It can't be happening. It's not happening. She knows if she just tells herself that enough, she can make it true; she's always been good at that Disney style 'wish upon a star' approach to her dreams.

But somehow the dreams aren't sticking, yesterday isn't coming back – her father keeps clutching her for dear life, her mother is teary eyed and has a bottle of vodka fixed to her hand. Lilly is dead, and no matter what Veronica chooses to think it doesn't seem to be changing.

And she can't say why.

She begged her father to tell her more, to be the police and the daddy combined – to give her some kind of answer. She had seen in his eyes that he was screaming, desperate, begging to be able to tell her – tell someone, anyone. She couldn't say what, and she was a little afraid. She practically heard him be refused. She watched as he smiled his saddest smile, and reminded her it had only been a day and he couldn't know anything yet.

She felt too tired to call him out on the lie. Maybe, if she doesn't acknowledge everyone reacting, she won't have to acknowledge what they're reacting too.

She doesn't think it will work.

No-one called – Logan, Duncan, any of the acquaintances from school. She hasn't seen Duncan since yesterday (when she saw...), she doesn't even know how Logan found out. It feels wrong somehow; even if their foursome was torn in two under the two breakups – Logan made a dumb mistake, and why won't Duncan just tell her what's going on? – they were still them and they need to be together in this. She reaches for the phone more than once, but freezes half-way there. No. She won't admit this is happening; she's always been stubborn.

Maybe that's why they won't call. Maybe they don't want to admit they're living in this place, this Lilly-less world, either. It wouldn't surprise her.

She waits. Waits until that moment when it's going to hit her. Her best friend isn't coming back.


It's scary.

Everything about it. He cannot comprehend a world without Lilly – she was his girlfriend since junior high, and despite everything he'd written in that letter, she was his girl dammit. Maybe he would think differently if she wasn't dead, but she is and that changes things. Logan has never been one for denial, so he comes straight out and admits it: Lilly is dead. That simple.

And he hates himself for even thinking this, but he's got other reasons to be worried.

Because he was her boyfriend – recent ex, even worse. He said he knew she was seeing someone (which was probably true, but he doesn't give a fuck anymore). He sneaked back to Neptune and whoops! She wound up dead. The idea that anyone could think he'd ever hurt her puts a sick taste in his mouth, but he just knows they all will.

There's something still in his house today. Aaron seems quietened somehow, and even when he's not seeing anything, Logan can always hear his father screaming and spitting – except today. He doesn't know why; it's not like Aaron really knew Lilly. His mother just pours another drink, and that's not really any different than usual, but it feels odd somehow.

He can't call Duncan. He thinks of Duncan, he sees Lilly. He can't call Veronica. He thinks of Veronica, he hears Lilly. He can't think of what to do; he can't face Lilly's memory this fast.

He tries to brace himself, and he grips into what he needs to do. He needs to not go to jail for something he didn't do. So he calls Dick and the Beav; they come over. Dick brings booze and Beaver brings sympathy; Logan is grateful for them both.

"Don't tell them I came back," he says. "You know I'd never hurt her. If they found out... They'd have the cuffs on me in a split-second, I just couldn't deal with that."

Dick accepts it without a second thought, and Logan's never been so thankful for Dick's simple nature. Beaver is different, but Logan sees him nod along too. Thank God.

But there's a darkness in Beaver's eyes, something saying: I don't trust you. Logan barely swallows back the bile that rises.


He can't say why this is happening.

He only ever met Lilly Kane in passing; the likes of that family was far above a humble deputy like him. He found the girl kind of annoying when he met her, to tell the truth, but of course he can't say that now. Never speak ill of the dead and all that. Besides, she was a sixteen-year-old girl and being annoying is what sixteen-year-old girls do. Doesn't justify what happened.

He watches today, as their sheriff grills the Kane parents again and again. Some of his fellow deputies warn Keith to back off, but Lamb doesn't bother. It makes him angry. What the hell is wrong with their sheriff; in what alternate universe is it okay to take out a girl's death on her grieving family?

Everyone's got a theory on who killed Lilly Kane – Lamb reckons some obsession pervert. She was a pretty girl, it would happen. No-one agrees with Sheriff Mars, that the Kanes are somehow involved, because they're the freaking Kanes. In this town, it's like saying Santa was a Nazi.

Lamb waits, and kind of expects this whole thing to bring Keith crumbling down. It just kind of might take more than a day.


It's worth it. It has to be; this would be what Lilly would want. He knows his daughter wasn't perfect – reckless, headstrong, impulsive – but she was never shy about how much she loved her brother, and she would never let Duncan be taken down for her sake.

Jake knows it's his fault anyway; if not for Lianne and Veronica – oh God, poor Veronica; she didn't know anything – Duncan would never have had that fit, never have... he can't put it into words, even in his head. It's raw, blistering pain and he can barely think. Duncan doesn't say a thing, and Jake keeps having awful, paranoid thoughts – what if he remembers? What will Duncan do? He won't lose his other child, he can't.

He lets Celeste take the reigns in protecting Duncan, as she looks so much less ruined than him. He's always seen her icy mask, her distance – he used to feel sorry for her. He had married her despite the fact he could never love her like he loved Lianne, and eventually he broke her with his indifference. But now, he feels envious. She can just do this; cover-up their whole mess, and not have to think and hurt and scream every single fucking second.

Keith keeps asking him questions, and part of him wants to tell the truth. He can barely keep his alibi straight, and some tiny, naive part of him still believes. That the authority can help him and that this whole thing isn't too dark and deep for anyone to be saved from it.

But he knows that it's hopeless, so he just keeps lying to their good sheriff. It strikes him as funny; just how many things he's done to Keith Mars without the man noticing. He knows from the start that, to protect his son, he will have to get rid of Keith. It's a pity – despite everything, he honestly does like and respect Keith. He's a good sheriff, and if he was someone else – anyone else – he'd never have to do this.

He's never been a religious man, but as he waits in a dank cell, he prays. Prays that Duncan will survive this; prays that Lilly (wherever she is) will understand.


She doesn't want to think about it.

She keeps trying to make herself not think about it, trying to flush her daughter's best friend's skull out of her mind – enough vodka should do that. But somehow it isn't working, and every single drop is making Lilly's image bleed clearer into her mind. But she just keeps drinking all day; it's got to make the girl go away anyway.

She never really knew Lilly. From what little she couldn't avoiding seeing of the girl, Lianne liked her. She was fun, and balanced out Veronica well. But looking at Lilly always made her wince with guilt and pain, so she didn't do it much.

She remembers the November almost seventeen years ago, when Lilly was born. The papers covered it, because it was the great Jake Kane and nothing about him was ever personal in this town. Lianne looked at the picture of Jake and Celeste holding their beautiful baby girl – their smiles already forced – crumpled it in her hand, and thought: it should be my baby.

Nine months later, she was holding Veronica at the hospital, and didn't know if that was meant to be the fulfillment of that wish.

She wishes she could stop feeling guilty, which she really should, because she doesn't even know what happened yet. But she can't help feeling like the skeleton in the Kane family closet, and she keeps drinking that somehow, finding that got Lilly killed. The thought is bleeding into her head as efficiently as Lilly's blood poured all over the pavement, and she wishes she could make it stop.

When Keith comes to bed that night, he looks at least a decade older than he did yesterday. He holds her close, and it feels a little suffocating. She doesn't have the heart not to let him, however.


There's no time to react emotionally. It's unfair, like a great deal of things in her life are, but it's what she has to do. Her crying can come later – right now, she needs to protect the only child she has left.

Jake let's her take control; the word that springs to mind is pathetic. She doesn't fool herself into thinking she doesn't blame him. With Lianne and Veronica and Duncan – what does he think caused that fit? She's been bitter for a long time, and now it's getting so hard to push the pain deep inside her like she always has. But she needs to now, far more than ever before, and she hates it. Why has she been saddled with this responsibility? Her daughter is dead, and it's just not fair that she has to do all this to protect Duncan, when all she wants to do in curl up in a bawl and cry until she has no tears left.

She shakes those thoughts away. There's no point to feeling sorry for herself, and besides, she's not going to pretend it wasn't her fault too.

She should have been more careful with the truth about Veronica, she should have treated Duncan kinder in regards to it. She knows she just dropped that bombshell on him, and expected him to cope – he didn't. Maybe she just shouldn't have told him; even if the thought of Duncan with his half-sister makes her feel nauseous, it would be worth it to save Lilly's life.

She pushes those sorts of thoughts down. Blaming herself won't help anyone, nor will blaming Jake, or even blaming Duncan. She wishes she could just tell the truth, like her morality has drilled into her head, but she can't. She has a duty to her family, and Celeste Kane's never been one to shy from her duty.


He wishes he could just block this off in his head. He's a police officer, so he's seen a million awful things happen to innocent people, but Lilly... he knew Lilly. Lilly was Veronica's best friend, and Keith might not have always thought Lilly was a good influence, but he still liked and cared about the girl. He wishes he hadn't, because it stings to talk about her like another corpse to be investigated.

He wishes he wouldn't have to follow the logical trail; everyone else is aghast that he could think the Kanes had something to do with it. He has even told anyone the detail he's found – the soccer uniform in the washing machine in the middle of the night. He knew Duncan, and always liked him too – he was smart, stable, secure. If his daughter had to date, it was best with a sort of boy like that – or maybe not, how Duncan had dumped her and broken her heart and not even told her why.

Still, despite that, he can't think Duncan capable of murder. He knows how much the Kane siblings loved each other; Veronica's gone on about it enough. Maybe he saw a hint of envy in her eyes when she talked about that, but it's no surprise – only child syndrome.

He tells Jake he knows they had something to do with the murder. He's not a hundred percent certain he does, but he's pretty sure even when he doesn't want to be. He can see something in Jake's eyes; something like: I'm lying, you know I'm lying, God please help me.

He goes home to his family, and Veronica begs him for the truth. He wants to tell her – oh God, just to get this crushing weight off his chest – but Lilly was her best friend and Duncan was her boyfriend, and he can't destroy that. So he lies to her; he tells he it's only been a day and he doesn't know anything substantial. He can see in her eyes that she knows he's lying, but she accepts it anyway, and he can feel the truth dragging him further and further down. It's not fair dammit; he's only try to do his job, and he feels like it's never going to work.

He holds Lianne close that night – it feels like everything's slipping away, and he doesn't want to lose her. He closes his eyes, and hopes that somehow they can go back. He'll wake up in the morning, and this whole day will never have happened.

He hears Lilly's laughter and knows it's not going to happen.


Lilly was alive yesterday. He could see yesterday.

Today, Lilly is gone. Today, he is blind.