"Stop walking off so fast damnit!" I shout a couple steps behind. Stopping to a subtle halt, she turns and looks up at me. "Was I walking fast?" She asks. I'm not going to admit to walking slower than someone so short. "Where are you leading me off to this time? Another useless detour?" I remark, crossing my arms and looking out to the brightly lit sky. Did any time pass while I was at that other place? How long will it take the Originals to notice the sudden influx of potential murderers in the streets. My maiden opens her mouth to speak but is instead interrupted by the  horrible obnoxious rumbling of her stomach. "No detours." She said, walking off ahead again.

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I wanted to tell her.

Pie wouldn't be able to handle it; I know that. But I also know I shouldn't be keeping secrets from her. We're married after all. Anything on my chest is also on hers.

I wish I could see it sometimes. The expressions on her face whenever she looks at me. Is it of horror? Disappointment? Worst of all, pity?

She was humming a song, which blended in well with the brash sound of her brushing Pie's hair and embers dying in the oven fire.

"Food looks ready honey." She informs me.

"Would you mind getting that for me?" I request.

"Of course." she replies.

Another simple exchange.

I should tell her. About the pain. The memories. I don't know what caused them, why they suddenly returned to torture me. I just want to be honest with her. But it's no longer her anymore, is it. She's not Rebbi, and that is not my son. 

I am alone.

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She knocked on the door like it was hinged to her best friend's house. She knocked on it the same way she did when she was trying to come inside my bedroom. Nudging her out the way, I push the door open, and we walk into Jordalina's favorite restaurant. "Why are we here?" I ask, but I heard my maiden's demanding stomach. Sitting at a booth, she sat with her legs up on the cushions crossing one another. "You look like a deranged child." I tell her, sitting at the other side of the table. The look on her face- she was trying really hard to process what I meant. "okay." she says, waving over some little kid with a moldy mop over his head. "So, Pie. How many has she revived now?" Ten asks tapping her cheek with a finger. The boy starts lifting fingers, but, telling by the way he was doing it, the number was too many to count. "Ah." Ten reacts. She stares up and out at nothing for a minute.

"And that includes my uncle, doesn't it?"

The kid nods.

"If you need your order taken, I'm the man, ma'am. What would you prefer?" a man who's eyes are wrapped in bandages towers over us smiling. "ah." Ten reacts. At that same moment, the man also gets tight. All the muscles in his body constrict, and he actually takes a step backwards. Oh this is interesting.

"I'll be back with some menus."

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Screaming screaming Screaming. I was scared. I'd never been here before. It was dark. I was laying on something hard and cold. I was scared. So, when I'm scared, I scream. It's a habit that drives Pie bonkers. I'm always having nightmares. I didn't think screaming would be my passage way to my memories, a little creepy for my taste, but here I was, no longer in the dark and standing before a mirror I've never stood in front of before.

I was very very young. Just a chubby little girl with braids, my mommy's lipstick hidden in my hand, and sweat going down my forehead at the sound of my mommy's voice calling me to come downstairs for breakfast. Gulping, I run around the bathroom looking for paper towels. We never keep paper towels in the bathroom. I grab the bathing towel and soak it in some water, rubbing it round and round on my face. After a couple rounds, I nod my head feeling I'd done the job to completion.

I bolt out the door and slide down the long row of stairs to the main floor and glide around on the wood floor with my socks on to the kitchen. "Goodmornin mama!" I shout, sitting down at the table. It was a very big and round table, with so many seats I couldn't count. I heard someone yawn behind me, and down came one of my younger siblings. One of the triplets, the girl one. "Here." she says, shoving a glass of water mama told her to give to me into my chest.

At the moment I looked down into the reflective water, images of the past flashed before me. The pain, the angst, the desire for vengeance or atonement of another soul. I had lost so many. I had gained friends, allies. The lives of others then were lost so that I could find the true meaning of my life. Why had I thrown that all away? My purpose is justice. I can't believe I willingly let that go.

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Frank tips his hat as he walks into the restaurant. He follows the same routine every day ever since the beginning. He tips his hat. He pats the messy mute boy on the head. He sits in the corner table where he can see the whole room, but no one notices him. He orders a warm glass of soup. He goes back home to his creature sanctuary, where he nurtures sick creatures that wander to the human side of the world. His life is simple; simple is his life. He doesn't want that taken from him.

Frank tips his hat and he sits in the corner table, ordering a warm glass of soup. As he walked in, he tips his hat a strange yet arousing woman sitting at a table with that short tempered man. Everyone knows about the short tempered man with the menacing deposition. He's the rarest thing in the world. That's why the man hadn't noticed Frank when he tipped his hat and sat down in the corner.

Frank sat down at the corner and took a sip out of his glass of soup, watching the pretty woman with one eye talk to the boy Pierro. The boy was counting something, but Frank was not the only one who noticed the two conversing. So had the blind man, Flash. One foot slightly dragging behind the other, Flash poured more soup into Frank's glass and made his way over to the couple's table.

Frank felt that the soup in his glass was a little too hot for his liking, putting it down he watched the man Flash interact with the two. Frank has been watching this building and those who come in for a long time now. He has gathered an understanding of emotions and "moods" as his daughter once told him about after what he told his wife that rumor, which eventually lead to a painful slap to the right cheek.

Frank picked the glass back up to take another sip of the soup as he watched Flash walk back in.  Flash's chest is puffed out more so than usual, Frank notices. Flash makes his way back to the table, and the woman stands from her seat and in front of the table. Frank still can't make out what they're saying.

Flash and the woman leave the angry man at the table and go outside. The angry man's mind seems too occupied to notice anyways. "Such a rare man", Frank whispered aloud.

A slight breeze comes in as the two leave and one arrives.

Frank's soup has gotten a little colder.

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"Brother, I must speak with you." Luke whispers urgently, sliding into the table like some entitled welcomed asshole. "I'm eating." I reply, but there is no food at the table yet.  I haven't even gotten my drink yet.

For the first time in the world, someone other than myself rolled their eyes, and it was the one man who embodies perfection in this world. "It won't be too long. There's a serious problem we need to discus." Luke informs me, putting his clenched fists on the table. "K" diverting my attention to the ugly man sitting at the far corner watching us, I mumble. Man he is hideous and really weird. Who drink soup out a glass? Oh, and the haircut. Man, does he cut his hair himself?

"Are you even listening to me?" Luke asks; I can hear the slightest of grinding in his teeth. Ah, this feels so familiar. "nope." I tell him and pull out a coin that was in my pocket. Where'd this boy come from? While flipping it, I continue listening. There's the sizzle of food cooking nearby, Luke is rambling about how the Originals have no intentions to act upon the 137% increase in death in the world, the disgusting sound of Frank slurping up his soup, shouting, my voice listing off all the distractions I hear... wait- "There's really been that much an increase?" I ask him, pinching myself underneath the table. "Of course there has! On top of that, there has been a surge of people all at once wandering around and threatening society! How could this have even happened?!" Luke sounded so much more panicky than I'm used to. Kind of killing the mood. "Well, you can thank that to- hey where is"-the sound of glass shattering and a puddle of soup spreading on the floor interrupted my thought.

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"I figured you out. You bitch. I figured it all out. But you couldn't live with me being around. You forced me to lose my memories and live a 'happy life' with my kid and family. WHAT ABOUT MY OTHER FAMILY? The other people in my life who cared about me, who loved me, who I loved. You took that all away from me because you weren't apart of it. But I wanted you to be a part of it. I tried so hard to bring you in. Get you to be part of us. Our little group. To me, you were a friend. Won't you say something? I mean... you're all I have left. Isn't that just the worst? Man, I wish I could see you. Things may not be going well for me, but how have you been?"

...

"Well, you don't have to answer I guess. Oh, a step closer? Don't do that. I'm not done. My son. My wife. You never told me what happened to him. Whenever I ask her, she just changes the subject. Whenever I try to tell her about my abilities, she just changes the subject. The food, honey. The tables, honey. The dishes, honey. The sheets, honey. Is she afraid of me? Of you? I really just want to know. But I already know too much. Life is supposed to be amazing here. Everyone is supposed to be happy here. I just wish- I just wish- oh! I already warned you once. I'll pull it. Don't make me do it. But... you can't die. I can't kill you. Should've remembered that from all the training we did. No one could beat you. I thought I was lucky to meet you."

...

"I was told how lucky I was to have a sister that could heal wounds with her touch. I was told how lucky I was to have survived all the torture I had to endure. Luck. Luck. Luck. But... give me a second to unravel, will you. Now, look me in the eyes. I've decided I am lucky. That I don't have to see you. I am lucky, that I wasn't patted down for weapons after my memory wipe because they were too disgusted or full of pity- either one- to touch me. I was lucky to have brought this gun over so I could finally have the chance to talk to you."
...
"And to think! I LOVED YOU! ...but I guess that never mattered. Emotions don't matter to you. YOU WERE JUST SO PERFECT! Too damn perfect."

...

"At this point, I'd say, see you in hell.'"

...

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"No!"

we heard a woman scream from outside.

Then a loud blast of something.

We ran outside and turned the corner of the building.  It had started to rain. As it does in all dramatic scenes. My maiden's back was turned to us; it was slightly hunched over. I ran up to her side and got a full view of the scene. The rain water collected the red; the chunks slid away from us into the drainage. Her shaking hand was holding on to the waiter's hand that held the gun. "Let go of the gun." I order her. Her grasp tightens. I look up and see myself standing on the other side of her. He looked over at her face and put his hand up to push a hair out of her eyes. Nothing actually moved of course. He then looked down at Flash and slightly shook his head. Putting my hand on her's, I softly ask, "let go."

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Frank spilled his soup.