You should go home and get some sleep

Celine’s plan was an absolute disaster. Wilford had narrowed his list down to the absolute smallest he could manage it, and it was still no easier to cross people off the list in the end. People either looked at him like he was some sort of horrible plague vector, or set their attack bears on him. It was right around the attack bears that Wilford decided not everyone wanted an apology, and whoever had flung the curse didn’t seem to be in the small group of people willing to accept one.

Wilford went straight home after the bears, with the intent to call Celine and go ahead with her Plan B. Plan B sounded just as awful in a whole host of different ways, but Plan A had been a terrible idea. Because bears.

But first he needed to call Dr Taylor again. The alternative to Dr Taylor was finding someone new, but somehow that seemed like the bigger pain in the ass. Again when he called, he got the receptionist. He tried emailing directly after that — the third email he’d sent since realising how he’d managed to fuck himself over. Nobody seemed to want to talk to him about it though. Wilford knew his messages probably weren’t even being passed along, but maybe if he annoyed the woman enough, she’d get fed up enough to make Dr Taylor return his calls. It was a long shot, but one Wilford was willing to take if it didn’t mean having to start completely over with someone new.

Once he’d done everything he could for a while to convince the man to call him back, Wilford called Celine. Of course, that weird butler of hers answered the phone, every word so heavy with condescension he could sink a battleship. Worse, Celine wasn’t home, and Creepo refused to give Wilford her cell number.

“Not without Master’s permission,” he said before hanging up. Wilford wasn’t even sure the man was human. Nobody that irritating would have survived to adulthood.

Out of ideas, Wilford decided to make dinner and feed the dogs. It was a bit early for it, but after his near-death experience with attack bears, he wasn’t really up for leaving the house. He still didn’t know why he’d reacted to the bears the way he did, either. He’d completely frozen on the spot. He’d never once frozen like that before. He’d come out of much worse situations with his head on straight enough to make decisions. Usually shitty impulse decisions, but decisions nonetheless.

Until then, he’d had no idea there was any sort of middle ground between things getting a little out of hand, and world-ending panic. Annoyingly, the middle ground was just as useless as the other sort, since he still wasn’t able to do anything other than scream the entire time.

Good god, who even uses attack bears? And what the hell did Wilford do to that guy to piss him off so much? Whoever he was, Wilford decided to avoid him forever after that. The sort of people who had attack bears didn’t usually tend to be the sort of people to stop at attack bears. Wilford didn’t want to know what else that guy had in his arsenal.

He fed the dogs first, getting them out from under his feet before he set out trying to decide what he wanted. He checked cupboards and the freezer, and pulled out the drawers in the fridge to see what he could cobble together. He had rice and seaweed paper, and enough random other crap to throw into some gimbap. Maybe if he went through all the hassle of making it, he’d actually work up enough of an appetite to want to eat it.

He barely got the rice on the stove when his phone chimed to alert him that someone was at the front gate. He peered out the window, not recognising the black sedan outside. Sighing, he opened the link to the speaker down at the gate.

“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want it,” he said.

“Not selling anything,” he man downstairs said. He held up a shiny, gold badge to the camera. “Detective Roberts, LSPD. Got a minute?”

Of course. Wilford wasn’t even surprised. He sighed and buzzed the gate open, glad they’d at least come in an unmarked car. He was hoping they’d have had more to go on, but apparently it was the part of the investigation where everyone was an interrogation-worthy suspect.

Wilford stayed in the kitchen, closing the blinds over the sink so the detectives couldn’t see him through the window on their way to the front door. Even after they knocked, it took Wilford a moment to force himself to go let them in. He didn’t want to talk to them. Not about Kevin; not about anything. Outside of Billy and Nichola, Wilford had barely mentioned Kevin to anyone. And now he was going to be asked half a million questions about him.

With a deep breath, Wilford finally walked over to the door, unlocking it to let the cops in. They didn’t take their shoes off, but somehow Wilford felt like asking them to might get him shot. He needed to get the carpet shampooed anyway. The dogs weren’t exactly the best at wiping their feet when they came in from the yard.

“Mr Warfstache,” Detective Roberts said. “This is Detective Ingall.”

Wilford hummed. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. “That so?” he asked, heading back toward the kitchen. While the rice boiled away, he got out a small, square pan for the egg.

“There are some things we’re not completely clear on,” Roberts said, following Wilford into the kitchen. Ingall wandered off toward the living room, crouching down to examine his vinyl. He wasn’t going to find anything there, and Wilford knew he wasn’t looking. It was just an attempt to fluster him into saying something he shouldn’t. Wilford ignored him and locked the dog door before the animals realised there was someone new in the house.

“And what’s that?” he asked. He headed back into the kitchen to fry his eggs. He cracked two of them into a bowl, using a fork to whisk them up as much as possible.

“A few people have said there was a gun dispute at your studio a few weeks before Mr Imahara was killed,” Roberts said. “But nobody seems to have many details on that, and we’ve been told you two didn’t have the best relationship.”

Wilford carefully poured the eggs into the pan and turned down the heat. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. I wasn’t there,” he said.

“You weren’t at your own studio for your own show?” Roberts asked.

Wilford sighed. He hated this shit. It was so much easier when he was on the other side of it. “None of the people you talked to mentioned I had surgery and was out for over a month?”

Judging by the way Roberts looked back at Ingall, and the way Ingall was looking at both of them, the answer was a ‘no.’

“What surgery was that?” Ingall asked.

“To re-align my jaw,” Wilford said. He pulled a jar of kimchi from the fridge and set it aside. “I was out for almost six weeks. Went back in August.”

“You don’t keep tabs on things while you’re away?” Roberts asked.

“It’s my show, and my company, but I don’t run it. Nick does. Go bother her again if you want to know what happened while I was gone.” He started looking for the bamboo mat, but it always seemed to disappear when he needed it.

“Nichola Stevens?” Roberts asked.

“Yeah.” Wilford wasn’t really in the mood for kimchi, but he opened the jar anyway, hoping it would help rid his house of annoying white guys. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got shit to do.” He knew better than to taunt them with their lack of a warrant. He just unlocked the dog door instead.

He watched Roberts politely try not to make a face at the smell.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said. “We’ll, uh. See ourselves out.” He and Ingall quickly made tracks for the door. Wilford didn’t need to watch them go. He could hear the moment they got to the stairs, because both dogs started barking up a storm.

They’d probably be back soon. Wilford took his egg pan off the stove and walked over to his vinyl shelf. He crouched down right where Ingall had been, and started checking every little corner and gap in the shelf for bugs.

---

Somehow, Wilford didn’t feel like he was going to get anything relevant from Abe. If the cops were still looking internally, they clearly didn’t have any idea what was going on. He ate dinner in front of the TV, killing time before he tried to call Celine again. This time, he got Mark on the line, which was a drastic improvement over Benjamin.

“She’s doing a reading, but I can go ask real quick,” Mark said. Wilford could hear him put the phone down onto the table and walk away. He was gone a lot longer than Wilford had expected him to be, making Wilford worried that Benjamin might come and hang up the phone on him. Finally, he could hear it being picked up again.

“She says if it’s really an emergency, she can take care of it, but you have to be here before dusk,” Mark said. Wilford looked out the window. The sun was going down, but there were still a couple hours of solid daylight left. Plenty of time to make it out to Banham Canyon.

“Do I need to bring anything?” he asked.

“She should have everything you need.”

Wilford had never broken a curse before, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. If the expert hadn’t relayed information to him, then she probably knew what she was doing. “I’ll head out now,” he said.

He headed to his room first, grabbing his Xanax just in case things got any more out of hand than they already had. Then, he sent a quick text to Billy, telling him to come feed the dogs in the morning. Somehow, Wilford felt like he wasn’t going to be in much of a state to do it himself. With nothing else he felt needed to be done, Wilford found his shoes and keys and headed downstairs to the garage.

He reached Mark’s front door as an older woman was coming out. She’d been crying, and stopped on the top step to turn back toward Celine.

“I’m so sorry. Again,” Celine said, leaning forward to offer the woman a hug. “Let me know how you decide to work things out.”

The woman nodded. “I will.” She sniffed loudly, holding a tissue to her face as she turned to head down the stairs. Wilford gave her plenty of room as she left, realising he recognised her from somewhere as she walked past him. Celine met him at the top of the stairs, giving him a tired smile as they walked inside together.

“Was that the governor’s wife?” he asked, pointing his thumb back over his shoulder.

Celine sighed. “Yes, but I shouldn’t talk about it,” she said.

Wilford nodded. He could wait until whatever she was crying over wound up in the news.

“Mark says you’re having an emergency?” Celine asked.

“I took your advice. Tried to make things right with as many people as possible, but nobody seemed to want to listen. One guy was so pissed off, I guess, he put his attack bears on me.”

Celine blinked. “Attack bears? You don’t hear that much around here.”

He wasn’t exactly going to admit where the attack bears were. It hardly seemed relevant at the moment. “I’m done. I just want it gone.”

“Okay.” Celine nodded and looked out the window. “We have about an hour to prepare. I’m sorry, I should have told Mark to let you know to bring something you can go swimming in.”

“What?” That might have been some important information to have. “Swimming?”

“It’s fine,” Celine said. “You can probably fit into something of Mark’s. Benjamin!” She looked around, finally spotting Benjamin coming in from the kitchen. “Take Mr Warfstache upstairs and find him a pair of Mark’s swim trunks, please.”

Wilford let himself be led up the stairs by the creepy butler, suddenly very worried about his choice to have the curse forcibly broken. Benjamin said nothing as he led them into what he presumed to be Mark and Celine’s bedroom. Wilford stood by the door, watching as Benjamin opened a dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of plain black board shorts.

“Here you are, sir,” he said. “Madam Celine will be busy preparing the ritual. Would you like a drink while you wait?”

Wilford shook his head. He figured the last thing he needed to be doing right now was getting drunk. “No, I’m fine.” He stepped over to grab the shorts, waiting for Benjamin to leave. “You can go,” he said once he realised Benjamin intended to stand there the entire time. “Now.”

Benjamin seemed more than a little surprised at being told to leave. “Uh—of course, sir,” he said. He quickly left the room, closing the door behind him. It was no wonder Celine hated this house. Wilford was starting to hate it too.

He kept his shirt on for the time being, not sure what was going to be expected of him, and left his jeans and left his jeans, shorts, and shoes stacked neatly on a chair in the corner. He went back downstairs, met with the smell of burning bay and rosemary. Celine quickly rushed around with the smoldering bundle, cleansing as much of the house as she could. Not sure what he was supposed to do, Wilford stood by and watched he work. When he had to get rid of his poltergeist, he’d seen one of the mediums do the same to his house. He didn’t quite understand it, but it seemed like the sort of important step that shouldn’t be interrupted.

When she was finally done, Celine led Wilford through the house, to a large bathroom. “Fill the bath,” she instructed. “As hot as you can comfortably manage.”

She left him again, leaving him feeling a little stunned. Still, he did as he was told. The tub wasn’t some little white fibreglass thing that could barely hold a person. It was an enormous round jacuzzi that was going to take ages to fill. Still, he set it running, making sure he wasn’t going to get boiled when he inevitably got thrown in. A few minutes later, Celine came back with a large wicker basket. She set it down on the counter and started handing Wilford various bottles of dried herbs, with instructions to pour a tablespoon of this in, two tablespoons of that. She hadn’t given him any sort of measuring devices, so Wilford poured them into his hand first, trying to judge by sight. Finally, she handed him a giant jar of salt.

“About a cup and a half,” she said.

Wilford looked at the jar and shrugged, pouring a generous amount into his hand. It was hard to judge the amount, since it kept pouring out and into the water, but it felt like it was probably right. With everything else in the bath, Celine took the basket away again, coming back soon after with it full of candles and crystals and her weird skull with the ruby in its eye. While Wilford sat on the edge of the tub, occasionally checking the heat of the water, he watched as she laid out the candles, carefully placing everything in some sort of meticulous arrangement. The bath seemed like it was full enough, so Wilford turned it off as Celine started lighting the candles. With everything lit and in place, she shut the door and turned out the lights. It suddenly felt very close and uncomfortable in there. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the anticipation of what they were about to do, or because he was there at all.

“In the water, please,” she said, setting up a bowl with more bay and rosemary. She lit a lump of charcoal, placing it in the centre of the bowl, and sprinkling the herbs over top. “The water might hurt your glasses. You might want to take them off.”

Taking a deep breath to get ready for whatever was next, Wilford took off his shirt and glasses and stepped into the tub. The water was a little more hot than he’d realised, but she said to make it hot. He carefully lowered himself into the water, wondering if this had been the best idea. Celine crouched down next to the tub, bringing a candle with her.

“I’m going to hold you under the water. Let me know if you need to come up,” she said.

Wilford barely had time to nod before she pressed her hand against his forehead. He took a deep breath and slid down, letting his entire body be submerged. He tried not to think about this absurd situation he’d got himself into. He could hear Celine saying something up above, but it was muffled and distorted, only a series of vague hums to his ears. Right when he thought he was going to need to force his way out of the water, Celine let go, letting him sit up. He coughed, trying to get some air into his lungs before looking over at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were closed, and her head tilted back so she was facing the ceiling. Finally, she took a deep breath and looked at him again.

“Again,” she said.

She held him under the water four more times, before the candles all blew themselves out at once. After a few moments of sitting in the complete dark, Celine lit the candle nearest to her and handed Wilford his glasses.

“We need to go outside now,” she said.

Following her lead, Wilford got out of the water and took a towel that was offered to him. But the quick pace of Celine’s movements, it was clear he didn’t have time to dry off. The towel was there to minimise dripping all over the floors as they walked through the house toward the back. Wilford had left his shoes upstairs, but there wasn’t time to go get them. He followed Celine barefoot outside to the back, and down the large, stone steps away from the manicured lawn and toward the natural terrain of the land. By then, the sun had gone down, forcing them to navigate the dirt path by candlelight.

Finally, they came to a clearing with a small stream, surrounded by meticulously placed stone. Even in the dark, it was clear Celine had meticulously built this place, and the purpose was obvious. He handed his towel over and stepped into the stream. He felt like he already knew what was coming, and lowered himself so he was facing downstream.

“I’m going to hold you under again,” Celine said.

Wilford nodded and took a deep breath as he let himself be pushed back into the water. It was easier to hold his breath in the bath, but with the water rushing over his face, he had to fight the urge to inhale. This time, he couldn’t hear anything Celine might have been saying. The sound of the water blocked out everything else.

---

They didn’t return to the house until after dawn. Wilford was freezing. He had a headache from not wearing his glasses all night, and he was pretty sure he’d been cut up by some of the rocks and junk in the stream. The house was quiet, as everyone else was asleep. At some point, the clothes Wilford had left upstairs had been brought down and placed on a table in plain view, along with his glasses. He picked up his glasses and put them on,

“You should go home and get some sleep,” Celine said. “Feel free to change in the bathroom, and call me tomorrow. We may need to do this a few more times.”

Wilford nodded. Sleep sounded like an excellent idea.