Once they've returned to the comforts of civilization, Gideon parts ways with her, promising to get himself home. She protests at first, unsure he'll actually return wherever it is he's staying - or, if he tries, that he'll collapse in the middle no matter how hard he tries - but she figures there's enough eyes peering through those curtained windows in Carrick that someone will pop out and help someone so helpful in return. Surely, the whole town knows him for this, and surely they wouldn't let him fall into danger- oh, but then she remembers Stella, Erie, the other girl, and then she's not so sure.

Instead, they agree to stay on the phone with one another until he's back at home and she's left wandering the streets of Carrick, Iowa, even after he promises to get sleep and the line goes dead. Sure, she might've told him she was headed straight home, but what was she supposed to say? "Hey, I know you're like, incapacitated and everything, so I'm gonna try and find your boyfriend while a bunch of demons hunt me down by myself, happy napping, xoxo?" No. Gideon would've dragged his ass right behind hers to the bitter end. Stupid selfless rat.

And she really can't go home, not if she wants to get anything done. Once she steps foot through that threshold, Jeremy'll have his claws in her, watching her like a hawk. No way in hell he'll let her leave for the next forever. She doesn't have forever. She has seven days. Still, to keep him sated, she sends her father a quick text so he doesn't completely losing his mind. Stayed the night at Gideon's. Hanging out today. Will be back tonight. There. Good enough. If she's lucky, he hasn't already called the cops to track her down after she didn't return last night.

She puts her screen on sleep. The grey sky poses in the black mirror. She sighs. Now what?

The buildings grow more plentiful as she walks, the bricks newer, the asphalt recently paved. It's only once she sees the library again, the library where she'd been alerted to a body in the river, a goddamn body in the river, that she realizes she's downtown. And with the realization of downtown, she remembers an old winter, running through snow flurries hand-in-hand with a girl, and spinning the wheel backwards, the theater from which they came. The theater from which Stella came, from which Stella was last seen by cameras, before the water took her away.

She wants to feel hopeful knowing she has a destination and a purpose, maybe even a lead. Wants to, but can't. Stella won't run through the lobby, glistening gold under the lights, and she won't burst free into a cold night and find beauty in it again, and Lacey won't ever see her find the beauty, either, and she can't think about this now so throw it down, cast it out, and don't think. Walk faster. Breathe deeper. Blink away the rain from your lashes and say it's only rain. Wash, rinse, repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

She repeats and her eyes roam as she walks along the wide sidewalk, darting from person to person for some stretches and keeping her head down for others. But then there's a swirl of butterscotch, familiar rough features. Dolly sees her, too. They see each other and they both know it, but neither put in the effort to nod, to wave, to put in any sort of acknowledgement. Dolly averts her brown-eyed gaze and tugs the dark grey sleeves of her thin hoodie over her hands, and Lacey averts hers, and they carry on their separate ways. As they should.

Lacey sighs and hugs herself against the light chill blowing through town. Then the chill becomes pressure on her shoulder, and a whisper on the breeze: "Honey, turn around." The breath hitches in her throat. She jumps forward and whirls, one arm held out in defense and one pressed to her pocket where the last packet of salt she brought with her sits.

Dolly stands there, bare lips curled to her nose, nose crinkled towards the corners of her eyes, eyes narrowed to burning slits. "First of all, hold your horses. I was just gonna ask what in the everloving hell happened to ya."

Lacey's eye twitches, but slowly, she lets her arms fall limp at her sides. "What do you mean?"

The woman raises a carefully manicured brow and scoffs. "Have y'seen yourself, darling?" At Lacey's blank stare, she loses her patience and makes a wide gesture. "Your head's bleeding and those hands look more busted than Clint's headlights."

She purses her lips, bringing a set of fingers up to feel around her head. Sure enough, a small glob of warmth comes away on her fingertips and when she brings them down, she sees red. "Oh. I didn't know it was doing that."

For a moment, Dolly seems like she wants to roll her eyes, and the next, her eyes soften like she wants to do something. There's a conflict between the two extremes, and Lacey wipes her hand on her pants while the woman figures out whether she wants to say something else or turn tail. Her lips part; she hesitates. Then her features sharpen again, harden again, the way they ought to be, and she beckons harshly with her hand. "C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up before anyone asks any questions."

Lacey doesn't exactly want to spend more time here, but the woman is already stepping into a nearby coffee shop, and the laws of basic human decency dictate she has to follow suite. Wet earth becomes bitter grounds and caramel pumps, but Dolly skimps on the caffeine and goes straight to a bathroom in the back. She holds it open and throws an impatient look at Lacey, drumming her nails against the mahogany. "Time to speed it up, sweetheart. Preferably before they give us an ultimatum to buy their overpriced milkshakes or scram."

But when has Lacey ever listened to someone in a hurry? She continues at her own pace, which only makes Dolly blow a lock of hair out of her face with exasperation as Lacey passes under her arm and into the bathroom. The door slams shut behind them and Dolly speeds to the counter, where she unslings a red purse from her shoulder and snaps it open. The contents garner her full attention as she shuffles through them. "You can get closer, girl. I ain't gonna bite you."

"I'm not so sure," Lacey says. She doesn't even know she says it until Dolly gives her a rough look from under her lashes and Lacey covers her mouth with her hands.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that. Clearly you're out of it. Ah. Here." Her chipped nails emerge with a small first aid kit and she sets it down on the porcelain corner with a clatter as she clicks open the clasps. She moves with nimble fingers, rips off a piece of gauze and presses it to the mouth of a small bottle. When she comes nearer to Lacey's forehead, there's an overwhelming odor of alcohol and she instinctively flinches away, already anticipating the vicious sting.

The woman cocks her head in a way that almost reminds her of her mother, whenever she decides to be stern. "I can pack this all up and head on my way and you can just walk around town lookin' like you've got your ass beat and have to deal with someone else pullin' you aside and not really listenin' to you, or I can do damage control now and send you on your way. Which one is it?"

She has a point. If she does get stopped, odds are they'll send her right on back to Jeremy. So, reluctantly, she steps forward and Dolly dabs the little square to the mark on her forehead. She hisses, flinches again, but the woman presses her fingers to Lacey's jaw to keep it steady. Her eyes are dark, focused, but they flicker down to Lacey's face as she continues cleaning the small cut before jumping back to her work. "Can I ask what happened, so long as I've already got you here?"

Quick. Good excuse. "Fell off my bike."

"Quite a fall. And I didn't see any bike."

"I...fell on a bridge. And it slid off when I kicked it trying not to fall off myself. So...yeah."

Although the woman purses her lips, she doesn't question the validity of it, and instead folds up the reddened piece of gauze and prepares another. "And what were you doin' riding around town so hard you nearly went flying off the bridge? Lookin' for something?" The bottle glugs as she flips it upside down and sets it back.

This is an in. "Actually, yeah. I'm looking for- ow." The alcohol dabs her lip, and Dolly shushes her for a moment, long enough to deal with a busted lip she doesn't know is there until she glances in the mirror and recoils. "I'm looking for Erie, the boy we came to ask you about before. And something to tell me how Stella wound up where she was. I really don't believe she was running around with Isaac. There has to be some other-"

"Honey, I'm gonna tell it to ya straight: this is none of your concern. The police have it handled, they know what they're doing, and they'll figure it out just fine. This is no place for a couple of young kids to be running around trying to play vigilante. Look at you! Busted up to hell. Give me those hands." She holds one up by the wrist to show Lacey what she already knows. "And you were gonna keep on runnin' around 'til these got infected, I reckon." More pressure, more stinging. Lacey accidentally bites her lip and groans in frustration.

"They're not making any progress and Erie's still out there. Clearly they aren't doing their jobs well enough."

At this, Dolly nods, and for a moment, seems to agree with her there. "That happens sometimes but that's just how it is. But if they can't find anything, I'm positive you won't." A sigh. "I just don't wanna see another girl go missing which is why I'm tryin' to warn you now. I'm doin' my part here. Go back home after this, sweetheart, and don't worry yourself another second about any of it."

She won't win here and neither will Dolly, but she doesn't need to know that. An awkward silence passes between them as she puts the alcohol away and plops a few small bandages on the counter. The woman presses her weight into it, leaning there lazily as she tries to peel them open with her lengthy nails. The sleeves remain pulled up to her knuckles.

Skepticism wins out between the two of them. "Why'd you decide to help me here? Last time you made us pay just to talk to you."

At that, Dolly glances up, but there's not so much a harshness to it anymore as there is confusion, as if she doesn't really know the answer herself. The woman sucks on her lip a moment before finally shearing the plastic coating from the bandage. "Someone did me a kindness and I believe in passing it on. This is my kindness to you." She gingerly applies the bandage to the cut on her forehead, so gentle she hardly even feels it. "Stop while you're ahead, darlin'. God knows I wish someone would've given me that advice several times over now."

Lacey's mouth twitches. "Well, thank you. But I can't stop now. Time's running out."

Dolly clasps her kit to a close more harshly than she ought to. Clears her throat, straightens her posture. "Suit yourself, then. Can't say I didn't try. If you're next on the news, that's not on my conscience. I have to go now. Late for a doctor's appointment."

And, without another word, she packs everything back into her purse and marches out of the bathroom, letting the door swing to a heavy close behind her. Weird day, Lacey thinks. She turns to the mirror and rubs at the edge of the bandage on her forehead. Very weird day.

After trying, and failing, to process a few things while staring at her less-than-flattering appearance, she gives up and starts out of the shop, trying her best to avoid the gaze of the barista behind the counter. The icy crispness of the air outside almost makes her think it could be worth it to go back in and cough up the five bucks she doesn't have for something warm and spiced, but she's already dedicated herself to the theater, and it's already within sight.

The sign - M I D L A N D running vertically - makes a disgusting nostalgia coagulate in her gut. The building itself is beige, but a few spots are faded with brown stains from years of weather and moisture. When she nears the front doors, she can tell the golden lights are off. The lobby, as a result, is left to sit dull and grey, lit only by the morning light streaming in through the front doors and a few dim cups of light from the halls diverging to the main stage. It smells like a hotel. An old, musty hotel. Oh well. Splendor never lasts and when you get older, things lose their sparkle. Maybe it's good it's different now. Saves her from going someplace else entirely. Saves her from losing focus.

A bony fella sits on a bench, legs crossed, nodding its head to a distant hum of instruments in the pit, a collection of flutes, maybe. Lacey follows the noise down one of the dim halls, feeling too much like she'll come to the end of the corridor to find two brown eyes and a joyous smile there to sweep her to her seat, to play music for her, to ask, "Wasn't that just beautiful, all of us together like that?" Instead, she sweeps her hands over her face, wiping away the thought, and finds a room full of empty seats and strangers.

They bustle about on and around the stage, some winding their hands through wires and some fussing about with their cast-mates while flipping rapidly through packets of paper, pointing, reading, making eye contact. It's all a bit too much for Lacey, but she trudges on anyhow, despite every muscle in her body telling her to turn back, that she can let someone else handle this, that really, nothing would be lost if she forgot the whole ordeal.

It doesn't take long for someone to notice her. They sit with a knee to the ground against the far wall, fiddling with various colored cords, and hears her heavy footfalls on the spiralled carpet. They lift their head, and strong features come with it, framed by an abundance of wavy black hair reaching slender shoulders. An effeminate brow lifts and so, too, does their willowy frame as the youth bounces to attention and stops her. "Hello. You need something?"

Oh, lord. Now I have to say something. "Uh, yeah, actually. I know that Stella was part of this and I...just wanted to ask a few questions to someone who like, knew or was close to her here, like, yeah. I need to."

"Oh." Thin lips press into a line, and skinny arms cross over a bloused chest. "Well, can't say nobody here knew her. I'm sure everyone did. I did, sort of. She's our- she was one of our leads. But uh, I don't know, we're all kind of tired of thinking about it and we just got the go-ahead to keep going with rehearsals, so I think we're trying to move on from that, I think. Maybe. Is it really important enough to, no offense, disturb the peace here?"

They're trying, really. Lacey doesn't want to blow up, but the instant dejection grates on her. So she tries a new tact. Bats her eyes, sighs, runs a sleeve under her nose and sniffles with barren nostrils. "I get it," solemnly. Don't lay it on too thick here. "I just- I feel like the police aren't getting anywhere with this, y'know? And she was my friend. I just want to know what happened so I can find that other boy that went missing. Maybe it's not too late." She pauses to give the high ceilings and empty red cushions a wondrous once-over. "I used to come here with her, you know. She'd play trumpet in the pit. If nothing else, can you tell me what kind of an actor she was? I never got to see her shows. Please?" I'm gonna vomit.

They part their lips, brows turned in sympathetic melancholy, but they clamp shut again. "I want to help you, but I just don't know that I knew her all that well. I know her role was a courtesan, a prostitute but old-timey so she had all this thick, heavy costuming she needed help fluffing out during dress rehearsals. Uh...she got along with everyone pretty well, I think. Always brought in fresh-baked cookies and set them out so nobody went hungry. And from what I saw, she wasn't a terrible actress. Really good, actually. I know her understudy didn't think so, though."

"Her understudy?" Lacey asks. This is juicy stuff. Maybe she's in kahoots with Isaac. "Was she jealous?"

"Well, plenty of people were jealous of the role. I don't think her understudy would've cut and run like that if she really cared enough about getting it. Quit after Stella washed up. Thought the same would happen to her if she stayed."

"So would you say the cast here feels afraid?"

They clear their throat and regard Lacey with a skeptical look. "This sounds less about Stella and more like an interrogation."

Lacey parts her lips to start defending herself, to start trying to get things back on track, but before she can, another girl comes up, sporting a pale tan and an abundance of light brown curls. Her brows lay flat, lips sit puckered. She slides up close to the crew member, one hand settling on their back, and the other clutching a heavily highlighted script. "You okay, Avery? Who's this?"

They - Avery - sweep a black curl out of their face and nod at Lacey. "Says she's looking to talk about Stella. Apparently, she's an old friend who's trying to figure out what happened." A pause, an Avery searches the other girl's face, trying to glean something, trying to say something. "You were better friends with her, yeah? You'll have a lot more on her than I do." Then, to Lacey, "This is Maxine, by the way. She's another one of the leads."

"Lacey," she offers, "Lacey Waits. He was just telling me-"

"They," Maxine corrects, meaning no hostility.

"Right, they, sorry. They were just telling me about Stella's role and how a few people might've been jealous of her because of it."

"Say, you were jealous of the role too, weren't you?"

Maxine shoots them a sharp look. "Not enough to kill her, Christ, Avery. Don't even joke about that."

"I'm not. I'm just saying."

Still, the girl lets her gaze wander, shifty and far-off. Lacey makes a mental note of it.

"Hm..." Maxine rubs another reassuring circle against Avery's back, but seems to zone out for a moment before lifting her gaze back up to Lacey's. "I wanna say if people were jealous, it's for more than the role. She just scored a scholarship a couple weeks ago from the...the Boone Foundation, I wanna say? One of the ones we can apply for through the high school. And she was on track to be a valedictorian. And she seemed to be living her best life. Key word being 'seemed.'" The girl shrugs and the thick colorful fleece shrugs with her. "What, do you think someone came after her because they were jealous?" Another pause. "Do you even go to our school?"

"Oh, no, no," Lacey starts. "I'm homeschooled. I moved to Boston for a while but moved back to live with my dad for a while. All this just started going down when I came back so I'm...at a loss and I hate it. At least I sorta knew Stella. That other girl, I've got nothing." Except that she might've been a witch. She pales without warning.

"Oh, Ro?" Avery asks. Their interest seems to've finally been piqued, and Lacey sucks in her cheeks, nodding slowly. "I've been thinking about her a lot lately. Since she was the first to go missing, it made me think maybe I did see something worth paying attention too- I mean, 'cause she always hung around the theater here. Downtown area in general."

"Is that the girl we all thought was super quiet but then came hanging around here dressed up all types of badass, smoking on these little cigarettes out there in the alley, hanging with this weird crowd?" Maxine waits expectantly.

"Oh, yeah, definitely. Wouldn't've remembered her if she didn't act so different outside school."