting in the small entryway for the following knock. She glances over at Helena, who is standing close by at attention. 

“No.” Natalie says, walking over to Helena. “Stand normal.”

“What? I am?” Helena says, her feet planted forward, her shoulders rolled back as best she can.

“Loosen up.” Natalie instructs. “Be normal.” 

“Okay?” Helena huffs. They both hear the knock, and Natalie's smile sweeps across her face. Helena tilts her head, alarmed by the drastic shift. 

Natalie opens the apartment door. 

“Daddy! Mom.” Natalie sings, wrapping one arm around her father and the other around her mother. Each parent responds by placing a hand on Natalie's back. Helena fights the urge to straighten her posture. She links her hands behind her back and looks at the corner of the ceiling, avoiding the discomfort of witnessing their affection. “Mom, Dad, you guys remember Helena?” Natalie says with a gesture in her direction. Dr. and Mrs. Kalen step further into the house, and Natalie closes the door behind them. Their smiles are as bright and warm as Helena remembers. 

“Nat-baby, they have you taking work home with you already?” Dr. Kalen laughs but flashes sympathetic eyes at Natalie. 

“Daddy, stop.” Natalie says, patting her father's arm.

Helena steps forward and extends her hand for a shake. First, Dr. Kalen shakes, then Mrs. Kalen. “So nice to see you both again.” Helena offers a polite smile.

“Yes,” Mrs. Kalen agrees, “I keep trying to convince Natalie to bring you to the house for dinner. The first Sunday of every month, we do a family meal.” 

“That’s in two days.” Natalie says with a short-lived frown, remembering the most recent Eagan family meal. She takes a bag of gifts and carries it to the kitchen, her father follows behind, also carrying a few bags.

“Natalie's living here. Her brother is in college now. It's important to get everyone together.” Mrs. Kalen finishes her thought. Helena struggles to suppress a smile. The older woman has only gotten more beautiful with age, her blonde hair is highlighted with one perfectly silver streak. “Since you two have been spending so much time together lately. I thought it'd be nice for you to come by.”

“Oh, that sounds-” Helena hesitates, thinking about how strange it would be to sit at a table with a family like the Kalens. When having dinner with Sheila and Sean, she was at times nervous and often confused, but Helena never felt threatened. She didn’t have to keep her guard up around them. She could eat and drink at her own pace. She could sit or slouch however she liked. She could laugh without reservation when they said something amusing, and they were constantly exchanging sarcastic quips. Sheila and Sean wouldn’t report her Frolic to anyone. They didn’t judge her based on her embodiment of The Nine. She was just weird, sometimes funny, Helly. Dinner with the Kalens, however, could be a minefield.

“Maybe Natalie would like to keep her work and personal life separate?” Dr. Kalen says. Helena shrugs, quickly understanding that at least one of the three Kalens absolutely doesn't want her at their monthly dinner. 

“That is a very generous thought, Mrs. Kalen. But, I wouldn't want to intrude.” Helena forces a smile, “Family is so important.” She clears her throat at the lie. 

“We’ll talk about it.” Natalie interjects. Helena shoots a surprised look at Natalie and then looks back to Mrs. Kalen’s blue eyes which fixate on her sling. Suddenly, Helena is reminded of Mrs. Kalen’s concern for her at Natalie's 13th birthday. It was 11 years ago, but the moment is recontextualized now that Helena has a clear understanding of what child abuse is. This woman knows. This mother smells a weak runt. Mothers kill runts. Helena feels the need to prove her viability and stands straighter.

“How is your Father?” Mrs. Kalen asks. 

“Oh, uh-” Helena thinks of another lie. “He’s swell. We just had brunch last weekend.” The unwavering, sad look in Mrs. Kalen’s eyes makes Helena nervous. She wasn't confident enough in her lie to sell it. ‘ Did I say something wrong? Do Fathers do brunch? ’ She looks to Natalie for reassurance and is surprised to see her blue eyes are equally sad.

“And how are you, Helena?” Mrs. Kalen asks earnestly.

“Mom, did you come here to see me? Or to fangirl over an Eagan?” Natalie intercepts, presenting Helena with her wine glass again. Helena accepts it.

“Natalie! I was not.” Mrs. Kalen protests. Natalie waves her hand at Helena, quietly encouraging her to go sit down on the sofa. Helena doesn't want to obey because Natalie is her friend, not her boss, but the exchange with Mrs. Kalen is making her uncomfortable, and an excuse to not lie to her best friend's mom is welcomed. Helena takes a step back, afraid of showing weaknesses to Mrs. Kalen. “Nat, be nice.” Mrs. Kalen says to her demanding daughter, who now stands between her and Helena.

“Her job is to get results, honey. It's not to be nice. She's not a customer service agent.” Dr. Kalen rejoins his wife, slipping an arm around her trim waist. “We really should let her get back to work.” Helena looks around the room, wondering if she missed when Natalie mentioned that they should shorten their visit to accommodate work.

“Yes,” Natalie says, “please do that.” Helena grimaces at the way Natalie dismisses her parents, but there seems to be no adverse reactions or consequences. Helena watches, tense with anxiety.

“Love you Nat.” Mrs. Kalen says, kissing her daughter’s cheek. “The gift receipt is in the bag.” Mrs. Kalen affectionately fusses with Natalie's curls, only for her hand to be swat away. She points a finger, “And I'm not dropping this dinner idea. Maybe it doesn't have to be dinner, it could be brunch. Either way, we need to make it happen.” 

“I said, we'll talk about it, Mom,” Natalie says, as she walks her parents to the door. Dr. Kalen wraps his arms around his daughter. 

“Love you, Nat.” Dr. Kalen says with his daughter in his arms. 

“Love you, Dad.” Natalie answers before he releases her. 

“Nice to see you again, Helena.” Dr. Kalen waves. Helena has her mouth full of wine and waves goodbye. When Natalie closes the door on her parents, she turns to Helena and makes an exaggerated sigh of relief. 

.ssss.

Natalie retrieves a manila folder from her briefcase, which contains the details for the upcoming press event. When she returns to the living room, Helena is exactly where she left her, sitting on the sofa, sipping her wine, and shoving handfuls of popcorn into her face.

“I was thinking, thematically, I could wear a deep, dark brown, and you can wear a lighter tan. Pantsuit? Dress?” Natalie says, stopping in front of the sofa.

“If I get a say, pantsuit.” Helena offers with a hopeful smile. Natalie narrows her eyes at the smile and makes a note on her paper about the preference. Helena continues, “We would have to go shopping, though, because I don't think I own anything in that color.” 

“We don't have time. What color pansuits do you have?”

“Black, white, navy.”Helena lists.

“Black.” Natalie makes a note.“And you can't wear,” she gestures to the sling, “that.” 

“Of course not.” Helena stifles a laugh at the absurd idea. 

“Is your arm fine without it?” Natalie asks, she remembers Mr. Eagan's thick scotch glass flying into Helena's shoulder and thudding onto the floor.

“Oh, I'm fine.” Helena nods and removes the sling to demonstrate. “I just hold it like this. It doesn't put any pressure on the tendon. So, perfectly fine, as long as I haven't got to lift or hold anything.” 

“How heavy?” Natalie asks, looking at her notes.

Helena squints with reluctance, “Why? Will I be required to lift or hold something?” 

“Yes.” Natalie answers, looking up from the papers to see Helena's response. Helena nods, simply accepting this.

“Okay. For how long?” Helena's eyebrows raise imploringly. Natalie scans Helena's eyes, the green is tinted with sadness. She is quick to accept a measure of pain for Lumon and only wants to know how long she will have to endure. Natalie looks at Helena's left arm, remembering how the shocking armband protruded under her tight sleeves. Maybe having just seen her parents is making Natalie sentimental? She can't shake the thought that her father could never sip a scotch and ignore her pain. She is sure her dad would jump up and rush to aid her, and not just because he's a doctor.

“Don't worry.” Natalie says, surprised to feel a knot in her throat, “I'll be there to help. I'll hold one side, you'll hold the other.” 

“Thank you.” Helena smiles with some relief. Natalie frowns and stares blankly at the smiling Helena, her mind transposes the Helena she last saw, in that basement room, crying, ‘ I fucking breathe wrong or my heart beats wrong or whatever it is. I'm always wrong somehow.’ Natalie learned from her meeting with Drummond that Mr. Eagan isn't aware that Helena's sex-friend isn't Lumon. So what could it have been to make him so violently hostile? How could he be the same coolly collected corny older man who said her blunder with the Norwegian language was nothing to beat herself up about? 

Natalie asks, “Has your Father told you his new joke?”

Helena looks off to the side, thinking, and then shakes her head, betraying her disbelief. “No, he hasn't.” She couldn't imagine Jame telling a joke.

“Are you sure he didn't tell you over brunch last weekend?” Natalie challenges. Helena's eyes narrow, and she sucks in her lips. “You know, that brunch?”

“Sorry.” Helena nods, agreeing to fault, “I shouldn't have lied like that. I should have just told her that he's in good health. But, I don't know why, I panicked.” 

“I have heard him tell this joke over a dozen times.” Natalie sighs, it was exhausting to listen to the same forced polite laughter each time Mr. Eagan told it to a different employee. Natalie waits for Helena to respond to her, but instead, she drops her eyes to the floor. He was a different man with Helena.“I have never seen Mr. Eagan consumed by Malice like I did last Friday.”

“I have a talent for bringing out the best in people.” Helena jokes.

“You said something that really upset me that night.” Natalie admits.

“Oh?” Helena says flatly. Natalie can see she has disengaged, eyes glazing over for a lecture.

“You said, Lumon means nothing to you.” Natalie says.

“I, no.” Helena shakes her head, “I don't think that's what I said.”

“To your father. At the table.” Natalie clarifies.

“I said I mean nothing to Lumon.” She blushes, admitting this.

“How could you think that?” Natalie asks. “How could you think of leaving? Or of throwing yourself out a window?” She waits, but Helena doesn’t answer, just sips her wine and keeps her eyes down. “You’re Lumon’s future. Lumon is your family.”

“Lumon is my family. Lumon raised me. Lumon fed me and nursed me back to health whenever I was hurt or sick.” Helena says softly.

“Exactly.”

“But they do that with the chickens, too.” Helena shrugs. Natalie feels her face get hot. She had not realized how upset the events of that Friday made her—seeing Helena, shouting and crying like a caged animal, and witnessing Mr. Eagan’s wrathful loathing of his daughter. Natalie had left the estate convinced it was all a test. She felt she had failed the test; she froze up, said nothing, and didn't intervene. When she got home that night, she prayed to Kier for help understanding. And then, she got busy and pushed it all to the back of her mind. She had work to do and couldn’t allow herself to dwell too much on understanding how the Descendants of the Chosen One could be so discordant. But if Kier wasn't going to give her the comfort of an answer, there was only one Eagan she could confront.

“They won’t name a chicken the next CEO.” Natalie dismisses. She thinks of Jame, ‘My daughter is ungrateful. She underestimates her blessings.’ She thinks about how she told Drummond she would help Helena realize her power.“You underestimate your blessings.” Natalie asserts.

“Okay.” Helena nods, “Name one.”

“What?” Natalie's eyes widen, shocked by the blatant heresy.

“Sorry.” Helena shakes her head, “Can we-Let's just get this prep done.”

Natalie has been with Mr. Eagan through stressful work circumstances that required Wiles, Nimbleness, and Wit. She has seen lawmakers and royalty challenge him. And under that pressure, he kept his tempers balanced and his head on.“What did you do to make Mr. Eagan so mad?”Natalie accuses.

“I lied. I told a few lies. I told you that.” Helena reminds her.

‘My daughter lies.’ Jame said. Natalie recalls that the statement confused her because, at that moment, they had just witnessed the armband misfiring on a very much awake Helena. The tech was as faulty as she said. But sitting here in her apartment, just minutes ago, Natalie witnessed Helena lie to her mother. She knows she lied to Drummond. And she knows Helena has lied to her. Helena is a liar.

“Other people lie,” Helena explains, “they say sorry, and the earth keeps spinning. Me? Well…”

“Why did you lie to me?” Natalie demands.

“Huh?”

“If I’m such a good friend, why don’t you trust me?” Natalie finally sits beside Helena, whose eyebrows are raised apologetically. 

“I don't know. I guess I trust you more than I trust most people.” Helena answers. 

“If you trust me, why won't you be honest with me? I've never told anyone about your secret pastime. You, Lilith, all those dusty old books. Do you think I'm suddenly going to betray you?”

“I didn't mean to upset you.” Helena says, not wanting to confirm this fear.

“I’m upset because you always do this to me. You say we're friends. You say I'm your best friend. And then you lie to me. I know you lied to me about your new work friend . You evade my questions. You treat me like I'm an enemy.” 

“You're not. I'm sorry.” Helena sighs. “I know you're loyal to Lumon.”

“I am loyal.” Natalie emphasizes.

“You're more loyal to Lumon than me, your friend.” Helena counters.

“I am loyal to you.”

“You are my dearest and oldest friend.” Helena starts, “Yet, you don't care what happens to me.”

“I don't? Honestly, how dare you?” Natalie scoffs, “Why am I here working overtime to get you ready for a press event?” She drops the manila folder onto the coffee table. “Why have I been stepping in publicly, saving you from conversations, keeping you from being perceived as socially awkward, which you are , ever since that day in the school auditorium? I must really not care.” There's a long silence. Natalie can see Helena carefully choosing her words. 

Helena speaks slowly, “You know what they've done to me. I've told you some things. You've seen some things. I'm not expecting there's anything you could say or do to change any of that.” She shrugs, “But you could ask me how I am, occasionally. It's never ‘Hey Helena, how are you?’ It's ‘Hey Helena, what are you doing? No, you're not! We're doing this!’ You were there Friday. You saw what was happening.” Helena pauses.

Natalie sighs, reminding herself, ‘We must be cut to heal.’  

Helena continues, “And today, a full week later, is the first time I'm hearing from you. For work. For Lumon. My new friend, he text me every day, even with no response, just to make sure I was okay.” 

“So you think he's a better friend than me? Because he indulges your Woe?”Natalie asks defensively. She watches as Helena laughs, shakes her head dismissively, and grabs another handful of popcorn. “Why would I text asking if you're okay when I knew you weren't? You said it yourself, there was nothing I could do. I was going to try to appeal to your Father, but instead, you kept goading him. Why?”

“I wasn't goading him.” Helena grumbles.

“You selfishly threatened to leave! Would you turn your back on Lumon, your Father, Kier, just because some random guy stuck his dick in you?” Natalie asks, appalled.

Helena's mouth drops open in shock. “I never said that. Who have you been speaking to?” 

Annoyed, Natalie insists, “I shouldn't have to find things like that out second hand. Not as your best friend.”

“I didn't tell you because I knew you wouldn't approve.” Helena shamefully avoids eye contact again.

“Why, because you literally just met? Because he's beneath you? Or because he's not Lumon?” Natalie raises an eyebrow in challenge. There's another long pause, and she watches Helena close her eyes, gathering her thoughts and emotions.

“He's kind to me.” Helena says meekly.

“Kind? Is that all it takes?” Natalie rolls her eyes.

“He's being a good friend to me. You have other friends. You should be happy for me.” 

“Happy?!” Natalie is surprised to hear her voice rise. “Is this new good friend of yours encouraging you to stay on Kier’s path? To bring him glory? Is he helping you fulfill your part in drawing The Grand Agenda nearer to fulfillment? Is he trying to help you actualize your purpose? Or is he telling you it's all bullshit? Is he trying to turn you away from Lumon and against all the people who care about you, the ones who have always been here? Because that's not a friend, Helena. That's a saboteur. That's a heretic!”

“Can we just drop this and focus on the work?” Helena asks, keeping her head down.

“Helena, as your best friend, I have to tell you when I think you're doing something against your best interest, dangerous even.”

“You think he's the danger to me?” Helena asks.

“I think this is some big test to fortify you. To prove you're loyal and destined to be Lumon's rightful heir.” Natalie nods, agreeing with her own idea. She couldn't make sense of Helena's selfish, reckless behavior otherwise. “You're important. You're powerful, and you can have your choice of any Son or Daughter of Kier. I could help you find someone more suitable so that you can enjoy the blessings of a sanctioned pairing. You need to stop seeing this guy.”

“Okay. I hear you.” Helena nods and puts her hand palm up in surrender.

“Promise me?” Natalie insists.

“Promise.” Helena says.

Natalie's wide smile returns. “Good.” She gets up from her sofa and walks back into the kitchen. She retrieves the bottle of wine and tops off her and Helena's glasses. 

“I thought you said one.” Helena says, sipping the fresh wine.

“We needed to reset the mood.” Natalie says with a smile. “With all that ugliness out of the way, we can focus on business. And it's fun work, so-” She opens the manila folder. “This is the second draft of your speech. I think we should practice it and see how it feels, in case any changes need to be made.” She hands the paper to Helena, who takes it. Her eyes quickly scan the page.

“This is, the press event is-” Her eyes widen.

“What's the matter? Mr. Drummond thought you would be pleased with this assignment.” Natalie smiles. 

“The ribbon cutting for Imogene's Reopening?” Helena's eyebrows raise, and Dread grips her heart, squeezing it tightly. 

“The owner and her wife are thrilled you're giving them the honor.” She hands Helena a photo, “This one is the owner. She will be there; her name is Veda. The wife is in the hospital. So no need to learn her name.” 

“I can't do this.” Helena says.

“Of course you can. I told you, I'll be there too. When you cut the ribbon, I'll help. You'll have one side of the big scissors, and I'll have the other. We'll do it together. But before that, Veda will say a few words, and introduce you. You will then give your speech and bless the business. I'll stand off to your right. Veda will be to the left. At the end of the speech, you will call for the scissors and Veda will hand them to us.” Natalie explains.

“No. I can't.” Helena says.

“Helena, you should be excited about this. You were always at that crummy old place. This is fun work. Easy.” Natalie encourages, patting her friend's knee and returning her attention to the folder’s contents. “When the ribbon is cut, there will be photos. You wait for my signal, then you and Veda will enter the cafe. The Kier Chronicle reporter and the Channel 4 News cameraman will follow you inside. You'll pretend to place an order, and the barista will serve you the first cup of coffee from the new machines. You'll hold a pose with the coffee for the Chronicle. Then sip the coffee, and show the camera the new Imogene mug for the Channel 4 News clip.”

“For fucks sake.” Helena sighs.

“Why are you saying that like you hate this?” Natalie asks. 

“It doesn't matter. I can't say no. I can't bow out.” Helena says, accepting her reality. She doesn't make the decisions.

“Also, you get a choice in which photo the Cafe will frame and hang.” Natalie frowns at the two pictures and then hands them to Helena. “I don't know how they got these.” Helena looks at the two photos. One is a snapshot of her, in her favorite loveseat by the drafty upstairs window with a coffee in one hand and a book in the other.

“Has Father seen these?” Helena asks with a look of concern.

“Yes. I explained that both photos were modeled poses, not candids.” Natalie winks.

Helena looks at the second photo, she holds a mug with both hands, her shoes are off, she wears a skirt and stockings, her legs are stretched in front of her on the sofa, and she looks pensively, almost sadly, out the window. Both photos were clearly taken on different days. Helena shakes her head no, “I don't know.”

“If you won't pick, I like Option one, with the book. You sort of look like you're smiling.” Natalie squints at the photo. 

“This will stay, framed, on the wall, in Imogene's?” Helena asks. 

“Yes.” She smiles and hands Helena another paper. This paper has only one sentence on it. “Regardless of your picture choice, this is the caption that will be displayed underneath.” Helena looks over the paper, and the caption reads: ‘Imogene’s great-great-great-granddaughter Helena Eagan enjoying a cozy brew.’

“I think I might be sick.” Helena alerts Natalie, looking in the direction of the guest bathroom. She hands Natalie the bowl of popcorn and rushes off, leaving Natalie confused and frustrated.

. ssss .

11:46 PM

After emptying the contents of her stomach, Helena returned to Natalie. They prepared for three hours and Helena practiced her speech, over and over, with notes and tweaks from Natalie. When she left, Natalie hugged Helena, and reminded her that she ‘only wants the best for her.’

It's nearly midnight when Helena gets home. She wants to immediately get to her burner phone which she keeps in the cracker box, in a shoe box, in her closet. However, with how closely she was being watched this past week, she decides to do the things expected of her, in case anyone is still monitoring things or checking in. She showered and dressed for bed. 

Now she sits cross-legged in her closet, in the dark. As soon as the phone powers up she text Sean.

“Hey, I can't meet you at Imogene's tomorrow because I've got a sudden Saturday work thing again.” She sends the text and waits. Her only hope was Sean would understand her need to cancel. There was no way out of the press event. She couldn't even feign ill because that never made them take it any easier on her. She would be told to ‘rise up and sally forth’ and then likely subjected to some unnecessary medical tests. She checks the phone since it has no vibration and no sound. There's no response. She waits and waits and waits and…

Chapter Text

03:30 AM

Saturday 

Helena wakes up on the floor of her closet. Her injured arm is sore from sleeping on a hard surface. She decides to get in bed and get at least two hours of sound sleep before her day starts. She checks the phone, and her heart jumps when she sees there's a response. 

“Damn that sucks. I'll see if Sheila will go w/me for moral support. And I'll send pics!” - sent 01:21AM

“No, no, no, no.” She pushes her hair back, pulling it tight with her frustration. She can't stop her Woe and Dread from attacking and she gives way to tears. With her good arm, she hugs her knees to her chest as she cries. If she can't stop him from showing up, he'll find out who she is. He'll know who she is and he'll hate her. ‘ To know me, is to hate me.’ She accepts this as truth. She closes her eyes, breathes, and suppresses her tears. She can't have puffy eyes in her photos tomorrow. She didn't want to face consequences for bad press. With Woe subdued, she's able to think of a reply, “Oh no. I'd really like to see it with you. So our 1st time seeing it is together. Maybe skip the reopening? We can go together another day.” Again, she waits, but only for fifteen minutes before powering off the phone and returning it to its hiding place. It will be the first thing she checks when she wakes up in two hours. As she stands, there's a sharp pain in her shoulder, and she regrets falling asleep on the floor.

. ssss .

Helena woke at her usual time of 5:30AM and the first thing she did was sneak to her closet to check her phone. There was no response. She mentally prepares herself to face Sean's hatred. She has trouble with this, every time she tries picturing him angry, all she sees is his smile, or his deeply caring eyes. She tries conjuring this mental image the entire time she is completing her usual morning routine: Daily exercise, shower, dress, and report to breakfast.  

09:12 AM

She is back in her room and knows she has to be downstairs in five minutes, so that they can leave and arrive early. The event starts at 10 AM. Hopelessly, she checks her burner phone one more time and is disappointed to see Sean's reply, “Sorry. Sheila already said yes. No worries. I'll hate it just as much the second time when I visit with you.” She frowns. She couldn't stop him. This was inevitable. She doesn't respond and powers off the phone. Did she really think this could end any other way? 

09:58 AM

Helena stands with Natalie and Veda to the side of the temporary stage. The cameras have arrived and the crowd has gathered. Helena scans the crowd for a face she hopes not to see. 

“Don't be nervous.” Natalie encourages with her brilliant smile. “You did it perfectly last night. When you're in front of the camera, pretend it's just me and you in my apartment. Okay? You've got this.”

“Okay.” Helena says softly. 

10:00 AM

First, Veda walks out, she stops in front of the microphone and the crowd settles some of their commotion.

“Hello, everyone, I am so grateful to see so many familiar faces here today. As many of you know, I'm Veda, the owner of this establishment. I thank you for joining us for this momentous occasion! Today marks a new chapter, the grand reopening of Imogene's Cafe.” Veda speaks. Helena's eyes again scan the crowd and this time she finds the face she was looking for. Sean stands beside Sheila, wearing the same paperboy cap he had on when Helena first met him here. They both give their full attention to Veda, who continues,“To help usher in this exciting future, we are incredibly honored to have a guest, and faithful patron, who embodies Vision, Humility, and Cheer. It is my distinct pleasure to introduce Imogene's great-great-great-granddaughter, our guest of honor, Miss Helena Eagan.”

Helena swallows a dry swallow, and plasters on her smile. The crowd claps and whistles, when she steps out and takes her place center stage. Veda and Natalie stand to either side of her in front of a big Lumon blue ribbon. Her practiced Media smile lights up her face and she waves with her good hand to the crowd. She tries to avoid Sean and Sheila's faces, but knowing they're there, it's impossible. Sean wears a blank, stunned expression. Sheila’s reflects the hatred Helena anticipated.

“Thank you, Veda. Wow, look at this incredible crowd!” Helena starts, cheerfully, “It's absolutely fantastic to see you all here as we open the doors to the newly revitalized Imogene’s Cafe. A place where countless memories have been brewed over the decades. Imogene's Cafe is a cherished piece of our shared history. It's a part of my history, and the history of my family.” She pauses. She can see Sheila is holding Sean’s arm, trying to get him to stay still, to not storm off in rage.

She continues,“This landmark isn't merely a testament to the past; it's a powerful symbol of enduring legacy. May we Praise Kier for his blessings of bounty, on Veda, the Cafe and this community.”

Several audience members shout Praise Kier .

“This renovation represents the culmination of hard work from our Lumon family and the beginning of a new journey for all of us. The Imogene Cafe is ready to welcome new stories and new friends.” She hears her voice crack, knowing she is losing her new friends as she speaks. She clears her throat and finishes, “It is now my privilege to declare Imogene's officially open. Without further ado, let's proceed with the ribbon cutting.”

Natalie presents half of the giant scissors to Helena. She has lost sight of Sean and focuses on her smile; the cameras are flashing, the cameras are recording. Together, wearing winning smiles, Helena and Natalie cut the ribbon. The crowd erupts in riotous applause.

Natalie then signals Helena to enter the cafe. She's overwhelmed by the change. Sean had been right. Every bit of character is stripped away. Everything is minimalist, white, blue, and green. She keeps her smile fixed, despite feeling choked by Woe. She wants to scream. She wants to cry. She wants to run out into the crowd and find Sean. But she can only smile. 

When the barista serves Helena the first cup of coffee, she's disappointed to see that even the mugs have changed. No longer was it a portrait of Imogene's strong and beautiful face. Now it is a portrait of Kier and Imogene in the Ether factory. She couldn't have this one thing? When the cameras leave, Helena is moved by Natalie into another one of the stark white rooms. Now, instead of antique chairs and sofas, there are tables and chairs with built-in outlets and USB ports for working. As the people queue for the register, Helena watches, looking to see Sean or Sheila. 

Natalie whispers, “Helena, you did excellently. Kier and the Team will be jubilant at your performance.” 

“Thank you, Natalie.” She says, taking a sip of the coffee, hoping to wash down the knot in her throat. “I couldn't have done it without you.” She's grateful that at least the coffee tastes the same. 

Natalie senses her friend's lack of Verve and looks her up and down curiously. Some directed praise typically evokes Helena's Cheer. “Remember to smile. Patrons have their phones.” Natalie reminds, and Helena nods, distracted, but obediently smiling on command. “I've got to speak with Veda. You drink that up and we'll be ready to go before these people try to crowd you.” Natalie informs her before walking away. 

As soon as Natalie is out of sight, Sheila emerges from the disorganized queue and approaches Helena. Helena stands stiffly at attention. Sheila smiles, but the smile doesn't meet her eyes. Instead, her eyes spark with Malice. 

“You lying fucking bitch.” Sheila growls through her smile. She slaps her hand down on Helena's right shoulder and grips it tightly, pretending she's happy to see her. Helena sucks air through clenched teeth at the shooting pain. Her eyes well with tears, and Sheila releases her grip. “So that is real?” Sheila huffs, surprised. 

“Where's Sean?” Helena's voice cracks.

“Where's the sling?”Shelia demands.

“It wouldn't photograph well.” Helena explains, eyes still teary from the lingering pain.

“You’re a fucking Eagan.” Shelia says with disgust.

“Where's Sean?” Helena asks desperately.

“Hi.” Natalie suddenly arrives, “I'm so sorry, but Miss Eagan has other important engagements and won't be performing blessings or prayers today.” Natalie steps between them. “That way, Helena.” She points.

Helena steps aside in the direction indicated and sips her coffee, bringing the mug to her face to sneakily wipe away an escaped tear. She walks trance-like to wherever Natalie is guiding her.

.ssss.

After the successful press event, Natalie took Helena to lunch to celebrate. Natalie doesn’t have a good time; she is annoyed with Helena’s stoicism. Helena is quiet, recovering from emotional shellshock. Once home, Helena asks permission to revisit the Imogene Cafe. She explains that, without the cameras and the crowd, it will be easier for her to take in all the new changes. Her request is approved. She text Sean on the burner phone, asking for a chance to explain. She gets no response. 

Helena purchases a hot tea at Imogene’s, and she ventures upstairs to the room she used to sit in with Old Man Lilith. A new crushed velvet blue loveseat takes up the space by the newly resealed window. Two matching green arm chairs face the bricked-up fireplace, and she frowns, thinking the chairs look too stiff and uncomfortable for Lilith to take his naps. The most devastating discovery is that Imogene's Library, the collection of books, is absent from the mantle. In its place, a large wooden frame leans on the mantel against the wall. The frame holds a 16X20 photo of Helena, sitting in this room, where she foolishly thought she was safe, reading a book. 

The sun is setting, and the temperature has dropped to 30°F/-1°C. Helena takes her hot tea and braves the cold. She treks along the wet road, sipping the tea to keep warm. When she arrives at Sean's, her cup is empty and she places it down on his stairs. She needs her good hand to knock. She notices the additional car in Sean’s driveway and guesses that it might be Sheila’s. She chews her lip and finally exhales a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The worst had already happened. He knows who she is. 

She knocks on the door. She waits. She knocks on the door. She can hear a muffled conversation on the other side. She waits. She looks at the long stretch of dark road, not ready to turn back. “Please. Please let me in.” She begs, knocking again. She waits. Suddenly, the door flies open, revealing a stern-faced Sheila. 

“What was this? Some sort of social experiment? Poverty porn? What are you doing here?” Sheila demands. 

Sheila’s words are fast and confusing. Helena shakes her head, “I don't know what you mean.” Sheila doesn’t budge from the center of the door. Helena very clearly isn’t welcome. She spots Sean in the background and speaks up, “I've just walked from Imogene's.”

“That's a 30-minute walk.” Sheila scoffs, “Why the fuck would you do that?” Helena looks to Sheila, raising her eyebrows in a silent plea. Sean walks over. He doesn’t smile, his face is blank, and his spirit dulled. Helena can see she has hurt him. Yet, he opens the door wider, allowing Helena to step inside.

Sean speaks to Sheila, “She said her dad has people watching her. So her car needs to be where she said she’d be.” The door closing makes Helena jump.

“So is that true?” Sheila asks, folding her arms.

Helena looks to Sean, his eyes were tired, not angry like Sheila’s. She hopes she can appeal to him, “Not everything I told you was a lie. Just my name. And Helly is a nickname.” 

“What else have you been lying about?” He asks.

“I haven't. I wasn't lying.” Helena defends, “I just wasn't completely honest. I'm really really sorry.”

“You're an Eagan.” Sheila points at her accusingly.

“It's not my fault I was born an Eagan.” Helena says, looking away shamefully.

“I don't know what you got out of this.” Sean says, frustrated, “But I was very upfront, from the moment we met, about who I am and what I stand for. Why would you do this?” With his eyes he searches her pretty pale face, and her wilted posture. Who is she?

“I haven't done anything. I like you. You like me. That's it.” Helena offers.

“I told you about my mom. I told you about what Lumon did to my family. And you thought, hmm, we fucked up his life, now all that's left to do is actually fuck him?” Sean shakes his head, failing to merge a conniving Eagan with the vulnerable, quirky girl he opened up to.

“What are you talking about?” Helena asks, “You think this, all of this, was some elaborate Lumon scheme? Why would I tell you the things that I have if I-”

“I don't know Helen.” Sean snaps. 

“Helena, Helly. Not-” Helena corrects but is interrupted by Sheila’s anger. 

“Helena. Eagan. Fucking Miss Eagan to peasants like us. Right?” Sheila says, hate dripping from each word.

Helena looks to the woman, who offered her a safe place, who hugged her and told her she could be brave too. “The things I told you about myself, about my home life. That was all true.”

“How do we know that?” Sheila asks.

“You don't.” Helena shrugs, “You'll just have to trust me.”

“I don't!” Sean’s voice raises, and he pushes a stressed hand through his dark hair. “This is crazy. This is- You really should have been honest.” 

“I’m sorry.” Helena says again.

“You should have fucking told me who you are.” Sean insists.

Meekly, Helena asks, “Would you have still asked me to coffee?” They lock eyes, and they both know the answer is No. He can see the sadness in her. Part of him wants to hold her. “I wanted you to see me like Imogene. Like my own woman, outside of titles and Kier.” Sean remembers how she clung to him during sex, desperate, like she needed him to fill some void in her. He remembers the tiny x's on her back and her heart-wrenching explanation of how they got there. He remembers her arguing that Eagans aren't a monolith. He can feel tears threaten to fall.

“The sling is back.” Sheila points out. She knew after the encounter at Imogene’s that the shoulder was truly injured. The pain wasn’t a lie. But the source? “What happened to your arm, Helly?” 

“I told you what happened.” She answers and takes a step away from Sheila, putting her left hand up defensively, protecting her shoulder. 

“An accident. Some non-descript accident. Sheila says it's real.” Sean looks at Helena to confirm. 

“Yes, it is very much real.” Helena nods, looking between the two siblings. Sean has softened some, but she’s not sure about Sheila. Sheila’s face is unmoving and her stance is strong beside her brother, her cub, that she protects.

“What happened?” Sean challenges.

Helena sighs, not wanting to recount the events, but decides to take a chance that a candid, unfiltered truth might help win her some goodwill, “Remember, I had a co-worker drop me off here? So that we could talk?” Sean does remember the innocent doe-eyed expression as Helena apologized for the gifted guitar. “Because my car was taken away, and I didn't have permission to be here. So…” She pauses, preparing herself to bare her ugliness, “I got punished after visiting you. When I got home, one of my handlers-” 

“Handlers? You mean, your dad's friends?” Sean clarifies. 

“Yes. One of them.” She clears her throat, “He dragged me through the hall and accidentally pulled it from the socket.” There's a long tense silence as the siblings both judge her authenticity. “I'm sorry. Sorry is all that I am.” She waits, and Sheila takes a step nearer Sean, rubbing a hand on his back for comfort. ‘ They’re a team, a family. I'm the enemy.’ Helena drops her gaze to the floor and speaks her truth quickly, “After that, they locked me in a room in the basement, and kept me awake for 81 hours, which is called a, uh, it’s an enhanced interrogation method. And when I was weak enough, they asked me about where I was and who I was with.”

“Are we in danger? Did you put Sean in the sights of some Lumon henchmen?” Shelia asks.

“No, no. You have nothing to worry about. We hadn't shared last names yet, so all they know is Sean. I swear! I didn't tell them your address or anything identifying.” Helena defends.

Sean sighs at Helena's desperation and then grits his teeth, turning to Sheila, “She's not making that up. At this point, we know who she is, if she was lying, what would be the point? It'd be stupid. She'd be implicating Jame Eagan.”

“I think that is what she's doing.” Sheila agrees.

“She's fucking serious. Look at her.” Sean gestures hopelessly, encouraging Sheila to see the same sad woman he sees. “All that, everything she just said.”

“All I can be is sorry.” Helena apologizes again, concerned with the increased volume of his voice.  

“Fuck! This is so much worse than before.” He puts both hands on his head and paces, “I thought we were up against just one mean rich guy. We're talking Lumon, Jame Eagan.” 

“No, this is good, we can use this-” Sheila says.

“What?” Sean asks.

“She's their Achilles heel.” Sheila tells him. Helena pouts, understanding this reference to mean that the woman she wanted so badly to win over instead thinks she's weak. Lumon's weakness. Failure Eagan. 

“Sheila, no.” Sean says, his anger seemingly shifting, but Helena can’t be sure in which direction. “I can't even go there with you right now.” He focuses back on Helena, “Helly, why would you come here?”

“I've really been enjoying our friendship.” She succinctly and sincerely admits.

Sean spirals,“Shit, like I was thinking you'd get slapped around, and that was bad enough. But this is like a whole team? Handlers? Like an organized fucking thing. Like-”

“Torture.” Sheila acknowledges. “It is very Lumon-esque.”

“I told you it's getting better.” Helena reminds him.

“Fuck. You're, wait, fuuuuck! You walked here. You don't have permission to be here. After all that? Why would you risk coming here?” Sean begs. 

“It's like I told Shelia at dinner, I'm either brave or crazy with nothing to lose.” Helena smirks uneasily.

“Crazy, kid. You're definitely crazy.” Sheila lets out a single laugh and shakes her head.

“Is that going to happen again? Are you going to be safe when you leave here and go home?” Sean asks.

“I don't know.” Helena answers honestly. 

“Fuck.” Sean laments.

“It's okay.“ Helena tries to reassure him.

Sean shakes his head, “That's not. I'm not okay with that.” 

“They haven't killed me yet.” Helena smiles sadly, looking between the two Riggs, hoping for a reciprocation. They don't smile. Helena raises her eyebrows imploringly, “Can you find it in your hearts to forgive me? Water off a duck's back?”

. ssss .

Sean sits with Helena on his sofa. He holds her hand on her lap. With his thumb he twirls the giant Kier signet ring she wears. He was slowly grappling with this new understanding of what it meant to be an Eagan. She was never what he imagined. He couldn't picture her sitting in that glass house, with piles of cash, scheming ways to exploit the poor and working class. She didn't seem to be having a good time as a billionaire. She is surviving and as he looks at the sling, she is barely doing that. 

“I was afraid you'd hate me.” Helena explains.

“No, Eagan, we don't hate you.” Sheila reassures from the nearby armchair. “It's your family and everything you represent and your entire belief system that we hate.” 

“Yes, well, I appreciate your grace and forgiveness. And your discretion, of course.” Helena says.

“You need us to be discreet about Jame Eagan’s torture kink?” Sheila raises an eyebrow.

“What?” Helena looks to Sheila confused. Unlike Sean, who exhausted his Malice and Woe and settled in a place of sympathy, Shelia’s emotions were still running the gambit.

“Shelia, that's not helpful.” Sean dismisses, “And stop calling her Eagan.”

“It is what she is.” Sheila says.

“But that's not who she is. So knock it off.” Sean asserts, making a distinction that Helena had never considered.

“Eagan?” Sheila addresses Helena and sits forward forcing eye contact, “Does it offend you when I call you Eagan?”

“You make it sound like a slur.” Helena squints. Sheila laughs in disbelief. 

“But it’s your actual fucking name.” Sheila relents. “I keep trying to remember you, at my table, sad and confused and eating meatloaf. But then I see you, in this designer coat, standing on that stage, praising Kier, and my heart stops bleeding. You were never going to stay in my spare room. You stood in my home, cosplaying as a victim-”

“She is still that. Just because she has money, it doesn't remove those scars.” Sean counters.

“It could.” Sheila says. “I had to work and save money for the two of us. She's rich. She has resources. She could leave. If she wanted to do something, she could do any thing. She could eradicate world hunger.”

“My father is the billionaire. Not me.” Helena defends.

“She's just as trapped as we were. It's just a fancier cage.” Sean says.

“I told you, I tried getting away before. I drove out of the city limits. But I only got that far because they let me. They have their ways. There's nothing I can do.” Helena explains.

“I can see that he taught you how to clip your own wings.” Sheila smirks. “But you're not helpless. You're famous. You have a platform. People would believe you.” Sheila speaks to Sean, “If this is happening to her, the CEOs daughter, an Eagan, what the fuck do you think is happening to those severed workers? Or the severed workers in other countries with looser labor laws and criminal tax incentives?” She points matter-of-factly, “This isn't just about you, Helly.”

“It never is.” Helena sighs. She is not a person. She is a concept. She is part of something bigger, and that bigger thing is always more important than her. Her life, her experience, her pain, don't matter in the grand scheme of things. “If I speak out, I put a target on my head.” Helena admits, knowing it would take much less.

“Apart from our tax bracket, here's the difference between me and you.” Shelia leans forward, making it personal, “When I was in this situation, caught on my back foot, scared, beaten, I didn't just think about myself. I thought about who else was getting hurt. I thought about who else I needed to free from the abuse.” Helena nods, accepting that Sheila is calling her a coward.

“That's not fair, Sheila.” Sean says. To Helena's relief, an alarm goes off on her mobile. She had to allow herself the time for the walk back, and the drive time, so she could make it back to the estate by her agreed upon curfew.

“ I have to get back to my car.” Helena announces, ending the alarm. 

“I'll drive you halfway.” Sean offers. She smiles widely. She didn't expect him to show her any kindness so quickly after her deception was exposed. 

“Yes please.” She nods, “Please and thank you.”

. ssss .

In the car, parked on the random point of the dark road, from where Helena will walk. 

Helena feels anxious, afraid by Sean's silence. “You must be exhausted from the rollercoaster of emotions today. It must be so confusing. Finding out, trying to forgive me. I can't imagine any of this is easy for you.”

Sean laughs, “No. But I'm guessing doing a ribbon cutting and thinking I might hate you wasn't easy either.” 

“I'm glad you left Imogene's when you did. Lumon did like you said. It's awful. The soul is gone.” She says sadly.

“How could you let me talk so much shit about the Eagans when you're…you?” Sean asks.

“Well, I haven't really met an Eagan I've liked either. So, you're entitled to your opinion.” Helena smirks. She's relieved to see Sean laugh. “Will we still be friends?”

“Shit.” He shakes his head No but says, “Yeah. C’mere.” He opens his arms and leans over, she opens herself up to be hugged by him.

“Really?” She asks in his embrace.

“It's like you said, it's not your fault you were born an Eagan.” Sean reassures. He releases her from the hug and she lingers and hopes for a kiss but he looks straight ahead out the windshield instead. “This is crazy. This has been a crazy day.”

“So much for drama-free, huh?” She regrets causing him stress. 

“Everything is just a little bit different.” Sean says. 

“In a good or bad way?” She asks. 

“I don't know.” He answers honestly. They sit in silence for a time. He breaks the silence when he laughs under his breath.“This might sound weird, but I remember your 5th birthday. Or the day after your 5th birthday?”

Helena smiles, confused, “What?”

“I was ten.” Sean says. Helena nods, for the first time learning his age. “And we were out to eat. It's in the summer. It was summer from what I remember?”

“August. Yes.” She confirms.

“I remember, it was warm because we were sitting on the outside patio of the place.” Sean recalls, “And Sheila and I were so confused because it's like, people started leaving and walking out of other businesses and heading all in one direction. And we were like, ‘Hey, what's going on? ’ And some lady, she handed me this like, prayer card? It had a prayer on it I think and the picture was of, you, I guess. It was a little you, in this big ceremonial robe, most of your face was covered by a white light, but the red hair was there.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that robe.” She nods, and remembers how Mr. Heilman spanked her before forcing her into the robe. It was not her first punishment of the day and by the time she was posing in that robe she was already exhausted from the crying.

“And the lady explained, the Eagan Heir was finally announced in its 5th year. I don't think anyone knew if you were a boy or girl. But, anyway, she said there was going to be a celebration in the town square and that Jame Eagan, your fuckwit dad, I guess, might make an appearance.” Sean shakes his head. “I remember, Sheila-” He laughs, “I'm sorry but Sheila and I made fun of that picture, so hard. Because with the robe and everything, the picture, you looked like a baby-Pope.”

“I can see that.” Helena smiles, thinking of child Sean and Sheila laughing. She brought a moment of levity to their often bleak childhood. She's pleased with that.

“I guess, this is so weird now. But, I guess I went as you for Halloween that year. I dressed as baby-Pope. Got a pope hat, a rattle which I taped a big cross to, and this big dumb pacifier.” He says, as his laughter settles. 

“Is there a picture?” She asks.

“Probably at Sheila's.”

“Well, it's only fair if I get to see you dressed as a baby-Pope. Since you've seen me.” She jokes.

He looks her over, pretty, sad, and pale by the moonlight.“In my bed, in my car, Eagan Heir, baby-Pope herself.”

“Please don't call me that.”Helena says, annoyed by the use of titles. She just wanted to be herself.

“Sorry, I'm still getting used to the idea that I'm with an Eagan. What should I call you? Helly? Helena?”

“Helly. No one calls me that anymore. So it feels different, special, when you say it.” She admits. 

“Helly.” He smiles.

“I should get walking.” She says, looking out the window at the night that was only getting darker and colder. “Will you kiss me? In case you change your mind after I go and you never want to see me again.” Abruptly, Sean gets out of the car. She's not sure if she has upset him and is afraid of his swift approach to her side of the vehicle. He opens her car door and helps her out of the car. She waits, thinking he might shout at her to go. Instead, he puts a hand around her waist, pulling her to him so that she can feel his body heat, and with one hand gently on her face he kisses her, deeply. When their mouths separate, she smiles a nose crinkling smile, and looks up into his shadowy eyes.

“Friends.” Sean says. 

“Friends.” She agrees. He places a soft kiss on her forehead. Somewhere she's never been kissed before and she feels small again. She wants to stay in his arms. “I have to go.” She tells him. She needs him to pull away first because she can't bring herself to step out of his hold. 

“I'll see you soon, Helly.” Sean says, taking a step back. He carefully pulls her jacket closed over her slinged arm. She smiles softly at the tenderness and holds the jacket shut with her good hand. He returns to his driver's side and she waves goodbye. He sits in the car watching her walk up the road, disappearing into the frigid  unwieldy world. He can't protect her. This is bigger than him.

Chapter Text

09:15 AM

Sunday 

A text from Natalie comes in, “Dress casual. I'm picking you up in an hour for brunch with my fam.”  

Helena nods accepting that this is not optional. If it were, she'd reply that she was feeling fuller than usual and would take a raincheck. At breakfast, she was rewarded for her flawless press event with a single waffle, served with two fried eggs, milk, and coffee. 

Now in her closet, with the intent to choose a casual outfit, she sneaks to check the burner phone. 

“Send me a pic from inside the castle.” Sean text around 1AM. She was already sleeping by then.

“Good Morning.” She opens her closet door, and takes a selfie with her room in the background. She closes the door again, just in case, and sends the text. She looks in the full length mirror that hangs in her closet and frowns at the outfit she had already chosen for the day. Most everything she owned was business appropriate. Casual was hard to do. She chooses a long, loose fitting skirt, and a white blouse that, after some consideration, she untucks. 

“Why are you dressed so early on a Sunday?”  Sean's reply comes. She smirks. This was her third outfit of the day. First was workout clothes, then the outfit she planned to wear, and now this close to casual fit. “What kind of room is that? All I see is white and green.” Sean asks.

“That is my bedroom.” She replies.

“That's huge. Where's the bed? A mile away from you?” He sends back.

Helena stifles a laugh and text, “And I'm dressed because I'm heading to brunch at my friend’s house.”

“Oh. I didn't know you were stopping by. I'll brush my teeth. (Wink face emoji)” Sean's text reads.

“Ha ha. I wish. It's my friend Natalie.”

“That bitch Natalie Kalen?”

“She's my best friend.” Helena types back. She's offended by him calling Natalie a bitch. Although he has done so before. When he didn't know who Helena was and what her connection is to the Lumon family, all the insults and hate felt indirect, like the aftershocks of a far away earthquake. Now he knows, and somehow the jabs feel pointier, personal.

“Noooo. God damn. She's awful. She's always on the news, or social media, arguing and trying to convince people to vote against their own rights.” Sean replies.

Helena frowns. She wanted to tell him not to talk about her best friend that way. She didn't think Natalie was ever intentionally awful to her. But she doesn't know about the social media claim since she personally doesn't have any accounts. Helena doesn't want to be confrontational so soon after being caught in her web of lies. She feels there is a very delicate thread holding her in the reality where Sean still wants to be her friend. She replies, “She told me I should stop seeing you.”  

“Natalie Kalen knows I exist? That is fucking unreal.” Sean answers .

“She said you're dangerous.” Helena text. He said Natalie was awful. Natalie said Sean was dangerous. Neither of their judgments matched how Helena felt. She wonders where the truth lies. She remembers Natalie's warning, ‘ Is he trying to turn you away from Lumon and against all the people who care about you, the ones who have always been here?’ Helena powers down the phone before another response can come through. Sean has been only kind to her. She can't fathom him having an ulterior motive and she doesn't want to read another disparaging text that might give weight to Natalie's claims.

Helena had braced for Sean's hatred, believing that would be the worst outcome of him discovering her true identity. She was wrong. A new Dread has been conjured: He knows her, and now Lumon knows of him. Her separate worlds are colliding. Does that mean one of them must implode?

. ssss .

“Gosh, I wish they'd let me get you some jeans.” Natalie says, looking at Helena in her passenger side. 

“Will your parents find my attire inappropriate?” Helena asks.

“No. It's not that serious. I just, I don't see what harm some jeans would do.” Natalie sighs, there were a lot of things she didn't understand about the Eagan's and Helena’s many restrictions. 

“I did my best.” Helena defends, attempting to straighten her unstraightenable flowy skirt. 

“So I've been thinking about this new mission.” Natalie starts with a mischievous smile.

“Mission?” Helena asks.

“Yes, you agreed you'd let me help find a Lumon sanctioned match for you.” Natalie reminds her. Helena's eyes widen and she nods, although she had not agreed to that.

“I don't want to be set up again.” Helena counters.

“Again?”

“While you were away, my team decided to set me up with some new friends. It was humiliating.” Helena admits, blushing at how much of a loser her team thinks she is.

“I'm not trying to humiliate you. I'm your friend. Your true friend.” Natalie says, gently patting a hand on Helena's leg. She allows her hand to linger on Helena's thigh. 

Helena feels the warmth of Natalie's palm through her skirt and her mind pictures Natalie's pretty fingers a little higher up than her thigh. Helena blushes at the thought and turns her head away, looking out the window, suppressing her confused feelings. She reminds herself, ‘We're friends. Just friends. But then, so are me and Sean?’ She thinks about Sean between her legs, and the memory turns to fantasy, transforming his face to Natalie's. Helena cracks her window slightly to allow the winter air to cool her down, and the breeze to blow away her intrusive thoughts.

Natalie cheerfully encourages,“So maybe don't look at what I'm doing as a set up. And look at it as more of an assist. Mr. Drummond says there's no rule against you dating, just a right and a wrong way to go about it.” Helena hums a ‘Mm-hm.’ But she keeps her face turned away from Natalie which Natalie doesn't like. This was serious and she needed Helena to take her seriously. “So I have to ask you,” Natalie leans forward on the steering wheel, a successful attempt to regain eye contact.

“Ask me what?” Helena says. Her eyes fix on Natalie's perfect teeth, coyly biting her pink bottom lip, feigning embarrassment.

Natalie asks, “Do you want me to find you a boy or a girl?”

Helena stifles a laugh, wondering if Natalie knew how her touch flusters her. Helena shrugs,“I don't care. It's not like I'm going to marry them. It doesn't matter what they are.” 

“As long as they're an Apostle of Kier.” Natalie chirps.

Helena challenges, speaking slowly,“Your mom is a non-believer.”

“Her biggest flaw and a constant cause of strife!” Natalie is offended by the reminder.

“You have had friends, exes, that were non-believers.” Helena pushes.

“That was one, one ex. And I learned my lesson. Learn from my mistakes, Helena.” Natalie defends.

“I quite like making my own.” Helena sighs.

“That is probably the one thing in the entire world that you can't afford.” Natalie asserts. She saw how steeply Helena had to pay for her mistakes. She couldn't understand why she wouldn't try to stay within the, admittedly sometimes unreasonable, lines. Natalie asks,“Did you speak with him like you promised? 

“Yes.” Helena admits. 

“And did you end it?” 

“I started to.” Helena lies.

“Helena!” 

“It's the beginning of an end.” 

“That's not good enough!” Natalie says, frustrated with her friends continued disobedience. Did she want pain and punishment? 

“Oh really? Not good enough? Okay Jame.” Helena rolls her eyes. 

“Why are you making this so difficult? Can't you see that I'm worried for you?” Natalie pleads. Helena can hear a faint desperation in her friend's voice, but then she thinks of Sean's worry. He was never accusatory in his worry. She starts to doubt the sincerity of Natalie's claim.

“You've never worried about me before. So why start now?” Helena says.

Natalie scoffs, “Are you seriously going to pick a fight with me?”

“ Me pick the fight?” Helena laughs again.

“Seriously? Again you're saying I don't care. I don't worry about you. While we're literally on the way to my parents home for brunch, for you .”

Helena presses her lips together and thinks, ‘ It’s the first Sunday of the month. Their family brunch. This isn't about me.’ She can see Natalie's cheeks are red. She has upset her. She chooses not to argue that this has nothing to do with her.

“I keep trying to be kind, and show that I'm here for you, and you keep downplaying my efforts. You're being really hurtful, Helena.” Natalie says with heated emotion.

“I don't want to argue.” Helena concedes.

Natalie's voice lowers, and her face softens,“Please Helena, Sean is not right for you. He's not a good influence. And I think if you have another, positive experience with someone else-”

“You mean sex?” Helena says bluntly.

“Yeah, then maybe you'll not be so hung up on this guy.” Natalie says with a newly hopeful smile.

Helena narrows her eyes suspiciously, “Who told you his name is Sean?”

“You did.”

“I did not.” Helena counters. She distinctly remembers avoiding saying Sean's name.

“You did at my house on Friday.” Natalie pats Helena's leg a little firmer for emphasis. “That doesn't matter. What matters to me is that you understand what a dangerous situation you're putting Sean, yourself, and Lumon in. Just for a little sex?”

Helena frowns at the thought. She looks out the window, turning her body away from Natalie's truth. Helena always feels she is in danger. She doesn't care about herself. But she doesn't want to put Sean or Lumon in danger. She loves Lumon, and she intensely likes Sean.

Natalie removes her hand from Helena's leg and points a bossy finger,“When you talk to him next, you stand your ground. Don't let him manipulate you! Don't be such a pushover.”

Helena felt like a pushover right now. She nods.“Okay.”She agrees, hoping this may end the lecture.

“Promise me you'll end this madness.” Natalie insists.

“I promise.” 

“Again.” Natalie demands.

“I promise I'll end things.”

“Again, like you mean it.” Natalie challenges.

“I'll end it with Sean. I promise.” Helena's eyes water. It was a promise she didn't want to keep. But what did she want? To continue sneaking around, risking punishment, stealing moments of fleeting happiness at his expense? She is having fun. She feels… happy ? He makes her feel seen, understood, beautiful, and wanted. But is that worth the worry, betrayal, and stress she made him feel? She is a danger to him. She knew this from the start. Is the only way to save him to remove herself from his life? ‘I’m the problem.’ She tells herself.

"Good." Natalie's bright smile widens as she watches Helena's face crumble with concern. Finally, the gravity of her error seems to sink in. Natalie is relieved to be getting through to her again.

.ssss.

After hugs, handshakes, and the removal of winter coats, Natalie’s parents head in the direction of the dining room. Helena instinctively feels like she should follow, but when Natalie heads towards the stairs, Helena’s invisible leash feels tugged in both directions. She stands frozen in place, overthinking. Should she trail behind Natalie like a shy, inconvenient toddler? Or follow Dr. and Mrs. Kalen and fumble her way through more awkward pleasantries? A few steps up, Natalie realizes Helena is waiting for direction.

“Hey,” Natalie says, getting Helena’s attention. “Don't be alone with my Mom.” Natalie warns. Helena nods, accepting that as her answer, and moves to head up the stairs. “No.” Natalie stops her. “Go to the dining room. I just have to grab a few things. I won’t be long.”

“Oh, okay.” Helena’s Dread scribbles across her face. She whispers, “Why shouldn’t I be alone with-”

“Trust me. She's a hound. She’s got too many questions.” Natalie explains.

“Sounds familiar.” Helena smirks sarcastically, drawing a parallel between mother and daughter.

“Shut up.” Natalie laughs and hurries up the stairs. 

Helena watches until Natalie disappears up the stairs. She holds her breath as she walks toward the Kalen dining room. The table is long and wooden. It has readily available seating because, unlike the Eagan table, this space was meant for family gatherings and entertaining friends. At the center of the table is a fancy twisting glass vase holding a colorful floral display, pinks, yellows and purples. Helena smiles; she had forgotten how vibrantly the Kalens live.

“You like that?” Mrs. Kalen asks, and like her daughter, she doesn't wait for an answer. She hands Helena a mimosa. “The vase is a Chihuly. Costs more than our first sailboat. My husband hates it when I actually use it for flowers. But what's the point of having beautiful things if you can't enjoy them?”

“It is very beautiful.” Helena agrees, looking around the room, realizing she landed herself in the exact situation Natalie had just warned her to avoid. “Thank you again for having me. I didn’t mean to intrude on your family time but Natalie insisted I come.”

“So, tell me, Helena, how has our Natalie been treating you?” Mrs. Kalen asks, again eyeing Helena’s sling. Helena stands straighter, remembering Mrs. Kalen can smell her weakness. She subconsciously fidgets with the fabric of the sling.

“She’s my best friend.” Helena truthfully answers the strange question. She forces a smile.

“Oh?” Mrs. Kalen’s smile falls. She puts a gentle hand on Helena’s back. She says softly, “That’s sweet.” Helena senses a sadness. Or a pity? But why? “Natalie said you had some sort of accident?”

“Yes. It was a completely avoidable accident, but I have trouble following directions sometimes. Actions have consequences.” She fakes a laugh, “And I’m always finding that out the hard way.” Helena swallows an anxious hiccup as Mrs. Kalen observes her with a straight face.

“You’ve always been accident-prone, haven’t you?” Mrs. Kalen crosses her arms and stands in front of Helena. 

“I suppose you can say that.” Helena looks to the door she entered through, hoping Natalie will appear, or Dr. Kalen, or anyone to call Mrs. Kalen off her scent.

“I had hoped, since the last time you were here-” Mrs. Kalen pauses and allows Helena to recall her shamefully bruised knuckles at Natalie's 13th birthday. “I had hoped that over the years you would have gotten better at avoiding these types of accidents.” Helena narrows her eyes at the beautiful blonde. She knows. They both know what they're not saying. “I'm really sorry to see that you haven't.”

Helena isn't sure if this ‘sorry’ is sadness or disappointment. But she doesn't like the feeling of blame. Even at her angriest, Sheila didn't blame Helena for the abuse. Helena feels her Malice stir. 

“Incoming.” Calls out a voice that Helena is unfamiliar with. She turns and recognizes the features of the young man who the voice belongs to. He's Natalie's brother from the photos. He carries two large serving platters of food. He's followed by Dr. Kalen, who carries two more. 

“The trade off in this house is if the girls do the cooking, the guys do the table setting and clean up. And vice versa.” Mrs. Kalen smiles. 

“You cooked all this?” Helena asks, truly astounded. Her Malice takes a backseat.

“With help, but yes.” Mrs. Kalen nods.

“If by help you mean, I stood in the kitchen supervising and telling people what to do.” Natalie interrupts, appearing with her own mimosa.

“Mom is a conductor, Nat. The staff are the orchestra. This meal is the symphony.” Natalie’s brother says smoothly, planting a kiss on his mother’s cheek.

“Thank you, Junior.” Mrs. Kalen says, affectionately patting her son's face. Natalie rolls her eyes.

Helena places her mimosa down on the table and steps forward, with her only good hand extended, “Junior, we haven't officially met, I'm -

“Helena Eagan.” He smiles as he says it. He has his mother’s features but his father’s coloring and Natalie has her father’s features and her mother’s coloring. Helena smirks at how unpredictable genetics are. “I know who you are. It's a pleasure to meet you finally.” He says, shaking her hand.

“You haven't met Junior?” Mrs. Kalen asks, taking her seat. “Not even at Nat’s birthday party?”

“I don't think so.” Helena says, uneasily. There didn’t seem to be an order to where, how, or when to sit. Natalie takes a seat.

“He's our genius.” Dr. Kalen says, patting his son’s back before taking a seat. Helena decides now, the man of the house has sat, it is time to sit and pick a place setting. “He's going to do big things with Lumon.” Helena smiles politely and nods at Dr. Kalen. As she one-handedly scoots in her chair, Junior takes a seat beside her.

Natalie pouts from across the table, “Don't let his IQ and good looks fool you, Helena. He's an idiot.”

“Nat-baby, be nice.” Mrs. Kalen gives a warning look to her daughter beside her.

“It wouldn't be a family brunch without some abuse from my big sis.” Junior says cheerfully. 

“It wouldn't be a family brunch without a Natalie dog pile.” Natalie parries. 

“I'm sure Miss Eagan doesn't want to hear you two bicker.” Dr. Kalen asserts. With the emphasis on Eagan, it is clear that this is a correction. They are meant to be on their best behavior because Helena is here. Helena smirks, thinking of how the results of knowing she is an Eagan was the exact opposite response from the Riggs siblings, who were on their worst behavior, or the worst she has yet to see. At this correction, everyone’s practiced smiles return. Helena marvels at how Dr. Kalen can be a strict, exacting overlord, but somehow also a man who gives hugs and doesn’t take away hot water. How did he maintain his power if not by fear? How did he invoke obedience if not with pain?

.ssss.

There was an impressive variety of food, brunch mini-sliders, fruit kebabs, home fries, and dime-pancakes. Helena feels spoiled having just been rewarded with her own breakfast and now being provided with so many more options. Still, she makes a very small plate. She's not accustomed to serving herself and Mrs. Kalen watches Helena closely as if she's a baby who just discovered she has thumbs. 

As they eat, Natalie brags about how well the ribbon cutting went and passes around her phone to show off press photos that Helena hadn't seen. No one asks questions. They just passively listen. Dr. Kalen raises his eyebrows at intervals to feign intrigue. 

“That's nice Nat. Honestly, I think that entire strip should be torn up and redone. Hopefully, that cafe is just a start.” Mrs. Kalen says.

“Junior is going to be a neurobiologist like his Dear ol’ Dad.” Dr. Kalen announces to Helena, smiling proudly in his son's direction. Helena, with a mouth full of pineapple, politely nods in acknowledgement.

“I'm specializing in Cognitive neurobiology, which means,  I'll be investigating the neural basis of cognitive processes like memory, attention, and decision-making.” Junior elaborates.

“That's very interesting.” Helena lies. As a child, science got her in the most trouble with her tutors. She passed but never quite excelled.  She enjoyed literature, art and languages. Things Kier cared nothing about.

“As eager as I am to serve Kier, I've got several more years of schooling before I'm officially a doctor. I can't just jump right into the Lumon workforce, like Natalie did.” Junior smiles smugly.

Natalie snaps back, “I didn't just ‘jump in’. I have a four-year degree. I did the wintertide fellowship. That's not nothing.”

“No one is saying that Nat-baby.” Dr. Kalen dismisses.

“All that to be a pincushion and a glorified babysitter.” Junior shakes his head and takes a big bite of his food.

“The fact that you think I'm a pincushion just goes to show how little you understand about Public Relations! What I do for Lumon is important. You conceited prick.” Natalie defends. Helena can see Natalie's face red with Malice but she's stuck on the words ‘glorified babysitter’ .

“Natalie, no name calling.” Dr. Kalen corrects his daughter.

“He said I'm a pincushion. I'm not a pincushion. I'm a warrior for Kier.” Natalie's voice raises.

“Of course you are, sweet girl. Now let's mind our tempers. Your Malice and Woe sound imbalanced.” Dr. Kalen condescends, with a bright smile that doesn't meet his eyes. Helena can see he's sternly and silently warning his furious daughter.

“I work beside Jame Eagan. I was just in Norway defending Lumon.” Natalie persists.

Hoping to diffuse the tension, Helena speaks softly but quickly, “Kier’s original blessing upon your ancestor, has surely multiplied for the Kalen family. Every one of you, have been fruitful and industrious. You each offer unique gifts that honor the Grandfather and bring him glory.”  To her surprise this platitude works in calming the moment. Everyone sits quietly eating and drinking allowing the tension to dissipate. Natalie smiles at Helena, knowing this was her attempt at defending her. But Natalie loses the smile, hit with a pang of guilt, remembering how she froze at the Eagan's dinner. She easily relieves herself of the guilt, reminding herself that there was nothing defensible about Helena's behavior. 

“Speaking of Norway, Helena, what do you think about all that nasty business over there?” Mrs. Kalen asks.

“Nasty?” Helena looks to Natalie for context clues.

“Mom.” Natalie says firmly, hoping to shut the conversation down.

“I wasn't, I didn't go to Norway.” Helena clears her throat and sips her second mimosa. 

“No, but Natalie must have told you.” Mrs. Kalen continues undeterred.

“We're friends. We don't talk work unless we have to.” Helena explains. Junior laughs and gets a warning glare from Dr. Kalen. Helena narrows her eyes, trying to understand the secret communications.

“You must watch the news.” Mrs. Kalen says.

“I'm usually too busy. My schedule doesn't allow for much television.” Helena answers.

“How do you feel about corporal punishment?” Mrs. Kalen asks, eyes narrowed at Helena. 

Helena's mouth falls open, ‘Is Mrs. Kalen going to expose my shame at the table, in front of everyone?’ Helena's eyes travel from Kalen to Kalen, and she realizes Junior might be the only one who didn't already know in some capacity. She blushes embarrassed. What did they think of her? Did they see her as Jame did? A stupid girl who invites misfortunes upon herself?  She thinks of Mrs. Kalen, hoping she would have learned to avoid such accidents . She thinks of Natalie telling her she makes things worse . No doubt Dr. Kalen was in a similar school of thought. Helena bows her head shamefully. She's in a room of people who think she's the dumbest one here. ‘Maybe I am?’ 

“Honey.” Dr. Kalen sighs half-heartedly. 

Mrs. Kalen ignores her husband and continues,“The parents of the kids over there in Svalsbard, at the Gunnel Eagan Empathy Center started a lawsuit against the school because there is evidence the staff were physically punishing the students. Apparently Norway banned all forms of corporal punishment, in schools and in private homes by, what was it honey, the 1980s?”

“For schools but I don't think for private citizens until 2005.” Dr. Kalen confirms.

“Anyway, I don't blame those parents. After what happened to our Nat-baby.” Mrs. Kalen pouts dramatically and touches Natalie's arm. Natalie pulls away from the false sentiment.

“Mom, all of those parents, signed paperwork at the time of their child's enrollment. They can't sue because they're poor readers with zero comprehension skills.” Natalie defends.

“Are you saying your father and I are poor readers? Because we didn't see that deceptively worded clause at your enrollment?” Mrs. Kalen challenges her daughter before turning her attention back to Helena, “My poor Nat, one day she got sent home from the Myrtle Eagan school with a letter saying the head mistress paddled her. She had two bruises on her backside.” Mrs. Kalen forces a pitiful look, and shares it between Natalie and Helena.

“Oh no.” Helena says. She cast her eyes down and does her best not to betray her amusement at the thought.

“Yeah, she milked that for weeks! ‘ Help me with my chores, Junior, my ass .’” Junior mocks.

“Milked?” Natalie’s outrage returns, “Daddy took away my TV and computer for a week because I got in trouble at school.” 

“Anyway, that lawsuit got press and now severed workers are coming out, claiming they have unexplained injuries from what they think are some of the same corporal punishments.” Mrs. Kalen targets Helena with the topic.

“Why are we talking about this?” Natalie huffs, embarrassed by the story, and frustrated with the pressure being put on Helena.

“Since Helena will be the leader of the company one day, I'm just curious where she stands on the issue.” Mrs. Kalen clarifies. 

Helena thinks of Sheila calling her a coward. Telling her it's not about her but about all the others who are being hurt by Lumon. She thinks about Drummond explaining Pain as a helpful tool. “I am not the leader, and I respect the chain of command. I don't know if it's helpful for me to voice my opinion on this. I align myself with the Nine core principles and Lumon's values. Lumon values and loves their workers. So I'm sure whatever has been done has been done out of necessity and love. I don't think Lumon would do anything illegal.” She thinks about the healing circular burns on her left arm from the electric armband. She remembers Cynthia telling her it was illegal and banned in Europe. Google confirmed this for her. Yet it was used on her last week. Does Lumon use illegal practices? Does Lumon lie like she does? Natalie nods, proud of Helena's answer, and Helena smiles softly. The term ‘glorified babysitter’ returns to her mind. What did that mean?

.ssss.

The brunch ends with two handshakes from the Kalen men, one awkward hug from Mrs. Kalen, and notably no invitation to return. Finally, Natalie and Helena are alone in the car on the way back to the Eagan estate.

“Thanks for being there, Helena.” Natalie struggles to say, swallowing some pride, unable to hide her embarrassment.

“In which sense? Because physically, I don't think I had a choice.” Helena says plainly. 

“I wanted you to… After dinner at yours… I thought, I don't know, that it must get pretty lonely just you and your Dad. I thought brunch with a family might-”

“Make me less lonely?” Helena chuckles at the absurd notion. If anything, seeing other people's families only made her feel more lonely. Would life have been so hard if she had a sibling to commiserate with? Someone to split her Father's wrath with?

“I suppose. But all I did was expose you to more dysfunction.” Natalie sighs, feeling vulnerable. Her perfect family is not so perfect and now Helena knows this. She forces a smile, “If anything, at least you know what you're not missing, having an annoying brother and a nosy mom.”

“I think I'd be less lonely if I was allowed to pick and keep my own friends.” Helena says raising an eyebrow.

“Well, you've got me and I can help you with that.” Natalie nods confidently. She is  determined to shake Helena from the grip of this heretical man, who probably only looks at her and sees sex and dollar signs. All Helena needs is a bit more confidence. “You handled yourself really well. And the way you shut down Mom’s line of questioning was neutral, polite and Kier-honoring. I couldn't have scripted a better reply. So you should feel good about that.” She smiles proudly in Helena’s direction, hoping the smile and pride might catch, but it doesn't. Helena's face remains blank.

“Why did Junior call you a glorified babysitter?” Helena asks. 

“And a pincushion!” Natalie scoffs at the offensiveness. “He's always trying to trivialize what I do because he and Daddy don't understand it. They don't take my job seriously.” She complains.

“And what is your job, exactly?” Helena tilts her head and narrows her eyes.

“You know I was in Norway. I spoke with the press about those lawsuits. Public Relations. It's what I went to school for, silly.” She pats Helena's leg but this time Helena doesn't let her hand linger and rejects her friend's touch. 

Helena had to accept the uncomfortable truth that she is easily manipulated because of her obvious weakness for affection. Natalie sensed it. Mrs. Kalen sensed it. ‘Let not weakness live in thy veins.’ She hears Kier’s words. It was in her veins, in her heart, on her sleeve.“How would that make you a babysitter?” Helena asks, squinting at Natalie.

“I don't know. He was just trying to get under my skin. The best thing to do is forget about it. I told you he's an idiot.” Natalie assures. 

“Shall I tell you what I think he was implying?” Helena asks.

Natalie laughs, “Or we can talk about what you're going to say to this Sean guy when you break it off with him.”

“I don't want to break it off with him.” Helena admits. 

“Helena, don't be ridiculous. He is a denier of The Grandfather.” Natalie says. “Which means, he's a denier of you. ” 

“He listens to me. He validates me. He's not a denier of me, or my feelings. He doesn't ask me to tame my Frolic, he lets me laugh, and play, and dance. He doesn't ask me to tame my Woe. He holds my hand.” Helena defends.

“Holds your hand? I can hold your hand. Are you hearing yourself? He doesn't ask you to tame your tempers? ‘Should you tame the tempers as I did mine, then the world shall become but your appendage. It is -”

Helena finishes the passage, “‘It is this great and consecrated power that I hope to pass on to all of you, my children.’”

“If he's discouraging you from taming your tempers, he's trying to keep you from actualizing your power.” Natalie explains. “And why else would a man want you imbalanced and powerless? If not to take advantage of you?”

“I don't think…” Helena's forehead furrows. She felt imbalanced and powerless around Jame, but not usually around Sean. Still, Natalie was making sense. Could this really apply to Sean? Is Sean a temptation? Is this a test to prove her loyalty to Kier?  “He didn't even know who I was until yesterday. I don't think he's been trying to lead me away from Kier's path.”

“He didn't know who you were until yesterday?” Natalie asks. “So you've been lying to me, Drummond, and this new friend? What happened to Probity, Helena? Your impetuous behavior is really worrying me.”

Helena nods. There is nothing to combat Natalie's accusations. She is being impetuous, reckless, and impulsive with little forethought to her actions. Again she's forced to ask herself, ‘What did I think was going to happen? That I could convince Sean to love me, an Eagan? Was I going to bring him home to meet Father? Did I expect him to join Lumon? Or did I think I could leave? As if leaving is an option.’ She hasn't been thinking. She has just been enjoying how good he makes her feel and how happy she is around him. That felt like enough. But of course it couldn't last.

“The repeated disregard for Probity. It makes me wonder if that is the only one of the Nine that you're lacking right now.” Natalie says.

Despite the concern in her friend's voice, Helena thinks of Miss Shoemaker and her Father. They would ask her to list which of the Core principles she lacked before receiving punishment. Remorsefully, Helena admits,“I lacked the Vision, to see beyond my present happiness. The Verve for Kier, to deny any who deny him. The Humility, to admit that my behavior and decision-making has been poor. The Wit, to not have fallen for him.” 5/9 A failing score . Her discipline would be severe if Miss Shoemaker were still around.

“Fallen for him? Helena!” Natalie laughs, outraged. “Tell me you don't think you love this person you just met less than a month ago!” 

Helena shrugs and speaks softly, “I don't know. Is there a time limit? I don't know the rules of love.” She clears her throat, choking on a desperate attempt to reset and regulate. Her face grows hot, ashamed about the admission, “I guess I have trouble recognizing it because I haven't been... no one has ever…” Her voice trails off, the unspoken words hanging in the air were enough of a confession. “I don't know if that's what I'm doing.”

Natalie feels her Woe forming a knot in her throat. “Well, whatever it is, quit it. I'll find you someone nice. Don't worry. Someone appropriate. You just promise me that you'll end it.”

“I already promised.” Helena reminds her. She knows Natalie’s suggestion is the correct course of action. Helena doesn’t live in a reality where everything just works out. She's not the girl who gets the guy and a happy ending. At some point, she has to accept reality. But does it have to be right now?

Chapter Text

Monday

09:00 AM

Having received no response to her transfer request, Helena reports to work as usual. When she enters the office of the Electronic Data Department, she is stopped in her tracks, a dumbfounded smile twisting on her face. Her eager eyes dart around the room, counting all the changes. “Cool.” She says under her breath, looking around at her newly diversified team. Women and people of color replaced all the men she listed to HR. She's anxious and excited to meet the new team. She has worked with and for women, but has never been a manager of them. She wonders how different it may be. 

She receives a few good mornings as she passes the cubicles, and she politely returns them with a crooked smile. Helena enters her office and removes the coat that was draped over her shoulders. She hangs it on the coat rack. Her shoulder wasn't healing as quickly as she hoped; in fact, it was bruised again. One new deep purple bruise, courtesy Sheila, overlaps the fading yellow bruise caused by her Father's Scotch glass. Although this is obviously not visible under her long-sleeved blouse. She laments about how the injury slows her down and how the sling makes her look weak. She doesn't want to look weak when introducing herself to her new subordinates. She contemplates removing the sling for the morning announcements and only wearing it when she's alone in her office. Unfortunately, this would mean protecting the arm from unknowing passersbys and straining to hold her arm just right to alleviate pressure, which she discovered during the ribbon cutting, was really mentally taxing to do. 

Undecided, Helena chooses to do something she doesn't have to think about. Power on her computer so that she can print her morning announcements from the portal.  She walks over to her desk and presses the button on the computer tower. As it whirrs awake, slowly warming up, she looks over her neatly kept desk. Stapler, just so. Sticky notes, right there. Highlighters, one of every color. “Fuck me.”Helena's heart drops, and the color drains from her face. Dread grips her throat and stops her breath. Her normally empty picture frame contains a photo of her and Sean sitting together at Perkfection. She lifts the frame, jaw clenched, observing the picture and the far-off angle it is taken from. The red box containing her burner phone is on the table between them. “Fuck.” Her breath rapidly escapes, and she hyperventilates, struggling to fill her lungs. “Fuck, fuck.” She feels lightheaded from the short, shallow breaths. 

Meanwhile

Drummond's Office

“Is this live?” Natalie asks, looking at a small screen beside Drummond's computer. 

“Yes.” Drummond says, placing down Natalie's frothy latte and taking a seat across from her with his own coffee. Natalie's eyes are fixed, horrified by the screen. It's displaying the live camera footage from Helena's newly bugged monitor.

“It appears she is having a panic attack.” Natalie raises her eyebrows with concern, it was just nine o'clock on a Monday, surely it is too early for a panic attack. Natalie looks to Mr. Drummond for an answer. He frowns at the screen.

“So it does.” He agrees. “We're hoping the fear will make her sloppy.”

Natalie smiles tightly, keeping a laugh from escaping. “She's already sloppy.”

“Oh?” Mr. Drummond sips his coffee, intrigued.

“I did as you asked. I emphasized the importance of ending things with Sean. I also highlighted how dangerous an influence he is. And while she didn't give me any other information about him, I got a rather huge lead on Saturday at Imogene's Reopening.” Natalie hands Mr. Drummond a pink flash drive. He contemplates the color of the tiny device in his large hand before plugging it into his computer. “If you open the first file.” Natalie pauses, waiting for him to follow her direction. He does, and she smiles to herself. She explains, “It's a silent security camera, but you'll notice the woman who approaches Helena. You see there,” Natalie points at the screen, “She knows Helena. She knows that arm is injured and is deliberately causing pain.” Natalie jumps when Drummond slams his fist down on his desk. Natalie nimbly recovers, “Then there I am, taking her away.” The video ends. Natalie drinks her latte, and the caffeine refuels her confidence. “While we were out to eat, celebrating our success, Helena was disengaged. No lights on.” She waves a hand in front of her own face to illustrate what a blank slate Helena’s face was. Drummond sits back in his seat and nods, following her narrative. Her style of presentation was always more colorful and dramatic than he thought necessary. Natalie continues, “She was clearly upset by the encounter. That’s when I put it together. I realized I saw that woman in the crowd, from the stage, and that she wasn’t alone. I will be honest, he wasn’t recognizable from that photo you shared, but from the images I gathered, I discerned the person with her must be Sean.” 

“So who is this woman?” Drummond asks gruffly. He wrestles with his Malice. It was one thing to be cut to heal or to be made more perfect for the struggle. Some pain was essential and unavoidable to draw closer to Kier. That woman in the video was Malicious. The pain was without purpose. If Drummond finds her, she will pay for hurting Helena.

“I don’t know. I assumed you could find out. The other files on there are images I collected from the press and social media posts made by attendees of the event.” Natalie says, and watches as Drummond clicks through them. In the background of these photos, with varying angles and levels of clarity, is the woman they need to identify, and Sean. “If you run those through the Facial Recognition Database, you should be able to find her unless she’s not Lumon either. I just thought that identifying her might lead you closer to finding that despicable heretic.” She watches Drummond flip back and forth between the photos, and Natalie smiles proudly. She froze at the Eagan dinner and did little to help her friend, but she could help her now by assisting Drummond in pulling her from the clutches of this pernicious seditionist. Natalie smiles and looks at the grainy live footage of Helena trying to regulate her breathing at her desk. She can see the back of what Helena holds and guesses it's a picture frame. Natalie sighs, remembering a few years ago, Helena asked if they could take a photo together for her desk. Natalie agreed, but then forgot the request almost immediately. She never took the photo with Helena, and now she regrets it. 

“This is great intel, Natalie. I’m sending the files off now for analyzing.” Drummond says, clicking around on his screen. 

“What is she looking at?” Natalie asks.

“We printed a photo from her meeting with Sean at Perkfection Cafe. What you’re seeing on that monitor now is her temper, Dread. She thought she got away with that sequestered rendezvous. Rightfully, she’s plagued by guilt.” Drummond says, finishing his email. He then sits back, sips his coffee, and watches the screen with Natalie. “She’s got new Data Transcribers to onboard today. So I hope she’s Nimble. Those morning announcements need to be read soon.” 

“She’s pulling it together.” Natalie nods, watching Helena close her eyes and take in deep, soothing breaths. “The photo really rattled her.”

“This is the photo.” Drummond turns in his chair and retrieves a folder. He sifts through and presents Natalie with a printed image. “She needs to know we’re watching.” Drummond justifies. “And you see this,” He points at the red box in the photo. “Two members of The Team are searching her room now for this red box. Although there was no video footage, a series of photos from this meeting suggests that he gave her the red box, which she then put in her purse. The contents are unclear at the moment, but hopefully we’ll find out soon.” 

Natalie sighs. She has been in Helena’s barren room, and she envisions it being turned over by the other handlers. Natalie squints, finding it hard to imagine her own privacy being violated in this way. She reminds herself, as she looks at Helena on the screen, her stoic face, her eyes scanning the Lumon portal, ‘ It’s all for her own good. It’s for Kier’s Agenda and Lumon’s future.’   

.ssss.

11:45 AM

The new female Transcriber Team Lead assists Helena in collecting the discarded pens and papers from the conference room, where they have just completed their onboarding. Mostly alone in the room, with just the clicking of pens, Helena's Dread returns. Her second major task of the workday has been completed successfully, and without the new team’s chatty Verve crowding her thoughts, it's impossible for Helena to ignore the quiet, insidious fear spreading its tendrils through her mind.

“Helena.” The woman says. Helena breaks from her long dissociative stare. Her eyes focus on the woman. Felicia , she reminds herself. There are lots of new names to learn. Felicia blushes, “It's going to take some adjusting, calling you that.”

“My name?” Helena says flatly.

“Yes. Instead of Miss Eagan.” Felicia kindly takes the stack of papers from Helena's good arm. Felicia smiles confidently, “I just wanted to say, Dennis can kiss his four-month winning streak goodbye. Mark my words, I will motivate Team B to exceed quota my first month here as Team Lead.” 

“That is the Verve I like to see.” Helena forces a smile. She then checks her phone. Still no response from Drummond. She’d sent a flurry of desperate texts: " What is this photo about?" "May I join you for lunch to talk about this?" "Please tell me what is going on." Each one had been read, and each was met with unnerving silence. Drummond was always brutally upfront about his intentions, expectations, and the consequences. It was a small comfort he usually offered. This deliberate silence is terrifying, its own brand of torture. What fate awaited her or Sean? 

Meanwhile 

Jame Eagan's Office

Natalie receives a text from Drummond. It's a photo of the red box, on what she recognizes as Helena's comforter. 

“Animal Crackers?!” Natalie questions.

“They’re non-Lumon. Do you think it could be that simple? Occam's razor.” Drummond sends back. 

“If it were just contraband snacks, why wouldn't she throw away the evidence?” Natalie replies.

“You girls keep things for sentimental reasons sometimes.” Drummond’s text reads. Natalie sighs at his misogyny. As she's been working with him, Natalie has come to realize he doesn't only condescend to Helena or his subordinates but everyone who isn't Jame Eagan. In his eyes, everyone was lesser. She wasn't sure if it was his private twisted beliefs or because he's so tall that it's impossible not to look down on everyone. 

Natalie challenges, “Trash? It's got to be something else.”

Jame coughs, “Is everything okay Natalie? You're distracted.” He shifts in his large leather armchair and recrosses his legs.

“I'm so sorry Mr. Eagan.” Natalie shoves her phone in the pocket of her dress. She flashes a smile to the two serious-faced team members who sit on the large L-shaped sofa beside her. To be called out like this, by Jame, in front of others... a wave of shame washes over her. "It was Mr. Drummond," she explains, the words catching in her throat. "I had to answer."

“What has she done now?" Jame's voice is flat, bored, monotone, the question is more of a statement than a genuine inquiry.

“No. It's no trouble, Sir. Just a project Mr. Drummond and I are working on for her.” Natalie excuses.

“Well if it can wait, I think my speech takes precedent.” Jame scowls, his eyebrows lowering.

“Absolutely Mr. Eagan. I'm very sorry. You have my undivided attention.” She shuffles her papers, and the team member who was speaking, as she was texting, resumes sharing their input on the speech Natalie wrote.

. ssss .

Back in her office, Helena closes the door and searches her coat pocket. She retrieves the burner phone and bites her lip, contemplating what to text Sean, to warn him but not to scare him. 

“It may be nothing but just wanted you to know they…” She pauses, they what? Do they know his full name? Do they know his home address? Are they coming for him? She erases the text and chooses to stick to the facts. She starts over, “A picture of us from Perkfection, that neither of us took, was framed on my desk at work today. It is probably just a fear tactic but I would be lying if I said it wasn't working. Just thought you should be aware.” She waits, but decides she needs to get back to work and brings the phone to her desk, hiding it in the desk drawer. As she waits, she studies the folder of her new employees’ files, starting the task of getting to know their histories and memorizing their names. After several minutes, she checks the silent burner. 

Sean's response reads, “ Am I in danger?”

Helena sighs and looks to her office door with worry. There was no way of knowing. She didn't imagine this fear tactic was a precursor to something positive. She replies honestly, “I don't know.”

His response comes quickly, “I don't like that answer.” 

She bites her lip and squeezes the phone in her frustration. She doesn't have another answer. She isn't in control. She is at Their mercy, and it was like Sheila said, ‘ They will never have mercy on you.’ She can't ease his worry. 

.ssss.

06:45PM

Helena stands at the door of the estate. She hadn't heard from Drummond all day. Although she text Sean to tell him she would do her best to handle it and to find out what was happening, Sean hasn't responded. She could only hope the two men hadn't met. She spent the whole drive home trying to silence the Dread. She battled the sinking feeling that told her the worst is yet to come. 

When Helena finally has the courage to enter, she's surprised the foyer is empty. There's no fed-up handler waiting to escort her to some new doom. She slips off her heels, looking around in disbelief, as if they could pop out from a potted plant. She heads to her room and showers, feeling fortunate to still have Good soap. She chastises herself for taking certain comforts for granted. After the shower, still in her robe, she checks the burner phone one last time before deciding she must put it away. No response. She creeps into her closet and opens the designated shoe box. The color drains from her face when she notices the red cracker box is gone. “Fuck.” Panicked, she hides the phone under a folded turtle neck. They've been in her room. They found the box.

08:00PM

Helena reports to the dining room. As usual it is empty, she takes her seat at the table. The absence of people wouldn't strike Helena as odd or worrisome because it was normal. However, her pending repercussions kept her on high alert. Where is the next danger lurking?

Angela, the waitstaff, carries the silver serving platter. Helena forces a smile, and Angela says politely, “Good Evening Miss Eagan.” She places Helena's glass and pitcher of water down, and then the gilded dinner plate. Helena’s smile is lost when she observes the contents of the plate. Animal crackers. This is a punishment, and Angela got to serve it. Helena glares at Angela, expecting to see smugness, but Angela keeps a straight face. She is only following orders. Angela straightens her posture and stands at attention with the empty serving platter. Helena sighs. She refuses to thank Angela for this service. Helena straightens her own posture and, copying her father, makes a small hand gesture to dismiss the Innie. This visibly irritates Angela, but she obeys the silent command.

Helena stares into her plate. She won't be eating. This is a taunt and a test. Eating would be her admission of guilt. She waits. She waits the normal duration of dinner. Angela returns to find Helena's plate full.

“Is there something wrong with your meal?” Angela asks with the smugness Helena had initially expected.

“No, Angie. I'm just not very hungry this evening.” Helena says flatly. She abruptly stands, eyes cast down, and walks out of the room.

. ssss .

Tuesday 

The next morning, the breakfast served was animal crackers. In the afternoon, at her desk, when she opens her Lumon-lunch bag, it has been replaced with animal crackers. She has had enough. Mr. Drummond still hasn't responded to her texts. She storms into his office, past a man who wasn't prepared to stop her. 

“Sorry Mr. Drummond.” The man offers, entering the office, steps behind her. 

“Unacceptable, Milchick.” Drummond says to his administrative assistant.

She turns her back to Drummond and stands firmly in front of the man, shoulders back, chin up. “I need to speak with Mr. Drummond alone.” She asserts. Mr. Drummond waves his hand to dismiss his subordinate. When Milchick backs out of the office, closing the door behind him, Helena feels a swell of pride for her powerful exertion. She whips around before any confidence wanes. “I'm going to be twenty-four this year. I'm a woman. So you can't starve me like a child!” 

Drummond folds his hands on his desk. ‘Starve me like a child.’ As if starving children is customary. He knew from her Archives that it was a familiar punishment. For a moment, he sees her as that scrawny little ten-year-old going to class hungry, being reprimanded for being lethargic and distracted. He tampers the feeling of Woe. He stares blankly at the fiery redhead who stands with her tiny hand balled into a fist. He could wait this out. Her bluster wouldn't last. 

“I am to be the leader-in-waiting. I require proper nutrition. You can't keep doing this to me.” She demands. Drummond keeps eye contact, but there isn't a flicker of reflection or empathy. 

He waits. The team of handlers are currently divided on how to handle her. Half think Drummond is dangerously delaying the inevitable and that a Taming would easily end all this misbehavior. They believe Taming should be reinstated as a regular, albeit less frequent, Training tool. The other half of the handlers are willing to explore other options and try different methods. They believe, like Drummond, that the leader-in-waiting shouldn't be a skittish battered woman but a person with a backbone and a measure of confidence. The difference with some of them is that Drummond believes he can get her to be that person. The others, even the few on his side, like Jame, have their doubts. 

“I demand my chosen lunch.” Helena says. When Drummond raises an eyebrow, impressed by her boldness, she reads this as irritation. “Or you tell me what this is about and we'll talk about resuming normal meals tomorrow.” She compromises.  He waits. The silence gets to her, and she stamps a foot, “Speak to me, goddamit!” Her voice cracks with frustration. “If you're going to starve me, I at least deserve an explanation.”

He waits. 

“Please?” She asks. He gestures to the chair on her side of his desk. “I don't want to sit. I want lunch. And I want answers.” She pouts when he turns towards his computer, fully ignoring her.  She looks at his Frolic tattoo and thinks about his sister and her Malice bucks. “You did as you were taught. You told. And then you stood back and did nothing while she was killed.” Drummond flashes an icy stare at her. She narrows her eyes and challenges, “Why should I think you'll be any different with me? You follow orders. And if he says the word, you'd let them kill me. Tell me I'm wrong.” 

“Sit.” Drummond commands through his teeth.

“No! Unlike you, I'm not an order-following dog.” She snarls. He slams his hand down on the desk and she stiffens her muscles, trying to maintain a strong stance. 

“Sit, please.” He growls.

“Will we talk about lunch?” She raises her eyebrows, “Or are you going to lecture me about Probity again? Because you, of all people, should understand exactly what Probity gets you.” Helena says.

Drummond stands, and Helena involuntarily takes a step backwards; her instinct to flee moves her closer to the door. “Helena, sit your ass in this chair.” He can see the fear in her eyes, but stubbornly she refuses, shaking her head no. “Fine. Then I think you need a break.” He steps closer, his giant frame towering over her. He opens the office door, “Let's get you to the Break room.” 

“No.” She quietly protests. She looks to the chair and thinks maybe she should have sat. Maybe she could still sit?

“Either you are going to show me some respect and keep some dignity by following me to the Break room. Or I will carry you through this hallway, for anyone to see. And I will personally deliver you to the nearest Break room.” Drummond warns. 

“I shouldn't be punished for-”

“We're beyond talking, Helena. What you just said to me, that was cruel. I confided in you. And you refuse to trust that I'm on your side.” Drummond says.

“You're not.” She says, eyeing the door.

“Now you have a choice. Are you walking?” Drummond booms.

“I'll go back to work.” She says, realizing her defeat. She tries to squeeze past Drummond, who stands between her and the door, but very quickly her heels are no longer touching the floor. She exhales when her stomach lands over his shoulder. “No. No. You can't do this.”

“I gave you options. You're consistently choosing the wrong ones.” He says and steps out of the office. Her face blushes red, dangling behind his back, when she makes eye contact with the amused Milchick, whom she had stormed past and dismissed just moments ago.

“She's a tempestuous one, isn't she?” Milchick says to Drummond.

“Indeed.” Drummond says, opening the door to the main hallway with no issue balancing her.

“Mr. Drummond?” She says pathetically. “Please don’t.” He ignores her and exits into the main hallway. She uses her good hand to cover her face from the embarrassment. Several employees acknowledge Mr.Drummond as they pass. None of them question the ass hauled over his shoulder. She hasn't been carried through the Lumon halls like this since Mr. Heilman. Further proving her point that they see her as a child and will always treat her as such. 

After a humiliating march, Drummond sets her back on her feet in the dark hallway that leads to the Break room. She scowls through the darkness at him as he blocks the only exit. 

He says, “Things will only be as bad as you want them to be. Now, go on.” She loudly huffs. Her final show of defiance, before turning and heading towards the door to receive punishment. Brave or crazy? Sheila's words echo in her mind, ‘ Crazy, kid. You're definitely crazy.’

07:45 PM

Helena spent most of her workday in the Break room. She was released after reciting the compunction prayer 632 times. She was sent back to the Electronic Data Department, where she reviewed the work of her new Transcribers, and stayed an hour later to complete her daily reports. Being home for dinner wasn't a concern if it was just going to be more crackers. Finally finished with the day, she drapes her coat over her shoulders and text Sean on her burner: ‘I hope you're home because I'm coming by.’ 

As she drives, Sean's reply comes through ‘Is that really wise?’ She can't reply because she controls the steering wheel with only her good arm and her knees. 

Chapter Text

Finally finished with the day, she drapes her coat over her shoulders and text Sean on her burner: ‘I hope you're home because I'm coming by.’ 

As she drives, Sean's reply comes through ‘Is that really wise?’ She can't reply because she controls the steering wheel with only her good arm and her knees. 

08:30 PM

She didn't answer his text. It likely wasn't wise. She chooses not to text Sean and ask for a pickup. Instead, she treks the 20-minute walk from the Laundromat to Sean's house. This way, he has deniability. He could say she wasn't welcome. He could say he didn't agree to her visit, and the blame would fall on her. She knocks on his door and waits. 

“Helly. You're here.” Sean says. His mouth is turned down in a frown, and his gray eyes are tired.

Helena’s heart sinks. This disappointment at the mere sight of her felt too familiar. It doesn't feel like a coincidence that since learning her true identity, he hasn't been pleased to see her. She remembers the way he looked at her at Papa Dio's. Can she get his eyes to light up for her again? She sighs, “May I come in?”

“I'd be a dick if I said no after you walked all this way.” He admits, opening the door for her to enter. As she does, he looks up and down his dark street, worried about who may be watching. He closes his front door and turns to face her, “Is it safe for you to be-” Her cold lips stop his question. He hesitates to return the kiss, but she presses herself against him. His one hand lifts to touch her, but stops, remembering the sling. Instead, he places his hand on her waist, gently pushing her away as he steps back. “Maybe we shouldn't.”

“I want to.” She says eagerly. She was hungry in more ways than one, and after a day of humiliation and torment, she wanted to feel good. She wanted him to make her feel good.

“I can't, Helly. We can be friends.” Sean says regretfully, “But I can't be that person for you.”

“That’s okay.” She steps closer, focused on his lips. She learned from him ‘friends’ didn't mean no sex. “I knew, realistically, that you couldn't be that person.” She never believed he could save her, but he made her feel happy, and it was nice to pretend for a while. “This is just a fantasy world.” She touches her hand to his chest, feeling his fast heartbeat, moving in closer to tempt him with a kiss.

“No, it fucking isn't.” He abruptly pushes her hand away and steps further back. “This is real life. My real life.”

“Okay.” She acknowledges, trying to process his body rejecting hers.

“That's the most entitled fucking thing I've ever heard you say.” Sean says with some disbelief. 

“I'm sorry.” She offers, hearing that he's cross with her. Can she turn this around?

“I don't know about you, Helly, but unless it's a meaningless fling, if I'm putting the time and effort into getting to know someone, it means I'd like to see if there's a future in it. A future friendship, connection, relationship, whatever. You're saying to me now, all this has been fantasy, it's been playtime for you?” Sean asks.

“I wouldn't say that. I told you I've been enjoying our friendship.” She reiterates.

“Yeah, but when I said it's too early to know if this will be something, and you said I hope it is something. Really, the entire time, you knew it could never be anything. You knew it was nothing.” He challenges.

Her eyebrows raise imploringly, “Well, it's not nothing. Is it?”

“Helly. Helena Eagan.” He pauses when she grimaces at her full name, “Can you be with me in any real way?” 

“I thought we were.” She reaches to take hold of his hand. He allows it but doesn't wrap his fingers around hers. “Is this not real?” She squeezes his palm. 

“So what? We were just going to be indefinite fuck buddies until one of your Lumon goons came to murder me?” Sean laughs incredulously.

She sighs, exhausted, “I don't know, Sean. I didn't think this far. You asked me to coffee. We fucked. You shared your soup with me. We've been having a good time. I wasn't thinking any further than that.”

“This is a theme with you. Not thinking past the immediate circumstance. It was the same thing you said to me, when you got dropped off here by a work friend with no car and no way of getting home. You didn't think. I guess you pay people to do that for you?” Sean scoffs.

“That's not fair.” Helena defends. 

“What’s not fair, Helly, is that you didn't think of me.” Sean says. 

“Of course, I thought of you.” Helena counters.

“Did you? Because, listen, I know it maybe doesn't look like much to someone like you-”

“Like me?”

“-but I actually got a lot going for me in life right now. I'm healthy, I'm happy, I enjoy my work. Did you think about how all this might affect me?” Sean asks.

“I guess, I hoped that it wouldn't. I guess, I hoped we would be friends. We would have fun. And then our relationship would reach a natural conclusion, and you'd find someone who could really commit to you. Someone you could really love. And I would just be happy to have known you.” Helena shrugs. “I never dreamt of putting you in any sort of danger.” 

“And yet here we are being surveillanced.” Sean says matter-of-factly. 

“I'm sorry. It's not my fault. Their rules are so-”

“Except it kind of is, Helly. You were the only one here, who could have foreseen this. I didn't know I was fucking Murderous Billionaire Bastard Jame Eagan's daughter. Maybe I would have taken some precautions, had I had a fair warning.”

“I thought I was being careful enough for the both of us.” She confesses.“Besides, if you had known, we never would've gotten as close as we did.”

“Maybe we shouldn't have, Helly. This was an exercise in futility. I could never help you. And the whole time, you knew it. You knew you would never take the steps to be free, to be with me, or anyone. This was just a big waste of both our time.”

Helena is too weak from her Break room fatigue, her hunger, and her chilly walk through the snow, to even try to wrestle her Woe. Instead, tears escape her eyes, and she hangs her head shamefully. She can't handle being called ‘a waste of time.’ Not by Sean! He is the only person who has ever bothered trying to know her. Sure, Drummond studied her Archives, but he didn't converse with her, he didn't sit and ask her questions, and truly listen to her. He never validates her feelings and thoughts like only Sean ever has. Sean made her feel seen, beautiful, worthy of compassion. Was all of that a waste of time? Her mind replays her Father's words, ‘I made an investment and I am expecting to see a return.’  Her voice waivers, “I'm sorry I wasted your time.” She drops his hand and wipes at her aggressively flowing tears.

“Shit, Helly.” Sean sighs, softened by her emotional outburst. He steps closer and rubs a hand on her back. 

“I should go.” She says.

“Helly, I'm not…Listen, okay? You were not a waste of time.” He says. Her wet eyes widen hopefully. “And, fuck it. I'm not even mad at you. I'm furious. But about the situation. About how there's literally not a fucking thing I can do about any of it. Not about the way they treat you, not about their bullshit rules that will keep us apart and keep both of us in danger. I can't do shit. It's Lumon fucking winning all over again.” He says, exasperated. He watches her tears slow, and she wipes at them with her sleeve. She nods and clears her throat.

“I'm sorry I got you involved in any of it. It wasn't fair of me. You're right about that. I was being selfish.” Helena admits. Sean's safety was a concern, but a secondary one. Her main concern was how much happiness she could harvest for herself before it was inevitably snatched away.

“Hey, listen, it's -” Sean is interrupted by the loud growl of Helena's stomach. His eyes are concerned, and she blushes, embarrassed.

“Sorry. Excuse me.” She says, putting her hand over her flat tummy. “I wasn't ready for that one. I can normally make it quieter.” 

“I mean, are you hungry?” Sean asks with a laugh.

“Yeah. I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday.” She forces a tight-lipped apologetic smile. 

“For fucks sake, why?” Sean asks as he heads towards his kitchen.

“They found the animal crackers box.”

“Fuck!” Sean freezes.

“Don't worry. The phone wasn't in it. But every meal has been animal crackers since then.” She humbly admits.

“That's so fucked.” Sean slams a cabinet. “I'm putting a frozen pizza in. Are you okay with that?” He starts preheating the oven.

She squints, “Are you sure you want to?”

“Feed you?” Sean asks.

“After everything, my lies, putting you in this situation, wasting your time, are you sure you want to-” She shrugs, “-keep being so benevolent?”

“Benevolent?” Sean laughs, “It's basic human decency, Helly. A person is hungry; if you can help, you do.” She watches him move about the kitchen, reading the brightly colored box. His fear, his anger, his kindness, all of it left her feeling confused and exhausted. Can they continue to be friends? It seems unlikely. Not if she's going to spare him the wrath of Drummond.

.ssss.

As he watches her consume most of the pizza, they laugh together about their time at the bowling alley and how the pizza there tasted like cardboard and how she couldn't stop the grease dripping down her chin.  Sean does his best to suppress his anger at Lumon for treating her so poorly, for abusing her so regularly that being starved wasn't something she thought worth mentioning. It was just an expected outcome. When she is finished, she primly pats her mouth with a paper napkin and as she does they both hear the muffled sound of her phone ringing. She looks to the coat closet and then back to Sean sadly.

“Where do they think you are?” Sean asks.

“Nowhere. I told them I was working late. And I did. But I was meant to be home by now.” She confesses. Her eyes trace the circle of her greasy, empty plate. “Thank you for being such a good friend.” She says, raising her eyes to meet Sean’s. Sean feels a knot form in his throat. When she leaves here, is she going back to a world where bowling doesn’t exist? A world with no favorite band? Where she has to apologize for laughing freely? He doesn't want to imagine her there. He clears her plate, and she goes to the coat closet. He dumps the plate in the sink and returns to see her fishing one-handed through her jacket pocket. 

“Do you have to go so soon?” He asks, stepping nearer to her.

“I thought it was best if I-” she fiddles with the burner phone, the first gift she has received in some time, and holds it out to him, “-I think you should have this back. To be safe.” She clears her throat. He nods, agreeing, and takes the phone from her hand. He gave her the burner, thinking it could save her life, knowing it could be trouble. Sean had to accept there was nothing he could do. She can't be saved. He looks up from the phone to her. She smiles softly, “Thanks for being my lifeline.”

He pushes a piece of her red hair behind her ear, and a strangled giggle escapes her. He did this once before, after they danced. Sean wonders, When is the next time she'll giggle? When she walks down that cold, dark stretch of road, she's heading towards inevitable pain and unspeakable torment. 

“Do you have to go now?” He asks. She looks to the door. “Who is looking for you?”

“I didn't check who called. I put it on silent.” She sighs, “I'm in trouble. I already know. It doesn't matter who was calling to tell me that. I'm in no rush to get back to it.” 

“Good.” Sean's voice cracks with emotion. He clears his throat, “I'm in no rush to send you back to it.”

She smirks and twists side to side, “So you'll have me a little longer?”

“Can I have you, Helly?” Sean asks, stepping closer and putting a tentative hand on her hip. She smiles coyly and slides his hand further onto her ass cheek.

“Do you want me?” She asks, with a look of uncertainty. He answers her with a kiss. 

.ssss.

Helena is relishing the lingering euphoria. She sits on Sean's sofa, and he kneels before her. Sean looks up at her, and her head leans back in complete surrender to the pleasure he provided. He can’t save her from pain, but he can make her feel good, and he intends to in every way he knows how. He kisses both of her knees, briefly running a finger over the marks on her thigh, before he rises. He disappears to the bathroom to find a clean towel for Helena. When he returns, he notices her euphoric light has dimmed. Her head is still tilted back in a gesture of surrender, but now it seems more like a fragile balance between holding on and falling apart.

“Hey.” Sean says softly, inviting her to come back to him, to this moment. He leans over and pecks her on the lips, wiping her tears. She turns her face, and her tear-stained cheek rests in his warm, open palm. A palm to her cheek, that isn’t the cause of her pain. Her eyebrows lower, as she studies his face, searching for the danger she’s been warned about. She has never felt safer. “You okay?”

“I just wish we had more time.” She whispers, her lips barely parting. She’s afraid that if she opens her mouth, only sobs will come out.

“We’ll always have Paris.” Sean says. This is followed by silence, and for a moment he thinks he has finally said something corny enough for her to cringe. Instead, he watches her blink with blank confusion, her Woe tampered by bewilderment.

“Paris?” Helena asks. He laughs, a genuine and surprised burst of sound, fills the room. A small smile appears on Helena's face. She is relieved to see his eyes lit up, and the smile lines appear around his lips. She won his favor back somehow. He was no longer upset by the sight of her.

“It’s a quote from an old movie, Casablanca.” As he expected, she shows no signs of recognition. He explains, “It’s pretty famous, about a couple who want to be together but can’t be together, for some reason. Nazis? I don’t know.” She laughs at this. “Yeah, listen, I may be a ‘Pretentious Fucktard’ like Sheila says, but I tried to watch it. I fell asleep. It’s black and white. I couldn’t-I just know the line because everyone does.”

“Except me.”She raises her hand, identifying herself as the only person in the world again. 

“It means, maybe they can’t be together, but no one can take away the time they spent with each other in Paris.” Sean finishes. 

“Oh. I like that.” Helena nods. Sean hands her the towel. “Thank you.” She says as he turns his back to her. She discreetly wipes herself off and slides on her panties. She watches him in his jeans and open flannel shirt, browsing his record collection, a world brushed with muted tones of grey, black, and brown. A world so far from her own. She stores this memory of him to replay on hopeless, empty nights.“They can make it impossible for us to be together, but they can’t take my memories.”

“Exactly.” He confirms, sliding a vinyl record back in its sleeve.

 “We’ll always have Perkfection.”She adapts the line to fit their story. 

“I wish we got to go more places.”Sean laments.

“I thought about asking you to meet at the Modern Art Museum near Ganz College. I’d love to be with you, seeing art that has nothing to do with Kier.” She responds with a bittersweet smile at the plan that will never be.

“You never got to show me your sketches.”Sean says sadly. “And I never got to show you me as Baby-Pope.”

“That's okay. I had forgotten about that birthday. I'd like to forget it again.” She admits.

“Is this the shittiest birthday story you owe me?” He raises a curious eyebrow.

“I guess? I’m not sure if it’s the shittiest or if it’s the first of many shitty birthdays.”She squints with unease.

“Here, why don’t you sketch something for me, while you tell me? A positive distraction and a shitty story.” He suggests, handing her a notebook and a pen. 

“Sketch?” She takes hold of the notebook and pen. “I normally work with pencils.” 

“Sorry, that’s all I got.”

“Do we have six months and five more of these notebooks? Because I’m kind of a perfectionist.” She jokes, testing the pen’s ink on the corner of a page.

“It doesn’t need to be perfect.”He says with a gentle smile. 

He is a contrary spirit. She was always striving for perfection. It was expected. And she was always falling short. “Well, I guess I should start by saying,” she laughs, “I've never explained this before, not even to my best friend. Huh.” She takes a moment to reflect on this, and she frowns, remembering Sean calling Natalie a bitch. “So, you know how at work, you get monthly or annual performance reviews?”

“Yeah.”

“That's what we do on my birthday. We review the past year, and I get a score, scale of 1-5.”

“Damn, is there cake at least?” Sean asks, sitting beside her on the sofa again, giving her his full attention.

“Sometimes. Depends on my score.”

“Fuck. I hate this already.”He slumps into the sofa.

“You sure you want to hear this story?” She asks, looking up from the notebook. It wasn’t a pleasant story, and no matter how she told it, she couldn’t think of a silver lining like with his shittiest birthday story.

“Yeah, I do.” He peeks, “What are you drawing?” he asks, offering a gentle distraction to lighten the mood.

“Let me work.” She says, removing her sling for a better range of motion with her right hand. “Anyway, it's the first birthday review I remember.”

“Makes sense. Most people don't usually start forming memories until age five.”

“I had a booster seat on my chair at the boardroom table.” She smirks at the memory. She remembers her feet didn't touch the floor, and she remembers being pinched by Mr. Heilman for failing to resist the Frolic that was causing her to wobble the booster side to side in her chair.“That was actually one of my detractors. I hadn't grown much height or weight-wise.” 

“Detractors?”

“Yeah, one of the reasons my score was so low. I got a two.” She grimaces at the embarrassing number. 

“A two?” Sean says, grappling with the absurd and heartbreaking image of a tiny child in a huge room, being judged by adults. “Because you didn't fucking grow? Like, you can't control that. Were they feeding you? A kid has no control over that.”

“I suppose not.” She shrugs, “But yeah, I got a two, because I guess I was terrible at being four. I don’t remember what the other detractors were, because I don’t think I could read yet. Can kids read at five?”

“You kind of start learning to read at five.” Sean answers.

“Then I don’t know why they bothered giving me a packet.” She shakes her head, recalling that she could recognize the numbers on the page and identify shapes, probably graphs, but little else. “So, it was decided that I needed to atone for my failures and receive penance.”  She pauses for a moment. She looks over the edge of the notebook at Sean to ascertain his interest and mood. He was engaged, but his eyes read as concerned by the chilling foreshadowing of the word ‘penance’. She decides he doesn’t seem too distressed and that it is okay to proceed. She bites her lip anxiously, continuing the sketch and her story. “And I remember being disappointed at the end of the meeting. I don’t think it really dawned on me what was about to happen until my Nanny and I turned a particular corner in the hallway. Because I knew going left meant home, but we turned right. And my Nanny said if I was a good girl, after the meeting, we would go home and I would get a birthday treat. So, I guess, we turned that corner and I was like ‘oh shit, I must not have been good.’ We went to a private room, and my Nanny undressed me and explained how penance works, that if I want Kier to forgive my sins, I must repent. That I must graciously and gratefully receive discipline.”

“Gratefully?!” His voice rises with outrage, causing her to tense up. She continues sketching, not lifting her eyes from the page. “I swear to god, if you’re about to tell me they flogged a just-turned-five-year-old?”

“Do you want me to stop?” She asks.

“Fuck, I don’t know, Helly, only if you want to.” One of his hands grips her knee, the other combs through the dark curls on his head. He is completely present with her, but the story is pushing him to his limit.

“I think, I think I will stop. You seem upset.” She looks up from the page only for a second to see his eyes, wet with Woe.

“At the story, not at you.” He clarifies.

“It’s alright. If these are our last moments together, I’d like them to be happy ones.” She nods, accepting that there might never be anyone she could share her full truth with. The depth of her trauma and the possibility of a lifetime of pain are burdens she’s meant to carry alone. 

“Don’t stop because I’m reacting- I’m listening. If you want to keep going, that's up to you. Alright? You listened to mine, and it’s only fair.” Sean encourages.

“I’ll just skip to the end.” She sighs, “When you told me about the celebration, with the people in the streets…that people were celebrating me turning five? I just thought, ‘how funny’. Handing out these prayer cards with me in my ceremonial robe, and wishing others goodwill. Little do they know, under that robe is just a mush of toddler tears and red skin. That’s their god.” She laughs bitterly.

They sit silently for some time. Sean sits with the weight of Helena's story, his mind racing to fill in the painful gaps she omitted on his behalf. He regrets telling her how he and Sheila couldn’t stop laughing at the Baby-Pope photo as children. He regrets telling her about his mocking Halloween costume. It feels cruel now. Then he thinks about her last words, ‘That’s their god.’ He narrows his eyes and asks, “So you’re not a believer?” 

“I believe in Kier.” She says confidently. “I believe in his vision of a world without pain. I believe in the Tempers. I don’t-” She pauses, tasting the blasphemy in her mouth before she says, “I don’t believe in me. And I don’t believe in my father.”

“Your father can go fuck himself! But, I believe in you, Helly.” Sean counters. She looks at him skeptically. He clarifies, “As a person, not as a god.”

She smiles a soft, tight-lipped smile,“That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“I hope one day you believe in you. And not the lies they tell you about yourself.” Sean says. 

“Lies?” She loses her smile.

“That you deserve the pain. That it's okay. That your art doesn't matter. That you have no power. Lies. Lumon lies.” He asserts. His words are a direct attack on the very foundation of her reality. 

Her mind corrects him. ‘Kier's favorite principle is Probity. Lumon cannot lie. We must be cut to heal.’ She doesn't want to believe Natalie that Sean is manipulating her to turn her off of Kier’s path. It's not his fault that he doesn't know any better. He'll never be guided by the Nine through the door to Kier’s inner sanctum. But then, she tilts her head in consideration, maybe she won't be either? Perhaps they will be together. Eternally. Punished side by side in Hell. She shakes the thought from her mind and returns her attention to her sketch. She holds the notebook to her chest, “Okay. It’s more cartoony than I normally draw. But I didn’t want to take up a lot of time. So, don’t laugh.”

“Promise.” Sean makes a cross over his heart with his finger.

She winces at the reveal, offering up a piece of her soul for his judgment. It's a sketch of two naked human bodies, one man, one woman. The two figures face each other. The male body has the large, menacingly grinning head of a Jester. The body of the woman has a large head with a veil obscuring her sad face. “That’s you as Frolic. And that’s me as Woe.”

“Are we fighting?” He asks, observing the drawing. The man holds the woman's left wrist with his right hand, and the woman holds the man's left wrist with her right.

“No.” She laughs, embarrassed, “No, I'm just not very good.” 

“No, you are.” He says, looking at the picture again, failing to see anything beyond aggression. He smiles, noticing at the corner of the page she has written her initials, H.E. When he doesn't offer another guess, she quickly explains.

“We're not fighting. We’re about to…” She suggestively raises her eyebrows, “Ya know?

“Oh yeah, I see it.” He nods, thoughtfully reconsidering. 

“If I had pencils and time, it would be better.” She excuses. 

“It's great. Inspiring!” He says with a large smile. “Do you want to recreate this?” He asks with a wink.

“I didn't want to be graphic. But the best part is what happens after this.” She says, with a mischievous glint in her hazel eyes. 

“Oh.” He takes the notebook and places it on the coffee table. “You're gonna havta show me.” He leans over for another kiss.

.ssss.

In bed, Helena rests her head on Sean's chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart. One of his arms are draped over her shoulders, while his other hand props up his head on the pillow. A deep, sweet exhaustion settles over them, a quiet contentment shared in their sudden stillness. Their breathing has finally slowed and synchronized. Helena stares up at the dark ceiling, thinking of the darkness that awaits her. 

“Where do you think you'll be in five years?” Helena asks.

“Oh, shit.” Sean laughs, “I have never been a five-year-plan kinda guy.”

“No, I can see that.” She agrees.

“You can see that?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean, you can see that?” He tickles her and she laughs loudly, squirming but refusing to leave his embrace. He stops.

When her laughter settles, she continues, “Let me tell you what I see for you in five years. You'll be 34?” She waits for permission to continue. From the movement of his chest, she can feel him nod. “Right so, I think you've moved up in the company. And it's doing so well, a new location opens up, outside of Kier. And they want you to run it. And you buy a house. With four bedrooms.”

“Wow, a four-bedroom house! I'm doing really well for myself, huh?” Sean says impressed.

“Yes, 1 for Sheila when she visits, a home office, a future nursery, and your room. With your wife. And she'll be very beautiful, and smart, and she'll like music, and movies, and things you like because she knows about those things. You'll love her very much. And she'll love you. And that guitar will be dusty in your office. And you'll have a funny way of telling the story about how you got it whenever someone asks.” She twists, briefly flashing her smile at him, hoping he approves of her fortune-telling.

“If the powers that be weren't  forcing us apart, maybe you would be that beautiful wife in that big house with me.” Sean says playing into the fantasy. “Mrs. Helly Riggs.”

“That'd be a hoot.” She laughs. “I've never imagined myself married before.”

“No? Ok. Then where do you see yourself? What's the future for Miss Eagan?” Sean asks, putting an emphasis on her name that makes her frown. She didn't like the formality coming from someone who knew her so intimately.

“I'll be 29, turning 30.” She states plainly. Unable to see much beyond that.

“So, 29, almost 30. What do I see for you? Hmm.” Sean thinks. Helena looks up at him, ready to listen to a bedtime story. “Your Dad, he's in jail for all the crimes he's committed all over the world. We're talking Europol. No extradition. And that means, you're in charge. And you fire all the people who were complicit and all the people who ever hurt you. So that only honest, hard-working people are left. And you make reforms, and you reduce Lumon's carbon footprint, and the seals are saved.”

“Hm.” She says.

He glances down at her and notices her smile has gone, and her eyes are disengaging. “What? You don't like that?”

“No, it's good.” She encourages.

“But?” Sean persists. “Say what you think, Helly.” 

Her lips twist to the side, contemplating how to criticize, without hurting his feelings. It is just a silly thought exercise after all, “It's just a lot more about Lumon than it is about me.”

“Right. Okay, well, you…” He considers the note, “You do all those things. And then, you meet the nicest of all the Lumon guys. He's not as handsome as me but-”

“Hey!” She interrupts, “I gave you a beautiful wife!”

“Ok fine! He's handsome. He's so handsome that he's borderline beautiful. Better?”

“Yes.” She smiles again.

“And he's one of the nice Lumon guys that you didn't have to fire. And he never hurts you. And you get married and live happily ever after.” He finishes and waits for her response. He looks down, and her eyes fix on the ceiling. She seems to be thinking about the possibility. He adds, “Oh, and at some point you remember me. And me and my wife, we just get this big. fat. check in the mail.”

She laughs a single laugh. A laugh he recognizes as masking sadness. “Yours sounds like it could actually happen. Mine sounds so…” She shakes her head, “Fantastical. ”

“Sorry, I'm not a storyteller.”He offers. He couldn’t be honest. He couldn’t picture a few hours into the future. He didn’t want to think about what would happen when she wakes up and leaves him for good. He didn’t see a happy future for her.

“No, it's fine.” She offers him grace.

“Okay, well, then what do you see for yourself at 30?” He asks.

“29.” She corrects. The white rose bushes flash in her mind. The swirling aerial view of the flowers on her way down, the way that she always imagined them. “I don't know.”

“You're gonna laugh at me for not having a five-year-plan? Miss I-don't-know.” He jokes. “C’mon, what's your vision then? You're the creative mind here.”

“Okay. Hmm.” She imagines what it will feel like, watching the last bubble of air drifting to the surface while the water fills her lungs. She knew what she would be wearing. White trousers, white shirt, tight fabrics that don't flow in the water, to maintain her modesty. Her hair will be pulled back to keep it out of her face. This way, she can see the light above for as long as her eyes still see. She has plans. She has backup plans. But none that Sean will like to hear. She thinks fantastically instead. “Right, well, everything you said. Father's paying for his sins. Lumon is helping people and changing the world for the better.”

“Because of you.”He emphasizes.

“Yes, and then, I renounce my godship. I'll make a big announcement to the press. It'll be all over the news. I'll tell them I am not a Chosen One and I’ll declare the first non-Eagan leader-in-waiting of Lumon.”

“Whoa.”

She continues, “Then the zealots will rage. There will be riots in the streets of Kier, and a mob will storm the estate, tear me apart, limb from limb, and they'll eat the flesh of their false God.” She laughs, imagining Jessica F taking the first bite of her.

“Fuck. That uh, without question was more creative than my story.” Sean says. He kisses the top of her head. Sean always knew that the hand life deals isn't fair. But he never thought he'd pity a billionaire. He always thought Life's deck was stacked in her favor.

“You didn't say that my nice Lumon guy will love me.” She says.

“Huh? Oh, well, yeah of course he will.” He agrees.

“Do you think that I'll know it, when I feel it?” She asks softly. 

“What?” Sean asks.

“Love.” She clarifies. He's silent, stunned by the question. She feels vulnerable and her face gets hot with emotion. “When I see that other people have it, it's easy to recognize. But seeing someone punched in the face and being punched in the face are quite different. I imagine it's the same with love. Do you think when I feel it, I'll know?”

Sean clears the knot in his throat before answering with confidence, “You're smart. I think you'll know it. As fast, and intense as this all has been, I’m pretty sure that's where this was headed. I think if we had a chance, and more time, I could see myself loving you.”

“You could?”

“Yeah.” He says. She snuggles her naked body closer to him.

“How much more time?” She asks.

“What?”

“How much more time would you need to be sure?” She smirks and jokes, “A day?”

“It takes time to know if-”

“Fine.” She waves a hand dismissively and says authoritatively, “You'll have until the end of the week. And I expect it on my desk by End-of-day Friday.” 

“Holy shit. Is that your boss-voice?” He laughs. “Your Helena Eagan voice? Because, I would do some work for you.” 

Helena laughs and pats his chest, “You're working overtime tonight.”

Chapter Text

05:30 AM 

Wednesday 

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Fuck. Is that your alarm?” Sean groans.

Helena silences her phone. There were 9 missed calls from Drummond, 2 from Natalie, 1 from Miss Alcott, and 1 from her Father. “Yes. I normally wake up at this time.”

“For fucks sake, why?” Sean asks. She lies back down and kisses his sleepy mouth. His groggy eyes flicker open, catching a glimpse of her toothy grin. She slept in his arms. She studies him, soaking in every detail—the shape of his jaw, his warmth, the way his body fit so nicely around her. These are the things she will miss. The memories she will rely on her mind to recall when she forgets what ‘happy’ feels like.

“I have a morning regimen.” She doesn't feel the need to explain further. “I'm here. So, I guess I don't have to do it.” She says, fully awake despite her physical fatigue. Her body and mind are too well trained, ready to jump into action at the sound of the alarm. She won't be able to go back to sleep, but she won't mind watching him do it. 

.ssss.

They estimated that she’ll need approximately 45 minutes to walk to her car, drive to Lumon, and be clocked in on time, which to her and Kier means a minimum of five minutes early. 

Predictably, she couldn't fall back to sleep. She showered. She text Natalie, ‘I did what you said. I ended things with Sean.’ The text received an immediate response, a call from Natalie's number. She sent the call to voicemail. Helena text back, ‘I don't want to talk about it. I'm pretty upset. But it had to be done.’ 

Natalie’s reply was simple, ‘Good.’

Helena then took it upon herself to make coffee. The aroma drew Sean from his bed, and he told her that he called out of work because he was spent from all their fucking. She laughed because she didn't think he was serious, but he was. ‘Rise from your deathbed and sally forth,' She reminded herself. Together they ate bowls of something called ‘Cookie Crisp’. She couldn't stop laughing, finding the whole concept preposterous. Desserts for breakfast?  They didn't taste like any cookies she ever had before, but she wouldn't complain. They were better than the raw eggs she knows she'll be forcing down for the foreseeable future.

08:00 AM

Sean wears his pajamas under a winter coat as he drives her to the familiar empty stretch of road where they will forever part ways. They kiss, a long, passionate kiss containing everything left unsaid. Sean wraps her in a hug, and to Helena’s surprise, as he holds her against him, she can feel his ragged, woeful breath as he silently releases tears. When they separate, for the first and last time, she wipes his tears.

“You were right, Helly.” He says.

“About?”

“I only needed a day.” He smiles and she tilts her head confused. He kisses her on the cheek,“I love you.” He says in her ear before stepping back. The three words dance in the air between them like the words of a song she has never heard. Her wet emerald eyes draw him into a cold, forgotten part of her where something flickers inside, but the flame is shy, and he watches it vanish to vapor as quickly as the cloud of breath carrying away his words. 

“Thank you.” She whispers, a silent apology for his broken heart. “I love you too.”

“Good luck with everything, Helly.” Sean says. He returns to his car, closing the door on their chapter. The engine rumbles on, signaling the end of everything they had and could have been. When he drives away and his taillights disappear, she begins her walk back to her car, back to her reality. With each step, through the chilly winter air, Helena feels a small part of herself freezing over. Some naively hopeful juvenile part of her soul dies.

.ssss.

08:19 AM

The Laundromat parking lot is empty except for one car. To Helena’s dismay, it is not her car. It’s the black car of a Lumon driver. Her car is gone. Her fate is sealed. She walks to the foreboding vehicle and opens the door to the backseat on her own. She slides onto the leather seat, very quickly bumping shoulders with Mr. Drummond. As soon as her door closes, the driver pulls away from the deserted business. For a long stretch of road, no one speaks. 

Helena breaks the silence, her eyes fixed on her knees, “I ended it. I’ll never see him again.” 

“Your significant Probity deficiency does not leave me inclined to believe you.” Drummond says sternly. She nods, accepting her fault.

“I’m sorry.” She offers weakly, knowing there was nothing she could say or do to stop what was coming to her.

“You will be out of work for the remainder of this week.” Drummond informs her. She slumps into her seat, knowing this can only mean extensive and brutal punishment. She keeps her eyes downcast. He stares at the guilty wayward young woman, making his disappointment evident. “Did the wizened hands, appointed by Jame and blessed by Keir, fail to guide you on His path? Were you not provided with the necessary encouragement, opportunities, and corrections to aid you in taming your tempers, and righting your wrongful course?”

“The wizened hands did not fail. I corrected my course.” She asserts.

“The truth of that is yet to be determined. Even so, your delayed action warrants severe ramifications. The adverse consequences now awaiting you could have been averted had you only demonstrated the Vision and Wit to heed my previous warnings.” Drummond decrees.

Again, she nods. Her actions and her decisions were indefensible. The only option was to do as Kier expects, to graciously and gratefully accept her discipline, to heal from the cuts, and to be made more perfect for the struggle.

.ssss.

On the drive to the Eagan estate, Drummond offers his usual kindness by easing Helena's mind of the unknown. He spells out her fate,“You will report immediately to the Classroom, where you will strip down to the appropriate undergarments, and you will submit to the first of four Tamings that will be exacted throughout the day.”

“Four?” She shows visible upset when he delivers the news. As far as she can remember, she has never received four separate Taming sessions in one day. She can't recall having more than three in a week. Can her body even handle that? This is the first time Drummond has ordered a Taming since taking over for Miss Shoemaker. Today, there will be four, one for each Temper. Drummond feigns indifference and maintains a stony stoicism. He waits for her mouth to close and her eyes to return to their normal size. Her mind races with feelings of Woe and Dread, but she manages to collect herself outwardly and straighten her face, blank. She expresses one of her many concerns, quietly, emotionlessly, “Due to my healing shoulder, I won't be able to maintain the proper prostration.”

 Drummond assures, “If that is the case, an accommodation will be made to assist you, but you will be expected to hold your position as long as you are physically able. An already injured shoulder will not afford you leniency.”

“Will you-” She doesn't want to ask because she is afraid of the answer, “Will you be doing the Taming, Mr. Drummond?”

“No.” He booms. After she went rogue, and stayed out all night, he couldn't convince the team not to resort to this method. His kinder methods were not yielding results, respect, or good behavior. “I will sit in the Class and oversee the first Taming of the day but I will not be an Exactor. I have other matters to attend to.” He can see, despite her attempt to be blank, that her eyes flash briefly with relief. Not because she thinks the other Handlers will be less harsh, but because it would have changed how she looks at Drummond. Of course, she already feared him. She feared him from the moment she first saw him, before he ever spoke a word or laid a hand on her, but she also has affection for him. The fear and affections are balanced but if he were to wield Kier's Tamer, that balance would shift in her mind. He continues, “Between Tamings, you will be led in prayer.” She nods, there will be no rest for the wicked. “You will pray for Kier's forgiveness and his mercy to lift the stains from your soul. This evening, when all four Tamings have been complete, you will be escorted, or carried, if need be, to Wellness where two attendants will thoroughly cleanse you and perform a purification ritual.”

She keeps hearing Sean's voice telling her she doesn't deserve this pain. “Have you ever been in love, Mr. Drummond?” She asks. She's surprised to see a flash of fury in Drummond's eyes. His hand balls to a fist and her muscles tense.

Drummond ignores her question, “Thursday will be a day of fasting, isolation and sensory deprivation. Serving as a reminder that we are nothing without Kier and we have nothing without his blessings.”

“Praise Kier.” She agrees.

Drummond looks her over, making sure he doesn't detect her signature sarcasm. At the moment, he would be accepting nothing besides genuine remorse. He continues explaining, “Friday your Probity will be tested. If it's found to be lacking, we restart the process, beginning again with the four Tamings. If your Probity has been restored and you're realigned with the Nine, you will bring a sacrificial offering to burn at Kier's altar.”

She remembers the last time she was made to sacrifice a burnt offering. Her plush Malice doll was chosen as the sacrifice. It was the last of her cuddle toys to meet the flames of Kier's altar.

“Saturday will be a day of gratitude.” Drummond says, “You will humbly express your gratitude for the wizened hands that caught you and corrected you. You will personally approach each Handler, staff member, or friend, who Kier used to guide you. You will give them prayers of thanksgiving and offer a reciprocal act of service.”

She grimaces at the thought of thanking the people who will have beaten her. She wonders how steep her debt of gratitude might be. 

“Sunday will be a day of rejuvenation.” Drummond finishes. 

Helena understands this to mean that there will be no taxing punishment on Sunday so that her body can heal enough for work Monday morning. The work is important. She recalls a passage from the Book of Compliance: ‘Service is work combined with love. Romantic love may burn with a more luminous flame, but it is gone far more quickly than corporate affection, which persists even through generations.’ Lumon loves her. That will have to be enough.

Chapter Text

08:45 AM

In the foyer, both Drummond and Helena are surprised by the imposing presence of Jame Eagan. They both stand at attention.

Drummond takes a step away from Helena's side and Jame takes several slow measured steps forward, his dress shoes, tap on the tiles. 

Tap, tap, tap.

He stops a few feet in front of his daughter. She smells of foreign soaps. His Malice shudders barely beneath the surface of his skin. His face hardens, turning a dangerous shade of red, and his eyebrows pull together into a tight, merciless line. Every muscle in his neck is tight, visibly straining to hold in his fury.

“Drummond.” Jame commands.

Drummond raises his eyes, “Mr. Eagan?”

“One.” Jame instructs. Drummond takes a step between Jame and Helena. His large frame completely envelopes her view of her Father. She keeps her eyes down. She doesn't need to see Drummond's hand rise. She feels the still, heavy tension in the air. His open palm comes down, landing a hard slap on her face. The shockwave of impact causes her to stumble. A red streak of blood, the first of the day, flies from her nose, splatting onto the tile. With that, Drummond steps back to his place and stands with his hands folded in front of him. Helena is Nimble and returns to attention. Jame takes another step forward, towering over her, he snarls venomously, “Now you're Chaos’ whore.”

“Sorry, Father.” Helena meekly acknowledges.

“Step aside.” He demands. She does and with that Jame exits the estate. Where he goes, when, and with whom, is never to be questioned. When the front door closes, she touches a finger to the blood sliding from her nose down her lip. 

“On you go.” Drummond instructs. She nods. She gathers herself. She obeys.

.ssss.

09:15 AM

Helena’s first Taming begins.

Meanwhile, Sean is home, tracing with his eyes the dark pen lines of Helena's artwork. His chest tightens, recalling her sitting on the sofa, carefully drawing, nervous about sharing the truth of her traumatic 5th birthday. Maybe he should have held her? In that moment, he was too outraged, imagining her tiny, frightened, and confused. He bites his knuckle, choking back a sob and chastises himself, feeling like he should have tried harder to be there for her in that moment of vulnerability. His only focus was bringing her momentary pleasure. He couldn't heal her. He couldn't save her. He puts down the picture, thinking about the wife she said he'd have in five years, about that woman looking at this drawing and nagging him about why he still keeps it. He knows Helena's used bowl is still in the sink, and he remembers her laugh as the soundtrack to their last breakfast together. He's exhausted, but he refuses to go to his room because he knows her scent will still be on his sheets. He has to go. He can't be here. He leaves his house in a hurry, heading to Sheila's, ready to ask her to mend his broken heart, knowing that when he sent Helena down the road on her own, there would be no one on her path to help her do the same.

09:59 AM

Helena is commanded to start praying.

Sean lay on Sheila’s sofa. Sheila sits nearby, drinking a coffee. 

Sheila looks at her mournful brother with sympathy and tries to soften her voice, “I see you’re hurting. I know you thought you could help that girl. But listen, she wasn’t who she told you. You didn’t have the whole story. Most of these feelings you got are based on this fake version of her that was someone you could save. I tried to tell ya, there is no helping someone who doesn’t want help.”

Sean defends, “You heard what happened last time she visited me without permission. You saw the sling. And I saw the burns on her arm from that thing, the, whatever it was, they used to keep her awake for eighty-one fucking hours. Now what? What’s going to happen?” He stares hopelessly at the Polaroid of himself dressed as Baby-pope, the one he asked Sheila to set aside so that he could show Helly, before he knew her dark story, before he knew he would never see her again.

“Sean, kid, you have to dial it back.” Sheila encourages, “You gotta look at your sphere of control. All of that stuff, that Lumon, Kier, cult-shit, there’s nothing you can do about that. You can feel for the girl, of course. She wasn’t that bad for a lying billionaire but-”

“Stop. Don’t say that about her.” Sean huffs. She was more than her lie. He saw that.

“Which part was wrong?” Sheila challenges. “This is unfortunate, but it was bound to happen. You couldn’t be with an Eagan. She fooled you, allowing you to live this fantasy because it was something she wanted to believe. I know you hate to hear it, but she used you for it. Let you think a burner phone and my spare room could change her life. She knew it wouldn’t. She knew you couldn’t be together. The first kindness that girl ever showed you was giving that phone back, so you’re not caught up in whatever the fallout is of this whole Lumon mess she made.” 

“She was a mess, sure.” Sean agrees; Helly hadn’t given much thought to anything, she seemed to be just doing, being, without much consideration for her own well-being or, subsequently, the well-being of Sean and Sheila. “But she was so fragile, too.” His voice cracks as he thinks of her confusion and insecurity at the bowling alley.

“And you barely knew her for a full month.” Sheila continues to point out the facts as she sees them, “Maybe she was good in the sack. But this isn’t some big love story. Put it into perspective, Sean. You, Mr. Cautious Long Term Monogamy. This is the shortest you’ve ever dated someone and the fastest you've ever jumped into bed with them. She lied about who she was, and it was changing who you were. This was never going to end well.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right. But I just can’t help but worry about what’s happening to her.” Sean says, thinking of the confused five-year-old realizing her brutal fate too late.

“Jame Eagan didn’t care what happened to us after Lumon killed Mom and left us with Dad. You can’t worry about what happens to his daughter. Bad things are happening all over the world, kiddo. To lots of people. You just happened to fuck one of them lately. Okay? You’re not Superman. You can’t save everyone, and you can’t get hung up on what happens to her. You know how many people just died of AIDs in the time it took you to drive here?” Sheila asks.

“No.”

“Me, either, but I bet it’s a fucking lot.” Sheila laughs at the dark reality. “That’s just as sad. Okay? You’re safe, you got an entire Lumon-free life ahead of you. You just need a good rest and you’ll feel better. Why don’t you go on in that spare room, have a little nap? I don’t have to leave for work until three. So if you sleep through, I won’t wake you until it’s time for me to go.”

Sean exhales with heavy breath, his chest feels like a lead pipe is crushing it. He gets up from the sofa, agreeing to rest, but he knows a nap is only a temporary reprieve from the fever-dream that was Him and Helly.

11:15 AM

Drummond's Office 

Natalie saunters into the office with a merry spring in her step. She doesn't allow Mr. Drummond's tired scowl deter her. He called this meeting.

“Good Morning Mr. Drummond.” She chirps with her winning smile. She sits across from him and places her mobile phone down on his desk, screen on. 

“Good Morning, Natalie.” He looks down at the cell and can see Natalie's text thread with Helena. He reads the text from Helena claiming to have ended things with Sean. And the follow up saying she's upset but that she knew it had to be done.

“That certainly adds some legitimacy to her claim. Still, her word alone is not to be trusted after her countless deceptions.” Mr. Drummond says, the sound of leather on flesh is very fresh in his mind. 

“Understandably so. Though, I believe her. My words got through to her. Between my words and that desk photo, I think we made a good team Mr. Drummond.” Natalie beams proudly, taking back her phone.

“As you know, she didn't come home last night.” Drummond starts.

“A long goodbye.” Natalie sighs. It was a disgusting thought, Helena with some disbelieving-low-class man, but it was a goodbye and Natalie wants to focus on the positive.

“Unfortunately, the Estate’s Night Security guard usurped the chain of command. If he had come to me, or the Team, he would have known we were aware that Helena hadn't returned and that we were on top of it. Instead, he woke Mr. Eagan in his bed chamber.” 

“Oh no.” Natalie says, her smile lost. She hadn't seen Jame in the office yet today and now she is afraid his Malice might show itself. 

“This was an avoidable escalation. But Jame insisted on a full debriefing of the situation. Which means, there will be several days of Reforms, Corrections, and Repentance.” Drummond says with a sigh.

“Days?” Natalie asks, eyebrows raised with concern. Drummond turns the smaller screen beside his computer for Natalie to see security footage. It's a room she's never seen before. “What am I looking-” her mouth stops, when the camera angle changes to show Helena on her elbows and knees with Miss Alcott standing over her. When Natalie sees what is in Miss Alcott’s hand she shoves the screen away, causing it to clatter face down on the desk. “I can't see that!” She says, her breathing fast, quickly noticing her Dread has flared out of balance.

“That's the start of session two of four.” Drummond says flatly. “Once Mr. Eagan was debriefed, there was little I could do.” 

“Can't you show him this?” Natalie says desperately, holding up her phone again. She's alarmed to hear the Woe in her own voice.

“I will not interfere with direct orders. And it's like I said, due to her Probity deficiency, her words mean nothing.” Drummond clarifies. “Fortunately, your intuition on Saturday garnered results and we will soon be able to verify her claim.”

“If I may, Mr. Drummond, take a short five minute recess.” Natalie asks, standing before receiving an answer.

“The meeting just started?” Drummond says annoyed, noticing the wrinkles of worry on Natalie's forehead.

“I have an embarrassing Temper imbalance and I just need to step away for a minute or two.” She admits, shamefully. 

“Three minutes.” Drummond sits back in his chair, folding his hands on his desk as he watches the small monitor.

“Thank you.” Natalie says, quickly excusing herself. A trip to the restroom and a splash of cold water to the face should help her regulate. She knew Drummond was right. Direct orders should not be questioned. If this is what Jame Eagan commands, who is she to think the Chosen One is…overreacting? Cruel? Wrong? These are not thoughts that she welcomes. 

.ssss.

Natalie returns with a new smile that she found in the restroom mirror. She reclaims her seat across from Drummond whose interest moved from the small monitor to his other work computer. 

“Balanced?” Drummond asks impatiently.

“Yes, thank you.” Natalie says politely.

“I called this meeting to commend you. The photos you gathered from social media received a partial match in our Facial Recognition database.”

“Partial?” She asks. 

While she was out of the room, Drummond repositioned the smaller screen for his viewing, realizing it was the thing to cause Natalie her imbalance. Since he has known her, he has never witnessed her struggling with her Tempers. Natalie can still see shifting shapes on the screen from the corner of her eye and is straining to ignore it. He can see she's uneasy but hopes if he doesn't address it, she'll regain self-control. He opens a manila folder on the desk between them, and allows her to sift through the evidence. “There was a match to a deceased individual.”

“I see.” She says, her mind officially refocused on the pieces of mystery. Her manicured finger slides down the page as she scans the information.“She died during the severance procedure?”

“Yes. She failed to mention a pre-existing blood-clotting condition. Obviously, the woman you saw could not have been this deceased woman.”

“Her daughter.” A genuine smile spreads across Natalie's face when she reads the highlighted part of an obituary. “‘Survived by her two cherished children, Sheila Riggs  and Sean Riggs’  We've got ages, and a last name. So an address is easy-” She laughs, delighted when she flips to the next page which has Sean and Sheila's individual home addresses, and car registrations. “Well, Mr. Drummond it looks like a couple of house calls need to be made.” 

“Exactly what I was thinking.” Drummond agrees.

Chapter Text

The keys on Drummond’s master keychain jingle as he finds the right one. Natalie keeps her hands in her coat pockets, looking out over the balcony of the breezeway at the dead vehicles and decaying parking lot, with a large pothole at the epicenter of the dismal scene, like the expansive point of a poverty-induced big bang. When she suggested a house call, she didn’t think she was going to be forced along, and she still didn’t understand how her being here was useful, but she knew it wasn’t to be questioned. Drummond commanded that she accompany him because he saw her Tempers flare at the sight of Helena’s Taming. Something about the harsh reality rattled her, and he felt that was a glaring flaw in someone so trusted by Lumon as Natalie is. Clearly, some weakness still lived in her veins. 

When the door opens, the smell of cigarette smoke is strong and revolting to Natalie. They enter the tiny space, made even smaller by Drummond’s large presence, and Natalie looks around, overwhelmed by the clutter and the amount of furniture crammed into one multi-purpose room. They enter, and Natalie is drawn to the Polaroid on the table, a Polaroid picture of Sean and Sheila as children on what she assumes is Halloween based on their attire. As Drummond closes the apartment door, the cold winter wind whips it shut, causing a loud sound. A door to the left opens, and Sheila emerges from the bathroom. Sheila doesn't need to ask. She knows who these people are, and she knows why they're here. Her eyes flick to the door behind which her brother sleeps. He sought her out for comfort, and now danger is at her door. Next, Sheila’s eyes dart to the bat that she keeps by the front door for protection. Unfortunately, this wall of a man stands between her and it.

“You have no business here. Your princess should be back at the castle by now.” Sheila snarls. 

Drummond takes one wide step forward and punches Sheila directly in the face. “Ah.” She groans, “You punch like my Dad.” She grabs the thing nearest her, a lamp, and swings it at Drummond. He’s so tall, and the tug of the cord throws off her aim. The lamp shatters on his hard shoulder. Drummond grips Sheila’s throat with one hand, and she struggles, punching at him, kicking. Natalie watches as Sheila’s face turns red with the pressure. Drummond lifts Sheila and slams her head into the wall, knocking her unconscious.

“I’ll restrain her.” Drummond says. “You get Sean.” Natalie isn’t sure exactly what he means by ‘get’ but she hurries past him. The first door she opens is an empty bedroom with purple and red drapes, which reminds Natalie of what she imagines a brothel would look like. She turns around, looking at the only door still closed. She turns the nob and enters.

11:55 AM

Helena’s second Taming has ended, and the Handlers in charge leave her in the Classroom as they take a lunch break.

Natalie looks at the boxes stacked in this spare room and wonders how much trash can a poor person really have. She looks at the sleeping man, his dark curls, his eyes puffy from either lack of sleep or crying. He has a five o’clock shadow of a disheveled man who could never be Lumon. If he were, maybe he’d be handsome. She can’t see what Helena saw in him. He isn’t worth the pain he has brought upon Helena. Natalie leans closer to the bed. She thinks about Helena saying that she had fallen for him. He is a deciever. He is a tempter and a snake. Natalie balls her hand into a fist and punches as hard as she can in the center of Sean’s chest. He coughs and jolts awake at the pain, a protective arm lifting over his body, an instinctual learned behavior. He lowers his arm when he sees the source of the punch, the furrowed brow and crumbling lip of a woman he has only seen on a digital screen. 

“The fuck?” Sean sits up, rubbing a hand on his chest.

“Sean Riggs.” She says coldly. “Did you really think you would get away with this?”

“How did you fucking get in here?” He asks, getting off the bed and standing on the side opposite her. “Get away, with what? What are you-”

“With defiling Helena. Using her for your own perverted deviance.” Natalie barks.

“Defiling?” He laughs in disbelief. “How the fuck did you get in here?” His voice rises.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t find you?” Natalie asks with a tilt of her head and a bemused smile.

“Helly called it off. She left. We’re over. Alright? You and your fucking goons got what you wanted.” He says. “Sheila?” He shouts. 

“Why did you do it? You knew you could take advantage and tempt her off Kier's path. What weakness did you see in her?” Natalie desperately wants to understand where the chink in the armor is so that she can help Helena heal. So that nothing like this ever happens again.

“Weakness? Helena isn't weak. Some fucking best friend you are. Get the fuck out of my way.” He says moving quickly to the bedroom door, “Sheila?” He shouts as he does. Natalie boldly stands her ground in front of the door. “Move.” Sean says. She stares at him straight faced with righteous indignation. “You're not even supposed to be here! Move!” He says, desperate to escape this fever dream of a room with a woman from his nightmares. With one firm hand on her shoulder, Sean shoves her to the side. Natalie stumbles into some boxes and Sean exits the room. For a moment Natalie is stunned. No one puts their hands on her! When the head mistress at the Myrtle Eagan School for girls paddled her, it was only because she submitted. She was being punished for arrogance and Kier teaches that Ego, hubris and arrogance only bring pain. It was a correction Natalie knew she needed. This man, this faithless man, doesn't get to shove her. She follows him into the cluttered all-purpose room. There's no sign of Drummond and Sheila. Sean quickly notices the shattered glass on the floor. “Where's Sheila? What the fuck did you do to her?” 

“You're not in the position to be asking questions. Lumon is in charge here.” Natalie asserts.

“Fuck Lumon, fuck Kier and fuck you.” Sean says. 

“ ‘Stray not from Kier's path lest you roil nature's wrath.’ Your house has been cursed because of the sins of your mother.” Natalie denounces.

“Leave my mother out of this!” Sean's voice shakes with his fear and building rage.

“ She died because of her denial of the Chosen One and you will pay for the defilement of his bloodline.” Natalie insists.

“Defilement of his bloodline?” Sean furiously laughs at the absurdity. “Have you talked to Helena, best friend? Did she say she was defiled? No. I showed her respect and kindness. You, you and Jame, you starved her and pulled her arm out the socket. Tell me who's the defiling one!”

“You're a heretic!” She hears Malice shout through her.

“At least Helly knows the truth of it.” Sean defends,  “You’re more brainwashed than she is. Your whole belief system is a joke. Kier wasn't chosen. He's no god!  Kier was a grifter, an exploiter, and a lie.” He pushes open the bathroom and his sister's bedroom door. “Sheila?!” His despair grows. He points a finger at her,“I swear to some actual God, if you hurt her!”

“You hurt Helena.” Natalie says, “Because of you, she's got to be purified and brought back to alignment!”

“Purified? Bitch, you're so gone in the head. I never hurt her. I held her. I made her laugh. Sheila?” He calls and looks at the only door he hasn't checked, the front door.“You're not here alone are you?” He asks Natalie. “Did someone take her? Sheila?” He shouts, stepping to the door and grabbing the handle. He swings it open.

“No!” Natalie shouts, he can't leave, he can't escape judgement. Her eyes spot the bat beside the door, and before she knows it, it's in her hands and it's slashing through the air, landing a hard single strike on the back of Sean’s head, the metal clinks and in a single motion Sean falls to the ground. Natalie stares down at the eliminated threat.

Drummond appears at the top of the stairs; he sees Sean's motionless body and Natalie frozen in place with the bat still in hand. His face twitches into his version of a smile, “You are a warrior for Kier.” He says with a hint of what Natalie can only guess is pride. 

04:30 PM 

The final Taming is complete and after this round of prayer Helena will be brought to Wellness for a cleansing and purification ritual. 

Sean wakes, a throbbing pain in his head, blood on his face from where he doesn't know, his entire body feels like pulp. It takes him a few terrifying moments to orient himself. He's in the backseat of a moving car. 

“Oh, you're awake.” The older man's scratchy voice comes from the other side of a partition. 

“Sheila? Where's Sheila?” Sean speaks a fresh shooting pain in his jaw as he does. 

“I don't know a Sheila. Well, I did, way back in the 60s but, I can't imagine that's who you're worried about.” The man says with a chilling levity to his voice. Sean winces and holds his aching ribs as he lurches up, pulling at the door handles. “You'll just tire yourself out there buddy.” The man says. Sean tries the other side, futilely pulling at the handles. He's locked in.

“Are you…are you going to kill me?” Sean struggles.

“No. I never hurt anyone. I just drive them places.” The man answers.

“Where…where are we…” Sean tries. 

“Seems like you got booked a one-way ticket out of Kier.” The man lets out a raspy laugh. “Kier, here. It's a joke. But, uh, people in your position never seem to laugh.” Sean groans from the pain. The man's blue wrinkled eyes look back at him in the rearview mirror, “What'd you do, kid?”

“I almost fell in love.” He coughs, wiping blood from his mouth.

“Huh. I'm sorry to hear it.” The man says. “But, if you can, please try not to get your blood on my seats. It's a pain to get this thing detailed.” 

Friday

09:00 PM

The fire cracks and casts its orange glow on the reflective copper statue of Kier, who poses with one arm raised, brandishing his sword, prepared to strike down the unworthy, and his other arm outstretched with an open palm, welcoming a sacrifice. Without being commanded, Helena prostrates herself before the Grandfather. She silently prays, thanking Kier for the warmth of the flame. After yesterday's day of fasting, isolation, and sensory deprivation, Helena feels grateful for everything. Alone in that room, cut off from light and sound, all she was left with was the pain. Pain was the proof of her being. Pain is what is to be alive. Now, knelt before the altar, the fire of Kier is life. She is nothing without him and will only suffer without his blessings.

Drummond is pleased to see the reverent display. Drummond allows her several quiet moments of prayer, silently asking the impatient Miss Alcott to stand down. To Miss Alcott, this looked less like reverence and more like undeserved rest.“Stand, child.” Miss Alcott commands. Helena struggles to rise on her own but begins obeying immediately. Her injured shoulder has not had the support of the sling since Wednesday, and she has sustained significant additional injuries since. Still, she rises, because through the wounds, her weakness is leaving her veins. “Your Probity has been tested and verified. You have proven yourself to be re-aligned with the Nine. Has your spirit found solace?”

“Yes. Praise Kier.” Helena confirms.

“You have been aided in Taming your Tempers. Today, you have shown your sustained balance. Are you grateful?” Miss Alcott asks.

“Yes. I give thanks to Kier and to those he provided to guide me. I thank him for restoring my balance.” Helena agrees.

“Tonight you will mark your restoration and repentance with a sacrifice for The Grandfather's mercy, forgiveness, and blessings.” Mr. Drummond announces.

“May he find me worthy.” Helena offers, bowing her head.

“Turn to Mr. Beale and receive the chosen offering.” Mr. Drummond instructs.

Helena turns to find Mr. Beale, the handler who was responsible for accidentally pulling her arm out of the socket. Mr. Beale stands with a black cloth shrouding the offering. As she steps towards him, holding her hands palms up, she recalls walking in this manner to Mr. Heilman, who handed over her Malice plushie for the offering. For a moment, she thinks, she must have had Kier's favor at some point. She might have been loved. She recalls having things like that plushie toy, things like normal kids had, but through her repeated sins and consistent failures, she squandered it all away —the toys, the blessings, the love. Mr. Beale places the black shroud in her open hands. The familiar weight of the item tells her what it is before the shroud is removed. Mr. Beale has the honor of pulling away the black fabric, revealing the item beneath: Her sketchbook.

“What do you have without Kier?” Miss Alcott prompts.

“Nothing.” Helena answers, sketchbook in hand, turning to face Miss Alcott, Drummond, Kier and the fire.

“What are you without Kier?” Miss Alcott prompts.

“Nothing.”Helena answers.

“To cover the multitude of your sins, you must offer Kier a formidable sacrifice. Open the book.” Drummond instructs. Helena affectionately touches her palm flat to the cover, before complying. She opens the book, and tucked in the front cover is a Polaroid photo. She lifts it closer to see the picture has a tiny hole poked in the white margin. She recognizes the smiling children in the image. It was a photo thumbtacked to Sheila’s wall. In the photo Sheila wears a pointed witch hat and regular clothing. She has her arm draped around Sean, in his baby-Pope costume. It was a mockery. Helena is a laughingstock. She understands this now. She lifts her eyes from the photo, posing a silent inquiry to Drummond. How, isn’t the question. The question is, Why? Drummond remains perfectly stoic. She doesn't need him to answer. She knows the answer. Knowing her and daring to love her, begets only pain. Sean and Sheila’s names form in large bold letters at the top of her mental list, People Whose Lives I've Ruined. “Do you commit this photo to Kier?” Miss Alcott asks. 

“I do.” Helena says adamantly. She flings the Polaroid into the flames and unblinkingly watches as it is rapidly consumed, melting away the stolen memory. 

“You will now commit to Kier, fourteen of your best pages.” Mr. Drummond instructs. 

She watches the flames char what remains of Sean's smile. She may never know if he is dead or alive somewhere. He's just gone. Swallowed up by Kier, just like the feeling sparked by his ‘I love you’. Gone. It would never be the right time.

“Remember Child, Kier knows if you have given him your best. So choose wisely.” Miss Alcott warns.

Wise choices are not what she's known for lately. Helena clenches her jaw and looks at the first page of her book. A childish drawing of a much too large bird perched on the Estate's garden wall. She flips through and pauses on an overly shaded drawing of two roses. As she turns the pages, remembering the Frolic she fought when Mr. Heilman brought her this book, rewarding her with Unstructured Playtime, a time to freely roam the Estate, to do as she pleased within limits, and to escape to the bottomless depths of her imagination. On each page, she can see her child self aging, maturing in technique, and becoming more cynical. The art gets darker and more abstract. She pauses to reflect on the mewling Kid of Malice, a baby who will never measure up, a self-portrait. She turns a few more pages to the collage of Imogene's treasures. She can hear Sean toasting to Imogene, ‘the Eagan's found a way to rob you, again, of your essence.’ More of his words escape the vault in her mind, ‘You have an artist's soul.’ ‘Lumon. They're soul killers.’ Furiously, she slams the book shut. She proclaims, “I choose to commit the book in its entirety.  Everything I have, everything I am, I owe to Kier.”