T W E N T Y - T W O
murdering murderers.

Tonight's colder than it has been the past few nights, the gentle chilly breeze makes me hug my arms around my waist as I set a quick pace.

I'd be hopelessly lost, wandering to every corner of the island, if it weren't for JJ, whom I invited over in the complete spur of the moment – the words came out before I could stop them, a blurted question I wanted to shove back in my mouth the second he looked confused. I told myself, in those few seconds we sat alone on the verandah, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, that it was sympathy, but the more I thought the less I believed myself.

It's well past midnight, the moon is set high in the sky and I enjoy the twinkling lights that are splattered across the navy sky. My Mum will no doubt be fast asleep, she's always been someone who goes to bed early and wakes up earlier, especially after such an emotionally charged day. JJ can sneak out before my mother's alarm, or when she's in the shower, her morning has always followed a strict schedule, so I'll find a space and get him to jump out the window and climb down the tree.

I've warned JJ a good few times that I'm sure the house will be in a state of disarray, with the hurried move and thick coat of dust covering everything, it's not going to be pristine. He reminded me of the fact his house is far from a picture-perfect, display home people marvel at, but lacks any real personality. His house definitely has a distinct personality. Takes after Luke.

We walk down the empty streets, hearing the odd domestic. The dim lighting makes me watch every step, I peeled off the dinosaur plasters so I'm one trip away from sepsis.

My mind toys with the thought that JJ may be part homing pigeon, because all I had to do was describe what my new house looked like and he said he knew the perfect shortcut that would cut the walk in half.

I glance over to the blond boy, walking right next to me, having tripped about five minutes ago he's currently picking small stones out of his hands, looking very concentrated.

"Whatcha thinking about?" I ask, taking a step away from JJ to stomp on a crunchy leaf, enjoying it way too much. The satisfaction will never cease.

He dusts his hands together before dropping them back to his sides. "Nothing much. Just how great I'd do in a zombie apocalypse," he glances up at the sky, puffs of clouds obscure the view of some of the stars.

"You think you'd do well?" I ask, my lip quirking up in amusement; not because I think he'd do badly, just because boy's thoughts never cease to astound me, it really is lights are out and no one's home.

"Oh, I know I'd do well," he looks at me, his head tips with a firm nod. "Mabel, I'm built for a zombie apocalypse," he states, confidence drips from every word.

I crash my trainers down on another unsuspecting leaf. "Well, I for one, would shoot myself in the head day one. Apocalyptic disaster situations would not be for me," I decide.

He scoffs, "You'd be fine."

"I'd be constantly bricking it. Not to mention I'd be fucked without my medication," I look at him, with a dim, flickering street light the only source of illumination he looks different than normal. Although I think ten minutes of sobbing doesn't help, that's probably more the reason.

"I'd get you your medication– it'd be easy, abduct a chemist, get them to mix it up Breaking Bad style. Bada bing, bada boom, no depression for you," he recites an actually not that badly thought out plan, but still without any legs to stand on. "We should watch Breaking Bad, think you'd like it. You'd probably think the main guy's good looking, you seem to think every man over fifty is hot– a little concerning considering, well... a lot of things."

I stop walking, looking at him with abject horror. "I know what the main guy looks like, and I'm genuinely horrified. Fucking Walter White? Bald and with an awful beard? I'd rather become a nun– actually, that's strong." I shake my head, glaring at JJ who looks annoyingly amused. "No, I change my mind, I stand by that, I'm Googling 'convents near me'. No. Just no."

"Every old man on Grey's Anatomy is always the hottest man you've ever seen," he brings up a slightly valid point.

"Let's get back onto the zombies, I'm sick of this, you're so mean to me–"

"I am not," he grins.

"I would still hate an apocalypse," I start walking again, catching up with JJ in a few strides.

"But I'd keep you safe," he seems to be acting like there's a scheduled apocalypse. Something tells me he's thought about this way too much, he probably knows exactly where he'd set up camp.

"Nope," I shake my head. "Still gonna shoot myself. Plus, imagine if men don't have enforced laws anymore. They barely treat women as people with them."

The house finally comes into view and we both hop over the short gate to stop the squeaking of the rusted hinges. "I'd kill them all, trust me, you'd have so much fun," he assures me.

I slip the key into the lock and shake it around a little until it swings open.

I'm not greeted with the smell of dust and old people, instead, it smells fresh and like my mother's favourite candle. An extreme upgrade.

I feel JJ standing right behind me, being nosey and looking in before he even gets inside, I walk in first, pulling off my shoes and picking them up.

"If you think this is dirty–" He falls over whilst trying to get his shoe off. I don't offer a hand, he's fine. "Then you must be disgusted at the state of my house," he mumbles quietly like he didn't just shake the house to its core.

I tip my head to the stairs and I wait a second for him to get up, before walking over to and up the stairs that creek up our weight. It's weird, the fact that this is where I live now, I've exchanged the modern sleek design for something a little more classical. But I'll count my blessings as this is definitely one of the nicer houses in The Cut. Its garden is neat, its paint isn't peeling off and – as far as I know – there aren't any massive concaved holes in the roof.

JJ shuts the door carefully as he examines the room. "You've got an in-suit?" He grins while walking toward the en suite.

"En suite."

"Can't help yourself, can you?" He shakes his head with a wide grin as he puts his shoes in the corner next to my door, beside my own.

I grab a slouchy shirt from my wardrobe and walk passed him, "If I'm going to spend extended periods of time with you going forth, then you need to learn simple shit."

"What can I correct you on? Because we need to even the playing field, Mabel," I walk out of the bathroom with my toothbrush in my mouth, having already changed into my pyjamas.

I pretend to think about it, scrunching my eyebrows together and tipping my head to the side a few degrees. When I turn to spit out the toothpaste I decide on my answer.

"Boats."

"Boats?"

"You know, the things that float on the water that take you from–" I explain sarcastically.

"I know what a boat is, I'm just confused as to how that's the gap you think of," he shakes his head as he pulls off his shirt.

"And knowing where I'm going, but be nice with that, I'm sensitive about that. I did have an Amber Alert sent out because I got pee shy and wandered too far," I remind him. Pulling back the sheets I notice my Mum took down the half a dozen crosses that hung above the bed – an appreciated change. I can't imagine doing anything in a bed whilst staring at crosses. Which, thinking about it, was probably what my Grandma was going for.

"Tell me something about you, something no one else knows," He mumbles, laying down next to me, his head looking at my side profile. I make sure to lift my chin slightly so I don't have a disastrous double chin.

My fingernails pick at my cuticles. My mind rakes through things I can tell him, sorting through all the sad things, the funny things and the things that make me want to curl up in a little ball and die. "I was a sad kid, we've covered that much, and I think we also covered me getting turned down by every therapist for being a little shit. But there was one I liked, but she moved away. She told me to write down every little thing that made me smile, then, when I wanted to make a concrete belt and become friends with fish, I could read about the times when something so little made such a big difference," I explain, hoping it makes sense. "I still do that, I write down the stuff and hide the books because I would kill myself if anyone read those."

"So I must be a main character," he smirks.

I roll my eyes and get comfortable, turning to look out the massive window. "I think you were briefly mentioned when I was writing something about Kiara. It's in passing, obviously not important enough to fill a page."

His hand splays across my stomach covered in a shirt – his shirt, actually – and pulls me toward him. "I deserve more than a fuckin' page. I'm amazing."

"The only amazing part about you is that ego of yours, it needs to be studied." I hear him laugh behind me, a small smile spread across my face, only showing up because he can't see it. I can't contribute to the ego.

There's a few seconds of silence, but I know he's awake. "I'm sorry," He sounds strained like he really doesn't want to talk about whatever he's referring to.

I shuffle and flip over to look at him, "About what? You didn't murder anyone, did you?"

His eyes dart over my face I'm sure he can hardly see, with the light coming from a window behind me. "Crying, I didn't realise it wa–"

I press a finger to his lips, shutting him up. "Don't ever apologise for crying, you're a human with emotions and are allowed to cry. It doesn't change my opinion of you, you're fine. Don't stress. I've cried in front of you."

"It's different," he argues. It hurts how torn up about it he looks, the embarrassment runs deep, I'd be willing to bet all of my immediate family's lives on the fact JJ wasn't taught how to express emotions, and as a boy, if you don't learn young, you tend not to learn at all. The second you're told that "boys don't cry" you internalise that and it becomes your truth. And I don't want that to be JJ's truth, I want him to be able to tell someone that he's hurting.

"It's not to me. You're human, JJ. A human that, right now, is going through a lot. So much is changing, and not all of it for the better. Don't bottle shit up, I've done that and I almost got sent to a psych ward," I give him a sad smile. "You can cry in front of me, it's allowed – fuck, it's encouraged."

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, and I think that's the end of it before he tucks pieces of hair that fell in front of my face, behind my ear. "You can cry in front of me too. I don't care– wait, no. I do care I just, you know?"

I lay back down, my hand cups his cheek and my thumb rubs back at forth. "I know. Now I'm about to die of sleep deprivation, so time for bed." I turn back around, and JJ pulls me back toward him. Thankfully the fan is on.

-

I sleep weirdly well, and I always sleep well, so that says something. I slept better than I do alone, better than I did at the Château – mainly because that mattress had coils sticking out and threatening to give me tetanus – and definitely better than I did with Rafe.

The morning was lazy, I heard my mother's alarm go off and once the shower turned on I shuffled JJ out the window with the promise of seeing each other while we prepared to get the rest of the gold.

After getting myself ready, I take – what I'm calling – the scenic route to the Château, which just means I got lost for half an hour and began panicking that I'd have another Amber Alert sent out on me. Then I see a small, metal bucket being flung around a tree and I think I've found the right house.

I can hear laughs and distant yelling at JJ. Not shocking.

I wade through the overgrown grass and try not to think about tics, eventually getting to the back garden. I see John B's missing, but Sarah already texted that he's on a fishing trip with her father, not something I ever thought would happen, but the more you know, hey?

"Mabel! You're right one time!" JJ grins, way too chipped for having been shoved out a window before five in the morning.

I glance at the old tree with sturdy, thick branches splayed out everywhere, fairy lights still strung through them. The small bucket I saw is hanging off a particularly sturdy-looking branch.

"For what?" I ask.

JJ walks over to me, pressing his hand flat against my back he walks us over the the bucket. "I've heard you're good with heights, so this shouldn't even be an issue," he decides.

My heels dig into the ground. "Who told you that? Because it sure as shit wasn't me!"

"It may have been an assumption," he mumbles.

"No shit," I pull my arm away, glaring at him like I want him to combust into flames.

His hand lifts to scratch behind his neck, "So you are scared of heights?" He asks hesitantly.

"No," I look at the contraption, it doesn't look like it'd pass any standard checks. "But I'm still not getting in."

"You're tiny, it's fine," he pushes my concern off.

"I'm five foot nine, not four foot three. No one is mistaking me for a garden gnome."

"Semantics."

"If three inches isn't a big deal, then boy do I have news for you," I insinuate.

His eyebrows shoot up, but Pope just to in before he can say a thing. Probably for the better, I only took three karate classes when I was five. "You don't have to, Frankie," Pope says calmly, in a tone that I know he wouldn't be angry if I said no – which makes me say yes.

"It's okay. I don't really mind," I smile at him, then turn and glare at JJ.

Pope lowers the bucket, I can hear the metal gears squeak as it hits the ground. JJ holds it still as I climb inside, the metal is warm but not hot enough that it feels like it's giving me third-degree burns.

"You feel steady?" JJ asks giving it a shake, my hands grab the sides of the bucket, confused as to why he'd ask if I feel steady before shaking me to where I am not steady. "Maybe we should test it–"

"You can lift it up now, Pope. Feels good," I smile at Pope, then look back at JJ. "If I snap my neck and become someone who communicates through a computer I activate with my eyes, I'm going to train it to kill you. That and dolphins, they are fucking evil."

"Wouldn't expect anything less, sweetcheeks." He pushes off the bucket and walks over to Pope who already begins lifting me up.

I lift in the air, sadly not high enough to get any view worth the possible quadriplegia. It's just more water on one side, and more crappy houses on the other side. Nothing groundbreaking. I can see children racing down the roads covered in potholes, shouting with simple bliss. Not old enough to fully comprehend the hand they were dealt in life.

It's interesting to think how different people's childhood was, how some people had to face horror every single day, and some people are so sheltered they have to be told Santa doesn't exist – I think I floated somewhere in the middle, exposed to the horror that is male anger, and I never bought into the hole strange man jumps down your non-existent chimney. The tooth fairy was a similar deal, fairies seemed a little far-fetched to little Frankie. I have always been a cynical sceptic. I refused to believe puffer fish was a thing until I saw one in a zoo, I thought it was a load of shit just like half the stuff they peddle to little, impressionable kids.

Five-year-old me knew adults were full of shit. I figured out everyone was full of shit to varying degrees very young.

But I wish I had some of that childhood innocence, where I thought the world was full of magic and without people who murder other people just for the kick. Sadly that wasn't meant to be, I rejected Santa the second I had to make cookies for an imaginary fat man who committed serial breaking and entering.

I glance down, having gotten stuck in my own head. I dangle about fifteen feet in the air – honestly, it could be anywhere from forty to four, I can't figure it out.

I sway with the gentle breeze that takes the edge off the humid heat.

My mind reminds me of how I had to flick JJ's forehead to get an ounce of space. He's only getting more clingy, the second he floats the idea of super glue I'm out. I swear he created a sauna. Why is he so warm? He needs to get that checked out.

"Frankie!" Pope shouts and I'm ripped out of my head, sent flying back to the real world. "How's it feeling?" He asks. God we'd be lost without the poor boy.

Thick chains come out of several places in the bucket, one of my hands grabs the rusted chain, and the other steadies myself on the rim – only my trainer-clad feet rest inside the bucket. "Feels good," I shout down.

Pope nods, and a slightly pleased look graces his face. "I'll take you down," he shouts back. The machine begins lowering me back down, and with every foot lowered the likelihood of a life in a wheelchair depletes. Here I was planning my Halloween costume as Abby Lee Miller, now I won't get to use it. When the bucket hits the leaf-littered ground I climb out, my eyes look around before seeing JJ in the spa which is still a sore spot for me. Pool floaties are still scattered on top of the placid water.

With a beer resting comfortably in his hand, he smiles when he sees me. "John B pulling a Houdini," he says as I walk over to him, still not at the point I entertain the idea of getting into the terrible purchase.

"Yeah. Where is he?" Pope asks, his thick eyebrows knit together. "I got my scholarship interview tomorrow. We gotta get this done." There is no one on the entirety of this island that deserves that scholarship more than Pope does. He was the only other one in the group I knew before the gold hunt – I've been his lab partner a few times and he's beyond smart and often painfully thorough. Which made being his lab partner actually quite painful. I – despite being the third best in the year at science, with him first and Kim second – was tasked with merely holding things.

I can see John B storming toward us with a foul look on his face. "Speak of the devil and he shall appear," I mumble, lifting my hand above my eyes to try and figure out how angry he is.

"Dude, I set up the entire winch to pull the gold up and everything. And Mabel tested it out, works good," JJ lies as John B walks toward us like he's on a warpath.

From stood behind me I can practically hear Pope roll his eyes. "No, he did not. I did that," Pope corrects him.

John B doesn't seem interested in the successful afternoon, whatever has happened has flipped a switch. I know fishing is dull as rocks, and Ward Cameron is a piece of work, but it can't have been that bad. I've spent way more time than I would've chosen with him, he's a dick, but he's not that bad.

"Okay, that's it?" JJ's eyes flick to me, clearly confused.

I follow behind John B, everyone else falls in line behind me, trying to figure out what's happening. As I enter through the door I see him manically searching, with just as much desperation as JJ when he was robbing Barry. His hands carelessly dig through stacks of unopened mail and cases full of clutter. He seems to have tuned out everything else out, solely focusing in on his task.

Seems like John B isn't all that fond of fishing.

"What's up, man?" Pope breaks the tense silence with calm words.

John B doesn't respond, if anything his movements only seem to get more desperate and