Chasing Dawn

By Terra Katherine McKeown

Post-doctoral fellow, burgeoning psychiatrist, and someone living with dissociative identity disorder, life for Dawn Hollins has always been hectic. Sometimes it feels like all she has become is a walking calendar app for a group of personalities using a shared body and demanding lives of their own. It doesn't help that she's also a Changeling,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Echobird Press LLC
• Release date: Jun 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986386515

Terra Katherine McKeown

Terra Katherine McKeown (ze/zir) is an agender writer and farmer living in the American Southwest.Originally from verdant Western Washington, ze has transitioned from radio to academia to social work to various bodywork therapies while continuing to write and occasionally publish.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s disturbed psyche or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 by Terra Katherine McKeown

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Address inquiries in permission to:

Echobird Press, echobirdpress.com

ISBN 979-8-9863865-0-8 | ISBN 979-8-9863865-1-5 EPUB

For Aran and Stacy. Thank you!

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hank you, Dr. Hollins," Lawrence said, shaking my hand. The shine

"T of his eyes brightened when his smile broke across his stubbly cheeks.

I watched Lawrence walk down the hall to the waiting room with a growing sense of satisfaction; our session made the perfect end to a perfect day. Nothing went sideways, everything was on schedule, and I could see progress in each of my patients.

Can we leave early? Arta asked, her voice bored.

At least it was going perfectly.

My smile faltering, I sighed and closed my office door. There was the plaque, just above eye height: Dawn Hollins, MD, PhD. Doctor. I worked hard for that. Would I let Arta’s irritability get in the way of my good mood?

I am not irritable, she said as I walked back to the clinic’s kitchen to get some tea.

Then what should I call it? Cranky? Oh, I know, annoying, I thought at her, turning the corner into the break room. I could feel her glare, so I sighed as I rifled through the tea selection on the counter. My fingers stopped on their own. I kept telling all my patients to have grace, so maybe I should walk my talk. Taking a deep breath, I let my awareness move inward. I need to do case notes and then we can go. Okay?

Why can’t you just let it go? It’s not like most of your patients will be cured or anything. They’re crazy.

First of all, screw you, I replied, closing my eyes.

I could see Arta better in my mind’s eye, the Inner Sanctum as we started calling it so many years ago. She was the alter who was closest to me,

so close we were more than sisters, like twins. She had the same medium-dark black skin and big brown eyes, the same petite frame, the same bush of long curls that I refused to do anything with. Like a twin, though, there were differences. While her constant exercise kept our shared body in athetic shape, the vision of her in my mind’s eye was even more svelte, ropy muscles defining her crossed arms. Her hair was pulled back into a severe tail, a shaped explosion of hair out of the back of her head, keeping it out of her face. Not only that, her eyes kindled with a quick anger, currently directed at me. While I wore my professional slacks and blouse, she was eternally in athletic shorts and sports bra, feet bare.

Second of all, this is my time.

I could just take over, you know, she said, shifting so her hip was cocked to the other side.

I looked at her for a moment, gauging just how irritated she was. She always seemed younger than me somehow, as if she stayed an eternal teen while I grew up. It wasn’t true; she had been around as long as I could remember, but concepts like time move differently when you’re talking about someone who exists entirely in the psyche.

I know, sweetie, I replied with a sigh. I prefer if you didn’t. A half-hour of case notes and then we can be on our way. I promise.

Don’t call me sweetie, Arta grumbled.

I’ve been knowing her a long time. She was as mollified as I could ever make her.

Dawn, can I talk to you?

I jumped at the voice, my eyes snapping open. Dr. Miguel Ochoa was at my side and I hadn’t even noticed him.

He chuckled. I didn’t mean to surprise you. A little tired?

I’m a third-year resident, aren’t I? I said, forcing a brief laugh. What can I do for you, Dr. Ochoa?

Maybe we should go back to my office? He suggested. Something must have shown on my face, because he smiled. Nothing bad, I promise.

I nodded and followed him back out of the kitchen. Dr. Ochoa was one of Columbia University’s professors of Psychiatry, the director of the Audubon Outpatient Clinic, and very well respected. Not to mention he was a genuinely kind man. And my supervisor. He was a tall, thin man, almost emaciated. As I followed him, my eyes were more or less level with his shoulder blades. Of course, I wasn’t particularly tall, myself, so everyone was bigger than me. He was a middle-aged man with rich brown skin, almost as dark as my own, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair that bounced with each movement. He had been at the clinic longer than anyone else, and would probably be here until he died. Not a dedication you see often in this day and age. Selina and Arthur both liked him, which just made him that much more easy to respect. If anything really was wrong, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.

Is…is there something wrong with my work, Dr. Ochoa? I asked.

He looked just over his shoulder at me and paused, smiling. Not at all, Dawn. You’re one of the best residents I’ve ever worked with. Your grasp of dissociative disorders is probably better than anyone I’ve met and you’re…What, twenty…nine?

Eight.

When did you start medical school? Third grade? He asked, chuckling. He sobered quickly, his eyes still kind. He reminded me of Grandma Wilson in how compassion just rolled off of him. Going to school so early doesn’t leave a lot of time for life, does it? You know, work experience and socializing.

So that’s where this was going. I was used to this conversation. Several advisors had given it to me and even Grams pulled it out on occasion. The

you don’t have enough friends talk, or one of its endless derivations. And Grandma Wilson even knows why I don’t have friends.

Are you concerned about my social life, Dr. Ochoa? I asked, forcing a smile into place. I didn’t need to rock the boat, but I didn’t need this talk again. I was enough for myself.

Yes and no, Dawn, he said, taking a few more steps to his office and laying his hand on the handle. And, like I told you, call me Miguel. Your clinical skills are superb. You connect with patients and your understanding of psychopathology and neuroscience is…almost supernatural.

A shiver went up my spine at that. I held my breath.

It’s your…behavior…with everyone else, he said, struggling to find words.

I go to almost all of my peer review sessions. Have there been complaints…? I began, trying to hide my frustration. If I just did my work and put on a friendly face, usually they just let me be.

Not complaints exactly. Concerns, maybe, he replied, and then sighed and gave in. I braced myself, but I knew it was coming. Dr. Ochoa was too perceptive, and too compassionate. So much for a perfect day. Gary said you have been promising to come to the PRDA since your first year, but you haven’t shown up once. To a meeting or a social.

Columbia University’s Psychiatry Residents Diversity Alliance was a very active group of busy-bodies. That was unfair of me, but at the moment I wasn’t feeling very fair. I could get behind their mission of helping the minority of minorities within the residency program find their footing, get mentorship in the program, and create a community of support in an extremely rigorous program. They did great work, and I admired that.

Considering I was the only Black person in my year or the year before, they worked on recruiting me hard. Even still, the sort of real diversity that I live with was not something I wanted to bring to the group.

Dr. Ochoa…Miguel…I’m just so busy with my research… I trailed off, as I could see he wasn’t buying it.

Don’t you think Cho and Wynn don’t also have their post-doc work eating up their time? And families? They make it.

Yeah, but Cho and Wynn – or Tamara or everyone else – didn’t have a troop of poorly behaved voices in their head eating up every spare second.

We’re not a troop, Arta complained. We’re barely a patrol.

I see you didn’t have a problem with poorly behaved, I sniped back.

Dr. Ochoa was leveling a look at me, seeing I was failing to come up with a good excuse. Let’s go into my office for a moment to discuss…

Dawn Hollins.

The deep voice surprised us both. Dr. Ochoa and I turned as one to face the hulk of a white man standing half-way down the corridor, hands casually in his pockets. He was dressed immaculately in a charcoal business suit that must have been crisply tailored to match his imposing size. He stood squarely, his shoulders back and chin up. His hair was neatly trimmed into a near-flattop, almost invisible in its blondeness. Aside from his colossal presence and the evident cost of his leather shoes, it was his eyes that gave him away as other. They were a strange dark amber color, unreadable in the slits his heavy brow afforded.

I mean that literally. He was something not entirely human. We know our own kind when we see them.

Maria, the matronly office manager with the bun that was always trying to escape, was right behind him. I’m sorry, Dr. Ochoa, he just walked back.

Dawn, do you know this man?

Ah…no, Dr…Miguel, I said, my eyes not leaving the stranger’s face.

He’s lupine, Selina said in the back of my mind, her silky voice sending its own thrill down my spine.

He’s a…ah…I don’t know who he is, I said dumbly.

I need to speak with you, Miss Hollins, he said, his voice deep, his stance solid as a mountain. Now that Selina pointed it out, I could see the animal within him, as if it were bursting out of his skin to run rampant. It will only take a few moments of your time.

Dawn…?

It will only be a minute, Dr. Ochoa. I didn’t even bother to try his first name. I looked up at him and gave what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

Very few people of the magical persuasion caused trouble for humans, though sometimes it did happen, explained away as something that people

could understand. Usually violence and insanity. It’s striking how similar those things are in both of the worlds I straddle. So I didn’t want this werewolf to get any ideas. I’ll be in your office in just a second.

Dr. Ochoa looked between the lupine and myself with a mixture of concern and confusion, but he nodded. I quickly lead the way back to my office, avoiding Maria and Dr. Ochoa’s stares, or the ones of the other front desk workers who came into the hallway to peer. My face was burning.

I opened the door and held it for him. He glanced at my door plaque as he walked through and then stopped just inside, taking in the office, his body too sizable to squeeze past. My office wasn’t large by any means, but it was comfortable. I had the obligatory couch on one wall, a stock picture of flowers above it. My desk was in one corner with my tablet and notebook open, mounds of casefiles, folders and papers stacked neatly off to the side.

Its only adornment was the picture frame with an old photo of Grandma Wilson in it, the one from our trip to the beach, me and the other fosters, and she was smiling at the camera under those big, ridiculously round sunglasses. The window was behind the chair to my desk, the curtains drawn for privacy. The only piece that looked out of place was a chair adjacent to my desk, a leather one that I found in storage. For a few months my hobby was repairing furniture, and I didn’t do a half-bad job on a weekend restoration of the old and comfortable hard-backed chair. If clients didn’t want the couch, they could sit there.

This man apparently did, as he pulled it out and sat down. He made himself comfortable, looking up at me with (dare I say) a wolfish glower.

Even sitting, he didn’t have to incline his head very far.

Even as I was opening my mouth to speak, he began again. "Doctor Hollins."

Umm…yes?

Not Miss.

I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me. Regardless, it was annoying, and I could feel Arta bristling. Almost everyone annoyed her, so it wasn’t unusual.

I closed my door and moved to the couch, which was further away from him than my office chair.

What can I do for you, Mr…?

My name is Christopher Kelvin. He said it as if I should know who he was. When it was obvious I didn’t, he went on. One of our mutual friends gave me your name as someone to contact for some witchcraft.

I spluttered. Witch…witchcraft?

Or whatever form of magic you practice, he said abruptly.

Bernadette Tyson told me that you provide magical services to discerning clients, Christopher Kelvin said, one brow arching.

Burns? Selina gasped in the back of my mind.

I slipped inside. I didn’t need to close my eyes to do it, but the thousand-yard stare that I affected was often disconcerting. Frankly, I found myself caring very little for what Christopher Kelvin thought of me.

Selina was already in the Inner Sanctum. She was a vision of beauty.

Ever since Selina came into my awareness when I was a teen, I knew that whatever I thought about myself, Selina would always outshine it. She was graceful, poised, every move a part of a dance that I couldn’t even comprehend the music for. Her body was all lush curves, a creamy, thick brown that very nearly glowed from within. Coupled with a long, straight fall of black hair that haloed her, her radiating beauty made her seem almost angelic.

Bernadette…Burns is your girlfriend, right?

My lover, yes, Selina said, her smile beaming and coquettish. She’s good people. You’d like her, Dawn.

She’s a werewolf.

Don’t be racist, Selina said, wrinkling her nose. Lupine are human and wolf, both conjoined in one body. You should understand that better than most.

I sighed. Bile, do you know who this guy is?

And why would I know that? He replied, stepping into the Inner Sanctum.

If Selina was the paragon of beauty and light, Bile was her shadow. His cultured voice with its vaguely British accent did not match his appearance.

He was a small man – smaller than me, almost the size of a child – with a greenish tinge to his skin that seemed to shine through the brown, pockmarks from long-healed scars all over his body. He had jaundiced eyes that looked over-large in his emaciated face, the line of his mouth long and thin-lipped.

Strands of thin, sparse white hair dangled down from the top of his head. He hid most of his body in voluminous black robes that absorbed the light.

Fine. Would you both please pay attention while I speak with him?

I always pay attention, Bile said. But be careful. Christopher Kelvin is the CEO of a large industrial manufacturing empire and the Clan Leader of a large Los Angeles area pack. He is not one to trifle with.

I thought you said you didn’t know him?

If you will remember, I asked you why I would know that, he said. I am not at your beck and cal , Dawn. But he is here for business, and I am interested to hear what he wants to say.

Exasperated, I blinked and refocused on Christopher Kelvin. He was looking at me with obvious curiosity. Mr. Kelvin, I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage…

Of course I do.

I hate this guy, Arta muttered. As much as I wanted to agree, I ignored her.

Bernadette Tyson is my…cousin, he said, waving his hand dismissively.

He’s saying that he’s a part of the Cybellic lineage of lupine, Selina announced.

Thanks. Okay. What is it you think I can help you with?

I need something that will eliminate my shifting, he said.

I blinked. Is that even possible.

Everything is possible, Dawn, Bile said.

The question is whether it should be done, Selina countered.

"Everything can be done."

Some things are best left alone, though.

Guys, I’m trying to get through a conversation here. Fight later, I thought at them.

More information, Bile.

I do not know of anything that can eliminate changing the form of an inherent shapeshifter, but there are a few ways to suppress it, Bile said.

Selina quickly added. But Dawn, dear, there needs to be a good reason to do it. We’re talking about burying something that is integral to who he is.

I ignored the arguing that continued in the back of my mind and focused on Christopher Kelvin again. I don’t think we…I can eliminate shifting, Mr. Kelvin. Maybe if you shared some of your reasons…

I am not one of your patients, Dr. Hollins, Christopher Kelvin said, cutting me off. He leaned forward in the chair towards me, resting his elbows on his knees, intertwining the thick fingers of his hands. Even those sausages were heavily muscled. I know what I want and I am willing to pay for it.

I understand that, Mr. Kelvin, but I will need some details…

Can you do it?

I was getting tired of being interrupted. It’s possible to suppress the transformation.

For how long?

That would depend on how long he needed the working to last, Bile said. I repeated that to Christopher Kelvin. That is, with only a little stammering around pronouns.

Three nights would be sufficient, Christopher Kelvin replied.

A full moon cycle, Bile mused. Perhaps he is only worried about the nights it is most difficult to control shifting.

It’s still a natural part of who he is, Selina interjected.

I licked my lips and continued before the arguing caught me up. "Mr.

Kelvin, it would help me figure out what I can do for you if you tell me a little about why you want to do this."

Christopher Kelvin watched me for a moment and then leaned back in the chair with a creak of old wood. He scanned the room again. I’m a shrink; I know when someone is thinking about something, but his face was a cold mask, betraying no emotion. His silence made it a little easier for me to settle back in the couch and wait for him to come to a conclusion. His eyes fell on my desk and the items scattered across it.

You have only one family photo on your desk, Dr. Hollins,

Christopher Kelvin turned back to me, pinning me down with his gaze, both bored and piercing. A one Grace Wilson, I am led to understand. And your other foster siblings.

He has done his research. My mouth went dry, but I opened it anyway to reply, though I couldn’t find the right words before he sighed and continued.

I have spent far too much time in my busy day looking for you at your other offices. The one in the neuroscience department at the medical center, and your lab in the same building. You moonlight as a witch – or whatever you call yourself – selling potions and poisons –

Poisons?!

Only once, Bile said. It was an appropriate cure for a troll.

– to changelings and other true powers. You also see high-profile and wealthy clients for…more carnal matters. You have little spare time for said absent family, friends, or any sort of social life. Additionally, I see nothing with character anywhere in your office to denote a personal touch, as if you are either too busy to have a hobby or an interest outside of your work.

My cheeks burned. I was in full agreement with Arta: I don’t like this man. It had nothing to do with how right he was, but how he said it. This time I had the words, but he spoke before I could light into him.

I admire your work ethic. I am like you. I am a businessman, and that consumes my entire life. I have given up family, friends, and even the status deserved to me by my own Clan, for the sake of work and power. So let me ask you, if you had a part of yourself that took so much of your time three nights of the month, would you not want to suppress it?

It sounds like he’s talking about going on birth control, Arta said with a snort.

It sounds like he’s talking about all of you, I said. At the shocked silence from the alters in my mind, I immediately felt a pang of guilt.

Mr. Kelvin, I said, clearing my throat, I understand what you’re saying…

Miss Hollins, I don’t care about your understanding. What I want is a solution to my problem. I do not need therapizing or for you to understand my business. Will you help me?

I realized my mouth was still open. So I closed it, and my teeth began to grind. On the one hand, he was insufferable and slightly insulting. On the other, I could tell he was trying to appeal to the doctor in me, the part of me that always wanted to help. If he knew about my alters, then he wouldn’t be doing that, so at least my secret was safe. So I was free to let my anger show on my face.

Take his money, Dawn, Bile said. I have worked with his type before. He simply wants a solution, and I can help him.

Of course you’ve worked with someone like him!

You know that I have a diverse group of clients, Bile replied, nonplussed. Ordinarily they send me a message and I meet with them on my nights in the body.

We have to have a serious talk about what types you work with, Bile.

I don’t like this, Dawn, Selina interjected. He’s hiding something.

Of course he is, Bile spat. That is the nature of business. And he will pay handsomely for that secrecy.

I don’t feel comfortable working in secrets, Selina said reasonably.

This coming from the whore! Bile hissed venomously.

Guys…

Miss Hollins? Christopher Kelvin said, bringing me back to my senses.

I took a deep breath and nodded, thinking about both what Bile and Selina had told me. They distracted me from my anger, but my answer was already decided. I’m sorry, Mr. Kelvin, but I don’t think I can help you at this time.

He sat there in my leather chair and watched me, still and imposing. I heard Arta growl deep in the back of my mind, reacting to the tension of his silent bullying. It didn’t help me feel any less like prey. Still, I didn’t back down. You don’t when a client gets threatening. I see it almost every day.

Finally, after a long moment, Christopher Kelvin stood up with a fluid movement. He dug a hand into his blazer’s breast pocket and pulled out a small card. Handing it over, he said, If you change your mind. Good day.

Even his walking out interrupted my saying goodbye. I looked at the card, a thick and glossy, brilliant white cardstock with gold foil engraved lettering. It only had his name in a serious, serif font: Christopher Kelvin. A phone number and e-mail address were etched right below that. I just threw it into my open backpack, under my desk.

I have seen a lot of weird things in my life, but it rattled me every time.

I mean, I’m a changeling, so knowing the reality of werewolves and magic is second nature. Changeling, which is a term that came from faerie lore, of human children who are taken away and replaced at birth by something not human, has expanded its usage in this day and age. It has come to mean anyone either born of both the human and magical worlds, or someone who has been irrevocably changed by magic in their formative years. We’re the bastard children of the magical world. Amongst the magical groups – true powers as Kelvin called it – whether they are other races such as creatures like the lupine, or extra-dimensional entities such as faeries, we are considered more human than anything. We’re expendable even when we are useful.

Mostly we’re just ignored, thank God.

In fact, I was raised in a foster home for changelings. I have a half-goblin foster sister named Hannah, and for a while there was another who was a half-satyr. Paul was my first crush, actually. They were born of human

and magic, and they could choose to immerse themselves as second-class citizens in their respective magical cultures, if they wanted. Last I heard, Paul had. Hannah was always in and out of jail.

In any event, I don’t have that luxury. I was taken by human cultists and exposed to a lot of deeply evil magic as a child and it became a part of me, to change the very core of who I am. changelings like me who can pass as human sometimes can be productive members of society, primarily because humanity turns a blind eye to what goes bump in the night. Some changelings are more successful than others; my foster mother, Grandma Grace Wilson makes a living by working as a medium. You can even Google her and find her advertising on Facebook. Even her most devoted clients, though, don’t believe that she actually does talk to ghosts. And here I am, becoming a psychiatrist, to live without magic. But I have a handful of people in my brain that make it hard to do that.

All that didn’t prepare me for the deeply scary man that sat just a few feet away from me, and I found myself shaking. The terrifying thing wasn’t that he was a lupine, that he could shift into some kind of monster that saw me as little more than food. It was how much he saw me, how he could tell that everything about me was superficial, a body that had five other alters clamoring for their own slice of life.

So, Arta interrupted my musing. Can we go now?

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had promised Dr. Ochoa that I would see him and probably talk about I how I didn’t have family pictures on my desk, or personal touches in my office. Not a discussion I wanted to hear twice. And I still had case notes to write.

I don’t want to be late again, Arta growled.

It’s not like you aren’t better than the sensei, I told her, launching myself up from the couch.

"Capoeirista, Dawn, she replied with a sigh. Not sensei."

I can’t keep up, sighing in reply. I need to…

…Write case notes, I know, Arta said with an edge in her voice. Do it when we get home.

I was about to reply when there was a knock at my office door. Snapping shut my mouth, I opened it. On the other side was Dr. Ochoa, his eyes troubled. Dawn? Who were you talking with?

Just myself. How many times had I used that excuse? I apologize, Dr. Ochoa.

Miguel, Dawn, he reassured me. Who was that man?

I don’t know, I said. He…uh. He heard about some of my research is all.

And he came to see you here?

You’re just going to dig a deeper hole, Arta said. Make your excuses and leave.

Shut up, I snapped inside my mind. You wanted to talk to me?

He knew he was being put off, I could tell. But he tolerated it, his smile returning. Just a little worry, that’s all. Maybe we could meet in your office?

"I will take over right now if you don’t agree to do your case notes at home," Arta said.

Stop it!

Sure, Dr…Miguel. Sorry.

He raised his eyebrows and I quickly shook my head to clear it. I was standing full in the doorway. I moved out of the way and he stepped in, peering at me, his smile still kind. Are you okay, Dawn?

I nodded. "Yeah, just a lot going on. Patients, research, home. Rinse.

Repeat. You know."

I do, he said. He stopped, apparently looking for words.

Ugh, he’s the worst! Arta said. Tell him to find you later.

Shut. Up.

The reason I’m talking with you, Dawn, is that there was an incident the other night, he said. Will tells me he saw you outside your lab.

I knew I shouldn’t have ever let Bile talk me into using my lab.

You were…well, Will is too nice. I will say that your behavior sounds rude. And troublesome.

Dammit, there’s no way I’ll get to class on time! Arta growled. I will take over this minute.

You’re not in trouble, Dawn, Dr. Ochoa continued, not hearing my inner dialogue.

Put off Dr. Smiles-a-lot and take your case notes home, Arta insisted with clenched teeth.

No. Now let me listen.

One, Arta began her countdown.

Again, you are doing fabulous work, my supervisor continued. And this isn’t a reflection on your performance at all…

Two.

Goddamn it. You wouldn’t dare!

Maybe you should close your door? Dr. Ochoa asked.

Fuck yeah, I will. This would be the third time in a row you made me late, Arta snapped back. Thr…

Fine!

Case notes at home?

Yes! Just let me have this meeting, and then I’ll leave.

Alright. Just make it quick, Arta snarled.

Are you okay, Dawn? Dr. Ochoa asked. I could see the skeptical look in his eyes, the thoughtful curl of his lip. The look of someone when they notice I’m not particularly paying attention to them. You look troubled.

Ah…yes, I said, searching for an excuse. That man…my visitor…just threw me off.

Of course, he said, nodding. Well…why don’t you close your door and we’ll have a short disc…

Dawn!

We both turned again at the sound of my name. Again. At the end of the hall, not quite out of the waiting room, was Davis Paradis.

Not now, I breathed.

I don’t mean to interrupt you, Davis said, finally taking that step that took him past the front desk uninvited. Almost immediately Maria appeared in the hallway behind him.

Sir, please stay back in the waiting room…

Very sorry, ma’am, Davis said, flashing his disarming smile at Maria.

He removed his old, bright-grey fedora, exposing his freshly shaved pate. It will just take a couple minutes.

You know him, though, I take it? Dr. Ochoa said with an edge to his voice. The saint obviously did have a tipping point after all. Abashed, I nodded. He sighed and muttered. We’ll talk tomorrow. Have a good night.