Langston sighed. She didn’t feel clever enough at the moment to silence this buttinsky. She slid the deadbolt into the unlocked position to let Starr’s aunt in.

Dorian surveyed the room as she composed herself for the intervention she was about to attempt.

As she said this, Dorian stepped back to take in the entire living room. “I am such a fan of a well-kept home. You’ve kept this up nicely. Your parents would be proud.”

It’s not kept up as nicely as you think, lady, thought Langston. She looked around nervously, pulling her eyes away from the uninvited guest and zeroing in on a flash of color sticking out from underneath the couch. She knew she had to move fast. “You need to leave,” she directed. “This isn’t a good time.”

“On the contrary,” Dorian responded, “This IS a good time. Autumn in Pennsylvania is the perfect time for grieving. Things dying off. If nature tells us anything it’s that when things die, there is always a rebirth in the spring. Langston, it’s perfectly okay to grieve for what you have lost.”

“Dr. Lord, please. About my parents. This has been my little secret for awhile now. Why can’t we leave things the way they are?” Langston stared at the couch again and in an almost-whisper said, “ I mean, I’m not hurting anybody. Any more.”

Dorian frowned. “On the surface, I suppose, no one is getting hurt. But all of your pretending that nothing’s wrong–that, I know, is causing you a world of hurt.”

Langston was starting to panic. No one can know the real secret. If Dr. Lord finds out, they’ll put me away. “So what happens now?” she asked.

“Why, you’re going to stay with me and Starr at La Boulaie!” Dorian proclaimed.

While Dr. Lord was speaking in dramatically-accented French, Langston’s eyes darted all around the room. She needed to clean up her trail. In her haste to tidy up for her date with Markko, she’d gotten sloppy. Nagging, little details had fallen through the cracks. Stuff like making sure her father’s leg was completely hidden from view.

And now Dr. Lord was turning her attention to the couch. She walked over, sat down, and patted the cushion. “Honey, sit down here and take a minute to grieve.”

“Dr. Lord, you should go now,” Langston protested, perching herself on the arm of her couch and stealthily kicking at the object beneath her left foot until she was certain it’d disappeared from view. She wiped a bead of sweat off her brow. Crisis averted.

Dorian got up from the couch. “You’re coming with me to La Boulaie and that’s final.”

Dorian acted like she had free reign over the place. Before Langston knew what was happening, Dorian had placed her hand around the doorknob of the hall closet.

“Let’s get you packed,” said Dorian.

“Don’t open that!” Langston ran over to stop her.

“Is this where you keep the valises?”

“Where I keep the PIECES??” All the color drained from Langston’s face. "What? Um, I mean, what did you ask me, Dr. Lord?”

“I’m wondering where your parents kept the suitcases.”

Langston wasn't quick enough. Dorian turned the knob and the closet was opened. Two arms, a foot, and a torso tumbled out at her feet.

Dorian backed away from the closet. She had experience with cadavers from medical school, but that was a lifetime ago. She saw Langston race over to the couch, lift one of the cushions, and grab something. The next thing Dorian knew, Langston was standing behind her brandishing an ax.

“Go ahead, meet my parents!” Langston shouted. “I chopped them into pieces. This one is Doris.” She pushed the lone foot a few inches along the floor with the tip of her sneaker. She stepped on an arm. “And I think this one is Oscar.”

Dorian shook her head as she stared at the severed body parts. “Oh, my. What a mess.”

Langston was freaking out. She didn’t care if this was Starr’s aunt. She was prepared to use the ax again.

Dorian cleared her throat. “Langston, it looks to me like you’ve committed a double homicide.” She said this more to the air than to the moody ax-wielding teenager positioned in front of her.

Langston's arms were getting tired. “Well, there’s no way you’re putting me in jail!” she spat.

Dorian smiled, which made Langston freak out even more.

"What are you going to do?" Langston screamed at her.

"Why, what any Cramer Woman worth her salt would do: Blackmail."

"Huh?" Langston put the ax down.

"I'll keep your secret under one condition: You nominate me for Woman of the Year."

Langston twirled a piece of purple hair. "You Cramers are whacked."

"I want that big silver bowl," Dorian confessed. "Do we have a deal?"

"Deal."

"Good. Now go get some Hefty bags and two shovels." Dorian winked. "I'll meet you in the back yard."