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January 1st, 2015. For some, it was a good day. For others, it wasn't the greatest. For Marcia though, it was the second worst day of her entire life. If she were to place it on a leaderboard or some kind of other ranking system, the second spot would go to that day hands down. It had started out with a dull morning. A smog over the city that was always there only somehow today it seemed darker. The traffic was thicker. The air angrier. It seemed the whole world was against Marcia that day, and yet, on a stage in Times Square in front of a crowd of one thousand under the afternoon sky, she stepped out. The microphone at the center of the stage seemed miles away, and when she did finally reach it with a slow step, she looked out on the crowd. There were other fashion designers. Journalists, fans, cameras sending a live feed back to numerous news stations and above them all was a banner with black lettering and a red backdrop. It read: Beauty Aquamore. The crowd sat silent in anticipation whatever it was Marcia had to say. All eyes were on her, and she cleared her throat with a sharp pitch of echoing feedback.

"First off I just want to say good morning," Marcia was ready now for what she knew was coming, "and thank you for coming out. I'm sure a lot of you had a late night last night. I'll make this quick."

She scanned the crowd once more. Looking over those watchful, wanting eyes, and she said it. Quickly. Quietly. Had not been for the microphone, no one would have heard her.

"As of eight am this morning, Beauty Aquamore is shut down."

There was silence. Enough to hear the wind whistle, and bundled in their numerous layers of coats and sweatshirts, they all looked at Marcia. It had not been the eruption of chaos she had expected. Just empty, hollow, silence, and then came the first question.

"Mrs. Mirabella, why are you shutting down your company?"

And then another.

"Does this have anything to do with the death of James Conally?"

And another.

"What about your fans?"

She was bombarded with so many questions at once they all jumbled into one large sound that was impossible to understand, and next came the chaos. It had started after a young woman reached up after standing on the shoulders of her husband, and yanked the banner from where it hung. One side came loose, and was soon drawn into a crowd that was beginning to fight over the banner to the point that once the crowd cleared all that remained were shreds. The journalists flocked towards the stage. Their eyes gleaming, and Marcia barely caught sight of a fight breaking out as she began to hunker down. This is what she had expected, and the shocking silence had thrown her off. Had caused her to freeze, and as the first journalists were climbing onto the stage, Marcia turned. Behind the stage, down a small set of stairs that Marcia just hopped, there was a car waiting. A car with a driver waiting to flee full speed ahead at her command.

Marcia was so concerned with what was behind her, she didn't even bother to check the car. As soon as she saw the car behind the stage, its black paint sparkling under the sun, she broke out into a full on sprint. The shoes she had on slapping against the pavement, and once she was at the door, she was yanking it open. The journalists were now on the pavement as well, and as she pulled the door shut, there was a sound. A low, metallic click like the click of a doorknob being turned sounded off, and when Marcia turned around she was staring into the barrel of a pistol. A small 9mm pistol, and behind the gun, was Holly. Her smile crooked, her eyes gleaming, and her finger on the trigger.

"Here we are," said Holly.

Marcia raised her fists, ready to lose her life the second Holly pulled the trigger, and before she could even start to swing, Holly brought the gun around and slammed the butt of the pistol into Marcia's right temple. Intense pain exploded through her skull as the world flashed gray, and she looked to Holly with tears in her eyes.

"You can't get yourself killed just yet,' said Holly, "not until you've remembered."

"Remember what," asked Marcia, her voice slurring slightly.

"That's what we're here for. Now tell your driver to take you home."

And with a crowd of journalists ravenous for the story still coming behind them, the car pulled forward, and took the Marcia and Holly down the last leg of the journey.