by Justin Bell
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"Still no answers in the rumored gang attack that has shocked this small New Hampshire community," the newscaster was in his three piece suit, looking stoic at the camera, hair in all the right places, a narrow divot in the middle of his broad chin, chiseled from immaculately made up flesh. "Gunfire ripped apart the night of small town Hammond, New Hampshire, a surprisingly violent incident among a small Ivy League New England town. This coming less than a week after a film crew shocked citizens of the Vermont town next door."
Louisa squeezed her eyes closed and leaned back on the couch in her living room, trying to equalize her uneven, rapid breathing.
"Rumors of film production moving to Hammond were quickly disproven when several injured men appeared at the local hospital, according to field reporters on the scene."
Even as the television transitioned to the next story, Louisa's mind hung on that final, critical report. Gunfire tearing apart two towns. Dead and injured. Chaos.
Strickland was involved in this. She was certain of it. And it wasn't his fault. Whatever Grace and his band of misfits was up to, Grace was enveloped in it against his will, and if things didn't even out, these two small towns would be torn apart.
"Turn that crap off," Julie barked as she entered the living room. "You'll drive yourself crazy."
Before Louisa could move, she clutched the remote from the arm of the couch and snapped the power button, reducing the television to a ghosty black hue.
"This stuff happens sometimes, hon. You just have to roll with it and work with them to figure out what happened. It's not your fault."
Louisa remained seated, back pressed against the couch. She opened her eyes and stared aimlessly up towards the off white popcorn ceiling.
"Lou. Come on," Jules coaxed, putting a calming hand on her partner's shoulder.
"It is," Louisa said softly, almost to herself.
"It is what?" Julietta asked, pulling her hand away.
"My fault. I could have stopped this."
Jules twisted up her face, looking at her. She started to speak, then stopped, and softly closed her eyes.
"Oh, no," she whispered. "Is this related to that Strickland stuff?" she asked. Her eyes popped back open in poorly muted alarm.
"I think so," Louisa replied without meeting her eyes.
Jules didn't answer. Her mouth pulled shut into a tight line, and she turned away, walking towards the kitchen.
Louisa pulled herself to her feet and walked around the couch to follow. "What should I do?" she asked, speaking at the back of her retreating wife.
Jules stopped mid-stride, but did not look back. "I told you this was a bad idea," she said. "If this gets uncovered?"
This time it was Louisa's turn to narrow her mouth and scowl. "You know, it must be nice to be able to sit back and judge everyone."
Whoever had said the best defense was a good offense must have lived in Louisa Gutierrez's household growing up. Her entire family believed in reacting to opposition with a more aggressive affront.
"That is not fair," said Jules sternly, turning back to face her.
"We're not all living our dream!" Louisa shouted. "I gave up my dream to come here with you!"
Julietta's mouth twitched, and a burn of tears formed at the corner of each eye.
"I thought a life with me was your dream?"
Louisa didn't reply. She couldn't reply. She'd already said too much. The house was silent, but the inside of Louisa's head was a frantic storm of conflicting emotions.
