You look at Madrigal, then at Ellery. "Uh…" you say, and affect your best casual stance. "…You wake up memoryless often?"

  Ellery doesn't say anything, and you think for a moment you're sunk. But after a second, the corners of his eyes quirk up. He's decided to humor you. "Well, not as much as I did when I was younger, but…"

  Madrigal scowls. "Ell!"

  "What? It's not like there was anything better to do. Trust me, uh, I don't have a unique problem."

  You blink. "Not a unique problem? There's other people waking up amnes—"

  "Well, I mean, yeah. More alcohol than water down there. Ha-ha."

  You stop short. "What?"

  "Well, you know, it's about the only thing that grows in the shade, and it's salt-tolerant?"

  "Cease your prattling!" You don't know what he's talking about, but you're sure it's a stupid distraction. "Return to a relevant topic!"

  "It is relevant? Beachwort? It's dead simple to make moonshine of. I guess you wouldn't know, but it's practically already fermented."

  You look to Madrigal for help, but she's got her hands in her pockets and her eyes closed. "And this has to do with amnesia how."

  Ellery leans his head against his fist. "Getting blackout drunk."

  ?Keep up.?

  "Oh." Damnit. You're not a lush, so you hadn't thought of that. "And you do that… often?"

  "I don't know about—" He glances towards Madrigal. "—often. These days. But it wouldn't be, uh, a shocking event, you know? Not shocking. And given the rest of the stuff, I think it's a pretty obvious conclusion."

  Between the bathrobe and the writing on the palm, it is a fairly obvious conclusion, especially if he has a history of— such things. Except that's not what happened. That can't be what happened. That's not what you saw.

  "Is there something wrong?"

  >[1] That can't be what happened, and you can prove it. [Present evidence*.]

  >[2] Press him on this. Does he remember *why* he would've gotten drunk? Or where he woke up?

  >[3] Backpedal. Bring up something else. With Madrigal right here, you'd rather not go into the details of how 1) he got shot and 2) you let it happen.

  >[4] Write-in.

  * The players were given a Google Doc containing all the pieces of paper Charlotte read/stole over the course of the investigation so far.

  "'Is there something wrong,'" you imitate, with a little sarcastic waggle. "'Is there something wrong.'"

  Ellery raises his eyebrows. "I sense something's wrong?"

  Of course something's wrong. You're shocked Madrigal hasn't pointed it out, considering. You pluck the DAYS SOBER note out of your stack and present it to Ellery. "Yeah! I object!"

  "You what?" But Ellery takes the note, and you take care to study his face as he reads it. You expected to spot a fragment of guilt or, at minimum, recognition. You hoped, well, for a teary confession.

  Instead, Ellery bites the inside of his lip and, for a fraction of a second, looks deeply confused.

  You'll take what you can get. "You sure that's what happened? Positive?"

  Ellery stares firmly past you. He rubs his forehead. He looses a single miserable cough. "I guess," he signs finally, "it was a relapse."

  "Caused by what?"

  "Human weakness? …I'd tell you if I remembered."

  There's too many things wrong here. You should start with one of them.

  [Pick one.]

  >[1] It's one thing to not remember the end of the evening, but surely he should remember why he started, right?

  >[2] Monty keeps the camp strictly dry (all the puns have already been made), and Jacques is too conscientious. Where'd he get enough alcohol to black out?

  >[3] Seriously, what is up with the cough! In no way is that a possible symptom of this.

  >[4] Does he not *recognize* the note? He wrote it!

  >[5] Write-in.

  "Okay," you say. You're trying very hard to avoid saying anything about human weakness. "Where'd you get it, though? I mean, there's not exactly a bustling—"

  "The booze?" Ellery scratches the back of his neck. "Branwen."

  Ah! You point. "Liar. I've never heard of any 'Branwen.'"

  "Branwen, uh…" He snaps his fingers. "Shit. Maddie—" (he speaks aloud)— "what's Bran's last name?"

  "Morris," Madrigal mumbles. Her eyes are still closed.

  "Yeah, Morris. She's got a little cabin out in the Fen, uh— Maddie works with her, she knows her better. But she has a stockpile, you know, for emergencies."

  "Hold on." Madrigal opens her eyes. They've gone all watery again. "Why do you ask?"

  "Just wondering." You have to admire his audacity.

  "Why does he ask, Charlotte?"

  "He says that's who he got alcohol from, and I said I didn't believe—"

  "What?" Madrigal grips your shoulder. "Ellery? You're drinking again?"

  "I…" He gestures meaninglessly. "Apparently?"

  "God dammit! Since— how long?"

  "I—" Ellery's jaw is tensed. "You're not my mother."

  "Maybe I fucking am! It's not like you've got—" Madrigal stops herself a whole sentence too late. Ellery raises his eyebrows.

  You step forward, elbowing Madrigal out of the way. "What she means is that we're very concerned about your well-being—"

  ?I had no idea you were capable of saying that with a straight face.?

  "—and the idea of you relapsing, is concerning. So I was just wondering, er…"

  "Listen. I feel like you've been trying to imply something," Ellery signs flatly, "and I'd appreciate if you told me what it was."

  "Oh." Maybe your dancing around the topic of 'you're lying your ass off' has been less delicate than you'd hoped. "Uh…"

  >[1] Write-in.

  Well, you're not going to tell him. You can't tell him. What are you supposed to do, go 'oh, yeah, saw you got murdered?' Like that? With Madrigal right here? No, you're going to have to worm under his defenses, like a…

  ?Snake.?

  …Worm. Snakes don't worm under things. That would be silly.

  ?It wouldn't be silly.?

  ?…?

  ?Listen, Charlie, surely you've considered the possibility that—?

  No, you don't care. You've got a plan. And your plan is to ignore everything Ellery says, because Ellery is, excuse you, a lying son of a bitch.

  "Yeah. So do you remember why you went to Bryony, or whoever? Did you wake up near her, or did you conveniently wander off on your own?"

  At some point, when you weren't looking, Ellery's calm went all frosty. "Lottie?"

  "There's no reason for you to not remember the entire day, you realize? That's not how it works!"

  "Lottie." He interlocks his fingers. "Uh, listen. I'm not going to answer your fucking questions. Until you answer my fucking question. I think that's probably fair."

  "Fair?! I'm— we're—" You shake Madrigal's wrist. "We're the one asking questions! You don't get a turn; that's not how this works!"

  "Why?"

  "Because that's— it's the rules!"

  ?But not the law.?

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Oh, okay." Ellery purses his lips agreeably, nods. "What are the rules about not saying anything?"

  ("Here we go again," Madrigal mutters.)

  "I—" You extract some hair from your collar. "I mean, they're not— they're metaphorical, so—"

  "I'm good with metaphors, no worries. So, if, for example, I were to sit here and, uh, not respond to anything you or Maddie said to me, for an indefinite period of time— how'd that be?"

  You open your mouth. Madrigal, left alone to stew, interjects. "For god's sake, Ellery, are you going to be a fucking child about this?"

  He doesn't look at her. "Maddie. I want to know what Charlotte thinks."

  "I, uh…" You wet your lips. "That's also against the rules. You can't do that."

  "Sorry to hear it. Well, I won't, then."

  You straighten. "I— of course you won't! I've got—"

  "If you answer my question. I'll even repeat it, if that might make it better? It was, uh, 'what are you trying to imply, Lottie.'"

  ?To be accurate, he never asked an explicit question. Don't say that. That won't help.?

  The back of your neck seems to have grown hot. You give up the search for a polite way to phrase this as soon as you begin. "…I think you're a liar."

  "That was easy, huh?" Ellery unlaces his fingers and leans forward, propping himself up on his elbows. "You're wrong, but we can get into that later. Why?"

  "I mean, it's— it's obvious! Look at you! Look at your— papers! I mean, God, look at Madrigal! She's been beaten half to death—"

  "It's just a bruise!" she objects.

  "—she's been beaten half to death, and you don't even care! I mean, she's been crying, and you don't even notice! You're a cold-hearted, heartless bastard, and you should be—"

  "I did notice," Ellery says. You've introduced a little edge of hurt into his voice. "I just didn't bring it up. I mean, she'd… snap at me. And we're not…"

  Madrigal's throat flexes, but she says nothing.

  You need to keep up the momentum. "Well, anyways! You pretended not to notice, just like you've been pretending this whole time? You seriously expect me to believe you just woke up? With no memory? That's the biggest pile of GS in the book, and you—"

  "So what, uh, you think I carved words into my hand for… kicks? It still hurts."

  "He did what?"

  You ignore Madrigal. "They're not relevant! What's relevant is you're hiding something! I mean, very clearly!"

  "What?"

  "You're hiding—"

  "No, what am I hiding? What's my gullshit?" He pauses. "Don't fuck me here, Charlotte. Your questions are so leading they'd walk a blind guy on a slackline. You've got something in mind."

  >[1] What is Ellery hiding? Write-in. [Evidence optional-- you can just state it, or you can attempt to prove it.]

  OR

  >[2] Madrigal! You'd really like some backup right around now! This is supposed to be a team effort!

  AND/OR

  >[3] Write-in.

  You scratch at your neck.

  "Really? You're gonna fuck me over? Okay then." Ellery leans his face on one fist. "We can do like this, if that's what you want, I guess. Eye for an eye."

  He looks significantly at your (lack of) eye. "No offense."

  "Ellery. You can't just bring up someone's missing fucking eye—" Madrigal looks as supercilious as you've ever seen her.

  Ellery maintains his vow of silence for a good five seconds before throwing in the towel. "It was an accident! And I apologized—"

  "'No offense' isn't an apology! An apology is, like, fuckin', oh, uh, 'dear Madrigal, I'm sorry for being, uh, a repressed fuckhead, and I've considered how never telling you a goddamn thing may stress you out, and from now on I'm going to stop holding you at arm's length, and, you know, let you help, like you've clearly been trying to do for months and months—'"

  "Oh, come on." Ellery sighs. "Maddie. Why're you crying?"

  Madrigal wipes her face. "I'm not."

  "Why were you crying?"

  "I wasn't."

  "Is it something I'd know about?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "Okay. Where'd you get the bruise?"

  "Nowhere."

  "Okay! I think we've got a sort of, uh, pot-kettle situation here. Wouldn't you say, Lottie?"

  "Um," you say, startled, "I… well, I mean, there's kind of different… magnitudes here. Madrigal's just being a dumb bitch, while you've got amnesia. Allegedly. And so on."

  "Yeah!" Madrigal must have missed your comment. "You heard her! I manage to function like a well-adjusted—"

  "Criminal," you supply.

  ?Very nice. You've been doing well.?

  "—adult, while you can't put your boots on without tripping into some kind of shitty metaphysical anomaly— for god's sake, can you at least tell me what it is this time? Generalize? I know people, for fuck's sake, I can—" She's tearing up again. Horrible.

  Ellery gently shoves back the armchair and stands. (He really is quite tall. You have to look up, now, which is just infuriating.) "Maddie."

  "Yeah?"

  "You can't help, you won't help, and I don't want you to help." He pauses. "And you're my ex-girlfriend."

  It was the wrong thing to say. Madrigal's hackles rise. "Yeah. You know why?"

  "Maddie—"

  "Because you broke up with me, fuckhead! That's why! And you wouldn't give a reason!"

  You can't stop your creeping smile. This— this is why you're here. This is why you signed up. This is personal business. "Madrigal, you said it was mutual."

  "It was! I— he just did it first, okay? Someone's always gotta do it first!"

  "I think," Ellery says, "you said something like, uh, 'you can't break up with me, you fucking asshole, I was supposed to break up with you'?"

  "It doesn't— what matters, you fucking asshole, is you never fucking told me your fucking reasons for doing it! What kind of—"

  "Excuse me," you say, "would we watch our language? Please?"

  They both stare. You cough.

  "Anyways," Madrigal signs, "it's been three-quarters of a year, Ellery! Would it kill you to tell me—"

  "I didn't love you, Madrigal."

  Deathly stillness.

  "Well." Madrigal hugs her chest. "I didn't love you, either."

  "And I don't."

  "Well, I don't, either."

  What? No. No. This is wrong. This isn't how it's supposed to be. This isn't exciting. This isn't dramatic. This isn't fun. This is just sad, and petty, and sad.

  ?I will say, Charlie, it's not often you're the most mature person in the room.?

  ?Normally you have to be alone to be that.?

  Hey, that's right. You've got to step up here. I mean, clearly they're not.

  >[1] PRESENT something to prove that Ellery's lying. [What? Write-in.]

  >[2] Optionally, EXPLAIN how Madrigal's lying. [Write-in.]

  >[3] Just change the subject. Change the subject. This is terrible. [To what?]

  >[4] Write-in.

  "Oh, for crying out loud," you say. "Both of you shut up. You're both horrible."

  "Maddie," Ellery starts, "remind me why she's—"

  "Hey! No. Uh-uh." You fold your arms. "Shut up. Shut up."

  He pinches the brow of his nose, but shuts up. (You're a little relieved, and a lot smug.) He collapses back into the armchair, which is there. Was it gone? You feel like it may have vanished when he stood, but you weren't actually paying attention. The whole chair's remarkably slippery: you're looking straight at it, but you couldn't name its make or color if it'd bite your head off.

  …The point was, he shut up.

  >[+1 ID: 10/11]

  "Charlotte!" It's Madrigal's turn. "We're having a— a private—" And maybe she realizes the path that argument's taking, or maybe it's the force of your polyphemous glare (the eye does come in handy, sometimes), but she promptly shuts up, too.

  "Right," you say, clapping your hands together. "Okay, good. Right. You're both horrible, and, by God, you're both horrible liars. I mean, I don't think Madrigal even needs to be spoken for. She's just transparent about it— I mean, it's kind of weird and desperate, honestly? It's a— I don't know if it's a biological clock thing, or what, because it'd be about the right age, but biology's all, uh, screwed, so—"

  ?It's called the Clarkman Effect, Charlie.?

  ?From Rudolph Clarkman, who kept extensive records after his personal drowning circa 22 AD—?

  "—the Clarkman Effect— anyways! She's a hot mess and a bad liar. But you—" you gesture wildly at Ellery— "are an okay liar."

  "Thanks," he says.

  "You're welcome. I didn't say a good liar, and that's because, sir—" Too much flair! Backpedal. "—eh, because you made me read, like, 30 pages of really garbage poetry about her. And some so-so drawings. And you mean to say you weren't head over heels—"

  "Okay," Ellery says, "it wasn't— it wasn't 30 pages. And nobody made you read that. You just did."

  Madrigal rubs the side of her neck.

  "And," he continues, "that was— before. So."

  "Before…"

  "You read the thing, didn't you?"

  Before the Day of Reckoning.

  ?I implore you to stop calling it that.?

  "Before the Day of Reckoning," you say aloud, primarily out of spite. Richard crackles. Madrigal mouths "what?". Ellery— you have to double-check this— Ellery cracks a real smile.

  "Sure," he says. "Sure, that's a pretty good name for it. That. So it's not really my fault, then, it's just… how it happened."

  "Not her fault," you correct.

  His smile loses some luster. "That too."

  "But anyhow, uh, that was— there was a whole three months earlier than the Incident—"

  "The breakup," Madrigal mutters.

  "You're saying you just stewed for, what, a third of a year afterwards? That doesn't add up."

  "If there's one thing I'm good at…" Ellery's smile lingers, but you're unsure why: there's nothing at all behind it anymore. "…it's denial."

  "Also lying." You cock your head. "But also not that. You carry a photo around of her, for heaven's sake. Looking at the wear on the thing, you've been carrying it around for months. Which, again— a little weird, uh, a little desperate. But I guess that makes you a match, right?"

  "She went through my coat?" It's directed at Madrigal.

  She shrugs. Her lips are pressed closely together.

  Ellery doesn't say anything. His fingers beat out a steady tum-tum-TUM-tum on the arm of the armchair (could it be plaid, possibly? or are you just extrapolating from the bathrobe?).

  "So," you prompt him, "why'd you really break up?"

  "I can't tell you." Tum-tum-TUM-tum.

  "Oh, please. Saying it can't be worse than dragging it out. It's almost been a year—"

  "No," Ellery says. "I can't tell you."

  "Did you kill a man? Because I think Madrigal would be fine with that— see, look." Madrigal's giving a thumbs up.

  "No. Not ‘I won't’. Not ‘I don't want to.’" Tum-tum-TUM-tum-tum-tum-TUM-tum. "I can't. Like how I don't remember yesterday, I can't."

  "You don't remember—"

  "No, I remember." Ellery looks away. "Of course I remember. But I can't tell you."

  >[1] Write-in.

  BATHIC'S RECOMMENDATION CORNER #13

  Ace Attorney Trilogy, and there's three more game collections after that available on Steam-- the is uneven but has some of the boldest swings in the franchise (JUSTICE FOR HOBONIX), the 19th century spinoff is excellent and finally sticks the 3D model landing, and the prosecutorial-themed has one game that's fine and another game that's my favorite in the entire franchise. 10/10, made me cry. I really can't recommend these enough.