He seemed to fold in on himself, trying to make himself even smaller than he already was. There was no way that this was the boy who Maple had seen sentenced to execution only two and a half years ago. His orange jumpsuit was rolled up at the wrists and ankles to compensate for extra length, and bunched up at the joints and hips where it was way too large. The Sal Fisher that Maple saw in Nockfell Prison could only be described as tiny. The Sal Fisher that Maple thought she knew had a slightly stocky build that balanced him out. Maple didnвЂ™t think he could be any taller than 5вЂ™6. After a few minutes, though, she spotted a familiar head of blue hair. Eventually, the correction officers led the prisoners out into the visiting hall to see their loved ones. She couldnвЂ™t live in the land of what-ifs forever, of course, no matter how tempting that might have seemed. Would she clam up? Burst into tears? God forbid, punch him? All were feasible reactions that she could visualize actually happening. She was seconds away from seeing him for the first time in two and a half years and she had no idea how she would react. It struck her as she sat down that after all the time that she had spent contemplating what Sal would say in this situation that she had never actually considered what she herself would say when she came face-to-mask with the so-called Sally Face Killer. Maple wasnвЂ™t forced to ruminate on the rudeness of tabloids for long, though, because eventually a tired-looking correction officer called her name and ushered her back into the visitation hall. DidnвЂ™t they know that the sun had burnt out? How could such cheery, smiling people exist in a world without Chug and So? The dissonance left a bitter taste at the back of MapleвЂ™s tongue.

The bright colors on the glossy pages felt almost blasphemous in a world gone greyscale. She eventually decided to resort to thumbing through some nonsensical magazine that sat on the steel coffee table. She simply didnвЂ™t know what to do with her body now that Chug was gone. It made her feel safe, like she wouldnвЂ™t have to go through anything alone. Back when they were all still alright, Chug and Maple were always touching: holding hands, a head on a shoulder, or sitting simply pressed together. She subconsciously reached for a hand that didnвЂ™t exist anymore. These kinds of windowless, fluorescent-lit spaces always made her nervous. Upon entering the lobby, she left her purse and phone with the receptionist. Maple pulled through the gates of the prison after about an hour of driving. She almost wished her car would spin out of control. Nothing that Sal could say to make that any better came to mind. A chunk of her was missing, and her best friend had been the one to take it and destroy it so she could never get it back. How could she ever replace what he took? When would the deep, throbbing ache in her chest cease? She would never again push Soda on the swingset, never again wake up next to Chug on gentle spring mornings, never again have dance parties in the living room or hold the two of them close to her ever again. Maple rolled the idea of forgiving Sal around in her head. It was quite a bit of a drive from the house to the prison. For the most part, she just laid on top of the covers of her bed and told herself it would be better if she would get up and turn on some music.

She drank fancy espresso with Neil at his favorite Italian cafe, but everything she tried tasted like watery wood glue. She went to the dumb painting classes with Ash, but she couldnвЂ™t paint anything more than a simple flower. Everyone was lovely to her, or at least they did their best. Nobody touched SalвЂ™s room except to go in and leave food and water for Gizmo. Shortly after, Ashley Campell moved into the spare room that had been used as extra storage. She had settled into the basement, and done her best to make herself comfortable. The house was too big for him anyway, and Maple couldnвЂ™t get the stains out of the shag carpet of her old apartment. After the trial, she ended up moving into NeilвЂ™s place. So there Maple found herself, driving to Nockfell Prison on a drizzly November day. Probably all those years on their high school debate team. She swore Neil could sell water to a fish. Maple didnвЂ™t really understand what he could possibly say to absolve himself of the murder of her husband and daughter (not to mention the rest of the tenants in their apartment complex), but Neil really seemed to believe whatever Sal had to say. It was Neil who convinced her that she had to visit Sal and listen to his side of the story. She honestly didnвЂ™t know what to expect when she went to visit Sal Fisher in Nockfell prison, but she knew that she needed to do this. Maple had been procrastinating on this trip for a while.

Maple sally face