This is bad. Real bad. There are only a handful of reasons why her mother should be here right now, and something in Penelope's simmering gaze tells Lacey it's not the death of some distant loved one she's never met before. Maybe something related to work? Or Jeremy called her, mentioned something upsetting- Lacey's stomach drops. Has he been telling her about how she keeps sneaking around Carrick after he's gone and tried to stop her? Is this why she's here, because he's called in the big guns?

His red-rimmed eyes say otherwise. It wouldn't make sense for him to bring Penelope back, to upset himself just for the sake of her, not unless he was truly concerned her life was in danger. Maybe he just doesn't want to have to deal with her anymore, she considers, a pang settling in her chest. It's been a long while since he's had to play at fatherhood. It's been a long time since this house was full of anything other than himself, the impermeable scent of coffee floating around the ground floor, and silent, wandering ghosts. The ghosts of Lacey and Penelope, too. Maybe he's gotten used to it. Maybe he doesn't want her there anymore.

He doesn't give any clue as to the meaning of this visit. The whole time, he keeps his head ducked, eyes to the chipped porch steps, not saying a word.

Penelope, on the other hand, is another story. Her cheeks are flushed with the heat of her own words, and her blue eyes burn with ice so fierce that it's quite possible they could be making Jeremy's face deepen in color with first-degree burns. "I can't believe you're so out of touch that you've forgotten how to be a father, how to make sure you have even just a general idea of the things your daughter is doing. I trusted you, so I stopped checking her progress on the program. I entrusted you with this. It's not even difficult, Jeremy! But then here I am, putting up my feet after work, trying to relax, I decide to check in and see how well she's doing, because I expect to see her grades up, I expect to see her assignments completed, and what do I get instead? F. F. F. Missing, missing, missing. Two weeks worth of work, abandoned, like she's gone and fucking dropped out. How can we expect her to catch up again in a reasonable amount of time?"

Her gaze whirls on Lacey. Oh, yes. It burns. Second-degree. "And I would've expected you to be more responsible than this! What happened, Lace? Did you get here and decide you could just do whatever you want, is that it? Because I assure you, your education is just as important here as it is in Boston. It doesn't just disappear now that you're here with- well, what used to be your father."

"I'm still her father," Jeremy mutters.

"You don't act like it," Penelope says.

She intervenes here. Her chest thumps hard and fast, and Erie flips through her mind, the dead rat, Gideon trembling beside her. "Um, guys? Can we maybe not do this right now? Can we do this at dinner or something? Because I don't mean to act like this is all not important," it's not, "but I've gotta say this is probably the absolute worst time in all my seventeen years of living for this conversation to be happening at this exact moment."

"No," Penelope says, a finger jabbed in her direction and thick brows furrowed tight beneath the creases on her forehead. "No, you're not calling shots here, not now, not today. We do this now. We get this settled, now. Go pack a bag. Now."

Horror fills Lacey's throat but before it can crawl out in protest, the grey skies echo with the distant - encroaching - churn of sirens. It's enough to catch her off guard, and the closer it gets, the faster her chest thumps, the faster her heart beats. There's a screech around the corner and they collectively look back. Blue and red and red and blue, a perfect tango of colors against the grey spins together and get closer and then it's flashing on their pale cheeks, against the whites of their eyes.

The car pulls to a stop at the curb in front of their house. Her house. The emergence of an officer - Babineux, she thinks she recalls? - only makes this entire situation more puzzling, as if her mother being there wasn't already enough to break her brain. As if the astral projection wasn't enough! But then, hope. Penelope is in enough of a heat to do anything. Maybe she'd sped earlier, knocked a sign over and kept going, and now they're here for her. This can buy her time. This will buy her time.

However, Cherie and her partner don't make a beeline for her mother. They make a beeline for the last person in Carrick she'd expect them to make a beeline for.

Officer Babineaux pauses a short distance in front of Gideon and purses her lips, solemn to speak her next words. "We've been lookin' for you. Figured you'd be around this neighborhood. Come on, Gideon. With us."

Lacey shakes her head and scrunches her face together. Gideon's face is in much the same state. His chest rises and falls more visibly. He takes a single step back, and his eye twitches. "What is this?" he asks. There's something deep and unknown at the bottom of his voice.

Babineaux remains steady. "There's no need to get nervous. We're taking you in for questioning."

Gideon digests these words. He takes a few deep breaths. It's not enough. That deep, bottomless pit of fear in his voice morphs into something more rough, more spastic. His hands sweep through his hair and he splays his arms out, a beat of rage in his tone. "What, am I being arrested?"

Babineaux sighs. She rubs the skin of her temple. "Formal detainment for questioning," she clarifies. "The police have reason to suspect that you could know, or have had something to do with Erie Mott's disappearance, given you are, according to various sources, the boyfriend. You-"

Gideon shakes his head. His bottom lip trembles and his eyes wetten. "I can't. Not now, not right now, i really, really can't, not right now." He sniffles and his gaze flickers everywhere, the sky, the ground, the pole, the mailbox, the car, the- the car. The window of the car. His eyes narrow and a bead of liquid slips from the corner and races down his cheek. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

Lacey squints, then takes a few steps closer to Gideon until she's at his side and can see what he sees. In the backseat of the car, a lined face, topped with a mop of polished blond, stares out at them, blinking with a dead stare. Isaac Boone.

"Cherie, what the fuck is he doing here?" Gideon repeats. He rubs his shaking palms on his jeans.

"Same reason as you. Listen, Mister Lucas, we'll read you your rights, take you in. We can only legally keep you for eight hours, unless a court order says otherwise. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you'll be out and back home. Just get it over with."

His brow spasms and he starts to take shallower breaths. He stands there a long while, considering, and all the while, Lacey's standing there staring back at him. Could he have something to do with this? No. No, that's stupid. Stupid ass thoughts. Christ, this is the worst timing for all of this. Mom, questioning. Do we even have eight hours? Will this tirade be over by then? Maybe I'll just have to sneak off. Find a place to stake out until Gideon gets out. Unless he doesn't go. He doesn't have to go, right?

But when she glances at him, although he's clearly on the verge of losing his cool, he caves, and steps towards the vehicle. They read him his rights. They pop open the back door. And with a final, moist glance back at Lacey, he ducks his head through the door and settles in the back seat. He avoids eye contact with Isaac and keeps his gaze on his hands as they slam the door shut behind him.

Lacey is so stunned into silence that as they drive away, she doesn't even register the conversation happening on the porch a few yards away. Holy shit. They took Gideon. We don't have time for this. There's no time.

"...no, look! Look at this! You're letting her run around with criminals too! I trusted you to take care of her, to keep her safe, to be a father, but clearly, you can't do any of those things."

The dam breaks in Jeremy's resolve and he looks up at her, a pained heat in his face. "At least I didn't pawn her off when I got busy. I took care of her. I kept her safe. But I can't keep her locked down, that's not how you let your nearly grown child experience the world. I refuse to lock her up in this musty, old, sad house like I've been for years. That boy, he's a good boy, and I trust her with him. He is hurting from this too. She doesn't run around with anyone she's not supposed to, Penny."

"I'm sure. And I'm sure the police had zero reason for taking that boy in, too, yeah?"

"Can you just stop, mom?" Lacey lashes. "There wasn't a reason for them to take him. There hardly ever is! They're reaching for dead-end leads and that's it and I need you to just stop and let me wait for him to get out so we can keep trying to find the guy these cops clearly can't!"

Penelope's jaw drops and she chuckles, a low, dry chuckle, like she's just latched onto something she really didn't want to hear but will nevertheless use as ammunition. "So you're just letting her run around trying to find a kidnapped boy. Right. Okay. And you say you're taking care of her. Right."

"I-" Jeremy looks to Lacey and blows a defeated breath through his nostrils. "I didn't know that's what she was doing."

"And thus, my point is made," Penelope finishes. The heat is gone from her voice, but she knows she's won. She turns on Lacey and lifts her chin, nodding with finality. "Pack a bag, Lace. One bag. The rest Jeremy'll have to ship back to Boston, but we're going home."

"What? We can't! I still-"

"You still have to do nothing. There's no negotiation here. Get upstairs, pack a bag, say goodbye, and get in that car so we don't have to be here any longer than we need to. Go on, git."

She wants to protest. To yell and scream and bite and fight but she knows her mother and she knows no matter what she does, what Penelope Waits says goes. With a flare of her nostrils, she storms up the steps between them and through the front door. She doesn't bother to rip her muddy shoes off as she pounds up the stairs and into her room, yanking a duffel out from under the bed and sloppily throwing clothes and other miscellaneous items in. None of it matters. Erie is gonna die and it's all gonna be because she didn't do her homework and Gideon kissed that boy in front of someone and her parents are at each other's throats when it comes to her.

It's not even like it's like this between them on a regular basis. They split nice and even and clean. Her mother hadn't gotten a divorce because she hated the man, she got one because she didn't love him anymore. And he'd accepted that, but he hadn't accepted a lot of things when it came to Lacey, and that's where the rift came in and now, well, here they are. Here they fucking- she swings the bag hard against the wall on the way out- are.

When she stomps downstairs, she finds Jeremy at the kitchen table alone, hunched over a cup of coffee. It doesn't steam so it must be cold, but he sips at it anyways, souring at the old taste. It strikes her now that she'll have to leave him behind again. Her shoulders deflate and the bag slips through her fingers and smacks the floor. He glances up sharply. When they make eye contact, his eyes swell, wet and pink. He holds his arms open. For once, she doesn't hesitate in returning the hug.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be better," he says, tightening the hold.

"It's not your fault. I should've listened. This is all my fault. I got caught up in everything."

He takes a breath like he's going to say something else, then let's it go and switches gears. "I'll miss you."

It's uncomfortable. She's not used to saying words like this, but still, she says, "I'll miss you too."

Maybe she can hide herself in one of the cabinets and she can get away with this. No. Penelope stands behind her, tapping her foot, and it's too late now. They depart and Jeremy says a drained "goodbye, Laceybug" and then the door slams shut behind them, once for the house, twice for the rental car. She slumps in the back, barely registering all that's happened. Her brain is too full and it pounds with all this excess information.

They back out of the driveway and crawl over the damp roads. There's only one piece of information she still needs at this point: she's leaving Carrick behind, and everything in it, and there's nothing she can do about it.

By the time Penelope pulls into the alcove that is the parking lot of this motel, the sun has sunken to the far end of the road and tinged the sky a million types of orange and pink and purple and, in the place from whence they came, a greyed-out navy. The artificial lights shine bright out here in the middle of nowhere, and they park beneath red neon that shines through the windshield and irritates Lacey's eyes.

Penelope turns back, the creases around her mouth set soft. The make-up under her eyes has started to fade and she looks ten times more tired than she had a few hours ago. She chews her lip. "I'm gonna pop in and get us a room. You just stay here and chill out until I'm back. Actually, here," she shuffles through her purse and emerges with a few dollar bills, "check out that vending machine and get yourself something to eat. I'll order dinner once we're settled."

With that, Penelope heads off, and despite her suggestion, Lacey stays put. Her limbs are too gelatinous and heavy to move and she opts to let her head loll across the headrest. This day's been too much. She just wants to close her eyes and let it end. Here in a few minutes, she might be able to do just that, and then they'll be closer to home by this time tomorrow, so far away from Carrick that it'll be like she was never there. It's wild, how easy it was to just leave it all behind. She's not sure whether the subtle twisting in her stomach means she's comfortable with that or not.

Or, she thinks, maybe I'm just hangry.

Penelope returns and Lacey grumbles her way out of the car, her bag slung over her shoulder. She follows her mother the short distance to a door shiny with red paint, and the moment they step inside she's assaulted with the scent of must and, well, motel smell. That raw, raw motel smell. She lumbers in and flings her bag onto one of the two beds patterned with floral pink comforters. The walls are beige and there's a questionable stain near the nightstand. The lamp is controlled by a switch on the wall and it fills the room with a warm, dim yellow. Meta. Don't like it.

With an exasperated sigh, Lacey plops down on the bed nearest the door. Her limbs and hair splay out. A lock lands in her mouth and she doesn't care enough to splutter it out.

Penelope stops at the foot of the bed and rests a hand on her hip. "You could at least try not to look miserable."

"You say 'honesty is the best policy,'" she remarks, quoting with nasally vengeance. "So no. I will express my misery in full truth. You shouldn't have come to get me."

"Listen," Penelope says, drifting across the room to shuffle through her own change of clothes. "I know you hate me for this now, but I placed you in an environment that wasn't conducive to your own needs. And that boy y'all told me about, I know it's heartbreaking and it hurts to see no one do anything about it, but Lace, y'gotta look out for yourself. You come first and foremost, no matter what. And when I see you two weeks behind on stuff that dictates whether you graduate on time, I have to step in and make sure you're doing that, which you weren't. I had no choice. It's for the best. I hope you see that sooner or later."

Lacey mills over her words for a moment but can't find the words to respond, so she doesn't. Instead, she mopes and stews. Her two favorite pastimes.

Her mother mills, doing various activities reminiscent of their life in Boston, except they're all crammed into this one room. Every business call, every friendly call, every familial call, Lacey catches every word, and much of it is gossip about herself, but she doesn't have the energy to pipe up. While Penelope flips through papers and statements and everything else she brought with her from work just to come get Lacey - her work never ends, never - the latter sits propped (somewhat; it's more of a slump after laying against the pillows for so long) and scrolling through her phone. Specifically, Google Maps.

She hadn't actively started searching around, not really. It was just a bored whim that'd entered her fingers and here she is, swiping around, staring at the same summer scenery that looks nothing like it does now. Even if she does pass over the place she'd encountered during the astral projection, how the hell is she gonna know she's found it? Follow-up question...astral projection? Christ. It still hasn't fully settled, but in all honesty, she can't say she really remembers the feeling. It's one of those fleeting things. Something you're only allowed to feel when you feel it. Like love, or blinding rage, or hunger.

Since she was seven, she's only ever been flanked by ghosts, their words and visages and auras, the stench and aroma of death walking on air. Then Carrick happens again, and the visions come to her in sleep, in waking, at the simplest tap of fingertips on silver bells and yellowed paper. Souls split away from flesh and she flies high, witness to things she ought never have been able to see. It defies the laws of Being, and although she's never really questioned it before, just, damn, what in the everloving fuck has her life become? Can she even go back to the way it was? Passive listening, experiencing? Or has this trip to Carrick truly damned her down this supernatural sphincter? 'Cause that's what it is: a contractile hole, involuntarily pushing her down deeper.

Her thumb slows its absentminded scroll, and she sighs into the collar of her shirt. Maybe it really is all Carrick, all of it. And where is she now? Uh, not in Carrick! Simple facts reap revelations, and the simplest fact of the situation is that she's out now. She's out. Carrick and its chaos is miles away, and if she wishes, she doesn't have to worry about any of it ever again.

Gideon will get out of questioning in a few hours, she can call him once she finds the proper location of the place they'd found in that other plane, and he can take care of it from there. He will take care of it, and she can leave it all behind and rest easy, knowing all will turn out even if she isn't there. She doesn't have to put herself on the line, doesn't have to sacrifice one more thing. Sleep. Time. Energy. Feeling. It can all be back to the way it was before she came to live with her father. All she has to do is lay her head down on this pillow, sleep, and wait for morning to take her home.

The desire to rest nearly drags her eyelids shut but there's rustling, a clearing of the throat. Penelope stands at the foot of the bed, purse slung over her shoulder, and hands readjusting the thick braid. Lacey lifts her brows in expectation. "What?"

"I'm gonna go pick up Thai for dinner. You stay put, watch TV, do...whatever. Just don't leave the room and don't open the door for anyone. I have the only key. I won't be long."