Chapter Text
The clothes Rio had found themself in were familiar—cream shirt open at the throat, black suit with a faint iridescent green shift at the lapels, their good boots—but worn and musty and tattered.
They stripped to their underwear—the glow-in-the-dark dino bone boxers Agatha had gotten them for their birthday just a week before what happened—and, finding an old Franklin stove in a side room of the shed, lit a fire using scraps from the suit lining and one of a few sticks of fatwood that were in a box nearby. They were not cold, but they were worried about their bird friend, who seemed determined to stick close.
Feeding the fire with bits of broken bushel basket, it occurred to Rio that they should have in some way checked that the stovepipe was clear. No smoke backed up into the room, and they threw on one of the abandoned coveralls to go outside and look. The smoke seemed to be properly billowing out in the hint of a night breeze.
Back inside, they crouched by the stove, feeding in a few more solid pieces of wood they had taken up from the ground outside.
"Probably shouldn't have a fire," they said as the crow hopped over and settled near them, "but if someone spots the smoke and finds us, well... Well, maybe they can tell me what the hell is going on."
The crow made a little throaty, almost chuckling sound, and ruffled its feathers.
Rolling up the rest of their former clothes, Rio sat down fully on the floor. They could still smell the approach of the rain, and in their gut a strange fire burned. There was somewhere they should be, something they should be doing, and yet all they could think of was Agatha. Where was she? Had she too... Survived? Returned?
Whatever fate was theirs, had it become hers as well? And Nicky. What about their little son?
~•~~•~
Pain. Raging, burning agony, so awful they almost vomited. Pain, pain, pain, violation, and then one last searing thread along their throat, a strike to the back, and...
"Mama? Papá? What's happening?"
Nicky was there on the stairs, and Rio could not move, could not stand and rush to protect him. They could not get up and stand between their son and the figure that loomed toward him, arm raised.
"Where's my Mama?" Nicky sobbed.
An explosion from the figure's hand and it was all over.
~•~~•~
Rio curled around the bundle of their clothes, fighting down heavy sobs at the thought of what had happened to their family.
The place was basically empty. Furniture, knickknacks, the little loose belongings of their life here—all gone.
Of course, Agatha supposed that was to be expected. If her memories were correct, there was no reason for their things to still be in the house, and she doubted anyone else would be in a rush to occupy a location where so much grizzly murder had occurred.
"If someone had moved in here," she said softly, "I guess I could haunt them."
"Anything's worth a shot," the crow squawked.
Agatha turned sharply. She knew birds of that sort could imitate human speech, but that it could speak a full sentence so clearly...
"I am a rather extraordinary creature," the crow said.
"Oh, fabulous," Agatha snorted, "I'm dead and crazy."
"Well, you're not dead. Not entirely. You were dead, but for the moment you're allowed to be back."
Staring in shock, Agatha sat on the floor.
"Why am I back? What could... How?"
The Crow hopped down from a window sill, preened its feathers a moment, then cocked its head at her.
"I bet you know the answer, lady. I bet you do."
The bird hopped a bit closer, onto a dark spot on the floor. A stain that would be just about between the sofa and the coffee table. The place where...
~•~~•~
Heavy pain in her back, something bluntly pinning her down, and Agatha felt like she would vomit.
"Get the hell off me! Don't you..."
Something hit the side of her head hard and she went limp, vision swimming. She could see, just under the table, that Rio had been shoved belly down on the floor too, that they were struggling against one of the intruders. Their hands were pinned under them in some awkward way. Why not just pull their hands up to fight with?
"You fuckers are gonna pay!" Rio roared.
The intruder fighting them just laughed.
"Oh, we ain't gonna pay. We ain't gonna pay shit!"
Agatha struggled, tried to move, but the one who had taken her to the ground managed to grab her wrists. She felt a coolness, heard a familiar zzzzrr sound.
Zip ties. Just like Mother used to keep her out of the way when she was younger.
The other guy was standing over Rio now, moving, leaning down. Rio tried to roll over, moved a leg inelegantly as if to kick...
There was a nasty, sickening crack as the guy stomped hard on Rio's ankle. They did not scream, but did let out a gurgling sort of croak.
~•~~•~
"Stop it! Make it fucking STOP!"
Agatha had fallen to her knees, head wracked with pain, and she felt distinctly sick.
"It's rough stuff," the crow jabbered, hopping closer.
"Who... Who are you?"
If a bird could shrug, this one would have in that moment.
"Maybe I'm who you need."
"I don't... I can't... What do I have to do?"
"I think you know that. Gotta get the pain out. The sick from what happened."
Agatha looked down, then over to the dark spot, and then back to the crow.
"Who do I have to kill?"
They cried it all out, then got up. Gathering their old clothes, they finished rending them into bits, mad with rage, or at least half so. The crow sat by the whole time on the edge of the woodbox, its glittering jet eyes never leaving them.
Rio sat again on the floor, surrounded by the remnants of their funerary garb, and met the bird's gaze.
"We need a list," they said, and the bird bobbled its head as if nodding in agreement.
Thoughtlessly, Rio plunged their hands into the pockets of the coveralls and found something in one. Their hand closed around the object and pulled it out.
Jackknife. Good sized. Scales felt like bone, and the blade flicked out and locked easily, glimmering warmly in the light from the stove.
"Well, guess we'd better get to the job, then."