"Gee, you were quick," Gladys remarked, her tone a mix of surprise and relief as Luke re-entered the living room, now dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt.

"Do you want to see this Portal or not?" Luke’s direct question snapped me back to the present. He held a small device in his palm, its significance unmistakable.

I barely managed to disguise my gasp as a random hiccup, my mind racing. That has to be the Portal Key, I realised with a jolt of excitement mixed with disbelief. It looked identical to the one I had inadvertently discovered falling from Leigh's pocket. The brief moment I had held it, feeling its weight and texture, had left me with more questions than answers. The sudden interruption of the shower turning off had spurred me to hastily replace it, convincing myself that Leigh would reveal its secrets in due time.

Luke's next action held my complete attention, a mix of anticipation and apprehension coursing through me. He pointed the device towards the living room wall, a seemingly mundane gesture that I knew was anything but.

The room was momentarily illuminated by a small ball of energy that emanated from the device, darting across the space between us and the wall. The impact was immediate and mesmerising—a burst of colourful energy exploded upon contact, unfurling into pulsating waves that danced across the wall's surface. The spectacle was unlike anything I had ever seen, a vivid display of power and beauty that transcended the boundaries of my understanding.

My eyes were wide, captivated by the display before us. The swirling energies painted the room in hues of possibility and wonder, a proof of the stories Leigh had woven and the secrets he had guarded. In that moment, the reality of Portals and Guardians shifted from the realm of fantastical tales to tangible truth, a revelation that both thrilled and terrified me.

"It's so pretty," slipped from my lips, a whisper of wonder breaking the intense focus I had on the mesmerising display before me. The vibrant energy swirling on the wall had captured my entire attention, its beauty transcending the surreal nature of the situation.

Luke, perhaps emboldened by my reaction or driven by his own curiosity, moved closer to the wall, his actions signalling the beginning of something even more extraordinary.

That's a good idea, a thought flashed through my mind, prompting an impulsive decision. "Take this for me," I called out to Luke, tossing a cushion in his direction in a playful test of the portal's reality.

The cushion, however, never reached Luke's hands. Instead, it vanished into the colourful energy with a fluid ease that left me momentarily stunned. “Shit. That’s incredible," I whispered, my voice filled with awe. The cushion's effortless disappearance through the wall was nothing short of incredible, a tangible confirmation of the portal's existence and function.

"I have another idea," Luke said. Retrieving Duke and Henri's small beds and box of soft toys, he prepared to send a piece of home through to the other side, a thoughtful gesture that bridged the gap between our world and wherever the portal led.

"Good idea," I echoed, my mind still grappling with the implications of what I was witnessing.

"Oh yeah," Gladys said, her voice casual as she produced a small envelope from her handbag. "Can you give this to Jamie for me?"

"What's this?" Luke's curiosity was piqued as he eyed the envelope.

After a brief hesitation, Gladys's response was tinged with a mix of resolve and vulnerability. "It's a letter for Jamie," she admitted.

"You wrote him a letter?" My question laced with sarcasm.

"Yeah, well, I figured I can't exactly talk to him," Gladys retorted, her defensiveness masking the genuine effort behind her action.

"Oh yeah, I see your point," I conceded, the sarcasm giving way to a sincere acknowledgment of her thoughtfulness. In a situation as unfathomable as this, such gestures of connection held a newfound significance.

With a resolve that seemed to solidify with each passing second, Luke stepped through the swirling mass of colours, disappearing from our sight and leaving Gladys and me alone with our wine and a silence that spoke volumes.

As I sat there, transfixed by the spectacle before me, the wall of swirling colours seemed to transcend mere visual beauty, becoming a living, breathing entity of its own. The sparks of electric energy that erupted in mesmerising collisions sent shivers down my spine, each burst of light a testament to the incredible power housed within the portal.

"It's incredible, isn't it," I found myself saying, the words barely a whisper as I rose from the couch, drawn inexorably closer to the display. It felt like stepping into a dream, one where the rules of reality were rewritten by the whims of magic and science intertwined.

Gladys murmured in agreement, her attention momentarily torn between the wine at her lips and the spectacle before us. Her casual affirmation belied the depth of wonder that the scene inspired.

The longer I watched the energised particles dance across the wall, the more I felt their energy resonate within me. It was a call that went beyond curiosity, touching something primal and instinctual. I felt alive, more connected to the universe and its mysteries than I had ever thought possible.

Driven by an impulse I couldn't quite understand, my hand reached out, fingers stretching towards the vibrant display. With each step closer, the air around me seemed to hum with energy, the boundary between my body and the portal's force blurring. I was so close now, close enough to feel the vibrational energy pulsate against my skin, sending waves of shock through my fingertips.

"Don't touch it, Beatrix!" Gladys's warning sliced through the air, her voice sharp with urgency.

I whirled around to face her, the sudden movement causing the last of my wine to swirl tumultuously in my glass. "I know what I'm doing, Gladys," I retorted, my voice laced with a confidence I wasn't entirely sure I felt. The sheer proximity to something as formidable as the Portal had emboldened me, yet Gladys's cautionary shout reminded me of the razor-thin line I was treading.

Gladys's eyebrow arched, skepticism and curiosity mingling in her gaze. "You do?" Her question, simple yet loaded, hinted at the layers of secrecy and knowledge that lay between us.

I shifted awkwardly, moving to the side as the reality of Gladys's warning sank in. "I... uh..." My voice faltered, betraying my sudden uncertainty. Surely Gladys doesn't suspect that I already know? The thought raced through my mind, a whirlwind of panic and speculation. Leigh had been explicit about the dangers of the Portal, warning me of the irreversible consequences of making contact with its energy. Clivilius owned them, he had said—a haunting reminder of the Portal's power and the finality of the choice to cross its threshold.

Taking a nervous sip of wine, I attempted to steady my nerves. Standing mere feet from the mesmerising display of colours, the significance of Leigh's warnings weighed heavily on me. The beauty of the Portal, with its dancing lights and ethereal glow, belied the danger it posed. The realisation that a stray spark could irrevocably alter my fate sent a shiver of apprehension down my spine. If I were to inadvertently come into contact with its energy, I could be swept away, forced to leave behind everything and everyone I knew.

The tension of the moment, the balance between curiosity and caution, left me standing at a crossroads. The allure of the unknown beckoned, yet the stark warnings of the consequences held me back, a tumultuous internal conflict mirrored in the swirling energies before me.

The sudden reappearance of Luke, emerging from the Portal with a purposeful stride, startled me, a jolt of surprise coursing through my body. The shift from the otherworldly scene back to the practical concerns of our reality was abrupt, snapping me back to the moment with an almost physical force.

"How long did you say you've hired that other small truck for?" Luke's question was directed at Gladys, his tone business-like, a sharp contrast to the ethereal experience we had just witnessed. His immediate dive into logistics felt almost jarring.

Gladys's response was hindered by a sudden coughing fit, the wine going down the wrong pipe. "Until Sunday," she managed to say after regaining her composure, her voice laced with a mixture of surprise and confusion at Luke's line of questioning.

I couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle at the situation.

Luke was relentless, outlining a plan that seemed to have been formulated in the moments he was out of sight. "We're going to do a truck swap. Move the truck onto the road for me, would you Beatrix?" His instructions were clear, his movements towards the front door signalling the urgency of the task at hand. "I'm going to bring Gladys's truck back from Clivilius. You'll need to reverse your truck back into the driveway once I have left. Then I'll reverse mine in front."

A wave of anxiety surged through me at his words. What is Luke up to? The question echoed in my mind, a blend of curiosity and trepidation. The sound of my glass clinking loudly against the kitchen bench punctuated my nervousness as I placed it down more clumsily than intended.

"The keys are still in the ignition," Luke's voice floated back to us, a final piece of instruction before he disappeared outside.

"Beatrix, you can't be serious!" Gladys's exclamation was a mix of disbelief and concern as she rose from the couch, her actions mirroring my own urgency as we both headed towards the front door.

Ignoring Gladys's exclamation, I slid into the driver's seat with a sense of purpose, my hands steady as I turned the key in the ignition. The engine's roar was immediate, a powerful rumble that filled the air and resonated with the newfound determination swelling within me. A smile crept across my face, a silent acknowledgment of the control now at my fingertips. The steering wheel vibrated under my hands, sending a thrilling surge of power up my arms, a tangible connection between me and the machine.

The truck began to creep forward slowly, each movement deliberate, a testament to the control I wielded. I couldn't help but grin, the temptation to unleash the truck's full power battling with the responsibility of the task at hand. With a disciplined ease, I pressed the brakes as I reached beyond the driveway, the truck coming to a gentle halt.

Then, in the rear-view mirror, a second small truck appeared, heralding Luke's return from Clivilius. He jumped from its cab with an urgency that matched the pace of the day's events, quickly moving to the side of the truck I was in. "Reverse the truck back a little," he called out, his voice carrying a blend of instruction and anticipation.

"Sure," I responded, my voice steady, a reflection of my confidence.

Luke positioned himself at the rear of the truck, his hands gesturing directions, guiding me as I began to reverse. The process was surprisingly smooth, the truck responding to my every command with ease. My experience with larger vehicles, particularly my own four-wheel drive, had prepared me well for this moment. Handling the small truck felt almost second nature to me, each motion fluid and assured.

When the vehicle came to a stop, I swiftly exited the cab, my movements fuelled by the urgency of our task. Luke, with a sense of purpose that bordered on recklessness, flung open the back of the truck, his actions eliciting a sharp rebuke from Gladys, who observed us from her perch on the front step.

"What the hell are you doing, Luke?" her voice pierced the air, a mix of concern and incredulity lacing her words.

"We need to move the remaining goods into this clean truck," Luke responded, his hand giving the side of the truck an affirming slap as if to punctuate his intention. His response, simple yet decisive, offered a glimpse into his strategy.

Ahh, a moment of relief washed over me. So, Luke really does have a plan. The realisation brought a fleeting sense of stability, a rare commodity in the whirlwind of tragedy that had engulfed us.

Gladys, her equilibrium clearly compromised by the wine, made a wobbly attempt to rise, her hand clutching the handrail for support.

Luke, undeterred, proceeded to the second truck, swinging its back doors open with a similar disregard for caution. "Okay, Beatrix, come help me move this stuff," he beckoned, his gaze assessing the contents. "Looks like there are only a few smallish boxes left." His words, a call to action, spurred me into motion, ready to contribute.

"What about me?" Gladys's voice, tinged with a mix of defiance and vulnerability, floated towards us as she managed a tentative descent from the steps.

"Shit, Gladys. You can barely stand," I couldn't help but scold her.

"I can so," she countered, her determination manifesting in the deliberate release of the handrail and the painstakingly slow, yet deliberate steps she took. Her actions, though fraught with potential peril, spoke volumes of her unwillingness to be sidelined, a testament to her spirit and the complex web of emotions and loyalty that bound us together in this extraordinary undertaking.

Watching Luke as he clambered his way into the back of the truck, I was momentarily overwhelmed by the grimness of our task. The air was thick with an unpleasant stench, an unwelcome reminder of the body that lay within, now a source of decay. Instinctively, I held my nose, trying to shield myself from the odious smell. Flies, drawn by the scent of death, buzzed frenziedly between the corpse and me, their presence a grotesque testament to the situation's severity. A cold shiver of revulsion ran down my spine at the thought of these flies, possibly transferring particles from the corpse onto my skin. The disgust that washed over me was palpable, a visceral reaction to the violation of nature's laws we were witnessing.

"Here, Beatrix," Luke's voice cut through my horror. He handed me the first box, a physical anchor pulling me back from the brink of my revulsion.

I accepted the box, my mind still reeling from the scene before me. "Gladys, come get this box," I demanded, my voice sharper than intended. The urgency of our situation, coupled with the discomfort of our surroundings, frayed my patience. "And for fuck's sake, hurry up!"

"Beatrix!" Gladys's rebuke was swift as she snatched the box from my grasp, her tone scolding yet laced with the same undercurrent of stress.

I glared at her, my frustration boiling over. "Just put it in the other truck," I instructed, my words terse. The urgency of removing ourselves from this macabre scene lent a harshness to my voice I hadn't foreseen.

In what felt like a whirlwind, the three of us managed to transfer all the boxes in a mere three minutes. "I think that's all of them," Luke announced, his feet hitting the ground as he jumped from the truck. He began to walk around the side, his movements signalling the end of one ordeal and the potential beginning of another.

Curiosity leading my steps, I circled around to join Luke from the opposite side, the passenger door announcing my approach with a loud, attention-grabbing squeak. Luke's head shot up, his surprise at my sudden appearance clear in his widened eyes.

"What are you looking for?" I inquired, leaning in as Luke resumed his frenetic search through the cab's interior, his focus narrowing as he sifted through the assorted detritus of daily vehicle use.

"The delivery manifest," he responded after a moment, his voice carrying a hint of frustration mixed with determination. His answer, simple as it was, sparked a flurry of questions in my mind. What could Luke possibly need with the delivery manifest at a time like this?

My curiosity only intensified as Luke reached across to the glove compartment, his movements deliberate. I found myself drawn in, my head inching closer to get a better look at the items he unearthed: a pair of sunglasses, a box of band-aids, and several unused condoms. The assortment was eclectic, each item painting a picture of life's unpredictability. It's an interesting mix indeed, I mused, my interest in the mundane contents momentarily distracting me.

"Shit," Luke muttered under his breath, a soft exclamation of either disappointment or frustration.

Seizing the moment, I pressed further, hoping to uncover the reasoning behind his search. "What for?" I asked.

Luke, however, remained focused on his task, seemingly oblivious to my probing. He continued to pull papers from the compartment, unfolding and then dismissing each with a quick glance before carelessly tossing them aside.

Compelled by a mix of curiosity and a desire to understand Luke's intent, I reached for the discarded papers as they landed. Unfolding each one carefully, I scanned the contents, searching for any clue that might reveal why Luke deemed the manifest so important. Yet, as I went through them, I found myself echoing Luke's silent assessment. There was nothing particularly interesting about them at all. Each piece of paper, once filled with potential significance, now lay inert in my hands, their secrets either too mundane to decipher or simply beyond my grasp.

"Well?" My patience was wearing thin, the unease of being kept in the dark by Luke gnawing at me. It was clear he wasn't divulging the full extent of his plans, and my frustration was mounting with each evasive manoeuvre.

Luke's response was to forcefully close the glove box, his actions marked by a finality that drew my full attention. When he looked up at me, our faces mere inches apart, I met his gaze unflinchingly, determined to find the truth in his eyes. "You and your sister are going on a road trip," he declared, the corners of his mouth lifting in what he probably intended to be a reassuring grin.

I gasped, disbelief and apprehension mingling within me. Luke can't be serious, surely? The idea of embarking on a road trip under these circumstances, especially with Gladys in her current state, seemed absurd. My gaze drifted outside, where Gladys was leisurely inspecting the flax plant beside the front steps. A soft sigh escaped me, the resignation in my voice barely concealed. "Please don't make me take Gladys," I pleaded, turning back to face Luke, hoping for a reprieve.

However, Luke's expression shifted to one of seriousness, his earlier amusement fading. "But we need that manifest," he stated plainly, underscoring the importance of the document with a gravity that made it clear there was no room for negotiation.

"But why?" Gladys's voice suddenly intruded, her presence announced by her head pressing against my thigh as she squeezed her way into the conversation. The unexpectedness of her proximity and the directness of her question caught me off guard.

My hands instinctively pressed against Gladys's head, an attempt to gently but firmly push her away, but she persisted, pushing back with a stubbornness that was all too familiar. With a roll of my eyes and a huff of exasperation, I realised the futility of resisting. The situation, already complex, was made all the more challenging by the dynamics between us.

"The company are going to report the driver and the truck missing. There's nothing we can do about that. But we can at least make it look like he went missing after he finished his deliveries. The police shouldn't have any reason to suspect us then," Luke's explanation unfurled with a logic that was both chilling and reassuring. His plan, while grim, was rooted in a practicality that aimed to shield us from undue suspicion.

"Oh," Gladys's response came slowly, a dawning understanding reflected in her voice. "I see. Good call."

Luke's gaze shifted back to me, seeking affirmation. In response, I mouthed a silent, "No," my head shaking gently in dissent. The hope that Luke would reconsider, that he might see the folly in our actions and find another way, clung stubbornly to the edges of my thoughts. I wanted to believe there was another path, one less fraught with deception and moral ambiguity.

Luke's reaction was a shrug, an acknowledgment of my plea that carried with it a finality of indifference. Without another word, he quickly exited the truck, leaving me to grapple with the reality of our plan and its implications.

"Ooh, condoms," Gladys's voice, light and oddly out of place, broke through my reverie. She had picked up one of the unopened packages, examining it with an almost childlike curiosity that belied the distress of our circumstances.

I sighed, the weight of our situation pressing down on me once more. With a loud grunt, born of frustration and a desperate need for space to think, I pushed Gladys firmly away. The physical distance I created was as much about preserving my own sanity as it was about distancing myself from the absurdity of the moment. Our predicament demanded serious consideration and careful planning, yet here we were, caught in a surreal pause, momentarily distracted by the mundane in the midst of trauma. The contrast between our actions and the severity of our situation underscored the complex web of emotions and decisions that lay before us, each choice laden with consequences we were only beginning to comprehend.

"Beatrix," Luke's voice, urgent and slightly strained, cut through the tense atmosphere from behind the truck.

"Yeah," I responded, my steps hesitant as I moved towards him, the weight of his request already looming over me.

"I need you to help me roll him." The words hit me like a physical blow, the implication of what he was asking sending a shockwave of disbelief through my system.

"Roll him!" My own voice sounded foreign to my ears, laced with shock and a rising tide of panic. "Hell no. I ain't touching him." The very thought of coming into contact with the deceased, of crossing that final, irrevocable line, was more than I could stomach.

"Beatrix, please," Luke's plea carried a desperation that I knew warranted consideration. "I need to check his back pockets." His rationale, however logical it might have been in any other context, did little to quell the turmoil churning inside me.

"Uh-uh," I retorted, my head shaking as if I could physically dispel the reality of what he was asking.

"Beatrix," Gladys's voice suddenly intruded, her head peeking around the corner of the door, her sudden appearance startling both Luke and me.

"What?" My response was terse, the coldness in my tone a reflection of the turmoil I felt at being pulled deeper into this nightmare.

"Help him. I don't want to go to jail," Gladys sobbed, her words striking a chord that resonated with the fear and desperation we all felt to some degree.

My eyes rolled in frustration. I clenched and unclenched my fists, each movement a battle against the anger and revulsion threatening to overtake me. "Fine," I finally spat out, the words forced through clenched teeth, a reluctant agreement born of necessity rather than willingness.

Crouching beside Luke, I pressed my hand against my mouth, an attempt to shield myself from the reality of what we were about to do. The curiosity that had once driven me to seek out the unknown was now replaced by a visceral understanding of the ungodly task at hand. Dead bodies are rather gross, I concluded grimly, a thought that did little to comfort me as we prepared to cross yet another line in the sand.

"You ready?" Luke's voice was steady, but I could sense the urgency behind the question.

I shook my head, the motion more a reflex of my inner turmoil than a conscious decision.

"On three, I need you to grab onto his waist and pull him towards us," Luke instructed, his tone attempting to bridge the gap between necessity and my hesitance.

My response was another vehement shake of the head. The sight of blood staining the jeans was too much; the very idea of touching it, of being so intimately involved with the aftermath of death, made my stomach churn.

"It just needs to be a few seconds. Just long enough for me to feel inside his pocket," Luke persisted, trying to coat the grim task with a layer of reassurance.

But his words did little to assuage my fear. The reality of what we were about to do, the physical act of disturbing the deceased, felt like a violation of both the body's peace and my own principles.

"One. Two. Three. Roll!" Luke's command broke through my reluctance.

A grimace twisted my features as, driven by a mixture of adrenaline and Luke's counting, my hands acted on their own. I gripped the driver's waist with a strength I didn't know I possessed, pulling the body towards us with a firm yank. The roll was accompanied by a sickening squelch that echoed my worst fears.

"Aargh!" The sound tore from my throat as I lost my footing, my backside hitting the metal floor hard. My hands, still clamped onto the blood-soaked jeans, inadvertently dragged the body along with me.

Luke, caught off guard by the sudden movement, couldn't evade in time. The body rolled completely, ending up at his feet. "Shit, Beatrix!" His exclamation was a mixture of shock and frustration as he too lost his balance, falling beside me with a thump that sent a spray of blood airborne.

My heart raced, pounding against my chest as if seeking escape from the horror of what had just transpired. In a desperate attempt to put distance between myself and the scene, I scrambled awkwardly across to the other side of the truck.

Gladys's grip on her glass loosened in her panic, and it crashed to the concrete, shattering with a sound that seemed to echo the chaos of our situation. "Get it off me!" she screamed, her hands frantically scratching at her face in a desperate attempt to rid herself of the imagined contamination.

"Gladys! Shut up!" My voice was a harsh whisper, fear sharpening its edges. "Someone will hear you." The possibility of drawing unwanted attention to our already precarious situation filled me with dread.

"I think it's too late for that, Beatrix," Luke's voice, resigned yet calm, cut through the panic. "We've already made too much noise." His statement, a grim acknowledgment of our situation, only served to heighten the tension.

"Get it off! Get it off!" Gladys's screeches continued unabated, her terror oblivious to our attempts to calm her.

Crossing back to her side, I reached out and gently wiped her face with the back of my sleeve, attempting to soothe her distress. "It's all gone," I assured her, my voice softening as I removed the last traces of red from her cheek.

Meanwhile, Luke's focus remained undeterred. Carefully, he leaned across the body, his movements deliberate as he searched the right back pocket. My anticipation grew, watching closely as he finally pulled out a single piece of paper. The tension between us was palpable, a shared breath held in waiting.

"Is that it?" My question was barely a whisper, my body unconsciously moving closer to Luke's side, drawn by the importance of what that piece of paper represented.

Luke's sigh was like a release valve to the pressure that had built up within us. "Yeah," he confirmed, his voice carrying a weight of relief so profound it momentarily displaced the fear and tension. "We got it."

"Thank God," I breathed out, the relief in my voice mirroring Luke's. The sentiment was more than just gratitude for finding the manifest; it was a beacon of hope in the darkness, a slender thread to grasp onto as we navigated the murky waters of our predicament. In that moment, despite the tragedy, the fear, and the moral ambiguity of our actions, we had achieved a small victory, a piece of leverage in a situation that seemed increasingly out of our control.

Luke carefully folded the manifest, his actions precise and deliberate, before handing it over to me. The weight of the paper in my hands felt heavier than it should, a tangible symbol of our predicament and fleeting hope.

"Gladys, get your ass into the truck," I commanded, my tone more authoritative than usual as I jumped down from the back, the manifest flapping slightly in my grip. The urgency of our situation left no room for hesitation or delay.

"But... but... the glass," Gladys stammered, her concern for the broken glass momentarily overtaking the need for our escape.

"Forget about the glass," Luke interjected quickly, his voice firm yet reassuring. "I'll clean it up." His readiness to take care of the aftermath, to ensure our swift departure, was a small comfort.

"Come on, Gladys. We have to go," I urged, my hand gripping her arm, trying to pull her along with me. The need to leave, to put as much distance between us and the scene of the crime, was pressing.

Gladys hesitated.

"Come on," I insisted again, this time nudging her more firmly with my hip in an attempt to spur her into action. The physical encouragement was gentle but insistent, a reminder that we had no time to waste.

Gladys reached for the manifest, her voice taking on a sudden determination. "I'll hold it," she declared. Then, with a swift motion that caught me off guard, she swiped it from my hands.

"Ahh! Gladys!" I hissed, dodging her retaliatory nudge. The exchange, while brief, was a cautious reminder of the tension that bubbled just beneath the surface of our forced composure. In that moment, the manifest became more than just a piece of paper; it was a lifeline, a point of contention, and a reminder of the lengths we were willing to go to protect ourselves and each other.

"Wait!" Luke's command halted our lighthearted retreat towards the truck's cab.

"What now?" Gladys's impatience was evident, her frustration manifesting in the way she brandished the manifest through the air like a flag of defiance.

I couldn't help but send Gladys a disapproving glance, her flippant attitude grating on me given the severity of our predicament. "What do you need, Luke?" I inquired, striving for calmness in the storm that seemed to perpetually surround us.

"We need to move the body," Luke stated, his voice carrying a weight that felt like an anchor dropping me off the edge of a cliff.

"Hell no!" Gladys screeched.

"I can't move it by myself," Luke countered, the plea in his voice underscored by a stark reality that demanded action, however unsavoury it might be.

"Gladys," I intervened, my tone cool despite the turmoil churning inside me. "We're already involved now. We may as well keep going." The harsh truth of our complicity in the day's events was a bitter pill to swallow, yet undeniable.

Luke's smile, fleeting and tinged with gratitude, did little to alleviate the burden of his request. Deep down, I wished he had never asked, never pulled us further into this morass.

"Are you going to take him through the Portal?" I ventured, clinging to the hope of a solution that would neatly resolve our dilemma.

Luke's negative response dashed that fleeting hope.

"Why the hell not?" Gladys demanded.

I turned my gaze back to Luke, my curiosity piqued despite the dire circumstances. "Then what?" The question hung between us, a silent plea for an alternative that wouldn't drag us further into the mire. Luke's reluctance to use the Portal, to dispose of the body in a manner that would forever elude the authorities, was a gamble that placed us all at risk. The stakes were high, not just for Luke, but for each of us now irrevocably tied to the fate of the young man in the back of the truck. The realisation that we were all potential accomplices in a crime we hadn't committed was a heavy burden to bear, a vivid reminder of the precarious edge on which we now balanced.

Luke's sudden gulp was a clear sign of his apprehension. "Jamie isn't ready for the news yet. We can keep the body in the shed at the back of the yard for now," he proposed, a plan that seemed to skirt the edges of practicality and desperation.

An odd move, indeed, I mused silently. The idea of storing the body temporarily felt like a temporary bandage on a gaping wound. "And the truck?" I pressed, seeking clarity on the fate of our other cumbersome piece of evidence.

"I'll clean it out and bleach it while you are gone. Then I'll drive it through the Portal," Luke's response was methodical, outlining steps that seemed counterintuitive at first glance.

"But... if you are taking it through the Portal, why bother cleaning it first?" I couldn't help but question the logic. It seemed an unnecessary step if the ultimate destination of the truck was to be beyond our world, hidden from the prying eyes of our Earthly reality.

"I'd rather not raise any suspicions with Paul and Jamie," Luke explained, his rationale highlighting a concern for the broader implications of our actions on our compatriots in Clivilius. His decision, while perplexing, was rooted in a desire to maintain as much normality as possible under the circumstances.

"Fair call," I conceded, recognising the futility in arguing further. Although I found his reasoning somewhat tenuous, the underlying intent to shield Paul and Jamie from additional stress in an already alien environment held merit. Perhaps Luke is right not to bombard them with the body of Jamie's dead son, I reflected. The complexities of our situation, the delicate balance of decisions made under pressure, were becoming all too apparent.

Luke's next move was to climb back into the truck, his actions signalling the transition from planning to execution. "We need a blanket," he stated, a practical consideration for the task at hand.

"Gladys," the unexpected deep male voice calling from the front of the driveway instantly spiked my adrenaline. "Shit," I muttered under my breath, a wave of panic sweeping over me. Who the hell is here? The question ricocheted through my mind, escalating my fear. What if it is the real killer? My eyes darted around, desperately seeking any viable escape routes, preparing for the worst.

"Gladys, everything okay here?" the man inquired, his tone laced with concern yet carrying an undertone of curiosity that did little to alleviate my apprehension.

Peering around the corner of the truck, Gladys's face lit up with recognition. "Cody!" she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of surprise and relief.

Cody! The name echoed in my head, a sudden connection clicking into place from the snippets of drama involving Gladys that had unfolded last night.

"Who the fuck is Cody?" Luke's confusion was palpable, his question punctuated by a mix of irritation and urgency. His reaction, sharp and demanding, underscored the precariousness of our situation.

Gladys, now fully visible to Cody, maintained her façade of normality. "Yeah, everything is great here," she lied smoothly, her voice betraying none of the turmoil that churned beneath the surface.

"Get rid of him. Now!" Luke's hiss was a sharp command, a clear indication of the danger Cody's presence posed to our already fragile cover story.

"Why don't we..." Gladys started, her sentence trailing off as I cut in, an idea taking shape in my mind—a devious plan that could potentially leverage Cody's unexpected arrival to our advantage. The gears in my mind turned rapidly, weaving together fragments of possibility into a strategy that could divert suspicion, manipulate perceptions, and perhaps even provide us with an unexpected ally or a scapegoat, depending on how the cards fell.

"Wait," I found myself whispering sharply.

Luke's reaction was immediate, his glare piercing through the tension between us. "What?" he mouthed, his impatience palpable in the silent exchange.

My mind raced, thoughts tangling and untangling as I tried to weave together a plausible strategy. "I think he may be able to help us," I finally voiced, the idea crystallising despite the myriad of doubts clouding my judgment.

"Help us?" Luke's incredulity mirrored the absurdity of the notion. "How?" His skepticism was a tangible barrier, one that I knew I needed to dismantle with careful reasoning.

For a moment, I wondered whether my calculated assumption could possibly be correct. Was I wise to suggest it? I feared Leigh would be at risk if I did. But what other choice do we have?

"I think he is like you," I confessed to Luke, the revelation slipping out almost against my will.

Luke's gasp was a sharp intake of breath, a physical manifestation of his shock. The implications of my statement hung heavily between us, charged with potential and peril.

"But shh," I quickly hushed, pressing my index finger to my lips in a gesture calling for silence. "I don't think Gladys knows yet." My words were a whisper, a conspiracy shared in the shadow of uncertainty.

"But how does Gladys know him?" Luke's question was logical, seeking to untangle the web of connections that had ensnared us all.

"They're dating," I replied, venturing a guess at the nature of their relationship. It was a shot in the dark, but the pieces seemed to fit together in a narrative that made an odd sort of sense.

"Dating?" Luke echoed, the word hanging in the air like a question mark. "This is getting bizarre," he muttered, a hand running across his shaved head in frustration.

"Gladys," I hissed, my voice a sharp command cutting through the confusion. "Bring him here."

"Huh?" Gladys's confusion was evident as she peeked back around the truck, straining to catch my words. "What'd you say?"

"Bring him here," I repeated, firmer this time, my determination steeling my voice.

The colour drained from Gladys's face at my insistence, her complexion turning ashen. With a gentle push on her forehead, I nudged her back into action, a silent directive to follow through with my request.

"Cody, wait!" Gladys's voice carried a new level of insistence as she called out to him, her words a lifeline cast into the unknown as we prepared to confront the unforeseen consequences of our actions. The stakes were high, and with each passing moment, the intricate dance of decisions and revelations drew us deeper into a maze of uncertainties and potential alliances.

Cody's approach up the driveway was marked by a casualness that quickly evaporated the moment the full tableau of the truck and its grim contents came into his view. "What the fuck!" His exclamation cut sharply through the air, a visceral reaction to the scene that unfolded before him.

Luke's response was to meet Cody's gaze, an unspoken challenge passing between them as they stared into each other's wide, terrified eyes. The tension was palpable, a tangible force that seemed to freeze time itself.

"Who the fuck is that, Luke?" Cody's demand for answers was laden with a mix of fear and accusation, his eyes flickering between the body and Luke, seeking an explanation for the horror that lay before him.

"Wait," Luke's reply was hesitant. "You know who I am?" The confusion in Luke's voice mirrored my own, a twist in the unfolding drama that neither of us had anticipated.

"Of course," Cody answered, his tone shifting to one of matter-of-fact assurance. "We've been waiting for you." His statement, simple yet laden with implications, sent a shiver down my spine. We? The word echoed in my mind, a puzzle piece that refused to fit. Either Leigh was lying about not knowing Cody, or there were more Guardians than even he was aware of, I concluded silently.

"Waiting for me?" Luke echoed, his confusion giving way to a dawning realisation that we were caught in a web far more complex than any of us had imagined.

Cody, however, seemed unfazed by the exchange, his attention quickly returning to the more pressing issue at hand. "What happened to him?" he asked, his gaze settling on the body as he climbed into the truck beside Luke. "Throat looks like it has been slit. Any idea who did this?" His questions were direct, demanding answers that none of us were fully able to give.

I leaned in closer, my own curiosity piqued, trying to catch Luke's response. But his voice was a murmur, too soft to discern from my vantage point.

"We don't have time for this now, Luke," Cody pressed, his urgency a clear signal that our window of action was rapidly closing. "I need to know who he is and what happened. We don't have much time." His insistence on understanding the situation was a command that brooked no delay.

Luke faltered, words failing him in the face of Cody's demands.

"His name is Joel," I found myself speaking up, cutting through the hesitation. "He's Jamie's son." The admission felt like a betrayal, a revealing of truths that we had hoped to keep hidden, yet the necessity of the moment dictated our actions. The revelation hung heavy between us, a new layer of complexity added to an already convoluted situation. The interplay of relationships, secrets, and loyalties was becoming increasingly tangled, each new piece of information reshaping the landscape we navigated.

"Is he—" Cody's question hung in the air, his nod towards Luke heavy with unspoken implications.

"No. I don't think so," I found myself responding quickly, understanding the depth of his inquiry. Cody was probing into whether Joel had been a Guardian, a role that seemed far too perilous and profound for someone as young and seemingly inexperienced as Joel. The notion that Joel's lack of experience could have led to his demise was a chilling thought, one that added a layer of complexity to our already tangled situation. Or perhaps his inexperience is what got him killed? The thought was a grim speculation, casting a shadow over the tragic events.

"What happened?" Cody's persistence reflected his need for clarity, for some semblance of understanding in the tragedy that had unfolded.

I could only offer a shrug, a gesture of my own confusion and lack of information. The truth was, we were all grappling with pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit together easily.

"I'm not sure," Luke finally spoke, his voice breaking the heavy silence that had enveloped us. "He delivered a few tents here this morning. I took the opportunity to take them through the Portal while he was in the toilet. Then the boys accidentally ran through." Luke's explanation was a recount of the morning's events, a series of unfortunate accidents that had spiralled into the current predicament.

"The boys?" Cody's confusion was evident, his brow furrowing in an attempt to understand Luke's cryptic reference.

"Dogs," I jumped in, offering a quick clarification. A sense of pride flickered within me for being able to keep pace with the conversation, for contributing to the unravelling of our story in front of Cody. My interjection, while minor, felt like a small victory in maintaining some control over how much we revealed and to whom.

"And did he see?" Cody's question cut straight to the heart of the matter, his focus on the crux of our predicament.

"Yeah," Luke confirmed with a nod. "I'm pretty sure he did. And when I returned, I found him like this." The implication of his words was clear, casting a shadow of guilt and consequence over us all.

"Shit," Cody muttered, beginning to pace back and forth

"Oh my God!" Gladys's exclamation pierced the tense atmosphere, her fear palpable. "We've both seen the Portal too," she said, gesturing frantically between herself and me. "Does that mean we are going to die too?" Her question, born of panic and a newfound understanding of the stakes, echoed ominously in the air.

"Not today, Gladys. Not today," Cody's response, while meant to be reassuring, carried an undercurrent of foreboding, a reminder of the precariousness of our situation.

"I am really confused," Luke admitted. “Who are you again? And how do you know me? Did you have a dream too?” His questions, layered with the need for explanations, hinted at a deeper connection, one that seemed to bridge the gap between reality and the inexplicable.

A dream? His mention of a dream sparked a flurry of questions within me, a curiosity about the connections binding us together. But now is not the time to ask them. We have a murder to cover up, after all. The grim reality of our task refocused my thoughts on the immediate need for action. "I think Gladys and I had better finish making those deliveries," I said, turning my attention to Luke. "I'll call you later. When we're done." The decision to continue with the deliveries, despite the unanswered questions, was a desperate bid for normality, a way to distance myself somewhat from the body lying in the back of the truck.

Luke's nod was a silent acknowledgment, a mutual understanding of the roles we each had to play in the unfolding saga.

"Be careful. Both of you," Cody's parting words were a solemn benediction, a reminder of the dangers that lay ahead.

"We will," I assured him, my determination steeling my voice as I pushed Gladys towards the other truck. The weight of Cody's warning settled over me, a sobering reminder of the precarious path we were about to tread. As we moved to carry out the remaining deliveries, the reality of our situation—a tangled web of secrets, revelations, and unknown dangers—loomed ever larger, a shadow from which we could not escape.