Renee got to the Dollhouse a little after 8, after staying late at the darkroom to develop the pictures from Thursday. Alex and Xander were slumped on the couches like Dali clocks, watching wrestling. Empty PBR cans stood vigil on the glass coffee table they inherited from Avery and Dave. On the TV, a guy who looked like he owned a failing karaoke joint was ranting into a microphone in the ring, oblivious to the guy dressed like the Crow who was stalking down the ramp.

"Who's that?" Renee said.

"Sting," said Alex.

"Where's Chyna?"

Xander picked at a bandage on his arm, covering his "ALEX" tattoo. An irregular splotch of dark red, with a greenish-yellow penumbra, had soaked into the bandage. He pointedly kept his eyes on the screen as he answered. "This is Nitro."

Renee didn't know what Nitro was. Raw was what the twins usually watched. She had accidentally seen enough of it by now that she could recognize the main characters, and even had favorites. Mankind was kind of interesting, this chubby, pathetic Renfield figure in a dollar-store Leatherface costume, and the Undertaker reminded her of her high-school friend Garrett, a quiet, hulking mathlete who returned from summer break three years ago as the world's most awkward goth. But even those two freaks were nothing compared to Chyna.

Chyna was something different. She was the "bodyguard" for these two blond beefcake clowns in glittery regalia, and what she did mostly was stand around at ringside with her arms crossed, occasionally getting in a shot at the beefcakes' opponents when the ref wasn't looking. But she had a body like nothing Renee had ever seen – like nothing she had ever imagined. For Renee, "androgynous" had always meant skinny pale people with interesting haircuts, like herself and the twins. But Chyna was androgynous in a completely different way. Her body was an explosion, not an implosion: both masculine and feminine, as bronze and muscular as a Rodin, but also curvy and even delicate. Renee imagined what it would like to be in the ring with Chyna, to be picked up in those massive smooth arms and held weightless in the air for a moment, before crashing back to earth. Alex liked to wax rhapsodic about how wrestling was a ballet, how the combatants supported and protected each other, even as they feigned violence. Renee wondered what that would be like. In her experience, it was always the opposite.

The Crow guy, Sting, was definitely no Chyna. He was working the same general aesthetic as the Undertaker, but he looked tired and bored as he draped a T-shirt over the asshole's face and kicked him to the mat. He was just a poser in his corpse paint and leather duster. The Undertaker, if nothing else, was committed. Just like Garrett, bless his heart. She wondered where he was right now. What cemetery he was haunting.

With no Chyna, Renee was losing interest. "Where's Audrey?"

Alex shrugged.

"Oh dude the Nitro Girls," said Xander. Both of the twins stared at the screen, where a troupe of cartoonishly fit women writhed in gold hot pants. "We've got to have a Nitro party here."

"Dude could you imagine? Frickin' Spice in the Dollhouse?"

"Mean Gene."

"Forget Mean Gene. Frickin' Spice, dude."

Xander turned from the TV and locked eyes with Renee. She hadn't seen him since Thursday, though she barely even remembered seeing him after the 'Shakers' show. The photograph of him, just developed and waiting, like a loaded gun, in her backpack, was all she had to prove that she had. Xander glanced toward Alex, still transfixed by the Nitro Girls. He looked back at Renee. "Yeah, dude," he said. "Frickin' Spice."

Renee left them to their fantasies and locked herself in Alex's room, off the kitchen. She pulled the manila folder of prints out of her backpack and placed them one by one on Alex's bed. Three pictures she didn't remember taking. Meadows Hall, Xander, and the ghostly face that might have been Joanie. They were better than any picture she'd taken in two years. A small but insistent voice nagged at her: That's because you didn't take these.

Renee studied the prints, looking for clues. In his closeup, Xander was looking past the camera, past the photographer. The Joanie face was maybe just a trick of the light – it was wavy and indistinct, like shadows on cloth. Like the Shroud of Turin. Or if it was a reflection: Caroline's dress, shapeshifting mercury like the damn evil Terminator.

The picture of the Tower was taken through a bus window, and Renee could just make out the reflection of the camera. She couldn't see the face of the photographer. But there was something else: a human figure, in one of the lit windows on the top floor, where nobody lived.

The clues revealed little. But a larger picture emerged. The three prints, arranged neatly on the bed, made a tarot spread. The Tower was the Tower – obvious. Xander was...the Fool? No, the Devil, squatting on his altar. Joanie's face was maybe the Moon, or the High Priestess. "The Empress," Renee said, sure of it.

The Tower, The Devil, The Empress. Past, present, future. Calamity, lust, creation.

Renee saw the birth of an idea. It flared and bloomed like a struck match, then solidified into a rough stone that she smoothed and polished, carefully, until it sparkled from ten thousand facets. A new work. Her great work.

Renee gathered up the pictures and put them back in her bag. She pulled out her sketchbook and began writing and drawing, guiding her vision into this world, until a knock on the door broke her concentration.

She forgot she had locked the door. She opened it to find Alex, yawning. "Dude, you've been in here for like three hours," he said. "Am I allowed in my own room?"

Renee stepped aside and let him in. "Are you staying here tonight?" he said. Renee didn't want to stay. She wanted to work on her new project. But there wasn't much she could do until tomorrow, until daylight. Another idea bloomed in the dark gallery of her mind.

Renee pulled off her wifebeater and threw it at Alex's face. She stood on his chair, planted a foot on his chest, and pushed. He stumbled backward blindly and sat on the bed. He pulled the shirt off his face. He was smiling. "Okay," he said. "Okay. Come here."

She didn't go to him. She hopped off the chair and put up her hands in loose claws, like she'd seen the wrestlers do. "You come here," she said.

Alex warily stood up and raised his own fists. "Are we doing this? Are you sure you're ready for my Japanese strong style?" He feinted a couple of times, laughing.

Renee lunged at him, sloppily, her hands wide, and allowed herself to be caught and spun around into a waist lock, her back to his chest, his bony arms across her bare stomach. "Got you now," he said. He tried to kiss her on the neck, but she pulled her head away.

"No," she said. "Lift me. Throw me."

"What?" Alex relaxed his grip.

"What's it called, a suplex? Suplex me."

Alex let go of her completely. "I'm not going to do that."

"Why not?"

"Dude. Come on. I don't want to hurt you."

"It doesn't hurt if you do it right. Right?"

"That's..." She let him twist, struggling to articulate a thought more complex than "dude, let's fuck." "It's not that simple."

Renee held out her hand, toward her shirt on the bed. Alex handed it to her. She turned away, exposing her back to him - the full back piece of her face, with the lines of her hair made of words. Even some of his, in the strand that curved up to her neck. She pulled her shirt back on, covering it, hiding her face from his gaze.

"Do you hear Van Halen?" said Alex.

Something in the living room hit the floor with the sound of shattering glass. The thin walls of the Dollhouse rattled.

Through the kitchen, down the hall. Audrey, clutching her arm, flew past Renee into the bathroom and slammed the door. In the living room, Xander lay facedown in the pile of broken glass that used to be the coffee table.

"What the fuck, dude?" said Alex. Xander tried to raise himself to his feet, but there was glass everywhere he tried to put his hands. Alex pulled him up. Blood poured from Xander's nose, creating a red triangle over his mouth and chin.

"Fuck!" Xander sputtered. "Audrey!" Xander lurched toward the bathroom, dripping glass shards from his jeans. "Audrey!" He pounded on the bathroom door.

"Dude! What the hell happened?" said Alex.

Xander pounded on the bathroom door again. "Audrey!"

"Xander!" Renee shouted. Xander stopped and turned back to her and Alex. "What happened?"

Xander closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, as if remembering caused him physical pain. "She said... Audrey said she wanted me to suplex her."

"I did not!" Audrey's voice was all treble through the closed bathroom door.

Alex stormed through the broken glass and shoved Xander against the wall. The Dollhouse shook again. "The fuck did you do to her?"

"The fuck off me," said Xander, his hands scrabbling at Alex's neck and chest. They fought with open hands, like brothers who knew that a closed fist was the threshold for Trouble. "Didn't fucking do anything." Xander pushed Alex away. "I went to put her in, like, a hold, but she shoved me, and I tripped over your fucking Doc Marten and fell on the table. Think I broke my fucking nose." Xander touched his nose and winced. "Fuck!" He slapped the wall, leaving a couple of bloody fingerprints.

"What the fuck is going on?" Alex, befuddled and enraged, looked to Renee for an answer for him, no outlet for his rage. He slammed Xander back against the wall, then stalked back through the kitchen to his bedroom.

Xander rubbed his shoulder where Alex shoved him. "Renee," he said. "She asked me."

The bathroom door opened, just a crack, and Audrey poked her head out. "No, I didn't."

"You did." Audrey retreated into the bathroom and locked the door. Xander turned to Renee. "She did." The blood on his face gave him a new, bigger mouth, a never-closing maw that perpetually hungered. He was her Devil, and in her dark gallery she heard the Devil's voice as he struck another match. He told her to kiss Xander's mouth and taste that blood.

"Renee, you have to believe me," Xander said. "I would never hurt Audrey."

Renee looked the Devil in his cowardly eye. "It doesn't hurt if you do it right," she said. Xander just stumbled up the stairs to his room.

Renee knocked on the bathroom door. "Audrey. It's just me." The door opened. Renee stepped inside, to tell Audrey about her plan, to bring Audrey into the circle of her great work.