Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Eight

Havermouth, Present Time

**Trigger Warning - this chapter leads into a school shooting **

“It feels… wrong,” Guy said for about the fourth time. “Like, I shouldn’t be free. Also, wow, June, watch your speed. It feels like we’re going really fast. I’ve only been in the prison transport to and from hearings over the last five years, remember, and there isn’t a view out of them. I forgot what it looks like to have things to whizz past you so fast.”

“I’m doing five kilometers under the speed limit, Guy,” June told him with more patience than Aislen would have. “If I go any slower, the cars behind me are going to go nuts.”

“I don’t know what I expected about being released,” he admitted, bracing his palms against the dash, as if physically trying to slow the car. “Maybe something more formal than sign here, here’s your stuff, off you go.”

“You have to check in with your parole officer tomorrow, and then start work, so I guess that will be more formal. But for now, let’s just get you home, and settled in your room. You can watch some TV and have a beer.”

“Wow,” he said, and from the hoarseness of his voice, Aislen suspected that he was fighting back tears. “I can’t even… A beer and TV sounds so good. Maybe a pizza, too.”

“Sure, we can do that. Mum and dad will want to have a party for you, when they find out…” June glanced in the rear view. “You’ll come, won’t you Aislen?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Aislen smiled.

“You can bring the Triquetra…” June said hesitantly.

“Oh, maybe not,” Aislen wasn’t so sure about that. “That might be a bit much for everyone.”

“You’re still with them?” Guy said with disapproval.

“Still, again, whatever,” Aislen shrugged.

“All three of them,” June said with enjoyment.

“Plus one,” Aislen sighed. In Havermouth, it wasn’t exactly something that would stay quiet or private for long, and she was done with feeling ashamed about who she slept with. “I’m also dating someone from Zeus.”

“Well, fuck me,” Guy cast her a look over his shoulder. “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

“Don’t give me that look, Guy,” she said. “Judge not unless you want to be judged. One of us spent the last five years in prison for accidentally killing his girlfriend, after all.”

“I’m sorry,” he said hastily. “I didn’t mean to be rude. The Triquetra though…” He shook his head. “Those guys were arseholes.”

“They’re still arseholes, but I’m slowly training it out of them,” she replied.

“Oh wow,” he leaned forward as they entered Havermouth. “I forgot how pretty the jacarandas are.” He breathed in deeply and released his breath slowly. “It’s just… so good to be home. Is this where you live, June?” He wondered as June pulled into Aislen’s drive.

“No,” June said. “This is Aislen’s place.”

“Nice,” he said. “You did okay for yourself then, if you own a house at your age?”

“She draws naked men comics,” June told him.

He made a sound in the back of his throat. “I guess you’ve seen enough of them. I’m sorry,” he added immediately with emphasis. “I really am.”

“Well, I could respond that I’m not the only one who has probably seen a lot of naked men,” Aislen retorted, despite his apology.

“No soap jokes,” he grinned.

She laughed as she reached for the door handle. “You’re alright, Guy. Enjoy your first night of freedom.”

“Aislen,” June hastily wound down the window as Aislen closed the rear door. “I know we’re not, technically, friends, but I’d like… Well, you know,” she flushed and shrugged. “I’d like to be. If you’d like to, I mean.”

Aislen smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that. Maybe we’ll catch up for coffee and cake in a few days, once Guy is settled in.”

“That sounds great. Thanks again for today.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Guy leaned over June to look up at her, his loose hair falling back from his face, the sunlight making the most of his bone structure. “Really, Aislen. You did me a solid today and you had no reason to do so. If you ever need anything, you call me, okay?”

“Thanks, Guy,” she waved as June reversed up the drive before cursing the gravel that twisted under her high heels as she picked her way to the front door. It wasn’t locked, and she could hear the TV in the kitchen. Curious as to who was there, considering that none of the Triquetra’s or Talen’s cars were parked out front, she headed down the hall. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Tyler looked over his shoulder. “Talen and the other guys aren’t here, but Talen didn’t like the idea of you coming back to an empty house after what’s been going on, so he’s asked me to hang around.”

“Thanks, Tyler. It’s actually nice to come home to someone after all the shit that’s been going on,” she confessed. “And nice to know that no one’s going to try something whilst I’m not here. I’m going to head out again, to the high school, to pick something up. I shouldn’t be long. Do you need anything from the shops or anything?”

“Nah, I’m good. You’ve had visitors, by the way,” he told her, rising and following her back to the front door. “Some guy with an attitude and then an uptight woman. Neither would leave their names, and both looked surprised to find me here.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “What did they look like?”

“The man had intense dark eyes – a bit not all there, if you get me,” he told her. “About this high, salt and pepper hair, early sixties, or badly aged fifties, with a real desperate edge to him. I did not like him at all,” he shook his head disapprovingly. “The woman was late forties tops, a nice package, pretty lady, very uptight though. Brunette, five-five, curvy, but not overweight, blouse and trouser suit which says to me professional. Maybe a realtor?”

“My realtor is a man,” she said dubiously. She was pretty sure that his first description was of Chris Arren, however the woman was a mystery. Not young enough to be Diana or Lillian. “Thanks for that. Watch out for that man, eh? If he’s who I think he is, he’s got some issues.”

“I can handle him,” Tyler assured her. “Alright, enjoy your reminiscing.”

“Hmm,” she laughed. “My memories of the high school are pretty much all bad, so no enjoyment there, but they have something of mine that I want, so hopefully I can grab and dash without adding a new level of trauma.”

“It’s going to rain, you should take an umbrella,” he commented, looking up at the sky.

“I’ll be alright. Catch you,” she headed to her car. He was right, she thought, it was going to rain. As she drove towards the school, she had flashes of many similar days in Havermouth, the smell of petrichor, the drop in the temperature a moment before it began to fall, and the way the asphalt gathered the water into frothy brown puddles that she had to dodge as she picked her way through the wet towards the reception of the school.

The rain cleared the walkways, sports courts, ovals, and outside seating areas, and Aislen paused, watching as the library absorbed the overflow as the students sought to escape the wet and cold. There was a faint ache between her eyes, and she pressed two fingers there, massaging it out. She knew what the witches would say about a sudden headache in such a place, she thought uneasily. Her third eye was seeing something that she did not.

She rubbed against her skin, trying to shake off the feeling.

She entered the reception area and found it empty. She could see her art book, the page open to Rhett’s portrait, in a display case. She rang the bell and wandered over to stand before it.

Maybe that was what her third eye was reacting too, she thought. Heath and Cameron had both been more present in their seduction in recent times, than Rhett. She couldn’t remember a moment of them one-on-one outside those few fragile minutes of fucking during the first time with Talen. Rhett had kept in the background, present but not participating, ever since.

She was preoccupied with Rhett as she approached the reception desk.

“Hi,” the clean-cut woman on the other side of the plexiglass smiled brightly. “How can I help you?”

“Umm,” Aislen was thrown off by her memories, her preoccupation with the Triquetra, and the feeling that she had been there, in that moment, on that day, before. “I’m here… for my art book.” She gestured to the case in which it was contained. “I’m Aislen Carter. I was told you’re changing the display and to come and get my artwork.”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, of course, I recognize you,” she moved around the desk, stepping out into the foyer and unlocked the case. “I guess you don’t recognize me,” she said shyly. “We were in the same year…”

“I’m sorry,” Aislen was. She had been so preoccupied during her month at the high school by the Triquetra, that other faces had merged and blurred unless they belonged to the jocks and cheerleaders around the Triquetra. “I am,” she said with genuine feeling. “I was… a bit fucked up,” she tried to shrug off years of hurt and failed.

“We all were,” the receptionist replied warmly, and then they both froze, their head jerking upwards, to the sharp bark of gun fire. “That wasn’t…” The receptionist said, her face visibly paling. “I mean, that doesn’t REALLY happen… Does it?”

A second sharp bark of sound cut through the room, and a scream.

“Call the police,” Aislen said, her voice hoarse. “And pull the fucking alarm. There’s a school shooter.”