Six Vaughn.

(To Siji - Hopefully, we'll create more inside jokes)

Present Day -
Six looks at her reflection in the mirror as the rhythm of Seek and Destroy by SZA echoes off the walls of her bathroom. She runs her fingers through her thick curls and shakes her head back and forth, her curls moving swiftly in a graceful motion. She grabs a tail comb and starts to part her hair, while attempting to read the instructions on the dye packet lying on the bathroom island.

Twenty minutes later, she is in awe of the color her hair has taken on. She strips, steps into the shower, scrubs her body aggressively, and sings at the top of her lungs Now that I’ve ruined everything, I cannot complain. Now that I’ve ruined everything, I am so fucking free... Now that I’ve ruined everything, space is all I need.

Finished with her shower, Six stands in a daze. The steam in the bathroom hangs thick in the air, and her body is in a state of thermal stress. She considers lying down to sleep for as long as she can, but that’s not an option. She needs to go to the store, and most importantly, the mess downstairs demands her attention. She wipes the mirror, attempting to clear the fog that has settled on it. Her hair is now a fiery shade of ginger, her eyes are puffy, and two pimples rest on her forehead. She frowns, staring into oblivion, wondering how her life has come to this point. The past few weeks have been a blur of endless digging, countless cups of coffee, and sleepless nights, all in the pursuit of uncovering the truth.

The alarm she sets for 7 p.m. goes off, and she glances at the wooden clock Caleb once loved. She stares at it for a moment, and as she does, her thoughts drift back to when they first met.

About 3 years ago -

Rain was pouring heavily by the time Six arrived at the Department of Motor Vehicles. She sighed, cursing herself for not checking the weather before heading out. Reaching into the pocket at the back of the passenger seat, she felt around for an umbrella, but it was empty. Defeated, she shifted her car into park and ran toward the entrance, holding her file of documents over her head for cover. Inside, she scanned the room and was relieved to see only a few people present. Six had always hated waiting, and fewer people meant a shorter wait time. She hugged her folder to her chest and settled onto one of the uncomfortable metal chairs in the waiting area, loosening the scarf around her neck. As she pulled out her phone to distract herself, she noticed the woman at counter 9 engaged in a tense back-and-forth with the man she was assisting.

“Sir, can you please stand behind the chair, look straight, and tell me where you see the red dot? ” The woman’s voice was sharp with irritation.

“Oh, behind the chair... okay, okay,” the man replied, but instead of following instructions, he stood in front of the chair and looked to his left.

“Behind the chair, sir. And just look straight,” she repeated, her expression impassive.

“Okay, okay,” he said again, but this time, he looked to the right, fidgeting and nearly falling into the chair behind him.

“Sir!” The woman behind the counter stood up, exasperated. “Why won’t you just do as I say? BEHIND THE CHAIR!”

Six shook her head and reached for her AirPods in an attempt to drown out the noise. But just as she was about to plug them in, a man behind her burst out laughing. She turned, and he spoke, still trying to stifle his laughter.

"I apologize," he said, his hand covering his mouth. "I really tried to hold this in, but come on..."

Six chuckled lightly and responded, "Yeah, I guess it’s just another morning at the DMV."

That was how she met Caleb, the debonaire man bold enough to say what most people in the room were either too shy or too indifferent to express at that moment.

Present Day -

Luckily, Six makes it to the store just before it closes. She pulls her hood over her head and slips on a 3-ply face mask. As she’s about to grab a cart, her phone beeps.

“Good evening, Six. Just checking in on the time you’re supposed to pick up Willow?”

“Shit,” she mutters, realizing she’s completely forgotten about her daughter. With a sigh, she quickly types back, “Hi Sadie, I’m so sorry, but can we do a sleepover tonight? I’ll cover the extra charge, it’s one of those days, emergency at work.”

She stashes her phone back in her purse and moves with focused precision down the aisles. One by one, the items she needs fall into her cart, gloves, a variety of cleaning agents, trash bags, and a pack of gum. Finally, she reaches the register, where an elderly woman is checking her out.

“Must be a big mess,” the elderly woman says slowly, eyeing the contents of Six’s cart.

“Yes, you know, construction and stuff in my kitchen,” Six responds with a tight smile.

“Mhm, mhm,” the woman hums knowingly. “Well, have a good night, darling, and good luck with the kitchen.”

Six smiles back, grabs her items, and hurries toward the exit. Jittering, she looks over her shoulder and catches the elderly woman’s gaze, then thinks back to earlier this morning, wondering if she has made a mistake.

Present Day - (Couple Hours Earlier)

On a normal Tuesday morning, Six would be seated at her desk, nursing one of her many mugs filled with the so-called organic teas she bought from Whole Foods. She would be there, attempting to do her day-to-day job of onboarding a new hire and reciting the company rules and regulations like a well-programmed robot. But that morning was not a normal morning. In fact, it was far from it.

Mental Health Break she titled the PTO request to her manager, and was grateful there was no pushback. Still lying in bed, she finally decided to get up and head to the gym. Upon arrival, she opted for the stair master, knowing she was in dire need of a good sweat. After a few stretches, she pressed the red button to set it to level 5, put on her headphones, and blasted Many Men by 50 Cent. Twenty-five minutes in, Six was breathing heavily, satisfied with her workout for the day. She headed home and pulled into the driveway at 10 a.m. on the dot. Even she couldn’t believe her impeccable timing. Caleb should be sitting on the balcony, taking in the waves from the beach. It was one of the reasons they had bought the house and Caleb was a person of routine, never straying from it unless there was an emergency.

She walked in quietly and headed straight for the kitchen. The cabinet housing the coffee was ajar, breadcrumbs scattered across the counter, and a small spoon, sticky with honey, rested on the table mat. Typical Caleb, like a five-year-old with a few loose screws, unable to focus or clean up after himself. By the stove sat the Hexclad pots and pans set, the red bow still perched on top. She had asked Caleb for it repeatedly since March of last year, but, as usual, anything she requested simply fell on deaf ears. Was it a crime to ask her husband for things? she wondered. It wasn’t until last week, when he walked into the study, that he said, I guess we can get you those pans for Valentine’s? So we can have some peace in the house, chuckling stupidly afterward.

Annoyed by the statement once again, Six massaged her shoulders, rotating her arms in slow, circular motions. Satisfied with the release of tension, she took a couple of deep breaths, grabbed the largest pan from the set, stormed out onto the balcony, and swung the pan with every ounce of strength she could muster, connecting squarely with the back of Caleb’s head.

Present Day -

For several days, Six had remained in a state of reverie, contemplating how she would end it all, leaving no room for suspicion. She could hardly believe she still had it in her; it had been so long. She grabs the gloves, slides them on, and unrolls the alluring vintage rug she had bought earlier in the year, intended for the dining area once the renovation was completed. Too bad it would now be used to transport her sly husband. Sedulously, she rolls him up and grabs the key to the funeral home. As she makes her way to the home, her mind drifts back to the morning that set this unfortunate series of events into motion. Her goal had simply been to scare the blonde secretary a little, to tell her to back off from Caleb. But before she could even speak, the blonde handed her a letter for him abruptly.

“This is for a Franklin Hale,” Six said, her mind befogged.

“Any letter for Franklin Hale goes straight to Caleb, ma’am,” the blonde replied before zooming away from the funeral home, as if she had just seen a hideous clown.

Franklin Hale, she thought to herself, puzzled. She had never heard of such a name, and Caleb had never mentioned anyone by it. She wondered whether she should open the letter, her curiosity gnawing at her. Finally, defeated, she carefully opened it. Inside was a note from a Stella Hale asking for about five thousand dollars for her medical bills. The letter also had no return address.

Upon arriving at the funeral home, Six snaps out of her thoughts and decides to park a few blocks away. Quickly, she drags the rolling bin containing her husband and heads straight for the back door. As the door comes into view, Six is exhausted and can hardly believe how much energy and resilience this is taking. She pauses for a moment, considering whether she should give up, but quickly reminds herself that no one gets to decide her destiny. Tenacious as ever, she fumbles for the key in her fanny pack and opens the door, a cunning smile at her lips. She walks through the home, recollecting the day Caleb had brought her here. He had smiled ear to ear, proudly showing her what his job entailed. At the time, she’d wanted to call it quits, to leave immediately, unable to understand how a tour of a funeral home could possibly be an ideal date. But something kept her there. Now, several years later, that very tour had proven useful.

Moments later, she steps out of the home and takes in the night. The sky is pitch black, and the distant hoo-hoo calls of nearby owls echoes through the stillness. She stares at the cookie jar, tilting it left and right, watching the sand-like contents shift slowly inside.  She had only wanted a fresh start, leaving her old life behind. How naive she had been, thinking everything would go smoothly. And to top it off, she’d been foolish enough to procreate, now tied to someone she couldn’t just walk away from. How stupid, she thought bitterly.

Irritated, she pours the contents of the cookie jar into the cement pile that will likely be used to continue the renovation of the funeral home's driveway. Stella Hale was Caleb’s mother or, more accurately, Franklin’s mother. All this time, that had been his true identity. He had a sick mother, and he had drained their savings to cover her medical bills, all while lying about investing in non-existent funds. She had tried to figure out what exactly he was running from, what his past had been like, but the pieces never fit, and that frustrated her. Alarm bells should have gone off in her head during the early months of their courtship, but she had taught herself to stop seeing others through her own distorted lens.  People can have normal simple lives, with little or no one to call family and hardly any friends she had tried to convince herself.   

Six was disappointed in herself and her judgment, but nothing enraged her more than the fact that someone had played her own game right to her face. Tricked her, just as she had tricked so many others. In her world, she did the tricking not the other way around.  But now was not the time for regret. She reaches into her duffel bag, her fingers brushing over three crisp new passports.

After a moment, she settles on Ivy Cain, starts the car and heads straight for Willow.